kira02bit Reviews

Hollywood Horror House (1970)

Egads! What a stinker! But does have a few things to recommend

[3/10 · 17 February 2024]

I recently stumbled on this one late night on cable. I honestly had never heard of it, and was stunned to see some familiar names in the cast, so I gave it a go. It becomes apparent why I never heard of it.

In a nutshell, faded Hollywood has-been Miriam Hopkins spends her twilight years planning a comeback and prancing around her mansion in a drunken stupor imagining parties in her foyer. Meanwhile, the dismembered bodies of women of a certain age have been turning up in the Hollywood hills. When Hopkins takes a drunken tumble and breaks her leg, John David Garfield shows up ostensibly for the nurse position and ingratiates himself with her (if not other members of the house). Naturally, he is the wacko and we wait to see what is going to set him off.

The film opens with footage of tinseltown of yore cannibalized from classics like Singin' in the Rain (wonder how they pulled that off!) and alternating with glamour shots of youthful Hopkins. Then we cut to the rusted old Hollywood sign - a moody moment that actually works. The camera pulls back to reveal mannequin parts (excuse me, female body parts) left in the dirt.

Segue to a stiff announcer on a bar TV warning of a psycho dismembering woman of a certain age. An older female bar patron leaves and is tailed by someone who resembles a pilgrim. She becomes another victim.

The ostensible perpetrator disembarks a Hollywood star home tour outside the gates of faded legend Hopkins and somehow gets the position of nurse despite looking unkempt, unprofessional and sassy with the seasoned staff.

First, the film often looks like it was shot as a home movie, so it is depressing to see screen legends like Hopkins and Gale Sondergaard (as her trusted assistant) stuck in this mess. The photography is sketchy, so I was uncertain at first whether Garfield was actually the same pilgrim we saw earlier.

Then there is the depressing 1970s trash vibe that permeates the whole film. The film falls into that tired trope of anyone under the age of 30 is a drug addled callow psycho hippie of no social worth, while everyone over the age of 50 is sacrosanct - even when they are delusional drunks fawning around their mansions.

We get numerous groan-worthy scenes of Garfield having psychedelic visions complete with "groovy" music and kaleidoscopic colors alternating with amateurish flashbacks to his child self killing his mother. The film loves scenes where fakey dismembered hands in red paint twitch around forever. Perhaps shocking in the day - but looking laughable now.

Naturally there need to be groovy party scenes where "young" people gyrate around to loud music in skimpy attire while drunk and on drugs bordering on orgiastic splendor, filmed as though the cameraman had partaken of too much. But I digress!

Back at the mansion (a lovely set which was the real life home of silence screen star Norman Talmadge), Garfield has snagged the nursing position. The script never explains how since we are told a request has been sent to the nursing registry and they were waiting on the candidate to arrive - what happened to said candidate which would have caused Garfield's ploy to fail?

Garfield carries and pushes Hopkins around listening to her incessant braying and non-stop chatter. He flirts with the Asian servant, sasses the elderly maid, and basically drives Sondergaard up the wall. He also does extra work as well, fixing the broken elevator, revitalizing the garden, and cleaning the pool. His youthful sass and antics grow on Hopkins, and the fact that he is easy on the eyes is no detraction, so this starts to become a bargain basement Sunset Boulevard. Of course, this idyll is not likely to last because something is bound to tick him off and watch out.

I will give the film a few nods. It does function as a time capsule of the kind of low rent crap that could be churned out in the 1970s, despite film historians trying to act like all was golden. It also has a few moments of suspense, but after a while the characters begin to act so stupid in order to extend the run time that one loses patience.

Hopkins missed out on the golden age of hagsploitation epics, so she is bringing up the caboose here. She is pretty awful. Braying and overacting in the worst way, and not enlisting much concern or sympathy. In fact, it is difficult to fathom why she isn't done in by Garfield for shattering his nerves 15 minutes into the film. Terrifyingly, she has one scene with Garfield giving her a massage where she shows far more than anticipated!

Conversely, Garfield is not bad. He seemed familiar in both appearance and delivery, then I realized he had to be the son of underrated screen actor John Garfield. Here he is able to seem likable, funny, exasperating and menacing, so that the reactions to him are half credible. Despite the scruffy appearance, he is attractive, but the film oddly fails to exploit it given that there will be a sexual relationship (albeit mainly offscreen) with Hopkins. In fact, Hopkins initiates it by demanding he sit on her bed, forces him to put his arm around her, and then basically tackles him when he seems confused by the advances. Given that he becomes her gigolo, his character's sexuality is downplayed to a brief shirtless glimpse exiting a pool in tasteful trunks. No nudity from him, but we get that unexpected skin shot of Hopkins!

If Garfield is good and Hopkins is dreadful, then the film's star player is Sondergaard. She takes on her role like a trooper actually trying to do something with it. She is believable as both a dedicated assistant and Hopkins' friend, and her interactions and suspicions are believable. Also, she is in the film far longer than I expected, which is good since she provides a classy presence missing from Hopkins' lead performance.

After a bit, even the minor good points and curio interest wear thin, as it becomes apparent that no one has sense enough to call the police on Garfield when he becomes wacko. Then it just degenerates into which member of the house will be hacked up next. Obviously most uncomfortable is that all of the victims are defenseless women, so this is a good example of the popular "women must die" genre from the time and it gets old quick. The ending will especially not resonate with anyone and seems weak - like the film stopped abruptly rather than concluded.

Watch if you must, but there are much better options, even within this genre.

Oppenheimer (I) (2023)

A "very serious" film for the ADHD generation

[5/10 · 18 January 2024]

I have several friends who insist that modern day film audiences are incapable of making their own decisions on films, so they take their cues on what to see and what they should think about them from social media. Someone(s) on social media appear to decide in advance what will be the films of the year and will start hyping them up (or conversely assassinating them) before a frame of film has been viewed. I am beginning to put credence in this view as that is literally the only excuse I can find for the gushing adulation received by Christopher Nolan's latest opus, Oppenheimer.

Based on the life of controversial scientist J. Robert Oppenheimer, the film follows his formative years to his involvement with the Manhattan Project, and then his later years defending himself against smears to declare him a security threat to the US.

Oppenheimer is not a bad film, but it is not a great one either.

I am old enough to remember that much of this tale was relayed 30+ years ago in the Paul Newman-led Fatman and Little Boy, so the novelty of Oppenheimer is lost on me. The former is a more straight forward approach and an hour shorter, and benefits from both aspects.

While I enjoy some of Nolan's films, I can by no stretch be considered a fanboy, so I am not afraid to call out flaws. And the 3-hour running time is a huge flaw.

A lot of my problems with this film stem from Nolan's directing style. Oppenheimer is yet another example of Nolan's obsession - the non-linear narrative - where the film jumps back and forth across the timeline. A film like Memento is highlighted by this approach, but it is pointless in a biopic like Oppenheimer. We jump from an older Oppenheimer having a tete-a-tete with Einstein to young Oppenheimer trying to poison his teacher with a cyanide apple to Oppenheimer giving lectures, and back and forth.

While the cinematography looks amazing, Nolan also employs so many absurd visual gimmicks to distract viewers that the film ends up coming off like a "very serious" production for the ADHD generation. I am hard-pressed to recall many dialogue moments that last very long or are allowed to generate their own drama. It feels as though someone is standing by with a stop watch to shout "OK - too much talking! A viewer might be checking their phone! Flash something across the screen!" So scene after scene is interrupted by flashes of light, visions of dancing molecules and shooting stars, explosions, fantasy sequences, and when all else fails, Florence Pugh shows up to shake her naked boobs at the camera.

The acting is largely underwhelming as well since people are expected to flesh out roles that are basically cliff notes. Almost no role - even the walk-ons - is not filled by recognizable faces who are mostly wasted. One can play spot the star. Oh, look! There's Kenneth Branagh for 3 minutes. Was that Tom Conti as Einstein? It was too quick to tell. I didn't know Rami Malek was in this! Oh wait, barely. And there's Casey Affleck as a diabolical military guy, and he still can't act. Ironically, the performance I found most natural and appealing comes from an actor I usually find wooden, Josh Hartnett.

The actors with more screen time often do not fare much better.

Matt Damon is solid and no-nonsense as the general heading the project. It is pretty much taken for granted now that he will contribute reliable work in whatever he is in.

The aforementioned Florence Pugh has a thankless role as Oppenheimer's emotionally fragile mistress, who shows up intermittently to growl, throw his flowers in the trash, and get naked for sex. We have no insight as to why Oppenheimer is attracted to her or continues this affair, or why she is unstable. One low point is a fantasy sequence where Oppenheimer is being interrogated and his wife Kitty envisions a naked Pugh writhing around on his lap in the conference room. Why an actress of Pugh's caliber took such a dismal part is beyond me.

Emily Blunt seems to be assured a supporting actress nomination as Kitty. I normally love Blunt, but she is not very good here. Kitty is as much a cipher as everyone else. I can tell you following about her: she's a lush, she despises raising her children, she's selfish, she's outraged that her passive husband won't stand up for himself. Their courtship scenes are as laughable and perfunctory as the scenes between Natalie Portman and Hayden Christensen in Attack of the Clones. She gets one good moment near the end where she lashes out at the interrogators. Otherwise, she is one-dimensional time filler.

The one actor who seems assured an Oscar win is Robert Downey, Jr. I could normally watch Downey read a phonebook, but this is a nothing role that hamstrings him. For 90% of the film's running time when he infrequently appears, he has no emotional range or anything of worth to do. Then, in the film's final moments, he suddenly becomes a mustache-twirling Bond villain to provide a nemesis to Oppenheimer. There is nothing subtle or very credible about the character and I cannot say that hundreds of other actors would not have been the same or better.

For a bit of unintentional camp, Jason Clarke as a manipulative prosecutor has been instructed to up the glib smugness to the rafters to the point where he almost doesn't resemble anything human.

Which brings us to Cillian Murphy as Oppenheimer. Murphy is a good actor, but I keep hearing people proclaim that "at long last he can get a deserved Oscar", which makes me wonder what prior Oscar-caliber performances from him that went unnoticed are they referencing? Going by past clips and interviews, Murphy does not much sound like Oppenheimer - but mimicry does not necessarily make a good performance. Unfortunately, Murphy's take on Oppenheimer is so restrained and insular that he begins and ends the film as an enigma. I got no feel for the inner workings of the man, what his views were on the nuclear nightmare world that his controversial creation plunged us into, or what his actual feelings were about people in his orbit. He often comes across as a narcissist, who is effete, yet somehow also passive, weak and non-descript.

For 2 hours and 15 minutes, the film feels like it is hitting notes by rote and meandering. There is little in the way of suspense, insight, or drama. The last 45 minutes drums up some interest, when Murphy is tarred by the dastardly machinations of Lex Luthor - excuse me, Downey's Lewis Strauss. Prior to that though, the film has nil dramatic momentum and that is a lot of running time to squander on visual trickery and star cameos. By the end, the film is much like Murphy's interpretation of Oppenheimer himself - nice to look at and polished, but completely lacking in dimension, fascination, or depth.

