TheHighVoltageMessiah Reviews

The Thick-Walled Room (1956)

Kobayashi's study of a world gone mad

[8/10 · 17 April 2013]

"Kabe atsuki heya" (or "The Thick-Walled Room") was the third film of director Masaki Kobayashi, who would go on to make such masterworks as "The Human Condition", "Hara-kiri", and "Samurai Rebellion". In "The Thick-Walled Room", one can see many of the elements Kobayashi would use to greater effect in those later films – the sense of political consciousness, the criticism of corruption within society, and the focus on human failings.

The film takes place four years after the end of World War II, and concerns a group of low-ranking Japanese soldiers imprisoned by the Americans for war crimes. It soon becomes clear that these people are small fry, forced into their actions by their superiors and doomed to take the fall for the actions of the army. Meanwhile, their superiors, who are shown to be brutal and actually bear most of the guilt, manage to escape unscathed.

As you can imagine, this subject matter was considered most controversial during the time the film was being made. The studio, afraid the film would offend Americans, demanded the film be severely cut. Kobayashi refused to do this, and so the film was shelved for three years. Although completed in 1953, it did not come out until 1956. Then it was lost in obscurity once again – that is, until the Criterion Collection finally released it on DVD as part of its Eclipse Series. At last, as of April 2013, "The Thick-Walled Room" can be widely seen.

Of course, the film isn't as polished as Kobayashi's greatest work, and it is clear that at this point he was still maturing as a filmmaker. But there is, nevertheless, a lot that is very good about this film. The prisoners are not depicted as wronged saints but as fallible human beings. They can be arrogant, deluded. They have tempers. They can be cruel to one another. The backstories and histories of these characters are also quite well-handled. Through these histories, Kobayashi is able to broaden his scope and analyze the after-effects of the war all across Japan, and not just focus on the goings-on inside the prison. One example of how Kobayashi does this is when one of the prisoners recollects a girl he met during the war. He is infatuated with the memory of her, idealizing her innocence and purity, and has hopes of settling down with her if he ever is set free. But the prisoner's brother, who comes sometimes to visit him, knows the hollowness of these fantasies. That innocent girl has grown into a cynical prostitute. Her character makes a bitter remark on the state of the nation that rings throughout the film: "The war made us insane. And we're still insane."

"The Thick-Walled Room" is an interesting study of degradation and corruption in postwar Japan. It is also compelling for what it shows about Masaki Kobayashi's early career. Hopefully, now that the film is more readily available, more people will have the chance to see it.

The Dust Bowl (2012)

Ken Burns does it again.

[9/10 · 19 November 2012]

Once again, Ken Burns has crafted an excellent, informative documentary. This one is about the Dust Bowl. Interviews, photographs, diary entries and footage are used to paint a picture of the time and place, a time when monstrous behemoths of dust could literally blot out the sun.

Most effective are the interviews. Men and women who were children when dust storms swept the plains tell stories of their experiences. Some of these are very emotional. For example, two brothers choke up at the memory of their sister who died of 'dust pneumonia' when still a young girl. The anguish in their voices is simply heartbreaking. Another man recalls how he became separated from his parents when a dust storm hit and for a while they had no idea if he was dead or alive. All of these stories give one a full appreciation of the devastation wreaked by the event and make it painfully personal and human.

"The Dust Bowl" is a powerful story of human suffering and human endurance. Watching it, I was moved by the plight of people who struggled on against hope in an effort to retain their dignity or survive. It was very educational. I highly recommend seeing it.

(Oh, and to the previous reviewer: Much of this documentary is told through the words of people who actually lived through the Dust Bowl. Quite a bit of the film simply allows these people to speak for themselves without any quick cutting, signs of manipulation, or propagandistic techniques. I saw no signs of any 'agenda' on the part of Burns here.)

Lincoln (2012)

A Film to be Seen

[9/10 · 17 November 2012]

One of the things I love about Daniel Day Lewis is his ability to totally transform into his roles. Here is no exception. Stepping into the shoes of the sixteenth president of the United States, Lewis almost seems to become him, body and soul. By the end of the film, although you can still sense something of Lewis about the eyes and mouth, you feel you are in the presence of Abraham Lincoln. You feel the man on screen is a man of flesh and blood rather than another representation of an iconic figure. Watching Lewis walk, thin shoulders stooped in weariness, it seems as though the actor is living what he enacts. He is Lincoln the father, Lincoln the husband, Lincoln the storyteller, Lincoln the statesman. He catches all of Lincoln's political keenness, his idealism, his contradictions, his grief, regrets, and woes in a complex and masterful performance.

Great as Day Lewis is, he does not overwhelm the picture. Sally Field holds her own with Lewis as the anguished Mary Todd Lincoln, heartbroken and haunted by the memory of the death her son Willie. Likewise, Tommy Lee Jones is stunning as the passionate abolitionist Thaddeus Stevens. There is a moment in the film where Jones's character, who has spent the better part of his life in a crusade against slavery, realizes he must compromise his principles so that the 13th Amendment might have a chance to pass. All it takes is one single shot of Jones's craggy face to fully reveal the maelstrom whirling in Stevens's soul.

The rest of the supporting cast is just as excellent. Even smaller roles (like James Spader as a greasy, underhanded cohort of Lincoln's or Hal Holbrook as a more conservative member of the Republican Party) are infused with color and life. In particular, I was impressed by David Strathairn's compelling performance as secretary of state William Seward. Seward is presented as a close confidante of Lincoln's, although the events surrounding the passage of the 13th Amendment put a strain on their relationship. You can tell in many scenes that he is caught between two conflicting emotions, his admiration for Lincoln's ideals and his utter frustration with the measures Lincoln takes to make those ideals a reality. Strathairn brings out this inner turmoil – the exasperation mixed with respect, the complicity in actions with which a part of him disapproves – with sensitivity and honesty. It is a true gem of a performance.

