Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary

Herbert Ross directs Woody Allen, Diane Keaton and Tony Roberts in this expanded play where Allen’s loser get advice on love from the ghost of Humphrey Bogart and his best friend’s wife.

I thought I was going to love this, the concept is great and it has always sat determinedly at the top of my unwritten list of old films I really should get around to watching since my teens. And as a light slice of Woody’s “earlier, funny ones” it is enjoyable enough. But that marvellous idea of the old school movie anti-hero giving pep talks to our introspective mess on “the dames” gets all but ignored in the middle hour meaning we are left in a kind of undercooked, Diet Annie Hall for far too long. One where some of the rape jokes and dated facial mugging during sex scenes leave a mouldy flavour even in my tasteless mouth.

5

Tobe Hooper directs David Soul, Bonnie Bedelia and James Mason in this Stephen King adaptation of vampires taking over a small town (eventually).

The miniseries that started the trend of moving King horror sagas to big budget, small screen weekenders rather than judiciously pruned movies. This has dated horribly. Criminally scareless, the acting is inconsistent (Winners – Bonnie Bodelia, Geoffrey Lewis, Julie Cobb. Losers – David Soul, James Mason.), as are the production values. The pacing though is what really fucks this over. The first half nothing happens except some small town love triangles, then… mainly off screen… we have a vampire holocaust, leaving the survivors idling outside an old, dark house waiting for the finale to gear up. They’d find their feet with these endeavours by the time IT was optioned but the waste of Hooper and Mason is pretty shocking.

3

Roman Polanski directs Mia Farrow, Ruth Gordon and John Cassavetes in this tale of a housewife impregnated by the satanists next door.

I’ve just finished reading Ira Levin’s excellent novel and this adaptation is oh so slavishly loyal, right down to the soft furnishings. I’ve enjoyed Polanski’s version before but this viewing proved just far too close to the bone to be as pleasurable. Possibly could be 15 minutes shorter – faithful doesn’t mean you can’t truncate and trim a little, Roman. And to modern eyes it’s a plot whose twist is the hook of the film. You can’t tell someone what Rosemary’s Baby is about without giving away the ending. Otherwise it is merely a film about pregnant woman with a distant husband, overbearing neighbours and a creepy dream sequence. Noticeably lacking the Grand Guignol set pieces of superior Omens and Exorcists that followed in its wake. Rosemary’s Baby is obviously more than that… the journey is a dark, ominous yarn in itself but you have to know the destination to get all its rich and twisted value. And having spent two weeks studying the map before going on it, dampened the adventure for me this particular time.

7

David Lynch directs John Hurt, Anthony Hopkins and Freddie Jones in this adaptation of the true tale of hideously deformed Joseph Merrick, who went from freak show attraction to the toast of Victorian London society. 

An unlikely but perfect marriage of source material and maverick director. Lynch more than understands how to tell a tale of beautiful souls and horrific, monochrome industrial cruelty. His controlled flourishes of surrealism dirty up the inherent mawkish nature of Merrick’s real life misfortunes. There’s no denying this a calculating tear jerker but one assembled with such alternative sensibilities it can appeal to even the most coldly, intellectual of viewers. Hurt’s iconic performance bleeds out from within thick layers of impressive make up and prosthetics, it is a genuine marvel of timidity and pleasure in discovery. You live the fear and concern for this gentle man at risk in a world containing only slithers of understanding and care. Freddie Jones also affects as the boo-hiss villain – a petulant owner of a man’s life horrified at how his survival is aligned to the freak he detests once he is bereft of him. A more uniquely universal story (well told) you’ll struggle to find.

10

Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger direct Wendy Hiller, Roger Livesey and Pamela Brown in this tale of a determined young woman who finds herself on Hebridean interlude with a dashing local man while waiting to meet her fiancée. 

A heady and sumptuous brew of classy casting, gorgeous locations and witty, dialogue based, story mastery. Powell and Pressburger’s eye for replicating the harsh but attractive life, traditions, superstitions and myths of the local islanders adds an everlasting weave and heft of importance to what should be a slight and somewhat predictable romance. Livesey has never cut quite such an old-school, masculine romantic proposition again, while Hillier makes easy work in lightening a protagonist  who could come across as rude and reckless in less careful hands. There’s even time for a whirlpool adventure amongst all the unspoken flirting at ceilidhs and longing looks during ruin exploring. A sheer and undeniable pleasure. What more could you, ask for?

9

Susanna White directs Ewan McGregor, Damian Lewis and Stellan Skarsgård in this Le Carre tale of modern day defecting.

Actionless thriller with a surprising amount of titty, cock and profanity for something bloodlessly made to appeal to a more mature Sunday evening audience. A superb cast smash the locks of the source material as much as they can so as to burst into moments where they at least enjoy themselves and it is crafted gorgeously (all that sticks in the memory a week later is how perfectly beautiful every frame is.) The problem with Le Carre is his tales revel in the mundane bureaucracy of modern espionage and either you embrace that detailed, fetid, frustrating boredom like in the recent Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy or you ramp up the doomed romance sub plot as the excellent The Constant Gardener or classic The Spy Who Came in From the Cold did. Leaving both as an afterthought, as this solid adaptation sadly does, means you are left trying to glean entertainment from ciphers and stereotypes having fruity but businesslike conversations in the back of vans and in front of glass offices. Hardly anyone’s idea of a great night out. Load the guns and let’s at least end on a shootout, hey, chaps.

5

Billy Wilder directs Gloria Swanson, William Holden and Erich Von Stroheim in this dark Hollywood drama about a failing screenwriter who becomes a kept playpet by a forgotten silent movie star losing her grip on reality.

This feels palpably revolutionary for its time and still bitter as a rotten black lemon even today. Wilder plunges us into the dark recesses of the homes and lives that surround the studios and orange groves of Hollywood both visually and with the characters’ warped hearts and detestable actions. No one gets away clean, the tragedy is bruising especially for Norma Desmond (Swanson excels and inadvertently gives birth to the Psycho-Biddy sub genre a decade early). Yet a keen sense of humour pervades the spiral out of control. Whether it be in the pretentious writerly narration of events from Holden or the whip smart potential happy ending personified in Nancy Olsen’s romantic alternate’s charming repartee (and personified well). Quite frankly something else, entertaining to the very core but artful in its recreation of failure and neediness. A gorgeous yet repellent Lynchian moment of rats in a drained pool feels cinematically like an echo from our future.

10

Michael Winner directs Charles Bronson, Jan-Michael Vincent and Keenan Wynn in this methodical hitman trains Young Turk up in his unique skillset thriller.

Has there ever been a more baffling box office star than Bronson? He can’t act, he looks awkward if asked to display any other emotion than confused and if a line requires any combination of syllables it is dictated tersely like it was originally gibberish. The one positive of his career success is he paved the way in movie backers minds that Arnie could be a star; a genuine talent who moved on from the same limitations Charlie seems more than happy to just lean on. I wonder if here he even questioned the barely hidden homosexual relationship that bubbles away between his assassin and Vincent’s dangerous protege? I mean, he had to question why they start hanging out quite so much before training begins? It’s not like his blank killer is great company or even all that mysterious. As a plot this has all been done better in the remake starring The Stath and Ben Foster, at least then any dialogue between the characters, that was not about practicalities of the next job, doesn’t seem interminable. Still the 70s location filming, the wordless missions (things really pick up before the credits) and Jerry Fielding’s wonderful score of jazzy sound clusters allow this to ascend some of the deadwood like Bronson and Winner involved.

5

Bryan Singer directs Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart and Jennifer Lawrence in this time travelling mission to stop a mutant holocaust that has our heroes down to their final stand.

The original cast of the franchise and the period reboot new class cross paths to winning effect in this action packed, emotionally engaging big screen rager. Smartly plotted, confidentally told and assuredly performed by all onscreen this is a great night at the movies and a series high. Everyone gets a worthy bit of business (except Halle Berry’s Storm but why change the habit of the lifetime?) and “everyone” is one hell of a movie star roll call. Newcomers Peter Dinklage (well written villian), Fan Bingbing (terrifically realised and utilised as portal creating Blink -more please) and especially Evan Peters (superspeedy and adorable as Quicksilver) fit in to their slots with ease and underline just how cleverly assembled the chess like action  sequences have been formulated. And shockingly for a summer juggernaut many of those early set pice take place in small, enclosed locations (safe, hotel room, kitchen, conference room) so only once all hell breaks out in the double era-spanning, gigantic send off does the scale move noticeably up. Until then the mutant powers combined and the conflicting character motivations unleashed are enough to make the fights and fantasy grip. The Rogue Cut has some great extra scenes; Old Magneto rescues series starter Anna Paquin’s Rogue while Lawrence and Hoult’s brilliant Beast have a fireside pause for romance / politics. This is the definitive version of a new summer classic.

10

 

Bryan Singer directs James McAvoy, Jennifer Lawrence and Michael Fassbender in this Eighties good mutants versus ancient evil mutant epic.

X-Men is nobody’s favourite comic book franchise but it often is one of the most pleasurable and satisfying in its adherence to good old fashioned Spielbergian and Cameronesque big screen movie craft. Coming off the series best Days of Future Past and game changing Deadpool, Apocalypse is not the strongest entry (a bit like the same damp praise I gave Spectre of being a mid tier Bond – it went through the beats but they are beats I love). Apocalypse suffers deeply from an air that the at-the-end-of-their-deals Fassbender and Lawrence don’t really want to be here anymore and therefore their key lead characters seem diluted rather than evolved. Kinky Mystique’s rebooting as dour Raven has defanged the troublemaker of purpose, she’s here now to make speeches, look glum and only turn blue if she really, really, really contractually has to. And being the box office powerhouse and undeniable acting talent J-Law is, she gets it her way and not the way a fan of this series needs her mutant to be. Fassbender gets a nice “Oh the humanity” acting scene in a forest before switching to clock watching autopilot for the next two hours. Much has been made of it. I actually thought the preceding scene where Magneto uses his powers to instinctually save a human, then can’t trust those around him not to betray his mutanty -ness a little more interesting. That was almost a tipping point where Magneto was beginning to value “normal” life and trust them not to turn. Unthinkable in previous instalments that he might value and trust “us”. And then proven right in the scene that is getting all the attention. The universe can move on without them especially if a still game McAvoy, Nicholas Hoult and especially Evan Peters stick about. Ensemble issue aside the stakes do not seem as involving as DoFP and therefore the action often perfunctory. The series standard excellent world building, Singer’s strong blockbuster storytelling skills (the pyramid self destruct at the start is thrillingly inventive) and the long won affection I have for this franchise over 16 years of some amazing peaks, occasional troughs means I’m OK with an OK one. Marvel for all their successes haven’t earned that from me (yet). I doubt I’ll ever watch the second Iron Man or second Thor again. Whereas I’d relish a full X-Men marathon even with Origins stumbling about at the midway point, blocking the runners. The weakest so far of this year’s mega cast superhero rumbles but one that at the very least has at long last an R-rated Wolverine break out of nowhere for a whoppingly bloody set piece and scuttle off to his Old Man Logan solo pic, claws dripping tantalising  in (assumed) gore. Now you want to buy a ticket, don’t you?

6