DEWITT

THIS WEEK IS SHAPING UP TC be one of those rare periods when the citizens of a country engage in some serious self-reflection. The United States is settling its collective butt into a huge national armchair to ponder the possibilities presented by the ABC mini-series, Amerika, and patriots everywhere are swilling wine coolers and buying cars in celebration of President's Day. Aside from these nationalistic excesses, though, Dewitt has noticed several movies now playing that attempt to engage the viewer in the greater questions of life. Do we exist in a world that conforms to some sort of rational order? Can the force of our will exercise any efficacy over our ultimate destiny? Or are we compelled to function as best we can in a universe governed by gods who would rather be out at the local bowling alley trying to pick up that elusive 7-10 split than stay at home minding the cosmological store?

To help answer the questions of our fate as citizens of a great republic and watchers of "Laverne and Shirley," Dewitt highly recommends Salvador (Somerville Theater). This tale of unethical U.S. involvement in Central America came out last year--in an era when "Bonzo" films ruled the land--and drew a very small though politically conscious audience. In fact, its only major run in Boston was at the Orson Welles Theater in Cambridge, an edifice that subsequently burned down, although Dewitt has it on good authority that the film exercised no jinxing effect in that accident.

Anyway, Salvador begins with buffoonery, as a down-and-out photojournalist (James Woods) journeys to EI Salvador with his slob friend (Jim Belushi) in search when this dynamic duo are hassled by border guards and confronted by an openly hostile contingency at the U.S. embassy. Although this rapid change in tone is initially somewhat disconcerting, the scenes featuring Woods in a Hawaiian shirt and mirrored sunglasses perched atop of a mound of corpses are powerful in their sheer absurdity. Written and directed by Oliver Stone, who recently achieved recognition for Platoon, Salvador offers a telling juxtaposition of what Americans would like to be around the world and what they actually are.

Equally full of contradictions and strange pairings is The Shining (Harvard Film Archive), a 1980 Stanley Kubrick adaptation of Stephen King's bestseller. The novel was an everyday tale of a haunted resort hotel, charting an ordinary man's descent into insanity. In Kubrick's version, the main character (Jack Nicholson) is completely unhinged from the very start of the movie, leaving out much of the book's terrifying psychological horror. Nicholson comes off as a cross between Manson and Carson, a connection made explicit by the film's most famous line, "Heeeere's Johnny!"

Although The Shining is certainly not a good example of the art of storytelling, Dewitt finds it very interesting as a study of strange camera angles. In Kubrick's hands, it often seems as if the madman were behind the camera. Among the weirdo perspectives offered here, the best is an extended shot that follows a child driving a Big Wheel through corridor after corridor of the cavernous hotel, capturing the sight and sound of the toy vehicle passing over carpet and linoleum.

In short, the originality of many of this film's individual parts almost compensates for the whole--a movie so frenetic one wonders if the entire production company couldn't have benefited from a strong tranquilizer.

For great storytelling and great acting, this week's finest offering is the 1951 John Huston classic, The African Queen (Winthrop House, Harvard). Screen legend and Dewitt look-alike Humphrey Bogart turns in an Oscar-winning performance as a drunken riverboat captain forced to reckon with the virtue of a beautiful missionary, played by Katherine Hepburn. Shot mostly on location in the Dark Continent, The African Queen proves that, in the hands of a superb director, the simplest plots can become high entertainment.

Unfortunately, in the thirty-odd years since the debut of The African Queen, the standards of the academy have taken a drastic nosedive. To see just how low Mr. Oscar has been forced to stoop, take a glance at Hannah and Her Sisters (Nickelodeon, Harvard Square). Hannah may very well be the best picture to be nominated for this year's "best picture," but that is more a reflection on its feeble competition than on the film itself. Another in a series of Woody Allen's ruminations of life, love, death and the Big Apple, this movie features very little of Allen himself and focuses on a trio of rather nondescript siblings, played by Mia Farrow, Barbara Hershey and Diane Weist. The critics raved about Hannah when it was first released, but in comparison with other Allen efforts, this well-intentioned clunker comes in a distant sixth or seventh.

From a down-and-outer in Central America to a neurotic glandular case from New York, everyone seems to have their own answer to the Big Questions of Life. And so after wading through the varied and conflicting Weltanschauungen described above, the reader may be tempted to appeal to some sort of higher authority. As continual creator of this column, Dewitt has the advantage of having existed everywhere since the dawn of time (not to mention to added plus of owning a fantastic collection of Maurice Chevalier records). So what does this eternal sage think of life, love, death and The Big Apple?

You can find him at your local bowling alley, working on that nasty 7-10 split.