Author: nlclement

“The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.” This fantastic line of dialogue, a quote from Charles Baudelaire, is uttered more than once by Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects, and pretty much sums up Bryan Singer’s smashing crime picture, which was his second feature film after the little seen Public Access. And in my opinion, The Usual Suspects stands as his best, most satisfying film to date. It’s odd that after The Usual Suspects and Apt Pupil that Singer became a blockbuster comic-book movie director (The X-Men, X-2, Superman Returns, Jack the Giant Slayer, X-Men: Days of Future Past, and X-Men: Apocalypse) with only 2008’s crisply efficient WWII thriller Valkyrie as the other traditional or realistic film that the filmmaker has attempted. Elegantly written by Christopher McQuarrie, The Usual Suspects is an example of low-budget neo-noir done correct, with a twisty, serpentine screenplay that never stops pulling the rug out from underneath the viewer until the very end, but most importantly, adds up and makes sense when all of the pieces are closely examined. McQuarrie’s previous background in private detective work and criminal law also bolstered the film’s authenticity, both in the spoken word and in the small details that fill the edges of this elaborately gripping thriller. And it’s one of those films with a doozy of a twist ending that at the time was nearly impossible to predict, even for the most astute of viewers. Part of that had to do with the relatively unknown quality that Spacey possessed 20 years ago (he’d go on to take the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for his incredible work in Suspects), and part of it had to do with McQuarrie’s ultimately ingenious screenplay (for which he was bestowed the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay), that tells a convoluted tale that all comes together in the final moments with striking clarity and immense narrative force.

The Usual Suspects is the story of five criminals, all pulled together to do a job for a mysterious gangster, known only by his now famous name, Keyser Soze. After we’re treated to a string of small jobs to establish each man’s particular set of skills, the group encounters a force to be reckoned with. All of the criminals have in one way or another screwed over Soze in previous crime related jobs, and now it’s time for them to repay him, or else. They are tasked with taking over a docked ship at the Port of Los Angeles, in an effort to secure and destroy $91 million dollars of heroin that Soze doesn’t want to end up in the hands of a rival criminal enterprise. Gabriel Byrne is the group’s stoic leader, Dean Keaton, a former corrupt cop who is trying to give up the life of crime in an effort to settle down with his lawyer girlfriend. Spacey is Roger “Verbal” Kint, a half-paralyzed con-man who sits in the office of detective Kujan (a fantastic and surly Chazz Palminteri) and spins a story about the group’s misgivings and various illegal operations and how they all ended up on the boat that left Kint’s entire crew dead or missing. Also rounding out the group are the volatile thief McManus (Stephen Baldwin), McManus’ partner Freddy Fenster (a baby-faced and hilariously accented Benicio del Toro), and Todd Hockney, a skilled hijacker played with crusty attitude by Kevin Pollak. Pete Postlethwaite showed up as the mysterious Kobayashi, Keyser Soze’s legal rep and business associate, and coerces the gang of criminals into the big job for his boss, which will either make them all rich or leave them all dead. Each actor is given more than one moment to shine, with Byrne cutting an imposing portrait of an angry, morally complicated man who while thinking he’s in control, is constantly reminded that he’s not. Baldwin delivered the best performance of his career (I know that’s not saying much!) and del Toro gets some of the film’s biggest laughs, due in no small part to his manner of speech and fun with the English language. But it’s Spacey who totally owns this picture, skillfully portraying a pathetic man who is in way over his head, but who as we all know by now, is really pulling the strings like a magician behind the curtain.

Shot with supreme, noir-drenched style by cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel (who would later go on to lens Three Kings, Drive, and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, to name only a few), with dynamic editing and an absolutely propulsive musical score supplied by the uber-talented John Ottman (it’s insane to think about how many trailers have borrowed Ottman’s amazing musical cues from The Usual Suspects), The Usual Suspects succeeds as has visual flair AND dramatic substance, with a couple of action scenes thrown in to spice up the proceedings. But this film is mostly about its characters and how they speak and interact with one another, and how words are used as importantly, and as memorably, as guns, affording the picture a cerebral streak that allows it to tickle your brain every time you watch it. Singer patiently allows the non-linear story to unfold, never rushing anything, but also keeping the film moving at a brisk pace; there’s not one scene of narrative fat or superfluous style on this movie’s cold and calculating bones. It would be great to see Singer tackle something of this sort again, to see him go smaller and more sophisticated. Even the biggest of directors seem to want to change it up every now and again, so it’s curious to observe Singer’s career trajectory, and I think it’s sort of sad how Singer’s talents have really only been transferred to the world of popcorn escapism, because he’s clearly more talented than his later work implies. Shot in a reported 35 days on a budget of $6 million, it’s fascinating to think how Singer has never returned to the smaller-scaled waters of his absolute best film. And I love how the big finale is foreshadowed multiple times before it ever arrives; it’s a testament to everyone’s abilities that the twist was able to take almost everyone by surprise on their first viewing. Because upon further re-visits, you can see how Spacey was able to pull it all off, even noticing some discrepancies which would give away the big reveal if you’re able to spot these secret-breaking instances. I loved all of the dark humor, the tough-guy posturing, the rapid-fire nature of the dialogue, and how it’s the sort of film that obfuscates the truth for as long as humanly possible, and then when the big reveal comes, not only is not a cheat, but it’s something that elevates the film to a new realm, and makes for a wildly satisfying experience because you’re able to see how you were hoodwinked by the filmmakers.

