Sofia Coppola directs Kirsten Dunst, Nicole Kidman and Elle Fanning in this remake of the Seventies gem about an injured civil war soldier who finds himself the rooster in the henhouse at Southern girls’ school. 

Woozily beautiful, full of creamy prints and faded pastel coloured fabrics. The female performances are uniformly superb but it is Farrell who somewhat surprisingly stands out. As he tries to seduce, befriend, ingratiate himself with the ensemble through inscrutable charm he resembles almost uncannily an old 40s noir femme fatale. Farrell is a stubble strewn Gilda or Phyllis Dietrichson using whatever wiles she can, to twist the more powerful around her finger, whether it be by desire or sympathy – the gender and period are all that are inverted. Whether his manipulations are wholly intentional or his downfall deserved is deliciously left up to us to decide. You do cringe with amusement at his hubris of trying to play quite such a brittle yet cohesive unit off against each other. In all honesty (and it has been decades since I last saw it), I still preferred the Clint / Siegel original and I don’t think this deviates enough to truly justify its existence. But it is a good tale well told, which at least recalibrates to Coppola aesthetic concerns perfectly. The pot simmers nicely and prettily again to an old easy recipe.

7

Bruce D. Clark directs Erin Moran, Robert Englund and Sid Haig in this cheapo existential Alien rip-off. 

Diverting due to the interesting cult cast (Grace Zabriskie is also in there as an on the edge pilot) and the fact that the shoestring production design was the work of James Cameron… and therefore looks really rather fantastic considering. There are other distractions too; a woman gets raped by a maggot monster, there is quite a believable wider universe hinted at around all the gore and baubles, the ending belongs to an even more ambitious project. All in all, it still is a cheap video nasty cash-in, but one where a bit of accidental creativity bubbles to the top like a foamy by product every ten minutes or so.

4

Mike Nichols directs Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft and Katharine Ross in this comedy drama about a young man who starts a toyboy affair with one of his parents’ friends.

“Hello Darkness, my old friend…” Probably one of the first movies made before I was born that I discovered and got passionate about (not including ‘juvenile’ stuff like Bond, westerns, Laurel & Hardy, Ray Harryhausen), The Graduate is achingly funny and beautiful. What struck me this particular viewing is how deft a portrait of undiagnosed depression it is. Hoffman’s Benjamin Braddock doesn’t want to go out, doesn’t want to engage, doesn’t want to make choices. He can’t see the point in it all – his darkened childhood room or the bottom of his pool or the black lilo or a beer can are the only comfortable places to find respite from the world, not that he is any happier there but at least he is not bullied into bad decisions that may define his future. And he makes a terrible decision instead, to start a loveless affair with a middle aged neighbour. Anne Bancroft is amazing in this. Brittle, beautiful – she can destroy her young prey with a dismissive flick of her fag or a withering rub of the fabric of her clothes. That opening salvo where she completely dominates Braddock is indeed home to the famous quote “Mrs. Robinson – you are trying to seduce me …. Aren’t you?”… But there’s an even slyer line in this masterful sequence. As she opens her legs provocatively, cackling at a flustered Ben, he comes out with a wonderful gawky Hoffman reading of “…now you start opening up your… personal life… to me and tell me your husband won’t be home for hours.” That opening bullying setpiece is oh so intense, so much so that the movie has to completely restart after it. We fade to black and are reintroduced to Ben a second time, this time a shell of a man in scuba gear. There are so many masterful moments in this wonderful movie; the astounding series of jump cuts as Ben goes through the motions of meaningless sex and summer ennui, his horrific forced date with Elaine, the cripplingly funny scene where he tells his parents of his new intention to marry the girl who hates his guts, and the exhausting race back and forth across state to disrupt a wedding. Let us not forget just how disruptive that gets, absolute glorious chaos. The parents’ snarling faces… Elaine spitting that it is ‘not to late for her’ at her bitter, jaded mother… the look of uncertainty on both kids’ faces as they make their escape on a school bus, pretty Katharine Ross’ shellshocked gormlessness is a particular treat. The only jarring note in the utterly gripping second half is how little of Mrs Robinson we now get. The complex, superior but human creation that conquers Ben is reduced to a nasty evil Disney queen in just two brief scenes. I watched The Graduate at the cinema for the first time this week. It was glorious to experience the laughter of others at the killer lines and the emotionally apt soundtrack by Simon and Garfunkel driving the communal experience like an engine. I wrestled between this and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off as my Film of the Week. It was a hard choice but they actually compliment each other very, very well. Although this was made 18 years earlier, it could easily be a bleak sequel to John Hughes’ optimistic classic. They share the same keen observance of youthful concerns, the whipsmart lines of dialogue, generational struggles and engrossing mad dash finales. Benjamin Braddock could easily be a post-college Ferris. A boy who was master of all he surveyed at high school now frightened and repulsed by any pathway being forced onto him. A persuasive and relentless grifter to get what he wants who suddenly finds himself desperately adrift in an adult world he shares no values with. The Graduate is Ferris Bueller’s last hurrah before settling down to spreadsheets and golf club memberships. At least Benjamin got a car off his parents.

