Your dog is outside, running around with a knife in his mouth.

Another Thin Man

(1939)

It would be perfectly reasonable to assume the introduction of a sprog to a husband and wife detective duo would be the death knell for a series. A sign that sentimentality and generally goo-iness have taken over. Nothing could be further from the truth in this third outing for The Thin Man series, an adaptation of Dashiell Hammett’s The Farewell Murder. Nicky Jr. is absolutely not central to the story, and our couple are as refreshingly flippant in their discussion of him as they are towards their own relationship (i.e. they don’t need to keep saying they love him). This is also the most densely plotted mystery, so far. I didn’t figure out the perpetrator, but the fun of a Thin Man movie is more the antics of Nick (William Powell) and Nora (Myrna Loy) getting to the reveal than the reveal itself, and this one is hugely satisfying in that regard.

As in After the Thin Man, Nick and Nora are called to investigate goings on at a house with an entourage of possible mis-doers. This time, the murder doesn’t take place until after they arrive. Colonel McFay (C. Aubrey Smith) summons Nick convinced that his ex-employee Mr Church, who has been sending him threats, means to do him in. When McFay is murdered, Church seems like the obvious suspect so we, and Nick, know it must be someone else.

A really good murder mystery ought probably to be constructed in such a manner that an intelligent viewer can deduce the perpetrator through the trail of breadcrumbs while dodging the red herrings littered across the narrative. Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, returning on screenplay duties, fail in that regard. There’s a terribly clumsy scene in which one character reveals their relationship to another, as if it’s going to hold some importance. It never does, but it works as a simple distracting tactic. Likewise, there is the occasional element of oblique strangeness. We assume Mr Church’s premonitory dreams are simply a means for him to justify his foul deeds, but it becomes clear he actually believes he has this ability.

The police are several steps behind Nick as usual, and we see the return of Lieutenant Guild (Nat Pendleton) who rather surprisingly reveals he has always had a thing for Nora. It’s Otto Slack’s DA Van Slack who presides over the investigation, however. Nick’s withering response to police stopping his car at night and shining a torch searchingly (“Those are my feet”) about sums it up.

The couple’s general dispositions are alive and well. Nick is still on the sauce, but less prominently. There are a few references (“Oh, we had a lovely trip. Nick was sober in Kansas City”) and a nice moment where Nora pickpockets the key to the drinks cabinet, supplying it to her grateful husband (he has been refused alcohol as McFay wants him to have a clear mind). At one point she explains how she got rid of a clutch of reporters by telling them they were out of scotch (“What a gruesome idea” responds Nick). Nick’s as laidback as ever, only roused to fisticuffs when Church threatens Nicky Jr (the rotter!) We also get more of Nora’s wry delight in Nick’s underworld acquaintances (“Your father has such lovely friends”). In this case dimwit Creeps (Harry Bellaver) holds Nick no ill will for incarcerating him (“Why should I? It took a genius to outsmart me”).

Nora: How did you know I was here?

Nick: I saw a group of men standing around a table. I knew there was one woman in the world who could attract men like that. A woman with a lot of money.

There’s also the usual playful jealously on display. Nora learns of Nick’s playboy style (“Was he really like that? I always thought he was bragging”) and, on being left high-and-dry by Nick who gives her the slips to do some lone investigating for the third film in a row, we find her at the club he is visiting, surrounded by a throng of would-be suitors. They make them selves scarce when Nora exclaims, “I wont stay in quarantine. I don’t care who catches it”. There are also allusions to very un-Hayes Code slack morals when Nick refuses an offer from Virgina Gray’s moll by saying he is married (“That don’t mean a thing and you know it”).

Gatekeeper: What’s the idea with the kid?

Nick: Well, we have a dog, and he was lonesome. That was the idea, wasn’t it mummy?

