Howard_B_Eale Reviews

At Long Last Love (1975)

it's not the top, but it certainly ain't the bottom

[7/10 · 6 September 2015]

As a viewer who had been bombarded with negative commentary on this film for almost 40 years without having actually viewed it, I suppose I'd drunk the Kool-Aid and assumed that the naysayers were right. But after viewing the Blu-ray (which is a presentation of James Blakely's "unauthorized" re-edit of the film, which he did to amuse himself while working at 20th, and then quietly placed "his" version into TV distribution), I now see how off-base these attacks were.

It's difficult to know, without seeing the 1975 cut, nor the first TV re-edit done by Bogdanovich himself, where the differences in the versions lie (and complicating matters, Bogdanovich was finally able to tighten up bits and pieces and add an entire missing 90-second sequence to the Blakely cut for the Blu-ray). Indeed, seeing the Blakely cut, it's hard to imagine how the trims or changes would have happened at all, as the majority of picture is in long, unbroken shots (beautifully lensed by Laszlo Kovacs). From the occasionally dupey and ragged image quality here evident in the current Blu-ray transfer, it would appear that some numbers were simply discarded entirely in 1975, and replaced by lesser source material by Blakely. The looseness of the structure would have enabled some chess-playing with the sequence of events, but it's hard to imagine the film being truly butchered beyond recognition.

In any event, it's more fruitful to view this film as a very earnest experiment, rather than a "throwback musical". The decision to shoot all the musical numbers live, with the actors not only using their own voices to sing, but doing so on-camera without overdubs, immediately places the entire enterprise in some cinematic twilight zone, out of time, floating weirdly between an era of 1930s Lubitsch and 1970s underground cinema. But, amazingly, it works, in no small part due to the uniformly appealing and earnest cast. Cringe-worthy duff notes aside, even Burt Reynolds pulls it off, and is often genuinely charming in his menage-aux-trois pairings with both Cybill Shepherd and Madeline Kahn. Duilio Del Prete clearly carries his musical numbers with ease, unlike the other three leads, but avoids upstaging them with what is obviously a better-trained singing voice.

Indeed, the film works astonishingly well as an ensemble piece, perfectly suited to the double-entendre-laden Cole Porter tunes around which it is all based. The group sequences in tight quarters, such as the repeated bits in playboy Reynolds' chauffeured limos, are completely charming. The physical comedy is a gentle slapstick, not overly broad.

It doesn't all hang together perfectly. The already-thin narrative feels stretched to the breaking point somewhere around the three-quarters mark, and the whole thing feels a bit long in the tooth at 121 minutes. It's easy to see how mid-1970s audiences would have found the entire enterprise utterly confounding, even after enjoying Bogdanovich's PAPER MOON two years prior. It overreaches, but is no failure.

Corn's-A-Poppin' (1955)

delightful, inexplicable cornpone from Kansas City, MO

[12 May 2014]

It appears that some particular IMDb user has rather hopefully indicated that Robert Altman served as co-director on this one-of-a-kind production, but there is no available documentation to back that up. Altman was brought in to write the screenplay, from a story by the film's producer (Elmer Rhoden, Jr.) and director (Robert Woodburn), but it is unquestionably a product of its production team. Such as it is. For all intents and purposes, and hopeless attempts to see the film as presaging NASHVILLE, Robert Altman had little to do with this picture's result. It is strictly an aberration, well outside of his "oeuvre".

This CORN sprang to life as both a showcase for local talent and a long-form commercial for popcorn at the same time. The story is of a local TV "variety hour" sponsored by the Pinwhistle Popcorn company (which, embarrassingly, is only a half hour) hosted by toothsome crooner Johnny Wilson (played by singer Jerry Wallace, in his first, and evidently only, lead role in a feature). Wilson's wallflower 12-year-old sister sings lead vocals for Hobie Shepp and the Cowtown Wranglers, who sporadically perform throughout the picture. But the real pathos concerns poor, struggling Mr. Pinwhistle's ill-fated association with a slimy promoter, Waldo Crummit (a rubber-faced James Lantz) and his utterly talentless singing wife, Lillian Gravelguard (look for the amusing CITIZEN KANE reference in her first television performance), who are conniving back-room deals to "buy popcorn for peanuts".

There's little point in further summarizing the plot here, because the meat of the matter is in the film's staggeringly strange design and equally strange performances (particularly Keith Painton as Pinwhistle, whose particular brand of gesticulating should be the stuff of legend). Ostensibly framed for the 1:1.85 widescreen exhibition of the time, it can only be viewed/projected as full-square 1.37 aperture because of the extreme framing of its subjects. Widescreen would lop off lower halves of bodies while leaving yards of "headroom" up top. As it is, you'll never see a picture with more inadvertent emphasis on fabric curtain rod covers and bizarre paintings hung on set walls. By all accounts, the cinematographer simply didn't have proper guidelines in his camera viewfinder to properly frame for widescreen, and this only lends a uniquely bizarre feel to the whole enterprise, as if the entire production is floating in some strange liminal space.

