Movie Review

  • Blossoms in the Dust (1941)

    Blossoms in the Dust (1941)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) If you want a specific illustration of the kind of overwrought melodrama that the major studios could produce in the 1940s (and get them nominated for an Oscar along the way), then Blossoms in the Dust can be your pick. Tackling social issues (in this case; advocating for adopted children) using a weeping dose of personal tragedy (a dead sister and child all in the first act), this is a film that wants to make you cry your eyes out and think that it’s all coming from an admirable source. Bleh. The film’s saving graces are its colour cinematography (still a rarity in the early 1940s, and a measure of how much of a prestige production this was despite the unspectacular nature of the visuals) and the first pairing of Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon as the likable lead couple. Garson could make even the most hackneyed material look dignified and she does not disappoint here, even as the entire film around her is a pure weeper. The plot itself is manipulated for maximum pathos—while adapted from a real story, it’s cheerfully tweaked for drama whenever it can, even at the expense of basic credibility. Director Mervyn LeRoy was a veteran at that point, but even he can’t make Blossoms in the Dust work for modern audiences.

  • State Fair (1962)

    State Fair (1962)

    (On TV, January 2020) I’m on a mission to see all 1960s Ann-Margret movies, but that didn’t make it any easier to power through State Fair, a wholly unremarkable musical remake of what I presume are two better movies. As a family of four makes its way to the Texas state fair with distinct objectives in mind, the film slogs through useless and forgettable musical numbers until the base outline of a plot emerges. (“It’s dollars to donuts that our state fair is the best state fair in our state” is mind-numbing enough, and even more so the fiftieth time you hear it.) Ann-Margret finally shows up as a state fair circuit dancer with a long succession of momentary dalliances, but while her red mane remains spectacular, her character is far too dark to take advantage of her screen persona—and doesn’t fit the rest of the film. Time has not been kind to this remake, as it creaks under a story first thought in the 1930s and songs from the 1940s, and unable to take advantage of the story’s spicier moments given the context of the time. It’s movies like State Fair that show how dull the musicals had become by the 1960s.

  • Dragonheart (1996)

    Dragonheart (1996)

    (Second Viewing, On TV, January 2020) I first saw Dragonheart in theatres on its opening weekend, and twenty-five years later, this is clearly a different time for movies. Most strikingly, circa-2020 viewers have been blessed by a long list of very convincing CGI characters over the past two decades… no wonder if this early-CGI creation feels creaky. But Dragonheart was a pioneer in that space, and the thrill of seeing an ILM-created dragon emote and speak with Sean Connery’s voice back in 1996 has inevitably abated in 2020. Still, there’s a bit more to Dragonheart than a talking CGI dragon, and the film does manage to establish itself as an average medieval fantastic adventure. Under Rob Cohen’s direction, it does suffer a bit from less-than-convincing battle sequences (clearly, the money went to the CGI dragon), but redeems itself through acceptable comic sequences (including a prolonged standoff between a knight and a dragon) and a sombre finale. While I’d watch Dina Meyer wearing red curls in nearly anything, the film does belong to Dennis Quaid as a knight who’s not above a bit of film-flammery, with some assistance from David Thewlis and Pete Postlethwaite. While Dragonheart doesn’t quite have what it takes to be a good or great movie (it’s a mis-mash of high and low material, especially at the script level—the film’s production history is a horror show of dramatically lowered ambitions and the studio/director is probably to blame) but I can understand its cult popularity even now.

