Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary

Charles Vidor directs Glenn Ford, Rita Hayworth and George Macready in this romantic thriller about a casino boss who shares a secret past with the corrupt owner’s rebellious new wife. 

Snappy dialogue that’d give an alligator jawache, a relentless wardrobe that with every new costume change outdazzles the last and a Golden Age Hollywood actress performing her signature role with a killer flourish. Rita Hayworth is volcanically sexy as a femme fatale who has the tables turned on her by two controlling men. Charming, smart and wildly beautiful – this is the kinda old school, star power that destroys galaxies. Her infamous nightclub striptease scene, where all she takes off are two long silk gloves, screams out as a vulnerable cry for help as much as it does drunken titillation, yet there are no knights in shining armour in Charles Vidor’s pre-noir world to save her. Everyone is corrupted. Focussing on a not entirely straight love triangle where both lead men want the monopoly on the lady who disarms them of their calculating cool, the plot goes further than you’d ever expect. Although there are murders, goons and double crossings in spades, Gilda works best as a frustrated romance where no one deserves each other, their desires dragging them closer to oblivion with every power play to be the dominant lead in the relationship. An indisputable classic.

10

Francis Ford Coppola directs Al Pacino, Andy Garcia and Eli Wallach in this third instalment of the Corleone crime family’s attempts to become legitimate. 

The struggle with The Godfather Part III is you can feel the deadline rush of the production, hear the bribe money being counted by the unenthused returning talent and taste that Coppola is no longer in command of his genius. And that’s inspite of a lush visual slice of golden cheese melted over every frame, a satisfying topping for nostalgic eyes. It isn’t a bad movie on the whole but there are entire sequences that feel amatuerish (the penthouse helicopter massacre belongs in a mafia TV sitcom rather than quite such a prestigious project) and pieces of forced recasting that come off as petulant (Sofia Coppola took a lot of deserved flack but George Hamilton’s Tom Hagen-lite equally feels like an insult to immeasurably better Duvall). There is good though. The Vatican corruption plotline and Sicillian sequences are operatic and engaging. Pacino might no longer be the softly spoken, dead eyed enigma of the early 70s but he hadn’t quite descended into maximum HOO-HA yet. His cardie clad King Lear-ish “They pull me back in!” speech is the stuff of celluloid thespian dreams. And series newbloods Eli Wallach, Joe Mantega and especially Andy Garcia do different but notable work. Wallach may overact shamelessly but has fun, while Garcia deliver probably the best work of his career. Shame it was for the tailend of the franchise, a franchise you suspect he adores as much as us the audience. A more engaged creative team should have seen the longetivity in centering a fourth entry on his impulsive but gracious Vincent. He certainly does enough to inspire them, and us, here that III isn’t an entirely redundant equity grab. In the fallout you get the feeling the overriding mantra of Coppola when cobbling this together was “If I had to make a third one wouldn’t it be nice to…” with no real concern how those slight ideas flowed together. As one of the last few large scale works by a waning master of the form it is neither as dementedly inventive as his wobbly Dracula nor as competent as his gun for hire adaptation of The Rainmaker.

7

Quentin Tarantino directs John Travolta, Samuel L Jackson and Bruce Willis in this portmanteau of discombobulated LA crime stories that crash into each other in unexpected way. 

A perfect movie… which makes it a million times more difficult to write about. Being a critic is so much easier than be an advocate, especially about something that is still so achingly cool. When a movie is this flawless, so confidently playful, so pulsing with illicit energy, it is hard to know what to do but just list all the good stuff. And the good stuff when it comes to Pulp Fiction is every single fucking moment. So aside from confirming Tarantino as one of genre cinema’s geniuses, reinventing the movie soundtrack and raising the utterly compelling Samuel L Jackson up from bit part actor to bonafide movie star, what does Pulp Fiction mean to me? When I first bought a pirate copy of it as fifteen year old, I was blown away. Like Oasis’s What’s The Story (Morning Glory)?, Pulp Fiction was a unifying experience for a generation, opening up all its cool influences proudly, like a crib sheet of culture for the young and the hungry. Just as Oasis introduced me to the finer points of The Kinks, The Jam and Slade as did Tarantino to Elmore Leonard, Sam Peckinpah and Point Blank. Tarantino made being a movie nerd as much about loving Lee Marvin in The Killers and the dance sequence of Bande à Part as it was about the deep focus in Citizen Kane and the retrospective of Sajit Ray. He democratised and broadened what being a film fan was, sucking out all the high walled pretentions. He showed action set pieces dripping with palpable tension could revolve around finding  “a little fuckin’ black medical book” or choosing the just right weapon from a pawn shop full of deadly movie props, that you now didn’t need explosions or heavy artillery if you were invested in the stakes and the players. He highlighted a style of profane movie dialogue where character reveals itself in time killing small talk about TV pilots and breakfast plans rather than grand monologues. And a world so sniggering with the irony that whenever John Travolta’s smacked out killer spends too long in the bathroom bad things happen.  Every time I watch Pulp Fiction it is a thrilling blast, and cinema truly was never the same again.

