Y’know, if this were an 85 minute picture I could laugh it off as campy sleaze. But at 2 hours plus it proves the old axiom: even tits get boring after a while. Some moments are truly zen-like in their horribleness (Elizabeth Berkley, comely lass she may be, is truly a dreadful actor) and a few lines had me laughing out loud. (Did I hallucinate, or is there a moment of tenderness concerning two young women eating dog food?) So, yes, with some drinks and a group of friends, this legendary turkey is worth your time. Alone. . .only, um, a few choice scenes are worth watching. The only Paul Verhoeven film I’ve seen I haven’t liked. And Gina Gershon looks like a man.
How to make another doc about the space program unique? Take 900 hours of footage and assemble it into a tone poem, with only the slightest thread of narrative: going to the moon, coming back. All the Apollo missions (and some Gemeni) are cut together to form one general, unspecific trip to the moon. Anonymous faces flash by, no one is introduced, radio narration and after-the-fact introspection blend together. Soundtrack by Brian Eno — so that gives you an idea about what effect they were going for. And the footage is awesome. I eat this stuff up.
The original JC Superstar double album is one of the great highlights of 70s rock. It really is wonderful. The movie, quite bare when you look back at it, doesn’t do much to add to it. Although the guy playing Judas in the film is a more talented singer (Carl Anderson vs. Murray Head) the guy playing Jesus blows. Not only is Ted Neely an inferior singer to Ian Gillan, he is the wussiest looking Christ I’ve ever seen. He looks 5′2″, 90 lbs, has a lazy eye, and barely opens his mouth. Some of the dance sequences are fun in a “painting-by-JJ-from-Good-Times” kinda way, and the use of freeze-frame and such is lovingly 70s. But, truthfully, you are better off jammin’ out to the record in your basement. With big ass headphones. I now open the door to Mr. Repsher, who will detail the social signifigance the album and film had way back when.
An epic, Citizen Kane-like story of a great man’s rise and fall during 1950s Poland. Why no reviewers on the imdb came up with the nickname Comrade Kane for this movie is beyond me, so I hereby initiate that here and now. Unlike Wells’ film about a man creating his myth with his own ego and talents, Wajda’s hero is manipulated on all sides by the propaganda tools of the State. If I knew more about communist Polish history (or the 70s thaw on display in the framing device), I’d probably be able to point out specific allegories. Now here’s the real tragedy of this film. It is a lengthy epic and the first 90 minutes are absolutely fantastic. Really “A” material. The second 90 minutes are flat. What’s most troubling is that, in going over it in my mind, I am unable to pinpoint what it is about the second half that didn’t work for me. All I know is that the second half started to drag and by the last reel I was begging for the damned thing to end. I still give it a “B” because the first half really kicks ass and the whole thing is so damned unique (at least from my perspective) that it is still worth your time. Also: kitschy 70s glasses, bell bottoms, music and hairstyles abound!
I’ve seen many movies about Christ — some of them are really terrific. I’ve always enjoyed them as spectacle, as culture, even as history. But during the big martyr act at the end, I’ve never had anything resembling an emotional reaction. At the end of “Lenny,” when all Dustin Hoffman wants to do is speak human-to-human with the judge who refuses to let down the guard of Establishment for a second and discuss the fundamentals of obscenity, I feel the way Christians feel as they see Christ being led to Golgotha. The movie is great because the story is great and because Bob Fosse was artist enough to shoot it in the style of a Lenny routine — wheels within wheels, zipping back and forth in time, riffing on itself, and already hip to its own ending. If I have one complaint it is that Dustin, while funny, isn’t as funny as Lenny. And he didn’t really get the voice right. But he probably came closer to nailing it as anyone ever could. To call Lenny Bruce one of the most important thinkers of the 20th Century is no understatement. We should fight for him to be on a stamp.
Less kitschy than the usual Blaxploitation film, this police procedural features two outstanding performances from Yaphet Kotto and Anthony Quinn. Maybe it is because the rest of the film is so by the numbers (actual line of dialogue: “My way gets results!!”) that their layered performances really stand out. Worth seeing just for that and, of course, the 70s NYC location photography. Cheers to a setpiece on the still-under-construction Adam Clayton Powell State Building on 125th. Jeers to a climactic finish so blatently shot on the Lower East Side and not Lenox Ave as is repeated in the script. (You can’t see the Woolworth Building, US Federal Courthouse or World Trade Center from a roof on Lenox Ave.)
