Tuesday at the Movies - April 30, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies,” coming at you via Tuesday due to unavoidable circumstances (or, to be more precise, circumstances I chose not to avoid).  Before our summer blockbuster coverage begins, we take a moment for one of the strangest Oscar-nominated films from last year.

The Master (2012) – After crafting There Will Be Blood, an unexpectedly riveting drama about an oil man and his tense relations with his adopted son and a flimflam preacher, Paul Thomas Anderson (PT to his admirers, a nod to the Barnum Circus of attractions) is on my shortlist of directors to watch no matter what.  The Master is a baffling film, cryptic even when it’s not trying, but it’s a captivating watch that doesn’t fail to enthrall.  Joaquin Phoenix stars as drifter Freddie Quell, whose latest bender leads him into the path of mysterious cult leader Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman).  Captivated by Freddie, Dodd begins to alter the practices of “The Cause,” a thinly-veiled Scientology allegory whose promises of enlightenment are never quite clear.  What is clear is that Dodd’s wife Peggy (Amy Adams as the not-so-sweet matriarch) is growing weary of Freddie’s company.  That’s all quite upfront, but much of the movie raises questions – How much of this is real?  What does it mean?  What is “The Cause”?  Much of the fun of the movie comes not from discovering the answers but from thinking through the questions with the movie.  And while the script is aloof in a David Lynch sort of way, the performances are compelling beyond requirement, more than earning those Oscar nods; Phoenix disappears behind Freddie Quell, down to the posture and squint of a damaged man.  And Hoffman is stellar as always; indeed, I’m not convinced Christoph Waltz was better in Django Unchained, especially after Hoffman’s eerie incantation of “Slow Boat to China” or his stubborn insistence on the rectitude of The Cause.  But don’t let the comparison to Lynch put you off; The Master is a film that will leave sighing breathlessly – not for perplexity at the disconnects but for exhaustion from probing those lacunae.  In fact, I’m certain The Master requires multiple viewings for full comprehension, but you need only one to know that Anderson is as much the master as Lancaster Dodd.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week for Iron Man 3!

Monday at the Movies - April 22, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  We were so busy celebrating Clarence Darrow’s birthday last week that we missed William Holden’s big day (Wednesday, April 17).  To make up for it, dig this review of one of his best.  (And if you haven’t seen Stalag 17 yet, for shame!)

Sabrina (1954) – I recently wrote that Silver Linings Playbook revived my faith in the romantic comedy genre, and Billy Wilder’s Sabrina is a reminder of the heights to which that genre had previously been taken.  Audrey Hepburn stars as chauffeur’s daughter Sabrina Fairchild; back from Parisian cooking school with a new veneer of class, Sabrina sets her sights on her father’s wealthy employer David Larrabee (William Holden), but David’s brother Linus (Humphrey Bogart) needs to distract Sabrina long enough for David to marry a sugarcane heiress.  I won’t spoil the scheme, but I’m sure you know how it ends.  What can we say about Hepburn?  She’s gorgeous, a real vision, and she’s at her best when she brings out that coy smile to show how much she appreciates David’s attention.  As for Holden, his turn as pretty-boy David is a departure from his cynical characters from earlier Wilder flicks Sunset Boulevard and Stalag 17, but he handles it with cocksure aplomb and two unforgettable bits of physical comedy (without spoiling anything, those in the know will recall the champagne glasses and the conference table).  But it’s Bogart who’s the real surprise, a far cry from his noiristic detectives and silent tough guys; Bogart downright steals the film as Linus Larrabee, who affects puppy-love and industrial acumen with surprising success, such that you might have a hard time figuring out which is the real Linus and which the performance (and rightly so).  It seems like so many movies I review here are so laden with gravitas that it’s difficult to breathe, so Sabrina is a welcome note of levity.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - April 15, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  It’s Clarence Darrow’s 156th birthday this Thursday (April 18), so in tribute we’ve got a few films loosely based on his most famous cases.

