jwalzer5

"The Circus" was made between the classic "Gold Rush" and what is, arguably, Chaplin's masterpiece, "City Lights." It dates from 1928 and is, without doubt, one of Chaplin's great films. It opens slowly, but don't let that put you off - it quickly accelerates. And, as for the ending? Anyone moved by the ending of "City Lights" will love the ending of "The Circus:" Chaplin's character, strolling toward the horizon, leaving love and friends behind, disappears into the distance, setting up a scenario to be repeated in "Modern Times". Simple, touching, beautiful. Sandwiched between, "The Gold Rush" and "City Lights," this film is often overlooked, but it is a wonderful Chaplin classic that deserves to be more widely known.

One of the best films of 1989. Glenn Close is brilliant as the disinterested aristocrat preying on and deceiving everyone within her grasp. Stephen Frears does a remarkable job of conveying the corruption and moral decay of a France teetering on the precipice of revolution. Everything is powdered and perfumed and simultaneously decadent, and a historically-literate audience is all too aware of the blood and horror that is to follow. Yet, Close's aristocrat is somehow able to maintain the audience's sympathy. Close walks a giddy, dramatic tightrope and gives the performance of her career. Her achievement is remarkable. What could have been a tawdry costume drama in lesser hands, in the capable grip of Close and Frears, is rendered incandescent. A beautiful and meaningful film. Bravo to everyone involved.

What a wonderful film this was. Quiet, thoughtful, beautiful performances. The children and young adults were particularly fine. When it was over, I wanted to see it again. Can one pay greater tribute to a film? Emma Thompson's character was beautifully realized and the subplot of two women arguing as they prepare to attend a funeral was very well done. The Scottish "brogue" spoken by the two boys was a little hard on this American's ears at first, but I quickly adapted - and those two boys proved to be the most compelling characters in the film. This was one of those films that "sneaks" up on you. I started watching it, expecting nothing much, but was drawn into it. I highly recommend it.

I am not a big fan of Oliver Stone, but I think, "Alexander" has gotten a very bad rap. I thought, "Platoon" was great, but "Born on the Fourth of July" sucked. Nevertheless, "Alexander" was visually stunning and I think it's detractors are more motivated by homophobia than concern for artistic excellence. Alexander's love for Hephastion was beautiful and should be celebrated not deprecated. The film's critics should take a good long long in the mirror. Alexander was one of the the greatest Kings the Western World has ever known. He deserves better from his critics than the kind of cheap polemics to which he has been subjected. The world certainly deserves better.

Anyone who has not seen this film does not know what cinema is. The term, "classic" is far too loosely used but I know of no film more aptly designated. I saw it first when I was 6 years old and I can think of no film that so delighted and enchanted me. Munchkintown was a riot of color that left a lasting impression, Billie Burke, as Glinda, Good Witch of the North, was the incarnation of grace and beauty - and was there ever a more hideous Wicked Witch than Margaret Hamilton? - She scared the Hell out of me and gave me nightmares for days afterwards - talk about a tribute to an actress's performance. It's hard to believe that Ray Bolger as a second choice for the Scarecrow - the Studio originally wanted Jack Haley, who, ironically, became the TinMan! The wonderful Frank Morgan, whose kind nature brought such sweetness to his portrayal of the Wizard was a second choice - the studios wanted W.C. Fields, whose sour nature would, I believe, have left a bitter, aftertaste in the role of Professor Marvel which I believe Frank Morgan fulfilled far more capably. A glorious production.

"The Trouble with Angels" is, thanks to brilliant direction by Ida Lupino, and splendid performances by Russell and Mills, a minor masterpiece. This genre (i.e., entrenched authority vs. innovative young Philistenes) has been so done to death over the last several decades - and done so incredibly badly - that it's hard to believe that pre-1970, it still had some life in it. The "youth vs. orthodoxy" formula is old news. Here, however, the film's protagonists manage to be unorthodox without ever becoming repulsive. While much about St. Francis - stone dragons included - seem, from our vantage point, hopelessly antiquated, the film still resonates whenever Rosalind Russell's Mother Superior comes into conflict with her students -including the notorious Mary, i.e., Hayley Mills. There is one scene, late in the film, where one sister dies and the film briefly congeals around this incident. It could so easily have descended into stereotype and bathos. Instead, it becomes a moving episode accompanied by Jerry Goldsmith's luminous music. Brava.

