I_Ailurophile Reviews

I Live in Fear (1955)

Softly but definitively impactful; an underappreciated gem

[9/10 · 27 May 2024]

It isn't necessarily outwardly impressive, and compared to those titles that Kurosawa Akira is best known for, this drama centered tightly on one family seems rather common at first blush. Yet however it might appear from the outside looking in there is meaningful, deeply impactful substance within, and in its own way the picture is just as striking as anything else the man has made. His period pieces tend to get all the glory, yet in the contemporary tale of one family, and the elderly patriarch desperately fearful of the atom bomb, Kurosawa gives us a different sort of movie that ultimately hits just as hard, if not more so. Despite myself I sat with some mixed expectations, but I should have known better, and 'I live in fear' is another outstanding classic from one of the world's greatest filmmakers.

As if one should ever harbor doubts about Kurosawa in any manner, this film is generally well made in every capacity. The sets and costume design may not be the sort to wholly capture the imagination, nor the cinematography or selectively employed music, but every facet is ably crafted and serves the whole well. While the utmost perfectionism and fastidiousness the filmmaker is known for isn't necessarily on full display as it would be in later works (e.g., building a whole town for 'Red Beard'), one can rest assured that his direction remains as reliably terrific as ever. Given the nature of the feature, here that predominantly means guiding the cast in their performances, and it's safe to say that all involved are fantastic. Some actors may stand out more than others, including Negishi Akemi as young mistress Asako, Miyoshi Eiko with her reserved acting as Toyo, and likewise Shimura Takashi with his soft-spoken portrayal of Dr. Harada. Of any player participating, though, it's impossible not to take note of icon Mifune Toshiro, starring as beleaguered Nakajima Kiichi. For a figure of Japanese cinema who is usually so instantly recognizable, 35-year old Mifune is completely unrecognizable as he disappears into this role. That's partly a credit to the hair and makeup artists, certainly, yet Mifune deftly shifts his physicality into the hunched posture and hobbled gait of an old man, and if one didn't have the benefit of outside context we wouldn't know it was him. Be that as it may, Mifune's impassioned delivery and personality remain intact, and for all that there is to appreciate in these 100-odd minutes, he is foremost.

Not to count out anyone else who helped bring 'I live in fear' to fruition, but even more than Mifune's disappearing act it's easily the screenplay that ultimately holds the most power here. The basic premise is fairly straightforward, and within the concept of anxiety in the Atomic Age leaves plenty of room for a broader tableau to start to take shape. The flick specifically speaks to the recent horrors inflicted upon Japan at the conclusion of World War II, the emergence of nuclear weapons, and the all too reasonable apprehension of annihilation. To whatever extent these thoughts may be universal, however, the narrative as it presents draws upon a wider array of ideas that absolutely broaches the modern human experience. The story is one of conflict within a family, with court mediators standing in for the larger community or society that may play a part in facilitating discussion or resolving such conflict. There are questions at play of when fear and anxiety crosses over into concerning or harmful behavior, or mental illness; the agency and rights an individual may have under such circumstances, their responsibility to others, and the agency and rights of those around them; and what role society can or should play to manage, in any degree or fashion, the difficulties of such scenarios. As such notions remain despairingly relevant seventy years on, if not always with the same details, the question also lingers of just what an appropriate response is to a world that has gone mad. While 'I live in fear' lacks the spectacle of 'Kagemusha' or 'Ran,' as the core comes into focus it is just as strongly absorbing, and at length, just as worthy.

Typical verbiage such as "enjoyable," "satisfying," or even "rewarding" carry too positive a connotation to apply to a picture of this tenor, not least as the course of events quietly comes to a head in the last act. The sum total definitely leaves a lasting mark, however, and while this isn't as famous as Kurosawa's many other masterpieces, it unmistakably belongs among that same lofty company. I can understand how it won't appeal to all comers, and it rather goes without saying that it's downbeat and depressing, yet for those who are receptive to the material, 'I live in fear' continues to stand as a title of consequence, and it's very much worth seeking out on its own merits. Kurosawa again proves that his legendary reputation is completely deserved, and I'm glad to give 'I live in fear' my high and hearty recommendation.

The Leopard (1963)

An excellent, softly compelling classic

[8/10 · 27 May 2024]

From a standpoint purely of its visual presentation, this is a stunningly beautiful film. For that we have many and much to thank, from the exceptional filming locations, to the grand production design and art direction, not to mention exquisite costume design, hair, makeup, and even lighting. Between Luchino Visconti's impeccable vision as director, and Giuseppe Rotunno's smart, vibrant cinematography, most every shot and scene to greet us is orchestrated with an artistry and finesse that is deeply pleasing. Factor in the glorious mid-century Technicolor, a contemporary process that routinely captures the imagination more than modern film-making techniques often do, and 'The leopard' is flush with beautiful aesthetics that make these three hours go down very easily. Superb, nuanced acting, and judicious employment of splendid stunts and effects as the narrative requires, are just excellent bonuses, and likewise Nino Rota's lovely original music. Whatever else is true of this picture, the viewing experience is smooth and flavorful to behold.

With all that gorgeous splendor well in mind, there remains the question of the storytelling. I fully recognize the high esteem in which Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's novel has been held, and to much the same extent Visconti's cinematic adaptation, and I understand why. I also believe there is a certain variety of historical drama that loses its power when the audience who sits for it is not steeped in the same culture, heritage, and history, and this is perhaps even more true where gentle pacing and a soft tone define the plot and its development. There is strong value in the saga of Italy at a time of much sociopolitical upheaval, with focus on the ruling class who may occasionally demonstrate wisdom and meaningful rumination, and who at least as often show themselves to be, in one fashion or another, a disparate assemblage of despicable toads. The extent of that value may vary considerably from one viewer to the next, and it is surely those who are somehow personally invested in Italy and its history who will get the most out of this celebrated classic.

I appreciate 'The leopard.' I am also just aware that, at least for me, its pointedly muted approach to the material, and to the themes and bigger ideas on hand, reduce the weight and impact thereof, even as they remain sadly germane to our world of 160 years later. Don Corbera is a figure whose stature, prominence, and relevance are slowly fading in the light of the new society that is emerging with its own decadence and corrupting influence, and at its core the tale is bittersweet if not altogether wryly sorrowful. I feel, however, that this does not especially come to bear until the ballroom sequence that dominates much of the last hour, and even as Burt Lancaster quietly shines in this last portion with an utterly phenomenal, understated performance of nuanced emotional depth, I find myself wanting that the whole had been navigated with an equal level of adroit focus and mindfulness. All told I greatly admire this feature, and it's just that it doesn't completely hold the same significance for me as it clearly and reasonably has for many others. For the ardor of its craftsmanship alone this remains upstanding and well worth checking out, and I see the marvelous substance that lies at the heart of the story; I just wish that said substance were more plainly tangible to me. Yet if I at all sound unenthusiastic, please don't mistake that tenor in my words for a lack of respect, honor, or fondness: him and haw as we may about the particulars, 'The leopard' is a movie whose reputation is well deserved, and I'm glad to give it my firm recommendation.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

Solidly enjoyable, though individual experiences may somewhat vary

[8/10 · 26 May 2024]

I mean no disrespect to other actors when I say that David Suchet is so closely associated with Hercules Poirot that it's hard to imagine other stars in the role. Even Peter Ustinov had a notably different interpretation in the several films where he played the Belgian; what about Albert Finney? What about that otherwise enormous cast of very recognizable names and faces? And just how would Sidney Lumet's adaptation of Agatha Christie's novel stack up in general, regardless of possible comparison to all the others out in the world? Thankfully we don't need to concern ourselves too much with these questions, for while it is possible to do wrong by Christie (see 1988's 'Appointment with death,' or rather, maybe don't), it's relatively hard to do so, and with her writing as reliable foundation we can trust in this 'Murder on the Orient Express' being a firmly enjoyable murder mystery.

Granted, "reliable foundation" and "firmly enjoyable" do not mean "perfect," or in the very least, there may be various odds and ends with which one may take issue based on personal preference and/or comparison to other iterations of Poirot. For my own tastes, I'm not particularly fond of Finney's portrayal of the famous detective. As a character he is a man with a brilliant mind, with tastes and behaviors ranging from refined, to idiosyncratic, to peculiar. Suchet played him with a wry disposition, a certain lack of sociability, and a temperament that became more severe upon provocation; Ustinov lent him a more congenial or even jovial flair. Finney, meanwhile - whole and committed as his performance is - rather makes Poirot come off just as, well, an offensive little goblin. There, I said it. Maybe Finney's Poirot is closer to Christie's than Suchet's, I cannot pretend to know to a certainty, but I do know that Finney's Poirot comes off as an investigator more suited for what I know of Monty Python than for what I know of Christie. As Christie accordingly took exception to Finney's mustache in this 1974 movie, maybe she would have agreed.

Other matters nag at me, too, like part of Richard Rodney Bennett's score. While at large it is fine complement for the proceedings, the buoyant theme employed while the train is in motion suggests that Julie Andrews is about to swoop in with an umbrella and break into song; the tone clashes. Especially given Finney's interpretation of Poirot, the zeal of the Belgian's assertions feel out of character to me as the script attributes five deaths to the villain. Perhaps this is a reflection of the values of Christie's time, of philosophy, and in turn of semantics, but my own count is rather different, and with that disparity the manner in which these thoughts are treated here rubs me the wrong way. Further, I would suggest that while overall the writing is solid - how could it not be, as Paul Dehn adapted Christie's novel? - the fact is that generally speaking, I just don't feel that this picture makes a major impression. It's well done at large, certainly, yet it was only with the very, very last scene that I found myself sitting upright, wishing to congratulate Lumet for the insight that produced this moment. True, other titles can't claim even one such moment, but this doesn't change the fact that I don't find 'Murder on the Orient Express' to be as completely absorbing as one might commonly hope of cinema.

But maybe I'm nitpicking. Lumet, Dehn, the cast, and the crew have given us an ably entertaining murder mystery, with characters that are broadly well-written and a protagonist whose keen intellect allows him to piece together the truth from only scattered, disparate scraps. The story is compelling and capably assembled, the many esteemed actors on hand give commendable performances, and some particulars aside, Lumet's direction is excellent. All those operating behind the scenes turned in terrific work, not least the costume design, to bring this sordid tale to life; I quite appreciate Geoffrey Unsworth's cinematography and Anne V. Coates' editing, as well. We can discuss the value of specific elements, and how much we think they do or do not fit as they present, but the very least that can be said is that the feature is very good. The exact level of esteem with which one is inclined to regard this will vary, and for my part I'm not especially enthusiastic, but it remains well worth checking out. Whether one has a special impetus to watch or is just looking for a good time, 'Murder on the Orient Express' holds up fairly well, with the caveat that some bits and bobs won't necessarily meet with the same favor.

Madame Web (2024)

Too much poor writing and too many poor creative decisions sap away its potential

[3/10 · 25 May 2024]

Ever the age-old question when a new release quickly flounders and earns a poor reputation: how bad could it be? After a certain point it's not enough to read about such works, and we have to see them for ourselves. While this was the first full-length feature for director S. J. Clarkson, she has enjoyed a full career in television. Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless' screenplay for 2016's 'Gods of Egypt' notably had its issues, though it wasn't the biggest problem in that film, and anyway I remember enjoying their work on 'The last witch hunter.' Whatever one thinks of other movies they've been in, there are some fairly respected actors here. And on the one hand, while Sony's live-action superhero fare has been met with mixed reception, it's not like they're totally incompetent - after all, they've churned out two of the best superhero flicks ever made in 'Into the Spider-Verse' and 'Across the Spider-Verse.' All this is to say that at least based on its building blocks, 'Madame Web' probably had chances that were just about even. Unfortunately, once we sit to watch, in no time the viewing experience becomes rather laborious, and with a runtime of nearly two hours, one thing we have to be thankful for is that this isn't longer like too many of its kin.

I suppose it's possible that if someone is an especial fan of comic book movies then this might meet with more favor in their eyes. By the same token, I pretty well tired of action blockbusters a few years ago, and just completely gave up on the "Marvel Cinematic Universe" in 2018, so maybe I'm more prone to harsh judgment of a like-minded title. In absolute fairness, I see the potential that this had. While it's flush with superhero flavors, the core narrative is a thriller about precognitive visions and the protection of three young people who will important in the future; other pieces have played in this space to swell success. Some intended humor actually does earn a laugh. Clarkson's direction is technically competent, I find no fault with the actors in and of themselves, and this is well made from the standpoint of all those contributions from behind the scenes: stunts, effects, computer-generated imagery, costume design, hair, makeup, cinematography, editing, sound, Johan Söderqvist's original score, and so on and so on. All this is well and good, so what is it that troubles 'Madame Web?' However skilled the participants may be in and of themselves, their efforts here were guided by questionable creative choices, and above all, this film is woefully heavy-handed, and in no time becomes all too exhausting.

