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Reviews
Cruel Train (1995)
Tactless, forced, forthright, sloppy - this isn't very good
Maybe we can attribute failings to the title's nature as a TV movie; though there are exceptions, that medium has a poor history when it comes to full-length presentations. Maybe producer Mervyn Gill-Dougherty is to blame, or filmmaker Malcolm McKay; there are some notable stars here, and I know what they're capable of, but these two figures are not known to me, and maybe their vision was flawed, or they were just incapable. Wherever the fault lies, by the time even just fifteen minutes have passed we're given two notable scenes that are tawdrily forceful and forthright, impacting too much in turn. That includes McKay's direction, first and foremost, but also the editing, the dialogue and scene writing, subsequently the story at large, and even the acting of so esteemed an actor as David Suchet, and co-stars Saskia Reeves and Adrian Dunbar. No, not every scene is so troubled, and other parts of the picture are more suitable. Yet 'Cruel train' doesn't get off to a good start, its strength is otherwise rather variable, and the same weaknesses rear their heads again and again.
Gawkily tactless and blunt at too many times, in too many ways, the adaptation to the screen of a fine root narrative becomes messy in execution, and not particularly engaging. There are some nice, subtle touches here and there, sure, and some more nuanced instances of acting; on the other hand, sometimes the flick isn't nearly as clever as it often thinks itself to be, and there are even moments that inspire unintended, mocking laughter. For good measure, factor in some gratuitous nudity, and character writing that in and of itself is less than fully convincing. Nick Bicât's score is okay, but repetitive as it is used here. Even as the plot does actually progress, McKay's direction somewhat flattens the plot development such that the tale at large also comes across as flat and middling.
There was potential in this feature, but too many elements show tiresome flaws that significantly diminish its lasting value. Why, there is no element that is consistent enough to deserve round praise; incredibly, this grows more heavy-handed as the length draws on, and ever more questionable. What should in theory be a compelling, tragic crime drama - with complex characters, strong performances, and aching, pervasive tension - is instead flimsy, trifling, and forgettable. I quite feel bad for everyone involved. Writer and director, producer, cast, and crew members all meant well, but to be frank the end result is pretty terrible, including a final ten minutes or so that all by themselves are awful enough to flush away all but the smallest shreds of whatever credit I may have very generously assigned. I'm glad for those who get more out of 'Cruel train' than I do, but I'm not sure how they do it. In my opinion there are far too many other films in the world, far more worthy ones, to bother spending time here.
Ran (1985)
Dark, disturbing, exceptional, spellbinding
Only a fool would dispute that Kurosawa Akira is one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live; to date I've managed to watch only a fraction of his oeuvre, and two-thirds of those I would readily suggest deserve to be named among the greatest films ever made. We expect much of the man, as he clearly expected much of himself, and to the extent that there is ever a difference in quality from one feature to the next, it's by a measure only of small degrees and personal preference. With its deliberate, careful plot development and somewhat more restrained tone 'Ran' is not so immediately grabbing as some of Kurosawa's others; even much of the jarringly strong violence is partly washed over with choices that temper, in some tiny way, its utmost ferocity. In an equally infinitesimal sliver of moderation, even the cinematography is marginally less outwardly fetching and artistic compared to, say, 'Seven samurai,' or 'Red Beard.' And yet none of this is accidental: every move that Kurosawa made in crafting this 1985 masterpiece was meticulously calculated bolster the strength and vibrancy of every element, and of the whole. If this is in any less fashion not as instantly striking as some of its brethren, it's only so that the stunning and even outright horrifying core of the saga can resonate with all the more intensity at the psychological moments. Kurosawa proves once again, undeniably, that he was a true visionary of the medium.
This movie is stridently, disturbingly dark, a tale of pride, ambition, betrayal, growing madness, and ruin that, as the length draws on, is rendered with increasing severity and potency. In realizing that tale, every component part is altogether exquisite, if not superficially then with underhanded shrewdness. Shot in color - color that sometimes seems purposefully oversaturated, as if to reinforce the grotesqueness of the story - the filming locations are impossibly beautiful, not to mention the many hues of the impeccable costume design, hair, and makeup, themselves rather crucial to the proceedings and adding immense flavor. Yet these chromatic considerations are ultimately the most significant reprieve we viewers get from the ugliness herein, and even at that they are sometimes partly the source of it. The wonderfully detailed production design and art direction operate hand in hand with those latter facets, Kurosawa's keen shot composition and otherwise stalwart direction, and the smart cinematography of Saito Takao, Ueda Masaharu, and Nakai Asakazu to intermittently yet reliably provide no few moments of ingeniously shaped import, and even spectacle that at times feels haunting and otherworldly. The employment of many extras, scores of horses, many props and weapons, and substantial stunts and effects, particularly in big action sequences of stark, grim, explicit violence, is deeply gratifying as a viewer, and only works to further ensorcel us. All this is to say nothing of Takemitsu Toru's stupendously rich yet understated somber score, lending still more inescapable gravity to the picture; the lush, vivid sound design; or Kurosawa's own marvelously sharp editing.
Not to be outdone, the cast give firm, impressive performances befitting the epic feel of the narrative. I don't think in this instance there is any one actor who specifically stands out, not like Mifune Toshiro in many of the filmmaker's works, or Shimura Takashi in 'Ikiru'; rather, in this case the ensemble more or less seem to share equal prominence and credit for the resounding success of the entirety. It's hard to pick favorites from among Nakadai Tatsuya (Hidetora), Nezu Jinpachi (Jiro), Harada Mieko (Kaede), Igawa Hisashi (Kurogane), Yui Masayuki (Tango), or mononymic Peter (Kyoami), among all the others. From one to the next all the players give superb, dexterous performances of depth and range that rise to meet the shifting needs of the saga, and all are to be roundly congratulated. None of this would be possible, however, without the tremendous screenplay devised by Kurosawa with Oguni Hideo and Ide Masato. Most every character, even figures who in other titles we may expect to be deprioritized, are fleshed out with personality, intelligence, and complexity, and most every character has a major part to play, even if only in furthering the overwhelming dourness and tragedy. There is some splendid cleverness and weight given even to the dialogue, at times providing exposition, sometimes insights into characters, or maybe just bolstering the robust scene writing that grows to be all but visceral and harrowing as the course of events progresses. And the narrative at large, adapting William Shakespeare's 'King Lear' as a period piece of feudal Japan, is nothing less than fierce. It remains true that 'Ran' does not leap out at us from the get-go as no few of Kurosawa's other films do, but this is only so that the writing can lay the groundwork for the veritable assault on our senses and emotions that is to come. With the foundations laid, establishing the air of deceit and treachery and the initial dynamics between Hidetora and those around him, the picture can subsequently nudge the pieces into motion and let the torrid affair unfold with calamitous results.
Sometimes we can begin to form an opinion about a feature right away, whether for good or ill; sometimes more rewarding are those features that weave their magic in a more thoughtful, reserved manner as the sum total comes into focus. This feature, to my utter pleasure, counts among the latter. It cannot be overstated how gloomy and bloody this piece is, to the point that its tragedy and violence come to more closely resemble their application in the horror genre rather than those of its more plainly dramatic kin. Above all with that nature of the storytelling in mind this will not appeal to all comers. If this is no obstacle, however, then whether one is a fan of Kurosawa, or of Shakespeare, or has some other special impetus to watch - or is just looking for something good - then I cannot recommend 'Ran' highly enough. I assumed I would appreciate it, and still I'm taken aback by how incredible a viewing experience it is, and how well made and impactful. It's not a movie for the proverbial faint of heart, but as far as I'm concerned its place in the annals of cinema history is as secure as that of Kurosawa. 'Ran' is a stellar classic, and you'd be making a sore mistake if you passed on an opportunity to check it out.
Hamlet (2009)
Exceptional, spellbinding, exquisite; a masterful must-see
It wasn't the first matter to draw my attention, nor the first I intended to remark upon, but as one watches one can't help but observe that this rendition of William Shakespeare's play rearranges the story in some measure. The beginning of Act III, Hamlet's scene with Ophelia, has been moved to the middle of Act II, preceding a cheeky scene between Hamlet and Polonius (which leads into Hamlet's conversation with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, etc.). This is unexpected, but truly brilliant: following all the prior plot development, Hamlet's dismissal of Ophelia then hits extra hard as the most dour note so far, and a portent of darker things; that the mood, here, next completely reverses to provide hearty blasts of humor is a stunning shock of whiplash that keeps we viewers alert and on our toes. I assume this choice, represented in 2009's televised adaptation, flows immediately from director Gregory Doran's 2008 staging with the Royal Shakespeare Company, and I can only commend him for that choice. Mind you, even outside of such specific moments - more of this, both by order and by tone, and still other flavorful variations - Doran's direction is plainly outstanding. There is at once a meticulous precision to the arrangement and delivery of every line, movement, and performance, and to the contributions that capture the whole on film, and also a roaring vitality that makes the whole presentation feel, as much as it could, like an extemporaneous expression of emotion by the characters themselves, indivisible from the players depicting them. One assumes great things wherever The Bard is invoked, and where these actors are involved, and still this 'Hamlet' is so sharp and captivating that Doran can only be congratulated for the vision and guidance that brought it to bear.
Yet Doran's command of the production is only part of the equation, and speaking of those actors, I am so overjoyed by their work here that I feel lightheaded. I admit that there are only a couple names here that I am particularly familiar with, but the full cast is exceptional in bringing the tableau to vivid life. From those bits of wry, barbed, sardonic wit, to those of the most frivolous, cartoonish flippancy; from the tragic notes of harrowed or sorrowful drama to the most animated, invigorating emanations of anger and violence, and everywhere in between, all involved provide staggeringly strong displays of acting that are each in and of themselves raptly absorbing. Only for the fact of the time they are given in the play do some stand out above others; among the unmistakable highlights are Mariah Gale (Ophelia), Penny Downie (Gertrude), and Oliver Ford Davis (Polonius), and among those others still highly deserving themselves, Ryan Gage, Mark Hadfield, Edward Bennett, and more. Even given a supporting part as Claudius (and further doubling as the ghost of the king), Patrick Stewart wields dazzling power and presence; one wishes his role were still larger, because Stewart is such a tremendously skilled actor that he shines so even with such limits. And still, for as wonderfully impressive as all are in these three hours, demonstrating superior range, nuance, and emotional depth, calculated poise and physicality, and unfailing intelligence, in one fell swoop I've fallen in love with David Tennant. The electric fervor and boundless energy and vibrancy the Scotsman carries as Prince Hamlet, across every mood, through feigned madness, and from beginning to end, excites and inspires as a singular, superlative performance with few points of comparison amidst everything I've ever watched. It cannot be overstated how stellar Tennant proves himself to be, and by his work here alone I estimate he earns a place among all the greatest players that have ever been named.
With both director Doran and the exemplary cast doing so much to carry the weight of this picture, it remains true that everything else about it is consistent with its excellence. The sets are relatively austere, but still bring the updated setting to bear with gratifying aesthetics and mindfulness; likewise the lovely costume design, and no less the hair and makeup that really does play a critical role at some junctures. Those environmental effects that are employed are splendid as they lend to the presentation, not to mention the choreography and stunts that dovetail into Doran's instruction of the cast's flawless acting with impeccable fluidity, like a water pitcher gently poured into a stream. I especially adore Paul Englishby's music, a selection of somber themes that stick to the background but help provide definite, dreary atmosphere. Even Chris Seager's cinematography, and Tony Cranstoun's editing, seem notably smart throughout in a manner that earns a mention. But on top of all this, one must surely observe the absolute ingenuity of Shakespeare's play, written some 400 years ago. Bits and pieces of the drama are ubiquitous in popular culture to varying degrees by way of homage, reference, parody, quip, and adaptation, and I would hazard to guess that many people in the English-speaking world have had some familiarity with 'Hamlet' at one time or another, at least in its written form. To actually see this story and these words realized, however, is another matter entirely. The tale is marvelously engrossing and compelling, with awe-inspiring scene writing and carefully considered characters. The verses alone pop out with such breathtaking spirit and cleverness that I swiftly found myself swept up even merely in the poetry of the dialogue. How much of that intoxication here can be attributed to Bill Shakes, and how much to the conjuration by Doran, Tennant, and the other direct participants, I do not know, but I was totally spellbound for the entirety of the length.
What more is there to say? I can appreciate that as a matter of personal preference this will not appeal to all, and the runtime might be daunting for more casual viewers. Yet whether one admires The Bard, or someone involved in this feature, or is just looking for something good to watch, I cannot recommend Doran's 'Hamlet' highly enough. I anticipated enjoying it, and my expectations have been far, far exceeded. As far as I'm concerned this is a must-see; I'm remiss that it's taken me so long to watch, and I must urge all others to attend to it as soon as they're able. Bravo!