Fitzcarraldo is nothing less than a herculean achievement in filmmaking. Directed with a serious sense of epic scope yet still with a fine eye for intimate detail by the masterful and eclectic storyteller Werner Herzog, who seems to be attracted to madness in all of its permutations, in the way that a fly is a attracted to animal droppings. Surreal, grand, in love with itself and the very idea of cinema, Fitzcarraldo is one of a few masterpieces for this most eccentric filmmaker, and stands as one of the true awe-inspiring feats that the medium has known. Just thinking about the nuts and bolts logistics of this film gives me a headache, and it goes without saying that a production such as this one would never, ever get attempted in this CGI-infested day and age. The very lack of artifice is what gets me about this movie; it feels as organic as it could possibly get, with the exotic surroundings producing an earthy sense of time and place. Released in 1982, Herzog’s wild narrative centers around an obsessive entrepreneur with dreams of becoming a rubber baron, a role inhabited by the director’s spiritual cousin Klaus Kinski, in a maniacal and wholly committed performance of intense bravado. Already reeling from previous business failures and prone to very large ideas, he becomes overwhelmed with a crushing desire to spread the sounds of big opera all throughout the Peruvian jungle; his dream of a massive opera house nestled in the middle of indigenous territory must be met.

He enlists hordes of natives to help him lug a massive steamship over the steepest of hills in the middle of the Amazon, seemingly unafraid of the various dangers that could cause calamitous ruin. The film is an adventure, a romance, a study of dogged determination, and a sly portrait of the exploitation of human beings for one individual’s personal gain and existential triumph. Based on events surrounding the life of Carlos Fitzcarrald, Herzog was wise to root his story in something tangible, but he never became slavish to history, as so much of the movie feels like in the inner-workings of Herzog’s unhinged and esoteric mind, totally unleashed and splashed all over the screen. The gorgeous Claudia Cardinale was fantastic in the role of Kinski’s adventurous companion and lover, a brothel owner with smart business sense, bringing warmth and heart to an already passionate story that feels as lived-in as a movie could ever possibly feel. Thomas Mauch’s can’t-believe-your-eyes cinematography conjures up one spectacular image after another, filling the frame with vibrant color and a strict sense of unfettered naturalism. Mauch also collaborated with Herzog on the magisterial Aguirre, The Wrath of God and early charmer Even Dwarfs Started Small, and clearly the two men had a superb working relationship, more than likely consisting of some sort of artistic shorthand as their partnerships are some of the most ever-lasting in Herzog’s overwhelmingly amazing filmography. Iquitos POWER. I literally feel this movie in my bones every single day. Enrico Caruso POWER.

The X-Files: Fight the Future is easily one of the best transitions ever for a TV show to feature film. Directed with supreme style and smarts by series veteran Rob Bowman and sporting absolutely fantastic widescreen cinematography from veteran shooter Ward Russell (Days of Thunder, The Last Boy Scout), who utilized a rich color palette in full 2.35:1 widescreen and made smart use of the excellent locations chosen for the story. I absolutely loved the Neanderthal/Quest for Fire-esque opening sequence with the first alien encounter – raw, nasty, primal, and scary. Series mastermind Chris Carter took full advantage of the inherently cinematic possibilities with his iconic material, and along with Frank Spotnitz and undoubtedly many others, crafted a fabulous continuation of the central alien mythology plot-line, while jacking everything up visually and thematically. I’ve gone back to this movie for years, not just out of my love for The X-Files in general, but because, on its own, it’s a damn good movie. Fine, some of it might be impenetrable to the casual viewer or non-fan, but even in those instances, the gripping set pieces, tremendous production design, and excellent performances should alleviate any concerns.

Bowman and Carter threw in nods to various political thrillers from the 70’s, most notably Alan Pakula’s masterpiece The Parallax View, and all throughout, there’s an unnerving vibe that fills each scene, from the ominous back-room deals with the Syndicate, to the sub-Antarctic government base that forms the absolutely smashing action-oriented finale. All of the regular faces from the TV show were present in the film, while the filmmakers brought in some excellent supporting players like Martin Landau, Armin Mueller Stahl, Blythe Danner, and Terry O’Quinn. The opening domestic terrorism bombing sequence is rivetingly staged, while the mid-film action set piece inside those incredibly sketchy domes out in those corn stalks was expertly shot, cut, and directed. And when those bees are released, the scene kicks it up a further notch. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson were at their best here as Mulder and Scully, and their “almost-kiss” moment registered as one of the absolute best moments in the series, big screen or small. Everything about this movie clicked, which you can’t say for the decade later follow up, The X-Files: I Want to Believe, or last year’s reboot. I’d love for them to get back on the big screen with another alien-centric narrative, as that’s where I’ve always felt the heart of this series rested.

