Written and directed by Lu Chuan

With: Duobuji, Zhang Lei, Qi Liang and Xueying Zhao

90 minutes in CinemaScope

After last month’s bout with celluloid Buddhists, I was not looking forward to another trip to Tibet. That goes double for one bankrolled by the National Geographic Society, the folks that brought you last summer’s version of the penguin’s Bataan death march.

Instead of an austere portrait of a group of holy men at work, we are drawn in by an equally devoted band of volunteers bent on saving wild Tibetan antelope, being slaughtered for their prized coats, from extinction. You could have knocked me over with a gazelle pelt. Mountain Patrol is a rousing, thoroughly enjoyable true-life adventure tale that is guaranteed to grab and hold you.

Photojournalist Ga Yu (Zhang Lei) arrives at the camp of the Kekexili patrolmen bent on uncovering the truth behind their group and the disappearance of volunteers. In addition, there seems to be questions concerning the Mountain Patrol receiving kickbacks from the pilferers. Patrol leader Ri Tai (Duobuji) is equally suspicious of the young journalist, but eventually acquiesces and allows him to join the group.

The antelope, or chiru, primarily live on the Tibetan plateau. Chiru are in demand for their luxurious coats, which are used to weave shatoosh, a sought-after fabric that contains some of the world’s finest hair. Scarves or shawls made of the fashionable material can fetch anywhere between $8,000 and $15,000 on the black market.

It isn’t long before Ga Yu is an active participant in the action, not only with his camera, but by acts of bravery as well. This film is a rarity in that it thoughtfully and judiciously presents both sides of its arguments, with Ga Yu functioning as a moral center. When Ri Tai is forced to sell the illegal fleeces to pay for a doctor and supplies, Gu Ya asks, “As a journalist, how should I write about this story?” Torn by being forced to go against his own ethics, Ri Tai resolutely confesses that he had no choice.

Filmed on location against the treacherous backdrop of Kekexili, China’s largest animal reserve, Chuan infuses his CinemaScope frames with vistas worthy of Anthony Mann and Sergio Leone. (Substitute cattle rustlers for antelope poachers and you have the makings of classic western.) This is much more than just finding a spectacular location without one bad camera angle. Chuan subtly uses the barren topography as an external representation of his characters’ tortured existence.

From Son of Kong to Lawrence of Arabia to Disney’s The Jungle Book, quicksand has always been one of nature’s most reliable movie villains. I thought I had seen them all until Kekexili’s death by suffocating liquid sawdust. An unbroken take, and from the look of it executed without special effects or CGI enhancement, this is one scene that will leave you all wondering how they did it. Hopefully the DVD’s audio commentary will eventually reveal the secret.

Several passages involving skinned animals would cause PETA activists to re-paint the screen. There are scenes of skin removal and literally hundreds of carcasses being picked apart by vultures that are hard to watch. They make the brutal rabbit hunt in Jean Renoir’s The Rules of the Game look like The Yearling. Not unlike Renoir’s masterpiece, I’m certain that Mountain Patrol’s cast and crew dined on leftovers for weeks to come.

Here is a film that demands a big-screen presentation, and there is no better place in town to view it than at the Ken Cinema. Chances are it won’t attract a large enough audience to merit a second week at Hillcrest Cinemas. Too bad. Were it not for the nightmares all the flesh ripping would instill in smaller children, this would make a great film for the entire family. If you thirst for an epic, old fashioned, nail-biting adventure, you have exactly seven days to drown your craving.

Rating:

Written and directed by Paul Greengrass

With: J. J. Johnson, Polly Adams, Khalid Abdalla, Lewis Alsamari, Omar Berdouni and Jamie Harding

121 minutes in CinemaScope

A Universal Studio release set aboard an aircraft that doesn’t feature George Kennedy or depict the obligatory row of star headshots at the bottom of the poster? What gives?

Not much in this made-for-TV disaster film that some critics seem to be mistaking for a real-time documentary.