Having read Walter Lord's, "A Night to Remember," and its sequel, "The Night Lives On," I must say I approached "A Night to Remember" with some trepidation. Like most of my generation, my experience of the Titanic was restricted to the James Cameron blockbuster. What a fool I was. Yes, the 1997 Oscar winner has a tremendous amount of effective special effects. So what? The 1958, "Night to Remember" boasts great acting, a fine screenplay, and an immediacy and intensity lacking in the 1997 re-make. My only real problem with the 1958 version was its idolization of Second Officer Lightoller, something the 1997 "Titanic," to its credit, tried to disabuse. Lightoller was in charge of the right side of the Titanic's loading boats. His stubborn insistence - an almost mulish mindlessness exalting "Women and Children First" - led to the deaths of hundreds of men because he refused to allow men in the boats, even when there was room for them. Aside from that, I found, "A Night to Remember" memorable cinema and worthy of my highest rating.

This was one of those films that sneaks up on you. Jaded by endless inferior sequels and re-makes, I approached this film with some trepidation but was pleasantly surprised. "Night of the Living Dead" ripoffs are so common, one often has an aversion to parodies of this sort which have become a genre of their own. Nevertheless, this is a good-natured satire which this viewer found very entertaining. The characters are quirky without being bizarre, and there is a good deal of amusing self-parody - for instance, having one of the characters improbably exclaim, "we're going to get you, Barbara," referencing one of "Living Dead's" most well-known lines. All in all, a nice twist on a horror theme that is in danger of petrifying itself out of existence.

"Nicholas and Alexandra," was based on the book my Robert Massie. I have long been a fan of Russian history, and believe that Schaffner's film was a victim or circumstance. Fresh from his "Patton" triumph, the movie in question suffered the serious disadvantage of appearing in the year that saw the release of such masterpieces as, "The Hospital" and "The French Connection." Another drawback: Nicholas and Alexandra, historically, are not the most sympathetic protagonists - she was a religious hysteric and he was a spineless mediocrity in thrall to his wife and her suicidal attachment to Rasputin. We shouldn't care about these people - but we do, thanks to amazing performances by Michael Jayston and Janet Suzman. The real Nicholas and Alexandra, as people, were warm and gentle parents whose love for their children was undisputed. Unfortunately, as rulers, they were shallow and arrogant: unworthy of the high office to which they were called. Yet, by the end of the film, as Nicholas and his wife and children sit in that cold basement, their assassins just beyond the door, it's a tribute to the talent of James Goldman, who wrote the screenplay, that the viewer feels for this family and wishes there were some other way justice could be done. Too many bloated atrocities, like "Braveheart" and "Dances With Wolves," have given the epic a bad name. "Nicholas and Alexandra" has flaws, but overall, it is "epic" in the best sense of that word.

This was one of those Indie productions that sneaks up on a viewer. I first saw it on cable television. The cast is comprised of very talented unknowns (with the exception of the luminous Jacqueline Bisset). The story of a gay party boy romancing a Mormon missionary could easily have degenerated into the worst kind of B-movie melodrama. Surprisingly, the sincerity of the performances and the quality of the writing make this film genuinely entertaining. I watched this movie twice to assure myself that novelty was not its only merit and found myself moved even more on a second viewing. Gay-friendly movies have been a staple on the Indie circuit for some time. Occasionally, a mainstream production like, "In and Out" sees wide release, but such events are still a rarity. All the more reason to celebrate a film like, "Latter Days" which doesn't fall into the trap of treating straight people like enemies. The film is blessedly free of sugar-coated sanctimony and purple speeches. It simply treats people as people, and the viewer finds him/herself rooting for the protagonists and sharing their grief and joy because they are human beings - no more, no less, and their sexual orientation is immaterial. That kind of viewer response constitutes an accolade that, I imagine, is every writer/actor's dream. I enjoyed this film and highly recommend it.

