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This proves a curiously modest affair, abandoning the tub-thumping epic label of Lean’s late years. While adhering to it may be 80 per cent of the book’s fact, Lean veers very wide of the mark throughout EM Forster’s hatred of the British presence in India, and comes down much more heavily on the side of the British. But he has assembled his strongest cast in years. Specially brilliant is Judy Davis as the dim hysteric, Pine for Quested, who gives the crux of the motion picture (was she or was she not raped in the Marabar caves by her Indian host?) its strongest moments. And at one time again Lean indulges his flavour for scenery, demonstrating an ability with sheer scale which has purposes eluded British cinema entirely its history. Not suitable literary purists, but if you like your entertainment reasonably tailored, then feel the quality and the width. CPea.

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"Charmed
by Familiarity"
Review by Matt Peterson
Bewitched
8/10

Composer  Laura Karpman

Category   
Score

Originality

7
Music
Selection

9
Fashioning

8
CD
Measure

7
Track
Order

8
Performance

7

Unalterable Score


8/10

Quick Quotes

"Overall, the
limitations of the
smaller clothing
make the score
difficult to enjoy
in the service of fans who are
accustomed to
hearing larger
products, but you
still have to be
impressed by
Karpman's creative
compensation and the
extent of the
project as a whole."
****

Christian Clemmenson
-

Filmtracks Reviews

Taken

Music composed by
Laura Karpman-

Performed by The
Hollywood Studio
Symphony

Released by Varese
Sarabande on March
18th, 2003

Spielberg’s
fascination for extra
terrestrials never
seems to end. That’s
masterly with me, since he
usually manages to
produce some save
material revolving
around all those
“smidgen leafy men.” He
continues his
tradition of
delivering quality
branch fiction by
producing Entranced, a 10
part, 20 hour mini
series recently made
for the Sci-Fi
channel. Following the
severely fabulous

Line
of Brothers

, it seems
most TV projects
Spielberg is involved
with are worth one’s
attention.

Taken

was
bloody successful,
and has been released
in a prolific DVD box
set. The epic cook up
depicts the foreign
abductions of various
individuals from the
latter portion of the
20th century.
Following particular
generations of the
that having been said dearest, a slice
of American history is
presented through the
lens of sundry stranger
encounters.

With this congenial of
material and the
involvement of
Spielberg, at one
immediately begins
thirsting for a John
Williams score to
complete the
ensemble—or at least
someone who sounds a
all want him. Composer
Laura Karpman fits the
bill quite nicely. If
Michael Giacchino is a
quasi-clone of
Williams’ beginning ways
scoring, Karpman
channels the maestro’s
more emotional
material. A past master of
divers telly
projects, including
the recent remake of
Carrie, Karpman
certainly had the
encounter of
producing calibre
music in a very short
time disposition. For

Enchanted

,
she would enjoy to
formulate a hundreds for 20
hours of material,
with only an set
of 40. The result is
stunning, even though
the performance gets a
segment messy at times.

Her style representing

Taken

is
a league of
familiar elements from
tons scores, most of
which are sci-fi. From
the opening bars,
Williams’

E.T.

and

Closed Encounters of
the Third Understanding

immediately come to
mind. There is a clear
similarity to these
two classic sci-fi
scores throughout the
music, denoted by
emotional motifs and
some frenzied, jumping
string portions. There
are hints of James
Horner’s thematic
style, and elements
from his superb her own coin
to

The Spitfire Grill

,
including some
acoustic guitar.
Finally, James Newton
Howard’s

Signs

shines
through with individual
string bits, and
occasional use of the
fiddle, providing the
obligatory drift of
Americana. Thrown in
with this thematic,
heterogeneous moil are some
electronics and the
moderately clichéd but
effective orchestral
explosions,
accentuating the
horrific moments of
the tale.

Calling:
Impossible

. Some
tracks such as “Lift
Cancelled,” are chopped,
varied trembling music,
undoubtedly composed to
conjoin onscreen
action—tempo can vary
drastically. Even so,
these dissonant
portions are fit
crafted and
structured. Racing,
ascending strings are
an interesting musical
personification of the
track’s title. “Allie
is Gone” provides a
moderate, lyrical
closing, concluded by
a brassy reprise of
the mains theme.

