Movie Review

  • Footlight Parade (1933)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) Hailing from the first half-decade of Hollywood movie musicals, Footlight Parade pales in comparison to later films in the same vein, but still packs a few moments of fun. Featuring none other than James Cagney as a producer of live shows trying to compete with those newfangled movie musicals, it’s an opportunity to see Cagney in a rare non-gangster film during that decade. (He started as a musical star but accidentally became better known for gangster roles.)  The story is a somewhat standard comic backstage musical, and in keeping with later films from codirector Busby Berkeley, keeps most of its musical highlights for the last act. The story has to do with a producer putting together three big numbers for a single night, and the steps taken to find stars and ultimately protect the secrecy of the numbers by locking up the entire crew for three days. While Footlight Parade is primarily directed by Lloyd Bacon, the imprint of Berkeley on the musical number is unmistakable, especially during the “By a Waterfall” number featuring three hundred dancers executing kaleidoscopic figures in a swimming pool. It’s impressive but reminiscent of other numbers—I had far more fun during the comedic (and hummable) “Honeymoon Hotel” number clearly showing the Pre-Code nature of the film. Other artefacts of the film’s production year include a surprising number of bare legs, some barely avoided profanity and passing acknowledgement of prostitution, especially in the “Shanghai Lily” number. Ruby Keeler looks wonderful in early scenes with glasses, while Dick Powell has an early role here as a romantic lead. Still, it’s Cagney borderline manic dialogue, especially in the first half, that holds most interest in terms of acting: much of the film’s later half simply rolls off the musical numbers after the buildup. Footlight Parade doesn’t look as impressive when compared to its contemporaries (even 42nd Street seems more satisfying) or later, savvier takes on movie musicals. But it still has its own kick, and that’s more than enough to warrant a watch by movie musical fans.

  • Morning Glory (1933)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) I like Katharine Hepburn a lot and the debutante roles she often played in the 1930s do have an obvious attraction, but I had a hard time warming up to her performance as a struggling Broadway actor in 1933’s Morning Glory. That’s all the more surprising considering that it was the film that got her a first (of four) Oscars, and is often identified as the film that launched her to superstardom. There’s some metafictional interest in seeing her as a young actress playing a young actress—and doing so in a way that would be impossible to mistake for any other actress. On-screen, she displays a presence quite unlike anyone else—tall, thin, gorgeous and Hepburnesque from beginning to end. But the character she’s playing definitely takes a while to become likable—hopelessly naïve, chatterboxing her way through early scenes, not discernibly talented until late in the film (and even then, only through other people’s reactions). Anyone aware of Hepburn’s true self—or her later roles—can feel free to be bewildered by this girlish character. Adding to the discomfort, the mixture of Hepburn’s distinctive delivery and very mannered 1930s acting style can often ring false, even for those used to both: it’s no surprise if Hepburn was ripe for imitation by comedians of the time, or if she often sounds like the aspiring actress she plays in the latter, better 1935 Broadway comedy Stage Door. There’s an embarrassing drunken scene midway through that can be tough to watch, and the film seems to end too soon at barely 74 minutes. Still, Hepburn does remain the best reason to watch Morning Glory: the film probably would have sunk without a trace if it had starred anyone else. Extra bonus points are awarded to the film for featuring Hepburn with Adolphe Menjou—by the time they’d star together again in 1948’s State of the Union, his friendly testimony to the anti-Communist witch-hunts would drive a big wedge between then.

