Directed by Ang Lee

Written by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana from a short story by Annie Proulx

Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Heath Ledger, Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway

134 minutes

Forget about the New York and L. A. films critics and the Golden Globes. For the first time in the history of Landmark’s Hillcrest Cinemas, four of their five theaters will screen the same film. How’s that for an honor! After months of advance word, the gay cowboys finally ride into tinsel town – and you might be surprised to see how much dust they raise come awards season.

Ranch hand Heath Ledger and rodeo clown Jake Gyllenhaal sign on as herders hired to “sleep with the sheep” in the isolated majesty of Brokeback Mountain As beautiful as these introductory man-against-nature passages are, travelogues soon come to mind. It seems a waste to employ natural splendor for picture-postcard effects. Make it a third character instead! If only Lee had used the rugged topography as a visual externalization of and/or commentary on his characters’ emotional states, but this is a far cry from the Anthony Mann/Jimmy Stewart cycle.

We all know why we plunked down 10 bucks, and with the exception of one soft-focus background shot of a naked Ledger (Jake discreetly averts his eyes), it takes a full two reels before any free-range love ensues. While sleeping, Gyllenhaal dreamily wraps Ledger’s arm around him. As in any quality porno film from the ’70s, Ledger resists for about three seconds before flipping over his fellow cowpoke. Blame it on a full moon.

The boys soon part company and settle into a typical ’60s hetero lifestyle: Heath marries his high school sweetheart (Michelle Williams), Jake settles down with rodeo queen Anne Hathaway, and both raise families. Four years later, Gyllenhaal passes through Wyoming and it’s not long before Williams becomes suspicious of fishing trips that bring back spotless, empty creels.

Why their romantic longings survive time is never fully understood. More passionate exchanges were in order, and those expecting bareback mountings are sure to be disappointed. This is all the more regrettable when one considers how genuine and tender their intimate scenes together are. Lee wisely plays his box office cards by minimizing sexual contact. Had the film chosen to follow a less traditional, more erotic plotline it would not be gathering all these pre-Oscar accolades. And let’s not forget those topless shots of Ms. Williams and Ms. Hathaway, a housewife’s insurance that her conservative hubby can be talked into attending.

While the aging process is laughable (fresh-faced Hathaway with a Dolly Parton wig and Lee Press-On nails will never pass for 40), the acting is anything but. The New York Times ranked Ledger’s performance right up there with Brando’s best. Nobody is that good, and while superb, a little less of a Sling Blade mumble would have helped. The last third of the film dissolves into predictable melodrama, and just when you think the point of no return has been crossed, the film’s heartfelt conclusion does an about-face and drives you into your seat.

Three Stars

Directed by Peter Jackson

Starring: Naomi Watts, Adrien Brody, Jack Black and Kong, the 8th Wonder of the World

187 minutes in CinemaScope

At almost twice the length of the defining 1933 masterpiece, Peter Jackson’s gargantuan remake adds little more than computer-generated padding. The guy next to me sported an Indiglo wristwatch. By the time the movie was over, I had tan lines from his constant consultations.

Unlike producer Dino De Laurentis’ contemporary 1976 remake, Jackson chose to follow Kong creator Merian C. Cooper’s Depression-era blueprint. There was even a promise that the Carl Denham (Jack Black) character was going to be more closely modeled after adventurer/filmmaker Cooper. Aside from a Chang one-sheet adorning an outer-office wall and his single-minded pursuit to capture everything on film, it could have been DeMille.

The year before Star Wars ruined everything, both critics and audiences were outraged over the thought of De Laurentis tinkering with the Kong – or as Dino called him, “Konk” – legend. Perhaps it was a mistake to watch both the ’33 and ’76 versions (in addition to Son of Kong, a real stinker, and the ’49 Mighty Joe Young, in many ways Kong’s equal) before venturing into Kong ’05. How could it ever have hoped to equal the original’s innocence or the remake’s topical edge? To paraphrase Norma Desmond, “The picture got bigger.”

Too big! If Kong originally did battle with a handful of dinosaurs, now they run like the bulls through the streets of Pamplona, causing one exiting patron to dub it Jurassic 4. (The ’76 version completely did away with the dinosaurs.) A few pesky, oversized stop-motion bugs give way to a forest of digitized flying creepy-crawlers. (If you suffer from entomophobia, this might not be a good fit.) Originally made from clay and hair, and later a guy in a superb Rick Baker monkey suit, Kong is now an electronic creation, and as computer generated images go, just an average ape.

