Ron Howard directs Tom Hanks, Daryl Hannah and John Candy in this romantic comedy about a man who falls for a mermaid who only has a week on land to hit Manhattan and spend time with her curly haired beau. 

A 1984 doubler. Two brilliant New York location movies in a row. Two Daryl Hannah movies in a row. In Pope of Greenwich Village she is literally background soft furnishings / a “beard” but in Splash she gets centre stage. And she absolutely rocks it. Ethereal and convincing. I just googled the origins of the phrase ‘fish out of water’ hoping Splash would be the birth date and it turns out it was actually coined for the film Crocodile Dundee three years later… Not really, it is in Chaucer allegedly, but wouldn’t it be fantastic if ‘fish out of water’ did spring out the 1980s genre that profited from it. Why don’t we get ‘fish out of water’ movies anymore? Probably wouldn’t be PC. Blooming progressive, polite, sympathetic society. I don’t know. Lost genre. Bring it back. I want to see a North Korean housewife hit Disneyland. Or a tough Maryland homicide detective solve a crime on a Bollywood set. Does Splash work? Moment by moment it is syrupy and funny. But bizarrely Tom Hanks gets neutered by a role defined by plot machinations. He goes from loveable foil to out and out prick once Hannah’s aquatic secret is revealed. It is all to create unnecessary obstacles for the big resolutions to feel like a victory. But it takes the magic out of the modern fairytale, and sucks the chemistry out of Hanks inherent charm. A shame as in the first hour, Splash is a sweet treat.

6

Stuart Rosenberg directs Mickey Rourke, Eric Roberts and Daryl Hannah in this crime drama about two low rent NY criminals trying to survive an incompetent mid-level score.

Mean Streets remade as a coded camp cabaret show. So histrionic, so closeted flaming gay, so easily distracted with side-plot scrapes that this really should be awful. It isn’t – it often is fantastic in just how hard everyone is trying to be authentic, to be the next Brando or Pacino. Sure, most of it is men shouting poetic street slang at each other in suits (baggy) and leisurewear (tight) when really they should be unbuttoning each other’s flies. Just fuck already. It makes it all the more fun, the heist and mob drama are a mere nail in the wall to hang it all off of. Probably Rourke’s best youthful turn and easily Roberts most…. err… distinctive.

8

 

Francis Ford Coppola directs Michael Jackson, Angelica Huston and Tony Cox in this sci-fi adventure music video meant to accompany a Disneyland attraction. 

The cunt in me could spend more words than minutes of runtime describing all the rubbish rubbish that happens in this short very, very expensive movie. But I shan’t. Talent involved aside, it is just juvenile lowest common denominator bobbins centered around a rockstar who, when he acts, is a charisma vacuum. And this is written from someone who listened to his LP of Thriller this very morning, owned the brilliant DVD of MJs music videos and completed Moonwalker on the Sega Megadrive as a boy. The sad fact is every trip to Disney in Paris I have been on, this ride has been closed and now it’s being replaced by an Ant-Man ride. So curious, I bit the bullet and watched it out of context. I mean I tried to wobble about on my seat for the first scene but eventually gave up. It is just shite. Easily the worst thing George Lucas has written, Michael has danced in and FFC has shat his talent away on. I cannot say anything constructive.

1

Basil Dearden directs Dirk Bogarde, Sylvia Syms and Dennis Price in this groundbreaking drama about closeted gays being blackmailed. 

An involving and stark thriller that not only paints the underground homosexual scene of London surprisingly sympathetically but also quite believably. Nearly all the men caught in the blackmailer’s trap are multidimensional humans rather than camp facsimiles. Dearden’s visual direction often frames them between scaffolding bars, railings or in locked away rooms – you feel the unfortunate claustrophobia of their lives in this era. Sure it has dated, times have moved on, but it proves an utterly enthralling whodunnit beyond its brave social message.

8

John Michael McDonagh directs Alexander Skarsgård, Michael Peña and Tessa Thompson in this meta buddy cop comedy about two bad badges who are almost wilfully corrupt. 

