by MALCOLM FRASER, MATTHEW HAYS and OMAR MAJEED

Black Christmas

After the J-horror craze, the zombie renaissance, and the extreme gore of Saw and its ilk, a straight-up, by-the-books horror movie is evidence of either a certain retro-classicism or just plain laziness. The latter seems suspiciously the case with Black Christmas, the remake of Bob Clark’s 1974 tax-shelter-era Cancon slasher.

Billy Lenz (Robert Mann) murders his family on Christmas after being kept locked in the attic for years. Some time later, in the present day, he makes good on his promise to be “home for Christmas,” escaping from his mental ward and hightailing it back to his old home, which is currently a sorority house. Its residents, played by thespians including Buffy’s Michelle Trachtenberg and Final Destination 3’s Mary Elizabeth Winstead, are all staying at the place over the holidays, and become the victims of his Yuletide rampage.

In order to gauge the appeal of such a film, I have to revert to my 14-year-old self, who devoured such films on a weekly basis. As I recall, the main criteria for my approval were copious nudity, gratuitous splatter effects, and hilariously bad acting. The new Black Christmas offers all of these, but in pitifully minute doses; the rest is just the genre formula played out without much enthusiasm. You’re left asking questions like: isn’t it sad that Andrea Martin can’t find any other paying work? How come Winstead’s boyfriend looks so much like Pop Montreal impresario Dan Seligman? And most of all: Is this the nadir of films-not-worth-remaking, or is there worse to come? (MF)

Jesus Camp

This new documentary joins such recent efforts as the excellent Hell House, which also focused on America’s religious right. Co-directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady got up-close-and-scary access to a boot camp where young children go to have the fear of God hammered into them. Many of the scenes are alarming.

But Jesus Camp was handed a bounty of free additional media attention in the past few weeks due to one of its crackpot cameos. One evangelical leader leers into the camera as he warns children about the horrors of homosexuality. The man is none other than Ted Haggard, a prominent leader within the movement who has since been revealed as a closet case who repeatedly hired a hustler who bought drugs for them to use.

Hypocrisy and bonus publicity aside, what’s most horrifying about the film is the way in which children are cajoled and inundated with far-right Christian ideas. The best bits are when someone brings a cardboard cut-out of George W. Bush on stage for everyone to say hello to and cheer on. There’s little room for sinners here—and for most of the film, you wonder where the parents are in this picture. Who would let this gang of creeps near their young impressionable children? It’s not a pretty picture, and much of what they’re teaching is intolerant and downright nasty.

Ewing and Grady offset the all-Christians-are-nuts message by including a radio show host who is both Christian and decidedly more tolerant and mainstream. It’s a welcome relief, given the rest of the crew in Jesus Camp. (MH)

Night at the Museum

Ben Stiller has had some serious quality control issues lately, and the previews for this new flick—featuring pratfalls galore, a wacky monkey and Robin Williams—didn’t bode well. Director Shawn Levy’s track record is even sketchier, including flicks Cheaper by the Dozen, The Pink Panther and Just Married. As it turns out, though, this is a pretty enjoyable film, although strictly for the kids.

Stiller is Larry, a failed inventor and layabout who takes on a job as a museum night guard to make a good impression on his son Nick (Jake Cherry), who’s showing signs of preferring his slick bond-trader stepdad. Stiller gets more than he bargained for when the museum’s displays come to life after closing time. He spends the rest of the movie dodging rampaging jungle beasts, angry Huns and miniature armies, trying to keep things under control and engaging in the ever-important pratfalls.

Williams is on autopilot as always, but he doesn’t command that much screen time, and Stiller is likeable in a family-friendly twist on his typical beleaguered persona.

The true pleasure, though, comes from the supporting cast. Dick Van Dyke, Mickey Rooney and character actor vet Bill Cobbs play a trio of crusty old guards (I personally was surprised to see the former two still alive, but they still know how to bring the old-school charm), and Ricky Gervais and Steve Coogan also turn in witty performances for the parental crowd. It’s no masterpiece by any means, but certainly good-hearted and amiable enough to merit bringing the crumb-crushers out to the multiplex. (MF)

We Are Marshall

In a year of inspirational football epics (Invincible, Gridiron Gang etc), We Are Marshall is the film most rooted in our post-9/11 sensibilities. After all, the story revolves around a tragic plane crash, a heartbroken community and the emergence of a new leader steeped in down-home, folksy charm.

The movie begins with the 1970s plane crash that claimed the lives of the Marshall University football team, causing the town immeasurable grief. The determination to keep the football program alive is led by Nate Ruffin, one of the surviving players.

Enter our humble yet wise hero, Jack Lengyel (played with an affable but over-the-top Southern drawl by Matthew McConaughey), the team’s new head coach. Despite resistance from still-grieving townsfolk and bureaucratic hurdles, Jack manages to recruit new players, hire staff and build a new team while facing down resistances from the school and community.

What follows is the usual assortment of athletic underdog tropes: slick montages set to groovy music (my favorite being Tommy James’s “Dragging the Line”), and plenty of tear-jerking monologues accompanied by a swelling score.

In the end, We Are Marshall tries to be a great sports film and a touching parable about a community dealing with inexplicable grief. Unfortunately, the film doesn’t deliver on either, preferring instead to peddle the same old clichés to us one more time. (OM)

Angel-A

Luc Besson is best known for screaming car chases, underwater adventures and Bruce Willis kicking ass in space. So this effort—moderately paced, shot in black and white and focusing mostly on two characters—feels like a shot at artistic redemption, or at least a spot of cinematic indie cred.

André (Jamel Debbouze) is a down-on-his-luck hustler who’s managed to get himself deep into debt to an assortment of Parisian gangsters, who announce their intentions to kill him if he hasn’t paid them off by the day’s end. Just as he’s about to end it all by throwing himself into the Seine, he notices Angela (Rie Rasmussen), a blonde of Amazonian proportions, about to do the same. After he rescues her from her suicide attempt, she offers to help him get himself out of his predicament in return, proceeding to charm, fight and screw her way through his legions of creditors, along the way revealing her origins (hinted at none too subtly in the title).

The two lead actors pull off the challenging task of carrying the film single-handedly. Debbouze is a kind of Arabic Woody Allen—twitchy, motor-mouthed and alternately endearing and annoying, and Rasmussen is simply very compelling to watch. The black and white images of Paris are also beautifully executed. Ultimately, though, when your plot isn’t snappy enough for a mainstream flick, but your themes aren’t developed enough for an arthouse film, you’re left with something that’s neither here nor there. Better this than Taxi 5, though; hopefully Besson will keep trying. (MF)

All films open Friday, Dec. 22

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