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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 9:07:44 GMT
An independent film based on a true story, The Long Game tells the tale of of how some teenaged golfers—with the right coaching and mentorship—overcame racial discrimination to win the Texas state title in 1957. The movie suffers from some typical clichés associated with this genre—the athletic ace who is also a stubborn hothead, the athletic runt who manages to improve substantially just in time, the one white ally (Dennis Quaid) that the protagonist (Jay Hernandez) can lean on. But it is also a story of agency and ingenuity: for instance, before being mentored by the characters played by Hernandez and Quaid, the kids—denied, like the Hernandez figure, from playing at a premier country club—create their own course. And then the two male leads, taking their cue from these kids, form the first-ever golf team at the Mexican-American high school in El Paso where the Hernandez character teaches.
More significant, perhaps, is how the movie modestly explores some of the intricacies and complexities that derive from being racially discriminated against in a society essentially defined by white supremacy. For instance, the father of the best golfer, Joe (Julian Works), tries to abort his son's golfing for fear that the boy will merely be ridiculed for standing out and failing to conform to white expectations of Hispanics. And the Hernandez character emphasizes conformity and restraint—including no speaking of Spanish on the course—in order to best fit in and take advantage of any opportunity that might otherwise be denied by the powers in place. Indeed, one could draw an analogy to how Brooklyn Dodgers executive Branch Rickey famously convinced Jackie Robinson that he could not strike back against all the racial animus, abuse, and hostility that he would face on the baseball field from fans and opponents. (Only in 1949, after Robinson had completed one season in the minor leagues and his first two years in the majors with the Dodgers, did Rickey allow the naturally combative Robinson to unleash his true personality and stand up for himself.) Another intriguing example of the psychological and cultural complexity that derives from facing bigotry can be found when Joe responds contemptuously upon learning how his girlfriend meritoriously gained acceptance to a prestigious writing program at the University of Texas-Austin. She did so by penning an essay about her relationship with her abuela—her grandmother—and Joe feels that such an essay will merely invite ridicule and condescension from the white folk in Austin. His insensitivity and abrasiveness stuns his girlfriend, who obviously treasures her bond with her abuela.
Conveniently, of course, Joe and his girlfriend have reconciled by the end of the movie, albeit without a full-fledged reconciliation scene. The suggestion without such a full-fledged scene is either a weakness (a sign of glibness, laziness, and mere convention) or a strength (avoiding needless sentimentality), depending upon one's perspective. That is kind of The Long Game in a microcosm: a movie that is less simplistic than it could have been, but also not as potent as it could have been. Likewise, the visual style is a bit heavy-handed, with a lot of very noticeable camera movement (including constant tracking shots on the golf course) and an emphasis on montage, but the film's technical manner complements its tone effectively enough.
Perhaps most problematic is that in addition to filming part of The Long Game in Texas, the filmmakers shot quite a bit of it in Colombia. A tropical nation, of course, features a very different type of landscape from that of arid southwestern Texas. The movie begins with a brief dream montage that indeed suggests some kind of hilly rainforest, creating a non-sequitur and making me imagine that perhaps the Hernandez figure was dreaming of the Masters, which is located in Georgia. (In retrospect, he was just dreaming of the local country club where he desperately desires membership.) The film's golf courses and greens often seem a tad lush, and in one brief scene, we witness tropical ferns alongside a local dwelling. Although I have never been to El Paso, the presence of a fern—and the overall lushness of the movie's greens—struck me as curious. Only when viewing the closing credits and seeing the "Colombia Unit" (which precedes the "Texas Unit" in the credits) did matters make "sense." Obviously, the movie's low budget necessitated the decision to shoot much of The Long Game in Colombia, with its cheap labor costs. Although the PGA (Professional Golf Association) backed the movie, it lacks any kind of notable distributor, and inauthentic Colombian locations hardly imperil the film. Still, they make The Long Game less convincing than it could have been.