  • Eden Lake (2008)

    Eden Lake (2008)

    (In French, On Cable TV, January 2020) Well, well, well: Before becoming an acclaimed Oscar-nominated actor, then a headliner for baffling big-budget pictures, and then not doing much for a few years, Michael Fassbender headlined a nasty horror movie called Eden Lake. His presence, and the film’s ultra-bleak ending, are almost the only noteworthy things about it. Here we have an ordinary couple who eventually becomes the target of a group of disaffected teenagers who are evil because the script demands it. No further explanations being required (although there are links here with the reactionary “Broken Britain” movement), we’re clearly in grindhouse exploitation territory as the film inflicts torment over torment to the couple until there’s nothing left of them. Cheaply hand-waving “society” for the teenage cruelty, Eden Lake is never meant to be uplifting or generous—it’s one streak of bad luck after another, using its protagonists as bloody piñatas until the end. (It keeps one fatal coincidence in reserve just to drive the point home.) It would be depressing if it actually meant anything, but beyond elementary genre thrills from director James Watkins (who would go on to do far better and weightier fare), Eden Lake can easily be dismissed as nothing more than a mediocre horror film.

  • Lady for a Day (1933)

    Lady for a Day (1933)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) There is a surprisingly wholesome quality to Lady for a Day that keeps going until the very end of the film, as a bunch of cynical high-class New Yorkers come together to help an old poor lady create an illusion of wealth for her visiting daughter. (The daughter is accompanied by her fiancé, and the film makes it clear that he won’t marry her if she comes from a poor family.) Our protagonist is transformed from an apple-selling old woman to a meticulously put-together matriarch, and it takes nearly an entire city to maintain the illusion for the sake of the two lovebirds. Mercifully, the film keeps going to the end and no further, adding to the fairy-tale nature of the story. May Robson does well in the lead role, handling an impressive transformation from near-homeless to near-royalty—and she was nominated for an Oscar for her troubles. Directed by Frank Capra, Lady for a Day is solidly in his tradition of uplifting films, although it’s far less political than many of his other movies. While it takes a solid dose of disbelief to enjoy, and constantly teeters on reality reasserting itself, it’s kind of sweet and a bit unusual for its choice of protagonist.

  • The Cars that Ate Paris (1974)

    The Cars that Ate Paris (1974)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) You would think that a movie about a remote village making its living off causing car crashes for unwary tourists and then stripping their cars for part and lobotomizing any survivors would be more interesting than what ultimately comes out of The Cars that Ate Paris. If you’re watching for the iconic ultra-spiky VW Bug on the poster, then be warned that it shows up late and doesn’t stay long: The film is closer to an enigmatic arthouse drama blended with a gory exploitation film and if you don’t know what that means (I don’t!), then the movie itself will not necessarily enlighten you. Writer-director Peter Weir made equally frustrating movies later on, but The Cars that Ate Paris is noteworthy in that it vastly underperforms against expectations. The film is ugly, laborious, unfocused and unclear about what it’s trying to do. The third act, which finally opposes the town’s two factions, is a narrative mess of jumbled objectives and hazy characterization. It’s also disconnected from the film’s first act, which seemed to be about something else entirely. Even the film’s title is a misdirection. In other words, I really did not enjoy much about The Cars That Ate Paris—even as a low-budget Ozploitation film, the best we can say about it is that it seems to be a prototype for the Mad Max series. On its own, it’s a dud.

  • The Three Stooges (2012)

    The Three Stooges (2012)

    (On TV, January 2020) The problem with The Three Stooges isn’t the nature of its homage to the long-running comedy series—it’s about as faithful as it could be, and clearly shows the Farrelly Brothers’ reverence for the original material. No, the problem with it (dodgy plot aside) is that it faithfully updates and executes a kind of comedy that will leave many, many viewers unimpressed by its sheer nature. The Stooges originated or perfected a good chunk of the slapstick comedy standard, but slapstick is not a universal kind of humour, and many viewers will simply be exasperated by the sight of three grown men hitting each other. It doesn’t really help that the film overthinks its premise while betting much on the notion that three idiots can be heroes. The weird detour to Jersey Shore as a plot device does date the film quite a bit. (Speaking of which — if you’re watching the movie because you heard that Kate Upton shows up as a nun in a bikini, then either wait until the very end of the film, or save yourself some trouble by searching for “bikini nun” and gazing upon the top results – meanwhile, Jane Lynch and Jennifer Hudson play far better nuns.) Of the three stooges, Chris Diamantopoulos, Sean Hayes and Will Sasso do well—they’ve studied the mannerism and turn in decent takes on the classic characters. The problem, though, is whether audiences want to see this kind of comedy for more than a few minutes at a time.

