Film Reviews by AS

This guy wasn't just gay, he was deliriously happy - most of the time. Liberace had a tough childhood plus the trauma of losing all his hair through illness at an early age - thus the wigs as flamboyant as the clothes - but he also possessed a wagonload of talent and twice as much ambition, a combination which would make him the world's highest-paid entertainer from the 1950s to 70s. This is a movie about the man, not so much about the music. Michael Douglas doesn't simply imitate the entertainer, he totally inhabits the character, he becomes Liberace; he would almost certainly have taken the Oscar that year, but, unfortunately, all the major distributors thought the movie 'too gay', so it went via HBO and thus wasn't eligible for the gold figurine. On release, however, the crital acclaim was virtually universal and Douglas received the Emmy. If a close personal story about a gay piano player is not your cup of tea, this isn't for you. But if you want to learn something about the legend of 'the man behind the candelabra' this is essential viewing.

At the beginning of this rubbish some twerp comes on and says it is a homage to 'no reason'. Yes, he actually says that, for no reason whatsoever. There follows a series of unconnected, pointless events, leading to a tyre running around (yes, a tyre, on its own) squashing people. That's it. The writer apparently knew very little about writing; the director apparently knew nothing about directing. Even at only 78 minutes this is a criminal waste of time.

If you're a fan of Woody Allen's verbal and physical gags, you have to see this play-turned-movie which has a flock of both every five minutes. It's the original Woody neurotic character trying to get a girl (with a little help from Humphrey Bogart) and he's never done it better. But to make sense of the proceedings and much of the dialogue and, of course, the iconic closing scene, you first must see 'Casablanca'. (If you haven't seen 'Casablanca' what planet have you been living on?)

Yes, this is a worthy subject: folks being evicted from their homes under the duress of a crooked realtor. But no, it is not a thriller, more like a scrambed mockumentary. The narrative is extremely repetitive, full of holes, and relies heavily on unlikely coincidences. Shannon maintains a hard-edged persona to the point of being scary, but Garfield's characterisation is all over the place. Laura Dern's talent is utterly wasted. The end is a fizzle out.

Pierre Niney is excellent as the would-be novelist who takes one risk and then faces an ever-escalating comeuppance. Adroit plot. Believable characters. Sharp direction. And a brilliant, if heart-wrenching, twist at the end.

The sort of tale already told upteen times, and in every case a whole lot better. Cringe-making characterisations, especially of the stiff-upper-lip Brit and his cheeky working-class underling. Mundane dialogue, littered with anachronisms. Lifeless direction does nothing to boost what is essentially a very dull story.

Man spends his life interacting with computers; not playing games on them, not learning anything from them, not even enjoying porn on them, just sitting mumbling to them. His existence is as boring and pointless as the two very long hours of this movie.

Above average, low-budget sci-fi. Average acting and direction. Repetitive narrative but you won't fall asleep. The 'twist' ending is easy to spot 20 minutes in, especially if you notice (spoiler coming for all Lovecraft readers) on the chalkboard in the background, 'she is with Cthuhlu now,' though this is a nice touch from some rascal in in the design department who was asked to mock up a progess chart of scientific-sounding gobbledegook.

Robin Williams on top form, both funny and sensitive, bringing humanity, literally, to a machine. Embeth Davidtz, yes she could melt the heart of a robot. Oliver Platt, yes he can do no wrong when it comes to adding a quirky presence. Intelligent, thought-provoking script with tight direction and great production design. Two boxes of tissues needed for the ending.

Never before have so many one-dimensional characters inhabited the same space. Never before has such dire dialogue been uttered. Never before have so many inconsistences been so blindingly obvious. The plot is the usual stuff: scientists/soldiers/explorers trek through jungle to be systematically bumped off by giant lizards/birds/spiders. The narrative is as dilapidated as the escape boat which the trekkers cobble together from old airplane parts, as shot through with holes as Kong would be if the thousands of bullets from hand guns/machine guns/rifles had penetrated his hide. The ape himself? No bigger/hairier/scarier than any of his forebears (or foreapes). Action? Virtually non-stop: men slaughtering beasts/beasts slaughtering men/beasts slaughtering each other. But it's all been done so many times in so many movies this overkill is now just boring. If you liked '10,000 BC', 'Godzilla' (1998), '2012' you might enjoy this. If you loved the original 'King Kong' stay well away.

Liam Neeson, as always, is Liam Neeson, but he makes a pretty good Matt Scudder as portrayed in Lawrence Block's series of novels. The pacing and feel are also reminiscent of the books, a good job by the director who doesn't fall into cliché mode of camera zooming around to overloud background music as per 'Miami Vice'. The plot is tight, the action convincing and the various characters neatly fleshed out. It is to be hoped we see this Matt Scudder again.

Washington is perfect as the quiet, book-reading loner who turns into a merciless killing machine. Fast-paced narrative with enough introspection to keep from running out of control. No loud intrusive music. Not much profanity. Violence with style. 'Equalizer2' would be welcome.

Not much of a narrative arc; flimsy plot; some overwrought acting; a clutch of good gags. This is Woody Allen veering toward his self-indulgent mode. Falls somewhere between the comedy of 'Play it Again, Sam' and the introspection of 'Husbands and Wives'. More of a lesson in movie-making than an entertainment.

A shambolic labyrinthine plot, cobbled together from three Chandler short stories. So? Just enjoy Bogart and Bacall whose chemistry scorches holes in the screen; direction as sharp as gunshots; one-liners to die for.

No hands coming through walls, no faces melting, no insects pouring out of ears, no hooded figures in the corner. But this is a very disturbing movie. Mia Farrow grows increasingly paranoid over the actions of her neighbours. Are they really just cosy elderly folk? Is she actually going nuts? This was the one that led the way, spawning a thousand rip-offs, send-ups and copies; some of them good, most of them rubbish. Polanski, as always, shows the art of subtle directing. Classic.