Reviews

  • The Boys from Brazil (1978)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (TubiTV Streaming, December 2022) The biggest challenge of The Boys from Brazil is the inherent craziness of its gradually revealed premise. (It’s technically a spoiler, but most people who approach the film will know about it in the first place, and the script dawdles so long around its mystery that most viewers will guess it long before it finally puts its cards on the table.)  In a few words, the film’s believability will hinge on whether you think that genetic clones of Hitler can, given environmental stressors, become a global threat. In its glum late-1970s sheen, The Boys From Brazil laboriously unveils its plot—a dastardly cloning experiment that resulted in dozens of boys being adopted around the world by couples of very exact psychology and occupations, then a concerted effort to assassinate the adoptive fathers in order to induce the same stressors that resulted in… wait for it… HITLER. Just ignore the art-school thing (unless they were planning on flunking him out), ignore the World War I thing (unless they were planning on re-creating that) and the Weimar Republic thing (unless they were planning on re-creating that… at which point, wait, how ridiculous is that premise?)  But fear not—both the original novel and the screenplay dip into The Omen territory by making sure we understand that the teen Hitler-clones are already budding serial killers. This is really not a movie where you should second-guess the premise, because it just gets funnier and dumber the more you think about it. Alas, what could have been salvaged in execution or periodic plot thrills simply falls flat as the film unspools: a languid pacing that takes forever to get anywhere is an issue, as are the decidedly unexciting sequences along the way. But the time the film gets to a fight, it has forgotten that its protagonist and antagonist alike (later-career Gregory Peck and Laurence Oliver) are geriatric retirement-home candidates who look more ridiculous than anything else when exchanging fisticuffs in a living room. After watching the film, you will wonder in vain if anything about the film isn’t fit to be ridiculed. Director Franklin J. Schaffner’s attempts to present a respectable prestige film out that tissue of nonsense is admirable but becomes increasingly funnier as it goes on. I’m not saying that the film is uninteresting—simply taking a look at the cast, which also include James Mason and a very young Steve Guttenberg (plus irony points for an equally young Bruno Ganz not playing Hitler), would be enough. And, of course, trying to figure out the myriad ways in which the same building blocks could have been rearranged into something far more interesting. But in its current form, The Boys From Brazil feels more like inept comedy than successful thriller and that’s even truer in the twenty-first century than at a time when Mengeles was still alive.

  • Max Steiner: Maestro of Movie Music (2019)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) One of the wonders of digging into older movies is witnessing how modern filmmaking conventions emerged—the sometimes-tortuous way standards were defined, how visionaries created things that now seem obvious, and the creative influences that quietly defined their own areas. So it is that Max Steiner: Maestro of Movie Music sets out to prove that Austrian-born Steiner defined the art of the film score. Taken at face value, the documentary makes a compelling case for his role in creating movie scores—someone who wasn’t just there at the dawn of sound movies, but had the necessary background to compose and direct orchestral scores to accompany the updated art form. His exemplary work at RKO became the template throughout which film scoring was defined, and the rest of the industry went in the same direction. I don’t have enough knowledge of early talkies scoring to say who else contributed to the development of that facet of filmmaking, but the list of the 300 movies on which Steiner worked from 1929 to 1965 is eloquent: it includes a number of all-time classics (King Kong, Gone with the Wind, Casablanca… all the way to The Searchers and beyond) and Maestro of Movie Music gives a whirlwind overview of his greatest hits. As a documentary, it errs on the traditional side of the form—narration over old photos, talking-head interviews, and many excerpts of his work. Still, that’s not a bad way of portraying the argument—the music takes centre place and often speaks for itself. Maestro of Movie Music should be interesting even to those who don’t really think about film scoring by itself—part of its success is being unnoticeable, as viewers focus on other areas of the film. Steiner, perhaps earlier than anyone else, quickly figured out the way to influence emotions without calling attention to itself.

