Month: July 2019

Un chien Andalou (1929)

Un chien Andalou (1929)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(YouTube Streaming, July 2019) Often mentioned as a classic of surrealism, Salvador Dali and Luis Bunuel’s Un chien Andalou can be a tough watch. It starts on the single most unpleasant note imaginable, with a succession of two shots suggesting a woman’s eye being cut open with a straight razor. (If you look closely at the second shot, you can see it’s a dead farm animal’s eye, but most people don’t look that closely … and it’s not much of an improvement.)  Old-school surrealism was extremely violent by design, and the following scenes certainly give into that tradition what with ants drawling out of a hole in a man’s hand, someone getting hit by a car, amputation, a disappeared mouth and so on. Do not try to make sense of the film, which -at best—follows a twisted kind of dream logic and at worse is just trying to get a rise out of an audience craving narrative. Some of it can be very funny (such as the title cards boldly announcing things like “Sixteen years later” without it having any sort of bearing) and some of it quite horrifying. Un chien Andalou does feel like a far more modern film than a 1929 title, mostly due to pre-Code levels of eroticism and ultra-violence. Paradoxically, it’s a large part (aside from the pedigree of the creators) why it’s still worth a (well prepared) look today. At least it’s barely more than twenty minutes long, meaning that it will soon be over even if you don’t enjoy it.

Mister Roberts (1955)

Mister Roberts (1955)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) There’s a very odd quality to Mister Roberts that makes itself known early on, as this “war movie” remains behind the front lines, spending its time with the crew of a supply ship that never gets close to the front. The forced comedy of the first few scenes feels amazingly close to the anarchic spirit of 1970’s MASH at times, with sailor goofing off in between their war effort, characters intentionally shirking their duties (most notably Jack Lemmon) and the title character (Henry Fonda) trying to shield his crew from an irascible captain (James Cagney). The main cast is intriguing, but the rhythm of the film feels forced, making jokes that remain unfunny and multiplying the episodes that don’t amount to much. The material is there for an examination of men at-war-but-not-at-war, but Mister Roberts, perhaps shackled by source material (it was first a novel and then a Broadway play), seems split between rambling dialogues, incongruous voiceovers and mildly annoying characters. It does feel like a film out of time, more at ease in the anti-war movies of the 1970s than the still-triumphant mood of 1950s WW2 films. (I’m actually amazed that the film got the full cooperation of the US Navy for location shooting.)  Mister Roberts’ plot does get better as the film advances, but it leads to a tragic conclusion that feels at odds with the rest of the film.

Cimarron (1960)

Cimarron (1960)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) The original 1931 Cimarron is sometimes held up as one of the worst Best Movie Oscar-winners, and that’s both untrue and unfair—while the plot is scattered, it does begin with the anthology-worthy Oklahoma Land Rush sequence, grandiose and spectacular. Since the 1960 remake of Cimarron doesn’t have the Oscar-winning pedigree of the original, I watched it with an overriding curiosity—would it manage to top the original’s Land Rush sequence? Would it fix the original film’s third-act plot problems? It begins unpromisingly, spending too much time setting up its characters prior to the Land Rush. But the showcase Land Rush caps off the first act and present a credible colourful recreation of the event, complete with hundreds of horses and carriage wagons crossing the frontier in a mad dash. Many bone-crushing accidents quickly follow. Much of the original plot remains intact, save for a good number of improvements to the characterization and what feels like a snappier pacing. Alas, Cimarron—once again—seems overpowered by its charismatic male lead, here played by Glenn Ford. Ford’s character is likable, decisive, admirable … and completely steals the spotlight away from Maria Schell’s character, which is too bad because, as in the 1933 film, her character is the film’s protagonist as her husband increasingly disappears from the story, leaving her to pick up the task of colonizing the west. This remake does improve upon the original in several ways—including a far more nuanced portrait of Native Americans, a much better visual portrayal of a city’s development over twenty-five years, and a more satisfying end for the hero—but it does remain in the same generally unsatisfying league, somehow missing the extra spark that could have made the movie that much better. The problem may be a far too slavish attitude toward the original material, which doesn’t quite work as-is on-screen. No matter the reason, this Cimarron is, by virtue of colour cinematography and a snappier pacing, a bit more accessible than the original … but it could have been quite a bit better.

Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) I approached this 1939 version of Goodbye, Mr. Chips tentatively, perhaps even dismissively. After all, I had already seen and not cared much for the 1969 musical remake—why should I feel any different about the original? But as it turns out, this is a classic case of the remake being considerably inferior to the original. Goodbye, Mr. Chips is far more effective played as straight drama, without songs getting in the way. It’s much shorter, focuses on the genial atmosphere of an English school whose founding predates the discovery of the American continent, gets a bit more leeway to feature its characters and feels more naturalistic in the way it throws tragedies and successes at the lead character. Much of the difference between the two movies is in execution, since the plots are virtually identical. But execution matters, as are the people chosen to execute. Robert Donat couldn’t be better here as the titular Mr. Chips, a teacher moving through decades in the span of two hours, from new teacher to elderly headmaster. Alongside him, Greer Garson in her screen debut is as likable as she should be—the romantic sequences between her and Donat are quite enjoyable. Toward the end, the film obviously reaches for the handkerchiefs as we get to leave a sympathetic character we’ve just met. Built to be inspiring and generally successful at its task, this 1939 version of Goodbye Mr. Chips remains the definitive version of the story.

Widows (2018)

Widows (2018)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) At first glance, it felt strange to have acclaimed writer-director Steve MacQueen tackle a seemingly straightforward thriller project—his movies so far aimed at more mainstream dramatic sensibilities. But “let’s wait and see” is the right kind of attitude in response to such news, and from the get-go Widows proves that MacQueen certainly know what he’s doing. Delivering on thrills while digging far deeper in its characters than most genre films, Widows tackles the heist genre with a desperate urgency for its soon-to-be-destitute characters, delivering car chases and suspense while offering a plot where a surprising number of characters aren’t always what they seem. Genre expectations are frequently dashed, whether we’re shown a municipal race where white-heir vs. black-activist isn’t a straightforward choice, where initial character impressions are misleading, and where we’re offered quite a different heist team than usual. Comparisons with Ocean’s Eight are instructive, in that Widows doesn’t think heists are comic, goes for straight hard cash rather than fancy jewelry and spends much of its time in preparation rather than execution. The ridiculously talented ensemble cast is wondrous enough—Viola Davis is ferocious here, sometimes even sexy; Colin Farrell turns in a nicely nuanced portrait that goes beyond that of an antagonist the audience is primed to hate; Robert Duvall is remarkable in three short scenes; Elizabeth Debicki is a revelation (she’s a familiar face, but never used as well as here); Michelle Rodriguez fulfills some of the promise she’s had as a dramatic actress; Liam Neeson turns in an inversion of his usual action hero roles; and Daniel Kaluuya makes for a fearsome antagonist. But the MVP here remains MacQueen, who sets up some shots so beautifully that you only realize what they mean at the end of them, with long soaring camera takes and an ability to deliver exciting action sequences like a seasoned action professional. Widows is a complete and satisfying package for crime fiction fans—a socially relevant tale of heist and personal growth, using disfavoured and marginalized heroes to heighten the stakes beyond what they usually are. There’s a place for both the comic Ocean’s series of movies and for Widows, but since there’s been a death of Widows-like films lately, this one is a welcome sight.