I am someone who loves watching pictures. I'll watch almost anything, and it's how I spend the majority of my free time. Too often this picture feels like a personal attack on me as a cinephile; I intermittently had to pause for several minutes to collect myself just because I felt overwhelmed by the presentation. From the opening scene onward, far more than not the writing is gawkily forthright and unsubtle, and oppressively emphatic - in its exposition, dialogue, scene writing, characterizations, the plot and its development, contemporary references and allusions to the early 2000s setting, nods to broader comic book lore, and too much of the humor (that is, those bits that don't land). I don't know where the culpability lies between Sazama, Sharpless, Clarkson, and co-writer Claire Parker, but the incidence is all too notable. That same gawky, forthright, unsubtle, oppressive, emphatic tack is subsequently applied to or infects a great deal of other facets throughout the runtime: the soundtrack, the acting, Clarkson's orchestration of scenes as director, Mauro Fiore's cinematography, Leigh Folsom Boyd's editing, the CGI, action sequences, the manner in which Cassie's visions are employed, the more fantastical costume designs, and more. Even in some quieter moments, like a "confrontation" early in the latter half between Cassie and Ezekiel, 'Madame Web' is a lot to take in and try to process, and not in a good way.

It's not wholly rotten. More than not I think the root story is fine and interesting. There are some nice touches here and there, kernels of welcome earnestness, and some admirable themes and bigger ideas. While the entirety does force the actors into some small corners, in the best moments where their abilities shine through I think the cast go a long way in making the feature palatable. The more judicious and mindful instances of editing and CGI are excellent, even where Cassie's visions are concerned, and likewise the other odds and ends; the filming locations and sets are generally splendid. Reading about the production I find myself pleased with the consideration and hard work that accordingly went into it in various ways, and I appreciate the sentiment, indicated in early press releases from Sony, that the endeavor would be a slightly different type of superhero flick, more of a "suspense-driven thriller." Even with loads of action that tenor truly is brought to bear in my opinion, a refreshing change of pace from the overbearing popcorn flicks of Marvel and DC, and I'd even go so far as to say that 'Madame Web' is surely stronger in its second half; it seems apparent that there comes a point where more care was taken, and my favor is restored to some degree. I see what the title genuinely does well.

I don't think this is absolutely awful. I think the harder it tries, and the more grandiose it tries to be, especially at the climax, the more it stumbles. The more it steps away from the "suspense-driven thriller" and toward "superhero action blockbuster," the more it struggles; the more it layers on the sentimentality (not least in the denouement), the more it raises a skeptical eyebrow. There is, in fact, a decent amount of value here, yet through to the end it remains true that wide swaths of the viewing experience are sadly gawky, forthright, unsubtle, oppressive, and emphatic. Listen, I love The Cranberries, but the use of their song over the end credits literally made me cringe. 'Madame Web' is a rickety roller coaster from desperately heavy-handed for a preponderance of the first hour, to more reserved and thoughtful in a fair stretch of the second half, and regrettably, back to desperately heavy-handed in its last few scenes. Had all gone well with this production, and had it been uniformly approached in the same measured fashion, I think I would have very much liked this, and maybe even looked forward to future stories with these characters. As it stands, I want to like the result more than I do, but I'm having difficulty mustering further kind feelings. I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do; for those who engage honestly with it, and step away disliking it even more, I understand. When all is said and done I can't bring myself to hate 'Madame Web' - I'm just sorry that everyone involved took a swing, made some miscalculations, and missed, with disastrous consequences. My best wishes for all who had a hand in this, and may they bounce back and/or redeem themselves in due course.

The Third Man (1949)

A superb, enduring classic

[9/10 · 24 May 2024]

I must say, I find myself surprised. This film carries an extremely high reputation, and moreover carries the very high favor and recommendation of people I know, and while I sat to watch with no foreknowledge, it's not what I had supposed it might be sights unseen. Anton Karas' music, greeting us from the outset, is utterly brilliant and ultimately marvelously effective, yet couldn't be further from the norm for crime thriller or film noir with its softly melodic and often upbeat chords. Except where they are specifically employed to artistic ends to bolster the shot composition I don't necessarily think much of those famous, proliferate, dramatic Dutch angles - I can easily envisage a parody, and it's not too far removed - yet with that said, at large this is plainly stupendous in how it was shot. Between the stunning filming locations, exquisite use of lighting and shadow, Robert Krasker's fantastically smart cinematography, and Carol Reed's truly impeccable direction, wide swaths of 'The third man' could be picked out frame by frame and either hung on a wall or slapped inside a coffee table book, for it is crafted with a masterful sense of artistry that at its best is altogether breath-taking. And I freely admit I spent pretty much the first half of these 104 minutes rather unconvinced: even as shady suggestions pervaded each scene, at first the story of Holly's amateur investigation wasn't gelling in an especially hardy or compelling manner, and the seeming introduction of an obligatory romantic element only met with a tired sigh as a trope I often find decidedly thin.

Yet when the narrative does shift around the halfway mark, or shortly thereafter, the plot kicks into high gear and the increasingly becomes intensely absorbing. One important midway scene of exposition puts (most of) the first half into perspective, and from thereon the picture plainly dazzles in every capacity as the story heads toward its conclusion. Emotional beats hit harder, some ingenious subtlety shines through at select points, and just as Orson Welles once again affirms the presence and nuance he wielded as an actor, other core cast members Joseph Cotten, Alida Valli, and even Trevor Howard and Bernard Lee more readily impress with their performances. That romantic element is ultimately treated in a manner that is immensely satisfying, to the point that I wish other filmmakers could be so smart about it in their own works. Well made in general, with terrific contributions from all those behind the scenes, the lofty esteem in which the feature is held is firmly validated, and any discussion of 'The third man' becomes not one about its indisputable level of quality but personal perspectives on relative strengths and weaknesses - whatever that means, on an individual level, for something operating on this level. It's also important to observe how casually but definitively the movie speaks to post-war Vienna as celebrated writer Graham Greene very organically weaves glimpses of the period into the story and its characters, just as Reed and Krasker give us eyefuls of the city in the wake of the destructiveness of a few years before. And on a tangential note, it's very much worth observing that Welles' role is one that is readily, perfectly identifiable in 2024, which means that in addition to being altogether excellent the whole production continues to be horrifyingly relevant.

Those who had recommended this to me, or who have spoken of it in grand terms, do not jest. I think there are interesting points to raise of what is extra sharp here or perhaps not so sharp, but this is completely separate from the incontrovertible fact of how superb the title is when all is said and done. Others have written far more about 'The third man,' and more eloquently, but allow me as a layperson but an avid cinephile to confirm that this is continues to stand tall as an outstanding, greatly satisfying classic, and anyone who enjoys watching films owes it to themselves to watch at least once. That's really all there is to it.

Appointment with Death (1988)

Questionable creative decisions diminish its lasting value

[5/10 · 24 May 2024]

I admit I'm not as familiar with Agatha Christie as I would like to be, and where the inimitable Hercules Poirot is concerned it's David Suchet I know best. Christie's writing is generally so smart and vibrant, however, that I think it would be hard to do wrong by the Belgian, and other portrayals have plenty of their own merit. Peter Ustinov's Poirot, debuting in 1978's 'Death on the Nile,' is a less stringent and more jovial interpretation, and the screenwriting that serves as his vehicle has been solidly reliable on its own. Granted, given my lack of knowledge about the source material I can't remark on the faithfulness of this film to the 1938 novel. But with that in mind, even before getting to the heart of the feature something troubles me about this 1988 release. Beyond the horrid attitudes of no few of the characters I recognize a strong undercurrent of racism in how Arabs are depicted, treated, and spoken of in the picture, suggesting stereotypes and denigration. I don't know if this is present in Christie's novel also or if it is a product chiefly of the screenplay of filmmaker Michael Winner and co-writers Anthony Shaffer and Peter Buckman; what I do know is that this movie - which speaks in passing to the disastrous meddling of the British Empire in the Middle East, and to the forthcoming division of Palestine according to dubious Zionist ideations - was filmed in Israel, possibly in part in occupied territory, and during the last months of the Golan-Globus period of Cannon Films. In my mind all this raises vexing questions about the production.

Of course such matters do not reflect the core substance of 'Appointment with death,' yet unfortunately, my opinion is that the core substance is actually a more severe stumbling block for the flick. I've seen enough other adaptations of Christie to trust in her stories; all the actors in this star-studded cast have more than proven themselves elsewhere; of a few other works I've seen directed by Winner, I especially enjoyed 1977 horror classic 'The sentinel.' Be that as it may, I don't find the writing fully convincing. Poirot is a man with an impeccably keen mind, and in all Christie's tales of the detective it is not wholly unbelievable that a man of his intellect would commonly be able to piece together the thin scraps of mystery that point him to a murderer. Here, however, whether the responsibility belongs to Christie or - as I presume - to the writing team of Winner, Shaffer, and Buckman, I think the narrative that allows Poirot to assemble his case is too thin to hold water. It seems to me that the mustachioed maestro is entrusted in this script with superhuman perception and deductive abilities, not to mention the utmost favor of Lady Luck, to be able to identify the culprit as he inevitably does in the third act. It feels less that we can proclaim, in awe, "Wow, this man is smart!" and more that this slice of cinema requires its hero to resolve the plot in the manner to which we are accustomed, and in turn performs some magic to allow that to happen. The connective threads between all the varied pieces just feel weak to me.

But that's not all. We know the prototypical narrative arc for a murder mystery. We're introduced to the cast of characters, we discover their motivations and learn how they might all be suspects, and following the fatal event, an investigator will conduct interviews, build or allay suspicion, and possibly find additional murders taking place before the perpetrator is unveiled. In this feature it's striking that we're nearly halfway through before the anticipated murder is committed. Thereafter, as Poirot goes about exercising his "little grey cells," there comes a point when I realized the pacing of each scene, of the plot development, and of the sequencing had quietly, irritatingly accelerated, and somehow seemed to be accelerating further. During as much as 20-30 minutes of the runtime, I had to simply pause to collect myself for a couple minutes at several points, and at others actually rewind a tad because scenes and dialogue were flying past so quickly, all before things slowed down again to a digestible pace for the last small stretch.

And as if all this weren't quarrelsome enough, to be perfectly frank I have a big problem with Winner's direction in 'Appointment with death.' It's Winner's hand that forces the considerable dubious pacing in the latter half. It's Winner's direction that reduces Sir John Gielgud's already small supporting part to effectively a nominal inclusion. It's the filmmaker's guidance that realizes the screenplay with moments for almost every cast member of delivery, expression, movement, or otherwise execution that again and again raise a skeptical eyebrow. While Christie's novels already contain a fair bit of humor, under Winner's oversight there are some odds and ends that seem outright parodical - clashing with the otherwise tone and the nature of the material, exceeding the bounds of the normal touches of levity, and plainly losing my favor as the earnestness of the picture is diminished. Even Ustinov's performance as Poirot sometimes seems curiously cartoonish, and these strange choices persist through to the final scene that, especially with the closing theme from composer Pino Donaggio, feels less like the denouement of a Christie murder mystery and more like the the last scene from an episode of a family-friendly 90s sitcom like 'Step by step.'

The plot as it presents seems flimsy, and the writing at large questionable in some capacities, but I recognize value in the root story. I know what the cast is capable of, and Winner when he's at his best. I'm not so sure about the circumstances of the production in and of itself, but in terms of serving the story the filming locations are terrific. Those operating behind the scenes turned in splendid work in every regard. All told I do like this movie. I'm just sad to find it decidedly disappointing, with various creative decisions made that weigh heavily against the lasting value it can claim. All in all 'Appointment with death' is enjoyable in some measure, but I doubt that its most admirable qualities are the ones I'm apt to recall when I think back on it even a few days from now. I'm glad for those who get more out of this flick than I do. It's not nearly the best representation of either Poirot or Christie, though, and no matter what your impetus is for watching, there are surely better ways to spend your time.

Yellowbeard (1983)

It's disappointing, middling, and unexciting, but I don't really know why.

[5/10 · 23 May 2024]

Everything I read or heard about this film prior to watching suggested to me that it was going to be a messy hodgepodge. Light comparison to 'It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world' didn't help, as I didn't care much for that feature; the fact that two stars have spoken of it in retrospect with verbiage like "one of the worst screenplays they'd read" and "the best times can be on the worst movies" was further strong warning. And then we sit to watch, and to be frank our doubts are rather swiftly validated. It's not that 'Yellowbeard' is outright bad overall - though it is very much outright bad at no few specific points, not least with appalling, frequent jokes about sexual assault. In fact, despite specific exceptions I rather see a great deal of wit throughout much of the screenplay credited to 'Monty Python' alumnus Graham Chapman with associates Bernard McKenna, David Sherlock, and Peter Cook. I recognize in this title that same rich sense of humor common to other works that the writers, and members of the extraordinary cast, have been a part of, and which themselves were fantastic. Despite its faults, it's not that I didn't enjoy 'Yellowbeard.' It's that in almost 100 minutes, even with all the advantages it had and the welcome, familiar strains of cleverness, I laughed only once. And under such circumstances, it's difficult to muster any enthusiasm.

