Reviews

  • Entebbe aka 7 Days in Entebbe (2018)

    Entebbe aka 7 Days in Entebbe (2018)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) The 1976 Entebbe Raid is a real-life dramatic event well worth a film adaptation, but at the end of 7 Days in Entebbe I’m left nonplussed at the approach chosen in dramatizing the true story. From the get-go, the choice to humanize the hijackers (through film leads Daniel Brühl and Rosamund Pike) is puzzling—since you can’t really accidentally hijack a plane and such hijackings depend on the willingness to commit mass murder, their demise at the end of the film is nothing to shed tears over. The film ends in even more dubious thematic territory by tying the hijacking to Middle East conflicts and adopting a cheap rhetoric of both-side anti-violence—and makes the whole thing even more dumbfounding through an action sequence intercut with an interpretative dance performance. Saying that the climax is nothing like you’ve ever seen before is not a compliment in this case. Still, director José Padilha aims high (even as he misses his target) and can depend on Brühl and Pike as remarkable performers. The execution is slick and the real events are credibly portrayed, even if the film is remarkably annoying when it keeps repeating its obvious points over and over again. It doesn’t build to anything except a confused, frustrating and barely adequate thriller inspired by true events. I’m reminded of Truffault’s “no war movie is anti-war,” quote—there’s a contradiction in 7 Days in Entebbe in wanting to draw us in through the promise of violent retribution and then immediately decrying said retribution. Sure, you can make the statement—but you’re mocking your own efforts at portraying it, and exasperating everyone who was lured in.

  • Cutthroat Island (1995)

    Cutthroat Island (1995)

    (In French, On TV, June 2020) Infamous for being such a box-office bomb that it killed Carolco Pictures, Cutthroat Island is, like many celebrated flops, not quite as bad as its historical reputation would suggest. Now that its notoriously troubled production and budget overruns are things of legend, twenty-first century audiences are free to assess the film on its own merits as a pirate-themed swashbuckler. I will not try to pretend that Cutthroat Island is a misunderstood work of genius—it’s sufficiently flawed that you can see where the disappointed reviews came from. While the film does have its strong points (some of the sets, stunts and action sequences are really good), much of it plays far blander than it should for a film of its type. Geena Davis may look spectacular, but she’s ill suited to the role; the same goes for Matthew Modine, who’s clearly not as memorable as he should be in playing the male lead. The seams of the film’s troubled production are glaringly obvious in the inconsistent writing, cinematography, set design and pacing issues: an added layer of polish is simply missing from the final result despite what feels like a large budget. Other moments (like the baffling presence of a monkey) show that director Renny Harlin was unable to keep the production under control. While the result is watchable, Cutthroat Island merely has everything one expects from a pirate movie, but nothing more. But swashbuckling adventure is a subgenre that thrives on excess, and comparisons with the Pirates of the Caribbean series show how much better the film could have been had it featured sharper characters, more appropriate actors, stronger set-pieces and a savvier use of familiar tropes.

  • Cross Wars (2017)

    Cross Wars (2017)

    (On TV, June 2020) Having seen and disliked both the first and the third films in the Cross series, watching the second entry Cross Wars was an exercise in consistency—it’s all amateur nonsense. There’s not much acting, only posturing. The dull cinematography leeches interest out of sequences that should have been interesting to watch, such as the junkyard firefight. It’s all built on a core of comic book clichés and assumptions, none of which translate particularly well to anything beyond fanboy fanfic. Numerous hallmarks of low-budget filmmaking keep sabotaging Cross Wars, perhaps most noticeably fast intercutting without continuity flow. (It’s one of those films where you suspect that actors in a single scene weren’t even in the same room when it was shot.) The ensemble cast severely works against the film—we don’t know these people, and yet the film arrogantly presumes that we care about them. Meanwhile, the story hops left and right in what I’m assuming is an attempt to give everyone an equally interesting part. The crass humour further highlights the rank incompetence of writer-director Patrick Durham. The only thing that’s impressive about Cross Wars (or the series itself) is how terrible it is—you can’t just accidentally make a movie this bad; you have to go out of your way to make it as terrible as it is. It’s not even so-bad-it’s-good: it’s just sad.

