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Eine Armee Gretchen (1973)
Nude Nazi Nonsense
For better or worse, films in the Nazi exploitation genre aren't really made anymore. Also known as 'nazisploitation', these movies- made primarily in the 1970's- generally focused on Nazis committing sex crimes, often as prison camp overseers during World War II. Most were simply softcore pornography wrapped inside a cigarette-paper thin veneer of plot, though a few- perhaps most notably Liliana Cavani's 'The Night Porter'- had some actual artistic merit, and explored interesting ideas.
Erwin C. Dietrich's 'She Devils of the SS'- also referred to as 'Eine Armee Gretchen', 'Frauleins in Uniform' and, somewhat bizarrely, in Turkey as 'Queen of Vampires'- is not one of the few. As an independent film à la 'The Night Porter', it fails completely, having nothing whatsoever to say- interesting or otherwise. Neither is it a funny film, despite a carefree atmosphere and many moments that seem to have been intended as comedy. Furthermore, as a piece of softcore pornography, it also fails, as it is boring and strangely tame, surely failing to titillate even the most easily arousable individual.
Based on a novel by Karl-Heinz Helms-Liesenhoff- a former German army officer who fled to Switzerland after being sentenced for desertion in 1943- the film is light both on plot and excitement. Dietrich's screenplay- which he wrote under the name Manfred Gregor- centres on Marga Kuhn, a young woman drafted into the Army as a 'Lightning Girl,' essentially a German version of the Japanese 'Comfort Women'. Her job is to further the Aryan cause by giving soldiers pleasure, though with the Red Army closing in, time is running short both for fighting and for fun.
It's a strange beast of a movie, that doesn't follow the usual pattern of nazisploitation flicks: the Nazis aren't portrayed as villains and the women willingly participate in the action, so to speak. It's an oddly light and breezy venture, like 'Carry on Camping' for fascists. Nazis gaily roll about in fields, or enjoy swastika-topped cakes, cheerily praising the Führer whilst cavorting in the nude. Had Dietrich intended it as a straight parody, and leaned more into the comedic side of things, the film could have actually worked. However, he doesn't; large parts of the narrative are turgid melodrama, which- combined with the film's happy-go-lucky air- results in an unusual tonal schizophrenia.
Additionally, the dialogue- written by frequent collaborator Christine Lembach - is stilted and, oftentimes, unintentionally funny. Moreover, as alluded to above, it is a surprisingly dull feature, despite the subject matter. Dietrich seems reticent to show anything graphic or erotic, meaning the nude and sex scenes- of which there are many- are weirdly subdued and insipid. It makes one wonder who Dietrich's intended audience was, as it is too mild for aficionados of filth and too lacking in story for feature film fans.
Having said that, it clearly has high production values. The production design, from Rolf Engler and Vladimir Lasic, looks authentic, while Georg Heiler's costume design appears consistently period-accurate. The weaponry and sets are also strikingly realistic. Moreover, Walter Baumgartner's score is quite stirring, and the cast are generally impressive- with Karin Heske and Carl Möhner doing particularly fine work. However, in a tale devoid of artistic or salacious merit; all that quality is rather wasted.
In short, if you go into Erwin C. Dietrich's 'She Devils of the SS' with carnal pleasures in mind, you'll be disappointed, and if you watch it as a 'straight' feature, you'll be left wanting. In fact, there really are very few reasons to seek it out; unless you're the sole member of the Dietrich fan club, and want to watch everything in his filmography. In that case, you've probably already seen it, and know how underwhelming it is in nearly every regard. Narratively lacking and erotically uninteresting, it's an overwhelmingly banal work. Despite some good performances and high production values, the only memorable thing about 'She Devils of the SS' is its title.
Sympathy for the Devil (2023)
A Predictable Journey Into Fear
For some, the promise of Nicolas Cage playing a psychopathic, red-haired Bostonian is simply irresistible. The actor has delivered many entertaining performances as mad characters in the past, from his turn as the chaotic yuppie Peter Loew in 'Vampire's Kiss,' to the criminally insane Castor Troy in 'Face/Off'. Cage has made his bread and butter- and garnered legions of fans- delving into the mind of crazed characters, as he does yet again in Yuval Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil.'
The film follows David Chamberlain, a married man living in Las Vegas whose wife is in the hospital, having just gone into labour. As he arrives, a scarlet-haired menace with a gun climbs into the back of his car, demanding that he is driven to Boulder City. With a gun to his head, Chamberlain is taken on a journey into fear through the Nevada nightscape; a journey that can only end in violence.
Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil' is a fairly predictable, though entertaining, thriller that will please Cage fans considerably. Essentially a two-hander, the narrative is slim on originality or surprise, though still keeps one engaged. It is a tense affair, the passenger's unpredictability making for some effectively thrilling moments. Screenwriter Luke Paradise seems to have tailored the dialogue for Cage, giving him some marvellously madcap monologues, which he spouts with his typical nouveaux shamanic brilliance (nouveaux shamanic, for those who may not know, being Cage's self-titled acting style).
However, Joel Kinnaman- as Chamberlain- gets considerably less to do. His character is the grounded parallel to Cage's deranged villain, a stoic man lacking personality or charisma. A wet blanket, he is hard to root for in the face of Cage's magnetic mania. Though Kinnaman performs admirably, and shares a good chemistry with Cage; he does not deliver a memorable performance. Moreover, the cliches that abound throughout the film become quite tiring, leading to an ending as forgettable as it is underwhelming.
Conversely, Steven Holleran's cinematography is a neon-soaked feast for the eyes. Atmospheric and striking, his work compounds the narrative tension. He captures the seedy unease of the Las Vegas night astutely, lending proceedings a Lynchian mood of sleazy agitation. This is complemented by the production design from Burns Burns, as well as Ermelinda Manos's costume design and Anthony Fitzgerald's art direction and set decoration.
Furthermore, Ishai Adar's score contributes to the sordid, mysterious tone, as does the eclectic and evocative soundtrack, making great use of songs from the like of Scott Walker, Alicia Bridges and Jimmy Radcliffe. It is also a well-edited picture, with a good pace from the beginning. At just over an hour and a half, it is relatively short, although Adler and editor Alan Canant's work ensures it doesn't feel in any way rushed.
As alluded to above, despite its faults- predictability chiefly among them- it's a film Cage fans will love. As the erratic gun-toting passenger, he is terrific, clearly having a ball with the material. It's a classic Cage performance- full of unexpected vocalisations, shouting, creepy facial expressions and a little bit of song and dance. He is electrifying to watch and works well with Kinnaman, who- as previously mentioned- is perfectly adequate, though his role doesn't demand much of him.
In short, Yuval Adler's 'Sympathy for the Devil' is one that Nicolas Cage fans will enjoy, though may leave those who do not appreciate his work, unmoved. While Steven Holleran's cinematography is striking, and the soundtrack- as well as Ishai Adar's score- complements the atmosphere, the narrative is unfortunately cliched. Joel Kinnaman's character is also dull and the ending disappoints. In conclusion, while Nicolas Cage is great, the film around him doesn't live up to his talents.
Hana to Arisu (2004)
Heartfelt & Heartrending
Hana and Alice are best friends about to enter high school. One day, they see Masashi, a boy about their age, on board a train. Alice develops a crush on him, though it is but a passing fad. For Hana, it is something more serious, and she begins to shadow Masashi, determined to make him her boyfriend. After he has an accident, Hana convinces him he has amnesia, and has forgotten that they are a couple. Matters are complicated further when Hana makes Alice pretend to be his ex-girlfriend; and further still when Alice and Masashi fall for each other. In the face of such drama, can Hana and Alice's friendship last?
Subtle and moving, Shunji Iwai's 'Hana and Alice' is a deceptively simple comic-drama speaking depths about the human condition. It is a striking picture, the subtly strong narrative of which is all the more incredible when one considers it began life as four short films celebrating the 30th anniversary of Nestlé's Kit Kat chocolate bar in Japan. A poignant character study, examining the personalities of two complex girls, Iwai's characterisation is rich and full of depth.
Both Hana and Alice are multifaceted, layered characters, with ambitions, faults and secrets. Though not immoral or unempathetic, they are not above using others to get their own way. Through Iwai's nuanced storytelling, a vividly realistic portrayal of these two characters is created. Manipulative, but charming, they are compelling, realistic cinematic creations, with fascinating backstories; and their tale is engaging.
Throughout the film, their friendship is put to the test. Iwai uses them to make a larger point about the importance of friendship, especially during one's formative years. He also delves into the complexities of youth, displaying great insight into the adolescent mindset. Hana and Alice are on the cusp of adulthood, a strange time when one re-examines one's life, readjusting priorities. Both Hana and Alice struggle; trying to act like adults, while suffering from a dearth of positive role models.
Alice's mother is far too concerned with her own romantic entanglements, while her father is distant and awkward. Hana's mother, meanwhile, seems disconnected from her daughter, focused on her work. At one point, she addresses Masashi as Hana, seemingly not recognising that he isn't, in fact, her daughter. It is no wonder that Hana and Alice create fabulous lies when they have no-one offering them guidance.
It is an affecting picture, not to mention a funny one. Iwai's dialogue is witty and many sequences will have viewers- possessed of a certain sense of humour- grinning from ear to ear. Additionally, it is a strikingly shot film, containing artful cinematography from Noboru Shinoda. His muted work is couched in the traditions of realism, yet has a certain stylized edge to it. It is as if the film were shot as a reflection of life in a carnival hall of mirrors; visuals projecting a slightly heightened version of reality, carrying much emotional weight.
The mournful score, from Iwai himself, doesn't just complement these visuals; it heightens them, compounding their dramatic power. Further, it is well-edited film, with Iwai establishing a steady pace from the beginning. Although some criticise it as being overlong, even at two hours and fifteen minutes, in the company of Hana and Alice, time flies.
Anne Suzuki and Yu Aoi star as Hana and Alice, respectively, delivering two remarkable performances of depth, wit and nuance. Whether delivering impassioned monologues- as Suzuki does masterfully in the latter half- or performing ballet- like Aoi, beautifully, in the last act- both of them impress greatly. They'll have you laughing and crying in equal measure. Alongside them, Tomohiro Kaku does fine work as Masashi, while Sei Hiraizumi is great as Alice's father, in a solitary- but memorable- scene.
A compelling character study, Shunji Iwai's 'Hana and Alice' offers viewers a profound meditation on the complexities of youth, friendship and love. Funny and sad both, its narrative- and the characters involved- are engaging, while the cinematography and score are memorably striking. Strongly acted- especially by stars Anne Suzuki and Yu Aoi- it is a heartfelt and heartrending comic-drama that is well worth a watch.
Kubi (2023)
Blood-Soaked Brilliance
In 2019, Takeshi Kitano released 'Kubi,' a Samurai novel, retelling the events of the 1582 Honno-ji incident, in which the powerful feudal Lord- or Daimyo- Oda Nobunaga was assassinated. It was an idea Kitano first had in the early 1990's, intended as a film. Akira Kurosawa was an advocate for the project, stating that "if Kitano were to make this film, it would be a masterpiece on par with 'Seven Samurai'."
In 2021, shooting finally took place, with a release two years later. The result is a sprawling, Shakespearian epic, bloody, thrilling and darkly funny. The film reimagines Nobunaga as a psychopathic ruler, sadistic and unpredictable. He pits the Samurai under him against one other, promising each the throne after he steps down. However, the various clan leaders, such as Hashiba Hideyoshi and Ankokuji Ekei, alongside Samurai general Akechi Mitsuhide, band against him, plotting his downfall.
It is a tale that makes for a sweeping, action-filled picture, rocketing along at a brisk pace. The narrative is brimming with volatility, every character out for their own personal gain. There is plenty of back-stabbing- both literally and metaphorically- with betrayal as the dominant theme. Everyone is scheming and plotting; trust is not an easy virtue in Kitano's representation of the Sengoku period, and nothing- even love- gets in the way of self-interest.
Kitano demystifies the notion that Samurai were bound by honour, portraying them as vicious killers, with little time for morality. More broadly, he shows how power-structures dictate relationships, as Nobunaga abuses- physically, mentally and sexually- those around him, taking advantage of their subservient position. This mirrors reality, and is a powerful, subtle piece of social commentary. Although perhaps not entirely factually-accurate, Kitano's depiction of the time-period and its characters is compelling and engaging.
Furthermore, like most Kitano films, the undercurrent of humour, means that- despite rivers of blood and decapitations galore- it doesn't get too dark. In fact, it is a very funny film, striking a fine balance between comedy, thrills and drama. Moreover, Kitano's characterisation is astute. Every person is distinct, with their own quirks, while the dialogue is sharp and witty. Hashiba Hideyoshi is a particularly risible character, who features in the film's most hilarious scenes.
In addition, the action is pulse-pounding and frenetic. Battle scenes are messy and visceral, as they would have been in real life. Katanas sweep through skin, limbs fly, heads roll- it is a gory and riveting affair. Much like his previous 'Zatoichi,' Kitano directs the action magnificently, leaving viewers on the edge of their seats throughout. Moreover, the unpredictable nature of the narrative ensures one doesn't know who will die next, or how; making things all the more exciting.
Further, it is a striking looking film. Takeshi Hamada's grittily realistic cinematography is atmospheric and evocative. Much like his sterling work on Yojiro Takita's 'Departures,' his avoidance of flashy stylisations compounds the film's authenticity. He and Kitano shoot the fight scenes expertly, making them appear utterly crazy, while approaching the film as a whole with an artist's eye; some of the images and sequences involved are simply stunning.