  • My Generation (2017)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) In a career now spanning seven decades, Michael Caine has not always starred in good movies, but he has established his screen persona as an exemplar of British cool, whether it’s the handsome cad of his early years or the refined gentleman of his retirement era. As such, he’s nearly the perfect person to host My Generation, a documentary look at the Swingin’ Sixties experienced in Britain, as a new generation took control of the cultural weathervane after the quiet postwar generation. Having Caine as a narrator enables director David Batty to intercut footage of current-day Caine with some of his 1960s films, clearly linking past and present in a way that would have been impossible with anyone else. A whirlwind mixture of historical footage, current-day interviews with notable celebrities of the time (although only Caine appears on-screen), practised anecdotes and truly terrific music, My Generation is far more impressionistic than analytical: Crucial points are dismissed in a sentence or two, while the film goes for audiovisual overload in mixing classic tunes (such as the titular The Who song) with fast-paced montages. That’s fine—if you accept that you’re riding along with Caine for a somewhat superficial overview of a specific time and place, why ask for more? A few moments stand out, either with Caine recounting how he stumbled upon an early live performance by The Beatles while shooting in Liverpool (amazing if true!), or footage showing Twiggy besting interviewer Woody Allen by turning the tables on his pretentious questioning. You can hear such notables as Paul McCartney and Joan Collins along the way, goofing off with Caine during interviews that were probably much longer. Caine’s delivery is impeccable, which helps a lot in going along for the ride. It’s not meant to be a complete story: My Generation ends on how drugs took out the winds of the overindulging generation, but stops short of detailing much of it, nor wondering if things could have been different. This is a film about the glory days, after all. I would normally bristle at yet another Baby Boomer navel-gazing, but My Generation shouldn’t suffer for the excesses of others nor the familiarity of the subject: it’s bouncy fun at its best, and the prospect of spending nearly ninety minutes alongside a chatty Michael Caine is hard to resist no matter what.

  • Carefree (1938)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) As the eighth of the ten Astaire/Rogers movies, Carefree is clearly not in the same class as its predecessors. More comic than musical, it features Astaire as a psychiatrist who falls for one of his hypnotized patients. Now, a near-constant in Astaire’s filmography is a dodgy concept of romantic consent: it’s not a reflection of his personal values (Astaire is one of the few Classic Hollywood stars with a mostly spotless romantic history) as much of the social mores of the time where males were supposed to be persistent. Still, even by those historical standards, Carefree is more problematic than most: not only is there the breach of professional ethics in having Astaire date a patient (an engaged one, no less!), but the hypnosis plotting device introduces all sorts of further issues—although it should be noted that many of the comic complications stem from Astaire’s character inducing feelings of hatred in his patient… with dangerous consequences for him! Merely four musical numbers pepper Carefree, many of them in dream sequences: a choice that ends up placing too much emphasis on the plotting of the film rather than its musical interludes. While the film is remembered for having the first big kiss between Astaire and Rogers, there otherwise isn’t much here to watch. Astaire is a good lead, but the plot doesn’t have him in a role that allows for much dancing, and that reflects on the rest of the film. Oh, Carefree is watchable enough, and it does have its comic moments: in particular, there’s a sustained sequence in which Rogers (under hypnosis) keeps trying to break a pane glass that’s quite funny. But it’s also a disappointment, especially for seasoned fans of the pair. It feels like a second-tier film (if not a third tier one) in their shared filmography by being merely serviceable when compared to their demonstrated potential. It’s still worth a look, but only after better examples.

  • Hoosiers (1986)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) For some reason, I expected more from Hoosiers than I got. It does have a reputation—Oscar Nominated, inducted into the National Film Registry, regularly mentioned as one of the best American Sports movies ever made, Hoosier is often hyped as more than a basketball film. But it is just a basketball film—set in 1950s rural Midwestern America, it’s about a disgraced pro basketball coach making his way to a small high school in order to take charge of their miserable team. (Apparently, he also teaches other things, but the film won’t show you that.)  You won’t be surprised to watch him win against all odds and eventually lead his unified team to a high-stakes championship. It’s based on a true story, and the film’s brown-hued cinematography makes it clear that it’s hitting all of the false-nostalgic clichés about small-town American high-school sports. Gene Hackman is the film’s anchor as the coach, but it’s Dennis Hopper who earns more attention (and award nominations) as a troubled supporting character. (Meanwhile, Barbara Hershey looks great as a romantic foil, but she disappears from the film once it gets back to the inspiring-underdog plot in earnest.)  I didn’t exactly dislike Hoosiers—it’s well made, engaging on a very basic narrative level, and benefits from following a boilerplate formula closely—but neither did I like it all that much. I’m nearly sure that being outside the film’s target audience (I’m not American, never played high school team sports and don’t go for sports in general even now) clearly accounts for much of this lack of enthusiasm. On the flip side, well, Hoosiers doesn’t transcend its limitations as an underdog sports film. It’s exactly what it claims to be, and anyone overhyping the film (even in their own heads, like I did) this may want to keep that in mind.

