I_Ailurophile

Perhaps more than any other form of storytelling or entertainment, it sometimes seems like comedy is particularly prone to high variability in perceived quality. It's subject to individual perspective, and to changing sensibilities over time; some styles of humor come off better than others. All of Harold Lloyd's silent films are outstanding; his sound films are far less reliable. The Three Stooges' short films are a blast, but their slapstick often wears thin in full-length films. I certainly recognize how highly regarded Bud Abbott and Lou Costello are, though my experiences with them to date have been mixed; how might this 1949 flick hold up, especially as the name and premise raise reasonable concerns regarding some subject matter?

Happily, I'm of the mind that more than not the feature is generally among the duo's better releases, and it swiftly shows itself to be quite clever and fun at its best. The dynamics between Abbott and Costello are an essential centerpiece, as is the high energy that they and their co-stars bring to the proceedings. Between writers Earl Baldwin, Martin Ragaway, and Leonard B. Stern the screenplay is filled with swell gags and scene writing to twist to comedic ends a narrative that could just as well be realized as an earnest adventure. Charles Barton's direction maintains the high spirits of this lark, and as we further factor in excellent stunts, costume design, and stunts and effects, overall this is sure to entertain.

I won't say it's perfect, however, because there are distinct faults on hand that diminish my favor. Some bits are notably weaker than others - some are allowed to linger too longer, others are extra cartoonish, and so on. Just as much to the point, though such matters are common to lots of other pictures, we should question how the animals were treated, for there are no few scenes in which trained lions and chimpanzees play a part in a manner that probably wouldn't (and shouldn't) pass muster today. Just as sorrily, we should criticize the way that a tale set in Africa emphatically centers white people and heavily stereotypes African peoples; it's all intended for lighthearted merriment, yes, but that doesn't specifically make it better. Even the promotional artwork is frankly cringe-worthy. There are definitely parts of 'Africa screams' that don't come off so well all these years later, and while it broadly remains enjoyable, it's also important that we acknowledge and discuss its failings.

Scrutinize the particulars as we might, though, the preponderance of the humor is plentifully silly or witty in and of itself, and removed from how animals and black actors are employed. This most assuredly earns some laughs, even as some moments aren't as successful. It's not for nothing that Abbott and Costello are so famous, and even with the troubles it faces, I think this movie is a good time. I wouldn't say it wholly demands viewership, but I'm glad for those who get more out of it than I do, and it's worth checking out if you have the opportunity. Be aware that like too many other Hollywood films there are aspects that reflect less enlightened social values and awareness, but at large 'Africa speaks' is solid enough that it's a fun way to spend a quiet evening.

While there are always exceptions, one of the great things about short films is that we can trust there will be no excess. Whether by a filmmaker's budget or their vision or both, the smaller the piece, the tighter and more focused it is apt to be. And so it is with 2008's 'Yankee gal,' the creation of Celine Desrumaux, Gary Levesque, Antoine Perez & Francois Pons; clocking in at under five minutes, including credits, the small tale is concise and to the point, with the only artistic embellishment along the way coming in the form of the manner in which the story is imparted. And what a story it is, even in such a short span of time, telling of a pilot in a failing fighter plane. Others have fashioned similar narratives, yes, in full-length features, in anthologies, and on television, but none in a manner that was so succinct, and still so impactful.

Brilliant as it is, I do think the short comes up, well, "short" in terms of its final form. As it presents this is the barest rendition of the concept, stripping away all ornamentation, and that's splendid. At the same time, the editing is so brusque and curt that as the extremely visual story flits back and forth the full weight of the idea is diminished. I don't think it would have been necessary to add to the length at all to add to the experience, only to allow scenes to linger a smidgen longer rather than be chopped up into such tiny fragments.

Be that as it may, the filmmakers concocted something wonderfully smart, with the visuals themselves being terrific in flavoring the brief plot as it unfolds. Personal preferences may very as to the style of animation, but it's smooth, fluid, and generally polished, and the accompanying music is a nice touch. This isn't an all-out must-see, but 'Yankee gal' is a fine credit to all involved, and I'm very pleased with what they put together in so abbreviated a format. Especially for all the longer it takes to watch, this is well worth checking out.

I'm someone who has had a soft spot for monster movies since I was a young kid, and I've grown up to be an avid cinephile. With this in mind I think it quite says something that I've gone my whole life, until a few days ago, unaware that this film existed; the sheer number of sequels that Universal churned out to their classic creature features is kind of extraordinary. I think it's fair to approach any of these sequels with lowered expectations, hoping for the best, though I do recognize that 'Dracula's daughter' has been regarded reasonably well over the years (at least in comparison to some of its brethren). To sit and watch this 1936 flick quickly shows itself to be kith and kin with its contemporaries, whether for better or for worse. For my part I do think it's enjoyable, but it also surely falls on the softer side of the entertainment spectrum, and ultimately it's not too terribly surprising that it's a less renowned vampire piece.

The picture largely maintains such a light tone that it's no more than a half-step away from being a more ordinary melodrama, totally free of genre flavorings, or even a comedy; many scenes would fit right in with those approaches, especially the abject frivolities. We do get tinges of supernatural horror and dark fantasy befitting a title bearing the name of Dracula, and this is crafted in such a manner that at times it fosters a measure of appropriately gloomy atmosphere. Even so, wide swaths of the length than not could be described as horror only in a broad thematic sense; beyond fractions of foreboding ambience, there are no more than slight traces of the visceral thrills we commonly expect of the genre. All this is quite typical for such fare in the 30s and 40s, certainly, but that's just the point - for whatever strength the work might bear, it is set in amongst a fairly gentle, somewhat bland variety of storytelling that by any measure has a harder time making an impression.

In fairness, in all other regards 'Dracula's daughter' is well made by the standards of the time. The costume design, hair, and makeup are lovely, and the best of the sets boast welcome, flavorful detail. Some of George Robinson's cinematography and Milton Carruth's editing are extra smart at times. The cast give admirable performances, above all Gloria Holden as the tormented title character, and while we might take some issue with tone, Lambert Hillyer's direction is firm. And for as long as the road was in concocting a screenplay to fulfill the needs of the production, there are some terrific ideas in these seventy minutes, and strong scene writing. On paper the movie was filled with swell possibilities for both supernatural horror and psychological horror (or drama), and these do come to bear to some extent as it presents. The trouble is just that the overall vibe is so decidedly light that the story and its best notions have difficulty carrying any of the weight that they should; what might have been a wonderfully absorbing, compelling viewing experience of meaningful impact is instead mostly rather mild, and somewhat unremarkable.

The film is pretty good, tentatively but increasingly tip-toeing into the promised territory, and its potential was considerable. I'm inclined to think that its most substantial limiting factors were really just the film-making and storytelling sensibilities of the period in which it was made; if the same script and root narrative were employed for a rendition at any time from, say, the 1970s onwards, the result may have well been excellent. I do like 'Dracula's daughter,' and it's just regrettable that there were upper limits in 1936 on what it might achieve. Both on its own merits and as a lesser-known slice of horror cinema I believe this to be worth checking out if you come across it, but any recommendation is very much a relatively soft one, and you should be aware of how it is a mixed bag.

I don't know if I've ever been less prepared for a movie than I was when I sat to watch this. It's described as a comedy, and that is technically true; it's described as a black comedy, and this is a more accurate descriptor that provides at least some indication that the humor is going to be cold, dark, and wry. Incredible, piercing wit and stunning intelligence pervade these 105 minutes, with momentously clever dialogue and scene writing, some of the strongest, most striking character writing I think I've ever seen, and stupendously sharp, tight direction that captures the exact right tone, and the exact right energy. Screenwriter Neil Simon, and filmmaker Elaine May, demonstrate skill and intellect in shaping this feature - a warped exploration of relationships between men and women, of marriage, and of love and hypocrisy, through the lens of a dead-eyed, cynical, brutally honest rendition of the male psyche - that I have difficulty putting into words. Their vision is unfailingly shared with absolute faithfulness by the stars, primarily Charles Grodin, Cybill Shepherd, Jeannie Berlin, and Eddie Albert, and the performances are utterly flawless in capturing the emotional tenor of the characters, and of the narrative. 'The heartbreak kid' claims a level of brilliance matching or exceeding some of the most widely celebrated works of cinema in the world.

It is also, however, a comedy - a black comedy - in which the common, appropriate reaction for almost every line, almost every character interaction, and almost every scene, is not a laugh, but a cringe that makes us shrink back into our seats, a shuddering gasp of shocked disbelief, and an involuntary withholding of our breath in astonishment at who protagonist Lenny shows himself to be, and the extraordinary lengths he is willing to go to in his shallowness and gobsmacked turpitude. Yes, sometimes a laugh does break through, providing fleeting relief from the tremendously harsh vibe the picture broadly carries. By all means, there are scattered elements herein that very well could be transposed into an earnest romantic comedy or a warmhearted romantic drama. Yet by and large this could scarcely be further from anything resembling the typical comedy; my first reaction more closely approximated horror, and only as I began to recognize what May and Simon were doing did I warm up to the film. And when I say I warmed up to it, I mean to say that I'm flabbergasted at just how smart it is, a slyly underhanded reversal of everything we commonly anticipate of such stories in cinema, and in fiction at large. It suggests what we might expect if a novel were written from the perspective of George Wickham from 'Pride and prejudice,' or what might happen if the wholly bleak assessment of humanity we saw in Billy Wilder's 'Ace in the hole' were fashioned into a twisted, like-minded variation on comedy.

Garry Sherman's sardonically lighthearted music marches in lockstep with the writing, direction, and acting to bring this tableau to vibrant life, and from costume design, hair, and makeup to production design, cinematography, and editing, it's splendidly well made according to the standards of contemporary fare. It also flies in the face of most all norms of the medium, and of any genre labels we might append. Given the extremities on display here it definitely won't appeal to all comers, and so very particular is the kind of comedy that Simon and May toy with that I can hardly begrudge anyone who tries watching the flick and finds themselves taken aback and put off. Had lesser minds tried to do something similar the effort would surely fail. Those involved in this instance, however, seized a lightning bolt of cunning and insight that produced a rare, unlikely treasure, and I am so, so pleased with the end result. It's a bewildering viewing experience, but one that is backwardly entertaining and ultimately deeply satisfying, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. This is a title for those viewers who are receptive to all the wide, far-flung possibilities of storytelling, and who are ready to put in some work themselves to grasp at what the filmmaker is doing. If you're ready and willing to accept whatever comes your way, though, 'The heartbreak kid' is a fantastic classic, an underappreciated gem, that deserves far more recognition.

I forget how I came across this film, let alone why I set it aside in my mind as something to look for, but it's been on my list to watch for awhile. Once I actually found the chance to check it out I'd be lying if I said I didn't have mixed expectations, for a live-action kids' movie of the 90s from Disney presents a quartet of red flags for the discerning adult cinephile. Still, the earnest moviegoer should be open to anything and everything - and truthfully, once we press "play," I think this is actually a lot of fun! To be sure, there is childishness and ham-handedness that's clearly geared for the youngest of viewers, and some bits lean so heavily into wild bombast for its own sake (including juvenile gross-out humor) that they may test our patience. Yet more than not I believe 'RocketMan' is splendidly clever, with terrific high energy, and these qualities result in a viewing experience that's really pretty enjoyable!

The screenplay devised between Oren Aviv, Craig Mazin, and Greg Erb is built on significant doses of abject silliness, inviting the cast (filled with some very recognizable names and faces) to just totally let loose, giddily shout and flail, and embrace their inner child. They do so without fail, giving zestfully animated performances, and that unreservedly joyful abandon is a huge part of what makes these ninety-three minutes such a blast. One is reminded of the best 90s comedies of Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, and their contemporaries as the actors give it their all, and while star Harland Williams is naturally given the biggest spotlight to let his proverbial "freak flag" fly, others on hand like Jessica Lundy, Peter Onorati, and even William Sadler are just as committed, and just as swell. Further factor in Stuart Gillard's direction, maintaining that same spirit, and all the rowdy dialogue, situational humor, and gags that fill the script, and to whatever extent this is designed for youthful audience members, there's much about it that I think most anyone could get on board with.