With respect to Dante, this film is as close to Hell as the viewer is ever likely to come. Gloria Swanson goes slumming, Karen Black gets a running start on her subsequent train wreck of a career, and Charlton Heston displays the three scintillating varieties of menacing grimace that earned him the lamest Oscar of all time in, "Ben-Hur." Welcome to two hours of your life you'll never get back. The screechy, atonal soundtrack is the crowning touch. What an abysmal mess. The film's only merit: serving as material for the genuinely funny satire of the "Airplane" films. This film also set a precedent for one of Hollywood's most loathsome blights: the Sequel. "Airport '75" spawned the even more execrable, "Airport '77" which led to the lowest rung on the ladder of Dantean Movie Hell, "Airport, '79." That alone merits the doom of everyone involved in this cinematic miscarriage.

Teaming a veteran like John Hurt with Jason Priestley would seem to be a casting director's nightmare. Surprisingly, this film takes that premise and runs with it - very convincingly. John Hurt plays a tired, lonely writer (Giles) who is completely out of touch with the modern world, and Jason Priestley, in a touching and thoughtful performance (keep in mind that part of his performance is self-parody), is the object of Hurt's desire. Hurt first comes across Priestly as, "Ronnie Bostock," a forgettable, hunky presence in Grade-Z cinematic atrocities like, "Hotpants College II." Some viewers have mistakenly seen this film as a reworking of Mann's, "Death in Venice," but this film is different: while retaining the poignancy of old age (Hurt), it injects new life into Pristley's character, and allows the viewer to think of him as much more than an object, fruitlessly pursued. There is a key scene at a roadside café late in the film, where Hurt makes an offer he has no right to offer, and Priestley is confronted with a choice he shouldn't have to make. It is a key moment in the film, beautifully handled by both actors, and illustrates the simple power of human drama, devoid of a $100,000,000 special effects budget. And there is, thank God, no happy, artificial, manufactured resolution. This is a film for connoisseurs, and is well worth a look. One last note: the explicit "gayness" of John Hurt's character brought out the worst in some homophobic critics. Their whining only validated John Hurt's performance. Giles is paranoid and defensive because he's never been offered an alternative. Society has not treated Giles with either civility or decency, and he bears the scars of that mistreatment. A life lived in the closet is a waste, and Giles' insular life, uncontaminated by humanity, is a brutal commentary on the destructiveness of such an existence. Both Ronnie and Giles, one straight man and one gay man, are prisoners of society and the quality of their lives, to society's discredit, have been needlessly compromised and diminished. A wonderful film and a deeply disturbing commentary.

Like pastry, the sequel to "American Pie" is light and goes down easy. It doesn't pretend to be anything other than it is: a popcorn movie that one sees, has a few laughs over, and promptly forgets about. The gross-out quotient, as expected from an 'American Pie' sequel, is fairly high. The best scene is one where the boys have the tables turned on them by two women they suspect are lesbians. The guys have every libidinous "straight boy" cliche turned against them with a vengeance, and the results are riotous. I give it five stars out of ten just because it made me laugh out loud, and there aren't too many films that have that effect on me. Look, this isn't, "Citizen Kane," and anyone familiar with the "American Pie" series is aware of that. This film does not pretend to be anything other than a superficial, "night at the movies". On that level, it succeeds, and makes a badly needed point about homophobia in the process. How many films can boast that kind of pedigree?

I was a big fan of the original "Jeepers, Creepers." I wrote a review of this fine film for this site, and still believe it was one of the best horror movies since the legendary, "Alien" of 1979. This sequel to "Jeepers, Creepers" was a major disappointment. Cardboard characters and a script so thin that it's transparent, sink the film in the first half-hour. The original "Jeepers, Creepers" made excellent use of that horror movie rule-of-thumb: "less is more." The film's makers recognized that what the viewer imagines is infinitely more horrifying than anything on the screen. "JC2" jettisons this principle and wallows in graphic detail, meanwhile treating the characters as wooden dummies. The acting is appallingly bad and the whole project reeks of expediency: a sequel cobbled together to captialize on the success of the original, infinitely better, film. What a waste.