The Fog (1980)

Atmospheric and creepy

[8/10 · 4 October 2023]

It is the 100th birthday of the seaside coastal town of Antonio Bay and starting from midnight, all hell begins to break loose. Dogs start barking, car horns/alarms begin going off, minor tremors shake the streets, and a stone falls in the local church unearthing a disturbing secret involving past wrongs and curses.

John Carpenter's next outing after the acclaimed Halloween got good box office, but was held in far less favor as being a step backward. The view is ironic and wrong-headed considering that its ghost story theme seems much more novel than that of the great Halloween, which was subsequently plundered and its impact lessened by subpar imitators and worse sequels. I quite enjoyed this film as a kid and revisited it again recently. The film has aged incredibly well. My mother who had mixed feelings about it on release saw it not too long ago as well and marked how much better it was in the passing of time and more effective than she recalled. So it holds up beautifully.

The film has many things to recommend it. First is Carpenter's attention to atmosphere and character development. From the creepy opening moments with children around a campfire listening to the ghostly storytelling of aged fisherman John Houseman, the stage is nicely set. Carpenter knows how to exploit his surroundings - making them both beautiful and haunting.

His storytelling is in good form as well. In later films, like the disappointing Escape from New York, the godawful The Thing (which has experienced a re-evaluation among those who confuse gross out effects for scares), and the ambitious Prince of Darkness, Carpenter subsequently indulged big concepts that he could never fully realize. Here, his goals are simple and the story he crafts is well within his comfort zone. His use of light and shadow, the sound of the wind, and the dread of a knock at the door late at night are used to full advantage. He starts small and ratchets the tension accordingly.

There are several subplots that Carpenter develops well and then weaves everyone together for the climax. The effects are good and not showy. They service the story and not the other way around. He also crafts a disturbing and haunting back story for the ghosts descending on the town.

He also avoids drowning the film in gore and leaving a lot of the violence off screen, to grisly sound effects, or to our imagination. How refreshing!

And the cast is terrific. Adrienne Barbeau - honing her cool and sultry voice - is ideally cast as the local disc jockey, who first twigs to something awry in this fog rolling into San Antonio. Genre vet Tom Atkins and Jamie Lee Curtis make a nice couple as a local fisherman and hitch-hiker who hook up at the beginning. Halloween alum Nancy Loomis is a hoot as an efficient snarky assistant, as is Charles Cypher as a charming local meteorologist. There are also nice roles for vets Janet Leigh, as the dizzily up to date town maven, and Hal Holbrook, as the drunken priest.

The film is just the ticket for a good scare story that the family can actually watch together without being revolted by geysers of gore. The production is polished and belies its lower budget to look much more prestigious than it should.

And to anyone who thinks this is not a difficult mood or story to convey, I direct them to the woeful remake as evidence to the contrary.

Imitation of Life (1959)

Glossy Hollywood trash that doesn't age well

[4/10 · 5 September 2023]

When they say they don't make them like they used to, all can heave a collective sigh of relief in the case of Imitation of Life. This version is a remake of the 1930s Claudette Colbert feature and keeps the same plot points, but changes the occupation of the lead to glamorous actress so that Douglas Sirk and Ross Hunter can deliver the glittering lavish trappings that their woebegone fans expect.

The plot - and I use that term advisedly - centers on gorgeous white widow/actress Lana Turner and her black servant/friend Juanita Moore, and their two daughters (ultimately played by Sandra Dee and Susan Kohner).

Raise your hand if this sounds familiar. Turner neglects Dee in favor of pursuing her acting career, so Dee ends up turning to Moore for motherly support. Conversely, light-skinned Kohner is able to pass for white and wants to pursue the wider avenues this opens for her, but her obviously black mother is a stumbling block.

The "drama" of Turner's plot is basically that she regrets neglecting Dee and ultimately sees the world she has created for herself as unworthy of the sacrifices. I would note that a male character in similar circumstances would pat himself on the back for such achievements, but women are not allowed these luxuries in 1950s cinematic rot. So when she realizes that Dee has fallen in love with her boyfriend, will she do the motherly thing and basically gift him to her daughter? Quite frankly - who gives a raging fig what these entitled twits do? And given that said boyfriend is played by the eternally stiff John Gavin, Dee may well end up hating her mother for sticking her with him. Turner prances and struts around in various gowns floating on a cloud of glamour, while Dee tears up prettily. Yawn.

The secondary plot -which focuses on race in a barely topical manner - is just plain shameful as it plays out. Kohner is basically turned into an insensitive villain for rejecting the demeaning world she views as being the lot of black people of the period and made to seem thoroughly unreasonable for trying to pass for white. Moore offers no support to her outside of basically telling her to not rock the boat. Moore would be a much more fascinating character had she challenged her daughter to push boundaries and break stereotypes, but the film might have offended its white audience of the era and thus the woman who wants the status quo to remain is turned into a martyr, while the the woman wanting a better life is an insensitive, selfish shrew.

The most embarrassing scene is when Turner descends from her cloud of entitlement to lecture Kohner on her treatment of her mother and insist that she has never been treated differently in their home, to which Kohner docilely acquiesces. This allows the white target audience to feel weepy and noble.

However, it is pure bunk. Turner and Moore are friendly, but their friendship depends entirely on Turner being the superior and Moore being the grateful underling, and on the notion that these roles may not be reversed. So it is a friendship with a lot of baggage attached. After a while, Moore's long-suffering routine and refusal to let her daughter break down racial barriers becomes exhausting, especially since Moore ultimately makes no effort to teach Kohner any pride in being black, but rather to stick with whatever hand the powers that be deal you.

Mahalia Jackson's song is lovely and the film looks great, but ignore anyone who tries to convince you this is a topical or even a very good film. It is pure Hollywood soap opera hokum and glitzy trash that rarely gets made anymore - for good reason.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

The Ford-Connery chemistry is great - the rest of the film not so much

[6/10 · 7 August 2023]

Fans of the Indiana Jones franchise will be quick to badmouth The Crystal Skull, The Dial of Destiny, and yes - even The Temple of Doom - and then rhapsodize about the wonders of this entry. Some even place it higher than Raiders making it by far the most overrated entry in the series.

The film opens with a coy set-up with a young Indiana Jones attempting to prevent some mercenaries with making off with a relic. It encapsulates the origin of Indy's fedora, his love of archeology and fear of snakes into one whimsical set piece. River Phoenix is painfully miscast. He bears no resemblance to Ford either in looks or stature and acts anesthetized.

The film jumps ahead to the main plot, wherein Indy's dad (Sean Connery) - a Holy Grail scholar - has mysteriously disappeared and Indy is recruited to retrace his steps and get to the bottom of what happened.

The film looks fantastic - as do most of the Indiana Jones films. The cinematography is stunning and John Williams returns to gloriously score the film.

Far and away the film's best aspect and its ace is the camaraderie between Harrison Ford and Connery. It is ideal fantasy casting and both men rise to the peak. Connery plays against tough guy type as a somewhat bumbling professor whose passion for finding the Grail has moved him outside of his comfort zone. Ford plays off him beautifully often skirting exasperation over his dad's antics.

Now for the bummer that fans of this film refuse to acknowledge. Literally nothing else in this film rises to the level of the leads, which means that we are forced to chronically lean into their chemistry as the sole highlight - and lean and lean and lean.

The story is clunky at best. It clumsily conspires reasons to move the characters from point A to point B without a lot of sense. At one point, it backtracks them to a book-burning rally in Nazi Germany and then allows Adolf Hitler to provide the comedy - ugh!

For all of those carping about Cate Blanchett as the villain in Skull, try asking those who have not seen this film for a while who the main villain is. I have - and usually you get puzzlement, followed by "the Nazis". They are in it, but not as the main villain. The main villain is a rich industrialist (Julian Glover) hoping to use the Grail for eternal life. Glover's performance is so dull and forgettable that watching your fingernails grow seems more exciting. He is also not particularly clever as the heroes consistently evade him and then in the finale, he voluntarily leaves his fate to a character that no one would trust.

Indiana Jones has really only had one great leading lady - Karen Allen's Marion Ravenwood. This film's leading lady is blond mannequin Alison Doody as a duplicitous fellow archeologist not above collaborating with the Nazis. Is she good? Is she bad? Who the heck knows? She honestly has no purpose in this film and her motivations change every 10 minutes. The film sets her up as an example of what greed can do, but we literally have no interest in her.

Worse, characters that had depth and/or were serious in Raiders are brought back in this film as complete buffoons. When the heck did John Rhys-Davies' Sallah and Denholm Elliott's Marcus Brody become idiots? Both are depicted here as complete morons who couldn't find their butts with a spotlight. During one chase where time is of the essence Elliott undermines Connery's attempted rescue to launch into an old school song. He gets dumber the longer the film lasts.

And I am unclear why on earth Steven Spielberg directs nearly every action sequence to an anti-climax. Raiders and Temple had standout action scenes that could be the highlight of lesser action films. Crusade... not so much. After hunting down clues in a nonsense sequence beneath the catacombs of Venice(!), Indy and mannequin take off on a boat chase that stops suddenly for a minor character to recite clunky plot exposition. Pretty much all of the action scenes peter out this way.

When our explorers finally reach their destination, they must face three challenges before coming upon the Grail. And what underwhelming challenges they are! The film seems to be on auto-pilot by this stage and the Grail turns out of be singularly unimpressive. Plus the sequence features the introduction of a character that makes the flying nuked fridge from Skull seem the height of credibility. I guess when you pick a fictional biblical relic as your McGuffin rather than sacred stones or crystal skulls, anyone will forgive anything.

There are a lot of disappointments in this film, but the Ford-Connery dynamic consistently pulls its fat out of the fire. That is a lot to ask actors to shoulder, but both of them pull it off and make it look effortless. I adore them together here - I just wish the rest of the film surrounding them was anywhere near their level. Chemistry between Ford and Connery is great - the rest of the film not so much.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

Gritty entry that never stops the excitement

[8/10 · 28 July 2023]

While this never quite achieves the lofty heights of Raiders, this prequel is a gritty and relentlessly exciting success that rarely stops to catch its breath. Too long has this entry post-backlash (see below) been under-valued and it is time for it to take its place in the upper echelons of the series.

Set before Raiders, the film opens in the opulent Club Obi Wan where beautiful blond chanteuse Willie Scott (Kate Capshaw) launches into a rousing Chinese rendition of Anything Goes (which becomes a good motto for the film in general). Enter our intrepid hero Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford), whose deal with gangster Lao Che goes south fast leaving him scrambling for the antidote to his poisoned drink in the chaotic club.

Barely escaping with his 12-year-old sidekick Short Round (Ke Huy Quan) and Willie in tow, the trio ultimately find themselves stranded in a desolated village in India. The local shaman see their arrival as a sign and insist that they travel to Pankot Palace to free the tribe's enslaved children from the Thuggee cult that has risen and infiltrated there. Initially reluctant, Indy decides to investigate when he realizes the Palace may be home to rare mystical Shankara stones.