Of course, all these performances would come to nothing without being backed up by fine writing. Tony Kushner's screenplay is richly literary and it is a pleasure to hear his words ring out. The film's dialogue crackles with intensity as it is spoken; it can be witty, humorous, perceptive, and sometimes it flows from the actors' lips like poetry. The film is also beautifully photographed. The cinematography has a quiet grandeur, not unlike Day Lewis's interpretation of Lincoln. It isn't overly ostentatious. It doesn't go out of its way to be visually striking… and yet images from the film linger in my mind – for example, that shot of Lincoln and his son by the window as the Amendment is passed.

Steven Spielberg's "Lincoln" is a lovingly made and well-written film with outstanding performances. The sets, costuming, and cinematography are great. This is a film to be seen.

Cloud Atlas (2012)

Quite an achievement

[9/10 · 26 October 2012]

"Cloud Atlas" is nearly three hours in length, but I wasn't bored for a minute. The film alternates between six very different stories quite seamlessly, creating an exhilarating experience. It's part sci-fi, part historical drama, part love story, part comedy. Any number of things could have gone wrong with the film. All the different genres it brings together might have failed to coherently mesh. But they did, and it's something to see.

The film takes us on shipboard in the 1800s, where a young man forms an unlikely bond with a stowaway, a runaway slave. It tells the sensitive, melancholy story of a promising young composer in the 1930s – separated by prejudice and misfortune from his lover, a man named Sixsmith. It also brings us to 1973, where an intrepid reporter finds herself caught up in a web of murder and intrigue. In the present day, the film offers up the comedic tale of a publisher on the run from a gang of thugs. Plunging into the future, it shows a dystopian vision of Seoul, South Korea that is comparable to "Blade Runner" and a primitive post-apocalyptic Hawaii.

Linking these stories together are the simple thematic elements of love, compassion, and a love for liberty. The correspondence between the composer Robert Frobisher and Sixsmith depicts the plain beauty of love as well as any film I have seen, as do tender moments between the central characters of the portion of the film set in the futuristic New Seoul. Even in the blatantly comic segment with Jim Broadbent as the publisher, a deep passion for freedom and human dignity shines through.

All the actors do a great job in their multiple roles. You can care for Tom Hanks one moment as a villager in a future Hawaii, and then revile him in the next scene where he plays a truly despicable doctor. The best performances are given, however, by Doona Bae and Jim Broadbent. I think they surpass all the rest. Bae plays a "fabricant", a kind of clone designed to serve humanity. Her gradual awakening to her own self-worth, to the subjugation of herself and of her people, is beautifully and movingly conveyed. She is heartbreaking in this role. Broadbent is equally excellent as the publisher Cavendish. His expressive face and popping eyes are ideal for comedy – and he's hilarious. But he's more than that. Broadbent infuses the character with a sense of sorrow and weariness at key moments. Cavendish has depth, a history, regrets from his past. Broadbent brings all this out brilliantly without losing his comic touch.

Everything in "Cloud Atlas" comes together to create a film I found thought-provoking and highly entertaining. I don't hesitate to recommend it.

To Rome with Love (2012)

Very good, actually!

[8/10 · 11 July 2012]

Okay, so it doesn't quite have the magic of last year's "Midnight in Paris". So it isn't the equal of some of Allen's 'great works' like "Annie Hall" or "Hannah and her Sisters". Still I can say that I was thoroughly entertained by "To Rome with Love". It may not be a masterpiece, but nevertheless I found it witty, charming, and fun. I liked it…

I liked it a lot.

The film is blessed with a marvelous cast. Nearly everyone gets a chance to shine, breathing life into an outrageous assortment of characters. Penelope Cruz makes the screen sizzle as a prostitute with a saucy and slyly sardonic attitude. Alessandro Tiberi and Alessandra Mastronardi are radiant as newlyweds each faced with their own respective crises. They are amusing in their skittishness and flightiness, which is brought out to comic effect when they are both put into absurd situations. But through it all their characters retain a human quality; you can sympathize with their feelings of indecision, confusion, uncertainty and excitement. In the end, I found myself not only amused but touched by their quirky little love story.

Jesse Eisenberg is similarly endearing as an unworldly young architect who falls for his girlfriend's friend Monica, who is played by Ellen Page. Page, in the midst of several standout performances, stands out. It is a pleasure to watch her mastery of the character, how smoothly she seems to go from a frumpy, down-on-her-luck actress to an enticing object of allure. With her delicate frame, some may not think Ellen Page suited for the role of a femme fatale. They should reserve judgment. She plays her part to perfection, holding the viewer in her thrall just as she holds Eisenberg's character – although the viewer can sense from the get-go the shallowness and phoniness of her façade. Her performance may be the very best in the film.

Alec Baldwin serves as a guide for Eisenberg's character. He's not fooled by Monica's bulls**t for a minute; he's known people like her before. As such, he gets more great lines than I could count – stingingly insightful and caustic quips in which he pegs Monica for exactly what she is. Baldwin's grimly knowing delivery of these remarks is almost as brilliant as the dialogue itself.

Woody Allen himself is great in his usual 'Woody Allen persona', this time as a dweeby father who comes with his psychiatrist wife (Judy Davis) to Rome to meet his daughter's fiancée. The witty repartee between Allen and Davis is classic Woody Allen stuff, and, in my humble opinion, as funny as ever. As the young couple, Alison Pill and Flavio Parenti don't have *that* much to do, but manage to make fine impressions anyway. Taking center stage in this portion of the film is the fiancée's father, played with amiableness and dignity by Fabio Armiliato. Of course, that gentle dignity ends up overturned in a hilarious manner. He's got a talent, you see, a talent Allen's character dearly wishes to exploit. …But there are problems. Funny problems.

The weakest part of the film to me is the one with Roberto Benigni, who plays an average working man with a home and family who wakes up one morning to discover he is inexplicably famous. It's not bad necessarily, but somewhat less enjoyable and engaging when compared to other portions of the film. Still, Benigni, like everybody else in the film, doesn't give a bad performance.

Woody Allen's "To Rome with Love" has a screenplay that is often intelligent and almost always fun, and boasts a spectacular ensemble cast. By the closing credits I'd had many a good laugh and become invested in the film's wide variety of characters. In my opinion, it deserves more than its current rating of 6.4 on IMDb.

