Saturday, 17 February 2024

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (Steven Spielberg, 1977)

After witnessing UFOs, Roy Neary (Richard Dreyfuss) finds himself plagued by visions of a mysterious object, which he is compelled to draw and sculpt.


When fellow UFO spectator Jillian’s (Melinda Dillon) son Barry (Cary Guffey) is abducted by the mysterious visitors, the pair head to Devil’s Tower, a natural outcrop that resembles the image they keep imagining...


It is hard not to compare Close Encounters of the Third Kind to the blockbusters of today. And I gave up trying to avoid the comparisons.


While it is partially the result of natural escalation, today’s blockbusters are so much more action-focused. 


Despite its premise and spectacle, Close Encounters is not an action film. In some ways, it is the opposite.


Despite some hardware, there is no real threat of military escalation - from either the humans or the aliens.


Unlike the protagonists of later blockbusters, the film is based around ordinary people. There are experts and specialists at the margins, but the focus is on Roy (Richard Dreyfuss) and Jillian (Melinda Dillon).


And who can see such a large-scale movie now coming down to an exchange of musical notes?


This movie is as distinct from the popular offerings of today as it probably felt compared to the disaster, war and post-Jaws monster movies of its release.


The film opens with Lacombe (François Truffaut) and his team discovering planes from WW2 in the Sonora Desert. It sets out a mystery that is ultimately based on a conflict between adult anxiety and child-like innocence.


The scenes of Jillian’s son Barry greeting the unseen UFOs are played for suspense, with the aliens kept offscreen, and the sense of danger increased by the choice to position the camera at Barry’s eye-level.


Now these scenes are iconic for exemplifying their creator’s childlike sense of wonder.


For audiences at the time, coming on the heels of Jaws, the movie’s playful sense of suspense must have played differently.


That sense of fear is maintained in the adult reactions to the encounters. But so is the child’s embrace of the unknown, and the uncanny - see the scene where Ray gathers materials for his Devil’s Tower model. In the background, his son is enthusiastic, helping his dad carrying bricks back inside the house.


That juxtaposition also provides the film with a rich vein of irony that adds to the film’s fundamentally playful take on the story - the headlights rising over Roy after he distractedly waves the ‘vehicle’ past - the scientists try to wheel the globe of the world around corridors; Roy trying to reach his wife on the phone while the massive model of Devil’s Tower looms behind him (just as expertly timed is the secondary gag of the news report in extreme right of frame, repeatedly showing the real Devil’s Tower (but only when Roy’s back is turned). 


While the central story is small, Spielberg’s delight in crowds and the bric-a-brac of people energises the movie - the crowd who shows up at the initial encounter site look like they have come for a party, with signs, food and games.


Scenes like this play to the film’s less paranoid view of humanity. In Close Encounters,  people do not (just) come with guns.  


I had never seen the film before, and I was surprised at the way the film has Ray’s family drive away, and there are no cutaways or reunion when his bizarre behaviour is validated.


I am not familiar with Spielberg’s work. I caught a couple of the big titles as a kid, and I have probably seen the lionshare of his recent movies. But seeing Close Encounters of the Third Kind for the first time hammers home how unique his voice is.


The subtle way he juggles tones and his deceptively simple control of framing and blocking - it is hard to think of a conventional narrative filmmaker with such an understanding of cinematic tools as him. 


He has gotten a little more contemplative and cynical in outlook in recent decades (I am very interested in re-watching Munich), which makes this period of his work a little more special.


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Thursday, 8 February 2024

LA Confidential (Curtis Hanson, 1997)

Los Angeles, 1953. Crime kingpin Mickey Cohen is in prison and the corruption-plagued LAPD are attempting a public relations makeover.

When a group of patrons are massacred at the Nite Owl café, officers Bud White (Russell Crowe) and Ed Exley (Guy Pearce) find their investigations running to the heart of LA's underworld... and the LAPD itself.