There was one ray of hope toward the beginning. The first exterior shot starts on a “God Bless America” sign, pans left to reveal the World Trade Center and ends on an anonymous aircraft hovering above New York. Concise, expressive, foreboding and subsequently the only shot of its kind in the entire film.

Three of the four hijacked planes connected with their targets and, as the poster promises, “This is the story of the fourth.” A great deal of the film’s action takes place in control rooms across America. Pay particularly close attention to where characters are situated. Director Greengrass lacks the know-how to visually keep us informed of location. With no familiar faces to help anchor us to the settings, the constant location-jumping becomes even more confusing.

The faces are cast according to type, but Greengrass fails when it comes to establishing and defining his characters. Aside from a few swatches of in-flight banter, the passengers aboard United flight 93 remain anonymous. More interested in respectfully getting the facts straight than allowing his characters to tell the story, the film plainly moves toward its forgone conclusion.

In order to evoke a sense of realism, Greengrass banks on a tired bag of cinematic clichés. Make sure your seatbelts remain securely fastened throughout the film’s running time. You’ll need Dramamine to get through all the hand-held camerawork, swish pans and grainy rack-focus shots. Given the amount of money the producers saved by hiring a no-star cast, they could have at least invested in a tripod.

Why anyone would want to willfully submit to guaranteed displeasure is beyond me. How a major studio produced such a dull film from this material is even more baffling.

Rating:

Written and directed by Jessica Bendinger

With: Jeff Bridges, Missy Peregrym, Vanessa Lengies and Tarah Paige

105 minutes

If you have zero tolerance for teen no-brainers, keep turning the page. If not, you just may have some dumb fun at the movies.

On paper, Stick It had the makings of just about everything I loathe in contemporary cinema. You have a major actor (Jeff Bridges) claiming to have accepted the role because he thought his three daughters would like it. I’m certain that it had nothing to do with the enormous paycheck attached. Personally, I have a strong tolerance for teen comedies, but for every 10 Things I Hate About You or Slackers, you have to crawl through hours of apoplectic sludge like Date Movie or Waiting.

Most damning of all, this is one of those sports films in which participants train for a last-reel competition. Stick It is basically a reworking of Million Dollar Baby without all the death and dismemberment. Cast a bankable elder statesman opposite a Hilary Swank lookalike (Missy Peregrym), substitute gymnastics for boxing and you have a hit.

Haley Graham (Peregrym) has a brush with the authorities for trashing a vacant house with her skateboarding cronies. It’s either juvenile hall or eat crow and take a stretch at a gym camp that she overtly abandoned years ago. Her coach is Burt Vickerman (Bridges), a smug, gum-chewing huckster who claims to know what’s best for his kids while puffing up their parents with unattainable Olympic dreams.

First-time director Jessica Bendinger wrote the script for the dopey box office hit Bring It On. She is a much more interesting director than writer. From the colorful opening credits, there is a sense of energy that she manages to maintain throughout the picture. Even though her characters are all one-dimensional, Bridges and Peregrym come to her aid with credible performances.

The dialogue is wretched for the most part, and poor Vanessa Lengies, the snooty one on the squad, is called upon to read a lot of lame one-liners.

So if the script stinks and the story’s mediocre, why bother? There are a few lively CG-enhanced musical numbers with overhead tributes to Busby Berkeley, and how can one help but laugh when they see a hip dude satirically sporting a “World’s Greatest Grandma” hat. Admittedly, I could have done with a bit more tomfoolery and a little less rigorous training.

What’s really different about this movie is its anti-competitive sports agenda. Bendinger sees through the hateful system of judging teens solely on their ability to shove a ball through a hoop and does a commendable job of hammering away at the petty conceit of “elite gymnasts.” Suffice it to say that this is not a film content to end in victory.

It is so seldom that a movie of this caliber even attempts a fresh message. Go in expecting flashy eye-candy and stay for the condemnation.

Rating: 1/2