The Bad Sleep Well (1960)

One of Kurosawa's Best – and Most Underrated

[9/10 · 20 February 2012]

This seems to be considered by some to be 'minor' or 'mediocre' Kurosawa. In my opinion, nothing could be farther from the truth. This is one of the director's greatest achievements. It is elegantly done, thrilling, and in its final scenes has the force and power of the finest of tragedies.

It is the story of a man called Nishi, played by Toshiro Mifune, who attempts to expose corporate corruption and bring the bureaucrats responsible for his father's death to justice. To further his efforts, he marries the daughter of an unscrupulous businessman. At first things seem to go well for him. But he cannot even begin to comprehend the might of the system with which he is dealing…

Mifune's role may not be as flashy as his lone samurai in "Yojimbo" or his exuberant bandit in "Roshomon", but the part is no less great. Nishi is a character consumed with inner demons. His relationship with the father he seeks to avenge is complex. He is the illegitimate child of a man that abandoned his mother before Nishi could even remember him in order to marry a woman of higher standing. Still, Nishi recalls that his tormented father returned to him from time to time in the guise of an uncle, showing love under cover he was unable to reveal any other way. Nishi is fueled by a sense of righteousness and justice, but must come to grips with whether his quest for revenge is making him as ruthless as those he stands against. Also, he must deal with the love that begins to stir in him for his nemesis's daughter. It is an incredible role, to be sure, played with quiet restraint and gravitas by Mifune.

Although Nishi goes to extremes to achieve his ends, and can at times seem merciless, the viewer never loses sympathy for him. He can show pity when he seems the most brutal. He can appear cold, and then later reveal the sensitivity and tenderness buried under a bitter exterior. This is most evident in gentle scenes with his wife, or exchanges between him and his only close confidante and fellow conspirator, a friend from his childhood. He seems so very human, so vibrant with passion, confidence, and life, that one almost feels he is going to make it and be successful – which only makes it all the more crushing when he is destroyed.

The ending of the film is unsparing in its bleakness. Not only does the Corporation kill Nishi, it also demolishes his reputation and consigns him to ignominy in the memory of the general public. All his noble efforts fall to ruin. Only those that had been near to him in life realize the truth, but without proof they are left to whine and wail in anguish to an unfeeling sky. There is no hope. There is hardly even any room for catharsis, because everything unfolds with such relentless swiftness and bluntness. Those with honorable intentions are squashed like ants while the corrupt officials of the company get on comfortably with their lives. That's it. That's how it goes. This closing leaves the viewer gutted, overwhelmed with a deep, visceral sense of despair. It is among the most powerful endings I have seen in a film, and Kurosawa's sobering comment on the darker nature of the world again shows the perceptiveness that made him one of the best directors of all time.

A masterpiece, and worthy of the same recognition as "The Seven Samurai" or "Ran".

The Hidden Fortress (1958)

The Peasants, the Princess, and the Samurai

[9/10 · 18 February 2012]

A princess in disguise. Hidden gold. A noble warrior. A daring trek across enemy lines, in which fealty and fortitude are tested. Throw two bungling peasants into this mix and you have what makes "The Hidden Fortress" such an entertaining, exciting adventure.

Kurosawa's film follows the two peasants as they blunder across a war-torn landscape. Through a series of mishaps and absurd circumstances, they find themselves unwittingly aiding Rokurota Makabe, a general of the defeated Akizuki clan, whose task is to protect the young Princess Yuki from her foes and guide her to safety.

All of the actors are excellent – Mifune is top-notch here, as usual – but it was Misa Uehara as the princess that made the deepest impression on me. She conveyed the haughtiness of a girl raised in privilege, but was able to skillfully bring out the strength and humanity of her character. There is a scene where this young woman, who up until this point has seemed the epitome of fierceness and pride, stands alone and begins to weep while gazing out at the horizon. The banner of her clan is superimposed over her anguished face as she lets tears fall for her murdered family, well aware of the weight of her sorrow and new responsibility in a harsh world. Over the course of the film, she will see greed, deceit, honesty and decency firsthand. She will bear witness to human compassion and human suffering. Her experiences will shape her into a better ruler.

Such elements add profoundness to "The Hidden Fortress", making it more than simply a standard action/adventure movie. Still, it keeps up suspense, excitement, and humor – sometimes all at once. For example, at one point the little group must get past a roadblock set up by the enemy. The scene that ensues artfully combines a sense of quiet apprehension and unease with comedy. Viewers remain on the edges of their seats, yet are able to laugh as well.

Kurosawa accomplished the rarest of feats with this motion picture. He managed to make an exhilarating film brimming with action and intrigue that at the same time treated its subject matter intelligently. All things considered, this is an engaging, enjoyable, and amusing piece of work from a master director.

The Searchers (1956)

Great at Times, But Not Without Its Faults

[8/10 · 14 January 2012]

John Ford's "The Searchers" has been heralded as one of the best films ever made, an assessment with which I personally disagree. That's not to say I dislike it. To me, it is quite a good film for the most part – only far from flawless.

John Wayne gives perhaps his finest performance in the role of Ethan Edwards, the lone man who returns home from the Civil War three years late still in Confederate uniform and still bearing his saber. The film is not afraid to probe into the darkness of this character's soul. He is unapologetically racist, disdainful upon meeting the young Martin Pawley because of his partial Cherokee descent. But after a raid by the Comanche, the two set out on a years-long search for Debbie, Ethan's abducted niece. On the journey, Ethan's bigotry towards the Indians becomes a kind of grim madness. He is shown putting bullet holes in a dead Comanche's eyes so that 'he can't enter the spirit-land', and later wantonly tries to gun down a herd of bison rather than let them become food for those he hates. Wayne plays the part with brooding, frightening, merciless intensity. With one look into his steely eyes, the viewer understands that Ethan is as capable of barbarity and ruthlessness as the so-called savages he condemns. His external and internal odysseys are, to be sure, the stuff of greatness and epic in scope and power. If the film were confined to simply the quest to track down Debbie – gloriously told as it is through sweeping shots of the vistas of Monument Valley – and to Ethan's inner storm of fury, then its reputation would be, I think, more justified.

