Reviews written by registered user
|19 reviews in total|
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
I love this movie more every time I see it. Sure, there are little
gaffes (they get original Invisible Man Jack Griffin's name wrong, and
Jon Hall's teeth show up when only his skin is supposed to be visible
with cold cream) and there's a regrettable, dated crack about how "Japs
all look alike" (especially ironic since Hungarian Peter Lorre looks
nothing like Keye Luke - who was Chinese - nor any Japanese you ever
met) but in the main, it's one of Universal's best wartime efforts,
with some terrific John P. Fulton invisibility tricks.
Curtis (Curt) Siodmak's script is surprising, funny and even scary (Lorre and that guillotine paper cutter!) and it moves like lightning. Betrayal is a constant theme, with witty commentary on the treacherous relationship of the Axis "partners" and the mutual backstabbing by the two Nazis played by Cedric Hardwicke and J. Edward Bromberg. ("I pity the Devil when you boys start showing up in bunches," cracks the hero.)
The invisibility drug still seems to lead to some kind of madness (its users often have to be "liquidated", per Hardwicke) but apparently the insanity is not as severe as that suffered by Claude Rains or Vincent Price in the previous entries. It makes hero Frank Raymond (née Griffin) both manic and reckless, as well as extremely suspicious of Ilona Massey, an irresistible Mata Hari-type in that negligee...!
Siodmak pulls out all the stops for the remarkably violent climax, with a prison break, a nasty fish-hook trap, a Nazi-Japanese brawl, all the villains getting machine-gunned or stabbed or self-disemboweled, a car chase, an air field set ablaze and then bombed, and that parachute escape from the crashing plane...man, wartime audiences must have cheered this thing!
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
SPOILERS - It's no Black Swan or Cutthroat Island or even Pirates of
the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, but Hurricane Island is fun if you
dial your expectations down to extreme low tide. It's a combination of
historical epic and fantasy, set just two decades after Columbus's
discovery of the New World.
You have beefy hero Jon Hall and his crew, carting famed explorer Ponce de León (Edgar Barrier) around Cuba and pre-colonial Florida in a bed as they seek a cure for the poison arrow that hit de Leon in the opening scenes. You have lady pirate (in 1513!) Marie Windsor, in her Technicolor-red lipstick, and evil pirate Marc Lawrence scheming with a warlike native brave.
Of course, the real Ponce de León was a slaver who put down Indian rebellions brutally and died from his poison-arrow wound; but in this version, he ends up an enlightened seeker of peace, grateful for the help of native shaman Okhala (Jo Gilbert), who guides the party to the Fountain of Youth, here represented by a backlot waterfall with a gush of water spouting up in the pool below. No, Ponce doesn't get any younger, but he does shake off that paralysis (shades of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade!) Alas, another sword-and-gun fight breaks out, apparently ruining the fountain which stops spurting.
The story by David Matthews is nonsense, with dialogue like Hall (re Windsor's wig): "A blond Spaniard?" Windsor: "You have never been to our northern provinces, there are many of us there." Hall is as wooden as his galleon and Windsor overacts wildly to compensate; unbilled in the otherwise unfamiliar cast is Lyle Talbot as a doctor.
It's the kind of B-movie a studio used to be able to crank out on existing Poverty Row sets representing colonial towns and ships, achieving a cheesy epic grandeur. You have to admire producer Sam Katzman and director Lew Landers, who with ratty costumes, bathtub miniatures and a visibly rushed schedule, manage to crowd in stunts, sword fights, Windsor's murderous schemes that end with her falling for that big lunk Hall, a bevy of starlets as women convicts (!) recruited to colonize Florida, a hurricane called up on cue by Gilbert (the same tree keeps falling over in their path), and Gilbert meeting a Lost Horizon-type fate...all in 71 minutes. You won't believe a moment of it, but you will watch it all with an incredulous smile.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
SPOILERS - so don't complain later.
As much as I admire Curb Your Enthusiasm, Clear History is funnier. For one thing, it moves like lighting, with a season's worth of Curb's big moments, one after the other and all part of a logical plot. Instead of loose improv, each is a tight comedic scene with sharp dialog (by David, Alec Berg, David Mandel and Jeff Schaffer, his old Seinfeld brain trust) delivered by a stellar supporting cast: Jon Hamm, Kate Hudson, Danny McBride, J.B. Smoove, Eva Mendes, Philip Baker Hall, an unrecognizable Michael Keaton as Joe Stumpo, an unbilled Liev Schreiber as a scary Chechen...and an unfortunately underutilized Bill Hader.
