maggie sprocket

HANDS DOWN: FILMS OF THE DECADE

2010-01-03T06:04:00.000-08:00

Following is the Master List (in alphabetical order) for my favorite films of the decade. There are 132 by my count - including the first installment of a trilogy made in 1996.

I've spent a few days now reviewing my notes, the listings of films that were released in the Naughts - along with the compulsory choices made by every website or magazine from Scientific Journal to Bite My Ass.com - in order to generate my own list. One amusing trend I've noticed is the rush of critics to admit that it's an almost impossible task to compare 10 or 25 or 50 films that adequately represent the decade we've just experienced - immediately before they do just that, without qualification.

One cause for that excuse is to try to head off the massive Fan Boy Community - keyboard at the ready - should a dithering scribe dare create a list where at least one film involving a Hobbit doesn't appear. Roger Ebert takes the prize, though, by admitting that he didn't feel there were really 10 animated features to laud as the Best of 2009 - but the list required him to pick 10, so "here they are."

The happy difficulty they all face is the sheer number of film releases coming in from both the majors and the independents - as well as individuals armed with digital cameras. Several films listed were made with a thousand or more technicians, costing hundreds of millions of dollars. One was created on a personal home computer by a single individual.

Genre-wise, we're all over the map, as well. Removing the big mutiplex franchise pictures and, say, horror films (that naturally feed off one another) from the equation, the field of play encompassed an extraordinarily eclectic grab-bag of types - hard to pigeonhole, true enough.

But it's sad to see so many critics not even make an attempt at explaining why these most prominent reflections of our culture and others manifested themselves in ways numerous, loud, individual, and often garbled.

Is it really that difficult to understand?

Here in America, the Naughts were a decade where a horrifying attack by terrorists unsettled our very fabric - and continues to do so. And, led by men and women of fear rather than imagination, for, perhaps, the third time in our history we went to war with another nation without true cause.

In the interest of National Security, the US openly sanctioned private armies, assassinations, and the political destruction of its perceived detractors - with no long-term penalty in sight. Practices steered by a comprehensively yellow media, and long relegated to the dustbin of National Disgrace, were suddenly the order of the day: war profiteering, McCarthyism, loss of basic rights and personal expression. For the first time since the Civil War, the US Constitution faced it's most serious legal challenges - from the very government swore to uphold and protect it. Rafts of government employees - regardless of their background or competence - were appointed to positions of great responsibility based solely on their religious affiliation. Business moguls, speculators and "financiers," taking full advantage of government disassembling of New Deal safeguards, continued the 1990's eradication of US-based jobs, ran Wall Street like a Vegas casino, eventually decimated the economy, and wiped out the savings of millions of our citizens - again, with no long-term penalty or accountability in sight. Government and private funding for the arts and sciences dried up almost 60% - and the Great God Advertising finally managed to muscle its way in as the one true cultural reflection of America.

And us? Statistically, most of us watched it happen without significant shock or counteraction, on television or online like a sporting event. We watched AMERICAN IDOL, PROJECT: RUNWAY, and THE OC a lot, too - and made an enormous amount of charismatic, talent-free exhibitionists staggeringly wealthy, be they in entertainment, sports, or politics. We also immersed ourselves in personal technologies, and obsessed over our physical appearance. Plastic surgery, drastic dieting, and shopping all made bids to become the National Pastime.

We did stir things up a bit during 2007-8 for the election, voting in the right guy, more than likely - but have done little since to help or constructively challenge him in a way that won't give the steering wheel back to the right wing. We still have some time, I suppose.

But even if you only agree with half of that State of the Union rundown, it's not too hard to locate catalysts to explain the eclecticism on display in the Naughts' film releases. In periods of great national stress, we tend to create more intense, diverse popular culture with which to entertain ourselves. We did during the Great Depression of the 1930s - again in the 1950s, with the Bomb hanging over our heads - and in the 1970s, as we stood in gas lines and watched helplessly as Iran took us out for a ride.

But it's been a long, long time since the nation has endured this many self-inflicted wounds at one go-round. It's telling that if you happen to be looking for common themes on display here, they can probably be found under Identity.

Please feel free to weigh in with your own ideas on the subject.

Looking at what trends there were in cinema, though - if, during the Naughts, you were: a costumed super hero, a zombie, a vampire, an Asian ghost, an international spy/assassin, a large creature from outer space/underneath the sea, living in Middle Earth, or using industrial equipment to torture the homeless - you had a very good decade. Even better, the more you leaned toward the supernatural.

In other news, Geekdom became a noble subculture in films, officially - perhaps in keeping with multiplex audience demographics. Documentaries of all shapes and sizes also had their best decade ever, certainly, and there seemed no shortage of fictionalized Biographies, either. Neo-noir had pretty much played itself out from the 90s, but the Heist picture had a bit of a comeback, as did the Sword-and-Sandal epic, of all things. Remakes of old TV series actually did much better on TV than at the theatres - though there were quite a few attempts. And in past few years Comedy did very well - as it always does during times of economic crisis.

Due to extraordinary advances in technology (and TV sci-fi to test it on), Tolkein fans finally got what they'd always wanted - with remarkable results. Marvel Comics fans finally got about 60% of what they'd always wanted - still, not too shabby. Unfortunately, George Lucas fans just thought they were finally getting what they'd always wanted, but got two more software demonstration films and one of the worst movies of any decade for their trouble.

Sadly, the independents took many hits - certainly not in terms of quality, as a strong percentage of modestly budgeted films were quite, quite good, as always - but in many cases simply too many releases (from the majors, and from themselves) ran afoul of business plans and priceless production/distribution outfits like THINKFilm are no longer with us. But what is to be done? People's voices need to be heard.

As I said, I'll take up these issues and more as I go along, but first, let me outline how the list is broken down in subsequent posts: I've chosen 11 individuals who did my favorite work in cinema during the decade. Each post will list 2 or 3 in a countdown format. I've also picked an arbitrary number of my favorite pictures of a particular genre, and listed those - with at least some reasons for all.

If you happen to be looking for personal taste comparisons, I can tell you that Carl Dreyer's THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC, Carol Reed's THE THIRD MAN, and Michael Powell/Emeric Pressberger's THE LIFE AND DEATH OF COLONEL BLIMP are my favorite films of the studio period - Tom Tykwer's RUN LOLA RUN (1998) and Mike Leigh's TOPSY-TURVY (1999) were my favorite films of the last decade, and Kathryn Bigelow's THE HURT LOCKER (2009) was, hands down, the best film I saw last year - though it is not my personal choice for Best of the Decade. That would be telling.

As far as performers go, I will always make a special effort to see Nick Nolte, Cate Blanchett, Ed Harris, Denzel Washington, Russell Crowe, Franke Potente, Robert Downey, Jr., Emma Thompson, Helen Mirren, Gary Oldman and Robin Wright Penn in whatever films they may happen to appear - although none of these would be my choice for Best of the Decade. That would also be telling.

The final two caveats I would throw out with this list are: 1.) the majority of them were not experienced in a cinema proper, but either on DVD or through cable and online services. Not optimal - but there you have it. Like many of you, I'm sure, going out to a movie theatre regularly has become a prohibitively expensive proposition - so we generally reserve that for a special event or an FX extravaganza. And 2.) I always feel as if I'm lacking in representations of foreign pictures whenever I do something like this - primarily from Eastern bloc countries - though my average was better these years than most. But I shall endeavor to do better in future.

Here they are, then:

13 TZAMETI (Gela Babluani, 2005)

310 to YUMA (James Mangold, 2005)
28 DAYS/WEEKS LATER (Danny Boyle, 2002/Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, 2007)
25th HOUR (Spike Lee, 2002)

A SERIOUS MAN (Coen Brothers, 2009)
ADAPTATION (Spike Jonze, 2002)
AMELIE (Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2001)
AUTO FOCUS (Paul Schrader, 2002)

BABEL (Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, 2006)
BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD (Sidney Lumet, 2007)
BEAUTIFUL LOSERS (Aaron Rose, 2007)
BLACK HAWK DOWN (Ridley Scott, 2001)
BORN INTO BROTHELS (Zani Briski, 2004)
THE BOURNE TRILOGY (Doug Liman, 2002/Paul Greengrass, 2004, 2007)
BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE (Michael Moore, 2002)
BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN (Ang Lee, 2005)
BRONSON (Nicholas Winding Refn, 2009)

CAPOTE (Bennett Miller, 2005)

CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS (Andrew Jarecki, 2003)
CASINO ROYALE (Martin Campbell, 2006)
CHILDREN OF MEN (Alfonso Cuaron, 2006)
CINDERELLA MAN (Ron Howard, 2005)
CITY OF GOD (Fernando Meirelles, 2002)
CLOVERFIELD (Matt Reeves, 2008)
CONFESSIONS OF A DANGEROUS MIND (George Clooney, 2002)
THE CONSTANT GARDENER (Fernando Meirelles, 2005)
CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON (Ang Lee, 2000)

THE DESCENT (Neil Marshall, 2005)

THE DEVIL'S BACKBONE (Guillermo del Toro, 2001)

DISTRICT 9 (Nell Blomcamp, 2009)

THE DIVING BELL AND THE BUTTERFLY (Julian Schnabel, 2007)

DONNIE DARKO (Richard Kelly, 2001)

DOWNFALL (Oliver Herschbiegel, 2004)

EASTERN PROMISES (David Cronenberg, 2007)

ENCOUNTERS AT THE END OF THE WORLD (Werner Herzog, 2007)

ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (Michael Gondry, 2004)

FARENHEIT 9/11 (Michael Moore, 2004)

FEAR X (Nicholas Winding Refn, 2003)

FINDING NEMO (Andrew Stanton/Lee Unkrich, 2003)

GHOST WORLD (Terry Zwigoff, 2001)

GLADIATOR (Ridley Scott, 2000)

GONE BABY GONE (Ben Affleck, 2007)

GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK (George Clooney, 2005)

THE GOOD THIEF (Neil Jordan, 2002)

GOSFORD PARK (Robert Altman, 2001)

GRAN TORINO (Clint Eastwood, 2008)

GRIZZLY MAN (Werner Herzog, 2005)

HALF NELSON (Ryan Fleck, 2006)

HELLBOY II: THE GOLDEN ARMY (Guillermo del Toro, 2008)

HIGH FIDELITY (Stephen Frears, 2000)

THE HOST (Bong Joon-ho, 2006)

HOTEL RWANDA (Terry George, 2004)

THE HURT LOCKER (Kathryn Bigelow, 2009)

THE INCREDIBLES (Brad Bird, 2004)
INTOLERABLE CRUELTY (Coen Brothers, 2003)

INVINCIBLE (Werner Herzog, 2001)

IRAQ IN FRAGMENTS (James Longley, 2006)

THE KING OF KONG (Seth Gordon, 2007)

LASSIE (Charles Sturridge, 2005)

THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND (Kevin Macdonald, 2006)

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN (Tomas Alfredson, 2008)

LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA (Clint Eastwood, 2006)
LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE (Jonathan Dayton/Valerie Faris, 2006)

THE LIVES OF OTHERS (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2006)

THE LORD OF THE RINGS TRILOGY (Peter Jackson, 2001, 2002, 2003)

LOST IN TRANSLATION (Sophia Coppola, 2003)

MARCH OF THE PENGUINS (Luc Jacquet, 2005)

MASTER AND COMMANDER: THE FAR SIDE OF THE WORLD (Peter Weir, 2003)

MATCHSTICK MEN (Ridley Scott, 2003)

MAN ON WIRE (James Marsh, 2008)

THE MATADOR (Richard Shepard, 2006)

