Reviews

  • Za granyu realnosti [Beyond the Edge] (2018)

    Za granyu realnosti [Beyond the Edge] (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2018) It’s not that Beyond the Edge is a terrible film, but it will work much better if you have some indulgence to spare. There’s definitely a novelty in seeing a Russian action/fantasy film executed with the visual slickness and decent budgets we associate with Hollywood productions. Alas, this is undermined somewhat by the dubbing effect—the Anglosphere doesn’t have much expertise in movie dubbing (at least compared to the francophone world), and the vocal talent hired here aren’t always the most convincing, which compounds the somewhat amateurish acting skills also on display. (Except for Antonio Banderas — he’s out of his element, but he’s all right.)  But those are minor issues compared to a script with fundamental issues: The pacing is off, the plot points are frequently obscured and it’s as if the screenwriter has little idea how to structure sequences so that they lead to dramatic payoffs—time and time again, Beyond the Edge is fuzzy on what’s going on or disappointing in the execution of its plotting. While the film uses a generous number of special effects and its own brand of fantastical mythology, they don’t cohere into a satisfying whole—the visuals are nice, but their integration is underwhelming. (The way the superpowers are depicted particularly seems like a wasted opportunity.)  The plot itself is a blender mix of other better movies: While I don’t usually enjoy rattling off movie titles as references, think Ocean’s Eleven with X-Men with Inception and you’ll be on your way to the blend of influences here—albeit with the forewarning that it never gets close to these influences in terms of effectiveness. Still, I don’t feel as if I lost my time watching Beyond the Edge—as annoying as it can be in stringing its sequences together, there are a few stronger moments here, especially when writers-directors Aleksandr Boguslavskiy and Francesco Cinquemani can dispense with that complicated dialogue stuff and just let loose with the special effects or the cool directing tricks pulled from those influences. The end of the film is a bit better than its beginning (although that ending is far too abrupt), but a hypothetical Hollywood remake (note: this is not a request) would have a lot of work to do to fix those issues in order to make the entire thing flow better.

  • Mary Queen of Scots (2018)

    Mary Queen of Scots (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2018) On paper, Mary Queen of Scots sounds like those movies made for Oscar glory—two terrific actresses, and a historical subject matter that allows for Very Serious Business through plenty of costumes, palaces, and drama. Here we have none other than Saoirse Ronan as Mary Queen of Scots and Margot Robbie as Queen Elizabeth I, each of them trying to find a place where they aren’t rivals. Don’t read too much in historical facts, though—the film would be sued for libel if any of the principal characters were alive, delving as deeply into counterfactuals and conspiracy theories. The visual polish of the film is astonishing, mind you—showing how far modern moviemaking can be from the stuffed stage drama of earlier decades. Alas, none of those qualities fully explain why the film feels so overwhelmingly dull, especially in its first two thirds where we should be engaged. Instead, the characters feel like puppets going through motions that are very important to them and not to us. (It doesn’t help that Ronan, for all of her acting skills, can’t manage more than passable mushy French—her dialogue scenes with French actresses are particularly sobering as they emote far better around her pieces of dialogue.)  There are flashes of drama, violence and battles that should make the film more interesting but don’t. It gets slightly better toward the end as we move toward a forgone conclusion and a scene in which the two actresses finally get to share some screen time, but it’s too late to make an appreciable difference. It’s interesting to measure Mary Queen of Scots to The Favourite, the one period drama film featuring female protagonists that did get plenty of Oscar attention—Mary Queen of Scots feels like a stultified throwback to the worst historical biopics of yore rather than reinvigorate the subgenre. In the end, there’s little wonder why this eagerly anticipated film ended up in commercial near-obscurity, critical doldrums and Oscar invisibility: It’s just not terribly good, and somewhat even annoying along the way.

