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Sunday, July 21

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Hey there, folks. Before this week's massive number of reviews, let me draw your attention to one in particular. It's a film called Edmond, starring William H. Macy, written by David Mamet. There are many other Chicago connections to this movie, which you can read about below. If you'd like to read my recent interview with Macy — in which we discuss the film, the Chicago theater scene of the 1970s and his decades-old partnership with Mamet — you can do so right here.

Miami Vice

I now understand why the guys on the "Miami Vice" television show wore such outrageously stylish garments week in and week out: because at any given moment they could be called upon to impersonate the very hyper-fashion-aware drug dealers they were trying to put away. But other than the names of the two heroes, there is very little connection between the trend-setting television cops Ricardo Tubbs and Sonny Crockett and their big-screen incarnations in show co-creator Michael Mann's Miami Vice.

These streamlined versions of Crockett and Tubbs (played with a frigid intensity by Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx) are all about finding ways to get further up the drug dealer food chain, no matter the danger or the distance they must travel. Mann's almost overwhelmingly complex script might find many audience members scrambling to figure out exactly who is doing what to whom (and maybe even where in the world these guys are at times), but that doesn't stop the film from being a loud and powerful sensory overload that delivers strong performances, a parade of interesting supporting characters, and a plot that (if you can follow it) is perfectly conceived.

Mann's biggest problem might be that his script is too good, too authentic. There's an entirely new language to this film, made up of detailed knowledge of drugs, weapons, boats, planes, and the many layers of state and federal law enforcement that all want a piece of any bust. And the language is so dense and detailed that I found myself wondering what the hell they were saying. As the film opens, Crockett and Tubbs discover that there is a leak in one of the many federal agencies that combats drug trafficking (FBI, DEA, Homeland Security, etc.). Assuming that this compromises any active federal undercover work, Crockett and Tubbs are deputized by the government to do what is necessary to bring down one of the world's biggest drug lords. All the feds really care about is plugging their leaks and maybe capturing the men who killed one of their undercover agents, but Crockett and Tubbs have much loftier goals.

I could go into a lot more detail about the endless parade of clubs the pair must visit to cut deals and the countless foreign lands they venture to illegally to meet with some seriously scary men, but all you really need to know is that the undercover vice cops convince the drug dealers to let them offer transport vehicles to bring drugs in from South America to Miami, where it is then distributed up and down the East Coast. It's the closest the police have ever gotten to someone so high up in a drug organization, and the threat of death permeates every scene.

Director Mann is still using digital cameras to shoot his movies, the same way he did with Collateral, and I've never seen the streaky, sometimes washed-out images used so effectively. Not that Mann needs to prove anything to us. The man has given us everything from Thief to Ali, with Manhunter, Last of the Mohicans, Heat and The Insider in between.

All of these good things being said, there aren't too many surprises in Miami Vice. Jamie Foxx plays Rico pretty much exactly as I thought he would: like a rock star. I hardly know where to begin with Farrell's performance, which reminded me at times of Clint Eastwood with a slightly southern accent and a Billy Ray Cyrus haircut. It's tough to take your eyes off the man because his performance is so detailed and measured, and somehow manages to be both deliberate and natural. Is that even legal?

I both applaud and criticize Mann for casting Chinese superstar Gong Li as the drug lord's closest advisor and main squeeze, who also manages to find time to crawl into Crockett's bed more than once. Gong Li's accent is so thick that I couldn't understand what she was saying (in English or Spanish) in a lot of her scenes. She looks stunningly beautiful (even in the scenes where she appears to be wearing little makeup), and she's actually perfect for this part, but the language problem cries out.

Miami Vice is a dirty, filthy film loaded with loud guns that rip big holes in bodies, beautiful women that do little more than look pretty (it's the ones who talk you have to worry about here), and an army of unshaven men in fashionable clothes who all want to show how big their collective dicks are. Miami Vice is a struggle to figure out at times; it's not a film you can watch passively. But if you manage to stay with the program, the payoff is pretty sweet.


After shocking the movie-going world with one of the finest films of not only his career but also of all 2005 — the crime-drama Match Point — writer-director Woody Allen returns to more familiar comedic territory with Scoop. The prolific Allen, however, has maintained three of the things that made Match Point so unique in his body of work: the British setting, the lovely (decidedly non-British) Scarlett Johansson, and a murderous plotline. And while ultimately Scoop ranks among Allen's lesser works, it is probably the best of his lesser works.