  • Du rififi chez les hommes [Rififi] (1955)

    Du rififi chez les hommes [Rififi] (1955)

    (On TV, June 2020) Jules Dassin is a pivotal figure in how the American noir style literally migrated to France and eventually led (through Truffaut and others) to La nouvelle vague, which would later feed back into New Hollywood. The irony here being an unintended consequence of Hollywood putting Dassin on the black list and exiling him to France, where he’d continue his career. From a historical perspective, Du rififi chez les hommes is a crucial film in the evolution of the heist subgenre. It’s very reminiscent of The Asphalt Jungle, with a narrative structure revolving around a showcase heist sequence without dialogue or music. Even today, it makes for compelling viewing—especially in the details of the planning: the sequence in which they figure out how to disable an alarm is nothing short of ingenious, and there are plenty of details along the way to showcase the filmmakers’ cleverness. Still, Du rififi chez les hommes hails from the film noir tradition more than the heist one, as the plan falls apart after the crime and everything becomes a high drama of criminal tragedy. The ending sequence is gripping, as the protagonist races against the clock for one last heroic act. This merciless approach may feel scattered when measured against modern heist movies (most of whom are clearly made in a comic tone), but that’s what you get from early examples of the fusion between noir and heist. Du rififi chez les hommes clearly inspired many—from The Killing to Ocean’s Eleven and more.

  • Once Upon a Time in Venice (2017)

    Once Upon a Time in Venice (2017)

    (In French, On TV, June 2020) It pains me to be critical of Once Upon a Time in Venice—I still believe that Bruce Willis has at least one more great performance left in him, and he seems like a reasonable match for a crime comedy set against the eccentric characters of Venice, Los Angeles, during which our protagonist gets embroiled in escalating criminal enterprises as he seeks to get his dog back. There’s some promise here, in-between the sunny scenery (even when the film sticks to the lower-class of the neighbourhood) and the casting of both John Goodman and Jason Momoa. But there’s something about Once Upon a Time in Venice that feels off, a series of small mistakes and awkwardness that accumulate and keep making it worse. Willis looks significantly older than usual here, but he still can’t be bothered to do more than sleepwalk through his role like too many of his twenty-first century performances. Then there is the tone of the film, which reaches too self-consciously for wacky elements that fall flat because we’ve seen them far too many times in similar films (and maybe novels as well—if I was in a better mood, I would compare Once Upon a Time in Venice to Hiaasen or Westlake comic novels where dognapping is a common plot element, but this film doesn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as those novels). The very small stakes don’t help either, and the result just feels like a combination of lazy and dull that doesn’t even manage a convincing sense of place. Even with low expectations, the film doesn’t quite satisfy—and we’re left waiting for Willis’ return to form.

  • Inseminoid (1981)

    Inseminoid (1981)

    (In French, On Cable TV, June 2020) While it would be easy to dismiss Inseminoid as a cheap and nauseating Alien rip-off (which is true), it’s more interesting to open the hood and see why the film leads to such sentiments of revulsion. I’m hardly breaking new ground in pointing out that the quality of execution directly influences what we can accept in matters of plot and themes. Alien gets away with terrible matters such as forcible alien impregnation by being exceptionally well crafted; by taking its topic seriously; by not associating gestation with gender; and by having its protagonist fight back and achieve victory. Inseminoid, on the other hand, does it all wrong. It’s cheaply made; it barely respects its material (the distasteful splash of exploitation is never far away); it strongly associates the rape and pregnancy of a character with her gender, and it delivers a nihilistic conclusion. When bad movies tackle primal topics, they expose themselves to far harsher assessments than if they had played with less transgressive material. Inseminoid’s execution is bad enough that it compounds the film’s thematic failings—there is a sense that it doesn’t deserve to play with such topics and that it’s far too juvenile to even attempt transgression. Now, the film does have its fans—the film’s Wikipedia page features far too many gender-based critiques of the film’s theme to be casually dismissed, but the results on-screen are more painful than interesting unless you take a cerebral approach to analyzing its failure.

  • Pumpkinhead (1988)

    Pumpkinhead (1988)

    (In French, On Cable TV, June 2020) Considering my less-than-favourable opinions about 1980s slasher films, it’s not really an accident if I have mixed feelings about Pumpkinhead. A dark variant on the dead child vengeance trope of Pet Sematary, it features Lance Henriksen as a grieving father summoning a supernatural demon to hunt down those who have severely wounded his son. Much killing then ensues in slasher-like fashion, but Pumpkinhead avoids the bottom of the barrel in a few ways. Under the direction of makeup and special-effects legend Stan Winston, it’s a film that looks great and has some decent special effects for its time. It’s also significantly more nuanced about the unintended impact of vengeance than many movies of its decade, and literalizes that metaphor in an unmistakable way. On the other hand, it does fall into the “all you need is kills” narrative philosophy of slashers—the film’s plot takes a very long break during the second act, as the vengeful monster kills through a group of teenagers in evermore spectacular fashion. While plot does come back for a late-movie finish (making a point that vengeance is corrosive to the vengeful), there’s a solid stretch of the film that’s dedicated to special effects, makeup, blood and grand guignol violence. Still, you have to grade it on a curve: Compared to most other slashers of the decade, Pumpkinhead has a strong welcome supernatural element. Compared to many other cheap B-grade horror movies, it has much better special effects. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to put Pumpkinhead solidly into the middle tier of 1980s horror (a rather good decade, mind you)—not unforgettable, but not completely repulsive either. It somehow spawned an entire franchise.

