Schmoozette

The jumping-off point for this movie was in fact very intriguing, but it devolves into some of the most unbelievably dumb decisions by the characters, via the writer and director. Totally incompetent detectives, totally incompetent prosecutor, totally accommodating judge, all-too-clever defense attorney (although I do love Wallace Shawn), PLUS out-of-character decisions that are worthy only of a third-rate farce. BONUS: Free parking spaces in front of major buildings, entering a professional ballet performance with no tickets (TWO characters get to do that), and a maid/housekeeper who could easily have kept her mouth shut (and should have). Sheesh. Not to mention the phone booth that is, of course, occupied by another person at the worst possible moment. What a cliche. And a whole lot more that makes zero sense. In fact, at the end, when a detective states what Terry (Guttenberg) is guilty of, he's actually RIGHT, but then says, "Kidding." I mean, what the...? I like Huppert, but found her somewhat wooden in her cold, calculating character. I tired of Guttenberg's constant deer-in-the-headlights expression. In fact, the one actor who stood out pretty well was McGovern, who gave more nuance to her character, although that character made unbelievable and dumb decisions.

Could have been so much better if the filmmakers had some respect for the audience's intelligence. Hitchcock's movies weren't always perfect and had occasional plot holes, but they generally didn't contain total howlers as are included in this one.

A beautifully-shot movie that's visually pleasurable, an opening gambit that grabs one's attention, but, alas, some real laziness and lack of research that sink this one to the bottom.

I had moderately high hopes for this pic, which apparently didn't gain a lot of traction. I looked forward to the terrific cast, and when we finally get inside the house, sure enough, two greats, Eileen Heckart and Burgess Meredith, deliver the goods. Oh, how I wish they appeared in more scenes! I thought, even if this movie isn't the greatest, at least the cast looks like they're having fun, including Bette Davis. But as time went on, the pacing got bogged down, and lacked some reasonable (even ghostly) logic in characters' actions. The suspense just died along the line, and then it was wait, wait, wait, for what ultimately culminated in a depressingly predictable ending. Kudos to Lee Montgomery for playing a realistic, unannoying kid. However, after a while, it was really hard to look at Oliver Reed's constantly suffering face. Karen Black brought some life to the party, but it was underwritten and I couldn't get over the fact that all she did at this "vacation" house was be a wife, mother, housekeeper. Even in the 1970s--what? (And what happened to the groundskeeper, anyway?) So--started out intriguing, so delightful seeing the pros interact, but then fell sharply down an unfrightening, unoriginal, predictable rabbit hole.

I love the 1947 Nightmare Alley, and I would have loved it even without the tacked on "happy" ending. But del Toro is much more wrapped up in atmosphere and grotesqueries than depictions of characters with clear motives. The 1947 version was sharp, snappy, and you couldn't take your eyes off the manipulative Stan. And Molly was so beautiful, so innocent, that her belief in the treacherous Stan is heartbreaking. The tension lasted from beginning to end. But in del Toro's film, everyone seems to be sleepwalking--compare Toni Colette's performance to Joan Blondell's--and with overlong scenes, overly graphic violence, and overcooked psychology, it drags on, and becomes the worst possible thing--boring. The cinematography, art direction, and costumes are great. But the storyelling gets lost in drawn-out scenes, some of which were unecessary to begin with. Sorry, Guillermo, but you were too in love with your grotesqueries to tell a riveting, effective story. A stellar cast wasted.

I'm so glad I caught this film on the Criterion Channel. It really is masterful in characterizations and cinematography. It's a post-war warning about mob rule and how easy it is to scapegoat a "different" person.

But a couple of things, plot-wise, bother me, and I wonder if anyone else feels this way. First off, why did Hire hang on to the photo instead of presenting it to the police from the get-go? Why wouldn't he have wanted the real murderer arrested right off? He even might have been considered a hero for doing so.

Also: In the "lady wrestlers" scene, Alfred tells at least one of his friends (accomplices) that the purse is behind the radiator. Doesn't that reveal himself to be the murderer? Did his friends know he's the actual culprit? I thought this was odd, since he'd gone a long way to try to distance himself from the crime.

But in other respects, this is a fascinating, riveting film that does a satisfactory job of explaning who Hire is and his personality. It seemed clear to me that Alice had conflicting feelings about the situation, as Alfred had basically used her, and Hire was smitten with her and wanted to care for her in a genuine way.

Catch this gem if you can!

I finally got around to watching ITC out of sheer curiosity. It was a shocker, all right--I was shocked at how truly awful it was. A disjointed (no pun intended), pornographic, pretentious piece of poppycock, and I'm being polite here.

There's just so much to hate about this movie. Nothing holds together--Frannie's love of words, her fantasy memories of her parents, her attitude about sex, her relationship with her half-sister, some ridiculous mention of her father leaving her in Europe--none, not one of these facets, is shown any real relation to the other. The plot itself makes no sense whatsoever, with stupid red herrings about the murderer. Even when you find out who it is, there are some serious questions about just how good a detective Malloy actually is.

