Reviews

  • In Which We Serve (1942)

    In Which We Serve (1942)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) If ever you’re tired of American WW2 propaganda movies, why not try a British WW2 propaganda movie? In Which We Serve has the distinction of being largely shaped by well-known playwright Noel Coward, his fingerprints being present on the entire film considering that he served as writer, co-director (handing the baton to David Lean in his first feature film credit as such), producer, star (as the captain of the ship it follows), and co-composer. Whew. The plot here is didactic in its intention to follow the life of a ship from the initial riveting to a gripping battle sequence that eventually leads to the sinking of the ship. The episodic plot alternates between life aboard the ship and home life for the characters. Thanks to playwright Coward being in control, the dialogue is much better than usual for a war film. While clearly propagandist in the British still-upper-lip style, In Which We Serve is generally interesting and has a great shipboard atmosphere. (Your assignment: compare and contrast with American WW2 propaganda films.)

  • The Story of Louis Pasteur (1936)

    The Story of Louis Pasteur (1936)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) The 1930s were a high-water mark for ham-fisted heroic biographies, and Paul Muni starred in many of them. Accordingly, The Story of Louis Pasteur is not subtle at all yet effective at what it does, and reasonably OK (but absolutely not perfect!) on the scientific details. Still, the reason to watch is Muni in an Oscar-winning role, at the start of a string of biographical movies – leading to the somewhat better The Life of Emile Zola. I found it quite pleasant to watch in its triumph of the scientific process kind of way. Of note: an unusual use of (at least two) narrative fake outs. While there are better biographies dating from the 1930s, I found The Story of Louis Pasteur uplifting and inspiring—including how it passes the baton to others later on.

  • Bull Durham (1988)

    Bull Durham (1988)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) While baseball is integral to Bull Durham, this is not a film in which the entire plot depends on a make-or-break play coming at the very end of the film. It’s more of a baseball-adjacent romantic comedy where the sport plays a load-bearing role, but the real action is elsewhere—in this case, a romantic triangle between a young hopeful (Tim Robbins), a grizzled veteran (Kevin Costner) and a middle-aged woman (Susan Sarandon) who picks one hopeful per year for romance and education. Because of this unusual out-of-focus role for the sport in this romantic comedy, there are a lot of things to like about Bull Durham—the focus on a less-than-stellar league and team, the interesting three-way relationship between the three leads, one of Costner’s best performances, and some telling small-town details. (And let’s not forget that Sarandon is scorching hot here.) Writer-director Ron Shelton drew upon his own experience as a minor-league baseball player in putting together the film and that familiarity shows in many subtle details that make the film even richer. But, more than anything else, Bull Durham is a romantic comedy that both plays with the form and upholds it in the end. It’s not hard to like, even if you’re not a baseball fan.

  • Tom, Dick and Harry (1941)

    Tom, Dick and Harry (1941)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) There was a clear risk that Tom, Dick and Harry’s familiar premise (a young woman must choose between three different suitors) would have produced a very familiar romantic comedy, but the Oscar-nominated script goes a few extra steps to ensure that the film would be something better than the average. For one thing, it’s far more visually imaginative than other similar movies of the time, from an interesting opening credit sequence that plays with anagrams to extended daydream sequences in which our heroine imagines visions of her future life with her suitors in a dollhouse. Ginger Rogers, who won an Oscar for Kitty Foyle during the shooting of this film, seems to enjoy a purely comic role and looks good with a great hairdo. Some good dialogue underpins a familiar tale, albeit one that goes to the wire before delivering a conclusion. I do have issues with that ending—not so much how it ends as the way it goes about it in a way that could have been more graceful and hopeful. Still, some of the film’s period details can please and surprise: while the newsreel mention of Hitler is a bit wild for a romantic comedy, the film does provide an interesting depiction of the life of a telephone operator—and even throws in a fun split screen to depict a three-way phone conversation. But all of that pales in comparison to the examination of social mores at the time—Tom, Dick and Harry is not just about having the richest guy throw himself at the heroine, but her making a choice about which one is the most appropriate.

