Kathryn Bigelow directs Jamie Lee Curtis, Ron Silver and Clancy Brown in this female cop thriller where a rookie is stalked by a psycho stock broker who has stolen her gun.
Illogical and tonally wobbly as fuck. Blue Steel actually struggles to work as pulp. Feels a bit too indebted to Michael Mann’s Manhunter (I know that should be a positive). Androgynous Jamie Lee is awesome though. And the movie loves the gun. Fetishises it. There are some cracking tension crankers here – the supermarket robbery, the best friend’s ultra gory death, “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?”. Shame the story pumped in around them is so haphazard.
William A. Wellman directs Carole Lombard, Fredric March and Charles Winninger in this early Technicolor screwball comedy.
Glamorous comedy actress Lombard is grand here as the small town gal who fakes terminal radium poisoning to win a trip to New York. March less so as the journalist whose career relies on him finding a Real McCoy after a series of phonies… only to fall for his latest fake cause célèbre. There’s a tsunami of jokes here but none of them really find land in this dated package.
Fred Cavayé directs Vincent Lindon, Diane Kruger and Lancelot Roch in this French thriller where a mild mannered school teacher must break his wife out of prison when she is sentenced for a murder she did not commit.
Straight faced and with an unfashionable emphasis on suspense, Pour Elle plays out just as well on a second watch as it did when it was released. There are two aces in the hole here. 1) Diane Kruger is so uncommonly beautiful that all of Lindon’s brinkmanship and self destruction to spring her makes sense. 2) The abrupt start of the nightmare over a seemingly everyday breakfast plays out particularly strongly. The Hollywood remake with Russell Crowe is equally as watchable and that hook presents a hell of a “what if” for married date nights. ‘Even if she were guilty’ would be my answer. This is white knight fantasy for husbands and wives to play out together, and even if the narrow escapes and the unsuccessful gambles do stretch credulity, Lindon’s everyman remains totally convincing throughout.
John Hillcoat directs Guy Pearce, Ray Winstone and Emily Watson in this Australian ‘western’ where a lawman who orders a notorious outlaw to kill his older brother or else his younger brother will be executed.
A tough, unforgiving movie. As much about brute colonialism and pragmatic civilisation as black hats and white hats. Why is it only the very worst of society who is sent out to bring society to others? Or to try to carve out there own home within uninviting savagery? Can men of violence ever truly deserve a home? Everyone has blood on their hands. And flies. The flies budget for this is through the fucking roof. The harsh violence is furnaced within myth. Danny Huston understands the assignment most. Might be Winstone’s best performance. Overall The Proposition is a little forced at times but it has ambitions way beyond what the DVD case ever promised and explores them well. “Why can’t you ever just… stop me?”
Blitz Bazawule directs Fantasia Barrino, Colman Domingo and Danielle Brooks in this musical adaptation of Alice Walker’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel about domestic abuse, generational violence and black inequality in the early 20th century.
A misfire. Grinding misery interrupted by happy songs. Fronting defiance when there ain’t been no defiance, pride when there ain’t nothing to be proud about. Domingo, Brooks and Taraji P. Henson all bring it and deserve a more tonally consistent work. The dance numbers haven’t been opened out from the stage production, the lighting of them in particular is godawful dark. Hard to get excited about spending two hours following a gormless doormat who once kissed a hot bisexual in a movie theatre. Spielberg’s unloved first attempt is still the better adaptation.
Chloe Domont directs Phoebe Dynevor, Alden Ehrenreich and Eddie Marsan in this drama where two work colleagues in a secret relationship hit troubled waters when he feels he is passed over for the big promotion in favour of her.
Marketed as an erotic drama with two very attractive leads… this feels like a bungle. There is nudity, fucking and an enticing sheen but it is far too harsh and abrasive a movie to enjoy. Especially in the final abrupt developments. Ultimately a film about toxic masculinity, it squanders the heat and chemistry of its two leads in favour of some one sided man bashing. Now there’s definitely a market for that, it just ain’t the movie we were sold and I was buying.
Delbert Mann directs Rita Hayworth, Deborah Kerr and David Niven in this British drama based on two short Terrence Rattigan plays set around the same Bournemouth hotel.
Cine-fied plays are my least favourite genre but the mega set this is filmed on, and the characters are genteelly trapped within, is an impressive construction. Niven puts in a wonderful shift, Academy Award winning, as the old fraud who has exaggerated his military past and likes an innocent nudge. Hayworth, Burt Lancaster and Wendy Hillier’s love triangle is really quite emotionally mature and tragic. Their story has the best acting, all differing styles. Kerr plays against type and her simpering doormat really grates. She’s the only weak link but one that does hold this compassionate little chamber piece back from classic status. Fantastic ending.
F. Gary Gray directs Samuel L Jackson, Kevin Spacey and Paul Giamatti in this action thriller where a framed hostage negotiator takes an Infernal Affairs building hostage.
Pretty much a character actor jamboree. This pairing felt like a hot ticket in 1998. Jackson and Spacey had crept up from ‘That Guy’ roles to name above the title status steadily. By 1998 they felt more viable brands than certain pre-ordained stars (McConaughey, Fiennes, Pitt spring to mind at this point in time). The movie itself is all bluster. There’s actually very little action and Spacey takes an hour to get into the mix. There’s enough here to make a fantastic trailer and an acceptable Saturday night killer.
Stephen Anderson and Don Hall direct Jim Cummings, Jack Boulter and Travis Oates in this Walt Disney animated snorer where some tubby merchandising shill is a crackhead for honey.
Jesus Christ. Never again. Not in my name. Not on my watch. Get fucked you bunch of stuffed reprobates.
James Bridges directs John Travolta, Debra Winger and Scott Glenn in this drama about oil refinery workers who unwind in a country and western themed nightclub where a mechanical bull riding contest takes centre stage.
Based on a magazine article and seen (as many Travolta movies of this era were) as an attempt to recapture the Saturday Night Fever lightning in a bottle for a second time. It is a less spoken of phenomenon of the early Eighties how many mainstream studio movies were based on journalism. New American Cinema and New Journalism overlapped for a prolonged period and by the the time high concept started to bite the idea of boiling down the richness of alternative life stories into formulaic star vehicles became an often unremarked upon sub genre of it own. Artistically ambitious strippers nightly grind became Flashdance. There’s a training program called Top Gun and there might be a movie in it! And as much as the boiler plate scriptwriting process might try and smooth and corral these people’s tales into something mass market, the grit and residue of reality still clings somewhere to the final product’s heart.
Urban Cowboy is not a great movie but it has stuck with me over the past couple of weeks. Mainly Debra Winger’s complex and yet smoking hot performance. There’s a taunting sequence where she rides the mechanical bull, showing Travolta’s controlling cuck all the moves her new lover has taught her that might just be the sexiest scene of the entire Eighties. She is given a raw deal through the movie. Two volatile suitors to chose from, neither really worthy of her but one the less dangerous choice… the only man who there is a chance for change and growth. Hard to imagine a movie being made today where the happy ending feels like such a compromise. But I suspect the filmmakers only see her as a daffy trophy to be won, a feisty beauty to be tamed. Much of the shading and humanity is what Winger brings to the role.
All in all, Urban Cowboy is overlong. Travolta is miscast and the story often bends around what his fanbase want. It was his last hit before Look Who’s Talking. Glenn’s villain for example could have went another way entirely and if the script wasn’t stacked in the A-Lister’s favour then the better actor might have revealed himself to be a better man. Disco was silly enough but a gritty relationship drama about a couple mastering a mechanical bull feels almost spoof worthy. Maybe not entirely unintentionally it often feels like the bull symbolises Scott Glenn’s more confident, mature and masculine penis. Whatever goes on on the device is just a surrogacy for what the more experienced Buck wants to do with both halves of the couple away from the nightclub crowd. The C&W soundtrack kicks, it launched a musical sub genre all of it own, and the location filming lends this daft movie a grounding. I’m conflicted but I would watch again.
6
Perfect Double Bill: An Officer And A Gentleman (1982)
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 