Robert Malenfant directs Talia Shire, Jack Coleman and Bruce Weitz in this thriller where a sad sack wife kills her husband and inherits an apartment building in LA, where nearly all the tenants disrupt her new life to the point of further murders.
Drossy garbage, mainly set in one harshly lit hallway. Shire’s The Landlady From Hell is a bit Annie Wilkes and a lot Eleanor Lace from The Haunting. If somebody… anybody… just gave her a cuddle the body count would drop. The closest we get to an exciting set piece is when she gets trapped in a call girl’s closet and has to watch the clock rundown when she has some time sensitive sandwiches to make… I wonder if that was directly from the Roald Dahl Tales Of The Unexpected this was allegedly based on?
Jacques Tati directs himself, Nathalie Pascaud, Micheline Rolla, Barbara Dennek, Rita Maiden and France Rumilly in this double bill of French sight gag comedy.
When it comes to “silent” visual comedy I like the violent wallop of a Laurel & Hardy (or a Tom & Jerry). Then, next in the pecking order, are the zany stunts of a Keaton or a Lloyd. But bottom of the rankings is that sentimental arrogant whimsy of Chaplin. I will deep dive and reassess Charlie eventually. I have a blu ray box set that has been left in its cellophane for over a decade. But Tati sails dangerously close to what rubbed me the wrong way about Chaplin. It is too artful, too laboured, too persuasive and too ephemeral. I care less for satire than I do for timber to the head and hammers to shoes. I’m a dolt but watching these “classic artworks” often feels like eating my greens. Waiting to recognise the intelligence of the visionary. Not laughing. The final hour of Playtime hits some good, escalating gags. And is somewhat less racist than Peter Seller’s run at almost exactly the same jokes in The Party.
Jim Goddard directs Madonna, Sean Penn and Paul Freeman in this period caper romance where a missionary and conman team up to find some lost opium.
Another ultra hated release. Madonna looks beautiful in various interwar outfits. And that is all that truly matters. It bares many of the telltale scars of a runaway production: the jokes don’t land, the director never made movies again, the leads have zero chemistry, the leads attract all the IMDB trivia page gossip and the plot is incomprehensible. Madge doesn’t even sing the theme song!? But it filled an evening in Casa De Carroll.
Tom Green directs himself, Rip Torn and Marisa Coughlan in this derided comedy where an adult son leaves home to follow his dream of being an animator.
Obnoxiously awful. Tries to push stupid buttons but with careless aim. Jabby. Green replaces timing with volume and repetitiveness. It is fucking embarrassing that something had this much money thrown at it to produce such sloppy “will this do” results. Rip Torn goes at his angry dad role like a man demonically possessed. That is admirable but everything around him so half arsed even he becomes grating. Maybe his character should have been the protagonist? When you hear about these infamous bête noires they very rarely turn out to be as bad as their reputations. I resist the critical pile-on. There is always redemption. Freddy Got Fingered though shits on that theory.
Terence Dixon directs himself, James Baldwin and Beauford Delaney in this documentary where the esteemed writer obstructs and avoids the documentary maker’s planned interview about what Paris means to his artistic journey.
Is it not possible that the documentary maker is terrible at avoiding conflict AND James Baldwin was a table turning pain in the arse? I like his books.
Gary Fleder directs Jason Statham, James Franco and Winona Ryder in this action thriller where a retired DEA agent disrupts his new life by annoying a local hillbilly crime family.
Solid thrills with a good variety of villains. Wanna see Winona play a methhead femme fatale? Of course you do. Absolutely zero shock that this was originally adapted by Stallone as a vehicle for him. In all honesty The Stath suits the light melodrama better. He is aware of his presence, strengths and limitations so he actually come across way more natural in the “protective Dad” stuff. Sly would have rinsed the flannel a little too hard. My flavour of jam.
Lucrecia Martel directs Mercedes Morán, Graciela Borges and Martín Adjemián in this lauded Argentinian drama following two branches of a wealthy family in squalid decline.
Damp, incestuous and self centred. You aren’t supposed to like these people but I’m not sure I care about their familial decay all that much either. One of those movies that felt eerily familiar. Déjà vu? Or a late night drunk watch back in the day?
Lawrence Kasdan directs Kevin Kline, Scott Glenn and Danny Glover in this comedy western where band of misfit friends come together to right the injustices which exist in a small town.
This is a forgotten “classic” (pre-revisionist) Western told with a mid Eighties blockbuster sensibilities. Beautiful light, caper-ish heroics, a true sense of kinetics, everyone gets to be a movie star. The first hour of hooking up and episodic adventure set pieces are a whole lotto fun, the more plot focussed second half in Silverado ain’t quite the same lark or as memorable. Stands out today as an early household name making role for Kevin Costner (playing against type as a jovial young buck) but it is Glover and Brian Dennehy who steal your heart.
Niels Arden Oplevand Daniel Alfredson direct Noomi Rapace, Michael Nyqvist, Lena Endre, Annika Hallin, Tomas Köhler, Sven-Bertil Taube, Peter Haber, Georgi Staykov and Micke Spreitzin this Swedish mystery thriller series where a disgraced journalist and a haunted hacker takedown powerful cabals of misogynistic men.
The first film grows on me more and more as the years pass. It is neck and neck with the Fincher remake. Rapace is the ultimate Lisbeth. The authentic Swedish cast and locations lend this a dour grit. It is a sadder film, less bombastic. I think the first tale in the Millennium series is a top locked room / cold case mystery whomever adapts it, bolstered by a uniquely unusual set of detectives. Their unlikely chemistry cements the sleuthing. And the film allows adequate runtime to expose a swathe more of their own backgrounds and psychology than most avatar detectives. We are engaged as they are attractive enigmas in themselves. Righteous, damaged and fallible. The closer the evidence takes them the more peril they are in. And you care that they make it out together alive. Strange than over almost seven hours of the franchise Lisbeth and Blomkvist probably only spend less than an hour in each other’s presence.
The Girl Who Played With Fire is a less cinematic film. Clearly has that flat, made for TV quality. It moves with less compulsive urgency and often takes its eye too far away from the central mystery. Yet we do get a lot more of Lisbeth taking down goons and bastards. The eventual mastermind and his henchman are particularly pulp fantastique creations.
The third film is a fumble though. Directly picking up from the previous cliffhanger finale, it sees Lisbeth muted in a hospital bed or silent in courtroom. The grim abuse flashbacks are revisited an unfeasible amount of times. Shifting over into emotional exploitation. Sure… it ends with some semblance of justice restored but it has none of the grip or excitement of the first entry. What works in a book really gets lost in the weeds here. Still, Rapace iconic portrayal always has the juice. Would it not be time for a Swedish “requel”?
Albert Lamorisse directs Pascal Lamorisse, Alain Emery and Laurent Roche in these two magical realist French shorts about young boys who form attachments to near fantastical possessions.
Albert Lamorisse didn’t just direct two of the most iconic short films of the 20th century but he also created the board game Risk!
Both of these 30 minute wonders have child protagonist and explore human nature, freedom and loss of innocence like fables.
Of his modern fairy tales, The Red Balloon is unmatched. Peerless. The lost streets of on-location post-war Paris; the colour against the drab, rainy grey; the spiritual conclusion. C’est fantastique!
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 