Moreover, the production design is minutely detailed. Everything looks period-accurate, and Kazuko Kurosawa's costume design is texturally rich and intricate. Additionally, the subtle score from Taro Iwashiro- who worked on Yoichi Sai's 'Blood and Bones,' which also starred Kitano- heightens the film's emotional impact. It is also a well-edited picture, moving at a stallion's pace from the start and never lets up.
Part of the reason Kitano waited so long to film 'Kubi' was because he could never get his ideal cast, but, as he explains, when he was "able to gather talented actors in the Kitano-group, and when such excellent actors come together, I felt like it was finally time to make it... and that's how it finally came to fruition." The cast he gathered is vast and noteworthy, which reads like a 'who's who' of premier acting talent.
Ryo Kase is chillingly effective as the psychopathic Nobunaga, clearly loving the opportunity to play such a madman. Kenichi Endo does fine work as Araki Murashige, who is the first to rebel against Nobunaga, showcasing a vulnerability that is most affecting. Fans of his work will delight in seeing Kitano's longtime collaborator Susumu Terajima, brilliantly playing Sahei, a ninja, while Nakamura Shido II is most effective in the role of Naniwa Mosuke, a mad peasant who is determined to become a Samurai general, at any cost.
Moreover, Nao Omori and Tadanobu Asano do typically excellent work as Hashiba Hidenaga and Kuroda Kanbei, accomplices of Hashiba Hideyoshi, underplaying effectively (as an aside, fans of 'Ichi The Killer' will surely enjoy seeing them on screen together again). Hidetoshi Nishijima brings a steady resolve to the role of Akechi Mitsuhide, and is very believable as one struggling, not just with his love for Murashige, but with the life he's found himself in. Finally, Takeshi Kitano, as arch-schemer Hideyoshi- disparagingly nicknamed The Ape- is marvellous, delivering a bewitchingly funny, layered performance that ranks alongside his best.
A monumentally entertaining Samurai epic, Takeshi Kitano's 'Kubi' is a gripping story of betrayal and violence. Well-written, funny and thrilling, it's blood-soaked brilliance must be seen to be believed. With striking cinematography, stunning production and costume design and a stirring score, it fires on all cylinders. Boasting excellent performances from all in its star-studded cast, 'Kubi' is, as Akira Kurosawa predicted, a masterpiece.
Looking Glass (2018)
Not Worth A Glance
There are few actors who alternate between commercial and personal projects- that "one for me, one for them" concept- more than Nicolas Cage. For every interesting, quality film he makes, like Michael Sarnoski's 'Pig,' there are ten others, lacking artistic merit or entertainment value. Forgettable actions films, like Dimitri Logothetis' 'Jiu Jitsu,' or mediocre melodramas like Maria Pulera's 'Between Worlds' litter Cage's filmography, outweighing the genuinely good films he stars in. However, even in the worst of his movies- those clearly made just for the paycheque- Cage is usually interesting to watch, and, more often than not, highly entertaining.
Unfortunately, this is not the case with Tim Hunter's overwhelmingly dull 'Looking Glass.' The film follows Ray and Maggie, a married couple suffering from the loss of their daughter. They purchase a motel in an isolated town in Arizona. One day, Ray discovers a secret underground hallway, leading to a two-way mirror, allowing him to see into one of the motel rooms and spy on the guests. As Ray becomes obsessed with voyeurism, sinister events unfold, as he becomes embroiled in a seedy plot that he and Maggie may not survive.
It is a cliched picture, a David Lynch rip-off that lacks the suspense and surrealness of his work. Written by Jerry Rapp and Matthew Wilder, the narrative is predictable and unengaging. The film moves at a pace that would irritate a snail, and the underwritten characters lack depth. Moreover, the dialogue is stilted, the characters acting like robots; disconnected from the reality of their situation.
Ray and Maggie are plunged into a dark underworld of sadomasochism and violence, and do not react to it like real people would, pottering around in the motel, disassociated and confused. The supporting characters are one-note cliches, and the identity of the villain of the piece is evident from the moment they appear on screen. It is a shame it is so mundane and quotidian, as the concept of a motel owner becoming a voyeur- mirroring the real-life case of Gerald Foos, who reconstructed his motel to allow him to spy on his guests- could make a great film.
However, director of photography Patrick Cady effectively generates a Lynchian atmosphere of murky danger. The low-lighting, combined with Cristopher R. DeMuri's ominous production design, creates tension and a headily menacing mood. Additionally, the score- from Mark Adler, Kristin Gundred and Andrew Benjamin Miller- signifies doom.
Unfortunately, the visuals and score don't elevate the picture out of mundanity. Despite scenes of S&M, brawling and murders, the film isn't in any way suspenseful or engaging, and the cast do unimpressive work. Cage underplays the role of Ray, trying to give a subtle performance, but overdoes it. He is criminally boring, moping about the motel, looking like a lethargic, bespectacled rabbit caught in the headlights. Robin Tunney is given nothing to do as Maggie; her talents are completely wasted, and she fades into the background. Marc Blucas, as the local Sherrif, does the strongest work, though his character is woefully one-dimensional.
While it's interesting how Nicolas Cage alternates between diverse projects- and while some miss the mark- his performances are generally intriguing. Unfortunately, this can't be said for his work in 'Looking Glass'. Although the visuals and score are atmospheric, the narrative is formulaic, the dialogue is mannered and the characters- as well as the situation they're in- are unbelievable. Sadly, 'Looking Glass' is not worth a glance.
Family Romance, LLC (2019)
Blurring The Lines
Yuichi Ishii runs a rental family service called Family Romance, offering clients the chance to hire people to act as their spouses, friends or family. He and his stable of actors fill the gaps in lonely people's lives. One day, Ishii is contracted to act as the father of a girl named Mahiro. The two become close, though Ishii begins to doubt his own reality, and his profession: to quote Werner Herzog: "the paradoxical situation is that although everything is performance, everything is a lie, everything is fabricated and acted, there is one thing always authentic, and that's emotions."
Herzog's 'Family Romance, LLC' is a moving drama, treading the line between feature film and documentary. Shot by Herzog himself, using a handheld camera, the film postulates that performance, artifice, is rife in society, that we are but, to paraphrase Shakespeare, "poor players strutting and fretting our hours upon the stage."
For many years, Herzog has spoken of "ecstatic truth," by which he means a storyteller, through fabrication, can reach a deeper, transcendent level of truth, going beyond mere factual accuracy. Essentially, it's a truth transcending the mundane, reaching into the mysterious, elusive realms of imagination and stylization. In other words, a lie that reveals truth, that is more authentic than reality itself. This is an undercurrent in 'Family Romance, LLC,' forming the foundation of Ishii and Mahiro's relationship.
To quote Herzog, "the girl lies to her 'father', who lies to be her father. She's lying to him as well, but her emotions for him are authentic." Weaves of ecstatic truth run throughout the tapestry of the film, as does the notion that we are all performers. This is heightened by the casting of Ishii as himself, as he, in reality, really runs a company called Family Romance, which actually provide the services mentioned above.
Throughout the film, Herzog invites viewers to question the veracity of our experiences, comparing us to robotic fish in a tank; endlessly swimming in an inescapable compound. Further, he highlights the loneliness of many in contemporary Japan, a land bustling with people where many feel isolated and alone.
According to CNN, "across Japan, nearly 1.5 million people have withdrawn from society, leading reclusive lives largely confined within the walls of their home... These are Japan's hikikomori, or shut-ins, defined by the government as people who have been isolated for at least six months." Japan faces an isolation crisis, and Herzog's film shows how Ishii's company breaks the dark spell of loneliness, how, in the words of Ishii, they "create illusions to make the lives of (their) clients better."
It makes for poignant drama. Watching young Mahiro form a relationship with a man she assumes to be her real father, and knowing that their relationship cannot last, is devastating. There is an improvisational, informal feeling to the film, so one really believes in their relationship, and is invested in their characters. While there are moments of humour throughout- such as when a mime performs a brilliant routine with a mobile phone- it is primarily a touching film, exposing deep truths, tugging at the heartstrings.
The film also shows other cases Ishii works on, such as a lottery winner who wants to re-experience the high of the win, or a man who wants someone else to take credit for a mistake he made at a train station. These are generally more comedic in tone, though no less believable, adding to Herzog's authentic depiction of life in Japan.
Herzog's handheld cinematography contributes to the film's realistic feeling. It is intimate, getting in close to the characters. Viewers feel like voyeurs, peeking into the lives of Ishii and Mahiro. At times, the visuals take on a dreamlike aspect, making Japan feel unreal, like a figment of the imagination. Ernst Reijseger's elegiac score adds to this feeling of unreality, complementing Herzog's imagery, while his and Sean Scannell's editing is astute. Reportedly, Herzog captured over 300 hours of film with Ishii; to cut it down to a coherent 90 minutes is an effort deserving applause.
As are the performances from the cast, all of whom are not primarily actors, and most of whom had not acted before, and have not done since. Yuichi Ishii, as a version of himself, is terrific. He has an inherent emotional intelligence and decency, which is evident on screen, making him a compelling character. Mahiro Tanimoto, playing Mahiro, is similarly excellent. A natural actress, she brings a vulnerability to the part that is most affecting, and is never anything less than believable. Her relationship with Ishii feels remarkably real, and they work wonderfully together. In addition, Miki Fujimaki does strong work as Mahiro's mother, and the rest of the amateur cast cannot be faulted.
Werner Herzog's 'Family Romance, LLC' blurs the line between fact and fiction, as his films often do. A touching, heartbreaking drama, it movingly examines human nature, loneliness and interpersonal relationships. It also ponders the meaning of truth, and how performance impacts our daily lives. Featuring striking cinematography and a powerful score, and led by two remarkably real performances from Yuichi Ishii and Mahiro Tanimoto, it is- much like its director- original, fascinating and unique.
Longlegs (2024)
Turns It Up To Eleven
It is hard to think of a better promotion strategy than that utilised by production company Neon for Osgood Perkins' 'Longlegs.' Their guerrilla marketing tactics- focused on powerful, vague clips, images and coded messages- ensured that Perkins' entertaining, though far from magnificent, horror became a must-watch event. Speculation and interest were at an all-time high before it was released, as no-one was quite sure exactly what it was about, only that it looked terrifying.
The film follows Lee Harker, a rookie FBI Agent who possesses some kind of psychic ability. After proving herself in the field, she is assigned to a series of murder-suicides. They go back some thirty years, and are connected by coded-letters found at each scene, signed by a mysterious figure calling themselves Longlegs. As Harker investigates, it becomes apparent that she has a personal connection to the case, and that the Devil may be in the details.
It is a headily atmospheric, tense film, that is- at its best- reminiscent of 'The Silence of the Lambs,' or the work of David Fincher. For the first two acts, Perkins keeps proceedings running along smoothly, slowly immersing viewers in an atmosphere of sheer dread. Terror lurks in every corner, and the innocuous- open doorways, snow-capped fields- become conduits of horror. Alongside cinematographer Andres Arochi, Perkins ensures that, visually, the film is a masterpiece of the macabre.
Arochi makes excellent use of low angles, giving viewers a stooped perspective, like one was cowering in fear. Skies and ceilings tower over the frame, oppressively boxing one in with no escape, while the muted lighting used throughout casts a palpable gloom over proceedings, heightening the darkness of Perkins' narrative. Danny Vermette's desolate production design adds to this immersive despondency, which Trevor Johnston's minimalist set decoration compounds.
Furthermore, the sound design is evocative and startling; every scene bubbles with an electric undercurrent of unsettling agitation. Sounds don't just jump out at you, they grab you by the shoulders, giving you a short, sharp shock. Moreover, Elvis Perkins- working under the name Zilgi- crafts a score so creepy it would be hard to forget even under the deepest of hypnosis. In addition, it is a very well-edited picture- at least for the first two acts- moving at its own pace through a mire of menace and malaise.
Unfortunately, however, it is not without its issues. Considering the mystery of Longlegs and the murders is so engaging, and so effective at instilling fear in the audience, the last act- when all is revealed- comes as a bitter disappointment. For some reason, Perkins suddenly adopts a "tell, don't show" attitude, treating his viewers to a poorly executed, exposition-dump that infuriates rather than enlightens, followed by a cliched ending that feels like it was ripped from another film entirely.
Additionally, a cynical critic might suggest there are a few too many elements to his story, meaning some get lost along the way: namely, Harker's psychic abilities. Initially, they seem like they'll be important to the plot, though are never really mentioned again after two brief scenes at the start of the movie. One wonders whether or not the inclusion of these barely mentioned mystical powers came from a first draft of a screenplay that was considerably altered, or as a 'get out of jail free card', in case Perkins felt he needed a gimmick to explain his main character's competency at her job.
Whatever the case, they aren't important to the plot, nor to the development of Harker's character, which is- in fact- rather lacking overall. She is not a multifaceted personality, rather a one-note, rather dour person, whose lack of charisma is matched only by her lack of humour. Secondary characters don't have much more depth, although at least Harker's boss Carter gets to enjoy the pleasures of a drink or two, and has something approaching a light side.
Having said that, Maika Monroe delivers a strong performance as Harker, credibly portraying someone totally committed to their job, with nothing else in their life. It might not be a very showy or multidimensional role, but she handles it well nevertheless. Blair Underwood, as Carter, also does fine work, bringing a dryness to the role that is much appreciated. Furthermore, Alicia Witt is great as Harker's mother Ruth, who has some serious issues, and Kiernan Shipka totally steals her solitary scene as a survivor of Longlegs' spree with a remarkable ease.