MEMENTO (Christopher Nolan, 2000)

MICHAEL CLAYTON (Tony Gilroy, 2007)

MILLION DOLLAR BABY (Clint Eastwood, 2004)

MILLIONS (Danny Boyle, 2004)

THE MIST (Frank Darabont, 2007)

MONSTER (Patty Jenkins, 2003)
MONSTERS INC (Pete Docter, 2001)

THE MOTORCYCLE DIARIES (Walter Salles, 2004)

MOULIN ROUGE! (Baz Luhrmann, 2001)

MULHOLLAND DRIVE (David Lynch, 2001)

MURDERBALL (Henry Alex Rubin/Dana Adam Shapiro, 2005)

MYSTIC RIVER (Clint Eastwood, 2003)

NAPOLEON DYNAMITE (Jared Hess/Jerusha Hess, 2004)

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN (Coen Brothers, 2007)

O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU? (Coen Brothers, 2000)

OLDBOY (Park Chan-wook, 2003)

PAN'S LABYRINTH (Guillermo del Toro, 2006)

PITCH BLACK (David Twohy, 2000)

PERSEPOLIS (Satrapi Paronnaud/Vincent Paronnaud, 2007)

PLANET EARTH (BBC Natural History Unit, 2006)

THE PLEDGE (Sean Penn, 2001)

PRIMER (Shane Carruth, 2004)

THE PUSHER TRILOGY (Nicholas Winding Refn, 1996, 2004, 2005)

THE QUEEN (Stephen Frears, 2006)

THE QUIET AMERICAN (Phillip Noyce, 2002)

RATATOUILLE (Brad Bird, 2007)

THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS (Wes Anderson, 2001)

SHAUN OF THE DEAD (Edgar Wright, 2004)

SIDEWAYS (Alexander Payne, 2004)

SITA SINGS THE BLUES (Nina Paley, 2008)

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE (Danny Boyle, 2008)

SOLARIS (Steven Soderbergh, 2002)

SPELLBOUND (Jeffrey Blitz, 2002)

SPIDER-MAN 2 (Sam Raimi, 2004)

SPIRITED AWAY (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001)

THE STORY OF THE WEEPING CAMEL (Byambasuren Davaa/Luigi Falorni, 2003)

SYRIANA (Stephen Gaghan, 2005)

TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE (Alex Gibney, 2007)

TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE (Trey Parker, 2004)

THERE WILL BE BLOOD (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007)

THIS IS ENGLAND (Shane Meadows, 2006)

THE THREE BURIALS OF MELQUIADES ESTRADA (Tommy Lee Jones, 2005)

THE TRIPLETS OF BELLEVILLE (Sylvian Chomet, 2003)

TROPIC THUNDER (Ben Stiller, 2008)

TSOTSI (Gavin Hood, 2005)

UP (Pete Docter, 2009)

VERA DRAKE (Mike Leigh, 2004)

WAKING LIFE (Richard Linklater, 2001)

WALL-E (Andrew Stanton, 2008)

WATCHMEN (Zack Snyder, 2009)

WHALE RIDER (Niki Caro, 2002)

WHEN THE LEVEES BROKE (Spike Lee, 2006)

THE WHITE DIAMOND (Werner Herzog, 2004)

ZODIAC (David Fincher, 2007)

WHUP ASS, MY DEAR WATSON

2009-12-27T06:30:00.000-08:00

Surprisingly, there are a host of things to like about Guy Ritchie's new high-octane SHERLOCK HOLMES (2009) picture: some intelligent choices made in the "enhancement" of the source material being chief among them.

Sherlockians will certainly be alarmed in many cases - but, more likely, knocked off their beam a bit by how much time and consideration has been given to a study of the original stories for this production.

That does not mean to say that the movie is Canon-faithful to the last jot - it is most certainly not. But it is a rare thing, indeed, when a Hollywood production team - especially one out to start a potential franchise with a bang - embraces the original concepts of a source author with such enthusiastic attention - even as it firmly steers away from them.

Translated into virtually every worldwide language (including Klingon), Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Victorian era Consulting Detective slash part-time sociopath - along with his erstwhile roommate - are the most-filmed characters in history, with over 200 versions under their belts, and counting (Bram Stoker's Count Dracula runs them a close second): little wonder, since Holmes and Watson's worldwide name recognition rates somewhere between God and Santa Claus on any given day.

And fanatics of the original stories - the aforementioned "Sherlockians," by name - are the most cheerfully picky breed this side of Boba Fett. They always have been. In 1893, when his creator decided to "off" the Great Detective in THE ADVENTURE OF THE FINAL PROBLEM, thousands of Strand readers wore black armbands to mark the event. And it was only after a series of near-blackmail offers that Doyle was convinced to revive the detective, 8 years later: first for the one-off serialized novel, THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES - taking place, supposedly, before his demise - then, after another 2 years, contractually "resurrected" for good in a new series of stories and beyond, until Doyle's own death in 1930. Not that that stopped anyone writing stories featuring the characters - Wikipedia lists over 170 authors who have penned pastiches - many irreverent or comedic - through the years, with, apparently, no end in sight.

However, any time a film company is presumptive enough to spit out a new version of the pair's adventures intended to be taken seriously, a great hue and cry is heard throughout the Sherlockian community, and whispers of sacrilege abound. It seems in the case of this new film, that traditionalist cry is being heard from many film critics as well - including Roger Ebert and A.O. Scott.

Just as the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce versions were for their generation and William Gillette before them - the gold standard for comparison these days is the much-beloved Granada Television series from the 80s and 90s featuring the astonishing Jeremy Brett as Holmes and, originally David Burke, then Edward Hardwicke as Watson - and well it should be. The first two seasons of that show, produced by John Hawksworth, are fresh, funny, intriguing, and a fine reminder of what riches may be mined by returning to the source material as if seeing it for the first time, knocking away the dust of traditional baggage, and investing in those forgotten or thwarted elements that made the stories appealing in the first place. In a sense, reinvesting in what has always been there.

The Granada series has, of course, over the years, been characterized as a "traditional" approach - when, at the time, it was anything but. The plots of the stories were adhered to, to be sure - as was the Victorian milieu. But Brett had very much a revisionist approach to Holmes - creating a persnickety genius unable to adhere to the polite social conventions of his time, and often trapped by his own relentless brain power. And, for the first time to a great many of us, there was a performance where one actually believed the character was as brilliant as he was supposed to be. But with that brilliance came personal cost, and Holmes' self-injury in the form of recurring drug abuse, sleep deprivation, et. al., again, for once, made perfect sense.

Peter Cushing had tried a similar, though charmless - and to many minds, now, very successful - approach for Hammer's 1959 version of HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES, directed by Terence Fisher, but was much-criticized for it at the time because - well, we were too comfortable in our Rathbone to be quite ready for that version yet, I think.

Match Brett's and Cushing's performances up to the original writing, though, and not only do both fit, but the central concepts hold. I hasten to add that a great many variants can hold when dovetailed with the very solid early writing.

The series also went a long way in "correcting" the image of Watson - in the stories a half-pensioned Army surgeon, wounded in Afghanistan, who has human flaws similar to his creator (by intention) - but is much more an active, useful partner in the business of detection: if not intellectually, then by way his always-ready service revolver. It also attributed to Watson an element of Manners Guardian - not in the stories - that worked very well. When Brett's Holmes forgot or disregarded Victorian protocol, his Watson was there to take up the slack - with amusing results. The best news, though, was that the fuddering old Nigel Bruce version - a by-product of William Gillette's famous play and Hollywood - was put to bed, hopefully, for good.

Gillette has a great deal to answer for, actually: beginning in 1899, the American actor would perform the character on stage -in a script collaboration with Doyle - for the next 30 years. It was he who wore the deerstalker hat as Holmes in every environment - not only when he traveled to the country, as in the original Paget illustrations. It was also he who adopted the enormous Meerschaum pipes - supposedly to allow himself to speak more clearly - although, more likely, given the size of the theatres he played, presenting, along with the hat, a very clear silhouette for the audience to immediately identify and follow.

The folks at Granada - in many interviews over the years - prided themselves by correcting these supposedly blasphemous inaccuracies, having Brett smoke long clay pipes to match the original drawings - and only sporting the deerstalker hat when a case took him to a place where one might actually - you know - stalk deer. However, it was Brett's outside work inspired, not dictated, by the stories that make his Holmes so quirky and memorable. And, early on, he was fortunate enough to look exactly like the brainy reed of Paget's drawings.

If we take Sidney Paget's fine interpretations out of the equation, and simply glean Holmes' habits and characteristics from Doyle's printed word, itself, the man seems to smoke everything short of hemp rope or rolled newspaper - in massive quantities. That is to say, the most important point seems to be that the detective smokes a pipe of any type of the period - the author doesn't really specify which - as it is the constant act of smoking itself that helps the character's byzantine process of thought and deduction.

Graham Greene once noted that he felt Charles Dicken's novels were ill-served by the beloved original Cruickshank illustrations, as they robbed the first-time reader of forming his or her own individual vision of the characters: a debatable point - but an interesting one for that small breed of conscientious film adapters with something unique to bring to the Dickens table.

What are we to make of the new Ritchie film then? Well, we can't knock them for not doing their homework, at least - nor throwing the Doyle out with the bathwater.

Here Holmes is bohemian in nature - and his hat choice seems to be whatever is available from his sitting room floor (the messiest on record) - or, in a very funny touch if you're aware of the issue, whatever can be stolen from the head of a henchman. His pipe is a simple black one, and in the key moment when he lights it in the middle of considering a three-pipe problem, it's as if he's done it that way for a decade or more.

Watson, appropriately, still struggles with being a middle-class doctor given his attraction to the exciting lifestyle of crimebusting - and, in this version, has a bit of a gambling problem (although the character being fond of wagering, and having his roommate guard his checkbook are Doyle touches).

Opening at the end of several years of cases - and the resultant chaotic roommate life with the detective - Watson is moving out of 221b in preparation for his marriage to Mary Morstan - on loan here (without her own case) from SIGN OF THE FOUR. Holmes and the good doctors’ seemingly last case together, then, involves the capture and death of the diabolical occultist Lord Blackwood. Yet events soon transpire leading them to believe Blackwood may not, in fact, have breathed his last.

Enter New Jersey singer/adventuress Irene Adler from A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA - a favorite character of adapters, since she provides sexual tension, and is really the only person in the stories - certainly, woman - ever to have gotten the better of the famously misogynistic Holmes. Their relationship hints at a bit more intense past involvement than is usually the case, but her presence here serves to discomfort the detective in the main, and that should be acceptable to fans. It could have been much worse, let's say (It is also interesting to note that there are somewhat steamier scenes in the misleading trailer for the picture - Adler in a teddy and so forth - which didn't seem to make it into the final cut).

Nonetheless, off we go down the mean streets of grimy Steampunk-inspired Victorian London. The style of the movie follows the insanely-paced buddy action picture boilerplate - which should be no surprise to anyone given that Joel Silver is one of the producers. It's a strange format when applied to these characters, but effectively done, nonetheless. All the usual camera/editing/CGI tricks are on display - just in case you had the silly notion of breathing during the picture - but the art direction and design are quite thoughtful, I must say - especially in its unique portrayal of the rooms at Baker Street, and that nautical traffic jam that was the Thames River, circa 1891.

