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Reviews
Scarface (1983)
Duly satisfying, but uneven, and less than fully engaging
Howard Hawks' film of 1932 was unexpectedly fierce and hard-hitting, and even if not 100% impeccable it remains an outstanding classic. For as prevalent in pop culture as Brian De Palma's 1983 magnum opus, a remake, has been over the past forty years - tiresomely so - I've been in no rush to watch it, though I knew I'd get to it eventually. Looking past the memes and quotes, how is the picture in actuality? How does it hold up? Is its general high regard really deserved? Now that I've finally sat for it myself, my opinion is that this three-hour crime saga is: fine. It's fine. 'Scarface' is fine, and now I can say that I've seen it. I'm not specifically impressed, though, and in hindsight I think that my indifference to watching it in the first place was more on the mark than I could have known.
Comparison to Hawks' movie is not necessary, but it is illuminating in some key ways. It's noteworthy that in writing his screenplay, updated and transplanted to a new setting, Oliver Stone drew directly from the prior work of Ben Hecht, W. R. Burnett, John Lee Mahin, and Seton I. Miller. The broad strokes of the narrative share kinship, and some beats, scenes, and smaller inclusions might range from deriving inspiration from to closely mirroring the 30s piece. Just as 1932's 'Scarface' included violence that surely well exceeded the norms of its time, the shocks of violence in 1983's 'Scarface' are at times more gnarly than even some modern horror flicks could claim. One significant, unfortunate difference, however, is that in imparting the tale of Tony Camonte's explosive ascension to power and consolidation thereof, on both personal and "professional" levels, Hawks' title was succinct and concise, speaking directly to mob violence and the volatility of Camonte's relationships. For as sharp as De Palma's title is in its most explicit moments while examining Tony Montana's rise and fall, other scenes with heightened emotions are a step down in their impact, and considerable portions of the length frankly seem to outright drag as the modern revision builds its plot somewhat unevenly, and usually with far less potency.
Don't get me wrong, much about this feature is very well done. The stunts, practical effects, and otherwise action sequences are visceral, nasty, and definitely achieve the desired effect, not least with all the blood and even gore on hand. John A. Alonzo's cinematography is superb - crisp, smooth, vivid, and plainly fetching. The filming locations are swell, and the production design and art direction foster a meaningful ambience portending the veneer of class and elegance Montana aspires to over top of his criminal activity. Between the slightly grainy image quality that readily says "1980s," Alonzo's cinematography, and the aesthetics in the visuals at large, the film is very easy on the eyes. To that same point, the costume design, hair, and makeup are splendid. There are a lot of very recognizable names and faces appearing here, and everyone more or less gives performances appropriate to the nature of the material, with some examples standing out more than others. Some scene writing and story beats are notably stronger than other instances. And I, for one, am of the mind that for as admirable as all these facets may be, it's the music that might be the top highlight. I adore Giorgio Moroder's score, chiefly driven by synthesizers and lending somber but flavorful airs to the proceedings, and other songs appearing on the soundtrack are equally enjoyable.
Then again, some of the acting occasionally just comes across as empty hot air, or overacting, and that includes Pacino. More commonly, the acting is suitable, but doesn't make a big impression. There are some moments, including two in a scene at right around the halfway mark, where selected elements (e.g., music cues, shots, sound effects) combine into a wildly melodramatic flourish that's altogether laughable (and not intentionally so). Some of the dialogue is just lousy and uninspired. De Palma's direction gets the job done, but outside of those intense action sequences its strength is highly variable. And when all is said and done, what it comes down to is that this picture feels rather bloated, self-important in a manner that's conceited but kind of lazy, and downright overdone. It's good. It's not great. And I have to wonder: if not for a few choice aspects - Pacino's presence, the extreme violence, a handful of iconic scenes and lines - would we actually still be talking about 'Scarface?' Except in fits and starts or with irregular odds and ends, I'm not inclined to believe that the sum total operates at such a level as to concretely earn the visibility it carries in our culture.
Every now and again the flick is distinctly striking, with welcome tension and vitality. At its best it is excellent, and it ends on a high note with a huge climax. I like it. I also think it's something that, more than not, we can watch somewhat passively, without actively engaging. It doesn't especially inspire that engagement. That doesn't mean that the movie isn't worthwhile, but it does mean that even as this boasts much heavier violence, coarser language, and substantial drug use, Hawks' 1932 rendition pointedly more vibrant - more consistent, more carefully crafted in every capacity, and with better performances. Unless you have a special impetus to watch De Palma's treatment I think the primary reason to watch could simply be its stature, but then we have the problem of broaching tautology, and fallacious circular reasoning. Watch, by all means, and may you get more out of 1983's 'Scarface' than I do. I do believe it to be duly satisfying on its own merits. But maybe I'm being too generous as it is in my assessment. I just don't think it's everything that it's cracked up to be, and with so many other features in the world for us to spend time with, this one need not be a major priority.
Scarface (1932)
An outstanding classic, unexpectedly fierce & hard-hitting
Broadly speaking one may not have the highest of expectations with cinema of the 1930s; even without falling under the overzealous ax of censors, films of the time may be characterized by any number of reasonable criticisms that diminish their lasting value - sound, writing, direction, tone, acting, and so on. Even esteemed filmmaker Howard Hawks wasn't entirely immune to such matters; as this flick begins we observe relatively tinny audio, a comparatively flat tone (reinforced through the dearth of music), and some reserved acting that doesn't immediately inspire. Yet while we might scrutinize some details, as the plot picks up the strength in 'Scarface' shows itself more and more. To be sure, the sensibilities of 1932 are rather tame when stood next to those of subsequent decades, but with that in mind, it says a lot that ninety years later the violence in this gangster flick is still sufficiently strong that it's a little jarring; I can only imagine how this came off upon release. As the course of events progresses the performances increasingly shine with shrewd, nuanced vitality, and concerns about the limitations of contemporary audio are outweighed by the impact of sharp sound effects. I wasn't fully convinced at first, and I don't think it's an outright must-see, but when all is said and done this picture easily holds up all these decades later, and it's definitely a product of the 30s that stands tall above many others.
That violence is no joke. In portraying the mob violence of the ear, Hawks fills these ninety-odd minutes with frequent, significant sequences of stunts and effects, and they make a big impression. Some examples rely on discreet use of light, shadow and shot composition, declining to specifically show the grisly acts, and still with such skill and intelligence these leave a mark. While such scenes leap out at us the most, however, the filmmaker is to be congratulated for what is, at large, a superb, eye-catching feature. His orchestration of shots and scenes infuses a relatively straightforward, ordinary crime piece with measures of artistry that adds some welcome smart flavor, and this is moreover a credit to cinematographers Lee Garmes and L. W. O'Connell, not to mention those operating behind the scenes. The sets, costume design, and hair and makeup are all splendidly sharp, invoking a sense of elegance and class that the gangsters maintain as superficial cover for their more nefarious activities. Ultimately those in front of the camera are just as swell, giving vivacious performances of big personality, and the early seeming deficiencies are forgotten. Paul Muni stands out most in the lead role, certainly, but those in supporting parts are just as terrific, from Ann Dvorak and Karen Morley, to Osgood Perkins, George Raft, Inez Palange, and the rest.
The saga is increasingly compelling as Tony seeks to expand his reach and consolidate his power, both in the criminal underworld and in his personal life. It speaks very well to Hawks, to the writing team, to the actors, and to all other contributors that even in an era where movies faced limitations of technique, technology, norms, and politics, 'Scarface' is able to evoke palpable tension and suspense, and elicit meaningful excitement. I'm not sure that there's any one aspect of the writing that leaps out at me, and for that matter, sometimes the elucidation of the plot and its development is arguably less than pristine. But perhaps this is an instance where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, for the cumulative result of the screenplay - wherever the credit belongs - is an absorbing, satisfying story that keeps us engaged. Factor in Hawks' keen vision as director, and all the other commendable elements, and no few moments throughout actually come across as altogether brilliant. Far be it from me to repeat myself, but in addition to the action sequences, I wonder if the use of light and shadow throughout, including in the more quietly dramatic scenes, isn't one of the top highlights. I'm struck again and again by how fetching the shot composition is, and in 1932 Hawks illustrates how effective mindful use of illumination can capture the imagination.
Some bits are maybe a tad less sure-footed than others, and in turn I wouldn't necessarily say that the title is perfect. To whatever extent I had some misgivings at the outset, however, these were assuaged even within the first act, and as the runtime draws on the film becomes more and more engrossing, entertaining, and satisfying. Far more than not it's incredibly well made in every regard, and even as Tony and his violence remains at the forefront, there is suitable variety in the storytelling that the presentation is quite well-rounded, and consistently stays fresh. At its best - and it is at its best a lot - some scene hit surprisingly hard, and 'Scarface' looms larger than many works to follow in all the years since. In all those ways that matter most the picture is tremendous and vibrant, and I'm all so pleased with just how fantastic it is. Even the censors couldn't rob this flick of its marvelous potency, and at length the movie is so excellent that its subjective faults are reduced to minor observations. For a title of so long ago to remain so substantial and worthy is high praise indeed, and I'm happy to give 'Scarface' my hearty, enthusiastic recommendation!
Akahige (1965)
An essential, exquisite masterpiece, overflowing with heart and warmth
We've all seen many similar narratives before, those in which an impetuous and conceited young person is taken under the wing of someone older and wiser; in due course the new blood will recognize the value in the elder's ways, and the elder will benefit from the skills and techniques that the youth brings with them. It's worth further observing that this iteration is in part somewhat episodic in nature as the story of hot-headed Yasumoto, working with respected Dr. Niide, gains experience through several particular cases, each of which is represented in some fashion as a small saga in and of itself. For whatever comparisons we may draw, however, make no mistake that celebrated filmmaker Kurosawa Akira approaches the concept with a finesse, artistry, and focus that stands out like a lighthouse illuminating the night. Through the vision he commands, shared with his co-writers and otherwise collaborators, Yasumoto's education, and the camaraderie he shares with the eponymous character, blaze with a warmth that most features only wishes they could claim. More than that, the deep-seated compassion in the tale aims straight for our hearts, contrasting sharply and painfully with whatever profound lack thereof we see in the real world around us as 'Red Beard' speaks directly to the quintessential truths that those in positions of power and authority have no interest in seeing to the needs of the impoverished and disadvantaged - and above all, that every single life has a story, and every life story is worth telling.
It is not so immediately striking as some of the filmmaker's other works, not least as the tone and pacing are gentle and deliberate, and it took me a little bit to fully get on board. Yet for however long it may take for the movie to crystallize for us individually, once it does the viewing experience is wholly captivating, and immensely satisfying. This is a rich, fulfilling portrait of humanity as it should be - as we could be; even with whatever conflicts and more dour notes may be on hand to help fuel the drama, the core remains steadfast, resplendent, stirring, and incalculably heartwarming. Strictly speaking I don't know how much of the film as we see it corresponds to Yamamoto Shugoro's novel, and how much can be attributed specifically to Kurosawa and his collaborators, but every last trace of these three hours is a stupendous treasure. Digress as the plot may into some segments that are woven in, the central thread could not be stronger as we follow Yasumoto, Niide, and other figures at a stressed rural clinic. The lives that are touched, patient and staff alike, lead to marvelous personal growth for characters that may be more fleshed out and otherwise well written than any others I've seen in all the thousands of titles I've watched; the scene writing is nothing less than vibrant, and at times altogether intoxicating for how incredibly rewarding it all is. 'Red Beard' is a piece that speaks subtly but directly to the simple, earnest ideals for which people should strive, and the result is absolutely magnificent.
The set is utterly stunning; to read of goings-on behind the scenes, one can't help but be taken aback at the enormity of the production, and the intense labor that went into such a lengthy endeavor. It's one thing to learn that Kurosawa built an entire town for this 1965 epic, but to actually see it is all but breath-taking. And the thing is, much the same could be said of the costume design, hair, and makeup, all of which is given to some fine detail at times that's crucial to the storytelling and its success. Kurosawa's mastery as a director is never in doubt as he orchestrates every shot and scene with both the eye of an artist, the heart of a poet, and the mind of an architect, perfectly capturing every idea and feeling that is meant to be communicated through the screenplay. Critically, this applies just as well to the cast, who down to the tiniest supporting parts give terrific performances of impeccable range, poise, nuance, and emotional depth. Iconic Mifune Toshiro is a solid anchor as Niide, certainly, yet I wonder if he isn't outshone by Kayama Yuzo, or even Niki Terumi, Zushi Yoshitaka, Tsuchiya Yoshio, and their co-stars. Even Kagawa Kyoko, effectively restricted to a single scene, acts with such spellbinding presence that she is highly memorable. With writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship this excellent, there is really no disputing that Kurosawa was truly one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live - and I'm quite of the mind that this picture instantly joins my personal short list of the greatest pictures ever made.
