The Stop Button » ★★

Clue (1985, Jonathan Lynn)

Andrew Wickliffe — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 13:00:36 +0000

Martin Mull, Lesley Ann Warren, Madeline Kahn and Christopher Lloyd star in Jonathan Lynn’s Clue.

I didn’t see Clue in the theater, so I haven’t got a… I have no idea how it played without the multiple endings. While it’s a cute idea–a different ending depending on where you see the film, all of them together on home video release–it gets tedious, especially through the second solution (though I think the second is the shortest).

Still, even tedious, Clue’s a rather significant success. It’s based on a board game without a backstory, meaning Lynn has to come up with a way to get the people together and tie in the board game.

While Tim Curry is the closest thing the film has to a lead (he’s got solo scenes), his character’s a little loose and Curry can’t even remotely essay the dramatic moments. Christopher Lloyd, Madeline Kahn and Lesley Ann Warren give the best performances. The only bad performance is Lee Ving, who–according to the IMDb trivia page may have been cast based on his name–quite simply, cannot act. He brings down the scenes he’s in, even when tasked with sitting in a chair.

Lynn’s direction of the actors is quite good–though he could open up his establishing shots a little–and he juggles emphasizing them while not ignoring the exquisite set design. Lovely mattes too.

In some ways, Clue’s less about the board game than the mansion murder mystery genre, using the game’s trappings as a launching point.

Confine well-acted eccentric characters and it’s hard not to succeed.

CREDITS

Directed by Jonathan Lynn; screenplay by Lynn, based on a story by John Landis and Lynn and a board game created by Anthony E. Pratt; director of photography, Victor J. Kemper; edited by David Bretherton and Richard Haines; music by John Morris; production designer, John J. Lloyd; produced by Debra Hill; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring Eileen Brennan (Mrs. Peacock), Tim Curry (Wadsworth), Madeline Kahn (Mrs. White), Christopher Lloyd (Professor Plum), Michael McKean (Mr. Green), Martin Mull (Colonel Mustard), Lesley Ann Warren (Miss Scarlet), Colleen Camp (Yvette), Lee Ving (Mr. Boddy), Bill Henderson (The Cop), Jane Wiedlin (The Singing Telegram Girl), Jeffrey Kramer (The Motorist) and Kellye Nakahara (The Cook).

The 40 Year Old Virgin (2005, Judd Apatow), the unrated version

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 28 May 2010 13:41:58 +0000

Catherine Keener and Steve Carell star in Judd Apatow’s The 40 Year Old Virgin.

I don’t get it. I mean, I kind of get it–the movie’s cute and funny–but I don’t really get it. Not the critical acclaim. I think it’s actually my first Judd Apatow movie–I don’t remember Celtic Pride though I know I saw it–and I’m disappointed. It’s like a sitcom. Apatow directs it like a lot of unimaginative sitcoms are directed. It looks like an episode of “Joey.” A bad episode of “Joey.”

But the script’s not particularly strong either. It’s really heavy on sentiment and it’s version of gross-out humor (gross-out but heartwarming, something Something About Mary did seven years earlier and more successfully), but it’s not at all heavy on creating realistic characters. I don’t believe in The 40 Year Old Virgin. I believe in them, in their existence, I might even believe Steve Carell’s character is one… but I don’t believe he’s a real person. The film goes through lengths to seem “real,” from the eBay store to the lame jobs, but it’s very… sitcom-like. A lot of that fault is Apatow’s direction, but the script isn’t helpful. The characters aren’t real. I don’t believe Paul Rudd has a close friend who’s been to prison twice.

I am also iffy on Carell as a movie star. He was so successful in this one, he turned it into his character for “The Office.” Laughable but sympathetic.

Some of it might have to do with the joylessness of it all. It felt mechanical.

CREDITS

Directed by Judd Apatow; written by Apatow and Steve Carell; director of photography, Jack N. Green; edited by Brent White; music by Lyle Workman; production designer, Jackson De Govia; produced by Apatow, Clayton Townsend and Shauna Robertson; released by Universal Pictures.

Starring Steve Carell (Andy Stitzer), Catherine Keener (Trish), Paul Rudd (David), Romany Malco (Jay), Seth Rogen (Cal), Elizabeth Banks (Beth), Leslie Mann (Nicky), Jane Lynch (Paula), Gerry Bednob (Mooj), Shelley Malil (Haziz), Kat Dennings (Marla), Jordy Masterson (Mark), Chelsea Smith (Julia) and Jonah Hill (eBay Customer).

Zombieland (2009, Ruben Fleischer)

Andrew Wickliffe — Mon, 03 May 2010 14:19:57 +0000

Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg star in Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland.

I can’t believe Zombieland got made. I mean, I understand it’s a reasonable financial success and all, but who greenlighted this film? It’s from a couple no name writers and a no name director and the best known cast member is Woody Harrelson.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Woody Harrelson and have been an avid supporter for many a year, but really… it’s way too… smart to be a studio picture. Even when it does silly, obvious things, it’s leagues better than what I was expecting.

For instance, the Bill Murray cameo–it does work; it’s funny but it’d be funnier if it were someone who hadn’t been through a nasty public divorce and needed to do image clean-up. Plus, there’s a comment about Murray’s dramatic turns, but nothing about him running out of the Oscars in a huff when he doesn’t win.

I think Mel Gibson would have been a much better choice, especially since he isn’t a comic actor in the same way. But then, Mel Gibson isn’t a Sony slash Columbia slash Tri-Star actor and Zombieland is one of the biggest studio pictures I can think of–it’s the Gremlins 2 of the zombie genre.

Acting wise, it’s all solid, but unspectacular. Jesse Eisenberg is really good, but he’s playing the same character he played in Adventureland. Harrelson’s funny and good but it’s no surprise he’s either.

Fleisher’s direction is comic-oriented, so it’s hard to tell about him.

But it’s really good stuff.

CREDITS

Directed by Ruben Fleischer; written by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick; director of photography, Michael Bonvillain; edited by Alan Baumgarten; music by David Sardy; production designer, Maher Ahmad; produced by Gavin Polone; released by Columbia Pictures.

Starring Woody Harrelson (Tallahassee), Jesse Eisenberg (Columbus), Emma Stone (Wichita), Abigail Breslin (Little Rock), Amber Heard (406), Bill Murray (Bill Murray) and Derek Graf (Clown Zombie).

Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man (1943, Roy William Neill)

Andrew Wickliffe — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 01:57:22 +0000

Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney Jr. star in Roy William Neill’s Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man.

Of all the Universal monster movies, The Wolf Man “deserved” a real sequel most. With Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, Lon Chaney Jr.‘s abilities to essay the Larry Talbot role really shine through. I’ve read (and maybe even repeated here) Chaney never gets credit for playing such a physical role while being a bigger man.

Here he actually starts showing off a lot of acting chops, as his character becomes, essentially, a suicidal lunatic. Being able to elicit sympathy with such a character is no easy task and Chaney does it. It helps having Maria Ouspenskaya around doesn’t hurt. In maybe three minutes, she and Chaney establish this surrogate mother and son relationship and whenever he talks about killing himself, they cut to her quietly sad expression.

Of course, the film’s got a lot of editing troubles of that nature (Bela Lugosi’s Frankenstein monster originally talked, making the film a direct sequel to the previous Ghost of Frankenstein, but they cut those scenes out) and there’s Patric Knowles’s way too rapid switch from caring doctor to mad scientist.

Knowles is fine at the beginning, when the film’s just a Wolf Man sequel, but gets silly when he returns. Ilona Massey is also a weak female lead.

The supporting cast is strong–Lionel Atwill, Dennis Hoey, Dwight Frye are all good. Rex Evans is a great villain, but never gets his comeuppance.

