Theatre

GIGI: Therry Dramatic Society, Arts Theatre, Angas St, until June 14.

Reviewed by SUE OLDKNOW

This is a sheer delight of unashamed old-fashioned romance set in the glittering Paris of 1901.

Man-about-town, Gaston (John Koch), is suffocating in sophistication. His only breath of fresh air is his vivacious young friend, Gigi (Lucy Russell).

Russell is gorgeous as the unpretentious young woman a society crammed full of affectation and Koch is a perfect foil as the handsome, eternally bored Gaston.

The story is narrated by Haydn Madigan as the aging playboy made famous by Maurice Chevalier and the show's opening number Thank Heaven for Little Girls.

Other highlights include The Night They Invented Champagne and the lesser known The Contract featuring the fabulous Lyn Crowther (Mamita), the brilliant Barbara Henshaw (Aunt Alicia) and a very funny Andrew Crayford as Gaston's lawyer.

The orchestra seems a little under rehearsed and there was the occasional first night fumble and hiccup but, on the whole, Loriel Smart and a huge and talented cast and crew have put together a sumptuous spectacular.

Bluey Byrne's beautifully detailed scenery, rich, colourful costuming, sharp dialogue and witty Lerner and Loewe songs all combine for a supremely satisfying theatrical experience.

LES MISERABLES: Gilbert and Sullivan Society of SA, Scott Theatre, until May 31.

Reviewed by ROD LEWIS

THIS multi-award winning play by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Shonberg is the longest running musical in London's West End, where it continues to fare well at the box office after more than two decades.

Here it is realised to its fullest potential under the dab hand of director David Lampard, associate director Dianne K Lang, and musical director Ross Curtis. The music is powerful and the action is on a grand scale.

Based on the novel by Victor Hugo, Les Mis is the story of Valjean who, in early nineteenth century France, breaks parole after years on a chain gang for stealing a loaf of bread.

His story is one of hope and love, despite the misery that surrounds him and those whose stories intertwine.

The rousing score ranges from the comical prostitute's song Lovely Ladies, to the heart-wrenching ballad, Bring Him Home.

Lampard's practical design utilises the colours of the French flag, while the convenience of a revolve and an imaginative use of curtains ensures non-stop action between scenes.

The spectacle of the show begins with the staging, but the stellar cast soon overshadows even Bronwen Major's outstanding costumes.

Mark Oates is powerful and compassionate as Valjean, while Tom Millhouse is achingly good as his nemesis Javert. Andrew Crispe as young revolutionary Marius, Rebecca Raymond as sweet Cosette, Tricia Spence as ill-fated Fantine, Paul Talbot as radical Enjolras and Rachel Rai as tragic Eponine are all stars in their own right.

Rod Schultz and Megan Humphries as the comical Thenardiers stole every one of their moments on opening night, upstaged only by the highly talented youngsters, Leah Harford as young Cosette and, in particular, Tom Russell as Gavroche.

The 18-piece band appears flawless, unlike the ample technical problems that regretfully marred opening night.

Ross Curtis has rehearsed the cast well, with a rousing chorus and every solo number a winner. Les Marvellous!

SWEET CHARITY: OPUS Performing Arts Community, Noarlunga Theatre until May 31.

Reviewed by SUE OLDKNOW

A DANCE hall hostess searches for love and a better life in this Neil Simon comedy put to music.

Director Harry Dewar has assembled a very good cast and has engineered a production that engages, amuses and flows with great ensemble work and clever stage craft.

The 1960s sets by Alie Beck are a hoot and provide an appropriate cocoon for the often quirky action within.

The addition of projected images also enhances the audience enjoyment.

Linda Lawson (who also stars as a perky Helene) has choreographed some good dancers very nicely and Mark DeLaine leads an enthusiastic band of musicians.

Fiona Bailey-Wiggins makes a very sweet, charmingly vulnerable Charity. She is a fine actor and singer, but her dancing lacks the showbiz sparkle and snap that would make this a perfect all-round performance.

April Stuart, although a little too quiet to hear in places, is a marvellously dry Nicki, Doug Wiggins is supremely comfortable as the maturing Italian movie star and Jamie Richards is very funny as neurotic Oscar Lindquist.

With a strong cast, great direction and good lights, sound and costuming, the odd first night blip or bum note does little to detract from the sheer enjoyment of this very good production.

SANCTUARY: Bakehouse Theatre Co, Bakehouse Theatre, 255 Angas Street, Adelaide, until May 31.

Reviewed by ROD LEWIS

SANCTUARY sees Australian playwright David Williamson veer from the comedies that he's best loved for into a suspenseful world of obsession and morality.

That's not to say this short two-act play is not without ample humour and quick quips amongst its scathing dissection of international politics, personal ideologies and the mass media.

The shades of light and dark are handled extremely well by the two actors, under the capable direction of Joh Hartog.

Peter Green is as deep as he is dicey as morally dubious foreign correspondent Bob King, who has retired to a private haven after a lifetime of covering wars and politics.

His sanctuary is both a retreat and a self-imposed prison, subtly noted by Tammy Boden's pristine set surrounded by wire walls, reminiscent of the cage his home has become.

The seemingly questionable decisions King has made in times of crisis return to haunt him when interviewed by obsessive biographer John Alderston, played with exhausting passion by Kurt Murray.

Murray begins his portrayal a tad too intense, foreshadowing both his instability and the outcome of the story from the opening scene, but he is riveting as the volatile youth with his own moral issues to contend with.