But the movie is rather engrossing and not without some nuance—"decent/pretty good," meaning slightly above-average.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 7:32:51 GMT
I found All of Us Strangers to be "good." Its narrative structure is creative, and the film is stylized while also maintaining a sense of existential naturalism—and the acting, led by Andrew Scott, succeeds in that mold. Certainly, All of Us Strangers suggests the potential for emotional transcendence when confronting grievous trauma, the prospect of deeply-felt imagination serving as a coping mechanism and a means of catharsis. Indeed, the idea of losing both of one's parents as a child is virtually unimaginable, and were one to suffer such a tragedy, one might certainly try to mentally recreate a reunion as an adult, wondering what they would think of you—especially if, as in this case, one turned out to be gay. In other words, the film's core material is quite potent, and the realization of it is different, something off-beat—an allegory that works well. Visually, the film does not offer much in the way of composition, but there is some nice framing to the imagery. In a related vein, the visual coverage is fairly tight, but that style is fitting for such an intimate, surrealistic movie, and there are also some atmospheric long shots spliced in along the way, providing just enough balance to the cinematography. All of Us Strangers definitely offers some poignancy, although the ending leans into sentimentality in a way that is effective yet makes the denouement less haunting that it might have otherwise been. But the conclusion's use of the song "The Power of Love," by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (a group that I had never heard of), and specifically its citation of the lyric "I'll protect you from the hooded claw/Keep the vampires from your door" is memorable. An example of the film's attention to detail and inner passion can be found during one of the imaginative passages, where the protagonist's mother (played by Claire Foy) is wearing red fingernail polish in one scene but has no nail polish in the next, even though virtually no time has elapsed between the two scenes. The disjunction seems like a curious and baffling lack of continuity—until one reflects and absorbs the movie's context. Given that the film fluidly interweaves realistic dream scenes, such a discrepancy makes perfect sense: after all, it reflects the addled, striving psyche of the protagonist, Adam (played by Scott). All of Us Strangers is not exactly Point Blank (John Boorman, 1967), but there is a certain stylistic lineage that one could draw to that epochal, unforgettable film. as always, I enjoy reading your thoughts even though I dont always agree with all of it. thanks for sharing your thoughts on this movie with us. Any chance you saw the original thats closer to the novel? The Discarnates?... never heard of it, Nora, but if you've seen it, please tell me more. And thanks again for the kind words.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 7:23:16 GMT
A prequel to the vintage seventies horror flick The Omen (Richard Donner, 1976), co-starring Gregory Peck and Lee Remick, The First Omen proves quite impressive—a "good" film. It is especially impressive visually, with some rich contrasts and a slightly gritty look that recalls a lot of seventies movies, yet without seeming imitative. Director Arkasha Stevenson shoots and edits the film in a way that really involves the viewer, yet without the kind of pretentiousness (visually or tonally) that often characterizes horror films. That statement is basically another way of saying that The First Omen features a lot of camera movement, but it is subtle, and it offers dramatic editing, but it is logical. The result, then, is a film that manages to be both stylized and organic. The movie is also well-paced and well-cast, with credible performances from Nell Tiger Free (in the lead role as the victimized young woman), Ralph Ineson as a sympathetic pastor, Bill Nighy, Maria Caballero, Tarfeek Barhom, Nicole Sorace, and Andrea Arcangeli, among others.
Ironically, The First Omen features the same basic story and narrative motifs as the concurrently released Immaculate, featuring Sydney Sweeney. That horror movie is "decent"—entertaining, with impressive editing and some memorable visual contrasts. But The First Omen is more elaborate and better. It is less gory and thus a little more subtle in its effects, and as a period piece set in 1971, it taps into its historical era to create more in the way of theme and social motivation for the Catholic church's tyranny. The result is a horror film that combines intricacy and sweep.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 6:41:52 GMT
there is no dialogue and we cant see the actors, right? so eisenberg is wasted? ... right. The only intelligible language comes when one of the sasquatches plays a cassette at a human campsite and we hear the lyrics of a song. Indeed, Sasquatch Sunset plays almost like a silent film, which to me constitutes one of its mesmerizing strengths. And, yes, we do not actually see any "humans" in the film, although we ultimately feel their presence quite a bit, hence one of the movie's central themes.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 6:33:01 GMT
I saw it over two weeks ago; was there something about his late wife cheating? Nah it was more about how he was spending so much time in the forest with the cult, it was so clear that it was going to come back later in the movie Thanks; see, the film kind of lost me later on ...
