Reviews

  • The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965)

    The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965)

    (Criterion Streaming, August 2021) I used to dislike John Le Carré’s stories when I was younger, but I’m apparently somehow growing up because I have enjoyed his movie adaptations a lot more in the past decade or so, and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold goes join Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and The Constant Gardener in the big list of great spy movies. Newcomers should know that Le Carré isn’t writing James Bond escapism — his perspective on the spy business (as a former practitioner) is jaded, wary, even exasperated. He often talks contemptuously about the “little grey men” of the secret service as bureaucrats with delusions of heroism in a sordid business that means far less than everyone thinks. This world-weariness is on full display in The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, a film adapted from his breakout novel that now plays as a brutish throwback to the Cold War era. Richard Burton is utterly convincing as a rumpled alcoholic asked to play double agent in “defecting” to the Soviets. That would be a fascinating enough premise, but it turns out that Le Carré has far more devious twists up his sleeves, and as the film quietly picks up momentum, it all builds to a great (if grim) conclusion. Call it spy fiction for adults, maybe: there’s not a single power fantasy in sight, except perhaps for the protagonist’s last remaining delusions. Martin Ritt directs with a matter-of-fact tone well-suited to the film, with sober black-and-white cinematography that’s quite appropriate to the subject matter. It’s for everyone — indeed, you have to remember that The Spy Who Came in from the Cold came out at the height of Bondmania, with four Bond films in four years to launch the series and plenty of imitators looking to cash in on the trend. This offered a welcome counter-argument, and it has aged remarkably well as a period piece. Burton even delivers, three-quarter into the film, a remarkable rant on “seedy squalid bastards” that still acts as a powerful warning against exactly the kind of spy fiction that we still see too often.

  • Cruising (1980)

    Cruising (1980)

    (Criterion Streaming, August 2021) In Hollywood history, Cruising is notable for its contribution to queer cinema… and that’s not often meant as a compliment. Featuring Al Pacino as a (heterosexual) policeman asked to go undercover in New York City’s gay community to draw out a serial killer, the film created a storm of controversy upon release. The then-risqué subject matter was attacked as cheap exploitation by conservative pundits, but gay commentators also saw it as a terrible representation of NYC’s gay community as being dominated by BDSM enthusiasts. Cruising’s most admirable legacy, in fact, may have been to lead indirectly to the creation of The Celluloid Closet in an attempt to address Hollywood’s troubling legacy in portraying homosexuality on-screen. I’m clearly not well-placed to discuss the topic, but even to me, Cruising is an exemplary lesson in showing the importance of diversity. In-universe, it’s a lurid thriller set in motion largely because the NYPD doesn’t have what it takes to effectively investigate a serial killer preying in a specific community. (You can ask anyone in Toronto about a real-world tragic example of this.)  Out-universe, there are clear signs that the film suffers from being made by outsiders looking in: The BDSM leather aspect goes from a potential visual leitmotif to being central to the way the community is portrayed, and this freak-show aspect carries over to plotting that gets very confused the moment it could explore more interesting issues. As Cruising gets closer to its conclusion, it seems to go into a gay panic of its own and passes off ambiguity as a climax. (Have a look at this rather terrific analysis for more.)  A 2021+ remake of Cruising from gay filmmakers would be far more satisfying because it would be able to be more honest and go beyond the “wow, look at that!” freak-show factor in order to get to what’s interesting about the story. Right now, though, that 1980 version of Cruising is more interesting as an object of debate than as a thriller in its own right: Even writer-director William Friedkin can’t paper over the wrongness of its conception with his customary better-than-average execution.

  • Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in Hollywood (1945)

    Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in Hollywood (1945)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) You know exactly what you’re going to get with an Abbott and Costello film, and so Bud Abbott and Lou Costello in Hollywood delivers on what fans are looking for. I, myself, was watching because I’m a sucker for everything Hollywood does about Hollywood — not necessarily because I’m a fan of the comedy duo. Although the result is definitely light on Hollywood satire, it’s very much a showcase for the comic pair. (Indeed, it’s the first of many of their movies to have their names in the title.)  The premise has something to do with barbers stumbling into becoming talent agents, but much of the film is about stringing together comic routines. It works, but as someone who was watching to get a sense of how Hollywood worked back then (even as a caricature), I’m left disappointed. Sure, there’s a big sequence about one of the duo being used as a prop for a stunt sequence… and yet, the number of celebrity cameos is low, with the film regularly goes for gags that could have taken place anywhere but in Hollywood. I probably would have enjoyed it more if I was a bigger fan of the duo — but maybe it’ll make more sense once I start digging into their filmography.

  • The Notorious Landlady (1962)

    The Notorious Landlady (1962)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) Sometimes, a good cast is all you really need. While the script for The Notorious Landlady is decent enough, it’s the presence of Kim Novak, Jack Lemmon and Fred Astaire (in a non-dancing, non-singing role) that really makes the film a joy to watch. It begins as an American diplomat newly arrived in London goes flat-hunting and finds a rather nice place at a good price — although there’s clearly something off in the way the neighbours treat the landlady. With Novak as the landlady, Lemmon as the diplomat and Astaire as the diplomat’s superior, the cast is well-aligned to the script’s blend of comedy with just a bit of suspense: what has the landlady done, and is it likely to happen again? Disappointing shot in black-and-white at a time when that kind of light-hearted film had no reason not to be in colour (indeed, director Richard Quine’s films prior and following this one were both comedies shot in colour), The Notorious Landlady does make the most out of its cast playing roles well-suited to them. Lemmon is instantly likable as a do-gooder diplomat, while Novak is clearly not the monster that her neighbours whisper about, while Astaire is funny on his own as a senior official stuck with a very visible situation he doesn’t want. (He has the film’s best quote, one that I can see myself using at the office: “Gridley, you will learn that the higher your position, the more mistakes you’re allowed. In fact, if you make enough of them, it’s considered your style.”) The script, co-written by future-comedy-superstar director Blake Edwards, blends a fair amount of comedy, romance and criminal suspense. The Notorious Landlady is a solid film, not something that ranks as a classic, but something fit to be appreciated as a decent unassuming studio product, aimed to entertain. (I suspect that the film would be more widely appreciated had it been shot in colour, but that’s something else.)

  • The Taming of the Shrew (1967)

    The Taming of the Shrew (1967)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) I’m reliably not the best audience for Shakespeare movie adaptations, and The Taming of the Shrew is an even rockier prospect given its theme of female subjugation (although the more you look, the less this stays true). But there are a few good times to be had in the 1968 Franco Zeffirelli adaptation of it, largely because it happens to feature Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in the lead roles. At the time, both were the best-known couple on the planet: both exceptional actors, having begun their relationship in scandalous circumstances and often playing opposite each other in films. In here, Burton plays an uncultured lord who comes to town and sets off to tame the headstrong woman played by Taylor. Perhaps the best moments of the film are those early ones when we see the extent of her uncontrollable nature, furiously berating those around her and throwing things. Despite the doubly-dated nature of a Shakespearian play executed in mid-1960s style, there’s an unnerving contemporary quality to the loutish discourse among the male characters as they discuss their designs on the female characters. It builds up to a conclusion that plays ironically, with a speech on submissiveness undermined by a dramatic exit and a chase. Director Zeffirelli keeps things generally accessible for modern audiences, but it’s really Burton and Taylor (plus Michael York in a supporting role) who get our interest.

  • The Curse of Audrey Earnshaw (2020)

    The Curse of Audrey Earnshaw (2020)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) I’m sensing a budding horror subgenre of historical witchcraft, building off the success of The VVitch and the evergreen low-budget fascination for small communities in rural settings. Even in this subgenre, The Curse of Audrey Earnshaw clearly aims for atmosphere over concision or plot — taking place in a suitably out-of-time 1970s small village that could be anywhere in North America, untouched by period details, it tells us about a mother, a daughter, and accusations of witchcraft. After a very leisurely setup, it eventually moves in toward shocks, gore and horror in time for a more entertaining finale. Writer-director Thomas Robert Lee is clearly working toward something there, and it’s perhaps inevitable that a segment of the audience may be more frustrated than charmed by the results. Even at barely more than 90 minutes, The Curse of Audrey Earnshaw feels long, oppressive and repetitive. Still, it’s an honourable effort: the atmosphere is cleverly built and it avoids cheap genre pitfalls by a wide margin. The failings of the film are closer to those of a moody and overly florid period drama than most horror films, and that’s telling in itself.

