Reviews

  • Captain Horatio Hornblower R. N. (1951)

    Captain Horatio Hornblower R. N. (1951)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) It doesn’t necessarily fit to call Captain Horatio Hornblower a swashbuckler—while there are plenty of wonderful nautical adventures here, it’s a fairly rare example of a captain in the employ of the crown, battling pirates, Spaniards and the accursed French along the way. (It’s the “Royal Navy” in the title.) But despite the official sanctions, expect plenty of ship battles shot in great Technicolor. Gregory Peck makes for a compelling Hornblower, and the addition of Virginia Mayo as a romantic interest only adds to the interest of the casting. The minutia of life on the sea is not described too badly, whereas the complex political machinations of the Napoleonic wars are explained in easily understandable dialogue. (Particularly amusing is the moment where Hornblower is told that the Spaniards are now allied with the English, so it’s a good thing that they never had to fight one of those massive Spanish ships. Cue the “well, actually…”) Peck and the battle footage are, in themselves, worth the viewing—but the amount of adventure and rollicking drama of the film are enough to keep anyone invested in the result.

  • Rabid (2019)

    Rabid (2019)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) If anyone’s going to remake 1970s Cronenberg, I’m glad it’s the Soska Sisters. Returning to the icky kind of horror à la American Mary, the Soskas cleverly expand upon Cronenberg’s original Rabid with far better technical assets at their disposal (the makeup effects to depict the result of a motorcycle accident are… terrifying) and also a bit more realism in their presentation. Matters of transhumanism (and the vocabulary of a public health crisis that rings disturbingly eerie in pandemic-dominated 2020) make this feel like a 2010s film rather than a 1970s remake. Not everything is perfect, though: the film is definitely too long (I accidentally started watching it twenty minutes into the film, and when I went back to see what I had missed, I didn’t feel as if I had missed anything), and the balance between the personal story of the protagonist and the wider outbreak of “rabies” feels disconnected to the point of being useless. I’m also not crazy about transhumanism being held up (here and in other places) as the new boogeyman of medical horror—but that’s just me. Still, this new version of Rabid does a few things better than the original. The ending is better than the original; the heroine is far better developed; the story has been justifiably transplanted to the United States, with a few potshots at the state of their health care system. The Soskas wisely keep the full craziness of the film for the final sequence (it does get wilder than expectations), and it’s good to see them back in the full-bore horror mode after a few underwhelming action movies. Still, I think they could do better—perhaps not in execution as much as in premise: competently reheating a low-budget 1977 feature does have its merits, but isn’t it time to see them do more original material?

  • A Private War (2018)

    A Private War (2018)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) In an ideal world, we wouldn’t need war correspondents. In the meantime… we do—they’re the ones to go toward danger and tell us what’s really happening. A Private War does tell us quite a bit about the profession in portraying the life and death of Marie Colvin, a veteran foreign correspondent who found herself in many of the world’s hottest spots between 2001 and 2012. Rosamund Pike turns in an impressive performance as Colvin, frizzy hair, low voice and eyepatch adding much to a complex character study. The private war of the title refers to Colvin’s own struggles with what she was experiencing—trying to self-medicate through alcohol, eventually spending some time institutionalized in an attempt to overcome PTSD. And yet always returning to the hot spots despite the losses along the way. The film clearly frames itself as an elegy, and it does build to a seemingly inevitable death while covering the Syrian civil war. As an exploration of the work of a war correspondent, it’s gripping—thanks to good special effects, the film can afford to have numerous scenes taking us through unimaginable death and destruction. Still, much of the film revolves back around Pike’s performance: she’s utterly unrecognizable from many of her softer, gentler performances here and I suspect that the film will live on as one of her finest. It’s an impressive tribute to an impressive journalist, and it’s a shame that A Private War didn’t find a commercial audience upon initial release.