What went wrong? Why did this picture fail where others have succeeded even as they boasted much the same qualities? There are the specific bad jokes, definitely, both the tawdry sort I mentioned and others, but many other bits - though coming up short in terms of earning laughs - are apt fun. The gratuitous nudity seen in El Nebuloso's fortress is a little tiresome, but this isn't remarkable in any way. Chapman's performance in the titular role tends to rely a bit too much on chewing of scenery and empty bluster, but on the other hand, all the many others on hand are generally just swell. There is arguably imbalance in the screenplay between heavy, busy plot and less emphatic, more natural manifestations of humor; then again, this isn't truly any different from the tenor adopted in some other fare that is regarded well. Mel Damski''s direction maybe seems too light and soft for its own good, sapping some vitality from the proceedings; then again, his approach is also not truly any different from that of others in similar fare, whether of comedy or adventure or both, that is regarded well. Meanwhile, this is well made in every capacity, including excellent stunts and effects; superb sets, costume design, hair, makeup, music, cinematography, and editing. All the ingredients are here for what should be a good time, and with some exceptions, all the ingredients here are quite suitable.

So why did I not laugh except at a single joke more than eighty minutes in? Why did all the other best bits elicit no reaction bigger than a small smile? Why does the intended comedy routinely fall desperately flat? Why does the action-adventure not excite? Why did 'Yellowbeard,' overflowing with esteemed luminaries among its contributors, stumble among both critics and viewers? The truth is that I really don't know. I watch these ninety-seven minutes and I see the marvelous potential it had; I see what it did genuinely do well. By all reason this flick should have been wonderfully entertaining - and instead it's no more than passably amusing. In light of such bizarre, inexplicable deficiency, I almost wonder if it's too generous to use terms like "middling" and "so-so." While it has distinct problems, I don't dislike this movie; I'm disappointed that it leaves me so non-plussed, and I'm flummoxed that I'm unable to identify more concrete flaws to explain its troubles. No doubt there are many folks out there who get far more from 'Yellowbeard' and think it's tremendously funny, as it should be, and I am sincerely happy for them. I wish I could say the same for myself. As it stands, this film is an okay way to spend one's time, but it should have been a terrific one, and there lies the issue. And with so many other features we could be watching instead, the reasons we have to tarry with this one are sadly few. Seek it out if you like, and it's best suggested for those who are major fans of the participants, but keep your expectations firmly in check and save it for an extra lazy day.

Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (1990)

A smart, clever, & atypical sort of comedy

[9/10 · 23 May 2024]

I can say with a high degree of certainty that had I watched this years ago, after it had first been recommended to me, I probably would have hated it. The concept sounds delightful as a reimagining of 'Hamlet' from the perspective of two minor characters, and this is technically what we get. The concept also sounds like the setup for an outright farce, yet while 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead' does provide hearty doses of comedy, it is of a wry, dry, backhanded variety that is smarter, subtler, and less likely to appeal to the average viewer. In the spirit of what we would anticipate of a more highbrow stage play, where this originated in the hands of filmmaker Tom Stoppard, strictly speaking the humor relies far less on gags, situational humor, or exaggerated characters and animated performances (though we do get some of all these) than it does on absurdist twists on rhetoric, existential philosophizing, and boundaries of reality within an ostensibly historical and straightforward narrative universe; and the reactions of two unexpectedly shrewd yet still quite idle-minded figures on the sidelines as we see what they are up to when the plot of 'Hamlet' does not call for their presence.

The resulting picture is marvelously fun, and Stoppard is to be congratulated for an ingenious inversion both of our assumptions and of so timeless and classic a play. That remarkably intelligent, somewhat underhanded style of comedy is definitely the sort that would have completely gone over my head when I was younger, and it is exactly why those viewers who are receptive to the approach will find the movie (and I'm sure Stoppard's play in turn) to be a resounding success. Having had no foreknowledge this is not what I anticipated sights unseen, but I am all so glad to have been confounded. The writing is tremendously, astonishingly sharp in all capacities, as true of the characters and dialogue as of the scene writing and overall plot, and from the opening scene, to the Guildenstern and Rosencrantz's "entrance" to the castle; from the play within a play that foretells the remainder of 'Hamlet,' to the expanded, whimsical role of the unnamed leader of the theater troupe; from the periodic faithful insertions of Shakespeare, and all the way through to the end. As director Stoppard maintains a reserved, understated tone to allow that writing to speak entirely for itself - even Stanley Myers' flavorful score is sparing, with that same intent - and with his guidance the cast adopt a tenor in their acting that is impeccably steady along those same lines of warped earnestness. While it's just as true of all those in supporting parts, which is to say those roles that in 'Hamlet' itself are foremost, Tim Roth, Gary Oldman, and even Richard Dreyfuss are all a joy unto themselves in helping to bring this quirky tableau to fruition.

Yes, 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead' is idiosyncratic and unorthodox both in and of itself and in its treatment of the root tragedy, but it is superbly well made with a level of careful precision and fastidious care beyond what we may sometimes presume elsewhere. While Stoppard's writing is the thrumming core of the film the whole is excellent in all other regards, including terrific filming locations, exceptional production design and art direction, and fine consideration for costume design, hair, and makeup. Nicolas Gaster's editing is extra keen, an atypical highlight, and even the lighting is similarly adept at many junctures, let alone Peter Biziou's warm cinematography. Those stunts and effects that are employed, while few, are fantastic. Really, the title is just a pleasure all around, easy on both the eyes and ears. It may be the type of comedy that is quietly clever and intellectually stimulating more than that which outwardly inspires big laughs, but in its own sly way rest assured that this modern classic is indeed very funny. That all in all it can be both is obliquely exemplified by (a) its bookend use of Pink Floyd's "Seamus" and (b) the fact that one gets the firm impression we'd take more from it upon repeated viewings, and this makes the sum total even more satisfying.

Suffice to say that 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead' will not appeal to all comers, nor will it meet with equal favor from all. Yet it really is a wonderfully rich experience with few points of comparison. If you're receptive to all the wide variety that cinema has to offer (and the stage, for that matter), this is a brilliant picture that is not to be missed. I'd stop short of saying it completely demands viewership, but if you have the opportunity to watch this is well worth checking out!

The Singing Ringing Tree (1957)

A rich, joyful, underappreciated treasure

[10/10 · 23 May 2024]

It remains true even in 2024 that film-making techniques, technology, and sensibilities of the mid-twentieth century can at times shine more luminously than some modern titles do, even with all their advantages. Give me that glorious mid-century color processing, be it Technicolor, Eastmancolor, or the Agfacolor we see here, that allows the visuals to pop out in all their vibrant hues, over the realistic but often somewhat drab processing of more recent years. Give me those incredibly detailed hand-crafted sets and hand-painted backdrops any day over the most state-of-the-art computer-generated imagery that invariably looks dated over time. Some instances among the sets, costume design, hair, and makeup are a smidgen less remarkable than others, like the throne room, yet in general we can see the tremendous care that went into every odd and end, and the most beauteous examples - which by all means represent the lion's share - are nothing less than resplendent. To all this add original music that is at once fanciful, playful, and gratifyingly varied, crisp sound design, smart cinematography, and smooth, fluid editing, and even recognizing the relatively unsophisticated nature of this children's fairy tale, 'Das singende, klingende Bäumchen,' or 'The signing, ringing tree,' is a wonderful delight!

The story is simple with only the requisite minimum of characters, character writing, or otherwise rounding detail, yet this is the norm for a work of The Brothers Grimm or their literary brethren. That ethos, and the modest family-friendly tenor, are reflected in some facets including and not limited to the special makeup and non-human representations of characters, some practical effects, or the straightforward plot development. Yet for any viewer familiar with pictures of this variety, none of this is a surprise, and such qualities are in fact marvelously endearing. No matter how much we may deign to scrutinize this or that, the skill, intelligence, and care that went into the feature is plainly evident, from the screenplay with its strong scene writing, to Francesco Stefani's mindful direction, to the committed and spirited acting of Christel Bodenstein, Eckart Dux, and Richard Krüger, among others. Whether one's point of reference are similar flights of fancy from the United States, Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, France, Mexico, or anywhere else, the kinship this shares with its contemporaries is obvious, welcome, and greatly satisfying, and 'Das singende, klingende Bäumchen' is a refreshing change of pace from more adult-oriented fare - and ultimately, truly no less entertaining.

The movie overflows with imagination and heart to match the hard work that went into it, and I could scarcely be more pleased with how enjoyable it is. If one really wants to find points to criticize one could do so; I'll suggest that when the princess meets an undesirable turn of events around halfway through, the change isn't remotely so drastic as the narrative would portend. At that point we're splitting hairs, however, and with a well-rounded plot that comes full circle in the back end, and some lovely, admirable themes in the tale to top it all off of humility, compassion, and empathy, the sum total is really just a joyful treasure when all is said and done. Being fond of some kindred fair I anticipated that I would like this flick, and still I'm all so happy with how richly absorbing, heartwarming, and fun it is, and at length, earnestly rewarding. I can understand how such fare won't appeal to all comers, yet I have a difficult time believing that anyone could watch and not have a good time in at least some measure. I, for one, quite adore 'Das singende, klingende Bäumchen,' and I'm glad to give it my high, hearty, enthusiastic recommendation to one and all!

The Singing Forest (2003)

Nothing can prepare you for how bewildering this movie is.

[2/10 · 22 May 2024]

I read the synopsis and was flabbergasted. Despite the film's extremely poor reputation my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to watch for myself. I was immediately taken aback by choices that were made in the first few minutes before the opening credits even finished flashing on-screen: a poem credited to the movie's protagonist (?); a short scene with a dubious introductory voiceover that also shows us in crystal-clear terms the low production values on hand; a montage behind the opening credits of historic photos from the Holocaust (excuse me?) and like images recreated for this production. And the very next scene lobs exposition at us with all the gracefulness of a hippopotamus on roller skates.

I had low expectations for 'The singing forest' and still I am plainly stunned. Please understand, on a situational basis I can forgive low production values including a fuzzy image, and muddled audio that's overwhelmed by ambient noise. I can even forgive the reflection of inexperience and/or low skill in other elements if the effort otherwise reflects earnest care and hard work. Filmmakers work with what they have, and I've seen some amateur horror flicks that were truly outstanding despite their outward shortcomings. Such deficiencies do sometimes make a viewing experience difficult, however, and beyond this, of far, far more concern is the fundamental construction of this feature. Even if we graciously, magnanimously look past what feels like a dire lack of skill or experience, this is painfully rough from the very start, and watching is a continuous journey of profound skepticism and persistent exclamations, as a viewer, of "wait, what?"

The cast, in no small part consisting of crew members pulling double duty, illustrate significant general inability. They do try to act, bless them. Some performers, like Erin Leigh Price, arguably come off better than others, but that's only saying so much; the more a scene requires of an actor, the worse they come off. In fairness, it's not necessarily their fault, because filmmaker Jorge Ameer illustrates direction for which the words like "amateur," "novice," and "greenhorn" are kind; for as unsteady, uncertain, unconfident, blunt, and overall meager as Ameer's direction is, one would never guess that he had been working in the medium for several years by this point. Much the same verbiage can be applied to the bare-faced cinematography, the curt and often perplexing editing, the wildly imbalanced sound in which soundtrack selections are grating on the ears, and more.

But the script. Oh, the script. The picture at large is flummoxing, yet for all those ways in which the picture struggles, Ameer's writing above all is astonishing in its ineptitude and woeful lack of credibility. The chief terms to use for the screenplay are "egregiously flimsy," "grossly heavy-handed," "all-around dubious," and "simply terrible." This goes for the quizzical dialogue, the bizarre scene writing, the empty characterizations, absolutely for the peculiar narrative broadly, the odd sequencing, and for all achingly gauche instances of plot development. Inasmuch as anything about the craftsmanship here could be called "crucial," there is a crucial plot point to come at about the 48-minute mark that left me repeatedly screaming in disbelief - and considering how confounding the screenplay is at pretty much all times, that's saying a lot. No matter what aspect of the writing we look to the "substance" is excruciatingly thin; it's one matter to read a plot synopsis, but the reality of how the story presents to us is, incredibly, much worse. Strictly speaking there are dramatic beats that, approached judiciously, should have emotional impact, but under any of the described circumstances, that just wasn't going to happen.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but it remains true that I've seen worse titles. I've seen the bottom of the barrel, and this isn't it. 'The singing forest' is so deeply questionable that it borders on problematic, but there is a faint sliver of sincerity that grounds the production despite all its many, many, breathtaking flaws and weaknesses. Still, for the level on which this operates, that doesn't get us very far. I'm gobsmacked; I know inevitably that I'm going to discuss this flick with other people, and when I do I don't know how I can meaningfully communicate just how bewildering it is. Save for the utmost curiosity of the avid cinephile I can't fathom any reason why another person might watch this, so the word "recommendation" never enters into the equation. All I can say is that if you do come across 'The singing forest,' and you're open to all the wide possibilities of cinema no matter how far-fetched or faulty, strap in and prepare as much as you can for one of the most baffling viewing experiences you're ever going to have.

