When rating a film I ask myself these three questions: What is the director’s goal or purpose? How does the director try to achieve it? Is the director successful? Hence a big box office hit may get a “5” while a Eurosleaze sexploitation flick gets a “7”. My rating system in a nutshell:
10 = Brilliant!
9 = Exceptional
8 = Very Good
7 = Good
6 = Average
5 = Forgettable
4 = Bad
3 = Dismal
2 = Dog Barf
1 = Beyond Awful
~ ~ ~ ~
Heartstone (Iceland 2016) (8): Friends since they were children, Thor and Christian now find themselves navigating the choppy waters of puberty together in the tiny fishing village where they live. Against a backdrop of family dysfunction and bullies, house parties and sexual experimentation, girls will begin to figure more prominently—at least for Thor. Christian, on the other hand, will find his romantic interests leaning more towards his best friend, a dicey situation at best in this conservative corner of the country. Skirting the usual rainbow clichés of the “Gay Coming-of-Age” flick, writer/director Guðmundur Arnar Guðmundsson takes a far more natural approach with barren cliffs and mountains underlining the film’s sense of social isolation while a chaotic sea mirrors an inner restlessness. That the two friends have grown to love each other, each in his own way, is both unmistakable and heartwarming, but can the platonic affections of boyhood adapt when those same boys grow into two different adolescents? Rife with the severe beauty of Iceland’s coast, Guðmundsson finds apt metaphors in nature itself: a local fish, despised by fisherman for its grotesque looks and lack of commercial value, suffers for being “different”; a camping trip in the foothills leads to a harsh lesson in reality; and the plight of a pair of sheep offers a foreshadowing of sorts. Powerful for all its simplicity, with a young cast whose moving performances go far beyond their years.
Carmen (Spain 1983) (8): Rehearsals for a rollicking flamenco version of Bizet’s opera “Carmen” take a turn for the surreal when the company’s director falls for his lead actress. Soon his obsession for the sultry young dancer—and her hot and cold affections towards him—begin to echo the opera itself leading to a piece of immersive cinema wherein reality and staged fiction become inseparable. Filled with sensuous dance moves, ethereal music, and theatrical passion (or is it passionate theatrics?) director/co-writer Carlos Saura’s play-within-a-movie is so expertly pieced together that its dark finale left me wondering whether the cast should have called for the police or for an encore. Nominated for 1984’s Best Foreign Language Oscar.
Damage (UK 1992) (7): A conservative UK politician (Jeremy Irons) embarks on a heated, hyper-sexual affair with his son’s fiancee (Juliette Binoche). Screwing in doorways, hotel rooms, and rundown flats, the older man’s increasingly reckless obsession with the young woman will ultimately threaten everything he’s worked for. This is not a love story however, for both partners are damaged in different ways—his comfortable upper class life is suffocating, she’s crushed by guilt over a sordid family incident—and by seeking release in one another’s flesh their curiously unemotional couplings come to resemble nothing more than two desperate junkies trying to score a hit. Director Louis Malle keeps things downbeat with Irons’ mechanical performance a parody of a proper English gentleman and an equally monotone Binoche lending new meaning to the term femme fatale (her wardrobe palate limited almost exclusively to red and black). A Max Ernst print hanging in the background adds a touch of blasphemy and subversion while a naked tryst in front of an open bathroom door provides a rather heavy-handed foreshadowing albeit in retrospect. A tragic parable of amour fou turned amour toxique. Rupert Graves is forgettable as the wounded son, Leslie Caron is pure ice as Binoche’s estranged mother, and an Oscar-nominated Miranda Richardson goes from relaxed to rabid as the wronged wife.
The Cursed (UK/France 2021) (4): In 19th century France (or is it Britain?) a wealthy baron massacres a clan of gypsies whom he believes are trying to steal his land and for this outrage he is cursed by their leader just before she dies. A few years later the baron’s young son disappears and villagers begin to die in terribly grisly ways. It finally falls to a visiting pathologist to unravel the mystery and reveal who—or what—is responsible. Based loosely on the 18th century legend of “The Beast of Gévaudin”, writer/director Sean Ellis combines tropes from 1941’s The Wolfman and Carpenter’s The Thing, throws in a bit of social justice (oh those poor gypsies!) and films it all in murky shades of twilight. Unfortunately it looks like he blew most of his budget on candles and smoke machines saving just enough for some B-grade monster effects and a bit of gore. And it shows. Heavy on the atmosphere—candlelit drawing rooms, fogbound forests, and glimpses of slimy crawlies—but woefully light on the fright factor (unless you’re frightened of boredom) the story just manages to slog along until the ending finally arrives like a welcome silver bullet.