Yet interspersed throughout are many Doylian scenes and touches obviously included to satisfy the faithful: Holmes and Watson reciting HENRY V together, the first scene in Baker Street with Watson attempting to calm a patient while Holmes fires a pistol into the wall in the next room, the contentious relationships with Mrs. Hudson and Inspector Lestrade, and, most importantly, the detective's methods of deduction. These attentions seem to have been part of the thrust of initiating producer Lionel Wigram's agenda, and they're pulled off with care, aplomb, and sense of humor by the cast and director.

The general element that will cause most longtime enthusiasts to balk at the picture, of course, is giving Holmes ninja-esque fighting abilities - another of Wigram's notions - and a concession to the 13-year-old boys that make up the Hollywood target audience these days. And there is no scrimping in this arena - the fights are wall-to-wall. Now, one may dislike that, but, as I've stated, there is Doylian precedent for it: in THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE, Holmes reveals his proficiency in the martial art Bartitsu, and several times in the stories he refers to his prowess with the "short stick."

The film also lightens the shock by having Holmes perform an animated cause-and-effect deduction of the separate harms he is about to inflict on his opponents. And his participation in back alley bare knuckle brawls - bouts that Watson can bet on - seems to have replaced the cocaine needle as his tonic for ennui in this version - a sensitive choice, probably, given the film's star - although there seems to be no end to drinkable narcotics about. Fair enough - and fun, says I.

And if one happens to have difficulty with the fast-paced action nature of the thing, that person need only return to the stories to find any number of plot elements probably just as dizzying to their original readers as these are to those of us used to a more stately interpretation: master criminals, poisonous snakes, gold heists, ghost dogs, secret war plans, jewel thefts, sulphur fires, shootings, hangings, stranglings, blowgun-wielding natives, damsels in distress, boat chases, fisticuffs, the KKK, the Mafia, even a very famous literal cliffhanger. They are called "Adventures," after all.

Robert Downey, Jr. is a fine Holmes - his screen persona of the quirky, yet charming outsider makes him a great choice, and his usual attention to detail and improvisational skills serve him well, as we've come to expect. His is not as complex a creature as Brett's, yet - but he has hardly had the time to fully develop his own ideas. His defining moment at this point arrives in a misplaced dinner table deduction that he can neither censor nor stop himself from making, and it shows where he might be in two pictures if the series is allowed to continue. He also makes a large investment in Holmes' patriotism - an all-important motivation for the sleuth - and a feature at times given short shrift by others.

Jude Law is a shockingly spot-on Watson - and perhaps the closest interpretation of the character as described by Doyle, ever. Say what you will.

Their relationship has the feeling of long history to it - you believe they've lived together for years. Both actors understand that neither character can really exist without the other - and that the cases are only solvable when both are engaged in the sleuthing. One can have it that Holmes is the only presence needed – but why, then, have a partnership at all? The script helps them in this respect by keeping them apart, then making it an event when they redouble forces. But it's just an outstanding beginning by both - again, obviously based on close study of the originals.

Mark Strong is a sensational villain of bottle, for once, as Lord Blackwood - based on the Victorian occultist Aleister Crowley - and the ubiquitous Eddie Marsan is a plausible Inspector Lestrade - no small feat.

The women – all capable actors - get short shrift, as per usual: Rachel McAdams is stunning to look at, and given the most to do, but one hungers for a Victorian Nick and Nora Charles since all the elements are there anyway - and they seem to have had the writers to pull it off. Kelly Reilly is wasted as the half-written Mary Morstan, and Geraldine James is allowed to make no solid impression as Mrs. Hudson - a fan favorite. There's no excuse or reason for it - it's just the usual Silver Pictures' Boy's Own Club at work, easily fixed if they were so inclined. Doubtful they ever will be.

And in production, Hans Zimmer's unique Morricone-inspired score for banjo, violin, and broken piano deserves uncommon praise - as does Sarah Greenwood's production design, along with Jenny Beavan and Melissa Meister's costumes.

You don't need me to cite examples illustrating how badly this could have gone - but I think Sherlockians should feel free to breathe a sigh of relief and let themselves enjoy the picture. It was time for the lads to have their cages cleaned out again - the film made me want to reread the stories, Jeremy Brett is on DVD in case of emergency - and the center still holds.

WELCOME BACK

2009-07-20T07:01:00.000-07:00

Dissipated by decades of series television misuse, the Private Eye picture has sadly fallen into disrepair these days - if not entirely off the map altogether. So, it is with great enthusiasm that I point out a left-field winner of the genre that completely slipped by a great many people - including myself.

Frankly, being a great fan of Dennis Lehane's Boston crime stories, I avoided seeing the picture in theatres, and only decided to give it a spin when it popped up on Netflix' online Watch Instantly service. Why? Well, let's be honest: certainly, it's my own damn fault for being late to the table, but for me - like a great many others, I suspect - the name "Affleck" doesn't exactly inspire confidence of cinematic quality by this point, does it?

That said, I'm overjoyed to report that with the soulful GONE BABY GONE (2007), we have finally discovered what the Affleck Brothers do - and do very well. Affleck the Elder directs with style and confidence, and Affleck the Younger - given the right part, and formidable support - is capable of extraordinary honesty and impact on screen.

There's so many things right going on here: the story is a great match for the brothers' Cambridge background - the script by Ben and Aaron Stockard is tight, and - what a shock - humanly complex. Casey and Amy Ryan, though not at all who I pictured in my mind's eye, make perfect sense as unlikely investigators Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro - and certainly no one skimps on the Catholicism. Ed Harris, Amy Madigan, and Morgan Freeman show up to play hardball - as per usual - and a special tip of the hat has to go out to Harry Gregson-Williams's heartbreaking score.

Most importantly, there's a welcome melding of essential tones here that makes this genre distinctly American - and the need for a Knight Errant like Patrick achingly poignant. Noir in the post-war period carried with it the double impact of a crime story, plus, collectively, the dissembling portrait of an America underclass, lost - confused by uncontrollable Outside Forces, be they Government, Organized Crime, or the Soviet Union.

Here, Lehane's Boston underworld - that shitty economic cocktail of brutalized children, consumerism, tabloid media, and heartless self-consumption - elevates Catholic Patrick and Angie's moral choices to the height of Greek Tragedy.

It's Samuel Spade and Effie in BushWorld, spot on.

Good adaptation, a welcome, complicated picture - not easy to pull off. More like this, please, you Affleck Boys. It'll help wash away all that Kevin Smith childishness from my memory, thanx.

CELEBRATION GEEK

2009-05-09T03:32:00.000-07:00

Is it good? Yes, very much so. Dare I say - the best of the lot? Could be. But I'm biased.

As we stood in line for the Navy Pier IMAX afternoon showing of the new STAR TREK movie, maggie spent an inordinate amount of time, I thought, needling my supposed inner Trek Geek.

Perhaps it was the plethora of middle-aged men sans female companionship in line with us that stimulated this gleeful assault. Or the rotund young woman sporting a chartreuse mu-mu and pointy ears. It could have been the tall, handsome, long-haired fellow in full Starfleet uniform and communicator - I don't know. Regardless, I thought it a rather stinky attitude, frankly, from someone who has never even seen episode one of the original television series - but who does seem to hold in high regard - as most of her misguided generation does - those wretched, overrated, badly-written Buster Crabbe knock-offs that involve Debbie Reynolds' daughter, what must have been at the time an extraordinarily cash-poor Alec Guiness, and a Muppet spouting Coloring-Book Nietzsche.

I think you know which ones I mean. She certainly does.

So, two hours and a Certificate of Deposit later, having seen the new picture, we had dinner and came home - free to surf the net with abandon to read all about the making of the movie, without fear of spoilers. And, much to my horror - and her delight - it seems everyone associated with the damn thing is falling all over themselves to thank and acknowledge the past contributions of William Shatner (well they should) along with - wait for it - George Lucas.

Simon "Scotty" Pegg: huge Lucas fan, so says several interviews. Director J.J. Abrams: hoping it will have the same impact as a Lucas "film" (and there's an oxymoron - accent on the "moron") And lead Chris Pine: admitting openly for all to read that he based his Captain James T. Kirk on what Shatner did - combined with a generous dollop of - wait for it, again - Han Solo.

And just how f**king depressing is that, I ask you? I doubt seriously if I will ever live it down, frankly, as it seems this new bunch will be around for quite some time. And now, of course, it can be claimed that their new success was inspired by STAR WARS, a film series whose value I generally equate with SUPERMAN AND THE MOLE MEN - minus the intellectual content or style.

Anyway, whatever the catalyst, Abrams and company did a fine job here: it's a very exciting picture of its kind, wide-open to be enjoyed by people give a damn about the series or just want to be carried away for a while. He continually tips his hat to the best elements of the tired franchise while shoving in his own Lucasian epic agenda - but with a very light, entertaining touch, I have to say - and solid introductory story elements. Lucas should be so talented.

Best is the cast, top to bottom - even that most boring of actors, Eric Bana, as a baddie, Bruce Greenwood, Tyler Perry (!), Ben Cross, and Wynona Ryder, of all people, as Spock's mother.

Everyone in the new crew, of course - Pegg, Karl Urban, John Cho, Zoe Saldana, and personal fave, Anton Yelchin as Chekov - is given their own scenes to shine, and the actors, obviously driven by the needs of the massive - and massively Geeky - fan base, acquit themselves cleverly as both echoes of the originals, and solid young performers in their own right. Not an easy thing to do.

Pine as Kirk and Zach Quinto as the young Spock play their parts as character roles, as opposed to laid-back leading men, and we care about what happens to them. I'll even confess a certain thrill when they transport in tandem to the heart of the baddies' spaceship late in the game. Not thrilling enough to wear my own set of rubber ears to the movies - but you get the basic idea - and, really, when was the last time you felt anything like that in one of these movies? Uhura, Chekov, and Sulu deserve special mention, I think, as their roles have always been so astonishingly bland in the past. Here, though, I'm sure every writer with ties to the franchise can see the possibilities in having them around as real players - both in new conception and performance.

The effects are flawless - and here I will give the Big Nod to Mr. Lucas - he and his company, Industrial Light and Magic - along with Digital Domain, and several smaller houses, exceed the promise of what they, over the past three decades, actually have contributed to the history of film. If you've had any design experience whatsoever, you can't help but appreciate the new developments in scope, lighting, and design technique on display. You can find a full rundown of the craftspeople involved in all that, here in the Wiki entry. Quite brilliant, all round.

And then there's Mr. Nimoy. Well, what can you say? There were many spontaneous bursts of applause at the screening we saw - a testament to the picture, and seeing it in a big house - but none so large or heartfelt as his first appearance. Forty-three years in the role - he's as welcome a presence here as Father Christmas - and, unless I'm mistaken, has just been involved in launching 10 more years of new adventures aboard the Enterprise. Fine by me.

Live long and prosper, indeed, old friend. And thank God you weren't played by a Muppet.

Pick-Up Wednesday 1119

2008-11-19T02:26:00.000-08:00

Let it be said publicly: Gary Hustwit's HELVETICA (2007) is the greatest documentary about a ubiquitous Swiss typeface ever made. Period. Perhaps any type style ever, could be - I don't know. I'll have to do a bit more research.

Briefly: in 1957, in an effort to create "a neutral typeface that had great clarity, but no intrinsic meaning in its form," graphic designers for the Haas firm in Switzerland invented a type that has become so entirely omnipresent throughout the world - that if you stood right now in the middle of the room you are in, and scanned 360 degrees, you would see three examples of it. Guaranteed.

I'm sitting at a desk in a hotel room in Milwaukee, and I count six without getting up from this chair.

It's used for signs (the entire New York City subway system), theatres and museums (Goodman), all of your IRS documents, and, most especially, corporate logos (3M, Jeep, Arco, Lufthansa, Panasonic, Crate and Barrel, Edward Jones - uh, Microsoft). It's even the typeface printed on the side of NASA's space shuttles. The Museum of Modern Art just closed a 50-year retrospective of Helvetica.

