The Bridges of Madison County (1995)
VERDICT:
9/10 Bypassed Certainties
My favorite actress and favorite actor both in the same place and doing what they do best. How in the hell did it take me so long to get around to this?
The Bridges of Madison County is about a woman in the 1960s who grew up in Italy, married young to an American soldier, moved to his family farm in Iowa, had herself two kids and settled into the lonely life of a Midwest housewife. Then one day a ruggedly handsome photographer on assignment for National Geographic shows up at her doorstep while her family’s away at a week-long horse competition of some sort. Before she knows it, she gives this stranger the tour of the town, invites him in for iced tea, invites him over for dinner, and as the days pass, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a love the likes of which she’s never known and might not be able to hold on to.
For the longest time, I always associated this movie with being for the older movie-going crowd, the crowd that gets the Senior discounts and can probably relate to the subject material here far more than an unmarried twenty-something can. Chances are that that preconceived notion of mine is directly tied into this being every grandparent on Earth’s favorite movie of all-time (it’s a fact, ask ’em yourself), but I’m an idiot for letting that bias cheat me out of a moviegoing experience that I would usually jump at. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it’s a Clint movie. I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed. This must be what Bill Buckner felt like.
But if you’re in the same boat as I was, rest assured, enjoying this movie does not require an AARP membership and you don’t need to have lived the story to be affected by it.
So let’s start with Clint, because as we all know, Clint is the man. The other thing we all know about Clint is that he probably shouldn’t have anything to do with this movie. I’d be shocked as shit if there were a producer in ’95 who came across this script and thought, “Get Harry Callahan on the phone.” For a guy who’s made a career out of personifying badass and honing his scowl to the point where it might as well be registered as a weapon, it’s actually pretty impressive that he decided to take on this project even if it’s completely outside of his on-screen comfort zone.
Clint plays our world-traveling photog, Robert Kincaid, and (un)surprisingly, he totally pulls it off. He smiles a lot, he’s in touch with his own feelings, and while I’ve never been one to endorse infidelity, I could hardly blame a gal for two-timing their hubby if Clint-effing-Eastwood rolled up to her front door. It’s just cool to see Clint playing as against-type as possible, showing us this soft, debonair side of him that we never knew existed. Kincaid is a great, honest character and Clint does a fantastic job bringing him to life.
And opposite Clint is Meryl-effing-Streep as our Italian fish out of water, Francesca (what a name). Her fake accent works, and since this is Meryl we’re talking about, she actually makes everything work. But Francesca is the heart of this movie, and as much as I felt for Richard, it pales in how I felt for her. What’s most interesting about her situation isn’t so much the choice she has to make, but that she does in fact love the person she’s married to and the person she’s married to loves her right back. Her husband isn’t villainized, it’s not like she’s sitting on the porch every freakin’ day just waiting for her knight in shining armor to save her from this wreck of a life she’s been roped into, it’s a good life she has, it’s a life she loves in some ways, but is it a life worth giving up to pursue another life entirely?
It’s a great “What would you do?” scenario that doesn’t paint its characters or their actions with a black and white palette, because right and wrong tends to come in a very grey hue when dealing with these kinds of things. But anyway, Meryl is the bomb as usual, she nabbed one of her many Oscar nods for her performance here, and she continues to re-up her existence as a living Goddess with each new thing I see her in.
A huge amount of credit also goes to writer Richard LaGravenese for adapting such a genuine, natural script out of something that could have easily been chick flick trash. You know how the story’s gonna end within the first ten minutes since it’s all told in flashback by Francesca’s kids in the wake of her death, and while it probably would have been nice to not have that spoiled for us from the get-go, the upside is that it helps focus the story on the Richard and Francesca’s relationship rather than using them as a kind of means to an end.
It’s a fantastic marriage of great acting and great writing, it’s wonderful to watch these two go from playful strangers to conflicted lovers over the course of such a brief period of time that ends up being the most important week of their lives. And I actually really like the flashback approach along with the way it brings the infidelity aspect full circle with her kids’ own marriages, and during the few melodramatic scenes that I would have rolled my eyes at had someone else been behind the wheel, I was getting genuinely choked up. Can’t be easy to justify a touchy premise like this as a writer, but LaGravenese does it beautifully.
When I picked up The Clint Eastwood Collection last month, I thought this would be the last movie I’d ever get around to watching, but thanks to my good buddy Fred for suggesting it because I obviously had no idea what I was missing. The Bridges of Madison County might not be the best pro-marriage advocate out there, but it’s very pro-heart in ways in aspects that movies rarely touch upon. It’s not my favorite thing by Eastwood, but for a movie that for all intents and purposes should have no place on Eastwood’s resume, it’s exceptional.