Although this is a play of words, the dialogue is sharp enough to bring into question one's own moral ambiguities, and the waves of action, when they come, are short, brutal and surprising.

While not for the squeamish, Sanctuary is cultural commentary at its best, by one of our very best cultural commentators.

COLE: Marie Clark Musical Theatre, Arts Theatre, until May 17.

Reviewed by ROD LEWIS

WHILE it's not quite ``de-lovely'', you might get a kick out of Benny Green and Alan Strachan's tribute to the life and music of Cole Porter.

Jane and Andrew Crayford's bland co-direction is compartmentalised between narration and song.

The stop/start routine lacks any of the style or decadence that made Porter's music so ``de-lightful'', but despite this, the 45-song tribute does sparkle occasionally.

Cara Brown easily outshines her fellow performers with a personality and energy that the others should match.

With the exception of Elizabeth Slee's comical hit, Laziest Girl In Town, Brown is the only one who successfully fills the vast stage with her solos.

Jethro Pidd's song, I'm a Gigolo, is another high spot, but when he pairs with Brown for You Do Something To Me, the show hits a new high.

Some of the other six soloists struggle at times but, overall, give good renditions of both Porter's popular tunes and lesser known songs.

Fifteen year old Max Trengove's uneven debut on choreography is a treat when it's there, but he focuses his talents on the dancers, leaving the singers floundering alone in the spotlight more times than not, and looking under-rehearsed when they do have moves.

The song and dance spectacle of Anything Goes sets what should be a minimum standard for the whole show but winds up being the main highlight instead.

The excellent band and choral work are a credit to musical director John Brice, but not enough time was spent conquering problem songs or getting more feeling into the numbers.

Andrew Crayford and Len Reilly's dim set lacks charm, while Michael Witmee's lazy lighting design offers no recompense.

Only the classy costumes by Jane Crayford and Taryn Trengove offer any real colour.

While the second act zips along with better pace and energy, primarily due to a mammoth 18-song medley, Porter's music alone keeps this show above the mundane and worthy of the trip down memory lane.

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE: University of Adelaide Theatre Guild, Little Theatre, until May 24.

Reviewed by SUE OLDKNOW

TENNESSEE Williams' drama is bravely tackled by director Anita Baltutis and an exceptional cast.

Brutish masculinity collides with the worst of female frailty as Stanley (Adam Tuominen) meets Blanche (Kate Doherty).

Stella (Marie-Kate Constantine) is living an intense, passionate and often violent existence with husband Stanley but she is mostly content.

Then her emotionally disturbed sister Blanche comes to stay and three definitely becomes a crowd.

The themes of domestic violence, lust and loss are still relevant although the play itself may be overly long and poetic for some.

There are also staging problems: those not in the best seats get a fair proportion of backs of heads and disembodied voices and the unnecessarily complex scene changes in the half-light unfortunately break the mood every time.

However, Baltutis gets great performances from her cast, especially Doherty's whimsical Blanche, and extracts every ounce of humour from the script so the laughs are surprisingly plentiful.

This is a great interpretation of a classic play, marred only by the restraints of the performance space.

THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES: State Theatre Company, Dunstan Playhouse until May 3.

Reviewed by ROD LEWIS

THERE is no one theme most prominent in Joanna Murray-Smith's intense farce, based loosely on the real-life hostage drama faced by Germaine Greer in 2000.

Feminism, masculinity, family, responsibility, identity and market values are all attacked with comic sting in this funny, but improbable, tale.

Feminist writer Margot Mason (Amanda Muggleton) becomes the focus of a home invasion by a gun toting young woman whose life has turned sour as a result of Margot's earlier books.

Muggleton is divinely naturalistic as the ego-driven thinker and provocateur, so sure in her beliefs but unwilling to accept the consequences. She dominates the stage, despite being handcuffed to a desk for the majority of the play.

Her nemesis, Molly (nicely portrayed by Rhiannon Owen), is a seemingly sweet girl driven to desperation but far out of her element against the smarts of her captive and the growing number of hostages.

Audience favourite Michaela Cantwell erupts onto the stage as Margot's daughter in the midst of a breakdown and her energy never wanes, counterbalanced nicely by her dim-witted husband, played by Peter Michell.

Hunky Tony Briggs injects a strong dose of testosterone into the mix as a taxi driver who has discovered what women really want, while Geoff Revel completes the cast in a campy cameo as Margot's publisher and friend.

Director Catherine Fitzgerald keeps the pace zipping along, although numerous masking problems arise, despite the large space provided by Mary Moore's pristine set.

At two hours without interval, the play could do with some trimming but its intelligence and cracking humour are well worth the endurance test.

Film

YOU DON'T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN (M): one and a half stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

ADAM Sandler has gained some good will in recent years, proving himself as a capable actor when not left to his own devices.

Surprising performances in Punch Drunk Love and Reign Over Me are evidence that Sandler is capable of doing more than playing good-natured dopes, suggesting he could mature into a Jim Carrey or even a Tom Hanks.

Then he goes and does this. Like virtually every other movie in which he's had some kind of creative control, You Don't Mess With the Zohan lands with an awkward thud, unfolding like a hastily conceived skit that's been painfully stretched into a feature film.

He's not alone in giving birth to this mess. Judd Apatow, as co-writer, has officially ended his dream run of genuinely amusing hit comedies, while co-writer Robert Smigel and director Dennis Dugan also share in the blame.

