Reviews

It was impossible for me to watch this film without comparing it with the earlier anti-authoritarian rock film "Hair" - and it suffers badly in that head-to-head. I don't really like the film "Hair" all that much, but at least the soundtrack is composed of original tunes (some of which were decent hits in the hands of other musicians such as The 5th Dimension and the Cowsills. Here I was "treated" to what I thought were rather tepid versions of Beatles songs shoehorned into "hippie" scenarios, often with lame associations tacked on. I can see how rabid Beatles fans would like most movies that would so many of their favorite band's compositions, but I find the experience (despite being a Beatles admirer and an unrepentant original hippie) to be artificial, glittery, and exploitive. But others might find it entertaining and even inspiring, I feel the film diminishes the songs' legacies and adds nothing to the cultural heft of the Beatles. A fair enough watch if you don't expect much.

After watching only a couple of "Monsieur Spade" episodes I can testify that the program is heavy with emotions, distinct personalities hidden behind lies, and dangerous atmospheres. Clive Owen offers up to the viewer a world-worn and laconic character in which you can feel the weight of years, of loss, and of behavior regretted. A smooth stream of well-scripted and intelligently sardonic dialogue that embraces the tradition of noir without falling into mimetic parody. The cinematography is explicitly present with thoughtful and impactful color, composition, and set management. It is enjoyably dark and I look forward to more.

The best version of Spillane ever, done up in apocalyptic noir style by Aldrich, a B-movie master. Full of shocks, intriguing camerawork, and stylish brutality. I admire the atrocious characterizations, the added sci-fi components - which creatively disrupt by arising from nowhere - the camerawork and even the stereotypes which are whole-cloth Spillane. It is a critique of his shortfalls in some ways. Among noir writers that found their way to film (Cornell Woolrich, Raymond Chandler, Jim Thompson etc.) Spillane always was a flat blow to the face as much as he was a writer. This film captures his coarseness as no other.

I once heard someone complain that a film "needs at least one positive character and some depth of character" " but I must disagree: films can be perfectly abstract and characters flat as ironing boards if the other elements support that. The "character" can be nihilistic, fraught with enervating dread, or replete with human qualities which resist the archetype. The only limitation to what a film may or may not be is that it must have some variation of light. Now the narrative/personality film has become the commercial standard but early films experimented with endless approaches. Narrative/personality cinema lends itself to an industry of celebrity, a constant sausage factory of marketable faces, clothes, catchwords, novelizations, and sequels but the actual cinematic universe is MUCH bigger. "Kiss Me Deadly" is hysterically mainstream in comparison to the potentialities of the medium but still manages to satirize and criticize much of the "acceptable" Hollywood tropes of elegance, wit, celebrity, "good composition," normal behavior, rational narratives, pleasant endings, forms of affection, expected heroics and so on. It has something in common with the more insurgent films of Bunuel - for one example - but still manages to pass itself off as B-movie noir, albeit noir lacking Robert Mitchum or Bogart. Meeker is the closest thing there to a pretty star face and he only barely satisfies that qualification. He's no better than the other ugly people about him. This transgressive stance is precisely why I find the film worthwhile even as it tells me that it isn't worth my caring.

The performances were good, and (in Eddie Vedder's offerings) even splendid, making something poignant and powerful as well as rambunctious and ground-breaking out of the Ramones' songs. The visual production is no-frills, which is appropriate to its subjects, and most of the guest stars and inserted commentators are both passionate and of relevance to the Ramones' legend, although - in this regard - I do wonder how Lisa Marie Presley managed to squeeze her way into the proceedings, since she is not punk, scarcely a modern musical presence at all, and of no particular interest in her comments here. Still, the importance of the Ramones to many of the people in the film is both well expressed and (at times) moving. I have no essential problem with those two aspects of the movie: the musical homages, and the oral essays. My concerns start at the point where they were edited together, and this is where one of the most common errors of these "tributes" emerges in full force - the performances are constantly interrupted by talking heads, very few acts find their tributes in full array. I don't need to be told (in the middle of a song) how important the Ramones were to this or that personality. The adulation can wait until song's end, because the music is what it is ALL about. A disappointing and very Middle of the Road format.