  • Toys (1992)

    Toys (1992)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, September 2019) Some movies are like surprise bags filled with things both cool and dull, and Toys fits squarely in this category. It’s visually sumptuous, filled with interesting actors and directed with a unique vision. Alas, it’s also juvenile when it shouldn’t, thematically wobbly and often not as witty as it thinks it is. Set in a world not quite like ours, it features a rich toymaker bequeathing his company to his military brother rather than his eccentric son. As we may expect, toy production soon takes a back seat to war machines, with the just-as-expected son fighting back. On paper, it’s not much and one of the worse aspects of the film is how it eventually becomes tiresome once the visuals become familiar. But that would be dismissing far too easily the power of those visuals, especially in the first act: For the art direction of the film (written and directed by Barry Levinson) is deliciously off-beat, inserting strange and whimsical visuals in contexts where we wouldn’t expect them. A lot of it harkens back to Magritte paintings, including an over-the-top spoof of MTV videos. The dynamo at the centre of it all is Robin Williams, in a curiously subdued performance. The supporting cast includes Joan Cusack, Robin Wright, L. L. Cool J as a hilariously overprepared military man and Jamie Foxx in his first (small) role … and Debi Mazar in a short but striking role as a libidinous nurse. Unfortunately, the result is less than its components: While the film isn’t exactly aimed at kids, it does feature a simplistic plot and an anti-war moral sense that eventually turns against itself when the heroes go to war against their opponents. There are several cute fillips in the plot, but it still comes across as a witty setting let down by a less-than-witty script. I’ll grant that the film was unusually prescient in some aspects: its discussion of swarms of “toy” war machines controlled by teenagers eerily prefigures the military drone era. But the disappointment with the rest of the script is real—it never transforms its fascinating weirdness into more than a merely satisfying narrative experience, and that’s a wasted opportunity. Still, let’s admire the audacity of the visuals, most of them achieved without CGI: I bet that a remake would look very, very different today.

  • The Favourite (2018)

    The Favourite (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) Just as I had given up on writer-director Yorgos Lanthimos after the exasperation of The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, here comes The Favourite to make me think that I may have a bit too quick to judge. Reinvigorating the historical genre through a lesbian love triangle, crude language, and fisheye lenses, this is a costume drama like few others, and it has the qualities of its flaws and vice versa. Very loosely adapted from history (in which, yes, there was a weak queen served by a close strong-willed confidante who was eventually replaced by a younger and more servile favourite—the rest is conjecture), The Favourite doesn’t play by the rules of traditional royal court dramas. Our three lead characters (all women—also something unusual) eventually become involved in a love triangle, with the two royal confidantes sparing no underhanded tricks to try to eliminate the other from the queen’s affections. The dialogues feel modern with copious use of expletives, and the visual style uses aggressively wide-angle lenses to isolate the characters in the middle of immense rooms and landscapes. It’s definitely a deliberate aesthetics, and I can’t blame anyone for not hopping aboard. Even on a script level, The Favourite is not a mild-mannered film: it’s aggressive, crude, spectacularly bitchy at times. Rachel Weisman and Emma Stone are strong as the contenders to the title of the favourite, but it’s Olivia Coleman who impresses with a deliberately imperfect character, powerful yet impotent. I was gradually charmed by the result despite being not-that-happy with many of the choices on display here. My appreciation for the film even grew two sizes larger the next day, as a comparative viewing of the near-contemporary Mary Queen of Scots made me appreciate the daring nature of The Favourite even more. Okay, Lanthimos, you’re got me interested in your next film now.

  • Climax (2018)

