Gore Verbinski directs Johnny Depp, Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley in this pirate adventure romp where a desperate Jack Sparrow tries to outwit and outrun a curse with the East India Trading Company also plotting his downfall.
Not as boring as I remember in the cinema. It goes on for way too long but Depp’s Jack is still fine value and the set-pieces he is actively involved in have a cartoonish physics to them. A threeway sword duel on a runaway miller’s wheel is particularly inventive. Every fifth or sixth scene seems to be a forced recap of the plot… almost as if Disney was already well aware the drooling masses who embraced this franchise were too dull eyed to keep up with all the triple crosses and mystic macguffins.
Philip Noyce directs Harrison Ford, Sean Bean and Anne Archer in this espionage thriller where former-CIA family man Jack Ryan angers a crazy IRA terrorist when he foils an assassination attempt on holiday.
One or two action sequences short of being impressive. What excitement there is is emotionally engaging rather than particularly eventful. That is down to Ford’s star power being so dependably exploited as the lead and Noyce zipping through the doorstep airport novel’s reams of subplots with a nimble confidence. Faultless but nothing special.
Jacques Tourneur directs Simone Simon, Tom Conway and Jane Randolph in this classic horror where a man marries a mysterious beauty – scared of sex, violently jealous and possibly able to turn into a panther when threatened.
Birthplace of the jump scare. Horror was changed permanently by the unexpected arrival of that bus. The rest of the film is more atmospheric melodrama than thrill fest… exploring the misogynistic but trendy form of psychoanalysis Hitch was equally obsessed with. It is only in the final twenty minutes the beast is loose and you start to fear for all involved. Yet the stand-out sequences still hold up: the pet shop going wild, the recognition between two fellow Serbian cats, the lonely pavement stalk, the swimming pool menace, the cornering of our unfaithful leads, the staircase finale. For a talky 70 minute film, there are deceptive chunks of creepy set-pieces.
John Landis directs Jeff Goldblum, Michelle Pfeiffer and David Bowie in this romantic crime thriller where an insomniac aerospace engineer picks up a distressed woman and is bounced around L.A. as they try to avoid the growing factions who want to kill her.
It looks like a comedy but has less jokes than The Accused? It feels slick and light but has at least two brutal deaths that would be the centrepiece of a gritty crime thriller? Goldblum and Pfeiffer are a hot pairing, so why are we continually overwhelmed by paranoia whether they are onscreen together or separated? Whatever Landis is trying for here doesn’t work. But it is a hell of a curio for fans of 1980s cinema. And the B.B. King theme music chops.
Olivier Assayas directs Clément Métayer, Lola Créton and Félix Armand in this semi-autobiographical coming-of-age drama following three radical kids who leave their suburban high school bubble after the May ‘68 riots to travel the world, start work, fall in and out of love.
A very handsome movie with a couple of truly cinematic sequences that thoroughly impress. It does jar watching the rich kids with no financial limitations and nepotism to fall back on make bad life choices over politics they will soon abandon. Assayas seems fully aware of this and frames everything with a cynical self-aware detachment. Best to let the handsome imagery of sun dappled bodies, relaxed hedonism and folk prog vibes wash over you rather than care too much about the contradictions of posho brats smashing a system that they continue to benefit from.
Barry Levinson directs Michael Douglas, Demi Moore and Donald Sutherland in this corporate thriller where a middle aged suit’s new female boss sexually assaults him on the week of a proposed merger.
A polished entertainment that feels both a relic of its time (digital technology is very much in its infancy, the attitudes are gratingly misogynistic) and yet accidentally prescient. The noodling around rape, consent, gender and workplace power echoes this past year’s #metoo content like Bombshell, I May Destroy You and, especially, The Morning Show. Of course, whereas those current meditations are very much tales of female victimhood, empowerment, complicity and agency, Disclosure is in its heart of hearts a simple yuppie-in-peril thriller. His career, happy home life and sense of self is threatened by the accusation of rape and the fact that he was the one who was corralled into an unwanted sexually aggressive advance. Telling that Hollywood was more comfortable investing in this exception rather than the rule. Even now, there still haven’t been that many A-List movies about the norm: a predatory male boss who ruins a life and career simply as he has leverage over a female subordinate. Having framed Disclosure’s rather unique position among Hollywood hits… Is it any good? Good but not great. Everyone seems to be doing gun-for-hire work. I doubt Levinson cared much for the material, Ennio Morricone’s score has all the grace of a modem kicking into life and Moore seems happy to fade back into the corner office once she’s looked smoking in and out of some fetching power suits. Douglas is the only actor who brings it. After his masculinity is wounded and his security threatened in the first half, he becomes a pro-active detective, more comfortable turning the tables and figuring out the dodgy foundations of the billion dollar merger this is all obviously a sideshow for. Once he no longer has to pretend to be perturbed that Demi Moore nuzzled his genitals, we warm to his scrambling patsy trying to crack the corporate conspiracy built around him. After all, this was never a film made to be a voice for sexual assault victims in the work place, but a reassurance to straight couples investing in a babysitter and two multiplex tickets that the man of the house can keep his job and seal the deal while navigating the perils of… hot women in the workplace.
