Alfre Woddard

  • The Family That Preys (2008)

    The Family That Preys (2008)

    (On Cable TV, October 2021) Anyone wondering about Tyler Perry’s early-film-career strengths and weaknesses (not that there’s been much of a change since then) can always have a look at The Family that Preys, a middle-of-the-road effort that does feature the usual highs and lows of his film work. On the good side, we have a heartfelt look at black characters, with an emphasis on female characters. There are effective sequences supporting a strong sense of humanist morality, religion and family. There’s often (but not always) a clear-cut distinction between good people and bad ones, with the virtuous getting their rewards at the end. He manages to attract very interesting acting talent, and his flair for populist entertainment is far better than most other filmmakers, especially in playing to his specific audience. His penchant for melodramatic plotting (in the neutral sense of the expression) makes for easy, sometimes even engaging viewing—it’s easy to sit down and be swept in the story, even as blatantly plotted as it can be. On the other hand, his excesses are also here—a lack of a clear theme that leads to an unwieldy, sprawling structure that barely sits down to work out its own ideas. The writing is not very elegant (that “memory card” bit is, wow) and the points it makes are not subtle at all. Even the film’s striking moments (such as a man slapping his adulterous wife, portrayed as justified, or a homeless person being revealed as very important) seem very calculated. The caricatural nature of the antagonists is often too broad to be credible (the adulterous son even booking the same hotel room as his adulterous father!) and you know within moments who you’re dealing with—a woman putting down her man’s dreams is obviously up to no good, right? And yet, The Family that Preys rather works if you’re willing to be forgiving. The cast certainly helps—Kathy Bates effortlessly dominates the film as a matriarch, and her rapport with a splendid Alfre Woddard is one of the film’s highlights even if their subplot seems contrived and out-of-place. Sanaa Lathan is wonderfully detestable as the female villain, while pre-stardom Taraji P. Henson plays her good sister, Robin Givens has a striking smaller role and Perry himself has a small role as a construction worker. The ending is a lot of righteous fun to watch, as people get what they deserve from an old-school moralistic standpoint. Blunt but crowd-pleasing, Perry’s films are far more interesting than their critical reputation (largely forged by movie critics outside his intended audience) would suggest. I’m having a surprising amount of fun going through his filmography, even when the films are less than wonderful.

  • Remember My Name (1978)

    Remember My Name (1978)

    (On Cable TV, January 2021) I have a weird mix of fascination and frustration at those films that straddle the line between straight-up drama and genre thriller. In theory, the line should not exist: Even those who love genres can argue that the slightest drop of genre elements in a film makes it belong to that genre (hence my fascination) but the problem is that some filmmakers will deliberately court genre elements before retreating to a somewhat down-to-Earth conclusion that practically renounces the genre elements that made the film interesting in the first place. (Hence my frustration.)  You can see that dynamic at play in Remember My Name, a gritty could-only-come-from-the-1970s film in which a man’s life is upset when his ex-wife, freshly released from prison, starts threatening everything he holds dear in a psychotic attempt to get back together. His new girlfriend is harassed, he is stalked, and the film clearly suggests that things are going to get much, much worse. Interestingly enough, much of the film is seen from the perspective of the psychotic ex-wife—a haunting portrayal from Geraldine Chaplin, who acts as if her character barely understood the basics of human relationship after spending so much time locked away. Our protagonist doesn’t play well with others, which doesn’t help the suspicion with which she’s regarded around town. There’s a clear disconnect between Chaplin’s frail physique and her toughness in action—maybe there are echoes of that in Linda Hamilton’s performance in the two first Terminator movies. Meanwhile, Anthony Perkin is not bad as the meek man at the centre of her attention, with a young Jeff Goldblum amusingly showing up as a petty store manager who hires her and Alfre Woddard as a resentful co-worker. Much of the genre elements come from the second third of the film, in which a steady campaign of harassment, vandalism, bad behaviour and outright stalkerish actions set the stage for a conclusion that should play according to violent genre conventions. But then… it doesn’t. Writer/director Alan Rudolph (under the tutelage of producer Robert Altman, which makes perfect sense) is not interested in genre elements, and so the conclusion simply walks away after making its point. Revenge is not always about going for maximum damage; sometimes, revenge is just settling scores. Whether I like the result is something else: “1970s New Hollywood Altmanesque drama” is almost a personal code phrase for “you’re not going to have any fun,” and Remember My Name at least exceeded my expectations by refusing to play by formula rules. I am begrudgingly appreciative of that… but it won’t go so far as to earn the film a recommendation or even a second viewing.