Once at the palace, all hell breaks loose with a dinner scene meant to scare off the intruders, assassination attempts, a tunnel of bugs, hidden death traps, ritual sacrifices, and runaway mine cars.

The film opened with a bang in 1984 and it was hard to find anyone who disliked it. Then came the backlash. The film's violence became a cause celebre for the parents who want to mind your business and started the PG-13 rating, accusations of racism and pandering were strewn about, and the Willie Scott character was seen as a quantum step backwards from Marion Ravenwood.

I actually like the fact that the film is hard-edged and has tense and frightening moments, but even as a child I did not find them much worse than scenes that aired every Sunday morning on Tarzan Theater from the grittier early Weismuller entries. I think the backlash cowed director Steven Spielberg to pull his punches on future escapist fare, which could have benefited from more edge. So that is a real shame.

Watching the film, I don't get any kind of racist intent on the part of the writers or director. I suppose if you look hard enough, it is there. But the Thuggee cult was a real thing in India, so it is not like the threat was made up wholesale.

The pace is breathtaking. Much like Raiders, the action sequences could be the highlights of lesser films. The ominous tone accentuates the foray into the unknown and Spielberg's taut direction is mesmerizing.

Ford may be even better here than in the original film. He is not afraid to explore Indy's shadier side. He has great chemistry with Quan, effortlessly exudes charisma, and has pitch perfect comic timing. Quan is unforgettable as Short Round.

Gallons of ink has been spilled about and wars waged over the Willie Scott character. While Indy never had a leading lady better than Karen Allen's Marion, I am going to rise to give a defense to Capshaw's Willie. Willie has no real stake in the adventure and is thrown together with the Indy and Short Round by the whims of fate. She is solely interested in getting her perfumed, manicured and sequined butt to safety as quickly and efficiently as possible. She constantly screams about bugs and wild animals, she despises the wild, and hates getting dirty. Capshaw goes all in and plays Willie for all she is worth. Sometimes Willie is funny, other times she is irritating and you want to muzzle her. All that said, I don't think she gets the credit she deserves. While I think the screenwriters could have made her more proactive, especially in the latter portion of the film, people forget she saves the lives of the leads at least twice. The first by traversing the grotesque bug tunnel to save Indy and Short Round from a death trap - be honest, most average people would have run the other way. She also punches out the guy on the mine car chase eliminating their pursuers and then saves Short Round from the bridge, so she is NOT useless baggage as some would infer. I do rather enjoy her in the context of this film. It is a shame that the series never brought Capshaw and Quan back later to see how their characters may have evolved.

While not perfect, the film is incredibly entertaining and holds up surprisingly well on repeat viewings.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

A textbook definition of a great action film

[10/10 · 25 July 2023]

I almost never give anything a perfect rating, but in this case it is deserved. Raiders of the Lost Ark catapulted onto the screen in the summer of 1981 and elevated the action/adventure genre into a level of unparalleled class and sophistication.

It is the 1930s and we are introduced to rough-and-ready adventurer archeologist Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) on the hunt with shady colleagues for a treasure in the South American jungle. This opening moment beautifully sets up the film with ingenious traps, narrow escapes, heart-pounding excitement, double crosses and comedy.

Shortly thereafter, Indy is approached by the US government to race the Nazis in their search for the fabled Ark of the Covenant. A journey that requires him to collaborate with an old girlfriend he done wrong (Karen Allen) and face down a duplicitous French mercenary (Paul Freeman), as well as the Nazis.

There is nothing not to love about this film. It looks fantastic. Director Steven Spielberg's film in the 1970s/1980s were especially beautiful to view. The screenplay is intelligent, witty and suspenseful. Spielberg's direction is amazing. Literally any of the action scenes in this movie could have been the highlight of a lesser film. And there is a sense of wonder about the whole endeavor - especially if you had the privilege of seeing it in the theater. There was literally nothing quite like it.

The casting is spot on. The villains are smart and hissable. Freeman manages to be both charming and sleazy as the competing archeologist and Nazi collaborationist. Ronald Lacey is memorable channeling Peter Lorre as a sniveling SS interrogator.

John Rhys-Davies is a delight as Indy's friend and compatriot.

Karen Allen simply cannot be improved upon as Indy's true love, Marion Ravenwood. She is by and far the best of the women that the films paired him with and Allen hits it out of the park. She is never a hindrance and always advances the plot. Her chemistry with Ford is believable and fun. She can be vulnerable, but also tough enough to haul off and punch someone in the mouth and drink a man twice her size under the table. The scene where she and Freeman try to one up each other is delightful.

Ford is perfection. He has just the right balance of grit, charisma and humor to make the role work. Contrary to popular belief, larger-than-life roles are incredibly difficult to play, but Ford makes it appear effortless here. Which undoubtedly is the reason why he failed to score an Oscar nomination for his best performance in a year when Henry Fonda won for sentiment. By contrast, imagine what a letdown this film would have been if a cinematic void of charisma like Tom Selleck had taken the role.

While the sequels are a lot of fun to varying degrees and lesser imitators unsuccessfully tried to recapture lightning in a bottle, this original gem stands out among the crowd over 40 years later.

The Banshees of Inisherin (2022)

A pointless tedious monument to self-induced misery

[2/10 · 14 January 2023]

I have been trying to catch up on some of the films under consideration for awards season and found this one on cable. It was nominated for the Golden Globes under comedy, so I thought it might be amusing. Alas, this is neither a comedy (it does not even qualify for "dark comedy") nor an enjoyable viewing experience. I would say that the only people who could possibly enjoy it are those who mistake misery for greatness or spend their spare time pulling wings off injured birds.

Set in the 1920s in a small Irish village, the film focuses on two men - Padraic (Colin Farrell) and Colm (Brendan Gleeson) - who are ostensibly best mates. Colm without reason suddenly decides to end his friendship with Padraic in as abrupt and cruel a fashion as possible. When a shocked and desolate Padraic tries to find out why and apologize for any offense, Colm with a total lack of emotion tells him he did nothing wrong. Colm apparently feels he is destined for greatness and immortality by composing a song bearing the title of this tripe, and every moment that he spends with Padraic (ostensibly with the majority of the village) is wasted, because they are all dull, stupid wastes of space that drain his creativity.

Colm then ups the ante by eventually telling Padriac that if he sees him or tries to speak to him, Colm with go on a binge of self-mutilation. A ridiculous gauntlet to throw down since the village is the size of a postage stamp and they frequent the pub around the same time. So unless Padraic literally sells his home and moves away, avoiding each other is impossible.

The film - already a slog - then descends into a further despairing pit of unwatchable nonsense. It is obvious early on that Colm is psychotic and needs to be locked up for his own safety and the potential danger he holds to those in the village. By the time he starts hacking off parts of his body (a self-defeating endeavor given a musician would need things like fingers) and flinging them on neighbors doorsteps, the film becomes completely ludicrous. When Padraic's beloved pet donkey - and ostensibly only other friend - chokes to death on one of the Colm's severed body parts, then film rockets further into pointless cruelty.

I get that this is 1920s Ireland and the mental health system was not the best, but they did have asylums for people like Colm and the reactions of the villagers to Colm's behavior strains credibility. By the time the hacking starts, you know even then that someone would have come and taken Colm away to be restrained.

Full disclosure is that I did not watch the film all the way to the end because it had become so repellent and the characters so loathsome or stupid by the 3/4ths mark that unless there was some epiphany, the film was a waste of time. I gather from speaking to those that did finish it, that its downward spiral does not get arrested and the film ends on a depressing note with a message that seems to denigrate kindness, friendship and love as nothing worth aspiring towards.

The only other plot of note centers on Barry Keoghan as the village idiot, who adores Padriac's sister Kerry Condon. Everyone ostensibly cannot stand him, but put up with him because his dad is the local constable and lives to bully him and make his life hell. FUN!

I will give credit where it is due. The scenery is lovely. Farrell does his best with the lead role, even when it stops making sense. The ill-fated donkey was cute.

Of the remaining cast, Keoghan pretty much rambles his way through the stock village idiot role. Critics have invented superlatives for Condon's acting, but she is shoe-horned into the cliched role of the long-suffering Irish woman trying to be the voice of reason and empathy to a bunch of brutal and dumb men. She does nothing new here that has not been done by legions of other actresses that preceded her. Gleeson is dreadful. The character makes no sense and has no dimension. He is a cruel nut and Gleeson does nothing with the part. Then again, who could possibly find anything of worth in this role.

I have nothing against tragic films or films that end on a downbeat note. But (especially after the three years of hell that the world at large has endured) that tragedy needs to be earned and Banshees does not earn it. Everything bit of misery documented herein is self-induced and tiresome. The characters are ill-defined or pitched on one strident note and become more unsympathetic and hateful as the film progresses. The film is not funny or profound or insightful. Quite the contrary, it seems to be under the impression that relentless and often nonsensical bleakness translates into some form of greatness. It really troubles me how many people are buying into that foolishness.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

Humorless and overrated, but lovely to see that cast together

[6/10 · 5 November 2022]

I am a huge Agatha Christie fan and adore the majority of her film/TV adaptations. Even the least of them have something to offer the viewer. The 1974 adaptation of her most notable novel, Murder on the Orient Express, is no exception. Anyone unfamiliar with the novel or the conclusion will without a doubt fail to guess it, which makes it a nice watch with a group so one can gauge their reactions. To my surprise, almost no one in the current generation knows a thing about it.

It is December 1935 and Christie's master detective Hercule Poirot is stunned to find the title train booked in the off season, but is able to finagle a berth thanks to connections. The train is filled with an eclectic cast of characters, but the one to initially occupy Poirot's (and our) attention is enigmatic, rough-hewn Richard Widmark, who wants to enlist Poirot's assistance as he is certain someone on the train is trying to kill him. Predictably Widmark does meet his maker during a rather busy night prior to the train running into a snow block, and everyone on board is a suspect.

Christie's novel uses the backdrop of a child kidnapping as the motivation for the murder on the train. It is a thinly veiled reworking of the actual Lindbergh kidnapping. It is interesting that Christie suffered very little blow back for taking a real event that the participants were still reeling over and using it for her fiction, but I digress. Apparently readers of the 1930s were more liberal towards such things.

What works in the film is quite simple. The sets, costumes, etc., are lavish. And that cast is flawless. We would certainly have to work hard to conspire to unite so many Hollywood luminaries on screen at one time (although films like Knives Out and Kenneth Branagh's version of this film certainly try hard to come close). Around every corner there lurks a legendary actor or actress from the Hollywood sky to illuminate the proceedings. It is a sheer joy to watch these professionals share the screen.

Christie's story is a like a Swiss watch, so it is fascinating to see it putter along on screen as we follow Poirot's investigation.

