chaswe-28402

That was the verdict of Harry Cohn, by all accounts one of Hollywood's most charming, sensitive and civilized human beings. He kept a picture of Mussolini on his office wall. This is a truly beautiful film. I play it every now and then, when I'm feeling low and the going gets tough. It has some of the tautest, leanest, most economical dialogue ever written. Young punk Harvey: "I'm going, and I won't be back". Magnificent Katy Jurado: "Good". The Mayor: "You should leave, Kane. It'll be better for you --- and better for us". Cooper: "Thanks". Every second tells, every minute counts, every shot tells a story, every expression conveys a world in this matchless, unforgettable, piece of junk.

I'll soon be 85 years old, and I must have first seen this film when it first came out. Every time I watch it, I see something new. The gun and holster that Herb --- "Go home to your kids, Herb" --- hangs on the sheriff's coat-peg when he folds his cards: put to exemplary use an hour later. The secondary characters, written and played to perfection, creating a complete cross-section of the citizenry of anywhere. The timing, the pacing, the heat, the Tiomkin music off the steppe, the monochrome: need I continue? If this was a piece of junk, what was the rest of the Tinseltown output? A pile of horse manure?

A riddle wrapped in an enigma. Produced and directed by Howard Hughes, with alleged assistance from Howard Hawks. Wikipedia tells me this picture has achieved lifetime rental earnings of $5.075 million. Its stupefyingly senseless story is credited to Jules Furthman, who was probably Hollywood's most prolific and successful author, having scripted To Have and Have Not, The Big Sleep, and Rio Bravo, among countless other films. It is directed by Hughes, at a pace best described as glacial. One of its stars is Jack Buetel. He was contracted to Howard Hughes for 7 years; but it was 8 years before he managed to appear in another film. I have watched it several times, most recently last night in its legendary colourised version. Is it possible that Doc Holliday, Lollipop and Pat Garrett, led by Furthman, conspired together to make fun of their amateur billionaire director ? Russell and Buetel were obviously not part of this conspiracy, if it existed, but were playing their parts in good faith, no matter how weirdly. Every time I see Jack demonstrate his cinematic skill with his pistols I'm simply staggered. He aims before he draws. What I couldn't understand was why Jane began shooting at Jack's spurs, before being tackled in the hay. Can anyone explain why I have kept on watching this ? Can anyone explain why things happen they way they do in this film ? A truly remarkable production. I'm sure to watch it again. How come Rio MacDonald started as Doc Holliday's girl friend ? Does it debunk the West ? Is it a comedy ? What exactly is it ? Unique.

The court case at the end cleared things up a bit, but I still didn't understand where the bikers came from to kill the Girl's brother. Oh well. I had a similar problem with the other two stories about this badly mistreated Girl.

This is a sequel to the girl with the dragon tattoo. It may be a sequel, but it doesn't clearly follow on. My recommendation, again, is to read the synopsis before watching, to aid understanding of the story. The narrative may otherwise be difficult to follow. Sex and death seem to be this film's essence, and I was left with no sense of entertainment, enjoyment or satisfaction when it had ended. Michael Nyqvist as Mikael Blomkvist must be the least interesting or charismatic leading man in cinematic history. Noomi Rapace is more attractive in real life than she is in this film. She smokes continuously on screen. Does that tell us anything ? Yes! Her cigarette case saves her life, as it helps to dig her out of her grave. Touch of the Alfredo Garcia there. This film is different; but that's about all I want to say. It's incendiary.

Few films seem to me more natural, less artificial, than this. City of God, although far more violent and horrific, comes to mind, as it is also shot in a near-documentary style, with young children and few professional actors. These films seem unremittingly honest, showing life the way it is, or the way it can be for some unlucky people. Ordinary film plots, with beginnings, middles and either happy or sad endings, are not realistic. They are attempts to make sense of life, but life isn't like that. In fact, like somebody said, life is just one damn thing after another; and so it is in this memorable movie. A child can only have a series of experiences, and doesn't know enough to make considered judgements or take balanced decisions. This movie takes the child's point of view.