    Climax (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) There are two movies in Gaspar Noé’s Climax, and while one of them feels like a pale copy of his more transgressive work, the other movie is probably the happiest, most purely enjoyable thing he’s ever done. But let’s go back to the beginning: Climax begins with a few TV interviews, the full credits and then moves on to a fantastic one-take dance number featuring the film’s very large ensemble cast. (Part of it reminded me of the krumping dance documentary Rize, which turns out to have been an acknowledged influence.)  It’s an unusually joyous moment in the Noé oeuvre, and viewers are advised to cherish it because everything then predictably takes a turn for the much, much worse. But not before some more not-so-horrible moments as the twenty-some characters set a few subplots in motion: We eventually establish that we’re in an abandoned school in the middle of nowhere during the winter, with a troupe of dancers successfully practising their choreography. At the end-of-rehearsal party, members of the troupe dance, celebrate and drink some sangria that turns out to have been spiked with a heroic quantity of LSD. It takes roughly forty minutes for the LSD to kick in … and for the other movie to start. Because in Noé’s world, LSD reactions are pushed to eleven in all directions: before long, we’ve got paranoid characters beating each other up, forcing others outside in the cold, having sex, locking kids in dangerous places and generally running amok. The showcase of the film is what looks like a forty-minute-long take of pure drug-fuelled nightmare. It’s delirious … and yet disappointing. Knowing that (save for the choreographed dance sequence) the film was largely improvised by performers specializing in dance more than in acting may serve to explain the narrative disappointment of the film—while it does lead somewhere with a clear conclusion, it’s annoyingly loose in how it gets there. Compared to some other Noé film, the worse parts of Climax don’t quite reach the bad parts of his other movies, an inevitable sign that Noé has outplayed himself in shock value. Still, I’m not willing to discount Climax despite its directorial self-indulgence: As with most other Noé movies, there are many interesting moments, hard-hitting sequences, great unusual performances and clever use of music. The ever-enjoyable Sofia Boutella has a good role as one of the few trained actors in the mix, while Noé seems to pull back (even if by a tiny and almost unnoticeable degree) from his usual nihilism. As a “let’s try something new” kind of movie, it’s quite a bit of fun for viewers interested in formal experimentalism. But I can’t help but hope that some of the new things tried here could be re-used in a different and more controlled setting. Also: I’d be down for an upbeat Noé musical. Just saying.

  • Private School (1983)

    Private School (1983)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) It’s one thing to know, in the abstract, that the early 1980s were filled with cheap sexploitation comedies made in the wake of Porky’s success. It’s quite another to experience a wholly average example of the genre such as Private School, which reliably features naked breasts (never male nudity) once every 5–10 minutes. The plot is as basic at it gets for the genre: teenagers looking to lose their virginity, and the lengths to which they’ll go in order to even see naked women. I’m sure that at some point (probably when I was 13), I would have thought this was the best movie ever. Now, it feels more than vaguely puerile, with a side order of misogyny considering way the female characters are treated as nothing more than targets to be tricked or surreptitiously leered at. (The best moments of Private School occur when the female characters take back some agency, although the film is often frustratingly indecisive as to whether they’re playing along or actively being deceived.)  Phoebe Cates is the biggest name here, and as such does not have to disrobe. But even if you take aside the obnoxious premise and obvious intention to revolve around naked set-pieces, it really doesn’t help that the film is truly, exceptionally, unarguably dumb. The jokes can be seen coming minutes in advance, the characters don’t notice things that any half-wit would, Noel Black’s direction is as basic at it comes—nobody’s smart in this film, including the writers (one of them a woman). The set-pieces are familiar to the point of being exasperating in how long they’re drawn-out. It’s bad enough that it actively undermines the reason why the film exists—for all of my favourable predisposition toward female nudity, I found my patience sorely taxed by the dumb filmmaking and worse writing. Private School sounds like a good time but really isn’t—don’t make the same mistake.

  • Of Mice and Men (1939)

    Of Mice and Men (1939)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) In some ways, there’s very little to say about the 1939 adaptation of John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men—It’s a solid drama, an adaptation tailored to the big screen (in altering some plot elements for easier consumption) and an actor’s showcase as well. It’s very much like the novel you likely read in high school. One of the advantages of the film adaptation is how it depicts the migrant worker life in the 1930s, adding another layer of interest to the story of its two protagonists. Burgess Meredith has the lead role as George, but Lon Chaney Jr. has probably his finest dramatic role as the hulking Lennie. Competently shot in black-and-white and with admirable restraint when it comes to the depiction of its most violent moments, Of Mice and Men hasn’t aged all that much—it’s firmly set in the 1930s and has become a period piece along the way. It’s one more piece of evidence for 1939 as one of the finest years for cinema, and an engrossing film in its own right.

