LAMPEL COJUANGCO in ALINDOG

GEORGE ESTREGAN in THE KILLER AIDS,the movie

NOBEL SON (2007)

Starring: Alan Rickman, Mary Steenburgen, Danny DeVito, Bill Pullman & Eliza Dushku

Director: Randall Miller

Perhaps one of the greatest things about being a movie lover is running across one of those rare, undiscovered gems -- the twisting thriller with the audacity to demand that you actually use your brain to solve the mystery, or the outrageous comedy that was just a bit ahead of its time and didn't find an audience until it was long gone from theaters. Nobel Son is none of those things.

Philandering chemistry professor and recent Nobel prize winner Eli Michaelson (Rickman) is in Stockholm to collect his award when he and his wife, Sarah (Steenburgen), receive word that their son, Barkley (Bryan Greenberg) -- a Game Boy-obsessed college student writing his Ph.D. thesis on cannibalism -- has been kidnapped. If they ever hope to see Barkley alive again, Eli and Sarah are to drop two million dollars in unmarked bills in the trunk of a display car at a local shopping mall. Later, after the drop has been made, it quickly becomes apparent that this isn't your typical kidnapping. As the mystery deepens and spacey detective Max Mariner (Pullman) struggles to pinpoint a suspect, the fact that Eli was hated by nearly everyone he ever met leads the detective to suspect everyone from the prickly professor's own son to a flaky local artist who goes by the name City Hall (Dushku).

Directed like the coked-up, sopping wet fever dream of an ADHD film student who flushed all of his Ritalin, Nobel Son is hands-down one of the most obnoxious movies in recent memory. In the opening minutes, Paul oakenfold's throbbing, energetic techno score seems like exactly the kind of movie glue that might just hold this mess together and keep it moving. Then the realization sets in that it never goes away -- even in the dialogue scenes -- at which point it becomes not just distracting, but grotesquely overbearing. As if an entire movie set to 120 bpm wasn't annoying enough (perhaps, like being handed special glasses when you purchase a ticket to a 3-D film, audiences going to see Nobel Son should be given a pacifier and a glow stick before entering the theater), the fact that a talented cast is given little to do as the camera whooshes, swooshes, and cranes around them makes the entire experience truly frustrating. Of all of these actors, Rickman is given the most to do as the cruel, pompous laureate whose "genius side of the brain is so big that it swallowed up the civilized side," and while Steenburgen and Pullman have one or two fun character beats, the rest of the cast seems to pop in for their quirky cameos before vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared.

If a thriller is going to be "clever," it pays for the filmmakers to exercise a little restraint so the audience can have some room to reflect on the story as it twists and turns to a satisfying conclusion. Nobel Son does the exact opposite, straining to force cleverness where there is none, and then attempting to dazzle by resorting to the sort of cinematic tricks that even a coked-up, hyperactive film student would recognize as cliché. (110 mins.)

My Rating: *1/2

THE BELLS OF ST. MARY'S (1945)

Starring: Bing Crosby & Ingrid Bergman

director: Leo McCarey

Amiable if meandering sequel to GOING MY WAY, with Father O'Malley assigned to a run-down parish where Bergman is the Sister Superior. Bing introduces the sing "Aren't You Glad You're You?"

Also directed by Leo McCarey, this film has Bing Crosby returning as the modern-minded priest once again up against a headstrong opponent, Mother Superior (played by Bergman). while not as memorable as his encounter with hard-headed older priest Barry Fitzgerald in the first film, this relationship---and the movie as a whole---does have its viewing rewards. (126 mins.)

My Rating: ***

NIGHT AND DAY (1946)

Starring: Cary Grant

Director: Michael Curtiz

A life of Cole Porter, told without truth or wit. there are, however, a lot of songs, including Mary Martin singing "My Heart Belongs To Daddy." Grant also sings, with considerable talent. Directed way off the beam by Michael Curtiz.

There was no way Hollywood could make an accurate biography of Cole Porter in those days---it had to play footsie with his ruthless social lionizing and sexual proclivities---but the film stands out as a remarkable document of the performers and performances available to the cameras at the time. Where else can you see Martin doing "My Heart Belongs To Daddy" and Monty Wholley declaiming "Miss Otis Regrets"?