Against the odds, the presence of Nicky Jr doesn’t become an irritation, and the casual language of Nick and Nora concerning their offspring belies their devotion (“We sort of like him. We might as well, we’re stuck with him”). The indulgence, once again, is reserved for adorable Asta who not only looks after Nicky Jr and is fascinated by a skunk (“It’s another kind of cat!” Nick warns him) but also makes off with a murder weapon (“What do you think he is? A moth?” asks Nick, observing the police aren’t going to catch Asta by waving strange lights about in the dark).

Halfway through the series and The Thin Man shows no signs of a deterioration in quality. Indeed, I think Another Thin Man just edges After the Thin Man. It isn’t as smoothly plotted, but it benefits from being less obvious. Goodrich and Hackett are firing on all cylinders with the repartee, and Powell and Loy are perfection. Then series was already five years old at this point, and it’s a rarity not to see annual cash grab sequels of variable quality (Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes for example) in properties around this time. The next picture would be released two years later, just prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor.

****

Your Mickey Mouse is one big stupid dope!

Enemy Mine (1985) (SPOILERS) The essential dynamic of Enemy Mine – sworn enemies overcome their differences to become firm friends – was a well-ploughed one when it was made, such that it led to TV Tropes assuming, since edited, that it took its title from an existing phrase (Barry Longyear, author of the 1979 novella, made it up, inspired by the 1961 David Niven film The Best of Enemies ). The Film Yearbook Volume 5 opined that that Wolfgang Petersen’s picture “ lacks the gritty sauciness of Hell in the Pacific”; John Boorman’s WWII film stranded Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune on a desert island and had them first duking it out before becoming reluctant bedfellows. Perhaps germanely, both movies were box office flops.

If I do nothing else, I will convince them that Herbert Stempel knows what won the goddam Academy Award for Best goddam Picture of 1955. That’s what I’m going to accomplish.

Quiz Show (1994) (SPOILERS) Quiz Show perfectly encapsulates a certain brand of Best Picture nominee: the staid, respectable, diligent historical episode, a morality tale in response to which the Academy can nod their heads approvingly and discerningly, feeding as it does their own vainglorious self-image about how times and attitudes have changed, in part thanks to their own virtuousness. Robert Redford’s film about the 1950s Twenty-One quiz show scandals is immaculately made, boasts a notable cast and is guided by a strong screenplay from Paul Attanasio (who, on television, had just created the seminal Homicide: Life on the Streets ), but it lacks that something extra that pushes it into truly memorable territory.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Other monks will meet their deaths here. And they too will have blackened fingers. And blackened tongues.

The Name of the Rose (1986) (SPOILERS) Umberto Eco wasn’t awfully impressed by Jean Jacques-Annaud’s adaptation of his novel – or “ palimpsest of Umberto Eco’s novel ” as the opening titles announce – to the extent that he nixed further movie versions of his work. Later, he amended that view, calling it “ a nice movie ”. He also, for balance, labelled The Name of the Rose his worst novel – “ I hate this book and I hope you hate it too ”. Essentially, he was begrudging its renown at the expense of his later “ superior ” novels. I didn’t hate the novel, although I do prefer the movie, probably because I saw it first and it was everything I wanted from a medieval Sherlock Holmes movie set in a monastery and devoted to forbidden books, knowledge and opinions.

Say hello to the Scream Extractor.

Monsters, Inc. (2001) (SPOILERS) I was never the greatest fan of Monsters, Inc. , even before charges began to be levelled regarding its “true” subtext. I didn’t much care for the characters, and I particularly didn’t like the way Pixar’s directors injected their own parenting/ childhood nostalgia into their plots. Something that just seems to go on with their fare ad infinitum. Which means the Pixars I preferred tended to be the Brad Bird ones. You know, the alleged objectivist. Now, though, we learn Pixar has always been about the adrenochrome, so there’s no going back…

All the world will be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies.