However, towering over the film and everyone else in it, dominating every scene he's in and most of the ones he's out of, is Nicolas Cage, as the eponymous Longlegs. To borrow Nigel Tufnel's phrase and say he turns it up to eleven would be putting it mildly. Under heavy prosthetic makeup, he looks like a cross between a bloated Marc Bolan and Frosty the Snowman, with the voice of an insane asylum escapee sinisterly muttering a Crispin Glover impression. Cage has never been creepier- nor has he been much funnier- and his performance is never likely to be forgotten by those who see it.
While it is not the pinnacle of terror, as its marketing would suggest, Osgood Perkins' 'Longlegs' is an entertaining, disquieting venture all the same. Although its narrative has its shortcomings, it is still engaging, while the cinematography and sound design is of a particularly high quality. Maika Monroe does a fine job in the lead, though is ultimately overshadowed by the satanic brilliance of Nicolas Cage. At the end of the day, despite its faults, and much like its titular character, 'Longlegs' is devilishly good.
Late Night with the Devil (2023)
Worth Staying Up For
It is 1977, and Johnny Carson reigns supreme over the world of late night television. Looking to usurp his throne is Jack Delroy, host of Night Owls, a programme that has always played second fiddle to Carson in the ratings. Delroy thinks the show he has planned for Halloween night will finally land him the top spot on the Nielsen ratings list. A psychic, a conjurer-turned-sceptic and the sole survivor of a Satan-worshipping cult are to be his guests- though when the broadcast gets underway, his dream show turns into a nightmare.
Written and directed by Colin and Cameron Cairnes, 'Late Night with the Devil' is an original, enjoyable comic-horror packing chills and thrills a-plenty. Taking on the form of a piece of found-footage, the narrative has some genuinely unsettling moments, which are very well-realized; a worm-filled display of conjuring power in the latter half being particularly hard-to-forget. Furthermore, the Cairnes brother's characterisation and satirical take on 70's programming is consistently entertaining, if not exactly profound, and their dialogue is sharp.
However, the whole affair is rather predictable, with the denouement effectively given away in the film's opening minutes. In addition, although much mention is made of the rivalry between Delroy and Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett- whose show Delroy's more closely resembles and who, in reality, was often a close second to Carson ratings wise- never comes up. Neither, in fact, do the numerous others who had late night style shows at the time; which seems like an oversight.
Further, the found-footage gimmick doesn't make much sense, as during the ad-breaks that would have occurred in the broadcast, the film adopts a documentary style- begging the question: why were there two documentary cameramen filming a behind the scenes look at a show that doesn't do particularly well in the ratings?
Despite that, it is a fun film, and a fine looking one to boot. In fact, the only reason that the aforementioned issues with realism matter at all is because the 1970's visual aesthetic is so faithfully recreated. Production designer Otello Stolfo, alongside costume designer Steph Hooke, perfectly capture and reproduce the look and feel of a 70's, Dick Cavett-style talk-show, from the orange and beige dominated colour scheme to the cartoon intertitles- created with the help of AI.
Moreover, director of photography Matthew Temple makes clever use of the traditional three-camera set-up, lending proceedings additional authenticity. Furthermore, Glenn Richards' score is stirring, while Roscoe James Irwin's arrangements with The Night Owls Studio Orchestra are headily atmospheric. Additionally, the special effects and make-up are effectively disquieting and the aforementioned sequence involving worms features some truly stomach-churning practical effects.
David Dastmalchian, starring as Delroy, gives a thoroughly convincing performance as one powered by ambition, willing to risk it all to get ahead. He carries the film squarely on his shoulders, working well with his co-stars, all of whom do fine work. Ian Bliss is particularly good, as the arrogant, James Randiesque sceptic Carmichael Haig, as is Fayssal Bazzi as the psychic Christou, whose abilities might be greater than even he thinks. Although each of the characters are essentially one-note parodies of real people; the cast elevate them nevertheless.
An entertaining comic-horror, Colin and Cameron Cairnes' 'Late Night with the Devil' may not be perfect, but it is an awful lot of fun. The production design and costumes effectively harken back to the 70's, while Glenn Richards' score is stirring. Boasting brilliant practical special effects and make-up, as well as a frighteningly strong performance from star David Dastmalchian, 'Late Night with the Devil' is well worth staying up for.
Kolja (1996)
Plucks at the Heartstrings
It is 1988, and Czech bachelor Frantisek Louka is struggling to make ends meet. A talented cellist, his main source of employment is playing at the various crematoriums in Prague; though he'll do most work that comes his way. One day, a friend offers him the chance to earn a large amount of money through a sham marriage to a Russian lady, which would enable her- and her five-year-old son Kolya- to stay in Czechoslovakia. However, weeks after they are married, the woman uses her new citizenship to emigrate to West Germany, leaving Louka to look after a boy he barely knows.
A touching comic-drama, Jan Sverák's 'Kolya' tells a familiar tale; though tells it well. Rather like Takeshi Kitano's 'Kikujiro,' the film follows an unlikely father-figure who grows to love the ward in his charge, changing as a person as he does so. As Louka and Kolya become comfortable with one another, the narrative- written by Zdenek Sverák and based on an idea from Pavel Taussig- examines the importance of connection, detailing how one's life can be enriched by even the most unlikely of relationships.
A poignant character study, the film shows Louka's journey from a gruff, womanising cynic to someone with a greater appreciation for life- thanks to his experiences with Kolya. His time with the boy changes him for the better, and the film's bittersweet ending hints that he will never be the same. While not original on paper, the genuinely heartwarming story has a sardonic edge, while Sverák's screenplay abounds with thematic depth and irreverent, dry humour.
Additionally, the film can be seen as a reflection of the end of the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia, offering a nuanced critique of same, highlighting the tensions and ironies of the time. Most evidently, Louka's interactions with the Soviet bureaucratic system are emblematic of the inefficiencies and frustrations experienced by many Czechs under Soviet rule. His sham marriage to a Russian woman, and the subsequent responsibility of caring for her son, can be seen as a microcosm of the larger political dynamics at play. This relationship mirrors the complex, often strained interactions between Czechs and Russians during the occupation.
Moreover, the film poignantly portrays contextual conflicting attitudes towards Russians through its characters. For instance, Louka's initial reluctance to care for Kolya reflects a broader societal scepticism towards foreigners, particularly Russians, who were often viewed with suspicion and resentment at the time in occupied lands. Conversely, Louka's gradual transformation symbolizes a potential for reconciliation and understanding amidst political turmoil; paralleling his country's own path towards greater openness and eventual independence.
In addition, Vladimír Smutný's lush cinematography expertly captures Prague's beautiful melancholy, enhancing the narrative's depth and resonance. Smutný uses a rich colour palette and varied lighting to reflect the film's shifting moods. The muted tones and soft lighting in Louka's apartment convey a sense of isolation and mundanity, while the brighter, more vibrant scenes with Kolya highlight the boy's innocence and the joy he brings into his world. This visual contrast effectively underscores Louka's transformation throughout the film.
Smutný's cinematography also adeptly captures the essence of late 1980's Czechoslovakia, with a visual style reflecting the period's socio-political atmosphere. Many scenes subtly incorporate elements of Soviet influence and the impending change brought by the Velvet Revolution, which helps immerse one in the historical setting and reality of the narrative. Milos Kohout's art direction, as well as Katarina Hollá's costume design, only compounds this immersive realism, while Ondrej Soukup's stirring score drifts through the picture like a euphonious wind, heightening its emotional impact.
In addition to writing the screenplay, Zdenek Sverák stars as Louka, delivering a nuanced, grounded performance that is engaging and heartrending. His portrayal of Louka's transformation is subtle yet powerful, capturing the character's journey from cynic to father-figure astutely. Opposite him, Andrey Khalimon, as Kolya, lights up the screen, showing a natural acting ability, and the two work wonderfully together. Meanwhile, Libuse Safránková and Ondrej Vetchý excel in the supporting roles of Klara, one of Louka's girlfriends, and Broz, the friend whose actions get the narrative moving, respectively.
In short, though Jan Sverák's 'Kolya' tells a familiar tale, it tells it very well, and is memorable and moving both. Resonating on multiple levels, its narrative is engaging and its characters compelling. Boasting striking cinematography, as well as a fine score, it is routinely well-acted, especially by stars Zdenek Sverák and Andrey Khalimon. To put it simply, 'Kolya' is a bittersweet symphony that plucks at the heartstrings and plays all the right notes.
MaXXXine (2024)
Falls Short of Exxxcellent
With 2022's 'X' and 'Pearl,' Ti West created two extremely entertaining, wickedly clever horror comedies, honouring two specific types of films. 'X' is a homage to- and pastiche of- 1970's grindhouse tropes, most obviously 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,' while 'Pearl' is a like a warped, 1950's Technicolour melodrama, like the cinematic child of Walt Disney and Dario Argento. Both films are prime examples of satire, successfully implementing elements of the object they are satirising without becoming that object themselves.
With 'MaXXXine,' the newest addition to the 'X' franchise, West aims to send-up giallo and exploitation films of the late 70's, as well as the video nasties of the 1980's and Hollywood set slashers in general. Taking place in 1985, six years after the events of the original, the film follows Maxine Minx, who is trying to make a go of it in the pictures. After landing her big break, she is blackmailed by someone threatening to reveal her participation in the 1979 massacre. Meanwhile, the Nightstalker roams the streets, and Maxine's friends are dropping like flies. Will Maxine finally become a star, or be forced to live a life she doesn't deserve?
Enjoyable though narratively uneven, visually, 'MaXXXine' dazzles, recreating the neon-soaked decadence of mid-1980's Los Angeles. However, beneath its glossy surface lies a narrative that lacks the bite, wit and unpredictability of its predecessors. Although entertaining, at times the film threatens to become that which it is satirising- a schlocky Hollywood slasher. West incorporates many familiar elements of 80's movies- bickering cops, an over-the-top villain, a seedy P. I., shootouts- but these seem more like cliches than effective satire, as their inclusion lacks any kind of fresh spin or commentary.
In 'X' and 'Pearl,' every detail was meticulously calculated, purposefully included to heighten the emotion of any given scene. Here, it feels as if West tossed in tropes just for kicks, leaving one wondering about their purpose. Effective satire dances on the edge, teasing its subjects without falling into their traps; 'MaXXXine' wobbles- sometimes clever, other times clumsy. Perhaps West's intention was to blur the line between homage and parody. But in doing so, he risks losing the very essence that made his earlier films shine.
Additionally, supporting characters are underwritten, lacking depth or personality. There are no reasons to care for any of them, as the majority aren't on screen for long enough to leave any kind of impact. Those that are start off as cliches- a no-nonsense director, a lascivious Southerner, two cardboard cut out cops- and then proceed not to change. Considering West's brilliant characterisation in previous films, it's rather disappointing.
As is the exceedingly underwhelming final act, which boils down to a forgettable gunfight. Moreover, the identity of the villain will only come as a surprise to someone who has never seen a film before. Conversely, the character of Maxine Minx is still compelling; her determination, resilience and unwavering pursuit of stardom keeps one engaged. She's an unstoppable force, refusing to fade into the shadows, that one cannot help but root for.
Furthermore, West and cinematographer Eliot Rockett do sterling work, emphasising the seediness of the City of Angels, where devils prowl down grimy alleyways. Moreover, they cleverly weave video aesthetics into the fabric of the film itself. Grain dances across the screen, a nod to VHS tapes and late-night cable channels, while de-focused shots blur the line between reality and fantasy, hinting at Maxine's hidden past. It's a visual language that speaks to those who remember tracking lines and rewinding cassettes, compounding the film's heady atmosphere.
In addition, Jason Kisvarday's detailed production design is successful at immersing the viewer in the ostentatious 1980's, where everything was bigger and brighter than before or after. Mari-An Ceo's costume design, alongside Kelsi Ephraim's set decoration, contributes to this immersive effect, while Tyler Bates' evocative, synthesised score wouldn't feel out of place in an 80's Brian De Palma or J. Lee Thompson vehicle, and the soundtrack- making great use of tracks from the likes of ZZ Top and Kim Carnes- is stirring.
Mia Goth's commanding central performance as Maxine is where the film's greatest strength lies. As in her two previous collaborations with West, her intrepid character shows through clearly. Goth is not afraid to go all out and risk being called over-the-top. Surely, after all, with material like this, she's meant to be grandiose? Even in it's weakest moments, Goth keeps 'MaXXXine' from becoming uninteresting; remaining a pivotal figure in modern horror cinema.
Opposite her, Kevin Bacon is excellent as the aforementioned sleazy, Southern P. I., making a one-note character arguably the most entertaining in the picture. Elizabeth Debicki does assured work as the director who gives Maxine her big break, though the role doesn't give her much to play with. Giancarlo Esposito is clearly having a ball in the all-too small part of Maxine's agent, while Michelle Monaghan and Bobby Cannavale are all but wasted as the cops; getting nothing to do but doing it well.
Ti West's 'MaXXXine' is an entertaining comic-horror, but lies in the shadow of its predecessors, which were considerably more cohesive, original and accomplished. Despite striking visuals and a stirring score, its narrative underwhelms, teetering between clever and clunky. Although Mia Goth and her supporting cast- most notably Kevin Bacon- do strong work, unfortunately 'MaXXXine' falls short of exxxcellent.
Kinds of Kindness (2024)
Essentially Lanthimosian
Over the last twenty years, Yorgos Lanthimos has cultivated an approach to filmmaking all his own. Like David Lynch, he has developed a singular, instantly identifiable style, which will, no doubt, one day be- if it is not already- referred to as Lanthimosian. Generally speaking, his films, though varied, usually explore power dynamics, featuring characters who speak in monotone, dialogue that is slightly unreal and darkly-comic narratives containing both bloodshed and nudity.