  • Hell, or Tidewater (2020)

    Hell, or Tidewater (2020)

    (On TV, October 2020) There’s a blend of terrible and wonderful in Hell, or Tidewater that makes me want to tell anyone to watch the film even though it’s almost unwatchable. Produced with a high-school play production values yet tackling a heady blend of geopolitical intrigue and Canadian issues such as pipelines, Arctic Circle exploitation, gigantic submarines and First Nations rights, it’s certainly a film that aims for much more than it can deliver. I cannot adequately describe the amateurishness of the production: It’s a repulsive blend of bargain-basement CGI, threadbare sets, terrible actors, incompetent direction, amazingly unconvincing staging and awful dialogue. This is a film where the footage shows a small river and has characters tell us about the amazing underground submarine base underneath. It’s a film with cute but terrible actresses, with dialogue that spells out acronyms (and there are many acronyms), with set decoration that have no relationship with anything we can imagine as appropriate for the script. The shots don’t match; the submarine CGI is worse than most kids’ shows—I could go on, but you get the point: you have probably never seen a film as terribly made as this one. Even the premise of using submarines to transport energy is so dumb that it defies explanation. And I’m barely scratching at the insanity of the other building blocks of the plot. And yet, and yet… I found myself occasionally charmed by the film’s intentions and its willingness to include techno-thriller action along big social issues. It clearly wears its First Nations sensibilities on its sleeves, and it goes for broke in attempting a story that would be far better served by a novel than a movie made on anything less than a hundred-million-dollar budget. It’s so fiercely Canadian that it openly frowns at Americans and has us winning one over grotesquely caricatural Russians. I strongly suspect that my begrudging but real affection for the result does owe something to a bad habit of mine: the tendency to listen to movies while I’m doing something else (usually, ahem, writing movie reviews) rather than focus intently on the screen. I strongly suspect that I would have tapped out had I been stuck doing nothing but watching the screen. Listening to the film, however, takes most of the film’s heave-inducing visuals out of the equation, leaving only the premise, plot, dialogue, technical details and flat line reading as the irritants. I don’t necessarily recommend this way of digesting a film to anyone else (it takes practice to listen to a movie and know when to look up at the screen), but in rare cases it may actually improve the experience. Still, I don’t want to beat up on an ambitious Canadian production too much—it bothers me quite a bit that I cannot find any single other review of Hell, or Tidewater on the web at this moment, and so this one may pop up as any kind of defining assessment.

  • Cats (2019)

    Cats (2019)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) Like most avid cinephiles, I heard about the Cats experience back in December 2019—the hyperbolic bad reviews were bad enough to convince me to wait for Cable TV broadcast, although I reserved skeptical judgment until I had a chance to find out by myself. Alas, it really doesn’t take a long time for Cats to fill up the litter box. From the first few minutes alone, the film only raises one certitude: It should not have existed. Not like that. As animation, perhaps, but as “live action” (yet with more CGI than the entire first century of moviemaking), it’s simply grotesque. The production animates cat fur over motion-captured bodies, but does it so badly that it ends up creating more revulsion than admiration. Visually, the result is repellent: they don’t move like cats nor like humans (a corrosive impact of CGI is that you cannot suspend any disbelief regarding physical movement of the actors in cat suits. This isn’t like a musical of yore where you knew they got everything live: here, there are enough unnatural movements that everything may as well be animated by hand) and the celebrity caricatures are the things that will tarnish their resumés. (The one lone exception, and the only moment in the movie that I actually liked, was Taylor Swift vamping it up as Bombalurina–at least she understood how ridiculous it was, and her part was strong enough to overcome everything else.) Of course, it doesn’t help that Cats-the-movie is built upon the rickety Cats-the-musical, something weird enough that it first drew derision among Broadway fans. The story makes almost zero sense, and the way the film invents its own vocabulary like a mentally disturbed person does no one any favours—although I was grateful for the competent closed captioning. I could go on and on, but the thing is: I like cats (the animals) and I like musicals (the movie genre) and I cannot imagine watching Cats-the-movie again except to point out how terrible it is. It’s a misfire of such colossal proportions that it actually made me feel better: in an age of super-commercialization, industrial psychology used to manipulate wide audiences and movie producers searching for assured profits by adapting known properties, it’s a heartening statement that even the industrial-entertainment complex is fallible: hundreds of people and millions of dollars can be invested in an obviously boneheaded concept and still make it through to the end. It kind of makes you feel as if anything is still possible, right?

  • Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight (1995)

    Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight (1995)

    (On TV, October 2020) There’s a curious absence of anything interesting to say about Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight. Yes, it’s a spinoff from the then-popular Tales from the Crypt TV show, which updated Creepshow-style macabre humour. But once you get past this pedigree and overly cute framing device, there isn’t much left to talk about. The story has something to do with a good-versus-evil fight coming down to a New Mexico boarding house, the good sealing the house against Evil, but Evil tricking people inside the house into doing its bidding. It has early roles for Jada Pinkett (not yet—Smith), Thomas Haden Church and CCH Pounder, although it’s a bald Billy Zane who steals the show as velvet-voiced Evil. Otherwise, though, this is strictly formulaic stuff, with very little in terms of writing or direction to distinguish itself from many very similar horror movies from the 1990s. The bulk of Demon Knight mercifully drops the Cryptkeeper’s pun-overloaded patter, but doesn’t replace it with anything more interesting. The pacing isn’t particularly fast-paced (there’s a good 45 minutes in which nothing much happens, in the interest of padding this to a feature-film length), the tone is bland and the gore effects are unremarkable by the standards of the genre. It does raise the question as to why anyone would want to watch this, and the answer may be familiarity: Demon Knight is a comfortable kind of horror film, the likes of which you can leave running without paying much attention to it, knowing where it’s going and how it’s getting there.

  • Tamara (2005)

    Tamara (2005)

    (In French, On Cable TV, October 2020) There are many ways through which Tamara could have been more interesting, and analytical viewers may have more fun contemplating the paths not taken than the ones that it does follow. Adapting Carrie to the mid-2000s, Tamara features a mousy (but supernaturally obsessed) student come back from the dead to take revenge on the classmates responsible for her humiliating murder. The film could have gone in many directions from there, and indeed does run on parallel tracks: While it portrays its lead character as an avenging demon, it also tries to muster some sympathy for the students killed off, and that’s only one of the ways in which the result seems incoherent. The demands of schlock horror films mandate that something spooky (preferably fatal) happens every few minutes, leading to the antagonist playing with her prey for no perceptible reasons, keeping some of them for later and trying some fancy new kills along the way. (If I ever become an avenging demon, I’m going for efficient surprise: All of them dead in minutes, allowing them no chance to realize that they’re in danger and form a counter-attack plan.) But then the film doesn’t necessarily go for the deserving targets, nor does it stick to the teenage audience: By the time Tamara goes after her teacher’s wife, the teacher becomes the one to resolve the conflict. While there’s a perceptible amount of teenage commentary going on, it’s not developed long enough to be effective, and sequences in which the avenging demon does the oh-so-unspeakable thing of convincing two jocks to have sex together (right before convincing the beauty queen to stuff her face with food) come across as entirely wasted in a film that can’t be bothered to make use of even the most basic elements of satire. I did like Jenna Dewan switching between mousy and bewitching, as well as Melissa Elias as the irremediable prom queen… but there isn’t much more to Tamara than that. Too bad—anyone with half a clever wit could have been able to do a much better script.

  • Thirty Day Princess (1934)