Deluge (USA 1933) (6): After a series of earthquakes and tsunamis wipe out the continental United States a handful of survivors must overcome anarchy and despair in order to rebuild what was lost. One such survivor, Martin, having lost his wife and children tries to begin again with a woman he finds on the beach. But first he’ll have to contend with a murderous band of outlaws also looking for women—and they couldn’t care less about consent. A surprisingly stark, pre-code film featuring ample amounts of female flesh and rather blunt allusions to rape, adultery, and sexual torture, not to mention vigilante justice. And a tragic romantic twist toward the end must have been shocking (or titillating) for contemporary audiences. But considering the sound and visual effects are almost 100 years old, those miniature model scenes of New York being shaken apart then buried beneath one tidal wave after another are forgivable.
C’mon C’mon (USA 2021) (7): Lonely, somewhat taciturn journalist Johnny (a monotone Joaquin Phoenix) is busy touring the country interviewing children about what makes them happy and unhappy when his estranged sister (a neurotic Gaby Hoffman) asks him to babysit her ten-year old son Jesse (newcomer Woody Norman waffling between endearing and annoying) while she deals with a personal crisis. An odd little tyke, possibly somewhere on the spectrum, Jesse is incapable of accepting the world the way it is and his naïve yet piercing observations cause Johnny to do a bit of soul-searching himself. Filmed in warm shades of B&W, writer/director Mike Mills’ understated road movie follows exuberant moppet and melancholy moper as they make their way from L.A. to New York to New Orleans, their deepening relationship given an added poignancy by snatches of Johnny’s taped interviews in which pint-sized subjects speak of loneliness, alienation, and the need to be heard. A trio of natural performances and an unpretentious script keep the dialogue from sinking into maudlin sentimentality (for the most part at least) and Robbie Ryan’s soft focus cinematography is nicely poised between home movie realism and widescreen psychodrama.
Without Limits (USA 1998) (7): “Sports Films” are one of my least favourite genres yet this biopic about runner Steve Prefontaine whose Olympic dreams were tragically cut short features such fine performances from its two leads that it ultimately won me over. As played by Billy Crudup, Prefontaine was already a cocky record-breaking track phenomenon when he accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Oregon in 1969, but he met his match in coach Bill Bowerman (Golden Globe nominee Donald Sutherland). Unflappable and unmovable despite his soft-spoken demeanour, Bowerman would eventually mould Prefontaine into one of the greatest athletes the USA had ever produced. Writer/director Robert Towne definitely captures the vibe of 1970s America from the porn ‘staches and muscle cars to a sterling soundtrack that includes songs from David Bowie, Jefferson Airplane, and Elton John. Towne also managed to get his hands on some raw footage of the 1972 Munich Olympics—where Prefontaine first competed—thus giving his film an added sense of authenticity. Unfortunately Monica Potter, playing Prefontaine’s “good Catholic girl” love interest, gives the film its only low point with an unconvincing performance showing neither depth nor passion. Inspirational in its message of perseverance and pushing limits, Towne keeps the interpersonal drama free of Hollywood bombast, the sports sequences mercifully short yet effective, and that final sad twist of fate respectfully muted. Interesting side note, Bill Bowerman would go on to co-found Nike Inc.
Melinda and Melinda (USA 2004) (5): Two playwrights with differing views on the human condition are having dinner with friends. Sy (Wallace Shawn) maintains that life is essentially a series of comedic events while Max (Larry Pine) maintains that our existence is underlined by tragedy. Then one of their friends poses a hypothetical scenario: “A troubled woman crashes a private dinner party…” Thus two parallel stories evolve focused on “Melinda” (Radha Mitchell doing double-time), one in which she is a tragic victim bent on sabotaging her life and the other in which she’s a kooky RomCom character finding love in the Big Apple. But which one rings truer to life? Playing out more like a creative writing assignment than a serious philosophical discourse, this is definitely not among writer/director Woody Allen’s best works. Still, his usual trappings are on full display with New York sophisticates exchanging forced bon mots over vintage wine and bitchy humour either leading to laughs or cringes depending on the storyline. Mitchell does an OK job playing opposite sides of the same coin but it’s co-star Will Ferrell, playing a frustrated husband, who garners the most chuckles as he channels Allen’s neurotic wit.