I assumed I would enjoy it, but having now watched, I'm perplexed that 'Red Beard' isn't more well known and highly esteemed. I suppose that for all the classics Kurosawa churned out during his career some works would inevitably be overshadowed in the grand scheme of things; even so, among those credits of his that I've watched to date, this might make the top of the list for me. There is unfailing heart and sincerity in these three hours that meets or exceeds what the vast preponderance of cinema could boast of; I've seen some folks wryly comment that this feature should be required viewing for medical students - I'd go one step further and suggest that it's required viewing for any person who lives among other people. The thoughts that Kurosawa broaches resonate with stark vitality, and every single person who participated in this creation are to be congratulated and remembered for their contributions. I could not be happier with just how fantastic this is, and I firmly believe that it definitively demands viewership. Whatever your typical personal preferences in terms of movies, and however you need to go about watching it, 'Red Beard' is a stellar, essential masterpiece, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!
Abigail (2024)
A delightful blast of horror fun, with highlights outweighing criticisms
I'm not so sure about the notion that this was greenlit as a remake of the 1936 film 'Dracula's daughter'; that's technically true, but in the same way that we might say Little Caesar's, as a purveyor of pizza pies, can be traced to authentic cuisine from the Italian peninsula. This is no knock on 'Abigail' any more than it is on Little Caesar's; I mean only to say that comparison is kind of pointless. What I am sure about is that writers Stephen Shields and Guy Busick, and directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, had a somewhat interesting approach to this flick. The premise is clear, and we in the audience already know fully well what the eponymous character is; the narrative informs us from the start who the last figure standing will be, and whether or not we've seen works before of a slant that's in any way similar, we can predict the general plot very swiftly after it's begun. What this means is that apart from smaller details in between these load-bearing pillars, the element of surprise is removed for viewers. So what do the filmmakers focus on? The value of the viewing experience is dependent on the strength of the dark fantasy violence, of the imagery to present, and of the sudden thrill that these may provide; it is dependent on the overarching horror vibes, on the minutiae that will round out characters or the sense of lore, on the skills of the actors, and on whatever sinister fun the picture might evoke. Thankfully, this 2024 romp is up to the task, and I had a really great time!
Whatever else is true of 'Abigail,' this isn't without its faults. The fact that we can pinpoint the "last man standing" is a problem; it's a problem that is common to the genre, to cinema, and to fiction at large, yes, but that doesn't make it better, especially when we see rare examples (e.g., Hammer's 'The legend of the 7 golden vampires') in which the question of surviving characters is very much up in the air. I also take issue with the character writing at large, for in one way or another it comes across in no few instances as heavy-handed; the latter descriptor also applies to some particular ideas or snapshots in the screenplay overall, or in the direction. Somewhat related, the way the camera treats Joey is tiresome and frankly appalling; hello, Male Gaze. A tiny bit of the music used is bouncy in a manner that clashes with the tone otherwise adopted; there is humor here, but it's not an outright horror-comedy, so tunes like Jean Dawson's original "Burn my tongue" - fine, broadly - don't quite belong. And though we may him and haw about This or That, I think there comes a point within the last twenty minutes that the narrative, and the writing generally, simply isn't as strong. It's clear that the filmmakers thought another aspect was needed to round out the tale, and though I don't disagree, I'm of the mind that the turn of events written into this feature isn't wholly convincing. The last stretch is good, but just not as sure-footed.
Lest one think a big paragraph of criticisms tears down the whole production, however, I'm pleased to say that these are relatively minor detractions. 'Abigail' is here to have a grisly blast, and it most definitely does that while being splendidly well made in most every capacity. Brian Tyler's score adds marvelous flavor, and I appreciate the theme from 'Swan Lake' (however overused it might tend to be in the medium); the use of one song for a cheeky sequence later in the length was a delight. Said sequence is an example of the playfulness that the movie carries with it, a trait that manifests sometimes in an expression of Abigail's power, sometimes as a kernel of comedic relief, and sometimes both. With that said, I repeat that even with some wry levity, this is a straight horror title, and not a comedy; thus are the grim airs of the proceedings made to have the desired impact. Just as importantly, it gives the cast a chance to let loose - most assuredly illustrating their skills as actors, but obviously having so much fun with it in the process. It's nice to see Kevin Durand play against type, and he is a surprising highlight; I'm a big fan of Kathryn Newton, and she is a joy in portraying Sammy. Melissa Barrera handles her lead role well, and Dan Stevens oozes smarm in his performance as Frank; not to be outdone, young Alisha Weir is a treasure as Abigail, and I look forward to watching her progress in her career. Of course this is hardly to count out their co-stars, including Giancarlo Esposito, Will Catlett, and Angus Cloud, but some stars shine more brightly than others in these two hours.
The production design and art direction are superb, giving the primary setting welcome character. I very much appreciate the work of the costume designer, and hair and makeup artists, especially as they work in concert with the stunt performers and effects artists as the violence kicks up. That fantasy violence predominantly comes in the second half, and fills it with buckets of blood, gore, and prosthetics; there is inevitably some post-production digital magic worked here, too, but dispensed mindfully, it's seamless and looks terrific. The sound design is impeccable, and the editing; even though I disagree with some choices, so is Aaron Morton's cinematography. The same rather goes for the writing and direction, too. No matter how you slice it this film is not without faults, but the story is solid and engaging, and the scene writing is gratifyingly strong. Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillet have unmistakably proven themselves as capable directors, and their oversight here is smart and tight, ably bringing forth the shifting moods as the tale progresses. As horror takes precedence over lighter touches of humor, I believe 'Abigail' is a nice complement to their 2019 lark 'Ready or not,' where the reverse was true.
The flick has its troubles, sure, and one would be remiss not to discuss them. I don't think any are so severe as to severely diminish the totality of the viewing experience, though. This only wanted to entertain with some wickedness and dark fantasy violence, and I'm hard-pressed to think that most folks could walk away without having enjoyed themselves in at least some capacity. I assumed I'd like it to one extent or another, but kept my expectations in check even as reception has proven to be fairly robust since its release. I'm glad to say that those expectations were exceeded: the end result is no must-see exemplar, but the pleasure that all involved took in realizing this slice of horror is readily evident, and it's hard not to share in that reverie in the audience. With the cast, the horror violence, the imagery, and some keen odds and ends rising well above any exceptions we might take, 'Abigail' is an excellent, fun-loving genre piece that's invigorating and satisfying, and I'm happy to give it my enthusiastic recommendation!
Star Wars (1977)
Nevermind the titanic phenomenon the franchise would become - this is very fun and well made!
It could have easily been something else. Many were the sci-fi flicks of one flavor or another that populated the late 70s and early 80s, and this was hardly the only space opera to have been released in the same general timeframe. Blending sci-fi, fantasy, and adventure, Peter Yates' 'Krull' of 1983 is one of my favorite movies; it didn't become the blockbuster it tried to be, but with a small twist of fate, it could have been. There's a universe out there where three of the most famous names in genre fare aren't Mark Hamill, Harrison Ford, and Carrie Fisher, but Ken Marshall, Alun Armstrong, and Lysette Anthony, and the saga of 'Krull' became a massive multimedia franchise. In our universe, though, the stars aligned in just the right fashion that it was George Lucas who created one of the biggest phenomenons in all of cinema - and while it doesn't specifically resonate with me, personally, the way it does with many others, I'd be plainly lying if I said that the first 'Star Wars' film of 1977 didn't impress. There's a reason its legacy has loomed over pop culture in the past forty-seven years, and even still this holds up terrifically.
A huge component of why 'A new hope' succeeded on so great a level, and continues to succeed on such a level, is because in the time when it was made there was effectively no such thing as computer-generated imagery, or "green screens." Oh, sure, there are visuals that were added in post-production, details that simply could not be produced in real time with existing technology. But from imaginative sets, creatures, and alien races, to memorable costume design, and from delightful props to incredible, meticulously crafted models and miniatures, most all that we see in these two hours is a tangible creation fabricated in a shop. The most low-budget physical goods are always, always preferable to even the very best of digital wizardry, for falsehood ages far more rapidly when it's something that one can't even touch. Fifty years from now 1933's 'King Kong' will still be iconic and impactful, and Peter Jackson's 2005 remake - decent enough though it may be - will be a footnote; 'Episode IV,' as it was originally released, will still be highly celebrated, and its needlessly embellished re-releases, let alone subsequent franchise installments like 'Attack of the clones,' will be spoken of with little enthusiasm. The visuals are plainly outstanding, also including other stunts and effects, and unquestionably a top highlight. That those post-production additions also look good, and infuse further flavor, is icing on the proverbial cake.
Lucas devised a screenplay with archetypal characters who would go on to be some of the most recognizable figures in the entirety of the world; just as in 1966 John Lennon quipped that The Beatles were "more popular than Jesus," Darth Vader is probably just as well known across a broad cross-section of today's global population. While transposed into a distant galaxy with futuristic technology, the narrative gives us a classic tale of good and evil, rebellion against oppression, self-realization, the emergence of a hero, the redemption of a rogue, and so on. The scene writing is marvelously strong, serving alongside the smartly considered dialogue to provide meaningful, deftly blended airs of action, adventure, drama, tragedy, thrills - and even comedy. Just as there is welcome earnestness in the storytelling to help each beat, idea, and theme to land, there is plentiful wit throughout the length to provide levity, from "blink and you'll miss them" gaffes as the picture was made, to the warmhearted camaraderie between characters, to sharp-tongued quips and retorts that elicit a smile or a laugh. We get a little bit of everything, and while some other titles feel imbalanced, or lean too hard in one direction or another, all the aspects of the storytelling in this instance are mixed very smoothly and firmly into a singular, unified whole such that no one aspect can be teased apart from the others. It further speaks well of Lucas as a director that the production carries a sense of joyful, loose energy, distinctly contrasting with other works that are emphatically tight and precise; the presentation feels more natural, and this extends to a cast who really seems to be having a fantastic time.
And as for that cast, well, the chemistry that they share on-screen, and the fun that they were having during filming, is solidly communicated to we viewers, and we share in those feelings. Just as much to the point: 'Star Wars' may be a genre romp, a blast of highfalutin whimsy that speaks to literal children and our inner children, but the acting is pretty much as splendid as any we could hope to see in the medium. I regret that legends Peter Cushing and Alec Guinness don't have larger parts in the tableau, but each in their own way - Cushing, with imperious severity, and Guinness with equal parts cordiality and airs of wisdom - make Grand Moff Tarkin and Obi-Wan Kenobi shine brightly with the time that they are given. We don't exactly see so much of Anthony Daniels, Kenny Baker, Peter Mayhew, David Prowse, or James Earl Jones as they vitalize characters hidden while behind full-body costumes or a microphone, but the presence that each brings with them is a critical element of what helped this lark to have become such a landmark. This is to say nothing of all those in much smaller supporting parts, who even with just one scene and a few lines might make a big impression, much in the same way that Cushing and Guinness did. And what can one say of Hamill, Ford, and Fisher except that they embrace their starring roles, and the spotlights thrust upon them, with admirable coolness and verve? If we really put our minds to it we can possibly imagine other actors in the roles of Luke, Han, and Leia, but it's difficult.
John Williams' score is so ubiquitous all these years later that one can easily take it for granted, but his themes really are superb, lending immensely to the mood at any point. (Far be it from me to name-drop 'Krull' a second time, but rewatching this now, I'm reminded of James Horner's vibrant music for that underappreciated gem.) Every last facet of the visuals is a veritable wonderland, and we wish we could step right into this galaxy and explore every inch of the environments; it's no surprise that the full spectrum of 'Star Wars' toys, collectibles, movies, novels, TV series, videogames, and other memorabilia and paraphernalia have indeed explored the breadth and depth of almost every last iota that might greet our eyes and ears. Even the sound effects have become standard-bearers in their own right. Is there anything here that isn't altogether - pardon me - stellar? Actually, to be honest, I don't think the editing is. Flashy, playful transitions are a trademark for Lucas, but I'm of the mind that here they start to become overbearing kind of quickly, and they never stop. There are also instances where Paul Hirsch, Marcia Lucas, and Richard Chew simply cut away too swiftly; a discernible measure of curtness arises now and again throughout the runtime, and it has the unfortunate effect of diminishing the impact of some moments in the plot. Film editing is one of those unsung arts that the layperson is unlikely to notice unless it's especially excellent or especially woeful, and though by and large the editors' contributions here are fine, there are some weak spots.
Still, if that's the most significant criticism I have to impart about 'A new hope' - and it is - then I'd say the film has done rather well for itself. I repeat that I personally don't place much stock in this corner of pop culture; I can appreciate 'Star Wars,' but it's not something that concretely, majorly speaks to me. Even at that, it's been a long time since I last viewed this progenitor, and I'm happy to say that it's even better than I remembered. We can him and haw about the particulars all we like, and discuss various minutiae at considerable length. One way or another, I don't think there's too much arguing that 'Episode IV,' despite its secondary numeric verbiage, still stands wonderfully tall on its own merits as a slice of genre cinema, and most anyone who appreciates science fiction will surely enjoy themselves here, and find something to love. From the most outward spectacle, to the tiny pieces of world-building that portend a far wider lore to come, this feature is a treasure, and it really does hold up. If you're open to pure entertainment with gratifying substance on the side, one owes it to themselves to watch the original, untarnished 1977 release at least once some time in their life. Cheers!
