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Movies on My Mind

Week Ending July 2 2016

War on Everyone

How can this possibly fail? Michael Peña, riding high after being the best part of Ant-Man, and Alexander Skarsgård, just pleased he still has a career after The Legend of Tarzan, and penned-directed by John Micheal McDonagh, the man who gave us The Guard and Calvary (and whose brother gave us In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths). With its focus on a couple of lovably corrupt cops, this looks to be more in The Guard territory than the tragi-comic Calvary, revelling in the kind of coarse repartee McDonagh makes look easy but very few can write well.

In highly idiosyncratic style, he and his brother are filling the gap in top quality crime fare absented by Tarantino and the Coen Brothers when they’re off dabbling in other genres. So much so, the McDonaghs are pretty much the new reigning champs. His leads appear perfectly paired, Peña evidencing little in the way of traditional parenting skills towards his son (“little Lord fucking Fauntleroy here”) and Skarsgård…. doing a pterodactyl impression. The only issue I have with it is the title. It’s a bit… straight-to-video?

Trolls

I hope Dreamworks are confident they have a Smurfs-size hit on their hands, because this bears every semblance of the apocalypse foretold. Quite aside from a troll shitting cupcakes and offering someone said faeces as food, it’s advertised by way of a putrid cataclysm of dance anthem detritus, unpleasant design work (no doubt hence the “from the makers of Shrek”, but that movie’s central character was at least pleasantly ugly, and his unsightly physiognomy was the whole point) flattened into generic characters entirely indistinct from any other animated movie characters – aside from being branded “Trolls” (Timberlake and Kendrick are doing nothing to sell this either, and there’s the added bonus of James Corden to really encourage you to miss it). This movie likely deserves a stretch in purgatory, by way of being consigned to an eternity of self-flaming on Internet message boards. It will probably make half a billion.

Voyage of Time

It’s only six years since we first heard about this documentary (off the back of Tree of Life), but that’s Terrence Malick for you. He has about 20 movies backed up and waiting for release, none of which have much truck with traditional narrative form. I can’t say I’m over enthused by Brad Pitt’s lacklustre attempt at selling the wonder to us (although Cate Blanchett is also providing her dulcet tones tones to the feature-length, non-IMAX version, so that’s something), but this meditative odyssey through creation, from birth to thermal death point, could be something else, a successor to those Godfrey Reggio pictures. And if it isn’t, no doubt the next gen of stoners will simply watch the trippy pictures with the sound down. Mind you, then they’ll be missing the Morricone score, which would be a crime.

Sully

Not the latest Monsters, Inc. sequel, Sully actually looks vaguely interesting, in terms of being a movie about whether someone doing the right thing doesn’t suit the people holding the purse strings. Of course, a poignant trailer doesn’t necessarily mean Eastwood’s complete piece won’t be languorous and lacking focus.

On the other hand, he showed surprising rigour in the heat of the tour-of-duty scenes in American Sniper, as unsatisfying as that movie was overall. Let’s face it, though, Eastwood movies are generally so-so at best. He was always more interesting as an actor when he wasn’t directing himself (and had a strong director, rather than a handpicked mate) and he was always only interesting as a director when he had a decent script (which has only happened a clutch of times). One also gets a bit of Flight déjà vu, except that Sully wasn’t actually on the voddy tat the time. Still, I’ll warrant that, for Hanks fans, this is better than Inferno. And, if he wants to, he’s got the right look right to go ahead with that live-action Polar Express sequel everyone’s been clamouring for.

Box Office

The summer slump continues. A couple of performing sequels (Finding Dory, The Conjuring 2, The Purge 3) doesn’t not a season of success make. Independence Day: Resurgence’s sputtering returns aren’t going make that costly Fox outlay easy to swallow (and bowing to the yen has only helped returns so much), Central Intelligence is merely doing okay, Now You See Me 2 isn’t a total bust internationally, but no kind of magic act either, and now Tarzan isn’t going to set anyone’s jungle alight (unlike the Book).

The BFG sounds like it has turned out rather sluggish, Spielberg not quite retaining his facility for telling disarming tales for family audiences (what possible reason could it have to clock in at two hours, other than the maestro thinks he’s so important now that all his movies should reflect this in unwarranted weight?) Is there any reason to think Ghostbusters and Star Trek Beyond wont underperform too, or that Ice Age 5 may well not be an unstoppable force? At this rate, we’ll learn that Jason Bourne is a bit shit.

Westworld

HBO definitely needs a hit, with Game of Thrones in its last laps and any other relative newcomers getting either a cold reception (Vinyl) or never rising above cult status (The Leftovers). Could Westworld be it? It certainly has a lustrous sheen, and by taking its AI cues from the likes of Battlestar Galactica (the reboot) and Philip K Dick, it looks to have sufficiently distinguished itself from the original. It even has its own Roy Batty psychology (“What are your drives?”: “To meet my maker”).