As an aside, Johnny Ramone was in the process of dying and though eager to be there that night, was finally too ill to attend. So - as stated - they held up a cellphone so he could hear? Why couldn't some type of audio-visual remote have been set up so (at least) Johnny could have experienced the concert, if not also so he might himself be seen? This struck me as odd, considering the level of money and talent that attended.

Definitely worth viewing, for the few full songs, the passion displayed in some acts, and the occasional stills and video of the Ramones themselves. But not an exemplary production.

Certainly an adequately charming entertainment, although Ginger - an actor I enjoyed in many of her films - piles on the "barely legal" action a bit too thick, and some of the business with the wealthy part of the trio borders on the unsavory. The domestic bliss dreams are pleasantly looked forward to, and Burgess Meredith is (particularly in the diner scene) surprisingly sprightly and focused, as he advocates the working man's utopia, which must have been close to his Socialist heart. It ain't Noel Coward, and George Murphy is a stump as usual, but all in all, a pleasant enough way to waste a little time.

Pretty dreadful witnessing the triumph of The Spectacle over film itself. Big ship founders and pulls its frail and soapy human story-line down with it. As previous movies about this disaster have shown it is not supposed to be a narrative "about the ship." To make a film about a technological disaster which glories in technology is...well...inane and misguided. Every other film based on this event is better than this overwrought showcase of cinematic prowess. Easily the worst and most misguided film ever made about this historic tragedy. Which - unfortunately - explains all the awards.

"Being the Ricardo's" looked good and represented the aesthetics of the era expertly. Javier Bardem - who many thought of as miscast - was charming and energetically attractive in the straight scenes, showing real passion when required. J. K. Simmons was - as usual - fine as William Frawley, although very likely not as unappealing and nasty as the actual guy was rumored to be. Simmons was enjoyable to watch and actually funny. Yet... as the saying goes... "comedy is hard" and, in this case it was missing in action. The biggest problem for me? I do not know who thought a woman with a Botox-frozen face could comfortably portray one of the most animated faces in show biz and a great physical comedian. In my opinion Kidman has medicated her face beyond playing a human. There were closeups of her that reminded me of horror movies: her face an tableau of stretched vinyl. Aside from that disconcerting note, the show's pacing was irritating: it moved along with a steady "get it done" rhythm that left little room for humanity, for allowing the drama to breathe. A very artificial product.

I recently saw this "film" on TCM, mildly intrigued by t its central premise, and thought it might be, at the very least, an amusing bit of 1950s culture, with stereotypical (yet charming) characters from a mythically "simpler" time, such as one sees in the entertaining fluff of the "Andy Hardy" series. But...no...

This film plays as if it were produced by a small-town (and vastly untalented and humorless) church group who had accidentally come across some film equipment. The cinematography is dull, and the time crawls by like sludge through a small tube, as we are constantly barraged with limp and cliché bits of supposed divine wisdom which appear to come down to such gems as "take it easy" and "don't rock the boat". One wonders why sedatives weren't simply poured into the water supply to achieve such conservative ends, until you consider the acting of James Whitmore and the equally flat Nancy Davis, whose role here explains why she got out of the business. There is a lot of moping, an aggravating child actor, a seemingly insane aunt, and--to these eyes--some of the worst "acting as a drunk" bits I have ever seen.

The utter "preachiness" of this film, combined with its dull look, its duller acting, and a humorlessness that borders on the criminal combine to make it an excruciating viewing for anyone who thinks the "old time virtue" was mainly a matter of skewed nostalgia.

When they say such films as "Plan 9 from Outer Space" are the worst films of all time, they must exclude from consideration such draggy fare as this film.

Horrid...

