#57. Shane (1953)

 

 

As someone who grew up watching those 100 Years... 100 ____ countdowns over the years, I can confidently tell you that Shane is one of the American Film Institute's all-time favourites. It's on both movie lists, the western list, the hero list, the cheers list, and the quotes list (where the line is literally just "Shane! Shane! Come back!"). Despite their consistent attempts at selling me on its greatness, though, I'd never felt especially compelled to watch it before now. And I think that's because, in basically every other context, all you ever hear is that it's boring, sappy, and overrated.

 

Well, I've now finally seen the movie for myself, and while I can definitely understand where those detractors are coming from (this thing is undeniably slow and cloying, and Alan Ladd isn't exactly the coolest hero ever), I'm siding with the AFI on this one. I tend to love a "small community rises up against the evil corporation" premise, and it makes for a great good vs. evil narrative here. As conflicts go, it's certainly on the simplistic side, but I think most of us prefer when older westerns are black and white like that.

 

The movie's also got a strong cast, some beautiful Technicolor landscapes, and a generally heartwarming feel to it. Definitely not overrated in my eyes - though I do agree that the kid could've stood to be less annoying.

 

Grade: A

 

#56. Bob Roberts (1992)

 

 

Good thing this is just a work of fiction, right guys?

 

The obvious appeal of Bob Roberts lies in its satire (I mean, duh; why else would Tim Robbins want to make a mockumentary like this?). It's sharp, it's biting, and it all feels disturbing prescient. That's the thing about history, you see: nothing ever truly changes. 

 

I guess my issue here, though, is that, outside of this clever writing, I'm not getting a whole lot else. The humour's pretty lite for my liking, the insanely huge supporting cast is given basically nothing to do (to the point where they seem to be here just so you can point at the screen and say "Hey, it's that guy!"), and the whole presentation feels kinda one-note to me after a while. I like what the movie's going for, and I certainly agree with it, but it didn't take long for the smothering irony to wear on me.

 

Still, Robbins gives an amusingly smug performance, and the Don't Look Back ripoffs are fun enough. This is absolutely a movie that deserves to exist - I just wish I found it more playful or engaging or varied than I do.

 

Grade: B-

 

#55. Fractured (2019)

 

 

I don't claim to be an expert at predicting the outcomes of movie plots. Generally speaking, when a writer throws a curveball into their script, it takes me by surprise (I'm pretty dumb, after all). So please believe me when I say that you'll be able to call the twist of Fractured within the first fifteen minutes.

 

Honestly, it's so obvious and telegraphed that I'm not even sure I should call it a twist. Like, once the inciting incident happens, you know exactly how everything's gonna play out. And then the movie wastes the next hour and a half of your time trying to convince you that you're wrong (to the point where I was actually starting to expect a double bluff to occur), only to eventually relent and admit you were right all along. It's as disappointing as it is infuriating.

 

Putting the writing aside for a minute, I guess there's some adequately chilly atmosphere here, and Sam Worthington's more or less fine as the lead (though I can never tell if he's attempting an American accent or not). But it's hard to admire either when the movie as a whole is so weak and cliche-ridden.

 

As someone who's pretty dubious of Netflix originals, this one didn't even come close to swaying me.

 

Grade: C

 

#54. Déjà Vu (2006)

 

 

What a neat concept: taking a routine (albeit captivating) thriller about a detective trying to catch a terrorist, and reworking it into a sci-fi rescue movie. The whole idea's completely preposterous, don't get me wrong, and I can totally understand if the story loses you once Washington enters that surveillance room, but I was able to go with it.

 

Tony Scott's energy is the glue here. As always, he chooses to emphasize action over everything else, which not only helps the exposition-heavy script go down easier, but it also allows the two genres to mesh as well as they do. And even when it feels like the movie should be starting to go off the rails, he keeps everything mostly believable through his focused pacing and keen attention to detail.

 

No matter what angle you take with this movie, I'm a fan. I think it works as a Hitchcockian obsession story, as a post-9/11 conspiracy thriller, and as a cracking piece of Bruckheimer entertainment. Maybe the first Scott movie I've seen that I can truly say I enjoyed unreservedly.

 

Grade: A

 

#53. The Champ (1931)

 

 

I kinda like it when older movies are a little on the sentimental side. Those heavy-yet-basic emotions just seem to fit right in with a more primitive style of filmmaking. And I think that's why I was able to appreciate The Champ: it's a simple family drama about the relationship between a father and his son, but it's that simplicity that allows the story to pack such an emotional punch.

 

Of course, being that the movie's almost a hundred years old, you're bound to notice a few cliches in the conflict. The father's past his prime, he's now a drinker and a gambler (though, as this was from the pre-Code era, the movie's refreshingly direct about both), and he's at risk of losing custody of his boy. It's not the most original story ever written, and there's some outdated hokiness at times, but the heart is undeniable. You can feel the love between these two characters, and it makes both the journey and its conclusion incredibly moving.

 

What elevates everything to true tearjerker status, though, is Jackie Cooper. This adorable little guy gives one of the most heartbreaking performances I've ever seen from a child actor.

 

Grade: A-

 

#52. The Long Voyage Home (1940)

 

 

Here's a movie with a good foundation. I like the premise, about a group of fun-loving party animals aboard a tramp steamer during the war, and I like the cast that they put together to play this motley crew (particularly Thomas Mitchell, Barry Fitzgerald, and John Qualen). Frankly, any time a movie's about a minimal group of people in a claustrophobic setting, I'm in.

 

As a story, though, The Long Voyage Home didn't really grab me. I don't know if that's because it takes a little too long to get going or because it often lacks focus (either way, I'm concerned that the real reason is that I wasn't being patient enough), but I honestly only cared about these people when they were fighting for their lives on that soaking wet deck, or when one of them died. 

 

Fortunately, this is among John Ford's moodiest movies, thanks almost entirely to Gregg Toland's proto-noir cinematography (you can see the hints at Citizen Kane every once in a while, and those are always the strongest moments), so, even if the narrative wasn't hooking me, the melancholic tones and the shadowy visual textures were.

 

Grade: B

 

P.S. A possible indicator that I wasn't at my most engaged: I didn't realize John Wayne was attempting an accent until the final twenty minutes.

 

#51. 21 Grams (2003)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Needed more Lockjaw and Sensei in my life, apparently.

 

21 Grams is structured like a disorienting puzzle. It's told from three different perspectives, and it's presented in a non-linear manner. You'll probably need a few minutes to find your bearings, and you might initially get the sense that Iñárritu is only employing these gimmicks because he thinks they're cool (Amores Perros is similarly told out of order), but you soon realize that this is not only an incredibly effective means of creating a looming threat, but it also cleverly depicts just how fractured and frenzied these characters' lives are.

 

Because, again, like Amores Perros, this is a movie about pain and grief and loss, and about how those scars never truly leave us. Emotionally-speaking, it doesn't matter how this story is put together; the agony is relentless. Pretty bleak stuff, no doubt, but it's also haunting and powerful as hell. And the harrowing intensity is made all the more potent by some grainy photography and three unforgettable performances.

 

Hits just as hard on a rewatch, if not moreso.

 

Grade: A