Rated 8/10The second of three filmed versions of Robert Sherwood's play. Due to the Production Code, Myra's troubled situation is somewhat cryptic without reading between the lines, but even that aspect of the film is handled cleverly and without distraction -- even enhancing the flow of the story. You'll be hard-pressed to find a better shot and lit film from this era, but the shining beacon is Vivien Leigh, who was never more beautiful. Leigh considered this to be her favorite of all her performances and it's easy to see why.
Rated 3/10A few scenes are so bad, they manage to entertain simply for the sheer incompetence of it all. But many, many more are so bad that they are annoying.
Of course the acting is poor, the screenplay amateurish, the camera work, and frankly, even the storyboarding (assuming it was even boarded) are simply the work of first-time rookie wannabes. So if this was made by friends with a 16mm camera, you could forgive and mildly snicker at the shortcomings. But this was a wide theatrical release accompanied by a massive advertising budget...and it's just a really goofy experience to sit through.
Rated 8/10Bit of a rip-off of the 'Magnificent Seven' series, but very enjoyable anyway. Peppard is a natural at this kinda thing and the pacing ensures that there's never a dull moment.
Rated 5/10Spencer Tracy can always be relied upon to deliver the goods, and I can appreciate the reason the film was made, to raise awareness and money for the real Boys Town, which was in financial need at the time, but that doesn't change the fact that this is just unbearably corny. A chunk of screen time is spent just trying to get one boy to smile. Having to sit through Bobs Watson's performance is painful, never mind Mickey Rooney's boisterous schtick. Darryl Hickman, on the other hand, steals the show with the kind of spirited performance that kept him working for many years.
Rated 8/10Brilliant caper from one of the silver screen's all-time great bitches. Linda Fiorentino is sensational as the woman scorned having the last laugh. A clever thriller with twists and turns, but also a very funny movie (the comedy genre is never attached to this film, but should be!) Joseph Vitarelli's music score perfectly paces the film. Discover this sleeper.
Rated 5/10The performances are solid, but the sermonizing is quite a bit heavy-handed and ruins what could have been a great film. Most of the depression-era story follows the exploits of a nymphomaniac housemaid, then makes an abrupt turn into a women's rights speech in the final reel. All of the attention went to the performances of Laura Dern and Diane Ladd, but it's still Robert Duvall's show. Lukas Haas is also convincing.
Rated 1/10Spoiler alert: No werewolf appearance until the final seven minutes -- and no werewolf (yes, singular....as in Werewolf on Wheels) is on wheels until the final four minutes. I heard that kids on YouTube are playing the "Werewolves on Wheels Stay Awake Challenge". Now that really IS a challenge!
Rated 3/10Abysmal remake which manages to effortlessly lose all of the edge from the original classic. Jersey-born director Tim Sullivan's disdain for the South is crystal clear, and he makes sure to overload this tepid quickie with broad Southern accents acquired by studying Cajun-chef cooking shows. We're also graced with tasteless bits such as a dim-witted young man with his pants down chasing a pig...seriously? As horrific as the Pleasant Valley ghosts are supposed to be, I found the "victims" even less pleasant, like all modern slasher film teens, one-dimensional hedonists bleeding rudeness and arrogance in every scene which they appear. The film's only satisfying element was Robert Englund's performance. And the ending.
I suppose it could have been worse; Rob Zombie could have directed it.
Rated 1/10One of the worst movies I've ever sat through. Saw it in its original release and hated it then, but over the years, many of my film buddies have insisted that I missed the train, that it was a satire rather than horror film, insisting that I re-evaluate and give it the cult movie cred it deserves.
Tobe Hopper himself defended the film (and its comedic tone), stating that the original had black comedy which the audience was too shocked to acknowledge. I have always been aware of the sick humor from the characters in the first film, which indeed kept the viewers stunned. But this sequel, arriving way past its sell date, isn't marinated with black comedy, it's smothered in cartoon-ish, un-funny nonsense from start to finish. Bill Moseley's character, Chop-Top, is so over-played and annoying that any sense of menace is mangled away. And yet even that low-brow performance is eclipsed by one of the worst pieces of acting imaginable: Caroline Williams, whose agonizing screaming and hackneyed delivery is as unbearable as the goofy screenplay. Even the music soundtrack comprised of all artists from IRS Records feels contrived, filling the soundscape with artists / songs simply to promote that label's roster.
