László Nemes directs Juli Jakab, Evelin Dobos and Vlad Ivanov in this Hungarian historical mystery where an orphaned milliner returns to her family’s business unwelcomed during the build up towards The Great War.
Turns out I forgot to blog about Nemes breakout film, Son of Saul, when I watched it. That film followed a concentration camp slave trying to give his dead son a kosher burial. We followed his desperate attempts to survive and complete his humane goal almost in the first person, either looking directly over his shoulder or staying on his broken face. This follow-up keeps that style. It makes for an immersive experience – almost like playing a photorealistic XBox game or watching a period accurate remake of the It’s Always a Sunny in Philadelphia episode Charlie Work. Here I’d say the grandstanding technique is more powerful and effective. We have a mystery to solve, mob violence can erupt from nowhere and the production design is convincing if frantically half glimpsed. With Son of Saul the roving camera always felt like it was teasing you with the terror just out of shot and preaching at you that the mass extermination of a people is very, very, very bad. Here there’s a riveting plot to untangle, full of kinky twists and ominous scenarios, and a host of more complex characters to meet and judge. Nobody gets away clean.
Karel Reisz directs James Caan, Paul Sorvino and Lauren Hutton in this Dostoevskian crime drama where a college professor pushes himself deeper into debt with the mob bookies.
I watched this a lot as a teen. I had it taped off TV and therefore easily watched it more than The Godfather. Caan is a force of nature here. Pacing the New York locations, hairy chest exposed, not taking any shit. A man seeks oblivion. The bets and risks are just him trying impose his will on reality. Doomed reality. You can’t fuck facts, facts fuck you. The strange Harlem epilogue (which has dated awfully due to the extreme Seventies stereotypes that populate it) is in keeping with the theme of the piece if not the classy, intelligent, gritty production values. Brilliant camera work by Victor J Kemper, he did Dog Day Afternoon and then pretty much any lightweight comedy you care to think of. James Toback’s script is smart, erudite and combative. The support cast is studded with great urban character actors. Lauren Hutton has a nicely complex role as the romantic interest… here more to be rejected rather than to add a layer of domestic comfort. I’d say this is the most nihilistic film I’ve seen but then we also watched Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia this week too. I’d say it is a perfect film but that ending isn’t just ambiguous or distasteful… it is almost too bludgeoning to close a film that has been so preternaturally measured and engaging. Would make a great, if intense, double bill with Uncut Gems.
Kim Nguyen directs Jesse Eisenberg, Alexander Skarsgård and Salma Hayek in this techno-thriller where two IT nerds try to out manoeuvre their former boss by creating a cable that will get them stock exchange information valuable milliseconds quicker.
Diverting… All the elements are here for a far better movie. It could be a decent double bill with The Social Network but isn’t in the same weight division. Sorkin and Fincher understood that the real drama wasn’t in the battles for the IP, profits or bragging rights. It was watching terrible human beings have the mirror held up to themselves in the chase for legacy and billions. Here they populate a quirky thriller that never really gets going. The lead characters are too grey and unrelatable to root for – we have seen Eisenberg do this exact role far more compellingly in previous similar films. Imagine what either side of the coin would have done with this fertile material in the Eighties. Sheen or Cruise would have made you hope the desperate little guys became heroes. Spader or Lowe would have had you rooting for the slimy disrupters. Maybe this film would have been smarter shifting the focus to Hayek’s good value flamboyant ballbreaker. Instead of making her the big bad, we could have revelled in her protecting her empire and looking fabulous over the two autistic upstarts. Whatever the solution to improve this is tonally off, frustrating as a decent hook is definitely present.
Ingmar Bergman directs Ingrid Thulin, Anders Ek and Erik Hell in this Swedish drama where a judge tries to assess a troupe of performers who act out a live work that is considered censorable.
A pretentious and talky chamber piece with spasms of psychosexual violence. The sweaty and garbled paranoia of the first hour in no way prepares you for a finale involving a carved dark wood strap-on. I enjoyed trying to figure out what was going on, but beyond the nasty puzzle presented this would be difficult to recommend or rewatch.
Simon West directs Nicolas Cage, John Malkovich and John Cusack in this ensemble action comedy where a plane full of the very worst offenders in the American penal system is hijacked by the cargo.
An airplane overcrowded with psychos. A script full of zingers. A movie packed with national emergency explosions. A score brimming with triumphant crescendos. A casting agent’s wettest dream collection of slumming it prestige actors and crime cinema background royalty. The maddest action movie premise since Dennis Hopper put a bomb on a bus, executed with the restraint of an asylum taken over by the insane… with access to Jerry Bruckheimer’s credit card.