The clunky title, a self-conscious attempt to create a comic catch-phrase, is just the film's first failure. Sandler's Zohan, an Israeli commando with inexplicable super powers and what sounds like a mangled French accent, is the next one. It's simply not funny.

What exactly Sandler and his co-creators were getting at with a disco-crazy, sex-obsessed, Jewish superhero who dreams of becoming a New York hairdresser is hard to say, but it misses every target except the stupidity bull's eye.

Zohan, tired of fighting Israel's many enemies, fakes his own death during a battle with his nemesis, Phantom (John Turturro), and heads to the Big Apple to study hairdressing.

He scams a job at a Palestinian salon run by Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui), and saves her business by not only cutting and restyling hair for his older female clients, but also by shagging them senseless.

Zohan's prowess in pleasuring older women, including his roommate's mother (Lainie Kazan), is one of several running gags that sink like lead.

None of this is helped by the inevitable appearance of Rob Schneider. True to form, he's as funny as a kick in the face.

Zohan serves up well-meaning but insultingly simplistic solutions to Israel/Palestine relations, but its biggest crime is being alarmingly short on laughs.

The forced cameos fall flat and a particularly unflattering appearance by Mariah Carey is ample proof she should be legally barred from feature films.

Sandler really needs to put his moronic comedy schtick behind him, because the good will won't survive another misfire like Zohan.

THE INCREDIBLE HULK (M): three stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

IT'S hard to say what led to another Hulk outing so soon after Ang Lee's big budget attempt missed the mark, but this time around the emphasis is definitely on comic book action over gloom.

There are no connections between The Hulk (2003) and this film, which essentially starts from scratch, much as Chris Nolan's Batman Begins did.

So crunching action sequences replace Lee's ponderous drama and introspection, and Edward Norton replaces Eric Bana.

Director Louis Leterrier obviously took a few notes during Batman Begins, jumping into unfamiliar territory by skipping most of the details of the misguided experiments that turned Bruce Banner into a ticking time bomb.

Instead, he starts with Banner in hiding in South America, working in a factory and desperately searching for an antidote to the monster inside him.

He's being hunted by nemesis General ``Thunderbolt'' Ross (William Hurt in distinguished grey toupée), who wants to harness the powers of the Hulk as a military weapon. The General's daughter, Betty (Liv Tyler), complicates matters, being Banner's former lover and the only one who can calm him when he turns green.

Much of Leterrier's film is a dynamic chase, with Banner on the go while trying to keep his heart rate steady and his anger at bay. Nothing much can stop him when his temper flares, until the General's experiments with gung-ho KGB agent Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth) start to backfire.

The CGI Hulk is more impressive - and angry - than the 2003 version, straight out of the comic book but looking less like an animated intruder.

Norton brings more vulnerability and humour to Banner than Eric Bana was allowed to, while Tyler is thankfully less mopey than Jennifer Connelly was and Tim Blake Nelson's off-beat scientist deserves more than a cameo.

There's also a more playful attitude here than in the '03 version, with both stars of the TV series showing up  the late Bill Bixby on a TV screen and Lou Ferrigno (still looking pretty Hulk-like) as a security guard.

Perhaps it was the Marvel Comics empire that kick-started this new version, because by the end it becomes evident that two Marvel franchises could well join forces in the future.

SEX AND THE CITY (M): three stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

THE big screen extension of HBO's long-running Sex and the City is, more or less, a long episode of the show.

The production values may have gone into hyperdrive, but the ongoing romantic trials and triumphs of writer Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker) and friends Charlotte (Kristin Davis), Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) and Samantha (Kim Cattrall) could easily be cut into bite-sized pieces and screened as part of the series.

It picks up where the TV version ended, with the ladies who lunch all living in some kind of domestic bliss.

That simply won't do, so it all goes predictably pear-shaped when Mr Big (Chris Noth) casually proposes to Carrie. The wedding is soon hijacked by Vogue and a host of others and escalates into a circus-like production, giving the groom a case of itchy feet.

The others hit various relationship walls too  Miranda can't forgive Steve's (David Eigenberg) infidelity and Sam is growing bored in LA with hunky actor boyfriend Smith (Jason Lewis), finding herself tempted by the serial ladykiller who lives next door. Even blissful, prissy Charlotte is in for a few shocks.

Of course, what really matters for fans are the dresses, shoes, hairstyles and cocktails - along with those Manhattan streets, restaurants and nightspots - and Sex and the City serves those up in wide-screen abundance.

Writer/director Michael Patrick King pretty much distils the flavour of the series, fluttering from the funny, frivolous and fantastic to sobering reality.

Sure, these are women who still have slumber parties in their 40s, but they also face the cold, hard fact that romance fades and everlasting love is a myth, or at least damned hard work.

It's not completely a no-go zone for straight men, but this is one cinematic indulgence that can safely be labelled a chick flick, and will undoubtedly enjoy a long shelf-life as a popcorn DVD favourite (especially for women who enjoy slumber parties well beyond their teens).

There's a sense of closure here, but it's looking like such a money spinner that a sequel wouldn't exactly be a surprise.

INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL (M): two and a half stars out of five. 

Reviewed by PETRA STARKE

HERE'S a fact that'll blow the mind of anyone aged over 25  a whole generation has been born and grown up since the last Indiana Jones movie hit cinemas 19 years ago.

That excellent film, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, rounded out what was a perfect trilogy of fun action flicks. Sadly, it didn't live up to its name.