The trailer makes it seem as if the focus is the androids, but given the expanded series narrative I suspect that’s just a hook for selling it (and with Ben Barnes and the always-interesting Jimmi Simpson in the James Brolin and Richard Benjamin roles it appears to be well-appointed elsewhere). Both Jeffrey Wright and, for a change given his last decade of roles, Sir Anthony Hopkins look like they have something to get their teeth into. Fingers crossed that this one’s teething troubles were worth it.

Stranger Things

‘80s nostalgia, and especially for Spielberg’s Amblin, has had mixed results, from Abrams’ Super 8 to the recent Midnight Special, but this particular soup seems to possess all-important substance, with well-cast, rather than annoying, kids (more Stand by Me than The Goonies) and a scenario that seems to take in influences as eclectic as John Carpenter, Stephen King and Poltergeist (all evident from the trailer, and all referenced in an Irish Examiner interview with the writer-directors), as well as featuring Noonie herself, all strung out but as becoming as ever.

Most enticingly, though, this was originally titled Montauk (it’s now set in Indiana, for reasons as yet unknown, but it suggests conscious distancing from alleged events). The Duffer brothers, twins Matt and Ross, previously served up scripts for Wayward Pines (which I’ve been wayward about getting round to watching), so clearly like their small town mystery narratives, and Stranger Things is self-evidently based on that most fascinating and elusive of purported occult intrigues of the last century, one that rivals the (inter-connected) Philadelphia Experiment (not so much the Michael Paré movie, though) in terms of reality bending paradigm shifts, parallel time-lines, and time travel, with its tales of military mind-control experiments, test subject Montauk boys, and even the materialisation of a thought-form beast that wreaked destruction at the base. Preston Nichols and Peter Moon have written a whole series of – increasingly tenuously linked – books on the subject. And for tenuous connections, check out Andre Gregory’s account of a bizarre initiation ritual in the classic My Dinner with Andre (made long before the goings-on there had gained currency).

I haven’t made any further progress with the second season of Bloodline thus far, but Stranger Things appears to have the sense not to hang around digressing; at eight episodes it has the potential of being punchy, and if the Duffers (and Shawn Levy, but hopefully that’s in no way indicative) include only a sliver of the subject matter, this promises to be a highly engrossing experience (notably, however, they make no mention whatsoever of the Montauk Project in that interview, so let’s hope it isn’t a missed opportunity to bring the material to a wider audience).

Agree? Disagree? Mildly or vehemently? Let me know in the comments below.

The Illumi-what-i?

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022) (SPOILERS) In which Sam Raimi proves that he can stand proudly with the best – or worst – of them as a good little foot soldier of the woke apocalypse. You’d expect the wilfully anarchic – and Republican – Raimi to choke on the woke, but instead, he’s sucked it up, grinned and bore it. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is so slavishly a production-line Marvel movie, both in plotting and character, and in nu-Feige progressive sensibilities, there was no chance of Sam staggering out from beneath its suffocating demands with anything more than a few scraps of stylistic flourish intact.

What’s so bad about being small? You’re not going to be small forever.

Innerspace (1987) There’s no doubt that Innerspace is a flawed movie. Joe Dante finds himself pulling in different directions, his instincts for comic subversion tempered by the need to play the romance plot straight. He tacitly acknowledges this on the DVD commentary for the film, where he notes Pauline Kael’s criticism that he was attempting to make a mainstream movie; and he was. But, as ever with Dante, it never quite turns out that way. Whereas his kids’ movies treat their protagonists earnestly, this doesn’t come so naturally with adults. I’m a bona fide devotee of Innerspace , but I can’t help but be conscious of its problems. For the most part Dante papers over the cracks; the movie hits certain keynotes of standard Hollywood prescription scripting. But his sensibility inevitably suffuses it. That, and human cartoon Martin Short (an ideal “leading man” for the director) ensure what is, at first glance just another “ Steven Spielberg Presents ” sci-fi/fantas

This risotto is shmackin’, dude.

Stranger Things Season 4: Part I (SPOILERS) I haven’t had cause, or the urge, to revisit earlier seasons of Stranger Things , but I’m fairly certain my (relatively) positive takes on the first two sequel seasons would adjust down somewhat if I did (a Soviet base under Hawkins? DUMB soft disclosure or not, it’s pretty dumb). In my Season Three review, I called the show “ Netflix’s best-packaged junk food. It knows not to outstay its welcome, doesn’t cause bloat and is disposable in mostly good ways ” I fairly certain the Duffer’s weren’t reading, but it’s as if they decided, as a rebuke, that bloat was the only way to go for Season Four. Hence episodes approaching (or exceeding) twice the standard length. So while the other points – that it wouldn’t stray from its cosy identity and seasons tend to merge in the memory – hold fast, you can feel the ambition of an expansive canvas faltering at the hurdle of Stranger Things ’ essential, curated, nostalgia-appeal inconsequentiality.

