Film

The Banana and the Monkey Man – seen around town.Solidifying our place as Bicycle Town U.S.A. has taken some work. We
have miles and miles of trails, locally grown road-riding talent of the
highest order as well as a massive number of bike commuters and cycling
shops. But now we can add another notch in our bicycling belt in the
birth of the Bend Bicycle Film Festival.

Similar in format to the
always popular Powderhound Review, the event is a catch all of sorts
for all films relating to bicycling. Given our community's penchant for
two wheelers, there was hardly a shortage of submissions. One of the
festival's organizers, Bill Warburton, says that they received 24
submissions and hope to get somewhere between 15 and 20 of those films
into the hour and a half slated for local programming.
A
fundraiser for the Central Oregon Trail Alliance and the Bend Cycling
Club, the Bend Bicycle Film Festival covers the wide variety of cycling
mediums, including a piece on unicycling as well as footage from last
year's Cyclocross championships.

I told you pesky kids to stay off my porch.Early in Up-the tenth feature from the cinematic quality machine called
Pixar-there's a sequence that distills all of the best that the
animation powerhouse brings to filmmaking. After a brief prologue
introducing us to a pair of simpatico kids named Carl and Ellie in the
1930s, we watch without a word of dialogue as the childhood friends
become sweethearts, then follow them through 50 years of married life.

As
Up moves into its primary storyline, that's the challenge
co-writer/director Pete Docter (Monsters, Inc.) faces. In the present
day, Carl (Edward Asner) is now a curmudgeonly septuagenarian, living
alone in his house while high-rise development goes on around him.
Facing the prospect of life in a retirement home, Carl instead sends a
massive cascade of balloons through his chimney, launching the house
into the air with a plan to head to a remote South American jungle
There's also an unexpected hitchhiker: Russell (Jordan Nagai), a young
Wilderness Explorer who didn't take the hint that Carl didn't want to
be helped across the street.

Filmmaker and yoga enthusiast Kate Churchill had a goal for her
documentary: find a novice yoga student and give him six months to
transform physically and spiritually through yoga. She picks Nick
Rosen, a rock climber/journalist whose father is a corporate lawyer and
mother is a shaman healer. She introduces Nick to many of the American
"Baskin Robbins choices" of yoga, and then takes him to India to learn
directly from the great masters.

Enlighten Up! skims the surface of
every encounter, not to mention yoga in general. And the by-the-numbers
documentary has its moments, but not enough of them. Beginning with
talking head testimonials from internationally known yoga instructors
who explain that there are exceptions and contradictions to all rules,
it briefly cuts back and forth with mixed messages and innuendoes
instead of information. It's easy to tell from the first five minutes
that Nick isn't going to get it. Even as every single spiritual guru
tells him that "the brain is not the boss," "don't dwell on thoughts,"
"keep practicing yoga and let it happen," Nick constantly resists and
stonewalls.
While the focus is on Nick the skeptic, the
narration amateurishly switches between Nick and Kate, with both
figures having dramatic moments. Thanks to Kate's off-camera remarks
and input, it's obvious she is being affected by the events in the
film. But behind the scenes, she proves to be more distracting than
beneficial.

Call me elf ears one more time, Captain Jerk. You tell me, Trekkers and Trekkies: more than 40 years since its inception, what does the Star Trek "brand" mean, anyway?

Director
J. J. Abrams has let it be known that he wasn't a huge fan of Star Trek
before diving into this prequel re-launch of the franchise. It was a
risky move for Paramount Pictures, because perhaps more than any other
property in all of pop culture, Trek depends on the buy-in of the
die-hards.
Abrams (Alias, Mission: Impossible III) has shown
that he knows both how to deliver brainy action, and how to leave his
distinctive thumbprint on an existing franchise. With Star Trek, he
turns out a terrifically energetic, highly entertaining summer
adventure. The only question is whether it means anything in particular
to call this story Star Trek.
It's certainly true that the names
of the protagonists are familiar. Following in the footsteps of his
late father, young hotshot James Kirk (Chris Pine) enlists with
Starfleet to become an officer; the half-human/half-Vulcan Spock
(Zachary Quinto) is already first officer to veteran Capt. Pike (Bruce
Greenwood). When a mysterious Romulan called Nero (Eric Bana) threatens
the very existence of the planet Vulcan, Kirk and Spock find themselves
together on the brand-new starship Enterprise, attempting to prevent
planetary genocide.

Rule number 1: Never take wolverine to the spa. Wolverine is predisposed to make a ton of money ($87 million thus far),
but it doesn't live up to expectations. Most of it feels like a big
waste of cinema, wasting far too much time alluding to sequels and
prequels. As a result, it doesn't stand alone-it goes in too many
directions, stagnates into a world between camp and high drama, and
leaves too many characters alive for any sense of closure. Compelling
flicks like Watchmen and the first X-Men raised the bar, and Wolverine
languishes way below.

The story begins in 1845 with two brothers with
some sort of "gift," who bond via patricide and roam through a montage
of wars-Civil War, WWI & II and Vietnam. Never aging past 30 or so,
it becomes apparent however that these brothers have very dissimilar
attitudes. Logan aka "Wolverine" (Hugh Jackman) has a conscience
whereas Victor aka "Sabretooth" (Liev Shreiber) regales in flaring
tempers, death and destruction. Wolverine has bones that grow out
between his knuckles like swords, uncanny superhuman strength and can
ingest bullets into his system while his wounds heal. Ditto for
Sabretooth, but he just grows fingernails. After surviving execution in
'Nam, Colonel Stryker (Danny Huston) helps them start a new life in a
rag-tag mercenary band of thugs.

The Thriller video shoot is next door, guys. It's not until about three-quarters of the way through that you get to find out why this movie is called The Informers, and by then it's far too late to care. The opening scene starts out just fine, a party rife with '80s fashion and hairstyles, blaring "New Gold Dream" by Simple Minds. It was initially entertaining to see these circa-1983 dudes and chicks wearing Ray Bans, relentlessly looking like a take-themselves-way-too-seriously Breakfast Club, but it spiraled down fast from there. It takes a little under 10 minutes to figure out that The Informers is going to be one long dreary and tedious ride into the land of lame cinema.

The plot follows four or five different stories that barely interlock. There are LA cocktails, sushi and arugula salads. There's Billy Bob Thornton as a dazed-and-confused movie producer, his haggard, sex-addicted wife played by Kim Basinger, Wynona Ryder as a TV newscaster, Mickey Rourke as a sleazy kidnapper turned wimp, and Chris Isaak playing a drunken dad. But the lesser-knowns do most of the heavy lifting, Mel Raido plays drug-addled rock star Brian Metro; the late Brad Renfro (Ghost World) in his last role is Jack, a chubby and super nervous desk clerk, and Jon Foster (Windfall - What, you've never heard of it?) is Graham whom I guess one could say the story revolves around.