Otto Preminger directs Harry Belafonte, Dorothy Dandridge and Pearl Bailey in this contemporary musical variation on the Bizet opera, with new lyrics and an African-American cast.
Feels crazily ahead of its time, but dated and regressive in so many other ways. Dorothy Dandridge is on fire here though and I reckon the scene of her in her lingerie might have psychically done more positive influence for race equality in America than anything else made in the 50s.
Hal Hartley directed Isabelle Huppert, Martin Donovan and Elina Löwensohn in this indie thriller where a nymphomaniac ex-nun picks up a man with amnesia in a New York diner.
My friend and lovely comedian Martin Croser used to send me unsolicited packages. Out of the blue a DVD copy of some arthouse forgotten film would pop through my letterbox. It was a lovely treat. And I am slowly working through them. Amateur was one of them, a flick I remember enjoying when it came out on VHS. You have Elina Löwensohn and Huppert being sexy as fuck, a plot about pornography and espionage told in a low-fi slacker way. It is a bit like if Jim Jarmusch made a Jason Bourne adaptation and got super horny. There’s a young Parker Posey in an early role, always welcome. The first hour is far better than the second. In fact… this feels like the palpable gearshift from Hartley’s better quirky romance dramas to his oblique actionless spy thrillers.
David Robert Mitchell directs Maika Monroe, Keir Gilchrist and Olivia Luccardi in this supernatural horror where a stalking curse that can take any human form is sexually transmitted to a suburban girl.
The most original, and certainly the most effective, horror of the last decade. Announced David Robert Mitchell as a major talent and then nobody watched his sprawling, eerie Under The Silver Lake and we haven’t heard a peep from him since. Very Lynchian – even though it delivers traditional shocks and tension too. The bleak romantic, horny yearning atmosphere of it really needles at you between the set pieces. There’s something significant being said here about sex and mortality, trust and intimacy. Maika Monroe is the only Scream Queen to rival Jamie Lee Curtis in terms of looks, acting ability, charisma and choice of projects. It doesn’t get much better than this. Disasterpeace soundtrack = chef’s kiss. No idea what the seashell kindle / torch one of the backing character’s use is?
Alfred Hitchcock directs Cary Grant, Eva Marie Saint and James Mason in this espionage thriller where an advertising executive is mistaken for a spy who doesn’t really exist and nobody who is chasing him will believe he isn’t the spook.
The first action comedy? Strange to think this came out 3 years before a big screen 007 was made. It feels fully informed by what was to come, almost a spoof of something that doesn’t quite yet exist. Grant is sauve and vulnerable in fascinating ways. It does feel like his whole star persona is being put through the ringer, not just his Roger O Thornhill character. Eva Marie Saint feels a bit more polished than other Hitchcock blondes, even Princess Grace of Monaco, genuinely sophisticated. North by Northwest probably is 30 minutes overlong but I’m not sure what I’d cut. It is a movie where each sequence improves on the last and I wouldn’t risk that momentum. The lengthy teasingly frank train journey ‘meet cute’ between Grant and Saint has as many fireworks as assassination attempts, crop duster hits and monument clambers. As much a vibe as a cohesive experience, North By Northwest is Hitch at his most generous and playful.
Brian Gibson directs Angela Bassett, Laurence Fishburne and Vanessa Bell Calloway in this music biopic about the abusive marriage between Tina and Ike Turner.
Pretty powerful acting… and avoids the pitfalls of most rock life story hack jobs by having a compelling central story that defines the narrative.
7
Perfect Double Bill: How Stella Got Her Groove Back (1998)
Jamie Blanks directs Denise Richards, David Boreanaz and Marley Shelton in this slasher where five mean girls are stalked by the boy they humiliated at a high school dance over a decade ago.
The closest Hollywood has ever gotten to replicating a giallo. That doesn’t mean it is particularly good or even competent. Two of the kills scratch an itch and the fact that everyone is an utter dick is kinda sweet. If I was casting Valentine from a pool of 2001 C-listers I could still replace everyone except Marley Shelton a dozen times over and find an improvement. Would it have rocked with Rose McGowan and Joshua Jackson or Tara Reid and Luke Wilson? Not much more. But, cleavage excluded, Katherine Heigl will never be an adequate substitute for Drew Barrymore.
Peter Weir directs Jeff Bridges, Isabella Rossellini and Rosie Perez in this allegorical drama where a man who survives an air crash keeps putting his life at risk to escape his PTSD.
Again… a formative movie. One of those adult movies that really broadened my horizons as a teenager. Got me into Weir. Got me into Bridges. It is both weighty and fuzzy, psychologically sophisticated but narratively simple. The ensemble is excellent, Allen Daviau’s on location cinematography is crisp and bold. Obviously the stand-out sequence is the plane crash, used as an interrupting framing device, threaded throughout the movie. But there’s also spiritual redemption, Christ metaphors, people resetting their personalities and rewriting their personal histories for prosaic reasons. In many respects this feel like the TV show’s Lost serious, more grounded elder brother. And Lost isn’t a dirty word in my house.
Rob Savage directs Sophie Thatcher, Chris Messina and Vivien Lyra Blair in this adaptation of a Stephen King horror story about a grieving family who let something creepy into their poorly lit home.
Yellowjackets breakout Thatcher is fine in this dour and unremarkable massmarket horror. It is just a bit too glum and familiar to be remembered in six months time. Even if it does everything right in terms of atmosphere while you are watching. David Dastmalchian and Marin Ireland have small yet showy roles and the movie spikes whenever either are on screen.
Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers and Justin K. Thompson direct Shameik Moore, Hailee Steinfeld and Brian Tyree Henry in this sequel where Miles Morales discovers he is not welcome in a secret society of multiverse saving Spider-people.
Miles Morales is my Spider-Man. I still buy the comics and he’s the only Marvel character I’m currently loyal too. This looks glorious. Tri-colour, retina overkill. There’s a lot of movie here, at its best with the physics defying action sequences. Almost too much in length, I felt my mind having little time out pit stops in the slightly less frenetic emotional parts. It isn’t quite as tight as the miraculous first entry but as summer blockbusters go Across proves top value.
8
Perfect Double Bill:Spider-Man: Beyond the Spider-Verse (2024)
Martin Brest directs Al Pacino, Chris O’Donnell and Gabrielle Anwar in this drama where a prep school student looks after an suicidal blind man who whisks him off to New York for one last weekend of pleasures.
“Women! What can you say? Who made ’em? God must have been a fuckin’ genius. The hair… They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls… just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips… and when they touched, yours were like… that first swallow of wine… after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-ah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don’t care if they’re Greek columns… or secondhand Steinways. What’s between ’em… passport to heaven. I need a drink. Yes, Mr Sims, there’s only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pussy. Hah! Are you listenin’ to me, son? I’m givin’ ya pearls here.”
Birth of the Hoo-Ha! Actually everything Pacino does is perfect. OTT but utterly entertaining. Ham and cheese, Oscar gold. The movie is about an hour longer than it needs to be – loose with silly stuff and scenes that revisit old ground. Brest isn’t entirely sure what tone to go for from one scene to the next. Do we really care about the prep school ethics trial that bookends all the meat? Yet let blind Al tango, let him call a toddler ‘a piece of tail’ or let drive a Ferrari and I’m all in. A guilty pleasure.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 