So anyway, I decided to put my opinion of the film on hold until I gave it another spin; perhaps I did misjudge it and after all these years, I can make a better assessment through the prism of 30+ more years of film-going under my belt. And my opinion HAS changed...I hate it even more than I did in 1986.
At the end of the long, miserable day, no part of this film works, it's just blobs of spoiled meat smelling up the place.
Rated 1/10A polished, stylized hit piece in reverse. "Client-9" is a documentary weighed down by its flattering, apologetic gloss that spends the majority of its screen time doting over its idol.
The focus rests on explaining to us why specific crimes are so bad. Of course, these were the crimes that Eliot Spitzer made a name for himself taking down...since we probably can't deduce on our own that Wall Street sharks manipulating mutual funds is evil. No hard questions, no opposing perspectives...I don't even recall any heroes aside from Spitzer. I have little doubt that the financial cannibals depicted are the evildoers they appear to be, but how can I trust a presentation which resembles those extended campaign ads shown at political conventions before the star candidate makes a grand entrance? Campaign ads for Spitzer are indeed interjected with continued bias and lack of objectivity.
Nary a slick production affectation is spared. Woke hip-hop music is strategically placed, in addition to emotional piano cues during confessional spiels. An onslaught of over-saturated primary colors, strategic ersatz cinéma vérité elements, merged with still images unfolding via slow pedestal / truck pans and rack focus montages. A virtual overdose of approval propaganda porn.
The final reels ask why Spitzer was targeted for his sex crimes -- in this case, violation of the Mann Act (interstate transport for prostitution). Comparisons are routinely made to his opposing party's faults which help reveal the core of the film's problem, and that is painting all of his detractors as the cause of his downfall. "It's just sex..." one interviewee states. In actuality, the financial transactions paid for the pricey trysts were going to a pair of offshore shell companies, a front for the Emperors Club (details ignored by the film.) When the club owners were raided, feds found a safe housing a million dollars in cash! For an escort service? Some sex acts have legal complications and consequences. If you enter politics and play cowboy, it's probably a good idea to veer away from committing federal crimes in your spare time; it's not "just sex".
Addressing the March 2008 US Federal Court affidavit, narrator (and director) Alex Gibney: "The list of charges against the Emperors Club, the affidavit, was surprisingly detailed; as a piece of writing it was crafted like a mystery story -- full of clues -- it teased the reader with a few sentences each with Clients 1 to 8, and then five riveting pages on Client number 9....The affidavit was full of steamy sexual banter...was the writing meant to convict the accused or embarrass the client?".
The emphases in that quote cluster are not mine and are spoken with a mix of disdain and taunt. During those descriptions, words / phrases from the affidavit are highlighted like "pay for wire transfer", "collect the fee", and "private location". Subjects describe intruding questions from the FBI, as if their doing so was unusual and proof that the target of this inquiry was wronged by investigators probing for details. Gibney is upset at descriptions and details in an affidavit because it makes the subject of an investigation look bad?!?
My beef with Spitzer is not partisan, nor based on his sex scandal. In July 2005, during his tenure as attorney general, I followed a case which appealed to my interest in the music industry - a shakedown on payola operations from major labels. I read multiple articles on the topic with vested interest. Sony was the target corporation in the investigation and "takedown" and found guilty of a catalog of state and federal crimes, resulting in praise from folks like Don Henley. Our AG is the hero, right? Wrong. As punishment, an Assurance of Discontinuance was issued in which Sony-BMG agreed to donate $10 million to a New York-based philanthropy group that funds music appreciation programs for N.Y. Further, a statement was released by Sony admitting they did wrong, accompanied by a "pledge" to do better in the future. Oh, and they agreed to stop the payoffs-for-airplay, reforms when problems are identified, and my favorite: hiring a compliance officer responsible for monitoring promotion practices, and to develop an internal accounting system to detect future abuses. Internal! In other words, monitor yourself. Where was this mentioned in our love letter to Spitzer?
