#167. Still of the Night (1982)

 

 

As you already know, if there's one genre that's almost guaranteed to enthrall me, it's neo-noir mysteries from the '70s and '80s - particularly the ones that were influenced by Hitchcock and giallo (which probably explains why I'm such a big De Palma fan). So while Still of the Night is a fairly safe and otherwise unremarkable little movie, the fact that it manages to hit all of those qualifiers means I predictably really enjoyed it.

 

Something that does marginally set this one apart, though, is the conspicuous lack of stylizations and operatics. That sounds like it should be a negative (and maybe it is; the presentation can be a little dry at times), but it allows for a simple story, some dreamy pacing, a lot of cool, crisp autumnal textures, and a quiet mood - one that makes the transition from drama to thriller to horror feel surprisingly seamless. 

 

And even if the runtime is a bit on the meager side, I think some of those later set pieces, as well as the long, single-take Meryl Streep monologue (while we're here: she's probably overqualified for this character, which causes her to feel mildly miscast, but it's nevertheless kinda cool to see her in a femme fatale role) make for a satiating experience overall.

 

Grade: A-

 

#166. Destry Rides Again (1939)

 

 

Well, now I know where Blazing Saddles got most of its inspiration from.

 

This movie's a total delight. It's quick, it's fun, and it's actually pretty ahead of its time, I would say. Like, keep in mind: Stagecoach, the John Ford classic that arguably laid the groundwork for many westerns to come, was released in 1939. And here's Destry Rides Again, made the exact same year, joyously upending conventions that weren't even fully-formed yet.

 

Granted, we're not in outright spoof territory, but the movie does use comedy to keep things fresh and subversive. The male lead is a perceived coward who relies on intellect and humility instead of guns (he's honestly got a bit of a Columbo vibe), and the female lead is a short-tempered go-getter who engages in bar brawls and mob heroics. These changes add a lot of charm and flavour, while also establishing social politics that arguably hold up better than most dramatic westerns. 

 

But I think what I like most is that the central conflict is actually played relatively straight, meaning we still get to experience the classic genre tropes (heroes, villains, palpable tension, violent showdowns) in a way that feels both believable and satisfying. There's just a great balance of genres here, which I guess is to be expected when the actors are this charismatic and the energy is this consistently high.

 

Grade: A

 

#165. Disturbia (2007)

 

 

Bum bum be-dum bum bum be-dum bum.

 

No movie with this premise is ever going to live up to the ridiculously high bar set by Rear Window, but I think Disturbia is honestly a pretty effective little teen thriller. The concept of spying on other people from the confines of your own home is an inherently cozy and suspenseful (albeit unoriginal) one, and the hyperactive, distinctly 2000s presentation provides a lot of warmth and energy.

 

Now, does every element work? Not exactly. The opening few minutes are far heavier than this kind of movie is equipped to handle (which is especially noticeable in the two or three moments where we return to this tone, because it always feels jarring and out of place), and the relationship subplot, while occasionally cute, isn't overly convincing. However, once we enter full-blown serial killer territory, the sailing immediately becomes much smoother. 

 

Part of me wishes that the later story beats were a little less predictable, but then I have to remind myself of the target audience here. And, as redundant crowd-pleasers aimed at adolescents go, I think this one's fun, occasionally tense, and actually fairly well-acted. I'd forgotten how good Shia LaBeouf could be in his younger years.

 

Grade: B+

 

P.S. The true breakout star of the movie, however, has to be David Morse's earring.

 

#164. The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945)

 

 

Regardless of your familiarity with Oscar Wilde, you can tell this movie's based on a book. The dialogue's intelligent, and the themes are potent, but the presentation is a little too stuffy for its own good. Everything's on the dry and talky side, with storytelling that simultaneously feels rushed and padded (as though some chapters are given far too much focus, while others have been ripped out entirely), and a whole lotta narration that, particularly in the middle hour, completely derails the momentum. 

 

Still, there's an old school gothic horror feel to the movie that mostly works. The cinematography, compositions, and sets are uniformly stunning, the actors (especially George Sanders) give these words some life, and the scenes featuring the actual portrait are truly unsettling. I adore the sparing-yet-striking use of colour for those insert shots, and the harsh musical stings that accompany them really add to the terror, in a proto-jump-scare kinda way. Plus, the ending is a solid payoff.

 

It's just a shame that this aspect takes such a backseat. If we spent as much time on the genre stuff as we do, say, Gray's inner turmoil, or the interchangeable romances, the movie likely would've had a much stronger hold on me.

 

Grade: B

 

#163. Labyrinth (1986)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1, though I'm no longer certain I actually saw the whole thing, because all the stuff I remembered happens in the first half.

 

My fifth grade teacher actually showed this one to us, and, in hindsight, I'm glad she did. Ten is basically the perfect age to handle a darker fairy tale while still being kinda scared by it (okay, a few elements were downright terrifying to me - particularly Bowie himself), and that sense of danger really makes the whole experience feel stirringly vivid and real. 

 

Watching the movie again over twenty years later (I didn't enjoy doing that math), it still feels vivid and real, but that's mostly because I'm now far more appreciative of the '80s creativity on display. The practical puppets are adorably tactile and full of life, and the labyrinth itself is just a fantastic series of sets and set pieces. There's a new design and creature around every corner, and they all really come together to bring this nightmarish world to life.

