I Found It At The Movies

 

A brilliant parody of my writing (sent in by a friend):

Wanting Moira, But Lately (1968)2Dazzlingly commonplace film à clef from Darnton Esbruque ("Almost Men of Iron", "Glad Eddie Halls") which attempts, miserably, to pick up where Truffaut's "Citrouille de Honte; Citrouille de Joie" ("Ah, the Hat!") would have liked to have left off. Ostensibly about a County Cork butter-and-egg man who trades in his soul for a shot at the bigtime, we can't help but feel for leads Miles Sorstin and, to a lesser degree, Abby Houdt, as they plow through Esbruque's nonsensical libretto. Sven Onsterdank's vivid camera is the sole redeemer. But it's not enough to save this mess.

Reviews are in reverse chronological order of their writing.

5 Loved it
4 Liked it a lot
3 Liked it
2 Didn't like it
1 Hated it

All reviews are posted at Letterboxd as well. They're much easier to read over there, and there are limited SEARCH and ORGANIZE features that might be helpful.
  The Substance (2024)1“Elizabeth Sparkle—Talk about raising the dead!” Its Big Pharma TV commercial-level cinematography is nausea-inducing, its Disney Channel-level lighting is seizure-inducing, its Barney the Dinosaur-level digital glare is migraine-inducing, its Gerwig/Barbie-level social commentary is mind-numbing, its Bay Watch-level sexist exploitation is feminism-rejecting...and don’t get me started on its scripting, its acting, its editing, its pacing. I tried to entertain myself by quoting the relevant corresponding lines from Death Becomes Her, of which this is a laugh-at (not laugh-with) remake, to no avail: this god-awful crap is simply dire. (Towards the big finish, Jabba/Pizza the Hutt makes a cameo, accompanied by Bernard Herrmann’s Love Theme from Vertigo!). “Do you remember where you parked the car?”
  Logan's Run (1976)2Cheez Whiz science fiction of a future earth in which the survivors of catastrophe are sheltering in domes where they enjoy a hedonistic existence...until they turn thirty, at which time they are sent to their deaths. Michael York hunts down “runners” (those who hope to escape their certain demise) until he infiltrates their underground, falls in love (with Jenny Agutter) and joins the resistance. It’s ridiculously stupid, sporting the look and feel of a nicely-budgeted network TV movie, but the first half is entertaining piffle in a near (though not quite) Starcrash sort of way. The second act, outside the domes, slows to a crawl, though Peter Ustinov enlivens the proceedings as an old man who somehow has survived among the ruins of DC.
  The Night Of The Hunter (1955)5Robert Mitchum stars as one of cinema’s most sinister and disturbing villains ever in Charles Laughton’s gothic noir The Night Of The Hunter, the story of two children pursued by Mitchum’s sociopathic “preacher” who marries their bereft and acquiescent mother (Shelley Winters) and does everything he can to secure the stolen loot that their criminal father has left for them. A unique and harrowing tale that’s chillingly staged and photographed, in addition to being well acted by all (including Lillian Gish as a no-nonsense earth mother). Its slightly cornball ending cements its morality tale intent. Double bill: The Fool Killer.
  Daisy Miller (1974)3An American expat in Europe (Barry Brown) courts a flighty, unsophisticated, and self-absorbed American vacationer (Cybill Shepherd) in Peter Bogdanovich’s filming of Henry James’ comedy of manners-turned-tragedy. It’s a handsome period production, and there are some nice touches (a wobbly string quartet at a pivotal party scene, the second thoughts registering on Brown’s face, for example), but it’s hampered by a glib script and the leads’ unconvincing performances. Not a strong picture, though it improves over the course of its runtime. Double bill: The Heartbreak Kid, haha.
What Is A Woman? (2022)2Almost all transgender adults simply want to live free of oppression, to live happy and productive lives. Matt Walsh’s take-no-prisoners approach to the community never even mentions this basic truth, and it’s a near-fatal problem with this guerrilla-documentary, serving to highlight his own mean-spirited illiberal agenda. Indeed, he self-defeatingly eschews a very real problem he just can’t bring himself to acknowledge: an increasing number of our gay kids are being denied their identities by a certain type of bad trans-activist actor. Instead (and justifiably), Walsh focuses on these activists—in medicine, in government, in education—many of whom could simply be written off as idiots and charlatans who flaunt their ignorance of 101 biology, genetics, evolution, and even linguistics (they regularly, and self-contradictorily, conflate sex and gender, for example)...if they weren’t so successful at infusing their agenda into public policy, with all its physical and mental health-jeopardizing consequences (especially for our young gay people). Even a broken clock like Walsh is right twice a day.
My Octopus Teacher (2020)2Octopuses are among nature’s most breathtakingly fascinating and complex creatures, and since we’ll never get to meet those cuddly aliens from space we all want to, our molluscan friends are probably the next best thing. In this documentary, a South African, trying to emerge from a depression, engages not with his teenage son, but instead “befriends” an octopus in its natural habitat. There’s some nice photography, but his narration lacks both scientific rigor and intellectual curiosity (there’s neither investigation into nor even marveling over their highly complex signaling behavior or their socialization practices, for example). Moreover, his attempts at insight and profundity are banal, and peppered with some cringe-inducing anthropomorphization à la March Of The Penguins’s or even Grizzly Man’s). He really comes off as, well, kind of a jerk. “Is anyone here a marine biologist?”
Presumed Innocent (1990)2Its dreadfully amateurish scripting is immediately alienating, doing much (but hardly all) to sabotage Alan J. Pakula’s law procedural of a Detroit DA prosecutor (Harrison Ford) investigating the murder of a femme fatale colleague (Greta Scacchi) with whom he’d (of course) had a steamy affair she’d broken off, and so (also of course) he becomes a suspect, and is eventually accused. The piece of shmutz Scacchi sports on the tip of her nose during their sex scene is symptomatic of the filmmakers’ carelessness, as is the story’s anything-goes flouting of court procedure. Meanwhile, the accused is allowed to rummage through the crime scene...without police accompaniment! Pakula’s pacing, staging, and lighting are uncharacteristically clunky and uninspired, the red herring-suffused story by the numbers, the denouemont downright idiotic. Even the acting—by a mostly good cast—is sub-par (Sab Shimono excepted). Law & Order (until its revival) was much smarter.
Paper Moon (1973)4The flaws are obvious—a too-precocious and too-precious little girl (Tatum O’Neal) is smarter than all the grown-ups—in Peter Bogdanovich’s Depression-era Kansas/Missouri-set comedy about her falling in and bonding with small-time huckster/conman Ryan O’Neal, when he ends up driving her cross-country to a relative’s home after the sudden death of her mother. But it’s great nonetheless. Lászlo Kóvács’s black and white Walker Evans/Dorothea Lange-inspired cinematography is rigorously bleak, and heightens the underlying sadness of these people and their hardscrabble lives. Meanwhile, Madeline Kahn as a flamboyant floozy completely steals the movie (as always), and little Tatum, despite her character’s cynically calculated dialogue, is really terrific.
Waiting (2005)2The premise of a guy trying to pay the rent by working his way up the ladder in a chain food-and-drink emporium is pretty cool, but this series of quick-take two minute vignettes with slick, smart-alecky dialogue, suffused with constant inexplicable gay references (you know, just to keep things edgy) while it’s really all about the boys trying to get into all the girls' panties, is pretty god-awful. All the staff are cool and aloof; all the customers are assholes. Such nuance! Embarrassing.
Diary Of A Mad Housewife (1970)1My review of The Squid And The Whale will suffice: "'No hugging, no learning' indeed! Preposterous cartoon version of urban family life. The director generates not an iota of sympathy for any of these miserable, nasty people. Even the supposed denouement is a meaningless muddled mess. Hateful, bitter, and most unpleasant. To be avoided!"
Family Band: The Cowsills Story (2011)3The Cowsills were purveyors of highly credible ’60s sunshine pop; quite a feat as they were a bunch of teen siblings raised 3000 miles from Southern California. This documentary focuses primarily on their unsettling family dynamics, emphasizing their father’s cruel and arbitrary nature, which may have helped launch their career, but certainly was the main reason for their undeservedly truncated chart success. They carried on, sometimes together and sometimes apart. I’ve only followed the career of young Susan, blessed with a voice as clear as a bell with a touch of husk, who’s worked with pop luminaries Dwight Twilley and Peter Holsapple, among others; her solo albums are terrific. [I got to speak with her once after a Continental Drifters gig, and she was most engaging.]
The Concert For Bangladesh (1972)4After the Ravi Shankar slog (he sounds exactly like Latka Gravas, thank you very much), George gets to it, opening with the magnificent Wah-Wah, and following up with further All Things Must Pass highlights, a few Beatles tracks, and also generously passing the baton to others. Oh, the stars! Ringo, Dylan, Billy Preston, Jesse Ed Davis, the amazing Leon Russell, and my personal fave, Pete Ham. One thing is clear though: George is not star material, not a frontman (Leon and Billy put him to shame), his vocals already inching towards that sick-cow whine that plagued the majority of his ’70s recordings. It’s clear he functioned best in service to stronger talents (John, Paul, Jeff Lynne). But the man was a humanist, raising money for the horrific slaughter (and ongoing Apartheid treatment) of his co-religionists in East Pakistan/Bangladesh.
Yentl (1983)2A girl (Barbra Streisand) dreams of studying Talmud, and so disguises herself as a boy to attend Yeshiva, but falls in love with her study partner (Mandy Patinkin). This socio-politically updated musical version of the Isaac Bashevis Singer story is certainly well-intentioned, but it’s just not very good (Singer himself was not impressed): the characters are significantly under-developed, the sex humor is broad and clunky, Streisand is unconvincing in her masquerade, the songs are underwhelming, and the settings are too squeaky clean for the miserable conditions under which Jews were forced to live in the Pale of Settlement. Still, Streisand’s decision to relegate her singing to predominantly “voice over” status (instead of staging lavish productions) was a smart move, and man, does she have a set of pipes. Double bill: The Butterfly Lovers.

Eyewitness (1970)4A foreign dignitary is assassinated in Malta, and a little boy (Mark Lester) is the sole witness to the killer’s trigger-pulling. Now those behind the deed are after him, and the intrigue increases, albeit in fits and starts. John Hough's grippingly shot (by David Holmes) and edited (by Geoffrey Foot) thriller does not—I repeat, does not—flinch on some very upsetting (if thankfully non-graphic) violence. It never quite fulfills the promise of its remarkable first act, but still, impressive stuff...funny postscript, too. Susan George (as the boy's older sister), and Tony Bonner (as a tourist from the UK) provide the flying sparks. Thematic double bill: The Window.
Planet Earth (1974)2Gene Roddenberry pitched a terrific premise for a network series (Planet Earth is his second stab, after Genesis II): a post-nuclear war Earth, the surviving population has balkanized into small settlements of primitive and very distinct cultures. One group, having retained both the technological and advanced moral standards of pre-war society, sends its members from community to community to help rebuild civilization. Alas, this pilot movie suffers from a rinky-dink production and very poor scripting, as a team travels through the surviving underground tube system to a women-controlled town where the men are enslaved, in order to rescue a kidnapped doctor whose surgical skills are needed. Beloved performers Diana Muldaur and Janet Margolin are reduced to cat-fighting in the streets as they vie for the ownership of team leader John Saxon, who has emerged from a deep freeze to help restore human order. So silly.
The Bee Gees: How Can You Mend A Broken Heart (2020)2Those of us who were listening to punk would not abide. We were wrong, of course; while much disco music was indeed crap, the Bee Gees were anything but. This documentary traces the band of brothers from their sublimely plaintive early hits to the uplifting joyousness of their brief ('76-'79) foray into disco. But this is merely half the story, as it consists of only their first fifteen years of recording, completely ignoring their last twenty-one, which included seven more albums. Ridiculous! And while we get some good input from the Gibbs and their bandmates, their producers, and their handlers, we also get Noel Gallagher, Nick Jonas, Chris Martin, and Justin Timberlake. I mean come on! Superficial, hagiographic, and somewhat historically revisionist. (For me, a good rockumentary would consist of investigating the artistry of each studio album, devoting an equal amount of time to both the successes and the failures, while ignoring the hype, the gossip, the public reaction. Fat chance, I know.)
A Summer's Tale (1996)4Gentle summer breezes on the Breton coast. A somewhat taciturn young man—a mostly appealing blend of late adolescent neurosis, uncertainty, and emotional underdevelopment—warms to the charms of two girls he encounters as he waits for his self-absorbed girlfriend to arrive, while they all talk about their relationships both old and burgeoning. Who will he spend the remainder of his summer holiday with? Of course, that’s not the sort of question Èric Rohmer ever asks. Rather, his focus is on their interpersonal entanglements, both loving and selfish, both sincere and scheming, as they make their way into an adulthood that, we all know, will inevitably involve more of the same. Please don’t harshly judge their youthful indiscretions before taking a forgiving look at your own.
Lemon Popsicle (1978)3Pioneering and influential teensploitation-cum-Bildungsroman of horny high school boys and their sexual and romantic (mis-)adventures in pre-Beatles Tel Aviv, Lemon Popsicle can be blamed for inspiring decades of far inferior American junk, from Porky’s to American Pie to Superbad (and perhaps beyond, when the culture loosens up again and vulgarity is rehabilitated—lucky us, I guess!). With lots of oldies on the soundtrack, the film evokes its era fairly well, though many of the hairstyles are closer to disco blowdry than rockabilly pompadour. It would have been a total turn-off for me in 1978, but now, I can better appreciate its latter half's wistful and innocent charms in its depiction of teen sex painfully yielding to young love and its very adult consequences, and I can understand how something like this was quite a revelation in its day.
A Touch Of Love (1969)3Sandy Dennis effectively deploys her trademark quivering vulnerability in her role here as a monied post-graduate student in London's Bloomsbury, who gets knocked up (by Ian McKellen) and decides, against the mores of her era, to soldier on. The actors are excellent despite the underwhelming direction by lower-tier filmmaker Waris Hussein, and as they navigate a script (by Margaret Drabble, also author of the source material) that is unrealistically and insensitively detached from the traumatic issues (abortion, suicide, sexism, childhood illness, etc.) with which the characters contend; that’s something performers should never have to be called on to do (additional implausibilities in its many slice-of-life vignettes detract further). Its somber filming and flute-heavy scoring help establish a very “adult drama” mood, but it’s primarily of interest for its all-too-rare starring role for the great Miss Dennis.
Cabin Boy (1994)3The subjectivity of humor is suddenly so obvious when the topic is Chris Elliott. For me at least, all I have to do is look at him—to think of him—and I’m liable to break out in hysterics (just watch Get A Life’s “Spewey And Me”). My reaction can’t solely be a consequence of his objective talents; it’s, well, ineffable; it’s subjective. Having said that, maybe his talents might be best suited to the small screen. In the Adam Resnick-directed Cabin Boy, Elliott reconfigures his Get A Life persona into an upper class twit “Fancy Lad” who ultimately bonds with some rather unrefined fishermen after he boards the wrong boat to his post-education life of leisure in Hawaii. The jokes don’t come fast enough, and the tone too often sails into tongue-in-cheek children’s fantasy-adventure waters. He even gets the girl! Maybe, for his big Hollywood chance, Elliott simply choked, or instead was forced to tone down his comic genius.
Private Parts (1972)3Heavily indebted to both Psycho and Peeping Tom, Private Parts is a curiously frank gothic voyeur-horror film of a Heavily indebted to both Psycho and Peeping Tom, Private Parts is a curiously frank gothic voyeur-horror film of a country girl who arrives at her aunt’s rundown hotel in L.A.’s Skid Row, and becomes morbidly intrigued with its odd guests. One in particular, a strangely alluring photographer, reciprocates her fascination, and things get both wilder and creepier thereafter. The tone is uneven and the dialogue and acting subpar, but the mise-en-scène is effectively macabre in that dark and grainy early-70s way, and the aforementioned frankness is refreshingly kinky.
Loop Track (2023)1When a movie presents itself as taking place in the real world, and then presents characters and their interactions as having nothing to do with that real world, well, what is a viewer to make of it: cutting edge surrealism, or cinematic incompetence? That’s what banged around in my head while watching Loop Track, in which a twitchily deranged hiker falls in with a small group in the wilds of Kiwiland. He never discloses why he’s so twitchy, and they never ask about it, even as he grows ever more dangerous. I laughed out loud at the denouement; I think we’re supposed to, right? Cinematically incompetent.
Old Joy (2006)4Pregnant with unuttered emotional complexity, two 30-ish former college buddies head out for an overnight in the woods, one apparently questioning whether getting married and having a kid was the right thing to do, the other avoiding adulthood completely by lapsing into drug use, but mostly because he’s incapable of emerging from his adolescent stupor. The former is patient toward the latter’s ramblings that come off as both infuriatingly vacuous and funny. Both seem lost. A backstory about the nature of their earlier relationship might be inferred in a crucial moment, but mostly, we enjoy the ebbs and flows of each’s mysterious emotional life. Slow and even belabored movie-making by Kelly Reichardt, it’s nicely shot, though how could Oregon's majestic coniferous forests not be?
That Cold Day In The Park (1968)4This investigation of a sexually-deprived uppercrust young spinster who huddles in her hollowly traditional apartment (Sandy Dennis. Ah, Sandy Dennis!), whose only social engagements are with her dead parents’ friends, and who spies on a seemingly mute and homeless youth (Michael Burns) and invites him in (…!), is indeed on the cusp of Altmanesque (especially in the camerawork; the gynecologist office scene is spectacular; throughout, its somber lighting and awful red-tinged beiges—revisited in Quintet—add significantly). Dennis renders her tragic character both hatefully delusional and achingly sad, especially as juxtaposed to the real world of sex and drugs lurking right outside her window; its senses of both psycho-sexual tension and cognitive dislocation are sustained throughout, though the finale detracts. It should be put into Altman’s Images/3 Women-on-the-verge sub-canon, at least as an honorary mention.
The 4th Man (1983)4Its intellectualized artifice distances us from its characters, but no matter: it’s the Hitchkockian stylistics and humor that appeal in Paul Verhoeven’s final pre-Hollywood film The 4th Man. A nearly-unhinged alcoholic writer exploits a mysterious and alluring woman’s vulnerabilities to make his sexual move on her young German boyfriend. But is she as vulnerable as he thinks, or is he, rather, completely unhinged? You decide.
Presence Of Mind (1999)2Its eye-popping colors immediately establish that this will be a very different movie from Jack Clayton’s The Innocents, and indeed, it’s unsubtle and garish, especially as the boy Miles is clearly pubescent (he arrives home from boarding school having shot up inches, his trousers far too short)...and not so innocent at all; it’s highly sexually charged from the get-go, which serves to sabotage any crescendo of horror. Meanwhile, the performers (apart from, maybe, an austere and Nurse Diesel-esque Lauren Bacall) lack command, and the proceedings are soporific and bereft of intrigue: much too much is spelled out. It’s of course fine to put one’s own cinematic mark on a literary work, but since Henry James’ The Turn Of The Screw has already been filmed to perfection, director Antoni Aloy has opened himself up to this review’s sort of withering criticism. Sorry, fella.
Our Mother's House (1967)4Despite its ’60s setting, its muted lighting and darkwood interiors lend a sinister gothic air to Jack Clayton’s Our Mother’s House, while Georges Delerue’s elegiac scoring is entrancing as always. Most significantly however, there are some extremely well-choreographed scenes (both visually and verbally) involving seven (sometimes eight) child actors in frame. Technical feats aside though, this is a story of children who hide their mother’s death from the prying outside world in their middle class London home. Upon estranged husband Dirk Bogarde’s arrival (which is greeted with enthusiasm by some, suspicion by others), both the focus and the tone alter somewhat, as we learn about who he is and what he wants. How does it end? Well, as soon as you see the glow of the fireplace in the children’s faces during the final confrontation, you’ll have figured it out.
The Swimmer (1968)5Frank Perry’s The Swimmer ably demonstrates that the avant-garde need not be icy and anti-humanistic. A surrealistic fever dream, we follow a strapping Burt Lancaster, dropped from heaven (or elevated from hell) at the far end of his Fairfield County WASP paradise, as he decides to swim, pool to pool, back home, encountering a series of friends, acquaintances, and, eventually, enemies, as he desperately clings to his gloriously happy childhood memories. The closer he gets to his destination, the more his neighbors know about something terrible, very terrible, that caused a horrible collapse of his world. It’s an emotionally shattering journey that never comes clean in its details, and it’s all the more devastating for exactly that reason. Its wondrously shot natural splendor, Marvin Hamlisch’s achingly plaintive scoring, and a cast of increasingly nightmarish characters that climaxes in cadaverous beauty Janice Rule’s revelations, is almost too much to endure. Really, masterful. Double bill: 3 Backyards.
The Innocents (1961)5The sordid and the sublime (or, if you absolutely must, the id and the superego) are autopsied in artistically masterful detail in Jack Clayton and Freddie Francis’ gothic psychological/horror macabre masterpiece The Innocents, their re-telling of Henry James’ The Turn Of The Screw. The four players—Deborah Kerr, Megs Jenkins, and Martin Stephens and Pamela Franklin (who herein rival both Haley Joel Osment and Nicholas Gledhill as cinema’s best-ever child performers)—are remarkable, as we turn our eyes away from the slow if inexorable psycho-sexual breakdown of Kerr’s frail and hysterical ego, when she enthusiastically becomes the governess for two peculiarly precocious children at their country estate, and obsesses over the sordid deaths of their two previous sexually-entangled housestaff and its presumed effects on her charges, all as Jenkins’ earthbound housemaid looks on in perplexity. The production—its light and shadow, its edits and fades, its deep focus and close-ups, its dialogue and sound design—is harrowing and horrifying, and, indeed, “handsome and obscene”. A timeless movie classic.
whatever works Whatever Works (2009)3Whatever Works follows bitter, cynical, Village-dwelling and Chinatown-trolling physicist Larry David as he mixes it up with a young Southern runaway (Evan Rachel Wood). When her conservative Christian fundamentalist parents come searching (Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley Jr.), all three out-of-towners are seduced, both culturally and sexually, by Manhattan's cosmopolitan live-and-let-live charms. The stage-bound scripting is off-putting, but its eventual embrace of whimsy and optimism helps. Michael McKean has a much-too-small part.
Armageddon (1998)[1[Guest Reviewer: Donald Trump] Best! Movie! Ever! Great explosions, really great ones! And the jokes are so funny, too! Ben Affleck totally rocks it, such a smart actor, a real brainiac, just shows you what earning an American high school diploma can do! The fat guy from Herman’s Head is a riot! I’d so do Liv Tyler, wouldn’t anyone? Come to Papa! Michael Bay is a national treasure! Awarding him the Congressional Medal of Honor will be my first order of business as your new dictator, I mean president! Americans save the world once again! We are the greatest people on earth! The Russians are second!
The Story Of Microdisney: The Clock Comes Down The Stairs (2024)3Cork Ireland’s Microdisney were most notable for their lightweight poptunes (composed by Sean O'Hagan) married to scathing and outrageously caustic lyrics (courtesy of Cathal Coughlan). This easy-on-the-senses documentary follows them from their homeland to London (from the pioneering indie Rough Trade label to the corporate behemoth Virgin), where they stalled, never achieving any real financial success. Honestly, they were appealing, but never a great band; it all kinda sounds the same. Each of the two subsequently forged his own path (O’Hagan, after a pleasantly informal solo record, with the delightfully spry Beach Boys/Steely Dan-inflected High Llamas; Coughlan, now sadly gone, with the more manically-inclined Fatima Mansions), though again, to little commercial fanfare. All interviewees come off as articulate, introspective, and personable. Nice.
Star Wars (1977)2It’s difficult to fathom that George Lucas was once lumped in with Spielberg and Scorsese. Star Wars’ space-operatic hi-jinks are certainly engaging to the eye (thanks in great part to Ralph McQuarrie’s and John Dykstra’s visual artistry), but the acting is quite poor (only Anthony Daniels brings the zestful humor to his line readings that would be required to achieve the joyfulness Lucas intended), the story is episodic (and really, quite small scale in its details and emphases, despite its grandiose and misguided theme of religion triumphing over secularism), and the action consists too often of Keystone Cops-derived nonsense. An argument that all its dramatic shortcomings were intended as a parody of its pulpy forebears is merely sophistical. Loved it as a kid though.
The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973)5Based on the writings of Polish-Jewish author Bruno Schulz (murdered by the Gestapo in Galicia, 1942), and made shortly after Poland’s anti-Jewish purges of 1968 (this time without German assistance), Wojciech Has’ The Hourglass Sanatorium is haunting, spellbinding, hypnotic, kaleidoscopic, and absolutely gorgeous to behold: in a dying world (the Holocaust is chillingly if subtly referenced throughout), a son ("Joseph") travels to a strange retreat to check on the failing health of his father ("Jacob"), where he revisits his childhood dreams, fantasies, and of course, his nightmares. By the way, a 2018 Polish law (subsequently modified under American and Israeli pressure) could land me in jail for writing this review. The more things change...
Predator 2 (1990)2Most revealing line: “You’ve got a big nose, and you’re sticking it too far in my business. Now maybe you can hear this: the next time you cross me, you’re gonna turn up missing!” I mean, where to begin? The acting and the visuals fare no better. What an ugly and alienating mess this film is. (Plot: the creature from the preceding movie turns up in LA.) I’d just say “Next!” and move on, but unfortunately, there was a next one, and then another...
A Hard Day's Night (1964)5I wasn't there, but Richard Lester’s bold directing and Gilbert Taylor’s vibrant shooting almost make me feel as if I were. And though the band’s name is never uttered, it’s no secret who we’re talking about here: John, Paul, George, and Ringo (the little drummer boy really fares best of all) delightfully rib The Man every chance they get (I believe the word is “cheeky"…), and rock our socks off with some of popular music’s greatest-ever creations, as we follow their antics for a day in the life. It’s reassuring to be reminded, now and then (maybe especially now), of the greatness of which our species is capable. More popular than Jesus I tells ya!
Pink Flamingos (1972)4Divine and Mink Stole compete for the Filthiest Person Alive award (spoiler alert: Divine wins, hands down). John Waters’ pioneering statement of purpose for gross-out/shock humor may seem like nothing new to the younger generation (they grew up on the stuff), but for those of us who were there (well, I first saw it in ’81), Pink Flamingos remains something of a cinematic classic, and certainly a classic of the trash/camp genre: endearingly amateurish, over-the-top, and yes, even charming. Great surf-heavy song selection, too.
The Wandering Earth (2019)2The second coming of Stanley Kubrick? Well, it’s more like Gerry Anderson. Check that: let’s face it, it’s Roland Emmerich plain and simple. A nonsensical end-of-the-word scenario in which we escape our expanding sun by blasting the whole planet into the beyond, where we get sucked into Jupiter’s orbit. A completely generic story and production that is of interest only for its winking emulation of Hollywood blockbuster fare (it was made in China).
The Interrupted Journey (1949)3A struggling Home Counties writer thinks again after cheating on his wife with the spouse of his London publisher, after which he spirals into panic when mistakenly suspected of killing the woman while on board a train that derails. In this Hitchcock-referencing noir, the intrigue and mystery are underwhelming and predictable, and the scripting cheap at times, but its stylish lensing and lighting are quite striking, the performances good. Some of its twists are ok, others emphatically not. It's dramatically undernourished to be sure, but still worth a look.
Clockwatchers (1997)4A grim, almost ghoulish study of the life of office temp workers, Clockwatchers is a genuinely depressing commentary on things corporate, tricked out with the stylistic trappings of comedy. These trials of four under-achieving women who struggle for a sense of meaning and identity in their stifling work environment double as a stand-in for the plight of working people the world over. The characters are surprisingly well-developed, their support for each other even touching at times. Parker Posey, Toni Collette, and a Teri-Garr-ific Lisa Kudrow star; Bob Balaban and Paul Dooley have small roles, Debra Jo Rupp a somewhat larger, more satisfying one. I office-temped in my mid-twenties, and everyone was nice, really, but man, it’s not a pretty life.
Eileen (2923)3Anne Hathaway is a hoot as a stylish Manhattan psychologist who comes to work at a small town Massachusetts boys’ prison in the 60s, where she dazzles Thomasin McKenzie, a lonely and deeply troubled girl who does clerical work there. It starts as an at-times funny but usually despairing neo-noirish tale of seduction...and then it twists, and in a very twisted way, I might add. The screenplay feels unfinished, the story is rushed (especially in the final act), and the accents are horrifically awful by all, but still, the predominantly mysterious and somber mood renders Eileen somewhat satisfying.
Robinson Crusoe On Mars (1964)4The Daniel Defoe story and its attendant intrigue build intelligently and deliberately in this adventure yarn of an astronaut (Paul Mantee) who finds a way to survive after crash-landing on Mars, and teams up with an escaped slave from an Orion mining expedition (Victor Lundin). Byron Haskin's production is, in general, both creative and visually impressive, although do keep in mind that only four years later Kubrick completely revolutionized the genre. Double bill: Enemy Mine.
The Great McGinty (1940)3Preston Sturges’ directorial debut suffers somewhat from both its uneven tone and a story that sags in the middle, but there are plenty of laughs, and even more vitriolic cynicism, in this tale about political corruption in an America where the sleaziest elements in the land rather effortlessly glide into the upper echelons of government (hmm, sounds familiar?). Given that this is Sturges, you might expect a happy ending all tied with a bow. Think again.
To Be Takei (2014)3A documentary about the immensely likable George Takei. It’s not especially well-assembled, and the Shatner potshots are immature and unbecoming, but mostly, it emphasizes his happy marriage, the outrageous racism he was subject to as a child, Star Trek and its legacy, his work for equal rights for gay Americans, and his ascension to American icon status. His optimism is downright infectious.
Invaders From Mars (1953)3There are many good elements to this story of an alien invasion as dreamed by a small-town boy. The acting is fine (especially, little aw-gee-willickers Jimmy Hunt does really nice work), the sets are stark and foreboding, the blocking is artful, and the photography effectively captures the alienation of a boy who pleads with the adults to believe him that something is so clearly amiss. When he convinces them, the story descends into hokum, the action into antics. Still, there is some very striking imagery, especially that recurring country fence, emerging as genuinely iconic.
Bullets Over Broadway (1993)5Its “dumb broad”-level female characters are indeed writ both dumb and broad, but of course that’s the point of Bullets Over Broadway, Woody Allen’s farcical 20s-set tale of a serious-minded playwright (an unfortunately hapless John Cusack) whose latest work ends up financed by the mob, who in turn have some, er, suggestions for its improvement…and it develops in very funny (and even tender) ways. While Chazz Palminteri and Joe Viterelli are terrific as the laughably caricatured Italian mobsters, it’s the “ladies” who completely dominate the picture: Jennifer Tilly, Tracey Ullman, Diane Wiest, is each a pure vision of camp heaven. Terrific fun!
Beau Travail (199)2A female gaze with intimations of male gays, Claire Denis’ Beau Travail juxtaposes colorfully-clad Djiboutians with balletically choreographed, largely interchangeable French colonial soldiers. Its visual sumptuousness and at-times hypnotic sound recording are significantly undermined by an oblique approach to character that skimps on verbal expression in a way I usually find off-putting, and also by an emotionally removed narrative: a little tenderness would have helped a lot, especially in a "gay-coded" film like this, a sub-genre that substitutes a cowardly innuendo for emotional and physical honesty. Thematic (though hardly stylistic) double bill? Maybe Oshima’s Taboo or Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence, maybe Altman's Streamers, maybe even the exploitative Before The Fall.
Let It Be (1970)4The final Beatles movie is composed of three sections: (1) a terrific fly-on-the-wall documentary of the Fabs having a ball working on new songs and enjoying old ones, with Billy Preston lending support, (2) Several polished studio demo performances featuring some of their latest material, and (3) the historic, remarkable, 1969 rooftop concert. The material is wonderful, though it has subsequently been subject to sabotage, twice: (1) the audio in 1970, by Phil Spector’s crass and tasteless over-production, and (2) the video in 2021, by Peter Jackson’s crass and tasteless over-production. Moral of the story: Let The Beatles Be!
Humane (2024)2I won’t tell you what it is, but the set-up is really stupid (it’s a little bit like The Twilight Zone’s smarter “The Masks”). Anyway, in the near future, as global food shortages rage, one of four non-biological siblings, all with their own dark back-stories, has to die due to a government-run life buy-back program screw-up. It's small-scale and it's unpleasantly nasty. The acting, the production, the characterizations, and especially the politics all scream GenZ, a fine generation to be sure, but not always the most subtle or nuanced.
Unfrosted (2924)2Disappointing. Kinda like Brian Wilson in his sandbox, Jerry Seinfeld hopes to recapture his innocence through childhood memories, focusing on a rivalry between Kellogg’s and Post to produce the latest breakfast poison for our kids (Pop Tarts). I totally get the appeal: he’s getting older, and he yearns for the simple, stupid, and innocent fun of his youth, vitamins be damned. Who don’t? But it’s all pop culture and junk food, a mere merry if superficial romp that never gives voice to the serious wistfulness that should have underlied it. The jokes come fast and furious but only rarely hit their mark, the acting is broad and uninspired, the production garish. Seinfeld is an American treasure of course, which renders this oh-so-tv-movie popcorn especially frustrating.
BeneathThe Planet Of The Apes (1970)2As in the first movie, the Europeans (chimpanzees) are the humanists, the Asians (Orangutans) are the spiritualists, and the Africans (gorillas) are the savages. If you can get past this vulgar racism (can you?), well, in a third-season “Land of the Lost” twist, an astronaut (James Franciscus) goes searching for his predecessor (Charlton Heston), to discover that a remnant of mutant telepathic humans survives in the underground remains of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where they worship a nuclear bomb rather than Jesus. Yes, its symbolism is as ridiculous as it sounds. As a kid, I was entranced; as an adult, not so much.
Man's Best Friend (1993)3Stupid fun. Lance Hendriksen is OTT-terrific as a mad scientist who engineers an ultimate superdog killing machine that becomes faithful to the naive TV newscaster who releases it from its lab (Ally Sheedy). Lots of good gags and good scares in this slick-if-cheap largely well-acted nonsense. It goes on a bit, but these things do.
Aliens (1986)4In this cleverly-contrived sequel to the Ridley Scott original, Sigourney Weaver turns in a terrific performance as Ripley—she who was the sole survivor of the alien attack from the previous outing—and the whole cast is really fine as they engage in battle a formidable slew of the dang varmints. James Cameron mostly plays to his strengths (a fine command of action, suspense, and terror), while predominantly side-skirting his weaknesses: the script is pretty much passable, the themes and ideas not too adolescent. He does play the offensively dumb jarhead-banter for straight laughs though, not in the way, say, Verhoeven would have handled it (Cameron plainly lacks the intellect to ever approach Verhoeven’s sense of fun). Also the “Battle of the Network Mothers” leitmotif is pedestrian, even more so in the “Special Edition”. Mostly though, a hair-raising thrill-ride. Mostly.
Gosford Park (2001)5Robert Altman’s final masterpiece is crystal clear about its themes from the very first scene—the terminal rot of the British class system—though is tantalizingly subtle in its execution. When all the posh guests (all with valets in tow) gather at a country estate for a just-pre-war shooting party, intrigues both petty and profound are slowly revealed in the form of whispers, half-finished sentences, and passing glances, the goings-on unfolding both Upstairs and Downstairs, and sometime even on the stairs themselves. There is a murder but it hardly takes center stage, serving instead as a catalyst for further revelations. It is incredibly involving material that is masterfully presented by Altman and his players.
Raising Arizona (1987)2Intentionally ugly live-action cartoon with a wildly inconsistent script that lapses into surrealism when convenient, Raising Arizona’s about a young couple who kidnap a baby, and their misadventures that follow. Ethan and Joel Coen have made a career out of ridiculing people who are poorer, dumber, and less culturally privileged than they are. It’s obviously a living (I’m sure they’re comfortable), but I personally have always found their movies to be lazy, sophomoric, and gratuitously unpleasant.
Bound (1996)5Bound is an ultra-stylish super-tight erotic thriller with many elements of camp and comedy, a movie that is basically perfect: a low-budget chamber piece of a kept woman (Jennifer Tilly, perfect) and her new ex-con squeeze (Gina Gershon, perfect) plotting to steal a major stash from the former’s mobster live-in (Joe Pantoliano, perfect). All three are razor-sharp smarties, which lends a special edge to the always gripping ever-twisty-turny proceedings. Its gorgeous style and slick camerawork totally kick ass, though its genuinely gruesome violence may be off-putting to some (just cover your eyes; I did). As a (male) friend said to me back in the day, “That film makes me wish I were a lesbian.” A career highlight for all involved.
Rounders (1998)2A poker player (Matt Damon) swears off the game for his fiancee (Gretchen Mol), but gets sucked back in when a friend (Edward Norton) needs to pay off a gambling debt. John Dahl’s direction is particularly slick and appealing, but to no avail: the leads lack the chops to bring anything more than technique to their roles; there’s an emptiness, an absence of passion—as especially demonstrated by career technician Edward Norton, who simply lacks any sense of commitment to his part beyond its most superficial trappings—that renders the movie a pale exercise in style. John Malkovich, toward whom the same criticism can be launched, is awful as always. Dahl should hire better actors.
The Invisible Man (2020)3All the acting is good (especially that of Elisabeth Moss in the lead and Harriet Dyer as her sister) in this effective low budget SF-psych-thriller of a woman tormented by her sociopathic and sadistic husband, a tech guru in optics, who’s secretly invented an invisibility system. When she escapes, he’ll do anything—and I mean anything—to get her back. Although its lapses into illogic and outright silliness detract (especially toward the end), still, its focusing on the psychological agony of its protagonist, and not on the largely invisible invisible man himself, was a smart move by director Leigh Whannell, increasing our engagement and identification with her plight.
Hollow Man (2000)A2After his remarkable string of near-classic black comedy Hollywood satires, Paul Verhoeven poops out for his last American film, Hollow Man, in which mad scientist Kevin Bacon creates a DoD-funded invisibility cloak, and, using it on himself, gets more randy and more aggressive than he already was...and that’s about it. Whereas previously Verhoeven was like Philippe Petit, deftly walking a string between super-smart and super-dumb, here, he’s Karl Wallenda: the story is bereft of his trademark wit and intrigue, the scripting is conventional, and the acting is subpar by all, Elizabeth Shue and Kim Dickens faring especially poorly. And when Bacon is causing his mischief, hadn’t anyone thought to at least bring along a can of Silly String?
Event Horizon (1997)1A few years from now we'll build a port-o-blackhole and send it, manned, into space. When something goes wrong, another crew, completely untrained and not even understanding what a black hole is, is sent to investigate. Paul W.S. Anderson had a dream: "I can appropriate all those cool trippy ideas from 2001, Solaris, and Alien, jettison all the philosophical heft and artistic craft, and reduce it all into a by-the-numbers horror washout.” Et voilà! Event Horizon is his dream come true.
Alien 3 (1992)2Third film in the Alien series. An alien comes to a penal colony. Its high camp staginess combined with its pitiable editing conspire to undermine any scares. The plot? “Believe it or not, we’re preggers!” I mean, it’s a comedy, right? The Tom & Jerry antics toward the end are a nice touch I guess.
Eastern Promises (2004)4Naomi Watts is a midwife who becomes enmeshed in a Russian underworld of sex slavery and child abuse, while a riveting Viggo Mortenson steals every scene he’s in as a limo driver with, shall we say, a history of violence. Don’t be misled when I characterize Eastern Promises as Cronenberg’s most conventional film, one that portrays a sudden and awful crash, a head-on collision between the law-abiding and the law-breaking. Sure, it’s a little bit Law & Order: SVU a little bit Taken (!!), but remember, it’s Cronenberg, and while he largely eschews the visceral herein, his characteristic sense of existentialist nausea is still very much a priority. Boss Armin Mueller-Stahl should really brush up his Russian accent though.
Head-On (2000)2A thuggish drug addict, and a girl alienated by family strictures—both half-heartedly suicidal ethnic minorities in Germany—think they’ll ameliorate their problems by getting married. None of its grittiness, nor its characterizations, nor its protagonists’ evolving relationship, is particularly convincing, while the intermittent juxtaposition of a wholesome and traditional “Turkish chorus” is a far too obvious dramatic device. Head-On left me with a “film school final project” feel, made by someone who possesses neither the psychological insight nor the artistic command to effectively portray the tumultuous and far-reaching problems of those who emigrate from conservative societies to liberal ones. Sorry.
Outland (1981)2Something’s amiss at a mining colony on Io—workers are going crazy, and the chief medical officer (Frances Sternhagen) doesn’t seem to even care—and so it’s new marshal Sean Connery to the rescue. His character’s name is variously spelled O’Niel and O’Neil, which gives you an idea about the care Peter Hyams brings to this Alien-esque clone (yes, there’s an evil corporation and a sinister station boss [Peter Boyle]; we know he’s a baddie because he putts golf balls in his office while calmly warning Connery to mind his Ps and Qs). A pretty good production (there’s one impressively assembled chase scene) done in by poor scripting and conventional plotting, and the setting could just as easily be the Old West or West Virginia coal country: there are no science fiction elements to the story.
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)5Profound in different ways for adolescents and adults, 2001 is so spectacularly beautiful, and casts such a haunting spell, that its story of our biological/technological evolution, punctuated by alien intervention, will likely never be surpassed. Many such films have followed, but the best have been the most imitative and least original.
BlackBerry (2023)3The pimply, autistic, adolescent techies at BlackBerry are eventually eclipsed in the market less by their CEOs’ outrageous greed, hubris, sociopathy, and criminality, and more by the (all off-screen) even greedier, more hubristic, more sociopathic, and more criminal (though admittedly more innovative) Steve Jobs. Despite its tired, formulaic, and genuinely uninteresting subject matter, and despite its unappealing characters, its crummy makeup, its often annoying camerawork, its odd choice of songs on the soundtrack, and its playing fast and loose with the truth, it’s briskly paced, surprisingly engaging, and quite well-acted.
The Palace (2023)4A merciless kiss-off by Roman Polanski in which he unloads his utter disgust towards (1) the sniffy European fascists who murdered his parents and destroyed his childhood, (2) the vulgarian American elites who forced him into exile once again, and (3) the sanctimonious moralistic critics who he knew would despise this lurid and grotesque farce that takes place at an Alpine resort hotel during the millennial New Year's Eve. Joke's on you, losers: it's not a comedy; it's a rant. It’s also a high-concept antidote to an industry and a public that aggrandizes low-grade Hollywood tripe like The Grand Budapest Hotel. Keep ‘em comin’ Roman!
Coup de chance (2023)2A young writer courts a now-happily married woman he knew at school. Trouble ensues. Coup de chance is another bog standard Woody Allen infidelity triangle (though with a Parisian accent this time) once again employing garish orange filters to questionable aesthetic ends (see also: Magic In The Moonlight, and Wonder Wheel). The sets are lovely and the acting is good, but the proceedings seem more like an outline that still awaits a compelling screenplay. The characters are so sketchily drawn, their interactions so pared, their feelings so watered-down and unmotivated, their philosophical musings so adolescent, that we don’t care what happens...and yes, something definitely does happen; Allen’s latter-day interest in murder rears its logy head once again.
Strange Invaders (1983)2A bit too late to the party to qualify as a post-Close Encounters schlock cash-in, Strange Invaders consequently tries extra hard to be idiotic and awful. Completely ludicrous scripting, clunky and largely incompetent directing, and wooden—nay, cardboard—acting (by some good actors [Wallace Shawn will whore himself out for anything, but Louise Fletcher?], and some bad ones [Paul LeMat, Nancy Allen]), are pretty much all this alien invasion film has to offer. Both good makeup effects and John Addison’s scoring try to enliven things, though to no avail. It does, however, effectively capture the nightmarish horror of life in downstate Illinois (where I was exiled to for six endless years. Bitter? Moi?).
Monster (2023)5Monster is a deeply affecting story of secrets, lies, alienation, and tenderness in provincial Japan. It is an emotionally devastating exploration of how everyday people, affected by their own prejudices, psychological limits, and societal pressures, unwittingly conspire to prey on the most innocent and beautiful aspects of the human condition. Saying more would give away too much. Its non-linear storytelling, though dramatically flawed, is nonetheless perhaps the only way such a delicate and complex story might be told. Kore-eda (along with Gianni Amelio and the Dardennes) is a world master of humanistic cinema. He (like them) is a cultural treasure. Bravo!
The Hitcher (1986)2I love smart a thriller, but this plotwise-amalgam of Duel, My Cousin Vinny, and Persona (!!) surely ain’t one of them. Rutger Hauer (good though playing a one-note character) is the psychopathic killer hitchhiker tormenting C. Thomas Howell (in a poor and one-note performance) a kid driving across Texas who makes every idiotic decision in the book. Indeed, everyone except Hauer is dumb here (the cops, the sex interest [Jennifer Jason Leigh]), though since his character consists of scheming and menacing and nothing else, he is reduced to a mere cartoon; he’s Wile E. Coyote FFS!). So, faulty plotting, poor character development/motivation (and uneven pacing and laughable continuity errors too) pretty much sink it.
The Little Drummer Boy: An Essay on Mahler by Leonard Bernstein (1985)5“Maestro”. One musical genius discusses another: Leonard Bernstein breathtakingly analyzes the music of Gustav Mahler in making his case that the composer’s Jewishness—and the psychological consequences of his Jewishness—infused his music, waging a not-so-silent war against its (and his) Christian outer bearings. Though some of the non-musical speculation might be a bit far-fetched (pardon my Yiddish), still, the studied nuance and incisiveness of Bernstein’s arguments, the fluency and confidence of his delivery, the depth and breadth of his erudition, and his dazzling charm and wit, make this BBC production an absolute joy to watch. The musical interludes are thrilling.
Monolith (2022)3Monolith is a clever low-budget psychological and/or alien invasion thriller with only a sole significant on-screen performer (Lily Sullivan, excellent) that demonstrates how good writing can really make or break a movie: a disgraced journalist gets an anonymous lead to investigate a curious black object of unknown provenance. Cinematically, director Matt Vesely strictly limits the flash and trickery, thus allowing Lucy Campbell’s smartly written dialogue to keep us engaged as the story grows in intrigue (though with, I think, plot holes you can hurl a brick or even a dining room table through...), and ending with (again, I think) a chilling final line.
The Invisible Guest (2016)2Buckle up tight and suspend your disbelief. Having an affair, a technocrat and a photographer are involved in a fatal car crash that they cover up to maintain their secret. As the technocrat relates his assessment of the events to a colleague of his lawyer, we travel up and down garden paths as the story twists and turns like Lombard Street; implausibilities abound. Down a shot every time you blurt out, "Oh, come on!"; last one's a double. Crummy, but still, good fun.
Thesis (1996)2A promising first effort, Tesis explores some extremely upsetting themes, primarily torture and its voyeurs (a violence-obsessed film student finds herself neck-deep in the underworld she pretends to gaze at from an intellectual distance). Its Hitchcockian twists, alas, are undermined by story-telling that just gets sillier and sillier such that, by the end, its gruesomeness feels just as exploitative as those societal trends at which it’s ostensibly clucking its tongue. Sorry, you can’t have it both ways. The young actors are all fine.
Oppenheimer (2023)2Ah, the biopic—not a fan. Ah, Christopher Nolan—also, not a fan. The life of a scholar consists of, more than anything else, reading, thinking, and writing (in that order); it does not lend itself to the cinematic arts (I’ve never seen a movie that gets the academy right). Cut to furious scribbling of equations on a chalkboard! But it’s not merely that the proceedings herein are divorced from academic reality. Rather they are divorced from human reality. The script is glib, telegraphic, expository...and ridiculous. It’s all here: the struggling genius! The icarian hubris! The long-suffering wife! The stricken conscience! The crackdown from above! The fall from grace! The final redemption! It doesn’t matter who this movie is about. All that matters is that all them movie stars sure do got perty faces, even through all the concussive editing and fish-eye-like close-ups.
Variety (1983)3It’s an amalgam of downtown indie-chic, standard thriller fare, Polanski-inflected psych horror, and avant-garde nonsense. It doesn’t really cohere, but I’ll give director Bette Gordon plaudits for doing something offbeat yet still engaging in this unusual tale of a young Midwestern gal who takes a job in a ticket booth at a Times Square porno theater, and becomes increasingly infatuated with this new and compelling demimonde; a little bit Mr. Goodbar, a little bit Smithereens, a little bit Vertigo. The locations—42nd Street, South Street, Ocean Avenue in Asbury Park—are terrific. Music’s by John Lurie.
In Bruges (2008)2Boring, unpleasant, and thinly plotted movie of two Irish thugs hiding out in Brugge after a London hit. The murderers, drug dealers, and whores who flesh this thing out are all hateful to a T. Its misanthropy gives the Coen Brothers a run for their money. Ugh.
Playtime (1967)5Modern alienation in a Potemkin Village. Virtually every shot is austerely gorgeous—and both nightmarish and gag-filled—in Paris’s Mies van der Rohe-gone-wild all-gray La Défense business district, where the city’s past glory is referenced only in brief reflections and fuzzy long shots, and in passing random acts of humanity. In Jacques Tati’s PlayTime—a series of remarkable set pieces where people are lost in a vertiginous swirl of superficiality and inefficiency—the non-stop Chaplin-esque humor and endless visual gags are bone-dry and hilarious, prefiguring both Brazil in its dystopian vision of a society where nothing works, and 2001 in its commentary on technologized anti-humanism. Basically plotless, the goings-on nonetheless keep one completely engaged, enthralled, delighted...and depressed. Francis Lemarque’s scoring is suitably carnival-esque, but oh, what Nino Rota could have done with this material!
White Dog (1982)3In the Hollywood Hills, Kristy McNichol takes in an untagged dog after having injured it with her car. She soon discovers that it had, appallingly, been trained to attack Black people. Now she seeks someone to re-train it (the re-training procedure is fascinating in itself, though I can’t vouch for its science). A chilling tale of how racism can drive people to the most despicable and conniving acts, and, metaphorically, how—or whether—it can be overcome by society. The dog violence is very well-staged, hence gruesome and upsetting; the dog is amazing. Nonetheless, its effectiveness is somewhat undermined by its often slipshod direction and story-telling, and McNichol’s character is a ridiculous airhead (Paul Winfield’s trainer is far more interesting; Burl Ives appears).
Robocop 3 (1993)2Cop man-machine Murphy rejects his corporate overlords and joins the underground resistance. Whereas Robocop’s humor worked on multiple levels, appealing to adolescents and adults alike, this third installment is geared exclusively to the former group; it lacks the dark cynicism of the original, and instead places its emphasis on jokes that only work on the “dumb” level within a story reduced to pure formula. Also, of course, it lacks both the crackle and the fluidity of the Verhoeven original. And why do so many of these supposed Michiganders talk as if they're pretending to be from Bensonhurst?
The Zone Of Interest (2023)1From Bauhaus to Auschwitz. Excruciatingly simplistic investigation of the human capacity for engaging in bad acts. Rudolf Höss and his family go about their daily lives (gardening, preparing meals, enjoying a summer swim and the daily loot salvaged from the murdered) while the furnaces next door provide a calming 24/7 hum, and as the ever-askew camera angles grow wearisome almost immediately. Nazis seem an obvious choice for director Jonathan Glazer to focus upon, since he has never displayed an ability to portray genuine human beings; with Nazis, he thinks he doesn’t even have to try. What a tawdry and exploitative way for him to deal with his cripplingly limited directorial skills.
