12/27/23
Pitfall (1948)
Chance bill. What is it about insurance and crime? Or darkness? Despite the similarity with Double Indemnity, this doesn't have quite the noir heft of that or Bogart's best, The Maltese Falcon, or even Dick Powell's own Murder, My Sweet, but Powell can crack the wit with the best of them. The dry, ironic tone of the family at home is the best part of this, which sets up Powell's malaise but is not just a matter of that. Raymond Burr plays a more garden variety creep than in, e.g., Rear Window, but thus more interesting in a devious, grainy way. I happened to watch this movie after That Obscure Object of Desire and Eyes Wide Shut. Those two make a great double feature of being led around by the, um, nose by desire, and then this movie echoes the matter of straying from wife and family, bringing consequences on them, and then fessing up to it.
Team America: World Police (2004)
Trey Parker and Matt Stone (of South Park fame, in case you somehow don't know) trusted the inherently comic effect of marionettes as in Thunderbirds, and most of the big laughs here come from that, although making another joke of the goofy seriousness of action blockbusters. So the real stars here are the Chiodo brothers, the puppet designers, whose other kinds of creation are in Killer Clowns from Outer Space and Pee-wee's Big Adventure, just for a couple. Peter Cook and Dudley Moore actually went the other way with this on their TV show, Not Only But Also, playing the marionettes themselves to mock the effects.
Pretty Woman (1990)
Such a hopeful, optimistic wish and message for the world: if only prostitutes and businessmen could get along better. The constant cheats and diversions presuppose how outrageous the premise is. Julia Roberts is really too savvy. Richard Gere is cutthroat but sensitive. Folksy real girlfriend and crasser business buddy, along with conveniently diplomatic and resourceful hotel manager and even the elevator operator rescue us from anything actually mundane about the encounter or consequences.
Silent Night (2023)
The minimal dialogue -- the main character can't speak due to a neck injury -- gives a different sense to even revenge movies. Without all the brass and swagger, it's like we're stuck inside the broody mire of the character's feelings, the obsession. For about half the movie, it's something more rapt than typical John Woo. But the vulnerable outsider act of Joel Kinnaman gets overplayed, at Woo's direction, so much so it doesn't make sense, quite the opposite of critical reflexes, and then it falls into the much soppier and sappier stuff typical of Woo, including a gangster lord whose industrial club style crib mixes Christmas decoration with death head, and the departed child flashing back on one of the giant Christmas bulbs. That makes for a good xmas twist, though, with babies, sweaters and blood bath.
Leave the World Behind (2023)
It's like a Black Mirror episode in its trendy spread and approach -- director and co-writer Sam Esmail worked on Mr. Robot among other things -- but with a slightly larger plan and more time, it works better at the drama of a slow discovery from limited perspective. Angry white woman is a good role for Julia Roberts.
The Other Guys (2010)
The comic jags jut out so much it makes the continuity strange. It's a good idea to have a twist for Will Ferrell's character so he's not just the patsy, and that also confounds machismo. But the real problem here is Mark Wahlberg. He makes the continuity problem worse, and the timing, because he's not so much playing a character, comic or serious, as adopting stances. There's no real rapport here between him and Ferrell.
12/20/23
Carnival of Souls (1962)
This very low budget movie, the only feature made by Herk Harvey who otherwise made industrial education movies, written by him and John Clifford, was inspired by An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, the short French film based on a story by Ambrose Bierce. It's a different idea than typical horror films, and creates some decent moody effect at times, but it's also got lots of B-movie clunkiness, not just from the cheap production but even some of the schlocky conception, particularly with the lecherous boarding house neighbor. Its reputation has grown, and there are those who consider it great, as horror movie or art. It even got a Criterion edition. To take it one way seems to ignore the other. For the more grain of salt approach, it was the subject of a RiffTrax Live show, and they also used a colorized version.
Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (2006)
Like the other Adam McKay, Will Ferrell projects, it's overblown and dragged out, but it manages a better characterization than Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, which really floats away from any object of parody into pure fabrication. The fickleness and abrupt turns of fortune taken in stride, the zealously dysfunctional father played by Gary Cole (even the cougar is a poignant absurdity about seeking approval), the slack blunt speech of Jane Lynch and her grandchildren make this closer to the subject, as a feeling for it.
Fast Charlie (2023)
Check out the work of Remi Tournois, camera operator and director of photography for additional photography. This was also James Caan's last movie.
A Disturbance in the Force (2023)
This documentary about the notorious Star Wars Holiday Special of 1978, though mostly in the flip style of lots of famous afficionados of pop oddities, manages to provide the story of how it came about and the TV showbiz, variety show context for it. Archival as well as new interviews feature lots of those involved, from the Star Wars stars themselves to those who actually created the TV show. Of course the actual holiday special is a twist for xmas. Very twisted.
The 3 Worlds of Gulliver (1960)
As much as I like Ray Harryhausen, I like Jonathan Swift even more. Here's a case where the liberties with or departure from the source are just too much to go unnoticed. Swift's 18th century parody of travel memoirs of the day also cleverly expresses perspective and culture exchange, and as the satire drives the fantasy, it's a sophisticated form of sci-fi for its time -- and even still -- a speculative fiction but as humorous figure. This movie makes it like a children's version, but only in the way that post-Victorians see fit to do so by suppressing what they think children shouldn't encounter. Or use children as an excuse to suppress for everyone. Example: in the movie Gulliver spits apparently wine to put out a fire; in the book, he urinates to do so. And the title of this proclaims its excision: there's no Houyhnhnms or Yahoos, no floating island of Laputa, no unfortunate immortals. There are some suggestions of the parodic and surreal quality of the book, particularly with some of the performers, like Gregoire Aslan, but the egg end dispute starts sounding more like Dr. Seuss. Although there's an analogous relation of Swift's use of scale and Harryhausen's that might've been explored further, even Harryhausen is minimized here: to a squirrel and a crocodile.
Catch Me If You Can (2002)
This is better material for Steven Spielberg, intrigue with a light touch, but even so it shows, well, the showiness of the process. It's like when you can only see all the acting of an actor: Spielberg is the direction version of that. Sometimes he gets actors who can cut through that. Here it's mixed results. It's Disney for grownups.
Xmas twist
12/13/23
The X in Xmas Is for a Twist

Three Days of the Condor (1975)
Sydney Pollack's thriller with Robert Redford and Faye Dunaway takes place at Christmas time, so you can have that nicely upstaged by a paranoid nightmare of being a fugitive of assassins and the CIA. There are nice subversive touches like a cozy, forced visitation, and getting out and meeting new people after all the co-workers have been killed. No office party this year. It's on the thriller side more than action, so the suspense and what action there is comes out of the situation. At the time it came out, it might've seemed more far-fetched, but now, looking back, it may seem more timid about some of its suggestions. How about a double bill with Burn After Reading?

White Reindeer (2013)
Tries to be frank but is meekly executed, and it's not even the borderline amateurish production and acting that's the worst of it, but from the script level going for cutesy comic scene phrasing, short quip and fade, short-changing on any real confrontation, of course, but also on clever, original ways to express the humor or absurdity. Cocaine and sex parties are part of the spree of denial -- of death, that's what it's also supposed to be about -- but even that's so meager it's quaint. Swingin' Christmas!

The Proposition (2005)
Australia in the 1880s, summertime and a different kind of occasion for Christmas. Nick Cave's script directed by John Hillcoat lays on more dirt and blood and mood than the plot can carry, and like some of its characters, seems to switch from proponent of violence to mournful opposition. But it's still fun to watch Ray Winstone, John Hurt and Guy Pearce in what's curiously a more subdued role.