  • Beyond Re-Animator (2003)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (French, On Cable TV, January 2021) While I watch a lot of horror movies (I’d wager that in a given year, I see more horror movies than the total number of movies watched by casual cinephiles!), I’m not entirely eager to call myself a fan of the genre: Putting aside the formulaic and nihilistic nature of most horror films, much of the genre seems to attract a strange blend of fans—having attended a number of World Horror Conventions in my fannish heydays, I’m familiar with the gore-loving rough black comedic attitude of many aficionados, and I’m not nearly as attracted to that than by the thematic possibilities of the genre once it moves beyond just being about the monsters it portrays. But if you’re familiar with that tone, there are a bunch of horror movies out there that seek membership in a very specific semi-comic genre—not quite soul-suckingly bleak as other horror films, clearly more playful than straight-up monster slashers, and specifically talking to like-minded fans. This unforgivably meandering introduction is meant to place Beyond Re-Animator in its proper place—as a semi-comic, semi-gory, semi-ironic paean to the genre itself, riffing off the strengths of its previous instalments (mostly Reanimator—there’s not much here reminiscent of Bride of Re-Animator) in order to deliver more of the same. The plot has to do with a young doctor seeking the tutelage of Dr. Herbert West, now imprisoned after the events of the previous films. Thanks to new plotting devices, West is now able to reanimate dead bodies more efficiently, and the film plays out in a prison where death is frequent but not permanent. Beyond Re-Animator integrates lovingly crafted gory practical effects with a dollop of CGI to expand the cinematography of its predecessors, but otherwise doesn’t improve much on them. The humour is muted compared to the first instalment, and while the plot is slightly more interesting than Bride of Re-Animator, it doesn’t fly all that much higher. Still, the point here is for horror filmmakers like Brian Yuzna to deliver what horror filmgoers expect—Jeffrey Combs is easily the film’s main draw as the deranged Dr. West. Overall, though, it’s a somewhat average entry in its subgenre—a treat if you’re tracking down the Re-Animator films, but not something that will convert you to the subgenre if you happen to stumble on it without sympathy for what it’s trying to do. That’s fine—fannish audiences grow through stellar examples of the genre, but are sustained by average entries until the next big hit.

  • Shenandoah (1965)

    Shenandoah (1965)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) It’s interesting that you could (erroneously) pinpoint Civil-War drama Shenandoah as being from the early seventies just by paying attention to its politics. Featuring James Stewart as a Virginian farmer with a less-than-enthusiastic opinion of the war coming to claim his sons, it’s a film with a far more muddled portrayal of Confederates and Union forces than previous eras. Perhaps the most amazing thing about the film is how it seems to operate with a very 1970s antiwar attitude despite being from the mid-1960s—There’s a clear war-is-hell attitude here that would extend to WW2 dramas five years later. The point here is the toll that the war takes on families—the multiple strands of the plot are all about personal loss for abstract political reasons, and the film is merciless in what it ends up taking from the lead character. I don’t think the film would have been nearly as interesting without Stewart in the lead, leaning on his mild persona, his drawled spoken mannerisms and his dogged facial expressions to earn so much sympathy from audiences. (It’s also Katharine Ross’s screen debut.) I’m not going to overhype Shenandoah: it’s often long, repetitive and perhaps too insistent on its themes, although that last may be forgiven considering how it struck in unfamiliar directions for mid-1960s movie audiences. But it’s also unusual in how it’s a Civil War film that avoids big battles (and burns down Union trains!), heartfelt in portraying the senseless toll of war on decent families and a good late-career showcase for Stewart. There have been many much duller Civil War dramas in Hollywood history.