Some intended jokes definitely land better than others; none but the youngest of kids will laugh at the cheapest gags. It's also evident that the picture is a product of the 90s, for there are some small inclusions that, instead of being funny, just come off as plainly ignorant, like some casual racism or classism, and making light of - I kid you not - the Rwandan genocide. Then again, some small lines slide through that are so unbelievably smart, and adult-oriented, that it's incredible Disney executives left them in. And while some facets of the production surely show their age, like the computer-generated imagery (decent in and of itself), in general this is well made by the standards of contemporary fare. The sets are rendered with fine care, and the practical stunts and effects are excellent. I quite like Michael Tavera's score, flavorful if not specifically remarkable, and the editing is fairly sharp. From costume design, hair, and makeup to sound and cinematography, able skill and intelligence went into this flick, and more than not the end product is roundly solid. It bears repeating that the core strengths, or at least the most noteworthy strengths, lie in the cast, the direction, and the writing (however flawed the latter may be at points), but overall 'RocketMan' is a really good time!

There are definite weaknesses on hand that prevent the feature from achieving all that it could; at the same time, the root story bears just enough glimmers of sincerity to help ground the proceedings amidst all the ridiculousness. It's uneven, and troubled in some discrete ways, but it's clear to me that all involved were dedicated to making this the most entertaining family-friendly sci-fi comedy it could be, and more than not they definitely succeeded. I approached with caution when I first sat to watch, and despite some notable issues, I'm happy to say that I really like 'RocketMan.' It's not a title that anyone needs to go out of their way to see, but if you do have the chance to watch and you don't mind some more dubious jokes and helpings of outright shallow immaturity, I think there's something here for most anyone to share some laughs, and I'm pleased to give it a fair recommendation.

I'm in no rush to explore his entire filmography, but to date I've enjoyed most everything I've watched from Lars von Trier. That includes this picture's predecessor, 2003's 'Dogville,' which was an incredible viewing experience of austere yet beautiful production design, tremendous acting from an exceptional cast, and almost terrifyingly dark but firmly captivating storytelling in a stark exploration of humanity and cold philosophy. With 'Manderlay' promising to follow in those footsteps, one still must ponder how it will compare to its elder, and how it will measure up on its own merits. Broadly speaking there's no mistaking that this 2005 follow-up is kith and kin with 'Dogville.' This is again filmed on a sound stage, little more than a black box theater, but the minimalist set dressing is a delight in its own right; with spartan use of effects or more particular lighting, and our imagination required to do the rest, the feeling is secured of a stage play captured on film, with some details or shots being extra fetching with that notion in mind. The acting somehow feels more earnest and pure under these conditions, so bereft of the full sets and tangible creations with which to interact, and all involved give fine performances. And just as 'Dogville' examined civilization with the harsh cynicism of a vexing story, and rumination on the sorts of philosophies that are most indifferent to human suffering, 'Manderlay' does much the same. This time the breadth of such considerations seems greater, touching upon both the surface level of race and slavery, power - and its responsibilities, dynamics, and potential for abuse - powerlessness and oppression, desperation, community and the effort to build something new, decision-making and self-governance, and more, and naturally also using these as a microcosm for reflecting on society at large, and the real life issues that historically faced the United States following the abolition of slavery, and which persist in some fashion to this day. The feature is nothing if not rich, absorbing, provocative, and thought-provoking, courting controversy but only in the aim of broaching difficult topics.

By and large the movie is interesting - fascinating, even - and is smartly written and made, a credit to von Trier, the cast, and the crew. Strident and vicious as the thoughts herein are, they speak directly to race relations in the United States, a barrage of shots fired recalling relatively few other titles in the medium. I also think it falls somewhat short, and it stumbles in the same way that its antecedent had while playing in an adjacent topical space. Intelligent as 'Manderlay' is, and aims to be, von Trier's reach seems to exceed his grasp when it comes to delving into the bigger ideas and themes. The storytelling is solid, and ultimately just as ferocious as that of two years before; as the flick analyzes race relations there are facets that, while ugly, are part and parcel of such discussion (use of blackface, and repeated slurs), and though the questions on hand border on horrifying racism themselves, I'm inclined to believe in the sincerity of von Trier's musings as a filmmaker, not least since the same ideations are somewhat directed more generally to the structure of society at large. All the same, the ideas that the man is scrutinizing are boundlessly large and complex, sufficient to fill academic tomes of hundreds of pages. No matter how keen von Trier's mind may be, arranging such subjects into a form that can be ably squeezed into a picture of anything resembling conventional length is an incredibly difficult task. I admire the endeavor, and I think von Trier comes very close to seizing with absolute certainty on terrible profundity, but only if that endeavor were 100% successful could the pitfalls have been avoided of the sum total seeming to bite off more than it could chew. As 'Manderlay' expands its purview, contrasted with the comparative narrow focus of 'Dogville,' the effect is only compounded to some degree as the rhetorical explorations to some extent become a jumble.

Don't get me wrong: I very much appreciate this film more than not, and troubling as it is in multiple ways, the thoughts it probes - with what I again believe to be honest, critical investigation - are of grave, enduring significance. All involved turned in excellent contributions, and are to be congratulated. I just find the end result to have been a smidgen too ambitious for its own good; on the one hand maybe the whole may have been sharper had some notions been dropped, allowing the remainder to be more focused, but on the other hand, these matters are so complicated that it seems almost impossible to discuss This without also speaking to That. I don't know what the answer is of how the movie may have ameliorated its perceived faults, only that those faults seem clear. Still, even at that I think this is far more worthwhile than not, even as it rides a vanishingly thin line between hard inquiry and outright problematic deliberation. For as onerous as the subject matter is the feature won't appeal to all, nevermind the violence and sexuality herein, and I've no doubt that opinions among viewers who engage honestly will be heavily divided. For all the salient points that we may raise about the work itself, though, that's kind of the point; what higher purpose could there be to a title of such dicey affairs than to spark conversations where they are most needed? Words like "enjoyable" or even "satisfying" come off with too positive a connotation to apply to a piece such as 'Manderlay,' but it is indisputably rousing and intriguing, and fabulously well crafted from top to bottom. So long as the nature of the premise is no immediate obstacle, I gladly give this my recommendation, with the caveat that one must be ready to then earnestly meditate on all the ideas presented.

If there were only one thing we might say about this picture, it's that it is beautifully, impeccably shot, an equal credit to filmmaker Oshima Nagisa and cinematographer Miyajima Yoshio. With utterly gorgeous filming locations, art direction, costume design, and hair and makeup, all brought to us through vibrant Eastmancolor, 'Empire of passion' swiftly and most assuredly comes across in some measure as an art film at the same time that it is a steamy romantic drama (notably far less explicit than Oshima's own 'In the realm of the senses'), a crime film, and a ghost story. Yet these are certainly not the only points deserving of praise, and while personal preferences will vary in terms of how highly it might be regarded, I don't think there's much arguing as the plot develops that the sum total is both sharply made and raptly absorbing. Like other classic tales of a guilty conscience this presents in no small part as a psychological drama as Seki is increasingly haunted by ghastly visions and reflections of her ill deeds. Especially with Takemitsu Toru's rich, somber, dynamic, and searing score providing accompaniment, the feature can also claim outstanding, unnerving atmosphere as events intensify, and as Seki's mental state deteriorates. The fact is that the title handily fits into the horror genre - a horror-drama, specifically - which is a dark but pleasant surprise coming from Oshima; though it's more quietly chilling than outwardly thrilling, anyone who appreciates the conglomeration of elements will find much to love in these 100-odd minutes.

Every facet of the production is rich with terrific little details, with many feeding directly into the most grotesque drama and the more fantastical, disquieting side of the story. Oshima maintains an overall soft tone with his direction, a shrewd approach that allows the most grabbing, vexing moments to stand out all the more, and have all the greater an impact. Takemitsu's music is a critical component of achieving that effect, and one could hardly go without mentioning the superb stunts and effects that help to bring the mounting terror to bear. The shot composition is often kind of brilliant, and even the lighting is marvelously smart. But 'Empire of passion' is just as concretely a tremendous credit to the cast, above all Yoshiyuki Kazuko and Fuji Tatsuya, who with flawless nuance and emotional depth breathe vivid life into the impassioned and ever more desperate characters as whom they are cast. Tamura Takahiro is given a much more reserved role, but there is underhanded power in his acting that is essential to the whole, and much the same could be said of those in still smaller supporting parts. With all this said I don't think the flick is utterly perfect; despite lovely visuals the first little stretch of the length is somewhat middling, and though it kicks up swiftly thereafter, I'd be lying if I said I didn't have some doubts for a bit. Every now and again there is also a forcefulness to the acting or direction that exceeds the tone of the remainder even at its most severe, a disparity sufficient to be noteworthy. Be that as it may, ultimately these are minor objections, and I could scarcely be happier with how good the entirety is.

Actually, of any of Oshima's works that I've seen to date, this is definitely my favorite: the sensationalism is somewhat more restrained, and the abstruseness reined in, but the artistic sensibilities remain, and the film is still stupendously striking, engrossing, and satisfying. The skill, intelligence, and care poured into it is never in question; the viewing experience is grim, violent, and disturbing, but also fabulously well crafted, a wonderland of exquisite aesthetics, and fiercely compelling. The worst thing I could say is that it is a tad uneven, but when all is said and done it's so excellent that subjective faults are readily outshone by the otherwise value. It won't appeal to all comers, yet if anything I've described has sounded promising, I can only give 'Empire of passion' my high and hearty recommendation. My expectations were mixed to high when I sat to watch, and at length those expectations were surpassed. It may not fully demand viewership, but if you have the chance to watch this is a lesser-known classic that holds up and is well worth checking out.

While I'm more familiar with David Suchet's iconic interpretation of Hercules Poirot, I absolutely recognize the reputation of earlier adaptations. Just as much to the point, whatever virtues we might cite in a given picture, I think one would have to be doing something terribly wrong to foul up the works of so brilliant a writer as Agatha Christie. Factor in the great esteem and known skills of all involved in this iteration, and it's safe to say that one's expectations are high before they sit to watch; happily, those expectations are met, if not exceeded. 'Death on the Nile' is a splendid, classic murder mystery with countless strokes of ingenuity all throughout that can be attributed to any number of contributors. I find it hard to believe that anyone could watch this and not have a great time!

I admit I don't know Christie well enough to discern where the credit lies for some shrewd odds and ends, be it to her, to screenwriter Anthony Shaffer, or to director John Guillermin. One way or another, most everything in these 140 minutes is terrifically smart, carefully crafted, and built for consistent entertainment in the face of grim crime. At various points truly everyone is given an opportunity to shine: cinematographer Jack Cardiff, editor Malcolm Cooke, director Guillermin, and composer Nino Rota; Christie with her characters, story, and dialogue, and Shaffer with his translation of these to the cinematic medium, and his scene writing; the production designer and art director, the stunt performers, and the effects artists; costume designer Anthony Powell, and the hair and makeup artists, with their impeccable, fetching work; and even the casting director, for having assembled one of the most incredible ensembles that these eyes have ever seen.

And as to that cast, well, what can I say except that all on hand are treasures? Any two points of reference are enough to recognize that Christie created characters filled with marvelous, colorful personality and intelligence, figures of vitality that require no embellishment, and Shaffer saw to it that they were ported directly and with full faithfulness to the screen. With the combination in this feature of wry humor, lighthearted wit, electric dynamics, motives galore, dirty deeds, fastidious critical thought and investigation, and earnest drama, every actor involved is given the opportunity to demonstrate their craft, to the point that I wonder if these aren't some of the best performances the stars have ever given. Oh, but to be a fly on the wall during the weeks of filming alongside Peter Ustinov, Jane Birkin, Lois Chiles, Bette Davis, Mia Farrow, Jon Finch, Olivia Hussey, I. S. Johar, George Kennedy, Angela Lansbury, Simon MacCorkindale, David Niven, Maggie Smith, Jack Warden, and the supporting cast; I couldn't even name a favorite among them. I'm given to understand that the working environment was cordial, and that the players got along splendidly, and between the material they were given to realize and that atmosphere of friendship, 'Death on the Nile' takes on a special vibrancy that other titles only wish they could claim.

One of the immense joys of Christie's novels, unlike even some of the most sincere and well-meaning of tales written specifically for the screen, is that genuinely anyone could be the culprit, and we beyond the fourth wall can only spectate and speculate until the detective exercises his "little grey cells" and explains all. That is certainly the case here, and likewise, extraordinary as the truth is as it is revealed - and the fact that Poirot could put all the pieces together - there is no gap in the storytelling, and no kernel too small for us to believe that a man of peerless intellect might see the grand plan. Then of course there is the broad sense of fun that prevails even when adjoining sordid wickedness, and it's no surprise that the author has been so roundly celebrated. All this is reliably brought to bear in this 1978 flick, from the light opening scenes through to the shocking resolution of the climax, and the denouement, and the result is a viewing experience that is altogether excellent. Superb as this and that is at any given time, the movie isn't an outright revelation, and I might stop short of calling it a must-see; this isn't necessarily a singular lightning bolt of magnificence. It is, however, completely and unfailingly solid, and I can't fathom anyone not enjoying themselves with it. Whether you're a particular fan of Christie, of Poirot, or someone involved in this production, or just looking for something good to watch, 'Death on the Nile' is fantastic from start to finish, and I'm pleased to give it my very high recommendation for one and all.

