Reviews

Barb Wire looks good. Most of the important roles are acted competently, and its star is luminous. In the hands of someone like Paul Verhoeven, it could have been another Total Recall--silly fun that might have balanced Verhoeven's usual violence with a little T&A.

Instead, the story plods along in drawn-out sequences that drain the life out of what little fun was written into the screenplay or available from the stylish sets and lighting. The kinky prostitution scam, for example, is a grueling, humorless 3+ minute setup for a lackluster action scene that is followed by a grueling, humorless payoff scene that's just as long.

Worse, whole scenes are completely superfluous. The scenes where Axel and Cora get into the city are unnecessary and unexciting. The drunk who is taken care of by Camille is both valueless to the plot and totally unfunny. It's odd that the story was lifted almost entirely from Casablanca and then flubbed so badly by adding such dull scenes.

Not as dull as its title suggests, but still somewhat flat caper flick. It has a consistent string of laughs, but never quite hits the heights. Brockerick's down-and-out businessman is a good start but lands few jokes, and the plotting seems to meander. Stiller is a highlight, and Affleck and Murphy are good solid, but Aldo is a standout.

With that much star power, you'd think the comedy would make itself, but the actors feel confined. Weirdly, I think the movie could have been better if it had foregone the heist and explored the Stiller character and his buttoned-down-but-flexible managerial style. More tower. Less heist.

Odd casting all around, rather poor sound design, and some throwback choices (like fast-motion editing in a few places) make this an odd duck. Nicholas Meyer's Holmes fanaticism shows right from the beginning, as the characters are introduced with footnotes! Even the characters themselves refer directly to previous adventures at every opportunity.

The cast largely pulls it off, tho, with Alan Arkin's German accent probably the weak link. The sets, costumes, and dialog are terrific, but there are some odd directorial choices, and the pacing is off. The first half drags with Victorian drawing room melodrama as Watson pulls Holmes out of his stupor, then the final act lurches to and fro, attempting to become cinematic with action set pieces.

Occasionally inspired, sometimes ridiculous, Meyer's script tries to explain Holmes' psychology and comes off looking a bit like fan fiction rather than the real thing. But it retains its sense of fun, and that makes it pretty watchable.

I fell for Lizabeth Scott in Too Late for Tears, and she's delicious here as a tortured altruist. But it's Jane Greer as the broken dove who has a the limelight for the first two acts. The shades of gray--and green--make this a juicy little melodrama for both characters. Indeed, the lesbian tension is palpable in the beginning (and I didn't know about Scott's reputation), suggesting much more than the film makers may have intended (but, oh, what a movie this COULD have been...). Dennis O'Keefe is the weak link, looking older than his 43 years and strolling thru scenes without adding much flavor. Fay Baker is a nice addition as the tough girl that Greer might have been without the help she gets.

This production has everything an old chiller ought to have: an American in England, a spooky old mansion, locals frightened of the spooky old mansion, a pretty girl who knows not the evil which surrounds her, creepy old people with a creepier family history, monsters, pseudoscience, the occult, and more. It all ends up being both too much and not enough, altho Boris Karloff is certainly acting his heart out. The scripting is clumsy: the elements are too traditional and elementary, everyone knows something they refuse to tell for no particular reason, the heavies are homicidal for no logical reason, the hero is afraid of nothing yet makes no effort to pursue attackers.... Worse, the directing is flat and the leads have little charisma or chemistry. It's occasionally effective, but mostly boring, which is death to the chiller genre. I want to say "Die, movie, die!" but it's just not that offensive.

I've seen a lot of bad movies: grindhouse junk, exploitation drek, inept and abortive attempts at comedy or porn or art. But this is one of the worst piles of dung I've ever looked at. A young and handsome Jon Voight is a country bumpkin who goes to the city, gets in trouble, and gets turned into a flying superhero whose troubles then compound.

The soundtrack is mostly dissonant jazz and the voice of Word Jazz artist Ken Nordine, when it's not awful location sound. The action is meant to parody Superman and Frankenstein, but instead it's just a pointless, ugly mockery of them. I suppose the intention was to create something like Blazing Saddles, but effect is more like a high school play put on by the kids from detention.

