Matt Moses

It amazes me how the British manage to take a small budget to far greater lengths than Americans. Perhaps some research into the workings of the British film industry would shed some light onto this situation, but for now I'll just watch any British B-movie product in awe. This one's kind of a stinker, story-wise, but as per usual the acting holds its own and the cinematography is excellent. Set within the climate of protest and political change that ran throughout the West in the early 60's, we find peace protestor and part-time librarian Frank Jarvis making eyes at continental cutie Rose Margaret Keil, in town as a live-in babysitter, at a swinging coffeehouse. Much to his dismay, she lets suave ad executive Peter Burton have a few dances. Despite protests from her host family, she goes on a peace march with Jarvis but really hates it. Meanwhile, aspiring student David Weston, who looks a bit like Peter Noone, can't wait to marry Linda Marlowe but her uptight dad objects. Naturally, he walks out on her and immediately picks up Keil. They spend their first date skinny-dipping in the Thames and exchanging the dose of the clap she caught when earlier violated by Burton. Before they figure this out, however, the lovely couple get back together and poor innocent Marlowe gets VD as well - funny how the stuff spreads like wildfire in such a purportedly sexually repressed country. The film end with a whirlwind of coming clean, both symbolically and physically. Britain was way ahead of America in shedding the layers of censorship solidified in the previous two decades. Girl contains a number of risqué moments that the MPAA wouldn't dare approve. Indeed, I'm guessing that the print I saw, which contains an interestingly curt strip show, was somewhat censored, especially as it had the American title in the credits. Leave it to the Brits to weave double entendres into just about any spoken or written media; Keil gets an especially good one when she says "When I'm married I'm going to have six," referring to the number of children she hopes to communicate with a twist of the tongue from her accent. Girl also has its fair share of moralistic mumbo-jumbo; doctor John Wood spends all his screen time in the office, lecturing away about the dangers of promiscuous sex. Unlike many cheapo films, this fun flick maintains a breakneck pace throughout, tearing through Keil's woos and woes at a rate best befitting screwball comedy (although the moralistic sermons tend to drag). That said, the story is a total mess and never seems to know which character will be the focus of the next scene until it gets there. My ultimate analysis: a short, preachy but ultimately harmless movie.

Who the hell approved this project? What a nightmare! Never before has such an easy concept been so totally botched. Star quarterback Sam J. Jones boards a private jet with squeamish travel agent Melody Anderson. Turbulent weather sends them crashing into the greenhouse of mad scientist Topol, who shanghais them into his rocket. On the moon, our heroes find themselves before the very evil emperor Max von Sydow in what must have been the lowest point in his career. Sexy daughter Ornella Muti takes an interest in Jones so she arranges to foil her dad's plans, after which she takes him to her pleasure planet, ruled by fey Timothy Dalton. Anderson flees lecherous von Sydow with Topol, reconvening through a series of unlikely events with Jones on a barbarian craft run by hirsute Brian Blessed. From here, the revolution takes over the story and we're treated to a tedious stream of battles and celebrations. Like many bad big budget pictures, the opening credits - a well-done cartoon panel montage - are Flash's strongest point. From there, it's all downhill. Lorenzo Semple Jr. (who did an excellent job with The Parallax View) and Michael Allin's poorly written dialogue receives yet worse delivery; original Flash creator Alex Raymond died in 1956 and so wasn't around to wince at their script. Flash also boasts some of the least impressive special effects from the last quarter of the 20th century. Don't let the apparent abundance fool you; under any degree of scrutiny, they look rotten beyond rotten's wildest dreams. Danilo Donati's sets and costumes do have something to recommend them, but they mostly get lost in the surrounding nonsense. Some of the battles are surprisingly violent for a PG-rated movie based on a comic strip. A film like this could only be scored by slick long hair howlers Queen, which makes sense in context but would be truly horrifying if hear otherwise. Earlier in Jones's career he appeared as a Playgirl centerfold, and probably impressed far more people with his work therein. In sum: this is some dumb doo-doo. You might as well re-watch Flesh Gordon instead. Rocky Horror Show creator Richard O'Brien shows up as a pal of Dalton's. Cinematographer Gilbert Taylor also worked with Kubrick, Hitchcock, Lester and Polanski and must have been suitably unimpressed.

Harold Ramis does a decent enough job traipsing into verboten territory in this relatively funny remake of a brilliant piece of cinematic comedy. Loser computer worker Brendan Fraser has a terrible crush on his coworker Frances O'Connor, with whom he's never even spoken. His unfriendly coworkers try to goad him into speaking with her but he instead winds up bumping into the devil, portrayed without much gusto by Elizabeth Hurley. The inevitable pact gets made, and Fraser continually finds himself about three giant steps away from achieving his wish. O'Conner as a sports journalist shows profound interest in towering basketball star Fraser until she gets a peek at his tiny penis. Fraser as a sensitive type proves too much for O'Conner who walks off with a guy that promises to drink beer and ignore her. After a few more tales of missed targets, Fraser learns a lesson and wanders off to find a relatively happy ending. Sadly, Fraser has little comic sensibility, far less than Dudley Moore, who played the character with pathos well beyond his imitator's capabilities. Hurley's role does not even allow for comparison to Peter Cook's devil; she would have been much better suited to portray Lillian Lust (done suitably by Raquel Welch in the original). Her presence makes itself known primarily through her skimpy outfits. Although most criticisms indicates she casts a more striking presence than Cook, I'd much rather see his slightest sarcastic facial expression than Hurley's gaudy sexuality. The original Bedazzled draped its comedy against a wildly anarchistic structure. Not so Harold Ramis's redo, which maintains a very traditional character progression and a horrifyingly facile moral conclusion that seems to indicate without irony that solace can be found in skin-deep beauty. Perhaps my greatest complaint, however, would be the almost nauseating amount of product placement, kicked off by Fraser getting a Burger King meal as his first wish, which gives the movie a distinctly corporate Hollywood flavor. Nevertheless, Ramis tends to craft comedies with decent, occasionally brilliant, success, and this film does indeed have its funny moments. Most of these come from the more outwardly (and pleasantly) offensive story twists, such as the aforementioned small penis episode and when Fraser leads O'Conner to his room, where he suddenly remember that he's gay. Versatile Orlando Jones and Ramis regular Brian Doyle-Murray show up for some pleasantly amusing roles and O'Conner is rapidly becoming the subject of a big crush on my part (I'm of the opinion she's far sexier than the overdone Ms. Hurley). Without a doubt, Ramis has created a perfectly acceptable film, but he would have done much better to come up with an original story to structure the jokes around; the film remakes Cook and Moore's original in name only, and Ramis achieves precious little by utilizing the name.