'Kinds of Kindness' bears all the hallmarks of his style. An anthology film- or triptych, as it is billed- its thematic content is open to numerous interpretations; the most obvious being control, as, in each of the three stories, it is examined in some form. In the first, a man tries to stand up to his domineering boss, with disastrous results. In the second, a policeman who is losing control of his life after the disappearance of his wife, finds things stranger upon her return. In the third and last, a woman working for a cult tries to find an individual who has power over life and death.
With each tale, the case can be made that Lanthimos is examining a different aspect of control with regard to power dynamics and family structures. In the opening segment, Lanthimos explores the theme of subjugation and rebellion, highlighting the delicate balance between asserting oneself and the risks involved in challenging authority. Furthermore, once free of the controlling structure he had grown subconsciously comfortable in, the protagonist seeks to regain his subjugated position- a poignant exploration of agency and longing.
In the second story the interconnecting notions of power, manipulation and the illusion of control are explored, as the policeman desperately tries to control and restructure a situation he does not recognise, nor has power over. The irrational demands he makes of his wife in order for her to demonstrate her love to him reveal the lengths one can go to maintain control and stability in the face of perceived chaos.
The third story raises questions about the limits of human agency, following a woman who has voluntarily given up control of her life to a cult and, like the protagonist in the first story, tries to regain her subjugated position, once free. Perhaps Lanthimos is examining fears associated with autonomy, of agency and desire.
However, while control appears thematically in each of the stories, there could be more at play. One could, perhaps, see the film as a religious allegory, with the three stories mirroring the ideas of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Lanthimos may be inviting viewers to explore fears associated with autonomy and desire through this lens.
On the other hand, considering the sacrifice of autonomy for comfort or survival becomes a recurring motif; might the film be primarily about just that: sacrifice? Or is it merely concerned with how manipulation, dominance and submission intersect? The film's digressive structure allows ideas such as these to unfold without arriving at tidy conclusions, leaving room for as many abstractions and interpretations as there are viewers.
Whatever the case, the stories are entertaining and darkly funny, full of the deliciously weird Lanthimosian dialogue many have come to love. However, as each are so engaging, it is a pity that they are not three individual, full-length films in their own right. Lanthimos and co-writer Efthimis Filippou could have expanded any of them into a stand-alone feature and, by doing so, heightened their power and impact considerably.
Despite this, 'Kinds of Kindness' remains engaging and thought-provoking, boasting assured, grounded visuals that heighten the narrative's strangeness. Lanthimos and director of photography Robbie Ryan film proceedings with realism in mind, avoiding flashy stylisations and unconventional camera angles. This juxtaposition between the natural cinematography and the inherent oddness of the narrative is both atmospheric and effective.
Furthermore, Jerskin Fendrix's score contributes greatly to the film's atmosphere. Full of sinister choral chants, like the singing of a group of mad monks, it adds an element of suspense and drama, complementing the visuals and the narrative. In addition, Anthony Gasparro's production design, as well as Amy Beth Silver's minimalistic set decoration and Jennifer Johnson's muted costume design, are immersive, drawing viewers further in to Lanthimos's odd world, emphasising the uncanny.
The film features some of Lanthimos's frequent collaborators, such as Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Yorgos Stefanakos and Margaret Qualley, alongside newcomers to his oeuvre, like Jesse Plemons and Hong Chau. All play multiple characters across the three stories- bar Stefanakos- and excel in each. Plemons showcases his versatility, bringing a decency and humanity to even the cruellest of men. Stone, meanwhile, proves yet again that she is a perfect fit for Lanthimos's material, inhabiting her disparate, bizarre roles with a remarkable ease and naturality.
In addition, Dafoe demonstrates once more why many consider him one of the finest actors working today, bringing authenticity to three markedly different personalities; from the good and the bad to the ugly. Furthermore, Qualley and Chau both bring life to smaller roles, showcasing their considerable abilities, while Stefanakos- totally mute- has a strong screen presence, making his enigmatic character all the more intriguing.
Darkly funny and overwhelmingly odd, 'Kinds of Kindness' is a typically Lanthimosian venture. Featuring three entertaining tales of madness, control and manipulation, it is utterly unique. Boasting striking cinematography, as well as a stirring, sinister score, one won't easily forget it. With strong performances from all in the cast- especially Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons and Willem Dafoe- and comically off-beat dialogue, it is all kinds of weird- and all kinds of wonderful.
Dream Scenario (2023)
Classic Cage
Nicolas Cage is an endlessly watchable actor. From 'Moonstruck' and 'Adaptation' to 'Pig,' he has given many startlingly powerful, nuanced performances, that are hard to forget. At the same time, Cage has given many overblown ones, in efforts like 'Vampire's Kiss' and 'Sympathy For The Devil,' which are even harder to forget. Whether understated or over-the-top, Cage is always entertaining, oftentimes making unremarkable films not just watchable, but memorable.
In Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario,' Cage plays Paul Matthews, a professor of evolutionary biology at Osler University. A middle-aged, insipid fellow, Paul yearns for recognition. One day, he runs into an old flame, who tells him he has been appearing in her dreams, which she writes an article about. Suddenly hundreds of strangers report seeing Paul in their dreams, and he becomes a global sensation. However, Paul soon learns that fame is fickle, as his life becomes a waking nightmare.
'Dream Scenario' is a funny, interesting film examining multiple themes, though fails to explore all of them thoroughly. As Paul becomes famous, and later infamous, the film satirises the preposterousness of notoriety, how people nowadays become celebrities while doing practically nothing. Although not exactly an original point, Borgli's screenplay navigates this idea in a clever, comedic way. At the same time, the film shows the downsides of fame, skewering cancel culture; revealing how celebrity can transform from adoration to infamy in an instant.
However, as the film progresses, other ideas are introduced, which aren't covered in depth, and the final act underwhelms. Though Borgli's attempts to lampoon the phenomenon of "influencers" provides some laughs, it also distracts from the established narrative. Additionally, the film's supporting charters are rather underwritten, lacking development. Conversely, Paul is an intriguing character, whose massive ego is hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and doubt. A timid, yet opinionated man, Paul is, to quote Kris Kristofferson, 'a walking contradiction,' and a compelling one at that.
Borgli and cinematographer Benjamin Loeb capture Paul's rise and fall with keen eyes. Shot on 16mm film stock, the visuals are beguiling, mirroring Paul's journey through the tumultuous cycles of fame, as well as contributing to the film's dreamlike atmosphere. They make excellent use of light and colour, as well as subtle distortions and low angles, immersing viewers in the surreal world of the narrative.
Additionally, Borgli's intuitive editing keeps thing cohesive, while also adding to the film's atmosphere. His use of quick cuts in otherwise calm scenes- creating a sense of unease- is reminiscent of the work of Yorgos Lanthimos. Similarly, the dream sequences- particularly in the latter half- are more than mere plot devices; they're visual poetry, weaving symbolism, surreal imagery and emotional subtext seamlessly into the narrative, thanks to Borgli's astute edits.
Furthermore, Owen Pallett's score enhances the film's atmosphere and emotional impact. Talking Heads' 'City of Dreams' is used to particularly strong effect, leaving few viewers with dry eyes as the credits roll. Kaysie Bergens and Natalie Bronfman's costume design effectively contributes to the characters' personalities, while production designer Zosia Mackenzie's canny work amplifies the surreal nature of Paul's experiences.
Cage, however, is all one can think about when the film is over. He delivers a marvellous performance, funny, sad and profoundly realistic. A heightened, deeply insecure man who just wants the world to read his book about ants- which he has yet to write- Cage's Paul is one of his finest cinematic creations, up there with his turn as Charlie and Donald Kaufman in 'Adaptation' and Ben Sanderson in 'Leaving Las Vegas.' Multifaceted, funny, memorable; it's classic Cage.
While his supporting cast all do fine work- Julianne Nicholson, Michael Cera, Tim Meadows and Dylan Gelula especially- they aren't given substantial material to work with. Nicholson is particularly good in the underwritten role of Paul's wife, demonstrating remarkable emotional depth. Cera is hilarious in the all too small part of Trent, the head of a viral marketing firm, while Meadows and Gelula both do stellar work as the Dean of Osler University and Trent's assistant Molly, respectively.
Kristoffer Borgli's 'Dream Scenario' is an entertaining film, though has its issues. While the conceit is novel, Borgli's examination of themes like cancel culture and fame- though funny- aren't particularly original. However, the cinematography is striking, the score stirring and the whole affair edited astutely. Nicolas Cage is absolutely fantastic, while his co-stars all do fine work in underwritten roles- Julianne Nicholson especially. Although 'Dream Scenario' might not be perfect, it's definitely not a nightmare, and more proof that Cage is an endlessly watchable actor.
Hitler's S.S.: Portrait in Evil (1985)
Portrait in Mediocrity
It is the early 1930's, and the Nazis are gaining power in Germany. The young, unemployed Karl Hoffman is enthusiastic about the party, readily joining the SA. His brother Helmut, a university student, is more wary, but after meeting Reinhard Heydrich, is seduced into joining the SS. As time marches on, Helmut's star rises, while Karl loses faith in the machine of fascism, particularly after the Night of the Long Knives. Amidst the horrors of war and Hitler's murderous reign, can the brothers' relationship- and they themselves- survive?
Directed by Jim Goddard from a Lukas Heller screenplay, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a well-intentioned, but fairly rote made for TV movie suffering from a dull narrative and stilted dialogue. Heller's linear tale charts the rise and fall- not just of the Hoffman brothers- but of the Third Reich, feeling at times like a drab recital from a history book. The affair lacks emotional depth, as well as natural dialogue and impactful characterisation. One has no reason to care for either of the brothers, nor any of the secondary characters, and Heller's attempts to balance historical accuracy with engaging storytelling proves challenging, resulting in an overly didactic piece.
As a chronicle of history, the film works quite well, despite creative licence taken here and there, leading to inaccuracies. Heller's representation of Nazi-era Germany as a hotbed of varying political ideas, as well as the juxtaposition of the SS verses the SA and the Wehrmacht, is mostly on point, making for some interesting moments. However, as a piece of fictional storytelling, attempting to examine themes such as nationalism and brotherhood, as well as how a nation fell under the spell of fascism, the film falls short. In addition, a love triangle sub-plot adds nothing to the piece but more minutes to the runtime.
Furthermore, Ernest Vincze's cinematography does little to aid proceedings. He opts for a very conventional approach, without stylizations or tension-building techniques, such as irregular angles or creative framing, which would have compounded the film's emotional weight. Although he captures the fascist rallies and smoky interiors of the bierkellers effectively, his work is not memorable, nor powerful.
Moreover, Richard Hartley's overly romantic score seems to have been written for a different film entirely. His cloyingly mournful melodies would be more appropriate in an adaptation of a Jilly Cooper dime-store novel; set against the horrors of the Third Reich they seem utterly out of place. Conversely, Eileen Diss and Mike Porter's production design appears faithful to the period, while Elizabeth Waller's costumes carry the weight of authenticity. Although perhaps everything is a bit too clean, the overall visual effect is one of realism.
Bill Nighy and John Shea star as Helmut and Karl Hoffman, respectively, opposite a large cast of well-known performers. Nighy does fine work as Helmut, creating in him a cynical, morally ambiguous character one could imagine rising through the ranks of the SS. On the other hand, Shea opts for a more straightforward approach, playing Karl as a good man; lacking the intrigue, nuance and complexity Nighy fosters.
The supporting cast are a veritable who's who of Hollywood, some of whom do strong work. David Warner is particularly good as the sinister Reinhard Heidrich, a role he played before in Marvin J. Chomsky's far-more effective 'Holocaust.' Lucy Gutteridge does what is required with the under-written role of Mitzi, a nightclub singer, though doesn't make much of an impression. In addition, José Ferrer and Tony Randall bring a gravitas to their all too small roles as a Jewish professor and a doomed comedian.
A straightforward made for TV movie about a fascinating point in history, Jim Goddard's 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is a fairly mundane piece of work. The narrative is underwhelming and the dialogue is stilted, although the production design is fairly authentic. While Bill Nighy and some of the supporting cast do strong work, John Shea underwhelms and the cinematography lacks creativity. Unfortunately, 'Hitler's SS: Portrait in Evil' is ultimately a portrait in mediocrity.
The Quick and the Dead (1987)
Familiar Ground
In the year 1876, Duncan McKaskel, his wife Susanna, and their young son Tom leave Pennsylvania, embarking on a journey through Wyoming- a land ripe with promise and peril. As they traverse the rugged terrain, they encounter Doc Shabbitt and his felonious gang of ruffians, who shadow their every move. It's in this precarious moment that a mysterious stranger, Con Vallian, emerges from the wilderness. Vallian's decision to aid the McKaskels sets the stage for their survival, but at what cost? In a land where justice is often dispensed down the barrel of a gun, Vallian's skills become their lifeline.
A TV movie directed by Robert Day, and based on the novel of the same name by Louis L'Amour, 'The Quick and the Dead' is a predictable but entertaining western of the old style. Much like other L'Amour works, such as 'Hondo,' 'Connagher' and 'Crossfire Trail,' the narrative deals with disparate characters who are emblematic of the cultural divide between the American East and West; characters who must learn to work together if they are to survive.
Although enjoyable, screenwriter James Lee Barrett tends towards the cliched, especially with regard to characterisation. Vallian's stoicism, Susanna's defiance, Duncan's inner turmoil, Shabbitt's eloquent villainy, Tom's awakening- all echo familiar Western archetypes, adhering to traditional character tropes of the genre. Their linear journey provides few surprises and the sparse moments of action within lack excitement or tension. Moreover, when closely examined, some aspects of the plot lack credibility. Vallian's self-sacrifice for a family he barely knows seems contrived, as does the hackneyed, underwhelming ending.
