Entertainment Movie Reviews

Fractured fairy tales of a darker hue provide the remarkable context for Into the Woods, which deconstructs the Brothers Grimm by way of Rod Serling. While the faces and names are familiar, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, and company inhabit a sylvan neighborhood in which witches and bakers are next-door neighbors, handsome princes from once-parallel fables are competitive (and equally vain) brothers, and all the stories intersect through unexpected new plot twists.

Stephen Sondheim's Tony-winning score favors intricate ensemble numbers that present the characters' divergent, then overlapping fears and desires. And it's the latter category that provides a primary thread to James Lapine's ingenious puzzle of a book, which coheres around the inevitability--and treachery--of our innermost wishes. That theme is given farcical energy in the first act, which offers enough comic invention, tart dialogue, and witty music for a satisfying evening of theater as is.

Instead, Sondheim and Lapine offer a bold, darker second act that takes a look at what happens after "happily ever after," elevating the work beyond inspired parody toward allegorical gravity. By the final scenes, with the one-two punch of the score's two most enduring songs, "No One Is Alone" and "Children Will Listen," what began as a clever diversion has touched deeper nerves and primed some tear ducts. This video production by the original Broadway cast gets its marquee shimmer from Bernadette Peters's wonderful witch, but the standout (and Tony winner as Best Actress) is Joanna Gleason, who gives the Baker's Wife a mixture of warmth, pragmatism, and sudden, poignantly romantic radiance.

The DVD version is comparatively no-frills, given its American Playhouse origins, but multiformat digital audio renders the musical performances in immaculate detail. --Sam Sutherland

Sydney Bristow (Jennifer Garner) is a super (and super sexy) spy, fighting nefarious villains and working for the good guys--or so she thinks. Recruited as a college freshman for espionage work, Sydney found her true calling with SD-6, a secret division of the CIA. When her hunky doctor-boyfriend proposes to her, she decides to let him in on the truth she's not supposed to tell anyone: she's not a grad student with a demanding job for an international bank, but a secret agent who constantly puts her life on the line for the free world. But when SD-6 discovers her security breach, her fiancé is brutally assassinated, and Sydney suddenly finds herself face-to-face with the truth: she's been working for the bad guys. Deciding to become a double agent for the CIA and bring down the evildoers, Sydney gets one more surprise--her estranged father (Victor Garber) is also working for SD-6, and the CIA as well. Welcome to the family, Syd!

Confusing? This is all just in the first episode of Alias, the brainchild of Felicity creator J.J. Abrams that plays like a cross between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and James Bond. With its double-edged tension (how long can Syd play double agent?) and one heck of a MacGuffin (the dreaded Rambaldi device, the mythic creation of a Renaissance genius), the show leads its viewers from episode to episode with visceral, compelling action, not to mention the nascent romance between Syd and her CIA handler, Vaughn (Michael Vartan), and her clashes with her heretofore distant father. Sharp, smart, and always suspenseful, Alias' center was held by the gorgeous Garner, a stellar action heroine and an even better actress who could pull off Sydney's exotic undercover missions and conflicted emotions with equal dexterity. By the end of this first season, which concludes with a breathtaking cliffhanger, you'll be seduced into Alias' world with, happily, no desire to escape. --Mark Englehart

Few early rockers were more gifted or less honored in their prime than the late Roy Orbison, whose vaulting tenor and vulnerable love songs conjured heartbreak and desire with operatic intensity. This 1987 concert special, originally broadcast on Showtime, came two decades after Orbison had retreated from pop's front lines, yet neither Orbison nor his music coasts on mere nostalgia: in every respect, A Black and White Night survives as a triumphant performance and a superb video production, as well as a first-rate retrospective of Orbison's hits.

