Paul Schrader recently said (on
Letterboxd) that he was surprised how much “shoe leather” was involved in The French
Connection – and it is true, this is an action movie where the characters are
constantly on the move. Director William Friedkin and editor Jerry Greenberg do
a great job with the pacing of the film, introducing us to Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle
(Gene Hackman) and his partner “Cloudy” Russo (Roy Scheider) as they do some
routine drug busts in seedy parts of Manhattan then gradually showing them start
to suss out a much bigger deal going down.
That bigger deal involves Marseilles businessman (and major drug lord)
Alain Chartier (Buñuel favourite Fernando Rey) who arrives from France to make
the exchange in person. Doyle and Russo
have to tolerate the involvement of the Feds as they stake out the principals,
tail them on the subway, and even chase an El train by car (one of the most
famous car chases in cinema). As befits ‘70s
America, it’s a downbeat affair, but gripping all the way. Hackman’s Doyle is a shitty guy, racist, single-mindedly
willing to do anything (including break the law) to bust the perps; Scheider’s
Russo is along for the ride. Based on a true story and you aren’t surprised
that this is how the NYPD may have operated – the location settings add to the gritty
allure.
Positioned near
the end of Ealing Studios’ amazing run of comedies, many featuring Sir Alec Guinness,
The Ladykillers is also a caper film where whatever can go wrong does. This is no knock on the very clever armoured
car heist planned by Professor Marcus (Guinness wearing some very scary false
teeth) and his gang (including Cecil Parker, Herbert Lom, a young Peter Sellers,
and Danny Green). They just weren’t
prepared for Mrs Wilberforce (Katie Johnson), an old lady whose particular way
of doing things makes trouble for just about everyone and throws a spanner in
the gang’s plans. Although perhaps it
made sense for them to rent her spare room in the house by the railway tracks
(pretending to be a string quartet needing practice space, ha, ha), they didn’t
realise they’d have to contend with her parrots, nosy elderly friends, fondness
for reporting things to the police, etc. etc.
The pivotal moment in the plot here is not dissimilar from the final
catastrophe in Kubrick’s genre-related The Killing (1956), which came out the
next year. After that, the gang just can’t hold it together in the face of Mrs
Wilberforce’s scrutiny and will.
Director Alexander Mackendrick went on to make Sweet Smell of Success
(1957), an extremely bitter and cynical look at the media in New York, while
Guinness graduated to David Lean’s The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), both
leaving comedy behind (perhaps not completely). But what a way to go!
Another sci-fi
blockbuster in what has become a well-established genre going back to the
1950s, if not earlier. Project Hail Mary
nods to the past classics (2001, Close Encounters, E.T., Interstellar, etc.),
often explicitly. But, as directed by
Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (best known for directing The Lego Movie,
2014, as well as producing the various Spider-verse films) from Andy Weir’s
book, it has a very odd tone, perhaps goofy is the right word? (The movie’s
soundtrack definitely contributes to this tone). I kept asking myself whether
the film was designed primarily for kids (not unlike E.T.) because the level of
corniness and especially sentimentality is awfully high, especially for a film
that includes a worldwide disaster-level premise (instead of the world overheating
it is actually going to cool down by 10 or 15 degrees as some strange bacteria
seem to be eating away at the sun). Ryan
Gosling is essentially a one-man show as the scientist-turned-schoolteacher
sent thousands of lightyears away to solve the problem. The story is told partly in flashback, as we
learn how exactly Gosling (playing Ryland Grace) ended up in space with the
help of project director Sandra Hüller. Gosling is charismatic as usual but the
comical earnestness he’s tasked with sometimes feels a bit “cringe”. To say more about the film’s plot would
probably be criminal because it took me in directions I did not expect. In terms of its speculation about future
events, does it get it right? Looking back at the genre today, it often seems
prophetic (hello Hal) but also can end up being technologically dated. The same fate may befall Project Hail Mary
and I suspect that some aspects might seem silly decades down the track
(sillier than intended) but truly it is hard to say what it might have gotten
right. Overall, the film looked great (maybe even greater in iMax?) and I
certainly was never bored but I’m not sure I signed up for a buddy comedy?
Nail-biting suspense here, although director Henri-Georges
Clouzot takes his time to develop the characters and their desperate straits before
really getting stuck into the action.