And Neill’s a solid director, even if he doesn’t top his opening shot.

Decent enough, could’ve been better.

CREDITS

Directed by Roy William Neill; written by Curt Siodmak; director of photography, George Robinson; edited by Edward Curtiss; music by Hans J. Salter; produced by George Waggner; released by Universal Pictures.

Starring Lon Chaney Jr. (Lawrence Talbot), Patric Knowles (Dr. Frank Mannering), Ilona Massey (Baroness Elsa Frankenstein), Maria Ouspenskaya (Maleva), Lionel Atwill (Mayor of Vasaria), Bela Lugosi (Frankenstein Monster), Dennis Hoey (Inspector Owen), Rex Evans (Vazec) and Dwight Frye (Rudi).

The Evil Dead (1981, Sam Raimi)

Andrew Wickliffe — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 15:24:04 +0000

Bruce Campbell stars in Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead.

For whatever reason, Sam Raimi now has The Evil Dead released in a matted version (to 1.85:1 from 1.37:1). It looks awful.

Raimi’s strength as a director comes from his constantly agitated camera; his static shots are–well, I guess the shots of the sun setting and the moon rising in Evil Dead are cool–mediocre at best. With the improper matte and the utter lack of head room, his static shots become much, much worse.

I haven’t seen Evil Dead in about ten years (I still have the OAR DVD release around and feel like it deserves another look) and I think the ship’s sailed for me. I saw the unrated, NC-17, rated X version. I can’t figure out how the film, with it’s super-cheap special effects, deserves such a rating. It’s cartoon violence.

Things I noticed this time include Theresa Tilly’s terrible scream (wish there was a good synonym for scream starting with t, let me tell you) and Richard DeManincor’s character’s complete indifference to other people.

There’s a lot of other stuff to the picture, sure, but it’s basically all about seeing Raimi’s camera movements. Joseph LoDuca’s score might be the best thing about the film, just because it’s so good, compared to the roughness of everything else.

Campbell does an all right job–definitely the best performance–but everyone’s underwritten here. It’d be impossible to gauge acting talent from Evil Dead.

The last third is unbearably long though. Boring gore. Who knew?

CREDITS

Written and directed by Sam Raimi; director of photography, Tim Philo; edited by Edna Ruth Paul; music by Joseph LoDuca; produced by Robert G. Tapert; released by New Line Cinema.

Starring Bruce Campbell (Ashley J. Williams), Ellen Sandweiss (Cheryl Williams), Richard DeManincor (Scott), Betsy Baker (Linda) and Theresa Tilly (Shelly).

The Towering Inferno (1974, John Guillermin)

Andrew Wickliffe — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 15:28:09 +0000

Faye Dunaway and Paul Newman star in John Guillermin’s The Towering Inferno.

For a disaster movie to succeed, I suppose all it really has to do is keep you interested for its running time. The Towering Inferno runs almost three hours and manages that task, so much so, the ending seems a little abrupt . It’s not like the first act breezes by, either. In fact, it only makes it through the first act because of the goodwill the opening credits–with an amazing John Williams piece–earn. There’s maybe five minutes of setup they could have done without, to get to the fabulous first death sequence a little earlier.

The worst performance in the film is probably Richard Chamberlain, but even he’s solid. Steve McQueen and Paul Newman are good, Jennifer Jones, Robert Wagner–Norman Burton’s excellent in a small part. Faye Dunaway and William Holden appear busy. Even O.J. Simpson is good–the film’s treatment of race is particularly interesting, as Simpson plays the chief of security (and Felton Perry later shows up as a senior fireman).

The mattes all hold up and the action sequences, until the fire’s put out at the end (why do the flames recede before the water hits them?), do too. It’s well-made nonsense, with the majority of the cast managing not to look embarrassed.

Of particular interest is how Gullermin and cinematographer Fred J. Koenekamp shoot the dramatic scenes. It’s not like a seventies movie at all, instead aping Cinemascope methods.

It’s a shame the genre failed. The Towering Inferno is a fine diversion.

CREDITS

Directed by John Guillermin; screenplay by Stirling Silliphant, based on a novel by Richard Martin Stern and a novel by Thomas N. Scortia and Frank M. Robinson; director of photography, Fred J. Koenekamp; edited by Carl Kress and Harold F. Kress; music by John Williams; production designer, William J. Creber; produced by Irwin Allen; released by Warner Bros. and 20th Century Fox.

Starring Steve McQueen (Fire Chief Michael O’Hallorhan), Paul Newman (Doug Roberts), William Holden (Jim Duncan), Faye Dunaway (Susan), Fred Astaire (Harlee Claiborne), Susan Blakely (Patty Duncan Simmons), Richard Chamberlain (Roger Simmons), Jennifer Jones (Liselotte Mueller), O.J. Simpson (Harry Jernigan), Robert Vaughn (Senator Gary Parker), Robert Wagner (Dan Bigelow), Susan Flannery (Lorrie), Sheila Allen (Paula Ramsay), Norman Burton (Will Giddings), Jack Collins (Mayor Robert Ramsay), Don Gordon (Fireman Kappy), Felton Perry (Fireman Scott), Gregory Sierra (Carlos), Ernie F. Orsatti (Fireman Mark Powers) and Dabney Coleman (Deputy Chief #1).

G-Force (2009, Hoyt Yeatman)

Andrew Wickliffe — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 06:14:39 +0000

I’m not a fan of the popcorn movie argument–it’s the one where people tell you you’re just supposed to enjoy the movie and not think about it–Stephen Sommers uses it in his defense and so does, somewhat more interestingly, Cameron Crowe (I think he called it populist to prove he’d been to college). Except if you aren’t supposed to think about something, why is it there? Don’t put it there if you don’t want someone to ask about it.

There is nothing to think about in G-Force. Not a single thing. There are fart jokes and there are cute little animals running around. They’re secret agents. Or commandos. It’s never clear. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention when Zach Galifianakis was explaining them (he created them) to boss Will Arnett because Galifianakis’s performance is the worst thing I’ve ever seen (not really, but close–he’s not having any fun and if you’re not having fun in G-Force, why are you in it?).

So these smart, talking, spy guinea pigs have a huge James Bond adventure. It’s fantastic. There’s never a suggestion anyone should think about anything after it’s happened–I’m not even sure there’s anything the viewer has to remember later on in the running time. It’s all present.

All the voices are good (it’s probably Jon Favreau’s best performance), but Steve Buscemi’s the real standout. And Tracy Morgan, he’s great.

G-Force also has excellent special effects, but they aren’t the point. There is no point.

CREDITS

Directed by Hoyt Yeatman; screenplay by Cormac and Marianne Wibberley, based on a story by Yeatman; director of photography, Bojan Bazelli; edited by Jason Hellmann and Mark Goldblatt; music by Trevor Rabin; production designer, Deborah Evans; produced by Jerry Bruckheimer; released by Walt Disney Pictures.

Starring Sam Rockwell (Darwin), Penélope Cruz (Juarez), Tracy Morgan (Blaster), Nicolas Cage (Speckles), Jon Favreau (Hurley), Steve Buscemi (Bucky), Bill Nighy (Leonard Saber), Will Arnett (Kip Killian), Zach Galifianakis (Ben), Kelli Garner (Marcie), Tyler Patrick Jones (Connor), Piper Mackenzie Harris (Penny), Gabriel Casseus (Agent Trigstad), Jack Conley (Agent Carter), Niecy Nash (Rosalita) and Justin Mentell (Terrell).

