Ten recent reviews

Murder! (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1930) -

A person wrongly accused and condemned to death; another seeking out the guilty party - it's an early prototype of what would become the Hitchcock standard for decades. And with good reason, it's a durable idea and is executed here as enjoyably as many of his later films, if perhaps with less flair in the area of making grand set pieces. However, this comes immediately on the heels of the silent era and set piece or no, Hitch has a total command of how to structure things visually without the heavy reliance on dialogue that became the norm later. It's not a great one, even for the period, but it's totally enjoyable, crisp and well-made and certainly a worthwhile piece of his catalog to check out.

Longtime Companion (dir. Norman René, 1990) -

Way better than the rank and file of gay-themed films I've seen and - ending aside - a good, solid film overall. It's one of the earliest American films to really take on the AIDS crisis as its central theme and I really appreciated the (almost complete) absence of melodrama in favor of serious talk, well-drawn characters, and a realistic look at a particular group of (mostly gay, mostly white, mostly affluent) men and how the crisis impacts on them and their group of friends.

It's helped immeasurably by its episodic structure - following one story through beginning to end would probably be too schmaltzy to tolerate, but checking in with the people periodically is a good way to follow the situation which is, in reality, the central idea of the film more than any individual character. I have to say, I expected the worst and I liked it quite a bit. As films that voluntarily place themselves into the gay-themed section of most video stores, it's top of the heap. As a film-film, pretty good stuff.


The Pianist (dir. Roman Polanski, 2002) -
Of course Roman won the Oscar, because this is the kind of film the Academy loves - serious in intent, well-made on all levels, and nothing that's going to challenge your preconceptions (unless you believe that every single person who was associated with the Nazi party was thoroughly evil and had not a shred of sympathy or humanity, in which case you'll be stunned by one character introduced late in the film). Watching it, I was drawn into the drama, the story, and Brody's excellent work in particular (he's in pretty much every single scene), but I feel like this was a relatively unchallenging film about the Holocaust, bringing nothing new in particular to the table, to the growing body of work of films about the subject. I respect it, it was an interesting story to tell and lest I be read wrong here I don't see any problem with continuing to tell variations on a theme - as long as something unique and new is brought into the world, which is the only place where I think Polanski failed. If you haven't seen a lot of films on the subject of the Holocaust, this one will be a powerful experience. If you have, you may be subject to a feeling of deja vu, in spite of the best intentions of everyone involved.

Detour (dir. Edgar G. Ulmer, 1945) -

I nodded for a moment or two when I first saw this last fall, as I am prone to, so I rented it again to see if it was as fucked-up as I remember and yeah, Ann Savage is absolutely amazing as the femme fatale of the picture. I mean, even by the standards of noir femmes, she's wacko and absolutely carries the energy of the film since Tom Neal's Al character is one step from being a total void - he's not likeable or disagreeable; not handsome, nor is he ugly; he doesn't get too heated over the situation, yet he doesn't totally lie down and go along with things. But with a budget approaching zero dollars and a couple unknowns, Edgar G. Ulmer crafter a fine little thriller long on mood and anxiety, short on all other amenities, and therein lies its charm.

Le Boucher (dir. Claude Chabrol, 1970) -

After seeing Chabrol's latest film and enjoying it without loving it, I decided to jump back and see one more or less agreed upon as a masterpiece - this one - and found that I also liked it without loving it (though Roger Ebert's rave review on his website leads me to believe that this has depths that I haven't begun to get near). I did love the placidity of the French countryside and the mundanity of the events interrupted by the murders of the film - it's almost like they don't really matter much, more like discussion points between the characters than reasons for feeling afraid. And though Hitchcock can be felt in the proceedings, Chabrol never lays too heavily on the suspense until the end, when it seems that Stephane Audran's character actually has moved from her carefree provincial life into real danger. It's certainly not the savage view of the bourgeois that I've heard about Chabrol's films but not yet seen, but it's also certainly interesting enough to keep me going further into the catalog. Oh yeah, and the score is fucking amazing as well.


The Body Snatcher (dir. Robert Wise, 1945) -

Boris Karloff again turns in a terrific performance for this Val Lewton vehicle as the title character (or is Henry Daniell's Dr. MacFarlane the title character?) in which a doctor sanctions grave robbing and possibly murder in the name of furthering medicine and science. It's no place we haven't been elsewhere and better, but it's still an enjoyable slice of the macabre, directed by the fine, steady hand of Robert Wise, thus ensuring a skillful way with both visual aspects and actors, though even he has a hard time making Russell Wade as the spineless intern anything to get excited for or about. And though Bela Lugosi is second-billed, his role is small. It's fine, pivotal even, but both Wade and Daniell have heaps more screen time and more to do with the plot. Central plot could move along a little faster for my tastes, but it's still fun and when Karloff's purely sinister John Gray stalks one of his victims down a dark alley, it's a truly effective moment of suspense in a film that I feel could've been pushed further into the realms of the creepy and nerve-wracking, but still makes for some engaging entertainment.