    Thirty Day Princess (1934)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) Cary Grant wasn’t always Cary Grant—his accession to Hollywood superstardom was the result of refining his screen persona until it hit an apex, quite unlike the young man born Archibald Leach. Thirty Day Princess hangs at the end of Grant’s apprenticeship in the movies—right before his breakthrough in Sylvia Scarlett, but already demonstrating his talent for suave, confident leading men. He’s not the star of the film—that would be Sylvia Sidney, playing a dual role as both a foreign princess come to America on a fundraising tour, and a young struggling actress who’s asked to impersonate the princess during a bout of illness. Grant plays the love interest—an influential New York City paper owner who is seduced by the actress playing princess. It’s a fair comedy: not hilarious by any means, but decently amusing and probably a film most viewers haven’t yet seen unless they’ve dug down deep in the Grant filmography. Its (barely) Pre-Code nature can be most clearly seen in some of the banter between princess and actress, as royalty lives vicariously through the impersonator’s romantic episodes. I really enjoyed the look inside an Automat—a relic of a past age that, somehow, always earns my fascination. Thirty Day Princess is not a film for the ages, but it’s watchable enough, gets a few laughs and certainly doesn’t overstay its welcome at a mere 74 minutes. Plus, you get Grant as a young thirty-year-old, a bit rough around the edges but already showing the world what everyone would love from him a few years later.

  • East Side, West Side (1949)

    East Side, West Side (1949)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) There’s a glorious, fascinating messiness to East Side, West Side that shows how the Hays Code era wasn’t necessarily an impediment for some heavy-duty melodrama. The film begins with a seemingly-happily married couple. But this façade soon comes tumbling down when, first, an ex-flame of the husband comes to town and then an ex-crush of the wife comes to town. That would be enough to power a film by itself, but the script peppers complications throughout, throwing in performers such as Cyd Charisse in a minor role that serves no real big purpose, then hinges an entire third act on the murder of one of the four main players, leading to a detective subplot that suddenly involves another main character. (It also leads to a fairly long and now-shocking sequence in which the male detective gets into a slaps-and-punches struggle with a female killer.) There are characters and sudden shifts of tone here that add a lot of texture, at the expense of what we would consider a polished script. It’s messy but a lot of fun, although you’ll have to work harder than usual to keep up with the twists and turns. An all-star cast sweetens the deal. James Mason is quite good in his own distinctive fashion as the protagonist cad, while Barbara Stanwyck is equally compelling as his increasingly estranged wife. Ava Gardner is the temptress that exposes the fault lines in their marriage, while Van Heflin rounds up the main cast with a character that increasingly reveals how resourceful he truly is over the course of the film. Top dialogue keeps things rolling, while the cinematography gives a noirish edge to New York City. Director Mervyn Leroy has enough experience to keep all the moving pieces together, and the result is a strong drama that will keep you invested from beginning to end despite its lack of clear focus.

    (Second Viewing, On Cable TV, June 2021) The interesting thing about revisiting East Side West Side, even after a few months, is its all-star cast. In-between James Mason, Barbara Stanwyck, Eva Gardner and Van Heflin (with none other than Cyd Charisse being fifth-billed in a remarkably small role), it’s very much a collection of some of my favourite actors in the business at the time. But here’s the thing: It took me an embarrassingly long time to become a fan of Stanwyck and Gardner – While Mason is distinctive and easy to like, and a previous viewing of East Side West Side made me an instant fan of Van Heflin largely thanks to his remarkable character, it took me years to like Stanwyck given her lack of adherence to a rigid persona. Meanwhile, it took me until Night of the Lizard to finally see what others saw in Ava Gardner. But now that I’m on-board for all of them, East Side West Side takes on a different quality. Oh, the film more than stands on its own as a 1950s Manhattan melodrama – With the plot revolving around an ill-fitting couple contemplating affairs with past flames, it’s rife with dramatic situations, including woman-to-woman verbal combat and a superb mother-in-law-to-no-good-husband put-down. Mason is (as often) surprisingly good as a bad husband, while Heflin gets to play a character than, in most other movies, would be the protagonist: an immensely capable special forces operative with an uncanny ability to solve problems. One of the film’s highlights remains the physical altercation he gets with a murder suspect while they’re both sitting in a car – the fact that it’s a male/female fight is surprisingly shocking, perhaps even more so given that he’s clearly in the right in subduing a killer. The slapping, pulling and grabbing goes on for a surprisingly long time, and the close quarters of the car’s front seats mean that there’s nowhere to go. It’s not necessary to like the entire film (including a slow start and adequate finale) when it has those highlights and those stars. East Side West Side is well worth a revisit, especially if you get to appreciate the actors in other films in between those viewings.

