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The Informer (1935)
King Gypo impressed the hell out of me
One of John Ford's best films 'The Informer' doesn't feature any grand scenery of the American West. Instead the intense drama Ford was known for plays out on the no less rugged terrain of British character actor Victor McLaglen's face. The former prizefighter, who once faced Joe Louis in the ring, delivers an Academy Award-winning portrayal of disgraced IRA soldier Gypo Nolan on the worst night of his life.
The plot is gracefully simple: In 1922 Dublin, a starving and humiliated man who's been thrown out of the IRA for being unable to kill an informant in cold blood, himself becomes an informant. For £20 he betrays a friend to "the Tans" and for the rest of the night he drinks and gives away his blood money in rapidly alternating spasms of guilt, denial, self-pity, and a desperate desire to escape the consequences of his actions.
It is the remarkable complexity given to the character of the seemingly simple Gypo that is the film's most impressive achievement. In most movies a burly lout of Gypo's type would be cast as the heavy, he'd have at best two or three lines and be disposed of quickly so the hero and the villain could have their showdown. In 'The Informer' Gypo himself is both hero and villain, while the showdown is in his inner turmoil, every bit of which is explicitly shared with the audience.
Because Liam O'Flaherty's novel had previously been filmed in 1929, RKO gave Ford a very modest budget. The director and his associates, particularly cinematographer Joseph H. August, turned this to their advantage in creating a claustrophobic masterpiece about a man at war with himself. In addition to McLaglen's Oscar 'The Informer' also won John Ford his first along with wins for Best Screenplay and Best Score.
The Connection (1961)
Staged, grungy, bleak, experimental, and despite it all quite entertaining.
A remarkably tense and anxious little film about a group of junky musicians "waiting for their man" in a New York flophouse loft. They're joined by a documentary film crew (just a director and a cameraman) whose goal seems to be some sort of cinéma vérité about the life of junky musicians who wait in flophouse lofts.
After a few introductions, and comical "act natural" type instructions from the documentary director, the characters take turns addressing the camera. They nervously rant, philosophize, and insult each other, interrupted occasionally by improvised jazz from several legitimate musicians in the cast (most notably pianist Freddie Redd and tenor sax player Jackie McLean). The anxiety they feel as they wait for their fix is brilliantly conveyed by both the actors and the director (this time I mean the real director, Shirley Clarke, not the actor portraying the documentary director, got it?)
Much of this conveyed anxiety comes from the fact that the film is a strange and slightly unsettling mix of stark realism and stage acting (it is a filmed version of a play from the New York theater scene of the day). This is an unusual film and it honestly takes some getting used to, though probably less now taking into account the glut of nauseatingly self-conscious "mockumentaries" and hyper-stylized "reality shows" we are plagued with today.
The Connection is something different, matching edgy subject matter with edgy film-making the producers were working very much without a net. Consequently some might think it ends in disaster, I think it's a highly interesting experiment that's well worth watching.
The Sheltering Sky (1990)
An unequivocally beautiful movie that shouldn't be faulted for not quite living up to the novel, but I can't help it
The Sheltering Sky is frankly a psychological masterpiece and one of the densest books I've ever read, but it has a fairly simple plot. The film adequately reenacts the plot. but can't really convey what it is that makes the novel so exquisite.
That's not to say Bertolucci and his contributors, especially cinematographer Vittorio Storaro, don't deserve a lot of credit for their work. This should probably be accepted as the industry standard for filming the scenery of North Africa. The title alone should tell you you're in for rich cinematography and in my opinion this is absolutely necessary to the telling of the story, but the scenery does tend to overwhelm the story at times.
Malkovich and Winger both give credible performances, but they seemed like strangers to me compared to the characters in the novel. Likewise the casting of the Lyles was excellent, but their role seemed abbreviated. I found Paul Bowles himself to be a captivating screen presence, though he's only on screen briefly as the narrator.
Ultimately the film is worth watching but constantly reminded me of the discrepancy between the two media, which isn't exactly an endearing quality.
Fury (1936)
A mob of All-American peasants are out to burn Spencer Tracy at the stake (and his little dog too)
A compelling "message picture" with good performances from both Sylvia Sidney and Spencer Tracy and deft direction from Fritz Lang. 'Fury' is tautly dramatic and not without lessons for a modern audience, but it still falls just a little short of masterpiece status.