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 19, 2024 6:48:47 GMT
LaRoy, Texas is a low-key independent film that provides irony, thoughtfulness, and entertainment. Set in Texas yet shot in New Mexico (as the keen visual observer can tell from a fleeting shot or two of distant mountains), the movie's satirical nature is evident in its casting of John Magaro as the protagonist, a nondescript floor manager mistaken for a hired killer. Soft-featured, chubby, and amiably indolent, Magaro is about the last man who would possibly be chosen for such a role, yet the mistake allows for a humanistic exploration of character and life. Improbably married to a glamorous ex-beauty queen (Megan Stevenson), Magaro's closest personal relationships soon unravel to reveal duplicity and betrayal. But if this kind of satirical plot might seem a tad familiar, what separates LaRoy, Texas is its assured pacing and the consistency of its ironic tone. This movie is never in a hurry, and while it serves mainly as an enjoyable, engrossing entertainment piece, its pacing and directorial steadiness enable it to expose—without exposition or sentimentality—moral lessons about dignity and self-worth, initiative and genuineness.
In this regard, the character played by Steve Zahn proves ironically instructive. As Magaro's Ray states at one point, Zahn's Skip is "a joke"—essentially a fumbling amateur private detective trying to be a professional, all the while dressed like a cowboy. But Skip also is what he wants to be: he is genuine, honest, and upfront, without pretension or deception, and he easily recognizes dishonesty and superficiality, something that Ray struggles to see. The result is a wayward partnership that proves funny and tragically cathartic.
Profiting from letter-perfect casting (including Dylan Baker as the actual assassin), LaRoy, Texas could be characterized as a buddy movie, a road movie, and a caper, but it resists the clichés of those genres. Instead, writer-director Shane Atkinson shows an awareness of archetypes and Americana while creating a movie that falls upon the viewer like something fresh out of left field. It is quite a "good" film, one that entertains while providing human and thematic substance as well.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 19, 2024 5:55:21 GMT
Sasquatch Sunset proves unusual, atmospheric, and mesmerizing—a "good/very good" film. Co-directed by the brothers David Zellner and Nathan Zellner, and written by the former, the movie literally and figuratively wanders far off the beaten path. It does not amount to horror, but rather a very naturalistic type of science fiction. Beautifully shot on location in Humboldt, California, the movie's visual compositions, construction, and editing all prove admirable. The film's coda is a hauntingly ironic and fatalistic commentary about the intrusiveness of human beings upon the natural wilderness and their compensatory need to "honor" nature by turning its creatures into tokens, totems, and mute icons. But the filmmakers present this theme visually, through composition, and editing, and without the tiniest bit of exposition.
Raw, tender, and plaintively lyrical, Sasquatch Sunset constitutes a unique cinematic experience.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 19, 2024 5:36:51 GMT
Anyone else see? It's got a great premise and a great David D performance. It does falter a bit near the end though and unfortunately is a bit too predictable due to the information it reveals early on, but it's definitely worth a watch. I saw it over two weeks ago; was there something about his late wife cheating?
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 19, 2024 5:32:26 GMT
I found Late Night with the Devil "mediocre." The historical context is compelling, and the film proves engaging early on. But while it constitutes "comic horror," as the movie progresses, it proves rarely funny and certainly never scary. While the movie maintains human interaction on the set of the late-night comedy show, Late Night with the Devil remains decent enough, suggesting something about the psychological responses of participants and observers, but the ending runs off the rails. Ultimately, the film feels like an allegory, but as an allegory, it is neither clear nor capable. What is it an allegory for? One's delusions and insecurities?