Sorry to Bother You (2018)

Sorry to Bother You (2018)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) At a time when nearly every Hollywood movie seem scripted by computer and assembled mechanically (yes, even the good ones), it’s refreshing to see a film that strikes out on its own, offering pugnacious social criticism and heading in narrative directions that you wouldn’t necessarily guess from the opening scenes. So it is that writer-director Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You is a surreal, ambitious, flawed and immensely likable debut. It starts as a silly comedy in which a young man gets a telemarketing job in order to escape poverty. But there’s a deliberately overdone style to let us suspect that there’s far more here than a straightforward comedy. Indeed, the cinematography of the film, the various clues about an indentured-servitude megacorporation and the film’s growing themes of dehumanization show us a slightly alternate version of reality where everything is for sale, starting with integrity. The protagonist, played by the likable Lakeith Stanfield, only finds success on the phone after finding his inner “white voice,” but it only gets much, much wilder than that, to the delight of some and the chagrin of others. By now, I’m such a Tessa Thompson fanboy that every new movie with her feels like a gift and she doesn’t disappoint here as a visual artist who ends up being the (slightly hypocritical) voice of reason to the protagonist’s gradual ascension through corporate ranks. There are tons of celebrity cameos here, but many of them are audio-only. The weird sense of humour of Sorry to Bother You is delightful (if not always controlled), especially when its scabrous nature illustrates a sharp criticism of pervasive capitalism. The mixture of high and low humour is fantastic, and makes much of the film’s heady themes seem far more accessible. The strong pro-union message of the film is particularly likable — (North-) America can certainly use some of that these days. Sorry to Bother You is certainly odd, divisive and too weird for some and I like it a lot just for that: the science-fictional surrealism on display makes for a welcome change of pace from mimetic realism, and I admire the audacity of aiming in that direction. I certainly have my quibbles with the final act (and specifically its ending) but I’d rather not change a thing than lose this very peculiar vision. Science fiction comedy, political satire, strong actors and audacity—what’s not to like?

Brice de Nice (2005)

Brice de Nice (2005)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(In French, On TV, July 2019) I had to watch Brice de Nice because some of its comic stylings had made it overseas all the way to the former French colonies—namely, the title character’s tic of loudly proclaiming, “Cassé!” (“Broken!”) after successfully insulting someone (or making them speechless). Then there’s Jean Dujardin as well, one of the better-known French actors of the twenty-first century so far. Alas, there isn’t much more to Brice de Nice than “Cassé!”: As the film laboriously sets up its half-dozen recurring gags, there’s a growing dread that it will just keep going in that vein for its duration, and unfortunately it doesn’t: It gets worse. The jokes are slight, the protagonist is obnoxious and even the flights of fancy away from the real world don’t work. The film actually gets exasperating thirty minutes in, as the protagonist is stripped of most assets and loses much of the rich-boy humour that unlimited means can provide. The rich-boy-becomes-poor comedy just keeps adding to the character’s humiliation, and to our exasperation. Part of it may be a very French sense of humour, but I suspect that even on the other side of the Atlantic, Brice de Nice is just a lame film.

Jack Frost (1997)

Jack Frost (1997)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(In French, On TV, July 2019) For a generally bad movie, Jack Frost does get going nicely with an opening sequence featuring Michael Keaton as a pretty good Blues musician. Unfortunately, that’s the high note of the film: The next twenty-five minutes merely set up the usual absent-dad, resentful-kid dynamics that we’ve seen in so many other family movies. Then Keaton’s character is killed (!), and replaced in short order by a grotesque snowman. The film becomes increasingly moronic from that point, with early CGI bizarrely combining with substandard practical effects to create one of the most dumbfoundingly repulsive snowmen in movie history. There’s some evidence elsewhere in Jack Frost that the filmmakers have never seen snow in their lives, let alone had any experience with it: many of the opening sequences show appalling ideas about how to build a snowman, and all of the scenes in the front yard of the character’s house obviously have fake snow in a studio set. Those issues could be ignored if the film was actually fun or interesting and it’s neither. Killing off the father in a family comedy at the end of the first act is the kind of inexplicable creative decision that should have stopped the project right there, but Jack Frost keeps going merrily as if it didn’t care. Some of the snowboarding sequences later during the film are dated and overdone in only the way “supercool extreme sports” sequences were back in the late 1990s. An unsatisfying ending puts a merciful bullet in the film’s snowy head, but many people won’t make it this far—my own household’s resident kid’s movie expert decided to stop watching 45 minutes in. I watched the rest later to see if it would get worse, and it did. Too bad—I usually like whatever Michael Keaton is playing. One of the film’s problems is that he’s barely in Jack Frost.

