Reviews written by registered user
|119 reviews in total|
I have nothing against undemanding entertainment. I didn't see the
first film in this series, and I sure as hell won't be going to see any
subsequent ones. For anyone familiar with the oeuvre of Daffy Duck,
there is a clear analogy here. Remember 'The Scarlet Pumpernickel'?
Well there Daffy is in the process of selling the idea of a movie to an
obtuse and artless film producer. But when all is done, the producer
just wants more spectacle and more violence and more plot twists and...
(you get the idea).
So it is with NT-BOS. Quite probably, in the first place, there was a reasonable film about a guy's attempts to unravel a mystery regarding Abraham Lincoln's assassination. Might have been entertaining. Might have even encouraged a modicum of cerebral activity. However, some crass producer/studio exec stepped in and wanted more more more of the stuff of multi-million dollar production values and less, less, less character development and narrative logic.
The result is a complete mess in which we care not one jot for the future and safety of the characters because they have not been properly presented to us. We are only hazily aware what is going on because the filmmakers mistake speed for pace. And at the end of the film we have not experienced the ride that we were hoping for because someone didn't understand the truth that in the cinema, not enough is highly preferable to too much.
Like the ridiculous notion that Ridley Scott was ostensibly toying with
a few years ago of remaking 'Citizen Kane' this re-adaptation of
'Annie' pales beside John Huston's magnificent film of this stage
However, Rob Marshall before 'Chicago' is clearly very much in charge of the theatrics, and his choreography and mise en scene is fine. The problem is simply in the casting. Almost without exception, the roles are, simply, too big for the players. In singing & dancing, Alicia Morton can stand beside Aileen Quinn, but not in charisma and screen presence. Victor Garber and, particularly, Audra McDonald slip further down the comparison ladder, as does Alan Cumming. While Kathy Bates is no Carol Burnett, however, she does give a certain gravitas to Miss Hannigan. Only improvement, as far as I can see is that Sandy makes a better mutt.
For cinephiles, also, there is a major let-down in the substitution of the anaemic 'NYC' for the sensational 'Let's go to the movies' sequence in Huston's film. All of the above notwithstanding, if we remember it is only a TV movie, with all of the budgetary implications of that, it is an honourable effort, but why would anyone want to watch this rather that Huston's minor masterpiece.
I love romantic comedies. I love French cinema. Charlotte Gainsbourg
was fine in Claude Miller's La Petite Voleuse. But since then, her
charmless personality seems to be the death-knell for everything she
This is a theoretically fun movie, in which a middle-aged guy tries to get one over on his domineering family. And, being a romantic comedy, we know the way it's going to go. But Gainsbourg seems so affected as the hired-in fiancée, and so emotionally wooden, that even if she had the 'nichons' that her partner would have preferred (as I would), it is doubtful that she would have saved this forlorn if not totally lost film.
Viewed as a 'European Premiere' at the Belfast Cinemagic Children's
Film Festival, this light-hearted family adventure film must surely win
over all but the most hard-bitten cynics. Based on a real incident from
the late 60s and set in deepest Montana, it centres on the theft of a
children's TV star marionette named 'Froggy Doo' whose antics thrilled
the under-8s in the area.
In particular, he was the idol of young Rocky Plumm, younger son of failed boxer Mick Plumm, and younger brother of teenager Elliott. This is a film that could have been monumentally awful, but in the first half wins by the charm and audacity of its somewhat naive plot, and the way that its actors fit so seamlessly into the initially predictable characters.
But, like many fine films, as it progresses, it undermines the assumptions that we have made about it. The idyllic family life is not so idyllic, the teenage love story gets muzzed by hormonal outbursts, and the love of cinema of the filmmakers shines through in endearing references to great films of the era in which it is set (plus or minus a decade).
So, it's a comic family drama; it's a thriller; it's a reflection on the relationship between father and son, and it's a kookie, almost unclassifiable folk tale.