This was Lang's first American film, the studios were presumably in fierce competition to sign him to a contract and seems clear that MGM was quite proud of itself and thought they could safely fit the Austrian master into their mold while also revisiting some of his past successes. 'Fury' is by no means a remake of 'M' but it does share some key themes. However, the style is a marked departure from the director's German work and the Hollywood treatment keeps this film from being as compelling as its older brother.
Hailing from the Midwest as I do, the Hooterville Junction take on small-town America rankled with me a bit. Gossipy housewives and self-important businessmen are played for laughs and then suddenly turn into a howling mob bent on the death of a man against whom the "evidence" is literally peanuts. It's a serious matter, as we're later reminded by the prosecutor's speech about the number of lynchings in America's then recent history, it should never have been treated lightly.
Do watch it though, and keep an eye out for a very familiar Cairn terrier. Also, early on when Joe and Katherine are looking at bedroom furniture there's a distinct chuckle at the expense of the Hays Code (which was enforced starting in '34).
Piñero (2001)
A great story, a great performance, an average movie.
They'd do well to replace the words 'Director's Cut' with 'Director's Slice'. I was fascinated by Miguel Piñero's life, inspired by his poems, and blown away by Benjamin Bratt's performance, but the director and editor conspired to mug an otherwise good movie.
Put simply, Leon Ichaso tried to use an "edgy" style to mimic Piñero's edgy life and it's agonizing to watch. I've come to accept the conceit of the fractured narrative, but I just can't stomach the unending jump-cuts, unnecessary camera refocusing, and worst of all the switches between professional-looking color film and the sort of push-button, digital, black & white that I associate with low-budget TV shows. If any of this was innovative I'd accept it as the director's prerogative, but even in 2001 it wasn't the least bit innovative.
As I said it is a good story and Bratt exceeded my expectations by a power of ten. I actually recommend 'Piñero' strongly, it's an enjoyable and worthwhile film that deserves to be seen. I just wonder what it could have been if MTV's shadow wasn't looming over it.
Ah Pook Is Here (1994)
A brief but inspired visit to Interzone.
It's maddeningly difficult to represent the work of William Burroughs in any visual medium, though animation definitely has advantages over regular film in this respect, but 'Ah Pook is Here' succeeds to a greater degree than most.
The short is mostly taken up by a grotesque creature, with Burroughs's voice, philosophizing while smoking a hookah. The audio seems to have been cut together from various sources subjects include Ah Pook (the Mayan god of death), Control, politics, and "stupid, greedy, Ugly American deathsuckers."
This line, taken from 'No More Stalins, No More Hitlers' on Dead City Radio, is Burroughs at his prophetical best, "...the rulers of this most insecure of all worlds are rulers by accident. Inept, frightened pilots at the controls of a vast machine they cannot understand, calling in experts to tell them which buttons to push." Now imagine it being said by a demented little creature that looks like a cross between a chicken and your spleen.
Kantô mushuku (1963)
A flavorless yakuza melodrama from Seijun Suzuki. So, he is human after all.
Kanto Wanderer is not a good place to start an exploration of either Seijun Suzuki or yakuza movies in general. For real Suzuki fans it's interesting to see what he was doing during his "salary man" phase, before breaking loose with surreal masterpieces like Branded to Kill or Tokyo Drifter. If you're looking for a superior, mid-career, yakuza film from Suzuki, watch his action-packed Youth of the Beast (also made in 1963).
The real problem here is the script, calling it soft would be an understatement. Yakuza. Gambling. Women. That's the plot, and though it might sound good, in this case it just fails to gel. If you've seen other Suzuki films you're probably expecting me to say he triumphs over a mediocre script. Sorry, not this time. Though there are definitely a few stylistic flourishes, mostly in the last twenty minutes, overall it's bland and what's worse it *really* drags toward the middle. Ultimately the director is as responsible for this mess as his screenwriter and his star.
Speaking of that star, I don't have any idea if Akira Kobayashi is an icon in Japanese cinema or someone who faded into obscurity immediately after this film, but I'd put my money on the latter. Starring as Katsuta he looks the part of the young yakuza underboss, but he doesn't have half the screen presence of Jo Shishido or some of Suzuki's other leads. The three schoolgirls going giggly over him in the opening scene is all too apropos.
So, that's what's wrong with it. On the other hand the remastered DVD from Homevision looks spectacular. The film is shot in widescreen "TohoScope" and Seijun Suzuki is an unqualified master at filling up that huge rectangular.