  • 49th Parallel (1941)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Criterion Streaming, January 2021) I usually scrutinize foreign films about Canada with a sharp eye, but 49th Parallel is a very satisfying mixture of semi-clichés, adventure, anti-Nazi propaganda and decent location shooting. Coming from the British film industry in the middle of WW2, it’s obviously conceived by filmmaking duo Powell/Pressburger as a kick in the pants for the then-neutral United States, and the best way to do this is by having Nazi saboteurs land in Canada and try to make their way to the States. As an adventure tale, it does have a nice forward rhythm, going from one episode to another as the Nazi infiltrators make their way across the country in a truly roundabout way and encounter various kinds of Canadians, with their numbers dwindling along the way. It starts off strongly with none other than a young Laurence Olivier playing a French-Canadian trapper (with decently accented French!) telling Nazis to shove off when they try to drive a wedge between French and Anglo-Canadians. Next up is a colony of Hutterite German immigrants, once again telling the Nazis to go away when they start playing on their common ancestry. After a detour through Winnipeg and the Rockies (where a British writer makes a strong stand for “soft” democracies), the action inexplicably gets back to Ontario in time for one last episode, where a less-than-perfect soldier (played by Raymond Massey, brother of future governor general Vincent Massey, who narrates the opening segment!) gets the finishing move near Niagara Falls. 49th Parallel would probably be fifteen minutes shorter without the speeches and propagandist material, but at a time of resurgent neo-Nazism, it’s still satisfying to see a portrayal of Canadians fighting back against the Third Reich. Aside from the ludicrous cross-country-and-back nature of the episodes, there’s plenty to like about the way Canada is showcased here. Some location shooting gorgeously feature its forests, prairies and mountains, while the characters have nicely done speeches making the country sound like amazing antagonists for the Nazis. Even the First Nations have some authentic representation, which is quite a lot more than we can say about many subsequent films. All told, 49th Parallel is quite a lot of fun to watch, and it’s an intriguing glimpse at the way Britain thought of Canada at the time.

  • Churchill and the Movie Mogul (2019)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) The relationship between Hollywood and the Anglosphere governments became unusually close during World War II—Washington and London were all too aware of the potential for mass propaganda tools during wartime, and an impressive number of films were produced in cooperation with the military—as far as I can determine, nearly every branch and sub-branches of the US Armed Forces got their own Hollywood movie between 1942 and 1945. But that’s only the most visible aspect of that wartime cinematic effort: the reality was often more involved than making movies showcasing armed forces. In Churchill and the Movie Mogul, director John Fleet gives an in-depth look at the overlooked relationship between Winston Churchill and British movie mogul Alexander Korda. Perhaps wanting to counter the impact of Nazi filmmakers such as Leni Riefenstahl, Churchill took a deep interest in the power of movies to influence the national mood. In return, Korda admired Churchill enough to hire him as a screenwriter and advisor in the mid-1930s, positioning him to make a significant contribution to the British war effort. Korda’s films are, as demonstrated here, filled with eloquent paeans to British strength of character… even in historical epics seemingly having nothing to do with WW2. (One notes that “historical” nation-building movies are surprisingly common no matter which country you’re talking about—I have a lengthy list just for the United States, Canada and for China as well.)  Churchill and the Movie Mogul is, obviously, a deep cut film: it’s about movies and their relationship to political rhetoric, and Korda is a figure of interest to a dwindling number of film enthusiasts. The documentary itself is fine, but it’s not the kind of topic that creates gripping moments. On the other hand, it does shine a light on a surprisingly involved relationship between two major figures in their own fields, and it cogently tracks the ramifications of that friendship and larger issues when governments become interested in movies, and vice versa. Even given the British focus, Churchill and the Movie Mogul is also a great contribution to understanding Hollywood during WW2.