So now we have the latest unnecessary chapter, The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, to take its rightful place as the official fourth ``tack on'' film to the trilogy, and possibly seize the crown from 1984's Temple of Doom as the stupidest Indy film yet.

Thankfully, director Steven Spielberg hasn't tried to play tricks with the obvious age increase of leading man, Harrison Ford. It's now 1957, and we've moved on from the Nazis and WWII escapades of the earlier films to a new wave of terrorists  communist Soviets.

Led by the icy Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett walking through a no-brainer role with a fancy accent), the Soviets have plans to take over the world using mind control by way of an ancient artefact, a magic crystal skull from the fabled golden city of El Dorado.

Indy is drawn into the plot by young motorbike riding rockabilly Mutt (Shia LeBeouf, looking like a cross between James Dean and Justin Timberlake), whose guardian Professor Oxley (John Hurt) holds the key to the skull's location.

If all of this sounds ridiculous - it is, although there are some suitably fun moments involving dashing high speed chases, fast-paced rumbles in the jungle and some very nasty killer ants.

Karen Allen, Indy's feisty love interest from first film Raiders of the Lost Ark, makes a reappearance as Marion Ravenwood (who is now Mutt's mother), allowing Spielberg to indulge in some silly rom-com scenes and an even sillier ending which neatly hands Indy's battered hat to LeBeouf for a future movie franchise.

Given the generation gap between this film and the last, it's no surprise that Spielberg has packed Skull full of spectacular special effects to impress modern audiences. But although it's visually impressive, this is one of the reasons that this film fails to excite like the previous ones - computer generated effects lack the warmth and spirit of the simpler stunts Indy became famous for.

Or maybe I'm just getting old.

21: one and a half stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

ROBERT Luketic's 21 may well be based on a true story, but on screen it plays as an all-too predictable allegory on the dangers of gambling.

What could have been fascinating, transferring Ben Mezrich's book Bringing Down the House to the big screen, ends up looking like a teen horror flick, except Las Vegas is the monster.

So instead of getting the facts of six brilliant MIT students attempting to break the Vegas casinos with their ingenious blackjack scam, we get the story of a genius nerd, Ben (Jim Sturgess) being brought out of his shell by charismatic professor Mickey Rosa (Kevin Spacey), seduced by fellow student/resident hottie Jill (Kate Bosworth), and eventually blinded by the Vegas lights.

For a guy with such a big brain, he's a complete idiot when it comes to money, hiding his winnings in the ceiling of his dorm room. And that's not the only disastrous decision he makes.

It all pans out in an unsurprising way, with tough-but-fair security chief Cole Williams (Lawrence Fishburne) looming as the fly in the student's ointment and Rosa clearly hiding a few skeletons in his closet.

Less thrilling than Celebrity Poker, and easier to pick the outcome.

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS: two stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

WHAT Happens in Vegas pairs a couple of stars who mix like oil and water, both playing roles they really should have outgrown by now.

Director Tom Vaughan and screenwriter Dana Fox attempt to merge rom-com clichés with Farrelly Brothers-style gross-out humour and it explodes in their faces, but this dreadfully forced comedy is mostly sabotaged by a fatal lack of chemistry between Cameron Diaz and Ashton Kutcher.

Diaz plays overly organised Joy, whose obsessiveness frightens off her self-centred fiancé, while Kutcher plays permanent adolescent Jack, who's kicked out of the family business by his father (Treat Williams). They drag their best friends - Tipper (Lake Bell) and Hater (Rob Corddry) - to Las Vegas to drown their sorrows, and end up married to each other after a night of drunken debauchery.

A quickie divorce is on the cards until they both lay claim to a $3 million poker machine jackpot. Back in New York, a wise-cracking judge (Dennis Miller playing, would you believe, Judge Whopper) sentences them to stay together in order to earn half the winnings each.

It would be a difficult premise to accept even in more competent hands, but with Kutcher behaving like a 15 year old on speed and Diaz pitching her character somewhere airhead and control freak, this odd couple's attraction to each other is about as believable as Queen Latifah playing a marriage guidance counsellor. Which she does here.

Diaz was fine as the object of lust and affection in There's Something About Mary, but has always been less convincing whenever she has to carry the comedy. As for Kutcher, it's about time he grew up, because his smug Punk'd persona is really starting to grate.

Corddry and Bell are worth a few laughs as the couple's permanently battling offsiders but much of the writing lands somewhere below comedy skit level.

When it's hard not to hope that the main couple ends it all in an orgy of domestic violence, you know you're watching a rom-com that has left the rails.

SHINE A LIGHT: four stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

MARTIN Scorsese's Shine a Light is as much about the incredible contrast between the two chief Rolling Stones  Mick Jagger and Keith Richards  as it is about their shared history.

There's a touching moment as the two old sparring partners put their heads together for a ragged harmony in Faraway Eyes which spells it out without words - as opposite sides of the same coin, the Glimmer Twins really don't have any choice other than to lean on each other.

Scorsese's eye for detail is the key element here, the master director capturing something indefinable in the Stones' spirit that so many other concert movies and docos have missed.

There's Jagger mouthing silent exasperation at the extreme heat of the lighting, ``Keef'' spitting out a cigarette butt, Ronnie Wood's focus while playing pedal steel, and a wry look to camera from the ever-dry Charlie Watts.

The best idea was filming the band in the intimate Beacon Theatre in New York, separating the Stones from the monolithic rock 'n' roll circus of their arena shows and putting the focus entirely on their particular brand of alchemy.