Jeremy (1973)4Gently-paced verging-on-verité portrait of a good kid (Robby Benson) who meets a nice girl (Glynnis O’Connor) in a 1970s NYC where high school students study the arts with relish, where girls wear long straight hair parted in the middle, and where even the well-off kids take after-school jobs. With its naturalistic performances and its judicious use soft-focus and hand-held lensing, Jeremy is a simple, well-observed, earnestly-felt, and defiantly sentimental story of young love...or at least young limerence. Love Story meets Rich Kids?
The Servant (1963)4In early '60s London, as their lives begin to entangle in seemingly unforeseen ways, the well-defined social roles between an aristocrat (James Fox) and his servant (Dirk Bogarde) proceed to break down. Ambiguities continually emerge and recede as we try to puzzle out just how intimate their entanglement is, both with each other, and with the respective women each is involved with (Sarah Miles, Wendy Craig)...until we’re cruelly left staring into the abyss. Though this unremittingly bleak tale of exploitation and betrayal is far more personal than political, both director Joseph Losey’s and scriptwriter Harold Pinter’s socialist leanings do clearly emerge. It’s also beautifully assembled, even upon its curious stylistic switch in the final act. A gem of an adult drama. More or less remade (to far clunkier effect) by Bong Joonho in 2019.
Nothing Lasts Forever (1984)4A 20-year-old boy (Zach Galligan) hopes to break into the Manhattan arts scene, but gets stymied by an interstate government crackdown, and ultimately ends up on a lunar shopping spree where he meets a nice girl. Unlike so much experimental cinema, there’s a warmth, a humanism, an optimism, suffusing Tom Schiller’s whimsical Nothing Lasts Forever, filmed mostly in black and white, and conjuring Hollywood’s golden era, cornball musicals, European art cinema, World's Fair/Disneyland space age speculation, Yiddish Theater, and the then-nascent downtown steampunk scene. It’s both outrageous and genuinely charming. Great multi-period scoring by Howard Shore, and I especially appreciate that the characters pronounce “Port AuTHARity” correctly!
My Dinner With Andre (1981)3"A coupla secular Jewish intellectual guys sitting around talking." Louis Malle wisely provides unobtrusive fly-on-the-wall/-in-the-soup direction as stage director Andre Gregory (Andre Gregory—articulate though a bit of a loon) and playwright Wallace Shawn (Wallace Shawn—less well-spoken though more down to earth), meet for dinner at an upscale NYC French restaurant, talking about materialism versus spirituality, Epic Theatre versus escapism, and, though never overtly referenced, Sartre versus Freud. Germany and the death camps loom throughout, at times thus highlighting the profoundly bourgeois nature of their concerns, but also, reminding us that they are indeed free to engage in the simple human pleasures of rapt conversation, even as they comically (and self-mockingly, I hope) indulge their sublime self-absorption.
Close Encounters Of The Third Kind (1977)5I was fourteen when my dad got us tickets to a preview at the Ziegfeld on 54th Street. It blew me the fuck out of the water. It still does. Jaw-droppingly awesome story of a midwestern everyman who thinks he has been summoned by an alien intelligence. Turns out he’s right! Thirty-one year old Spielberg you genius you! You display a master command of your audience and their hopes and expectations in virtually every way: pacing, camera, special effects, humor, intrigue, excitement, fright, horror, and especially, wonder. Also sating my childhood fascination with Devil’s Tower, CE3K (as we Starlog readers first called it) is Hollywood magic!
The Stick Up (1977)2Whereas Jeffery Bloom’s previous film Dogpound Shuffle was a children’s movie with some very adult elements (including violence), the far less successful The Stick Up is an adult film with some very juvenile ones (though possesses a structurally similar story arc). In the Depression-era British Isles, David Soul is an American intending to partake in a heist, but gets involved with Pamela McMyler, a young woman not exactly on the straight-and-narrow herself. The tone shifts wildly (here it’s Bonnie and Clyde or Thieves Like Us; there it’s Paper Moon), and some of the situations are outright ridiculous (e.g., the two having sex in their shared jail cell!!). Finding little commercial success with his offbeat early efforts, the still-promising director quickly moved into the exploitation/blood horror genre. Sad.
Red Rooms (2023)4In Red Rooms, two young Quebec woman bond over their infatuation with an Eric Newman-like serial killer. One is completely blind to the incontrovertible evidence of his guilt, and instead is a voyeuristic conspiracy theorist who taps into a radically primitive identification with a savage; the other looks to the internet, seemingly to perpetuate (and falsely affirm) even the most outrageous crimes. Meanwhile, corporate media has a feeding frenzy. (Just now, we see this all playing out on a global scale, as a lost generation marches on our streets and campuses committing violence and hate crimes on behalf of Hamas; it’s Videodrome come true.) It’s sober, gripping, innovative, well-acted, austere, tightly constructed, and suitably repulsive. Recommended.
Team America: World Police (2004)5Team America murderously skewers the greed and arrogance of the military-industrial complex (the world’s “dicks”), the political posturing of only-in-it-for-themselves Hollywood actors and other limousine liberal narcissists (the world’s “pussies”), and sociopathic strongmen and violent fascists everywhere (the world’s “assholes”), all couched in the cliches of any moronic action movie where the characters’ idiotic (inter-)personal problems take front and center, right along with their ultra-violent and massively destructive activities, as they make the world safe for democracy. And it’s all done with marionettes! And it's a musical! Endlessly inventive, and hysterically funny from beginning to end. "Gary?"
Secrets (1971)2Odd, artsy-fartsy, talky-walky, and very tightly shot quasi-chamber piece of a woman (Jacqueline Bisset) who is lured by a continental gentleman (Per Oscarsson) on the same day that her husband (Robert Powell) is lured by a potential employer (Shirley Knight), and also on the same day that their little girl (Tarka Kings) is lured by an older gardener (Martin C. Thurley). I suppose it deserves credit for its frank intimacy, but mostly, it left me bemused and perplexed rather than shocked or intrigued.
What About Bob? (1991)4In this very smart Frank Oz comedy, Bill Murray is a self-obsessed multiphobe who wholly upends the life of Richard Dreyfuss (a shrink promoting his new pop psychology book) by following him and his family to their vacation home in New Hampshire. Hysterics ensue. Murray manages to be simultaneously endearing and impossible; Dreyfuss may even be the greater pleasure here, navigating between his professionalism, his justified outrage, and his unhinged narcissism. The former’s progress toward—and the latter's regress from—mental health are beautifully controlled, and it only descends into (still funny) nonsensicality at the very end. Julie Hagerty and the support are good, especially Charlie Korsmo as son Sigmund. Great stuff.
Triangle (2009)1A group of quasi-hotties finds itself stranded on an ocean cruiser—with ghosts of themselves along for the ride!—in this B-grade low-budgeter of murder and mayhem. Bland acting and non-existent characterizations take a back seat to go-nowhere scripting, with a story that lurches from All Is Lost to Alien to Groundhog Day and Gordon R. Dickson’s Time Storm; yes, there’s something about a time loop, but of course, it goes nowhere by very definition, with the sole task of the viewer being to fit the jumbled bits of the story into something coherent. Who cares! Exploitative, bereft of ideas, and super dumb.
Quintet (1979)5Shale and salmon: there’s no green, no indicator of life or hope in the world of Quintet, Robert Altman’s masterful and definitive exploration of a planet’s final days, where ice and cold doom its sentient race to extinction. Quintet asks (and answers), what would we do if we finally came to the awful realization that before us, and especially after us, there is only our non-existence? Would we futilely strive to make a mark on culture, or would we aggrandize its remnants to justify our most basic and primitive instinct to simply survive for another day? Requiring multiple viewings to fully appreciate, even a first-time viewer of Quintet will languish in the visually astonishing cinematic splendor of a darkening frozen world where life has lost all meaning. My all-time favorite movie, and the apotheosis of Altman's genius.
Vampire's Kiss (1988)2A cruel and loathsome midtown literary agent descends into madness and thinks he’s a vampire in this psychological horror comedy. I kept on wondering, “How should these lines be read?” and the best I could come up with was “Certainly not the way Nicolas Cage reads them.” There's nothing witty or clever in the script, and in an outrageously self-indulgent performance, I found Cage's character to be repulsive. Especially, his treatment of his secretary—and especially, the way the movie handles it—is genuinely repugnant; his accent, a ridiculous caricature of Philly’s (where he claims to be from), even more so. I get what screenwriter Joseph Minion was going for here (Cage keeps a photo of Kafka on display in his office…), but it’s just too nasty, both the lead and his character too hateful. Some good support.
Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977)2The Exorcist was grand silly fun; its sequel is just stupid. John Boorman brings a rank and dour amateurism to the fore here, incorporating elements of science fiction, African shamanism, and of course, Catholic demonology. Laboriously paced, it never seems to get underway as its jumble sale components fail to coalesce into anything coherent. Meanwhile, the largely excellent cast cannot possibly deliver its ridiculous lines effectively. Boorman, sympathizing with mumbo jumbo over science, is just flaunting his ignorance. Shrill and unappealing scoring by...Ennio Morricone!
Autumn Leaves (1956)3A lonely spinster (Joan Crawford) has finally met the man of her dreams (Cliff Robertson)...or has she? Robert Aldrich keeps us guessing (at least for a while) in this initially sordid but ultimately humanistic melodrama of deceit and sexual intrigue, but also of a sensitive (if significantly outdated) exploration of mental illness, and redemption. The sometimes-telegraphed drama doesn’t really hold up for modern audiences, but its heart is definitely in the right place. Its classic theme song is sung by Nat “King” Cole.
Message From Space (1978)2The production finds itself is somewhere between David Lynch’s horrifically awful Dune and Luigi Cozzi’s magnificently awful Starcrash (it far exceeds the former in terms of basic competence, and falls far short of the latter in terms of bonkers lovability), Kinji Fukasaku’s Message from Space is vibrantly shot and vividly decked out, but offers precious little in terms of story or characters. It swings between spacey battles and intimate give-and-take character conflicts. Nothing special.
Dark Water (2002)2Please don’t be fooled into thinking this under-cooked and repetitious tale of a divorcée and her little girl, to which creepy things continually happen after they move into a leaky and creaky apartment block while all the male characters are at best ineffectual towards them, is some sort of plea for female empowerment, or about a mother's devotion to her child, or about providing decent housing for the down-on-their-luck, or something comparably well-intentioned. Like its marginally superior remake by Walter Salles and so many others of its ilk, it’s just your standard damsel-in-distress ghost story, only tricked out with oppressive gloom-and-doom visuals.
Absolution (1978)3If you can get past its rather contrived character motivations, you'll find Absolution to be an effective neo-gothic murder-centered thriller set in a lads’ boarding school, of the Child’s Play/Unman, Wittering, and Zigo sort, only far better than either of those, especially the latter. Most interesting is its daring critiques of Catholic orthodoxy, as a priest (Richard Burton) is forced into sin exactly because he keeps his vows.
Bringing Up Baby (1938)2Katherine Hepburn as an infuriatingly self-indulgent society gal, Carey Grant as a repressed academic, a dog, two wayward leopards, and a support cast of genuine characters all mix it up at a Connecticut estate in this screwball comedy. Obnoxious, silly, shrill, low-brow, and rather exhausting.
The Red Shoes (1948)5The titular ballet itself is one of the most magnificently artistic extended sequences in cinematic history, and the entire production of Powell and Pressburger’s film is suffused with brilliant color, lighting, costumes, makeup, sets, locations, and performances as it tells its admittedly soapy story of a ballerina: will she follow her heart to be with the man she loves, or will she slip on her red shoes and dance forever? Double bill: Children Of Paradise.
Zardoz (1974)2Sean Connery's penis (curiously, the only bit of his anatomy covered up herein) is the savior of humanity in this laughably humorless dystopian vision of the have/have-nots variety, the sort we have seen over and over again at least since the world was introduced to the Morlocks and the Eloi. The hopelessly muddled and pretentious script asserts that death is the ultimate equalizer as Connery heroically reintroduces sex and violence to the upper echelon immortals, for which they are forever grateful. While there are some striking visuals (the depiction of the Outlands [the wilds where the Brutals live], for example), much of the staging is awkward and amateurish. Easily skipped.
The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp (1943)4Sprawling, sweeping, and majestic portrait of a British military man (a stand-in for his country) committed to his career, his loves, his friendships, and his stubborn insistence on maintaining the ways of tradition even against the Nazi murder machine; an admirable if misguided approach to the savagery of which others are capable, one based on the sadly naive belief that all people really do yearn for peace. A challenging and brilliantly assembled film, with Roger Livesey, Adolf Wohlbrück, and a very poised twenty year old Deborah Kerr (in three roles) doing outstanding work.
Sublet (2020)3Naturalistic dialogue and performances are major assets in this enjoyable little movie of a middle-aged American journalist in Tel Aviv who becomes entwined in the life of his twenty-something landlord, exploring with tempered humor and a modicum of insight the generation gap between the two, but also, exploring the ways in which people might bond despite this gap. Niv Nissim as the young Israeli does really great work; John Benjamin Hickey is miscast as the American Jew (and brings absolutely nothing Jewish to his performance), and some of his character's attitudes are genuinely archaic, creating a falsely heightened dichotomy between the pair's mores, thus cheapening the drama. Meanwhile, a few subplots distract unnecessarily. Still, an engaging if lightweight outing from Eytan Fox.
1776 (1972)5The Continental Congress debates whether their land will stay with the crown or strike out on its own. Extremely faithful to the play (and quite faithful to history itself), 1776 is a wonderful and richly complex adaptation that maintains its source's staginess (it obviously needs to; the script would not work done straight) but never feels hemmed in by it. Especially, Howard Da Silva’s Franklin is brilliant and lovable, and William Daniels as Adams burns with a pigheaded yet righteous fury; many others effectively delineate their characters even with far less screen time. As for the score, it has stayed with me since childhood: 1776 remains the backbone of my knowledge of that June/July, and of America’s founding principles.
Good Grief (2023)2Cloying, glib, and poorly handled in just about every way (the fatal accident occurs so fast you’ll miss it, and so early that we don’t even know why, or even whether, the departed was worthy of our protagonist’s love), a wealthy expat in London learns his late husband had a lover in Paris. Demonstrating a very shaky command of narrative structure, of scripting, and of ego control (he thinks mere self-criticism is grounds for sympathy, for example), Daniel Levy’s tv-movie debut further features support that is little more than a morass of clichéd mediocrity (Ruth Negga as his sassy/sparky/spunky sidekick is particularly unpalatable). Yeah, well...however well-intentioned, it’s pretty godawful.
Head On (1998)3Bracingly shot though over-enthusiastically edited, in Head On we follow a first generation Greek in Australia (his parents having fled the dictatorship at home), a moody brooder on the DL, coping with his community’s intolerance while harboring a fair bit of his own. It lapses into timid conventionality as the gay sex scenes are sordid and anonymous, the straight ones tender and intimate, and it suffers from its unsympathetic protagonist: he’s portrayed as agonized, but that’s the only element of decency and humanity he appears to possess. Still, the look and the feel are appropriately gritty, and the performances are good.
True Lies (1994)2Typically dumb scripting by James Cameron, and typically amateurish acting by Schwarzenegger's sidekick herein Tom Arnold (and yes, of course Ahnold can’t act either, but therein lies his charm) do much to sabotage this story of a potential nuclear attack by bumbling Islamist terrorists. Will Ahnold save the world from utter annihilation? Far more importantly, will he save his marriage to bookish secretary-turned-gun toting sexpot Jamie Lee Curtis, even as he continuously endangers and psychologically tortures her? Isn’t that a hysterical premise? No intrigue, no cleverness; crummy stuff.
Cloverfield (2008)1Certainly one of the worst-filmed movies ever (it makes TV’s execrable The Office look like Sven Nykvist), Cloverfield follows a set of recently-arrived NYC-dwelling super-wealthy twenty-something mega-brats (we learn that they party, and that they fuck, but nothing more) as they contend with a Godzilla that attacks an inexplicably depopulated Manhattan, September 11th style. It indeed signals the end of civilization, but not in the way director Matt Reeves seems to have intended (i.e., culturally, not existentially). Clearly, I’m not the “intended audience” for this; I’m sentient. Unrelentingly unwatchable.
May December (2023)4It’s such a pleasure to see a director bring genuine intelligence and true craft to his creations. After two dud narrative features in a row, Todd Haynes is back on track with this tale about the depths of exploitation at both the micro and macro levels: studying for her upcoming role, a basic cable actress (Natalie Portman) visits a family in which the wife (Julianne Moore) seduced the husband (Charles Melton) when he was but a boy; the women are in it solely for themselves, while the man is trapped by his own passivity, immaturity, and decency. It might be glib to call it “Persona meets Notes On A Scandal”, but really, storywise at least, that’s not too far off. Simmering and seething, to make it all so cryptic yet also so compelling is quite a feat.
Maestro (2023)2Filmmakers never learn that their explorations of genius (artistic or otherwise) are pretty much doomed to fail: a one-of-a-kind talent is just that, and so any mimetic endeavors are inevitably low-relief facsimiles of the real thing, bound to underwhelm. There’s much talk of Bernstein’s “gifts” herein, but precious little evidence for them is provided. The shows? The orchestral works? The ballets? The choral works? The operas? The movie score? The young people’s concerts? The conducting? (There’s one scene, one, of him conducting). Instead, it focuses on—what else?—his tear-jerking trials with heterosexual domesticity (a mere sliver of his romantic and sexual exploits). Ho-hum. Competently produced (Bradley Cooper is overbearing, though the cinematography, the makeup, are fine) but the rendering is ultimately one thing Bernstein never was: utterly pedestrian.  
10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)2The only reason we can’t predict where the story and characters will go in this comedy/horror/sci-fi thriller—a woman, and maybe a man, are imprisoned underground by a lunatic who may or may not be telling the truth about the end of the world outside—is that the characters' motivations, demeanors, and actions are so divorced from the reality of their perceived situation that there is no way we can orient ourselves to them: they react solely to drive plot twists. Slickly assembled—the performances are good and the final act is an okay homage to...Independence Day!—10 Cloverfield Lane can’t transcend the weakness of its script.
Under The Skin (2013)1Jonathan Glazer completely fails yet again in this dreich-ily presented, sluggishly paced, and insufferably boring feature-length music video nonsense of a woman traveling around Scotland annoying a random sequence of men she encounters. Devoid of anything remotely human (dialogue, facial expressions, emotions), it’s utterly soulless, icy, and repetitive (and please don’t tell me that’s the point, that it's about an alien[-ated] she-creature). London pseud Glazer’s provinciality and lack of sophistication are placed in especially high relief when he makes the men’s dialogue all but indecipherable: he exploits Scottish English as an indicator of remoteness, for fuck’s sake! Still, I’m not frustrated that I don’t understand the intent of the filmmaker, because, Mr. Glazer, I simply don’t care about you or your threadbare ideas. Next!
Local Hero (1983)4An everyman (Peter Riegert) working for a Houston oil fat cat (Burt Lancaster) is tasked to go to the Scottish seaside to buy out an entire village and disperse its inhabitants. The obvious happens, but never in obvious ways. It’s a slow and lovely stroll through a small world of endearing and quirky characters...and little else...which is fine by me. Its humor is dry not deadpan, and it eschews whimsicality and preciousness for careful observations about interesting people. That makes all the difference in the world.
Vertigo (1958)5Playing perfectly to her highly circumscribed strengths, it is Kim Novak who is the anchor, the crux, of Hitchcock’s masterfully elegant moodpiece (a moodpiece that explores some of the most twisted emotions ever encountered in film) in which dupe-for-hire James Stewart falls in love with the seemingly disturbed woman he's paid to follow, who goes by the name of Madeline (even as she protests, “I’m not Mad! I’m not Mad!”). The ruse he is subjected to is absolutely preposterous and should undermine the whole film, but Hitchcock's (and yes, Herrmann's) incredible control over its splendorous beauty—and its outrageous horror—keeps the viewer completely in its thrall. While San Francisco would never look this magnificent again, still, it’s ultimately Novak’s show.
The Covenant (2023)2Standard Hollywood rescue-behind-enemy-lines fare of an American IED expert (Jake Gyllenhaal), and his Pashto interpreter (Dar Salim) who gets left behind after being promised an American visa. Although the action scenes, for a change, are not overwhelmed by cheap fast-cutting shortcuts, it’s most notable for the amazing lack of shooting accuracy the Taliban soldiers display when trying to take out their enemies. But anyway, I can think of far more effective ways to expose the outrageous and short-sighted stupidity of American policy toward Islamo-Nazism than this for-profit fairy tale. Watch The Killing Fields instead.
The Return Of The Living Dead (1985)3Dan O’Bannon either opts for, or is limited by, amateurism in his live-action-cartoon approach to this pseudo-meta-Romero-inspired zombie flick. But if you can get past its crummy acting, scripting, and characterizations, there’s plenty of humor to be found herein: in their efforts to stem a zombie assault in Louisville, our bumbling local heroes, and later, the feds, engage in increasingly large-scale miscalculations and errors. There isn’t nearly enough gore, and the Romero-inspired anti-military industrial complex populist politics are nothing new, but still, it’ll put a smile on your face. And how often do you get to hear The Cramps on a Hollywood soundtrack?
Black Narcissus (1947)4Beautifully shot, lit, and framed, Powell and Pressburger’s Black Narcissus explores the perfectly human feelings buried by the strictures of the Catholic sisterhood during Britain’s exploits in the Indian Himalayas, when a young nun is assigned to oversee a mountaintop monastery there, and comes to realize she is in way over her head. Silly moderns may critically focus only on the simplistic depictions of its Indian characters, oblivious to its daring and cogent indictments of religion, imperialism, and emotional and sexual repression. Deborah Kerr, David Farrar, and Kathleen Byron star.
I Know Where I'm Going! (1945)3Powell and Pressburger’s fast-paced and quick-witted tale of a headstrong woman headed to the Hebrides to marry up, only to be sidetracked by the gales, but also by the salt-of-the-earth appeal of the Highlanders she encounters, and especially, by the charms of a local bachelor soldier. It turns genuinely thrilling—and visually quite spectacular—in its gripping climax, even as we know from the start how it’ll end. The story and the themes are tried and true, even pat; an enjoyable if unchallenging bit of fun.
Chinatown (1974)5Roman Polanski’s classic gumshoe noir of a purgatorial LA where whoever controls the water controls the city, Chinatown’s got it all: a terrific story suffused with intrique, mystery, romance, and murder, a brilliant script with plenty of classic one-liners, and a sumptuous atmosphere that superbly captures the City of Angels just as it began its eastward expansion over the Santa Monicas and into the Valley. Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway, and especially John Huston are fantastic.
Looker (1981)2There’s a pleasing and colorful angularity to the visuals that render it very of-its-time, and there’s a kernel of a cool and prescient idea in Michael Crichton’s 1981 sci-fi thriller Looker: women with artificially-enhanced “perfect” features are being offed, though their CGI avatars are endlessly recycled for television commercial appearances. However, as plastic surgeon-to-the-stars Albert Finney becomes embroiled in a sinister scheme by a multinational firm to take over the world (!!) it wallows in incoherent plotting and insultingly stupid directorial decisions. At any rate, it’s become too tired a concept to be eligible for a remake, and so it more or less earns its now-forgotten status.
Videodrome (1983)4An edgy Toronto cable programmer (James Woods) unearths a torture porn pirate production out of Pittsburgh, one with a major twist: it emits a beam that literally infects your body and your mind...and it just might be the hit that he—and the whole world—has been waiting for. A swirling vortex of surrealism and dystopian philosophizing, Videodrome is terrific fun, and is uncannily prescient; nefarious technofascists like Steve Jobs and Elon Musk were obviously taking notes. [I saw it opening night, Center City Philadelphia.]
The Holdovers (2023)2Painfully formulaic story of a curmudgeonly classics teacher assigned to look after a brooding troublemaker who has nowhere to go over Christmas break at their straight-laced Massachusetts boarding school, 1970. It's completely undone by David Hemingson's truly terrible script that rides roughshod over the cultural mores of the era in which it takes place, while taking every dramatic shortcut in the book. Even today, for example, there'd be no way in hell that faculty, students, and kitchen staff would interact in the almost street-level manner depicted herein. When a movie aspires to realism, it has no business asking viewers to suspend their disbelief this way. Phooey! The soundtrack features Badfinger (yay!), and Cat Stevens (boo!), among others.
Girlfriends (1978)4Claudia Weill’s first and finest narrative feature explores the lives of young Boho women in New York, focusing especially on an aspiring photographer (Melanie Mayron, really great) who initially feels untethered when her best friend and roommate (Anita Skinner, uninspired) gets married and moves out. Weill's filming in real, cramped, underlit, low-budget NYC apartments provides an added element of veridicality to the already true-to-life proceedings. In addition to Mayron, Amy Wright (as a waifish urchin), Bob Balaban (as an aloof intellectual hipster) Eli Wallach (as a charismatic rabbi) all do excellent work. Apart from Skinner’s poor performance, the film’s flaws (especially within-scene editing and pacing) seem mostly a result of its super-tight budget.
Lucas (1986)3A bright young non-conformist (Corey Haim; quite fine indeed) falls for the new girl in school (Kerri Green), and though she reciprocates his affection platonically, she’d rather be in with the in crowd. The dialogue’s a tad precocious at times, but I’ll take that any day over the idiocy that most high school-set films lapse into; it’s sweet and sensitive for the most part. Charlie Sheen and Winona Ryder lend able support; some nice scoring by Dave Grusin, though beware of the electric piano and gated drums.
Passages (2023)2Even in Gay Paree, two-timing’ll cost ya. A German ex-pat cheats on his husband and impregnates his new squeeze, yet insists on having it both ways, hoping to start a big-tent family as he wreaks havoc on the emotional lives of others. It’s risky, making a movie that asks the viewer to follow an unsympathetic protagonist, and Ira Sachs’ gambit here has not paid off: in the absence of nuanced character development, we lose interest in the protagonist, and thus the film. The long final shot, then—him cycling through Paris going nowhere fast, as the film asks for our sympathy—has not earned its presence: we didn’t like him before, so asking us to reflect on his inner humanity now merely compounds our emotional remove. A miscalculation.
Jawbreaker (1999)2“Failed farce falls flat!” scream the headlines. This Heathers-wannabe about the popular girls covering up their accidental murder of one of their own is styleless, unfunny, terribly written, and lifelessly paced; a real slog to get through. Appropriately, even the music—largely by the Ramones- and Dickies-derived The Donnas—is hot trash. Honestly, it’s just awful; don’t watch it (or the comparably dead-on-arrival Mean Girls either). Pam Grier and Carol Kane are wasted in drab parts.
Heathers (1989)4Due to Daniel Waters’ devastatingly clever and bitter script (that, characteristically, careens out of the control in later acts), Heathers—the template by which all nasty high school-set soap opera bitchfests must be compared—is a dark and surrealistic resounding success, in which a smart-as-a-whip Winona Ryder contends with both a bitch-patrol headed by the acidly witty Heather (Kim Walker), and a seductive sociopathic brooder (Christian Slater). By parodying the deadly-serious reality of teen suicide and its attendant media frenzy (it could have been anorexia, recovered memory, or transgenderism in other thoroughly-modern eras), it effectively skewers the anti-humanist inclinations of just about everybody: cynicism par excellence! But just be aware: this is one nasty piece of work, impressively assembled by first-time director Michael Lehmann.
Batman Returns (1992)3Daniel Waters’ Batman Returns is a snapshot of Gotham in the early 90s, with its Dinkins-like ineffectual mayor (Michael Murphy), its Trump-inspired real-estate mogul (Christopher Walken), and its Sharpton-esque murderous populist (Danny DeVito). Though clever, dark, and nasty, Waters’ script becomes increasingly uneven and unwieldy as the plot (a collusion between “Trump’” and “Sharpton” to rule Gotham) spirals out of control, and characters’ motivations and allegiances become increasingly confusing. Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman seems to be having fun; Michael Keaton as Batman not so much. Meanwhile, Jan Hooks kills in a tiny part. (Tim Burton directs in his cookie-cutter way.) In short, watch it for the jokes.
Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby (2006)10 + 0 = 0. That mathematical equation perfectly captures the artistic partnership of Adam McKay and Will Ferrell, the two aggressively talentless scourges behind this laughless, incompetently directed, -written, -acted, -edited, -paced, and -filmed lump of fried sick about a race car driver (and don’t get me started on the improvisation). With its homophobia and xenophobia (and please, McKay and Ferrell are not laughing at, they're laughing with the morons who find its bigotry funny: “Two men kiss! Haha ew gross!”), its box-office success was...fully assured. Have a nice day.
The Class of Miss MacMichael (1979)2Its rough-and-tumble theatrics are contrived and unconvincing, and Oliver Reed as the school-/taskmaster overplays to near-Pythonesque proportions. This slight and inconsequential post-punk London-set film focuses on a down-to-earth teacher (Glenda Jackson in a poorly-written role) trying to make her way at a school for troubled teens. It ain’t no Up The Down Staircase that’s for sure, and barely merits even a cursory investigation. Oddly, Michael Murphy pops up in small supporting role. Rosalind Cash is good, as is the theme song by the mysterious Renoir (prog rocker Francis Monkman?).
Unman, Wittering And Zigo (1971)2Talky, stagy, repetitive, and ridiculous, Unman, Wittering And Zigo is the story of some English school boys, their murder of their previous instructor, and their tormenting of their new one. There’s very little in the way of plot development or intrigue, and all the boys deploy the same obnoxious intonational pattern for their each and every line. Meanwhile, intimations of the instructor’s latent bisexuality go nowhere. Still, it’s surprisingly prescient, as today’s administrators and educators now so often cower from, collude with, or outright train their increasingly fascist student bodies. Watch Lumet’s Child’s Play instead.
A Safe Place (1971)1A thoroughly self-indulgent mess. A trust fund idler (played poorly by Philip Proctor) inexplicably falls for an exasperating and exhausting outright loon played by Tuesday Weld (oh that explains it), and they frolic in Central Park and elsewhere talking nonsense as director Henry Jaglom jarringly cuts away to unrelated (and unrelatable) bits from her life. There’s a protracted conversation about New York phone number prefixes that will mean nothing to most viewers...and that’s about as interesting as it gets. Jack Nicholson and Orson Welles appear in small parts, but only Gwen Welles (in her feature debut) really registers. Honesty, I can never take my eyes off her.
Tales That Witness Madness (1973)2Bottom-of-the-barrel horror omnibus by Freddie Francis—bland, lifeless, and not even funny—starring Donald Pleasence, Kim Novak, Joan Collins, and Jack Hawkins (laryngectomized, hence dubbed [poorly]).
The Friends Of Eddie Coyle (1973)4Middle-aged Robert Mitchum (Who? Just look under “Weltschmerz” in the dictionary, and no, that’s not an Al Hirschfeld line drawing accompanying the entry, that’s his real face) is a career crook who’s trying to weasel out of his dreary suburban Boston life of indignity and malaise. Ugly losers abound in this finely-attuned 70s grit-flick with a terrific cast and no-nonsense direction from Peter Yates that focuses more on post-Vietnam exhaustion than it does action and violence. No one’s a winner here.
Dances With Wolves (1990)1Dances With Wolves is post-70s Hollywood at its most insincerely sentimental and inexcusably banal. It’s the story of a racially-fetishistic miscegenation-eschewing frontier flower child playing his version of backyard cowboys and Indians. Apart from one elderly woman, the players’ Lakhota-as-a-second-language is slow and labored, and feminine-gendered for many of the male players; a laughable and offensive error. The lead possesses all the screen presence of a middle school jock flubbing his lines at his church’s Easter pageant; he sounds like George W. Bush when intoning the nauseating narration.
Catch-22 (1970)5A cosmic whirlwind of war and fascism and capitalism engulfs faux-Assyrian Yossarian (Alan Arkin), an American bombardier in Italy who confronts an endless barrage of absurdities and outrages and indignities on a daily basis as he schemes to be sent home. Based on Joseph Heller’s novel, Mike Nichols’ third masterpiece in a row (with one more to follow the next year)—both a pitch black comedy and an outright tragedy situated somewhere between Escher and Orwell—is flawed only because WW2 needed to be fought, unlike Korea or Vietnam. Buck Henry's script is magnificent, the filming and the editing are stellar, and the cast is amongst the greatest ever assembled. And remember: “Everybody works for Milo.”
The Stunt Man (1980)5What’s reality, and what’s movie magic? A criminal on the run (Steve Railsback) is offered a choice by a grandiose and wily filmmaker (Peter O’Toole): be my stuntman, or be turned in. The extended opening sequence is absolutely smashing, and the swirling and vertiginous hi-jinks persist throughout Richard Rush’s near-masterpiece exploring with great humor and intrigue war, authoritarianism, obedience, greed, guilt, deception, love, lust, and life itself...and all on a movie shoot. Is it absurd? Of course, but that’s because it’s absurdist...and that’s because it’s Hollywood...and that’s because it’s Hollywood! Sheer exhilaration! (Barbara Hershey, Alan Goorwitz (Garfield), and especially Chuck Bail are all terrific. Double bill: Catch-22.)
Tropic Thunder (2008)3There’s plenty of exceptionally razor-sharp humor in Ben Stiller’s Pirandello-esque Vietnam movie about the making of a Vietnam movie, as the actors find themselves in a real-life conflict with Chinese druglords. Its potshots at Hollywood’s idiotic self-seriousness are often spot-on, though it’s too long and sprawls wildly out of control. Most interesting is that its assemblage of unappealing performers (Jack Black, Steve Coogan, Matthew McConaughey, Tom Cruise, Bill Hader) somehow does not sabotage the proceedings. I’d like to think that’s part of the joke, but of course, it’s not. Robert Downey Jr., playing against race, is absolutely brilliant. Really, he’s the whole movie. Surprisingly well-shot.
Death Becomes Her (1992)5Endlessly inventive and hysterically funny visual and verbal comedy of two aging Los Angeles narcissists who think they’ve found the key to immortality in an elixir...a tonic...a potion. Not just the three leads (Hawn, Streep, Willis), but all the performers read their lines so knowingly, so cleverly, in this pitch-black camp-fest. Bitter, cynical, nasty, and tremendous fun, this is one of my all time favorite comedies. Oh, boy!
A Touch Of Class (1973)3London-set romantic comedy starring the delightful and witty George Segal and the equally so Glenda Jackson, who steal away to Malaga for a tryst away from their families, though nothing goes quite according to plan...yet they settle into a groove. It’s best (really, it’s great) when Segal and Jackson play off each other; there are elements of contrivance and silliness however, and it does go on a bit, but I’ll allow it. Nadim Sawalha is very comical is a small role.
Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979)5A machine yearns to achieve the full experience of life. I saw it opening night in Times Square. Afterwards, I turned to my big brother and proclaimed it ”The space epic that dares to be boring." In retrospect, I appreciate its slow pace: it’s Kubrick, not Lucas. The story is a meditative and hypnotic retelling of the middling second season episode The Changeling, done to far better effect, though the newbies subplot is icky. It’s a grand, prideful, and triumphant return of NCC-1701 and its crew. Like The Beatles, Star Trek flows in my veins, it's my very flesh and blood.
The Land Of Steady Habits (2018)2An immature and self-absorbed f-up has left the Wall Street rat race and left his wife, but curiously decides to remain in his Connecticut suburb and maintain tethers to his former world. I know that it infuriates women, the way men write their parts for movies, and now, I’ve experienced the feeling myself: the relationships and especially the dialogue among the men here just don’t ring true (the women, in smaller roles, fare better); there’s also a dearth of sympathetic characters, and its focus is diffuse. Especially with its late turn toward pathos, this particular slice of life just didn’t cut it for me.
The Amusement Park (1973)4George Romero’s experimental and surrealistic nightmare, set in a bustling amusement park, explores the indignities that the elderly endure as a consequence of familial and governmental indifference. Its sensory overload of heightened “callioptics” effectively captures the disorientation of failing minds and bodies. Although laced with cynicism and bitter humor, it is ultimately a sensitive, moving, and yes, overt plea for the maintenance of the welfare state, especially relevant now that “the era of big government is over” (declared by a Democrat, mind you).
Golda (2023)2Golda depicts one of the Arab world’s periodic attempts to wipe out its Jewish minority (this time in 1973, during Yom Kippur), and the tiny Jewish enclave's attempt to avert a second Holocaust. The Americans demand its restraint and retreat so that US citizens can continue to drive their Saudi-fueled gas guzzlers, which in turn risks the marauders’ regrouping and re-arming with Russia’s support. What a wonderful world, huh. The drama plays out in war rooms, in board rooms, and in Golda Meir’s modest apartment, its staging staid, its pacing plodding, its psychological insights few. Spoiler alert: as of this writing, Jewish autonomy persists.
No One Will Save You (2023)2Furniture moves on its own! Lights flash on and off by themselves! Doors open and close spontaneously! Something spooky is going on at an alienated young woman’s well-appointed country home, “alienated” being the key word. Much later, she's off on a wild trip (of the “guilt” variety). And that’s it. While it never transcends its tiresome clichés (a little Hitchcock, a little Polanski, a lot of Spielberg), and there’s no plot, intrigue, or logic to speak of, nor any motivation or explanation for the goings-on, it’s handsomely assembled, Kaitlyn Dever performs admirably, and director Brian Duffield makes some interesting (if failed) dialogue gambits. Watch Agnes Moorhead in The Twilight Zone's "The Invaders" instead.
You Hurt My Feelings (2023)3Two New York professionals in a loving marriage: he’s a therapist (Tobias Menzies) and she’s a writer (Julia Louis-Dreyfus). And it’s a great premise: she finds out he doesn’t like her new manuscript. The screenplay is wanting though: a lack of particularity and detail render many of the situations generic and telegraphic; it’s just not smart enough for the level of intellect its characters are purported to possess. If you can get past that, the performances are good; especially, Jeannie Berlin shines. Moral of the story: be honest when appraising the work of people you love. And for god’s sake, self-publish!
The Invisible Thread (2022)3A serious domestic issue arises in a Roman family as a teenage boy’s two dads might be breaking up, though it's treated with a perhaps too-light touch (the pizzicato-heavy scoring doesn’t help). Meanwhile, the son is contending with his own romantic drama with a French schoolmate and her twin brother. It does calm down though, and their trials (including an outrageous government invasion of their privacy) are ultimately treated with sensitivity and a touch of sentimentality, even as it continually flirts with a patina of farce. Nice movie.
Bottoms (2023)1If you like being spit in the face, over and over again, boy do I have a movie for you! Ugly in their souls, a few she-faggots hope to fuck the hot chicks at their high school, and so devise a violent scheme to get into their panties. It’s reactionary. It’s incompetent. It’s monstrously unfunny: not a single bit lands. Director Emma Seligman is an unrepentant anti-talent: she needs to go away. Non-actor Rachel Sennott, donning teenface and dykeface (she's previously donned Jewface), seems to ruffle no feathers amongst the woke brownshirts. I guess they like what they see. Pathetic...and perfect.
Queen Of The Stardust Ballroom (1975)3I remember when this was first broadcast my father complaining that the ending was contrived and manipulative. My grandmother disagreed: “It’s real life! That’s the way those things happen!” Bronxite Maureen Stapleton (wondrous as always) is suddenly widowed, but comes to find solace in her new work, her new interest in ballroom dancing, and her new man (Charles Durning). Featuring a great cast of stalwarts, it’s a charming, leisurely-paced (if rather superficial) slice-of-life/”mild musical”. And about that ending, well, maybe my father was right...or maybe my grandmother was.
Frankie (2019)4Gentle and bucolic drama of foreigners converging on a small Portuguese village-by-the-sea for various personal and professional reasons, where they reflect on their lives, and former and future loves. A few performers have trouble with their line readings, serving to take one out of the proceedings, but mostly, it’s a relaxing, humanistic pleasure. An ensemble cast, Isabelle Huppert is the nexus as a put-upon no-bullshit cynic; Marisa Tomei is a delight as always. Lovely scoring by Dickon Hinchliffe.
Causeway (2022)3We follow an Afghanistan vet (Jennifer Lawrence), brain-injured and suffering from PTSD, as she reluctantly moves back in with her limited, alcoholic mom in New Orleans (the great Linda Emond). There, she befriends a goodhearted mechanic with trauma of his own (Brian Tyree Henry). A fine script, good acting, complex and likable characters, and a gentle if simmering mood that edges toward (though never really embraces) a Kelly Reichardt-like ambience. The social and political commentary, though obvious, do not overwhelm.
Collateral (2004)2Slick and vibrant and moody and wholly contrived thriller of a cabbie forced to drive a murderer-for-hire from hit to hit around nighttime LA. But please: as the proceedings become ever more outlandish, he has opportunity after opportunity to extricate himself from his predicament, and never avails himself. Given the plot arc, it would only have worked both in terms of psychological intrigue and logic if the cabbie had become seduced by the thrill of the kill. Plaudits for style, but a big zero for substance. Jamie Foxx as the cabbie is bland and predictable. As for his co-star, well, he runs like a girl.
Red Eye (2005)2It starts as a surprisingly tight and effective thriller by schlockmeister Wes Craven: a hotel manager (Rachel McAdams) is blackmailed on a plane by a terrorist (Cillian Murphy), who tells her to call her hotel and move his targets into a specific room where they’ll meet their demise...or else her father gets it. I must have missed something really obvious, but it seems to lack a raison d'être: why doesn’t she simply tell the flight attendants—or even just stand up and shout out to all—what was happening? Oddly, both stars’ faces look CGI-enhanced.
Little Man (2016)4A Manhattan professional couple moves to Brooklyn with their tween son to live in the dad's just-deceased father’s house, one that has a rented-out street-level dress shop run by an immigrant, also with a tween boy. The two kids become fast friends as the adults must sort out the unpleasant details of their financial relationship. Doubling as an intimate bildungsroman (one boy will be gay, the other, straight) Little Men emphasizes how the so-called free market inevitably pits well-meaning innocents against one another. No one’s a hero here, but nor is anyone a villain (apart, of course, from the unseen real estate marketeers). Lightweight second feature: Rich Kids.
The 6th Day (2000)3Is the only thing better than one Arnold two Arnolds? Well, maybe not, but that’s what we get in this cleverly-conceived if iffily-presented SF thriller of an everyman (guess who) who is illegally cloned in a cover-up by a sinister Steve Jobs-like CEO of a sinister Apple-like tech firm (pardon the redundancies). Director Roger Spottiswoode is clearly trying to bottle the magic of Total Recall, but he’s no Paul Verhoeven: the action is underwhelming, the production uninspired. Still, while its prognostication is somewhat off (today we worry about AI, not cloning), it does explore some interesting issues in medical ethics, actually giving reasonable hearings to multiple sides. A smarter director would have jettisoned the silliness and played up these more intriguing elements.
Barbie (2023)1Subtle humor and nuanced social commentary are clearly not priorities for Greta Gerwig in her two hour commercial for the Mattel corporation, though why should they be? It’s just a commercial after all, twenty-first century corporate agit-prop at its most vile (no, but it’s cool though: one kid calls Barbie a fascist. See?). Pee Wee Herman deployed plastic to promote genuine good cheer and humanism. Gerwig is clearly interested only in the real thing: her plastic is just non-biodegradable landfill, perfect fare for PBR-swilling/Domino's Pizza-gorging hipsters. Watch the Aqua music video instead, especially because the original songs here are awful.
You Are So Not Invited To My Bat Mitzvah (2023)1An admitted hate-watch. The scripting, the acting, and especially the lighting are strictly sitcom-level. The sound mixing is inferior still; much of the children’s dialogue is indecipherable (at least to these aging ears). And I’ve never attended a bar or bat mitzvah that looks like an outtake from Showgirls, nor do I hope to. The Bat Mitzvah girl hopes to get world-famous Jew-hater Dua Lipa to come and perform. Perfect. The kids are not sweet; they’re materialistic, conniving, and nasty, except of course for the one angelic goyishe kid-of-color who takes on all the Jews’ burdens: a cogent commentary on our era, indeed, on every era. Referring to a party DJ, Adam Sandler asks his wife, “Why does everyone like this idiot?” I’ve often asked the same about you, Mr. Sandler. I’m almost prepared to use “cringe” as an adjective.
Terrifier 2 (2022)2There are some genuine laugh-out-loud gore effects herein, but at a ridiculous two and a half hours, this retro-inflected killer-clown splatter-fest that brings nothing new to the genre is overkill, despite its admirable look on a minuscule budget.
Long Weekend (1978)2Nature seems to turn against a self-absorbed couple camping at the remote seaside. They bicker and simmer in anger most unpleasantly, as couples do, but we never learn anything about who they are, as all dialogue just feeds the tiny universe the filmmakers impose on them. Hitchcock and Laughton dot the extremely slow buildup to its protracted, predictable, and inconsequential final act. It has no business being as pretentious as it is.
Static (1985)3Keith Gordon is terrific as a grieving and possibly disturbed young man in small-town Utah who claims to have invented a technology-based cure for despondency. Bob Gunton is a gas as his somehow still-likeable survivalist loon of a cousin. Best of all, Amanda Plummer (excellent though under-utilized as always) is the girl who left town for a career in music, but makes her way back. Though it takes an odd turn toward absurdist comedy at the two-thirds mark, it nonetheless seems intent on making some sort of big statement—about loss and grief? Religion? The media? The military-industrial complex?—but its intent is clouded in obscurity. Still, a curiously compelling, understated, and well-paced little oddity.
Fire Sale (1977)1Oy. Fire Sale is the great Alan Arkin’s laughless and incompetently directed comedy about a highly dysfunctional Jewish family whose patriarch's clothing store is at risk of going out of business. Broad, broad, broad, and loud, loud, loud, with genuinely offensive and idiotic humor abounding (the proposed title was, appallingly, “Jewish Lightning”). Most of the usually excellent performers (including Arkin, Richard Libertini, Vincent Gardenia; Sid Caesar is given nothing to do) hit their lines much too hard (Rob Reiner is especially guilty; Kay Medford the least so), although given the material, there really isn’t much else they could have done with it. Set on the east coast, it was filmed on location...in L.A.! Clueless.
Martin (1977)3Portrait of a sexually repressed serial killer...with a religious twist: he thinks he’s a vampire. George Romero deploys Christian mythology as a source of both inspiration and ridicule to both humorous and creepy effect. The titular character is hated by the religious, but becomes something of a local media hero among the secular; wisely, the social commentary is not nearly as heavy-handed as it might have been. Effectively shot, lit, and edited, some of the acting is quite good, and all is enhanced greatly by Tom Savini’s excellent gore effects. A nice little horror flick.
Married Life (2007)4Though it lacks the former’s wicked sense of humor and the latter’s sumptuous sense of melodrama, Married Life is an engrossing and entertaining amalgam of Alfred Hitchcock and Douglas Sirk, a subdued adult period drama of secrets, lies, infidelity, missed opportunities, betrayal—and far more—that, in the end, points its cynical finger at the social charades so many of us engage in. A superb production (the sets, costumes, lighting, and make-up are elegant and never over-stated), it's a successful departure for director Ira Sachs, with good performances especially by those in the meatiest roles (Chris Cooper and Patricia Clarkson).
Survival Of The Dead (2009)2Or “They Eat Horses, Don’t They?” Two quasi-brogue-inflected Irish families on a leafy and hilly island off Delaware—yes, suspend your disbelief—contend with zombies and each other in a never-ending war…and a never-ending horror franchise. Honestly, George Romero really should have nailed the coffin shut after his masterful Dawn of the Dead in 1978. Here, he’s just going through the motions, along with providing some offensive “Hey, we’re cool, we’re Leftists; we can make all the lesbian jokes we want” humor...if that’s your level of enlightenment. A few clever kills enliven the proceedings.
Crimes Of Passion (1984)2A private dick (John Laughlin) is in a sexually unfulfilling marriage (with Annie Potts) and falls for the woman he was hired to follow, a dress designer by day/skid row hooker by night (Kathleen Turner). Ostensibly about aloneness and the modern loss of intimacy, it’s lurid, amateurish, and infantile in typical Ken Russell over-the-top fashion, though Anthony Perkins as a sex-crazed psycho transcends the proceedings; watch Eyes Wide Shut instead. Rick Wakeman’s ruinous appropriation of the New World Symphony is soul-destroying.
Winter Kills (1979)2In the aftermath of Watergate, Hollywood launched a series of thrillers that challenged the political establishment (The Parallax View, Three Days of the Condor, and of course, All The President’s Men); Winter Kills, too, a very fantastical exploration of the Kennedy assassination. The intrigue is so-so, the humor too, while its flirtations with surrealism seem halfhearted (nowhere near approaching The President's Analyst). Still John Huston as the President’s father is fantastic, and Jeff Bridges as the President’s half-brother, of course, is rock-solid. In the end though, it doesn’t take its own cynicism seriously enough, and feels more a superficial dig than an insightful critique.
Past Lives (2023)2Gossamer-plotted story of a Korean girl and boy who reunite in adulthood. She’s a writer married to a writer. He was an engineering student. But that’s all we ever learn about them because the screenplay is so utterly bereft of details, of characterization, of personality, of anything that would make these two seem human. Why do they even like each other? It’s never explored. Honestly, just reflect on a time when you reunited with someone from the past, someone special to you. Would this be the depth of your conversation? Just imagine what Éric Rohmer could have done with this scenario, or Henry Jaglom. Insipid.
Love Is Strange (2014)3Love Is Strange leans a bit towards Make Way For Tomorrow for its plot—a very lived-in couple are forced to break up their Manhattan apartment after one loses his job with the archdiocese (for marrying his husband)—but wisely steers clear of competing with that masterpiece's emotional devastation. Instead, the stakes are lower and the consequences more bearable as we concentrate on slice-of-life issues—their lifelong love, the consequences of their predicament for friends and their extended family, growing older, changing norms—as they cope with the unjust blow they’ve been dealt. Leads Alfred Molina and John Lithgow are excellent, but it’s Marisa Tomei who (as usual) shines brightest.
Bad Education (2019)2A case of embezzlement at a Long Island high school about which no one wants to do the right thing, because each has something to lose. A fearless student journalist to the rescue! It’s always a red flag when the kids act more mature than the adults do though, and Bad Education, furthermore, is both dramatically and comedically threadbare; director Cory Finley seems at a genuine loss as to how to approach the material, reluctant to get his hands dirty with compelling characterizations or plot intrigue. Good performances, though Allison Janney can’t quite nail the Island accent.
Somehwere In Queens (2022)4A great talent like Ray Romano is aware of his limits. Director, writer, and star of Somewhere In Queens, he knows full well that he lacks the acting chops of his powerhouse costars (especially Laurie Metcalf), and so wrote his own part accordingly: a limited, mild-mannered working class dad trying to do best by all, buts mucking up quite a bit, especially when meddling in the personal affairs of his withdrawn son who may have found a ticket out with his basketball abilities. The situations mostly ring true, the dialogue is authentic, the characters are well-drawn, the setting in Italian Queens feels right. It comes off as a cross between his own Everybody Loves Raymond and Tom McCarthy’s Win Win. Diedre Fiel is particularly good in a small role.