The movie also seems to be a parody of The Exorcist, which is fitting given the historical setting yet not exactly novel.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 10, 2024 9:56:14 GMT
By the way, seeing this film ultimately caused me to learn that Marlena Shaw passed away earlier this year ...
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 10, 2024 9:45:09 GMT
By now, the idea of Liam Neeson starring in a film featuring vengeance and violence may seem overly pat, even tiresome. But some of these movies, such as 2019's Cold Pursuit, can be very worthwhile, and the new release In the Land of Saints and Sinners also falls into that category. While there is violence and vengeance, this film is less of an action flick and more of an ironic exploration of Irishness. Set in 1974, in the heart of the Irish Republican Army's terrorist assaults, Saints and Sinners returns Neeson to his Northern Irish roots. The movie is darkly lyrical and somewhat meditative, and respectable talent is evident everywhere. The film's director is Robert Lorenz, who produced Clint Eastwood movies—from Mystic River to American Sniper—for over a decade while also directing Eastwood in 2012's Trouble with the Curve, making Lorenz the only person to direct Eastwood, the actor, since the late Wolfgang Petersen in 1993's In the Line of Fire. Fittingly, the cinematographer is Tom Stern, the Oscar-nominated director of photography for every Eastwood movie from 2002's Bloodwork to 2018's The 15:17 to Paris. Stern's cinematography in Saints and Sinners is both varied and impressive. He features some vivid contrasts, especially of pale faces draped by the nighttime sky, but his imagery here is not especially stylized or noir-oriented, as it often (not always) was for Eastwood. Sometimes it captures the gray, drizzly somberness of the Irish outdoors, and on other occasions it reveals the dappled quality of golden Irish sunlight mixing with the country's famous greenery. Composition is also a strength, especially in the climactic scene involving a towering church at nighttime.
In addition to Neeson, the movie features two other Oscar-nominated performers from Northern Ireland or Ireland, Ciarán Hinds and Kerry Condon. The latter—arguably one of today's best actresses—is especially powerful as a fierce IRA terrorist and Neeson's ultimate antagonist. And speaking of Neeson, Saints and Sinners grants him the chance to blend his irony and empathy as an actor with his toughness and technique as a gritty "tough guy."
One could argue that the film's only flaw is that the editing is sometimes a bit too quick, whereas the movie's best rhythms and scenes usually come with slower, more relaxed editing that creates a meditative and ironic quality. Quick editing is certainly appropriate for the movie's climactic gunfight, but in some other, "between scenes" sorts of passages, slower editing and a slightly longer running time would have enabled the movie to sustain its best pitch more consistently. Quick editing tends to work for a tongue-in-cheek quality, but while that tone is evident in Saints and Sinners (a very "Irish" film, after all), it is not the overriding one.
Regardless, the flaw is a modest one in a "good" film. Lorenz also displays his directorial discretion when he briefly features Marlena Shaw's classic 1969 song "California Soul" to highlight the dreams and desires of a supporting character. Lorenz plays the song (diegetically), but only as a brief snippet, as if to suggest a wistful echo. He does not let it play out as a false substitute for character, theme, or atmosphere.