Awesome date movie, too.
I Love You Phillip Morris (2010)
VERDICT:
8/10 Star-Crossed Convicts
The funniest movie of the year and the funniest Jim Carrey’s been since his days with the Farrelly brothers.
I Love You Phillip Morris is the true story of one Steven Russell who came out of the closet in the early ’90s, amicably broke off his hetero marriage and gave up a career in law enforcement to live a lavishly flamboyant lifestyle fueled by insurance fraud of the highest order. Eventually, Johnny Law caught up with him, locked him up, and then he met a fellow prisoner who ended up being the love of his life. Since prison is no place to settle down, Steven broke out of prison time and time again by impersonating an attorney, a doctor, an escort, and a CFO amongst other identities while on the lam in order to get his beau out of the big house so that they could live happily ever after.
It’s like Escape from Alcatraz mixed with Catch Me if You Can mixed with Brokeback Mountain, and while that probably shouldn’t make sense, it’s actually a freakin’ rip.
Written and directed by Glenn Ficara and John Requa who have justified their plaguing the world with Cats & Dogs and The Bad News Bears remake by giving us Bad Santa – depends on who you ask, but it’s arguably the best Christmas movie of the past decade – and this little gem that deserves way more publicity and way more screenings than it’s gonna get. The thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prison-based comedy before. I remember that Let’s Go to Prison movie coming out a couple years ago, but I also remember hearing it royally sucked, and while Cool Hand Luke, Shawshank and The Longest Yard all have their fair share of chuckles, it strikes me as strange that more writers haven’t jumped on Ficara and Requa’s bandwagon of just going for full-out belly laughs.
Because let me tell ya’, based off the hard time I did in Sing Sing over the last six years (you don’t even wanna know), prison is some hardcore shit where you’re more likely to get shanked with a spork than trade knock-knock jokes with the Warden. Doesn’t seem like the ripest setting for comedy, what with all that “Don’t drop the soap!” tomfoolery, but by the some token, that’s why it’s the perfect place to stage a comedy. It’s the contrast of drawing humor out of the one place in the world that no one save Charlie Bronson would want to find themselves bunking up in, it’s this vault of potential that’s just waiting to be tapped dry, and this movie ends up being that much fresher for the way it leaps dick-first into uncharted waters.
And the whole prison aspect is just part of why it works. It’s unabashedly gay without being offensive thanks to a love story that comes off as more genuine and tongue-in-cheek than outright flaming, the comedic timing is absolutely flawless whether it’s a jump-cut to Jim Carrey giving it to his wife after a never-ending bedside prayer session or Jim Carrey bullshitting his way through a court hearing by having a staring contest with the judge and the prosecutor until they unintentionally win the case for him, and the dialogue is so damn sharp and brash that it all just left me howling. The only downside of the script is that balance between funny and serious tends to lean a little too heavily on the latter end of things when Carrey and McGregor are first getting to know each other, but when they’re apart, it’s gold, baby. Gold!
But Jim Carrey, man…I thought we’d lost the guy for good. He went from my childhood idol to a totally legit dramatic actor to starring in the regrettable and forgettable Yes Man, Fun with Dick and Jane, The Number 23 and a bunch of other shitty efforts that I can’t justify burning two hours on when I could be spending that time YouTubing Fire Marshall Bill videos instead. Point is: it’s been a long, long time since Carrey’s been at the top of his game, but just when I thought he couldn’t possibly be any dumber, he goes and takes a mondo pay cut to play Steven Russell…and totally redeems himself!
I wouldn’t call it a “brave” role by any means, but it’s great to see good ol’ Rubber Face be hilarious without characterizing himself or going all Stanley Ipkiss on us. Like I said, it’s all about timing and Carrey nails it from beginning to end. He’s not exactly known for making out with dudes, simulating bee-jays and strutting his stuff in drag all in the name of art, but Carrey seems to be having a great time playing Russell and it’s great to just sit back and watch him go.
Ewan McGregor, on the other hand, is more comfortable in his own skin and more confident in his sexuality than most men will probably ever realize, and he seems quite comfortable in the role of Russell’s main squeeze, Phillip Morris. I mean, you run into McGregor on the street and he’ll probably sign your shirt with his whang for a high-five and a smile, so this isn’t exactly pushing the envelope for him. Nevertheless, he’s good here and helps bring a good amount of heart to the story, but as you can probably imagine, he gets a bit overshadowed by Carrey pretty early on.
And Steven Russell’s life really is one wild story. Effing ingenious the ways he kept breaking out.