One classic line comes when Larry's Nathan Flomm tries to undo his rash resignation, arguing that the act of apology is sufficient and whether he really means it is irrelevant. Hamm is appalled: "That is literally the ONLY thing an apology has to be, is sincere." And then, of course, Nathan can't resist pointing out his boss is making an insincere apology, just to pound the final nail in his own financial coffin.
That other great comic misanthrope W.C. Fields said there is nothing funnier than a henpecked man. Fields was famed for playing braying drunks and con-men in most of his movies (My Little Chickadee, International House, Poppy, The Big Broadcast, etc.), but in his three greatest comedies (It's a Gift, The Man on the Flying Trapeze and The Bank Dick) Fields played the flip side of that character - the put-upon family man and frustrated dreamer.
By the same token, David is best-known for Curb, portraying himself as a privileged idler who irritates everyone. But he's much funnier and more relatable as Nathan/Rolly...the guy who blew his big chance and is now contentedly scraping by under a new name in idyllic Martha's Vineyard. Yes, he has the same annoying Curb persona: the racial and sexual hangups, the tin-ear for others' feelings, and the OCD persnicketiness...but why wouldn't Rolly be as popular with these friends, who are themselves cheerful slobs, cranks and resentful townies? It makes as much sense as the meta-Larry on Curb having friends.
The writing is fiendishly clever; what seem like simple jokes turn out to reveal character and propel the plot: I laughed out loud when The Fountainhead came Rolly's TV halfway through - inspiring Rolly's revenge plot. It looked like Jon Hamm's naming both his kid and his car after Howard Roark was finally going to bite him in the ass. A few twists later, we learn Hamm's character has repented his Ayn Rand ways and David's Nathan/Rolly is undone by his own pride -- Clear History is like the farce version of Breaking Bad.
But the Fountainhead scene was when I decided this film is Larry David's The Bank Dick.
The fight on the road with Kate Hudson, building to a perfect reversal of expectations - and then the most hilariously mean use of a motorcycle accident in any comedy - suffice it to say, I found this the funniest movie of 2013, even though it wasn't in a theater.
Blake Edwardsian (is that a word?) tomfoolery about bungling hit-men, a
sultry tango dancer, and criss-crossing murder plots.
The goofy Kearin and the exasperated Von Buskirk, a kind of lethal Stan and Ollie, are on a collision course with gorgeous gangster's moll McClain, who proves to be quite different from what they bargained for.
Love enters the picture, and the bodies start falling.
Sumptuously shot...the color scheme alone is a pleasure to view.
Mucho hilarity, with an added plus: The droll animated credit sequence, the kind you used to see on movies...but on a short film, a real, rare luxury.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
The story starts out talking about Hyde as if he were a true monster
who had murdered his wife. It shows a furry-headed, heavy-browed Hyde
running into a house which is then set ablaze by a pursuing mob.
Jekyll, now looking like a normal human, steps out of an upper story
window and falls to his death.
But (SPOILER!) thirty years later, his old friend Dr. Lanyon is revealed to have falsified Jekyll's notes in a scheme to drive the Son of Dr. Jekyll mad, so Lanyon can steal the Jekyll estate...to replace his own fortune lost defending Jekyll Sr.
Aside from the moral backflips Lanyon has to perform to go from valiant friend to chiseler and murderer, the movie never comes clean about who Mr. Hyde was. In order to make young Jekyll look insane, Lanyon fakes those notes and swaps "Acrostyn" for another chemical, so that Jekyll Jr. turns hairy and fanged - then faints - in the movie's only transformation scene. It's an odd medical breakthrough for Lanyon to have gone broke defending.
Or is young Jekyll only hallucinating his transformation? Lanyon even boasts that he only needed mob hysteria to turn Edward Jekyll into a "monster." But a hallucination would be an even bigger cheat - because the audience sees an actual transformation after Edward is unconscious.
