movieswithgreg

These things need to be said. The socio-cultural sins of this film were de rigeur for the mid- 1950s, but we're reviewing this in the 21st century, and they should not be ignored, because young people watch this stuff.

White people playing Modoc natives. Latinos playing Modoc natives. Everyone but native actors playing Modoc natives. Then there's the "friendly Indians" vs the bad Indians. Of course, the friendly Indians are defined by the degree to which they comply with white demands.

They Indians in this movie look like Apaches. The actual Modoc natives this film is based on, dressed very differently. The point here is not that Westerns must be historically accurate; after all, no one likes a "rivet-counter." Rather, the point here is that it's grotesque and culturally dismissive to promote the image that "all Indians are alike." That "any injun will do."

Then there's the geographical appropriation.

The Sedona, Arizona scenery is beautiful and dramatic. After all, Sedona is known for that very thing. But the red sands and rocks of Arizona resemble nothing of the Northern Californian-Oregon-Idaho settings where the Modocs existed, and where Captain Jack operated. Not even the Oregon high desert of Southeast Oregon where it was set.

This film is typical of the big budget technicolor Westerns of the golden era of the Western - the 1950s. It was likely popular at the time, and understandably so. But today, it should be pushed to the back of the shelf, no matter how pretty it is to lock at.

The sad part is that many viewers will think this is real. This is part of a growing field of spoofs, hoaxes, mockumentaries that try too hard to be real.

But why? Why bother? It has little value as a comedy, because it's too dry and close to the vest for that.

So the only good conclusion I can make is that this is a "resume" film. A project made to show future producers and investors that the director/producer here can make a horror film. Horror films are the most profitable films in Hollywood, so that's where the smart "junior" filmmakers will go.

The funny thing is that the plot could be rendered in a straight feature film. As vampire genre goes, it's a decent story if treated right. But otherwise, it's pointless, other than a spoof of how fake actual reality shows are. But that point doesn't need an hour and a half to drive home that stake.

When watching this, I felt like it was like a carnival ride. Instead of having to be "this old"... or to be "this tall"... for this film, you should be under 30. And urban.........

This is a talky low budget (but visually attractive) urban "small film" about white urban adequately affluent young people trying to solve white urban adequately affluent young people problems. By talking and journaling about them in white urban adequately affluent young people ways.

If you're not white, nor adequately affluent, nor urban, nor under 30 (or under 40 if you're insufficiently mature), then this may not only bore you, but it might irritate you.

I can see why this project got its strong cast. This is the kind of LA movie that they can commute to in the morning, and just show up and talk. They don't need to train for it, don't need to stunt for it, to sing, nor dance, nor fight, nor perform heroics, nor get dirty, nor spend hours in FX makeup or costuming.

This movie playfully answers the question "what happens when the non-beautiful people become vampires?"

Think of it as an updated Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but with multicultural stars. Most notably, a Fil-Am star, which is a very welcome and long-overdue change.

In this world, vampires are only supposed to convert new vampires who are beautiful, fit, svelte, cool, sophisticated. Enter Reginald -- the fat, awkward, unfit, remarkably un-athletic, uber-nerdy incel fast-food worker with no prospects. By a stroke of fortune and misfortune, Reginald gets turned. And the rest of the vamp community don't dig it.

Sure, this has Hallmarkish tones, and the dialogue and situations seem aimed to teens and 20somethings, but the series starts well, is funny, with some vampy coolness. Reginald is funny, albeit a shade too whiny, and incessantly whiny. Just when you think you can't stand it, it's revealed that there's more to Reginald than his girth.

This is a film of the play. It forgets it *IS* a film. It is a play on film, that does not recognize the difference. It does not recognize the difference. It does not recognize the difference. Because it is a film. But it sounds like a play. It is a film that sounds like a play. It is a film that sounds like a play that is written by Mamet. Mamet wrote a play but then made it into a film. Yet it is a film that sounds like a play.

And if you thought that paragraph was painful to read, then do not watch this film. Because all the dialogue in 90 minutes of this film sounds like my first paragraph. Because it is a play that is supposed to be a film. Films are not supposed to look and sound just like plays. This film does look and sound like a play. Which is unfortunate, because plays are not films. And films are not plays.