In short, if one is tempted to dismiss In the Land of Saints and Sinners as just another disposable movie with Liam Neeson playing a hitman, don't. He indeed plays a hitman yet again this time, but in a bittersweet and fatalistic drama, one that is not earthshattering yet proves enjoyably effective.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 28, 2024 9:25:36 GMT
Premise: In the 1980s, reclusive gym manager Lou (Kristen Stewart) falls hard for Jackie (Katy O'Brian), an ambitious bodybuilder headed through town to Las Vegas in pursuit of her dream. But their love ignites violence, pulling them deep into the web of Lou's crime family I was intrigued by the trailer, and furthermore by the cast. (Funniest thing about my anticipation: I admit I might have let myself half-believe a rumor from the trailer that the movie was secretly a werewolf movie because of shots where it looks sort of like Katy O'Brian is transforming when she flexes her back muscles.) I also liked writer-director Rose Glass's last film, St. Maud. So, I went into the movie with high hopes, and for the first half, I liked it. There was an underlying tension -- you know things are going to go wrong, but you just don't know how. And when things finally start to go really wrong, things get pretty brutal. Unfortunately, it's when things start to go wrong in the second half of the movie that, in my opinion, the movie sort of takes a dive. While one character is desperately tying to fix things, another devolves into a fever dream of paranoia and confusion that was represented in away that just didn't work for me. The movie seemed to be setting up a twist that turned out not to be the case (more in the spoiler section below), and then at the very the climax of the film, things turn a WTF?! turn that just had me confused. There was some good humor throughout despite the films' dark subject matter, and the movie even ends on a bit of a joke, which did make me chuckle. Overall, I thought the movie had great potential, but it mostly squandered it. My rating: 5.5/10 My thoughts seem similar: Set in New Mexico in the late 1980s, Love Lies Bleeding is a film about lesbian love and bodybuilding, criminality and coverups. The mix is a bit odd, but it offers some potential and the movie begins in fine fashion, with a long tracking shot of Jackie (Katy O'Brian) walking toward, and entering, the rundown gym at night, followed by a crisp montage that emphasizes the bodybuilding culture and ethos at play. Opening credits (relatively rare in contemporary movies) add to the sense of briskness and power while introducing her eventual lover, played by Kristen Stewart. Overall, the movie is exciting, gritty, and gnarly, depicting a seedy side and quasi-underworld in New Mexico in this era. But Love Lies Bleeding also proves overly gruesome and gory, and it is dramatically over-the-top as well—melodramatic to the point of straining credulity and becoming nearly preposterous. Unsurprisingly, then, the acting also sometimes becomes over-the-top (aside from the always assured Ed Harris), and the film's visual metaphors suffer from this quality as well. Likewise, Love Lies Bleeding forces its primary themes—'roid rage and love (yes, a shaky combination)—to the point where character motivation for certain actions seems somewhat unjustified and a bit implausible, most notably in the film's coda. Writer-director Rose Glass may be suggesting that love overpowers one's moral compass, but as presented in the movie, the argument is not entirely clear or convincing. On the plus side, the film features excellent sound mixing and combines dynamic montage in some scenes with an earthy sense of real time in others. (That said, Love Lies Bleeding is not nearly as atmospheric, or visually impressive, as Bones and All, from 2022.) Yet even a tough, tawdry movie such as this one would have benefited from greater finesse. Love Lies Bleeding is indeed supposed to be a dark, raunchy thriller, but its excesses cause the film to almost border on horror—which does not quite fit. The ultimate result is mediocre, but at least it proves mediocre by being bold and bodacious—by trying something. Compare this movie's mediocrity to that of One Life (also currently in theaters), which features Anthony Hopkins and great subject matter (the true story of Nicky Winton, a Briton who evacuated 669 Jewish children from Nazi clutches in Czechoslovakia circa 1938-1939) yet relays it in formulaic fashion, thus vitiating that film's potential for poignancy and pathos.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Mar 10, 2024 23:58:57 GMT
I will avoid going into detail for now, but I actually feel that among the ten Best Picture Oscar nominees, The Zone of Interest is as deserving as any other film—perhaps the most deserving (the other contenders for me would be Killers of the Flower Moon and The Holdovers). All three movies are "very good" in my eyes, but I felt that way about The Zone of Interest from my first theatrical screening (of three), whereas I grew into that assessment for the other two (reaching it upon my third screening of each; I ultimately viewed Killers four times in the theater).
In short, The Zone of Interest uses abstract stylization to brilliant thematic effect—haunting, chilling, and resonant, a perfect fusion of form and function. It is unconventional, but the power comes in how the film conceptualizes the subject matter visually.
