Movie Review

  • Obsession (1976)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) As I make my way through writer-director Brian de Palma’s lower-tier filmography, one of the questions I get to put to rest is “When does de Palma’s classic period begin?” It’s not as clear as when it ends (I’ll propose Carlito’s Way in 1993, with 1996’s Mission: Impossible being the big-budget victory lap) – While most will clearly identify Carrie (1976) as the film that kick-started de Palma’s notoriety, there are other answers if you’re looking for the film that first showed his dealing with his favourite themes with an acceptable degree of technical polish. You can make a case for Sisters (1972), but I think that you’re on more solid ground with 1976’s Obsession, which feels technically slicker while still allowing de Palma to explore his favourite themes. Much of the film, after all, is a thriller about two women looking like each other, with a few big plot twists in the third act and a disquieting feeling. In this case, we get Cliff Robertson playing a real estate developer who’s haunted by the violent death of his wife and daughter decades earlier, and who suddenly encounters a woman (Geneviève Bujold) who looks eerily like his late wife. There’s a lot more to it, but let’s not spoil the best parts — including John Lithgow in one of his earliest screen roles, complete with southern accent. (Don’t look at the poster too closely, though, because — whoa, spoiler when you know what to look for!)  Even those foolish de Palma detractors won’t be able to deny that the film is (as they often accused) a big Hitchcock homage by riffing from Vertigo, and its production included a protracted argument with both screenwriter and studio about the content of the film. Classic de Palma right there – and for modern viewers, that means that the film is a lot of fun to watch and read about – even if you know about the big twist. The flashy directing is there as well, with some pre-digital effects (such as switching characters while a travelling camera is in darkness between bright windows) showcasing his audacity. It does feel like part of a continuum that would lead to Dressed to Kill, Body Double and Raising Cain (among others) and it’s often a joy to watch even when it delves into dark themes and uncomfortable content “presented as a fantasy.”  Obsession is not lower-tier de Palma – it easily makes its way to the mid-tier, and remains an essential part of his filmography.

  • Son of Lassie (1945)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) Oof. Or rather: Woof, because if you thought the original Lassie was a dumpster of dog-propagandizing British-boosterism overly sentimental claptrap, you have no idea what the sequel does with the next generation and Nazis. The story has to do with Laddie, son of the famous Lassie, and the adventures he gets into once he hops on board his master’s plane (the grown-up boy hero of the previous film, now played by Peter Lawford) and they both get shot down over Nazi-controlled territory. Will they be able to escape the prisoner camp, stay together and make it back to England? Well, what do you think? Filmed in rather good Technicolor, the film doesn’t make any attempt at hiding its sickly-sweet blend of patriotism (despite being an American-produced, Canadian-shot film, it carries the British flag proudly), doggy-love and filial pride. It’s pretty much what it wants to be, and there was clearly a good audience for this kind of material in 1945, and still today.

  • Burnt Offerings (1976)

    (On TV, June 2022) For some reason, I’m very receptive to haunted-house movies – I’ll record them as soon as they show up on the DVR TV guide. But I’m more often than not let down by the results, and Burnt Offerings is another entry in the promising-but-ultimately-disappointing subgenre. The plot gets underway as a family locates a sumptuous residence for a ridiculously low rent and moves there for the summer. Alas, there’s always a price to be paid, and before long it becomes clear to viewers (but not the characters) that the house is out for their blood and/or souls – as accidents, possession, strange behaviour and unusual portents become commonplace. As far as horror films of the 1970s go, Burnt Offerings has the soft cinematography, contrived plotting, star cameo, dumb characters and downbeat ending of its contemporaries. It does make for a bit of a weird experience – the tonal control isn’t refined, so we go from subtle to blunt in moments, with the grand-guignol violence looking cheap and exploitative. Bette Davis shows up without much to do; Karen Black is a bit bland, and both Oliver Reed and Burgess Meredith also seem a bit lost in a genre film. Still, I’ve seen worse: Burnt Offerings could have been much better and made more out of its premise, but it’s passable entertainment as long as you keep your expectations in check.