Onyx the Fortuitous and the Talisman of Souls (2023)

A wonderfully fun horror-comedy, a terrific credit to all involved

[9/10 · 22 May 2024]

Andrew Bowser is nothing if not someone who loves horror, and the strange and curious; one way or another most everything he's done is steeped in these elements. That love saturates all corners of his latest full-length feature, in ways both earnest and frivolous, and while the filmmaker draws upon recognizable influences and familiar tropes, 'Onyx the Fortuitous and the Talisman of Souls' is unquestionably a creation all its own. Just as importantly, while in most every regard this movie touches upon odds and ends we've seen before, Bowser's marvelously creative mind shapes them into a delightfully fun horror-comedy that stands decidedly tall on its own merits. True, there may be points where the sense of humor Bowser deploys is a tad too overt or cartoonish for its own good, somewhat clashing with the broader tone as parody takes over. Far more than not, however, this is wonderfully strong and entertaining, even more than I could have hoped!

I would love to learn more about the production, for it's readily evident to me that Bowser had the benefit of a considerable budget, and more resources, beyond what has been at his disposal before. The picture is characterized from top to bottom with obvious skill, intelligence, and care, and one can plainly see just how much fun everyone had while making it. The filming locations are terrific, and the art direction and prop work are fantastic. The costume design, hair, and makeup reflect even more how this allowed everyone to let their imagination run wild - and to my absolute pleasure, this holds true even more for the practical effects, special makeup, manufactured creatures, and otherwise tangible creations that greet us at many turns. Yes, there is computer-generated imagery here, too, but it is employed sparingly and judiciously, looks great in the first place, and comes off all the better for the relative infrequency with which it is employed. However, in a time when the medium overflows with green screens and post-production falsehood, I am thrilled that Bowser cares so much about his craft that he committed resources to fabricating material goods in a shop, Especially with these welcome additions, the result is a steady stream of visuals that are outstanding, and which will still look outstanding after the latest multi-million dollar, digitally-defined blockbuster becomes dated and passé.

Bowser wears his inspirations on his sleeve in his writing just as much as in the overall look and feel, with touches of Ivan Reitman, Tim Burton, and especially Stuart Gordon, among others. The man is no copycat, however, and this is just his way of telling us how much he loves these filmmakers; in turn, 'Onyx the Fortuitous' is a title of, by, and for horror-comedy fans. So we get a story filled with the occult, devil worship, rituals, prophecy, and the hero's arc that could just as easily be twisted into an earnest genre flick like many others as five enthusiastic devotees are chosen to visit Bartok the Great. We get characters overflowing with fabulous personality, even for those who end up making an exit sooner rather than later, and Bowser makes the title character the center of the comedy as Onyx is marked with cheeky nervous tics and joyfully grandiose mannerisms. The dialogue deftly meets the film's needs both fiendish and farcical with the keen wit of a filmmaker who has spent years soaking in genre cinema, while the scene writing is stupendously flavorful in feeding us a wide variety. Situational humor, gags, sharp quips and repartee, absurd character moments, and outright spoofs adjoin more sinister visions of dark dealings, monstrosities, and violence, all with garnishes of (slightly) more sincere exposition and character development. The whole shebang really is a blast even on paper, and Bowser illustrates his experience and excellence as a director in molding all these aspects into a tale that nimbly balances the outrageous and the ominous in a manner to make it all land just right.

And still we're not done, for while Bowser's stewardship as both writer and director is super, and everyone behind the scenes turns in incredible contributions, the cast are just as brilliant. In fact, while I place trust in the filmmaker, it was a few names in the cast that specifically drew me in to 'Onyx the Fortuitous,' and I couldn't be happier with the incidence. Of everyone here I'm most familiar with horror icon Jeffrey Combs, equally renowned Barbara Crampton (however small a part she may have), and underappreciated Olivia Taylor Dudley (best known for 'The Vatican tapes' and her long history with 5secondfilms), all co-starring alongside Bowser; that Ralph Ineson has a small role is just a swell bonus. Yet I'm so pleased with the other actors here that I immediately want to find more of their work, including Arden Myrin, Terrence Carson, Melanie Chandra, and definitely Rivkah Reyes. Just as was so even with the crew who whipped up the visual splendor, it's readily apparent how much the players were enjoying themselves with a feature that lets them unreservedly embrace the mix of horror and comedy and the big personalities of their characters. A major portion of what makes the viewing experience such a joy is just watching the actors let loose, and once we factor in their unmistakable capabilities and all other facets of the production, there's really no going wrong here.

Rounded out with fine complementary music, and otherwise meeting the high standards of modern production values in all regards, I can't overstate how rich and funny the picture is, and just a superb time all around. I assumed I would like it, but from top to bottom it far exceeded my expectations in every capacity. With tremendous writing, wholly solid direction, exceptional craftsmanship (not least on a higher but still relatively modest budget), and spirited, unassailable acting, this silly little romp very dexterously checks off all the boxes for both sides of its approach to the material and frankly altogether impresses. By all means, the sum total may not appeal to all comers, but I find it hard to fathom that most folks could sit for this and not walk away with lots of laughs and smiles; surely the subjective quality here is a question of splitting hairs. Suffice to say that I'm oh so glad with how engaging, fun, and satisfying this movie is, and I'm thrilled to give 'Onyx the Fortuitous and the Talisman of Souls' my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

By Jeeves (2001 TV Movie)

An excellent TV film of a solid production of a show that is a lightly enjoyable mixed bag

[7/10 · 22 May 2024]

I've very much enjoyed anything I've read from P. G. Wodehouse, and I adore the television series 'Jeeves and Wooster' of the early 90s that brought these ridiculous characters to hilarious, vibrant life. Incredibly, it was only a matter of weeks ago that I learned there was once a musical based on Wodehouse's esteemed work - or perhaps, not so incredibly, for once we begin reading about the whole matter it becomes clear that 'By Jeeves,' formerly just 'Jeeves,' does not count among Andrew Lloyd Webber's best successes. The fact that the original musical closed swiftly in 1975, and was scrapped in no small part upon being revisited twenty-one years later, does not speak well to the whole endeavor, even if the retooled show was received more positively. Fast forward a few years more and for better or for worse, audiences don't need to shell out big bucks for seats in the orchestra, balcony, or gallery to judge 'By Jeeves' for ourselves, as a 2001 Canadian production received the treatment of a professional recording. So with all this firmly in mind, how does the musical actually hold up?

It doesn't take long as we watch before we can begin to form an impression, and the good news is that far more than not, to my delight, there is actually a lot to like here. Granted, much of the strength in this comes from Wodehouse's own ingenuity, for the characters are his, and the dynamics between them, the dialogue, the scenes, and the narrative all draw from the source material in measures both very direct and slightly indirect. It's no small matter to adapt such foundations into another medium, though, and writer Alan Ayckbourn is to be roundly congratulated for shaping classic satirical brilliance into something both unmistakably kith and kin with Wodehouse canon, and shrewdly original. We're treated to characterizations and dialogue that are both perfectly recognizable and perfectly absurd, and a jumbled scenario that faithfully pulls from the stories of Jeeves and Wooster we know and love: the congenial but addle-minded wastrel, his supremely intelligent, loyal, and sardonic valet, and a retinue of Wooster's friends and acquaintances who rely on him for trading identities and property, resolving romantic quandaries, promoting their hare-brained schemes, and otherwise dutifully helping friends in need - lest he refuse or fail and in turn get implicated in even more trouble. Wodehouse is alive and well in these 140 minutes, and this is absolutely to Ayckbourn's credit.

Between his book and lyrics and moreover his direction, there is further brilliance in the musical that we owe to Ayckbourn. It's noteworthy that the production plays fast and loose with the fourth wall as characters sometimes directly address the audience, and divisions between actor and role are sometimes diminished. The plot is presented largely as a "story within a story" as Wooster relates a past series of events, further freely exposing the artificiality, and that bare-faced contrivance is cemented with some cues, props, or bits that speak to the premise of a shoestring, jury-rigged staging of an evening of entertainment within and for a small community. All this is to say that broadly speaking, on paper and in execution, the concept of 'By Jeeves' is very smart and fun, and Ayckbourn's direction ensures that buzzing energy courses through the proceedings with fast-paced movement to and fro, lively performances, and some extra clever sequences - including the last scene of Act I - that would actually be rather difficult to represent on television, and maybe impossible with the written word. Not to be outdone, the cast in this iteration is altogether wonderful, embracing the madcap spirit of the affair with electric fervor and welcome fidelity to the parts they have taken on. Some players may stand out above others with how superbly they inhabit these established figures, including John Scherer (Wooster), Martin Jarvis (Jeeves), James Kall (Gussie), and Rebecca Watson (Madeline), yet from one to the next the production demands robust expression and physicality, and substantial range, and all involved are plainly excellent with the skills they bring to the table.

Though a tad beside the point, it's also worth observing that the effort to professionally film the production was not wasted. Sometimes a show on the stage is recorded for posterity and the result is in some manner a poor representation as the stage direction, the set, the camerawork, the editing, or even the audience presence may hamper the viewing experience. That is not the case here, and wherever the credit belongs between filmmaker Nick Morris, co-editor Dave Gardener, and camera operator Rick McVicar, I believe this is surely as fine a film or TV presentation of the revamped 1996 musical as we're going to get. Kudos to McVicar in particular, for his editing is often just as bright and fleet-footed as the actors' contributions. Yet despite all these many great advantages, not all is well with 'By Jeeves,' and it falls short of perfect. Where does it go wrong? Well, with all due respect to Ayckbourn, part of the problem stems from the root story. We get all the elements of Wodehouse's tales of Jeeves and Wooster that we know and love, this is true, yet this is an instance where the doing feels overburdened; in his effort to port the beloved comedy stylings to the stage, we get ALL the familiar elements, and we could have done with a few less. If the notions common to Jeeves and Wooster could be summarized as a list of, say, twenty items, that doesn't mean that a single Jeeves and Wooster story must or should include all twenty items, but that's effectively how the production comes across. With that in mind, I shudder to think what the original 1975 show must have looked like with twice as many characters.

Being thusly overburdened in its writing - which again further includes the framing, and dalliances with the fourth wall - there are instances when something seems inelegantly and inorganically smashed into the whole, and gawky in turn, instead of being naturally, carefully woven in. There are also instances of aspects being shortchanged in the script, whether that means being unconvincingly mentioned for only the first time in the second act, tossed in too heedlessly for its own good to ensure inclusion in some manner, or just not receiving all due treatment that would wrap up said aspect in the entirety of Wodehouse's Jeeves and Wooster. And with all this having been said, I'm sorry to say that the most severe flaw with 'By Jeeves' might be the music. It's one thing to say that a musical lacks any numbers that are specifically notable or memorable; it's another thing altogether to say that no matter how enjoyable tunes might be in and of themselves, they feel ill-fitting, weakly integrated with the rest of the material, and downright superfluous. Kind of emphasizing the point, the second act gives us a love duet between Harold and Stiffy, "Half a moment," which is lovely and comes closest, of any song here, to the tenor we commonly anticipate of Webber. It also sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the more raucous tone of all the other songs, and the outwardly comedic nature of the musical itself. Curiously, "Half a moment" is then followed with another number ("It's a pig!") which very simply raises a skeptical eyebrow of disfavor. To be frank, I think 'By Jeeves' would have been better had it been devised purely as a play, with no more than light musical accompaniment as may befit select moments.

Through to the end with its bizarre medley there were creative choices made in this musical that range from "less than ideal" to "perplexing"; I think the first act is surely stronger than the second, and the plot wraps up in a fashion that feels a smidgen sloppy and abrupt. An early line that caught my ear ("I'm still not certain this is going to work, Jeeves") turned out to be all too prescient in terms of Webber's inclination to turn such classic humor into a musical. Still, the only aim here was to provide a good time and honor Wodehouse while introducing him to a new audience. Regrettably imperfect as 'By Jeeves' is, it nevertheless ably achieves that goal; for all its foibles, I enjoyed watching. It's possible that someone who is an especial fan of Wodehouse, Webber, or another person involved may have extra impetus to check it out; on the other hand, it's also possible that even utmost devotees won't be fully satisfied, and this doesn't necessarily demand viewership for anyone. All the same, this 2001 feature is a terrific TV movie, documenting a solid production, of a show that is a mixed bag, but generally swell. If you're looking for something light and uninvolved to pass a lazy day, this will neatly do the trick. Don't go out of your way for 'By Jeeves,' but if you happen to come across it then it's good enough to warrant a look.

Be My Wife (1921)

A splendid comedy classic

[8/10 · 21 May 2024]

Max Linder may not be as famous as other iconic silent stars, but he was really just as reliable as Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, or Harold Lloyd. It's not even necessarily a question of quantifying how funny one was compared to another - their best works are very consistent and highly enjoyable, lighthearted with just the right touch of earnestness to the story to help the film stick. Linder's 'Be my wife' of 1921 fits very neatly among that terrific company, giving us one swell bit after another amidst a gently amusing and solid narrative of romance. Right from the start this is simply a joy, and anyone who appreciates older cinema is guaranteed to have a great time!