Lethal Weapon 2 (1989, Richard Donner)

Andrew Wickliffe — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 04:19:52 +0000

Lethal Weapon 2 opens with the Looney Tunes music. It’s appropriate. I don’t think any other film series has so successfully adapted the sitcom to the big screen. The whole point of Lethal Weapon 2 is not to think–maybe as a ten year-old, I believed the South Africans could get away with all their crimes on U.S. soil under the veil of diplomatic immunity (hey, it’s not like there’s any oil in South Africa, so it’s totally unrealistic)–you’re not allowed to think about the plot, Mel Gibson falling in love with Patsy Kensit (which also seemed a lot more likely when I was ten or eleven) or, I don’t know, anything else. It’s a crowd-pleaser, one where the good guys are good and they win.

How the film diverts attention is rather simple, but interesting. The villains–instead of necessarily having to do bad things–are automatically villains. The terrorists in The Delta Force were more human. The South African villains–Joss Ackland is an amazing creep, he looks like he’s going to lick Kensit’s face in one scene–are perfect. They’re bad and it’s fun to watch them get killed off in interesting ways.

Gibson’s okay in this one–his character is a little too tame, so much so, when he goes wild at the end, it seems forced. Danny Glover’s got a lot of one liners but he’s good. Joe Pesci’s funny. Derrick O’Connor is a solid villain.

It’s a perfect waste of time.

CREDITS

Directed by Richard Donner; screenplay by Jeffrey Boam, based on a story by Shane Black and Warren Murphy and on characters created by Black; director of photography, Stephen Goldblatt; edited by Stuart Baird; music by Michael Kamen, Eric Clapton and David Sanborn; production designer, J. Michael Riva; produced by Donner and Joel Silver; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Mel Gibson (Sergeant Martin Riggs), Danny Glover (Sergeant Roger Murtaugh), Joe Pesci (Leo Getz), Joss Ackland (Arjen Rudd), Derrick O’Connor (Pieter Vorstedt), Patsy Kensit (Rika van den Haas), Darlene Love (Trish Murtaugh), Traci Wolfe (Rianne Murtaugh), Steve Kahan (Captain Ed Murphy), Mark Rolston (Hans), Jenette Goldstein (Officer Meagan Shapiro), Dean Norris (Tim Cavanaugh), Juney Smith (Tom Wyler), Nestor Serrano (Eddie Estaban), Philip Suriano (Joseph Ragucci), Grand L. Bush (Jerry Collins), Tony Carreiro (Marcelli), Damon Hines (Nick Murtaugh), Ebonie Smith (Carrie Murtaugh), Allan Dean Moore (George) and Jack McGee (the carpenter).

The Saint’s Double Trouble (1940, Jack Hively)

Andrew Wickliffe — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 12:30:13 +0000

George Sanders can do no wrong in The Saint’s Double Trouble, so much so, he has the ability to smooth the film over. He’s such a joy to watch, the critical part of the brain shuts down. Eventually, as the film nears the conclusion, Sanders looses his control, letting judgments percolate to the surface. This condition isn’t particularly rare, but what makes Double Trouble is the repeating effect. Even after it’s clear the film’s charm is pulling the wool over the viewer’s eyes, it goes ahead and charms him or her again, setting up another realization a few minutes further into the running time. It keeps it up until the final shot, which plays on the surface like it should get a pass… but it’s really quite hollow.

There’s a distressing lack of content to The Saint’s Double Trouble. It opens rather grandiosely–or, with grandiose promise–in Cairo. Bela Lugosi shows up, mailing a coffin back to the States (there’s no reference to Dracula, which is kind of unfortunate, because it’s got to be what the viewer’s thinking). Lugosi’s actually quite good in Double Trouble–it might be his best performance (or the best performance I’ve seen from him). But then the film skips to Philadelphia and in The Saint’s Double Trouble, Philadelphia only has one exterior street corner. There’s a depressing lack of scale, with the script, budget and direction failing each other. Hively doesn’t do anything to make the film feel like it’s taking place anywhere other than a backlot. He’s a decent director, even if he likes cheap shots occasionally–and he can’t direct a suspenseful scene–but he’s generally fine.

The script’s a different story. It’s got some good one-liners and some fine conversations, but the film’s plot is so addlebrained, the incredibly complex series of double crosses–occurring off-screen–is never unraveled. It’s not as important as the film’s hook, George Sanders playing both the Saint and the villain. These two characters apparently know each other–it’s implied, at least–but there’s never anything more about it. I’m all for letting the viewer figure things out for him or herself, but The Saint’s Double Trouble asks the viewer to ignore critical reasoning and it goes down like castor oil.

The film’s abbreviated running time–sixty-six minutes soaking wet–means not only does Lugosi get short-changed (he’s even funny at one point), but so does second-billed Helene Whitney. She has a bunch of history with Sanders–thank you expository dialogue–but it doesn’t go anywhere. Their scenes together are wasted, accelerating the plot. Sanders is great in the scenes, but the film doesn’t have a single payoff. It keeps deferring the payoff–it really does seem like it’ll come at the end–but no. The film pulls it away again… and the end is so cheaply done, it makes The Saint’s Double Trouble seem like a low budget impression, filmed in someone’s backyard. Hively’s not entirely at fault–RKO controlled the budget–but he doesn’t do anything creative.

The supporting cast is good. Jonathan Hale’s hilarious as Sanders’s erstwhile sidekick slash pursuer. Whitney certainly shows potential. Elliot Sullivan’s a solid henchman.…

It’s a fine diversion, but Double Trouble wastes its ingredients.

CREDITS

Directed by Jack Hively; screenplay by Ben Holmes, based on the novel by Leslie Charteris; director of photography, J. Roy Hunt; edited by Theron Warth and Desmond Marquette; music by Roy Webb; produced by Cliff Reid; released by RKO Radio Pictures.

Starring George Sanders (Simon Templar / Boss Duke Bates), Helene Whitney (Anne Bitts), Jonathan Hale (Inspector Henry Fernack), Bela Lugosi (The Partner), Donald MacBride (Chief of Detectives John H. Bohlen), John F. Hamilton (Limpy, a Henchman), Thomas W. Ross (Professor Horatio T. Bitts) and Elliott Sullivan (Monk).

Home for the Holidays (1972, John Llewellyn Moxey)

Andrew Wickliffe — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 12:30:21 +0000

Director Moxey has–there’s no better word for it–a compulsion for zooming. He absolutely loves it. I imagine it saved the time and money needed for additional set-ups–and I think short zooms from character to character were a 1970s TV movie standard–but it looks just terrible. It kills some of the scenes in Home for the Holidays; otherwise perfectly fine, sometimes eerie scenes, ruined by Moxey and his zooming camera. After the first twenty or thirty minutes, it almost gets funny, how bad a technique he’s employing. When he turns in one particularly taut sequence–Sally Field being chased through the forest by the murderer–it’s a surprise he can do such good work. It’s a great chase scene, full of suspense… with only the commercial break to eventually impair it.

Moxey does have considerable talent, however. He frames shots rather well–when he’s not zooming–and the way he moves actors around in a static shot is fantastic. His close-ups aren’t particularly special, but the medium shots where he can fit four actors into the frame are good. Home for the Holidays, though written, produced and directed by men, is a woman’s picture. The five principals are women, with Walter Brennan in a glorified cameo as father to Field, Jill Haworth, Jessica Walter and Eleanor Parker–Julie Harris plays his new wife, who the women’s mother killed herself over. Brennan’s got little to do in a poorly written role–the Brennan voice doesn’t work with the character. The only other male actor is John Fink, as Field’s erstwhile romantic interest (and, for one possible moment–and for more interestingly–Parker’s). Fink turns in a standard TV movie performance, which doesn’t cut it in the company of the female actors.

