PROFMCB

Michael Caine shines in the original "Italian Job" directed by Peter Collinson, with playwright Noël Coward in a wonderful supporting turn as "Mr. Bridger," the "imprisoned" crime boss who funds an elaborate scheme to steal $4M in gold bullion from the Fiat Motor Company. Oddly enough, there weren't any Fiat automobiles in this movie, at least not in leading roles, but there are several gorgeous '60s era foreign models; a Lamborghini, an Aston Martin and a couple of Jaguar E-Type's, along with, of course, the famous trio of Mini Coopers that feature prominently in the heist and the subsquent chase scenes, which are remarkable for their complexity the action sequences of this 1969 production. Without giving too much away, the details of the robbery plan include a traffic jam, some very retro-looking computers, an amazingly large gaggle of characters assisting Caine in the heist's intricacies, including Brit comedian Benny Hill, with a literal "cliffhanger" of an ending that suggests either producers ran out of money or lost the last pages of the script. In any case, there wasn't an "Italian Job 2" so your guess is as good as mine as to "why this ending," which is why I rate this nugget of escapist fare only "8 Stars" instead of what should've been a "10" with its delightful elegance of Sir Michael in his every scene.

Underknown document from the early 1980s covering New York City's burgeoning punk scene with the underrated, now appreciated and legendary punk songwriter and bassist extraordinaire Sir Richard Hell in the lead role. The film, suffering from pretentious dialogue more than a few moments, is nevertheless rewarding in spots, with great natural acting by Hell and tepid chemistry between he and the phenomenally sensual actress Carole Bouquet. Besides occasional smoldering interactions between these two, the most engaging aspect of this film are several live music sets of Hell's band The Voidoids,either on stage or in the studio. Definitely worth a watch for those songs and, if for nothing else, then to glimpse the futility of being a musician in NYC's gritty streets. [PS: Sir Richard Lives! In 2004, Hell was persuaded by the Fales Library at New York University to part with his archives that are now apparently available for punk scrawl-ars: "In pristine surroundings, scholars will soon be able to pore over old set lists, posters, videotapes, audiotapes, drafts of lyrics, manuscripts and erotic drawings. The papers will be part of the library's extensive collection of documents from the downtown art scene of the 1970's and 1980's. They will not go unvisited, said Marvin Taylor, director of the library, who paid Hell $50,000 for the materials. Though the library has tweedier stuff, including papers of Isaac Bashevis Singer and Erich Maria Remarque, it is material like Hell's that draws a crowd.

Peter Medak's disheveled take on the great film noir genre tries hard - with requisite voiceover(s) of the detective-protagonist, played by the usually competent Gary Oldman, and an atmosphere of pervasive corruption - but unravels in final 20 minutes with inexplicable plot elements and completely unrealistic actions by both main and minor characters. However, if you like your femme fatales fatally sensual then Lena Olin's performance almost makes this sketchy movie worthy of your time, as her scenes with Oldman sizzle in expectation and "you-know-you-shouldn't-but-you-probably-will" desire. Roy Scheider pops in for a couple of moments as the mob boss behind all the carnage, delivering a line about evil that is quite relevant today: "You know the difference between right and wrong but you just don't care." As for the end, at least it did fulfill the original film noir's alienating conclusions, avoiding a clichéd "happy" one. Final complaint, the pseudo-jazzy score was annoying enough to interrupt the flow several times during the film. All in all, just go on AMC and search "FILM NOIR" - YOU WON'T BE DISAPPOINTED.

What can be said about this groundbreaking film that hasn't already been stated? Yes, it was "ahead of it's time" & set the bar high for ALL SCI-FI films that would follow. Yes, it is undoubtedly one of the last great cinematic works of art to use old school techniques in that genre, i.e. actual miniature models & actual celluloid film. Given those milestones alone, every fan of sci-fi MUST SEE THIS FILM.

Too many incredible moments to mention & praise - but I cannot resist, so screen this for these mind-altering visions: the staggeringly monumental scene when we see the Monolith on the Moon, the "ballet" of spaceships & space travel, HAL's voice & slow descent into paranoia, the "discovery" by the hominid, Moonwatcher, that a bone can be used to kill, and many, many more.

Kubrick made a generous handful of landmark films, most are in my Watchlist, but this 1968 production is by far his masterpiece.

With Michelle Williams and Bruce Greenwood and a promising start, this slow and sparse film lays out what frontier life might have been like in the Olde West. The cinematography is stark, alternating between fire-lit scenes barely legible and harsh sunlight as we watch a group of settlers struggle though the American southwest, ostensibly lead by Meek, the buckskin-clad guide. Williams gives her all, as usual, and Greenwood's portrayal of Meek has all the 19th Century's racism that one might imagine from a man who had fought with indigenous tribes, as he is forced to deal with a lone Native American the travelers happen upon, and who soon becomes the settlers' new guide, thereby replacing Meek.

The script goes against traditional depictions of the interactions between whites and Indian, and genuinely respects the native, who speaks long, eloquent dialogue that is never translated but is appealing poetic nonetheless. But the filmmakers either ran out of money or ideas, and we are left stranded, literally, in the unforgiving landscape, with no or ending, and the meager bits of faith and pure drive the film offered earlier in the storyline, fails to resolve and provide any satisfaction in this sadly futile film.

I have no sympathy for the kind of people who devote money to producing films that contain no socially redeeming qualities or value; "Suspiria" is such a film. With the first horrific scene, when the young dancer is beaten beyond recognition in the mirrored studio, her body bent and folded in upon herself like a discarded doll, I realized that the people behind this film were troubled or sick, with sadistic minds that would spend the time and energy it took to depict this kind of violence toward women. Tilda, Dakota, Chloë, and especially the director, Guadagnino, should be ashamed of representing this demonstration of misogyny on film. Do not watch if you respect women, love life and admire the art of film.