  • Silent Running (1972)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Second Viewing, YouTube Streaming, December 2022) I first saw Silent Running a long, long time ago and it left a mark. This being said, I’m not sure I like it. What I find most remarkable about the film is that it predates Star Wars and a lot of classic space Science Fiction by a good five years—you would swear that it’s at least a late-1970s film because it’s got the look that we associate with the era (Alien, Space 1999, Star Wars, 2010). It’s also a strongly environmentalist film from the first militant Silent Spring generation, further making it more modern than you’d think. This reflects all the way to the grim, very New Hollywood ending in which humans are judged and found less desirable than nature. So many contrivances are required to get there (starting with putting biospheres in spaceships around Jupiter, not to mention artificial gravity) that the film doesn’t quite work as the hard-SF story that it presents itself to be—it’s best seen as a fable of a particularly dark sort. Visually, there’s some still-effective material to Silent Running, with surprisingly good sets explained by the film being shot inside a decommissioned aircraft carrier. Director Douglas Trumbull’s experience in special effects clearly shows here and explains why the film echoes later films—he worked on a lot of them and helped design what the standard look of the future became circa 1980 or so. Still, for all of the technical wizardry, there are plot beats here that feel dishonest—artificial and manipulated (and often moronic, considering that one character is supposed to know all about plants) in order to provide a downbeat moral lesson, which is another very New Hollywood thing. It’s that thematic content that, measured against later, more audience-friendly films of the post-Star Wars era, seems to better date the film and make it a creation of its time—not many post-1977 films would have taken such a melancholic tone. What makes it fascinating, then, is the mismatch between the form and the substance of the movie, as apparently two eras of filmmaking battle for dominance. I’m not sure I like Silent Running, but there’s a lot to dig into here. You may not like its message, but it’s not as if talking about biosphere degradation feels as ridiculous as Robbie the Robot now, right?

  • The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Disney Streaming, December 2022) The now-canon answer to “Who’s the best movie Scrooge?” is often considered to be Michael Caine in The Muppet Christmas Carol, a cliché-enough answer that usually leads to a whole discussion about how this entire comic take on Dicken’s A Christmas Carol works because the Muppets are funny and because Caine (as stated when he accepted the role) refused to consider his role as anything less than Shakespearian. This leads to a film in which Caine’s utter seriousness for the role acts as the foundation for the film’s laughs. Remove Caine or allow him to mug for the camera, and the entire film falls apart. The corollary to that statement is that while Caine may very well be in the running as best Scrooge, The Muppet Christmas Carol is not necessarily the best adaptation of the classic story—it’s an explicit counter-take on the story and not the story itself. As such, it goes to join Scrooged (in a very different comic register) as an all-time favourite Christmas film, but not necessarily as straight adaptation. (For what it’s worth, my own favourite straight adaptation is the BBC 1999 one featuring Patrick Steward as Scrooge.)  Otherwise, The Muppet Christmas Carol does a good job at combining the weight of the Dickens story with the gentle levity of The Muppets in their own sub-archetypes—the idea of splitting the Marley role between Statler and Waldorf is this close to genius, with Gonzo and Rizzo sharing narrative duties (as Charles Dickens) is a close second. Other aspects of the production aren’t as shining—the songs are largely unmemorable, and the film occasionally has a challenge on its hands in trying to balance the darker third act with Muppetish comedy (with even Rizzo bugging out of the narration out of sheer gloom). The Muppet Christmas Carol, as with many Christmas movies, has aged extremely well—after earning mixed reviews upon release, it has since become a strong crowd favourite for obvious reasons. It has earned a frequent-watch status because it’s good… and because Caine is the key to it all.

  • The Go-Getter (1937)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) There’s a refreshing undercurrent of can-do optimism at play in The Go-Getter, a romantic comedy featuring an indefatigable veteran whose positive attitude is ready to take on disability, an unfavourable hiring environment, an eccentric millionaire and the heart of the millionaire’s daughter. George Brent plays the ever-sunny protagonist, while Anita Louise is the romantic interest and Charles Winninger apparently has a lot of fun as a retiree so rich he’s become benevolently capricious. Various obstacles are thrown in the protagonist’s way, but they don’t matter: he still finds a way to triumph over them all. Directed by Busby Berkeley, The Go-Getter is not a musical—anyone looking for his signature lavish choreography will be disappointed. But as a light-weight romantic comedy, it breezes along smoothly. What may not be so successful is the film’s refusal to go all-out on the comedy: Despite the kind of protagonist and idle rich character designed for laughs, this film remains comfortably within the realm of the plausible—although the blue vase episode gets close to outright comic mayhem. Maybe the film could have benefited from a more farcical rewrite, or maybe it would have destroyed the delicate balance at play here. (Or maybe Berkeley wouldn’t have known what to do with a more slapstick project.)  Still, it’s watchable enough: neither Brent nor Louise strike me as the best possible choices in their roles, but they are competent, and that’s probably all we could ask for a B-movie of the time.

