chetley

"Bombshell" does for the Hollywood of the 1930s what "The Player" does for the Hollywood of the 1990s. It's quite interesting to see how well established the Hollywood System was already in the early 1930s when this film was made. Already at that time the film world was centered on stars, studios, and a sycophantic support network that was focused on a false facades and phoniness. There are plenty of hilarious scenes in "Bombshell" sending up the studio system in a way that I found quite surprising given the year (1933) that this film was produced. It seems to present a sensibility - sarcastic, witty, honest - that I don't usually associate with the Golden Age of Hollywood. So many jokes about alcohol and drunkenness! "Bombshell" makes "The Thin Man" seem like an advertisement for AA by comparison.

Good supporting cast - nice to see Frank Morgan (aka the Wizard of Oz) as the inebriated father of star Jean Harlow. Lee Tracy is completely convincing as the smooth-talking oily agent who harbors a secret passion for his client. But what really makes "Bombshell" work - and which explains why I rate it at 8 out is 10 - is the tremendously self-effacing performance of Jean Harlow. She's just terrific!

This is a pretty decent adaptation, with attractive actors and a script that wisely does not stray far from Jane's classic outline. (Isn't is true though how today the plot seems somewhat clichéd? Now when we have two characters who hate each other at first sight, it's usually pretty much a guarantee that they are going to end up either as best friends or partners for life.) There is plenty of lovely cinematography to keep the viewer satisfied: stately homes that were never statelier. And Dame Judi Dench is every inch a Dame. There are probably more farm animals shown in this P & P than in any prior Austen film: at times I thought I was watching Babe III, but I eventually got used to all the pigs and geese.

I just have two quibbling observations. First, Keira Knightley needs some flesh on her bones if she wants to be taken seriously as an Austen heroine. No early 19th century beauty would have wanted to have looked so thin and hungry: there was not our contemporary obsession with anorexic waifs. Second, the keyboard instrument of Austen's time was a spindly forte-piano, not the loud (and metallic) concert grand that thunders on the soundtrack. It was disconcerting to see Elizabeth Bennett sit at an instrument similar to a harpsichord, and have the sound come out as if it's a Bosendorfer!

"The Handcuff King" is another entry in the "nostalgic yet painful adolescence in rural Scandinavia" genre. This film has its share of sweet moments, but there are more painful ones as the central character, a young Finnish boy named Esko, has to deal with a dysfunctional family living in poverty. At the same time he is abused and shunned by his classmates and former buddies. The only redeeming feature in his other dismal life is the tenuous friendship he forms with a nice Swedish lad from across the border. Esko is appealingly imaginative, but the film is marred by some technical flaws, as well as by its descent into emotional manipulation. At the end, I couldn't help feeling that what Esko and his family really needed was a very good therapist and access to a steady supply of anti-depressants.

"Veer-Zaara" was shown as part of an international film series at my local public library. It is the first Bollywood musical I have ever seen, and as such, I lack the critical perspective necessary to make an informed judgement about it. However, I did rate "Veer-Zaara" seven out of ten, because I found it consistently entertaining, and often entirely delightful. I was never once bored - in spite of its three hour plus running time. In order to appreciate any form of musical drama, it's necessary to "surrender" to theatrical artifice, and seen in that light, "Veer-Zaara" is no more illogical or "unrealistic" than a classic Vincent Minnelli Musical or a "serious" Verdi opera. I was also very intrigued at the way that the plot of the film crossed several genres and combined a number of classic story-telling archetypes: "the star-crossed lovers," "the village pastorale," "the saga of family honor," "the courtroom drama," etc.

Watching this film I think I learned a lot about modern Indian culture. Although at times the sentimentality in "Veer-Zaara" is so gushing that it enters into the realm of camp, there is also much substance in the film which is entirely admirable and worthy of esteem: the honor paid to parents and elders, the independence and spirit shown by strong and intelligent women, the respect given to Law and Justice, and perhaps most importantly, the possibility of peace and reconciliation between two peoples and two nations who have been engaged in a long, bitter, and fruitless quarrel.

I wandered lonely as a cow into the video store. . . and then I rented this film. Alas. I think the director was trying to channel the spirit of Ken Russell while he was making this film. Unfortunately, it was only during the last 15 minutes that the movie took a full bodied lurch into unintentionally comic melodramatic absurdity. With its utter disregard for the historic record, "Pandaemonium" attempts to do for England's greatest Romantic poets what "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" did for the Arthurian legends - but (sadly) without the wit or the humor.