Compulsion (1959) – One of my most frequent complaints about certain movies is that they’re confused about their own identities; when two plotlines, atmospheres, and/or themes collide, it’s usually bad news for a movie.  But when a film’s second half is as amazing as Compulsion’s, it makes up for – and even goes so far as to dwarf – a lackluster first hour.  Richard Fleischer’s adaptation of the Leopold and Loeb case stars Bradford Dillman and Dean Stockwell as the killers in what begins as a lurid sensationalist pulp about schoolmates who read Nietzsche and fancy themselves übermenschen.  I wasn’t thrilled with the acting, which seemed a bit overwrought and as homoerotic as the Hays Code would allow (meaning the plot never develops this subtext, alternatingly highlighting then suppressing the implications).  But if the first hour seems unimpressive, stay tuned; E. G. Marshall (the implacable Juror #4 in 12 Angry Men) appears as the district attorney, signaling that you’re in for a treat – when the defense attorney shows up, it’s none other than Orson Welles as Clarence Darrow (here, Jonathan Wilk).  With all his larger-than-life gusto, Welles steals the film with subdued world-weariness (“I am sorry that I have lived so long”).  The judicial battle between Welles and Marshall culminates in Welles delivering a riveting ten-minute closing argument pleading for the lives of his clients while admitting their guilt; if the first half of the film is dominated by the compulsion to kill, the second half is all about Welles’s conviction, delivered like a master’s class in monologue.  In short, Compulsion is a passable film with an astounding conclusion, made all the more amazing by the mesmerizing performance of Orson Welles.

Inherit the Wind (1960) – The marketing materials for this Stanley Kramer courtroom drama herald the film’s connection to the Scopes “monkey trial” of 1925, and the film is certainly of interest to those interested in how we remember our past on film.  But the real stand-out element of Inherit the Wind is the electrifying dynamic between leads Spencer Tracy and Frederic March as Henry Drummond (Clarence Darrow) and Matthew Harrison Brady (William Jennings Bryan).  The film covers the whole trial as well as a portrait of the town of Hillsboro, but the unmistakable highlight is what happens in the courtroom – especially the astoundingly explosive exchange between Drummond and Brady on the stand, a scene that features both men at the top of their game.  Like 12 Angry Men, Inherit the Wind is based on the play of the same name, which accounts for the snappy dialogue, delivered in unforgettable speeches by Tracy and March.  The subject matter, too, is brainy and eloquent, asking smart questions about the nature of thought and the importance of belief.  In particular, pay attention to the character of E. K. Hornbeck (Mencken by way of Gene Kelly), whose droll witticisms mask a dearth of principals; I’d never paid much attention to Hornbeck before, but his relationship with Drummond seems key – evidence that the film is smarter than a reductionist agnostic-vs.-fundamentalist interpretation.  But even with the brain switched off, Inherit the Wind positively sizzles; Kramer gives us the hottest courtroom in recent memory and stages his scenes for maximum intensity.  Though the first hour is slower than the second, it’s not a detriment to the film, nor can I recommend Inherit the Wind highly enough.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - April 8, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week, an exemplary horror film from fan favorite Joss Whedon.

Cabin in the Woods (2012) – Post-Avengers, I’ve been on a quest to find out more about this man called Joss Whedon, and so far I haven’t been disappointed; Firefly is as clever as its devotees declaim, though Alien Resurrection left something to be desired.  Cabin in the Woods, though, counts among the former; screenwriter Whedon brings his tongue-in-cheek self-awareness to bear on this horror/sci-fi satire, which trots out that oldest and ignoblest of horror tropes – a mixed bag of coeds in the titular cabin – and does something delightfully original with it.  It’s Evil Dead by way of Shaun of the Dead.  Without spoiling too much, the film quickly reveals that the five college students are being watched by cameras wired to a control booth, where two blue collar technicians (Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford) are manipulating the supernatural goings-on in the woods.  I’ll stop there, because Whedon and director/cowriter Drew Goddard are up to something quite smart here, original without disobeying the classic rules of the horror game.  Much of the fun of the movie comes from trying to understand the relationship between the cabin and the technicians, and the payoff is well worth the cognitive exertion.  Avengers fans will likely revel in the presence of Chris Hemsworth in the cabin, his football jock a far cry from his regal turn as the Asgardian lead in Thor; the rest of the cast of coeds, though, is mostly negligible.  The real entertainment value – Jenkins aside, though he’s sharp as always – comes from the script, which wears its affection for the genre on its bloodied zombie sleeve.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Thunderball (1965)

Here’s the thing about Thunderball:  it’s not Goldfinger.  I know it’s unfair to compare Sean Connery’s fourth outing as James Bond to his third, widely regarded as his and the series’ best (and, for my money, a perfect movie).  But watching the two virtually back to back means that something about the movie doesn’t quite hit it.

Thunderball is a different kind of movie, for one.  Where Goldfinger was an insular and personal battle of wits between super spy and bullion baron, Thunderball ups the scale when the shadowy organization SPECTRE holds the world for ransom after stealing two atomic bombs.  On a hunch and inspired by a photograph of the beautiful Domino Derval (Claudine Auger), James Bond (Connery) flies to Nassau, where the bombs are being guarded by SPECTRE second-in-command Emilio Largo (Adolfo Celi).