The Ref (1994)
Home Alone for grownups. It's fairly more composed than zany, and doesn't overdo anyone, character or performer, but it tries to get too many plot threads going and that thins it out, even for its predictably good cheer ending. It does make a nice devious thrill about family crap for the holidays.
The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933)
Charles Laughton's breakout movie performance and what contributed to a stereotype of Henry VIII as a loutish spoiled brat, although there are references to his more historically accurate refinements, such as musical ability. But this British production was not trying to be entirely negative in bringing the historical figure down to earth, or at least making him more earthy. (See John Bull.) In between the wars, as much as the European situation which seems to determine some of the lines in the script, there was a concern with the domination of American movies, and this was an attempt to provide content by, about and for the British. More than the entertaining liberties it takes with history, it's the touch of the director, Hungarian transplant Alexander Korda, that breathes life into it, or perhaps livelier odors, that mistier space of 30s movies, shots through archway openings and a kitchen teeming with servants and entrails.
Ruggles of Red Gap (1935)
Something of a darling of its day, also when the source book was published in 1915, with its heaping portion of America as the land of folksy acceptance and equality -- an English butler recites the Gettysburg Address by heart -- this is one of Charles Laughton's truly more eccentric performances, not because he's playing a hunchback or king or diabolical scientist island despot, but because of the weird thing he keeps doing with his eyes, like changing focus when he's looking out front. It's directed by Leo McCarey, who directed some of the greatest comedy, Laurel and Hardy and certainly one of the greatest of all, Duck Soup, but this is not those giddy heights.
May December (2023)
The situation is intriguing, and it becomes tantalizing as it ripples out of the frame to think about the actresses playing the roles, since there's also a switch involved: Natalie Portman plays an actress who meets with the woman she's going to portray, and Julianne Moore is playing that woman, already. But the drama of the encounters is lost when it's not so much about what is discovered as what is contrived. There's at least one big turn that comes off as provocation, by this work since it's not developed as that within it.
Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)
Martin Scorsese gets the accents right -- well, not always literally but in a broader sense. It's one of the more interesting roles for Leonardo DiCaprio, for example, because it's not his typical broody, tormented type. It seems Scorsese even put some Terrence Malick flourish in it, or at least there's a sequence that recalls Days of Heaven, if similar treatment wasn't intended. So much material, lots of details are good or interesting, but the sum is drifty. The compression of Scorsese's recent projects is becoming more like Casino. As with The Irishman, the length -- this one is nearly 3 1/2 hours -- allows for more material, but that only augments the problem of selection and composition. At this point, he might as well go to series. The significant lapse here is for the DiCaprio character. The first time we jump to DiCaprio involved in a robbery it's confusing. We may get the ambiguity or corruptibility of the characters, here, even the wild shiftiness, but there's no direct setup for that involvement. It may be used as the psychology of the character's double-dealing, or for effect, but it doesn't make the point about the character's own depravity, rationalization or even lack in the same way dramatically, as Henry Hill in Goodfellas or even Frank Sheeran in The Irishman, either by him or about him. When Scorsese makes a regress at the end to call attention to appropriation of someone else's story, it's a nice gesture in some senses, like when he told Ellen Burstyn he knew nothing about women, and she preferred this honesty to any other conceit to have him direct Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore. But does Scorsese not require this bracket for gangsters or Catholics or Italian Americans? There's always the matter of authorization or authenticity, always a difference and a distance for the account.
12/6/23
Top Gun: Maverick (2022)
While trying to slavishly follow the original to milk if for that old feeling of latent, gung ho baloney, this just doesn't achieve the same heights of boiled wiener orgy spasm. Well, they do have some more contemporary roasted wiener shots near the end. Rule number one: Break the rules. To be a real team player (never mind the armed forces, hierarchy, discipline, protocol, physics), you have to fight everyone to be the absolute best pilot and don't trust anyone. It's also good to know we're conducting air strikes in unnamed alpine countries. RiffTrax is the only way to fly.
Mother Night (1996)
The biggest problem with movie versions of books is distilling as just plot, without the figurative elaboration of the writing or some approximation. This Kurt Vonnegut book, despite a good cast that gives it some moments (check out Sheryl Lee outside of Laura Palmer), comes off as prosaic as a cable movie and the skipping around without figurative context makes it even more like a trailer for that. The black comedy and absurdist twists of Vonnegut also come off too flat, like Frankie Faison's Black Fuehrer.
The Holdovers (2023)
Interesting setup, situation, people, but then it kind of runs into usual slots. Not as subtle as The Browning Version, which it recalls in some key details, nor Alexander Payne's own Nebraska. The latter shows just the contrast of how what's different about character or setting or situation doesn't have to fall into the same patterns, if not formula.
Mysterious Island (1961)
For a Ray Harryhausen vehicle, the production got a bit more hefty, with Herbert Lom, Joan Greenwood and Gary Merrill lending weight to the cast, another Bernard Herrmann score (the third for a Harryhausen movie), and the source was Jules Verne this time. Prior to The Valley of Gwangi and even First Men in the Moon, this has the 19th century part of the anachronism, with the Civil War the surprising start to a journey to the Pacific Ocean and a connection to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. The oversized fauna they encounter are of course Harryhausen's creations (though those of another legendary figure in the story), and this perhaps most of his movies has the air of a fairy tale for grownups.
11/30/23
Liberty Heights (1999)
Unlike Diner or Tin Men, and more like Avalon, Barry Levinson's movies about the Baltimore he grew up in, this is more wistful and reverent, but that's also part of the strangeness of its pace. In Diner, the broader tone was carried in a comic step, so that even the antics told as much that was serious or poignant about the characters and the particular time in their lives. Here, while there's similar cleverness or sauciness, it's in a dramatic cadence, with a pressing feeling to the buildup of scenes. In particular the music presses the pensive tone, and is not only persistent, but sometimes seems indiscriminately so, like it was just left on in the background. It goes on through odd intercutting, sometimes parallel action that seems imbalanced. Cutaways to the burlesque show make it a motif that doesn't seem to mesh here, or I'm not sure what the sense is supposed to be. The editing in general is as if lots of material were cut out, thus the overall strange pace and contributing to the awkwardness of the intercut scenes.
Family Plot (1976)
The playfulness comes out best in the casting, though Barbara Harris and Bruce Dern get the better of it over Karen Black and William Devane. Alfred Hitchcock considered lots of other bigger stars, but the cost changed his mind. It's hard to imagine anyone at the time that could've topped Harris, and that could've seemed less actorish and more offhand than Dern. It's a bit trudgy and stiff at times, like a TV movie, both the script and the execution, but the unfolding of the characters as much as the twisted paths makes for plenty of suspense and even the ambling pace is a fun turn for Hitchcock.
Diner (1982) ♠
Barry Levinson's big-screen debut as writer and director was also an early showcase, in some cases the first big role, for Steve Guttenberg, Kevin Bacon, Daniel Stern, Tim Daly, Paul Reiser, and especially Ellen Barkin and Mickey Rouke. Even in the fabric created by the whole ensemble, the rest of the cast and crew, the promise of those last two stood out. Levinson's rendition of his Baltimore at the transition from youth to adulthood seemed to be like a teen comedy, about schoolboy antics, but funny business had other implications or was giving a characterization and not just punchlines. On the other hand, that shuffle to it also kept it from being a typical coming of age movie, more compact and punchy. The nostalgia of the generation that grew up in the 50s had been lyrical before, even if also wacky, cf. American Graffiti, but not so grown up even about the view of youth and wackiness. It certainly didn't fit into slots in the studio executives' minds, as they didn't want to release it. Levinson has told the story about how one exec didn't like the scene of the guys arguing over a roast beef sandwich in the diner. He thought they should get on with it, as if that wasn't the point itself. The movie didn't get a wide release and wasn't well known in its day, but has built a reputation since. There's also a great soundtrack of music of the era which plays a part in the story. It's the source of the passionate difference of a married couple, and a Baltimore Colts test as a condition for another marriage gives the contrast and mixture of comic and serious, light and weighty, the variable of value and meaning. It's also a good alternative Christmas movie (see here).
Moving Violations (1985)
Airplane's intentionally corny jokes and gag tangents unfortunately opened the door for lots of humor that might not have passed muster before and certainly wasn't fresh. As with slasher movies and teen sex comedies, there was a flood of this sort of comic anthology movie (Kentucky Fried Movie and Monty Python's movies were other forerunners), more a string of gags around a theme, though it certainly overlapped the teen sex category. This one is a weak imitation of Police Academy -- oh, wait, except made by some of the same people -- with a weak imitation of Bill Murray -- oh, whoops, it's Murray's other brother John -- with a couple of low-rent stars thrown in -- Robert Conrad, Sally Kellerman -- but unfortunately Fred Willard adrift in shallow water.
Love Affair (1994)
If Warren Beatty used any other subject as a thin veil for a romance -- Heaven Can Wait, Reds, Dick Tracy, Bugsy -- here the romance is flagrant. Beatty didn't direct -- Glenn Gordon Caron did -- but he co-wrote the script with Robert Towne. Yikes. It's an adaptation of a 1939 movie, but despite a game effort from Annette Bening, it's the barest, most shameless, dumbest manipulation, even the use of Katharine Hepburn. It's rank even for Hallmark. Beatty's act of the bewildered, speechless reaction shots has so little context or just other material to distract from if not support it, that it seems they must've taken it as currency from his other movies or Beatty and Bening's off-screen relationship. If you take it as the character in this story alone, it's dopey and lumpen at best, but even leering and creepy. The guy doesn't show us anything charming, so thank goodness the movie's waving banners about how great he is with his old aunt and his island friends and their children, and what a mensch he is under all the fame. If you can make it through all that, the last scene's yanking your heart chains will make you want to throw stuff at the screen. It literally makes you see red, though for some other gooey cosmetic calculus I'm not keen to.
Casino (1995)
This is Martin Scorsese pumping it up, like Robert De Niro did for Cape Fear. It's Goodfellas on steroids. He and Nicholas Pileggi got the act down and here they express-train it. Voiceover gives us so much more info than we could get from dialogue, makes the movies meatier, and there's lots of interesting stuff. But Goodfellas made this so much more part of the character, not only in the coda of Henry Hill's disdain, but the ups and downs and twists of his tale, the refrains of his regret. Here there's a similar frame, but it's not only a matter of more than one character telling the story that it's all run together and run through. The real sign of it is the music. Scorsese was a pioneer of the use of the pop music soundtrack as background and social index, and a model for it because his selection and use were done well, part of his good sense for composition. Here the music is more like those who try get the same effect with no touch for it, the songs run together with each new one cutting into the last. The surprise is Sharon Stone. While it's familiar territory for the others, it's material that lets her show a range we hadn't seen.
20 Million Miles to Earth (1957)
One of Ray Harryhausen's best creations, the Ymir from Venus, and one of the best monster movies. It's not the greatest script or acting or production in all respects, but coming from the 50s era of sci-fi monster movies, what I was raised on (on late night TV of the 70s, see here), it's one of the best uses of stop motion in the way it changes scale, and that formal play is part of the sense of adventure. The spaceship from Venus (returning!), the gelatinous egg or casing, the creature that goes from doll size to human to giant (and eats sulfur!), the fight with an elephant, Rome and the Colosseum -- it's like watching your toys come to life! Harryhausen wanted the movie to be in color but the budget wasn't big enough, so it was originally in black and white. In 2007, a colorized version, produced by Harryhausen and Legend Films, was released, so there are now two versions.
11/22/23
Hustle (1975)
The interesting mix of the cast gives an idea of the movie, right up front Burt Reynolds and Catherine Deneuve. It's more involved than you'd think as a Reynolds vehicle, especially for the kind of lead roles he had in the 70s, but still much more the type of American police drama than you'd expect to see Deneuve in. Robert Aldrich, who also directed Reynolds in The Longest Yard, gives a sturdy, plain manner that at worst is like TV drama, especially a clumsy scene of Reynolds and Paul Winfield trying to play drunk, but at its best contributes to a slouchy workday feeling, something more like the way people carry on with each other, slightly aside, not quite direct or declamatory like dramatic dialogue, even when they're probing or threatening (e.g., a main encounter scene with Reynolds and Eddie Albert, who fits better as a heavy because it's played this way). There are some things like phone sex, some slang and manner of expression that are surprising in this matter-of-fact style. It would have been part of the big adult theme cache, if not pandering, of the day, and while some of the joking around wouldn't be acceptable, this serves as a frank record of the time.
Clear and Present Danger (1994)
The concentration on functionary intrigue makes a welcome variation from action movie hyperbole, but getting close to politics while still trying to be a thriller presses the issue of, if not plausibility, credulity. Things get abstracted not so much like Westerns, but like a retrospective ideal of them, making it seem sometimes naive even in its idea of sophistication. That is, when it's not getting tangled in its own concoction. The Jack Ryan character carries this hinge, a CIA analyst who keeps getting fumbled into the field to show off his fighting skills, and this presses too hard on the Harrison Ford vulnerable act. But he's surrounded by an interesting cast.
A Clusterfunke Christmas (2021)
When there are more direct-to-video movies about Christmas than sharks, you know this year's assault in Christmas's war on Halloween has begun (Thanksgiving is already dead). Here's a go at spoofing the relentless hordes of yuppie couples in Christmas sweaters in mostly Hallmark productions, but now also by scores of imitators. This is a bit tame, leans more towards warm cocoa than bah humbug, but it gets in some good pokes, including at Christmas cocoa, and especially fruitcake cornhole, a multi-purpose joke.
Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (1956)
Ray Harryhausen turned his stop motion powers from outsized creatures to machines, rendering the famous 50s flying saucers considerably more conspicuous than in real life. The target this time is Washington, D.C., with the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol suffering iconoclasm. Less genteel than those of The Day the Earth Stood Still the aliens here have uniforms that make them like their own death ray robots. I'm not sure how "infinitely indexed" would work, but that's the superior alien technology they have, memory banks they sap human brains for.
11/17/23
The Hot Rock (1972)
Peter Yates's bank caper has a good cast that carries it along, though it seems too comic to be a thriller, but doesn't really say or do anything that funny and gets too twisty to be a comedy. Of note is a helicopter view of the World Trade Center towers still under construction. The movie was released in 1972 and the towers opened in 1973.
The Killer (2023)
The framework and execution are good and interesting, giving a droll existential parable, a rendition of the stakeout work we don't see in conventional thrillers or even spy movies, not cheating the less spectacular kind of action and drama -- and the one extended action sequence is set up well and serves other purposes -- and there's a use of The Smiths songs even more clever than the joke about the various credit card aliases, that cuts across the diegetic and soundtrack uses of the music. And it's a great vehicle for Michael Fassbender. I'm not sure how the path it makes from point A really gets to point B, by the last turns of Fassbender's phrases and facial hint, but it's still fun and thought provoking.
Oppenheimer (2023)
The Dark Night Falls. Sparks flying cocktail party name dropping intellectualism kinetics for intensity for drama constant music pusher fluffing grandiosity not befitting the best of the subject before not befitting the worst. I kept waiting for them to break into song. There's no psychology of Oppenheimer, no evocation, no development, no room to act, just relentless pace of convenient projection for dramatic zingers. Nolan designed a delivery system for Cliff Notes of a biography, with subordinated subjects of physics, history and politics, for bored undergraduates.
Nightbreed (1990)
All busy-ness and no effect. Sometimes just doing, trying to do a lot, is not accomplishing much.
Bullet (1996)
This got shelved and then was given a limited theatrical release after Tupac Shakur's death before its video release. Mickey Rourke wrote the script, as "Sir" Eddie Cook, with Bruce Rubenstein, and Julian Temple directed. It's interesting as an expression of Rourke himself, his life or disposition, even if not intentional, in the period where he parted with at least his major Hollywood career, what he would later refer to as his fall. It's a shiftless portrait of shiftless people, and Rourke's role reverses hero glorification to take on just about every kind of dysfunction, a sort of antihero over-identification. Ted Levine gives a particularly interesting performance in an interesting cast that also includes early appearances of Michael K. Williams and Peter Dinklage.
John and Mary (1969)
The 60s romantic comedy (before the abbreviation was de rigueur) emphasized reaction to the modern world and self-consciousness, so even when it was a matter of dealing with -- usually dipping a toe in -- changing mores about sex and love, it was really more a part of that, as much as the latter would seem to be the main subject. Here, what's daring about portraying two people who meet and sleep together, then wake up to deal with actually getting to know each other, gets diluted by broader construction in flashback and ultimately by the very conventional upshot of romance, the idealization of fate, that they are the right ones for each other, the happiliest ever ending. Peter Yates directed, in what might seem a departure, but his body of work is so diverse he's like those favorite studio assignment directors of the auteur theorists, King Vidor or Vincente Minelli or Stanley Donen. It's not the sort of showboat role of The Graduate for Dustin Hoffman, but that makes for some even more subtle but deft vulnerability, particularly at the breakfast table with Mia Farrow.
Nyad (2023)
This mostly streaming entry (it had festival and limited theater release) has a gritty performance by Annette Bening, but it's also, somewhat more surprisingly, the best role Jodie Foster has had in a while. The best thing about the movie is the relationship between the two friends, one serving as reluctant coach for the other. Foster gets to play the relief to the more conflicted character, and counters her sternness and sometimes nastiness with a positivity that's more than a little ironic. The role and the approach by the co-directors give Foster room to breathe like she had in her 70s movies as a kid, and don't strap her with the kind of furrowed brow formality that's she had in her grownup big movie career. The movie certainly takes its triumphant moments, but it doesn't shy away from the excess, even craziness, of Diana Nyad's endeavor.
Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977)
Ray Harryhausen's special effects made the movies that had them more interesting and usually better quality than lots of low-budget sci-fi and gladiator movies, but this one dips to Hercules movie level. The license taken with any tradition or natural history, a sort of DIY mythology (Harryhausen co-wrote the script) and the general flightiness could be taken for giddy surrealism, but it's pretty much just lurchy construction, clunky acting and shoddy editing.
Dumb Money (2023)
There's a Whitest Kids U' Know skit where a biker doesn't understand a lawyer because "that's lawyer talk," but the lawyer doesn't understand the "biker talk" either, and it extrapolates into nobody understanding anyone else's special talk. When the Internet subcultures took on Wall Street in the GameSpot short squeeze, the clash included jargon, references, inside jokes, pejorative terms and slang, a whole culture clash. Like the documentary Diamond Hands: The Legend of WallStreetBets, this plays up all the memes and monikers and stances and attitudes especially of the social media, gamer and Reddit contingent. The documentary was more about WallStreetBets, while this has Roaring Kitty aka Keith Gill as the center, but they cover much the same arc and players. The jazz with all that might seem more at place in a fictionalized account, part of the characterization, but it comes off here no less as pandering, and it actually takes a while for it to settle down so that you can follow the story. And there's the same problem with what really isn't addressed (see the doc comments): not only the stock market itself and what constitutes legal or illegal manipulation, but the way anything else gets pulled into the terms or frame of the market, financial, legal, civil or any other kind of identity.
It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955)
Well before a recent spate of tentacled aliens in the movies -- and recent discoveries about the unusual genetics of cephalopods -- there was this Ray Harryhausen creation, which followed on the success The Beast of 20,000 Fathoms. This next atomic mutant outscales even giant squid and attacks San Francisco. Harryhausen's detailed tentacles go up against equally impressive models of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Ferry Building clock tower. Some industrial locations make for more interesting, candid settings, and Kenneth Tobey steps into the lead role after backup duty in The Thing from Another World and 20,000 Fathoms. Tobey seems cut out of the real material, too, a solid Joe without any actor excess, a trouper in that sense.
11/10/23
I Hired a Contract Killer (1990)