Having worked in the print industry many times off-and-on over the years, I found the subject fascinating from the get-go - but I don't believe that type of experience is a prerequisite. The film isolates something distinctive - in this case, universal - in our lives, and tells us simply and effectively, in human terms, how and why it got there. It introduces you to the people involved, and the theoretical conflicts raised by its existence. No muss, or fuss.

One would think these easy goals to accomplish, but considering the number of documentaries produced over the past decade that have tried to capture a story like this, and failed - Patrick Creadon's muddled ode to crossword puzzles, WORDPLAY (2006), for one - I would throw out to you that it's a helluva lot harder to pull off than it seems. But Hustwit does so with aplomb, clarity, and care.

I'm not really sure what else to say about it. See it. Enjoy it. Look at the world a little differently.

More like this, please.

The Spy Who Pummeled Me

2008-11-16T02:27:00.000-08:00

After the near-universal praise for CASINO ROYALE (2006), critics and online fans, alike, are in a raucous dither over its relentlessly speedy sequel, QUANTUM OF SOLACE (2008), just released in the US this week. Some love it - some take exception. Not to fret, if your concern is the future of the franchise, as the picture debuted at number one here - and, in a fortnight, has already pulled in over 200 million dollars in Europe and Asia. And you just don't see those kinds of fast numbers without good word-of-mouth.

SOLACE is the 22nd entry in the Bond adventure series, and, heavens, what a bone-crunching little free-for-all it is. Multiplex viewers might even be advised to carry along seat belts and a lobster bib.

The lean story picks up minutes from the end of the first film, follows 007's global vendetta against the "real" killer of his expired squeeze, Vesper Lynd, and finds him tripping over an organization called QUANTUM - which, apparently, for the near future will be standing in for the long-defunct (and litigation-tied) SPECTRE as the 21st century's go-to Baddies Club - should you be looking to perpetrate some international evil of your own and need a grant, or someone to talk to about it.

And, like their nuclear bomb-stealing predecessors, these QUANTUM folks are not fooling around. They're cutting-edge evil. Back in '64, when the villains wanted to send James Bond a warning message, they'd spray paint his one-night stand with gold. In '08, they fill 'er up with several quarts of black crude oil. Poetic, nez pas?

Well, the man for the job of eradicating them is, again, Daniel Craig, who, since James Brown passed, can safely be dubbed the Hardest Working Man In Show Business. Checking online, I found that before this picture EON productions had upped his insurance coverage from 3 million pounds to 5 million - and there's very good reason for that. Out of the six or so action set pieces here, I counted three fast green screen/CGI moments, at best - and never once made a stunt man for him. I know stunt men worked on the picture, of course, since set reports detail how many of them were injured, nearly killed, or, in one case, put in a coma. But perhaps these fellows were covering the receiving-end supporting cast. Craig, himself, received 20 stitches, blew out his shoulder - requiring surgery - and sliced off the tip of a finger shooting the picture, so its not like anyone is lying down on the job over at Pinewood. The man's doing his press junkets with his arm in a sling, for god's sake.

Craig is also a fine actor - the best in the part since Sean Connery - and is joined again in that respect by Judi Dench, Jeffrey Wright, Giancarlo Giannini, and the terrific French actor Mathieu Amalric. The Bond "girls," Olga Kurylenko, and the slippery Gemma Arterton, are not provided roles of sufficient depth to know if they have acting chops or not. The producers were on better track in this respect in CASINO, and need to remind themselves of the value of that. Marc Forster (FINDING NEVERLAND, THE KITE RUNNER) is the surprising director, and he acquits himself well - despite his action rookie status - but he, and what must be a squad of second units, rely too much on the BOURNE films' methodology, especially in the editing.

Is the picture good? It is - I thought so, as a place keeper. The shortest in the entire canon, it is not the film its predecessor was, as most agree. It plays out like the gripping final episode of a television mini-series. Which is not altogether bad - this is still miles beyond what EON was serving up in the 80s and 90s. You could plead the case that it's a bright move to tie up loose ends - and the two pictures, seen together, stack up as one full, very satisfying, adventure. But as a stand-alone feature, they'd have needed more time taken with plot clarification and scripted material. It seems, in EON's very successful efforts to put some distance between themselves and their superficial past, they made one or two cuts here of familiar ingredients that did not need to be made, nor would have damaged the picture in the slightest. Let the man say, "Bond. James Bond," and do something clever with the gun barrel logo at the top of the picture, for example. A dash more humor wouldn't hurt, either, as long as you don't lose the real sense of high stakes and actual danger on display now.

Let's face it, the problems lay in the original script by Paul Haggis, Neal Purvis, and Robert Wade - based on an idea by producer Michael Wilson. And its the same recurring flaw that has bedeviled the series since 1977's THE SPY WHO LOVED ME. When they divert away from the Ian Fleming novels, rarely have they been able come up with hard plot and character lines of human interest on which to hang the stock franchise elements. In this case, SOLACE borrows the solid script work on CASINO, so it's not too much of a problem. After this point, though, it will be.

The good news, though, is that they have their own bountiful resource of tested material in the books. My easiest advice would be, with all the elements they've reimagined in the new series, go straight through the novels again in a series of remakes. That way, they're true to their source, they have good plots locked in, and they can either spin off what they did previously in the films, or add action as they go. Many of the books have grand plot elements - like the shocking torture scene in CASINO - that have never been utilized. And they really can be with Craig in the driver's seat.

In the meantime, SOLACE will do, thank you. Just don't make a habit of it.

P.S. Outstanding dogfight. One of the best ever filmed, methinks.

Pick-Up Tuesday 1111

2008-11-11T12:29:00.000-08:00

I dearly love stories about Howard Hughes during his Imhotep period. He's just one-stop shopping for American sociological metaphors. A howling, bedsore-ridden Faulkner novel, with shifty Mormon tenders, and several hundred gallons of bottled urine to keep him company. And in Las Vegas, to boot.

You couldn't make him up, this guy. Not that some outside people didn't try to embellish yarns for profit. Well - who was going to complain? Hughes certainly wasn't talkin'. By the early 70s, he hadn't spoken publicly to anyone in 13 years.

I'm not sure people understand these days that, back then, the general public believed - or wanted to believe - that he was living a kind of suped-up Hugh Hefner existence in the tops of those hotels: money, booze, and broads - not the black womb of madness and Kleenex that was revealed later. He was always eccentric, sure - but we had no notion he had ended up the way he did until drawings of him began to appear on magazine covers after he died.

Anyway, if that time period interests you, I discovered a small, very well-made picture last night on Netflix's online service, called THE HOAX (2007). It's a based-on-fact chronicle of how author Clifford Irving came to sell a bogus autobiography of Hughes in 1970-72, and the media firestorm that the announcement unleashed.

And I have to say, the film is thoroughly entertaining and resonant, top to bottom. It features the most accomplished, loose performance by Richard Gere - well, ever - and a script, based on Irving's own retelling of the events, by William Wheeler, that really should be taught in classes. Alfred Molina, Marcia Gay Hardin, and Hope Davis are also in the cast. No surprise with them - they're tops here, as they so often are. And it's directed with tempered style by the fine Lasse Hallstrom.

The downside? None worth talking about, really. It's good story, well-told. A Goldilock's Third Bowl. Just right - for me, anyway.

Irving, himself, apparently had quibbles with the picture. Something about "inaccuracies." An irony that would not have been lost on his subject.

Click on the art for video.

Pick-Up Monday 1110

2008-11-10T18:48:00.000-08:00

Rare are the days when I have the steep cash to trundle out to the multiplex. I seem to reserve that for special occasions: big-things-blowing-up kinds of movies, or superhero-fantasy-epic type of fare. Maybe you're the same - or maybe you used to work for Fannie Mae, and can afford 13 bucks for that big-tub popcorn. Not at my house. Put it this way, if Mag and I go out to the movies, it means that root canal money. Get me?

Fortunately, in this Superhighway world of ours, there are many and several ways to watch films, old and new alike - and a couple of them legal: Cable TV, Veoh, Google, NetFlix Online, etc.

True, there is the sacrifice of quality to bear. Certainly, watching, say, Stephen Spielberg's old ABC Movie of the Week, DUEL, on Halloween night in front of the computer - on YouTube, blown up to Full Screen, in 9, 10-minute parts, where Part 4 was actually a dupe of Part 3 - was not exactly what you would call the Blu Ray Experience. But, fortunately, I have good speakers, it was still scary as all get out, and not too far removed from the way I first saw it as a boy in the early 70s. There was a sort of Great Explorer feel to the whole thing that made it fun - like Lewis and Clark, or Budge at the Tombs of the Egyptians: "Gosh, I wonder if a scene has been posted on - no. Darn. But, what if I spell it like th - Eureka! It's the whole thing!"

Anyhoo - this is the way I watch a good many films these days: I "pick them up on the fly." So, in deference to that, we here at maggie sprocket submit for your approval a new feature: Pick-Ups. In honor of those daily movies that drop into our lap unplanned, and often over screens intended for other use. Case in point - from Netflix Online:

There is a great documentary to be forged from Hunter S. Thompson's struts and frets across the American literary stage - but, heartbreakingly, Tom Thurman's 2006 BUY THE TICKET, TAKE THE RIDE ain't it.

The subtitle, "Hunter S. Thompson on Film," led me to believe that maybe there were private home movies or something in the offing - but no, it was just the usual stream of "renegade" movie folk who haven't had to skip a meal of late, and some 60's literary mandarins thrown in to tell us how transcendent things were during the Revolution. Then Harry Dean Stanton sang and cried over the credits - because he didn't get to at Mr. Thompson's Memorial, it was explained. Fair enough. There are several people here who have lost a great friend in the man, and I empathize. But, frankly, for the rest of us interested parties, there is much clearer, more interesting biographical information regarding Thompson in his Wikipedia entry - which I was forced to reference since Thurman's intentions were so muddled.

The film began with a sketchy timeline of his early years - but focused little on his developing writing style, or why it became significant. A fleeting bright spot occurred when artist Ralph Steadman talked of their first job together, but then a full 20 minutes was taken up by appreciations of Bill Murray's and Johnny Depp's impersonations of Thompson in WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM (1980) and FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS (1998), respectively. Followed by some other stories about his wacky behavior, and how great it was to hang out with him. Then he shot himself. Well, alrighty, then - thanks for the insight, guys.

No - where did he come from? What did he do? What drew him to it in the first place? What was it about his writing that made him unique? What was his career timeline? Did it follow a pattern at first, and then veer off into something else? Was he successful? How did it change? No talk of the Hell's Angels. No Doonesbury, even. Look, the matter of the man lies not in all the legends of him taking drugs and blowing up stuff on his farm. They're fun, but no substitute for the spine of a good thesis - and you end up cheating the subject of his value to us.

And do not ever sit in front of a camera and explain a human being's taking of his own life as a result of his inability to "live up to his own myth." What a crock of fecal matter. He was a unique American voice. Next time, show me why. You might start by having some of the actors read aloud passages from his books.

Click the poster art for a scene.

Scary - I've Had A Few: The 60s Groundbreakers

2008-10-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile, Stateside: by the 1960s, most of the really interesting experiments in filmed anxiety were popping up on television - a phenomenon deserving of its own upcoming post. Out in theatres, of course, Hammer ruled the genre - but, as previously stated, Roger Corman's Edgar Allen Poe pictures for the independent American International Pictures were doing very well, indeed.