Comedies can certainly arise from cynicism, from disgust and revulsion, even some of the best. But even then, it is important to maintain at least one "point of reference," a relatively "normal" center to act as the viewer's surrogate. John Waters' early films for instance are certainly based in a revulsion at American values and cultural debris, but there is always at least one character (and usually more) who maintains their integrity and rises above the debasement. In Napoleon Dynamite there are none. It makes the film almost unbearable to watch, except for those who made it a hit, I guess. Its post-modern dismissal of humanity is more disturbing than humorous.

There are boring and seemingly pointless human lives in this world, and who could doubt it? But this film (bereft of the human touch, a parade of obnoxious freaks) actually exploits rather than critically satirizes the essence of such lives. It tells us that there is either no escape from this "hell of retardation" or that such things are happening to others whom we never have to meet. Such a relentless put-down of every character is the opposite of comedy's revolutionary process. Comedy (even black comedy) serves the disenfranchised by both attacking power and providing release of anger and fear. But this film basically says that the people get what they deserve, because they are stupid and selfish and deserving of eradication. Such bleakness is not an appropriate vessel for humor, which is not supposed to leave the viewer feeling that any effort is wasted effort.

The film "Dumb and Dumber" is an example of how little a shift in cinematic approach might have been necessary to create--if not a good film--a decently viewable one. I personally can't stand the "Dumb and Dumber" films, but, at the very least, the central characters, while wretchedly stupid, are given a modicum of integrity and are revealed to have genuine affection for one another and others. They are the heroes of the film. This is as to say, "even the stupidest among us have value." Thus a certain point of reference is provided us: "yes, they are morons, but let's not put them in a bag and toss it in the river".

Some say (some always say) that this is "just a comedy" but comedy has never been (or should not be) immune from a critique based on its social and cultural "value." In fact, because comedy is the most revolutionary in its engagement with power and alienation and values, we can actually expect more from it than other genres. So we watch the great comedies of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Stan and Ollie, and what we see are disenfranchised men forging a system of values amongst oppression from capitalism, the police, the vain and the worthlessly wealthy. That constitutes a social critique.

Napoleon Dynamite's killing flatness, its relentless pursuit of degradation lacking any light of ethical position, or escape is inimical to the very spirit of humor.

A shoddy and mean-spirited product.

The inexpensive minimalism of the film forces William Wyler to bring this much-filmed chestnut to real emotional life, utilizing simple "man against nature" vignettes, and the power of the camera to capture human faces in peak moments as they become icons. The picture, although barely out of the silent era, looks quite modern, like a western of maybe ten years later. It's a simple redemption tale given excruciating poignancy by the natural starkness of the Mojave, and an unrelenting march toward death. Well worth seeing if only to catch Wyler at the leading edge of a great career.

Simply one of the worst - uh - "films" I've ever seen. I had my doubts that they could make a decent film out of this particular character, but I didn't think it could be quite this horrible. The tone is all over the place, with attempted jokes in the face of head-eating and mass murder, none of which appears to leave any impression on the characters, who act as if everything is a minor inconvenience to be shrugged off with a smile and a bit of shoddy wit. The "motives" of the characters (including Venom) are so vague they might as well be considered a form of arcane mysticism. Tom Hardy is an intelligent performer: I am sure he knows that this was strictly "get paid and get out" territory. The ethical landscape of the film is a disaster site, with a cool hipness being displayed between scenes of rampaging violence on a mass scale, and no lasting emotional scars on any of the participants. No consequences but for one death, and a lot of innocents slaughtered to no apparent end. The art direction is poor also, with everything in a splash of light blue. Difficult to watch and really emblematic of the general degradation of American cinema since the 70s. A vacuous exercise in mindless action and lack of human psychology. Wretched.

