Movie Review

  • Secondhand Lions (2003)

    Secondhand Lions (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Google Play Streaming, November 2018) I’m a surprisingly good audience for movies that stake out the interesting middle-ground between reality and fabulation, and Secondhand Lions does manage to create a satisfying film from those elements. The premise has to do with a boy being left with his two elderly uncles living on an isolated farm. To say that the uncles (played wonderfully by Michael Caine and Robert Duvall) are eccentric is putting it mildly—they seem to be financially comfortable enough to give in to their whims and fancies (including purchasing a lion), and they keep telling their young charge about their fantastic youthful adventures. You can probably write the rest of the plot yourself, but Secondhand Lions is at its best in the small incidents and adventures, and in bringing their tall tales to life. The conclusion brings all the threads together in a satisfying coda. It’s not a great film or a memorable one, but it’s rather good at what it attempts to do, and provides enough closure to the audience to be worth a look.

  • Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

    Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2018) As someone who doesn’t go crazy for blondes, I’m less susceptible than most to Marilyn Monroe’s charms. But she could be a hilarious comedienne when given the right material, and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) is as good a showcase for her brand of humour as anything else I’ve seen her in so far. Helmed by the always-excellent Howard Hawks, this is a Hollywood musical from the golden age, as two women make their transatlantic way to Paris in search of husbands and their fortunes. “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” and Monroe’s Pink Dress are set-pieces of the film, the song reprised more than once. Monroe is very, very funny as the ditzy but clever heroine, while Jane Russell is spectacular as her brunette friend—her “Ain’t There Anyone Here for Love” number (complete with a surprising amount of cheekiness) is a highlight. Maybe a bit lighter on songs than you’d expect from a 1950s Hollywood musical comedy, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) is heavier on comedy. All of this plays quite well to Monroe’s comedic talents—the film is her showcase even if I prefer Russell on general principles. The gender roles of the film are hopelessly dated, of course (the film is based on a 1940s Broadway musical itself based on a 1920s comic novel, explaining some of the material such as crossing the Atlantic on an ocean liner) but once you get into the 1950s frame of mind, anyone will realize that the heroines are really the masters of the plot, playing their hands as skillfully as they can. That kind of agency (need we go over the Hawks woman archetype again?) certainly helps Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (nonsense!) survive well through the decades, offering many of the same pleasures that audiences of the 1950s enjoyed while watching the film.

  • A Bronx Tale (1993)

    A Bronx Tale (1993)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2018) Yes, trivia fans, it is true: Robert de Niro once directed a movie. Not only that, but he directed A Bronx Tale, written by fellow actor Chazz Palminteri and based on Palminteri true-life childhood stories. Surprising no one, it’s about growing up in the Bronx during the 1960s, and having to deal with the neighbourhood gangsters. De Niro himself has a secondary role as the bus-driving father of the young protagonist while Palminteri plays the local mobster. The movie quickly sets up a dynamic in which the hero has to choose a father figure between two men, one of them law-abiding and dull, while the other definitely isn’t. It’s a story with gangsters rather than a gangster story: the point is to show the realities of growing up in that neighbourhood and being tempted by The Life. As a period piece, it’s nicely done and somewhat successful: the nostalgia is effective without being overpowering, while the music sets a tone that the film follows. A Bronx Tale is likable, perhaps not a classic but a worthwhile companion piece to many other all-out gangster films.

  • Detour (1945)

    Detour (1945)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2018) For some reason, I sat down to watch Detour while thinking that I was going to see a comedy. To my great delight, it ended up not only being a film noir, but a cheap nasty film noir whose low-end production values were redeemed by a solid script and at least one great performance. The story has to do with a man crossing the country to be reunited with his girlfriend, but reality intervenes and before long he’s on the run from the law for a death he didn’t cause –if you believe him. Alas, his only partner is a hitchhiker who quickly understands the situation and bends him to her will—played by Ann Savage, in a ferocious performance that shows how much freedom film noir gave to its female characters. The production values of Detour are low even by 1940s standard: the producing company specialized in cheap productions, and most of the film seems to be spent either driving a car in front of an obvious rear-projection, or bickering in a hotel room set. But the film has good dialogue and an even better fatalistic atmosphere of encroaching doom. Our character ends the movie as an outcast from society despite his best intentions: there is nothing he can do. And so is one of the lessons of film noir. Sometimes, even if you don’t take the narration at face value, there is nothing you can do.