Even though the
elements that clothed
gone into this score
are familiar, the
commodity sounds
surprisingly fresh and
heterogeneous. There are
moments of pure horror
music, soaring themes,
gentle, emotive
underscore, and some
fine textures provided
by unique electronics
and nostalgic string
instruments. None of
the tracks quite blew
me away, but the
quality is solid
during. I was
unequivocally entranced by the
score, prompting me to
give it a firm
recommendation (sorry
for the pun, but I
couldn’t resist!).
Oversee Listing and Ratings

 Alley


Title


Obsolescent


 Rating

1

Main Name

1:00

 ****
2

Spaceship

1:41

 ***
3

Artemis

2:37

 ****
4

2:42

 ****
5

Romans

4:04

 ****
6

Mothership Arrival

2:47

 ****
7

To the Rescue

4:07

 ****
8

Cheat

2:28

 ****
9

Tom's Revenge

2:32

 **
10

2:38

 ****

11

Allie's Fire

2:14

 ****

12

Lift Unlikely

4:35

 ***

13

Mary's Flight of fancy

3:01

 ****

14

Allie's Miracle

3:33

 ****

15

Allie is Gone

4:53

 ****

Amount to
Running Time

45:43

*The
Experience-O-Meter

displays
the track to
track
listening
experience
of this
soundtrack
based on the
5-Star
rating given
to each
track. 
It provides
a visual
depiction of
the ebbs and
flows of the
CD's
presentation
of the
soundtrack.

Referenced
Reviews


Band of Brothers

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All artwork from
Taken  is exclusive property of
Varese Sarabande Records (c)
2003. 

 Its appearance is for informational purposes only. Review format version 5.8

 

Make tracks (Robbins) and Ann (Preston) play husband-and-spouse games in bed. He thinks she’s a fat pig; she wants a divorce. Who can spin it out longest? Anyway, next light of day Nick gets elsewhere a news working appointment, no more than to catch Ann in bed with his boss (McKean). Stunned, he drives away, anywhere - to a grasp-up at a red light in slumtown. It’s T Paul (Lawrence) wanting Nick’s pocketbook, waving a gun in his face. With a manic guffaw and his foot on the gas, Nick defenestrates the money and drives the hapless sometime illicit to the Arizona desert in requital for a orbicular of unfit comic capers. No surprises here. There are nods to the race issue, but this isn’t accurately Tom Wolfe, and though some jokes work, more don’t.

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Monday is Memorial Day in the United States, meaning this weekend is Memorial Day weekend, with the two usual days off extended by a third. But what to do with that extra period of rest and relaxation?

Why not watch a couple of movies, beginning with Stalag 17?

Stalag 17 is a 1953 movie about World War II, particularly about a Prisoner Of War camp called, yep you guessed it, Stalag 17. It was directed by Billy Wilder and stars William Holden. Ably assisted by Don Taylor and Otto Preminger.

This movie was made a full 10 years before The Great Escape, regarded as the other big POW flick. The Great Escape is a lot more dramatic, while this focuses more on the comedy side of things.

If you life war films, then be sure to catch Stalag 17. heck, what else are you going to do this weekend?

In multifarious ways, Goodbye, Columbus is little more than a poor man’s The Graduate. Both are late-1960s tales of aimless issue men who awaken bittersweet love in upper-crust suburbia. Notwithstanding instead of Dustin Hoffman in the lead, Columbus stars the plain vanilla Richard Benjamin; rather than of Mike Nichols directing, workmanlike Larry Peerce takes the reins; and instead of a soundtrack by Simon & Garfunkel, songs are supplied by The Connection. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a huge groupie of author Philip Roth, and gaze at him as rhyme of America’s finest contemporary writers, but Goodbye, Columbus works much better as a novella than a film. Peradventure it’s Roth’s marvelous narrative style, his ear for dialogue, or his deft comic flair, but the cinematic adaptation of his incisive story of an average Jewish guy’s love due to the fact that a pampered JAP somehow falls recumbent.

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From the moment Brenda Patimkin (Ali MacGraw) asks him to suppress a delay her sunglasses while she takes a dip in the country club pool, she intoxicates Neil Klugman (Benjamin) with her imposing beauty, aristocratic aura, and come-hither attitude. But Neil is merely a guest at the club, an fringes looking in. He longs to connect the ranks of the social elite, but disdains the void-headed prattle and upper airs that espy it. Even so, he pursues Brenda, who finds Neil’s bookish behind the scenes and working-genre roots refreshingly attractive. Her nouveau-riche parents (Nan Martin and Jack Klugman) disagree, believing their princess daughter deserves much better than a schmuck from the Bronx. Yet Brenda relishes their disapproval, and enjoys rebelling against them by brazenly flaunting her relationship. As the summer progresses, Neil ingratiates himself into the Patimkin household, and his go-between with Brenda blossoms into a full-blown affair.

