David Frankel directs Bryan Cranston, Annette Bening and Rainn Wilson in this true white collar crime story about a retired couple who figure out a hack in the state lottery and begin playing the system.
Sidney J. Furie directs Barbara Hershey, Ron Silver and David Labiosa in this horror where a single mother is regularly raped and tormented by an invisible assailant.
Based on a true story. Sleazy as fuck. The first act is just a cycle of Hershey being sexually assaulted by the unseen forces in her home, trying to act like everthing is normal to her kids, finding no solace from friends, the police or the medical community… then being attacked again. It is pretty merciless. The Stan Winston puppeted “groped body” cast FX is eerily weird to watch. Then there’s a really left-of-field bombastic finale where university nerds try to freeze the ghost / demons / out-of-body rapist. Then it ends on an unresolved note, suggesting our lead victim is just going to have to endure the unexplained attacks. A bit too grim and blunt to praise, this, at least, is often grindingly unsettling.
James Cameron directs Kate Winslet, Leonardo DiCaprio and Billy Zane in this epic period romance disaster movie of the real life tragedy.
1997. The most expensive film ever made. Everyone but Cameron was banking on it flopping. We watched the release date wobble around different seasons and heard rumours of nightmare set altercations nearly every week of lengthy production. On opening day I went to see Titanic twice. I had booked to go with my family, weeks in advance, on the evening but then a group of college mates were going that afternoon and I couldn’t resist getting the jump on the movie. That is the only time I’ve done that. Twice in one day.
While it is fair to say I didn’t absolutely love Titanic, I certainly found lots to embrace. The immediate positives were the sheer scale and painstaking quality of the reconstruction, Kate Winslet’s beauty, Billy Zane pantomime villainy and the full hour long rollercoaster finale that puts our young lovers and ourselves right in the danger zone of every calamity that befalls the ship. I dare you to watch the upending of the hull, where we cling on for dear life as the protagonists rush towards the water, and not believe we are in the visionary hands… god like… of the genius who made The Terminator and The Abyss. Cameron is the Beethoven of the blockbuster form and he can’t help himself but deliver amazing, immersive popcorn overtures.
And as I get older, and Titanic joins a pantheon of nostalgic comfort movies (let’s say T2, Jurassic Park, Speed, Twister, True Lies, Face/Off) from my teens, the relatives merits and flaws even out amongst all of them and I just wanna go home again. Yes, the dialogue between Jack and Rose is basic. Yes, there is something distasteful about focusing on these fictional horny teens rather than real life victims and survivors of the tragedy. Yes, the form of it often feels like a museum tour followed by a theme park ride, awkwardly bolted together, rather than a persuasive narrative. But…
… it is all iconic now. The big hat. KING OF THE WORLD. The spitting. The Irish jig. The “Paint me like one of your French girls.” The sated hand on the steamy car window. Iceberg dead ahead and dead centre in the runtime. The grabbing of the axe. “Any room for a gentleman, gentlemen?” The selfish wardrobe with definite room for two. Necklace waste. Ghost stairwell. Admit it, you want to waste three hours on this with me right now? Don’t you? It is a movie that is so hardwired into our generation’s collective consciousness that watching it is like returning to some kind of mothership.
And I’ll always be tickled when I remember the amusing anecdote of my friend’s scatty parents turning up late to see it. Seeing Bill Paxton and some old lady titting about in the modern day and going back out to complain they’d been sold a ticket to the wrong movie.
Richard Brooks directs Diane Keaton, Tuesday Weld and Richard Gere in this sex drama where a repressed school teacher begins cruising bars for casual sex and drugs.
Doesn’t hold up as a feminist film anymore… and Lord only knows what the gay and black communities make of it? Still quite shocking but tonally all over the shop. Keaton’s performance is too quirky, Brooks direction too heavy handed. The ending is so bleak and doesn’t feel earned by the rest of the movie… almost like we have skipped a reel. Not a fun night in.
Robert Benton directs Paul Newman, Susan Sarandon and Gene Hackman in this neo-noir where a retired detective gets embroiled in one last case thanks to his rich and untrustworthy friends.
