Steven Soderbergh directs Julia Robert, Albert Finney and Aaron Eckhart in this true story legal drama about an unlikely former beauty queen who uncovers a criminal contamination incident.
“That’s all you got, lady. Two wrong feet in fucking ugly shoes.” Made very much to give Roberts her Oscar – this glides along nicely as a slick adult entertainment. Finney is a ton of crumpled value. Memorable Thomas Newman score.
Jonathan Demme directs Tom Hanks, Denzel Washington and Jason Robards in this courtroom drama where a homophobe lawyer represents a gay lawyer dying of AIDS when he is unfairly dismissed from a prestigious firm.
I remember when I first learned about the existence of Philadelphia. I was riding home on the E3 bus, reading the free cinema magazine, Flicks, you could pick up in the foyer. I’d probably just been to see The Fugitive or The Specialist. I would have been pretty excited about the new movie from the director of The Silence Of The Lambs. Tom Hanks was a must-see movie star for me (that’s never changed). 13 year-old Bobby Carroll remembers it was going to be a courtroom drama, that Philadelphia the city had something amazing sounding called Cheese Steak sandwiches that were famous… and I cannot remember any mention in the promo piece that the plot centred on a gay character or would be about the AIDS crisis. Because I doubt 13 year-old, straight schoolboy me would have gotten excited about those themes.
Philadelphia is a well made, well intentioned film. I’d say Bruce Springsteen’s excellent theme song has probably outlived any controversy or praise the movie generated back in ‘93. I swing back and forth on how much I like it, how highly I rate it. The flaws are as apparent now as they were then.
Does the gay community see themselves represented in Hanks’ idealised portrayal? Should Hanks’ character, Andy, come from such a position of wealth, privilege and unstinting familial adoration? Would the movie work for straight audiences if he didn’t? Like Sidney Poitier’s black characters in the Sixties, why does this homosexual have to be so perfect, so above reproach for the injustice to take root? Why is his pairing with Antonio Banderas so chaste? What is with the miserable, interminable opera monologue? And why is the character written as so passive once Denzel takes on his case? The closing montage of childhood home movies is a sluice of mawk too far.
Yet we do get a witty, gripping, unpredictable courtroom drama. Denzel gifts us with one his finest performance. The everyman homophobe who slowly shifts his thinking and feelings over the arc of an entire movie. Not enough people acknowledge that Philadelphia is actually as much the story of our growing acceptance and reconfiguration of “the other” in our lives. Demme and Washington pull no punches – the lawyer cleaning his hand after touching a sufferer, his enthusiastic use of hateful language in the privacy of his home, the violent reaction to being hit on by another man. And because we’ve only ever seen Washington as the embodiment of good and righteousness outside of Spike Lee movies… something clicks, something clicked. He’s usually battling this type of ingrained, insidious hatred. Washington really puts in the more sophisticated, challenging acting shift throughout the story. As equally as I love Hanks, that Oscar should be Denzel’s.
Philadelphia might not have been the movie gay audiences needed from Hollywood back then but it kinda is the movie straight people did. It challenges our behaviours and thinking and fears in a big glossy package. Showed us a different way to address a group that had been demonised in the mainstream media and press for the last decade (if not longer). And the ultimate message holds true. People will grow out of their prejudices if they actually interact with the humans they ignorantly fear, outwardly mistrust and unjustly hate. I optimistically believe that, this movie does to. Demme also deserves praise for expertly ramping up the paranoia in certain key moments – a lesion is zoomed in on and then the camera lingers, the alienation of Andy in the surprise boardroom firing, the body horror of the corpulent, corporate men’s locker room. Not a perfect film – a neutered, dated product of its time – yet worth seeking out, re-evaluating and squeezing the good out from.
Martin Scorsese directs Barbara Hershey, David Carradine and Barry Primus in this exploitation adaptation of a Depression-era hobo femme fatale’s “autobiography”.
Very enjoyable. Rarely an edit happens that doesn’t show flashes of Marty’s future verve and mastery. Every interaction and shot seems to have purpose whether it be narrative propulsion, emotional engagement, character subtext or pure titillation. It is scrappy, cheap and sleazy but very few modern films are made with this level of storytelling care. And I like the sleaze. It feels a bit less “art installation” than Bonnie And Clyde. The nudity is a bit more goosebump ridden, the violence is sudden and devastating. Most importantly though, it is fun. Feels like a movie with nothing to lose. Scorsese should do a throwaway bit of nasty like this again before he retires. Sweet, unpredictable Barbara Hershey is probably the finest actress whose best career turns are in utter schlock.
Michael Morris directs Andrea Riseborough, Marc Maron and Allison Janney in this character study drama about an alcoholic woman who hits rock bottom and returns home to the town where she is seen as a joke because she blew her lottery win on booze.