Watership Down (1978) (SPOILERS) I only read Watership Down recently, despite having loved the film from the first, and I was immediately impressed with how faithful, albeit inevitably compacted, Martin Rosen’s adaptation is. It manages to translate the lyrical, mythic and metaphysical qualities of Richard Adams’ novel without succumbing to dumbing down or the urge to cater for a broader or younger audience. It may be true that parents are the ones who get most concerned over the more disturbing elements of the picture but, given the maturity of the content, it remains a surprise that, as with 2001: A Space Odyssey (which may on the face of it seem like an odd bedfellow), this doesn’t garner a PG certificate. As the makers noted, Watership Down is at least in part an Exodus story, but the biblical implications extend beyond Hazel merely leading his fluffle to the titular promised land. There is a prevalent spiritual dimension to this rabbit universe, one very much

Piece by piece, the camel enters the couscous.

The Forgiven (2021) (SPOILERS) By this point, the differences between filmmaker John Michael McDonagh and his younger brother, filmmaker and playwright Martin McDonagh, are fairly clearly established. Both wear badges of irreverence and provocation in their writing, and a willingness to tackle – or take pot-shots – at bigger issues, ones that may find them dangling their toes in hot water. But Martin receives the lion’s share of the critical attention, while John is generally recognised as the slightly lesser light. Sure, some might mistake Seven Psychopaths for a John movie, and Calvary for a Martin one, but there’s a more flagrant sense of attention seeking in John’s work, and concomitantly less substance. The Forgiven is clearly aiming more in the expressly substantial vein of John’s earlier Calvary, but it ultimately bears the same kind of issues in delivery.

He tasks me. He tasks me, and I shall have him.

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982) (SPOILERS) I don’t love Star Trek , but I do love Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan . That probably isn’t just me, but a common refrain of many a non-devotee of the series. Although, it used to apply to The Voyage Home (the funny one, with the whales, the Star Trek even the target audience for Three Men and a Baby could enjoy). Unfortunately, its high regard has also become the desperate, self-destructive, song-and-verse, be-all-and-end-all of the overlords of the franchise itself, in whichever iteration, it seems. This is understandable to an extent, as Khan is that rare movie sequel made to transcendent effect on almost every level, and one that stands the test of time every bit as well (better, even) as when it was first unveiled.

In a few moments, you will have an experience that will seem completely real. It will be the result of your subconscious fears transformed into your conscious awareness.

Brainstorm (1983) (SPOILERS) Might Brainstorm have been the next big thing – a ground-breaking, game-changing cinematic spectacle that had as far reaching consequences as Star Wars (special effects) or Avatar (3D) – if only Douglas Trumbull had been allowed to persevere with his patented “Showscan” process (70mm film photographed and projected at 60 frames per second)? I suspect not; one only has to look at the not-so-far-removed experiment of Ang Lee with Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk , and how that went down like a bag of cold sick, to doubt that any innovation will necessarily catch on (although Trumbull at least had a narrative hinge on which to turn his “more real than real” imagery, whereas Lee’s pretty much boiled down to “because it was there”). Brainstorm ’s story is, though, like its title, possibly too cerebral, too much concerned with the consciousness and touting too little of the cloyingly affirmative that Bruce Rubin inevitably brings to his screenplays. T

They say if we go with them, we'll live forever. And that's good.

Cocoon (1985) Anyone coming across Cocoon cold might reasonably assume the involvement of Steven Spielberg in some capacity. This is a sugary, well-meaning tale of age triumphing over adversity. All thanks to the power of aliens. Substitute the elderly for children and you pretty much have the manner and Spielberg for Ron Howard and you pretty much have the approach taken to Cocoon . Howard is so damn nice, he ends up pulling his punches even on the few occasions where he attempts to introduce conflict to up the stakes. Pauline Kael began her review by expressing the view that consciously life-affirming movies are to be consciously avoided. I wouldn’t go quite that far, but you’re definitely wise to steel yourself for the worst (which, more often than not, transpires). Cocoon is as dramatically inert as the not wholly dissimilar (but much more disagreeable, which is saying something) segment of Twilight Zone: The Movie directed by Spielberg ( Kick the Can ). There

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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