Producer Jerry Bruckheimer had nothing left to prove. He had made serious bank in the Eighties with his flashy work partnered with Don Simpson. Flashdance, Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun. These were the biggest money makers of their respective years. By the 1990s Simpson was succumbing to ego and coke and COKE and EGO. When he died in 1995 his legacy was some of the biggest hits of the last decade and a deal with Paramount to make 5 productions with no creative restrictions for a combined budget of $500 million dollars. That was essentially a blank cheque in end of the millennium Hollywood. Not even Spielberg or Cameron ever had a deal like that. And they blew it with the middlingly successful Cruise / Nascar vehicle Days of Thunder. A movie I like more than Top Gun but damagingly being their only release in 4 years and not long before the partnership was dissolved by overdose. I get the feeling the spiralling Simpson with his unfettered spending and unpredictable demands would have dragged the dream team under if he lived past Bad Boys and Dangerous Minds. His untimely death righted the ship, Bruckheimer was back on course making crowd pleasing and profitable slickness.
Not that Jerry was put off by excess of a different kind. Days of Thunder might not have met expectations. Might not have given Paramount their money’s worth but Bruckheimer made a new deal with Disney and started making ensemble blockbusters. Days of Thunder had a cast so packed tight with talent that bonafide movie stars in their own right Cary Elwes and Randy Quaid were fifth and sixth billed. If you could overfill a glossy action flick with thespian talent, rising stars and big names looking for a comeback you could make a more exciting playbill for less cost than a peak asking price Tom Cruise or Eddie Murphy would set you back. You see this economic logic at play in The Rock, Armageddon, Pirates of the Caribbean etc. And Warner Bros has since picked up the ball with this non-megastar led deal with their Dark Knight trilogy, Harry Potter and Ocean’s films. The right combination of B and C listers is more enticing to the public than just 1 big name bet.
Con Air though is the zenith of this ensemble package theory though. Three years after Pulp Fiction had suddenly made household names of a load of cult, quirky indie actors talky, unpredictable crime cinema had become decent business. If you had a script with an attractive amount of distinctive back-and-forth plus the occasional hip monologue then you were in the game. Tarantino was the King, but there were a million script writing pretenders to the throne who had their gangsters swear every other word while obtusely recommending their favourite Seventies sitcom. Cast a cool face like Ving Rhames, Danny Trejo or Steve Buscemi and you had a film with an inbuilt home video audience. HOLY SHIT! Con Air has all three lurking around the backseats. Bung in energetic performers like Dave Chapelle, Rachel Ticotin and Colm Meany and you already have a film worth watching. The genius was to take the violence and squaring up away from nightclub backrooms, warehouses and safe houses and put it in a mega budget “Die Hard in a fever dream” rollercoaster. Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead & Beautiful Girls screenwriter Scott Rosenberg deserves an Oscar for his work here. The script doctors who took later cracks can all have a Bafta and Golden Globe each. Every line of dialogue is cool as fuck, or silly as soap. Often both:
“Put… the bunny… back… in the box.”
“I think you’ll like it, Cyrus. It’s called “I’ll Never Make Love to a Woman on the Beach Again”, and it’s preceded by the award-winning short, “No More Steak for Me, Ever”.”
“Name your cliché; mother held him too much or not enough, last picked at kickball, late night sneaky uncle, whatever. Now he’s so angry moments of levity actually cause him pain”
“”Thesaurus Boy” I think is more appropriate.”
“DON’T. TREAT. WOMEN. LIKE. THAT!”
“Nothing makes me sadder than the agent lost his bladder on the aiiiirrrrplane!”
“I’m going to show you God does exist.”
Now just imagine those in context…
And the context is excessive mayhem. Con Air hurtles. Plumes of hellfire billow. Steel is torn through like wrapping paper. Bullets fly like confetti. Inbetween the prison banter and lunatic posturing there is hurly burly a plenty. Want to see a custom built sports car keel hauled through the skies? Done! Nicolas Cage mullet punch his way through an entire seating section of hardened cons? Here! Las Vegas tore up like cardboard by a plane acting like a box cutter? Yours! Con Air is so excessive that even once it’s all over you still get a bonus motorbike versus fire engine chase through what is left standing of Sin City. OTT is its prime directive.
The salty dialogue, the dream cast of dirty faces and the epic pyrotechnics would all be nothing if it wasn’t for the three top billed stars. All at the peak of their popularity. Cusack is doing one for them, hates to talk about the film where he first sold out even now. Yet his nerdy sandal wearing Vince Larkin still makes it into any fan of his’ Top Five. Malkovich was clearly growing bored of mainstream villainy by this point so makes Cyrus the Virus so charismatically vile he needs to be killed three times at the end of play. This might be a hard earned paycheck for them but one man is treating it like the blast it should be.
And Nic Cage coming fresh off an Oscar win and new action hero direction with The Rock is THAT MAN! He plays his saintly hero so unrestrainedly good hearted that you forget he barehanded kills more shitkickers here in a day than any of the nutballs he hitches a ride with. At the end of two fist-pumping hours you just wanna see your good guys be the best guys – Bruckheimer and Cage know this. Cameron Poe is a hillbilly knight valiant. Ready to outrun a fireball, weave and muscles pumping. Spending his prison time self improving in a montage sillier than anything in Airplane! And bringing the mushiest mawk to scenes where he reunites with his gorgeous family. When Cage is on screen putting in full effort there ain’t a dry eye in the house, or fresh ham cooking in the oven. All the pulled pork and crackling has been used up! Ridiculously rewatchable stuff. “Why couldn’t you put the bunny in the box?”