A perfectly passable bit of pop nihilism. But it is not a patch on McDonagh’s The Guard or Calvary. In fact, there’s not nearly enough laughs or transgressions to cover up just how unlikeable everyone is or how purposely trite it becomes. Still the costume designer puts in a full shift, as the suits and outfits are impeccable.

6

Hideo Nakata directs Nanako Matsushima, Hiroyuki Sanada and Rikiya Ōtaka in this horror mystery about a cursed Japanese videotape that gives you one week to live after watching it. 

Nothing in cinema has ever matched the final horror setpiece of Ringu for getting a physical response out of me. As the demonic Sadako finally emerged (and you know how, it is iconic… but I’ll avoid spoilers) I literally tried to escape backwards into my seat. That was at the the ICA in 1999. Nowadays it is the weirdo detective mystery of trying to solve the supernatural impending death within a week that retains its grip rather than the shock imagery. Using a journalist’s resources yet a Lynchian interpretation of illogical dreams, incidence and imagery (his Sheriff department savants and FBI experts are making exactly the same leaps in their deductions on TV now) we slowly unravel the puzzle. Or do we? Who says there are even rules? The heroes survival we witness in a lean, taut and atmospheric 90 minutes are just a few inconclusive rounds of trial and error. The dead who eerily appear to point out solutions are proven early on to be untrustworthy. One tricks little Yoichi into watching it, for fucks sake. Can we trust that in the final (Terminator evoking) shot a cure for Sadako’s hex has really been found?

10

 

Sergio Leone directs Clint Eastwood, Gian Maria Volontè, Jose Calvo, Lee Van Cleef, Mario Brega, Klaus Kinski, Eli Wallach, Luigi Pistilli and Aldo Giuffrè in this sequence of Spaghetti Westerns where a mercenary drifter sets the world’s wrongs right through guile, bullets and amorality. 

When asked what my favourite movie is, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is my go to answer. Is it really though? Really? I’ve watched Trading Places, Die Hard and True Romance way, way more often – though TGTBATU is no less entertaining nor any less comfortingly familiar. If I were ever to make a movie I’d almost definitely rather mimic the fractured editing, and the decaying beauty, of British Seventies cinema like Don’t Look Now or Get Carter. And as much as I love the western genre, I actually am not all that au fait with any other Spaghetti Westerns beyond Leone’s – the few I’ve experimented with feel oafish and lacking his distinctive, patient elegance and eye for the iconic that this trilogy thrive on.

I guess what captivates me every time are four things.

1) Eli Wallach’s swirlingly volcanic central turn as Tuco Ramirez. The greatest, most unguarded piece of acting in cinema history. Hilarious too.

2) Clint is one of my favourite stars, The Man With No Name is his best role, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is the best film featuring that role (despite having to play second fiddle to the full orchestra that is Tuco).

3) Ennio Morricone. All his scores are amazing for Leone.

4) This is the first film where there is no real good guy (ignore the title, it should really be called The Bad, the Evil and the Rat) yet you root for them all… even vicious, cold, old Angel Eyes.

Crime, killers and corruption in cowboy hats… What is The Good, the Bad and the Ugly if not the tale of three hoods in period dress? Let’s ignore all the murders as obvious and pay special attention to Tuco and The Man With No Name’s hangman scam, or their impersonation of unionist soldiers, or even their mercenary act of good grace in blowing up that goddamn, lousy, stinking bridge. The Macguffin itself (a grave full of gold) is the ultimate symbol of the heist not having gone right from the start. Crime doesn’t pay, especially if you have to treat the booty like a corpse. Ignore the ponchos and clunky six shooters and you have a crime film with the skewed morality that didn’t truly permeate cinema proper until the likes of Dirty Harry, The Getaway or The Long Goodbye four years later.

