Zepheus

It seems kind of funny to call this film economical -- considering how much money was spent just to create its enormous sets -- but that's exactly what this film is. Clocking at just over two hours (the original version was 155 minutes), it feels as if there isn't more than a shot a minute. Of course, there doesn't need to be. Each shot is so carefully composed and each setting so meticulously organized that all the information we need is there in the frame. And it's a lot of information. Things are happening in the foreground, in the background and everywhere in between. It's impossible to see it all in one viewing, or two, or three.

Some viewers might be bored if they only watch "the action," as in those characters that seem to be at the crux of a particular scene. But rather than simply watching one set of characters, the eye must wander from one area of the screen to another in an attempt to catch everything that happens. Tati is a master of the subtle joke: a toy airplane slowly melts in the background while characters complain of the heat; a travel agency containing travel posters for different countries, where all the posters features the same modern building.

Builders spent three years constructing Tati's sets, and it was time well spent. The movie shows a Paris of glass facades and transparent buildings. The lack of privacy is seen as modern and even futuristic as opposed to invasive, which it most definitely is. In all films, we are the viewer, with no true interaction between us and the media. (A film plays for us, and we watch and listen, with no control over the outcome. We can scream and yell and tell characters not to go upstairs all we want, but it doesn't change anything.) In Playtime, however, we're the voyeur, watching lives from a distance, through plates of glass and over shoulders. These are spectacles put up for our amusement; things meant to be seen but left unencumbered by outside influences.

Playtime follows two other films starring the same character of Hulot, Vacances de Monsieur Hulot, Les (M. Hulot's Holiday) and Mon Oncle. These other films also deal with the "advancement" of the modern world and are definitely worth checking out. But Playtime is truly Tati's opus, with the grandest settings and the fullest expression of idea. It's true that nobody makes films like this any more. I doubt that anyone could.

Let me set the scene for you. It's March of 1991. Exxon has just agreed to pay $1 billion to clean up the Exxon Valdez oil spill. Rodney King is beaten by Los Angeles police officers. The Gulf War nears its end. These are serious times, and the people need a serious movie. Instead, they get Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze. Thanks, Hollywood.

Wait a minute. Maybe Turtles 2 is exactly what America needed, a movie that required no thought, no emotional attachment and gave you a few quick laughs. In the first movie, the four turtles have a serious cathartic experience. They fear Splinter is dead, and have a vision of him, where he tells them he loves them all. In the second film, there's none of that mushy, gooey, completely enjoyable stuff. The filmmakers care little about things like catharsis and character motivation. The one thing that could be considered important in that sense just comes across as pointless, and is wrapped up with a single line. "Leonardo, I am your father." Okay, I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea.

Anyway, catharsis and character just get in the way of quick jokes and rap numbers. Yes, I am being sarcastic, but the point still stands. What's important to this movie is the "Good Time Factor." 'Are you having a good time,' and almost more importantly, 'are the characters having a good time?' For that second question, all signs point to yes. Donatello, Michaelangelo, Leonard and Raphael are clearly enjoying themselves, as far as four grown men in giant rubber turtle costumes can enjoy themselves. They play football with pizza, dance to rap songs written on the fly specifically for and about them, and fight using cold cuts.

So, you may ask, why do I like this movie despite all of this? But actually, I like Turtles 2 because all of this. It's a chance to not give a damn about anything, and have a slight chuckle at the exploits of four annoying turtles. On my scale of Nintendo games (1 being Deadly Towers and 10 being Super Mario Brothers 3), this rates a Toobin', because it's mostly gibberish and totally unnecessary but still offers a good time every once in a while.

This is a review of The Wizard, not to be confused with The Wiz, or Mr. Wizard. The Wizard is a late-eighties film about a seriously silent boy's ability to play video games and walk during the entire opening credits. The Wiz is an unnecessary update of The Wizard of Oz, and Mr. Wizard is that guy that attached 100 straws together and had some kid drink tang out of it.

Now that we've gotten all that out of the way, let me say this: there's really no reason to see this movie. It's simply a 100 minute Nintendo commercial designed to capitalize on the Powerglove, the Legend of Zelda and Super Mario Brothers 3. I use the word "designed" in the loosest sense possible, because it seems like this movie was written over a weekend by a crack team of people who had never played Nintendo, and directed by a man with less sense of style than my grandmother. Maybe if the writer and director sat down and actually played some games together, they'd realize that they were about to film total rubbish and instead go to vocational school to learn how to install car stereos.

I hope that this has been an enlightening experience for you. It sure hasn't been for me. In fact, I think I might have lost a few braincells in the act of watching this movie and writing about it. Next time you're at the video store and you see the The Wiz, The Wizard and The Wizard of Oz all sitting there on the shelf in a pretty little row, give them all a miss and play Duck Hunt instead.