Fort Apache

John Ford’s Fort Apache is a great movie about a bad commanding officer.

Henry Fonda is a lieutenant colonel in the cavalry, assigned to command Fort Apache.  It’sa dusty outpost in Utah’s Monument Valley (which is actually Navajo country, but that’s not important right now).  He feels he’s been sidelined to a posting beneath his dignity, mentions his “years serving in Europe,” and refers to Civil War generals as old friends.  This leads us to believe that he missed the War Between the States, perhaps serving as an attache somewhere in the Old World while the new one tore itself apart.  He’s steeped in military history, has a powerful sense of decorum and tradition, and must have thrived in the courts of Europe.  The Army dropped the ball in sending him to the Frontier.

In one of his first official conversations, he learns that his senior enlisted leader (Ward Bond) has been on-station for some time, had been advanced to Temporary Major in the war, won the Medal of Honor, and saw his son graduate from West Point.  In other words, he learns that his senior enlisted leader is a personal and professional success, as well as an expert on the local conditions.  He dismisses the man like a servant.  Naturally, the SEL’s son is a lieutenant in the command and a fine young officer.  Fonda forbids his daughter (Shirley Temple, growing up nicely), from seeing him because he’s “of a different class.”  How European.

Shortly thereafter, he meets one of his captains, a young John Wayne.  The captain has the respect of his men, a diplomatic relationship with the local Indians, and an expert knowledge of the terrain.  When Wayne questions some of his orders, Fonda interprets it as a threat to his status. 

I am here to tell you that when you have a top-performing SEL and hard-charging junior officers, you are in the catbird seat as a commanding officer.  These people are assets to cultivate, not burdens to force into line.

Fort Apache isn’t The Caine Mutiny with horses, however.  While it uses the same basic premise of a bad CO to create tension, Fonda’s lieutenant colonel is a bad CO not because he’s a coward or an incompetent, but because the Army did him a disservice in plunking him in the middle of the Indian Wars with no training and no time to get up to speed on life on the frontier.  The men of his command do their best to back him, to advise him, and to carry out his orders, but what he really needed was a couple of years as somebody’s second-in-command.

This is great stuff.  I thought Fort Apache was going to be a seige movie, with Fonda and Wayne fending off hordes of attackers in an increasingly desperate attempt to hold their fort.  Nope.  This is a movie about Fort Apache and its denizens as they adjust to their new CO and the constant challenges and perils of life in Indian country.  When a fight does come, it comes for reasons we understand, reasons grounded in personalities and conflicts that flow from character.  We care about Fonda because he isn’t a jerk, he’s just a guy who’s way out of his element.  We care about Wayne because he’s John Wayne and there’s a reason why he’s one of history’s greatest movie stars: the guy radiates trustworthiness and competence.  In the context of this film, he’s a man you’d be proud to command and happy to follow.  We care about all these people because this is an observational film, one that puts us at home in Fort Apache’s insular society and gives us a stake in the well-being of its people.

This is a great movie, one that looks fantastic (John Ford shooting in Monument Valley: I mean, c’mon), tells a great story, and even serves as an object lesson for military officers like me.  I’m only sorry it took me this long to see it.

The Campaign

The Campaign, a vulgar political comedy, kept me laughing through the end credits.  It never earned a deep, belly laugh, but it generally did its job.

Will Ferrel plays an incumbent congressman who doesn't actually do anything, but dos enjoy being a congressman.  When evil billionaire industrialists (the Moch brothers) sense his weakness after a scandal and create a controllable challenger in Zach Galifianakis, the fight's on as the two men race to the bottom of taste, ethics, and self-respect in their battle for the seat.

This leads to a variety of physical and verbal gags, delivered with gusto by our leads and backed with strong performances from Jason Sudeikis, Dylan McDermott, and Brian Cox.  It's sharp, bitter, yet ultimately hopeful comedy that worked well enough.  Did I love The Campaign?  No, but it's still a pretty good time at the movies.

Battleship

I just sat down to write a review of the movie I saw last week, then spent a good ten seconds searching my memory to recall which movie it was.

Either I'm getting old or I saw Battleship.

Here's the setup: blah blah blah, high-spirited naval officer needs to mature and hey I think I'll do the dishes, aliens and something and some ships, blah blah blah, a bunch of SWO stuff and I might as well pick up the toys and straighten the bookshelves, and hey, what's this?  The mighty USS Missouri putting out to sea to attack some interstellar bad guys?  *Now* you have my attention.  Too bad it's already the third act.