I have trouble writing about great movies. If one catches my imagination, then I can lock in and unpack it.

But most of the time, I do not feel any real desire or ability to pull apart a movie’s magic.

Sometimes that is all it is - magic. The alchemy of specific creative workers at a specific point in time.

I think that is why so many of my reviews focus on films where that magic does not happen.

You can learn a lot about cinematic storytelling, particularly in the linear, narrative-based genre/Hollywood fare I gravitate towards, by watching the movies which fail to achieve their basic aims.

A lot of films may not have that unifying magic, but most have some nuggets of gold, something special that - if it does not make it worth watching, at least provides the viewer with something to take away, even if that is an unconscious lesson in the power of the medium to provoke reactions.

While reducing movies to ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is detrimental for thinking critically about the medium, it can be instructive.

After watching LA Confidential I felt elated, but completely barren:

What is there to write about an acknowledged classic which has been covered for decades?

After watching its follow-up, The Black Dahlia, I was inspired.

I will not spend this review comparing the two films. I just raise it as context - watching them so close together really gave me perspective on LA Confidential.

What sticks out most about the film is its sense of confidence and control. The way the film maintains a grip on the sprawling narrative. The film is not particularly flashy in terms of style, but it never 

Pearce and Crowe are so well-cast. 

Crowe is all bottled rage, plowing through the movie like a freight train.

Pearce is more ambiguous, a cool intelligence always evaluating. 

Pearce’s body language is fascinating. He is always ramrod, never at ease. He is so tightly coiled, betraying the character’s deep-set insecurity. 

The way the movie manages to make them compelling without sugarcoating them is one of the movie’s main strengths.

Despite its setting, LA Confidential does feel plugged into the underlying tensions of the titular city. Yes, there is Hollywood glamour, but there is also corruption and systemic racial abuse. Released five years after the LA riots, the film feels more evocative of its time - and sadly its portrayal of the police as an institution built on racism remains evergreen.

While it is dark, the movie is remarkably deft in tone - it gives weight to the stakes but manages to still feel fun. 

Fundamentally LA Confidential is pulp - well-crafted and well-acted, but still pulp. And it never forgets that, while managing to be nuanced and considered in its  presentation of its darker elements.

A great movie.


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Monday, 5 February 2024

Narrow Margin (Peter Hyams, 1990)

Trapped on a train with a pair of killers on his tail, can deputy DA  Robert Caulfield (Gene Hackman) keep his witness Carol Hunnicut (Anne Archer) alive?





It has been a minute since I reviewed a Peter Hyams joint.


This movie is not as good as the original. Its additions only draw attention to how good the original is.


But on its own terms, Narrow Margin 90 is fun.


Part of the appeal is aesthetic - I love the look of thrillers from this period. 


Another related factor is the cast. 


Gene Hackman is so good at playing a prick, and he is well cast as Caulfield. The character is not that unique - he is so tenacious he rubs the brass the wrong way. When we meet him he has blown any chance of promotion, so he has a chip on his shoulder.


Hackman makes for a worthy stand-in for Charles McGraw, although I wish he got something more developed and unique to play (but more on that later).


Anne Archer is given some meat as the witness. We open the movie with the sequence of her witnessing the murder that gets the plot going.


Unlike the original, she is playing an ordinary woman who finds her escape plan sabotaged by Hackman’s over-eager bloodhound.


It is in this part of its narrative that the film teases a more suspenseful and unique take on the film’s premise.


In the original, part of the suspense comes from Brown trying to keep up appearances for the sake of the passengers.


If the film had been centred around Archer, and her attempts to avoid the killers AND overcome Hackman’s blundering, this film might have stood on its own.


To the film’s credit, it tries to make this failure key to Hackman’s character, but it does not carry through in the way that the filmmakers intended.

 

The rest of the cast are good: Alexander Sikking is solid as the smooth-talking mouthpiece of the killer duo.


