Christopher Guest directs himself, Eugene Levy and Parker Posey in this silly mockumentary about an amateur theatre troop.
Another one off the bucket list. Not quite a sharp or as dense as Best In Show but you can see that classic’s roots here. Any film with Eugene Levy and Catherine O’Hara is always going to be great value.
These days there ain’t any other movie star the stamp of Tom Cruise. You can tell how popular he is as people always queue up to try to knock him. His height. His enthusiasm. His weird religion. His relationships. His death wish approach to stunts. His positivity. His 100% effort 100% of the time attitude. His grin. I was a naysayer too. I think it was Mission: Impossible followed by Jerry Maguire that matured me the fuck up. Made me realise there was more to him than a vanilla pretty boy. I’ve been loyal ever since. I talk about his carefully cultivated star persona and unmatched stature in Hollywood in my big Mission: Impossible round-up from a few years back. Let’s not go over over old ground. “I feel the need. The need for speed.”
The Last Samurai (2003)
Edward Zwick directs Tom Cruise, Ken Watanabe and Hiroyuki Sanada in this period film about a samurai rebellion and the American Civil War veteran who finds himself switching sides over the battles.
Yes… it owes a massive debt to Dances With Wolves and by that very yoke it means it is an outdated white saviour narrative. But here’s the rub, us white people kinda like to see ourselves as the heroes, however historically inaccurate. The orientalism of the epic locations and spectacular period production design is eye popping. The war sequences rousing. Tom gets to roll around on the floor screaming for SAKE! And there is a sweetly muted romance. Ken Watanabe is superb in his star making turn as the samurai leader who warms to his captured enemy over a winter. Just a glorious piece of Dad Cinema entertainment.
9
Days of Thunder (1990)
Tony Scott directs Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman and Robert Duvall in this sports movie following the year in the life of a rookie stock car racer.
This attempt to transpose the Top Gun formula to the world of burnt rubber and big crashes is half successful. The cast is amazing and the look of thing frazzles the retinas. Scott loves any colour that blinds. Cruise’s neon racer, Kidman’s red hair, the petrol sun. Narrative feels quite disjointed. As a mindless forgotten blockbuster, Days Of Thunder does its job adequately. But most of us are revisiting this to witness Cruise and Kidman fall in love… yet the romance does get short shrift.
6
Magnolia (1999)
Paul Thomas Anderson directs Tom Cruise, John C. Reilly and Jason Robards in this ensemble multistrand indie following the intersecting lives of various Los Angelinos.
A treatise on fate. An evisceration of toxic masculinity (years before it was a buzz term). An awkward romance. Desperate child geniuses. Dying, corrupt patriarchs. Musical interludes. Fame. And a cute ending that acts as a full stop but really just pulls up and away from all these damaged lives. There are times when Magnolia actually bores me to tears… how long are we going to spend wallowing in that poor child’s shame, for example? But the Cruise sequences are a powerhouse and he relishes playing someone so off trend. If he were ever to win an Oscar it should have been for Frank T.J. Mackey. When he is blindsided in an interview and all the armour bullshit fades away… “I’m quietly judging you.”… Devastating.
7
Valkyrie (2008)
Bryan Singer directs Tom Cruise, Bill Nighy and Tom Wilkinson in this WWII thriller based on the true story of the internal German military plot to kill Hitler and end the war with dignity.
On paper should be one of the greatest thrillers ever… but it actually is quite talky and circular. Singer does seem to relish amplifying the Nazi paraphernalia a little too enthusiastically. Cruise is demure as the good German. The opening sequence of a failed desert campaign is the only moment that really raises the pulse. A big budget, sometimes distasteful fudge. Watch Downfall or 13 Minutes instead.
6
The Color of Money (1986)
Martin Scorsese directs Paul Newman, Tom Cruise and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio in this legacy sequel to The Hustler where Fast Eddie Felson decides to show a young pool player the ropes and back him all the way to Atlantic City.
The absolute tits. I just adore this. Newman’s tight porn producer’s fashions, his rejuvenation and his unfussy domination of any shot and line. He gently laps away at Richard Price’s hardboiled dialogue. Sell out Scorsese doing one for them and producing his most artful and controlled movie. Natalie says it feels more like a Spike Lee joint and that is on the money. This is Scorsese’s most maximalist film and half of it is anchored to pool balls knocking about the table, a third to the interior of a car. Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio – hot as fuck. Arguably provided with Scorsese’s most complex female character since Burstyn’s Alice. And then there be young gauche Tom. His first meta role. His pretty boy ambitions reenergising Newman’s vampire, Newman’s Felson unable to impart any of the heartfelt lessons he has picked up on his own road to the overconfident buck. Everyone stuck in position of mistrust or exploitation. Every gesture or overture bathed in the waters of psychological manipulation. Robbie Robertson’s insidious laid back blues inspired score. Ballhaus and Thelma cementing the sheer visual pizzaz of one of the greatest sequels ever made. “I’m back!”
Alfred Hitchcock directs Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier and Judith Anderson in this romantic chiller where a young woman becomes the unlikely second bride of a troubled rich man’s whose dead wife dominates the country house our heroine must start her new life in.