A litany of pigs and rapists, with a variety of violence. My recommendation is to read the synopsis, since the narrative may otherwise be difficult to follow. I found it a puzzling watch, and strongly resist recommending it. A lot of people are killed in various ways. I feel that the plot would have been greatly improved if the octogenarian Henrik Vanger (head of a business family clan of otherwise Nazis), who had oddly hired the unappealing journalist Blomkvist to find his missing or murdered niece Harriet, had died of a terminal heart attack, brought on by shock, when the story climaxed with her discovery and presentation to him. It would have rounded things off nicely. The proper title of this film is "The Men who hate Women", and I really don't know why the girl with a dragon on her back gets to star.

Any apparently negative judgements here are made in the context of a standard so far unequalled. There is little point in discussing Olivier's cuts or re-arrangements of the text; his film is an entertainment, not an academic exercise, and anyone who is not a semi-literate moron will be handsomely entertained. The pace is somewhat sedate, until the cathartic final bloodbath, but the ghost is gripping and effective enough from the start to engage the viewer with the action. There is a strongly Victorian, neo-Gothic feel to the magnificent staging and rich costumes, reinforced by deliberate emulation of Millais' 1852 painting of the drowning Ophelia. The costumes benefit from the black and white photography, avoiding the technicolour garishness which obtrudes in Olivier's later Richard III. Modern viewers may think Hamlet should show a rather more feverish and agitated distraction, but this is not a serious fault. What, then, are the major flaws? First, the introduction ("this is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind"), which is unnecessary, off-putting, and almost silly. It should be removed. Second, although the acting of the supporting players (especially Eileen Herlie, and including Jean Simmons, whose touchingly fragile Ophelia has sometimes been disparaged) is generally excellent, Terence Morgan as Laertes is weak and mechanical, particularly in the early scenes. He cuts a spirited figure in the duel, but is otherwise unconvincing. Perhaps his woodenness is partly intentional, since he is suspected of being but "the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart". Occasionally there is a sense that one or two other actors are also merely reciting the lines, without living them. The third, and most surprising failing, however, is in Olivier's delivery of "to be or not to be", the most famous soliloquy in English literature. This speech is a distillation of Hamlet's three preoccupations: the riddle of life and death, the legitimacy of revenge, and his perplexed sense of sexual frustration and disgust, which underpins the entire play. By treating the passage exclusively as a meditation on suicide, Olivier misses the opportunity of consolidating his fully justified Freudian interpretation of the drama, and virtually throws it away, symbolically dropping his bodkin into the troubled sea. But in spite of these criticisms I can't see any other actor/director bringing a fraction of the concentrated intelligence and stagecraft displayed in this production to the modern screen. Olivier's film of Hamlet is not perfect, but it is unlikely to be excelled. There is no living English-speaking actor with the physical presence, voice or mastery of Shakespeare's language to fill the role. Virtually every other actor I have seen play Shakespearean parts (and that includes Branagh, who I just can't rate that highly) slips into reciting many of the lines, while only half-understanding them. This is not the case with Olivier, who truly appears to think in tune with Shakespeare's multi-layered meanings, and extracts every rhythmic nuance of their significance. The words are everything in Shakespeare, and as the age of illiteracy approaches ever closer I suppose the plays will eventually die.

Fairly promising start. But it soon degenerates into madly inconsistent confusion. Downhill, all the way. There's an awful lot of running around going on in this movie. Everybody, bar the robotic Roman infantry, is at it --- what's that sport called ? Orienteering. This is Dawn Age orienteering. Without compass or map. Over the hills and far away: from Land's End to John o'Groats. Aka Le Jog.

What comment does a film of this calibre deserve ? How may one expect to satisfy the IMDb request to be "helpful" ? There is never any point in listing the actors, or trying to explain the plot. These aspects have always been already dealt with by the site. Let us therefore limit remarks to the Seal People.