10

 

Lau Kar-leung and Jackie Chan direct themselves and Anita Mui in the bigger budget legacy sequel to the film that broke Jackie to the world. 

Really daft but incomprehensible at times. Like much of Jackie’s Hong Kong output the slapstick excess of the fights, bone breaking commitment to stunt work and his own eternal youthful charm make this far better than it ever really should be.

7

 

 

Jon Watts directs Tom Holland, Michael Keaton and Jacob Batalon in this friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man teen comedy actioner. 

The first tentpole of the summer to exceed expectations and the Spider-Man movie to feel like the comics I read as a kid Spider-Man movie. Yoinks! Absolute fun whether revelling in the awkward fumbling of high school relationships or the awkward fumbling of being superhero trying to run when you haven’t quite figured out how to crawl. Spidey is at his best when he is just helping out and cracking wise in Queens. The bigger set pieces are colourful rumbles but not quite as engaging. The wise move to introduce his sweet superhero obsessed best pal Ganke from the Miles Morales comics (he is called “Ned” but it is unmistakably Ganke) is a master stroke in both comedy, storytelling and making it all human. He’d be the highlight of this incarnation… if it wasn’t for Keaton’s brilliant intimidating villian turn. People often write the Vulture off as a third string baddie but I remember him vividly from my youth. The crazed old guy swooping down at Peter Parker. Keaton’s eyes full of menace, his hair wild and his craggy face determined… that manic, seductive rhythm of his voice, full of intelligence. “You wanna get nuts?! C’mon let’s get nuts!” A battle of the generations, leading to one of tensest face-offs in comic book flick history. You get goosebumps at his and Spidey’s most intimate scene. He joins Ledger and his own old adversary Jack Nicholson in the pantheon of great superhero bad eggs. Why? Because it is both a committed performance and feels like a genuine threat to our hero rather than a plot requirement. And as such, he raises this genre flick up on a par with the best too. More from everyone, please.

8

 

Ang Lee directs Christina Ricci, Joan Allen and Kevin Kline in this 70s set ensemble piece about suburban malaise during a cold snap.  

There was a time when everything Christina Ricci appeared in was golden. She was the precocious watermark for quality, adult dramas, written with wit and cutting emotions. This was the best, and her best performance, surrounded by excellent actors of all generations. As the kids explore sex and rebellion but just need affection and integrity, the adults keep them locked out of their own experimentation with key parties and shoplifting. The results are brutal. As a showcase for considered screenwriting, imagery and performances this is one of the forgotten greats of 90s cinema. Only Tobey Maguire’s New Year’s Eve in New York subplot feels pedestrian, all other threads explore the unexpected. Interestingly, set the same year Don’t Look Now was made, this homages a key image and theme expertly from that favourite.

9

Peter Jackson directs himself, Terry Potter and Doug Wren in this no budget sci-fi horror about aliens who take over a small New Zealand coastal town and turn the population into fast food. 

Inventive bonkers. Clearly made over 200 weekends with whatever DIY special effect they had worked on during the school nights, this has a keen eye for action and self aware gross abandon which overcomes the cheapo origins. Would you guess one of the most financially successful auteurs ever was taking his first movie making steps here as brains spill out, vomit is eaten tapas style and aliens butts burst out their suit pants? Yep, you really do. There’s never a boring shot, nor a set piece that doesn’t use its shitiness as a strength.

7

John Hughes directs Matthew Broderick, Alan Ruck and Jeffrey Jones in this 80s teen comedy fantasy about a wordly wise teen who orchestrates the most epic school bunk ever. 

