Month: August 2019

Galaxy of Terror (1981)

Galaxy of Terror (1981)

(In French, On Cable TV, August 2019) It will probably cause physical pain to at least one cinephile if I keep comparing Galaxy of Terror to Solyaris, but how else to talk about a science-fiction film in which the alien presence literalizes thoughts out of the characters’ minds? Of course, Galaxy of Terror is an avowed SF/horror hybrid coming from Roger Corman’s low-end exploitation production company: the seemingly clever premise is really a way to string along unconnected scary scenes without much thought regarding consistency or plausibility. It’s not playing fancy or playing nice—the film’s most infamous sequence has an alien worm raping a female character, and the film’s Wikipedia entry spends almost as many words talking about that scene than detailing the plot. One of Galaxy of Terror’s few claims to a place in cinematic history is that James Cameron served as production designer and second-unit director on the film. (He didn’t direct the worm scene — Corman did.)  How you feel about the result will depend, again, on what you compare it to.   It’s more interesting than most of the slasher-horror movies of the moment, but it also feels like a terrible imitation of Alien. It does showcase Corman’s low-budget high-imagination ethos, but that’s not much of a recommendation. Ultimately, Galaxy of Terror is not likely to appeal to Science Fiction fans as much as to horror fans, given that so much of the plot is focused on the terrors rather than the galaxy.

The Butler (2013)

The Butler (2013)

(On TV, August 2019) As Hollywood’s portrayal of history grows more nuanced than the simple portrayal of cause-and-effect led by white males, I can understand the irresistible impulse to show events from a different perspective. So it is that something like The Butler was inevitable—a look at American presidents as seen from the one of the black butlers serving the White House, adapted from factual events. With Obama as the officeholder, it seemed like a natural triumphant conclusion to years of post-WW2 racial integration and a way to showcase the American presidency through a very specific lens. Played by Forest Whitaker, Cecil Gaines makes his entrance at the White House in 1957 and goes on to witness history from up close while dealing with various family crises along the way. An incredible cast propels the film forward, with familiar actors imbuing even short scenes with an additional level of interest. The Butler cleverly plays with casting in casting a succession of Very Big Names as the presidents. Director Lee Daniels keeps things moving relatively smoothly through decades of history, especially given how the scope of the story would seem to justify a miniseries. There are, to be sure, some very suspicious contrivances here as nearly every sequence relates to matters of racial issues and the character’s personal family history is woven in for dramatic effect. Daniels isn’t above some good old-fashioned melodrama and pot shots at historical figures, neither of which are necessarily good things in an already-contrived narrative. Still, The Butler is a relatively entertaining film, as much for its sweeping take on racial issues in recent American history as in the ways it chooses to dramatize those issues. It’s far more sobering to realize that post-2013 history has not been as kind to the progress demonstrated in the film with unrepentant white supremacists lodged in the post-Obama White House, but that too will make for a fascinating biopic one of these days, and the bigots won’t win that round either.

Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (1991)

Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (1991)

(Second Viewing, In French, On TV, August 2019) Now here’s something that younger generations may not understand: there were two solid decades, roughly 1975–1995, where the late 1990s were fiction’s “techno-thriller years”—a time where writers set stories that were a bit like the future but not too much. Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is a really good example of that: By setting their story forward in 1996, the filmmakers are free to imagine a slightly more dystopian future (no ozone layer!) with stronger corporate control and, crucially for the story, a new synthetic drug. The narrative gets started when two bikers rob an armoured van and end up not with cash but a substantial shipment of drugs that are, of course, property of corrupt corporate executives. As the title suggests, Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man dives deep into the biker outlaw archetype, with Don Johnson and Mickey Rourke showing a much-inflated opinion of themselves as they strut around thinking that they are the epitome of cool. But the film is all attitude and bluster, and not as much fun thirty years later. There are some moments that stand out: Vanessa Williams and Tia Carrere have supporting roles (the first as a singer), the portrayal of mooks in bulletproof long coats seems prophetic of a late-1990s cliché, and there’s an occasional so-bad-it’s-good quality to the over-the-top dialogue and mindless action of the film. It’s also interesting to measure the results against familiar western archetypes, making an argument about bikers being modern cowboys. To be clear, Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man is not good, and nearly everything intriguing about it has been seen elsewhere. You also have to tolerate unearned machismo in order to even get into the film (although the opening monologue from a radio DJ rather efficiently sets the tone). But I’ve seen much, much worse, so at least it’s got that going for it.