Scorsese is in a playful mood both in front of and behind the camera, and the flashbacks to snippets of impossibly youthful Jagger, Richards and Watts fielding awkward questions are often hilarious.

Soundwise, Shine a Light comes close to deciphering the choppy, fragmented rhythms and the jagged riffs that define the Stones, as Richards and Wood practise what they call ``the ancient art weaving''. As usual, it's Keef who says it best. When quizzed as to who's the better guitarist, he replies: ``We're both lousy, but together we're better than 10 others.''

The repertoire is often curious - the band has rarely played the snappy Connection on stage, if ever - but many of the big guns in the arsenal are suitably present - Jumping Jack Flash, Brown Sugar, Start Me Up, Satisfaction, Tumbling Dice and Sympathy for the Devil.

The guest appearances seem a bit random, but Jack White looks pleased as punch to be on stage sharing Loving Cup with his heroes, Buddy Guy rips into Champagne & Reefer with relish and, most surprisingly, Christina Aguilera actually adds extra sleaze to Live With Me.

But it's rock's most documented marriage - Jagger the fussy, demanding, consummate professional and Richards the swaggering, anti-authoritarian rock 'n' roll pirate - that keeps the Stones rolling, and it's exactly what Scorsese shines a light on.

THE PAINTED VEIL: three stars out of five. 

Reviewed by PETRA STARKE

BASED on the novel by W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil is a beautiful and complex love story set against the stunning backdrop of 1920s China.

Naomi Watts plays Kitty, a London socialite who marries Shanghai-based scientist Walter (Edward Norton) to escape her overbearing family. It is a marriage of convenience destined for trouble, and Kitty eventually falls in love with another man.

When Walter discovers her infidelity he relocates them to a remote highland village in the grip of a cholera outbreak, where he has volunteered to work, as an act of revenge.

Forced into isolation, both from the civilised world and each other, the estranged husband and wife struggle against emotional solitude to discover their true selves and eventually, the love they never had.

Watts is thrilling as Kitty, making the transition from carefree flapper to trapped, petulant woman to loving wife.

Norton is equally wonderful as Walter, strong and silent but brimming with bottled rage, and the pair have a palpable chemistry that translates as well into their stony silences as it does into their passionate lovemaking scenes.

MADE OF HONOUR: two stars out of five. 

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

MADE of Honour, from the clunky title on down, is a tired melange of rom-com clichés that is essentially a lazy re-write of My Best Friend's Wedding, with genders reversed.

Most chick-flick fantasies are retreads of what came before, so originality hardly matters as long as the movie in question is genuinely engaging and funny. Made of Honour is neither.

Part of the problem is Patrick Dempsey, who's scheduled to become a breakout movie star with this. Grey's Anatomy's ``Dr McDreamy'' may send women's hearts a-fluttering, but a funny guy he ain't. This attempt to turn him into a mix of Cary Grant and Ben Stiller falls flat from the get-go, stymied by a drab, predictable screenplay from Harry Elfont, Deborah Kaplan and Adam Sztykiel.

For a start, he's saddled with playing Tom, an idle-rich playboy who could give masterclasses in superficiality and arrogance.

While it may be possible to feel sorry for Stiller when his love life goes pear-shaped, it's more tempting to cheer when this smug, serial bed hopper gets brought down a peg or two.

Tom can can seduce a woman with a single devastating glance, but he's secretly in love with his best friend, Hannah (Michelle Monaghan). When she returns from a trip to Scotland with a fiancé, Colin (Kevin McKidd), she asks Tom to be her ``maid'' of honour and he proceeds to sabotage the wedding. Some friend.
When the action shifts to Scotland for the nuptials, this slight piece of fluff gets even slighter and fluffier.

It seems that Scotland  aside from the use of black four-wheel drives  stalled somewhere in the 19th century, which could explain why Colin is unaware of the existence of basketball.

Director Paul Weiland squeezes in more kilts, bagpipes, castles, lochs, tartan, picturesque highlands and quaint Celtic customs than a production of Brigadoon.

Monaghan is a genuine charmer but, judging by this and The Heartbreak Kid, she could get trapped in Sandra Bullock purgatory if she's not careful. Co-stars Kathleen Quinlan and Sydney Pollack are wasted in poorly written roles and the rest of the cast is reduced to comedy relief duties. But most importantly, Dempsey shouldn't give up his day job just yet. 

SUPERHERO MOVIE (M): two stars.

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

FEAR not, this isn't quite as bad as the series of cheap 'n' nasty movie satires that have infected cinemas in recent years. But it's close.

Possibly the fact that Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer - the talent-free fraudsters behind the likes of Date Movie, Epic Movie and Meet the Spartans - aren't on board allowed some chuckles to sneak through.

The presence of producer David Zucker (Flying High, Police Squad) wouldn't have hurt, being one of the guys who invented this joke-a-second genre, and at least there's a cast of old pros who know how to milk an obvious laugh or two (Zucker veteran Leslie Nielsen, Christopher McDonald and Jeffrey Tambor).

But it's still painfully obvious stuff, with director/screenwriter Craig Mazin poking easy fun at the Spider-Man series in particular, with a few nods to Superman and Batman in the process.

Drake Bell plays Rick Riker, a Tobey Maguire-style boy next door - next door to the gorgeous object of his affections, Sara (Jill Johnson), of course - who gets stung by a genetically altered dragonfly and finds his molecular structure changing. He decides to use to his new powers to fight crime and becomes The Dragonfly (what else?).