Motel Hell (dir. Kevin Cooper, 1980) -

Pure fun that intimates more serious matters without throwing them in your face. All the leads - excepting our female heroine (and assuming of course that your heroine is not Nancy Parsons as Ida) - have a great time chewing the scenes and camping it up and making this about as funny-yet-disturbing as they possibly can. And like the best satires, it succeeds as the (scary) thing it's making fun of while givng chuckles a-plenty, such as watching John Ratzenberger as a member of a punk outfit called "Ivan and the Terribles." I'd love to hear the record. Anyway, smoked meats made of human quarry are the norm in the innocuously named "Motel Hello" and Farmer Vince lives a simple, quiet life, recycling people into food and thereby reducing waste - that's how he sees it anyway. He is also living with Ida, and when the nature of their relationship is casually dropped into the story, it adds just another whole creepy level to the proceedings. The film takes a central premise but keeps throwing in ideas from way out in left field to keep you intrigued, keep things off-balance, and keep you involved. I can't say it ever really wraps up into a coherent statement (they seem to be avoiding going too heavily with anything serious here), but as a good slice of the weird, the funny, and the creepy, it does me just right.

Diabolique (dir. Henri-Georges Clouzout, 1955) -

Superb thriller from Clouzout brimming with the usual group of completely sour human beings, pessimism about mankind's motives in dealing with other humans, and a cold touch of realism brought to bear on some grisly proceedings. A school headmaster openly holds a mistress whom he contemptuously showers with affection in front of his wife. The wife and mistress plan to kill him while the school is on a break and that's whee it starts to get interesting. Things build slowly - perhaps a touch too slowly, though it didn't really bother me - up to the stunning finale, as good a ten minutes of screen time as Clouzout ever filmed. There is, of course, the comeuppance in the end that I think takes the picture down a tiny bit, where in other films of his sinister deeds would - or could, anyway - go unpunished. The film has greatness in it that it doesn't quite achieve (except in the closing scenes, which are absolutely brilliant), but it's pretty damned effective regardless and a fine addition to his catalog nonetheless.

Cure (dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 1997) -

I got about 25 minutes into this film before I realized that I'd already seen it. Fitting, I suppose for a film about an amnesiac who may or may not be responsible for motivating people to murder, but it didn't speak well for the film that I didn't remember it. This time though, I've got total recall of the scenes and the way the film works its effective and scary premise right up to the showdown between the two main characters. A good thing, strangely paced by American standards, but really effective in the way it draws you slowly and inexorably into the world it's created - something not too far off from the real world maybe (nothing here that's gonna dazzle you with shocks or special effects), but just "off" enough to be really unsettling. A sleeper, yes, but no pun intended.

Porcile (dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969) -

Worst transfer ever! Bad print, reel changes are apparent every single time, and unless Pasolini's up to some sort of tricks, two reels are even switched late in the film, jumbling the chronology of this obscure film even more - but that's not really his style so much, even if indirectness is. So this one was evocative, despite my issues with the transfer, and the roughly contemporary interview with Pasolini in the bonus features offered up this nugget that helps explain not just this film, but his whole approach:

Pasolini: "I've never wanted to make a conclusive statement. I've always posed various problems and left them open to consideration."

Makes a hell of a lot more sense in watching this film that alternates between a historical story of a cannibalistic warrior and a that of a contemporary bourgeois family torn by political beliefs, neither of which lay their intentions on their sleeve or move in any sort of normal or predictable way (especially when suddenly you've moved ten minutes ahead in things and have to jump back later due to a reel switch). I finished the film wondering just what and why I had watched, but the comment above frames the whole thing - and other more obscure works of his - quite well, giving a key perhaps as to how to view them next time I want to make the effort. It's evocative and interesting, sure, but don't come to this one looking for any easy answers. Only Teorema and Salo are more inscrutible in his catalog, and maybe not even quite as much as this one.

and after the nukes, the only thing left will be roaches and music biopics: denver premieres for 12/5

Jeffrey Wright and Adrien Brody watch the approaching mushroom cloud, confident in the knowledge they will outlast us all.