Hello, Hemingway (Cuba 1990) (7): High school senior, Larita, has her heart set on winning a scholarship to study in America. But the competition is fierce, her family is poor, and her reactionary boyfriend is attracting the wrong kind of attention. Losing herself in a battered copy of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, Larita draws inspiration from the elderly Santiago’s courage and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds. But will it be enough to see her through or, like Santiago, will her dreams likewise go unfulfilled? Set in Cuba circa 1950s, director Fernando Pérez’s ultra low-budget indie takes the excesses of a telenovela—the turmoil, the overbearing music, the emotive acting—and fashions them into a highly watchable personal drama. Lead actress Laura De la Uz gives a wonderfully downplayed performance as a young woman who won’t let her secondhand shoes and patched dress keep her from achieving her goal even as fate and circumstance gather against her (as well as a drunken adoptive father and mother who gave up her own dreams long ago). And just to add a bit of irony to the story, Pérez places Larita’s humble home right smack in the shadow of Hemingway’s seaside mansion—his ethereal presence a source of both encouragement and bitterness. Avoiding Hollywood schmaltz in favour of realism, Pérez nevertheless closes his film with a perfectly composed static shot in which young schoolgirl and classic novel finally intersect. Charming.
Murder by Decree (UK/Canada 1979) (7): Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Dr. Watson (Christopher Plummer, James Mason) are drawn into a dangerous game of politics and royal scandal when they join the hunt for Jack the Ripper. Pretty generic fare hovering as it does between the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce classics and the cartoonish nonsense of Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law’s second attempt. But Plummer and Mason work well together and they’re further buoyed by David Hemmings, John Gielgud, Anthony Quayle, Geneviève Bujold, and Donald Sutherland. The old London sets are appropriately dusty and musty, while the score by Paul Zaza and Carl Zittrer manages to keep pace.
Midnight in Paris (USA 2011) (9): Writer/director Woody Allen scores another hit with this fantasy nostalgia piece which begs the question, what exactly are the “good old days” and why is each generation so preoccupied with them? While visiting France with his stuck-up fiancée Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her snobbish parents, aspiring American novelist Gil (Owen Wilson) finds himself magically transported back to 1920s Paris every night at midnight where he falls in with the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Luis Buñuel, and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Believing this to be the greatest era in history, Gil is beside himself—especially after Picasso’s ex-mistress (Marion Cotillard) takes a shine to him. But one person’s Golden Age is another’s boring Here and Now, a lesson Gil is about to learn in both the past and the present. Allen turns the City of Lights into a romantic playground of cobblestone alleyways and gas streetlights, where booze and intellectual banter go hand in hand and anything is possible. Opening with a succession of postcard moments and closing on a rain-shrouded bridge, his opus gushes with sentimentality and passion. And of course his signature dry humour is evident throughout. Beautifully framed and intelligently written. Co-stars include Adrian Brody as an over-the-top Salvador Dali; Kathy Bates as a no-nonsense Stein; Alison Pill giving a convincingly neurotic Zelda Fitzgerald to Tom Hiddleston’s stoic F. Scott; and Corey Stoll as a slightly unhinged Hemingway.
Scaramouche (USA 1952) (7): Set in pre-revolutionary France, MGM’s grand costume swashbuckler stars Stewart Granger as a dashing rogue obsessed with exacting revenge on the master swordsman who killed his best friend. To this end he goes undercover with a group of traveling performers where his life is further complicated when two women begin vying for his affections: a headstrong actress (Eleanor Parker) who sees him for exactly what he is; and a virginal debutante (Janet Leigh) who winds up being the biggest thorn in his side. Magnificent wardrobes—Nina Foch practically drips pearls and diamonds in her bit part as Marie Antoinette—and a stirring orchestral score compliment the widescreen action while a climactic sword fight in a crowded theatre sees two adversaries swinging on ropes and balancing on balcony railings as they literally slash the scenery to pieces. Great fun presented in scorching Technicolor!
Owners [Vlastníci] (Czech Republic 2019) (7): Nobody does political satire like eastern Europeans and writer/director Jirí Havelka certainly gives credence to that reputation. On a frosty winter’s night the Home Owners’ Association (HOA) of a rickety co-op development gather for their monthly meeting. But with personal agendas flying like daggers they can’t seem to move past the opening minutes. One woman wants much needed upgrades to be done while another accuses the building’s sole gay occupant of wasting water on his many “dates”. Then there’s the old man who can’t stop reminiscing about the good old days under Communist rule; the cougar accused of harbouring too many black foreigners (“They’re from Ghana and they’re studying medicine!” she shoots back); and the smooth-talking twins who inherited an apartment from their deceased father and now have questionable plans of their own. And presiding over the whole mess is the HOA’s anal-retentive secretary whose obsession with rules and regulations has everyone voting on whether or not to vote on a motion to hold a vote. In the meantime, throughout the building pipes are bursting and electrical outlets are shorting… A wickedly dry comedy of democracy gone mad in a house of cards populated by a round table of nitwits and incompetents, schemers and martyrs. It may be tailored toward a Czech audience but the punchlines are universal.
