These were bad ideas on a regular basis.

Electric Boogaloo:

The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films

(2014)

Mark Hartley’s history of the studio that exemplified ropey straight-to-video (or should have been straight-to-video) ‘80s movies is an embarrassment of rich anecdotes of excess and cheapness. So much so, it would have been very easy to take a detour and focus entirely on one particular disaster. Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films recounts the litany of terrible business and creative decisions that fuelled Cannon Films’ unlikely period of boom (and then bust), and Hartley revels in the studio’s complete lack of aesthetic and narrative competence.

As such, it’s a celebration more than it is an evisceration, jubilant at the sheer tat Cannon turned out week after week (in some cases; when junk bond king Michael Milkin raised $300m they were churning out a ridiculous 40 films a year). Which isn’t to say Menaham Golan (the “dreamer”) and his brother Yoram (the “shrewd business person”), who bought the studio in 1979, the former having earned the title “the father of Israeli cinema”, never put Cannon’s name to anything halfway decent or even good, but that the good was inevitably tarnished by the Cannon name. There was the occasional John Cassavetes film. Or lesser Goddard. Against the grain, Franco Zeffirelli, who made Othello with the brothers, loved the collaboration. And I’m not sure it’s wholly true that Runaway Train would be regarded as a classic if it had been released by another studio; it’s pretty much regarded as a classic anyway.

It’s evident how shunned the brothers were in Hollywood, though, a due who expounded “Cinema is our life” and would go to a movie if they had four hours free but were incompetent at making good ones. The distribution deal with MGM is met with bafflement (it didn’t last) and the flop (there were a lot of flops) Sahara is referred to as an “intersection of ideas that should never meet each other”; they failed to operate according to the Hollywood rules (a black tie opening for a Chuck Norris film!), and were awarded dismissive epithets suggesting an anti-immigrant bias (including the “Bad News Jews”).

But Hollywood respects the dollar most, and they were never able to show any kind of consistent business sense other than hopelessness. Stephen Tolkin notes they loved cinema in the abstract; there was no concept of struggling through the pain of repeated drafts to finesse a script, added to which their modus operandi was “bad ideas on a regular basis”, spit-balling posters for movies that were never made, and those that were were based on crazy ideas that somehow mustered pre-sales. They owned 40% of the British cinema market at one point (including Thorn EMI, Elstree, Pathe and ABC) but failed to capitalise on it.

Electric Boogaloo is probably the best way to witness the majority of their output, in bite-size chunks rather than enduring entire movies. There’s Menaham’s The Apple, his disastrous attempt to fashion a Ken Russell musical, the hitching of their cart to Sylvia Kristel (Mata Hari) who was in a state of some disrepair, their successful collaborations with Charles Bronson (one of Cannon’s two chucks, with Norris) and Sir Michael Winner, through reviving the Death Wish franchise (Alex Winter, who appeared in Death Wish III, provides amusing anecdotes throughout, and refers to Winner as the “perfect Cannon director”, one who put making money above any propriety in working practices, with comments from Marina Sirtis underlining Sir Michael’s generally deplorable approach; presumably Cannon had to makee sure the catering was good). Particularly amusing is a response to Death Wish II; “It is obviously very much on Mr Winner’s mind to be sodomised. I hope it happens to him soon”. Winner also provided them with The Wicked Lady, as insalubrious as his Bronson bouts.

Then there is Enter the Ninja (with a dubbed Franco Nero) and Revenge of the Ninja (“Only a ninja can stop a ninja”), rare hit Breakin’ and the disastrous sequel that lends the doc its title, Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo (Menahem, once something was a success, summarily proved he hadn’t a clue as to how or why), Bo Derek in Bolero, Missing in Action and the Chuck Norris ‘80s legacy, Michael Dudikoff and American Ninja, the horror that is Going Bananas, the rise of Van Damme and Alan Quatermain. The latter is one where a devoted doc might be highly rewarding, with Richard Chamberlain telling how Sharon Stone was hated on set and the reveal that she was only cast because Menaham wanted that Stone woman (Romancing the… Stone woman).

The big spend era of the mid-‘80s provides some of the most interesting material, perhaps partly because I’m more familiar with Cannon product at this point, but definitely because the examples of profligacy are all the more ludicrous. There’s the relationship with Tobe Hooper, which yielded three pictures (Lifeforce, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and Invaders from Mars), only one of which the Golans liked (Lifeforce) and all of which bombed. There’s the “star fuckers” reputation, whereby they secured Stallone for arm wrestling disaster Over the Top; it cost $25m and made little more than half that (to be fair, the previous Stallone picture with them, Cobra, is appalling but made a lot of money).

1986 is given as the beginning of the end for the studio, with Menahem Golan cited as asking why they only owed $6m, he wanted to owe $100m; they made a loss of $90m in ‘85-’86, so he was heading in the right direction. They made Superman IV for $17m, but its budget was supposed to be $30m; the results spoke for themselves (although you’d think it cost more like $5m to look at it). Then there was Masters of the Universe at $22m, banked on as the Star Wars of the ‘80s; it tanked.

When they split (on hearing of his brother’s cancer, Menahem pronounced “He should never have left me”) they sparred with competing Lambada pictures (Menahem had “two words: Naked Lambada” as a sequel proposal) and are astutely referenced as the forerunners of the Weinsteins, the difference being the Weinsteins actually cared about quality. Since then, former Cannon man Avi Lerner’s Nu Image appears to have learnt from his former bosses’ failures, delivering Cannon-esque action fare (The Expendables, Olympus Has Fallen) that turns a profit and has a veneer of professionalism.

Electric Boogaloo is blessed with a raft of talking heads including Derek, Catherine Mary Stewart, Hooper, Gary Goddard (Masters’ director), Dudikoff, Elliot Gould, Dolph Lundgren, Molly Ringwald and Sybil Danning; the only thing it lacks is the brothers themselves. Menahem died the year it was released, but not before his own competing Cannon doc, The Go-Go Boys was released, painting a rather more positive light on the studio and the siblings. Like the Lambada picture, it was a race to have it released, beating Electric Boogaloo by three months. I think it’s probably safe to say that this is the one to see.

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.

Your Mickey Mouse is one big stupid dope!

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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…

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.

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.

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

You ever heard the saying, “Don’t rob the bank across from the diner that has the best donuts in three counties”?

2 Guns (2013) (SPOILERS) Denzel Washington is such a reliable performer, that it can get a bit boring. You end up knowing every gesture or inflection in advance, whether he’s playing a good guy or a bad guy. And his films are generally at least half decent, so you end up seeing them. Even in Flight (or perhaps especially in Flight ; just watch him chugging down that vodka) where he’s giving it his Oscar-nominatable best, he seems too familiar. I think it may be because he’s an actor who is more effective the less he does. In 2 Guns he’s not doing less, but sometimes it seems like it. That’s because the last person I’d ever expect blows him off the screen; Mark Wahlberg.

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

Maybe the dingo ate your baby.

Seinfeld 2.9: The Stranded The Premise George and Elaine are stranded at a party in Long Island, with a disgruntled hostess.

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.

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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