But, folks, with the exception of Get Him to the Greek and MacGruber (yes, that was hilarious), 2010 has proven to be a pretty weak year for comedies. And while I don’t get how Jim Carrey had to take a pay cut to be in this movie and will probably be paid more than I’ll make in a lifetime to be in Mr. Popper’s Penguins next year, props to him for jumping on a quality script and giving us a performance that should remind us why he got famous in the first place. That Steven Russell’s got one amazing life, it left me with this euphoric movie-going high for days that I rarely get anymore, and I Love You Phillip Morris is just one of the more thoroughly entertaining movies I’ve seen in quite a while. Would pay to see this again in a heartbeat and would probably laugh just as loud.
And it introduced me to this unreal Nina Simone song that I’d never heard before and haven’t been able to stop listening to since. So that was awesome!
The King’s Speech (2010)
VERDICT:
7/10 Stuttering Stanleys
Yet one more reason why Colin Firth is no longer the thinking man’s version of Hugh Grant.
The King’s Speech is the true story of good ol’ King George VI in the 1930s who finds himself wearing the crown at the outset of World War II because his older brother is too whipped to man up and take his rightful place on the throne. Only problem is, Georgie Boy has himself one seriously mean speech impediment that leaves him at an inevitable loss for words on the airwaves. So after seeing countless doctors and specialists in the hopes of finding a way to overcome this crippling stammer of his, he begins meeting with an unorthodox Aussie speech therapist who starts to help him in ways he never though possible and gives him the self-confidence to be the voice of a nation in a time when they need it most.
Now, whether it’s 1910 or 2010, my knowledge of the British monarchy pretty much boils down to me guessing “Elizabeth” or “Henry VIII/the guy who had all those wives” whenever the said topic comes up on Jeopardy! The downside of my being so out of the loop on this topic is that I’m totally screwed if I ever get the urge to start a career in international politics, but the upside is that this whole story is brand spankin’ new to me. Same kinda vibe I got when I first saw The Queen, I knew absolutely nothing about any of that stuff. Granted, it’s always something to hear an inspiring story like this, but it’s always that much better when it’s actually a true story and one that’s been around for ages even though it may very well be common knowledge for my neighbors across the pond. Just cool to get that “How have I never heard of this?” feeling every once in a while when you go to the movies.
And even if the structure is somewhat familiar, it is an awfully fascinating story. Just off the synopsis, you can probably guess what kind of direction the plot is going to follow, but the thing that keeps this so compelling isn’t so much the way George goes from a borderline mute while speaking in public to a bonafide leader behind the mic, the heart of it all is actually the unlikely friendship he develops with the one person he wants nothing to do with.
On that note, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Geoffrey Rush in a movie that was worthy of having Geoffrey Rush in it. This is the guy from Shine we’re talking about, this guy is absolutely no joke when he’s working with the right material, but since he’s also appearing in The Warrior’s Way this weekend, seems like it’s been a while since the right material landed on Geoff’s doorstep. Anyway, here he is playing George’s speech therapist, Lionel Logue, and it’s so good to have him back in top form. He’s just a fun, fantastic, and perfect complement to the King of England’s closed-off, skeptical demeanor and it ends up making for a lot of witty and heartfelt back-and-forths between the two opposites.
I mean, Helena Bonham Carter is darn good as George’s wife, Queen Elizabeth (what did I say?), but unfortunately, when Lionel and George aren’t on-screen together, all I could think about during the other scenes was when I’d get to see Lionel and George together again. It’s really all about the chemistry with those two and the chemistry is palpable. Tons of outstanding character development for both of ’em and it’s the added element of this common man gradually becoming the King’s best friend despite their social differences that makes it stand out that much more. Nice to have Guy Pearce and Michael Gambon (he should probably just change his name to Dumbledore already) around as George’s brother and father respectively, but they’re in the same boat is Helena.
And while I’m all for Jeff Bridges any day of the week, it’s great to see Colin Firth back in the game after getting robbed for Best Actor last year. Firth plays our King, and just as he did with George Falconer, he freakin’ becomes George VI. It’s the totally convincing and painful-to-watch stutter, it’s the flaring temper that explodes with each new layer that gets peeled back, it’s Firth embracing this character like he’s been the guy all his life. The guy lights up the screen, you genuinely feel for what he’s going through and how heavily everything is weighing on him, and for a King, I feel like that’s a tall order to deliver. Then again, Colin Firth is the man.
Still gotta wait for True Grit to come out, but since Firth and Bridges are probably gonna be up against each other again this year, all I know for certain is that The Dude’s got his work cut out for him.