  • Death of a Ladies’ Man (2020)

    Death of a Ladies’ Man (2020)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) There are many, many reasons why Death of a Ladies’ Man should be a terrible film. Even the premise (a middle-aged man learns he’s got cancer and rekindles his joy for life by hooking up with a girl half his age) is trite and borderline obnoxious, with not a single cliché left unturned. I mean: Gabriel Byrne plays an Eng. Lit. college professor, for goodness’ sake — is there a demographic group whose middle-age anguish has been more excruciatingly described than white male college professors? The more you describe the film on purely narrative grounds, the less interesting it becomes — all the way to the ironic finale in which, having regained a lust for living, our protagonist ironically gets — aaaah, I don’t even need to spill this because you know where it’s going. But it’s often in the details that Death of a Ladies’ Man gets more interesting. Because (brain tumour being involved) our protagonist doesn’t quite have a full grasp on reality any more. When his dead father shows up for a chat, it’s not magical realism as much as the writer literalizing his inner dialogue. Various other fantasy sequences pepper the film, all the way to a rather great shot of dragons flying over downtown Montréal. Because, oh yes, this is not just a Canadian film, but an Anglo-Montréalais film to its core. You’d swear it comes from the Mordecai Richler factory, so credibly does it portray Montréal’s bilingual peculiarities to the sound of a Leonard Cohen-dominant soundtrack. Accordingly, this Canadian/Irish production does lose quite a bit of steam one it flies off to Ireland for a lush green retreat. (This is also the point where the woman-half-his-age enters the story.)  It’s also not surprising that the film is much better when it’s in its protagonist’s head rather than the underdeveloped supporting cast. Considering those issues, it’s a wonder that Death of a Ladies’ Man does actually stay compelling to the end: Byrne keeps it together, and the heights of the fantasy sequences are strong enough to propel the film over its lulls. I won’t give an unqualified recommendation to the result (as another reviewer has mentioned, this film could have been far more interesting had it featured a female lead), but it’s just good enough to avoid a lack of interest.

  • Hitsville: The Making of Motown (2019)

    Hitsville: The Making of Motown (2019)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) There’s no need to introduce Motown or explain the epochal contribution that the label made to American pop music — even fifty years later, some of their songs are instantly recognizable by everyone. What Hitsville: The Making of Motown does is take us back to “the Detroit years” of Motown, before it moved to Los Angeles and lost its distinctive identity. Detroit-based Motown was a family affair — talent being gradually developed, with a strong core group that defined Motown’s musical identity and relied on in-house musicians to produce hit after hit. Charmingly located in a residential neighbourhood (where a museum now stands — and you can be sure it’s on my list of things to do in Detroit), Motown was a local business and a tangled web of relationships, with friends marrying each other along the way. Motown could only come from Detroit, as the city’s factory-line ethos made its way to producing hit records. As a documentary, Hitsville effectively mixes interviews with relatively sophisticated animation and infographics to make its points, adding a big dose of terrific musical snippets along the way. It’s a wonder that so many of the principals are still around sixty years later to talk about that 1958–1970s era (and in one case recall the company song!), with some stunning period footage to provide additional material. The social aspect of Motown, as a black-owned company churning out massive pop hits, is certainly not forgotten along the way, even if the reward for that success was to move to Los Angeles, lose a few stars, and dilute the peak Motown identity. I strongly suspect that Hitsville doesn’t quite completely portray the truth about the era — it’s self-congratulatory, unwilling to poke at some grey zones (such as the turmoil that followed the move to L.A., or the growing political engagement of its stars despite the record executive’s wishes) and sings from the same music sheet. Still, the charming nature of the narrative is compelling and it’s impossible to highlight just how good the music is here — complete with a look at how some anthemic pieces were put together. Hitsville may or may not be the entire truth, but it’s a great watch.