Yves Montand plays Mario, one of a group of expats stranded in a poverty-stricken
South American village, doing odd jobs to get by, but mostly leeching off his
friend Luigi (Folco Lulli) and messing around with barmaid Linda (Vera
Clouzot). When older gangster-type Jo
(Charles Vanel) shows up looking to make money, he makes contact with the American
oil company drilling in the area, looking for an angle. Nothing doing, so he parks himself at the
local saloon and riles up the other expats as their frustrations mount. Then comes news that one of the oil rigs has
caught on fire; the Americans need to get some nitroglycerine to the site to
stop the burning. To save money, they decide not to wait for safer modes of
transport and offer $2K to anyone willing to drive ordinary trucks loaded with
nitro across rough terrain for 300 miles. The danger is high, but the men are
desperate. Mario, Jo, Luigi, and Bimba
(Peter van Eyck) sign up and commandeer two trucks that leave at dawn, spaced
30 minutes apart. The rest of the 156
min film is the tense journey, the obstacles along the way, the interpersonal
disputes, the stoicism, the fear, the mishaps (if that word can be used for
this sort of disaster). Like many a noir
or heist film, The Wages of Fear is a procedural with the characters taking
stock of each new problem (for example, a huge boulder stuck in the path) and
devising a solution to get beyond it. All the while, the trucks are poised to
blow up with the slightest wrong move.
Grand Prix winner at the Cannes Film Festival that year (before the Palm d’Or
was introduced as an award in 1955).
Until I rewatched The Terminator (1984) at the end of
last year (and Aliens, 1986, at the start of this one), I had forgotten what a
great director of action James Cameron was (having more or less tuned out after
Titanic, Avatar, etc.). So, I guess it
comes as no surprise (in this rewatch) that Terminator 2 plays out like one long
action sequence. This is (of course) a sequel but the original film’s sci-fi
plot with its potentially confusing time-travel elements did not really take
too long to explain to Amon (who missed the first one): AI-robots send a “terminator” (Arnold S.) back
in time to the kill the mother of the future leader of the revolution against
the machines before he is born (and a human also comes back with him, hoping to
protect Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), but ending up fathering the future hero
as well). As T2 begins, we are advised
that another terminator and another protector have come from the future – to the
90s – this time to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong) himself. So, when Arnold appears, naked as before,
seeking clothes, a gun, and a motorcycle, from the local biker bar, we think,
yup, that’s the terminator. Yet, this is
not the same Arnold that we saw in 1984 at the start of his career, more of a
monosyllabic tough guy (“I’ll be back” notwithstanding). Fast forward to 1991
and he’s revealed his comic side and presented a more charismatic face to the
world (beyond just the brawn). So, again no surprise that Arnold plays
John Connor’s protector in this film (reprogrammed by Connor himself in the future)
and the true bad guy, the T-1000 liquid metal terminator model, is played by Robert
Patrick. Patrick needs to kill Connor to stop the revolution but the heroic
trio need to stop not only T-1000 but also Joe Morton from using the remnants
of the Terminator from the first film to engineer the robots of the future who
eventually take over, setting this plot into motion. But the special effects
are really the star here, which is no slight on Hamilton’s buffed up Sarah,
Patrick’s steely singlemindedness, Furlong’s cocky but vulnerable teen, or
Schwarzeneggar’s compelling schtick (“Hasta La Vista, Baby!”). Nevertheless, despite so many minutes given
over to sheer action (and shape-shifting Patrick), by the time we get to the
ending, the film has earned its emotional conclusion (which might have prevented
the opportunity for a sequel, given that the future can change, but you know). You might call this one of the sequels that
tops the original but I do have a fondness for the trashy low-budgetness of the
first.
Amon did not make it through to the bitter end (too
slow, he said) which means he missed the climactic scene which reveals the mysterious
motives of Charles Bronson’s “Harmonica” as he flashes back to his first
meeting with Henry Fonda’s evil Frank nor the denouement which finds Harmonica
and Jason Robards’ Cheyenne saying farewell for the last time, leaving Claudia
Cardinale’s Jill to move forward from the Old West to the New West, as the
train arrives at the station still being built in Sweetwater. Under Sergio
Leone’s operatic direction, the plot moves like tectonic plates shifting each
character inevitably toward this conclusion. Admittedly, it does take a while
to get to this rewarding pay-off. Who
knew that this was meant to be Leone’s final Western and he had hoped to kill
off Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef at the start of the
film? When Eastwood declined, he opted
for Woody Strode, Al Mulock, and Jack Elam instead in what remains an amazing
near silent opening scene (if not a cosmic joke on those hoping for another
Good, Bad, and Ugly). That 10-minute scene tells us right from the outset that
Leone planned to use the widescreen format as a huge tapestry with geometrically
opposed characters as well as giant close-up heads (not to mention a short scene
in Monument Valley, as an ode to John Ford, shot away from the regular set-up
in Spain and Cinecittà). Also sweeping through the film is Ennio Morricone’s
music, replete with themes attached to the characters, which builds on the
Spaghetti Western soundtracks of the past decade – the sound is immediately recognizable
and perfect for the final duel. Despite the determined pace, there are numerous
iconic scenes where Leone builds suspense, such as when Cheyenne rescues
Harmonica from Frank in railway exec Morton’s railcar. Sure, it might take a
while for some parts of the plot to become lucid to first-time viewers but when
viewed again (and again), one can see Leone’s full vision playing out in majestic
harmony. An elegy for the Old West, yes, but also a damning critique of
capitalism even if the film still somehow holds out hope for a new sense of community
going forward. Masterful.
Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan (2020)
– J. Temple
It doesn’t take much to pull me backwards into the
ocean of nostalgia, letting its waves wash over me as I escape the present. Better still, when I’m able to update the
past and situate it in the here and now (or at least more recently than then),
as you can with a good music doco. But it’s
a guilty pleasure, since I feel internal pressure to live in the present, aware
of current culture (or at least those culture-makers of my own generation).
With regard to Shane MacGowan, singer-songwriter of The Pogues, who it turns
out was 10 years older than me (he died in November 2023 and Nick Cave sang at
his funeral), I first came across him more or less contemporaneously in the
1980s. I bought the band’s 2nd
LP, “Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash” (1985) around that time and then quickly caught
up by purchasing their first, “Red Roses for Me” (1984). Having some Irish heritage (through my
mother) didn’t hurt the attraction to this punk version of traditional music
from the Emerald Isle -- and MacGowan’s blend of poetry, history, and
confrontation was simpatico with the English Literature, Philosophy, and Psychology
classes I was taking then. In 1988, my sister and I saw The Pogues in Boston
for the “If I Should Fall from Grace with God” (3rd LP) tour – it was
the summer, hot in the nosebleed seats of the Orpheum Theatre, and the show was
shaggy, replete with a cover of “Honky Tonk Women” featuring Joe Strummer on
guitar. Little did I know (until I
watched this film) that this was part of the year-long worldwide tour that
broke MacGowan. Indeed, the film is (not
unexpectedly) a cautionary tale, charting MacGowan’s downward trajectory (a
result of alcohol, drugs, and hard touring) to the point where he is captured
in the film’s many on camera interviews and conversations (with various friends
such as Sinn Féin’s Gerry Adams and movie star Johnny Depp) in a very sorry
state, full of bile and slurred bitterness (but also fond longing and some
misguided hope for the future). Personally, after the 1988 show, I began to
lose interest – the band’s next album did not seem as good and I eventually
sold all of their records when I moved abroad. Little did I know then that
MacGowan had lost his mojo. Director Julien Temple, with many music videos and
docos under his belt, uses a variety of styles and techniques (including new animation,
repurposed footage from old movies, video of The Pogues, interview in pubs,
etc.) to tell MacGowan’s story from childhood to the pre-Pandemic present, with
most of the runtime focused on the late ‘70s to early ‘90s. Pivotal moments include: MacGowan’s early
childhood in Tipperary before moving to London at age 6; his engagement with
the punk scene after seeing the Sex Pistols and forming his own band, the
Nipple Erectors; his light-bulb moment when he fused Irish tradition with punk
rock; and then the 1988 tour that extinguished his flame or so the story goes. There are a few decades after that but
MacGowan, although heralded by his contemporaries and followers, seems burnt
out, a shell of a man, an ex-junky soon confined to a wheelchair, and now dead.
After the film, I listened to some of his best songs, many of them sentimental
but poetic ballads (“A Pair of Brown Eyes”, “Dirty Old Town”, “A Rainy Night in
Soho”, “Fairytale of New York”, “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda”) and I
fell briefly into a reverie.