The dialog is inane. The comic gags are stupid. The acting is as broad as a Punch and Judy puppet show. And the direction is as clumsy as I've ever seen, with Kaufman framing scenes with urgent disregard for clarity and lighting and not bothering to redress actors to show the passage of time in a montage. It's not funny; it's not clever; it's not interesting; and it's not so bad it's good. The only explanation is that the cast and crew must have been inexperienced, stoned, and shooting as fast as possible. You couldn't make a POS like this on purpose.

What may seem at first to be just so much car stunt schlock turns out actually to be a rather fascinating meditation on motivation. Barry Newman is great as Kowalski, a sketchy character who drives cars cross-country. We learn little about him, and only slowly and in jumbled bits, as he tries to deliver a white Challenger from Denver to San Francisco. Starting out Friday at nearly midnight, Kowalski tries to do the run by Saturday at 3 o'clock for unspecified reasons—the car doesn't have to be there until Monday, and we're given to understand that Kowalski is really running away from his screwed-up life. Newman looks right as the present-day, haggard Kowalski, yet is perfect as the fresh-faced uniformed cop he was in his youth and the car and motorcycle racer he was after he fell from grace.

What could have been monotonous driving-and-thinking or mind-numbing crash after crash is deftly handled by director Sarafian in a balanced mix of stunts and interludes. Cleavon Little does most of Kowalski's talking for him as the exuberant DJ Super Soul, but Newman owns the screen, reacting subtly to the lunatic world he's passing thru and barely a part of anymore. Some of the music is pretty lame 70s hippie rock, which is too bad, since a great soundtrack probably would have elevated this to true classic status.

The DVD includes both the US and UK releases, the difference being a brief sequence in which Kowalski picks up Charlotte Rampling as a mysterious hitchhiker. This is a little too on-the-nose for my taste and seems to be aping Ingmar Bergman, but the movie plays fine with or without it.

I came to this sideways from the original novella, which was an absolute hoot. The film was a wonderful adaptation, pulling dialog directly from little Daisy's masterwork and adding to it in the same flavor. At once absurd and moving, it's the slightly wobbly story of an ordinary man who aspires to a higher station and the pretty girl desperate to hobnob among the nobility herself. They embark together, yet separately, and manage to achieve most of their ambitions, but not quite all they'd hoped. The characters are vivid and portrayed by top talent in Jim Broadbent, Lyndsey Marshal, Hugh Laurie, and Bill Nighy. They're all a bit dim-witted and bombastic, but you really feel for their ineptness. It's Broadbent's show—altho he has to fight off Nighy at times as the drunken, roguish earl. Simultaneously insightful (princes are ordinary people too) and oblivious (Ethel spends an awful lot of time alone with men she barely knows), The Young Visiters is both children's literature for adults and adult literature for children.

When the Tarantino/Rodriguez retro-double-feature Grindhouse came out, it was Death Proof that got the critics' motors running. They admitted it was talky, but this is the king of dialog, after all. Count me among fans who are underwhelmed. This film does have a kind of quirky charm, but the writer/director indulges himself far too much in eavesdropping on his characters when he ought to be putting them in peril. The setup is intriguing: some girls get together for a night of drinking at a bar and are stalked by an older man in a creepy muscle car who turns out to be a bad guy. Later, a similar group of girls becomes the target of the bad man's attention. Instead of spending 20 minutes setting up the first section, the director spends nearly an hour, with the payoff lasting about 2 minutes. The second group of girls includes two movie stuntwomen in their 20s who nevertheless know all about Quentin Tarantino's favorite movies and have a fantasy involving the car featured in the 1970 gear-grinder Vanishing Point. It's fairly ludicrous stuff that only really gets going when the girls at last get on the road with the bad guy. If Tarantino had cut 30 minutes from the beginning and extended the second section with more peril, he would have had a better film. As it is, it tends to ramble and go nowhere. It's full cool '70s music and the director's other trademarks, and the acting is good. I found the parts that work watchable enough, but overall, it was a disappointment.

Pretty typical Golan & Globus production with better than average art direction and cinematography. The estate is beautiful--as is Sylvia Kristel--but the adaptation is flat and whole thing feels flabby.

A bit of sex goes with the story, of course, and it's done well enough; but it's nothing like Kristel's soft core films. The acting is competent thruout, and the filmmakers take pains to maintain the essence of the English class struggle. But some of the jealousy and social indignation feels contrived.

I loved Lord Chatterly's gas-powered wheelchair for zipping around the grounds, altho why he didn't install an elevator in the mansion is a mystery.

