Federico Fellini directs Giulietta Masina, Sandra Milo and Mario Pisu in this arthouse horror where a wife begins to suspect her husband is cheating so contacts parasitic psychics, witches and spiritualists to determine her next step.
Some striking imagery rationed between endless scenes of grating cynicism. Not for me.
Gary Ross directs Tobey Maguire, Joan Allen and Reese Witherspoon in this teen fantasy where two jaded teens are sucked into a 1950s conservative, picket fence black and white telly soap.
A very difficult film to dislike or be underwhelmed by. The Nineties teens very quickly corrupt the out-of-time world they are trapped in with their sexuality, self awareness and non-conformity. As the innocent TV show characters wake up to a wider realm of experiences beyond the limited scope of Pleasantville they begin to introduce Technicolor into their monochrome world. The FX to achieve this are impressive – what starts as an incongruous prop or costume turning bright red or green eventually becomes a porous division. Before The Phantom Menace this film had the record for the highest number of visual effects ever! Half the town embracing modernity and freedom and emotion turn vivid, the conservative and reactionary factions stay black and white in their hues and their views. Allegory dominates the final half of the movie. Allowing strong acting work from Jeff Daniels and Joan Allen as the awakened avatars in a threatened community. For a teen movie, Pleasantville is a very rich text to unpack. Having said that… it isn’t perfect as an entertainment. Unlike teen fantasies like Bill & Ted or Back to the Future, the heroes have very little agency or drive. They arrive, they disrupt and then one leaves with little personal risk or stakes. Reese Witherspoon in particular seems like an after thought in the second half. Pleasantville is a very clever big screen metaphor but only a very admirable youth adventure.
Henry Levin directs James Mason, Pat Boone and Arlene Dahl in this adventure movie where an expedition of scientists travel through secret tunnels deep beyond the planet’s surface.
The least creaky, swiftest moving of these antique blockbusters. Chunky, blocky movie magic and a plot that piles on wonder and threats helps. Some lovely location work of old Edinburgh seals the deal.
Two of my favourite sci-fi mythologies were cheekily intertwined when a prop maker and a set dresser decided to include a xenomorph’s skull on the trophy wall of a predator ship as a visual gag. Ever since Predator 2, whether in Dark Horse comics or blockbuster crossovers, the two franchises have been synonymous with each other.
Michael Ritchie directs Chevy Chase, Tim Matheson and Dana Wheeler-Nicholson in this comedy thriller where an undercover reporter posing as a beach junkie chases down a new story when a millionaire asks him to kill him.
From the ridiculously upbeat theme song to the rerun-the-fun end credits Fletch is exactly what I want from a movie. Sarcastic, silly and surprisingly hard edged. Eighties comedies now feel quite exotic three decades later. They are filmed on gritty location, have stunt sequences that are more knockout and perilous than the CGI rope-a-dopes we see now in billion dollar blockbuster adventures… and the antagonists are genuinely scary threats. Drug smugglers, fascist cops, corporations and military dictators. You don’t see any of that in Zac Efron or Kevin Heart movies these days. Much like Beverly Hills Cop, Fletch’s Harold Faltermeyer score is an electronic marvel of excitement, paranoia, cool and dynamism. Whenever I’m doing some sleuthing or anything slightly illegal, this is the soundtrack playing in mind. Chase is “working overtime” here… the smartest (and rudest) guy in the room – lying and passive aggressively snarking the competition until he has his next clue to follow. You’d punch such a man in real life… but Fletch is wish fulfilment. Watching him match wits with violent idiots and officious one percenters and run circles around them is a joy. He improvises killer punchline and endless toppers onto an already unusually witty and clever script. An A-Game comedy star forbidding any take that lacks some hilarious bit of business whether mugging, slap-sticking or off-hand commenting. And watching his over confident seduction of the beautiful Dana Wheeler-Nicholson is the cherry on top. For most people Fletch is just a throwaway memory from their childhood. For me its the tabula rasa of cinematic nirvana.
Derrick Borte directs Russell Crowe, Caren Pistorius and Jimmi Simpson in this yuppie-in-peril thriller where a stressed single mum is chased and terrorised by a man who has lost everything.
Our first trip to an actual cinema in 5 months. I usually go 3 or 4 times a week so this was a nice return to normality. We had to travel way out to the Leith shore to the only multiplex open so far in Edinburgh. Vue were taking thorough safety precautions with staggered screening times and strict ushering policies. Good for them! The lobby was deserted, with posters for Emma and X-Men: Dark Phoenix (?!) the only ones on display. No ‘Coming Soon’ quads for Tenet, Candyman or Black Widow. Though we did at least get trailers for the last two. The movie itself? A nasty blast. Crowe (who is now a screen filling behemoth) makes for an overwhelming, domineering and destructive antagonist. He masterminds a day of hell for the woman who had the audacity to aggressively beep him. Whether causing intense vehicular mayhem or making things personal in gory side missions, he proves a pretty formidable and unforgiving agent of chaos. It is almost a shame he gets his mandated comeuppance at the end… You certainly wouldn’t want to see a sequel with Caren Pistorious’ victim / hero returning. She is quite a grating, unsympathetic presence. Crowe obviously is better than all this but clearly leading roles in blockbusters have dried up for him. If Max Cady or Hank Quinlan parts are his future then more power to him. It was quite refreshing to see a full fat (in every sense) star in something quite so relentless.
Alejandro Amenábar directs Eduardo Noriega, Penélope Cruz and Najwa Nimri in this Spanish mind-bending thriller where a spoilt young man meets the woman of his dreams the morning before a spurned lover of his disfigures him.
Fuelled by a desire to create confusing dream-like frames of beauty, this is a solid blend of Hitchcock and Philip K Dick. Sadly a very unlikable lead stops this from being more than a very well made executive toy. Abre Los Ojos catches the eye with its beauty and physical mystery but never really becomes more than a harsh, cold plaything.
Clive Barker directs Craig Sheffer, Anne Bobby and David Cronenberg in this horror fantasy where a troubled young man, his girlfriend and a serial killer are drawn to a community of monsters living underneath a remote cemetery.
The 18 certificate unofficial X-Men movie you’ve never seen! I remember renting this and absolutely loving it. I was still figuring out if horror was for me and Nightbreed gave you all the gore and outlandish make-up FX I was cautious of but curious about. Maybe what worked for me then was it kept the real villains human. Infamous now for being butchered by the studio and ridiculously misold by an uncaring marketing team, I discovered Nightbreed organically and it has lived in my memory for three decades as an overlooked romp. This revisit with Natalie, we watched the director’s cut on Arrow blu-Ray and I don’t really think it is an improvement rather than an expansion. The first act is still jerky and disjointed… smooth storytelling and the patience to focus on one protagonist have never been Barker’s strengths. There are points in the journey where we linger way too long on certain superfluous information while other parts of the narrative leap bounds with merely a subliminal shot or a half mentioned swathe of lore to justify them. I’ll put these confusing lurches in pace down to executive interference. Scars of a troubled production. But if you’ve come for creature FX and committed mythology then Nightbreed truly delivers. The underground Midian sequences are monster mashes of a scale never achieved outside of Star Wars. And these monsters, though sympathetic, are still dangerous and threatening. It is better to let the random nastiness and elaborate carnage wash over you like a dream. Possibly casting a recognisable movie star in any of the three lead roles really would have opened this up to a wider audience. Though I’d definitely keep Anne Bobby and Cronenberg as both make an impact with their alternative takes on stock characters. Great stuff.
Hirokazu Kore-eda directs Catherine Deneuve, Juliette Binoche and Ethan Hawke in this arthouse drama where an ageing movie star reconnects with her daughter and her career after publishing a dubious self-serving memoir.
A bittersweet confection that gets away with having nothing particularly new or earth shattering to say by relying on its delightfully starry ensemble. After a few days of duff sequels, this was a pleasant palette cleanser.
Jon Favreau directs Robert Downey Jr., Mickey Rourke and Sam Rockwell in this superhero sequel where the billionaire inventor tries to protect his flying armour from rivals in the weapons industry.
Marvel’s first clunker… not that the stellar box office recognised that. Starts out strong – introducing villains, random threads and Scarlett Johansson as franchise lynchpin, Black Widow. Then indulgently puts them all on the back burner for scenes where Tony Stark acts like an obnoxious dick… sorry… an even bigger obnoxious dick than usual. Rourke and Rockwell are fine value as bickering villains but the script relegates them to a factory for half the running time while offering up minimal peril in their place. The unfocused script pretty much follows the Schumacher template of having two colourful baddies teaming up rather than a plot. It all ends with CGI avatars of the heroes blowing up a parade of drones with minor risk to their own lives. It is very polished and quippy and Favreau is too studied a student of the blockbuster to ever let it get boring. But he pulls out all of the entire Spielberg / Cameron arsenal to conceal the sad fact there’s no story worth telling here.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 