Of course, Oppenheimer ("good/very good"), which I saw three times in the theater (twice in IMAX), will receive Best Picture regardless.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Feb 3, 2024 6:31:07 GMT
I found All of Us Strangers to be "good." Its narrative structure is creative, and the film is stylized while also maintaining a sense of existential naturalism—and the acting, led by Andrew Scott, succeeds in that mold. Certainly, All of Us Strangers suggests the potential for emotional transcendence when confronting grievous trauma, the prospect of deeply-felt imagination serving as a coping mechanism and a means of catharsis. Indeed, the idea of losing both of one's parents as a child is virtually unimaginable, and were one to suffer such a tragedy, one might certainly try to mentally recreate a reunion as an adult, wondering what they would think of you—especially if, as in this case, one turned out to be gay. In other words, the film's core material is quite potent, and the realization of it is different, something off-beat—an allegory that works well. Visually, the film does not offer much in the way of composition, but there is some nice framing to the imagery. In a related vein, the visual coverage is fairly tight, but that style is fitting for such an intimate, surrealistic movie, and there are also some atmospheric long shots spliced in along the way, providing just enough balance to the cinematography. All of Us Strangers definitely offers some poignancy, although the ending leans into sentimentality in a way that is effective yet makes the denouement less haunting that it might have otherwise been. But the conclusion's use of the song "The Power of Love," by Frankie Goes to Hollywood (a group that I had never heard of), and specifically its citation of the lyric "I'll protect you from the hooded claw/Keep the vampires from your door" is memorable. An example of the film's attention to detail and inner passion can be found during one of the imaginative passages, where the protagonist's mother (played by Claire Foy) is wearing red fingernail polish in one scene but has no nail polish in the next, even though virtually no time has elapsed between the two scenes. The disjunction seems like a curious and baffling lack of continuity—until one reflects and absorbs the movie's context. Given that the film fluidly interweaves realistic dream scenes, such a discrepancy makes perfect sense: after all, it reflects the addled, striving psyche of the protagonist, Adam (played by Scott). All of Us Strangers is not exactly Point Blank (John Boorman, 1967), but there is a certain stylistic lineage that one could draw to that epochal, unforgettable film.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Feb 3, 2024 4:35:50 GMT
Two versions of the same story, both directed by Raoul Walsh. The earlier one is a Noir (starring Humphrey Bogart) and the remake is a Western. The latter is included in Criterion’s High Sierra Blu-Ray, which was collecting dust in my shelves until the other day when I finally got around to watching it, and then a few days later I plopped in disc 2. The story is very similar on both versions: a career criminal is helped out of prison by a former associate under the condition that he take part in one last very lucrative job. There are two hot-headed accomplices and two love interests and double-crossing. But I have to say that I liked the Western version better. I thought it was leaner and wisely avoided some melodramatic plot points that the Noir version had. Plus, it has some pretty exciting horse-riding and train sequences. Has anyone seen either of those, or both?
I have seen High Sierra twice, most recently this past November on Turner Classic Movies. (I do not actually receive TCM nowadays thanks to Comcast's decision in late 2019 to ax this wonderful station from the company's basic cable package, but thankfully many recent TCM screenings are available On Demand.) I first viewed High Sierra in December 2004 on TCM, and I have seen Colorado Territory at least once, also on TCM—but not since the fall of 2003. I never really drew a connection between the two, perhaps because they are different enough in historical setting and tone. In fact, only thanks to your post and my subsequent cursory research do I realize that the two films share the same director, the famous Raoul Walsh. I saw Colorado Territory more as a tale that sort of anticipates Bonnie & Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967), which rather affirms your point about it being "leaner" and less "melodramatic." Since it has been over twenty years since I last viewed it, and since I may have only seen it once (at least in full), I cannot speak that definitively about it, but I really like Colorado Territory. Virginia Mayo looks great, and classic Western star Joel McCrea is certainly in his