Then the closing crawl smugly notes that both Jekyll's original notes and Lanyon's forgery are archived at Scotland Yard as a solution to the Jekyll/Hyde myth. Huh?? When did it become a myth? Opening crawl, meet end credits! The movie does get props for reusing Mamoulian's color-filter trick for revealing painted makeup in stages from the Fredric March 1932 version (actually, first used to "cleanse the lepers" in DeMille's 1927 King of Kings.) And Holmes Herbert from that film shows up here as a policeman. Lester Matthews (the hero of "The Werewolf of London") plays lawyer Utterson, a character from Stevenson's novella usually omitted in screen adaptations. Alexander Knox, the model of rectitude as "Wilson", is wonderfully manipulative as Lanyon.
Apparently, the idea was to make a monster movie with a minimum of expensive makeup sessions, and the script seems to have had numerous contradictory revisions. The production values are fairly threadbare, not many steps up from a 3 Stooges short of the era; at one point, Jekyll's "1890" home is clearly a modern 1951 house with flagstone facing. But the studio cleverly reuses the big fire scene from the opening to close the picture with a bang.
But that bang is still not loud enough to make you forget all the illogical and dishonest tricks the story plays on the viewer.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
It was a great idea for a movie: What if they opened a time capsule and inside were predictions for every disaster of the last fifty years, plus predictions for three more - what would you do?
Well, in this film, it doesn't matter what you do. History is immutable. The so-called hero, after he goes through all this trouble to unravel the code...is powerless to save his own son. And apparently even angels (excuse me, aliens) who are capable of either time travel or extremely specific precognition...are uninterested in doing anything beyond saving thirty or forty kids.
Like "The Forgotten" (SPOILER!) about a mother whose child vanishes not only physically, but from all human record or memory except hers, this story resorts to advanced extraterrestrials to explain its mystery.
But the aliens here are a pretty useless bunch. They can predict the moment of a deadly solar flare 50 years in advance (not to mention many other much smaller disasters). So what do they do? Contact authorities, awe them with their predictions, get them building giant space arks to save a big chunk of the world's population (and, by the way, the culture that makes them human, as opposed to primate specimens)? Do these angels care about the incredible biodiversity of the doomed Earth? Nope. They'll whisk away a few dozen kids and some housepets (and to hell with everyone and everything else) then maroon them on an alien planet. No older members of their species, no technology to help them when, I dunno, it rains or snows...or someday a meteor comes along.
In six months, we'd be watching "The Lord of the Flies."
Apparently, all that these incredibly wise, angelic aliens care to preserve is our genetic stock (psi-power sub-variety). Socrates? Aquinas? Da Vinci, Shakespeare, Mozart, Jefferson, Emily Dickinson, Buster Keaton, Louis Armstrong, Tina Fey? Naah. Who needs that crap? We have a bunch of cute kids whose education stops at the fourth grade.
Terrible, boneheaded ending, the kind that sends an audience out in the foulest of moods, feeling condescended to and ripped off.
Instead of tearing W a new one, this film applied some Desitin, patted
him on the back and said "there, there." I can't help but think that
this, along with World Trade Center, represents a kinder, gentler, and
newly boring Oliver Stone, focusing on inoffensive dramaturgy and
lookalike casting (except Cromwell as Poppy Bush). It seems he now
wants to be a Serious Prestige Director Who Gets An Oscar, rather than
the passionate, irreverent wiseguy he was when he made his great films.
So now Stone turns out a movie that will encourage any remorseful Bush voter to think, "Well, of course I was right to have supported him...he meant well." Give me a break.
With the most stupidly corrupt leader in American history as his subject, a rage-filled, sadistic yet passive-aggressive antihero worthy of a blistering satire...Stone instead delivers a wet little Hallmark drama about how a cold daddy produced an unloved, frustrated child. Who just happened to kill a hundred thousand people (left almost entirely off screen, of course.) There are plenty of ironic laugh-lines for smug liberals, but they'll fly right over the heads of Republicans who can enjoy this shameless apologia free of irony.
