Redline (Takeshi Koike, 2009)

Cast: Voices of Takuya Kimura, Yu Aoi, Takeshi Aono, Kosei Hirota, Unsho Ishizuka, Kente Miyaka, Koji Ishi, Cho, Ken'yu Horiuchi, Shunichiro Miki, Ikki Todoroki, Akane Sakai, Daisuke Gori, Shin'ichiro Ota. Screenplay: Katsuhito Ishi, Yoji Inokido, Yoshiki Sakurai. Cinematography: Ryu Takizawa. Production design: Katsuhito Ishii. Film editing: Naoki Kawanishi, Satoshi Terauchi. Music: James Shimoji. 

Though Redline took seven years to create, even its most ardent admirers admit that it's lacking in originality when it comes to story: It's the old auto-race tale with a romance thrown in. But almost everyone admits that it really doesn't matter: Takeshi Koike's film is a slam-bang, non-stop, eye-challenging demonstration that when it comes to animation, there's life in hand-drawn images that computer-created ones still don't possess. I'm no great fan of anime, but Redline kept me amused even when my attention was divided between the images and the subtitles. (I refuse to watch dubbed movies.) The truth is, you hardly need the subtitles to get what's happening, since it's mostly action anyway, especially when you get the setup of a futuristic auto race taking place illicitly on a planet that doesn't want it to happen and is willing to take any means to prevent it. The central character, JP, is an amalgam of Elvis Presley, Marlon Brando in The Wild One (László Benedek, 1953), and the outlaw bikers of Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969). To win the race, he teams up with his chief rival, Sonoshee McLaren, who hates her nickname, Cherry Boy Hunter, but demonstrates her feminine wiles whenever they're useful. (She has a gratuitous topless scene.) In short, it's the ultimate in kinetic cinema, though you may nurse a hangover headache afterward.  

The Hungry Ghosts (Michael Imperioli, 2009)

Steve Schirripa in The Hungry Ghosts

Cast: Steve Schirripa, Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, Nick Sandow, Sharon Angela, Emory Cohen, Zohra Lampert, Stefan Schaefer, Paul Calderón, Joe Caniano, Jim Hendricks, Sondra James, Jerry Grayson, Bess Rous. Screenplay: Michael Imperioli. Cinematography: Dan Hersey. Art direction: Illya Radysh. Film editing: Erin Greenwell. Music: Elijah Amitin.

The Hungry Ghosts, Michael Imperioli's debut feature, feels a bit like it came out of an assignment in Screenwriting 101: Write a screenplay about a group of seriously flawed people who carom off one another in surprising ways, but don't worry about plot. In short, it has all the earmarks of an independent film, including no stars but a cast of slightly familiar faces. In this case, many of them are former cast members of The Sopranos, in which Imperioli came to prominence. The principal figures in the film are Frank (Steve Schirripa), who hosts a late-night talk show on radio and has a serious alcohol and cocaine problem; Nadia (Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor), who moves out of her apartment because she's behind on her rent but can't seem to find a place to crash; and Gus (Nick Sandow), Nadia's former lover who is just getting out of rehab and can't wait to pick up the habit again. Nick has a teenage son, Matthew (Emory Cohen), with whom he has trouble communicating, and a wife, Angela (Sharon Angela), with whom he is at odds, not least because of his relationship with Matthew. Nadia, who has been going to a yoga and meditation class run by Ruth (Zohra Lampert) while dodging Gus's phone calls, decides it's time to get out of the city, which connects her with Frank, who is on the same train, and eventually, though belatedly, unites them with Gus. Imperioli struggles with making these connections, but the skill of his performers almost succeeds in making sense out of them. The consensus of reviewers was that The Hungry Ghosts was warmed-over Cassavetes (a director Imperioli admires), and for once, the consensus was just.  

Psycho Beach Party (Robert Lee King, 2000)

Lauren Ambrose, Charles Busch, and Thomas Gibson in Psycho Beach Party

Cast: Lauren Ambrose, Thomas Gibson, Nicholas Brendon, Kimberley Davies, Matt Keeslar, Charles Busch, Beth Broderick, Dani Wheeler, Nick Cornish, Andrew Levitas, Amy Adams, Kathleen Robertson, Nathan Bexton, Buddy Quaid. Screenplay: Charles Busch, based on his play. Cinematography: Arturo Smith. Production design: Franco-Giacomo Carbone. Film editing: Suzanne Hines. Music: Ben Vaughn. 