Precious Find (1996)
A hodgepodge of incogent, careless construction and wasted potential
If one wishes to find quality genre fare they can do so. Why, just earlier tonight I rewatched 1977's 'Star Wars' for the first time in many years, Peter Yates' 'Krull' is one of my favorite movies, and I'm a Trekkie at heart. But sometimes we don't want something that is raptly absorbing, highly entertaining, and very well made. Sometimes we want something off the beaten path, something that we can engage with more passively, or maybe something with such-and-such a person involved, just because. Hey, maybe we'll be surprised, and a second-, third-, or fourth-rate sci-fi flick will turn out to be a lot of fun! It's safe to say that in no time after it begins, 1996's 'Precious find' shows itself to fall squarely outside the category of "quality fare"; to say that it's an extremely mixed bag is being incredibly generous, and "terrible" might be a more accurate descriptor. This is not good.
To one extent or another there is some value herein. Some of the special makeup that we see in passing is quite well done, more so than the feature probably deserves, and likewise some of the costume design and set pieces. The music feels rather generic, but isn't specifically bad, and a few of the cast members seem to be making an effort, in some small way, to infuse a smidgen of earnestness and/or flavor into the proceedings with whatever minute amount of screen time they are given. The practical stunts and effects are pretty swell, and while I don't agree with all the choices that were made in terms of Walter Bal's cinematography - some shots and instances of camera movement are all too chintzy - his contribution at large illustrates his skills. I would even say that while there's nothing here that's especially new or original as writer Lenny Britton ports a western-ready tale of frontier prospecting to outer space, there are decent ideas in the screenplay that under the right circumstances could have been quite fine. The picture isn't wholly rotten.
"Not wholly rotten" isn't exactly high praise, however, and for whatever kernels of worth there may be in these ninety minutes, 'Precious find' tests our patience in too many noteworthy ways. Beyond its root ideas the writing is painfully on the nose and heavy-handed, and often feels outright careless. That certainly goes for the characters, written with a dire lack of nuance such that what we are supposed to see as "character arcs" or "dynamics" are instead so light and hackneyed that all substance is robbed from the figures; with this in mind, one can't entirely blame the actors for their acting, because they have so little to work with in the first place and their hands are forced. Dialogue is often pretty awful; the substitution of the word "precious" for "gold" swiftly becomes overbearing, especially given the profuse repetition, and it is established earlier on for no meaningful reason that the story takes place at whatever passes in 2049 for "Christmastime." I guess the scene writing is suitable, except for the fact that wide swaths of detail and connectivity are sorely missing from the overall narrative, and plot development is routinely careless and lackadaisical.
Sadly, more than not "careless" and "lackadaisical" are likely the most appropriate words to describe the film. I've seen a couple of Philippe Mora's other works and greatly enjoyed them; his direction here is brusque and heedless, and frankly reckless at times, resulting in an overly brisk pace, overcharged acting, and exceedingly poor treatment of the plot. This also goes for Ross Guidici's editing. Computer-generated imagery ranges from being on par with mid-90s digital creations (whether in cinema or in PC gaming), to plainly betraying the artifice; just as some makeup and sets are alright, other examples are rather dubious. And while Mora revels in his small supporting part as Kosnikov, and Joan Chen tries hard to make the most of her role, and some players have small moments where they shine - well, those same players may have other moments where they simply do not come off well, and the unnamed dog that portrays "Goldie" might give one of the most reliable performances of the full length.
I've seen far worse; this title is not actually anywhere near the bottom of the barrel. Some aspects really are quite admirable. Yet for all the skill and intelligence that 'Precious find' might claim, too much of it comes across as a grab bag of ideas that are not convincingly woven together. Instead of connecting the proverbial dots to fashion an intended image, Mora and Britton seem more than not to just be haphazardly throwing things at a wall and loosely, flimsily piecing it all together in a manner that struggles to be cogent and sensible. As prime examples, consider the totality of Rutger Hauer's character, the voiceovers that Harold Pruett provides in character, and the ending. I see the potential that the movie might have realized were it approached with real tact and mindfulness, but unfortunately, with a preponderance of the writing, direction, acting, and craftsmanship, that's just not what happened. At too many points this all but comes across as a joke. I'm sure some folks will get more out of it than I did; I'm disappointed that the concept, and the cast, were so horribly misused. Alas.
Strictly Ballroom (1992)
Far too underappreciated; an absolute treasure
In due course Baz Luhrmann would rocket to fame and acclaim with his modern adaptation of 'Romeo and Juliet,' and even more so with 2001 spectacle 'Moulin Rouge!' Even with only a handful of features to his name the man has curried substantial favor and earned a high reputation - but what of his cinematic directorial debut? Heretofore I've come across 1992's 'Strictly ballroom' often by name, but I've never otherwise heard anything about it. As soon as we begin watching, however, this flick swiftly proves itself to be stupendously entertaining, and to be honest it easily matches or surpasses the filmmaker's other credits in that capacity. Actually, I think it may well be Luhrmann's best work to date. To whatever extent its production values are a smidgen more modest, reflecting the resources available to a new face in the medium, in all those ways that matter most this is an absolute treasure!
Bursting with the colors and sensibilities of the 90s, the exaggerated characters and high energy in the direction and performances, and the spirited writing, recall the theatricality of like-minded fare. We think of John Waters' 'Hairspray' or 'Cry-Baby,' or the mockumentaries of Christopher Guest, on the more frivolous side of things, or other dance-focused pieces like 'Dirty dancing' or later Swayze vehicle 'One last dance,' let alone musicals; for good measure, add fragments of cheeky 80s comedies. Purposefully overblown characters, shrewd situational humor, and witty dialogue and scene writing provide heartier laughs than some more straightforward comedies can, with elements of outright cartoonishness woven in at just the right moments. At the same time, there is a welcome earnestness in the storytelling befitting a tale of pushing boundaries, of the struggle of the underdog, of conflicting interests, of defying others' expectations and demands, of romance - and, of course, of competitive ballroom dancing. The result, pairing with that delicious comedy, is absorbing, compelling drama that is all the greater in complement. Meanwhile the costume design, hair, and makeup strike a balance of being both fabulously, gaudily over the top where competition segments provide a veneer over the working class backgrounds of the characters, while their more down-to-earth counterparts are simply lovely. Much the same goes for the production design and art direction, a smidgen of glitz and glamour painted over the ordinary lives and personal frailties of the characters. One way or another, every last trace of the labor of those behind the scenes is magnificently rich, a real pleasure.
This is to say nothing of the wonderfully adept acting to which we're treated from one and all, shifting as necessary from ridiculously animated to superbly nuanced and perfectly poised and reserved, in embodying characters who are unexpectedly well-rounded. Paul Mercurio stands out most as protagonist Scott, certainly, and Tara Morice only half a step behind him as young Fran. Yet truly everyone gives performances equal to the task, and frankly I altogether adore the cast. Bill Hunter, Pat Thomson, Gia Carides, Peter Whitford, Pip Mushin, Sonia Kruger, and all others on hand infuse the proceedings with marvelous vitality and/or sincerity; Barry Otto, in a smaller supporting part as Scott's father Doug, is a glad emotional anchor for the picture, and likewise even for Antonio Vargas and Armonia Benedito as Fran's father and grandmother. Incredibly, the same warmth and vibrancy that the actors carry in their acting is furthermore borne out through the film's technical craft; in Steve Mason's cinematography, in Jill Bilcock's editing, and in Luhrmann's direction, all flawless, there thrums remarkable intelligence and a life-giving electricity that keeps us spellbound every "step" of the way. And with all this having been said, what can I possibly say of the choreography except that it is altogether stellar? From top to bottom there is joy, zest, and fluidity in the dancing that in my opinion meets or exceeds the standards we assume of any comparable fare. Watching 'Strictly ballroom' is nothing less than rejuvenating, and it would be so even if it were reduced to only the comedy, or only the drama, or only the dancing.
True, the narrative treads in very familiar, tried and true territory; "strictly" speaking, there is nothing in these ninety-odd minutes that we haven't seen before. Yet from the big beats and themes through to the smallest shots and expressions, this movie is more sharply made, and resonates more deeply, than many works that we might cite as a frame of reference. Tremendous skill and care is seen in every last facet, and I find myself having a hard time saying that This or That stands out more as a favorite. I anticipated enjoying it, but 'Strictly ballroom' goes above and beyond all my expectations. It may not appeal to all, certainly, yet whether one is an especial fan of Luhrmann or someone else involved, or of dance, or just looking for something good to watch, I find it hard to believe anyone could sit for this feature and not have a blast. I couldn't be happier with just how fantastic this is, and I can only give it my very highest, heartiest, and most enthusiastic recommendation!
Pierrot le fou (1965)
Very offbeat - but, unexpectedly, also very fun
Jean-Luc Godard is one of those filmmakers that just doesn't sit well with me personally. I've watched some of his movies and thought they were great; I've watched others and felt wholly indifferent, or outright hated them. I recognize how highly regarded he is in some corners, but to me he just comes off as a pretentious oaf. I keep trying, however, and I know 'Pierrot le fou' is held in considerable esteem; especially since Godard's earlier, more narrative-oriented features land better with me, how does this fare? To sit and watch there's no mistaking that this is unconventional, and decidedly jarring at first blush, to the point that the very first impression it makes isn't a good one; Godard seems to be up to the same tricks that make no few of his works more grating and unlikable. Happily, however, even within the first twenty minutes or so the picture begins to gel and attain its own queer sense of cohesiveness; while the viewing experience is consistently bewildering, there is a sly brilliance to these two hours that really does show what the filmmaker was capable of when he wasn't completely absorbed in his own self-indulgences and worst impulses. I find myself pleasantly surprised; I think this is fantastic!
The film is certain to put off anyone who desires more straightforward storytelling, no matter how many twists, turns, or metaphors it might carry, and anyone who prefers fiction that concretely inspires tears, thrills, or laughs. To say that this 1965 flick is an oddball is like calling the sun "hot"; so many disparate thoughts are tossed into the mix that even without taking into account the often steady, brisk pacing we must remain firmly attentive just to keep up with the proceedings, and there's no disputing that the more conceitedly artistic and grandiose ideations of the man are also prevalent here in no small part. The difference, however, is that to whatever extent the more garish or less immediately relevant elements threaten to overtake the storytelling, and the otherwise craftsmanship - in the same way as, say, the penchant of some modern action filmmakers for "Slick And Cool" visuals threatens to or actually does undo any otherwise value in their productions - Godard gets it right in this instance by primarily ensuring that the flourishes of his vision (or sometimes his rhetoric) serve the story, and not vice versa. The story comes first, and it just happens to be told in a manner so offbeat that I recognize a kinship with more recent auteurs like Charlie Kaufman or Quentin Dupieux. And in this manner, 'Pierrot le fou' becomes a joy.
Where Godard focuses most on his common artistic obsession with consumerism, and/or political musings, is where this is the least sure-footed, and likewise wherever embellishment in the fundamental presentation (e.g., tinting in one of the earliest scenes) is most forward. (Be well aware of a scene where yellowface is employed). Otherwise, even as the ideas and flavors herein are a veritable grab bag while communicating the underlying story of Ferdinand and Marianne, those who are receptive to the style will be swept up in it. We're greeted with a tale of crime, romance, wry comedy, the classic road trip, action-adventure, and even fleeting musical stylings of song and dance; there are poetic voiceovers and dialogue, surrealism, casual occasional breaking of the fourth wall, and abstract, sometimes minimalist renderings of a beat or idea. Antoine Duhamel's flavorful, pensive dramatic score, deliberately imbalanced sound design, and some sudden sound effects, meet with curt sound editing that may sometimes abruptly cut audio in or out at will. There are times when the scene writing or the plot development (such as it is) suddenly swerves, or Francoise Collin's editing is extra curt, or maybe Collin's editing and Godard's vision will purposefully chop up a sequence such that it's pretty much out of order; sometimes the cinematography is extra playful, or the camera will cut to other imagery. And among all this and still more, somehow Jean-Paul Belmondo, Anna Karina, and their co-stars manage to give performances that feel perfectly natural, with softly buzzing chemistry between them.