I'm not joking.  I have almost zero recollection of anything that happens before the third act.  And I watched the whole movie (and did the dishes, and picked up around the living room, and straightened the bookshelves).  My three boys, including the one who begged me to let him stay up last night to finish watching Vincent Price in The House on Haunted Hill, wandered off sometime during the leadup to the second-act crisis.  But once that third act hit and the Mo got underway, the red in my veins turned to blue and gold and I planted myself on that couch.  What followed was hot, hot battleship action, with the 16-inch guns booming and the captain on the bridge wing calling the shots and the ship itself doing things I'm pretty sure no battleship can actually do, but that looked really cool.  I'm tellin' ya, if you like Navy stuff, you'll love the last act of Battleship.  Better yet, if you're a USNA '92 grad, you'll love the denoument even more.  Our very own Chad Muse, all-around great guy and the very first person I hope to see if I ever get rolled up somewhere out there, makes an appearance and even gets a few lines.  He offers the hero, established as the SWO (Surface Warfare Officer) of SWOs, the ultimate reward for saving the world: a ticket out of the SWO community.  It's beautiful, man.

So there you have it.  Wait for Battleship to hit instant, fast-forward 'til the Mo shows up, then enjoy.  It's a great 30 minutes at the movies.

Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame

This is what I’m talkin’ about.

Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame is audacious medieval Chinese fun.  When Detective Dee (a kind of ancient Chinese Sherlock Holmes, but with wire-fu) is brought out of prison to investigate the spontaneous combustion of several imperial court officials, the trail will wend through mysterious underground caverns, mystic temples, giant monuments, and even the coronation ceremony for the next (and only, historically) Empress of China.  Along the way, he’ll meet seductive shape-shifters, vampiric magistrates, talking elk, and more assassins than he can shake a mace at.

So what?  Not your bag?  Well, Tsui Hark directed it.  He’s made roughly a million wire-fu movies over the years, and he’s an absolute master of the form.  Sammo Hung choreographed the fights and served as the action director, and Hung (a Chinese Opera School classmate of Jackie Chan’s) is a legend of the genre.  The cast includes luminaries such as Andy Lau (Infernal Affairs, House of Flying Daggers, The Legend of Drunken Master), Carina Lau (2046, Days of Being Wild), and Tony Leung Ka Fai (Election, The Lover, Three … Extremes).  Not only are these folks fine actors, they’re accomplished gymnasts, martial artists, and stuntmen who will impress and delight you with their ability to wow you time and again.

So what I’m talking about here is big-budget, big-fun imperial adventure.  Lots of stuff gets blown up real good; lots of bad guys get kicked in the face; lots of money gets spent on lavish costumes, sets, and CG environments; and it’s all wrapped around a mystery that’s actually mysterious and interesting.

I enjoyed the heck out of this movie.  Even if you don’t think Chinese movies are your bag, give this one a shot: I just don’t see how anyone could not love it.

Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance

I love Nicolas Cage.  He's a gifted actor who can play it straight, as we saw in Leaving Las Vegas, but who seems to feel most at home going over the top.  Some may see his performances as so many antic pantomimes, but I think Cage has the unique ability to channel and express pure, unadulterated id.

Thus, I present to you Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, an international production that seems to have been created for the sole purpose of fleecing as many foreign investors as possible.  I loved the first Ghost Rider, feeling that Cage's crazy eyes alone were worth the price of admission.  In this iteration, Cage's Johnny Blaze lives in a place labelled "Eastern Europe," but which could only be Bulgaria (Which leads one to wonder, why not have the subtitle simply read Bulgaria?  Would that be too confusing?).  He's a hermit, fighting his ghost rider - hood like a deadly addiction.  But then Idris Elba shows up to make him a deal.  I'm here to tell you, when Idris Elba offers you a deal, you take it.

The deal?  Oh, it's it's some mumbo-jumbo about an ancient prophecy (one of the laziest screenwriting tropes of them all), a sacrificial child who must be saved, and the Devil (Ciaran Hinds, having a great time).  Did I mention that the child has a fetching mother with a cute Bulgarian accent?  Or that her ex is a demon of decay who can only eat twinkies (Hey, I laughed.)?

Why bother with all this setup?  Well, two hours of Cage in a studio making crazy eyes at the camera sounds great in theory, but a little narrative structure, some scenery, and a few gags make for a much more interesting mix.  And all this does its job, but let's face it:  you came for the id.  You came for the crazy eyes, and Cage delivers in spades.  He doesn't overact so much as überact (I'm telling you, when you can make Christopher Lambert look like a restrained thespian, you're on to something.).  His Johnny Blaze carries the crazy just below the surface.  When it starts to break through and transform him into the Rider, the film uses a clever combination of (first-rate) CGI and no-limits acting to give us the joy of letting go and letting our fires burn.

