#245. Appaloosa (2008)

 

 

Appaloosa? Wasn't that the name of the woman from Purple Rain?

 

It's easy to see why this one didn't make bank. 2008 was a year of fast and fun blockbusters, so casual audiences likely weren't interested to see a slow, atmospheric throwback western. I know that's how I felt at the time. But now that I've developed a greater appreciation for westerns (and slower stuff in general), I can say I enjoyed it more than I probably would've as a fifteen-year-old.

 

No, the movie doesn't contribute much to its genre, and no, it doesn't quite have my preferred texture (there's something crisp and clean about the sets and cinematography that scans as false to me), but I think it otherwise generally pulls off the modest goals it sets for itself. The scenery's vast, the conflicts sizzle, and the violence comes fast and lethal, which makes up for the lack of visual legitimacy.

 

And while a few of the performances don't entirely work for me (Jeremy Irons is uncharacteristically benign, and Renée Zellweger looks a bit out of place), the central dynamic between Ed Harris and Viggo Mortensen provides the necessary charisma. I was already aware that these guys had solid chemistry thanks to A History of Violence, but they're finally given the opportunity to shine as a pair here, and they make for a compelling, and cool, tandem.

 

Grade: B

#244. The Conjuring (2013)

 

 

Haunted house movies have never ranked very high on my list of horror subgenres (mainly because I don't believe in ghosts), but I can still find them effective if they keep things simple and sincere. And that's why something like The Conjuring works for me: it doesn't subvert a single trope, but it commits so hard to the material and atmosphere that the scares feel earned.

 

Sure, this means a lot of scenes where characters investigate strange noises and occurrences, but James Wan's direction is subtle and restrained enough to pull these moments off. Plus, they're generally restricted to the first half. Once the demonologists arrive, the approach becomes hands-on and investigative, with a team dynamic at play, both of which made the story much more enjoyable and compelling to me.

 

Also, you have no idea how relieved I was to see that the conflict was almost never interpersonal. So often in these movies, we get way too many scenes where characters either don't believe each other, or start behaving differently and no one catches on, and it's just nice to see one take the level-headed route. Makes for a more satisfying watch, and it also causes me to actually want the best for these characters, which inherently raises the stakes.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. I spent most the movie waiting to see Patrick Wilson notice that Darth Maul-looking guy in the mirror, only to remember near the end that this happens in Insidious.

 

#243. They Drive by Night (1940)

 

 

A.K.A. The Road to Frisco

 

Bit of an interesting structure to this one. The opening half is centered around two brothers who transport goods across the country, avoid loan sharks, and try to work on their home lives. But then, a good chunk of the way through, we're suddenly introduced to a trucking business owner and his wife, the latter of whom basically becomes the main character once she decides to go after one of the brothers. 

 

Much like this wife character, the movie is arguably guilty of wanting to have its cake and eat it too. The pair of storylines don't have a whole lot in common on a character or thematic level (though I guess they both reflect the dangers of this lifestyle), the tone is kind of all over the place, and certain aspects of the story - particularly Bogart's subplot - fall a bit by the wayside.

 

In all honesty, though, I don't really consider this stuff to be actively detrimental. On the contrary, I actually think they keep the energy fresh, the pacing lively, and the plot unpredictable. And between the sharp writing, Raoul Walsh's solid workmanship, and Ida Lupino's compellingly maniacal performance, the movie not only manages to maintain its momentum, but kicks into an even higher gear once we reach the third act.

 

Grade: A-

#242. Good Will Hunting (1997)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

I had extremely fraught feelings on this one the first time I saw it. The smooth storytelling, powerful acting, and general schmaltziness mostly appealed to me, but I simply couldn't stand the main character, whose insufferably smug attitude irritated me to the point where I genuinely struggled to watch him, let alone root for him.

 

After a second viewing, I can definitely see why I felt that way (the scene with the Michael Bolton guy is such power fantasy horseshit that it still makes me cringe), but I was more appreciative of Will's arc this time around. The opening collection of vignettes does some great work to subtly establish his psychological and intellectual complexities, and the fact that everyone around him responds so differently to his behaviour helps to explain his questionable choices. I still don't know if I like the guy, but I think I at least understand him a bit better now.

 

And besides, it's hard for me to remain annoyed when every other element has this much warmth to it. Damon and Affleck's writing remains emotionally authentic despite some overwrought dramatics, both Williams and Skarsgård elevate the story's resonance via their maturity and weariness, and Gus Van Sant captures the bittersweet tone with a keen sense of melancholy (even if using Elliot Smith is kind of a cheat code). Put it all together, and you've basically got the cinematic equivalent of a warm hug.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. I don't think I ever noticed just how short Robin Williams was before now. Speaks to his force of personality, I guess.

#241. Southland Tales (2006)

 

 

If I were to rank every movie I've reviewed based solely on how weird they are, Southland Tales would easily win out. I don't even know what second place would be (Bubba Ho-Tep? Vanilla Sky? Bugonia?), but, whatever it is, it wouldn't come especially close.

 

Like, at least those other movies are mostly coherent. This one's so vague and impenetrable that it often borders on becoming unwatchable. Combine that with the smug satire and the self-important writing, and I can understand why it's also one of the more divisive movies I've seen thus far. Honestly, there were many moments, especially in the opening hour, where I came close to dismissing the whole thing as a pretentious waste of time.

 

And yet, I dunno, something about the bizarro presentation started to click with me after a while. That's not to say that the movie suddenly becomes great or anything, but more that I simply had no choice but to respect the sheer madness, ambition, creativity, and moderately prophetic commentary on display. By the time Justin Timberlake began lip syncing to The Killers, I was just like "Okay, Richard. You win."

 

Grade: B

 

P.S. One thing I unambiguously appreciate is the against-type casting. If you think The Rock, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Seann William Scott, and Jon Lovitz are one-dimensional actors... you're probably right, but at least we're seeing them attempt something different here.

 

#240. Big Hero 6 (2014)

 

 

Despite my enduring affection for animated Disney movies, I haven't exactly done a stellar job of keeping up with the new releases. In the last twenty years, the only ones I'd seen were Wreck-It Ralph and Frozen, so I thought it was about time I got around to another one. And I settled on Big Hero 6, mainly because the big, fluffy robot always looked so adorable to me.

 

Now that I've watched it: yeah, he absolutely is adorable. I'd almost certainly die for Baymax if I had one in real life. But he's not the only draw here. The story's also really sweet and likeable (even if the message is a bit overstated in the early goings), and the visual aesthetics are extremely crisp and clean. I especially love how fluid everything is, as well as the colourful, futuristic setting that combines elements of Tokyo and San Francisco.

 

Granted, I'm still writing this in the midst of my superhero fatigue, so a few of the action sequences caused me to slightly disengage, but I enjoyed the animation, meta humour, and cute character dynamics enough to have an extremely fun time. Plus, this is the first movie on the blog that made me cry (damn you, Disney), so I can't pretend that the emotional aspects - no matter how manipulative - didn't work on me.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. If there's one major minus here, it's gotta be the villain. Dude might genuinely be in the running for least interesting Disney baddie, right up there with the governor from Pocahontas.

 

Five Frames

 

Part 1: On with the show, this is it

 

#239. Something Wild (1986)

 

 

For roughly the first forty-five minutes of this movie, I was having a decent enough time. I liked the rom-com premise, the charming chemistry between Jeff Daniels and Melanie Griffith, and the impulsive spirit, but the experience as a whole wasn't exactly rocking my world, either, and there were moments where I found myself thinking that both the script and the jokes were starting to wear a bit thin.

 

Then Ray Liotta showed up.

 

The second this dude appears on screen, everything shifts. The mood immediately becomes dark and dangerous, the stakes increase exponentially, and I suddenly found myself far more invested in the plot. Even if this change is only here to add some fresh conflict, I was thrilled to go along with it, and I think the fact that Liotta pulled it off while still fitting the manic tone really speaks to his abilities as an actor. 

 

It also, of course, speaks to Jonathan Demme's abilities as a filmmaker. His fearless approach is so consistently energetic and eccentric that I think the moods blend pretty seamlessly. Plus, I'm just a sucker for sudden-yet-smooth left turns in general, and I like my comedies on the darker side to begin with, so I guess it was an easy sell in my case. Makes the journey that much quirkier, that much scarier, and, ultimately, that much more romantic.

 

Grade: A

#238. The War of the Worlds (1953)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Let's start with the positive: this is probably the most visually stunning sci-fi movie to come out of the '50s. The use of Technicolor brings a lot of beauty and legitimacy to the concept, and it causes these already impressive effects (the ships, the creatures, the death rays, and the explosions all look amazing) to pop that much more.

 

Unfortunately, as predictable as this may sound, the human stuff is where the movie continues to lose me. While the sheer volume of destruction is enough to provide some adequate stakes, and the tight nature of the script mostly keeps things from getting too draggy, the characters are simply vacuums of personality (which isn't exactly helped by the performances), and it quickly causes me to disengage with what should be a fun story.

 

Similarly, the resolution's a total letdown (I can still recall laughing out loud the first time I saw it), but it mostly gels with the hokiness at play, while also wrapping things up fairly tidily, so I won't complain about that one. Instead, I'll say that, despite the bulk of this thing being a bit silly and dated for my liking, I can at least respect how influential the technical and genre components have proven to be.

 

Grade: B-

 

#237. Kwaidan (1964)

 

 

A.K.A. Ghost Stories

 

About halfway through this movie, I was convinced that I was going to give it an A+. Like, just the concept of a horror anthology made out of four folklore tales was enough to immediately win my affection, and then both "The Black Hair" and "The Woman of the Snow" absolutely floored me with their slow-yet-mesmerizing pace, eerie moods, and heightened, artificial backdrops.

 

Unfortunately, the final two stories bring it from "all-time masterpiece" to merely "extremely great" for me. I thought "Hoichi the Earless" lacked the colour and rhythm of the first two, and "In a Cup of Tea" lacked the weight. They're both decent segments in their own right, but I think it might've been a wise choice to subtract twenty minutes from the former and add twenty minutes to the latter.

 

Regardless, though, it's quite the accomplishment. Between the subject matter, the style, the scarce dialogue, and the slightly off-kilter movements, the whole thing feels like a weird dream. And the scope and imagery are just wonderful. Maybe I'll eventually come around to those last two stories, but, even if I don't, I can already tell that the first two are going to be more than enough to bring me back.

 

Grade: A

 

#236. Nickelodeon (1976)

 

 

Even when he's making a slapstick comedy like Nickelodeon, there's something about Peter Bogdanovich's style that I find strangely lifeless. The staging and stunts are solid, but there's not much visual flair to speak of (though I do concede that monochrome look helps), the story quickly runs out of steam, the attempts at sentimentality don't work at all, and the whole thing just comes off quaint and insignificant as a result.

 

I'm similarly not especially crazy about the comedy, but, funnily enough, it's for the exact opposite reason. There's simply too much excess. These hijinks never give you a chance to breathe, and there's rarely any room to react to anything. Combine that with the overbearing sound design that accompanies every single pratfall (like, maybe there's a reason why this subgenre worked best in the silent era), and it feels like sensory overload at times.

 

And, look, it's easy to appreciate Bogdanovich's obvious enthusiasm for the material. I like the desert setting, the period detail, and the way it captures the "innocence" of the era (Birth of a Nation looks a tad more respectable when you remove all the Klan stuff). But when everything else is bloated and/or bland, I just don't think it translates to a very wistful or even interesting product.

 

Grade: C+

#235. La Bête Humaine (1938)

 

 

A.K.A. The Human Beast and Judas Was a Woman

 

It's funny: for a movie that literally includes "Human" in the title, La Bête Humaine seems to be equally fascinated by train mechanics. But that's certainly not a complaint; trains are among my favourite movie settings/objects, and they'd be even more common if I had my way. So Jean Renoir definitely got off on the right foot with me by making the entire opening a near-wordless train sequence.

 

After that, we largely settle into a proto-noir (or Re-noir, if you will) story of plotting and guilt, the kind where every major character is a horrible person and where most of them end up even worse than they started. Some elements are a bit underdeveloped for my liking (like Lantier's homicidal outbursts, or Roubaud's descent into jealousy), but the tone makes up for that, with atmosphere so bleak and foreboding that it feels almost profound for 1938.

 

Otherwise, I think the strongest element here is the central relationship between Lantier and Séverine, precisely because the two have such little chemistry. It adds to Lantier's sense of isolation, it raises the question of whether Séverine was actually into him or simply using him (which is kept open-ended by Simone Simon's wonderfully vague performance), and it amplifies the shades of pessimism and fatalism throughout.

 

Grade: A-

 

#234. Frost/Nixon (2008)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Man, remember when American presidents could actually face the consequences of their actions? What a wild concept.

 

For the most part, Frost/Nixon is a safe and unadventurous historical drama (what else would you expect with Ron Howard behind the camera?), but the execution's smooth and direct enough that I find the whole thing really compelling. It just builds and builds in a way that feels both suspenseful and effortless, and it's not long before I'm gripped by a bunch of interviews that have already taken place.

 

Helps, too, that the movie humanizes these two people to the degree that it does. Nixon is correctly presented as a lying criminal, but there's a self-loathing loneliness to this depiction that gives the man some unexpected depth (and I like that Frank Langella does his own interpretation, rather than just an impression). And despite Frost coming off like a vapid playboy, you can sense his frustrations and inner turmoil at all times, and it lends that much more weight to the stakes of the story.

 

I don't know if I'm completely sold on the faux-documentary style (in my opinion, it detracts from the overall simplicity), and a few of the more sensational moments don't quite convince, but I think this is an otherwise impressive dramatization, with a strong central conflict, a good sense of rhythm, and a likeable team dynamic.

 

Grade: A-

 

#233. Steve Jobs (2015)

 

 

There's this thing that always happens to me when I watch a movie written by Aaron Sorkin. For roughly the first fifteen or twenty minutes, I'll roll my eyes at the breakneck pacing and all-too-witty dialogue, and I start to wonder if his charm has finally worn off. But then, without fail, I find myself slowly getting sucked into his story and characters, and I end the movie thinking "that son of a bitch did it again."

 

Steve Jobs is a heavily fictionalized biopic in the vein of The Social Network and Moneyball, and while it's not quite as flawless as those comparables, the strengths are pretty much identical: keen structuring (and I love that it's broken up into three distinct parts, all centered around press conferences), sharp back and forth, and an emphasis on emotional truth over facts. Once I was on its side, I was captivated the entire way - especially in the confrontational third act.

 

But it's not just Sorkin. Danny Boyle and cinematographer Alwin Küchler capture the screenplay's energy by implementing three different film formats (16 mm, 35 mm, and digital) to make each era unique, and Michael Fassbender, Seth Rogen, Jeff Daniels, and especially Kate Winslet bring these words to life with some killer performances. And the result is yet another in a long line of elegant-yet-complex products to carry the Jobs name.

 

Grade: A-

 

#232. Used Cars (1980)

 

 

Watching this one, it's clear to me that Robert Zemeckis always had an aptitude for cartoon zaniness. Used Cars might be a bit more raucous and inconsistent than much of what came later, but the energetic humour and chaotic set pieces (I'm starting to notice that car stunts peaked in the early '80s) showcase a young talent who's not afraid to get wildly creative with scripts and visuals.

 

This enthusiasm also allows the movie to remain dark and cynical without getting unbearably sleazy, which is a winning tone in my mind. And it of course helps that our hero is played by a post-Disney, pre-comeback (unless you count Elvis) Kurt Russell, who manages to turn a total sleazebag into a charming go-getter. In fact, the entire cast is able to keep things light and broad, and it enhances both the laughs and the satire.

 

On the negative end, though, the approach can get pretty unwieldy at times. There's too much plotting for my liking, and the pacing routinely feels uneven (while I enjoy the action-heavy third act, for example, it goes on for far too long). But I can easily forgive some messiness if it leads to more lunacy, especially when said messiness is arguably part of the charm.

 

Grade: B+

 

#231. Sayonara (1957)

 

 

It must've been exhausting to be a casual moviegoer in the late '50s. With cinema waging war on the new medium of television, pretty much every release was now two-and-a-half hours long (if not longer), subject matter had largely become weighty and self-important, and the entire concept of brisk pacing was basically thrown out the window.

 

For these reasons, I've always found it slightly daunting to go back and watch a movie from this era (especially because its brand of spectacle doesn't necessarily lend itself to smaller home screens), but I can get on board with an elongated runtime if, say, there's enough thematic depth and purpose to justify it. And that's where Sayonara mostly succeeds in my eyes.

 

Sure, the movie's needlessly bloated, with a presentation that can definitely feel preachy and drab, but this gives it the necessary room to explore some delicate topics in a way that would've been really progressive for the time (hence the Oscar nods). This, combined with the passionate performances, significant story/character developments, and immersive settings (there's something about Japanese architecture that I find incredibly soothing), was enough to keep me invested in the relationships.

 

Grade: B+

 

#230. Sweet Charity (1969)

 

 

Bob Fosse always had a unique knack for combining colourful imagery and energetic characters with sleazy settings and dark subject matter. It's a bittersweet aesthetic that he perfected in the '70s with films like Cabaret and All That Jazz, but you can definitely see it starting to come together in Sweet Charity, which manages to make 1969 New York City look like both an idealistic wonderland and a soul-crushing hellscape.

 

It's also quite camp, with some countercultural spirit and avant-garde filmmaking techniques to keep things fresh and creative. And while the musical elements usually have a pretty tenuous connection to the actual narrative (causing certain scenes to feel like filler), and the bizarre editing choices only occasionally land, Fosse channels enough passion and temporary catharsis into the choreography and overall atmosphere that the emotions largely remain consistent.

 

Also keeping the tone in place is Shirley MacLaine, who, on top of giving a great performance, brings such an effervescent joy and light to every single scene. It makes the songs that much more endearing (to the point where you don't really care that next-to-nothing is actually happening), the character that much easier to root for, and her arc that much more effective. 

 

Grade: A-

 

#229. Miller's Crossing (1990)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1-2

 

The Coen Brothers are my favourite filmmakers, and have been for quite a long time now. Visually, tonally, stylistically, and even thematically, they simply make the kinds of movies that I want to watch. And while I don't necessarily adore everything they've ever made, the batting average is high enough that you'll more than likely grow tired of my endless praise before long.

 

For that reason, I chose to lead off with Miller's Crossing, which had never been a personal favourite (the dense opening half hour always kept it at arm's length for me). But, lo and behold, it totally clicked for me this time, so I guess that plan backfired. I've come around on the complicated plot and era-specific dialogue, and I'm finally able to see just how rich and moody the whole thing is.

 

Whether we're talking about the costumes, the comically large sets, the beautiful music, the muted cinematography, the wild set pieces, the squib-heavy violence, the dry humour, or the colourful collection of characters and performances (I'm especially partial to Jon Polito and J.E. Freeman, but everyone shines here), it all makes for a compelling drama, a terrific period piece, and a well-constructed slice of pulp.

 

So not only do I now view this as another Joel & Ethan masterpiece, but I can also recognize it as maybe the first instance in which their bizarre tonal aesthetic (namely, mixing serious tension with borderline-slapstick) came together in a way that only they could make work. It's just a flawless bit of filmmaking, and I doubt I'll give it the high hat ever again.

 

Grade: A+

 

#228. Coma (1978)

 

 

Both a medical drama and a conspiracy thriller, Coma is one of those tales of paranoia that tries to keep you guessing at every turn, in a Rosemary's Baby kinda way. And while that's not generally my preferred brand of suspense (I tend to find "Why won't anybody believe me?" plots more frustrating than fascinating), it mostly works here thanks to Michael Crichton's tight, straightforward approach.

 

Like, you can easily imagine this subject matter being either intensely dry or ridiculously silly, but he avoids both extremes by including an ordinary protagonist, an emotional entry point via her central relationship (and the casting of Michael Douglas as her partner is inspired; there's just something inherently untrustworthy about that guy), and some real-world social stakes, as well as a few shadowy stalkers and creepy care facilities to keep things pulpy and energetic.

 

Granted, it's not always a perfect balance (some of the cards are revealed a bit too early for my liking), and the lone conflict can sometimes get kinda tedious, but there's nevertheless an eeriness about the hospital setting, the slippery doctor characters, and the mere concept of acceptable losses that makes these two genres a solid match.

 

Grade: B+

 

#227. The Blue Dahlia (1946)

 

 

This is one of those noirs that has a really solid foundation (an interesting premise, a respectable cast [including a reunion between Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake], an original screenplay by Raymond Chandler himself), but, in my opinion, just a so-so result.

 

Part of that's due to Chandler's hardboiled tone, which I'm frankly not all that crazy about (it always comes off kinda dry and dense to me), but I think it's also a matter of the story and characters not living up to their potential. The mystery lacks intrigue, the plot seems to revolve around a string of increasingly implausible chance encounters, and the final reveal is so rushed and random that I wouldn't be surprised if they made it up on the spot.

 

Still, while these elements make the whole thing feel a bit distant and mechanical, there's enough style throughout that I wouldn't quite call it dull, either. Ladd and Lake provide adequate movie star charisma (especially when they're together, as rare as that is), the colourful mix of supporting characters adds a good deal of flavour, and the sets and costumes mostly get the mood across, even if the cinematography almost never does. Decent genre entry, but it could've been a lot better.

 

Grade: B

#226. Purple Noon (1960)

 

 

A.K.A. Plein Soleil, Delitto in pieno sole, Full Sun, Blazing Sun, Lust for Evil, and Talented Mr. Ripley. This thing has more titles than Michael Jordan.

 

Any time I discover another version of a movie that I'm familiar with, I can't help but compare the two, which I know is unfair. Like, sure, when I pit Purple Noon against The Talented Mr. Ripley, it comes up a bit short (primarily because the opening skips over a lot of important character details, and because the ending is a total Hays-era copout), but, on its own terms, I still think it's an entirely absorbing thriller.

 

For one, I continue to find the Ripley character endlessly fascinating. It's always compelling to see a psychopath do their thing (some of the creepiest moments are the ones where he's practicing being someone else), and Alain Delon brings enough shadiness to keep the guy from becoming likeable or relatable, while also providing the necessary charm to make his lack of consequences believable.

 

He also ties into the overwhelming array of beauty on display here. Between the gorgeous leads, the crisp cinematography (which looks seven or eight years ahead of its time), the sun-soaked scenery, and the smooth, romantic pacing, the movie's got such a cool and classy vibe to it, and it causes the crime stuff to feel that much more striking and jarring.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. On the topic of matching identities, I can now see why Jude Law was chosen for the remake. He has the exact same features as Maurice Ronet.