Reviews

  • The Party (1968)

    The Party (1968)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) Is it possible that the more I see of Peter Sellers, the more I find him annoying? The Party does him no favour, with director Blake Edwards letting him go wild with improvisation, and showboat in brownface with an Indian accent. The plot is paper-thin, and really an excuse to let Sellers run set-pieces into the ground through repetition and predictable execution. His character, a bumbling Indian actor, is designed to be as irritating as possible and it’s not an accident if the film improves the further away it moves from him. He is, of course, immensely destructive, with a climax of bubbling proportions. If you’re getting the feeling that I didn’t like The Party all that much, you’d be half-right—I couldn’t stand Sellers most of the time, but even I have to admit that there’s something magnificent in the film’s fantastic set, its ability to avoid relying on dialogue, and the sheer anarchy of the last twenty minutes. Still, The Party should have been a far more disciplined film, a less stereotypical one, and it would have been better with someone else in the lead role.

  • The Goodbye Girl (1977)

    The Goodbye Girl (1977)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) A guy, a girl, and an apartment—what more do you need for a comic drama? If you’re playwright Neil Simon, not much more—and so The Goodbye Girl becomes a comedy about mismatched roommates, an examination of struggling actors, and a triangular drama about two adults and a young girl. Given that Simon is scripting the film (with direction provided by Herbert Ross), it’s clear that it’s a joy to listen to. Richard Dreyfuss and Marsha Mason do quite well with the material they’re given with specific highlights when they’re tearing into each other in a most loquacious fashion. (Dreyfuss would win an Oscar for his performance—with the film getting further Academy Awards nominations for best picture, its two other lead actresses, and Simon himself.) Compared to other Simon works, the mismatched roommate conceit in reminiscent of The Odd Couple, but the growing romantic attraction does add another dimension to the result. Dreyfuss couldn’t be better as the occasionally neurotic actor, his performance driving much of the charm of this romantic comedy. The look at the lives of struggling Manhattan-based actors isn’t unique, but it still works really well. The Goodbye Girl is not a hugely ambitious film, nor does it head anywhere unexpected. But it’s well executed in its chosen genre, and it’s very pleasant to watch.

  • The Human Comedy (1943)

    The Human Comedy (1943)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) As much as I don’t like saying it, there is something frankly awe-inspiring in the propaganda efforts led by Hollywood during World War II. Scarcely any single branch of the US military wasn’t covered by some sort of heroic film, and Hollywood took care to address the home-front as well, boosting morale and preparing the population for the sacrifices of war. The Human Comedy is an exemplary take on inward-directed propaganda, taking a look at a small California town as it experiences the war from afar … except for the young men who have left and may never come back. “Teenaged” Mickey Rooney stars in this paean to salt-of-the-Earth America as a telegraph messenger whose job becomes to relay news of deaths to unprepared families. There’s some sports, romance, drama and comedy to make this film more than just a propaganda effort. It does eventually become a meditative slice-of-life narrative of quasi-anthropological interest—and narrated by a dead character. I found it strangely reminiscent to that other existential small-town drama Our Town. This being said, it remains a propaganda film, and the overall message that “sacrifices must be made for the good of the nation” is hard to ignore throughout. The wartime material hasn’t aged as gracefully as what surrounds it: the poignant episodes involving the ensemble cast, the last few antagonists, the generous outlook on life. Rooney is quite good on a purely dramatic acting level (as opposed to other films where he plays the matinee idol) and that helps a lot in further grounding The Human Comedy as something more than a wartime message.