Based on the premise, the exceptional cast, and the film's reputation, I most certainly had high expectations when I sat to watch. I'm surprised to find myself having somewhat mixed feelings about the actual viewing experience. In my opinion the pacing within individual scenes is a little rushed, with a sense of harried energy not of the type to foster tension and suspense, but of the type that portends messiness, forcefulness, and less than perfectly mindful care. It's not a matter of playback speed, but of Franklin J. Schaffner's direction, and I find myself wishing that the proceedings were more restrained and tactful by at least five percent and as much as fifteen. Add to this an imbalanced audio mix, and even the terrific score of composer extraordinaire Jerry Goldsmith - adding definite atmosphere to the proceedings - seems to add to the undesirable additional level of fervor; in turn, the acting feels marginally overcharged. These drawbacks are very unfortunate, for the core substance is outstanding, chilling, and thrilling: ripe for cinematic storytelling, a tale of vast conspiracy, murder, enduring evil, unsanctioned experimentation, and unsettling investigation, all centered around developing biological science; designed as a straight thriller, this is flush with airs of science fiction and nearly borders horror with the ideas it broaches. I just find it regrettable that 'The boys from Brazil' somewhat shortchanges itself with a needlessly hard edge that disallows the story to shine for itself in the ideal manner, and which kind of distracts from the value that the picture otherwise boasts.

Mind you, by and large this is fantastic, and there is much to love about it. Though overcooked to some degree, still overall Schaffner's direction is sharp and superb; though coerced by factors beyond their control, the fabulous cast generally gives excellent performances matching the harrowing tenor, and the disquieting nature of the material. Gregory Peck looms in the cold intelligence and elegance he bears in his portrayal of Mengele; Laurence Olivier plays Lieberman with nuanced range and emotional depth that in the best moments outshines the troubles of the lowest moments; Bruno Ganz delights in a small supporting part, and young Jeremy Black makes a firm impression. The filming locations are splendid, and the production design; the costume design, hair, and makeup are rather smart. The stunts and effects look great, not least at the climax. Goldsmith's score really does add significantly to the feature; while I take issue with the sound design, in most all capacities those operating behind the scenes turned in fine work, including some keen editing from Robert Swink, and some equally keen cinematography from renowned French photographer Henri Decaë. Above all, the primary, unfailing strength certainly lies in Heywood Gould's screenplay adapting Ira Levin's novel, for the narrative is absorbing and compelling, and the scene writing is often altogether vibrant; even some of the dialogue is notably bright. I will even say that as the plot develops and the scheme is illuminated, the matters I spotlighted above fade a bit into the background as we become absorbed in the story.

Would that Schaffner were as roundly judicious with his direction as Gould was with his writing, and which all other participants tended to be with their contributions. Through to the end I'm put off by the measure of excess swiftness with which scenes are executed, and the unmistakable brusqueness. 'The boys from Brazil' remains a dark, stupendous, highly satisfying title, one that even with its more fanciful notions is kind of sadly, despairingly relevant to real life. It would be even more impactful, and otherwise achieve still more, without these flaws in its fundamental construction which serve to hamper the storytelling. Still, maybe I'm nitpicking. One way or another the fact is that this holds up far more than not, and is well worth exploring. I'd stop short of saying it's a must-see, but for anyone who appreciates thrillers it's well worth checking out if you have the opportunity. Be aware that the viewing experience has its difficulties, and content warnings are necessary for violence, nudity, and representation of the most reprehensible sociopolitical views in the world. Provided these are no obstacle, however, 'The boys from Brazil' is a classic, and I gladly give it my solid recommendation.

The premise quite catches one's attention, as well as the attachment of esteemed actors, not to mention the fact that the title was received well at Cannes. As the film first begins one is perhaps indirectly reminded of other creative oddball works, like 1973's 'La grande bouffe' or 1982 bizarrerie 'Liquid sky,' and one carries high hopes for what filmmaker Marco Ferreri, and/or co-writers Gérard Brach and Rafael Azcona, might do with the concept at large or with the setting. However, as the length draws on, the idiosyncratic scene writing increasingly seems to be part of not a wildly inventive narrative, or a presentation with something big and important to say, but a tapestry of incohesive randomness that goes nowhere in particular and says nothing substantive. There are many kernels of ideas scattered throughout, kernels that could have been latched upon to shape 'Bye bye monkey' (also known as 'Rêve de singe' or 'Ciao maschio') into something significant and entertaining. What it feels like, instead, is scene after scene of Christopher Walken's infamous few lines in Martin Brest's 2003 misfire 'Gigli' - quizzical, baffling, and nonsensical. The difference is that despite its outward appearance the latter scene actually does make sense in context, whereas so far as I can determine, there's ultimately not truly anything to be gleaned from this.

There is no actor herein who does not suffer from that perplexing tenor, and between young Frenchman Gérard Depardieu - well before he would be accused in real life of sexually assaulting many women - and Italian icon Marco Mastroianni in his supporting part, I don't know who bears more of the brunt of it. The dialogue fails just as surely as the scene writing to produce anything enduring and meaningful, and no few instances of nudity rather just raise a skeptical eyebrow. I suppose we could commend the cast for embracing the inanity and bringing it to fruition, though I don't know why we would, and the same goes for Ferreri with his direction. The highest compliments I think this is likely to deserve are for its production design, art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup; the harshest criticism definitely belongs to Ferreri, Brach, and Azcona as writers, primarily for the lack of any cogency or real, discernible purpose, but also for passing, unnecessary expression of regressive social values (e.g., here a homophobic slur, there a flummoxing line of toxic paternalism and gender enforcement). In no time 'Bye bye monkey' becomes a picture that we continue to watch only out a sense of commitment, for it bears no strength of its own to hold our attention or drive engagement. As far as I'm concerned these two hours are a waste for any given viewer, and all the time, energy, and resources that were devoted to the production would have been better off going elsewhere; it's well made by contemporary standards, but so what?

I guess I'm glad for those who get more out of this movie than I do. I just don't know how they manage to do it. I sat with no foreknowledge or expectations but anticipated enjoying it in some measure; instead it was so dull and trifling, squandering any possible potential, that it put me to sleep. After I awoke and continued watching, I think continuing to sleep would have been the better use of my time. Whatever it is you want out of this flick, may you find it, but in my opinion you should really just watch something else in the first place.

There is a special vibe to British horror, especially classic fare from the 60s or 70s, that seems very distinct from other work in the genre. I don't even necessarily refer to pillars like Hammer or Tigon, and in fact to whatever extent we see it in the films of those institutions, we get it even more from those pictures of less connection. I think of 70s slices of ingenuity like 'The wicker man,' or 'The medusa touch,' or even stretching into more recent years with the likes of 'Ghostwatch,' or 'Berberian Sound Studio,' and 'The shout' rather decisively fits that same tenor. I speak of deliberate pacing and narrative construction that refrains from infusing more abnormal elements until well into the length, and sometimes not toward the end; I speak of a peculiar arrangement of various inclusions that may seem surreal, parodical, or otherwise very strange, and which seem to clash with our usual expectations of horror, until a feature gradually gets around to concretely starting or advancing the plot. Case in point, while the whole story herein is complete and cogent, the primary tale in this instance doesn't particularly begin until we're at least twenty minutes in. Up until that point we're given secondary threads or framing, and general curiosities, and after that point there is no small part of the movie that relies on subtle, building atmosphere, psychological tension, and mounting anticipation of the moments when something more discrete transpires.

This is quite pointedly not a piece for those who favor the immediate and visceral, or big thrills and shock. The focus in these eighty-six minutes is instead on a slowly growing sense of Something Wrong, of Incomprehensible Power, and of Death shambling inevitably nearer, as mysterious Crossley meets Anthony and Rachel and talks of his experiences. Accentuating the point, while prog rock icons Tony Banks and Michael Rutherford composed the ambient, airy soundscapes that populate the score, the music commonly sticks to the background as deftly nuanced, lightly presented, but unmistakable accompaniment - both complement and source of the softly stirring unease - and the overall tone remains muted. We're over halfway through before the name comes into play, and it is at once with a jarring wall of sound sufficient to make Japanese noise artist Merzbow vibrate with excitement, and a gentle but definitely threatening set of visuals that at last signals the elevation of horror in the saga. To put it another way, if the average genre flick suggests a vicious killer bearing down on us, or some monstrosity spewing unspeakable bile, 'The shout' carries itself, and approaches its story, more like a fiend so confident in his triumph that he casually dispenses, piecemeal, the instruments of doom. The plot stirs, maintaining a low but steady boil, and in small, creeping strides the proceedings buzz with more outward electricity and harried, nervous energy.

To the credit of scribe Robert Graves, filmmaker Jerzy Skolimowski, and co-writer Michael Austin, as the chief plot intensifies in the second half of the length, the surrounding framing becomes more meaningful - somewhat as a contrast to the core gnawing darkness, and ultimately as oblique, deliciously sinister resolution. Taken as a whole the narrative is founded on utmost subtlety and patient tact, a reflection of the abstruse mysticism at the center of it all, yet it claims striking, exceptional intelligence of the sort that digs its claws under our skin and will not let go. All are to be congratulated for such a fabulously shrewd, purposeful vision in which the esoteric malevolence manages to come across more strongly with unconventional storytelling structure than in countless other titles of a more forthright nature. It's a rough ride at first, but for those who are open to all the wide, wonderful possibilities of cinema, and of horror, the viewing experience is tremendously rewarding. The screenplay is brilliant, and when all is said and done, so is Barrie Vince's editing, Skolimowski's direction prioritizes the underhanded quality of the movie while resolutely shaping it all into something that takes its time because it knows it has us dead to rights. All those who contributed in some manner to the sound in the production are to be lauded for their impeccable work, so essential to what 'The shout' is, and those stunts and effects that are employed are fantastic. This pretty much goes for all involved, really, but in addition to the marvelous writing, it's the cast that next does so much to make this such a success. Susannah York, John Hurt, and Alan Bates give excellent performances of stark, commanding presence and personality, almost forceful but with just the right degree of restraint as to tantalize - just like the picture at large - with our recognition of the steps that they could but consciously do not take, therefore strengthening the whole. Even Tim Curry, in a smaller role, shines brightly and becomes an integral part of the sum total.

I knew nothing of this before I sat to watch, and while I didn't truly know what to expect, I assumed I'd enjoy it. As the flick paces itself it takes a bit before we see what it's doing, but once the entirety starts to take form we're utterly invested. It bears repeating that while this falls right in line with other contemporary British horror, it keeps company with those works that move slowly and intently; 'Dracula' this is not. For those receptive to such silently ominous horror, however, the result is magnificent, and well worth our time and effort. I had my doubts at first blush, but when all is said and done I couldn't be happier with just how superb 'The shout' is, and I wish it were more well known and celebrated. As far as I'm concerned it's a majorly underappreciated classic, and I'm pleased to give my very high and hearty recommendation!

I don't know how old I was when I first saw this, but I know I was only a young kid. I fell in love with it immediately, and as I've gotten older my appreciation has only deepened. Nearly every monster flick that has followed in the past ninety years owes a debt to this picture, and despite plenty of exemplars to join its fine company, it still stands head, shoulders, knees, and toes above countless would-be successors that have had the benefit of decades of developing techniques and technology. How many kindred titles include an overture at the top of the presentation? How many would deserve one, or could make one work? I'm not saying that 1933's 'King Kong' is completely impeccable, for we could point to some directness in the storytelling, or shortcuts therein that decline narrative judiciousness in favor of heightened drama and spectacle (including even the famous climax). Some language rides a line of being appropriate for a surly character and being generally reflective of antiquated values, and in much the same manner, just as the tale plays with themes of racism, colonialism, paternalist condescension, and hubris, one might argue that the distinction between fictional exploration and percolation from contemporary real life culture is a thin one. Yet for the exceptional brilliance that this predominantly represents, all but ground-breaking, such subjective issues are ultimately minor. 'King Kong' is an essential classic that everyone needs to see at least once.