Filmed in black and white against the streamlined art deco stage of the since-demolished Coconut Grove in downtown Los Angeles, the concert is buoyed by a remarkable cast of A-list Orbison fans who signed on as his accompanists. Under the direction of producer T-Bone Burnett, the stage band thus includes Jackson Browne, Burnett, Elvis Costello, k.d. lang, Bonnie Raitt, J.D. Souther, Bruce Springsteen, Tom Waits, and Jennifer Warnes, along with the rhythm section from Elvis Presley's fabled late '60s and early '70s touring band. That astonishing lineup is all the more noteworthy for the restraint with which they collaborate--it's evident that those superstars came to honor Orbison, not upstage him, resulting in a gratifying cohesion to the performances.

Orbison himself sounds as powerful as ever, his soaring falsetto cresting as dramatically as it did on the studio versions of the hits that inevitably dominate. Those songs meanwhile confirm that his blue chip admiration society came as much for the caliber of his writing as for his ravishing voice: if he remains best known for the jaunty come-on of "Pretty Woman," Orbison was first and foremost a rock balladeer, capable of bringing lumps to our throats with such classics as "Crying" and "Only the Lonely," or conjuring romantic trances through such gentle charmers as "Dream Baby." On this night, he handled all of them with fervor and finesse. --Sam Sutherland

Nothing dates a movie quite as much as a roller-skating blonde in white shorts and a tube top. Midnight Madness opens with exactly that and quickly follows with a scene in which a student counselor reassures a romantically nervous freshman with the line, "Flynch, you could be a real Burt Reynolds, I know you could." Ah, nostalgia. Made on the cusp of the '80s, after Animal House but before Porky's, Disney's college comedy gained a considerable following, thanks to countless screenings on HBO during the Reagan administration. Like all the best cult movies, it's awful, but compelling nonetheless. This is a film in which all the nerds look alike, the jocks have names such as Armpit, and you get to see fat twins shake their abundant disco booties. The plot revolves around an all-night scavenger hunt, with five teams of competing students racing around Los Angeles solving clues and getting into all sorts of amusing scrapes, including a visit to the Pabst brewery that will have you humming ancient advertising songs for days. David Naughton, who went on to star in An American Werewolf in London, is our hero, but the real fun comes from Stephen Furst as the mean and chubby rich kid and the legendary über-nerd Eddie Deezen as Wesley. Michael J. Fox makes his film debut as Naughton's troubled but feisty kid brother, and the eagle-eyed viewer may even spot Paul Reubens in a tiny role. Being a Disney film that was released before Porky's made shower scenes an integral part of campus comedies, this is a curiously innocent movie--just watch how long it takes the teams to decipher the clue, "Look between the two giant melons." Nevertheless, Midnight Madness is 112 minutes of undemanding, cheesy fun for anyone who remembers the last days of disco. It makes Animal House look like Chekhov, but watch it with a group of friends, and perhaps a little Pabst Blue Ribbon, and you'll have a hoot. --Simon Leake

"Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever," states Felicity in the pilot episode of this fervently loved series. Not that impulsively defying your parents, ditching plans to go to Stanford Medical School, and moving 3,000 miles to New York to follow an unrequited high school crush who doesn't even remember your name is a small decision. But it does indeed change our winsome heroine's life forever. Golden Globe winner Keri Russell lights up the screen in her star-is-born role as the luxuriantly maned Felicity. For its audience demographic, the "previously on Felicity" soap opera elements make this series' freshman year as compellingly watchable as the early years of Beverly Hills 90210 and Dawson's Creek.

Propelling the first season is the triangle of Felicity, the charismatic Ben (Scott Speedman), and charming doofus Noel (Scott Foley). But at the heart of the series is its real-world portrayal of college life, and Felicity's struggle to forge a life independent of her disapproving but ultimately supportive parents. Her sardonic, spell-casting now-you-see-her-now-you-don't roommate Meaghan doesn't think Felicity will last the year. "This might all be a colossal mistake," Felicity admits early on. (No, that would be your ill-advised haircut in Season 2.) Felicity's ensemble also includes former pink Power Ranger Amy Jo Johnson as Julie, Felicity's best friend and later rival for Ben's affections, whose own personal travails include searching for her birth mother (Malcolm in the Middle's Jane Kaczmarek). Look for a pre-Alias Jennifer Garner as Noel's old girlfriend Hannah in the episode "Thanksgiving," and listen for Janeane Garofalo as the voice of the unseen Sally, with whom Felicity shares audiocassettes relating her coming-of-age experiences and hard-earned life lessons. --Donald Liebenson