  • Mindwarp (1991)

    (In French, On Cable TV, June 2022) One of two things can explain Mindwarp – either it’s the product of a feverish coke-fuelled binge by screenwriters dead-set on blending three different genres together, or it’s a low-budget direct-to-video production. How else to explain the demented mix of cyberpunk tropes with post-apocalyptic setting, with a dash of slasher and the presence of both Bruce Campbell and Angus Scrimm? Yes, Mindwarp is a trip – and that’s even before getting into the crackpot last few minutes of the film. But no, sorry – it’s not a good film. I mean – sure, it’s kind of interesting just to see how the pieces are brought together and don’t fit, but it’s not as if any quality or enjoyment pops out of that. Campbell is subdued (although Scrimm is effective), the gore effects seem perfunctory (which makes sense considering that the film was produced as part of Fangoria’s magazine brief foray into films) and the ending is too wishy-washy to be effective. Interestingly enough, the screenwriting duo responsible for Mindwarp’s script, John Brancato and Michael Ferris, would go on to have a modestly impressive Hollywood career with a few highs (The Game) and lows (Catwoman).

  • Bird of Paradise (1932)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) Looking for non-white representativeness in classic Hollywood history is always a double-edged sword. Sure, you may find it… but at the cost of seeing tired clichés and offensive stereotypes. So it is that while Bird of Paradise does feature King Vidor (one of the best and most humane directors of the 1920s–1930s – and also the director of the black-cast Hallelujah), the magnificent Dolores del Rio, and a story entirely set on a tropical island… the price to pay for it is a story that seemingly indulges in the worst clichés of exotic noble savages, from casual nudity to volcanic sacrifices. Joel McCrea and Lon Chaney Jr. also feature in the film, with Busby Berkeley contributing dance choreography – so there are clearly some production values to go around in the film’s recreation of the South Pacific. Still, Bird of Paradise isn’t supposed to be a fun romp: It doesn’t end well (perhaps due to the interracial component of the film’s central romance), and the storm of racial clichés can be hard to take seriously. Still, still – the pre-Code nature of the film does soften a few edges, or more accurately adds more to the film than if it had been completed even three years later. Del Rio is a timeless beauty, and while Vidor doesn’t have much to do here to play up his usual themes (it was reportedly very much work-for-hire), he delivers romantic sequences of unusually good quality. As with many similar films, Bird of Paradise is a mixed bag: sure, there’s some good stuff here, but are you willing to watch the rest of it?

  • The California No (2018)

    (On TV, June 2022) If The California No wanted to be a comedy, it did have the proper set-up for it as our protagonist “discovers” that he’s in an open marriage. (Note: If that happens to you in real life, you’re not in an open marriage – your spouse is being disingenuously forthright in telling you they’re cheating.)  There are many ways this premise could have been reused for a comedy of raunch and revenge, but writer-director Ned Ehrbar is not interested in these things here. At all. Instead, the premise becomes a launching point for a character study of a sadly detestable protagonist – a mopey, depressed, incompetent, whining kind of guy who’s intolerable after two minutes – let alone 84 of them. Shambolic in all aspects of his life, he impassively goes from one crisis to another, loses his job after turning a press junket interview with a well-known actor into a fight, doesn’t respond to the lustful signals broadcast by a female friend, stumbles in bed with another woman, deceives his way into a celebrity profile that turns sour… and then the film ends because satisfying ending are not for you, plebeian. Cheaply made and even more cheaply conceived, The California No impresses more by how it wastes its assets (Los Angeles being the least of it) in the service of an obnoxious effort more than anything else. I did like Tracie Thoms (as I usually do) and can’t quite fault Jesse Bradford and Brecklin Meyer for having small roles here. But the rest of the film? Almost intolerable even as background noise. The film ends more than concludes, but don’t worry – you’ll feel so little about it all that it won’t matter.