Mamet's dialogue makes me want to vomit. It makes me want to vomit because it is so artificial. It is not realistic. It sounds like two robots. It sounds like two robots who were programmed to speak English -- by Mamet. They are Mametbots.

What do Mametbots talk about? Mametbots talk about what they were programmed to talk about. Mametbots were programmed to rant about Mamet's particular complaints about society and the human condition. In this instance, Mamet wants to complain about academia and institutional standards that human choose to be subjected to.

And blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. This is My Dinner With Andre, between one student and one professor. But angrier and far more prejudicial.

I am eternally grateful that I did not pay to see this in a theater.

Who is the ideal audience for this? Anyone who believes they're smarter than others.

Which normally would include myself. But not this time.

This has all the trademarks of Hallmark -- lily white, clean and scrubbed, upper middle class, suburban softcore malaise.

In other words, it oozes what we now call white privilege and entitlement. Even in its faux teen messiness, it feels trivial in its woe-is-me preciousness.

What's missing, thankfully, is that whenever the teen daughters seem vulnerable, that the single parent does NOT feel obligated to try to give them a comforting Mr. Cleaver style lecture that mysteriously makes everything feel alright.

Nonetheless, in that way, this is still more like Wonder Years for modern teens in the Pacific North West. If this movie's purpose was to remind us of the vapidness of whiny self-absorbed suburban teen white girls and flat-affected suburban teen white boys, then mission accompished. This story reeks with so-what-ism.

I just started watching this on TCM, figuring it would be a throwaway 50s romantic drama. It's better than that.

The first thing that grabbed me was the dialogue. It's unusually sophisticated, natural, and modern in its rhythms. They situations aren't overly simplified. They're not saccharine, they're not melodramatic. They're modern.

Second, who knew Shelly Winters could sing?

Winters is refreshing and wonderful as a well-adjusted, successful professional. Here, Winters is not burdened by her usual portrayal as damaged goods.

And despite a shaky start, Sinatra turns in a good acting performance. His buddy, Alex Nicol, is bit of a stuff, but a likeable one. Burr is a refreshingly lighter touch as his usual heavy villain.

And it's beautifully photographed as well.

This is a Czech film made behind the Iron Curtain. Granted, Czechs were among the most liberal of the Easter Bloc occupied nations, but this will still be conservative, albeit a charming form of conservative. There's nothing edgy here, unless you're a soviet censor.

As Commie flix tend to do, this is talky. Very talky. But not in a bad way. But when foreign films talk a lot, that means we will read a lot of subtitles. Unlike the more familiar rhythms of german, french or dutch films, Commie flix tend to talk a lot about intellectual subjects, despite doing it in laymen's conversational styles. If you're in a philosophical mood, and you want to glue your eyeballs to the screen, then this may be for you.

This is scooby-doo on a boat, with flavor. I've seen a LOT worse sci-fi supernatural horror thriller fare that was also done on a small budget. And this one even has theological debates.

Oh, how this could have been a grander film, on the level of The Help. But it isn't. That doesn't mean it's not without its charms. Lordy, does Grammar soar here in what he does like few others can -- character work with both whimsy and gravitas.

I am a product of the 60s South. Notice I did not say "proud" product. But I am still interested in well-told tales of the 60s South, and some come close. The Help came close. And this one comes even closer.

Hollywood has been flogging tales of the South since the first feature silent films. All kinds of stories. This one is a story about rights, but not merely race, but of sex. It tells that story in the lazy, slow way that the rural South did things. It's not punchy, it's not edgy, it's not delightfully written. It's langorously written. That makes for a bit duller entertainment, but it can also make for something that touches hearts.

This touches hearts, if you let it. It's not unforgettable, but it's also not disposable. It's in the middle.

Its faults are that it dances around themes a bit too much, tries to touch too many bases, and its resolution is a bit too saccharine, and a lot too easy. That said, it makes you feel good. And I bet that's what it was aiming for.

If you ever wondered how a movie can imitate the moves of a Coen brothers movie, but have none of the charm of a Coen brothers movie, then watch this. Otherwise....

This is a disappointing bore. It wants to be funny quirky like SLOW WEST or something the Coens would do, but it ends up being little more than beautifully stunning scenery.