 

Sure, the story becomes a little repetitive here and there, and it starts to lose some steam after the Fire Gang scene (though the Relativity-inspired climax gets us back on track), but this setting is ultimately so imaginative and weird that I can live with a meandering narrative. 

 

Grade: B+

 

#162. The Grifters (1990)

 

 

This wasn't at all what I was expecting. When I heard the title and saw the cast and watched the opening scene, which introduces us to these three characters via tracking shots and split screens, I anticipated a heist movie with energy and pizzazz. Or at least something that gets into the craft and showmanship of grifting (can you tell I'm a fan of Ocean's Eleven?). But what I got instead was a downbeat neo-noir, one that lands somewhere between pulp pastiche and bleak character study.

 

That's not a bad thing, for the record. I generally like being surprised. And even if the vibes of this one are still undeniably strange (the tone, dialogue, and score feel slightly "off", and that's before we get to the incest), causing me to spend a decent chunk of the runtime wondering what the hell I was watching, there's nevertheless a dark nastiness to the mood and plot that I found somewhat intoxicating after a while - to the point where Stephen Frears's Oscar nomination started making sense to me (and the same goes for Huston and Bening, who both nail their tricky characters).

 

Certain movies tend to work better in the rear view than in real time. It's probably too early to make that judgment call with this one, but I can tell you that my thoughts on it are much more positive now than they were during the actual viewing.

 

Grade: B+

#161. Osmosis Jones (2001)

 

 

Doesn't surprise me to learn that this one bombed. I mean, I was a dumb eight-year-old in 2001, and even I wasn't especially interested in seeing it. And yet, there must've been something about the title and character design that made an impression on me, because here I was, a quarter century later, still kind of curious about what I was missing.

 

And... I actually quite enjoyed it. My younger self would've been pleasantly surprised. There's a Y2K feel to the animation, the upbeat R&B soundtrack (god, I miss this kind of music in movies), and the general sense of humour that hit my nostalgia bone, and I was really into the premise and worldbuilding. Just the concept of making characters out of human cells and organisms is genuinely clever (it's very Inside Out meets Magic School Bus), to such a degree that I'd have to imagine that the jokes and conflicts basically wrote themselves.

 

There's also some live-action stuff going on here, and while it's definitely on the lazy and lethargic side (especially given the over-reliance on gross-out humour, and the fact that Bill Murray's turning in another one of his "I'm way too good for this" performances), I still found it funny and energetic in a way that gels with the animation. But you might want to take that opinion with a few grains of salt - I'm a sucker for any movie that combines these two mediums.

Grade: B+

#160. Weapons (2025)

 

 

The guy who once walked around with a gallon of PCP turned out to be a great horror filmmaker. Who knew?

 

Actually, if you're at all familiar with comedy and horror, it makes a lot of sense. The two have a much bigger Venn diagram overlap than you might initially think (heightened emotions, anticipatory expectations, an element of surprise, etc.), and Zach "Now You Fucked Up" Cregger cleverly intertwines them to tell an electric, creative, and often hilarious tale of grief and paranoia.

 

I obviously love the tone of this one, but I'm also big on the way it uses different perspectives to slowly reveal itself. It makes for a more effective mystery, it paints a clearer and fuller picture of this suburb, and it allows for some amusing and conflicting interactions (plus, I'm just a fan of this kind of kaleidoscopic storytelling in general; it's big and messy in a way that appeals to me). The whole thing builds pretty flawlessly, and eventually pays off with a dark, emotional, and worthwhile climax.

 

As much as I enjoyed Barbarian, I think this one's a step up in almost every way, to the point that, for the first time in my life, I'm actually a little curious about a Resident Evil movie. 

 

Grade: A

 

#159. The Drowning Pool (1975)

 

 

Didn't realize this was a sequel (to a movie I've never seen) until I started reading up on it after the fact. Whoops!

 

Ah, whatever. I can't imagine I'm missing a ton of context here. The story seems pretty isolated, and the character doesn't appear to have much of a backstory (aside from the brief romance that's explained to us). Throw that on top of the fact that you've got Paul Newman playing a detective, and I was able to buy in almost immediately. 

 

Most P.I. thrillers from around this time were generally interested in some form of deconstruction, but I like that The Drowning Pool opts for a relatively direct (though still narratively complex) approach. A lot of that has to do with my transparent love of straightforward mysteries, naturally, but it also means that the protagonist can now be charming and affable in a way that doesn't feel out of place, and the story can include some genuine stakes without becoming grim or overbearing. There's a good balance here, and it generates a charisma that easily overcomes the nuts & bolts plot.

 

Also working to the movie's benefit are the sunny Louisiana setting, Gordon Willis's contrasting cinematography (lots of appealing lights and darks going on), a great title-related set piece, and a witty, intelligent script. I guess I need to add Harper to my watchlist now.

 

Grade: A-

 

#158. The Red Light Bandit (1968)

 

 

A.K.A. O Bandido da Luz Verlemha

 

I never know whether to use the English title or the one from the country of origin when it comes to these foreign-language movies. Is there a system I need to know about? Or should I just keep going with whatever Wikipedia and Letterboxd use?