But Tom Hooper does a great job turning this talking heads movie into something surprisingly slick and exciting. Just very controlled camerawork, lots of extreme close-ups used at all the right times, lots of outstanding sets that range from dilapidated to regal yet all look equally gorgeous in their own ways. And what a swell script by David Seidler. Really sharp, really funny, and while it may lean a little more on the comedic side than the dramatic at times, Seidler always lets off this punch to the gut that drives it home and drowns out the laughs in just the right way. Definitely doing the cast a favor, not that they needed any favors to begin with.
So whether you can tell the difference between George V and George VI like it’s no big thing or are quite content with stopping at “Let them eat cake,” The King’s Speech is a great little movie that somehow manages to turn a speech impediment into something worth cheering over. Like I said, if the scenes that didn’t have Rush and Firth in them were as memorable as the ones that did, this would be an easy 8, but as is, it’s a very high 7. Nonetheless, an easy Oscar contender for acting, writing, and dozens more obscure categories that will once again screw you over on your scorecard.
And thank God they finally got rid of that stupid-ass poster.
And the best entry from the original Indy trilogy is…
RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK!
Man, that was a gimme. Wildly overestimated how many folks worship The Last Crusade, but the lack of love for Short Round was pretty dead-on. But hey, at least there’re no aliens, no mutant fire ants, and no Shia LeBeouf monkey half-breeds.
God help that fifth Indy movie.
RESULTS:
– Raiders: 32 votes
– Temple of Doom: 2 votes
– Last Crusade: 10 votes
How about a consensus on Harrison’s best movie?
Rocky (1976)
VERDICT:
10/10 Mike Springers
Doesn’t get any more inspiring, iconic and straight up American than this, folks.
Rocky is about a small-time boxer from Philly who has the potential to be a contender but spends most of his days slumming around town as a hired muscle for a bookie instead of getting his life together like the bum he is. Then, as luck/fate would have it, the heavyweight champion of the world challenges this hometown hero to throw down at the biggest boxing match of the Century. Not one to bypass a golden opportunity, our guy laces up his Chuck Taylors, punches the daylights out of cow carcasses like they’ve been mouthing off about his mother, seals the deal with the girl he’s been chasing after for God knows how long, and gets ready to crap thunder over all those jerks who wrote him off as just another bum from the neighborhood.
Over the years, I’ve become pretty jaded about the whole Rocky series and I don’t think I’m the only one in that boat. I dug throwing Mr. T into the mix, I dug Rocky single-handedly defeating Communism, and Rocky Balboa was actually way better than it should have been, but I think Rocky V and all that Tommy Gunn crap was the straw that broke the camel’s back for a lot of us. All the same, I’ve got a friend who worships this series to the point where he might as well change his name to Thunderlips already, so after asking me to review this enough times to the point where I literally threw him into the Sun, I obliged and immediately remembered why it’s still the classic it’s always been.
Can hardly blame the fat cats at Hollywood for turning this into a total cash cow of a franchise. Nonetheless, fuck those guys.
So why a 10 for Rocky? Well, it’s a lot of things, but if I were to boil this down to one rock solid element, it would probably go back to America. I don’t know if this is common knowledge outside the US of A, but there are a few certain things that every last Yank loves more than life itself, things we would willingly give our lives for without thinking twice.
Hot dogs. Replacing words with “Freedom”. A cold beer in a hot shower. Maury Povich.
Pretty sure all those things are protected somewhere on the Constitution, but when push comes to shove, us Americans would gladly tar and feather all that noise for the one thing we hold dear above all else: the underdog. God, we love that shit. Go into any American sports bar, yell, “HEY! How about that 1980 US Olympic hockey team?!” and everyone will buy you a beer with tears of prideful joy flooding down their faces. Works every time. Rooting for the underdog isn’t a pastime reserved for the USA, but that notion of defying the odds and coming out on top despite every chip being stacked in the other side’s favor is what achieving The American Dream in The Land of Opportunity is all about.
And that’s Rocky: the seminal, blue-collar, one-in-a-million underdog.
He’s not the one riding into the ring in a parade float, dressed up in an Uncle Sam costume with more money than he knows what to do with, he’s the “bum” who’s chugging raw eggs for breakfast and helping his friend out by promoting a meat factory on the back of his robe. Rocky’s the everyman, he’s likable as all hell and you root for him because that drive for greatness is something we’ve all got in us. And I gotta say, Stallone was an awesome choice to play him.
It’s no mystery that Sly’s not the most dramatic star on the lot, but he has his moments and it really helps when he’s playing down the tough guy shtick. Part of it goes back to his surprisingly well-written, genuine script where people call each other “tomato” and “coconut” like it’s second nature, but the thing Stallone does well is that he doesn’t ham it up, it just feels like he’s being himself. When he gets emotional, he doesn’t go over the top (pun intended), and when he’s shooting the shit, it’s like he’s just saying whatever’s coming to mind. And it works, he ends up being a phenomenal, relatable character from beginning to end. It’s still pretty upsetting that Sly’s more jacked now at 64 than he was 34, but whatever, I bow down to any actor who can do one-armed push-ups and clap between reps.