Magnus Linklater allegedly wrote in The Times that "Kevin Macdonald will bring to film pre-Celtic clash of the cultures". The Ninth Spanish Legion in the Roman army operated from the first century BC until mid 2nd century AD. The speculation that it vanished in Caledonia about 117 AD, inspiring several works of fiction and movies, has been replaced with a belief that it was transferred out of Britain between 108 AD and 125 AD. Not in this movie, which is said to be based on a 1954 book. I don't think I've read it, although the Seal People (who are supposed to have finished off the Ninth Legion, and nicked its Eagle) seem familiar. The book must have been much better than this movie. In San Diego it was noted that "there where a few different things here". Yes, indeed their where. Young Kevin said that the book didn't say much about what the Seal People looked like, so he invented them out of his head. Presumably, Seal People are both pre-Celtic and pre-Pictish. Pre-anything, in fact.

The result is hilariously grotesque. No people looked like this, ever. All they inspire is stifled laughter, with their allover African blackface makeup, Red Indian haircuts, semi-Aztec millinery, Neanderthal weaponry (including steel daggers), and Inuit raiment. Their women were a gaggle of gigglers. Channing looks quite stolidly Roman; Uncle Don Sutherland looks more like a truly Arch-Druid; and Wee Jamie doesn't look as if he'd last long in those conditions. What is it about bad films? I can seldom resist watching them to the bitter end.

Gary gets the Oscar he should have had years ago. Reading the reviews on this site has nevertheless left me at a loss for constructive words. Heavy criticism competes with praise. I agree with both. Did Oldman morph into Churchill ? Sort of, but not really. There are far too many ultra-familiar images of the man already extant everywhere, so total success is almost impossible. Apart from which the film's story itself is not exactly well told. A few days in May 1940, blighted with fiction. Interspersed with irrelevancies, like Winston's initials being on the toilet, and how he looks like all babies. Left out was Bessie Braddock being permanently ugly, but Winston being sober in the morning. Presumably his claim to being sober a.m. could not be justified, given that he is shown as starting each day with a double Scotch. This film is better than "Braveheart", which can be said of all cinematic histories. Lily James was very sweet.

Was this a joke ? Crowe and Ridley playing Monty Python ? The feeble French invasion turned to D Day in reverse. Same landing craft, however. The English arrows over the grey cliffs of Dungeness (cliffs? Dungeness is as flat as a pancake) didn't help the French to fight in the shade. Didn't King John actually sign Magna Carta at Runnymede ? But here it looked like he set it alight. Wasn't Marion a maid, not a missus ? I thought Robin robbed the rich to help the poor. Not here. So Richard didn't make it back to England to say hello to Errol ? Sorry Ridley. You've got it all wrong. The real Robin Hood always rode through the green and pleasant woodland, dressed in Lincoln Green, with his merry men, shooting deer and sheriffs, splitting arrows, fluently trouncing dastards, feared by the bad, loved by the good. Scouting ahead was nobody's fool, the well-employed Jester, with the brew that is true; and by his side was the glorious Maid Marion de Havilland, in brilliant sun-drenched colour. Wikipedia reveals this production to have been a stonking disaster, end to end. I didn't actually see the French king surrendering to Crowe, like somebody said, but there you go. How come von Sydow got a Beowulf-type Viking send-off ? Some good visuals, but not one of Ridley's best. I'd say his worst.

In fact, faultless. I can't think of anything bad to say about this film, as a film. A few people find faults with the history, the accents, the make-up. I couldn't notice these faults, and don't know enough about the history to be irritated by the inevitable telescoping. For me, every element in this story blended to perfection. Every scene, without a single exception, was compelling, fascinating and moving. The writing and direction were magnificent, the acting, superb. The pacing was rhythmic and beautiful. It was a magical experience when I first saw it in 1952 or 53, and it was the same just now. Astonishingly, not one aspect had dated one iota in over 50 years --- a slightly easier feat to achieve in a costume drama, but nevertheless extremely impressive. This time round, of course, I noticed that the final scene had the same setting as the final scene in "The Wild Bunch", another near-perfect movie of quite another kind. I was merely left asking myself: could it actually be true that here was a great revolutionary, a real historical figure, who genuinely refused to turn into the person he had replaced? This film is much better than "On the Waterfront", although that features another outstanding performance by Brando, and the underlying politics which right-wingers object to is much less obtrusive.