Conceived as a television miniseries, this portrait of the epochal Motown vocal group scores as one of the most detailed re-creations of the '60s pop milieu ever filmed. Told largely through the eyes of founding member Otis Williams (Charles Malik Whitfield), The Temptations portrays its protagonists as soul Everymen whose early triumphs closely followed, and helped expand, Motown Records' emergence as "the Sound of Young America," providing an inspirational fable for black Americans.

Inevitably, of course, the story is also a cautionary tale about the price of success for both the Temps and their mentor, Motown founder Berry Gordy (Obba Babatunde). With hit records and tours, Williams and his partners grapple with drugs, alcohol, depression, jealousy, and delusions of grandeur. In particular, the galvanic lead singer David Ruffin (Leon) serves as both a focal strength and potential destroyer for the group, as his ego combines with a mounting cocaine habit to create a monster. At the same time, Gordy's eventual decision to leave his and the label's home, Detroit, for Los Angeles marks a loss of innocence for the group and their label-mates. The film provides ample insider detail about how the former Ford assembly-line worker created and controlled his unique hit factory.

Based on the biography coauthored by Williams and former manager Shelly Berger, the project gets a vital boost from behind the camera, thanks to executive producer Suzanne DePasse, herself a former Motown exec, and director Allan Arkush (Rock 'n' Roll High School). That lineage probably pulls some punches in terms of individual characters and Gordy's machinations, but it also affords The Temptations its convincing detail, as does the generous running time--a mixed blessing, due to the original two-part broadcast, which might have benefited from tightening for this video version. Giving the show its greatest kick are the group's original hits, performed and choreographed convincingly in lip-synched sequences. --Sam Sutherland

Conceived as a television miniseries, this portrait of the epochal Motown vocal group scores as one of the most detailed re-creations of the '60s pop milieu ever filmed. Told largely through the eyes of founding member Otis Williams (Charles Malik Whitfield), The Temptations portrays its protagonists as soul Everymen whose early triumphs closely followed, and helped expand, Motown Records' emergence as "the Sound of Young America," providing an inspirational fable for black Americans.

Inevitably, of course, the story is also a cautionary tale about the price of success for both the Temps and their mentor, Motown founder Berry Gordy (Obba Babatunde). With hit records and tours, Williams and his partners grapple with drugs, alcohol, depression, jealousy, and delusions of grandeur. In particular, the galvanic lead singer David Ruffin (Leon) serves as both a focal strength and potential destroyer for the group, as his ego combines with a mounting cocaine habit to create a monster. At the same time, Gordy's eventual decision to leave his and the label's home, Detroit, for Los Angeles marks a loss of innocence for the group and their label-mates. The film provides ample insider detail about how the former Ford assembly-line worker created and controlled his unique hit factory.

Based on the biography coauthored by Williams and former manager Shelly Berger, the project gets a vital boost from behind the camera, thanks to executive producer Suzanne DePasse, herself a former Motown exec, and director Allan Arkush (Rock 'n' Roll High School). That lineage probably pulls some punches in terms of individual characters and Gordy's machinations, but it also affords The Temptations its convincing detail, as does the generous running time--a mixed blessing, due to the original two-part broadcast, which might have benefited from tightening for this video version. Giving the show its greatest kick are the group's original hits, performed and choreographed convincingly in lip-synched sequences. --Sam Sutherland