Endlessly and mindlessly violent story of a fascist future society that destroys anything--*anything*--that could spur human emotions (except, apparently, suspicion and indignation). The greatest executioner "cleric" discovers his partner hasn't been taking his emotion-numbing medication and embarks on a predictable path toward his own emotional enlightenment that includes listening to Beethoven and not killing puppies.

It's a stylish and well-acted exercise in trite pontificating. Who advocates an emotionless society? It's ridiculous. You've seen the idea before in THX1138, Fahrenheit 451, and 1984. You've seen the art direction in Star Wars, The Handmaid's Tale, and The Matrix. You've seen the action in The Matrix and every action movie since The Matrix.

It's relentlessly silly, with predictable twists and head-shaking psychology. Worst of all, it's guilty of the very emotionlessness that it attacks. There is not one moment of genuine pathos in the film. We care nothing for any character because no character is actually developed beyond a cardboard cutout.

If you've been thru the full complement of stylish techno action flicks, you might as well see this one too. It beats stuffing beans up your nose, I guess.

Released in 1965, but clearly shot years earlier, this is an inept little crime melodrama with some inept sexploitation up front. As usual for grindhouse flicks of era, there's a fair amount of undressing and dressing for no reason complemented by lousy music, annoying narration, and awkward editing. The coffee shop scene lays the excruciating groundwork, as we chop back and forth between characters to avoid actually seeing them speak their lines. All we get are reaction shots to the off-screen character's voice! 50s-pretty Misty Ayers strips to her French-cut panties a couple of times before the action gets started. She's accompanied continuously by what is apparently stock music from romantic to western to mother-does-the-dishes, mixed randomly to produce, among other things, the most thrilling cigarette lighting ever captured on film. Watch as he taps it! Watch as he strikes the match! Will he inhale or will he be captured by Apaches? Only time will tell!! The film tells the sordid tale of how Sally gets tricked into working in a whorehouse, falls for a dope, and can't escape. For some reason, we're treated to some of the most bored and boring hookers ever committed to film, literally doing their nails or knitting rather than entertaining the clientèle. Some stupendously lame comedy (boozy dame accidentally drinks milk! Har dee har!) and silent film acting doesn't help. This is one of the worst feature films I've ever seen, even on the Something Weird Video marquee. It's really more of a film curiosity for those interested in the history of cinema--very bad cinema.

Okay western tells the tale of Kirk Douglas as a would-be lumber baron with more charm than business savvy. Not as good as it could have been with a little sharper direction, but the dialog has some spark and Douglas shines like a new penny when he smiles.

He gets adequate support from the usual suspects, with Patrice Wymore particularly good as his dance hall prostitute girlfriend. Eve Miller as the real love interest is a bit flat by comparison, even granted that she's stuck in the role of a holy roller trying to protect California's giant redwoods.

The plot manages to get genuinely clever at times, with the local judge conspiring to help the Quakers foil Douglas's lumber scheme, Douglas scheming right back, and then the whole thing going topsy-turvy. Still, something is missing (and the faded print I saw didn't help) but the ending goes big to try to save it and nearly succeeds. Worth the time for fans of Douglas, but not a must-see title.

Strange and sometimes beautiful sets are populated with the unlikeliest of actors in some terrible miscasting to create a nearly surreal melodrama about a Chinese gambling house. Victor Mature in particular is simply wrong for the role of Dr. Omar, a Lothario and probable opium dealer with clumsy designs on the luminous and lovely, but wildly-overacting, Gene Tierney as well as a loudmouthed blonde tramp.

The alluring Mother Gin Sling runs the casino with the strangest methods ever, extending credit to suicidal patrons and spoiled society girls with no credentials. She's threatened with eviction by the new lawman but has a clever plan to stay in business (murder? no: a dinner party). The direction is ham-fisted; the editing choppy; and the story is a melange of noir and crime pulp that meanders from character to character with no discernible protagonist.

Be prepared for hilarious speakee-Chinee racism and some camp 1940s slang. You'll have to read between the lines of the Hays Code for the sex and drugs, but where else will you ever find girls hoisted in cages for Chinese sailors to bid on? ("You understand, of course, this is staged purely for the tourists.") What's frustrating is that, with better direction, this could have been a clever and nasty romp. Phyllis Brooks is a peach, but the loudmouthed broad act is stretched thin. Oregonian Ona Munson is about as Chinese as Portland cement. Characters guffaw for no reason. Long stretches go by with awkward pauses. The music is used sparingly and only to bludgeon. Firecrackers substitute for a score for about 30 minutes of the film.