  • Dolor y gloria [Pain and Glory] (2019)

    Dolor y gloria [Pain and Glory] (2019)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) I don’t necessarily love all of writer-director Pedro Almodovar’s movies, but I’m certainly interested in what he has to say, film after film, and Dolor y gloria is more autobiographical than most. Antonio Banderas plays an Almodovar alter ego, an aging film director lost in nostalgic recollection as he tries to put his life back together, while Penelope Cruz plays the somewhat thankless role of the director’s mother in flashbacks. I’m not quite up to knowing enough about Almodóvar’s life to fully appreciate the material (let alone identify with an acclaimed gay Spanish film director), but Banderas is quite good as the kind of grouchy guy who’s given up on giving a damn about his own life. The ending is quite moving in how it brings the framing device together with the rest of the story. I may never quite get Almodovar to its fullest extent, but as long as he keeps doing films like Dolor y gloria I will be there to take a look.

  • Coffy (1973)

    Coffy (1973)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) While Coffy wasn’t Pam Grier’s first starring role, it was the one that established the tough-woman screen persona that would make her an icon. Under a perfect afro of many dangerous secrets, she delivers a character that’s both an avenging angel, capable and sexy, but also one with moments of weakness and vulnerability unlike other female-avenger roles. This film is close to the Blaxploitation ideal for several reasons—the early-1970s style, the over-the-top nature of its sequences, the go-for-broke sadistic villainy of the antagonist (dragging someone behind a speeding car—yes, there’s a strong racial component to that), the dramatic-bordering-on-exploitative way the film is built, and so on. It’s not quite perfect: in keeping with Blaxploitation tone and genre, it’s often surprisingly violent and the nudity in catfights gets to be intrusive after a while. But, throughout the film, we keep going back to Grier, perfect in a role that matches sexiness and toughness, with agency and credible fight scenes despite the awkwardness of early-1970s low-budget staging. Various elements, like the anti-drug message, a female protagonist and Grier herself, have made Coffy age much better than many of its contemporaries. There’s something wonderful in how Grier is, through retrospectives of the films of her first heyday, now seducing entirely new legions of fans and is likely to keep doing so well into the future.

  • Pillow Talk (1959)

    Pillow Talk (1959)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) Doris Day may now be known better for her late-career chaste and demure roles, but she was a feminist icon in many of her earlier movies—independent, feisty, with a good job, and not willing to compromise on her choices of romantic partners. Pillow Talk is somewhere between those poles, but closer to the female-empowerment side. Naughty then but almost wholesome now, it’s the story of a Manhattan career girl who falls in love with a fellow user of a telephone party line—an early precursor to the gentle sex comedies of the early 1960s. (If you liked Mad Men, there’s a bit of this in here.) The technological limitations of a party line clearly date this, but the Oscar-winning script remains compelling, with plenty of well-used voiceovers reinforcing the comedy of the plot. Pillow Talk’s biggest assets remain its lead actors, with Doris Day and Rock Hudson sharing the screen for the first of three times (you’ll understand why the fuss after watching the film), and supported by notables such as Thelma Ritter (nominated for an Academy Award) and Tony Randall in a very Tony Randallish role. Perry Blackwell is also a bit of a highlight as a sassy lounge singer. Pillow Talk also works well as a glorious Eastmancolor time capsule through comfortable-class late-1950s Manhattan apartments, with three-way split screens to further enliven things. There’s some uncomfortable irony in having Hudson’s character insinuate (with malice) that someone else is gay. Other than this slip-up, Pillow Talk is quite entertaining and its familiarity with various tropes certainly helps spruce things up. Meanwhile, Day gets a bit of a glow-up over previous roles and makes it work to her advantage.

