Victor Fleming directs Spencer Tracy, Ingrid Bergman and Lana Turner in this dramatic adaptation of the horror classic where a scientist unleashes his evil side. 

It starts slowly but eventually becomes a compelling straight take on the fantasy schizophrenia horror original. London is captured in foreboding peasoupers, gothic alleyways and teeming variety halls. Tracy is likeable as the naive Jekyll but his Hyde is a powerhouse of menace, mayhem and controlling abuse. His transformation sequences mirror the FX used in the contemporary The Wolf Man but adding in some psychosexual imagery. You get kinky flashes of Tracy horsewhipping Turner and Bergman like mares pulling a carriage, and heads being popped off in lustful volcanic eruptions. Pretty trippy surreal stuff. Speaking of surreal, the lovely Ingrid Bergman’s shifting accent equally feels like something from David Lynch rather than the Golden Age of Hollywood. Despite this, when trapped in a domestic cage by the brutish Hyde you do feel for her terribly.

8

Matt Reeves directs Andy Serkis, Woody Harrelson and Steve Zahn in this blockbuster final chapter to the exemplary Apes prequel series. 

Despite not being revered or as embraced as a phenomenon as say Lord of the Rings,  Bourne or The Dark Knight Trilogy, this franchise has hit for the exact same classy focus on emotion, intelligence and mature storytelling as those recent high watermarks. This concluding chapter shifts perspective fully onto the simians, there’s no human protoganist to explore the world with anymore. Good. Serkis’ Caesar has been one of the most engaging and emotionally conflicted heroes to emerge out of mainstream cinema in decades. You connect to his struggle and arc more so than any tentpole icon I can think of since… fuck…. let’s say… Martin Riggs. As a cinematic experience there has been a shameless attempt to homage just about every great adventure from the history of cinema here… even The Overlook Hotel of The Shining and the most memorable moment of The Last of the Mohicans are recycled and converted. It does prove a little wearying as the movie random shuffles through plot beats plundered from Apocalypse Now to Unforgiven to The Hidden Fortress to The Bridge on the River Kwai to Le Trou. The previous films were a bit more original and streamlined in their plotting. But hell if you are going to steal, steal from the best. And while fighting for multiplex screens against the summer fizz of primary coloured superkids, the bleak middle act bravely returns to the harrowing animal cruelty that made the first entry, Rise of…, quite so affecting. The suppression of the apes is hardly nacho chomping friendly stuff and it always leaves me conflicted. Why do I care about these animated creatures and their suffering more than their human equivalents? And I mean both within the narrative but also in competition with any other movie released this summer. I care about Caesar, Maurice, Rocket and Blue Eyes more than the countless hairless familiar fictional constructs of my own species. I care that they defeat the soldiers, survive the hardships of their nascent society and are reunited in peaceful harmony. The series is so strong in its characterisation, harsh edges and compelling set pieces that I truly care. For a SFX driven, studio entertainment that is quite the achievement.

8

 

Joseph L. Mankiewicz directs Elizabeth Taylor, Rex Harrison and Richard Burton in this inconceivably lavish and horizon scaled epic following the Egyptian queen’s power struggles and romances with the leaders of Rome. 

Five hours in the big screen and I dozed, dawdled, was distracted and (rarely but more than once) delighted. The sheer goddamn size of the thing is an undeniable achievement. Even if all that is expected of her is to be a curvy little clothes horse, (one interminable argument has three costume changes within it) Taylor is electric when given the right lines. It is at its best when being a series of grand spectacular entrances of which there are half a dozen, and at its worst when it enters a rut of endless scenes rehashing the same conversation over and over again, just in different sets. Burton in particular seems overwhelmed in a thanklessly whiny part that he all but gives up on in some monologues. A bloated mess, but often fantastic to gawk at when there is a little less conversation and a little more action.

5

Sofia Coppola directs Kirsten Dunst, Nicole Kidman and Elle Fanning in this remake of the Seventies gem about an injured civil war soldier who finds himself the rooster in the henhouse at Southern girls’ school. 