  • Hopscotch (1980)

    Hopscotch (1980)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) Sure, you’ve seen spy comedies—but how about a retired spy comedy? In the surprisingly satisfying Hopscotch, Walter Matthau plays a CIA spy with a head full of secrets and fingers itching to dance on a typewriter—he retires out of spite and then, to get even with a bad boss, threatens to spill everything he knows in his autobiography. Knowingly baiting the CIA in a globetrotting cat-and-mouse game, he sends clues and “falls” for traps, except that he’s skilled enough to be the cat and spring counter-traps on whatever the CIA tries. Hopscotch is not necessarily rip-roaringly funny, but it is amusing, clever, compelling and somewhat more pleasant than most espionage thrillers of the era. Matthau has a role that suits him well, and he never misses an opportunity for the kind of rumpled-face sly-dog humour that best characterized his screen persona. My biggest problem with Hopscotch is Glenda Jackson’s helmet-like hairstyle, but her character is likable and well-written—like much of the script in general. (Adapted from a novel by novelist Brian Garfield himself, the film is more literate than most of the subgenre.) Hopscotch is a treat for Matthau fans, a welcome antidote for glum 1970s spy thriller fans, and a happy little victory for all cinephiles.

  • Wonderland (2003)

    Wonderland (2003)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) The hook in Wonderland’s premise is learning more about pornographic film legend John Holmes—but as it turns out, the film’s narrative takes place after his acting retirement, and becomes a slice of California low-life noir, with plenty of guns, drugs and debauchery. Stylishly presented by writer-director James Cox, it explores the perspectives of several characters as a patchwork of interpretations of the same quadruple murder. Part of the need for this stylishness comes from a lack of certitude regarding the facts of these still-unsolved murders and the drab dirty environment in which this all takes place. The cast is certainly impressive, and even more so considering that everyone is so thoroughly de-glammed by the grimy settings that they may be unrecognizable. Still, we get Val Kilmer in one of his last solid dramatic roles, Eric Borgesian chewing scenery as a mogul, Lisa Kudrow, Janeane Garofalo, Tim Blake Nelson and as proof that the film came out in 2003, Paris Hilton showing up on a yacht for a few seconds. Still, by the end of Wonderland, the entire thing does feel a bit pointless—junkies make poor choices and get killed in the end. One wonders if the story would have ever been told if it wasn’t for Holmes’ presence.

  • IXE-13 (1972)

    IXE-13 (1972)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) Classic French-Canadian film IXE-13 is more a performance piece than a movie or even a comedy. Handled by then-incandescent comedy troupe Les Cyniques, it takes inspiration from an earnest French-Canadian pulp serial (anticipating the OSS-117 revival decades later) and transforms it into an absurd musical parody that revels into its threadbare production values. With Les Cyniques on-board, IXE-13 takes aim at just about every target in sight, from Chinese peril to communists to English-Canadian superiority to the strange relationship between Québec and France, and doesn’t skimp on the indépendantiste viewpoint (which now feels like an inferiority complex, but that’s how it goes.) Not all of the comedy has aged well—even intentionally going for a hideously racist depiction of its Chinese characters doesn’t excuse it. On the other hand, it’s a thrill to see now-respected actors goofing it up in a piece of juvenilia, including a rather fetching Louise Forrestier and Carole Laure playing pin-up girl. The cheerfully absurd IXE-13 is so deeply set within French-Canadian culture of the early 1970s that it just be incomprehensible to anyone who wasn’t there speaking joual. For Francophile cinephiles, it’s not so much a “must see” as a “have you seen it?”

  • Dancing Lady (1933)

    Dancing Lady (1933)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) While Dancing Lady is technically the first of Fred Astaire’s movie musicals, his fans should keep in mind that it took him a few movies’ worth of scene-stealing appearances before getting his first lead role, and so this film sees him relegated to a climactic showcase number, as himself, dancing with Joan Crawford. Not that he’s the only one making early appearances here that now overshadow the leads of the film—An early iteration of The Three Stooges also shows up, plus later star Nelson Eddy, making this film’s supporting cast far more remarkable than nominal leads Franchot Tone and Clark Gable. (I would add “…and Crawford” except that she looks absolutely spectacular here—although not much of a dancer, especially around Astaire.) As an early Pre-Code musical of the early sound era, Dancing Lady is still quite rough around the edges: even the narrative doesn’t go too far away from its Broadway inspiration by featuring a making of a musical as its narrative foundation. It feels a bit short at 92 minutes, but that’s probably because we’re expecting more Astaire. While Dancing Lady is perfectly watchable, it’s probably more of interest to Astaire fans and cinephiles tracking the evolution of the early musicals… although the Pre-Code attitude does make it more interesting than most.