  • Fyre Festival (2019)

    Fyre Festival (2019)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) Canadians who had abandoned hope of every seeing Hulu’s Fyre Festival got unexpected help in spring 2019 from Super Channel, which secured Canadian distribution rights to the documentary offering another perspective than Netflix’s near-simultaneous Fyre. Much has been said about the ethical shortcomings of both documentaries—while the Netflix documentary was co-produced by the Jerry Media company behind the festival’s promotion (and its social media criticism suppression), this Hulu doc actually paid convicted fraudster Billy McFarland for interview footage. As one can expect, this Hulu production has harsher words about the social-media promotion of Fyre, and some largely useless footage of the main instigator. The angle is slightly different, and to its credit Fyre Festival offers more detail on the social-media aspect of the fraud, and on the complex web of scams that followed McFarland throughout his career. On the other hand, there are other things about Fyre Festival that are just annoying: its insistence on treating millennials as some sort of mystical generation is fit to launch my usual generations-aren’t-so-different rant, whereas the visual style of the film is huge on impressionistic visuals thrown nilly-willy in the narration. The Netflix documentary offered a more structured narrative, more striking moments, and a far better depiction of the increasingly disastrous project planning. It’s fascinating to see two interesting documentaries emerge from the same event—but then again disaster is always interesting. Some influencers come across very badly here, but Billy McFarland comes across as even worse, with evasive glances and lengthy pauses perhaps enhanced through editing but unmistakably portrayed as duplicitous in his answers. Despite the annoyances, Fyre Festival is also worth a look, even if you’re up to speed with the topic. At its best, it doesn’t forget to tie up the Fyre fraud with other signs of the time—The Soho grifter, Theranos’ Elizabeth Holmes and, of course, the current occupant of the White House himself. How badly have we erred to end up at a time when reality itself is subservient to hype and fraud?

  • Mame (1974)

    Mame (1974)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) Seeing the musical remake Mame only two weeks after seeing the original comedy Auntie Mame was clearly not at the 1974 film’s advantage. While the bones of the story have been transported, simplified, heightened, and set to song and dance, the result is far from being as satisfying as even the uneven original, and bring further credence to my assertion that nearly every musical made in the 1970s was terrible. I’ll admit that the story is a difficult one to tell—episodic, scattered across several years, not quite comic throughout—it challenges even the original film. But this adaptation makes it worse. Generations of reviewers have noted how much Lucille Ball is miscast here (critics were so scathing in their initial assessment that it was the last theatrical film that Ball ever made) so I’m not going to pile up. On the other hand, it’s always fun to see Robert Preston show up even in a momentary supporting role. Elsewhere, well, the comedy isn’t funny, the musical numbers feel laborious and the result is more puzzling than exhilarating. I’d like to say that my impressions of Mame would have been higher if I hadn’t just seen Auntie Mame, but I suspect that’s not true—even after acknowledging that it’s a lesser film, it’s obvious that it’s not much of a good one no matter if compared or not.

  • Captains Courageous (1937)

    Captains Courageous (1937)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) It’s amazing to see what earlier era considered perfectly acceptable entertainment for kids. 1937’s Captain Courageous, for instance, adapted an 1897 Rudyard Kipling novel and refashioned it as a coming-of-age story for a spoiled rich boy swept overboard and rescued by fishermen, who teach him much about fishing and life. Considering that it’s a story that includes the gruesome death of a main character by sagittal bisection, well, I’m not going to begrudge the current crop of kids’ films. Still, the result can be surprisingly enjoyable. Freddie Bartholomew turns in a good performance as the boy, with an endearing turn by curly-haired Spencer Tracy, and supporting roles for both Lionel Barrymore and Mickey Rooney. Tracy has the best role here, as a loquacious Portuguese fisherman who helps the initially detestable boy protagonist become a better person. One thing that holds up surprisingly well is the depiction of fishermen working the Grand Banks of Newfoundland—the footage of real fishermen at sea (in sailboats!) is a terrific time capsule, and the integration of water-tank footage with rear-projection special effects is often better than you’d expect. Despite a drawn-out ending, Captain Courageous does wrap up in a satisfying fashion, capping off a film that still works well today, albeit to an older audience.