Every superhero needs a nemesis, and Dragonfly gets one in Lou Landers (McDonald, playing it deadpan straight), a science magnate who is transformed into an evil supervillain, Hourglass, during a life-saving experiment that goes awry, giving him the power to suck the life force out of others.

So far, so dumb. Hourglass naturally targets those closest to Dragonfly  Rick's kindly Uncle Albert and Aunt Lucille, played by Nielsen (doing his usual schtick) and Marion Ross. Yep, that's Mrs Cunningham from Happy Days, who's lumbered with an ignominious farting scene that goes on way too long.

So it's fair to say that those prepared to leave their brains at the door will get a few sniggers out of Superhero Movie, but it's a pity that this is bearable only because other recent movie satires have been so dreadfully dire. 

U23D (G): three stars out of five.

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

U2 IS not a band to do anything by halves.

The Irish stadium rock outfit has always made widescreen music and shot for the moon, so it's only fitting that it should be the first band to make a concert film in 3D.

Small projects are simply not on the U2 agenda, the band either succeeds on a massive scale, or trips up and succeeds on a slightly less massive scale.

The quartet's previous big screen outing, Rattle and Hum, was an attempt at the kind of American odyssey that The Rolling Stones experienced in Gimme Shelter, except U2 didn't have anything as era-defining and dramatic as the Altamont disaster for a climax.

Instead, the band's ``musical journey'' came across as contrived myth making.

It was the Rattle and Hum backlash that forced U2 to re-invent itself on following album Achtung Baby, leading directly to the multi-media explosion of the Zoo TV tour. That's exactly when U2 should have made a 3D concert movie.

Since hitting another speed hump on the similarly ambitious PopMart tour, U2 has retreated from challenging its audience with pop culture mish-mashes, and opted for pure spectacle and crowd-pleasing set lists. That's what's captured here by director Mark Pellington, from shows in Mexico City and Buenos Aires on the '06 Vertigo world tour.

Yet no one does arena onslaught better than U2. Bono is still trying to wrap his arms around the world, mostly succeeding in delivering his big picture message of world peace and understanding and bringing an end to third world poverty.

The 3D effects are adequate rather than mind blowing - it's hardly exhilirating to see waving hands or a microphone stand in extreme close-up - so the real kick is in getting a more intimate picture of the world's biggest band trawling its repertoire for variations on how to lift a chanting stadium crowd to new heights.

The show is thankfully more than a greatest hits package, a highlight being a powerful anti-war trilogy that includes Sunday Bloody Sunday, Love and Peace (or else) and Bullet the Blue Sky.

So this is not U2 tripping up, but merely in pretty decent form preaching to the converted, which is exactly the audience the film will attract.

SEMI-PRO (M): three stars out of five.

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

TO suggest that Will Ferrell's comedy schtick is getting a tad repetitive is a major understatement.

He delivers his fourth sports farce with Semi-Pro, but this one bares a closer resemblance to Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy than Talladega Nights, Kicking & Screaming or Blades of Glory.

Much like Anchorman, Ferrell and Old School writer Scot Armstrong seem more fascinated by the '70s as an era than they are with the minutiae of basketball, and director Kent Alterman gives the film a grubby, rough-edged look that recalls the likes of violent ice hockey comedy Slap Shot.

But the repetition is most evident in the type of character Ferrell chooses to play, which is essentially a replay of the arrogant, blustering, soon-to-be-obsolete jerks he played in Anchorman and his other sports comedies.

That's not to say that Semi-Pro doesn't have its fair share of laughs and, thankfully, it's not a fantasy about unlikely sporting triumph.

Jackie Moon (Ferrell in a curly 'fro that's quite hilarious in itself) is an insufferable egotist who has bought his own team in the American Basketball Association (ABA), the Flint Tropics, with money made from a funky disco hit, electing himself as the team's coach, manager and star.

With the ABA about to be swallowed up by the National Basketball Association, Jackie aims to keep his losing franchise alive by earning a spot as one of the four teams to be merged into the NBA.

He gains former pro player Ed Monix (Woody Harrelson) by trading him for a washing machine, and eventually the combination of Monix's big-time knowledge and the flashy moves of Clarence ``Downtown'' Withers (André Benjamin, aka Outkast rapper Andre 3000) give the Tropics some chance of surviving.

Sure, there's a sub-text of the fading motor city of Flint, Michigan, going the same way at the Tropics, but the real amusement is in the gritty '70s detail and the irreverent non-PC humour - somehow the decade itself gives Ferrell and Armstrong the licence to wallow in some tasteless stuff and get away with it.

Ferrell needs to vary his act soon, but for now his standard stuff is worth a few giggles, even if he's treading water.

ST TRINIANS (M): two stars out of five.

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

DRAGGING the ribald, somewhat dated tales of naughty schoolgirls at St Trinian's into the 21st century seems a pointless task.

The original series of films, based on Ronald Searle's cartoons, started with The Belles of St Trinian's (1954), made in an era when a bit of nudge, nudge, wink, wink humour and the sight of a cheeky schoolgirl actually raised eyebrows.

This outing, from directors Oliver Parker and Barnaby Thompson, is partly based on that first film, including the very British conceit of having Rupert Everett portray a pair of siblings, headmistress Camilla Fritton and shonky brother Carnaby (reprising Alastair Sim's double role from the first film).

So how do the filmmakers attempt to shock? Well, for starters, education minister Geoffrey Thwaites (Colin Firth) is Camilla's former lover - leading to a few awkward, comical love scenes between Everett and Firth - and the most of the schoolgirls are one step from prison rather than just misbehaving on the hockey field.