If you're interested in the genre of Manchu crime pulp melodrama, it's worth a look. But if you're looking for a bit of high-quality 1940s escapism, look elsewhere.

A clever, complex, well-executed drama with just about every trick in the book and then some. Lizabeth Scott is terrific as the depressive housewife who snaps to life when trouble falls in her lap. It's quite a trick to see her turn from moping domestic to sultry schemer; she's one of the most quick-witted women ever committed to film. And she proves stronger than her regular-Joe husband and even stronger than the thug who comes looking for his money. Throw in a suspicious sister and a mysterious old army pal (the wonderful Don DeFore, best know from "Hazel"), and you've got a cracking noir with more twists than Scott's permanent wave. Few films could juggle so many characters popping up or dropping dead and still be coherent, but this does it well.

Silly title doesn't hurt the charming performances and a story that holds together to make this a better than average picture for 1936. James Cagney introduces us to the corruption and thuggery of the rough and tumble world of... weights and measures. It's not quite a mystery, not an action picture, and pretty tepid for a thriller, but the story moves along and the characters and dialog are likable. Edward Brophy as Cagney's old boxing rival-turned-pal is fun, and the villains are the right combination of bureaucrats and thugs for Cagney to trade barbs and blows with. Mae Clark is a suitably smart fiancée for our hero, altho their bickering doesn't bode well for their future life together (Cagney has a couple of nice lines about her choice of hats). The plot revolves around Cagney, as Johnny Cave, taking over the Bureau of Weights and Measures when his boss is struck by a car. His crackdown ruffles feathers and gets him in trouble with types that can hurt his career--or his head. He perseveres as only Cagney can, with angry Irish swagger.

Dork that he was in real life, Peter Sellers plays the dork's idea of a English ladies man, a swinging bachelor just over 40 but using his money and notoriety as a TV food critic(!) to make time with beautiful girls. Against Goldi Hawn's 19-year-old, free-loving, introspective mod girl, he's just enough of a square to make him believable as well as pathetic.

After establishing his charm with a couple of lovelies, Sellers meets his match in Hawn, who turns out to like him for who he is (being American, she has no idea who he is). He rescues her from a juvenile relationship with a mod drummer, and they're off.

There are some great scenes between them as they work out their attraction with uncomfortable analysis. After some missteps over the attempted initial seduction and a wine-tasting trip to France, they settle into a charming relationship. But the news media misinterprets their getaway as a honeymoon, causing a bit of friction when they return to England, but it seems flat. The movie falls apart when Hawn's character makes an improbable decision (she seems to be kidding), but Sellers nearly saves it with a sympathetic performance.

The nonsensical ending and occasional out-of-place moments thruout make this one good but not great, provided you're interested in the late 60s-early 70s era.

Essentially a locked-room mystery, this is about as bad as they get, even for the 1930s. Lugosi is weirder than usual as one of several businessmen interested in a new method of electronic television (which was nothing more than a novelty at the time) that allows broadcast around the world. Oddly prescient (it's even projected onto a large screen), the technology is otherwise hilarious, particularly in the explanation of the murder technique.

The acting is lame (especially the stereotyped servants), the staging hokey, the dialog boring, and the mystery ridiculous. Avoid this turkey unless you're just completing your tour of Lugosi's work or are interested in the 1930s vision of the near future.

Diamond-thieving gangster Joe Wells winds up dead in a gangster wax museum where the jokers who run it not only recognize him but also happen to be pals with a couple of rival crime reporters. The reporters want the scoop. The cops want the corpse. And the old man just wants to go home because he's "so tired." Leo Gorcey provides a bit of comic relief with malapropisms and a troublesome cigar. The reporters cooperate and betray each other as it becomes convenient, regardless of how many laws they're breaking or how much danger they're in.

The acting is generally good, not great, but the direction is very stagy. With so few sets and so little camera movement, this could easily be a stage play. It's the kind of movie where people tell each other to stop beating their gums and to go soak their heads, offer each other stiff drinks, and light a lot of cigarettes.

The killer's explanation of why he hasn't just fled is ridiculous. And the shenanigans with the corpse are just bizarre.