Aki Kaurismaki makes movies on the basis of bare pretending. The deadpan style has a more comic irony than Robert Bresson, but it also eschews other kinds of flourish and fancy movie technique. When a character here, played by Jean-Pierre Leaud (from Francois Truffaut movie fame), tries to hang himself, it would be anticlimactic in Kaurismaki terms if the movie did try to show us this through some fakery. Instead, the bare bones fakery is to cut to Leaud on the floor as the failed attempt. It would be anticlimactic if Kaurismaki were not anticlimactic in some way. The act can wear thin in its own way, particularly when the plot turns are as bare and certainly if you're only acclimated to big movie hype. But it's resolutely countering all kinds of dramatic polish, even of realism, in favor of different perspective, in this case like the sparse, rough pubs and crannies of London and the music.
A Handful of Dust (1988)
After the popularity of the 1981 Brideshead Revisited series, it was inevitable that more Evelyn Waugh works would be adapted, including his most famous and widely considered best (it's certainly one of my favorite novels). The Brideshead series was widely praised for being so faithful to the novel, something that more than 11 hours afforded it. But faithful in terms of events or plotline is not the same as to the voice of the author, tone or style. While there's some sense of the ambiguity, or at least complexity, in this dramatization, and especially the performance of Kristin Scott Thomas (this was her breakout for movies), there's nothing like the play of effects of the book. Even the scenes with Alec Guinness as the barmy jungle clan leader seem relatively placid and restrained, if not quite prosaic. Brideshead was after and about Waugh's conversion to Catholicism, and many conservative and religious commentators thought his earlier work too glib or scathing if not more directly scandalous, in Handful about the treatment of divorce, for example. In the book, you can take Tony Last as the main target of the satire, but even the fierce twist of humor and tragedy is more remarkable if you know that Waugh was using his own divorce and even his trip to South America. While The Loved One movie version is more Terry Southern's 60s brand of humor, this movie tends towards the 80s style of staid costume and drawing room dramas, more PBS or Merchant Ivory than even the salt of Waugh.
Pain Hustlers (2023)
The opioid crisis is a popular subject for movies and shows right now, or at least there has come the wave of fictional accounts about it. The similarities are of course due to the subject, but also due to the approach, which is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. The easy side to choose here, like saying "I'm anti-bad," has produced some instant cliches, as well as following on older ones. This movie falls squarely between the cloying agitpop of the series Painkiller (2023) and the more traditional but pertinent drama of Dopesick (2021).
The Thing (1982)
John Carpenter's best movie, Kurt Russell's best lead performance, and Ennio Morricone takes on the musical form of Carpenter. More than just a remake of the 1951 The Thing from Another World and its "intellectual carrot," this provided a rendition of the source story, Who Goes There?, in which the alien is an organism that can invade and replicate others. The way it makes everyone suspect each other is the built-in suspense device, and Carpenter plays it straight, with great cinematography from Dean Cundey. The hokier tilt comes from the special effects, ramping up the monster makeup of the 51 movie (James Arness was the monster) to the mechanical gore of the 80s.
The Thing (2011)
This prequel about the Norwegian camp referred to in the 1982 Carpenter version starts off in the right key, but then forces the drama when all the action starts. Director Matthijs van Heijningen Jr. has the actors notch it up in a way that becomes more showy, thus rather lighter than heavier, something even John Carpenter managed to avoid. The suspense of the premise works by itself, so we don't need to have extra shades thrown on characters, even more so when we know what's going on after the previous movie. But if you watch this movie right before the 1982 one, you are more likely to notice the attention they gave to details to link them, for example an axe Kurt Russell's MacReady finds in a wall.
Moon over Parador (1988)
Paul Mazursky's transplant of The Prisoner of Zenda to modern times, where an actor, played by Richard Dreyfuss, gets pulled into a scheme to stand in for a dictator, has lively performances from an interesting cast -- Raul Julia, Sonia Braga, Jonathan Winters among others, even Mazursky himself in a surprising role under an assumed name on the credits -- but amounts to Ishtar bustle and fizzle.
The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953)
The first atomic giant monster movie, based on a short story by Ray Bradbury, and that launched his lifelong friend Ray Harryhausen's career as stop motion master, taking over from Willis O'Brien, who did the effects for King Kong and with whom Harryhausen worked on Mighty Joe Young, this preceded Godzilla and inspired other city-crashing terrors of the 50s and after. Bradbury's story was only about an attack on a lighthouse. That's the centerpiece, but the movie goes on to release the beast on New York City, Harryhausen following on Kong there, but his creations would go on to attack other famous cities: San Francisco, Washington D.C., Rome.
The Pigeon Tunnel (2023)
What David Cornwell aka John le Carre "betrays" here via Errol Morris is a rhetorical reflex to craft his statements, to be well-spoken, well-written, or perhaps it could be summed up as to be crafty. Besides the matter of whether this is more the reflex of a spy or a writer, there's the simple matter of being English and Oxford educated. Sometimes here Le Carre is so -- not really even so much recondite or prolix as -- precious it's hard to get his point. And that's even as part of a discussion about hiding and lying and betrayal and confession. Perhaps this suits the point, which Morris wants to make with all his films, that there is no pure, simple, unadulterated truth, or that the only way to be truthful is to account for the slant, bent, rhetoric or artifice of especially how the subject wants to portray itself. Still it seems even Morris leans to a more comfy version of that, not necessarily his questions, but cutaway dramatizations, music, etc.
11/2/23
Deranged (1974)
Shot in Canada, this very low budget attempt at something closer to the real Ed Gein story (by contrast to Psycho) uses the exploitation route to be frank in other ways (see Mandingo). It's not The Honeymoon Killers or Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer, doesn't have that dramatic snap, but along those lines and with its own interesting flourishes.
Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah (1991)
Trying to update Godzilla, to the late 80s, early 90s, sort of works the other way. Sets and clothing and even hair styles, time-travelling space ships and special effects and concepts, Terminator-like robot men and that shiny look of the era, as if the whole thing were shot in a tin box, all come back to the rubber suits and toy tanks and city models. Even the attempt to tone down the kitschier frolic of the 60s and 70s, to make 100-meter monsters with energy discharges look, you know, more realistic, can't help getting into the ol' grabbing a three-headed dragon by its double tail and banging it on the ground bit.
Brooklyn Rules (2007)
It's not a mob story directly, more about bumping into the mob, which could offer an interesting take even if not entirely original, but its coming of age coziness, no matter how frank it wants to be about some of the cruder stuff and the clashes of culture, makes it awkward. Not only the pace, which just seems inconsistent in its own right, but the gauzy quality that is more like the memory of movies or stories than its own observation.
Saving Mr. Banks (2013)
So busy trying to be artsy in preconceived, cutesy ways, it can barely get across what it's about.
Anatomy of a Fall (2023)
The Cannes Palm d'Or winner for 2023. The story of a death that turns into a murder investigation concentrates on finer, more realistic details of evidence, psychology and most of all interpretation. The title sequence suggests another kind of approach, something a la Godard, and while this steers away from sensationalism or thriller conventions, it has another kind of treatment that it raises its own questions about, reflexively even if not quite as intended. Are the treatment and questions part of the work or extraneous? Are they directly involved or referred to, citations? In particular, one sequence of a conversation between husband and wife that was recorded by the husband and is then used in the trial is shown as a flashback until the crucial moment when there are the sounds of a physical altercation. At that point, we're returned to the audio as it would be heard in the courtroom, the only part available for interpretation. The couple's dialogue in that sequence, that we get to see also, played out by the actors, is well composed to an excruciating extent. Both parties are articulate, and in fact both characters are also writers, and the husband records such material to use for his writing. The psychology revealed here, brought out, provoked, is the most complex, frank, and brutal on a different level. But that's also another matter, that it's well composed. Within the story, there's the suggestion about how much of what's going on with these characters is concocted, provoked or manipulated by them for the sake of their writing. But even outside the frame it also raises the question. Shakespeare's writing is not an attempt to portray realistic conversation. We accept it as another kind of expression of that reality, a poetic and theatrical convention of his day. The tension between faithful as naturalistic on the one hand and well-crafted on the other (indeed, even "well-made" as that term is used for certain types of plays with the ambivalence involved) thus ripples out of this.
The Burial (2023)
The fine line between caricature and candid portrayal of someone flamboyant in real life, here the flashy personal injury lawyer based on Willie E. Gary played by Jamie Foxx, can also be the risk of sensationalism on the one hand and making something bland or timid on the other. Director Maggie Betts does a decent job, also with her script co-written by Doug Wright, of walking this line by keeping the focus on the matter, so that all the figures are cut in that relief, though there are some moments of cuteness, wringing of sentiment hard to resist. Foxx, who also was a producer, manages this best, understanding his role in the whole just as the character's, and giving a performance that has comic timing with deft actor restraint. Tommy Lee Jones is looking out to pasture.
Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
The antidote to the Disney twinklerizing of animation and live action mix, Mary Poppins, Bedknobs and Broomsticks and such, this also bears out how much more grownup the Warner Brothers cartoons were to begin with. The great stroke is the animus towards the "toons," Bob Hoskins' central character's grudge but also the general disdain, a nice irony towards the over-zaniness that sets up all the citation of the jokes. It's like a revenge fantasy for parents or adults who've had to suffer too much repetition of cartoons by children.
Vertigo (1958) ♠
Alfred Hitchcock's best movie cuts against the grain of thriller and horror, has lots of scenes of people sitting around talking casually and long passages of no dialogue where it draws us into that fascination of watching that's even more basic than silent movie art, while we're also following someone else following around and spying, and Bernard Herrmann's best score completes the shimmery, airy, ghostly quality even, especially, in the light of day. Some movies just float up, like ghosts themselves, over their situation and story, to become something extraordinary, unexpected, greater than the sum of the parts. The key here is the element of the story that provides a parable of a parallax view of person, persona, of doubled and phantom identity that shakes up notions of intention, integrity even connected to a broader ontological sense, being and becoming. Another kind of haunting, another kind of ghost story, of what things already are. The script by Alec Coppel and Samuel Taylor, from a novel D'Entre les morts (the English title is The Living and the Dead, but the expression means something more like "from among the dead") by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac (also of Diabolique and Eyes Without a Face fame) provides this, an elaborate enough concoction but that gets to a point where possession or phantom identity becomes more uncanny than supernatural. Hitchcock gives a storybook quality, but the more lurid effects are for the matter of the James Stewart character's literal vertigo, while the ghostly identity becomes that conflation of daytime and dream, ordinary and surreal, fiction and its double, the life it refers to in the uncanny. It's also at once a romance and stalking. Beyond the ghost story in the usual sense, the overlapping views, the doubling of perception, gets worse. Is Stewart's character creepy and perverse in the way he wants to make up Kim Novak's character, or is he justified because of betrayal already committed (this is structured so that a scene with Novak reveals to us before Stewart, just for this purpose). Novak's character plays this out the opposite direction, wanting to be loved for what she is after being something else, but it was also through that ruse that she could seduce him. The fact there's the overlap is what makes it most interesting. They met for the wrong reason and now they can't get out of that for the right ones. He's making her be her fake version to prove who she really is. It brings to mind a line from Black Lizard, a Japanese movie rarity with its own fun little twists on much of this same matter: "Our counterfeit love is destined to take on the form of true love." Which may be the tragic one.
10/27/23
The Temp (1993)
Enjoyable stupidity from the big time. B-movies came from Hollywood, remember. The 90s became the era of the "high concept" thriller, which only meant how disproportionately crappy the premise or concoction, usually flagrantly derivative, but put in big movie package. Hot off her Twin Peaks fame, Lara Flynn Boyle plays the femme fatale, girlfriend wannabe not unlike her role in Wayne's World, though it's hard to tell which is funnier. Timothy Hutton and Faye Dunaway lend big name acting heft to the absurdity. What the script and final product demonstrate is how you can just drop in and string together scenes for whatever you want, and you basically pile together all kinds of ideas mostly from other sources like puttanesca, whatever you've got in your fridge. It's trying to be too "adult" to get completely absurd with the teasing dragged out for the length of the movie or its horror, so moments of that jut out as ludicrous high points: inner tube seduction, office paper shredder, a wasp, and oatmeal cookie bloodshed.
Scream (1996)
Outbidding the in-joke progression of horror/slasher movies (see Friday the 13th), Wes Craven presided over this next level after Last House on the Left in the 70s and Nightmare on Elm Street in the 80s. And that pretty much gives the cross-section of the development: from exploitation (although Craven, influenced by Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring and the tale it's based on, originally intended something more drastic and serious because he thought mainstream movies glamorized violence) to roller coaster to self-conscious irony about the ritual itself, which is a nice way of saying cliches. Without tilting full into parody, this spruces up the recipe with a livelier tone to the setup, kicks and falls for the perp, the reflexive play with references to other horror films (culminating in a grand moment of reverberation: "But this is life. This isn't a movie"), and a climactic revelation scene that gets the best comedy and suspense counterpoint. Compared to its sequels, it also does this with less of the bad kind of self-consciousness (see Scream VI).
Queen Christina (1933)
Director Rouben Mamoulian's Love Me Tonight (1932) is a tour de force of playing with the movie art without the broader gesture to bring it all together quite like Rene Clair's Le Million, Ernst Lubitsch's Trouble in Paradise or even Dziga Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera. Even his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde showed this kind of toying with and tricking up. What's interesting with Queen Christina is how Mamoulian goes in almost the opposite direction and approaches something more like the Lubitsch touch. There's such a nonchalant air to the whole thing, and it's generalized, it's not just playing with this or that. Tragedy, costume drama, Garbo pretending to be a man and then the whole amorous farce with that, even the swashbuckling of a sword duel, all glide with a cutout sort of obliqueness, as if an air of detachment and play as Nietzsche said was the way of dealing with great tasks.
Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)
Before It's a Wonderful Life and A Matter of Life and Death (aka Stairway to Heaven) (both 1946), there was this, which was remade in 1978 with its source play's title, Heaven Can Wait, by and with Warren Beatty. There have been lots of other metaphysical parables, comic or farcical as well -- Groundhog Day stumbled its way to the peak by not really trying to be quite so grand -- but this one may be the object lesson in taking your premise and running with it. I don't know if it's in the play as well, but the film script gets carried away with the divine revision, and running through so many variations feels like its manipulating the audience more than the lost soul main character (cf. Lost, the series).
The Life of Emile Zola (1937)
If you want a good example of the compromise of the prestige picture, particularly in American film as Hollywood established it, this crosses a lot of lines. Also as a biopic and historical picture, it has the technical proficiency, slickness that raises movies to a kind of high theater, but not particularly the height of cinematic art, and grandiose, well-meaning but easy ideals, all of which create a kind of cant. In this case, the character of Emile Zola, played more than competently by Paul Muni across different ages, makes great proclamations about truth and the freedom for and right to it, but the movie, which makes "The Life of" Zola primarily the Dreyfus affair, has removed all references to anti-semitism, and the only reference to Dreyfus being Jewish is a flash of a written record. That works to call more attention to what's precisely not said, but whether that was the result of suppression or counter to it isn't clear. For more background on how and why the major studios, most of them run by Jewish men and with so many Jewish people involved -- Muni himself came from Yiddish theater -- chose to downplay, when not suppress, anti-semitism as an economic matter prior to World War II, and serving as a model for how economic interest works as an influence on the art, truth or at least frankness of the movies, see David Denby's New Yorker article Hitler in Hollywood.
A Few Days from the Life of I.I. Oblomov (1980)
Excellent adaptation of Ivan Goncharov's 19th century novel Oblomov, directed by Nikita Mikhalkov, who spanned from the Soviet era to after (see 12). There is the wispy, faded, remote quality of some Russian animation and folk tales, and suggestive of Tarkovsky's Solaris (Mikhalkov's brother Andrei Konchalovsky worked with Tarkovsky and also directed Runaway Train) especially in the dreamy summer scenes with a child's view of the spread of the dacha. When this alternates with scenes of a slothful man, it becomes part of the piquant satire of short story style character study (like Chekhov), but further turns about the characters then open up novelistic depth. The "superfluous man," a common figure of Russian literature of which this became the definitive version, goes from an object lesson as a useless member of the upper class to sympathetic and existential expression, and there is even counter-articulation. His friend with whom he's been contrasted, supposedly superior, has his own flashback background about his father, and we then see that his industriousness is its own kind of compulsion.
The Monster Squad (1987)
The Goonies become Ghostbusters for Universal monsters, as the 80s version of Abbot and Costello crossovers. Similar mixture of clunky, corny, moments more fun than funny, and bound by its era.
Friday the 13th (1980)
Camp boo. Now well after the fact the context of its arrival may be forgotten or not known: that it came right on the heels of Halloween, just transferred the occasion to another supposedly spooky one, though the bad luck day really doesn't matter in the story. Sean Cunningham, who worked on Last House on the Left, said outright he wanted to make a roller coaster ride. His distillation set the formula for slasher movies. Roger Ebert was concerned about the portrayal as a social phenomenon. Were the audiences he reported any more repeating, celebrating or identifying with, behavior or an attitude in the movie than viewers of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls? Counter-casuistry has since been developed by the genre faithful, who claim that audiences are all in on the joke the way Ebert or anyone critical is not. This doesn't make moot every response to the movie, nor account for the fact that whatever inventiveness there may be for individual shots or scenes or passages or pacing or music for manipulation, or methods of murder or ways of faking those and making them more grisly, and outbidding the jump-scare and ability to handle graphic depiction and imagination of violence, comes at the expense of overall story structure, continuity, ability to make any other comment or create a broader sense or environment. The short of that being: repetitive, tedious, foregone conclusion.
10/10/23
The Wolfman (2010)
Big movie balderdash. Apparently all involved thought the subject should have some epic approach, and that means Harry Potter's Wuthering Heights in video game cut scenes. Everything is overstuffed, but all looking like it's carved in the same CG relief, there's constant swirling music and camera and stern looks, and if Anthony Hopkins just being in it isn't enough to convey the right amount of currency gravitas, they've got him looking like the medieval manor version of Odin. Obviously werewolf transitions had to get the digital treatment, but the result is scarcely different, less indulgent, than the mechanical effects round in the 80s and 90s. Benicio Del Toro's first movie role was Duke the Dog-Faced Boy in Big Top Pee-wee. This isn't a step up.
Tin Men (1987)
See Film/Script.
The Funeral (1996)
Pretty even mix of interesting Abel Ferrara and silly Abel Ferrara. The script, by Nicholas St. John, gathers a mafia family at the funeral of one member, and then goes on flashbacks and cutaways for the paths to and from there. Though it's hard not to see it as derivation from the famous christening montage of The Godfather, it's a nice idea to make a centerpiece and ensemble vibe with that. Ferrara gives it the feel of a documentary shoot of the run-through, or a theatrical performance or improv. The lighting seems unfocused and incidental, like the house lights in the theater, or the lights in warehouse. The roving, offhand view follows a lot of working up, exchanges that always seem to be building up to something, and once, in a bar scene, when they're singing and dancing, I thought, is Christopher Walken going to do a striptease on the bar? And yet Ferrara also manages to make Walken recede. Somehow he makes him have less presence. Chris Penn's performance is the best, but it's also showy and what this approach is indulging, and the echo of the rooms kind of banality makes the big climax too much, not less.
Reptile (2023)
Director Grant Singer co-wrote this with Benjamin Brewer and lead actor Benicio Del Toro. It works best as a vehicle for Del Toro, simmering intrigue for his quiet, restrained manner as an imperturbable detective. Singer overall gets a good glancing tone, allusive, relying on the intrigue and not trying to push for effect, though there are places where this itself is the affect, a couple of scenes slathered with a color tone, in a way that's trendy right now with post-production, and some places where it's so elliptical, a scene or two is ridiculously short. It's like a spoof, where a scene that's just a shot or two flies by, and you're saying, wait, what was that? Nothing in the movie makes the title's meaning explicit.
10/9/23
Terence Davies died.
See comments for The House of Mirth.