  • Ms .45 (1981)

    Ms .45 (1981)

    (In French, On Cable TV, May 2020) At first glance, Ms. 45 does look a lot like an exploitation film. How else would you call a film in which a young woman is raped twice in the same day, then turns to violent vengeance against arbitrarily picked men? And yet, and yet—this is a film from iconoclast director Abel Ferrara and while it does play by the extreme codes of 1970s-style exploitation thrillers, it’s also trying to say something about the nature of vigilante films. Our heroine is not righteous; she’s insane. The murders turn less and less justifiable with time. People around her notice something is up. It doesn’t end well for her. I wouldn’t necessarily call Ms. 45 an exploitation film critique (by the end of it, we’re thickly back into lurid exploitation) but it is a commentary. Ferrara certainly knows what he’s doing in transforming 17-year-old Zoe Tamerlis from mute seamstress to avenging angel and then, thanks to a Halloween party, a sexy nun gunning down every man in sight. Despite the violence, it ends up being better than expected, and easier to watch than some of the films it takes inspiration from, such as Death Wish. It has a distinctive style, and at 80 minutes is just long enough for it to make its point and leave. I wasn’t expecting to like Ms. 45 and you can argue that I still don’t, but at least I respect it more than many similar films.

  • Pride and Prejudice, Cut aka Becoming Ms. Bennet: Pride & Prejudice (2010)

    Pride and Prejudice, Cut aka Becoming Ms. Bennet: Pride & Prejudice (2010)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) I wasn’t expecting much from made-for-TV movie Pride and Prejudice, Cut: it’s a modestly budgeted romantic comedy with little-known actors, deliberately silly plot developments, an audience-baiting affection for Jane Austen, and a tone that speaks either to young women or their moms. This being said, it is very cute and likable: pushing the whole “hiring actresses because of their number of social media followers” thing, it follows an American vlogging influencer after she’s picked to play Elizabeth Bennet in a new adaptation of Pride & Prejudice. Except that she can’t get the English accent right; except that her co-star doesn’t respect her as an actress; except that, at the first sign of trouble, she ends up criticizing the production and gets chastised for it. (What did she expect? Oh, right: made-for-TV contrived plotting.) At least the film is on firmer footing when introducing the expected metafictional mirroring of Austen’s narrative onto the modern-day moviemaking plot. There have been many “frothy rom-com redoing Austen in modern times” movies, and if you want to be picky about it, then Austenland did it better. But this is a subgenre based on familiarity, not novelty and what ends up on-screen in Pride and Prejudice, Cut is good enough for a few smiles and satisfy the viewers’ romantic expectations.

  • Killers Anonymous (2019)

    Killers Anonymous (2019)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) The failure state of an assassin movie is that, in the end, it’s still a movie about people killing people. You can try to dress it up as righteous killings, or slather it in dark comedy, or try to show the personal toll it takes, but in the end… still people killing people. And yet Killers Anonymous, in its ineptness, manages to become so thoroughly repugnant that it almost creates a new category of failure of its own. Everything starts with writer-director Martin Owen, apparently so enamoured of killers as characters that he has them sit down in a support group. Except that it’s not so much a group to help them stop killing as to encourage them to do so. Further twists quickly pile up in a bewildering fashion, taking us to spy thriller territory and then back. So many tropes are piled up on top of each other that the entire thing collapses in a pile of nonsense. But it gets worse, as all of Killers Anonymous is handled with such a pervasive sense of amorality (killers: so cool right now!) that the viewer is liable to feel completely detached from all of it. It certainly doesn’t help that the characters are so abrasive, unlikable, unrelatable and not much worth caring for—the only character for whom I had some sympathy was MyAnna Buring’s Jo, and I strongly suspect that too much of this had to do with her looking cute in a bob haircut and round glasses. The film is so audience-unfriendly that by the time a character is unceremoniously brought into the story by a series of long shots and the audience is asked to care whether she dies or not, we’re done playing along. The directorial flourishes feel more annoying than effective, reflecting my overall mood about the film. Here’s something worth keeping in mind: There have been at least two recent films (Hotel Artemis and Bad Times at the El Royale) with similar stylish presentation of several killers in an isolated place, and both of them were easily better than Killers Anonymous. See it if you don’t believe me, but you will regret it.