Holmes & Watson (2018)

Holmes & Watson (2018)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) The first few minutes of Holmes & Watson set a dismal tone for a comedy: they’re not only free of smiles, but they quickly create dread in audiences’ minds: as extended comic set-pieces fall flat, we come to fear what comes next. Will Ferrell is back to his obnoxious man-child persona, while John C. Reilly seems there only to make us recall the other movies in which he co-starred. Amazingly enough, this Homes & Watson not only comes out a decade after the source it’s parodying (Guy Richie’s Sherlock Holmes series), but is substantially less funny than its inspiration. Half an hour in the film, though, things improve a bit. Just as I was despairing at Rebecca Hall’s inclusion in the cast (she’s one of the rare actresses specializing in brainy characters, explaining my crush on her), she actually marks a modest turning point in the film’s effectiveness. Her character exists in a dignified realm outside the parameters of the rest of the film (she also gets a few shots at the current American “president”), and she comes accompanied by Lauren Lapkus, who wordlessly steals most of her scenes through weird facial expressions and cat mimicry. Both belong in a better movie. Let’s be clear: Holmes & Watson never becomes a good film, but it does settle for a less irritating rhythm, with a few chuckles here and there. Still, it’s not much by itself, and it’s a sad waste of talent to see Ralph Fiennes wasted as a potentially great Moriarty, Kelly Macdonald (who does manage some of the film’s few chuckles), Steve Coogan and an uncredited Hugh Laurie simply given bad material to play. Some still manage to make the most of what they’re given, but the film around them is a prodigious misfire, handled by people who simply can’t write, stage, direct or edit a simple joke. Holmes & Watson simply feels dated, and not in the Golden-Hollywood-movies-seen-decades-later kind of way: it’s built around dumb jokes about topics already beaten into the ground (selfies?), parodying material that already does a good job of poking fun at itself, and depending on comedy trends (i.e.: Will Ferrell) that were annoying even when they were popular, and now haven’t been popular in a while. It simply doesn’t work, even when it eventually works its way to mere mediocrity.  Those calling Holmes & Watson a terrible movie clearly should see more made-for-cable atrocities, but they’re right in pointing out that you seldom see such failure from a big studio released in thousands of theatres.

Within our Gates (1920)

Within our Gates (1920)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) The more I watch older movies, the more I appreciate either the time-travelling aspect of watching something created decades ago, or the various discoveries that reading about a movie can lead to. So it is that Within our Gates, already an intriguing film upon watching, becomes a fascinating gateway to learning more about “race films,” an early subgenre of cinema made for black American audiences decades before blaxploitation paved the way (or so I thought) to modern black cinema. Within our Gates is all the more remarkable in that it’s the earliest surviving film by black writer-director Oscar Michaux, that it features a mostly black cast, and that it squarely describes and confronts the racism of the times. Considering the narrative from a conventional perspective, the plot is a mess: The prologue is badly integrated, the coincidences and contrivances multiply, the ending becomes a third-act flashback that merely explains something right before the conclusion rushes by. From a cinematic perspective, the film is also limited by the conventions of silent cinema: static shots, overacting, not many refinements in terms of staging. And yet not many of those flaws actually matter once you start watching the film. In fact, some of those flaws end up strengthening it: The herky-jerky nature of the plotting means that the film has a substantial number of themes, and gets to cover many aspects of circa-1920 black experience in America, including womanly rivalry, north/south divide, urban crime, blacks undermining other blacks, the importance of education, the burden of mixed heritage and the ever-present threat of violent death at the hands of whites. It’s that last aspect that appears the most vital to contemporary viewers. The film begins with a title card nonchalantly dropping the horrifying “At the opening of our drama, we find our characters in the North, where the prejudices and hatreds of the South do not exist—though this does not prevent the occasional lynching of a Negro.” … and it ends with a white-on-black rape attempt intercut with a surprisingly explicit depiction of a lynching of innocent black characters. Within our Gates is also quite a showcase for many actors neglected by mainstream Hollywood histories, beginning with the incredibly likable Evelyn Preer, who carries the film on her shoulders as the protagonist. Historically, Preer was probably the first black actress superstar and this film has her demonstrating quite an emotional range. There’s quite a bit of clever material in Within our Gates once you see it as an intentional answer to the incredibly racist Birth of a Nation, a conscious attempt to affirm the black perspective on then-current America to some provocative editing to drive its point home. I was surprised to be taken so intensely by this film—I had recorded it on a whim and ended up discovering far more than I had expected in the process. As a pre-Code black movie, it vigorously tackles important issues in ways we wouldn’t see again until many decades later. I kept thinking that the film has a lot more to do with 2018’s Blackkklansman than most other movies in the intervening century—and that it still has a lot to teach us about why everyone should get to tell their stories through movies.