  • The Incredible 25th Year of Mitzi Bearclaw (2019)

    The Incredible 25th Year of Mitzi Bearclaw (2019)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) Despite its nearly-all-native cast and focus on First Nation issues, there’s a broadly accessible quality to The Incredible 25th Year of Mitzi Bearclaw’s narrative. In many ways, it’s a transposition of the old “college-educated young person goes back to small town” plot template, as the titular Mitzi feels compelled to abandon an upwardly-mobile career in Toronto as a fashion designer to go back to the reserve so that she can take care of her mother. What she rediscovers there is the old accumulation of romantic entanglements, dysfunctional family, old rivalries and the complications of living away from the big city. Where the film proves itself more interesting than expected is in the various flights or fancy (or moments of magical realism—your pick) that enliven the otherwise realistic narrative. Working at the limits of a very low budget, The Incredible 25th Year of Mitzi Bearclaw gets us in fantasy, horror and science fiction as it leaps inside its lead characters’ inner life. MorningStar Angeline is remarkable as the protagonist, credibly portraying a young adult going through a rite of passage rediscovering herself. Despite the very serious underpinnings of the themes, there’s an undeniable joy to the character and to the film itself. The conclusion isn’t quite as strong as the rest, but there’s an easy-to-like quality to the result that owes a lot to writer-director Shelley Niro’s ease with the material and competent handling of the camera in richly landscaped surroundings. Canadian First Nation filmmaking is undergoing a significant upswing right now, and The Incredible 25th Year of Mitzi Bearclaw is another example to add to the growing corpus of such films worth watching.

  • A Damsel in Distress (1937)

    A Damsel in Distress (1937)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) One of the lesser Fred Astaire musicals of the 1930s, A Damsel in Distress takes us to England, where Astaire plays (as usual) a renowned entertainer trying to find love. He eventually finds it in the character of an English lady, although not without the complications that usually follow such narratives. The cast does offer some interest, with Joan Fontaine at the female lead, and comic characters played by none other than George Burns and Gracie Allen, the later being progressively funnier as a squeaky-voiced airhead. There’s the usual number and variety of dance numbers from Astaire, and while there’s nothing truly anthology-worthy here, two or three sequences still work really well: “Stiff Upper Lip” leads to a showpiece funhouse dance number, while “Nice Work If You Can Get It” leads to an Astaire drum solo played with a variety of appendages. Nearly everything about the film is perfunctory by Astaire’s high standards—Fontaine is not a particularly good dancer, the comedy is slight (aside from Burns and Allen) and the premise is a bit dull compared to other movies of the era. Those who keep a wearied eye on Astaire’s romantic persona (boiled down to “no means try again later”) will note an explicit statement of the persistence credo late in the film, where a character calls out Astaire for being too passive and to Go Get It. Modern audiences will groan at that moment—what works for Astaire would mean a restraining order and social media denunciations in real life twenty-first century. Still, A Damsel in Distress itself is not too bad, even though it is frankly one of the more easily disposable of Astaire’s black-and-white films.

  • Laugh and Get Rich (1931)

    Laugh and Get Rich (1931)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) By the high standards of the 1930s comedies that survive today, Laugh and Get Rich is not that good—Oh, it’s pleasant enough in its depiction of an eccentric family running a Depression-era boarding house, but it doesn’t have the supercharged dialogue and plotting of the era’s best work. This being said, it is from early in the decade, barely four years after the introduction of sound movies and before the development of the genre throughout the 1930s. As such, it does have its charms; it credibly pokes at the obsessions of the time (such as oil exploitation) and it does have an early leading role for character actress Edna May Oliver, even as Dorothy Lee provides sex appeal as her daughter. The story has to do with the daughter picking the right prospect for the cash-starved family, but the conclusion is right out of those Victorian morality plays—in which being virtuous invites chance and fortune. (Heck, it’s even in the title.) The conclusion works because it’s a happy one, but it does feel a bit cheap. Still, Laugh and Get Rich can be watched easily enough—it’s not riotous but pleasant, and that’s often good enough.

