V Movie Reviews

Fans of Armageddon might see one or two resemblances between that 1998 box office hit and Hellfighters, a 1968 action film by Andrew V. McLaglen, one of John Wayne's favorite directors in his late career. (Their joint ventures included Chisum, Cahill: United States Marshal, and McLintock!) Wayne plays an oil well firefighter in the mold of Red Adair, turning up anywhere in the world where a geyser of fire is shooting up from a once-profitable gusher. His right-hand man (Jim Hutton) has questionable judgment about safety matters and is a scoundrel with the ladies--and neither fact is lost on Wayne when Hutton's character marries his long-lost daughter (Katharine Ross, a mere year after The Graduate). The film is an early entry in the disaster-meets-soap-opera genre that flourished in the '70s with such titles as The Towering Infernoand The Poseidon Adventure. McClaglen gets a lot of crackle out of his action scenes (many of the firefighting sequences are still startling in their intensity) and turns twin love stories (Hutton and Ross, Wayne and Vera Miles) into frothy studies of adult manners, with equal hints of Howard Hawks and Sidney Sheldon. The widescreen image on DVD offers viewers a chance to see what was then a developing vogue for gratuitous breadth and scope in all its goofy, self-congratulatory glory. (Is it necessary to look at a golf course the way one might look at an African veldt? Hellfighters says yes!) The DVD also includes production notes and written bios on the stars, plus optional French and Spanish subtitles and an optional Spanish soundtrack. The cast and sundry thrills make this film highly enjoyable, and easily forgivable for indulging in such inanities as a subplot concerning--hold on--Venezuelan terrorists! The Duke lives! --Tom Keogh

The teaming of Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn would seem to have been sure-fire casting, but Housesitter's writing is never strong enough to sustain it and the film's hit-and-miss quality has more misses than hits. Martin plays an architect who builds his dream house for his high school sweetheart (Dana Delany), then surprises her with a marriage proposal--both of which she rejects. Distraught, he goes back to New York and pours out his heart to a woman he meets in a bar and beds (Hawn), not realizing she is a flaky con artist. She knows a good thing when she hears it and heads for his hometown, moves into the empty dream house, and begins passing herself off as Martin's new wife. Though the writers build in a variety of complications (involving Delany, as well as Martin's parents and boss), the film finds its jokes only in fits and starts, though Martin has a particularly hilarious moment when he must sing to his father in front of a crowd of strangers. --Marshall Fine

Shenandoah, a film well-liked in its day, recalls Friendly Persuasion and foreshadows The Patriot as it tells of an American clan traumatized by war on native soil. Virginia farmer James Stewart has never owned slaves, owes allegiance to no one beyond his own kin, and adamantly disregards the North-South strife rumbling just over the hill: "This war is not mine and I take no note of it." That changes when youngest son Philip Alford (To Kill a Mockingbird's Jem) is carried off by Yankees, and the family must ride out to reclaim him. Shenandoah has several affecting moments--notably a homefront atrocity--but much of it is lit and played like a television show. Script and direction are formulaic, Stewart falls back on cozy shtick, and the supporting cast is a collection of bland studio contract players. As the closing credit says: "filmed entirely at Universal City." --Richard T. Jameson

A virtual pantheon of icons from the 1970s populate Spirit of '76, a 1991 homage of sorts to the decade of excessive, tacky design. David Cassidy plays an inventor from a drab, lifeless future that wants to send a team back to 1776 to retrieve the Constitution; a technical foul-up lands them in 1976 instead. You can imagine what follows: Crazy, funky get-ups and limp jokes about Watergate, self-actualization seminars, GM Pacers, streakers, and disco. Leif Garrett, Moon Zappa, Devo, Tommy Chong, Rob Reiner, and others make cameo appearances, as well as more contemporary personalities like Julie Brown. It would be charitable to assume that the filmmakers put all this together lovingly and didn't want to distract from the warm glow of nostalgia by making anything actually funny. Also featuring Olivia D'Abo, Geoff Hoyle, and members of the band Redd Kross. --Bret Fetzer

Cheryl Dunye has transcended the usual pitfalls that pockmark most lesbian-themed movies: specifically, the usual angst and suffering that occur when the gay gal falls for a heterosexual friend. The Watermelon Woman is more a cultural document, addressing speculative sociological gay history themes with an interesting and engaging cover story about a video store clerk named Cheryl (played by Dunye) who, in her research for a movie, comes across an old-time black actress simply called "the watermelon woman" and becomes obsessed with her persona. In the process, Cheryl finds herself embroiled in a relationship that parallels that of her icon.