That said, the film falls short in several areas. It was undoubtedly a landmark in 1974 when such star-studded mysteries and serious Christie adaptions were novelties. Previously Christie had been adapted into a wonderful series with Margaret Rutherford as Miss Marple, but the prior attempt to do something with Poirot was a disastrous misfire with a seriously miscast Tony Randall in The ABC Murders. However, since 1974 we have had several Poirot films (featuring the redoubtable Peter Ustinov), the popular TV series with David Suchet, and the recent remakes with Kenneth Branagh. All of them have elements to recommend them and give us a contrast to this film that did not exist at the time. As such, they allow us to now see what a slow-moving and humorless film this is in actuality. The next sequel, Death on the Nile, would find just the right balance of humor, thrills and seriousness that are woefully in short supply here.

Albert Finney hams it up as Poirot - nearly unrecognizable under prostheses and make-up, but he is surprisingly unpleasant and despite garnering an Oscar nomination for this part, I find him less successful then Ustinov in the later films or Suchet in the TV series. Even Branagh brings liveliness to his interpretation that is sorely missed here. Finney's Poirot comes across as a rather a self-impressed dullard.

The supporting cast is incredible, but predictably some have more to do than others. Ingrid Bergman snagged a third Oscar in the supporting category as a nervous missionary. She is fine, but it is pretty inconceivable how she got a nomination much less the award for this part. By no stretch is she even the strongest supporting performance on hand and given her prior Oscars there should have been no compulsion to award her an honorary one for this role. Lauren Bacall is aces (and my pick from the cast for the best supporting work) as a brash American widow, who always manages to be the loudest person in the room. Widmark makes the most of his limited screen time as the victim, who is shady enough never to enlist our sympathy. Jacqueline Bisset is luminous as a countess and Michael York is solid as her husband. Anthony Perkins is predictably nervy as the dead man's secretary. I quite like Vanessa Redgrave and Sean Connery, but they have less to do here than others. Wendy Hiller enjoyably chews scenery as a Russian princess, as does Rachel Roberts as her German maid.

The score for the film is a puzzle. There is literally little to no music to imply that we are watching a mystery or a thriller. In fact, when listening to it, I kept envisioning women from the 1920s strutting down the catwalk to model their fashions rather than a particularly dramatic film. So a complete miss there for me.

The pace to the film can best be described as stagnant. I can understand and appreciate a deliberate pace, but there is literally no urgency in this film at all. When one considers that a murder was planned and committed, and an investigation is under way to unmask the culprit before they ostensibly strike again, the ho-hum shuffling along that this film indulges in goes from a curiosity to maddening to just plain dull. As much as I loved this cast and seeing them assembled, there is something really odd with the way the film presents them and the story on screen. The motivating factor here is the kidnapping and murder of a defenseless child. Justice has been thwarted, vengeance is in the air, lives have been forever altered for the worse, and yet the emotional impact of this film is nil. No one seems especially impacted and they are all directed as though they gathered to play dress up for an evening out at the club. Even after Poirot has outlined what happened, who was involved, and why, the characters on screen all seem strangely unemotional and muted. This is something I think that the Branagh adaptation handled better - you got far more than impression of lives that were destroyed and the emotional toll and loss that murder had taken on those in its orbit. Here, not so much.

I also would say that the immediate sequel to this film, Death on the Nile, is actually a much better effort, yet mysteriously failed to garner much Oscar acclaim in a weaker year, despite having extraordinary supporting performances from Bette Davis, Mia Farrow and Angela Lansbury, and Ustinov's much more accessible Poirot.

So while I enjoy watching Christie's plot unfold and this wonderful cast interact with each other, I think the impact that this film had in 1974 has worn off over the years and allowed us to appreciate more fully some of the adaptations that followed, so I don't place this as high on my Christie adaptation list as others.

Terminator: Dark Fate (2019)

Fairly decent, but why does it exist?

[6/10 · 8 June 2022]

The Terminator has now graduated into the realm of franchises that just won't die. James Cameron's original in 1984 was a veritable text book of leanness, intelligence and suspense. With a larger budget, he have us an excellent sequel with Terminator 2: Judgement Day. And while not in the same class as these films, Terminator 3 is actually a pretty enjoyable effort that sensibly builds on the existing storyline.

Since then, we have been deluged with The Sarah Connor Chronicles on TV, the misfired Terminator Salvation, and the woebegone Terminator: Genesys. Now we get Terminator: Dark Fate, which brings Linda Hamilton as the original Sarah Connor back to the mix, along with a returning Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Instead of future savior John Connor, we now get Natalia Reyes, a young Mexican girl, who is targeted by the unstoppable Terminator from the future (played by Gabriel Luna). Sent to protect her is Grace, an enhanced human, played by Mackenzie Davis. Along the way, they are intercepted by Sarah Connor (Hamilton), who has spent years hunting terminators and who detours them to coordinates of someone who may be of help.

What works? The film looks great and has some amazing visual effects. The action sequences are well directed and the acting is fairly solid across the board. Hamilton's return is welcome and she plays the part with grit and determination. Davis and Reyes are both fine, but Hamilton walks off with any scene she is in.

However, there are several issues that this film cannot overcome. First, why does it even exist? It comes pretty late in the game and it cannot give us any new element to define why it should have been made. Second, it does something that I despise in sequels. It removes a main character from the mix unceremoniously and ends up making our rooting interest in the first few films pointless (see the odious Alien 3 for a similar bad choice). That is unforgivable.

Story-wise, there is too much that could have been combined or removed to facilitate the action, but is obviously here to either milk nostalgia or stress the women as badasses meme. For instance, the Schwarzenegger character could have been combined with the Davis character for economy, so he is only here for fan service. Conversely, the Grace and Sarah Connor characters could have been combined to just have Connor as the protector of the girl.

While I laud the introduction of tough female characters, it does not always needs to be at the expense of making every male character marginal. Let's not even discuss what this film does with John Connor. It is obvious that the girl's father will meet his demise quickly, but given that her brother is played by talented up-and-comer Diego Boneta, I have no idea why so little is done with him.

It is an unwritten rule that Arnold must find some way into a Terminator film, but he really seems excess baggage here.

And while the film trends heavily towards a female-centric POV, I would be remiss in noting that the filmmakers still manage to give Davis a lengthy nude arrival and fight scene. Conversely, when hunky Luna's menacing villain arrives nude, the most we get is a bit of bare hip as though his maiden aunt was watching from the front row. Apparently the lady-centric POV stops right before the nudity door.

I really hope this is the last Terminator film for a while. They have really exhausted this well.

Moon of the Wolf (1972 TV Movie)

Exceptional TV movie - they just don't make them like this anymore

[8/10 · 13 December 2021]

Ask anyone who grew up in the 1970s/1980s and you will find a huge number of people who recall fondly the TV movies of the week, which often included some very good entries into the suspense and horror genres. Moon of the Wolf is a nice addition to that list.

Based on a novel by Les Whitten, the film is set in a swampy small town Louisiana where sheriff David Jansson is saddled with a series of murders, wherein it becomes increasingly obvious that he is dealing with a perpetrator that is either possessed of superhuman strength or not human at all. Given the title, no surprise that a werewolf may be responsible.

Given TV budget limitations, the special effects are obviously not fantastic, so actual sightings of the werewolf are kept to a minimum until the final sequence. Another weak link is that the film does not give us an overabundance of suspects, so pinpointing the culprit is not too hard.

That said - the film is surprisingly well written and (with a couple of exceptions) well acted. John Beradino of General Hospital film portrays the town doctor with a few skeletons in his closet as if he were still giving and overripe daytime TV performance. Geoffrey Lewis - as the brother of one of the victims and a prime suspect - is unusually bad. Jansson turns in an effortless turn as the weary sheriff. Bradford Dillman is solid as the scion of the local family, who feels beholden to defend the community and the family name at all costs - perhaps not in that order.

The best performance is contributed by Barbara Rush as Dillman's sister - recently returned from New York after a bad breakup who strikes up a flirtation with Jansson. She initially comes across as a charming, but flighty fading Southern belle, but in the final moments of the film reveals herself to be a self-sufficient and gutsy heroine who does not need anyone to save her.

Predictably special effects are sketchy, but the film itself has some really strong dialogue and character development. It also has nice atmosphere and direction. A pleasing time filler - the kind that they simply do not make for TV anymore.

Madam Satan (1930)

Psychotically weird - you cannot take your eyes off of it

[7/10 · 5 December 2021]

Just caught this film on TCM and WOW! Anyone who thinks they did not make some bonkers entertainment in the 1930s needs to reassess. I thought it was going to be a standard MGM musical, but it genre skips throughout its run time.

Kay Johnson is perfectly cast as a classy society wife, who stoically tolerates the philandering and foolishness of her immature cad husband Reginald Denny, who has been carrying an adulterous affair with brassy brunette Lillian Roth (whose tragic life story can be seen as I'll Cry Tomorrow starring Susan Hayward). Johnson gives him plenty of time to come clean and apologize, but Denny is a jerk of the first order. Not only does he take his wife for granted and consistently stands her up, but then lays the blame for it all at her door by claiming she is too stodgy and cold for a man like him before storming out. Even Denny's buffoonish friend and co-hort Roland Young (pre-Topper) finds his treatment of Johnson outlandish.

Johnson decides to take matters into her own hands. She pretends to believe Denny's lies about Roth actually being Young's new wife and shows up on their doorstep and demands to stay the night, causing the floozy and the friend great consternation. Only exacerbated when Denny shows up to seek solace in Roth's arms.

Just when we think that the film is a marital comedy and some version of Private Lives, the film takes a sudden turn south of sanity in the second half. Young holds a lavish debauched masquerade party for rich philanderers and a gaggle of nubile young things aboard a zeppelin. The costumes are amazing. While there had been some standard song and dance numbers sprinkled throughout previously, we now get some of the strangest numbers I have ever seen. Including one where the guests make like the mechanized workings of the zeppelin.

There is a wacko auction of the women and right when Roth is set to take center stage, her limelight is stolen by the arrival of the mysterious masked Madam Satan (Johnson), sporting a barely there dress and a French accent. She struts and purrs and vamps - capturing the wandering eye of her faithless husband and playing him for a fool by demonstrating that the fire he sought was there all along, while Roth fumes from the sidelines.

The whole thing culminates in a violent storm that tears the zeppelin from its moorings and suddenly we are in a wacko disaster movie. The scantily clad women and and masked buffoons are forced to parachute from the disintegrating zeppelin to save their lives in a creepily prescient sequence that foreshadows the upcoming Hindenberg disaster.

Its weird, its tonally all over the place, but it is impossible to tear your eyes away from it. The film definitely has laughs and a few thrills. Johnson is actually quite marvelous moving her character from a lovely but tolerant dishrag to a feisty sex bomb. Young is a lot of fun as the friend who keeps trying to do the right thing and often coming out the worse for it. Roth sings well and has good comic timing.

Unfortunately the weak link in the cast is Denny. The character is written and played as a total unrepentant jerk and later a laughable hypocrite. We never get any kind of idea what occupation he holds since he only uses his work as an excuse to his wife so he can drink and cheat. He is not particularly charming or charismatic. While pleasant looking, he certainly does not exude the sex appeal to sell why either Johnson or Roth would find him worth so much effort.