Bottom line: this movie is fantastic.  Even if it only served as an excuse for actors you like to ham it up, it'd work.  The fact that it lets the great Nicholas Cage cut loose in a symphony of 'splosions and loud music makes it that much better.  I dare you to watch Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance without a great big smile plastered across your face.  This is an exuberant, wacky, gloriously unrestrained time at the movies.  I give it two big, burning, skeletal thumbs up.

Fright Night (2011)

Fright Night is actually good.

Sure, it's just another vampire movie with a menacing villain, plucky hero, and distressed damsel.  But Colin Farrell is an inspired choice for the vampire next door, Anton Yelchin is a likable and sufficiently plucky presence, and Imogen Poots makes for a particularly fetching damsel.  Add the beautifully aging Toni Collette (CDNW) and Balcony favorite David Tennant in important supporting roles, and Fright Night punches well above its weight.

Let's begin with Farrell.  Known for his good looks, there's something about him that has always struck me as menacing and untrustworthy.  While he can minimize that angle in films like the wonderful In Bruges, he plays it up here.  His vampire is the kind of guy women want and men fear, and he knows it.  He's been around for 400 years, he knows all the angles, and he enjoys playing with his food.  Described (by the typecast Christopher Mintz-Plasse) as "the shark from Jaws," he's set up a perfect hunting ground in a Las Vegas suburb where it's normal to sleep all day and work all night and where, in community dotted with foreclosure signs, no one can hear you scream.  He's wonderful, in the classic vampire tradition, and Fright Night's special effects team complements his performance with monster prosthetics and CGI that take him from menacing to terrifying in the blink of an eye.

Moving on, Yelchin and Poots perform capably in the hero and damsel roles, respectively.  Yelchin, winning as Checkov in the new Star Trek, does what he can with a part that hamfists the film's thematic elements, and, most challengly, requires him to dominate screen space shared with experienced, excellent actors like Farrell, Collette, and Tennant.  Poots is pretty and screams when appropriate, and she did nothing to break my disbelief.  Unfortunately, her part is rather thinly written, which is  normal for the genre.

Collette, well, she Can Do No Wrong.  As a capable single mother who is not immune to the charms of the hunky, though rather pale, new neighbor, she sells the flustered demeanor of someone who's not quite herself when a certain other someone is around.  When it's time for her to scream she screams with gusto.  When it's time for her to fight, we cheer her on.

Finally, we have David Tennant in the role of a Chriss Angel manque whose schtick is vampire hunting.  It's a fun update on Roddy McDowall's "Creature Feature" host of the 1985 Fright Night, with a vulgar and alcoholic Tennant blowing through all of Yelchin's illusions about heroism and the supernatural right up until it's time for him to man up and join the fight.  One feels that Tennant is deliberately distancing himself from his "Doctor Who" persona with a performance that's definitely not fit for television, and I must admit that I found it jarring at first.  Once I settled into it, however, and met the character on his own terms, I bought it and enjoyed the ride.  Fright Night didn't do particularly well at the box office, as I recall, and I don't know how many opportunities Tennant will get to make his splash in American films.  Nevertheless, he acquitted himself well here.  I hope it works out for him.

So the performances work, the effects are fantastic, and the movie rocks along in the finest action-horror tradition (it isn't really scary, not like The Shining, but it is fun in a scary way).  I liked everything about Fright Night.  If you missed it when it hit theaters last year, it's worth queueing up in anticipation of Halloween.

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is professionally made, well acted, and like being dragged through broken glass.

Andy and Hank are brothers.  One's a striver and one's a loser, and they both need money.  When the striver pitches the loser on the perfect robbery, the loser buys in.  When things go south, they go south hard and fast.  The result is a symphony of selfishness and remorse.
Don't get me wrong: if symphonies of selfishnessand remorse are your bag, you'll find plenty to like about Before the Devil Knows You're Dead.  Director Sydney Lumet is a towering figure among practitioners of his craft, with credits such as 12 Angry Men, Dog Day Afternoon, and The Verdict to his name.  He has assembled a cast including luminaries such as Marisa Tomei, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Albert Finney, Amy Ryan, and Ethan Hawke.  He's working from a tight, well-written script.  In other words, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead is precisely the movie it wants to be.  Unfortunately, what it wants to be was, for me, agonizing.  This is a dark, despairing film, one in which the good suffer and the evil nurse no hopes of redemption.

No, thank you.  I don't need that kind of depression in my life, not even for a couple of hours.  This movie was a nightmare.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

When you sit down for Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, you know exactly what you're getting: classical piratical adventure with swordfights, damsels, treasure, and men of questionable hygiene shouting "Yarrr!"