Terence Davies (center) with Gillian Anderson and Eric Stoltz, photo by David Cheskin.
10/4/23
The Vanishing (1988) ♠
Though it's neither directly a horror movie nor a serial killer study, this is the movie that perhaps most definitively shows how both can be done in contrast to conventions. Playing it relatively straight, without trumping up either horror effects or perpetrator profile, even paying attention to all kinds of mundane detail, provides a more chilling effect from the perpetrator's point of view (the apparent contradiction of his behavior with his family, for example) and much more ghastly moments of encounter. The way the story is told, rearranged to overlap the various paths that intersect and then the abductor's telling it to his passenger with flashbacks, makes for the study, the anatomy of the crime but also inflected by the perpetrator's own profession of his psychology. The whole thing also diabolically comments on the role of the viewer, as well, the vicarious position not only of movies, but obsession with true crime stories in whatever medium, something we're bound to, up to a point, but then when is that a point of no return. (Zodiac was about this in another way, but also followed suit with a more matter-of-fact approach.) The central character is the lover of the abducted whose obsession causes him not only to keep his vigil for years (to the detriment of another relationship), but to make a plea to the perpetrator to find out what happened. Hitchcock's Frenzy perhaps makes more of a conscious manipulation of this implication of the viewer, particularly in two ingenious sequences going in opposite directions with the perpetrator POV, one retreating the camera where we can't watch, the other catching us up in the suspense of trying to hide a body, and also uses details, otherwise banal or even unrelated for contrast about what is accepted of even overlooked as convention, and what is considered odd or perverse. This doesn't seem to require subtext the same way, seems more direct, certainly with the way it has the perp tell his own story, but it packs even more of a wallop for the stakes of the obsession.
The Blob (1958)
Beware! The Blob (1972)
The Blob (1988)
The original has the parable neatness of some of the best production sci-fi horror movies of the 50s -- Them!, The Thing from Another World, The Fly, War of the Worlds -- the archetypal extrapolation of the idea, in this case an amoeba, and despite its humbler origins as an independent production, picked up by Paramount for distribution, has a comparable, decent look and bearing, at least early on. Although Steve McQueen, in his first lead role, and some others look like they've been held back quite a few years to be high schoolers, the opening sequences strike a good balance to get the idea across, a small town setting with the right touch of macabre details, not playing up either too much. But with the drag race scene it tips more into the pandering it was made for, the drive-in teen audience (it was released as a double bill with I Married a Monster from Outer Space), and bogs down into drawing room exposition and the drama over grownup authorities not believing the kids. It's a forerunner of Tremors, or at least the latter is playing off it or similar. Though overall it's played more straight, with the title song (written by Burt Bacharach and Mack David) there's a much different introductory tone than the crashing chords or eerie wails of its contemporary sci-fi or horror fare.
The 1972 sequel, produced by the same Jack Harris et al., was meant to be a horror comedy, but is funny now for what they thought even that was. Larry Hagman -- yes, that one, Major Nelson and J.R. -- directed what is just a series of dragged-out, lame character comedy gags, with Godfrey Cambridge, Shelly Berman, Hagman himself and Burgess Meredith, and far more excruciating than the titular monster Dick Van Patten and Richard Stahl, with many more in smaller parts among larger groups. Meanwhile, what looks like red jello is held in the foreground or the frame edge. It's a ghastly mash of sub-B, bad movie production and B-list TV stars.
The 1988 remake attempts to update the teen drama, and typical of 80s movies, makes it worse posturing. But it really updates in terms of 80s gore, more like goo, especially a la John Carpenter's The Thing, and slasher movies. The blob is souped up with projectile tentacles, which, pseudopods notwithstanding, defeats the purpose of the name and destroys the charm of the amoeboidal conserve of the community. The slasher form imposes the pattern and cadence, even on the storytelling, of moments of cheeky banality as either break from, often incongruously so, or setup for, the Rube Goldberg-like showpiece killings, again, as if the idea of a gelatinous mass dissolving you alive isn't enough. Most ghastly, however, is the helmet-like mullet of Kevin Dillon.
Starman (1984)
Jeff Bridges makes this interesting as a reflexive exercise of an actor feeling out his character, and the different directions that goes. His playing with how an alien intelligence would possess a cloned body and play with that is more fun -- even a kind of removed mocking of acting -- intriguing, and less hokey than the rapid growth special effects, playing out a fad of that era for mechanical metamorphosis, which director John Carpenter's own The Thing may have been the height of. For Carpenter, this steers more toward the character relationships -- the script is by Bruce Evans, Raynold Gideon and Dean Riesner (not orginally credited) -- though it has similarities with other Carpenter work. It's somewhere between Close Encounters and They Live.
A Man and a Woman (1966)
Like it's theme music and particularly the title song, this is suave and wistful, fresh and swanky modish at once. It alternates between drawn out banal scenes of conversation, in cars significantly, or at a restaurant, and fly-on-the-wall montages of work activity. The fact it's a race car driver and a film worker makes it seem more fanciful, certainly less common for it's day-in-the-life tack, and somewhat reflexive. It's the champagne of 60s breezy romance. As much attention as Anouk Aimee may draw, the surprise here is Jean-Louis Trintignant, whose smiling seems to break out of the mask of his other, dramatic film acting or roles. Not to say those have been bad, but here there's a mischievous candor, as if the actors are having fun behind the scenes.
A Million Miles Away (2023)
This would be so much well-meaning and biopic commonplace without the performances of Michael Peña and Rose Salazar. Both of them have such ingenuous close presence they carry the characters without the dialogue, or in a way that's not declamatory, a stronger kind of reserve. In their courtship scenes, the unspoken response seems so candid it's almost embarrassing, like we're snooping on someone else's fluttery moment.
A Liar's Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python's Graham Chapman (2012)
Though Graham Chapman was perhaps the Python with the greatest irreverent swerve, the proponent of the most unlikely leap to short-circuit ceremony, this tribute to him and attempt to relay his own irreverent account of himself has its own driftiness and impertinence that I don't think has the same effect. They keep repeating stuff, like the "Sit on My Face" song, with no apparent reason and certainly not for the amount of time. It's like a doodler's ode to Chapman and Python, as if someone were just sitting and doodling while listening to audio recordings of Chapman, whistling Python songs or singing the naughtiest ones.
Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979)
That there is even a movie like this, about this, treating this subject and in this way, distinguishes this group, along with everything else they did with comedy and form. Clever, astute connections between the time period and current day, such as the whole thread about factionalism in opposition politics, fill out the burlesque of religious epics or make this more than just a satire of religious hypocrisy or human foible -- and it's so obviously not a mockery of Christ or even Christianity that all the controversy should've been moot. But in the world with the other Monty Python movies, and certainly the Flying Circus, the more applied social comment doesn't have the same punch as the broader, more plastic dislodging, and doesn't reach the surreal heights. To that point, the biggest gut laugh is the spaceship out of nowhere, though the stroke does involve a broader swath of similar material to be incongruous to. And I still would like to have seen something more like the idea that sparked the whole thing, a quip by Eric Idle, "Jesus Christ: Lust for Glory."
9/21/23
The X from Outer Space (1967)
While you could make an argument that Godzilla has knocked off itself many times over, there are certainly other knockoffs that manage to be cheaper: Gamera, Yongarry, Gappa the Triphibian Monster, even a British variant Gorgo. A bid for the lowest level of all is this. The rubber-suit model stomper is actually called Guilala (pronounced "goo la la," dummy) and has a head like a Fisher-Price toy, and a body like a cross between a rubber chicken and a hot water bottle. Some of the composite images look like bad video editing and the special effects in outer space include model people for extravehicular activity. In case you need help making fun of this, there's a RiffTrax version.
Shin Kamen Rider (2023)
Third of Hideaki Anno's remakes, after Shin Godzilla and Shin Ultraman ("shin" means "new" but can also mean "true" and "god"), he wrote all three but directed this and Shin Godzilla. Neither the interesting new take of the first, nor quite the wacky fun of the 2nd, this is much more in the style of the Japanese TV shows. Though zany, frenetic, sometimes campy, it runs through a series of foes as might've been different episodes and then bogs down into relentless denouement, one scene after another that seems to be an ending, and this even to the level of shots.
The Irishman (2019)
The de-aging effects are distracting because the bearing and voices of the actors can't be disguised. But if you can get around that, it might be that the age, Martin Scorsese's, too, accounts for toning down the usual act, and the quieter, deliberate pace is compelling, allows lots of room for more patient elaboration. The apotheosis of this is Joe Pesci's performance. It's even as the more elderly boss that his calm, sometimes even languid, imperturbable confidence, in contrast also to the hotheads he's played before, gives us a whole other cast and sense of his range, and is chilling in a whole other way. The story becomes almost a comedy of nested flashbacks, especially with the de-aging, in the early going, and at 3 1/2 hours there is lots of fat, particularly in the scene of Frank Sheeran's (Robert De Niro) award dinner, where they even tried to get cute with it, packing so much into one event, but with streaming service producers and binging, and the line between movie and series (or extras) getting fuzzier, why not indulge.
Rabbit-Proof Fence (2002)
Based on the true story of three girls who walked some 1,000 miles across Australia, along the fence of the title, to return to their families after forced resettlement because they were part Aboriginal, "half-castes" as they were called by the whites, this is a real version of Walkabout, and compared to that, a more straightforward narrative account. It begins with similar musing, also with its interesting score by Peter Gabriel, and the spine of the story makes it less uncanny, more to hold onto. But after the removal, and scenes with Kenneth Branagh as the man responsible, as Protector of Western Australian Aborigines, representing the ideas and policy of assimilation at the time (the 30s), when it gets into the journey the schematic alternation for the sake of reaction and exposition loses figurative and narrative force.
City Hall (1996)
Four writers are now listed for this: Ken Lipper, Paul Schrader, Nicolas Pileggi and Bo Goldman. It's certainly worked over. It looks and acts like a patchwork of someone's idea of the movies of these four writers. The big climactic scene with John Cusack and Al Pacino is a nice change from action movie resolution and involves a more realistic approach to tragic revelation, an encounter that mixes all sorts of feelings. But the dialogue in this scene brings to a head one of the script problems, recalling The Yakuza which Schrader and Robert Towne wrote: there's fancy talk and research stuff and pet ideas thrown around that don't really amount to anything and don't really say it better. The good cast contributes to the more realistic intrigue, and maybe it's trying to play off expectations, as with the Cusack and Bridget Fonda business, but there's a more sensational air as if going the other direction, as if it were pumped up for other appeal. The worst of it, though, is Pacino's speech at a child's funeral, where the dramatic conceit that he would pull this off -- and certainly the way Pacino does it here -- is worse than what the scene is portraying.
9/15/23
Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (1974) ♠
This and Shoot the Moon are two of the best family movies because they're not idealized family crap. Or maybe they're just closer to my experience. This is an ode to the lifestyle of those of us who had divorced moms and got tugged around from place to place, but it's also the depiction of the struggle of women to make their way in a world of pricks when they're left in the lurch with the kids. It also shows the smart-assed and boring and annoying in the relationship, the affection and even joy tacit with enduring it all. And it's Martin Scorsese. Cinematographer Kent Wakeford, who had a documentary background, helped Scorsese develop his subjective realist style with innovative tracking shots and lighting that wouldn't overwhelm the lighting tone of locations like bars. In Mean Streets it was the night lighting, predominately red. Here when Alice looks for a job, it's the off-hour darkness, the way the bars look inside when they're not all lit up. Elsewhere it's the daylight interiors and the brightness of the southwest sun, with a look that's crisp but sort of misty on the edges. Ellen Burstyn, who on taking on the project sought out Scorsese for director, gives a great performance, along with Diane Ladd, Alfred Lutter and Jodie Foster.
Walkabout (1971)
Nicolas Roeg's second movie uses an excursion into the Australian outback for some of his most intriguing film work -- play is a better way to put it -- it's just that you're not liable to find it being the story or narrative. He's almost frivolous with it: the whole thing begins with a title telling about the walkabout ritual for the aborigines, then the plot is set off with an attempted murder and suicide, but the journey of the children quickly becomes the general reverie. There may be some significance about a childlike disposition, or like Antonin Artaud's gratuitousness when the normal order of things has broken down, but Roeg's way hardly makes it as a point. Tree limbs become human ones, in some of the best passages, convergence of sense, assonance, like blending into the environment, artifice as nature. The use of Karlheinz Stockhausen's Hymnen seconds this, but is interesting otherwise. Roeg's signature cut-ups of chronology or even ontology -- is it memory, foreboding, dream, imagination -- don't have a frame here. What does part of the story mean when you don't know what is the main line of the story? Even when he does things that seem frivolous for this formal play, as with a montage that amplifies the assault on wildlife but then makes it seem giddy and even reverses, there's no anchor for the tone, not in the usual dramatic way.
Mrs. Doubtfire (1993)
Whatever its repute, this is actually a bad Robin Williams vehicle, surprisingly so. The premise is as shabby a pretext for him doing voices as it is a Tootsie ripoff. Williams is strangely better in the costume which seems to force him to have composure. But there's very little funny here. The arc of it is way more concerned with the melodramatic serious stuff. It's drifty and slack and trying to do too many different things, all of which are treacly, and the damned twinkly music! Chris Columbus chokes any laughs with attempted wonderment.
Barbie (2023)
Gilded lily.
Dark Phoenix (2019)
Despite the new cast of the X-men, and new timeline for them with all the fancy time-conning, and new boss aliens, this retreads the Jean/Phoenix stuff of The Last Stand, down to a confrontation outside her dad's house in a suburb. And it feels more like running through the motions for this set, or at least they've lost the shine after First Class and Days of Future Past. It also has probably the silliest mutant of all: Dreadlocko.
Nashville (1975) ♠