Ikarie XB 1 (1963)
Smartly crafted & written, an underappreciated treasure
It's usually a good sign when a picture has barely begun, with no plot yet in sight, and we as viewers have already fallen in love with it. The opening credits are still flashing on-screen and I'm already swept away by Zdenek Liska's original music, a superb mixture of forward-thinking electronics (recalling similar groundbreaking ideas in 'Forbidden planet') and some tasteful, more conventional instrumentation. While modest by modern standards, the sets of the titular space vessel are still wonderfully imaginative, and beautiful in their relative simplicity and somewhat artistic designs; much the same goes for the costume design, hair, and makeup. Jan Kalis' cinematography immediately comes across as smart, mindful, and dynamic, keeping us invested in its own right, and likewise Jindrich Polák's firm, somewhat understated direction, including some fine shot composition. Even the sound effects are splendid, helping to immerse us in the tale, and while the practical effects and sparing post-production additions show their age they still look fantastic. 'Ikarie XB-1' once again illustrates that even less sophisticated tangible creations, fabricated in a shop or studio, will always be preferable to and age better than the most advanced digital wizardry, and that sense is echoed more broadly in a title of 1963 that holds up tremendously well.
It's worth observing that the picture mostly carries itself with a decidedly soft tone as a sci-fi drama in imparting the story of humans traveling to a distant star, lightly touching upon their daily lives on the ship and personal difficulties in addition to the discrete events and phenomena they face along the way. Yet while this is fairly low-key in comparison to many of its genre brethren, contemporaries included, that bolsters the minor art film sensibilities that fill certain corners of the presentation. And even more importantly, exactly as it is the feature remains engaging, compelling, and satisfying, boasting a terrific narrative flush with detail, strokes of brilliance, and earnest, growing tension and suspense as events escalate in the last quarter. I can claim no familiarity with Stanislaw Lem's novel, but filmmaker Polák and co-writer Pavel Jurácek penned an excellent screenplay that declines utmost outward fancifulness to instead focus more on the human element of the drama - a few key kernels that subsequently allow the saga to resonate all the more, and draw out the emotional center of the astronauts' journey. This is surely Polák's achievement as director, too; the movie could have gone into a more adventure-laden, action-oriented direction, but it would have been straining to do so. Under Polák's guidance the nuance and gravity in the story become veritable tent poles, and the marvelous cast is enabled to capture these same traits in their deft performances.
It's no outright revelation, and modern viewers who have difficulty entreating with older fare won't necessarily find anything to change their minds. But from top to bottom this Czechoslovak classic is perfectly solid. Any discussion to be had concerns personal preferences, and changes over time in film-making technology and techniques and storytelling sensibilities, rather than any flaws (there are none) or questions of abject quality. I anticipated enjoying it, and I am so very pleased with just how good 'Ikarie XB-1' really is. Everything about these eighty-six minutes is strong, flavorful, and very well done, and anyone who appreciates older flicks will find much to love. As far as I'm concerned this is highly entertaining, and more impactful than I might have supposed, and I'm happy to give 'Ikarie XB-1' my very high recommendation!
Huan hua xi jian (1982)
Anticipated highlights can't overcome glaring problems
While they are hardly alone, no one in Hong Kong cinema carries a reputation quite like The Shaw Brothers. With rare exception one can rely on their features for outstanding martial arts action and gorgeous visuals, and a standard of high quality in all other regards is just a common bonus. Rest assured that with fluid, fast-paced, artistic fight choreography and stunts that first expectation is fulfilled; as we're treated to phenomenal, heavily detailed sets, costume design, hair and makeup, and some swell practical effects, the second expectation is also well met. In those ways that we anticipate most from the famed production company, 'The spirit of the sword' delivers just what we came for. Unfortunately, however, in other critical capacities this picture is far less impressive, and to be frank the viewing experience is troubled, if not also aggravating, and genuinely exhausting. I can't believe I'm saying this, but in all honesty, this is the first Shaw Brothers title I've seen that outright disappointed me.
Between the editing and even more so the direction, the pacing in these ninety minutes is untenably swift from moment to moment even in individual scenes, diminishing all possible impact of action and story alike. On paper that story has some value, yet it hamstrings itself for the fact that the antagonist to be revealed in the third act turns out to be a figure whose villainy had been indicated within the first few minutes. It's the aching dullness of kids' cartoons: "Gosh golly, who could the bad guy be behind the nefarious plot this week? The same bad guy as every other week?! Wow, no way!" Furthermore, in execution that story suffers not only from the forced pacing, but from dialogue and scene writing that poorly communicate plot development, and any details, while squashing the narrative into a length of film that is too small for it. As a result, the whole narrative just feels terribly unwieldy, reduced from suitable potential to a gawky, clumsy mess. Moreover, there are times when the dialogue and scene writing share baffling traits with too many instances of the direction and cinematography, and some practical effects: there is a flummoxing, childish simplicity, lack of sophistication, and extremely on the nose approach taken toward some odds and ends that is plainly off-putting. Despite the finesse that the movie illustrates at its best, there is an unpolished sloppiness to wide swaths of the length that almost suggests the uncareful artificiality we suppose of low-budget family-friendly fare.
How could there be such a glaring disparity between the fight choreography, and the aesthetics and visuals at large, set against woefully sloppy construction in numerous essential ways? What happened here, as compared to most anything else the company churned out? I don't think it's literally true but there comes a point where it feels like there is less action than there is dubious plot development; there definitely comes a point where the best strengths of the production no longer compensate for its weaknesses. Admittedly I couldn't pinpoint when that was, but I can say that the minutes drag by, and in all sincerity 'The spirit of the sword' feels about twice as long as it is. It's not 100% rotten, but for all the terrific features that The Shaw Brothers made, boasting the same worth this does but without its flaws, why would we want to spend time here in the first place? No doubt other folks will watch this and find it highly enjoyable; I'm sad that I sat to watch assuming the greatness I always do of so storied a production company, and step away wishing I had chosen something else to watch. Check it out if you want, I won't stop you, but as far as I'm concerned you should skip right past this and keep browsing.
The Grapes of Wrath (1940)
A stupendous, powerful, essential classic
While there are certainly exceptions, one doesn't typically look to the 40s for high quality cinema, especially not as censors' production codes neutered much storytelling and film-making. Not all pictures were so heavily subject to the whims of reactionaries, however - some distinctly scraped by in some manner - and it doesn't take long after this one begins that we recognize the enduring strength of its narrative, the infuriating, despairing relevance that it continues to have eighty years later, and the fact that it surely falls into the latter category. 'The grapes of wrath' is a story of the wealthy, powerful, and amoral exploiting hardship and desperation to set people against one another, and to selfishly reap gain wherever possible, and moreover of forsaking humanity to destroy lives instead of coming together to lift up the unfortunate and disadvantaged to mutual benefit. Of course it is also, more specifically, the story of one family persevering despite these conditions and trying to abide and survive, but it is through the lens of that particular set of characters, and their friends and acquaintances, that we see laid bare the lasting iniquity, dismissive indifference, oppressive abuse, and murderous callousness of the powers that be. Here, perhaps, is where the cinematic sensibilities of the 40s have a proverbial leg up on modern fare, for despite the dour subject matter, the feature endeavors mightily to carry itself with a warmth and hopeful optimism that maybe, just maybe, the Joad clan might make it through these dark years and come out stronger on the other side. Even as that endeavor struggles through brutality and grief, there is shrewd wisdom and and tact in the construction that helps the flick to continue to shine brightly, and to duck the ax of regressive cultural forces.
By virtue of that tale alone, Nunnally Johnson's adaptation of John Steinbeck's novel, this title is immediately grabbing, captivating, and absorbing, with both a soulful richness and an urgent message that we don't always find in the medium. Among other frames of reference, in the case of the latter I am obliquely reminded of King Vidor's 'Our daily bread,' and in the brightest instances of the former, Kurosawa Akira's 'Red Beard'; in the most grim moments, well, those comparisons are harder to come by except in daily real-life headlines. The sum total speaks resolutely to a conflict between the needy and the cruel; unthinking complicit state agents, migrants, labor movements, and individuals on all sides who leap to action for good and for ill; and those who try to help as they can: all operating within a titanic, unjust, inhumane sociopolitical and economic system that would require truly unprecedented unity and pressure to change. Vibrant scene writing, alongside the narrative at large, offers a portrait of humanity both heartfelt and dire - and as tragically, devastatingly, maddeningly relevant to the world of 2024 as to that of 1940 - and even the characters and dialogue are incredibly smart and flavorful. As 'The grapes of wrath' speaks directly to the malice of wealth and power, the value of community and collective action, and the unswerving determination of all, there can be no disputing that as much as this is a fictional drama for our consumption, it is also a call to action with a strident, welcome aim to radicalize.
This is to say nothing of the otherwise craftsmanship of the movie. It's not that any facet is singularly revelatory, but from top to bottom this is shaped with fantastic skill, intelligence, and vision that does just as much as the writing to breathe life both terrific and terrible into the saga. The production design, art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup realize The Great Depression with stark, unfailing clarity and severity, not to mention utmost detail; those stunts and effects that are employed arguably hit harder for the measure of restraint present in contemporary film-making compared to subsequent decades. Gregg Toland's cinematography isn't outwardly striking, but at all times is stupendously keen and focused, centering the drama in a steadfast manner that makes it ring out all the clearer; the very use of light and shadow in this black and white presentation lends magnificently to the gravity of the story, proving that sometimes even with all its advantages modern cinema can't match the unyielding purity and ardor of the classics. The cast is simply a treasure, from one to the next all bearing wholehearted vitality in their performances that lets their characters pop out. In Johnson's adaptation the family is given different treatment than in Steinbeck's novel, but that in no way diminishes Jane Darwell's portrayal of Ma Joad, a proto-feminist anchor of familial and community bonds; Henry Fonda and John Carradine's acting as Tom Joad and Jim Casy, both driven and resolute in their dawning recognition of social conditions; nor the efforts of their co-stars, all just as crucial to the tableau.
And all this is definitely a fine credit to filmmaker John Ford, sagely guiding each element into the exact right direction to tell a compelling story, and to make a picture that would stand as a testament to the times, while bearing great purpose. Ford is not a filmmaker I'm especially familiar with, but of any of his works I've seen to date, this is unquestionably the best. I assumed I would like 'The grapes of wrath,' but it is absolutely far more impactful and rewarding than I ever could have guessed. In all the past 130 or so years there are a relative scant few titles that might be heralded as some of the best ever made; I don't know that this would specifically make my personal shortlist, but for the level on which the film operates in every capacity, the distinction is a matter of semantics more than substance. It's dreary, yes, and not always easy to watch; words like "enjoyable" or even "satisfying" carry too positive a connotation for the ways in which the story plainly mirrors real life, past and present. Yet even at that, and for the contributions of all involved, and for the thought-provoking, inspirational messaging that ultimately sits at the core, the end result is so outstanding that it altogether demands viewership, an essential classic that feels genuinely important and educational. Some features exist beyond questions of personal preference, and in my opinion this is one of them: 'The grapes of wrath' is superb, and I must give it only my very highest and heartiest recommendation!
Romeo + Juliet (1996)
A wild & sometimes flabbergasting ride - but there is real strength here, too
I thought I was prepared for what this movie was going to be. I was wrong.
Baz Luhrmann quickly established himself as a terrific filmmaker even with his joyful directorial debut, 1992's 'Strictly ballroom, let alone 2001 sensation 'Moulin Rouge!' - or more recently, 2022's 'Elvis.' But it's not just that his works are well made, compelling, and entertaining; he is known for nothing if not a penchant for heavily stylized spectacle, an approach that even informed his World War II drama 'Australia.' I've been long overdue to watch his modern take on Shakespeare with 1996's 'Romeo + Juliet,' and I fully anticipated the same mind for excess and splendor. What I did not anticipate was the extremes to which Luhrmann and his collaborators would lean into that whimsy, for I this well outpaces everything else in the man's body of work in terms of flair, pizazz, cheek, and bombast. To wit: this is possibly the most 90s film I've seen to date, with the production design, art direction, costume design, hair, makeup, music, and frankly even Luhrmann's direction, the cinematography, the editing, and the acting all reminding of the preposterous cartoonishness and vibrant color (figurative and literal) of not just 'Moulin Rouge!' at its most raucous, but 1997's 'The Pest,' 'Clueless,' 'An American werewolf in Paris, Guy Fieri, 'The Mask,' live-action Looney Tunes fare, 'Zoolander'... Well, you get the idea.
With that free-wheeling abandon firmly in mind, any recommendation must be paired with a fair caveat; anyone who is not receptive to all the wide, wacky possibilities of the medium, and to titles that adopt such a nearly hubristic level of bold flippancy, may have a difficult time swallowing these two hours. All involved unreservedly embrace the spirit of the proceedings, and there's certainly something to be said for watching the cast (including some surprising, familiar names and faces) thusly letting loose, just as - whatever one specifically thinks of the most outrageous facets of the visuals - those operating behind the scenes turned in contributions that are solid and admirable in and of themselves. And hey, in fairness, some of Luhrmann's choices here really are fun, and funny, in adapting Bill Shakes; wherever the tale turns to a scene of more quiet, thoughtful drama and character moments, the feature just as ably shifts gears to allow such moments to resonate and hold more power than one might expect given all that surrounds them. The question does remain, though: even as the screenplay keeps The Bard's verses intact, is it possible that the drama is inherently diminished to some degree by the brazenness of the presentation? To the extent that 'Romeo + Juliet' does faithfully adapt the play of four centuries' past, is it possible that said brazenness inherently diminishes the strength of the play? I'm not 100% sure what the answer is, but the fact that these thoughts come to mind at all probably says something.