St Trinian's follows the arrival of new girl Annabelle (Talulah Riley) - Carnaby's daughter - who is predictably abused at first before eventually being accepted via a dress-up montage.

When the minister threatens to close the out-of-control school, the girls plot to steal a priceless painting - Vermeer's Girl With a Pearl Earring, no less - to score enough cash to save their beloved alma mater, led by head girl Kelly (Gemma Arterton).

It's no surprise that Everett has the most fun here (and makes rather a convincing headmistress in the process), while Firth walks through it doing his standard stern, humourless Englishman.

It's packed with inside jokes, from the Vermeer painting (Firth played the artist in the film of the same name) to smart references to the two actors' previous film together (Another Country) and Firth's stint as Darcy (both in Pride & Prejudice and Bridget Jones's Diary).

But self-referential sniggers fail to enliven a screenplay that's as creaky as a rusty '50s bicycle and a plot arc that's painfully predictable.

What next, a Carry On revival? 

Music

JAMES BLUNT: Thebarton Theatre, Wednesday, May 7.

Reviewed by MELANIE REID

YOUNG and old, some with reluctant partners in tow, women converged at Thebby to see the Kosovo soldier turned balladeer, James Blunt.

When Blunt appeared on stage in a snappy grey suit and launched into Give Me Some Love from second album All The Lost Souls, it was hard to shake the feeling you were watching a Paul McCartney puppet  a mental image further enhanced by Blunt's frequent tossing of his moptop 'do.

For a bloke who has made his name with saccharine love songs, Blunt was raring to inject some rock-star energy into the performance  from surfing on the top of his piano to executing a few odd dance moves that provoked screams from front-row devotees and muffled giggles from those further back.

The highlight of the night was Blunt's piano ballad, Goodbye, My Lover, played in front a sea of glowing mobile phones.

Also moving was his rendition of 2005's No Bravery, a song detailing his experiences as a Kosovo peacekeeper accompanied by big-screen footage of war victims.

The crowd livened up for his bigger hits, such as You're Beautiful and Wise Men, while the romantic atmosphere proved a bit too much for some, including one brave fellow who got down on bended knee during the rousing finale, 1973.

Verdict: edge-free entertainment.

KARNIVOOL: Live on Light Square, Tuesday, April 22.

Reviewed by BEN KELLY

IN THE last few months I thought I'd seen it all: Rage Against the Machine, Incubus and The Falls Festival, to name a few.

But I forgot all that as soon as Perth's Karnivool took to the stage at the small, but packed Live (the old Night Train) for their one Adelaide gig.

The five piece have one of the most talented drummers going around with technical timing and explosive rhythms.

The guitarists coaxed amazing sounds from their four amps, from atmospheric harmonies to chunky riffs, composed with creative licks and effects.

Playing some new songs due to be released in their forthcoming album for 2009, including one that lasted a good eight minutes, Karnivool blasted out a top set with highlights COTE, Mauseum and Shutterspeed.

``I'm sorry for the long wait. We take such a long time to write songs, but it's going to be worth it, I promise,'' said guitarist Andrew Goddard of the upcoming album.

The crowd surged forward when the band finished with songs Fade, Themata and the powerful Roquefort.

Adelaide support Mere Theory did not quite meet the mark with the crowd, but co-support That One Guy certainly did.

A one man DJ, band and singer, That One Guy played his ``magic pipe'', a sort of PVC pipe crossed with a double bass and sample machine that he animatedly slaps and plucks.

The result was an awesome and hilarious electro-percussion show that had the crowd roaring in applause

K.D. LANG: Entertainment Centre, Saturday, April 26.

Reviewed by PETRA STARKE

WITH her loose-fitting, white, three piece suit, bare feet and cheeky grin, k.d lang was the epitome of relaxed cool at her Adelaide concert last week.

The Canadian singer/songwriter is as famous for her easygoing on-stage nature as she is for her signature velvet voice, and it seemed some of that may have rubbed off on the venue - the usually cavernous interior of the Entertainment Centre felt surprisingly intimate, like a cosy cabaret show.

``I have some good memories of this place and we hope to make some more tonight,'' she crooned after opener Upstream, from current album Watershed.

In her one hour set lang strolled through jazz, folk and country, going from a heartfelt version of Neil Young's Helpless to jazz standard Kiss to Build a Dream On, and always in that wonderful, velvet voice.

A carefully chosen mix of new and old kept the fans happy, with new songs Thread, Jealous Dog and Coming Home in amongst old favourites Western Stars and Constant Craving.

But it was her heartbreaking rendition of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah that stunned the crowd, provoking a standing ovation half way through the concert.

Guitarist Slava Grigoryan was a fitting support act, playing breathtakingly intricate instrumentals from his latest album, Continental Shift, to an enraptured audience.

PAUL POTTS: Festival Theatre, Wednesday, April 16.

Reviewed by KASIA OZOG

FROM selling car phones less than a year ago to singing to audiences worldwide, UK tenor Paul Potts has certainly come a long way.

Performing at the Adelaide Festival Theatre last week (April 16), Potts showed exactly why he won over the judges and audiences on Britain's Got Talent last year.

Entering the stage to a round of applause, Potts displayed obvious elements of his new superstar lifestyle.

Looking sharp in a suit with a new hairstyle and flashing pearly whites, Potts dazzled the crowd with his beautiful voice and humble personality.

