Michael Chaves directs Linda Cardellini, Raymond Cruz and Patricia Velasquez in this housebound horror where a single mother social worker uncovers a child killing curse.
For a spin-off PG-13 horror this has a strong visual sense and tries for dread rather than constant jumps. It just never is particularly scary. Cardinelli makes for a winning lead and rocks her seventies vintage wardrobe. Doesn’t hang around long enough to be bad.
The Big Red N has produced some iffy content. And bought up some dross that studios thought was pretty much unreleasable. Those films that appear on the algorithmed menu twice a week are often pap, difficult labours of love by auteurs or Adam Sandler flicks. Taking a punt on a Netflix Original is a lot like renting the last movie you haven’t seen in the video rental shops of old. About 500 are chaff, but there has been some wheat. Here are my favourites of the movies they funded or provided a platform for when no one else would.
Sergio Leone directs Charles Bronson, Henry Fonda and Claudia Cardinale in this epic spaghetti western where a widow needs to protect her land from mysterious forces as the new railroad approaches.
A journey so massive that Ennio Morricone does not produce just one brilliant score, he conjures 5! Who wouldn’t be seduced by dreamy Claudia Cardinale digging her heels in the scrabble and standing her ground as everyone fights around her? Morricone delivers an aria for her stubborn beauty. And then we have our man-of-the-match; the playful and wise and wistful bandit Cheyenne! Jason Robards gets a springy theme to match his wiley lethalness. We know eventually Harmonica and Frank are gonna face-off. Is there a deeper story in the mournful dirge they share? Vengeance bides its time then comes hard, crosses are doubled and then tripled! You are gonna have to be fast with those guns and patient with your draw as Leone masterfully moves all his icons into position. It is worth the wait, worth the long drawn-out moments of gorgeous inaction. Once Upon a Time in the West is one of the greatest films made, it makes waiting for death one the most beautiful cinema experiences ever.
Eric Stoltz directs Skyler Gisondo, Olivia Holt and Bruce Dern in this sweet romantic teen comedy where an ambitious female student tries to get an overly dedicated nerd classmate to be elected to the adult board of education.
Here’s a film just happy being what it is. You can see echoes of Rushmore but it has none of Wes Anderson’s artier pretentiousness. The core of Election but without the vicious satirical bite that Payne marinates his universe in. The adolescent seductiveness of Some Kind of Wonderful but lacking Hughes’ need to make the kids maturer or hornier than the adults. This stays colourful, cute, innocent and charming as it tells its tale. It helps that Holt and Gisondo are hugely adorable presences that you just want to see the movie do its simple, unfussy cycle and let them end up together once all pre-ordained obstacles are leapt. Gisondo was a stand-out in Santa Clarita Diet. This was clearly filmed before but now he has hit adulthood he really deserves a few shots at leading some more comedies. The below score is generous but reflects how easily the movie won me over and made my night.
Sidney Lumet directs Paul Newman, Charlotte Rampling and Jack Ward in this courtroom drama where a loser lawyer decides to fight a case in court that everyone else wants to settle quietly.
Hubris and charm and the stink of blended whiskey. The Verdict is set in the world of old men I can always see myself growing into. White haired, sparkled eyed, nice cheap suits and all the skills and knowledge to takeover the world if they could get away from the pub and the glass. Hell, I might already be there. This is a great courtroom thriller- perfectly cast, adapted from an airport novel by David Mamet and featuring fine work by Paul Newman. It is always pleasing when a well established movie star stops being cool and starts acting their age on screen. Newman transitioned from hopeful to wisened with absolute wintery grace here. In all honesty, I prefer him aged.
Sam Peckinpah directs Warren Oates, Isela Vega and Robert Webber in this neo-western thriller where a south-of-the-the-border bar musician sees his chance to make some “new life” money when the cartel want a man he knows’ head.
I’d say BMTHOAG would be one of my favourite movies if it wasn’t so fucking bleak. Amazing rude yet sensitive performances from personal favourite Warren Oates. Unexpected twists and turns in a simple enough tale… there is one expertly executed shock in a graveyard that spins the entire universe out of control. Shoot outs that are wild and random and violent and merciless. But I can only watch it once a decade comfortably. It is way too languid and misanthropic and misogynistic and dirty to enjoy overly frequently. At first it is seedy fun watching an anti-hero as ethically broken as Oates’ Bennie. We chuckle as we see him pour tequila on his crabs the morning after a romantic tryst or try to continue making small talk behind his shades after two queer bagmen suits beat one of his bar whores for no transgression at all. We slowly realise how pathetic he is. He is his lover’s second choice, a mere side piece compared to the titular and prolific Alfredo Garcia. He loves Elita and the resigned sadness in his face as they talk about the future, marriage and the chance this score could give them is heartbreaking. He is powerless in a random attack from passing bikers and that frustration of obsolescence is so casually processed you want to hate him for not being the movie man-of-action we deserve. And then after an hour of diversions and hanging out, the rampage to deliver the head of Garcia begins. Bullets fly, flies infest, mania takes over. Whether you drive the road to oblivion fast or slow, with purpose or pig headed determination there is only one fatal outcome. If you are going to take that road you need a lead actor as crumpled and sleazy and complex and middle aged, penniless cool as Oates to be your wheelman. I fucking love him in movies and this is probably his finest hour.