Our man in Cap Hill Pike Bishop boldly goes so you don't have to:

Cadillac Records- By turning the colorful lives of American R&B, Blues, Country and Rockabilly icons into so many portraits in beige, Hollywood has, for the last thirty years or so, worked hard to Disneyfy the history of our country’s musical heritage with the dreaded subgenre of the music biopic. Due to the fact that most of these movies are written and directed by Baby Boomers (or their sycophantic children), it is hardly surprising to note then, that an insidious undercurrent in all of these biopics is the idea that the music of say a feisty hillbilly hero or a urban/rural negro bluesman will soon find its way to a young and hip white kid from the city (read: suburb) and influence the most perfect form of musical expression ever- Rock and Roll, preferably the late 60s British variety. So when we watch the trailer for the new film Cadillac Records and a see the snippet of the young Rolling Stones approaching the nonplused Muddy Waters (Jeffrey Wright) at the door of a South Side bar and tell him, “We are big fans. We named our band after one of your songs… ” we know in what context the filmmakers want us to view the characters up on the screen. They might as well have had some classic rock dork stand in front of the actors, point and say, “Psssst. That’s Muddy Waters. He made Rock and Roll possible!” To that end, Cadillac Records will do the same for some of the Chess recording artists as say, What’s Love got To Do With It did for (Ike and) Tina Turner or Ray did for Ray Charles or Walk the Line did for Johnny Cash- it will push a couple more best-of compilation albums out the door to the curious only to be brought back again some time later as used-bin fodder for cash or trade.

The stunt casting (and the thinking behind it):

Beyonce Knowles as Etta James (She does what she wants because she is the producer and don’t you forget it.)

Mos Def as Chuck Berry (This one is obvious- He’s the Chuck Berry of Hip-Hop.)

Cedric the Entertainer as Willie Dixon (He’s fat. Get it, Willie Dixon was fat too.)

Eric Bogosian as Alan Freed (He wrote and starred in Talk Radio so he’s perfect for the role of a disc jockey!)

Tony Bentley as Alan Lomax (Well he played Hal B. Wallis, the guy that produced Elvis’ first movie, in that Made-for-TV Elvis movie. Muddy Waters is the Elvis of Blues. So why don’t we get this guy to play Alan Lomax, the guy that produced Muddy’s first field recording. It would be like karma or something.)

The rest of the cast:

Jeffrey Wright as Muddy Waters
Adrien Brody as Leonard Chess
Gabrielle Union as Geneva Wade
Columbus Short as Little Walter
Eamonn Walker as Howlin' Wolf
Kevin Mambo as Jimmy Rogers
Valence Thomas as James Cotton

The Punisher: War Zone- When a comic book movie is dumped onto the market at either end of the summer release schedule, an alarm should go off in your head that says “crap movie.” If you learn that said comic book movie is a 2nd time reboot (as in a third stand-alone movie, for you kids without the math skillz) of a franchise whose only rewards are watching rounds of ammo being fired into the bad guy’s faces and some wicked cool ‘splosions, then that alarm should no longer be necessary. From here on out you are on your own. The word out in the intranets is that The Punisher: War Zone is nerdy hipster manna in that it is so, so very bad that it is good. I love the first line of Roger Ebert’s review where he writes, “You used to be able to depend on a bad film being poorly made. No longer.” There is a sense of pathos and of fear in his proclamation, almost like he has seen what’s coming over the horizon and knows that it can’t be stopped.

Antarctica- Opening at the Starz FilmCenter is this dramedy from Israel. The synopsis they give reads:

Director Yair Hochner gives us a wacky comedy that ignores politics altogether while focusing on its characters’ domestic and romantic problems. And no one has more problems than gay siblings Shirley and Omer. Omer is almost thirty and still hasn’t found himself — or the man of his dreams. A series of disastrous blind dates hasn’t helped. Shirley is a little younger and has already nabbed her dream woman, Michal, owner of the hippest café in town (and Shirley’s boss). But the thought of settling down scares Shirley, who wonders if she’s ready to give up her long-held plan of traveling to Antarctica.

As the siblings sort through their feelings and prepare for adulthood, friends and relatives chime in with their advice and problems of their own. No one has more of either than their “Jewish mother from hell,” Shoshanna, played, in what Hochner describes as a tribute to both the films of John Waters and the late great Divine, by Yoam Huberman, one of Israel’s most talented drag artists.

They Killed Sister Dorothy- Also opening at Starz FilmCenter is this documentary. The synopsis they give reads:

They Killed Sister Dorothy chronicles the legal proceedings that followed the execution-style murder of Sister Dorothy Stang. At seventy-three, the Catholic nun and activist had lived in Brazil for thirty years, collaborating with the government to establish sustainable development in a remote corner of the Amazon. But along the way, she had made enemies among the ranchers who stood to benefit from the exploitation of the rainforest and its natural resources. In 2005, she was shot six times at point-blank range. Two men were arrested for the killing, but it quickly became clear that her death was part of a much greater conspiracy.