 

Anyway, The Red Light Bandit, as I'm choosing to call it, is the first Brazilian (and I'm pretty sure the first South American) film I've ever seen, so I don't have a strong handle on the underground movement it was experiencing at the time. But I will say that, as an outsider, it reminds me a lot of the French New Wave, for better and for worse.

 

On the positive side, I appreciate how uninhibited and radical the movie is, with its scrappy energy, provocative commentary (I'm especially partial to those sensationalist narrators), and general emphasis on bad taste. But, on the flip side, it's also mopey and self-satisfied in the way that a lot of New Wave movies are often accused of being, with a wandering narrative approach that, while unique and expressive, tends to get in the way of the simple, character-driven premise.

 

Speaking of, my favourite portion of the movie was the opening half hour, which manages to combine young rebellion, reckless crime, dark humour, and Beethoven's 5th in a way that feels like a proto-Clockwork Orange.

 

Grade: B

 

#157. Where Danger Lives (1950)

 

 

"Lovers on the run" is generally a rock-solid premise, and while Where Danger Lives is pretty generic for the most part, I think it manages to shake up the formula just enough to keep this sparse plot fairly interesting. Our hero is bruised and confused (sustaining one of the meanest concussions in film history), our femme fatale may or may not be totally certifiable, and we're not even certain that these two actually need to be running in the first place. It's all very vague and delirious, which I kinda liked.

 

Similarly, the adventure angle allows for a few nightmarish stops, from the used car salesman to the sketchy pawnbroker to the Whiskers Week wedding (seriously, what the hell was up with that town?). Maybe these aren't the most thrilling or memorable scenes ever filmed, but I'd say that they're paced and performed capably enough to get the job done, while also being stylistically woozy and paranoid in a way that suits both the urgent tone and dazed state of mind.

 

Aside from a tragic lack of Claude Rains (which is especially inexcusable when you consider that his six minutes of screen time are easily the best ones in the movie), and the fact that the big reveal is exactly what you're expecting it to be, I was mostly along for this tight, tense, and somewhat silly little ride. 

 

Grade: B+

 

P.S. If you're a fan of Robert Mitchum's sleepy eyes, you really need to see them in action here. They're puffier and droopier than ever.

 

#156. They Live (1988)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

When I marathoned John Carpenter's filmography a few years back, They Live was actually one of my least favourites (maybe not bottom three, but close). And I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that I couldn't conflate the satire being so outlandish and on-the-nose compared to the dreary presentation. I was expecting something quick and silly in the vein of Big Trouble in Little China, and what I got instead was honestly much closer to Dark Star.

 

Now that I knew what tone to expect, though, the dryness and overall story started making a lot more sense to me. Granted, I still think the first third's a little bland and the final third's really sloppy, and the Meg Foster stuff continues to flatline for me, but I was much more compelled by the rhythmic pacing, the downright hypnotic scoring, and the arrow-straight commentary this time. This movie might not have Carpenter's usual energy, but it sure has his pulse and bitter sense of humour.

 

It also has two of the best scenes of his career, and you likely already know what I'm talking about. The first is where Roddy Piper initially puts on the sunglasses, which is just a great bit of worldbuilding. And the second is the unending alley brawl, which feels like it takes up a third of the runtime, and which is the exact brand of kinda sincere/kinda tongue-in-cheek excess that fits this movie like a glove.

 

Grade: B+

 

#155. Waiting for Guffman (1996)

 

 

As much as I try to be open-minded about different kinds of comedy, I don't think I'll ever be an improv guy. Like, I can definitely appreciate how hard it must be for actors to make up their lines as they go along, but I think that's my very issue with the format: I can almost always sense that thought process as I'm watching it, which results in material that never feels especially authentic to me.

 

Still, if there's one troupe that can be counted on to win me over, it's gotta be Christopher Guest and his band of weirdos. I've loved Best in Show for a few years now, and while I wouldn't put this one on the same level, it certainly shares many of the same strengths. The casting is obviously wonderful (you could choose any of these people as the MVP and you wouldn't be wrong), and I appreciate the simple story, which never really gets in its own way.

 

Unlike Best in Show, however, I'm not sure that I'd call this one particularly funny (though it does have its share of moments; Guest's dance moves will likely never leave my brain). But I guess it makes up for that with a similarly affectionate outlook, which makes the whole thing a lot sweeter and more likeable than your average moc.

 

Grade: B

#154. Gerald's Game (2017)

  

Like a lot of Stephen King adaptations, the premise of Gerald's Game is really strong. Honestly, just the idea of having our protagonist handcuffed to a bed in a remote cabin for most of the runtime is inherently urgent and suspenseful (while also being simplistic and primal in a way that appeals to me), and the heavy use of hallucinations is a clever means of expositing some internal dialogue. Plus, it doesn't exactly hurt that Carla Gugino sells everything as well as she does.

 

Also like a lot of King adaptations, though, the execution is... flawed. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely sloppy. The flashbacks, for example, are appropriately dark and thematic, but they're also pretty blunt and heavy-handed in the way that flashback storytelling often is (while also being a total retread of Dolores Claiborne, right down to the use of the eclipse), and the Moonlight Man subplot, creepy as it was, seemed out of place, or at least incredibly underbaked, to me. Again, neither of these directions are terrible ones, but I feel like they're a bit of a letdown in relation to the setup.

 

I did kind of enjoy the unusual epilogue, however. Like, sure, it's rushed and tonally dissonant, but I also thought it was a creative, satisfying, and well-earned note to end on - especially after being subjected to that goddamn hand scene, which got an audible "Jesus Christ..." out of me.

 

Grade: B

#153. Cop (1988)

 

 

Here's a movie that, at least story-wise, is about as generic as they come (which I suppose makes the simplistic title pretty apt), with its serial killer premise, obsessed/corrupt protagonist, and generally seedy vibe. And yet, I dunno, maybe I'm just weak to this kind of thriller in general, but I otherwise found it sturdy and atmospheric enough that these cliches didn't really bother me.

 

Part of that simply comes down to the plot, which, basic as it might be, kept me invested (I was into the mystery, the methodical presentation, and the untrustworthy characters), but I think it's ultimately the Jameses, both B. Harris and Woods, that take this one to the next level. The former uses dark cinematography, dingy settings, moody scoring, and harsh imagery to lend some noirish style to this economic procedural, and the latter is at his smarmy best, somehow managing to remain charismatic no matter how frequently or overtly he crosses the line (which is why you hire him in the first place). The result is undoubtedly trashy, but it's fun, well-crafted trash.

 

And if you're into trash as much as I am, then you'll probably agree when I say that the final line is priceless.

 

Grade: A-

 

#152. Le Boucher (1970)

 

 

A.K.A. The Butcher

 

This is one of those quiet thrillers where most of the action takes place below the surface. It's all about slow pacing and tranquil settings and blossoming romances, with the darker, stabbier stuff happening in the background (assuming we get to see it at all). But Claude Chabrol shows a clear understanding of the genre by combining Hitchcockian suspense with French New Wave cinematography to create some continual, uneasy, and free-flowing tension, which can be felt even in scenes that otherwise appear to be completely innocuous.

 

So while this means that the movie's generally pretty light on outright scares, it's still effective in the sense that you spend basically the entire runtime expecting something horrific to happen. And then, when it inevitably does, the outcome is one of the tensest third acts I've seen in a while. Granted, things don't necessarily play out in the way that you'd expect (just as the story isn't as reliant on mystery or horror as it really could've been; everything about this one is subdued and strange), but it works on a tonal and character level, while still providing the melancholic thrills that we've long been anticipating. 

 

Grade: A-

 

#151. The Fortune Cookie (1966)

 

 

A.K.A. Meet Whiplash Willie

 

You gotta respect any black & white movie that makes a direct verbal reference to Technicolor.

 

It makes sense, though. The Fortune Cookie is so sleazy and cynical (featuring a pushover, a shyster, a floozy, and a drunk as its four main characters) that it knows it doesn't deserve a colour palette. And yet, because the writing is so sharp, and because the cast is so energetic and compelling, the whole thing kept me entertained and laughing throughout.

 

Obviously, Jack Lemmon is great in this kind of role, but the true revelation here would've been Walter Matthau, who deservedly won an Oscar (and not of the Madison variety) for bringing this sly, slimy, fast-talking ambulance chaser to life. It's a wonderful performance in its own right, but it also made for some undeniable chemistry, kicking off a quasi-partnership that lasted for decades.

 

Even putting the two leads aside, though, I thoroughly enjoyed this one. The flawed-yet-endearing characters really appealed to me, as did the totally unnecessary chapter breaks, as did the gentle use of drama (which provides some Apartment-style heart and purpose). We may not be dealing with top-tier Wilder here, but I think we're actually pretty damn close.

 

Grade: A

 

#150. The Sweet Hereafter (1997)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Like most movies about grief and loss, The Sweet Hereafter isn't always an especially easy watch. You can practically feel the pain of this shattered rural community through the screen. And yet, Atom Egoyan keeps everything relatively restrained, which not only provides a grim and chilly atmosphere that perfectly reflects its vast, wintery setting, but it also creates some compelling ambiguity from a character perspective.

 

Why are these victims responding in the way that they are? Similarly, is this lawyer genuinely interested in helping them, or is he just here to absolve himself of his own domestic faults? We never fully know, which I think speaks to the way humans try (and, understandably, fail) to make sense of tragedy. And this enigmatic circumstance is made all the hazier by a fractured structure and an unresolved ending, both of which really fit on a thematic level.

 

I won't pretend that this is the kind of movie I typically gravitate towards, and I think one or two of the subplots probably could've been cut (my vote goes to the sexual abuse scene, which feels like tragedy overkill to me), but the whole thing is so ominous and provocative that I ultimately find it impossible to look away.

 

Grade: A-

 

#149. Mr. Arkadin (1955)

 

 

A.K.A. Confidential Report

 

With the obvious exceptions of Citizen Kane and Touch of Evil, Orson Welles as a director kinda frustrates me. I'll watch a movie like Mr. Arkadin, and I can absolutely see the strokes of genius - it's there in the non-linear storytelling, the unusual camera angles, and the uses of light and shadow. And yet, there's also something laboured and unsatisfying about it, which always keeps my enjoyment at arm's length.

 

Much of that probably comes down to the script, which is so confounding and nonsensical that I struggled to get attached to anything. But I also couldn't quite get past the surprisingly sloppy execution, which includes obvious dubbing, rushed pacing, clumsy narration, and chopping editing. And even if you can blame those on the studio, that doesn't explain the bland characters and wooden performances.

 

It's a real shame, because, again, you can see the potential buried underneath these shortcomings. But promise and goodwill only go so far, and this one is simply too all over the place (or, if we're being less charitable, downright unfinished) for it not to ultimately feel like another Welles work that comes up just short. 

 

Grade: B-

#148. LaRoy, Texas (2023)

 

 

Something I'm starting to learn about myself: I kinda like ripoffs, or at least the ones that understand their influences well enough to effectively replicate them.

 

LaRoy, Texas is, in pretty much every regard, a poor man's Coen Brothers movie. The similarities are simply unmistakable. I challenge you to watch it and not constantly be reminded of Fargo, The Big Lebowski, and No Country for Old Men. But here's the thing: the Coen Brothers are possibly my all-time favourite filmmakers, and they aren't making anything like this anymore (or anything at all, if we're discussing them as a duo), so I'll take this kind of movie any way I can get it. 

 

And, honestly, judging it on its own merits, I think it works really well. Sure, it's not exactly on the level of those three Coen comparables, but it still has a compelling and riveting story, a fun collection of characters and performances (Steve Zahn, as you may have guessed, is the runaway standout; oh, how I've missed that guy), a fitting sense of humour, and a strong understanding of pacing and mood. Plus, there's a palpable air of melancholy throughout, which lends enough weight and significance that the movie ultimately feels like far more than just a pale imitation to me.

 

Grade: A-

 

#147. Cosmopolis (2012)

 

 

You'd think that my being a Canadian would automatically make me a David Cronenberg fan, but that hasn't really proven to be the case. In fact, with two or three notable exceptions, most of his work has always come off as undercooked and largely impenetrable to me. And this might be the single worst example yet.

 

For the first hour or so of its runtime, I was seriously wondering if Cosmopolis would land among my all-time least favourite movies. Absolutely nothing about it was working for me, from the empty and unnatural dialogue to the flavourless and interchangeable characters to the repellent visuals to the general sense of superiority that can be felt throughout. The whole thing exhausted me in record time, to the point where I was worried that I might not even make it to the finish line.

 

But then, in the last third or so, I found that the movie became, if not good, then at least somewhat watchable. Both the barber scene and especially the final confrontation managed to hold my attention and not irritate me too much (such is the unsung prowess of Paul Giamatti), enough so that I felt it ended this sour experience on a relative high note. I still think the movie's pointless and incoherent and far too pleased with itself, but I can now kinda sorta understand why it has a minor following.

 

Also, yes, that car is pretty cool - both in design and as a piece of symbolism. 

 

Grade: C

 

#146. Session 9 (2001)

 

 

As the real estate saying goes: location, location, location.

 

The main character of Session 9 is the asylum that it takes place in. With its majestic exterior and creepy, run-down interior, you could film pretty much any horror story here and it would probably be effective. And I think that's why I like the fact that this movie's execution is so simple: no matter how much time we spend watching these guys walk down long, dark hallways, it always creates some palpable tension and paranoia.

 

Brad Anderson's decision to shoot the entire thing on digital video also goes a long way. This look definitely takes some getting used to, and we're not exactly in "every frame's a painting" territory here, but it nevertheless gives the movie a grounded, quasi-realistic, almost Blair Witch feel, which meshes incredibly well with both the unsettling mood and the everyday characters.

 

I'm not entirely convinced that this one fully sticks the landing (certain aspects of the ending aren't super satisfying, and the connection between the intertwining narratives feels kinda tenuous to me), but the build-up is so sinister and well-crafted that I still generally find it to be a worthy exercise in fear and dread.

 

Grade: B+

 

#145. Mad Love (1935)

 

 

A.K.A. The Hands of Orlac 

 

I knew I was in for a uniquely deranged time when the opening credits abruptly ended with a clenched fist punching through a window.

 

Mad Love is a bold and perverse little movie, at least by Old Hollywood standards. It's kinda slight overall (coming in at a sparse sixty-eight minutes), and it doesn't quite give itself the time necessary to fully develop every one of its competing plot threads, but it sure is an effective genre piece. The subject matter is fun and pulpy, Peter Lorre really outdoes himself on the creepiness front (especially when you combine those enormous eyes with the eggiest of bald heads), and there are a good seven or eight supporting parts adding to the flavour, including Charlie Chan's son, a reporter straight out of Batman '89, and a somewhat role-reversed Colin Clive.

 

What really sets this one apart, though, is the strong visual style. Karl Freund brings everything to life through his unique combination of German Expressionist and Universal Horror sensibilities, and Gregg Toland proves that he always knew how to capture dark shadows and creative angles (if you've ever found yourself looking for a link between Metropolis, Dracula, and Citizen Kane, here it is). Everyone's playing at the same heightened level here, and it results in a zany-yet-macabre thrill ride.

 

Grade: A-

 

#144. Phenomenon (1996)

 

 

After a decade-plus of cinematic irony poisoning, there's something about a sweet, sincere little fantasy-drama from the '90s that feels like a breath of fresh air.

 

That's not to say that Phenomenon is a phenomenal movie or anything. It's sappy and silly and likely not super memorable, but I guess I'm just a sucker for a small scale and some genuine heart. I like the fact that this script introduces its sci-fi element without any explanation, I like watching George slowly learn how to utilize his new gifts, and I just generally like the movie's charming vibe, from the autumnal rural setting to the prominent soundtrack to the simplistic-yet-wholesome characters. It's all very approachable and cute to me.

 

I'm a bit more mixed on the third act, though, where the tone suddenly becomes strangely heavy (especially in relation to the opening hour). I would've preferred to see things remain pleasant and airy, but this sudden shift does gel with the schmaltziness of the movie's overall presentation, while also shining a light on its themes, so I suppose I can live with it. Also probably helps that we've got actors like John Travolta, Robert Duvall, Kyra Sedgwick, and Forest Whitaker to bring everything home.

 

Grade: B+

 

#143. Yojimbo (1961)

 

 

A.K.A. The Bodyguard

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Of the handful of Akira Kurosawa movies I've seen, this one's probably my least favourite, but that doesn't mean that I don't still think it's pretty great. 

 

Like, you did hear me say the words "Akira Kurosawa", right? Of course the movie's pretty great. Not really sure what else there is to say. I guess I'll add that, especially relative to the other acclaimed filmmakers from around this time, the guy's work tends to hold up from an entertainment perspective. I personally don't think Yojimbo is quite as consistently engaging as his best material (the second quarter kinda drags for me), but it's still tense and exciting in all the ways you'd want from a renowned action-thriller, while also being goofy enough to make for a passable comedy.

 

This is also just a great premise. When you see these two competing crime lords fight for the town's supremacy, you're not only inherently compelled by the conflict, but you immediately find yourself on the side of this loner who wants to wipe both of them out. And it sure doesn't hurt that the loner is played by Toshiro Mifune, who has more aura than pretty much any actor in the history of film.

 

So, yeah, just to restate the obvious: great performances, great compositions, great cinematography, and great uses of movement. It's really not hard to see why everyone's still borrowing from these guys over sixty years later.

 

Grade: A-

 

#142. Ali (2001)

 

 

I think what I like most about this movie is that it knows how the boilerplate biopic formula should be presented.

 

When you stretch a narrative over the course of ten years, it tends not to work especially well as drama. And that's arguably the case here: we don't get much insight into Ali's state of mind, most of the subplots (especially the ones involving Drew Brown and Malcolm X) are extremely underdeveloped, and it all starts to feel very connect-the-dots after a while.

 

But what Michael Mann gets is that this episodic structure lends itself much better to montage than it ever could to realism. So he instead turns the whole thing into a hazy, impressionistic spectacle, using music and vivid imagery and a feverish blend of film and digital cinematography (those nighttime workout scenes really anticipate Collateral and Miami Vice) to create a brooding, soulful, myth-making whirlwind. We may not learn a whole lot about this man, but it's incredibly easy to see why he was bigger and more legendary than any of us could ever hope to be.

 

Bit of a shame that this style peaks so early in the movie, though. Those first fifteen minutes are so striking and stimulating that the remainder really has nowhere to go but down.

 

Grade: A-

#141. Thieves' Highway (1949)

 

 

Can't say I've ever seen a movie depict societal corruption through a crooked produce dealer before. That's certainly a new one.

 

Otherwise, though, Thieves' Highway is a pretty standard little noir, albeit still a good one. I was truthfully hoping for more of a straightforward revenge movie, or perhaps a truck thriller in the style of Wages of Fear, but I suppose the more low-key story about exploitation, greed, and apples, while less explosive than the other two directions, is still tense and character-driven in most of the ways that matter. 

 

What helps are a few of the supporting players. Lee J. Cobb is great in any role that requires him to scream at people, and there's something about Valentina Cortese's cool and effortless charm that I find mesmerizing. Both actors give these characters, and the world around them, a lot of flavour, and they - along with Jules Dassin and his crisp direction - really add to the movie's dark and cynical tone.

 

Many people seem to take issue with the ending, but it didn't really bother me. Like, yeah, the cops suddenly barging in and chastising our hero for not being a law-abiding citizen is obviously dreadful, but, notwithstanding, I can accept this kind of all-too-neat conclusion if I feel as though our heroes have earned it. And, in this case, I do.

 

Grade: B+

 

#140. Trauma (1993)

 

 

Were I to ever become a filmmaker (it's not gonna happen, but let's pretend for a second), Dario Argento would probably be my biggest influence. I love everything about this guy's deranged aesthetic, from the hypnotic imagery to the beautiful women to the gloved psychos to the twisted kills to the disjointed-yet-strangely-fitting scores. If this formula could be distilled into a drug, I'd inject it into my veins on a concerning basis.

 

That's not to say that all of his movies are masterpieces, though. Once we reach the mid-to-late '90s, the quality seemed to fall off a cliff. And you can already see it a bit in Trauma, which did come out before that expiration date, but which (along with Two Evil Eyes) started to show a few cracks in the foundation. The tone is all over the place, the music is pretty lackluster, and the plotting is kinda clumsy. If you aren't generally into weird giallo nightmares, then you're likely to find the movie a total mess.

 

As someone who is into weird giallo nightmares, however, I think this one's still a real winner. I love the mystery, the suspense, the rain-soaked atmosphere, the final reveal, and the fact that Piper Laurie and Brad Dourif randomly show up in small parts (doesn't it just feel right to see them in this kind of movie?). It might not quite have the same consistency, cinematography, or scoring of Argento's best works, but those stylishly irresistible fundamentals are still strong enough that my enjoyment was never in jeopardy.

 

Grade: A-

 

#139. Rango (2011)

 

 

As studio-backed animated films go, this is certainly a strange one. Even on just a visual level, I'm not really sure how I feel about it. The character designs are hideous, frankly, but Gore Verbinski also manages to bring a lot of life to the movie through detailed lighting and well-realized environments. Most of it pops off the screen - even, on occasion, the ugly freak creatures that inhabit it.

 

Shifting our attention to the story, it's not quite as memorable or unique as I'd like (especially in regards to the Liar Revealed plot, which has always, by far, been my least favourite kids' movie trope), but I love that it's willing to take its time and really bask in this blistering setting. No matter how ridiculous the action or comedy gets, there's a measured pace to the movie that captures the essence of westerns in a way that actually kinda surprised me.

 

When it comes to this medium, I'll always be partial to the likes of Disney and Pixar (forgive me, I was brainwashed from a very young age), but I can absolutely appreciate a big-budget animated movie that seeks to do something different. Especially when the results are this bizarre.

 

Grade: B+

#138. Veronika Voss (1982)

 

 

A.K.A. The Longing of Veronika Voss

 

She is big. It's the pictures that got small.

 

Veronika Voss is about a washed-up actress who is desperately trying to cling to her ever-decreasing relevance, and is slowly being driven insane in the process. It's basically the German Sunset Boulevard (which is to say that it's heavier on experimentation and lighter on humour), with huge emotions and striking visuals to match. In particular, I love those sterile white environments, which coldly and clinically reflect this poor woman's controlled state of mind.

 

Unlike Sunset Boulevard, though, the movie's not quite as focused, tonally or narratively, as I'd like. Rainer Werner Fassbinder (maybe the most German name I've ever heard) has a lot of interesting ideas, but many of them seem to get slightly lost in the shuffle, especially the ones regarding love and addiction. And while the subplot with the evil doctor is easily the most compelling conflict in the movie, it's so cartoonish and over-the-top that I'm not sure how well it gels with everything else.

 

Still, it all works on a stylistic level (the use of lighting here is fantastic), and most of it works on an emotional level. Whatever issues I have with this one, there's a sad cruelness to it that's likely to stick with me.

 

Grade: B 

 

P.S. This is the last place I expected to hear "The Battle of New Orleans". It really works, though, in an unusual, almost nightmarish kinda way.

 

#137. 12 Monkeys (1995)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

I've long been curious to see if a rewatch would make this movie click for me. Now that I've seen it again, I guess the answer is "kinda".

 

At the very least, I can agree that this is an intriguing and creative portrait of a dystopian future. I love the unique takes on time travel, reality, and memory, and it's always nice to see Bruce Willis give a shit in something (though I still think he comes up short next to Madeleine Stowe and Brad Pitt). Plus, while Terry Gilliam's grotesque and eccentric style isn't generally my thing, it clearly suits this world pretty well, and establishes an unnerving atmosphere that looms large over the entire story.

 

My problem, though, is that this story still doesn't really do it for me. Despite the intelligent premise, I just don't think it plays out in an interesting or thoughtful way. The plot gets muddled very quickly, the many attempts at complicating the structure feel kinda tryhard to me, and, despite both of these traits, the twists are somehow far too telegraphed (I remember calling this one on my first viewing). There's a really solid foundation here, but I ultimately find myself struggling to care about much of what's going on - which is pretty crazy when you consider how high the stakes are.

 

So... yeah. Still mostly torn on this one. I don't think it'll ever fully be my thing, but I can absolutely appreciate the clever ideas and compelling visuals, and I totally get why so many people love it.

 

Grade: B

 

#136. Civil War (2024)

 

 

Any movie with "sensory overload" as its default setting is one that will probably appeal to me, and Civil War is no different. This whole experience is anxiety-inducing, from the vivid imagery to the intense sound design to the general sense of panic and uncertainty throughout. And I like that this feeling only intensifies as we travel deeper and deeper into this nightmarish hellscape.

 

As for the political stuff, I can see why it divided audiences, but I was mostly okay with it. Like, sure, there's not a ton of depth or even commentary here (with results that feel slightly hollow in hindsight), but I appreciate the fact that the movie doesn't make many definitive statements. It's less preachy that way, and I think it fits with the ethics (or lack thereof) of these photojournalist characters.

 

There were a few aspects that didn't really work for me (the murky visual style isn't to my taste, a few of the plot developments struck me as dumb and contrived, and I think the story loses something once we reach D.C.), but, on the whole, I found this to be a riveting, eerie, and mournful little dystopian thriller.

 

Grade: B+

#135. Confidence (2003)

 

 

We've stumbled onto another one of my guilty pleasure subgenres: flashy heist movies that think they're a lot more clever than they really are.

 

Confidence is, in almost every regard, unoriginal. The plot, convoluted as it is, is generally pretty predictable, the characters are all total cutouts with zero personality beyond maybe a single quirk, and you can sense the influences (ranging from Mamet to Soderbergh to Guy Ritchie) at all times. Also, this one's a bit of a nitpick, but I have no idea why so many crime movies from around this time felt the need to give everything away via far-too-revealing foreshadowing openers. Awful trend.

 

Like I said, though, I'm an incredibly easy mark with this stuff. So, sure, the movie's derivative and surface-level, but it's also a stylish, slickly-made little caper, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have fun with it. James Foley's colourful and assured direction really appealed to me (though the editing could've used a tad more restraint; the whole thing feels like it was put together by Hoffman's character), as did the impressive and charismatic lineup of character actors, as did the playful tone, as did the neatly-packaged storytelling. Mediocre Ocean's Eleven is still a good time in my eyes.

 

Plus, it ends with "Clocks" by Coldplay. How can I dislike any movie from 2003 that ends with "Clocks" by Coldplay?

 

Grade: B+

 

#134. Anna Karenina (1935)

 

 

I've never read Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, nor have I previously watched any other adaptations of this story, nor did I know anything about it. This was a viewing without any basis of comparison. But if I'm judging the material based solely on what I saw here, let's just say that I'm not in a hurry to buy the book.

 

Yeah, sorry, but this one didn't really do it for me. Greta Garbo is a decent choice for the lead, and the sets and costumes are appropriately opulent, but the characters and their relationships didn't interest me in the slightest. This movie's simply too stodgy and pared-down for a romance on this level. And it doesn't help that the dialogue has zero character, or that most scenes feel like they're only here so we can get from A to B.

 

We do start and end pretty strong, though, which helps. The opening banquet is a decent standout (the best visual of the movie is that tracking shot down the lengthy dining table), as is the drinking scene (honestly, given the cast, the short runtime, and the studio restrictions, I'm wondering if the movie would've worked better as a comedy). And the ending is somewhat effective. But that eighty-minute chunk in between is mostly a passionless slog.

 

Grade: C+

 

#133. The Hanging Tree (1959)

 

 

Part of what made the '50s such a great decade for westerns was a willingness to get substantially grayer with character and theme. So even if The Hanging Tree hits a lot of familiar notes (the movie reminds me a lot of something Anthony Mann would've made), it still manages to feel fresh and modern thanks to its moral ambiguities and darker tones.

 

I think the casting of Gary Cooper also plays a role in this. We're so used to him being the flawless hero that it's immediately compelling to see him in a more mysterious light. Granted, Doc Frail is mostly good in his nature, but that manipulative, controlling side is always present, enough so that you begin to question the role this guy played in his own backstory. Makes for a strong protagonist, as well as an endearing romance - especially because Elizabeth sees right through him (even when she can't actually see).

 

More than anything, though, I just love the style of these classics. This is a western that you can really bask in, with its beautifully-photographed scenery, slow-yet-captivating pacing, and superb staging. And I think every movie's better off with an on-the-nose title song, no matter how much it clashes with the overall mood.

 

Grade: A-

 

#132. Dragged Across Concrete (2018)

 

 

If I'm engaged by what's going on, I can absolutely enjoy a slow burn. Dragged Across Concrete is over two-and-a-half hours long, has a languid pace, and spends large swaths of the runtime on scenes that most movies wouldn't even think to include (the Jennifer Carpenter segment is the most obvious example). And yet I savoured basically every minute of it.

 

Granted, this is a crime thriller starring Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn, so I was more or less on the movie's side before the word go, but there's still something about the way it paces and unravels itself that really worked for me. The characters are so well-drawn, the action is so swift and unflinching, and the storytelling is so tense and colourful (black's a colour, right?) that the whole thing feels airtight, even when it drags.

 

Plus, for a movie this bleak, dark, and unapologetic in its worldview, it's got a surprisingly solid hangout vibe. The stakeout sequences, in particular, are among the best I've ever seen. Between the patience of the writing, the quality of the acting, and the stakes of the situation, you really begin to experience the boredom, frustration, and uncertainty of their dilemma, and you find yourself hoping that the long wait is worth it.

 

As far as payoffs are concerned, I'd say it is.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. Those masked robbers are the stuff of nightmares, but I couldn't get past the fact that one of them sounds exactly like Aaron Eckhart. Seriously, watch the movie and tell me you don't hear it.

 

#131. Postcards from the Edge (1990)

 

 

Based on the largely autobiographical novel by Carrie Fisher, Postcards from the Edge gets most of its charge from having two legendary actresses essentially play two other legendary actresses. Meryl Streep is the Fisher surrogate, while Shirley MacLaine steps in for Debbie Reynolds, and both do a wonderful job of capturing their characters'/actresses' eccentricities.

 

The movie itself is a bit looser in its story and structure than you might expect, but I mostly see this as a positive. While it generally lacks the bite that comes with material surrounding fame and addiction, and you get the feeling that we're barely scratching the surface of these individuals, the lighter and somewhat detached tone makes for an easy, likeable watch. And it gives the leads a unique relationship. These two might make up, but you could easily see them falling into the same exact traps all over again, which gives both characters some honest and agreeable complexities. 

 

Even if you're not into the drama, though, this one's still worth watching for the sharp writing, the murderers' row of a supporting cast, and the showstopping finale, where Streep performs the hell out of "I'm Checking Out".

 

Grade: B+