This film is pitched as a tale of "betrayal", but who betrayed him? Eliot Spitzer was a charismatic, talented politician and you really want to rally around him and to his defense; it's easy to be seduced by his combination of communication skills, assured dynamism, presence. and the sense that we all want a superhero to come along and put away bad guys. None of those skills excuses his crimes, hubris, or other issues the way his career is whitewashed in this celluloid slop. The producers appear to be bought off by their own idealism.
Rated 5/10Phew! Good to know, as this film points out, that all the talk about the ill effects incurred from exposure to nuclear radiation is just a lot of hyperbole. And most of the bad things you experience will typically go away not long after said experience. It appears that all one has to fear is fear itself. What a relief!
Rated 4/10Not at all what I was expecting, given the storyline, which follows a Soviet spy (Edmond O'Brien) attempting an assassination while an American agent (Robert Wagner) tries to stop him. That's supposed to be the plot, but it felt like a sub-plot that is given occasional time between a dull romance involving Wagner and Joan Collins, with another American agent also vying for Collins' affection. But even that plot device is shoved aside while the main focus of the film seems to hinge on a little Asian girl, who ends up becoming an orphan after her father (an agent, naturally) is killed in the line of duty. The pacing is lethargic with dreamy Japanese music connecting a lot of pretty travelogue shots that seem more focused on showing off the smoldering color processing and widescreen vistas than bothering with a storyline. Lots of pretty location shots, but precious little else.
If you're looking for a thriller, you're better off watching a grade B crime noir film.
Rated 4/10Cheesy horror film, The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant is very much of it's time...especially in the fashion department. Pat Priest (Marilyn on TV's horror-comedy, The Munsters) and legendary DJ Casey Kasem -- who both turn in mediocre performances -- are dressed in what was considered modern at the time. In a cheapo 70's horror film way, Priest's clothing can be excused. Kasem, on the other hand, is a different matter entirely. I'm guessing it was his choice, to look younger. The shirt he wears in the final act is scarier than the monster.
Bruce Dern, a veteran of exploitation cinema in mostly biker films, is effective even with the weak screenplay and laughable special effects. The film was clearly aiming for the Saturday kids of 1971, who no doubt gobbled it up and were satisfied. And since it was aimed at kids, a couple of scenes involving Danny's father being killed, as well as the violent death of a biker, were trimmed to get the GP rating. Those edits, by the way, were sloppy and the scenes suffered for it, but apparently the DVD release has restored them, which bumped the film up to an R-rating. I haven't seen this cut and probably won't bother.
The next year, American International recycled the 2-headed theme with The Thing with Two Heads, although played for laughs with race and the generation gap, as well as slightly better production values and a couple of recognizable actors for the marquee.
Rated 8/10Some online reviews for this film prefer to attach a racism subtext to this film, which I find perplexing. Race exists within the story, but that is simply because race exists period! Yes, it's Alabama, and yes, the real life John Patterson was a racist and segregationist in the George Wallace vein, but the movie never goes there. Aside from the response from a cop answering the phone call about the dead black girl, there is no trace of race and white indifference, despite some claims to the contrary. Unfortunately, modern audiences view everything through a grievance prism and peruse all media in search of injustice they might embrace and draw attention to.
The introduction sequence is carelessly elongated and would only have been interesting if trimmed tight like the rest of the film. Otherwise, this is a very intense thriller considering its release date.
Interestingly enough, director Phil Karlson more or less remade this film as Walking Tall with some scenes practically 1:1 shots, characters rubber-stamped, and the same string of events unfolding in the same order as that mostly fictional biopic which managed to be even more violent than its parent source.
It's a story about a city run by criminals living above the law and decency standards of the community, characters muscling extreme brutality over anybody who dares to raise a voice in their direction (ie, when a gambler catches the house cheating him and speaks up, he's beaten within an inch of his life and dumped in the streets.) Children are hit by cars or outright murdered, a politician shot in cold blood - just a catalog of corruption.