While one must take in the view of the times, it becomes apparent early on that Johnson is too good for him. Her lot would actually improve by leaving him to Roth, who in turn would probably get tired of him quickly. He offers nothing to make one understand why these women are fighting over him, when he should be kicked to the curb.

That said, the attitude in other areas of the film is eye-opening for anyone who thinks the times were staid. Johnson is able to demonstrate that she can be both a demure society wife and a hot-blooded temptress. Also interesting is that Roth's character is as unrepentant in her own way as Denny and suffers no comeuppance for her behavior. Post-code films would have demanded she suffer, be brought down a peg or offed in the disaster portion of the film, but this film takes a different track altogether.

Definitely a wild ride. I would agree with some of the other reviewers that the second half really makes the film memorable. It may not be great art, but you darn well would be hard-pressed to forget it any time soon.

Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983)

Slow adaptation never as insightful as it pretends

[4/10 · 30 November 2021]

In turn of the century Illinois, a mysterious carnival run by the menacing Mr. Dark shows up in the night to grant the deepest desires of the town folk for a very steep price. The story unfolds through the eyes of two 12-year-old best friends (Vidal Petersen and Shawn Carson), who are the first to twig to the real motives behind the carnival.

One must give Walt Disney Studios credit at the time for taking a stab at something different, but still with a bit of class. The film hit theaters in the spring of 1983 and landed with a thud before vanishing into the haze. It is not hard to see why. All of the elements are present for a potentially scary tale, but this adaptation is so stoic and restrained that it borders on lifeless.

Part of the problem is the approach. I have not read the story by Ray Bradbury (who adapts it for the screen here), but the general focus is as old as the hills. Prior to this film, there were countless books and movies documenting the arrival of a devil who promises everything in return for one's soul, and there have been a number since this adaptation. However, this film plays out like no one has seen this scenario a million times before and it integrates no distinction or flourishes to set it apart.

The film looks great, but it is nearly devoid of suspense or surprises. You know you are in the land of cliches when, given the setting and time, it opens with Waltons-esque homespun narration. At every turn, one can just envision the most unimaginative route and the film takes it. The film introduces some subplots and side characters that seem to be important - such as the lightning rod salesman - but ultimately remain unexplored.

It is also murky as to whether the townspeople realize that they are selling their souls or not. Either way the bargains go predictably awry (i.e., the person pining for their lost youth and beauty regains it, only to go blind, etc.).

There are only four characters of note and only one of the performances actually works to any extent.

The nominal leads are the two boys. Peterson and Carson are adequate - nothing more and nothing less. There is not much chemistry between them and neither possesses the talent of a Henry Thomas or Drew Barrymore.

Snagging two-time Oscar winner Jason Robards, Jr. For the role of the town librarian and Peterson's father must have seemed like a coup, but it does not work at all. The film harps constantly on the fact that Robards' character had his son late in life with his younger wife and he is a man of words rather than a man of action. To convey this, Robards acts as though mummified. There is a huge difference between being older and being dead. Robards reads every line in a tired whiskey-tinged voice that sounds more like nights are spent at the local bar as opposed to the library. What life the film does have gets drained even further whenever he takes center stage.

By contrast, Jonathan Pryce turns in an appropriately menacing performance as Mr. Dark. Although he is vanquished entirely too easily and conveniently with a minimum of excitement.

And would it have killed someone to have handed one of the women in the cast anything to do? Three-time Oscar nominee Diane Ladd is on hand as Carson's mother, who was abandoned by her errant husband and spends her days deluding herself that he will return. She is introduced and almost promptly forgotten. Ditto, Pam Grier makes a ravishing presence as The Dust Witch, but her striking appearance is as far as it goes.

As with the early portions of the film, the climax is fairly staid and predictable - even with the arrival of a cataclysmic storm, which somehow still seems underwhelming. Never fear, Arthur Hill's dull narration closes things out to assure us that everything is fine - if you are still awake that is.

New Year's Evil (1980)

Lackluster 1980s slasher slog

[2/10 · 29 November 2021]

Having grown up in the 1980s, I have a bit of a soft spot for the slasher genre. New Years Evil was one I remembered advertised on TV but I missed during its theatrical release. Not many people saw it or remember it and having recently caught it on cable, I can see why.

Brought to you by the Golan Globus conspiracy, which specialized in providing a conveyor belt of cheap crap, New Years Evil centers on punk rock DJ Blaze, who receives a creepy phone call during her New Years Eve televised special from a psycho insisting that he plans to off a victim every time New Years hits in each time zone - obviously planning on Blaze being his final victim.

Unsurprisingly, the film looks like it was filmed for $1.75. Still, cheap budgets in the correct hands can turn out a creepy effort. This is not one of them. Pretty much nothing works in this mess.

Gore hounds will be disappointed as the kills are largely off camera. Kip Niven is front and center as the psycho, so there is no mystery who is doing it and his motive/identity is easy to figure. Everyone in the film has an IQ of a cabbage, so they just seem on hand to be slaughtered.

Worse, the film has no sympathetic characters. Niven is nuts. Naturally, the majority of his victims are brainless blonde sexpots whose promiscuity is depicted as their downfall. Chris Wallace is adequate as the cop called in to investigate, but none of the police are particularly brilliant and his introduction where he seems to imply that being a fan of punk rock somehow makes you a pervert or a nutcase is off putting. Grant Cramer - sporting a terrible haircut - shows up as Blaze's pathetic son with mommy issues, and spends the majority of the film acting bizarre and stumbling over his lines.

Worst of all is the main character. Roz Kelly (forever Pinky Tuscadero from Happy Days) plays Blaze. She is obviously the Elvira of DJs and it is unclear why she warrants a TV special as grand dame of New Years Eve. Kelly tries to inject some life into the part, but no one could make this work. Kelly's Mae West style of line delivery is distinctive, but Blaze is woefully unsympathetic. She seems distinctly concerned that her publicist has gone missing, but comes off as little more than annoyed that a psycho has op-opted her show for a killing spree. She seems largely unimpressed that she might be a potential victim and her treatment of her son is appalling. One moment she seems concerned over his behavior and then when he tries to open up to her she constantly talks over him, dismisses him and tells him everything can wait (which is pretty much how she deals with everyone).

With no emotional stake in the outcome or the main character, the final moments fall apart. When the killer does strike at Kelly, her loud-mouthed tough girl suddenly swoons and becomes a damsel in distress - doing literally nothing to fight back or try to outwit the killer. And the twist that the psycho can control and cause chaos to an elevator with basically a screwdriver is absurd. The film's final coda is silly considering that the chance of a sequel is nonexistent and quite frankly no one cares what ultimately happens to Blaze.

And whoever directed the extras in this film, particularly during the concert footage needs to be committed. The extras shamble back and forth on the dance floor, run in to each other, and seem in some state of catatonia. The music is actually not bad, but the dance floor looks like the zombified undead have taken over. People stumble around glassy-eyed and fall to the floor as though they were all drunk. Anyone who has been to a New Years Eve event knows this depiction is nonsense. It is both alarming and laughable. Unfortunately the entire film is just plain dull.

Seinfeld (1989–1998)

When your four main characters are reprehensible and dull - you have a problem

[2/10 · 10 November 2021]

If you were alive in the 1990s, then you could not escape from the onslaught of slavering Seinfeld fans who seemed to labor under the impression that the show was the epitome of comedic greatness. It was not much then and has aged badly.

I can certainly get behind the concept of the show being about nothing and not having overly sentimental moments or "special" episodes where there is a life-affirming discovery. Too many sitcoms and comedies got bogged down in that nonsense during the 1970s and 1980s. Having said that, if your show is about nothing and you only want it to be funny - then Seinfeld just simply is not funny as a rule. So it misses its own target.

Set in NYC, it features the kind of people that non-New Yorkers think make up the population there, but really don't. In short, the main characters are fashioned as though Woody Allen had created a TV show and populated it with his alter egos. Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer are unremarkable, tedious wastes of space with literally nothing to recommend them. They are not funny, they are not interesting, they are not intelligent. What they are is criminally self-absorbed sociopaths who feel that everyone else that enters their universe is somehow beneath them and worthy of contempt.

Jerry is a stand-up comedian, but the bits presented on the show are amazing in how astoundingly unfunny they are. The comedy revolves around him usually asking a dull question in a high-pitched nasal voice. There is no build-up and no punchline, yet the audience laughs like Richard Pryor was under their seat. He is unattractive, wimpy and aggravating, but literally seems to believe that he is god's gift to comedy and no one disagrees with this mistaken viewpoint. The man has no acting range, so it is no surprise that he literally has been unable to play any character not modeled on himself.

The remainder of the cast is a bit better, but stuck with unappealing characters. Julia Louis-Dreyfus probably comes off best because Elaine actually could exist in the real world and could conceivably hold a job. She is a bit less abrasive than her male co-horts. Her main focus is that she cannot find "the right man". Unfortunately it never occurs to her that her crummy attitude and the company she keeps may be the problem.

George - as played by the overrated Jason Alexander - is a sorry sad sack who literally has meltdowns over nothing. His neuroses have neuroses and 5 minutes alone with him is too much - never mind wanting to spend a whole episode focused on him. He is shallow, unlikable, disgusting, duplicitous and ugly inside - saddled with parents that are even worse than he is. Somehow he has a cushy job that requires him to do nothing and manages to steadily date beautiful women completely out of his range, developments completely inexplicable to the sane.

The final component is the zany neighbor Kramer - played by the notorious Michael Richards. Kramer is the kind of person that would cause anyone to call security and have him thrown out. He ostensibly has no job, but can afford to live across the hall in NYC. When he enters any scene, the canned laughter is cranked to deafening levels. He shows up at various functions and hoity toity things and his immaturity and grossness is somehow confused for brilliance.

The characters end the series run as they started. Which would not be a problem if they were remotely appealing at the start. Instead you waste multiple seasons watching a gaggle of self-impressed, deluded, obnoxious narcissists who seemingly believe they are gods and the rest of the world is detritus, as they insult and look down their noses on guest stars who are far more interesting, funny and worthwhile than any of the leads.

I recently caught Seinfeld on a show telling jokes. There was nary a funny one and when there was barely titters from the audience, he went on to berate them for not recognizing what is funny and that it must be political correctness causing the problem. I do not think comedy needs to be politically correct. It does need to be funny though and a bomb of a joke is not made funny by virtue of it leaving Seinfeld's lips. Even comedic legends will recognize they can have material that bombs, only Seinfeld (and his fans) are deluded enough to believe that if he bombs, it must solely be the audience's fault.

The Snoop Sisters (1972–1974)

Too soon gone, but in the rediscovery process

[9/10 · 2 September 2021]

I remember watching this show as a wee tot with my grandfather and it stayed with me for decades. Rediscovered it a few years ago on DVD and shared the experience with my mother shortly before her passing. She had never seen them and loved them as much as I did.