But not worth 10/10. Difficult to say the reason. Perhaps little too reminiscent of Stephen Fry, of whom I'm not a great fan. After checking with Wikipedia I realise the cause, or causes, of my uneasy feelings, which managed to mar my full enjoyment of this performance. The fact is that Fry slightly repels me. Moreover, his direction of BYT did not exactly match my dim memory of the novel, which I read long ago, and which I must now read again. Sorry about that. Movie worth seeing, once, however.

Awfully weird. A carousal celebrating the constructive reasons for crime as well as the positive aspects of domestic abuse. Dreadful, actually. In 1999 Time magazine stunningly named Carousel the best musical of the 20th century. Not Time's first betise. Otherwise correctly described on this list as "horrible". I sat through the entire thing with a sense of stupefied disbelief. The songs were effectively familiar, but I'm not sure where I'd heard them before. What exactly does Liverpool football club have to do with walking in company ?

I'm not an American, so the happenings in this film were almost entirely alien to me.. I recognized many of the actors but I was rather surprised to see Lebowski promoted to President. Anything goes, these days, of course. Recognizing the actors was however certainly not enough to explain the plot to me. I didn't know who they were representing, or what business they had being in government, if they were. Slater seemed neither true nor romantic. I was helped out by Wikipedia, and eventually figured out that it was all fake news. The politically defining US characteristic, ever since the Revolution !

Somewhere along the line Van Heflin says he's not sure what's going to happen next. Except for the fact that this is 1946 (or 1928), when everything pans out right in the end, he could say that again. This is a long film and it keeps you guessing all the way. Very watchable, very entertaining.

Nothing convinces, but who cares. It's just a story, and fills in a little vacant time. I never saw anyone less like a drunk weakling than Kirk Douglas, but so what? Also, I never saw what was so marvellous about Barbara Stanwyck, but if others think she was beautiful and acted great, let them think it. To me, she just was, and so what. Heflin was good in his part, especially in the beginning, when things were light-hearted, but as time went on he was well beaten by Kirk in the heavy charisma department. Amusingly written, like someone said, this is a fun melodrama.

I thought Iverstown in the distance looked a bit like Mulholland Drive, if that's the right name: anyway, that view from the car looking down on the bright lights. Turns up in Big Lebowski as well. When you buy an old film like this, which you've never heard of, you don't know what to expect, and I have to say I was quite pleasantly surprised.

This is one of the most profound visions of the future ever conceived, second only to that of H.G.Wells. Of course, Wells's Time Machine travelled 800,000 years into the future, whereas Barbarella is a mere 40,000 ahead of us, and still has a long way to go. But the important message signalled by both of these brilliant anticipations is that the future is terminally tacky. Mankind doesn't evolve, it devolves: and the people populating Sogo and its cosmic neighbourhood are steadily devolving into what will eventually be known as the Eloi. Only 760,000 years away from their ultimately meaningless destiny! Already, however, there is little point to their existence, which is lived out in an atmosphere of almost total virtuality. The purpose and reality of anything surrounding them have nearly been banished, except for the minimal threat presented by Durand Durand, who plans to rule the universe by destroying it with the positronic weapon he has invented. Well, that's a rational plan, and someone has to stop him, though the reasons are obscure, if the beautiful and less beautiful creatures are to continue devolving. The heavy task is assigned to Barbarella, and her methods fit right into the world she inhabits. The mind is boggled by this stunning masterpiece of creative thought, and the lucidity of its exposition makes an indelible impression. Thought-provoking isn't the word. This movie definitely knocks clunky old Kubrick's boring and clumsy 2001 into the nth dimension. All those sad, dull dumbos, who think it is just silly and camp, bad and boring, will be positronically erased and forgotten as the years, the centuries, the millennia and the stars roll by. Who needs to wait for the 41st century with this dvd in their collection?