Watching "Far From Heaven" is probably a very unpleasant experience for those who like to think that the "Eisenhower Years" were America's zenith - I have no doubt that people at that time looked back adoringly to the "Coolidge Years" - and with just as little justification. The film is unsparing in its depiction of the ugly underbelly of America - a nation seething with racism, homophobia, and misogyny. And all of it made palatable by a veneer of sanctimony. Julianne Moore gives a superb performance, embodying the kind of subtlety and nuance that only a great actor can command. Dennis Quaid, in a role that could easily have come across as unsympathetic in lesser hands, is vulnerable and convincing. The scene where a doctor offers to "cure" Quaid of his orientation takes the viewer back to a time when that kind of medical barbarism was condoned. I think, more than anything else, "Far From Heaven," in its merciless depiction and dissection of 1950's society, shows us how far we have come as a nation. And to top it off, the cinematography is exquisite - the film is visually sumptuous. Twenty years ago, "Making Love" addressed some of the same issues - and sank like a stone at the box office. The plaudits garnered by "Far From Heaven" are an encouraging sign that there is a healthy section of the movie-going public who welcome sophisticated cinema, judging a film on its script and acting rather than its special-effects budget.

This is a great movie for people who think Shakespeare's dull. Action, intrigue, passion, they're all here. Also, Zeffirelli's version is sweetly endearing. Whiting and Hussey make an extremely attractive pair in the title roles. The Nina Rota score is excellent, as are the production values. I didn't expect to like this film but I was most pleasantly surprised.

I truly wanted to like this series. After 4 years of Will's enforced monogamy, I'm tired of a character that spends all his time staring at his apartment walls. When the hell will Will find a partner, guys? After the first year, we were told We needed to build an audience; after the second year, We were told it was right around the corner; After the third year, the fourth year, HELLO GUYS! Grace is the only character in this series with a shred of decency, and she's a genuinely likeable character -- We're talking about a series, putatively about gay people, where the only likeable character is a straight woman!! Get a clue, guys!!: Karen is a parody: her BettyBoop, slutty alchoholic routine grew stale some time ago; and Jack? Talk about a stereotype: A guy who claims he doesn't want his career to be stereotyped, while building that career portraying a character who is the embodiment of every vicious, pansy, fag, stereotype known to man, is a hypocrite of the worst sort -- and I have nothing but contempt for Hayes as a result of his bigotry. "Will & Grace" is a great attempt at social satire gone wrong -- it's authors have sold out BIG TIME, and gay men like myself, are ashamed at its perpetrators.

I am, admittedly, not a Mel Gibson fan. But the laurels accorded this film by critics and the Academy make a response obligatory. This is one of the WORST films about medieval England ever made. Because of Mel's self-adulation, his enemies must always appear in the worst light, justified or not. And so we have Mel as William Wallace, in reality a rogue and vagrant, who even the nobles of Scotland would not tolerate, as he was a commoner and beneath their contempt; and we have Edward I, who some historians have dubbed, "the greatest English King", and "the English Justinian" because he was a lawyer, statesman, soldier, etc. In other words, a stellar King, and an admired and effective ruler. But, wait: in Mel's hands, William Wallace (who he conveniently portrays) becomes a democratic model spouting egalitarian principles totally at odds with the England of 1299 and more redolent of America, 1776: and -- BIG SURPRISE -- as Mel's opponent, Edward I is trashed by Patrick McGoohan, who plays the character as a combination of Darth Vader and Heinrich Himmler. Mel wears the White Hat and his enemies wear the Black Hat - get it?? Some films, like "Spartacus" and "The Lion In Winter" and "Glory" are fairly faithful to history; others, like "A Man for All Seasons" and "Anne of The Thousand Days" contain nuggets of truth, couched in gorgeous scenery and period costumes. And then there's, "Braveheart" - a film that might fascinate Mel's fans, but which leaves everything to be desired where historical truth is concerned. "Braveheart" is the kind of cheesy junk that future generations will term, "so bad, it's good." "Glen or Glenda" and "Braveheart": one hell of a double feature.

"Modern Times" is, quite simply, Chaplin at his best. The satire is as fresh and pertinent as it was in 1936. Unlike, "City Lights", Chaplin's brilliant but episodic 1931 opus, "Modern Times" displays a consistent comedic talent; also on display is the common touch that resonated with Little Guys, and which explains why Chaplin is so beloved among the masses. Beginning with the classic "eating machine" scene, and proceeding through the warehouse scene, etc., etc., ending with the classic closing scene of Chaplin and Paulette Goddard walking, optimistically and defiantly, into the distance: This is GREAT Chaplin, and we are all richer for the experience.