  • Le Prix du danger [The Prize of peril] (1983)

    Le Prix du danger [The Prize of peril] (1983)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) My expectations were pleasantly exceeded by Le Prix du danger, a French 1980s film that, in many ways, anticipates The Running Man and the craze in dangerous reality TV shows. Adapted from a Robert Sheckley short story, it’s about a near-future TV show in which the participants brave death for a sum of money. And I don’t mean “death” in an abstract sense, as five hunters actively participate in the tracking and killing of their prey. The film begins with a big-budget bang as helicopters and a dirigible follow the thrilling conclusion of the third such episode of the series. Then it’s off to the casting and preparation of the fourth episode a month later, a process during which we see the studio executives (including a few morally conflicted ones) as well as the man who will ultimately become the fourth participant. Executed with a bigger budget than you’d expect from an early-1980s French genre film, Le Prix du Danger is occasionally plodding, slightly undercooked and ultimately infuriating by design, but it’s a surprisingly tense piece of work. I definitely prefer it to the more famous The Running Man, largely because anything can (and eventually does) happen in this megastar-less film. The conclusion is depressing but remarkably honest to the film’s tone. Yves Boisset shows some good directing skills (a good budget helps, even if it’s invested in the opening rather than the remainder of the film), while Gérard Lanvin has the necessary charisma to make a likable hero out of the protagonist and Marie-France Pisier is simply lovely as an ultimately corrupt TV executive. Still, Le Prix du Danger remains a little-known surprise from 1983, and it definitely should be a bit better known among genre aficionados, even if the reality-TV satire thing is wearing thin decades later.

  • Broadway Danny Rose (1984)

    Broadway Danny Rose (1984)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) As a reviewer, I often have issues in discussing Woody Allen movies from the 1980s. They often fall into a good-enough zone that escapes sustained critical discussion. They’re (canonically) not as funny as his earlier 1960s movies, not quite the specific genre or character exercise that his later 1990s+ movies would become, and certainly not (at a few exceptions) as groundbreaking as the 1970s ones. There is, in other words, an evenness to them, even in their quality, that makes it difficult to dissect. (My review of Bullets over Broadway is one of the shortest on this site.) In that context, Broadway Danny Rose, is an ironic story gently told, offering just enough space for Allen to play his usual persona and for Mia Farrow to grab a striking mafia moll role. The framing device has to do with comedians at a New York deli (the New York deli, some argue) telling themselves tales about Danny Rose, and one of them taking up the most defining tale of them all—how perennial loser impresario Danny Rose went through hell for one of his clients and his mistress, only to be dumped by the client. In the grand scheme of Allen movies, Broadway Danny Rose is at once comforting—here’s Allen playing his utmost persona and doing it perfectly—and somewhat atypical, as the heroine is about as far from Allen’s usual intellectuals as it’s possible to be. Shot in black-and-white for artistic reasons that I find uninteresting, the film is also a look at the Manhattan impresario milieu and the incredible length at which they will go to for their clients. Broadway Danny Rose is a bit sad even despite the jokes and it does wrap up to an intriguing whole… a bit like most of Allen’s 1980s films.

  • Millions (2004)

    Millions (2004)

    (On TV, January 2020) There was a Millions-sized hole in my Danny Boyle filmography, but that’s not the only reason I’m glad I have watched it—a modern-day fable involving saints, money and an exuberant filmmaking style, Millions is at once an atypical Boyle and a familiar one. But doesn’t that somehow describe all of Boyle’s filmography? Taking place in an alternate universe where (he laughed bitterly) the British Pound is about to be discontinued for the Euro, this is a story about two boys discovering a suitcase of money and trying to figure out how to use it. The older boy is about conspicuous consumption, but the younger one (our viewpoint character for most of the film) is unusually fascinated by saints and their good work. Materialism and abnegation thus get in a tug-of-war for the entire film, hastened by the impending worthlessness of the money notes and the rather sombre question of where the money comes from… and who wants it back. In typical Boyle fashion, there’s a lot more to it—from a dead mother to a new romance to quirky neighbours to fanciful use of special effects and a rhythm that seldom stops. It all amounts to a surprisingly heartfelt conclusion, which mixes spirituality, irony and generosity. Millions may not be one of Boyle’s better-known films, but it’s perhaps one of his more humane ones, and is well worth the modest effort to track down.