What makes The Watermelon Woman special is its layered story line and its willingness to present its characters as comically flawed. Dunye also creates an aura of mystique around the enigmatic watermelon woman, and her life and tribulations become fascinating to the viewer. Even Camille Paglia shows up to make commentary about the "actress," and while the story-within-a-story concept is tricky, the power and purpose of the movie emerges, and the character becomes as fascinating as if she were flesh and blood. --Paula Nechak

If Kenneth Branagh's 1989 version of Shakespeare's tale of conquering greed reflects the post-Vietnam era, Laurence Olivier's version very much mirrored his time. When Olivier gave us his colorful adaptation in 1945, it was vivid, full of pageantry, and most definitely geared toward war. Pretty flags and white steeds, shining armor and theatrical emphasis figure into Olivier's attractive but decorous version, liberally adapted for a pro-war stance. He used the French as comic relief; they appeared foppish and foolish. Their presence implied no threat. If you had not read the play, you would not have to wonder who was going to win. Of course, Olivier wanted England to believe in the justness of war--his country was in the midst of one. The propaganda gets in the way only because it has been filtered through so many decades. His Henry remains, however, a handsome cinematic spectacle. Olivier's performance is gentle and elegant, his imagery rich and colorful. It was considered such a superb film he was awarded an honorary Oscar. He followed this with adaptations of Hamlet and Richard III. --Rochelle O'Gorman

This 13-part TV series is based on a novel by the prominent Japanese science fiction writer Hiroyuki Morioka. Jinto Lin, the son of the president of the planet Martine, becomes a prince when his father cedes the planet to an alien interstellar empire. The Abh claim to be descended from humans but have given themselves a genetic upgrade: with their 200-year life spans, blue hair, and elfin features, they've become "Children of the Stars." A passive and uncertain hero, Jinto recalls Kazuki in Dual Parallel Trouble Adventure. As he begins training for his role in the empire, he meets pilot trainee Lafiel, who turns out to be the granddaughter of Abh empress Ramaj: their relationship is the focus of the series. Crest of the Stars looks and sounds good, with lavish backgrounds and a lush score, but the storytelling is often spotty. In episode 4, Captain Lexshue of the battleship Gosroth complains about the anti-Abh calumnies issued by United Mankind: "we're supposed to be natural invaders"--when the viewer saw them invade Jinto's home planet in episode 1. To add texture, the filmmakers show lots of signs written in the rune-like Abh alphabet, but they get a bit carried away with the jargon. When a crewmember announces that enemy ships are within "1,540 gedrels" of the Gosroth, it's not clear if that's disturbingly near or very far away. Rated 13 and up but suitable for viewers a few years younger: very brief, very minor nudity and discussions of genetics. --Charles Solomon

Some Soviet films from the 1920s occasionally feel like work, but not this one. By general consensus, Earth is among the most exalted of all silent films. Alexander Dovzhenko drew upon memories of his rural Ukrainian childhood for this lyrical ode to peasants (in true Soviet fashion, they are radicalized by the arrival of a new tractor). What is so remarkable about the film is not merely the visual poetry, but Dovzhenko's earthy (there is no other word for it) appreciation for the human being: a grandfather pauses in his dying to gobble up a ripe pear, farmers urinate into the radiator of the overheated tractor, a child happily munches on a melon after a tragic death. Dovzhenko embraces it all, and his image of a man dancing alone on a moonlit road is one of the cinema's great expressions of simple joy. This is a true masterwork. --Robert Horton