Psycho Beach Party, Charles Busch's theatrical mashup of surfer movies and slasher flicks, should have been a natural for turning into a movie, since that was the original target of the parody. Busch especially spoofs Gidget (Paul Wendkos, 1959), whose title character, played by Sandra Dee, becomes Chicklet (Lauren Ambrose). Others are similarly lampooned: Cliff Robertson's Kahuna becomes Thomas Gibson's Kanaka, James Darren's Moondoggie becomes Nicholas Brendon's Starcat, and so on. Like Gidget and other surfer-teen movies, Psycho Beach Party is full of process shots of the stars riding surfboards against a projected background, and the homoerotic subtext of the horseplay of the surfer dudes in the original is revealed for what it really is. But Busch adds murder to the mix, when characters with physical disabilities start getting bumped off -- as if they don't fit into the tanned and fit world of surf culture. Unfortunately, Psycho Beach Party falls apart on the screen because its director, Robert Lee King, fails to get his ensemble working on the same level. On the stage, Busch played Chicklet, but he knew his performance wouldn't work on the pseudo-realistic screen, so he created a role of a detective investigating the murders for himself, and the lead role went to Ambrose, who is quite good at switching from the wide-eyed teenager to the possibly schizophrenic serial killer. Brendon, who learned how to play with tongue in cheek on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, strikes the right note as Starcat, but Gibson wipes out as Kanaka, looking like he doesn't get the joke. At best, Psycho Beach Party gets a few laughs, but time has made the targets of its humor ridiculous enough that today they don't need parodying.

Soleil Ô (Med Hondo, 1970)

Robert Liensol in Soleil Ô

Cast: Robert Liensol, Théo Légitimus, Gabriel Glissand, Bernard Fresson, Yane Barry, Greg Germain, Armand Meffre, Med Hondo (voice). Screenplay: Med Hondo. Cinematography: François Catonné, Jean-Claude Rahaga. Production design: Med Hondo. Film editing: Michèle Catonné, Clément Menuet. Music: George Anderson. 

Because it caused our civil war and continues to blight our public discourse and public policy, we Americans tend to think of racism as a problem somehow peculiar to us. Of course it isn't, and Med Hondo's Soleil Ô is a scathing, satiric demonstration of that painful fact. It depicts the experiences of a young African man (Robert Liensol) as he immigrates to France, where he encounters racism in a variety of forms, from discrimination in employment to sexual humiliation when he fails to live up to the myth of Black male potency. Creating a collage with various techniques, including animation, sometimes taking a neorealist approach and sometimes resorting to surrealism, Hondo indicts colonialism as well as racism almost to the point of exhausting the viewer. But then sometimes we viewers need to be exhausted for our own good.   

Cain and Abel (Lino Brocka, 1982)

Carmi Martin and Christopher De Leon in Cain and Abel

Cast: Christopher De Leon, Phillip Salvador, Carmi Martin, Camille Castillo, Baby Delgado, Mona Lisa, Ruel Vernal, Michael Sandico, Venchito Galvez. Screenplay: Ricky Lee. Cinematography: Conrado Baltazar. Production design: Joey Luna. Film editing: Efren Jarlego. Music: Max Jocson. 

Lino Brocka's Cain and Abel doesn't really take much from the archetypal family feud story in Genesis other than the conflict between brothers and the fact that it takes place in an agricultural setting. Like the Cain of Genesis, Lorenzo (Phillip Salvador) is a farmer, tending the fields owned by his mother, Señora Pina (Mona Lisa). But his brother, Ellis (Christopher De Leon), is no shepherd like the biblical Abel. Instead, he's a mama's boy, favored by his imperious mother because she blames Lorenzo for the death of his father. (It seems that the two boys had a fight, and in trying to break it up, the father suffered a fatal heart attack.) So while Lorenzo sweats out a living in the fields, Ellis has been sent off to university in Manila. And while Lorenzo has married and has two sons, Ellis has always been a playboy, impregnating several local girls, including Rina (Cecille Castillo). The Señora paid for the other girls to have abortions, but she was fond of Rina and allowed her to carry the child to term and to remain as her servant. Then Ellis comes home from university, announcing that he's dropping out and plans to marry Zita (Carmi Martin), who comes with him. Though the Señora is none too pleased with Zita, she nevertheless announces that Ellis will take over the management of the estate and that Lorenzo will work for him. Angered, Lorenzo takes his family and moves out. And so begins a lurid melodrama that ends well for no one. Cain and Abel never achieves the symbolic dimensions promised by the title, and there are some overstated performances, but it's as watchable as a bloodier version of a prime-time soap opera like Dynasty or Dallas.