True Stories (USA 1986) (8): David Byrne’s weird and wonderful quasi-musical manages to be both a deadpan homage and a skewed send-up of small town Americana circa 1980s. As the little burg of Virgil, Texas gears up for that state’s 150th anniversary of independence, various residents are dealing with dramas of their own from the rich recluse (Swoosie Kurtz) who stays in bed all day watching the world go by on her TV set to the lovesick bachelor (John Goodman) who uses everything from voodoo rites to neon signs in order to find the woman of his dreams. And traveling back and forth along main street in his red convertible is a dapper narrator (Byrne) who regularly breaks the fourth wall in order to keep us in the loop. It’s kooky of course—apparently many of the “true stories” were gleaned from actual supermarket tabloids—but there’s a sense of fun at work and a host of songs-slash-music videos by Talking Heads get your toes tapping as they none too gently skewer consumerism one minute (“Love for Sale”), take aim at politics the next (“Puzzlin’ Evidence”) and finally get all misty-eyed when Goodman belts out an unexpectedly soulful rendition of “People Like Us”. An outré fashion show is enough to give a drag queen nightmares; a town parade features a precision lawnmower drill team; and a gala talent contest is cringeworthy in the best possible way. Jo Harvey Allen winds up with the best lines as a barfly with a drunken tall tale for every occasion and Spalding Gray makes a bizarre cameo as a civic leader with an interesting use for shellfish.
Ingrid Bergman: In Her Own Words (Sweden 2015) (8): Not your usual biography, director/co-writer Stig Björkman’s documentary on Sweden’s biggest movie star gathers its information from Bergman’s own extensive trove of home movies, letters, and personal diaries, as well as firsthand recollections provided by friends and family. From her unhappy childhood—she was rocked by multiple family deaths—to her success in Hollywood and beyond she was a study in contradiction. Shy yet outspoken, demure yet prone to scandal, in love with her children yet absent for long stretches at a time, hers was a restless spirit. She once confided in a friend, ”I was the shyest creature in the world but I had a lion inside me that wouldn’t keep quiet.” Yet this is no Mommie Dearest muckraker for no one, including her four grown children, have anything but good memories—if anything they regret not having more of her in their lives. And after watching Björkman’s wonderfully intimate portrait of Bergman as both wife, mother, and screen icon I must say I feel the same way.
Zero Day (USA 2002) (7): Pretty much ignored by their peers, high school loners Cal and Andre amuse themselves by making home videos showing themselves pulling pranks and listing grievances aimed at their parents, their school, and life in general. But when they proudly show off their growing arsenal of assault weapons and drop hints about “Zero Day” you realize that you are in fact watching a pair of teenaged sociopaths planning the biggest prank of all… Heavily influenced by the Columbine massacre which occurred less than three years previous, director Ben Coccio stitches together amateur video and B&W security camera footage to imagine what may have happened in the days leading up to a similar tragedy. Stars Cal Robertson and Andre Keuk certainly look the part as a pair of nondescript slackers whose outer indifference hides an inner rage: they joke with their clueless parents (played by the actors’ real life parents) yet in private talk dispassionately about ways to kill and record a manifesto which is both chilling and childishly naïve. These are not the deranged monsters we want to see but rather a pair of kids displaying what philosopher Hannah Arendt once described as “the banality of evil”—there’s nothing special about them and that fact makes their plans all the more horrifying. There is a sophomoric quality to this production which borders on experimental, and it definitely lacks the polished arthouse precision of Gus Van Sant’s Elephant released a year later—but it’s precisely this lack of sophistication which makes it all the more wrenching. Of course one can’t help but sense a certain amount of exploitation on Coccio’s part especially with Columbine still fresh in everyone’s mind, but considering the hundreds of school shootings which have occurred since then while politicians and the NRA continue to sit on their asses perhaps Zero Day should be required viewing.