The Snoop Sisters was part of the rotating wheel of mystery movies that aired on Wednesdays along with Banacek, Tenafly and a few others. Despite being the most critically acclaimed of this lot and with both lead actresses snagging Emmy nominations (with one of them winning), only Banacek featuring a humorless George Peppard was chosen to continue.

The Snoop Sisters are Ernesta and Gwendolyn ("G"), played by the First Lady of the Stage Helen Hayes and the glorious Mildred Natwick. Ernesta is a bestselling mystery writer and Gwendolyn functions as her assistant. Both of them end up embroiling themselves in various murder mysteries, much to the consternation of their police detective nephew Bert Convy and frazzled chauffeur Lou Antonio.

The show is actually ahead of its time and was obviously the precursor for the later success of Murder She Wrote. Hayes and Natwick have a sparkling chemistry and every moment with them is a delight. The steady roster of stars from the Golden Age making guest appearances - including Walter Pidgeon, Geraldine Page, Vincent Price, Paulette Goddard, Jill Clayburgh, Art Carney, etc. - is also a plus.

I am a sucker for shows which feature older people who have a zest for life and don't act like the grim reaper is perched on their shoulder. Watching Hayes and Natwick banter, run scams, outwit murderers and keep ahead of the police is wonderful. Their light touch with the comedy and the precise plots are highlights.

A show in definite need of rediscovery. Most people have never heard of it, but those that do invariably think highly of it.

The Sunshine Boys (I) (1975)

Matthau is excruciating and torpedos the whole project

[4/10 · 6 March 2021]

Ex-Vaudeville sensation Walter Matthau spends his days ruining auditions, driving his agent/nephew Richard Benjamin to distraction and making life distinctly unpleasant for anyone who entered his orbit. A chance comes to appear on a variety show celebrating comedy throughout the ages, but only if Matthau reunites with his former partner, George Burns, who he has not spoken to for decades.

When they say they don't make 'em like they used to, in this case it is a blessing. I am hard-pressed to think of any other playwrights/screenwriters whose material has aged as badly as Neil Simon. When Simon penned the script for The Marrying Man, Kim Basinger was derided by the press for being astounded at how unfunny the screenplay was... until people actually saw the product and realized she was correct. Even Simon's best material seems positively dated and comes off as either an interesting time capsule, a quaint bit of inoffensive candy or a complete dud. The Sunshine Boys is the latter.

Director Herbert Ross does little to open up the show from its stage origins, so there is little cinematic about it. Much of the action unfolds in Matthau's cluttered claustrophobic apartment. Everyone keep mentioning what comedic legends Matthau and Burns were as a duo, but we never get to see it or experience it. Their one rehearsal never gets off the ground to give us a taste of anything. When they finally get before the cameras, what little we see is a stale unfunny doctor's sketch complete with a busty nurse that is constantly interrupted by Matthau's tantrums. We never get to see any kind of indication of why these former partners were purportedly so funny and that is a real problem.

Worse, Matthau's performance is excruciating. He does nothing to make his character likable or even caustically amusing. He is just a deplorable, unappealing wretch who thrives on making everyone around him miserable. He deliberately botches his auditions by refusing to learn the lines, not taking direction, driving the producers and his nephew crazy, being mean and hateful, and then acting stunned when no one wants to work with him. He relentlessly browbeats his nephew and derides his efforts to get him much needed work, he deliberately gets the names wrong of his family members, he blames everyone else for his own stupidity and errors, acts like a bigot with the Latino doorman, insults the black nurse that has done nothing to deserve it, and threatens Burns with a butcher knife. It is a hammy, uncontrolled dreadful performance pitched to the high heavens without an ounce of subtlety and no indication of genuine humor, much less warmth. Matthau genuinely seems to detest Burns here and there is no character arc where that changes at any point. Then again, Matthau's character seems to actively detest the human race.

Benjamin apparently is inspired by Matthau because he elevates his own manic overacting to the stratosphere as well. Benjamin was rarely if ever restrained in much of anything and sympathy is certainly on his side here as the beleaguered nephew/agent, but he ends up being as aggravating in his own right as Matthau.

Conversely, the film's one bright spot is Burns. Burns was never previously given much credit as a performer - looked upon primarily as being a straight man for the comedic talents of his wife Gracie Allen. Here Burns is a like an island of calm in a see of raging crap. Where Matthau is nasty and excruciating, Burns is laid back and droll. We could easily see Burns as a Vaudeville legend, but it is impossible to see him as a partner for Matthau. Burns comes off as a real professional and we can understand why he would retire early to escape from Matthau's one man wrecking ball. The film would have functioned better with Burns as the main character, but he arrives over 30 minutes in, allowing Matthau enough time to poison the well of the film.

Mary Reilly (1996)

Tedious spin on Jekyll & Hyde

[4/10 · 1 February 2021]

Given the strength and popularity of the Jekyll & Hyde story, we were well overdue for an updated version when 1996 provided Mary Reilly. Based on Valerie Martin's Gothic-themed novel centering on a chambermaid in the home of Dr. Jekyll and her observances, the film was initially to be directed by Tim Burton and starring Julia Roberts. That would have been a combination worth seeing, as even Burton's misfires usually have something to recommend them as an interesting watch. Alas Burton dropped out early on and was replaced by Dangerous Liaisons director Stephen Frears, who apparently knows very little about suspense.

Roberts portrays the title character, a dour Irish chambermaid to Dr. Jekyll (John Malkovich), whose physical scars and timid presence provide proof positive of her abuse at the hands of her drunken father (Michael Gambon) in her girlhood. Jekyll strikes up a friendship with the girl and later, his alter ego, Mr. Hyde becomes entranced by the girl's tenacity of spirit and innocence maintained in the presence of evil done to her.

The film is a curio, but it is also slow-moving, uneven and not especially scary or suspenseful. There is a decent amount of atmosphere, but after a while the film cannot subsist on that alone. There is a really bizarre and uncomfortable opening sequence with a writhing eel.

Mary is such a passive person that it is unclear why the film should be told from her point-of-view or why she should be the main character. Having said that, despite her thin vanishing Irish accent, Roberts is actually solid in a change of pace role. Better than critics at the time would have one believe. Roberts immerses herself in the part - for better of worse considering that this cannot be cited as a showcase for anyone - and limns a mildly interesting portrait of a lower class woman in limited circumstances who must learn to live with the abuse she witnesses in the world around her. To her credit, she does not come across as modern and fits into the era fairly well.

The supporting cast is adequate, although most are given nothing to do. Glenn Close shows up to inject some brief life into the proceedings as a madame who tries to blackmail Jekyll/Hyde, but she is not in the film near enough to rescue it.

And now the film's fatal flaw. Any Jekyll & Hyde story needs to have a fascinating Jekyll & Hyde. Fredric March's Oscar-winning turn in the part in 1932 is the pinnacle, but arguments can be made for both John Barrymore and Spencer Tracy in their incarnations. Here John Malkovich seems to have fallen asleep at the wheel. Neither Jekyll nor Hyde is particularly well done. Malkovich does not even strive for an English accent, giving a throaty Atlantic tone. Worst of all, there is literally no physical difference between his Jekyll and Hyde. His Jekyll and Hyde are physical doppelgangers and sport the exact same mannerisms and vocal inflections. He does nothing to distinguish them as completely polar opposite characters.

This is a real problem and causes any credibility that the film strives towards to crash down. Every single member of Jekyll's staff should know immediately who Mr. Hyde is when they see him because there are virtually no differences in their presentations. At the very least, they should think they are brothers or some close relations. So when someone reacts aghast with the "who could have known!" response, it engenders hilarity and screeches the film to a halt.

Anyone interested in seeing a decent Jekyll & Hyde should seek out the 1932 version. Anyone looking for more interesting work from either Roberts or Malkovich has a pretty wide field.

Mama's Family (1983–1990)

Great underrated lowbrow humor

[7/10 · 5 December 2020]

When Carol Burnett, Vicki Lawrence and Harvey Korman took the stage for a skit on The Carol Burnett Show, which cast them as the shrill oddly sympathetic Eunice, her dragon mama Thelma and her dim-witted husband Ed, a success was born. They were rolled off into a variety of follow-up skits affectionately known as "The Family". One thing did become clear though. There was no in-between with viewers - you either loved these skits or hated them. As a kid I usually turned out, but as an adult I find them remarkably clever and funny. In a sense, it should have been a no brainer to run the family off into their own show. This ultimately happened with the arrival in the 1980s of Mama's Family, with Lawrence's Thelma obviously being the focal point, and slightly more toned down from her dragon demeanor in the skits. The show lasted for two seasons on NBC. It was both popular and a ratings hit, but critically drubbed and NBC took a lot of heat for airing a straight-forward comedy with lowbrow humor and slapstick in the age of The Cosby Show and Family Ties where such were frowned upon, so it got the axe at the end of the second season. Syndication not having those worries, snatched the show up where it played for another four seasons, albeit with a smaller cast of characters.

The early seasons focus on Mama coping with the return of ne'er-do-well son Vint (Ken Berry) and his two teenage kids Buzz and Sonya (Eric Brown and Karin Argoud), who unexpectedly move in after Vint's wife abandons them to become a Las Vegas showgirl. This does not sit well with either Mama or her prissy sister Fran (Rue McClanahan) who rents one of the upstairs bedrooms. Much of the comedy centers on the crowded house and the divisive personalities rubbing up against each other. A rotating cast of recurring guest appearances include the always welcome Carol Burnett as the disastrous Eunice, Harvey Korman as the still dim-witted Ed, and Betty White as snooty eldest daughter Ellen. Dorothy Lyman started out as Thelma's sassy next door neighbor Naomi, but soon thereafter moved in as well after a whirlwind romance and marriage to Vint.

The show was far from perfect, but it knew how to milk a good laugh and by and large the cast was quite good. Lawrence knew this was her moment to strut her stuff and she did just that - throwing herself into the verbal one-liners, the slapstick and the insults with panache. Mama could be an old bat in her own right, but watching her call out fools or stick a pin in the pretentious was worth it. Lyman definitely tackled her role with aplomb as well, playing up Naomi's fascination with sex and holding her own more often than not against Mama and her daughters. Berry manages to make stupidity endearing as the chronic lovable loser Vint. I actually enjoyed McClanahan as Fran, but it seemed they never really gave her enough to do. Similarly, I am uncertain that Vint really needed two kids here. Brown is appealing and obviously included to win over teenage girls, but Argoud's silly Valley Girl-type shtick more often than not grinds the flow to a halt. She is not funny nor is she a "straight man", so the show would have functioned better without her. Burnett, Korman and White always seemed to be having a blast on their visits, so said visits were always welcome.