It's not perfect, and there are a few cringe-making scenes where the elements of pastiche fall flat on their face, but it enjoyably reminds me of another massively under-valued film - Spaced Invaders. True cinephiles will also see elements of masterpieces of the era as diverse as 'El Dorado' and 'Blow-up'. And the real reason it is so good (of its type) is that it wears the filmmakers' love of cinema on its sleeve. And as a first film by director Caroline Zelder, it is full of great promise...
Go and see this and give yourself a treat!
I am very surprised that no one has realised how original this film is,
structurally. Throughout the whole of the history of film as an art
(right from the Ride of the Klansmen in the transcendental 'Birth of a
Nation') the notion that two scenes at different locations inter-cut
implies to the audience that these scenes are either taking place
simultaneously OR (as in 'Intolerance') they have a thematic or causal
Rendition is a film that dares to give the audience the clear impression that it is using one of these narrative conventions when in fact it is using the other. I don't want to go further as that might constitute a spoiler. But we, the audience are 'enjoyably' hoodwinked.
The above alone is sufficient to ensure that the film is worth seeing, but there are plenty of other reasons too. One of the main ones is that the film is political but not ideological and, certainly not didactic. I have been amused that most of the, doubtless heartfelt and sincere comments from people who agree with the films moral position ignore the fact that the Jake Gylenhaal character's change of heart is occasioned when he concludes (rightly or wrongly we are not actually ever told) that the prisoner simply doesn't know the information that is being sought.
Then there is the other side torture is shown to work when applied to an individual who was involved in terrorism.
I am not an apologist for torture, which I abhor, but I greatly admire this film for not over-simplifying and distorting 'facts' in order to make a worthwhile moral statement. It is much more difficult to forswear a technique on moral grounds if you know that is works This is a film with barely better than passable performances and nothing special visually, but which remains entirely memorable and admirable for its structural subtlety, its fine characterisations and its scrupulous objectivity. Like Olmi's 'The Tree of Wooden Clogs' it shows that the route to fine political film-making is moral, not ideological.
Love doesn't come in a minute,
Sometimes it doesn't come at all
I only know that when I'm in it
It isn't silly, no, it isn't silly, love isn't silly at all.
These words, from Paul McCartney's 'Silly Love Songs', seem to me to be a very accurate description of the theme of 'When Harry Met Sally'. This iconic romantic comedy, written by Nora Ephron, is, for me, one of the most insightful comments on the place of love in the post-60s world. It charts the way that acquaintance can turn into friendship and then into love.
Harry (Billy Crystal) encounters Sally (Meg Ryan) on a long car journey during which they both seem to decide that the other is obnoxious in one way or another. Their path to love is funny, totally engaging and ultimately unforgettable.
One of the greatest - no THE greatest - characteristic of the cinema is its ability to access our deepest emotions. How many times do we weep cathartically in our normal lives - most of us, not many. Yet there are dozens of films that induce just this kind of reaction. How many times do we laugh so much that we ache - very rarely outside a cinema, but often within. How many times are we so scared that we cannot move - almost never in life, but often in the cinema. And these emotions cannot be accessed in the same way through any other art.
And there are laughs and tears galore in 'When Harry Met Sally'. Why? Because we really *care* for these kooky characters, and the love that they find has a kind of purity that our loves struggle to emulate.
For some people (and I feel sorry for them) films that induce a warm feeling of pleasure are sentimental and worthless. They should avoid this film as it might undermine their sterile cynicism. But if you trust your emotions and regard them as your greatest asset, 'When Harry Met Sally' will be one of the most worthwhile films of the modern era.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
When filmmakers are coming to the end of their lives, occasionally they
make a film that transcends their place in cinema. Such a film is
Lilith. Robert Rossen was a fine and highly competent director, but,
even in 'The Hustler', there was no sign in his work that he could make
anything quite as jaw-dropping as Lilith. Rossen was dying when he made
this film, and his veteran cinematographer, Eugene Shufftan was also
getting very old. It seems to me that they both thought 'we won't get
another chance like this' and went for broke.
Lilith shows the very best of Rossen, the very best of Shufftan and the very best of Jean Seberg - the 60s' most luminously beautiful star. I have read J R Salmanca's novel, and it weaves a wonderful spell. In the up-market asylum, Salamanca found a metaphorical island somewhat like that in 'The Tempest' where pure aspects of the human psyche could be explored - particularly that most precious and fundamental aspect, love.
Indeed, the film deals in visual/conceptual metaphors in many ways - think, for example, of the analogy that is drawn between spiders and the inmates of the asylum. The Beatty character, Vincent, sees the beautiful Lilith as a victim of schizophrenia, being trapped in it, as if in a spider's web, but he ends up being trapped in her web.
Rossen does a fabulous job in keeping this really very static story moving and ensuring our identification with the central relationships. Vincent seems excessively mannered, but, like Travis Bickle, he is just back from the war and is trying to integrate back into society. We rarely see Vincent other than in a hospital environment until he has completely fallen for Lilith, so his attempts to re-integrate into society are, in effect, attempts to integrate into madness.
Seberg as Lilith is completely dazzling, her beguiling beauty hiding a gorgon in disguise as she plays each character off against the other until she has them helplessly reliant on her. She never looked, or acted close to this level before or after. Forget Breathless, forget Bonjour Tristesse or Saint Joan; forget even Birds Come to Die in Peru. This is essence of Seberg!
It is the visual aspect of the film, however, that is so wonderful, and that visual splendour is such that seeing the film on a television barely gives a small reflection of its qualities in this respect. Shufftan's black and white cinematography would get my vote for the greatest black & white cinematography of all time (Seven Samurai comes close...). On a cinema screen, you get the impression of being able to see every hair on the head of the central characters and light becomes a vehicle of meaning and wonder as in no other film that I can remember.
As the silent cinema came to an end, there was one monumental masterpiece that showed what was being lost in its passing - Dovzhenko's Earth. Now, as black and white cinema was coming to a close, Rossen and Shufftan showed what had been lost. There have been several major black and white films in the last forty years, but nothing that has the visual splendour of this magnificent work.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
This darkly funny celebration of womanhood may sound like a return to
'All About My Mother', but it isn't really. Penelope Cruz' Raimunda is
a fabulous creation, and her wide gamut of inscribed emotions - from
flirtatiousness to despair keeps us interested as we discover the
secret of her mother's death.
My Spanish is negligible, but I noticed the adverts on the buses in Madrid proclaimed Volver... siempre which internet translation tells me means 'Always to return'. It should have given us some clues! One of the great things about Almodovar is that he nearly always features asymmetric parallels in his films - with two characters having similar experiences but with different results. This is monumentalised in 'Hable con Ella', but here it takes the form of one woman not killing an unfaithful husband and making him disappear, while another does the killing and disappears herself.
While, in my view, Bad Education was a three steps backwards move for Almodovar, this is a 'one step forward'. So it is mild and witty Almodovar rather than profound and brilliant Almodovar. However, what you always get with this magnificent director, is fabulously expressive style, and this is no exception. It is also somewhat Bunuellian - with quasi-religious grotesques popping up from time to time to keep us on our toes.
I think it is often forgotten outside Spain how popular the director is with his national audience. However, in spite of the masterpiece factor, 'Hable con Ella' was his least popular film for some time. Maybe the last two minor works have been his attempt to regain that immense popularity which reached its peak at the time of 'Women on the Verge'.
Even though Volver is light-weight Almodovar, should we be worried? I don't think so. Here is a director who seems to be able to make more or less what he wants, and is fairly financially successful while doing it. It wan't be long before another masterpiece bubbles to the surface of his massively creative mind.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
The cinema is such a magnificent art that it enables artists to
minutely examine the darkest crevices in the human psyche. Here we have
one of the strangest examples of this possibility.
Zalman King makes a superb central character of Robert Troy who brings a 'sleeping beauty' from a fairground to his West Coast mansion. It emerges that she has been artificially kept asleep - drugged by her fairground owner. The mansion to which she is brought is a cavernous affair populated simply by two women, whose relationship with Troy is never fully articulated. There are clear suggestions of necrophilia here as Troy's obsession with the sleeping girl become more explicit, but the film doesn't pursue these lines, leaving the audience to make connections and draw its own suspect conclusions.