  • Zone Troopers (1985)

    (In French, On Cable TV, June 2022) Well, here’s a surprise! Before turning to his life’s work in terrible movies featuring puppets, well-known schlock producer Charles Band turned out slightly-less-terrible movies not featuring puppets. Or, at least, puppets meant to be aliens. Clearly a low-end film but not quite as cheap as Band pictures would later become, Zone Troopers has the benefit of an interesting premise: What if American soldiers in WW2 Italy encountered an alien ship? What if they fought the Nazis to rescue an alien survivor? What if the aliens sided with the Americans? What if one of the soldiers punched Hitler in the face? Yeah, there’s plenty of potential to Zone Troopers. Alas, fully unlocking its premise would require far more wit than was collectively assembled here – the approximation of a competent film is haphazard at best, and the constant tonal changes of the film (which eventually slides into a kid-friendly cute-alien kind of thing) are wild and severe. It’s hardly credible as a WW2 recreation, and the script is far from being as fun as its premise suggests. Zone Troopers gets a few points for potential, but hardly anything is left over for execution.

  • Madame Bovary (1949)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) Is there a more backhanded compliment as “a professional production”? No question of enjoyment, importance or success: simply an acknowledgement that the production was expensive, that it corresponds to a certain standard of formal presentation and that’s it. At first glance, it’s easy to be excited at the idea of a late-1940s MGM adaptation of Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary, especially once you factor in director Vincente Minelli, and actors Jennifer Jones, Van Heflin and James Mason. At the time, the studio was an undisputed champion of costume dramas and could command, as they often repeated, “as many stars as there are in heaven.”  Documentaries have detailed how the studio employed artisans and technicians in over 200 specialties, ensuring that they could throw money and experts at the prestige production that came their way. Madame Bovary wasn’t quite an ultra-lavish production – simply shooting it in black-and-white at a time when colour was available is indicative enough, even considering that black-and-white was seen at the time as more appropriate to serious dramas. Everywhere else, however, the money is on-screen: The film walked away with a well-deserved Academy Award nomination for set design, and the costumes aren’t too shabby either. (There’s even an elaborate ball sequence.)  For twenty-first century viewers, there’s an added fillip of interest in having the novel’s narrative wrapped up in a censor-appeasing framing device that sees Flaubert himself justifying his novel to those who would ban it. It’s a slick production all right – but in the end, it seems to miss the mark with actors who don’t seem ideally cast to get to the dramatic heart of the story (yes, even my favourites Mason and Heflin), and a slow pacing that prevents any energy from emerging from the story. Madame Bovary remains both a success and a misfire – lovely to look at, but not for more than a few moments at a time.

  • The Carpetbaggers (1964)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) For modern audience, it can be surprising to go back in Hollywood history and uncover the long list of movies that were considered audacious for their times, pushing the envelope of acceptable content in ways both crass and artistic. Not many of them are quite as shocking today, but even twenty-first century viewers can often detect an air of daring and provocation. In The Carpetbaggers’ case, the film was designed from the get-go to push a bit harder on melodramatic salaciousness – adapted from a novel by once-well-known sensationalist Harold Robbins. It features a strikingly unpleasant protagonist that draws heavily from Howard Hughes in combining the world of aerospace and filmmaking but then goes the extra mile in making him as unpleasant as possible. (The film begins by showing him carrying an affair with his stepmother.)  So it goes for the rest of the film, with terrible and exciting things happening to and between very rich and powerful people in the style of those page-turning naughty bestsellers meant to wow the crowds. George Peppard is convincingly slimy here, with some supporting work from Alan Ladd (in his last performance) and Carroll Baker. Director Edward Dmytryk has his hands full keeping the circus going through 150 minutes densely packed with deliberate melodrama and histrionics. (Some of the dialogue is admittedly pretty good.)  The Carpetbaggers is worth a curious look for those fans of how American culture has been in apparently constant and irremediable decline for decades. Alas, even by those standards, it’s often too unpleasant and dull to be truly fascinating – you can point to other moral-panic films such as Written on the Wind as something far more perverse and enjoyable.