The film is competently made, it looks great, and I'm still not tired of Johnny Depp's Captain Jack Sparrow.  Toss in Penelope Cruz (CDNW) as a foil and love interest, and we have a recipe for high seas adventure that ought to be worth at least a few more entries.  Did POTC IV capture my imagination as well as the surprising Wrath of the Titans?  No, but it was just the thing to help me while away a couple of hours while riding as a passenger on a transpacific flight.  You could do worse.

Wrath of the Titans

I enjoyed Clash of the Titans.  It was a juvenile action-adventure, but it was juvenile action-adventure done right.  Its sequel, Wrath of the Titans, continues in the same vein.  This is a fun time at the movies.

The film is structured around the Hero's Journey, with a reluctant Perseus called upon once more to play a role in the struggles of the gods.  He's assisted on his journey by a cast including Liam Neeson, Ralph Fiennes, Rosamund Pike, and even Bill Nighy (CDNW) as Hephaestus.  He confronts elaborate, beautifully designed and realized monsters and obstacles, clashes swords in energetically choreographed battles, and even finds time to squeeze in a character arc.  Star Sam Worthington sells all this, acting mostly against green screens and tennis balls and making us believe he is actually riding, fighting, or conversing with all manner of creations.

Now, I'm kind of a literate guy, and this is the part where I think it's expected of me to opine that if this film inspires one person to read up on the gods and legends of Greco Roman civilization, it will have served its purpose.  Forget that.  The legends of Greco Roman civilization were, as much as anything, entertainment, and Wrath of the Titans is a proud claimant to that inheritance.  By making legends anew in the form of the big summer blockbuster, Wrath continues a storytelling tradition as old as language.  I'm all for it, I loved it, and I look forward to screening this film for my boys as much as I look forward reading to them from our tattered copy of D'Aulaire's Gods of the Greeks and Romans when I get home.

Bill Cunningham New York

Brilliant writer and great guy Les Phillips turned me on to Bill Cunningham New York, a film I otherwise wouldn't have seen, with this review.  I loved it, and I think you deserve a chance to have him talk you into seeing, it too.  With Les's permission, here's his review.

BILL CUNNINGHAM NEW YORK (2011, directed by Richard Press).  The legendary photographer and dancer Editta Sherman, well into her nineties but quite frisky and saucy, looks straight at the camera:  "You want me to say something about Bill?"  There are many things to say about Bill, who is one of the most celebrated fashion photographers in the world.  Bill Cunningham goes to all the New York fashion shows and takes pictures; he goes to all the most important charity events in New York and takes pictures; but, very especially, he takes pictures of random women on the street.  I should not say "random" women; Bill prowls Manhattan looking for well dressed women, fashionable women in all modes of fashion, sometimes leaping off his bicycle and into a broken run, through Fifth Avenue traffic, to capture that perfect woman in her perfect clothes. 

Bill Cunningham is 82 years old, and his photographs have appeared in THE NEW YORK TIMES forever and ever.  He is trim and energetic, and he has the face of a slightly mischievous 12-year-old -- full of joy verging on ecstasy, pure delight at his work, which he does all day and all evening. all the time.  For years he has traveled to Paris to photograph the new collections.  He says that he goes to Paris "to re-educate the eye." Bill is a Chevalier de l'ordre des Arts et des Lettres!  He was the only member of the working press invited to Brooke Astor's 100th birthday party.  We see Anna Wintour, the real one, describing him as one of the most important people in the entire fashion industry.  Certainly he must be the least pretentious person in the fashion industry.  Until recently, he lived in a one-room studio over Carnegie Hall, no kitchen, no room to turn around, bathroom in the hallway.  ("What would I do with a bathroom or a kitchen?  I've never eaten in in my whole life!  More rooms to clean!").  His residence is crammed with filing cabinets and more filing cabinets; they contain the negatives of every photograph he has ever taken.  Cunningham has no wardrobe of his own to speak of, and no time for restaurant meals, in New York or Paris either; that would be time not spent working.  He loves stylish and beautiful people because they are stylish and beautiful, but is entirely unimpressed with celebrity itself; he passed up opportunities to photograph Marilyn Monroe and Joan Crawford because "they were not stylish."  He loves the philanthropist Mercedes Bass because he thinks she's kind, and because "in that dress, she looks like a John Singer Sargent portrait."  So Bill photographs her, and, indeed, when he's done, she sure does look like a John Singer Sargent portrait. 