It is difficult to see clearly now (after decades of Star Wars and Star Trek on the more commercial side of space films) ) but this was a groundbreaking film, brave even in its most mystical scenes, deliberately (and hypnotically) tedious, with one certified great villain in HAL, easily the most human performance in the film. The "light show" in the middle is stunningly dull now, bereft as we are of the necessary mescaline, 2000 light years from Woodstock, and stuck in the checkout line. But this is a bearable indulgence. Like so many Kubrick films (apart from "Strangelove") this demands a more-than-average forbearance, but, after seeing Tarkovsky, this becomes less severe in comparison. An aesthetic triumph which continues to generate discussions over its philosophical statements.

Arguably the epitome of the Great Depression musical, with the usual cast of characters (the frisky Powell and Blondell plus the array of character actors that lend such grace and humor to these films), some of the finest screen choreography filmed with optimum style, an army of smiling starlets, and a generous handful of hard luck and hard-won optimism songs. I might prefer the less grandiose "Dames" but that is merely personal. A must for fans of the type. The real star attraction is Busby Berkeley of course...It certainly isn't Keeler, that "triple threat" - can't sing, can't dance, can't act.

A 1950s science fiction film that is unusually (and often aggravatingly) serious in the unscrolling of its ideas, which are philosophically complex and salted with social commentary if not always cinematic. These (plus the usual low budget) leads to a relatively actionless movie, so this is not amongst the era's most enjoyable SF productions. Still, happy to finally have come across it.

As far as I could discern, this film was badly dated even before it came to an end. Probably seemed charming and even daring at the time, but I can't imagine how at this remove. Dudley Moore his usual tiresome self, missing Peter Cook badly, and Bo Derek projecting an utterly empty image, a sexual rocket with no booster. As films go this one should.

This is the Holy Grail of "films about film"... a movie which entirely bollixed me as a young man, caught up as I was in its overwhelming cinematic fireworks, and left me unable to appreciate its playing out of egos, artistic and carnal desires, magisterial frustrations, rampant humors, and frenetic grotesques. Opening sequence is famous, perhaps too on the nose as an attempt at the surreal, but the real delights come later, and often. Ciao!

Really loved this as a small boy, but what do small boys know? A lumbering bore and a didactic shrill as it tries entirely too hard to be "fantastic" and yet to regale us with homilies and banal life lessons. The use of a chaotic sexual symbol (Pan) to teach mid-westerners how to keep it in their pants is especially depressing. A bit of the fantastic for dullards.

Altman's dream play, and a film guaranteed to alienate any popular affection, as it winds itself through a landscape of gender warfare, merging personas, and disappointment to an ending that resists being an ending, but leaves no hint of a way forward. Maybe the most "European" (i.e. Bergman) of his films, and not - by any stretch - Altman's most purely entertaining film, but compensates with a very palpable oneiric tone, and an avoidance of easy perceptions. My introduction to Sissy Spacek and Shelley Duvall, two of the most eccentric actors working at top skill this early in.

Hardly the economical and quietly tense classic the original is, but better than could be expected from the usual Hollywood grave robbery. More overtly violent (as was to be expected, although - I think - to good effect) and more obvious about its presentation of ethics and psychologies - i.e. It loses much of the iconic and poetic flavor of the original, which is due in part to the fact it is in color. Still, a more than adequate exploration of the same themes.

One of the premier adult westerns, with a serious psychological tension playing out throughout a tight and compelling event, replete with stealthy maneuvering and a battle of not-quit- good and not-entirely-evil.. Questions of honor, courage, manhood, and duty are quietly discussed (as in all the best westerns), but pedantry is avoided. An essential "philoso-western".

I watched this film with a close friend who is also very interested in the history and art of film, and even given the usually beneficial aspect of a shared viewing, this is a film which one forgets even as they are watching it. Basically nothing of interest happens, Jane Russell is wasted, Frank Sinatra is no help, and only Groucho manages to get off a meager handful of scenes worth noting, even though the writing is sub-par at best. Jane is a particularly interesting case: a woman whose best roles are sexy and tough as nails is here reduced to a rather prim and mundane character. And even the expectation of a few good songs is not met, even though both Frank and Jane (and even Groucho) are known to deliver in this area. A film only worth watching if you're a completionist of some sort. Very lackluster.