  • The Freshman (1925)

    The Freshman (1925)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) It’s sometimes amazing to watch much older movies and discover that some narrative forms are near-universal. You could, for instance, see in The Freshman a blueprint for the entire college comedy subgenre, as our hero (Harold Lloyd, playing a younger variation of his usual nebbish bespectacled character) heads to college and throws himself in a desperate quest for popularity … through football. Of course, he has no visible talent for the sport, which leads him to be retained as a joke as a water boy, and then expectedly pushed onto the field for a desperate game-winning moment. Thanks to countless imitators, it’s all very familiar even if you’ve never seen the film itself—and what is not so familiar is fascinating due to the way that college is portrayed in the early 1920s. This is a time of respectable learning institutions (although, noticeably, the film never features the inside of a classroom) being portrayed as places where social standing takes precedence: our hero buys everybody ice cream after making a fool of himself in front of a stage. The comedy is generally successful, although as an early example of a comedy of humiliation, viewers who may not enjoy cringing in sympathy may find those moments of the film limited in effectiveness. Still, Harold Lloyd is his usual likable self, and Jobyna Ralston is quite endearing as the romantic lead. The Freshman revolves around a handful of comic set-pieces, even if some of them drag on for a bit too long. Still, it’s a fun film and an easy watch compared to other silent movies of the era—the comedy and likability of the stars ensure at least a level of interest to the result. Plus, you can see where generations of later college comedies took their inspiration: there isn’t that much of a difference between The Freshman and Old School.

  • Ordinary People (1980)

    Ordinary People (1980)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Kanopy Streaming, September 2019) I approached Ordinary People reluctantly for several reasons: Historically, I suppose I still have a grudge about it winning the Best Picture Oscar over Raging Bull. But then there’s the subject matter, taking a long look at a typical American family coming unglued after the death of the eldest son—grieving over a child’s death is high on my list of unbearable topics at the moment, and that’s only adding to the dreadful prospect of a two-hour-plus mimetic drama (adapted from a mainstream novel) that succeeded in its Oscar-baiting ambitions. But even with this baggage, I have to admit that Ordinary People worked better than I expected—I still don’t love it, but I did develop a grudging respect for it throughout its lengthy duration. It does a few things far better than expected: for one thing, it picks up months after the funeral of the family’s eldest son, sparing us many of the expected clichés about the immediate days after the death. For another, Ordinary People features one of the best and most likable cinematic portraits I can recall of the therapy process, featuring a clever but empathetic psychotherapist (Judd Hirsch, in a career-best role) helping the teenage protagonist work his way through the grieving process. Timothy Hutton is the star of the film, but Donald Sutherland is a good supporting player as a father who gets to grow out of his wife’s influence, while Mary Tyler Moore is cast against type as a sociopathic wife who acts as the film’s villain. It’s interesting mixture of elements, and one that still feels unusually against the grain of such family dramas even forty years later. Robert Redford’s direction isn’t flashy (visually, the film is … fine), but it gets the message across with a great deal of restraint and subtlety. I still think that the film is too long, occasionally very predictable (yes, like we couldn’t see that suicide coming…), unevenly interesting and perhaps lacking a further handful of hard-hitting scenes, but I still found it quite a bit better than expected. Ordinary People does remain in the lower tier of Oscar-Winning Pictures, though—there’s a limit to how pleasantly surprised I can be in this case.

  • The Three Musketeers (1921)

    The Three Musketeers (1921)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) The nice thing about Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers is that it’s a well-known novel with a lot of material in it, and plenty of opportunities to shape it to become the film you want it to be. Whether you want swashbuckling, imposing acting performances, action sequences or historical recreations, it’s an evergreen classic. This early silent-cinema version of The Three Musketeers featuring Douglas Fairbanks hews more or less closely to the text (with many simplifications, some of them similar to what later films would do), but doesn’t feature nearly as many swordfights than you’d expect. Which may be for the better, as the art of combat cinematography hadn’t been perfected at that point—what fights are included do look wild and chaotic, swords flying everywhere in a way that makes no sense either in sword-fighting or movie spectacle. (But then there are reports that the actors disregarded their fencing choreography and simply went wild.)  In any case, this version of The Three Musketeers may disappoint from a contemporary point of view: while not terribly long by silent film standards, there’s a lot of plot and characters in here that will tax even patient viewers. I much prefer Fairbanks’ own The Mask of Zorro from a year earlier, but The Three Musketeers was the actor’s passion project—he even kept the character’s mustache for the rest of his life. It’s a fair piece of history that anticipates action filmmaking, but it’s not exactly wall-to-wall fun viewing.