It's fair to say the actual plot is rather light as Linder's protagonist works to win the heart of sweet Mary despite opposition from both her protective aunt and rival Archie. Within that framework, however, the legend treats us to one fantastic scene and gag after another, an indisputable treasure trove of wit, silliness, and vibrant energy. To that end, as Linder writes, directs, and produces this romp in addition to starring, his full creative control means we can be assured that the brilliant humor of the picture shines through at all possible times. In some scenes more than others there are a lot of moving parts, yet the filmmaker deftly ties them all together into a stupendously fun whole.

Commanding the lead role himself Linder naturally stands out most with a wild performance of gleefully exaggerated expression, self-sacrificing physicality, and selective instances of more controlled, nuanced restraint to provide contrast and a sense of dynamics. We would expect no less, of course, given the stature that he ultimately enjoys alongside his contemporaries. To my delight, though, his co-stars in supporting parts all have their own opportunity to share in the frivolities, with Alta Allen, Lincoln Stedman, and even Caroline Rankin, among still others, all getting in on the ridiculousness at one time or another. Moreover, my commendations to the dog trainer for the production, because "Pal" also has his own delightful moments in the spotlight.

Strictly speaking 'Be my wife' may not be a title to change the mind of anyone who has a harder time engaging with silent fare. While it's all in the name of joyful comedy, the acting isn't specifically of the variety that modern viewers are accustomed to; it is perhaps splitting hairs to say that the plot development is a tad gawky at points, but not untrue. Tiresomely, at one point the script reaches for a fat joke that has not aged well, and in a reflection of the time in which it was made, there are sparing instances of language that today we recognize as racist. Still, scrutinize the feature as we may, this wants only to entertain, and far, far more than not it handily succeeds in that goal. Linder may earn the most credit here with the multiple hats he wears, and his co-stars just behind, but all others involved turned in work that was just as outstanding. The sets are superb, with the design of Madame Coralie's being particularly ingenious, and the stunts and effects that are employed are a blast. Even the costume design, hair, and makeup are not just notably sharp but have their own parts to play in the tableau. To whatever extent the flick has its faults, by and large it's marvelously funny, and holds up much better than not.

It has its weaknesses, and it also has unmistakable strengths. On the balance, though, this movie really is just grand, an enduring comedy classic whose value well outweighs any drawbacks. One should be aware of its most distinct flaws, and broadly it won't appeal to all comers, yet if one is receptive to the silent era and its style of film-making, there's not much going wrong with 'Be my wife.' I assumed I would enjoy it and I most certainly did, and I'm pleased to give this my high recommendation!

Second Sight (1989)

Splendid performances can't salvage achingly weak material

[2/10 · 20 May 2024]

So you're telling me it's a film about a "psychic" and a "paranormal detective" and the primary thrust is NOT that they are con artists? I'm thinking of an eight letter word that starts with "b" and ends with "t." Do you know what word I'm thinking of? Oh my gosh, you must be psychic, too! It's actually worse than that, though. Countless are those pictures that operate in a space of the supernatural and fantastical, and we accept the premise as a part of the unwritten social contract of suspension of disbelief that comes with engaging with fiction. However, I don't think Ivan Reitman pretends to have sought the advice of literal spirits of the dead when he made 'Ghostbusters,' any more than Steven Spielberg claims he talked to dinosaurs before he made 'Jurassic Park.' The fact that folks involved with this flick employed the services of self-proclaimed "psychics" by way of "consultation" and "research" speaks to the earnestness with which the participants approached the material, and wow, all of a sudden 'Second sight' faces not an uphill climb to earn my favor, but a vertical one.

And you know, despite that, it was still possible that I might have liked this. Exorcism and "ghost-hunting" are pure bunkum, too, yet if the writing is sharp enough then entertainment supersedes disbelief. Unfortunately, the screenplay credited to Tom Schulman and Patricia Resnick is a dud. At its best it tries to emptily mimic Reitman's biggest legacy; Wilbur Wills is a dead-ringer for Peter Venkman, Preston recalls Ray Stantz, and Bobby McGee is Louis Tully if Rick Moranis was channeling Pauly Shore. In both the scene writing and Joel Zwick's direction this also commonly tries to capture the same tone as 'Ghostbusters,' and the same energy, and sometimes it almost directly lifts some beats or visuals. For good measure, throw in nonsensical "psychic" jargon that, instead of being invented for yucks, was culled from those "consultations" and that "research" in an effort to allude to as much woo, flimflam, and pseudoscience as possible. But at its worst the script is just lousy, and this applies to the supposed substance of the story - or rather, the lack thereof, as the plot is very thin, very unconvincing, and at times nearly incohesive - and of the intended comedy. Some bits come close to earning a laugh, sure. As the saying goes, however, "close" only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

The best thing this feature has going for it is the cast. Bess Armstrong, Stuart Pankin, John Larroquette, and especially Bronson Pinchot give highly animated performances that fully embrace the most raucous spirit of the proceedings, and the personalities of their characters. Setting aside pretty much everything else about the movie, Pinchot is so tremendously lively, and gives himself over so freely to whatever a scene demands, that I'm astonished he never achieved far more significant success as a comedic actor. I would go so far as to say that Pinchot, leading the charge, is actually the one major reason anyone might have to watch this. It's certainly not the lackluster situational humor, middling gag writing, or iffy dialogue, let alone the toilet humor, the puerile sex jokes, or the tinges of racism, sexism, or homophobia. In fact, there are considerable portions of 'Second sight' that are nothing more than the extra-lazy writer's cop-out - the unsophisticated childishness of "Look at that silly man! Haha! Isn't he so silly?" with no otherwise cleverness attached - with "psychic" babble layered on top, and this is supposed to earn laughs. It doesn't.

Zwick's direction is technically capable but dull and unimpressive. The practical stunts and effects are terrific, but we can get these almost anywhere, and the post-production additions are subpar and outdated by 6-10 years. This is fine in terms of other work turned in by crew operating behind the scenes, but such facets alone cannot save a title. Plagued above all by highly questionable writing, the sorry truth is that 'Second sight' never really had a chance. The cast gave it their all, and I salute them, but this is so mediocre that I must assume even those folks who fervently believe 100% in psychic activity would be unamused and turned off. There are aspects of this that are straight-up bad, but that's not the case overall. Overall, the film is just so incredibly weak that it falls perfectly flat, and all the best efforts of the stars amount to too little. I guess I'm glad for anyone who does enjoy this, but as far as I'm concerned 'Second sight' isn't remotely strong enough to even bother mentioning, let alone recommending. Ah well, such is life.

Sanjuro (1962)

Very funny and very entertaining, another adept if atypical Kurosawa classic

[9/10 · 20 May 2024]

There are two aspects of this feature that especially stand out right away. The first is that, unsurprisingly, the cast and crew include no few of Kurosawa Akira's regular collaborators, and specifically no few individuals returning from the immediate predecessor, 1961's 'Yojimbo.' The second is that in no time at all, even within just ten minutes beyond the opening credits, it's made abundantly clear that the playful, wry wit of the preceding work has given way to much more outward humor, to the point that more than not 'Sanjuro' could plainly be categorized as a comedy. It most assuredly remains a period flick, and a samurai flick, and as well made as we anticipate of so esteemed a filmmaker, but to the extent that its forebear delighted with its jest, this picture earns hearty laughs while imparting its earnestly compelling story. The result isn't just a wonderfully fun viewing experience, but one that quite stands apart from much of Kurosawa's oeuvre. This is a blast!

In fact, in its own way, the writing here is unexpectedly complex, and arguably more so than in 'Yojimbo' with its tale of two rival gangs pitted against each other. Kurosawa and returning co-writers Oguni Hideo and Kikushima Ryuzo expand somewhat on the central character of Sanjuro, suggesting even greater intelligence and hidden depths to a figure we've already seen to freely roam the countryside and cleverly render aid as he deems fit - only, here he joins up with a squad of brash, impulsive young samurai who he must continuously prevent from committing terrible blunders that would subsequently foil their own plans. The plot is a tad more direct, and swiftly paced, yet this only reflects how busy the narrative is as Sanjuro and his new compatriots face steady opposition and a series of obstacles in rescuing the abducted chamberlain Mutsuta. In turn, ninety-five minutes pass very quickly as major intrigue and scheming mix with fluid shocks of violence and the regular bursts of cheeky, almost frolicsome dialogue, situational humor, and some decidedly animated performances. It would have been easy enough for the title to have been made as a straight blend of drama and action; that Kurosawa, Oguni, and Kikushima instead followed the antecedent by fully embracing the friskiness speaks incredibly well to their brilliance.

Moreover, given the fare for which the man was best known, I don't think it's unreasonable to suppose that 'Sanjuro' illuminates Kurosawa's range as a filmmaker, and likewise the skills of those he worked with. In every regard this is solidly made, with superb fight choreography, stunts and effects; heavily detailed sets, costume design, hair, and makeup; smart, dynamic cinematography and editing; and a splendid score that, if less prominent here, nevertheless lends further to the tableau. Iconic actor Mifune Toshiro again illustrates his tremendous capabilities as an actor as he deftly rides the line between imposing severity, tightly controlled passion, and sardonic disdain; those in supporting parts, generally guided toward one mood or another, very ably serve the humor as much as the story. Maybe it's just a projection of the viewer that results from the overall tenor of the film, but it also seems to me that Kurosawa's direction is marginally looser here, and less rigid, in order to facilitate that lightheartedness. This is hardly to suggest that his famous, perfectionist fastidiousness is specifically diminished, only that he perhaps loosened his grip on the reins to a slight degree as befit the production. All these facets nimbly maneuver between the serious period roots and the strong comedy woven throughout, complementing a screenplay that in and of itself is a joy in its unusual swirl of elements down to the scene writing, characters, and dialogue.

If I have any criticism at all to impart it's that the ending, no matter how suitable for the plot at large, feels a tad out of place given the tone that is broadly adopted. In its coda the storytelling swerves from a careful balance to abject drama, and I must think it would be impossible not to observe the discrepancy. Still, be that as it may, the whole is so excellent and entertaining that this measure of imperfection doesn't seem that important. Unless one is dead-set against the approach that Kurosawa took to the source material, I can't imagine anyone would watch this movie and not step away having enjoyed themselves. For the level on which Kurosawa operates any difference in quality from one work to the next is mostly very small, and a matter of personal preference; I can't say I was prepared for the unabashed humor in 'Sanjuro,' but I'm very pleased with just how superbly it all turned out. Why, maybe that makes this an easier point of entry for the uninitiated to Kurosawa's body of work, not least as it is not particularly necessary to first watch 'Yojimbo.' One way or another what it all comes down to is that this 1962 feature is really fantastic, and whether you're a fan of someone involved or just looking for something good to watch, there's no going wrong here. Not as essential as some of Kurosawa's other pictures, but also likely more accessible, 'Sanjuro' is a terrific classic and I'm happy to give it my high recommendation!

Yojimbo (1961)

A smart, well-rounded, essential classic

[10/10 · 20 May 2024]

Though in the first place it's effectively suggested by the very premise of two rival gangs being played against each other, there's no mistaking how playful this tends to be, and wryly so, maybe more than anything else Kurosawa Akira had made up to this point. The plot is teased out with relatively sparing action, atypical for a samurai flick, as clever ronin Sanjuro seeds the roiling animosities between the two factions, and iconic star Mifune Toshiro portrays the antihero with levelheaded nuance that allows him to nimbly ride the line between shrewd, sardonic wit and the cold, calculating intelligence of a man seething at injustice. Even the original music of esteemed composer Sato Masaru tends toward jaunty themes that echo the jestful spirit, belying the more somber and violent underpinnings. Rest assured that all component parts shift just as dexterously to an earnest, serious tone as the narrative and scene writing demand, especially in the latter half, yet compared even to subsequent titles that adapt the tale to a new setting, the overall tenor here is more reserved than one might suppose sights unseen. But then, master that Kurosawa is, and stellar as his collaborators are, all that really means is more of an opportunity for the saga to be realized to its maximum potency, and 'Yojimbo' is without question another superb, essential classic.

Time and again in his roles Mifune stuns with a deft mix of stone-faced severity and imposing physicality on the one hand, and on the other, terrific subtlety and range, and his turn here is no different. This is hardly to count out anyone else involved; only as a matter of their prominence do some stand taller than others, with Tono Eijiro, Nakadai Tatsuya, Sawamura Ikio, and Kawazu Seizaburo, among others, making a big impression. Between their own great abilities and the filmmaker's infamous, perfectionist precision, all those in supporting parts are just as outstanding with fulfilling their parts in the tableau. And given Kurosawa's arduous, hard-boiled approach to film-making, how much should we even try to separate his direction from the screenplay he developed with Oguni Hideo and Kikushima Ryuzo? The story is marvelously smart and well-rounded, ranging from that morbid friskiness, to stark violence, to sincere, heartfelt drama, with each mood delighting in turn as the proceedings flow smoothly back and forth through to the end. The scenes as written and orchestrated are stupendously strong and varied, with fantastic artistic flourishes every now and again, and even the characters and dialogue are joyfully vibrant both on paper and in execution. No filmmaker who has taken cues from this picture, not even Sergio Leone, has managed to replicate the exquisite brilliance that Kurosawa accomplished down to every last detail.