Back to Editta Sherman, who lived down the hall from Cunningham for 40 years, in her own Carnegie Hall studio.  "Some people say I'm a legend," says Sherman.  "Other people say I'm a fixture.  I'm both!"  She talks about Warhol and Leonard Bernstein and the many other famous people she's photographed and worked with.  She worries about Bill.  What does she know about Bill Cunningham's personal life?  "Nothing!"   Bill himself reveals only that he's had no romantic relationships because he's been busy working, and casually brushes away questions about his sexuality.  When asked about his religious beliefs, he becomes uncommonly silent and closed, looks at the table, and mutters something about how Catholicism has always been of deep importance. Bill Cunningham goes to Mass every Sunday morning. 

Bill Cunningham's bicycle is a Schwinn Classic.  It's his 29th Schwinn Classic bicycle; the other 28 were stolen.  He dropped out of Harvard.  He used to design shoes.  He runs through city traffic like a war photographer.  Bill may have met more fabulously rich people than anyone living; he says that "money is the cheapest thing, the least important thing; freedom is what's expensive."  Go see this marvelous film.

Blackthorn

Blackthorn requires that the viewer have at last a passing acquaintance with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  In the 1969 film, Robert Redford and Paul Newman play the titular Butch and Sundance, fun-loving outlaws whose adventures seemingly come to an end when they choose to leap into a river chasm rather than face certain capture and probable death at the hands of Bolivian federales. 

Blackthorn supposes they survived the jump, and it catches up with Cassidy much later in life.  He owns a small ranch high in the Andes and he keeps more-or-less to himself.  Change comes in the form of a letter telling him a lost love is dead, and their adult son lives on in San Francisco.  Butch resolves to cash out the ranch, travel to California and meet his son.  He resolves to reenter the world, albeit under his assumed name: James Blackthorn.

And we're off, but we're off on a different kind of adventure.  While Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a young man's adventure of fun and hope, Blackthorn is an old man's journey: one of hard choices, regrets, and character.  Blackthorn is elegaic, very much a western of the Old West, and beautiful.

Sam Shepard plays the title character as a tough and principled survivor, and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (Jaimie Lannister in HBO's "Game of Thrones") plays him in flashback.  Combined, the two performances give us a man with one foot in the present and one very firmly in the past, perhaps in a way that only a man who has run from himself can be.  Best of all, they do this in lovely continuity with the story and characters as we know them from the previous film.

The picture itself is beautiful, showcasing Bolivia's varied and rugged scenery and playing to a meditative score by Lucio Godoy, and the effect is mixed, both a classic Western adventure and a contemplation of a life nearing its twilight.  It's an effective combination, and I found myself caught up in the moment and considering the film for hours after I hit the eject button.  Blackthorn is a fine film.

Searching for Bobby Fischer

Joe Mantegna.  Joan Allen.  Ben Kingsley.  Lawrence Fishburne.  David Paymer.  William H. Macy.  Laura Linney.  Anthony Heald.  Dan Hedaya.  Austin Pendleton.  Tony Shalhoub.  Even if you don’t know anything else about it, this cast should be enough to get you to queue up Searching for Bobby Fischer.

Setting the cast aside for the moment, Searching for Bobby Fischer is a wonderful film, and one I revisit every few years.  In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t written about it before.  Bobby Fischer, as you may recall, was the greatest chess prodigy of his time.  He was (and is) also a deeply maladjusted man who went on to lead what appears to be a very unhappy life.  Josh Waitzkin, who is real, was a chess prodigy whose family spared him that fate.  This is their story, based on the book by his sportswriter father, Fred.

It’s a story about Josh, and the pull he feels among the various adults who try to mold him, to teach him, to love him, to push him.  More importantly at this stage in my life path, it’s about parenthood and helping your child grow into himself without forcing him to grow into you.  Fred (Mantegna, in the role that made me a lifetime fan), you see, is awestruck by his son’s talent.  He tells a teacher (Laura Linney, just starting out), “He’s better at this than I have ever been at anything in my life.  He’s better at this than you’ll ever be, at anything.”  Joan Allen, as Bonnie Waitzkin, fears for what her husband and the men he trusts might unwittingly do to her son.  And Josh (the fine Max Pomeranc, who has not gone on to pursue a career in acting) just wants to have fun, play chess, be a kid, and please his parents.

The film cuts to the secret heart of parenting, which is that nobody actually knows what they’re doing.  All we have are our own experiences of childhood, maybe some books we’ve read, and our instincts.  We as parents have our passions and our ambitions.  We can get carried away.  Sometimes, we can’t find the line between our children’s best interests and our own.  Fred blows right through it, and Bonnie, as a good partner must, reels him back.