Let's face it: Chaplin's "City Lights" is a great film, but it's not flawless. The inspired bits: Charlie making the acquaintance of the Flower Girl, the boxing match, the achingly beautiful, ambiguous, close of the film where Chaplin walks an emotional tightrope between sentiment and sincerity, and succeeds brilliantly - these are incredible and unforgettable moments in cinema, and Chaplin deserves the plaudits he's received. But such moments are interspersed throughout the film, which is punctuated with long stretches of tedium. Chaplin's inspiration was fitful, and it shows. Nevertheless, on balance, "City Lights" is a masterpiece, rising above it's author's shortcomings to become a cinematic landmark which any student of Film would do well to study.

"The Cider House Rules": pretty good. The performances: --whoa...

I cannot, for the life of me, see what critics have found to praise in Tobey Maguire's stilted performance. I can only conclude, charitably, that Maguire suffers from narcolepsy -- fertile ground for George Romero and his zombie brigade -- (and a calculated reproach to drooling critics carrying on over, "Spiderman." Get a life, Ebert).

Having sat, painfully, through this film and experienced Maguire's incompetence up close,(and taking into account his similarly dismal performance in "Wonder Boys," and "The Ice Storm") I'm at a loss as to why any director would want to hire this glacial non-entity. The film itself was O.K., due mostly to Michael Caine, who is an old hand at this sort of thing: the crusty yet benign father figure bit is right up his alley.

But Maguire the Comatose kept sucking the life out of every scene he was in: Maguire is to the art or acting what Jeffrey Dahmer was to the art of cooking: i.e., repellent. Irving's novel was a good read, and this attempt to film it succeeds in many respects. If only Homer had been aborted at birth, this might have been a great film.

A superlative drama. By now, most sophisticated movie-goers are aware that King George III's sickness might very well have been a result of porphyria, a hereditary disease that some doctors have traced back to Mary, Queen of Scots (i.e., George III's great-great-great-great-great grandmother). Whatever the cause, Nigel Hawthorne gives the performance of a lifetime as the tortured king. The conflict between George III and his heir, the Prince of Wales (the eventual King George IV), is brutally and unapologetically portrayed: the director does not spare us in his vivid reenactment of the combative and sour relationship that actually existed between the two men. As an American, one might suspect I'd be unsympathetic to the British monarch who presided over England's attempt to brutalize its colonies -- but George III's almost-wistful resentment of his errant "colonists" generates some sympathy for the man himself - a sympathy which is unexpectedly intensified by Hawthorne's sudden descent into incoherence, his dim, yet aching realization of what he has become, and his eventual recovery. George III was haunted by demons not of his own making; and no human being deserves the fate to which his disease, if such it was, eventually condemned him. "The Madness of King George" enlightened, entertained,and provoked: what more could one ask of a film?

This film was a pleasant surprise. No sex, no violence, no special effects. Just an incredibly literate and humorous script (which won an Oscar for Steve Tesich) and fantastic performances by the four leads. This is a film for those who still believe that good cinema requires meaningful dialogue and acting that is achingly real in its sincerity. Don't get me wrong: sex and violence have a very real and justifiable place in film; but this movie would have suffered from such a gratuitous inclusion. Peter Yates, the director, has done a fantastic job of pacing the film, and the score, consisting mostly of Rossini overtures, and excerpts from Mendelssohn's "Italian" Symphony (#4 in A Major, Op. 90), is an inspired touch, adding precisely the right atmosphere. This is the kind of low-budget triumph that the film community constantly extols for P.R. purposes, yet never supports with actual awards.

As a student of Roman history, I generally cast a jaundiced eye on Hollywood epics dwelling on ancient Rome. They're either camp, like "QUO VADIS" (Robert Taylor's impersonation of an actor is particularly unsettling), or badly researched and preachy, like the incredibly overrated, "BEN-HUR" (starring Charlton Heston, and his flying circus of facial tics). Given Hollywood's miserable track record in handing out awards (i.e., "How Green was my Valley" over "Citizen Kane"??? --- enough said), it is telling that "Ben-Hur" snagged 11 Oscars, including Chuck's, but "Spartacus" was virtually ignored (Ustinov's wonderful rendering of Lentulus Batiatus excepted).