It's a pity that some reviewers are so numbed and stunned by today's in-your-face gore and horror that they can't appreciate the subtleties of character and relationship analysis displayed in a film like this. Although there's little doubt that it is at its most effective the first time round (provided you don't already know the ending) there is still a lot left to savour. I saw it when it was new, and the shock in the theatre towards the end was palpable. Not so today, of course. Nevertheless, the peculiarly French menage-a-trois with its vile central bully remains perennially interesting. The run-down school with its dilapidated staff and surroundings, the paternalistic and sadistic hierarchical structure, the completely realistic school-kids, the bleakly austere atmosphere of post-war France (it was exactly like this in England too), with people just about able to make ends meet, is all still extremely fascinating. Both the women's performances are exceptional: the frailty and piety of Vera Clouzot is balanced by just enough determination to commit the murder, and the slightly butch sensuality of Signoret allows her to get away with her fake concern as well as her ruthlessness. The beauty of each of them is a study in perfect contrast. The very final twist lets us know that it's all been a bit of a joke. Why Hitchcock's Vertigo is considered a masterpiece I'll never know.

There's hardly any spare flesh on The Jackal. Ars est celare artem --- the art is to hide the artistry. This is a rattling good yarn, superbly told, no messing; and there's infinitely more art in it than in any of those flicks that scream ART at you. Suspense is not a matter of not knowing the outcome, but in watching the net tighten, and waiting to see just how close the Jackal can get to his target. The structure is V shaped: a very wide gap to start with, growing narrower by the hour, until the two tracks finally converge to a point: a bullet-point. The direction has a lot in common with Zinnemann's other masterpiece, High Noon, where, in effect, we are also assured of the outcome. In HN the ticking clocks are prominent, in DOTJ there are more of them, but they're not so obvious. In one film it's the good man against the rest; in the other it's the bad man against the rest. Where I come from, we root for the underdog, regardless. Why did the Jackal fail, and what was his tragic flaw? Ice-cold as he may have seemed, he got emotional. The key moment comes just after he's told his cover is blown. He can either pull away, and turn off back to Italy, when the roads fork, and wait for another day. Or he can carry on to Paris. He lets emotion get the upper hand, and carries on to Paris, which is not the sensible decision for a wise percentage player.

After watching the action repeatedly, a number of blips in continuity become apparent, and several of these are noted elsewhere. There seem to be quite a number of cuts. Like, maybe he did kill Cusack after taking delivery of the custom-tailored gun. This would have eroded viewer sympathy too drastically and too early, whereas nobody gives a damn for the slimy, blackmailing photographer. How did the Jackal suddenly produce a spray-gun filled with blue paint? What happened to the barking Alsatian dog, after the car crash? Does it matter? Less is more, and explanations can be sacrificed for the sake of the pacing. Zinnemann has this great sense of what will work, what is necessary and what isn't, and how to be economical and cost-effective.

Right from the very first shot, you know this is going to be good. The interest lies in seeing precisely how the posse will disintegrate. It's a study in characters. The mind of Chato is inscrutable and impenetrable, although, at the same time, his motivation is crystal clear. The men in the posse all have their own personal agendas. Only one knows his own mind and has the independence to stand firm. He doesn't join the gang. Some of them go along just to be neighbourly. Jack Palance has an unusual role. A veteran of the Civil War, he retains traces of the character of an upright Southern soldier and a gentleman, but has seen too much and is mentally defeated. He still sees himself as heading a troop of cavalry, and dreams he's still riding out to get "Grant". Bronson is perfect as Chato. The outcome is satisfying, but grim. Some decide they've had enough when it's too late. Those who are more or less innocent fall the way of the rest, through lack of backbone. Well-acted, well-shot, well-written: a good movie with a moral applicable to both past and present.