Tetsuo (1989)
Manga-influenced man vs. machine Japanese scifi film with a razor-sharp visual style
It's so visually striking that you could never fully describe Tetsuo in words. But here are a few that apply: Japanese, hyperactive, perverse, industrial, surreal, Faustian bargain, contrasty, black-and-white, Kafkaesque, scifi, stop-motion, manga-influenced, revenge, technology, alienation, supervillains.
Shinya Tsukamoto is an actor (he's the antagonistic "Metals Fetishist" here as well as Jijii in Ichi the Killer) as well as a ground-breaking writer/director/cinematographer. Tetsuo's influence can be seen clearly in directors as diverse as Darren Aronofsky, Takashi Miike, and even David Cronenberg.
There is definitely a plot, but due to the non-linear editing and sparsity of dialogue you'll need to pay close attention on a first viewing or else you'll be overwhelmed by the engrossing visual style (which might be a good thing). It's filmed in contrasty black-and-white. Each frame is cramped and chaotic, much of the time it's filled with wires, pipes, chain-link fences, and all the other incidental debris of life in the late 20th century... which suddenly seems significant and even menacing.
Towards the fifty-minute mark (it's 67 min. total) the willful excess starts to feel a little too excessive, perhaps the manga influence is a bit too strong. But Tetsuo finishes strong, with an end that's at once unexpected and inevitable. Highly recommended.
Dillinger (1945)
The meanest eyes in Hollywood.
*** Slight spoiler in fourth paragraph. *** A poverty-row gangster flick that, for much of its 70 minutes, rivals the best Warner Bros. had to offer. The movie plays fast and loose with history, mixing fact and fiction at will, but almost to be expected when dealing with Dillinger and at least this film doesn't masquerade as a documentary like so much of the infotainment on TV these days.
Blessed with matinée idol's looks and an ex-con's temperament Lawrence Tierney was the perfect actor to play Dillinger. I'd seen a couple of his other, lesser, films before checking this one out and I honestly didn't think much of him as an actor. He has screen presence and shoots a furious glance like nobody's business, but beyond that he'd always seemed limited to me. In Dillinger he proved me wrong, obviously his swagger was just right for the character, but he really does give a superb performance. At times he brings to mind James Cagney as Cody Jarrett in White Heat (which wouldn't be made until 1949).
The rest of the cast is good as well, it's tempting to call the familiar Elisha Cook, Jr. the stand-out but really the members of the gang all fill their roles admirably. Anne Jeffreys plays Dillinger's fictional moll Helen Rogers, unfortunately her character is really just a sketch. If this had been an "A picture" she surely would have gotten more screen-time.
*** Spoiler? *** Is it really a spoiler to say that John Dillinger was shot to death by FBI agents in an alley behind Chicago's Biograph Theater on July 22, 1934? I found the end quite disappointing, it builds to a false climax and then maunders for about ten minutes before unceremoniously disposing of the "hero" at the correct time and place. Of course just about everyone knows it's coming, but in my opinion the editor could have added a little more tension. I suppose in '45 they were still worried about glamourizing Dillinger, but these qualms didn't seem to slow them throughout the rest of the picture.
All in all, a tremendous B-movie that hints at what Lawrence Tierney could have been if his many mis-steps hadn't gotten in the way.
The Blue Gardenia (1953)
Weak, very weak.
It's hard to believe Fritz Lang went directly from this obnoxious little waste of time to a masterpiece like The Big Heat, but those are the facts. It would be stretch to call The Blue Gardenia film noir, it's really just a melodramatic morality play indicative of a desperate fear that somewhere there were men and women who might not be settling down together in tract housing.
The Blue Gardenia starts out as a 'slice of life' picture. Three single blondes living together in Los Angeles and working for the phone company. They're under attack by predatory men, like wolfish painter Harry Prebble (Raymond Burr) and smooth operator newspaper columnist Casey Mayo (Richard Conte). Murder ensues, followed by a tepid investigation.
If it sounds like riveting cinema so far, let me point out the poorly defined characters, unlikeable actors, miserably contrived love story, and modicum of suspense that is totally shot to pieces by a deus ex machina ending. Not recommended.
The Man with the Golden Arm (1955)
A daring film for 1955, long but strong. Sinatra's best dramatic performance.
*** Spoiler in fifth paragraph *** This was an amazingly frank (uh-huh, uh-huh) picture for 1955. Otto Preminger and Carlyle Productions took a chance by making it, the Motion Picture Association of America balked at certifying a film that openly shows a junky jabbing a syringe full of heroin into his arm. Frank Sinatra took a chance both on playing an addicted musician and at falling flat on his face in a role that required at least twice as much acting as he'd ever done. All in all these gambles paid off, the movie is a classic, though it's not perfect.
