James L. Brooks directs Shirley MacLaine, Debra Winger and Jack Nicholson in this razor sharp weepie about a domineering mother and her quirky daughter’s long distance relationship when the latter gets married and leaves the state. 

I know Jack Nicholson’s boorish retired astronaut should be secondary to the powerhouse female leads but I enjoyed all his trademark bad behaviour more than the loosely defined mother-daughter dynamic. Not an unworthwhile Oscar whore. It has wit, edge and uncertainty but unless you want a good, manipulative cry then Jack is only reason to come back for seconds.

6

 

Cory Finley directs Olivia Cooke, Anya Taylor-Joy and Anton Yelchin in this teen thriller about two emotionally closed off rich girls who plot to kill an irksome stepfather. 

Heathers meets Kubrick but never proving itself as good as that combination really should be. It is just too cold, too lacking in energy to raise the pulse. Both girls are fine but only Anton Yelchin, in his last jittery, scrawny role, impresses. The poor dupe that the spoilt and privileged lean upon to do their dirty work. The discordant score also stands out. As the camera dispassionately stalks beautiful girls and luxurious decor, the wail and antagonistic beats of aleatoric music suggest far more depth and turmoil than the script or imagery or deadpan leads ever can.

5

 

 

 

Andy Nyman and Jeremy Dyson directs Nyman, Paul Whitehouse and Alex Lawther in this horror anthology based on the hit West End show, where a professional skeptic delves into some unsolved hauntings. 

As an acting showcase this spooky portmanteau is absolutely marvellous, particularly the new-to-me Alex Lawther. As a horror it is better at building up a stifling air of dread, but lacks the startling jumps and shocks of the superlative stage show. That was an utterly immersive experience, and a hymn to the art of storytelling, this self-adaptation by the creators will have to settle for being a classy if slightly stunted revival of British anthology horror. Stuff like Amicus or the BBC Christmas specials are affectionately evoked throughout. You wait for all that unease to translate into a cumulative visual thrash-out that wounds you, but that A-grade shock I craved never materialised on screen. A bird carcass disappears in a basement. A white furred daemon quivers on the roof of our car. What does that baby look like? Standard tricks, deployed with grim diligence.

7

John Cassavetes directs Ben Gazzara, Seymour Cassel and Azizi Johari in this character study of a strip club owner who finds himself in deep with the mob. 

A very stretched out, strung out mood piece. Whenever it is just Gazzara interacting with the sleazy populace of his self-made hell, it is captivating. When we see the overly serious strip skits play out ad nauseum, it is deathly. The overarching message seems to be to create even low art means compromising yourself with commerce. Gazzara’s doomed gambler is the auteur (he is even praised by an ignacious gangster as putting every aspect of the show together) while the mob (Hollywood, investors or the audience?) wants him to add violence and their own directions to his life and work. We share the charming Gazzara’s hellish descent, away from community based good time to red lit deadly trap, once they have their hooks in him. Shame the journey is so loose and ragged. Saint Jack does all this better.

5

Robert Benton directs Dustin Hoffman, Justin Henry and Meryl Streep in this relationship drama about a career focussed husband forced to care for his son alone when his wife leaves them. 

I’m a big fan of Dustin Hoffman. More often than not he plays characters so intensely revulsed by everyday modern life that he can barely keep his sanity as he clings to the far edges of existence. So watching him dominate the screen as a relatively normal, growing, if frazzled, person is a rare gift. His is a grand performance, emphasised by the last few scenes, symmetrical to the first act where we get to see how much he has adapted to being an engaged father. Enforced as that development maybe. Sadly the narrative is a loaded dice, demonising Streep’s runaway mommy as selfish until the last and keeping her off screen for a ridiculous, unbalanced swathe of the running time. It really should be called Kramer Vs Absence. The resulting film, acting showcase aside, becomes quite miserable. The stakes only read as tangible in a gripping sequence where Hoffman’s beleaguered ad man has to find a new job in 24 hours before Madison Avenue shutters up for Christmas.

4

 

 

Frank Capra directs James Stewart, Jean Arthur and Claude Rains in this satirical comedy about a naive everyman who finds himself embroiled in senatorial corruption. 

An illustration of white collar duplicity, showing the mechanics of a political machine oiled with greed and lust for advancement with a rat-a-tat wit. Then throwing in good ole Jimmy Stewart, in a star making turn, as the honest wrench that chews up the cogs but almost gets ground up within them. When the villainous capitalists try to break him, they swing at him hard, harsher than we are used to in our less pointed comedies these days. This almost unpalatable mix of sweet and saltiness is trademark Capra – idealist hero framed with hardboiled snarky patter, chubby faced kids surrounding and hounding a man driven to breakdown by the very America the movie celebrates. So wise and constant is the back and forth, so as to give us no quarter of doubt to the modern fairytale’s wish fufilment. There is no room for you disagree with Capra’s worldview. It races along breathlessly then literally ends the moment the filibuster proves successful, the THE END card appears just as the gallery crowds get to their feet to cheer. There is no inch for you to question the happy ending, one that only minutes before looked so bleak and unobtainable. Stewart is delightfully gauche, Arthur thrillingly smart, and Harry Carey gets a million charming reaction shots. His face is a treasure, silently expressing a curious hope that the circus he witnesses unfolding in his Senate halls might end up on the side of the angels. A touch of class.