The movie is also incredibly racist, and I don't know what Campion thought she was achieving by exploiting women's bodies in the worst possible ways. There isn't a single character whose history and motives are understandable.

There are some very good actors here, but all are sleepwalking through this mess. Meg Ryan looks as though she'd been bopped on the bean, was in a cartoon daze, and never recovered. I don't know why Kevin Bacon is uncredited, but I wouldn't blame him if he wanted it that way. His character was ridiculous and superfluous. He'd never want any of the "six degrees" to reach to this disaster.

Probably the worst sin of all that Campion comitted was to make this film--BORING. I had to stop and re-start it multiple times because I just couldn't sit through the whole thing at one viewing. I finished it out of sheer curiosity, which ultimately felt more like masochism.

If you've never seen this film, do yourself a favor and skip it. Move on to "The Power of the Dog," which, while not perfect, is superior to this twaddle, and far more interesting and coherent. Other Campion films fare better than this garbage, as well.

I've been to racetracks (occasionally, for fun) and casinos (not to bet personally--just circumstances), and always felt the undercurrent of unhappiness and frustration among the serious bettors. I experience a "high" when my horse wins, but I also plan to bet only so much for the duration, treating it like entertainment. My visits have been very infrequent--hence, no gambling addiction. But I can see and somehow get into the mindset of those with such an addiction, and understand that the "high" of winning can be very short-lived.

This is why I was totally absorbed in Altman's fine work, which exposes the downright shabbiness of these 1970s gambling venues. The locations are real, but so is the FEEL of them--people of all stripes, all kinds of plain garb, often smoking, and intent on the one thing that's of utter importance: winning. There's no real light-heartedness or sense of fun; it's more of being on a mission that must be undergone and repeated, often.

Segal and Gould personify different approaches to this desperation--one who's in debt to a loan shark, the other who's ready to bop off to Mexico in a heartbeat for dog racing because the opportunity grabbed him. Their banter is a wonder, flowing, unforced, yet at times hilarious. Altman was very aware of the natural talent he was directing. The ending is a bit abrupt, but it makes sense. Thing is, there's no real happy ending, and there rarely is for those with a real addiction. We don't know what will happen next, but we've spent two hours with these guys in their "natural habitat," and it's as honest a look at the waste of time, talent, and money (incessant gambling) as I think we'll ever get on film, short of a bona fide documentary like Fred Wiseman's "Racetrack," which I've yet to see, but definitely will.

OK, so at 25:38 Ned does the macho man thing and smashes in a door of the fancy-schmancy house to get to Matty. And nothing's done about the repair? Could it have been done in time before the husband returned? Wouldn't he have noticed the damage? Or repair? It just bugged me for the rest of the movie.

Also, how would Lowenstein know that Ned would be running at night so that he could "meet" him on the dock? I mean, the Fred Astaire touch was nice, but the timing made no sense to me.

One interesting plot point: In this movie, Ned told Matty not to be greedy and settle for half (of course, she didn't want to). But in "Double Indemnity" (which I adore), it was Walter Neff who convinced Phyllis to go for a plot that would trigger the double indemnity clause.

Finally, Matty was walking toward the boat house and managed to trigger the explosion that killed not-her. How? And how did she manage to walk away uninjured? She didn't have any detonation on her, and we know that she asked to be shown how to "rig it to the door, with a little delay" (so when Ned walked in, according to her scheme, ka-boom). But the delay doesn't make sense if she thought she was killing Ned. Could she have opened the door and run fast and far away enough to not be caught by the explosion? Inquiring minds want to know.

Those are my observations in what otherwise is a fairly nifty neo-noir. And Mickey Rourke was nothing less than fabulous in that small, but key, role.

You'd think that, with this cast, you'd have a snazzy little noir with plenty of snap. Well, the snap comes and goes...and, frankly, even the sizzling Ava Gardner seems a bit wilted and pedestrian here. John Hodiak has an absolutely thankless role as her husband--you don't even get to see him do any of the contraband activities--and Robert Taylor wants to do right, but he's--well, meh.

I think the producers paired Laughton and the always-enjoyable Vincent Price (who here is evil incarnate, but, again, not given much to do except one really crucial thing) as a surrogate Peter Lorre/Sydney Greenstreet pairing. They don't sparkle like the latter, but Laughton on his own is just fascinating. He totally relishes the role and his every move and expression is worth watching, whether it's being too clever for his own good or cringing with cowardice. And oy, his feet, his feet.

It's schleppy, and the end leaves still too many questions, especially about Taylor's character. But for the price of admission, if you don't expect too much, it's worth a look, especially, again, Laughton, whose performance is an acting class in and of itself. Plus fireworks!

The Blue Gardenia has a heckuva cast and good noir direction by Fritz Lang. The story and script pops, and it's great fun to see Anne Baxter and Raymond Burr drink, flirt, tussle, and the consequences of same.

Special Treat: Ann Sothern as the stunning, wisecracking Crystal (her lines could also have been delivered by Eve Arden); I could have watched a lot more of her.

Additional Special Treat: George Reeves as the police captain, complete with mustache (but not uniform). When you see him act here and in other movies, like "From Here to Eternity," you wonder how far he could have gotten if he had the opportunity for more prestige drama and even comedy roles. (I was a huge fan of "Superman" as a kid, however.)

Extra Special Treat: The inimitable Richard Erdman, best "second banana" in the biz. The first time I saw him was in "Cry Danger" with Dick Powell. I was immediately taken with how he didn't even seem to be acting--he was a master of off-handed, natural delivery. I wish there had been more of him here!

Unintentionally Funniest Scene (on pay phone):

"Officer, this is Casey Mayo of the Chronicle. Get that handkerchief right down to the police lab. I'll call Captain Haynes and tell him you're on the way."

"Yes, sir." (Hangs up.)

Uh, yeah, like a police officer is going to take an order from a newspaper guy, whose identity he hasn't even confirmed. But the plot must move on, so what can ya do.

With all its imperfections, plus a sudden ending with an implied motive, I'd say this is a must-see for all noir and Lang appreciators. It's an entertaining film!

Unfortunately, unlike gems like "Streetcar Named Desire," "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," "Suddenly Last Summer," and "Sweet Bird of Youth," "Summer and Smoke" doesn't have their intensity of character and situational conflicts.

I love the actors, but Laurence Harvey, so great in movies like "The Manchurian Candidate," lacks the cocky heat, swagger, and desperation of Paul Newman. On the other hand, Una Merkel all too briefly steals the show as the mentally troubled mother--her performance is sly from within and totally believable.

Geraldine Page is always a treasure, but here she's slogged down a bit by an all-too-literal and preachy script and sluggish direction. Yes, it's Williams' play, but the script could have been better altered for a screenplay, and all the scenes, even the most intense, lacked a spark and sense of danger. Rita Moreno was simply gorgeous and effective in a pretty thankless role; her talent was more than evident.

The ending is very effective, and while I won't give it away, I'll just say that it made me wonder if Alma Winemiller was on her way to becoming another incarnation of Blanche DuBois. But I'll leave that for others to ponder.

Seven stars for being, well, Tennessee Williams and Geraldine Page and Una Merkel and another tale of family dysfunction, mores, and hypocrisy. But I had to shave off some due to its unfortunate sluggishness, unnecessary length, and over-talky, over-preachy and explanatory script.

I saw this movie in the theater when it came out, and it blew me away. I love noir films with characters whose wheels are always spinning, and this one certainly kept me guessing.

The thing that really stayed with me for a long time is the genius Elmer Bernstein's unforgettable, spine-tingling score. It so precisely "describes" the off-kilter world of grifters, then settles into a "normal" stretch, but then--back to the five-note, eerie theme that lets you know for sure that something's very secretive and going very, very wrong. It's something that Kurt Weill could have composed. For anyone interested, the 8-minute suite can be found on YouTube.

The reason I give the film a 9 instead of 10 is that there are places in which the logic eludes me, such as how did the characters keep finding one another, geographically. While that's never spelled out, it's twisty but realistic in that the plot is driven by the characters, but they're not forced into doing cliché things by the plot. Everyone's motives seem pretty clear, even when some of the psychology teeters on the brink of.psychosis.

For anyone who loves noir with characters that you're not supposed to love, with superb acting, I highly recommend this film.

I haven't read the book, but even so (only a FEW of the points that make this movie so pathetic):

She's living in a billion-dollar house in NYC with no visible means of support, except a tenant. Oookay.

Oh, let's make that tenant skeezy and on parole, so that he can be considered a suspect.

Let's make the Oldman character really nasty for no good reason so that HE can be considered a suspect.

Let's have Anna (supposedly a psychologist!) welcome the odd affection of a strange teen-aged boy that she's never met and has no background on.

Let's have Anna own a professional-level camera that she JUST happens to have, unlike James Stewart in "Rear Window" whose character actually IS a professional photographer. And if she took pics on it, when and how did she upload them onto her computer? Hmmm?

Let's have her drop the computer that has a key pic on it so that the screen shatters.

Let's have the strong, angry teenager physically bested by a woman who's been weakened by alcohol, prescriptions, and mental incapacity.

Let's have the whole damn mystery revealed in breathless dialogue in the last 20 minutes during which we've stopped caring altogether.

Oh, and BTW--just throwing this in--the detective refers to Punch the cat as female, but at the end, Anna picks it up and says, "Good boy."

I really like Amy Adams, Julianne Moore, and Gary Oldman. But how they got talked into this schlock is a mystery in itself (although kudos to Moore for spot-on characterization).

Also--spare us the cutesy-ness of showing film clips from "Rear Window" and "Laura" (among others), movies that are referred to in plot, but far, far superior to this mess. No comparison. I highly recommend both.

I'm not even sure that Brian de Palma could have done better with this. We certainly deserve better mysteries. The multi-episode TV shows out these days are generally doing a better job at this sort of genre.