It seems important to speak to the aesthetics and stylization first and foremost, not just because it is genuinely the first aspect to greet us from the very beginning, but also because it's so prominent at pretty much all points. If one can get on board with the flagrant wantonness, however, I can't say that the picture isn't well done, enjoyable, and satisfying just as it is. I deeply appreciate all the hard work that went into the production, and the skill and intelligence to churn out something so committed to its very particular idiom. However much we may scrutinize the treatment of the play, many beats really are tremendously sharp as they are realized here, including the lovers' encounter on the balcony, and the crucial scene where Tybalt and Mercutio have a bad day. Just as much to the point, there comes a time when the fancifulness begins to recede some into the background, allowing the earnest, meaningful drama to take center stage as events escalate. Despite some curious choices in the music - especially versions of popular songs - they're catchy and actually used quite well; the score is fantastic, with some select themes distinctly standing out, and always ably capturing the mood. And though some instances of acting are better than others, and every actor is sometimes subject to the observed immoderation, far more than not the cast is superb. Leonardo DiCaprio shows some moments of weakness, but we know how fine an actor he was even in his youth; Claire Danes gives a marvelously strong performance that arguably outshines all her co-stars. Those co-stars, having a blast and going where Luhrmann asks them to, include John Leguizamo, Paul Sorvino, Diane Venora, Miriam Margolyes, Pete Postlethwaite, and Vondie Curtis-Hall, among many others.
From the moment we press "play" this movie is a lot to take in and process, and I can't begrudge those who have a harder time engaging with something so far removed from the typical interpretation of Shakespeare, or to be honest, of much of cinema. Still, for all the wild ideas that define vast swaths of the length, there is also real, concrete value in Luhrmann's vision. 'Romeo + Juliet' is a decidedly unique updated rendition of so classic, celebrated, and poetic a play, but ultimately the weight it carries outshines its more stridently playful, garish flourishes. Compared to, say, Franco Zeffirelli's timeless 1968 adaptation, there's no disputing that this film is likely to appeal to and hold the favor of a more niche audience. Nonetheless, the capabilities of Luhrmann and all participants are affirmed once more, and if you're open to the embellishments this indulges, all told it really is commendable, and a good time, and worth checking out.
Andrey Rublyov (1966)
A fine film, though individual experiences will vary
There are some highly reputed filmmakers whose works just don't resonate with me in the manner I think they are supposed to. I might enjoy some of their works, or even love some, but others I hate, or worse, am indifferent to. Like select films in the latter group from Federico Fellini, Jean-Luc Godard, Luis Buñuel, or even Ingmar Bergman, I don't dislike 'Andrei Rublev,' but I just don't get much of anything meaningful from it. It's beautifully shot, and I recognize the ardor of the production. All those who worked to bring this project to fruition did a terrific job: acting, sets, costume design, hair, makeup, stunts, effects, cinematography, editing, and so on. Inasmuch as this feature explores the life of the titular painter, it comes across even more as a historical drama examining the Russia in which Rublev lived, and in that especially it is engaging and even fascinating. Moreover, anyone who has watched other pictures out of Russia and Eastern Europe, particularly period pieces, will discern a kinship in the portrayal of the harsh conditions, brutality, and poverty, even as there is some depiction of cities, manors, lords, and wealth. In one fashion or another I am reminded of Aleksei German's 'Hard to be a god,' or Frantisek Vlácil's 'Marketa Lazarová,' among others; in some measure, this is itself an art film.
Yet to read of Andrei Tarkovsky's reflections on the movie, and his intentions, one gets the impression that Rublev's life and the Russia he knew were in no small part just vehicles for more high-minded thoughts. One gets the impression that Tarkovsky wished to examine The Artist, how and whence an artist may draw inspiration and conjure the fruit of their labor, and indeed how an artist may go about their work. More specifically, with Rublev as the centerpiece, one gets the impression that Tarkovsky wished to examine religion, and faith, and the role that they have played in the history of most any culture in serving to inspire and produce art. I absolutely see flashes of these notions at varying points throughout these three hours. But I don't think they are communicated steadily or lucidly, and certainly not to the extent I was led to expect. Just as much to the point: I am irreligious, but I can still appreciate topics of a religious nature; I'm not an artist, but I can still appreciate art and lofty discussion thereof. Even so, the way in which Tarkovsky does approach these matters in this title is such a way that I don't think one is likely to get the most out of it unless they identify concretely and very particularly with religion, or with art. I think of Bergman's 'Winter light,' in that I admire the craftsmanship on hand, including the direction and the cinematography, but the headier intended substance often falls on deaf ears. With that said, at least 'Andrei Rublev' has a leg up on the latter Bergman piece, from which naught is to be gleaned but the insider's ruminations on faith.
Don't get me wrong; I find this to be a fine film. I repeat that it is beautifully made, and shot; the perspective on Rublev's life, and on fifteenth-century Russia, is compelling and gratifying, and even for the layperson Tarkovsky provides some keen insight into his philosophy of art - perhaps above all in the eighth segment, which might well also be the most complex and the most impactful. At the same time, for as highly celebrated as this epic is in many places, and by many people, I can't help but note a considerable disparity between their adoration and my experience of far less investment. Maybe if I were to watch again I would find myself admiring 'Andrei Rublev' with a clearer head, and deriving more meaning from it. As it stands I definitely think this is worth watching on its own merits, yet as it is surely on an individual basis that a viewer will find the value herein that will speak to them - whatever its nature - it's difficult to make a more explicit recommendation. Watch, by all means, and just as others have come to hold the feature in high esteem, may that be your experience as well. I think there's something in 'Andrei Rublev' for everyone; the question is exactly what, and how much.
The Scarlet Empress (1934)
Terrific at its best, highly dubious at its worst
There is a certain class of motion picture where the drive to tell a story of a particular type, or with a particular tone, takes priority over any concern for realism, historical accuracy, or especial storytelling judiciousness. Eleanor McGeary supposedly based her screenplay on Catherine the Great's diary, and Josef von Sternberg was a highly esteemed filmmaker, but what really comes across is that someone read a few pages of something about the monarch, and a few paragraphs about Russia, and said "Yeah! We can make a costume drama out of that!" There is significant tonal disparity between the childish innocence and naivete of Sophia as she arrives in Russia and has her name changed, and the manner in which Russia herself is depicted: severe, stark, stodgy, imperious, with fanciful and garish imagery that says 'Phantom of the Opera' more than "Peter the Great"; dark and demanding, but alien in the same way that women with brown skin are grotesquely fetishized as "exotic"; and quaint, as in "Gee golly, look at those customs and beliefs, how droll! And isn't that ruler a silly, silly man for a silly place?" One need not be specifically learned about Russia to understand that to whatever extent there may be kernels of truth in the depiction, the Russia of 'The Scarlet Empress' is predominantly a fabrication that purely serves the needs of this melodrama as it was made.
In fairness, there is an earnest story buried under these fantastical, deliberate misrepresentations, and the sum total boasts earnest, impressive craftsmanship. Sophia has her life turned upside-down as the lord of a distant land claims her sights unseen as a bride, and she will be forced into difficult circumstances along the path to seizing a destiny that she doesn't know awaits her. There is hyperbole, absolutely, but the portrayal of royalty and nobility, as classes, is not wrong. And say what one will about the writing, with its odd mix of playful frivolity, somber, sometimes outright gothic ideations, and heavy-handed characterizations that lean on the stereotype of women as "harpies," and the particular application in these 100 minutes of aesthetics that don't actually belong in a "historical drama" - the artistic skills of those who worked on this movie are highly admirable. The sets, and the production design and art direction broadly, are gorgeous and real treats for us as viewers. Von Sternberg illustrates his keen eye for shot composition, and even the use herein of light and shadow makes a fine impression. This is to say nothing of beautiful costume design, hair, and makeup. And while I believe that the cast were guided in too many instances into performances that are frankly outlandish, some actors come off better than others, chiefly including star Marlene Dietrich.
It's unfortunate, then, that for all the real value that this might have seized upon, including some scattered moments that are commendably well done, it doesn't generally feel as if 'The Scarlet Empress' was approached with much sobriety. Oh yes, it has some definite bright spots, and in addition to the visuals I enjoy the music and appreciate the cinematography. The plot also spends much of the first hour kind of twiddling its thumbs, and some scenes are just bizarrely cartoonish. Within the last forty minutes or so Sophia/Catherine changes her tune in a manner that doesn't say "character arc" so much as "okay, time to do something with the plot and this character now"; in the grand tradition of poor writers deciding that new mothers completely change their entire worldview because "blah blah blah miracle of birth," Catherine abruptly becomes shrewd and conniving in a new pursuit of power, and in the same breath, Peter abruptly goes from half-wit to madman. Overall the narrative in that last portion is considerably stronger - genuinely swell, at large - but the dispensation remains sadly uneven. The story of one of Russia's most famous rulers in history is a story worth telling. This flick does not give us that story, but only a rendition that more or less comes across as the cinematic equivalent of that old Holiday Inn ad campaign: "Did you study Russian culture and history?" "No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn last night."
'The Scarlet Empress' could have been a terrific film. Even with its more far-flung notions in terms of writing and imagery, I see the potential that this bore to tell the tale of an intelligent woman persevering through less than ideal circumstances to ascend to power. In bits and pieces, there is some tremendous wit at play. As it stands, however, all the best examples that we may cite in the writing, direction, acting, or craftsmanship are still mired amidst far more dubious thoughts. I don't think this feature is bad; I think it fails to be the compelling, wholly praiseworthy portrait of Catherine the Great, and eighteenth-century Russia, that it wanted to be and should have been. In some measure I enjoyed watching; in the same measure, however, I enjoyed examining the faults that diminish the whole. I'm glad for those who get more out of 'The Scarlet Empress' than I did. I'm just of the mind that with there are too many other titles, far more reliably worthwhile, that we could be spending time with instead. Alas; would that the full length and all elements had been approached with the same care and mindfulness as we got in the last two-fifths, for as it is this is just too inconsistent to earn an especial recommendation.
Ivan Groznyy. Skaz vtoroy: Boyarskiy zagovor (1958)
Stronger storytelling makes this well-rounded as it complements Part I
Sergei Eisenstein remains an icon of the cinematic medium, as much for the artistic genius of his direction as for the vitality of his storytelling. Part I of 'Ivan the Terrible,' released in 1944, I found to be a little divided, however. The visuals were utterly phenomenal, demanding viewership entirely on their own account; the storytelling was less sure-footed, reflecting both a somewhat idiosyncratic style (appropriate to a previous era) and weaknesses in the writing in terms of the narrative's communication and development, and general strength. It remains worthwhile on its own merits, but overall doesn't necessarily claim the legacy of a resoundingly successful exemplar that it could have. With Part II having been completed within a couple years - albeit shelved for over a decade owing to political machinations - the question stands of how it would compare. Would Eisenstein again impress with his direction, and the other participants with their contributions? Would the storytelling still face some trouble, or did Eisenstein improve upon the prior screenplay?
For better and for worse I believe this second installment, which didn't see the light of day until 1958, to be pretty much on par with its predecessor. Weirdly, however, its strengths and weaknesses differ in some measure from those that came before.
This much is certain: the visuals are, again, pretty well outstanding. The sets, costume design, hair, makeup, and even props are flush with stupendous detail, and we wish we could explore them all inch by inch. A sequence of choreography later in the runtime is terrific - and rendered in color, no less. The returning cast give admirable performances, and there is a theatricality to both the acting and Eisenstein's direction that hearkens to the sensibilities of the silent era. Yet these are the only facets of this second feature that perfectly correspond to those of the first, and with regards to other elements there is noticeable disparity between how the two were made. This time it is only in fits and starts that the filmmaker's shot composition makes a particular impression, as opposed to being a constant throughout the entire length, and likewise the use of light and shadow. Far more than not the stark severity and solemnity of the previous production gives away to a much lighter, sometimes even playful tone more closely approximating contemporary British or U. S. melodramas; gone are the utmost grandeur, stateliness, and imposing airs. In contrast with Part I, to no small extent Part II of 'Ivan the Terrible' comes across as strangely common.
This doesn't mean Eisenstein's politically troubled picture is specifically bad, but in many ways it is tangibly different from its antecedent. In fairness, those differences extend to the writing, and the style of storytelling. There is undeniably more nuance and complexity in the screenplay, from the narrative and scene writing to the characters and even dialogue; it turns out that the filmmaker really did learn from the past issues. The story is gratifyingly more sophisticated, and gone is the brusqueness, directness, and forthrightness that beset the 1944 flick. Plot development is clearer, and more actively engaging, both on paper and in execution. To the same degree that the visuals were wonderfully artistic before, with some huge strokes of brilliance, there are some marvelously shrewd moments in the screenplay that broach similar ingenuity. Maybe this means that the 1946 production is more well-rounded, effectively sacrificing a portion of artistic magnificence in trade for an overall stronger story. The end product impresses about as much as Part I, and earns about as much criticism; it's just that the aspects to thusly deserve praise or ire are distinctly not the same ones as what we perceived before.