Those details include not just Sato's genuinely fun, enticing score, or the invigorating fight choreography, stunts, and effects, but the meticulously crafted sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, and Miyagawa Kazuo's keen, adept cinematography. It seems readily evident, in watching this feature, just how fastidious Kurosawa was as a storyteller and director, and whatever else that reputation meant for him personally or professionally, it also ensured that his works would go down in the annals of cinema history as stunning masterpieces while other filmmakers could only aspire to meet the same level. It's not that 'Yojimbo' is as outwardly grabbing or totally rewarding as some of its kin, but as the saga unfolds we see more and more the skill and ingenuity behind the patient, careful construction and plot development, and like the protagonist's scheme, the fruits of that labor speak for themselves. When all is said and done this is just as absorbing, entertaining, and satisfying as one would ever anticipate of Kurosawa, and any discrepancy we might discern in quality is a matter only of personal preference and splitting hairs. One way or another, what it comes down to without fail is that 'Yojimbo' is another sparkling gem in an already resplendent crown, and there can never be any doubt that Kurosawa's legend is secure as one of the very best filmmakers to ever live. Though the violence is pretty substantial at times, primarily in the back end, otherwise this is so tremendous and important a movie that I think it exists beyond any questions of personal taste, and I have no qualms in recommending it to one and all. As far as I'm concerned this is a must-see for anyone who enjoys films, and I'm happy to give it my very high and enthusiastic recommendation!

Up in Smoke (1978)

Dull and woefully unfunny. How is this, of all things, a "cult classic?"

[1/10 · 19 May 2024]

I freely admit that I sat to watch with expectations that were mixed to low. Probably more than any other variety of storytelling or art, comedy is heavily susceptible to changing tastes and sensibilities. I recognize the stature that Tommy Chong and Cheech Marin have in pop culture, and the parts they have played beyond their iconic shenanigans as a duo, but how much lasting value would their premier film - arguably their most significant stamp on culture at large - have for someone who is not steeped in drug culture, who has never partaken of marijuana or harder recreational substances, and who has no interest in doing so? Could it be that 'Up in smoke' is the type of comedy that is only funny if the viewers themselves are high? It doesn't take long after one presses "play" that the answers reveal themselves, and in my opinion they are, in the latter instance, "far more so than not," and in the former, "essentially none." As far as I'm concerned this is just an exhausting dud.

It's not that the movie is actively, specifically bad - though it is at no few times, with instances of cheap toilet humor, tiresome sex jokes if not outright tawdry raunchiness (including, incredibly, a bit making light of sexual assault), animal cruelty, self-indulgent embellishment by way of music, and more. No, mostly it's just dull, boring, and woefully unfunny. There are some lines, scenes, and gags that represent some measure of wit, and which could have theoretically been fun, but the tone, pacing, and/or comedic timing are usually so laidback that the preponderance of these eighty-six minutes sail past without eliciting any reaction other than a sigh, or a glance at the clock. There's also the matter of how this flick treats law enforcement: I'm all for mocking cops, who are already vacuous, villainous goons in real life, but with that in mind, there is no need to make the police here abject cartoons, and the doing here simply means another loss of potential humor. Elsewhere the script just flounders outright with no comedy in sight. Worst of all is when 'Up in smoke' relies on that exasperating stand-by of the feeble-minded writer who wants to earn a laugh with nothing more than the unsophisticated childishness of "Look at that silly man! Haha! Isn't he so silly?" with no cleverness attached otherwise. Alternatively, this prototypical stoner comedy also provides its own variant, "Look at those people who are high! Haha! They sure are high, aren't they?" It's so hard to care about the vast majority of this title.

Granted, I guess some other facets are adequate. The cast sure do act; if nothing else I appreciate Marin's energy. Some of the music in and of itself is modestly enjoyable; then again, while the riff in climactic tune "Earache my eye" is catchy, the lyrics are trash. Other odds and ends contributed from behind the scenes ably serve their purpose. But what does any of this matter when, far, far more than not, an intended comedy fails to entertain? This came close a few times to earning a laugh, but almost exclusively within about the first third. The number of times that I did, in fact, laugh: twice. A grand total of twice. And this is somehow a revered classic? I guess when all is said and done my thoughts on Cheech and Chong are much the same as my thoughts on recreational drugs. If you like them, good for you; be safe and have fun. I want nothing to do with them. I had poor assumptions about 'Up in smoke' in the first place, but I was completely unprepared for how wholly shallow and asinine this feature was going to be. A few scattered good ideas amount to nothing. For my part I think the value this has to offer is negligible, and I'm flummoxed at how visible it is in pop culture. My staunch recommendation is to altogether avoid this like the lemon it is.

The Wheel (1923)

Superb, compelling, and deeply satisfying

[9/10 · 19 May 2024]

I became enamored of Abel Gance from the first moment I watched his powerful, haunting 1919 anti-war epic 'J'accuse.' Having also greatly enjoyed other works of his that I had found to date, I've very much been looking forward to checking out another of his famous, extra long sagas; where 'Napoleon' is sadly difficult to find outside of film festivals, 'La roue' readily awaited. I will say that this 1923 did not impress at the outset, instilling some doubt. More substantively, I'm also of the mind that through to the end there are some sequences even in the widely available 2008 reconstruction - clocking in at four and one-half hours - that could have been trimmed considerably without losing anything; I can only imagine that given a full restoration and an even longer runtime, more of the same would hold true. It's also worth observing that, splendid as that reconstruction is, it's strangely uneven: in the second half we're greeted with instances of curtness in the storytelling, and rough edges in the fundamental presentation, and it almost comes across that less effort was spent on revitalizing the gathered materials for this portion of the feature. There are troubles here, and they do detract in at least some small measure from the totality of the viewing experience.

However, to whatever extent we may see unfortunate points of criticism in this picture, much more than not this remains a terrific, compelling drama, and there is much to love throughout its extensive length. 'La roue' has notably been celebrated for its technical achievements, and to watch we easily see why as there are many moments throughout where one facet or another inspires as altogether brilliant. This distinctly applies to many instances of lighting, used strikingly to artistic effect to bolster the mood or to enhance a scene. The cinematography at large is often fantastic, with significant, smart variety in how Léonce-Henri Burel, Gaston Brun, Marc Bujard, and Albert Duverger composed shots, and the incidence definitely draws one's attention. Incredibly, Marguerite Beauge's editing may be more impressive still. While filmmakers were innovating and pushing the envelope all the time in the silent era, it wasn't particularly until Dziga Vertov's revolutionary experimental documentary of 1929, 'Man with a movie camera,' that we would see the art of film editing truly come into its own. Be that as it may, here in 1923 Beauge gives us some extra shrewd, rapid sequencing that very specifically and directly feeds into the storytelling in a manner that few if any others had done up to this point.

All this is to say nothing of the truly outstanding work that still others contributed in other capacities. Relatively infrequent were those titles of the silent era in which the hair and makeup were as integral as they are here, and these, like the costume design, are lovely in their detail. The same certainly goes for the sets, built among or complementing superb filming locations. It also seems to me as if there is heavier use in 'La roue' of effects of one sort or another, and stunts, than we typically saw among contemporary fare save for the most robust action sequences. To all this add the marvelously skillful, intelligent direction of Gance and assistant director Blaise Cendrars; while there are sparing choices throughout that I don't necessarily agree with, by and large the filmmakers orchestrated and assembled the movie with tremendous acumen and finesse, allowing every beat and idea to achieve the maximum effect. Granted, there are also some inclusions herein that emphatically establish the film's placement in the earliest years of cinema, with exaggerated facial expressions and body language, extra tightly focused close-ups, and other minutiae that swiftly vanished from practice as talkies took over. These are just part and parcel of the silent era, though, and are both the reason some modern viewers might have a harder time engaging with the period, and the reason why the period is so endearing for devotees.

None of this would be possible, though, without Gance's immense original screenplay, and in all honesty it towers so mightily with its ponderous human drama that one would be forgiven for thinking that he had adapted it from some grand tome of classic literature. I swear I see Victor Hugo's own hand spilling across these many pages. While the narrative as it presents here has some points of comparative weakness, the whole is so magnificently strong and absorbing that these become minor grievances that are all but forgotten. Gance gifted us a remarkably well-rounded, thoughtful, and stirring epic story, one filled with complex characters, momentous scene writing, stunningly poetic flourishes, major themes and motifs, and a mind for bringing to bear the smallest traces of every odd and end. The saga is dour and depressing, very much recalling elements of our own modern lives as painfully bittersweet reminiscence is layered on top of heartbreak on top of tragedy - yet there is also tireless warmth here, and love, and ultimately there are brighter notes in the last stretch of the story. I'm reminded after a fashion of 'Les misérables' (it wasn't for nothing that I mentioned Hugo), or more obliquely, Fukasaku Kinji's 1980 feature 'Virus,' as some relief is offered for we viewers after seeing all that the characters have endured. And still I get the impression that the plot is not 100% complete; maybe it's a reflection of reconstruction rather than restoration, but it almost comes across that 'La roue' as we see it really is an adaptation, with some sections of the non-existent novel having been cut due to constraints of one type or another. One way or another, this only further cements Gance as an extraordinary visionary early in the history of the medium.

But one would be remiss not to also extend hearty congratulations to the cast. The picture may be Gance's baby, yet just as it could not have been made without other participants behind the scenes, the actors realize the tableau with vibrant life. Those in smaller parts naturally have less opportunity to shine, but the likes of Georges Térof, Pierre Magnier, and Gabriel de Gravone nevertheless make the most of the time they're given. These several hours are mostly a showcase for Ivy Close and Séverin-Mars as Norma and Sisif, and both give phenomenal performances that easily match the weight and strength of Gance's screenplay. Both roles place a lot of demand on the stars, requiring adept range, nuance, and emotional depth, as well as expressive physicality, and Close and Séverin-Mars navigate the ups and downs of the story with grace and poise. Somewhat accentuating the point, this is not the first time that Séverin-Mars had collaborated with Gance, and while I personally find 'J'accuse' to be a better and more lastingly impactful film overall, I dare say the man's acting here is heartier and more dynamic. In fact, I wonder if these two actors don't give two of the best performances I'd recount from any of the many flicks I've seen from the silent era; for my part I'd put Close and Séverin-Mars on much the same pedestal as James Murray and Eleanor Boardman in King Vidor's 'The crowd,' or George O'Brien and Janet Gaynor in F. W. Murnau's 'Sunrise.' If that's not a compliment, then I don't know what is.

Especially between the length and the broadly downtrodden plot, I can very much understand how this movie won't appeal to all comers. Just as much to the point, I can understand why some folks are less keen on older cinema, and I'd have said the same myself at one time. Yet for those who do not find any of these factors to be obstacles, nor the arguable imperfections I've noted, then far and away 'La roue' still stands tall as an engrossing, satisfying, rewarding viewing experience. It's a massive project, and a massive commitment of one's time, but in every regard it's stupendously well done and a real pleasure to behold as a cinephile. From the lighting, cinematography, and editing, to the hair, makeup, costume design, and effects; from Gance and Cendrars' direction, to the hefty screenplay, to the wonderful acting, there is much to admire all across these four and a half hours, and anyone who is receptive to what the title portends owes it to themselves to check it out. I sat with somewhat mixed expectations but high hopes, and though I would nitpick some aspects, when all is said and done I could scarcely be happier with just how good the end result is. This is a classic that's worth carving out some time to watch, and I'm glad to give 'La roue' my very high and hearty recommendation!

Bio-Dome (1996)

Appallingly unfunny. Everyone involved should be ashamed of themselves.

[1/10 · 19 May 2024]

Sometimes it's not enough to read about a piece of cinematic infamy, and we have to see it for ourselves. 'Ishtar,' 'North,' 'From Justin to Kelly,' 'Cats' - just how bad could they really be? (All pretty bad, to be honest.) And what about one of the world's most infamous bombs, starring one of the world's most maligned "comedians?" Could 'Bio-Dome' really be so atrocious? Well, in fairness, as we start watching it's not necessarily that this notorious flick is always, perfectly, actively rotten. Don't get me wrong, it tries its hardest to be as obnoxious, offensive, and desperately unfunny as possible, with an overabundance of toilet humor, rank puerility, one-cent jokes about sex or anatomy, suggested animal cruelty, backhanded homophobia, sexism, sexual harassment, and even sexual assault, ableism, fatphobia, suicide jokes, and incredibly, still more. Yes, this does try very hard to be awful, and it succeeds, but the story of 'Bio-Dome' isn't just about what it does. The story of this movie is also about what it fails to do, and its shortcomings are in its absolute inability to demonstrate the slightest, nanoscopic fraction of intelligence in its writing.

