An ace bad man almost gets his due

When John Dillinger was shot outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago on a July night in 1934, Jack Lait of the International News service reported the event in the kind of pulpy prose that defined some of the day's best journalism: "John Dillinger, ace bad man of the world, got his last night -- two slugs through his heart and one through his head," wrote Lait.

Lait went on to report an astonishing array of details surrounding Dillinger's death. Souvenir hunters raced to the scene to dip newspapers and handkerchiefs in the bloody spot where Dillinger's body had fallen. Dillinger, who robbed banks of thousands of dollars, had $7.70 in his pocket when he was shot. Dillinger's fingertips had been dipped in acid so that he might elude identification. He'd also had a facelift, presumably for similar reasons.

I thought about Lait's description of Dillinger -- ace bad man of the world -- while I watched "Public Enemies, " director Michael Mann's carefully crafted, richly designed look at Dillinger's criminal career, beginning with his release from jail in 1933 and extending through that fateful night when Dillinger spent his final hours in the Biograph watching Clark Gable in "Manhattan Melodrama." Gable played gangster Edward J. 'Blackie' Gallagher in a story about a couple of kids who found their destinies on separate paths. Gallagher led a life of crime. The other kid -- William Powell's James W. 'Jim' Wade -- grew up to be a DA. It was a classic story: Two men from the same side of the tracks wound up on opposite sides of the legal fence.

In its own subdued way, Mann's movie also follows two men: Dillinger (Johnny Depp) and the man charged with bringing him to justice, the FBI's Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale). But this time the waters are muddied by ambiguity. Dillinger is as brutal as he is attractive, a man committed to living in the moment. And Purvis is too one-dimensional to be admirable.

Bale, an actor of scowling intensity, portrays Purvis as a man of keen focus. By way of contrast, Depp's Dillinger sometimes allows his mind to wander, particularly when it comes to women. According to the movie, Dillinger fell head over heels for Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard). He kept her picture in his pocket watch. It wasn't Billie who betrayed Dillinger, tipping the cops as to his whereabouts, but another woman (Branka Katic).

The movie's meaning probably can be found in an anti-organizational tilt that haunts -- and perhaps diminishes -- this eagerly awaited edition to the gangster genre. Dillinger killed and robbed banks, but he worked as an independent. The FBI and organized crime -- represented by Purvis and gangster Frank Nitti (Bill Camp) -- couldn't tolerate lone actors. Both criminal and legal institutions relied on muscle and organizational heft, eschewing Dillinger's improvisational bravado. Both the FBI, which sought to arrest him, and the Mafia, which stopped laundering Dillinger's money, ultimately turned against the notorious thief. Meanwhile, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup) seemed as interested in building the FBI's power base as he was in catching murderous crooks.

Based on a 2004 book by Bryan Burroughs, "Public Enemies" may be a little too eager to toe the historical line, sketching out details such as the one described above, often at the expense of characterization. It's difficult to know much about Dillinger's cohorts from watching this picture, and the romance between Cotillard -- who won an Oscar for portraying Edith Piaf in "La vie en rose" -- isn't well-enough developed. Oddly, Cottilard has her best and most furious moments when she's not on screen with Depp, but when the police capture her and try to beat her into submission. They try -- in vain as it turns out -- to get Billie to tell them where to find Dillinger.

Of course, there's explosive gunplay. The night the FBI tries to capture Dillinger at the Little Bohemia Lodge in Wisconsin features a hail of bullets flashing vividly out of the darkness.

Depp, an actor geared more toward off-kilter charm than snarling bombast, tones down the gangster cliches. It's an original performance, if not always a commanding one. And in the end, I wasn't entirely sure that Mann had found a thematic statement that transcended all the period details. His observations about crime and law enforcement are not entirely fresh, and too many characters come and go without giving the actors a chance to develop them. Included in this list are some pretty good actors, Giovanni Ribisi and Lily Taylor, for example.

Mann, a director of obvious talent and fierce interests, has entered revered genre territory. In trying to avoid convention -- he may have thrown out a few bullets of excitement along with the smoking gun of cliche. There's no giddy pleasure in the movie's robberies (as in, say, "Bonnie and Clyde") and not much sense of a tragic fall, either. Artful detailing doesn't necessarily make for a great movie. Maybe the ace bad man of the world deserved some of the pulp sensibility that made Jack Lait's story leap off the page with the spark of an exploding flash bulb.