CNN’s The Movies (2019)

CNN’s The Movies (2019)

(On TV, July-August 2019) As someone who’s working on a book-length film history organized by decades, I had more than a passing interest in seeing how CNN would approach the topic in its flagship documentary production The Movies. Well, it turns out that they divided the topic in six 90-minute specials: Pre-1960, 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s and 2000+. The decades are obviously chosen to make CNN’s target audience happy, compressing the earlier and later decades in looser groupings. I was a bit disappointed to see both the 2000s and 2010s lumped together, but that does reflect what I’ve been finding in my own attempt to categorize the decades: The 2000s were a fairly dull period in terms of cinematic evolution, whereas I suspect that the dramatic changes of the 2010s (studios focusing exclusively on spectacles, malleable digital reality, the rise of streaming) do not mesh well with the golden-hued nostalgic atmosphere that CNN aimed for. I’m less critical of the lumping of 1910–1959 together for a broadcast aimed at general audiences — I think it’s a fascinating period and that episode of the show did a really good job at pointing out the stars of the time, but I can see why most viewers wouldn’t care for more. I have more serious issues with the overall structure of the 1960s and 1970s shows — I think that the New Hollywood period and its counter-reaction were not sufficiently highlighted, but that may just be me. This being said, The Movies is not a documentary series with a strong structure: within each episode, we get 2–4 minutes segment meant to illustrate various trends and genres within that period, focus on beloved movies, or talk about specific actors. As you’d expect, almost all of the series’ material is either made of clips from the movies or talking heads footage—sometimes historical—featuring actors, directors, film critics and historians (including Drew McWeeney!) discussing the topics at hand. There is no overriding narration nor much in terms of interstitial material, further contributing to the series’ lack of structure. The series is obviously very proud of the people it managed to interview: Predictably, it often focused on superstar actors (Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, etc.) and directors (Spielberg, Howard) — The actors often come across as mere big-name fans with only superficial contributions (unless they’re talking about acting, in which case they have a few interesting insights), while the directors are reliably more interesting. The critics and historians usually do the heavy work of pulling together the material into coherent mini-theses. The excerpts are chosen well and usually hit the high points of the movies that should be discussed in each decade. It amounts to a series that works as intended — I can certainly argue against some choices, but this is meant as a generalist overview of a century of film and as such is rarely boring. The total length of The Movies is roughly nine hours, and as a quick course on Hollywood movies it’s actually not too bad.

Bad Lieutenant (1992)

Bad Lieutenant (1992)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) In retrospect, Bad Lieutenant is so successful that it almost seems inevitable. If I’m going to put together a thriller in 1992 about a spectacularly corrupt NYPD policeman, of course I’m going to have Abel Ferrara as the director. Of course, I’m going to have Harvey Keitel as the corrupt cop. These choices feel as obvious as having cameras, lighting or catering on set. Ferrara captures filth and degradation like few others, and as Keitel goes around the city abusing his authority, excessively gambling, doing hard drugs and staying ahead of his bookie, it all feels like a carefully controlled nightmare. I don’t usually react well to grime and corruption, but it seems so, um, heartfelt here that it seems more acceptable. Ferrara muse Zoe Lund has a single but striking scene here, and Keitel does fantastic work, especially as his characters takes small steps toward redemption. I don’t usually go for dark and depressing films (of which this is clearly one), but I tolerated Bad Lieutenant better than most because it actually commits and believes not only in its character, but in his subtle redemption arc. I’m still not going to re-watch this for fun any time soon, but that too is a good review in its own way.

The Cameraman (1928)

The Cameraman (1928)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) At his peak, Buster Keaton was a timeless talent, and if The Cameraman is not exactly his finest or funniest film (that would be The General or Sherlock, Jr.), it’s still Keaton in top form, stringing physical gags along a decent-enough plot. Here, we have Keaton playing the kind of earnest but slightly clueless young man out to make a fortune and secure a wife by trying his luck at being a cameraman for MGM newsreels. Switching between courtship in 1920s Manhattan and the comic perils of being a cameraman in the middle of a gangster war, The Cameraman has a stream of physical gags, charming period details, and Keaton keeping a stone-face expression. The premise of the film was later reused for Red Skelton’s Watch the Birdie, but the original film remains the funniest version—no one could (or still can) outdo Keaton. For his fans, The Cameraman is also a bit of a sad junction in his career—his penultimate silent film, and the one where he started losing his independence as a filmmaker, never to return to the heights of his 1923–1928 zenith. Still, never mind that: The Cameraman is a reliably funny film, and one of the few 1920s productions that can still be enjoyed today without compromises.

