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Frankie & Alice (2010)
The Three Faces of Frankie - Berry's Best Role To Date
Serious films in which a lead actor portrays someone suffering with mental illness walk a precarious tightrope, navigating a delicate balance between authenticity and parody. In "Frankie and Alice," Halle Berry gracefully succeeds in this high wire act, making not 2 but 3 transformations before your very eyes - between a fiery stripper, a coldly calculating status climber and an innocent child. It is a performance that deserves attention and accolades above and beyond Berry's controversial yet ultimately inferior performance in "Monster's Ball" for which she made history by being the first African American to win the industry's highly coveted Best Actress Oscar.
"Frankie and Alice" opens setting the scene as 1973 with Frankie working as a "stripper" (more go-go dancer in a bird cage as she never gets naked). A botched after hours seduction with the club's DJ gives us our first hint of the madness to come. As the film proceeds, key emotional triggers spark seismic swings in Frankie's mood, hurtling her down memory lane to a series of traumas involving death, racism, young love, identity and soul-searing loss that have led her to dissociate from the pain by adopting alter personalities.
Berry's believability during these on-camera transformations is near-magical - the shifts in her face, her voice and her mannerisms all specific and unerring, and without the crutches of makeup, wardrobe or special effects. The result is riveting without being distractingly dazzling. It is a performance that pulls you in at every moment yet you never pull out of your required film world state of disbelief.
It is amusing to recall that this isn't the first time Berry has been called upon to play a character with multiple personalities. In the Hollywood howler "Catwoman," a movie roundly considered a campy cult-relegated turkey, she got a chance to practice in a vampier all-surface showcase. In the braver independent film "Frankie and Alice," Halle takes the lessons scratched out of "Catwoman" and chisels a performance of far greater subtlety, depth and compassion.
The supporting cast is excellent, particularly Stellan Skarsgard as the sympathetic "Dr. Oz" who with initial reluctance then heroic wholeheartedness helps Frankie heal and get to the bottom of her troubled mind. Phylicia Rashad is also praiseworthy as Frankie's mother "Edna" burdened with cryptic secrets and overcompensating by showering Frankie with exceeding affection - much to the distaste of her other daughter "Maxine" played equally well by Chandra Wilson.
The writing (credited to eight people) and editing are off-kilter in places, weakening the overall grade of the film. There was clearly much hand-wringing in regard to tone and length over the decade-plus it took to get it filmed then suitably distributed. However, there are enough victorious moments that snap the film back together toward a satisfying conclusion, though you wish the story stretched a bit longer into Frankie's recovery process. Evocative musical selections from Marvin Gaye, The Everly Brothers, Kool & The Gang and The Miles Davis Quintet also provide illuminating and memorable detours along Frankie's journey. Most winningly, despite the heavy subject matter, "Frankie and Alice" is a crowd-pleaser dotted with tasteful scenes of lightheartedness in the face of even some of its most delicate situations.
Now that Halle has, unfortunately, been passed over for Oscar consideration for "Frankie and Alice," impartial audiences can settle in for a superb and sensitive cinematic portrayal, judging it squarely and with even-keel for themselves.
The Girlfriend Experience (2009)
Subtly Experienced
First allow me to share that I rented this DVD on a catch-up night of movies I missed at the cine-plex along with the new spin on "Star Trek" and the acclaimed animated film "Up." Crazy, right? But I did find an unintended common thread - the dire consequences that result from a lack of emotional connection.
When I popped this in, all I knew is that it was Soderberg's latest indie offering and that it starred a current giant of the porn world, Sasha Grey. Note: The adult film star's assumed stage name offers an uncanny reflection into how her character in this film has a glamorous surface (Sasha) yet how ordinary she is beneath that shiny surface (Grey). It's just like eateries that offer lightly or non-seasoned dishes to their patrons yet sprinkle the table with a dazzling array of condiments they encourage customers to spice up the food themselves. Sasha's character "Chelsea" (another sophisticated name) is maddeningly poker-faced, thus allowing her clients and inquisitors to project what they want her to be onto her intentionally plain surface - a mask.