Here's the way Lait ended his lead paragraph: "It took 27 of them (FBI agents) to end Dillinger's career, and their strength came out of his weakness -- a woman."

There's more pure melodrama in that sentence than in a lot of "Public Enemies." And when it comes to gangster movies, melodrama isn't always a bad thing.

'Cheri' misses an urgent edge

A variety of failures -- all of them mild -- turn "Cheri," an adaptation of two of Colette's Parisian novels, into a surprisingly bloodless costume drama, a movie full of love and sex that never generates enough heat.

Stephen Frears, who directed "Dangerous Liaisons" from a script by playwright Christopher Hampton, would seem an ideal choice to direct this Hampton-written screenplay about the doomed romance between an aging courtesan (Michelle Pfeiffer, another "Dangerous Liaisons" alum) and her 19-year-old lover (Rupert Friend).

As is often the case, what seems ideal falls short of perfection. An English-speaking cast can't find the fire that could have liberated "Cheri" from its period trappings. Friend's character -- affectionately called Cheri by Pfeiffer's Lea -- comes off like a world-class mope, and Pfeiffer can't quite master Lea's alternating moods of desolation and calculation. Lea suffers deeply when Cheri abandons her, but Pfeiffer's performance doesn't suggest enough of Lea's strength.

Felicity Jones signs on as Edmee, the woman who Cheri's mother (Kathy Bates) chooses for him. Bates finds the requisite vitality for her role; she's playing a woman who knows how to kill with a compliment.

Burdened by a narration which Frears himself delivers, the movie tries for a last-minute helping of shock, but Frears never succeeds in giving the material the agonized life it demands. Beautifully conceived by production designer Alan MacDonald, "Cheri" can feel more designed than lived in.

"Cheri" probably doesn't deserve to be tarnished with a "middle brow'' label, but it comes uncomfortably close, something that you don't really expect from Frears, whose movies -- from "My Beautiful Laudrette" to "Dirty Pretty Things" -- usually have been put a skillful finger on the nearest cutting edge.

A law suit, leukemia and lots of tears

"My Sister's Keeper" raises a powerful question but cops out before providing an answer. Although parts of this weepie -- those dealing with a young woman dying of cancer -- put a lump in my throat, the movie proved intellectually unsatisfying. This is not a small matter because the best movies allow the head and heart to work in tandem.

Director Nick Cassavetes, adapting a 2004 bestseller by Jodi Picoult and working from a script he co-wrote with Jeremy Leven, tries to tell too many stories when one would have sufficed. Cassavetes' soft-focus approach to narrative echoes throughout, as the movie offers shifting points of view. At various times, each member of the Fitzgerald family offers voice-over guidance.

For me, the most intriguing part of the story involves a suit brought by 11-year-old Anna Fitzgerald (Abigail Breslin) against her parents. Anna contacts a lawyer (Alec Baldwin) she's seen on TV: She wants "medical emancipation" from her parents. Breslin's Anna is a donor child, a kid conceived so that her parents might find a way to help keep her older sister Kate (Sofia Vassileva) alive. For years, Anna's body has been supplying Kate with organic material vital to her survival.

When the movie opens, Kate -- now a teen-ager -- needs a kidney transplant, but Anna finally has decided to draw a line in the sand. She's tired of being subjected to painful medical procedures that may threaten the quality of her future.

In some ways, the movie's most interesting character is Sara Fitzgerald (Cameron Diaz), a stubborn mother who presides over her oldest daughter's illness with the ferocity of a warrior. It's not that Sara doesn't love Anna; it's just that she can't let go of Kate. Diaz gives her best performance in some time; she's playing a mom who has allowed tunnel vision to blind her to what may be inevitable, and Diaz seems to understand that Sara's determination teeters on -- and perhaps falls over -- the edge of selfishness.

The rest of the cast can't be faulted, either. Although he doesn't have enough to do, Jason Patric does fine as the father of the family Fitzgerald; Evan Ellingson proves convincing as the teen-age boy in the family, a kid whose problems have been lost in the frenzy that has developed around Kate.

For me, the movie's problems stem mostly from Cassavetes' treatment of the material. He uses flashbacks, which can be confusing until you realize that he's backtracking to fill in details about the story. He also relies on music-covered montages to do work that dramatization would have better accomplished, and he allows a piano-driven score to do too much of the movie's emotional heavy lifting.