  • Summer Lovers (1982)

    Summer Lovers (1982)

    (In French, On TV, April 2019) You can sometimes tell a lot about a film by looking at when and where it’s broadcast. I didn’t know Summer Lovers at all, but it was being broadcast in the same weekly time-slot that the French-Canadian TV channel had used for other steamy movies such as 9 ½ weeks and Last Tango in Paris, so… I knew what to expect, and the film delivered. A sometimes-awkward blend of naughty sex comedy and serious character drama, the film follows the adventures of a disgustingly rich, young, and good-looking American couple as they travel to a Greek island for the summer, and then gradually get caught up in a ménage à trois with a French archeologist. It’s meant to be something of a carefree escapist romp with just enough character drama to make it respectable, but it all falls apart along the way. (Of course, I’m old and grumpy enough to think that the only appeal of a ménage à trois is having one more person to do housework.) The film does feel very much like a male-gaze dominated fantasy: despite a few more serious moments examining the realities of such an arrangement, writer-director Randal Kleiser spends far too much time photographing nude bodies and staging erotic set-pieces to claim otherwise. What’s more, the ending merely kicks the dramatic can past the end credits in order not to commit to anything. Daryl Hannah stars in an early role (as the wife), and the feeling of being in a Greek vacation (complete with an intriguing glimpse at an early-1980s archeological dig) is bolstered with a pop soundtrack (“I’M SO EXCITED!”) that clearly anchors it to a point in time.  The nice Greek countryside can’t quite compensate for a story that borders on annoyance. As a result, Summer Lovers feels flawed, although I can’t really begrudge anyone from enjoying it. After all, you know what you’re getting into when watching a film in the late-night time-slot…

  • Sounder (1972)

    Sounder (1972)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) It’s unfair to compare a wholesome family drama like Sounder to the blaxploitation movement of the early 1970s … or is it? At a time when (white) studio producers were consciously trying to appeal to black audiences, the obvious play was to go for gritty urban stories that could empower black audiences and bring in white moviegoers. It wasn’t as obvious to make a wholesome family movie taking place in 1933 rural Louisiana, detailing the struggles of a poor family on a hardscrabble farm trying to keep it together after the father is imprisoned for stealing much-needed food. The mood of this Martin Ritt-directed film is calm, loving, triumphant over quotidian struggles. It’s a film that openly preaches for the value of education and kinship as a way to climb out of poverty, uniting against misfortune, racism and adverse circumstances. Even modern audiences will find much to appreciate in its honest appraisal about the impact of incarceration on families: you could show Sounder alongside other more modern films without feeling out of place. While nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award, Sounder is now most likely remembered as a footnote, except when discussing the history of black-themed movies (thank you TCM for showing it), which seems regrettable considering how inspiring the film can be. It also features career-best performances from Cicely Tyson and Paul Winfield. It’s also quite optimistic in its own way: Unusually for a drama that plays so much emphasis on the family dog (whose name is the film’s title), it doesn’t even die at the end!

  • The Bishop’s Wife (1947)

    The Bishop’s Wife (1947)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) There have been many charming Christmas movies, but The Bishop’s Wife has the undeniable advantage of featuring Cary Grant as an impossibly suave angel come down to Earth to resolve a bishop’s problems. Complications ensue when the bishop’s wife proves irresistible to him—although, this being a 1940s movie, it’s all handled tastefully. Grant couldn’t be better as the angel and completely steals the movie, whereas David Niven is good in the ungrateful role of the bishop (he was originally supposed to play the angel, but Grant was the better choice) and Loretta Young is luminous as the bishop’s wife. A few interesting special effects reaffirm that this isn’t a realistic Christmas movie. Easy to watch and imbued with a decent amount of Christmas spirit, The Bishop’s Wife is still worth a look today.

  • Peeping Tom (1960)

    Peeping Tom (1960)

    (In French, On Cable TV, April 2019) Some movie genres are older than we realize, and if you’re looking for early examples of slasher-horror movies, you’re going to have to go past 1970s Halloween or Black Christmas and land somewhere near the 1960 double-feature of Psycho and Peeping Tom. Daringly for its time and directed by respectable filmmaker Michael Powell, it’s about a serial murderer who (high-tech twist!) records his actions with a video camera. This is also an opportunity to play with some metatextual material about the nature of film and, as the title suggests, the audience as voyeurs as much as the killer protagonist. The atmosphere of the early-1960s London is also worth a look, anticipating the later British movies of the decade. Still, as much as the film does have a bit of material to chew upon, its very specific time also means that it has lost its lustre, and not very gracefully at that. It may have been transgressive and upsetting at the time—but it’s now, sixty years later, a bit too dumb and blunt to be taken seriously. Peeping Tom is interesting to horror enthusiasts, obviously, but otherwise not that gripping as a story.

  • Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

    Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

    (In French, On Cable TV, April 2019) I approached Cannibal Holocaust very reluctantly, acutely aware of its terrible reputation as a schlock gore horror film that actually kills animals on camera—I’m a staunch film preservationist and I’m jaded when it comes to horror, but if it takes deliberate animal death to make a film then I’m more than willing to let all copies of it vanish off a pier. It doesn’t take a long time to feel that Cannibal Holocaust is not worth the animal deaths that went into it: It’s a film that revels in gore, nihilism and voyeurism, getting its kick out of bathing everything in blood and death. The plot has something to do with American academics examining found footage from an expedition sent deep in the Amazon to study a cannibal tribe, and you can guess where it goes from there. There is some intriguing material here about the observers being corrupted by the nature of the terrible footage they’re seeing, but that idea is not really explored, nor is it the point of the film. The point of it is death and the gore, shown in as much detail as practical effects or ignorance of animal cruelty laws will allow. I’m not impressed by this entire film subgenre (regrettably, there are many similar movies) and Cannibal Holocaust does nothing to make me change my mind. It’s slightly better made than many others, director Ruggero Deodato is certainly not going for the easily dismissed quasi-comedy that some other similar films can evoke, and it’s definitely far more disturbing for including real animals being killed on camera. I’m a somewhat jaded horror viewer, but even I had to tap out and fast-forward through the animal cruelty sequences. Alas, this will probably mean that I will remember Cannibal Holocaust much longer than I should. (Fake the killing of a human and I’ll shrug, but kill a turtle for real and you’re my enemy for life.) And there’s something else: The film’s closing lines have something to do with the nature of evil … and then the camera pans up to show the now-destroyed Twin Towers.

  • The Natural (1984)

    The Natural (1984)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) Much as baseball is the great American pastime, I’m starting to suspect that baseball movies are the great American cinematic comfort food. Americans understand the rules, they know the game inside-out, they are comfortable with the pacing and they will find the tiniest of evidence to prove that baseball is life and life is baseball. Or something like that. Watching The Natural isn’t quite as mystical as other baseball movies (Looking at you, Field of Dreams), but it’s still not quite realistic, not quite ordinary, not quite believable either. (A prologue with a bat being carved out of wood felled by a lightning strike at least establishes the tone early.)  What The Natural does have going for it is Robert Redford being effortlessly charming, and a roster of supporting actors that include Robert Duvall, Glenn Close, Kim Basinger, Barbara Hershey and Wilford Brimley. The big hook of the film has to do with our protagonist being felled by a bullet from a psychotic fan before becoming a star, and then coming back to the game a decade and a half later as a natural talent. There’s a mystery to it that proves less impressive than imagined, but the rest of director Barry Levinson’s film does run on rails all the way to a crucial win. What keeps the film interesting are those incidents approaching the supernatural that are littered around the main plot. By the time our protagonist hits a climactic pitch right into the stadium lights and creates fireworks, you’re either so solidly in the film’s distinctive logic that you’ll cheer, or roll your eyes one last time and say “That’s it, I’m done.”