  • At the Circus (1939)

    At the Circus (1939)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) In the grand arc of the Marx Brothers’ career, their move from Paramount to other studios is often seen as a hinging point—the Paramount pictures were anarchic, reflective of their vaudeville career and are still acknowledged as comedy classics, whereas the longer they worked outside Paramount, the more they became disciplined, comfortable with the medium of film and… duller. (Exception made of their first two movies with MGM, A Night at the Opera and A Day at the Races, combining the best of both approaches.) At the Circus finds them four films removed from Paramount and clearly comfortable with the newer approach. Once again, we have the “at the” film title structure; we have Harpo harping (very well indeed), playing piano and miming his way through physical comedy; we have Chico fast-talking and jesting; we have Groucho singing “Lydia the Tattooed Lady,” quipping furiously and scheming to get money from an oblivious character played by Margaret Dumond; and we have a lead romantic couple singing their love while the Marxes wreak comedic havoc on their surroundings. It’s all the same as their other pictures… except that it’s not as funny. A high-flying finale does leave the film on a stronger note, but much of At the Circus plays like a thinner re-thread of the Marx Brothers’ best movies—still funny, sure, but not as much. Fans will like much of the material (I’m quite fond of Groucho turning to the camera at a risqué moment and wondering, “There must be some way of getting that money without getting in trouble with the Hays Office.”) although newcomers to the Marx Brothers would be better served by their other better movies.

  • Alita: Battle Angel (2019)

    Alita: Battle Angel (2019)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) For longtime Robert Rodríguez fans, it’s been quite a journey watching him go from the threadbare budgets of El Mariachi to the expansive blockbuster filmmaking of a movie like Alita: Battle Angel. In some ways, however, it was the perfect training: throughout his career, Rodríguez has always squeezed the most out of production values to give the impression of much bigger budgets, and it’s that kind of directorial prowess that is essential to Science Fiction spectacles such as this one. Well, that and a focus on sheer entertainment, which Alita keeps intact. Working from a much-delayed James Cameron adaptation (I’ve heard Alita rumours since the late 1990s, and no wonder technology took a while to catch up to the vision), Rodríguez brings his energy, Latin influences and tight editing to the project. The result is a surprisingly good cyberpunk action movie at the top of the technological sophistication scale. Featuring an android girl taking on a corrupt system, this is an action movie with good intelligible sequences and an editing style that keeps viewers involved in the mayhem. The story does feel familiar (the original manga, after all, is now decades old) and indulges itself into making sure that all characters are connected in some way (again, another manga-compression artifact), but it does move its pieces efficiently and leads to what we expect from a science-fiction spectacular. Rosa Salazar does well in the title role, as a heroine taken apart an improbable number of times. Meanwhile, Christoph Waltz and Mahershala Ali don’t exactly slum it in supporting roles. Robo-fetishists will get their money’s worth here, whereas for everyone else there’s Jennifer Connelly in stockings, garters and bustier. While I wasn’t expecting much, I should have trusted Cameron and Rodríguez (not to mention co-writer Laeta Kalogridis): the film is an interesting, sometimes fun, not necessarily mindless SF action movie—the likes of which we don’t often see enough. Despite my anti-sequel stand, I’m actually annoyed that the disappointing box-office results of the film look as if we’re not going to get the sequels so blatantly set up in the film’s conclusion. Hey, maybe if it does well on the home video market…

  • Sidewalks of New York (1931)