However small, rare, and scattered, there are occasional tidbits that might have theoretically carried some value. There are fleeting bits of dialogue or scene writing, and some gags, that illustrate the writers possessed an infinitesimal kernel of wit - or, maybe more plausibly, that the writers lifted some ideas from other existing titles which don't immediately come to mind. There are contemporary and pop culture references; incredibly, the nearest this came to eliciting a laugh was with a very brief bit nodding at the music video for Men Without Hats' 'The safety dance." Boiled down to its fundamental essence, what is 'Bio-Dome' but the classic comedic set-up of a couple ordinary people drawn into a situation they don't understand and subsequently mucking things up? There was also the possibility that, as we've seen elsewhere in the past, the humor may have been borne of exaggerated character writing, animated performances embracing the spirit of the charade, and/or shrewd direction that achieves the exact right tone or sense of timing. However, because "Bud" and "Doyle" are written as the most buffoonish and unlikable of stereotypical 90s slackers, and because the entirety of the writing, direction, and acting is aimed toward viewers who identify from head to tail with Bud and Doyle, all these fragments of potential are totally, unfailingly wasted. Every slightest modicum is bent not toward sly, underhanded ingenuity, but utmost oafish, raucous boorishness, pure juvenile inanity, and the elevation of the most vacuous, low-brow anti-intellectualism. If you have ever wondered in earnest curiosity if this 1996 travesty is really "one of the worst movies ever made," let me assure you: it is.

Customarily one may be inclined to at least consider some appreciation for the casting (Kylie Minogue! William Atherton! Henry Gibson! A cameo by Tenacious D!), for work put into the production by crew behind the scenes (e.g., stunts and effects, hair and makeup, sets), or even just for the music. Under the circumstances, I cannot in good conscience bring myself to do so. By all reason, this should have been the end of the careers of everyone involved. It is a stain on all of cinema that will never be forgotten, and I don't know if I have it in my heart to offer forgiveness. Where it isn't consciously, willfully aggravating, it represents a complete bankruptcy of any of the cleverness that may have possibly been exercised. It is terrible, abysmal, putrescent, foul, dull, and mind-numbingly insipid. It is a blunder of which all participants should be ashamed, and of which all participants should be routinely reminded lest they ever dare think about signing on to another subpar picture. It is a colossal misstep for the medium, and a dire mistake for anyone who considers watching. I knew what I was getting into, and still my curiosity betrayed me. I very much regret watching 'Bio-Dome,' and I can only hope that my folly might be sufficient warning for anyone in danger of repeating my error. You've been warned.

The Saga of Gösta Berling (1924)

An excellent, compelling drama, though individual experiences may vary

[8/10 · 18 May 2024]

Countless are those films I've watched of every variety, and strangely, I don't recall ever before having difficulty with aspects of a film's narrative as I did here. Part of it is the structure, for the plot in these three hours is imparted to no small degree through flashbacks within flashbacks. Just as much to the point, especially in the first half, characters and story threads are introduced left and right without immediate connection to each other; furthermore, just as with much more recent titles like Tim Blake Nelson's 'Anesthesia' or Paul Haggis' 'Crash,' all these ideas rise and recede in the storytelling until they gradually converge around some manner of focus. And yet it's not just about the structure, for each facet of the plot revolves in its own way around a confluence of (a) Wealth, Society, Propriety, and Class; (b) people being roundly awful to one another, largely through the hypocrisy of heavily emphasizing others' flaws while hiding their own, and generally without ever getting called out on it; and (c) the absolute devaluation of women except as property, and wives wholly subject to the whims of men - more than still remains infuriatingly true in 2024. Never before, to the best of my recollection, have I ever watched another film in which the expression of deeply antiquated and therefore regressive values made it difficult for me to any extent to grasp the tale on hand, but even I have found parts of 'The saga of Gösta Berling' hard to parse.

Granted, these are not specifically flaws. They aren't flaws at all, in fact, and seeing as how, among many thousands of other flicks I've enjoyed, this is the first time such matters have struck me, I think the incidence here is pure happenstance. In the same way that one person might touch two blankets made through the same process, and with the same material, but find one more comfortable than the other, I'm inclined to believe there's simply some intangible quality about this 1924 classic that just puts it on a different wavelength from me. I'm sure of it, in fact, because beyond such splitting of hairs, this epic drama is altogether outstanding. After a fashion I'm reminded of Sergei Eisenstein's 'Ivan the Terrible,' where in my opinion the storytelling was distinctly more sure-footed in the second part. Indeed, should one have taken any issue with the narrative structure in Part I of 'Gösta Berling,' all the characters and threads are drawn together within Part II as events come to a head. Scrutinize the particulars as we may, the sum total is dreary, and often tragic, but ultimately strongly absorbing, compelling, and satisfying. Dark as the saga gets at various points there is just enough of a sense of dynamics to keep the proceedings fresh, and at select times, meaningful airs of tension and suspense help propel the drama. Working from Selma Lagerlöf's novel, scribe Ragnar Hyltén-Cavallius and filmmaker Mauritz Stiller give us gratifyingly complex characters and incredibly robust scene writing, and at length the many strengths of the picture handily outweigh any subjective weaknesses.

Those strengths further include gorgeous sets and beautiful filming locations, and costume design, hair, and makeup that are truly just as lovely and carefully considered. Where stunts and effects are employed, notably with major sequences in the second half, they are genuinely impressive and surely bring to mind various points of comparison from one viewer to the next. While the contribution of esteemed cinematographer Julius Jaenzon doesn't always specifically stand out in this instance, there are plentiful moments where his keen eye really does provide smart, superb vision that lends considerably to the tableau. It also must surely be said that the cast is terrific, all doing their part in turn to bring the dour drama to bear with admirable nuance and emotional depth. Lars Hanson obviously stands out most as the titular figure, and Greta Garbo both for her growing fame and for her prominent supporting part, but at one time or another every actor herein has their time to shine. Among others, I'm especially pleased with the tent pole performance of Gerda Lundequist as Margaretha; it's a part of importance arguably second only to Hanson's, and furthermore a part that requires significant range, and Lundequist navigates it with grace and ease. Really, unless one has some inexplicable hang-up about this or that, as I did at the outset, there is no abject trouble with 'The saga of Gösta Berling' in any manner, and it's a superb, engrossing classic. Case in point, as composer Matti Bye provided a new score for the commonly available restoration of more recent years, it's worth observing just how fantastic that score is. Some portions of the music are more noteworthy than others, but one way or another Bye very ably complements the mood at any given time, and at its best his work is outright marvelous in how it bolsters the narrative.

When you get down to it I don't think there's any disputing the overall worth of this feature, and any variation in our reaction to it is one strictly of personal preference or perception. Maybe with a second viewing all my initial misgivings would evaporate; it wouldn't be the first time that has happened. Regardless, when all is said and done this movie remains an upstanding treasure even after so many decades, and anyone who appreciates older cinema would be remiss not to check it out given the opportunity. Marked by excellent writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship, it's only our own perspectives as viewers that might in any way take away from everything that 'The saga of Gösta Berling' is, and I'm pleased to give it my solid recommendation. The runtime may be prohibitive, but if you're receptive to the silent era, carving out some time for this is well worth it.

Galaxy of Terror (1981)

Unexpectedly strong sci-fi horror

[8/10 · 18 May 2024]

There's something comforting about watching a low-grade genre romp from the years before Green Screen Fever took over and seeing the kinship it shares with titles of preceding years. Oh sure, there are times when late great producer extraordinaire Roger Corman's penchant for cheap, quick productions shine through, chiefly in some of the flashier special effects. Yet by one means or another I discern influence in 'Galaxy of terror' from 'Ikarie XB-1,' '2001: A space odyssey,' 'Alien,' and more, including grotesque horror features of the 70s. You may say "copycat thievery," but what I see is "everyone takes inspiration from something." In no time at all I think there's a lot to love in this third-tier lark, and I can honestly say I had a really great time watching!

It's the original music of Barry Schrader that catches our attention first, and I for one was immediately entranced by the harsh, haunting electronic soundscapes and pulsing beats that even in 1981 were still fairly novel for film music. One can draw a line from this score back to 'Forbidden planet' (another obvious broad influence) and beyond, certainly, yet Schrader's work is all his own, and I adore it. The sound effects, too, are a blast, vivid and evocative, and still we're just getting started. Tremendous work went into the sets and they are flush with welcome detail, let alone the creatures and other practical effects; the production design and art direction at large are outstanding. There is a softness in Jacques Haitkin's smart cinematography that makes the fundamental image very easy on the eyes while giving us eyefuls of all the wonderful if often nasty visuals; even the lighting seems shrewd and tasteful to me, and the editing. Moreover, in my opinion Bruce D. Clark's direction rides the line between the mindful balance of restraint and forcefulness appropriate for a tale of sci-fi horror, and outright artistry in how he orchestrates some shots.

Customary for anything Corman touched, the cast is filled with both screen veterans who were in the latter part of their careers and relatively fresh faces who had yet to make their biggest mark in cinema or television. Despite the nature of the flick and the genre space it plays in, I'm of the mind that the actors give terrific, vibrant performances of meaningful range and nuance. Some instances are better than others, by all means, but at one point or another Edward Albert, Grace Zabriskie, Sid Haig, Erin Moran, Robert Englund, Ray Walston, Taaffe O'Connell, Bernard Behrens, Zalman King, and Jack Blessing all shine. It bears repeating that the stunts, special makeup, and practical effects are fantastic. Granted, with all this well in mind it's arguably the writing that is the least sure-footed of anything here. All told Clark and Marc Siegler's screenplay gives us a relatively light plot that is primarily just an excuse for the gnarly violence and death scenes to follow, and the story could be easily and neatly summarized. Still, the narrative and scene writing are capable fuel for an unexpectedly harrowing atmosphere of disquiet, and they provide the foundation for all the imaginative visuals to come our way. Why, the character writing is surprisingly solid compared to a lot of comparable fare, if still not as completely robust as it could have been. 'Galaxy of terror' boasts far more strength than I'd have ever guessed.

The movie isn't without its faults, and one way or another there are various elements that could be discussed and dissected at considerable length, including Dameia's death scene. Then again, the overall thrust of the plot is something that has been explored before and since in cinema, and I think this picture does so a bit better than some of its brethren. Between the substantial violence and some nudity this won't appeal to all comers, let alone those who are disinclined toward sci-fi horror. Yet from the start and through to the end I enjoyed this much more than I assumed I would sights unseen, and I'm very pleased with the end result. Unless one has a special impetus to watch there's no need to go out of your way for it; all the same, for my money 'Galaxy of terror' is a darkly entertaining, satisfying piece that holds up unexpectedly well, and I'm happy to give it my hearty recommendation!

All Jacked Up and Full of Worms (2022)

"Could have been" bizarre, creative, and fun. "Is" incohesive, sloppy, and aggravating.

[1/10 · 17 May 2024]

Sometimes we learn about films because someone makes an offhand reference that, however unlikely, points us directly toward something we've never heard of otherwise. Sometimes such films are unexpectedly great; sometimes they're pointless and terrible. 'All jacked up and full of worms' is one such movie, specifically because the name and premise fits in neatly with a topic of recent discussion - and I have to say, from the outside looking in, it sounded fun. Unfortunately, as soon as we begin watching, all our hopes are swiftly and summarily dashed against the rocks rolling around in the head of filmmaker Alex Phillips.

Whatever this flick sounds like from an outside perspective, in actuality it's a rotten, incohesive, inane, vacuous mess. Whatever potential there may have been in the concept is wasted because ultimately it is employed as nothing more than a variation on the dull, juvenile stoner comedy, with more dramatic or horror-laden elements on the edges. That, it should be said, is the best "comedy" that the title has to offer, and the most "sensible" that the viewing experience gets. Elsewhere the writing is even more boorishly puerile as it takes cues from sex comedies that are big hits among 12 year old boys, replete with female nudity for its own sake. For good measure add in quizzical expression of homophobia and pedophilia. This is to say nothing of outrageously bad dialogue specifically amidst writing that, broadly, is perfectly scattered and sloppy - and direction so awful, forcing the cast into such small and insipid corners, that I'm fairly certain I just watched Phillips destroy their careers with a single feature.

Yes, there was potential in the concept. There are workable notions herein, including a broken sense of reality, but because Phillips flounders so much as both a storyteller and a filmmaker, that notion as it presents comes off not as imaginative and forward-thinking, but slipshod, feeble, and worthless. By one means or another there are some inclusions - whether a contribution of those operating behind the scenes, or a thought that could have been latched onto as a unifying force, however offbeat - that share in that potential. Yet because Phillips was just haphazardly throwing ideas at a wall for seventy-one minutes to see what would stick (nothing does), nothing herein amounts to anything. At length the only objective aspect of 'All jacked up and full of worms' that does not abjectly deserve criticism, and subsequent entombment within a concrete sarcophagus at the bottom of the deepest salt mine in the world, is the playfully oddball, unexpectedly dynamic original music of Cue Shop.

Weirdly enough, though, music is not enough to salvage a picture of any nature, not any more than the wildly, uselessly disparate assortment of ideas that the so-called "filmmaker" dubiously cobbled together. 'All jacked up and full of worms' could have been something wonderfully bizarre, creative, subversive, and memorable. What it is, instead, is total rubbish that I spent seventy-one minutes regretting; the only hope this had would have been if Phillips shared his root thoughts with another filmmaker who then took on all the responsibilities of writing and direction. By all reason I should have stopped watching right away, but I will watch almost anything, and I commit to it. Suffice to say that Phillips is making me reevaluate the decisions I have made in my life. However it is you stumble onto this 2022 putrescence, please take my advice and just avoid it.