Nelson Algren's novel may be great, but it has far too much going on to fit comfortably into a two hour movie 'The Man with the Golden Arm' is 119 minutes and often feels much longer. However, in my opinion it's not just Frankie Machine (Sinatra) that makes the film but the other characters and their sub-plots, all involving Frankie. Ultimately it's not just Frankie who has the addiction, everyone and everything seems to be dependent on him and he feels it keenly. When the pressure gets to be too much the drums start pounding on the soundtrack and Frankie steps across the street with his well-dressed "friend" Louie.
It's an exaggeration to say that Frank Sinatra's music career was ever really in the doldrums, but in the early 50's he was in limbo between his days touring with big bands and the Las Vegas era. 'From Here to Eternity' established him as a serious actor and his career as a singer rebounded as well, but 'The Man with the Golden Arm' was still a significant challenge, the whole show sinks or swims with his performance. He pulls it off with such skill that for several minutes at a time I forgot I was watching Frank Sinatra, he must have known junky musicians and exploited that knowledge to the utmost.
Set side by side with Billy Wilder's masterpiece 'The Lost Weekend' there is more emphasis on the sociological causes of addiction in 'The Man with the Golden Arm.' Whereas Don Birnem (Ray Milland in 'The Lost Weekend') seems to struggle mostly against himself, Frankie Machine is beset by external forces and he takes refuge in the needle. Neither approach is wholly right or wrong, mostly because addiction is impossible to fully explain, but it seems like this film might have benefited from a little more insight into Frankie's internal struggle.
*** Spoiler *** One of the problems I have with this film is the clichéd reliance on "quitting cold turkey." I realize that 'The Man with the Golden Arm' was probably setting the trend rather than following it but that doesn't make it any better. In the beginning of the movie Frankie has to all appearances kicked his habit with the help of a doctor and a treatment facility of some sort. Naturally the drama of the film requires that he backslide, but I found the All-American ideal that a man has to face his problems alone (or maybe with the help of a good woman) out of place here. Going cold turkey and riding off into the sunset with Kim Novak seemed too unrealistic. The end of 'The Lost Weekend' was similar but in my opinion was a little less rosy.
Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti (1993)
An honest if not captivating documentary, the drummers are the stars.
If it's Maya Deren you're interested in, and not voudoun itself, then you might want to shuffle this one to the bottom of your list. It's not terrible but it is distinctly reminiscent of those old "film strips" you had to watch in junior high (if you're my age that is).
As an educational film 'Divine Horsemen' gives you some good general knowledge about Haitian voudoun beliefs and practices. It's very sincere and respectful, showing an admirable refusal to sensationalize the material. This isn't voodoo from the movies, some of it may have been being "performed" for tourists but it's definitely the real stuff, including actual sacrifices of chickens, a goat, and a bull.
Somewhat surprisingly for a Maya Deren film 'Divine Horsemen' suffers from being a little too straight forward. It amounts to fifty minutes of a rather dry narrator talking over grainy black and white footage of various dances and sacrifices to the different loa. The biggest problem with the film is that it's almost all shot in slow motion, in stark contrast to the audio. I'm sure Deren wanted to show the grace of the dancers, which is definitely more apparent when they're at half speed, but forty-five minutes of fast drums and slow dancers wore on my nerves a little. It's so one dimensional that your mind can't help but wander a little, which is aided and abetted by the spectacular, and nearly constant, drumming. Not a good tactic if you're hoping to engage both eye and ear.
In the final analysis this film probably will give you a better basic understanding of voudoun than the typical A&E documentary, but it's just a little flat considering it deals with such a vivid subject. Not Maya Deren's most fascinating work by a long shot.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
'I'm having an old friend for dinner.'
I ate 'The Silence of the Lambs' up the first time I saw it and I've gone back for more who knows how many times. I can clean my plate and watch the whole thing, or just snack on certain scenes and be satiated. It is fine dining.
I admit it's a little bizarre, but if I'm in low spirits I sometimes put *this* movie on to cheer myself up, especially if I'm depressed because I've watched some garbage modern movie. The sheer perfection of it never fails to raise me up a little, and the fact that it was made in 1991 gives me hope that the current crop of Hollywood actors and directors isn't unremittingly bad.