10

 

Francis Ford Coppola directs Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and John Cazale in this continuation of the Corleone mafia saga taking in Michael’s frustrated attempts to expand his criminal empire’s control into Nevada, Cuba and Hollywood while we also look back at his father’s early days in America. 

The first year of committing to my movie blog I have mainly tried to see a lot of new stuff or revisit forgotten friends. This year I am going to focus on getting my thoughts down about the undisputed “greats.” Sometimes though you revisit a movie that you have always loved and it diminishes a little for you. Just slightly in the case of the second Godfather. It is still an epic achievement, rich and gratifying. De Niro’s performance as young Vito is compelling without ever becoming a pastiche of Brando (an actor who must have been a God to callow young Bobby D back then). Yet Michael’s various plots seem like they are treading water until the big massacre finale – that cold, bloody montage set piece that Godfathers inevitably have to build to. I’m not saying watching Pacino and one the greatest confluences of character actors ever “tread water” is in anyway dull but it lacks a little of the forceful purpose of the original. And I felt that this sitting. Gripe aside, Coppola’s continued achievement is to expand time, to bare witness to both innocent origins of organised crime and the hubris that meant it eventually ate into itself so publicly. There’s ever so much meat to consume at over three hours long.  The acting is predictably elegant, you cannot single one person out, they all chime in harmony. Gordon Willis’ play with black shade and fading light is so masterful that when we do visit the harsh brightness of senate hearings or business meeting on Havana rooftops (where empires are sliced up with actual cake), it feels uncomfortably alien. This is a underworld that operates best in darkened corners of brothels, backstage at theatres and in dens where men go to whisper. To throw a light on it destroys the illusion there is any true control or organisation. Just look at young Vito’s hit on the odious Don Fanucci who leaches off his own neighbourhood. He taps at a disconnected electric lightbulb, expecting his world to work for him, to look the way he wants it. Instead he doesn’t see his more genial successor waiting in the shadows, ready to make his first kill.  The measured pace means we breathe all this refinement in and the truly ambitious scope that frames all this intimate attention to detail is inspiring. As crime sagas go this in indisputably cut from the same superior cloth as it predecessor, we are spoilt by getting more of the same. But I wonder if an even greater story would have been to truly examine Vito’s rise to Godfather (with De Niro the sole focus of that luxurious runtime) rather than it being a mere side dish while we wallow in Michael’s ennui as our entree.

9

Jim Mickle directs Ambyr Childers, Bill Sage and Michael Parks in this horror drama about a cannibal family coming apart at the seams after the matriarch’s death. 

A strangely mute experience especially considering it comes from the team behind the engaging Cold in July and fervent Stakeland. The emphasis is more on Terrence Malick than Texas Chainsaw and that can test the patience. For example; the moment where the two teenage daughter perform their first kill seems awkwardly underwhelming for what should be a scene rich in gore and drama. Still it has that chilling, silvery washed out look that makes it all feel more important than it is. The acting is uniformly better than the genre requires with a special shout out to Michael Park deserved. His sympathetic coroner turned detective is as about as strong a piece of genre acting as you can get, his absence is felt whenever he is off screen. There’s also a few nice nasty jolts in the finale that feel like they belong in a less pretentious, more enjoyable movie.

5

Pierre Morel directs Sean Penn, Javier Bardem and Mark Rylance in this action thriller are about a reformed merc who tries to figure out which one of his former hit squad is now trying to tie him off. 

As a middle-aged The Bourne Identity rip-off this has decent action, a ridiculously strong cast and a lovely glowing gloss to it. The unacknowledged irony is that while Penn’s penitent killer is now digging wells in the continent he helped oppress, all his colleagues have become establishment rich men, living in top floor glass offices and country villas. Perhaps the biggest mystery is Penn’s involvement though. Sure, there’s a lot shade thrown at multinationals… BOO!… and a little positive light on NGOs … WHOOP WHOOP!… (that you know he requested to have emphasised giving his admirable personal politics) but this really isn’t a fully rounded role appropriate for his immense acting talent. His Jim Terrier is handy in an op but a blank with nearly all his human interactions during the globe trotting journey. You can’t help but suspect the film is mainly an excuse to show off the acting great’s suprisingly ripped body. Rarely a scene goes by where he isn’t tops off and flexing. There really is so much half century old bicep on show throughout, that The Gunman might just be the most aptly titled star vehicle ever made.

6

Roger Michell directs Rachel Weisz, Sam Claflin and Holliday Grainger in this gothic romance about an immature inheritor of an estate who suspects his benefactor’s alluring widow of murder. 

Perhaps the most unexpected surprise of the year so far, this a gripping and beautiful drama that dances along a knife’s edge for its brisk running time. Quality wafts from every frame and artisanal moviemaking choice. It really is top notch stuff from the shifting focus of the cinematography emphasising the unresolved mystery hook, to the discordant score by Rael Jones, right down to the dusty lush soft furnishings and dog wrangling. The central performance by Weisz is enigmatic but enthralling – is she a teasing poisoning seductress or a confident woman trying to eke a little freedom of her own away from the ownership of men? This will be regarded as her key role in years to come, hopefully marking out a new stage in her career where she can join Jodie, Isabelle Huppert, Catherine Deneuve and Kate Winslet as one the indisputable great modern female movie stars. After years of confidentially improving average thrillers and blockbusters with her mere presence, Weisz’s time is now – let’s please let her run wild in many more well crafted and entertaining movies like this from now on.

9

John Hough directs Peter Cushing, Mary Collinson and Madeleine Collinson in this Hammer Horror about a religious zealot who is burning young “witches” only to discover his twin nieces might be harbouring an even nastier malignancy. 

Bog standard period horror product. To modern eyes it is about as scary as a My Little Pony catalogue. Interesting only in that pretty much every character is corrupted by their extremism, there’s no obvious hero, certainly not Cushing. And the Playboy Playmates Collinson twins are very easy on the eye, a fact not lost on the costume designers nor the cinematographer, who eagerly dress them up and down like dolls in a risqué playset as often as they possibly can.

5

Will Gluck directs Emma Stone, Amanda Bynes and Thomas Haden Church in this teen comedy about a straight A student who leans hard into the untrue gossip that she has been having sex. 

There’s a lot to like about Easy A. It is a primary coloured fizzpopper that marshalls a deep cast of talent efficiently. Imminently watchy. Yet it fails as a teen comedy by trying to be both a pastiche and a celebration of those well loved John Hughes movies AND the slightly less well appreciated 90s attempts to marry classic literature with lunchhall intrigue (see Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, Get Over It). And the reason it fails is the jokes rarely land… and when they could, they are given no room to breathe. It is way too crammed a script, desperate to point out a good joke has happened with a tag line pointing out how good a joke we’ve just heard is, or insecurely moving onto the next shot before the final syllable of a gag has settled. Not that it matters as this is the movie that announced Emma Stone to the world. Easily the most likeable new movie star to emerge this decade she takes her first starring role and just dazzles. Sure, the maximum effort put in on her part shows but endears. She absolutely rocks here and seven years on, the charm offensive shows no sign of abating.

8

 

 

Fritz Lang directs Lil Dagover, Walter Janssen and Bernhard Goetze in this portmanteau about the inevitability of death, featuring Death. 

An early special effects fest that blends its fantasy and fable really well. It is not going blow your socks off like Metropolis or M but equally it is still a very watchable grim selection of fairytales.

6