Hudson Movie Reviews

Empire
John Leguizamo is, in his own words, "young, Latin, and good looking" as the ambitious minimogul of the South Bronx drug trade in Franc Reyes' Latino twist on the urban crime saga. Reigning in his hyperactive energy, Leguizamo is like a coiled spring as the street-smart player who tries to leave the violence of his trade behind in an upwardly mobile odyssey, and Peter Sarsgaard brings a discomforting confidence to the smooth-talking investment banker trusted with his millions. Few of the other characters even register in the familiar underworld tale (though Denise Richards has fun as a bubbly, skin-deep seductress) and Reyes's flashy style is as distracting as it is energizing. It's the smoldering presence of Leguizamo that keeps the film centered through the betrayals, the bullet-riddled battles, and the slow realization that this cunning shark has just become bait in the deep seas of high finance. --Sean Axmaker

American Beauty
From its first gliding aerial shot of a generic suburban street, American Beauty moves with a mesmerizing confidence and acuity epitomized by Kevin Spacey's calm narration. Spacey is Lester Burnham, a harried Everyman whose midlife awakening is the spine of the story, and his very first lines hook us with their teasing fatalism. It's an audacious start for a film that justifies that audacity. Weaving social satire, domestic tragedy, and whodunit into a single package, Alan Ball's first theatrical script dares to blur generic lines and keep us off balance, winking seamlessly from dark, scabrous comedy to deeply moving drama. The Burnham family joins the cinematic short list of great dysfunctional American families, as Lester is pitted against his manic, materialistic realtor wife, Carolyn (Annette Bening, making the most of a mostly unsympathetic role) and his sullen, contemptuous teenaged daughter, Jane (Thora Birch, utterly convincing in her edgy balance of self-absorption and wistful longing). Into their lives come two catalytic outsiders. A young cheerleader (Mena Suvari) jolts Lester into a sexual epiphany that blooms into a second adolescence. And an eerily calm young neighbor (Wes Bentley) transforms both Lester and Jane with his canny influence. Credit another big-screen newcomer, English theatrical director Sam Mendes, with expertly juggling these potentially disjunctive elements into a superb ensemble piece that achieves a stylized pace without lapsing into transparent self-indulgence. Mendes has shrewdly insured his success with a solid crew of stage veterans, yet he's also made an inspired discovery in Bentley, whose Ricky Fitts becomes a fulcrum for both plot and theme. Cinematographer Conrad Hall's sumptuous visual design further elevates the film, infusing the beige interiors of the Burnhams' lives with vivid bursts of deep crimson, the color of roses--and of blood. --Sam Sutherland