And Burgess Meredith is freakin’ unreal as Rocky’s trainer, Mickey. There’s a serious lack of screen-time given to the guy, but whether he’s screaming at Rocky’s teen fans to get out of his gym or just telling Rocky what’s what every minute of every day, the man’s a beast and he is hilarious. Burt Young is great as Paulie – the grimiest, most cynical, most bummerific best friend Rocky could have ever picked out – and Talia Shire is out of sight as Rocky’s main squeeze, Adrian. It is no fluke whatsoever that all four of these guys got nominated for Oscars, they’re really that good and their characters are immortal.
But talk about your all-time iconic scenes. Rocky tearing up the Rocky Steps to the perfect inspirational theme song, the egg smoothie, Rocky training in the meat freezer, Rocky and Adrian ice skating (a personal favorite), the big fight, and “ADRIAAAAAN!” in that outrageous accent are just a handful amongst a slew of classics. Jesus, the whole damn thing is one big monument to all that is epic in movies. It’s no wonder that this movie is the pride and joy of Philadelphia
Man, if I was 24 when this had come out in theaters, I would have paid to see this ten, 20, 50, 637 times until I was dead broke, panhandling outside the theater weighing the pros and cons of spending my loose change on viewing number 638 or just gettin’ silly on some hard liquor and re-enacting the whole thing in a back-alley with the voices in my head. I was laughing, I was cheering, I was welling up – you name an emotion, that was me, baby. The long and short of it is that Rocky is just great and it was no small feat to nab Best Picture from the likes of Network, Taxi Driver and All the President’s Men. The sequels have definitely done more harm than good to this movie’s memory over the years, but whatever, this is flat-out timeless and I can’t help but wonder why we can’t get movies like this put out anymore.
Point is: long live the ’70s. Long live the original Rocky.
The Killing (1956)
VERDICT:
8/10 Hobo Holdups
Film noir done right by a director who never did film noir again.
The Killing is about a guy who gets out of jail after putting in some serious time at Alcatraz and gathers up his trusty team of lowlife sonsabitches to pull off one last heist at a horse track so that he can split town for good and live the good life with his gal ’til their dying days. But since heists rarely end up being the flawless operations that one hopes they would be (going off of personal experience here), our mastermind of the hour finds himself struggling to stay afloat in a bloody mess that’s rapidly spiraling down the shitter.
Alrighty then. So he made a couple pet projects in the years leading up to good ol’ ’56, but this here was Stanley Kubrick’s big Hollywood feature debut. Didn’t make much of splash at the box office and its claim to fame these days probably stems from the legendary career Kubrick made for himself along with having Quentin Tarantino cite this bad boy as a major influence on Reservoir Dogs, but make no mistake, this is some pure, old school gangster goodness that should have gotten more respect back in the day and holds up damn well over 50 years later.
From a directorial standpoint, Kubrick gets it done. It doesn’t have the same kind of polish as something like 2001 or even his follow-up to this, Paths of Glory, but it looks the way you’d think an early Kubrick effort would look, and that, folks, is a good thing. But the biggest strength Kubrick has going for him is the script he co-wrote with pulp fiction novelist Jim Thompson. The extent of my Jim Thompson knowledge starts and ends with the film adaptation of his book The Killer Inside Me, and as outrageously effed up as that movie was, the writing was out of sight and the same is true in The Killing. Only this isn’t very effed up, I’d say it’s just a teeny bit effed up.
It’s a story about bad dudes doing bad shit with zero remorse and they all call women “broads” or “dames” like the James Cagney fans they are. Awesome. It’s stone cold, dirty stuff filled with the toughest guys in town and the most emasculating woman on the planet who’s married to the most pathetic guy in the universe, and that’s exactly the kind of movie I always want to see.
And while the dialogue, the characters and the story are all good and dandy, the non-linear way in which the plot unfolds as it revisits the same scenes from the various viewpoints of everyone involved might be the most lasting effect. Like I said, it’s very Tarantino (or Tarantino is very it), it’s a stellar way to connect the audience to a whole slew of different characters equally, and though it might seem like a knockoff approach these days, it was brand spankin’ new back then.
But even if 99% of the script was garbage, it would still be a winner if only for Sterling Hayden’s final line. Loved that “Eh, fuck it” attitude of his that sends the movie out on this perfect, dire note. Was not expecting it whatsoever, but could not have imagined a better ending.
Except for that lady at the airport and her stupid-freakin’-mutt. If Sterling turned around and whaled on those two, that would have been a better ending.
