Jean Vigo directs the residents of Nice in France for this documentary montage of life in the seaside town.
Perfect length for what it is. Some neat surreal moments and sexualised shots. The carefree partying is brought into judgmental juxtaposition with the industrial work that goes on away from the riviera.
6
Perfect Double Bill: Berlin: Symphony of a Metropolis (1927)
Carol Reed directs Joseph Cotten, Alida Valli and Orson Welles in this Graham Greene scripted thriller about a pulp novelist who arrives in post-war Vienna to find his friend is dead and the story of his demise has an inconsistent third person involved.
Before WWII, your 39 Steps or Riddle of the Sands had a hero lost in circumstance, scrabbling to get ahead of international intrigues. After VE Day, with the arrival of Greene, Len Deighton and John Le Carre, you’d be lucky to get a good guy. And if you did, like here, he’d be so bumbling, useless and counter intuitive to what anyone else wanted to achieve that he pretty much jams up everyone he cares about on his crusade to find that titular shadowy figure. Of course, we all know who that mysterious Third Man is. We’ve seen his face lit by a treacherous pool of window light, know his opinion on the Swiss and have read his legendary name in the credits. Orson’s third act unveiling is no surprise, no twist. What a callous bastard he is though is the true shock. Handsome… impish… charming but fuck me you wouldn’t want to be on a big wheel with the door unlocked around him. Everything about this screams perfection; Reed’s trademark Dutch angles, beautiful Alida Valli walking through the cemetery, Anton Karras’ iconic zither theme (note the credit sequence of strings being plucked by an unknown hand) and that wonderful narration… Carol Reed’s own voice wistfully telling us “I never knew the old Vienna before the war with its Strauss music, its glamour and easy charm. Constantinople suited me better. I really got to know it in the classic period of the black market. We’d run anything if people wanted it enough and had the money to pay…” This is about as good as it gets.
Sean Baker directs Simon Rex, Bree Elrod and Suzanna Son in this indie comedy where a washed-up male porn star returns to his hometown to try and get his life back on track.
From the three Sean Baker flicks I’ve now seen, I kinda know I’m never going to miss anything he puts out ever again. He makes shitholes glow with vibrant colour, treats sex workers like they are superheroes. Flawed, fucked up, Donut shop loitering superheroes. Simon Rex’s Mickey Sabor is his funniest character study yet. The man boy is all optimism, all manipulation. His life is sex yet he only ever uses fucking to gain status, advantage or just a better place to flop. Watching him con only himself that “the comeback” is happening around the tributaries of the Texas oil refineries makes for a high wire, highly strung, high note two hours. Red Rocket pops!
Clio Barnard directs Adeel Akhtar, Claire Rushbrook and Shaun Thomas in this British romance where a Muslim landlord in a loveless marriage and a single grandmother start a tentative relationship in Bradford.
Glimmers of hope but mainly miserable. It is easy to admire something this well acted, Akhtar and Rushbrook have fine chemistry. Barnard has a palpable sense of environment as always. Close mist, distant fireworks and scrubland. I just don’t think anyone in the world is looking for a movie that is 80% grim right now.
Andrea Arnold directs Sasha Lane, Shia LaBeouf and Riley Keough in this road movie where a poor teen joins a band of itinerant magazine sellers.
Goes on and on and on and on. And even when there are scenes that it could use as an adequate closer… just keeps rolling aimlessly forward. That’s the vibe, and this doesn’t need such a strict narrative form but the ultimate point is vague. The undeveloped background kids begin to annoy as we spend another moronic journey with them crammed in a van, babbling and self aggrandising. I bet every character stinks to high heaven. Arnold has moments of poverty porn beauty that are memorable, almost wounding. You know her heart is in the right place from her previous movies focussing on teens at the fringes of society. It isn’t just squalor as fashion show. The film ain’t nothing but energy and comedown, attraction and then thud. Arnold really understands attraction, and her use of cinematic space is second to none. She engages expertly with both intimacy and distance in her frames. Her compositions in the Academy ratio are pregnant with connection. Why does our storyteller keeps putting Lane’s Star in risky, predatory situations (genuinely tense, but with a seemingly oblivious lead) which have minimal fallout? She never makes explicit that the kids are essentially truckstop prostitutes who are positioned into vulnerable circumstances to make their “magazine sales”, especially the girls. Yet that’s the ultimate end game, right? Keough and LaBeouf do good, physical work as the thrift store pimps, bottom feeder capitalists. Arnold has a great eye for casting unknowns. Lane puts in a very alluring performance with minimal material. Would I watch it again though, knowing it is all half essayed proposition with minimal conclusion…?