I couldn't always buy the way the family acts in face of Anna's suit. Of course, there's bickering and argument, but Cassavetes doesn't show us the kind of deep-rooted tensions that would seem inevitable in such a situation.

Tastefully shot by master cinematographer Caleb Deschanel, "My Sister's Keeper" has the look and feel of a serious movie. But as the script's intentions became more apparent, I began to feel cheated. So, yes, I had a lump in my throat, but I also felt as if I'd been watching a movie that betrayed its own potential.

Three reviews of this week's art house fare

FOOD FOR THOUGHT AND ACTION
We all probably should be hungry for the kind of information dispensed in "Food, Inc.," a documentary that takes us inside corporate agriculture and provides enough information to feed your worst nightmares about the lack of nutritional value in the food we eat.

Director Robert Kenner, working with authors Michael Pollan ("In Defense of Food" and "The Omnivore's Dilemma") and Eric Schlosser ("Fast Food Nation"), reminds us that small farmers are practically extinct, that big-business bullies "independent" farmers into submission and that the result of all this corporate bludgeoning is a food supply of dubious quality. You will not leave feeling any fondness for Monsanto. The same goes for corn and corn syrup, which threaten our health and which find their way into much of our food.

The movie is divided into chapters, but at 94 minutes, it can only scratch the surface of a large and complex subject. Still, even this quick look is enough to put you off your feed.

Perhaps so that we don't totally loose hope -- or lunch -- Kenner provides a few optimistic touches. Joel Salatin, a Virginia farmer, kills animals outdoors and without the cruelty of factory operations. Additional examples of good farming practices are provided.

I can't say that "Food, Inc." is one of the best-made documentaries I've seen, but the information is both useful and appalling. So what can we do? The filmmakers make some end-of-picture suggestions, but I left feeling more informed than optimistic.


FOLLOWING A TEACHER THROUGH DEATH AND BEYOND
"Unmistaken Child' takes us inside the often-mysterious world of Tibetan Buddhism. The journey, though fascinating, may be difficult for Westerners entirely to understand. We're talking about the part of Buddhism that deals with the reincarnation of a Tibetan master in the person of a one-year-old child living in a Nepalese backwater. Israeli director Nati Baratz approaches the subject as a neutral outsider, following developments in a carefully presented and illuminating way. Whatever you think about reincarnation, the movie proves a fascinating look at a venerable culture. It also demonstrates the remarkable devotion of a monk to his beloved teacher, a teacher he believes he has served during the course of two lives. "Unmistaken Child" is showing as part of Landmark's calendar program and is slated to run for one week at the Esquire.

HOW FAR SHOULD ONE GO TO MAKE A POINT?

With a movie entitled "The Stoning of Soraya M.," a plot summary is almost superfluous. This stark and unremitting movie is based on a book by Friedoune Sahebjam, which told the true story a murder that took place shortly after the establishment of the Islamic republic in Iran. Working in broad, often obvious strokes, director Cyrus Nowrastehtells the story of Soraya (Mozhan Marno), a woman who refuses to divorce her boorish husband (Navid Negahban). He wants to abandon her and her two sons financially so that he can marry a younger woman. In a male-dominated society, Soraya doesn't stand much of a chance. She has few allies in her village, aside from a sympathetic and outspoken aunt (Shohreh Aghdashloo). Looking for a way out of his marriage, Nagahban's character falsely accuses Soraya of adultery, an offense punishable by death. Hence, the movie's title.

The story's moral lines are clearly drawn, but the movie's willingness to go the distance -- showing the stoning -- makes it difficult to watch and raises a troubling question: Would we have been less inclined to see this injustice without an explicit look at the stoning or is seeing this bit of barbarism essential to our understanding? It's impossible not to feel for Soraya, but I think the movie stirred up enough justifiable outrage about the oppressive treatment of women long before the stoning arrives. Meanwhile, A framing device involving a French journalist (James Caviezel) who listens to the story as told by Aghdashloo's character doesn't add enough to justify its inclusion.

And the losers were.....

What do the following movies have in common?

I'll answer the question before I give you the list, which is presented in alphabetical order. Not one of these highly regarded films was nominated for a best-picture Oscar. A reader suggested that it might be instructive to compile a list of such overlooked movies, perhaps to make the case for Wednesday's announcement that The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will increase the number of movies nominated for best picture from five to 10 for its 82nd edition.

