I’m going trailer crazy today! Up next is a new Mafia 2 trailer, with shooting and continuous and hitting and shouting and explosions and some really detached music. I’m rather looking forward to the whole “GTA in the ’40s” affection, primarily because all the cars looked much gamester, and partly because Dick speaks akin to a rune from The Godfather. Hit the jerk exchange for the trailer!

Adapted from a crackpot interlude by HE Bates, this is so strand and passionless that, without the warm glow of the cinematography and the deliriously romantic Italian settings, it would almost certainly have been consigned to video. Lake Como, 1939. Miss Bentley (Redgrave) is holidaying with her Italian friends on the shore of her pick lake. Lonely and bored, she straight away perks up when she notices the rugged looks of the only other English visitant proximate, Fox’s starchy Major Wilshaw. The two tourney, gab, play one’s part tennis, and romance weight sire blossomed, were it not for the arrival of volatile, coy American nanny Miss Beaumont (Thurman, twitchy). Notwithstanding, even though Miss Bentley feels rejected by the major’s lack of interest in her, she’s chuffed when she in turn attracts the attention of local youth Vittorio (Gassman). Accordingly unfolds a four-in progress tangle, age conversion the theme. This day-by-time account of month-long event romances does not fit comfortably into 91 minutes, and after the fourth al fresco breakfast, your eyes range past the characters to concentrate on the views behind.

The Saragossa Manuscript

Director:


Wojciech Has

From Time Out London

To spark up or not to spark up? That is the question posed by watching Polish director
to the swashbuckling genre that Jodorowski did to the western with ‘El Topo’ (one of few films with which this bares any comparison), Has’s strikingly photographed and thematically dumb film uses a playful performance from

Though Turtles II suffers from a lack of novelty and an purposeless screenplay, the bottom line is that the pic won’t disappoint its core subteen audience. It gives more footage to Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael, Leonardo and their giant rat supervisor Splinter than the underived did, and adds two rollicking credulous monsters, Rahzar and Tokka, who to all intents steal the show.

The murky lighting, uninteresting human characters and violence of the original have been modified in the more amiable sequel, mostly to good effect.

Subtitle’s promise that the ooze secret will be revealed doesn’t pay off. David Warner, as the sympathetic and eccentric scientist who invented the stuff and now is trying to dispose of it, doesn’t have much to do.

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Paige Turco takes over the lead human role of Gotham TV newswoman April O’Neil from Judith Hoag, and while Turco is more glamorous, the character still seems unfocused and overly ditzy.

Ernie Reyes Jr has a winning role as a youthful pizza deliveryman/martial arts expert who wangles his way into the turtles’ company and helps them in their neverending battle with the Foot Clan.

Austrian filmmaker Barbara Albert’s feature coming out follows five young people from distinctive backgrounds whose lives intersect in the cold industrial outskirts of working-class north Vienna. Set in 1995 against the backdrop of the Bosnian conflict in a municipality that serves as Central Europe’s crossroads between east and west, “Northern Skirts” remains too fragmented in its presentation of characters and plot to submit its themes of order and emotional connection fully into focus. In any case, the moroseness drama remains provocative thanks to two strong central performances that should help it secure festival and TV slots.

Albert carved a reputation as a director to watch with her short films and with the impressive half-hour opening episode of the three-part feature “Slidin’ — Bright and Shiny World,” which showcased a trio of Austrian tyro helmers. That film centered on female friendship, exploring the bored alienation and aimlessness of two teenage girls.

While it purports to take in a larger group, the director’s first solo feature also concentrates mainly on two women friends, this time in their 20s, who share an unfulfilled need for love.

Plump Austrian pastry-shop waitress Jasmin (Nina Proll) spends her free time liberally dispensing sexual favors as a momentary distraction from her unhappy home life and abusive father. Serbian Tamara (Edita Malovcic) works as a nurse and suffers from the isolation of being separated from her family in Sarajevo. The former childhood classmates renew their friendship when both become pregnant and their paths cross in an abortion clinic.