The other leads in the picture are determined local amateurs who turn in utterly charming and naive performances. Popcorn savior Agatha Quake, as played by Dora Walls, is like an unholy mixture of both witches from Oz; 12-year-old Cora Rice as Johnny Wilson's singing sister steals every scene she's in, playing Greek chorus to on screen shenanigans with aplomb. Every musical number is its own little piece of gold.

Unavailable for decades, and having never had a wide release in the first place, the film has just been restored by the Northwest Chicago Film Society (with funding from the National Film Preservation Foundation) and premiered at UCLA in May, 2014, which is where this reviewer saw it. That its penultimate musical number takes place in outer space on a "trip to Mars" only underscores what a beguiling and utterly unique little picture this is.

What the #$*! Do We (K)now!? (2004)

you'll be hard pressed to find another film as conniving as this...

[1/10 · 12 May 2014]

What a shockingly rough movie to watch. While there are plenty of clues in the film itself, it's pretty hard to discover who is REALLY behind the movie without digging deep: The Ramtha School of Enlightment (or RSE). RSE is another Scientology-like "cult"-like religion, so BE ADVISED that you are in for a namby-pamby recruiting tool rather than an informative movie if you go to see "What the Bleep Do We Know". The movie: Marlee Matlin mugs and grimaces her way through this horrendously-directed digital atrocity, making for plenty of unintentional and embarrassing laughs as she mouths her dialogue in classic "deaf" accent, surrounded by headache-inducing, often intrusive CGI animation (the entire theme of which is ripped straight from the classic short film "Powers of Ten"). The film presents a universe so perfectly caucasian that when ethnicity is finally portrayed you actually get a WISE BLACK BOY WITH A BASKETBALL (I'm not kidding) and a Native American in full stereotypical feathered head-dress. Matlin's character lives in a faux-industrial yuppie loft (appropriate, considering it was shot in the loft-happy Pacific Northwest) and has a "wacky" artist roommate.

Furthermore, the film is so unsure of itself and its narrative that it winds up playing any attempts at humor with equally broad strokes; within one atrocious set piece (an apparent Polish wedding) there is a "Polack" joke which goes un-challenged, grotesque sub-Pixar CGI creatures running about, "Porky's"-level teen sex gags, an embarrassing "polka" dance number and even a very graphic near-porn moment or two. All of this "legitimized" by the often spaced-out meanderings of various real-life scientists, mystics (yes, mystics), chiropractors and writers, who throw quantum theory at the viewer through a series of impenetrable interviews (and none of the voices are given screen identification until the end of the film). There's even a totally out of place sequence discussing crystals, sure to tickle the new-agers in the audience. It all doesn't add up to a hill of beans in any informational sense... 108 minutes of a handful of simple messages, among them: addiction is bad, right and wrong can get very confused, black children aren't all thugs and monogamy is always for the birds.

Previous cult leaders have made movies before; remember The "Moonies"' Reverend Sun Myung Moon and "Inchon"? At least that was basically just a dull war movie, rather than a blatant recruitment tool for a cult. You have been warned.

The Plough and the Stars (1936)

a studio-wrecked travesty

[21 March 2010]

THE PLOUGH AND THE STARS is one of the darker chapters in John Ford's sound film career. A "dream" project for the director, it instead became a debacle very early on in its tumultuous production history.

Among other things: RKO wouldn't import the full cast of the stage version, leading Ford to cast Preston Foster and Barbara Stanwyck in roles which arguably needed to go to Irish nationals more familiar with everything from the complex subject matter to the accents they would use. The producers misunderstood the story completely, and not only insisted on re-shooting sequences explaining the marriage of Stanwyck and Foster's characters (with a different director), but inserted newsreel footage and atrocious documentary-style narration. Contrary to another comment here, Ford had _nothing_ to do with the insertion of the archival footage... which is actually from the _wrong_ battle: it's from 1921, not the Easter Rebellion of 1916 described in the play/film.

Ford's generally deft handling of comic and dramatic elements collapses here into a confusing mess, in large part because Ford's depression over the project led him into an alcoholic bender during production.

Possibly Ford's worst sound film, which can be filed next to his other unfortunate duds such as THE WORLD MOVES ON and WHEN WILLIE COMES MARCHING HOME.