It's curious how the two produced installments of the project should differ so much from each other. When all is said and done I very much like them both, and I definitely see why 'Ivan the Terrible' has been so highly regarded in the annals of cinema; it remains well worth watching on its own merits, and as part of the esteemed oeuvre of so great a filmmaker as Eisenstein. At the same time, I believe it also holds true that given the relatively idiosyncratic style of Part I, and the major differences in style seen in Part II, the cumulative three hours are perhaps more likely to appeal to ardent cinephiles, who can appreciate all the breadth and variety of the medium, more than the casual viewer. Watch, by all means, for at large these are excellent films; it's just that critical academic assessment of them is an equal part of their lasting value, and for better and for worse, that's not something we typically find ourselves saying about movies.
Ivan Groznyy (1944)
Phenomenal visual artistry and somewhat less sure-footed storytelling
There are two aspects of this film that are readily noted, and which one way or another leave a mark. The first is the nature of the storytelling, which is direct, forthright, and very emphatic, the narrative equivalent of deciding that a spoken word was insufficient and a cannon blast was necessary instead. The dialogue and scene writing is heavily pronounced - heavy-handed, really - with each word and fragment being left to hang in the air for accentuation; it is not easy to draw a comparison for reference. Illustrating the point, in the first moments we're greeted with text on the screen to provide an introduction; where we might expect such an introduction to precede the active plot of a feature, or perhaps to give a loose synopsis of the events that will unfold over the following length, instead the very first scene recycles these words in nearly a one-to-one audiovisual repetition of what we've just read. Instead of a smooth, fluid plot progression, new beats are sometimes literally introduced with a sudden, passing line of dialogue that informs of a new situation to process. Just as much to the point, the narrative writing is unexpectedly unsophisticated; in whatever measure each idea in turn is explored, on paper each is fairly simple, distilled to a basic form. Such precise, unequivocal, superficially tactless dispensation of the story is subsequently reflected in other elements of the construction, from cinematography and editing to direction and acting. I'm not saying (yet) that the approach to the narrative in 'Ivan the Terrible' is specifically bad, but whatever we think of it for better or for worse, it is striking and unmistakable.
In fairness, that approach is fitting to some degree for a movie examining the life and rule of a tsar, and particularly a tsar known and painted as a despot who consolidated power and showed no quarter to opposition. The stringent vibes that this carries in imparting its tale matches the severe tone borne by a figure who to the attentive viewer will quickly remind of some of the worst people across history (it's no wonder Joseph Stalin so heartily approved of this) and in our modern times. Furthermore, that approach rather feeds into the second readily noted aspect of the picture, and the two quite go hand in hand. Legendary filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein rose to fame in the silent era, where strong visuals ruled the day and were very necessary, and the assertive expression here of the story very much aligns with common kindred sensibilities of the latter style. And with that firmly in mind, that second aspect - without question more immediately laudable - is the splendor of the aesthetics, for while this is indeed a sound title, it is crafted with such a mind for visual storytelling that could have easily been rendered as a silent film in the first place. Why, for various reasons, part of me thinks that might have been preferable. From top to bottom 'Ivan the Terrible' is crafted with stupendous artistic vision that recalls like wonders of years before, and sometimes classics like Carl Theodor Dreyers' 'The passion of Joan of Arc' or contemporary epics like Ernst Lubitsch's 'Der Weib des Pharao.' The sets, props, costume design, and hair and makeup overflow with outstanding personality, brilliant vitality, and exquisite detail. As if his skills as an artist could ever be in question, Eisenstein's shot composition is outright gorgeous, and be it true or not, as we watch it feels altogether peerless; even the use of light and shadow is tremendous. Befitting the subject matter, the fundamental presentation comes across as grand, stately, sumptuous, and imposing, and this ethos is further reflected in the fiercely composed, decisive, calculated acting, seen above all in star Nikolay Cherkasov, but all others just as much, including Serafima Birman.
It is unfortunate, then, that for as much as the method of storytelling and the visuals go hand in hand, and for as compelling as that story is generally, to some extent this still comes across as a flick torn in two. On the one hand, the visual presentation is utterly superb, and is itself extremely worthy of celebration and recognition; by the strength of the visuals alone I would argue that the feature genuinely demands viewership as an exemplar. On the other hand, even putting aside the somewhat subjective matter of style, the brusqueness and simplicity of the narrative writing are liabilities, for they are echoed in the scene writing and result in choppy, minimal, kind of nebulous plot development that is sometimes less than perfectly clear, and overall less than fully convincing. All the ideas are there, but they are not communicated in a fashion that really grabs our attention, and certainly not in the fashion that the visuals command it; I ponder if the last third isn't the weakest for the fact of how the narrative appears less focused, and a smidgen directionless. When all is said and done I still very much enjoy 'Ivan the Terrible,' and it remains deserving on its own merits - it's just that while we may him and haw about the particulars, there is nevertheless a clear divide between its utmost value and that area where it is not so resolutely sure-footed. Do watch, by all means, but be aware that for the fact of what I believe to be evident faults, ultimately it's a picture that may be suited more for the ardent cinephile, they who can appreciate both the good and the bad and all styles within the medium, than for the casual viewer who is just looking for something good to watch. Take that as you will.
Boîte noire (2021)
A stellar, spellbinding, exquisite modern thrilller; a must-see!
No matter the genre, a film may quickly pique our interest if it approaches a concept or subject matter that is not typically explored, and even more so if it approaches any given concept or subject matter with an atypical approach. Between the apparent interest of filmmaker Yann Gozlan in civil aviation, the screenplay he devised with Simon Moutaïrou, Nicolas Bouvet-Levrard, and Jérémie Guez, and the research that star Pierre Niney accordingly conducted in preparation for his lead role, 2021 mystery thriller 'Boîte noire' most certainly latches onto some exceptional points primed to grab our attention. Relatively few are those movies that center aviation, aircraft, and industry disaster and investigations; relatively few are those movies that so heavily emphasize sound, both in their construction and specifically in their plot. This combines those two foci, with the result that even without considering any other factors, or the quality of the feature, we are fully engaged from the moment it begins. And once we consider those other factors and the feature's quality, there's not really any arguing that this is utterly terrific.
The screenplay is rich with details of many angles that keep us firmly invested. Foremost among this is protagonist Mathieu's specialization in audio analysis, a facet for which the impeccable sound design of the production is extra important as every slightest minutia on the flight recorder could be seized as a crucial component of the investigation. Mathieu himself is a very interesting character, and as he becomes more professionally embroiled and personally absorbed in the investigation we learn more about him: his fastidiousness and diligence, bordering on destructive obsession, and paranoia; his acute hearing, nervousness, and social aversion, which he counters with somewhat terse interactions and his youthful confidence, and his determination in his work. The official, bureaucratic side of the investigation is raptly compelling in and of itself as the script offers sidelong glances at the broad extent of what responsible agencies can and must examine, and the horrible tragedy of the lives lost. More common from a standpoint of such stories in literature, film, or TV is how Mathieu takes it upon himself to go further in his personal investigation than his official purview mandates; in fairness, as the writing establishes him to have a rather obstinate personality in the first place, and a mind for scrutiny, this aspect is arguably more believable than what we get in some other titles.
The writing is heavy with fine points to deepen the investigation and the plot at large, and I'm moreover very pleased with how tight, smart, and focused the writing is with regards to every last element - the thickening plot, the scene writing, the characters, and even the dialogue. The story is altogether captivating as the web of possibilities spreads, and darkens, and we as viewers are further led to question a narrative that is effectively spun from Mathieu's perspective. Gratifyingly, these same descriptors surely apply to pretty much everything about 'Boîte noire'; it's one thing to say that a picture is made by high modern production standards, but this swiftly, readily, greatly impresses in every capacity. Gozlan's direction is beyond reproach, bringing every last iota to bear with flawless clarity and all the weight they could bear; I note that Nicolas Provost, Marc Doisne, and co-writer Bouvet-Levrard have been recognized for their work on the title's stupendous sound, and I fully agree with that praise. Philippe Rombi's moody, flavorful, dynamic score maintains the tension at all times, operating in tandem with the sound to some degree, and alongside the writing and direction the outcome is a spellbinding mystery that bears genuine, meaningful thriller airs. Not to be outdone, the cast is simply outstanding, perfectly capturing the severe tenor of the proceedings with exquisite, precise control of nuance, range, and poise. Niney stands out most as Mathieu, certainly, but all others on hand are just as superb no matter the size of their part: Lou de Laâge, Anne Azoulay, Olivier Rabourdin, Sébastien Pouderoux, and so on.
From sharp cinematography and editing, to excellent production design, and swell stunts and effects where applicable, everything about 'Boîte noire' is fantastic. I've watched highly celebrated classic thrillers where the tension and suspense wasn't as searing and palpable as it is here, nor the plot as fascinating and engrossing. I assumed in a general sense that I would enjoy this flick, and the fact is that I find it absolutely stellar. Many of the most highly esteemed thrillers are works from years ago, stretching back to the 70s, 50s, or even 30s; whatever other thrillers we might deign to name, I'm of the opinion that this belongs squarely among such lofty company. Every last trace of these two hours is tremendous, and there are comparatively few films I can name that kept my eyes glued so tightly to the screen. I'm incredibly happy with just how potent this is, and I can't possibly recommend it any more highly. Whatever your personal preferences with regards to cinema, I believe this to be an example of a piece so phenomenal as to exist beyond such questions: 'Boîte noire' demands viewership, and deserves far more recognition, and this is well worth going out of your way to see. Bravo!
Scarface (1983)
Duly satisfying, but uneven, and less than fully engaging
Howard Hawks' film of 1932 was unexpectedly fierce and hard-hitting, and even if not 100% impeccable it remains an outstanding classic. For as prevalent in pop culture as Brian De Palma's 1983 magnum opus, a remake, has been over the past forty years - tiresomely so - I've been in no rush to watch it, though I knew I'd get to it eventually. Looking past the memes and quotes, how is the picture in actuality? How does it hold up? Is its general high regard really deserved? Now that I've finally sat for it myself, my opinion is that this three-hour crime saga is: fine. It's fine. 'Scarface' is fine, and now I can say that I've seen it. I'm not specifically impressed, though, and in hindsight I think that my indifference to watching it in the first place was more on the mark than I could have known.
Comparison to Hawks' movie is not necessary, but it is illuminating in some key ways. It's noteworthy that in writing his screenplay, updated and transplanted to a new setting, Oliver Stone drew directly from the prior work of Ben Hecht, W. R. Burnett, John Lee Mahin, and Seton I. Miller. The broad strokes of the narrative share kinship, and some beats, scenes, and smaller inclusions might range from deriving inspiration from to closely mirroring the 30s piece. Just as 1932's 'Scarface' included violence that surely well exceeded the norms of its time, the shocks of violence in 1983's 'Scarface' are at times more gnarly than even some modern horror flicks could claim. One significant, unfortunate difference, however, is that in imparting the tale of Tony Camonte's explosive ascension to power and consolidation thereof, on both personal and "professional" levels, Hawks' title was succinct and concise, speaking directly to mob violence and the volatility of Camonte's relationships. For as sharp as De Palma's title is in its most explicit moments while examining Tony Montana's rise and fall, other scenes with heightened emotions are a step down in their impact, and considerable portions of the length frankly seem to outright drag as the modern revision builds its plot somewhat unevenly, and usually with far less potency.
Don't get me wrong, much about this feature is very well done. The stunts, practical effects, and otherwise action sequences are visceral, nasty, and definitely achieve the desired effect, not least with all the blood and even gore on hand. John A. Alonzo's cinematography is superb - crisp, smooth, vivid, and plainly fetching. The filming locations are swell, and the production design and art direction foster a meaningful ambience portending the veneer of class and elegance Montana aspires to over top of his criminal activity. Between the slightly grainy image quality that readily says "1980s," Alonzo's cinematography, and the aesthetics in the visuals at large, the film is very easy on the eyes. To that same point, the costume design, hair, and makeup are splendid. There are a lot of very recognizable names and faces appearing here, and everyone more or less gives performances appropriate to the nature of the material, with some examples standing out more than others. Some scene writing and story beats are notably stronger than other instances. And I, for one, am of the mind that for as admirable as all these facets may be, it's the music that might be the top highlight. I adore Giorgio Moroder's score, chiefly driven by synthesizers and lending somber but flavorful airs to the proceedings, and other songs appearing on the soundtrack are equally enjoyable.
Then again, some of the acting occasionally just comes across as empty hot air, or overacting, and that includes Pacino. More commonly, the acting is suitable, but doesn't make a big impression. There are some moments, including two in a scene at right around the halfway mark, where selected elements (e.g., music cues, shots, sound effects) combine into a wildly melodramatic flourish that's altogether laughable (and not intentionally so). Some of the dialogue is just lousy and uninspired. De Palma's direction gets the job done, but outside of those intense action sequences its strength is highly variable. And when all is said and done, what it comes down to is that this picture feels rather bloated, self-important in a manner that's conceited but kind of lazy, and downright overdone. It's good. It's not great. And I have to wonder: if not for a few choice aspects - Pacino's presence, the extreme violence, a handful of iconic scenes and lines - would we actually still be talking about 'Scarface?' Except in fits and starts or with irregular odds and ends, I'm not inclined to believe that the sum total operates at such a level as to concretely earn the visibility it carries in our culture.