So here goes:

Body and Soul
Bringing Up Baby
City Lights
Hud
Psycho
Rear Window
Red River
The Searchers
Singin' in the Rain
Some Like It Hot
Sullivan's Travels
2001: A Space Odyssey
White Heat
The Wild Bunch

If you want a comprehensive list of pictures that were not nominated for best picture, check out amc's filmsite, and feel free to add your own favorite non-nominated pictures to this list.

Ten movies will vie for best-picture Oscar

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Wednesday announced that it will double the number of best-picture nominees from five to 10, starting with Oscar's 82nd edition. For more than 60 years, the Academy has been following the five-picture format. Increasing the number of best-picture nominees probably will make fans of certain films happy, and the move may even make room for comedies, action-oriented films and box-office smashes. The expansion to 10 films also may push the Academy away from a trend -- with exceptions, of course -- that has tended toward recognition of independent and smaller pictures that don't always have wide audience appeal. But if 2009 keeps moving in ts current direction, I wonder where the Academy will find 10 worthy films of any kind. The next round of Oscar nominees will be unveiled on Feb. 2 of 2010.

The best-picture winners of the last 10 years:
2008, "Slumdog Millionaire"
2007, "No Country For Old Men"
2006, "The Departed"
2005, "Crash"
2004, "Million Dollar Baby"
2003, "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King"
2002, "Chicago"
2001, "A Beautiful Mind"
2000, "Gladiator"
1999, "American Beauty"

'Transformers:' revenge on the ear drums

If you can't make it better, make it so overwhelmingly chaotic, it will leave audiences speechless.

That seems to be the credo followed by director Michael Bay, who assembled "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen," a sense-shattering sequel to the 2007 original. Less a movie than a clangorous mixture of heavy-metal sound and frantic visual effects, "Revenge" spans an agonizing two hours and 29 minutes. But, hey, there's a plus side of the ledger: The CIA finally may have found a replacement for the now-discredited practice of water boarding. Show this movie -- particularly its endless finale -- to suspected terrorists, and they're bound to reveal their deepest secrets. Anything to stop the noise.

The sound of clanging metal drowns out a confusing plot that begins in prehistoric times and leaps to the present, a time when Autobots and Decepticons -- it's not always easy to tell one transformer from another -- battle it out. The Autobots are on the side of the Earthlings, but humans pretty much serve as bystanders in a movie that probably will rake in enough coin to match its ungodly decibel levels.

In this installment, Shia LeBeouf's Sam Witwicky has enrolled in college, where he spends what seems like two seconds in pursuit of knowledge. Forget school, the movie quickly turns into a race to save the Earth from a Decepticon that wants to destroy the sun. To avert tragedy, Sam must bring Optimus Prime -- the transformer as savior-- back to life. Sam's helped in his task by the loyal Bumblebee and by Megan Fox, who plays Sam's mechanically inclined girlfriend. She's introduced in short shorts with the camera indelicately pointed toward her posterior.

You'll have to see the movie to understand what it means if you see people running from the theater screaming, "The Decepticons are coming! The Decepticons are coming!" The Decepticons, as you may have gathered, are bad transformers.

The supporting cast includes Ramon Rodriquez as Leo, Sam's college roommate. John Turturro returns as a former government agent who helps Sam on his quest to save the Earth, a task that struck me as less important than finding a way to bring the movie to a halt.

But here's the deal. As much as the movie can drive adults crazy, it may turn kids into an appreciative horde.

Consider a youngster at a preview screening whose unrestrained cry sounded as the opening credits rolled, "I've been waiting a year for this" he yelled. At the end of the movie, the same kid (I think it was the same kid) screamed out, "Go to hell Decepticons."

All I can tell you is that his voice had yet to change.

For me, the only thing transformed by this second helping was my already diminished hearing. My ear drums took a beating I wouldn't wish on anyone -- not even Michael Bay.

'Year One:' a collection of hits and misses

"Year One," a new comedy starring Jack Black and Michael Cera, is a spectacular mess, which is another way of saying that the movie offers a variety of haphazard pleasures and silly asides. I arrived at "Year One" with low expectations and was surprised that I enjoyed any of its goofy humor.

Put another way, you can watch "Year One" without wanting to bolt into the lobby and smash your head against the concession stand. This may not sound like high praise, but if you've seen the movie's unimpressive trailer, you know what I mean. Prehistorical life may not be hysterical, but it does make room for some laughs.