But it is not. Interweaved with this thought-provoking search in the wilderness are the goings-on back at home. These often clownish antics seem so amateurish it is hard to believe they are from the same film. Vera Miles, as Laurie, squawks and squeals when pining for the absent Martin in a manner more befitting a lunatic than a woman in love. She may be amusing, but seems garish and too overwhelmingly silly alongside the more serious storyline. Similarly, the exaggerated Swedish accent of Lars Jorgensen and the idiotic drawl of Laurie's goofball suitor, Charlie, are played up for comic relief. Characters like these two are shallow stock figures and stereotypes, a far cry from the depth of the sullen Ethan. A little humor on the side of a moodier film can be a good thing, but this is jarring and overdone in the extreme. (On occasion, however, it works. The fool, Mose Harper, pops up in the movie every now and again, and actually becomes an endearing and colorful character.)

Then there is that scene near the end which has somehow become legendary. Ethan pursues the fleeing Debbie, apparently with the intention of killing her because she has assimilated into the Indian culture. This is the moment for his boiling rage and passionate hatred to climax – much of the film has led up to this point. Yet instead of doing her in, Ethan gathers her gently in his arms and rides her home. …Why? What is the reason for this remarkable turnaround and change of heart? What's going through his mind as he looks at her? What, for that matter, is going through HER mind as she looks at HIM? Natalie Wood looks lovely as Debbie, but is given little to work with and is underdeveloped. How does she feel seeing the people she has lived with for five long years being routed by the cavalry? Is she saddened, in shock? Does she care at all? Earlier scenes suggest she shares some bond with these Comanche, though she happily embraces Martin, who she knew in youth as her brother. These mixed attitudes towards her supposed rescuers and captors seem to merit further examination and study. But they are not examined or studied. Neither are the thoughts of Ethan, whose inexplicable act appears to go against much of what is known about his character. If he has his reasons for doing what he does here, they are not told to the audience. One guess is as good as another. As it stands, this famous scene feels as awkward and contradictory as the tacked-on ending of Welles' "The Magnificent Ambersons".

In spite of its flaws, I still enjoy "The Searchers". But it DOES have flaws, and I find it too rough around the edges to call it a masterpiece. The superior portions of the film are juxtaposed with sections of considerably less quality. This creates an end result that can be somewhat inconsistent and patchy, although it admittedly has bright flashes of brilliance.

War Horse (2011)

A Love Story

[8/10 · 14 January 2012]

Steven Spielberg's "War Horse" begins with shots of ravishing beauty, gliding across the gold and green lushness of the countryside. But with the coming of the Great War, the colors fade. It becomes a film of muted browns and grays, well befitting life in the trenches.

It is the story of a horse, Joey, swept up by the war. Yet it is equally the story of the humans he encounters. It is the story of the young man who trains him and is forced to see him sold away, the story of two boys who find their brotherly bond stronger than their orders and the threat of death. It tells of the compassion of an anguished German soldier whose duties are to tend horses that endure unspeakable labors. And in one of its most poignant sections, it shows a bright-eyed girl and her grandfather whose lives will be splintered by tragedy and ravaged by the war… In one way or another, these characters – all of them good souls – are inescapably caught in the senseless, horrific conflict.

Nonetheless, Spielberg has stated that his film is not a war film but a love story, an assertion that many will apply to the relationship between Joey and his first owner, Albert. But it is just as applicable to any episode mentioned above. Love is the uniting cord that weaves together this series of events. It is shown in the muck of the trenches by soldiers to each other as they struggle to survive the anarchy of battle or the swirling phantasm of gas. It is seen in the grandfather's fierce and devoted protection of his granddaughter. Also, it is evident that Albert's mother (played beautifully by Emily Watson) holds her husband close to her heart and still has some strength to have faith in him despite the mistakes of his past.

War is ever in the background, even penetrating scenes where there is no sign of fighting. At the film's heart, however, is love, as Spielberg has said – love not just between human and horse but between human and human, love for the whole of mankind. No matter their side in the war, characters are depicted with the same amount of sympathy. It is a vast, all-encompassing love that extends to both man and beast, transcending the boundaries of the battlefield.

It's a Wonderful Life (1946)

More than Merely a Christmas Film – A Film for Any Time

[9/10 · 25 December 2011]

Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life" has become a staple of the Christmas season. It will invariably be played around the holidays, whether broadcast on T.V or picked out by a family from their DVD collection. But watching it again this year, I realized just how little it has to do with Christmas. To be sure, the famous final sequence takes place around then, but the full film is a broader celebration of life, humanity, and the human spirit. Confining it to simply a glorification of the Christmas spirit seems too narrow.

Through the story of the life of George Bailey and the lives of those around him, "It's a Wonderful Life" celebrates basic human kindness and compassion. It praises selflessness and putting others above oneself, as George does time and time again – forsaking his dreams for the betterment of those more unfortunate than he in Bedford Falls. It condemns greed, heartlessness, and fierce manipulation of fellow persons on Earth through Henry F. Potter, the shriveled and devious old businessman played to malicious perfection by Lionel Barrymore. It extols the worth of the life of any living being, no matter how poor or pitiful they appear and whatever their flaws may be. Consider the way George extends a caring hand to his dearly daffy Uncle Billy or to Violet Bick when she has fallen on hard times. Think of what he saves them both from when he could have easily cast them aside on account of their vices and imperfections, turning them away.

Are these values appropriate for Christmas? Yes, of course. But they are just as appropriate for any time. Calling this "a Christmas film" somewhat underestimates the power of its themes, themes that are ageless and universal (or so I would hope). This is a film that deserves to be kept in the heart all the year round.

The Adventures of Tintin (2011)

Much Better Than Expected

[8/10 · 21 December 2011]

I'm an American Tintin fan – yes, believe it or not, they do exist – and when I first heard that Steven Spielberg was at the helm of a three-dimensional rendering of Tintin, Haddock, Snowy, and their world, I became somewhat worried. First of all, the creations of Hergé seemed so fitting for traditional animation. Transforming the characters and putting human eyeballs in the circles of Tintin's eyes felt… wrong. On top of that, I was afraid (particularly after the trailers came out) that the film would just be a vapid wild ride that failed to do justice to the well-loved comics.