Maybe it helps if you're stoned, assuming you can stay awake long enough.

This is well acted, but doesn't make enough sense.

It doesn't show us enough why; that could be a creative decision to highlight the confusion and mystery of dark unseen forces, but this movie doesn't draw that picture well enough. Instead, it just leaves stuff out. Instead of dread, we get "WTF?"

And then the story jumps from showing tasty reality-based detail, to then making giant leaps in credibility of the protagonist getting from here to there and back again.

It's a mess, and the worst part is that it doesn't have to be a mess. I could be better written and edited.

The acting was terrific all around, though.

Halfway through, I gave it a 6. But at film's end, downgraded it to 5. It should have been better, especially for 90 mil.

This is an unusual example of the sequel being better than the original film. I say "unusual," because it's such a little known small film, that few would even remember it enough to cite it as one of those "sequel was better" projects.

It has a slow start. A SLOW start. By mid film, I gave it a 5. At film's end, I nudged it up to a 6.

This is a "film within a film" film. It is, after all, about a girl making a film. It's a very gentle film. It's a film to be patient with; the less you expect, the more it may reward you.

This was a fun idea, creative, a bit thoughtful.

But after it passed the halfway mark, its writing unraveled. And so did its plot.

The acting is fine, but inconsequential.

I see why people are upset about this movie.

It's infected with morally problematic cliches like these: 1. The white folks save the brown folks.

2. The gay guy is portrayed as an emotionally weak, ineffective, whiner.

3. White racists are whitewashed from their being racist jerks, merely by saving a brown person's life.

And more.

This isn't 1990: this movie is too recent to be so utterly un-woke in its fly-over-country sensibilities that seem so ignorant of how the world actually is. Gay people aren't weak. Brown people don't need saving by white folks. And being an obnoxious, toxic racist jerk, isn't laundered by pulling someone out of a wreck and bandaging them.

This is a near-legendary film from 1970, as an independent film created almost single handedly by one woman, who wrote, directed, starred and made the coffee.

But as a film? It's an art film only a european or film school student could love. It's just a quiet, snail-paced, depressing snore about losers who have no charm. Not even a little. The characters are unlikeable, unredeeming, uninteresting. The ppace and mood is not suspenseful nor engaging. You can turn this off at any time, and not get the sense you're about to miss something. Nothing happens, except numb despair. I see an art statement being made, and others here have written eloquently about this. If you never see this, you won't even notice. You won't be any the lesser for it.

This is a small treat for fans of war violence, because this movie delivers it like a 9-course feast of grim, detailed gore.

I'm not saying that anything depicted didn't happen, but the best propaganda sticks to facts while presenting them like lies to instill false pride in 'us,' and needless hatred of 'them.'

Don't swallow the impressively depicted combat martial arts moves as genuine then nor now.

Great use of CGI to bring out a battlefield from nothing.

I like Kevin Smith's work. A lot. I respect his role in reviving the indie film, and I like him as a person (via social media). But what was he thinking when he made this?

As I watched this, especially the last half, all I could think of is Smith laughing with his buddies as they shot and edited it. This feels like a film made for the filmmakers' jollies, like a pot-filled fever dream. How it got funded and distributed, puzzles me.

And Depp's character? Just ruined it for me. Just too over the top loosey goosey indulgence. Like a comedy improv workshop of absurdity. As if the viewers were being punked.

Zero faults with the acting here.

It's rich in real-feeling characters from beginning to end.

And speaking of ends, this one ends with a dissipated whisper.

It almost feels like they ran out. Of something. Money? Time? Creativity?

It's the writing. It should and could have been better. Tighter.

It could have been more affecting, without being manipulative, nor obvious.

What did it need most?

Humor. Not so much humor that it became a comedy, but enough humor that it grabbed my heart.

Nice irish scenery.

This is an A24 production. That's important, because almost all A24 productions have the same characteristics -- slow, quiet, personal, thoughtful, low budget.

This is the first A24 production I remember that's a Western. Other than THE WITCH, most of the prior A24 projects are mind-numbing horror or suspense that provide little of the latter and almost none of the former.

This movie is clearly a showcase for Bill Pullman, and he really delivers a different performance. Sure, sometimes he over-plays it too deeply into caricature into Gabby Hayes/Walter Brennan territory. But it's ok.

