Reviews

The Sand Pebbles, for all its sweep and pageantry, is at its core a story of the cost of human cruelty, bigotry and arrogance, and indifference to the pain inflicted by these. Just about everyone in the story is trapped--Captain Collins by his stiff-necked devotion to intangibles like honor and duty, even when this devotion drives him to ignore his innate decency, at great cost to himself and others. Po-Han, who just wants to learn how to be a ship's engineer, tortured by Communists who want to punish him for what they see as casting his lot with the enemy. Maily, viewed by the brutish sailors and the madam of the whorehouse as chattel, an inhuman commodity to be rented by the hour until she is worn out and discarded. She cannot be redeemed even by the brave, clumsy tenderness of Frenchy, who gives his life for the privilege of being with her. The missionaries, who have no argument with anyone, being forced to take sides in a stupid and unnecessary conflict. And of course, Jake Holman, the rebel with a soft heart he wishes to God he didn't have but which makes him a better man than many others. He has the wisdom to take people not in bunches but on a per-case basis--he doesn't assume that just because somebody is Chinese, he's evil or stupid or uncivilized. The comradely ease he develops with Po-Han, his unquestioning acceptance of the romance between Frenchy and Maily despite knowing the perils they face, his refusal to brutalize himself to endear himself to some of his more Cro-Magnon shipmates are what lead to his tragic and wasteful death. Much as I loved this movie, I don't think I could get through another viewing. But if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and get your hands on a copy. Just make sure you have plenty of Kleenex.

Not a bad remake of Richard Brooks' gritty black and white classic, albeit somehow trivialized by being in color. but whichever nincompoop cast this film should be sentenced to a trip to The Corner, for the offense of casting Kevin Tighe as Mr. Clutter. Blond, shifty-eyed and simply oozing perverted menace, he is far more terrifying than Dick or Perry at their most psychopathic. If the real Mr. Clutter had looked like that, Dick and Perry would have taken one look at him and run out of the house screaming. Now that I think of it, it would have better for all the Clutters if he had. Where was Lynn Stalmaster when we needed him?

Anyone who calls Bette Davis' terrifying yet heartbreaking portrayal of Baby Jane Hudson "over the top" either knows nothing about acting or was made so uneasy by her performance that they must try to trivialize it into something from which they can distance themselves. The spoiled child star Baby Jane is over the top, but only because the on-stage Baby Jane is a grotesque contrast to the willful brat that is the real Jane Hudson. But the grownup (or at least aging) Jane as portrayed by Bette Davis is a character over the edge, steeped in unbearable truths--liquor-soaked, vicious, old, jealous, terrified and above all, so lonely. This is a movie about needing to be seen, yearning for love and living with the acid knowledge of being utterly forgotten. Blanche needs to be seen, too, for the same reason Jane does--to save her life. Watching Jane slowly dismantle all of Blanche's links to the outside world makes for a harrowing two hours.

And still it's very funny in spots. My mother, never one to be put off by the macabre, used to howl with laughter at some of Jane's juicier antics. I'd be peeking through my fingers and sleepless for the next week, so disturbed was I by this movie, but even a chicken like me could see the dark humor of Victor Buono's hatred for his slatternly mother or his ill-concealed revulsion when he first encounters Jane in person, Jane's pitch-perfect imitation of her sister while on the phone to the liquor store, the obscenities that she mouths under the insistent, piercing ring of Blanche's summoning buzzer, the appalling number of drinks Jane knocks back on an average day, and on and on. Chilling and hilarious, sad and ultimately compassionate, "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" is a must-see.

harry lime's through the manhole cover, of course, in his final, futile grasp at escape. that shot creeped me out even as my admiration for this extraordinary movie rose even higher. what i like best about it is the contrast it draws between the cultural expectations of happily-ever-after America, which expects a neat and upbeat conclusion to every movie, and those of world-weary Europe, a continent that has long since learned to not get its panties in a twist about loss, sex, silence or the loose ends that dangle off all human triumphs and tragedies. and everybody cocktailing madly and smoking their heads off, happily ignorant of the warnings of the surgeon general. aside from this, still ahead of its time, and probably always will be.

holy cow, what a lousy movie. but fascinating in its hideousness: Debbie Reynolds, a woman of obvious intelligence, talent and humor, forced to trudge through two hours of dreary piety and hollow mischief without vomiting all over her blinding-white habit; Katharine Ross turning up as Dominique's troubled older sister with the hidden cheesecake shots; Chad Everett's bizarro sexual attraction to his former sweetheart (and babysitter?) Debbie Reynolds (why didn't Sister Ann set him up w/ Katharine Ross? at least they were born in the same millennium); Greer Garson parading around like Little Nellie of Holy God; Agnes Moorehead, long rumored to be Debbie Reynolds' lover (whose appearance in this dog might offer the most substantive proof of same) as Sister Sourpuss (avec requisite heart of gold); Juanita Hall as Sister St. Mammy, the token Negro (and therefore inhumanly bland) nun; Ricardo Montalban feigning sweaty, desperate cheer; and the kid playing Dominique so sickening the Von Trapp family would truss him up and roast him alive.

don't get me wrong: i ADORE nun movies, particularly the guitar-playing, motorcycle-riding, occasionally flying nuns of the post-Vatican II era; only "change of habit" (Sister Mary Tyler Moore wooed by Dr. Elvis Presley) rivals "the singing nun" for face-scalding embarrassment. everyone who likes nun movies should see both of these—though if you're a diabetic, not as a double feature.