Exists solely as a showcase for Riseborough to act desperate and destitute. And I’m going to push against the Academy nomination here and say the performance is a bit… gurning. This tale of recovery has an eventual sweetness worth waiting around for… and often harks back to the revival of “Woman’s Pictures” that cropped up in the late Seventies /early Eighties to give the likes of Ellen Burstyn, Sally Field or Goldie Hawn another shot at an Oscar. While everyone else feels like they are on a poverty pantomime safari, podcasting king Maron actually hits a neat seam of reality with his good guy turn. Fine.
Paweł Pawlikowski directs Natalie Press, Emily Blunt and Paddy Considine in this British coming-of-age drama where two mismatched girls start an obsessive friendship over the summer holiday.
Hazy, eerie, nudie. A motorbike with no engine from the maggot farm, a pub turned born again Christian cult, giggling at the new massive crucifix being erected on the hill. Goldfrapp on the soundtrack. Emily Blunt’s outstanding movie debut as the duplicitous posh girl. Haunts with a very relaxed intensity.
Neil Jordan directs Liam Neeson, Diane Kruger and Jessica Lange in this period detective mystery based on Raymond Chandler’s famous detective Philip Marlowe.
Neil Jordan is incapable of making a less than stunning looking movie. This takes an hour too long to get going but ends in gory, unpredictable chaos. Fans of Neeson stiffly chopping, stiffly jumping and stiffly running might find little to love, and this doesn’t exactly hit the spot as a pure whodunnit, yet I wouldn’t exactly turn my nose up at a second instalment with big man sleuthing in this well realised world. About as good as these direct-to-streaming tax dodges get.
5
Perfect Double Bill: A Walk Among The Tombstones (2014)
Stanley Donen directs Audrey Hepburn, Albert Finney and Eleanor Bron in this romantic comedy about a married couple who reflect on their twelve-year relationship while on various road trips down to the French Riviera.
The year the Production Code began its swift erosion allowed this project – which looked to make a slightly more philosophical take on infidelity and divorce – to be realised without its hand being tied. The concept is strong, especially the fractured timelines changing lanes and swapping rides en route. Yet it feels fusty by default. The progeny of a director past his prime trying to take advantage of cutting edge trends and hip stars that don’t gel. You’ll never find me saying a bad word about Hepburn… but her pre-existing persona is a little too fragile for us to gain much pleasure from seeing her in a failing relationship. And Finney is very abrasive towards her and the whole idea. Somebody with a lighter comic touch (Cary, Caine, Garner?) would work a treat, even when calling Audrey a “bitch”!? This actually proves quite unpleasant to watch at times despite always looking a sunny marvel.
John Ford directs John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara and Victor McLaglen in this Irish romantic comedy where an American boxer returns home to the village of Innisfree where he was born and swiftly falls for tempestuous beauty who lives next door.
A childhood favourite in my house. The Carrolls watched this a lot. Infamously ends on a twenty minute punch up that has been brewing for the first two acts. O’Hara and McLaglen are on fire as the warring siblings The Quiet Man gets caught between. The entire support ensemble are pitch perfect. And it looks so gorgeous – technicolour heaven. Victor Young’s marching score only drums up the anticipation towards the big communal scrap. His main theme is based on a tune composed by an Irish policeman. George Romero allegedly died listening to the jaunty, diddly-dee soundtrack. I love this. Every fucking moment.
Chris McKay directs Nicholas Hoult, Nicolas Cage and Awkwafina in this horror comedy where Dracula’s assistant begins to use his supernatural powers for good.
Three editors. Always a bad sign. They couldn’t find the movie in post-production and it shows. Awkwafina gives possibly one of the weakest, most uncertain performances in a mainstream release in years, especially in the first act when you aren’t even sure why her subplot is robbing us of so much Dracula action. Cage’s Count though is inevitably glorious. He’s making mad genius line choices with every syllable and it is a pleasure. Shame that he disappears for huge swathes of the running time. The comic book inspired production design is nicely OTT. Darkman vibes, especially Dracula’s throne of a hundred blood transfusions. The body horror FX of his mangled corpse slowly regenerating are done practically and are some of the best comedy gore work I’ve seen for a long old time. But the “Renfield saves the day” action feels old hat. CGI blood and wearying martial arts against the same six stunt men in different hats and masks. That’s a trick I’ll forgive a John Wick and a Jackie Chan as what they are trying to achieve is so ambitious and relentless. Here it feels like another pre-production decision that screams of fudge. A true mixed bag of a horror-comedy-romance-action flick in that I’d love to revisit what both the Nics do here but the rest is pretty bleh.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 