And let’s just get to Sterling Hayden already. He’s one cool mother effer as seasoned crook Johnny Clay (what a name), he was one cool mother effer in general and I feel like a jackass for just coming to that realization over the past few weeks. Dude had some serious presence, one hell of a jawline and it’s too bad he apparently hated acting enough not to take more roles because he was a great leading man. But Timothy Carey (did that guy have lockjaw or something?) is good as the hired gun of the job, Elisha Cook, Jr. is good as the infuriatingly pathetic weak link of the gang, and Marie Windsor is good as Cook’s two-timing, ball-crushing wife. Good cast all around actually.
Debut or not, The Killing is a really good, really badass movie that deserves to be regarded with some of Kubrick’s best. The heist isn’t on the level with Heat and the occasional pacing lulls are noticable, but for something that was made over half-a-Century ago, I admit, these are stupid complaints. If film noirs were still made like this, I don’t think they ever would have gone out of style.
The Thin Blue Line (1988)
VERDICT:
9/10 Celluloid Vindications
Rare proof that movies literally have the power to change lives.
The Thin Blue Line is a documentary about a guy who moves into Dallas, lands a job the day he arrives even though everyone else is out of work, things are turning up for him left and right, life is good. But then a cop gets murdered in cold blood and our lucky guy finds himself fingered as the shooter by a 16-year-old with a rap sheet bigger than The Lonestar State itself. So he gets locked up and pleads his case, but Johnny Law’s already made up his mind and his chances of freedom are subsequently reduced to nada.
But then along comes film maker Errol Morris – a documentarian known at the time for his particular interest in pet cemeteries and backwoods townies – who happens upon this guy’s story by complete chance and notices that some shit is most definitely up. Upon recognizing the once-in-a-lifetime subject matter that’s fallen into his lap, he rolls camera, starts interviewing absolutely everyone involved in the trial and gets to giving this convict the defense he was never allowed. And for someone who makes movies for a living, someone with no formal training as a lawyer or private eye, it’s awfully appalling what he manages to unearth.
Texas, man. That ass-backwards legal system of theirs is exactly why you’re not supposed to mess with it.
This is an interesting movie to write about because even though the folks in front of the camera are the ones driving the story along as they dig their own graves and exhuming others for the sake of being on camera and calling it before the fat lady’s even cleared her throat, Morris really is the most fascinating individual of the bunch when all is said and done. The story is great, it’s absolutely devastating and may very well prompt you to upgrade to that direct flight instead of stopping off in Fort Worth, but the way Morris puts it together is the reason it’s so damn compelling.
It’s as though Juror #8 stepped off the screen with camera in hand and was told to dissect this trial down the very last detail, get confessions out of witnesses, jurors, prosecutors and lawmen that have never been caught on the record, and don’t turn it into a snoozefest either. Needless to say, he succeeds on every front and the strangest, most tragic part of all is that it took someone completely outside of the legal system to do it. There’s more examinations, cross-examinations, backtracking and re-enactments than you can shake a stick at that continually reveal one more shocking turn of events after another. In short, it could totally be used as evidence. And even though it’s a tricky situation when you have to take someone’s testimony at their word, especially when they’re cuffed at the wrists and ankles, but as the truth gradually unravels it becomes this monster that will make you furious and wonder what circle of Hell someone gets sent to for destroying someone’s life without the grounds to do so.
But, man, Morris and convicted killer Randall Wallace have a freakin’ carnival of weirdos and egos to deal with. Wallace himself comes off like a man on the brink of defeat whose emotions are simply exhausted after years of falling on deaf ears, but then there are his accusers who range from drive-by witnesses who think that watching enough Columbo episodes grants you credibility as a detective to our number one accuser of the hour, David Harris, who talks about the whole thing like someone just asked him to talk about the pros and cons of ice cream for two hours. You watch these characters who swore on a Bible to put Wallace away and fought tooth and nail to keep him there, and you can’t help but wonder how he could have gotten there in the first place. Astounding how ineffective the powers of reason can be.
Anyway, it’s just something to be seen and I’ve got this crazy hunch that the judges down South still haven’t exactly changed their ways all too much either.
I’m a big fan of documentaries, but I’m an even bigger fan of required viewings. The Thin Blue Line undoubtedly falls into the latter category and continues to be regarded as one of the greatest documentaries ever made for damn good reason. Part of why that is goes back to how outstanding Morris is as both film maker and investigator, but the true gravity of this movie’s importance is due to the way it directly impacted the individuals involved and ultimately removed the blindfold that’d been cutting off all circulation to Lady Justice’s brain. If there’s any complaint I can make, the only thing I can come up with is that it’s pretty information-heavy, but let’s not mistake that with being boring now, this is Documentaries 101.