A unique kind of portrait, the peak of Robert Altman's work, and one of the best American movies. The technique and style were already there in his previous work, like M.A.S.H. and McCabe and Mrs. Miller, and directly or not Jean Renoir was a precursor, but the plan for this ensemble set of characters, 24, brought it all together. As complex as it can look, and be, to orchestrate something so it doesn't look it, Altman's method was surprisingly simple. Because they couldn't afford studio time and lots of extras, they planned events, at actual locations in Nashville, and shot documentary style, with the cast doing lots of improvisation and cameramen catching if off the cuff, including the audiences that gathered. Altman gave Lily Tomlin her first movie role but in a way she's definitive. The whole thing is like her style of character study, as was also prominent in the improvisational comedy companies and that became more so with Saturday Night Live which started the same year this came out. The approach is satirical but dramatic, glancing but serious enough. As a snapshot of the U.S. in the 70s -- it has a bicentennial theme just ahead of that -- we find, alongside country western stars and a third-party political candidate, a strange drifter with a chopper trike who says nothing but performs magic tricks (very young Jeff Goldblum) and a man with a sexually compulsive disorder. Keith Carradine, playing the latter, won the film's only Oscar for his song, "I'm Easy." Tomlin and Ronnee Blakely were both nominated for supporting performance. Blakely had never acted before, but her performance of a Loretta Lynn inspired character and her songs may be the most impressive dramatically. The whole cast wrote and performed their own songs, and there's about an hour's worth of music, which might as well make it one of the great musicals, especially for its different take.
Mr. Klein (1976)
Joseph Losey directed this from a script that Costa-Gavras had a hand in. From suggestions of Despair or Kafka, it becomes a neat little parody about thinking the problems of others don't concern us, especially when those problems are persecution, demagoguery, scapegoating, any kind of tyranny but certainly fascism. Losey conducts it as unassuming, and even more expressive passages come out of this: a cabaret show that betrays the tone otherwise ignored by all the routine; steely tones of rainy streets, roundup vans and police uniforms. Alain Delon plays the central role and was also a producer, but became a supporter of the National Front and even a friend of its long-time leader Jean-Marie Le Pen. How does he reconcile this, or is it just another case of fascism equating with dementia?
9/11/23
Mothra (1962)
Apart from everything else about about this, colossal larva becoming colossal moth, the twin women who are some kind of representative of the insectoid kaiju but are the other direction in size from the human scale (with doll stand-ins poorly concealed for them at least once) and the usual subplots involving villainous subterfuge as if kaiju isn't enough trouble, what I couldn't get around with the English dub on this version presented by RiffTrax was the strange accents. There is a fictitious country, Rolisica, a mesh of the U.S. and the U.S.S.R (Russia and America), with it's capital New Kirk City (all this gets lots of riffs from the RiffTrax crew), but the bizarre sort of generic Euro accent is humorously thickest on the lounge singer smarmy evil capitalist whose name is Clark Nelson. Did they do a fake accent in the Japanese? Was it supposed to be a fictitious accent, or what the English dubbers thought would sound like a Japanese one?
Krull (1983)
In the line of 80s Star Wars derivative science fantasy, here's another tepid Tolkienesque medieval romance with a blow-dried Robin Hood and the sort of bland, largely studio-bound production design that doesn't even rate interesting kitsch. You wouldn't know it was Peter Yates, director of Bullitt, or Breaking Away or The Dresser or even Mother, Jugs & Speed, certainly not like the surprise of that last one. Freddie Jones, Alun Armstrong and early Liam Neeson can't rise above it, nor quite David Battley, one of Eric Idle's cohorts in Rutland Weekend Television and various Rutles spinoffs, in a more rare movie appearance. Worth a RiffTrax treatment.
BlackBerry (2023)
Like Tetris, and even recent documentaries about tech industry history, this can't resist snazzing things up, not so much as if the real business of research and development and programming is boring, but as if it's the proper reverence for the subject. Here, more than fancy graphics to match tech product design or suspense pacing, it's that constant jiggly, pushy camera that was in fact typical of the 90s and 00s, so I'm not sure whether they're trying to be retro or are just dragging that fad out. This conceit, this overdone attempt to seem more real, involves zoomed-in or telephoto close-ups, so it's not enough to just shoot directly close to the subjects, but to be outside a room peering at them through glass or other foreground objects to give some greater sense of spying, intrigue, or -- I don't know what, battlefield journalism. The subject is interesting, and there's a good ensemble cast, so really that's part of it: let us be interested.
The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
Based on a novel by French author Pierre Boulle, who also wrote the novel of Planet of the Apes, this American-British co-production boosted the fame of director David Lean, and actor Alec Guinness (they both won Oscars, as did the movie for best picture), and became a reference point for a long time as a parable of war absurdity, as well as the absurdity of honor and pride, and even for its whistling march, the 1914 "Colonel Bogey's March" that was rearranged and made the basis of other music for the score. And as things that become popular milestones will do, it only further obscured previous work. Guinness's brilliant Ealing Studio work (e.g., The Man in the White Suit, The Ladykillers, Kind Hearts and Coronets) is not widely known in the U.S., and Lean's real masterpiece is not even the later Lawrence of Arabia, which made him even bigger, but the 1947 Oliver Twist, which is difficult to even find out about. For the sake of its points about the war of pride leading to twisted results, lots of liberties are taken with fact that cause other problems: could British or Japanese officers really have been this kind of extreme, not to say insane, or gotten away with it if they were? Were British engineers really so much better than Japanese, or British soldiers more loyal and better organized? There were plenty of veterans as well as others who reacted to this, on both sides. Guinness himself thought his character was anti-British and argued with Lean over the way to portray him. And yet the movie is still enormously popular and has been regularly named one of the greatest British films by British organizations and polls. One of the characters was changed to an American (William Holden nonetheless gives a good performance), and under further pressure from the American producers, a further scene with a white woman was forced on Lean, to add to the already unwieldy plot detour from the prison camp. At two hours and 40 minutes, adding to another thread doesn't allow for more subtlety to the prison camp drama. It has more dramatic salt than The Great Escape, but not the moxie of La grande illusion.
Hollywoodland (2006)
Though it's cooked up its own investigation and a private detective to give it noir airs, the script, by Paul Bernbaum, has decent touches of the more banal concerns about the career of George Reeves as the 1950s Superman, and director Allen Coulter follows suit by giving it a contrast to the sensationalism it's also commenting. Even before he played Batman, Ben Affleck experienced enough of the roller coaster of fame to identify with Reeves (he played Daredevil before this), but there's certainly more resonance for this role now after playing the other famous DC character.
9/1/23
Meg 2: The Trench (2023)
And here's where we are today because of Jaws. Jurassic Park and The Abyss and some flighty oceanographic version of Bond are all piled on top of the gigantic premise of the title, which itself seems to be reduced to Finding Nemo-like moments of coming out of the murky background to face someone in the foreground. Or was that Deep Blue Sea? Or the recent Godzilla movies?
Jaws (1975)
Steven Spielberg's best movie because the sentimentality and contrivance don't exceed the adventure yarn scope, nor the technical prowess the storytelling, and the trio that headed his cast was the best combo he ever had to carry it off. But a RiffTrax treatment can't hurt, and more interesting as one of their efforts that's not just shooting fish in a barrel.
Dust Devil (1992)
Again Richard Stanley's piece set in his native South Africa has a more mystical and figurative tack, the kind of floating, elliptical manner that suggests Australian movies like The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith or Picnic at Hanging Rock, as well as for the myth and lore of indigenous people. For that matter, too, though, the story can seem lurching and slight, getting into suspense tactic quandaries when it could go for surreal or symbolic. Robert John Burke makes a turn at an evil spirit before No Such Thing -- the devil comes from Texas, it's suggested at least once, and Stanley's interesting music selection includes Hank Williams among American C&W-inspired material.
Hardware (1990)
Tetsuo crossed with The Terminator on the backlot of Blade Runner or Brazil. Director Richard Stanley, who also wrote the script, has a broader figurative sensibility. The beginning looks like a Mad Max movie. But while he makes things look more epic, or can keep a good sweep or pace, or at least floats things so they're not prosy even in a more conventional suspense or horror way, the mechanics of the story and action are still that, with just a fancier delivery. He also has more interesting taste in music, and this movie is famous too for the use of Public Image's "The Order of Death," which was also featured in an episode of Miami Vice.
Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome (1985)
George Miller co-directed this with George Ogilivie, but it's on the way to Fury Road. The lush, rapt style brings to mind The Emerald Forest, especially in the cargo cult scenes, and they got Maurice Jarre for the Lawrence of Arabia flavor to the music. But the weirdness of the post-doomsday enclave and even moreso the fight sequence in Thunderdome are still more like circus clown commotion than surreal.
Godzilla, Kind of a Monster (2019)
So brashly constructed, as if by a team of engineers and an assembly line, with every line a smart-assed remark or a stunning realization that's really exposition, or swelling reaction shots, spread so evenly around the ensemble cast that it doesn't even make sense sometimes why a particular character gets the moment, not to mention the constant gyrations of the CG action. The American way of jazzing up a Godzilla all-in wrestling movie is to have constant human reference points in the action, so that the bystanders are actually under colossal foot and constantly having their various craft kicked and swatted and smacked and dragged around, while the main cast manage to just get out with scratches. During the scenes in all the special command center rooms the humans have all over the globe, the camera also doesn't stop moving, that annoying pushy cliche of TV shows and romcoms now with the arc pans and the sideways pans while people are talking that, if not betraying the restlessness of the director, makes it like somebody doesn't think what's being shot is interesting enough. A movie like Triassic Hunt actually makes a spoof of this every-line-is-a-plot-turn hustle, but somehow all this is not as fun when it's such glossy, pushy technical flexing.
Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley's Island of Dr. Moreau (2014)
Anecdotal, even gossipy account of the unmaking of the 1996 version The Island of Dr. Moreau, largely from the side of Richard Stanley who was writer and director when it set down in Australia to begin filming. For an analogy of the story in the movie with the making of the movie itself, this goes right up there with Fitzcarraldo and Burden of Dreams. Movies are such large collective projects to bring off, and here's an example of just about everything that can go wrong, ending up with the inmates running the asylum, or in this case the human-animal crossbreeding experiments taking over the island, mostly led by Val Kilmer and Marlon Brando. Not even legendary hardass John Frankenheimer, brought on to replace Stanley, could control Brando, who also caused the same kind of angst in these producers as those for Superman with his proposals for the script. In the former he wanted Jor-El to be a bagel with a green suitcase, and in this he wanted Dr. Moreau to wear a funny hat and glasses and finally reveal he was a dolphin. Among some well-placed executives and more famous actors, what's most interesting here are the local Australian cast and crew, the account of the kind of folks you don't get to hear from as much.
You Hurt My Feelings (2023)
Could be sneaky, but it really feels like it's just going through the motions of romcom, with sidebars of other characters, making quaint little curlicues meant to be comic observation, like the sister trying to pick the right fixture for a client's wall. The subject of loving someone and what they are, whether we love whatever they are or do, is certainly an interesting one if not a significant one ("fidelity is threatened by the difference between the who and the what," Derrida), but here it's given that slightness, playing it out in a minor way, as if following that too much would be heavier than the cozy air that's reassuring us the whole time we're already looking back on it all and laughing.
8/22/23
Mean Streets (1973) ♠
Well before Goodfellas, this was the movie that established the Martin Scorsese form that has been so imitated especially after the latter: the winding tracking shots through the club, the use of popular songs (which Scorsese pioneered, and done well, not just done), the subjective flourishes (in one case here with a camera mounted with Harvey Keitel, long before the cellphone style selfie shots with smaller cameras that made this easier). The script and shooting composition was less well-made and more cumulative moments, slices of life, and the subjective involvement with the characters carried a frankness that was not just positive identification. There's contrast, ambivalence, catharsis. The gliding delivery has its own exuberance with the whole, but it's also apt for the characters, the way these low-level operators are still playing like boys, and in fact will always be misfits to law and routine working order. When they get serious, it will be following orders in the gang hierarchy, and Keitel's character is on his way to that, going through the pangs of transition and because he has a heart, and even heeds tenets of Catholicism that others in his circle don't (his girlfriend laughs at his invocation of Francis of Assissi). The order we see for Keitel's Charlie is simply a more firm hierarchy, and his boss uncle eventually betrays his sense of "honorable men" as bigotry and intolerance, of an epileptic girl, for example. The excruciating stuff, the violence even when it's not their direct involvement, is the contrast, but also the result of their own insouciance, and it's the counterpoint of Scorsese's approach. Keitel preceded De Niro as Scorsese's central character actor (the precursor to this was Who's That Knocking at My Door?) and in voiceover especially he sounds similar to Scorsese the way he rushes parts of his speech. De Niro playing the unhinged goofball shows in contrast to The Godfather Part II, like Al Pacino with The Godfather movies and Scarecrow, his range, how he can play two characters who seem completely different, although good actors also know about context.
Cobra (1986)
The voiceover that opens the movie sounds like someone doing a Sylvester Stallone impersonation or Stallone trying to do Burgess Meredith's Mickey from Rocky. And that's not the RiffTrax guys. While it has some fairly thick atmosphere, due to director George Cosmatos and the photography, whatever effort or ability Stallone mustered for Rocky, especially the script, is not in evidence, and he's just phoning this one in, such a bare minimum of vigilante cop premise, cutesiness with his offscreen interest at the time Brigitte Nielsen, and, as the RiffTrax crew make fun of, "eccentric cool guy accoutrements." At one point we see there is a big neon Pepsi sign outside Stallone's apartment and it occurred to me: that would explain a lot of 80s movie lighting. Neilsen's model photo shoot scene extends Stallone's robot fetish from Rocky IV. Rated age level 13 for excessive ketchup. RiffTrax verson here.
X-Men: First Class (2011)
A relaunch of X-Men, after Marvel had established themselves with their other superhero lines, gives fresh faces to the characters and look of the movie itself, under the fairly sleek and confident direction of Matthew Vaughn, who had done Layer Cake and Kick-Ass. Michael Fassbender, James McAvoy and Jennifer Lawrence lead a good overall cast, with Kevin Bacon adding flair as a pre-Magneto heavy. It's set in the 60s, so the new look is also a prequel, but updates the echoey, glossy look of the late 90s to a cozier palette. Vaughn added a Bond touch to the production design, and keeps to the form of the originals where it's not always the biggest action that's the most dramatic, as he demonstrates with a great parallel intercut involving two heads and a coin.
8/18/23
What about TV shows?
Funny you should ask.
Here's The (TV) Show Pantheon