element. I am not sure if High Sierra fully, or truly, constitutes a film noir, nor do I feel that there is a historical consensus defining it as such. Indeed, to the extent that a consensus exists, it seems to suggest that another Bogart movie, this one released the following year (1941) and directed by John Huston, The Maltese Falcon, represents the first full-fledged film noir, truly establishing the archetypes and tropes (both thematic and visual) that would start to become commonplace in the mid-1940s, thus building a distinct genre. High Sierra is perhaps a touch more sentimental than most films noir, and one could see it as more of a gangster movie—and the one that anticipates Bogart's conversion from villainous roles to heroic ones, although he would of course make those heroic parts rather ambiguous, moody, and morally complex. Of course, definitions of noir can be somewhat fungible, and High Sierra certainly anticipates the evolution of noir, both in some visual traits and also its sense of a shaded protagonist (ostensibly a bad guy, but one with a heart, trying to do right). I rather agree with scholar Douglas Gomery in his essay on Walsh in The St. James Film Directors Encyclopedia (1998, edited by Andrew Sarris), where he refers to High Sierra as a "crime melodrama" in its studio's (Warner Brothers) mold, but that " High Sierra looked ahead to the film noir of the 1940s. In that film the gangster became a sympathetic character trapped by forces he did not understand" (page 545). Regardless of classification, I consider High Sierra "very good." The story is rather forgettable, but Bogart's sense of doom, combined with his palpable desire for transcendence (meaning a different life), makes for a powerfully paradoxical performance. Most notable is the film's climactic chase sequences. The editing and location shooting are riveting, and the use of extremely steep high and low angles during the ultimate mountainside shootout are stunning. Indeed, High Sierra is a film that I would love to see in the theater, and I imagine that it made quite an impact on those who saw it back in 1940.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 24, 2023 9:01:56 GMT
I think it's overrated. But I think most Hawks films are overrated. This can't be a serious question though. The '70s BS is terrible. The Mitchum FML is a bit better, but that film is most notable for the appearance of pulp novelist Jim Thompson (The Getaway), who worked w/Kubrick on the scripts for The Killing & Paths Of Glory. I mean, I can follow the 70's version. Can't do that with the original.
Actually, I would have to see it twice in order to understand the plot I reckon. But no matter how many times I watch the original, I wouldn't understand it.
I have only seen it once, but I understand where you are coming from. Then again, I am pretty sure that the plot is not the point—rather, the appeal lies in the dialogue, the repartee, the stars, the rhythm, and the atmosphere. As for the seventies version, like another poster, I did not even know that it existed.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 22, 2023 7:36:39 GMT
I find The Iron Claw to be "decent/pretty good," meaning slightly above-average—and I do mean slightly. A pseudo-epic saga of professional wrestling's famous Von Erich family, the movie offers neither realism nor stylization, either visually or tonally. Both in terms of the acting and the direction, one senses the gears shifting and the "process" invisibly at play—which is not the effect that a film ever wants to create. Indeed, the enterprise feels a tad too "mediated," as if it is not quite happening organically. Impressive stylization could have compensated, but that factor is largely lacking, too. Instead, the movie's effect is synthetic—replicated rather than authentic. The film is well-cast, yet aside from Maura Tierney as the reserved, aloof matriarch and Jeremy Allen White as one of the brothers/wrestlers, the performances leave something to be desired, which is an indictment of director Sean Durkin (also the movie's writer). In the lead role as the oldest (sort of) brother, Zac Efron is adequate and flirts with quiet poignancy, yet in the end, his physique is more impressive than the rest of his (somewhat mechanical) performance. (Of course, Efron deserves credit for building his physique to such an extent.) Overall, one might draw an analogy to Ford v Ferrari from four years ago, a middling, milquetoast movie—both emotionally and visually—that miraculously managed to score five Oscar nominations, including one for Best Picture. (Promotional campaigns, I suppose, can indeed count for so much.) And I drew that analogy before noticing that The Iron Claw has won two National Board of Review awards, one for "Best Ensemble" and one for "Top Films," the equivalent of a Best Picture nomination from the Academy.