The DVD special features included an "alternate cut" of the movie, so I decided to watch that version instead of the regular one so I wouldn't potentially miss anything. That said, anyone expecting steamy sex should not bother with this picture - it's not that kind of party. In fact, you really wouldn't want to see her have sex with any of these middle-aged, worry-wart capitalists. If you want to see Sasha in action, hop over to a porn site, type her name in the search engine and have yourself a happier ending.
Which is not to say that Sasha isn't interesting to watch in this mainstream picture. Her "performance," like everything else that is good about this movie, is one of subtlety that pays off for attentive, non-judgmental viewers who can hang with non-linear story lines. This is not a hit you over the head piece with a specific point of view to push. Rather it presents what many would assume to be a flashier life as more common - with the protagonist longing for the same basic needs as anyone else in a less lucrative occupation.
This is also not a plot driven movie but more a slice-of-life piece about a sex worker that is less about sex than it is people seeking to better themselves through or at the expense of other people...or both. Sobering but not surprising, it's an art house reminder about the fragility of humankind set in the recent and still all-too-real era of the world economy's diminishing returns.
So for all of your potential immoral expectations, what emerges out of all the naturally lit and/or obscured videography and guarded spoken revelations is a very moral piece about the value of love - or at least empathy and affection - over gold.
Kudos as well to the offbeat musical soundtrack literally presented by street commentators - an urban Greek chorus in the form of a brilliant hand drummer and a sensitive male/female singing duo.
Lakeview Terrace (2008)
The View Up Here Should Have Been Clearer...
Of all the movies released in the latter half of 2008, I was anxiously awaiting the release of Lakeview Terrace - simply on its premise about a Black cop with a bone to pick against an interracial couple that moves in next door. Because it was Samuel L. Jackson as a Black LAPD cop, I expected a heaping helping of menace. In Kerry Washington as the Black wife, I expected a sexy spitfire familiar with walking the tightrope between her Black culture and that of the White people her privileged upbringing allowed her to mingle among and fall in love. And with Patrick Wilson as the White husband, I expected an on-the-track-to-success guy who feels he's hit the jackpot in scoring such an intelligent and desirable woman yet is ill-prepared to handle the baggage that comes with being her man. And with veteran Ron Glass as the wife's father, I was just ecstatic to see my man "Harris" from "Barney Miller" with a gig in the present that would hopefully continue his long legacy of dignity.
I expected some drama and situational comedy, and a smoldering thriller lurking in the wings. But I did not expect an overly simplified, over-the-top third act that took a perfectly uncomfortable, very adult scenario and escalated it into a dumbed-down, childish cartoon. I was so disappointed that, ironically, I couldn't wait for it to be released on DVD so that I could dissect it and delineate ways it could have been better.
Here is what I've come up with: (to be continued...)
Death Game (1977)
Man's Stormy Night Fantasy Turns Deadly in Light of Day
IMDb contributer johnmorghen does a scholarly job of breaking down the cinematic nuts-n-jolts of "Death Game" (a.k.a. "Mr. Manning's Weekend"), so I'll just share my memories of watching it.
Like my IMDb sister rachelcronin, I saw this for the first time late one night on L.A.'s early '80s SelecTV subscription system. The set-up definitely grabbed my pubescent attention: Man minding own business in his San Francisco home...slightly lonely and sincerely blue because The Wife and kid are unable to return home in time to celebrate his 40th birthday. Clearly cultured and successful, Man makes due during a dark and stormy night with a roaring fire and a high-end Marantz stereo to reacquaint himself with an old familiar jazz chanteuse (Maxine Weldon then who would be Sade today). Suddenly, there's a bustling at the door which Man opens to find two shivering young girls begging for reprieve from the rain. With decency at heart, Man takes pity and allows the soaked-through strangers into his plush abode. One thing leads to another and Man makes the mistake of giving in to a temptation even someone happily married might be hard-pressed to resist: a menage a trois with all the amenities of home (hot tub, mellow groove on the box, top-shelf cognac, favorite neighborhood pizza and the PERFECT excuse of The Wife being away on YOUR "special day" - the nerve). Like all that is overly idyllic in nature, this scenario proves too good to be true. For his fleeting hour of fantasy bliss, Man is subjected to 48 more hours of tandem temper tantrum torture at the whims of some psycho nookie from Hell - wicked "women-chiles" who begin to reveal their true colors at the breakfast table the morning after.