The film works as a life lesson, but it also works as a simple narrative.  Josh seems real, as do the people in his life.  Josh's chess education and matches feel important and thrilling, even for those of us without a deep appreciation of the game.  The conflicts build from the characters, as opposed to being inflicted on them because good screenplays are supposed to have conflict. This is a compelling film, one that has me laughing, crying, and thrilling, as appropriate,on queue.

But back to the "life lesson" stuff: Searching for Bobby Fischer offers real wisdom, and it has taught me different lessons as I've moved along my life path.  I love this movie, and I look ford to discovering what it has to teach me when I'm a grandfather.

Goon

Goon is a funny, violent, vulgar, sweet, formulaic, and endearing film about a guy who finds his calling in punching other people in the mouth.

Seann William Scott plays Doug Glatt, not the sharpest arrow in the family quiver.  Dad's a doctor, Brother's a doctor, and Mother is disappointed in him.  He's athletic, he knows how to throw a punch, and he works as a bouncer.  It's honest work, sure, but nothing to brag about down at the synagogue.  Glatt is a fundamentally nice and decent guy, and there's no fulfillment in strong arming weaklings.

Everything changes when he attends a minor-league hockey game with his best friend (Jay Baruchel, the voice of Hiccup in the surprisingly good How to Train Your Dragon.  He wrote and directed this movie.) and finds himself standing up for his buddy when a heckled player climbs into the stands to throw a few punches.   Glatt knocks the guy out, attracts the attention of the home team's coach, and he's on his way.  Finally, he has the chance to be part of something, to work in an organization that values his talents, and to beat up worthy opponents.

From there, the film follows the structure of your basic sports story, complete with an on-ice showdown with the league’s reigning master enforcer (Liev Schreiber, proving yet again that a great actor in a small role can raise the game of an entire film.).  But that’s just the structure.  The joy in this film comes from the wickedly funny writing, the spot on delivery, and the real affection it shares for the damaged people of and around minor-league hockey.

I laughed all the way through Goon, and I was delighted to learn that there’s an actual Doug Glatt out there, busting heads as an officer with his local police department and, hopefully, banking his royalties from this film.  Goon was released to little fanfare, but it’s a winner.  Queue it up.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle

My brilliant friend Marilyn turned me on to The Friends of Eddie Coyle with this review.  She has graciously allowed me to reprint it here for you.  I second her advice:  see it and be glad.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle.  1973.  Robert Mitchum, Peter Boyle, Richard Jordan.  Directed by Peter Yates

Robert Mitchum is Eddie "Fingers" Coyle, a minor gangster in Boston's criminal underclass, whose occupation, when the film opens, is supplying guns to his friends, who are engaged in more serious illegal activities.    Coyle is also preoccupied by a  past job in New Hampshire that may get him 3 to 5 years in prison.   He has always been a stand up guy who refused to rat out his friends or partners, and he assumes those he knows and does business with--his friends--are the same.  That simple belief--that trust--what he calls "right" is,  as one viewer said, his fatal flaw, especially in the world he inhabits.    When, in desperation, he goes against it, he discovers he is on a slippery slope. 

Trust and betrayal are major themes in this film.   Based on George V. Higgins' novel, the film is a  convincing look at those, like Coyle, who matter of factly go about their every day business, which happens to be crime.    They meet in bars and parking lots and deserted gravel pits and bowling alleys and parks.  And their dialog!   It's like hearing real conversations;  it has meaning and weight, not a word rings false.   When Coyle tells a gun supplier how he got the nickname "Fingers" he is both philosopher and teacher.   As he says (paraphrased), "if you mess up, neither one of us will be able to shake hands."   And when Peter Boyle speaks allegorically about eliminating pigeons because they ruin perfectly good suits, he is pragmatic and chilling. 

Mitchum's performance as Eddie Coyle can only be described as phenomenal.  Neither tough hero nor gung ho marine, he is a baggy eyed, aging felon with his hair falling over his forehead, who is worried about  his family and trying to find a solution to his problem.   Like any small time businessman, he goes about his daily routine, moving around Boston and its environs with a kind of weary purpose.  He makes deals and phone calls, talks to his friends, meets contacts, gets drunk at a hockey game.   It's his way of life.   There are a few actors who seem so natural it's hard to believe they are acting, that they are not, in fact, the characters they portray.  Mitchum is one of them (Spencer Tracy is another).  Every gesture Mitchum makes as Eddie Coyle, every word, every look, is believable,  true, sadly real.    His Boston accent also sounds perfect...at least to this Texas ear.   Peter Boyle, too, is excellent, with his still, expressionless face, his Mona Lisa smile, his observer's passive eye.   Steven Keats is remarkable in a breakout role as the tough young gun dealer who, as it turns out, is a little too ambitious.   Then there is the too often underrated Richard Jordan, outstanding in a low key performance as Foley, whose dealings with the Boston underworld are open to question.    There are other great characters and performances in this film, in which the "Friends" of the title is both pointed and ironic. 