Woozily beautiful, full of creamy prints and faded pastel coloured fabrics. The female performances are uniformly superb but it is Farrell who somewhat surprisingly stands out. As he tries to seduce, befriend, ingratiate himself with the ensemble through inscrutable charm he resembles almost uncannily an old 40s noir femme fatale. Farrell is a stubble strewn Gilda or Phyllis Dietrichson using whatever wiles she can, to twist the more powerful around her finger, whether it be by desire or sympathy – the gender and period are all that are inverted. Whether his manipulations are wholly intentional or his downfall deserved is deliciously left up to us to decide. You do cringe with amusement at his hubris of trying to play quite such a brittle yet cohesive unit off against each other. In all honesty (and it has been decades since I last saw it), I still preferred the Clint / Siegel original and I don’t think this deviates enough to truly justify its existence. But it is a good tale well told, which at least recalibrates to Coppola aesthetic concerns perfectly. The pot simmers nicely and prettily again to an old easy recipe.

7

Bruce D. Clark directs Erin Moran, Robert Englund and Sid Haig in this cheapo existential Alien rip-off. 

Diverting due to the interesting cult cast (Grace Zabriskie is also in there as an on the edge pilot) and the fact that the shoestring production design was the work of James Cameron… and therefore looks really rather fantastic considering. There are other distractions too; a woman gets raped by a maggot monster, there is quite a believable wider universe hinted at around all the gore and baubles, the ending belongs to an even more ambitious project. All in all, it still is a cheap video nasty cash-in, but one where a bit of accidental creativity bubbles to the top like a foamy by product every ten minutes or so.

4

Mike Nichols directs Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft and Katharine Ross in this comedy drama about a young man who starts a toyboy affair with one of his parents’ friends.

“Hello Darkness, my old friend…” Probably one of the first movies made before I was born that I discovered and got passionate about (not including ‘juvenile’ stuff like Bond, westerns, Laurel & Hardy, Ray Harryhausen), The Graduate is achingly funny and beautiful. What struck me this particular viewing is how deft a portrait of undiagnosed depression it is. Hoffman’s Benjamin Braddock doesn’t want to go out, doesn’t want to engage, doesn’t want to make choices. He can’t see the point in it all – his darkened childhood room or the bottom of his pool or the black lilo or a beer can are the only comfortable places to find respite from the world, not that he is any happier there but at least he is not bullied into bad decisions that may define his future. And he makes a terrible decision instead, to start a loveless affair with a middle aged neighbour. Anne Bancroft is amazing in this. Brittle, beautiful – she can destroy her young prey with a dismissive flick of her fag or a withering rub of the fabric of her clothes. That opening salvo where she completely dominates Braddock is indeed home to the famous quote “Mrs. Robinson – you are trying to seduce me …. Aren’t you?”… But there’s an even slyer line in this masterful sequence. As she opens her legs provocatively, cackling at a flustered Ben, he comes out with a wonderful gawky Hoffman reading of “…now you start opening up your… personal life… to me and tell me your husband won’t be home for hours.” That opening bullying setpiece is oh so intense, so much so that the movie has to completely restart after it. We fade to black and are reintroduced to Ben a second time, this time a shell of a man in scuba gear. There are so many masterful moments in this wonderful movie; the astounding series of jump cuts as Ben goes through the motions of meaningless sex and summer ennui, his horrific forced date with Elaine, the cripplingly funny scene where he tells his parents of his new intention to marry the girl who hates his guts, and the exhausting race back and forth across state to disrupt a wedding. Let us not forget just how disruptive that gets, absolute glorious chaos. The parents’ snarling faces… Elaine spitting that it is ‘not to late for her’ at her bitter, jaded mother… the look of uncertainty on both kids’ faces as they make their escape on a school bus, pretty Katharine Ross’ shellshocked gormlessness is a particular treat. The only jarring note in the utterly gripping second half is how little of Mrs Robinson we now get. The complex, superior but human creation that conquers Ben is reduced to a nasty evil Disney queen in just two brief scenes. I watched The Graduate at the cinema for the first time this week. It was glorious to experience the laughter of others at the killer lines and the emotionally apt soundtrack by Simon and Garfunkel driving the communal experience like an engine. I wrestled between this and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as my Film of the Week. It was a hard choice but they actually compliment each other very, very well. Although this was made 18 years earlier, it could easily be a bleak sequel to John Hughes’ optimistic classic. They share the same keen observance of youthful concerns, the whipsmart lines of dialogue, generational struggles and engrossing mad dash finales. Benjamin Braddock could easily be a post-college Ferris. A boy who was master of all he surveyed at high school now frightened and repulsed by any pathway being forced onto him. A persuasive and relentless grifter to get what he wants who suddenly finds himself desperately adrift in an adult world he shares no values with. The Graduate is Ferris Bueller’s last hurrah before settling down to spreadsheets and golf club memberships. At least Benjamin got a car off his parents.