The weakest performance is Haworth. She has one okay scene and a lot of bad ones. Joseph Stefano’s script moves quickly, especially when establishing the characters, and he rushes a tad much with Haworth’s character development. But it isn’t really Stefano’s fault–just like Moxey–he’s not really responsible for most of the film’s success. Walter doesn’t have much more character, but she’s excellent–even when she’s delivering this strange Shakespearian monologue. Parker’s solid, with a lot more to do at the beginning than the end, when Home for the Holiday’s becomes a Sally Field vehicle. It’s hard to imagine what Field’s getting her master’s degree in, but that disbelief aside, she actually does pretty well considering she’s not really a match for Parker, Walters or Julie Harris. Harris has the toughest performance–she’s got to be the hated step-mother, the suspect; Harris manages beautifully, creating a character who the viewer hopes isn’t guilty, even though all evidence points to it.

The end, the unveiling, falls apart. It’s paced well, though, with the revelation coming before the climax, allowing for some more solid acting and decent scenes. Moxey ends it on one of his zooms, but it’s got the music from George Aliceson Tipton going–and the music is excellent–so it gets a pass.

CREDITS

Directed by John Llewellyn Moxey; written by Joseph Stefano; director of photography, Leonard J. South; edited by Allan Jacobs; music by George Aliceson Tipton; produced by Paul Junger Witt; released by the American Broadcasting Company.

Starring Jessica Walter (Frederica Morgan), Sally Field (Christine Morgan), Jill Haworth (Joanna Morgan), Julie Harris (Elizabeth Hall Morgan), Eleanor Parker (Alex Morgan), Walter Brennan (Benjamin Morgan), John Fink (Doctor Ted Lindsay) and Med Flory (Sheriff Nolan).

Mission: Impossible III (2006, J.J. Abrams)

Andrew Wickliffe — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 12:30:25 +0000

After two asinine outings, Tom Cruise finally figured out how to get a Mission: Impossible to work. There’s an actual story–the viewer’s engagement with the plot doesn’t revolve around one’s appreciation of Tom Cruise and his frequent grin. The difference is in Cruise himself. He’s no longer charming the women aged twelve to fifty-two in the audience, he’s widened his scope–he’s trying to present an affable lead… to everyone. It’s amazing how little the film needs to engender some real concern for the character. Give him a girlfriend, a pre-exisiting girlfriend–does wonders. Throw in Ving Rhames putting his foot in his mouth while talking about the girlfriend. Rhames and Cruise, after two chemistry-free occasions, finally work well together. They’re finally believable as friends… or friendly acquaintances. Again, all seems to be Cruise.

There’s the other development–a personable team. Maggie Q and Jonathan Rhys Meyers don’t exactly have a major part in the film, but there’s a definite sense they work together and know each other. It’s a very welcome feel, since Mission: Impossible kind of suggests them having a team. It changes the kinds of stunts Cruise gets to do–he still gets to run a lot and there’s a motorcycle sequence–but having to involve his teammates… I don’t know if it makes Mission: Impossible III more possible (there’s a lot of silliness, down to the secret underground base), but it makes the concept a little easier on the senses. Instead of whacking the viewer’s cognitive reasoning centers with a two by four, it’s a more acceptable amount of disbelief the film’s requesting suspended.

J.J. Abrams and crew present a rather simple spy plot–it’d work, easily, for a James Bond, a Lethal Weapon or even a Die Hard (all, obviously, with significant changes)–and do it well. It doesn’t really matter if this one’s a sequel to the other two Mission: Impossible movies. It’s a spy getting married movie, they’ve made these for a long time. Cruise works–and works quite well with love interest Michelle Monaghan. Monaghan and Cruise have a really great scene–one where Abrams’s directorial abilities come through–and Monaghan’s just too good for this kind of material… and she can even pretend she doesn’t know it.

Cruise assembled a great supporting cast–Laurence Fishburne (in the kind of role he should have been doing for years), Billy Crudup, Simon Pegg and Philip Seymour Hoffman. Hoffman should have been playing the cooly evil villain for years–he excels at it. The scenes where he’s playing Tom Cruise playing Philip Seymour Hoffman are comic gems.

It isn’t just Abram’s story–he put together a great crew. Daniel Mindel’s a fine cinematographer–Mission: Impossible III has a bunch of CG composites and the lighting is never off, which is a not insignificant achievement. The music–by Michael Giacchino–is fantastic. It’s never bombastic (like a composer I’ve actually heard of) and occasionally feels like cheap TV music–a perfect match for Mission: Impossible.

Given the first two movies, it’s hard to believe III even has a chance. But, almost immediately, it’s a fine diversion. It just gets better throughout, even pulling a couple nice saves throughout (especially at the end).

Abrams is an impressive feature director.

CREDITS

Directed by J.J. Abrams; screenplay by Alex Kurtzman, Roberto Orci and Abrams, based on the television series by Bruce Geller; director of photography, Daniel Mindel; edited by Maryann Brandon and Mary Jo Markey; music by Michael Giacchino; production designer, Scott Chambliss; produced by Tom Cruise and Paula Wagner; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring Tom Cruise (Ethan Hunt), Philip Seymour Hoffman (Owen Davian), Ving Rhames (Luther), Billy Crudup (Musgrave), Michelle Monaghan (Julia), Jonathan Rhys Meyers (Declan), Keri Russell (Lindsey Farris), Maggie Q (Zhen), Simon Pegg (Benji), Eddie Marsan (Brownway) and Laurence Fishburne (Theodore Brassel).

Maze (2000, Rob Morrow)

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 12:30:28 +0000

A story, based on its text and then the reader’s reading of that text, evolves. The reading is required to make the story complete. A film has a similar relationship with the viewer, but has the added complication of conflicting influences–there’s a director, actors, a composer, a gaffer… and a screenwriter. A script is the instructions to making the model airplane, it’s not a story without being produced and experienced by a viewer. So, what might read fine on the page doesn’t necessarily translate well to the screen. Take an ending, for example. After spending ninety minutes with people–to borrow from Faulkner–to miss out on seeing the most important moment in their lives, only to have a cutesy ending–it’s lamentable. In the case of Maze, it’s also infuriating.

With the exception of the first five or six minutes, when Morrow the director is introducing the viewer to Morrow the actor’s character–an artist suffering from Tourette’s–there’s an eyeful of Morrow’s visualization on the Tourette’s–herky-jerky video. Like camcorder video. It’s annoying and probably ought to be a deal breaker, but when Morrow’s shooting on film–he’s a great director. It’s incredible, given how good the rest of his choices, he makes such a serious misstep. The visualization isn’t important, given the quality of Morrow’s performance.

Therefore, when Maze reaches the conclusion, after eighty-five or so minutes of fantastic, thoughtful direction concentrating on people–Laura Linney’s performance in this film is one of her best–the film cheats the viewer out of seeing Morrow and Linney’s people at this singular moment in their lives. Morrow slaps the viewer in the face. I realize Maze is a low budget picture without much hope for a theatrical pickup so Morrow had to keep the running time closer to ninety minutes than not, but he went from being able to have a stunning, devastating film with a fade out to having a goofy, bad romantic comedy ending of an epilogue. It’s like he wasn’t watching the dailies.

The film uses the disorder as the Princess’s Pea. It’s a love triangle–kind of a traditional one even–and the disorder presents the excuse for telling the story again. Morrow always handles the disorder well and Maze would, without that ending, reach the point where I probably would have said it was more about a guy with Tourette’s then a romance with a guy who happened to have Tourette’s (a distinction for Carlin lovers).

Linney and Morrow are great together. He manages to do a leading man role under a lot of pressure, given the disorder–it’s a shame he’s not an actor anymore. Linney’s indescribably good.

While the majority of the film is the two of them, there’s also Craig Sheffer. I suppose Morrow gets as decent performance out of him as possible… but Morrow and Linney came from theatrical backgrounds and Sheffer was in commercials. He’s never convincing as a dedicated surgeon.