Why is it that so many films about poets fail to convey any essence of poetry? Perhaps if you don't know anything about Wordsworth or Coleridge (or you don't care) you might be satisfied with "Pandaemonium," but I find it impossible to recommend a film that slanders the former while portraying the latter as a slathering dope fiend.

(I did enjoy the "Xanadu" music video shown over the ending credits - now that was truly trashy.)

I'm no dance critic, but. . . I was very disappointed with the choice of "The Blue Snake" as the ultimate and climactic "number" in "The Company". To me, it really stood out as the least interesting and most cliched of all the dances in the film. Those outrageous costumes! That "Ice Capades" choreography! Altman & Co. really ought to have chosen a piece that would have shown the Joffrey's more adventuresome side.

I went into this film knowing that it was a "dance movie" with minimal storyline, and I was still disappointed. It's not a good sign when I start looking at my watch halfway through a film. It doesn't bother me that a "dance film" eschews the Melodrama of "The Turning Point" or "A Chorus Line." But "The Company" also eschews Interest! There was basically nothing to "hang onto" outside the dance sequences. Only Ry (Neve Campbell's character) was given any appreciable screentime, and aside from a few quiet moments, she wasn't given very much to do.

Okay, I admit that I liked one dramatic scene a lot: a flirtatious moment between Ry and Josh - the chef who looks like a male model - which takes place in a dive bar. There should have been more scenes like that.

I rate the film a 6 - dramatically disappointing, while the quality of the dance sequences varies from sublime to ridiculous.

Schmaltz - it's a Yiddish word for gushy sentiment, for the use of cloying and manipulative emotionalism. I thought that this movie was a perfect representation of Hollywood Schmaltz.

A lot of people love this movie. There's an understandable yearning for stories, for fantasy. But I thought that these stories, these fantasies, were trite and predictable. (Especially the ending.) It was also a little disturbing to me the way that the film whitewashes (literally) the history of Alabama, making it seem like some paradise of ideal race relations. Notice how the "fantasy" scenes set in the protagonist's past are completely free of any tinge of racism, and that aside from a single Black boy, there are no African-Americans to be seen at all. And "Big Fish" was filmed in and around Montgomery Alabama, where ML King preached and Rosa Parks boycotted. It's so much easier to construct false images of the past than to remember what it is was really like.

When the past is too uncomfortable to remember, it is often distorted and made to be the subject of fantasy. But just because amnesia is popular doesn't mean that is healthy.

One of the major issues in the history of anthropology is the question of whether or not an outside observer can "objectively" report on the culture and values of a society in which s/he is not a member. On a certain level, Bent Hamer's "Kitchen Tales" is a fable or parable about the difficulties faced by anthropologists, sociologists, and other social scientists as they go about their work. On another level, the film works as a wry commentary on the history of Norwegian/Swedish relations. On yet another level, Hamer investigates the pride and modesty which keeps people apart from one another. There is a fair amount of absurdist comedy in the script, but also mixed in is a blend of emotion and sentiment. Perhaps if David Lynch collaborated with Garrison Keillor to produce a story about Norwegian-American bachelor farmers, they might come up with something like this. The film starts slowly; the first reel drags a bit, so to speak. But the acting, particularly in the last twenty minutes, is very compelling. This modest, low-budget, and somewhat sparse film presents a true slice of Norwegian tradition; nonetheless, it resonates far beyond its Scandinavian setting.

I rated this film a 7/10 - with some mixed feelings, because in many ways it was a downbeat film without any kind of neat "message" that would make me feel "a better person" for having seen it. But on second thought I realized that the finished film rather neatly reflects the moral complexity of Brian Moore's novel which it is based upon - and which Ronald Harwood's screenplay follows remarkably closely.

Brian Moore is one of my favorite late 20th century authors, whose work has provided the basis for several other memorable films, most notably "Black Robe." He writes in a Graham Greene-esque mode, his characters often anguished or guilty Catholics or ex-Catholics who struggle to live morally in a degraded and corrupt world. Moore himself appears to have known much about divided loyalties and twentieth century alienation. Although identified as a Canadian author, Moore was born in Ulster - and actually lived most of his later life in California and the South of France. He was clearly fascinated by questions of faith, of good and evil - and he boldly tackled these themes in "The Statement."

In France in the late 1980s and early 1990s there were several prominent cases of Vichy-era collaborators who were belatedly brought to justice by the French court system. Moore was clearly fascinated by the way in which leading members of the French governmental and bureaucratic system continued to hide unpleasant truths about their own pasts - and by the role of the Catholic Church in France in providing refuge and assistance to some individuals who had been involved in the persecution and round-up of Jews.