Some Kind of Wonderful (1987)

Some Kind of Wonderful (1987)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) Now that I’ve seen Some Kind of Wonderful, I think I’ve completed the high points of my John Hughes filmography. Hugues only wrote this film (it was directed by Hughes stalwart Howard Deutch), but it’s clearly his movie, and a response to previous scripts of his. Eric Stoltz stars as an unconventional teenager lusting after the unapproachable girl in his class yet blind to the affection of his own tomboy best friend. It’s not a complicated premise (and you already know how it’s going to end) but it’s the details and the performances along the way that make it worthwhile. Lea Thompson and Mary Stuart Masterson make for a ridiculously good pair of duelling romantic interests for the protagonist, while Craig Sheffer plays the unlikable ex-boyfriend perfectly and Elias Koteas has a surprisingly engaging turn as a skinhead. There are a few rough spots along the way (I’m not happy about the 180 romantic turn that the film takes very late—I mean, I know where it was going to end, but I just wish the transition would have been smoother), but if you like the 1980s Hughes teen comedies, Some Kind of Wonderful is probably one of his savvier scripts even if it lacks the spark that made some of his other movies become classics.

Days of Heaven (1978)

Days of Heaven (1978)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) It’s entirely possible to think that a film achieves its objectives, yet be almost completely cold to those objectives. So it goes with Days of Heaven, a well made but somewhat soporific period drama that places a lot more emphasis on visuals than plot. It is what it is—a cinematic poem, perhaps, or a series of 1910s nature images with meditative narration loosely connected by a lovers-on-the-run plot. Which is a way of saying that it’s a very Terrence Malick film, bridging the gap between Badlands and The Thin Red Line two decades later. The plot is perfunctory, and if you read just a little bit about the film’s production, you will hear about how the film spent two years in editing, only making it out when Malick used a new voiceover to give some structure to the result. I’m not particularly fond of those kinds of meandering movies, to the point of calling them pretentious at the earliest opportunity, but even I have to admit that Days of Heaven is well done. The reliance on golden-hour rural cinematography makes for good images (although we’ve seen quite a bit of the same since 1978, somewhat dulling the impact of the film forty years later) while the sometimes-intrusive narration reinforces the dreamlike impact of the result. Richard Gere stars as a killer on the run who hatches a plan for his wife to seduce a wealthy farm owner in the Texas panhandle, but that’s making the entire film sound far more urgent than it is. Still, there are highlights—a shot here and there, a compelling locust sequence, and so on. The film, despite its tone and atmosphere, is surprisingly short, clocking in at barely more than 90 minutes. I didn’t quite dislike Days of Heaven as much as I expected given my experience with previous Malick films, but now that I think of it, I’m actually becoming lukewarm on his movies as I age. Hmmm.