But, now that I've seen it, I confess I liked it much more than I thought I would. It isn't perfect, but it's spirited and fun – and mostly in keeping with the original comic books. The opening credits introduce Tintin and Snowy in silhouette and give watchers a taste of the boy reporter's adventures. After that, the film switches to motion capture. I was surprised at how well this worked. It felt for the most part like the same environment evoked by Herge, only morphed seamlessly into three dimensions.

The story is a lively and rip-roaring yarn full of charm and humor. It follows Tintin as he teams up with Captain Haddock to discover the lost treasure of the captain's ancestor, while staying one step ahead of the icily devilish Mr. Sakharine. Episodes from "The Crab with the Golden Claws" are interspersed with the general plot of "The Secret of the Unicorn", but everything comes together fairly smoothly. The film is mostly true to the essence of its source material, even if it is not entirely faithful to the letter. I, for one, was overjoyed to see the old sea dog, Haddock, so endearingly drunk. (Andy Serkis stole every scene he was in.) I was glad to see Tintin so adventuresome. The Thompsons were a riot in their slapstick clumsiness. And it was a delight to see various Tintin side characters pop up – like Alan, Nestor, and most especially, the beautifully shrill-voiced Bianca Castafiore.

Nonetheless, there *were* certain action sequences that were overly excessive. The chase in Morocco careens this way and that so crazily that it soon becomes inane. Characters tumble and plunge and things wheel and whirl about in a way that strains credulity. By becoming so overblown, it kills suspense. How can the audience be exhilarated in a section of the film where the most madcap occurrences go on – and characters suffer little to no injury? It jars viewers out of the spell worked elsewhere in the movie. If such scenes were toned down and given some semblance of reality along with being exciting, they would have worked better, in my opinion.

(Also, the filmmakers add a plot twist involving the ancestry of the antagonist that I find tacky and unnecessary. Plus, in my eyes, it was poorly handled and turned out as a rather awkward revelation. See the film to fully understand my meaning.)

All in all, though, I'd recommend Spielberg's "The Adventures of Tintin". If you're a fan, you may have a bone to pick here and there, but should still enjoy it. If you are unfamiliar with Tintin, you ought to be pulled in anyway by his entertaining escapades – and I hope your introduction to him encourages you to seek out Hergé's original works.

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957)

A Film that Defies the IMDb Ratings System!

[20 December 2011]

Frankly, I have no idea how to go about rating this. It should technically be given low marks because of the spectacular ineptitude with which it was made, but… but…

It's just too much fun!

Every absurdity found in the film seems to somehow paradoxically work to its benefit – the stupefying dialogue, the model flying saucers on strings, the stock footage which stands out because it oftentimes seems of better quality than other parts of the motion picture. Ed Wood's magnum opus may be brimming with dumbfounding incompetence, but it is too entertaining, too much of a zany delight, for me to rank it down with truly unbearable atrocities of cinema.

The plot of "Plan 9" deals with the ninth plan of an apparently highly advanced alien race (though if they were so advanced, you'd think they'd have been able to succeed the first time around) to conquer Earth by resurrecting the dead from cemeteries. Wait, did I say conquer? I'm not sure. The aliens' motives alternate throughout. Sometimes it seems as though they want to take control of the planet. Other times it appears they just want recognition from the human population. And in the end, the aliens warn their captives – an army colonel, police detective, and hotheaded airplane pilot Jeff Trent – against the dangers of the 'Solaranite bomb' and act as if they are taking part in a crude and silly mimicry of "The Day the Earth Stood Still". Have they come to Earth to give Earthlings a message, a la Klaatu? Maybe… I guess… Except it is clear that the aliens intend to kill their human captives after telling them about Solaranite. So there is really no point in telling them much of anything, is there? I mean, if these humans are just going to be bumped off in a few minutes? …Whatever. To seek for logic in the plot of "Plan 9" is futile, but it is undeniably amusing to try and to, of course, fail.

Along with the idiotic storyline, the performances help propel "Plan 9" to its status of legendary badness. They range from humorously wooden to being so outrageously over the top and campy that they are a joy to behold. In the first category are the acting jobs from the people in roles like the airline stewardess who pops into Jeff Trent's shower-curtained cockpit from time to time or Trent's bland and pillow-cuddling wife. At one point, Mrs. Trent states to her husband, "The saucers are up there. The graveyard is out there. But I'll be locked up in there." The total lack of emotion in her voice has to be heard to be appreciated. The second category contains many of the (few) actors playing aliens, like Dudley Manlove as Eros and John 'Bunny' Breckenridge as the Ruler. Manlove is probably the best (?) thing about the film. His obnoxiously authoritative voice and outrageous facial contortions make for an unforgettable character – so pompously sure of his own superiority, yet so ludicrously imbecilic. One of his best moments is when his female comrade, Tanna, attempts to speak out to the Earth people. As she does, Manlove silently fumes with more and more increasing intensity, at last roaring, "THAT'S ENOUGH!" and flinging her roughly aside. It's like he's a cross between a sexist tyrant and a petulant kid! (After this, Eros haughtily informs Trent and the others, "In my land, women are for advancing the race, not for fighting man's battles!" Is that so? Well, why is this woman in uniform and in her planet's military, then?) Likewise, John Breckenridge's droll, eyeliner-wearing alien Ruler can almost always spark a snicker, especially when he is shown rolling his eyes exasperatedly at Eros. He seems as aware of the character's ridiculous arrogance and stupidity as anyone in the audience.

Ah, "Plan 9"! Where else could one expect to find footage of Bela Lugosi outside of a house, sauntering to an off-screen demise as the shot freezes with Lugosi's shadow still in view and lame sound effects suggest a car crash? Where else could flying *saucers* be said to be shaped like cigars? Where else but in the wacky world of Edward D. Wood Jr. could narration be delivered by the loud and lilting voice of quack psychic Criswell? Where else could a viewer experience such grandly hilarious dialogue as, "YOU SEE? YOU SEE? YOUR STUPID MINDS! STUPID! STUPID!"?

See it. It really is one of the best of the worst.

American Playhouse: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1986) Season 5, Episode 4

"Alright, then, I'll go to Hell."