And the thing is, all of it looks really good! The image is crisp and vivid, and flush with vibrant hues as we expect of contemporary Eastmancolor; esteemed cinematographer Raoul Coutard turns in splendidly smart, rich work, just as editor Collin does. The acting is terrific and filled with spirit; those stunts and effects that are employed are excellent. Though the title is quite all over the place, Godard's script (such as it is) is flush with fabulous, fun ideas, and his direction is spry and lively. In fact, setting aside those times when the filmmaker's indulgences threaten to overtake the production, the chief criticism I have is that the far-flung odds and ends that make up the whole are unevenly applied. 'Pierrot le fou' is rather front-loaded, and there are wide swaths of the length that proceed along relatively ordinary lines; sometimes a bunch of these facets will be mixed together at once, and elsewhere there will be none. If all the curious notions had been carried through to the end more uniformly, as much of a through-line as the story, then I think I would think still better of this. Mind you, even as it is, I'm a bit taken aback to have found another work of Godard that I genuinely appreciate; while I was certain I'd try another here and there, I'd more or less given up on him. And here we are with this that is very engaging and entertaining from start to finish, however much we may him and haw about the particulars.
No matter what one specifically thinks about it, this is a movie that will definitely appeal most to a more selective audience, and I can hardly begrudge those who have a difficult time sitting with it. Even as it bounces to and fro, though, it remains a unified whole that's grounded by the narrative, and Godard's tendency toward bloviating rhetoric and empty arthouse pomposity is either absent or reined in as will serve the picture and not himself. I still don't especially plan on seeking out more of his oeuvre, but count this piece among those that ably demonstrate what he could achieve when he didn't get in his own way. It's no outright revelation, and I don't think one needs to go out of their way for it, but if you're receptive to all the wide, wacky possibilities that cinema has to offer and you do have the chance to watch, 'Pierrot le fou' is an enjoyable, far-flung feature that's worth checking out.
Raging Bull (1980)
A roundly stellar, masterful achievement of cinema
It's been a very long time since I last watched this, to the point that I remembered nothing but a fragment of the last stretch. I recalled enjoying it, but even with the very high reputation it has held over the past forty years, how would it really hold up in retrospect? Martin Scorsese is a darling of the industry but not all his works are equal, or resonate equally with all viewers; what of this, which by some measures may well be his most enduring legacy in the medium?
There are two impressions that 'Raging Bull' makes rather quickly. The first is that even by "normal" standards - of stereotypical, hot-headed trash talk and "locker room" talk, bloviating machismo, and toxic masculinity; of misogyny and homophobia, and casual dispensation of slurs for the purpose of insult, disparagement, and sideways punching-down; and of other fiction, in cinema above all, that revolves around figures of ill repute, questionable morals, and bad behavior - the characters herein are coarse, swarthy, seedy, and unlikable. There are straightforward crime flicks, and features that specifically center anti-heroes or even villains, where the characters are more likable, respectable, and sympathetic. Such touches make the picture a little less easy to digest, just as is true of the most extreme instances of violence. Be that as it may, these factors seem a tad less prominent as the length draws on, and more importantly, the movie is raptly absorbing as a portrait of a volatile boxer whose career is as unstable as his personal life and mental state are explosive. Even as the characterizations and dialogue reflect unseemly vulgarity and outright barbarism, the scene writing is increasingly, magnificently strong, a top highlight as no few scenes are plainly brilliant, and the narrative increasingly compelling and satisfying as the less savory facets are gradually folded into the gathering vitality of the storytelling. There are many times when the viewing experience is almost horrifying in its ugliness, but at its best (and this is "at its best" much more so than not, especially in the second half), the drama is altogether spellbinding.
The second impression that 'Raging Bull' makes, however, is even more sure-footed, consistent, and gratifying. Say what one will about Paul Schrader and Mardik Martin's treatment of Jake LaMotta and his life, the film is stupendously well made in every other capacity. If ever one might have had a doubt about Scorsese as a filmmaker, his direction here is absolutely stunning, and frankly flawless: smart, tight, and always capturing the perfect mood in the perfect take with impeccable guidance of his cast. That cast is extraordinary; in all the years since we often taken for granted that Robert De Niro is a great actor, but his performance here alone - ferocious, powerful, ranged, nuanced, and overflowing with emotional depth - is really just stunning. If the same is any less true of Joe Pesci, Cathy Moriarty, Nicholas Colasanto, Frank Vincent, or anyone else down to the smallest supporting parts, it's only because they are less prominent and given fewer opportunities to shine. The fight choreography, stunts, and effects are incredible, vivid and visceral, and definitely a credit to all those operating behind the scenes, and the same quite goes for the sets, costume design, hair, and makeup. Yet speaking of such underappreciated contributors, we've not even gotten to the most uniformly striking aspects of the title.
Much has been made of Thelma Schoonmaker's keen sight as an editor, and her long-time partnership with Scorsese. The first time I, personally, took note of her was with Michael Wadleigh's seminal 'Woodstock' documentary, for her work on the editing team there was a considerable part of what made it such a tremendous success. Mark this as the second time I've emphatically taken note of Schoonmaker: I'm not saying that every passing moment in these 130 minutes is a revelation by her hand, but I am saying that where her meticulous effort is most readily observed it is outright dazzling, and in all other instances, it is sharp and fluid beyond all conceivable reproach. Amazingly, more than anything else, I'm just floored by Michael Chapman's cinematography. The very tight close-ups during fight sequences make every blow, every spray of blood, and every expression pop out with a vibrancy that other features only wish they could achieve. From fantastically shrewd camera movement, to lighting, to subtle shifts, there is a warmth and spirit that allows even this singular element to thrum with buzzing electricity and feel alive, let alone the whole. For all those ways in which 'Raging Bull' is exceptional - and it is, through and through - Schoonmaker and Chapman match Scorsese and De Niro in the proportionate weight of their contributions to the sum total.
It was the crudeness in the dialogue and characterizations that first caught my attention with this rewatch, because it rather exceeds what I am accustomed to even with all the countless pictures I've watched over the years. After all, though, it's only part and parcel of the saga being imparted, and in every other fashion this is nothing less than exemplary. There are still many other works that are more meaningful to me as an individual, and that I hold in higher esteem, but for the level on which this operates, the distinction is functionally meaningless. Not only does the movie hold up in retrospect, and not only is it almost certainly Scorsese's premier contribution to cinema, but it's no wonder why it has so loftily celebrated, often named as one of the best movies ever made; to the extent one may disagree, it can surely only be a matter of splitting hairs. From writing, direction, and acting to choreography, editing, cinematography, and all else and everything in between, 'Raging Bull' remains a momentous achievement with relatively few points of comparison across all years and all genres. There are parts of it that are more difficult to watch, yes, but that is true of any tale that is worth telling. When you get down to it this is a stellar film that truly demands viewership - from everyone, at least once - and that's all there is to it.
The Conquering Power (1921)
A fine, compelling silent drama
Major star power is no guarantor of the success of a picture. Esteemed actors have participated in some of the best films in the world, and in some of the worst, and even as Rudolph Valentino's fame outshines his short life and career, not all his works are equal, either. I see both the strengths and the weaknesses in Rex Ingram's 'The conquering power,' and while the former outweigh the latter, even at its best I don't think this is a title that specifically, majorly stands out among its contemporaries. It deserves remembrance, certainly, both on its own merits and as a surviving piece of silent cinema - only, maybe just don't go out of your way for it.
When I last watched a feature that was based on classic literature by Honoré de Balzac, the viewing experience clocked in at a walloping thirteen hours. By all means, Jacques Rivette's 'Out 1' is an outlier, both for its extraordinary length and for the experimental nature by which it adapts 'History of the thirteen.' Be that as it may, the frame of reference is not a useless one, for the chief issue I take with this 1921 flick is that one need not be familiar with Balzac's 'Eugénie Grandet' to readily gain an understanding that the adaptation, even by so highly regarded a screenwriter as June Mathis, removes details and nuance. I'm sure it was necessary to condense the source novel into a more digestible, conventional length of film stock; even so, there is a brusqueness in the storytelling that to me suggests chunks of plot were left out to simplify the cinematic rendition. This is understandable in some measure, but in another it is unfortunate as the full breadth and depth of the tale, and the impact it might carry, is diminished.
With that in mind, however, by and large 'The conquering power' is terrifically well made, and more than not it's surely a fine credit to all involved. Overall the narrative remains intact, and the scene writing is fabulously strong; as director Ingram works hard to ensure that the gravity of each beat is conveyed as faithfully as possible, and there is some splendid shot composition throughout. In both the writing and direction, even down to some intertitles, there is sometimes a masterful sense of poetic flourish, and otherwise artistry, that definitely captures the imagination; this is a drama, but there are deliciously dark vibes coursing throughout, and noteworthy themes. I love the costume design, and the sets, and even the hair and makeup is lovely. Perhaps more than anything else, much of the success of this movie can be attributed to the superb acting. The entire cast is outstanding, breathing vivid life into their characters and infusing the proceedings with stark vitality, and that applies even to those in smaller supporting parts. Valentino may be the most famous participant all these decades later, but swell as he is here, I think he's rather outshone by Edward Connelly in his subtle performance; by Ralph Lewis, with the intense fervor and malignance with which he embodies Père Grandet; and not least, by Alice Terry, who as beleaguered, lovestruck Eugenie is arguably given the most opportunity to illustrate her range.
The picture is a tad rough around the edges, and it seems clear to me that 'Eugénie Grandet' was somewhat gawkily abridged in its translation into a script. I can hardly blame Mathis for this, nor Ingram as director or producer, but the incidence is discernible and is therefore regrettable. I'd go one step further and say that this is even a tad uneven, for while some scenes are altogether brilliant, other moments (maybe in the third act most of all) were plainly less carefully crafted. And still it speaks so well to the skills and intelligence of all involved that the end result is nonetheless fantastic at large - engaging, compelling, and highly satisfying. In whatever ways this is troubled, when all is said and done such matters are fairly minor and forgivable. I don't think it wholly demands viewership, and strictly speaking it may not be the feature to change the minds of anyone who isn't already enamored of the silent era, but whether you have a particular impetus to watch or are just looking for something good, ultimately I'm pleased to give 'The conquering power' my firm recommendation.
The Groundstar Conspiracy (1972)
A suitable thriller is assigned an asterisk owing to one major character
Well, the last thing I expected when I sat to watch, knowing nothing about the film or L. P. Davies' novel, was that the character of top-billed George Peppard, unspecified government agent Tuxan, would turn out to be a straight-up fascist. Moreover, as the tale eventually sets Tuxan, with his mind games and subtle manipulation, against figures of more heavy-handed abject violence, we as spectators are supposed to cheer him on despite the underhanded brutality of his own methods, ugliness that is not truly unique from those of the "antagonists." Was it Davies' intent from the outset to suggest tacit support for the worst people in the world, or was it the intent of screenwriter Douglas Heyes, or filmmaker Lamont Johnson? Are we really supposed to egg on a goon just because they're nominally aligned with our contemporary nation-state? 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' would be a common, unremarkable, blueprint thriller in a world where George Orwell's Mr. O'Brien reigned supreme, where predominant politics would hold that innocence is nothing more than a pretense for corruption that's not yet been revealed, or instilled; where people are nothing but tools to be exploited and disposed of; and where any means are justified for any end. In our world, it's not so easy to derive entertainment from a piece where we're seemingly meant to root for an unreservedly awful person.
In fairness, the picture gives us another character, Michael Sarrazin's, who quickly becomes meaningfully, deservingly sympathetic; then again, we viewers are not concretely given satisfaction when all is said and done, and any rebuke to Tuxan that is written into this is soft and scarcely more than lip service. True, in all other regards this is well made. Setting aside the elevation of Tuxan and his methods, the plot is duly compelling, and the scene writing is quite strong. I think some parts of the narrative could be tightened, with greater connectivity between ideas, but the foundations are solid. From filming locations to production design and art direction the basic visuals are swell, and the stunts and effects superb. All involved give excellent performances, including Peppard and Sarrazin, and certainly also Christine Belford. At its best this offers fine tension and suspense, and the sense of thrills we desire. And I'm actually of the mind that the top highlight in this ninety-odd minutes might be Paul Hoffert's music - themes of synth-driven sobriety and fleet-footed jazz that tastily complement the action, and the mood at any given time, while themselves nestling deep within our ears and wresting a noticeable fragment of attention away from the rest of the feature. I'm not saying Hoffert's score is a revelation, but it is striking, and most welcome.
And still I'm stuck on how 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' positions Tuxan as a hero despite his viciousness and never completely takes that away from him, no matter how deep his wickedness runs. No, not every story has a happy ending; some wonderfully absorbing stories definitively end in a virtuous protagonist's defeat. Life is not so simple, cut, and clean as fiction where earnest, good-natured people frequently eke out a lasting victory. That's just the point, though: in a world where malice and cruelty are their own ends for the worst of people who purposefully trample the vulnerable while destroying crucial societal institutions, why would we want to watch a movie that cuts so close to home, and in which a central, uplifted character is defined by that same inhumanity? Just as much to the point, the types of stories and figures that we create, consume, and celebrate is indicative of where we are as a person, or as a people. It's one matter to find value in a hero who has their own flaws, or in an outright anti-hero; I would find it disturbing for a person to take delight in the activities of this title's Tuxan just a much as I would for a person to fervently enjoy playing murderous villains in a role-playing game. Ultimately the true worth of this film may arguably be not so much in the watching of it, but in watching the watchers to see how they react.