I would venture that 70 percent of the shots in this film utilize computer graphics to one degree or another. Pay close attention to the scenes where Watts is being held by Kong and you’ll see a startling problem with perspective. Not only does it not look as though she’s in the paw, the actress is over-lit and nothing meshes. As one imdb.com poster observed, “This is one of the key problems with all CGI monsters when composited on live action – their texture never matches the grain of the film stock.” Give me a hairy lump of animated clay!

While Naomi Watts plums a range of emotions that shrieking Fay Wray could only dream of, she is no match for the smoldering monkey shines that went on between Jessica Lange and her co-ape. One of Kong the second’s many successful attempts to update the material involved sexualizing the relationship between the starlet and her 50-foot lead. Watts’ Depression-era dance to soothe the savage beast failed to amuse. Nor does the miscast Black bring anything new to the huckstering showman. Actually, the best performance in the three films combined is Charles Grodin’s egomaniacal comic turn as Fred Wilson, the leader of a (then and now) topical petroleum expedition.

There are some spectacular effects at the climax, but it’s too much, too late. If you’ve never seen the original, you are not to be believed. The brand new Warner Bros. DVD pressing is a revelation. After years of muddy, cut-down prints you will notice details in the background you never knew existed. There are still a lot of thrills to behold in the mighty King Kong. Just make sure you have the right vintage.

One Star

Written and directed by Duncan Tucker

Starring: Felicity Huffman, Kevin Zegers, Fionnula Flanagan and Burt Young

103 minutes

I was fortunate enough to be given Cliff’s Notes for this review via a phone interview with the film’s director, Duncan Tucker.

Transamerica starts on a clip from the transsexual instructional video Finding Your Female Voice. Tucker immediately signals Bree’s (Felicity Huffman) voice as a metaphor for one’s identity. By placing her hand on a spinning LP, Bree manually slows a soprano down to a baritone. This physical attempt to synchronize the world with her decibel level is one of the film’s numerous attempts to visualize Bree’s exploration.

One week before her surgery, Bree learns that years after her sole sexual encounter with a woman, she is the proud parent of a jailed runaway named Toby (Kevin Zegers). Initially Bree wants no part of him, but her therapist (the ever-radiant Elizabeth Pena) insists that she confront her past, and will not allow the final operation until the two at least attempt reconciliation. Thinking she can ditch the boy with his sympathetic stepfather, Bree improvises a road trip.

“To me, the subject matter is not transsexuality,” Tuckers said. “The film is about family, growing up and really accepting who you are in your skin.” Felicity Huffman’s transwoman character chooses to lead a “stealth” lifestyle, and the location shoot was frequently forced to be a bit furtive itself. Tucker said, “We were very conscientious. If people asked what the movie was about we just told them the truth – it’s about a parent and a child on a road trip.” Did you hear the one about the hot male teen prostitute driving cross-country with a middle-aged conservative woman behind the wheel who just happens to be his father? Try getting a laugh out of that set-up in “red state” America.

Olympia Dukakis played a transwoman in the “Tales of the City” miniseries, but to the best of my knowledge, a woman playing a man undergoing a sex operation to become a woman has yet to make it to the big screen. Not wanting a Tootsie, Tucker “purposely chose to cast a woman in order to honor where the character was going and not mire her in what she left behind.”

It may not be the best performance by an actress this year, but Fionnula Flanagan as Bree’s monstrous mother is easily the funniest. I’ve seen and hated this woman in every Wal-Mart I’ve ever been in: garish makeup that compliments her Ringling Bros. wardrobe, a white, fluffy hair helmet and a professional purse-carrying husband in tow. She is quick to blame Bree on her Jewish father’s genes. Tucker explained, “The woman’s been beaten down over the years. The Jews in her life surround her like cowboys around Indians. She’s horrible and doesn’t even know it. She’s simply trying to save her son.” As her father, Burt Young looks grateful to have received a hot bowl of soup from the Craft Services table.

A “transformative journey” and one you should all take, Transamerica is not only a brave showcase for Ms. Huffman, it introduces us to an F. A. A.: Future Auteur of America.

Three 1/2 Stars