  • The Little Colonel (1935)

    The Little Colonel (1935)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) I usually watch and enjoy older movies on their own terms, but sometimes that doesn’t happen and I’m forced to power through them out of a sense of film history. The Little Colonel is, for many reasons, a difficult sit: Never mind the shaky technical qualities of a 1935 film, it’s an incredibly problematic film on issues of race. The portrayal of black characters is difficult to accept, and the sympathy that the film has for its ex-Confederate characters is troubling. On the other hand, well, The Little Colonel does feature two of the best-known black actors of the 1930s (Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and Hattie McDaniels), and its famous interracial staircase tap sequence between Robinson and a young Shirley Temple attracted a fair amount of controversy in the racist US southern states, so much so that it was removed from southern-states showings according to the practices of the time. The film is still known for being one of Temple’s best showcases, and it does feature Lionel Barrymore in a leading role. There is also the ending sequence in which the black-and-white film transitions to colour, a still-striking transformation that remains one of the earliest uses of colour in popular feature films. Still, I found The Little Colonel a slog to get through—the melodrama is overdone, the pacing is tepid, the characters are not always likable and nearly every scene reminds us of the racism of the time. But so it goes: not every title in anyone’s film history appreciation regimen has to be interesting or enjoyable. At least I can now strike it off my list of what to see.

  • The Pyramid (1976)

    The Pyramid (1976)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) The crew at Turner Classic Movie’s TCM Underground (all hail Milli di Chirico) rarely do better than when they unearth some kind of deep oddity from the archives rather than play it safe by the usual cult classics. And—whew—they got something special with The Pyramid, an aimless low-budget curio from 1976 that plays like an acid flashback to the anxieties of another generation. The plot apparently has to do with a disillusioned Dallas journalist going on a quest to cover more positive stories, but in practice the film plays like an episodic collection of mid-1970s obsessions and fantasies, slathered in unimaginative but representative social commentary. Writer-director Gary Kent doesn’t aim at (let alone approach) any kind of cinematic greatness here: the audiovisual quality of the film is terrible, and the screenwriting approaches incompetence at its best. Plot threads come and go, “characters” take a back seat to hippie-in-the-street interviews, and the titular pyramid is some kind of new age construction that shows up late in the film without much of an explanation or payoff. From a shocking true-news opening, the film drifts even closer to new-age mumbo-jumbo about the post-1960s Age of Aquarius or somesuch. The meandering forward rhythm even weaves in a surprising reference to the JFK assassination, which is probably de rigueur for a regional film that seems to prefigure a good chunk of Richard Linklater’s filmography. It’s weird in a way that only undisciplined productions from the mid-1970s could be, and I would relish getting a chance to learn more about the film’s production. Until then, I can count myself lucky to have caught The Pyramid on a rare Canadian broadcast—it’s not good and I did not like it, but I feel as if I’ve learned something by watching it.

  • Going Overboard (1989)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) Nearly every superstar has their early embarrassments, and Going Overboard would probably be even more of an obscure title today if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s Adam Sandler’s first starring role, prior to his tenure on Saturday Night Live. It has not aged well, but then again, it’s probably amazing to its filmmakers that we’re still talking about it thirty years later. Executed on a shoestring budget (something proudly highlighted in the film’s first moments), it’s a low-effort, low-energy, low-laughs comedy about a cruise ship crewmate aspiring to become the ship’s stand-up comedian. Terrorists and Miss World contestants become involved. Billy Bob Thornton also pops up, along with a late-career cameo from the legendary Milton Berle. The narrative is often punctuated by fourth wall breaks (probably the funniest material that the film has), and by gratuitous shots of pretty women—anyone talking about the obvious male gaze will be surprised to find out that the film was directed by a woman, Valerie Breiman. While Going Overboard is not terribly good, I wouldn’t go so far as to steer people away from it. For one thing, it shows how Sandler’s early screen persona is surprisingly similar to his later one; for another, the film does manage a few funny moments. It’s a bit of a capsule of 1980s issues (notably in designating Noriega as an antagonist, and in using as premise cruise ship terrorist attacks) and it does have a smattering of interesting actors slumming away. Heck, there are many worse movies than Going Overboard in Sandler’s own later filmography.

