#156. They Live (1988)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

When I marathoned John Carpenter's filmography a few years back, They Live was actually one of my least favourites (maybe not bottom three, but close). And I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that I couldn't conflate the satire being so outlandish and on-the-nose compared to the dreary presentation. I was expecting something quick and silly in the vein of Big Trouble in Little China, and what I got instead was honestly much closer to Dark Star.

 

Now that I knew what tone to expect, though, the dryness and overall story started making a lot more sense to me. Granted, I still think the first third's a little bland and the final third's really sloppy, and the Meg Foster stuff continues to flatline for me, but I was much more compelled by the rhythmic pacing, the downright hypnotic scoring, and the arrow-straight commentary this time. This movie might not have Carpenter's usual energy, but it sure has his pulse and bitter sense of humour.

 

It also has two of the best scenes of his career, and you likely already know what I'm talking about. The first is where Roddy Piper initially puts on the sunglasses, which is just a great bit of worldbuilding. And the second is the unending alley brawl, which feels like it takes up a third of the runtime, and which is the exact brand of kinda sincere/kinda tongue-in-cheek excess that fits this movie like a glove.

 

Grade: B+

 

#155. Waiting for Guffman (1996)

 

 

As much as I try to be open-minded about different kinds of comedy, I don't think I'll ever be an improv guy. Like, I can definitely appreciate how hard it must be for actors to make up their lines as they go along, but I think that's my very issue with the format: I can almost always sense that thought process as I'm watching it, which results in material that never feels especially authentic to me.

 

Still, if there's one troupe that can be counted on to win me over, it's gotta be Christopher Guest and his band of weirdos. I've loved Best in Show for a few years now, and while I wouldn't put this one on the same level, it certainly shares many of the same strengths. The casting is obviously wonderful (you could choose any of these people as the MVP and you wouldn't be wrong), and I appreciate the simple story, which never really gets in its own way.

 

Unlike Best in Show, however, I'm not sure that I'd call this one particularly funny (though it does have its share of moments; Guest's dance moves will likely never leave my brain). But I guess it makes up for that with a similarly affectionate outlook, which makes the whole thing a lot sweeter and more likeable than your average moc.

 

Grade: B

#154. Gerald's Game (2017)

  

Like a lot of Stephen King adaptations, the premise of Gerald's Game is really strong. Honestly, just the idea of having our protagonist handcuffed to a bed in a remote cabin for most of the runtime is inherently urgent and suspenseful (while also being simplistic and primal in a way that appeals to me), and the heavy use of hallucinations is a clever means of expositing some internal dialogue. Plus, it doesn't exactly hurt that Carla Gugino sells everything as well as she does.

 

Also like a lot of King adaptations, though, the execution is... flawed. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely sloppy. The flashbacks, for example, are appropriately dark and thematic, but they're also pretty blunt and heavy-handed in the way that flashback storytelling often is (while also being a total retread of Dolores Claiborne, right down to the use of the eclipse), and the Moonlight Man subplot, creepy as it was, seemed out of place, or at least incredibly underbaked, to me. Again, neither of these directions are terrible ones, but I feel like they're a bit of a letdown in relation to the setup.

 

I did kind of enjoy the unusual epilogue, however. Like, sure, it's rushed and tonally dissonant, but I also thought it was a creative, satisfying, and well-earned note to end on - especially after being subjected to that goddamn hand scene, which got an audible "Jesus Christ..." out of me.

 

Grade: B

#153. Cop (1988)

 

 

Here's a movie that, at least story-wise, is about as generic as they come (which I suppose makes the simplistic title pretty apt), with its serial killer premise, obsessed/corrupt protagonist, and generally seedy vibe. And yet, I dunno, maybe I'm just weak to this kind of thriller in general, but I otherwise found it sturdy and atmospheric enough that these cliches didn't really bother me.

 

Part of that simply comes down to the plot, which, basic as it might be, kept me invested (I was into the mystery, the methodical presentation, and the untrustworthy characters), but I think it's ultimately the Jameses, both B. Harris and Woods, that take this one to the next level. The former uses dark cinematography, dingy settings, moody scoring, and harsh imagery to lend some noirish style to this economic procedural, and the latter is at his smarmy best, somehow managing to remain charismatic no matter how frequently or overtly he crosses the line (which is why you hire him in the first place). The result is undoubtedly trashy, but it's fun, well-crafted trash.

 

And if you're into trash as much as I am, then you'll probably agree when I say that the final line is priceless.

 

Grade: A-

 

#152. Le Boucher (1970)

 

 

A.K.A. The Butcher

 

This is one of those quiet thrillers where most of the action takes place below the surface. It's all about slow pacing and tranquil settings and blossoming romances, with the darker, stabbier stuff happening in the background (assuming we get to see it at all). But Claude Chabrol shows a clear understanding of the genre by combining Hitchcockian suspense with French New Wave cinematography to create some continual, uneasy, and free-flowing tension, which can be felt even in scenes that otherwise appear to be completely innocuous.

 

So while this means that the movie's generally pretty light on outright scares, it's still effective in the sense that you spend basically the entire runtime expecting something horrific to happen. And then, when it inevitably does, the outcome is one of the tensest third acts I've seen in a while. Granted, things don't necessarily play out in the way that you'd expect (just as the story isn't as reliant on mystery or horror as it really could've been; everything about this one is subdued and strange), but it works on a tonal and character level, while still providing the melancholic thrills that we've long been anticipating. 

 

Grade: A-

 

#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-