The scenes between Anthony Hopkins and Jodie Foster are masterful, they're like the cadenzas to a violin concerto. I've watched those scenes by themselves about twice as often as I've seen the full movie. To see them feeding off each others performances is beautiful, a feast in itself, it doesn't even require fava beans or a nice chianti.
But it isn't just Hopkins and Foster. There really isn't a poor performance in the entire film, maybe it's because I'm biased and I've seen it two dozen times but it seems like even the actors in the bit parts are far above average. The bug guys, Miggs, the deputies at the funeral home in Elk River, the chauffeur who "detests physical labor."
Jonathan Demme's directing is so brilliantly subtle that it's easy to overlook given the gripping story and the incredible acting, but the last time I watched the entire movie I did indeed, "feel eyes moving over Clarice's body." I'd read about this before, and undoubtedly processed it subconsciously, but I'd never seen it so starkly. The fact is that throughout the movie men are staring at Jodie Foster, judging her, ordering her around, lusting after her, and finally trying to kill her. This produces an undercurrent of suspense even in scenes that don't necessarily have any other suspenseful elements.
Finally, that they managed to do all this and still keep it so realistically lurid is, to me, nothing short of amazing. The pictures of the flayed girls, the bloody fingernail stuck in the wall of the pit, whatever that thing is in the bathtub, it's all so marvelously grotesque you get the feeling that certain too-polite elements of society would love to shun it, but the film is so good that it demands to be watched.
Cockfighter (1974)
I can honestly say this is the best cockfighting movie I've ever seen, bar none.
It's really about much more than cockfighting, but it does have an authentic, quasi-documentary feel to it. If I'm not mistaken those are actual chickens actually killing each other, which is an almost mind-bending concept in 2005 film-making. PETA and the ASPCA must really gnash their teeth over this movie.
The script is terse, due mostly to the fact that Frank Mansfield (Warren Oates) has taken a vow of silence until he wins the 'Cockfighter of the Year' medal handed out by some caricature of a southern Senator. But the story flows, would you really expect any Roger Corman-produced movie to get too bogged down, and largely because you're never more than twenty minutes away from another bloody cockfight.
Warren Oates is really feeling his... (no, I won't do that to you). He plays a guy totally driven by cockfighting, something that I find sort of brutal and more than a little boring, but his skill as an actor and the authenticity he brought to the role really drew me in. None of the other actors are really given a chance to make an impression.
Ultimately I only watched 'Cockfighter' to see where it fits into the Rednexploitation genre, movies such as 'Moonrunners' or 'Walking Tall.' I'd say it's near the top of that heap and it's moderately enjoyable as a slice of life and for Oates' acting, but really if cockfights are one of those traditional forms of entertainment replaced by the Gameboy then I'm not so sure it was a bad trade.
Yajû no seishun (1963)
Vibrant, colorful, Yakuza flick par excellance.
This is one of the Yakuza movies made during the height of Seijun Suzuki's run at Nikkatsu Studios. It's not as abstract as the later stuff but it's just as brilliant. It can't be stressed enough that though he made "entertainment films" he did it with a vengeance. I've seen four of his films so far, ranging from 1958 to 1967, and they're all strikingly original. From this period 'Tokyo Drifter' seems to get more press than 'Youth of the Beast' (both star Jo Shisido) but I'll take this one. The colors and the composition of the wide-screen images draw you in, while the violence and the narrative jags keep you guessing. Highly recommended both for both its artistry and its energy, if you like gangster movies here's one for you.
The plot revolves around Jo, a tough ex-con with a mysterious past who shows up and deftly goes to work for rival Yakuza bosses. He immediately pits them against each other and starts raking in as much money as he can. However, it soon becomes clear that he has ulterior motives involving a string of call-girls operated by one of the bosses. Literally no one is safe when he starts clawing his way toward the center of the web.
The Lady Eve (1941)
It's Simple Enough: This is a Cinematic Masterpiece, See it or Live an Unfulfilled Life.
And that goes for 'Sullivan's Travels' as well. It's amazing to think that both of these films premiered in 1941, Preston Sturges must have been eating his spinach that year.
I'm not going to bother stabbing away at the plot, you can get that somewhere else if you need it. Instead, I'll just start lobbing adjectives at you: Hilarious, vibrant, nuanced, well-acted, sparkling, balanced, refined, poetic, honest, tour-de-force, superb.