  • Farha (2021)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Netflix Streaming, December 2022) As I’ve mentioned a few times before, a significant portion of my movie watching is list-driven—largely based on a film’s total number of votes on IMDB. The intention here is to watch what was popular or had a cultural impact—but from time to time, oddball choices pop up. At least two or three movies per year end up on my list not because they were widely seen by many people, but because their vote totals were inflated by deliberate downvoting campaigns. Of those, half are Indian movies that, for some reason, have earned the enmity of Indian or Pakistani users (hence, perhaps, my muted enthusiasm for much of contemporary Indian cinema) and the other half is mired in endless political controversies in the Middle East. I would not have expected Farha to shoot overnight in the IMDB top-100 for 2021—writer-director Darin J. Sallam’s film is a sad and modest tale of oppression and death in 1940s Palestine as a young woman witnesses the death of nearly her entire village at the hands of Israeli soldiers. In other words, the furthest thing from a crowd-pleaser. It’s not a bad movie—competently, sensitively made with a tight focus on recounting a true story and shining a spotlight on a sordid slice of history for the benefits of contemporary viewers now that the generation that experienced those events first-hand is dying. It’s the kind of film to take in soberly, for viewers who take care to steel themselves that it won’t be a pleasant viewing experience. So, what would explain the remarkable number of votes earned by Farha? A downvoting campaign, of course—if you’ve paid attention to “Palestine… Israeli” a few lines above, you won’t be surprised to learn that the film upon Netflix release was vigorously criticized by Israeli commentators unable to stomach the thought that there may be distasteful actions in their history. (Take it from a Canadian: you’re better off on the truth-and-reconciliation path than the deny-and-antagonize one.)  The palpable irony here is that every year, I end up seeing politically educative movies solely because of downvoting campaigns. Nicely done, fragile Israeli commentators—I wouldn’t have been exposed to that viewpoint without your efforts.

  • Show Boat (1936)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) I can understand if you don’t have the time to watch all the movies out there, but when it comes to 1936’s Show Boat, drop everything and have a look at its magnificent scene where Paul Robeson sings Ol’ Man River—a terrific song that has crossed decades without losing any of its punch. If you can listen to “I’m tired of living and scared of dying” without being moved, well… (And as a bonus, you will absorb one of the great militant songs of the twentieth century and get an introduction to Robeson’s career.)  That song aside, Show Boat has historical merit: It was one of the earliest attempts to combine opera with the movie musical (the 1926 Broadway original arguably being the first musical to drive a serious plot through songs) and watching it is essential in order to understand the neutered abomination that was the 1951 version. Otherwise, the film can be interesting to appreciate what director James Whale was able to accomplish despite 1930s technology (especially as the story lends itself to filmmaking more ambitious than stage-bound numbers). Still, I can’t help but think that the definitive version of Show Boat may still be in the future—the 1930s version was limited by technology, the 1951 one by the production code.

  • Zabriskie Point (1970)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (YouTube Streaming, December 2022) Films like Zabriskie Point defy capsule reviews. It clearly doesn’t appeal to me, considering its director, subject matter and stylistic approach. If you want a fact-based description of the film, it’s something along the lines of “Celebrated European arthouse director tackles an American crime story of lovers on the run at the height of the New Hollywood era, and uses the occasion to look at the counter-cultural movement.”  But that only hints at some of the weirdness of this film. Yes, it’s strange that writer-director Michelangelo Antonioni, best known for languid neorealist dramas, would come to Hollywood to take up a New Hollywood chestnut of star-crossed lovers going on the run following a crime. The neo-realist approach jockeys nervously with the necessity of actually delivering a genre plot, and so Zabriskie Point can both feature a fascinating, overlong look at a student protest planning meeting, and end on a showy Michael-Bay-esque series of explosions blowing apart a house. Both lead actors were nonprofessionals at the time (ironically, male lead Mark Frechette would die following a bank robbery and an arrest just four years later) and Zabriskie Point thrives despite this because it’s executed with the sloppiness of a New Hollywood drama as infused by European neorealism. There’s sex and violence and plot points that barely make sense and that’s the film for you—something that could only have been created in 1970. It’s watchable in bits and pieces (the cinematography isn’t bad once the film moves to the desert) but more out of historical interest in that period of time in American film history than anything else. Hence the more favourable critical assessments of the film now than upon release—it was just weird back then, now it’s weird with a taste of 1970s cultural exploration. Obviously, other writers than me will do a better job explaining what the film is about.