Wow. Mickey Rooney and Peter Lorre. Together. And with Jimmie from the Mickey Mouse Club *and* Jack Elam! I didn't know what to expect. In case you were wondering, Rooney proves he can act in the opening scenes. He's a car mechanic looking to get in good with the new waitress at the diner, but he's flat broke until tomorrow. "Danny" starts down a slippery slope by copping a few bucks from the till at work, then lets Vera (Jeanne Cagney) steer him wrong by way of a game arcade owned by her former employer, Nick (Lorre). Nick makes the creepiest possible arcade owner, and Vera pines darkly for a mink coat in a store window. These are not good people to fall in with.

While the film starts out pretty cleverly, the coincidences start to pile up fast and furious. Danny's little white theft festers into a mugging, grand theft auto, a burglary, and worse. The wrong people keep finding out too much about Danny's activities, and soon the cops are crawling all over him.

The acting is quite good, and the direction and pacing are clean. But the wild improbabilities that have piled up threaten to topple the whole house of cards, from the convenient witnesses to the convenient cops to the convenient car trouble. Remember: Danny is an auto mechanic. He can't keep his own car in running condition? Still, it's a treat to see Rooney in such desperate straits. For those looking for Raymond Chandler, tho, this isn't noir; it's still just melodrama.

Morgan Conway is the insensitive workaholic detective in this sub-par programmer. Mazurki as Splitface is good, but the rest of the cast is stagy and dull. The support is largely the same faces as in other Dick Tracy flicks, altho some play different characters.

The plot follows Tracy as he tries to find a blackmailing killer. He gets mixed up with an occultist who has dark insight into the crimes. As usual, Tracy is actually not a very good detective, and only solves the crime by chance and endlessly tailing the suspects.

The predictable plot has a fairly clever twist, altho there is some stupendously dopey dialog along the way. Who forgets someone who vows to one day kill you?

Notorious (and dumb) criminal Cueball is on the loose and pulls a murderous diamond heist. Tracy, here played by dull but square-jawed Morgan Conway, tracks him down excruciatingly slowly even tho he makes every mistake possible, mostly in the form of killing those he overhears double-crossing him because he's so dumb. They should have called his guy "Eavesdropper." The support is largely the same faces as in other Dick Tracy flicks, altho some play different characters; mostly dull but some flamboyantly overacting.

As usual, Tracy is not even a very good detective, and only solves the crime by chance and using innocent people as bait. Tracy again displays his almost pathological avoidance of a personal life, but at least in this one he pays Tess *some* attention—mostly because she volunteers to be the bait.

Karloff as Gruesome is the only redeeming feature of this slow programmer. Ralph Byrd is Tracy here, and more wooden and less square-jawed than Morgan Conway. As usual, Tracy is basically a jerk, mistreating his fiancée and foster son Junior by frequently running out on them and making them wait for him, as if no one else in the city can work a murder.

The plot is the usual collection of scientists and thugs on a crime spree, with double-crosses among the bad guys. Gruesome gives him a run for his money, outwitting Tracy's detectives, using the amazing freeze gas, and just killing whoever gets in his way. The support is largely the same faces as in other Dick Tracy flicks, altho some play different characters.

This clever suspenser from the French Maigret novels is undone by first-time director Meredith. The plot revolves around the murder of a wealthy woman and her maid one dark Parisian night. A dandy living off his aunt wishes her dead in public and catches the ear of Radek, a desperate fellow who is very clever but also a bit loopy (cast Gary Oldman in the remake).

Radek engineers a fiendish scheme to implicate a simple tinker in the crime, collect his fee, and lead Inspector Maigret down the garden path. The details are delicious--if you can follow them--and the characters (the dandy, his wife, his mistress, the tinker and his wife, the inspector and his detectives, and the arrogant killer) are interesting enough for three movies. But Meredith allows the plot to get muddy and doesn't really pull the best performances out of his actors (including himself).

Radek's manipulation of the other characters is real genius (for example, he gets others to search for the murder weapon while the cops are tailing him). The Parisian setting is terrific, and the spectacular climax atop the Eiffel Tower is not to be missed, altho it's a bit contrived. The result is a decent film, but Hitchcock would have hit this one out of the park.

Note: The version I saw was from the 50 Mystery Classics DVD set. It's in color, but very faded. However, I actually found its desaturated look to be a pleasant medium between full color and black and white.