Month: August 2019

The House with a Clock in Its Walls (2018)

The House with a Clock in Its Walls (2018)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) Jack Black has been experiencing a weird career renaissance lately—from being a critical darling in the 1990s to an overexposed laughingstock in the 2000s–2010s (with the notable exception of School of Rock), he’s now bouncing back in the niche of kids-friendly comedies such as the Goosebumps, Jumanji, Kung-Fu Panda series and now The House with a Clock in its Walls. Older, more restrained, goateed whenever necessary, he’s now able to project some useful menace, nuance and wisdom. While aimed at kids, The House with a Clock in Its Walls is layered enough to be interesting to the entire family, as a young orphan comes to live with an eccentric uncle in a house with many, many secrets. Blending old-school tropes with a modern environment, this is a family comedy that works effectively (in 105 minutes) at creating an intriguing atmosphere. The menace is palpable, but it ultimately results into a family-united dynamic. Cate Blanchett has a minor but satisfying role as a witch, Renée Elise Goldsberry makes an impression as another witch, while director Eli Roth takes a much-needed break from gory horror in order to deliver PG-rated entertainment with some genre savvy. The House with a Clock in Its Walls is not a great movie, but it’s likable enough, spectacular enough and uses Jack Black to great effect. It would be churlish to ask for more.

Le samouraï [The Samurai] (1967)

Le samouraï [The Samurai] (1967)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) Some films age more poorly than others because they have been, in a sense, too successful: Whatever set them apart has been so often copied, referenced, improved or badly remade that they are now unremarkable. I feel a lot like this about Le Samouraï, which follows a hired killer with a Spartan lifestyle. Executed with stylish detachment, Le Samouraï offers a blend between making its protagonist as cool as possible (almost effortless when he’s played by Alain Delon) and presenting a deconstruction of that same cool-killer archetype by highlighting how mentally unwell he is. There’s not a whole lot of action to the film, most of the running time being dedicated to navigating a difficult situation between organized crime, the police and the victims. Many of the plot twists, all the way to the conclusion, can be anticipated well in advance: after all, there have been many similar movies in the decades since then, especially in the neo-noir 1990s. Some of my favourite (The Killer) and not-so-favourite (Ghost Dog) films of the period are clearly derived from Le samouraï, the point being that I’ve watched a lot of them and have developed an immune response to attempts at portraying stone-cold killers as cool guys. This being said, I can still recognize a clear artistic intention behind writer-director Jean-Pierre Melville’s intention in presenting the film, even though many will focus on the “cool assassin” tropes rather than the “barely functioning human” ones. Alain Delon, to repeat the obvious, is cooler-than-cool, while Cathy Rosier has a striking presence as a singer and intended victim. Le Samouraï now probably feels far more conceptually basic than it must have been at the time, but it does still score points on where it matters most … the execution.

Experiment in Terror (1962)

Experiment in Terror (1962)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) If you’re looking for a missing link in the evolution of the classic film noir period into modern thrillers, then Experiment in Terror is a revealing example. Visually and tonally it’s definitely a late-period self-aware film noir: harsh black-and-white cinematography, downbeat atmosphere, and a plot that plays with a mixture of civilian victims, mastermind criminal and law-abiding policeman. And yet, at times, it does show the way in which the thriller genre would evolve only a few years later—whether it’s a gratuitously weird and creepy sequence in a mannequin-filled room, or the deliberate codifying of the heroine as vulnerable rather than the more common femme fatale of noir. The result isn’t completely successful—in particular, the film is at least half an hour too long and so dilutes a lot of its early tension created when a bank teller is targeted by a particularly meticulous villain. There are a few too many tangents, and the shifting of the tone from paranoid noir into a more straightforward police action climax is a bit odd. For modern viewers, Experiment in Terror (terrific title, albeit more suggestive of a horror film) is a reminder that director Blake Edwards, while far better known for his slapstick big-budget comedy, also made a number of far more serious thrillers. Despite its flaws, the film does remain a successful suspense film, perhaps more in its first hour than its second … but I’ll take it all.

Up in Smoke (1978)

Up in Smoke (1978)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) It’s easy to dismiss Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke as merely a stoner movie (and it is!), but as the opening credit sequence shows, there’s some cinematographic cleverness behind the film—the film shouldn’t necessarily be dismissed by the hazy excesses or laziness of some of its successors. Loosely plotted but definitely evocative of the late-1970s California stoner scene, it’s a film that’s bound to be far less transgressive today (what with the stuff being legal or at least decriminalized widely) and also far less striking—after all, an entire subgenre followed. Still, Up in Smoke remains surprisingly funny even for straight-edge reviewers such as myself: the goofy, amiable tone still works wonders, and it’s not afraid to get completely absurd at times. The stick-it-to-the-man ethos is charmingly dated, and the two protagonists’ basic desires (including consensual flirting with nearly every available female character) remain likable. Despite the scattershot nature of the plot that goes from run-in with the law to smuggling “fiberweed” to a battle of the bands, there’s a pleasant craziness to the results. I found myself laughing far more often than I expected considering the almost infinite distance between myself and the stoner lifestyle. It certainly helps that leads Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong are so effortlessly likable.  As a movie buff, there are fascinating comparisons to make between the amiable stupidity of Up in Smoke and the aggressive, often-violent nature of some later examples of the stoner genre such as Pineapple Express and American Ultra. All things being equal, I’d rather hang out with the mellow Cheech and Chong than their degenerate successors.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1962)

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1962)

(On Cable TV, August 2019) Sometimes, the best-intentioned projects mutate into a monstrous parody of themselves, and we know this about the 1962 version of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse because there is another version to compare it to: The 1920s original version of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. In this case, we can see the worthwhile intention in updating a WW1 story about a family torn by war to a post-WW2 setting. Director Vincente Minnelli, already familiar with the logistical demands of musical movies, should have been an ideal taskmaster for a sweeping multi-year epic involving a large family over two continents. And yet, watching the remake of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, the entire thing falls flat. As satisfying as it can be to see Nazis getting what they deserve, whether it’s a slap or a bullet, there’s not a whole lot to the film. Much of it seems to be discussions rather than actions, weighed down by interminable dialogues. Sure, it’s great to have Glenn Ford here, except that neither the role nor the style of the film does him many favours. The sets are fantastic, mind you—but there’s a strange detachment to the entire film, as if it was consciously holding back from getting into the thick of the action. At least Yvette Mimieux is there to add some interest: her character is the best that the film has to offer. The rest is ponderous, slow, far too well-mannered even for an expensive early-1960s colour production. Historically, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is often remembered for having been one of the films (along with a colour remake of Cimarron which was actually decent enough) that hastened MGM’s decline into the 1960s. That’s a far heavier burden that this disappointing film should bear, but you can see in it the Hollywood studio malaise that was starting to exasperate moviegoers in the 1960s and would later lead to the rejuvenated New Hollywood.