Here we see perfect illustration of how practical effects, and decades-old approaches to blending imagery, will always remain preferable to the most pristine computer-generated wizardry. Flush with tangible creations, the acting and the sense of creature-laden adventure remain vividly believable and impactful even as various odds and ends are notably dated. This is hardly to cast shade toward, say, Peter Jackson with his CGI-heavy remake of 2005, but only with the involvement of the likes of Rick Baker, Stan Winston, or especially Phil Tippett could his rendition, or any Kong feature since, have hoped to claim the same vitality. Importantly, these questions of past and current techniques and technology apply specifically if not exclusively to the creatures, to the stop-motion animation, and to the method by which actors share a scene with full-bodied depictions of Kong or other beasts. In other capacities the film is marked with the best standards of 30s productions, and these do not significantly differ from those of the years to come: wonderfully enticing, detailed sets, and otherwise production design and art direction; sharp costume design, and excellent hair and makeup; superb stunts and effects, and mindful use of sound; marvelously smart cinematography and editing; and still much more. This is to say nothing of truly fantastic acting from all on hand, above all Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, and Bruce Cabot, breathing tremendous life into their characters and making the saga all the more real and vibrant.

And still all these objective, broadly quantitative factors are only one part of the viewing experience. It's a monster flick, yes, and a tale of adventure. More than that, though, after so many years 'King Kong' still elicits and commands meaningful feelings and vibes. The rush of adventure is palpable, and so is the great atmosphere of unease, tension, and suspense that defines the events on Skull Island. There is a sense of Power that looms over much of the proceedings, in time turning to terrible, unspoken tragedy; we feel a wrenching buzz of disapprobation and outrage as the damage wrought by some figures, and their overall culpability and casually ignorant, conceited pretensions, shine glaringly in our faces. Such notions and responses can be attributed to Max Steiner's rich, grand, dynamic, and mesmerizing original score, faultlessly capturing, echoing, and/or plainly helping to manifest the mood at any given time. They can be attributed to the story of Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace, and the screenplay of James Creelman and Ruth Rose, giving us a bounty of timeless characters; strong, striking, and immersive scene writing; and a stupendously shrewd narrative that doubles as both a fanciful romp of enormous, legendary creatures, and an incredibly keen examination of the nature of "civilization," and the violent, unequal, imperious relationship it "shares" with what is perceived as "uncivilized" (i.e., usually that which is deemed to be exploitable). And they can be attributed to the splendid direction of Cooper and co-producer Ernest B. Schoedsack: bringing all this to bear with deft skill and intelligence, nimbly navigating between exciting action, ponderous drama, and the highfalutin airs of a far-flung lark, guiding the cast and all other participants to achieve all that they can herein, and doing it all with a certain ingenuity that enables the title to stand out to us time and again throughout its length. From the early discussion between Carl, Jack, and the captain's discussion aboard the Venture, to the introduction of Ann Darrow; from Ann's tests on the deck, to our first sight of the island village; from Jack and Ann's harrowing run through the jungle, to the impressive vision of Kong bursting through, and beyond, these 104 minutes overflow with iconic moments that will live in my memory for as long as I breathe.

I enjoyed monster flicks when I was little, and I enjoyed reading about them and even just seeing stills, but it was always the simple, childlike fascination of seeing something strange and whimsical (however dark and often grisly). As I grew up I understood more and more about cinema, and found more and more to admire in pictures that I already held in some esteem (or, conversely and in rare instances, found more and more to criticize). I don't think there's any one picture that I've had a discernible relationship with for as long as I've had one with 'King Kong,' and in like fashion it may be true that there's no picture whose enduring value and legacy has benefited from my expanding comprehension and recognition. I spoke of some issues that may arguably hold this back from being described as impeccable, but for as small as I may have made them seem at first mention, I still wonder if I'm not being too severe in my assessment. In every single way there is so much to love about this film, and at length it is both fabulously entertaining, and fabulously satisfying as entertainment, and something we can read into and connect with in measures both artistic and intellectual. It is a "creature feature," but it's also something more. And no matter how you wish to consider it, I firmly believe it's an outstanding classic that holds a special place in the history of the medium, and it would be a grave mistake for anyone to live their life without watching it at some point. Ninety years on 'King Kong' still stands tall and mighty, and I can only give it my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

It's possible to come to the understanding with even just one film, but the more we explore the works of Kurosawa Akira, there can be no disputing that he was truly one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live. There are times when the specific story isn't even all that important, for the sheer magnificence of a picture's craftsmanship, in every capacity, and the absolute reverence and meticulousness with which Kurosawa approached his art, result in a viewing experience so genuinely spellbinding as to feel altogether transcendent. There is truly not a single element of these three hours that does not both benefit from that cinematic mastery and directly feed into it, and we may well trip over ourselves trying to find words to explain our awe. Between Kurosawa's vision as director and the immaculate, rich color cinematography of Saito Takao and Ueda Masaharu, most every frame would look right at home hanging on a wall as art; the painstaking deliberateness with which each scene is orchestrated almost inspires tears with the resulting beauty. The sets are at once flush with stupendous, careful detail, yet also reflect a spartan, somewhat ascetic sense of aesthetics, and in that duality become even more enticing. The costume design is nothing less than exemplary, and the hair and makeup utterly impeccable. Ikebe Shin'ichiro's music is immensely flavorful and varied: charged and invigorating at select moments or even ponderous, but often even more impactful in its softer phrases that accompany quiet drama; entirely its own creation, at times the score may remind us of other beloved works, and only in the best of ways. And even the cast are part and parcel of this excellence; while Nakadai Tatsuya is the chief star, every single actor, down to the smallest roles, perform with extraordinary, precise poise and unfailing, tactful nuance. If all participants shared a telepathic bond with Kurosawa the fulfillment of his wondrous vision could not be more faithful and complete.

As the length advances the movie only impresses more and more, to the point that comparisons become difficult. It would be one matter to proclaim 'Kagemusha' one of the best films ever made, joining the company of whatever other titles we hold in like esteem, and I think such glory is unquestionably deserved. More than that, though, the feelings of outright adoration that this elicits call to mind very particular experiences, and only the most venerated of art: the unparalleled brilliance of John Alcott's cinematography in Stanley Kubrick's 'Barry Lyndon; the incalculable resplendence of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony; a perfect expression of love, whether represented in real life or in fiction, that makes the heart swell as nothing else can. Legend that Kurosawa was at large, and shall ever remain, in my opinion this is the level that this 1980 masterpiece operates on. So it should come as no surprise that while violence is of secondary importance to the drama in the plot, the stunts, effects, and action sequences that the flick does boast are wholly superb, especially with innumerable extras involved, the battles carry an artistic sensibility that could only manifest with Kurosawa. Case in point, the climactic scene late in the length is sadly brief as it presents on film, but I would love nothing more than to see all of the footage that was captured to go into it. The sound design is totally flawless, with meaningful dynamics and a staggering clarity that allows every word, every note, and every sound to resonate with utmost fidelity. And as if all this weren't enough, the saga that the filmmaker brings us with co-writer Ide Masato is plainly captivating - a tale of closely-held secrets, political subterfuge, the difficulty of living someone else's life, and indeed of living in someone else's shadow, all against the backdrop of rivalries in war and power. The screenplay is a tremendous joy, for the narrative could be teased apart such that any fragment could be focused upon to shape a full-length feature centering it; for this one work to embody them all serves simply to concentrate the high value of the storytelling.

If there is any criticism at all to impart it might be that there are, rarely, points where the plot development becomes a smidgen muddled, and it seems evident that the visuals and presentation were heavily prioritized over resolute elucidation of every beat. Be that as it may, down to the slightest minutiae this is far and away made with such stunning command of the art form, and all the moving parts thereof, that one hundred and eighty minutes pass very smoothly and all too swiftly. I could easily stand for this to be longer still, or even split into different movies that explored the same saga from different angles. At its best - and 'Kagemusha' is almost continuously operating at its best - this is momentously striking and affecting in the way that relatively little fare in all of cinema could claim. The last minutes hit just about as hard as any feature I've ever seen. When all is said and done, what more could be said except that this is fully essential, a must-see that demands viewership? By his reputation alone one anticipates enjoying Kurosawa's oeuvre, and with each piece we watch that reputation is proven time and again. It almost seems impossible to try to stand one next to another, and unfair to try to stand other filmmakers next to the Japanese icon. No doubt with the next of Kurosawa's pictures that I watch or rewatch I'll be repeating myself; all I know is that 'Kagemusha' is surely one of the greatest movies I've ever watched, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. However you need to go about it, this is well worth seeking out.

I've been looking forward to this since I first heard about it; a lesbian road trip crime comedy is right up my alley, and Margaret Qualley and Geraldine Viswanathan are both young actors I quickly came to appreciate even having just seen one or two of their movies. It seems fair to wonder what to expect of something where celebrated filmmaker Ethan Coen is operating without brother and long-time collaborator Joel, but we can only assume well. To sit and watch 'Drive-away dolls' quickly shows itself to in some slight measure be a mixed bag on account of some of the choices Coen made with wife, editor, co-writer, co-producer, and described uncredited co-director Tricia Cooke, primarily with rampant stylization that swiftly goes from quirky and clever to overbearing. The more bombastic instances of cinematography, snappy transitions and editing, and above all the trippy, faux-retro visuals are all something I can appreciate in and of themselves - and who in their right mind doesn't love "Maggot brain?" - but there comes a point where more than not they just feel superfluous, additions to pad out the length. I would also observe that there are points where the intended comedy is just plain crassly puerile, without adjoining cleverness to balance it out. Such weaknesses are unfortunate - for aside from these, I'm firmly of the mind that this flick is tremendously smart and funny, and a total blast!

Yes, there are touches that I don't think come off as well as intended, yet these do diminish in prominence as the length draws on. Just as importantly, with what I feel to be no more than a handful of exceptions that are ultimately minor considerations, there is a great deal to admire in these eighty-four minutes. It's refreshing to watch a female-driven comedy that not only unflinchingly celebrates female sexuality, but sapphic relationships specifically; there are certainly other examples, but precious few as high-profile and upfront as this. For however many times one may find the humor to be emptily juvenile, more often there's deft wit all throughout such that the least that could be said is that the flick recalls the brighter side of teen comedies, like 2016's 'Blockers' (and not just because Viswanathan stars); more to the point, the humor is largely borne of that same keen intelligence that made Coen and his brother such darlings of the medium for such a long time. However much credit belongs to Coen and Cooke respectively, the plot is as wonderfully fun as it is surprisingly shrewd, very much resembling the yarn from an earnest crime drama or thriller that's twisted to absurd ends. Every character bursts with vibrant personality, and the dialogue is marvelously sharp as barbed and/or illuminating words fly. At every step along the way the scene writing is stupendously strong, flush with color and vitality that regularly stands on its own while working to build the whole. All this, it should be said, delivers more and bigger laughs than many other titles could claim, and simultaneously telling a story that is both genuinely engaging and utterly ridiculous.

'Drive-away dolls' is filled to the brim with high energy, a credit to Coen and Cooke in their direction and absolutely to the splendid cast. Qualley fully embraces the raucous spirit of Jamie, and the chemistry she shares with Viswanathan, playing Marian with relative sobriety and unexpected nuance, is delicious. I can't overstate how much I look forward to seeing more from both leads. This is to say nothing of the rest of the cast, all shining luminously in the parts they are given no matter how big or small: Beanie Feldstein, Colman Domingo, Joey Slotnick, C. J. Wilson, Josh Flitter, and many more. The stunts and effects that we see are delightful; though I take issue in part with how they are used, by and large Cooke's editing, Ari Wegner's cinematography, the music, and the post-production visuals are all excellent. From costume design, hair, and makeup, to sets, lighting, and pristine sound design, everything here is clear, vivid, and fetching while meeting the standards of modern film production. The core strengths unquestionably lie in the script and in the cast, but there is scant significant criticism to impart. Really, when all is said and done, those faults I suggested earlier are handily outshone by the otherwise high quality the feature predominantly represents. I find myself aghast that this wasn't met with better reception; comedies are kind of hit or miss for me, and I had a fantastic time here where I haven't with others that are generally more esteemed. All I know is that the anticipation I've been sitting with for months has been faithfully rewarded: as far as I'm concerned 'Drive-away dolls' is superbly entertaining, and I could hardly be happier.

I suppose one should be aware of the very sexual nature of much of the humor, and there are tinges of considerable violence here, too. Provided these are no obstacle, I'm pleased to give this romp my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation. I adore this so much that I'm thinking about seeking a copy for my collection even though it's readily available to stream, and if that's not a compliment, then I don't know what is. Cheers!