  • Thieves’ Highway (1949)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) While classic film noir is often celebrated for its atmosphere, it’s not always as successful in accurately presenting time and place – the smoke-filled, blinds-lit offices of private eyes are creations borne of timeless cinematic fantasy rather than portraying authentic post-WW2 America. Thieves’ Highway’s main claim to fame is that it places its chips in the other direction – director Jules Dassin spends time on the actual streets of San Francisco to deliver a portrait of food trade in the city, from the orchards to the markets. This is accompanied by a credible representation of working-class families trying to get ahead in an uncaring capitalistic system, which in turn motivates the revenge storyline around which the film is structured. Our protagonist spends much of his time in the film looking for the men responsible for his father’s injuries, and barely stops for romance on his way to his satisfaction. After a strong immersive start, Thieves’ Highway unfortunately retreats to a stage-bound second half and loses some of its initial energy. Still, the result is worth a look as something closer to social realism than most films of the noir era lineage – another success for Dassin – not that it would count for much in the following years, as he would be listed in the communist witch-hunt and effectively exiled out of the United States.

  • Murder Bury Win (2020)

    (On TV, June 2022) I’m not into board games, but I know people who really, really are and it’s been interesting to see the evolution of that market into a mini-industry of passionate creators, crowdfunding projects, exquisitely well-designed games and original concepts that are (to me, anyway) as much fun to read about as to play. Over time, it’s a given that there will be a movie about everything, so there’s some interest in seeing little-known comedy/thriller Murder Bury Win revolve around three game designers trying to bring their game to market, and having a fateful meeting with a well-known authority in the field. Things don’t quite go as planned, however, and before long our protagonists have to put their murder cover-up expertise in play. As far as specialized interests guiding the premise go, Murder Bury Win plunges us into an accessible version of the board game universe lingo, structuring its plot to incorporate as many winks as possible to board game design. The rest of the film, on the other hand, is about as bland and ordinary as it comes. Obviously a low-budget production without enough ideas to sustain a full 90 minutes, the film delivers without exceeding the strictly required minimum, and can’t quite depend on gifted actors or director. This being said, not exceeding basic expectations isn’t necessarily a problem – a far more serious issue is Murder Bury Win’s tonal mismatch. Black comedy is tricky even for top writers, but there’s a sense here that writer-director Michael Lovan doesn’t quite know when to push and when to hold back, reflecting very poorly on the “protagonists” when they turn on each other and transform a relatively innocuous comedy into something far more sombre. Too bad, because I enjoyed the glimpse at the board game universe: I just would have liked the fundamentals of the film to be more successful.

  • Down Three Dark Streets (1954)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) Late-noir-period police procedural Down Three Dark Streets is most notable for being an amalgam of three subplots distantly connected by a framing device – a forerunner, in a way, to some modern police TV shows. The filiation isn’t all that accidental, as the film was adapted from a novel titled Case File: FBI, with the intention of showcasing the work of the Federal Bureau of Investigation in spotless glory. (Not that you’ll have any doubt about that after the film’s self-important introductory voice-over telling you it’s going to be about the heroes of the FBI.)  The result is… not that good, albeit not without a few occasional moments of interest. The protagonist is played by a grumpy Broderick Crawford, and Ruth Roman populates one of the subplots. It all ends at the foot of the Hollywood sign. But the biggest problem of Down Three Dark Streets remains that the three subplots are thinly integrated – there’s little chance for thematic resonance or unexpected links when the film is meant as an umbrella on top of three shorter films glued together. The obvious FBI propaganda is familiar to anyone who’s seen movies of that era celebrating the work of the Bureau without any distance or skepticism. The result is middling at best, although it’s delivered with professionalism – Down Three Dark Streets is not that good on its own, but it looks better when compared to much-cheaper productions that didn’t even master the elementary elements of filmmaking.