Additionally, Dick Bush opts for a conventional cinematographical approach, meaning the visuals lack flair or originality. While he adeptly captures the stark beauty of the American West, when filming in exquisite locations like Coconino National Forest and Sedona, Arizona, it would be challenging not to showcase their splendour. Furthermore, while Bush's use of close-ups and wide shots adheres to traditional Western filmmaking, tension-building techniques- such as creative framing, dynamic camera movement, or unexpected angles- are somewhat absent.
Moreover, Steve Dorff's score is overblown to the point of parody. His melodies sound like someone trying to mimic, or mock, the sentimental ballads found in your average John Wayne film; a sweeping undercurrent rolling like amber waves of grain in the wind. Conversely, Barbara Weiss's costume design brings a most welcome authenticity to proceedings, while A. Rosalind Crew's minimalistic set decoration and Chester Kaczenski's production design further enhances this visual appeal.
Sam Elliott stars as Vallian, opposite Kate Capshaw as Susanna. Elliott is pitch-perfect as the stoic, rifle-toting stranger, utilising his world-weary charm to full effect. Capshaw does commendable work as Susanna, elevating what could have been a one-note character into a believable, multifaceted personality. Tom Conti subtly underplays it as Duncan, and is very effective in a role that seems somewhat out of his comfort zone. Additionally, Matt Clark- who has appeared in many of Hollywood's best westerns- makes for a fantastic villain as Shabbitt, unhinged yet calculated, and always entertaining.
Although cliched and predictable, Robert Day's 'The Quick and the Dead' still holds entertainment value, especially for fans of old-school westerns. Despite unremarkable cinematography and an overblown score, it's a compelling piece, thanks in large part to the efforts of the cast- especially Sam Elliott and Matt Clark. While this might not be the best Louis L'Amour adaptation, it still rollicks along, like a thoroughbred at full gallop, faltering here and there; but never knocking its rider from the saddle.
Srpski film (2010)
A Tale Told by An Idiot
In the pantheon of disturbing cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a grotesque outlier, a film that doesn't just cross the line- it revels in its transgression. While movies like Takashi Miike's darkly comic 'Visitor Q', along with Pier Paolo Pasolini's cerebral 'Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom,' demonstrate that filmmakers can weave unsettling narratives with compelling messages, 'A Serbian Film' lacks such depth.
The term 'torture porn,' coined in the wake of the 'Saw' franchise, aptly describes horror films that are obsessed with the fragility of the human form, dramatizing its destruction with a perverse glee. Often, these films fail to transcend their bloodlust, embodying Thomas Hobbes' description of life as "nasty, brutish and short." Spasojevic's contribution to the genre, however, is anything but brief. It's an interminable descent into depravity, following beleaguered pornstar Milos as he navigates the murky waters of an 'artistic' endeavour that quickly devolves into a nightmare.
Spasojevic, alongside co-writer Aleksandar Radivojevic, crafts a narrative that is as disheartening as it is monotonous- a relentless barrage of sadism without a shred of originality or wit. The film's attempts to parallel the worst of Eli Roth's 'Hostel' fall flat, rendering even Roth's most harrowing scenes as innocuous as a Disney flick by comparison. Despite lofty claims of satirizing political correctness and critiquing colonialism, the film's execution is as shallow as a rain-slicked street; its purported themes lost in a mire of senseless brutality.
From the stilted dialogue to the clichéd character arcs, there's a distinct lack of innovation or merit in the screenplay. 'A Serbian Film' is not a clever parody nor a poignant critique; it is a cinematic aberration leaving viewers questioning not the nature of political correctness or colonialism, but the motives behind its creation. It's a film that, from its grim inception to its merciful conclusion, offers no redemption, no insight- only the bleak reminder of cinema's potential for darkness.
With its unoriginality and repetitive scenes of violence, it is reminiscent of John Erick Dowdle's 'The Poughkeepsie Tapes,' though is a much more polished effort, technically. Nemanja Jovanov's cinematography is audaciously striking, capturing the macabre with an unsettling clarity that almost dares you to look away. Sky Wikluh's electronic score is a relentless undercurrent, amplifying the tension to almost unbearable levels, while editor Darko Simic's rapid cuts ensure the viewer's descent into the film's abyss is swiftly relentless. Moreover, the special effects and make-up achieve a disquieting realism, blurring the line between fiction and the viewer's threshold for horror.
Yet, this technical artistry serves only as a bitter reminder of the film's wasted potential, becoming a mere backdrop to the narrative's relentless brutality. As the credits roll, one is left not with an appreciation for the film's technical achievements, but with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion- a testament to the film's ability to provoke a visceral response, but also to its failure to channel its technical merits into a narrative worthy of them.
Furthermore, the cast, despite their commendable performances, are simply pawns in a game that overshadows their talents. Srdjan 'Zika' Todorovic, in a role that demands everything and offers nothing, delivers a heartbreakingly raw performance as Milos, capturing the essence of a man dragged through the inferno of human depravity. Opposite him, Sergej Trifunovic, as Milos's employer Vukmir, is chillingly effective, infusing the character with a subtle menace that lingers long after the screen cuts to black.
In addition, Jelena Gavrilovic and Slobodan Bestic, as Marija and Marko, Milos's wife and brother, respectfully, give strong performances that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth. Yet, the question looms large: to what end? The film's relentless onslaught of brutality leaves little room to appreciate the efforts of the cast, showing that even the most potent performances can be rendered moot by a narrative devoid of purpose, wit or insight.
A voyeuristic foray into the depths of exploitative cinema, Srdan Spasojevic's 'A Serbian Film' stands as a Grand Guignol spectacle of the most witless kind. It's the cinematic equivalent of an unrelenting tooth extraction without the mercy of anaesthesia- thoroughly gruelling to endure. While it may boast technical proficiency and strong performances, these are but a veneer over a hollow core devoid of meaningful commentary.
It is a film that leaves behind a legacy not of insightful artistry, but of controversy for controversy's sake- a cautionary tale of how a narrative, no matter how polished its exterior, can falter without substance to anchor it. 'A Serbian Film' stands as a stark reminder that the power of cinema to disturb is profound, but without purpose or restraint, it risks becoming an empty spectacle; full of sound and fury, but signifying nothing.
Spasms (1983)
Lacking Bite
By 1983, Oliver Reed had sold Broome Hall, the 56-bedroom, palatial house he had lived in for several years and which crippled him financially. However, the upkeep on Reed's new home, Pinkhurst farm- a 12-acre Tudor manor in Surrey- was still substantial. To that end, Reed- unlike some of his peers, such as Dirk Bogarde or Richard Burton- did not have the luxury of being able to solely choose acting projects that interested him. The cheque was- more often than not- more persuasive than the screenplay; perhaps explaining his appearance in William Fruet's 'Spasms.'
Moreover, the record-breaking success of Steven Spielberg's 'Jaws'- which Reed was offered a role in and declined- might explain the film as a whole. Based on the novel 'Death Bite' by Michael Maryk and Brent Monahan, it follows millionaire Jason Kincaid, who claims to have a telepathic connection with a giant snake. He hires ESP researcher Tom Brasilia to rid him of the psychic link, while a cult- and ex-CIA agent Crowley- have their eyes on the beast and want it for themselves. With Kincaid's niece Suzanne in tow, will Brasilia be able to avoid the poisoned jaws of doom?
Sound like fun? It isn't, at least not intentionally. Clearly trading on the success of 'Jaws', Fruet and co-writer Don Enright's screenplay lacks everything that made Spielberg's film so special. In 'Jaws', the characters were believable and compelling, the dialogue was sharply witty and the situation was as tense as a stretched bowstring. Conversely, in Fruet's film, the characters are ridiculous caricatures with no depth or interesting qualities of any kind. The dull, overly expository dialogue sounds like it was ripped straight from the pages of a bargain-basement slasher novel- which, one supposes, it was.
Furthermore, whatever tension Maryk and Monahan might have been able to generate with the written word was completely lost in translation to the screen. Fruet fails to create suspense, in fact, he doesn't seem to know what suspense is. Alongside editor Ralph Brunjes, he continuously cuts from lengthy scenes of juxtaposition to poorly shot ones of snake-sadism, without any rhyme, reason or style. Tension isn't allowed to build, nor does the audience feel in any way intimidated by the threat of the snake; or invested in the story at all, for that matter.
It's a dull, unexciting venture, with few redeeming qualities. Cinematographer Mark Irwin- whose work on David Cronenberg's 'The Brood' and 'Videodrome' was so affecting- phones it in, shooting the picture like it was a movie of the week scheduled to air on Superbowl Sunday. The flair he demonstrated many times with Cronenberg is lost: his compositions are conventional, the lighting is uninspired; the whole thing looks cheap.
In addition, Eric Robertson's unoriginal score does little to help proceedings, ripping everything and everyone off, from John Carpenter to 'The Wizard of Oz'. In fact, the state of the film makes one wonder if all those involved knew they were working on a dud and decided not to try particularly hard. From the production design to the costumes and set decoration, there is a distinct lack of quality- or of interest from the participants.
Particularly with regard to the special effects. Apparently, Fruet was dissatisfied with the work of Academy Award-winning makeup artists Dick Smith and Stephan Dupuis, meaning one never really sees the snake nor the effects of its' ravaging. Fruet instead relies on tacky, blue-tinged POV shots and quick cuts, which is a real shame, as in the sole scene where one sees Smith and Dupuis's work in a well-lit environment, it is commendable. Fruet didn't know what a good thing he had.
Despite all that, as Kincaid, Reed is terrific, opposite Peter Fonda as Brasilia, Kerrie Keane as Suzanne and Al Waxman as Crowley. Like in 'Venom', another snake-based chiller he was in, Reed gives it his all, delivering a measured, understated performance. He is a joy to watch, while Fonda- despite seeming a bit bored- and Keane also do fine work; their attempts to elevate the material and their characters are commendable, if ultimately in vain. Waxman, for his part, seems to be trying to chew as much scenery as he can, and does so, swallowing the nails and all. However, he brings some life and energy to proceedings; which the film was in dire need of.
That Maryk and Monahan thought their book could be as big a film as Peter Benchley's 'Jaws' was is not unreasonable. However, without the talents of Steven Spielberg, and with William Fruet at the helm, 'Spasms' is not in the same league, in fact; it's not even the same game. Dull dialogue, paired with bad characterisation, a complete lack of tension and cheap-looking visuals dooms this film to the realm of the mediocre. Despite Oliver Reed's efforts, this giant snake-based chiller really lacks bite. One hopes Ollie's paycheque was a large one.
Solyaris (1972)
A Cosmic Symphony
Sometime in the not-too-distant future, psychologist Kris Kelvin is sent to a space station above the oceanic planet Solaris, tasked with determining the viability of its ongoing study. Upon his arrival, he finds the station in a state of disrepair, and learns that one of the scientists there has killed himself. Kelvin discovers a message from the dead man, warning him about strange things happening aboard the station. Alongside the remaining scientists, who seem verging on insanity, Kelvin begins to experience the inexplicable. Will he be able to make it back to Earth and, even if he's able; will he want to go?
Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem, 'Solaris' is a fascinating science-fiction drama, both visually striking and thought-provoking. Written alongside Fridrikh Gorenshteyn, Tarkovsky's narrative delves into a multitude of themes, from the labyrinth of regret and grief to the ephemeral nature of memory and perception. Often compared to Stanley Kubrick's '2001 A: Space Odyssey,' it is a film that different viewers will interpret in different ways, inviting one to reflect on one's own experiences and the constructs of reality.
Throughout the film, Tarkovsky poignantly explores the human psyche, confronting his characters with their past actions and unspoken sorrows. The sentient ocean of Solaris acts as a catalyst for this introspection, materializing their innermost regrets into tangible forms. This externalization of grief forces the characters- and, by extension, the audience- to confront the often-painful process of healing on the road to closure.
Moreover, Tarkovsky depicts memory as a malleable and unreliable entity, challenging the very notion of objective reality. The film questions whether one's memories serve as faithful records of one's past or are merely reconstructions subject to our current emotions and desires. Furthermore, Tarkovsky invites viewers to ponder the constructs of reality. Are our experiences genuinely authentic, or are they merely reflections of our deepest fears and wishes? Blurring the lines between the real and the imagined, Tarkovsky creates a film that transcends traditional storytelling: a mirror, reflecting not just the characters' truths but also those of the audience.
Each of Tarkovsky's characters serves as a vessel for exploring these profound themes. Kelvin is our guide through the enigmatic world of the film, a man of science confronted with phenomena that challenge his empirical beliefs. His journey is one of internal conflict, as he grapples with the manifestations of his own psyche, which Solaris brings to life. The character of Hari, meanwhile, is the personification of Kelvin's deepest regrets. Her presence on the station is a constant reminder of a past that he cannot escape, making her a pivotal figure in the narrative's exploration of memory and loss.
The supporting characters of Dr. Snaut and Dr. Sartorius are not just colleagues aboard the station but represent different facets of the human response to the unknown. Snaut reflects the weariness of facing the inexplicable, while Sartorius embodies the struggle between scientific detachment and the undeniable impact of Solaris' influence. Through each of these characters, Tarkovsky crafts a narrative that is as much about the individual's inner space as it is about the outer cosmos, where the boundaries between the mind and the external world are blurred.
The film is not just a feast for the mind; it is also a feast for the eyes. Tarkovsky's mastery of visual storytelling is evident in every frame. He juxtaposes lingering shots of the space station's sterile corridors with the lush, almost dreamlike sequences on Earth, creating a dichotomy that mirrors the inner turmoil of the characters. The starkness of the station, with its endless hallways and cold light, stands in contrast to the vibrancy of Earth, emphasizing the isolation and alienation felt by the crew.