No marquee stars to get in the way of the storytelling, but it was nice seeing character actor Edward Andrews in such a serious role, rather than the comedy stereotype he's better known for. Also, Kathryn Grant is very cute. I would hesitate to even call this film noir, since it really doesn't follow the conventions of the genre, but it will certainly appeal to fans of the form or anyone else looking for a great, lost sleeper.
Rated 5/10Disappointing attempt at modernizing the old vampire story, at least for 1970 standards. The acting is not a problem, but the pace is lethargic. For me typically, slow pace and character development is not a problem, but there's no payoff here as it all leads up to a completely clumsy climax mired in staggeringly inept lighting. Since that closing sequence all takes place in a spooky mansion, dark lighting might have added some atmosphere, but instead, it looks like every light in the house is turned on. Each shot casts huge shadows on the wall that are distracting and amateurish. And since when are vampires killed by a wooden stake to the stomach?
Not recommended unless you're bored or simply need a nap.
Rated 6/10Like Chinatown, it's amusing to watch the film intelligentsia fantasize greatness on flawed works because of aggrandized perceptions of grandeur. Books I've read on the development of that Polanski film (an almost accidental classic) are far more telling of the many baffling and enigmatic twists and turns in the script, which somehow were misread by the critics -- and ultimately, history -- as intentional genius. The same thing happened with certain psychedelic music that was, for the most part, stoned people experimenting with studio gadgets and not the artistic masterpieces we've been indoctrinated to accept them to be.
In the 70's (and occasionally the late 60's and early 80's), directors toyed with a new freedom and studios actually allowed them to break rules that might tank boxoffice aspirations. The end result was quirky films with highlights, lowlights, and a string of segments that are experimental. Some worked, some didn't. In most cases, they were nice little cult films that satisfied a smaller audience that was sick of derivative and trendy crowd-pleasers. Characteristics of the form: some really brilliant scenes, solid performances, excellent cinematography...but also a good chunk of screen time devoted to elongated directorial affectations which allowed the film to be tagged "American cinema" rather than "a movie". Electra Glide in Blue, for example, has developed a cult following, despite doing little business and an indifferent reception.
How was the game played? Find a nifty, lesser-known novel, adapt for screen. Cast the best new rising stars, capable of keeping viewers glued to the screen with their charisma even when working with diffident material. Hire a grade-A crew that can make it all look and sound flawless. Finally, when editing, keep a lot of the scenes in the final cut that conventional producers would insist be trimmed. Within a few years, one of those projects may either become a sleeper hit, or some critic will hail you as an artist, making you into a media darling. By that point, your endeavors are all high profile and the promotional material will state, "A film by...", making you a household name.
Of course not every director ended up as Cannes artists; instead, their films ended up in the obscurity box, possibly getting rediscovered while evaluating the careers of one of those rising stars. In this case, Jeff Bridges, who has always done fine work, but is sadly relegated to being merely "The Dude" by malnourished film audiences. Perhaps The Coens were inspired by this film, but Bridges, his character, and that movie have as much in common with Cutter's Way as with Stay Hungry. Real film fans need to explore more of Bridges' 70's output and to get over the whole Dude fad. Cutter's Way - like a number of those early appearances -- is intriguing and unorthodox, but not profound.
Rated 6/10Val Lewton is a deeply respected hero of American cinema, but his works are best appreciated without scholars telling you why Lewton's contributions are so important. To begin with, it's disrespectful to the directors of Lewton's films to have film historians waxing on about every detail and crediting Lewton almost exclusively, as if he was the director. In the event that you never noticed before, Hollywood is collectively its own biggest fan. Watching Turner Classic Movies on a regular basis will expose you to film experts and movie people gushing over past works as if they were God himself, or perhaps interim Dr. Frankensteins acting as proxy creators. Martin Scorsese is almost as well known for his embellishments on the topic as he is for his own pictures.
Val Lewton: The Man in the Shadows is a library of prose praising the visual style, the dialog, the lighting, the mood -- attributes normally credited to the director, as if the actual directors of these films were merely showing up and collecting a check while Lewton commandeered every job on and off the set. The fault is, as noted before, the self-referential adoration from the industry itself of its own offspring. Imagine for a moment having to hear such praise of one's work from carpenters, mechanics, teachers, civil servants, construction crews...it would be appalling to be subjected to poetic essays on the greatness of their jobs which are, truth be known, of much greater significance to society as a whole.