I will take this quote from ArtFilm3000, writing on the imdb: “Does a film have to be “good” to be enjoyed?” That sums it up right there. “Zardoz” is awful, yet I could not turn away. But not in the usual train wreck Ed Wood sorta way. And that is what is key. “Zardoz” has 9 million different interesting themes — preserving mankind’s knowledge, immortality, communism, death as elemental to enjoying life, telekinesis, giant flying stone heads, erections, rape rape and more rape. Unfortunately no one has bothered to sort through any of ‘em. Another cool thing: the shooting style. This is exhibit A for some of those cineastes who claim CGI is ruining the movies. Every dopey thing in this sci-fi epic is actually there on the set. Boorman employs in-camera effects, freeze-frame, slow mo and nutty editing. Also, a lot of projected images within the frame. If triangular mirrors, black rooms and early block computer fonts are your thing (cf. any planetarium from the 1980s) then you gotta check this out. Kitsch-lovers will dig Sean Connery (man, he can be a bad actor some times!) in a tight red loin cloth, showing off his unit, his gut and his hairy back all at once. That and the thunderous voice of Zardoz exclaiming “The penis is bad!!!!” I hardly ever watch movies with commentary tracks anymore, but I feel like I gotta give this one a listen. John Boorman not only directed this fabulous mess, but also wrote and produced it — so it is his baby. He’s made some terrific films (The General,” “Hope and Glory,” “Deliverance,” “Point Blank”) so I really want to hear how he rationalizes this.
Haven’t seen this since Jan 1, 2003, and now that my livelihood involves telling the occasional Boss Tweed story I thought I should check this out again. Back then I gave it a B, now I wanna bump that up to a B+. Even though the fight scene at the beginning just feels like a joke, and even though it feels like Scorsese et al were trying to cram as many cool New York Themes and Stories into their picture (cf. Summer of Sam) and, finally, if I think all that son avenging the father crap gets real tired real quick, I will say this: every frame of Daniel Day-Lewis as Bill the Butcher is priceless. One of the most fan-fucking-tabulous screen performances ever. I’ve gotten to thinkin’ that Johnny Depp was the only guy around who could do unexpected roles like this, but I’d forgotten about this. Adrian Brody won the Oscar; that was a mistake. Anyway, I rank this as one of the great bad movies.
A dry run for North By Northwest. It lacks the wit, but it has the grand scope and paranoid elements. Plus a kick-ass ending. Maybe a little ridiculous in the middle section, but the acting, while I’d never call it good, is so oddly stylized (both the villans and the hero) that watching this just a delight. Another one about sleeper cells ready to destroy us because they hate our freedom.
A sleeper cell sets off a bomb on a London Double Decker bus, eh? Maybe our current worries aren’t so unique? Sylvia Sidney is the lovely young manager of a cinema, involved in some odd marriage deal with a foreign sounding (terrorist!) husband. Will the neighboring greengrocer/Scotland Yard plant provide her with love AND prevent little Timmy from inadvertently setting off that bomb in Picadilly? At 80-something minutes, there’s nothing here that isn’t clever, captivating and edge-of-your-seat. Plus, very British.
Fog! Fog, fog and more fog! And creepy men with pancake makeup and scarves over their mouths! Hitchcock’s fourth go at filmmaking was the first he ever truly considered his. By today’s standards it is a tad lengthy and the surprises aren’t very surprising, but those who like to see beautifully shot and innovative silent films ought not to be disappointed. (The famous “through-the-floor” shot of the pacing man comes from this film.)
Hitchcock’s first talking feature has so many delights it is tough to know where to begin. The gorgeous cinematography, the oh-so-English quips, the chase through the British Museum, the opening near-silent police procedural sequence, and the famous repetition of the word “knife.” What we have in Hitchcock’s early films is the actual grammar of film being created before our eyes, and, most importantly, being created in an entertaining fashion.
I forgot to mention that last week I had a late dinner at the much celebrated Frank on 2nd Ave in the East Village. While hipsters may line up around the block to drink wine at the cramped bar or blunder their way to an empty spot around the one large table, they ought to know there is a chance that there will be a rubber band hidden in their lasagna. Furthermore, they shouldn’t expect to have the offending lasagna stricken from the bill. The food is decent, but it is crowded, hot, noisy and the manager is a cock. F that place. It’s not like it is hard to find good Italian in New York. Luckily I did meet one or two pleasant, engaging and entertaining people that night.
Pretty damned good. The arc of the story is to be what’s expected but Ang Lee wisely lets every scene play out with its message unspoken, allowing for many detailed surprises. This allows the film to be both epic and very intimate and real. Heath Ledger is terrific, even if you can’t understand half of his mumblings. One of the better movies about taboo love I’ve seen (Dear Lord, have you tried watching “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner” lately?”) Could very well be an effective polemic, though I must say that Ledger and Gyllenhaal, for all their press, do kinda wimp out; there’s no tongue in any of their kissing and virtually no skin-on-skin action.
The Diggs played so well last night at Sin-e that it sounded as if they were on the roof in summer like in this picture, ya dig? We videotaped them and recorded them on DAT, but we’ve just now discovered that our limited resources are such that we have no idea how to get the DAT recording onto our hard drives. Luckily we have until Monday to return the equipment.
I’ve gotta give props to author and fellow NYC tourguide Heather Holland Wheaton for either inventing or repeating the term GroZo in reference to any hip, new loft space going up near the 16 acre site of the World Trade Center. Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before a Whole Foods and a Bliss Spa open up. Anyone who thinks this term is offensive or inappropriate knows nothing about living in New York the past 4 years and 3 months.
