H Movie Reviews

Split pants, bad breath, and time travel are just part of the nonsense the animated sponge and his undersea buddies are up to in this installment of the popular Nickelodeon series. The cheerfully inept SpongeBob splits his pants while hoisting marshmallows in a weightlifting competition, to the amusement of the crowd. So if it's funny once, it must be funny five times, right? Next, Squidward gets trapped in the Krusty Krab freezer and time travels to a future of Spongetrons and back to a prehistoric SpongeBob and Patrick--not a pretty sight. There's also a cure for Sandy the squirrel's homesickness for Texas, underwater ghost stories when SpongeBob and Squidward work the night shift, and the sponge's aforementioned sea onion breath in this 10-episode compilation. Don't look for any double-entendres to amuse the parents here; this two-hour collection of goofing around is strictly for kids, ages 4 to 10. --Kimberly Heinrichs

Steve Zaillian, the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Schindler's List, made his directorial debut with this critically acclaimed but little-seen drama based on the nonfiction book by Fred Waitzkin, about a father (Joe Mantegna) who discovers that his seven-year-old son (Max Pomeranc) is a genius at playing chess. The boy plays chess for fun, but when he's tutored by a former champion (Ben Kingsley) and entered into high-pressure competitions, an enjoyable pastime becomes a source of tension and resentment, forcing the father to reconsider his parental priorities. A poignant study of the difference between parental idealism and proper parenting, the movie is also an observantly witty portrait of a precocious child who is still, after all, a child, and still eager for the joyful discoveries of youth. While offering a fascinating look into the world of competitive chess, the movie's dramatically engrossing and extremely well-acted by a brilliant cast that also includes David Paymer, William H. Macy, and Dan Hedaya in memorable supporting roles. --Jeff Shannon

One of the finest American musicals, this 1944 film by Vincente Minnelli is an intentionally self-contained story set in 1903, in which a happy St. Louis family is shaken to their roots by the prospect of moving to New York, where the father has a better job pending. Judy Garland heads the cast in what amounts to a splendid, end-of-an-era story that nicely rhymes with the onset of the 20th century. The film is extraordinarily alive, the characters strong, and the musical numbers are so splendidly part of the storytelling that you don't feel the film has stopped for an interlude. --Tom Keogh

Three separate story lines set in Africa eventually come together in this 1980 film by Jamie Uys. (The film wasn't released in the U.S., where it became a huge hit, until 1984.) Story one involves a bushman whose discovery of a Coke bottle causes consternation among his tribe, story two concerns an awkward romance between a clumsy scientist and a sweet schoolteacher, and the third plot involves a group of terrorists on the run. Slapstick, satire, romance, violence--it's all here in a somewhat bumpy but entertaining movie. --Tom Keogh

Political heavyweights decide that Jefferson Smith (James Stewart), an obscure scoutmaster in a small town, would be the perfect dupe to fill a vacant U.S. Senate chair. Surely this naive bumpkin can be easily controlled by the senior senator (Claude Rains) from his state, a respectable and corrupted career politician. Director Frank Capra fills the movie with Smith's wide-eyed wonder at the glories of Washington, all of which ring false for his cynical secretary (Jean Arthur), who doesn't believe for a minute this rube could be for real. But he is. Capra was repeating the formula of a previous film, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, but this one is even sharper; Stewart and Arthur are brilliant, and the former cowboy star Harry Carey lends a warm presence to the role of the vice president. Bright, funny, and beautifully paced, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is Capra's ode to the power of innocence--an idea so potent that present-day audiences may find themselves wishing for a new Mr. Smith in Congress. The 1939 Congress was none too thrilled about the film's depiction of their august body, denouncing it as a caricature; but even today, Capra's jibes about vested interests and political machines look as accurate as ever. --Robert Horton

M*A*S*H redux. Sign up for another stint with the 4077th. This three-disc set contains all 24 episodes from the superb second season (1973-74) of the series ranked by TV Guide as among the top 25 television shows of all time. The season opener, "Divided We Stand," is a deft reintroduction to these now iconic characters: bleeding-heart surgeon Hawkeye Pearce (Alan Alda in his signature role), kindred misfit spirit Trapper John (Wayne Rogers), clueless administrator Henry Blake (McLean Stevenson), buttoned-up Frank Burns (Larry Linville), and unbuttoned head nurse "Hot Lips" (Loretta Swit). In this episode, a visiting psychiatrist evaluates the 4077th to determine whether the unit "can function as a team." His evaluation can serve as this series' mission statement: "These impossible people are in an impossible place doing totally impossible things. They're mad--quite mad." M*A*S*H experienced no sophomore slump from its Emmy Award-winning first season. It continued to subvert sitcom convention with multiple-story episodes such as "Radar's Report." Scenes in the operating room play without a laugh track (this DVD gives viewers the option of watching entire episodes minus the intrusive chuckles and guffaws). M*A*S*H also tackled such issues as racism ("Dear Dad... Three," "L.I.P.--Local Indigenous Personnel"), homophobia ("George"), and war atrocities (Hawkeye and Trapper try to get the Army to take responsibility for the accidental shelling of a South Korean village). Not that M*A*S*H forgot how to be funny. "Five O'Clock Charlie" and "For Want of a Boot" are strictly for laughs. Hawkeye and Hot Lips memorably exchange flu shots in "Carry On, Hawkeye." Loyal viewers will note the emergence of several supporting characters, including Jamie Farr's Klinger and William Christopher's Father Mulcahy. One also sees the (to some) unfortunate transformation of Gary Burghoff's savvy, crackerjack clerk Radar into a naïve innocent. Allan Arbus makes his first appearance as compassionate psychiatrist Dr. Sidney Friedman in "Radar's Report." This second-season set is representative of why M*A*S*H was a cut above. --Donald Liebenson

