bare-bones transport hulk is slogging its passengers past a small star system. It has a crew of three, and the passenger manifest lists about 40 assorted miners, religious pilgrims, traders. The cargo is small: some relics and Riddick (Diesel), an animalistic, sociopathic convict-murderer headed back to the slam.
But the transport is nowhere near its destination when an errant meteor shower kicks it full in the face. The near-derelict's safety systems rouse the crew, which has really no time to manage the crisis or shake out emergency procedures. The formerly spaceborne craft is now an unnavigable, dead-weight brick burning a path down to impact on a huge, amber planet.
Surface-side, at the end of a miles-long trench the hulk gouges through the barren crust, the crew and the rest reassemble and take stock. Their survival is a godsend, but they heartily thank the pilot anyway. They toast their fortune at being alive under the baking glare of a brilliant desert sun. In truth, they are still near death. Water, of which they have none, is their next big worry, as is Riddick, who has escaped in the chaos of the crash and is almost certainly stalking them.
As they search and stumble under an excess of heat, and an excess of light, they once again thank the gods for their fortune--even as they nervously glance over their shoulders for Riddick--because on the arid edge of desolation they have found an abandoned encampment with shelter, water, perhaps food and fuel. But as they more thoroughly survey the camp, they realize that their salvation is fleeting, and night is about to fall. Whatever trials this day has yielded, night will wield the greater terror....
An ensemble lights a single candle
This is absolutely one of the best science fiction films in years. The plot is as quick and lean as a whippet, the writing and dialogue are well formed and believably inventive, and the directing is fresh and unflagging. But the truly unexpected bonus is the acting, a solid effort from a largely unrecognizable cast. The most familiar names among them belong to Diesel (the voice of The Iron Giant), David (They Live, The Thing) and Black (Farscape).
In a real coup for director Twohy, this film is about as ensemble as they come, dexterously instilling in the audience the conviction that no character is expendable. That neat trick has not been as well done since John Carpenter's The Thing, and it is absolutely essential in driving the plot and developing and increasing tension. As an extra bonus, the characters actually mature and reveal themselves in believable fashion under the duress of their ordeal, and it is good old character development rather than deus ex machina that propels the plot along.
And if outstanding directing, lean, effective writing and acting won't move the audience, even action-jaded film consumers will be wildly rocked by the often breathless tumult of catastrophes, alliances and betrayals that spit out surprises on a regular basis and resmelt some over-familiar SF themes in enigmatic and compelling ways.
For a small film, Pitch Black is very big, probably the biggest and best B movie audiences have seen in decades. Unencumbered by the lavish budget of the mega-franchises, it spends its chits prudently and evenly. But economy is not cheapness, and whatever funds were spent on creature development are returned fivefold when the CGI flows impressively across the screen. It is one of those rare films that has wit and skill and money enough to match its ambition.
This film is a must-see. See it, savor it, tell your friends about it, so they make more of this kind.
-- Tamara
lgernon, every schoolchild knows, is a mouse. And not just any mouse. When it comes to running mazes, Algernon is Speedy Gonzalez and The Brain rolled into one. As 30-year-old Charlie Gordon (Modine) admiringly puts it after suffering the first of his many maze-racing defeats at the hands--er, paws--of this rodent scholar/athlete: "That is one smart mouse."
Smart is an understatement. In this made-for-TV adaptation of the classic novel by Daniel Keyes, a genetic experiment has turned Algernon into a genius among mice. Now good-hearted Charlie, a mentally challenged bakery worker with an IQ of 68, becomes the first human to undergo the experimental procedure.
The experiment is a success, and, as if making up for lost time, Charlie's brain shifts into overdrive. New worlds of scientific and artistic knowledge open to him, showering him with riches. The price he pays is the loss of an innocence he never knew he had. Suddenly Charlie sees that the men at the bakery, far from being his friends, have been laughing at him for years. When his intelligence outstrips that of Dr. Strauss (Rifkin), the brilliant scientist behind the experiment, Charlie realizes that Strauss, too, has used him. Battered by emotions he now has the capacity to perceive but not the experience to process, Charlie grows increasingly bitter. "I don't know which is worse," he rails. "To not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you always wanted to be and feel like you're alone." Only Alice Kinnian (Williams), the attractive young woman who was once his teacher, offers Charlie hope of an end to loneliness. A hope of love.
But the experiment--as these kinds of experiments are wont to do--goes awry. Algernon shows symptoms of physical and mental decline. Then Charlie's progress slows. Unless a cure can be found, the old Charlie will return...more profoundly challenged than ever.
A powerful, deeply felt drama
Like its gothic percursors Frankenstein and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Flowers for Algernon is one of those fractured fairy tales through which succeeding ages act out their wishes and anxieties. A 1968 adaptation of Flowers called
Charly--poster child for the earnest excesses of late-'60s cinematography--provided indelibly ludicrous images, such as Charlie the manchild in suit and tie teeter-tottering with kiddie playmates, Charlie as a motorcycle hoodlum in a leather jacket emblazoned "Charlie Baby," and Charlie as a smoldering seducer seemingly lifted from the pages of Ayn Rand.
Cliff Robertson's performance in Charly as Charlie Gordon may have earned him an Academy Award, but the depth and simple dignity of Modine's portrayal are more in keeping with the character as written. Modine has an extraordinary ability to express a great range of underlying emotions with his features. Watching him at his best can be exhausting--not because he is a "busy" actor, but because, as with Jeff Bridges, there is a generous and bravely translucent quality to his work. This quality serves Modine well as Charlie makes his accelerated journey from childhood to manhood.
At times the film succumbs to the siren song of easy sentiment, most notably in a schmaltzy score that is a slur to violins everywhere. Bonnie Bedelia, in her brief role as Charlie's mother, is upstaged and undone by a truly hideous makeup job. And Kelli Williams, as Alice Kinnian, Charlie's teacher and student, cries too easily and too copiously. Still, the dynamic between Alice and Charlie is strong and believable enough to carry the film over these weaker moments.
Viewers will be moved by this deeply felt and, for the most part, powerfully acted drama. Like all good science fiction, Flowers for Algernon uses the incredible to evoke the everyday triumphs and tragedies of human beings.
"Boy," Charlie remarks to Alice as they exit a movie theater after seeing Anna Karenina, "they sure made a mess of that book!" They sure could have made a mess of this one, too. You'll be glad they didn't.
-- Paul
bare-bones transport hulk is slogging its passengers past a small star system. It has a crew of three, and the passenger manifest lists about 40 assorted miners, religious pilgrims, traders. The cargo is small: some relics and Riddick (Diesel), an animalistic, sociopathic convict-murderer headed back to the slam.