The moral of the story: the entertainment industry needs to get over itself, do its job and go home. The single benefit of this production is that the films highlighted can be looked at as more detailed trailers, even though the films represented are quite a bit overstated. Let movies entertain you and forget the idea that experts need to teach you how to enjoy them.
Rated 4/10A bit of a mess, more due to a flawed story than anything else, since the film is technically solid. Like The Exorcist, the playful swagger between daughter and parents (especially mom) is a bit much, but at least Susan Swift's performance isn't precocious like so many child stars from this era (ie, Quinn Cummings in The Goodbye Girl, another Marsha Mason sighting.)
According to the story's flowery logic, the title character is a reincarnated soul in the body of Ivy Templeton, having entered her body at birth, which was the same time as Audrey's death in an automobile accident. Now we have to be convinced of this, first by the urging of Audrey's father (Anthony Hopkins), then by a series of events that end up in a court trial. The witnesses include some mystical folk who explain their unique India ways to our cynical Western onlookers.
The closing screen epilogue is a shot of the sun with these words superimposed:
"There is no end. For the soul there is
never birth nor death. Nor, having once been,
does it ever cease to be, It is unborn.
eternal, ever-existing, undying and primeval..."
THE BHAGAVAD-GITA
Audrey's father in the film wants to be a part of Ivy's life since, in his mind, it's his daughter. But by the story's reincarnation logic, isn't everybody in the same boat? If this is true, shouldn't every deceased child be subjected to multiple parental figures sharing in that duty every time a psychic makes such claims? What exactly the story is suggesting should have been done is beyond me, so we have a scenario without a foundation.
Paradoxes aside, having to hear long, detailed, high-pitched screaming from a young girl in several different sequences was torturous to endure. I really wanted to stop the movie just to make it end.
So overall, watching Audrey Rose provided me with no entertainment value, even though it was a well-made film. It happens.
Rated 8/10On paper, this appears so predictable, the story of a single mom (Andy) raising a son (Joshua) who wants to be a cheerleader. Joshua's male role models are Andy's slacker brother, Alex (played by Carrie Preston's real life brother, John), who ends up crashing at the house, and Charlie, the gay next door neighbor, played by Michael Emerson (Carrie's real life husband!) The nuns at Joshua's school don't quite know what to make of the boy's adamant, impenetrable eagerness for being on the squad. There's your setup. And frankly, it sounds exactly like the kind of film Hollywood likes to use as a teachable moment by winning the viewer over with empathetic characters which will plant seeds of tolerance.
Amazingly, director James Vasquez didn't take that easy road and the film is better for it. It's a light comedy and stays that way for most of the film, with the bubbly enthusiasm of Joshua (a spirited performance from Lurie Poston) never allowing room for exaggerated or touchy-feely angst. In fact, he seems completely oblivious to any element of sexuality, despite the fact that every adult in the film has to dance around the subject that young Joshua never acknowledges.
It doesn't sound like this scenario could play out to be an entertaining film, but it does. The cast is terrific: Carrie Preston is cute & perky and has great comic timing, Tara Karsian as Sister Vivian also provides some laughs as the nun trying to deal with Joshua's unwaivering goal, and Michael Emerson as Charlie resists the clichés to create a more interesting character who doesn't rest on his stereotypes.
Ready? OK! is funny and smart, yet played feather light. There's probably a lesson hidden somewhere in all of this, but if so, you're definitely not beaten over the head with it.
Rated 8/10"A perfectly beautiful hustle crumbles at the core."
WUSA is an establishment counter-culture product from an era in which directors were given more artistic freedom from the Hollywood system than in the past. And like so many pro-revolution offerings from that generation, cracks in the pavement are also revealed, unsimplifying what modern Hollywood now feeds us as monaural political cosmogeny.
Paul Newman is a drifter who is hired as disc-jockey and mouthpiece of an influential right-wing radio station. Joanne Woodward is his girl and Anthony Perkins is Rainey, a social worker investigating welfare statistics. After a conversation with an underground newspaper writer, Rainey learns of WUSA's outrageous agenda to end government funding of the poor.