Probably the last Woody Allen slapstick comedies that kept me laughing for any sustained period was 2001's The Curse of the Jade Scorpion, so I guess it's no surprise that that film and Scoop share certain story elements. Both feature characters that deal in the dark arts. Here, Allen plays magician Splendini (real name: Sid Waterman), a so-so performer who spends 50 percent of his act telling his audiences how great they are ("You're a credit to your race, and I mean that with all sincerity.") As with any film Allen chooses to star in these days, he keeps the best jokes for himself ("I was born into the Hebrew religion, but I converted to Narcissism.")

The story begins on a boat on foggy waters to the hereafter being steered by Death. The passengers compare notes on how they died. Among the group is ace reporter Joe Strombel ("Deadwood's" Ian McShane), who meets a woman claiming to have been murdered by her employer after she discovered he was the notorious Tarot Card Killer, who has been terrorizing London for many months, killing only short-haired, brunette prostitutes. Knowing he has one last chance to break a big story, Strombel dives overboard and lands up inside a coffin-like box being used in one of Spendini's tricks. It just so happens the box is currently occupied by American journalism student Sondra Pransky (Johansson), who has volunteered for Splendini's disappearing-girl trick. Strombel explains the scoop to Sondra, pleading with her to solve the mystery by giving her the name of the suspect: Peter Lyman (Hugh Jackman), the handsome playboy son of one of London's richest and most powerful men.

Reluctant and overwhelmed with her task, Sondra enlists the help of Sid to solve the case and write the story exposing Lyman as the killer. She arranges to meet him and quickly becomes a part of his life, but this being a Woody Allen movie, it's no surprise that Sondra begins to fall in love with this charming man who may or may not be the 21st century's Jack the Ripper. Despite the murderous themes of the film, Scoop is usually very funny, with Allen and Johansson dishing out most of the humor.

The problem is, Johansson isn't very funny, and for most of the film, Allen is so intent on emphasizing her as a comedic presence that he hides her good looks behind frumpy clothes and unflattering glasses. Although some might argue with me, I think Johansson is a solid dramatic actress, but this film is a misstep, which struck me as strange since Allen wrote this movie for her after "discovering" her wonderful sense of humor off-set during the shooting of Match Point. I imagine he, like the rest of the world, was hypnotized by her other assets. Who can blame him? But making her frumpy doesn't make her funny.

Faring much better in Scoop is Jackman. He doesn't get as many comic zingers out of Allen, but he does finally get to show us what a suave bloke he can be. Seeing him in formal wear and watching him work a room, it suddenly hit me what a great James Bond he might have made, but that many franchises for one man wouldn't be fair. I also loved McShane, who pops in and out of Sondra and Sid's life — often at the most inopportune times — to provide extra guidance in their case. I've enjoyed him for three seasons as Al Swearengen on "Deadwood," and it's a relief to see that he's capable of something a little different.

Scoop is harmless fun, although it does occasionally feel like these actors are working way too hard for the handful of big laughs they get out of us. I always enjoy seeing Woody Allen on the screen, if only because it's one of the few times I get to see how the old guy is holding up. And I love the fact that Great Britain seems to have reinvigorated his creative juices (the film he's shooting now in London stars Colin Farrell, Ewan McGregor and Tom Wilkinson, among others), and it's made me more curious than ever what he's got coming down the pipeline.

I will always eagerly await new works by Allen. There was never a time in my life when the man wasn't making films, most of which made me laugh and feel a little smarter for sometimes getting the more intellectual jokes. When you make on average about a film per year, you're bound to have a few stinkers, and Allen's got a healthy collection of those. But the guy never stops trying; he's a machine, a seemingly endless supply of entertainment, whom I firmly believe will die behind or in front of the camera. Although far from this best work, Scoop is a watchable, humorous place holder that I think most long-time fans will enjoy. And for those who would actually like to see Hugh Jackman act (and not play some bigger-than-life cartoon character), this might be your best shot for a while. He's the golden nugget in this film.