The film is also notable for being the only movie to feature both JT and Emmet T Walsh. Both are great character actors (no blood relation) and they add some unique flavour to rote supporting roles.


The third act turns into an action thriller, with our heroes trying to hide on top of the speeding train - the sequence benefits from a lack of process shots. 


Hackman, Archer and Sikking are really on top of the train, in both close-ups and wide shots.


In a film that lacks a lot of original ideas, this sequence gives the movie a jolt of energy.


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The Narrow Margin (Richard Fleischer, 1952)

A cop has to get a witness from Chicago to Los Angeles in time for a major trial.


Trapped on a train with a pair of killers on his tail, can Brown (Charles McGraw) keep Frankie (Marie Windsor) alive?



One of my favourite movies. I watched it about a decade ago and fell in love. 


So clean and efficient, The Narrow Margin is the epitome of a small-scale genre piece.


The cast are solid: Charles McGraw is all gruff professionalism as the incorruptible Brown, but the real highlight is Marie Windsor as the tough-as-nails witness who becomes his unwilling accomplice. 


Made using only a few sets, the film is always on the move, milking suspense from every minor interaction.


Brown is constantly having to contend with his fellow passengers. While there are only two villains, it is Brown’s fellow passengers and the claustrophobic setting which become greater obstacles to his mission.


The film’s one action scene - a desperate scuffle in a train car bathroom - is fantastic. Shot with a handheld camera between the combatants, occasionally approximating a POV, with characters attacking the camera.


With only the sound of heavy breathing and train tracks, it is still a visceral set-piece.

 

Despite McGraw’s growl and presence, he never comes across as a superman.


A few final twists add to the suspense - one of the villains gets off the train and is replaced by another killer who Brown does not know- the filmmakers do not keep this a surprise, revealing this new variable to the viewer before Brown to increase the suspense.


The whole movie is a testament to how much can be milked from limited resources.


A pulpy, noir-infused sibling to Hitchcock’s train-set thrillers, there are no lulls in the action, as the film speeds through its 71 minutes.


A terrific showcase for director Richard Fleischer, The Narrow Margin is one of the highlights of a long, underrated career of a talented studio journeyman.


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Saturday, 3 February 2024

One Way Passage (Tay Garnett, 1932)

Two people have a one-way ticket to the other side: fun-loving Joan (Kay Francis) is dying, and convict Dan (William Powell) is on his way to a death sentence.

Finding each other on the eve of a cruise back to their final destination, the pair find themselves falling in love… 


Another 60 minute Kay Francis vehicle from 1932, One Way Passage once again pairs Francis with frequent co-star William Powell (My Man Godfrey).

The film equivalent of a short story, One Way Passage is beautifully mounted two-hander. I would call it understated, except for certain elements which feel stylistically welded to an earlier time and a different medium.

When the film is in the orbit of Francis and Powell, the film evokes the melancholy of the central lovers, both aware of their vanishing mortality, and savouring the time they have left. 

The film around the stars is a little shopworn. Juxtaposed with the their love story is the budding romance between Dan’s gaoler Steve (Warren Hymer) and con artist Betty (Aline MacMahon), who is masquerading as a wealthy Countess.

The strait-laced g-man and the world-weary trickster’s pairing could be the set up to a romcom of their own, but in this context their differences are treated as arbitrary and pointless.

Compared with mortality, who cares about stealing from those who can afford it?

It is an intriguing idea, and Aline MacMahon, as "Barrel House " Betty/"Countess Barilhaus" provides a welcome dose of cynicism to proceedings. Betty is looking for a way out with a final haul, and finds her attraction to Steve at odds with her future independence.

While I found her engaging, her would-be paramour Steve, played by Warren Hymer, is less compelling. Maybe it is a result of the filmmaking, but Hymer is completely one-note. His reactions are limited and he mugs for every reaction, deflating the comic effect from his scenes. And his limited palette means all the pathos of this subplot is due to MacMahon and the gravitational pull of the central romance.