  • Fubar (2002)

    Fubar (2002)

    (On TV, June 2020) Don’t watch Fubar for the visuals (which were shot on an early-2000s digital camera and consequently look terrible) nor for the story (an episodic, semi-improvised narrative following two Albertan friends). Watch it for the progressively endearing look at a pair of heavy metal fans without anything more on their minds than mindless loafing. The mockumentary follows them for a few months, as one of them undergoes cancer treatment and reflect on the meaning of existence. It’s quite a look at western-Canada lower-class, and not as judgmental as other filmmakers would have been. Despite a threadbare budget and a scattered narrative that often dips into dark comedy, the characters gradually become more likable along the way. Fubar is certainly not a great film, but it works well at what it attempts to do, and creates memorable characters long the way.

  • Stone Cold (2005)

    Stone Cold (2005)

    (In French, On TV, June 2020) As a fan of Robert B. Parker’s crime thriller novels, it was inevitable that I’d eventually make my way to the movie adaptations of his work sooner or later, and Stone Cold has the distinction of featuring a protagonist other than Parker’s Spenser. (Technically, this is the first of nine films in the series but it’s adapted from the fourth novel—don’t worry too much about it.) Paced more slowly than many other police thrillers, it’s focused on Jesse Stone, a grizzled police chief in a small Massachusetts town where nothing usually happens, and who suddenly had to contend with serial killing and the rape of a teenager. For a made-for-TV movie, this one has a rather good pedigree, what with Tom Selleck credibly playing Stone, supported by such well-cast notables as a pre-stardom Viola Davis (as a police officer), Jane Adams (not much of a stretch playing a psycho killer) and Mimi Rogers (with a handful of great scenes as a lawyer who goes after what she wants). Stone Cold is not much of a crime mystery—we already know early on who did it, so it’s best approached as a character study in following a disillusioned, possibly depressive man at the end of his rope. The atmosphere of a small seaside town is amiably portrayed, and the film becomes a somewhat comfortable experience, more remarkable for the ride than the destination.

  • The Uninvited (1944)

    The Uninvited (1944)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) TCM tells us that The Uninvited is one of the first serious ghost stories in movies, as opposed to previous treatments that were either comic or misdirection from very rational causes. It still works quite well—although I’ve always been a sucker for haunted house movies. It introduces characters and dramatic arc in an effectively low-key fashion, as a brother and sister’s joy at purchasing a vast seaside house progressively leads to concern and then to horror at the presence of the supernatural—a potentially deadly ghostly presence. Under director Lewis Allen’s hand, this is all handled through amiable filmmaking competence—not outright horrifying like later supernatural films would become, but certainly dramatic enough to be compelling. There’s some age-inappropriate romance along the way, but hey—drama. If nothing else, The Uninvited is similar to many domestic thrillers of roughly the same mid-1940s period (Gaslight, Suspicion, etc.) There are some pleasant echoes of Hitchcock in here, as well as similarities with the more subtle supernatural thrills of Val Lewton’s films of that time. As befit a supernatural story, there are a few extraneous but still effective special effects late in the film. The script concludes on a comic-relief punchline, but most clearly shows its skill in setting up and then following a few likable characters. The Uninvited has held up pretty well over the years, and its most dated elements are now part of its charm.

  • Tolkien (2019)

    Tolkien (2019)

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) J.R.R. Tolkien’s reputation as a major twentieth-century fantasy writer has been secure since the mid-1970s, but it really took the success of The Lord of the Rings’ film adaptation to transform him into a semi-mythical figure, a process that biopic Tolkien works hard to complete. The narrative spends time in English schools, in a pleasantly intellectual courtship and, obviously, in the trenches of World War I, as he undergoes a traumatic experience that would shape the rest of his life. Tolkien intercuts between two timelines, going from the trenches to flashbacks to English academia and spending time with Tolkien and his ill-fated friends. The film’s mythological goals attain a climax of sorts during harrowing battle sequences in which Sauron-like supernatural flair is added to heighten the horrors of war. Tolkien bets its success on transforming the writer into a grander-than-life figure through his wartime experiences, and generally succeeds despite many moments being melodramatically overdone. As is usual for these kinds of origin story films, multiple call-forwards are designed to make the audience feel smart, while at the same time serving simplistic one-to-one equivalents between the life of the author and the most distinctive elements of their fiction. Tolkien is clearly not anything more than a hagiographic, sensationalistic, surface-deep attempt to mythologize someone made grander-than-life by the movies, but it’s going to find an audience.