Bovie Movie

Director David Fincher followed the success of his dark and atmospheric crime thriller Seven (1995) with another exercise in stylish film noir, this time lifting the pallid atmosphere a notch to indulge in a fast-paced trip through the cinematic funhouse. Michael Douglas plays Nicholas Van Orton, a Scrooge-like San Francisco investment banker following in his father’s Scrooge-like footsteps. On Nicholas’s 48th birthday (the age at which his father committed suicide), his younger, free-spirited brother Conrad (Sean Penn) blows into town and gives Nicholas a special gift for “the man who has everything” — a ticket to CRS (Consumer Recreation Services), a company that constructs games custom-fit for each participant to provide, as CRS salesman Jim Feingold (James Rebhorn) cryptically puts it, “whatever is lacking.” Nicholas’s secure life begins a downhill slide as CRS masterminds a series of elaborate pranks, harmless at first, that quickly become malicious and life-threatening. Stripped of financial resources and convinced that he can trust no one, Nicholas begins to wonder if CRS is a front for a more covert operation, and if the game is in fact an attempt to steal his fortune and leave him for dead. Determined to fight back alone, Nicholas infiltrates CRS in order to “pull back the curtain and meet the wizard.

Acclaimed director David Fincher’s promising career was lucky to survive this astonishingly wrong-headed, almost universally despised second sequel to Alien (1979). The film careens into oblivion virtually from the beginning, as Lt. Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) is the only survivor of a crash-landing on a hellish, God-forsaken prison planet. Not only does the crash kill little Newt, completely obviating the entire point of the superior Aliens (1986), but Fincher then compounds his betrayal of that film’s fans by having Ripley attend the girl’s gruesome autopsy and barely bat an eye as the child’s chest is bloodily ripped open with a steel bonesaw. Things just go downhill from there, as the rather unthreatening rapists and murderers harass Ripley and curse a great deal before being torn apart by large fans, having their heads crushed by the unconvincing CGI alien, and finally volunteering to be murdered by the beast rather than letting the evil Company get hold of it. Fincher does the best he can with a terrible script, and there are some nice supporting turns by Charles S. Dutton, Charles Dance, and Brian Glover, but nothing could redeem the film’s first 15 minutes. By the time Ripley takes a suicidal swan-dive into a vat of molten lead, cradling a baby alien as it explodes from her chest, many viewers will not know whether to reach for the remote control or a warm bath and a razorblade. A loathsome experience by any standard, Alien 3 still made enough money for Weaver to return as a Ripley clone in Alien Resurrection (1997).

Director David Fincher’s dark, stylish thriller ranks as one of the decade’s most influential box-office successes. Set in a hellish vision of a New York-like city, where it is always raining and the air crackles with impending death, the film concerns Det. William Somerset (Morgan Freeman), a homicide specialist just one week from a well-deserved retirement. Every minute of his 32 years on the job is evident in Somerset’s worn, exhausted face, and his soul aches with the pain that can only come from having seen and felt far too much. But Somerset’s retirement must wait for one last case, for which he is teamed with young hotshot David Mills (Brad Pitt), the fiery detective set to replace him at the end of the week. Mills has talked his reluctant wife, Tracy (Gwyneth Paltrow), into moving to the big city so that he can tackle important cases, but his first and Somerset’s last are more than either man has bargained for. A diabolical serial killer is staging grisly murders, choosing victims representing the seven deadly sins. First, an obese man is forced to eat until his stomach ruptures to represent gluttony, then a wealthy defense lawyer is made to cut off a pound of his own flesh as penance for greed. Somerset initially refuses to take the case, realizing that there will be five more murders, ghastly sermons about lust, sloth, pride, wrath, and envy presented by a madman to a sinful world. Somerset is correct, and something within him cannot let the case go, forcing the weary detective to team with Mills and see the case to its almost unspeakably horrible conclusion. The moody photography is by Darius Khondji; the nauseatingly vivid special effects are by makeup artist Rob Bottin, best known for more fantasy-oriented work in films like The Howling (1981).

A well-regarded spec script by A-list screenwriter David Koepp became this stylish thriller from director David Fincher. Jodie Foster stars as Meg Altman, a single mother of an diabetic preteen daughter, Sarah (Kristen Stewart). Meg’s going through an unhappy divorce that forces her and Sarah to move into a new home. They choose a deluxe New York brownstone that coincidentally boasts an unusual feature: a “panic room,” a vault-like hidden space capable of literally sealing itself off from the rest of the building. With its thick steel door on springs, separate ventilation and communications systems, and video monitors linked to cameras mounted throughout the home, the room is an impregnable fortress. It quickly comes in handy when the Altmans’ new residence is invaded by a trio of thieves: Junior (Jared Leto), Burnham (Forest Whitaker), and Raoul (Dwight Yoakam). Meg and Sarah are able to secure themselves in the panic room before the robbers can get to them, but it turns out that Sarah’s medication is still on the outside, the phone’s not yet connected, and the loot the gang’s seeking is inside the panic room with them. A cat-and-mouse battle of wits ensues, with Meg trying to outwit their captors over the course of one very long night, as her daughter’s health dissipates. Panic Room (2002) co-stars Ann Magnuson, Patrick Bauchau, and Koepp’s fellow screenwriter, Andrew Kevin Walker, in a cameo role.

In this darkly comic drama, Edward Norton stars as a depressed young man (named in the credits only as “Narrator”) who has become a small cog in the world of big business. He doesn’t like his work and gets no sense of reward from it, attempting instead to drown his sorrows by putting together the “perfect” apartment. He can’t sleep and feels alienated from the world at large; he’s become so desperate to relate to others that he’s taken to visiting support groups for patients with terminal diseases so that he’ll have people to talk to. One day on a business flight, he discovers Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), a charming iconoclast who sells soap. Tyler doesn’t put much stock in the materialistic world, and he believes that one can learn a great deal through pain, misfortune, and chaos. Tyler cheerfully challenges his new friend to a fight. Our Narrator finds that bare-knuckle brawling makes him feel more alive than he has in years, and soon the two become friends and roommates, meeting informally to fight once a week. As more men join in, the “fight club” becomes an underground sensation, even though it’s a closely guarded secret among the participants. (First rule: Don’t talk about fight club. Second rule: Don’t talk about fight club.) But as our Narrator and Tyler bond through violence, a strange situation becomes more complicated when Tyler becomes involved with Marla (Helena Bonham Carter), whom our Narrator became infatuated with when they were both crashing the support-group circuit. Based on the novel by Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club was directed by David Fincher, who previously directed Pitt in the thriller Seven.