Among the movie's better offerings: director Harold Ramis' total disregard for chronological credibility, Cera's guileless looks, which in this context, border on the preposterous, and Oliver Platt's gloriously bizarre turn as the High Priest of Sodom.

Ramis, who has directed such comedies as "Caddyshack," Groundhog Day," and "National Lampoon's Vacation," knows how to handle silly comedy, although he sometimes succumbs to the kind of gross-out demands that have become mandatory in most current comedies. To wit: I could have done without a scene in which Black, as the arrogant Zed, eats what he believes to be human excrement.

Zed's eating habits propel the movie from a prehistoric comedy to biblical spoof. Early on, Zed eats from the forbidden tree of knowledge, a transgression that leads to expulsion from his tribe. Zed and Oh -- Cera's character -- then embark on an adventure that inexplicably brings them into contact with bible stories: Cain and Abel and Abraham and Isaac, for example.

These episodes are followed by a trip to Sodom, where the movie settles for a mixed bag of comic chaos. At times, Black and Cera come on like a dumbed-down version Hope and Crosby in their road-movie period. But Black has his own style -- bombast mixed with stupidity -- and Cera remains the screen's most engaging nerd. At the outset of the picture, Oh defines himself as a gatherer as opposed to Zed, who's a hunter. Together, they're a ridiculous mix of passive and aggressive tendencies.

The supporting cast seems to have been inspired by Ramis' direction. Notable are Hank Azaria as Abraham, David Cross as Cain and, of course, Platt as the High Priest, a blubbery mass of sybaritic impulses and polymorphous perversity. Hey, what do you expect? He's a big shot in Sodom, not Salt Lake.

Ramis and his fellow screenwriters -- Gene Stupnitsky and Lee Eisenberg -- seem to be operating without benefit of a game plan and spoofs about religion don't exactly break new ground, but there are enough good bits here to keep the comedy from sinking and rather than indulging himself in an orgy of special-effects, Ramis relies on the skills of some very capable comic actors. Smart choice, even when the comedy is at its dumbest.

Sandra Bullock's formula frolic

Sandra Bullock tries to make up for lost time (three years without a picture) in "The Proposal," a romantic comedy that follows the dictates of formula so closely you wonder whether the screenwriter wasn't forced to swear a blood oath to predictability. But here's where things get tricky. There's always some pleasure in watching actors adroitly handle the demands of formula, particularly in a comedy that doesn't offer many other satisfactions. Had "The Proposal" been content to tread a screwball path toward love, it might have achieved something better than pleasing mediocrity, but the movie ultimately drowns its small supply of intelligence in a bath of soggy sentiment.

The movie's major conceit seems to have rolled off a high-concept assembly line: As ruthless publishing executive Margaret Tate, Bullock gives Andrew (Ryan Reynolds), her assistant, a preposterous order: He must marry her. A Canadian citizen on the verge of being deported for a visa violation, Margaret needs to legitimize herself in order to keep her job.

As part of the ruse, Margaret and Andrew visit his parents in Alaska, where they announce their engagement and begin the awkward journey toward love, a trip made easier by the fact that Andrew's well-heeled family resides in a sprawling mansion.

The trip to Alaska allows director Anne Fletcher ("27 Dresses") to introduce the movie's secondary characters, Andrew's mom (Mary Steenburgen), his dad (Craig T. Nelson) and his feisty, foul-mouthed grandma (Betty White). These characters add a meet-the-in-laws twist to the already contrived proceedings, which include a scene in which a naked Andrew and Margaret bump into each other, causing much frantic hiding of body parts.

A small digression involves a conflict between Andrew and his dad. Dad wants Andrew to put aside his foolish publishing ambitions and take over the family business.

The script by Pete Chairelli eagerly sacrifices credibility in the service of fish-out-of-water comedy. Wouldn't a smart businesswoman know enough not wear stiletto heels on an Alaskan trip that's going to require her to climb down a ladder into the small boat that takes her to the island where Andrew's family lives?

Oh well, such are the exaggerations of entertainment. Bullock, one of the film's producers, knows how to play this kind of sour-to-sweet role. Reynolds gamely joins in. The two of them won't likely dislodge Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant from any romcom pantheon, but they're good enough to keep the movie humming. "The Proposal" probably will enjoy a brisk commercial life, but it should have done a better job hiding its contrivances, preferably under blankets of wit.