As the film's ostensible 'comic relief', Frank McHugh's Skippy, another minor schemer, plays every beat for the cheap seats. His performance feels better suited for vaudeville, with exaggerated expressions that are even more OTT than Hymer's.

Still these elements are not detrimental. While his performance feels too broad, having Skippy onboard provides Dan with a circle of confidants from his world. His fate is what they are desperate to avoid.

There is a pathos to this small community, surrounded by rich passengers who have nothing to worry about.

It is a mark of the film's un-sugary sentiment that the elements I criticised do not torpedo the overall effect.

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Reality (Tina Satter, 2023)

One day in 2017, military contractor Reality Winner (Sydney Sweeney) returns home to find two strange men waiting for her.


The two men are FBI agents, and they want to know what Reality knows about a leaked document…



Based on the transcript of whistleblower Reality Winner’s arrest and initial interrogation by the FBI after she leaked a document on Russian attempts to hack the 2016 US election, Reality is a neat little pressure cooker of a movie.


I have not seen Is This A Room. I was not aware it existed before watching this movie.

 

A lot of people are still reckoning with the Trump presidency.


Because he is still at the heart of American politics it is difficult to treat his term with a real appraisal, particularly if he returns to the presidency. Still, watching Reality, I was reminded of those early days, particularly following the election and into his first months.


The never-ending string of controversies, news coverage and how emotionally draining it all felt. I remember being terminally online, following every detail. It was a perpetual state of despair that affected me. I look back on my reviews from that period and wonder how I would feel about these movies.


Reality feels like it captures a little of the vibe of that time: the way the agents attempt to act as though everything is normal, and their meeting is nothing out of the ordinary. Reality is trapped into a situation that she cannot get out of.


For a movie about words, Reality never feels like a play.


Satter keeps the camera close, allowing close-ups of her cast to fill in all the subtext and innuendo. Sweeney is excellent in the title role - slowly revealing a steel and wry self-awareness as she is cornered.


This movie is a duel where the winner is never in doubt - it is going to be a slow dance as the agents pick apart Reality's story.


It is terrifying watching the way her interrogators awkwardly try to maintain a front of affability, even as their questioning becomes more pointed.


A solid little thriller.


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Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942)

Everyone knows the deal with this one.


This is not going to be a long spiel. It is more of an addendum to my reviews of Humphrey Bogart's movies from last year.

Besides, what is there left to say about Casablanca?

Its greatness has been cemented in the public imagination for so long it is almost on the point of becoming underrated.

I last watched Casablanca in August, at the end of festival of Humphrey Bogart pictures focused on 'international' locations. What I took from watching Casablanca at the end, was getting a sense of the shadow it threw on the rest of his career.

After watching the Casablanca clones (Sirocco and Tokyo Joe, one can see even Bogart wrestling with the impact of his most famous film.


It is also a reflection of the way stars of his era were generally stuck in similar roles and genres.


Casablanca is the kind of movie I enjoy - it is focused around a single location and a small cast of characters.

Set largely inside Rick’s club, Casablanca is a world unto itself - deals are done, lives hang in the balance and secrets are the most important currency.

Claude Rains steals the movie as the cheerfully amoral police chief Renault - his witty asides and the clever choreography (the way he accepts his winnings while closing Rick’s club for illegal gambling) are a comic delight.

The margins of the movie are so colourful, and Bogart and Bergman are so iconic, that they are almost too archetypal. Nothing against their performances, but they are not as fun as the characters around them. 


After going through so many of his movies in a short space of time, I have gained such a new appreciation for Bogart’s face. That  face, particularly his eyes, have been the most fascinating aspect of his affect. Those sunken eyes burdened by age, mistakes and regrets.


Coming out of the miniseries, my preference is for the goofier, weirder edge of his filmography and performances. Rick is a more solemn and withdrawn characterisation. But it also gains a new potency after watching a broad selection of his other roles - including parts that feel like pale re-takes of Rick.


By contrast, the original gains so much more power.


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