When I was 15, this was WAY lurid and riveting. Years later, viewing a VHS rental, I found the second half to drag. "Death Game" could have been much better if the girls weren't just demented for crazy's sake and had a specific "she-woman man haters" motivation for what they wind up doing to poor "George" (Seymour Cassel with an uncredited actor dubbing his voice, giving the movie that "imported" schlock foreign feel). The Man just helped himself to some birthday ass, for chrissake! For thrillers like this, I like things twisted and gratuitous, but director Peter Traynor only hints at undertones of incestuousness as a possibility for what made these chicks 'set it off' on a dude old enough to be their "Good Old Dad" (thus the vaudevillian ditty that recurs ad nauseum). One wonders whether writers Anthony Overman and Michael Ronald Ross couldn't decide whether to play this out as a comedy or a suspense thriller, were intentionally shooting for some strange hybrid of both, or just coke'd out of their minds when they hatched this plot fresh out of some sordid fever dream. I must confess that all was forgiven when that out-of-left-field ending smacked me upside the head, though. Let's just say every dog has his day and these bitches received their comeuppance in spades.
While much has been written here about how annoying the "Good Old Dad" song is (which it really is but, I believe, to the director's desired effect), I found the other moody jazz piece "We're Home," arranged by Jimmie Haskell, to be quite exceptional. The line "The sky tells us..." haunted me long after the film had finished. To this day, I imagine pulling that treasured Maxine Weldon 78 down from a shelf, blowing the dust off, gingerly setting the needle down and having it comfort me in the throes of some dark and stormy night...a night I'd gaze longingly into the fireplace, nursing a Makers Mark until - suddenly - there's a knock at my door, which I open to find a '70s-era Pam Grier (in the ringleader Sondra Locke role) and Vonetta McGee (in the doe-eyed Colleen Camp role) - inexplicably in halters, hot pants and flip-flops - shivering and in need of shelter from the storm.
Men...
A Good Day to Be Black & Sexy (2008)
Sex African American Style...With Issues
This movie snuck up on me. I was clueless to its existence the week it blew into a local multiplex. 7 days later it was gone and I had to scramble to find an insider friend with a screener so I could see just what was meant by the title "A Good Day to Be Black and Sexy." Frankly, I was left with the cinematic equivalent of blue balls (quite the cross to bear for a black man).
The film is a series of six vignettes...wildly divergent ones at that - from tone and style to length and level of eroticism. The film's title, poster and trailer all led me to believe I was in for more heat than I received and no clue to its sophomoric drama. Had this been marketed as about young people and the baggage that comes with sex, I would have been better prepared for what was delivered on the screen.
The most satisfying story comes early in the sequence: Vignette #2 subtitled "Her Man." This episode had the deftest balance of sexiness and storyline. It opens with a couple in the middle of some slow-n-sweet afternoon delight - woman on top. We soon learn that this is a married man being ridden by his chick on the side - at her house - and running late to get back to work and his wife. A tug of war of wills ensues that is very realistically acted out as both parties are forced to share their feelings about what is really going on here...beyond the bonin'. The dialog is so well done that you wonder what percentage was improvised off of a given story arc, then fortified by some slick post-production editing between two or three takes. Both Marcuis Harris and Chonte Harris are strong here (and not related, I hope...unless they are a real life couple which would explain their undeniable chemistry). Plus Chonte makes the cutest facial expressions, conveying a myriad of emotions. The end of this story, which hinges on the guy's serial carelessness with his cellphone, will have folks shouting back to the screen, "Oh, no she didn't!"
The other eps suffer from being overly long, poorly lit, woefully improbable and/or just not hot. The opener, "Reciprocity," while mildly humorous, will have ladies and gents alike calling the girl out of her name for her sexual selfishness. The two-part story "Tonight" takes forever to make a point about the way a young girl (a very sympathetic Mylika Davis) chooses to lose her cherry. (Note: this would have been an appropriate place to send a safe sex "message" by at least panning to an open condom wrapper.) A quickie dealing with a straight man's adamant refusal to partake in anything anal-erotic is damn near unintelligible. And in the closing segment "American Boyfriend" - about a Chinese girl trying to keep from her family that she's messing around with a Black guy - the biggest laughs go to her sister (the fetching Chris Yen) whose attempts to one-up the situation by coming out about her lesbianism at the dinner table steal lead actress Emily Liu's thunder.