In addition, Tarkovsky's use of symbolism- particularly through shots of water- weaves a thread through the narrative, representing the fluidity of time and memory. Cinematographer Vadim Yusov's camera lingers on scenes of rain, pools and oceans, inviting the audience to contemplate the depths beneath the surface of the characters' minds. Moreover, the use of colour is sparse yet impactful, with the muted palette of the station being punctuated by moments of vivid recollection. The lighting is purposeful, often using shadows and silhouettes to create an atmosphere of mystery and introspection.
Furthermore, Mikhail Romadin's production design, as well as the set design from S. Gavrilov and V. Prokofev, are testaments to the film's meticulous craftsmanship. The space station, with its utilitarian yet broken-down features, creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia and decay, reflecting the psychological state of its inhabitants. The attention to detail in the set decoration, from the technological instruments to the personal artifacts, adds layers of authenticity and depth, making the environment a character in its own right.
Additionally, Nelli Fomina's costume design is equally striking. The functional, uniform-like attire of the characters not only situates the story within the realm of science-fiction but also symbolizes their attempts to maintain order amidst the chaos of the station. The costumes are devoid of excess, aligning with the film's themes of stripping away superficial layers to reveal deeper truths. Combined with the production design and set decoration, a visual narrative is formed, which complements the story and its themes. They are not merely aesthetic choices but are integral to the storytelling, contributing to the film's haunting, timeless and immersive atmosphere.
Moreover, the haunting score and soundtrack are integral to this immersive air. Eduard Artemyev's electronic music composition, interspersed with classical pieces by Bach, creates a soundscape both ethereal and deeply resonant. The music serves as a reflection of the film's exploration of time and memory, while the juxtaposition of futuristic sounds and classical harmony underscores the themes of past and future, science and humanity.
Furthermore, Tarkovsky, Lyudmila Feyginova and Nina Marcushe's editing is another aspect that deserves recognition. Although some critics are quick to call the film slow-moving, each carefully considered cut enhances the narrative's dreamlike quality. The film's purposeful, meditative pace allows the viewer to inhabit the space and time of the story, to become an active participant in the unravelling of its enigmas, whilst ensuring the audience fully absorbs the complex emotional and philosophical layers of the story. The transitions between scenes are seamless, yet carry a weight that prompts contemplation, further drawing the viewer into the depths of the film's enigmatic world.
Donatas Banionis stars as Kelvin, opposite Natalya Bondarchuk as Hari, Jüri Järvet as Dr. Snaut and Anatoliy Solonitsyn as Dr. Sartorius. Banionis, dubbed by Vladimir Zamanskiy, delivers a nuanced portrayal of a man caught between the realms of rationality and the unexplainable, capturing Kelvin's internal struggle subtly- his face often conveying more than words could express. Opposite him, Bondarchuk is nothing short of captivating, bringing a haunting presence to the screen. Embodying the film's themes of love, loss and the desire for connection, her portrayal of Hari is both ethereal and deeply human, a reflection of Kelvin's own conflicted emotions.
Järvet does similarly fine work, providing a weary yet compassionate perspective, offering a glimpse into the toll that Solaris takes on the mind and spirit. His performance is understated but powerful, with moments of vulnerability revealing the character's depth. Solonitsyn, meanwhile, is the embodiment of scientific detachment, his stoic demeanour clashing with the inexplicable events (and more emotionally driven people) aboard the station. His cleverly measured performance is compelling, and he and the rest of the cast work well together.
A thought-provoking, compelling piece of science-fiction, Andrei Tarkovsky's 'Solaris' is much more than a Soviet '2001: A Space Odyssey.' In fact, comparing the films, it is arguably the better of the two. Tarkovsky infuses the narrative with thematic depth, inviting viewers on a journey that is as introspective as it is outwardly explorative. Boasting stunning cinematography and stellar production, set and costume design, as well as a stirring score and powerhouse performances from all in the cast, 'Solaris' is a cosmic symphony resonating far beyond the stars.
Into the Night (1985)
A Night to Remember
Aerospace engineer Ed Okin can't get any sleep. He's in a rut, professionally and personally. After discovering his wife in flagrante delicto with another man, Ed drives out to LAX. He has no real plan in mind; maybe he'll go to Vegas. In the airport car park, he comes across Diana, a jewel thief on the run from a gang of vicious Iranian villains. He saves Diana, becoming entangled in a complicated web of malfeasance. Will Ed and Diana make it through the night alive?
Directed by John Landis from a screenplay by Ron Koslow, 'Into the Night' is an offbeat crime comedy, a little like Martin Scorsese's 'After Hours' or Jonathan Demme's 'Something Wild.' Like those two films- which were released after Landis's- it follows an ordinary man thrust into an extraordinary situation. Okin is tired of the dull routine his life has become. After meeting Diana, he rediscovers excitement- and the will to keep on going- through his spontaneous journey into the Los Angeles underworld.
In this way, the theme of escapism is cleverly interwoven into the narrative. Okin's mundane existence is suddenly replaced by a thrilling escapade unfolding under the cover of darkness. This transition, from the banality of his daily routine to the unpredictability of the night, reflects a deep-seated desire to break free from the shackles of conformity. Similarly, the film delves into the search for meaning in life, as Okin embarks on a quest that is as much about self-discovery as it is about survival. The night becomes a metaphor for the unknown, a space where the characters are free to explore their identities away from the prying eyes of society.
Furthermore, Okin's chance encounter with the uninhibited Diana acts as a catalyst for an existential awakening. The film's portrayal of the night as a metaphorical journey from desolation to discovery is compelling, suggesting that, sometimes, one must be lost in the darkness to find the true light of life. This theme resonates with audiences, as everyone, at some point, yearns for an escape from the monotony of their daily lives. Landis captures this universal longing with a winning blend of humour and suspense, making proceedings all the more engaging.
Moreover, Koslow's dialogue sparkles with clever banter and funny lines, while his characterization- with particular regard to the supporting roles- adds another layer of humour, with each character bringing their own quirks and idiosyncrasies to the table. From the bumbling hitmen to the eccentric Hollywood figures Okin and Diana encounter, the film revels in the absurdity of each situation and character. The juxtaposition of comic and dark elements is a hallmark of Landis's direction, creating a film defying easy categorization; remaining memorable long after the credits roll.
However, it is not without its issues. The narrative feels meandering, with a tendency to wander as aimlessly as its protagonist through the sprawling Los Angeles nightscape. This occasionally results in a loss of momentum, leaving the audience yearning for a tighter storyline. Additionally, a plethora of side characters are introduced who, while colourful, sometimes distract from the central plot and lack depth and development. While this ensemble adds to the film's depiction of Los Angeles life, it also dilutes the impact of Okin and Diana's journey.
Having said that, Robert Paynter's cinematography perfectly captures the dichotomy of Los Angeles' glossy veneer and its shadowy underbelly. He brings a kinetic energy to the night-time escapades, with neon lights and the city's luminescence painting a backdrop that feels both dreamlike and gritty. The use of shadows and light not only adds to the film's noir aesthetic but also symbolizes the characters' journey from ignorance to enlightenment.
Furthermore, the soundtrack- featuring the likes of B. B. King, The Four Tops and Marvin Gaye- complements the film astutely. The bluesy tunes underscore the film's themes of loneliness and the search for connection, while the more upbeat tracks accompany the film's action sequences, adding a layer of excitement to proceedings. Moreover, Ira Newborn's original score acts as an emotional guide for the audience, subtly influencing our perception of the characters' experiences and the stakes of their adventure.
The film stars Jeff Goldblum as Okin, alongside Michelle Pfeiffer as Diana. Portrayed with a weary charm by Goldblum, Okin is the quintessential everyman, lost in the ennui of modern life. His character's evolution from a passive observer to an active participant in his own story is relatable; and Goldblum pulls it off with ease. Pfeiffer's pitch perfect performance as Diana is the ideal foil to Okin's inertia. With her quick wit and captivating allure, she embodies the excitement and danger that he craves. Their dynamic is the driving force of the film, as each character finds in the other something they didn't realize they were missing.
The chemistry between Goldblum and Pfeiffer seems genuine, providing a grounding human element to the film's wilder comedic escapades. As they navigate the night's challenges, their interactions offer moments of connection, underscoring the film's exploration of loneliness and the human need for companionship. Additionally, the numerous supporting characters are each and all realized brilliantly. Paul Mazursky's performance as a sleazy director and Kathryn Harrold's as an actress friend of Diana's are the stand outs, as well as Richard Farnsworth's as a millionaire and David Bowie's as a mysterious hitman who- as in David Lynch's 'Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me'- is given too little screen time.
Despite its meandering narrative and a surplus of side characters, John Landis's 'Into the Night' is compelling, unpredictable and comedic. Its exploration of themes such as escapism and the search for meaning- paired with standout performances by Jeff Goldblum and Michelle Pfeiffer- make it an engaging, entertaining watch. Boasting fine cinematography from Robert Paynter, as well as a stirring score, it works on nearly every level, and surely is a night to remember.
The Act of Killing (2012)
The Long Shadow of Violence
On the first of October, 1965, members of the Indonesian National Armed Forces launched a coup d'état. Although it eventually failed, the coup resulted in the deaths of six Indonesian Army generals and set the stage for President Sukarno's eventual displacement, ushering in General Suharto's autocratic regime. Under Suharto's rule, a staggering number of alleged communists- including Sukarno's supporters, members of labour and farming unions and Chinese Indonesians- were brutally killed. Backed by the U. S., the responsible paramilitary groups- namely Pancasila Youth- remain influential to this day.
Between the years of 2005 and 2011, director Joshua Oppenheimer traversed Indonesia, interviewing members of Pancasila Youth about the mass murders they partook in. He discovered a disturbing lack of remorse among them, with many recounting their deeds with unsettling nonchalance. Anwar Congo, a prominent figure in these events, as well as his right-hand man Herman Koto, collaborated with Oppenheimer to reenact the killings they participated in; a process with unexpected consequences for all involved.
'The Act of Killing' is a fascinating documentary, exploring a particularly dark passage in human history. Oppenheimer captures not just a vivid portrait of Indonesia, exposing how the gangsterism of Pancasila Youth is pervasive from the top down, but also examines themes that resonate outside of the film's context. He delves into the psychological impact of mass killings- of genocide- on both the perpetrators and society at large, highlighting the complex interplay between personal guilt, collective memory and national identity.
The film shows that the psychological effects of the mass murders extends far beyond the immediate aftermath, revealing the deep scars left on the psyche of the killers, manifested in a complex mix of denial, bravado and, at times, haunting remorse. Oppenheimer's lens captures the dissonance between the perpetrators' self-image as heroes and the brutal reality of their actions. As Congo and his comrades reenact their past violence, they begin to exhibit signs of moral injury- a term used to describe the internal suffering that results from doing something against one's moral code.
Furthermore, the documentary also touches on the broader societal impact of such atrocities. It shows how a culture of impunity and the glorification of violence can distort collective memory, leaving a nation to grapple with an unresolved and painful past. The chilling ease with which the killers recount their stories reflects a society still coming to terms with its history. Oppenheimer's work serves as a powerful reminder of the long shadow cast by acts of violence and the importance of confronting the truth for both individual healing and societal reconciliation. The reenactments become a conduit for the killers to face their own humanity and, perhaps, for the audience to reflect on the capacity for cruelty that lies within society at large.
The cinematic journey Oppenheimer takes viewers on is a stark reminder of the international political dynamics of the era, as well as the chilling ease with which such violence can become normalized. Moreover, Oppenheimer's film demonstrates the transformative power of cinema, as the recreation of past atrocities compel the killers to confront the reality of their actions, leading to unexpected moments of introspection and realization.
Cinema is shown to be a bridge between history and present-day, between reality and memory. Oppenheimer uses the medium not just to document but to provoke, to stir the conscience of both his subjects and his viewers. The reenactments serve as a surreal stage where the killers, often seen as larger-than-life figures within their communities, are confronted with the human cost of their actions. This process reveals the medium's ability to challenge perceptions, to bring the abstract horrors of history into sharp, personal focus.
As the killers step into the shoes of their victims, the audience witnesses a rare occurrence: the blurring of lines between perpetrator and victim, the collision of past and present. It's a testament to the power of cinema to not only tell stories but to also initiate a dialogue, to heal and, perhaps, to transform. Oppenheimer's documentary shows how film can be employed to navigate the complex terrain of human morality and to illuminate the paths towards understanding and redemption.
Central to the documentary are the figures of Anwar Congo and Herman Koto, whose chillingly candid accounts of their roles in the killings provide a human face to the historical atrocities. Congo, in particular, emerges as a complex character, at once remorseful and defiant, haunted by his past yet also strangely boastful. His journey reveals him to be a man grappling with the enormity of his actions, offering viewers a disturbing glimpse into the psyche of a perpetrator. Koto, meanwhile, serves as both a comrade and a foil to Congo, providing a contrasting approach to the reenactments. His demeanour oscillates between that of a remorseless gangster and a man seeking redemption, embodying the contradictions that run through the entire narrative.
Oppenheimer's cinematography is as bold and unsettling as its subject matter. The camera work is intimate, often uncomfortably so, bringing the audience face-to-face with the men who committed truly heinous acts. The use of vibrant colours and surreal staging contrasts sharply with the grim reality of the stories being told, creating a disorienting effect that mirrors the moral disarray experienced by the killers themselves.
The film's visual language is not just about aesthetic choices; it's a deliberate strategy to engage the audience on a visceral level. Scenes are framed in ways that force viewers to confront the banality of evil, to see the ordinariness of the men who carried out unthinkable crimes. It's a powerful reminder that history is not just a series of events, but a collection of personal stories, each with its own perspective and, indeed, pain.