Every now and again the flick is distinctly striking, with welcome tension and vitality. At its best it is excellent, and it ends on a high note with a huge climax. I like it. I also think it's something that, more than not, we can watch somewhat passively, without actively engaging. It doesn't especially inspire that engagement. That doesn't mean that the movie isn't worthwhile, but it does mean that even as this boasts much heavier violence, coarser language, and substantial drug use, Hawks' 1932 rendition pointedly more vibrant - more consistent, more carefully crafted in every capacity, and with better performances. Unless you have a special impetus to watch De Palma's treatment I think the primary reason to watch could simply be its stature, but then we have the problem of broaching tautology, and fallacious circular reasoning. Watch, by all means, and may you get more out of 1983's 'Scarface' than I do. I do believe it to be duly satisfying on its own merits. But maybe I'm being too generous as it is in my assessment. I just don't think it's everything that it's cracked up to be, and with so many other features in the world for us to spend time with, this one need not be a major priority.
Scarface (1932)
An outstanding classic, unexpectedly fierce & hard-hitting
Broadly speaking one may not have the highest of expectations with cinema of the 1930s; even without falling under the overzealous ax of censors, films of the time may be characterized by any number of reasonable criticisms that diminish their lasting value - sound, writing, direction, tone, acting, and so on. Even esteemed filmmaker Howard Hawks wasn't entirely immune to such matters; as this flick begins we observe relatively tinny audio, a comparatively flat tone (reinforced through the dearth of music), and some reserved acting that doesn't immediately inspire. Yet while we might scrutinize some details, as the plot picks up the strength in 'Scarface' shows itself more and more. To be sure, the sensibilities of 1932 are rather tame when stood next to those of subsequent decades, but with that in mind, it says a lot that ninety years later the violence in this gangster flick is still sufficiently strong that it's a little jarring; I can only imagine how this came off upon release. As the course of events progresses the performances increasingly shine with shrewd, nuanced vitality, and concerns about the limitations of contemporary audio are outweighed by the impact of sharp sound effects. I wasn't fully convinced at first, and I don't think it's an outright must-see, but when all is said and done this picture easily holds up all these decades later, and it's definitely a product of the 30s that stands tall above many others.
That violence is no joke. In portraying the mob violence of the ear, Hawks fills these ninety-odd minutes with frequent, significant sequences of stunts and effects, and they make a big impression. Some examples rely on discreet use of light, shadow and shot composition, declining to specifically show the grisly acts, and still with such skill and intelligence these leave a mark. While such scenes leap out at us the most, however, the filmmaker is to be congratulated for what is, at large, a superb, eye-catching feature. His orchestration of shots and scenes infuses a relatively straightforward, ordinary crime piece with measures of artistry that adds some welcome smart flavor, and this is moreover a credit to cinematographers Lee Garmes and L. W. O'Connell, not to mention those operating behind the scenes. The sets, costume design, and hair and makeup are all splendidly sharp, invoking a sense of elegance and class that the gangsters maintain as superficial cover for their more nefarious activities. Ultimately those in front of the camera are just as swell, giving vivacious performances of big personality, and the early seeming deficiencies are forgotten. Paul Muni stands out most in the lead role, certainly, but those in supporting parts are just as terrific, from Ann Dvorak and Karen Morley, to Osgood Perkins, George Raft, Inez Palange, and the rest.
The saga is increasingly compelling as Tony seeks to expand his reach and consolidate his power, both in the criminal underworld and in his personal life. It speaks very well to Hawks, to the writing team, to the actors, and to all other contributors that even in an era where movies faced limitations of technique, technology, norms, and politics, 'Scarface' is able to evoke palpable tension and suspense, and elicit meaningful excitement. I'm not sure that there's any one aspect of the writing that leaps out at me, and for that matter, sometimes the elucidation of the plot and its development is arguably less than pristine. But perhaps this is an instance where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, for the cumulative result of the screenplay - wherever the credit belongs - is an absorbing, satisfying story that keeps us engaged. Factor in Hawks' keen vision as director, and all the other commendable elements, and no few moments throughout actually come across as altogether brilliant. Far be it from me to repeat myself, but in addition to the action sequences, I wonder if the use of light and shadow throughout, including in the more quietly dramatic scenes, isn't one of the top highlights. I'm struck again and again by how fetching the shot composition is, and in 1932 Hawks illustrates how effective mindful use of illumination can capture the imagination.
Some bits are maybe a tad less sure-footed than others, and in turn I wouldn't necessarily say that the title is perfect. To whatever extent I had some misgivings at the outset, however, these were assuaged even within the first act, and as the runtime draws on the film becomes more and more engrossing, entertaining, and satisfying. Far more than not it's incredibly well made in every regard, and even as Tony and his violence remains at the forefront, there is suitable variety in the storytelling that the presentation is quite well-rounded, and consistently stays fresh. At its best - and it is at its best a lot - some scene hit surprisingly hard, and 'Scarface' looms larger than many works to follow in all the years since. In all those ways that matter most the picture is tremendous and vibrant, and I'm all so pleased with just how fantastic it is. Even the censors couldn't rob this flick of its marvelous potency, and at length the movie is so excellent that its subjective faults are reduced to minor observations. For a title of so long ago to remain so substantial and worthy is high praise indeed, and I'm happy to give 'Scarface' my hearty, enthusiastic recommendation!
Akahige (1965)
An essential, exquisite masterpiece, overflowing with heart and warmth
We've all seen many similar narratives before, those in which an impetuous and conceited young person is taken under the wing of someone older and wiser; in due course the new blood will recognize the value in the elder's ways, and the elder will benefit from the skills and techniques that the youth brings with them. It's worth further observing that this iteration is in part somewhat episodic in nature as the story of hot-headed Yasumoto, working with respected Dr. Niide, gains experience through several particular cases, each of which is represented in some fashion as a small saga in and of itself. For whatever comparisons we may draw, however, make no mistake that celebrated filmmaker Kurosawa Akira approaches the concept with a finesse, artistry, and focus that stands out like a lighthouse illuminating the night. Through the vision he commands, shared with his co-writers and otherwise collaborators, Yasumoto's education, and the camaraderie he shares with the eponymous character, blaze with a warmth that most features only wishes they could claim. More than that, the deep-seated compassion in the tale aims straight for our hearts, contrasting sharply and painfully with whatever profound lack thereof we see in the real world around us as 'Red Beard' speaks directly to the quintessential truths that those in positions of power and authority have no interest in seeing to the needs of the impoverished and disadvantaged - and above all, that every single life has a story, and every life story is worth telling.
It is not so immediately striking as some of the filmmaker's other works, not least as the tone and pacing are gentle and deliberate, and it took me a little bit to fully get on board. Yet for however long it may take for the movie to crystallize for us individually, once it does the viewing experience is wholly captivating, and immensely satisfying. This is a rich, fulfilling portrait of humanity as it should be - as we could be; even with whatever conflicts and more dour notes may be on hand to help fuel the drama, the core remains steadfast, resplendent, stirring, and incalculably heartwarming. Strictly speaking I don't know how much of the film as we see it corresponds to Yamamoto Shugoro's novel, and how much can be attributed specifically to Kurosawa and his collaborators, but every last trace of these three hours is a stupendous treasure. Digress as the plot may into some segments that are woven in, the central thread could not be stronger as we follow Yasumoto, Niide, and other figures at a stressed rural clinic. The lives that are touched, patient and staff alike, lead to marvelous personal growth for characters that may be more fleshed out and otherwise well written than any others I've seen in all the thousands of titles I've watched; the scene writing is nothing less than vibrant, and at times altogether intoxicating for how incredibly rewarding it all is. 'Red Beard' is a piece that speaks subtly but directly to the simple, earnest ideals for which people should strive, and the result is absolutely magnificent.
The set is utterly stunning; to read of goings-on behind the scenes, one can't help but be taken aback at the enormity of the production, and the intense labor that went into such a lengthy endeavor. It's one thing to learn that Kurosawa built an entire town for this 1965 epic, but to actually see it is all but breath-taking. And the thing is, much the same could be said of the costume design, hair, and makeup, all of which is given to some fine detail at times that's crucial to the storytelling and its success. Kurosawa's mastery as a director is never in doubt as he orchestrates every shot and scene with both the eye of an artist, the heart of a poet, and the mind of an architect, perfectly capturing every idea and feeling that is meant to be communicated through the screenplay. Critically, this applies just as well to the cast, who down to the tiniest supporting parts give terrific performances of impeccable range, poise, nuance, and emotional depth. Iconic Mifune Toshiro is a solid anchor as Niide, certainly, yet I wonder if he isn't outshone by Kayama Yuzo, or even Niki Terumi, Zushi Yoshitaka, Tsuchiya Yoshio, and their co-stars. Even Kagawa Kyoko, effectively restricted to a single scene, acts with such spellbinding presence that she is highly memorable. With writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship this excellent, there is really no disputing that Kurosawa was truly one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live - and I'm quite of the mind that this picture instantly joins my personal short list of the greatest pictures ever made.
I assumed I would enjoy it, but having now watched, I'm perplexed that 'Red Beard' isn't more well known and highly esteemed. I suppose that for all the classics Kurosawa churned out during his career some works would inevitably be overshadowed in the grand scheme of things; even so, among those credits of his that I've watched to date, this might make the top of the list for me. There is unfailing heart and sincerity in these three hours that meets or exceeds what the vast preponderance of cinema could boast of; I've seen some folks wryly comment that this feature should be required viewing for medical students - I'd go one step further and suggest that it's required viewing for any person who lives among other people. The thoughts that Kurosawa broaches resonate with stark vitality, and every single person who participated in this creation are to be congratulated and remembered for their contributions. I could not be happier with just how fantastic this is, and I firmly believe that it definitively demands viewership. Whatever your typical personal preferences in terms of movies, and however you need to go about watching it, 'Red Beard' is a stellar, essential masterpiece, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!
Abigail (2024)
A delightful blast of horror fun, with highlights outweighing criticisms
I'm not so sure about the notion that this was greenlit as a remake of the 1936 film 'Dracula's daughter'; that's technically true, but in the same way that we might say Little Caesar's, as a purveyor of pizza pies, can be traced to authentic cuisine from the Italian peninsula. This is no knock on 'Abigail' any more than it is on Little Caesar's; I mean only to say that comparison is kind of pointless. What I am sure about is that writers Stephen Shields and Guy Busick, and directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, had a somewhat interesting approach to this flick. The premise is clear, and we in the audience already know fully well what the eponymous character is; the narrative informs us from the start who the last figure standing will be, and whether or not we've seen works before of a slant that's in any way similar, we can predict the general plot very swiftly after it's begun. What this means is that apart from smaller details in between these load-bearing pillars, the element of surprise is removed for viewers. So what do the filmmakers focus on? The value of the viewing experience is dependent on the strength of the dark fantasy violence, of the imagery to present, and of the sudden thrill that these may provide; it is dependent on the overarching horror vibes, on the minutiae that will round out characters or the sense of lore, on the skills of the actors, and on whatever sinister fun the picture might evoke. Thankfully, this 2024 romp is up to the task, and I had a really great time!
Whatever else is true of 'Abigail,' this isn't without its faults. The fact that we can pinpoint the "last man standing" is a problem; it's a problem that is common to the genre, to cinema, and to fiction at large, yes, but that doesn't make it better, especially when we see rare examples (e.g., Hammer's 'The legend of the 7 golden vampires') in which the question of surviving characters is very much up in the air. I also take issue with the character writing at large, for in one way or another it comes across in no few instances as heavy-handed; the latter descriptor also applies to some particular ideas or snapshots in the screenplay overall, or in the direction. Somewhat related, the way the camera treats Joey is tiresome and frankly appalling; hello, Male Gaze. A tiny bit of the music used is bouncy in a manner that clashes with the tone otherwise adopted; there is humor here, but it's not an outright horror-comedy, so tunes like Jean Dawson's original "Burn my tongue" - fine, broadly - don't quite belong. And though we may him and haw about This or That, I think there comes a point within the last twenty minutes that the narrative, and the writing generally, simply isn't as strong. It's clear that the filmmakers thought another aspect was needed to round out the tale, and though I don't disagree, I'm of the mind that the turn of events written into this feature isn't wholly convincing. The last stretch is good, but just not as sure-footed.
Lest one think a big paragraph of criticisms tears down the whole production, however, I'm pleased to say that these are relatively minor detractions. 'Abigail' is here to have a grisly blast, and it most definitely does that while being splendidly well made in most every capacity. Brian Tyler's score adds marvelous flavor, and I appreciate the theme from 'Swan Lake' (however overused it might tend to be in the medium); the use of one song for a cheeky sequence later in the length was a delight. Said sequence is an example of the playfulness that the movie carries with it, a trait that manifests sometimes in an expression of Abigail's power, sometimes as a kernel of comedic relief, and sometimes both. With that said, I repeat that even with some wry levity, this is a straight horror title, and not a comedy; thus are the grim airs of the proceedings made to have the desired impact. Just as importantly, it gives the cast a chance to let loose - most assuredly illustrating their skills as actors, but obviously having so much fun with it in the process. It's nice to see Kevin Durand play against type, and he is a surprising highlight; I'm a big fan of Kathryn Newton, and she is a joy in portraying Sammy. Melissa Barrera handles her lead role well, and Dan Stevens oozes smarm in his performance as Frank; not to be outdone, young Alisha Weir is a treasure as Abigail, and I look forward to watching her progress in her career. Of course this is hardly to count out their co-stars, including Giancarlo Esposito, Will Catlett, and Angus Cloud, but some stars shine more brightly than others in these two hours.