  • Just Add Romance (2019)

    Just Add Romance (2019)

    (On TV, August 2021) I’ll give a shot to any Hallmark romantic comedy if the premise has a good hook, and food-related premises are one of the most reliable ways to get me to tune in. In Just Add Romance, we find ourselves in a fantasy world of a cooking competition in which two ex-flames find each other again, and encounter various obstacles on their way to a happy ending. Narratively, there isn’t much going on here: true to form, the film is intensely predictable from the get-go, two leads are already nuzzling each other by mid-movie and the only suspense during the third act is to wonder which contrived crisis will temporarily emerge to extend the film’s running time. You mean only one of them can win the first prize required to open a restaurant?! I hope they eventually realize they can collaborate as a couple! Disappointingly enough, the cooking aspect of Just Add Romance is treated as an afterthought — there isn’t much cooking here, and the cooking competition runs on clichés almost all the way through. The leads are likable without being particularly memorable (another Hallmark convention finely upheld) and neither the writing nor Terry Ingram’s direction are anything special. It’s not much in terms of a movie, but it’s certainly watchable while doing other things. Miss five minutes? Not a problem — you don’t even have to rewind to see what you’ve missed. A film menu can include empty calories.

  • Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment (1985)

    Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment (1985)

    (Second or Third Viewing, On DVD, August 2021) There was a time (back when I was, like, nine) when I thought the Police Academy series was one of the best things in movies, only second to Star Wars. Well, that time is long gone, and watching Police Academy 2: Their First Assignment is now sometimes an exercise in teeth-gritting exasperation. The first film in the series still works, and if my memories don’t betray me too much, the fourth one has its moments. But this sequel has a harder time getting any respect. Loosely picking up after the training of the first film, this follow-up sees the motley crew of ridiculous police officers on their first assignment in a crime-ridden area of the city. Much of the cast is back alongside Steve Guttenberg, with some significant introductions, such as Bobcat Goldthwait in the role of a gang leader who would later become part of the police crew. The story is a loose frame on which to let all of the actors play their comic shtick. Some of it is more successful — anything with David Graf’s Tackleberry is usually fun, for instance, whereas anything to do with Art Metrano’s Mauser isn’t. What’s perhaps most frustrating about the result is not necessarily the juvenile repetitiveness of the jokes as much as uneven levels of absurdity. The good absurd sequences are funny (such as the various security systems deployed in the opening sequence, or the “disrobing guns” scene), but they come sandwiched between long stretches of very mild jokes. Coupled with the generally low-brow humour level, it doesn’t completely work, and leaves viewers asking for more. Now let’s see if my memories of the third instalment are similarly destroyed…

  • Lawyer Man (1932)

    Lawyer Man (1932)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) Anyone interested in William Powell’s career should have a look at Lawyer Man: an early-career effort, it first presents him at odds with his usual screen persona, only to gradually have it snap in focus by the end of the film. We first encounter Powell as a modest but ambitious lawyer who hits the big time with a landmark case, and gets hooked up with high society elements both good and bad. When his integrity leads him to rebuff offers from semi-criminal bosses, his fall is rapid. But wait, because there’s an entire third act to follow, and that’s when we get our typical Powell: Confident, eloquent, righteous and always in control. That’s the Powell that audiences were expecting! Calling Lawyer Man an origin story for Powell’s screen persona is ignoring many previous films making good use of his talents — it’s best to see this as a modest departure from his persona only to reaffirm it by the end of the film. It all works out rather well despite the technical clunkiness of this early-sound era film. At 68 minutes, it doesn’t have a lot of time to spend on non-essentials (although the horseshoe on the wall is a nice touch), so expect the narrative pacing to be at a breakneck speed. I liked it, although it’s hard to say whether I liked the film, or I just like Powell in general — suffice to say that Layer Man is still watchable without effort, and it does have a good satisfying character arc for the lead.