One hundred years or more later there remains a great magic to silent cinema that the very best of modern fare often simply cannot match. The earnest simplicity of developing techniques and technology, the common differences in acting and otherwise communication of a story without sound, the rush to dazzle with a new art form, and the constant innovations and pushing of boundaries combine into a perfect storm of circumstances that filmmakers in the twenty-first century just can't replicate, even with all the advantages they might claim. Wherever a production specifically aims for epic drama and grandeur that magic is only reinforced, and for whatever comparisons one may deign to draw, I don't think there's much arguing that Ernst Lubitsch's 'Das Weib des Pharao' counts among such company. The man was known primarily for his fantastic comedy in his prolific career, but it's readily evident that he was capable of anything to which he put his mind. Him and haw about particulars and frames of reference as we may, this is a phenomenal, essential film that raptly captures the imagination and remains well worth exploring decades later.

It's deeply unfortunate that portions of the original release remain missing, presumably lost over time, and we can only hope that some day they might be found in some hidden corner of an attic, cellar, or archive and restored in the same manner as the rest. Be that as it may, this certainly isn't the only picture to exist in a somewhat incomplete form, and as with other examples, those who meticulously assembled the extant piece filled in the gaps as necessary with what representative stills could be gathered, and intertitles to provide necessary explanation of plot. With that in mind one must applaud these technicians and institutions for working so mightily to preserve our cultural history - not least as Lubitsch's movie really is a blast, highly deserving on its own merits and handily impressing. Regular Lubitsch collaborator Hanns Kräly and co-writer Norbert Falk penned a strong, intensely compelling story of cruel, haughty kings, the people over whom they wantonly wield their power, and the small folk and affairs of the heart that would defy such imposing figures. Robust scene writing ranges from large battles and violence, to quiet malevolence and manipulation, to love, valor, heroism, and tragedy, and the story is firmly engaging, satisfying, and outright fulfilling all the while.

To the same extent that the director so ably crafted his comedies with wild antics and boisterous energy, every shot and scene in 'Das Weib des Pharao' is shaped with a mind for capturing the momentous weight of the saga, for mesmerizing with spectacular sights, and at no few points, for splendid artistry. From Lubitsch's shrewd vision and shot composition, to the sharp eyes of cinematographers Alfred Hansen and Theodor Sparkuhl, to even the lighting, the fundamental presentation is outstanding. That magnificence is made easier, of course, with fabulous, detailed sets, costume design, hair, and makeup, meeting the highest standards of like-minded contemporary flicks - nevermind innumerable extras, excellent stunts and effects, and not least, an exceptional cast. While Emil Jannings would go on to taint his legacy with his political dealings, there's no disputing that he was a terrific actor who commanded looming presence in addition to fine range and nuance. This is hardly to count out his co-stars, however, for all others involved, from Harry Liedtke to German titan Paul Wegener, from Paul Biensfeldt to Lyda Salmonova, and especially Dagny Servaes, all give superb performances that bring the rich drama to vivid life. It is true, perhaps, that the acting here is broadly characterized by the more exaggerated facial expressions and body language that typified the silent era. So marvelous and absorbing are these 100 minutes, though, that I don't think any but the most hard-nosed of modern viewers could take issue with the style as it presents; furthermore, there are plenty of instances where the acting reaches beyond those bounds to reflect the more natural and sophisticated method modern viewers are familiar with, and in such instances the result is nothing less than brilliant.

It can't be overstated how grand and striking this is from start to finish, and at times downright bewitching; it's obvious Lubitsch aimed to leave a big mark on the world of cinema, and show what he was capable of, and he definitely succeeded. The tale is flush with vibrant, meaningful emotions as conflicts brew and the mood varies; we get villains just as much as champions, enticing tension and suspense as much as heartwarming or heartbreaking tenderness, and major, thrilling action sequences just as much as affective, substantial scenes of just two characters testing each other's will. No matter what a moment calls for the writing, acting, direction, and craftsmanship are all just as stupendous in realizing a story that in my opinion quite deserves to be mentioned alongside more famous epics of both silence and sound. In one manner or another one is reminded of Fred Niblo's 'Ben-Hur' of 1925, or the 1959 adaptation with Charlton Heston; the works of Cecil B. DeMille come to mind in the largest and most complex sequences, whether one wishes to point to 'The ten commandments' or something else; this moreover finds kinship with the artistic eye of Swedish icon Victor Sjöström, who often employed the very sets and filming locations in a spellbinding fashion that made the very environs seem to come alive, not to mention infusion of a keen, intimate psychological approach. All these are certainly huge names to drop in speaking of Ernst Lubitsch and this 1922 title, but for my part I think 'Das Weib des Pharao' has absolutely earned the right to join such esteemed company.

I assumed I would enjoy this simply for the fact that I've loved most everything I've seen from the German legend. Frankly, high as my expectations were, they still have been far exceeded. Early in the length the storytelling might seem to drag a bit, but as the narrative advances and events escalate it becomes more and more captivating. In no time I was wholly swept away and could scarcely remove my eyes from the screen; I could hardly be happier with how good this is. In fact, while there are elements here that are part and parcel of everything we assume of the early years of the medium - for better and for worse - it's also true that there are fantastic touches of subtlety and underhanded intelligence in every odd and end, from minutiae of the storytelling, to the incredible labor of those operating behind the scenes, to Lubitsch's direction, and even the acting. There are tiny moments where I wonder if Servaes hasn't managed to outshine Jannings with the depth of emotion she carries with tact that is arguably more discreet, yet then Jannings, or Liedtke, or someone else leaps out just as surely. From smart tinting to smart effects and editing, through every beat, idea, and feeling, 'Das Weib des Pharao' is a tremendous, arresting, flavorful classic that still stuns over one hundred years on. I may even go so far as to say that this is a picture that exists beyond questions of personal preference; as far as I'm concerned it's altogether wonderful, and fully demands viewership. I'm pleased to give this treasure my very highest, heartiest, most enthusiastic recommendation; in my book 'Das Weib des Pharao' is worth going out of your way to see!

One of two things is true about this movie. The first possibility is that it is an example of early cinema, existing in a time of different norms and values, that looks very different by the standards of modern life. The second possibility is that it is a much more rare example of early cinema that underhandedly rebukes contemporary society, and is actually way ahead of its time in both its sly approach to its narrative and themes, and to the progressive, feminist perspective with which a modern viewer will sit to watch. Not least given the very name, 'Manhandled,' it's possible that the latter is true, and all those involved were fully cognizant of the power a feature might have to speak critically to the cultural demands, expectations, and mores placed on women, the poor treatment they receive that in turn goes unremarked, and the exploitation to which they might be subjected. Indeed, as the length goes on and the story becomes more dour, it does seem more and more that the title is currying sympathy for our protagonist instead of the anticipated disapproval. At the same time, if 'Manhandled' really is so forward-thinking, then it deliberately rides an impossibly thin line all the while - all but indistinguishable from the alternative - and after all, we're making a lot of assumptions about the filmmaker, writers, cast, and crew if we're to believe that this flick really was earnestly representative of a culture several decades beyond its own existence. I think it's more likely that this is something that is just perceived very, very differently now than was intended upon release, but to be honest, I also don't think that in any way diminishes its lasting value.

In a film with a premise seemingly primed for expression of old-fashioned, conservative values, with the idea of a woman descending into wicked ways, it's striking to me that the very first sight to greet us after the opening credits is a ruminative intertitle that speaks directly to the hypocritical double-standard that women live with every day. It's considered virtuous to treat a woman well, the picture tells us, as if she deserves the world - but if she dares to act in a manner so as to stake her claim and seize the day, well, that's just sinful and she deserves to be treated accordingly! The scenes to follow spotlight the brusque indifference with which protagonist Tessie gets treated, the modest, hard-working lifestyle in which she lives, and the smallness of her world and of other women around her; one hundred years later none of these come off the way that they were probably meant to in 1924. The first is intended for comedy after the fashion of Charlie Chaplin or Harold Lloyd, but to me reflects quietly cruel drama more closely resembling horror; the latter two are, I believe, intended to show us the impatience and selfishness of Tessie, especially contrasted with neighboring instances of humility and home-making, but instead I see a character who asks for only the rare nicety or special occasion and is casually denied them by a boyfriend who is too wrapped up in his own business to attend to her. And so it goes, as her vivid, recalcitrant, determined personality, a symbol of individuality, is meant to be interpreted as shamefully self-centered and inconsiderate. I'm not saying that Tessie is without fault, but what I am saying is that whereas the contemporary culture presumably wants us to see a portrait of a good woman sliding into immorality, I discern a glimpse at a young lady seizing an opportunity and getting backlash for it from all corners no matter what she does, with big doses of condescending, manipulative, patriarchal dominance on top.

True, it's possible that my own knowledge and experiences are informing an opinion more cynical and jaded than is befitting for 'Manhandled.' Through to the end, though, I believe that however it was designed in the Roaring Twenties, one can just as easily receive the movie as a backhanded retort to the most stodgy notions of where a woman belongs in the world, or as affirmation of them. Before all is said and done Tessie recognizes that her new acquaintances are all equally seedy and taking advantage of her. While boyfriend Jim chastises her for her recent behavior and indicated "indiscretions," the plain truth - visualized very plainly for us - is that Tessie's affections have never wavered; she was only reacting in the moment, and then simply trying to make her way in the world just as Jim was trying to make his, only her effort didn't meet with the same success. The expected thing for me to do would be to dismiss the flick out of hand for its antiquated values, and maybe that it indeed what it deserves. Yet like marginalized groups reclaiming words or symbols that have previously employed to harass, abuse, and target them, I believe it's also possible to consider these sixty minutes as something that may have been built with one intention, but which in another time can be viewed to opposite yet greater ends. I don't know what precisely this means for the quality of the screenplay, or the final product otherwise; all I know is that I have seen in the picture just what I've said, and I like it.

All the while this is well made by all the standards of silent cinema. The costume design is gorgeous, and the hair and makeup just as commendable, the sets are rather detailed and fetching. Between filmmaker Allan Dwan and cinematographer Harold Rosson some shots are particularly splendid, and Dwan's direction keeps the proceedings on steady, impactful dramatic footing. Scribe Frank Tuttle penned some gratifyingly strong scenes as the compelling narrative advances. Above all, while the cast turn in fine performances generally, Gloria Swanson definitely stands out with the lively, emotive acting she treats us to as Tessie. All these years later Swanson is almost known more for Billy Wilder's 'Sunset Boulevard' than for the primary years of her career, yet this piece is apt demonstration that it's not for nothing the star was regarded so well over time. Ultimately I don't know if I'd say that 'Manhandled' is a must-see, and furthermore one might wryly observe that discussion of the finer points of its themes and story ideas, and of trends in sociopolitical values over time, looms larger than the feature itself. One way or another, however, I find this both interesting and enjoyable in its way; not least for those who appreciate the silent era, this remains worth checking out on its own merits. Usually I might suggest one enter with awareness of the nature of the tale, or of the values on display; in this case I may be inclined to instead give an extra boost to a recommendation with a mind for seeing how others interpret the whole. Take that as you will.

I'm glad Jennifer Lynch found some success in television, because her career in film has been less than great. After the extreme negative reception to 'Boxing Helena' it took her fifteen years to return to the medium, and to be very frank this doesn't make an impression that's significantly better. No, 'Surveillance' isn't abjectly terrible, and it's not a total loss in the way that her directorial debut was. At their best the performances are swell; the root ideas of the characters, much of the scene writing, and the narrative are excellent, and I love the soft divide in the storytelling between perspectives. Some real tension develops as the flashbacks come to a head; the late turn in the story is not unexpected, but still a nice touch broadly speaking; there are definite bright spots in Daryl K. Davis' editing, and even in Lynch's direction. Yet to whatever extent there are facets deserving of praise here, I think it's more true that the viewing experience is incredibly rough. Much that occasionally comes across as pretty okay also inspires criticism elsewhere. This is appreciable in some measure, but as it is I wonder if I'm not being too kind in my assessment.

There is a garish, stilted, overcharged severity to much of the proceedings that plainly exceeds what meaningfully belongs in light of the tension, the violence, and characters' personalities and dynamics. It's one matter to write characters with loud, overbearing personalities, but almost everyone here is obnoxious to the point of vexation; it's one matter to accurately depict the seediness and untrustworthiness of cops, but Lynch and co-writer Kent Harper give us outright cartoons. There are some very recognizable names in the cast and we know what they're capable of, but it seems to me that Julia Ormond and young Ryan Simpkins - only 10 years old, here - are the only actors who don't spend some time overacting or outright chewing scenery; to that point, no one comes off worse than Bill Pullman. As director it falls to Lynch to shape the saga in a calculated, mindful manner that allows each inclusion to resonate, but what mostly happens instead is that each odd and end seem to butt up against each other with hard edges; whatever we viewers might savor in these 97 minutes, most of the experience of watching is more akin to eating a breakfast cereal where the pieces have such rough edges that it feels like we might cut our mouth on it. Emphasizing the point: while some tension and suspense does manifest naturally in the flashbacks of the events being related after the fact, the same is not so in the overall active narrative, which just comes off as somewhat flat.

