#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-