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Movie Reviews
Doorways into another dimension
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The Doors: (dir. Oliver Stone, 1991) – "Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. Wake up!" Say what you want about ultra-heavy handed conspiracy theory freak Oliver Stone, but the man knows how to construct a drug-addled scene with the finesse and verve of even the most hopped-up Hunter S. Thompson writing. ‘The Doors’ is the oft-written, but never boring, story of how a pill popping, whiskey swilling, sometimes poetic southern Californian misfit, Jim Morrison (Val Kilmer), is able to convince classical musician Ray Manzarek (Kyle McLachlan) to start a rock-n-roll band, charm Underground musician Nico into a blowjob in an elevator (love in an elevator, anyone?), and stand atop cars shouting to passersby how he is the Lizard King.

But if that’s not enough to hold your attention for two hours just think of the countless number of ego clashes that must have occurred on-set between Napolenonic Stone and once-Hollywood bad boy Kilmer. That’s the stuff filmic dreams are made of, no?

Sliding Doors: (dir. Peter Howitt, 1998) – A Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle that was really nothing more than a…well, a Gwyneth Paltrow vehicle. The premise is decent, starting with Paltrow finding herself inexplicably sacked from her PR job. While racing to catch the train on her way home from the start of her horrendous day, a funny thing happens. Suddenly, there are two Gwyneth Paltrows: one that makes the train on time only to arrive home and find her husband (John Lynch) giving it to his ex-girlfriend (Jeanne Tripplehorn); and Gwyneth’s doppelganger, which misses the train, gets mugged, goes to the hospital and arrives home to find her husband in the shower.

These two realities are, of course, meant to dislodge the viewer’s expectations and perceptions, and I suppose on some level they do, but it’s not all together executed in an engaging manner. To be fair, Paltrow does manage to hold her own (not just once, but twice!), but first-time director Howitt has some trouble filling a few gaping holes in his ‘what-if’ premise. And to make matters more mundane, we don’t get to see enough of Tripplehorn whom is surely the hottest of the lesser known actresses out there.

The Shining: (dir. Stanley Kubrick, 1980) – Few scenes in film history can successfully and simultaneously evoke both intense fear and sheer joy at a man gone psycho, savagely axing his way through a bathroom door to get to his wife. "Heeeeere’s Johnny!" But don’t kid yourself. While Jack (Nicholson) certainly wasn’t a dull boy, this particular scene, and the whole film for that matter, was the brainchild and craft of a mastermind director, Kubrick.

If you happen to live in Oregon, you get to figure out which scenes were shot at Timberline lodge on Mt. Hood and which were shot in Montana (though most was filmed on a sound stage in Hollywood). Not to mention, you get to take delight at Jack’s barroom scene when he ad-libs the line, "Yer the best goddamn bartender from Timbuktu to Portland, Maine. Or Portland, Oregon, for that matter." Thank you, Jack.

There are also wonderful extras on the DVD, like, during ‘the making of’ when Kubrick makes Duvall cry like a baby ‘til she gets her scene the way that he’d like it (after 127 takes!). Ahhh, gotta love those old-time directors.