[9/10 · 18 December 2011]

This is probably the best version of Mark Twain's "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" I have ever seen or am likely to see. No other manages to capture the richness of the work like this one.

The great thing about this rendition is that it keeps Twain's language almost verbatim, thus allowing some of the wittiest, funniest, and most fascinating conversations in literature to spill forth from on screen. Another asset is its length. At 240 minutes, the story can take its time and characters are able to develop gradually and naturally. This expansive running time also lets viewers steep themselves in the atmosphere of the antebellum era, which is so strikingly recreated. There is a kind of rough and grungy realism in the depiction of folk on the river and the small and sometimes lazy towns they inhabit.

As Huck, Patrick Day never descends into the cutesiness that Elijah Wood did in his far more sanitized portrayal in 1993. Day's Huck is an unapologetic smoker, drinker, and vulgar waif; not once does the audience seem to be manipulated into thinking he is a more endearing character than he actually is. Yet the audience does indeed become endeared to Huck, for the young Day successfully bares Huck's soul throughout the film. In this way, the title character comes off not as some vague and romanticized distortion of himself, but as the nuanced and well-developed creation – raw, imperfect, and human – Twain originally intended.

In this film, Huck's character arc is left blessedly intact. He may be fleeing from civilization and society, but nevertheless some of society's values rub off on him. All his life, he has been trained (by both the respectable Widow Douglas and by his repugnant Pap) that slavery is just, blacks are subhuman, that abolitionism is a moral evil. Getting to know and understand Jim calls into question everything Huck has ever learned. As a result, he endures a terrible struggle with his conscience as he helps Jim to freedom. Within Huck is the desire to do the right thing. But what is he to do when what he has been always told is right conflicts with his experiences with Jim? Many screen adaptations try to dull or dumb down Huck's ethical dilemma. Not this one. Here, the crucial scene is included where Huck consigns himself to hellfire and resolves to liberate Jim from bondage. Patrick Day's plain, earnest performance is riveting. When, choking back tears, he says, "Alright, then, I'll go to hell", it really seems as though he means it, as though he can see the dreadful flames before his glistening eyes. Can you imagine it – condemning your own soul to damnation (for Huck is convinced that is exactly what he is doing in choosing to help Jim get away) in order to save someone who has become your friend? It is the ultimate sacrifice, and one of the most potent and stinging commentaries on bigotry and religious hypocrisy there has ever been.

The sturdy Samm-Art Williams makes a fine Jim, powerfully expressing the humanity of his character. His delivery of the anguished story Jim tells of how he became enraged at his daughter for not listening to him, only to discover to his horror and shame that she was a deaf-mute and therefore incapable of hearing him, is heartbreaking.

The rest of the cast is equally excellent. One by one, they flare life into all the housewives, clergymen, drunkards, shysters, and Southern gentlemen that populate Twain's text. Names like Lillian Gish and Jim Dale stand out among the actors (and indeed, Jim Dale almost steals the show in his role as the ragamuffin Duke who fancies himself a Shakespearian), but everybody is superb. Even small parts like that of a bombastic hell-and-brimstone preacher at a camp meeting in a single scene or the brief appearance of the needle-sharp Miss Watson shine.

There are a few imperfections: the last section of the film (at the Phelps' plantation with Tom Sawyer) feels strangely rushed, at least when compared to the skillfully smooth and steady pace that precedes it, and the end comes abruptly. But on the whole, this version – with its faithfulness and unparalleled recreation of time and place – is the one that best catches the novel's spirit.

Hugo (2011)

"If you ever wondered where your dreams come from, you look around. This is where they're made."

[8/10 · 23 November 2011]

Upon seeing the trailer for "Hugo", I wasn't overly impressed. The blaring emphasis on 3D made me worried it was more spectacle than substance. Still, it was directed by Martin Scorsese, and had Ben Kingsley in it, so I decided to put aside my fears and go see it anyway.

Am I ever glad I did! This is a sweet and gentle tale, full of unexpected warmth and depth. It is the story of Hugo Cabret, an orphan and keeper of the clocks at a train station in Paris. His only connection to his deceased father is a broken-down automaton the two were repairing before his father's demise in a fire. When Hugo is caught stealing parts for the automaton by the old owner of a toy shop in the station (Kingsley), his booklet of sketches related to the curious mechanical man is taken from him. Attempting to retrieve it, he meets Isabelle, the goddaughter of the aged man. Together, they begin to unravel the mystery behind Kingsley's character and help bring his true identity to light. (It shouldn't be that much of a surprise to anyone with knowledge of early film history that has a chance to look at the cast list here on IMDb. Does the name "Georges Méliès" ring any bells?)

Asa Butterfield does capably in the title role, and Chloe Grace Moretz shines sublimely as the precocious Isabelle. Of course, Ben Kingsley gives a terrific performance, powerful and poignant. He plays a broken man anguished by the shadows of the past.

These three are the central figures of the film, yet the side characters are handled equally well. That really struck me. A lesser filmmaker might have let such characters come off as just caricatures, especially in a children's film. Scorsese doesn't allow for that to happen. Richard Griffiths', Frances de la Tour's and Christopher Lee's characters are all skillfully imbued with humanity so that the audience feels for them and seems to get to know them in spite of their short periods on screen. Even Sacha Baron Cohen's silly Station Inspector is more than a one-dimensional figure. In between his cartoonish antics and chases after Hugo, he is shown to be painfully shy, pining desperately for the affections of an attractive woman who sells flowers. We learn also that he was wounded in World War I, and that it was his days growing up without love in the strict environment of an orphanage that so embittered him towards the world. He is not merely some comic antagonist tossed in for the sake of slapstick. Instead, he is a fascinating and well-developed character in his own right. One feels compassion and pity for him, and hopes he will have the courage to speak up and win the heart of his love, that their quirky relationship will blossom into romance.