And yet, as history, "Spartacus" is a terrific film. There are, inevitably, inconsistencies: the real Gracchus (played by Charles Laughton), was dead fifty years before Spartacus' rebellion occurred and Spartacus himself died in the film's final battle - he was NOT crucified, an imaginary incident conjured by Douglas to allow for a heart-breaking farewell scene with Jean Simmons - this is regrettable, but forgivable, dramatic license. Overall, however, "Spartacus" is one of the few films that can withstand historical scrutiny. In one of many brilliant scenes, Olivier and his brother-in-law, spectators at the gladiatorial school run by Ustinov, cavalierly discuss politics, oblivious to the fact that, in the arena below, two men are fighting for their lives. Their detachment from the slaughter being perpetrated, ostensibly for their amusement, is a vivid and unforgettable reminder that barbarism once passed for entertainment. And the now-"Un-infamous" scene where Tony Curtis and Olivier make homoerotic small talk is not only tame by today's standards, but quite realistic, given what we now know of the bisexual nature of many upper-class Roman men in the first century B.C.E.

There is one other flaw in "Spartacus": namely the sanctimonious condemnation of slavery in the opening narration. Nearly all of Hollywood's films about ancient Rome -- indeed, the ancient world in general -- incorporate this tired, pompous disclaimer about slavery and the pernicious effect it had on whatever civilization is being targeted: we need to be reminded that here, in the USA, the evil that was slavery flourished for a hundred years, as it flourished for centuries in Britain, Russia, Spain, and China: the United States of America endorsed and approved slavery, and certain areas in this country still tolerate racism, misogyny, and homophobia -- but we would resent any entity that would consider those flaws an embodiment of the American Mind. Oppression was no more typical of the Roman Empire than Mississippi is typical of the United States (thank GOD!). We should remember that before we condemn a culture that survived for over 2200 years (from the founding of Rome in 753 BCE to the fall of Constantinople in 1453 CE). Finally, Alex North's wind-and-brass-besotted, jagged score is wonderfully appropriate and especially effective in the military scenes. This is one of the few films I felt compelled to buy, so as to have my own copy. It is flawed, but only because Douglas aimed so high, and it remains one of the few films that I term, "great."

THE ROBE is a reviewer's nightmare: a film whose sum falls substantially short of its parts. Overall, this is a great story, with Burton/Robinson doing a Luke Skywalker/Darth Vader impersonation that will resonate with younger viewers unaquainted with Sophocles or Dante.

Unfortunately, Jean Simmons and Victor Mature do their usual convincing impersonations of a glacier, and Richard Burton, after a promising start, over-emotes so much that he appears to be in need of an enema or shock therapy. Throw into the mix the watery Christianity subtext, and you have recipe for cinematic narcolepsy (or the subject of future midnight-showing laugh-fests.) The fact that Hollywood felt it could justify this mess by throwing in the story of the Crucifixion, reverently dipped in requisite shades of scarlet and violet, and sanctimoniously dripped over us like so much visual Holy Water, is more than enough to merit contempt. But there is a saving grace.

What sets THE ROBE apart, and keeps the whole creaky contrivance going is Jay Robinson's maniacal performance as the insane Emperor Caligula. Intentionally over-the-top, in a voice like oiled velvet, shreiking his inadequacies, Robinson seizes control of the 3 scenes he's in and never lets go.

I'd give this film a 5 out of 10 just to watch Robinson's performance. He's only on screen for about 10 minutes of a two-hour+ film, but as Judi Dench proved, in her Oscar-winning performance as Queen Elizabeth I, 7 or 8 minutes of screen time can make or break a film. Robinson's subsequent hellish descent into drug addiction and anonymity make his performance that much more poignant. It was ironic to see, in his autobiography, that he'd found solace in religion. I agree not at all with his beliefs, but am gratified to see that a great, and neglected actor has, at last, found peace.