Joel Edgerton directs Lucas Hedges, Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe in this true story about the son of a preacher who is enrolled into gay conversion therapy when he starts to explore his sexuality.
There’s been a few of these recently. The Miseducation of Cameron Post was a bit more fun, and (I assume) more accessible to actual gay teens. This wants to explore the therapy itself. The harm and exploitative nature of it. The film suffers slightly from the fact that our real life source, Garrard Conley, only spent a few days in the indoctrination stages of his “clinic”. He feels like a lucky one but it doesn’t help the film. He comes from a loving if misguided home and has the self worth and strength to walk out when it becomes clear the scam psychology being used is there to trap these poor kids into continual harmful therapy. This works better as a family drama than as an expose. The acting is superb, with Kidman and Crowe proving their worth as the well shaded, fallible parents. Edgerton is a great director of movie stars and he strives to make every shot impactful.
Deniz Gamze Ergüven directs Günes Sensoy, Doga Zeynep Doguslu and Tugba Sunguroglu in this teen drama where 5 Turkish children are imprisoned in their home and married off when their grandmother and uncle realise they are becoming women.
I usually find self-consciously preachy films distasteful but this really caught me. It is frank and takes great pleasure in not being judgemental of the girls, not painting them as saints or victims. There are unexpected bursts of mordant humour among the languid suffering and sunny dread. Looks fantastic too. A modern day fairytale. Princesses trapped in a castle, quests, ogres, an ending laced with a little hope.
David Lynch and Monty Montgomery direct Alicia Witt, Harry Dean- Stanton and Deborah Kerr Unger in this anthology where couples with secrets take a room in an ill-fated hotel.
Three episodes of a series glued together as a feature presentation after they went nowhere. And these really do go nowhere. There’s no issue with the single set format or the deadpan actors but Christ nothing happens with these set-ups primed for murder, sex and reckonings. Nothing happens painfully.
Clint Eastwood directs himself, Chief Dan George and Sondra Locke in this classic western where a deadly Civil War confederate is hunted by the men who raped and killed his family during the war.
What starts out as a red paint for blood violent and satisfying chase movie slowly warps into something warmer, more humorous and humane. Josey might be real good at killing and brutalised by his time in history but he somehow keeps picking up lost souls while on the run. In between shootouts and stand-offs he ends up building a little unintentional replacement family around him and slowly finding a way to exist that doesn’t involve reaching for his irons, unleashing hell. Clint doesn’t just outsmart his pursuers but outthinks the government and criminals who only see murder as a solution. The film stays action packed, never feels heavy handed, even while slyly essaying a way to peace. Damn funny too. Chief Dan George is a hoot and a poor, permanently spat on dog makes for a great running joke. These days are clearly troubled times… I’m not saying what the world is going through now in 2020 is anywhere near as bad as the wounds caused by that Civil War and the Reconstruction… but right now it is about as cataclysmic as the last three generations of Western society have had it. Watching Josey Wales slowly rebuild a life and humanity and community after a period of hate and chaos… and for it not be any big thing gives me more hope for the future than a million memes and untrustworthy news reports. Hell, even Sondra Locke isn’t too annoying here! Life is pretty good.
Jean-Pierre Melville directs Jean-Paul Belmondo, Serge Reggiani and Jean Desailly in this French crime thriller where a recently released burglar wants revenge on the associate who keeps snitching on him.
For the first two acts we track two very unsympathetic criminals. They seem on course for a showdown. One has been informed on and wanted by the law, only days after a four year stretch. The other is playing two molls, the cops and the local mob off against each other and treating the fugitive like a pawn in some mysterious powerplay. Belmondo is a brute – torturing girls who withhold secrets and setting up anyone who might threaten his obscure masterplan. Occasionally his machinations leave a loose end or a mumbled over mystery. As the motivation behind his violence and conspiracy is always internalised we have no idea of his endgame. We just see the negative short-term fallout of his crimes and betrayals. You can’t sympathise with Belmondo, yet our other sweaty, vengeance seeking yegg is taken out of play with each move the smarter man makes. Stunted, blocked, impotent. Who are you the viewer gonna follow down into the labyrinthian plot? Can you throw your weight behind the handsome but inscrutable misogynistic beast who seems to be destroying lives for his own gain and amusement? Or the frantic mope, who is constantly one step behind and appears doomed to serve another sentence before he has even washed the last prison smell off of himself? Melville uses ill-fated nihilism like an artist uses paint, he treats “honour among thieves” as a punchline! Eventually the plot realigns itself. The narrative snaps into shape and a true anti-hero emerges. All those doubts and risky elliptical storytelling choices that leave you lost and cold suddenly make sense. Yet we are still doomed. Urban malaise, existential dread, hard slaps, supercool, bad shitty luck. This might be easier to warm to on a second watch once you realise not every player is an utter bastard.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 