  • Pit and the Pendulum (1961)

    Pit and the Pendulum (1961)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, November 2018) I wasn’t expecting much from Pit and the Pendulum: horror movies of the early 1960s can be undistinguishable from one another, especially given how many of them were made with small budgets and indifferent actors. But from the first few minutes, there’s something remarkable about the film’s use of colour (in an early-sixties horror film!), its confidence in using a flashback structure and, of course, in Vincent Price’s performance. Director/Producer Roger Corman became a legend for a reason, and Pit and the Pendulum remains surprisingly effective. Great sets help, as does the unusually stylish flashback cinematography. The titular pendulum and pit set is also quite good. This being said, my favourite moment in the film is the stinger at the very end, which takes barely a second to remind us that something horrible is still happening to one of the antagonists—and will keep happening for a while. It’s an amazingly good jump-conclusion to a decent horror film.

  • Les yeux sans visage [Eyes Without a Face] (1960)

    Les yeux sans visage [Eyes Without a Face] (1960)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Kanopy Streaming, October 2018) Who would expect a black-and-while French horror movie of 1960 to remain effective nearly sixty years later? Well, do have a look at Les yeux sans visages, an effective body horror film that will leave you squeamish. Here, a surgeon with a disfigured daughter takes extreme steps in order to procure and then transplant a new face on her. The standout sequence of the film remains the face surgery, executed with a disconcerting explicitness and an even more disconcerting absence of cuts in the process. But gore aside, what really elevates this film is a more respectable tone, closer to poetic drama than to exploitation: despite the sometimes grisly subject matter, the direction is handled tastefully … except when it goes for the viewer’s throat in order to make them watch the worst part of it. Édith Scob proves to be an eerie presence in the film, her face usually covered by a mask except for the worst of it. Playing on uncanny-valley curiosity and disgust, Les yeux sans visage runs a bit long even at 90 minutes but still packs a few chills along the way.

  • Blowup (1966)

    Blowup (1966)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2018) Some movies are best appreciated with as much context as possible. Heck, a few movies are best appreciated having already seen the films they inspired, and writer/director Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blowup is one of the best examples of them. Seen cold without any knowledge of cinematic history or later movies it inspired, it’s nothing short of infuriating. First we have a photographer living the late-sixties Swingin’ London lifestyle, taking pictures of supermodels and occasionally having threesomes with them. Then our photographer stumbles upon what very well may be a murder mystery which develops into a full-blown conspiracy when evidence of the crime disappears. Then the film concludes with an envoi that clashes with the tone(s) of the film and does not resolve anything. You’d be forgiven for wanting to set the film alight after such an inconclusive experience. But you should not see Blowup absolutely cold. You should know that it was one of the defining films of the 1960s in definitely breaking down the Hays Code that held back American cinema from 1934 to 1966—when it was released in the United States with graphic depiction of sex and nudity and no official consequences, Hollywood understood that the Production Code was dead, and that paved the way to the New Hollywood what would change cinema forever. In addition to this historical importance, that sense of atonal exasperation felt at the end of the movie would lead very different filmmakers to make two very different films based on Blowup’s two halves: In 1983, Brian de Palma would re-use the film’s thriller-based second half as the basis for Blow-Out, which really digs into the conspiracy angle to its natural conclusion, whereas in 1997, Mike Myers would re-use much of the first half of the film as a basis for Austin Powers’s shagalicious lifestyle. Having seen those movies before Blowup means that we’ve been provided a conclusion of sort to Antonioni’s unfinished work, and makes the film feel far less irritating. It may not be the best way to enjoy this film, but as someone who’s naturally not a good audience for the kind of European art-house film that Blowup aspires to (despite solid genre elements), then it’s probably the best I can hope for.

  • Village of the Damned (1960)

    Village of the Damned (1960)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, October 2018) Most movies that start with a great premise don’t manage to live up to their roaring start, and while that’s largely true to Village of the Damned (which is quite clearly separated in two sections), both the beginning and the end of the movie manage to be effective in their own way. As the story begins, an entire English village falls unconscious at once, and any attempt to enter the perimeter around the village leads to the valiant explorers also falling down unconscious. The government grows concerned as the hours add up. The mystery remains intact once the villagers wake up and the perimeter is lifted … especially, months later, when it turns out that most women of childbearing age in the village are now pregnant. Fast forward a few years, and the mysterious brood decidedly isn’t acting normal, what with their uniformly blonde hair, detached affect and supernatural powers. As the evidence accumulates that these kids aren’t all right, it’s up to the village professor (George Sanders, in a somewhat atypical but welcome heroic role) to take action … even when the kids can read his mind. The climax is still remarkably effective even with somewhat primitive techniques. Admirably short at 77 minutes, Village of the Damned remains resolutely low-key in its effects and setting—the result is all the more effective as a demonstration of what’s possible with limited means and a few good ideas. After all, creepy kids remain creepy no matter the decade they’re seen in.