Maine-Océan Express (Jacques Rozier, 1986)

Luis Rego, Lydia Feld, and Rosa-Maria Gomes in Maine-Océan Express

Cast: Rosa-Maria Gomes, Luis Rego, Bernard Menez, Lydia Feld, Yves Afonso, Pedro Armendáriz Jr. Screenplay: Lydia Feld, Jacques Rozier. Cinematography: Acácio de Almeida. Film editing: Marine Brun, Jacques Rozier. Music: Hubert Degex, Anne Frédérick, Francis Hime. 

If I had to say what Jacques Rozier's Maine-Océan Express is about, which as a movie blogger I kind of have to do, I'd say it's about 130 minutes long. Forced to do better, I'd have to call it a screwball odyssey in which, although it begins and ends with two different travelers, the viewer is the Odysseus, forced to come to terms with a variety of wacky incidents. It starts with a Brazilian samba dancer (Rosa-Maria Gomes) boarding a train, on which, because she has failed to have her ticket stamped at the station, she is confronted by a ticket inspector (Luis Rego) who, because she speaks only a little French and English and he speaks no Portuguese, has trouble explaining what the problem is. He calls in his supervisor (Bernard Menez), who insists that rules must be followed and she must pay a fine, but has just as much trouble explaining the problem, until a lawyer (Lydia Feld), accompanied by her large black dog, tries to act as interpreter since she speaks a little Portuguese. Things get sorted out a little, and when they reach the town where the lawyer is scheduled to act in defense of a fisherman (Yves Afonso) who is being sued for an act of road rage, the samba dancer accompanies the lawyer -- for some reason I'm not quite clear about. Eventually, the samba dancer, the lawyer, the dog, the fisherman, the two ticket inspectors, and the dancer's manager (Pedro Armendáriz Jr.) all wind up on the Île d'Yeu -- please don't ask me why or how -- where things are sort of sorted out. It's goofy French nonsense in Rozier's style, which amounts to dreaming up an assortment of characters and a situation to put them in, and seeing what comes of it. I have a bit of resistance to this approach to filmmaking but I have to admit that I found myself laughing out loud once or twice.    

PTU (Johnnie To, 2003)

Lam Suet in PTU

Cast: Simon Yam, Maggie Siu, Lam Suet, Ruby Wong, Raymond Ho-Yin Wong, Eddy Ko, Lo Hoi-Pang, Jerome Fung, Frank Zong-Ji Liu, Chiu Chi-Shing. Screenplay: Yau Nai-Hoi, Au Kin-Yee. Cinematography: Chen Siu-Keung. Production design: Ringo Cheung, Jerome Fung. Film editing: Law Wing-Cheung. Music: Chung Chi Wing. 

One of Akira Kurosawa's best early films was Stray Dog (1949), in which a cop's gun is stolen, necessitating a frantic search for the weapon. Johnnie To must surely have had that film in mind when he made PTU, although he takes a very different approach to the search, laying bare the inner workings of the Hong Kong police force and its relationship with the gangs it battles. Unlike the anxious rookie played by Toshiro Mifune in Kurosawa's film, the cop with the missing gun is a slovenly veteran, Sgt. Lo (Lam Suet), who loses the gun when he slips and falls and is knocked out while giving chase to some young gangsters. The Police Tactical Unit, headed by Sgt. Mike Ho (Simon Yam), comes to his aid, hoping to recover the weapon before they have to report its loss to the authorities. The rest is a series of colorful and sometimes deadly encounters, made vivid by cinematographer Chen Siu-Keung's visions of the city at night, its shadowy streets sometimes garishly lighted by signs. It's a twisty, ironic, and decidedly antiheroic thriller.  