In short, this is a simply lovely film. There has been some uproar and befuddlement over the director of such films as "Taxi Driver" and "Goodfellas" making a 'children's movie'. I must admit I was a little abashed myself upon first hearing it. But "Hugo" shows that a so-called children's movie doesn't have to be inane or infantile. This is an intelligent and wondrous work – never sappy or banal. In part a tribute to the magic of cinema, it reminded me why I love motion pictures so much. With its richness and nuance, "Hugo" should appeal to children and adults alike. I realize that saying sounds a little clichéd, but in this case I have faith in the truth of it.

Othello (1951)

Sometimes Visually Stunning, but the Heart and Soul of the Play is Lost

[13 November 2011]

I cannot fault Orson Welles' "Othello" for not being visually striking. Its opening scene alone is a wonder. As haunting choral music rings out in a grim and mournful dirge, the bodies of Othello and Desdemona, regal and melancholy in death, are borne together to their final resting place by a procession of priests who seem like specters silhouetted against the brilliant sky. Suddenly, a harried figure bursts on screen and jars the elegiac mood. It is Iago. In a series of quick, violent, frightful shots, he is dragged through the streets by a chain about his throat, at last hounded by soldiers and the mob into a cage. As the music thunders, Iago is hoisted above the scene to behold his work. The funeral passes.

This beginning is a brilliant melding of cinematography, music, and mise-en-scene. In other parts of the film, too, is Welles' cinematic genius evident. But his effective use of memorable and unorthodox camera angles and expressionistic lighting cannot make up for the crudeness and choppiness of his adaptation of Shakespeare's original work.

Othello as portrayed by Welles is a mammoth presence, but he is perhaps the only character to which the film does any justice. While Othello's monologues usually remain intact, the lines of the rest of the cast are often whittled down to a few sentences apiece in each scene. For example, Iago's forbidding musings to Roderigo in Act I of the play are all but omitted in favor of a brief narration by Welles, detailing Iago's treacherous nature. Telling Iago's deceit instead of letting it steadily emerge on screen seems an awkward and lazy move which does not allow the audience to become involved with the character – and as Iago is the driving force of the whole story, this damages the film's narrative considerably. The inadequate performance from actor Micheál MacLiammóir – who spends most of his time merely looking devious, without any skillful penetration of the depths of Iago's soul – may be because he had so little to work with, but it certainly does not help matters. Likewise, Roderigo and Cassio are nearly non-entities. Desdemona fares little better; her greatest and most human moments have been stripped from her. Perhaps it is small wonder that the actress who plays her seems underwhelming in her role. For much of the running time, she appears in fleeting flashes here and there, unable to build up the emotion needed so that viewers might actually care for her. One might marvel at the stifling and nightmarish close-up of Desdemona's face being smothered in a sheet, for indeed, it is a masterful composition. But the technical brilliance outweighs all else. Due to her relegation and lack of development, one can never fully connect with Desdemona and her plight – not even on her deathbed.

The chief good of Welles' finest interpretation of Shakespeare, "Chimes at Midnight", was that it took the time to delve into the humanity of its characters. Here, humanity is eviscerated and everyone except maybe Othello comes off as just a shallow sketch of themselves. Thus, the audience becomes incapable of totally appreciating the tragic story. For what does it matter if this character dies or that character is wounded if one knows next to nothing about them, or doesn't care? The cinematography may indeed be excellent, but without developed characterization, the lifeblood of the film is missing. Its emotional core is hollow.

Storytime (1992–1997)

Am I the only one who remembers this show?

[15 October 2011]

So it would seem. It's got no reviews. It hasn't even gotten 5 votes yet for an average score on IMDb.

But I have fond, vague memories of watching this on PBS when I was little. As I recall, the show was centered around a childish puppet named Kino who was cared for by his human friend, the gently maternal Lucy. In every episode, people would come and read storybooks to Kino and listening children. These stories were presented in a fashion similar to Reading Rainbow, but there were several on an episode, as opposed to just one.

Storytime, along with Reading Rainbow and Wishbone, had a profound influence on my imagination and love for reading. The stories in this show and their illustrations stirred my mind, sparked in me a sense of wonder. The image of a haggard young Native American woman, shrouded in rags with dark hair unfurled around her shadowed face as she marches to marry the "Invisible Being", has never left me. Neither has the forlorn figure of shunned Baba Yaga, conjured up by color and lines of ink and simple words in a tale whose title I cannot clearly remember…

I haven't seen this little show since the earliest years of my childhood, and have no idea what I would make of it if able to see it again. But I know it fascinated and enthralled me back then, and played its part in shaping me. It seems a shame it appears to have been ignored for these long years.

Spartacus (1960)

A Rich, Engrossing, and Beautifully Moving Epic

[9/10 · 5 September 2011]

That is what this film is. I skim through the reviews here on IMDb and find several things posted like "idealized and dull", "Rome Epic Roams Too Much", "Unfocused and Simplistic", "Overkill", etc. Maybe it's just me, but I can't quite see what these people are talking about. In my mind, Spartacus is one of the grandest and most powerful films in its genre. Perhaps it has moments where it becomes a bit melodramatic, but don't most epics, even the most loved? Didn't The Ten Commandments? Didn't Ben-Hur?

While Spartacus can certainly boast of sprawling battle sequences, riveting gladiatorial matches, lavish sets, and all the other things that one might expect from a Hollywood epic, it is the quieter, gentler, and more human moments that make the film more than that – the scene of the liberated slaves together about the campfire as Tony Curtis' Antoninus amuses them pleasantly with magic tricks, the tender and joyous exchanges between Spartacus and Varinia as they dream hopefully of the future and reflect on their pasts, the shot of an ancient couple dancing blissfully as free people after who knows how many years of slavery… All these parts listed deeply and compassionately illustrate the lives of ordinary people in a strikingly intimate way, far distanced from an epic motion picture's usual excesses.

Of course, the cast is nothing short of stupendous. Kirk Douglas is excellent in the title role. In much of the first part of the film, he bristles with pent-up energy. Grimly mute, the viewer can sense the simmering rage the character has against his captors, a fury just waiting to boil over. Later, as leader of the slave revolt, he exudes a deep love for all his comrades, as well as the painful weight of his responsibility for them, especially when it appears as if their rebellion may fail. Jean Simmons as Varinia is exquisite, not just in terms of her beauty but in her performance. And as Crassus, the great Laurence Olivier creates a multi-layered and intriguing antagonist – cold and sinister, but with depth and inner turmoil, as can be seen in his scenes with Antoninus and later Varinia.