Joshua Oppenheimer's 'The Act of Killing' is a seminal work in the landscape of documentary cinema. Reminiscent at times of Kazuo Hara's 'The Emperor's Naked Army Marches On,' or the work of Werner Herzog, it is a powerful piece that leaves a lasting impression. It pushes viewers to face harsh realities about humanity, prompting deep reflections on guilt and justice, while also using cinema to reflect and challenge, ensuring its lasting impact as an agent for understanding and change. It is, in short, a masterpiece.
Kin-dza-dza! (1986)
Strangers in a Strange Land
It is the 1980's, and Vladimir Mashkov is a foreman in Moscow. One day, while walking along Kalinin Prospekt- now New Arbat Avenue- he spots a peculiar barefooted man speaking about space, holding what he claims to be a teleportation device. Gedevan, a young violinist, also notices the man, and- sceptical but intrigued- they engage with the stranger, only to find themselves whisked away through space and time to a planet called Pluke. Will they be able to survive the strange societal norms of this far-away world, and can they ever make it back to earth?
Directed by Georgiy Daneliya, 'Kin-dza-dza!' is a wild science-fiction adventure that is like an interstellar 'Alice In Wonderland'. Written by Daneliya and Revaz Gabriadze, its narrative is both compelling and comedic, though also has thematic depth. As it unfolds, the film evolves from a quirky space adventure into a poignant critique of humanity. Daneliya and Gabriadze's storytelling is a balancing act of satire and sympathy, making the audience laugh while simultaneously provoking thought about deeper issues. They use the society on Pluke to satirise and comment upon the absurdities of our own societal norms and the often arbitrary nature of authority and power.
As Mashkov and Gedevan grapple with the planet's bizarre customs and language, viewers are invited to reflect on the peculiarities of human behaviour and the universal search for belonging and understanding. As they struggle to adapt to a world where the mundane becomes extraordinary and the illogical becomes law, the audience is drawn into a journey that is as much about self-discovery as it is about survival. The film masterfully intertwines the comedic with the critical, using the alien landscape as a mirror to our world. The characters' odyssey becomes a metaphor for the human condition, questioning what it means to be 'civilized' and challenging the viewer's perceptions of normalcy.
Moreover, the stark landscape of Pluke is a canvas upon which Daneliya and Gabriadze paint a scathing critique of discrimination and class difference. The inhabitants of the planet, divided by a rigid class system denoted by the colour of their pants, reflect the often unspoken yet deeply entrenched societal divisions of our own world. Daneliya does not shy away from depicting the absurdity of prejudice based on arbitrary markers, be it the colour of one's trousers or the circumstances of one's birth. Through the lens of science-fiction, the film invites viewers to confront the uncomfortable realities of inequality and the illogical nature of societal hierarchies.
It is also a technical achievement on every level. Aleksandr Samulekin and Teodor Tezhik's production design is a testament to their resourcefulness and creativity. Despite the constraints of a modest budget, they crafted a visual spectacle that rivals the grandeur of more lavishly funded sci-fi epics. The spacecrafts, seemingly cobbled together from spare parts, and the expansive interiors of private compounds, are not just set pieces but characters in their own right.
Furthermore, the environments of Pluke, from its barren landscapes to the intricately detailed interiors, serve as a canvas for the film's exploration of themes, such as resource scarcity and the stark divide between social classes. The clever use of everyday items repurposed into futuristic technology not only adds a layer of authenticity to the world-building but also mirrors the film's commentary on consumerism and waste.
In addition, cinematographer Pavel Lebeshev captures the desolation of Pluke with a palette that is both stark and expressive, complementing the film's tone astutely. His use of lighting and camera angles brings the barren environment to life, fostering a sense of isolation that mirrors the characters' internal struggles. The contrast between the starkness of the planet's surface and the occasional bursts of vibrant colour serves to highlight moments of hope and humanity in an otherwise bleak world.
Moreover, Lebeshev's skilful framing serves to isolate Mashkov and Gedevan within the vastness of the landscape, emphasizing their vulnerability and the daunting task of finding their way home. Yet, it is in these moments of solitude that the characters- and the audience- find a connection to the universal themes of resilience and companionship. In this way, Lebeshev's commendable work complements and aids the narrative perfectly.
Stanislav Lyubshin stars as Mashkov, opposite Levan Gabriadze as Gedevan and Yevgeny Leonov and Yury Yakovlev as two Plukanians who join in their quest. Lyubshin delivers a multifaceted performance that anchors the film's fantastical elements with a sense of everyman realism. His portrayal is a blend of bewilderment and determination, capturing the essence of a man torn from his world, yet striving to understand and overcome the challenges ahead of him.
Gabriadze's Gedevan is the perfect foil to Mashkov's stoicism. Gabriadze infuses his role with a youthful curiosity and an idealistic charm that resonates with the viewer's sense of adventure. His wide-eyed wonder and gradual character growth reflect the film's underlying message about the value of experience and the power of perspective. They share a brilliant chemistry, embodying the confusion and camaraderie that comes with being strangers in a strange land.
Leonov and Yakovlev, meanwhile, excel as the comedic aliens; delivering whimsical and wise performances, bringing both comedy and pathos to the tale. The dynamic between them is nothing short of delightful. Leonov's comedic genius shines through in his character's eccentricities and unexpected depth, while Yakovlev's delivers a masterclass in physical comedy and timing. Together, their characters provide not only levity but also a critical commentary on the nature of communication and misunderstanding.
A fun trip to a strange world, Georgiy Daneliya's 'Kin-dza-dza!' is a brilliant piece of science-fiction, that defies the confines of time and space. It resonates with viewers on multiple levels, featuring thematic depth, as well as bounteous humour. Containing stunning production design and striking cinematography, it is a truly original piece of work. Boasting strong performances from all in the cast that leave an indelible mark on the viewer's memory, 'Kin-dza-dza!' is truly out of this world.
Dreamland (2019)
What Dreams May Come
In 2008, Bruce McDonald released 'Pontypool', a tense, darkly funny adaptation of Tony Burgess's novel 'Pontypool Changes Everything.' A fresh take on a stale genre- the zombie film- starring Stephen McHattie and Lisa Houle, it was a critical and commercial success. For years, McDonald planned on making a spin-off, featuring two characters- again played by McHattie and Houle- who appear after the end credits. A film he would later admit in an interview with Trouble City he "never really believed that we might shoot... because it seemed so crazy."
Shoot it they did, and crazy it is. 'Dreamland' follows laconic hitman Johnny Deadeyes, who is hired by Hercules, a nightclub owning pimp, to find a famous, faded jazz musician and cut off his finger. Meanwhile, an associate of Hercules's known as the Countess is organising a wedding reception for her brother, who happens to be a vampire with a taste for young blood. As Deadeyes embarks on his quest, he begins to examine his life; deciding to break out of the darkness that surrounds him.
It's a very strange affair, feeling at times like five different films spliced into one. The narrative veers this way and that, touching upon some interesting themes, but rarely exploring them beyond the surface level. The theme of redemption is central to Deadeyes' journey, as he grapples with the consequences of his violent past while seeking a path to atonement. However, this idea has been explored ad infinitum, and while McDonald doesn't have many fresh ideas on that point, rarely do those stories feature vampires and seedy covers of Eurythmics songs.
Meanwhile, human trafficking and exploitation are presented as stark realities that contrast with the film's more fantastical aspects, grounding the narrative in a grim social commentary; which, unfortunately, feels a bit ham-fisted and cursory. Despite that, McDonald successfully blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, mirroring Deadeyes' quest for purpose in a world lacking clear moral direction.
However, McDonald- and screenwriters Tony Burgess and Patrick Whistler- imbue the narrative with too many subplots and side characters, diluting Johnny Deadeyes' central quest for moral vindication. The addition of a child trafficking ring, as well as the aforementioned vampiric nuptials, distract rather than engage, and aren't well realised. McDonald doesn't delve into the complexities of these ideas, nor does the black comedy land consistently.
Conversely, the film is a visual delight. It is easy to compare to the works of David Lynch, as the velvet curtained, strangely lit world Deadeyes navigates harkens back to places explored by Jeffery Beaumont in 'Blue Velvet' or Nikki Grace in 'Inland Empire.' Eugénie Collet's production design is indeed Lynchian in nature, while Richard Van Oosterhout's unconventional cinematography compounds the strangeness of the narrative.
Van Oosterhout fosters a neo-noir atmosphere, and his work adds to the dreamlike quality of the film, creating a sense of disorientation aligning with Deadeyes' journey through the bizarre underworld. His employment of stark contrasts and shadows not only contributes to the film's noiresque atmosphere but also underscores the thematic contrasts between light and dark, reality and fantasy.
On the other hand, Jonathan Goldsmith's original score dominates every scene. Often, dialogue is obscured by his discordant melodies, and, while it does compound the film's atmosphere, it also distracts and irritates. Having said that, his interpretation of Eurythmics 'I Saved The World Today'- played over a slow-motion scene of violence- is both clever and powerful; although McDonald and editor Duff Smith are probably more deserving of praise in this regard.
Stephen McHattie stars as Johnny Deadeyes and the jazz musician, opposite Henry Rollins as Hercules and Juliette Lewis as the Countess. The always reliable McHattie's dual performances as Deadeyes and the jazz musician are a testament to his acting prowess. As the hitman, he exudes a weary stoicism, his eyes reflecting a history of violence and regret. In contrast, his portrayal of the jazz musician is imbued with a melancholic nostalgia, his every gesture suggesting a fall from grace.
Rollins, meanwhile, brings a menacing charisma to the role of Hercules, embodying the character with a predatory grace making him a formidable presence on screen. His performance adds a layer of unpredictability to the film's already eclectic atmosphere. Lewis seems hell-bent on chewing as much scenery as she can, though, in a way, captures the complexity of a character who is at once seductive and dangerous, further enriching the film's tapestry of dark and intriguing figures.
Although rather uneven and lumbered with too many subplots and side characters, Bruce McDonald's 'Dreamland' is worth a watch, especially for fans of Stephen McHattie. A strange trip into a dark underworld, the narrative engages as well as disappoints; but is never uninteresting. The production design and cinematography are striking and bizarre, even while the score is rather over-the-top. However, Stephen McHattie is brilliant, ensuring that, despite its issues, 'Dreamland' is not a nightmare.
Mute Witness (1995)
A Macabre Mosaic
Billy Hughes is a mute, American make-up artist working on a low-budget slasher in Moscow, directed by her sister's boyfriend. One night, Billy stays later than usual, looking for a prop. She isn't the only one on set, though, as she discovers to her horror. She stumbles upon members of the crew, who are making a snuff film. A frantic chase ensues. Will Billy be able to escape the killers and- if she does- will anyone believe her story?
Written and directed by Anthony Waller, 'Mute Witness' is a tension filled thrill-ride that will have viewers gripped from the get-go. A low-budget affair, it brims with suspense, and is genuinely frightening, though also contains moments of black humour. Waller's narrative is absorbing, despite a weak third act and a rushed ending, containing many unexpected moments of pure petrifying power. Billy, whose struggles to communicate compounds the dread, is a perfect conduit for the audience, as Waller takes us on a journey into fear.
In some ways, it is like Joel Schumacher's '8mm' and John Carpenter's 'Halloween' had a cinematic child; and is just as gruesome as that sounds. Intense and engrossing, it goes in directions one doesn't expect. Although the secondary characters aren't particularly well-written, and some of the dialogue is very stilted, Billy is compelling. We feel for her: isolated in a foreign country, unable to communicate, stalked by murderous thugs- her struggle to survive is engaging. At least, until the third act, when things descend, becoming rather mundane.
The best horrors are usually the ones that make effective use of sound design- such is the case with 'Mute Witness.' Noises- the scraping of a knife on a hard surface, the splatter of blood, footsteps in the dark- create agitation and alarm, while the use of silence heightens the suspense. Furthermore, Egon Werdin's cinematography is eerily atmospheric. His use of irregular angles, shaky cam movements and tracking shots evokes fear and creates tension.
Werdin also makes brilliant use of the sets and locations in the film, employing the lighting team to ominous effect. The shadow-play and utilisation of contrasts makes for a sinister looking picture, while the production design is of a high quality. Moreover, Peter R. Adam's editing is most effective, making a macabre mosaic of a movie, stitching scenes together with a rhythm that mirrors the viewer's racing heartbeat.
Unfortunately, despite the technical expertise behind the camera, those in front disappoint. Although Marina Zudina does strong work as Billy, effectively displaying her fear and agitation silently, her co-stars let her down. As the director, Evan Richards delivers a shockingly hammy performance, seemingly hell bent on chewing as much scenery as he can. Fay Ripley does better than him in the role of Billy's sister, but still doesn't impress much, coming across as quite wooden.
Oleg Yankovskiy is good in a small role as a policeman, deserving of more screen time, while Igor Volkov and Sergei Karlenkov are terrific when silent and unconvincing when not. Furthermore, Alec Guinness- who thought the production was a student film and did not accept, nor was offered, payment for his services- is terrific, for the few seconds he's on screen. Blink and you'll miss him, in this case, is too generous, as even if you don't blink, you might miss him.
Despite a tepid third act, Anthony Waller's 'Mute Witness' is a tense and sinister horror that rockets along at a brisk pace. Boasting striking cinematography from Egon Werdin and creepily atmospheric sound design, it is a stirring picture. However, while it is well-edited and Marina Zudina does strong work as Billy, the supporting cast don't all impress- with Evan Richards' misjudged, over the top performance hampering the film's impact. Despite that, though, 'Mute Witness' is not a film you'll want to keep quiet about.