There are elements of Thunderball that work quite well.  The pre-credits sequence is brilliant, beginning at a funeral where Bond pieces together an important clue about one of the mourners before making his escape in the series’ most fantastic gadget yet – a jetpack strapped over 007’s shoulders.  The momentum continues with Tom Jones’s soulful vocals over the title track, a worthy successor to Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger.”

And of note here, more than in any other Bond movie, a good deal of the film takes place underwater (Wikipedia tells me it’s roughly a quarter of the movie).  To director Terence Young’s credit, these scenes are actually quite exciting; though mostly silent and filmed without speeding up the natural drag caused by swimming at the bottom of the ocean, the underwater sequences both distinguish Thunderball from the rest of the franchise while also finding a new and creative way to introduce action scenes into the narrative while preserving the scenic specificity of Nassau (something Dr. No, set on an island, did not quite do).  The only complaint about these scenes is that it is sometimes difficult to make out which swimmer is Bond and which is Largo – and which is no one at all.

What’s missing from Thunderball is the sense of mystery that made Goldfinger such a hit.  As in From Russia with Love, we’re let in on the villain’s scheme almost from the beginning; here we finally get our best look at SPECTRE and how it operates (something the rest of the Connery-era films will continue to pay off), and we know before MI6 does that Largo has the bombs.  Consequently there isn’t much of a sense of intrigue about the movie, and the question is more how Bond will save the world and not why it needs saving.

After Pussy Galore provided a challenge to the “Bond Girl” stereotype emerging from Honey Rider and Tatiana Romanova, Domino Derval is somewhere in the middle.  She doesn’t do much for the bulk of the film, providing Bond’s incentive to visit Nassau and giving the audience a concrete link between Largo and the bomb plot (Domino’s brother had been flying the bombs for NATO... or did he?).  Consequently, she spends most of the movie wearing bathing suits and resisting Bond’s advances.  She does, however, get some wonderful scenes after Bond decides to trust her with his suspicions about Largo, and her role in the film’s climax is a welcome surprise.

All told, with Thunderball the franchise is back to Dr. No levels; it’s not an instant classic in the way that the perfect Goldfinger was, but it does some impressive things within its two hours that make it enjoyable enough for Bond aficionados.

Thunderball is rated PG.  This film, like the other early Bond films, is quite tame by today’s standards; Bond interrupts a woman in a bathtub, who shows bare back and shoulders.  Since the film takes place mostly on an island, many men and women are seen in swimsuits which are somewhat revealing.  There is blood in several scenes involving sharks and gunfire, several more scenes of exaggerated action violence, and one impalement (played almost for laughs)

James Bond and The Cinema King will return in a review of You Only Live Twice (1967) on May 7, 2013!

Monday at the Movies - April 1, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  Even though it's April Fool's Day, no joke - this is a movie that could be reviewed in a single word:  “perfect.”  (Don’t worry, you’ll get the other 249, as well!)

The Maltese Falcon (1941) – As well as a directorial debut and a book-to-screen adaptation, The Maltese Falcon is the curious case of the remake that’s better than the original (is it the only one?).  Director John Huston takes the Dashiell Hammett book of the same name and films it virtually word-for-word, casting Humphrey Bogart in a star-making role as private eye Sam Spade.  It’s your classic MacGuffin film, where the object of pursuit is less important than the characters who pursue it, and here The Maltese Falcon shines with an amazingly engaging set of protagonists and antagonists who are all in it for themselves – even if it means double-crossing each other to get there.  Spade gets embroiled in a search for the fabled “Black Bird,” though he’s not sure who really wants it or why; in hot pursuit of the jeweled statue, Spade becomes embroiled in a sundry cast of characters including a charismatic pathological liar (Mary Astor), an effete but well-mannered criminal (Peter Lorre), and a garrulous gentleman (Sydney Greenstreet) whose vocabulary is matched only by his girth.  The Maltese Falcon is perfect on a number of levels – perfect cast, perfect direction (which practically reinvents noir before your eyes), perfect script that wastes not a single shot in relentless pursuit of the plot.  Huston has made something really remarkable film here, almost the noir version of Seinfeld, in which essentially nothing happens while four ostensible allies scramble over each other to come out on top.  On first watch, the pursuit is all; on second watch, you’ll be able to appreciate the performances now that you know who’s after what at which point.  On third watch?  You’ll be saying the dialogue along with them.  The Maltese Falcon is that perfect crystallization of earnestness and infectiousness, a movie instantly rewatchable time and again.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!