8/16/23
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)
Another tour de force of animation artwork like its predecessor, Into the Spider-Verse, the kind of opening up of comics art we've seen a few times in the comics, but that a lot of them could use more of, to turn on that axis of imagination. And more interesting than most CGI effects in the "live action" movies, quotation marks because even that's becoming more equivocal these days. While watching I thought this kind of art could make any boring movie interesting, but then I realized that's because this one gets tedious, too. The plot and dialogue are more typical superhero stuff with multiverse overload, and that means also now stretching it all towards epic length and in this case it's going to be to another movie, mostly likely saga length as well.
Baby Face (1933)
One of the most famous pre-code movies more for its frankness in discussion than in exhibition, Barbara Stanwyck's title character (whose real name is Lily Powers) sleeping her way up the ladder of a big international bank. Prostituted by her father, the one man she trusts a kindly cobbler who quotes her Nietzsche, "the greatest philosopher of all time," to galvanize her scheme to turn the tables on men, and cultivating a friendly relationship with a black woman, the character seems designed to provoke, sensationalize, by Darryl F. Zanuck, as much as to champion any women's cause or modern sensibility. It's not a comedy, but has a snap to its pretty obvious demonstration, especially from Stanwyck.
Quintet (1979)
Two years before, Robert Altman made 3 Women which was similar enough to Persona if not influenced by it. Here, he gets Bibi Andersson herself, as part of an international cast including Brigitte Fossey, Vittoro Gassman, Fernando Rey and Nina van Pallandt, all fronted by Paul Newman in an unusual combo even for Altman. It seems odd now to think of a post-apocalyptic fantasy being an Altman movie, though the idea is interesting coming from the other direction of the litter of them today. But unfortunately it's Altman when he misses. Though his innovation and compass with subject matter as well as improvisatory methods with ensembles always make things interesting, there's a risk from such speculative conception, just as from improvisation. Here the idea is almost completely told in the dialogue, and that itself not much beyond plan or abstraction. We don't really get the workings of the game -- what the title refers to and everyone consumes themselves with in the perpetual winter aftermath -- probably because Altman and his co-writers wanted it to seem mysterious. With so little for the actors to build on, it plays as facile allegory.
The Cutting Edge: The Magic of Movie Editing (2004)
Produced by American Cinema Editors, the BBC, and NHK, the Japanese broadcasting corporation, this documentary about movie editing, narrated by Kathy Bates, ranges from glib and even goofy anecdote to more savvy commentary and reference. For the uninitiated, it serves to spotlight the usually invisible editors and their contributions, how much more a part they play in composition as well as the review and assessment of the written word version, and touches on the milestones that were not just specifically editing, but for the development of the whole art of film, like Edwin S. Porter, D.W. Griffith and the Soviets. For aficionados, there are plenty of morsels from a large cast of famous editors and a good range of directors.
Pee-wee's Big Holiday (2016)
Despite the freshness of the images in contrast to the aging of Paul Reubens, which the former also makes more apparent, this has much the same stride as Pee-wee's Big Adventure, and may be even peppier. And it's only a blip for Reubens, too, who makes you forget an extra wrinkle or too with Pee-wee. Mischievous ambiguity may look old to those who prefer the strident identification that has become more prevalent, but this is something that wears well in contrast to the latter, and not just from the 80s.
Big Top Pee-wee (1988)
In Big Adventure, Pee-wee didn't know nothin' 'bout no lovin'. Here he's rarin' to go, and quickly learns the hard lessons of love. Rather than running away to join the circus, the circus comes to him, and though this movie is more set-bound than the road trip original, and looks more drab for it (this was not directed by Tim Burton, but by Randal Kleiser), there's still the wry twists to the antics and spin on cliches.
8/9/23
Mystery Men (1999)
Before Marvel and James Gunn, Deadpool and Peacemaker, there was this humorous take on superheroes, but its source was something largely unknown to movie audiences, an indie comic from the 80s called The Flaming Carrot by Bob Burden. While that character was considered too weird to even put in the movie, a group of ragtag wannabes introduced as a subplot carried Burden's at once simple and surreal humor to the big screen. Neil Cuthbert was faithful to that in the script, but a great cast (including Paul Reubens in a non-Pee-wee role) also collaborated and improvised material. Greg Kinnear's arrogant, jockish "real" superhero, with obvious jokes on Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, but with the addition of sponsor logos all over his uniform (created for the movie in place of The Flaming Carrot), contrasts "losers" like The Shoveler (William H. Macy), The Blue Raja (Hank Azaria) and Mr. Furious (Ben Stiller) and others they bring in, while Geoffrey Rush's Casanova Frankenstein is the arch arch-villain with henchman Eddie Izzard. Wes Studi makes a great turn as a spoof mentor sage, as does Tom Waits as a non-lethal weapons wiz.
Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985)
Pee-wee Herman's first movie is also Tim Burton's first feature-length movie as director. If it's not full Burton mode, like his next feature project Beetlejuice would be, it's apt because it's Pee-wee mode. If you saw Pee-wee's Playhouse first, it would seem Pee-wee was set down more in the adult world in the movie, but the act was formed with the Los Angeles comedy group The Groundlings, largely with Phil Hartman (whose Captain Carl character was also in the TV show), and then developed into its own stage show, where the grown-up implications and innuendo were much bigger. The comment of child behavior in adults made for sharper children's material, where keenness about behavior is delivered in concise strokes of context (remarkably similar to the idea developed for a French language program through Yale, French in Action called an "immersion" technique). Like the later Adventure Time, this grown-up meditation on children's imagination is surreal, poignant (if not directly, in after-effect) and not talking down to kids because it's carrying that imagination further. But this movie is also just a lot of fun with that, because it's playing with everything else, including movies.
Blow (2001)
The cast and the subject matter keep it interesting, but the compression creates some pretty sloppy jumps, in one case a character's death passed over like a change of scenery or hairstyle. The biopic problem. Telling so much of the story versus telling a story well. It's understandable that getting involved with a subject you're portraying, in this case George Jung, whether scriptwriter, director, actor (Johnny Depp plays him) or anyone else, can create sympathy, even bonds, but the effect here is an unnecessary amount of that subjectivity. It's not so much that it's an error to portray even that subjectivity, with whatever shortcomings, indulgences, excesses, as just the redundant amount of it here.
Cheech and Chong's Next Movie (1980)
The opening bit where they're getting gas in a trashcan and a later sequence in a welfare office have the sort of sprawl of W.C. Fields, the orchestrated offhand of mundane comic predicaments. The humor pokes through with details that aren't usually presented even in dramatic realism, like Tommy Chong responding to how the handle hurts his hand, while the viewer's still wondering just the practical question of why they're carrying that much liquid, let alone gasoline. That alone works as a more implicit joke of a pot smoker's perspective, apart from the obvious one of what they're up to, so when the whole blows up into a big pot-induced jaunt it lacks the charm. Paul Reubens appears for the first time in a movie as Pee-wee Herman, although he also appears first as a hotel clerk.
Dick Tracy (1990)
An interesting movie rendition of comics, with emphasis on primary colors and solids to match an earlier comics color process, glass matte paintings of cityscapes, and prosthetic makeup for the Dick Tracy rogues gallery, in the era before computer graphics when actors were becoming latex and silicone extensions of visage. This was one of the last big blockbusters with no CGI and the first to use digital audio. Apart from the production design, Beatty built it all on montage razzle-dazzle, which is inventive in some ways, but is also busy and stirring up a lot of pretty meager stuff, what may be appropriate for comics, but this is not just four panels of a strip. The kid stuff, the silly manipulation with the two women, and Beatty's typical love story jive get overdone, especially with his holding reaction shots of himself too long doing his cutesy bewildered bit.
Maggie Moore(s) (2023)
More modest drollery from Jon Hamm (his version of Fletch was more subtle and interesting than Chevy Chase's) and a good ensemble cast, including Tina Fey, going for the unglamorous local flavor, this time directed by Hamm's Mad Men co-star John Slattery. The Fargo influence is so diffuse now it's hardly worth mentioning, but it's that sort of pretense that makes this worse.
Billy Bathgate (1991)
There's almost no suspense or menace. It's like a biopic with its guileless, prosy delivery, and even Nestor Almendros's photography looks like studio polish. Dustin Hoffman had more impelling outbursts in Rain Man, and I couldn't help thinking of Dick Tracy, which came out the year before, not necessarily because of his comic character in that, but because of all the folks doing gangsters in comic book tone. Hoffman might work as a gangster, but it's hard to imagine from this. Maybe director Robert Benton likes him too much.
Suicide Squad (2016)
The Suicide Squad (2021)
Here's a way to see the contrast between good comic touch and not, which had been also up to this point pretty much Marvel movies in contrast to DC, with Shazam being an exception. The first Suicide Squad movie was an attempt at a cheekier style the DC movies had lacked, and because of the subject matter, the villains such as the Joker, more edgy. For the sequel, or the next go anyway, why not bring in personnel who did it for Marvel, like James Gunn of Guardians of the Galaxy fame? Gunn's version has verve, it builds everything on a more humorous conception. He has a flair for picking the songs and using them, an aptness and timing, like having a song also be in the frame in some way, so that when he cuts down on the volume it's in the background of the scene, rather than doing that initial hit, grand entrance thing, that the first movie is almost entirely. It's a mess of that sort of posey effect, over and over, dragged out, dragging us through the stretching from one thing to the next with the characters. The first movie still has DC's darkness, the adolescent faddish idea of being more rad, takes place almost entirely at night, and even the Joker has to be Jared Leto's version of eccentric badass, without any real comic contrast for the irony. Gunn's comic timing works for scene and story structure, too, so that there's better flow, it's more engaging, and even his climactic boss has a comic book cartoonish warp that makes it more fun and interesting in daylight.
Perfume (2006)
This might be comically bad ridiculous if the big movie, romance novel swells weren't also annoying. I assume that to even get here, the book source must be similarly luridly contrived.
8/3/23
For a Pee-wee Herman / Paul Reubens festival:



The Blues Brothers (1980)
Cheech and Chong's Next Movie (1980)
Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985)
Big Top Pee-wee (1988)
Batman Returns (1992)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Mystery Men (1999)
Blow (2001)
Pee-wee's Big Holiday (2016)
Sympathy for the Devil (2023)
It's nice when there are exceptions to fast-editing movie pace, a chance to slow down and let actors stretch out in the environment. But this is so oddly staggered that it even botches the drama of discovery. Most of the car ride reduces Nicolas Cage to feverish rage and Joel Kinnaman to aghast mugging reaction. An intriguing situation can drive itself, and you just have to follow the unfolding. This feels stalled and rushed, pushed, and not the best setup, trade-off or payoff for its main idea.
Evolution (2001)
In the mold of Ghostbusters, from director Ivan Reitman (and Dan Aykroyd's on hand, too), but despite a good cast, it certainly doesn't compare to that. Even its CG of the era, shiny bubblegum variety, can't match the effect of those earlier effects -- the marshmallow man is pretty hard to beat, and the giant amoeboid at the end is even topped by the more recent Starro the Conqueror in The Suicide Squad as comic kaiju. The two decent ideas, the fast actin' Tinactin version of evolution and Julianne Moore's slapstick clumsy scientist, are run through, nothing really inspired in delivery or upshot.
The Producers (1967)
How about the consideration of what's bad or tasteless, and whether that's enjoyable, as the subject for the movie itself? (See Anatomy of Bad.) Mel Brooks wasn't even going to direct this to begin with, so this launched him as a filmmaker. The Borscht Belt broad comedy carried to 50s TV with Sid Caesar always had a wink with Brooks, but here it's as much Broadway that's burlesqued. It looked like a movie version of a stage play to begin with, has songs, so not surprising when the Broadway musical version was done. Zero Mostel plays his character as big as a rhinocerous, and the manic pitch of Gene Wilder and just about everything else gives it a surrealist air if the humor and plot keep it more prosaic.
7/28/23
Bo Goldman dies.
Scriptwriter of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest, Melvin and Howard, The Rose, Scent of a Woman, and one of my favorites, Shoot the Moon.