Mallrats (Kevin Smith, 1995)

Art James, Jeremy London, Jason Lee, and Brian O'Halloran in Mallrats

Cast: Jeremy London, Jason Lee, Shannen Doherty, Claire Forlani, Ben Affleck, Michael Rooker, Jason Mewes, Kevin Smith, Priscilla Barnes, Joey Lauren Adams, Ethan Suplee, Brian O'Halloran, Sven-Ole Thorsen, Art James, Stan Lee. Screenplay: Kevin Smith. Cinematography: David Klein. Production design: Dina Lipton. Film editing: Paul Dixon. Music: Ira Newborn. 

The success of his microbudget indie Clerks (1994) gave Kevin Smith the clout and the cash to make a more ambitious feature, but some think Smith was undone by his own success, overloading Mallrats with too much plot and too many extraneous characters and incidents. This comedy about the misadventures of two motormouth slackers is a bit too frantic and uninvolving, and some of its slapstick stunts centered on Smith's duo of Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (Smith) are poorly conceived. There's a gross-out joke that's more gross than funny, a bludgeoning of an Easter Bunny that comes out of nowhere, and an encounter with a topless fortune teller (Priscilla Barnes) that belongs in some other movie. You kind of have to be a fan of Smith's better films, especially Clerks, Chasing Amy (1997), and Dogma (1999), to be in the frame of mind to put up with the misfires in Mallrats.   

Deep Cover (Bill Duke, 1992)

Jeff Goldblum and Laurence Fishburne in Deep Cover

Cast: Laurence Fishburne, Jeff Goldblum, Charles Martin Smith, Victoria Dillard, Gregory Sierra, Sydney Lassick, Roger Guenveur Smith, Clarence Williams III. Screenplay: Michael Tolkin, Henry Bean. Cinematography: Bojan Bazelli. Production design: Pamela B. Warner. Film editing: John Carter. Music: Michael Colombier. 

If nothing else, Bill Duke's Deep Cover is notable for casting actors against type. Some of it works: Jeff Goldblum's lawyer turned would-be drug lord is full of humorous self-assurance tinged with menace. But Charles Martin Smith never overcomes the actor's nerdy image to establish him as a DEA agent confident enough to ask a series of Black federal agents a shockingly racist question and to manage the perilous situation he thrusts the agent played by Laurence Fishburne into. As for Fishburne himself, the role came early enough in his career that he was still being billed as Larry, which he insisted on changing once his career took off. He holds the film together even when it sometimes threatens to get derailed by too many plot twists. Although the movie asks the right questions about the compromised motives and veiled racism behind the so-called War on Drugs, it's undermined by generic thriller conventions and some preachy moments. 

Stowaway in the Sky (Albert Lamorisse, 1960)

André Gille and Pascal Lamorisse in Stowaway in the Sky

Cast: André Gille, Pascal Lamorisse, Maurice Baquet. Screenplay: Albert Lamorisse. Cinematography: Maurice Fellous, Guy Tabary. Production design: Pierre-Louis Thévenet. Film editing: Pierre Gillette. Music: Jean Prodromidès. 

After the success of his short film The Red Balloon (1956), Albert Lamorisse conceived another aerial adventure on a larger scale. It became his first feature, Stowaway in the Sky, and also starred his son, Pascal. It's a fanciful tale of an inventor (André Gille) who develops what he thinks is a revolutionary ballooning technique. On the maiden flight, his young grandson (Pascal) manages to scramble aboard after clinging to the gondola at liftoff. The inventor reluctantly allows the boy to accompany him on the flight, and they set off on a series of adventures that take them over spectacular French landscapes from Brittany to the Camargue and into close encounters with the Strasbourg Cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, and Mont Blanc. They're tracked on the ground by an assistant (Maurice Baquet), who gets into comic scrapes of his own. To get the effects he needed for the film, Lamorisse helped develop a shock-absorbing mechanism called Helivision, which eliminated the vibrations of a camera mounted on a helicopter. All of the aerial sequences were shot this way, including those that appear to be taking place inside the gondola of the balloon: A half-basket was attached to the side of the helicopter and the actors rode in it while filming took place. Although there is some dialogue in setting up the premise and advancing what plot there is, it's essentially a silent film. Jack Lemmon, who liked the film so much that he bought the rights to it,  added his own voiceover narration scripted by S.N. Behrman for the American release. I haven't seen it, but some who have think it detracts from the charm of the film, which is often breathtakingly beautiful.