His passion for singing is obvious, as is his gratitude for where he is in his life.

He thanked the audience for coming to the show and told how he never imagined he would be touring and singing for a living.

Potts had the audience out of their seats cheering for an encore performance of his signature song, Nessun Dorma, and his delivery did not disappoint.

Britain's Got Talent judge Amanda Holden described Potts as a ``little lump of coal that's going to turn into a diamond''. And boy, does he sparkle.

DEEP BLUE: Festival Theatre, Friday, April 18.

Reviewed by ELEANOR MILLER

The Queensland-based Deep Blue orchestra claims to ``look like an orchestra, act like a band and feel like a movie''.

Translation: The orchestra members are young and funky, they move around the stage with no conductor or sheet music and there's a backing DJ.

You've got to hand it to the group of largely classically-trained musos for thinking outside the square and giving something new a try - even if their performance was a bit hit-and-miss at times.

Styled to within an inch of their lives (think footless tights, waistcoats and the odd pair of sunglasses and goggles) they came out with an amazingly varied repertoire. There was everything from Mahler to David Bowie as well as the members' own techno/strings pieces.

While walking round the stage, jamming together and forming tableaus, they produced some brilliant, bold and different sounds. Many of their original compositions were highlights.

At other times, however, they strayed into elevator music territory.
There's just something about well known pop songs (eg: The Cure's Close to Me) performed on strings with backing beats that sounds a bit middle of the road, and no amount of prancing around the stage really helps.

Also, a cello will never rock out like an electric guitar, even if you turn it around and play it on its side, or play it standing up on stilts (as one performer did). Full marks for co-ordination though.

The performance was backed by a specky light show and VJ (video DJ) providing a series of slightly predictable images in the background (flowers in bloom, developing foetuses, water), but they did add some extra oomph to the night.

Listening to people's comments after the show, it would appear the audience had mixed reactions - the word ``interesting'' came up quite a lot.

No doubt the musicians would be happy to think they had challenged people's pre-conceived ideas of what orchestral music should be.

MATCHBOX TWENTY: Entertainment Centre, Sunday, April 13.

Reviewed by KYLIE FLEMING

US pop rock outfit Matchbox Twenty is often described as bland and predictable with its string of homogenised radio hits.

But a powerful two-hour performance to a packed house at the Entertainment Centre on Sunday night proved the band can't be exiled to the mainstream just yet.

M20 is touring to coincide with its latest hybrid CD, a part greatest hits and part six-song EP called Exile On Mainstream. The band delivered a high-energy show with all the old-favourite hits, well-crafted new songs and Rob Thomas' self-confessed ``touchy feely'' ballads.

As front man, Thomas kept the intensity up all night with impassioned performances and a confident stage presence, but mostly he just seemed like an everyday guy, which seemed to appeal to the audience.

The clarity of his vocals was spot on - every word was audible. The band was a tight outfit, too, with great musicianship and style, particularly Kyle Cook's amazing guitar playing and vocals.

The show, backed with giant video images, opened with an energetic How Far We've Come, If I Fall and I'll Believe You When from the new album, followed by crowd-pleasing past hit, Real World. Other familiar songs given new interest played live and loud included 3am, Bent, Long Day and Downfall.

A moving ballad, Hand Me Down, was accompanied by home movie images before Thomas introduced a new song, All Your Reasons, describing it as ``a love song for someone you hate''.

A soaring rendition of Come On Home, backed by video footage of New York, segued neatly into the Beatles/Cocker classic She Came in Through The Bathroom Window, with brilliant guitar solos and a climactic finish.

It was an interminable wait for the encore but M20 eventually exploded back on stage for a passable rendition of INXS' Need You Tonight and chart-topper Unwell.

SMASHING PUMPKINS: Entertainment Centre, Wednesday, April 2.

Reviewed by JEFF CRAWFORD

ABOUT half-way through Smashing Pumpkins' return to the Entertainment Centre on Wednesday, April 2, frontman Billy Corgan - looking like a twisted Bond villain in his silver dress - gave a sermon about how his new songs were every bit as good as his old songs.

The audience cheered the mention of old songs, to which Billy replied with ``f*** you'', and proceeded to test even the most devoted fans' patience with an incredibly self-indulgent second half.

It's a pity, because when the new-look Smashing Pumpkins - still powered by the mighty thump of original drummer Jimmy Chamberlin - let rip on audacious opener Porcelina of the Vast Oceans, Today, a rejigged Bullet With Butterfly Wings and Tonight, Tonight, it was hard not to be in awe of the band's power.

An acoustic interlude, which included a solo version of 1979 that highlighted it as Billy's most brilliant pop moment, was a well-timed respite from the guitar onslaught.

But after his rant, Billy and the band went into epic overload, subjecting the audience to big slabs of last year's poorly received Zeitgeist and even detouring into an extended take on Pink Floyd's Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun. The latter was quite menacing and effective, but some of Billy's epics tend to be big in bombast and small in substance - Porcelina is a notable exception.

By the time he disappeared into a Hendrix fantasy, touching on Star Spangled Banner and even playing with his teeth, much of the audience was hoping for a return to songs from the glory years.

Earlier in the evening, Queens of the Stone Age had delivered a lesson in how to keep a crowd jumping with a tight, succinct set that climaxed with a thrilling No One Knows, but Billy probably wasn't listening.

A solo acoustic encore, with Billy taking all the credit while his band waited backstage, spoke for itself.

For more photos from the concert, visit our News Photos Gallery.