Parlor, Bedroom and Bath (1931)

Parlor, Bedroom and Bath (1931)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) If you’re used to the classic Buster Keaton silent comedy films, Parlor, Bedroom and Bath will seem a bit odd, because it features … sound. Keaton’s career took a dive after the introduction of sound, but the declining factor was Keaton’s contract with MGM, not sound itself. Proof of Keaton’s ability to amuse with sound can occasionally be found in this bedroom farce that unusually features quite a bit of dialogue from Keaton, and a few brief moments of physical comedy. Even out of his comfort zone, Keaton proves up to the task of being a romantic comedy lead, but it does take a while for the film to get going: after a fairly dull start, Parlor, Bedroom and Bath does get funnier when Keaton gets back to his physical comedy roots. The train crossing shot, for instance, is pure classic Keaton. He even finds an able comic partner with the very tall Charlotte Greenwood—some of the hotel room sequences later in the film are an inspiring mixture of farce and Keaton pratfalls. Alas, it does lead to an abrupt and unsatisfying ending that takes away some of the fun that Parlor, Bedroom and Bath had been building up to that point. The pre-Code origin of the film is obvious from some bedroom farce material that, while tame by today’s standard, wouldn’t have passed muster throughout much of the Hays Code years. It’s not a Keaton classic, but it can be a lot of fun at times, and hearing Keaton talk is a thrill on its own.

The Dresser (1983)

The Dresser (1983)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) It’s often interesting when the movies take a look at a different realm and presents us characters wholly invested in it. With The Dresser, we get to spend some time with a WW2-era theatrical actor and his personal assistant. It’s an unequal but surprisingly codependent relationship: The actor is a wreck when he’s not onstage and obviously needs to have his hand held throughout a nervous breakdown. Meanwhile, our meek assistant is someone who finds his purpose in like in being the manager of an incredible yet incredibly flawed stage legend. As the story begins, we understand the predicament: In trying to deliver Shakespeare to the British countryside even as bombs are falling, our travelling troupe has to contend with destroyed theatres, substandard supporting actors (given that the best are at war) and the personal failings of its star. The theatrical origin of the story is most apparent in its middle section, almost entirely spent in the dressing room as the assistant cajoles a barely functional veteran actor into delivering a performance. There are plenty of theatrical lore details here, enough to create the magic of the theatre and to show the madness that can come with it. The Dresser is a clever film, perhaps a bit too long, certainly excellent in the quality of its dialogues and directed competently by Peter Yates. The ending is as tragic yet appropriate as they come. Albert Finney is impressive as the temperamental, almost crackpot veteran actor, while Tom Courtenay is less flashy but far more interesting as the assistant. It’s not an exceptionally memorable film, but it does offer a fascinating glimpse backstage of a theatrical production held together by mere threads, and as such is likely to fascinate anyone who’s ever been interested or involved in theatre. As a mandatory stop on the Oscar-nominee tour, The Dresser is not a bad experience.

Creed II (2018)

Creed II (2018)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) There isn’t much in Creed II that’s new or surprising. After mining Rocky II in the first Creed, this sequel heads back to Rocky IV for inspiration, bringing back the Russian menace for an encore. The novelty of seeing a competent contemporary take on the Rocky mythos not being as strong in this second instalment, we’re left with another run through the usual rebirth narrative of those films. Director Steven Caple Jr. steps in Ryan Coogler’s shoes and acquits himself decently: even though the bravura filmmaking of the first isn’t as pronounced here, there are a few nice moments along the way, including a reprise of the infamous Rocky IV training montage that doesn’t quite match the original but provide a high point of the film. Otherwise, though, Creed II outmatches Rocky IV in nearly all aspects: The story isn’t as silly, the pacing is better and there aren’t any wacky robotic digressions. Michael B. Jordan turns in another impressive physical performance in the lead role, while Tessa Thompson (now far better-known that she was at the time the original was filmed) once again does well as a character meant to be clearly more than the usual girlfriend character. (She sings!)  Still, and it’s weird to write this, it’s Sylvester Stallone who impresses most in a strictly dramatic age-appropriate performance, providing gravel-voiced gravitas to the protagonist and having a short dramatic arc of his own along the way. Dolph Lundgren also turns in one last great performance, humanizing a stock series villain and offering a number of parallels with Rocky’s own experience. Creed II isn’t innovative in any way, but it is well handled enough to provide an entertaining moviegoing experience. It’s also good enough to somewhat redeem Rocky IV, and that’s another unlikely comeback story.

