#79. Desk Set (1957)

 

A.K.A. His Other Woman, as it's known in the U.K. (much better title, in my opinion). 

 

My experience with Tracy-Hepburn movies hadn't extended beyond Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (the final time they worked together), so I wanted to try a second one. I chose Desk Set, more or less at random, not realizing at the time that it was their second-to-last collaboration. Apparently, I'm destined to tackle their films in reverse order.

 

Anyway, I thought this one was an absolute delight. Beyond Tracy and Hepburn's obviously fantastic chemistry, the CinemaScope format really pops, the dialogue has charm and flavour, the women share a nice camaraderie, and it's even got a corporate setting, which is an absolute favourite of mine. There's something I find incredibly cozy about office sets in movies, and this is one of the comfiest ones I've ever seen. I could live in that reference library.

 

There's also a Christmas portion, which only adds to the overall joyfulness of it, and even the somewhat dated premise (though, in fairness, many people are still afraid of being replaced at their jobs by machines) creates a cute, era-specific atmosphere. The '50s sure knew how to churn out warm, bright, colourful romantic comedies, huh?

 

Grade: A

 

#78. Saludos Amigos (1942)

 

 

There are now over sixty entries in the Disney Animated Canon, and it's my goal to eventually get to all of them, so I figured it was time I finally knocked one out.

 

We're all familiar with the struggles Disney was facing in the '40s, and how they needed to resort to cheap package films during the war to stay afloat. Well, Saludos Amigos was the first of those "films" (it's only forty-two minutes long), and it mostly exists as both a tax write-off and a government-funded piece of propaganda aimed at Latin American goodwill.

 

And, uh, you can tell. This barely feels like a completed movie, especially relative to Walt's first five features. But I guess that's the thing: you can't really compare it to Snow White or Pinocchio, because it couldn't afford to aim that high. In other words, you have to judge it on a bit of a curve. And, to that end, I suppose I can still appreciate the cute animation and well-intentioned attempts at integrating some culture, even if it's all quite dry and unengaging and inessential. 

 

Suffice it to say, had this movie been made by any other company, it probably would've been completely forgotten by now.

 

Grade: C+

 

#77. The Black Pirate (1926)

 

 

Figured it was about time I gave another silent film a shot. Unfortunately, the results were about the same.

 

I mean, there's a lot to admire about The Black Pirate. The two-strip Technicolor process really holds up (and it gives the movie a certain immediacy that might've been lacking in a black & white format), the sets, ships, and costumes look exactly how you'd want them to, and the stunts continue to impress - especially on the occasions where Douglas Fairbanks effortlessly flies around from one end of the ship to the other.

 

Once again, though, the story and pacing didn't really do it for me. And I'm fully willing to admit that my modern attention span is likely the culprit (either that or the fact that the movie had such an influence on swashbucklers that it feels kinda cliche now). The first twenty minutes and last twenty minutes are pretty fun, as is the scene where Fairbanks single-handedly takes over that other ship, but I thought everything in between felt kinda sluggish and repetitive.

 

Ah well. I'm still holding out hope that a few of these early movies will eventually be to my liking - and not just in an "appreciation" kind of way.

 

Grade: B

 

#76. The Edge (1997)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1-2, though I don't think I'd seen the entire thing from beginning to end before now.

 

The Edge belongs to possibly my all-time favourite quasi-genre: the '90s studio thriller. These movies are silly (compliment), disposable (another compliment), and stylistically nostalgic to me. They're like my form of cinematic comfort food, and I have a soft spot for almost all of them - particularly the ones I've long been familiar with.

 

Even putting all that aside, though, this movie's got some genuine muscle. It has stunning views, suspenseful action set pieces, and a sense of arduousness to it (by the end, these guys look legitimately battered and worn). Despite the pulpy and somewhat heightened presentation, it all feels real, which I guess is bound to happen when you use an actual bear in your production. Bart's the true MVP here.

 

Also making a difference are the humans involved. David Mamet's script injects some predictably sharp dialogue (with more than a few amusing anecdotes), and Alec Baldwin and Anthony Hopkins manage to create some compelling and ambiguous chemistry with one another. This isn't some hidden masterpiece or anything, but I think it's a lot more beautiful, heart-pounding, and entertaining than its reputation often suggests.

 

Grade: A-

 

#75. Heart of Glass (1976)

 

Legend has it that, in order to get the desired effect for this movie's atmosphere, Werner Herzog had almost all of his actors perform under hypnosis. I don't know if I necessarily believe that rumor (though I suppose you could say that about most stories involving Herzog), but it sure seems credible while you're watching it.

 

This one is strange. From the very beginning, you can sense the distinctly unsettling tone, and that tone persists for the entire duration. With the possible exception of the seer character (played by the one actor who purportedly wasn't hypnotized, which lends further credence to that story), everyone comes off like a drugged, twitchy lunatic. It's eerie, to say the least, and this feeling is only amplified by the movie's dim lighting, quiet scoring, and noticeable lack of movement.

 

Granted, it's a bit of a challenging watch. The story moves at a snail's pace, there's absolutely zero plot, and it took me about twenty minutes to figure out what the hell was even going on. It's all a little tedious and one-note for my liking (I was at my most engaged during the glass-forging scenes, which is probably saying something), but that note is creepy and foreboding enough that I was usually interested in seeing where it was all headed - and whether the seer was actually correct in his predictions.

 

Grade: B

 

#74. Pacific Rim (2013)

 

Guillermo del Toro makes action movies with the energy of a ten-year-old boy - and I mostly mean that as a compliment. Like, even when the results aren't to my taste, his enthusiasm is so palpable, and his artistry is of strong enough quality, that there's something infectious about it.

 

Take Pacific Rim, possibly his dumbest movie to date. The dialogue and characterizations and arcs are about as elementary as they come, and the premise is literally Robots vs. Aliens. I won't pretend that it's is my preferred brand of action, but I place this one above, say, a Transformers sequel thanks to its visual quality. And I'm not referring to the battle sequences (they're mostly bland and muddy), but the dialogue scenes, which contain enough stylistic weirdness and bioluminescent beauty to frequently remind you that an actual filmmaker was in control here.

 

It also helps that del Toro keeps everything relatively simple and dynamic, and his understanding of things like pacing and focus allows the rest of us to actually follow - and moderately care about - what's going on.

 

Grade: B

 

#73. The Big Blue (1988)

 

This movie's probably too much. It's almost three hours long, it's overblown, it's melodramatic, it's cheesy and sentimental as hell, and it contains zero subtlety. But I tend to be a sucker for those adolescent qualities, especially when they're drenched in atmosphere and nostalgia, so I was generally able to go along with it.

 

As you'd expect, the strongest sequences in The Big Blue are the ocean-related ones. This movie really captures the wonder and terrifying beauty of that mystical place, with nature doc-worthy photography and a portrayal reverent enough to put James Cameron to shame. And while the human element's not quite as strong (though maybe that's the idea; Jacques is clearly only happy when he's underwater or engaging with dolphins), I like the friendly rivalry between the two male leads, and Arquette and Reno give fairly affable performances, over-the-top as they are.

 

Is this movie as deep or complex as the setting its depicting? Not especially. But there's a hypnotic and cartoonish quality to it that I nevertheless found mesmerizing.

 

Grade: B+