Is this supposed to be me? It’s grotesque.

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022) (SPOILERS) I didn’t hold out much hope for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent being more than moderately tolerable. Not so much because its relatively untested director and his co-writer are mostly known in the TV sphere (and not so much for anything anyone is raving about). Although, it has to be admitted, the finished movie flourishes a degree of digital flatness typical of small-screen productions (it’s fine, but nothing more). Rather, due to the already over-tapped meta-strain of celebs showing they’re good sports about themselves. When Spike Jonze did it with John Malkovich, it was weird and different. By the time we had JCVD , not so much. And both of them are pre-dated by Arnie in Last Action Hero (“ You brought me nothing but pain ” he is told by Jack Slater). Plus, it isn’t as if Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten have much in the way of an angle on Nic; the movie’s basically there to glorify “him”, give or take a few foibles, do

Whacking. I'm hell at whacking.

Witness (1985) (SPOILERS) Witness saw the advent of a relatively brief period – just over half a decade –during which Harrison Ford was willing to use his star power in an attempt to branch out. The results were mixed, and abruptly concluded when his typically too late to go where Daniel Day Lewis, Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro had gone before (with at bare minimum Oscar-nominated results) – but not “ full retard ” – ended in derision with Regarding Henry . He retreated to the world of Tom Clancy, and it’s the point where his cachet began to crumble. There had always been a stolid quality beneath even his more colourful characters, but now it came to the fore. You can see something of that as John Book in Witness – despite his sole Oscar nom, it might be one of Ford’s least interesting performances of the 80s – but it scarcely matters, or that the screenplay (which won) is by turns nostalgic, reactionary, wistful and formulaic, as director Peter Weir, in his Hollywood debu

Are you telling me that I should take my daughter to a witch doctor?

The Exorcist (1973) (SPOILERS) Vast swathes have been written on The Exorcist , duly reflective of its cultural impact. In a significant respect, it’s the first blockbuster – forget Jaws – and also the first of a new kind of special-effects movie. It provoked controversy across all levels of the socio-political spectrum, for explicit content and religious content, both hailed and denounced for the same. William Friedkin, director of William Peter Blatty’s screenplay based on Blatty’s 1971 novel, would have us believe The Exorcist is “ a film about the mystery of faith ”, but it’s evidently much more – and less – than that. There’s a strong argument to be made that movies having the kind of seismic shock on the landscape this one did aren’t simply designed to provoke rumination (or exultation); they’re there to profoundly influence society, even if largely by osmosis, and when one looks at this picture’s architects, such an assessment only gains in credibility.

That, my lad, was a dragon.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013) (SPOILERS) It’s alarming how quickly Peter Jackson sabotaged all the goodwill he amassed in the wake of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. A guy who started out directing deliciously deranged homemade horror movies ended up taking home the Oscar for a fantasy movie, of all genres. And then he blew it. He went from a filmmaker whose naysayers were the exception to one whose remaining cheerleaders are considered slightly maladjusted. The Desolation of Smaug recovers some of the territory Jackson has lost over the last decade, but he may be too far-gone to ever regain his crown. Perhaps in years to come The Lord of the Rings trilogy will be seen as an aberration in his filmography. There’s a cartoonishness to the gleeful, twisted anarchy on display in his earlierr work that may be more attuned to the less verimilitudinous aspects of King Kong and The Hobbit s. The exceptions are his female-centric character dramas, Heavenly Creat

Gizmo caca!

Gremlins (1984) I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins ’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was sealed when, after much deliberation, the BBFC granted it a 15 certificate. I had just turned 12, and at that time an attempt to sneak in to see it wouldn’t even have crossed my mind. I’d just have to wait for the video. I didn’t realise it then (because I didn’t know who he was as a filmmaker), but Joe Dante’s irrepressible anarchic wit would have a far stronger effect on me than the un

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… dyin’ time’s here!

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Time was kind to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome . As in, it was such a long time since I’d seen the “final chapter” of the trilogy, it had dwindled in my memory to the status of an “alright but not great” sequel. I’d half-expected to have positive things to say along the lines of it being misunderstood, or being able to see what it was trying for but perhaps failing to quite achieve. Instead, I re-discovered a massive turkey that is really a Mad Max movie in name only (appropriately, since Max was an afterthought). This is the kind of picture fans of beloved series tend to loathe; when a favourite character returns but without the qualities or tone that made them adored in the first place (see Indiana Jones in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , or John McClane in the last two Die Hard s). Thunderdome stinks even more than the methane fuelling Bartertown. I hadn’t been aware of the origins of Thunderdome until recently, mainly because I was

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