Barbara Stanwyck and Henry Fonda both give the comedic performances of their career, Stanwyck especially has a vibration that almost comes through the screen. The supporting cast (Sturges mainstays like Charles Coburn, William Demarest, and Eric Blore) play their roles to perfection, as always Sturges manages to wring every drop out of his actors.
If you've never heard of Preston Sturges don't waste any time moping around about it, just get out and latch onto a copy of both 'The Lady Eve' and 'Sullivan's Travels.' The guy should be pointed out as one of the all-time greats, Hollywood wasn't big enough to hold him and he made frustratingly few movies but if you haven't seen these two yet then get cracking.
Deathdealer: A Documentary (2004)
Henry Rollins as a buttoned-down, middle management, sort of Death.
This is a short mockumentary about an unfulfilled door-to-door salesman named Vincent (Henry Rollins). Alright, you find out pretty quick that he's really what you might call the Angel of Death. He's still unfulfilled though.
I was a little suspicious that this might turn out to be one of those hyperactive things you'd see late at night on MTV2, and maybe it is but it's not bad. It's filmed with an on-the-go camera style but the editor did remember to take his Ritalin. There's a lot of gallows humor but the death scenes aren't played for laughs and carry a surprising weight.
Rollins is effective as the shirt-and-tie grim reaper, checking into cheap motels, eating in diners, all the while talking into the camera about how this is just a job for him and he's thought about "retiring early" and buying into a Jack-in-the-Box franchise that he just happens to know has opened up recently.
The movie wisely stops just short of getting didactic, leaving the viewer to fill in most of the blanks about careerism, the possibility for change, oblivion, etc.
The First Three Lives of Stuart Hornsley (2004)
A complete and utter waste of time.
Not the movie, it's actually pretty good and well worth the 28 minutes of your life it will use up. It's Stuart's time machine that is, in what *must* be irony, a waste of time.
When the film starts Stuart Hornsley (Tunde Adebimpe) seems to be a graduate student in physics, working on a time machine. Because he's close to a breakthrough he passes up a once in a lifetime moment, and when next we see him it's seven years later and he's living what he no longer considers to be "his real life" all because of that one moment. He works his way through several lives in order to get the one he wants.
It seems like the writers were working with some strange physics of their own. Essentially Stuart makes a wrong turn, but instead of going back he keeps driving, and yet he gets to the right destination by a different route. I've learned my lesson, I'm never stopping to ask for directions again.
The Lost Weekend (1945)
'I'm not a drinker, I'm a drunk.'
***** SPOILER IN FIFTH PARAGRAPH ***** It's hard to imagine what people must have thought upon seeing this movie in 1945, depictions of alcoholism are so prevalent in our media today that it's practically a brand name. We have serious drunks, comical drunks, pathetic drunks, and all manner of drunks in-between. In many ways we may have progressed but I'm not sure I've ever seen a movie that treats alcoholism with the honesty it gets here.
But The Lost Weekend isn't just a message movie, it's superbly crafted as well, easily the equal of Billy Wilder's other films (Double Indemnity, Sunset Blvd., Stalag 17, Sabrina, etc.). According to the production notes Wilder read the novel by Charles R. Jackson and took it upon himself to convince his producers to let him make the film, knowing it would be a hit and win the leading man an Oscar. That's vision coupled with uncanny film-making skill.
Ray Milland never gave a finer performance, the progression of his character throughout the movie is extraordinary and a lesser actor simply wouldn't have been able to pull it off. I doubt he was Hollywood's first alcoholic would-be writer, but he certainly raised the bar for the many who'd follow in his footsteps. He never once resorts to stereotypical "drunk" stock-character. His eye movements and high-flown, self-delusional, speeches alone make the film worth watching.
While this film is imminently deserving of the four major Oscars it scooped up (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay, and Best Actor) it didn't win for Best Cinematography, which is a shame. John F. Seitz's black-and-white cinematography is a visual feast. Seitz was nominated for the Oscar seven times between 1930 and 1955 (including four Wilder pictures) but regrettably never won. In all he was the principal cinematographer for 159 films, including such other classics such as: Sullivan's Travels, This Gun for Hire, The Miracle of Morgan's Creek, The Big Clock, Night Has A Thousand Eyes, and When Worlds Collide.
***** DANGER! SPOILER AHEAD! ***** I'm not nearly so optimistic about Don's recovery as most other reviewers seem to be. Overtly the the Hollywood ending is all there; Don drops a cigarette into a glass of whiskey, he and Helen have the big kiss, he sits down to finally crank out his big book. Call it pessimism but I think it's all tied up so neatly that it can't help but unravel for him five minutes after the cameras leave. I see plenty of potential for more weekends just like this one, and I think that's the way Wilder wanted it.