New York Confidential (1955)

a bristling Richard Conte performance, a peculiar film

[23 May 2009]

NEW YORK CONFIDENTIAL is a perplexing film noir entry. Among its many merits is the astonishing cast: Broderick Crawford (who spits out his dialogue in Howard Hawks-rapidity as if he were on amphetamines), Anne Bancroft (astonishing) and the always reliable Richard Conte. But it never shakes the feeling of being two films in one, sitting uneasily side by side: a stern "semi-documentary" expose of the "syndicate" on one hand, and a bleak and brutal pre-Godfather mafia family saga on the other.

As such, it is wildly and tragically uneven. The leads all turn in brilliant performances, but the screenplay has all the earmarks of a committee job; fascinating ideas and characterizations butt up against terribly overwrought clichés. The main cast is on fire with weighty dialogue, but the supporting cast flounders about as if they were in the most pedestrian B-noir instead of a star-driven studio picture. For the most part, the design is static and lifeless, shot with little flair by Eddie Fitzgerald. Director and co-writer Russell Rouse's previous noir entry was the chancy THE THIEF, also an uneven experiment.

But the film has its scenes of incredible power, usually those revolving around Conte, as a cold and calculating hit-man for hire, and Bancroft, as the put-upon mobster's daughter who can't crawl out from behind dad's shadow; Conte dispatching with "hits", his gunshots creepily muffled by a silencer; Crawford's repeated near-meltdowns; murderous planning done completely straight in a corporate boardroom, just big business as usual.

A puzzler of a film, leaving the viewer to wonder what could have been, had it been shot by John Alton and penned by, say, Dalton Trumbo. Still, it's an extremely valuable entry in the film noir canon, strangely almost impossible to see.

The Toughest Man Alive (1955)

a low-budget attempt at the G-Man thriller

[23 March 2009]

Dane Clark is always interesting to watch. His perpetual hangdog expression and droll line readings clash with his fairly diminutive size, making for strange anti-heroes in the films he's in (Borzage's MOONRISE being one of the very best).

And he does his best in this straightforward, occasionally pedestrian thriller about the Feds on the trail of munitions thieves, who are selling their purloined goods to resistance fighters in an unnamed South American country. Along the way, it manages to be both pro and anti-populist revolution, and almost pro-gangster, making for interesting viewing. As a thriller, it works some of the time; the best scenes involve hoods trying to outwit other hoods, with an undercover Federal man (Clark) impersonating a gun runner who plays both sides against each other if there's a dollar in it. But the cinematography and staging tends toward the pedestrian, there's not enough crackle in the screenplay, and the casting of the pneumatic Lita Milan as a torch singer/gun-buying revolutionary is ludicrous (though she provides the finest scenery in the picture). The film is buoyed by a decent amount of location photography in San Pedro, CA where the film is set, and there's a few nice character touches (the gun runner's best friend is a marmot-like creature named Victor who accompanies him everywhere).

But THE TOUGHEST MAN ALIVE leaves you hungering for something a little meatier. HOUSE OF BAMBOO it isn't, but as a low-budget time filler, it works. And I did see a print projected, so it's not an entirely lost item, though I can't imagine there are good 35mm materials left on the title.

The Affair (1971)

Cassavetes reference somewhat apt

[7 March 2009]

As said here previously, THERE'S ALWAYS VANILLA is a far better film than its reputation suggests (or director Romero himself apparently believes). As with all his best work, the writing is snappy and original, and quite unlike his best work, it proves that he could have (had?) a career with non-horror pictures if he wished so.

The film is told in flashback, with the main character (played excellently by Raymond Laine) ruminating in seemingly improvised sequences about his failed relationship, as the film illustrates its path. Fascinatingly, it resembles nothing less than Woody Allen's ANNIE HALL from some six years later - and is the far better movie. Where Allen's "see? I'm a lovable schnook" persona made me want to murder him when I revisited the film recently, Laine's portrayal of a sort of anti-hero in emotional turmoil here actually rings true.

Among the many pleasures in the film is seeing various cast members of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD (to say nothing of lead actress Judith Steiner) back again in completely different roles. But there are also a host of terrific set pieces, a great, HUSBANDS-like night of stoned debauchery with father and son among them.

It doesn't all work - there are two pretty awful sentimental montages which fail - but there's plenty of spirited jump-cutting, frame flashes and other unique touches which show a thoughtful stylistic hand at play. I wish Romero hadn't stopped with this "failure" - he certainly would have made a more interesting ANNIE HALL.

Ruthless (1948)

He wasn't a man... he was a way of life

[20 February 2009]

This may be Edgar G. Ulmer's masterpiece. RUTHLESS is a terrific noir/melodrama - sharply written (by the to-be-blacklisted Alvah Bessie and Gordon Kahn), consistently beautifully photographed (by the underrated Bert Glennon), and truly adventurous in its editing and flash forward-flash backward construction.