Fitzcarraldo (1982)
A Fever Dream
"A vision had seized hold of me, like the demented fury of a hound that has sunk its teeth into the leg of a deer carcass and is shaking and tugging at the downed game so frantically that the hunter gives up trying to calm him. It was the vision of a large steamship scaling a hill under its own steam, working its way up a steep slope in the jungle..."
So begins the prologue to Werner Herzog's 'Conquest of the Useless,' a compilation of diary entries the director made while shooting 'Fitzcarraldo,' considered by many to be his magnum opus. The film follows Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald- known as Fitzcarraldo- a determined entrepreneur living in Iquitos, Peru. Inspired to attempt the impossible, he plans to haul a 365-tonne steamship over a mountain deep in the jungle, in order to harvest rubber; thereby making enough money to build an opera house in Iquitos. Against the raw power of nature, as well as the machinations of a local tribe, will Fitzcarraldo be successful, or will his scheme prove to be unachievable?
A fascinating, endlessly rewarding piece of work, 'Fitzcarraldo' is a compelling tale examining a multitude of themes. It is a portrait of man's resilience, as well as a metaphor for the human condition and the unwavering struggle to realize one's dreams, no matter how impossible- and improbable- they seem. A profound character study- as well as a thrilling, beautifully shot meditation on the clash between man and nature- there are few films like it; and very few people like its director.
It is a fever dream of ambition. Fitzcarraldo's plan defies reason. As the steamship strains against nature's fury, it becomes more than a mechanical marvel; embodying the indomitable human spirit. Inching upward, it symbolizes man's collective audacity- the relentless pursuit of dreams against all odds. The jungle landscape, meanwhile, is not merely a physical obstacle; it symbolizes internal, as well as external, challenges; be they Fitzcarraldo's inner struggles, doubts or the psychological hurdles he faces on his quest. Its lush greenery conceals danger, while its rivers teem with life and death. Herzog expertly captures the landscape's primal energy- the rustling leaves, the cacophony of unseen creatures- mirroring Fitzcarraldo's inner turmoil.
As the film progresses, the steamship becomes a character in its own right, a symbol of human ambition and folly. The arduous journey up the mountain is fraught with setbacks and challenges, each more daunting than the last. Herzog's direction is unflinching; he does not shy away from the harsh realities of the endeavour, nor does he romanticize Fitzcarraldo's mission. The result is a raw and unvarnished look at the lengths to which one man will go to, to realize his dream.
Moreover, behind the camera, Herzog's commitment to authenticity and his determination to finish the film mirror's his titular character's quest; blurring the line between fiction and reality. He dragged a real steamship over a real mountain, echoing Fitzcarraldo's unwavering belief in- and pursuit of- the impossible. Herzog and his team endured myriad of struggles trying to get the film made, from cast changes to near-fatal accidents. Although he often refers to himself as "clinically sane," with regard to this film, Herzog's total obsession is palpable.
Under Herzog's direction, Thomas Mauch's cinematography is evocative and stunning. Mauch captures the dual sides of the jungle astutely, showing its beauty, as well as its darkness. His clever framing of the steamship highlights the impossibility of Fitzcarraldo's plans, while also serving as a visual metaphor, emphasising the overwhelming power of nature. The jungle surrounds all, dwarfing both man and machine; highlighting the struggle of the individual against an untamed world.
Alongside Mauch's visuals, Popol Vuh's score compounds the dreamlike quality of the narrative. Classic pieces by the likes of Puccini and Verdi are implemented brilliantly, heightening the juxtaposition between the barbarity of nature and the supposed order of man. Epic and distinct, Popol Vuh's original melodies intensify the jungle scenes and underscore Fitzcarraldo's emotional journey. Combined with Mauch's imagery, the score evokes a sense of timelessness, creating a mesmerising audio/visual tapestry that enchants the viewer; weaving threads of eternity into the fabric of Fitzcarraldo's journey.
Furthermore, the production design- from Ulrich Bergfelder and Henning von Gierke- is authentic and atmospheric. Their meticulous attention to detail in the steamship's construction and the recreation of Iquitos captures the era's spirit, enhancing the film's immersive quality. The design team's efforts to authentically depict the Peruvian jungle's daunting environment adds a layer of realism to Fitzcarraldo's quixotic adventure.
Meanwhile, Beate Mainka-Jellinghaus's seamless editing allows the narrative to unfold with a rhythm that mirrors the ebb and flow of the Amazon River itself. This serves to accentuate the contrast between the chaotic jungle and the protagonist's inner turmoil, while also maintaining the suspense that drives Fitzcarraldo's obsessive quest forward. Additionally, Gisela Storch's striking costume design adds depth to the film's visual language, contributing to the overall tapestry of Herzog's ambitious vision.
Klaus Kinski stars as Fitzcarraldo, supported by Claudia Cardinale, Paul Hittscher, José Lewgoy and Miguel Ángel Fuentes. Initially, Jason Robards was cast as the titular character, though left the production soon after encountering the intensity of the Peruvian jungle. Although Herzog flirted with playing the part himself, Kinski was eventually brought on board. As the maniacally determined entrepreneur, Kinski delivers a powerhouse performance, bringing to life perfectly a man of great obsession. Madly magnetic, it is arguably the highlight of his career.
As Molly, Fitzcarraldo's business partner and love interest, Cardinale oozes sophistication and decency. Despite the fact that she has relatively little screen time, Cardinale is excellent, leaving an indelible impression on the viewer. Hittscher and Fuentes both do strong work as members of the steamship's crew, while Lewgoy brings a welcome light energy to his role as a businessman who sparks Fitzcarraldo's interest in the rubber trade.
'Fitzcarraldo' is a fascinating film, an adventure into the Peruvian jungle and the mind of an obsessive personality. Written and directed by the incomparable Werner Herzog, it is impossible to forget, containing imagery and examining themes that stir the soul. Boasting an effective score, detailed production design and powerhouse performances from all in the cast- led by a pitch perfect Klaus Kinski- it is a fever dream you'll always remember.
Child's Play (1972)
Suspense in the Schoolroom
Trouble is brewing at St. Charles, a Catholic Boy's School. Random acts of violence break out between the students nearly every week, seemingly escalating in intensity. Joe Dobbs, the popular, easy-going English teacher, and Paul Reis, the new gym teacher, aim to find out what's causing the brutality. Meanwhile, Jerome Malley, the grievous Latin teacher who despises Dobbs, begins receiving strange, obscene messages and packages at his home. Will Dobbs, Reis and Malley be able to discover the reason behind the violence at St. Charles, or will the savagery continue?
Directed by Sidney Lumet, and based on Robert Marasco's play of the same name, 'Child's Play' is an intriguing thriller that starts well and has many commendable elements, though fumbles its landing. Leon Prochnik's screenplay- like the source material- examines some interesting themes, such as the psychology of group dynamics, the nature of evil and the power structures within educational institutions. The film deftly navigates these complex ideas through its tight-knit narrative, though it occasionally loses momentum in its latter half, and the ambiguous ending- where nothing at all is concluded- is underwhelming.
However, the principal characters are believable and multifaceted; watching them wade through the seedy, intriguing plot is engaging. The idealistic Reis- an ex-student of St. Charles- serves as a conduit for the audience, taking us on a trip into the macabre. Dobbs seems to be the ideal teacher, warm and kind- though might have darkness beneath his light exterior. Malley, meanwhile, is fascinating, stern and severe with his students, yet he treasures it when ex-pupils send him letters, and always keeps clippings of them if they make the papers. He is, to quote Kris Kristofferson, "a walking contradiction," and a compelling character.
The dichotomy between Malley and Dobbs is the driving force of the film's tension. Malley's severity and isolation are contrasted sharply with Dobbs' affability and popularity, creating a dynamic that is as much a clash of ideologies as it is of personalities. The film uses these characters to explore the impact of authority figures on young minds, and how their differing approaches to education and discipline influence the students' behaviour.
Reis is a relatable character, whose journey back to St. Charles is a poignant reflection on the loss of innocence and the realization that the institutions one once revered may have dark underbellies. The students themselves, though less prominently featured, are essential to the narrative. They are not merely victims or perpetrators of violence; they are shown as complex individuals, shaped by the environment they are in. Their actions, though extreme, are presented not as anomalies but as symptoms of a deeper malaise within the school's culture.
The film's portrayal of these characters is subtle yet powerful, leaving the audience to ponder the nature of evil: is it inherent, or is it fostered by circumstance? Easy answers are not provided- in fact, no answers are provided at all- instead, the film offers a mirror to society's own struggles with these questions. Perhaps, considering the rumination it inspires and the interest it engenders, a more conclusive ending would have made it even better.
On the other hand, Gerald Hirschfeld's atmospheric cinematography cannot be faulted. His expert use of close-ups brings an intimacy to the characters, allowing the audience to see the subtle nuances of their emotions. His utilisation of shadows, meanwhile, creates a sense of foreboding, visually representing the darkness that lurks within the school and its inhabitants. Moreover, Hirschfeld's interplay between light and darkness not only sets the mood but also serves as a metaphor for the film's central themes. The way shadows creep across the walls of St. Charles reflects the insidious nature of the violence pervading the school.
The film's use of space is also noteworthy. The claustrophobic corridors of St. Charles mirror the oppressive nature of the institution and the entrapment felt by both teachers and students. The visuals are complemented by the sound design and Michael Small's eerie score. The echoes in the hallways, the murmurs of the students and the silence that punctuates the violence all contribute to an unsettling auditory experience, heightening the tension and underscoring the film's themes. Small's work, meanwhile, full of demonic-sounding chants, is evocative, stirring and unsettling.
Beau Bridges stars as Reis, alongside Robert Preston as Dobbs and James Mason as Malley. Bridges does fine work, astutely displaying the emotions felt by one who sees the truth behind the curtain, as it were. Preston is brilliant as Dobbs, making him congenial and likable; though not without a certain seediness. Mason, however, steals the show as the pathetic, mentally disturbed Malley. Delivering a beautifully realized, complex performance; he has rarely been better. Furthermore, David Rounds excels in the smaller role as the disillusioned Father Penny, bringing a touch of levity to an otherwise tense situation.
Engaging and intriguing, though ultimately a little underwhelming, Sidney Lumet's adaptation of Robert Marasco's 'Child's Play' has a lot going for it. The narrative touches on some interesting themes, while Gerald Hirschfeld's cinematography and the excellent sound design are atmospheric and evocative. The cast all give strong performances, especially James Mason, but the ending is anticlimactic. Turns out, unfortunately, it wasn't child's play adapting 'Child's Play' for the cinema.
Rogue Male (1976)
Right On Target
It is 1939, and Europe is on the verge of war. At a manor house deep inside German territory, Hitler is entertaining guests. From the surrounding woodland, Sir Robert Hunter, an Englishman, watches the party through the lens of his sniper rifle. He means to assassinate the Fuhrer, though at the last moment, his plans are scuppered. With his life hanging in the balance, Hunter must summon all his wit and courage to withstand the Nazis' brutal interrogation methods and plot a daring escape.
Directed by Clive Donner, 'Rogue Male' is an exciting, tense made for TV movie based on the novel of the same name by Geoffrey Household, first published in 1939. A gripping thriller, the tale had been previously adapted for screen in 1941, as Fritz Lang's 'Man Hunt,' which starred Walter Pidgeon and Joan Bennett. Closer to the source material than Lang's version- though still not without differences- it is engaging, with sharp dialogue and a compelling narrative one would be hard pressed to forget.
The film weaves a tale of peril and perseverance, set against the backdrop of a Europe teetering on the brink of war. Frederic Raphael's screenplay showcases not only the external conflict of a continent on the precipice of international combat but also the internal struggle of a man fighting for his principles. Sir Robert Hunter's character arc is a testament to the human spirit's resilience in the face of overwhelming adversity.
The tension escalates as Hunter, a man out of his element but not out of his depth, uses his ingenuity to turn the hunters into the hunted. His journey is not just a physical one, but also a moral odyssey, as he grapples with the consequences of his actions and the true meaning of justice. In the broader context of war thrillers, Donner's film distinguishes itself with its focus on psychological warfare and the survivalist aspect of Hunter's journey. It doesn't rely solely on action sequences to build suspense; instead, it crafts a tense atmosphere through character development and the looming threat of discovery.
As Hunter evades his pursuers, the English countryside becomes a character in its own right, with its rolling hills and shadowed woods providing both sanctuary and peril. The cinematography captures the stark contrast between the tranquil beauty of nature and the dark undercurrents of Hunter's flight; which Christopher Gunning's emotive score compounds. Moreover, Tony Abbott's production design- as well as John Bloomfield's costume design- is grittily authentic, lending a weight of realism to proceedings.
Peter O'Toole stars as Hunter, supported by Alaistair Sim, John Standing, Harold Pinter and Michael Byrne. O'Toole's nuanced lead performance is a standout of his career, deftly capturing the essence of a man driven by conviction and haunted by the moral implications of his mission. Sim, in his final film, brings a gravitas to his role as Hunter's uncle, that underscores the film's serious undertones, while John Standing's work as one of the villains of the piece brims with a witty menace. Similarly, Pinter does fine work as Hunter's friend and lawyer, while Byrne is excellent as a sadistic jackbooted Nazi- a role he has played numerous times and always to great effect.
Clive Donner's 'Rogue Male' is more than a chase thriller; it is a reflective piece on the choices we make and the paths we take when civilization itself hangs in the balance. Featuring a compelling narrative, witty dialogue and strong characterisation; it has a lot to offer. Boasting fine performances from all in the cast- especially those of star Peter O'Toole and Alastair Sim- as well as an effective score and striking cinematography- it is, in every respect, right on target.