John Waters directs Divine, Tab Hunter and Edith Massey in this spoof of a suburban melodrama where a Baltimore housewife’s life falls apart when her husband leaves her, her daughter gets knocked up and her son is caught stomping on ladies’ feet.
Not as sick as Pink Flamingos and at least a million bucks slicker. This would sit comfortably in a double bill with any Farrelly Brothers film. All the performances are pleasingly broad and Edith Massey is so hilariously awful at acting that her unbridled enthusiasm is part of the charm. Was originally screened in Odor-A-Rama but just as fun without a scratch and sniff card and a little imagination.
László Nemes directs Juli Jakab, Evelin Dobos and Vlad Ivanov in this Hungarian historical mystery where an orphaned milliner returns to her family’s business unwelcomed during the build up towards The Great War.
Turns out I forgot to blog about Nemes breakout film, Son of Saul, when I watched it. That film followed a concentration camp slave trying to give his dead son a kosher burial. We followed his desperate attempts to survive and complete his humane goal almost in the first person, either looking directly over his shoulder or staying on his broken face. This follow-up keeps that style. It makes for an immersive experience – almost like playing a photorealistic XBox game or watching a period accurate remake of the It’s Always a Sunny in Philadelphia episode Charlie Work. Here I’d say the grandstanding technique is more powerful and effective. We have a mystery to solve, mob violence can erupt from nowhere and the production design is convincing if frantically half glimpsed. With Son of Saul the roving camera always felt like it was teasing you with the terror just out of shot and preaching at you that the mass extermination of a people is very, very, very bad. Here there’s a riveting plot to untangle, full of kinky twists and ominous scenarios, and a host of more complex characters to meet and judge. Nobody gets away clean.
Karel Reisz directs James Caan, Paul Sorvino and Lauren Hutton in this Dostoevskian crime drama where a college professor pushes himself deeper into debt with the mob bookies.
I watched this a lot as a teen. I had it taped off TV and therefore easily watched it more than The Godfather. Caan is a force of nature here. Pacing the New York locations, hairy chest exposed, not taking any shit. A man seeks oblivion. The bets and risks are just him trying impose his will on reality. Doomed reality. You can’t fuck facts, facts fuck you. The strange Harlem epilogue (which has dated awfully due to the extreme Seventies stereotypes that populate it) is in keeping with the theme of the piece if not the classy, intelligent, gritty production values. Brilliant camera work by Victor J Kemper, he did Dog Day Afternoon and then pretty much any lightweight comedy you care to think of. James Toback’s script is smart, erudite and combative. The support cast is studded with great urban character actors. Lauren Hutton has a nicely complex role as the romantic interest… here more to be rejected rather than to add a layer of domestic comfort. I’d say this is the most nihilistic film I’ve seen but then we also watched Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia this week too. I’d say it is a perfect film but that ending isn’t just ambiguous or distasteful… it is almost too bludgeoning to close a film that has been so preternaturally measured and engaging. Would make a great, if intense, double bill with Uncut Gems.
Kim Nguyen directs Jesse Eisenberg, Alexander Skarsgård and Salma Hayek in this techno-thriller where two IT nerds try to out manoeuvre their former boss by creating a cable that will get them stock exchange information valuable milliseconds quicker.
Diverting… All the elements are here for a far better movie. It could be a decent double bill with The Social Network but isn’t in the same weight division. Sorkin and Fincher understood that the real drama wasn’t in the battles for the IP, profits or bragging rights. It was watching terrible human beings have the mirror held up to themselves in the chase for legacy and billions. Here they populate a quirky thriller that never really gets going. The lead characters are too grey and unrelatable to root for – we have seen Eisenberg do this exact role far more compellingly in previous similar films. Imagine what either side of the coin would have done with this fertile material in the Eighties. Sheen or Cruise would have made you hope the desperate little guys became heroes. Spader or Lowe would have had you rooting for the slimy disrupters. Maybe this film would have been smarter shifting the focus to Hayek’s good value flamboyant ballbreaker. Instead of making her the big bad, we could have revelled in her protecting her empire and looking fabulous over the two autistic upstarts. Whatever the solution to improve this is tonally off, frustrating as a decent hook is definitely present.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 