Can’t give anything away in regards to specifics, but for a genre that is often aimed at inciting change in the world, it’s flat-out amazing to see something that actually achieves it. Not to say that other documentaries aren’t worth a damn in comparison, but lemme tell ya’, the world would be a pretty swell place if efforts like An Inconvenient Truth and Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room all had the same effect that this did.
The Human Centipede (First Sequence) (2009)
VERDICT:
3/10 Porta Bodies
See it to say you saw it.
The Human Centipede (First Sequence) is about two chicks vacationing in Europe who head out for a night on the town, get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, wander deep into the woods to look for help and wind up at the doorstep of a German surgeon who specializes in separating Siamese twins/doing weird-ass shit to Rottweilers. Anyway, they get roofied, tied down to an operating table with a Japanese guy, and wake up with their mouths sewed to each others bums and such. Then they fetch newspapers for a while.
Good times.
So if there’s one thing that kept this baby from getting a final verdict of 2, it’s that this sure does have one inspired car crash of a premise. I remember when I first heard about this movie some time last Spring, it took all of two seconds for me to think, “No way is that shit coming to America.” But color me shocked, color me somewhat impressed by the strange fascination us Yanks have with torture porn, because while this movie may be royally disappointing for the most part, at least it’s got one effing crazy gimmick to work with.
It’s the one topic that a lot of my conversations circle back to these days and it’s one of the rare times where I actually got kind of excited when I finally saw it appear on Netflix Instant. And how could you not have the “I Survived The Human Centipede” conversation? How could you not be at least a little bit interested to check this out? The only problem is that once I finally did, it immediately occurred to me that writer/director/probable snuff film advocate Tom Six just had himself a good idea and not a whole lot else.
The problem’s not that it’s too gross or that it upset me to the point where all its strengths were rendered null and void, it’s just that it’s a shitty horror movie that continually nails every pitfall that every shitty horror movie always falls into.
Why do these girls wander miles away from civilization, completely ditch the man-made roads and head into the fuckin’ forest to find help? Why do they drink whatever this modern-day Dr. Mengele is offering them without assuming that they’re probably gonna get roofied? Why does one of the girls wait until the last possible second to make an escape attempt before going under the knife? Why does the head centipede pass up two golden opportunities to finish off his captor, instead opting to randomly turn the tables on himself? And why do cops always split up when they search a house like the freakin’ idiots they are?
Serenity now, man. We’re in the 21st Century now, horror cliches aren’t exactly news. Guess that’s what happens when you let a guy named Tom Six make a movie.
Also pretty astonished that people actually volunteered to be in this movie. Simply can’t wrap my head around these lovely ladies telling their moms about their breakthrough role, inviting the whole gang to the premiere, and then having to sit there as the women who brought them into the world watch them eat poop and scream into buttholes with a German guy riding on their backs. I know, it’s just a movie, but the idea of someone reading this script and going, “Tom Six, you’ve got yourself a mid-section!” just isn’t processing. And with the exception of Dieter Laser who pulls off his role as wacky Dr. Heiter because his neanderthal bone structure and baritone pipes seem to imply that he’s nothing short of Smeagol’s and Buffalo Bill’s bastard love child, the acting ain’t too memorable either. Definitely not a movie worth showing your boobs for.
Well, the bite-size review for The Human Centipede could easily be “The cinematic equivalent of 2 Girls, 1 Cup”, but I guess the biggest problem is that this is 20 times longer than it should be. Once the operation is over and done, the plot goes nowhere and there’s still an hour left. It’s not scary and since all the gory visuals are hidden behind oodles of gauze, it’s actually pretty tame considering. Yeah, it doesn’t need to show much to get the desired reaction, but for such totally extreme shit, I’m thinking it might have helped to have gone gung-ho instead of leaving it up to the imagination for once. Not sure I’ve ever had that complaint, but suggestive blood doesn’t quite drive it home. Still, pretty nutty stuff. And that whole “100% Medically Accurate” tagline on the poster is priceless.
But I have absolutely no idea how there are apparently two sequels being made from this. Absolutely no idea what else there is to say or do outside of stitching together more dumbass drifters until we’re at The Human Centipede (Conga Line Sequence). But who am I kidding, I’d probably see that.
R.I.P. Leslie Nielsen
Folks, one of the greats has unfortunately passed on. Whether you knew of him or not, I think this calls for an introduction/revisit to The Naked Gun and Airplane! Thanks for the laughs, Les, and I thought you were awesome in Forbidden Planet.
Even in death, we will never stop calling you Shirley.
Red Dawn (1984)
VERDICT:
6/10 WOLVERINES!
