#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+

 

#228. Coma (1978)

 

 

Both a medical drama and a conspiracy thriller, Coma is one of those tales of paranoia that tries to keep you guessing at every turn, in a Rosemary's Baby kinda way. And while that's not generally my preferred brand of suspense (I tend to find "Why won't anybody believe me?" plots more frustrating than fascinating), it mostly works here thanks to Michael Crichton's tight, straightforward approach.

 

Like, you can easily imagine this subject matter being either intensely dry or ridiculously silly, but he avoids both extremes by including an ordinary protagonist, an emotional entry point via her central relationship (and the casting of Michael Douglas as her partner is inspired; there's just something inherently untrustworthy about that guy), and some real-world social stakes, as well as a few shadowy stalkers and creepy care facilities to keep things pulpy and energetic.

 

Granted, it's not always a perfect balance (some of the cards are revealed a bit too early for my liking), and the lone conflict can sometimes get kinda tedious, but there's nevertheless an eeriness about the hospital setting, the slippery doctor characters, and the mere concept of acceptable losses that makes these two genres a solid match.

 

Grade: B+

 

#227. The Blue Dahlia (1946)

 

 

This is one of those noirs that has a really solid foundation (an interesting premise, a respectable cast [including a reunion between Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake], an original screenplay by Raymond Chandler himself), but, in my opinion, just a so-so result.

 

Part of that's due to Chandler's hardboiled tone, which I'm frankly not all that crazy about (it always comes off kinda dry and dense to me), but I think it's also a matter of the story and characters not living up to their potential. The mystery lacks intrigue, the plot seems to revolve around a string of increasingly implausible chance encounters, and the final reveal is so rushed and random that I wouldn't be surprised if they made it up on the spot.

 

Still, while these elements make the whole thing feel a bit distant and mechanical, there's enough style throughout that I wouldn't quite call it dull, either. Ladd and Lake provide adequate movie star charisma (especially when they're together, as rare as that is), the colourful mix of supporting characters adds a good deal of flavour, and the sets and costumes mostly get the mood across, even if the cinematography almost never does. Decent genre entry, but it could've been a lot better.

 

Grade: B

#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.

 

#225. Like Mike (2002)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Saw this one with my cousins back when it was new, and the only stuff I really held on to was the fantastical premise, the scarring scene where Crispin Glover burns a photo of Jonathan Lipnicki's mom in order to get information, and that godforsaken theme song, which has played in my head every single time I've seen a basketball (or should I say, bas-ket-ball) court ever since.

 

Literally nothing about the central relationship between Calvin and Tracy left an impression (in fact, I had no memory of the Tracy character in general), which is funny because, as an adult, this was the aspect I liked most. It's a simple and predictable little arc, but it's also a sound and resonant one, and Lil' Bow Wow and Morris Chestnut have enough chemistry with one another that you completely buy the relationship.

 

Otherwise, the movie's basically what you'd expect: a cute bit of children's wish fulfillment. And even if the sugary energy and schmaltzy tone can feel a bit juvenile to an older viewer, there's still enough in the way of humour, innocence, and appearances (the cameos in this one honestly blow Space Jam out of the water) that I don't regret not leaving it in the past.

 

Grade: B

 

#224. The Gentlemen (2019)

 

 

When it comes to the gangster stuff, Guy Ritchie tends to be pretty divisive. And I do get it. Like, if you aren't into the kinds of movies where everyone's a witty, gun-slinging badass, the shtick probably gets old extremely fast. But, as someone who will never tire of post-Tarantino bloodbaths, I have to admit that this speed, tone, and personality is right up my alley.

 

And, sure, you could argue that Ritchie's playing it safe here by revisiting familiar territory, but I find it hard to care when, one, the result is this entertaining, and two, there's enough dignified polish to separate it from the likes of Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. This change might erase some of the indie grittiness that he's known for, but it makes up for that with some faux-refinement, which juxtaposes the similar subject matter really well.

 

More than anything, though, I just love his sense of style: the cute structuring (I was beginning to worry that there was too much setup going on, but it arguably makes the payoff all the more satisfying), the fluid storytelling, the colourful dialogue, the playful accents, the distinct characters, the fast action, and the winning mix of tension and humour. I don't know what it all adds up to, but I know it's fun as hell.

 

Grade: A

 

P.S. Unless you count Glass Onion, this is actually my first Hugh Grant movie. And my god, what an introduction. Just hearing him say Raymond's name in that cheeky cockney voice delighted me to no end.