Geoff Murphy directs Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland and Lou Diamond Phillips in this western sequel where the regulators reunite and go on the run again.
Just as scrappy and as spry as the original but with less setting up to do. There’s enough cute little moments to justify returning to the well. It has a neat bookend sequence set in 1950… and unbelievably based on fact. The welcome additions of Christian Slater’s ‘Arkansas Dave’, a grounded Alan Ruck and a Bon Jovi theme song only strengthen the case that this is the rare cash-in sequel that is a slight improvement on the original.
Matthew Vaughn directs Claire Danes, Charlie Cox and Michelle Pfeiffer in this fantasy romance where, to prove his love, a young adventurer kidnaps a fallen star who has taken human form, only to discover far greater forces want her dead.
Midnight Run meets Terry Prachett. Or the closest anyone has ever got to making something as funny, romantic and wonderful as The Princess Bride. It is just a little too busy to get all the way up there, to that high standard. Awful CGI and some distasteful British comedy actors weaken the gumbo. Yet the central buddy movie turned romance arc and a pitch perfect Michelle Pfeiffer as an evil witch really keep the more random elements at bay. It is fun and lovely and I’d watch it again in a heartbeat. When Disney make live action remakes of their fairytales matching the entertainment value of this should be their benchmark.
Gary Sherman directs Season Hubley, Gary Swanson and Wings Hauser in this thriller where a sadistic pimp chases a high class call girl over an L.A. night.
“Pimp stick.” “Around the world.” “Half and Half.” This looks sleazy as fuck, and the screenwriter has certainly walked the mean sidewalks of the Hollywood prostitution scene long enough to learn all the current lingo. The on-location night shoot and the unstoppable brute played with relish by Wings Hauser give this a similar vibe to The Terminator. And it often has the well researched, deep dive feel of Cruising. It is nowhere near as thrilling or illicit as either of those Hard R classics though, and it has a habit of lurching into both melodrama and farce whenever the chase dynamic is put on the back burner. Season Hubley doesn’t really convince as a sex worker either, contrivances like her suburban lifestyle do let this down. Not a terrible little one-watcher though.
Eshom Nelms and Ian Nelms directs Mel Gibson, Walton Goggins and Marianne Jean-Baptiste in this Christmas-set thriller where a “real world” Kris Kringle has to contend with a hostile takeover from his military contractor and an assassination attempt by a hitman with a personal beef.
A real disappointment given the cast and set-up. You can tell the Coens have been an influence but it is just too subdued. So many potent plot threads are left unravelled. Barely kicks into gear during the last ten minutes. Fatman is no The Night The Reindeer Died.
Terry Zwigoff directs Robert Crumb, Charles Crumb and Aline Kominsky-Crumb in this documentary portrait of the controversial indie comic book artist, his candid sexual tastes and his highly dysfunctional family.
Even as they are carefully and humanely revealed to be people you’d actively cross the street to avoid, Zwigoff’s essay on the Crumb brothers manages to make the shut-ins and sexpests endearing within the remove of a camera and editing booth. Robert Crumb’s own proclivities, immortalised in his scratchy, deceptively detailed art, probably wouldn’t find a publisher these days if it was not for his long founded reputation. Even the most open minded viewer in 2022 is going to see some of those counter culture strips as beyond the pale. And while you know Zwigoff sides with his “outlaw” friend, he’s smart enough to include those who question and object to his bad taste subjects. Genuinely a fantastic documentary – hold your nose and jump into a world of squalor, desire and obnoxiousness. And talent!
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 