It’s like First Blood…only with High Schoolers and Commies instead of a Green Beret killing machine and Brian Dennehy. Sure. Why not?
Red Dawn takes place in an alternate 1980s America where the Cubans and Russians have teamed up to invade a small Midwestern town because they’ve had it up to here with all this Cold War bullshit. Being that all 26 residents of the said town weren’t exactly expecting a full-scale invasion, most everyone gets lit up or corralled into jerry-rigged concentration camps…everyone except for a handful of teenagers with an endless supply of ammo, hunting rifles and spray paint that is. And since these Commie bastards have about as much combat experience as a miniature horse, these scrappy youngsters band together and start massacring every last Cuban and Russkie in sight because no one’s gonna take over their precious Walmart without a fight!
So apparently there was a remake of this that was originally scheduled to come out next weekend, but since IMDB is full of shit, here I am jumping the gun like a buffoon. Then again, it’s somewhat embarrassing that it’s taken me 24 years to finally get around to seeing this after making a habit of smiling politely and pretending like I totally knew what it meant when my friends would yell “WOLVERINES!”. All I can say is thank God for all those I Love the ’80s marathons.
But now that I’ve experienced it firsthand, I’m thinking my expectations might have been a bit too high.
Yeah, times have changed since the Cold War and these days I think we’d have a better chance of Vladimir Putin landing a spot on Dancing with the Stars than the Soviets launching a full-out assault on American soil, but I guess people were pretty freaked out by the Reds back then, huh? I really can’t say much on the matter since I was spending most of my days kickin’ it in the womb or finger painting like a mofo back then, but they couldn’t have been this freaked out. I can only assume that the thinking behind this movie was somewhat equivalent to the way I talk to my friends about how I’m going to survive the zombie apocalypse (an Escalade, a shotgun, and an Andrew W.K. mix CD), but aside from all the death and stuff, I would have a total blast with that and it’s not like I lose sleep over it either.
With that in mind, it’s kind of hard to take this premise seriously. What’s even harder to take seriously is how seriously this movie takes itself. I mean, come on, this premise is pretty fuckin’ ridiculous. Can’t knock it for being epic because if your movie wasn’t epic in the ’80s, you were probably still wearing bell-bottoms, but when you throw High Schoolers in with your AK-47s and carpet bombs, and the whole one-man-army formula just doesn’t gel quite so reliably as it once did.
It’s crazy, man. Watching this, I really felt like it was written by our hero of the hour, Jed Eckert – an All-American High School quarterback/red-blooded country boy from the middle of nowhere whose favorite book is The Red Badge of Courage and whose favorite movie is Conan the Destroyer. It’s just that the writers, the actors and the characters are for some reason dead serious about this premise and don’t so much as crack a “Why did the Cuban cross the road?” joke do lighten the mood. The dialogue is outrageously cheesy, the whole stab at a morality side plot about how “war changes men, even bloodthirsty 16-year-olds” is dumb as hell, and the bad guys have a veritable arsenal at their fingertips yet they’re getting wiped out by a bunch of kids who haven’t even gotten to second base and are living off of beans in the woods.
If you’re rolling your eyes, you’re on the level.
Maybe I just didn’t know what to expect, but while a whole lot of this is forgivable, a little sense of humor would have gone a long way.
All the same, Patrick Swayze plays Jed Eckert, and I will never say a bad word about Swayze ’til my dying day, so that right there is a selling point. I must have gone a full hour thinking it was Emilio, but Charlie Sheen plays Jed’s brother, Matt, and I think my confusing him with Gordon Bombay is about as much as an endorsement as I can give. There’s also C. Thomas Howell who’s pretty damn bad as the trigger-happy Robert, Lea Thompson who’s pretty damn bad as Erica, and Jennifer Grey who’s pretty damn bad as Toni. Whatever, not like I was expecting much and not like they take away from the movie as a whole, but with the exception of Swayze, all these characters kinda blow.
Bonus points for bit roles from Harry Dean Stanton and Powers Boothe though.
But for all its failures and bizarre approaches at creating a credibly storyline by treating it like The Breakfast Club-meets-Apocalypse Now, Red Dawn still has a good deal of awesomeness to make it fun. Big explosions, pretty inspired premise even if it is totally half-baked, and it’s just some good, mindless, super-violent ’80s action. If it had taken itself with a grain of salt, I would have dug this a lot more than I did, but I can see why it’s become a cult classic of sorts and this is the kind of thing I could see myself going to a midnight showing of in the future. Yeah, I’d probably be drunk and tagging along with friends who worship the damn thing, but that’s a-okay. Some movies just need to be seen that way.
Really hope that remake isn’t one of those shot-for-shot deals though.
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