Michael Caine deserves a great deal of credit for taking on the role of a reprehensible character who nonetheless retains his full humanity. There's never any question in the film about his guilt - he clearly took part in the brutal murder of Jews during wartime. (He's also quite mean to dogs.) And yet he is not without a sympathetic side. It's clear that he's manipulative, but it's also easy to see why many intelligent and devout people of faith would be willing to assist him in his attempt to live "underground" hiding from justice. Caine isn't a caricatured film villain - not like Ralph Fiennes in "Schindler's List" or John Malkovich in "Ripley's Game." But in a real sense, it's all the more disturbing that he seems like "just another innocuous old man."

It was disappointing to me to see that fine performers Jeremy Northam and Tilda Swinton with so little to do in the film - other than looking bewildered as Caine's character continues to elude their grasp. On the other hand, it is quite enjoyable to watch their flirtatious glances with one another. There were many nice touches in the film showing the pleasures of French life - gourmet business lunches, for example, and the beautiful scenery of Provence. Even the supposedly seedy cafes look like they belong in a tourist brochure.

Big Daddy - the role of a lifetime for Burl Ives, and one which has become almost inseparable from the performer. He is just perfect here as an imperial Southern patriarch celebrating a fateful 65th birthday. His carefully shaded performance leaves an indelible impact. There are many things about Big Daddy which are fairly despicable, but it is also clear why Big Momma loves him, and why Brick so desperately yearns for his love. It's very impressive that Ives more than holds his own in his scenes with the stars of the film. "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" features some of the most interesting performances from Hollywood's Golden Age. Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor bring a certain undeniable glamour to their roles. Newman makes a convincing cynical drunk, especially in the first reel, and I don't think anyone has ever looked more fetching in a white shift than Taylor does here. Stars can sometimes overpower their material, but here their remarkable beauty seems entirely appropriate. The "happy ending" seemed pasted on, and the film never loses the sense that it is a stage adaptation, but I rated it 8 out of 10 because of the excellent acting by all the leads - particularly Ives.

Novels are one medium, painting another, and film yet another. A novel about a painting made into a movie: a good example of cross-fertilization in the arts, but also a possible recipe for an undramatic film. Tracy Chevalier's novel is an imaginative account of what _might_ have inspired one of the Dutch master Vermeer's greatest paintings - but the drama that it contains is as subtle and as restrained as Vermeer's own canvases. To their credit, the film-makers here have remained faithful to their sources. It's not to say that drama is absent from the film; simply that it is drama that lies more in the repression of words and the absence of action than in any pseudo-glamorous notions of what properly constitutes "a good story." That said, I found plenty of passion in this film, the passion of stillness. See this movie for Scarlett Johannson's brilliant turn as the servant girl Griet - what a fine performance it is! Colin Firth is good too, but it is Johannson who makes this quiet "art movie" as stirring in its own way as "Pollock".

I went to "Intolerable Cruelty" with high expectations: a Coen Brothers comedy with beautiful actors in the lead roles, dealing with divorce lawyers and pre-nuptial agreements among the super-rich in Los Angeles. And certainly the film has its Coen quota of bizarre moments, ludicrous situations, inane dialogue. I chuckled often. But the movie lacks the big pay-off laughs that I was hoping for. There is something vaguely disappointing about it all - a sense that the filmmaking team was resting on their laurels, not following up on the truly inspired creativity that produced such minor miracles as "Fargo" and "Raising Arizona." I mean: it's not exactly "original" or "bold" or "unpredictable" to poke fun at lawyers in Southern California! And when I go to a Coen Brothers film, "original," "bold" and "unpredictable" are exactly what I hope to see on the screen. If this had been the work of some no-name director making his or her first big-budget flick, I might have been more impressed - and maybe that's not fair, but hey, that's the way of the world. I rated this film only a six out of ten - and a weak six at that.

"Le Divorce" may well bring about un divorce in the filmmaking team of James Ivory, Ismail Merchant, and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - or at least it should be the grounds for some serious therapy. Merchant Ivory and Co. have always been interested in trans-atlantic, trans-national, and trans-class relationships and affairs, so they have an obvious affinity with the subject of the film: the messy lives of two American women in contemporary Paris. But here they have badly stumbled, largely because of a weak and inane script. Not having read the original Diane Johnson novel on which the film is based, I don't know who is most to blame. But faced with the spectacle of wealthy obnoxious Americans squabbling with or tumbling in bed with wealthy obnoxious French people, the audience may be excused for not caring one bit who ends up with whom - or whether or not a certain quite mediocre painting (the subject of an interminable and tedious subplot) is authentic or not. For a truly authentic (and classic) film about French-American relations, see "An American in Paris" instead.