  • Et Dieu … créa la femme [And God Created Woman] (1956)

    Et Dieu … créa la femme [And God Created Woman] (1956)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) I’m not sure who first made the point or where it was done, but there are plenty of historical “movie superstars,” especially actresses known for their sex-appeal, that are not associated with any great movie. They have a substantial body of work (if you’ll pardon the expression), but they won’t turn up in a modern look at their era’s most fondly-remembered movies because little of what they did stands the test of time. They’re famous for being famous, rather than specific roles. Insofar as I can gather, Brigitte Bardot is one of these stars—lauded as a sex kitten, famous for her opposition to baby seal hunting (well, at least in Canada), but not exactly known for any high-profile memorable roles. Aside from Le Mépris, the only exception I can find is that she starred in Et Dieu … créa la femme. But in a feat of circular logic, Et Dieu … créa la femme is known nowadays only because it was Bardot’s international breakthrough role. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that the film is a showcase for her because there’s so little else going on. A coastal small-town romantic drama, this is a film built around Bardot, with a character showcased for her beauty and lack of inhibition. Tame by today’s standard but provocative by French mid-1950s standards and positively scandalous for late Production Code-era America, it’s a film that still has the power to make viewers understand what the fuss about Bardot was about. There is a bit of charm in the way the seaside French town is portrayed, in Bardot’s character’s carefree behaviour and in the colourful cinematography. Otherwise, though, Et Dieu … créa la femme is Bardot’s film: the dramatic structure would be meaningless without her presence, and she manages to overcome her own limited acting talents through sheer magnetism. Which brings us back to the symbiotic loop: she’s now usually known for the film that’s known because of her. (Random, non-Bardot thought: Seeing this film’s seaside setting got me thinking about how many French films take place alongside the sea, and what’s the place of the coast in the French imagination. To be investigated.)

  • Critters (1986)

    Critters (1986)

    (In French, On Cable TV, April 2019) In the mid-1980s, you couldn’t swing a bag of popcorn without spilling some on high-concept horror movies that ended up spawning multiple sequels. As one such horror/Science Fiction hybrid, Critters starts out being a bit more ambitious than your usual creature feature, what with intergalactic bounty hunters hunting down tribbles carnivorous pests so that they don’t take over the world. But budgetary constraints quickly show up, as most of the action takes place in a Kansas farmhouse. While there are a few familiar names in the credits (Lin Shaye, Dee Wallace, M. Emmet Walsh), the most distinctive thing about Critters is its lack of distinction. If you’re looking for the median 1980s horror monster film with practical creature effects, this may be the one: not too depressing, not too funny, not too impressive but not too cheap either. The science fiction aspect does add a bit to it, but it’s a wonder as to why there were so many sequels. Oh well—you can do worse than watching the first one.

  • Super (2010)

    Super (2010)

    (On Cable TV, April 2019) While I’ll support any creator’s intent to deconstruct a genre, they should be aware that there are a few inherent dangers in doing so, including being so intent on the deconstruction that you forget about core narrative elements such as, well, character attachment, tonal unity or satisfying endings. With Super, writer-director James Gunn clearly takes aim at the superhero genre, turning in a horrifyingly serious look at what it would take for someone to become a superhero or a sidekick. Never mind the physical training—what kind of trauma would lead someone to take up a life of costumed vigilantism? The answer has nothing noble, and quite a bit of disturbing material. As a dark comedy that delights in shifting from comedy to horror in a few moments, Super includes gore, rape, realistically portrayed injuries, social awkwardness and merciless put-downs as part of its package. The result is not for the faint of heart, nor for uncritical superhero movie fans, nor anyone expecting a tidy ending, nor anyone who dislikes deconstructions of superheroic power fantasies. At least Rainn Wilson and Ellen Page are not too bad in the lead roles (although being saddled with “It’s all gooshy” as erotic dialogue can earn anyone sympathy points), with a nod to Kevin Bacon as a rather good villain, and a surprising ensemble of known actors in supporting roles. The similarities with Kick-Ass, also released in 2010, are not as interesting as those two movies appearing at that time as a signal of the subgenre’s evolution (Super is much harsher than Kick-Ass, which was already not a walk in the park). Now somewhat better known than in 2010 thanks to Gunn’s mega-success (directing, ironically enough, more superhero movies), Super nonetheless remains a half-success, not quite controlled enough to achieve its subversive aims without alienating a chunk of its audience along the way.