Once again, 'Surveillance' is not abjectly terrible. Some elements are just fine, and I quite appreciate the contributions of those behind the scenes, particularly the stunts and effects. I question even the music, however, and the sound design; some selections on the soundtrack are notably, weirdly high in the audio mix. Nevermind the nature of the subject matter; this is not a picture that's easy to watch, not because of any fictional ugliness, but because the construction by way of writing, direction, acting, and technical presentation is somewhat unpleasant. If you want a harsh, bloody crime thriller, you'll get one, and while you shouldn't go out of your way for it, this is decent if you happen to come across it. Then again, for everything else that we could be watching instead, unless one has a specific impetus to watch then I don't know why one would save for sheer curiosity. I'm glad for those who enjoy 'Surveillance' more than I do; I find it to be rather so-so at best. Oh well.

There are plenty of filmmakers who ply their trade in the weird and surreal, but nobody does it to quite the extent, with as much of a personal style, as Quentin Dupieux. No one else but his collaborators have the same sensibilities of wry, dry, somewhat dark, oddball humor. Even more to the point, I'm hard-pressed to name anyone else who likes to play so cheerfully with boundaries of "reality" within their features, discarding any specific notion of a concrete universe or setting and allowing lines to blur between far-flung perspectives just for the heck of it so they can all bleed together. At that, 'Keep an eye out' - or 'Au poste!' as the French title would have it - is relatively grounded and ordinary as far as Dupieux's oeuvre goes; it's only rather gradually that the wilder side of the storytelling creeps in, and this otherwise deigns to pretend it's a straightforward crime drama. But even at its most "ordinary" the movie is still joyfully offbeat as a common narrative scenario (police interrogating a suspect), and mundane nothings (the interviewee's described activities) are drawn out, focused upon, and woven together. Though it may not be as immediately and outwardly grabbing as some of his other works, make no mistake that when all is said and done there's no questioning that this is kith and kin with all that the man does, and I could scarcely be more delighted.

As Dupieux again assumes control over most aspects of the production - writer, director, photographer, and editor - he can shape the resulting film to his will and vision; maybe this helps to explain why everything in his body of work has such a unified feel about it. Here the method is comparatively restrained as we're chiefly greeted with a visual presentation that is gleaned directly from earnest fare of the 70s: hair, makeup, costume design, sets, music, and not least the warm hues of the image and the softness of the cinematography. Only very smoothly and casually are the idiosyncratic tendencies we know and love teased out in the storytelling, while the cast plays it straight all the while, and as they are one can't help but be enchanted. It's not that 'Keep an eye out' is as dazzlingly creative or captures the imagination as completely as, say, 'Rubber,' 'Deerskin,' 'Smoking causes coughing,' or 'Réalité,' but in its more gently underhanded tack this title nevertheless revels just as much in the same frivolities and frivolousness. One might reasonably argue that since this is less plainly peculiar, it could even be a fair point of entry to Dupieux for those who don't want to dive headfirst into his twisted mind. No matter how you slice it, however, this remains another superb, highly entertaining step in the filmmaker's cinematic journey.

Everything looks and sounds terrific here, and as among the stars Benoît Poelvoorde and Grégoire Ludig do most of the heavy-lifting, they especially are to be commended for so heartily embracing the spirit of the piece. It remains true, though, that Dupieux's keen wit and inventive ideas of storytelling are the primary draw for all his flicks, and this is no different. His tremendously fun screenplay lays out the path; his guidance as director ensures that no foot strays from that path of cheerfully, nonchalantly, but definitively defying norms and boundaries of fiction. When all is said and done the movie is simply a blast - we should expect no less - and anyone who at all appreciates what Dupieux does will enjoy themselves just as much in these 73 minutes. What he does won't appeal to all comers, but if you're open to all the wide, wacky possibilities that the medium has to offer, 'Keep an eye out' is low-key brilliant and a gem that's not to be missed!

Sometimes unlikely circumstances lead us to films that we'd never have discovered otherwise, and should these films turn out find our favor, those circumstances make them all the more special. It was by chance that I stumbled onto this picture, and I sat to watch with no foreknowledge or expectations. I step away completely stunned, for this is a treasure that deserves far more recognition. Luis César Amadori's 'El amor nunca muere,' or 'Love never dies,' is a drama filled with incredible, unfailing warmth in imparting its three tales of love. There's purity and earnestness coursing through these two hours that rather reminds of Giuseppe Tornatore's 1988 gem 'Cinema Paradiso,' or more recently Michael Sarnoski's 'Pig,' and if that's not a high comparison then I don't know what is. I assumed that one way or another I'd appreciate it, but I couldn't have imagined this little-known classic would impress as one of the best movies I've watched in recent months.

We're presented with three stories of roughly equal length that in one fashion or another involve a single medallion in the course of events as it changes hands over the years. I could easily see each story being expanded into their own full-length features, and I would no doubt admire them just as greatly. To be included all in one means that any excess is trimmed away, and we get only the best essence of each; in turn, we're effectively given a triple shot of outstanding Argentine cinema. All three narratives are highly engaging and enjoyable, deftly blending varied degrees of more downbeat drama with light humor and above all hearty, heartwarming romance. The first of these is roundly excellent, though it doesn't specifically leave a major mark; the second embraces a more significant measure of comedy, and would probably stand as my favorite even it didn't have me laughing hard before it came to a close; the third took me a bit to warm up to, but when all is said and done it rivals the second in its keenness and affability. I can only commend Amadori and co-writers Pedro Miguel Obligado and Luis Martin de San Vicente, for they have given us smart, well-rounded narratives with relatable characters and fabulously rich scene writing. The title is superb in general, but there's no doubt in my mind that the writing is one of its chief draws.

'El amor nunca mere' can also boast of stupendous production design and art direction, not to mention gorgeous costume design and impeccable hair and makeup. Tito Ribero's original music doesn't leap out at us as the score sometimes does in other works, but he very ably complements the mood at any time and I could hardly imagine this flick without it. Though the writing stands tall Amadori's direction is not to be counted out, for there is a smooth finesse to the proceedings by which the filmmaker dexterously guides three disparate sagas in miniature - each carrying vibes somewhat distinct from the others - to the same deeply satisfying ends of gently thrumming, heartfelt vitality. Above all, while everything here is marvelous, alongside the screenplay I'm of the mind that it's the acting that's marked as a load-bearing pillar. Down to the smallest supporting parts all involved very capably bring their characters to life and infuse the flick with an infectious joie de vivre that only further endears the whole to us. Make no mistake that some stand out above others, though, and while it's true that it is those actors in the most prominent roles, it's also true that there's no arguing they were cast in these roles for a reason. Sparks fly with the dynamics between Zully Moreno and Carlos Cores in the first segment, and between the two of them I don't know who is better; in the second segment Mirtha Legrand is indelibly charming, and Alfredo Alcón to nearly an equal extent, and they chemistry they share as scene partners is tremendous. Not to be outdone, as the third segment solidifies, Tita Merello's performance increasingly leaps to the forefront as possibly outshining all her co-stars; not knowing any better, I rather hope she garnered awards for her acting here, as it would absolutely be deserved.

Some of the most heavily promoted and highly visible movies can be gravely disappointing or even vexing; some of the least renowned movies, sequestered by time, geography, culture, or politics, can be immensely entertaining, stimulating, and rewarding. I could not be more pleased that as far as I'm concerned, this counts among the latter. The closet I could come to offering a word of criticism is that from one story to the next each might land differently, portending a smidgen of unevenness. To the extent that is true, though, the happenstance is negligible; from top to bottom 'El amor nunca muere' is a delight, and I'm so happy that I came across it. If you're at all open to dramas in general, as a genre of fiction, then in my opinion this is a fine piece that's well worth seeking out, however one might have to go about it. I'm over the moon with how good it is, and I'm glad to give my very high, hearty, and enthusiastic recommendation!

Let's speak plainly: this musical came pre-loaded with baggage, its own cargo ship's worth, before it ever opened in London. The very idea of a sequel to Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'The Phantom of the Opera' raises a skeptical eyebrow; to read a one-line premise raises our hackles. Then we read the plot synopsis, and learn of the critical reception, and see the history of productions; while the tale may have been revised between London and Melbourne, frankly the differences are minimal, more cosmetic than substantive. Still, the question remains: How is the music? How is the show at large, in and of itself? Does it really deserve such infamy; could it really be so bad? Thankfully movie lovers, theater nerds, 'Phantom' aficionados, and general audiences can decide for themselves without necessarily shelling out cash for seats in the orchestra, balcony, or gallery, for this recording of the Australian production - in some measure better received with its rewrites than the original London show - gives us a look at 'Love never dies' in all its splendor, or alternatively, in all its notoriety. For better and for worse, we're able to begin forming an opinion very swiftly once we press "play." For my part I think this is enjoyable, and worthwhile on its own merits, but with significant issues that severely limit its lasting value.

To the credit of all involved, there really is much to admire here in most every regard. Pretty much everything we love about musicals as a class of live performance, and about cinema as an audiovisual medium, are alive and vibrant in these two hours. The costume design is truly gorgeous, and the hair and makeup, too; the sets are lovely, and the choreography fetching, and stage director Simon Phillips is to be roundly commended for such a splendid, finely-tuned piece. By and large the cast is terrific, treating us to superb singing and lively, engaging, laudable acting. Broadly speaking the music in and of itself is delightful, with some selections being extra nice and enticing, and the same applies to the lyrics. Why, if we consider the narrative at its core, then alongside the music, performances, and overall spectacle it's easy to get swept up in the saga: a famed singer traveling with her rakish husband and young son to a new engagement, where they will encounter old friends, confront the past, and have their lives forever changed. There are times throughout when I really do see the brilliance of the best potential this may have had. And it's worth observing that this 2012 feature is a credit as well to filmmaker Brett Sullivan, the camera operators, the editors, and all others who put in the work to bring the stage musical to our screens. Some recordings of live performances are better than others at visualizing the entirety, and at making the show matter, and whatever we think of 'Love never dies' as a musical, I believe this rendition of it is counts as one of the better examples of a port to the screen.

All this is good, or even wonderful, not to mention encouraging, entertaining, and satisfying. So what, then, could the problems be that have given Webber's work such a sorry reputation? Well, let's start with the acting. I mean it when I say that everyone on hand is terrific, by and large. However, everyone also has their moments - some more than others - when they unquestionably come off as overacting and chewing scenery with overly severe, forceful delivery and comportment. In fact, this fault of the acting kind of exemplifies an overarching issue that plagues the whole endeavor, for in too many ways, and at too many points, there is a glaring lack of subtlety, tact, or thoughtful care being applied in the fundamental construction. Just as some of the lyrics are superb, some are terrible; just as some underhanded musical callbacks to 'Phantom' are fantastic, whatever their form, the most overt counterexamples mostly feel cheap, chintzy, and desperate; just as the music at large is swell, with some especial highlights (even as small as a few bars), there are also more dubious phrases or themes, and in a title built for drama, the worst instances actually inspire laughter. The storytelling itself also has distinct weaknesses, not least as the pseudonym "Mr. Y" belongs in Saturday morning cartoons, not a would-be prestige theatrical production; I'm less than enthused about some of the characterizations as they present, dovetailing into issues of some numbers ("Bathing beauty") and where they fit into the story, and shifts and disparity of tone ('The beauty underneath"). To top it all off, the plot development seems shortchanged, in that two hours fly past too quickly, insufficient to shoulder the weight that the plot and its conflicts should ideally carry. Yet we've not even talked about the elephant in the room.