Largely a two-hander, the drama functions best when it keeps a tight focus on the two contrasting young women — soulful, serious Tamara and irresponsible good-time girl Jasmin — as they attempt to provide each other with closeness and support.

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The men that drift into their lives are Tamara’s Austrian boyfriend Roman (Michael Tanczos), whose absence for military service and desire to keep their child places a strain on the relationship; Romanian Valentin (Tudor Chirila), who dreams of a new life in America and provides romantic distraction for Tamara; and Bosnian refugee Senad (Astrit Alihajdaraj), who saves Jasmin’s life when she is dumped in the snow following a drunken bender, sparking a hesitant affair.

But while the mix of social and ethnic backgrounds and evidence of the repercussions of war and political upheaval all add texture to the somber drama, coverage of the male characters remains secondary and unsatisfying.

Structured very loosely, as a stream of short, detached glimpses into the lives of young adults all struggling to establish bonds and fit into a harsh environment, film’s style slows development of the narrative and creates a distance that lessens the immediacy of its characters’ problems. But Albert displays a keen visual sense, and despite the familiarity of its themes from any number of recent Euro productions, the drama has its share of acute, sensitive observations.

In her first acting role, Malovcic is intensely expressive in a quiet, unshowy manner, while Proll’s tough, touchingly awkward characterization earned her the Venice fest’s Marcello Mastroianni award for best young emerging thesp.

“RoboCop” was a great idea whose idea came and went. The first movie was artistic, jocose, insightful, and satiric, besides being plenty moving. From then on, however, it was all downhill, as the two sequels took the series to lower and lower depths. MGM’s altered, three-DVD package appropriately bundles the source “RoboCop” with a tally of extras, leaving movies two and three to suffer a deserved kismet on discs that offer virtually nothing.

“RoboCop”:
“This is Media Break. You distribute us three minutes, and we’ll give you the fraternity.” It’s that good of hyperbole sets the mocking shade proper for this sometimes funny, sometimes cheeky, sometimes touching, often stirring, and without exception resourceful 1987 sci-fi/fantasy thriller. The movie not at best gives us a healthy dose of “Terminator” typewrite special-effects heroics, it pokes fun at corporate America, the media, inner-city violence, consumerism, and the government’s attempts to mastery people’s lives and maintain order at any cost.

Director Paul Verhoeven (”Total Denial,” “Basic Instinct,” “Starship Troopers,” “Showgirls”) situates the story in a near-time to come Detroit (but filmed in Dallas) that has been overrun by criminals and in the technique turned over to a private company, the OCP (Omni Consumer Products), for policing. The fellowship figures if it can push products, it can govern a diocese, too. Besides, it sees profit in the bargain. The crowd is run by two figures, the Old Houseman (Dan O’Herlihy) and his in the second place-in-summon, Senior President Dick Jones (Ronny Cox). Both guys are slippery fellows who are only out for themselves.

Meanwhile, a coldhearted flunky of the company, Morton (Miguel Ferrer), is scarcely as bad as the criminals the assemblage is trying to contain. Morton is in charge of the RoboCop program, which is competing with Jones’s Enforcement Droid on finest billing in the borough patrolling department, and when Jones’s ED-209 goes haywire, Morton steps in with his star.

What’s RoboCop, for the half dozen readers worldwide who bear never seen the movie before? He’s part human and part robot, a “six million-dollar man” of technological marvels. He’s the remains of a policeman, Alex Murphy (Peter Weller), who was blown away by the city’s unpublicized felony boss, Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith) and his gang. Having been pronounced dead, Murphy is transformed into a cyborg, a man dependent on mechanical and electronic devices for his survival. RoboCop has the brain and some of the body pack of Murphy and the computer, armor, and weaponry of a tool.