50/50 is an honest and funny film that dares to stare cancer in the face and laugh at the issues that it creates. I was not prepared for how accomplished this film would be. This is a true story, one that’s sad but oddly uplifting, and lead actor Joseph Gordon Levitt was absolutely perfect in his role – understated, never going too hard for the emotions, always feeling 100% natural. Seth Rogen was spot-on here as Levitt’s best friend who has to deal with the fact that his buddy has been given 50/50 odds of survival after being diagnosed with cancer. He’s always able to make us laugh with his affable stoner routine, but when Rogen wants to get serious, as he did here and in Sarah Polley’s obscenely underrated Take This Waltz, he can be very effective. And for 50/50 to work at all, it needed a lot of genuine humor, as there’s nothing remotely funny about the situation that JGL’s character is facing. Unfortunately, cancer has become one of those almost universal things in the world, and if you haven’t been affected by it personally, then you probably know someone who has, perhaps a friend, family member, or a close loved one. There’s a moment in the film where JGL makes a startling confession to his therapist (the always lovely Anna Kendrick, who exudes confidence and smarts and warmth in everything she appears in) that he just wants people to stop bull-shitting him and tell him straight up that he’s going to die. It’s a great moment of acting and direction and it was then that the movie grabbed me by the heart.

Director Jonathan Levine has had an interesting career, starting with the cult horror item All the Boys Love Mandy Lane, the 90’s marijuana-infused period piece The Wackness, and the cute and quirky zombie rom-com Warm Bodies; he’s a tough filmmaker to pin down. But as you watch the film unfold, you notice a seriously talented hand guiding this graceful movie, and it’s all the more impressive to learn that Levine was a last minute replacement for another filmmaker who apparently left the project over creative differences. The humor and pathos are well balanced, nothing goes over the top, and Levine’s unforced manner in which he directs his actors adds to the organic quality to the entire piece. Terry Stacey’s intimate and measured cinematography is stylish but never ostentatious, and the editing is sharp as a tack. And it’s got a killer soundtrack – I don’t remember a collection of semi-older-pop songs in a movie that’s as good or as well selected as the ones sampled here. Michael Giacchino’s score is subtle yet highly effective, and that right there is why 50/50 works as well as it does. It never hammers you over the head with how inherently sad the entire scenario is, and because Levine doesn’t wallow in anything for too long, nothing ever becomes maudlin in the way that lesser movies dealing with this subject matter have been.

But the best asset of the entire piece is Will Reiser’s tender screenplay, who based the work on his own experiences, with JGL portraying him on screen. While comfortably predictable in some respects, he gets so much right in the little details, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that the voices of the thirtysomethings in this film were 100% believable depictions of actual people living in the here and now. The dialogue felt true to the times and to the people speaking, and the frequently colorful (and often times laugh-out-loud-funny) vulgarity was just what friends would say to each other. Confusing and stressful interactions with doctors were skillfully handled, and tearful and painful discussions with parents are heartrendingly examined (Anjelica Houston nails a few scenes as JGL’s mom). Plus, there’s this terrific scene where JGL, Rogen, Philip Baker Hall (really good in an uncharacteristic role) and Matt Frewer all get high on medicinal marijuana, and I swear, the way it’s shot and cut – you feel like you’re getting a contact high because of Levine’s aesthetic. I absolutely love this movie. You laugh in all the right spots, you choke up when necessary, and the film has a quietly powerful quality that’s very tough to convey with words. And without spoiling anything, the ending is fair and earned and completely believable. This is a potent slice of filmmaking that deserves a higher profile.

Undoubtedly one of the silliest, most aggressively ridiculous movies I’ve encountered, The Food of the Gods was released in 1976 and was mildly based on the H.G. Wells novel The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth. Written, produced, and directed with lunatic glee by shlock-master Bert Gordon, a conossieur of rear projection giant-themed C-movies (Village of the Giants, Attack of the Puppet People, The Amazing Colossal Man), The Food of the Gods centers on a mountain town that experiences a series of attacks by mutated animals that have ingested a mysterious substance, and it happily lurches from one scene to the next with an amazing grasp of its own idiocy firmly intact. Each performance is terrible in its own special way, the directing is haphazard, the “special effects” are bargain-basement atrocious and absolutely hilarious to behold, and the musical score and sound effects completely bonkers. And yet the movie remains a pisser all throughout, exactly because of how shitty-amazing it is as a whole. The finale involving a siege of plus-sized rats attacking a house followed by cinema’s chintziest flood has to be seen to be believed. Everyone HAD to know what a piece of crap they were all making, and when they all saw the finished effects work and the stupid looking killer animals on display (THOSE CHICKENS POWER), they hopefully all had a laugh. The final moments are actually fairly dark and clever. A Samuel Z. Arkoff Production of an American International Pictures Release.