  • Pierrot le fou (1965)

    Pierrot le fou (1965)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, October 2018) I’m not working with the largest of reference pools when it comes to writer/director Jean-Luc Godard’s work, and so watching Pierrot le fou so soon after À bout de Souffle is a bit like going over much of the same terrain. Once again, we have a man (played by Jean-Paul Belmondo) on the run, pursued by violent forces, followed cinéma-vérité-style with a romantic relationship complicating everything, all leading to a tragic end. This is an overly reductive plot summary, but it does encapsulate my own similar reaction to the work. Except that Pierrot le fou isn’t quite as accomplished, as vital, as interesting as À bout de souffle. This being said, it’s Godard’s first colour film and clearly a more expensive production, which does have qualities of its own, slick and colourful. The presence of women and guns ensures that it’s not uninteresting, but it does have its annoyances, from free-flowing improvisational dialogue that doesn’t have the concision best suited to those kinds of films. I’m still glad I’ve seen it, but it’s one step shy of essential.

  • The Nutty Professor (1963)

    The Nutty Professor (1963)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On TV, October 2018) Jerry Lewis is often portrayed as an acquired taste (“The French love him!” etc.), but I wonder how much of this perceived difficulty has to do with crucial miscalculations in his best-known films. It’s not uncommon, for instance, to watch The Nutty Professor and being extraordinarily irritated at the nominal protagonist of this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde parody. Lewis, as the Julius Kelp counterpart of the dual role, is grating, infuriating, intolerable and abrasive. You really don’t want to spend any more time with him. On the other hand, his “monster” persona of Buddy Love is charming, suave, debonair and rather likable despite being an obnoxious egomaniac with a tendency to verbally abuse others. (One suspects that if this wasn’t a movie, we’d feel differently about him.) The jokes in the film are fairly standard (although they sometimes jump the strict limits of realism, meaning that there isn’t a lot here that we haven’t seen elsewhere). The period atmosphere can be interesting, though, and Lewis’ performance does have a few good moments even when they come at the expense of the character we’re supposed to cheer for at the end. Despite the feeling that at least some of this loathing for the protagonist is intentional, the result seems at odds with itself. As a result, The Nutty Professor isn’t quite as good as it could have been with some self-awareness and slight characterization alterations. And much of Lewis’s comic genius gets lost in the transition.

  • Chelovek’s kino-apparatom [Man with a Movie Camera] (1929)

    Chelovek’s kino-apparatom [Man with a Movie Camera] (1929)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Kanopy Streaming, October 2018) One seldom refers to a 1920s silent film as a thrill ride, but director Dziga Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera is different, especially with a semi-modern soundtrack. While the film is in the public domain and thus widely available on-line, do make an effort and pay the added price for the 1995 soundtrack as performed by The Alloy Orchestra (it’s the version available on Kanopy): it combines sound effects and pop-song-worthy musical hooks for a breathlessly exciting movie-watching experience. The score only underscores the frantic aspect of the film, which multiplies fast cuts in an expressionist representation of a day in the life of a 1920s Russian city. The one-cut-a-second style is meant to impress: The film is very playful in the way it’s executed (it starts with an audience filing into a theatre, pauses as the film’s editor takes a break, closes with the audience leaving the theatre and thus constantly winks at the audience) and not afraid to break the wall between filmmaking and film: time and time again, we see the camera (well, another camera) being set up for the audacious shots that follow. The flurry of cinematic techniques that pepper the film is just as impressive today as it was back then, jumping to split screen, optical effects and provocative editing of the Eisenstein school. By itself, it would be an impressive film—but with the right musical accompaniment, it becomes an authentic movie-watching experience. Man with a Movie Camera is one of those early classics of cinema not to be missed, and it rivals most subsequent movies ever made for sheer impact.

  • Viridiana (1961)

    Viridiana (1961)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Kanopy Streaming, October 2018) I’m not saying that there isn’t some potential in a movie taking on religion and rich people as satirical targets. But I’m saying that Viridiana isn’t it—not with its muddled message, punching down to the homeless as objects of scorn, fuzzy dramatic arc and few overriding commitment of cohesion. But then again—it’s from writer/director Luis Bunuel, meaning that consistency may not be the point. The plot, as loosely as it can be called as such, has to do with a noviciate visiting her wealthy uncle, avoiding his seduction, staying at the mansion following his death and the arrival of her half-cousin, trying to morally uplift some vagrants who then trash the mansion, avoiding another sexual assault and then settling into a ménage-a-trois with her half-cousin and a servant. Or something along these lines—I wasn’t exactly paying rapt attention to the film by then. There is some supposedly comic material here (usually mixing piety and vulgarity, such as when the homeless re-create The Last Supper) but it usually feels haughty and forced. I strongly suspect that the different social context matters: The Vatican designated the film as blasphemous, whereas there’s little here that modern audiences would find particularly shocking. (The film itself is still a bit off-putting, what with its multiple instances of sexual assault.) It doesn’t amount to much—Viridiana may have some potential, but it feels obvious and mean today, much of the satirical intention has been stripped away by the decades.