All you'd have to do is tell me that David Mamet wrote it and William H. Macy stars, and I'd be there. But when you add that Stuart Gordon is the director of this urban nightmare about a mild-mannered businessman who, in one night, leaves his wife and tours the underbelly of an unnamed city (it could be L.A. but it feels like New York), then you've got an unstoppable threesome of men with deep Chicago theater roots, not to mention a healthy list of film credits to their names. Mamet and Macy co-created the St. Nicholas Theater here in the Windy City back in 1972, while Gordon began as artistic director of the Chicago's Organic Theater Company in 1970. In 1974, Organic even put on Mamet's play Sexual Perversity in Chicago (the film version of which is About Last Night...), while St. Nicholas premiered many Mamet classics like American Buffalo and The Water Engine, with Macy originating several now-iconic roles.

As a film director, Gordon went on to become something of a horror movie icon, while Macy never seemed far from Mamet's side whenever the writer-director had a new project, including works like House of Games, Things Change, Homicide, The Water Engine, Oleanna, Wag the Dog, State and Main and Spartan. So why is this new film, Edmond, such a mystery to so many people? Because it's dangerous on a couple levels, and terrifying on all levels. Based on two-decades-old Mamet play, Edmond is the type of Mamet work that most moviegoers have never seen. (If you're more familiar with his theater work, you may not be quite as shocked.) It is not a pleasant film to watch, but it grips you around the throat and makes it impossible for you to look away, and it may be the finest work Macy has ever given us.

William H. Macy has played so many different roles on stage, TV and film that he's probably not in any danger of damaging his career for taking a role like this. But if it were going to happen, it would be for playing Edmond. We never get a sense of what has led to Edmond's breakdown, so we're never quite sure what this guy is capable of. That makes him more dangerous. After arriving home from work one night, Edmond announces to his wife (Rebecca Pigeon) that he's walking out and never coming back. Immediately, the Mamet-speak is in our face. Starting-stopping-interrupting-thoughts broken-speech overlapping-sentences finished by someone else. It's all here, and the rhythm is utterly recognizable. Some people love it (including me); others it drives absolutely fucking nuts. Edmond is out the door and on to the first of many stops on his long day's journey into his own heart of darkness.

I don't think Edmond leaves home knowing exactly what he's looking for, but when a fellow bar patron (one-time Organic Theater player Joe Mantegna) suggests that getting laid might be a good idea, Edmond agrees. For the rest of the night, the desperate Edmond bounces from strip club to peep show to massage parlor, finding the women and the drinks too expensive for his tastes or budget. Although considering the women he approaches in these places are Denise Richards, Bai Ling and Meni Suvari, maybe a few extra bucks wouldn't have killed him. He lands up in a pawn shop ready to sell his ring for some extra cash after he's robbed, when he spots and purchases a very scary looking ornate knife. This is about the place where your heart should start beating a little harder.

While defending himself with his newly acquired weapon against another mugging at the hands of a shady pimp, Edmond unleashes a horrifying string of racial slurs that offer up our first glance at what's really going on inside his damaged brain. We are never given a clear reason whether race has ever been an issue in his life up to this point, but there's no doubt that our natural inclination to like Edmond, or at least pity him, goes right out the window. Sure the acting is terrific but Macy does something more than act: he manipulates our desire to always like his characters (even the most pathetic), thus he manipulates our feelings about Edmund. And for the first time in the film, and perhaps his life, Edmond suddenly walks the earth like he has a purpose.

Shortly after the foiled attack, Edmond lands in a restaurant, coming on very strong to a young waitress named Glenna (Julia Stiles, playing one of the few characters in the film with a name). Before long the two are in bed together, and Edmond is on a rampage of adrenaline, pent up sexual aggression, and bloodlust. Glenna seems turned on by tales of Edmond's encounter with the pimp, and even joins in on his hate speech express, but it doesn't take long for Edmond to scare her and then try to... calm her down. From this point on, we track Edmond's absolute downfall, as his every action seems motivated by either rage or desperation to be understood. This is as close to playing a maniac as you're likely to see Macy attempt, so take advantage of the opportunity. His transformation is so utterly convincing and complete that you actually wonder how an actor can recover from such an experience.

Stuart Gordon's direction is as solid as I've seen it in years. He uses many familiar horror-film angles and lighting choices to convey Edmond's not-so-gradual disintegration, and considering the hellish quality of the story, it hardly seems out of place. The movement in this film never stops; with a running time of about 82 minutes, how could it? The name of the game with Edmond is emotion — raw and unfiltered. This is not only the most mature horror film Gordon's ever made, but it's one of the finest character meltdown pieces I've ever seen, and this is entirely thanks to Macy's death-defying performance. Even in his worst films, the guy never lets us down, and this film is about as good as it gets. It opens today for a limited two-week run at the Gene Siskel Film Center, with Macy in attendance for some of the showings Friday and Saturday nights.