Let us start out by addressing the Joan Fontaine in the room. She ain’t plain. She is about as far from “plain” as Pluto is from Cornwall. Having said that… this is probably my favourite lead actress performance ever. The sheer, constant anxiety and discomfort. And this girl is in love, has hit the lottery in terms of wealth and luxury… and she’s permanently on the back foot, nameless and lacking agency… Until…
Gone Girl secretly stole a ton from Rebecca. The dead wife, big R, the murder victim is a vindictive absence. All of Manderlay is a minefield since she died and one wonders how many of these emotional booby traps have been intentionally set before her final night? She’s broken every man she touches… either perverting them like her slick bastard posh tiger of a cousin (Hello George Sanders!) or breaking them like her dick husband or his quiveringly decent loyal second… Even the village idiot knows not to fuck about near Rebecca. She gets what she wants and if she doesn’t she’ll expose your basest, weakest flaw and flaunt it right back into your face. She’s so desirable she still serves cunt bloated under twenty feet of sea water, half eaten by crabs. And she has left behind her lesbian henchwoman. Mrs Danvers, one of the most deranged monsters ever to feature in a movie with no violence. Everyone Rebecca ever touched has the twisted inferiority STD she spread. And now poor little Joan Fontaine’s replacement girl has to stop from getting infected by the all the poisoned wrecks that have been left in the missing title character’s sexual wake.
So many fine sequences… the dreamy prologue, the whirlwind Monte Carlo romance, the trespassing into the forbidden bedroom, the party, the shipwreck, the confession, the inquest, the apocalyptic ending. Wow! I’m not a fan of Olivier as Maxim de Winter or how he treats Fontaine’s nameless waif. Maybe he deserves to be put through the ringer, she doesn’t. But she is the one who loosens his nuts out Rebecca’s death grip vice. She earns the title Mrs de Winter. You go, girl!
René Clément directs Faye Dunaway, Frank Langella and Barbara Parkins in this French mystery where an American housewife in Paris goes increasingly loopy when her children go missing.
A wintery grey Paris is the setting for sad little paranoid thriller where nothing happens very slowly. Dunaway’s fashion sense is at least on point.
Nick Murphy directs Rebecca Hall, Dominic West and Imelda Staunton in the British supernatural horror.
Handsome if pretty bog standard chiller. I’ve seen this twice, know it has a big twist and can’t for the life of me remember what it is. Natalie won a ghost story writing competition launched to promote the movie. I am very proud of her.
Barry Cook and Tony Bancroft direct Ming-Na Wen, Eddie Murphy and BD Wong in this Disney animated classic where a Chinese girl poses as a male warrior the preserve her family’s honour.
The battle sequences have epic sweep, the overall design is pretty lush and Murphy’s chatterbox dragon saves the comedy. I do kinda prefer the live action remake though.
Olivier Megaton directs Liam Neeson, Maggie Grace and Famke Janssen in this action sequel where this time around Bryan Mills and his ex are the one’s kidnapped in Istanbul by the family of the white slaver he judo chopped to death last time around.
Everything that was wrong and forgivable about the sleeper hit is rehashed. The sequence where Maggie Grace lobs grenades off the rooftops of Istanbul has certain demented charm. Hits a spot.
Mamet heaven but Foley knows exactly how to make it feel like a Rolodex hell. The unsung king of the Neo Noir needs no guns, no femme fatales here. You can feel the flop sweat and smell the coffee breath in this. That rain washes away no sins. Alec Baldwin’s one scene motivational wrecking ball might just be the finest one scene character ever. I ain’t telling you nothing new. But Pacino’s shift into sales pitch on a gay-for-him Jonathan Pryce is his last truly sustained piece of subtle acting. AND then you have poor, desperate Jack Lemmon in his career best turn. Every line the poetry of full testicles and empty bank accounts. You all know I hate filmed plays? Fuck you, I hate filmed plays.
Jean-Pierre Jeunet directs Audrey Tautou, Mathieu Kassovitz and Lorella Cravotta in this French classic about a lonely waitress who decides to perform secret acts of vigilante kindness in a whimsical depiction of Montmartre, Paris.
I know Amélie has its detractors who find it twee, reactionary and laboured. I find it comforting. Technically adventurous with a seductively sweet clowning performance by Tautou and one the most lush ‘borrowed’ score by composer Yann Tiersen. If you don’t have any love in your heart for Amélie, then maybe cinema just isn’t for you. The movie equivalent of Eleanor Rigby.
10
Perfect Double Bill: A Very Long Engagement (2004)
Dominic Sena directs Nicolas Cage, Robert Duvall and Giovanni Ribisi in this car heist thriller remake where a crew has to steal a wish list of cars under a very tight deadline.
The director credit might say Dominic Sena but this is very much a Jerry Bruckheimer joint. Insanely stacked overqualified cast, petrol explosion visuals, comedy banter from a dozen script doctors. Cage seems subdued and the highly billed Angelina Jolie seems to wander in and out of the gang whenever it suits her. How did she know to be there at that time? The final car chase delivers what you bought a ticket for.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 