It's as simple as this: the root plot, and the flavors of carnival, sideshow, and funhouse that adjoin the principal drama and romance, are stupendous, promising foundations for a musical, and for a motion picture. The trouble is that 'Love never dies' is a sequel to 'The Phantom of the Opera,' and I emphatically believe that it should have been its own standalone creation with no ties to that prior creation, nor any other. Worse is that 'Love never dies' is a sequel that demands enormous leaps of logic and presuppositions for the plot to work. I'll stop short of saying that the 2010 successor retcons its progenitor; it IS possible that following the previous events, Raoul turned out to be a louse, Madame and Meg Giry developed closer ties to the Phantom as they relocated, and jealousies and dark passions would stir as lives collide once again. For all these things to be true is too much for the 'Phantom' aficionado to take in stride, however, and above all, if we're to believe that 'Love' truly follows 'Phantom,' the central conceit of a love affair between Christine and the Phantom exceeds all limits of suspension of disbelief. These supposed narrative connections also ultimately inform our view of most other facets here: the carnival flavors are out of touch with the prior material, and while "The beauty underneath" is striking in and of itself, it heavily clashes with the tone of the rest of this production, let alone the predecessor; the last stretch of the second act, following Christine's aria, resolves the continued saga in a manner that feels hastily and poorly written, and which is unconvincing and dissatisfying, particularly as the beats place even greater strain on reworked characterizations that are already thin. With some retooling the show could feasibly have been phenomenal as a singular entity; as a sequel to one of the most cherished musicals in the world, it direly struggles.

And here's one more thing: there is no song in 'Love never dies' that comes anywhere near to matching 'The Phantom of the Opera.' All are good, and some are excellent, but whereas every tune of years before is a revered classic, there is nothing here that stands out in a fashion that will endure in memory. There is no showstopper to receive thunderous applause; Christine's big number in the second act - that which kind of held to be the crux of the whole tale - is okay, but doesn't really make a big impression.

I repeat that there really is a lot to like here. Everyone specifically involved in the Melbourne production did a marvelous job, and all are to be congratulated. At its best, we are reminded of why we love 'Phantom' as 'Love never dies' tries so, so hard to recapture that magic. I cannot and will not say that I dislike this musical, or got nothing from it, or would recommend against it. What I will and must say is that there is no arguing that the Melbourne production, praise-worthy as it is, is the best possible interpretation of something that even on paper leaves us actively doubting; it's the musical equivalent of screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg, and filmmakers Catherine Hardwicke, Chris Weitz, David Slade, and Bill Condon, adapting Stephenie Meyer's 'Twilight' series to the Silver Screen. I'm glad for those who find it even more enjoyable, or who possibly take no issue at all with the material. As far as I'm concerned, it's just that the flaws and failures are as readily evident as the advantages and successes, and any discussion of the title must be lengthy and comprehensive as to what it does well and where it goes wrong. Don't take my harshest criticism to mean that you shouldn't watch 'Love never dies'; take it to mean that you should watch with a very open mind and active awareness.

It remains true that some of the best films ever made hail from the silent era; in my opinion King Vidor's own 1928 drama 'The crowd' is one of them - a simple story, beautifully told. It's also true that there are no few titles of the time that are less outwardly impressive, and their chief lasting value might be for the ardent cinephile who appreciates the place they hold in the history of cinema. This is hardly to discount the hard work of those involved, but I don't think it's unreasonable to look at Vidor's 1921 work 'Love never dies' as a reflection of the notion of "simpler entertainment for a simpler time." All the component parts are here for a motion picture, and it's suitably enjoyable on its level, with some bits more admirable than others. All the component parts are also here to broadly characterize it as rather common, or arguably middling, and unlikely to change the minds of anyone who isn't already enamored of the silent era. For better and for worse, the viewing experience in this case is a very mixed bag.

It's no one's fault that the image quality of the surviving print was diminished before it was digitally preserved. Concerns of greater substance include the very direct, somewhat unsophisticated storytelling, imparting a tale with some facets that exceed our suspension of belief, and with melodrama fit for a Lifetime original movie. There are additional elements of considerable, ham-handed kitsch, and expression of old-fashioned, dated values, which only add layers to the nature of the storytelling. Such aspects also inform the acting. Some performers come off better than others, including Madge Bellamy with tinges of meaningful nuance and emotional range. On the other hand, there's also Frank Brownlee with a laughable, stark bluntness that would be ripe for parody, and in general 'Love never dies' counts among fare with the more exaggerated facial expressions and body language that defined the earliest years of the medium.

In fairness, in a short runtime of just over one hour, the flick leaves a better mark in fits and starts, and maybe more so as it goes along. As the melodrama kicks up around halfway through Vidor latches onto some more shrewd moments, and guides his cast and cinematographer Max Dupont into some small shots that are low-key brilliant. The sets, costume design, hair, and makeup may not make us altogether bat our eyes, but are lovely all the same, not to mention the filming locations. And if nothing else is true about this film, the major sequences of stunts and effects to come in the second half are outstanding, almost certainly the top highlights here and about on par with some of the best of contemporary cinema. In fact, while there are rough spots and a prevailing, decided lack of tact and subtlety, there is also a welcome earnestness to the narrative at its core. For as solid as 'Love never dies' is when notable care is taken in its craftsmanship, one just wishes that the writing, direction, and acting were so thoughtfully considered throughout the whole length. Heavily accentuating the issue, there comes a point in the last ten to fifteen minutes when the plot development suddenly becomes emphatically muddled, garbled, rushed, and downright sloppy. It's an abrupt change so severe that if one didn't know any better one would assume that an entire reel or two had been lost to the ravages of time.

For as splendid as the picture is when it's "firing on all cylinders," it deserves more recognition and remembrance; for as so-so or even outright troubled as this is at its weakest points, maybe I'm being too kind in my assessment. It turns out that the impression the feature makes so early on is all too accurate - it's passably entertaining such as it is, but likely something that only a silent devotee will get the most out of, and definitely not an exemplar of the timeframe. I'm glad for those who get more from it than I do, and I repeat that there is a lot to like. In its root form the story is swell, and it's just regrettable that in execution the result is quite flawed. If you're receptive to older movies then 'Love never dies' is still worth checking out if you have the opportunity; just don't go out of your way for it, and save it for a lazy day.

I won't beat around the bush: I like this, and I see much to admire in it. Some aspects are notably stronger or weaker than others, however, and not everything fits together perfectly; I don't think the overall impact is perfectly robust. I see why the picture earned such acclaim from some corners, not to mention many nominations and awards. I'm just not sure that I entirely agree with that perspective, for it's only in bits and pieces that I see the glimmers of greatness that would mark it as thusly deserving. Heavily emphasizing the point, there comes a discrete point when 'The night of the 12th' ('La nuit du 12') rather abruptly gels in a way it hadn't before, starting with a fragment of one scene that hits far harder than anything else in these two hours, and following through to the end with tighter writing than we got at any other time. That discrete point, however, is at almost exactly the time when there are twenty minutes left in the total runtime. I can name no few other titles that similarly found their best strength in the last stretch; on the other hand, other such titles haven't won multiple prominent awards for Best Film.

There are terrific ideas in the screenplay, a credit to filmmaker Dominik Moll and co-writer Gilles Marchand as they adapt Pauline Guéna's book. The core investigation is deeply interesting, and I repeat that the back end finds a burst of vitality that pointedly feels much sharper and more affecting than the preceding length. As part and parcel of the primary thread of the investigation the feature also explores the frustrating drudgery of police work, with leads that turn out to be dead-ends and a surfeit of waiting, watching, talking, and recording. Hand in hand with this, moreover, is an extra shrewd element of secondarily examining the personalities of these police investigators at different stages of their lives and careers. There's the fresh-faced rookie, idealistic and hopeful; the embittered veteran, struggling to maintain composure and all but at the end of his rope; in the middle, beyond youthful optimism and yet free of wizened cynicism, lies protagonist Yohan - knowledgeable, experienced, concentrated, and determined. Other supporting figures among their coworkers are a mixture of faceless workers and chuckleheads, and later we meet a newcomer whose resolve seems to exceed Yohan's. All these central storytelling notions provide a firm foundation for all else that 'The night of the 12th' is or could be.

The writing is also the source of my biggest criticisms, however. Chief among these is that the script further tries to touch upon the terrible truths of gender dynamics where violence and crime and concerned. Some characters question the nature of the relationships between men and women, with men committing the vast majority of crimes; other characters despairingly observe that women are commonly the victims, and the victims are blamed in spirit if not in letter as their private lives are scrutinized and judged. These are important matters to touch upon, but wherever scenes and dialogue do so in this instance the result is sadly clunky and unconvincing, in part as if Moll and Marchand had difficulty finding a way to weave them into the script. There's also the issue of how characters are written in general, for while the individuals that the police question are rather unlikable, so are no few of the investigators themselves; even those that are most honest and earnest in their profession stumble into lines of questioning that come across as disproportionately aggressive and badgering. With that in mind I suppose one could argue that one thing this flick has going for it, despite centering police, is that it does NOT specifically fall under the colloquial umbrella of "copaganda," but it me it feels more that we as an audience are nevertheless intended to be cheering for these cops who don't necessarily deserve our respect.

As one last criticism, I would suggest that not all the odds and ends fit together flawlessly, including even the core elements noted above. I think this comes down to the pacing of the plot development, for in my estimation we're forty-five minutes into the viewing experience before there comes a beat that especially commands our attention. Except in fits and starts, and again with the last twenty minutes being foremost, the storytelling at large comes off as a little soft, and less than perfectly grabbing. Alongside some choices of editing that I think are unfortunate, that softness every now and again results in a juxtaposition of components that is a half-step away from being parodying, which is the precise opposite intent of the movie. Suffice to say that there are some rough edges, and on the basis of these my own esteem of the whole falls a tad short.

Be all this as it may, when all is said and done this is very worthwhile, with a great deal more to appreciate than to lament. I repeat that the writing at its best is excellent, and Moll's direction as he orchestrates shots and scenes; I very much adore Moll's 2011 work 'The monk,' and when 'The night of the 12th' is firing on all cylinders I see the same keen mind at work. This is well made in most regards, really, from production design and art direction, to hair, makeup, to cinematography, and sound design. With a couple exceptions I'm a big fan of Olivier Marguerit's score, a varied and dynamic panoply of themes that do a fine job of capturing the mood and bolstering the tension of the proceedings. In fact, setting aside those last twenty minutes to which I keep returning, Marguerit's music might outshine the splendid root ideas in terms of broad value - and I would say the same of the acting. It's not that anyone gives an utterly revelatory performance, but every single actor is solid; even as some stand out above others in the casting, there are select moments scattered throughout that grab our attention extra hard. From those stars of the most prominence, Bastien Bouillon and Bouli Lanners, to those in smaller supporting parts like Mouna Soualem, David Murgia, and Pierre Lottin, all are marvelous as they embrace the somber spirit of the project and breathe life into their roles and scenes, and I'm very pleased with how good the acting is.

I'd be lying if I said that this didn't in some measure fall shy of my expectations; there are just enough areas of trouble that I can't bring myself to fully stand by the high regard it has otherwise garnered. All the same, for the level on which this film operates, such words are more about semantics than substance. Faults and all 'The night of the 12th' is overall a fantastic crime drama, and I think anyone who appreciates the genre will find much to love here. Recommended above all for anyone with a major impetus to watch, this is well worth checking out if you have the opportunity.

Though I haven't read it, I seem to recall word of mouth for the novel having been stronger than for Stephenie Meyer's most significant claim to fame; then again, it could just be that the 'Twilight' series of books set the bar so low that it would have been impossible for 'The host' not to be a step up. This brings us to the film adaptation with a considerable, skilled, star-studded cast, which I further recall was met with a somewhat lukewarm reception. Why was that? How bad could it be? Well, to sit and watch, it's definitely not that this flick is abjectly terrible, but there are facets that come to our attention quite quickly - not necessarily in a bad way, but not particularly in a good way, either - and I think anyone would have been facing an uphill climb to successfully adapt this. To what extent Andrew Niccols' 'The host' resembles Meyer's I do not know, but I do know that this picture swiftly comes across as somewhat gawky. It's enjoyable, but troubled.

Let's get the bad news out of the way first. There are two chief issues in these two hours, both showing up right from the start, and in my opinion one is more substantial than the other. One of these issues is that this is an instance in which the most impeccable of modern production values do the whole no favors. In some measure it's part and parcel of the nature of a narrative in which extraterrestrial entities take over Earth, and create a utopia, at the expense of humans as we know them: more than not the special effects are extra vivid, sets and props are extra shiny, cinematography and the fundamental image quality are are sharp as sharp could be, and even hair, makeup, and costume design are flawless. There comes a point where perfection becomes sterility, however, impacting suspension of disbelief and arguably the acting in turn. There are some esteemed actors appearing here, above all Saoirse Ronan and Diane Kruger, but it sometimes seems that even they have difficulty navigating the nuances of their characters, especially in light of how unwieldy much of the construction is otherwise. And that brings us to the other chief issue facing the feature, a matter in which 'The host' is not alone: when a core conflict of a plot is an inner struggle, a battle of the mind, how do you portray this in the cinematic medium? Whether in movies or on TV, some writers and directors have found a way to successfully do so. The path to success rarely if ever lies in voiceovers, however - anywhere they are employed, they are too often an obstacle more than an advantage - and these are a major component of the storytelling here. As much as the actors might have a hard time with the title at large, the ordeal is far worse for Ronan, at this stage in her career, in trying to give Melanie her own voice through, well, her voice alone.