Almost all of Maze is a wonderful viewing experience. Then comes the ending, a devastating sucker-punch. But Morrow’s definitely wasting his time on TV when he’s such a fine director.

CREDITS

Directed by Rob Morrow; written by Morrow, Bradley White and Nicole Burdette, based on a story by White and Morrow; director of photography, Wolfgang Held; edited by Gary Levy; music by Bobby Previte; production designer, Kalina Ivanov; produced by Paul Colichman, Mark R. Harris, Stephen P. Jarchow and Morrow; released by Andora Pictures International.

Starring Rob Morrow (Lyle Maze), Laura Linney (Callie), Craig Sheffer (Mike), Rose Gregorio (Helen), Robert Hogan (Lyle’s Father) and Gia Carides (Julianne).

Intimate Enemies (2007, Florent Emilio Siri)

Andrew Wickliffe — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 12:30:44 +0000

Intimate Enemies, quite unfortunately, follows the American Vietnam war movie formula. There’s the world-weary sergeant (Albert Dupontel), the green and idealistic new lieutenant (Benoît Magimel)–will the lieutenant eventually become just the thing he hates in all the other men? Of course. It isn’t even interesting when he gets there, since Enemies doesn’t just make the lieutenant the idealist, it also makes him the protagonist. After his big change, which is somewhat inexplicable–narratively speaking–the film loses its protagonist. Even as the camera and story follow Magimel, the viewer is distant from him, never to return. During a rather affecting third act, the distance still remains from the character, though he is, like the rest of the men (it’s a Christmas scene and a good one), devastating.

While the script occasionally falls into melodramatic war movie mores, there are some rather interesting singularities. Dupontel and Magimel never have their great scene together where Dupontel, full of hard-earned wisdom, somehow eases Magimel’s turmoil. Intimate Enemies opens rather awkwardly–not what I was expecting from a director like Siri, who lets the import of the film weigh him down (when Siri does let loose, all three times for melodramatic emphasis, it’s disastrous). That awkward open resolves itself quickly with the death of Dupontel’s lieutenant, who he despises for being inept (never heard of a sergeant thinking the lieutenant was inept in a war movie, have you?). So from the first ten minutes, Enemies sets itself up for that predictable scene where Dupontel recognizes Magimel for not being an inept lieutenant.

Of all the anticipated clichés the film could undergo, it would have been the best, given the terrible ones it ends up receiving. Some of them are so bad, I’m tempted to spoil them just to see if I can get the foreshadowing across in the beginning of a sentence.

What Siri lacks is a tone. With its American war movie structure (Platoon was a big influence–gag) to its desert setting (like The Beast), Intimate Enemies never feels like its own piece of work. During the infrequent scenes around the base, when the story allows the viewer to see what life is like for the men in the Algerian desert, or when Magimel goes back to 1959 France… it comes close. But the script rips the film away from these successful arenas and returns it to the norms.

Magimel is great. Dupontel’s really good. Lounès Tazairt is excellent as an Algerian fighting with the French. The script cheats most of them of their best possible scenes–Tazairt being a possible exception. And the rest of the supporting cast is generally good. The acting isn’t the problem.

Not once during the film does it feel like Siri isn’t cooking straight from the cookbook. Here he’s using a recipe of the back of a Kraft bag of cheese–the kind where you’re only supposed to use other Kraft products–and he never says to hell with it. He follows the recipe to the letter. It’s a decent recipe–it’s not like Platoon or something–but it’s a packaged dinner masquerading as a home cooked meal.

CREDITS

Directed by Florent Emilio Siri; screenplay by Patrick Rotman, based on an adaptation by Siri and Rotman; director of photography, Giovanni Fiore Coltellacci; edited by Christophe Danilo and Olivier Gajan; music by Alexandre Despla; production designer, William Abello; produced by François Kraus and Denis Pineau-Valencienne; released by SND.

Starring Benoît Magimel (Lieutenant Terrien), Albert Dupontel (Sergent Dougnac), Aurélien Recoing (Commandant Vesoul), Marc Barbé (Capitaine Berthaut), Eric Savin (Le sergent tortionnaire), Mohamed Fellag (Idir Danoun), Lounès Tazairt (Saïd), Abdelhafid Metalsi (Rachid), Vincent Rottiers (Lefranc), Lounès Machene (Amar) and Adrien Saint-Joré (Lacroix).

Child’s Play (1988, Tom Holland)

Andrew Wickliffe — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 12:30:52 +0000

Child’s Play barely makes any sense. Or maybe some of it does, but there’s a big voodoo component and it gets used as a crutch for the more fantastical elements (with its own problems with rationality). But the film opens with a shootout in downtown Chicago–Child’s Play uses its Chicago locations very well, never excessive–between cop Chris Sarandon and serial killer Brad Dourif. Serial killer Dourif who has a sidekick and doesn’t use a gun to kill his victims. My suspension of disbelief can go for the possessed doll out to kill those who wronged him, but a serial killer with a sidekick? It’s a more interesting story than a killer doll.

But the film also has some problems deciding what way it wants to go. The script can’t decide if it wants to convince the audience–or try to convince the audience–six year-old Alex Vincent has snapped and is talking to his doll and killing people… or if it’s the doll. The indecision doesn’t last long, but it does come after the rather literal opening where Dourif recites a spell while touching the doll. The trailer never has the money shot (the animated doll), but it certainly goes far towards suggesting it… so maybe theater-goers in 1988 knew what to expect. Given four sequels, even though I’d never seen the film before, it was hard to imagine it could have been anything but the doll.

The killer doll is maybe not the most ludicrous idea for a slasher movie, but Child’s Play isn’t really a slasher movie. The thriller elements play a lot more–down to the out-of-control speeding car going through Chicago–and Holland never lets Dourif (voicing the doll) go over the top, even after the doll’s got its own scenes. The special effects are great on it too.

Acting helps too. Dourif’s serial killer might not make much sense, but his performance is excellent. Sarandon’s solid as the cop (though I question his sweater for the opening shootout… it just doesn’t seem like something a movie cop would wear). Catherine Hicks is okay as Vincent’s disbelieving mother. She’s maybe the film’s weakest performance, especially since Dinah Manoff (as her friend) is so good. Young Vincent might not give the most soulful youth performance ever or anything, but he makes the film. It isn’t so much his dialogue, but how Holland directs him physically. It’s a strong performance.

Holland’s best scene comes at the end–there’s a quiet Halloween homage–and it’s worth the wait. Early in the film, Holland has to do a lot of sight gags to confuse the viewer (well, to create the impression of confusing the viewer), and he repeats them a few times… The film also cheats a lot, like why does Vincent have money to ride the ‘L’ or how does Hicks know where all the homeless hang out (she visits multiple places). The film skips over some of the post-murder stuff, just to create–first, in the viewer’s mind, then in the characters’–some suspicion Vincent is the guilty party. The omissions get obvious after a while.

But Child’s Play works. It’s not exactly scary or disquieting or uncanny… but it’s entertaining and suspenseful.

CREDITS

Directed by Tom Holland; screenplay by Don Mancini, John Lafia and Holland; director of photography, Bill Butler; edited by Roy E. Peterson and Edward Warschilka; music by Joe Renzetti; production designer, Daniel A. Lomino; produced by David Kirschner; released by United Artists.

Starring Catherine Hicks (Karen Barclay), Chris Sarandon (Mike Norris), Alex Vincent (Andy Barclay), Brad Dourif (Charles Lee Ray), Dinah Manoff (Maggie Peterson), Tommy Swerdlow (Jack Santos), Jack Colvin (Dr. Ardmore), Neil Giuntoli (Eddie Caputo), Juan Ramírez (Peddler) and Alan Wilder (Mr. Criswell).