  • Abe (2019)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) Now here’s a delicious concoction of a movie – a small-scale family comedy in which food can unite the world… or at least warring in-laws. Abe’s zippy up-to-the-moment opening sets the tone, introducing our young protagonist through a flurry of social media posts: The young Abe, product of a union between Israeli and Palestinian parents, with consequential fun at the extended family dinner table. Our 12-year-old protagonist sees his native Brooklyn as a smorgasbord of culinary tradition, and his intent is to try it all… and then fuse what he likes into something new. This youth-oriented foodie family dramedy doesn’t quite meet the expectation it sets through its opening moments – but as Abe slows down, it still settles for an amiable experience that clearly works its way to a charming conclusion. Seu Jorge shows up as an older chef who takes our protagonist under his wing, but it’s Noah Schnapp who’s the anchor of the film through a summer that changes everything. (Or does it? He goes from gifted cook to even better cook.)  Abe probably could have been a bit better – funnier, mordant, or able to go beyond the evidence set by its opening moments. Still, it’s about as harmless as it comes – cute and easy, nothing more.

  • Broken Diamonds (2021)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) As much as I understand some screenwriting imperatives such as creating a central conflict, clarifying a deadline and providing a compelling hook, it annoys me when scripts go out of their way to contrive false choices. So, when the protagonist of Broken Diamonds is quickly established as a young man with a ticket out of his small town to Paris, where he intends to write, the first question –before the central conflict set up by having to care for his mentally ill sister after the death of their father—is a big fat “why?”  Only poseurs go to Paris to write, especially if they don’t appear to speak French. By the time the sister screws up his plans (most notably by carelessly burning his passport), the film is already on life support when it comes to credibility – look, dude, you’re not going to Paris, so stop pretending that you will. It doesn’t help anything that this basic verisimilitude problem compounds the film’s other overwhelming issue – the sheer unadulterated contempt we have for the characters – the meek brother, the unstable sister and everyone else who pops up on screen. While the film attempts to touch upon an unglamorous portrayal of mental illness, Broken Diamonds doesn’t earn the sympathy required to power through the film’s obligatory low points. There’s an overwhelming familiarity to the way director Peter Sattler builds the film – an approach aping countless other independent small-scale dramas going for an obvious execution of shrug-worthy material. I’m clearly not in the target audience for this, but even then – would it have been so hard to make the script just a bit better?

  • The Beta Test (2021)

    (On Cable TV, June 2022) There’s no doubt that the star of The Beta Test is writer-director-star Jim Cummings, so clearly does he dominate a film as an actor in a role he co-wrote and co-directed. His turn here as a Hollywood power agent is quite a switch from his previous role as a small-town sheriff in The Wolf of Snow Hollow – he writes, directs and plays the role at maximum intensity throughout, convincingly creating a caricature of the obnoxious hyper-bro. (It’s a misnomer to call the ridiculously multi-talented Cummings an overnight success given that his filmography stretches to 2009, but it’s only in the past few years and his jump in feature-length films with Thunder Road that his profile has really taken off.)  But while Cummings is central to The Beta Test, it wouldn’t necessarily be accurate to call this a character study – there’s a strong concept at the heart of the film that places a bit of weight on the plotting. It begins as our monstrously ambitious protagonist, on the verge of his wedding, gets a formal invitation for no-string-attached casual sex in a hotel room. Revealing the essential stupidity underneath his hard-driving exterior, our protagonist accepts and realizes far too late that he’s just waltzed into a blackmail situation. Never mind paying up — uncovering the identity of the blackmailer becomes his top absolute priority, and there’s little he’s not willing to do, bluff, intimidate or outright bully to get what he wants. The end fillip of the plot is a cute extrapolation of modern anxieties about surveillance capitalism, capping off a neat premise executed in slightly disappointing manner. The portrait of Hollywood in all of its aggressive weirdness is engaging – but the third act still underwhelms by its refusal to satisfy expectations. Still, what remains of The Beta Test (and the title here does have a double entendre questioning the protagonist’s image of self as a so-called alpha male) is Cumming’s triple-pronged performance. Combined with The Wolf of Snow Hollow, it’s enough to make you invest in future Cummings stocks.