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FROM HELL Known for their contemporary urban dramas Menace II Society and Dead Presidents, The Hughes Brothers (aka Allen and Albert Hughes) have returned with a thriller set in 1888 London focusing on Jack the Ripper. It's admirable when any artist is able to break the shackles of preconceived notions, but for those still requiring some sort of connective tissue, it's fairly obvious that From Hell is no different from its predecessors in that they all deal with the poverty, violence and drugs that are readily found on the mean city streets. In fact, what makes this more than just a slasher flick with a pedigree is its insistence on presenting its sordid tale at ground level, exploring the social chasm that existed between the upper and lower classes as much as recreating the killer's grisly handiwork. This may not possess the macabre sense of showmanship that made Sleepy Hollow such a kinky kick (both films, incidentally, star Johnny Depp as a detective investigating bizarre murders), but on its own terms, it's an effective thriller that's densely plotted and well-paced. And as Depp's character becomes more immersed in his investigation, we become more immersed in the period world that the Hughes and their crew have created. Between Martin Childs' sets, Kym Barrett's costumes, and Peter Deming's mood-setting cinematography, this exudes authenticity right down to the last cobblestone. Well, OK: The Marilyn Manson song that plays over the closing credits may not exactly conjure images of 1888 London, but that's a small concession I'm willing to make. 
HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH Contrary to popular belief, comparing the cinematic version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch to the legendary Rocky Horror Picture Show (as many have been prone to do) does the new film no favors. Yes, Rocky Horror may be instantly recognizable even beyond the pop culture crowd, but while it may be an excellent midnight movie, it's only so-so as a movie movie -- away from all the festivities, it provides for a rather, umm, rocky viewing experience (try watching it at home alone if you don't believe me). Hedwig, on the other hand, is a triumph no matter when or where it's shown. Billed as a "post-punk neo-glam rock musical," this adaptation of the 1998 Off-Broadway hit has enough surface kitsch to dazzle the senses, but it's also an unexpectedly poignant tale of one individual's journey toward becoming a complete person. Writer-director John Cameron Mitchell plays the role of Hedwig, a rock star wanna-be resentful not only of the botched sex change operation that left her with the titular "angry inch," but also of her former boyfriend (Michael Pitt), who stole her songs and rode them all the way to fame and fortune. Powered by catchy, soaring rock anthems modelled after the Ziggy Stardust era, Hedwig, like Moulin Rouge before it, serves as a modern reminder of the ability of music to convey emotions when mere words won't do. Yet this isn't simply a vamp'n'tramp show; instead, Mitchell's performance as Hedwig is about as fully realized as any you'll see this year. 1/2
K-PAX Watching two great actors on the order of Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges squander their talents on something as ghastly as K-PAX is akin to spending your savings on the purchase of a fondue restaurant and using its facilities to create nothing more than grilled cheese sandwiches. Offensively sanctimonious, flagrantly derivative and just plain dull (don't see K-PAX without NO-DOZ), this insufferable picture casts Spacey as Prot, who's sent to a hospital's mental ward after he turns up in a New York train station claiming to be from another planet (in the real-world New York, this sort of ranting can be heard on a daily basis and wouldn't even raise an eyebrow, so why the fuss here?). Prot's case comes under the supervision of Dr. Mark Powell (Bridges), who initially dismisses the patient as yet another flake but soon starts to suspect there might be some veracity to the otherworldly claims. The first half of the film plays like Patch Adams minus the bedpans on the feet, as Prot engages in a lot of "cute" behavior (like eating bananas with the peels left on) and offers guidance to his twinkly fellow patients. The second part shifts gears but doesn't get any better: It's like a nightmare version of an actor's theater workshop, as Powell uses hypnosis to learn about Prot's past. Spacey's performance is built on nothing but putrid platitudes and affected mannerisms -- frankly, I didn't think it was possible for him to ever be this bad -- while Bridges' cardboard role is far beneath this fine actor's capabilities.
THE LAST CASTLE From 1930's The Big House through 1963's The Great Escape to 1979's Escape From Alcatraz, the prison flick has provided viewers with endless hours of hard-hitting, escapist fun. But if there's a genre that has seemingly exhausted its resources and now stands ready to be put out to pasture, surely it's this one -- that is, unless somebody in Hollywood elects to make a prison flick in which the convicts are hardened criminals who really do deserve their incarceration (now wouldn't that be a novel twist?). As it stands, this disappointing drama from director Rod Lurie (The Contender) trots out the usual suspects: the noble prisoner who doesn't really deserve to be behind bars; the humorless warden whose stern tactics barely conceal a sadistic streak; the morally torn inmate who must decide before the climax where his loyalties rest; the harmless young prisoner who practically has "Story's Sacrificial Lamb" stitched across his outfit; and the rest of the compound's rapists, murderers and thieves, most of whom are presented as the kind of jovial, disciplined guys you'd be happy to invite over for a Sunday afternoon in front of the TV. For the record, the prison presented here is a military compound for disgraced soldiers, the virtuous prisoner leading the revolt is played by Robert Redford (in one of his dullest performances), and the twitchy warden is portrayed by James Gandolfini (in an atypically stilted turn).