  • Red-Headed Woman (1932)

    Red-Headed Woman (1932)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) If you want a full-blown illustration of where Hollywood cinema was headed in the pre-Code era, go no farther than Red-Headed Woman, a salacious drama in which our heroine systematically goes about improving her social position by seducing increasingly important men, all the way to a climax where she tries to gun down the man she once seduced because he dared reconcile with his ex-wife. Jean Harlow is ferocious in the title role, clearly announcing her bombshell status of later years. There is a little bit of comedy to the proceedings, but Red-Headed Woman really is about shocking mainstream audiences, and it still does—despite some much-harsher material in the intervening years.

  • Reveille with Beverly (1943)

    Reveille with Beverly (1943)

    (On Cable TV, October 2020) I won’t try to hide that I watched Reveille with Beverly solely because of Ann Miller—and while the film itself is now almost obscure for understandable reasons, it’s quite a delight for her fans. Here Miller, barely twenty years old (and possibly even nineteen when the film was shot—she played loose with her age early in her career), plays a radio station assistant with dream of having her own show. Opportunity presents itself when the stuffy host of a morning classical music show goes on vacation, leaving her free to shake things up with more modern music. Since Reveille with Beverly was designed as a home-front wartime propaganda film, it’s no surprise if her program is picked up by the local army training camp and then by the wider military forces. There are a few romantic shenanigans between her and two soldiers (resolved by shipping both of them to the front), but the film is primarily an excuse to showcase musical numbers. As the titular Beverly spins the tunes, the camera zooms in on the record and an optical effect takes us to what is essentially a music video of the performance. What’s noteworthy here is the unusually heavy percentage of black artists in the mix—from Count Basie to The Mills Brothers, to Duke Ellington. Musically, there’s some interesting material here—acting as an anthology of 1943 pop music, there are a few classics (“Take the A Train,” and “Night and Day” as sung by Frank Sinatra), plus a few fun surprises: “Cow-Cow Boogie” is fun (sung by Ella Mae Morse), but my favourite is probably “Sweet Lucy Brown.” Non-musically, the film does feature one of Miller’s relatively rare leading roles—and while much of the character is about non-dancing, non-singing comedy, she gets a very brief tap number at the start that foreshadows her climactic tap-dancing singing number. It’s not a great film, and we can understand how the thin plot, sometimes-dated material (including a comedy routine that’s maybe a fourth intelligible to modern audiences given how heavy it is on contemporary references) and wartime nature have made it a bit of a forgotten curio today. But fans of Ann Miller will get quite a kick out of it, and so will students of circa-1943 American pop music.

  • The Benny Goodman Story (1956)

    The Benny Goodman Story (1956)

    (On TV, October 2020) I never expected to have watched so many movies about American band leaders, even less having an opinion on them, but we’re in the middle of a pandemic and weirder things are happening. There aren’t many clearer illustrations of how American pop culture has evolved as how band leaders have been replaced by other kinds of stars (usually lead singers of musical groups) in the popular imagination. Now, I’ve had a soft spot for Benny Goodman for plenty of reasons—Goodman was image-conscious, he regularly showed up in Hollywood movies between 1937 and 1948 and as luck would have it, I ended up watching his only featured role in Sweet and Low-Down a few weeks before The Benny Goodman Story. Here, Steve Allen (who would go on to become an exemplary talk-show host) has a credible take on Goodman, round glasses and general bonhomie included. The film is clearly in the Hollywood biopic mould, focused on his long-running romance with Alice Hammond (Donna Reed), whose character comes to exemplify the acceptance of Goodman’s brand of “hot” jazz by the American mainstream. There’s plenty of music to go along, and his classic cover of “Sing, Sing, Sing” is kept for the very end of the film. The Benny Goodman Story is an enjoyable film (and it’s just as good as something you listen to while doing other things) and a decent immortalization of Goodman. There’s some illustrative value here for jazz enthusiasts in depicting the transition of the art form into a more modern form, as well as a modest message of integration along the way.