  • Highway 301 (1950)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) I’m not sure if I’m comfortable calling Highway 301 a film noir. Yes, sure, it’s from the right period and it deals with criminals and it’s got a few femme fatales as gun molls. But if you’re looking for the noir style, you won’t really find it in its flat execution modelled on police procedural dramas. You won’t necessarily find the spirit of noir in its plot and resolution either, as the film follows a gang of bank robbers who are not conflicted about their moral descent and are quite definitely punished by the end of the film. Where’s the corruption of the innocent, the bittersweet conclusion, and the fatalistic acknowledgement that the world can become aligned against an ordinary person? At most, you get the lesson that gangsters will be undone by their women, which is a staple of noir but not enough to overcome the film’s blandness. Writer-director Andrew L. Stone clearly courts the true-crime crowd here—by basing the story on the real-life Tri-State Gang, but most visibly introducing the film through three real politicians who talk down to the viewers as if right and wrong were new concepts. Highway 301 is watchable if you’re willing to be indulgent, but it’s going to be difficult to remember a few days later. As it turns out, style is important!

  • Shaft in Africa (1973)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Second viewing, On Cable TV, December 2022) I remember watching Shaft in Africa on VHS sometime in the early 2000s, but can’t find any review of it. Oh well, here goes: For one thing, this is a clear case of peak-blaxploitation filmmaking, with the id so close to the surface of the film’s text that it becomes remarkable by itself. (That scene with a prim white woman getting excited at the sight of sweat-covered black men… good for you, blaxploitation. That’s black gaze right there, and it’s awesome.)  This third instalment in the Shaft series plays up the black-is-cool ethos of the subgenre to the hilt, and essentially transforms its protagonist into a superhero. The decision to take the story outside American urban areas is provocative (clearly influenced by the return-to-Africa movement) but ultimately doesn’t quite serve the character very well: John Shaft is a creature of American cities, and while having him bust an international human trafficking ring, then deliver a blistering speech about colonialism to French interlocutors is interesting, it doesn’t necessarily fit with the rest of the series. (Although, considering that the second film ended with an exploding helicopter, did the series even have a consistent tone?)  At least the film is watchable—Richard Roundtree is as cool as ever (although more self-conscious about it) and Vonetta McGee is an exceptional beauty. Amusingly, I would recommend watching all three films of this original trilogy one after another—they’re so different that they won’t all blend together.

  • The Thaw (2009)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In French, On Cable TV, December 2022) There’s a blunt-force environmental parable at the heart of The Thaw that makes it more interesting than the usual B-grade monster movie. The premise is that global warming is warming up the polar ice cap, and freeing ancient parasites that are all too ready to contaminate some tasty humans. This mildly provocative (but hardly unique) idea aside, the rest of The Thaw plays like a remix of The Thing and most other zombie movies, with over-the-top gore when the characters have to lop off body parts in order to survive, or perish with spectacular parasitic body horror sequences. There’s a slight late-film twist, but it’s not much—much of the film plays strictly according to genre conventions of young characters being stuck in a place with an unspeakable horror, down to the dum-dum-DUM coda. A still-healthy Val Kilmer shows up in a lead role that ends up being a supporting performance with gravitas. Cinematically, writer-director Mark A. Lewis doesn’t really do anything all that spectacular despite having arctic scenery to play with. It pretty much confirms the lower-side-of-average nature of The Thaw, which is not outright bad but doesn’t do much to elicit enthusiasm.

  • Varsity Show (1937)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) I swear I’ve seen Varsity Show a year or two ago, but I can’t find any trace of it in my notes. Maybe I dismissed it as not being worth a review the first time around, but that’s not the case now. For one thing, I’m revisiting it with a greater appreciation for Dick Powell and his early crooner-idol phase. For another, I’m more informed about Busby Berkeley, whose imprint on the film’s finale is unmistakable. For a third thing, I’m perhaps better disposed toward silly college/showbiz comedies of the 1930s: it’s easy to burn out on those, but a second look at Varsity Show caught me in a favourable mood. The story is a blend of college comedy and Broadway musical, as students in a middling college want to put on a variety show and get the bright idea of hiring a celebrated alumnus (Powell) to modernize it. As it happens, that alumnus has fallen on hard times, and the idea of taking a few months off Broadway to work in an obscure college is exactly what he wants. The action, after a few shenanigans opposing “traditional” (1900s!) versus “modern” (1930s!) shows, eventually makes its way back to Broadway, where Berkeley takes care of the finale’s impressive choreography (inspired by college cheers) and everything ends on a good note. Powell plays the Broadway-shunned alumnus with his then-usual boyish good looks, singing prowess and irresistible charm. Varsity Show is not a shining moment for anyone involved in its production and easily gets lost in the shuffle of similar films (it’s a good thing it ends on a Berkely high note), but it’s fun to watch if you’re in the right mood—it’s peppy and fun and, in comparing the 1930s to 1900s notions of modernity, even has something to teach us about the sliding window of what is considered stuffy.