  • Their Big Moment (1934)

    Their Big Moment (1934)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) We’re getting deep in the weeds of 1930s cinema with Their Big Moment, a 68 minute (!) mystery involving séances, revelations from the afterlife, a comic relief turn from Zasu Pitts (in a film not generally meant to be funny) and some murder shenanigans. It’s not great art — you can feel the perfunctory effort in how the film blends its elements, but there’s a charming period atmosphere to the way they take their séances seriously, how Pitts is being used for a few laughs (she’s really a supporting player here) and how the 1930s archetype of amateur sleuths is deployed without amazement or irony. Their Big Moment is certainly watchable, although not worth obsessing over.

  • The Man with One Red Shoe (1985)

    The Man with One Red Shoe (1985)

    (In French, On Cable TV, August 2021) It took me too long to realize it, but The Man with One Red Shoe is very much a remake of Le Grand Blond avec une chaussure noire, and for all of the good we may think of Tom Hanks in the lead role as a mild-mannered man thrust into spying intrigue through no fault of his own, he’s not quite Pierre Richard. Hanks is intensely likable, but he doesn’t have Richard’s manic goofiness nor his slapstick chops. Fortunately, the American version realizes that and dials back the physical comedy in favour of reaction shots whenever Hanks’ character finds himself in situations he’s ill-equipped to handle. The mid-1980s atmosphere is almost overpowering, taking place in a Washington, DC, demimonde of spies trying to one-up each other through the use of an unwitting stooge. Contrivances naturally run high in a film of that nature, with the void left by Richard’s performance felt most acutely in the film’s very mild humour. It’s not a terrible film, but it doesn’t quite reach the level of other Hanks comedies of the era. The period atmosphere of the film is getting better as time goes by, and young Hanks is always interesting to see the more you know about his later career. As a remake, The Man with One Red Shoe is disappointing—so don’t watch it too close to the original.

  • Illicit (1931)

    Illicit (1931)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) I’m always a bit amazed at the way 1930s films, either pre-Code or post-Code in a comic mode, treated the so-called institution of marriage: People got married on a whim, divorced quickly and filled the in-between with bickering, adultery, cynicism and everything that movies then spent decades downplaying. Illicit isn’t all that different from other Pre-Code films, but the biting (if theatrical) dialogue is still mordant. Barbara Stanwyck’s first starring role gets quite a bit of attention considering the risqué subject matter: two long-time lovers seeing their relationship sour after finally marrying, and straying far apart before ultimately reconciling. At times venomously cynical about marriage, Illicit doesn’t quite hit all of the right notes, but it does match enough of them to still be eyebrow-raising even for Pre-Code fans. This being said, let’s not be too enthusiastic about it: It’s not that scandalous (as per him having an affair and not her), and the conclusion seems remarkably unconvincing in its sudden espousal of traditional values. Coming from the early-1930s, the staging is sadly too theatrical, and the subject matter suffers the sad fate of being daring, but not daring enough for us viewers ninety years later. Still, Illicit can be worth a watch for a frank treatment of shifting social more before the Production Code infantilized American cinema.

  • Johnny Eager (1941)

    Johnny Eager (1941)

    (On Cable TV, August 2021) Not quite film noir yet but more than gangster films of the 1930s, Johnny Eager does begin on a strong note, with a charming ex-con managing to keep the authorities convinced that he’s back on the straight path, even as he’s back to controlling a good chunk of the metropolitan underground—and being utterly ruthless in doing so. Things get far more twisted when he gets an occasion to seduce the daughter of an influential district attorney. The plotting gets to be a lot of fun after that, with romance, crime and thrills thrown into the mix. Still, the highlight here is Van Heflin in an Oscar-winning performance as an alcoholic intellectual with florid dialogue, the only person able to talk back to the protagonist and get away with it. Robert Taylor is also quite good as Johnny Eager himself, both charming and homicidal. Meanwhile, Lana Turner does her best at, well, being Lana Turner. As a criminal melodrama, Johnny Eager isn’t particularly respectable, but it moves quickly, features a few good performances, and wraps everything up in some well-crafted irony.