    Sidewalks of New York (1931)

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) History tells us that Sidewalks of New York was Buster Keaton’s most financially successful film, which sounds weird considering that it’s certainly not one that has stood the test of time. At the time, Keaton thought that joining a studio was worth trading off his creative freedom for financial backing and, perhaps more importantly, MGM’s distribution muscle at a time when the industry was quickly transitioning to sound. The film did well, but it would weaken Keaton’s reputation as a comedian along the way. In Sidewalks of New York, we can already see a few strange decisions show up. Playing a rich businessman doesn’t suit the Keaton persona very well, for instance, and the insistence in creating a criminal subplot leads to difficult tonal issues that keep bringing the film farther away from comedy. Still, there are a few interesting things along the way: Keaton’s always a gifted physical comedian, and there are good bits of business with a flower pot, furiously attacking an overcooked turkey, and so on. Plus, there’s the attraction of hearing Keaton speak, which is not the case for many of his best-known films. Sidewalks of New York may not rank as one of Keaton’s finest (even in 1931 alone, I rather prefer Parlor, Bedroom and Bath), but it’s worth a look, especially considering that it’s barely 75 minutes long.

  • Norm of the North (2016)

    Norm of the North (2016)

    (In French, Video On-Demand, January 2020) For years, rumours and anguished reports of Norm of the North’s abysmal quality were broadcast to the void. I ignored them, and finally saw what it was about. The rumours are right. Norm of the North, while not entirely unwatchable, is what happens when a film tries to ape everything that worked in other animated movies without having quite the skills, budget, wit or conviction to carry it off. The first problem is visual, and it doesn’t take a long time to realize that this won’t be a top-quality production. But even by the standards of B-grade animation movies, Norm of the North is terrible: the creature designs are grotesque, the animation has little fluidity, the staging is awkward and the set design is both blocky and without texture – director Trevor Wall doesn’t cover himself in glory here. It was released in 2016 but feels as if it’s from 2006. But even if you manage to make your way beyond what is displayed on the screen, the script is perhaps even worse. Characters are introduced and abruptly disappear from the plot, while other characters appear in the third act with nary a bit of foreshadowing. The humour is toilet grade, and usually recycled from much better movies. (The Happy Feet series and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2 should probably ask for a portion of the gross considering how much they contributed to the plot and character design.) Even things that should work without a hitch, such as using pop songs for montages, are more baffling than effective: the songs instantly date the film and are used without any kind of self-awareness beyond “dance, kids, dance!” Now, to be entirely fair, it is possible to watch Norm of the North and not ask too many questions… but if kids can do this, adults are going to have a much harder time doing so, and that may be Norm of the North’s single biggest failing: being barely palatable to the kids while being near-intolerable to the adults.

  • Le Grand bleu [The Big Blue] (1988)

    Le Grand bleu [The Big Blue] (1988)

    (On TV, January 2020) Early Luc Besson is something very different from what we’d eventually come to expect from the writer-director, and Le Grand Bleu feels more heartfelt than later entries in his filmography. It’s a story about two free divers competing against each other to set a dangerous world record. Jean-Marc Barr is nominally the lead, but most contemporary viewers will focus on Jean Reno’s performance as a brash and competitive diver. Roseanna Arquette is also featured as the love interest of the lead character, although it’s a role dictated by the unabashedly melodramatic script in which death (especially in pursuit of top performance) is seen as something desirable. The film’s visual style is vivid—as per its title, there’s rarely been another movie bathed in so much blue throughout. The ending isn’t meant to be particularly cheerful, although it does play in the film’s juvenile sensibilities. Besson intended to become a marine biologist until an accident in his late teens left him unable to dive again, and it’s this sensibility that makes Le Grand Bleu so interesting—the portrait of divers competing against each other is gripping, and it’s impossible not to notice the care with which the underwater sequences are shot. Compared to later-day Besson, Le Grand Bleu feels more romantic, more restrained, and certainly more personal than the action spectacles for whom he’d later become famous.