One of the most disturbing aspects of the film is in the scene in which Jennifer relates to Troy how she had experienced being asleep and just remembering how the men in the fairground kissed her... and more. However, she had only the alternative of oblivion to compare these half-perceived experiences with so regarded them as precious, but Harris doesn't moralise.
Although the British video that I watched (I had seen the film in the cinema before) promotes the fact that Richard Pryor is in the cast, he is, in fact, the weakest part of the film - playing a drug/booze-crazed friend of Troy. Carol White also has a strange part as the possibly Lesbian dominatrix, who regularly dresses as a nun in the weird role-playing games that pass for life in the mansion.
Visually the film concentrates on darkness with many strange chiaroscuro effects in the mansion lit by dim chandeliers and candles. When Jennifer (Sleeping Beauty) and Troy take a trip, it is mainly shot at night in anonymous, faceless locations. It seems to me that one of the few real clues to the heart of the film is in the choice of Nat King Cole's 'The Very Thought of You' as the key musical motif. This points, it seems to me, to the notion of the film being a reflection of the way that love enters and distorts the mind of the lover.
Finally, in this extraordinary film - made by one of Kubrick's closest associates of the time - we see mystery in almost every aspect. Where, if at all, does the flashback with which the film opens end, for example? There are relatively few movies that make you think that there is a whole new area of human existence, but this is one of them. It may be tacky and lacking in 'taste and decency' on occasion, but this is cinema of the fine line between decadence and depravity - it isn't 'nice', but it's, to use another Nat King Cole title, unforgettable.
OK, I'm a massive admirer of Terrence Malick. I think he is the
greatest living filmmaker. His films touch part of my psyche that are
left unmoved by any other filmmaker. But... Nothing, repeat NOTHING
prepared me for the sensory explosion that is The New World. I had been
following the production for over 18 months, watching the trailer
online... counting the days... But I was worried. Some suggestions that
Malick have over-reached himself, was self-indulgent... And Malick's
style of cinema is so fragile, it could fall apart. So with optimism,
but trepidation I took the plunge... and - oh joy, oh bliss, this is
Why is it so wonderful? The only word I can give is that it, unlike any film that I have seen since the death of Bresson (except, maybe, Flowers of Shanghai), is deeply, deeply spiritual. We have familiar Malick motifs - the wind on the grass, the shots of the sky reflected in water from The Thin Red Line - but here that take on a completely new and more satisfying meaning, for Malick's concern is with man in his purest communion with nature. The 'naturals' are precisely that - at one with nature. Malick uses his poetic imagery to set our senses aglow with the sheer wonder and of purity of the indigenous lifestyle. This is cinema at the level of what I can only term 'super-expression' - imagery communicates complex interaction between things and the way our senses perceive them, but it does so at an incredibly elevated level. The most remarkable thing for the casual viewer is how much Malick manages to express complex and wonderful things completely without dialogue. John Smith (Colin Farrell) barely speaks to his own people, let alone his indigenous captors. Yet we sense what he is thinking through Malick's absolutely magnificent use of imagery and sound.
There are other motifs. People hold hands. They express themselves through their breathing. And, yet again, Malick has found a wonderful vehicle for his vision in the form of Q'Orianka Kilcher. Her screen presence and the range of emotions that she suggests with so little dialogue is little short of miraculous.
For people who love the cinema not just on the basis of the quality of the stories that it tells, but the manner in which it tells them, this must be one of the films of the decade. Many people have said that the cinema is like a language, but that is to belittle it. It is not like A language, it is simply like language itself. And just as there are many languages, there are many cinemas - that is forms of cinema. And in each language there are masters of the language who excel in expressing themselves in poetry and in prose. In English we had Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. Now, in 'poetic cinema' at a higher level even than Stan Brakhage, we have Terrence Malick. Yes, The New World is THAT good. See it. See it. See it.
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