The Survivors (1983)

The Survivors (1983)

(In French, On Cable TV, August 2019) You would think that a Robin Williams/Walter Matthau pairing would be comedy heaven, but the truth as proven by The Survivors (for this is the only such pairing) is that it just ends up being a mess. The roots of the problem go back to a meandering script with poor tonal control and what seems like few ideas about where it’s going. Williams doesn’t get a chance to work in his best comic range, although Matthau does a bit better in a role suited to his persona—some of the film’s best and funniest sequences are those in which his characters use his experience and hidden skills to try to control the excesses of his younger co-star. Still, there are plenty of missteps along the way, including a wholly unsatisfying redemption arc for the film’s villain that undercuts most of the (thin) emotional involvement of the audience in the film. There’s some material here about survivalists and a jaundiced perception of New York City that still plays well, but it’s really not enough. The lunacy of the script seems scattershot (sometimes featuring an employee-firing parrot, sometimes mired in urban grittiness). Now little known outside being a part of its two co-stars’ filmography, The Survivors isn’t a particularly shining example of early-1980s comedy.

Limelight (1952)

Limelight (1952)

(Criterion Streaming, August 2019) On one hand, Limelight is a self-indulgent, overlong, with wild tonal shifts; on the other, it’s a capstone in Charlie Chaplin’s career, a clever late-career metafictional commentary on himself and a return to the kind of filmmaking that made him famous. It doesn’t start on the most comedic of notes, as an alcoholic has-been comedian (with a tramp persona!) returns home and saves a young dancer from a suicide attempt. But this opening sequence lays the groundwork for the film’s later acts, as he helps her back on her feet, and she helps him regain the confidence necessary for one last great performance. The ending is tragic, as can be seen well in advance. Plot-wise, there isn’t much here to require more than 90 minutes … alas, Limelight is only too happy to interrupt the action to flash back to the protagonist’s stage heydays, to interrupt the action by bon mots summarizing Chaplin’s life philosophy, or to take detours not strictly necessary for the film to keep its effectiveness. It’s very self-indulgent and yet it feels as if it should be: by featuring himself as a visibly older comedian past his prime, Chaplin struck close to his own place in early-1950s Hollywood, and the film does act both as homage (not least by pairing Chaplin with Buster Keaton for a comic number) and a conclusion. Chaplin wouldn’t contribute to many other movies later on, making Limelight his swan song. As such, it’s worth a look and some indulgence from viewers in indulging an old master for one last victory lap.

Supergirl (1984)

Supergirl (1984)

(In French, On Cable TV, August 2019) For the very first minutes, it’s obvious that Supergirl comes from an earlier, dumber period of superhero comics. The stupid stuff accumulates faster than we can object: Everyone is the galaxy is related to each other, plot devices quickly go from Krypton to a megalomaniac witch (!), and the film plays the fish-out-of-water card without much sophistication. The comedy is ham-fisted, and the plot drivers are meaningless to the point of being absurd. And yet, Supergirl isn’t a complete waste of time, and does actually improve after a weak first half-hour. Much of the credit goes to Helen Slater, whose turn as the titular Supergirl makes the most out of a bad script. Then there’s the blockbuster effect: Clearly a lot of money went into the film’s production, and while it’s easy to focus on the aged special effects and sometimes slap-dash staging typical of the time, there are a few interesting set-pieces along the way: the mid-film action sequence with a magically (eh) controlled crane does have a few effective shots of mayhem along the way. Unfortunately, the film never quite recaptures the energy of this middle sequence, sinking deeper and deeper in silliness until the conclusion. Supergirl was not a good movie even by 1984’s standards, but it’s a look at such 1980s productions that shows how much things have evolved in popular entertainment—there are script issues in here that wouldn’t pass muster today, and even bigger execution flaws that would get the film laughed even harder out of theatres.