When I read Chuck Hogan's Prince of Thieves (a scene in that book seems to have been taken right out of this film, by the way), I was intrigued by his portrayal of Boston, which is meant to be and is another character in the book.   I looked forward to seeing The Town (the title under which PofT was filmed)  in order to see the places Hogan made so vivid.    That film was inevitably compared--not very favorably--with The Friends of Eddie Coyle, which critics say got the real Boston and its citizens--as opposed to historic Boston or touristy Boston--more nearly right than any other film.   Though I've never been to Boston, I think they must be right.    According to the DVD commentary by Peter Yates, every single scene of The Friends of Eddie Coyle was shot on location, including interior shots in banks, private homes, and a bar.   That authenticity, along with a great story/screenplay and a marvelous cast, makes this film even more compelling.   The cryptic plot, the dialog, Mitchum's performance, and Boston itself make it worth watching repeatedly.    See it and be glad. 

The Artist

The Artist, a surprising film from the people who brought us the outstanding comedies OSS 117: Cairo, Nest of Spies and OSS 117: Lost in Rio, gives us Jean Dujardin in the serious role of George Valentin, a star of the silent era.  Cairo co-star Bérénice Bejo plays the girl he helps, and who winds up helping him when the movies transition to sound.  It won Best Picture last year, and it’s a fine introduction to silent film for those who may feel put off by the medium.

Dujardin, Bejo; and supporting actors John Goodman, James Cromwell, Penelope Anne Miller, and the wonderful Beth Grant; provide a sense of familiarity and the comfort of modern acting technique to this mostly silent, beautifully black-and-white film.  Their casting gives us the “in” to ease our adaptation to the silent mind-set, in which we gather all we really need to know by reading the faces and all we’d like to know by reading the placards.  And the story?  Well, the story’s fine.  We enjoy Dujardin’s early triumph in the Silent Era.  We smile and thrill when Bejo hits the scene and begins her rise.  We feel Dujardin’s despair when he feels that life has passed him by.  And … well, see for yourself.

I loved this film’s celebration of the Silents, films that still have the power to entertain and move us.  I loved this film’s look and feel.  I loved its cast, I loved its story, and I loved its resolution.  I loved The Artist.  Here’s looking to more great work (and more silly comedy) from these people in the future.

Tucker & Dale vs. Evil

My 12-yr-old has been badgering me to let him watch some classic slasher movies just so he can see what they’re all about.  I’m thinking of caving, if for no other reason than to prepare him for Tucker & Dale vs. Evil.

Tucker and Dale (Alan Tudyk and Tyler Labine) are a couple of well-meaning best friends.  They’re also hillbillies.  They dress like hillbillies, they talk like hillbillies, and they’re thrilled to be spending their vacation at their newly-purchased vacation home, a creepy cabin on a lake in the woods decorated with old news clippings of ancient horrors, wind chimes made of bone, and deadly booby traps.  Something tells me they bought the place sight unseen.

The College Kids are your stock group of College Kids off for a weekend of camping, drinking, dope, and sex.  Had they been Norwegian college kids, they’d have wound up contending with Nazi zombies in the snow.  As it is, all they have are Tucker and Dale.  When they see the two pulling one of their own into their canoe and paddling off, they assume their friend’s been abducted by evil hillbilly psychos and the fight’s on.  Tucker and Dale, of course, had simply been out fishing, saved the girl from drowning, and were taking her back to their new cabin to nurse her back to health.

And so begins a surprisingly funny, surprisingly gory horror-comedy in the vein of Evil Dead 2 and Slither.  The College Kids think they’re fighting for their lives and go about creatively killing themselves through oddball accidents, the hillbillies think they’ve stumbled upon some weird murder-suicide cult, and the recovering girl just wants to help sort things out.  By the time Actual Evil rears its ugly head and literally binds the girl in a sawmill, we’ve laughed and cringed and grooved along so happily that we’re actually sorry the climax is upon us.  The underappreciated Tudyk is just great, Labine hits all the right notes, and damsel in distress Katrina Bowden is lovely as the sweet College Kid with a surprising background.

Tucker & Dale vs. Evil is charming and gory and funny and altogether successful.  My 12-yr-old may not yet be ready for this kind of film; when he is, I look forward to sharing it with him.