10

 

Lau Kar-leung and Jackie Chan direct themselves and Anita Mui in the bigger budget legacy sequel to the film that broke Jackie to the world. 

Really daft but incomprehensible at times. Like much of Jackie’s Hong Kong output the slapstick excess of the fights, bone breaking commitment to stunt work and his own eternal youthful charm make this far better than it ever really should be.

7

 

 

Jon Watts directs Tom Holland, Michael Keaton and Jacob Batalon in this friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man teen comedy actioner. 

The first tentpole of the summer to exceed expectations and the Spider-Man movie to feel like the comics I read as a kid Spider-Man movie. Yoinks! Absolute fun whether revelling in the awkward fumbling of high school relationships or the awkward fumbling of being superhero trying to run when you haven’t quite figured out how to crawl. Spidey is at his best when he is just helping out and cracking wise in Queens. The bigger set pieces are colourful rumbles but not quite as engaging. The wise move to introduce his sweet superhero obsessed best pal Ganke from the Miles Morales comics (he is called “Ned” but it is unmistakably Ganke) is a master stroke in both comedy, storytelling and making it all human. He’d be the highlight of this incarnation… if it wasn’t for Keaton’s brilliant intimidating villian turn. People often write the Vulture off as a third string baddie but I remember him vividly from my youth. The crazed old guy swooping down at Peter Parker. Keaton’s eyes full of menace, his hair wild and his craggy face determined… that manic, seductive rhythm of his voice, full of intelligence. “You wanna get nuts?! C’mon let’s get nuts!” A battle of the generations, leading to one of tensest face-offs in comic book flick history. You get goosebumps at his and Spidey’s most intimate scene. He joins Ledger and his own old adversary Jack Nicholson in the pantheon of great superhero bad eggs. Why? Because it is both a committed performance and feels like a genuine threat to our hero rather than a plot requirement. And as such, he raises this genre flick up on a par with the best too. More from everyone, please.

8

 

Ang Lee directs Christina Ricci, Joan Allen and Kevin Kline in this 70s set ensemble piece about suburban malaise during a cold snap.  

There was a time when everything Christina Ricci appeared in was golden. She was the precocious watermark for quality, adult dramas, written with wit and cutting emotions. This was the best, and her best performance, surrounded by excellent actors of all generations. As the kids explore sex and rebellion but just need affection and integrity, the adults keep them locked out of their own experimentation with key parties and shoplifting. The results are brutal. As a showcase for considered screenwriting, imagery and performances this is one of the forgotten greats of 90s cinema. Only Tobey Maguire’s New Year’s Eve in New York subplot feels pedestrian, all other threads explore the unexpected. Interestingly, set the same year Don’t Look Now was made, this homages a key image and theme expertly from that favourite.

9

Peter Jackson directs himself, Terry Potter and Doug Wren in this no budget sci-fi horror about aliens who take over a small New Zealand coastal town and turn the population into fast food. 

Inventive bonkers. Clearly made over 200 weekends with whatever DIY special effect they had worked on during the school nights, this has a keen eye for action and self aware gross abandon which overcomes the cheapo origins. Would you guess one of the most financially successful auteurs ever was taking his first movie making steps here as brains spill out, vomit is eaten tapas style and aliens butts burst out their suit pants? Yep, you really do. There’s never a boring shot, nor a set piece that doesn’t use its shitiness as a strength.

7