On the other hand, the material in The Iron Claw is quite strong: a tragic, patriarchal, real-life American Dream that mixes genuine darkness and disaffection with bittersweet, belatedly redemptive qualities. And to its credit, the film creates a sense of quietude rather than spelling out its themes. Occasionally, director Durkin offers a memorable shot: Efron's character emerging into a dark room from deep inside the frame, barely backlit by the bluish light emanating from just outside the door and its small window; a heavenly-type long shot with the four brothers and their father frolicking in a golden field, perhaps playing backyard football as they had in the past, suggesting what could have been; a still medium-range shot that reveals the legacy of an accident; a tight shot where Efron's character, while training in the ring, continually bounces from one side of the ropes to the other, everything blurry except for the ropes in the foreground, suggesting his sense of psychological mania and how it dovetails with his athletic endeavor. And some of the late scenes stand out, especially two where Durkin uses minimal staging and dialogue to foster deep resonance. In one, Tierney's character has resumed her painting—a talent from her past—and tells her stunned, questioning husband that she has not made dinner, that she wasn't hungry. The exchange, and the resulting silence, prove powerful and haunting, telling a lot with a little. The other, the movie's final scene and coda, is both tender and thematically revealing, ultimately lifting The Iron Claw just above its essential mediocrity.
The film is one of dangerous ambition, masculine archetypes and their changing definitions within the milieu of Americana, and the effects of wrestling on the body, psyche, and soul. And again, the picture presents these matters without exposition. Rather as in Ford v Ferrari, the material is stronger than the movie, but that material is better in The Iron Claw—richer, more ironic, more complex—and this film makes a little more of its material. At its best, it (sort of) could have been Giant (George Stevens, 1956) transferred to the tawdry realm of modern wrestling. The Iron Claw, conversely, is a far more limited, far more routine venture, but the subject matter still resonates, and in its best shots and scenes, the movie makes an impact.
Some people might agree with me, others with the National Board of Review. But along with untapped potential, there is something to this intriguing mixed bag of a motion picture.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 20, 2023 7:21:15 GMT
Wholesome family film to end the year. Decent enough non-Christmas film for families this break. Does it possess any of the social subversiveness of the original?
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 20, 2023 7:00:13 GMT
I just saw it today; if you have a chance to do so before it leaves theaters (in a day or two, in most cases), Eileen is worthy of a look. Set in the Boston area in 1964, and based upon a novel by Ottessa Moshfeg (who also co-authored the adapted screenplay), the movie follows the curious relationship of two sexually ambiguous women, a young staff assistant played by Thomasin McKenzie (who resembles Rooney Mara) and a somewhat older, much more glamorous, doctoral psychologist played by Anne Hathaway. The film's style is somewhat overwrought, but the narrative ultimately moves in unexpected ways. The characters' motivations, and the justifications for their actions, sometimes seem undernourished, but the movie's lean, allusive style makes for concision while inviting audience participation, forcing viewers to think for themselves. Visually, Eileen offers an attractively gritty (if typical for a period piece) look, although there is nothing remarkable about its compositions or lighting. The movie suggests that the raw and dark New England winters lead to sexual suppression, supposed deviancy, and perversion, but the cinematography could have done more with landscape and environs to invite this impression. Nonetheless, Eileen manages to be atmospheric and fairly engrossing.
All of that is a way of saying that (for me, at least) the film's quality feels ambiguous while watching it and also immediately afterwards—you don't quite know what to make of it. But a few minutes later, Eileen might firmly strike you—as it did me—as "good." It uses simple gestures to suggest powerful themes rather than constantly spelling them out. One senses that the novel fleshes out the issues and characters much further, and one perhaps misses that level of detail in the movie. But again, the film's leanness proves compelling, offers a sense of mystery, and engages the audience rather than pandering to or oversaturating viewers. Sometimes, less is more, and the movie's jazz score makes Eileen all the more esoteric and enigmatic. McKenzie's quiet, naturalistic performance is the most powerful, while Hathaway is adequate—as good as she can be.
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Post by joekiddlouischama on Dec 20, 2023 6:22:58 GMT
Pretty impressive first-time effort from writer/director Cord Jefferson. Equal parts hilarious and thought-provoking with the analysis of how highlighting Black stories can be problematic when only one type of story sells. Some of the family drama didn't work for me fully, but I can get a sense of why it's included. Best Actor worthy performance from Jeffrey Wright. 7.5/10. I was looking forward to it based on the trailer, but it has not come to any city in my theater.
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