The Harder They Fall (1956)
This movie is all jabs, it doesn't have a knockout punch and forgets to work the gut.
It's really sort of a shame that, being Humphrey Bogart's last film, this tepid boxing drama isn't any better than it is. It wouldn't have taken all that much to improve it, corruption in boxing was topical in 1956 and being based on a novel by Budd Schulberg it must have seemed like another muck-raking hit in the mold of 'On the Waterfront.' But Bogart isn't at his best and the writing just doesn't pass muster. Frankly the corruption seems a little too extreme, the boxers too stupid, the promoter too venal. It might work at a lower echelon boxing but the film falls in with the boxing movie cliché of the "title shot." I find the idea that anyone would ever go to see this mug fight for the Heavyweight Champeenship of the World flatly ridiculous.
Bogart plays Eddie Willis, a down and out sportswriter looking to cash in. Rod Steiger is Nick Benko, an apparently mob-connected fight promoter who isn't burdened by a single scruple. They collaborate to quickly turn a soft-punching, glass-jawed, South American giant (played by 6'8" pro wrestler Mike Lane) into a heavyweight contender.
If 'The Harder They Fall' has a redeeming factor, it's Rod Steiger's performance. Nick Benko should be on top of the world but Steiger gives him a manic desperation. Bogart is adequate but his character is never really developed and is ultimately as unbelievable as the rest of the film.
Koroshi no rakuin (1967)
Trapped in a dead-end job? No hope for advancement? At least you're not addicted to the smell of rice.
Rice-sniffing, #3 Killer, dead butterflies, snuff films. Where to start? 'Koroshi no rakuin' is a surreal, Kafkaesque, timewarp of a film masquerading as a stylish 60's hit-man movie. Nikkatsu Studios fired Seijun Suzuki over this film's "incomprehensibility."
Suzuki is an auteur of the highest magnitude, nobody has ever used a widescreen, black and white, "Nikkatsu Scope" frame quite like him. The dense and beautifully chaotic images are overwhelming on your first viewing, it's the sort of movie that shows you something new every time you watch it.
Essentially Hanado Goro (Jo Shisido) is the yakuza's #3 Killer, but he desperately wants to be #1. As might be expected, being a hired gun is a stressful life and Hanado takes the edge off with lots of sex and the smell of boiling rice. The sex gets him embroiled in some sort of a plot and he finds himself getting much better acquainted with #1 Killer than he'd ever wanted to be.
Time backs up, swirls around, restarts, slows down. Major themes include, but are not limited to: ambition, lust, rivalry, bureaucracy, addiction, loss of self-control. There's a certain parallel in that with this picture Suzuki derailed his own career as a "salary man" making Nikkatsu yakuza flicks, many of Hanado's thoughts and impulses must have been the director's own.
Gendai yakuza: Hito-kiri yota (1972)
Doomed, restless, violent, self-destructive, Japanese, street punk classic.
The proud, self-destructive, punk/anti-hero violates national boundaries without compunction in late 60s/early 70s cinema. Here Isamu Okita (Bunta Sugawara), often simply called "Bro", is reminiscent not only of Alex (A Clockwork Orange) but also of Ivan (The Harder They Come), Johnny Boy (Mean Streets) and even of Michel (À bout de soufflé).
'Gendai yakuza: hito-kiri yota' (which, in English, apparently means something like Outlaw Killer or Street Mobster) is a restless, prowling movie that occasionally bursts into hyperkinetic action. Something about the verging-on-ludicrous action scenes gives the viewer almost the same sense of release that Bro and the other punks feel.
Isamu is a punk, a whore-son, born on the margins of post-war society. By virtue of his own courage and propensity for violence he becomes the leader of a street gang and attracts the attention of the more established yakuza crimelords. Most of the drama revolves around the conflict between his pride and his superiors.
'Street Mobster' is very well filmed and has aged well, it's influence on films like 'Fight Club' is palpable.
Born to Kill (1947)
The femme fatal meets her match.
Truly one of the most sinister of RKO's hardcore noirs, Born to Kill is as close to real nihilism as a Hollywood studio picture was likely to come. The only remotely sympathetic characters are a pair of dupes and an old drunk, everyone who's got anything on the ball is corrupt and ruthless.
