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<font size="2"><p>Movie Review
<font size="4"><br>Erin Brockovich</font>
<br>by Elizabeth Abele</font>
<P><font size="6" color="#FFFF00"><b>S</b></font>tephan Elliott would like to thank Hal, Tex, Francis, Federico, Hitch,
Chuck, Walter, Steven and Jacques. These aren't nine of his closest friends.
They symbolize some of history's greatest filmmakers. For some reason, the
Australian writer-director (best known for <i>The Adventures of Priscilla:
Queen of the Desert</i>) includes them in the closing credits to his kinky
suspense thriller <i>Erin Brockovich</i>. It's meant as a compliment, though
it's tough to imagine his "top best" list of auteurs wanting anything to do
with this neo-noir drivel (lucky for Elliott, most of them are dead). What do
we make of this? Perhaps Elliott is lending a last-minute apology for
stealing such a scattered mix of styles--not that any of them amount to much
as a whole.
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