All That Jazz (1979)4Bob Fosse’s egomaniacal but spectacular Broadwayization of his own life, his remarkable talent, his drive, and his self-destructiveness. Its fusing of emotional honesty and urban ruthlessness with highly stylized and lavish production numbers manages to sound the funeral bells for both 70s grit cinema, and the much longer period of the Hollywood musical. It is, indeed, a grand finale to America's greatest era of film-making. Listen for a little touch of Knnillssonn in the night.
Dick (1999)2A combination of All The President's Men, The World of Henry Orient/Henry, Sweet Henry, and Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead: two teenage girls (Michelle Williams and Kirsten Dunst) swoon over Richard Nixon (huh?) and become ensconced in the Watergate Affair. It doesn't work at all. The pacing is clunky, the script is neither clever nor funny, and it’s poorly and flatly directed. Worst of all, its most talented performers (Teri Garr, Saul Rubinek, Harry Shearer) have nothing to do.
Synecdoche, New York (2008)2Surrealism that supplements a carefully-explicated human drama can be quite revealing (see 8½ or Stardust Memories), but surrealism that supplants human drama is spectacle, not art. Synecdoche, New York, in which neurotic but successful upstate stage director Philip Seymour Hoffman’s world seems to be crashing down all around him and so he retreats into his artistry, is of the latter sort. Like Beau Is Afraid, or, say, A Serious Man, it was written by a Jew whose sense of alienation may very well be legitimate, but who lacks the insight and nuance to translate his angst into high art; smart-alecky, self-indulgent, and emotionally dis-schenected (speaking of smart-alecky...).
Red, White & Royal Blue (2023)3Cookie-cutter rom-com of love in high places (the Duke of Sussex and the US president's son fall for each other). While it’s at least a change of pace to see a little same-sex romance on the screen, the story arc is utterly conventional, the characterizations are gruel-thin, the tone is unsteady, and the production is only a cut above made-for-network-tv level. Stephen Fry fares best in a small crowd-pleasing role as the King. Feather-weight fun.
Beau Is Afraid (2023)2An unstable middle-aged man (Joaquin Phoenix) loses his mom in a freak accident, and journeys home for the funeral. Abandoning Bergman and Pasolini, Ari Aster here apes David Lynch and Darren Aronovsky. It’s not a good look. Like those latter filmmakers, Aster has obviously not committed to the hard study of the human condition, and so cannot bring any sense of genuine gravitas to his protagonist’s psychic pain; there’s no legitimate drama here. Consequently, he falls back on heavy-handed visuals and belabored surrealism. An immature work.
Timecrimes (2007)3Time travel stories cannot make sense. Here, events are set in motion by a man from the near future who only came back in time because he was being chased by his future self, but he’s only chasing himself because he was being chased by his future self: the plot ball just can’t get rolling, and the concomitant violence is gruesome and largely unmotivated. It’s nonsense, but at a fast-paced twisty-turny low-budget eighty-eight minutes, at least it’s enjoyable and well-done nonsense.
The Orphanage (2007)1Preposterously plotted, poorly penned, and pretentiously presented haunted house tale. It’s got every cliché in the book: the tough-as-nails mother, the poo-poo-ing father, the troubled child, the lonely abandoned lighthouse, the rusted swings and creaky doors that move by themselves at the shuttered Gothic mansion that goes bump in the night and may be harboring secrets from the past...time to set up the low-res B+W video cameras and reel-to-reel tape recorders! Yeesh, when will I learn?! Geraldine Chaplin slums in a small role as a medium.
Showgirls (1995)4It’s downright impossible to confidently appraise Showgirls, Paul Verhoeven’s fluidly-paced ultimate European love/hate gaze at the ol’ US of A. It’s so unrelentingly awful, yet so utterly compelling—the appalling, horrific rape of its only sympathetic character (Gina Ravera) somehow induces howls of laughter, for example—that one becomes twisted in knots. Pure trash Nomi Malone (get it? Get it?) (Elizabeth Berkley) rises to the top of the neon-drenched Las Vegas heap by dint of her you-go-girl chutzpah, while Sapphic Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon) is a regular riot as her rival. Meanwhile, every male in town is simply awful. It’s a mock-feminist soft-core porn comedy extravaganza. Who in hell are you supposed to root for? I give up!
Little Fauss And Big Halsey (1970)2Robert Redford (sure, good) is a cocky womanizing sleazeball biker crook; Michael J. Pollard (sure, good) is a none-too-bright hick mechanic who falls under his spell. They bang around the southwest desert acting like jerks, cheating, stealing, and revving their engines in a way that is most harsh on the ears. Sorry, but a movie with such unappealing characters would need to find something interesting to say, something beautiful to look at, someone sympathetic with whom to identify, if it had any hope of engaging its viewers; Little Fauss and Big Halsy has none of these things.
The Leather Boys (1964)3The Leather Boys tells the story of a working class newlywed biker lad who goes off his selfish wife and falls in with a yob who harbors a readily discernible secret: he’s gay. The two bond over bikes, over beer, over their respective feelings of alienation, as the former remains oblivious to the latter’s feelings for him, or even his nature. The relationships do not grow convincingly or organically (all characterization is basically set in place from the outset), but it is nonetheless a fairly sensitive and frank portrayal of the young and the restless, naturalistically presented and well-acted, with a rather affecting ending.
The Entity (1982)1The non-entity. Laugh-out-loud Dutch angles abound in this schlocky, amateurish, and cliché-suffused B-grade horror flick from director Sidney J. Furie, in which Barbara Hershey (rising above the material) is tormented by an invisible rapist. It’s accompanied by some preposterous commentary on sexism that, predictably, doesn’t stop the filmmakers from gratuitously exposing some T&A...and more. It’s repetitive (there are five gruesome rape scenes), under-plotted (there’s no build-up of intrigue), and carelessly scripted and edited...and at two-plus hours, it’s interminable. (And that's quite a budget the university’s parapsychology lab enjoys!) Effective scoring by Charles Bernstein.
Mighty Aphrodite (1995)3Woody Allen wants to find the birth mother of his adopted son, only to discover she’s a ditsy but good-hearted porn actress (Mira Sorvino). Still, he wants to do right by her, and eventually sets her up with a lovable lunk. All the performers here hit their lines too hard, no one can convincingly improvise, and the Greek chorus serves no purpose other than to annoy; Allen’s talent is showing increasing signs of the unraveling that would completely take over in a few years—it’s ragged and lazily assembled—but still, it’s sweet and good-natured, and that counts for something.
Union Square (2011)4It’s extremely difficult to realistically capture a borderline personality in film, but Nancy Savoca does it in Union Square when she aims her hand-held at Mira Sorvino (very good indeed) as she invades the upscale downtown city pad of her sister who has turned her back on her deeply troubled family and their Italian enclave in the Bronx (a well-modulated performance by Tammy Blanchard, especially when she lapses into her outer-borough accent). Memorable cameos by Patti Lupone and Michael Rispoli [I knew his wonderful mom!] are most welcome. Another excellent film by Ms. Savoca. (Double bill: Rachel Getting Married.)
Sarah's Key (2010)4Riskily structured story of the French-orchestrated round-up of Parisian Jews for gassing, as we switch back and forth between the past and the present: a contemporary woman learns her new apartment had been owned by Jews until her husband’s family took it over. Now she intends to uncover the whole truth, as there may have been a single survivor of the assault. As I said, it’s risky to juxtapose the horrors of the Holocaust with today’s bourgeois first-world problems, but, like Wayne Wang’s/Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club, it is pulled off here quite admirably. A terrific filmization of Tatiana de Rosnay‘s novel by Gilles Paquet-Brenner.
A Fish In The Bathtub (1998)3After a raucous first act, Joan Micklin Silver’s A Fish In the Bathtub—an outer-borough slice of Jewish (and a little Catholic) life starring Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara enduring a trouble-and-strife marriage—settles into a mild-mannered groove that’s light on the jokes but good on the quirky characterizations, and boasts lots of great talent as support (Doris Roberts, Phyllis Newman, Louis Zorich, Bob Dishy, Paul Benedict). Jane Adams fares well as their daughter, while the execrable Mark Ruffalo, with his thuggish delivery and his midwestern vowels, almost succeeds in sabotaging the whole thing; Meara, ever a warm and loving presence on screen, is the highlight.
Old Boyfriends (1979)3Falling somewhere between The Swimmer, High Fidelity, and Young Adult (and maybe The Girl Most Likely To...), the brilliant Joan Tewkesbury’s sole feature directorial effort finds Talia Shire as a deeply disordered UCLA psychology PhD who ventures cross country in pursuit of old flames, ostensibly to learn about herself, but in fact to wage an unprovoked war of emotional and sexual aggression. Richard Jordan, John Belushi, and Keith Carradine all do fine work as her victims (as do Buck Henry and John Housman in small roles), while David Shire’s scoring is at times Herrmannian, at times Deleruevian; Paul Shrader’s scripting is dark though uneven. A genuine cinematic curiosity, one that ends with a big fat old-fashioned question mark.
Tori And Lokita (2022)4The Dardenne Brothers’ Tori And Lokita focuses on two West African children living on the fringes of Belgian society, the little boy granted asylum, the teenage girl not. The two have bonded as a consequence of their traveling together from the shores of North Africa to Italy, and are now committed to each other’s well-being, doing everything they can, including drug-dealing and prostitution, to secure their status in Europe. As always, the Brothers take a deeply humanist position, and also as always, take a no-frills, unsentimentalized and unflinching approach to their filmmaking: the story and the characters do all the heavy lifting. Terrific naturalistic performances by the two kids.
California Split (1974)4Robert Altman’s revolutionary aesthetic—especially in sound recording and mixing—is on full display in California Split, in which George Segal and Elliott Gould (both great) fall in with each other and go on a gambling rampage (if that’s your thing). We encounter their anxieties, their frailties, their lack of fulfillment, as they mix it up with prostitutes (Ann Prentiss and Gwen Welles, also both great) ) and small time crooks and lowlifes of all sorts (lots of great character bits). Their anarchic shenanigans are indeed forced in certain improvised scenes, and it’s a strange L.A. where most of the characters speak in thick New Yawkese, but there’d never been anything like it at the time of its release, and though it takes a little work, with patience and good will it’s well worth the effort.
Sheila Levine Is Dead And Living In New York (1975)2A naive and sheltered girl from Harrisburg (Jeannie Berlin) tries to make it in the big(ger) city and falls in love with the first jerk she beds (Roy Scheider), though he has other plans. Berlin is an extremely appealing performer (Elaine Benes was clearly inspired by her dancing skills here, and when she orders a frozen sloe gin fizz, you just know she's really thinking “malaga cooler”), but she, and the whole film, are very poorly directed by Sidney J. Furie, with dark and lifeless visuals, jarring continuity errors, unmotivated characterizations, and a script full of inanities. I have no idea if the source material is any good, but this has all the appeal of a one-night-run off-off-Broadway bomb. Nice to hear the Herman and Katnip music though.
Between The Lines (1977)2Young journalists at an independent Boston paper are both idealistic enough to believe in their craft, and ambitious enough to follow the money, but mostly, base enough to engage in petty jealousies and sexual manipulation while a media conglomerate comes along to eat them all for breakfast. Some of the improvised dialogue is smart, but much is stilted, while the music is shockingly unhip even for the pre-punk era in which it takes place. Still, what a cast! Jeff Goldblum, Bruno Kirby, Jill Eikenberry, Michael J. Pollard, John Heard, and especially, the incredible Gwen Welles. Pleasant but inconsequential, with the feel of a tv movie hoping to be parlayed into a series.
Showing Up (2022)4“What have I done to deserve this?” A funny and jaundiced squint at Portland as we become acquainted with a talented sculptor (Michelle Williams) contending with day-to-day indignities at her rural arts school, with her infuriating landlord (an excellent Hong Chau), with her mentally ill brother (John Magaro) and with her emotionally aloof parents (Maryann Plunkett and Judd Hirsch). As with most Kelly Reichardt films, the pacing is slow, the dialogue is spare, the characters are withdrawn, and everything smacks of a satisfying realism. But unlike most of her films, this one takes humorous potshots at some of her adopted city’s more self-absorbed denizens. (The ever-under-utilized Amanda Plummer is terrific as always in a tiny part.)
True Love (1989)4Like any decent New York slice (be it of pizza or of life), Nancy Savoca’s debut True Love needs no fancy toppings to embellish its deliciousness. Annabella Sciorra, Ron Eldard, and a terrific stable of support (Suzanne Costallos is a standout) do great work in this vivid portrait of Italian Bronx life as two families prepare for nuptials. It’s warm, funny, engaging, infuriating, heartbreaking, and it rings true to life and true to love.
Fred & Vinnie (2011)3World-class mensh Fred Stoller, playing himself as a barely-getting-by comedian on the fringe of the dreaded industry in Hollywood, lives a lonely and sad-sack life, sporadically enlivened by regular phone calls from an old east coast friend who has long ago given up trying to properly engage with the world. After Fred agrees to put him up until he lands a job in the city of dreams, he realizes that the two work far better as long-distance phone buddies, but Fred is simply too decent a guy to kick him out. Wisely, the film stays true to reality, never devolving into sentiment or outrageousness. The acting and production are second rate, but the film’s good intentions and sincerity are unassailable.
Household Saints (1993)4Based on the novel by Francine Prose, Nancy Savoca’s third feature traces the lineage of a Little Italy family across three generations, coming to focus on the sad trials of a daughter of the 60s (the always great Lili Taylor) who lives in a dreamworld apparently unaffected by the social turbulence all around her (the Vietnam War is never even mentioned), but tormented by a turbulence within, her mental illness both obscured by and manifested as her religious belief, while her parents (Vincent D’Onofrio and Tracey Ullman) are far too limited (in their own individual ways) to see the truth. Though it possesses elements of both comedy and surrealism, it is, overall, a very sad and affecting drama. Savoca herself has been rarely allowed to speak with her own luminous voice ever since. Also, very sad.
Tetris (2023)2Garish and obnoxiously presented (with a grating lead performance by Taron Egerton, while Sofia Lebedeva is a poorly drawn character as his translator) Tetris is nonetheless a fast moving and gripping (though no doubt highly embellished and whitewashed) story of Henk Rogers, the businessman who brought the titular video game to the West from the Soviet Union. It’s got “made for cable” hand prints all over it, but it’s running time passes rather painlessly until everything collapses in its ridiculous final act. Moral of the story: you really can buy happiness.
Asteroid City (2023)2Smugness and disdain rule in Wes Anderson’s deadpan-fest (2023 edition) Asteroid City. The director opts for a Roadrunner-cum-Flintstones visual palette with a color scheme inspired by old "greetings from..." postcards, in this (non-)story of a science fair and an alien visitation in the sun-bleached southwest desert. Many characters' facial templates seem to be taken from Pam Dawber’s terrible performance in Altman’s A Wedding: vapid with eyes bugged out. Worst of all, there’s not a laugh to be had. Bryan Cranston does Ted Koppel; everyone else does Sheldon Cooper. Insufferable.
Five Easy Pieces (1970)3This is like two different films slapped together. The first, carelessly assembled, is of a bitter and under-achieving black-sheep (Jack Nicholson) who’s basically an absolute schmuck who treats everyone he encounters, especially his goodhearted but vapid girlfriend (Karen Black), like crap. He continues to be an absolute schmuck in the much more subtle and complex second, but we do get some insight into why he's so remote and alienated when we meet his family, cultured, sophisticated, but, in Nicholson’s view, hopelessly removed from the salt of the earth: he won't be happy anywhere. Well-acted by all, but very downbeat, and an unfortunate too-literal soliloquy by Nicholson near the end detracts unnecessarily.
Easy Rider (1960)4Calm Peter Fonda and high strung Dennis Hopper are on their hippie/rebel go-nowhere bikes, and come to hook up with forward-thinking Jack Nicholson in the vast American Vietnam western desert, where they bring their counter-cultural grass-and-acid-fueled worldview to both the like-minded, and to the appalled locals. It’s a rather remarkable interplay of the naively optimistic and the down-home cynical (though you get to choose which side is which). The visuals are superb, the lighting, the editing, the extravagant camera work. For the moment, never mind its era-defining import; it’s fine film-making.
In The Mood For Love (2000)2What a breathtakingly gorgeous production! The color schemes, the cinematography, the sets, the lighting, the costumes, they’re all simply sumptuous, but alas, the totality is merely an exercise in style, for it’s just a standard and bare-boned tale of infidelity with a threadbare and highly schematized script in which the lead characters are deadpan, morose, and uninteresting, thus reducing viewer affection for them and hence diminishing the overall dramatic impact; a movie to be looked at not listened to (although some non-native Shanghainese on display is rather impressive; far more so than Nat King Cole’s Spanish!).
The Round Up (2010)2The round-up and deportation to their deaths of 13,000 Parisian Jews by Pétain and his popular Hitlerite regime. A solid production, but it comes up significantly short dramatically, structurally, and in terms of its intended reconciliation with history. Of course, we can’t expect a film from France to be fully upfront about the extent of its people’s complicity: its main focus is on a saintly Catholic nurse and an upbeat oh-so-Aryan-looking Jewish boy (so much for “the other”, I guess), and missing are the millions in “civil society” who were unhinged with glee at the mass murder of their “Christ-killing” neighbors. I guess a little “historical revisionism” is good for the digestion (rich diet over there).
Bergman Island (2021)2Potentially interesting exploration of the fetishization/monetization of a dead artist—Ingmar Bergman—as if he were Elvis Presley or Michael Jackson, and the fanboys and fangirls who flock to his island retreat to pretty much sniff the furniture for traces of his farts, as locals rightly scoff. We follow a couple, a director (Tim Roth, slick and glib), and a screenwriter (Vicky Krieps, clunky and slurry), though the story gets sidetracked by the screenplay she is working on, which is as uninvolving as the main tale; both are rather superficial and unfocused ruminations on art and love. Nice to see Bergman’s beautiful home though. I wonder what the furniture smells like...
Things To Come (2016)4A family drama of, by, and for adults. A middle-aged philosophy instructor (Isabelle Huppert) contends with a series of upheavals in both her personal and professional life, but possesses the strength, the intelligence, and the wisdom to handle them with relative ease and grace, in particular, patiently rebuffing members of the younger generation who advise her to tap into rage, and seek justice by extreme measures (as they live the good life getting high at their countryside dacha); she’d rather try to teach them by example that humanism and good will towards others is the better way. A very mature outing by young filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve, rendered with subtlety and distinction.
Children Of The Corn (1984)2A couple gets lost in an agricultural wasteland and encounters a group of strange children who are involved in some sort of Christian murder cult. Though it’s laughably terrible in just about every way and dreadfully performed by all involved, it does effectively capture the awful and unrelenting bleakness of the rural Midwest, and Jonathan Elias’ lively scoring may prompt its drowning viewers to pucker their lips to just above water level. Clearly inspired by Star Trek’s Miri, it just as clearly inspired Ari Aster’s Midsommar.
The Hustle (2019)1Obesity gags! Homosexuality gags! Misandry gags! I’d laugh along...if any of them were even remotely funny, that is. Wow what a dreadful screenplay by Jac Schaeffer for this second remake of Bedtime Story—so poorly structured, so arrythmically paced, so undercooked—a vehicle for Rebel Wilson (in the Marlon Brando/Steve Martin role if you can believe it), a performer who, as evidenced herein at least, has no discernible talent, appeal, or intelligence. Really, I mean none. As for first-time director Chris Addison, well, he’s the real con artist here: how in the world did he get this thing bankrolled? I feel dirty.
River Of Grass (1994)3Tales of young losers/lovers on the run from the law have a long and impressive Hollywood history, though River of Grass seems to take Malick’s Badlands as practically its sole source of inspiration. But sympathetic sociopathy is something extremely difficult to pull off, and the film largely fails in this crucial sense: the characters are thuggish and hateful. Moreover, it's straitjacketed by its rigid adherence to the questionable trendy stylistic mores of the era in which it was made: “indie”/mumbly/deadpan. Fortunately for us, director Kelly Reichardt has subsequently succeeded in spades in finding her own voice. (Some viewers may be put off by the indiscernible intent of its jarring finale; I suspect that the first-time director just didn't have an ending, and had to think of something quick.)
Joy Ride (2001)3Two young guys driving cross country prank the wrong trucker. The first forty-five minutes of this low-budget road thriller are simply fantastic: tense, nerve-wracking, and downright nail-biting. It then unwisely cools down in Act Two, never fully regaining its momentum or plausibility in its once-again revved-up Act Three. Spielberg, in Duel, never made a mistake like that. The acting is nothing special, but this Joy Ride is still very much a trip worth taking.
You Kill Me (2007)4Pitch-black comedy of a Polish alcoholic hit man from Buffalo (Ben Kingsley) sent to San Francisco to dry out...or else!...as things fall apart for “The Family” back home. Terrifically cast (Téa Leoni as his love interest, Phillip Baker Hall as his boss, Luke Wilson as his AA sponsor, Bill Pullman as his handler, Dennis Farina as the Irish mobster) and smartly written with plenty of laugh-out-loud bits and one-liners, as well as an absurdist streak in the matter-of-fact handling of his horrifying work (plausibility is hardly a major priority here, but no matter).
The Delta (1996)3A timid middle class Memphis boy is coping with being gay when he hooks up with a half-Black Vietnamese guy ten years his senior, a seasoned player who’s feisty and rebellious. As the story shifts exclusively to the latter, we come to see just how troubled he is, and reflect on how remarkably fortunate the former turns out to have been. Apart from a fine lead performance by Thang Chan, the acting is quite wobbly, and though the feel is mostly rather true-to-life, offering effective if obvious commentary on race and sexuality, some viewers may be put off by the indiscernible intent of its jarring finale; I suspect that first-time director Ira Sachs just didn't have an ending, and had to think of something quick.
Blood Simple (1984)2A murder-for-hire goes wrong. Only M. Emmet Walsh brings any life to his character in this cliché-suffused and crashingly hollow stylistic exercise in cartoon noir/horror with soporific pacing, still-birth pauses, absurd character reactions, and painfully poor line-readings (especially by Samm-Art Williams). Ugly and unappealing in just about every way a movie can be. Early John Dahl did this sort of thing so much better.
The Loveless (1981)4Odd, highly stylized little fifties-set art film of bikers at a layover in a sleepy Georgia backwater on their way to Orlando, with a shoulda-been-a-breakout-performance by downtown rockabilly rebel Robert Gordon. Visually and intellectually compelling but dramatically cold: while it plays on hot-button booze, bikes, sex, leather, violence, and cold war paranoia, its characters are sacrificed to the icy if fascinating mood. Kathryn Bigelow’s feature debut; terrific songs by Mr. Gordon; John Lurie did the underscoring.
The Battle Of Algiers (1966)5Gillo Pontecorvo’s stunningly accomplished quasi-neorealist masterpiece is a brutal and spectacular feast for both the senses and the intellect, focusing its lens on the agonizing struggle for national liberation from French Christo-imperialist thugs by the FLN, a gang of Algerian Islamo-fascist scoundrels. There’s no one to root for since neither side has any interest in bringing democracy, freedom, and liberalism to the people, which makes its explication of the human condition all the more harrowing. And though Pontecorvo makes it clear where his sympathies ultimately lie, well, George McGovern (for one) understood the folly of “self-rule at any cost” when he petitioned the State Department to intervene in Democratic Kampuchea.
Morning Glory (2010)2Rachel McAdams plays a spunky young TV news producer (and you know how Lou Grant felt about spunk!) who's hired to turn around a dumb, low-rated morning show by dumbing things down even further, and allows the medium to become the message when she hires a Dan Rather-like self-important curmudgeon who ridicules the show on air (Harrison Ford). Though Diane Keaton as his co-host does manage to rise above the muck, and it does have its share of laughs, it’s way overplayed, it has a terrible selection of songs on the soundtrack, and its message that infotainment is perfectly fine as a replacement for the news is deeply offensive. Yes, as usual, I’m with Lou Grant.
Get Crazy (1983)4Get Crazy is Allan Arkush’s delightfully spirited, wildly anarchic, endearingly amateurish, and rather embellished reminiscence about his time at the Fillmore East and a big bash New Year’s show that nogoodnik real estate suits intend to sabotage. It good-naturedly spoofs The Runaways, GG Allin, Billy Idol, Bob Dylan, and Terry Riley (though Arkush may very well have been referencing others), while the soundtrack boasts rarities from Sparks, Ramones, Marshall Crenshaw, and Lou Reed. Funniest bit: “entering the men’s room”. The drug humor is DOA, but still, a really good romp.
The Spirit Of The Beehive (1973)2Narratively incoherent series of images (some quite striking, especially the interiors) of two little girls and others in a small Spanish town that engenders absolutely zero emotional engagement; tedious, emotionless, and thoroughly disposable.
The Window (1949)4Terrific thriller in which an uptown tenement boy—a teller of tall tales—witnesses a murder, but his parents don’t believe him. Primo noir that superbly captures the frustrations all children endure when dealing with the adult world, while the neighborhood el and the condemned ruin in particular lend themselves perfectly to the lighting, texture, and shadow that are so crucial to the genre’s stylistic aspirations. It starts like Rear Window and ends like Oliver!! Wow what a climax! Child actor Bobby Driscoll (in a fine performance) was just one of so many children more or less murdered by the Hollywood machine. What a despicable industry.
Dark Water (2005)2Nowadays, when foreign directors go to Hollywood, they almost always go Hollywood. The Brazilian Walter Salles establishes an oppressive, mucky, murky, and moldy mood in this haunted house tale set in a 1960’s-built brutalist apartment block on the East River’s Roosevelt Island, but that’s pretty much the only thing this remake has going for it. The protagonist has the standard back-story of abuse, her daughter is cute and cuddly and precocious, and all the men who have control over her destiny are creepy and disengaged (except her lawyer, in a smartly-written part). Nothing to see here, folks.
Behind The Sun (2001)4Ismail Kadare’s novel about the Ghegs of northern Albania, their bleak lives and their senseless blood feuds, is relocated to the desolate northern Brazilian drylands of the early twentieth century in Walter Salles’ moving filmization: a young boy and his older brother, both yearning for more than their backward peasant upbringing can offer, are entrapped by tradition and honor from which there seems no escape. Redolent of Days of Heaven, a golden hue pervades the striking scenery as the little boy relates his trials in voice-overs; a circus even comes to town. Moving, lyrical, and beautiful, yet it does not spare the viewer from violence and tragedy.
The Changeling (1980)3Impressively assembled supernatural murder mystery of a New York composer (George C. Scott) who loses his wife and daughter in a car crash, relocates to Seattle, and purchases, well, a haunted house. Who is trying to communicate with him from beyond the dead? With local historian Trish Van Devere’s help, he narrows in on a suspicious politician who may have the answer (Melvyn Douglas; particularly fine). Well-acted, well-shot, and well-lit, it would have worked even better as a straight mystery rather than being tricked out with all the ghost shenanigans.
The Haunting Of Julia (1977)3Yet another chiller on Mia Farrow’s resumé, The Haunting of Julia treads a middle ground between the supernatural Rosemary’s Baby, and the straight genre exercise See No Evil. It’s best interpreted as psychological horror, as Farrow’s character endures the choking death of her daughter, and becomes haunted—psychologically? Supernaturally?—by the image of a blond little girl. Though the unwieldy story—involving a medium, a hipster, lesbian spinsters, a drunk, an effete piano salesman, a dementia patient, and a house where another little girl lost her life—somehow manages to hold together, and the mood is quite effective, the gruesomeness and frequency of the violence detracts; it doesn’t hold a candle to Don’t Look Now. Excellent scoring by Colin Towns.
An Elephant Sitting Still (2018)2The promising if over-studied/under-nourished debut from young filmmaker Hu Bo—about everyone screwing over everyone else up and down and left and right in a small northern Chinese city (family, friends, acquaintances, rivals)—is so mumbly and dour and belabored in its pacing, it is, at times, unintentionally comical. It’s a Munchian Scream that may be cinematographically competent, but is utterly contrived and hopelessly superficial: across its four hour length, not a single smile is cracked, unless as a gesture of ridicule or condescension. Depression (imbued in every character herein) is indeed a horror, but art must do more than ruminate solely on that awful truth; crucially, Hu fails in conjuring sympathy for his creations. Still, it’s a terrible shame that he never gave himself the chance to develop a little wisdom about humanity, and about art; he may have had it in him.
Rock City: The Life We Live (2023)4Well-made and informative documentary of the history of rock and roll, and later, rock, in The Hague, focusing on five of the town's most notable personalities—Rudy Bennett (The Motions), Joop Roelofs & Peter Vink (Q65), Nicko Christiansen (Livin' Blues), and Hans Vandenburg (Gruppo Sportivo)—none of whom, alas, had a significant impact at the international level.
After Hours (1985)5A perfect black comedy, After Hours is a brilliantly directed, written, and performed, razor-sharp, vacuum-sealed ouroboros nightmare about an uptown button-down computer operator headed to Soho for a hookup that goes very very bad indeed. The quick editing and the extensive track shooting add a comic book element to the almost funhouse-level visuals, as we watch, in hysterics, his crescendoing paranoia and persecution. Brilliant comic turns by Rosanna Arquette, Linda Fiorentino, Teri Garr, and Catherine O’Hara, while Griffin Dunne underplays to perfection. Forget Wicked, After Hours is the real flipside to The Wizard Of Oz. Surrender Dorothy! Double bill: Odd Man Out.
Good Time (2017)3Smart and intense performances are the highlight of Good Time, in which an amoral odd-man-out lowlife and his developmentally disabled little brother contend with the aftermath of their robbing a bank. The older one eludes capture, proceeding to scheme, hoodwink, and form temporary alliances as he tries to free little one, in the hospital to treat injuries sustained in a jail fight. Queens’ neon-lit after-hours mean streets are well-shot (especially from above), and most of the wild and unexpected interactions come off as quite credible (only Jennifer Jason Leigh, in a tiny part, comes off as mannered). Impressive film-making.
Odd Man Out (1947)5Politics, violence, religion, and their excruciatingly human consequences are set in high relief in Carol Reed’s inky urban masterpiece set in a Belfast night of long shadows and rain-slicked cobblestone streets, where Irish nationalist Johnny McQueen (James Mason), wounded and on the lam after a robbery, contends with the anguished choices forced upon those whose paths he crosses, all with their own fears, their own motives, their own schemes, until, in the end, he is reduced to a mere symbol. Masterful! A cinematic classic! Double bill: On The Waterfront.
Meanwhile (2011)2Or "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Planted somewhere in the existential terrain between Inside Llewyn Davis and After Hours, Meanwhile follows a down-on-his-luck middle-aged-hipster jack-of-all-trades do-gooder up and down the island trying to scrounge a few bucks and get back on track. Manhattan looks good, but everything here is so contrived, its string of insufficiently intertwined feather-light little vignettes so lacking in authenticity, and it’s all so poorly performed, that I just didn’t care.
Malignant (2021)2Pauline Kael (for one) knew that Gore Horror is just a sub-genre of Comedy, it’s inherent silliness rendering it powerless to tap into our fears, and so it can succeed only to the extent that it tickles our funnybone; when it takes itself seriously, it’s doomed to failure. For most of its running time, Malignant (extremely derivative of George Romero’s The Dark Half)—a workmanlike body horror flick about a woman who may or may not be responsible for a series of gruesome murders—goes through the standard horror motions (a damsel in a dark house, foul weather, bumps in the night, unreliable electricity). It only comes to comedic life in its teratomaniacal final act. If you can endure its soporific Acts I and II, it might be worth your while.
The Dark Half (1993)3After a promising start, this flirtation with mainstream mind-and-matter horror by George Romero gets bogged down in a story that is both under-developed and increasingly incoherent. A fetus in fetuis removed from the brain of a little boy who grows up to become a writer of literary fiction. Meanwhile, the fetus comes to manifest itself as a hack writer of populist trash, and starts murdering those who would interfere with his success. The old story of artists’ struggle with being true to their creations is played out in typical Stephen King fashion (he wrote the source material, which was likely more successful than are the proceedings herein). Timothy Hutton is good in a dual role that nudges this silliness into the win column.
Avatar: The Way Of Water (2022)2Earthlings invade the alien paradise Pandora for financial gain...again (just bigger, longer, and uncut this time). James Cameron apparently did not get the memo that the cinematic arts (note the plural) are not a zero-sum game: wonder and intrigue in one domain (here, the visual) do not require their lack in all others (meanwhile, even the visuals have lost their novelty value). The story is banal, the scripting is insipid, and Nav’i social culture is exactly like Hollywood’s notion of 21st Century America, just dolled up in alien drag (two strains, evolutionarily radically divergent, though linguistically identical!). With all that money at his disposal, Cameron could have hired a team of readers to tap the science fiction greats, along with some decent writers, to create a fascinating alien society, and a novel approach to metaphorizing our own world’s troubles. Instead, he opted for LCD greed and sloth: sinful.
John Wick (2014)2Once, in LA Koreatown, my car was stolen. He stole my fuckin’ Hyundai Excel, man! And there was a little stuffed raccoon in the trunk, man! It was gift from a friend! So what did I do? I loaded up on guns, tracked down the motherfucker, and blew his fuckin’ brains out, along with those of all his ethnically-inclined affiliates. And you know what? They didn’t even make a Hollywood movie about it, the bastards! (In actuality, I reported it to the police, the car was soon recovered. The culprit, a loser by the name of David Sears, left his diary in the back seat, and all he wrote about was how his feet smelled. But I’m not Keanu Reeves, and so, yeah, they didn’t make a movie about it. Damn, I coulda been a millionaire if they'd made my story into a pile of Hollywood trash like this.)
A Serious Man (2009)1Two aliens born of the same mother arrive at earth wondering, hmm, who are these Jewish people? They study Christian and Muslim texts to get to the heart of the matter, assemble their data, return home, and present the results of their ethnographic investigation in the form of A Serious Man, a story about all the horrible and hateful and physically repulsive Jews they’d read about. So, this is why earthlings hates the Jews, the alien planet concludes. And that’s why this movie—and everything else those two brothers do—has absolutely nothing to do with human beings, Jews or otherwise. Some nice mid-mod sets, though.
Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965)3Combining elements of Dial M For Murder, The Man Who Knew Too Much, and a later Hitchcock classic, Otto Preminger gets terrific characterizations from Noel Coward, Laurence Olivier, and Martita Hunt in Bunny Lake Is Missing, in which lackluster leads Carol Lynley and Keir Dullea report to the London police that her child has gone missing on her first day of nursery school. A fair amount of intrigue and suspense are built, and it's filmed extremely well, but everything completely unravels in its poorly conceived final act. Clive Revill underplays brilliantly in a small role; terrific titles by Saul Bass.
Diary Of The Dead (2007)2So where do you seek refuge as the dead are coming back to life to eat you? Why, in a hospital of course! That’s the level of intelligence on display in George Romero’s Diary of the Dead. Instead of playing to his obvious strengths, Romero here is pandering to the post-modern self-referentialism of the “Paranormal-Scream-Project” elementary school of cinema; cue the nauseous film-within-a-film hand-held camerawork. A scattershot array of modern society’s many ills is touched upon but then left dangling, and the violence is neither clever enough nor funny enough to compensate. Come on George, act your age; you’ve done much to be proud of.
Paul Is Dead (2000)3In 1980, a little German Beatles fan becomes obsessed with all the band’s mysterious “clues” about Paul’s covered-up death. It nicely captures the obsessive fandom of that now-gone era of radio shows and mix-tapes (real mix-tapes), and covers all the clues that so many of us really did obsess over in our youth. He even thinks he’s spotted Paul’s killer, driving the very Bug featured on the Abbey Road front cover. You’ll hear Paul and John and The Beatles of course, but also some nice period hits by the likes of Fischer-Z, The Clash, and others. Though it’s sweet-natured fun, it does ramble a bit, and the ending borders on the offensively trite.
Gone With The Wind (1939)5Victor Fleming’s second masterpiece of 1939, GWTW is a timeless, sprawling and sumptuously realized melodrama, tracing the young life of an infuriating, manipulative, but industrious and courageous woman (a magnificent Vivien Leigh) from the dawn of the Civil War into Reconstruction, who pines for one man (Leslie Howard) but marries another, then another, then another (Clark Gable), in the south (“A land of grace and plenty”…and, oh yeah, of slavery, too; the great Hattie McDaniel plays “Mammy”). Artistically triumphant in every aspect of its production and completely absorbing from start to finish, its four hour running time flies by.
Little Fugitive (1953)4Technically primitive but delightful and emotionally resonant movie of a little city boy who, his mother away on an emergency, steals away for a day at Coney Island. All is viewed from his perspective: the amusements’ freaky horrors and wonders, the towering adults, the brass rings, the skeeball, the jetty and the sand, and everywhere, the sugary treats. It all reminds me of my own early days at Asbury Park. Little Fugitive is an absolute enchantment for those whose memories it summons. It’s playful, wistful, and lovely. Does such human innocence exist anymore?
The Plot Against Harry (1969)4Michael Roemer’s delightfully offbeat 1969 film of Harry Plotnick (Martin Priest), a low-energy low-level racketeer just out of jail and trying to get back into the business, but finding that Jews have been ousted by his old neighborhood’s other minorities. His family and friends are torn between helping him get on the straight and narrow, or giving up on him altogether. Rich in Jewish New York atmosphere, what its cast lacks in acting chops it more than compensates for in charm, warmth and low-key humor; Priest and Maxine Woods as his ex-wife are standouts.
Tokyo Story (1953)5War and social change create conflict across three generations in Ozu’s masterpiece, Tokyo Story: aging parents visit from the countryside, and are more of a burden than a joy to their busy, modernized children, save the poor and goodhearted widow of their son, and the one daughter who never left home; money and urbanization dehumanize. Yes, the themes are hit hard, but the unfolding drama is so delicate, so tenderly rendered, and the production so stripped of extraneous elements, it all goes in like a knife to the heart. Double bill: its inspiration, the even greater Make Way For Tomorrow.
Top Gun (1986)2Even the title is gay. Gerry Anderson meets Joe Eszterhas in this sluggishly-paced and dodgily-performed military-set love story. Will maverick Maverick (not to be confused with Major Major: Tom Cruise) conquer his personal demons to become a star pilot and establish a romance with his astrophysicist trainer Charlie? (Relax guys, she’s a woman: Kelly McGillis.) Ah, the glories of war and hot bods: perfect together! Classic line: “On the count of three, break hard right...three, two, one. Break right! ”Poor underscoring by Giorgio Moroder affiliate Harold Faltermeyer; disorienting aerial photography by Jeffrey L. Kimball.
Predator (1987)3Ahnold is like the Ringo of movies: goofy and charismatic, excellent at what he does, keenly aware of his limitations. In Predator, he and his shoot-em-up team go to the jungle where they encounter an alien with heat-sensitive “vision” who kills humans (for sport? For practice?), as our hero comes to discover both the proverbial and the literal (and highly implausible) chinks in its armor. So-so acting, so-so plotting, so-so visuals; dumb scripting, dumb action, but also dumb fun, though heavily influenced by Alien. Newsflash: big, vulgar, testosterone-fueled killer idiots like these really do use nasty words like “faggot” and “pussy”.
Prey (2022)2Low-budget actioner in which a group of young Comanches are hunting in the mountains when they encounter a big monster of alien origin able to deploy a flawed cloaking device and a bunch of cool gadget-y weapons. There’s a lot of ugly violence, but not much in the way of character development, plot, acting, or especially, intrigue or suspense-building (it’s all rather flat)...and the animation is poor.
Central Station (1998)5An instant classic; an achingly beautiful film of a selfish, cynical, and embittered woman who somehow warms to a young boy who’s just lost his mother in a road accident outside Rio’s central station. Against her character, she accompanies him on the long journey to his deadbeat father’s home in the provinces. Nearly as much an unsentimentalized travelogue depicting Brazil’s poverty and illiteracy as it is a story of love and its mysterious ways, it’s crowned by a bravura performance from Fernanda Montenegro. Jacques Morelenbaum and Antonio Pinto’s piano-and-strings based scoring is stirring and unforgettable.
Bernice Bobs Her Hair (1976)3The redoubtable Joan Micklin Silver oversees this telfilmization of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ever-relevant story of teenage alienation, 1920s edition. Its dry wit is much overshadowed by its sad commentary on the crushing pressures on young people to socially conform; Whit Stillman clearly took note. Leads Veronica Cartwright, Bud Cort, and especially Shelley Duvall are terrific.
Top Gun: Maverick (2022)1Tom Cruise, “the fastest man alive,” is recruited to help take out the Iranian bomb program (Iran’s top secret code name: The Enemy). Nails are bitten and seats are sat upon at their edges as we wonder, will he somehow overcome his personal demons and save humanity? It all looks like a TV commercial for Budweiser, only a really good one, I mean, like, even for the Superbowl or something maybe, ya know? But seriously, when manure like this makes money, I genuinely lose hope for society. Best line: “Save it, Lisa!”
Maborosi (1995)4After the inexplicable suicide of her husband, an Osaka woman remarries and moves to a northern fishing village. Kore-eda’s remarkably mature and assured debut feature is suffused with naturalism—striking lighting, stunning imagery, ominous sounds of the ocean—while his camera shies away from prying into the personal lives of its subjects. An element of cinematic intimacy thus is lost, though only out of a deep respect for his characters’ innermost thoughts and feelings.
Mulholland Drive (2001)2A Marilyn Munster-like woman arrives at a 1313 Mockingbird Way-like Hollywood. There isn't anything recognizably human about this odd-for-God’s-sake hokum by king-of-the-genre (what genre?) David Lynch. Are there likable, relatable characters? Are there feelings or situations with which one can identify? Does the story possess an internal logic and/or a progression that might engender viewer curiosity? No, no and no. Moody and stylish, but to no discernible end. Rubbish.
3 Women (1977)5Far more a nightmare than a mere dream, Robert Altman's endlessly fascinating pastel-hued exploration of switch-and-mix identity among three damaged women in the California desert (Shelley Duvall, Sissy Spacek, Janice Rule) is sometimes funny, always depressing, and eternally inscrutable. So jarring, so surreal, it's as if each scene, each human engagement, were overtly irrealis-inflected. Duvall in particular, as the vapid and cruelly-treated linchpin of the titular trio, is simply phenomenal.
Lord Of The Ants (2022)5Based on true events. In 1960s Italy, an arrogant public intellectual and his impressionable, dazzled young student find romance together, and the Christian Democrats, the Communist press (apart from one well-meaning reporter), and, no doubt, the Catholic Church itself, conspire to ruin both their lives, solely because the student isn’t a woman. One of our greatest living directors, Gianni Amelio never allows stylistics to interfere with his tender exploration of his characters’ sublimely subtle emotional lives. Superbly presented.
Resurrection (1980)4Richly detailed and deeply humanistic story of a country woman (Ellen Burstyn, superb) who acquires healing powers after surviving a terrible accident (love interest Sam Shepard is best ignored). The only reasonable way to approach the so-called supernatural is to acknowledge that science has, quite simply, yet to provide an answer, and that’s exactly how she accounts for her abilities, resisting those superstitious Christians who pressure her to acquiesce and acknowledge Jesus’ supposed rule. A fable for our times: would that more of us speak out against the anti-science, anti-humanist Leftist and Rightist ideologues who now abound. Gentle, moving, and terrific.
Human Centipede 3 (Final Sequence)1There’ve been plenty of incompetent non-actors who've appeared in films, but an incompetent non-director helming one? That’s a new low in inconsequentiality. The Human Centipede 3 consists a formless sequence of ravings and thrashings about by a Joe Arpaio-like prison warden, aperiodically interrupted by a few brief spasms of cartoon-level violence. It’s not for kids, nor is it for adults...or adolescents, either.
Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)4A middle-class Brussels widow keeps her home as meticulously as she keeps to her routine, while she takes care of her remote but obedient son, and, jarringly, turns a daily trick, all as the invasive city lights and sounds trickle in through her windows. Her life is not emotionally rewarding, but it feels safe, passing without major incident, and despite her deep isolation, the film’s gentle rhythms, and its static and stately angles, are soothing and hypnotic...until things slowly (though in the context of her methodicalness, sometimes heavy-handedly) begin to unravel. We wonder what trauma has befallen her, but alas, the film takes an unwise turn in its overheated and psychologically evasive finale. Still, deeply, deeply affecting. (More or less remade as Abba’s ominous 1982 single “The Day Before You Came”.)
Primal Fear (1996)2Like a Freudian, anyone who engages in “multiple personality disorder/dissociative identity order” diagnoses is almost certainly a quack. Moreover the supposed affliction cannot be deployed for an insanity defense. That doesn’t stop Hollywood from riding roughshod over science and the law whenever there's a chance to make a quick buck. The Archbishop of Chicago is brutally murdered. Did a Kentucky mountain boy do it? Or a corrupt official? Or maybe….someone else? In its over two hour running time, there’s not a single original idea or honest element to this vapid, characterless, sensationalist junk. Laura Linney’s the bitchy prosecutor (flat), Richard Gere’s the arrogant defense lawyer (bland), and Edward Norton’s the intelligence-challenged defendant (mannered).
The Ritz (1976)2Give director Richard Lester credit for providing the great Jack Weston a starring role, but take it away for his squandering the even greater Kaye Ballard’s talents in a tiny one. A Cleveland garbage mogul set to inherit half his in-laws' business hides out in an NYC gay bathhouse when his brother-in-law puts out a contract on him. A one-joke farce, really, as straights and gays mix it up in a series of clunkily choreographed set pieces; hilarity doesn't quite ensue. Rita Moreno comes off best as a thick-accented bathhouse performer.
Close (2022)4In Belgium, two young teenage boys don’t quite realize that they are in love with each other. One drifts into conventional boyhood; the other is devastated. A telegraphic element (in the form of too-short scenes) partially undermines our emotional connection, but the story unfolds plainly, boldly, and without sentimentality. The emotional focus is mostly on the kids, while the adults, though caring and loving, remain in the background, thus engendering an appropriate ineffability at their loss; a largely successful gambit.
Suzhou River (2000)2In Shanghai, a courier (Jia Hongsheng, not even attempting to hide his northern accent) meets an alluring young girl (Zhou Xun). He proceeds to lose her after a crime gone wrong, and then thinks he’s found her again. Nicely shot (though never conveying Shanghai’s perpetual and relentless urban crush), well-scored (though too Herrmannian), and effectively moody (though emotionally arm’s-length), it’s too derivative—of Hitchcock, of Wong—to be accused of originality. Mamahuhu.
Judy Berlin (1999)4Eric Medelsohn’s sad and lovely meditation on suburban Jewish alienation and estrangement features an absolutely stellar cast: Barbara Barrie, Bob Dishy, along with Edie Falco and Aaron Harnick (Anne Meara, Julie Kavner, and Judy Graubart appear in small parts). Especially, the magnificent Madeline Kahn is simply devastating as a flighty and self-involved mother unattuned to her son’s depressive state. The black and white photography is an odd though inconsequential artistic decision. Tender and affecting movie-making.
Uzak (2002)3Ennui along the Bosphorus. An Istanbul photographer, divorced and soured on his craft, hosts a relative from the provinces, looking for work and a good lay. Each endures a soul-hollowing loneliness. The close miking, the earth-tone palette, and the static, stately cinematography help distract from the clichés of their escalating city-boy – country-boy conflict, which, it must be noted, is handled with nuance, refinement, and even tenderness; it ends on a touchingly sad note.
Shadows And Fog (1991)3The big-name cast is mostly a delight, but the mise-en-scène is the real attraction in Woody Allen’s Kafka-in-Prague tale of a killer on the loose, the Little Man who is inexplicably recruited into his pursuit, and the circus performer who attempts to empower our nebbishe hero (Mia Farrow). Some of Allen’s mannered gesticulations are quite clever; most are tiresome, and the film lacks the intrigue required to keep things moving along. Still, the criminally under-employed Kenneth Mars is a standout, and the judicious deployment of Kurt Weill’s music is most welcome.
They Live (1988)3Rod Serling meets Clint Eastwood in this enjoyable (if rather hammy-and-cheesy) flick about aliens (in the guise of the capitalist class, or more broadly, the wealthy) who take over humanity while a down-on-his-luck rebel with a cause tries to take them down. The satire is obvious, and its tried-and-true formula (perhaps most magnificently realized as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, perhaps most notoriously as The Matrix) tickles more than it bites. Most famous for its absolutely ridiculous fight scene. Dumb fun.
War Horse (2011)2Spielberg’s War Horse is quite a spectacle. Visually, in the positive sense (it’s an absolutely gorgeous production), but dramatically in the negative. In the early twentieth century, a horse is broken by a Devon lad. But as war on the continent gets underway, it is sent into battle. One would hope the horse now becomes a MacGuffin, center stage taken over by the unfolding human tragedy, but no: we follow the horse—the horse!—over the course of the war, as its subsequent caretakers are introduced then dropped like hot potatoes (they die), and as thousands upon thousands are slaughtered in battle. Viewer disengagement is thus pretty much assured. Honestly, what was Spielberg thinking?
Downhill Racer (1969)4More than anything else, a feature about skiing needs to be bracingly, vibrantly shot and edited. Downhill Racer is, exceptionally so, by Brian Probyn and Richard Harris, respectively. Robert Redford is a shallow cocky upstart skier from a humble Colorado backwater. As his success and ego grow, his manager (the great Gene Hackman) tries in vain to bring him down to earth. Fine film-making from an era when hyperrealism reigned supreme. Technically compelling, it’s inherent emotional remoteness detracts. Michael Ritchie directs.
Night Moves (20134This gripping, tense, but also hushed and even somber thriller/character study follows three radical environmentalists as they plan, execute, and reel from the consequences of a terrorist attack at a rural Oregon Dam. Director Kelly Reichardt wisely allows us to draw our own conclusions about both their (damaged) psyches and their (dastardly) deed. All the performances are effectively naturalistic except for protagonist Jesse Eisenberg’s; his deadpan artifice disrupts the mood.
You People (2023)2It takes a rare sort of intelligence to improvise effectively, an intelligence that Suburban Homeboy Jonah Hill emphatically lacks. A Brentwood Jew and an Inglewood Black meet, and over the months, they fall in love (all off-screen, of course; these two don’t even have inorganic chemistry!). It attempts to skewer a certain type of clueless Jewish posturing (his family is ingratiatingly racist), and a certain type of clueless Black posturing (her family is self-righteously antisemitic)—isn’t that a gas?—but it fails miserably. So lazily assembled, so painful to watch.
The Ear (1970)3We observe a back-and-forth juxtaposition of (1) a long-married Czech couple returning to their home (the power’s out, many things are amiss, and they begin to reflect on the political dangers all around them as they spiral into long-simmering marital acrimony) and (2) an evening soiree of insipid though obviously dangerous apparatchiks where the nationalist propaganda is even stupider than the drink-laden carousing. They were at that party, and learned that some of their colleagues have been "canceled" (in modern "progressive" parlance). Back at home, they realize that they were too. Every action, every word, every glance, must be guarded under communism, or else; certainly, that’s why The Ear was banned until the horror subsided.
Don't Look Up (2021)2A comet is on a collision course with earth, but the politicians and the media, busy with frivolous pursuits, can’t be bothered. The humor is painfully simplistic and obvious, and the potshots follow suit. It’s as if Andy Borowitz and Tom Tomorrow collaborated on their Hollywood dream project. Utterly graceless movie-making.