Green Card (1990)

Green Card (1990)

(In French, On Cable TV, August 2019) Part of the point of casting known actors is to transfer some of the emotional impact of earlier films into a new one, and I certainly experienced some of that going into Green Card. The film, a romantic comedy about two strangers technically marrying for personal gain (a green card for him, a coveted apartment for her) features Andie MacDowell and Gerard Depardieu as romantic lead. While I like McDowell a lot (and not necessarily for her average acting skills), I’m not so fond of Depardieu—although some of this may be tainted from his rapidly declining twenty-first century personal image and reputation. As of 1990, however, forty-something Depardieu could still pass an acceptable romantic lead … but it’s up to the film to convince us of that. And while there’s nothing particularly surprising in Green Card, writer-director Peter Weir does know how to handle a movie. As we move through the expected set-pieces (sometimes with cleverly handled expectations—I defy anyone sitting midway through the piano sequence not to expect his character to be a fraud), the film does play the attraction game savvily. The actors also do their best. MacDowell remains limited in her range (although her character here is written as more restrained), but Depardieu does earn audience sympathies, and having Bebe Neuwirth show up for a few scenes certainly helps. It all leads to a conclusion that does manage to reassure Americans about their immigration system (a few lines have unique relevance in 2019), while providing a sufficiently distinctive romantic climax to keep audiences happy. This is not a particularly good movie, but it plays better than I thought it would, and Depardieu does make it work.

What Price Hollywood? (1932)

What Price Hollywood? (1932)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) This is it: the granddaddy of the A Star is Born series, and reportedly one of the first successful movies that Hollywood made about Hollywood, warts and all. The story follows a young girl determined to make it big in Hollywood, as she gains fame and must deal with the consequences. If you’ve seen the later remakes, this will initially feel familiar, although the film does play with its plot elements in a different way than the later movies. This being said, we’re still working from the same playbook here: rising female star, declining male star, the corrosive impact of media attention that makes people into fictions, alcoholism, handlers, and so on. It still works nearly ninety years later—it’s a tale old and yet always true, melodramatic but still understandable despite old-school gender roles and dated technology. This was, after all, made barely five years into the sound movie era, and the film does make the most out of the “fan magazines” that existed at the time. The Pre-Code status of the film can be most clearly seen with a dressing scene with nylons that wouldn’t have passed muster even five years later. George Cukor directs with occasional flair, effectively demonstrating the skills that would see him direct movies for the next forty years. Perhaps the best recommendation one can make about What Price Hollywood? is that it’s an early take on A Star is Born, except sufficiently different to keep it interesting, and with a very distinctive early-thirties view on the early thirties Hollywood—which, to be clear, was barely twenty years old at that point.

Multiplicity (1996)

Multiplicity (1996)

(In French, On TV, August 2019) The premise of Multiplicity sounds like a joke gone wrong: Let’s put two of my favourite actors in a single movie, and then add more of the same. That is: Let’s see Michael Keaton married with Andie MacDowell, and then let’s clone more Keatons. (Alas, there’s no cloning of MacDowell, which seems like a wasted opportunity.)  This being a Harold Ramis comedy, things are bound to get funnier, so as our overworked protagonist clones himself first to handle his job and then to handle family duties, things get complicated—especially when he inexplicably doesn’t tell his wife about it, leading to further complications. The added comic touch comes when the clones clone themselves, resulting in a dangerously stupid copy-of-a-copy that provides a lot of comic relief. This being Keaton’s show, he gets to play off four characters often interacting in the same frame (the chest-bump shot is particularly effective), playing off a base character, an exaggerated-macho version, an exaggerated-sensitive one, and a terminally stupid alter ego. The plot frequently doesn’t make sense (with clones seemingly losing knowledge of what they knew prior to their cloning), but this is a comedy meant to play with a familiar SF device, not a rigorous extrapolation. Multiplicity is amiable enough, with enough thematic depths about the multiple roles that we’re all asked to play being literalized in a silly comedy.