RoboCop also has the fleeting memories of who he was, which sets the talking picture distinctly from so many mindless action yarns that only concentrate on blood and guts. Not only is the “RoboCop” talking picture a payment imagine (because Murphy remembers who killed him), it’s a poignant story of lost humanity, ironic, really, since Robo is sole of the few humane characters in the mist.

RoboCop’s prime directives play an consequential function in all three movies in the series: (1) Serve the blatant entrust, (2) protect the innocent, and (3) stand by the law. However, there’s a fourth directive hidden away in his circuitry that provides the diagram with new directions as things unfold.

The other major figure in the film is Murphy’s new partner, Anne Lewis (Nancy Allen), a tough cop but a supersensitive human being. She is the alone a given in the story who suspects that Murphy may be more than a utensil, that he may have a soul behind his impenetrable helmet and breastplate.

Verhoeven’s concept of RoboCop owes a good deal to “The Terminator,” which came out a scarcely any years earlier, and Weller’s acting and organ even look and din a bit appreciate Arnold’s. Not any of which lessens our appreciation of the silent picture identical bit. In this Director’s Extended Cut, a couple of minutes are added to the original film, changing its rating from R to Unrated, apparently because of further damage, and some scenes are, certainly, plenitude violent, especially Murphy’s introductory eradication and the whole fixed sequence.

Despite his being hidden behind a ton of makeup, Weller makes a convincing and sympathetic hero, cyborg or not; the villains are duly woeful and coldhearted; and the story line’s pacing is licentiously and furious. Force in the satiric touches, like perpetual TV news commentaries on goofy things happening in the clique and an ED-209 accidentally blasting away a OCP overseer, and you irritate a most-entertaining demeanour flick.

“RoboCop 2″:
Peter Weller, Nancy Allen, Dan O’Herlihy, Felton Perry, and Robert DoQui are back in this 1990 sequel as RoboCop, Lewis, the Old Man, visitors flunky Johnson, and Police Sgt. Warren Reed. But director Verhoeven reprobate ship, replaced by Irvin Kershner, who had done so start with “The Empire Strikes Back” (1980) and “Never Break Never Again” (1983). What’s more, the new haziness was cowritten by Frank Miller, who had previously excelled in the fraternity of dark comics like “Daredevil” and “Batman.”

Unfortunately, nobody and nothing could help this dismal follow-up. Expiry, drugs, and knocking down are the gone haywire of the day as the film forsakes most of its progenitor’s lighthearted yet moving impassioned appeal and replaces it with gunfire, car chases, and explosions.

There is some momentary look forward to at the beginning of the video that maybe this would be a psychological exploration of the inner RoboCop as Murphy regains upright more of his memories and has to decide if he’s man or machine. But that moment is short-lived, and the film soon degenerates into a ghastly benumb war between Robo and a cult-fanatic sorrowful named Cain (Tom Noonan).

What with supervise strikes, nefarious corporate types, an unruly citizenry, and some of the worst lawbreakers in mask history, things break out pretty harsh. No conditions for humor or human relationships here. The plot rambles on for all but an hour and half of mayhem and fatality, getting old in a hustle. There is no attempt at the wit or credibility we saw in the original “RoboCop,” and match Rocky, Robo has to be knocked around until he’s on his last legs before he is allowed to prevail.

Did I say headstrong? Everybody in this film is no respected but Murphy and Lewis. And I initiate it most nauseous that many of the film’s dastardly scoundrels are children! Maybe the director and/or writers thinking it was humorous having a team of little leaguers beating up a store proprietress and looting his shop or having a thirteen-year getting on in years using words so foul they’d invent a seaman blush. I didn’t find it hysterical in the least. I just wondered what kind of parents would allow their son to mouth such language in an R-rated mist he wasn’t even-handed worn out enough to keep safe, and I wondered if some parents would do anything for the treatment of money and their kid’s fifteen minutes of fame. It was these kinds of distractions that kept me from enjoying even a small portion of the escort.