World On A Wire (1973)4Cartesian epistemology is provided one of its earliest A.I.-based cinematic ruminations herein, as a research team creates a simulated reality in order to predict future societal trends—not for the betterment of mankind, but to maximize corporate profits—while the new team leader begins to suspect that reality and the simulation are not as hermetically separated as he was led to believe. It’s cleverly, intriguingly, and stylishly assembled (the sets—at once homey and disorienting—are gorgeous, as is their filming), while the philosophy is perfect for intellectually-inclined adolescents. Gloriously cynical; frighteningly prescient.
Days Of Heaven (1978)5I like to think of Days of Heaven as a collaboration among three artistic masters—Ennio Morricone, Néstor Almendros, and Linda Manz—brought together in a seat-of-his-pants way by Terrence Malick. The story, of a Chicago thug on the run hiding out with his girlfriend and sister as itinerant wheat harvesters in the early twentieth century Texas Panhandle, never really takes a grip on viewer emotions. Rather, it’s the assemblage of its stunningly beautiful parts; of its music, of its visuals, and of the human condition as conveyed by Manz’s devastatingly honest presence (her luminous face, her cracked, raw, and magnificently poetic improvised voice-over) that makes it timeless. Yes, Malick deserves all accolades (especially for the editing), but he’d never get the balance this perfect again.
Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (2022)2Long, staid, repetitive, and boring. There’s no cleverness in the script (and don’t get me started on the “songs”), and not only Pinocchio, but pretty much everyone, comes off as, well, wooden. The film's intent is muddled and underdeveloped: we're told that fascism is bad, but we're not told why. Does that help our kids? Who's this intended for?
Gremlins (1984)2“The Trouble With Ewoks”. A father buys his son a cuddly creature at a Chinatown shop. A disconnected series of increasingly elaborate and violent set pieces follows, with some offensive (to everybody) “Chinese wisdom” spewed at the end; poor Keye Luke! Nice to see Robby the Robot getting some work though.
Annie Hall (1977)5Stunningly original and absolutely brilliant rom-com (the term does not do the film justice) of neurotic New York Jew Woody Allen and neurotic Chippewa Falls WASP Diane Keaton. An endlessly creative and timeless character-driven comedy classic that, further, incisively captures New Yorkers’ feelings towards Los Angeles. Meanwhile, the scene in Christopher Walken’s bedroom prefigures David Lynch’s entire oeuvre. Double bill: The Way We Were.
Something Evil (1972)2“Pedestrian,” “nondescript,” and “conventional” are descriptors I could scarcely imagine deploying for a Spielberg film, but one year after his remarkable Duel, the master delivered this bland tv movie of a haunted house in the rolling hills of Bucks County, for which the terms are well-suited. Sandy Dennis is, of course, always worth watching, but—and may the gods forgive me—this can be easily skipped. It's no wonder he declined to put his name on Poltergeist, his much-improved remake of ten years later.
Patient Zero: The Myth of the AIDS Super Spreader (2019)3This chilling documentary explores the appalling indifference of both the government and the media as the AIDS epidemic seized hold, focusing on so-called “Patient Zero”, the Québécois—cooperative with the medical authorities, but also ignorant and irresponsible—who was nonsensically, obscenely, accused of single-handedly spreading the disease across the continent. His cooperation helped in establishing the vital importance of wearing condoms. Alas, the same dangerous and self-indulgent mentality of those who still refused to wear them then persists in those who refuse(d) to wear masks or get immunized against COVID-19. Personal responsibility counts: err on the side of caution!
Nope (2022)2Hungry aliens stake out territory in the California desert, and the owners of a failing horse-training ranch there try to document and monetize their situation, thus commodifying the “other”. Director Jordan Peele make many obvious references to his cinematic influences that are less clever than he thinks, while the pacing and the unimaginative visuals don't establish the requisite sense of creep or wonder. Meanwhile, a sub-plot involving a mad chimp doesn’t really integrate with the proceedings. Apart from Michael Wincott’s, the performances are good. I’d recommend The Vast Of Night over this any day.
Life Is Cheap...But Toilet Paper Is Expensive (1989)4Kaleidoscopic, nightmarish, and very funny, Wayne Wang’s back-to-the-indies fifth feature is a love/hate letter to his homeland in Hong Kong. The story, about a half-Chinese American assigned to deliver a mysterious suitcase to the Big Boss, is pretty much immaterial; just revel in its anarchic, gross-out, quick-cutting cinematic meditations on cultural displacement and personal alienation. “Hey, it’s good shit.” Double Bill: Stardust Memories! In English, Cantonese, and Mandarin.
The Automat (2021)3Fewer and fewer of us have memories of the fun and excitement of getting a serving of macaroni and cheese or a piece of pie from a literal hole in the wall, but that was the remarkable Horn and Hardart, which served good food at a good price in an egalitarian atmosphere. This niche documentary traces its rise and fall  (while whitewashing its obvious anti-union stance), with interviewees ranging from great Americans (Mel Brooks, Carl Reiner, Ruth Bader Ginsberg) to terrible Americans (Wilson Goode, Colin Powell, Howard Schultz), along with any number of the people who made it all run. A wistful trip down memory lane.
The Time Machine (2002)2H.G. Wells for dummies. Today’s audiences can’t fathom the pure joy of scientific pursuit for its own sake, so it’s a broken heart that sends the Time Traveller on his futuristic journey. Moreover, Wells’ social commentary on class-based exploitation is replaced by a trendy anti-MLK “judge people by the color of their skin, not the content of their character” race-based conflict: here it’s the “unter-races” instead of the capitalists who enjoy the good life on the surface, while the whites rather than the workers are down in the caves (though let’s not get carried away: it’s a white Christian cis-gendered heterosexual male who saves the planet—and gets the girl—of course). Though visually cluttered and conceptually threadbare, it’s mercifully short at ninety-two minutes.
Straight Time (1978)4Seedy L.A. crime-and-punishment drama in which Dustin Hoffman tries to reform himself after jail time for burglary, only to be outrageously humiliated by the criminal parole system, thus triggering his downward spiral into violence. M. Emmet Walsh is particularly good as his slimy parole officer, while Harry Dean Stanton and Gary Busey are also fine as his sleazy partners in crime. In smaller parts, Theresa Russell and a fresh-faced Kathy Bates do fine work as the women in their lives. A gripping, complex, and insightful film that manages to please both the liberal-minded in its indictment of an unjust system, and the revenge-fantasist who wants to stick it to the man.
Weird: The Al Yankovic Story (2022)2A real disappointment. Weird Al’s music and videos are witty, clever, unpredictable, and wholesome. This “biopic,” by contrast, goes a whole different route: it’s ham-fisted, clunky, unfunny, and base. (To be fair, there’s a moderately amusing spot-the-one-hit-wonder scene at a pool party.) And the fact that it’s intentionally stupid and cliched renders it not just bad, but...even worse.
Swallow (2019)2For much of its length, Swallow comes off as a poor man’s Safe. It’s an odd psychological drama of a trophy wife with pica, her hopelessly distant husband and his manipulative parents, and her incompetent and unethical therapist. Unlike Safe though, it unwisely "explains" her malady (with an oh-so-ho-hum back story). Also unlike Safe, the protagonist lacks a carefully-cultivated vulnerability, rendering her, throughout, the very sort of unsympathetic kewpie doll that first-time filmmaker Carlo Mirabella-Davis is ostensibly encouraging to "empower".
Puzzle Of A Downfall Child (1970)3A finely measured performance by Faye Dunaway is the reason to watch Jerry Schatzberg’s portrayal of an aging model, looking back on her still-young life, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. It could be the men who abused her, the cutthroat business that chewed her up, or simply her constitution. Even in her more unhinged moments, Dunaway maintains a surface-level composure yet allows her neuroses to peek through, only sometimes edging towards—though never breaching—Sandy Dennis-like mannerisms. The color scheme is mostly deep reds and burgundies, befitting the somber tone. Barry Primus, Barry Morse, Roy Scheider, and Viveca Lindfors are fine, but it’s Dunaway’s show.
Play It As It Lays (1972) 2Empty lives among the Hollywood elite. Tuesday Weld and Anthony Perkins do fine work in this highly stylized filming of the Joan Didion novel. The performances are down to earth, even gut-wrenching at times; it’s the artsy/histrionic editing that irks, and ultimately serves to alienate viewers from these alienated characters; depressing all the way through, except for it's oddly uplifting existential last line (like Nights Of Cabiria). A noble but failed experiment by director Frank Perry.
Remember My Name (1978)3An earthquake kills over a million in Budapest! No, it’s not the latest Roland Emmerich excreta-fest, just an intermittent running black gag in Alan Rudolph’s quiet, bone-dry comedy of an unbalanced woman (Geraldine Chaplin) who makes life miserable for a married couple (Anthony Perkins and Berry Berenson) and for her boss, and one of his employees (Jeff Goldblum and Alfre Woodard in small parts); an inconsequential backstory is slowly revealed in an attempt to explain her actions, but it's mostly about mood and character. A great cast is put in service to a rather oddball, deadpan slice of quasi-surreality. Its hyper-controlled tension, and Chaplin's whacked-out performance, render it an offbeat little gem.
Thief (1981)4Inky, gritty, hardboiled caper fare from the tail-end of the era when character actors who actually looked their parts and truly inhabited their roles still held some sway. James Caan stars as a driven, loyal, and, in his twisted way, honorable crook who is hired for a job. When he realizes he’s in too deep, he tries to extricate himself by taking matters into his own hands. Great support by Robert Prosky in particular, though Tuesday Weld does not get to exercise her talents, and Caan’s Chicago accent is, rather, all over the map.
Le glaive et la balance (1963)4In this dialogue-heavy law-and-order procedural, two men commit murder, but three, all with dark pasts, are caught together by the police. Who is the innocent man? Le glaive et la balance demands of its viewers patience, concentration, and a commitment to the principles of the justice system (even with all its flaws). Do you have what it takes? André Cayatte directs; Anthony Perkins, Jean-Claude Brialy, and Renato Salvatori star.
The Score (2001)4Frank Oz’s The Score succeeds because its unfolding doesn’t overwhelm us with complexity and convolution (it's a no-nonsense jewel heist flick), because the setting is interesting and well-shot (Vieux-Montréal and its bowels), and because it sustains a taut calm, not a boisterous flamboyance. While Robert De Niro and Marlon Brando are very good, Edward Norton’s perpetual teenager-like delivery belies his character's intellect, though his cerebral palsy imitation is fairly convincing; Angela Bassett has nothing to do in a small tacked-on part. Despite some “oh, come on!” groaners, it keeps you engaged all the way through, and it earns its two hour running time.
Tenderness (2017)5The destruction of two Neopolitan families, one suddenly, the other slowly. A suspiciously successful lawyer of some stature, widowed and all but estranged from his children who never forgave him for having been unfaithful to their mother, takes an interest in his new neighbors, a young family; the father suffers from anxiety. When tragedy strikes, his loneliness turns more acute, and he seeks connection by sitting vigil for the mother, now in a coma. Tenderness is a delicate meditation on the tenuousness of life and of human relations, as only Gianni Amelio can bring to the screen.
Enter Laughing (1967)3Carl Reiner’s low-key, intermittently charming, semi-autobiographical reminiscence of an outer-borough girl-crazy Jewish kid (the always-terrific Reni Santoni) and his dreams of stardom as he juggles his day job with his first stage role. It’s somewhat diffuse, far-fetched, and scenes go on too long, but its who’s who cast makes it worthwhile: Elaine May, Jack Gilford, José Ferrar, Richard Deacon, Michael J. Pollard, Don Rickles, Shelley Winters, David Opatoshu, Janet Margolin!
The Marriage Of A Young Stockbroker (1971)2A married SoCal stockbroker has a wandering eye; his wife finds out; she wants to leave him. Listless stick-figure version of The Graduate, with Richard Benjamin as Benjamin Braddock, Joanna Shimkus as Elaine, and Elizabeth Ashley as Mrs. Robinson. The performers sleepwalk through their completely unmotivated actions while delivering their lines in a slow-motion monotone. Not funny, not dramatic, not insightful; a chore to sit through.
Made For Each Other (1971)5An exceptionally well-observed comedy about two deeply neurotic New Yorkers—an Italian (Joseph Bologna) and a Jew (Renée Taylor)—who meet in group and, well, you know. In their performances and in their self-penned screenplay, the leads do a terrific job capturing the humanity and vulnerability, the intelligence and the humor, of their characters (Taylor in particular is absolute star material). A great American movie. (Double bill: Minnie And Moskowitz.)
Lovers And Other Strangers (1970)3An ensemble cast (and oh, what a cast it is: Cloris Leachman, Diane Keaton, Bob Dishy, Bea Arthur, Richard Castellano, Anne Meara and many others) explores the ins and mostly outs of sex and commitment among New York Catholics in Joseph Bologna and Renée Taylor's play. Its post-hippie emphasis on then-modern mores is hopelessy antiquated though: it’s very sexist, and you’ll hear “fag” synonymized with “degenerate”, for example. It’s not all that funny actually, and pretty much only works as a time capsule for today's audiences, but it has tender moments, the performances are good, the situations adult. Fred Karlin’s music is a plus as always.
Day Night Day Night (2007)3The banality of evil, up close and personal. The camera and miking are intense and intimate from the first shot to the last in Day Night Day Night, in which an agreeable young woman of indeterminate ethnic or religious origin volunteers for a suicide mission in Times Square, for a terrorist organization of indeterminate ideological bent. These elisions, obviously intended by director Julia Loktev to decontextualize and universalize the human capacity for evil, actually work against her m.o.: when New Yorkers hear “terrorism”, justifiably or not, their fears focus on one group and one group only, just as when TV censors bleep a word, our minds go straight to “fuck”. Still, it’s gripping and frightening, and its guerilla-filming in Times Square is quite effective.
Fight Club (1999)1It’s about a secret society dedicated to gruesome violence at both the interpersonal and societal level (Edward Norton has no screen presence; Brad Pitt has only screen presence). It’s a glorification of fascism flimsily masquerading as a cautionary tale. It’s every testosterone-fueled fourteen year old boy’s wet dream—bully and bullied alike—as they all clamor to see this mad celebration of violence, out of their parents’ view, over and over again, until it spills into the real world. May the Proud Boys he inspired come back to bite director David Fincher in his Hitlerite ass.
Staircase (1969)2Renowned stylist Stanley Donen's uncharacteristically drab, dialogue-heavy, uneventful domestic drama based on a stage play by Charles Dyer. In an otherwise Swinging London, two barber shop-owning aging queens (Richard Burton and Rex Harrison) engage in cruel bickering, begrudging loving, and living their empty lives in constant fear of being found out by the police and their ailing mothers. A few bits are warm, a few bits are funny, and many parts are very sad and bitter, but it doesn’t add up to all that much. It eventually evolved into Mike Nichols The Bird Cage (!!), though it more resembles his Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf? (!!).
Bros (2022)1Two rich white guys (well, one is Jewish; the ethnically sensitive filmmakers cue this by making him an insufferable whiner)—a David Rose-like plain dick and a David Putty-like stud—start a romance, and Darren Starr-level catty banter ensues. Poorly scripted and very poorly acted by-the-numbers rom-com laced with constant, enraged, "feel for me or else!" speechifying. Meanwhile, the "diverse" characters are relegated to the non-descript Greek chorus. Strident and garish and unappealing in every way. Oh, and they have orgies with their underpants on. Losers.
Tár (2022)4Tár is a major step onward and upward in the art of director Todd Field, previously known for his sordid New England-set dramas. Cate Blanchett stars as the titular world-renowned conductor who studied under "Lenny" Bernstein, and is the very model of a modern major art figure...until attacked by the bloodthirsty “woke” elite and brutally canceled. Apart from its completely absurd portrayal of orchestral/union practices and policies (she would never have been able to advance a newbie the way she does), and its rushed final act, it is slow, engaging, subtle, and politically and psychologically astute as it ponders the degree to which we should separate deeply flawed artists from their art. Tár is also very handsomely produced, the lighting and set designs particularly lovely.
Death At A Funeral (2007)1Wow what a bad comedy from the heretofore extremely reliable Frank Oz. A mourner’s boyfriend mistakenly drops acid at a funeral at which the deceased turns to be a closet homosexual whose lover tries to extort hush money...and the clever hijinks never start! It bottoms out when an old man shits his pants and it gets everywhere. Oddly, Steve Coogan and Russell Brand do not appear. Abominably bad screenplay by the execrable Dean Craig.
Spaceballs (1987)5With its endlessly inventive humor of both the visual and verbal varieties—both penthouse high and sewer-level low—Spaceballs, Mel Brooks' Star Wars/The Merchandizing Empire Strikes Back spoof, is a comedy classic, worthy of being watched over and over again. SCTV alumni John Candy (as Barf) and Rick Moranis (as Dark Helmet) are brilliant, practically the whole show, while non-comics Bill Pullman and Daphne Zuniga usually (though not always, alas) know their stations. Brooks, in multiple roles, delivers in spades. Best bit: when they watch themselves in the Spaceballs VHS tape (remarkably, a joke even bettered by Fran Drescher in the penultimate episode of The Nanny).
Manhunter (1986)3Michael Mann‘s filming of Red Dragon, film viewers’ introduction to Thomas Harris’ Hannibal Lecter, in which a mass serial killer with the standard backstory of abuse is tracked down by a retired cop who just can’t quit the beat, and who appeals to psycho-killer Lecter for a helping hand. It's clichéd for sure, and marred by a poorly executed finale, but it's lean, minimalist, and stylishly assembled, with effective synth-heavy scoring. Needlessly, cartoonishly, and terribly re-made (practically line-for-line) by Brett Ratner in 2002.
Nuts! (2016)3Charlatan snake oil salesman Mehmet Oz built his media empire by selling false hopes to stupid, desperate people. He then tried to escalate his power by running for public office on a radically Right platform. Nuts! tells the story of his predecessor (if not his inspiration; Oz is far too much a cultural boor to have studied the relevant history, or certainly to have learned its lesson): John Romulus Brinkley, who rose and fell in remarkably similar fashion during the depression by promising a rather unorthodox cure for impotence. In this largely animated documentary about him, director Penny Lane takes viewers along a narrative garden path for quite some time, until delivering her coup de grace. I found that annoying until I realized her strategy. I forgive her.
Bedtime Story (1964)3TV director Ralph Levy’s inventive, twisty-turny comedy of two swindlers on the French Riviera—one a crude American GI (Marlon Brando), the other a suave British expat (David Niven)—and their hate-hate relationship as they compete for a big payoff from an unsuspecting woman (Shirley Jones). It’s quite funny, and Brando and especially Niven are good, but neither it nor they can compare to Steve Martin and Michael Caine in the Frank Oz remake, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. That one—with its wicked final twist—is an all-time comedy classic!
The Ballad Of Buster Scruggs (2018)1Technical proficiency in service to emotionally vacuous skulduggery (six bleak and very predictable tales of the Old West; yes, I get it, we’re an awful species and we deserve to die horribly). It is of a piece with the entirety of the Coen Brothers' misanthropic oeuvre: lacking sufficient psychological insight to write real characters, they caricaturize their creations in order to gleefully and with no subtlety knock them down. There’s no humanity here, or in anything else they do. Saul Rubinek and Tyne Daly somehow shine; many others, hemmed in by their lines, end up showboating.
The Fabelmans (2022)4Spielberg’s reminiscence of his adolescent years—his discovery of his genius, his love for, and trials with, his family (Michelle Williams is excellent as his possibly bipolar mom; Paul Dano is his button-down dad), and his encounters with all-American Jew-hatred. Not surprisingly, it’s at its warmest and most engaging when exploring the director’s rose-tinted memories of his budding love of cinematic technique, and of his realizing film's ability to manipulate our emotions. Minor elements of heavy-handedness in both the scripting and the directing preclude a label of “great,” however; “very good” suffices. [Newsflash! I saw Spielberg at West Cliff, Santa Cruz, quietly scouting locations for the film. Our eyes briefly met and he gave me a friendly nod. I’m famous!]
Uncut Gems (2019)2Odd that a movie so frenetic and in-your-face is so lifeless and uninvolving, but that’s what you get when your protagonist is a self-absorbed and charmless sleazeball Diamond District shop owner/gambler (Adam Sandler) perpetually in way over his head, who no one would ever trust, and with whom (I hope) no viewer would ever identify. The incessant multi-layered screaming and aggressively motion-laden filming is all flash no substance, all hype no payoff. Watch California Split instead.
Ad Astra (2019)2(Bad) science (bad) fiction. In James Gray’s homage to Kubrick and Coppola (Clarke and Conrad) Brad Pitt is assigned to blast off to Neptune in search of his father (who may have gone off the deep end and murdered his crew) and commit patricide if necessary. Halfway there, he’s taken off the case because he may be too emotionally involved. Gee, ya think? The works that inspired it have depth and meaning underlying their slow-brew ferment. Here, lugubriousness and emotionlessness are deployed solely for their stylistic effect, as in so many other space yarns of recent decades. Trite not deep, boring not hypnotic; perhaps if Gray had jettisoned Pitt's mood-killing deadpan narration...
Stutz (2022)2Jonah Hill begins this documentary about his shrink-to-the-stars by insisting it’s not about himself. Almost immediately though, he comes clean: it is about him. And though the contrived artifice of the production as well as Hill's “I’ve suffered because I’m fat” egocentricity are both quite distracting (obesity should never be shamed; emotional exhibitionism, always), you’ll find his shrink, Philip Stutz, a very likable guy. But that’s all. It partially succeeds in exposing the vulnerabilities of our teachers, but a responsible psychologist would not have participated in this project, and his catchphrases and boxological diagramming of the human condition ain’t gonna help nobody. Find a good shrink, sure, take a good pill (or better, IV ketamine), absolutely, but don’t look for answers herein.
Armageddon Time (2022)3In the shadow of the Holocaust, a liberal-with-caveats Jewish family in Queens tries to protect its troubled bratty young son by taking him out of the public school system to join his nasty brother at a Trump-funded prep school. He fares no better there, of course. Meanwhile, his two most authentic relationships (with his grandfather, and with a poor black schoolmate) end by death and racism, respectively. Despite its dramatic flaw of featuring an unlikeable protagonist, a somber tone, well-developed relationships, and a fine (mis-)cast (apart from Jeremy Strong who overacts unpalatably as the extremely limited father) make it worthwhile. Double bill: Louis Malle's far superior—and far more tragic—Au revoir les enfants.
The Deeper You Dig (2019)2Tried and now-tired formula of a murderer who comes to take on the characteristics of his victim (see also Psycho, The Tenant, and far less effectively, Genghis Cohn): up in the mountains a mother encounters an increasingly suspicious loner after her teenage daughter is killed in the aftermath of a hit-and-run. She doesn’t so much mourn her loss as immerse herself in “research” with the aid of...tarot cards! Beautiful wintry scenes in the Catskills are its major asset; other than that it's pretty much a silly time-waster.
Knuckle Jack (2013)3Trauma and poverty lead to a life of drugs and theft for a Catskills loner who, as his sister is ill with cancer, is assigned by his mom to take care of his niece one summer. Without sentimentality, and with only a few minor elements of contrivance and an inappropriate Casio-dominated score disrupting the proceedings, the two form a loving bond. Affecting and true-to-life, The Adams Family production house has delivered a fine bit of work here.
The Village (2004)1Industry hack M. Night Shyamalan’s sixth movie (and fifth artistic bomb; his most brutally incompetent up to that point) is a preposterous story of a pre-industrial community that seals itself off from the world because of some scary monsters purportedly lurking in the woods beyond. A fine cast is utterly crucified by a purple prose go-nowhere script, like Jane Austen as adapted by an American middle schooler. In the stupifyingly mis-handled denouement the director gives himself a late-career-Leona Helmsley-like cameo.
Hellbender (2021)3Nicely assembled little horror tale of a woman who does her best to protect her daughter (and ultimately, herself) from their true evil nature by isolating them in a hilltop home. There are neither scares nor a crescendo of creepiness, and the climax is rushed, but the mood is properly compelling, the Hudson Valley setting is gorgeous, the music and songs are really good, the performers are naturalistic, and the production is quite impressive indeed, especially given the meager budget.
Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970)3Smart and stylish direction by the excellent Joseph Sargent is the standout aspect of this what-if scenario of American and Soviet supercomputers joining forces to impose world peace—and fascism—on a helpless human population. A properly staid mood of both horror and dry, cynical humor is disrupted only by some gratuitous T&A.
Broker (2022)2Master filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda disappoints with Broker. Maintaining his ongoing focus on the nature of family and filial responsibility, his story here (a loose band of child-traffickers in Korea on the run from the law) is confusing, and his characters (the child’s mother, her brokers, the cops, and another more dangerous group of criminals) are poorly delineated, their motivations unclear. He’ll do better next time.
Bruce Almighty (2003)2The premise has potential (we know because it’s been done so may times before): an everyman (fluff newscaster Jim Carrey) is bestowed with the powers of a god. But the story and script are quarter-baked, with poorly assembled set pieces, very few laughs, and of course, a cloying finish (yes, he gets the girl back). The mostly mediocre support has nothing to do: Morgan Freeman and Steve Carell do their standard shtick, Jennifer Aniston is as bland and limited as ever, while the great Philip Baker Hall is, alas, slumming. Like Ursula Le Guin's The Lathe Of Heaven, the moral of the story is: don’t strive for a Brave New World; just be a happy Epsilon.
The Florida Project (2017)1A poorly conceived and plotless meander by the sometimes-interesting Sean Baker, following a no-good young woman, her daughter, and some other kids who live in a fleabag Florida motel (Baker has a talent for bringing out the ugliness of man-made American landscapes), all unrelentingly obnoxious and hateful, with no attempts by Baker to humanize them. The kids are in virtually every scene, and are guaranteed to drive you crazy. Ya just wanna ring their necks! Most ridiculously, the woman and her daughter are tolerated by the other guests and coddled by the motel manager; completely unrealistic. Baker makes us feel these people deserve their miserable lives.
Don’t Go To Sleep (1982)3With a slow build-up, its intelligent scripting reveals the complex back story that might explain a daughter’s emerging murderous ways. The cast is terrific (Dennis Weaver, Ruth Gordon, Valerie Harper, Oliver Robins, and especially Robin Ignica as the little girl), and the killings are fittingly both chilling and funny. A surprisingly effective little horror telefilm.
Devil Dog: The Hound Of Hell (1978)2Exceedingly slow and somber telefilm of a dog whose soul hosts a demonic Peruvian spirit (um, yeah) that wreaks murderous havoc on an all-American family. Minutes go by without action, without music, without dialogue even, which somehow manages to cast a marginally effective spell. The dog does not engage in bizarre pyrotechnics either; it just has a creepy stare, which is also pretty cool. Still, its junk. Richard Crenna, Yvette Mimieux, Kim Richards, and Ike Eisenmann star.
The Initiation Of Sarah (1978)2A skim milk telefilm retread of Carrie (not that Carrie was heavy cream, mind you) of a freshman misfit (Kay Lenz) who’s pressured by her demon-obsessed sorority mother (Shelley Winters) to use her supernatural powers to exact revenge on those who've betrayed her, especially the campus uberbitch (Morgan Fairchild); her sympathetic instructor (Tony Bill) urges restraint. The acting is fine, but the proceedings are bland. Impressive scoring by Johnny Harris.
The Girl Most Likely To... (1973)2Joan Rivers is behind this black comedy telefilm in which an ugly duckling transforms into a swan after reconstructive surgery following a car accident, and proceeds to exact murderous revenge on those who done her wrong. In the title role, Stockard Channing’s talent emerges intact despite the cheesy proceedings and the sophomoric scripting. It works best as a presage to Rivers’ own future plastic surgery mis-adventures.
The Rapture (1991)3Bathed in an Alan Rudolph-like quietude, in The Rapture, Michael Tolkin effectively explores the susceptibility to fundamentalist religiosity by the mentally ill (and/or vice versa): Mimi Rogers (excellent as an air-headed telephone-operator-by-day-sex-swinger-by-night) yearns for meaning in her life, finds it in eschatological Christianity, and becomes increasingly unbalanced. Its finale fiendishly pranks any evangelists who might tune in.
The Seventh Sign (1988)2Perhaps-slightly-better-than-some anti-atheist Christo-mystical mumbo-jumbo B-movie nonsense about the end of the world, set in Lalaland. Featured characters include Jesus, the devil, a pregnant Demi Moore, a parricidist with Down's Syndrome, and a young religious Jew who comes to see the truth of Christianity. What could be bad? It actually looks pretty good, but of course, it's utterly ridiculous, and is only of use for a few laughs. Watch Rosemary's Baby instead. Jeez, watch The Omen.
The Matrix (1999)2In the future, the machines have enslaved humanity. This derivative mash-up of Christian mythology and the Cartesian brain-in-a-vat thought experiment is provided an ultra-stylish visual palette and a very silly script by the Wachowski siblings. The best sequence is an extended exposition telling how our enslavement came to be; the bulk of the showing, however, consists of inexplicable phone calls, mindless martial arts, testosterone-fueled gun-battling, and Keystone Cops chase scenes. Watch it for its sleek visuals, but close your eyes to its gruesome and gratuitous violence and narrative incoherence. Marcus Chong and Joe Pantoliano are good. Laurence Fishburne and especially Hugo Weaving are obnoxious. Followed by several insipid sequels.
Official Competition (2022)4Antonio Banderas and Oscar Martínez are both terrific in this smart, funny, and thought-provoking film of two battling thespian egos (one, a highbrow intellectual, the other, a populist crowd pleaser) hired to star in a film by a maverick director whose own ego (and predilection for psychological cruelty) is even greater (Penélope Cruz). Both the setting (a stylish corporate headquarters) and the scripting are terrific, though credibility is strained in the finale. Double bill: Venus In Fur, or, strange as it may seem, Sullivan’s Travels!
The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent (2022)2Yet another dumb actioner on Nicholas Cage’s resumé, this one taking the Muppets' classic “itchy trigger finger” sketch and repeating it ad nauseum; it was funny once, on Sesame Street, over fifty years ago. Here, he plays himself, trying to make fun of his own career choices (not that it matters, but he gets mixed up with an international cartel and the CIA in Majorca) but fails completely as the parodic jokes don’t land, the performers lack chemistry, and the action is lackluster. He sports a funny dye-job though.
Moonfall (2022)1Halle Berry (a NASA upper echelon): “We have a theory that the moon might return to its original orbit.” Eme Ikwuakor (a Defense Department upper echelon): “And how do you propose we do that, exactly?” That dialogue is emblematic of the inane and muddled incoherence suffusing every aspect of Roland Emmerich’s 2022 cookie-cutter schlockfest, in which the moon turns out to have been built by aliens, is powered by a white dwarf embedded in its core, and is spiraling down to the earth. The German director is crystal-clear about one thing, however: a giant Star of David emerges from the tentacular alien aggressor just as it's being annihilated.
Nurse Betty (2000)1A mentally ill woman stalks a television actor as two thugs are on her trail because she witnessed them murder her husband and may be hiding a stash. Part laughless comedy, part disgustingly violent crime drama, and wholly moronic. Harriet Sansom Harris is good in a small part. Chris Rock is awful in a bigger one.
Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022)2The Wachowskis meet Quentin Tarantino (or, a bit more charitably, Charlie Kaufman meets Terry Gilliam) in this high-concept science fiction/low-brow slapstick time-waster with sad pretensions to brain-twister status, scaffolded by the flimsiest of family dramas. Somewhere in the collapsing “omniverse” an overburdened laundromat owner (Michele Yeoh; “Neo”) and her husband (Ke Huey Quan; “Morpheus”) conspire to save all and live happily ever after (she even knows kung fu!). It’s a hyper-kinetic universe-jumping chopsocky of narrative nonsensicality and consequent viewer disconnection. And at two-and-a-half mindless hours, it’s endless. Jamie Lee Curtis is a guilty pleasure in a small role; the great James Hong is wasted, of course.
Crimes Of The Future (2022)3In a dystopian future, our species has evolved beyond physical pain and infection susceptibility, thus freeing our body-insulting predilections for tattooing, piercing, plastic surgery, and scarification to morph into recreational surgery for aesthetic and sexual gratification. The tone (lugubrious) and setting (apocalyptic) are very effective, as is the bizarre mix of icky gore and deadpan camp (it climaxes at a public autopsy/“inner beauty pageant”! Yup!). As a wry and outraged commentary on where society may be headed, it's perhaps David Cronenberg's clearest-ever statement of purpose. As drama (it suffers from an undernourished narrative filled in by expository dialogue, and a good half the cast speaks its lines indecipherably), it stumbles.
Starship Troopers (1997)3Paul Verhoeven’s adaptation of the Robert Heinlein novel: an eager young Argentinian living on a happily fascist Earth of the future follows a girl into the military to fight “bugs” attacking from a far-off planet, but has a chip on his shoulder because he can’t make officer. The satire is clever and spot-on in its mockery of both Hollywood’s and the military state’s standard tropes (the leads look and move like Gerry Anderson supermarionettes, and the production design follows suit), but the jokes are sophomoric, and the story plods. Entertaining, but not as sharp as the director's best.
The Other Side Of The Underneath (1972)2Falling somewhere between Barbara Rubin’s Christmas On Earth and Frederick Wiseman’s Titicut Follies (though far inferior to both), Jane Arden’s The Other Side Of The Underneath is a plotless series of images and vignettes ostensibly exploring schizophrenia on the female ward of a Welsh mental institution. Hackneyed, pretentious, replete with Ken Russell-derived Catholic and lesbian imagery that intends solely to jar, as well as its self-indulgent performances and its sick-cow cello scoring, it fights tooth and nail to sabotage viewer engagement. The proposal that this is exactly the point does not justify its emotional remoteness or its alienating over-length.
The First Man (2011)4Albert Camus’ unfinished autobiographical novel of his return to Algeria after years of fame in France is given a characteristically sensitive treatment by Italian master Gianni Amelio. His remembrance of things past (much of the film takes place in flashback), his desire to tie loose ends, and his horror at the worsening tragedy of French colonialism are all handled deftly and delicately, and are suffused with a simmering sense of imminent collapse.
Making Mr. Right (1987)2Oy. Susan Seidelman started out making films as chewy and satisfying as a Lower East Side bialy, but Making Mr. Right is more like a Peoria Twinkie: a lighter-than-air, artificial, and insipid story of a woman (Ann Magnuson) hired to humanize an android. Yes, she falls for him. The performances are good apart from John Malkovich, who is downright terrible as the titular character, demonstrating an incompetence for visual humor and snappy timing, exuding not an iota of the the role's required charm or charisma.
Tangerine (2015)3In Sean Baker's color-saturated smartphone-shot Tangerine, an Armenian cab driver on the DL mixes it up with black trans-gendered meth-smoking prostitutes, as they all try to make a little money and find a little happiness on the ugly streets of Hollywood. It’s gritty, funny, depressing, and affecting all at once, and the performers improvise quite convincingly. On any budget, that's called good movie-making.
Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind (2004)2Charlie Kaufman’s high concept science fiction-cum-pedestrian love story of a milquetoast (a checked-out Jim Carrey) undergoing a memory purge of his bipolar ex (Kate Winslet). Viewers may be so busy making heads or tales of his confused mix-and-match memories, his past and present, his inner and his outer worlds, and the constant disruptions of flow by a largely unrelated, go-nowhere secondary plot, that they're too out of breath to emotionally engage with his plight. A failed stunt.
The Mask (1994)2A bank employee chances upon a mask that unleashes the mayhem beneath his mild-mannered facade. Largely laughless and threadbare-plotted Nutty Professor-purloined Jim Carrey vehicle with only some Beetlejuice/Roger Rabbit animation going for it. Director Chuck Russell and his scriptwriters seem to have no idea how to properly exploit Carrey’s highly circumscribed talents. A miss.
The Father (2020)2A picture frame on which to mount an award-seeking performance by Anthony Hopkins, who plays a demented and hallucinating pensioner (about whom we learn only that he'd been an engineer). Nothing rings quite true with the supporting characters (about whom we don't learn a thing), their reactions to his debilitation providing little more than an impetus for him to strut his affliction further. We're expected to marvel as his hallucinations prank us as much as they prank him; a cheap device. Visually drab and stagebound-feeling, where it should be warm and harrowing, honest and compelling, it’s cold and clinical, insincere and unconvincing.
Popi (1969)2An outrageous way of making a political point: a Puerto Rican father in Spanish Harlem (Alan Arkin) endangers his kids’ lives by sending them off in a motorboat from Miami masquerading as Cuban refugees, counting on the Americans to rescue them and give them a better life than he could provide. Gritty drama with elements of clunky comedy—the grit is well-filmed; the clunk falls flat in every way—is offensive and idiotic in its hole-filled plotting. Alan Arkin is excellent; the kids are good actors, but are poorly directed by Arthur Hiller; Rita Moreno has a small part.
Vortex (2021)5The ever-merciless Gaspar Noé’s harrowing and heartbreaking verité portrait of an elderly and ailing scholar (Dario Argento) finding it increasingly difficult to care for his wife, a psychiatrist, disappearing into dementia (Françoise Lebrun). Spare dialogue, close miking, and claustrophobic shooting create a sense of panic and doom that is almost unbearable. The ongoing split screen and “eye-blinking” effect grow wearisome, but it’s a minor quibble. Emotion in cinema rarely gets this raw or grueling.
Crimes Of The Heart (1986)2Three southern sisters in the throes of hysteria over a suicide, an attempted murder, a failed career, and a taboo love affair. It might have been effective if the directing were subtle and sympathetic to both the characters' individual personalities and the players' ensemble work, but Bruce Beresford whacks us over the head with shrillness and artifice, the whole culminating in far far less than the sum of its very talented parts: Diane Keaton, Sissy Spacek, Jessica Lange. Georges Deleurue's lyrical and sumptuous score is a plus.
Thelma And Louise (1991)1A potentially interesting character study of two sociopathic murderers (Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon) is completely sabotaged by director Ridley Scott’s sympathy for them, turning hateful maniacs into folk heroes as they wreak havoc on the male of the species (all portrayed as monsters, of course). Reactionary agit-prop: pro-violence, anti-men, anti-women.
Fried Green Tomatoes (1991)2Jon Avnet’s filming of Fannie Flagg’s novel of a—possibly? Dare I fathom it?—lesbian couple in the depression-era south who engage white men in battle on multiple fronts is maudlin and insincere in every way. That it is fraught with radically under-developed characterizations, and amateurish and laughable editing and continuity errors, seems just about right. Double bill: Thelma And Louise.
Steel Magnolias (1989)2Cynically conceived and self-indulgently executed by all its players (except perhaps by Dolly Parton, who can at least talk the talk) in Steel Magnolias Herbert Ross' directorial machinations and manipulations abound as a group of southern fried matrons endure life's trials and tribulations, trying to get us to laugh and cry, but only making us retch. Pure hokum.
The Hot Flashes (2013)2Middling and formulaic feel-good comedy of a bunch of menopausal women reuniting their high school basketball team to raise money for charity. Susan Seidelman unwisely spends far too much time trying hide the fact—with cutaways and quick editing—that nobody here can shoot hoops, and her script can't rise above the fact that her characters (and their backstories and intrigues) are trivial and stupid. Still, second-string players Wanda Sykes and especially Mark Povinelli do great work.
Cookie (1989)3Susan Seidelman gets terrific performances from Peter Falk, Dianne Wiest, Michael V. Gazzo, and especially Brenda Vaccaro in this light comedy of a mobster just out of jail, finally getting to know his now teenage daughter, who becomes his new partner in crime. Lots of great Outer Borough locales, but the Nora Ephron/Alice Arlen script does not crackle, nor does Emily Lloyd as the daughter. Man, what Linda Manz could have done with this role!
Finding Forrester (2000)1Perfectly awful crowd-pleaser of a South Bronx high school student with a purported gift for writing (Rob Brown), and the reclusive literary genius who takes him under his wing (Sean Connery). With an oh-so-standard screen villain (F. Murray Abraham looks positively mortified to be here), Finding Forrester is suffused with editing and pacing flubs, a typically populist anti-intellectual bent, and hopelessly ill-advised directorial decisions. Worst one: in the big finale, when we're finally about to hear the boy’s remarkable prose, instead, the music wells and the scene fades. Pathetic! Double Bill: Good Will Hunting...by the same director!
The Postman (1997)2K-Co’s folly? No, as that would imply there’s something anomalously off about The Postman, Kevin Costner’s three-hour post-apocalyptic western of an itinerant one-man Globe Theatre who epiphanously declares “L'etat c'est moi!” and, against all odds, restores humanity's hope by re-establishing...the USPS! Rather, it’s in keeping with his entire oeuvre: the performances are absurdly self-serious, the editing is ridiculously caffeinated, and, as ever, it’s all about him, and so his character’s aw shucks demeanor can’t hide the dirty truth: ego is a four letter word.
Saturday Night Fever (1977)2John Badham’s heavy-handed and sometimes sloppy directing does no favors to his players in this quasi-Bildungsroman of an unfulfilled Italian-American Brooklyn teen (John Travolta) who finds hope and solace in disco dancing. It’s never clear whether the filmmakers are glorifying or ridiculing his coarseness and stupidity, but regardless of their intent, it doesn’t work for the viewer: he's unsympathetic (Stanley Kowalski was a far more nuanced creation: coarse, but not stupid...and Travolta is no Brando). He can dance though, and these brief scenes are nicely shot. Most notable for the Bee Gees’ silky smooth ballads and ultra-melodic dance tracks.
Indignation (2016)4Effective, somber, and properly literate rendering of one of Philip Roth’s final, short novels, Indignation is the 1950s-set story of a put-upon working class Jewish boy (Logan Lerner), fiercely intelligent and steeped in adolescent intellectual idealism and stubbornness, who ventures out of his element and into the gentile world at a leafy midwestern college whose puritanism and antisemitism take devastating tolls. Affecting throughout, it’s at its best when the boy and the school’s slimy and hateful dean (Tracy Letts) do battle. Linda Emond (as his loving mom) is superb.
American Pastoral (2016)1Star/director Ewan McGregor is completely out of his league in this disastrous interpretation of one of Philip Roth’s greatest achievements, the story of a Newark Jew destined for a charmed life, only to raise a genuinely bad seed daughter who careens into left wing terrorism during the 60s. McGregor’s acting is dreadful (he turns a dazzler into a loser), his directing is just one cliché after another, and his superficial, flat, and nearly-antisceptically de-judaized hired script indicates he had absolutely no idea how to approach Roth’s masterfully complex material. Just awful.
The Loved One (1965)5Tony Richardson’s terrific filmization of the Evelyn Waugh novel, with Robert Morse, Jonathan Winters (in a dual role), and a whole cast of greats (especially Rod Steiger as a flamboyant mama’s boy, and Paul Williams as an aeronautics prodigy): an unemployed aspiring poet from England (Morse) visits his wealthy industry-has-been uncle in Los Angeles (John Gielgud), and upon the latter’s suicide becomes involved with a virginal mortuary cosmetologist (Anjanette Comer), and that’s just the beginning. Sex, death, religion, pets, Hollywood, and other things sacred are subjected to viciously funny attack. Haskell Wexler’s marvelous black and white cinematography and Rouben Ter-Arutunian’s outrageous set designs are delightful. Great stuff! Double bill: Dr. Strangelove.
Xanadu (1980)2The players try—and fail—to act in this chintzily-assembled musical about a muse (Olivia Newton-John) who emerges to help a former big band clarinetist (Gene Kelly, slumming) realize his dream of opening a club, and the frustrated album cover artist (Michael Beck) who helps him, and falls in love with her. It only rises from the dead when ELO’s fantastic songs are playing. It isn’t even plastic. It’s styrofoam. Crumble it in your hands.
Certain Women (2016)4Director Kelly Reichardt delicately captures the clipped cadences and the protracted silences in the day-to-day lives of three women in Montana as they yearn for fulfillment, acceptance, and dignity. Especially, Lily Gladstone is achingly good in a heartbreaking performance as a farm worker smitten and bedazzled by an aloof professional she chances upon one evening at a night school.
The Telephone (1988)1The Telephone is an intolerable one-character one-act wrong number of a filmed play during which Whoopi Goldberg, coked out her gourd, demonstrates that she can’t do accents, that she can’t pronounce her own character’s name (taken from the Book of Esther), and especially, that she can’t improvise. She obviously jettisoned Harry Nilsson and Terry Southern’s script in favor of her own painfully unfunny and directionless one-sided telephone blather (literally directionless: why didn’t first-and-only-time director Rip Torn put the breaks on her drug-addled ego?). Please hang up and try again.
Reflections In A Golden Eye (1967)3Southern Gothic repressed homosexuality of the virile male variety (Marlon Brando), mental illness of the hysterical female variety (Julie Harris), campy outspokenness of the “I do declare” variety (Elizabeth Taylor), and a handsome and brooding enlisted man of the psychologically-damaged variety (Robert Forster). You'll be forgiven for thinking that Tennessee Williams penned this smoldering slow burn tragedy, but it’s actually based on a Carson McCullers book. By turns overheated and sluggish, John Huston directed this daring, arty, experimental, black-and-gold-filtered anomaly that is only of limited appeal.
Freud (1962)4Though Freud (like fellow kabbalists Marx and Chomsky) properly retains only a pitiable straggle of champions, once upon a time he (as they) was regarded an innovator of genuine scientific import, rather than the fraud he was. Any portrayal of Freud’s evolving ideas in action is inherently sensational and ridiculous, but John Huston’s Freud is extremely artful despite its subject matter, with its deep focus and shadows, its remarkable dream sequences, its stirring scoring, its fine performances, and its literate scripting (Sartre—Freud’s philosophic opposite—contributed; was he writing in Bad Faith?). It’s an effective though far too sympathetic portrayal of Freud the self-obsessed neurotic, and especially of Freud the charlatan fantasist.
The Lost Weekend (1945)3Hard-hitting in its day, neither Ray Milland nor the screenwriters fully capture the infuriating selfishness and cruelty of a real-life alcoholic—of any era (for example, a former friend of mine)—nor is there provided convincing motivation for Jane Wyman’s falling in love with Milland's all-loser-all-the-time persona in the first place. While the support is great (perhaps especially Doris Dowling as a sympathetic prostitute), and Third Avenue's unglamorous grit is effectively conveyed by cinematographer John F. Seitz, Miklós Rózsa’s theremin-heavy score is only a partially successful experiment. (For cinema’s greatest portrayal of an alcohol addict, watch Albert Finney in Under the Volcano.)
Phobia (1980)2Freudianism (and its origins in Greek tragedy) can be an effective though fantastical dramatic technique (of course, it should never be practiced in the real world). In Phobia—a bottom-of-the-barrel network telefilm-level production—Freudianism is deployed with utter abandon to motivate a maverick psychologist, traumatized in childhood, who "floods" his patients with their terror-inducing stimuli. When each is murdered "Ten Little Indians"-style in the very way he or she fears most, who could possibly be responsible? Did John Huston really direct this dreadful feature?
The Voyeurs (2021)1Montreal’s most obnoxious woman (played by Sydney Sweeney, the second coming of Showgirls’ Elizabeth Berkley) spies on her neighbors' sexual activities, and gets in too deep. Ludicrous plotting and preposterous dialogue (even in professional settings, the characters jabber like tweens at a slumber party) provide the appropriate accompaniment. Watch Rear Window. Watch Peeping Tom. But please, for your own well-being, do not watch hot trash like this.
Downsizing (2017)3Viewers may roll their eyes at Act One’s obvious humor: an every-man succumbs to corporate entreaties to "save the planet" by shrinking himself to a few inches tall and joining a low-consumption planned community (never mind the science, of course). Proceedings then veer radically however, as we encounter the small world’s underbelly, and as global warming insists on having the final say. Now we’re in the existential terrain of Hesse’s Siddartha or Teshigahara’s entomologist. An odd entry for Alexander Payne, it manages to keep you off kilter even as you’ll know how it all ends.
Independence Day (1996)2Aliens invade. You'll laugh at—not with—Roland Emmerich's sci-fi comedy in which earth’s best (Jewish brains and black brawn, of course) save the day, even as Judd Hirsh's and Harvey Fierstein's secondary characters are particularly offensive minority stereotypes. Dazzling effects; monstrously populist.
The Descendants (2011)2Sub-standard Alexander Payne fare with yet another male protagonist on a fruitless journey (here, a Honolulu lawyer seeks out the man who was having an affair with his dying wife), The Descendants is a below-par drama with unconvincing scripting, badly drawn characters, unmotivated interpersonal dynamics, and a typically stilted performance by George Clooney in the lead. Unsatisfying.
Bill Cunningham New York (2010)4Cole Porter once asked in song, “Is it the girl (or is it the gown)?” For longtime guerrilla photographer of NYC street fashions Bill Cunningham, it was always the gown. In this engaging documentary, Cunningham comes off as extremely likeable, kindhearted, unpretentious, and as much coolly aloof from the whirl of superficiality endemic to high fashion culture as he was passionately committed to the art that, perhaps sometimes unwittingly, underlies it.
The Cable Guy (1996)3Unlike our greatest clowns (say, Charlie Chaplin or “Weird Al” Yankovic), Jim Carrey fails in conveying the vulnerability that would humanize his creations: he’s technically assured, but artistically wanting. Still, he’s more or less terrific as the titular character in Ben Stiller’s The Cable Guy, a spectrum-disordered loon who insinuates himself into the nether regions of Matthew Broderick’s sad sack life. It messes up its pacing by lurching into nightmarish surreality far too early, but the gags and set pieces are good throughout. And never mind its ostensible critique of TV junk culture or its wimp-out finale; just revel in the deep dark fun. Double bill: What About Bob?
Hereditary (2018)2Ordinary People segues into Rosemary’s Baby in Hereditary, the supernatural-horror debut feature by Ari Aster, in which a family’s dysfunction is “explained” by demonic forces. The Ordinary People section is quite effective; the Rosemary's Baby’s section directionless and very silly indeed. Aster wisely jettisoned the supernatural element from his next feature. If he further jettisons the horror component from his third, he may be on to something good. Toni Collette is excellent; Gabriel Byrne has nothing to do.
Ocean's Eleven (2001)1Rififi this ain’t. The Ocean’s Eleven remake is a heist movie twice over: George Clooney calls up a bunch of crooks to rob some Las Vegas casinos, but also, Steven Soderbergh calls up a bunch of top box office draws to rob cinema of its artistry, and the public of its hard-earned cash: “Just read some sophomoric lines, walk through some standard set pieces, do your mindless shtick, and we’ll all get stinking rich.” Slippery slick, insufferably smug, and cavernously hollow. Only Carl Reiner survives with his dignity intact. Watch Maudlin's Eleven instead.
Midsommar (2019)3Pasolini, Bergman, Parajanov, and Shirley Jackson vie for most-favored-influence status in Ari Aster’s Midsommar: a group of anthropology grad students are invited by their Swedish classmate to his seemingly benevolent commune during the arctic summer solstice, but the community's charming if empty rituals quickly turn gruesome. It points its finger at leftist academics' increasing coddling and ultimate embrace of exotic forms of violence and fascism; the most acquiescent weasel of the students is tellingly named “Christian”. In the end, it's a warning to the academy: be careful what you wish for. Rich on detail and atmosphere, it's equal parts unsettling and compelling, if a tad ponderous at times, though I suppose that’s the point.