Peter Ustinov won an Oscar for his role as the obsequious head of a gladiatorial school, and it is easy to see why. He clearly relishes the part of this finicky, weaselly, cowardly slave master. Every time he appears, he brightens up the screen. Equally superb is Charles Laughton as the aging Gracchus. He skillfully portrays a bloated old senator with the countenance of a codger but a sharp and conniving mind. Throughout the film, Laughton is witty, amusing, and finally tragic. There is pathos in his last scenes. It is a great part to play that gets many of the best lines. (To paraphrase: "Privately, I believe in none of the gods. Publicly, I believe in them all.") When Ustinov and Laughton are on screen together to conspire or chat about their vices, the two's perfect chemistry makes those portions perhaps the best in the whole film.

Charles McGraw, Herbert Lom, and Woody Strode are also very memorable and deserve a mention.

Kubrick famously loathed the film, and everyone often makes a big deal about that, along with the hubris of Douglas that spurred the project to one-up Ben-Hur. So they should; it's a fascinating topic. But while it may not be fully Kubrick's vision, Spartacus remains stunning nonetheless. The acting, as I've noted, is great. The screenplay by the then-blacklisted Dalton Trumbo can be hauntingly poetic. The musical score is splendid. No matter the views of the man credited as the movie's director, I feel that Spartacus, just as it is, is a well-done and resonating piece of work.

The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985)

Only in the Movies

[9/10 · 4 September 2011]

In the midst of the hard times of the Great Depression, Cecilia finds escape through the magic of the movies. In the snug atmosphere of the theater she can let the woes of her job as a waitress and the brashness of her big galoot of a husband drain away as she transports herself to a world of glitz and glamor, adventure and romance. One week, she finds herself particularly taken with the character of the dashing explorer Tom Baxter from the motion picture The Purple Rose of Cairo. Though a side character, he seems the heart of the film, and her wide eyes are always on him. Imagine her surprise (and the surprise of the audience around her) when she finds that his eyes have also been on her!

Mia Farrow is sublime as Cecilia, endearing and instantly likable. She brings such adorability and sweetness to this poor little waitress, at the same time infusing her with such humanity and believability, that it seems no wonder that a movie character would want to descend from the screen to meet her. And as that character, Jeff Daniels is charming and hilariously innocent; his goofy scenes acclimating to the 'real world' are amongst the funniest in the film. Daniels also does a fine job in the part of the actor who plays Tom in the 'real world'.

But Woody Allen's screenplay is the real star of the show. Bright and inventive, it sucks in the viewer in a manner similar to the way Cecilia comes to be sucked into the motion picture within the film. It introduces a world where the inexplicable and magical can occur without explanation – which only makes it all the more wondrous – and is chock-full of memorable quotes and sequences. Allen brilliantly satirizes Hollywood, movie conventions, and, in the close of the film, makes a poignant and sobering comment on the line between fantasy and reality that may not be to everyone's tastes, but which elevates this movie from simple escapism to greatness.

From the start even unto its bittersweet conclusion, The Purple Rose of Cairo is a fascinating delight not to be missed.

BBC Play of the Month: The Wild Duck (1971) Season 6, Episode 7

Lifeless Rendition of a Fine Play

[23 August 2011]

The Wild Duck is a great play, to be sure – make no mistake about that. But this production is a remarkably tedious one.

The performances appear sapped of nearly all emotions. Dialogue is reduced to a haze of muttering voices that can easily be drowned out by the hiss of a teakettle or background chatter. It's as though the actors are simply reading their lines without bothering to invest any passion into them. In this way important points and revelations slide by like off-hand comments and as such have little impact. So bored and droll is the delivery of most of the cast that they might as well be making idle chitchat over tea. Even at the end – when a tragedy of tragedies has occurred and one would expect the character of Hjalmar Ekdal to sob, convulse, at least do SOMETHING close to human – all Denholm Elliott can muster is a listless recitation of his lines that leaves the viewers coldly detached from the action. If the actors don't seem to care about what they are saying, why then should the audience?

One exception, as other reviewers have commented, is the young Jenny Agutter who manages a performance as Hedvig Ekdal that is agonizing, wrenching, and true. Amongst a horde of zombie-like, apparently disinterested figures she shines with a special spark. Alas, one player is not enough to carry the entire presentation on her shoulders. Overall, this version of The Wild Duck remains lackluster. Henrik Ibsen's play deserves better than this.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

Spectacular Even Though

[9/10 · 28 March 2008]

I have not yet seen what remains of the original 1925 version of this silent masterpiece, but I have had the pleasure of viewing the 1929 re-edit, which seems to me a magnificent version also. Lon Chaney stars as the deformed Erik, a mad musical genius who lurks beneath the Paris Opera House, in the guise of the spectral 'Phantom of the Opera'. And when he becomes obsessed with the beautiful young Christine Daae, nothing will stop him from making her his own.

After the disappointing deformity and bad singing voice of Gerard Butler's Phantom – he had, as some have stated, a bad sunburn – I sought out this version, which I knew nothing about, but of which I had heard great praise. And that praise is certainly well deserved! Lon Chaney creates the perfect Erik. His deformity is no sunburn; it is a grotesque, living skull. What's more, he has several well-crafted 'lines', especially the one he says at the colorful masquerade ball: "Beneath your dancing feet are the tombs of tortured men – thus does the Red Death rebuke your merriment." (The 'Red Death' refers to the scarlet cloak and menacing skull-mask Erik wears in this scene. The way it drapes across the statue he is perched upon later – the red a stark contrast with the midnight blue – makes Chaney's acting job seem all the more startling.)

The ending, though abrupt and unfaithful to the novel, is nicely done. You can see the wretched despair blazing in the Phantom's eyes as mob charges at him right and left. And the way he throws his head back to laugh as they converge upon him, since he has not much else to live for, wrenches my heart. So, even though Erik dying at his organ of heartbreak (which was filmed, but then changed and lost) would have been more satisfying to me, I still find this silent thriller a masterpiece.