  • American Ninja (1985)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) Not all movies are meant to be good—sometimes, they stick close to genre formula that don’t rise above fan expectations, sometimes they’re hampered by built-in budgetary constraints, sometimes the producers have a very specific (and mercenary) intent that runs orthogonal to quality. And yet, from time to time, the result of those quality-optional film productions is surprisingly enjoyable. American Ninja’s action takes place in the Philippines, where a young American soldier is also (mysteriously) a gifted martial artist, and gets a few reasons to go after the local crime lord and ninja master. The film is ludicrous from beginning to end—the plot is bare-bones simple, the staging is rough, the editing is approximate, and lead actor Michael Dudikoff is not particularly gifted—and even if he was, director Sam Firstenberg wouldn’t let him be subtle. The film is a Globus/Golan production, which means everything to those 1980s movie buffs who can recognize the unmistakable whiff of deliberate cheese in their signature. So, no, American Ninja is not good. But it’s hypnotically compelling as a sub-Rambo martial arts thriller that often falls into camp comedy. The earnest lack of self-irony is almost refreshing—most movies in that segment, made today, would be self-deprecating to the point of distraction. But American Ninja is from a blunter time, when producers could serve this stuff up and still have audiences lap it up. It still works today, albeit differently—but make no mistake, there are a lot of 1980s low-rent action movies almost like American Ninja and very few of them are as entertaining even in their limitations.

  • Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole (2010)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, December 2022) Even twelve years later, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole remains an outlier in director Zack Snyder’s filmography—an animated film for kids, featuring teenage owls. This being said, it’s not that much of an outlier, considering that the film is significantly darker than most family films, uses slow motion like it’s about to be outlawed, and doesn’t hold back on action sequences. This kiddie film in Snyder’s body of work ends up being the grimdark film in the kiddie pool. Adapted from a book series, The Owls of Ga’Hoole follows the adventures of two young owls who are kidnapped and meant to be enslaved by a tribe of evil owls (darkness ahoy!), but manage to fight back. Visually, the film remains spectacular, with great computer animation and some canny cinematography (meant for 3D, but still impressive in 2D) along the way. Plot-wise, it’s simpler and could have been better… but is still not without some interest. While it’s not quite a solid hit, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole is watchable… and probably not quite the film you expect.

  • Fellini—Satyricon (1969)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (YouTube Streaming, December 2022) It was a terrible sign when, fifteen minutes into Fellini—Satyricon, I realized that what I first thought was a meaningless prologue was actually the main movie—a very stylized theatrical staging of a Roman-day gay romance set against surreal sets. While the film eventually evolves toward a (slightly) more realistic presentation, the initial mark never goes away—this is pure self-eccentricity from Federico Fellini, and I was left wondering what was the point of it. The off-putting nature of the film is completely deliberate, of course—any other film in Fellini’s filmography will show that he was capable of far more welcoming works. But Satyricon is fragmented, surreal, violent, and possibly ungraspable by design. My inner cynic wonders how much of the praise for this film runs on simple accumulated goodwill for Fellini, but maybe that’s just me being tired of even trying to play the game he’s going for here. I can promise you that you haven’t seen anything like it. Whether that’s a compliment or not remains to be seen. [January 2023—The existence of making-of documentary Ciao, Frederico! helps justify Satyricon a bit more, as it leads to footage of Fellini at work directing the film, puppeteering his actors through sequences where they admit that “he tells us what to do, but only he knows the why.”  There’s a lengthy sequence that portrays a day of shooting on the beach from cold morning to warm afternoon, and another where the imperatives of a complex production all come into play. It’s not necessarily a joy to watch (Fellini isn’t particularly likable, and the film’s innate sexism is quickly grating) but it’s interesting to see the director at work, especially in a film whose meaning can’t necessarily be inferred from its narrative sequences.]