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Reviews14
Placemat's rating
Populating a remake of a foreign film with well-known American actors helps to attract an American audience who otherwise might not watch the original. The makers of "The Grudge" have brought in Sarah Michelle Gellar for Takashi Shimizu's American reworking of his own "Ju-on." While "The Grudge" succeeds in being a masterful film in its own right, placed alongside the original it still cannot weather some drop-off in the chill factor.
In "Ju-on" a curse envelopes and dispatches ordinary people for no apparent rhyme or reason besides bad luck. The film's success has its basis in its ability to sustain throughout its running time, a permeating mood of unease. The obscurity of its actors (especially for a foreign audience) coupled with the banality of the film's minimalist, documentary look creates a sense for the audience that they are watching something real. Once this perception of ordinariness is established, whenever something surreal and out of place appears in frame, the effect is truly unsettling.
Unfortunately, the introduction of Gellar (as well as Bill Pullman and others) in the remake thwarts the attempt to cast the same spell. While there is nothing technically wrong with Gellar's performance, her very identifiability is a liability. Her presence signals too loudly that the person on screen is an actress and calls too much attention to the film as "film." Similarly, the Hollywood gloss of the film's look also takes some of the polish off the original's simulated realism.
Since most of "The Grudge" is shot-for-shot identical to the original, the remake still is expert in generating its fair amount of shocks. (Furthermore, "The Grudge" also reveals the origins of the curse for those for whom explanations are a plus.) As with "Ringu" and its remake, the recommendation to the viewer who desires maximum queasiness would be in favor of the original.
In "Ju-on" a curse envelopes and dispatches ordinary people for no apparent rhyme or reason besides bad luck. The film's success has its basis in its ability to sustain throughout its running time, a permeating mood of unease. The obscurity of its actors (especially for a foreign audience) coupled with the banality of the film's minimalist, documentary look creates a sense for the audience that they are watching something real. Once this perception of ordinariness is established, whenever something surreal and out of place appears in frame, the effect is truly unsettling.
Unfortunately, the introduction of Gellar (as well as Bill Pullman and others) in the remake thwarts the attempt to cast the same spell. While there is nothing technically wrong with Gellar's performance, her very identifiability is a liability. Her presence signals too loudly that the person on screen is an actress and calls too much attention to the film as "film." Similarly, the Hollywood gloss of the film's look also takes some of the polish off the original's simulated realism.
Since most of "The Grudge" is shot-for-shot identical to the original, the remake still is expert in generating its fair amount of shocks. (Furthermore, "The Grudge" also reveals the origins of the curse for those for whom explanations are a plus.) As with "Ringu" and its remake, the recommendation to the viewer who desires maximum queasiness would be in favor of the original.
With the bar set high by the "Spider-Man" and "X-Men" franchises, today there is a certain expectation for movie adaptations of comic books. "Catwoman" fails to live up to the simple expectation that such a movie be more entertaining than "Daredevil." It is as if the filmmakers simply stopped thinking beyond the concept of "Halle Berry in a catsuit," and could not be bothered to fit around her an engaging story, a memorable villain, or colorful supporting characters. And most toxic of all is Berry's performance itself.
Nearly a decade ago another film similarly tried to coast on the sex appeal of its central character. While "Barb Wire" did bomb at the box office, it nonetheless offered up entertainment. Pamela Anderson, as the title character, displayed little acting talent; as a walking, talking caricature, however, she thoroughly infected the movie with trashy appeal. Her utterly guileless line-readings even made the deadly dialogue spring to life. ("Don't call me 'Babe'!")
Neither blessed (nor cursed) with Anderson's larger-than-life persona, Berry turns in an earnest performance not so distinguishable from her "Storm" in the "X-Men" movies, minus some garments. Whereas there she blended in as part of an ensemble, Berry's blandness is brought front and center here. Oscar-winning performance not withstanding, Berry's lack of range renders her transformation from timid Patience Phillips to Catwoman a mere cosmetic costume change from dowdy to S&M; she displays no matching inner change, aside from playing up some cattiness. And this exposes a fundamental weakness in the casting of Berry as Catwoman: instead of a transformation of a girl into a woman, the girl remains, only playing dress-up. The role required an actress who could project the sly, worldly adultness of previous Catwomen Eartha Kitt and Michelle Pfeiffer.
But then again, with nothing else in place to prop up the central character, even better-suited actresses would be hard-pressed to transcend this material. Sharon Stone, as the villain, here lacks the charisma she brought to "Basic Instinct," "Total Recall," or even episodes of "The Practice." Benjamin Bratt ends up almost as anonymous as the rest of the supporting characters. And the only thing director Pitof brings to the table with semblance a comic book is his name.
Successful comic books achieve the illusion of fluidity from panel to panel. In "Catwoman" the effect is the exact opposite: The movie always feels oddly static, as if entire scenes are stuck in singular panels. Fittingly enough, "Catwoman" never seems intended to be anything more than the movie equivalent of a Maxim magazine photo spread. And the costume itself reflects this entirely: Ill-suited for fighting, and made to fall off during a pillow fight at a soft-core slumber party.
Nearly a decade ago another film similarly tried to coast on the sex appeal of its central character. While "Barb Wire" did bomb at the box office, it nonetheless offered up entertainment. Pamela Anderson, as the title character, displayed little acting talent; as a walking, talking caricature, however, she thoroughly infected the movie with trashy appeal. Her utterly guileless line-readings even made the deadly dialogue spring to life. ("Don't call me 'Babe'!")
Neither blessed (nor cursed) with Anderson's larger-than-life persona, Berry turns in an earnest performance not so distinguishable from her "Storm" in the "X-Men" movies, minus some garments. Whereas there she blended in as part of an ensemble, Berry's blandness is brought front and center here. Oscar-winning performance not withstanding, Berry's lack of range renders her transformation from timid Patience Phillips to Catwoman a mere cosmetic costume change from dowdy to S&M; she displays no matching inner change, aside from playing up some cattiness. And this exposes a fundamental weakness in the casting of Berry as Catwoman: instead of a transformation of a girl into a woman, the girl remains, only playing dress-up. The role required an actress who could project the sly, worldly adultness of previous Catwomen Eartha Kitt and Michelle Pfeiffer.
But then again, with nothing else in place to prop up the central character, even better-suited actresses would be hard-pressed to transcend this material. Sharon Stone, as the villain, here lacks the charisma she brought to "Basic Instinct," "Total Recall," or even episodes of "The Practice." Benjamin Bratt ends up almost as anonymous as the rest of the supporting characters. And the only thing director Pitof brings to the table with semblance a comic book is his name.
Successful comic books achieve the illusion of fluidity from panel to panel. In "Catwoman" the effect is the exact opposite: The movie always feels oddly static, as if entire scenes are stuck in singular panels. Fittingly enough, "Catwoman" never seems intended to be anything more than the movie equivalent of a Maxim magazine photo spread. And the costume itself reflects this entirely: Ill-suited for fighting, and made to fall off during a pillow fight at a soft-core slumber party.