I must say, though, that there is not one of these I would go out on a limb and recommend to you. American International was doing much more interesting - even definitive - work in other genres. And Corman, himself, was giving practical first experience to a range of young filmmakers who would make their mark in the 70s. The Poe pictures seem, as they've always seemed to me, anemic imitations of what Hammer was doing, so you probably need a more enthusiastic correspondent to cover them for you.

All that said, the 1960s would give birth to three of the most influential American horror films in history - two from the studios, and one independent cheepie. Each, in their way, would influence more films than GONE WITH THE WIND or CASABLANCA, combined.

First: we know Alfred Hitchcock, now, as an auteur, one of the most lauded and respected film directors of the 20th century. You betcha - I can go along with all that. What we tend to forget, though, is that it was only when European film critics like Francois Truffaut began writing of him in such revered terms in the 1960s, that his reputation rose to such lofty heights. But by that point in his career, he'd been pretty much played out.

For audiences in the 50s, he was the Director as Star - a celebrity, who made very fun, suspenseful pictures - not to mention the droll weekly host of his own anthology television series. He was also very much a commercial filmmaker, with a sharp eye toward the box office, and tended to hold his financial flops in very low regard - including his masterpiece: VERTIGO (1958). This, coming after a long string of hits throughout the decade.

His next film, though, in 1959, was much more accessible for a general audience: NORTH BY NORTHWEST had Cary Grant, a very witty Ernest Lehman script, and enormous production value. In turn, it was an enormous success - and put him back in the very bankable position to which he'd grown accustomed. Working through Universal, he could, at that point, truly film whatever he wanted, at enormous cost, as long as he stayed within the suspense genre.

What he chose to do next was a low-budget, black-and-white, horror picture - shot on the Universal backlot by the skeleton crew from his television show. PSYCHO (1960) was based on a poor novel by Robert Bloch - but Hitchcock never filmed books based on their merit. He was more interested in what clever individual situations they brought to the table - what scenes he, his writer and storyboard people, had the potential to own outright. To hear him tell it, PSYCHO was a technical exercise. An opportunity to "play an audience like an organ." And that he did.

The shock clips have been played so often on VH1 countdown shows, by this point, that I find myself watching the bridge drama with much more attentiveness and appreciation. The scene in the parlor - eating a sandwich under the birds, the cleaning-up after the shower, the detective checking the hotel register with Norman, and the lovely little scene in the middle of the night at the Sheriff's house: "I helped Norman pick out the dress she was buried in. Periwinkle blue." They're all very well-written scenes that pick you up like a baby and carry you to the next murder. They simply make you care about the people involved, and, in turn, makes the violence all the more costly and disheartening. How many times, before or since, has this kind of thing been tried - and how many times has it failed? The Film as Textbook.

Next: ROSEMARY'S BABY (1968) is not a particular favorite of mine, although its quality is undeniable. Schlockmeister William Castle brought the Ira Levin book to producer Robert Evans, who, in turn, enticed director Roman Polanski to step on over the pond to make it his first American film.

A sort of GASLIGHT (1944) remake, ROSEMARY was the first film to really profit from a non-religious Child-of-Satan Cache. So well directed: it builds methodically and honestly - with a genuinely disturbing payoff.

Now, I will come right out and tell you that I am not a huge fan of Mia Farrow's (for me, right up there with Sandy Dennis), but she is well cast here - and, being our surrogate, has a great deal to do with the lasting edge of the picture. I never suspect she would not be fooled by what was going on around her, if that means anything to you. And the supporting players are a dream: John Cassavetes, a bearded Ralph Bellamy, Maurice Evans - screenwriter/actress Ruth Gordon won an Oscar for it, and deservedly so.

Last: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania filmmaker George Romero's NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD from 1968, is still playing at a Drive-In, somewhere, I'm convinced. It was filmed for about $120,000 - and would come to make 30 million, internationally. Neither well-made, nor well-acted - it does have clever writing, and the relentless energy of people behind the camera who really care about scaring you. The first of the uber-grisly "Well, What Would Zombies Eat, After All?" genre - it surprises as both attempted satire, and a mild civil rights statement. Its amatuerism is the big plus, though: it makes the picture seem like a documentary - and that gives it its power.

Romero described it as "an homage" to Richard Matheson's seminal vampire book, I Am Legend. Which means he cribbed most of the plot elements - as many, many other writer/director's have over the decades. It's interesting to note, that once Hollywood finally got around to making a fairly faithful version of Legend, many scenes and themes had to be altered - since so many pictures had already picked clean the bones of the novel's plot. Nonetheless, for a decade or so, Romero earned and owned this genre, until the kids who grew up with it and its sequels began to kick it around for their own purposes in the early 1980s.

Click on the artwork above for trailers.

Scary - I've Had A Few: 50s/60s Brit-Style

2008-10-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

Lamentable is the saga of the British Film Industry: the best of times, the worst of times. Especially as regards steady funding. Which they have never had. And probably never will. Pockets of prosperity, though, are a part of that story.

Case in point: in 1955, a small film production outfit called Hammer - hardly a proper studio - had offices in Wardour Street, London, and a leased ramshackle estate house called Down Place with grounds near the village of Bray, Maidenhead, on the Thames. Hammer had begun life - and low-budget production - in the 30s, gone bankrupt as a filmmaking entity, then, to survive, reimagined itself as a distributor of films made by others. After the War, by the end of the 40s, they were back into cheap and quick production of genre pictures - providing just enough profit to keep them afloat.

But in the summer of 1953, the BBC broadcast a live science-fiction serial called The Quatermass Experiment - which became an instant phenomenon with the public, and a touchstone in the history of British broadcasting. Hammer spent some money, and bought the property to make it into a film. On the insistance of AAP, their American distributors, they imported US actor Brian Donlevy (not in big demand at home) to play the lead, and retitled the adaptation, THE QUATERMASS XPERIMENT (1955), (US title: THE CREEPING UNKNOWN) to wear its bad ol' Adults Only certificate rating on its sleeve. And, for the first time, the company had a solid hit - on both sides of the Atlantic.

Another X film went into production: X - THE UNKNOWN, as well as QUATERMASS 2. Both, again - solid hits. Hammer bought Down Place, and continued its strained partnership with AAP, and the question arose: what to do next? As it happens, a not-so-good script based on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was floating around, so Hammer honcho Anthony Hind commissioned writer Jimmy Sangster to do a rewrite. Improved script in hand, he then hired Terence Fisher to direct, and actors Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee to star - and THE CURSE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1957) was set to shoot. Budget: around $100,000. The jerry-rigged house at Down Place was comverted into Gothic sets by the endlessly clever Bernard Robinson, and another key decision was made: the story would be shot in Eastmancolor, to take full advantage of the bloodletting involved.

And FRANKENSTEIN was a big hit. But, this time - worldwide.

Without knowing it, Hinds and company had put together a cast and crew who would work together constantly for the next decade - a small group - a family, really - of enormously resourceful filmmakers who took great pride in their work. From the end of the 50s, throughout the next decade, they would be responsible for an extraordinary track record of unique, modestly-budgeted exploitation blockbusters.

A part of the British popular culture tsunami that swept the world in the early 60s, for many of the generation growing up during their halcyon days - me included - Hammer defined the gold standard of what a fun horror movie was supposed to be. By first remaking most of the old Universal horrors - followed by an endless stream of sequels - as their stock-in-trade, the little company developed a unique style of genuinely thrilling Gothic melodramas, and gleefully embraced their exploitative nature: all the sex, blood, and violence the market would bear, in living color.

Topping the success of FRANKENSTEIN, the studio's DRACULA (1958) was a runaway smash, and established Hammer staples, Lee and Cushing, as international stars.

Six FRANKENSTEIN sequels would follow, as well as eight DRACULA follow-ups. Other sub-genres were seen and conquered: THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN (1957), THE MUMMY (1959), with four sequels, 1961's CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF, featuring Oliver Reed, the legendary ONE MILLION YEARS B.C. (1966) - a far better poster than it was a film, starring Raquel Welch - the first of five Cave Girl pictures, and the last of the series that began the whole thing: QUATERMASS AND THE PIT (1967). One film, THE DEVIL RIDES OUT (1968), is deserving of its own post, soon to come.

Eventually, by the early 70s, the Little Brit Studio That Could was brought low by imitators - most notably, Roger Corman's American International Vincent Price/Edgar Allen Poe series - and by their own diminished quality. There is an excellent documantary produced by the BBC that chronicles Hammer's time in the sun, entitled Flesh and Blood.

Well, what else would it be called?

Click on the poster art and photos above for trailers and scenes.

Cold Conservatism

2008-10-28T05:35:00.000-07:00

There once was a very bright fellow named John W. Campbell - an editor of pulp magazines by trade. Shepherding Astounding Science Fiction during and beyond the period we label the Golden Age of Sci-fi. From 1937 until his death in 1971, he influenced the work of simply every notable writer of the type. Issac Asimov called him "the most powerful force in science fiction ever, and for the first ten years of his editorship he dominated the field completely." Campbell's depth of knowledge was such that, by all rights, he should have been a proper scientist - his anticipation of the uses of atomic power, pre-1945, alone, were borderline supernatural.

As a person - tall, light-haired, intimidating, a chain-smoker who used a cigarette holder - by all accounts, he was eccentric, irascible, demanding, and a lover of the sound of his own voice - one of those infuriating bosses who bullies you into developing your work beyond all expectation - just before you leave him, and strike out on your own. He was a gauntlet for writers - he made them stand up on their hind legs and shout out in their own voice.

Campbell had such a wide range of expressed opinions to the contrary of conventional wisdom on sensitive subjects, that many felt he would just say things to get a rise out of people - although, they were never quite sure of it. But even a cursory study of his published letters shows him, politically, falling just to the right of Genghis Khan. He certainly was a Conservative - and by the standards of his time, considerably more reactionary than we define the condition. Whatever else he was, I'll leave to the more serious student.

A writer, himself - in 1938, under the name Don A. Stuart, he penned his most enduring work: a novella as important to the history of speculative fiction as H. G. Wells' The Time Machine. It was called Who Goes There? - and authors, filmmakers, and storytellers are still swiping from it, today.

The plot: 40-odd scientists in an Antarctic research outpost discover a long-buried spaceship under the ice, and, after accidentally destroying the ship, itself, with thermite, they take its frozen occupant back to their base to thaw it out for study. Unfortunately for them, the creature is not dead, as they had assumed - but is, in fact, a shape-shifting parasite with the ability to absorb - then perfectly duplicate - its victims, exponentially. The scientists' other problem is, given the weather conditions, they cannot venture outside. So, by the time they figure out, both, the nature of the creature, and a simple blood test that tells them if a man has been absorbed or not, the level of closed-door paranoia has reached such a level, that the final confrontations between men and monsters, unmasked, are brutal, animalistic bloodbaths of natural selection. In the end, they barely prevent the creature from escaping the continent by use of an atomic-powered flying pack - saving a world that might well have been absorbed.

The story was republished in an anthology in 1948, and soon after, A-list filmmaker Howard Hawks - producer/director of more staple American classics than anyone, save John Ford, perhaps - bought it for his independent company, Winchester Pictures. Hawks is unique in the list of great 20th century producer/directors who thrived in the studio system, in that he made pictures in every genre, as opposed to focusing on one type of story that allowed him ease of expression. And it made perfect commercial sense, in 1951, to jump into the new science-fiction market - the popularity of magazines like Astounding Stories was on the rise, and no one had really tried to throw a quality picture of its kind into that young fan base. Winchester, would, though, with THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD (1951).

