A former professional baseball player who was dropped from his winning team after he failed a seemingly easy task on the field. Now, he is a washed up alcoholic, who forgets his daughter's age, and continues refusing to get a "real job". But Calvin Campbell (Kristoffer Polaha) isn't all that bad. In the middle of his midlife crisis, he meets a young man at the grocery store working at the produce aisle. Produce (David DeSanctis) has downs syndrome, and a tremendously loving heart. A loving heart that can warm even the most blackened and damaged person, like Calvin.
Continue: Where Hope Grows Trailer
For a long time, a cult has centered around one of the era's most talked about titles: My Bloody Valentine. With most of its violence cut out and a "blue collar" perspective on the carnage, it remains for many a good time guilty pleasure. Now Lionsgate has seen fit to remake the movie, using an old '50s gimmick as a selling point -- and you know what, it works like a blood-spattered charm.
Continue reading: My Bloody Valentine 3-D Review
Sean (Kerr Smith), a struggling film editor for a B-movie studio, heads out onto the road from LA to deliver a vintage Mercedes and attend his sister's wedding in Florida. Along the way, he picks up Nick (Brendan Fehr), a hitchhiker with a lame beard who sweats profusely and holds a hidden agenda. During a rest stop, Sean and Nick pick up a dazed girl named Megan (Izabella Miko), an apparent vampire victim who was left for dead by a nightcrawler gang roaming the countryside.
Continue reading: The Forsaken Review
Just from the press book, Hit and Runway had the smell of a misguided idea. A gay, Jewish man and a straight, masculine Italian guy join pen and prose together to write the perfect movie script for action superstar Jagger Stevens. The Italian guy is homophobic and doesn't understand the meaning of irony. The Jewish guy is Woody Allen's lost twin brother who berates everything and everyone around him with "witty" Allen-esque dialogue. It's a quirky romantic comedy about a straight man and a gay man coming to terms with each other's personal identities and dreams and learning to love, and yadda yadda yadda...
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Once upon a time George Lucas -- the man who virtually invented the "Bigger! Faster! More!" school of blockbuster filmmaking -- was a freshly minted film school graduate stretching tiny budgets into entire worlds. "THX 1138," currently showing in a new director's cut, was one of his oddest, earliest efforts, and one of the slowest and most deliberately minimalist science fiction films ever made.
Shot in San Francisco's then-uncompleted BART tunnels on a relatively low budget with the help of producer Francis Ford Coppola, Lucas shamelessly cribs from Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" and George Orwell, not to mention tidbits from Carl Dreyer's "The Passion of Joan of Arc" and other classic films. But at the same time, fans can get a glimpse of early "Star Wars" ideas simmering on the back burner.
Continue reading: THX 1138 (The Director's Cut) Review
My favorite part of every modern vampire movie is the inevitable scene in which the vampire leader (if the bloodsuckers are the protagonists) or the vampire hunter (if they're the antagonists) explains to an uninitiated character that all the popular myths about vampires are completely inaccurate.
"Here's the truth" they always say, then go on to explain the vampire rules made up to fit the plot shortcomings of that particular movie.
In "The Forsaken" -- a glossy, gory, half-heartedly hip attempt to remake "The Lost Boys" for the "Coyote Ugly" generation -- the ghouls are little more than Gap models with faded tans. They don't have fangs, they don't have any supernatural powers to speak of, and they're too lazy even to kill with a good old-fashioned bite to the jugular. They generally just shoot their prey and quaff their fill of plasma from the bullet wound. What a bunch of slackers.
Continue reading: The Forsaken Review
"Hit and Runway" is the kind of shoestring budget, mock-autobiographical, tongue-in-cheek film festival trinket that has an endearing charm despite the fact that it just screams "my first feature."
Written and directed by unpolished rookie Christopher Livingson, the story is about Alex (Michael Parducci), a hopelessly inept struggling screenwriter whose only ambition is to get rich banging out simplistic action movies in which the hero sleeps with supermodels and belts out zingers like "Freeze you scuzbucket piece of Eurotrash!"
He lives in the basement of his family's Greenwich Village cafe, busses tables part time and dreams of signing a ruggedly wooden action megastar named Jagger Evans (Hoyt Richards) to one of his creations.
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"Final Destination" begins with an unusually fresh and amply terrifying scene in which a nondescript horror movie prototeen (Devon Sawa) has a vivid, realistic, and special effects-laden premonition that the 747 he's just boarded will explode on take-off.
In his vision, the cabin shakes violently, overhead compartments blast open and passengers scramble desperately for dropping air masks just before a fireball rips down the aisles. To the audience, it feels like the theater seats have been transported onboard the quaking airliner.
Snapped awake in a sweat from his incubus, Sawa ("Idle Hands") flips out and bolts for the exit. When his friends try to calm him down, they all get dragged off the plane and left in the terminal where they watch helplessly as -- you guessed it -- the jet goes kaplewy in mid-air, killing everyone aboard.
Continue reading: Final Destination Review
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