After the move to syndication, the show changed in some meaningful ways. Obviously the budget went down and several cast members were lost. Season 3 opens with the death of Fran (thus allowing McClanahan to go on and make TV history in The Golden Girls). Buzz and Sonya were briefly commented on and then completely forgotten altogether. Mama, Vint and Naomi were still on board, but now added to the mix was Beverly Archer as Mama's best friend and across the street neighbor Iola, a spinster with a crush on Vint forever waiting on her unseen demanding parents. Allan Kayser also arrived as Eunice's errant son Bubba fresh out of juvie hall and abandoned on Mama's doorstep. Archer was obviously included for the similarity with McClanahan's character, but in truth Archer has it better here. She gets a lot of comedic bits and subplots that were never gifted to McClanahan. I find her a charming addition to the cast and adore her trademark high-pitched "Knock Knock" as she constantly barges through the front door.

Much like Brown, Kayser is very appealing - perhaps too much so. The skits and the prior episodes made the never seen but often discussed Bubba seem like a mischievous monster, but we see none of that here in either the writing or the performance. Despite having purportedly exited juvenile hall, Kayser comes off as an all-American nice guy boy next door type. Unlike Brown though, the writers do funnel a good amount of comedic material over his way and incorporate him into the plots better. He is obviously on hand to appeal to young girls (and truly if those jeans were any tighter we could tell what religion he was), but he is no bystander floating on his looks. He does have a nice chemistry with Lawrence and can hold his own in the comical moments.

The other major changes in syndication are that the characters got a bit more exaggerated. Vint got monumentally stupid and Naomi's flooziness was accentuated. Neither of which proved to be much of a detraction for the show in general. Truthfully, I would love to have seen the show go on for a few more seasons. Sadly, only Betty White made a token appearance. We never did get to see any more of Burnett or Korman.

Oddly, despite its rating, viewer popularity and success in syndication, Mama's Family is still bullied as some kind of underwhelming aberration, with high-minded critics knocking it to this day. However, the comedy on the show in reruns still works because they knew what was funny and went for it, and did not ever let the show get bogged down in treacle. And truthfully, I think there are a lot of families that find more in common with the volatile and verbose Harpers than they ever did with the staid calm Huxtables, Keatons or Seavers that dominated the 1980s sitcoms. Honestly, knowing what we now know about Bill Cosby, the much ballyhooed Cosby Show that was declared the pinnacle of sitcom TV for decades has been rendered all but unwatchable. No, you keep those other families. I will stick with returning to the company of the Harpers.

The Ice Storm (1997)

Cold and condescending

[4/10 · 5 December 2020]

The Ice Storm was one of those films that really flew under the radar on its release. Critics invented superlatives to describe it and the direction of wonderboy Ang Lee, particularly over-stressing how a Taiwan-born director could have such insight into the psyches of middle class suburban Americans of the 1970s. The movie-going public gave it a pass and to the surprise of many - so did the awards season voters. It is not hard to see why.

Set in 1973 Connecticut, the meandering subplots follow around the members of two families - the Hoods and the Carvers. Kevin Kline, Joan Allen, Christina Ricci and Tobey Maguire are the focal Hoods, with Jamey Sheridan, Sigourney Weaver, Elijah Wood and Adam Hann-Byrd as the supporting Carvers. The houses are well-manicured and well-appointed and everyone is so very well to do, but the old trope of beneath the surface lies the rot is front and center. Everyone seems to be suffering from some psychosis, chronic indifference or unhealthy compulsion. Kline is rather pathetic ignoring his attention-starved wife Allen to lust after the free-wheeling swinging Weaver, who obviously does not reciprocate his feelings. Ricci is a casual shoplifter, whose view on life and the adults in it are monstrously matter-of-fact. Allen comes off as pathetic as Kline - ultimately willing to cast off her conservative cloak and dabble in anything to generate some real passion or feeling. Maguire seems fairly well-adjusted, but he cannot wait to ditch his family to train into New York to try to have it off with sexy school mate Katie Holmes. Wood and Hann-Byrd both come off as complete mental cases so blatantly obvious that the people around them must be blind not to notice. Everything comes to a head over Thanksgiving weekend with the arrival of the titular Ice Storm that ends in predictable tragedy.

I am uncertain why this film has garnered such raves unless it is from people who thrive on watching others be miserable. The characters are all emotionally empty, wallowing in their own self-induced misery, and the film holds the viewer at arm's length. Everything unfolds with such a cold feeling that it is near impossible to find a middle ground for empathizing with these people. For all of the hype heaped on Lee for his miraculous "understanding" of suburban want of the 1970s, I find just the opposite to be true. Both the material and the direction hold these characters out as objects for dispassionate study. More often then not, the approach makes the film feel icy in its own right, while it alternately patronizes and condescends towards the people at its core.

Performances run the gamut. Some of the actors have apparently been instructed to restrain themselves to such an extent as to seem walking stiffs. As such, I do not find the normally reliable Kline and Allen very enticing here. Sheridan does elicit some degree of sympathy, but he gets the least screen time of the adult main characters. Oddly, Weaver who is given very little to work with other than to play the notes of an exotic suburban sexpot comes off more memorable than her co-stars that are handed meatier moments. Ricci demonstrates why she was the go-to gal for disaffected young women. The overpraised Maguire makes nary an impression at all. The performances of Wood and Hann-Byrd are so similar that it becomes difficult to differentiate them after a while.

The film clocks in at slightly under two hours, but feels double that length. Truthfully, Maguire and his entire pointless subplot could have been excised without the film being impacted in the slightest. It literally brings nothing to the table. This may have opened up more time for Lee and the actors to make their characters ones worth caring about, because that certainly does not happen in the finished product. And the whole kids must be punished for the sins of their parents routine was an old meme that should have been mothballed long before this film. It does not have either the shock value or the insight that the filmmakers seem to feel it does here.

It is ironic that The Ice Storm is set during the Thanksgiving season because it shares so much with the Thanksgiving gatherings from hell. All of the ingredients are there for success, but then you ultimately realize how glad you are not see your extended family too often and are more than happy when the whole ordeal is over and you can exit. I found nothing exciting, insightful or emotionally compelling about the film or the characters that inhabit it. I was all too happy for it to be over so I could move on.

The Gun in Betty Lou's Handbag (1992)

Not even good enough for straight to video

[1/10 · 29 November 2020]

Oh my God! Almost thirty years after seeing this crapper in theaters and I still remember its awfulness. Timid librarian Penelope Ann Miller (the Betty Lou of the title) is literally a background player in her own life. Her police officer husband Eric Thal barely notices her and the world at large takes her for granted. After a gangland slaying, she stumbles across the murder weapon and tries to turn it in to the police, but swiftly gets ignored and railroaded out by her idiot husband and his colleagues. After firing off the gun in a restroom, she gets taken in to custody and claims to be the murderer, resulting in her luxuriating in the newfound attention being heaped on her.

This is definitely the type of film that should have gone straight to video or ended up on cable without stopping in the theater. This must have been a painfully slow movie weekend that this flotsam generated a cinematic opening. Even worse, I have no idea why half the recognizable people in this cast are squandering their talents here. Cathy Moriarty was slowly being relegated to bad comedy support, but Alfre Woodward, Catherine Keener, Julianne Moore? What the heck?!

No doubt Miller thought it would be something to carry her own comedy, but she should have chosen better. Betty Lou alternates between a forgettable mouse and a woefully wrong-headed moron. Miller has been much better elsewhere.

The comedy is nonexistent. It is 1992 and the film still thinks it is funny that when Woodard as Betty Lou's attorney introduces herself with "Ms." that all of the men in the room give each other a look like she is "one of those". The serious and rather violent final act of the film does really help matters either.

A good deal of the problem is that Betty Lou engages in this obstruction of justice or media circus in order to snatch the respect being denied her by her husband and the world in general. Alas, we have no understanding how Betty Lou and her husband ended up married at all. Betty Lou is tragically colorless and uninteresting, Thal's husband is a boorish overbearing buffoon. Worse, he and his colleagues do not seem to have a handful of brain cells to rub between them and could not solve the easiest crossword puzzle. The two leads have literally no chemistry, so it is hard to become engaged in this chicanery. Perhaps if the filmmakers had gotten Thal naked as the makers of The Puppet Masters wisely did, we might better understand Betty Lou's attraction to him.

The whole production is just a boring, lifeless and tonally absurd mess. I would say catch it at your own risk, but I don't think even late night cable resurrects this wayward zombie.

Hello Again (1987)

Films like this sunk Long's career

[2/10 · 29 November 2020]

Back in the 1980s, I was actually a fan of Shelley Long. She was a terrific co-lead on Cheers and her pairing with Bette Midler in the comedy Outrageous Fortune was pure magic. I even found her appealing opposite Tom Hanks in the severely flawed The Money Pit. Alas, when she chose to headline comedies on her own, the results were disastrous starting with this labored effort.

Long is cast as ditzy suburban housewife Lucy Chapman, married to doctor Corbin Bernsen and best friends with well-to-do Sela Ward. When Lucy tragically chokes to death, her medium sister Judith Ivey brings her back to life on the one year anniversary of her death and chaos ensues.

Where to begin! First, perhaps a dark comedy could get away with opening with the tragic death of the lead character, but Hello Again is not a dark comedy. In fact, it is a pretty lackluster comedy in its best moments. Writer Susan Isaacs and director Frank Perry have done far better elsewhere (Compromising Positions jumps immediately to mind), so it is shocking how bad this film actually becomes.

Even within the parameters of a slight comedy, the bizarre nature of the story and the completely incomprehensible actions of those involved strain credulity. A woman returning from the dead one year later should be a monumental moment, but Lucy's relations and acquaintances treat it is a mild curiosity or an annoyance. Huh? When her sister brings her back, Lucy materializes in her funeral attire in a cemetery. She refuses to believe her sister and rambles on about nonsensical foolishness, never bothering to question how she ended up there. The scene where she returns home and discovers that Bernsen has married Ward is badly staged and goes on forever. And making Lucy a klutz to get cheap laughs is an easy out that becomes tiresome quickly.

It would have been nice to be surprised by Bernsen and Ward being married, but Long and Bernsen demonstrated no chemistry at all. Really, you do not understand from frame one why these people are married. And seriously, Bernsen and Ward could not even wait a year to get married?

With Bernsen obviously not a romantic interest here, the plot haphazardly shoes in Gabriel Byrne as the emergency room doctor who tried to save Long and then becomes involved with her later. Ivey conveys midway through that Long can only remain on earth if she finds her soul mate. Why? How does she know this? The revelation is thrown out of left field, so naturally we know that Byrne will be the one. Sadly, Long has as much chemistry with him as with Bernsen.

The cast is filled with familiar faces, all of who have had better days elsewhere. Ward is on auto-pilot playing a woman that seems a decent friend but then has to be turned into a cardboard villain...just because. Bernsen is dreadful demonstrating the sex appeal and energy of a rock on Prozac. Byrne looks like he would rather be elsewhere. Even normally reliable performers like Ivey and Carrie Nye are hard put to do anything with the ragged material.

The whole ghastly ordeal ends with a dinner party that has Long trying to trip up Ward with one of the most transparently fake conceits imaginable, snagging her dull soul mate, and then presenting one of the most lackluster cake gets dumped on nasty party guests sequences ever committed to film. If you are a Long fan, you would do well to seek out repeats of Cheers instead.

