Jules Dassin directs Richard Conte, Valentina Cortese and Lee J. Cobb in this noir thriller where a man tries to bring down a corrupt fruit wholesaler by tempting him with a truck full of apples.
A noir with a social conscience. It is all here; the fatalism, the sexy temptress, the overpowering boss, the urban milieu. Only there are also perilous set pieces that stun and enthrall. The motivation and complexity of the good girl and bad lady are spun on their head. The boss is Lee J. Cobb so you know his performance is an absolute knockout, the entire movie shifts to his axis whenever he is on screen. And the location working is well observed, brooding and rich. The Wages Of Fear with fresh fruit. And a heart. And socialism. A lesser known masterpiece.
Michael Mann directs Adam Driver, Penélope Cruz and Shailene Woodley in this biopic recreating Enzo Ferrari’s struggle to keep independent control of his car company, staking its rocky fortunes on his crumbling marriage and one cross country race – the 1957 Mille Miglia.
A qualified return to form for Mann. Not exactly a crowd pleaser (cynical, adult melodrama and unspoken business machinations) aside from the big third act car race that has true thrust, beauty and danger shimmering out of it. This is a work of art, admirable for its purity. There are very few sops to either the biopic formula or the excesses of the modern blockbuster. Unlike say Napoleon or Killers Of the Flower Moon there are also very few scribbles or embellishment. If Ferrari is close in spirit to anything made this awards cycle it is Fincher’s The Killer. Both are simple films of elegant craft and technical mastery where the human drama and ultimate meaning is submerged and obtuse. How you feel about Enzo’s stylish, subtle power plays (whether coldly calculated or thrashing against fate) are what you bring to them rather than where Mann positions you. Even the ultimate abrupt coda is vague yet definitive. And I prefer this narrative smoothness. Where we do the heaviest lifting of the storytelling. Superior to being spoonfed plot or distracted by auteurist flourishes. We drill into the parallel crisis of Enzo’s life at one manageable, compelling point in time. Wait for the moment they jump their lanes and “occupy the same space at the same time”. Driver’s performance is low energy and classy… never overreaching. Giving us a calm fixed anchor in all this passion, speed, flying metal, huge cash figures. Cruz has the showiest part – one that could and should be the villain of the piece – but she brings nuance. Erik Messerschmidt’s digital cinematography has expansive control… his wide shots have a clean, depopulated beauty… almost like pop art birthed into reality. It isn’t a perfect entertainment and many will be restless until that petrolhead last act but Mann in biopic mode has an ability to show a person and their world with a clarity like no other director. We share his fascination with an extraordinary life without having to experience the childhood or the death or the legacy. Even if Ferrari is the dictionary definition of a later work from an old master it has strengths that many more critically lauded movies can only dream of.
Graeme Clifford directs Christian Slater, Steven Bauer and Richard Herd in this skateboarding neo-noir where a rebellious teen investigates his foster brother’s murder.
There’s a surprising overflow of plot and character work here for a fad flick essentially made to show off Tony Hawk and his crew doing loads of cool tricks… sometimes in a Christian Slater wig. It is a mish-mash of tones and entertainment but as an artefact it is pretty cute.
Raine Allen-Miller directs David Jonsson, Vivian Oparah and Simon Manyonda in this black British romcom where two dumped young people share a day in South London together.
Sweet if slightly overrated. Essentially a well observed sitcom with a (hopefully) star making turn from a fresh Vivian Oprah. Good Peckham location work all captured with a declarative use of the fish eye lens and sploshes of vibrant colour. Decent.
Jerry Zucker directs Rowan Atkinson, Whoopi Goldberg and Jon Lovitz in this zany comedy where a group of strangers race across country to reach a hidden fortune.
It’s Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World for Generation X. The first act is a dud but it gets better and better. The squirrel lady. The bus full of Lucys. Hitler’s car. The various domino rallies build and build from those small beginnings to genuine massive laughs. Welcome smaller turns from John Cleese, Amy Smart and Smash Mouth. Jon Lovitz’s exclamation of the innocuous line “I don’t want to work in Hooome Deeepot!” is a thing of true cinematic beauty. At times in intended bad taste, other times gloriously orchestrated… this feels very much the lost gem of broad, mainstream Hollywood comedy.
John Fortenberry directs Will Ferrell, Chris Kattan and Molly Shannon in this comedy following two dumb brothers who are into the LA nightclub scene but too obnoxious to realise how unwelcome they are in the clubs they frequent.
Wayne’s World and Tommy Boy have a lot to answer for. This is a one joke movie and British audiences weren’t around when the joke being rehashed had its moment in the zeitgeist. There’s very little to absorb here if you didn’t watch SNL in the Nineties. Molly Shannon is the glimmer of hope and then the story does her dirty and makes her the villain. What are laughs, baby don’t hurt me, baby don’t hurt me… no more.
Uli Edel directs Madonna, Willem Dafoe and Joe Mantegna in this erotic courtroom thriller where a lawyer must defend a sexy lady who is accused of killing a millionaire with her rumpy pumpy.
It seemed every movie Madonna made got a knee jerk kicking. And while there are very few classics, not all of them deserve their instantly stinky reputation. Sharon Stone went through the same critical grinder post-Basic Instinct. And I wouldn’t want to live in a world without Sliver and The Quick And The Dead. Nineties movie reviewers seemed pretty reactionary – female stars who traded in explicit sex acts on screen were met with a predictable, blinkered misogyny. And that brings us to Body Of Evidence. A more cartoonish Basic Instinct that takes the femme fatale mystery in front of a judge, has extreme and sustained simulated sex and looks consistently beautiful. There’s more kink than Verhoeven’s masterwork and far more flesh on show. Madonna is very game in an uninhibited performance. Her noir throwback costuming is on point and when it comes off you’d struggle to say the footage isn’t arousing. Sure, I’ll admit the plot is pulp hokum and the ending has been disappointingly and obviously reshot to conform to conservative Hollywood mores… yet this has a tip top cast, playing a trashy hook straight faced and delivering the sexy goods. Low bar but Body of Evidence actually proves one of the best examples of its short-lived sub-genre and deserves a kinder set of eyes on rediscovery. It delivers.
John Bonito directs John Cena, Kelly Carlson and Robert Patrick in this action thriller where a dishonourably discharged marine’s wife is kidnapped (eventually) by an evil gang of crooks on the run.
Dishonourably discharged for being too goddamn All-American heroic, by the way. This is a stinker. Should be a neat little Hard Target rip-off where a lunk rampages in the backwaters but does everything but stick to that brief. The explosions are regular and visually arousing. Robert Patrick plays his villain role like he owns it. That aside The Marine is lowest common denominator slop that can’t even reach its own short bar. Surprised Cena has been starring in product for this long. Better things were to come but he’s no The Rock or Rowdy Piper. This isn’t a vehicle so much as an unassembled kit car.
Bobby Carroll's Movie Diary 