But where can their love possibly lead? After all, the Bronx and Westchester fair-minded don’t merge.

It’s every time tough to accommodate a great literary work inasmuch as the boob tube, and while the glaze version of Goodbye, Columbus exhibits flashes of the novella’s flavor, it not at any time captures its courage or tone. Peerce follows the blueprint of late ’60s filmmaking, relying on choppy edits, express zooms, and a jerky camera&#8212instead of the story’s satirical elements&#8212to give his talkie an edgy attitude. He also relishes the era’s newfound bodily freedom, and tries agonizingly to puff the envelope. A scenery featuring Neil and Brenda showering together seems specifically designed to titillate and shock, and the film surely holds the report to most uses per capita of the word “diaphragm.”

At seniority 31, both Benjamin and MacGraw are too accomplished for their parts, but still manage to evoke the elation and angst of young love. Benjamin won’t victory any swimsuit pageants, but the actor’s orbit build, jell-o physique, and unrequited desire for the all-American girl makes him a unquestionably relatable hero. Neil Klugman stands as Benjamin’s finest acting hour, and he files an engaging comic portrayal in his feature film inauguration.

Few big big stars possess less power than the cringe-inducing MacGraw, even so she too contributes her best toil (which isn’t saying a whole lot), also in her film debut. One can see why MacGraw made such a huge splash as Brenda, with her patrician looks, dazzling smile, and cool demeanor stealing focus in every prospect socialize. She can pout, sulk, giggle, and bat her eyes with the best of them, but when the vapour turns dramatic during its pattern act, her pitiful unseemliness takes center stage. MacGraw crashes and burns, and, sadly, takes the film down with her.

Peerce acutely lampoons both Jewish and Westchester stereotypes, and the supporting send wrings plenty of chuckles from their exaggerated characters. The societal commentary, putting, doesn’t possess the ineluctable fleece to make it memorable, and though the dim tries to faithfully observe the written story, many of the best moments focus on puzzled in the translation. As a pleasant summer diversion and mosey down memory lane, Goodbye, Columbus fills the charge. But to really experience this humorous and moving story, survive a remove Philip Roth’s register to the beach instead.

At a subordinate high school dancing party the chary and awkward Jeremy Melton (Joel Palmer) is
tormented by Paige (Denise Richards), Dorothy (Jessica Capshaw), Lily (Jessica
Cauffiel), Kate Marley Shelton) and Jessica (Katherine Heigl). 13 years later it
appears Jeremy has returned to seek his toxic vengeance.

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Hollywood heartthrobs flex their corpuscles for naught in “Interview With the Vampire,” the disappointing adaptation of Anne Rice’s succulent 1976 novel. Passionately anticipated and much ballyhooed, the film, alas, is little more than a foppish, fang de siecle attire theatrics. Its pulse barely registers.

Fans of Rice’s sanguine bestseller will find the narrative mostly intact, and that is one of the movie’s chief problems. The screenplay, which Rice carved from her own florid prose, contains far more story than a two-hour movie can hold. Like a plant strangled by its own roots, the picture is virtually plot-bound. And yet, those unfamiliar with the book may find that she’s left out information crucial to understanding the characters’ behavior.

Though set primarily in antebellum New Orleans, the film opens in modern San Francisco — its streets, from director Neil Jordan’s perspective, like blood vessels flowing with people. The camera plunges into the stream, in a short, fantastic voyage that ends in a shadowy room where a chain-smoking young reporter (Christian Slater) nervously begins his interview with the 200-year-old Louis.

Brad Pitt has the unenviable chore of playing the whiner Louis, a Creole planter who said goodbye to the sun in the late 1700s and has been brooding about it ever since. He was grieving over the death of his wife and daughter (his saintly brother in the book) when he attracted the vampire Lestat (Tom Cruise), a world-weary immortal who sees Louis not only as dinner but as a potential companion.

In the first of many flashbacks, Lestat offers the comely young planter a choice between a terminal hickey and immortal undeath. Louis picks Door No. 2 and we never hear the last of it.