Based on a couple of short stories (from The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven) by Sherman Alexie, Smoke Signals is a lean and assured feature that speaks well of its lengthy, rich evolution, including a development stint at Sundance. The first feature made by a Native American crew and creative team, the film concerns two young Idaho men with radically different memories of one Arnold Joseph (Gary Farmer), a former resident of the reservation who split years before and has just died in Phoenix. Arnold's strapping, popular son, Victor (Adam Beach), remembers him best as an alcoholic, occasionally abusive father who drove off one day and never came back. By contrast, Thomas Builds-the-Fire (Evan Adams), whom Arnold had saved from certain death years earlier, has chosen to exaggerate the man's life and deeds in a mythmaking fashion that drives Victor crazy. Circumstances bring the two together, however, in a bus ride to retrieve Arnold's ashes. There, in Phoenix, a confrontation with the reality of the dead man's fullest legacy has a profound effect on both characters. Alexie, who wrote the script and was personally involved in all aspects of the production, and first-time director Chris Eyre are so polished in their approach that you can barely feel the cinematic engine at work here. This is the kind of movie in which the characters seem to be driving everything forward, a captivating and pleasant experience that gets a little too tidy at the end (can we call a moratorium on scenes of human ashes lovingly disposed to the winds?), but which is undeniably moving. The cast, including Irene Bedard (the voice of and physical inspiration for Disney's Pocahontas) is outstanding. --Tom Keogh

Does it get any better than this? Canadian torch singer and pianist Diana Krall is in perfect form in this two-hour Paris concert, recorded in December 2001 shortly after the release of her CD The Look of Love. In her band, guitarist Anthony Wilson and bassist John Clayton get the lion's share of attention, but the entire ensemble (including lush strings from the Paris Symphony Orchestra) provides flawless support for Krall, whose skill on a Steinway is as impressive as her smoky interpretations of vintage standards and ballads. Inspired by guest conductor-arranger Claus Ogerman, Krall can surprise with subtleties (like a delicious hint of the Beatles' "Day Tripper" in her closing of "All or Nothing"), or glide into solos with a master's flair. Matching the music beat for beat, the camera coverage and editing are intimate without being obtrusive, making this a bit of jazz heaven here on earth. --Jeff Shannon

This superbly acted, mordantly funny romp through 70 years or so of Roman history is one of the best-loved miniseries ever made, and deservedly so. Derek Jacobi plays Roman Emperor Claudius, who reflects in old age on his life and his remarkable family, giving us a history lesson that's unlike anything you learned in school.

The story begins in 24 B.C. during the reign of Augustus Caesar, Rome's first emperor, and ends in A.D. 54 with Nero on the throne. In between, I, Claudius details the scheming, murder, madness, and lust that passed for politics in the early years of the Pax Romana. The biggest worm in the Roman apple is Augustus's wife, Livia (the superb Siân Phillips), whose single-minded pursuit of power shapes the destiny of the Empire. With a carefully planted rumor here and a poisoned fig there, she gradually maneuvers her son, Tiberius, toward the throne, creating an atmosphere of suspicion and treachery that starts Rome on its helter-skelter slide into bloody chaos. Phillips somehow makes us understand this extraordinarily wicked woman. As she ages and her carefully wrought webs begin to unravel, it becomes clear that Livia has been as thoroughly poisoned by her own ambition as her victims were by her carefully prepared meals.

Further acting honors go to George Baker as Tiberius, who resists but eventually succumbs to the destiny forced upon him by his mother, and to John Hurt as a hilarious and absolutely terrifying Caligula. In one breathtakingly tense scene, the mad Emperor performs a dance in drag, then asks Claudius to critique it, perfectly capturing the horror of a world where one wrong word means death, or worse. Jacobi is the perfect Claudius, hiding his intelligence behind a crippling stammer and shuffling around the edges of events--until he finds himself pulled to the very center. His wry comments give shape to the tangled story of his family and help the audience make sense of a dauntingly complex cast of characters.

I, Claudius might seem a little studio-bound to viewers brought up on more recent big-budget costume dramas, but the topnotch cast and the incident-filled plot are more than enough to hold the attention through almost 11 hours of gripping, deliciously wicked Roman follies. This boxed set also includes a documentary entitled "The Epic That Never Was," about Alexander Korda's failed attempt to film I, Claudius in 1937. The film, directed by Josef von Sternberg and starring Charles Laughton as Claudius and Merle Oberon as Messalina, was abandoned unfinished, and it remains one of Hollywood's great lost movies. --Simon Leake