Although popular, horror films were held in poor regard - much poorer than they are, today. So Hawks played it smart in the planning, kept his distance, somewhat, and handed directing chores over to Christian Nyby, his longtime editor. Fans of the low-budget picture often say with confidence that Hawks, himself, directed it, and then put Nyby's name on it - but cast and crew members, to a person, beg to differ. And, although the veteran did not give himself that credit, specifically, his name ended up all over the damn thing. As well as his ethic: muted, honest performances from the cast, sharp, lightning-fast, overlapping dialogue - some penned by uncredited Hawks A-listers, Ben Hecht and Leigh Brackett - the pace of it is brutal. Other Hawksian stamps include strong female characters, and that constant theme of a group of professionals in adversity.

The nature of the monster, itself, was modified to a hulking vegetable creature that carries its own reproductive system, as the one Campbell described was beyond the technology of its time - but it works surprisingly well, and, with the other changes, it matters little - the claustrophobic edge of the environment is spot on. The film speaks for itself: it's the Satchel Page of horror pictures, and my personal favorite.

The politics of THE THING are a fruitful discussion: Hawks was a Conservative. He would later make RIO BRAVO (1959) - another tale of professionals in a bad spot - in answer to Fred Zinneman's Blacklist metaphor, HIGH NOON (1952), as Hawks was offended by what he saw as the latter film's insult to American self-reliance. To him, no self-respecting Sheriff would run around a town begging people for help. Hawksian professionals were made of sterner, more forthright stuff. None of this Commie Appeasement stuff for them.

In THE THING, capitalizing on front-page issues, the writers changed the location to the Arctic - where the Russians are, naturally, this being the Cold War. The scientific outpost is there in the movie, but it's supported by a U. S. Army base to the South. The heroes, in the main, are not the scientists from the story, but a small group of Air Corps pilots and officers, led by Kenneth Tobey - called in to help the scientists when the spaceship is first discovered.

One of the most interesting scenes in Campbell's story is the debate as to whether or not the creature should be thawed - possibly exposing the team to an otherworldly virus or disease, as they assume its still dead. In the Nyby film, the creature is thawed by accident - the debate lies in the two groups' methods of how to deal with the damn thing - as the body count rises. The military guys - professional, wisecracking, irascible - just want to kill it, case closed. And we want them to. Their only problem is how - and how to get around the flak from the scientists, since they're the ones in charge. The scientists - led by a delusional Nobel Prize-winning egghead (Robert Cornthwaite) - all look like they've graduated from the Adlai Stevenson Appeasement School: theorizing, bickering, shifting allegiances, etc. What's a Fly Boy to do?

Much like the Right's opinion of Oppenheimer and his ilk, here, again, are a group of elitist brainiacs, irresponsibly bringing a terror into the world, without realizing what they've unleashed - and, typically, wanting to have things both ways, no matter the human cost. As Stephen King points out, this is the first time in an American film when a scientist/appeaser utters the line, "We must try to communicate with it!" Yeah, right. Who cares? Just kill the damn thing.

In 1982, the talented John Carpenter remade the film - a favorite of his - that you can find playing on blood-spattered television sets throughout his 1978 mega-hit, HALLOWEEN. The title shortened to simply THE THING, it featured a script and monster much closer to Campbell's original vision. To its cost, unfortunately, as the explosive - yet faithful - excesses of Rob Bottin's extraordinarily clever special effects offended critics, and kept mainstream audiences away in droves. Over the decades, though, it has gained a cult following - and deservedly so - it's a good, honest, well-acted, well-written scary movie.

Carpenter's take suffers, though, in my opinion, from a lack of sociopolitical slant. Certainly, there's nothing wrong with just making an entertaining film at face value - but the material, as we've seen above, lends itself to so much more. Especially, as Carpenter was, admittedly, a foe of both the Left - and certainly, Reagen's Right - his longtime star, Kurt Russell, a lifelong Conservative. Here, surely, was an argument - and an opportunity, missed.

Final note: as more and more Republicans self-imploded on the 24-hour cable news channels this week, I kept flashing on the Carpenter film - the scene where Russell heats up a wire to see if separate Petrie dishes of blood drawn from the other men will react - proving they are a monster. I kept wondering what Michelle Bachmann would've turned into when the test came up positive.

Click on the poster art above to watch the trailers. Some industrious soul has posted the films, in their entirety, on You Tube - but this is a disservice. Fine, remastered DVDs are available for both.

Going Home Again

2008-10-28T02:55:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you'll find it singularly stunning when I tell you that Hollywood - never a community to let a good concept fritter away for too very long - has a plethora of classic sci-fi/horror remakes in the pipeline these days.

Pictured below, then: Benicio del Toro in THE WOLFMAN, now filming in the UK, with the formidable Rick Baker steering the make-up effects - Anthony Hopkins and Hugo Weaving in the cast, an unofficial piece of concept art by Howard Swindell in anticipation of a CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON remake - apparently with more of an environment slant - slated to start shooting in the Brazilian rain forests this year, and the poster (click through for the trailer) for 2008 THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL redux, opening December 12th, with Keanu Reeves and Jennifer Connelly in the Michael Rennie/Patricia Neal roles.

For more information about the new films, you can click the poster links for the originals in previous posts - as the Wikipedia articles generally offer updates and links for any remakes.

Scary - I've Had A Few: The 50s

2008-10-27T15:54:00.000-07:00

Leapin' Lobotomies - talk about watershed years! If you're a classic Horror or Sci-fi fan - or Sci-fi/Horror fan, even - the 1950s is your decade.

Horror always seems to be the genre of choice in times of great national stress, and, certainly, during this decade - what with the Russians and the Atomic Bomb and McCarthyism and Sputnik and Korea and radiation, etc. - we had, seemingly, an enormous wad of uncontrollable things to feel jumpy about. And horror gave us a way to focus those fears. Genre-themed movies, television, comic books, record albums, and tradings cards flat thrived during the decade - especially with the new suburban teenager market.

Here's some favorites - one note: THE FLY (1958) and THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD (1951) will be spotlighted in their own posts, like INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS (1956), below.

Another note: I grouped the posters above not according to year, as I usually do, but for a purpose. Now, obviously, the carrying around of scantily-clad females - unconscious or no - seems to have been a popular marketing theme in the 1950s. Of course, this habit of having the primary Weird Figure in the story tote a girl hither and you, as if he's trying to find just the right spot to cop a feel - or worse, is as old as the hills. All the Old Monsters did it, to be sure - in Gothic literature as well. The difference, here, is that none of the Figures pictured have any - well - genitalia. So why are they - ? Oh, skip it. Click on the above poster art for video:

THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL (1951) is not only one of the best pictures of the '50s in its genre - it, like THE THING and INVASION, is one of the best pictures of the '50s in any genre. An anti-war sci-fi classic, with a very spooky robot.

THEM! (1954), is far and away the stand-out in the "Radiation Made Them Really Large" Sweepstakes. Good actors and tight direction keeps you from seeing most of the zippers in the Big Ants. I kid, but I shouldn't - it was Warner Brothers biggest moneymaker that year.

Meanwhile, underwater: here is a very fine fan video in celebration of CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON (1954). If you ever have an opportunity to see it on the big screen in original 3D - with the old red and blue glasses - really make an effort. Regardless, it's still creepy as hell - but with the glasses, it's a cut above.

You don't even need glasses for Disney's mega-budget 20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA (1954) - it's fine just the way it is. A favorite adventure film of my own - I'll never get over the sight of the Nautilus knifing through the water, or the first appearance of the giant squid - the new DVD transfer and Special Features documentaries are essential for Boys Own pizza nights.

FORBIDDEN PLANET (1956) is not a great film, in my opinion, but it is interesting. A sci-fi version of Shakespeare's The Tempest, with Freudian overtones - and undertones, for that matter. Great monster.

THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957) comes to us from the pen of the extraordinarily influential Richard Matheson (I Am Legend), who has earned his own upcoming post. The video, unfortunately, includes the surprising end of the picture, but you can call it quits after the exciting spider fight!

Next up - the Brits weigh in.

Scary - I've Had A Few: 1940s Version

2008-10-27T14:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of thoughts on the last SCARY post: there are simply wonderful disks of the silent PHANTOM (featuring a Carl Davis score) and all the old Universal Monster films out in the markets, and at your local library - singularly, or in collections. DRACULA, with Bela Lugosi, was intentionally released without music, and several years ago, Philip Glass composed a score, played by Kronos Quartet, that has become Universal's standard version. Tricky business, that - but it adds a great deal, I think - actually knocking a little bit of the dust off the old saw to let it breathe, without getting in the way.

If you're interested in Lon Chaney, Sr., in 2003, Turner Classic Movies produced an intriguing documentary, narrated by Kenneth Branagh, called LON CHANEY: A THOUSAND FACES, in conjunction with sublime restoration and rescoring of several surviving Chaney pictures (not many are left out of hundreds). Few American performers have a more compelling personal story or interesting body of work. Turner, after a bad start in the 80s as the poster child for colorization, turned the priorities of their company completely around, and their essential work in the preservation of our silent film heritage simply must be acknowledged and praised. 'Nuff said.

Meanwhile, back to our timeline: by the 1940s, the Universal horrors had played themselves out - at least with adults. The War Years were not a watershed moment for the genre, in general, understandably. But they did survive in low-billed sequels, team-ups, and, finally, comedies.

Here's how this went: in 1932, Universal made THE MUMMY, in 1940: THE MUMMY'S HAND, 1942: THE MUMMY'S TOMB, 1944: THE MUMMY'S GHOST, and in 1955: ABBOT AND COSTELLO MEET THE MUMMY. Shall we do another one? Let's! In 1933, Universal made THE INVISIBLE MAN, 1940: THE INVISIBLE MAN RETURNS, also in 1940: THE INVISIBLE WOMAN, 1942: INVISIBLE AGENT, 1944: THE INVISIBLE MAN'S REVENGE, and in 1951: ABBOT AND COSTELLO MEET - you guessed it - THE INVISIBLE MAN.

One of the last originals, though, THE WOLF MAN (1941) - soon to be a remake starring Benicio del Toro - featured Lon Chaney, Jr., following in his father's considerable footsteps. Chaney, Jr., as the cursed Larry Talbot, had no sequels of his own, but popped up in tag-team grudge matches, occasionally, with Dracula or Frankenstein's Monster, or both - landing, finally, in the very funny 1948 best-of-the-lot rumpus, ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN (1948).

Two other standouts during this lean period: producer Val Lewton and director Jacques Tourneur's first collaboration, RKO's CAT PEOPLE (1942) - and Fox's LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN (1945), directed by John M. Stahl, and featuring a simply extraordinary performance by Gene Tierney. Lewton and Tourneur, both together and separately, are finally receiving the scholarship they deserve in American film history - a new 2007 TCM documentary on Lewton, supervised by Martin Scorsese, is out there, as well as several new books. They are deserving of more serious time and space than I can give them now, since our objective is fun holiday recommendations. I will, though, recommend 1943's I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE, and pledge to take up the matter in future.

HEAVEN is an unusual picture - deserving of more time, as well. Often categorized as film noir, I find it extraordinarily frightening, ahead of its time, and a precursor to the modern psychological thriller. Enjoy.

Click the poster art above for video: Larry Talbot is a man with a problem in THE WOLF MAN, and the furry fellow's one comedy. The pool scene from CAT PEOPLE, and Gene Tierney with her disabled brother-in-law in LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN. Cold.

More to come.