  • La passion de Jeanne d’Arc [The Passion of Joan of Arc] (1928)

    La passion de Jeanne d’Arc [The Passion of Joan of Arc] (1928)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Kanopy Streaming, October 2018) If you encounter a list of the best silent movies, chances are good that you’ll see La passion de Jeanne d’Arc somewhere on it—Despite overwhelming odds against its survival (the film’s master copy burned down twice!), the film is now widely acclaimed for still-striking cinematic techniques and an awe-inspiring central performance. Writer/director Carl Theodor Dreyer, asked to produce a film about Joan of Arc, chose to focus on the documented portions of her life, most specifically her trial and execution. Working from transcripts (giving to the film an exceptional historical accuracy that still eludes modern filmmakers), he focused much of the film on closeups of lead actress Renée Jeanne Falconetti (in her second and last screen role) as she undergoes Jeanne d’Arc’s trial. It’s an unflinching depiction of a naked performance which came with a price—Dreyer was reportedly abusive on-set. On cinematic history marks, La passion de Jeanne d’Arc is practically a must see for serious film students. Alas, when it comes to enjoyment… I’m certainly showing my own background when I say that to a post-Révolution tranquille French-Canadian, La passion de Jeanne d’Arc stinks of the kind of parochial Catholicism that my parents’ generation jettisoned almost completely. To be fair, it was the intention of the filmmakers to make the film hard to watch from a contemporary perspective, portraying Jeanne d’Arc as a martyr of the Church’s persecutions. But the gloriously French myth making is something that hasn’t travelled well ninety years later, especially considering the ocean’s worth of differences between the French and French-Canadians. Other audiences’ kilometrage will vary.

  • Le violon rouge [The Red Violin] (1998)

    Le violon rouge [The Red Violin] (1998)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, October 2018) As someone who like cinematic form experimentation, there’s no way I wasn’t going to be interested in Le Violon Rouge, a Canadian film tacking not a single character, but a single object through centuries. Here, the story begins in the late seventeenth century, as a grieving violin-maker coats a new violin with a substance of particular meaning. From that dramatic starting point, we follow the violin through Vienna (1793), Oxford (1890s), Shanghai (1960s) and Montréal (1997) as the violin changes hands, creates passions and undergoes surprising changes in fate. As a concept, it’s quite lovely—there are a lot of novels of the sort (or close to it—see the bibliography of James A. Michener and Edward Rutherfurd) but for obvious reasons it’s a much harder form to do as a film—juggling several time periods is a nightmare in itself, not to mention the added production costs. As a result, I can’t help but compare the potential of Le violon rouge with its execution and being slightly disappointed—more time periods, stronger dramatic ironies, perhaps a longer running time in the form of a miniseries could have done the best justice to the idea. Still, what we do have with the finished film in 131 minutes isn’t negligible—the editing hopping back and forth between 1997 Montréal and earlier time period is admirable enough, but writer/director François Girard’s juggling of a large cast of character and five separate languages is an amazing feat in itself. Samuel L. Jackson, Colm Feore, Sandra Oh, French-Canadian cinema fixture Remy Girard and none other than Canadian director Don McKellar (who also co-wrote the film) are only some of the names in the ensemble cast. While Le violon rouge does have flaws, it’s also quite an interesting experiment in cinema itself and does warrant a look if that’s the kind of thing that interests you.

  • Coal Miner’s Daughter (1980)

    Coal Miner’s Daughter (1980)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, October 2018) Even considering that I’m not a country music fan, it took me far longer than I care to admit to realize that Coal Miner’s Daughter wasn’t just a musical drama, but a biopic about major country music star Loretta Lynn. (To be fair, I did start to suspect something once Pasty Cline started playing a role in the film.) So, speaking about a perspective as ignorant as it’s possible to be, I must say that the film works well. It spends a lot of time detailing Lynn’s upbringing in a desperately poor Kentucky community, the first few years of her marriage (including a bit of domestic abuse too quickly glossed over) and only then her ascension to the top of the country charts. The struggles of an up-and-coming musical are convincingly rendered, and so are the other kinds of challenges that come with success and fame. The inclusion of a tragic subplot featuring Cline does add a bit of complications not usually found in most music biopics. Sissy Spacek is compelling in the title role as she transforms herself from a poor teenage bride to a country music superstar; Tommy Lee Jones has an early (and not entirely glorious) role as her husband. While I’m not a natural audience for that kind of film and even if the musical biopic subgenre has a history of repeating itself, Coal Miner’s Daughter remains a well-executed example of the form, with its 1980s patina further enhancing its look at 1960s country music.