I don't dislike this, but the appreciation it might earn has at least as much to do with the scrutiny and discussion that follows from it, if not more, as from the actual viewing experience. Usually about now I'd say that I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, but for the very particular reasons I've highlighted, that isn't necessarily the case this time. Maybe I'm being too cynical and jaded, and maybe my perspective on 'The Groundstar Conspiracy' is overly harsh. The impression it gives off to me does not come out of nowhere, however, and so I regard it with some trepidation. If it's a thriller you want, it's a thriller you'll get; I'm just of the mind that between some looseness in the plot and its development, and and above all the way that Tuxan is treated throughout and all the way to the end, the legacy of this flick stews in murk, and any especial recommendation is hard to come by. I won't say "don't watch"; I will say "if you choose to watch, do so with a mind for critical thought and analysis." Take that as you will.
Africa Screams (1949)
Fun overall, a good adventure-comedy
Perhaps more than any other form of storytelling or entertainment, it sometimes seems like comedy is particularly prone to high variability in perceived quality. It's subject to individual perspective, and to changing sensibilities over time; some styles of humor come off better than others. All of Harold Lloyd's silent films are outstanding; his sound films are far less reliable. The Three Stooges' short films are a blast, but their slapstick often wears thin in full-length films. I certainly recognize how highly regarded Bud Abbott and Lou Costello are, though my experiences with them to date have been mixed; how might this 1949 flick hold up, especially as the name and premise raise reasonable concerns regarding some subject matter?
Happily, I'm of the mind that more than not the feature is generally among the duo's better releases, and it swiftly shows itself to be quite clever and fun at its best. The dynamics between Abbott and Costello are an essential centerpiece, as is the high energy that they and their co-stars bring to the proceedings. Between writers Earl Baldwin, Martin Ragaway, and Leonard B. Stern the screenplay is filled with swell gags and scene writing to twist to comedic ends a narrative that could just as well be realized as an earnest adventure. Charles Barton's direction maintains the high spirits of this lark, and as we further factor in excellent stunts, costume design, and stunts and effects, overall this is sure to entertain.
I won't say it's perfect, however, because there are distinct faults on hand that diminish my favor. Some bits are notably weaker than others - some are allowed to linger too longer, others are extra cartoonish, and so on. Just as much to the point, though such matters are common to lots of other pictures, we should question how the animals were treated, for there are no few scenes in which trained lions and chimpanzees play a part in a manner that probably wouldn't (and shouldn't) pass muster today. Just as sorrily, we should criticize the way that a tale set in Africa emphatically centers white people and heavily stereotypes African peoples; it's all intended for lighthearted merriment, yes, but that doesn't specifically make it better. Even the promotional artwork is frankly cringe-worthy. There are definitely parts of 'Africa screams' that don't come off so well all these years later, and while it broadly remains enjoyable, it's also important that we acknowledge and discuss its failings.
Scrutinize the particulars as we might, though, the preponderance of the humor is plentifully silly or witty in and of itself, and removed from how animals and black actors are employed. This most assuredly earns some laughs, even as some moments aren't as successful. It's not for nothing that Abbott and Costello are so famous, and even with the troubles it faces, I think this movie is a good time. I wouldn't say it wholly demands viewership, but I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, and it's worth checking out if you have the opportunity. Be aware that like too many other Hollywood films there are aspects that reflect less enlightened social values and awareness, but at large 'Africa speaks' is solid enough that it's a fun way to spend a quiet evening.
Yankee Gal (2008)
A smart, creative short, succinct but sharp
While there are always exceptions, one of the great things about short films is that we can trust there will be no excess. Whether by a filmmaker's budget or their vision or both, the smaller the piece, the tighter and more focused it is apt to be. And so it is with 2008's 'Yankee gal,' the creation of Celine Desrumaux, Gary Levesque, Antoine Perez & Francois Pons; clocking in at under five minutes, including credits, the small tale is concise and to the point, with the only artistic embellishment along the way coming in the form of the manner in which the story is imparted. And what a story it is, even in such a short span of time, telling of a pilot in a failing fighter plane. Others have fashioned similar narratives, yes, in full-length features, in anthologies, and on television, but none in a manner that was so succinct, and still so impactful.
Brilliant as it is, I do think the short comes up, well, "short" in terms of its final form. As it presents this is the barest rendition of the concept, stripping away all ornamentation, and that's splendid. At the same time, the editing is so brusque and curt that as the extremely visual story flits back and forth the full weight of the idea is diminished. I don't think it would have been necessary to add to the length at all to add to the experience, only to allow scenes to linger a smidgen longer rather than be chopped up into such tiny fragments.
Be that as it may, the filmmakers concocted something wonderfully smart, with the visuals themselves being terrific in flavoring the brief plot as it unfolds. Personal preferences may very as to the style of animation, but it's smooth, fluid, and generally polished, and the accompanying music is a nice touch. This isn't an all-out must-see, but 'Yankee gal' is a fine credit to all involved, and I'm very pleased with what they put together in so abbreviated a format. Especially for all the longer it takes to watch, this is well worth checking out.
Dracula's Daughter (1936)
Generally solid, though diminished by an overly light tone
I'm someone who has had a soft spot for monster movies since I was a young kid, and I've grown up to be an avid cinephile. With this in mind I think it quite says something that I've gone my whole life, until a few days ago, unaware that this film existed; the sheer number of sequels that Universal churned out to their classic creature features is kind of extraordinary. I think it's fair to approach any of these sequels with lowered expectations, hoping for the best, though I do recognize that 'Dracula's daughter' has been regarded reasonably well over the years (at least in comparison to some of its brethren). To sit and watch this 1936 flick quickly shows itself to be kith and kin with its contemporaries, whether for better or for worse. For my part I do think it's enjoyable, but it also surely falls on the softer side of the entertainment spectrum, and ultimately it's not too terribly surprising that it's a less renowned vampire piece.
The picture largely maintains such a light tone that it's no more than a half-step away from being a more ordinary melodrama, totally free of genre flavorings, or even a comedy; many scenes would fit right in with those approaches, especially the abject frivolities. We do get tinges of supernatural horror and dark fantasy befitting a title bearing the name of Dracula, and this is crafted in such a manner that at times it fosters a measure of appropriately gloomy atmosphere. Even so, wide swaths of the length than not could be described as horror only in a broad thematic sense; beyond fractions of foreboding ambience, there are no more than slight traces of the visceral thrills we commonly expect of the genre. All this is quite typical for such fare in the 30s and 40s, certainly, but that's just the point - for whatever strength the work might bear, it is set in amongst a fairly gentle, somewhat bland variety of storytelling that by any measure has a harder time making an impression.
In fairness, in all other regards 'Dracula's daughter' is well made by the standards of the time. The costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely, and the best of the sets boast welcome, flavorful detail. Some of George Robinson's cinematography and Milton Carruth's editing are extra smart at times. The cast give admirable performances, above all Gloria Holden as the tormented title character, and while we might take some issue with tone, Lambert Hillyer's direction is firm. And for as long as the road was in concocting a screenplay to fulfill the needs of the production, there are some terrific ideas in these seventy minutes, and strong scene writing. On paper the movie was filled with swell possibilities for both supernatural horror and psychological horror (or drama), and these do come to bear to some extent as it presents. The trouble is just that the overall vibe is so decidedly light that the story and its best notions have difficulty carrying any of the weight that they should; what might have been a wonderfully absorbing, compelling viewing experience of meaningful impact is instead mostly rather mild, and somewhat unremarkable.
The film is pretty good, tentatively but increasingly tip-toeing into the promised territory, and its potential was considerable. I'm inclined to think that its most substantial limiting factors were really just the film-making and storytelling sensibilities of the period in which it was made; if the same script and root narrative were employed for a rendition at any time from, say, the 1970s onwards, the result may have well been excellent. I do like 'Dracula's daughter,' and it's just regrettable that there were upper limits in 1936 on what it might achieve. Both on its own merits and as a lesser-known slice of horror cinema I believe this to be worth checking out if you come across it, but any recommendation is very much a relatively soft one, and you should be aware of how it is a mixed bag.
In the Fire (2023)
Modestly enjoyable, but common and regrettably heavy-handed
It's one matter for a film to be received so poorly that it becomes infamous, like 'North,' 'Showgirls,' or 'Ishtar.' Countless more titles are received poorly all the time, but go entirely unremarked until we somehow chance upon them. While it's true of both groups, sometimes it seems that with the latter especially there is a possibility that to sit and watch for ourselves, maybe we'll find that low esteem to be misguided; I've been surprised every now and again, hating movies that are beloved and loving movies that are hated. So what of 'In the fire,' which came and went completely unheard of last year? Could it really be so bad? Truthfully, I don't think it is. I've seen the bottom of the barrel, and this is nowhere near it. 'In the fire' is passably enjoyable on some level. It is also, however, saddled with troubles that are apparent pretty much right from the start, and as a result there was sadly never much of a chance for this to rise above "middling" or "mediocre."
Specifically, two issues readily present. The first is that this picture gives us nothing new; genre cinema overflows with fare juxtaposing science and religion, a skeptic protagonist and a conflict of supposed supernatural happenings, and an earnest search for the truth as set against ignorance, superstition, and mob violence. These eighty-seven minutes operate in a very familiar space, including themes, scenes, characters, and dynamics between characters; there are most certainly tropes at play. Mind you, this first issue is not a huge mark against this one feature; many individual filmmakers may try their hand at similar concepts - there is no rule against doing so - and setting aside that slight variations on one idea can bear equal merit, if we forsook anything and everything that wasn't concretely original, there would be very little art in the world. It's worth observing the incidence here, and reflecting on points of comparison, but this alone doesn't majorly impact the whole.
Far more concerning is the second issue of 'In the fire' - moreover aggravating the latter factor - which is distinct, pervasive heavy-handedness all throughout the length, and in far too many ways. I'm unfamiliar with filmmaker Conor Allyn, or co-writers Pascal Borno and Silvio Muraglia, or others involved; only Amber Heard and Eduardo Noriega have I encountered in some small measure in the past, and I know that they are capable. Unfortunately, this flick is flush with dire forcefulness, a lack of tact, nuance, or mindful application, that makes most everyone and everything come off with gauche, unconvincing severity, if not also bluntness. Sometimes a moment becomes almost laughable for how tawdry it is, and this may be attributed to any combination of the dialogue, scene writing, characterizations, story ideas or plot development, shot composition, cinematography, editing, lighting or color correction, music, sound, effects (practical or especially digitally produced), or even the costume design, hair, makeup, or production design or art direction. Above all, I'm quite sure that Allyn's direction is a primary factor driving the heavy-handed qualities of the proceedings, and in turn the acting is absolutely impacted, even down to facial expressions and delivery. I feel bad for young Lorenzo McGovern Zaini, because he may come across worst of all. Again, I at least know what Heard and Noriega can achieve when given the opportunity, and I can only assume that conditions here reduced them to such small corners; presumably, the same goes for their fellow contributors. One way or another, this is loaded with contentious traits that greatly diminish what this might have been.
What's most regrettable is that I see the potential it bore. Broadly speaking I actually do like Teho Teardo's score, and it just often comes across as ill-fitting as it is employed; some elements (like cinematography, or hair and makeup) are well done in and of themselves, but were guided to ill-considered ends. More than anything, the narrative can claim strong foundations in the themes and ideas on hand, thoughts that are dark, disturbing, and frankly all too despairingly relevant to modern real life as reason and patient deliberation are set against willful abandonment of critical thought and empathy. It has its rough spots, and it may work in known territory, but on paper I think the plot is enjoyable and satisfying from beginning to end. The fact is that in execution the film adopts a tone that is too forthright, and nearly every component part at some point suffers from gawky, somewhat unrefined construction. I don't dislike 'In the fire,' and I abjectly disagree with the extremity of its poor regard; at the same time, it doesn't exactly inspire enthusiastic engagement, and it's probably best left as something to check out on a lazy, quiet night. There are much, much worse ways you could spend your time; the problem is that there are countless better ones, too. When all is said and done I believe this is modestly worthwhile if you come across it, but don't go out of your way for it, and be aware that it's the sort of picture best considered as a means to pass the time, and not to particularly capture the imagination. Take that as you will.
The Heartbreak Kid (1972)
Stunning and brilliant, a flawless, unorthodox sort of "comedy"
I don't know if I've ever been less prepared for a movie than I was when I sat to watch this. It's described as a comedy, and that is technically true; it's described as a black comedy, and this is a more accurate descriptor that provides at least some indication that the humor is going to be cold, dark, and wry. Incredible, piercing wit and stunning intelligence pervade these 105 minutes, with momentously clever dialogue and scene writing, some of the strongest, most striking character writing I think I've ever seen, and stupendously sharp, tight direction that captures the exact right tone, and the exact right energy. Screenwriter Neil Simon, and filmmaker Elaine May, demonstrate skill and intellect in shaping this feature - a warped exploration of relationships between men and women, of marriage, and of love and hypocrisy, through the lens of a dead-eyed, cynical, brutally honest rendition of the male psyche - that I have difficulty putting into words. Their vision is unfailingly shared with absolute faithfulness by the stars, primarily Charles Grodin, Cybill Shepherd, Jeannie Berlin, and Eddie Albert, and the performances are utterly flawless in capturing the emotional tenor of the characters, and of the narrative. 'The heartbreak kid' claims a level of brilliance matching or exceeding some of the most widely celebrated works of cinema in the world.