Zachary Scott is the "ruthless" title character, but the title is more a cheap shot than anything else; Scott's Vendig is more an emotionally bankrupt, pathological character than a villain per se. The narrative takes pains to reveal - gradually - the series of events from childhood through adulthood which affected his perverse makeup, making for a fascinating character study. Subtle revelations and plot twists come about every fifteen minutes, but they're deliberately ambiguous when they hit the screen, forcing the viewer to pay close attention as the truth of the situation is revealed. This technique alone puts RUTHLESS way ahead of any other Poverty Row melodrama of the period and cements Ulmer's reputation as a thoughtful stylist.

Louis Hayward plays a sort of Greek chorus, an often acquiescent voice of conscience/best friend/nemesis who keeps the episodic story moving along. Diana Lynn (in two roles), Martha Vickers and Lucille Bremer each give terrific performances as the various women who appear, disappear, and reappear in the lives of both men. All are sharply drawn, a testament to the determination of Bessie, Kahn and other blacklisted writers to put strong female characters on screen in defiance of the Production Code, which seemed to encourage either submissive or predatory roles for women.

And as if all that isn't enough, Sidney Greenstreet drops in and sets the screen on fire in every sequence he appears in. A classic coiled spring, his portrayal of a similarly greedy corporate boss is perfectly slimy, and provides a genuine shock when he suddenly grabs Lucille Bremer by the hair and jerks her backwards for a kiss. Likewise, a later sequence where Bremer drags him in front of the mirror so she can brutally compare him to her new, younger lover is unforgettably painful.

RUTHLESS sits comfortably alongside DETOUR, THE MAN FROM PLANET X and THE STRANGE WOMAN, other Ulmer gems of note. A great movie.

The Mask of Diijon (1946)

all time best ending of any film - ever

[27 January 2009]

No one will ever accuse THE MASK OF DIIJON of being a landmark thriller/drama/noir/whatever. But this film deserves the honor of having the all-time greatest final 30 seconds in the history of cinema. To reveal its wonderful climactic secret would be to rob the viewer of easily the best moment in the whole film, so I will resist, but it's all more worth watching than one might think.

Erich Von Stroheim chews up every scene he is in, which is the bulk of the picture, and this is a good thing. Anyone who adored him as Max Von Mayerling in SUNSET BLVD. knows full well that there isn't really any such thing as a bad Stroheim performance. He even smiles and laughs - admittedly rather briefly - in THE MASK OF DIIJON.

And the film is, for all its faults in narrative, an inevitably fascinating ultra-cheapie. The very fact that Stroheim committed to the project at all raises eyebrows; he treats the whole picture as a gag and is arguably the only sparkling performer in the whole project, and must have known this. The very opening sequence shows his character reduced to peddling cheap carnival tricks (and in doing so, tricks the audience by creating a fake beginning to the film), so there had to be an air of self-consciousness here, considering that the main conceit of the film (the power of hypnosis) is entirely preposterous. And there are a handful of nice touches throughout, particularly an outlandish sequence where Stroheim hypnotizes a would-be robber and stops the crime cold.

It's all a sublimely ridiculous tale, never believable for a moment, and pure entertainment. And it has the greatest ending ever. Trust me.

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1956)

why BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT is Lang's best US film

[3 January 2009]

Sometimes, in the world of 1940s-1950s film noir, we are given a film so transparently impossible and contrived that we can see ourselves giving up on watching it half way through. But is extremely rare that we are faced with a film where the very response the viewer is having holds the key to the success, rather than the failure, of the film.

Such is the case with BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT, which has - to its credit - been completely misunderstood by many. When we reach the film's conclusion, we realize that even the title of the film itself is a joke, perhaps the ultimate prank on the viewer. Yet to offer analysis of the film would be to destroy its main and most sinister motive; you can't "explain away" the glaring plot holes and contrivances without revealing the twist the film takes in its climax, and to do would rob the viewer of a genuine experience. So... I won't.

Suffice it to say, BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT is far more than it seems and is nothing without the sum of its parts, in total. Lang tackles the story of a person who creates a fictitious role for himself in order to, essentially, pull a fast one on the legal profession for personal gain (or, as it appears on the surface, someone else's). In the world of film noir, of course, we know that such a character won't get away with it, but when Lang depicts the tragedy the viewer knows will come, he majestically turns the entire premise on its head. As a result, it's a cold slap in the face - a devastating critique of the complicity of the audience in following along, hungrily, with such contrivances in cinema.

Every part of the film fits perfectly by not fitting at all. Even the visual style of the film is a cold, rarely pleasing one, almost daring you to suspend your disbelief just a little bit longer without even granting the pleasure of emotionally charged close-ups at key moments. The editing is brutal and jarring, cutting away practically mid-sentence and moving to a similar conversation elsewhere.