Music only worthy aspect of this fabricated biography-drama, stiffly played by Grant, who even sings "You're The Top." (128 mins.)

My Rating: **1/2

STIGMATA (1999)

Starring; Patricia Arquette & Gabriel Byrne

Director: Rupert Wainwright

Lights flash, water drips, doves flutter, statues cry blood, and one by one Arquette is inflicted by the wounds of Christ. That's about all anyone needs to know about Stigmata, yet another attempt to spook audiences by exposing them to eerie images of religious anomaly, with the fate of humanity ambiguously in the balance. What better actor to navigate this dark landscape than Byrne, who seems to lurk in the shadows of one spiritually skewed flick after another. Byrne plays the investigator-priest sent all over the planet to debunk Virgin Mary sightings and other claims that henpeck the Catholic Church, here corruptly embodied by Jonathan Pryce's power-hungry Cardinal Houseman. Watching him scurry to squelch evidence of Christ's true gospel, among the many absurdities the lazy script asks viewers to swallow, one wonders why Pryce agreed to play such a caricature in piffle like this. It may provide a cool, cheap thrill to hear a guttural male voice speaking Italian from Arquette's lips, and it may be superficially chilling to see her scrawl chapter and verse in an ancient language her goth Pittsburgh hairstylist couldn't possibly understand. But for a genuinely disquieting experience, it's probably better to stick to the inspiration for Stigmata and a dozen other such knockoffs: 1973's The Exorcist. (102 mins.)

My Rating; *1/2

A SINGLE MAN (2009)

Starring: Colin Firth

Director: Tom Ford

George Falconer (Firth) feels lost. Not only is he still grieving the death of his longtime companion, Jim (Matthew Goode), but he's also a Brit teaching English at a California college. He's so distraught with heartbreak that he's decided to kill himself, and proceeds to get all his affairs in order while carrying on with what otherwise would be a normal day. He gives an unusually forceful lecture to his class, revealing enough that a perceptive student, Kenny (Nicholas Hoult), senses something is wrong with the professor; collects his important financial papers from his bank; buys bullets for a handgun he owns; and makes a visit to his best friend (Julianne Moore). But throughout these methodical preparations, George keeps running into people -- a colleague's daughter, a attractive gay hustler, and the sympathetic Kenny -- who offer him glimpses of why he should stay alive.

Ford -- with co-screenwriter David Scearce -- has fashioned a remarkably good screenplay from Christopher Isherwood's novel. George is the kind of man who's very comfortable with himself, but very uncomfortable at how others will react to him -- he has an understanding that some people will never accept him because of his sexuality. His inherent Britishness makes it easy for him to hide his pain from his associates, and Firth inhabits the role with formidable grace and ease. It's pretty much impossible to believably play a clinically depressed character and make him charismatic at the same time, but Firth does it. Our hero isn't charismatic in the regular sense, but Firth expresses his intensity, intelligence, and deeply felt love for Jim with such naked honesty that it's impossible not to care for George -- to genuinely fear that he will choose death over life.

Firth dominates the film, but he's far from the only actor who gets to shine. Moore has what amounts to an extended cameo, but her typical excellence shines through as Charley -- George's boozy best friend and onetime lover. Jon Kortajarena impresses as Carlos, a young hottie George flirts with while buying gin, and with a minimum of screen time, Goode makes us understand why George would be so devoted to Jim.

Ford deserves much credit for the script, but his directorial instincts, while ambitious, don't necessarily serve the material. He overdirects, occasionally fading from color to black-and-white and back again during a single shot, and using vastly different lighting on characters that are in the same scene with each other. He's obviously good with the actors -- or, at the very least, smart enough to hire exceptionally talented performers and get out of their way -- but he pushes too hard on the visuals, something that afflicts many first-time directors, and something all the good ones outgrow.

A Single Man offers evidence that ford has a career in movies if he wants it, but it's most memorable for giving the criminally underappreciated Firth the chance to reassert himself as one of the most talented actors of his generation. (99 mins.)

My Rating: ***