It is also, however, a comedy - a black comedy - in which the common, appropriate reaction for almost every line, almost every character interaction, and almost every scene, is not a laugh, but a cringe that makes us shrink back into our seats, a shuddering gasp of shocked disbelief, and an involuntary withholding of our breath in astonishment at who protagonist Lenny shows himself to be, and the extraordinary lengths he is willing to go to in his shallowness and gobsmacked turpitude. Yes, sometimes a laugh does break through, providing fleeting relief from the tremendously harsh vibe the picture broadly carries. By all means, there are scattered elements herein that very well could be transposed into an earnest romantic comedy or a warmhearted romantic drama. Yet by and large this could scarcely be further from anything resembling the typical comedy; my first reaction more closely approximated horror, and only as I began to recognize what May and Simon were doing did I warm up to the film. And when I say I warmed up to it, I mean to say that I'm flabbergasted at just how smart it is, a slyly underhanded reversal of everything we commonly anticipate of such stories in cinema, and in fiction at large. It suggests what we might expect if a novel were written from the perspective of George Wickham from 'Pride and prejudice,' or what might happen if the wholly bleak assessment of humanity we saw in Billy Wilder's 'Ace in the hole' were fashioned into a twisted, like-minded variation on comedy.
Garry Sherman's sardonically lighthearted music marches in lockstep with the writing, direction, and acting to bring this tableau to vibrant life, and from costume design, hair, and makeup to production design, cinematography, and editing, it's splendidly well made according to the standards of contemporary fare. It also flies in the face of most all norms of the medium, and of any genre labels we might append. Given the extremities on display here it definitely won't appeal to all comers, and so very particular is the kind of comedy that Simon and May toy with that I can hardly begrudge anyone who tries watching the flick and finds themselves taken aback and put off. Had lesser minds tried to do something similar the effort would surely fail. Those involved in this instance, however, seized a lightning bolt of cunning and insight that produced a rare, unlikely treasure, and I am so, so pleased with the end result. It's a bewildering viewing experience, but one that is backwardly entertaining and ultimately deeply satisfying, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. This is a title for those viewers who are receptive to all the wide, far-flung possibilities of storytelling, and who are ready to put in some work themselves to grasp at what the filmmaker is doing. If you're ready and willing to accept whatever comes your way, though, 'The heartbreak kid' is a fantastic classic, an underappreciated gem, that deserves far more recognition.
RocketMan (1997)
Lighthearted, silly fun (albeit with some notable problems)
I forget how I came across this film, let alone why I set it aside in my mind as something to look for, but it's been on my list to watch for awhile. Once I actually found the chance to check it out I'd be lying if I said I didn't have mixed expectations, for a live-action kids' movie of the 90s from Disney presents a quartet of red flags for the discerning adult cinephile. Still, the earnest moviegoer should be open to anything and everything - and truthfully, once we press "play," I think this is actually a lot of fun! To be sure, there is childishness and ham-handedness that's clearly geared for the youngest of viewers, and some bits lean so heavily into wild bombast for its own sake (including juvenile gross-out humor) that they may test our patience. Yet more than not I believe 'RocketMan' is splendidly clever, with terrific high energy, and these qualities result in a viewing experience that's really pretty enjoyable!
The screenplay devised between Oren Aviv, Craig Mazin, and Greg Erb is built on significant doses of abject silliness, inviting the cast (filled with some very recognizable names and faces) to just totally let loose, giddily shout and flail, and embrace their inner child. They do so without fail, giving zestfully animated performances, and that unreservedly joyful abandon is a huge part of what makes these ninety-three minutes such a blast. One is reminded of the best 90s comedies of Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, and their contemporaries as the actors give it their all, and while star Harland Williams is naturally given the biggest spotlight to let his proverbial "freak flag" fly, others on hand like Jessica Lundy, Peter Onorati, and even William Sadler are just as committed, and just as swell. Further factor in Stuart Gillard's direction, maintaining that same spirit, and all the rowdy dialogue, situational humor, and gags that fill the script, and to whatever extent this is designed for youthful audience members, there's much about it that I think most anyone could get on board with.
Some intended jokes definitely land better than others; none but the youngest of kids will laugh at the cheapest gags. It's also evident that the picture is a product of the 90s, for there are some small inclusions that, instead of being funny, just come off as plainly ignorant, like some casual racism or classism, and making light of - I kid you not - the Rwandan genocide. Then again, some small lines slide through that are so unbelievably smart, and adult-oriented, that it's incredible Disney executives left them in. And while some facets of the production surely show their age, like the computer-generated imagery (decent in and of itself), in general this is well made by the standards of contemporary fare. The sets are rendered with fine care, and the practical stunts and effects are excellent. I quite like Michael Tavera's score, flavorful if not specifically remarkable, and the editing is fairly sharp. From costume design, hair, and makeup to sound and cinematography, able skill and intelligence went into this flick, and more than not the end product is roundly solid. It bears repeating that the core strengths, or at least the most noteworthy strengths, lie in the cast, the direction, and the writing (however flawed the latter may be at points), but overall 'RocketMan' is a really good time!
There are definite weaknesses on hand that prevent the feature from achieving all that it could; at the same time, the root story bears just enough glimmers of sincerity to help ground the proceedings amidst all the ridiculousness. It's uneven, and troubled in some discrete ways, but it's clear to me that all involved were dedicated to making this the most entertaining family-friendly sci-fi comedy it could be, and more than not they definitely succeeded. I approached with caution when I first sat to watch, and despite some notable issues, I'm happy to say that I really like 'RocketMan.' It's not a title that anyone needs to go out of their way to see, but if you do have the chance to watch and you don't mind some more dubious jokes and helpings of outright shallow immaturity, I think there's something here for most anyone to share some laughs, and I'm pleased to give it a fair recommendation.
Manderlay (2005)
Very well crafted while (imperfectly) probing difficult, complex topics
I'm in no rush to explore his entire filmography, but to date I've enjoyed most everything I've watched from Lars von Trier. That includes this picture's predecessor, 2003's 'Dogville,' which was an incredible viewing experience of austere yet beautiful production design, tremendous acting from an exceptional cast, and almost terrifyingly dark but firmly captivating storytelling in a stark exploration of humanity and cold philosophy. With 'Manderlay' promising to follow in those footsteps, one still must ponder how it will compare to its elder, and how it will measure up on its own merits. Broadly speaking there's no mistaking that this 2005 follow-up is kith and kin with 'Dogville.' This is again filmed on a sound stage, little more than a black box theater, but the minimalist set dressing is a delight in its own right; with spartan use of effects or more particular lighting, and our imagination required to do the rest, the feeling is secured of a stage play captured on film, with some details or shots being extra fetching with that notion in mind. The acting somehow feels more earnest and pure under these conditions, so bereft of the full sets and tangible creations with which to interact, and all involved give fine performances. And just as 'Dogville' examined civilization with the harsh cynicism of a vexing story, and rumination on the sorts of philosophies that are most indifferent to human suffering, 'Manderlay' does much the same. This time the breadth of such considerations seems greater, touching upon both the surface level of race and slavery, power - and its responsibilities, dynamics, and potential for abuse - powerlessness and oppression, desperation, community and the effort to build something new, decision-making and self-governance, and more, and naturally also using these as a microcosm for reflecting on society at large, and the real life issues that historically faced the United States following the abolition of slavery, and which persist in some fashion to this day. The feature is nothing if not rich, absorbing, provocative, and thought-provoking, courting controversy but only in the aim of broaching difficult topics.
By and large the movie is interesting - fascinating, even - and is smartly written and made, a credit to von Trier, the cast, and the crew. Strident and vicious as the thoughts herein are, they speak directly to race relations in the United States, a barrage of shots fired recalling relatively few other titles in the medium. I also think it falls somewhat short, and it stumbles in the same way that its antecedent had while playing in an adjacent topical space. Intelligent as 'Manderlay' is, and aims to be, von Trier's reach seems to exceed his grasp when it comes to delving into the bigger ideas and themes. The storytelling is solid, and ultimately just as ferocious as that of two years before; as the flick analyzes race relations there are facets that, while ugly, are part and parcel of such discussion (use of blackface, and repeated slurs), and though the questions on hand border on horrifying racism themselves, I'm inclined to believe in the sincerity of von Trier's musings as a filmmaker, not least since the same ideations are somewhat directed more generally to the structure of society at large. All the same, the ideas that the man is scrutinizing are boundlessly large and complex, sufficient to fill academic tomes of hundreds of pages. No matter how keen von Trier's mind may be, arranging such subjects into a form that can be ably squeezed into a picture of anything resembling conventional length is an incredibly difficult task. I admire the endeavor, and I think von Trier comes very close to seizing with absolute certainty on terrible profundity, but only if that endeavor were 100% successful could the pitfalls have been avoided of the sum total seeming to bite off more than it could chew. As 'Manderlay' expands its purview, contrasted with the comparative narrow focus of 'Dogville,' the effect is only compounded to some degree as the rhetorical explorations to some extent become a jumble.
Don't get me wrong: I very much appreciate this film more than not, and troubling as it is in multiple ways, the thoughts it probes - with what I again believe to be honest, critical investigation - are of grave, enduring significance. All involved turned in excellent contributions, and are to be congratulated. I just find the end result to have been a smidgen too ambitious for its own good; on the one hand maybe the whole may have been sharper had some notions been dropped, allowing the remainder to be more focused, but on the other hand, these matters are so complicated that it seems almost impossible to discuss This without also speaking to That. I don't know what the answer is of how the movie may have ameliorated its perceived faults, only that those faults seem clear. Still, even at that I think this is far more worthwhile than not, even as it rides a vanishingly thin line between hard inquiry and outright problematic deliberation. For as onerous as the subject matter is the feature won't appeal to all, nevermind the violence and sexuality herein, and I've no doubt that opinions among viewers who engage honestly will be heavily divided. For all the salient points that we may raise about the work itself, though, that's kind of the point; what higher purpose could there be to a title of such dicey affairs than to spark conversations where they are most needed? Words like "enjoyable" or even "satisfying" come off with too positive a connotation to apply to a piece such as 'Manderlay,' but it is indisputably rousing and intriguing, and fabulously well crafted from top to bottom. So long as the nature of the premise is no immediate obstacle, I gladly give this my recommendation, with the caveat that one must be ready to then earnestly meditate on all the ideas presented.
Ai no bôrei (1978)
Dark, gripping, and superbly well made
If there were only one thing we might say about this picture, it's that it is beautifully, impeccably shot, an equal credit to filmmaker Oshima Nagisa and cinematographer Miyajima Yoshio. With utterly gorgeous filming locations, art direction, costume design, and hair and makeup, all brought to us through vibrant Eastmancolor, 'Empire of passion' swiftly and most assuredly comes across in some measure as an art film at the same time that it is a steamy romantic drama (notably far less explicit than Oshima's own 'In the realm of the senses'), a crime film, and a ghost story. Yet these are certainly not the only points deserving of praise, and while personal preferences will vary in terms of how highly it might be regarded, I don't think there's much arguing as the plot develops that the sum total is both sharply made and raptly absorbing. Like other classic tales of a guilty conscience this presents in no small part as a psychological drama as Seki is increasingly haunted by ghastly visions and reflections of her ill deeds. Especially with Takemitsu Toru's rich, somber, dynamic, and searing score providing accompaniment, the feature can also claim outstanding, unnerving atmosphere as events intensify, and as Seki's mental state deteriorates. The fact is that the title handily fits into the horror genre - a horror-drama, specifically - which is a dark but pleasant surprise coming from Oshima; though it's more quietly chilling than outwardly thrilling, anyone who appreciates the conglomeration of elements will find much to love in these 100-odd minutes.
Every facet of the production is rich with terrific little details, with many feeding directly into the most grotesque drama and the more fantastical, disquieting side of the story. Oshima maintains an overall soft tone with his direction, a shrewd approach that allows the most grabbing, vexing moments to stand out all the more, and have all the greater an impact. Takemitsu's music is a critical component of achieving that effect, and one could hardly go without mentioning the superb stunts and effects that help to bring the mounting terror to bear. The shot composition is often kind of brilliant, and even the lighting is marvelously smart. But 'Empire of passion' is just as concretely a tremendous credit to the cast, above all Yoshiyuki Kazuko and Fuji Tatsuya, who with flawless nuance and emotional depth breathe vivid life into the impassioned and ever more desperate characters as whom they are cast. Tamura Takahiro is given a much more reserved role, but there is underhanded power in his acting that is essential to the whole, and much the same could be said of those in still smaller supporting parts. With all this said I don't think the flick is utterly perfect; despite lovely visuals the first little stretch of the length is somewhat middling, and though it kicks up swiftly thereafter, I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some doubts for a bit. Every now and again there is also a forcefulness to the acting or direction that exceeds the tone of the remainder even at its most severe, a disparity sufficient to be noteworthy. Be that as it may, ultimately these are minor objections, and I could scarcely be happier with how good the entirety is.