The Thief of Bagdad (1924)

The Thief of Bagdad (1924)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) Blockbuster spectacles aren’t a new thing for Hollywood, as the first version of The Thief of Bagdad amply proves. Here we have a dashing adventurer (Douglas Fairbanks, arguably the first action hero) in the fantastical setting of old-time Bagdad, falling in love with a princess and going through special-effects-heavy adventures in order to win her affections over the villain. That sure looks like the plot summary of countless movies since then (and, to be fair, it’s lifted from The 1001 Nights of Scheherazade), except that this one was released in 1924. From the get-go, there is still, ninety-five years later, something interesting about the world featured in this film. The first act of the film has some fantastical sets, most of them built high up above the characters. Fairbanks jumps and gesticulates his way through many other adventures—the middle section of the film is particularly heavy in optical effects recreating fantastic visions for the movie screen. The Thief of Bagdad is really not bad once you get into the typical (and overlong) rhythm of silent movies—the succession of special effects, fantastical plot devices and dashing adventure is enough to keep even modern viewer entertained.

The Last Emperor (1987)

The Last Emperor (1987)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) While we think of the 1950s–1960s as the golden era of epic filmmaking, a few later examples show that the tradition kept going well afterwards. And frankly, “epic” is the kind of word that comes most naturally when discussing The Last Emperor, a film that heads to China in order to take us through fifty years of history as seen through the eyes of Pu Yi, the last emperor of China, selected for the throne at the age of 2, treated like a demigod during his childhood, deposed, propped up as a fake leader of a fake country, disgraced by the communists, rehabilitated thanks to his remorsefulness and ultimately dying as a humble gardener. It’s quite a story, but The Last Emperor does have a compulsive watchability that keeps it interesting despite a generous running time. You may or may not want to use the lulls in the narrative to read through Pu Yi’s Wikipedia article for added context. For one thing, you will find the film generally exact but somewhat coy in its depiction of its protagonist. Yes, much of the incredible story told here is true to the facts, as mind-boggling as they are. On the other hand, Pu Yi was far more of a serial sadist and abuser than the film lets on. Flogging of servants was a regular hobby of his throughout much of his life, and some of the darker corners of his biography are simply horrifying (think twice about reading what happened to his first wife). The film, perhaps in an attempt to maintain audience sympathy, doesn’t delve too deep in those aspects. It may lead viewers to express far too much pity for a historical figure that didn’t deserve it. Still, The Last Emperor is directed with skill and manages to present a lightweight history lesson somewhat effectively. The recreation of life in the Forbidden City in the last years of the Chinese Empire is nothing short of mesmerizing, and the high production value keep up through the less glamorous years of Pu Yi’s life. It’s easy to see why the film walked away with nine Oscars—including two for writer-director Bernardo Bertolucci.

Birdman of Alcatraz (1962)

Birdman of Alcatraz (1962)

ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

(On Cable TV, July 2019) There’s always something off-putting about bio-fiction that ennobles its subject beyond any reasonable bound. Watching Birdman of Alcatraz, for instance, you’d be ready to go to the barricades to understand why an intellect bright enough to write a book about birds and their diseases would remain locked up inside the American penal system with no hope of parole. Why, he seems so good-natured and mild-mannered! But, of course, that’s the magic of movies for you. Dig deeper in the Wikipedia entry for the Birdman of Leavenworth (for he had no birds once transferred to Alcatraz—that’s right, the film’s inaccuracies begin in the title itself!) and you’d find that the real story is quite different. The character in reality was a violent, short-tempered, abusive person, to say nothing of his younger sexual preferences. While the basic facts of the film’s narrative are based on reality, much of the details are wildly off, exaggerated when it suits the narrative (such as having a singular antagonist within the prison walls) and downplayed or elided when they don’t. Every character is prettier, smarter, kinder than reality. But that’s Hollywood for you. With Burt Lancaster in the lead and Lancaster-handpicked director John Frankenheimer at the helm, Birdman of Alcatraz goes for inspiration and amazement—if that character was able to achieve so much when locked up, then what’s stopping most of us? Taken on its own, the film is watchable enough … if it wasn’t for the gnawing suspicion that we’re not getting half the story.