Richard Brooks, Bo Goldman, Gore Vidal and Billy Wilder picketing at the 20th Century-Fox Studios in Los Angeles in 1981 during the Screen Writers Guild strike. (From Wikipedia.)
The Knack . . . and How to Get It (1965)
Like the two parts of its title and the characters in the story, this is both the positive and negative model, the does and doesn't. The credit sequence has a better formal method than the whole, promises what the rest doesn't quite deliver, but then in the story it's also the exaggerated dream of what the lothario is like from the perspective of the one who imagines not having it. There are flourishes that approach this sort of flow, but the dialogue salvo technique, also with voiceover interjections as if from an audience, mocking its conventional peevishness, becomes shrill. It's all delivered at the same pitch, a blazon. The attempt at lifting and floating to formal play is interesting, and on the way to Richard Lester's own Beatles movies and even things like Monty Python's Flying Circus, just not as refined, and certainly not as deft or astute as Rita Tushingham's debut vehicle A Taste of Honey.
Last Chance Harvey (2008)
This movie step by step makes what I would call the wrong choices, but it's also just the strangest or weirdest choices. Director Joel Hopkins has his own script to blame but he doesn't seem to mind also leaving Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson pasted in moments that are supposed to be -- I guess -- romantic or cute, but come off even more awkwardly like stalking than The Graduate. The storyline presents ample circumstance for the characters to engage dramatically, where even if they weren't entirely apt or empathetic or meaningful, could provide a means for them to get to know each other without come on or face off, but in at least one glaring case, the setup situation is dropped to turn the whole thing into a meet cute that doesn't even have the charm of a flop.
Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (2023)
This movie is straightforwardly funny because it's a spoof of biopics. I don't know how that could be a spoiler unless you have no idea who Weird Al Yankovic is. But it's not the sharpest or wildest tilt, mostly because of Daniel Radcliffe, who tries hard but just doesn't have the nerdy charisma for Weird Al (who's also in the movie as his own wheedling record exec). It's a funny idea, perhaps also a parody of the rush to production to cash in on topics, to have someone so different, conspicuously by height, and Harry Potter at that, to play Weird Al in a movie he's also in, but it's not much beyond that. This does, however, have one of the greatest lines in the history of cinema when Rain Wilson as Dr. Demento says of Madonna, "she's an evil conniving succubus."
My Man Godfrey (1936)
Despite its screwball elements and its stage-play structure with convenient leaps sometimes just given in exposition, this has a sharper pinch of real life. It's in the script in some ways, but also in the leisurely, sensible manner even to the goofiness, carried by William Powell and Carole Lombard in particular, in what might be her best performance, but by the whole cast, many of whom had more caricaturish performances in other movies. It comes down to director Gregory La Cava, who gives it this touch in general, but also evocative flourishes, like observing someone in passing in a real moment, for example a shot of Lombard through the banner of a stairway. In this way, it's similar to It's a Gift, where there's an air of life, of these people and this time, even Americana, given off apart from story or theme or point.
Gone Baby Gone (2007)
Overall it sticks closer to the drama, and it's a good ensemble performance from the cast, but the various tangled threads and twists and turns of the script, which feel like stirring the pot already, make for moments where Ben Affleck, in his directorial debut, presses for more thriller effect. That makes it more patchwork if not confusing.
The Ghost of Richard Harris (2022)
Compared to its counterpart of Richard Harris's friend Peter O'Toole, PET.E.R O'Toole: Along the Sky Road to Aqaba, this seems more artfully assembled, even the family remembrance primarily by three sons Jared, Damian and Jamie, who are all also involved in movies. But for that, too, it's also more subjective and obsequious, especially about things like Harris's singing career, which, for those who weren't around at the time, didn't come off as all so glorious and noble in the pop indulgence era of the 60s and 70s. Harris was also one to express a high opinion of himself, which is on record here, so this is also a bragiography. But that's part of the portrait, the man as he was, and there's plenty of interesting material whether you only knew him as Dumbledore, know his really great angry young man film debut This Sporting Life or actually had to hear MacArthur Park when it was a hit (Dave Thomas spoofed Harris singing it on SCTV). Not well known and thus of particular interest is the production of Pirandello's Henry IV.
7/21/23
Deliverance (1972)
John Boorman's movie of James Dickey's book -- they both worked on the script and reportedly had a fist fight over it -- streamlines the story to the operative river outing and the internal monologue narration to some stagey setup dialogue, from voiceover right at the start, and the sleeker action. The scene of Ed (Jon Voight) scaling the cliff seems to shortchange the poetic effect until he reaches the top, where there's then the best cinematic sequence of the movie, beginning with the dissolve to morning, notwithstanding the artificial look of the filter night shot, something that suggests the theatrical effects of Night of the Hunter and that sort of contrast of storybook and eeriness. The efficiency of showing works well enough here -- it's all you need when seeing is more drastic than telling -- and Boorman relies on the intrigue of the situation. He doesn't push for horror movie luridness or overwork the obvious contortions of masculinity (this is similar to Jaws as a kind of perverse boy's life adventure), which have further interesting turns in the aftermath, the reactions of Voight and Ned Beatty's characters at a supper table, in a scene where, besides also seeing the locals in softer light, there's a whole extension of the suspense in a quieter way, dramatic consequence and ripples. (See other comments here.)
Hearts of Darkness (1991)
The parties to the making of Apocalypse Now tell the story like they would a movie idea, more detached or distant from the circumstances, even mildly excited or amused. The risk of failure, financial ruin and loss of reputation or esteem, anxiety, depression, crippling self-doubt -- perhaps it's hindsight, as in the later interviews that were recorded and the narration that was made for the whole, but even in the material that was shot during that time, Francis Ford Coppola sounds more confident and composed about his own misgivings and despair than about what he's trying to create. Eleanor Coppola's account isn't as compelling as Burden of Dreams or the account of an actual failure, Lost in La Mancha, but there's plenty of interesting material, here, including a tie to yet another Orson Welles project (how many threads of movie history; see It's All True, with the parallels to Eisenstein's Que Viva Mexico). His idea for his first movie with RKO was a version of Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and after that failed he turned to Citizen Kane.
Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023)
The troop that was formed whole with James Gunn's salty corn humor takes a pretty heavy turn, but in the manner of Toy Story 3. Rocket's backstory becomes an animal rights parable, though also injecting some Brothers Quay into the CG, but we still don't know how he got that Brooklyn accent. Following the trend of 2 1/2 hour superhero soap operas, this stretches into just plain heavy-handed, especially with all the wringing and milking for the ending, or endings. There are some more interesting setting designs along the way, but the Quill/Star-Lord mix tape joke has become an excuse to go all over the place with the soundtrack, more the easy and not particularly clever plying that other movies do that this device sort of mocked to begin with.
Robot Monster (1953)
One of the best bad movies of all -- see comments here -- now has a new Blu-Ray release that is a restoration of its original 3D presentation. Even more incredible than the fact it was shot in four days for about $16,000, it was shot in a 3D process. Most of us who have seen it after it's reputation was boosted by things like the 1980 book, The Golden Turkey Awards, have only seen the 2D version, on TV or video, as there have been only select showings of 3D. But now it's available this way. Not surprisingly, there are moments when even the 3D process bumbles, some double exposure scenes meant to be another striking effect of disaster make you feel like your two eyes' lines of vision are being pulled across each other. But for most of the movie, the black and white with the polarization process looks as slick and grand as the big studio efforts like Creature from the Black Lagoon. For a full rundown on the Blu-Ray and its features, see this review on The Digital Bits.
Mighty Joe Young (1998)
A good cast and some decent effects for the gorilla face can't overcome the sense that they're being raked back and forth -- probably even the writer of the modern version and the director felt manipulated -- by the pressure to make this softer and lovable and the pressure to make it suspenseful and menacing, and just can't top the charm of the original (see here) with the stop motion of Willis O'Brien and Ray Harryhausen. Probably as much because of the aging, the original has a storybook remoteness and makes the modern efforts to bring everything to video-realistic detail look, well, prosaic.
The In-Laws (1979)
The antihero of buddy action movies, Andrew Bergman's script and Arthur Hiller's direction roll along with the unfolding of droll, bumbling, cockamamie conceit of the ordinary, rather than extraordinary action or men. But it's Peter Falk and Alan Arkin that deliver it, hard to say whether it's a vehicle for them or they are for it. The counterpoint of each, not deadpan so much as shrugging matter-of-fact, Falk with outrageous yarns and behavior and Arkin in reaction, sometimes trying to stifle out of politeness, is the meat of it. Dinner table bullshit becomes espionage intrigue unbelievable enough to be shouted in a diner. Apt, too, that this is about so much bullshit, exaggeration that sounds like oneupmanship, but has become actual schemes. When Arkin jumps onto the hood of a car, it has more effect because it's surprising, not in a run of action movie exaggeration.
Conspiracy Theory (1997)
There's a devious interest in watching this now to see Mel Gibson playing delusional outbursts before his own actual outbursts ("I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested," Gibson said in a statement following his drunken driving incident in 2006), though conspiracy theories may be less offensive than anti-semitic or racist ones. At the time, this script by Brian Helgeland directed by Richard Donner, who also directed Gibson in Lethal Weapon, may have been a more interesting role for Gibson, something more dramatically nuanced than the erratic cop of the thriller, but even this is pretext for a thriller, and worse than that, a romance with Julia Roberts. So rather than a more interesting project for Gibson or Roberts, this looks like someone, some backer or studio exec, took a script about an obsessive whose conspiracy theories become a self-fulfilling prophecy, provoking the very interest in him he feared, and said, let's add a romantic angle and cast Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts.
Jaws: The Revenge (1987)
Compare this from the perspectives of (1) someone living inside the movie to (2) someone speeding by the movie on a bullet train going 300 mph. For the first, it only makes sense that everything in the world, let alone great white sharks -- and is that relatives or friends of, vengeful partners, ghosts, revived ones, or just any? -- is centered around the family of Chief Brody, who is only represented in absentia here, by Lorraine Gary, playing his wife, and some new actors playing his grown-up children. There's no Roy Scheider so Brody has been killed off. Everyone lives in this world, so it's justified. Even a mother and son's relationship doesn't have to seem so weirdly Oedipal. From the second perspective, this is just a blur. It's a bunch of people around the water with a big shark popping up at intervals, if you have enough time to get that much.
Jaws 2 (1978)
Not enough gas in the tank, on fumes, not enough air in the balloon. Going through the motions of the first movie to try to make more money off it, it's just manipulation back and forth, like a committee kept pulling on it and changing it. The lowest point is the climactic moment, the worst repeat of the original, with Roy Scheider holding an undersea cable and the editing dragging it out and milking it so much, and then the shark electrocution. It's kind of funny, but it's hard not to groan, for those involved, too.
Casino Royale (1967)
Not just a party movie of the 60s, it's a buffet, with so many cooks in the soup and disputes over the recipe and among the guests. It started as a dispute over the Ian Fleming property, and since it wouldn't be made in the official Bond line, became a parody. There are so many writers who wrote and re-wrote, directors who made different segments in different places, and a tiff between Peter Sellers and Orson Welles, that whatever interesting moments are in a mottled whole that doesn't make sense sometimes from one moment to the next. For that, perhaps, it doesn't do worse than some of the regular Bond entries. The best thing about it is the music by Burt Bacharach, performed by Herb Alpert and The Tijuna Brass, and Dusty Springfield.
Burning Days (2022)
A modern parable of political corruption, written and directed by Emin Alper, this Turkish movie's aim is on the real practical matter -- something only more obvious now in the United States that is all too common in the rest of the world -- if the way it builds seems to be ignoring the obvious. Is the fact we know what's going on the naivete of the central character, or only the distance between knowledge of the real world and the account? It floats a bit into thriller formality that way, though it doesn't work like an American thriller. It's not as compelling as something like Ceylan's Once upon a Time in Anatolia, though it has its own curious and mysterious flourishes, having also to do with sink holes that figure in more symbolically and finally in a more surreal, suggestive way.
Wayne's World (1992)
The best Saturday Night Live spinoff movie because the recurring skit wasn't just stretched to feature length, but it's built-in principle of references framed the movie idea as well. The reflexive trick turns on the plot, actually melodrama, which is the albatross of so much American comedy. Director Penelope Spheeris was also a great stroke for this, since her unfussy manner matched the homespun, DIY ethos of the public-access cable show.
Avatar: The Way of Water (2023)
Jemaine Clement is not only unfortunate enough to be in this -- artistically speaking, since for fortune it's probably not so bad -- he has to say the outright stupidest lines. It's the lines that on top of everything apparent and implied, make an express statement, a pronouncement, of just how far into all this at least James Cameron is. After catching and killing some whale-atar creature, Clement is expositioning about them and what they do with them. He's got his future tech interface floating before him, that we can see through, of course, with all the fancy data from the scans he's running, and, talking to some character who conveniently requires the exposition, says that these creatures are more intelligent than we are. It's fact because more synapses. They're more spiritual and they have mathematics, philosophy, and language. This is after we've already seen their language demonstrated as whaleatarsong to deliver and sign language to receive and apparently some amount of telepathy. Oh, CG technocratic imagination, human, all too human. Or perhaps in Robot Monster language, blu-man.
7/14/23
The Flash (2023)
A character that you can't see when he's doing his main thing, or that reduces all the time of action towards less then the visible instant, presents a paradox, which the comics, TV shows and movies have dealt with in various ways, but can't entirely get around. (For more discussion of how this is significant and interesting in other ways, see Kant and The Flash.) This movie, after all the drama over whether it would see the light of day, gives us some interesting renditions, though not all entirely novel. The everything else in slo-mo for humorous effect was already done by Marvel with their Quicksilver character in X-Men: Day of Future Past, but it's still worth some laughs. Ezra Miller had already made The Flash more like the Marvel touch with humor, and while this is not heavy-handed DC (of either the Zac Snyder or Christopher Nolan variety), it's not free from the sort of things that bog down superhero and CG movies, including some surprisingly cartoonish clunky graphics for a time travel arena. Even with a return of Michael Keaton's Batman (as well as other tantalizing blips of alternate realities, like Tim Burton's Superman project with Nicolas Cage, see here), what this does best with all the time travel and multiverse stuff (which The Flash was one of the first characters to develop in the 60s, way before Crisis on Infintite Earths or Flashpoint and its variations), despite the conundrum and license of separate entities, is the exchange between novice Flash and experienced Flash, like the old idea of being able to give advice to your younger self. Barry Allen has learned a lot about his powers since we saw him in the movies last, so this nicely introduces us to him as much as to a pre-Flash Barry. And even if not planned, this also serves as analogy for Ezra Miller's off-screen life, with better judgment speaking to the more unruly side.
Aniara (2018)
This is more interesting as sci-fi than pure thriller, but like the trend now, it goes all over the place rather than follow out any single thread. I kept wanting it to do this in a more absurd way. The distance from existential parable to literal seems to be short now, with apocalypses all around us, real or imagined. What apparently some think of as a more rich and developed environment strikes me as jumping around and not really developing anything.
The Machine (2023)
As receptive as the camera is, when movies are considered an adjunct of other media, or merely a medium for something else, contrasts are also, well, visible. A podcast does not an actor make, if stand-up comedian and reality show host makes podcaster, or top partyer makes any of those. Bert Kreischer comes off as strident, with a brassy, ready delivery, without the timing of acting with others, especially when he's got himself cast with Mark Hamill and Iva Babic for comparison. There's a decent production built around it, but it's not the best centerpiece for even irreverent entertainment, as much as it's trying to be a vehicle also for upping the ante on the is it true or not gimmick, that is, is it worthwhile or even just fun bullshit.
Beyond the Bolex (2017)
Before the cell phone or video cameras, there was the Bolex, the bridge between amateur and professional filmmaking, home movies and guerrilla documentary. Besides a tribute to this institution of the 20th century art, itself a paradigm of form and function, featuring aficionados such as Wim Wenders, Barbara Hammer, Jonas Mekas and Peter Jackson, director Alyssa Bolsey tells the story of the camera's inventor, her great-grandfather, nicely weaving her detective story of his life and thought with the history of the camera.
I Like Movies (2022)
This Canadian entry gets to better observations, but on the route there it's skipping from one thing to the next without developing, and derivative in an amateurish way. While the contrast here to the narcissism of the pure wannabe approach is also a good idea, the perspective of movie rentals from someone who failed at a bid to be in the movies is worth much more development of its own.
Deadpool (2016)
Deadpool 2 (2018)
After Marvel found the right mix of humor for superhero movies (like what they did with Thor), and then brought on the movie versions of Guardians of the Galaxy, which was already self-referential of comic books as well as other pop, this was the next level of ironic and irreverent self-referential. It's announced right off in the first credit sequence, where not only the whole mapped-out, slow-motion action but the credits themselves are jokes. It's the nutshell version of the whole thing, but it's also the peak. The 60s Batman series' tongue-in-cheek take on comics and the Wayne's World air quotes and aside shtick are updated for a modern sensibility that is rowdier and bawdier, nerdy enough for comics and conventions but less credulous, and embracing misfit status. But it's an outbidding that makes its own snowball. The entire movie can't be a disruptive entrance, and even The Simpsons showed how it was hard to sustain the comic tangents at feature length. The second movie does a better job at weaving the vines with a more solid plot and even works in some extra comic reflexiveness with that, like with the Domino character whose super power is luck, a comment for all action movies. But the other stuff as well as the humor comes off a bit too forced, declamatory, which is sort of Ryan Reynolds's delivery.
Kandahar (2023)
If not exactly an A-side vehicle for Gerard Butler, who was also a producer, it's competent enough starting with the script. The in medias res approach is probably for the sake of hooking right away, but it keeps it lean as far as the dialogue and plot and away from puffing up import or message. I'm not sure whether it's better to use this sort of thing -- geopolitical covert exploits in Iran and Afghanistan -- as pretext for a thriller (compare also the recent The Covenant), but sometimes that avoids other pretense.
Lady Frankenstein (1971)
As with Hammer's Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde, there are all kinds of implications, suggestions, subtexts, erotic if not also feminist, behind the cheap production period costume facade, but even left behind the level of nudity and soft exploitation titillation. The household arrangements prefigure Young Frankenstein, though not as deliberately comical, but include a stable boy whose wig is almost as oversized as the Frankenstein monster's light bulb head, if we don't see any Schwanzstucker. Though there were lots of Italian horror films the equivalent of Hammer, this one also has ties to American Roger Corman. Director Mel Welles was most famous for his role in The Little Shop of Horrors. And that means Joseph Cotton, a fading American star they could afford for some name draw, went from Orson to Mel.
Previous

Special items

Terence Davies
The (TV) Show Pantheon
William Friedkin
Paul Reubens
Bo Goldman
Robot Monster 3D

Links

Index
Facebook group
Movie comments
Best by year
Movie calendar
Film/Script
Fixion home

Pages

2023
2022b
2022
2021
2020
2019
Backlog
Enter the Lists
Anatomy of Bad
The (TV) Show Pantheon

About

Entries by Greg Macon for the Facebook group Movie Brains, related to film comments on this website, Fixion. Text for movie comments this page © 2023 Greg Macon. Banner image from By the Law by Lev Kuleshov.

Contact: mail@fixionsytes.net