Welcome to Week Fifteen of “Monday at the Movies.” We’re back to the three-film template with three “genre flicks”: a musical, a meta-mockumentary, and a remake.
Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008) – I have a hesitant affection for the
Saw franchise (mostly redeemed by Tobin Bell’s star-marking performance), so this Darren Lynn Bousman rock opera is something I’ve orbited but to which I’ve never committed. While I’m no foe of musicals, the cast seemed a mixed bag: Paul Sorvino and Anthony Head on the one hand, Paris Hilton on the other. All told,
Repo! is an odd hybrid of
Sweeney Todd and the
Saw franchise, with a dollop of dystopia thrown in for set dressing. Make no mistake – this is an opera, with generational rises and falls punctuated by bombastic solos and Sondheim-esque talk-singing. Sorvino is Rotti Largo, the dying organ transplant baron in search of a new heir after his brood (including Hilton as the surgery addict Amber Sweet); he finds one in Shilo (Spy Kids alum Alexa Vega), the daughter of his top organ-collecting repo man (Anthony Head). Among the film’s greatest strengths is its highly stylized look, ready-made for the Hot Topic crowd, and its rich plot, whipping between multiple threads which all tie together at the opera-within-an-opera finale. Unfortunately, though, the runtime is a little brief, and each plot thread is introduced with an exposition-heavy montage which might have been better served with a more extended flashback or musical sequence. Additionally, the film will turn off many with its gruesome violence (blood flows, intestines spill, and a face even falls off) and its musical style (more rhythmic slam poetry than melodious harmony), but I found it an enjoyable enough 90-some minutes.
Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (2006) – Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon (best known as “those guys in
the Michael Caine impressions video”) star in this metafictional adaptation of Laurence Sterne’s famously sprawling proto-postmodern novel, at once a filming of the book and a mockumentary on the making of said filming. After finally reading
Tristram Shandy, I went back to the film, and my suspicions were confirmed – the film has many more jokes for those in the know, but it’s at its best when Coogan and Brydon are turned loose upon each other in a battle of one-ups-manship and celebrity impersonations. We begin with a riveting conversation in the makeup chairs, move to a half-hour adaptation of the first few volumes of the novel, and conclude with a failed preview screening of the failed film. There’s about 45 minutes that are almost entirely negligible, dwelling on Coogan’s self-caricature and ruminating a bit too much on the unfilmability of the novel. As a result, it’s easy to get distracted once the film stops showing the straight adaptation segments, especially in the moments when Coogan and Brydon are kept apart. There are a few clever bits, as when Gillian Anderson is cast to play the Widow Wadman, but this is a plot that doesn’t get as much attention as it ought. I’ll say this, though; rewatching
Tristram Shandy has reminded me how much I still need to see
The Trip, in which Coogan and Brydon team up for a restaurant road trip.
12 Angry Men (1997) – Having glowingly reviewed
the Sidney Lumet original last week, I was delighted to see that the remake is
available on YouTube. I was even more delighted by the all-star cast – Jack Lemmon, George C. Scott, Ossie Davis, and James Gandolfini, among others. But almost immediately I realized this was a case of a remake which doesn’t do enough to distance itself from the original, nor does it remain slavishly loyal in apparent devotion. Instead, it’s an indistinct reflection of the original, right down to imitative line readings (especially from Tony Danza as Juror #7). While Lemmon does gravitas without even thinking about it, he’s a far cry from Henry Fonda, and even Scott doesn’t improve upon the performance of Lee J. Cobb. Indeed, the only performance which adds something to the film is Mykelti Williamson’s turn as Juror #10; here the white supremacist Ed Begley is replaced by a lapsed member of the Nation of Islam, spouting bigotry against the Hispanic defendant. This clever update, however, is overshadowed by the fact that the film frequently oversimplifies itself, telling instead of showing, as when Juror #3’s bias against the defendant is verbalized instead of implied (as in the original). While it’s in theory a good idea to put contemporary actors into an old classic, when they don’t turn in a new or interesting product, even Juror #12 – straight out of
Mad Men – couldn’t sell it to an audience. Stick with the original; this one’s guilty of stagnation.
That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!
The Godfather: Part II (1974) – There are those who say the sequel is better than the 1972 original. I don’t know about all that (I’m incredibly fond of the first Godfather), but Part II is every bit as good as the film that preceded it. Simultaneously a prequel and a sequel, Part II juxtaposes the rise of immigrant Vito Corleone (Robert De Niro) with the tenure of his son Michael (Al Pacino) as he contends with moves for legitimacy in the Vegas casino industry, an assassination attempt facilitated by a betrayal from within, a Congressional inquisition, and a smiling enemy (Lee Strasberg as Hyman Roth) attempting to slide a knife in his back. For my money, the Vito chapters are stronger, although I appreciate the Michael scenes more each time I see the film for two reasons: one, I enjoy the difficult plot the more I understand it and recognize the subtlety; and two, Al Pacino’s performance here is likely his all-time career best. (Take, for example, the exchange between him and his wife when Kay tells him she’s taking the children.) As before, the supporting cast excels: Robert Duvall’s work as Tom Hagen reminds me how empty that part of Part III felt, De Niro and Bruno Kirby are spot-on as Vito and Clemenza without feeling slavishly bound to the original actors, and John Cazale absolutely steals the movie as the malleable brother Fredo. In fact, Pacino and Cazale have what I maintain is the best scene of the film, a boathouse confessional which should have netted an Oscar for both; theirs is the relationship which anchors the film, for which I find myself, as I get older, returning to the film more than for the Vito plotline, which is amusing and entertaining, a lighter counterpart to the heavy burden with which Michael finds himself saddled by the film’s end. The first film needed no sequel, but the second proved how much more could be added to the saga; having only seen the third installment once, I’ll be curious to see if it transcends this film’s sense of completion.