Sleep No More

2008-10-27T05:05:00.000-07:00

Since we're in the political season, now - and forever, apparently - and since there obviously will be no end to our national hobby of McCarthyism, I can offer no better double-header for your holiday viewing pleasure than Don Siegel's relentless 1956 pulp masterpiece, INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS, and its first, surprisingly-good remake, directed in 1978 by Philip Kaufman.

The first film - saddled with, perhaps, one of the most regrettable titles in film history (the title of this post was one of the alternatives) - is often couched in terms of a happy accident of fate. Made in 23 days, for a budget of about $350,000, with no stars - at first glance, that would seem to be the case. Closer scrutiny, though, reveals veteran producer Walter Wanger - like many A-listers of the time, slumming down the booming sci-fi/horror genre for fun and extraordinary profit - as well as the up-and-coming Walter Mirisch as production supervisor. And that's a pedigree. Let's put it this way - if INVASION was an accident, then so was the just-as-hastily made MALTESE FALCON. What they both represent is a collection of extraordinary American filmmakers, weaned on the studio system, working in exploitation - with a lean budget and looming deadline.

Based on a Jack Finney short story, INVASION is a perfect reflection of its paranoid era - and works as metaphor, both as a warning of potential Communist infiltration, or the dangers of the Congressional witch hunts, take your pick. Siegel, himself, held a politically Conservative philosophy, but admitted no real themes were intended. Yeah, right.

The fine performances and direction, here, have been justly lauded for decades - but let us give a belated tip of the hat to the uncommonly good script by Daniel Mainwaring and Richard Collins. At face value, it's an understatement to say that these concepts, even by the standards of the genre, are flat whoppers to swallow. But it's an enduring testament to the writing that you are, in fact, the one swallowed whole by the damn thing in record time. Risking the caveats from my previous post, INVASION is still a brutally scary experience, I have to say.

Kaufman's muted remake, on the other hand - while, perhaps, not packing the bone-crunching punch of its predecessor - is, in itself, both a thoughtful homage to the Siegel, and a smart, incisive satire of its own time period's obsession with the psychology of self - at war with our growing ignorance of the natural world around us.

Kaufman's INVASION was part of a wave of remakes that film school babies made in the late 70s, hoping to share the same visceral experiences that had impressed their formative years - and pay tribute to those craftspeople who had made them want to become directors in the first place. Few of these turned out well. Most were just color duplications. But Kaufman, truer to his own style and philosophy, found the Scary in different, more relative tones and themes - turning in a class picture of creeping dread.

Good luck.

Click on the poster art, above, for the original trailers for both films.

Scary - I've Had A Few: Halcyon Days

2008-10-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

Well, kids, Halloween is just around the corner so it would behoove me, I suppose, to recommend something jitter-inducing for the ol' BetaMax this week.

Hard to do, frankly, as I've come to believe that the level of anxiety a particular horror film may instill in a viewer is directly relative to the situation and environment at the time of viewing. Which is a clunky way of saying that, given the right time and the right place, even a slice of overrated ham like THE EXORCIST (1973) has the primal chops to render you Girly. (And don't start with me on THE EXORCIST - I've been through it all before, and you won't win that argument.) Which all goes to prove to you that no matter what I recommend - you're going to come back to me disappointed. Just so we're clear.

In my own experience, I do notice two things. First, few entire pictures frighten me in the way their makers originally intended, and, second, that fear is entirely situational. That is to say, depending on where I am, or how I feel at the time, a picture might scare me - but will not do so on a second or third viewing. Obviously, by then, it's unfair, as I already know what's coming - but what is interesting is that the same phenomenon can work in reverse: I know pictures that didn't disturb me the first time I saw them - but, years later, on second viewing, they made me need a nightlight and a plush toy. Go figure.

Mostly, I recall moments - maybe you do, too - scenes, especially from my formative years. Scenes alone, though, of course, don't work without the framing sequences - and, often, you have to sit through an entire picture of dubious quality to make the one good bit come off for you. And hype is always a killer: someone says to you, "That was the scariest movie I've ever seen!" You go see it - guess what? It's not - to you. It got spoiled.

With all that in mind, though, allow me to share some scenes from classic fright films through history that have spooked me out. Then, if you see something that strikes your fancy, rent it, or find the whole thing elsewhere on the web. In follow-up posts, I'll give you some double features that are safe bets, but for now, we'll start in the 1920s and 30s - the halcyon days of the Universal Studios Movie Monsters.

If you click through the artwork above, you will find video: Lon Chaney's unmasking from THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1925) - well, Lon Chaney, in general. Another titan: Boris Karloff's first entrance in FRANKENSTEIN (1931), and the backstory from in THE MUMMY (1932). Two scenes from Tod Browning's DRACULA (1931) - the Brides (music by Philip Glass/Kronos Quartet), and Dwight Frye's laugh. Claude Rains revealing himself in THE INVISIBLE MAN (1933), and, finally, Dr. Pretorius from THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935):

More to follow.

The 007 We Deserve

2008-10-20T17:47:00.000-07:00

Like Presidents, good or bad, it seems we always get the James Bond we deserve. Let's look at the choices, shall we?

Before we start, though - if you're not sure what you're getting into by reading these books or seeing these films - know that every aspect of them is wrong seen through the Politically Correct lens. Sexist, racist, gratuitous, and sadistic - most especially the books - step lightly into these waters if you have a problem separating yourself, or categorizing them into a non-threatening frame. 'Nuff said.

Most people don't know that Ian Fleming actually developed the initial Bond stories as a concept for a television series, and when the idea failed to pan out, he began turning the concepts into novels. Indeed, the character - Americanized to "Jimmy Bond" of the CIA - was first played by Barry Nelson in a one-off television adaptation of Fleming's first book, CASINO ROYALE in 1954.

The novels were not a success in the US, at first. His fifth, though - FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE, published in 1957 - was a favorite of then-Senator Jack Kennedy, and when Kennedy's White House put the book on his official reading list in 1960, sales began to grow. Then, two film producers, Albert Broccoli and Harry Saltzman, took an interest, optioned what books had been written - save CASINO, which was owned by others - and formed EON Productions to create a film series.

Both Cary Grant and James Mason turned down the part, as neither would commit to more than one - or, in the case of Mason, two - pictures. Fleming, himself, preferred David Niven. But when budget restrictions became apparent, EON decided to go with a relatively unknown, and far less expensive, actor.

Of course, for me - and for most people of my generation - there really is only one, true 007. The first: Sean Connery. I think we can all agree on that. (For others, born later in the century, you may think Roger Moore is your man - but you would be wrong. Case closed.)

The first EON/Connery pictures: DR. NO ('62) and FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE ('63 - his personal favorite), were corkers in their way. RUSSIA is probably the best example of an espionage film, by definition, that EON made - as well as the most faithful to its source material.

But the third film, the barely-plausible GOLDFINGER ('64) was a phenomenon felt 'round the world. Still the fastest grossing film of all time, made for 3 million dollars, it would come to earn an astonishing 125 million, and launch a spy-fi explosion in the popular culture whose influence is still hard to escape, even today. I would go so far as to say that the picture sports the most influential screenplay, in terms of structure, of the past half-century.

Next came the splendid, sexy mess, THUNDERBALL ('65) - another blockbuster of quality - but YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE ('67) breaks the winning streak, unfortunately, as its star seems too cranky to let himself have a good time. And so, Connery quit at the height of the series' popularity. Something about profit participation. The nerve.

Regrettably, TWICE is also the entry when EON began filming plots that had little to no relationship, beyond setting, to Ian Fleming's. They did have novelist Roald Dahl wordsmith this one - but they were to be not so lucky with their future screenwriters, as Maibaum's participation became less involved - and not as novel.

But what an initial run. EON's James Bond caught the zeitgeist of the 1960s like no other mass entertainment. Psycho-sexual Cold War pulp: ingenious, witty, and genuinely thrilling. Tips of the hat to directors Terrence Young and Guy Hamilton, DP Ted Moore, template screenwriter Richard Maibaum, composers Monty Norman and John Barry - the fabulous Shirley Bassey, series regulars Bernard Lee, Lois Maxwell, and Desmond Lewellyn, villians Joseph Wiseman, Lotte Lenya, Gerte Frobe, Robert Shaw, Harold Sakata, and Adolfo Celi, leading ladies Honor Blackman, and the monolithic Ursula Andress.

In 1967, the CASINO ROYALE material reared its head again - not for the "official" series - but produced by Charles K. Feldman for Columbia as a big-budget, star-studded, multi-director "comedy" - as poor as it was misguided. The people who should have known better include Peter Sellars, Woody Allen, Orson Welles, William Holden, Deborah Kerr, John Huston, and David Niven, etc. The DVD Special Features include the entire 1954 Barry Nelson American TV broadcast, and good scholarship on the chaotic history of its production - for those of you documenting the bizarre behavior of Sellars - but don't say I didn't warn you about the abysmal quality of the film itself. Beyond the beautiful Burt Bacharach theme song, that is.

Meanwhile, back at EON, the search was on again for a new star: American John Gavin was a choice, as was Roger Moore - then a worldwide name due to THE SAINT television series. But based on his physicality - and potential stunt prowess - part-time model George Lazenby (known as "that one guy" to casual fans), was chosen, and proved a complete waste of time. The Pete Best of 007s - it's doubly sad, as the one picture he did: ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE ('69), has a good script, splendid supporting cast, and some of the best action scenes in the series. It's obvious EON was trying to overcompensate for the fact that their lead actor couldn't - you know - act. But George, according to reports, was a bit much during filming - the movie disappointed at the box office - so EON hit the passenger ejector seat button in their Aston-Martin DB5, and went looking for their original star - with historic cash in hand.

So Big Sean was back for his last - for EON, anyway: DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER ('71), which I still have a great time watching, today. He was a bit too old for the part - and, like me, a bit too with the middle-age spread - but who really cares? A guilty pleasure. And he gave his record-breaking salary away to charity. So there.

Another search, and Moore was tapped. He started out well: LIVE AND LET DIE ('73) turned out okay - but the old Connery template was starting to fray, and THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN ('74) was one of the worst of the lot. A perfect example of very good source material in the original novel, completely ignored.

Change was needed. But not this kind. From 1974 to 1987, Moore would make five more James Bond pictures of steadily decreasing quality - fostering in a period of poor writing and juvenile humor. The less said about them, the better. He was 62 years old when he, mercifully, hung up his Baretta.

During Moore's run, Harry Saltzman bought his way out of EON - smart boy, he - and, Sean Connery, after proving to audiences that he could do many other things very well, returned to the part for a one-off by different producers, with which he shared profits: NEVER SAY NEVER AGAIN ('83). A remake of THUNDERBALL, the picture is sort of fun, but really not the same, even with the right guy in the part. (The story of the writing of these two pictures, and the decades-long lawsuits that entangled them, is intriguing reading for serious buffs out there.)

Those first four films were just the perfect synthesis of moment, star, and production. But, by the late-80s, that moment had been lost.

Pierce Brosnan was offered the part by EON during this time. He accepted, but, to his horror, was not allowed time off from his popular television series, REMINGTON STEEL. It's doubtful any actor could've done much though, as the company, itself - having given the series over to gadgets, stunt work, and smirky humor - was living in denial with tired concepts and poor scripts. They needed a wholesale reboot - which they certainly didn't get with their second pick, Timothy Dalton. Perhaps one of the most boring film actors of this or any other generation - I can't seem to recall anything Dalton did or said in his two pictures: THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS ('87), and the truly wretched LICENCE TO KILL ('89). Moving on.