Besides "Her Man," the only other saving grace is the music - well-chosen selections ranging from Rahsaan Patterson and Teena Marie to several lesser-known acts serving up some seriously sensual boudoir boot-knockers. When this DVD-destined misfortune descends from late night cable to urban video bargain bins, tossing in a CD or MP3s of the soundtrack songs as a bonus would surely increase sales. Also identifying the songs by scene in the end credits, as was thoughtfully done in another recent black indie film "Medicine for Melancholy," would be helpful for both the musicians and consumers. In the meantime, director Dennis Dortch should market this as the black hybrid "Love American Style"/"Afterschool Special" that it is, or bump and grind on up to an NC-17 and truly bring black and sexy back.
Three the Hard Way (1974)
Tighten Up the Edit or Fatten Up the Plot
"Three the Hard Way" earned its reputation on the presence of (and chemistry between) its three roundly diverse Black action stars - Fred Williamson, Jim Brown and Jim Kelly. They were perfectly cast for a film with an engaging premise about "The Man" poisoning the water supply in three major urban/inner cities. It featured some sweet eye-candy along the way (including the always divine Sheila Frazier as imperiled "Wendy" - fresh off of "Superfly" - a more devilish interracial trio of masochistic beauties, and Fred in the bed with yet another babe), an underrated soundtrack by a quartet edition of The Impressions (post-Curtis Mayfield but featured on-screen in a recording session as record producer Brown's rising stars) and all the tricked-out blaxploitation trimmings.
The problem is that because the script was anemic of healthy plot twists, padding is embarrassingly in full effect...including an overly long speedboat sequence that plays like a vanity piece for Williamson to pose and look pretty (with a second classy lady by his side less than 5 minutes after leaving the first one - "playa-playa," we get the point), and an equally long stretch of the aforementioned leather-clad "hench-bitches" rumbling into town on their choppers. That's too much celluloid cellulite wasted on characters styling and profiling, and not enough story intricacies to keep the tension tightly mounted.
When things do heat up, it's great to see the three stars interact. Ironically, MVP honors go not to former football giants Brown or Williamson but to Jim Kelly, whoopin' on a crooked cracker cop that makes the mistake of planting some illicit substances in his gold-plated ride. "Wanna set me up," Kelly asks with most righteous indignation, then proceeds to kick the pig's ass all over both sides of a Windy City side street! Director Gordon Parks, Jr. should have also let the soul brothers have more hang time without making them jump straight into their mission to save all brotherhood - maybe even a flashback to when they were youngbloods, foreshadowing their personalities as grown men. While the stars' talents weren't totally wasted, "Three the Hard Way" should have been much more epic.
Someday an ambitious director and a cast of wanna-be's (likely a rapper or two) will try to remake this flick. Their biggest challenge - beyond fleshing out the story - will be finding three stars as compelling as Brown, Williamson and Kelly. Let's raise a snifter of Harvey's Bristol Creme that somebody at least has the fortitude to release the original on DVD, unedited, with commentary and maybe a featurette including the participation of all three baad-asss action heroes.
Willard (1971)
Fondly Remembered - Flawed in Hindsight - But Bruce R-O-C-K-S!!
I wildly concur with Lambiepie-2 - my L.A. horror-home-girl for life - that the command "Tear 'em up" immediately sailed into the lexicon of my favorite film lines after seeing "Willard." This flick is one of several from the early '70s that I defiantly cling to for all the thrills and laughs it gave me as a kid. I even shed a tear at the grisly demise of Socrates. I didn't see "Willard" in its original 1971 release. I was only 6 then. I caught it a few years later as part of some GP-rated double feature. Watching "Willard" decades later on a prized $35 LASER DISC, I cringed at its hokey made-for-TV pacing.
However, I became a Bruce Davison fan for life because of "Willard," faithfully following him through a maze of impressively eclectic performances - from "Short Eyes" to "Longtime Companion." His gifts were so wasted in "X-Men." I, too, remember Mr. Davison paying moon-tanned "Elvira" a visit on her horror-snicker-flickers show one Saturday night to reminisce about sharing screen time with vermin - that would be the rats AND Ernest Borgnine. In all fairness, mad props are due to ol' Ernie for inhabiting the asshole you love to hate as Stanley Willard's lecherous and conniving boss.
Much as I loved Crispin Glover in "River's Edge" (a haunting and disturbing film about teens finding a dead girl in the woods which also starred the luscious Ione Skye and a demented Dennis Hopper as a character named "Feck"), I could tell from the tone of the "Willard" remake's trailer alone that I would have zip-zero interest in sitting through it. I imagine Crispin was over-the-top and that the CGI-enhanced flesh eating rodents chewed up more than their fair share of the scenery AND the extras. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for splatter, menace and entrails ("The Toolbox Murders," "Don't Answer the Phone" or "The Last House on The Left," anyone), but there was a creepy, era-specific charm to the original "Willard." Bruce Davison left an indelible and unshakable impression in this - a remarkable role for his first as the title lead.
Now, where can I find a copy of "The Ratman's Notebooks" to keep me up at night in the new year?!
Melinda (1972)
Melinda Showcases Smoldering Chemistry Between Calvin Lockhart & Vonetta McGee
Though their on-screen time together is short, the dashing Calvin Lockhart and the mesmerizing Vonetta McGee made quite a delicious pair in "Melinda." His mocha complexion and swiftly-melting-heart against her café au lait luminescence and wariness-turning-to-warmth are bewitching to behold in the early seduction scenes of this R-rated, '70s Black cast rarity. From their first encounter in a funky supper club to "back at Frankie's place" and the few days they get to spend together, there is an intoxicating mix of mental chess play, crackling sexuality, sweet humor and soul-baring communicated by veteran Lockhart and then-budding starlet McGee - both wonderful actors.
My frustration with this set up is that because the love scene between "Frankie" and "Melinda" is so potentially erotic (remember there were very few full-on lovemaking scenes between Black actors on the big screen in '72 - especially between two this attractive), someone at MGM deemed it necessary to mute that eroticism by having a henchman follow the first-time lovers home, stand outside the door eavesdropping, become aroused and bring himself to a simultaneous orgasm along with the pair inside. It's truly a travesty. "Melinda" is a mob boss thriller, not "Flip Wilson Sends Up Shaft!" The music and vibe senselessly switch from seductive to comedic as the bad guy outside is making goofy faces while the gorgeous people inside are getting it on all over the living room floor. The lovin' is low-lit by the fireplace which adds an air of mystery yet is ultimately ruined because the editors keep cutting back and forth between the sex-down inside and the brightly lit bulls**t outside. Without the cold shower of "comic relief," this could have gone down as among the era's most arousing love scenes - Black and beyond.
It feels like another case of Hollywood being uncomfortable with and/or afraid of Black sexuality. I wish Mr. Robertson or Mr. Lockhart were still here to reflect on this. Perhaps Ms. McGee could answer me. Did some cigar-chomper at MGM or in the MPAA, after reading the script or seeing the dailies, say, "O.K., we can only keep the sex hot-n-heavy if we break it up every few seconds with some completely out of character (for a thug) stupidity, or just call it a wrap with a fade-to-black at the foreplay stage on the sofa." The "guidelines" for such things were, and still are, just that whimsical...administered on an impossible to pin down case-by-case basis.
Beyond Lockhart & McGee, "Melinda" is a cool slice of diverting entertainment. The controllers of the MGM film library should make this title available in a high quality DVD. As another commenter expressed, even though the budget for "Melinda" was obviously low, director Hugh A. Robertson and the cast created an earthy snapshot of Black Los Angeles better than most from the 70's so-called "blaxploitation" flicks.
"Melinda" also boasts one of the first screen appearances by Black karate champion Jim Kelly (who later co-starred in "Enter the Dragon" with Bruce Lee, and his own star vehicle "Black Belt Jones"). Plus, there is a righteous score by African American composer/arranger Jerry Peters featuring R&B singing great Jerry Butler. If you ever come across a copy of the rare soundtrack Lp (on Pride Records), grab it.
If "Melinda" is ever respectfully released on DVD, the sorely underrated Calvin Lockhart will flash one of his dazzling pearly white smiles from Heaven above - boasting enough wattage to illuminate a month of soulful Sundays.