  • Send Me No Flowers (1964)

    Send Me No Flowers (1964)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) I did not know that Norman Jewison had directed a fluffy Doris Day/Rock Hudson romantic comedy (their last), but considering the breadth and diversity of his filmography, I’m not really surprised. Send Me No Flowers feels very much in-tune with other Day/Hudson films—it’s colourfully shot, amusingly plotted and lightly played. Hudson plays a hypochondriac that, thanks to only-in-movies contrivances, thinks he’s got a few weeks left to live and thus sets out to find a suitable replacement husband for his wife. Much of the fun of the film is seeing a husband act in highly unusual ways in trying to set up his wife with another man but never telling her what he’s up to, because of idiot plotting. Still, the film is amusing fluff, perhaps not as memorable as other Day/Hudson vehicles (my favourite still being Pillow Talk) but entertaining enough in its own right. Hudson has the right square jaw for the job, while Day is also up to her usual standards. The conclusion is perhaps a bit rushed, but Send Me No Flowers itself is an agreeable watch, and a definite curio in a filmography from a filmmaker far better known for more serious later fare.

  • My Favorite Brunette (1947)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2021) There are movies that sound far better on paper than on the screen, and My Favorite Brunette is certainly one of them. It’s a fairly rare example of a contemporary film noir parody—Bob Hope plays a baby photographer who’s mistaken for a private detective and thus dragged in a convoluted mystery plot with a number of actors (such as Peter Lorre and Lon Chaney, Jr.) spoofing their screen personas along the way. In theory, it wounds wonderful. In execution, it’s underwhelming: While Hope quips away shamelessly and the rest of the cast is certainly aware of the joke, the comedy of the film feels low-key and low-energy. The satire seems less ferocious than it could have been, and director Elliott Nugent’s work feels curiously unmemorable. This being said, I may revisit this one later on—I suspect that I may not have been in the ideal frame of mind for a fluffy comedy, and my reaction to My Favorite Brunette feels like one that could be unusually sensitive to mood.

  • La mariée était en noir [The Bride Wore Black] (1968)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) The very strong Hitchcock echoes reflected in François Truffaut’s La mariée était en noir are almost inevitable, knowing the strong friendship between the two directors that started when Truffaut spent days interviewing Hitchcock for a book on film criticism (as detailed in Hitchcock/Truffaut). It stood to reason that Truffaut, easily one of the most American-friendly of the Nouvelle Vague directors, would try his hand at an homage sooner or later. The result is… average. To be fair, there’s quite a bit of suspense and curiosity in the film’s first few moments, as a woman dressed in black and white goes around seducing and killing men. What is the reason for her murderous rampage? Is she going to kill every man she meets? Truffaut gradually reveals the truth midway through, but the film steadily loses steam as it goes on: while we understand why, the repetitious nature of her murders gets less interesting—while the film picks up some steam in time for the final kill, the film feels too long by a quarter-hour at 107 minutes. Truffaut was reportedly very disappointed in the results, as clashes with his cinematographer (working in colour for the first time) led to challenges in making the film. What does work well, on the other hand, is Bernard Herrmann’s musical score, clearly lending some explicit Hitchockian flavour to the result. La mariée était en noir works best in small segments — the premise is on very shaky grounds, but the execution has its moments and clearly prefigures the vengeful bride sub-subgenre. It’s essential viewing for anyone with an interest in Truffaut, Hitchcock and their friendship, as well as being of some relevance to those interested in French suspense cinema.