Many one-dimensional stereotypes and rigged optics skew the portrayal of protagonists and antagonists, severely obstructing the plausibility of the story's "right wing conspiracy". That in itself is so far-fetched it's remarkable to find subverted in such a stunningly attractive canvas. The cast is nearly flawless, the dialogue rich and the cinematography opulent. Toss aside the paranoid abnormalities and take in the rare look at late-60's New Orleans, garnished with a talented cast in top form (including a tasty buffet of support players!)
Two decades later, Tim Robbins would take a similar path (through an Oliver Stone prism) with Bob Roberts -- again, very visual, but taking unfair advantage of the credulity of his audience. Unlike Robbins' diatribe, Newman delivers a sympathetic and convincing messenger with an ambivalent palette of rebellion inside his own moral core. This dichotomy is stingingly pronounced when delivering his convention speech in the third act -- a scene otherwise embellished with radically manufactured melodrama.
Despite the internal flaws, WUSA is a highly recommended experience, a technical showpiece lost in the shuffle from an overflowingly influential era. Director Stuart Rosenberg directed a number of lost gems in the 70's (Move, The Laughing Policeman, Pocket Money, The Drowning Pool -- the latter two also featuring Paul Newman), none of which could put a dent in his success with 1967's Cool Hand Luke. Notable is Lalo Schifrin's score and a good Neil Diamond song, "Glory Road". Also look for a solemn musical performance by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.
Rated 7/10The heredity is most certainly in place, but many don’t like to connect this sequel to the original 2001: A Space Odyssey for a number of (valid) reasons. No, it doesn’t feel like the original in any way -- mostly because Stanley Kubrick steals the ownership of the stories he adapts. For example, in 2001, the film was completely Kubrick’s vision and not Clarke’s. He did the same with A Clockwork Orange (much to the chagrin of Anthony Burgess) and with The Shining (much to the chagrin of Stephen King). Whether hijacking a story is a good practice for filmmaking remains open to debate, but the fact of the matter is, that is the way Kubrick made films. The original was not a space opera, as the cliché goes, but a space ballet, submerged in mysterious optics which fascinated audiences from 1968 to present. For that reason, it became one of the great films that will be forever referenced. A sequel? Certainly the ending left viewers perplexed and longing for some explanations. The possibility of a satisfactory expansion is the core appeal.
2010 begins with the disadvantage of existing in a decade that was rife with shiny sci-fi packages inspired by Steven Spielberg. That means that deep, complex explorations are reduced to teen level Classics Illustrated fare. It’s certainly easy enough to digest for even the least sophisticated audience, coupled with the feel-good adventure motif that drove so many boxoffice hits in this era.
Speaking of era, 2010 was also released at the peak of cold war hysteria as the world sat on pins & needles anticipating a global nuclear conflict between the USA and the USSR. Hollywood exploited this paranoia frequently, which was not an expressly bad idea, since writers experienced great results exploring the unthinkable scenario. It's rather clumsily implemented here, however, resulting in a pedestrian ending.
If you like your sci-fi lite and uncomplicated, this is above average for it’s 80s ilk, but if you seek mathematically abstract and complex enigmas, you’ll likely be disappointed.
Rated 6/10Yet another take on the Ed Gein story. The period settings are convincing and Railsback does a fine job, but the film spends too much effort hammering the same old Christianity drives people to become serial killers opinion into the story. Gein was far too devious to be reduced to such a cliché and every time the film dragged too long on setups, it continued to return to that theme, reducing it to bog standard genericana.
Rated 9/10Delivered in Euro arthouse style, you'd almost get the impression that the film may draw too much attention to its own visual and verbal styles. But dammit, it works. If Anne Bancroft's breathtaking performance stops amazing you (how?), switch gears and study the magnificent black & white cinematography with it's perfect setups and lighting embellishments. This could have been a bog standard Elizabeth Taylor oater in less capable hands, but I never felt that director Jack Clayton overplayed his hand.