Actually, of any of Oshima's works that I've seen to date, this is definitely my favorite: the sensationalism is somewhat more restrained, and the abstruseness reined in, but the artistic sensibilities remain, and the film is still stupendously striking, engrossing, and satisfying. The skill, intelligence, and care poured into it is never in question; the viewing experience is grim, violent, and disturbing, but also fabulously well crafted, a wonderland of exquisite aesthetics, and fiercely compelling. The worst thing I could say is that it is a tad uneven, but when all is said and done it's so excellent that subjective faults are readily outshone by the otherwise value. It won't appeal to all comers, yet if anything I've described has sounded promising, I can only give 'Empire of passion' my high and hearty recommendation. My expectations were mixed to high when I sat to watch, and at length those expectations were surpassed. It may not fully demand viewership, but if you have the chance to watch this is a lesser-known classic that holds up and is well worth checking out.
Death on the Nile (1978)
A solid, absorbing classic, splendidly well made in all regards
While I'm more familiar with David Suchet's iconic interpretation of Hercules Poirot, I absolutely recognize the reputation of earlier adaptations. Just as much to the point, whatever virtues we might cite in a given picture, I think one would have to be doing something terribly wrong to foul up the works of so brilliant a writer as Agatha Christie. Factor in the great esteem and known skills of all involved in this iteration, and it's safe to say that one's expectations are high before they sit to watch; happily, those expectations are met, if not exceeded. 'Death on the Nile' is a splendid, classic murder mystery with countless strokes of ingenuity all throughout that can be attributed to any number of contributors. I find it hard to believe that anyone could watch this and not have a great time!
I admit I don't know Christie well enough to discern where the credit lies for some shrewd odds and ends, be it to her, to screenwriter Anthony Shaffer, or to director John Guillermin. One way or another, most everything in these 140 minutes is terrifically smart, carefully crafted, and built for consistent entertainment in the face of grim crime. At various points truly everyone is given an opportunity to shine: cinematographer Jack Cardiff, editor Malcolm Cooke, director Guillermin, and composer Nino Rota; Christie with her characters, story, and dialogue, and Shaffer with his translation of these to the cinematic medium, and his scene writing; the production designer and art director, the stunt performers, and the effects artists; costume designer Anthony Powell, and the hair and makeup artists, with their impeccable, fetching work; and even the casting director, for having assembled one of the most incredible ensembles that these eyes have ever seen.
And as to that cast, well, what can I say except that all on hand are treasures? Any two points of reference are enough to recognize that Christie created characters filled with marvelous, colorful personality and intelligence, figures of vitality that require no embellishment, and Shaffer saw to it that they were ported directly and with full faithfulness to the screen. With the combination in this feature of wry humor, lighthearted wit, electric dynamics, motives galore, dirty deeds, fastidious critical thought and investigation, and earnest drama, every actor involved is given the opportunity to demonstrate their craft, to the point that I wonder if these aren't some of the best performances the stars have ever given. Oh, but to be a fly on the wall during the weeks of filming alongside Peter Ustinov, Jane Birkin, Lois Chiles, Bette Davis, Mia Farrow, Jon Finch, Olivia Hussey, I. S. Johar, George Kennedy, Angela Lansbury, Simon MacCorkindale, David Niven, Maggie Smith, Jack Warden, and the supporting cast; I couldn't even name a favorite among them. I'm given to understand that the working environment was cordial, and that the players got along splendidly, and between the material they were given to realize and that atmosphere of friendship, 'Death on the Nile' takes on a special vibrancy that other titles only wish they could claim.
One of the immense joys of Christie's novels, unlike even some of the most sincere and well-meaning of tales written specifically for the screen, is that genuinely anyone could be the culprit, and we beyond the fourth wall can only spectate and speculate until the detective exercises his "little grey cells" and explains all. That is certainly the case here, and likewise, extraordinary as the truth is as it is revealed - and the fact that Poirot could put all the pieces together - there is no gap in the storytelling, and no kernel too small for us to believe that a man of peerless intellect might see the grand plan. Then of course there is the broad sense of fun that prevails even when adjoining sordid wickedness, and it's no surprise that the author has been so roundly celebrated. All this is reliably brought to bear in this 1978 flick, from the light opening scenes through to the shocking resolution of the climax, and the denouement, and the result is a viewing experience that is altogether excellent. Superb as this and that is at any given time, the movie isn't an outright revelation, and I might stop short of calling it a must-see; this isn't necessarily a singular lightning bolt of magnificence. It is, however, completely and unfailingly solid, and I can't fathom anyone not enjoying themselves with it. Whether you're a particular fan of Christie, of Poirot, or someone involved in this production, or just looking for something good to watch, 'Death on the Nile' is fantastic from start to finish, and I'm pleased to give it my very high recommendation for one and all.
The Boys from Brazil (1978)
Absorbing and thrilling, if a bit rough around the edges
Based on the premise, the exceptional cast, and the film's reputation, I most certainly had high expectations when I sat to watch. I'm surprised to find myself having somewhat mixed feelings about the actual viewing experience. In my opinion the pacing within individual scenes is a little rushed, with a sense of harried energy not of the type to foster tension and suspense, but of the type that portends messiness, forcefulness, and less than perfectly mindful care. It's not a matter of playback speed, but of Franklin J. Schaffner's direction, and I find myself wishing that the proceedings were more restrained and tactful by at least five percent and as much as fifteen. Add to this an imbalanced audio mix, and even the terrific score of composer extraordinaire Jerry Goldsmith - adding definite atmosphere to the proceedings - seems to add to the undesirable additional level of fervor; in turn, the acting feels marginally overcharged. These drawbacks are very unfortunate, for the core substance is outstanding, chilling, and thrilling: ripe for cinematic storytelling, a tale of vast conspiracy, murder, enduring evil, unsanctioned experimentation, and unsettling investigation, all centered around developing biological science; designed as a straight thriller, this is flush with airs of science fiction and nearly borders horror with the ideas it broaches. I just find it regrettable that 'The boys from Brazil' somewhat shortchanges itself with a needlessly hard edge that disallows the story to shine for itself in the ideal manner, and which kind of distracts from the value that the picture otherwise boasts.
Mind you, by and large this is fantastic, and there is much to love about it. Though overcooked to some degree, still overall Schaffner's direction is sharp and superb; though coerced by factors beyond their control, the fabulous cast generally gives excellent performances matching the harrowing tenor, and the disquieting nature of the material. Gregory Peck looms in the cold intelligence and elegance he bears in his portrayal of Mengele; Laurence Olivier plays Lieberman with nuanced range and emotional depth that in the best moments outshines the troubles of the lowest moments; Bruno Ganz delights in a small supporting part, and young Jeremy Black makes a firm impression. The filming locations are splendid, and the production design; the costume design, hair, and makeup are rather smart. The stunts and effects look great, not least at the climax. Goldsmith's score really does add significantly to the feature; while I take issue with the sound design, in most all capacities those operating behind the scenes turned in fine work, including some keen editing from Robert Swink, and some equally keen cinematography from renowned French photographer Henri Decaë. Above all, the primary, unfailing strength certainly lies in Heywood Gould's screenplay adapting Ira Levin's novel, for the narrative is absorbing and compelling, and the scene writing is often altogether vibrant; even some of the dialogue is notably bright. I will even say that as the plot develops and the scheme is illuminated, the matters I spotlighted above fade a bit into the background as we become absorbed in the story.
Would that Schaffner were as roundly judicious with his direction as Gould was with his writing, and which all other participants tended to be with their contributions. Through to the end I'm put off by the measure of excess swiftness with which scenes are executed, and the unmistakable brusqueness. 'The boys from Brazil' remains a dark, stupendous, highly satisfying title, one that even with its more fanciful notions is kind of sadly, despairingly relevant to real life. It would be even more impactful, and otherwise achieve still more, without these flaws in its fundamental construction which serve to hamper the storytelling. Still, maybe I'm nitpicking. One way or another the fact is that this holds up far more than not, and is well worth exploring. I'd stop short of saying it's a must-see, but for anyone who appreciates thrillers it's well worth checking out if you have the opportunity. Be aware that the viewing experience has its difficulties, and content warnings are necessary for violence, nudity, and representation of the most reprehensible sociopolitical views in the world. Provided these are no obstacle, however, 'The boys from Brazil' is a classic, and I gladly give it my solid recommendation.
Ciao maschio (1978)
Two hours of trifling nothingness
The premise quite catches one's attention, as well as the attachment of esteemed actors, not to mention the fact that the title was received well at Cannes. As the film first begins one is perhaps indirectly reminded of other creative oddball works, like 1973's 'La grande bouffe' or 1982 bizarrerie 'Liquid sky,' and one carries high hopes for what filmmaker Marco Ferreri, and/or co-writers Gérard Brach and Rafael Azcona, might do with the concept at large or with the setting. However, as the length draws on, the idiosyncratic scene writing increasingly seems to be part of not a wildly inventive narrative, or a presentation with something big and important to say, but a tapestry of incohesive randomness that goes nowhere in particular and says nothing substantive. There are many kernels of ideas scattered throughout, kernels that could have been latched upon to shape 'Bye bye monkey' (also known as 'Rêve de singe' or 'Ciao maschio') into something significant and entertaining. What it feels like, instead, is scene after scene of Christopher Walken's infamous few lines in Martin Brest's 2003 misfire 'Gigli' - quizzical, baffling, and nonsensical. The difference is that despite its outward appearance the latter scene actually does make sense in context, whereas so far as I can determine, there's ultimately not truly anything to be gleaned from this.
There is no actor herein who does not suffer from that perplexing tenor, and between young Frenchman Gérard Depardieu - well before he would be accused in real life of sexually assaulting many women - and Italian icon Marco Mastroianni in his supporting part, I don't know who bears more of the brunt of it. The dialogue fails just as surely as the scene writing to produce anything enduring and meaningful, and no few instances of nudity rather just raise a skeptical eyebrow. I suppose we could commend the cast for embracing the inanity and bringing it to fruition, though I don't know why we would, and the same goes for Ferreri with his direction. The highest compliments I think this is likely to deserve are for its production design, art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup; the harshest criticism definitely belongs to Ferreri, Brach, and Azcona as writers, primarily for the lack of any cogency or real, discernible purpose, but also for passing, unnecessary expression of regressive social values (e.g., here a homophobic slur, there a flummoxing line of toxic paternalism and gender enforcement). In no time 'Bye bye monkey' becomes a picture that we continue to watch only out a sense of commitment, for it bears no strength of its own to hold our attention or drive engagement. As far as I'm concerned these two hours are a waste for any given viewer, and all the time, energy, and resources that were devoted to the production would have been better off going elsewhere; it's well made by contemporary standards, but so what?
I guess I'm glad for those who get more out of this movie than I do. I just don't know how they manage to do it. I sat with no foreknowledge or expectations but anticipated enjoying it in some measure; instead it was so dull and trifling, squandering any possible potential, that it put me to sleep. After I awoke and continued watching, I think continuing to sleep would have been the better use of my time. Whatever it is you want out of this flick, may you find it, but in my opinion you should really just watch something else in the first place.
The Shout (1978)
Soft-spoken, but extraordinarily smart and deliciously sinister
There is a special vibe to British horror, especially classic fare from the 60s or 70s, that seems very distinct from other work in the genre. I don't even necessarily refer to pillars like Hammer or Tigon, and in fact to whatever extent we see it in the films of those institutions, we get it even more from those pictures of less connection. I think of 70s slices of ingenuity like 'The wicker man,' or 'The medusa touch,' or even stretching into more recent years with the likes of 'Ghostwatch,' or 'Berberian Sound Studio,' and 'The shout' rather decisively fits that same tenor. I speak of deliberate pacing and narrative construction that refrains from infusing more abnormal elements until well into the length, and sometimes not toward the end; I speak of a peculiar arrangement of various inclusions that may seem surreal, parodical, or otherwise very strange, and which seem to clash with our usual expectations of horror, until a feature gradually gets around to concretely starting or advancing the plot. Case in point, while the whole story herein is complete and cogent, the primary tale in this instance doesn't particularly begin until we're at least twenty minutes in. Up until that point we're given secondary threads or framing, and general curiosities, and after that point there is no small part of the movie that relies on subtle, building atmosphere, psychological tension, and mounting anticipation of the moments when something more discrete transpires.