One of those cherished movies I’m way too close to to in any way assess properly. This film is like a summer holiday girlfriend – the nostalgia, the soundtrack, the energy and the intense proximity make it impossible to be critical of. Broderick’s direct to camera talking, master of the universe is a key symbol to the slacker generation. He could excel at school, (and does by all accounts), but is more interested in enjoying life and maxing out relationships. Ruck’s unique Cameron Frye is even more relatable – the nice kid already feeling caged in by his depressing present and his optionless future. His moment of self determination at the wrap up is a superb piece of acting, unlike anything seen in a glossy teen romp. We don’t need to witness the confrontation with his father to know it is a life defining point of victory. Jennifer Grey is excellent as the sister, frustrated that everyone else is seduced by Ferris’ shit. Like Ruck, she’s a rarity in this genre; a female character with an agenda outside of dates and makeovers. Anger personified deliciously. And we get a brilliantly inept adult villian in Jeffrey Jones’ Principal Rooney. Grown Ups suck. There are beautiful moments – the entry into Chicago by Ferrari, a kiss in front of some modern art, Grey’s awkward loved up exit from the police station, the final mad dash home. There are killer lines (“Cameron’s so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in 2 weeks it would turn into a diamond.”). And there is the coolest soundtrack never collected as an actual LP… Dream Academy, The Beat, Yello, The Beatles. Perfection!

10

Kevin Smith directs Jason Lee, Jeremy London and Jason Mewes in this scatalogical day in the life farce following the slackers that populate a New Jersey shopping mall. 

Straight to video when released in the U.K. yet I’d struggle to find anyone of my generation who hasn’t seen it, this was a poster on my wall as a teenager. Nowhere near as thoughtful or genuine as Smith’s no budget debut Clerks but pleasingly broader and more colourful, Mallrats hits many of the same geeky (Stan Lee, the cast being named after Jaws characters, Jedi Mind Tricks) and foul mouthed buttons (“You’re gonna listen to me? To something I said? Jesus, man, haven’t I made it abundantly clear during the tenure of our friendship that I don’t know shit? I mean, half the time I’m just talking out of my ass, or sticking my hand in it.”) with the indulgent abandon of someone who is making a movie with Universal’s money rather than personal credit card debt. Like Desperado or Pulp Fiction or Dazed and Confused, a Sundance lauded director clearly had a load of budget and freedom thrown at them with the instruction “Do the same thing as you just did with $50 and a camcorder, but more… mass market.”  It is a looser film, the dialogue energetic even when punchlineless and the more physical stuff is knowingly awkward rather than impressive. John Hughes and John Landis are name checked in the credits but you could equally bung in Porky’s or Police Academy. For every sensitive piece of verbose emoting and spot on soundtrack choices, there are a pair of crowbarred in breasts (“What can I say? I love tits.”), for all the longing the boy’s have to “woo” their exes back, their exes are paperthin dolls who bend which ever way the wind of the plot blows them. All the girls are painted as happy to move onto the next dick within hours, whereas the boys are left in a yearning funk. Is this progressive? Sexist? I don’t know, it is hard not to see the actresses as mere prizes to be re-won or stereotypical sluts. The boys standout with the best lines and most compelling performances. And that’s what makes Mallrats an unsung great among 90s studio comedies; three brilliant central turns. Ben Affleck’s fashion shop villian is a cruel bully – boo-hiss perfect. Jason Mewes reprises his Clerks’ Jay and it is glorious. His introduction banging on the pet store glass at some kittens is perfect, as are his new weird baby talk catchphrases “Snootchie-bootchies.” But Jason Lee, in his first starring role, takes aim at the inherently unlikeable character of Brodie and just runs full pelt at it. No matter what offensive nonsense he is left to spout he imbues it with enthusiasm and heart, he also knows how to softly undersell the smarter lines so they stand out. I had a jacket like his at his age, and his defensive loud bluster. I’m not sure how loved this throwaway film is outside my own thin demographic but for us, the few, it is our It Happened One Night, a generation’s American Graffiti. Flaws and all. And the running gag about Magic Eye picture is a true thing of beauty.

9

 

Trey Edward Shults directs Joel Edgerton, Kelvin Harrison Jr. and Riley Keough in this post apocalyptic thriller where a survivalist family let strangers into their fortified house. 

More a drama in the clothing of a horror flick, this is a convincing and taut journey. Gruff performances and well rationed shock images keep you on your toes but the economic, untrustworthy interactions are where the movie comes alive. Shults twists you around and around and around his finger, breaks your heart and then still looks you right in the eye before he leaves us. Efficient as fuck if not exactly a song and dance man crowd pleaser. We have a new name to keep tabs on. This would make a good double bill with Get Out.

7