  • Joker (2019)

    Joker (2019)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) Even a few days after watching Joker, I’m still not sure about what I think of it. There were times where I thought it was a 1970s cosplay; others when I was seriously wondering why it was even related to the Batman universe; yet others when I was ready to dismiss the film as playing awkwardly with elements it didn’t know what to do with. But then there were other moments where I appreciated what it was trying to do. The links with the Batman mythos became more interesting late in the film, and the recreation of the period atmosphere was rather well-done. There’s an interesting provocative intent here in tracking how a mental illness can become a wider social movement, although I think that the film ultimately fumbles the ball in this area. Joaquin Phoenix does turn in an impressive performance, grimy and off-putting. Saying that the film is inspired by Scorsese isn’t much of a recommendation given how I don’t exactly worship either Taxi Driver or The King of Comedy. But it does give Robert de Niro one of his most interesting roles since, what, Silver Linings Playbook? Zazie Beetz is also in the film, although the nature of her character is a bit predictable and weakens the film. As an elseworld story from the Batman mythos, it does an admirable job of bringing the universe into a more realistic appearance, although I’m left wondering if Joker would have been free to do something even more daring had it been wholly original—I’m thinking specifically about how the film abruptly seems to pull its punches after scenes of social unrest that could and should have been pushed to their logical conclusion. But that point may be moot, considering that there’s no way that a 1970s study in mental illness would have received a budget so large had it not been tied to one of the most successful superhero franchises of all time. What we’re left with, then, is bits and pieces of a great movie, some iconic imagery (which isn’t all that easy in a media-saturated universe) and great performances. But there are just as many bits of pieces holding the film back: a refusal to go to the end of its ideas, excessive violence and fuzziness about what it’s about. In other words, I don’t have an easy and pat opinion or rating about Joker: it’s still all over the place for me, and it may take some time before I grow comfortable with it… if I ever do.

  • Come to Daddy (2019)

    Come to Daddy (2019)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) Black comedy thrillers are always a gamble—fall on the right side of the audience’s expectations, and they’ll love you for life. Fall on the bad side and, well, audiences won’t be happy just not caring about a film—they will take pleasure in hating it. Come to Daddy did not fall on my right side. The biggest problem comes early—I disliked the protagonist on sight, and hated him even more over time. There’s nothing wrong with Elijah Wood’s performance in the lead role here—it’s just that his character is written to be pathetic, and made up to look like an insufferable hipster. But protagonist sympathy is key in a thriller—if the audience isn’t on their side, then nothing else matters. As Come to Daddy’s twists and turns accumulate, they increasingly look like meaningless fillips: For an exploitation movie built on surprises and shocking violence, it all becomes empty nonsense. I’m pretty sure that with another character (or maybe just a different haircut), I would have liked Come to Daddy a lot more. But right now? No way.

  • Harpoon (2019)

    Harpoon (2019)

    (On Cable TV, May 2020) Lean, mean and single-mindedly built for thrills, the nasty little comic dark thriller Harpoon does a lot with little. For most of its 82 minutes, it focuses on the drama-rich premise of three friends going at each other (verbally, emotionally, physically) on a small broken-down boat in the ocean far away from everything else. The three already being on bad terms before the film even begins, it just keeps getting worse throughout the film. An omniscient narrator guides us through the twists and turns and reversals of fates and a mean (but well-deserved) sting at the end. If nothing else, writer-director Rob Grant is clearly aware of the kind of dark-humour horror film he’s making, and seldom misses an opportunity to twist the knife. It’s a type of approach that won’t work equally well for everyone, though—while Harpoon is ghoulishly entertaining, viewers shouldn’t be surprised at how much they hate all three characters by the time it ends.

