The Manitou

Some movies are simply bad, some are horribly bad, and some are delightfully bad. 1978's THE MANITOU, starring Tony Curtis as a sham psychic and Susan Strasberg as a topless, psychic, evil-immortal-medicine-man battler, is wonderfully, delightfully bad in nearly every way. It embraces its profound badness, has great fun with it, and invites us to join in. Depending on your mood at the time of viewing, you're bound either to enjoy the heck out of it or hit the "Stop" button about 15 minutes in. It's up to you.

Here's the setup: Curtis is a sham psychic, ripping off old ladies in San Francisco. He's living the good living, grooving to funk and drinking canned beer, when an old girlfriend (Strasberg) calls. She has a problem: there's a fetus growing in her back, and that can't be good.

Before he knows it, Curtis is interviewing Burgess Meredith (playing a guy who clearly study the script and is just ad-libbing his way through things) learning that said fetus is the reincarnation of the aforementioned evil, immortal medicine man. He's off to the reservation to find another medicine man to help him out, then it's back to the hospital, where Strasberg is giving back-birth to a midget in a rubber suit. From there, well, all I can say is that there are some movies that make me wish I did drugs. I have difficulty imagine how much better Topless Strasberg mentally battling Rubber Suit Midget in space (space!) could be, but I can't watch that scene and not think that it wasn't made for mushrooms.

So: THE MANITOU. Nowhere near good, but actually quite fun. You could do worse.

PS If you watch this, be sure to watch the trailers first. They'll really put you in the mood.

Shoot 'Em Up

I should have loved SHOOT 'EM UP. I really should have. I've made relatives sit down for HARD BOILED. I think the BOURNE movies are top notch. Hell, I consider the two TRANSPORTER movies borderline classic cinema.

But I merely liked it. I suppose that's ok.

SHOOT 'EM UP stars Clive Owen as Bugs Bunny and Paul Giamatti as Elmer Fudd. Or is it Clive Owen as Roadrunner and Paul Giamatti as Wile E. Coyote? Owen as Tom and Giamatti as Jerry? Whichever, these two cartoon characters chase and get chased across a breathless 86 minutes filled with more gunfire, 'splosions, and chases than you can drop an anvil on. It's fun, or at least it starts fun, but it grows tiresome as the body count rises and it nihilistic tone comes to grate on the nerves. By the time this bulletfest turns into an anti-gun screed (talk about trying to have your cake and eat it, too), I'd had enough.

Paul Giamatti, the reason why I saw this movie, is delightfully, insanely evil. I can imagine the actor cackling and rubbing his hands together while reading this script for the first time. He's balanced against Clive Owen, an actor I've liked only in those BMW short films. People keep telling me that Owen is the Next Big Thing, but I don't get it. He just seems dour and angry, and if I want dour and angry I'll just look up an old girlfriend. Further, SHOOT 'EM UP wastes the magnificent Monica Belluci in a role that makes me wonder why she accepted it.

Yes, some of the stunts are spectacular. There's a skydiving setpiece that's simply breathtaking. There's some of the most creative gunplay I've seen since EL MARIACHI. But there's very little to leaven it. In addition to its action, SHOOT 'EM UP makes us sit through an hour and a half of human despair and degradation.

And that, I can live without.

3:10 to Yuma

3:10 TO YUMA is both a fine western and a sad commentary on the current state of the western.

James Mangold has crafted a fine western with an extraordinary cast, featuring two of the finest leading men in pictures today: Christian Bale and Russell Crowe. The men sell antagonism, respect, and something approaching friendship, and I enjoyed watching the development of their relationship over the course of the film. The film itself has nearly everything one can expect from a western, including evil water barons, post- Civil War hostility, Apaches on the raid, and the impending changes brought on by rail travel. It also features some decent western stuntwork, but it's this very stuntwork that makes 3:10 TO YUMA a sad commentary on the current state of its genre. Where are the horses trained to fall and tumble? Where are the stuntmen trained to ride them? For that matter, where are the stuntmen trained to hop from horse to horse, or carry out any of the other feats we've come to expect as followers of the genre? I think that 3:10 TO YUMA tried to provide us with some of those thrills; but its genre has seemed unprofitable for so long that modern stuntmen simply aren't building the skills necessary to pull off first-class western stunts.