A thinking man's, neo-traditional Western. Burt excels as the lawdog made of granite. He doesn't bend, he doesn't trade. He wavers for a brief moment, but the inexorable workings of the patterns of his life pull him back into line. The flickers that pass over his tired face are a masterful demonstration of cinema acting. Beautiful, intricate script to chew on. It's stuffed with strong dialogue, full of meat. Superb, relentless pacing. Stunning shoot-outs. Like a game of chess, there are rules. But it doesn't matter how good you are; you've got to have the killer instinct if you're going to win. What are the issues? If you tried to buy the man above Maddox, who would that be? "There is no easy comfort from God" says the preacher. "From the hardness comes forth purity" is his funeral message. Maddox doesn't need to see from where he stands --- he's the sword of Gideon. And life catches up with everyone in the end. The land was won with guns, and the defeated native Americans ride past in stoic silence. Finally, after watching this implacable story several times, I managed to figure out who shot the old man in Bannock. There are enough hints in the early part, and the ending brings it all together with a truly satisfying closure. This is one of the finest of the Western genre, almost as good as High Noon, and far better than most.

The camera focussed much of the time on Anthony Banderas, but apart from him I couldn't really tell any of the other actors apart. Since I had no idea what was happening for most of the film this didn't seem to matter. Eventually I felt I understood that the story being told bore some twisted resemblance to the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf, but this didn't help me much. I understood that the Wendols were a stand-in for Grendel, and his mother. The fundamental insoluble puzzle that I kept asking myself was why on earth I was sitting through this monumental garbage from beginning to end ? Subtitle: Skean/Skein ?

Far better than I expected from its reputation and the critics. This is as lavish and enjoyable an old-fashioned film epic as I have seen, and much better than most. Epic is not an easy genre in which to satisfy the nit-pickers: it paints a story with broad strokes, and it's not difficult to find fault with smaller details. Things worth noting: the contrasting balance between the two sides seemed particularly well done. The Trojans were vaguely Asian or near-Eastern, and the Greeks were vaguely Germanic or Western. At the same time the armour and equipment of both were equally impressive, and more or less of an age. The Trojans were softer, more civilized and tender; the Greeks were rougher and tougher and more barbaric, but more effective --- and cunning. A civilized man is a city-dweller. The Trojans were citizens, the Greeks were rustics. In the end the cunning peasants won.

The settings and fight scenes were terrific. Much of the acting was excellent, and Brad Pitt, especially, was extremely powerful. He comes over as a kind of cross between Schwarzenegger and Crowe; just a slight touch of the Neanderthal without seeming stupid. In fact, while watching, I kept thinking how real his Achilles was --- whether or not the man ever existed, three thousand years ago. Hector, who is presented as the honourable, civilized man, could have been a bit more rugged, in order to give greater stature to Achilles' opposition. The homo-erotic relationship between Patroclus and Achilles is glossed over, and does not convince. Patroclus doesn't look good enough, and calling him "cousin" fails to explain why Achilles gets so worked up about his death. I agree with those critics who felt there was insufficent physical chemistry between the protagonists, and some of the dialogue was a little clunky. There wasn't quite enough life in the passions between Paris and Helen, Hector and Andromache, Priam and his sons. On the other hand the Iliad itself is not about love, but centres on Achilles; his grimly fatalistic attitude, and his acceptance of a short, spectacular life instead of unmemorable longevity. This was very well presented, and strongly reminiscent of the Old Norse belief that the only thing that doesn't die is a famous name.

The presence of the Gods was finely suggested: these ancient humans are in the grip of forces beyond their control. They are doomed by fate to act out their given roles: which the Gods have decided for them. Freedom and choice was illusory. It still is. As for "accuracy", as several viewers have pointed out, this is quite irrelevant, especially as the film never sets out to represent Homer's Iliad, line for line.

Watching this adaptation for the second time, it is sinking in what a new, deeply interesting and creative take the writer has made on the prehistoric legends. Bad films often seem good, first time round, but repeated viewings reveal them to be shallow. Good films get better the more you watch. As time goes on, this re-interpretation will surely mature and improve, until its worth is recognized.

Some reviewers have criticized the performances of Paris and Helen. I don't get it. The actress is beautiful, and that is all she has to be. She is merely the face that launched the thousand ships: the excuse for the war, not the real reason. Paris is a feckless playboy, a lover not a fighter, but a good archer.

This film is stuffed with mind-expanding ideas, superb performances, spectacular action and scenery. The computer graphics are inevitable, these days, but they do conjure up powerful images. This is certainly one of the very best epics I have seen; and I'm astonished by the number of negative reviews.

The main enjoyment this little film offers can be found in setting it in its 1940 context. Lots of messages went out to the British at this time about Keeping Mum, and Careless Talk Costs Lives. This film is designed for the same purpose, as well as to re-assure the nation that the Intelligence Service was really intelligent. Several points are worth comment. Female spies of the time were intensely beautiful, and spent nearly all of their time shimmering around in white silks and satins. This one is a real peach, and far too delicious to be a baddie. Similarly, Boris Karloff is just not the heroic British type. So this means that the mystery of the double-bluffs is doomed from the start. Never mind, it's quite fun seeing how it pans out. There are a number of interesting touches. Warner Brothers, being great supporters of FDR, make it plain that the Yanks will be Coming, even at this early date; although it took Pearl Harbour to bring about the final decision. There is a quick shot of a Zeppelin bomb being dropped on a shop called Patrick J.Ryan. Strange name. The fact that the cabinet minister's home and office both appear to be totally riddled with German spies does not inspire a lot of confidence. Still, the public knew it was hokum. It is a little disturbing, however, to learn that friendly factories and munitions dumps had to be blown up in order to fool the enemy into thinking the bloodhounds were not on to them.

This re-creation of the battle of Waterloo will never be surpassed. The advent of special effects means that it will never again be possible for such a massive array of manpower to be assembled in order to make a motion picture, and therefore the portrayal of this mighty conflict will never be equalled for realism. The scenes are stupendous and awe-inspiring, and make one constantly marvel at the sheer magnitude of the achievement and control of this gigantic cast. It is probably necessary to have some prior knowledge of the course of the battle, but repeated viewings will eventually make everything clear. The performances of Plummer and Steiger are absolutely top-notch: both truly give superlative impersonations of the two major protagonists. Since they were so different in character and personality it is impossible to say which is the better. The unfolding of the events, and the contextualization of this epic encounter, are also extremely well-written and directed. Of course, all the classic incidents and quotes are retained, which may sometimes strike one as a touch over-familiar: but how could they be omitted? An excellent balance is maintained throughout, and the overall effect is nothing short of astonishing. It is extremely difficult to understand why this film has not been more widely recognized and appreciated.

Poor little rich old lady. The dvd case says that this film is "hilarious". However I could not detect anything funny about it. True, there were extensive scenes of people laughing at Florence, but I didn't laugh myself. I just felt sorry for her.

There are two kinds of English-speaking actors: British, and American. British actors act. That is to say, like Gary Oldman, Alec Guinness, Peter Sellers, Larry Olivier, they disappear into their roles. American actors don't act. They speak their lines, more or less convincingly, but their personalities, good or bad, stay the same, and are always familiarly recognisable. The exception that proves this rule is Meryl Streep. She can act. She disappears into her role; never more so than in this present instance, but also in many other film parts. Her performance as Florence Foster is both moving and sublime.

Florence's victimisation as a 17 year old, by her despicable first husband, Frank Thornton Jenkins, who was twice her age, totally blighted her future life. Her life nevertheless reminds me of the ABBA song: "it's a rich man's world". The loyal support steadily provided by Bayfield and McMoon would doubtless have been well rewarded.

Florence is shown to be in dedicated pursuit of musical immortality, which, once gained, was to be dramatically followed by death, like Parvulesco said. Five days after her spectacular achievement of a sold-out concert at Carnegie Hall, seating 4,000, Florence Jenkins suffered a heart attack , and died soon afterwards, aged 76. It is extremely difficult to believe that she did not know what she sounded like.

This disturbing film is created by the wonderful director Stephen Frears, who is known for his odd choices in storylines and who debuted with an odd snitch movie, called "the Hit". I would like to give this movie ten stars, but I do find it somewhat melancholic and depressing, and therefore deduct one star.