The production design and art direction are superb, giving the primary setting welcome character. I very much appreciate the work of the costume designer, and hair and makeup artists, especially as they work in concert with the stunt performers and effects artists as the violence kicks up. That fantasy violence predominantly comes in the second half, and fills it with buckets of blood, gore, and prosthetics; there is inevitably some post-production digital magic worked here, too, but dispensed mindfully, it's seamless and looks terrific. The sound design is impeccable, and the editing; even though I disagree with some choices, so is Aaron Morton's cinematography. The same rather goes for the writing and direction, too. No matter how you slice it this film is not without faults, but the story is solid and engaging, and the scene writing is gratifyingly strong. Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillet have unmistakably proven themselves as capable directors, and their oversight here is smart and tight, ably bringing forth the shifting moods as the tale progresses. As horror takes precedence over lighter touches of humor, I believe 'Abigail' is a nice complement to their 2019 lark 'Ready or not,' where the reverse was true.
The flick has its troubles, sure, and one would be remiss not to discuss them. I don't think any are so severe as to severely diminish the totality of the viewing experience, though. This only wanted to entertain with some wickedness and dark fantasy violence, and I'm hard-pressed to think that most folks could walk away without having enjoyed themselves in at least some capacity. I assumed I'd like it to one extent or another, but kept my expectations in check even as reception has proven to be fairly robust since its release. I'm glad to say that those expectations were exceeded: the end result is no must-see exemplar, but the pleasure that all involved took in realizing this slice of horror is readily evident, and it's hard not to share in that reverie in the audience. With the cast, the horror violence, the imagery, and some keen odds and ends rising well above any exceptions we might take, 'Abigail' is an excellent, fun-loving genre piece that's invigorating and satisfying, and I'm happy to give it my enthusiastic recommendation!
Star Wars (1977)
Nevermind the titanic phenomenon the franchise would become - this is very fun and well made!
It could have easily been something else. Many were the sci-fi flicks of one flavor or another that populated the late 70s and early 80s, and this was hardly the only space opera to have been released in the same general timeframe. Blending sci-fi, fantasy, and adventure, Peter Yates' 'Krull' of 1983 is one of my favorite movies; it didn't become the blockbuster it tried to be, but with a small twist of fate, it could have been. There's a universe out there where three of the most famous names in genre fare aren't Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher, but Ken Marshall, Alun Armstrong, and Lysette Anthony, and the saga of 'Krull' became a massive multimedia franchise. In our universe, though, the stars aligned in just the right fashion that it was George Lucas who created one of the biggest phenomenons in all of cinema - and while it doesn't specifically resonate with me, personally, the way it does with many others, I'd be plainly lying if I said that the first 'Star Wars' film of 1977 didn't impress. There's a reason its legacy has loomed over pop culture in the past forty-seven years, and even still this holds up terrifically.
A huge component of why 'A new hope' succeeded on so great a level, and continues to succeed on such a level, is because in the time when it was made there was effectively no such thing as computer-generated imagery, or "green screens." Oh, sure, there are visuals that were added in post-production, details that simply could not be produced in real time with existing technology. But from imaginative sets, creatures, and alien races, to memorable costume design, and from delightful props to incredible, meticulously crafted models and miniatures, most all that we see in these two hours is a tangible creation fabricated in a shop. The most low-budget physical goods are always, always preferable to even the very best of digital wizardry, for falsehood ages far more rapidly when it's something that one can't even touch. Fifty years from now 1933's 'King Kong' will still be iconic and impactful, and Peter Jackson's 2005 remake - decent enough though it may be - will be a footnote; 'Episode IV,' as it was originally released, will still be highly celebrated, and its needlessly embellished re-releases, let alone subsequent franchise installments like 'Attack of the clones,' will be spoken of with little enthusiasm. The visuals are plainly outstanding, also including other stunts and effects, and unquestionably a top highlight. That those post-production additions also look good, and infuse further flavor, is icing on the proverbial cake.
Lucas devised a screenplay with archetypal characters who would go on to be some of the most recognizable figures in the entirety of the world; just as in 1966 John Lennon quipped that The Beatles were "more popular than Jesus," Darth Vader is probably just as well known across a broad cross-section of today's global population. While transposed into a distant galaxy with futuristic technology, the narrative gives us a classic tale of good and evil, rebellion against oppression, self-realization, the emergence of a hero, the redemption of a rogue, and so on. The scene writing is marvelously strong, serving alongside the smartly considered dialogue to provide meaningful, deftly blended airs of action, adventure, drama, tragedy, thrills - and even comedy. Just as there is welcome earnestness in the storytelling to help each beat, idea, and theme to land, there is plentiful wit throughout the length to provide levity, from "blink and you'll miss them" gaffes as the picture was made, to the warmhearted camaraderie between characters, to sharp-tongued quips and retorts that elicit a smile or a laugh. We get a little bit of everything, and while some other titles feel imbalanced, or lean too hard in one direction or another, all the aspects of the storytelling in this instance are mixed very smoothly and firmly into a singular, unified whole such that no one aspect can be teased apart from the others. It further speaks well of Lucas as a director that the production carries a sense of joyful, loose energy, distinctly contrasting with other works that are emphatically tight and precise; the presentation feels more natural, and this extends to a cast who really seems to be having a fantastic time.
And as for that cast, well, the chemistry that they share on-screen, and the fun that they were having during filming, is solidly communicated to we viewers, and we share in those feelings. Just as much to the point: 'Star Wars' may be a genre romp, a blast of highfalutin whimsy that speaks to literal children and our inner children, but the acting is pretty much as splendid as any we could hope to see in the medium. I regret that legends Peter Cushing and Alec Guinness don't have larger parts in the tableau, but each in their own way - Cushing, with imperious severity, and Guinness with equal parts cordiality and airs of wisdom - make Grand Moff Tarkin and Obi-Wan Kenobi shine brightly with the time that they are given. We don't exactly see so much of Anthony Daniels, Kenny Baker, Peter Mayhew, David Prowse, or James Earl Jones as they vitalize characters hidden while behind full-body costumes or a microphone, but the presence that each brings with them is a critical element of what helped this lark to have become such a landmark. This is to say nothing of all those in much smaller supporting parts, who even with just one scene and a few lines might make a big impression, much in the same way that Cushing and Guinness did. And what can one say of Hamill, Ford, and Fisher except that they embrace their starring roles, and the spotlights thrust upon them, with admirable coolness and verve? If we really put our minds to it we can possibly imagine other actors in the roles of Luke, Han, and Leia, but it's difficult.
John Williams' score is so ubiquitous all these years later that one can easily take it for granted, but his themes really are superb, lending immensely to the mood at any point. (Far be it from me to name-drop 'Krull' a second time, but rewatching this now, I'm reminded of James Horner's vibrant music for that underappreciated gem.) Every last facet of the visuals is a veritable wonderland, and we wish we could step right into this galaxy and explore every inch of the environments; it's no surprise that the full spectrum of 'Star Wars' toys, collectibles, movies, novels, TV series, videogames, and other memorabilia and paraphernalia have indeed explored the breadth and depth of almost every last iota that might greet our eyes and ears. Even the sound effects have become standard-bearers in their own right. Is there anything here that isn't altogether - pardon me - stellar? Actually, to be honest, I don't think the editing is. Flashy, playful transitions are a trademark for Lucas, but I'm of the mind that here they start to become overbearing kind of quickly, and they never stop. There are also instances where Paul Hirsch, Marcia Lucas, and Richard Chew simply cut away too swiftly; a discernible measure of curtness arises now and again throughout the runtime, and it has the unfortunate effect of diminishing the impact of some moments in the plot. Film editing is one of those unsung arts that the layperson is unlikely to notice unless it's especially excellent or especially woeful, and though by and large the editors' contributions here are fine, there are some weak spots.
Still, if that's the most significant criticism I have to impart about 'A new hope' - and it is - then I'd say the film has done rather well for itself. I repeat that I personally don't place much stock in this corner of pop culture; I can appreciate 'Star Wars,' but it's not something that concretely, majorly speaks to me. Even at that, it's been a long time since I last viewed this progenitor, and I'm happy to say that it's even better than I remembered. We can him and haw about the particulars all we like, and discuss various minutiae at considerable length. One way or another, I don't think there's too much arguing that 'Episode IV,' despite its secondary numeric verbiage, still stands wonderfully tall on its own merits as a slice of genre cinema, and most anyone who appreciates science fiction will surely enjoy themselves here, and find something to love. From the most outward spectacle, to the tiny pieces of world-building that portend a far wider lore to come, this feature is a treasure, and it really does hold up. If you're open to pure entertainment with gratifying substance on the side, one owes it to themselves to watch the original, untarnished 1977 release at least once some time in their life. Cheers!
Precious Find (1996)
A hodgepodge of incogent, careless construction and wasted potential
If one wishes to find quality genre fare they can do so. Why, just earlier tonight I rewatched 1977's 'Star Wars' for the first time in many years, Peter Yates' 'Krull' is one of my favorite movies, and I'm a Trekkie at heart. But sometimes we don't want something that is raptly absorbing, highly entertaining, and very well made. Sometimes we want something off the beaten path, something that we can engage with more passively, or maybe something with such-and-such a person involved, just because. Hey, maybe we'll be surprised, and a second-, third-, or fourth-rate sci-fi flick will turn out to be a lot of fun! It's safe to say that in no time after it begins, 1996's 'Precious find' shows itself to fall squarely outside the category of "quality fare"; to say that it's an extremely mixed bag is being incredibly generous, and "terrible" might be a more accurate descriptor. This is not good.
To one extent or another there is some value herein. Some of the special makeup that we see in passing is quite well done, more so than the feature probably deserves, and likewise some of the costume design and set pieces. The music feels rather generic, but isn't specifically bad, and a few of the cast members seem to be making an effort, in some small way, to infuse a smidgen of earnestness and/or flavor into the proceedings with whatever minute amount of screen time they are given. The practical stunts and effects are pretty swell, and while I don't agree with all the choices that were made in terms of Walter Bal's cinematography - some shots and instances of camera movement are all too chintzy - his contribution at large illustrates his skills. I would even say that while there's nothing here that's especially new or original as writer Lenny Britton ports a western-ready tale of frontier prospecting to outer space, there are decent ideas in the screenplay that under the right circumstances could have been quite fine. The picture isn't wholly rotten.
"Not wholly rotten" isn't exactly high praise, however, and for whatever kernels of worth there may be in these ninety minutes, 'Precious find' tests our patience in too many noteworthy ways. Beyond its root ideas the writing is painfully on the nose and heavy-handed, and often feels outright careless. That certainly goes for the characters, written with a dire lack of nuance such that what we are supposed to see as "character arcs" or "dynamics" are instead so light and hackneyed that all substance is robbed from the figures; with this in mind, one can't entirely blame the actors for their acting, because they have so little to work with in the first place and their hands are forced. Dialogue is often pretty awful; the substitution of the word "precious" for "gold" swiftly becomes overbearing, especially given the profuse repetition, and it is established earlier on for no meaningful reason that the story takes place at whatever passes in 2049 for "Christmastime." I guess the scene writing is suitable, except for the fact that wide swaths of detail and connectivity are sorely missing from the overall narrative, and plot development is routinely careless and lackadaisical.
Sadly, more than not "careless" and "lackadaisical" are likely the most appropriate words to describe the film. I've seen a couple of Philippe Mora's other works and greatly enjoyed them; his direction here is brusque and heedless, and frankly reckless at times, resulting in an overly brisk pace, overcharged acting, and exceedingly poor treatment of the plot. This also goes for Ross Guidici's editing. Computer-generated imagery ranges from being on par with mid-90s digital creations (whether in cinema or in PC gaming), to plainly betraying the artifice; just as some makeup and sets are alright, other examples are rather dubious. And while Mora revels in his small supporting part as Kosnikov, and Joan Chen tries hard to make the most of her role, and some players have small moments where they shine - well, those same players may have other moments where they simply do not come off well, and the unnamed dog that portrays "Goldie" might give one of the most reliable performances of the full length.
I've seen far worse; this title is not actually anywhere near the bottom of the barrel. Some aspects really are quite admirable. Yet for all the skill and intelligence that 'Precious find' might claim, too much of it comes across as a grab bag of ideas that are not convincingly woven together. Instead of connecting the proverbial dots to fashion an intended image, Mora and Britton seem more than not to just be haphazardly throwing things at a wall and loosely, flimsily piecing it all together in a manner that struggles to be cogent and sensible. As prime examples, consider the totality of Rutger Hauer's character, the voiceovers that Harold Pruett provides in character, and the ending. I see the potential that the movie might have realized were it approached with real tact and mindfulness, but unfortunately, with a preponderance of the writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship, that's just not what happened. At too many points this all but comes across as a joke. I'm sure some folks will get more out of it than I did; I'm disappointed that the concept, and the cast, were so horribly misused. Alas.
Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Far too underappreciated; an absolute treasure
In due course Baz Luhrmann would rocket to fame and acclaim with his modern adaptation of 'Romeo and Juliet,' and even more so with 2001 spectacle 'Moulin Rouge!' Even with only a handful of features to his name the man has curried substantial favor and earned a high reputation - but what of his cinematic directorial debut? Heretofore I've come across 1992's 'Strictly ballroom' often by name, but I've never otherwise heard anything about it. As soon as we begin watching, however, this flick swiftly proves itself to be stupendously entertaining, and to be honest it easily matches or surpasses the filmmaker's other credits in that capacity. Actually, I think it may well be Luhrmann's best work to date. To whatever extent its production values are a smidgen more modest, reflecting the resources available to a new face in the medium, in all those ways that matter most this is an absolute treasure!
Bursting with the colors and sensibilities of the 90s, the exaggerated characters and high energy in the direction and performances, and the spirited writing, recall the theatricality of like-minded fare. We think of John Waters' 'Hairspray' or 'Cry-Baby,' or the mockumentaries of Christopher Guest, on the more frivolous side of things, or other dance-focused pieces like 'Dirty dancing' or later Swayze vehicle 'One last dance,' let alone musicals; for good measure, add fragments of cheeky 80s comedies. Purposefully overblown characters, shrewd situational humor, and witty dialogue and scene writing provide heartier laughs than some more straightforward comedies can, with elements of outright cartoonishness woven in at just the right moments. At the same time, there is a welcome earnestness in the storytelling befitting a tale of pushing boundaries, of the struggle of the underdog, of conflicting interests, of defying others' expectations and demands, of romance - and, of course, of competitive ballroom dancing. The result, pairing with that delicious comedy, is absorbing, compelling drama that is all the greater in complement. Meanwhile the costume design, hair, and makeup strike a balance of being both fabulously, gaudily over the top where competition segments provide a veneer over the working class backgrounds of the characters, while their more down-to-earth counterparts are simply lovely. Much the same goes for the production design and art direction, a smidgen of glitz and glamour painted over the ordinary lives and personal frailties of the characters. One way or another, every last trace of the labor of those behind the scenes is magnificently rich, a real pleasure.
This is to say nothing of the wonderfully adept acting to which we're treated from one and all, shifting as necessary from ridiculously animated to superbly nuanced and perfectly poised and reserved, in embodying characters who are unexpectedly well-rounded. Paul Mercurio stands out most as protagonist Scott, certainly, and Tara Morice only half a step behind him as young Fran. Yet truly everyone gives performances equal to the task, and frankly I altogether adore the cast. Bill Hunter, Pat Thomson, Gia Carides, Peter Whitford, Pip Mushin, Sonia Kruger, and all others on hand infuse the proceedings with marvelous vitality and/or sincerity; Barry Otto, in a smaller supporting part as Scott's father Doug, is a glad emotional anchor for the picture, and likewise even for Antonio Vargas and Armonia Benedito as Fran's father and grandmother. Incredibly, the same warmth and vibrancy that the actors carry in their acting is furthermore borne out through the film's technical craft; in Steve Mason's cinematography, in Jill Bilcock's editing, and in Luhrmann's direction, all flawless, there thrums remarkable intelligence and a life-giving electricity that keeps us spellbound every "step" of the way. And with all this having been said, what can I possibly say of the choreography except that it is altogether stellar? From top to bottom there is joy, zest, and fluidity in the dancing that in my opinion meets or exceeds the standards we assume of any comparable fare. Watching 'Strictly ballroom' is nothing less than rejuvenating, and it would be so even if it were reduced to only the comedy, or only the drama, or only the dancing.
True, the narrative treads in very familiar, tried and true territory; "strictly" speaking, there is nothing in these ninety-odd minutes that we haven't seen before. Yet from the big beats and themes through to the smallest shots and expressions, this movie is more sharply made, and resonates more deeply, than many works that we might cite as a frame of reference. Tremendous skill and care is seen in every last facet, and I find myself having a hard time saying that This or That stands out more as a favorite. I anticipated enjoying it, but 'Strictly ballroom' goes above and beyond all my expectations. It may not appeal to all, certainly, yet whether one is an especial fan of Luhrmann or someone else involved, or of dance, or just looking for something good to watch, I find it hard to believe anyone could sit for this feature and not have a blast. I couldn't be happier with just how fantastic this is, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!
Pierrot le fou (1965)
Very offbeat - but, unexpectedly, also very fun
Jean-Luc Godard is one of those filmmakers that just doesn't sit well with me personally. I've watched some of his movies and thought they were great; I've watched others and felt wholly indifferent, or outright hated them. I recognize how highly regarded he is in some corners, but to me he just comes off as a pretentious oaf. I keep trying, however, and I know 'Pierrot le fou' is held in considerable esteem; especially since Godard's earlier, more narrative-oriented features land better with me, how does this fare? To sit and watch there's no mistaking that this is unconventional, and decidedly jarring at first blush, to the point that the very first impression it makes isn't a good one; Godard seems to be up to the same tricks that make no few of his works more grating and unlikable. Happily, however, even within the first twenty minutes or so the picture begins to gel and attain its own queer sense of cohesiveness; while the viewing experience is consistently bewildering, there is a sly brilliance to these two hours that really does show what the filmmaker was capable of when he wasn't completely absorbed in his own self-indulgences and worst impulses. I find myself pleasantly surprised; I think this is fantastic!
The film is certain to put off anyone who desires more straightforward storytelling, no matter how many twists, turns, or metaphors it might carry, and anyone who prefers fiction that concretely inspires tears, thrills, or laughs. To say that this 1965 flick is an oddball is like calling the sun "hot"; so many disparate thoughts are tossed into the mix that even without taking into account the often steady, brisk pacing we must remain firmly attentive just to keep up with the proceedings, and there's no disputing that the more conceitedly artistic and grandiose ideations of the man are also prevalent here in no small part. The difference, however, is that to whatever extent the more garish or less immediately relevant elements threaten to overtake the storytelling, and the otherwise craftsmanship - in the same way as, say, the penchant of some modern action filmmakers for "Slick And Cool" visuals threatens to or actually does undo any otherwise value in their productions - Godard gets it right in this instance by primarily ensuring that the flourishes of his vision (or sometimes his rhetoric) serve the story, and not vice versa. The story comes first, and it just happens to be told in a manner so offbeat that I recognize a kinship with more recent auteurs like Charlie Kaufman or Quentin Dupieux. And in this manner, 'Pierrot le fou' becomes a joy.
Where Godard focuses most on his common artistic obsession with consumerism, and/or political musings, is where this is the least sure-footed, and likewise wherever embellishment in the fundamental presentation (e.g., tinting in one of the earliest scenes) is most forward. (Be well aware of a scene where yellowface is employed). Otherwise, even as the ideas and flavors herein are a veritable grab bag while communicating the underlying story of Ferdinand and Marianne, those who are receptive to the style will be swept up in it. We're greeted with a tale of crime, romance, wry comedy, the classic road trip, action-adventure, and even fleeting musical stylings of song and dance; there are poetic voiceovers and dialogue, surrealism, casual occasional breaking of the fourth wall, and abstract, sometimes minimalist renderings of a beat or idea. Antoine Duhamel's flavorful, pensive dramatic score, deliberately imbalanced sound design, and some sudden sound effects, meet with curt sound editing that may sometimes abruptly cut audio in or out at will. There are times when the scene writing or the plot development (such as it is) suddenly swerves, or Francoise Collin's editing is extra curt, or maybe Collin's editing and Godard's vision will purposefully chop up a sequence such that it's pretty much out of order; sometimes the cinematography is extra playful, or the camera will cut to other imagery. And among all this and still more, somehow Jean-Paul Belmondo, Anna Karina, and their co-stars manage to give performances that feel perfectly natural, with softly buzzing chemistry between them.
And the thing is, all of it looks really good! The image is crisp and vivid, and flush with vibrant hues as we expect of contemporary Eastmancolor; esteemed cinematographer Raoul Coutard turns in splendidly smart, rich work, just as editor Collin does. The acting is terrific and filled with spirit; those stunts and effects that are employed are excellent. Though the title is quite all over the place, Godard's script (such as it is) is flush with fabulous, fun ideas, and his direction is spry and lively. In fact, setting aside those times when the filmmaker's indulgences threaten to overtake the production, the chief criticism I have is that the far-flung odds and ends that make up the whole are unevenly applied. 'Pierrot le fou' is rather front-loaded, and there are wide swaths of the length that proceed along relatively ordinary lines; sometimes a bunch of these facets will be mixed together at once, and elsewhere there will be none. If all the curious notions had been carried through to the end more uniformly, as much of a through-line as the story, then I think I would think still better of this. Mind you, even as it is, I'm a bit taken aback to have found another work of Godard that I genuinely appreciate; while I was certain I'd try another here and there, I'd more or less given up on him. And here we are with this that is very engaging and entertaining from start to finish, however much we may him and haw about the particulars.
No matter what one specifically thinks about it, this is a movie that will definitely appeal most to a more selective audience, and I can hardly begrudge those who have a difficult time sitting with it. Even as it bounces to and fro, though, it remains a unified whole that's grounded by the narrative, and Godard's tendency toward bloviating rhetoric and empty arthouse pomposity is either absent or reined in as will serve the picture and not himself. I still don't especially plan on seeking out more of his oeuvre, but count this piece among those that ably demonstrate what he could achieve when he didn't get in his own way. It's no outright revelation, and I don't think one needs to go out of their way for it, but if you're receptive to all the wide, wacky possibilities that cinema has to offer and you do have the chance to watch, 'Pierrot le fou' is an enjoyable, far-flung feature that's worth checking out.
Raging Bull (1980)
A roundly stellar, masterful achievement of cinema
It's been a very long time since I last watched this, to the point that I remembered nothing but a fragment of the last stretch. I recalled enjoying it, but even with the very high reputation it has held over the past forty years, how would it really hold up in retrospect? Martin Scorsese is a darling of the industry but not all his works are equal, or resonate equally with all viewers; what of this, which by some measures may well be his most enduring legacy in the medium?
There are two impressions that 'Raging Bull' makes rather quickly. The first is that even by "normal" standards - of stereotypical, hot-headed trash talk and "locker room" talk, bloviating machismo, and toxic masculinity; of misogyny and homophobia, and casual dispensation of slurs for the purpose of insult, disparagement, and sideways punching-down; and of other fiction, in cinema above all, that revolves around figures of ill repute, questionable morals, and bad behavior - the characters herein are coarse, swarthy, seedy, and unlikable. There are straightforward crime flicks, and features that specifically center anti-heroes or even villains, where the characters are more likable, respectable, and sympathetic. Such touches make the picture a little less easy to digest, just as is true of the most extreme instances of violence. Be that as it may, these factors seem a tad less prominent as the length draws on, and more importantly, the movie is raptly absorbing as a portrait of a volatile boxer whose career is as unstable as his personal life and mental state are explosive. Even as the characterizations and dialogue reflect unseemly vulgarity and outright barbarism, the scene writing is increasingly, magnificently strong, a top highlight as no few scenes are plainly brilliant, and the narrative increasingly compelling and satisfying as the less savory facets are gradually folded into the gathering vitality of the storytelling. There are many times when the viewing experience is almost horrifying in its ugliness, but at its best (and this is "at its best" much more so than not, especially in the second half), the drama is altogether spellbinding.
The second impression that 'Raging Bull' makes, however, is even more sure-footed, consistent, and gratifying. Say what one will about Paul Schrader and Mardik Martin's treatment of Jake LaMotta and his life, the film is stupendously well made in every other capacity. If ever one might have had a doubt about Scorsese as a filmmaker, his direction here is absolutely stunning, and frankly flawless: smart, tight, and always capturing the perfect mood in the perfect take with impeccable guidance of his cast. That cast is extraordinary; in all the years since we often taken for granted that Robert De Niro is a great actor, but his performance here alone - ferocious, powerful, ranged, nuanced, and overflowing with emotional depth - is really just stunning. If the same is any less true of Joe Pesci, Cathy Moriarty, Nicholas Colasanto, Frank Vincent, or anyone else down to the smallest supporting parts, it's only because they are less prominent and given fewer opportunities to shine. The fight choreography, stunts, and effects are incredible, vivid and visceral, and definitely a credit to all those operating behind the scenes, and the same quite goes for the sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. Yet speaking of such underappreciated contributors, we've not even gotten to the most uniformly striking aspects of the title.
Much has been made of Thelma Schoonmaker's keen sight as an editor, and her long-time partnership with Scorsese. The first time I, personally, took note of her was with Michael Wadleigh's seminal 'Woodstock' documentary, for her work on the editing team there was a considerable part of what made it such a tremendous success. Mark this as the second time I've emphatically taken note of Schoonmaker: I'm not saying that every passing moment in these 130 minutes is a revelation by her hand, but I am saying that where her meticulous effort is most readily observed it is outright dazzling, and in all other instances, it is sharp and fluid beyond all conceivable reproach. Amazingly, more than anything else, I'm just floored by Michael Chapman's cinematography. The very tight close-ups during fight sequences make every blow, every spray of blood, and every expression pop out with a vibrancy that other features only wish they could achieve. From fantastically shrewd camera movement, to lighting, to subtle shifts, there is a warmth and spirit that allows even this singular element to thrum with buzzing electricity and feel alive, let alone the whole. For all those ways in which 'Raging Bull' is exceptional - and it is, through and through - Schoonmaker and Chapman match Scorsese and De Niro in the proportionate weight of their contributions to the sum total.