The Ant Bully

This year's crop of animated films has been among the best in recent memory. It seems like there's a new one coming out every other week, and most of them have been varying levels of damned entertaining. It's odd when the latest Pixar film is considered to be the weakest of the bunch. But in a year that has given us Monster House and Over the Hedge, both kids and adults have a lot to be thankful for. The Ant Bully is not as good as those films, but it's in the running. I'll confess, I found it strange that someone thought it was a good idea to make yet another digitally animated work about ants (apparently Antz and A Bug's Life didn't get it quite right). Granted the animation process has improved a great deal since those two films were released, and the level of detail in The Ant Bully is pretty incredible, but have we really run out of subject matters and characters for animators to work their magic on?

The twist in Ant Bully is that this is really the story of a human, a 10-year-old boy named Lucas (voiced by Zach Tyler Eisen), who is constantly picked on by the neighborhood bully and his buddies. Feeling frustrated and weak, Lucas decides to pick on the only thing smaller than him: an anthill on his lawn. Using water guns and hoses, Lucas does a phenomenal amount of damage to the colony below. Little does he know that these ants have names and lives and personalities; they also have a plan to stop Lucas from causing any further damage.

Nicolas Cage voices the Wizard Ant Zoc, who has perfected a potion that shrinks Lucas (whom the ants simply know as The Destroyer) down to ant size so they can teach him a lesson. But rather than allow the ants to simply eat little Lucas, the wise Ant Queen (Meryl Streep, who's having a busy year) decides the ants should punish Lucas by training him to be an ant and learn a little something about the lives he's destroying. Zoc doesn't trust the boy at all, but his girlfriend, Hova (Julia Roberts), sees potential in Lucas and volunteers to work with him.

At this point, you can probably guess how the plot goes. Lucas resists all attempts to rehabilitate him, but finds that the ants pull his butt out of trouble more than once and he slowly begins to see himself as part of the colony. Probably more so than any of the other animated films this year, the "message" of the film is pretty in your face: work for the greater good; the human world is a screwed up place because everyone is only looking out for themselves; the workers are as important as the leader in a perfect society. Thank you, Karl Marx. (Although I guess since ants technically existed before communism, perhaps Marx and Chairman Mao were borrowing their doctrine from the insect world.) I realize the real message probably has something to do with teamwork and not being selfish, but the word choices seem so deliberate that it makes for an inadvertently humorous subtext.

As you can probably tell from the voice talents I've mentioned so far, The Ant Bully is probably the most star-studded animated film that is likely to be released this year, which isn't always a good thing. But director John A. Davis (Jimmy Neutron, and yes, Lucas does look a lot like Jimmy) does a terrific job in casting some of his supporting performers, including Ricardo Montalban as the head of the Ant Council; Regina King as Lucas's foraging instructor; Bruce Campbell as scout ant Fugax (who provides most of the film's best and funniest lines); Cheri Oteri and Larry Miller as Lucas's parents; Lily Tomlin as his babysitting grandmother (complete with "I Believe" t-shirt), who believes aliens are about to attack at any moment; and the wonderful (and also very busy) Paul Giamatti as the shifty neighborhood exterminator.

At first, I thought The Ant Bully was safe for kids of all ages... until I saw the wasp attack sequence. That shit is scary (and was the only scene that made me wish I'd waited to see the film in 3-D) and the wasps are hideously ugly creatures with sideways mouths and gigantic stingers. The kids in my screening audience were screaming whenever they appeared. Hee hee.

I never stopped being impressed with the film's visuals: the detailed markings of each ant, the art design on the colony layout, and the ant point-of-view of the human world, especially a sequence in which Lucas leads a group of ants into his house to gather food. The Ant Bully is very easy to like and lose yourself in. Unlike some of the other animated fair this year, I don't think it's on a continuous mission to make you laugh. But it never stops dazzling you and making you think a little bit about what life would be like being that small and co-dependent. It's not going to keep me from stepping on any ants, but when I do squash the little bastards in the future, I may spare a thought for their comrades down in the colony.

America: Freedom to Fascism

I don't mean to invoke the name of my Ain't It Cool News boss Harry Knowles two weeks in a row, but in the same lengthy conversation in which he accused me of being too old to appreciate Lady in the Water, he also asked me a question I never thought another human being on this planet would ask me: "Have you seen a film called America: Freedom to Fascism?" My heart practically jumped out of my chest when he spoke these words. I had just watched the film a couple of days earlier, and it had scared the crap out of me to such a degree that I was prepared to put it out of my mind until I wrote my review. Harry wasn't even sure he would or could write about it. We were in complete agreement on this movie. It looks like it was pieced together using a Commodore 64 computer. The graphics are terrible, the production value is non-existent, and the voiceover by filmmaker Aaron Russo sounds like a lung cancer patient on his last lung. But none of these things will stop the slow-building paranoia levels from simmering in your brain.

If you thought Michael Moore had an agenda with his documentaries, wait until you meet Russo, the movie producer responsible for such gems as The Rose and Trading Places and the director of the 1989 bomb Rude Awakening. His film begins with a search for the actual law that requires Americans to pay federal income tax (I'm sure Russo knew going into this project that no such law exits, but the search is still quite interesting). He talks to tax attorneys, constitutional law experts, former IRS and FBI investigators, writers anyone who can explain why we are shelling over huge percentages of our income to the federal government when there is no law saying we must. Russo interviews people on the street asking them, "What do you think your income tax pays for?" People assume it's for things like road building, schools and social programs. But Russo says that income taxes in fact do nothing more than pay off the interest on the national debt.

What follows is Russo's smartly structured dissection of how the Federal Reserve and the world banking leadership has essentially changed the way this country — and the world — is run. In his eyes, the IRS is nothing more than a policing agent for the Fed (which, by the way, we learn is not a government agency, but a private group of bankers making decisions about how much money is printed, which in turn effects interest rates, inflation and all the other financial details that determine whether you will ever be able to buy a home or pay off your credit cards). Sound like the work of a paranoid conspiracy theorist? You bet it is. Does that mean he's wrong? Well, he succeeded in making me very nervous.

I could spend many paragraphs detailing Russo's theories and revelations, but hear it directly from Russo in this film, which he narrates and occasionally shows up on camera interviewing various subjects. What some might find fascinating is that Russo doesn't lay the blame for the current situation on either left- or right-wing leaders. In his eyes, they are just as much pawns in this game as ordinary citizens. Russo may lose a few people when he gets into discussions of National Identity Cards and microchips under the skin, but the fact remains that these developments are reality. (The day when you'd be walking down the street and a police officer can stop you and ask to see your "papers" is not a thing of the past any longer.)

Russo sees the United States as having lost its way and headed toward a police state, not so slowly but surely. As simply an eye-opening look at the way financial institutions control our lives, this film is devastating enough, but Russo follows the natural pathways to the worldwide bigger picture. America: Freedom to Fascism is designed to overwhelm and frighten, and Mr. Russo should consider his mission accomplished.

Lower City

Set on the Northeast coast of Brazil in waterfront towns teaming with sex workers, strip clubs, drugs and violence, Lower City finds a troubled story of friendship and lust among three lost souls living day to day in places with no mercy, little money, and constant danger. Deco (Lazaro Ramos) and Naldinho (Wagner Moura) have been friends since they were children and do everything (legal and illegal) as a team. Most of the time, they get work unloading cargo, then spend the money frivolously the same night. When Naldinho gets in a fight and is severely stabbed, Deco enlists the help of a stripper acquaintance named Karinna (City of God's Alice Braga, niece of Sonia), who has just slept with both men in exchange for passage.

Whether by design or coincidence, the lives of these three souls keep crossing paths. And every time Karinna is alone with one of the men, every level of horny behavior kicks in. Lower City is many things, sexy being at the top of the list. As a result of Karinna's inability to pick just one man, the life-long friends begin to fight and jealousy creeps into their partnership. They contemplate living as a threesome, but ultimately the two men live separate lives, each determined to win Karinna's heart.

First-time feature director Sergio Machado (working under producer Walter Salles) constructs a film that is both lush and sleazy. The sexual relationships are as much a part of these characters and Lower City as the actors or director. These characters are neither good nor bad, but they engage in behavior that could be considered both. They are not heroes by any stretch, but we still root for them to live to see another day, even though we feel fairly certain their lives will never truly improve even if they live to see 100. Alice Braga is undeniably desirable. She oozes sex without even trying, but there are scenes in Lower City in which she appears pathetic and homely. It's a daring performance in a film that reveals the lives of people whom don't often have films made about them. The plotlines never really amount to much, but that seems somewhat appropriate for this group. Lower City combs the depths of Brazil and comes up with stories that are part cautionary tale, part fantasy. The film opens today at the Landmark Century Center Cinema.


Cuba Gooding Jr.'s latest attempt to make us all remember that he is a Serious Actor (the guy did win an Oscar, after all) might have finally done the trick. The brutal and serenely odd Shadowboxer is trying to be many things at once — a dark noirish suspense film, a family drama, a brooding character study — and it succeeds most of the time. But even when it's not being all that it can be, it never stops being to a curiosity, one that always kept me guessing exactly where the story was going and how it would end. I always give points to any film that isn't predictable, which is not always a good thing but at least it keeps me from getting bored.

Helen Mirren plays Rose, an aging assassin dying of cancer. Her exact relationship with Gooding's Mikey is unclear most of the time, but we know the two work together and live together. Rose is something of a mother figure, and Mikey never questions her orders or advice. In fact, he hardly speaks at all. But the two are also lovers, although we sometimes get a sense that the sex is more a means of taking away her pain, if only for a few minutes. The sex scenes in Shadowboxer are raw, almost violent but they seem to get the job done for Rose.

With her condition worsening, Rose has decided that a job they have just been hired to do will be her last, but when she and Mikey arrive at the home of a nasty crime boss (Stephen Dorff), who has hired the two to kill his wife (Vanessa Ferlito), they are thrown by the fact that she is extremely pregnant. Since their job was to not only kill the scared Vickie but also make her body disappear to make it seem that she left her husband, Rose decides to simply take the woman, who ends up giving birth before they even leave the house. Rose calls for medical assistance from a youthful doctor called Don (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), who arrives at the motel where mother and child are hiding accompanied by his crack-head nurse girlfriend Precious (Mo'Nique... I told you this film never gets boring).

Just rereading what I've written, I realize that Shadowboxer sounds like a comedy — and there are some funny moments here — but the film is hard-line suspense most of the time, with Gooding as the driving force behind much of the tension. Mikey never likes the idea of bringing Vickie and her baby into his life, especially with Rose so ill. He would have been just fine killing the pregnant woman in her sleep. But the man can't say no to Rose, and he slowly grows accustomed to having them around. Mikey in no way becomes Mr. Mom to this group. Instead, he continues to take killing assignments, while the crime boss remains ignorant of how deeply he has been betrayed.

First-time director Lee Daniels (the producer of such films as Monster's Ball and The Woodsman) has carved out a respectable (if flawed) slice of darkness. Perhaps the film's greatest accomplishment is giving Gooding a role he really grows into, one of the few truly adult roles of his career. He couldn't be less of a showboater here, and his taut performance helped me buy into his character and this movie. Mirren is more flighty than usual, but considering Rose is hopped up on painkillers and loads of sex, who can blame her?

I have got to give Stephen Dorff credit, too. I've just seen his small but significant performance in World Trade Center (review to come), and between that and his incendiary work here, the guy is actually doing a respectable job turning in some great work of late. There's one scene in Shadowboxer where he's having some dirty sex with a whore in his office, when he's interrupted by noise outside the door. He pushes the woman away to go deal with the noise, and we see two things very clearly: a murderous look in his eyes and his condom-wrapped semi-boner. The man is a true professional.

With a plot that managed to surprise me more than once (although the ending is somewhat predictable), director Daniels has officially made me excited to see what he does next. He didn't write Shadowboxer, so perhaps I should be putting credit for this film in the hands of writer William Lipz. Either way, there's a sometimes-surreal quality to the visuals in this film that is all Daniels. His next film (which he did co-write) is scheduled to be Iced, about a junkie rock musician played by Lenny Kravitz. Sounds interesting; time will tell. Meanwhile, check out Shadowboxer to get a taste of the man's work.

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About the Author(s)

A Windy City resident for nearly 20 years, Steve writes about everything but movies at his day job for a trade journal publishing company. Using the alias Capone, he has been the Chicago Editor for Ain't It Cool News since 1998, and has been writing film reviews since he was a wee lad of 14, growing up in Maryland. Direct your questions or comments to .

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