  • Wait Until Dark (1967)

    Wait Until Dark (1967)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) There is a pleasantly modern sheen to the opening sequence of Wait Until Dark, pleasantly set in Montréal (all the way to a trip to the then-Dorval airport!) until the film lands in a New York City brownstone, where we first meet three criminals plotting to recover a drug shipment, and a blind woman played by none other than Audrey Hepburn. The theatrical origins of the script are more readily apparent though the setting largely confined to a single location, a below-ground apartment that turns from cozy to terrifying when the attackers strike. Hepburn is reliably great here—In a small triumph of casting, she here plays in her sole thriller movie and transfers audience sympathies intact as she comes under ever-increasing attack. But the film’s standout role belongs to Alan Arkin, who transforms a small part into a mischievous, clever, and utterly diabolic character. After an intriguing and unconventional beginning, the middle section of the film bogs down in what feels like too many repetitions and useless plotting. But the last ten minutes of the film are a masterpiece, as all of the pieces of the plot are finally assembled in time for a few minutes of maximum suspense. That final sequence does much to leave viewers happy with the result—it helps that the film feels a bit more modern than many other 1960s suspense films.

  • Dance of the Vampires aka The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967)

    Dance of the Vampires aka The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) What a dud. I watched Dance of the Vampires semi-reluctantly. It was on a list of films I had to see (I don’t control the list; the list controls me) and I went in as reluctantly as I do with other Roman Polanski films. It’s hard to ignore the writer-director’s 1973 actions in confronting his filmography, and I’ve noticed that my favourite Polanski movies (which aren’t the ones you’d expect) work in spite of him rather than because of him. Dance of the Vampires further invites discomfort because it features Sharon Tate as a damsel to be rescued from a murderous cult (or vampires, but still) by none other than Polanski himself playing an apprentice vampire hunter. But even if you completely disregard the whole matter of Tate’s murder and Polanski’s flight from justice for rape, Dance of the Vampires is a hard film to like. Billed as a comedy, it now feels tedious and unremarkable. Part of the problem, I suspect, is that there have been many movies satirizing vampire films over the decades (even for kids!) and even the latest vampire films often have touches of humour far funnier than anything here. Seen today, Dance of the Vampires isn’t nearly as fresh as it must have felt back then. It’s also frankly dull—the comic devices are tired, the jokes are lame and the ending is a downer. As a result, it’s a comedy without laughs and a vampire film without thrills. It felt interminable and too easily satisfied with weak jokes. Some movies have survived well through the decades, but Dance of the Vampires isn’t one of them. Made redundant and repugnant by later life events and later movies, I can’t bring myself to recommend it except to dedicated film history students.

  • The Commuter (2018)

    The Commuter (2018)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Netflix Streaming, September 2019) The first thing that comes to mind while analyzing The Commuter is the brazenness with which both lead actors Liam Neeson and director Jaume Collet-Serra boldly recycle the bare bones of one of their previous collaborations. As with the earlier Non-Stop, here we have a disgraced cop being manipulated in finding an unknown person aboard a closed transportation vehicle. It was a plane in the first film, it’s a commuter train heading out of Manhattan in The Commuter. This being the latest in a surprisingly long-running series of action movies starring Neeson, we already know the broad outlines of the plot. Of course, this is all a big conspiracy. Of course, he’s being framed. Of course, it’s going to go from one suspense set-piece to another. Of course, we’re going to stay on the train until the bitter end. Still, even with this heavy set of baggage and expectations, I ended up enjoying The Commuter far more than I thought I would. A little bit of this is due to (still) liking Neeson as an actor. A little bit is due to being sympathetic to Collet-Serra’s directorial style (although he’s noticeably less ambitious and/or crazy in his choices here). More than a little bit of it is due to my unexplainable fascination for the Manhattan commuter lifestyle (I blame Mad Men). And most of it is due to my own fondness for high-concept action thrillers, of which The Commuter definitely is. The film has fun playing with red herrings, audience expectations and a fairly large cast of characters. I can’t say that there are major surprises here despite the red herrings—for all of the minor plot twists and the spectacular crash at the end of the second act rather than the end of the film, we know that you don’t simply use actors such as Sam Neill and Patrick Wilson in small roles without bringing them back in a significant capacity at the end. Still, it’s well-handled, effective when it needs to be, and it feels as if it systematically exhausts all of the dramatic possibilities of its setting—a very favourable thing in my own playbook. Despite reaching retirement age, Neeson is absolutely rock-solid in the lead and that does help the film gain a credibility that it would have struggled to reach with another actor in the lead. While the result isn’t earth-shattering, The Commuter does work as an exemplary thriller and that’s quite enough.