It was the crudeness in the dialogue and characterizations that first caught my attention with this rewatch, because it rather exceeds what I am accustomed to even with all the countless pictures I've watched over the years. After all, though, it's only part and parcel of the saga being imparted, and in every other fashion this is nothing less than exemplary. There are still many other works that are more meaningful to me as an individual, and that I hold in higher esteem, but for the level on which this operates, the distinction is functionally meaningless. Not only does the movie hold up in retrospect, and not only is it almost certainly Scorsese's premier contribution to cinema, but it's no wonder why it has so loftily celebrated, often named as one of the best movies ever made; to the extent one may disagree, it can surely only be a matter of splitting hairs. From writing, direction, and acting to choreography, editing, cinematography, and all else and everything in between, 'Raging Bull' remains a momentous achievement with relatively few points of comparison across all years and all genres. There are parts of it that are more difficult to watch, yes, but that is true of any tale that is worth telling. When you get down to it this is a stellar film that truly demands viewership - from everyone, at least once - and that's all there is to it.
The Conquering Power (1921)
A fine, compelling silent drama
Major star power is no guarantor of the success of a picture. Esteemed actors have participated in some of the best films in the world, and in some of the worst, and even as Rudolph Valentino's fame outshines his short life and career, not all his works are equal, either. I see both the strengths and the weaknesses in Rex Ingram's 'The conquering power,' and while the former outweigh the latter, even at its best I don't think this is a title that specifically, majorly stands out among its contemporaries. It deserves remembrance, certainly, both on its own merits and as a surviving piece of silent cinema - only, maybe just don't go out of your way for it.
When I last watched a feature that was based on classic literature by Honoré de Balzac, the viewing experience clocked in at a walloping thirteen hours. By all means, Jacques Rivette's 'Out 1' is an outlier, both for its extraordinary length and for the experimental nature by which it adapts 'History of the thirteen.' Be that as it may, the frame of reference is not a useless one, for the chief issue I take with this 1921 flick is that one need not be familiar with Balzac's 'Eugénie Grandet' to readily gain an understanding that the adaptation, even by so highly regarded a screenwriter as June Mathis, removes details and nuance. I'm sure it was necessary to condense the source novel into a more digestible, conventional length of film stock; even so, there is a brusqueness in the storytelling that to me suggests chunks of plot were left out to simplify the cinematic rendition. This is understandable in some measure, but in another it is unfortunate as the full breadth and depth of the tale, and the impact it might carry, is diminished.
With that in mind, however, by and large 'The conquering power' is terrifically well made, and more than not it's surely a fine credit to all involved. Overall the narrative remains intact, and the scene writing is fabulously strong; as director Ingram works hard to ensure that the gravity of each beat is conveyed as faithfully as possible, and there is some splendid shot composition throughout. In both the writing and direction, even down to some intertitles, there is sometimes a masterful sense of poetic flourish, and otherwise artistry, that definitely captures the imagination; this is a drama, but there are deliciously dark vibes coursing throughout, and noteworthy themes. I love the costume design, and the sets, and even the hair and makeup is lovely. Perhaps more than anything else, much of the success of this movie can be attributed to the superb acting. The entire cast is outstanding, breathing vivid life into their characters and infusing the proceedings with stark vitality, and that applies even to those in smaller supporting parts. Valentino may be the most famous participant all these decades later, but swell as he is here, I think he's rather outshone by Edward Connelly in his subtle performance; by Ralph Lewis, with the intense fervor and malignance with which he embodies Père Grandet; and not least, by Alice Terry, who as beleaguered, lovestruck Eugenie is arguably given the most opportunity to illustrate her range.
The picture is a tad rough around the edges, and it seems clear to me that 'Eugénie Grandet' was somewhat gawkily abridged in its translation into a script. I can hardly blame Mathis for this, nor Ingram as director or producer, but the incidence is discernible and is therefore regrettable. I'd go one step further and say that this is even a tad uneven, for while some scenes are altogether brilliant, other moments (maybe in the third act most of all) were plainly less carefully crafted. And still it speaks so well to the skills and intelligence of all involved that the end result is nonetheless fantastic at large - engaging, compelling, and highly satisfying. In whatever ways this is troubled, when all is said and done such matters are fairly minor and forgivable. I don't think it wholly demands viewership, and strictly speaking it may not be the feature to change the minds of anyone who isn't already enamored of the silent era, but whether you have a particular impetus to watch or are just looking for something good, ultimately I'm pleased to give 'The conquering power' my firm recommendation.
The Groundstar Conspiracy (1972)
A suitable thriller is assigned an asterisk owing to one major character
Well, the last thing I expected when I sat to watch, knowing nothing about the film or L. P. Davies' novel, was that the character of top-billed George Peppard, unspecified government agent Tuxan, would turn out to be a straight-up fascist. Moreover, as the tale eventually sets Tuxan, with his mind games and subtle manipulation, against figures of more heavy-handed abject violence, we as spectators are supposed to cheer him on despite the underhanded brutality of his own methods, ugliness that is not truly unique from those of the "antagonists." Was it Davies' intent from the outset to suggest tacit support for the worst people in the world, or was it the intent of screenwriter Douglas Heyes, or filmmaker Lamont Johnson? Are we really supposed to egg on a goon just because they're nominally aligned with our contemporary nation-state? 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' would be a common, unremarkable, blueprint thriller in a world where George Orwell's Mr. O'Brien reigned supreme, where predominant politics would hold that innocence is nothing more than a pretense for corruption that's not yet been revealed, or instilled; where people are nothing but tools to be exploited and disposed of; and where any means are justified for any end. In our world, it's not so easy to derive entertainment from a piece where we're seemingly meant to root for an unreservedly awful person.
In fairness, the picture gives us another character, Michael Sarrazin's, who quickly becomes meaningfully, deservingly sympathetic; then again, we viewers are not concretely given satisfaction when all is said and done, and any rebuke to Tuxan that is written into this is soft and scarcely more than lip service. True, in all other regards this is well made. Setting aside the elevation of Tuxan and his methods, the plot is duly compelling, and the scene writing is quite strong. I think some parts of the narrative could be tightened, with greater connectivity between ideas, but the foundations are solid. From filming locations to production design and art direction the basic visuals are swell, and the stunts and effects superb. All involved give excellent performances, including Peppard and Sarrazin, and certainly also Christine Belford. At its best this offers fine tension and suspense, and the sense of thrills we desire. And I'm actually of the mind that the top highlight in this ninety-odd minutes might be Paul Hoffert's music - themes of synth-driven sobriety and fleet-footed jazz that tastily complement the action, and the mood at any given time, while themselves nestling deep within our ears and wresting a noticeable fragment of attention away from the rest of the feature. I'm not saying Hoffert's score is a revelation, but it is striking, and most welcome.
And still I'm stuck on how 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' positions Tuxan as a hero despite his viciousness and never completely takes that away from him, no matter how deep his wickedness runs. No, not every story has a happy ending; some wonderfully absorbing stories definitively end in a virtuous protagonist's defeat. Life is not so simple, cut, and clean as fiction where earnest, good-natured people frequently eke out a lasting victory. That's just the point, though: in a world where malice and cruelty are their own ends for the worst of people who purposefully trample the vulnerable while destroying crucial societal institutions, why would we want to watch a movie that cuts so close to home, and in which a central, uplifted character is defined by that same inhumanity? Just as much to the point, the types of stories and figures that we create, consume, and celebrate is indicative of where we are as a person, or as a people. It's one matter to find value in a hero who has their own flaws, or in an outright anti-hero; I would find it disturbing for a person to take delight in the activities of this title's Tuxan just a much as I would for a person to fervently enjoy playing murderous villains in a role-playing game. Ultimately the true worth of this film may arguably be not so much in the watching of it, but in watching the watchers to see how they react.
I don't dislike this, but the appreciation it might earn has at least as much to do with the scrutiny and discussion that follows from it, if not more, as from the actual viewing experience. Usually about now I'd say that I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, but for the very particular reasons I've highlighted, that isn't necessarily the case this time. Maybe I'm being too cynical and jaded, and maybe my perspective on 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' is overly harsh. The impression it gives off to me does not come out of nowhere, however, and so I regard it with some trepidation. If it's a thriller you want, it's a thriller you'll get; I'm just of the mind that between some looseness in the plot and its development, and and above all the way that Tuxan is treated throughout and all the way to the end, the legacy of this flick stews in murk, and any especial recommendation is hard to come by. I won't say "don't watch"; I will say "if you choose to watch, do so with a mind for critical thought and analysis." Take that as you will.
Africa Screams (1949)
Fun overall, a good adventure-comedy
Perhaps more than any other form of storytelling or entertainment, it sometimes seems like comedy is particularly prone to high variability in perceived quality. It's subject to individual perspective, and to changing sensibilities over time; some styles of humor come off better than others. All of Harold Lloyd's silent films are outstanding; his sound films are far less reliable. The Three Stooges' short films are a blast, but their slapstick often wears thin in full-length films. I certainly recognize how highly regarded Bud Abbott and Lou Costello are, though my experiences with them to date have been mixed; how might this 1949 flick hold up, especially as the name and premise raise reasonable concerns regarding some subject matter?
Happily, I'm of the mind that more than not the feature is generally among the duo's better releases, and it swiftly shows itself to be quite clever and fun at its best. The dynamics between Abbott and Costello are an essential centerpiece, as is the high energy that they and their co-stars bring to the proceedings. Between writers Earl Baldwin, Martin Ragaway, and Leonard B. Stern the screenplay is filled with swell gags and scene writing to twist to comedic ends a narrative that could just as well be realized as an earnest adventure. Charles Barton's direction maintains the high spirits of this lark, and as we further factor in excellent stunts, costume design, and stunts and effects, overall this is sure to entertain.
I won't say it's perfect, however, because there are distinct faults on hand that diminish my favor. Some bits are notably weaker than others - some are allowed to linger too longer, others are extra cartoonish, and so on. Just as much to the point, though such matters are common to lots of other pictures, we should question how the animals were treated, for there are no few scenes in which trained lions and chimpanzees play a part in a manner that probably wouldn't (and shouldn't) pass muster today. Just as sorrily, we should criticize the way that a tale set in Africa emphatically centers white people and heavily stereotypes African peoples; it's all intended for lighthearted merriment, yes, but that doesn't specifically make it better. Even the promotional artwork is frankly cringe-worthy. There are definitely parts of 'Africa screams' that don't come off so well all these years later, and while it broadly remains enjoyable, it's also important that we acknowledge and discuss its failings.
Scrutinize the particulars as we might, though, the preponderance of the humor is plentifully silly or witty in and of itself, and removed from how animals and black actors are employed. This most assuredly earns some laughs, even as some moments aren't as successful. It's not for nothing that Abbott and Costello are so famous, and even with the troubles it faces, I think this movie is a good time. I wouldn't say it wholly demands viewership, but I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, and it's worth checking out if you have the opportunity. Be aware that like too many other Hollywood films there are aspects that reflect less enlightened social values and awareness, but at large 'Africa speaks' is solid enough that it's a fun way to spend a quiet evening.
Yankee Gal (2008)
A smart, creative short, succinct but sharp
While there are always exceptions, one of the great things about short films is that we can trust there will be no excess. Whether by a filmmaker's budget or their vision or both, the smaller the piece, the tighter and more focused it is apt to be. And so it is with 2008's 'Yankee gal,' the creation of Celine Desrumaux, Gary Levesque, Antoine Perez & Francois Pons; clocking in at under five minutes, including credits, the small tale is concise and to the point, with the only artistic embellishment along the way coming in the form of the manner in which the story is imparted. And what a story it is, even in such a short span of time, telling of a pilot in a failing fighter plane. Others have fashioned similar narratives, yes, in full-length features, in anthologies, and on television, but none in a manner that was so succinct, and still so impactful.
Brilliant as it is, I do think the short comes up, well, "short" in terms of its final form. As it presents this is the barest rendition of the concept, stripping away all ornamentation, and that's splendid. At the same time, the editing is so brusque and curt that as the extremely visual story flits back and forth the full weight of the idea is diminished. I don't think it would have been necessary to add to the length at all to add to the experience, only to allow scenes to linger a smidgen longer rather than be chopped up into such tiny fragments.
Be that as it may, the filmmakers concocted something wonderfully smart, with the visuals themselves being terrific in flavoring the brief plot as it unfolds. Personal preferences may very as to the style of animation, but it's smooth, fluid, and generally polished, and the accompanying music is a nice touch. This isn't an all-out must-see, but 'Yankee gal' is a fine credit to all involved, and I'm very pleased with what they put together in so abbreviated a format. Especially for all the longer it takes to watch, this is well worth checking out.