  • My Sassy Girl (2008)

    My Sassy Girl (2008)

    (In French, On TV, May 2020) Surprisingly enough, I had seen the original South Korean version of My Sassy Girl before seeing the American remake. But fear not, fans of the original: there are plenty of things to say about the New York City-based one without getting into comparisons with the Seoul-based one. As it turns out… it’s not a very good romantic comedy. Boy meets unstable girl, girl puts boy through incredible hardship, girl leaves boy, boy mourns for a year, explanations are given, girl comes back, a happy ending. Not particularly flavourful, it’s both melodramatic and not melodramatic enough, and almost instantly forgettable except for the truly awful bit. And that awful bit is that despite acknowledging the troublesome aspects of dating a toxic personality, the film still pretends that it’s romantic. Never mind the gratuitous abuse, physical violence, unpredictable personality, sabotage of personal goals and abrupt ghosting—this is all supposed to be truuue looove and destiny. Yeah. Note to self—run away if this DVD is on the shelves of any potential romantic partner, or at least ask for an explanation. Otherwise, eh—Director Yann Samuell shows some ambition, but sometimes comes across as trying too hard. Meanwhile, both lead actors (Elisah Cuthbert and Jesse Bradford) have seen their own personal star power dim considerably in the past twelve years—I’m not saying that the film is at fault, but I will point out that this makes it less and less likely for any new fan of theirs to seek out the film. So it is that there’s a fair chance that My Sassy Girl, US remix, will be quite thoroughly forgotten in the next few years if it’s not already. Which is just as well, considering the warped perspective it has to offer on romantic relationships.

  • Jindua [My love] (2017)

    Jindua [My love] (2017)

    (On TV, May 2020) Indian romance Jindua landed on my DVR because I was intrigued by the TV Guide logline talking about an Indian film taking place in Calgary. The result doesn’t disappoint in that regard—the very first shot of the actual film is a Canadian maple leaf, and the first scene takes place at a citizenship ceremony. As the film flashbacks, we understand that the film is a romantic triangle in which an illegal Indian immigrant in Canada is offered a choice: marry an aspiring rock star and get citizenship, or get departed back to India to be with his true girlfriend. He doesn’t make the right choice, and much of the film’s second half is spent trying to untangle the results. It’s all quite likable and heartwarming, but the reason why Canadians may want to take a look at this film is how it treats the national myth of immigration from the other side, filled with doubts and tough choices. As a binational film about binational characters, it has a complex relationship with citizenship—The film’s centrepiece sequence, as far as I’m concerned, takes place at a Canadian citizenship ceremony, and it doesn’t go anything like Canadian proponents of immigration would like it to go… but the character finally makes the right choice. (And I’d support him—only become Canadian if you really want to be Canadian.) Otherwise, well, it’s really cool to see a Bollywood romantic comedy play over very Canadian backdrops, from the suburbs of Calgary to the Albertan national parks. Navaniat Singh shows some directorial flair here even when the film is being as melodramatic as possible, and the use of drones as a cinematographic tool works well. Jimmy Sheirgill is pretty good in the lead role, but I, as could be expected, only had eyes for the superb Neeru Bajwa and Sargun Mehta at the other ends of that romantic triangle. I’m not saying it’s a great film—it’s weird to see a full music video (Jinhua = “oh my love”) shoved awkwardly in the opening minutes, complete with on-screen credits listing who has worked on the music video. I’m also not that happy with the ending, even if I recognize that this is an Indian rather than a Canadian film, and the plot pretty much painted itself in a corner by that time, with only one easy (and nationalistic) way out. Still, this reverse look at Canadian immigration is provocative, and not necessarily opposed to Canada—immigration is a choice, and not always the right one.