In fairness, overall the writing is sufficiently capable that we become absorbed in the saga, and while those two chief issues remain prevalent, it becomes a tad easier to look past them. It's certainly not that the screenplay is without fault; in what I assume is a reflection of Meyer's novel, far too much of the dialogue ranges from so-so to terrible, and no small amount of the scene writing is rather clunky. Perhaps this can be attributed to the YA tenor, and we could say that the end product is oversimplified, but one way or another the details of the story as it presents are a very mixed bag. Conversely, awkwardly, I think the story would also have benefited from some simplification: I actually kind of love the narrative - there are terrific ideas here, all worth exploring, from beats and threads to bigger themes, and I have to give credit to Meyer for solid foundations. In cinematic adaptation, however, I'm at best unsure if these ideas receive all due treatment, and it seems to me that if the plot were more focused it would have come off better. As it stands, ultimately the film lands much too softly; tension and suspense don't really enter the equation, and the emotional heft just isn't felt. Factor in the sterile presentation, the voiceover woes, and the challenge handed to the cast, and however much one might appreciate the plot in and of itself, the rendition seen here has a lot of problems weighing it down.

One could continue to him and haw about the specifics, including music that sometimes comes across as ill-fitting. Yet my tone here has been more critical than I mean to convey. I was entertained; I did, genuinely, like 'The host.' It's just that I readily recognize why didn't fare so well upon release, and for all that I do admire about it, any subsequent recommendation would be a decidedly soft one. If one is a fan of someone involved or has some other special impetus to watch, I would encourage one to do so, and I otherwise think that this is a swell viewing experience for a quiet night. Don't go out of your way for it, and temper your expectations; I can't begrudge those who regard it more harshly. So long as you're open to all that the medium has to offer, however, and are willing to entreat with pictures that are less than perfect, I think there remains worth in 'The host' and it's worth checking out if you come across it.

We know that westerns can be truly great films, and they can just as surely be lighthearted and funny. We also know that John Wayne was a terrible actor, often laughably bad in his stodgy woodenness; every now and again we can plainly see him put real effort into his performances, but effort only gets one so far when a part requires earnest nuance and range (see 1948's 'Red River'). The question is, can Wayne do comedy? Well, insofar as this feature is designed as a western-comedy, and Wayne stars in it, I suppose the answer is "yes"; insofar as his incapability as a performer sticks out like a sore thumb and sometimes inspires a mocking reaction, the answer might again be "yes." On the other hand, humor requires subtlety, tact, shrewd tone, and/or sharp timing just as much as acting generally, and where this is able to provide a spark of amusement, it has much more to do with either James Edward Grant's script, or possibly Andrew V. McLaglen's direction, than with any contributions of the cast. It's not that I think this is fully undeserving of anyone's attention; rather, it struggles immensely to achieve anything remotely near the vitality, heart, sincerity, or profundity to make any of these two hours count. Whatever it is you want in a western, you will find it here, but frankly I think you can do a lot better than 'McLintock!'

There is a great deal here that should be excellent, and a lot of it is. The fundamental building blocks are as superb as we would assume of the genre, including beautiful filming locations, detailed sets and costume design, impeccable hair and makeup, fantastic stunts and effects, and splendid cinematography. Even modern techniques and technology sometimes can't hold a candle to the glory of a mid-century Technicolor presentation as we see here. Though I take issue with the results at times in terms of tone or overall vibes, broadly speaking McLaglen's direction really is terrific when it comes to orchestrating shots and scenes, and the success this picture does find in one capacity or another can be credited in no small measure to the filmmaker's guidance. And though the writing is also decidedly uneven, there are a lot of fine ideas in Grant's screenplay, and a fair bit of wit. The core thrust of the title character's relationship with his wife is worth exploring, not to mention the secondary plot threads of indigenous affairs and settler troubles. Native Americans are treated more thoughtfully here than they commonly have been in much of cinema at large, and in addition to racism there are also notions broached herein of classism, privilege, masculinity, corruption, ego, hubris, and more. I gather that Wayne himself had a hand in informing Grant's screenplay; given the mostly repellent views that the man held in real life - with rare kernels of actual reason, comprehension, and empathy scattered amongst them - I suppose to some degree this title is an illustration of how even Very Wrong people can stumble onto commendable values every once in a while. (You know what they say about blind squirrels.)

All this is well and good. In watching one recognizes smart potential, and we should be enjoying ourselves with 'McLintock!' However, swell as portions of the screenplay are, I also perceive substantial problems in it. It seems to me that there are too many story ideas poured into the movie; this comes across as watered down and unfocused, with the narrative being treated too lightly for its own good, and unconvincingly assembled. The latter is especially once the protagonist's daughter enters the tale, and even the thread dealing with the Comanche feels flimsily tacked on. For as much as the script aims to be a tad more progressive in its approach to First Nation peoples and other elements, in other ways the flick is just as old-fashioned (that is, outdated, and backwards) as many of its brethren. In turn, the most heartfelt drama has difficulty making its mark; the deepest thoughts carry too little weight, if any; much of the best intended humor is negligible, if indeed it makes any impression at all, and there is also outright frivolousness that rides the line of simply being tiresome. Elsewhere, between Grant's writing and McLaglen's direction the film might rather flail with regards to its comedy, and more generally its tone. The nearest Wayne himself comes to being funny is a scene at around the 48-minute mark, but the sequence then becomes so drawn-out and ham-handed that it feels overdone; a scrap at the 75-minute mark is shot in a needlessly kitschy manner; I'm unsure if what is apparently one of the most famous scenes in the feature is genuinely entertaining, or just gawkily uncomfortable. From the 105-minute mark onward this tends to lean so heavily into abject slapstick as to break from how this otherwise carried itself; maybe if the whole were more consistent they may have come off better. Wide swaths come across as intended farce, particularly in the back end, but overall it's too incohesive for the requisite cleverness to shine through.

Meanwhile, even the basics of how characters are written and portrayed, and the dynamics between them, are a sticking point for 'McLintock!' Wayne is the biggest problem here, but I'm also pointedly unimpressed with Maureen O'Hara's depiction of Katherine, mostly so severe that she only comes off as aggravatingly shrill instead of feeding into the frivolity. In fact, weirdly, I think this is an instance in which the smaller the role is, the more laudable the actor filling it seems to be. I don't know if the more highly billed stars were suppressing their skills in an effort to more closely match Wayne, and trying to reduce the obvious disparity in acting prowess, or if this was instead the plan of McLaglen. Or maybe that's just a spontaneous manifestation of a production where to one extent or another the writing, direction, and acting are so unsteady. Further emphasizing the point, the last ten minutes or so just feel downright sloppy as they attempt to give desperately thin, questionable, haphazard resolution to the plot and provide a few last laughs. It's frustrating, really: I repeat that as we watch we can see a lot of bright ideas peppered throughout that should have been powerful fuel for comedy, and/or western storytelling, and when it comes to the craftsmanship served up by those operating behind the scenes, there is much to appreciate. But from beginning to end I don't think this ever finds a singular voice, or comes together in a manner that would have allowed its promise to be fulfilled. This is a bounty of raucousness, encouraging odds and ends, and sparing brilliance, yet all without the connective tissue that would have allowed the picture to function as it was meant to.

As I have said too many times with too many other examples, I'm glad for those who get more out of this than I do; at the same time, I wonder if I'm not being too generous in my assessment of 'McLintock!' In my opinion this is a hodgepodge where the entirety is regrettably less than the sum of its sundry parts. Check it out if you want, but as far as I'm concerned there are countless other works far more worthwhile.

There is a confluence of factors here that upon reflection informs the tenor of the picture should be no surprise. Silent films out of the U. S. industry tended more than not to be more lighthearted in nature, and this was probably never more true than when looking to stories of, about, or set in other cultures. That the very premise suggests adventure somewhat flies in the face of telling the tale of a poet like Francois Villon, about whom little concrete fact is known; saying this offers a "romanticized" perspective on the man is a profound understatement. (Honestly, 'Lawrence of Arabia' can claim more basis in fact.) To sit and watch, it starts to become clear very swiftly that producer, director, and writers alike took inspiration less from Villon's life, specifically, or any sincere biographical interpretation, and more from classic sagas like the legend of Robin Hood and his "merry men," in turn substituting Villon for the Prince of Thieves. Even more to the point, while there is a discrete narrative on hand, a fair portion of the length carries itself with a frivolity that says "court jester" or "traveling medieval theater troupe" more than it does "ardent cinematic storytelling." All this is to say that if you sit for 'The beloved rogue' anticipating a robust adventure more closely resembling contemporary pieces like 'The Sea Hawk' or 'Scaramouche,' you may be surprised by how much irreverent humor and playfulness often dominate instead.

With all this in mind, while the nature of this 1927 feature is unexpected to some degree, it is no reflection of its abject quality. On the contrary: though at some points this may be too insouciant for its own good, favoring sheer revelry over more earnest exploits and weaving of yarns, the fact is that the movie is generally outstanding, and unquestionably a good time. If the worst I can say about 'The beloved rogue' is that it sometimes leans too hard into carefree gaiety for its own good, then it's doing pretty well for itself. The plot is treated lightly, but is nevertheless a delight as we're greeted with a silver-tongued, fleet-footed rascal who runs afoul of powerful people, and further irritates them by falling in love with the wrong person, and working against their designs. Strong, vibrant scene writing and characterizations are complemented with marvelously flavorful intertitles, and there is a treasure trove of wonderful wit in play more than the outright silliness we get every now and again, earning meaningful laughs. The efforts of scribes Paul Bern and Walter Anthony subsequently lay the groundwork for all other contributions - and let there be no doubt that pretty much everything else about this title is phenomenal, and inspired; after its own fashion this does, after all, share much in common with its more serious-minded kin.

There is no shortage of praise to be bestowed in these ninety-eight minutes, and I have difficulty even thinking that one facet stands out more than another. Joseph H. August's cinematography is surprisingly smart and artistic at many times, distinctly impressing; Alan Crosland's direction is splendidly sharp in every capacity, be it blending the comedy and adventure, guiding the cast and orchestrating every scene for maximum effect, or devising excellent shot composition at no few points. There is tremendous, immensely gratifying detail in all the sets, in the costume design, and in the hair and makeup, and I could easily stand to watch 'The beloved rogue' again if for no other reason than to see more of all the stellar work put in by those behind the scenes. The cast is a joy from one to the next, and while John Barrymore naturally stands out most as the protagonist, and Conrad Veidt is an icon with few peers, even those in smaller supporting parts handily make their mark: Marceline Day and Lucy Beaumont as the only two female characters of any prominence; Slim Summerville, Mack Swain, and Angelo Rossitto, as fictional Villon's closest companions; and even those in still tinier roles. The acting is sometimes characterized by notable theatricality, befitting the broad vibe and in line with with more exaggerated body language and facial expressions prevalent in much of the silent era; then again, there are also plenty of instances where more natural, nuanced performances shine through, reflecting the developing trend that would prevail following the advent of the talkie. Add to all this some fantastic stunts and effects, and it's hard not to fall in love with this film.

It doesn't necessarily make the biggest first impression, and if there is any marginal weakness here it's in the storytelling: mostly too light for its own good where problems do arise (chiefly in the first act), but on the other hand, also a tad heavy-handed at some other points (primarily in the last act, building to the climax). This does consequently result in a tinge of gawkiness as the tone shifts from beginning to end. For as fabulously clever as the writing is at its best, however, and for as solid and compelling as the plot is overall, when all is said and done any perceived faults seem rather minor. We can endlessly him and haw about the particulars, yet at the end of the day 'The beloved rogue' is terrifically entertaining, incredibly well made all around, and ably achieves its goals of mixing together adventure and comedy. In no significant manner could it be said that this is anything but a rousing success. While I might stop short of saying it's an absolute must-see, for anyone who appreciates older cinema, and the silent era above all, it would be a sore mistake not to check this out if one has the opportunity. Slightly imperfect, perhaps, and even so, in my opinion 'The beloved rogue' is a gem of a movie that deserves much more recognition and viewership. My high and hearty recommendation!