The Benson Murder Case (1930, Frank Tuttle)

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 12:30:57 +0000

I wonder how Eugene Pallette felt–more, how his co-stars felt–about having the closest thing to a close-up in The Benson Murder Case. I’ve never been more acutely aware of shot distance than I was during the film. Tuttle has a standard pattern. Long shot–usually a lengthy long shot, sometimes an entire scene is one shot–followed by a medium shot for emphasis. At the end, Pallette gets the European medium shot (waist up) for one of his punch lines. Sadly, Pallette’s only got three or four jokes as his befuddled police detective in this Philo Vance entry. He and William Powell–who work well together–probably only have five scenes together.

What makes Benson Murder Case even more peculiar is its pacing. It’s a murder mystery where the murder doesn’t occur until almost a third of the way into the film–the film runs just under seventy-minutes and I don’t think Richard Tucker dies until after minute twenty. I wondered, as the film concentrated on Tucker’s dealings with his various co-stars, if there was supposed to be some confusion about who was going to die. Then I remember it was called The Benson Murder Case, which just made it stranger. While Tucker is supposed to be an unlikable jerk–he’s a stock broker who puts solvency ahead of his clients’ whims during the Crash of 1929–anticipating his death isn’t really all that interesting. After minute ten, I figured there was a chance he’d make it through most of the film. It would have been more interesting if he had.

The long first act introduces not just Tucker, but his antagonists–Natalie Moorhead, Paul Lukas, William ‘Stage’ Boyd and May Beatty–and then the second act refocuses on Powell and the investigation. There’s also district attorney E.H. Calvert’s re-election bid, which the film’s running time can’t make space. The result is the film’s initial characters disappearing for a while, only to reappear as subjects–Powell’s not even the protagonist until the latter half of the second act (remember, the film’s only seventy minutes), spending almost an entire interrogation off camera.

It’s a disjointed experience, bound together by some competent acting and a sufficiently mysterious mystery. Boyd is a fine villain, Moorhead and Lukas are good. Powell’s good, but Benson really shows how an actor needs close-ups to identify with the viewer. He’s got a character here, not a personality.

Tuttle’s quizzical direction also draws attention to the artifice. It’s obvious the film was shot on three-sided sets. They’re real high and well-decorated, so they’re interesting to look at (they have to be, given the length of the takes), but they’re empty of any meaningful content.

It’s an amiable seventy minutes, the kind of film good for passing time and nothing else.

CREDITS

Directed by Frank Tuttle; screenplay by Barlett Cormack, based on the novel by S.S. Van Dine; director of photography, Archie Stout; edited by Doris Drought; released by Paramount Pictures.

Starring William Powell (Philo Vance), Natalie Moorhead (Fanny Del Roy), Eugene Pallette (Sgt. Ernest Heath), Paul Lukas (Adolph Mohler), William ‘Stage’ Boyd (Harry Gray), E.H. Calvert (Dist. Atty. John F.X. Markham), Richard Tucker (Anthony Benson), May Beatty (Mrs. Paula Banning), Mischa Auer (Albert), Otto Yamaoka (Sam), Charles McMurphy (Burke) and Dick Rush (Welch).

Red (2008, Trygve Allister Diesen and Lucky McKee)

Andrew Wickliffe — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 12:30:31 +0000

Red’s a really safe movie. I’ve seen Noel Fisher play a young creep multiple times on television–just a few weeks ago even–and I’ve seen Kyle Gallner play the sensitive kid who hangs out with the creep. Twice for him. And casting Brian Cox as a loner who loses his dog and relentlessly pursues justice… well, it’s Brian Cox. It’s the kind of thing Cox has been doing for years. He’s really good, but he’s really good because he’s Brian Cox, not because the role has much depth to it.

The script’s very confused when it comes to that depth. Cox has a long, devastating back story. It comes out in various scenes with Cox reluctantly revealing himself to Kim Dickens. But the film starts so fast–the third scene is the big one, Fisher killing Cox’s dog–it makes all that eventual fill-in unnecessary. Worse, for a film with an utterly predictable conclusion, Red manages not to tie any of Cox’s character’s strings together. Sure, if his back story weren’t so tragic and so terrible, it’d be natural not to have the pieces together, but the film makes such a point about them. It seems to be an oversight.

The film’s actually pretty hard to watch. It’s one of those “rich people with influence escape justice” pictures, but with the crime here (and Cox’s good performance) so cruel and senseless, it’s a constantly unpleasant experience. Directors Diesen and McKee–there are no hints at who directed what or why the film needed two directors, it hardly appears to be a difficult prospect–take the unpleasantness one step further with some of the conversation pieces. Cox’s house is horrifyingly decorated, like the wall paper is supposed to make the viewer’s stomach turn, and the scenes with he and Dickens set there are difficult to endure.

The direction does have some high points. It feels very British at times, like a Masterpiece Theatre entry sensationalized and set in America. I think Diesen’s Norwegian, which is–cinematically speaking–close enough.

While Dickens has the film’s second or third biggest role, she frequently disappears and it always seems like she’s off in a better movie. It’s not really her fault, it’s the script. The script, at the end, both acknowledges her muted attraction to Cox… and his fear of aging (which had never been brought up before). The oversights mount up, especially as the film barrels through the third act, knocking down false ending after false ending.

The rest of the supporting cast is excellent–particularly Richard Riehle and Robert Englund. Tom Sizemore’s got a decent-sized role, but his character makes absolutely no sense after his first scene. Sizemore’s hair is dyed blonde, which looks bad, but he’s got a solid energy to him when he needs it. His writing isn’t good.

If one were to think about Red too long, the entire film would collapse. Not because of the Cox stuff, though. Cox is golden here, except he’s perfectly safe. There’s no risk and, subsequently, no reward.

CREDITS

Directed by Trygve Allister Diesen and Lucky McKee; screenplay by Stephen Susco, based on a novel by Jack Ketchum; director of photography, Harald Gunnar Paalgard; edited by Jon Endre Mørk; music by Søren Hyldgaard; production designers, Leslie Keel and Tiffany Zappulla; produced by Steve Blair, Diesen and Norman Dreyfuss; released by Magnolia Pictures.

Starring Brian Cox (Avery Ludlow), Kim Dickens (Carrie Donnel), Noel Fisher (Danny), Tom Sizemore (Michael McCormack), Kyle Gallner (Harold), Shiloh Fernandez (Pete Doust), Richard Riehle (Sam Berry), Amanda Plummer (Mrs. Doust) and Robert Englund (Willie Doust).

Tropic Thunder (2008, Ben Stiller)

Andrew Wickliffe — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 12:30:14 +0000

Tropic Thunder is one of those nice movies where most of the cast is phenomenal–here, while Nick Nolte and Steve Coogan are less than amazing, they’re both good. Only Ben Stiller lacks. The script’s full of good one-liners and some knowing Hollywood references. When, for the third act, there’s an attempt at honest characterization, it stumbles. Instead of amping up the absurdity, the movie strangely sidesteps it. The last couple scenes totally ignore that sidestep, going for an ending one half Soapdish, the other Austin Powers. It’s a weak move, but it’s hard to get too upset–the Austin Powers half is Tom Cruise in a fat suit and a bald cap dancing to hip hop.

Cruise’s performance, which I thought was more a cameo, says a lot about where Tropic Thunder works well. It gives the opportunity for good actors to essay crazy roles in the “real” world. There is a certain air of unreality about the movie, if only because it’s a movie made about “Access Hollywood” type reporting using “Access Hollywood” as a narrative tool. There’s a certain conflict of interest, particularly given Cruise’s presence.