  • A Farewell to Arms (1932)

    A Farewell to Arms (1932)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) Despite the technical refinements and permissive storytelling possibilities of today’s cinema, there’s something to be said about the classic Hollywood style of the 1930s. At times overwrought, earnest, melodramatic and shamelessly manipulative, it’s still a style that has weathered the decades remarkably well. You can look at A Farewell to Arms in many ways—as a contemporary adaptation of an autobiographical Ernest Hemingway classic piece of literature, as a showcase for Gary Cooper and Helen Hayes, as an archetypical wartime romantic drama. It’s all of these things, bolstered by capable leads supported by a well-oiled Hollywood machine even in the early 1930s. But the image I keep of A Farewell to Arms is the final shot, as a scene of unparalleled tragedy (the heroine dies after a stillborn child, just as the armistice is declared) is completely transformed into a triumphant, angelic moment: Our hero boldly lifting the body of his dead wife, choir music booming and the camera looking up as he carries her away. It’s pure classic Hollywood, manipulating us in not feeling too bad despite the heartbreaking facts of the moment. It’s quite an achievement, and it ends up taking a lot of the sting out of what could have been a miserable experience. No wonder that Hemingway hated it. But don’t worry—the book is still on the shelves, intact. Whereas the film itself has swept along generations of viewers.

  • The Gypsy Moths (1969)

    The Gypsy Moths (1969)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, September 2019) Looking at director John Frankenheimer’s filmography and The Gypsy Moths’ production year, it’s hard to avoid thinking that it’s his attempt to come to grip with the New Hollywood that was beginning in earnest at the time. It takes a potentially white-knuckle topic (skydiving, at the time something so novel that you could charge admission for such shows) and ends up wrapping it in small-town existentialism, as the quiet lives of the locals are contrasted with the devil-may-care attitude of the nomadic protagonists. It’s not hard to see the clash of culture between the two Hollywoods here, especially when it features a pair of Classic Hollywood icons (Burt Lancaster as an aging daredevil, and Deborah Kerr in one of her last performances) playing off a pair of actors who would later become far better known (Gene Hackman, quite compelling; and Bonnie Bedelia whom most will recognize from performances twenty years later in Die Hard and Presumed Innocent). As an illustration of a pivotal time in American movies, it’s not uninteresting. As a straight-up drama, however, it does have problems: The skydiving sequences are compressed at the end of the film, the climactic sequence arguably comes twenty minutes before the end, the small-town drama takes forever to get to a point and can’t quite manage to become effective. Compared to other films of the period, it fails to engage fully with the social changes that were sweeping America, despite half-hearted nude sequences and adultery. Compared with three of the other four Lancaster/Frankenheimer collaborations, The Gypsy Moths feels limp and meandering for most of its duration, only becoming alive when shooting the skydiving sequences. Said sequences are still interesting, but they’ve been duplicated so often (in everything from Moonraker to both Point Break films) that they’ve lost their impact—not to mention the rise of skydiving as a recreational sport. The film’s most flawed aspect comes at the very end, when what should have been a climactic moment merely leads to an extended epilogue that doesn’t go anywhere that a better ending would have achieved in thirty seconds. Historical accounts of the film suggest that studio meddling may have been responsible for the film’s refusal to fully engage with its uncensored themes (and that’s probably true—not everyone knew what to make of the post-Hays-Code artistic freedom) but there’s a limit to the amount of interference in a project with a lopsided structure. The Gypsy Moths does amount to an interesting curio if you’re going for a complete Frankenheimer filmography (especially since he considered it one of his favourites) or an illustration of late-1960s changes in movie history, but overall, it’s a bit of a disappointment.