For certain this depressing drama is not for everybody and every mood, but one cannot deny that it stands as a piece of art. For better or worse, essential viewing for any serious student of film or acting.
Rated 4/10For anyone who missed out on the inane spectacle known as hippies, here is a glossed-over version put to film a decade after the fact, a time when they were dismissed for what they were. Hence the boxoffice failure. Miloš Forman's hippies are all so shined up in brand new threads that look like they just came off a movie studio's wardrobe department rack. Real hippies never looked like this, nor were they ever the athletic, dancing heroes this dopey musical depicts them as. Even an acid trip is completely misrepresented in true Hollywood fashion, as doled out in Central Park by a pseudo priest with a Communist star painted on his face.
The two most famous tunes from the Broadway play, the title song and "Aquarius", are mere scenes with no significant impression made by either, both ineptly reprised back-to-back for a big feel-good ending. On the other hand, Cheryl Barnes's performance of "Easy to Be Hard" (a hit for Three Dog Night in 1969) is the centerpiece of one of the film's best moments, along with the amusing "White Boys" (featuring Nell Carter and The Stylistics!)
Pompously, the world Hair lives in is filled with two kinds of people: righteous hippies and disconnected establishment white folk. Don't get me wrong -- when I was young and knew nothing about life and the real world, I bought into all of this sort of foolishness, as well. But I matured and outgrew it along with believing there were monsters under the bed. It would be entertaining if the principals didn't believe in their dizzy excuse for ideals. Even children know that the real world is not made up of superheroes and cartoon characters.
This is the era when Hollywood decided to re-examine the counter-culture and its components -- namely, Vietnam, an on-going theme they never let go of, seating the idea that they are a political force. A year earlier, Coming Home; later that year it was The Deer Hunter, several months later, Apocalypse Now. Tinseltown's catharsis -- further solidified by as many Oscar nominations and wins as they could possibly hack up.
If they absolutely had to make this film, it should have been no later than 1970. In this form, it's more Fame than Woodstock. It's the same self-centered pretentiousness either way. Perhaps one day the Occupy Wall Street movement will be interpreted as a liberating, jubilant love story with humanity and morality at its core, while a congestion of vibrant musical passages bind the mission of glory. Ugh...
Rated 5/10I wanted to like this flimsy attempt at being a horror flick -- and that climax stands alone, I've never seen any similar scene in any other film. It does make a really cool trailer (it's on YouTube, look it up...its only flaw is that it makes the movie itself appear to be worth watching.) One of the problems is that it was released in 1968, a time when some producers felt they needed to be modern, which results in tacky, outdated sequences. The music score is also a notable obstacle, with liberal chunks of jazz music that is loud, smoky, and completely out of step with what is happening on screen. The storyline is pretty thin, as well. Most every element of the film is flawed. File this one in the "Films That Waste Peter Cushing" folder.
Rated 4/10I remember reading about this in Famous Monsters when I was a kid. Actually, I probably just looked at the cool pictures. Who knew the movie was such a turkey. For me, the stupidness makes it all the better. And make no mistake about it, this is bad like an Arch Hall film. If I'd known that, I would have sought it out long ago.
Rated 7/10Could have been a great movie, but it's a long way from that. Richard Dreyfuss delivers his best ever performance (which nabbed him the best actor Oscar), but the film itself uses every cheap Hollywood trick and cookie-cutter convention in order to attempt being the classic it so desperately wants to be. You know you're in trouble when on-screen time passages are illustrated as culture montages, but when they're accompanied by songs from Jackson Browne and John Lennon, it's just a commercial break for stock film libraries. In fact, the messianic Lennon references are cloying at best. (Although Holland singing to his son was kinda sweet.) I realize average audiences probably enjoy pedestrian film-making like this in order to justify something or another; me, I'm just glad I only had to watch it once. It's not terrible but the great parts are mired by too many maudlin clichés. Jay Thomas turns in a great support role as the football coach.
Rated 8/10Trashy 80's exploitation fun. It's a Sean Cunningham film, so approach it from that angle first. Next, remember this was 1985. Even at the time of its release, the film wore its stonewash loud and proud. In it's simplest form, that's enough to give you an idea of what to expect.
