Q: Who says zombies can't be converted into useful members of the community? Certainly not the makers of "Fido," who take us to a never-never-land version of the 1950's where the undead have been turned into butlers and servants for the burgeoning middle class. Timmy Robinson is the all-American boy who becomes emotionally attached to the family's new full-time domestic - a recently resurrected zombie whom Timmy has affectionately dubbed Fido. All of this has been made possible by Zomcom, a big-brother-type organization that has found a way to render the zombies (who were originally brought to "life" by radiation from outer space) manageable and docile - at least most of the time.

This twisted, modern-day spin on the TV series "Lassie" - it might easily have been entitled "A Boy and His Zombie" - takes slyly satirical swipes at such pre-'60s concerns as obsessive social conformity (here keeping-up-with-the-Joneses means having more zombie servants than the folks next door), the sterility of suburban life, the corporate control of civic affairs, small town corruption and nuclear family values - all played out in a beautifully designed setting of parti-colored houses and immaculately manicured lawns. The movie doesn't hit the audience over the head with its message nor does it engage in endless hyperbole to generate laughs. Instead, this is a low-keyed, subtle little satire that elicits appreciative chuckles rather than full-bellied guffaws. Much of the humor derives from the incongruity between the placidness of the setting and the cavalier attitude towards death demonstrated by the fine citizens of the community (Life Magazine has been replaced with a periodical entitled Death Magazine). Despite some playfully graphic violence, the movie stays true to the spirit of innocence we generally associate with both the 1950's itself and the cheesy, low-budget horror movies that were so much a part of the pop culture scene of that decade.

K'Sun Ray, Carrie-Ann Moss and Dylan Baker are amiable and appealing as the wide-eyed Timmy and his Cleaver-esquire parents (with slightly sinister undertones), while Billy Connolly accomplishes the well nigh impossible task of bringing a great deal of humanity and depth to the role of a resurrected corpse.

This is what "Lassie" might have been had Timmy's best friend been afflicted rabies.
A: positive
Q: "Tintin and I" first of all struck me as a masterpiece documentary. The photography and the editing are truly breath-taking (almost anti-Dogma).

We follow the life of Tintin drawer Herge through an open-hearted interview from 1971. The Tintin series was drawn on the background of the great ideological fights of the twentieth century. In the midst of these Herge has his own demons to fight with, and much of his drawing activity seems like an attempt to tame these and to escape into a world of perfection.

Even though there are spectacular photographic panoramas of drawings from Tintin albums and also some reconstructions and reading of passages from the albums, the story of Herge is told entirely through interviews and archive material, and never through reconstructions.

Herge lived the turbulent life of a true, suffering artist. But the fantastic world that came of his imagination will continue to amaze readers again and again.
A: positive
Q: It's a colorful slasher movie. That's about it.

It has the mystery element that SCREAM made so popular in slasher movies, but I never care for such things. Figuring out who's the bad guy is not that interesting considering the clues are all misleading anyway.

The death scenes were inventive and gorey, bringing back memories of 80's horror movies like Friday the 13th.

Another nice thing about this movie is that it's hard to pinpoint the surviving girl, unlike in SCREAM and IKWYDLS where it was obvious.

People who don't like slasher movies won't like this movie. As simple as that. I truly enjoyed it and I plan to watch it again while waiting for more of the same.

--MB
A: positive
Q: It was the Sixties, and anyone with long hair and a hip, distant attitude could get money to make a movie. That's how Michael Sarne, director of this colossal flop, was able to get the job. Sarne is one of the most supremely untalented people ever given a dollar to make a movie. In fact, the whole studio must have been tricked into agreeing to hire a guy who had made exactly one previous film, a terribly precious 60's-hip black and white featurette called Joanna. That film starred the similarly talentless actress/waif Genevieve Waite who could barely speak an entire line without breaking into some inappropriate facial expression or bat-like twitter. Sarne, who was probably incapable of directing a cartoon, never mind a big-budget Hollywood film, was in way over his head. David Giler's book is the best place to go to find out how the faux-infant terrible Sarne was able to pull the wool over everyone's eyes. If there is ever an historical marker which indicates the superficiality and shallowness of an era, Myra Breckinridge provides that marker. It embodies the emptiness and mindless excess of a decade which is more often remembered for a great sea-change in the body politic. Breckinridge is a touchstone of another, equally important vein. Watch this movie and you'll get a different perspective on the less-often mentioned vacuity of spirit which so often passed for talent during those years.

Many reviewers have spoken about the inter-cutting of footage from other films, especially older ones. Some actually liked these clunky "comments" on what was taking place in the movie, others found them senseless, annoying, and obtrusive, though since the film is so bad itself any intrusion would have to be an improvement.

In my opinion, the real reason Michael Sarne put so many film clips into Myra Brekinridge was to paper over the bottomless insufficiency of wit and imagination that he possessed. That is to say, Sarne was so imagination-challenged that he just threw these clips in to fill space and take up time. They weren't inspiration, they were desperation. His writing skills were nonexistent, and David Giler had wisely stepped away from the project as one might from a ticking bomb, so Sarne was left to actually try and make a movie, and he couldn't. It was beyond his slim capabilities. Hence the introduction of what seems like one half of an entire film's worth of clips. The ghosts of writers and directors - many long since passed on - were called upon to fix this calamitous flopperoo because Sarne sure as heck wasn't able to. This was what he came up with on those days he sat on the set and thought for eight hours while the entire cast and crew (not to mention the producers and the accountants) cooled their heels and waited for something, some great spark of imagination, a hint of originality, a soupcon of wit, to crackle forth from the brow of Zeus. Um, oops. No Zeus + no imagination + no sparks = millions of little dollar bills with tiny wings - each made from the hundreds of licensing agreements required to use the clips - flying out the window. Bye-bye.

As for myself, I hated the film clips. They denigrated Sarne's many betters, poked fun at people whose talents - even those whose skills were not great - far outstripped the abilities of the director and so ultimately served to show how lacking he was in inspiration, originality - and even of plain competency - compared to even the cheesiest of them.
A: negative