The blockbuster saga that all franchises aspire to be and very few exceed. The toys, annuals, games and movie defined my childhood. It nearly all has a special place in my heart… even one of those prequels.
Quentin Tarantino directs Uma Thurman, Lucy Liu and Vivica A Fox in this kung-fu action revenge epic where a left for dead assassin hunts down her former team mates.
“Bill… It’s your ba-…” WARGH-WAHHH revenge theme. TV room combat. The school bus pulls up. The Bride’s name is bleeped out. “Fuck you, bitch. I know he didn’t qualify that shit.” Kaboom cereal. Nikki Bell… Volume 3 in waiting. Michael Parks investigates the carnage. A spitter. Whistling Elle and her drawn-on detailed rain mac. Twisted Nerve theme is an absolute earworm. Split screen dressing to kill, De Palma homage. Daryl Hannah is very unpredictable as the unguarded psycho of the piece. She builds up a lot of affection in very few scenes as the utterly unhinged poisoner in residence… not entirely sure why she is such a likeable presence? Buck likes to fuck. Disgusting communal Vaseline. Death by lip removal. Satisfying door frame interrogation. Elvis shades and the Pussy Wagon acquired. “Wiggle your big toe.” Anime origins. W-H-I-M-P-E-R. O-Ren’s sailor moon revenge. Another bullet through the brain. Big toe wiggling achievement unlocked. Sonny Chiba’s sushi shack = Three stars on Tripadvisor: Average food, terrible service, free language tutorials. Samurai sword porn. “If on your journey, you should encounter God, God will be cut.” O-Ren’s silly little waddle across the table. Fountains of blood. THAT yakuza’s amazing appalled face. “I collect your fucking head.” Red Apple cigarettes poster. Riding around Tokyo, listening to tunes. Yellow and Black leather Game of Death biker suits looks oh-so cool… why aren’t we all just wearing them as standard? House of the Blue Leaves = Five stars on Tripadvisor: Live music, private rooms, no pepperoni pizzas, hot and cold running yakuzas. The 5, 6, 7, 8’s. Spider-Bride. Ridiculous tracking shot. We are already down to a Crazy 83. “You call that begging?” Go Go Yubari swing out sister of death. Go Go gets nailed. The gang’s all here. Trademark eye snatch. Monochrome censorship. Can never spot QT’s alleged cameo in this chaotic sequence?! Johnny Mo’s wirework. Thurman must have trained like a motherfucker for this sheer unprecedented amount of sustained action combat. Her and Zoe Bell’s stunt work is sublime. Baby-faced hanger-on gets samurai sword spanked. The final stand-off is meant to be savoured. Latino Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood. Tension increasing water feature. Japanese winter garden so pretty. I would have dropped the cliffhanger just before O-Ren and the Bride locked swords. Exhausted Bride, we are on your side! Scalp in the snow, brain exposed. “That really was a Hattori Hanzo sword.” The Bride makes her list, like my wife she likes her admin. Are swords acceptable inflight carry-on luggage? Unanswered question: Who owns that other sword on the aisle seat opposite? Teases and revelations. Flash forward to Budd being reasonable… she does deserve her revenge, Budd. Who’s up for part 2 right away??? Thurman’s finest hour – she imbues the Bride with a potent mix of badassness, vulnerability and just a shade of cartoonish goofyness. An icon is born and even if it is 110% purloined homage, it all melds together into the coolest action movie ever.
Thom Fitzgerald directs Jacki Weaver, Lucy Liu and Adrian Grenier in this comedy-drama where a grieving Texan mother inherits her estranged drag queen son’s cabaret bar on the backstreets of San Francisco.
Feels like something made twenty years ago. Gently entertaining and a fine showcase for Weaver who almost never gets the lead role. Nearly every big emotive subplot (drug addiction, abusive partners) is resolved the very next scene after it is established and the drag queens are simplistically presented as adult children who just need love and attention (which is a little insulting)… But you kinda know the film’s heart is in the right place even it often can’t manoeuvre gracefully in the ungainly heels it has put on.
Marcelo Martinessi directs Ana Brun, Margarita Irun and Ana Ivanova in this drama where a passive woman comes out her shell when her domineering long term partner goes to prison for fraud.
Quite a sensual film. Captures the dusty decay of the upper class lifestyles of Paraguayan women and their strange black market that relies on the misfortunes of each other. The cast of exclusively female unknowns all make an impressive fist of performing their underwritten characters into something more memorable.