"the love boat" was so predictable as to be a spoiler unto itself, but i checked that spoiler box just in case. how can one spoil that which is already rotted? but that's just what i love about "the love boat": the toupeed and face-lifted guest stars; the oddly effeminate captain stubing (ever notice that "Merrill Stubing"/"Murray Slaughter" parallel? one of my fantasies was to feature the wjm newsroom crew as passengers on the ship, years after Murray Slaughter got conked on the head on a second honeymoon on the pacific princess, got (what else?) amnesia, minced off in a daze and resurfaced as suddenly naval Merrill Stubing); Gopher, whom i am afraid i had a crush on—gleeps! then there was that walking pillar of saccharin, cruise director Julie McCoy, who luckily turned out to be a huge coke-head, which at least explained her unflagging perkiness. leave us not forget the luckless Isaac Washington, black bartender and romantic interest or platonic friend of each nonwhite guest star, be it Diahann Carroll or Scatman Crothers, Florida Friebus or Roosevelt Grier. and who could forget Doc (no matter how they tried), that Hippocratic lecher in aviator glasses? i used to love when he and Captain Stubing had one of their Adam-Merrill heart-to-hearts (as in "Adam, she fills my life with wonder"). and of course no-neck-monster Vicki, an apparent escapee from a community theater production of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof." then there was harbinger of doom Ted McGinley, a fellow whose addition to the cast of any show meant it was about to be canceled. i could talk about "the love boat" for hours, a sad commentary on the state of my mind.

i keep reading complaints on this board about how slow-paced and meandering this movie is. and it is slow and meandering, much like its bewildered protagonist, a college kid who keeps his eyes open and his mouth shut as he plods through his day. much of the bizarre behavior he encounters on the campus is counterfeit and flamboyant, meant to attract attention, much like the girl in everyone's high school class who wore black nail polish and a ghastly pallor and called herself a witch. then the kid runs up against the true madness of his roommate, who has ascended to the top of the clock tower with a sniper rifle and plenty of bullets and is idly picking off random victims in the quadrangle. the sniper, walt whitman, is easily the most matter-of-fact character in the movie. there's a hell fury roaring just beneath his clean blondness, but so long as he keeps shooting, he can hold himself together. quite a fascinating and lengthy look into that old heart of darkness.

studebaker: i've never seen this movie, but certain of your criticisms stuck in my craw. first of all, please think about what you mean by "overacting." i've heard acting defined as truthful behavior in imaginary circumstances, a simple explanation for a highly demanding craft. if by overacting, you mean behavior that rings false to you because you don't believe the actor or actress really believes what they're saying, then you and i have no quarrel. but if you find any display of extreme emotion to be overacting, you might as well accuse the actor of "overliving." as to the "poor behavior" of the characters, remember that the fulcrum of drama is conflict. conflict is one person wanting one thing and another wanting the opposite. if you want something badly enough, or are terrified of losing it, you're not always going to behave like an eagle scout. can you imagine anything duller (aside from my comments) than a movie called "two hours of appropriate behavior"? we go to plays and movies to see people solve seemingly insurmountable problems the best way they can, not do volunteer work at a hospital. if you don't believe me, read a little Shakespeare.

though i gave "old yeller" a "10" rating, i must hasten to warn those who have not seen it to realize what they're getting themselves into if they do. if you are made of cast iron, have not shed a tear since a safety pin on your diaper popped open, or are a sadist (or masochist), you'll have a great time. the movie is wonderful, but so damn sad. old yeller himself is an ingratiating, sweet and loyal-unto-death mutt, full of dog heart and dog soul. if you love animals, particularly dogs, and cannot bear to see them suffer and die, STAY AWAY from "old yeller". i couldn't have been more than 3 years old the first (and last) time i saw it; now i'm 50 and can still feel unshed tears smarting my eyes at the very mention of the title. i wouldn't see "old yeller" again if you put a gun to my head—sort of the way they put the gun to poor old yeller's.

several cuts above the usual TV movie, this small and harrowing account of a mousy housewife rightly accused of a grisly murder will hold you spellbound. as wonderfully played by barbara hershey, the main character is a bundle of contradictions, burdened by conscience, simmering with displaced rage, ablaze with shame, justifiable in her actions but not in their ferocity. a fascinating story and a fascinating study of how permeable the thin veneer of civilization really is.

p.s. hey, guy from leeds: however detestable you find the murder, it was committed in self-defense, since the other woman was the one who introduced the ax and attempted to kill candice with it for having an affair with her husband. admittedly, candice went a bit overboard with the self-defense bit (and her guilt about it was what kept her from wanting to defend her actions), but she did NOT strike first.

One of the finest of the "little" movies made in Hollywood's heyday, this b&w charmer about the power of love over death is rescued from the maudlin by a quirky script by Ben Hecht and fine performances, particularly Eileen Heckart's as the heroine's oddball best friend. the story of how a shy girl well on her way to spinsterhood and a kind and handsome young soldier fall in love in wartime new york, only to be cruelly separated by the boy's death on the battlefield, would be heartbreaking enough on its own. but it's what happens between them after his death that makes this movie something special. and, as it says in the closing credits, the story may even be true. so stock up on the puffs plus and see "miracle in the rain" the first chance you get—especially if you've ever lost someone you love.