As a swan song to his Hollywood career, BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT does to the audience what Billy Wilder does to the industry in SUNSET BLVD. - biting the hand that feeds. The result is a total masterpiece.

Strangers All (1935)

broad comedy with dramatic strokes

[30 August 2008]

Though STRANGERS ALL is a very much a product of the stage, based on a play by Marie M. Bercovici, director Charles Vidor (no relation to King Vidor) does a good job of transcending its origins by keeping things moving at a brisk clip. The camera darts and circles around the constantly bickering Carter family, headed by matriarch May Robson (in a deceptively restrained and terrific performance) and blow-hard elder son Preston Foster.

It would be misleading to merely label this film a "weepie", as it is far more reliant on broad comedy: James Bush's over-the-top portrayal as radical Communist son, Lewis, prefigures Preston Sturges (and it's an offensive characterization to be sure, but undeniably funny); the central financial dilemma in the film is played for laughs; third son Dicky (William Bakewell, in one of the film's lesser performances) is an absolutely pathetic ham actor. In fact, if there's any consistency to the characterizations, its that every member of the family is basically a loser - even mom, for all her wise observations, is quite naive. When the film attempts a melodramatic climax and more or less shuns the comedy, it's not as effective, but somehow it all works well enough.

Look fast for an unbelievably young Ward Bond as, well, "Ward" - a beleaguered assistant director on a film-within-the-film movie set (one of the movie's better sequences).

Avalanche (1946)

the ROBOT MONSTER of film noir... in the snow

[14 July 2008]

Now, this one is a true head-scratcher. Our heroes are two Treasury men (played by Bruce Cabot and Roscoe Karns), but instead of looking for counterfeiters ala T-MEN, they're on a manhunt for a nefarious... tax evader. Their search takes them to the cleverly named High Mountain and a snowbound ski resort, the few occupants of which soon become suspects in a handful of mysterious murders.

This low-budget PRC turkey takes full advantage of the location, with ski chase sequences which defy all rational logic and the occasional avalanche to liven things up. All the while, as the murders pile up and everyone acts as guilty as possible, a trained, talking crow serves drinks at the bar (I'm entirely serious). Oh, and there's a gratuitous marionette puppeting sequence, as well.

Bruce Cabot, he of "King Kong", is about as dynamic as a fence post in his role as the T-man-cum-Hercule Poirot, clumsily romancing Helen Mowery, who is often clad in a sweater embroidered with some sort of a note on her shoulder in the film's most peculiar fashion choice. Cabot gets a sweater, too: a real comfy-looking wintry number. Fuzzy.

Roscoe Karns, drunkenly hilarious in "His Girl Friday", provides a faltering attempt at comic relief here as the incoherent mystery deepens. Perhaps the film's greatest mystery, however, is how a sleeping person manages to avoid being shot in the head at close range by hearing the gunshots and moving out of the way of the bullets (which hit the pillow).

It's an astonishing little footnote in B-picture history. See what happens when you don't pay your taxes?

Penitentiary (1938)

decent remake of THE CRIMINAL CODE

[28 March 2008]

Not as stylish or sharp as the Howard Hawks version, this very theatrical drama stars Walter Connolly as a D.A. who becomes a prison warden, and winds up overseeing the sentence of a man he prosecuted (a meek, repressed John Howard).

What it lacks in realism (it's amazing how many times the prisoners are allowed to use knives, for instance) it makes up for in tough dialogue; a sequence where Connolly tries as hard as he can to wear Howard down, using increasingly cruel language, is classic. Scarred-face Marc Lawrence isn't Boris Karloff, but he makes a strong heavy, nonetheless, and it's great to see Connolly in a serious role; he's perhaps best known as the long-suffering lawyer to John Barrymore's unstoppable ham actor in TWENTIETH CENTURY.

The Woman on Pier 13 (1949)

reprehensible but compulsively watchable film noir

[6 December 2007]

I MARRIED A COMMUNIST (aka THE WOMAN ON PIER 13) is a thoroughly reprehensible noir, wherein the "Communist menace" is depicted as a well-organized cabal of murderous agitators on the San Francisco waterfront, headed up by Thomas Gomez. The always-solid Robert Ryan stoops just as low as Gomez does by playing a "reformed" Commie who gets sucked back into the Party in order to do dirty deeds at the docks.

One has to wonder just how much power Howard Hughes, who reputedly would "test" RKO contract players' loyalty by trying to get them to make this film, really held over his charges. After all, Ryan surely cringed his way through the production considering he was running roughshod over his own strong political views, and Gomez had only a year earlier brilliantly portrayed a small-time mobster with a conscience in Polonsky's FORCE OF EVIL.

But the film holds sway over the viewer in large part due to the brilliant Nicholas Musaraca cinematography, filled with inky black shadows and harsh angles, and a crackling pace which almost makes you forget what tripe you are listening to. And as noted above, at least the Commies are depicted as intellectuals who throw interesting parties (and have Cubist art on the walls), even while they're faking suicides and throwing tied up people into the San Francisco Bay.

The Notorious Mr. Monks (1958)

a strange melodrama in Cinemascope

[6 December 2007]

A low budget B-picture worth a look for melodrama and noir fans, if nothing particularly sensational.

Sort of a FARMHAND ALWAYS RINGS TWICE tale which never completely rises above its fairly predictable storyline, but the use of black and white Cinemascope, and its rapid pace and decent performances, make it noteworthy. Vera Ralston is quite good in particular, and a very unlikely "siren" for a role such as this.

A strange energy definitely pervades throughout; there's touches of true sleaze, especially in the performance by Leo Gordon of the "other man", Chip Klamp (!).

Man with Two Faces (1964)

a rather nasty little Tab Hunter vehicle

[24 August 2007]

Now here is a very peculiar movie and I'm wondering why it's not been revived and turned into a creepy cult hit.

Tab Hunter is quite convincing as a scary-eyed Aryan-blonde psychopath living in London, who emerges from prison over the opening credits and immediately proceeds to psychologically - and eventually physically - destroy his small family. Seems Tad murdered someone and had never seen his little boy (played extremely well by a presumably four or five year-old Andy Myers), and as soon as he comes home to his long-suffering wife and meets his son, the alarm bells start to ring.

While it could be argued that Hunter overplays the giggling psycho somewhat, it works, in large part because the fine ensemble cast keeps the tension up without descending into hysterics, everyone pussy-footing around the clearly damaged dad.

Not quite film noir, and not quite melodrama, THE MAN WITH TWO FACES, as it is known in the U.S., is a peculiar small-time thriller with a curiously detached tone that prefigures the so-called British New Wave which emerged over the following years; Tab is definitely an angry young man here - though rather too angry for comfort.

The Night Holds Terror (1955)

fascinatingly gritty hostage noir

[9 August 2007]

THE NIGHT HOLDS TERROR is an interesting thriller/film noir entry for various reasons. Yes, it bears a strong similarity to THE DESPERATE HOURS, but that's because both were inspired by the same true (and sensational) story. Proving which one went into production first might be difficult. But really, it doesn't matter, because unlike the Hollywood sheen of THE DESPERATE HOURS, this odd little film has many gritty aspects and colorings and transcends its low budget.

John Cassavetes is always great to watch, even in a lesser picture. Here, while he rarely truly shines, he manages to keep tightly wound like a coiled spring, with his menacing glare and occasional flashes of violence. Vince Edwards is actually nowhere near as good here as he was playing similar hoods in MURDER BY CONTRACT, CITY OF FEAR and THE KILLING, though it's an acceptably menacing performance.

What really makes THE NIGHT HOLDS TERROR is a constant reliance on real locations. I couldn't spot one studio set in the entire picture; every interior seems to be in a real place (Cassavetes' modern hilltop home and the Courtiers' kitchy suburban one, police stations, telephone switching centers, the Mojave desert, etc.). There is even one standout sequence where the captors' car careens through the desert, photographed by what appears to be a cameraman barely holding onto the hood of the car. No rear screen here, and this is several years before the famed from-the-hood Venice driving sequence in TOUCH OF EVIL.

And the pace of the picture is practically amphetamine-charged. If the camera isn't moving, the cast always is, with constant dialogue shot through with tension. This is a strong, underrated thriller, and while hardly a perfect masterpiece, it's definitely superior to stagier hostage dramas of the period and well worth tracking down.

City Beneath the Sea (1953)

Highly enjoyable escapade from a great director

[7/10 · 3 February 2007]

CITY BENEATH THE SEA lacks the complexity of Budd Boetticher's "best" work (his later "Ranown" westerns, the earlier THE BULLFIGHTER AND THE LADY), but it's highly sweet-smelling trash, with great wise guy performances by Robert Ryan and Anthony Quinn. Filled with almost as many double entendres as the most eyebrow-raising Sam Fuller works of the same period, it succeeds as pure entertainment even if you don't care a whit about the so-called plot (a race to discover sunken treasure amidst voodoo spells, wild dames and Technicolor Jamaican scenery). Good supporting performances by Mala Powers and Karel Stepanek, crackling dialogue and bizarre underwater scenes (part matte, part miniature, part studio tank). Don't expect RIDE LONESOME or SEVEN MEN FROM NOW and you'll find plenty to enjoy.

Floods of Fear (1958)

Above average British noir

[25 September 2006]

FLOODS OF FEAR is a very interesting and tight little thriller, sort of a CANON CITY in the rain. Escaped convicts hole up in a literally falling-apart house to escape extreme floods with not unpredictable melodrama ensuing. But what keeps the film moving along, like the constant menacing waves always inches from the screen, is its interesting series of twists and turns once the initial setup passes. And the special effects are an often brilliant mix of miniatures, intense live action and stock footage; a palpable sense of menace and fear hangs over the entire film, quite relentlessly. From the very opening shot to the very last, the water is never calm and there's little humor or relief. So it actually fits nicely into the noir cycle and is quite entertaining, though it is hampered by most of the film's leads' inability to pull of the American accent.

Breakdown (1952)

rare little B-noir is worth tracking down

[14 August 2006]

Low-budget melodrama with very fine performances, adapted by author Robert Abel from his own stage play, THE SAMSON SLASHER. Though it suffers a few minor lapses in character logic (i.e. one character reveals something rather devastating about his lover, but the next scene finds his lover behaving as if nothing had happened), the writing is uniformly sharp in the story of an amateur boxer sprung from prison who falls in love with the niece of the hanging judge who sentenced him.

Sheldon Leonard and Wally Cassel are quite strong in critical supporting roles, though lead actor William Bishop is a slightly flat cross between Frank Lovejoy and Rock Hudson. He pulls it off adequately, but it's the brother characters played by Leonard and Cassel who buoy the narrative, with the latter as a quite obviously gay, and spurned, boxing trainer.

A fascinating aspect of this film is its absolutely relentless final boxing match, where Bishop takes a pummeling not unlike the depiction of the LaMotta/Leonard fight in RAGING BULL where DeNiro's LaMotta refuses to go down. One has to wonder if Scorsese caught this rarity on late-night television and it stuck.

It's difficult to find information on this film but it appears to be in the public domain, so perhaps it will turn up as a bargain basement DVD. Particularly interesting to note that this is the sole film of stage director Edmund Angelo (who also produced, and cast his wife, Ann Richards).

Spring Night Summer Night (1967)

astounding, little-seen masterpiece of independent cinema

[9/10 · 27 February 2006]

Here's a film richly deserving of wider exposure. Can't someone pick it up for distribution? It's been described as "the missing link between THE LAST PICTURE SHOW and SHADOWS", which isn't quite on the mark. I think a better pair comparison could be made between the early semi-documentary films of Willard Van Dyke and Pare Lorentz and SHADOWS, due to the casting of unknowns and non-actors in all roles.

Seen nationally in 2005 as part of the Rural Route Film Festival (under the title SPRING NIGHT, SUMMER NIGHT), this film manages to focus on the taboo topic of incest without being sensational in the slightest, and that's only one of its amazing facets. A stark, black and white drama set (and filmed) entirely in southeastern Ohio, amidst the farms, gas stations, bars and simple homes of the area, it's filled with beautiful and memorable photography. This is not a "verité"-type outing of the "DAVID HOLZMAN'S DIARY" variety at all, but an extremely nuanced, melancholy tale of two lovers who may or may not be brother and sister (depending on which story they believe from which parent) with stunning set pieces on foggy hills, in musty barns, dimly-lit dinner tables, on dusty roads. Intensely moving and superbly acted, it feels nearly perfect and is a total anomaly for late-1960s independent cinema, so often considered an urban-based art form.

We Can't Go Home Again (1973)

good luck seeing this, but if you get the chance, don't miss it

[9/10 · 29 November 2005]

Nicholas Ray cut two different versions of this film over the course of almost a decade, and unfortunately only the earlier cut, considered the inferior one, survives. Nonetheless, this is a mind-boggling film made with his students at SUNY Binghamton, a film which challenges most cinematic conventions of narrative (and technique) without coming off as merely "an experiment". The final "shooting" of the film alone is worthy of an essay: instead of optically printing and collaging the material, which was shot on various formats (35mm, 16mm, video), Ray and his dedicated crew actually rented a soundstage, set up a series of different projectors, and literally _performed_ the film live on a screen surrounded by an intermittently changing photographic "frame". The result completely prefigures the emergence of "film performance" artists in the decades to follow and surely makes WE CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN the only feature film by a major director to be constructed in such a fashion.

Furthermore, as a time capsule of late-1960s/early-1970s politics, sexual dynamics and freedom from convention, it's essential. Partially improvised and partially scripted, it can come off as a glorious mess at times, shot through with madness, but the overall effect is devastating. A very real-life electricity informs nearly every sequence; it's almost painful at times. WE CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN would be the final statement of a brilliant, neglected director, but more importantly, it's one of the most audacious features to be made by a director of films such as REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE. A masterpiece.

Bitter Victory (1957)

One of Nicholas Ray's finest

[9/10 · 29 November 2005]

Thankfully now available in its full 103-minute version, this is one of Nicholas Ray's strongest works and one of the handful that doesn't bear the marks of studio meddling. It's an unrelentingly grim tale of cowardice and lost love which is almost incidentally set during WWII. Richard Burton manages to deliver cutting, pointed dialogue without making it hammy, and Curt Jurgens' performance of a deceitful squad leader is extremely strong; a coiled spring which never quite releases.

I can't help but wonder if some of the comments above are based upon the US version, which was cut by a whopping 21 minutes, because this is unquestionably one of the best of the Nick Ray canon. Working in many of his trademark themes of sacrifice and loss but keeping the melodrama surprisingly low-key, it's also gorgeously photographed in 'Scope black-and-white and none of the performances falter. Those who have enjoyed ATTACK, HELL IS FOR HEROES, THE BIG RED ONE and particularly Anthony Mann's brilliant MEN IN WAR are well advised to check this out, and it's a must-see for Ray enthusiasts, right up there with ON DANGEROUS GROUND, THE SAVAGE INNOCENTS, JOHNNY GUITAR and IN A LONELY PLACE.

The Aviator (2004)

Scorsese, please stick with film restoration

[3/10 · 1 September 2005]

How far the great masters of cinema can fall. THE AVIATOR is a spectacularly bad film with a mere handful of terrific moments.

It has been many years since I have seen a major Hollywood A-picture so filled with grotesque continuity gaffs. I am still scratching my head over how the stellar duo of Scorsese and Thelma Schoonmaker (perhaps one of the greatest living film editors) could have allowed such a sloppy film to go out like it did. Was the bulk of it farmed out to a team of cutters working on PowerBooks with 12" screens, so they couldn't really make out the detail in the Panavision frame? There are an astonishing number of severe goofs, from characters facing the wrong direction after cuts to hats on heads where they weren't worn in the previous cut to overlapping dialogue which starts on closed mouths, etc. Period detail ranges from very close to completely forgotten (costumes, hair and makeup are often strictly contemporary). Attempts to replicate the "look" of 2-strip, and then 3-strip Technicolor are cute but highly inaccurate, and in the case of the 3-strip sections, utterly distracting.

But the problems aren't limited to technical errors. Everyone is miscast. DiCaprio couldn't be more inappropriate as the middle-aged Hughes. Cate Blanchett turns in a very moving performance, but barely echoes Katherine Hepburn. Alan Alda plays... well... Alan Alda competently enough, but is a total one-note. Only Alec Baldwin, as a restrained Pan Am executive, pulls it off. And I won't even mention Kate Beckinsale's non-take on Ava Gardner.

Perhaps the most appalling aspect to the whole mess is the reliance on CGI digital effects for the bulk of the action sequences. What is the difference between THE AVIATOR and a video game? Answer: none. How could Scorsese "honor" the pioneering action direction of Hughes on HELL'S ANGELS by replacing it with completely soulless, one-dimensional computer-driven animation? The mind reels.

This is a very, very bad film.

Control Room (2004)

A brilliant, incredibly moving documentary... don't be confused

[2 November 2004]

It's predictable, but really baffling at the same time, to see hate-filled commentary directed at this movie in particular.

This film can be summed up quite perfectly by a quote featured prominently in it, spoken by one of the al-Jazeera technicians interviewed: "this word, 'objectivity', is a mirage". Using this quote as a jumping off point to look at the film as whole, one immediately sees that it is a brilliant work, as "balanced" as a documentary can be on such a subject as the war against Iraq and the entire spectrum of media's coverage of same (not just al-Jazeera's). One of the strengths of this terrific film is that it its editing is, in large part, invisible. Which isn't to say that it isn't crafted, because it is, but it is not strict manipulation (a large part of FAHRENHEIT 911, as with much of Michael Moore's work).

It's a rare non-fiction film these days which goes to great lengths to allow the complexities of discussions to emerge, and CONTROL ROOM does. Sometimes it comes right out of the mouths of those you'd least expect to hear it from, such as (now-former) Captain Josh Rushing, Air Force spokesperson at CENTCOM, who presents a human, conflicted view of the war (a view which is reflective of a massive number of soldiers; so says Rushing in post-film interviews, but you are hardly likely to hear that outside of a film like CONTROL ROOM).

This is not a film of short answers to big questions. It's a nuanced, non-hysterical, non-judgmental work which deserves to be seen by as wide an audience as FAHRENHEIT 911 has had. It ranks up there with the finest verité documentaries of the past decades by the Maysles team, Leacock et al. And it is actually beautifully photographed and edited, even within its modest DV means.