After a long break for lawsuits and studio struggles, the EON series returned with Broccoli's daughter, Barbara, taking over the heavy production lifting. And she - along with the now-available Brosnan, plus initial director Martin Campbell - infused welcome energy into GOLDENEYE ('95). Good choices were made here: Judi Dench as a female M, and the always welcome Samantha Bond (no relation) as Moneypenny. The follow-ups, TOMORROW NEVER DIES ('97), and THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH ('99) had bright spots, as well. DIE ANOTHER DAY ('02) - the 20th film in the series - I, personally, was indifferent to - but certainly not insulted by. Although co-star Halle Berry's walk out of the surf as an homage to Ursula Andress only made me pine for halcyon days.

A back injury that caused production delays cast a bit of a shadow over their star at this point in the game - and it was certainly not lost on the regular filmgoer that Brosnan was doing much more interesting work in pictures like John Boorman's 2001 film of THE TAILOR OF PANAMA, where he played off his super-spy image to satiric, pointed effect. And, strangely enough, after Brosnan and Quentin Tarentino came to EON with the idea of a period Bond picture, directed by the latter (which anyone in their right mind would have loved to have seen), he was told "no" to the concept - then summarily fired. There's certainly more to that story, but nobody's talking.

Then, yet another search - and a four-year break. But, in 2006, EON Productions made their best choices in two decades: by filming the actual plot of one of the original books - in this case, the wayward CASINO ROYALE, finally home - and by hitching their wagon to another relative unknown, Daniel Craig, as 007 - by far the best actor in the part since Connery.

I recall a friend of mine, on seeing the picture, telling me how extraordinary the torture sequence was in the film. And I remembered thinking: "Yes. And it has been for the fifty years since it was written."

It looked bad for Craig at first. I was in London for his official introductory press conference - carried on all media, simultaneously - and, after the first question regarding the actor's dating life was rebuffed in no uncertain terms - it became one of the quickest descents into mutual loathing by world press and film actor I've ever witnessed. The British press, alone, the next day was toxic. Web sites pushing for EON to drop Craig went up overnight, and remained. But EON stuck to their guns, scheduled more user-friendly interviews during the shoot, and, most importantly, released an early online trailer that squelched many fan qualms.

I cannot help but believe that this out-of-the-gate adversity had a motivational impact on the filmmakers to deliver a superior product. And superior it was. Having been soundly beaten at their own game for years - most recently by the Matt Damon BOURNE pictures - in CASINO ROYALE, Craig and EON delivered the goods to old and new fans alike. Perhaps the best-made film of the series - and, since RUSSIA, the most faithful in plot and spirit of character to the Fleming books. Even as a stand-alone feature, it was quality. I mean, beyond the state-of-the-art action - shocker of shockers: actual scenes. Where people spoke interesting adult dialogue for large periods of time. And good actors. Good female actors playing the women in the story. It gives one pause.

Next up: QUANTOM OF SOLACE with Craig, again, in the driver's seat - opening soon after we elect the President of the United States we deserve. The dicey news is that its an original story, not based on Fleming, continuing on mere minutes after we left Our Hero in the previous film. But I have high hopes for this new tack - just as I, like a sap, had high hopes for every new Roger Moore outing that came up. Or still have, for new government.

What can I say? In so many things, I believe change for the better eventually comes for those who hope - and wait. Because I have faith that America, the world - and James Bond fans - deserve it.

In Praise Of Ms. Bancroft

2008-09-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244454556736235122" border="0" />Shamefully, I never hear the name Anne Bancroft when our finest actors are spoken of - but shouldn't I?

Let's look at the stats:

1 Oscar - 5 Nominations
3 Golden Globes - 8 Nominations
2 Emmys - 7 Nominations
2 Tony Awards

A sampler:

THE MIRACLE WORKER
THE PUMPKIN EATER
THE GRADUATE
THE TURNING POINT

You tell me.

The Really, Really Dark Knight

2008-09-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

Milwaukee, Plaza Hotel:

Billeted here for a show at the mighty Milwaukee Rep, the other night I was invited out for a game of billiards by a group of younger male actors, also away from home. And, after a fruit juice or two, I asked the Lads to run down the pros and cons of the Summer Popcorn Movie Sweepstakes.

IRON MAN, everyone liked, the HULK was damned with faint praise, and the group split when it came to HELLBOY II. But your humble correspondent was roundly hooted at for his Best Summer Movie: WALL-E. I did receive some support from a pair of trashy blondes throwing darts, but since it was Guy Night, this added little to my credibility.

The consensus favorite was THE DARK KNIGHT - a picture I, myself, did not particularly care for. So, emboldened by drink, and stung by the assessment of Pixar's Little Green Epic (which very few of my group had seen, no surprise there), I shared my opinion of the newest Batman in a less than genteel fashion.

Well, judging from the reaction, you'd've thought I had absconded with the church funds. I'm surprised none of them called my parentage into question. Several times they tried to nail me on Comics History Naivete - but, sorry pallys, I've been wearing that pillowcase cowl since Adam West first drew his Bat-Hanky.

I was grilled:

"Did you like the old series better?"

When I was a kid, it was heaven-sent. As a adult, rewatching? The first season of it, yes. It's fun, witty, consistent in tone, and well-produced.

"Did you like the Michael Keaton ones?"

Parts of them. Keaton was very human - a big plus. The second one with DeVito as the Penguin was closest to what I think it should be, tonewise - for me, at any rate.

"What about Val Kilmer, George Clooney, etc.?"

Are you serious?

"What about BATMAN BEGINS?"

Batman School in the Himalayas? "Feel the Darkness, Bruce!" Please. A friend of mine said at the time: "You know, it's Batman - not Keirkegaard." And I'm with him on that.

Here's my rundown of the second:

Pros: well, Mr. Ledger, naturally, bless him, is great fun. His "disappearing pencil trick," the running gag of him telling the history of his facial scars, and his drag bit with the detonator will all remain memorable. It's very sad to think we won't have his talent in pictures. A fine actor.

Also, the car/cycle chases up Wacker Drive, action scenes - all that hoo-hah, looked exactly like what their budget must've been - no mean feat. But its not like Mr. Nolan doesn't know what he's doing - even when he has to serve two masters: franchise imperatives and his own personal priorities, as he does here.

Cons: with the addition of the Harvey Dent plot line, it's, at the very least, 30 minutes too long - why not save this story for the next film? An annoying habit of the franchise in it's various forms has always been the "three villains are better than one" rule. How 'bout one picture, one villain, guys? Especially when you have such a fine Joker on hand.

It also seems Nolan wanted to explore several themes comparing the Batman's vigilantism with the conduct of the Bush Administration's War on Terror. Unfortunately, for a film series that requires us to be in love with so much beautifully staged violence and destruction, that's near impossible to pull off - unless your perspective is reactionary, and the message is entirely supportive - which it's not here, no matter how much warmongers like Glenn Beck would have it be.

Case in point: it doesn't make a lick of sense that the Morgan Freeman character would take no moral/ethical issue with providing Bruce Wayne with a tank, a motorcycle with bazookas, or an armband that shoots ninja flying stars - and then draw the line at the Big Cell Phone Surveillance Gizmo. He seemed to me more jealous he hadn't built the damn thing himself.

Sense of humor is also a problem - as it was in the first film of the current series. As in: there ain't none. Zilch. If you're going to really commit to stark realism, you've still got that annoying problem of a main character with a Batarang and a hang glider built into his suit.

Also, Christian Bale is a fine actor, but the Nolan brothers, as writers, have added a Scarlet Pimpernel element to the story that requires him to be somewhat of a vacuous ladykiller in his Bruce Wayne scenes, and, frankly, they've got the wrong boy for that kind of job. Mr. Bale does many, many things very well. Playing the charming fop is not one of them.

Lastly, if you're going to borrow so heavily from Frank Miller's reworking of the comics, why not borrow his garish sense of humor and political irony, too?

'Nuff said.

I'm Just A Bill

2008-09-03T04:53:00.000-07:00

It occurs to me that some point in past few days, a conversation just like this one must taken place in that aforementioned Undisclosed Location:

Doubles

2008-08-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

I'm one of those people that Turner Classic Movies was made for - with an honest passion and freakish brain capacity for film history and trivia, pre-1980. Suffice it to say, if there's a - whatever - a Francis X. Bushman Festival showing at 3:30am on that sainted network, I'm there. Bring it on in 6-hour blocks. See if I care.

And since I tend to wear this particular malady on my sleeve, I'd say not a month goes by that someone - usually a fellow actor, admitting an embarrassing lack of classic film staples in their diet - doesn't come up to me and ask for a "movie list," because they "don't know where to start."

So, as might seem reasonable for someone like me, many's the time I've sat with a pencil nub and paper, trying to list my "favorite" films, along with films I consider "great," or of the "guilty pleasure" variety - "best of," the year, the decade, the century. Or include films I might not particularly have a taste for - but would define as boilerplate, essential, of cultural importance.

But it's impossible for me, unfortunately. My mind just doesn't work that way - perhaps our guest editors will be much better at that, hopefully they will - but in my case, once I put my mind to the task, one series of images, scenes, or performances hearken back to another and another and another until I'm finally faced with dozens of individual lists, and a pile of mental celluloid so vast and pleasurable that I simply throw up my hands and settle back to watch another picture - or three.

But singular examples are not really the most ideal points to begin addressing film. Pointed double features, though, can gain you some traction, as the best favor, I feel, the student of world cinema can do for themselves is to begin to understand and identify the distinctive house styles of the individual studios that made up the American system in the first half of the 20th century - and then, perhaps, begin to make correlations between those durable archetypes of the past, with what the multi-corps and independent movement of today have done with them.

Case in point: if you're in the mood for some gang mayhem - and, really, who wouldn't be? - throw Warner Brothers' 1938 melodrama, ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES, directed by Raoul Walsh, on the queue - and follow it up with Brazillian Wonder Fernando Meirelles' extraordinary CIDADE DE DEUS (CITY OF GOD) from 2002.

Here's a blurb I wrote a few months ago about both:

The best performance by a chicken in any film, ever. In fact, more than life itself, I wanted to see that chicken still on the run through THE CONSTANT GARDINER, Meirellas' next film. And a chicken does, indeed, show up there (in the village burning scene) - but I fear not the same one. CITY OF GOD, itself, though, is both a portrait of the violent madness of the gun-choked favelas, and a splendid spin on any number of life-with-gang-or-life-without-it morality tales by W.R. Burnett or Sidney Kingsley. A high-octane version of a plot just as old as the one Cagney punched his way through in ANGELS WITH DIRTY FACES - itself, the gold standard in high-octane for the time. Meirelles and his team are extraordinarily visceral filmmakers, though. They don't cut corners, and they know how to use MTV editing to actually develop a story - and that's saying something.

An interesting sidebar: both films, in their day, were roundly trounced as exploitation. Follow the links behind the posters above.

Violence in the Big Town -

- and a Chicken of Quality:

Welcome

2008-08-28T01:56:00.000-07:00

Here at maggie sprocket, we'll be talking about cinema, past, present, and future - should you care to limber up the ol' digits and fire off a snarky comment or two along the way. Special guest editors will be joining me periodically, as well. All are welcome, anytime.

Now, if politics is your bag, you can visit THIS DIRTY HOOD, my partner Kevin Theis' blog - or, if you'd like to discover some interesting books, my alternate partner, David Blixt, will happily take care of you over at A DARK WOOD. (You'll find links for both listed over there to the left.)

The three of us, Blixt, Theis, and I - Chicago theatre folk - are members of a non-profit stage adaptation development group called Shanghai Low Theatricals. But more on all that later.

For now, though - after the trailer - enjoy maggie sprocket, then: