John Carney directs Glen Hansard, Markéta Irglová and Geoff Minogue in this Irish musical romance between a busker and a young immigrant.
Very sweet. The guerrilla Dublin street shoot adds a real texture to the awkward romance and memorable songs. I prefer Carney’s later films (Sing Street, Begin Again) but this breakthrough indie is clearly more heartfelt and well crafted than most calling cards. Markéta Irglová is a particularly winning screen presence and I find it surprising she never acted again.
Alan Taylor directs Chris Hemsworth, Natalie Portman and Tom Hiddleston in this Marvel superhero sequel where some dark elves try to take over Asgard and South London.
Some iffy CGI aside, it is hard to fault the productions values. Marvel even at its nadir is robustly competent. But there’s a lot of big budget gilding here in service of a story that contains very little tension or urgency. The threat is muddled, the villain near non existent and the mismeasured set pieces struggle to hold the attention. Even the quips (jokey joke joke jokes) don’t really land. A pointless, merit free shakedown of a release that feels like three inconsequential TV episodes of series you gave up watching two seasons ago.
Robert Lorenz directs Clint Eastwood, Amy Adams and Justin Timberlake in this baseball road movie where a high flying lawyer daughter must put her career on hold and help her irascible baseball scout Dad eye up the next top draft pick.
A movie so comfortable being what it is that the title is an obvious spoiler that doesn’t dampen the conclusion one jot. Two of my favourite stars have a belated Daddy Daughter week. And it works – hitting low level but satisfactory seams of comedy, drama, romance and sparkle. This is a tight package… neat and formulaic without ever feeling forced or lazy. I know those are some opposing adjectives to square away but this feels very much like an Eighties blockbuster. The focus is on characters and heart, a good time, an undemanding time. A two hour, anachronistic cutie worth the cost of your ticket and snacks. Also it is kinda endearing to watch a script that has been written to be the grouchy counter-argument to Moneyball. While this isn’t in the same ballpark as that modern classic they are at least playing the same game. The goal is hope, understanding, authenticity, value and passion for the game.
Bob Swaim directs Rob Lowe, Meg Tilly and Kim Cattrall in this yuppie in peril thriller where a young heiress and a yacht captain find themselves in a web of murders and mistrust after they fall for each other.
Nudity for everyone and hazy Hitchcockian fun in between the sheets. Not exactly the most memorable release ever but for Saturday night entertainment it delivered. Ends with a bang that feels like a whimper.
David McNally directs Piper Perabo, John Goodman and Maria Bello in this ‘singer songwriter goes to the big bad city and becomes a wet t-shirt bartender’ romance.
How does Coyote Ugly turn a profit? Stock is poured everywhere, swarms of customers have to wait between bar fights and dance numbers to hopefully get served, the Front of House spit booze into used beer bottles rather than just pouring a shot of water and pocketing the tip and the place is a Health and Safety shitfest. I don’t care about Piper Perabo’s dreams. We need to stop encouraging people to follow their dreams. The John Goodman scenes are better than anything else that takes place. A test audience clearly thought so. As we have sore thumb filmed, late in the day bonus codas starring the great man himself. Just fucking ice all over the floor and not even a yellow A sign!?
Pedro Almodóvar directs Victoria Abril, Antonio Banderas and Loles Léon in this erotic drama where a Spanish movie star is held captive by an unstable young man who has fallen for her.
Possibly the first Almodóvar I watched back in the day. Definitely before I even knew who he was. Probably bored me back then beyond the nudity. I enjoyed it a lot more as an adult. As with a lot of Pedro’s work this wasn’t PC back then and has aged even worse in terms of “wokeness” but for those of us looking for emotionally charged exploitation and kinky histrionics this delivers. Great lead performances from Abril and Banderas.
Raj Kapoor directs himself, Prithviraj Kapoor and Nargis in this Bollywood classic where a rejected son is pulled between a life of crime and his love of a society girl.
The first hour of The Vagabond really cooks. We race through the tragedy and childhood of Raj’s downfall and it is Dickensian. Then we get another 100 minutes of star crossed lovers and songs. The injustice and social message is still there but you get the feeling that the only reason the first act moves at such a modern clip is because the star / director was desperate for his protagonist to be at an age where he could play him. What follows ain’t bad but is now creaky. An excellent dream sequence musical number comes out of nowhere. Very popular release in communist countries.
Larry Cohen directs Fred Williamson, Julius Harris and Gloria Hendry in this blaxploitation sequel where Black Caesar seeks out revenge on those who wronged him at the end of the first film.
Made on the weekends while Black Caesar was still raking in the box office, this scattershot sequel features 50% side characters, 30% stand-ins and very little actual Fred Williamson. Some of the stringed together sequences are pretty cool… an airport chase, a scuba assault… but this is playground fighting rather than persuasive plotting. The Edwin Starr soundtrack is smooth as satin.
Curtis Hanson directs Michael Douglas, Robert Downey Jr. and Frances McDormand in this literary comedy where a stoned professor must make some big decisions when he cannot finish his epic sophomore novel, his star student shoots his boss’ dog and the women in his life offer him a variety of ultimatums.
The film the versatile Curtis Hanson decided to make after the Oscar success of L.A.Confidential gave him a blank cheque in Hollywood. Adult, quirky, considerate, funny, intelligent. The Big Lebowski for people who read “Great American Novels” rather than noir pulp. Wonder Boys feels like both a parody and a celebration of U.S.A. literary pretentions. A sad sack Confederacy of Dunces. A middle aged Catcher in the Rye. A freewheelin’ Stoner. I don’t know about that last one. I haven’t read Stoner yet. Verbose and sensitive, allegorical but with a chaotic heart, Wonder Boys makes cinematic the experience of devoting a week to a lauded novel that might just change your life. The warm wintery weekend world of tactile symbols (a stolen coat, a dead dog, a battered pink nightgown) and labyrinthian human connections helps. The fact everyone seemingly is writing their own future classic on clanky inky typewriters of old seals the deal. This is a rambling ensemble piece. The casting is perfect. McDormand – the desirable mature soul with her own life to worry about. Downey Jr – the puckish agent of chaos, desperate for Grady Tripps’ next masterpiece before he loses his job. Tobey Maguire – as the unsettling savant, full of lies and who only speaks in the terse seductive imagery of Richard Ford or William Maxwell. Katie Holmes – never more desirable in her red cowboy boots, an easy to make bad choice in waiting for Grady. Even in the lower ranks Alan Tudyk, Jane Adams, Michael Cavadias and Rip Torn turn two scenes characters into fully fleshed spirits. But this is Michael Douglas’ show – as the imperfect, utterly human, gone to seed lost talent. His Grady Tripp is relatable and loveable. Watching him make terrible decisions and moments of faltering low-stakes heroics is a joy. Douglas is playing against type. The other end of the keyboard from his equally out-of-his-comfort-zone powerhouse in Falling Down. His yuppie-in-peril back catalogue is what he’ll remain a legend for but his unusual breaks in stuff like Falling Down and here prove what a genuine talent he is. Wonder Boys is a warm hug from a intelligent body. You’ll feel smarter having watched it even though it still sates all your entertainment receptors with a gentle wit and many ribald twists… even a car chase or two. A forgotten gem.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 