9

Simon Wincer directs Mickey Rourke, Don Johnson and Chelsea Field in this near-future biker buddy action flick, essentially Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid remade by idiots. 

It says something that this was always sitting on the shelf at both video rental places I frequented as a kid and not once did I ever bother to risk 99p on it. Made at the bitter end of both Eighties stars box office careers, it held zero appeal. Nowadays Johnson is a southern fried delight whenever he crops up in smaller roles and Rourke has had more comeback chances than John Travolta. Time will be kinder to their careers now they both have a couple of classics dotted around the 21st century resumes. This, however, is pap. Johnson even said while promoting it “If your a fan of mindless action. If you don’t have a single brain cell in your head, this is the film for you.” No doubt disgruntled at how rapidly his once hot trajectory was dipping. But it is, at least, a purposely bonehead film, self aware of its cheesiness and low ambitions. The first three action sequences come out of nowhere and serve no real narrative purpose. The baddie (a restrained Tom Sizemore) is a banker who dabbles in dealing a fantasy drug we never see anyone using. The T&A is bunged into the first act so gleefully that it is either there to distract us from the lack of chemistry between Rourke and Johnson… Or it was a contractual obligation to show at least six nipples and three buttcheeks and they wanted to get it done quick in case they forgot. The action is uninspired even when it does serve the dream-like plotting. But there are stepping stones of quirk and quality throughout. There’s a couple of nice running jokes that actually pay off in the finale “My old man told me, before he left this shitty world…”. Chelsea Field crops up as a disposable love interest and she’s great as always. There’s a pretty obvious unconsummated gay love affair between our leathers and Stetson wearing headliners, hidden in plain sight, especially during their loaded dialogue exchanges “I coulda had a family with Jenny Ann… but marriage is for those other guys, you know?” WE KNOW! Both waning stars might be running on empty together but they are never less than watchable even when discordant. And for fans of The Matrix this probably the first movie unofficially set in that world… henchmen in bullet proof black leather dusters, skyscrapers everywhere, Die Hard 5 already out on billboards… DIE HARD 5 ALREADY OUT!!… What hellish dystopia are these two closet butches frolicking around in?!

4

 

My Top Ten Buddy Movies

1.  The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)
2. Papillon (1973)
3. Toy Story (1995)
4. The Man Who Would Be King (1975)
5. Kill List (2011)
6. 48 Hrs (1982)

7. Lethal Weapon (1987)
8. Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)
9. The Last Boy Scout (1992)
10. Fight Club (1999)

Ron Howard directs Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and John Lennon in this documentary recreating the excitement around The Fab Four’s live performance career.

There’s no revelations here, just glimpses of nice footage. You get a couple of lines from their tour manager, a quote from a roadie, a shot of teenage Sigourney Weaver classily not screaming along with the crowd but enjoying herself anyway, a brutal moment of disappointment for half a stadium when Ringo turns his drums 180 degrees so as not to play in the round. And there is the beautiful moment where all four vote together and decide it will be in their contract not to play segregated venues. If you want The Beatles to make you rich, you have to sell tickets to everyone. Telling though that the strongest bit of footage is the guerilla last performance on the roof of EMI buildings. Why? We hold on it for enough time to appreciate just how brilliant The Beatles were rather than feel them rush past us in the crowd.

6

John Carpenter directs Keith Gordon, John Stockwell and Alexandra Paul in this horror about a possessed vengeful car and the transformation it inspires in its meek new owner. 

It is not gun-for-hire John Carpenter’s fault but you cannot make a car scary. It is an inanimate object. So it can drive itself…wooooooo! So it can trap people in it for Final Destination style accidents… oooooooohhhhh! Look it can repair itself… shiver! Carpenter gives it all a nice metallic sheen. It is a bright, glowing film. Far more interesting as the long winded, scare-free, foul mouthed teen movie of the first hour, then as a Fight Club style transformation story of its nerd lead into brute antagonist in its final forty minutes. The nicest thing you can say is that Christine is a faithful adaption of mid-period King, but if you want true motor madness from your 2 day VHS rental, then check out the relentless paranoia of Spielberg’s Duel or the throw enough shit against the wall cartoonishness of King’s own Maximum Overdrive.

4

Fred Zinnemann directs Audrey Hepburn, Peter Finch, and Edith Evans in this procedural following the indoctrination and the doubts of a medically gifted nun through the interwar years.

A lovely way to spend an Easter Bank Holiday, though epic in length and lacking even a hint of adult content, this proved a satisfying exploration into the external rituals, politics and interior struggles of a young nun. Like Whiplash or Breaking Away we are absorbed into a sub-culture we may not massively relate to but then see the effort and obstacles our heroine must face, and therefore find ourselves absorbed into this alien world. Hepburn puts in a strong turn, her beautiful face standing out among the anonymous rituals, her charisma conveying her resilience to a personality devouring regime. Zinneman’s tale isn’t a scathing attack on a devoted life, more an attempt to reproduce the resolve needed in nuns to be at peace with themselves, the world and their sacrifices. It is presented here as something that even the most determined and faithful would struggle with. The on location middle act in a Congo mission is unique, and Peter Finch gives a dynamic performance as the atheist surgeon who grows to respect his religious head nurse.

6