The one that starts off with Reese Witherspoon in a swimsuit. The one that only a minute later has Reese Witherspoon not in a swimsuit… at all. The one where all the characters seem to think Paul Newman has had his dick shot off. Sounds strange, doesn’t it, but this is very enjoyable. A stacked cast (James Garner, Stockard Channing, Liev Schreiber) helps, as does some excellent LA location work. An underrated gem.
Steve Barron directs Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin and Michelle Burke in this sci-fi comedy based on an SNL skit where shipwrecked aliens with cone shaped head assimilate into the American way of life.
Dublin’s Steve Barron is an interesting character. He directed some of the most iconic music videos of the Eighties – with a real penchant for SFX. And then his feature film career stalls with projects that maybe weren’t worth the effort he no doubt always put into them. Take On Me’s animated promo will stand the test of time. Electric Dreams, the first Turtles movie and this probably won’t. You can see the intention and ambition here – it could easily be the Ghostbusters of science-fiction – but the laughs just aren’t there. Most five minute Saturday Night Live sketches go on for four minutes too long. 90 minutes of this… yeucch… Yet, if you accept you’ll rarely laugh, there’s a competent movie sitting in the ex-rental bin of your long closed Blockbuster. The alien vocabulary suits Aykroyd’s deadpan, mad thesaurus reciting schtick. The support cast is a who’s who of Nineties TV comedy faces. The plot has quite a few honest things to say about the American immigrant experience in the latter 20th century. The space-set finale is actually very impressive – with a stop motion Phil Tippet monster and a well realised planet. Can you ignore the lack of workable jokes? Can I give this the same score as Tarkovsky’s Mirror?
Andrei Tarkovsky directs Margarita Terekhova, Natalya Anatoliy and Ignat Daniltsev in this Soviet arthouse movie where a man – much like Tarkovsky – remembers his life in fragments, discombobulated and populated by the same faces.
Cinema as poetry… but I don’t really read poetry. Undeniably beautiful and haunting at times but too much like hard work for me. Doesn’t deliver anything I enjoy in film except a very beautiful Russian lady.
David Hollander directs Liev Schreiber, Jon Voight and Kerry Condon in this epilogue movie to ‘the Hollywood fixer with a criminal family’ Showtime TV series.
We watched all 7 seasons of Ray Donovan over lockdown. It is fair to say that when a major character died, and the whole cast left Los Angeles, things went off the boil. This refocuses on Ray and Mickey – their much hinted at but never fully defined backstory. So some loose ends are tied off. It is mainly Ray Donovan sitting in his car, grumpy, while beloved members of the cast (Eddie Marsan, Dash Mihok, Kerris Dorsey) are given table scraps and after thoughts. Dull.
Bernardo Bertolucci directs Jean-Louis Trintignant, Stefania Sandrelli and Gastone Moschin in this Italian classic about a mediocre man who decides to kill his old professor to rise into the ranks of the fascist government.
Indelible dreamlike shots house mundane interactions, this is the banality of evil. Quite erotic at times (yay!) and with bravura sequences. I am not sure I’m smart enough to fully understand every coded symbol and plot nuance but I always feel like I’ve watched a fucking movie after I’ve put this on. Will probably try to rewatch sooner rather than later. I want to get my head around it all.
Luca Guadagnino directs Taylor Russell, Timothée Chalamet and Mark Rylance in this cannibal romance road movie.
Going to come clean. I had no idea this was about compulsive cannibals so the first bite came as a genuine shock to me. There are another three superbly handled moments of terror, especially during a near wordless cameo from an arthouse fave of mine. Guadagnino has never really clicked for me as an auteur but this is markedly my favourite of his so far. It has issues: I still don’t get the Chalamet thing (cinema was packed with student girls) so his presence hobbled what would have been a nice gory spin on Wild At Heart. And it goes on far too long. But the brooding, untrustworthy atmosphere of it all was certainly compelling for a fair spell. Hopefully finds a cult following. Stuhlbarg out creeps Rylance but it is a close call. Armie Hammer would love this.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 