Triangle (UK/Australia 2009) (8): Six people are enjoying a sailing trip off the Florida coast when a sudden bizarre storm wrecks their boat. Now marooned in the middle of the ocean they are relieved to see a giant steamship heading their way. Once aboard however they will face a whole series of strange and deadly mysteries after they find the ship completely deserted. But one of the castaways, Jess (Melissa George), begins to suspect what is really going on and the truth is more horrible than she can imagine… Carnival of Souls meets The Poseidon Adventure with a touch or two of The Shining in writer/director Christopher Smith’s refreshingly clever and unexpectedly dark descent into madness and perdition. To explain more would be to explain too much, suffice to say this is an eerie, atmospheric mindfuck of a film filled with portents and metaphors (keep your eyes open and brush up on your mythology!) played out in echoing corridors and dimly lit spaces. Trust no one, not even yourself…
The Palm Beach Story (USA 1942) (7): Despite the censors being unhappy with the film’s flippant attitude towards matrimony in general, Preston Sturges’ iconic screwball comedy still ranks as one of Hollywood’s most popular. In order to help her husband, a brilliant but financially strapped inventor (Joel McCrea), turn his idea of a high-tech airport into a reality his doting wife (Claudette Colbert) comes up with an outlandish plan: head to Florida for a quickie divorce then enter into a marriage of convenience with the first millionaire who crosses her path. But before she can annul her first marriage she meets up with a wealthy recluse (Rudy Vallee) and all hell breaks loose when her jealous husband has second thoughts and comes looking for her. Colbert hits comedy gold hovering between ditzy airhead and pragmatic schemer while McCrea provides the perfect foil as the taciturn spouse who can’t quite keep up. Meanwhile Vallee spoofs himself as the crooning tycoon and Mary Astor yuks it up with double-entendres as the man-eating sister who latches onto McCrea. From the opening credits’ puzzling montage (it eventually makes sense) to that ingenious closing shot (experts are still not sure how it was filmed) this is a whimsical little farce, directed with a light touch and featuring a cast that play off each other perfectly. And that prolonged scene featuring Colbert sharing a train car with a group of drunken, shotgun-toting businessmen borders on the surreal. Fun stuff!
The Best Years of Our Lives (USA 1946) (9): Winner of seven Oscars, including Best Picture, William Wyler’s 3-hour small town epic dared to go where many films at that time refused. At the end of WWII three soldiers return to an America that has changed almost beyond recognition. Al (Fredric March, Best Actor) reunites with a family that has grown independent in his absence—his adoring wife (Myrna Loy) can’t quite understand him and his grown children are practically strangers. Fred (Dana Andrews), moves in with a wife (Virginia Mayo) who now has a life of her own. And Homer (real life amputee Harold Russell, Best Supporting Actor) who lost his hands in a fire reacts to the pity he receives with increasing hostility. As the three men try to integrate back into a peacetime population which no longer treats them with deference—jobs are scarce, banks are reluctant to give loans, some question whether the war was even worth it—alcohol, PTSD, and despair will all take their toll. Pretty controversial for a movie that was released just one year after D-Day and Hiroshima, but Wyler and screenwriters Robert Sherwood and MacKinlay Kantor (who wrote the novel) bring their own wartime experiences to the forefront giving the whole production not only an air of authenticity but of utmost compassion as well. Lacking the pessimism that would mark later Viet Nam era films like Coming Home and Apocalypse Now, Wyler does offer some light at the end of his three tunnels, but the GI Joe bravado which influenced Hollywood during the war is here tempered by a dose of sobering reality. Highly watchable and occasionally brilliant. Celebrated songwriter Hoagy Carmichael co-stars as Homer’s barkeep uncle and Teresa Wright plays Al’s headstrong daughter.
The Letter (USA 1940) (8): An early precursor to Film Noir, William Wyler’s multiple Oscar nominated melodrama features Bette Davis as the gracious wife of a Malaysian rubber plantation owner who kills a man one night after she claims he tried to rape her. But an incriminating letter soon surfaces which casts serious doubts on her story… Davis’ over-the-top performance shifts between coyness and hysterics while a more grounded James Stephenson provides some dramatic ballast as the conscientious defense attorney who begins to question her innocence. But the real star is Tony Gaudio’s evocative B&W cinematography which revels in shadows and nighttime skies with the moon itself cast as heavenly judge and jury. Too bad the Hays Office felt the need to sanitize Somerset Maugham’s original story. Herbert Marshall gives a stiff upper lip as the doting husband, Gale Sondergaard is pure malice as the deceased’s wife, and Victor Sen Yung begins his film career by playing Stephenson’s oily paralegal.