Of the three leads–and calling Jack Black one of the leads is a courtesy, Black’s absolutely fantastic, but he’s not one of the leads–Black is the only one without a recognizable real life analog. Even though Robert Downey Jr. picked his character’s nationality (Australian)–a change from the original Irish–the result, a multi-Academy Award winner who does Oscar bait, results in rather obvious Russell Crowe comparisons. Stiller’s playing a combination of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Tom Cruise. Imagine Cruise’s career downturn but without the prestige projects and a lot of dumb, Arnold-sounding action movies. It makes Cruise’s appearance all the more amusing, but it feels–like the “Access Hollywood”–not like punches are being pulled… but they aren’t connecting.

The result is a measured success. Tropic Thunder is really funny, but never genuinely witty or intelligent. There’s a pretense it is witty and intelligent, which just makes it a little sad. Thank goodness for that Tom Cruise dance number.

As far as the acting goes… Downey is–technically–the most amazing. Until he has to play it straight, it’s just fantastic. But Jay Baruchel and Brandon T. Jackson, as the non-superstar supporting cast members in the movie’s movie, steal it in terms of actual human performances. These characters exist to remind the viewer the main characters are unbelievably loopy, which really cuts into the reality factor. Baruchel has more to do in the plot, more people to interact with (Jackson basically gets scenes–good scenes–with Downey).

In much too small roles, both Danny R. McBride and Matthew McConaughey are good.

Stiller’s direction is nearly as passive as his performance. There’s some funny references to war movies–Baruchel starts the picture in glasses in what I’m hoping is a silent Full Metal Jacket reference–but in terms of actual craft, Stiller comes up empty. The movie’s strength are in the script’s dialogue and its characters (certainly not its plot) and the actors. And Stiller seems aware of it.

CREDITS

Directed by Ben Stiller; screenplay by Stiller, Justin Theroux and Etan Cohen, based on a story by Stiller and Theroux; director of photography, John Toll; edited by Greg Hayden; music by Theodore Shapiro; production designer, Jeff Mann; produced by Stuart Cornfeld, Eric McLeod and Stiller; released by DreamWorks Pictures.

Starring Ben Stiller (Tugg Speedman), Jack Black (Jeff Portnoy), Robert Downey Jr. (Kirk Lazarus), Brandon T. Jackson (Alpa Chino), Jay Baruchel (Kevin Sandusky), Danny R. McBride (Cody), Steve Coogan (Damien Cockburn), Bill Hader (Rob Slolom), Nick Nolte (Four Leaf Tayback), Brandon Soo Hoo (Tran), Reggie Lee (Byong) with Matthew McConaughey (Rick Peck) and Tom Cruise (Les Grossman).

Special (2006, Hal Haberman and Jeremy Passmore)

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 12:43:54 +0000

Michael Rapaport’s kind of floundered through Hollywood for the last fifteen years. It seems like he would have been a great 1970s character actor–twenty years too late, he ended up on a sitcom. Special’s probably his best performance; he inhabits the role of a lonely schlub who makes fun of himself for still reading comics, never asks out the girl he likes and never stands up to anyone. Then he gets a magic pill and becomes a superhero.

The viewer, however, understands Rapaport’s having a unique reaction to a trial drug and is hallucinating everything. Special shifts from humor to drama quickly–often so fast, laughing at Rapaport’s more outlandish behaviors immediately causes guilt when reality becomes clear. The film sets up a strange relationship with its audience, one where it’s inviting laughs after it seems like it should have gone full drama.

Rapaport also narrates a lot of the film and that narration, his delivery of it, is fantastic. The narration really compliments the onscreen action, it’s unexpectedly successful (since narration’s usually such a misstep).

But when Special becomes about the human condition, instead of a misfiring brain on a drug trial, things start to fall apart. The film doesn’t have an ending–going through two or three false ones before finally stopping. That lack is intentional, to embrace the filmmaking style–Special’s a little vérité, I really do think they just had Rapaport walk around in a goofy suit and filmed people’s reactions–but it isn’t honest to the characters.

Special has a great bunch of actors working in it. The entire cast–Paul Blackthorne (who gets a great close), Ian Bohen, Josh Peck, Robert Baker, Jack Kehler and Christopher Darga–is excellent. But the best surprise is Alexandra Holden, who spends most of the film in a cursory role, only to play a crucial part in the conclusion–it’s practically a melodramatic plot development, but it doesn’t quite qualify because it’s just a detail–and Holden pulls it off. She doesn’t just make it work, she makes it wonderful.

The film only runs eighty minutes. It’s subplot free–Rapaport’s character is defined through his voiceover, since there’s barely any time for the viewer to get to know him before he starts going crazy. It just loses itself in the last twenty minutes.

Technically, it’s solid. Directors Haberman and Passmore combine comedy and lyricism–Special’s not a commentary on the new superhero genre, which isn’t just a pleasant surprise, it’s also essential to the film working. There’s no fetishistic attitude, no references to famous films. The music, from Tom Wolfe and Manish Raval, accounts for a good deal of the film’s success.

Special needed another ten minutes, an ending instead of a stopping, but it’s got a lot of great acting and, even though the concluding sentiment is a tad trite, it’s a fine viewing experience.

CREDITS

Written and directed by Hal Haberman and Jeremy Passmore; director of photography, Nelson Cragg; edited by Mike Saenz; music by Tom Wolfe and Manish Raval; production designer, Nathan Amondson; produced by Frank Mele and Edward Parks; released by Fabrication Films.

Starring Michael Rapaport (Les), Paul Blackthorne (Jonas Exiler), Josh Peck (Joey), Robert Baker (Everett), Jack Kehler (Dr. Dobson), Alexandra Holden (Maggie), Ian Bohen (Ted Exiler) and Christopher Darga (Steve).

Spider Baby or, The Maddest Story Ever Told (1968, Jack Hill)

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 12:00:39 +0000

Spider Baby might not be “the maddest story ever told,” but it comes somewhat close.

The film’s a strange mix of haunted house, 1950s sci-fi and cartoon humor–I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a live action cartoon; it’s like “Scooby Doo” on expired sleeping pills. It opens with that 1950s sci-fi introduction, the erudite gentlemen addressing the camera. Here it’s Quinn K. Redeker, who maybe doesn’t do the erudite well, but is a solid and likable leading man for the picture.

Immediately following–oh, I forgot the amazing opening titles, which are animated and set to song (with Lon Chaney Jr. singing no less)–Spider Baby hits a snag. The introduction to the characters is awkward, following a disposable character instead of Chaney. In fact, opening it with Chaney’s arrival and skipping the awkwardness would have worked a lot better. For the first three-quarters of the film, Chaney is the film’s glue. He never lets his performance go, engaging the viewer enough there’s no need to examine anything too close. Even as he guards and enables a bunch of mutant cannibals, Chaney still brings an intense likability to his role.

The script is really pretty good. Jack Hill knows how to shoot on a limited budget (haunted house pictures don’t have to cost much and there aren’t really any special effects), but he knows more how to write for one. That awkward opening, which is a lot bigger than the rest of the film, might have been to disguise the film’s eventual small scale. It certainly seems like a much different picture after the opening, but one of the film’s constant joys is its continual reinvention.

As a horror film, even a comedic one, it has to fire the pistol on the wall eventually, but the way Hill paces things, it’s as though the viewer is willing all the elements to come together, not the filmmaker forcing them. It’s a nice mix of expectation and organic development.

But it’s too bad Chaney falls off in the last act. His character arc is just too much for him and he can’t reign it in. The other acting in this section–particularly from his three cannibals-to-be wards, Beverly Washburn, Jill Banner and Sid Haig–is some of the strongest in the film. It’s also the section where Mary Mitchel and Redeker have their requisite love interest scenes together and they’re both good in them. Mitchel spends most of the movie in the background, so it’s nice when she gets some attention.