And that's too bad, because the western genre still has so much to offer. 3:10 TO YUMA, while a remake, stays fresh, compelling, and exciting up to the very end. Though it stumbles with a leaden confession late in the game, it delivers fine western action and he-man pathos throughout. It's more TOMBSTONE than OPEN RANGE, and that's ok. Here's a movie that just wants to entertain us, and it succeeds.

{hesitates ... hesitates ... aw, to heck with it}

Catch this movie.

Persona

This week, I'm alone on a business trip. Celebrating my fleeting freedom of action, last night I permitted myself a rare indulgence: a tumbler of Maker's Mark bourbon, a Cuesta Rey cigar, and Ingmar Bergman's PERSONA. It was a tough decision. The local Cineplex is showing 3:10 TO YUMA and SHOOT ‘EM UP, both of which I’d like to see on the big screen. But I don’t often get the chance to watch a whole Bergman movie uninterrupted, and I couldn’t pass it by.

I chose well. While I’m confident that I’ll enjoy 3:10 TO YUMA and SHOOT ‘EM UP when I get around to seeing them, I’ll be shocked if either movie turns out to be as flat-out entertaining as PERSONA. Yep, an hour and a half of two women alone in a summer house, with one of the women uttering exactly one line of dialogue, makes for riveting, consuming cinema – the kind of cinema that makes you forget what time it is, where you’re sitting, even who you are. Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullman are just that interesting.

PERSONA begins with a series of WTF images that may explore the history of cinema, the deepest churnings of the unconscious, or even the flotsam and jetsam from which we pull together an identity. From another director, I’d dismiss it as so much self-important wankery, but I’ve seen enough of Bergman’s films to trust the guy’s mastery of dramatic narrative. Thus, I was willing to go where it took me, into a mind-state of disequilibrium and expectation. From there, we meet Ullman, a famous actress who, mid-performance, has chosen to give up interaction with the world and, instead withdraw into herself. Ullman has a fascinating face that, while not exactly beautiful, invites contemplation. What’s happening behind those eyes? How deep is her despair? What does she see that the rest of us don’t? These questions come to consume Andersson, a young nurse assigned to Ullman who agrees with a doctor’s suggestion that she take her patient to the doctor’s beach house for a long recovery (Note: if this is what universal health care looks like, sign me up!).

Once at the beach house, we enjoy a pair of remarkable performances: Andersson all talk and existential longing, and Ullman, all contemplation and, perhaps, wisdom. When a violation of trust collapses the roles and walls between them, PERSONA gives us a brilliant exploration of the nature of identity and the quest for, well, something.

PERSONA is beautiful to watch, another successful collaboration between Bergman and his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist. The combination of light and shadow, image upon image, and simple physical composition makes PERSONA a film that surprises and delights from beginning to end.

It’s a whole different kind of entertainment from the offerings down at the multiplex, but it’s flat-out magnificent. I loved every frame.

Scooby-Doo

Some movies have "disaster" written all over them. Take an old cartoon, mix in some minor-league actors, and modernize the
proceedings with a generous sprinkling of "hip" contemporary references, and you have a movie that can't possibly go right.
SCOOBY-DOO is such a movie.

Perhaps the greatest mystery is how this certain trainwreck turned out to be a fun, enjoyable picture. The picture begins with a sequence straight out of the vintage cartoons, then adds a few twists to generate dramatic tension. From there, it's on to the next mystery and the inevitable, "And it would've worked, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids!"

SCOOBY-DOO's cast members sell their roles, it's a pleasure to look at the movie's sets, and the whole thing is much more fun than I'd expected.

What a pleasant surprise!