For all the fuss about Cruise playing Lestat, it’s the chubby-cheeked Pitt who is miscast. Cruise does not embody the monstrously evil Lestat of the book, nor does he turn him into a fangless, swashbuckling Top Gum. Instead, Cruise brings a wicked wit to the ghoulish role, but be warned that there’s nothing romantic about his lust for blood — though he has a nasty habit of playing with his food.

Louis cannot adapt to his mentor’s sick games and initially resists human prey, attempting to survive on the blood of rats, chickens and a couple of unfortunate toy poodles. Taunted by Lestat for denying his desires, Louis lectures his companion on the nature of evil and other metaphysical topics applicable to undeadness. When not thus engaged, he mopes about their opulent town house resenting Lestat for turning him into a fiend.

Lestat decides to cheer up Louis by giving him a “daughter,” Claudia (the extraordinary Kirsten Dunst), a cherubic child whose upbringing consumes her “daddies.” Played for laughs, the film’s second act might as well be “Two Men and an Undead Baby.” But eventually Claudia comes to resent Lestat for condemning her to an eternity in a little girl’s body.

All good things must come to an end, and the little family breaks apart in a climactic moment that leads to the burning of New Orleans, a showcase for the talents of the director, cinematographer Philippe Rousselot and production designer Dante Ferretti.

From this point, the story chronicles Louis’s search for others of his kind in Europe, a quest that takes him and Claudia to Paris where they encounter a clan of catacomb-dwelling actor-vampires. But here, the story clots. Louis has long since given up on himself and his kind, and he rejects mentoring offered to him by long-haired Euro-vamp Armand (Antonio Banderas). Banderas is the movie’s sexiest vampire — if this veiny, waxen-skinned species can be considered sexy. Though they do not practice intercourse as such, they go for all types: A, B, AB or O.

Interview With the Vampire, at area theaters, is rated R for violence and nudity.

Two double-dating urban couples–one-liner as unsuited as the other is accommodating, nice, and made repayment for each other–showy the perils of modern mating. Charming Montel and Brandy enjoy a budding adventure, while money-grubbing ‘players’ Adina and Clyde blaze out quickly and conspire to break up their friends. A sexually frank, shut up slip-in-cheek, and slapstick-heavy comedy of manners from writer-director Cundieff (FEAR OF A BLACK HAT).

Jean-Claude Brisseau either makes the smuttiest art films in contemporary world cinema, or the artiest smut films. Just like his 2002 creep-out

Secret Things

—which recorded the constantly shifting power in sexual and commercial relationships—his new

Exterminating Angels

devotes much of its screen time to lithe, naked women masturbating, alone and in groups. The rest of the movie mostly shows those same women talking dispassionately about what turns them on, and how they feel about their sexuality.

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It's tempting to overpraise artists like Brisseau, who dare to appeal directly to the audience's purest, least controllable emotions. But while

Exterminating Angels

is undeniably arousing, Brisseau ritually drains the blood out with his "cool down" scenes. This film is mostly an intellectual exercise. It's about a filmmaker—played by Frédéric Van Den Driessche—who auditions actresses by urging them to rub themselves to orgasm while his camera rolls. He insists that he has no interest in making pornography, or hiring porn stars. He just wants to capture the look of real pleasure that overtakes the faces of real women when they abandon their inhibitions.

So

Exterminating Angels

is mostly a movie about itself, with an added layer of biography that Brisseau has actively tried to deny. In real life, Brisseau was sued by an actress who auditioned for

Secret Things

—putting on the auto-erotic sex show that Brisseau demanded—and later felt psychologically assaulted. The title of

Exterminating Angels

is a nod to pop surrealist Luis Buñuel, but it also refers to two ethereal spirits—women, of course—who shadow Driessche, whispering suggestions and generally getting him into trouble. Their presence in the movie can either be read as Brisseau's excuse for questionable professional behavior, or, given what happens to Driessche in the story, his way of sticking his fictionalized self with some cosmic retribution.

The problem with

Exterminating Angels

is that its explanatory side overwhelms its playfully perverse side. Brisseau has his female characters deliver speeches to Driessche along the lines of, "I don't want to become self-absorbed like other actresses," and "I appreciate how you listen to me." Even the ghost of Driessche's grandmother apprears, to warn the director against carrying on his experiments, saying he's on the verge of unleashing "the infernal machine" of female desire. Maybe—just maybe—all the "hey it's not your fault" voices are another version of the movie's exterminating angels, urging Brisseau on to inadvertent malice. Or maybe Brisseau's doing with this movie what he asks actresses to do for him.