It's always a small surprise to revisit this movie and realize what a subtly dark performance James Stewart gives as an alcoholic who claims he keeps company with a six-foot-tall, invisible rabbit. As Elwood P. Dowd, the actor emits a faint whiff of decay and spirits, yet Stewart also embraces Dowd's romanticism and grace with splendid ease. Based on a hit play and directed by Henry Koster, the film is terribly funny at times, especially whenever Elwood decides it's only polite to introduce Harvey to complete strangers. The supporting cast can't be beat. --Tom Keogh

Billy Wilder's noir-comic classic about death and decay in Hollywood remains as pungent as ever in its power to provoke shock, laughter, and gasps of astonishment. Joe Gillis (William Holden), a broke and cynical young screenwriter, is attempting to ditch a pair of repo men late one afternoon when he pulls off L.A.'s storied Sunset Boulevard and into the driveway of a seedy mansion belonging to Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), a forgotten silent movie luminary whose brilliant acting career withered with the coming of talkies. The demented old movie queen lives in the past, assisted by her devoted (but intimidating) butler, Max (played by Erich von Stroheim, the legendary director of Greed and Swanson's own lost epic, Queen Kelly). Norma dreams of making a comeback in a remake of Salome to be directed by her old colleague Cecil B. DeMille (as himself), and Joe becomes her literary and romantic gigolo. Sunset Blvd. is one of those great movies that has become a part of popular culture (the line "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up," has entered the language)--but it's no relic. Wow, does it ever hold up. --Jim Emerson

Now perhaps the most beloved American film, It's a Wonderful Life was largely forgotten for years, due to a copyright quirk. Only in the late 1970s did it find its audience through repeated TV showings. Frank Capra's masterwork deserves its status as a feel-good communal event, but it is also one of the most fascinating films in the American cinema, a multilayered work of Dickensian density. George Bailey (played superbly by James Stewart) grows up in the small town of Bedford Falls, dreaming dreams of adventure and travel, but circumstances conspire to keep him enslaved to his home turf. Frustrated by his life, and haunted by an impending scandal, George prepares to commit suicide on Christmas Eve. A heavenly messenger (Henry Travers) arrives to show him a vision: what the world would have been like if George had never been born. The sequence is a vivid depiction of the American Dream gone bad, and probably the wildest thing Capra ever shot (the director's optimistic vision may have darkened during his experiences making military films in World War II). Capra's triumph is to acknowledge the difficulties and disappointments of life, while affirming--in the teary-eyed final reel--his cherished values of friendship and individual achievement. It's a Wonderful Life was not a big hit on its initial release, and it won no Oscars (Capra and Stewart were nominated); but it continues to weave a special magic. --Robert Horton

Now perhaps the most beloved American film, It's a Wonderful Life was largely forgotten for years, due to a copyright quirk. Only in the late 1970s did it find its audience through repeated TV showings. Frank Capra's masterwork deserves its status as a feel-good communal event, but it is also one of the most fascinating films in the American cinema, a multilayered work of Dickensian density. George Bailey (played superbly by James Stewart) grows up in the small town of Bedford Falls, dreaming dreams of adventure and travel, but circumstances conspire to keep him enslaved to his home turf. Frustrated by his life, and haunted by an impending scandal, George prepares to commit suicide on Christmas Eve. A heavenly messenger (Henry Travers) arrives to show him a vision: what the world would have been like if George had never been born. The sequence is a vivid depiction of the American Dream gone bad, and probably the wildest thing Capra ever shot (the director's optimistic vision may have darkened during his experiences making military films in World War II). Capra's triumph is to acknowledge the difficulties and disappointments of life, while affirming--in the teary-eyed final reel--his cherished values of friendship and individual achievement. It's a Wonderful Life was not a big hit on its initial release, and it won no Oscars (Capra and Stewart were nominated); but it continues to weave a special magic. --Robert Horton