This is quite pointedly not a piece for those who favor the immediate and visceral, or big thrills and shock. The focus in these eighty-six minutes is instead on a slowly growing sense of Something Wrong, of Incomprehensible Power, and of Death shambling inevitably nearer, as mysterious Crossley meets Anthony and Rachel and talks of his experiences. Accentuating the point, while prog rock icons Tony Banks and Michael Rutherford composed the ambient, airy soundscapes that populate the score, the music commonly sticks to the background as deftly nuanced, lightly presented, but unmistakable accompaniment - both complement and source of the softly stirring unease - and the overall tone remains muted. We're over halfway through before the name comes into play, and it is at once with a jarring wall of sound sufficient to make Japanese noise artist Merzbow vibrate with excitement, and a gentle but definitely threatening set of visuals that at last signals the elevation of horror in the saga. To put it another way, if the average genre flick suggests a vicious killer bearing down on us, or some monstrosity spewing unspeakable bile, 'The shout' carries itself, and approaches its story, more like a fiend so confident in his triumph that he casually dispenses, piecemeal, the instruments of doom. The plot stirs, maintaining a low but steady boil, and in small, creeping strides the proceedings buzz with more outward electricity and harried, nervous energy.
To the credit of scribe Robert Graves, filmmaker Jerzy Skolimowski, and co-writer Michael Austin, as the chief plot intensifies in the second half of the length, the surrounding framing becomes more meaningful - somewhat as a contrast to the core gnawing darkness, and ultimately as oblique, deliciously sinister resolution. Taken as a whole the narrative is founded on utmost subtlety and patient tact, a reflection of the abstruse mysticism at the center of it all, yet it claims striking, exceptional intelligence of the sort that digs its claws under our skin and will not let go. All are to be congratulated for such a fabulously shrewd, purposeful vision in which the esoteric malevolence manages to come across more strongly with unconventional storytelling structure than in countless other titles of a more forthright nature. It's a rough ride at first, but for those who are open to all the wide, wonderful possibilities of cinema, and of horror, the viewing experience is tremendously rewarding. The screenplay is brilliant, and when all is said and done, so is Barrie Vince's editing, Skolimowski's direction prioritizes the underhanded quality of the movie while resolutely shaping it all into something that takes its time because it knows it has us dead to rights. All those who contributed in some manner to the sound in the production are to be lauded for their impeccable work, so essential to what 'The shout' is, and those stunts and effects that are employed are fantastic. This pretty much goes for all involved, really, but in addition to the marvelous writing, it's the cast that next does so much to make this such a success. Susannah York, John Hurt, and Alan Bates give excellent performances of stark, commanding presence and personality, almost forceful but with just the right degree of restraint as to tantalize - just like the picture at large - with our recognition of the steps that they could but consciously do not take, therefore strengthening the whole. Even Tim Curry, in a smaller role, shines brightly and becomes an integral part of the sum total.
I knew nothing of this before I sat to watch, and while I didn't truly know what to expect, I assumed I'd enjoy it. As the flick paces itself it takes a bit before we see what it's doing, but once the entirety starts to take form we're utterly invested. It bears repeating that while this falls right in line with other contemporary British horror, it keeps company with those works that move slowly and intently; 'Dracula' this is not. For those receptive to such silently ominous horror, however, the result is magnificent, and well worth our time and effort. I had my doubts at first blush, but when all is said and done I couldn't be happier with just how superb 'The shout' is, and I wish it were more well known and celebrated. As far as I'm concerned it's a majorly underappreciated classic, and I'm pleased to give my very high and hearty recommendation!
King Kong (1933)
A tremendous, enduring, essential classic
I don't know how old I was when I first saw this, but I know I was only a young kid. I fell in love with it immediately, and as I've gotten older my appreciation has only deepened. Nearly every monster flick that has followed in the past ninety years owes a debt to this picture, and despite plenty of exemplars to join its fine company, it still stands head, shoulders, knees, and toes above countless would-be successors that have had the benefit of decades of developing techniques and technology. How many kindred titles include an overture at the top of the presentation? How many would deserve one, or could make one work? I'm not saying that 1933's 'King Kong' is completely impeccable, for we could point to some directness in the storytelling, or shortcuts therein that decline narrative judiciousness in favor of heightened drama and spectacle (including even the famous climax). Some language rides a line of being appropriate for a surly character and being generally reflective of antiquated values, and in much the same manner, just as the tale plays with themes of racism, colonialism, paternalist condescension, and hubris, one might argue that the distinction between fictional exploration and percolation from contemporary real life culture is a thin one. Yet for the exceptional brilliance that this predominantly represents, all but ground-breaking, such subjective issues are ultimately minor. 'King Kong' is an essential classic that everyone needs to see at least once.
Here we see perfect illustration of how practical effects, and decades-old approaches to blending imagery, will always remain preferable to the most pristine computer-generated wizardry. Flush with tangible creations, the acting and the sense of creature-laden adventure remain vividly believable and impactful even as various odds and ends are notably dated. This is hardly to cast shade toward, say, Peter Jackson with his CGI-heavy remake of 2005, but only with the involvement of the likes of Rick Baker, Stan Winston, or especially Phil Tippett could his rendition, or any Kong feature since, have hoped to claim the same vitality. Importantly, these questions of past and current techniques and technology apply specifically if not exclusively to the creatures, to the stop-motion animation, and to the method by which actors share a scene with full-bodied depictions of Kong or other beasts. In other capacities the film is marked with the best standards of 30s productions, and these do not significantly differ from those of the years to come: wonderfully enticing, detailed sets, and otherwise production design and art direction; sharp costume design, and excellent hair and makeup; superb stunts and effects, and mindful use of sound; marvelously smart cinematography and editing; and still much more. This is to say nothing of truly fantastic acting from all on hand, above all Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, and Bruce Cabot, breathing tremendous life into their characters and making the saga all the more real and vibrant.
And still all these objective, broadly quantitative factors are only one part of the viewing experience. It's a monster flick, yes, and a tale of adventure. More than that, though, after so many years 'King Kong' still elicits and commands meaningful feelings and vibes. The rush of adventure is palpable, and so is the great atmosphere of unease, tension, and suspense that defines the events on Skull Island. There is a sense of Power that looms over much of the proceedings, in time turning to terrible, unspoken tragedy; we feel a wrenching buzz of disapprobation and outrage as the damage wrought by some figures, and their overall culpability and casually ignorant, conceited pretensions, shine glaringly in our faces. Such notions and responses can be attributed to Max Steiner's rich, grand, dynamic, and mesmerizing original score, faultlessly capturing, echoing, and/or plainly helping to manifest the mood at any given time. They can be attributed to the story of Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace, and the screenplay of James Creelman and Ruth Rose, giving us a bounty of timeless characters; strong, striking, and immersive scene writing; and a stupendously shrewd narrative that doubles as both a fanciful romp of enormous, legendary creatures, and an incredibly keen examination of the nature of "civilization," and the violent, unequal, imperious relationship it "shares" with what is perceived as "uncivilized" (i.e., usually that which is deemed to be exploitable). And they can be attributed to the splendid direction of Cooper and co-producer Ernest B. Schoedsack: bringing all this to bear with deft skill and intelligence, nimbly navigating between exciting action, ponderous drama, and the highfalutin airs of a far-flung lark, guiding the cast and all other participants to achieve all that they can herein, and doing it all with a certain ingenuity that enables the title to stand out to us time and again throughout its length. From the early discussion between Carl, Jack, and the captain's discussion aboard the Venture, to the introduction of Ann Darrow; from Ann's tests on the deck, to our first sight of the island village; from Jack and Ann's harrowing run through the jungle, to the impressive vision of Kong bursting through, and beyond, these 104 minutes overflow with iconic moments that will live in my memory for as long as I breathe.
I enjoyed monster flicks when I was little, and I enjoyed reading about them and even just seeing stills, but it was always the simple, childlike fascination of seeing something strange and whimsical (however dark and often grisly). As I grew up I understood more and more about cinema, and found more and more to admire in pictures that I already held in some esteem (or, conversely and in rare instances, found more and more to criticize). I don't think there's any one picture that I've had a discernible relationship with for as long as I've had one with 'King Kong,' and in like fashion it may be true that there's no picture whose enduring value and legacy has benefited from my expanding comprehension and recognition. I spoke of some issues that may arguably hold this back from being described as impeccable, but for as small as I may have made them seem at first mention, I still wonder if I'm not being too severe in my assessment. In every single way there is so much to love about this film, and at length it is both fabulously entertaining, and fabulously satisfying as entertainment, and something we can read into and connect with in measures both artistic and intellectual. It is a "creature feature," but it's also something more. And no matter how you wish to consider it, I firmly believe it's an outstanding classic that holds a special place in the history of the medium, and it would be a grave mistake for anyone to live their life without watching it at some point. Ninety years on 'King Kong' still stands tall and mighty, and I can only give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!
Kagemusha (1980)
A stunning, must-see masterpiece
It's possible to come to the understanding with even just one film, but the more we explore the works of Kurosawa Akira, there can be no disputing that he was truly one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live. There are times when the specific story isn't even all that important, for the sheer magnificence of a picture's craftsmanship, in every capacity, and the absolute reverence and meticulousness with which Kurosawa approached his art, result in a viewing experience so genuinely spellbinding as to feel altogether transcendent. There is truly not a single element of these three hours that does not both benefit from that cinematic mastery and directly feed into it, and we may well trip over ourselves trying to find words to explain our awe. Between Kurosawa's vision as director and the immaculate, rich color cinematography of Saito Takao and Ueda Masaharu, most every frame would look right at home hanging on a wall as art; the painstaking deliberateness with which each scene is orchestrated almost inspires tears with the resulting beauty. The sets are at once flush with stupendous, careful detail, yet also reflect a spartan, somewhat ascetic sense of aesthetics, and in that duality become even more enticing. The costume design is nothing less than exemplary, and the hair and makeup utterly impeccable. Ikebe Shin'ichiro's music is immensely flavorful and varied: charged and invigorating at select moments or even ponderous, but often even more impactful in its softer phrases that accompany quiet drama; entirely its own creation, at times the score may remind us of other beloved works, and only in the best of ways. And even the cast are part and parcel of this excellence; while Nakadai Tatsuya is the chief star, every single actor, down to the smallest roles, perform with extraordinary, precise poise and unfailing, tactful nuance. If all participants shared a telepathic bond with Kurosawa the fulfillment of his wondrous vision could not be more faithful and complete.
As the length advances the movie only impresses more and more, to the point that comparisons become difficult. It would be one matter to proclaim 'Kagemusha' one of the best films ever made, joining the company of whatever other titles we hold in like esteem, and I think such glory is unquestionably deserved. More than that, though, the feelings of outright adoration that this elicits call to mind very particular experiences, and only the most venerated of art: the unparalleled brilliance of John Alcott's cinematography in Stanley Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon; the incalculable resplendence of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony; a perfect expression of love, whether represented in real life or in fiction, that makes the heart swell as nothing else can. Legend that Kurosawa was at large, and shall ever remain, in my opinion this is the level that this 1980 masterpiece operates on. So it should come as no surprise that while violence is of secondary importance to the drama in the plot, the stunts, effects, and action sequences that the flick does boast are wholly superb, especially with innumerable extras involved, the battles carry an artistic sensibility that could only manifest with Kurosawa. Case in point, the climactic scene late in the length is sadly brief as it presents on film, but I would love nothing more than to see all of the footage that was captured to go into it. The sound design is totally flawless, with meaningful dynamics and a staggering clarity that allows every word, every note, and every sound to resonate with utmost fidelity. And as if all this weren't enough, the saga that the filmmaker brings us with co-writer Ide Masato is plainly captivating - a tale of closely-held secrets, political subterfuge, the difficulty of living someone else's life, and indeed of living in someone else's shadow, all against the backdrop of rivalries in war and power. The screenplay is a tremendous joy, for the narrative could be teased apart such that any fragment could be focused upon to shape a full-length feature centering it; for this one work to embody them all serves simply to concentrate the high value of the storytelling.
If there is any criticism at all to impart it might be that there are, rarely, points where the plot development becomes a smidgen muddled, and it seems evident that the visuals and presentation were heavily prioritized over resolute elucidation of every beat. Be that as it may, down to the slightest minutiae this is far and away made with such stunning command of the art form, and all the moving parts thereof, that one hundred and eighty minutes pass very smoothly and all too swiftly. I could easily stand for this to be longer still, or even split into different movies that explored the same saga from different angles. At its best - and 'Kagemusha' is almost continuously operating at its best - this is momentously striking and affecting in the way that relatively little fare in all of cinema could claim. The last minutes hit just about as hard as any feature I've ever seen. When all is said and done, what more could be said except that this is fully essential, a must-see that demands viewership? By his reputation alone one anticipates enjoying Kurosawa's oeuvre, and with each piece we watch that reputation is proven time and again. It almost seems impossible to try to stand one next to another, and unfair to try to stand other filmmakers next to the Japanese icon. No doubt with the next of Kurosawa's pictures that I watch or rewatch I'll be repeating myself; all I know is that 'Kagemusha' is surely one of the greatest movies I've ever watched, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. However you need to go about it, this is well worth seeking out.