Berserk (1967)

Not as bad as some would have it, but still campy

[6/10 · 18 November 2020]

Joan Crawford's next to last film (prior to the lamentable Trog) is this campy murder spree set in a British circus. Crawford is owner/ringmaster Monica Rivers, whose headlining acts start being bumped off, starting with a high wire artist whose line is improbably severed and then winds around his neck to hang him in the opening moments.

Crawford, showing the warmth of a python, immediately revels in the notoriety that the death has brought to her circus with sell out crowds and wastes no time hiring Ty Hardin as a new high wire act. Of course, the deaths continue. Who is responsible? Is it Crawford? Harden? Vampy magician's assistant Diana Dors, who seems to be the only person willing to take on Crawford? Michael Gough as Joan's cuckolded partner/lover? Judy Geeson as her chirpy teenage daughter? Or one of the other circus performers?

The film actually looks great and seems a cut above the usual in this genre. The circus milieu is credibly enough recreated to provide atmosphere and the direction moves things along at a robust clip. Every time one of the circus performers enter the ring to perform a death defying act there is some degree of suspense as to whether it will be their last. My only complaint is that the extras that function as audience members seem oddly sedate given the acts and the murder spree.

I am admittedly not the biggest Crawford fan, but she is actually quite solid here. She is cool enough to be a suspect and other times frazzled enough to seem a potential victim. Although she has great gams showcased in her ringmaster outfit, it is disconcerting to see her paired with an obviously much younger love interest and looking ghastly by comparison in unflattering negligees and dim lighting that still cannot mask her age.

Truthfully, the film may have been better if we had more sympathy for some of the characters. Crawford is a professional through and through, but sympathy is not her forte. Dors is fun as the brazen hussy determined to prove Crawford is behind the murders, but she is a bit too hard-edged. Gough is not around to make much impression as Crawford's partner and his death, which requires precognitive abilities for the murderer, is highly improbable. Robert Hardy is mildly amusing as the ineffectual Scotland Yard detective assigned to investigate. Geeson strangely seems to be channeling Hayley Mills at her most wholesome.

Hardin, as the new circus performer and Crawford's laughable love interest, is oddly off-putting from the start. They have done some strange thing with lightening/graying his hair to make him seem age appropriate for Crawford - it does not work. Hardin spends much of the film puzzlingly glaring daggers at people for no apparent reason and comes off as obnoxious. I will not deny that there is initially an odd appeal in the lengthy amounts of time he spends shirtless, until you realize that he is already starting to get a bit soft making him highly unlikely as a high wire artist garbed in revealing outfits.

The conclusion is less a surprise than it is typical of some of Crawford's films where the same type of character always seems to be the perpetrator allowing for Crawford to have a suitable meltdown for major acting props. Still and all, I have seen far worse and the film functions better than just a curiosity piece.

Halloween (I) (2018)

Despite the rave reviews, there are things that work and things that don't

[6/10 · 8 November 2020]

Much like Friday the 13th, Halloween seems to be a franchise that will not die and keeps rebooting itself in various ways. John Carpenter's original, which premiered in 1978, and introduced the world to both the unstoppable Michael Myers and the now legendary Jamie Lee Curtis, is a classic for good reason. Watching it now decades later, one can still marvel over the mood, the atmosphere, the creepiness and the genuine investment that one has with the characters on the screen.

Alas, the myriad sequels seemed completely at sea as to what made the original so memorable and compelling. Halloween II degenerated into an assembly line gorefest with Curtis given the thankless task of being drugged into a stupor for its running time. Halloween III did not even have any relation to the prior films. The subsequent Halloweens 4 through 3000 are complete trash, including the misguided remakes from Rod Zombie. Curtis was coaxed out of retirement from the franchise in 1998 for a 20 years sequel, which boasts a terrific cast, her great lead performance and enough charm, atmosphere and clever touches to bring it the closest to the original. It also treated films 3 onward as though they never existed (not a bad idea). Alas H20 was followed by one of the more rubbishy sequels.

Now we get this latest effort, which again erases the timeline from the end of the original film onward and starts over. This film now tells us that Michael was caught just a few blocks away after being shot by Dr. Loomis and was returned to his institution ever since. Surviving victim Curtis has dealt with PTSD and stress by living in seclusion, training for the day when she knows Michael will escape, and turning her property into a booby trap. Naturally, while being transported with his latest psychiatrist (Hiluk Bilginer) and a few other patients, the bus has an accident and Michael is on his way to Haddonfield to wreak havoc.

There are a number of things that work here and a number that misfire, which makes some of the feverish raves from critics that should know better puzzling. Obviously the film's best asset is Curtis, who turns in a multi-faceted and fascinating turn as Laurie. Laurie is looked on by others with a mixture of pity and annoyance with her almost single-minded obsession with protection. She is tough and unyielding, but definitely loves her semi-estranged daughter Judy Greer and granddaughter Andi Matichak.

Given that this picks up after the original Halloween, this means that the hoary old cliche of Laurie being Myers' sister is mercifully scrapped. Unfortunately, the screenplay is juggling too many balls. We have Michael's escape and reign of terror, the psychiatrist teaming with the local sheriff Will Patton to find him, Laurie's story, Greer's reluctance to be drawn into her mother's world again, and Matichak's subplot on hanging out with her friends unaware of the hell about to break loose. This does not leave an abundance of time to spend on much. Whereas in the first Halloween, we got to know the potential victims well before Michael had his spree. Here, we have been barely introduced to them before they are killed, so the kills have limited impact. And given that Myers has no reason to focus in on Matichak or her friends, it seems a striking coincidence that he just happens to land on them.

Director David Gordon Green lacks John Carpenter's ability to convey atmosphere or tension. For all of the success achieved with the main role, the film is just not scary. There is one adequate sequence with a security light and Michael edging closer to a victim, but otherwise not much else. There are too many scenes of Michael robotically marching into stranger's homes and murdering them in plain sight with no build-up. It is dull rather than scary.

Ditto, the whole subplot about Myers and his oddball psychiatrist should have been scrapped. Bilginer seems a weirdo from the start, so his actions later in the film are less surprising than a foregone conclusion. We hope the film is not going there, but it does. Then again, Myers has no reason to end up at Laurie's booby-trapped home for the climax, so the script needs to conspire contrivances to make it happen.

While Curtis carries much of the burden of the film, Greer is also strong, if strangely underused. Matichak also does well and Patton is solid as the sheriff. The less said about Bilginer, the better. The Strode women definitely have men issues. We never know anything about Laurie's former spouses, but Matichak is stuck with the charmless weedy Dylan Arnold, who somehow escapes the action by being a two-faced snot. Worst casting is definitely Toby Huss as Greer's husband. Although only a bit older than Greer he looks and acts like he would be better suited playing her dad. At first we think the character is comic relief, but then it becomes apparent it is sketchy writing and bad acting. We cannot believe for one moment that Greer would be married to him or that he spawned Matichak. His character is a complete irredeemable moron and it says something that when he and Michael predictably cross paths and tragedy strikes that literally no one in the film gives him a moment's thought.

The climax is pretty well done and elevates the film. Curtis, Greer and Matichak all handle themselves admirably and it is interesting watching their changing dynamics in these moments. Of course, these are the three characters we are invested in, so there is the rooting interest missing earlier in the film when Michael meanders around town offing unknowns. Still, I really miss the creepiness of the original film which is no where to be found here. Truthfully, I think H20 gave Curtis a strong showcase as well and worked better than what plays out here. Naturally, the ending leaves room for the inevitable sequel(s).

The Hospital (1971)

Pitch black cynical satire that ends up being too true

[7/10 · 27 September 2020]

Pitch black cynical exploration into the state of Medicine in the US set at an overburdened New York City hospital. The central character is Dr. Bock, played by George C. Scott. Bock is a good doctor and was once idealistic about the changes that he could accomplish, but has been sanded down into a middle-aged wreck. His long unhappy marriage has finally ended in divorce, he is estranged from his children, he suffers from depression and suicidal thoughts, and the hospital that he has dedicated his life is an unmitigated disaster more likely to kill the patient and then cure them. The local community is in an uproar because the hospital is throwing poor families out of their tenement building to erect a drug addiction rehab, Vietnam and social issues are tearing apart the country, and someone is stalking the hospital corridors murdering staff in ingenious ways.

Several years later screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky would present Network, another cynical dark satire foreseeing where the state that network news would be going unless we were vigilant. It is with grave horror that one realizes that the prescient Chayefsky was envisioning the formation of the future Fox News Channel and its toxicity, so Network ends up being less satire than warning. The same holds true here. Chayefsky sees Medicine of the early 70s as a dehumanizing goliath slavishly following the almighty dollar and where greed is rewarded over patient care, with the patients coming out with the short end of the stick. Staff is overwhelmed, overworked, undertrained, often incompetent, but no one gives enough of a damn to do anything. Everyone is harried, upset, angry, frustrated, or so looking out for themselves that saving anyone is not even important. Again, Chayefsky foresees the US medical establishment as it transformed in the 80s-90s into the for profit only greed machine that disenfranchised and takes shoddy care of anyone who cannot afford to shell out fo rthe creme de la creme (and even that may be compromised).

The film is filled with amusing and disturbing moments. The fact that no one in the hospital seems too concerned about their staff dropping off like flies to start. An exchange between a group of nurses when one discovers a young intern naked and dead in a hospital bed is priceless. The fact that the killer is ostensibly punishing the medical establishment by making the staff patients in their own hospital and allowing the chronic miscommunications and ineptness to do them in is telling.

Scott is typically aces in the lead role. His anger, his frustration and his desperation are palpable. He has some nice moments with Diana Rigg, as the daughter of a comatose patient and another victim of the hospital incompetence, but their relationship starts out disturbing and it takes a pretty mammoth leap to believe that they fall in love and have tender feelings after moments. It is particularly disturbing that after an insightful tete-a-tete that Rigg returns to prevent Scott's attempted suicide and he instead sexually assaults her, and she is so laid-back about the experience that she spends the night with him and then conjures up a future of marriage and kids with him. One could only get away with such foolishness pre-90s. For her part Rigg is lovely as the off-beat young woman into shamanism who believes in anything and everything, although one could observe that she seems a tad sophisticated. The remainder of the cast have some small moments to shine, especially Nancy Marchand's weary head of nursing, Frances Sternhagen's officious billing assistant who harasses patients for their insurance while they writhe in agony or death throes, and Barnard Hughes in a dual role as a frantic doctor and Rigg's comatose dad.

Unfortunately, as dark, cynical and uncompromising as the film is, it seems pale compared to the godawful state of modern US Medicine. If anything, Chayefsky did not foresee how far the medical establishment would go to make a buck. I should know - I worked in it for a decade and spent even more time seeing it from the patient's end with ill parents and grandparents. It is a disaster. If only audiences of 1971 were to take this film's forecast with more seriousness.