Sam Wilde (Lawrence Tierney) is a homme fatal, as attractive yet deadly to women as any of a dozen femmes fatal in other films are to men. Unable to resist his glowering masculine wiles is Helen Brent (Claire Trevor) who is nearly as black-hearted as he is. All the other characters circle around them like moths around a flame. As is to be expected money, murder, and lust all have their parts to play.
To be honest Lawrence Tierney's performance is fairly one dimensional, but it is a hell of a dimension. He menaces, scowls, and swaggers through the picture, always ready to attack, like an alley cat that's found it's way inside. His character's bluntness is played for maximum effect, wisely since Tierney is no Bogart. He does manage some good, direct, lines, in response to Trevor's, "Oh, I wouldn't say that...," he tightens his lips and spits out, "No. You wouldn't say it, but that's how it is." With Tierney turning up the heat, it's up to Claire Trevor to sweat. She rides the moral see-saw much like Fred MacMurray reacting to Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity. Even without the benefit of a voice-over she pulls it off quite well, convincingly playing a woman caught between her safe, malleable (and rich) fiancée and the exciting but untamed Wilde.
There are three strong supporting performances. Elisha Cook, Jr. is Marty Waterman, Sam's "friend" who does his best to keep the lid on the pot (and to deliver most of the lines in their shared scenes). Esther Howard is Mrs. Kraft, a boardinghouse owner who is important to the plot. Especially good is Walter Slezak as the genteel detective Arnett.
Born to Kill does have a few flaws, the pacing is somewhat questionable and several of the important characters are either missing or blindingly stupid throughout most of the picture. But on the whole Tierney, Trevor, and the others deliver and there's enough tension to keep things interesting. The film is based on a novel 'Deadlier Than the Male' but given Tierney's looks and personality that title doesn't truly seem to fit the movie, it's a rare case of the man luring the woman to her doom.
Ostre sledované vlaky (1966)
"Do you know what Czechs are? Laughing animals."
It's amazing just how many visual sex metaphors director Jirí Menzel managed to cram into 92 minutes, without ever becoming ridiculous or losing the plot. It makes Hitchcock's train going into the tunnel shot from 'North By Northwest' look like the work of a rank amateur.
Ostensibly 'Closely Watched Trains' is the story of Trainee Milos Hrma (Václav Neckár) starting his job at the local train station during the Nazi occupation of what was then Czechoslovakia (only I guess it wasn't, because it was officially absorbed by the Reich). Throughout most of the film the war, complete with what the local Nazi functionary describes as "beautiful tactical withdrawals," is a long way off and Milos has more important matters to attend to. Specifically he's trying to lose his virginity and deal with another problem common to young men everywhere, one which the local doctor advises him to solve by thinking about football during critical moments.
Made in 1966, when some Czechs were clearly already looking ahead to 1968's Prague Spring, the film slyly uses the Nazis as a stand-in for the Soviets. As proof of this, and the Hollywood establishment's anti-Communist bent in the late 60s, 'Closely Watched Trains' won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 1968. It is, however, imminently deserving of the win on its own merits.
History lessons aside 'Closely Watched Trains' is beautifully shot, well acted, and absurdly hilarious, while still tasting of tragedy. Excellent.
Shock Corridor (1963)
From the very first scene I wanted to turn 'Shock Corridor' off, look away, escape it somehow.
It's not a bad movie so much as an uncomfortable one, which was surely writer/director/producer Sam Fuller's intent. Essentially it's a morality tale about an ambitious journalist who wants to solve a murder that took place in a mental hospital some years before, he and everyone else assume that doing so will mean the Pulitzer for him. To get inside the hospital he, his girlfriend, and his editor concoct a scheme whereby he poses as a "sexual fetishist."
The acting is very theatrical and doesn't make any attempt to portray mental patients realistically. Likewise, the writing and directing are didactic, while at the same time being, now, hopelessly out of date. If there were any scientific advisors it isn't hard to believe that they'd be of the sort who dropped by the studio in the morning and were off performing lobotomies after lunch (though in reality by '63 lobotomy had been largely rejected and was increasingly rare).
'Shock Corridor' has many of the elements of a Greek tragedy. The hero is neither thoroughly good nor evil, and brings about his own doom through the tragic flaw of his pride and ambition. The unnamed madmen milling about often serve as a chorus.
Overall the film sets out to scare its audience, it presents "insanity" not as the many distinct diseases we understand it to be today, but as a punishment or a curse. This is driven home at beginning and end with the quote, attributed to Euripides, "Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad."