#256. Life is Sweet (1990)

 

 

It honestly took me a while to get into this one. Like, I'm not generally a "slice of life" guy to begin with (to paraphrase Hitchcock, I much prefer slices of cake), but when you tack on the obnoxious personas and the borderline-indecipherable accents, there were points during the first half where I felt completely detached from anything that was going on.

 

But then, somewhere around the middle, it mostly started to work for me. The tiny, seemingly mundane human moments coalesced into something sincere and substantial, and the "obnoxious" characters (who laugh at their own jokes, trip over themselves, and just generally seem like dorks) eventually brought about an extra layer of realism that enhanced the overall sincerity and complexity. Regardless of how I felt about these people at the beginning, I quite liked them by the end.

 

And even if some elements don't quite work (all the stuff with Aubrey, for instance, feels a bit cartoonish and out of place to me), I'd say that they're mostly redeemed by the unremarkable-yet-relatable working-class family dynamic. In particular, the heated argument between the usually-affable mother and her volatile daughter is a wonderful expression of the frustrations of love, and it's the kind of moment that gives an otherwise light movie some genuine depth.

 

Grade: B+

 

#254. The Cooler (2003)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Is this a real thing? Do casinos actually hire people with quantifiably bad luck to walk around and ruin players' hot streaks through nothing more than their terrible vibes? Because, if so, I think I may have found my true calling.

 

Well, on second thought, perhaps not. Between the grainy visuals, the melancholic mood, the smooth-yet-downbeat score, and the constant threat of seeing Alec Baldwin break someone's limbs with a baseball bat, The Cooler doesn't exactly glorify this line of work. But the whole thing's so seedy and gritty that the concept at least feels credible to me, and it counter-balances the touches of fantasy extremely well. 

 

It also makes for three incredibly compelling main characters. Shelly has more depth than your typical crime movie antagonist, and both Natalie and Bernie are so jaded and sympathetic that you really root for them as a pair. Plus, as bleak as their story may be, there's more than enough style, personality, energy, and heart for it to simultaneously work as an optimistic little fairy tale about love and redemption.

 

Oh, and the fact that these two are played by Maria Bello (one of the coolest and most underrated actors out there) and William H. Macy doesn't exactly hurt on a likeability level.

 

Grade: A

 

#253. La Strada (1954)

 

A.K.A. The Road

 

If I were to make a list of movie characters that need to be protected at all costs, Gelsomina would probably land in my top ten. She's the picture of innocence, childlike wonder, and heartbreaking despair (with an unspoken depth that's incredibly moving, in a Forrest Gump kinda way), and Giulietta Masina perfectly amplifies these qualities via her diminutive size and broad facial expressions.

 

She's really the ideal protagonist through which Federico Fellini (my first movie of his, by the way) can tell this touching and delicate tale of two lonely souls who desperately need love in their lives. It's simply impossible to watch this woman and not feel for her, and she also makes a perfect foil for Zampanò, whose all-consuming anger lies at the exact opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

 

You wouldn't necessarily expect to buy into a genuine connection between these individuals, but the road trip structure and dire, isolating lifestyle do suggest a certain co-dependency, and they're both so damaged and pathetic that you find yourself hoping for them to make the realization. And, as despicable as he might be, seeing Zampanò get there too late is enough to turn him into an equally tragic figure in my eyes.

 

Grade: A

 

#250. Young Adult (2011)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

There sure were a lot of character-driven indie comedies (that weren't actually comedies) being made around this time. But while Young Adult is tonally predictable and narratively contrived in the way that most of its contemporaries were/are, I think this one manages to slightly separate itself from the pack simply by daring to focus on such an uncharacteristically irredeemable protagonist.

 

Well, maybe "irredeemable" is kinda harsh, but there's no denying that Mavis is a difficult character to follow for ninety straight minutes. She's mean, she's bitter, and she's dangerously delusional. And yet, between Jason Reitman's tender direction, Diablo Cody's brief moments of pathos, and Charlize Theron's raw-yet-humanizing performance, there's also enough depth and nuance to keep her compelling, and compelling in a way that doesn't (overly) sacrifice the credibility of her arc.

 

That's not to say that every single moment smacks of authenticity (it's a good thing Theron and Patton Oswalt have such great chemistry, because the Matt stuff would be almost unbearable otherwise), but the themes of history, stagnation, and mental illness certainly do. They're earnest and uncompromising, and they manage to complement both the main character and the overall mood. 

 

Grade: B+

 

#249. Mank (2020)

 

 

Something like Mank should've been a slam dunk for me. Even when you put aside my being a fan of David Fincher (and, to a lesser extent, Gary Oldman), I'm fond of Citizen Kane, I usually like movies about movies, and I'm always interested to learn more about Hollywood in the '30s and '40s. But while I wouldn't call this one a misfire, I can't say it left much of an impression, either. 

 

Well, certain elements kinda did. The script has its share of interesting exchanges (though the snippy dialogue quickly wears out its welcome), the actors largely elevate the material, and while Fincher's direction doesn't exactly evoke the era, the visuals still pop. But I guess my problem is that, beneath this technical stuff, the movie just seemed kind of empty to me. I didn't find any of the characters or conflicts super compelling, and I was never all that curious to see where the story was headed.

 

Worst of all is the structuring. I mean, I get why it's here: the nonlinear storytelling is obviously a nod to Kane. But Orson and/or Herman employed this technique to develop their characters and cloud the central mystery, whereas the usage of it here really only serves to create that much more of an emotional disconnect. The result may not be Fincher's worst movie, but it's almost certainly his least noteworthy one.

 

Grade: B-

 

#247. Disraeli (1929)

 

 

This is officially the oldest talkie I've ever seen (I seriously need to get around to watching The Jazz Singer at some point), and I think I'm beginning to understand why the technological advancement was initially met with some pushback. Like, as cool and charming as it is to hear spoken dialogue in a movie this old, the limitations regarding audio recording result in a very static presentation, with awkward blocking and a motionless camera.

 

Similarly, the storytelling's fairly primitive and formulaic, but at least this aspect was slightly less dry than I was expecting. Well, okay, the premise, about a prime minister's attempt to purchase the Suez Canal, didn't exactly have my heart racing, but there was enough of a strategy component (like Disraeli feigning an illness in order to trap a spy, or bluffing so that he could get a banker to sign a paper) that I remained at least somewhat invested in the plot.

 

Also keeping me invested was George Arliss, and not just because of the ridiculous haircut (was that thing painted on?). His performance may be hammy and over the top, but there's a playful mischievousness about him that both endeared me to the character and provided some much-needed energy and levity. If there's a reason to recommend this one to all the Best Picture nominee completionists out there, it's easily him.

 

Grade: B

#246. Stand and Deliver (1988)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Saw this one, predictably enough, in our middle school gym during an assembly. I can still recall our principal (and this is my lone memory of the guy) accidentally introducing it as Stand by Me and everybody being audibly disappointed when another faculty member corrected him.

 

That initial feeling mostly ceased by the time the movie got going, though. Stand and Deliver may be a fairly formulaic bit of academic schmaltz (I do give it credit, however, for hopping on that trend relatively early), but there's a reason why every school on the planet has it in their rotation: it's educational, it's inspirational, and it gives kids an underdog tale that they can relate to. Our group absolutely ate it up. 

 

Watching the movie again as an adult, it's clear that certain aspects of the story are total fiction (no way are a group of teens, regardless of their background, making that kind of educational jump in under a year), and the storytelling's sometimes a bit rushed and messy, but the feel-good presentation, as well as the committed performances from Edward James Olmos and Lou Diamond Phillips, are typically enough to overcome those defects. That's the stuff that left an impression when I was thirteen, and it's the stuff that still works on me now.

 

I do wish it got me to actually care about calculus, though. But I guess that's more of a me problem. 

 

Grade: B+

#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

#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.

#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

 

#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-

 

#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+

 

#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.

 

#222. Law Abiding Citizen (2009)

 

 

Okay, can someone please explain to me why so many action movies from around this time (The Dark Knight, Skyfall, The Avengers, Star Trek Into Darkness) included a reveal that the villain getting caught was actually part of the plan? I'm sorry, but that's far too specific a trend for it to have simply been a coincidence.

 

Anyway, Law Abiding Citizen isn't as good or memorable as most of those other examples, but the premise is strong enough that I was mostly engaged by the cat-and-mouse antics. There's a decent sense of stakes here, the conflict ramps up in a way that builds some adequate momentum, and the tone's so playful and energetic that it mostly manages to pull off both the depraved (you can tell we're also at the tail end of the torture porn era here) and over-the-top elements of the script.

 

It's just a shame that pretty much everything else has a slight "going through the motions" feel to it. As entertaining as this movie generally is, Jamie Foxx's uninspired performance, the dreary presentation, the script's reliance on outdated cliches, and the ending being a total copout (a "fuck the system" theme is only satisfying if you're willing to go all the way with it) keep my reaction from being more enthusiastic.

 

Grade: B

#221. Husbands (1970)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

In theory, I can appreciate what Husbands is going for. By presenting its themes (middle age, aimlessness, toxic camaraderie) in the ugliest and most obnoxious manner possible, the movie makes a pretty compelling case for the values of normal adulthood simply by removing them. It's a clever and poignant approach, with a ton of potential for interesting drama.

 

In practice, though, I just kinda find the whole thing tedious, irritating, and uncomfortable. Every scene seemingly goes on forever (especially the early one at the bar, where we spend upwards of ten minutes listening to these guys berate a woman for not singing well enough), the dialogue has that improv feel to it that causes most of the words to feel empty, and the characters are so insufferable that it quickly becomes difficult to care about them. 

And, yeah, I know this stuff's all probably intentional, but that doesn't make it any easier to sit through, frankly. I like the gritty cinematography, the chemistry between the three leads, and the occasional moments of introspection, but everything else continues to do very little for me.

 

Grade: C+