Where were the remarkable highlights (that is to say, low points) of Bush's public career? "She said, 'please don't kill me' ", "All right, you've covered your ass?" "F--k Saddam, he's going down,"...and ten minutes of lobotomized staring at a children's book...while America was under attack? Well, never mind history...you can't have your main character too unlikable, can you? For all the mentions of "yellow cake", you'd never know that phrase did not just refer to an unsupported claim, but to an obvious lie, a childish forgery that the CIA's own experts disclaimed...nor would you guess that Bush and Cheney stood accused of betraying the identity of the CIA agent whose husband pointed out this inconvenient fact (nor that Bush commuted the sentence of a convicted felon who might otherwise have testified to their treason.) To portray Bush and Cheney's worst crime as being just too darned vigilant is an outrageous libel upon history. (Just a reminder: "you've covered your ass" was W's reply to the CIA handler who tried to show him the Aug 6th memo, "Bin Laden Determined to Attack Inside U.S.")
The leads are sledgehammered into a mold designed to produce relatable movie characters, instead of highlighting their most interesting facets. From watching the dewy-eyed, sensible, liberal, good-hearted gal called Laura Bush here, you'd never dream the genuine article actually told survivors of dead soldiers that "no one suffers more than the president and I" or that she once killed a boyfriend by running a stop sign.
Oliver Stone - who once made a mainstream movie that accused the CIA of murdering JFK - wants us to believe Bush (who's been repeatedly photographed with wine-colored fluid in his glasses at state dinners and has fallen off bikes, Segways and his own two feet too often to count) passed out on a pretzel...with nothing but O'Doul's at hand? Really? Really?? Whatever happened to Oliver Stone?
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
SPOILERS BELOW...YOU WILL NOT FIND THIS MOVIE NEARLY AS FUNNY IF YOU
CHEAT AND READ THIS FIRST.
Never have so many fine actors floundered in such a sea of shoddy pamphleteering. Which is not to say the movie's not entertaining - it is. It's just not very good.
This was Ayn Rand's final screenplay in her brief Hollywood career, which is a tragedy for connoisseurs of bad soap opera. It's tempting to blame director King Vidor for all the scenes where characters turn their backs on the hero to declaim their speeches to just left of the camera a staple of daytime serials ever since but the speeches themselves are so over-the-top that avoiding each other's eyes may have been the only way for actors to deliver them without cracking up.
Rand's scenes constantly begin with some character summoning the heroic architect Howard Roark to deliver a snide ultimatum, which he impassively rejects, at which point the Other Character turns on a dime and flings him/herself at his feet, metaphorically or (in the case of Patricia Neal's Dominique) literally.
Even when Roark is not around, people behave with bizarre inconsistency, as if different writers had been assigned successive scenes. Take Raymond Massey's Gail Wynand, whose sexually ambiguous name (spelled like Gail Russell rather than Gale Gordon) seems to explain his lack of passion for his wife and his devotion to Roark. Wynand is willing to ruin his paper rather than retract his backing for Roark...until his board of directors softly suggest that he back down. Whereupon he instantly turns on Roark, so viciously that suicide (after rehiring Roark) is his only possible atonement.
Wynand's wife-to-be Dominique is a particularly kinky customer, humiliating and abusing Roark until he satisfies her by (in oblique, Old Hollywood fashion) raping her. Dominique definitely goes Scarlett O'Hara one better in bringing rough sex to the forefront in movies, but her particular fetish forces her to go through the whole movie in a temper, until she surrenders to Roark's perfection and Finally Gets What She Needs. You buy the affair because of the palpable heat between the gorgeous Neal and Gary Cooper...not because of the loony dialog.
The minor characters behave as if the movie were set (or at least written) on Mars: Angry mobs boycott a paper and tear down newsstands, all to protest the firing of the reptilian architecture critic Toohey, who dresses like Clemenceau and proclaims a self-loathing version of Marxism that would have earned him a icepick from Stalin. How did this fruitcake get so popular with the Joe Sixpacks of 1949?
The hilarious thing about the film is that everyone on view accepts that its hero is a genius. Roark, a paper-thin conceit instead of a character, never doubts himself for an instant, which imparts even to Gary Cooper an aura of unbearable smugness.
So where is dramatic conflict to come from?
Well, from the embittered paranoia that pervades every other character in the story. Even Roark's admirers are convinced he's too brilliant to succeed, while the villains are determined to bring him down, not because they're Philistines, or because his designs look as cold and forbidding as Albert Speer's, but because they hate Genius. After two hours of Roark's tin-Jesus certainty, you start to sympathize with them.
Imagine a movie in which the antagonists are not motivated by different ideals or greed or lust or revenge...but because they hate the hero's Goodness...and you have some idea of the depth of the writing in The Fountainhead.
Robert Douglas, on vacation from his usual swashbuckler villainy, is excellent as the scheming Toohey. Ironically, with his gift for glittery-eyed resentment, Douglas might have been far more believable as Roark than the stiff, earnest Cooper...but this casting would have laid bare the hero's narcissism and rendered him unwatchable.
As it is, Cooper, that laconic cowboy American, is visibly flummoxed by delivering Roark's rant in the courtroom climax. He spouts Rand's rambling derision for the common man in a speech that he scarcely seems to believe...as if he knew it would have earned him a clip in the jaw from Capra's Mr. Deeds.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
Hilariously inept - like "She Wore A Yellow Ribbon" remade by
Spoilers ahead: Despite its title, and the high bodycount, "Slaughter Trail" is in fact a musical with Injun battles instead of dance numbers.
If you ever wondered what Ed Wood might have done with a B-movie budget, this film should answer your question. Some decisions may have been bad only in retrospect, such as filming in the short-lived Cinecolor process, which resulted in faces changing hue within the same shot. But there was definitely some ill-advised skimping on the film's main set, a cavalry fort that seems to be partly a Norman castle.
Terry Gilkyson, who later wrote the 'The Bare Necessities' for Disney's "The Jungle Book", supplies a score full of original ditties which would have been wonderful for a cartoon but which fit Western action like a fuzzy slipper stuck in a stirrup. One song tells how "horse hooves pound, and their melody sounds, like the hoofbeat serenade"...during a dead-serious scene of a cavalry patrol. Other songs literally narrate the story shot by shot, introducing characters, describing their moods and gestures - as they happen on screen - and even stop to advertise the Cinecolor process(!)
The script sends ferocious Navajos on the warpath to avenge the killing of two of their band by an outlaw trio. By the end of the film, what looks like a hundred Navajos and cavalrymen have bitten the dust (thanks to repeated footage of the same characters dying over and over.) But the chief is satisfied once he sees the trio of badguys have been slain. As the singer helpfully informs those of us who weren't paying attention, the Navajos ride away, their battle called off. The cavalry captain, surrounded by the corpses of his fallen comrades, cheerily waves his appreciation.
The direction could most charitably be described as wooden, or more to the point, Wood-en. Navajos are consistently shot off their horses in pairs -- never just one. Virtually every red man on foot dies by throwing his hands in the air and keeling over. The film also employs the most cautious stuntmen in Hollywood, who crouch before dropping off a one-story roof (and still fail to stick the landing) or turn to look behind them as they slide, "dead", down a rocky slope.
The star is Brian Donlevy, who surely deserves an Oscar for not blushing. After the endless final battle scene -- "climax" is scarcely the word -- he scans a list of the dozens of his troopers killed, and shrugs, "It could've been a LOT worse." Trooper Andy Devine gets to sing and robber/murderer Gig Young laughs at Andy's antics...which leads a character who had been held up by masked bandits to rat Gig out: "I'd know that laugh anywhere!"
And lest anyone forget just what a nasty piece of work Howard Hughes could be, recall that as head of RKO, Hughes was first in line to blacklist original star Howard Da Silva when HUAC denounced him. It would take Hughes another six years to finish running that once-celebrated studio into the ground, but it didn't help things when he insisted on reshooting Da Silva's every scene for this film, substituting Donlevy.
It was nearly a decade before Da Silva was able to work in Hollywood again. But all things considered, for getting him out of "Slaughter Trail", he should have sent Hughes a thank-you note.
What it includes: A scene that never happened, of Clinton
administration officials calling off a raid that would have netted bin
Laden - fictional, according to the 9/11 Commission Report (issued by a
Republican-dominated Congressional committee -- you know, the one
before which Bush and Cheney testified together, both declining to
swear an oath to tell the truth.)
What it omits: A very telling scene that did happen - the famous anecdote from Ron Susskind's The One Percent Doctrine, in which a CIA handler who flew to Crawford to make sure sure Bush read the August 6, 2001 memo ("Bin Laden Determined to Attack Inside U.S.") reported Bush's hostile response: "All right, you've covered your ass now."
These two facts sum up all anyone needs to know about the integrity and agenda of these filmmakers.
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