Loren and Abby are the good-looking siblings of the title, newly relocated after the death of their parents to live with relatives in Florida who run a bargain basement amusement park. They seem to fit in and life is good until a local group of redneck scum teens make trouble. The leader, Eddie Dutra (James Spader), has the hots for Abby, but after she rejects him, he and his gang make trouble. It turns out our squeaky clean new kids are not as wholesome as they look and can defend themselves. But that's just where the ugliness begins.
Lots of edge-of-the-seat violence, a terrifically evil performance from Spader, and a thrilling climax at the amusement park are just some of the elements that make The New Kids an above-average entry in the action / exploitation / thriller genre(s). If you're inclined to this kind of film, you won't be disappointed.
Rated 7/10I've always been a trailer guy. One of the things that made me into a film geek was the rush I would get from watching trailers. Even TV spots for movies were good for a quick fix. One such spot for "When the Legends Die" (under its original title, "The Taming of Tom Black Bull") worked its magic on me and my little brother, leading us into the cinema to see what was far less exciting than we were promised by that 30-second commercial. The best part of that show, of course, was the Prevues of Coming Attractions preceding the film. The trailer that blew us away was for "The New Centurions", feeding us a seedier urban thoroughfare than we'd been getting from our weekly diet of Adam-12. That one stayed with us for years for some reason, but we were too young to see R-rated movies and had to just let it go. Thank goodness, since the film's action and thrills are weighed down by mature themes that were beyond the scope of what our young hearts were promised in those two minutes.
I was not expecting such a dark tone in this episodic, New Hollywood vision based on former L.A police officer Joseph Wambaugh's best-selling novel. It's convincing, the production is solid, and features a great cast (look for a small part from The Jeffersons' own Weezy as a prostitute!) You also get a bird's eye view of the uniquely American 1970's urban street scene. For all of the film's perks, however, it's depressing and very downbeat.
Rated 7/10I used to read a lot of British gaming magazines back in the 90's because they were very funny. Amiga Power was my favorite because they were particularly cruel whenever a bad game landed in their office. From the first issue, there was a feature called Oh Dear, which spotlighted the worst of the worst, usually in explicit detail. And through the entire 24 minutes of Heavy Metal Jr., those were the two words that bounced around in my brain.
I thought I'd seen it all, but obviously there is a new low that suggests to me that perhaps eugenics is not such a bad idea after all.
What we have here is a musical documentary about a new band comprised of kids age 10-13 who play heavy metal music. And they are simply terrible. They look bad, they play bad, and they're, if I may be frank, illiterate. Mind you, they can spell better than the lead singer's mother, who purchases a piece of cloth for the band featuring their name repeated several times so that they can cut them out and sew them onto their denim jackets. She seems genuinely surprised when her 10-year old son informs her that the word is spelled Hatred and not Hatrid. The band settle on the misspelled name, rather than waste a perfectly good fabric, presumably. And such a nice name, too.
While recording their songs to sell on CD-R at their upcoming first concert, that same mother expresses concern over the lyrics to their original song, "Two Gods Don't Make a Right", but it's rationed that it's actually a religious song since two gods indeed don't make a right. No explanation is given for their newest song, "Satan Rocks", which we are lucky enough to get the opportunity to watch the band compose. Marilyn Manson, the band's hero, would be so proud.
Heavy Metal Jr. plays and looks like a mockumentary because director Chris Waitt obviously sensed how ridiculous all of this was, but none of the participants seem to have a clue how absurdly pitiful they are. Even the manager for the band (father of the drummer) is not spared as he tries to explain to the boys how to "rock out", using the opportunity to showcase his vocal skills while the cameras were rolling. And he can sing, sounding like a cross between Geoff Tate and Bruce Dickinson. Sadly, none of that talent was inherited by his offspring, nor his mates.
I laughed my way through most of this film, but in reality, it's very sad. It's not because kids can't rock, because they can and do under better circumstances. These are simply miserable people with nothing to offer, but who feel the need to say something anyway. We laugh at them, not with them. The product of the modern day equivalent of the "me generation", which is better relegated to YouTube, but even then, why? If you suck, why advertise it?