This is best for hardcore fans of Westerns. It's refreshingly shot in Montana, instead of the usual Canada-for-Montana. It's almost all outside. It's rarely closeup (a crutch for low-budgeters). It's got a ton of action for a talky Western. It's got a good dialogue feel for Westerns. The arc that Pullman's Lefty character travels is believable but still mythical enough to work as a Western narrative.

If you like the Slow Western genre, definitely check out SLOW WEST, starring Michael Fassbinder. It's a winner, and twice the film Lefty... is.

Can we be honest?

This is WAY TOO LONG.

I'm a fan of japanese cinema and especially samurai films, but this 1941 flick was considered too long even by 1941 Japanese viewers.

There is no action the first two hours of this four-hour sanity test. It's just talking among courtiers with occasional nice cinematographic visuals of the grounds. Be forewarned: the ronin samurai are a dim afterthought here. This is almost exclusively about "government" bureaucrats scheming and infighting. In other words, this 4 hours is almost non-stop talking in medium shots.

This started out edgy and alluring.

It ended up as a poor man's Snowpiercer.

What began as sexy, mysterious, filled with atmosphere and mystery, ended up as a grotesque pantomime of society in decay.

If you don't know what A24 production means, here's a primer: Low budget. Very low budget.

Quality thoughtful languid euro-style camera work.

Top notch actors.

Very low-key dialogue and scenes. It's a you-are-there feel, but not that hyper-annoying found-footage nonsense.

The beginnings are "why am I watching this?," and endings are unresolved.

A24 is one of those "you should be in the mood" films. To enjoy as intended, the viewer should engage in the film, think while they're watching it. It's not a "let's watch this while doing housework or doing emails" kind of film. It's like minimalist literature. You must fill in the lines, because A24 films will not spell it out for you. They thrive in vagueness and alternate interpretations. If you're not in the mood, it's an oppressive, directionless bore.

This wasn't as powerful as THE WITCH or other films, but it was better than other A24 offerings.

It's modern creepy psychological horror for people who like to read existentialism and absurdism, fans of Kafka et al. There's no monsters, no violence. It's about the horrors of real life as each of us lives it, and the hell on earth we help create for ourselves and others. It's not exactly a huge hopeless downer, but it's definitely not a happy joy joy film.

I didn't expect this to work as well as it did. I'm not the biggest fan of Grenier nor Weaver, though I have a lot of respect for Weaver's work. And I'm not the drag scene's biggest fan, either. It's just....too much.

But beyond the somewhat forced folksiness in many of Weaver's dialogue lines, this movie persists with a certain level of honesty about trying to survive in one of the world's most expensive cities, while being a person struggling on the margins. Not only the financial margins, but the social, emotional and psychological margins as well.

Unfairly, Grenier's character is drawn as noticeably trivial and shallow. He's not given the best dialogue to work with, and his scenes just seem so...superfluous to the story. It's not his fault.

In contrast, Lucy Liu's character.as the disheveled urban adventureress is a fresh look at Liu that I don't think I've seen before. She executes it well.

The reviews on this are overly generous. They're right in that this movie, in the first two-thirds, does deliver on something rare in hollywood -- a creepy frightener that feels real because it's so droll and mundane. NOTHING -- and I mean nothing -- slick here. It's Gothic-style horror with a modern (for the counter-culture 1970s) veneer.

But it doesn't deliver up to its slow-burning promise. It was just too ambitious a story for whoever pitched it to studios.

The acting burden was carried mostly by its lead, Zohra Lampert, who looks like she could be Tyne Daly's thinner and slightly younger sister. She does a good job, but not a great job, and this role as a crazy woman demanded a great job.

What this story really needs is a rewrite and a remake. Many horror stories since this one have ripped its story elements, its moods, even some of its rhythms, but none got it quite right. And it needs slicker actors who don't scream "this movie was so low-budgeted that the actors stayed in people's spare rooms and their wardrobes were purchased at the thrift store."

Allegedly stephen king loved this movie. I can see why. It has his fave elements of new england mood horror, before he added the gore. But King would have gotten to the point quicker, and better, and he's not exactly one known for getting to his point quickly.