From the drawn out set pieces – a mixture of tension and hysteria emphasised in Ennio Morricone’s howling, bonkers and unforgettable score – to the vistas of harsh torn up arid land, Leone wants you to know the only way to get on in this world is to get ugly. Clint is ostensibly the star, his “Blondie” picking up his gun, hat and ponchos that were his armour in the first two of the Dollars trilogy, making this a sequel and a prequel in the same breath. Yet it’s Eli Wallach’s completely unique take on Tuco who feels like our protagonist on further viewings; a pugnacious little survivor hustling and threatening and conniving his way through whatever this cartoon interpretation of civil war America has to bombard him with. He’s got goals you want him to achieve, whether they be greed or revenge, and the film explodes whenever he’s onscreen, flinting off of Eastwood and Van Cleef deadpan stone cold hunters. Revisionist yet entertaining, enthralling yet disgusting – this is the finest western, finest crime thriller and finest film ever made.

The trilogy as a whole is quality from top to toe – starting with A Fistful of Dollars as a simple remake of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo. Sure, the debut film is more indy barebones but Clint is at his most amoral yet heroic best. It is exciting watching a star being born. A great visual action director too. The focus altering use of foreground and unflinching long close ups are all here. A turbo of tough tension throughout.

For a Few Dollars More is only imperceptibly the weakest. The addition of a charming and well written role for Lee Van Cleef and a great dusty heist set piece make up for a slightly shaggy plot. Clint completely hits his stride here. Relaxed enough to hang back and let Van Cleef do the heavy lifting. While The Man With No Name is almost ethereal in his invincibility, the Colonel feels both paternal yet excitingly at risk. Their cool macho chemistry crackles even more than “Blondie” and Tuco’s.

9/9/10

 

Nora Ephron directs Tom Hanks, Meg Ryan and Bill Pullman in this romantic comedy about a journalist who falls for a widower after hearing him talk on the radio from the other side of America. 

An unashamedly perfect romance, maybe not as zingy as When Harry Met Sally… but still with plenty of quotable exchanges among the intentionally thick and effective schmaltz. This is all fantasy, about falling in love rather than being in a relationship. And how ‘magical’ that feels. As we take in various picture perfect holidays and various touched up iconic landmarks, Ephron basically walk us on a grand tour of warm feelings. Why do I rate this quite so highly? It is endlessly rewatchable, feeling both old fashioned and smart, sincere yet knowing throughout. Hanks is the lynchpin. This was the period where he moved from likeable comedy star to Oscar winning global favourite. It is his most overlooked performance, rivalling Captain Phillips as his best. He sells the loving father struggling to come to terms with the loss of his wife subtly but convincingly. I noticed on this viewing how dark his house is during the first two acts. It is lit like a horror movie set. We, the viewer, are in his depression. But as he moves on, things literally lighten up. The success of the movie is not that he lets his grief define him or Ryan’s Annie (perfect in a stalkery kinda way) settles, but that they both reach a point where they take a risk again. That’s what falling in love is, putting yourself out there and vulnerable and hoping the other person takes your hand. Watch it with An Affair to Remember and melt into its ample charms.

10

 

Martin Provost directs Catherine Frot, Catherine Deneuve and Olivier Gourmet in this subtle comedy about an uptight middle aged woman who reconnects with her late father’s frivolous mistress. 

Not really my kind of thing but I actually enjoyed it. Frot and Deneuve had good platonic chemistry, the romance with Gourmet’s relaxed truck driver was sweetly convincing and, most of all, it made me want an allotment. Visually Provost strikes at some rich poetic gold from gloopy births at the start, to heavily hinted at deaths at the end, and a slide show in-between that is interrupted by a doppelgänger who brings all the mooted concerns about ageing into a neat narrative nexus point.

5

 

David Cronenberg directs Julianne Moore, Mia Wasikowska and John Cusack in this jaded Hollywood satire. 

Too cold to be funny and too classy to be shocking (but it tries) this trundles along pleasantly. I’m not sure that’s what Cronenberg was aiming for though. Wasikowska is endearing and hard working as always, while Sarah Gadon impresses in a small role as a biliously critical ghost.

5