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Beasts of the Southern Wild is a refreshing, thought provoking, and wholly original film. 

Hushpuppy is six.  She lives in a place called The Bathtub, which I took to be a postapocalyptic community somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana (Its true nature is revealed later in the film, but I’ll leave that for you to discover.).  She lives in a shack about fifty feet from the shack of her father, Wink, who is definitely an alcoholic and possibly insane.  The whole place is just one big storm away from disappearing under the brackish waters of the bayou, never to return.  Legend has it that the ice caps are melting and, when they do, giant beasts called aurochs will emerge from their long sleep and consume everything in their path.

This may not sound like the setup for a beautiful and moving picture.  Yet, there it is.  Beasts of the Southern Wild is shot beautifully, even when it’s shooting scenes of squalor and fear.  The Bathtub and its population have their own shoddy dignity, and Hushpuppy carries the resourcefulness and self-possession of backwoods royalty.  She’s only six years old, and she thinks and acts like a six-year-old, but she’s a leader.

The film itself unfolds in its own time, in its own way.  There is a three-act story here, but you have to look for it.  Beasts of the Southern Wild feels more like a chronicle of time, place, and person than a plot.  As I burrowed into The Bathtub and came to understand its denizens, I came to feel at home.  As events played out in reasonable succession, I came to care about Hushpuppy and the people around her.  As the film concluded, I was almost sorry it was over.  This doesn’t imply that Beasts of the Southern Wild is a feel-good movie or that it shrinks from despair.  It’s just that the film feels true, and worthwhile, and beautiful.  Time with Beasts of the Southern Wild is time well spent.

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows amounts to 129 minutes of missing Steven Moffat, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Martin Freeman.  Where the BBC’s brilliant “Sherlock” series of telefilms offers puzzling plots, delightful verbal interplay, and a sly (and often ribald) sense of humor, Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows is mostly just loud.  Where “Sherlock” gives us Moriarty as a comic, twisted genius, Game of Shadows lazily offers us Moriarty as just another Bond villain.  Where “Sherlock”’s unique visual style amuses and intrigues us, Game of Shadows only makes us wonder exactly how much cocaine director Guy Ritchie blew through while shooting and editing this film.

Here’s the story: it’s about a year since the events of the first film, Sherlock Holmes.  Holmes and Watson reunite to bring the nefarious Professor Moriarty to justice after the villain tries to have Dr. & Mrs. Watson killed for no apparent reason.  Lots of stuff blows up.  Noomi Rapace appears because she was hot after The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played with Fire and it seems like a good career move.  More stuff blows up, there are some fistfights, and a bunch of people get shot, all in slow motion.  The Bond villain reveals his Bond villainesque plan, and his henchman reveals a disappointing lack of sterling silver dental work.  More ‘splosions and fights and shooting, and even more slo-mo.  We reflect that Robert Downey, Jr. doesn’t look remotely like an otter.  The film draws to an utterly unsurprising conclusion.  The End.  Next.

Hey, kudos to Guy Ritchie for (a) achieving his unique and singular vision, and (b) finding a studio to underwrite his coke habit.  But Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows just isn’t much fun.  It needs more wit.  It needs more style.  Aww, the heck with it: it needs Moffat, Cumberbatch, and Freeman.  They own the franchise now. 

Viva Riva!

Viva Riva! is the first Congolese film I’ve seen.  It tells the story of Riva, a small-time operator and scumbag trying to outrace a bunch of other scumbags who want his MacGuffin.

The MacGuffin, in a Congolese twist, is a tanker-truck full of stolen gasoline.  Gasoline, you see, is in short supply, and prices are only going up.  Who wants it?  Why, the criminals from whom he stole it.  Who’s going to help him keep it or sell it?  Who’s going to try to take it away?  Who’s going to win?  Sit back, ladies and gentlemen, and enjoy the show.

Your enjoyment, I think, will depend on the degree to which you sympathize with Riva.  Unfortunately, I didn’t care for him one bit.  In fact, I found him odious in nearly every way, not only for the damage he did to himself (which is his business) but for the damage he did to everyone who cared about him and all of their families.  Additionally, he wasn’t charming or invitingly evil – he was just a scumbag, with scumbag tastes and scumbag plans.  I couldn’t even root for a good guy to put him in his place, as Viva Riva! is a film about people of varying degrees of badness.

That said, this is a professional film, one that could easily have been created by a more mature national production industry.  It provides a window into life in Kinsasha that most of us would not otherwise enjoy.  It moves briskly and earns its ending.  Viva Riva! did not work for me, but you might love it.