Gallipoli (1981)

Strong and compelling, with a striking finish

[8/10 · 16 May 2024]

Given the subject matter and the film's legacy, it may well be surprising to the unaware that the majority of these two hours is not a war film as audiences would generally recognize, but a drama set during wartime. The violence is reserved for the not just the last third, but specifically the last fifteen minutes or so; up to that point the picture traces the journeys of Archy and Frank from acquaintances, to friends and travel companions, to recruits, and from rural Australia, to Egypt, to the shores of the Dardanelles. The movie primarily deals with the camaraderie among the Australian forces (and, broadly, of soldiers in World War I), speaking to the optimistic anticipation of heroics, of patriotic duty, and of adventure, and to a lesser extent of the lives left behind to go to the front. Peter Weir is no proverbial "spring chicken," however, and the brilliance of that choice, informing David Williamson's screenplay, is readily apparent once the final bloody stretch does come around. By that point we're familiar with the characters, and care about them, and as the horrific brutality of trench warfare takes over it's all the more impactful and difficult to watch. In total 'Gallipoli' may not be the sort of title to demand viewership, but it strikes hard and shrewdly, and its reputation is well deserved.

It's been observed that there are historical inaccuracies here, particularly with regards to the roles of British and Australian officers at Gallipoli; be that as it may, I don't think those errors are all that important. The crux of that terrible climax is not in assigning blame, but in speaking to the folly of "The War To End All Wars," of trench warfare, and of the decisions of command that would send troops forward with no purpose but to be slaughtered. That the known reality of the campaign was more complex doesn't take away from the core of what Weir and Williamson drive at, nor the significance that it has in Australian and New Zealander culture. Where this feature is concerned I'm perhaps more concerned with pacing that arguably feels a tad gentle in the first two-thirds, and the use of music in some instances where its absence would have been more powerful. And still, maybe that's splitting hairs a bit: him and haw as we might about this or that, I don't think there's much disputing that this is a fine film, and the question of overall quality is really just one of personal tastes. For my part I don't find 'Gallipoli' to be a major must-see, but I firmly recognize the high esteem it has enjoyed and I think it's quite on point.

Even outside of that climax the screenplay carries most of the weight of the runtime with relatable, identifiable characters, strong scene writing, and a compelling narrative. This is hardly to discount the contributions of all others involved, though, because from top to bottom there is much to appreciate in these (almost) two hours. Weir's excellence as a director is never in question, nor the splendid acting skills of young Mark Lee and Mel Gibson, among others. Russell Boyd's cinematography is crisp and vivid whether he's treating us to superb filming locations, detailed sets, or the harrowing tragedy of the last act. Some gratifyingly smart minutiae rounds out the production design and art direction; whatever else is true of the music, the use here of Albinoni's 'Adagio in G minor' is an ingenious touch that pointedly captures the overarching mood of the picture from the very beginning. It remains the case that the movie stands tallest for the build to the climax and ending by way of Archy and Frank's respective journeys, but it's pretty fantastic at large, and I don't think there's any going wrong here. By one means or another this won't appeal to all comers, nor meet with equal favor, but the lasting value of 'Gallipoli' is plainly evident, and secure beyond the reach of any critiques. I'd stop short of saying it's essential, yet especially if one has a special impetus to watch, this holds up well and earns a solid recommendation.

Runaway Train (I) (1985)

Unexpectedly smart and terribly dark, a stupendously intelligent action-thriller

[10/10 · 16 May 2024]

Forty years on Eric Roberts isn't exactly known for high quality pictures, and Jon Voight is known for his family and for his regressive sociopolitical views at least as much if not more than for his past successes. Factor in the very early roles for screen darlings Danny Trejo and Tiny Lister, a screenplay co-written by the renowned Edward Bunker, and inspiration from a story by none other than Kurosawa Akira, and there's a lot to take in with this flick before we ever sit to watch. Of course, such points of interest are almost somewhat beside the point, and as soon as we do sit to watch, the fact is that 'Runaway train' is readily striking and absorbing, and like a vehicle building speed, it only ever becomes more spellbinding. Say what one will about Roberts and Voight in the subsequent years of their careers and lives, both give stupendously sharp performances here of superb personality and vigor that are immediately entrancing, and it's no wonder they were both once highly celebrated. And the same verbiage we would use to praise the stars unquestionably applies to the title at large, for this is terrifically well made, and smartly crafted in every way, and altogether brilliantly written. At first blush 'Runaway train' impresses as an excellent action-thriller, but as the plot picks up and two hours fly past all too quickly, it swiftly shows itself to be far, far more. Modern spiritual successors can only wish they were this shrewd and exciting: frankly, this is one of the best movies I've watched in recent years.

I did say the background details are "almost" beside the point. The influence from Kurosawa, with original co-writers Oguni Hideo and Kikushima Ryuzo, is plainly evident in the ferocious undertones characterizing the narrative. The existing feature says "80s Hollywood" all over, certainly, yet the innermost core speaks to a hardier, more ruminative exploration of humanity amidst the terrifying, thinly-veiled metaphor of an enormous machine screaming forward with unstoppable momentum, and the broader potential peril thereof. The characterizations, particularly of Manny - cold, ruthless, single-minded, and self-reliant - and young, impulsive, inexperienced Buck, are kith and kin with other figures from the Japanese master, whatever one's frame of reference. In their own ways they retain a shred of humanity and echo different facets of our species for better and for worse, even in contrast to innocent Sara and in comparison to Warden Ranken; ostensibly posited as a representation of the stability and order of civilization, the warden is nevertheless just as if not more vicious and reprehensible than the convicts. Moreover, as the story develops, and the danger grows, and tensions rise, the shifting characterizations and dynamics between them, the scene writing, and even small pieces of dialogue seem to leap out directly from a script by Kurosawa. Add to this confluence the terribly gritty flavors of prison drama (both inside and outside prison walls) that Bunker knows well, the helplessness of railroad staff observing the disaster in motion, and still more stunningly profound insights and sage themes, and there is a strident, horrifying darkness piercing through 'Runaway train' that almost makes bloody contemporary 'Ran' more palatable by comparison.

Nearly as stunning is that in realizing that screenplay as an 80s action-thriller out of the United States, Russian filmmaker Andrei Konchalovsky still manages to find ways with those film-making sensibilities to reinforce the underlying existentialist nightmare. The violence herein, though sparing relative to other flicks that play in a similar space, is gnarly, visceral, and jolting; the stunts, effects, and action sequences, and the very manner in which the sets and trains are used herein, are fierce and honestly rather grisly, roaring to life with a vitality that puts kindred genre fare to shame. Cinematographer Alan Hume employs his keen vision to make every idea and beat come off all the more harrowing, and select instances of a first-person perspective looking down the railroad tracks nearly makes one's hair stand on end. Henry Richardson's editing is just as bright; Trevor Jones' original music is surprisingly deft, swerving from slightly more upbeat synth chords common to 80s Hollywood to more achingly somber phrases that reflect the deepening gloom, and at all times the score is fantastic complement to the proceedings. It bears repeating that Roberts and Voight give truly tremendous performances, not to mention Rebecca De Mornay even with less prominence, and still others on hand. The film is perfectly solid in every regard, really, a very high credit to all involved, capped off with Konchalovsky's expert direction that ties all these odds and ends together into a captivating, genuinely thrilling, earnestly though-provoking, and immensely satisfying experience. In my mind there is not one fault to be found here.

And still I'm wholly blown away by the writing. Strictly speaking I don't know how much of 'Runaway train' can be traced to Kurosawa, Oguni, and Kikushima, and how much to Bunker, Paul Zindel, and Djordje Milicevic. Whatever the case may be, however, it seems obvious to me that Konchalovsky's scribes worked closely from the prior screenplay while updating it and transplanting it to Alaska in the 1980s. The early scenes in the prison could easily have served as fine foundation for a more familiar prison drama or crime thriller, and yet they are only exposition for the ardor to come. That the flick can firmly stand shoulder to shoulder with various action romps, while also boasting depth and sophistication generally uncharacteristic of action-thrillers, speaks volumes about the incredible skill and intelligence of everyone who contributed to the writing one way or another, and at length to the skill and intelligence at large of all who participated. Rarely have I watched a picture that kept me so raptly glued to the screen; just as much to the point, precious few are those pictures that can elicit such strong, lasting feelings of a grim portent without specifically playing in the same genre space as, say, John Carpenter or David Cronenberg. As far as I'm concerned this joins the company of those uncommon pieces that, while not being labeled "horror" in and of itself, treads in such dreary, distressing territory that it comes off as practically indistinguishable. I would say this of Andrzej Wajda's 'Danton,' and Francis Ford Coppola's 'Apocalypse now,' among others, and that, too, is nothing if not a compliment for the writers, director, cast, and crew of this 1985 wonder.

Personal preferences vary and this won't appeal to all comers, but I think it would be a grave error to overlook 'Runaway train' for any reason. I sat with expectations of a well-reputed action-thriller, and I step away floored by an action-thriller that far exceeds the boundaries common to its brethren. I couldn't be happier with how outstanding this is, and I cannot recommend it any more highly or enthusiastically. In my book 'Runaway train' is an essential classic that deserves much more recognition; however you must go about seeking it out, this is absolutely worth it!

Little Shop of Horrors (1986)

Joyful, rejuvenating, stellar; stupendously rich, fun, and funny

[10/10 · 16 May 2024]

Though I'm not familiar with the off-Broadway stage musical, Roger Corman's original 1960 B-movie was an unexpected delight - as preposterous as it was cheaply made, and as everyone involved fully embraced the nonsense it became a wholesale blast. I've been long overdue to watch this iconic 1986 rendition, and I've not been disappointed: as soon as it begins the picture is utterly entrancing. Alan Menken's songs are marvelously catchy, joyfully infectious, and overflowing with tremendous heart; in both their singing and their acting the cast boast a vivacious buoyancy that's altogether rejuvenating. Fresh off the equally invigorating 'Muppets take Manhattan,' director Frank Oz infuses the proceedings with inescapably vibrant energy; from the choreography, and Robert Paynter's rich cinematography, to the puppetry of growing Audrey II and the blissful practical effects, there is a gleeful vitality saturating every facet of 'Little shop of horrors' that is woefully lacking from the preponderance of both cinema and television. Porting his own stage contributions to the screen, writer Howard Ashman gives us dialogue and lyrics that are exceptionally clever, characters that are veritable beacons of light, superbly flavor scene writing, and a story that takes Charles B. Griffith's already delightful plot and sends lightning coursing through its veins. Frankly, what about this is less than perfect?

Between Rick Moranis, Ellen Greene, Steve Martin, Bill Murray, and Tichina Arnold, Michelle Weeks, and Tisha Campbell, I don't know who among the most prominent stars is most awesomely lively in their acting. Down to the smallest supporting parts the cast shine with astonishing luminosity while enthusiastically embracing the wild spirit of the feature, including Levi Stubbs with his exuberant, dexterous, dynamic voice performance as "Twoey." Much the same goes even for the general visual experience: the lush, enormous sets, completely taking over Pinewood Studios; the exquisite production design and art direction broadly, bringing 60s aesthetics the electric splendor of the 80s; the stupendously colorful costume design, hair, and makeup, and even the props. It bears repeating that the many puppeteers operating Audrey II turned in stellar work, and to read of the ingenious manner by which the plant's movements were executed in the final presentation is itself downright captivating. There's an imaginative resplendence in the fundamental look and feel of this flick that calls to mind the works of Jim Henson, however fantastical, and meanwhile the sound design is totally impeccable - bringing every tune, every word, and every piece of audio to bear with unfailing fidelity. I ask again: what about 'Little shop of horrors' is less than perfect? The blunt, honest answer, I believe, is "nothing."

This film thrives with incredible creativity and unfailing zest that have precious little comparison anywhere in the medium. Truthfully, it's brilliant. It takes the wry horror-comedy of its progenitor and amplifies by a thousandfold the merriment, while nevertheless shrewdly retaining the darker airs as a buzzing undercurrent. From beginning to end and top to bottom the title is flush with extensive, remarkable detail and pure, riotously stimulating verve; the fact that there are meaningful themes and a heartfelt sincerity further rounding out the dazzling display only cements, beyond all question, its utmost excellence. It cannot be overstated how extremely fun, funny, and all-around entertaining this is, a stellar exemplar that has to be seen to be believed. For all the high esteem and strong word of mouth 'Little shop of horrors' has enjoyed over nearly forty years, secondhand impressions still fall laughably short of being able to express just how magnificent this movie musical is. There's not really any way around it: this is a fabulous, bewitching must-see, and to pass up any opportunity to watch is a terrible mistake. I cannot recommend it any more highly, heartily, or enthusiastically; seek it out however you must, for these ninety-odd minutes are 100% worth it! Bravo!