In the two flashiest roles, Washburn and Banner oscillate a little too much, but both deliver when it’s important. Washburn’s got some sturdier scenes than Banner… but Banner’s got the more salient character.

Carol Ohmart, as one of the squares, eventually has some really good moments. Actually, the only bad performance is from Karl Schanzer; his fearless and annoying lawyer (with a toothbrush mustache, something I really wasn’t expecting to see) makes many jokes fall flat. His delivery’s poor and the film, for a while, rests a lot on him and he fails.

The film has some real high points, but as the end starts to become clear, it’s also clear Hill hasn’t got his bookends to work right. There’s some off about them and when the end bookend turns into a real scene, Hill’s only moments away from making the film’s final mistake.

But even with a cheap ending, there’s a funny “The End” card and that attention to absurdity makes the film succeed. Also important are cinematographer Alfred Taylor, who does a great job–there’s quite a bit of good, black and white day for night here. Ronald Stein’s music is also important for keeping that playful but still dreadful tone.

I only heard about Spider Baby last month. I’m surprised it doesn’t have more of a vocal following.

CREDITS

Written, edited and directed by Jack Hill; director of photography, Alfred Taylor; music by Ronald Stein; produced by Gil Lasky and Paul Monka; released by American General Pictures.

Starring Lon Chaney Jr. (Bruno), Carol Ohmart (Emily Howe), Quinn K. Redeker (Peter Howe), Beverly Washburn (Elizabeth), Jill Banner (Virginia), Sid Haig (Ralph), Mary Mitchel (Ann Morris), Karl Schanzer (Schlocker) and Mantan Moreland (Messenger).

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962, Tony Richardson)

Andrew Wickliffe — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 12:21:05 +0000

Despite its title, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner doesn’t really concern itself with loneliness and the only long distance running is secondary in the narrative. The film’s really something of a social piece, made rather conspicuous in the third act, with the comparison between the public school and the reform school. That moment, with the public school students appearing to be rubes, seems a little off. Wouldn’t they be wary of the delinquents?

The film’s about a teenage delinquent (twenty-five year-old, and it shows, Tom Courtenay) who proves to be an excellent runner at reform school. Headmaster Michael Redgrave (in a throwaway part) has a big thing for athletics, having been a runner in his younger days, and Courtenay becomes his new star. But the majority of the narrative is flashback, leading up to Courtenay being caught and sent to the school. His crime is identified, in a narratively flimsy scene, when he talks to the school counselor. The counselor, who practically opens the film, is a fine example of Loneliness’s biggest problem–it forgets about people.

With an hour and forty minute running time, one might think Loneliness had time to keep track of its principal cast, but the counselor is the first to go, followed by James Bolam, who appears in the modern action from the flashback without any solid narrative reason. So much of the film is spent in flashback, with Courtenay really doing well (if looking eight years too old) in those scenes. But it’s also in those scenes where the film reveals itself–the story’s not about a teenage delinquent off at reform school, it’s about a son adrift following his father’s death–and the reform school scenes can’t really compete, because they’re disconnected from that character.

The end, of course, tries to bring everything together, but Richardson’s style–five second repeats of earlier scenes–doesn’t work at all. Richardson’s direction here is mostly solid, even excellent, but the little flourishes (the film uses a jazz score to poor effect) distract from his otherwise fine work. There are some beautiful long shots of the training runs, with Walter Lassally’s black and white cinematography exquisite. A scene at the beach, with Courtenay and girlfriend Topsy Jane, is also very well done; Richardson can’t quite marry the technical quality and the story, however.

Alan Stillitoe adapted his own short story, but the content–and the way so much is left out–suggests he added material to make up for feature length. The result, combined with the seemingly overpowering urge to make a statement, is a confused film. It’s interesting technically (and historically), competently acted, but entirely dispassionate. Richardson’s going for a certain amount of distance, but he never quite makes the case of Courtenay’s character deserving our attention. At home, with the death of the father, definitely; at the reform school, not so much, which might be why those scenes become less and less prevalent as the running time progresses.

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Tony Richardson; screenplay by Alan Stilltoe, based on his short story; director of photography, Walter Lassally; edited by Antony Gibbs; music by John Addison; production designer, Ralph W. Brinton; released by British Lion-Columbia Ltd.

Starring Michael Redgrave (Ruxton Towers Reformatory governor), Tom Courtenay (Colin Smith), Avis Bunnage (Mrs. Smith), Alec McCowen (Brown, House Master), James Bolam (Mike), Joe Robinson (Roach), Dervis Ward (Detective), Topsy Jane (Audrey) and Julia Foster (Gladys).

Navy Secrets (1939, Howard Bretherton)

Andrew Wickliffe — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 11:32:38 +0000

Low budget filmmaking–both today and in the past–has always been the most successful when the narrative takes the budget into account. Navy Secrets takes place over one day, with most of the locations being in cars, apartments or restaurants. In other words, easy sets. There’s one slightly more complicated scene in a park. The scenes are all competently lighted and, in general, the film never reveals its b-movie status. The lack of recognizable actors does a little.

What’s so smart about the film is its structure. That one night, with two main characters who the viewer knows relatively nothing about–all the viewer knows, five minutes in, is not to trust Fay Wray. The viewer isn’t necessarily supposed to distrust her, just be wary of her actions. It makes the film an almost interactive experience, with each line of dialogue, each look between characters possibly revealing information (or not). It’s a smart way to do a low budget film, to make the whole thing as quiet as possible.

The other main character, played by Grant Withers, is also suspicious. So is the entire supporting cast after a while. Navy Secrets’s resolution is one of the obvious possibilities, but it’s never confirmed until the final moment and until that confirmation, there’s always a chance of something else. It keeps the whole narrative unsteady, especially since for the majority of the film, it isn’t even clear if there’s a mystery to be solved.

The chemistry between Withers and Wray has to do well to sustain the film, since there’s little action (there’s one decent fight scene towards the end, which is a surprise, given the one early is awful). The film only runs an hour and two minutes, but it actually seems to go much longer, a combination of it being all dialogue and all in one night. It’s not real time, but–for the most part–the viewer only misses eating scenes and some traveling scenes. The film seems to relate the rest of the characters’ evening… omitting, eventually, some story points to later surprise the viewer.

There’s one particularly nice scene–that park scene–where Wray and Withers kill five or seven minutes of the running time. The flirtation between the characters is rather nice, with Wray’s performance the most engaging. Withers is no slouch, but Wray assumes the lead in the film–the script doesn’t assign it to her–just because of her performance. In some ways, from what I’ve seen of her films, it’s her best performance.

The supporting cast is okay, unless they’re doing accents. Even if the accents are real, they come off poorly. But accent-free Dewey Robinson is solid. Maybe it’s simple–with the accents, the characters are automatically suspect, while without, there’s some added doubt.

The film ends somewhat nicely… a little too neat, a little too style-free. The majority of the film takes place at night with some well-produced street scenes. The last scene, an interior, lacks any flavor. The street scenes–with the rear projection of locations–give the film a real mood, one they should have kept.

Navy Secrets is a fine diversion–the title doesn’t really work for the content–and it’s a nice role for Wray.

CREDITS

Directed by Howard Bretherton; screenplay by Harvey Gates, based on a story by Steve Fisher; director of photography, Harry Neumann; edited by Russell F. Schoengarth; released by Monogram Pictures Corporation.

Starring Fay Wray (Carol Evans), Grant Withers (Roberts), Dewey Robinson (Nick Salado), Wilhelm von Brincken (Cronjer), Craig Reynolds (CPO Jimmy Woodford), George Sorel (Slavins), André Cheron (Joe Benji), Robert Frazer (Peter), Joseph Crehan (Captain Daly), Duke York (Babe), Arthur Housman (Singing Drunk) and Joseph W. Girard (Navy Captain).