A Christmas Tale- Opening last Friday but continuing on this week is A Christmas Tale, the critically-praised French film about a dysfunctional family gathering together for Christmas after the family matriarch learns she is dying from leukemia. It looks like the ensemble cast of character actors is the big draw for this film along with the pleasant structure of vignette-like scenes adding up to an emotionally satisfying whole. It stars Catherine Deneuve, Jean-Paul Roussillon, Mathieu Amalric, Anne Consigny, Melvil Poupaud, and Laurent Capelluto. Directed by Arnaud Desplechin (Kings and Queen)

Cruising

Cruising is a bait-and-switch of a movie. It lures you in with its smell of leather and sweat and poppers, and sends you home with a hand job. The underground gay clubs that serve as the backdrop in the movie are there to shock and titillate, certainly for audiences of 1980 who hadn’t even heard of, nor even imagined these places existed at the time. The years since have made these scenes seem tame by modern viewers. Remove the carnal lust, handcuffs, and jockstraps, and you’ll find there’s really not much of a thriller here. The life-support of this movie are those S&M scenes.

Director William Friedkin isn’t a stranger to the gritty police procedural. This is after all the man responsible for one of the most iconic cop pictures of the 1970’s (The French Connection), if not all time. I was also surprised to learn that Cruising was not his first entry into the gay world. He had previously directed The Boys in the Band (1970) which is one of the founding films for the gay cinema movement. In Cruising he tries to marry these two worlds to uneven results.

The setup is the stuff of pulp fiction. A killer is stalking gay men in New York’s West Village. The complacent, homophobic NYPD is getting heat from the Mayor’s office to resolve the murders before the upcoming National Democratic Convention. Enter Beat Officer Steve Burns (Al Pacino). Because of his near identical looks to recent victims, he’s the perfect man to go undercover and root out the killer. He’ll have to do the job weaponless and under complete anonymity. Not even his girlfriend (a terrific but completely underused Karen Allen) can know of his assignment. Officer Burns accepts the challenge in an all-to-brief scene because this will be his chance to earn his “Gold Shield.”

As Officer Burns descends into this leathery Hell, Friedkin throws absolutely everything on the screen to shock the viewer. Water Sports? Check. Fisting? Check. Gangbang? Check. It’s all here in its slow-motion color-coded hankie glory – jockstraps, uniform fetishes, simulated oral sex, real oral sex, whips, lips, nips, hips and pits. Everytime the movie breaks away from this world, it’s all too anxious to get right back into it. And it’s because of this that Cruising suffers its first major problem. It’s just too damned dependent upon this setting. Anything else that happens outside this world of hedonism absolutely pales in comparison and is just not that interesting.

But the second and even larger problem is how ambiguous the entire movie is. Many would probably find this to be the end-result of a real auteur. I find it to be sloppy and pretentious filmmaking. Friedkin uses the same three actors to play the role of murderer and victim for the killings that take place on screen. In each of the murder scenes, the same actors would switch roles. For what purpose? To suggest there’s more than one killer? If this is the case, how is it possible each killer would sing the same trademark nursery rhyme just before taking their next victim’s life? Or is Friedkin offering a pessimistic view on the cycle of violence – capture one killer and another will easily replace him.

Cruising ends with two big question marks. First, Steve Burn’s friend and neighbor, Ted Bailey (who’s sunshiny, “normal” persona serves as a counterbalance to the gay shenanigans we’ve witnessed on screen so far), is found brutally murdered after the gay killer has been caught. It’s suggested that a jealous Burns (Pacino) may have been the one to do it. But then it also leads the viewer to believe the real gay killer is still on the loose. And finally, what of that final shot of Burns looking at the audience through his reflection in the mirror? It’s with this final freeze frame that Cruising wants you to think this is a man gone to war, done battle, and barely made it out with his life. His mission into the gay underworld has damaged him so much he’ll never be able to completely return to his hetero-lifestyle. But Cruising doesn’t deserve to end on this kind of cogitative thought. It hasn’t earned it as scenes of character development are incredibly underplayed if non-existent altogether. But, if Cruising does get one thing right it’s a perfectly accurate time capsule of gay New York City clubs in a Pre-AIDS era.

P.S. I didn’t get a chance to mention how excellent the music was in the movie. The club scenes feature a ton of Post Punk bands including The Cripples, Germs, Mutiny and more. Well worth the digging to get your hands on this gem of a soundtrack.