It Follows (2014)2Girls, if you want to have sex, do it for love, not fun! That’s the reactionary message of It Follows, in which a sexy co-ed is haunted by ghosts after getting it on with her hunky squeeze. I'm sure director David Robert Mitchell would object to such a base analysis, but a film this threadbare doesn't warrant being scrutinized for metaphor. It’s sloppily directed, lazily scripted, and what little plot there is—repetitive and illogical—creeps at a snail’s pace.
Three Amigos! (1986)3Something of a cross between Ishtar and Galaxy Quest, Three Amigos possesses a sub-Mel Brooks-like primitivity—broad humor, slightly-off timing—as out-of-work silent stars famed for their roles as Mexican crime fighters (Steve Martin, Martin Short, and Chevy Chase) take a gig south of the border, not realizing the villagers who hire them think they are genuine defenders of justice. It’s not very good (though it does teach viewers the proper usage of “infamous” and “plethora”), but the two Martins (not Chase, who obviously refused to allow the camera to reveal his talent’s severe limits) are able to keep the proceedings afloat...barely.
Secret Friends (1991)2Non-linear storytelling doesn't only disrupt the timeline; also, unless exceptional care is taken, it disrupts viewers’ emotional engagement with the characters. Therein resides the downfall of brilliant television innovator Dennis Potter’s Secret Friends, in which Alan Bates endures some sort of mental collapse on a passenger train that is insufficiently explicated for the viewer (his wife, his childhood, his sexual and murder fantasies, recur and recur to little effect). It’s elegantly assembled to be sure, but done in by its over-stylization, and its over-arching inscrutability.
Grizzly Man (2005)2Exploitative and irresponsible documentary character study of Long Island's Timothy Treadwell, sadly suffering from bipolar disorder, and probably narcissistic personality disorder, and possibly paranoid schizophrenia, who invades and disrupts the order in Peninsular Alaska's bear country, deluding himself into thinking he’s found a higher calling by "protecting" them, while actually jeopardizing the bears' well-being, his own, his partner’s, and others’: he lacks both the respect and the common sense to fear them. Director Werner Herzog’s banal, confused narration suggests to me that he unconsciously sees a kindred spirit in Treadwell. As upsetting as a slow-motion car crash. Turn away.
Men (2022)1B-movie garbage. A woman recovering from the guilt and trauma of seeing her abusive husband commit suicide recuperates by renting a country estate that seems haunted by a parade of awful, awful men. When dialogue and situations are as preposterous as herein, the supernatural elements (psychogenic or otherwise) pack no punch: the drama needs to be grounded in a believable natural world for the supernatural to have any impact whatsoever. Viewers are advised to do what, ridiculously, never occurs to the woman: just get in their car and drive away. Clearly, director Alex Garland thinks women are powerless and stupid.
Basic Instinct (1992)4While those at the political extremes cry for censorship, Paul Verhoeven and Joe Eszterhas are rightfully laughing all the way to the bank. Verhoeven’s best non-SF SF-based live-action Hollywood cartoon, with its histrionic hypersexuality, its brilliantly idiotic scripting, and its ludicrous and offensive plotting (a detective; he falls for the wrong woman) is a rather dazzling stunt with all its risky having-it-both-ways artistic nose-thumbing, and how it self- (and viewer-) mockingly pretends to take its extremist Hollywood noir so seriously. Michael Douglas as the flawed cop wisely plays within his dramatic limits, while Sharon Stone brings great humor to her ridiculous femme fatale character. A genuine romp with laugh-out-loud jokes and brain-twisting ambiguities, it's also well-lit, well-shot, well-edited, and well-scored.
Quartet (2012)3Maggie Smith is that rare performer who seizes complete control of viewer emotions. If she wants you to laugh, you will; if she wants you to cry, also, you will. Here, in slice-of-life mode, she’s an aging soprano just moving into a country estate re-purposed as a home for retired musicians, where she encounters old friends and rekindles a jilted flame. The humor tends toward "aren’t we old people adorable” condescension, but Dustin Hoffman's direction is non-invasive, the production is sumptuous (nay, overly-opulent), and the performers infuse the superficial screenplay with a modicum of depth, nuance, and charm.
Last Chance Harvey (2008)3After a protracted and clunky buildup in which we are force-fed the major players' various foibles and flaws, Last Chance Harvey switches to a lighter-than-air romance in which a befuddled and awkward Dustin Hoffman (White Plains), in London for his daughter’s wedding as hosted by his ex-wife and her second husband, meets a neurotic and mother-burdened Emma Thompson (Willesden Green). We’re now in pure Nancy Meyers/Nora Ephron territory. Gee, I wonder how it ends…“Elaine!!”
Robot And Frank (2012)2Tired, heavy-handed, formulaic story of high-tech's encroachment, in which an elderly and mentally declining lapsed jewel thief (the always-good Frank Langella) is provided a helpful robot by his absent kids. Meanwhile, his beloved local library is going digital as aided by its acquiescent librarian (the never-good Susan Sarandon). Our protagonist will have none of this however, and the film switches to caper mode as he targets the villainous tech guru overseeing the library’s transition. It’s ostensibly anti-high-tech, and yet all the humans are awful, and it’s the robot who rejuvenates him and reverses his dementia (huh?!). What a muddled mess! And just wait for its Hollywood denouement! P.S. Princeton ain’t no five hours from Cold Spring.
This Beautiful Fantastic (2016)1A revolting combination of garish and precious, This Beautiful Fantastic (sic) is a miserably photographed fairy tale focusing on a meek library page who manages to afford a sprawling London flat. Trouble erupts when she must restore her enormous back garden within the month or be evicted. Enter a curmudgeonly neighbor (Tom Wilkinson, embarrassing himself) and a couple of hot guys (to spice things up), and soon enough, fallow lands bloom, hardened hearts soften, love conquers all, and Frances Hodgson Burnett rolls in her grave. No redeeming value.
Same Time Next Year (1978)2It seems that Robert Mulligan watched Annie Hall, and decided to flesh out Alvy Singer’s first play. It’s a talky and contrived tale of a long-term affair (they meet yearly in Mendocino) between Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn. The decades pass, the cultural mores change, they show some gray, and I kept thinking that the highly mannered Jack Lemon and Sandy Dennis would have made a far better fit (along with a Paul Williams theme song). If nothing else, it demonstrates that Woody Allen and Neil Simon, ultimately, are not that far apart. Quite a plod really, and not very good.
The Four Seasons (1981)2A cross between a regional stage play and a TV sitcom, Alan Alda’s “The Four Seasons”—three early-middle-aged couples love and spar and laugh and yell about nothing much, over and over, on their vacations together—is very short on depth and plausibility, and very long on over-acting, over-writing, and over-directing. A notch or two below the best ensemble explorations of adult couplehood that abounded in the 70s, it embodies the fall of a genre that reached its nadir two years later in The Big Chill.
Starting Over (1979)3Alan J. Pakula’s languidly-paced, sex-switched response to Paul Mazursky’s An Unmarried Woman finds an engaging and sympathetic Burt Reynolds torn between shacking up with neurotic urbanite Jill Clayburgh, and reuniting with his estranged self-absorbed wife (Candice Bergen in a cleverly unappealing role). Calm, intelligent, and carefully observed, Starting Over rarely elevates itself above slice-of-life status, which is fine by me.
The Eyes Of Tammy Faye (2021)2It would take a far more capable director than Michael Showalter to portray Christian Supremacists Tammy Faye and Jim Bakker as anything other than two-dimensional cartoons. Showalter, not surprisingly, doesn't even try: his brash and histrionic lead character is further pumped by his brash and histrionic direction that, most offensively, seems to apologize for Tammy Faye’s democracy-damaging misdeeds. Jessica Chastain’s technically-assured though overbearing and exhausting “look at me now!” performance adds salt to the wound.
Flesh+Blood (1985)4Lurid and vibrantly shot (by Jan de Bont), Flesh+Blood finds Paul Verhoeven growing into the brilliantly cynical vulgarian that soon defined the best of his Hollywood era science fiction adventure-comedies (Robocop, Total Recall, Starship Troopers). Rutger Hauer heads a mercenary army in 16th Century “western Europe” who have bloody fun raping and pillaging, and (of course) storming the castle. The other performers, especially the always-fascinating Susan Tyrell, though excepting a bland Tom Burlinson, are fine. In a smart and risky move by the director, the script is peppered with fairly colloquial modern day English, thus holding up a mirror to his still-just-as-depraved-today audience.
Benny And Joon (1993)1That kooky and adorable bundle of quirks that is schizophrenia can be cured, as in David and Lisa, with just a little bit of boy-on-girl love. Apart from Johnny Depp, all players herein should be thoroughly embarrassed to their core. Not Depp, because he’s an “idiot...a first class moron” with zero talent and zero shame. Sure, track down Rachel Portman’s Gershwin-inspired score, but never—never—watch this insipid, offensive movie.
Larry (1974)4Frederic Forrest delivers a superb, sensitive performance as the titular character in this William A. Graham telefilm focusing on a young man wrongly diagnosed with mental retardation at birth, who was deposited in a state institution and is now living out a life of neglect. He finally gets the attention he needs from an observant and optimistic social worker (Tyne Daly, also excellent) who accompanies him on an arduous journey towards a more normal life. The supporting performances—by Michael McGuire, Robert Walden, Katherine Helmond, and especially, in a small role, the then- (and still-) unknown Elizabeth Gill—are spot-on as well. As fine a film as it is, it would have worked even better as a mini-series. Lovely scoring by Peter Matz.
The Last Valley (1971)4Omar Sharif and Michael Caine star in James Clavell’s exceptionally well-made film—a widescreen production both lavish and gritty—depicting a brief local experiment in peaceful coexistence between Catholics and Protestants during the Thirty Years War. Needless to say, it doesn’t quite work out: both religious conviction and the promise of spoils stir men to kill. Impressively literate, appropriately cynical, and very violent.
Blackkklansman (2018)3Discombobulistic anachronisms are bound to arise when a story from the late ’70s is provided an early ’70s setting, and they surely do in Spike Lee’s dramatization of two cops (one black, one Jewish) who infiltrate Colorado Springs’ chapter of the Klan, but the drama and performances are good. David Duke and Stokely Carmichael make appearances, but the film glosses over the “opposites attract” element of their history: the two came to see eye-to-eye on the Jewish Question.
Stonewall (2015)1An utterly ridiculous vignette at a lunch counter that could not possibly exist anywhere in the five boroughs, let alone the West Village (throughout, the sets are terrible), engenders immediate viewer ill-will towards Stonewall, Roland Emmerich's quick squint at NYC’s late ’60s’ gay rights movement. Thanks a lot, Mr. Emmerich. Thanks for turning your characters—from the heartland football stud Christian savior to the prancing street-wise Latin hothead—into a parade of cartoon stereotypes, whose personalities possess all the complexity, nuance, and dignity of one of your own Independence Day aliens (or of its star, Will "Slappy" Smith). Laughable. Laughable.
Diary Of A Country Priest (1951)5Robert Bresson strips Georges Bernanos’ devastating prose to its raw essentials: an ailing young priest sent to a cruel and backwards rural parish hates himself for the purity of his own heart, as he discovers that human decency is a dangerous thing. Although couched in the language of Christianity, the themes—the trials of existence both psychological and interpersonal—are universal. Indeed, Jean-Paul Sartre could be lurking around every corner, as could Job, even; is it any wonder the remarkable lead Claude Laydu looks a lot like Franz Kafka?
No Way Out (1950)5After a criminal patient with a flesh wound dies mysteriously under the care of an idealistic black doctor (Sidney Poitier, excellent in his first starring role), his fellow-criminal brothers—a vile “nigger”-spouting low-life (Richard Widmark—terrific, and even, for a brief moment, sympathetic) and “deaf and dumb” Harry Bellaver—do their best to frame the doctor for murder. As word gets out, the threat of an all-out city-wide race riot looms. Will the doctor prove his innocence and find a way out? Despite a few minor lapses in story-telling, Joseph L. Mankiewicz directing and scripting provide a hard-hitting, hard-talking, and hard-boiled exposé on working class racism. Stephen McNally (playing against type) and Linda Darnell (in a crucial supporting role) are fine. Superb.
Parallel Mothers (2021)3Through the magic of DNA testing, we can now see into both the past and the future. Both intimately mingle with the present in Almodóvar’s 2021 film, a straight-up melodrama about two new mothers linked by their pregnancies, and also about Spain's Franco past forever pressing on its present. His primary-color tone poems are as ravishing as ever, as is his breathtaking way with an edit, but still, there was a time when an Almodóvar character wearing a t-shirt declaiming “We should all be feminists” would be meant as a joke. Here, it is to be taken seriously. He may be older and wiser as a person, but is he older and wiser as a filmmaker?
The Power Of The Dog (2021)2Its subtlety hits like a sledgehammer. The Hays Code seems to have gotten a second lease on life in New Zealand, or at least ’round Jane Campion’s mansion, as evidenced in this story—paper-thin and paper-flat on plot, on character, on its constantly-shifting focus of interest—about an embittered cowboy who, halfway through the film, performs an unmotivated volte-face and takes a shining to his slim and artistic nephew-by-marriage: he mans him up...and that’s it. Perhaps the cowboy develops unwelcome feelings for the boy that dare not speak their name, but perhaps not. Who knows in this muddled, cowardly, oh-so-genteel exploration of...of what, exactly?
West Side Story (2021)4While they would have made a far bolder statement had Steven Spielberg and Tony Kushner presented West Side Story as originally conceived by Jerome Robbins and Arthur Laurents—ghetto Jews and antisemitic Catholics on the Lower East Side in the shadow of the Holocaust—this remake still packs a wallop. Just as in the Robert Wise/Jerome Robbins filmization, the photography and sets are fantastic, the singers can sing, the dancers can dance, and of course the Leonard Bernstein/Stephen Sondheim songs (and Rita Moreno!) are timeless. Also as in the earlier film, alas, the portrayal of Tony (here by Ansel Elgort) is weak.
CODA (2021)2A virtual scene-for-scene copy of the ho-hum "La Famille Bélier" (but why?), CODA is a low-key tale of a teenage girl who strives to forge her own identity as the sole hearing member of her family (struggling fishers on the Massachusetts coast): signing (for her family) or singing (for herself)? Its unimaginative staging, its cookie-cutter predictability, and especially its feel-good shenanigans in the finale detract significantly, but damn if Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” can’t always put a lump in my throat. Troy Kotsur as the father is particularly good.
Poly Styrene: I Am A Cliché (2021)4Co-directed and touchingly narrated by her daughter Celeste Bell, the ironically-titled “I am a Cliché” is a genuinely insightful documentary of the great Marion Elliott (AKA Poly Styrene), a refreshingly non-partisan critic of oppression in all its forms, who first deployed a punk aesthetic as her medium of expression. The film effectively captures a career devoted to mercilessly critiquing—yet also exploiting and even celebrating (“for me it was all a joke”)—the dehumanizing ticky-tacky of post-war mass production. Plagued by a frail constitution and concomitantly poor parenting skills, cancer took her early, just weeks after releasing one of her best records, 2011’s “Generation Indigo”.
Looking For Mr. Goodbar (1977)4Diane Keaton is terrific herein (as is the portrayal of the gritty urban nouvelle demi-monde lurking just around the corner from the tinsel and mirror balls at Studio 54). Her character’s strict and traumatized upbringing ill-prepares her for the free world she escapes into (and is unable to escape from). Despite its obvious flaws in pacing and secondary character development (and despite its arguable ambiguities of intent—indeed, take its Rorschach test at your own peril), Richard Brooks’ filmization is not an indictment of Keaton's character, of women’s liberation, nor, in its finale, of homosexuality. Rather it is a blunt exploration of a society's growing pains, one changing too fast for many to cope with, yet one that now allowed movies like this to be made.
Extremities (1986)2The sometimes-excellent Robert M. Young has made an L.A. movie with something for everyone: a house-bound rape fantasy for men, masquerading as a revenge fantasy for women. And it is a fantasy: there is nothing remotely real or human about any of the characters, their words, their histrionic antics. Though too offensive for the midnight movie circuit, it’s genuinely surprising that it hasn’t become a camp staple at home. Dreadful movie. (Farrah Fawcett, James Russo, Alfre Woodard, and Diana Scarwid have the dishonors.) Double bill: Lipstick.
Green Book (2018)1Racism porn. Both leads—Viggo Mortensen as the boorish Bronx dago whose heart turns to gold, and Mahershala Ali as the effete homosexual negro stoic—deliver over-the-top performances in this insufferably preachy feel-good smugfest about touring pianist Don Shirley’s endured indignities in the MLK-era south. Director/co-writer Peter Farrelly’s shameless reduction of the outrages of American racism to this bottomed-out degree of self-congratulation verges on the obscene.
Windfall (2022)2Lazily-plotted been-there-done-that populist tale (of the "Right on, sister!" variety) of a burglary gone wrong at the finely-appointed desert getaway home of a capitalist pig (Jesse Plemons, good) and his unhappily obedient wife (Lily Collins, not good). Jason Segel as the down-on-his-luck invader, and Omar Leyva as a Jesus-like gardener round out the players. You can guess the rest, or maybe not: how many times can the captors miss good opportunities to end their ordeal? Come for the lovely house. Leave for the movie.
Columbus (2017)2Designed to leave one cold. The actors (especially the mediocrity John Cho) are—with one exception, Rory Culkin, who brings a genuine intelligence to his small role—puppets, mouthing ventriloquist Kogonada’s pretentious script about about architecture and, subtextually, fucking. Hellbent on formalism and style, he passionlessly films readily photogenic Columbus Indiana's striking modernist architecture in an aimless and clinical exercise in insubstantiality.
Rich Kids (1979)3Robert M. Young’s Mazursky-with-kids-esque slice-of-NYC about two broken marriages among the very rich, and their fallout affecting a couple of bright tweens, effectively juxtaposes the sweetness and innocence of youth with the bitterness and cynicism of adulthood. The fine performances by all are somewhat undermined by occasional lapses in the script. Enjoyable but slight.
Swan Song (2021)2After a terrific pre-credits vignette, implausibilities and plot holes accrue and ultimately overwhelm this derivative future-based story of a dying man who opts to secretly replace himself with a clone in order to spare his family the loss. Myriad ethical dilemmas are roundly ignored, and though Its cool-demeanored mise en scène and icy calm mood intrigue at first, they eventually outstay their welcome as all turns to drippy hokum. Update: that opening vignette turns out to be stolen from an unrelated source!
The Tomorrow War (2021)1Spielberg's War of the Worlds was masterful. Aliens and Starship Troopers were smart, funny, and thrilling. Independence Day was supremely idiotic but engaging nonetheless. The Tomorrow War (even the title is clunkily awful) is wholly derived from those films, but embraces an Akiva Goldsman level of incompetence throughout. Akiva Goldsman: yes, it’s that bad.
After Yang (2021)3A philosophically ambiguous amble through the psychological consequences of the increasingly technologized surveillance state, in After Yang, the titular character is a malfunctioning android, purchased to teach an adopted daughter about her genetic forebears’ culture. With the assistance of both a museum curator and a rebellious computer tinkerer, it is soon discovered that Yang had a rich emotional life, but also, his program may be overloaded with spyware. Director Kogonada composes calm and stately images of a future in which an uneasy peace prevails between creature comforts and a creeping fascism. Indeed, while the "real-world" is shot completely static, Yang’s memories are depicted with elements of flow and bits of motion: more human than human, as has been said.
Big Bug (2022)2Despite a clever set up involving some futuristic friends, family, and foes becoming trapped inside a "smart" home after a cascading computer malfunction, Big Bug’s black-comedic surveillance-society melding of digital animation and live action never gets going: the shrill tone doesn't let up, and its broad and kinetic low-level farce quickly becomes exhausting as the humor of both the humans’ stories and the impending robot takeover fizzle out. Smartly re-written, it might work as a sixty-minute Black Mirror installment, or even better, as a ten-minute Love Death + Robots one. Best avoided.
Hard Eight (1996)4Despite his casting the stupendous Philip Baker Hall, his intricate tracking shots, and his deploying effectively moody diegetic music, Paul Thomas Anderson’s self-assured debut is not as overtly Altmanesque as his immediately subsequent work. In Nevada, Hall takes a down-on-his-luck John C. Reilly under his wing, showing him how to swindle the casinos out of a few bucks. Is it a set-up? Is it a pick-up? Is Hall an actual “Oh, God!”/"Heaven Can Wait"-like angel? Intrigue and danger quietly build as our players wend through gaudy casinos, seedy lounge bars, cheap motel rooms, and greasy diners, until his motive is eventually revealed by an unlikely source; mostly though, it excels in mood, dialogue, and character. Gwyneth Paltrow and Samuel L. Jackson lend support, and there’s a terrible cameo by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Double bill: Jackie Brown.
Land (2021)2There may be good intentions behind Robin Wright’s Land, about a woman dealing with an exogenous depression by leaving Chicago and isolating herself in the wilds of Wyoming’s forests, but maybe not. Regardless, the lack of psychological detail provided for viewers will leave them cold, and so a denouement that should leave viewers devastated comes off as manipulation instead. The ethnically diverse all-heart-of-gold support may earn Wright corporate accolades, however. Is that what she’s striving for here?
Blade Runner(1982)5A brief series of fantastic SF films was released around the turn of the 80s (Quintet, Stalker, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Alien, and a little later, Brazil), and despite Pauline Kael’s incisively shredding review, Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner—a noir meditation on the fraught nature of human identity replete with genre-transcending art direction and gorgeous synthetic scoring by Vangelis—stands among the very best of them: all-too-human androids, programmed to expire after four years, merely wish to live out a normal lifespan. A genuine classic of cinema, the pointed unemotionality of its characters is fully offset by the film's humanistic philosophizing.
Wendy And Lucy (2008)4In Kelly Reichardt's slow and spare Wendy and Lucy, a young woman stricken by poverty, family dysfunction, and poor decision-making skills, is driving alone to Alaska to look for work when her car breaks down and her dog is impounded in a remote down-and-out Oregon town. Both she and the town double as stand-ins for the poverty and hopelessness that plague so many. Michelle Willliams is excellent in a role that relies far more on her facial expressions than on its only sporadic dialogue. Beautifully handled.
The Honeymoon Killers (1970)4Wow! Vibrant camera work, black and white film stock, and a sparing deployment of Mahler's 5th and 6th in its underscoring add immeasurably to this sordid tale of two sociopaths—a southern frump (Shirley Stoler) and a Spanish stud (Tony Lo Bianco)—who meet through a lonely hearts mail service and become increasingly daring and brazen in their attempts to swindle women out of their savings. Elements of amateurism are threaded throughout, but still, sick sick sick! I love it!
The Magic Christian (1969)3Terry Southern’s The Magic Christian—provided with a largely directionless, calculatedly anarchic filmization in which Peter Sellers is a titan of industry who adopts vagabond Ringo (pretty great but under-utilized)—is a thinly-plotted series of vignettes/set pieces poking fun at both old- and new-money norms of avarice, that has both Goon Show and nascent Monty Python airs (Cleese and Chapman are here). Extra points for its frank homoeroticism, and the three Badfinger songs are a pleasure. Triple bill: Candy and Skidoo.
The Beatles: Get Back (2021)2This re-edit of Michael Lindsay-Hogg’s Let It Be footage from 1969 is done in by its astonishingly poor editing: the shots and angles of our magnificent heroes come fast and furious and ever-so-gracelessly, and its over-length is reinforced by gross injudiciousness regarding what should have been dropped to the floor. Given his impeccable Hollywood credentials, I’m surprised director Peter Jackson didn’t do a CGI/avatar version of Lindsay-Hogg’s preposterously-conceived Tripoli concert. Indeed, given the anachronistic digitally-scrubbed sheen of it all, I’m surprised Jackson didn’t just come clean and re-do the whole production with CGI avatars. Can't wait for Jackson's extended version/special edition/director's cut. Not!
The Sparks Brothers (2021)2The world could definitely use a sober, serious analysis of the artistry of Sparks, pop geniuses Ron and Russell Mael. The flip "The Sparks Brothers" isn’t it. Plagued by amateurish and tiresome art direction and a poor choice of post-hoc analysts, the film shines only from old footage in which the boys' theatrics are on display, i.e. the parts the director had nothing to do with. Still, its nice to get input from their early producers: Todd Rundgren, Earl Mankey, Muff Winwood, Tony Visconti, Giorgio Moroder. MIA: Rupert Holmes.
Mockingbird Don't Sing (2001)2The story of linguist Susan Curtiss and her professional and personal relationship with “Genie”, a young girl who endured unspeakable abuse and was deprived of language. Somber and respectful (and it’s great to see Kim Darby in a decent role), but although many personal and professional foibles and disagreements are given fair airings, the story moves along so quickly, and many of the characters are drawn so one-dimensionally, that viewer disengagement becomes a serious risk. (Susie Curtiss was my teacher, and is a dear friend.)
Anywhere But Here (1999)2A poor man’s “Slums of Beverly Hills,” in which dour teen Natalie Portman (fine) copes with her personality-disordered mother Susan Sarandon (unconvincing) as they pick up from Wisconsin and move to 90210. Pedestrian work by the talented Wayne Wang and screenwriter Alvin Sargent.
The Trial (1962)4Josef K. (Anthony Perkins) is a man born guilty of a crime punishable by death. Kafka’s Holocaust-prefiguring unfinished novel is given an appropriately Germanic expressionist treatment by Orson Welles. Its black and white photography and extravagant set pieces are visually astonishing, though the flat narrative is a bit of a trial to plod through. Double bill: Brazil, or maybe Shadows And Fog.
Not Without My Daughter (1991)3Sally Field and Alfred Molina star in this true story of an American woman who reluctantly joins her Persian husband (along with their daughter) on a family visit to the Islamic Republic of Iran. Upon their arrival, he becomes seized by the thrill of the revolution, and decides to forcibly keep them all there. Trapped, abused, and desperate, she fortunately encounters a remarkably brave and good-hearted Iranian underground that arranges her and her daughter's escape back home. Well-made if workmanlike film that is the product of a more humanistic era.
Dune (2021)1This mash-up of Frank Herbert’s titular novel and Edward Said’s "Orientalism" is all but impossible to penetrate. Apart from all the Star Wars, Apocalypse Now, and Triumph of the Will-referencing visuals, there’s no there there, nothing to sink your teeth into. I mean, who talks like this? I mean, what planet are these people from? Only Sharon Duncan-Brewster makes any sort of impression. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for Jodorowsky’s version to finally be greenlighted.
The Fanatic (2019)2John Travolta is both sympathetic and despicable as a high-functioning autistic increasingly obsessed with a Mel Gibson-like action star/asshole (he likes Limp Bizkit, FFS!), but he’s all there is to this economical (both time-wise and budget-wise) derivation of The King of Comedy, Misery, and William Shatner’s old “Get a life!” bit. Directed by Fred Durst...of Limp Bizkit, FFS!
The Velvet Underground (2021)3Good documentary about the Velvets, and Andy Warhol's whole scene, though some of the old footage can be quite distracting, dizzying and unpleasant. No need to hold your breath though, as all the interviewees—wisely limited to people who were there—come off as having all their marbles. John Cale is great, Moe Tucker is really great, and Jonathan Richman is simply fantastic.
Make Way For Tomorrow (1937)5Achingly sad film (with bits of warm humor) of an elderly couple who lose their home during the depression, and their children who are far too self-absorbed to do the needful. Beulah Bondi is unforgettable as the matriarch. Quiet, subtle, and devastating; a masterpiece.
Secretary (2002)1A mental patient (Maggie Gyllenhaal) takes a secretarial job and enters into a mild S+M relationship with her boss (James Spader). Zero characterization, zero drama, zero wit, zero warmth, zero insight, zero sympathy. In a mercifully small role, the always terrible Jeremy Davies is...terrible as always. It’s also one of the ugliest looking films I've seen in quite some time: hideous sets, dreadful camera work. Execrable filmmaking.
Stir Crazy (1980)3In Sidney Poitier's fitfully hysterical pairing of Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder as innocents sent to prison—the former a failed actor, the latter a failed playwright-turned...-bull-rider!—everyone gets a comic licking: conservatives and liberals, easterners and westerners, straights and gays, Jews and gentiles, blacks and whites. The laughs peter out as the film shifts towards their far-fetched escape, but the action remains engaging. Really, they don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Let’s hope times loosen up again soon.
Behind The Candelabra (2013)2Voyeuristic exposé of two unappealing figures: the self-absorbed and manipulative Liberace (over-played by Michael Douglas), and the teenaged sawdust-for-brains Scott Thorson, Liberace’s lover-turned-dope-fiend (played by the middle-aged sawdust-for-brains Matt Damon). The makeup is outstanding, as is a slithery Rob Lowe, channeling Barry Manilow in a small part.
Eraserhead (1977)2A couple raise a strange reptilian creature. Its throwback to/amalgam of Expressionism, Dada, Gothic horror, and 50s monster movies renders Eraserhead the opposite of visionary. Surprisingly good special effects, but nothing else; it’s just odd for odd’s sake.
Mid-August Lunch (2008)4Warm, charming, and delightful slice-of-life story of a gentle, good-hearted middle-aged man who, somehow, ends up caring for several elderly women over a summer holiday in his increasingly cramped Rome flat, women who don’t shy away from their well-earned idiosyncrasies. It could so easily descend into hijinks or hokum, but no, it maintains its humanistic tone to the end; if some sort of dark subtext was intended, I certainly couldn’t detect it. Lovely!
The Big Sick (2017)2Act One is a sporadically enjoyable story of the courtship between a Pakistani-American aspiring comedian and his blonde squeeze (Zoe Kazan, appealing), culminating in his acquiescence to his intolerant family. In Act Two, the blonde is placed in a coma to fight an infection, and the film shifts focus to her far more liberal parents (The great Ray Romano, and the under-employed Holly Hunter). It’s all over the map, and there’s no direction home. Aidy Bryant is good in a small role, but overall, an endless two-hour dud. Watch "Ae Fond Kiss" instead.
The Son's Room (2001)2Banal, Lifetime-level film of a family that endures a tragedy, with an especially poorly executed build-up. Its paper-thin plotting is further diminished by uncompelling characters, and the frequent cuts to the father's sessions with a parade of uninteresting patients (he's a psychologist) succeeds only in padding out the running time. Films like this cheapen human tragedy and thus engender viewer resentment.
The Mouse That Roared (1959)3The tiny anglophonic continental Duchy of Grand Fenwick has only one export—a pinot wine—that the Americans bootleg, thus decimating the Fenwickian economy. Their plan? Declare war on the USA, lose, and reap all the lavish benefits of a defeated enemy. All goes awry when they capture the Americans’ secret weapon and end up victorious. Peter Sellers, in three separate roles, underplays brilliantly, though as a whole the film’s tone is too often silly and broad. Still, it’s all in good fun, and it has charm to spare.
L'amant Double (2017)2Ice cold psychological-study-turned-erotic-thriller of a damaged beauty (yes, the rapable waif) and the therapist who falls in love with her (yes, the disreputable shrink). Enter the therapist’s equal-and-opposite brother, also a therapist, who further messes with her brain and her body (yes, the evil twin). Inscrutable and off-putting. Watch David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers instead.
Minari (2020)2Cliché-laden Steinbeck-cribbed tale of a young father seeking a better life “back east” (as opposed to “out west”), abandoning his and his wife’s agricultural-industry jobs to live off the fat o’ the land in the rural Arkansas of Reagan’s America. Director Lee Isaac Chung maintains a steady and somber tone, and the performances are quite fine, in particular Will Patton as the eccentric but kindhearted farmhand, and especially Youn Yuh-jung as the loving and plainspoken halmani (Korean for "grandmother"), but it lacks the sense of wonder and curiosity that is so important to a movie presented (albeit half-heartedly) from a little boy’s perspective, and, quite frankly, has no insights to offer.
Menashe (2017)4Widower Menashe is a loveable loser: sweet, well-intentioned, and adoring of his son...but also a screw-up of just about everything: his son's nutritional needs, a gefilte fish transport, a kugel for his wife's memorial Yahrzeit service. This does not sit well with his stickler brother-in-law, his brutish boss, the somewhat sympathetic Rebbe, or many others in his Borough Park community, where policy demands that kids have a mother to raise them. True to form, Menashe is reluctant to enter another (unhappy) marriage, and so risks losing his boy. A delightful and moving slice of Yiddish life, Menashe is a very local movie exploring universal themes: the bonds and conflicts of individual, familial, and community needs and aspirations.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)1This movie follows (though, thumbing its nose at its title, studiously avoids exploring the inner world of) a loathsome self-absorbed youth with a limited talent for folk music as he dilly-dallies around the Beat Era-waning Village and Upper West Side, alienating everyone he suckers into his life. The music scene is (counter-factually) portrayed as lifeless, cruel, and slim on artistry, and the film as a whole follows suit. Artifice and viewer manipulation seem to be the filmmakers' primary goals here. Fans will be screaming “Where’s its scrotum!? Where's its scrotum!?” for years. Why? Because the filmmakers want them to. Watch A Mighty Wind instead.
I Married A Monster From Outer Space (1958)3Shape-shifting aliens from Andromeda—males only; the females have all died—assume human form and try to learn our ways, having their most trouble with love, romance, and sex as they attempt to procreate and take over, while suspicious wife Gloria Talbot comes to learn their secret. Superficially read as a subtextual warning about Communists, the film works far more effectively as a metaphor for living in the closet: the men can’t tell their wives why they lack desire, and feel most comfortable when with each other; Tom Tryon is thus a natural as the male lead. Low budget to be sure, but creepy, effective and daring nonetheless.
George Washington (2000)1Psst! Someone thinks he’s Terrence Malick. Spoiler alert: he’s not. Rather he’s a cross between Benh Zeitlin and Harmony Korine i.e., the devil's spawn. A group of poor southern kids interact like adults, the adults like kids. The performers can’t act, the photography is stagnant, the blocking stagey. The scripting (or improvisation) is not only absurd, it is absurdist. It aims to be elegiac and solemn, but it’s just risible. And it’s all bathed in an inexplicable sepia wash. Hollywood makes drivel aimed to please Peoria. With George Washington, director David Gordon Green has made drivel aimed to please Park Slope. Whatever, just leave me out of it.
The Green Slime (1968)3Cleverly plotted and well-paced science fiction. Astronauts sent to avert an asteroid’s collision with earth unwittingly bring back to their space station a green slime that quickly morphs into multiple deadly creatures. They can’t be shot because their spilt blood produces progeny, and indeed, the very power harnessed to hunt them down (electricity) turns out to be their own source of energy. Yes, The Green Slime is Alien(s), wholly prefigured, though cheesed up with stiff acting, middling effects, and a dumb love triangle. Still, well worth a look.
Silence (2016)2In Silence, Martin Scorsese explores both the murderous arrogance of Christian missionaries (here, in 17th century Japan) and the foolishness of those who buy into their belief system. The Buddhist authorities’ response (torturing the belief out of converts) was equally abhorrent. It might work as a scathing commentary on human folly, but it utterly fails as drama. It is long, slow, repetitious, boring, and there’s not a single sympathetic character. With only one exception (Issei Ogata’s Inquisitor), the performances and line readings are as stilted as are the lines themselves.
A Hidden Life (2019)2Striking, Vermeer-esque lighting mixes with funhouse-inspired photography (lens distortion, hand-held panning-and-zooming)—stylization that culminates in dispassion—in Terrence Malick’s exploration of a rare breed of Anschluss Austrian who, out of religious conviction, opposed the Final Solution. But to propose that Christianity—the very fount of Jew-hatred—is our salvation, is both ridiculous and offensive; the film's sanctified purity is never sullied by depicting a Jew, or even uttering the word. Filmed in the Italian Alps, A Hidden Life is beautiful to look at, but it’s hard to get past its arm’s-length storytelling and its muddled thinking.
Unforgettable (1996)2Previously known for his taut, switch-on-a-dime noir thrillers, in Unforgettable, John Dahl ventures into science-fantasy murder-mystery as wrongly-accused killer Ray Liotta tries to solve his wife’s murder with the assistance of biology professor Linda Fiorentino, whose research involves transferring traumatic memories that are encoded in cerebrospinal fluid (yeah, right). Slick and stylish, but completely done in by ridiculous plotting, and terrible scripting by Bill Geddie.
My Happy Family (2017)4Call me provincial, but I get such a thrill when encountering cross-cultural commonalities. A middle-aged woman, quite simply, tires of her cramped, multi-generational, in-everyone’s-business flat, and takes a place of her own, while her perplexed family tries to bring her home. Tight and invasive photography, and all-too-human ranting and raving, loving and laughter, enahnce considerably. I have no way of knowing if it’s true-to-life or mere Tbilisiwood, but it certainly struck a chord with yours truly. With impromptu folk singing throughout, My Happy Family is both affecting and delightful.
Save Yourselves! (2020)2A bland, superficial, and kvetchy hipster Greenpoint couple head up to Ulster County for a week off the grid, and are harassed by powderpuff aliens. A promising premise thoroughly botched. Lousy scoring by Andrew Orkin. Crummy cinematography by Matt Clegg. Poorly executed in every way. Save yourselves: don’t watch!
The Vast Of Night (2019)4A small Roswell-adjacent community in the early 60s encounters some strange audio signals, and two precocious teens (Jake Horowitz and the especially impressive Sierra McCormick) search for their source. The visual and tonal dexterity in Andrew Patterson’s debut feature works primarily as a confident and mature homage to genuine cinematic greats: Welles (in it complexly assembled tracking shots), Spielberg (in its slow and steady build-up of intrigue), Altman (in its carefully choreographed verbal ballets). Slick not flamboyant, somber not dour, respectful of its betters not fawning.
War For The Planet Of The Apes (2017)1An animated borefest in which the voice-over actors don’t speak their lines—thuddy, leaden, ponderous, hollow—but rather, intone them. It’s superficially about some talking monkeys, but discerning viewers will fall over themselves in self-congratulation as they sink their teeth into its deep, daring, and revelatory message: war is not healthy for chimps and other living things.
Catch The Wind (2017)4It would be shallow to look for “bigger themes” in a movie that so deftly explores the human basics of dignity, work, and love. A socially withdrawn woman loses her job when her factory relocates to coastal Morocco, and, abandoning her grown son from whom she is nearly estranged, decides to follow it there and continue her work. In Tangier she encounters everyday cruelties and corruption, but also kindness and compassion. Sometimes painful, always moving, Catch the Wind is a film that genuinely earns its happy ending.
Win Win (2011)4There isn’t a bum note in this slice-of-/true-to-life North Jersey story of a middle aged/class lawyer (Paul Giamatti) who cuts some serious ethical corners as he tries make ends meet, and ends up inextricably involved with a majorly dysfunctional family. Amy Ryan shines as his no-nonsense wife, and newcomer Alex Shaffer holds his own as the wrestling runaway kid they take in.
A Serbian Film (2010)2A financially strapped retired porn star signs up for what turns out to be a snuff film. Its over-the-top artifice renders its attempted shocks laughable, and the film wallows in a thoroughgoing inconsequentiality; nuance and cleverness are clearly not priorities. Double bill: The Human Centipede 3.
Certified Copy (2010)2Kiarostami's largely unengaging experimental drama about the deception inherent to art, and, perhaps, inherent to our social and sexual lives as well. After being mistaken for a married couple at a rustic cafe, the two characters (William Shimmel, a blowhard art historian in Italy promoting his book, Juliette Binoche, a single mother and antiquary who has invited him there after his lecture) either play-act—or don't—at their relationship, while viewers are left to guess what is real and what is not. Neither the self-referential philosophizing nor the characters themselves are compelling enough for us to care what their reality actually consists of.
I Love You, Daddy (2017)2Brilliant stand-up Louis CK surely has his demons, some of which he cops to in the awkwardly assembled I Love You, Daddy, wherein he ineffectually tries to reach his precocious out-of-control daughter across the generation gap, and deals with “difficult” women left and right. Rose Byrne (accent changing mid-consonant), John Malkovich (creepy as ever), Charlie Day (directionlessly energized) and others fail to make a positive impression. Only Pamela Adlon emerges unscathed, despite her one-note characterization. Excellent underscoring by Robert Miller and Zachary Seman.
Rifkin's Festival (2020)3An aging film scholar contemplates art and death while dreaming of his favorite movies by Welles, Bergman, Truffaut, Fellini, Godard. Looser and breezier than anything Mr. Allen has created in the current millennium, he even seems to allow some improvised dialogue, though most of it is subpar. Apart from lead Wallace Shawn (who hits his lines much too hard), the cast is fine.
Splendor In The Grass (1961)2Overcooked corn hash. Middle-Americana familial dysfunction of the religious and sexual sort (with the '50s masquerading as the '20s), as horny Warren Beatty and Natalie Wood are prevented from doing the nasty, and she goes bonkers as a result. Really? Director Elia Kazan should have put the breaks on William Inge's Broadway-bound screenplay and his actors' over-projected line readings. Only Barbara Loden—ironically, as a scripted histrionic—shines, but her character is left dangling.
Sybil (1976)5Sybil is a masterful, harrowing, and deeply affecting TV production exploring horrific child abuse and a long painful journey to some sort of recovery. Sally Field is stupendous, Joanne Woodward (in a far less demanding role) is also extremely good (and redeems herself after the trivial Three Faces of Eve); the main support—Brad Davis and especially Martine Bartlett—excel as well. And while psychoanalysis and so-called recovered-memory therapy are malicious scams, they do lend themselves to effective drama if smartly presented (as herein), and if disbelief is sufficiently suspended.
Man On The Moon (1999)2Conceivably, like Peter Sellers, Bob Dylan, and Oakland, there really was no there there in Andy Kaufman. But this ostensible biopic (forget the moon, the film lurches lightyears from the truth) doesn't even attempt to explore this possibility. Instead, Man On The Moon merely provides a series of Kaufman's genius stunts—though eliding his greatest of all: his embrace of Christian fundamentalism—without ever sweating the details of what made him tick, what illuminated his mind, how he conjured and honed his remarkable craft. The cast is game, but the film, with its many attempts to obscure the truth and prank its own audience, is a muddled bust.
Heat (1995)2Opening scene! A Brinks heist by LA's toughest and smartest bad guys, and time is of the essence! But wait, we only want one particular envelope, so let's carefully go through each and every one in this sizable wad while we're still in the truck, instead of just bringing them all back to the hideout and doing it there! And so it goes... De Niro and Pacino's one scene together, clearly intended as a landmark cinematic event, is poorly written and sluggishly paced. It's a sprawling overacted superficial endless mess of a pastel-hued cops-and-robbers film. Forget Heat; the movie doesn't even generate light.
The Invasion (2007)2The setting is an alternate universe, much like this one except that doors lock on the wrong side (to enhance the “thrills”). The premise is loosely based on Invasion of the Body Snatchers, done to perfection twice before, and imperfection once before. There is no build up of tension. There is no character development. There aren't even any cool gross-out effects. There are lots of chases and car crashes. So sad that excellent performers Veronica Cartwright, Jeffrey Wright, and Celia Weston have sullied their résumés with this happy-ending nonsense.
Phase 7 (2010)2It has a lot of potential: a horror-thriller-comedy-drama-social commentary-character study-gorefest about a viral pandemic and its effects on the tenants of a small urban apartment building, especially on a zhlub and his mood-swinging pregnant live-in. The opening is strong: clear, vibrant, well-shot and well-acted; alas, it quickly deteriorates into into cat-and-mouse silliness.
Dark Star (1974)2To call this hippie-undergrads-In-outer-space SF comedy the missing link between 2001 and Alien would be extremely charitable. Yes, it is inspired by Kubrick, and yes, Dan O'Bannon recycled any number of its ideas for Scott's film, but the acting is lousy, the humor—veering between deadpan and slapstick—falls flat, the production is cardboard, and the philosophy is dorm-level. Credit for its enthusiasm and its good intentions, but that's all.
Last And First Men (2020)3Seventy-minute film featuring striking black-and-white stills-and-pans of crumbling socialist-folly sculptures in the Balkans, supplemented by a sinister music score and a somewhat trite story of the far future and humanity's end in a catastrophic cosmic-warming event, as told by a Tilda Swinton voice-over (and based on a 1930 book by Olaf Stapledon). While the imagery and music are effective, the narration, which aches to reach for profundity but doesn't quite get there, detracts, and should have been left out.
Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (2020)4Now that the lunatics have taken over the asylum, Borat has become a voice of moderation. His second movie, consequently, is less funny than his first, but is more impressive for one reason and one reason only: a truly remarkable, star-making performance by Maria Bakalova as his daughter, whom he intends on gifting to second psycho in command Mike Pence. Still, cruelly duping the sympathetic Jeanise Jones and the downright inspiring Judith Dim Evans is almost unforgivable. Shame on them. Rudy Giuliani appears as himself.
Annihilation (2018)1Abomination. A B-grade ripoff of A-grade Stalker, Solaris, and, in its finale, Invasion of the Body Snatchers? No: a C-grade ripoff of B-grade Event Horizon, The Abyss, and Sphere. The imbecilic scripting and plotting of Annihilation—coming on the heels of Ex Machina (a ripoff of Star Trek's “Requiem For Methuselah”)—make the open and shut case that director Alex Garland doesn't make science fiction films. Rather, he makes disaster ones.
Venus In Fur (2013)4In Roman Polanski's brilliantly written, marvelously acted, and strikingly filmed two-player one-act drama (with plenty of laughs), a playwright and an actor match formidable wits during an impromptu read-through of a play about sado-masochism. Absolutely thrilling and riveting mixture/merger of art and life, dominance and submission, past and present, male and female, the rote and the spontaneous.
Beginners (2010)2In this ponderous and lunk-headed drama, a nondescript guy who flushes prescription drugs down the toilet, drives on the sidewalk for kicks, and vandalizes property as a hobby, falls for an equally nondescript woman who finds his antics impressive. A potentially interesting subplot about his dad coming out late in life (he starts wearing ascots and dates a creepy young guy with anime hair), is just as poorly handled. Dreadfully written, utterly banal, and gallingly pretentious.
Eyes Without A Face (1960)4A master plastic surgeon is guilt-ridden over an accident he caused that left his daughter gruesomely disfigured, and does all he can to give her back her beauty, including mutilating and murdering innocents. High on the list of horror masterpieces, Eyes Without a Face is macabre, mysterious, and gripping, but also chilling, shocking, and harrowing; it maintains a sustained level of quiet horror. (Remade by Almodóvar as The Skin I Live In.)
Atlantics (2019)2Visually and sonically arresting Dakar-set film of a young woman who loses her lover at sea and enters a loveless marriage. It tries to do many things, and fails at all of them: a trite romance, a trite mystery, a trite ghost story, a trite police procedural, and perhaps especially, a trite social message.
Eastern Boys (2013)4Excellent thriller of a mild-mannered Parisian gent who hooks up with the wrong trick, an illegal Ukrainian alien in with a bad crowd. As the story heats up—in tenderness, in tension—we constantly wonder whom to trust, whom to love. It doubles as a cogent indictment of the EU's self-destructive immigration policy. Great performances by the three leads, and by Edéa Darcque as the hotel manager. Recommended.
Rosemary's Baby (2014)2One of the many remarkable achievements of Polanski's 1968 film was that, à la Hitchcock, it managed to make its utterly ridiculous source material so compelling, so engaging. The sole redeeming feature of this Agniezka Holland-helmed remake is its exposing just how dumb the story really is, as it offers nothing but a whole stable of bland-out performers (Carole Bouquet excepted) in a lurid and flat-out bore of a telefilm. Polanski—and Holland—deserve better.
12 Monkeys (1995)2In this visually engaging, highly caffeinated sci-fi thriller, a virus kills most of humanity in 1996 and sends the few survivors underground where a short time later they invent a time machine. (How? It doesn’t matter.) They send a few hardened criminals (not a team of experts) back to a few days before the virus is unleashed (not months before) in order to search for a cure (not a way to prevent the disaster from striking in the first place). (Why? It doesn’t matter.) They fall in love. (Who? It doesn’t matter.) As with all time-travel stories, it's ultimately incoherent, and possesses a screenplay suffused with Hollywoodistic nonsense. Frank Gorshin is superb; Brad Pitt is atrocious.
Paula (1952)3It has all the makings of a superb Hitchcockian psychological thriller, but alas, the soapy script isn't up to the task. An infertile woman (Loretta Young) injures a young orphan (Tommy Rettig) in a car accident and is falsely accused of drunkenness in absentia by an unreliable source, her identity undetermined. Now aphasic, the young boy is ultimately taken in by the woman out of both love and guilt, but he eventually realizes that she is the one who hit him. As she helps him restore his language, will he betray her to the authorities who are closing in on her? Intriguing, compelling, cleverly plotted, and ripe for a smart remake.
I'm So Excited (2013)2This throwback to early Almodóvarian lighter-than-air inconsequentiality is a low-budget business-class-cabin-set sex-and-drugs romp that bogs down in ploddiness and frivolity, and sports a seriously undercooked script. It’s the master's equivalent of John Waters’ A Dirty Shame; a late-career dud that fails to rebottle the early magic, try though it may.
First Cow (2019)5Wholly absorbing, superbly acted, and artfully understated film of an ambitious Chinese adventurer and a gentle east coast baker who intimately bond and try to make a better life for themselves in nineteenth century Oregon Territory, only to be inevitably stymied by the rich and the powerful. Its mud and its muck and its politics manage to conjure McCabe and Mrs. Miller; Rene Auberjonois appears briefly. Stunning and breathtaking; terrific work by director Kelly Reichardt.
Joe (1970)2A tawdry and lurid exploration of the generation gap during Vietnam, John Avildsen's “Joe,” with its shoddy in-your-face direction and acting, and its pretensions to profundity, makes every character and every point of view thoroughly repugnant. Peter Boyle's performance as a right-wing sicko, and one well-written scene at an upscale bar, soften the blow.
The Missing Star (2006)4Gianni Amelio, cinema’s master of tenderness, never fails to find humanism and warmth even in the most forbidding of environments. An Italian power plant worker, out of righteous indignation, good will, but mostly, a yearning wanderlust, travels solo to China to deliver a repair part—the MacGuffin—after his firm sells off a faulty furnace to an unwitting company there. Reuniting with his translator, the two—both burdened by their troubled lives—go off across the industrial ruin of China's forbidding landscape in search of the furnace's new home, and somehow bond.
My Favorite Year (1982)3Highly fictionalized reminiscence of Errol Flynn's guest appearance on Your Show of Shows, and the kid out of Brooklyn assigned to keep him off the bottle and away from the ladies. As produced by Mel Brooks, directed by Richard Benjamin, and starring a host of Borscht Belt-inspired greats, it's somewhat broad, always witty, and very Jewish. Best throwaway line: “How'd you get in here?” Listen carefully or you'll miss it.
Session 9 (2001)1In this pretentious, uninvolving, and uninspired low-budgeter (check that: it is inspired, by The Shining), a tiny asbestos-removal crew encounters ghosts at a shuttered mental hospital’s giant Kirkbride Building. Session 9 is noteworthy only for its deeply offensive trivialization of mental illness and patient abuse. What will director Brad Anderson do next, a madcap comedy at Treblinka?
Dominick And Eugene (1988)5Beautifully rendered tale of two brothers in Italian Pittsburgh—one a med student, the other brain-damaged since childhood—and their lifelong loving bond. Moving not manipulative, sincere not sensational, Dominick And Eugene is a genuine triumph of fine storytelling, complex characterizations, and excellent acting (especially by Tom Hulce). Highly recommended.
Almost Famous (2000)1Cameron Crowe has made a slick dumb movie about a band of slick dumb guys making slick dumb music, and the kid who is hired to write about them by a slick dumb magazine. Rife with Hollywood cliches, and with no sense of its purported place and time, the film is an exercise in lowest common denominator junk. It’s loosely autobiographical, which tells you all you need to know about slick dumb Cameron Crowe.
J'Accuse (2019)5An antisemitic military instructor who helps frame his Jewish student for treason comes to cultivate a conscience, and works heroically to correct the injustice. This could happen anywhere of course, but this was fin de siècle Paris: The Dreyfus Affair brought France's famed legacy of antisemitism into the papers for a change, and shook the country to its core (albeit fleetingly), thanks to the titular exposé by Émile Zola. Polanksi's gorgeously assembled period drama—with a justifiably fetishistic emphasis on papers, files, and valises—is at once sober and gripping.
Based On A True Story (2016)3Derivative of Persona, Misery, Swimming Pool, and most oddly, Single White Female, Polanski’s super-controlled tone here partially undermines the tension he hopes to build: a woman insinuates herself into the life of a blocked writer and slowly takes over her life. The sober, harsh camerawork, and the austere, modern mise-en-scène impart a low-budget, videographic feel. Well-acted and engaging, but hardly compelling.
Mamma Mia! (2008)2Marni Nixon, where are you when we need you? Abba's magnificent three-minute pop operas could have been far better served by a decent book instead of this cotton candy gruel-thin trifle, lifelessly choreographed, and with a cast largely lacking in charisma. The emphasis here is clearly on mindless crowd-pleasing, not quality. Streep and Baranski shine, well, for a moment here, a moment there. Listen to the records.
Charly (1968)2This loose and sketchy adaptation of Daniel Keyes' science-fantasy “Flowers for Algernon”—a retarded man (Cliff Robertson) undergoes surgery and gains in intelligence—lacks the poignancy and wistfulness it could easily have possessed: the doctors explore his expanded memory capacity rather than his emotional and intellectual development. Viewer engagement consequently suffers. Careless, artsy direction, lack of character motivation (especially Claire Bloom's case worker), and pretentious, off-putting montages further limit the appeal.
Air Doll (2009)2A blow-up dolly slowly achieves consciousness, but encounters blasé reactions from those who learn her secret, since their worlds are made of plastic anyway. Despite a fairly remarkable performance by Bae Doona in the title role, this meditation on sexism and modern alienation is, inevitably, aloof and uninvolving: try as they may, movie makers will never touch the soul of their viewers by portraying soulless characters, and it's especially disappointing that the great Hirokazu Koreeda hasn't figured that out.
Child's Play (1972)3An odd entry in the Sidney Lumet canon, “Child’s Play” is psychological thriller set in a conservative Catholic school where violence is spreading from boy to boy like a virus, while former student/now gym teacher Beau Bridges tries to uncover the faculty intrigues that may have triggered it. Creepy, effective, brilliantly shot and lit, and superbly acted, especially by James Mason, who can transform himself from hateful to sympathetic in the middle of a single line; Robert Preston is miscast (or at least mis-coiffed).
High Life (2018)2Ultra-low-budget science fiction (poor audio, terrible art direction) with a premise based on Star Trek's “Space Seed”, fifty-one years earlier: violent convicts are blasted off into space; trouble erupts. What it lacks in intrigue, characterization, and wit, is made up for in willful obscurity, stone-faced performances, and pretentiousness. Nice cameo by the orgasmatron, however...Not!
Summer Hours (2008)2Where the camera should be stately and dignified, it is invasive and shaky. Where the sound should be muted and hushed, it is close-miked and shrill, and where the future of a deceased French matriarch’s estate should take a back seat to family relationships and remembrance of things past, it is placed front and center, thus depleting the emotional resonance.
La Vérité (2019)4Catherine Deneuve plays a beloved actress whose career is sadly winding down, while Juliette Binoche plays her loving daughter visiting from the States, resentful of her mother’s increasingly bitter and self-serving ways. “La Vérité”, Koreeda’s supremely enjoyable and thoughtful first foray abroad, is beautifully acted, thoroughly engaging, deeply affecting, and is suffused with exceptionally well-drawn characters. Bravo!
Shiva Baby (2020)1A prostitute encounters her favorite john at a shiva. An astonishingly awful millenial me!-me!-me! myopic (noun, rhymes with "biopic"), the interminable one set/one act “Shiva Baby” is an atrociously written parade of negative Jewish stereotypes, consists of one nauseatingly shot close-up after another, and is gracelessly scored and edited, seemingly by eleven-year-olds. This is hardly the first time super-wealthy parents have bankrolled their talentless child’s vanity project, but please, dear God, let it be the last.
Yesterday (2019)1The only thing "Yesterday" demonstrates is that its makers don’t understand the first thing about The Beatles or the mania that they engendered, or their incalculable impact on our cultural history. Yes, the songs are precious jewels of both artistic and popular perfection, but the protagonist in Yesterday—a failed singer-songwriter who wakes up after an accident to discover he’s the only one who knows the Fabs' song catalogue, and so starts Beatlemania all over again by himself (ridiculous premise, yes)—completely lacks all their other attributes: their charisma, their wit, their philosophy, their performing skills, their arrangements, their production, and everything else. A clueless endeavor, and a deep insult to the Beatles and their fans.
Lucky Numbers (2000)2Pastry-puff director Nora Ephron clearly had no idea what to do with hard-roll screenwriter Adam Resnick’s script when she took on—and mangled—“Lucky Numbers”, a blackish comedy about two Harrisburg newscasters getting in over their heads when they try to cheat the Pennsylvania Lottery Commission. With too many characters and too few good laughs, the always-appealing John Travolta and Lisa Kudrow, along with a solid Ed O’Neill, can’t salvage the proceedings, while the second-rate support lacks the chops to help them.
Grease (1978)3Actors in their 30s play high school seniors; actors in 40s play actual seniors—but so what—in Grease, a nostalgic 50s send-up musical starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. It's an offensive paean to white, heterosexual, least-common-denominator conformity—but so what—that's full of energy, charm, camp and wit.
Nobody Knows (2004)5A searing indictment of modern Japanese society, Nobody Knows follows four urban children in the wake of being wrecklessly abandoned by their single mother. Koreeda’s slow, steady work here agonizingly tightens the noose on the viewer, as the children’s lives eventually descend into chaos and tragedy, while no one, anywhere, seems to care. Remarkable performances by the children, and increasingly intense, claustrophobic cinematography, make Nobody Knows a deeply compelling—if intentionally cruel—cinematic experience.
1945 (2017)4Just as Nagasaki is bombed, two country Jews, baggage in tow, silently enter a Hungarian village, thus triggering a town-wide panic. Will they point an accusatory finger at the many colluders (a few with a conscience, most without)? Even worse, will they reclaim the property the villagers have stolen from their murdered brethren? Solemnly filmed in black and white, 1945 is brief and somewhat abstruse and minimalistic; the viewer may feel relief that most of the horror remains unexplored.
Like Father, Like Son (2013)4A deeply felt and emotionally complex two-family drama, in Koreeda's Like Father, Like Son, an embittered maternity nurse purposely switches the identity of two newborns. The fallout for all involved is heart-wrenching: a wealthy urban family with an aloof salaryman at the helm, and a loving, rustic clan of simple means, must somehow determine the fate of their little boys. Koreeda's subtle and affecting direction—especially of children—is a wonder to behold.
I, Tonya (2017)3Slick, engrossing, and with dazzling digital effects, “I, Tonya” should be the last word on the saga of Tonya Harding, the self-described “white trash” who skated her way to the top, despite the odds—her awful mother, her loser squeeze, the corrupt skating establishment, and perhaps especially herself—being stacked against her. While Alison Janney as her mom verges on the crowd-pleasing (a guilty pleasure), Margot Robbie nails the landing, her deeply flawed Tonya somehow evoking a modicum of sympathy.
Frances Ha (2012)2Co-writers Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig tap into their own rarefied lives for Frances Ha, a slice-of-lifey exercise than mines Woody Allen motifs from almost every era of his career, though from a 20-something millennial perspective. Like Allen’s creations, the inhabitants of this New York story are glib, superficial, and have scads of money. I imagine some people can relate to their trials, but not me. The cribbed Georges Delerue cues are a delight, however, and the players acquit themselves nicely.
Take This Waltz (2012)1Banal and untextured story of an amoral Toronto woman (Michelle Williams) who leaves her chicken-loving nice-guy husband (the excruciatingly limited Seth Rogen) for a hunky neighbor (Luke Kirby). And that’s it. With a visual palette inspired by a TV commercial for granola, a script as deft and delicate as a Billie Eilish lyric or a Billy Joel vocal, and a sex scene ripped off from Team America, Sarah Polley’s Take This Waltz is not even as compelling as the sum of its parts.
Stories We Tell (2012)4Every real-life interviewee is thoughtful, intelligent, articulate, and likeable (if not always reliable) in Stories We Tell, Sarah Polley’s intimate exploration of family relationships and family secrets in Toronto and Montreal. The viewer, meanwhile, is amazed at the remarkable footage she presents, whose origins remain a mystery until the rolling of the final credits. Compelling fare. Double bill: Missing Victor Pellerin.
Love & Mercy (2015)2Standard biopic fare—a protagonist ascends, falls, is redeemed—of Brian Wilson that portrays its characters with primary colors only: Brian and his girl Melinda good, his dad Murry and his svengali Gene bad. Enjoyable scenes of Wilson working miracles in the studio during the Pet Sounds and Good Vibrations sessions are its main asset; John Cusack’s uninspired performance its main drawback.
Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)1“Sparkie” (Patte Finley) was an ever-ebullient, hyper-effervescent optimist who put in a few brief, memorable appearances during the first season of The Mary Tyler Moore Show. In Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky, the similarly-named and similarly-inclined Poppy (Sally Hawkins), a shallow young teacher in London, is continuously on screen for an insufferable two hours, and the effect is absolutely maddening. She—like all the so-called characters herein, especially her psychopathic driving instructor—is a one-note, one-dimensional, cardboard cut-out who has no connection whatsoever to real humanness. We don’t care what happens to these cut-outs, of course, and—also of course—nothing does!
Young Ahmed (2019)4With an absent Muslim father, a secular Christian mother, and a dead terrorist older cousin, young Ahmed is easy bait for a local Jihadist Imam predator. Under his spell, the boy is inspired to kill his forward-thinking, Jew-dating teacher. Upon failing, he is sent for rehabilitation with Belgium's well-meaning but hopelessly naïve social services. Slow, studied, and maintaining a ferocious edge-of-your-seat grip on the viewer, the Dardennes only falter on the film’s implausible last line. Superior film-making.
Dark Waters (2019)2Dark Waters is an utterly conventional legal drama about a corporate lawyer (the ever-lackluster Mark Ruffalo) who turns the tables on his potential client, DuPont (the good folks who literally fed us Teflon, among other wholesome carcinogens). The particularly pedestrian script compounds the damage. It could have been directed by any Hollywood hack; that this hack turns out to be the great Todd Haynes is most depressing indeed.
Bye Bye Braverman (1968)2Sidney Lumet's would-be comedy—four early-middle-age second-tier Jewish intellectuals converging in the Village and driving their German Bug all over Brooklyn searching for the funeral of a friend—is mostly a failure. The characters are unlikable, the pacing is sluggish, and the stabs at humor are broad and ethno-stereotypical, Nicely shot scenes of New York by Boris Kaufman, however.
Just Tell Me What You Want (1980)3Both Alan King and Ali MacGraw are quite adequate (and the supporting players—especially Myrna Loy and Tony Roberts—are quite excellent) in Sidney Lumet's bittersweet NY-via-LA story of an ambitious mistress and her excitable, tyrannical, though ostensibly lovable sugar daddy. A few genuine laughs—and one fantastic line—help lift this iffy project to slightly-better-than-average status. That line: “The hardest thing about California...your getting over being ashamed of loving it.”
Shoplifters (2018)4A deeply felt meditation on the meaning of family and the nature of love, Hirokazu Koreeda’s Shoplifters follows a poor, seemingly close-knit Tokyo household that just happens to engorge on a steady diet of petty crime, adults and children alike. Slowly but steadily though, their relationships become increasingly confusing and difficult for the viewer to decipher, until a remarkable act of bravery and humanism by the clan’s young boy sets in motion the unraveling of their many secrets. Excellent performances (especially by Sakura Ando).
Parasite (2019)2In Seoul, a clever prole manages to insinuate himself—and his whole family—into the lives of the urban elite. After this mildly engaging though thoroughly implausible first act, the story careens from Laverne and Shirley-level sitcom humor in the second act, to standard slasher fare in the third. This being Bong Joon-Ho, middle school-level social commentary abounds, and there's not a sympathetic character to be found. Yawn. Watch The Servant instead. (Double bill: La Ceremonie.)
This Is Where I Leave You (2014)1A family gathers for their patriarch’s shiva, and hijinks ensue. Soul-crushingly awful would-be dramedy that dizzyingly flips back and forth between frat-level penis jokes and “Hey, you ok?”-level heart-to-hearts, with a punchline that involves—oh my gosh, isn't that hilarious?—lesbianism! Dreadful, dreadful filmmaking.
Leave No Trace (2018)3In Debra Granik’s third feature, a shell-shocked Iraqi vet retreats from society to live a nomadic existence in the dense forests of the Pacific Northwest and—appallingly—takes his pubescent daughter along for the ride. Their encounters with the law, the church, and like-minded country folk are, implausibly, positive to a fault, with virtually every character both well-intentioned though inevitably misguided in his or her efforts to save the pair. Especially troubling is the fact that we observe no evidence of a genuine stress disorder: no flashbacks, no anxiety attacks. As expected though, beautifully shot, well-acted, and stirringly scored.
Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018)3At times quite enjoyable (the scenes of 80s New York, the many references to early twentieth century haute culture figures), this story of literary letter forger Lee Israel nonetheless suffers from intermittently sloppy direction, and an uneven script that lurches between glib and stilted. The hopelessly miscast Melissa McCarthy tries in the lead, and Richard E. Grant is—no surprise—quite good indeed as her partner in crime, failed bon vivant Jack Hock.
Snowden (2016) 2Un-nuanced, and decidedly one-dimensional portrait of dissident/traitor (take your pick) data-dumper Edward Snowden. Regardless of one’s political leanings though, such a loaded figure requires a deeper exploration into his personality and underlying motivations, and at least a mention of the possible negative ramifications of his actions. Slick and superficial, Snowden is little more than a hagiography.
Endless Poetry (2017)3At 87, Chilean master Alejandro Jodorowsky has earned the right to be self-aggrandizing. He exercises that right to the hilt in the autobiographical (circa [post-] adolescence) Endless Poetry. Still, although the film focuses on our protagonist’s coming of age as a poet who will save us from ourselves, it should be viewed much more broadly: as a plea for humanism. Surrealism abounds, of course.
Irrational Man (2015)1Woody Allen purports to have read Dostoevsky (brooding existentialist commits a senseless murder at his leafy Rhode Island college) but not Chekhov (a gun appears in Act One and is promptly forgotten about). The paper-thin plot also involves a ubiquitous love triangle, and is punctuated by passing references to Kant, Husserl, Heidegger and Arendt. Deep.
Cafe Society (2016)1Jesse Eisenberg stars as a Jewish kid from the 1930s Bronx who inexplicably finds bi-coastal success with both his career and with the ladies. With all the depth, heft, and sophistication of a glass of Cold Duck, Woody Allen’s typewriter has self-generated yet another fatuous love triangle with no appealing characters, no motivation, no humor. The references to Radio Days and Manhattan simply highlight how far this man has fallen.
Blade Runner 2049 (2017)2Slow and ponderous, this sequel to the 1982 original is little more than a re-telling of Pinocchio, albeit decked out in impressive sets, lighting, and cinematography. Watch Spielberg’s A.I. instead. Better still, listen to Gary Numan’s Replicas LP.
Spotlight (2015)4Unobtrusively directed by Tom McCarthy, Spotlight is a harsh indictment of the Catholic Church’s perennial and pervasive sexual, psychological, and spiritual abuse of its children, told from the point of view of the four lapsed Catholic Boston Globe journalists (and their newly-arrived Jewish editor) who broke the story wide open in 2002. Double Bill: All The President’s Men.
Election (1999) 4Multiple points of view are all well-represented in this sharply observed and deftly assembled black comedy of a devoted Omaha high school teacher (Matthew Broderick) who becomes too involved in his students' election campaign. As he sours on an especially ambitious and narcissistic one (Reese Witherspoon), his whole life begins to unravel.
Before The Devil Knows You're Dead (2007)2Two loser brothers (Philip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke, who look nothing alike) decide to turn their lives around by robbing their parents’ suburban jewelry store. You can guess the rest. The mixed-up timeline in Sidney Lumet’s final film adds little to the proceedings, and the second act’s emphasis on family drama is insufficiently developed. Well-acted by all, but ultimately a misfire.
Fences (2016)4Constrained by its stage origins, Fences—the story of an embittered, flawed trash collector in postwar Pittsburgh who fails to acknowledge the loosening grip that racism holds on him; a failure with devastating repercussions for himself and his family—is nonetheless a deeply affecting drama bolstered further by the standout performances of Denzel Washington and especially Viola Davis.
Loving (2016)2The true story of an interracial couple running afoul of Virginia’s vile anti-miscegenation laws, in Loving, director Jeff Nichols admirably concentrates on the couple itself rather than the team of ACLU lawyers that pleads its case. Alas, we learn very little about the two, beyond the fact that they are, indeed, in love. As it stands, their characters and their relationship are insufficiently textured to engender viewer engagement.
Hugo (2011)2A major misfire from director Martin Scorsese, Hugo is a stuffy, precious, snoozer, a tale of an orphaned boy and his life inside a Parisian rail station, who becomes entangled with a toymaker, his ward, and a robot that may contain a key to his past. It then shifts gears to become an homage to early film artistry. A curiously flat 3D exercise that will bore kids and adults in equal measure. Watch "Dr. Tongue's 3D House of Pancakes" instead.
Whiplash (2014)2J. K. Simmons seethes with a cinematic fury in Whiplash, the story of an ambitious young drummer (Miles Teller) who spars with his delusional and sadistic jazz band leader (Simmons) at a prestigious New York music academy. Confidently assembled with a Scorsese-like intensity, it’s sabotaged by a crescendoing lack of credibility.
Metropolitan (1990)3Amiable comedy documenting the trivial travails of the collegiate WASP elite of New York City, circa Winter, 1990. The UHBs (“urban haute bourgeoisie”) on display here are unfailingly articulate and pseudo-urbane, usually polite, and inhabit a world that Woody Allen would like to have written about, had he a knowledge of gentile culture or a sense of humor.
Welcome to New York (2015)3Gérard Depardieu is the caricaturized stand-in for Dominique Strauss-Kahn in Abel Ferrara's loosely fictionalized account of a piggish, entitled, and unapologetic sexual predator of Trumpian proportions (a high-level French statesman in New York, as was Strauss-Kahn) who finally gets caught. The pseudo-verité proceedings progress at the mercy of the performers’ ability or inability to improvise convincingly, but the overall result is quite effective. (Unlike herein, Strauss-Kahn was likely innocent.)
The Earrings Of Madame de... (1953)5Masterfully and elegantly constructed, filmed, written, and acted, in Max Ophüls's The Earrings of Madame de…  we observe how a frivolous white lie may lead to devastating consequences, when a French society woman sells off an unwanted gift from her husband (the titular MacGuffin), which takes on significance as it makes its way back to her from her extra-marital lover. An absolute gem of a film that starts as comedy then seamlessly transitions to tragedy.
The Hours (2002)2The actors (Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, and Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf) are the whole show in this ultimately shallow exploration of depression and homosexuality. We only learn enough about the tenuously interwoven lives of three women combatting mental illness and domestic dissatisfaction to keep the story and its morose themes moving along. Poor makeup, poor scoring, and expository dialogue don’t help, but a twist at the end does.
Greenberg (2010)3Ben Stiller is Roger Greenberg, a carpenter from NY who is just out of the mental hospital, recuperating by housesitting for his wealthy brother in LA, where he gets involved with the young au pair (who has problems of her own). He’s bitter and hurtful and can’t seem to learn from his past mistakes. Still, despite a dearth of sympathetic characters herein, those on display are imbued with sufficiently nuanced humanity to keep the viewer’s interest. Watch out for several sloppy continuity errors.
Brazil (1985) 5The phantasmagoric Robert Wiene-inspired mise-en-scène is the runaway star of Terry Gilliam’s masterfully presented Orwellian nightmare of an everyman (Jonathan Pryce) trapped in a British future/past where getting the paperwork right supercedes love and humanism. The brilliant cinematography, the masterful production design, and the high/low Pythonesque humor far outshine the triteness of the unconvincing romance. Double Bill: Blade Runner.
Fear X (2003)2Poorly scripted and thinly plotted, Fear X trades in Kubrick-styled imagery to tell its tale of a mall security guard (a deadpan John Turturro) on the trail of his wife’s murderer. The cold, bleak Wisconsin and Montana winter scenes enhance the film’s mood, but it’s for naught as all culminates in an unsatisfying payoff.
The Purge (2013)2On an annual night of government-sanctioned crime, a family is victimized by home invaders of various sorts. This B-level Shirley Jackson-inspired would-be socially conscious thriller needs to be far more clever to get a rise out of its viewers. As it is, it has all the compelling chills and intellect of your everyday slasher flick.
Infamous (2006)4Thoughtful and moving depiction of Truman Capote’s writing of In Cold Blood with Toby Jones's excellent performance capping a fine cast, Infamous effectively explores Capote’s inner world as he navigates between his artistic aspirations and his personal demons and desires while investigating the murder and murderers of a Kansas family.
Hello, My Name Is Doris (2015) 2Lighter than air NYC dramedy of a 60-something spinster who falls for a 20-something hipster co-worker, Doris spends little time engaging the viewer with likeable characters or motivations for their actions. It only takes off when old pros Sally Field and Tyne Daly share the screen.
Star Trek Beyond (2016)1Star Trek Beyond violates Gene Roddenberry's Prime Directive of placing complex characters in complex circumstances that test both their allegiance to the principles of liberty and humanism, and their allegiance to each other. It is a context-free shoot-em-up that resembles in name only the Star Trek universe. It can easily be skipped.
Barton Fink (1991)2The unevenly drawn Odets-esque titular character is a New York playwright summoned to Hollywood to pen B movies, but can’t lower himself to the task, although it’s clear that his artistic aspirations are mere pretention anyway. All goes down the garbage chute when he finds himself ensconced in a seedy purgatorial hotel murder investigation; if it's all in his mind, then it's doubly all for naught. As usual, the Cohn Brothers show disdain for their characters, and by extension, for humanity. Back to page one.
Don’t Look Now (1973)5Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie shine in Nicolas Roeg's Venice-set supernatural thriller of a little girl reaching beyond the grave to her grieving parents: the mother, a believer, the father, a doubting clairvoyant. Achieving a superb sense of place with its shooting and editing, and with excellent support from a cast of English and Italian unknowns, Don’t Look Now is a horror art film that is sure to chill and is unlikely to be forgotten.
The Train (1964)4Brilliantly shot in striking black and white, in John Frankenheimer’s "The Train” Burt Lancaster joins the French Resistance and does his formidable utmost to prevent the Germans from hauling a load of Impressionist masterworks back to Berlin. An action adventure movie that does not flinch from sweating the gritty details, Lancaster deserves special accolades for doing his own impressive stuntwork.
Wait Until Dark (1967)3A crook from Scarsdale (Alan Arkin, scenery chewing) and his two hires (Richard Crenna and Jack Weston, fine) terrorize innocent and blind Greenwich Village-dwelling Audrey Hepburn (also fine) in their quest for some Montreal heroin that’s gone missing. Far-fetched filmed play with a ruse that's much too complicated. Viewing tip: suspend your disbelief.
Virunga (2014)5Essential document of a Congo gorilla reserve, the corporations that recruit locals to wreak havoc and destruction on both the gorillas and the people of the region, and the heroes who would give their lives to protect their charges. Absolutely essential viewing, Virunga portrays our planet on the edge of the abyss.
Parents (1989)3An introverted boy comes to suspect his parents of cannibalism in Bob Balaban’s 50s suburban dream/nightmare, which maintains its impressive creep factor until the very end. Indeed, the mood is so studiously sustained that the result has too few dramatic peaks. In small roles, Sandy Dennis and Deborah Rush are typically excellent, as is the splendid Mid-Century Modern art design.
The Revenant (2015)1A failed survival movie. Oh, he survives all right, but that’s all we learn about a remarkably inarticulate nineteenth century fur trapper in Canada’s Southwest (Leonardo DiCaprio). A ludicrous setup establishes the tone, in which an acknowledged lunatic (Tom Hardy) is assigned to care for our injured hero, as DiCaprio proceeds to survive the CGI onslaught: a bear attack, going over a waterfall, falling off a cliff, and other minor scuffles. Rife with digital effects that cast doubt on the authenticity of the suspiciously stunning nature shots that periodically disrupt the gratuitous violence, The Revenant is irrelevant.
Gone Girl (2014)1Preposterously plotted and dreadfully scripted tale of a sociopathic woman (Rosamund Pike) trying to frame her unfaithful husband (Ben Affleck) for her own supposed murder, while the entertainment news industry has a field day. Gone Girl would never pass quality control as a 50 minute Law And Order installment…and yet it goes on for two and a half endless hours! Had it been an hour shorter and played for laughs, it might have been a diverting romp. Watch The Last Seduction instead. Hell, watch Basic Instinct!
Interstellar (2014)2Millennials’ favorite obscurantist Christopher Nolan is behind this amalgam of sci-fi clichés—climate has doomed the planet and we need to seek refuge elsewhere—that is passionless and boring, and is replete with dialogue that is at times inscrutable and/or inaudible (especially when Matthew McConaughey is talking, and even more especially when Hans Zimmer's intrusive Cliff Martinez-cribbed music is blaring).
Déjà Vu (1997)4A married man and an engaged woman meet by chance at the White Cliffs of Dover, and fall instantly in love. An accomplished and fully realized romantic trifle for adults, the vaguely supernatural Déjà Vu is Henry Jaglom at his Eric Rohmer best, both ruminative in its extended dialogues and intricate in its clever plotting; a little like Brief Encounter with an updated ending.
Birdman: Or (The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance) (2014)2Cleverly staged (see also: Rope, Russian Ark), Birdman tells the story of a former Hollywood action hero (the nodding, winking—and excellent—Michael Keaton), who desperately tries to re-launch his career as a Broadway thespian. Alas, since we’re never provided evidence that he's ever had the chops to warrant this second chance, we can’t identify with his plight. Moreover, the various sub-plots trade in banal Hollywood clichés: the neglected alcoholic daughter (Emma Stone), the upstaging last-minute A-list recruit (Edward Norton), the cut-throat drama critic who would be fired on the spot for her unprofessionalism (Lindsay Duncan).
Tracks (1977)3Well-acted by all, but well-improvised by only one (The remarkable Michael Emil), in Tracks, Dennis Hopper is a shattered Vietnam conscript assigned to transport the body of a fallen friend cross-country on a train. At times somber, wistful, and moving, but increasingly overwrought, contrived, and undisciplined, this is nonetheless among lo-fi careerist Henry Jaglom’s most mature and compelling efforts, though, inevitably, with all his trademark shortcomings.
An Honest Liar (2014)4Engrossing and inspiring documentary of magician-turned-mystic debunker James Randi, hellbent on exposing the charlatans who separate the ignorant from the money (and even, at times, the medication) they need to survive (criminally, Uri Geller, and monstrously, Peter Popoff). His “honest lying” is put to its greatest test as, for decades, he hides from unsavory government agencies a truth that would ruin both his own life and the life of his partner-in-honesty. His joyful success, alas, is due as much to good luck as it is to the so-called justice system itself.
CitizenFour (2014)1Lifeless, uninformative, hotel room-based hagiography of data dumper Mark Zuckerberg (sorry, Edward Snowden) completely misses the real story, which is how and why our government is outsourcing our most sensitive security responsibilities to private firms like Booz Allen Hamilton, whose sole interest is their own bottom line, such that they hire unvetted loose cannons like Zuckerberg himself (sorry, Snowden). The reason is obvious: government complicity with American and British oil companies and their fascist partners in the blood-and-oil-soaked Middle East. 9/11, the Iraq War, and the security state are the inevitable results, and innocent lives be damned. (Just ask the good folks at CNN, who, at minute 53:35 graphically imply that the Jews are behind the entire surveillance program, and, by extension, 9/11 itself.) Update: Vladimir Putin is Zuckerberg's new boss (sorry, Snowden's).
San Andreas (2015)1What a quandary for Mrs. Golddigger Airhead: stay with her sociopathic capitalist thug of a soon-to-be second husband, or go back to her sociopathic responsibility-shirking soon-to-be-ex first husband? To add injury to insult, there‘s a big earthquake, too. Not only that, but her daughter is missing! How will it all be resolved?? Roland Emmerich is being bounced around in his grave.
Django Unchained (2012)3An outrageous cliché-laden post-modern absurdist black comedy Hollywood shoot-em-up about American slavery is almost certain to be despicable, but, just maybe, I’m willing to give Django Unchained the benefit of the doubt. After all, what could more outrageous and absurd that American slavery itself? If that’s the question Tarantino indeed wants us to ask, this film succeeds on its own very modest terms. If it isn’t, then shame on him.
Out Of The Furnace (2013)1A hot-tempered Coal Country Iraqi vet comes to the New York suburbs to make a quick buck in a fixed fight. It doesn't go as planned, and his brother comes searching. Dreadful, sloppy, incoherent moviemaking, and attempts by director Scott Cooper to avert accusations of anti-Native American racism in his portrayal of the all-evil-all-the-time Ramapough Lenape Nation (derogatorily called “Jackson Whites” herein, and who, preposterously, sport Appalachian accents despite their living less than 27 miles from Times Square) by portraying them all with lily-white complexions, simply compounds his offense, and renders this film's awfulness far more than skin-deep.
Up The Down Staircase (1967)4Sandy Dennis is superb as always, but the whole cast—“teaches” and “pupes” alike—is outstanding in Robert Mulligan’s gritty and sensitive filming of the famed Bel Kaufman book, the story of a young teacher making her way in a rough over-regimented and under-achieving inner city New York high school. Tad Mosel's script brings the characters to life, Fred Karlin's score is oddly affecting, and Joseph Coffey’s photography is simply outstanding.
The Master (2012)4A shell-shocked WW2 vet with a hair-trigger temper (Joaquin Phoenix) falls into symbiosis with a charismatic Werner H. Erhard / L. Ron Hubbard-esque cult leader (Philip Seymour Hoffman) in this highly literary, brilliantly staged, and genuinely challenging drama by the supremely talented Paul Thomas Anderson. This is fine film-making indeed.
We Need To Talk About Kevin (2011)1Tilda Swinton, in a one-note zombie-like performance, is saddled into this obnoxiously lensed cartoon-like investigation of her hermetically sealed monster of a son—no teachers, no therapists, no relatives, no neighbors—whose sociopathic persona is evident from the first frame of a go-nowhere, deeply offensive trivialization of a deadly serious topic: school violence. A comically transparent attempt to indict America, the only criminal in evidence here is director Lynne Ramsay.
Mother (2009)2A damaged psyche in provincial Korea destroys almost every life it touches, both before and after the body of a young girl is found. Good performances are undermined by a very unsteady first act, a story that lacks plausibility, and an overall air of unpleasantness.
Requiem For A Dream (2000)2People seek relief from the pain that life deals them, often with drugs. That is the theme, repeated over and over again, in Darren Aronofsky's increasingly concussive and over-the-top hyper-edited rock-video-masquerading-as-a-feature-film of a Jewish Coney Island boy (drug-addled Jared Leto, sporting an iffy Brooklyn accent) and his doting mom (Ellen Burtsyn, sadly exploited herein). Support from Marlon Wayans and Jennifer Connelly add nothing but the requisite eye candy.
Ex Machina (2015)2Highly derivative of Jerome Bixby's Star Trek script "Requiem For Methuselah", Ex Machina is a frustratingly pedestrian exploration of A.I., as a dupe (Captain Kirk) is recruited by a flawed genius recluse (Flint) to summon the emergent consciousness of a robot (Rayna Kapec). Especially undermined by the dumb anachronistic mistakes of said "genius", cynically employed to lazily advance the plot contrivances (using non-biometric, readily stolen security protocols, for example). Spoiler alert: Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics do not apply.
Dogtooth (2009)1A father shields his family from reality by keeping them imprisoned in his country estate, training them on his own twisted takes on life’s lessons (house cats are evil murderers, siblings can have sex with each other, Frank Sinatra’s your grandfather, you know, that sort of thing). This threadbare and uncredited remake of Arturo Ripstein's El Castillo de la Pureza (1973) is like Pasolini without the artistry, the campy humor, or the spirited humanism. Adolescents unshaped by the trials and tribulations of real life may pour over some gruel-thin subtextual commentary on modern society ostensibly contained herein. Adults will shrug and move on.
No Country For Old Men (2007)2Undeniably entertaining, this filmization of the Cormac McCarthy novel in which a Texas Vietnam vet is on the run after finding a hot stash is, as with all the Coen Brothers' movies, a wholly bloodless exercise in style. Potentially interesting characters are paraded before us and then dropped like hot potatoes, serving solely as vehicles to propel forward both the narrative's yawning implausibilities and the overarching artifice. The film thus fails both as story-telling and as character-study; at best, it's just dumb fun. The Coens may be capable of making good movies, but they are emphatically incapable of making good art.
Manufactured Landscapes (2006)5Slow and deliberate, evoking in equal measure Jia Jiangke, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Claude Lanzmann, Manufacturing Landscapes is a documentary that serves double duty, presenting both Edward Burtynsky’s remarkable high-clarity photographs of massive industrial projects (in China, mostly), and also their effects on our planet and on our species. Astonishing, hypnotic, artful, harrowing, depressing…but ultimately inspiring.
The Loneliest Planet (2013)1A shaky hand held camera with a predilection for poorly-framed two-shots and bland greeting-card-level long shots follows an American couple (about whom we learn absolutely nothing except that they are quick to smile, even at the casual racism they encounter) as they take a hike through the Caucasian countryside. With absolutely nothing or no one to identify with (the filament of a plot–which unfolds in its entirety in about 10 seconds—is clumsily contrived melodrama), The Loneliest Planet possesses all the emotional resonance of an MTV reality show.
eXistenZ (1999)3With B-movie revivalist David Cronenberg, it’s sometimes difficult to determine whether we’re witnessing the superficial limits of his talents, or their genuine depths. This ambiguity serves eXistenZ well, a Dick-ian Tron-meets-Matrix (meets Cronenberg’s own Videodrome) yarn of the merging of reality and its virtual counterpart (and, since it’s Cronenberg, the merging of high technology and icky, gooey biology). Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jude Law play the psychologically and techno-biologically connected gamers in this is-it-live-or-is-it-Memorex mind puzzle.
Magic In The Moonlight (2014)1We all remember sitting on the floor of our dorm rooms, smoking weed, pontificating about the limits of science, right? Wrong, I guess, since Woody Allen, at age 78, seems to think he’s really on to something new in Magic In The Moonlight, his inter-war Cote d'Azur-based tale of a supposed cynic falling for a supposed psychic. Ineptly written, stiltedly acted, and smothered in a nauseous orange filter throughout, it’s not even cringingly bad, since even a cringe requires some level of identification with the artiste. I am not embarrassed for Woody Allen; I am appalled by him.
Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer (1986)4Taking the best elements of 70s grit-cinema, and combining them with the gruesome matter-of-fact graphic violence that genre ultimately licensed, the shoestring-budgeted Chicago-based "Henry" is a harrowingly realistic portrayal of an amoral sociopathic murderer, the lives he affects, and the lives he takes. Superb, though clearly not for all tastes. Double bill: Vengeance Is Mine.
Beyond The Black Rainbow (2010)2The appeal of stoner movies has always eluded me, and this ultra-slow paced, droning, knuckleheaded homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey, THX-1138, 1408, and Phase 4, (4551?) is no exception. The amateurati will never learn that nothing genuine about the human condition can be effectively conveyed without deploying genuine human characters.
Cloud Atlas (2012)2Multiple Choice review. Question: What is the artistic merit of Cloud Atlas? (A) Cloud Atlas is a cinematic tour de force, a profound meditation on the grand cyclicity of the Human Condition, with each actor portraying a multitude of characters at various points in our cultural evolution, each enduring the indiscriminate vicissitudes of Life, but also the ultimate power of Love. (B) Cloud Atlas is a tedious and pedestrian composite of stock Hollywood clichés about the human condition, repeated and repeated and spread over three long hours. Answer: (B).
Bad Boy Bubby (1993)1Sequestered and abused in every way by his mother, adult-child Bubby eventually leaves home and spends his time vocally imitating all the awful people he encounters. The writings of Jerzy Kosinski seem to have been the inspiration for this shaggy dog tale that would need far more than its amateurish dialogue, clunky staging, and poor lighting to overcome its complete absence of sympathetic characters and its unfailingly misanthropic worldview. It lacks the sensitivity of “Larry”, the black camp of “The Baby”, or even the offbeat quirkiness of “The Mind Of Mr. Soames”.
Boyhood (2014)2Soapy, episodic, very long, and, well, boring, Boyhood traces the life of a Texas family from the kids’ childhood to the onset of empty nest syndrome. Focusing especially on an unappealing, mumbling kid as he evolves into an unappealing, mumbling adolescent, these sketches of middle-American banality just didn’t cut it for me. (And employing the same actors across twelve years real time is gimmickry, not artistry.)
You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger (2010)2Woody Allen's heady obsessions: London’s ultra-rich and their pedestrian infidelities and petty jealousies. High drama ensues as a whole stable of one-trick pony characters have migraines, pop Viagra, and believe in the afterlife. No growth, no development, no nothing. Who cares!?
Snowpiercer (2013)1Bong Joon-Ho goes Hollywood. In our efforts to stem global warming, we froze the planet instead, and the sole survivors are riding a train in an infinite loop, fighting amongst themselves. That’s about it for Snowpiercer, a typical fast-cutting shoot-em-up with an inevitable populist bent. Tilda Swinton’s frumpy Elena Ceaușescu-esque homage is funny…for about five minutes. Excuse me, this is my stop.
The Gingerbread Man (1998)3Plusses: The lush, wet, moody, noirish Savannah setting, Altman’s superb roving camera work, Mark Isham’s haunting underscoring, and excellent performances from Robert Downey Jr. and especially Robert Duvall. Minuses: the crummy by-the-numbers Grisham story of a flawed Clinton-esque lawyer (Kenneth Branagh) who falls for the wrong gal (Embeth Davidtz) and gets entangled in her secret plot to acquire her father’s fortune. Double bill: Body Heat.
Alex In Wonderland (1970) 2Donald Sutherland: neither his performance nor the character he portrays is sufficiently sympathetic to engage the viewer in Paul Mazursky’s autobiography-cum-homage-to-Fellini, Alex In Wonderland, an exploration of an up-and-coming anti-establishment (in posture only, of course) Hollywood director. A rare misfire during Mazursky’s remarkable string of early classics.
The Tree Of Life (2011)4Terrence Malick’s supremely beautiful “The Tree of Life” seems to be a highly personal meditation on the insurmountable pain inherent to human masculinity, a film that somehow manages to cross “The Great Santini” with “2001: A Space Odyssey”, though, typically now, flawed by gossamer plotting and pointillistic dialog.
The Dance Of Reality (2013)4In Jodorowsky’s most personal (and narratively coherent) film, the artist looks back on his childhood, and seeks a way to forgive his anguished parents, both traumatized by the antisemitism they escaped in the Ukraine (only, of course, to encounter it once again in Chile). Meanwhile, sensitive Little Alejandro (with the guidance of his elder self) reflects on his own ordeals with the gentile world. Perhaps not the masterpiece that Santa Sangre or The Holy Mountain was (the draggy middle act doesn’t help), but still, vivid, clear, intimate, compelling, and with all the master's surrealistic trademarks in typical abundance.
Ida (2013)4The annihilation of Polish Jewry enshrouds every steely, austerely beautiful black and white frame of Ida, in which a girl raised in a Polish convent is informed in 1961 of her secret, tragic origins. As she journeys beyond church walls and into both her death-soaked past and her equally doomed present, the final connecting threads of her race (personified by a lost, haunted aunt) are cut. Polish director Pawlikowski wisely avoids both the sentimentalization of a dead culture (one that he could not possibly understand), and the final mopping-up procedure of 1968.
An American Hippie In Israel (1972)3“The Way to Eden”. Impressively shot, insipidly scripted tale of an American Vietnam vet escaping to Israel to establish a new world order based on peace and love. As his gang of four end up stranded on their island of paradise, of course, it doesn’t turn out that way. It’s mostly just a nice photomontage of Israel from an earlier era, filled with scenes of laughter, dancing, and merry-making, until its “big statement” about “the human condition” takes hold. Stupid, silly, and fun.
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)2Like the titular structure itself (a stand-in for pre-war Europe), The Grand Budapest Hotel is a top-heavy wedding cake—an overly sweetened trifle on the verge of tipping over—about an effete concierge (Ralph Fiennes) and his travails involving a valuable painting left to him by a guest. Hanna-Barbera-level sight gags and deadpan performances abound (cue a mutton-chopped Bill Murray cameo). I'd like to check out, please.
Beasts Of The Southern Wild (2012)1If you ever wanted to know how racism manifests itself among the hipster elite, look no further than Beasts of the Southern Wild, in which a backward, isolated community in the Louisiana bayou resists the encroachment of the liberal, modern world. Black-skinned ignoble savages are parodied and ridiculed in this surrealistic go-nowhere tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. The Hal Roach-inspired art direction seals the deal.
Jellyfish (2007)2Dour, dreary, contrived, and inconsequential, Jellyfish consists of loosely interlocking stories of bourgeois, self-absorbed, casually racist Tel Avivians. Don't bother.
Whore (1992)2Ken Russell’s mind-bogglingly, surreally bad response to “Pretty Woman”, the delicately-titled Whore is a jaw-droppingly awful amalgam of dreadful acting, dumb scripting, and bad editing, exploring the "true life" hardships of a tough-talking prostitute (Theresa Russell, laughably amateurish in her endless direct-to-camera monologues). Strange how it never made the midnight movie circuit though; it’s hilarious! With a final scene nicked from... Nights of Cabiria! Double bill: Showgirls.
The Broken Circle Breakdown (2012)2Overwrought oddball Belgian melodrama of a dying child and her bluegrass loving parents that largely fails in making a “big statement” about the life-and-death consequences of institutionalized religious dogma, in part because the timeline is so jumbled—and the intercutting of bluegrass performances so incongruous—that the narrative has little opportunity to evolve organically so as to engage the viewer. Watch My Father My Lord instead.
Santa Sangre (1989)5A masterful phantasmagoric melodrama that combines Fellini, Hitchcock, and Almodóvar, and yet (it’s Jodorowsky, after all), Santa Sangre is a wholly unique and genuinely visionary tale of a boy traumatized when he witnesses his knife-thrower father murder his trapezist mother. It's very bloody, it's very funny, and it's visually mindblowing: a psychedelic psychological horror-thriller. Wow!
Holy Mountain (1973)5Alejandro Jodorowsky’s wildly imaginative and emphatically surrealistic “Holy Mountain” traces an arc from Jesus (mass hysteria) to Henry Ford (mass production) to Adolf Hitler (mass murder), as a small-time petty thief is coerced into joining forces with a band of big-time corporate thieves in a quest to discover the secrets of immortality. Its fantastically striking and often gruesome religious and fascist iconography is leavened with great humor throughout. Brilliant!
Irreversible (2002)5Horrifically violent but undeniably compelling portrayal of a rape and its aftermath. The supremely talented Gaspar Noé, like other modern masters (Spielberg, Scorsese, Almodóvar), combines his brilliant artistry with a brazenly outspoken love of cinematic technique. As the camera pulls back (figuratively; the film is presented in reverse-order, along with some remarkably long takes) we are confronted with the ever-tenuous nature of societal norms, and how so easily they can be thrown into a state of imbalance; violence begets violence.
Seul Contre Tous (I Stand Alone) (1997)4Compelling portrait of a degenerate mind which has endured sufficient suffering and indignity to self-justify its violent hatred of just about everything and everyone. Travis Bickle is Gaspar Noé’s apparent inspiration for the rapid-fire nihilistic (and sometimes over-the-top funny) soliloquizing of the broken-down Parisian horse butcher in Seul Contre Tous (I Stand Alone), and it—unlike Taxi Driver—suffers somewhat from its unrelenting lack of empathy for its protagonist. Still, thrillingly shot and grippingly written. Highly recommended.
The 10th Victim (1965)3In the near future, society institutes legalized killing games as a safety valve, so that the natural instinct to murder can be satisfied without the chaos of war. The well-trodden Holocaust-inspired theme of institutionalized murder (Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, Star Trek's "A Taste of Armageddon", “The Running Man”, “Quintet”) is given a black comedy mod 60s Italian twist in "The 10th Victim". Speaking of twists, the ending has a few too many.
Wings (1966)4Somber and moving, Larisa Shepitko’s Wings explores the unfulfilling workaday world of a school mistress, once a heroic fighter pilot for the Motherland. Her daily trials are juxtaposed in flashback to her transcendent experiences during the Great Patriotic War, and to her lost chance at true love.
Zabriskie Point (1970) 2An incisive critique of the “American Way” by an outsider, or a facile continental swipe intent upon burying America, not praising it? Given its tenuous narrative structure, its amateurish acting, and its reliance on tropes instead of nuanced characterizations, Michelangelo Antonioni’s exploration of the 60s generation gap and anti-Vietnam activism among L.A college youth is surely best characterized as the latter.
Countdown (1967)3Sober not flashy; square not stylish—and it only ekes a “science fiction” designation by a matter of months—Robert Altman’s drama of the 60s space race thus bears the clear mark of studio intervention. Serviceable performances by James Caan and future Altman actors Robert Duvall, Michael Murphy and Barbara Baxley, plus a good Leonard Rosenman score, can’t quite lift this bird off the ground. Double bill: Marooned.
Her (2013)2A thought experiment: what if A.I. advances to a point where our computers have personalities of their own? That's the been-there-done-that hook of Spike Jonze's “Her”, in which ineffectual nice-guy Joaquin Phoenix falls in love with his operating system. Unfortunately, the result is neither thoughtful (it’s slow, it’s boring, and once passed the conceit, the plot goes nowhere), nor experimental (it’s just a remake of the 1984 film “Electric Dreams”).
Ladybug, Ladybug (1963)2With all the opportunities for bad acting in Frank Perry's underwhelming drama of a nuclear siren sounding at a rural elementary school, there isn’t a single bum performance in its sprawling cast. Indeed there are a number of standouts even among the many children, including unknowns Miles Chapin and Christopher Howard, and especially the supremely talented Alice Playten. Alas, the one bit of heightened drama, involving a girl in panic mode when she is disinvited to a bomb shelter, is rather poorly executed. Give this one a miss, and watch “Forbidden Games” instead.
Kapò (1960)4If Judaism had a devil, The Holocaust would be the time to make your deal. That is the theme of Gillo Pontecorvo’s engrossing drama of a teenage girl (Susan Strasberg) rising to steely Kapò rank in a slave labor camp, whose love for a handsome Russian soldier (Laurent Terzieff) may yet re-humanize her. Filmed only fifteen years after the war, it is understandably a bit soft around the edges, especially in its melodramatic latter half, but it's also effectively staged and well-acted throughout, and capped by a gripping and terrifying finale. Double bill: "Distant Journey".
Colpire al cuore (Blow To The Heart ) (1983)4The great Gianni Amelio’s first feature considers a studious, introverted teenage boy with a budding sense of morality born out of frustration with his emotionally unfulfilling family life. When he suspects his father, a professor, of involvement in leftist terrorism, his righteous indignation finds a perfect outlet for expression, and he pursues the truth at any personal or interpersonal cost. Spare, subtly wrought, and richly rewarding.
Les Enfants du Paradis (Children Of Paradise) (1945)5An unforgettable cinematic masterpiece exploring the intertwining lives and loves of thespian aspirants and others in mid-nineteenth century Paris, “Children of Paradise” is a sprawling, phantasmagoric, magnificently opulent production, one that never overshadows its superb acting, its brilliant writing, its intimate storytelling.
George Harrison: Living In The Material World (2011)2Martin Scorsese's hagiography of "The Quiet Beatle" is so out of focus you can’t even see the lines to read between. Airbrushed away are George’s preachy, screechy religiosity, his defense of parochialism ("The Inner Light", anyone?), his unmerciful don’t-tax-the-rich stance, his worst-of-all-the-Fabs’ solo output, his recurrent drug addictions (including the one that killed him, nicotine), etc. Look, of course I love George. But I love the truth more.
3 Backyards (2010)4Despite its contemporary setting, the film stock (or at least the color palette) and the lensing and scoring all hearken back to the late 1960s and Frank Perry's "The Swimmer" in director Eric Mendelsohn’s subtle and engaging meditation—presumably rooted in his own childhood—on empty lives yearning for transcendence, despite their lush and lovely suburban Long Island surroundings.
Gravity (2013)2Visually engaging story of an astronaut stranded in space (Sandra Bullock), undermined by a hackneyed script replete with expository soliloquizing and a cringingly clichéd back story. An attempt at Kubrick-inspired profundity in the last scene falls flat on its face.
Ace In The Hole (1951)4Bitter, cynical portrait of a hot-headed and arrogant journalist (Kirk Douglas) who’ll do anything for a big story to get his career back on track, even prolong the suffering of a man trapped in a cave collapse in the New Mexican desert. As he ringleads the inevitable media circus that erupts, finally, he finds himself in over his head. Overlook the over-acting and revel in the ever-relevant indictment of the media. Double bill: the previous year’s “The Lawless” by Joseph Losey.
Margin Call (2011)2Paper-thin plot of a financial firm in meltdown-mode circa 2008, punched up with Mamet-esque scripting full of portent and hot air (and lots of sweaty, short-focus, close-ups), which fails in its misguided attempts to humanize Wall Street villainy. As always, it’s the little guy (in this case the viewer) who gets stuck with a bill of goods.
All Is Lost (2013) 4Engrossing one-man adventure of a yachtsman (an excellent Robert Redford) lost in the South Seas. Almost without dialogue, the remarkably confident editing and lensing verge on the Spielberg-ian at times, and carry the plot along to the very end. Obvious double-bill: Cast Away.
Birth (2004)1Inexplicably, a little boy claims to be the reincarnation of a wealthy Manhattanite’s dead husband (who, inexplicably, we learn nothing about). Inexplicably, the little boy has no personality, and makes no attempt to convince the widow who he is (and instead gets dryly interviewed by her brother-in-law). Yet, inexplicably, the widow falls in love with the little boy. Even the music, by usually reliable Alexandre Desplat, is annoying. That, at least, is explicable: he's lowered himself to the proceedings herein.
The Disappearance Of Alice Creed (2009)2Stylish, low-budget, “Bound”-inspired three-character thriller about two men who kidnap a woman, and the love/hate-triangle that binds them. Long on contrived plot twists but short on plausibility and genuine human motivation. Spoiler alert: the big bad homo gets it in the end.
The Kids Are All Right (2010)3A soapy slice of Hollywood-ized lesbian life, Lisa Cholodenko’s third feature tells the story of an all-American a family with two moms (Julianne Moore, very good, Annette Benning, excellent) whose teenage kids seek out and establish a relationship with their sperm donor (the obnoxious Mark Ruffalo). Hollywood-ized, because the steamiest sex scenes involve a lesbian cheating on her spouse with a man. Soap is an effective purifying agent, though if not used properly leaves a filmy residue.
24 City (2008)3Jia Zhangke wisely sticks to his strengths (mood and theme) and eschews his weaknesses (an unsure command of narrative structure) as he once again explores the human consequences of his country’s out-of-control growth, here focusing on lives transformed by the closing of an armaments factory in Chengdu. As his camera calmly interviews a mix of characters (some real-life; some portrayed by actors) they relate their often devastating life stories. Alas, the actors cannot compete, and those consequent bursts of artifice distract and detract.
L'enfant (2005)3In this spare, vibrantly shot Belgian drama of a young hateful hood hoping to unload his newborn son (at the expense of his girlfriend’s desires), one wonders whether the filmmakers have more disdain than sympathy for their verging-on-sociopathic protagonist. Viewers are left to fend for themselves through his harrowing ordeal; a rough and rather unpleasant ride, and marred by a denouement of questionable authenticity.
The Kid With A Bike (2011)4A young boy is abandoned by his father, and the good-hearted woman who takes him in risks losing him to a life of petty crime. Realistic, well-performed, and directed with a sure though never manipulative grip on viewer emotion.
Ira & Abby (2006)1The Upper West Side! Funny names like “Ira” and “Sy”! A neurotic Jew and a goofy shiksa fall in love! Oh, but life gets complicated! Jaw-droppingly awful sub-Bridget Loves Bernie tedium, with some genuine talent (Robert Klein, Judith Light, Fred Willard, Frances Conroy, Jason Alexander) downright slumming. Who greenlights this crap?
Mon Oncle Antoine (1971)5In the chilling winter of postwar rural Quebec, a small town prepares for Christmas, and a young boy begins to take on the crushing and illusion-shattering responsibilities of adulthood. Achingly gentle and masterfully presented exploration of the loss of childhood innocence, filmed with tremendous sensitivity and artistry.
Aftershock (2010)2A convincing re-creation of 70s and 80s China, good digital effects, and an excellent performance by Chen Daoming as a loving step-father, are all for naught in this soapy, sentimental, and downright trashy melodrama about the devastating 1976 Tangshan earthquake, and its aftereffects on a family of four, with all story threads tied neatly in a pretty bow at Sichuan's temblor thirty-two years later. Human tragedy deserves more respect.
Weekend (2011)2Boring and thoroughly inconsequential slice of life. Two guys (blokes, sorry) meet up for sex, and, for reasons never explicated for the viewer, find each other interesting. As they are getting to know one another—you know, doing drugs, talking about sex (often inaudibly)—the one asks the other, “Do you like art?” Deep.
Monsieur Lazhar (2011)4Having endured his own personal tragedy, an Algerian refugee in Montréal is (implausibly, it must be said) hired to replace an elementary school teacher who has committed suicide, only to confront an education system more concerned with avoiding litigation than with the psychological well-being of its charges. Touching, relevant, and extremely well-acted.
The Flat (2011)4The human capacity for denial is on bold display in this chilling Israeli documentary, as a few surviving spawn of the exterminated encounter the spawn of the exterminators over high tea and dinner parties, discussing their shared past as if conversing about the latest bestseller or Hollywood blockbuster. No one on either side claims to know, or seems to care, about how they are forever linked by the Holocaust. A poorly-read voice-over detracts.
Blue Jasmine (2013)2Utterly typical mix-and-match of Konigberg’s stock caricatures—a hateful pill-popping wasp bitch (the protagonist, naturally), a hunky guido, a grocery bagger able to afford a sprawling Mission flat, etc.—in a lazily-scripted contrivance of what may be called “A Cable Car Named Desire”. One character slowly drags on a cigarette to punctuate his most searing and hurtful indictments. Now there’s a new dramatic device!
The Attack (2012)2Well-intentioned exploration of a sophisticated Israeli Arab’s confronting the fact that his wife has become a mass murderer of Jewish children. As he shares his findings with his colleagues, and crosses into the West Bank to figure out how all this could have happened, all plausibility goes out the window.
Out In The Dark (2012)2A flawed opening portraying an underdeveloped romance between an Israeli lawyer and a Palestinian student finding refuge in Tel Aviv is partially overcome as we encounter the inevitable: the security concerns of the lawyer’s compatriots, and the murderous homophobia and antisemitism of the student’s. Character development hence motivation remain thin and clichéd throughout, and the film does not achieve the grip it intends.
What Have I Done To Deserve This? (1984)4Only Fellini exceeds Almodóvar’s ability to tweak reality just enough to seduce us into believing in the surreal. WHIDTDT is one of the Spanish master's darkest forays into soap-operatic hijinks, with the wonderful Carmen Maura as a poor, overworked, pill-popping Madrid hausfrau coping with her drug-dealing son, her brute of a husband, her child-abusing neighbor, a wayward lizard, and many other interlocking indignities, that is presented with all the weightiness of a cheese puff. "The Ramones' 'We’re A Happy Family': The Movie". Wonderful!
The Passion Of The Christ (2004)1Okay, so this Israeli dude called Yoshua, y’see—some guy with a way serious Jesus complex—well, he gets beaten to a bloody pulp as instigated by some Italian guy y’see, and for the next 2000 years and more, the dude’s followers, holding a misguided grudge, hunt and chase down the Israeli's countrymen, culminating in the systematic annihilation of 6,000,000 of them…ouch! Moving? Yeah, I wanted to move my bowels over every frame. Still, a homoerotic S+M extravaganza…yum! Peekskill local Mel Gibson directs. Double bill:Taxi Zum Klo.
Getting Straight (1970)2Despite clever lensing and editing, Getting Straight is a trite and superficial treatment of the student/youth uprising during the Vietnam War, that has more disdain than sympathy for its silly, stereotyped characters (Elliot Gould as a student activist back from the war, and Candice Bergen as—what else?—a wealthy WASPette). A few fairly impressive Gould speeches toward the end are insufficient to salvage the proceedings.
The Skin I Live In (2011)5A master surgeon (Antonio Banderas, finally acting again after a 20 year hiatus) loses his wife to an accident and his daughter to madness, and will do anything in his formidable powers to keep their memory alive. The Skin I Live In is Almodóvar’s icy homage to Vertigo—and remake of Eyes Without A Face—updated for the modern age. Just as implausible, and just as fantastically compelling. Bravo!
Gummo (1997)2Every society has its underworld of poorly-educated, aimless, up-to-no-good types, but only in God-Bless-America might members of this class secure the funding to direct feature-length films. Somehow, one Harmony Korine, a footnote on the periphery of America’s anti-culture “scene” got lucky, and Gummo—freaks and geeks in Ohio—is the result. Sole redeeming feature: Linda Manz in a frustratingly brief cameo.
Out Of The Blue (1980)4The incomparable Linda Manz, absolutely riveting, is the whole show as an Elvis-worshipping punk-loving troubled teen, traumatized by a terrible accident and more, as she wanders the mean streets of Vancouver. When the camera is not on her, filmmaker Dennis Hopper indulges himself and his cast in Cassavetes-esque under-directed over-acting. The result is something between Taxi Driver and Barbara Loden’s Wanda. Nice cameo by Vancouver's own Pointed Sticks.
Marjoe (1972)4Exploited and abused by his criminal parents, toddler-preacher Marjoe Gortner somehow emerged as a remarkably intact and clear-headed adult. In this documentary, Gortner comes clean, confessing the tricks of his swindling trade, though seems incapable of shaking off his addiction to the criminal art of Christian evangelism. The result is something like Borat, had Sasha Baron Cohen interspersed the proceedings with some confessions of his own; almost as painful, though certainly not as funny.
The Boy In The Striped Pajamas (2008)1Nazism with a human face. One of the most disgusting and appallingly offensive movies ever made. In a serene and bucolic little corner of a death camp (!!!!), a plumpish, loafing Jewish boy with lots of free time (!!!!) befriends a little rascal of an Aryan boy on the other side of the fence (!!!!). When the Jew's father "goes missing", the little Aryan digs under the fence (!!!!) to help in the search and,...I dare you to guess the rest (yes, lots more exclamation points). Weep for the poor Nazis!!!!
Midnight In Paris (2011)2"...Moronic and infantile and utterly lacking in any wit or believability."...And I refuse to give Konigsberg points for the pretty shots of Paris. I mean, jeez, give a monkey a camera...
Eyes Wide Shut (1999)4Surely Kubrickian (Kubrick has often been accused of as much), Eyes Wide Shut is a spellbinding and at times creepily humorous exploration of would-be infidelity among the CPW elite, with a central set piece and basic theme ripped straight from the pages of The Magus (though the source actually pre-dates the Fowles novel). The cruel yet delicious joke (one which is ultimately distracting) is the casting of Tom Cruise in the role he was born (and married) to play: a cold and distant play-actor at humanity and sexuality. Bravo!
Amazing Grace (2006)1Amazing disgrace. The producers of this dunderheaded costume drama clearly have little but disdain for their audience. A laughably awful script (I kept on anticipating the next line!), one dimensional characters, and, apparently, a wildly inaccurate portrayal of history, combine to make a mockery of a deadly serious issue: the role of African slavery in the building and maintenance of the British Empire. For shame!
Control (2007)3Wisely avoiding aggrandizing its anti-hero, "Control" focuses on the very human trials of a young man (Joy Division’s talented but immature Ian Curtis), overwhelmed by his bad decisions (marrying too early) and bad health (epilepsy); fine performances from all involved, and a surprising lack of grandstanding from egomaniacal Dutch photographer-turned-director Anton Corbijn. For a number of stylistic and thematic reasons, "The Loneliness Of A Long Distance Runner" might make a good double bill.
Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes (2011)2“The inheritance of acquired characteristics” proposal turns out to have been right all along in this spectacularly dumb Hollywood piece-o-crap, in which, with drugs, the apes get super-smart and develop human vocal tracts (and, without drugs, the humans don’t age a day over the span of a decade!). The apes pass their acquired traits to their offspring, and—spoiler alert! spoiler alert!—havoc ensues.
Deconstructing Harry (1997)4Sure, it’s a world gone mad when the awful Kirstie Alley delivers a better performance than the remarkable Judy Davis, but such are the shenanigans in this mix of fact and fantasy (both in front of the camera and behind it), as Woody Allen plays himself as a sex-crazed writer who betrays family secrets and leaves a path of destruction in the wake of his life. The jump-cut editing is simply idiotic, but still, Deconstructing Harry seems destined to be Allen’s last great film. Clever touch (one of many): using Richard Benjamin to represent the Roth/Zuckerman-inspired narrative.
Streamers (1983)3Another in Altman’s series of filmed plays during his protracted (imposed) boycott of the Hollywood suits (read straitjackets), Streamers—David Rabe’s exploration of racism and homophobia/homo-eroticism among a small group of draftees waiting to be sent to Vietnam—possesses faults not of Altman’s making: a stage-bound purple-prose script, and a villain that lacks any complexity. The acting and the lensing are excellent, however; Altman should have jettisoned the script (as was his norm), and let his actors get to it.
Skidoo (1968)3You could do a lot worse than watching Jackie Gleason trip on acid, or, for that matter, watching Groucho Marx get stoned with Austin Pendleton out on a sailboat. Far better than its reputation, this deeply flawed mess of an attempt at late 60s topicality boasts an unbelievable cast—the stars just keep coming and coming (though no one really has anything to do)—and a wonderful score by Nilsson. Certainly worth a viewing.
Under The Volcano (1984)5John Huston’s penultimate masterpiece. Albert Finney delivers one of cinema’s great performances as the doomed former British consul in provincial Mexico at the dawn of the war, who is completely infuriating in his alcoholic self-destructiveness, yet still vulnerable and lovable, and possessed of sufficient clarity to foresee the coming Nazi maelstrom. Jacqueline Bisset is his devoted ex-wife, but it’s the secondary roles, all by Mexican players, that do the real work of fleshing out this character study. The finale, in a netherworld cantina of whores, drunks, and Mexican Nazis, is nothing short of mind-blowing. Watch this movie!
Waitress (2007)2Pleasant but slight—and slightly broad—slice of life of an unfulfilled southern waitress/pie-maker, that is more Linda Lavin/“Alice” than Ellen Burstyn/“Alice Doesn’t Live Here Any More”. Especially given subsequent events, I really wish I liked this film more.
The Delinquents (1957)3Required viewing for Altman fans, The Delinquents is a better-than-average 50s teensploitation film (a good boy falls in with the wrong crowd), that is, alas, future-blind regarding Altman’s revolutionary aesthetic. Still, elements of subversion are already evident. After all, the protagonist’s demise is indirectly caused by the sexual repression endemic to the era, and the whole film can easily be seen as a smoldering gay love triangle.
Gloomy Sunday (1999)1Tired variation on an exhausted supernatural theme (see also: The Ring, Monty Python’s “joke” sketch, etc.). In wartime Budapest (where the lingua franca is, supernaturally, flawless German) a Jewish restaurateur, a Hungarian tunesmith, and a German Nazi all fall for a personality-less beauty with hair and make-up from the 21st century (supernatural indeed!). The gossamer plot creeps at a snail’s pace, and a pretty melody is repeated “ad suicidam”. P.S. The actual composer of the melody was Jewish. Terrible film.
The Lawless (1950)4Slightly wobbly but very well-intentioned drama of anti-Mexican bigotry in central California, and the media’s cynical pandering to the ignorant’s basest fears. With its timeless (and timely) themes, and with quite a few fine performances, It’s too bad this early Joseph Losey film is not better known.
Still Life (2006)3Oftentimes hauntingly beautiful, but ultimately only partially satisfying study of just a few of the many millions of lives thrown into turmoil by the Three Gorges Dam project along the Yangtse. A flawed narrative is the main problem here, with Jia having trouble establishing a coherent story arc out of characters that we might care about.
The World (2004)3This impressive feature from Jia Zhangke focuses on young migrants to Beijing, seeking and eking a better life amidst the soulless modernity that the Chinese capital has uncritically embraced, promising the world, but delivering so little. Still, there's no reason to assume that their lives would have been any more fulfilling in a less modern setting (indeed, none of these people seems to be able to articulate anything resembling genuine human feelings), and Jia spends far too much time on the soapy story rather than the compelling themes, which almost get lost in the shuffle.
The Resident (2011)1Is "The Resident" as good as "Psycho"? No, it's not. In fact, it's as bad as any film I've seen in quite some time, Psycho rip-off or otherwise. Paper-thin plot of a Norman Bates-type handyman at a swanky Dumbo loft, with no thrills, no budget, no nothing.
Eyes Wide Open (2009)4Intolerance and bigotry among the religious is nothing new, of course, but Eyes Wide Open takes us on a new course through this well-trodden ground, as we encounter a young Yeshiva student with a “bad reputation”, his budding romance with an upstanding Jerusalem butcher, and the suspicions of their community’s powerful (both the revered and the reviled). Wisely, unlike in the bad-old-days (and even in the not-so-bad-old days of Brokeback Mountain) when homosexuality in a dramatic setting inevitably led to death, director Tabakman concludes with a decidedly less tragic—and far more haunting—ending.
Life According To Agfa (1992)2Stanley Kramer’s filming of Ship Of Fools was filled with subtlety, warmth and genuine affection for its terribly flawed characters. Life According To Agfa, a conceptually comparable microcosm of a world-on-the-brink-of-collapse (a small Tel Aviv bar standing in for the ocean cruiser to Nazi Germany), possesses none of these qualities: pretentious, simplistic, dreary, and with nothing but (justified) disdain for all its characters, except for a Christ-like Arab cook. The “shocking” ending is bound to provoke as much laughter as anything else. Sole asset: the Leonard Cohen-heavy soundtrack.
Teorema (1968)2Tedious re-imagining of the origins of Christianity—an alluring stranger seduces each member of a stuffy bourgeois household, thus unleashing their inner passions—the aptly-titled Teorema is a fly-by-night thought experiment mushroomed into an uninvolving self-indulgent exercise in artiness.
Boynton Beach Club (2005)3While it wouldn't be out of line to suggest that Susan Seidelman has lost her downtown edge (no Feelies or Richard Hell here!), she clearly is still quite capable of constructing an entertaining narrative, as this engaging, realistic, humorous, and only rarely heavy-handed slice of love and death and sex and lies (and even a little videotape!) among the senior set attests. Inspired: the casting, chock full of talented faces we haven't seen in far too long. Uninspired: the cheap flat lighting, though it could be that damnable Florida sun.
Salo (1975)3Yes, we've all heard the stories of Nazis masturbating while peeping into the gas chambers as their victims gasp their final breaths, and then, workday over, head home for a warm meal with the wife and kids. But isn't the truth sufficiently repellant? In Salo, Pasolini fetishizes the fetishist, hitting us over the head with the grotesqueries of torture, and its juxtaposition to (and, by hypothesis, its inextricable linkage with) modern bourgeois existence. These are very adolescent obsessions, though handled with style, finesse, and an admirable objectivity.
Little Murders (1971)3Jules Feiffer's absurdist exploration of NYC life—as the high-spirited 60s devolve into the crime-ridden 70s—suffers from first-time director Alan Arkin's opening up of the original stageplay, which results in a significant loss of intensity and claustrophobia. A big mistake, I think, which points to Arkin's inexperience, and his lack of confidence in the source material. Still, very interesting indeed, with a number of standout performances, among them Vincent Gardenia's and Doris Robers'. Double bill: "Where's Poppa?".
Il Posto (1961)5Wistful, bittersweet, humanistic, and endlessly enjoyable, Il Posto relates the story of a school-leaver's foray into the workaday world; an office job for life (or is that death). A remarkable, sensitive performance by young Sandro Panseri, who hopelessly pines for a new co-worker's affections, places this masterpiece somewhere between Chaplin and Kafka.
For A Lost Soldier (1992)3Although the filmmakers are clearly poor students of history (a hit song from years after the war, a Canadian Maple Leaf flag), such inaccuracies are hardly their main concern (and may be intentional). Instead we focus on the budding sexuality of a prepubescent Dutch boy, and his very much requited love for a handsome Canadian liberator who briefly alights at the rural seaside enclave to which the boy's parents have temporarily dispatched him. Interludes exploring the pair's growing love organically and tenderly turn sexual, though are bookended by confusing and poorly-conceived scenes set in the present. Double bill: "The Flavor Of Corn".
The Clash: Westway To The World (2000)3Joe: the agit-prop mastermind. Mick: the sensitive Jew. Paul: the good-looking brooder. Topper: the drug-addled dropout. Don Letts wisely lets our protagonists run the show in this documentary on the Clash, while only minimally disrupting the proceedings with silly punk-styled graphics that look like a Gap commercial—ugh. All come off as thoughtful and articulate, and there's a fine cache of great gig footage, though the band's political bent—and their artistry—is studiously avoided. I saw The Clash at both Passaic's Capitol Theater and at Bond. Man, what a fantastic time to be a suicidal teen! Now, Cut the Crap!
Phil Ochs: There But For Fortune (2010)3The magnificent and finally tragic life of protest-folk pioneer Phil Ochs is explored in frustratingly superficial detail herein, with an over-emphasis on the tumult of the times (especially during its sagging middle section), and far too few forays into the tumult of Mr. Ochs' inner world.
Enter The Void (2009)4Marvelous and spectacular in the most literal sense. A tragic accident unites a brother and sister, and til death do them part. When death does arrive, we are taken on a remarkable full-circle journey (that is filmic, not psychogenic) mixing past, present, and future. Set in the blinding blinking neon of Shinjuku Tokyo, the visually stunning Enter The Void references The Lady In The Lake, Dark Passage, Touch Of Evil, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Fantasia, and 2001, yet is nonetheless a wholly unique and utterly mesmerizing cinematic experience, marred only by thematic triteness, overlength, and a rather flat performance by POV protagonist Nathaniel Brown.
Exit Through The Gift Shop (2010)5The equal and opposite of Orson Welles' "F For Fake". In that documentary's exploration of the artist and the charlatan we knew exactly who was in control every step of the way. By contrast, in Exit Through The Gift Shop we are kept wondering throughout, led down garden paths, and ultimately into an endless Escher-stairway of infinite guesses. A masterful and completely enthralling mirror-roomed view of British street artist Banksy, and a remarkable right place/right time fan, Thierry Guetta, who unsuccessfully documents—and then successfully emulates—the artist himself. Or maybe this is just evidence that Andy Kaufman is still alive!
The Baader Meinhof Complex (2008)222 years after the fall of Hitler, some German students hoped to bring back the good old days of violence, terror, and thuggery, effortlessly eluded the suspiciously inept security police, and naturally gravitated towards Palestinian terrorist ideology. Overstuffed and undernourished, The Baader-Meinhof Complex might have been more effective if some of these horrid people had at least a few likeable qualities; as presented, these sociopaths are just too easy to despise.
The Pursuit Of Happiness (1971)3Effective and incisive study of the Vietnam-era generation gap as a privileged college student gets railroaded into jail less for his "crime" (he's obviously innocent) than for his not playing by the social rules of the older generation. Underwhelming, but bolstered by a great cast, as well as a memorable Randy Newman song.
The Human Centipede: First Sequence (2009)2Silly no-budget nonsense of a mad Teutonic doctor who hopes to create a human daisy-chain. Welp, there'll always be a Germany, I guess. Watch Pasolini's "Salo" for a less amateurish exploration of continental depravities.
Shutter Island (2010)2It's beyond me why Martin Scorsese would want to emulate one-hit-wonder/full-time-hack M. Night Shyamalan, but he does just that in "Shutter Island", a gothic mystery thriller set in a mental institution on a stormy New England island. Hitchcock also pops up in the guise of the Marnie-esque composite shots, and the blustery Herrmann-influenced (if not -inspired) score. Unlike Hitchcock—but just like Shyamalan—the denouement is a bust.
Moon (2009)2"Ground Control to Major Tom!" Utterly unoriginal science fiction. Take a lot of 2001- inspired mood and a lot of Blade Runner-inspired meditation on identity, and mix with some Star Trek and some Space: 1999. Jeez, even the music is a rip-off of Cliff Martinez's score for—wait for it!—the Solaris remake! And they can't even spell the word "satellite" correctly.
Out Of The Ashes (2003)4After a rocky start, Out Of the Ashes settles into a chilling groove, relating the story of a Jewish gynecologist who saved up to a thousand lives at Auschwitz by aborting Jewish fetuses, so that their mothers might avoid the gas chambers (Jewish children being the Nazis' greatest threat). During her bid for American citizenship, an investigative board, absurdly, is appalled by the abortions she performed, and suspects her of collaborating with the enemy.
Middle Of The Night (1959)4An excellent cast—including the wonderful Kim Novak contributing an admirably mannered performance—is featured in Paddy Chayevsky's oh-so-New York Freud-inflected meditation on the sadness of sex and aging. Beautifully filmed in black and white, this very adult drama is a film latter-day Woody Allen would have liked to make. Recommended.
Burn! (1970)4The never-ending saga of Christian European imperial designs is explored in visually striking detail in Burn, with effeminate dandy Marlon Brando as an English agent abetting a native uprising against the Portuguese, in order to secure British profits. Almost as much an ethnographic study as a strident leftist screed, "Burn" manages to combine surrealism with Brechtian socialist realism. Brilliant!
The American (2010)1Dutch rock photographer turned feature filmmaker Anton Corbijn certainly likes the pretty ladies and the bigass guns. That's pretty much all we learn about him and his ideas in this stunningly boring go-nowhere supposed thriller of an assassin hiding out in an Italian village. I saw this one on a trans-Pacific flight. I walked out.
The Fall (2006)2What hath rock videos wrought? Soulless vapidity, thats what. Tarsem Singh is another in a continuing line of talented art directors who has prematurely strayed into film directing with absolutely no idea how to assemble a coherent narrative with characters that one might care about (see also: Zhang Yimou, Tim Burton, Darren Aronofsky, etc.). Cross early MTV fast-cutting with the Travel Channel and Baraka-esque exoticism, and you'll get this completely uninvolving stoner's idea of a great flick.

Querelle (1982)2What is one to make of Fassbinder's final film, a surrealistic, intentionally stilted, stagey interpretation of the heretofore inimitable Jean Genet? High art, or tongue-in-cheek camp? A philosophical treatise on self-loathing and sexual identity, or a trashy softcore gay wankfest? Possibly all of the above, but probably none of them. The Sirk-ian hyper-artificial lighting and dramatic staging of these rough-and-tumble sailors-down-at-the-docks are insufficient to lift this dud out of the muck. The saddest joke is that it is far more genuinely campy than Fassbinder seems to have intended.
Waltz With Bashir (2008)4Visually striking and intellectually challenging animated documentary exploring Christian-on-Muslim violence in Lebanon, from the perspective of a young Israeli, who, 20 years after the early 80s Lebanon war, begins to confront his memories. The Israelis, unable to live in peace due solely to their neighbors' steadfast refusal to allow them to do so, stand helpless as Christians gleefully massacre Muslim civilians at Sabra and Shatila, much like Americans endured in Kurdistan a decade later.
Beautiful Ohio (2006)1Yet another supremely idiotic and pretentious film of a dysfunctional family in the Noah Baumbach tradition. When will these amateurs realize that a compelling narrative requires characters with whom the viewer can identify and sympathize? A few words of Hungarian are spoken (rather, mangled) by a misfit math whiz in the opening scene, and it's supposed to be a big friggin' mystery where these secret words come from. Haven't any of the characters heard of a reference desk? Bye bye Messerman.
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Julie & Julia (2009)2Half an okay movie. As always, Meryl Streep is remarkable, here portraying the second titular character ("French Chef" Julia Child). The film comes to a halt when focusing on the first: a thoroughly unappealing and downright boring Brooklyn chick who thinks that emulating J.C. will give her life some meaning. Instead, she alienates everyone, especially the viewer. Nora Ephron's heavy-handed humor hardly helps.
How Awful About Allan (1970)3Was a time when the Big Three actually assembled some genuine talent for their telefilms, as in this 1970 production. A little bit Baby Jane (sans the humor), a little bit Norman Bates (sans the artistry) and a lot of cheap hokum are featured in this well-cast and marginally creepy Gothic tale of patricide, hysterical blindness, and family secrets.
Angel Heart (1987)4Ultra-stylish (and yes, ultra-silly) supernatural noir thriller of a 1940s Lower East Side private dick who finds himself ensconced in a case involving Harlem black magic and New Orleans voodoo. Angel Heart features two great performances (Mickey Rourke and Robert De Niro) and one poor one (Lisa Bonet), though the real star is the brilliant art direction and lighting.
The Hurt Locker (2008)4Extremely tense, gripping account of an IED squad in Baghdad, that effectively shows how George W. Bush waged war not only on Iraq, but on our own young people as well. The narrative sinks into cliche on occasion, and reportedly, the supposed realism is a total crock. Still, although it's Hollywood, at least it's very good Hollywood.
Winter's Bone (2010)4Another triumph for director Debra Granik. In the Missouri Ozarks, a meth-cooking dad goes missing before a court date, putting his family and their land in jeopardy. His resourceful teenage daughter (Jennifer Lawrence), having steered clear of her extended family's criminal ways, must put herself in grave danger to find him before it's too late. Granik conjures a superb sense of place and mood, with virtually every scene pregnant with the hushed threat of explosive violence.
Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everyone Talkin' About Him?) (2006)4Finally! America's all-time greatest singer-songwriter, and really, the closest we have to a genuine "Fifth Beatle", gets a sliver of the credit he deserves. A who's who of pop artistry is featured in this wonderful documentary that gets everything right: Brian Wilson, Jimmy Webb, Randy Newman, Van Dyke Parks, Paul Williams, and so many others are interviewed, relating Nilsson's incredible genius, and his premature and precipitous fall. Sadly missing are Pete Ham, Tom Evans, John Lennon, and of course Harry himself.
F For Fake (1973)5Brilliantly edited, thoroughly engrossing, and overwhelmingly intellectually appealing hodgepodge of fact and fiction, fake and forgery, as Orson Welles takes us on a deconstructive tour (de force) of the unexpected value of the charlatan in society, especially focusing on the forgery of art and the art of forgery, with the wonderfully appealing Elmyr de Hory as our (anti-)hero. Decades before its time in terms of technique, F for Fake is a masterpiece. (Remade/remodeled as Banksy's "Exit Through The Gift Shop" in 2010.)
Friendly Persuasion (1956)4Leisurely-paced Civil War era soap opera (that succeeds far better as social commentary than as light comedy) of an Indiana family that begins to slowly rebel against its loving matron's manipulative religious beliefs. As war finally engulfs them, pragmatism prevails, and they abandon their Quaker-inspired pacifism. Fine performances by all involved, along with a great Dmitri Tiomkin score (and classic title song) make this a winner, though the happy ending is a bust.
They Shoot Horses, Don't They (1966)4Nightmarish depiction of a Depression era dance marathon at a California seaside resort; the poor desperate souls who will sink to any level of degradation to win the cash prize, and the amoral scoundrels who run the proceedings. Extremely well done, but unremittingly grim.
The Silent Scream (1980)2The Hitchcock/Herrmann homage in the opening credits unwisely sets this one up for disappointment from the start. Roger Kellaway's scoring remains interesting, but director Denny Harris is no Hitchcock, and (The) Silent Scream is merely an amateurish Psycho ripoff; not as bad as some, but not worth seeking out either. Juli Andelman is appealing as one of the college kids renting rooms in the doomed mansion; Yvonne deCarlo's role is little more than a cameo.
I Am David (2004)2A Bulgarian youth escapes from a post-war labor camp with instructions to head north to Denmark. Barely tolerable episodic adventure yarn for undiscriminating pre-teens; subtlety, realism, and good acting are clearly not priorities here. Only Joan Plowright emerges unscathed.
The Believers (1987)2Clumsy and style-less occult nonsense from once-credible director John Schlesinger, with Martin Sheen as a grieving Midwest widower who moves to New York only to find himself and his little boy increasingly at risk at the hands of some Santeria nogoodniks. Even "The Possession of Joel Delaney" was better than this garbage.
My Father My Lord (2007)5Searing portrait of a warm and loving Orthodox family in Jerusalem: a Rabbi, his devoted wife, and their sensitive and precocious little boy. But make no mistake: My Father My Lord is a lucid and stinging indictment of the religious, and more broadly, of religion as a whole. The universality of its condemnation is underscored by its imperfect simulacrum of Orthodox practice. Beautifully and hypnotically presented, with a gorgeous cello-based score, it cogently makes its point and leaves us to think.
Rasputin The Mad Monk (1966)2The performers (especially Christopher Lee in the title role) chew up the scenery in this Hammer (and cheeser) assembly line production that lacks soul, conviction, and historical accuracy. A compelling feature film about Rasputin, one of the 20th century's most enigmatic figures, has yet to be made.
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter (1968)5Devastating portrait of a good-hearted and lonely deaf mute (Alan Arkin in a career-making performance), and the lives he affects in a small southern town. Magnificently evocative of its time and place, this filmization of the Carson McCullers novel captures both the sweetness and the cruelty of the south in the 60s. A winner on every level.
Kadosh (1999)2This Jerusalem-based exploration of the stifling oppression of Orthodox women and the emotional stuntedness of Orthodox men is decidedly Bergmanesque: slow, studied, somewhat pretentious, and anthropologically questionable (for example, did any Jew—Orthodox or otherwise—give a hoot about the Gregorian millennium?), but it is at least superior to the trivial and Hollywood-ized "A Price Above Rubies". Might be worth a casual look.
Dead Tired (1994)3Enjoyable but very silly story that mixes fanciful and real-life stars, as actor-writer-director Michel Blanc comes to realize that he has a troublesome and law-breaking double moving in on his career. It's not Kafka, it's not 8½, its not Stardust Memories, and it won't save French cinema (which it acknowledges is in a sorry state) but it's good for a few laughs.
Talk To Me (2007)3Formulaic biopic of ex-con turned very plain-talking and charismatic DC media personality "Petey" Greene, enlivened by great performances by the whole cast, and a very enjoyable profanity-laced screenplay. Along with the country as a whole, it loses momentum after the assassination of Martin Luther King.
Down To The Bone (2004)4In the Hudson Valley in the months after September 11th, a struggling young mother of two tries to get clean; no easy task with users and enablers all around her. Documentary-like independent feature with excellent, naturalistic performances, and no-nonsense direction by Debra Granik, who also co-wrote the superb screenplay. Highly recommended. [Full disclosure: I knew "Debbie" Granik in Edinburgh, during our respective third-years-abroad, 83-84]
Compulsion (1959)4A sordid Chicago murder that Middle America could really eat up, especially since the perpetrators were wealthy and arrogant intellectual homosexual Jews (Leopold and Loeb, here renamed Steiner and Strauss). Bradford Dillman is the more genuinely sociopathic "top" and Dean Stockwell the somewhat sympathetic and more complex "bottom". Minor flaw: despite Orson Welles' bravura performance as the atheist anti-capital-punishment crusader Darrow, the film actually slows down upon his late arrival.
Night Train (2009)1“The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” with a Rod Serling twist sounds cool, yeah? It’s not! Dreadful dreadful movie of a found gem stash and a troublesome corpse on a train, with lousy acting, ludicrous scripting, and laughable special effects. Even its sole bright spot—the sets—is obscured by gaudy holiday lights. With Rocky Horror’s Richard O’Brien as…Mrs. Froy!! Hitchcock is rolling is his grave.
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...And Spring (2004)2The setting—a temple calmly floating on a mountain lake—belies a tale of incipient sociopathy: childhood animal torture, adolescent rape, and eventually, of course, adult murder. I doubt it was the intention of Mr. Kim, but for me, this is merely a cautionary (and predictable) tale of the dangers of religious fundamentalism and its attendant cycle of sexual repression. There, I said it. So sue me.
13 tzameti
13Tzameti (2005)4Much like Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery”, 13 Tzameti explores the appallingly arbitrary nature of life and death, or, rather, survival and murder, as a young French worker becomes unwittingly ensnared in the criminal underground. Repugnant, sure, but genuinely compelling, and marred only by its predictable finale.
in the loop
In The Loop (2009)1Obnoxious with a capital "O". Obnoxiously edited, obnoxiously filmed, obnoxiously scripted. Fans of TV's The Office might cozy up to these super-glib vignettes that focus on a sound bite slip-up from a Downing Street apparatchik during the last gasps of British imperialism in the Middle East, who ends up in damage-control mode in DC. All others, beware.
bug
Bug (2006)2Good acting, claustrophobic staging, and youthful, spirited directing aren't enough to salvage this offbeat misfire from William Friedkin. An exceedingly slow build up begins the sabotage of this psychological thriller of a schizophrenic who believes (duh!) the government has planted bugs in his system. It goes completely over the top when his symptoms are transferred to the down-on-her-luck woman he has shacked up with. Persona this ain't!
suture
Suture (1993)2Influenced by Frankenheimer's Seconds and Teshigahara's The Face of Another, Suture—a thinly-plotted story of murder and stolen identity—is marred by poor acting, overzealous camerawork, and college-level scripting with sophomoric references to Freud and Descartes. It's a "psychological thriller" with no psychology and no thrills. As the thief is white and the "lookalike" victim is black, is this supposed to be a commentary on race relations?
broken mbraces
 Broken Embraces (2009)3Despite the typical wealth of talent on hand, and Almodóvar's characteristic surplus of intrigue and multi-leveled madcap melodrama, Broken Embraces—an (acknowledged) homage to Peeping Tom (and Vertigo, and probably 100 other great films) in which a blinded filmmaker revisits his past and comes to resolve some long-standing mysteries—is somewhat uninvolving, lacking in the emotional opulence of his best films.
See No Evil (1971)2Moderately effective but thoroughly unpleasant thriller of a recently blinded Mia Farrow who slowly discovers a series of grisly murders at her relatives' country estate. Now, of course, the killer is after her as well, and thus ensues a rather repulsive and repetitive series of near misses, along with some questionable commentary on sex roles and class.
ZPG: Zero Population Growth (1972)3Crummy-to-middling Gerry Anderson-esque science fiction. In an overpopulated and over-polluted future, the fascist state (that actually has some cogent criticisms of 20th century society) outlaws the birth of children. As the law-defying parents, Geraldine Chaplin and Oliver Reed try their best. Earns points for its scattershot artiness.
marian
Marian (1996)3The continuing plight of European Roma is portrayed in graphic detail in Marian, the story of a neglected boy sent at the age of three to a harsh institutional setting by the Czechoslovak state, and who inevitably spirals into a life of violent crime. Unmannered performances and striking cinematography are partially undermined by a periodically confusing narrative that loses momentum in its overlong final act.
the two of us
The Two Of Us (1967)4Complex and moving portrait of an ignorant though kindly-hearted old peasant (an incomparable Michel Simon) who forms a loving relationship with a boy from Paris who, unbeknownst to the old man, is a Jew in hiding. All the while, Petain's poisonous propaganda pours from the radio. As always, Georges Delerue's scoring adds immeasurably.
mongol
Mongol (2007)2Mongol (ostensibly the story of a young Genghis Khan) bears all the hallmarks of an "international production": actors who can't relate to each other, and who consequently fail in resonating any emotion (Sun Honglei being the sole exception). Instead, emphasis is placed almost exclusively on repetitive blood-soaked action scenes. Might be worth a look if you've ever wondered what Mongolian sounds like when spoken with a thick Japanese accent...
The Great Gatsby (1974)2Stuffy and lifeless, Jack Clayton's interpretation of The Great Gatsby plays more like a 70s network miniseries than a legitimate filmization. With a script (by Francis Ford Coppola) hellbent on emphasizing the superficialities of plot rather than capturing the feel of the book, the actors are given precious few opportunities to invest their characters with nuance.
$ (1971)4Terrific thriller—the sort that seemed to come one after another in the early 70s—with Warren Beatty and Goldie Hawn as a couple of high stakes crooks in Hamburg. Smart, funny, and exciting throughout, $ is also notable for its extended chase scene, lasting a good fifteen minutes.
1408
1408 (2007)3A smaller, leaner version of Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining"? Perhaps. But a better comparison would be Jim Henson's experimental oddity "The Cube". A cynical myth-debunking "ghost writer" (John Cusack), haunted by his little girl's death, believes he is trapped in a hotel room in which many have died gruesomely. Is the psychological torture he endures there all in his guilt-ridden head? Genuine thrills keep this one quite gripping until the 2/3 mark, at which point repetition begins to set in.
demon seed
Demon Seed (1977)4The finest film David Cronenberg never made, in Demon Seed Julie Christie is raped by a rather ambitious and randy computer. Superior, chilling special effects (especially the topologically acrobatic obelisk) and funny Star Trek and Batman references overshadow the silly holes in the story. Rather effective, actually.
closer
Closer (2004)3It’s easy to see what attracted Mike Nichols (“Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”, “Carnal Knowledge”) to this four character play in which the characters, two intersecting (rather, crashing) couples, react off each other’s sexual and emotional insecurities in hurtful and hateful ways. While no one here is remotely likeable, and the story reads more like a telegram than a fleshed out drama, still, the stylized twists and turns and emotionally charged intrigues manage to hold one’s interest.
the girl in the cafe
The Girl In The Cafe (2007)1Rule, Britannia! At the G8 Summit in Reykjavik, the British do all they can to "wipe out poverty" while the rest of the world scoffs. Insufferably smug, self-righteous and politically simplistic, The Girl in the Cafe is an insipid soapbox screed—and a big fat wet dream for middle-aged heterosexual men—masquerading as an intimate May-October romance.
savage grace
Savage Grace (2007)2Personality disorders rarely make for compelling drama, as they deprive the narrative of motivation, development, and resolution. The studied, pretentious Savage Grace, which traces an incestuous and ultimately murderous upper class expat family from the 40s to the early 70s, provides a whole family of them. Though completely uninvolving, it's too inconsequential to thoroughly hate.
dawn of the dead
Dawn Of The Dead (2004)4I've always been of the opinion that only lousy movies should be remade, never good ones: why mess with a good thing, when you can instead improve upon a bad one? What a surprise, then, that this remake of the 1978 classic is so strong. This is a superior zombie flick: slick, smart, sophisticated, and a non-stop thrill-ride!
district 9
District 9 (2009)2Aliens stranded in Johannesburg. A too-obvious metaphor (the de facto Apartheid of France's Muslim banlieues, Australia's Aborigine slums, Pre-Holocaust Europe's Jewish ghettos, and of course, pre-liberation South Africa itself) coupled with laughable implausibilities in the story-telling (the team leader going door to door getting 2,000,000 signatures? The mothership being fully operational all this time? etc., etc.) make for a laughable, if fleetingly enjoyable, B-movie experience.
avatar
Avatar (2009)2Visually spectacular tale of earth's plundering another planet's resources—and its intelligent life be damned—Avatar is done in by a painfully hackneyed/vapid/banal "noble savage" story that would make even Aldous Huxley cringe. And what a coinkydink: the Na'vis' vocal tract configuration is identical to Homo sapiens'! There's nothing new under the sun; ours, or any other, it seems.
the island
The Island (2007)2Unable to cope with the guilt of his cowardice during the war, a man lives out his life as a charlatan mystic (is there any other kind?) at a seaside monastery. Despite (or, rather, exactly because of) the striking high contrast photography and unvaryingly somber tone, this reads suspiciously like a tongue-in-cheek genre exercise. I get the feeling that Director Pavel Lungin is trying to have one over on us, and I, for one, don't appreciate being made sport of.
brother
Brother (1997)3A thuggish and suitably antisemitic and xenophobic youth, just discharged from a stint with the army, gets to apply the tricks of his trade when he secures employment as a hitman for his big bother's syndicate in St. Petersburg. Something of a Russian "Lacombe Lucien", "the banality of evil" is explored in painful, sometimes uncomfortably funny, but ultimately quite affecting detail herein. Definitely worth a look.
russian ark
Russian Ark (2002)4All films are stunts at one level of analysis, but Russian Ark is a stunt like no other. In one seamless take we tour the opulent splendors of the Winter Palace, tracing its history from Peter the Great to the fall of Nicholas II. Viewers can choose to be distracted by the gimmick, or instead allow themselves to be enveloped by the dreamlike surreality where past and present, Slavophile and Westernizer, and nostalgia and revulsion manage to sit comfortably side by side.
the king of masks
The King Of Masks (1999)3Superb performances, excellent period detail, and well-handled explorations of human relationships (between master and pupil, high artist and street performer, the law and the masses) are the highlights of this pre-revolutionary Sichuan-situated drama of an old and kindly "king of masks" and his search for an apprentice to pass on his secrets. Its gentle and delicate charms are sustained until the last act, when, unfortunately, the story descends into hokum.
the sea inside
The Sea Inside (2004)2Despite a good performance by Javier Bardem (acting only from the neck up and buried under remarkably convincing makeup), The Sea Inside does not make good on the promise of its title, as we get only fleeting glimpses into the tumultuous inner world of its protagonist, a quadriplegic who wants to end his life. And with too many undeveloped subplots, an ending that should have been overwhelming instead feels undercooked.
ae fond kiss
Ae Fond Kiss (2004)4Poor Glaswegian Roisin is getting it from all sides. She falls in love with an appealing Scottish-born Pakistani who is nonetheless an apologist for his family's and community's appalling bigotry, and meanwhile, her job is put in jeopardy due to the Catholic Church's intolerance of her "living in sin" with said Pakistani. Excellent naturalistic performances are a major asset.
dark matter
Dark Matter (2007)1A promising Chinese grad student is rebuffed by his advisor, and eventually decides to take matters into his own hands. A superb performance by Liu Ye and a clever title do not overshadow the fact that Dark Matter gets almost everything completely wrong—wrong about American academic life, wrong about the nature of mental illness, wrong about personal responsibility. With its misplaced sympathies, the director ultimately embraces a perverse anti-intellectualism. Even Meryl Streep can't save this one.
the fool killer
The Fool Killer (1965)5In the rolling countryside of post-Civil War American Gothic, an abused runaway (Edward Albert), who, sadly, habitually blames himself for others' mistreatment of him, meets a shell-shocked veteran (the wondrous Anthony Perkins) who, despite his mental trauma, has a perfectly healthy hatred of religious hypocrisy. Very much of a piece with the better known The Night of the Hunter, The Fool Killer is both darkly haunting and achingly wistful in its exploration of the pair's odd and tragic love, and is replete with highly stylized editing and cinematographic touches that belie its low budget origins. Most memorable.
ship of fools
Ship Of Fools (1965)5On the eve of Hitler's ascent, a German cruise ship of, well, fools, leaves port in Mexico. The human condition is laid bare in this extremely effective (and affecting) melodrama by Stanley Kramer. Long and novelistic, Ship Of Fools is unsettling in its unflinching exploration of our foibles (after all, we're all on this ship). Many outstanding performers—among them Michael Dunn, Vivien Leigh, Simone Signoret, and especially Oskar Werner as the ship's deeply unhappy doctor—keep one engaged to the end.
the deep end of the ocean
The Deep End Of The Ocean (1999)2A movie about the abduction of a child had better be damned good if it hopes to overcome its lightning-rod subject matter. The Deep End Of The Ocean is, in fact, not good at all. The characters are poorly drawn, cliche-ridden, and wooden, including Michelle Pfeiffer who (imagine!) really misses her abducted son, and (yawn!) a cameo by Whoopi Goldberg as a down-home dyke with a heart of gold. And when they recover their son, what about his life? What about his friends at school? Was this turkey originally made for Lifetime?
solaris
Solaris (1972)4Tarkovsky's most conventional film is also one of only two that might be called derivative (see also The Sacrifice; Bergman). The existential and epistemological themes explored herein bear the clear mark of Kubrick, who also cagily framed his philosophizing within a science fiction context four years earlier. As with all of Tarkovsky's films, Solaris is possessed of long, lingering images, characters prone to protracted metaphysical discourse, and a stunning visual vocabulary.
shadows of forgotten ancestors
Shadows Of Forgotten Ancestors (1964)5Transfixing, visually spectacular tale of a nineteenth century Carpathian peasant, his loves and his losses. Parajanov’s Shadows Of Forgotten Ancestors, while superficially merely a series of day-to-day vignettes, is indeed a whole far greater than the sum of its parts; lyrical, epic, transcendent. A masterful, sensual feast, with haunting sounds and dreamlike images that are unlikely to be forgotten.
ashik kerib
Ashik Kerib (1988)5Stylized in the extreme, Ashik Kerib thumbs its nose at convention (both of the Soviet and Hollywood varieties), by mockingly—and overwhelmingly effectively—mixing and matching at will both its filmic and its cultural references. Clearly possessed of an erotic fixation on his protagonist (Yuri Mgoyan), Parajanov, late in his career, is working at the peak of his skills. A sumptuous visual masterpiece of gorgeous costumes, Caucasian folk arts, that, at 74 minutes, knows not to outstay its welcome. Highly recommended.
ikiru
Ikiru (1952)4A lowly anonymous bureaucrat is diagnosed with stomach cancer, and becomes obsessed with life, and those who are living it. Perhaps, in the short time left to him, he can learn their secret, and finally live for himself, and for others. Subtle, gentle, and devastating, Ikiru is marred only by an overlong second act.
a dirty shame
A Dirty Shame (2004)2Perhaps inspired by Baltimore's fin de siecle VD epidemic (yes, that was for real), John Waters' A Dirty Shame—the story of Sylvia Stickles (Tracey Ullman) and her neighbors, for whom a conk on the head induces an insatiable sexual appetite—fails due in great part to his own pioneering work in the filth genre of the 60s and 70s; this sort of flick plays in Peoria nowadays. Forced and contrived where Waters used to be free and spontaneous, A Dirty Shame is consistent with the assertion that you can't go home again.
forbidden games
Forbidden Games (1954)5Deeply affecting story of a Parisan girl (a five year old Brigitte Fossey in a remarkable performance), who witnesses the death of her parents in a Nazi air attack. Taken in by a peasant family, she forms a lasting bond with the young son (an equally appealing Georges Poujouly). The simple pleasures of childhood mischief and playfulness are relentlessly juxtaposed to—and ultimately overshadowed by—the awful realities of violence and war. The lyrical score and the haunting ending add immeasurably.
starman
Starman (1984)5Superior science fiction for kids and adults alike. Jeff Bridges is just great as an alien taking the human form of Karen Allen's recently-deceased husband. Stranded in Wisconsin, he coerces her to drive him to his rendezvous point in Arizona. Sure you can guess the rest and give it a miss, but you'd be depriving yourself of a genuinely heartwarming, moving, and imaginative cinematic experience. Simply wonderful!
them!
Them! (1954)4"Attack of the Giant Ants"!! The action scenes are so effective—here like "Aliens", there like "The Third Man"—that one wishes for a bit less exposition, and a lot more "kill 'em all" violence. A cautionary tale exploring the dangers lurking ahead in our post-war atomic world, "Them!" boasts both brains and brawn.
the thing from another world
The Thing From Another World (1951)4Extremely well done horror / thriller / sci-fi / monster movie of an intelligent blood-eating vegetable-man who crash-lands in Alaska (it's much smarter than it sounds!), with innovative overlapping dialogue that was highly unusual for its time (this was before Altman, who was innovative on this front even by today's standards). The only real disappointment is the unimaginative rendering of the alien itself.
phase iv
Phase IV (1974)4An astronomical anomaly unleashes an ant assault in Arizona. Microphotography is the star of this lean, stylish flick, courtesy of title-sequencing master Saul Bass. Don't expect much in the way of characters, plot, or even acting. Just dig the creepy, mysterious mood. The real mystery, however, is what possessed Bass to pursue such an offbeat topic.
the possession of joel delaney
The Possession Of Joel Delaney (1972)2Sporadically effective but mostly silly supernatural thriller of a Park Avenue divorcee (Shirley MacLaine), and her vaguely incestuous relationship with her troubled younger brother (Perry King) who may or may not be possessed by the spirit of a Puerto Rican killer. The Possession of Joel Delaney offers some evocative period detail of NYC in the depths of its 70s despair, but it's carelessly directed, moderately racist, and disquietingly unpleasant.
never a dull moment
Never A Dull Moment (1968)2Not your typical Disney fare—far too much mob-styled violence-by-innuendo makes it inappropriate for young children—Never A Dull Moment (a story of an actor mistaken for a mob hitman) unfolds in contradiction to its title. Dick Van Dyke is a brilliant mime, but neither he nor the gorgeous NYC cityscapes can elevate the paper-thin plotting and overall air of banality into something worth watching.
the spiral staircase
The Spiral Staircase (1946)2A traumatized woman who lost her ability to speak in childhood may be next in line for a serial killer targeting "imperfect" female victims. The splendid photography and lighting might be a reason to take a look at this soapy Gothic murder mystery set in a foreboding mansion on a dark and stormy night, but the hackneyed and melodramatic story might be a reason to approach it with caution.
the deep end
The Deep End (2001)4An intense and taut Hitchcockian thriller of blackmail on Lake Tahoe, with Tilda Swinton as the "any(wo)man" who'll do anything to protect her family. The Deep End is especially effective due to its complex characters, its plausible plot convolutions, and its overall sense of "Jeez, I could see this really happening to someone!" Fine work by all involved.
the river
The River (1997)1Unbelievably boring, pretentious, and amateurish film of modern alienation in Taibei. Well, it certainly alienated me! One-dimensional characters offer no way in for the viewer, engendering absolutely no sympathy for their "diseased" lives. Tsai Ming-Liang's "talent" is heralded as revelatory in some quarters. If ever there were a case of The Emperor's New Clothes, this is it! (Watch Todd Haynes' "Safe" instead.)
indian summer
Indian Summer (1993)1Inexplicably lensed with day-glo filters, Indian Summer depicts a reunion of 30-somethings at their teenage Jewish sleep-away camp. (Fear not! The film is sanitized fur de goyim; neither "Jew" nor "Israel" is ever uttered.) The humor is infantile, the drama banal. I was at Jewish sleep-away at just about the same time as these folks were, and I couldn't find anything to identify with here—that's how bad this film is. A most idiotic little movie.
steam
Steam (1997)1"Enchanted April, Part 2": Instead of the English finding their zest for life in Italy, here, Italians find their zest for life in Turkey. A businessman leaves his wife for a supposedly simpler life with a local boy in Istanbul. (Simpler? Just wait until the boy's parents find out!). With nothing to say, the film contrives a completely unmotivated and ludicrous finale. Don't wake me for "Part 3": "Turks in...Burkina Faso"?
hiding and seeking
Hiding And Seeking (2004)5Exceptionally moving documentary of a remarkable father—the child of Holocaust survivors—who tries to instill a little rachmonos (mercy) in his xenophobic sons, whose completely justifiable bitterness towards the gentile world manifests itself as genuine bigotry. After he and his family travel to Europe and find the Poles who saved his father-in-law's life, the father succeeds...maybe.
the prisoner of second avenue
The Prisoner Of Second Avenue (1975)2Even in a clunker like "Last of the Red Hot Lovers", Neil Simon imparted affectionate quirks to his angst-ridden, teetering-on-the-edge NYC protagonist, but here, Jack Lemmon's character is bitter, sardonic, and unpleasant from the git-go, and so instead of identifying with his urban plight, we can only sympathize with his ever-supportive wife (an excellent Ann Bancroft); come the resolution, we don’t even care. The few stabs at humor are broad, obvious, and over-punctuated by Marvin Hamlisch’s obtrusive scoring.
the conrad boys
The Conrad Boys (2006)2Amidst the antiseptic splendor that is the OC, we follow the life and love travails of a coming-of-age gay youth and his bad-boy squeeze. Apart from the lead (played by the director), the acting is somewhat assured at times, but really, this film has nothing to say, and doesn't know how to say it.
cutter's way
Cutter's Way (1981)4Smart dialogue, subtle characterizations, and thoughtful, detailed direction are the highlights in this underwhelming story of a driven, bitter Vietnam vet (John Heard, outstanding) and his reluctant, lackadaisical buddy (Jeff Bridges, solid as always) as they try to nail a local Santa Barbara fat cat for a sordid murder.
gran torino
Gran Torino (2008)3However well-intentioned its only-in-America optimism, Gran Torino—the story of a hardened widower whose heart melts like butter as he falls in with his troubled Hmong neighbors—suffers from its non-professional cast, its tin-eared dialogue, and its campy employment of Catholic iconography. Sure, I welled up all the way through it, but I hated myself in the morning.
punk: attitude
Punk: Attitude (2005)3 A reasonably informative documentary about the origins of punk (The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, The MC5, The New York Dolls), it's New York heyday (Ramones, Television, The Voidoids), its exportation to London (Sex Pistols, Clash), its dribbling into Los Angeles (Black Flag, Weirdos), and its ultimate commercialization. The interviews vary from from the articulate (Chrissie Hynde, Mick Jones), to the ridiculous (especially uber-bozo Henry Rollins).
ushpizin
Ushpizin (2005)3It's not every day one gets to see a slice-of-life film set in Jersusalem's all-Haredi Mea Shearim neighborhood, but apart from the unusual setting—which, it must be said, adds a great deal to the picture—this well-acted dramedy is sweet enjoyable fluff, but not much more. And where was the pitom??
the new world
The New World (2005)2Terrence Malick is now batting .750. It will still earn him MVP, but here, finally, he whiffs. The two leads are both problematic. Colin Farrell as John Smith seems capable of only one expression (knitted brow, vacant stare), and Q'Orianka Kilcher as Pocahontas is clearly of a different ethnic make-up from the Americans depicted herein. Most offensive, the European characters are clearly delineated, while the Americans are little more than an undifferentiated "red menace". This film is really just a tone poem; a gorgeous, sexy, ethereal tone poem, but a tone poem nonetheless. (And listen as James Horner apes Arvo Part.)
defiance
Defiance (2009)3A remarkable true story, passably handled, of Jews who escape to the forests of Byelorussia, and, against all odds, survive the Holocaust. Alas, all the standard Hollywood shortcuts are here—the schematic Jewish prototypes (the socialist intellectual, the pious religious thinker, etc.), the fast-cutting, confusingly filmed battle scenes, the unnecessary romantic entanglements—and thus the overall impact is needlessly muted.
the fountain
The Fountain (2006)1Imagine that the most pretentious, insipid progressive rock band of the 70s (say, Yes, or Emerson Lake and Palmer) were given 20 million dollars to make the movie of their dreams. They'd probably hand back something like this puddle of utter bilge. Stay away. Stay very away.
lacombe, lucien
Lacombe Lucien (1974)5Deeply affecting and complex portrait of a Zelig-like thug, who, upon being rejected by the French resistance, drifts into collaboration with the enemy, simply because it is something to do. His new-found sense of purpose—however banal—is put to the test when he becomes infatuated with a Jewish girl. Flawlessly rendered, Lacombe Lucien is a masterful exploration of how cowardice and stupidity may live awkwardly side by side with humanism and love within an unexamined self.
star trek
Star Trek (2009)2As with many Star Trek installments, this adventure patently translates into a very current event. Here, Nero the Romulan represents Ahmadinejad the Islamist, bent on destroying the Vulcan homeworld (that's Israel to you and me—Spock and the Vulcans always being Star Trek's stand-in for the Jews, who do not exist in the franchise). Far too many pointless action scenes break up the telling of the tale, and the "alternate timeline" provides a pat explanation for the many inconsistencies with Trek's canonical history..
carnal knowledge
Carnal Knowledge (1971)5Superb, haunting exploration of how dreadful men can be to women, Jules Feiffer's script follows Art Garfunkel and Jack Nicholson as they plow through relationships, wholly incapable of forming lasting bonds, cheating on each other as readily as they cheat on their women. Cynical, pessimistic, depressing, and, as directed by Mike Nichols, magnificently realized.
rosenstrasse
Rosenstrasse (2003)1Plodding, poorly paced, awkwardly staged, and boring, Rosenstrasse would have us believe that Germany was bursting at the seams with love for the Jews, except for a few strategically-placed nasties. We’re supposed to marvel at the supposed courage of a few Aryan women who want their “gentle” Jewish husbands back, and simply gloss over the fact that, by 1943, German and European Jewry were well on their way to extinction. I’ll have none of it.
the barbecue people
The Barbecue People (2003)3A complex (and complicated) exploration of a family of Iraqi Israelis, their long-held secrets, their shames and their lies, as they converge and collide for Israeli Independence Day in 1988. One suspects that many aspects of this subtle, beguiling, and rather inscrutable film make perfect sense to Mizrachis in Israel; the rest of us can only appreciate it from afar.
the grey zone
The Grey Zone (2002)5At the end of World War Two, as Hungary is finally being relieved of its 500,000 Jews, a young girl survives the gas chambers at Auschwitz. The Sonderkommando—the coterie of Jews the Germans use to keep the liquidation process running smoothly (for four months, after which time they are murdered and replaced)—find themselves saddled with an “unnumbered” problem. Raw and a-filmic, The Grey Zone is based on a true story.
paper clips
Paper Clips (2004)4As if the election of Obama weren't enough, we also have this moving documentary about a very ordinary southern town that embarks on a most unordinary project involving Holocaust remembrance; a further reason to feel proud and lucky that we live in America. Dayenu!
the lathe of heaven
The Lathe Of Heaven (1980)2Ursula Le Guin's thinly veiled defense of reactionary politics relates the story of a man who has the power to make his dreams come true, and his state-assigned therapist who attempts to harness this power to improve the world. As every attempted improvement backfires, the lesson is that we should just accept the world as it is. It's like a Twilight Zone episode as written by Bill O'Reilly or Pat Buchanan.
lilith
Lilith (1964)4Dramatically compelling (though scientifically flawed) story of a young veteran (a very young and handsome Warren Beatty), who, due in part to his late mother's mental illness, decides to work at a local private rest facility. There he meets Lilith (a very young and beautiful Jean Seberg), who manipulates him both sexually and psychologically. Beautiful black and white photography, and a subdued cerebral approach make for a haunting, lump-in-the throat cinematic experience. Gene Hackman practically steals the film in a brief cameo.
the visitor
The Visitor (2007)4A hardened widower finds his heart when he discovers two illegal immigrants innocently squatting in his city pied-à-terre. A quiet, studied drama of small vignettes and subtle characterizations that successfully navigates its cliche-laden narrative, The Visitor is a stinging indictment of the harsh vicissitudes of Bush/Cheney(/Nader)'s new order in America. Let's hope it fast becomes a period piece
end of the world
End Of The World (1977)1I saw this movie when it originally came out (as the butt-end of a double bill with Laserblast—another real winner!). The only things I remembered were that it was very underlit, and the planet Earth gets blowed up real good at the end. Lovely. (I'll spare you the "spoiler alert", and just tell you that my memories were quite accurate—nothing else happens in this loser of a movie.)
sphere
Sphere (1998)1Barry Levinson lacks the skill to make anything remotely coherent out of this cross between Forbidden Planet, The Abyss, and especially Solaris. A fine cast is wasted as their characters—who are provided absolutely no training by the government—are sent deep underwater to investigate an alien presence that, of course, messes with their minds. Really, mind-numbingly stupid.
wanda
Wanda (1971)4In the unforgiving landscape of Pennsylvania coal country, an empty-headed waif walks away from her kids and falls in with a cruel small time crook. Barbara Loden's bleak and pathetic Wanda can be seen as the serious flip-side to "Strangers With Candy"'s Jerri Blank. Nicholas T. Proferes' cinematography in particular is extremely effective. Highly recommended.
come and see
Come And See (1985)5Completely gripping from the first frame to its appalling, horrifying ending, Come and See is a harrowing, unflinching, and overwhelmingly powerful depiction of German atrocities committed in Byelorussia during World War Two, as seen through the eyes of a young boy. Unforgettable.
divided we fall
Divided We Fall (2000)3A rare "Holocaust movie" in which good and evil, or more prosaically, partisan and collaborator, are not so clear cut, Divided We Fall relates the story of a reluctant Czech anti-hero and his more genuinely heroic wife, who find themselves stuck hiding a Jewish youth. At turns tense and funny, the convoluted narrative is far too contrived (and the stuttered photography far too annoying) to be genuinely effective, but the shades of gray in the characterizations, including an ethnic German Nazi sympathizer who probably has figured out the secret, is a refreshing change of pace.
the rules of the game
The Rules Of The Game (1939)5Part Python-esque slapstick farce, part scathing social commentary, part Upstairs-Downstairs domestic drama, part Altman-esque verbal ballet, this remarkable French film set at a country estate weekend party at the dawn of WW2 is way way ahead of its time, and can just as easily be misunderstood today as when it was first released.
targets
Targets (1968)5"God, what an ugly town this has become". So says Boris Karloff as he limos through the Valley to a personal appearance at a Reseda drive-in in this thematic cross between "Peeping Tom" and "Day of the Locust". A unique visual vocabulary (appropriated en masse by Tim Burton for Edward Scissorhands) combines with a superbly suspenseful story of a sniper on the loose. The result is a lean minimalist masterpiece, a genuine landmark of American film. Too bad no one's ever seen it!
the steamroller and the violin
The Steamroller And The Violin (1960)5Hauntingly beautiful story, set in the crumbling rubble of a Moscow under transformation, of a sweet and precocious child musician, and the kindly, lonely worker who takes a serious shining to him. The music (for church organ, solo violin, and full orchestra) and the photography (oftentimes with images multiplied in mirrors or distorted in rippling water) are enthralling, and the surprisingly linear narrative (with its wistful, dreamlike ending), is ineffably touching. For adults and children alike, The Steamroller And The Violin would make a memorable double bill with The Red Balloon. A masterpiece.
the legend of the surami fortress
The Legend of the Surami Fortress (1984)4Parajanov's obsession with bilateral symmetry, his unwillingness to provide close-ups of his performers, and the stunning natural scenery, combine with primitive jump-cuts and casually jarring studio looping (such as echoic stage whispers in an open field) to create a heightened sense of unreality. Don't worry about the story (a Georgian folk tale); just revel in the remarkable imagery. This would make a thought-provoking double bill with the Chinese film "Ashima".
missing victor pellerin
Missing Victor Pellerin (2006)4Absolutely fascinating and totally absorbing mockumentary of a Montreal-based con-/fine-artist who mysteriously vanishes at the height of his popularity. It's part-expose, part-mystery, part-Rashomon POV exercise, part-self-referential parody, remarkably acted and painstakingly assembled. Don't miss this one!
what a way to go!
What A Way To Go! (1964)4Slight, silly, and corny...but also colorful, clever, and charming. This farcical tale of a woman (Shirley MacLaine, perfect) who keeps losing her husbands while gaining their fortunes, doesn't really hang together, but its who's who cast, backed by the likes of Betty Comden, Adolph Green, Nelson Riddle, and Edith Head, and the outstanding, outrageously opulent production, make for a genuinely diverting few hours.
rebel
 Rebel (1985)2Slick, vibrant production, and the always-appealing Matt Dillon, are, alas, insufficient to salvage this undernourished WW2 story of an American who tires of killing Japs, and deserts while on medical leave in Sydney. Especially marred by several absurd, anachronistic musical numbers.
hollywood dreams
Hollywood Dreams (2007)2At this late date it would be naive to think that Henry Jaglom would—or could—rise above his lo-fi indie origins, but here, he really sinks low indeed, as everyone in Bel Air goes gaga for a grossly unappealing "starlet" (Jaglom squeeze-of-the-week Tanna Frederick) who hogs all the screen time with her egomanical histrionics.
rachel getting married
Rachel Getting Married (2008)3Superbly acted fly-on-the-wall Cassavetes-styled portrait of a Borderline Personality, and the havoc it wreaks on her family, even during her sister's wedding weekend. But is it fair to expect viewers to marvel at the performers, and also expect them not to squirm in discomfort as they watch a family that will never, ever be healthy?
Chicago (2002)1With a second-rate book and a middling score, Chicago on Broadway was of interest primarily for its Bob Fosse choreography. You don't get that here, of course. Instead, you get close-ups and jump-cuts which fail to disguise the fact that no one here can dance, and a soundtrack that doesn't even attempt to hide the fact that most of the actors can't sing (the wonderful Queen Latifah excepted). You have been warned!
what's eating gilbert grape
What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993)2A typically bloodless performance by Johnny Depp sabatages this otherwise mildly diverting near-remake of The Last Picture Show. Why bother?
the fugitive kind
The Fugitive Kind (1959)3Tennessee Williams, Sidney Lumet, Marlon Brando, 1959: it can't miss, right? Well, not quite. Neither Lumet nor Brando seem sure what to do with this sub-par Williams melodrama about a small time hustler/drifter who, dallying with the straight and narrow, enmeshes himself in the romantic intrigues of a (poorly delineated) southern town. Oddly, there are too few dramatic peaks here, and the viewer is left rather dissatisfied.
malena
Malena (2000)1No story? No problem! No script? No problem! This endlessly repetitive tale of a boy obsessed with the town sexpot goes nowhere fast, is rife with a contrived sense of whimsy (then doom), and makes no use of its Fascist Italy setting. It's like a locked groove. Skip it.
the pawnbroker
The Pawnbroker (1965)5Way up Park Avenue, a Holocaust survivor (Rod Steiger)—a former professor who has succumbed to utter bitterness—intermingles with his pawnshop employee, an ambitious and sagacious Puerto Rican youth (Jaime Sanchez), as well as Harlem’s underworld of prostitution and heroin. As life whirls on all around him, the pawnbroker finds he cannot escape the loss he has endured, and all outstretched hands—from his employee, from a lonely spinster (Geraldine Fitzgerald)—are  coldly rebuffed. Boris Kaufman’s lensing (at once stylized and verite) and Quincy Jones’s exotic scoring, are major assets.
tempest
Tempest (1982)2While the scenes set in New York crackle with a modicum of wit and sophistication, the lion's share of this aimless, seemingly endless misfire by Paul Mazursky creeps at a snail's pace on a deserted Greek island, where Philip/Prospero (John Cassavetes) is supposedly looking to re-energize his unhappy (though financially successful) life. Despite a formidable array of talent on hand (Gena Rowlands, Raul Julia, Susan Sarandon, Vittorio Gassman, Molly Ringwald), this one can easily be skipped.
faithful
Faithful (1996)3The setting of a potential murder victim exchanging witty repartee with her would-be killer has been done to death, but Paul Mazursky can always be counted on to bring intelligence and urban wit to even the most mundane of tales. Here, he gets such engaging performances from Cher and Chazz Palminteri (who also scripted), and his direction is so slick and sophisticated, that even a cliche-laden tale such as this is pulled off with real panache.
dogpound shuffle
Dogpound Shufffle (1975)5Folks, if you have kids, or if you've ever been a kid yourself, you'd be wise to watch this wonderful, heartwarming story of an embittered tap-dancing bum (Ron Moody) and his sweet-natured mouthharp-playing young tag-along (David Soul), as they attempt raise the funds to get the former's dancing dog out of the East Vancouver pound. A true undiscovered gem, this film is a genuine marvel of intelligent direction, warm humor, fine performances, and uplifting music.
where's poppa?
Where's Poppa? (1970)3What the—!? Extremely odd (and oddly paced) low key black comedy in which an incompetent lawyer (George Segal) tries to rid himself of one woman (his senile mother, the always excellent Ruth Gordon, though she has little to do), and acquire another (Trish Van Devere). Appallingly offensive humor about Alzheimers Disease, black-on-white crime, male-on-male rape, child abuse, and incest (!!) limits the appeal, but God bless Carl Reiner for trying. Barnard Hughes is a standout as a fascist admiral.
fatal instinct
Fatal Instinct (1993)2Calling this spoof of legal/cop thrillers "hit-or-miss" would be charitable. This is a real disappointment from Carl Reiner, who should know better than to attempt the sort of verbal/visual pun humor mastered by the Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker team—Reiner's obvious inspiration here.
the face of another
Woman In The Dunes (1964)5The myth of Sisyphus. An entomologist, finding himself trapped at the bottom of a sand pit in the ramshackle house of a peasant woman, comes to realize that he has all he would ever need: sustenance, and companionship. Teshigahara’s erotic masterpiece is a sumptuous feast for the eyes and the ears.
distant journey
Distant Journey (1949)5“Auschwitz. Majdanek. Treblinka…Only a few survived.” There would seem only two ways to effectively convey the Holocaust in film: Spielberg’s unflinching verite approach, and this, Alfred Radok’s surrealistic expressionist nightmare, which replaces blood and gas with light and shadow, angle and curve. The remarkable mis-en-scene, with its multi-layered labyrinthine sets and Ravel-inspired score, conspire to create a genuine cinematic masterpiece. Watch this movie. You will never, ever forget.
a perfect couple
A Perfect Couple (1979)3In this lighter-than-air slice of urban romance, a plain Dick (Paul Dooley, excellent) and plain Jane (Marta Heflin, sickly looking) try to eke out a romance, away from their burdensome familial and professional obligations. A pleasant departure for director Altman, its partial success is tempered by inevitable comparisons to master-of-the-genre Paul Mazursky. The decidedly Starland Vocal Band-esque popcorn mush "rock" songs really stink.
fool for love
Fool For Love (1985)2In this "opened-up" filming of Sam Shepard’s play exploring long-buried family secrets and forgotten memories, Altman provides thoughtful, stylish direction in the New Mexican desert. Still, while the performers (including Shepard himself) do what they can with a maddeningly uneven, pretentious, go-nowhere script, when the pay-off finally comes, you may wonder if it was really worth the effort.
beaufort
Beaufort (2007)4Gripping and intense drama depicting the last days of Israel’s occupation of southern Lebanon in 2000, and the flawed, agonized young commander whose decisions can mean life or death for his troops as Hezbollah’s rockets relentlessly rain down. Greatly enhanced by claustrophobic sets and very effective electronic scoring.
mekinda and melinda
Melinda And Melinda (2004)1Hmm. Well, apparently, one thread here is supposed to be a comedy, and the other a drama, but damned if I can tell which is which. In this tale of vapid, disgustingly rich NYC pseudo-sophisticates and their idiotic problems, tin-eared dialogue abounds, and Radha Mitchell's supposed Park Avenue origins are betrayed by an accent that varies between Beverly Hills and Maida Vale. Really, this is truly awful filmmaking.
little children
Little Children (2006)3Unable to transcend its literary origins, Todd Fields’ exploration of Bostonian suburbanites in various stages of emotional stuntedness is fine on mood, but rather lacking in sympathetic characters. Indeed, among the harassers, adulterers, and pornographers portrayed herein, it’s a child molester (played by comeback kid Jackie Earle Haley), who finally emerges as the one character we identify with.
i'm not there
I'm Not There (2007)5How to convey the unconveyable? This question is usually asked in critiques of Holocaust literature, but may also be applied to artistic explorations of genius. Unlike Scorsese, who raised more questions than he answered about his subject, Todd Haynes, in this kaleidoscopic Felliniesque exploration of Bob Dylan, acknowledges that we can’t even begin to understand who or what Dylan is. Give it time, watch it again and again, and it will surely emerge as a masterpiece.
focus
Focus (2001)4Too Jewish? Superbly photographed and expertly lit in Hopperesque splendour, Arthur Miller’s exploration of wartime Father Coughlin-inspired American anti-Semitism takes a Kitty Genovese-like case as its jumping off point, as mistaken-for-Jews William H. Macy and Laura Dern confront the limits of their passivity in the face of racial hatred in deepest NYC. The support, led by David Paymer and Meat Loaf, don’t have enough to do, and the themes are hit a bit too hard, but the top-notch production compensates for the shortcomings.
a letter to three wives
A Letter To Three Wives (1949)4Thoroughly engrossing melodrama, laced with acid humor, of three Westchester wives who, as they're leaving for a day trip across the Hudson to Hook Mountain, receive a letter from a fourth woman, known to them for years as a rival, claiming to have run off with one of the their husbands. But which one? As we flashback into three turbulent marriages, we are treated to wonderful performances by all six (!) leads, as well as stellar support from the redoubtable Thelma Ritter and the rock solid Connie Gilchrist.
the history boys
The History Boys (2006)2Some Yorkshire boys do sufficiently well on their A-levels to get a crack at Oxbridge in this gratingly glib and hopelessly stagy production. The History Boys is appropriately multi-culti: a black kid, an Asian Muslim, a gay Jew, a fatso, yet Britain was so far behind the times socially in 1983 (I know; I lived there then) that the self-loathing speechifying herein could have come straight out of The Boys in The Band (which took place fifteen years earlier), especially in one cringe-inducing scene between the Jewish student and his closeted teacher.
night of the iguana
The Night Of The Iguana (1964)5John Huston filmed this highly stylized—really, vaguely surreal—interpretation of Tennessee Williams’ study of sexual repression and religious doubt. The leads—Richard Burton (as the hopelessly human whiskey priest), Ava Gardner (as the expat innkeeper—or was that Suzanne Pleshette…?), and especially Deborah Kerr (as the New England spinster)—are superb, all running from (for?) their lives in tropical Mexico. It’s enough to make me want to write a poem about Nantucket…
the bubble
The Bubble (2006)4A gay Arab from Nablus finds refuge and romance among a set of young Bohemians in Tel Aviv’s Sheinkin Street, but along comes Hamas and rains on everyone’s parade, that is, bursts their bubble. Eytan Fox’s morality tale would have had a greater impact were it a bit less intent on getting its message through in the big finish, and instead stuck with the daily trials and tribulations of its players. Still, the thesis that homophobia promotes terrorism is a compelling one.
lan yu
Lan Yu (2001)3Simple tale, subtly rendered, of a no-nonsense Beijing businessman who takes years to realize that the young architecture student he keeps for casual pleasures is really his true love. The domestic scenes especially are quite true to (Chinese) life, with friends and family oblivious to the romantic link between the two. Slightly diminished by an unnecessarily melodramatic coda.
solaris
Solaris (2002)3Hampered by several weak performances (including an appallingly mannered one by Jeremy Davies), this is nonetheless a surprisingly effective stripped-down interpretation of the Stanislaw Lem novel, in which an alien intelligence contacts human visitors by tapping their most guilt-laden memories, and conjuring replicas of the people who are the source of this guilt. Paradoxically, the replicas become more and more human-like as they begin to recognize their alien origins. An excellent performance by Viola Davis helps, as does the atmospheric score by Cliff Martinez.
michael clayton
Michael Clayton (2007)2R.D. Laing would have approved of this predictable corporate law drama, in which a manic-depressive lawyer (an excellent Tom Wilkinson) goes off his meds, and finally comes to his senses about his firm’s defending an Archer Daniels Midland-like conglomerate, responsible for poisoning the wells in rural Wisconsin. Tilda Swinton is also very good as a conflicted corporate villain, but the film really gives us nothing that hasn’t been done—and done better—many times before.
leonard cohen: i'm your man
Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man (2005)1Amateurish and uninformative documentary dolled up with annoying special effects, consisting mostly of mangled cover renditions of many classic Leonard Cohen songs (fellow Montrealers Kate and Anna McGarrigle are clearly slumming here). Leonard himself gets in on the action, but only barely, embarrassing himself by lip-synching (poorly) in front of a clueless U2. Listen to the records instead.
advise and consent
Advise And Consent (1962)4Charles Laughton is outstanding as a loathsome Dixiecrat, but the whole cast is superb in this studied and somber portrait of a D.C. where policy is determined by who blackmails who. The scandalous skeletons include youthly dabblings in communist ideology, and same-sex romance. Some things never change.
exodus
Exodus (1960)3Leon Uris's epic novel about the founding of Israel is given a slightly flat but never boring treatment by Otto Preminger. It is quite faithful to history—the British colluding with European and Arab fascists to keep Holocaust survivors stateless, the internecine conflicts between the Irgun and the Hagana, between refugee Jews and Palestinian Jews, and (a good touch) the humanists that dotted certain sides. Sal Mineo (who wasn’t Jewish) plays a far more convincing Israeli than does Paul Newman (who was—and runs the gamut of emotions from aleph to bet).
superbad
Superbad (2007)2Two high school buddies (Jonah Hill and Michael Cera,) trying to get alcohol for a party and "score some chicks", end up falling in love with each other instead. Shoddily directed, sloppily edited, and poorly ad-libbed (especially by Seth Rogan and Bill Hader), Superbad is partially redeemed by Christopher Mintz-Plasse in a very appealing performance as a lovable nerd. Achieving a new low in bodily fluid humor (pun intended), it's enough to give the “awful teen comedy” genre a bad name.
shampoo
Shampoo (1975)3It’s L.A. Dolce Vita as Warren Beatty beds every woman from the Palisades to the Cahuenga Pass while his life—and Western Civilization (Nixon’s '68 victory is prominently featured)—comes crashing down. Lee Grant, channeling Barbra Streisand, is especially good, as is the Beatles and Beach Boys-heavy soundtrack.
forrest gump
Forrest Gump (1994)1Oh, I see. All you need is a good and pure heart, and life will turn out peaches and cream, that is, you'll get stinking rich...even if you're mentally retarded (or so the Republican propagandists behind Forrest Gump would have us believe). Tom Hanks is constitutionally incapable of delivering a nuanced performance, and Forrest Gump may well be his career nadir. The one clever gimmick is stolen from Woody Allen's Zelig of more than a decade earlier.
nights of cabiria
Nights Of Cabiria (1957)5Fellini treads a remarkably fine line between heightened sentimentality and hopeless cynicism in this tale of a hard-nosed prostitute whose life changes forever in a sudden moment of completely unexpected candor. In a truly remarkable performance, Giuletta Masina might go from elation to heartbreak with a curl of her lip or a tilt of her head—Harpo Marx, Charlie Chaplin, and Lucille Ball all in one.
juliet of the spirits
Juliet Of The Spirits (1965)4A demure society woman (Giulietta Massina, playing against type) suspects her husband of taking a lover. As we explore her inner world, Fellini, drunk on color and Art Nouveau sets and costumes, provides kaleidoscopic and fantastical imagery where the apparent reality is no less bountiful in its splendor than is the fantasy. Nino Rota’s mod/mad carnival score is perfect.
duel
Duel (1970)4The camera and the editing are the real stars of this tale of an emasculated husband (Dennis Weaver) menaced by a sinister semi in the California desert. Almost without dialogue, we wonder for some time whether it’s all in his imagination. Genuinely avant-garde and wonderfully amoral, Spielberg’s first film (made for TV in under two weeks) is completely gripping from start to finish.
the keys to the house
The Keys To The House (2004)3An absent father returns to care for his now-teenaged son (the very appealing Andrea Rossi), mildly retarded and with severe CP. Not among his best works, The Keys To The House continues Gianni Amelio’s common theme of a young man finding (unromantic) love as a consequence of taking on new and unexpected responsibilities. While confronting some very painful truths, the film nonetheless seems slightly telegraphed, with a leitmotif of whizzing trains substituting for some much-needed character development.
heartland
Heartland (1980)5Wyoming, 1910: an ambitious widow and her little girl have left Denver for work on a cattle ranch in the rugged but stunningly beautiful hinterland, and, despite ongoing hardships, eventually find a sort of contentment there. Conchata Ferrell is remarkably good, as is her taciturn employer and eventual husband Rip Torn. Greatly enhanced by an especially moving ending, this film would make a terrific double bill with Days Of Heaven (yes, it's that good!).
ishtar
Ishtar (1987)3Mildly enjoyable nonsense. Hoffman and Beatty play dumb, lovable no-talent smucks who fancy themselves the next Simon & Garfunkel. Out of desperation they take a gig in Morocco, and, as the plot sprawls as maddeningly as the Sahara itself, they unwittingly end up ensconced in an internecine conflict with international implications: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern In Syriana. Charles Grodin is terrific; Isabelle Adjani is atrocious. Paul Williams' songs are cleverly terrible, though not terribly clever (and no worse than his own preceding solo album, the sad, awful "...And Crazy For Loving You"!).
brothers of the head
Brothers Of The Head (2005)2This Is Not Spinal Tap. A serious mock-rockumentary of a pair of conjoined twins who, strange as may seem, played punk in 1975, the year before it arrived in London from NYC (and named themselves after a Squeeze song released three years later). Brothers Of The Head is ultimately an exercise in style, making few attempts to emotionally grab the viewer. Clive Langer, who hasn’t written songs like this since Deaf School’s English Boys/Working Girls from 1978, does a fine job slumming.
peeping tom
Peeping Tom (1960)5By giving us a shy and handsome protagonist and a horrifying back story of child abuse, in Peeping Tom, director Michael Powell and writer Leo Marks conjure heretofore unheard-of lump-in-the-throat sympathy for a serial killer. The Pirandello-esque murder technique, revealed in the finale, remains shocking to this day. Brillianty shot and lit, Peeping Tom proves to be remarkably prescient in this over-photographed, all-trash-all-the-time world we live in. Double bill: Psycho, of course.
the heartbreak kid
The Heartbreak Kid (1972)5When he finds the girl of his dreams, it’s shiksappeal gone wild as Charles Grodin tries to extricate himself from his premature marriage to Jeannie Berlin. The laughs (at once hilarious and downright painful) come non-stop and hit hard on arrival. Eddie Albert is astonishingly good as Cybil Shepard's oh-so-dignified (and probably Jew-hating) father.
mikey and nicky
Mikey And Nicky (1976)3A Jewish hood (Peter Falk) gets his Catholic childhood friend (John Cassavetes) a gig, and then, crushingly, is assigned to “take care of him" after the latter absconds with mob cash. As they stumble around Philadelphia all night opening wounds old and new, Elaine May’s verite filming—more Cassavetes in feel—only sometimes succeeds. The amazing support (including Ned Beatty and William Hickey), alas, is wasted.
awake and sing!
Awake And Sing! (1972)3A bracing drama of a dysfunctional Jewish Bronx family during the ascension of Hitler, Clifford Odets's best known work sounds overwritten to modern-day ears. This filmed teleplay suffers from poor sound, and, much as I love 'im, Walter Matthau is miscast. Still, he and all the performers—especially Martin Ritt—are fantastic.
ed wood
Ed Wood (1994)1“It's so bad it’s g…” Well, it’s just so bad. Neither Tim Burton nor Johnny Depp would recognize a genuine human emotion if it came up and socked them in the jaw. This supposed “character study” of legendary Z-director Ed Wood leaves one ice cold: not a single insight into Wood’s inner world is even attempted. Martin Landau does a great job as a broken down Bela Lugosi, but other than that, this is strictly amateur hour.
black robe
Black Robe (1991)5A bleak and beautiful rendering of Quebec’s early seventeenth century missionary period, religious conviction in Black Robe is convincingly likened to a sort of mental disease, inducing its victims to act regardless of the human consequences. (The Catholic Church held its grip on this land until the Quiet Revolution of the mid twentieth century.) Georges Delerue’s stirring score, and the remarkable period detail, greatly enhance the effect.
this is england
This Is England (2006)4Electrifying performances (especially by Stephen Graham and the young Thomas Turgoose) are the highlight of this emotionally complex and wholly believable account of a northern boy’s seduction by, and ultimate rejection of, the National Front. There’s not even a whiff of sentimentality for its early-80s post-Rude Boy setting, and the film is all the more resonant for it.
house calls
House Calls (1978)3Everybody Loves Walter. And why not? The man's an American treasure. Any comedy set in a hospital is inherently flawed, but Matthau and Glenda Jackson are delightful together, while the supporting cast—Art Carney, Richard Benjamin, and especially Candice Azzara as a Coney Island widow—is fully game. -Dan Solomon
the return
The Return (2003)3A man returns to his family after twelve years, apparently having been isolated from the world, just him and the elements, with nothing but his wits to survive on. Taking them on a seemingly aimless roadtrip, he attempts to impart his acquired knowledge to his two boys, who are merely bewildered. The natural scenery is gorgeous, but, due to the nature of the narrative, the emotional payoff is somewhat muted. And did he really ever return?
love in the afternoon

Love In the Afternoon (1972)3Sort of “Brief Encounter” with a Parisian accent, Rohmer here makes the mistake of giving us a rather unlikeable protagonist, having him play out in real life what should be a wholly internal debate on fidelity. Were a woman so self-indulgently cruel to the men in her life, she would be called a tease, or worse. The acting and the dialogue are wonderful, of course.
safe
Safe (1995)5Had Kubrick been a humanist, he might have come up with Safe. Todd Haynes' camera keeps a (safe) distance as Carol White (Julianne Moore) find herself increasingly unable to cope with modern living, while egomaniacal charlatans try to rob her of what little humanity she possesses. In this definitive south-of-the Boulevard Valley movie, the dialogue rings appallingly true, while lurking underneath, ex-Necessary Ed Tomney provides an all-pervasive hum. An absolute marvel: the best movie of the 1990s.
careful, he might hear you
Careful, He Might Hear You (1983)5A lush and sumptuously staged period melodrama, CHMHY tells the story of a young Australian boy caught in a harrowing sibling rivalry among the elders in his life. Everything works here: the acting (especially the young Nicholas Gledhill as P.S.), the gorgeous color-drenched photography, and the verging-on-histrionic plot. Even the villain (Wendy Hughes) is portrayed as a complex and ultimately sympathetic character. The magnificently romantic score by Ray Cook is the icing on the cake.
claire's knee
Claire's Knee (1971)4In this irresistible slice of bucolic French life, a just-graying expat comes back to sell off his childhood summer home, and, right before his imminent marriage, gently inserts himself into the romantic intrigues of the young people he encounters. I don’t know if life really flows so easily, and if people are really this lovely, but, well…happy people with happy problems…
hiroshima mon amour
Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959)5A Frenchwoman, forever haunted by a forbidden love in provincial Vichy France, experiences an interlude of tenderness with a local man in post-bomb Hiroshima, and a flood of awful memories comes pouring back. As the city fades to sleep around them, the two are left to confront their impossible dilemma. Anyone who has loved and lost—especially in a foreign land—will find Resnais’s and Duras's work here almost unbearably resonant.
the face of another
The Face Of Another (1966)4A remarkable assemblage of film techniques, Teshigahara's The Face of Another nonetheless plays more like a very precocious student's project: technically stunning, but emotionally undernourished. Frankenheimer's Seconds (also 1966) would make a good double bill; it's a more humanistic meditation on identity in a technologized society.
carnival of souls
Carnival Of Souls (1962)5After a terrible car accident, a young woman is compelled to investigate a mysterious, abandoned, lakeside pavilion. On a shoe-string budget and with cast of unknowns, director Herk Harvey has created a genuinely haunting cinematic experience, nearly (though not quite) in league with Peeping Tom, The Innocents, and even Psycho—the other macabre masterpieces of the era. Borrowing liberally from Rod Serling, and more subtly from Orson Welles, it is, in the end, an exploration of loneliness and alienation.
stalker
Stalker (1979)5A plea for peaceful coexistence among science, art, and religion. Tarkovsky’s microphone and camera find sounds and images of devastating beauty in the most unlikely of settings. Nothing redemptive occurs in the Zone (the forbidden region that may or may not have been visited by aliens), but the Stalker’s mutant daughter—tellingly filmed in color, as if she were the progeny of the Zone itself—may show the way to human salvation. A landmark artistic achievement.
starcrash
Starcrash (1978)4This Z-Grade spaghetti space opera does make one genuine contribution to civilization: it shows just how dumb Star Wars really was, for if that film were stripped of its lavish budget, it would be revealed, in its bare naked stupidity, to be no better at all than this gloriously awful but at times downright inspirational and exuberant nonsense. "The Shaggs" of cinema. Caroline Munro and former child preacher/swindler Marjoe Gortner star.
life is beautiful
Life Is Beautiful (1997)1The idea that a child can be shipped to a concentration camp, and be fooled by his father into thinking it's all a game, is not only absurd, it is, in the words of film critic David Denby, "a mild form of Holocaust denial." This is a deeply offensive movie.
rocketship x-m
Rocketship X-M (1950)3.0 StarsThe rather cavalier approach to pre-launch protocol provides a preview of the very soft science to come, but R Expedition Mars, along with Forbidden Planet and Robinson Crusoe on Mars, is about as "down-to-earth" as SF got, pre-"2001". Stunning black and white photography, one-hit-wonder Ferde Grofe's unobtrusive score, and Dalton Trumbo's sober screenplay combine to create an air of surprising seriousness.
syriana
Syriana (2005)2The script's willful obfuscation is merely a cynical ploy to disguise the fact that the writers lack the chops to create characters of any depth. The Americans must choose to deal with either an Arab Emirate playboy / tyrant-in-training, or his brother, a thoughtful would-be reformer. The latter opts to deal with China, and the Americans kill him and prop up the former. All the rest is dysentery.
an umarried woman
An Unmarried Woman (1978)4An East Side sophisticate gets dumped by her husband, and eventually falls for a Soho artist. Cutting edge in its time, it is a testament to Mazursky's genius that today, An Umarried Woman plays as a mere slice of life. The supporting cast—especially Lisa Lucas and the verite Penelope Russianoff—is wonderful.
man from earth
The Man From Earth (2007)4Well, Chekhov it ain't, but this talky, subdued one act drama by Jerome Bixby holds one's interest to the very end, challenging received wisdom concerning religion and science, and especially death. Toward the end, one character says he's going home to watch Star Trek. I wonder if the episode will be "Requiem For Methuselah," another Bixby-penned exploration of immortality.
Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice (1969) Perfectly capturing its time (though really, not dated at all—the themes are timeless), B&C&T&A reveals the “encounter group” culture as a house of cards: human nature and human foibles can’t be steamrolled by a charismatic personality encouraging us to simply “let go”. Mazursky allows his scenes, and by extension, his characters, to slowly develop, revealing (and allowing us to revel in) their refreshing intelligence.
Sullivan's Travels (1942)Beneath the slapstick and quick-witted surface of this Preston Sturges film lies a fascinating exploration of the role of artists in society. Should they explore socialist realist themes, or instead, opt for capitalist escapist fare? While Sullivan ultimately chooses the latter, Sturges, in this film at least, explores a middle ground. Sidney Poitier perhaps took note.
end of the century
End of the Century: The Ramones (2004)Joey was the heart, Tommy was the brain, Johnny was the fist, and Dee Dee...well, Dee Dee was the dick. In 1974, four misfits from Queens journeyed to an unexplored musical land, set up camp, and stuck it out for more than twenty years. Everybody's second favorite band is featured in this very informative and carefully assembled documentary. Most revealing is the unrelenting unhappiness of the band members, a bitterness toward life, and especially toward each other.
who'se afraid of virginia woolf?
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)Boy Wonder Mike Nichols's directorial debut is a landmark cinematic achievement. Ernest Lehman's adaptation of Edward Albee's play is a heartstopper, and all four thunderously effective stars are remarkably photographed by Haskell Wexler. Only one thing: why would any academic want to be head of his department?
the 5000 fingers of dr. t
The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)5One of my all-time favorite childhood films (along with "Dogpound Shuffle" [aka "Spot"], "The Boy Ten Feet Tall" [aka "Sammy Going South"], and of course, "The Wizard of Oz"), "...Dr. T" is a remarkable visual achievement, bringing Dr. Seuss’s Robert Wiene-cum-Busby Berkeley childhood nightmare to vivid life. Completely enthralling for kids, along with some chilling Hitler and Holocaust references for adults. The remarkably underappreciated Hans Conried is brilliant as always.
the tenant
The Tenant (1976)4The broad American English line readings give this film a somewhat whacked-out feeling that (it might be argued) adds to the sense of dislocation endured by the meek Kafka-esque protagonist, a Pole in Paris played by Polanski himself. After a slow start, Polanski, with his judicious use of zooming (that added so much to 70s cinema), begins to turn the screws on us tighter and tighter, as his character takes on the suicidal fantasies of his flat's preceding lodger. This tale of the onset of madness would make a good double bill with Altman’s Images.
walk the line
Walk The Line (2005)2Got a minute? Because that’s how long it’d take me to convey every excruciatingly clichéd nuance of this oh-so-by-the-numbers biopic. It’s amazing how these Hollywood hacks can take a life—any life—and make it read like everyone else’s.
The Way We Laughed (2001)Rich in atmosphere, this deeply affecting drama from Gianni Amelio features his favorite actor—the amazing Enrico Lo Verso—as an uneducated Sicilian migrant in postwar Turin, doing all he can for his irresponsible little brother. In a shocking moment, the tables turn, and now, it seems the little brother must come to his older brother’s rescue. Few directors have Amelio’s sure touch and steady hand to successfully render such a subtle and moving story. Masterful.
Enemy Mine (1985)The bulk of this alien war film consists of a disguised tale of gay seduction, sort of "Robinson Crusoe On Mars" meets “Kiss of the Spider Woman” cleverly conceived and passably handled. Alas, it descends into shoot-em-up mediocrity, squandering its formidable merits.
Black Book (2006)Once, on an installment of SCTV that took place during "Sweeps Week", a special miniseries was plugged called "The Long Hard War", ostensibly about the horrors of WW2, but really just an excuse for some T&A. Hey, it was sweeps week after all, and Guy Caballero needed a winner. Along comes Paul "Showgirls" Verhoeven, and here, at last, we get to see "the Long Hard War" in all its glory. Verhoeven has tremendous talents, but they are grossly ill-suited to credibly explore the Holocaust. The only moment of any depth comes in the last 10 seconds of the film.
The Pursuit of Happyness (2006)One man's hard work pays off, and he makes a killing on Wall Street. A feel-good movie? Strange, I didn't feel so good as the filmmakers so callously ignored the endless lines at the soup kitchens and flop houses. I guess these losers deserved their lot. A Republican propaganda piece if there ever was one.
War of the Worlds (2005)One of the most effective nightmares ever committed to film, Spielberg’s remake of the Byron Haskin/George Pal original (a classic in its own right) is absolutely terrifying. Though the performances are sub-par, and the family drama is somewhat trite, these flaws never overshadows the unrelenting and awful progress of the bigger story. We don’t always understand the strategies of the aliens, but why should we? They’re aliens!
24 Hour Party People (2002)Botched. Steve Coogan's one-note performance is only the most obvious of this film's many flaws, and he's in practically every (claustrophobically tight) shot. Tracing the Jim Morrison-inspired Ian Curtis's downward spiral to the pill-popping Happy Monday's brief holiday in the sun, Manchester's remarkably rich musical legacy is held at arm's length throughout. No Fall? No Any Trouble? I didn't learn a thing.
Little Miss Sunshine (2006)Trite, contrived, and sophomoric. Some fine actors are wedged into this unappealing and superficial story that has the pretense of sophistication because Proust is mentioned—and by a bearded gay man, at that! Alan Arkin deserves any and all accolades, but not for this piece of tripe.
The Squid and the Whale (2005)"No hugging, no learning" indeed! Preposterous cartoon version of urban family life. The director generates not an iota of sympathy for any of these miserable, nasty people. Even the supposed denouement is a meaningless muddled mess. Hateful, bitter, and most unpleasant. To be avoided!
The Sugarland Express
Hostel (2006)4.0 StarsSelected for their nationality, innocent civilians in Europe take trains eastward, where they are tortured and murdered by gleeful madmen in a killing factory. Eli Roth's Holocaust metaphor looks intriguing on paper, but it is nothing more than a by-the-numbers gorefest.
The Sugarland Express
The Sugarland Express (1974)4.0 StarsThe remarkably fluid camera work and immaculately staged action scenes are an obvious taster of things to come in Spielberg's career. Most interesting, however, are the elements of uncertainty and ambiguity in how we relate to the characters, and the matter-of-fact depiction of Texas' abhorrent gun culture.
Steel Toes
Steel Toes (2006)4.0 StarsIn this quintessential liberal movie of a Jewish Montreal lawyer assigned to defend an Anglo neo-Nazi, superb performances by the two leads are partially undermined by unimaginative camerawork, stock attitudes, and a too-tidy ending. Its moral: atone for your sins.
Can She Bake a Cherry Pie?
Can She Bake a Cherry Pie? (1983)3.0 StarsMichael Emil is a gas as a verbose neurotic in this Upper West Side story. The film suffers the typical Jaglom maladies (primitive production values, plot contrivances, mannered performances) but also possesses his usual strengths, especially in the subtle intelligence of the dialogue. A really good New York film. (Larry David has a bit part.)
Blume in Love
Blume in Love (1973)5.0 StarsA masterpiece. A keenly observed modern love story, filled with winning, sympathetic characters, nuanced, knowing dialogue and brilliant performances by all involved. Although certain attitudes are sadly (rather, thankfully) dated (some may feel fatally so, and they may be right; I'd like to think that Mazursky regrets his insensitivity), the rewards far outshine the flaws, and the timeless themes nonetheless prevail.
Lackawanna Blues
Lackawanna Blues (2005)Click to rate the movie 'Hated It'S. Epatha Merkerson only gets to genuinely act on Law and Order once in an NYPD blue moon, but when she does, it's always a treat. In this story of an upstate New York woman who pours her grief over a lost child into a life of caring and nurturing for others, she truly shines, and is surrounded by an amazing array of talent. Some of the editing is distracting, but that's a minor quibble.
Lackawanna Blues
Munich (2005)Click to rate the movie 'Hated It'Another Spielberg triumph, providing a very realistic (if untrue) "imagined" follow-up to the Palestinian torture and mass murder of the 1972 Israeli Olympic team. The Israelis are portrayed as conscience-stricken (holding fire when a red-coated little girl is in harm's way—an obvious reference to Schindler's List), while the terrorists go on with their lives wholly untroubled by their dastardly deeds—enjoying poetry readings, and shmoozing with their shopkeepers. Sure it didn't happen that way, but it captures bigger truths. A great film.
The Terminal
The Terminal (2004)3.0 StarsNo one can assemble a film like Spielberg, and The Terminal, like everything he does, is a stunning production, concerning an international traveler caught in airport limbo when his home country's government fails. The weak link here is Tom Hanks, who is neither talented enough nor intelligent enough to bring any complexity to his role.
Still Crazy
Still Crazy (1998)4.0 StarsIn an era when "British comedy" is almost an oxymoron, and from a director not exactly known for his light touch, this was a delightful surprise. Even the unstomachable Billy Connolly is kept under control. Here's an intelligent and bittersweet story of a 70s schlock-rock band's reunion. Their songs steer from ELO-ish trip-pop (circa "10538 Overture") to Thin Lizzy-esque guitar rock, and they're really good! No surprise there, since Clive Langer, Jeff Lynne, and Chris Difford were involved.
La Ceremonie
La Ceremonie (1996)1.0 StarsA very likable well-off family ultimately meets its demise at the hands of an uneducated hateful woman that the family has given every chance to. If the goal of this film was, preposterously, to encourage one to hate the poor and love the rich, this movie succeeds.
A New Leaf (1971)5.0 StarsIn a career of high notes, this may be Walter Matthau's highest of all. Elaine May's tale of a newly broke millionaire looking to marry—then murder—the mass of symptoms that is May's character is a hysterically funny movie that somehow fell through the cracks. Side-splitting scenes and unforgettable one-liners abound ("Don't let them out!!" "She has to be vacuumed after she eats!"). Essential viewing.
Where the Truth Lies
Where the Truth Lies (2005)3.0 StarsI was concerned when I heard that excellent if offbeat director Egoyan was given Rupert Holmes' superb novel to film. My concerns appear justified, as this movie has neither the look nor feel of the book, and all the leads are woefully miscast. Taken on its own terms, it's perfectly enjoyable, but not recommended for those who read (and, it hardly needs saying, loved) the book.
Imitation of Life: Double Feature (1934, 1959)
Imitation of Life (1959)4.0 StarsJuanita Moore gives a bravura performance in this deeply affecting melodrama, which ultimately focuses on a troubled black girl's ordeal with "passing".
A Private Matter
 A Private Matter (1992)3.0 StarsWell acted and surprisingly well-written: no easy answers to thalidomide pregnancy are provided, and the characters are convincingly multi-dimensional. The direction at times is a bit flat, which is especially surprising given Joan Micklin Silver's excellent track record, though she's clearly working on a tight budget here.