Category: Film Review

This is such a nifty flick – it’s basically an inflated B-movie with some low-key A-production values, with journeyman action filmmaker John Badham directing with a plucky sense of verve, and Johnny Depp doing a great “every-man” performance as a regular Joe forced into an extraordinary circumstance. Depp starred as mild-mannered businessman/father who is nabbed at the train station, along with his daughter, by corrupt cops, and is told that he has roughly an hour to kill the Governor of California. If he doesn’t, his daughter gets whacked. It’s that simple, a premise to make Hitchcock smile, and carried out in a slick and theatrically heightened manner to always remind you that you’re watching a movie. Nick of Time is so mid-90’s, and I mean that as a compliment. I can remember seeing this on the big screen, and then watching it 250 times on HBO. Badham and screenwriter Patrick Sheane Duncan did the “real-time” conceit very well here, with the action starting immediately and rarely letting up for 90 minutes. Sinister and cheesy in almost equal measure, this is the sort of disposable entertainment that’s become a rarity on studio slates in recent years.

Christopher Walken was terrifically menacing to the extreme, all bug-eyed crazy and sweaty-desperate; Marsha Mason was fun in a key supporting role; Charles S. Dutton did a great job as the one guy you can trust; and Courtney Chase was fantastic as Depp’s perpetually scared and kidnapped little girl. This movie absolutely revels in child endangerment, and really reminds you how things have changed in Hollywood over the years. Arthur Rubinstein’s sketchy score kept the tension palpable, and the hot-white-light cinematography by Roy Wagner cleverly used numerous POV shots and skewed angles to ratchet up the anxiety; this is a very visual movie in many regards, and he must’ve had a really fun time figuring out how to cover all the action. Frank Morriss and Kevin Stitt’s nimble editing was a lesson in pure economy, never allowing the pace to sag for a moment. Most of the film was shot on location at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. I seem to remember a number of films shooting there in the 90’s. Currently streaming on Netflix; it’s lots of silly fun.

Mark Webber’s The End of Love is a small masterpiece, a film filled with such aching sadness and yet such hopeful possibilities that it consistently reminds me of how fragile life is, and how we often take it for granted. This film will be too much for some people, too raw and nakedly emotional, and I totally understand that; you have to want to take this particular journey as it goes to some very real places that might be uncomfortable for some viewers to process. And I know that my perception and respect for The End of Love has changed throughout the last few years, as I now have a child of my own, and could never begin to think of raising him without his mother. The power of family and what it does to people can’t really be put into words, and when this bond is cut short, it produces feelings of fear, uncertainty, and anger. Webber’s delicate screenplay never leaned too hard in any one direction, and because he cast himself in the lead role and acted with his own two-year old son, Isaac, the entire film has an authentic quality that is rarely seen on screen. The moments between the two of them are incredible to observe, as a real paternal instinct can be viewed all over Webber’s expressions, while Isaac steals the show at every point, delivering an impossibly adorable performance that never felt cloying because of the skillful way that Webber structured the entire piece.

Webber plays a struggling actor living in Los Angeles, shuffling from one audition to the next, without any sense that his career is gaining any forward momentum. Then, suddenly, his life is changed in an instant and forever, when his wife, and the mother of their child, unexpectedly dies, leaving him as a confused and stressed single parent, who is still trying to figure himself out as a person, let alone being fully prepared to tend to the needs of a small child. The observational aspects to Webber’s filmmaking aesthetic produce a low-key vibe that very much feels inspired by European art cinema, in that the film is more concerned with catching small moments in an effort to create a larger picture. The supporting cast includes some familiar faces such as Michael Cera, Amanda Seyfried, Michael Angarano, Aubrey Plaza, Alia Shawkat, and Jason Ritter, while the underutilized and alluring actress Shannyn Sossamon cut a convincing portrait of a single mother trying to navigate some of the same precarious waters. There’s a level of sensitivity in Webber’s direction that casts a spell over the viewer, and despite a low budget, the film was expertly shot by the smart cinematographer Patrice Cochet, who knew exactly when to opt for close-ups and when to settle his camera in the background, so that it could simply observe the behavior and relationships of the various characters, especially those moments between father and son. What an amazing document to have as a parent, as this is a piece of art that truly defines the term forever lasting. And while the movie is called The End of Love, it could easily have been called The Beginning of Love, as it presents a world that demands change and acceptance, while demonstrating that people are capable of just about anything, no matter the situation, if they use their heart and their mind to accomplish their goals.

I love In Her Shoes. This is a wonderful movie, filled with big laughs and lots of heart, never succumbing to anything cheap, and always demonstrating compassion for its characters. Curtis Hanson’s naturalistic direction was a perfect fit for the emotionally sensitive material, while he demonstrated a deft hand for light comedy, and as always, a generous ability to coax excellent performances out of an ensemble cast. He made SO many solid or great films all throughout his steady directorial career: The River Wild, Wonder Boys, 8 Mile, L.A. Confidential, Bad Influence, The Hand that Rocks the Cradle – he could do any genre seemingly at any point, and it’s a terrible shame that health issues slowed his life and filmic output, and even more sad to learn of his recent passing just yesterday. I need to go back and revisit his poker drama Lucky You, with Erica Bana, on which he collaborated with the great writer Eric Roth (The Insider, Munich, Benjamin Button). The eclecticism of Hanson’s storytelling choices simply cannot be denied, and because he placed a large emphasis on the people within his narratives, all of his films have a humanistic quality to them, even when dabbling in genre-y elements.

Cameron Diaz was super-sexy as Maggie, a promiscuous, hard-drinking, and perpetually aimless couch potato who can never pull her shit together, and was matched very well with Toni Collette as her all-business sister named Rose, a woman trying to successfully balance her career and love life in equal measure. Shirley MacLaine did fantastic work as their grandmother who sets them both straight in all areas of life, while Norman Lloyd stole the entire show and elicited tons of tears as a blind patient of Diaz’s (she becomes a nurse for the elderly) who asks her to read poetry to him as he lays in his bed; the unique friendship that develops between the two of them always melts my heart and makes me smile. Seriously – this is a great little film, with nary a false moment or wasted scene. The screenplay by Susannah Grant was witty and funny and sharp and Terry Stacey’s warm lensing made the most out of the sunny Florida locations and Diaz’s bikini-ready body. Call it a chick-flick if you want — I’ll just call it an awesome movie that never fails to entertain and enlighten, and a further reminder of how elegant and clean a filmmaker Hanson was all throughout his quietly underrated career.

Spider is easily one of my favorite films from master filmmaker David Cronenberg, with other personal highlights on his wild and provocative resume including Videodrome, A History of Violence, Dead Ringers, Scanners, Eastern Promises, and The Fly. He’s made so many great films, almost all of them extremely memorable, but I think this is one of his sharpest and most deceptive works to date, a movie that’s hard to explain without spoiling, so if you don’t know too much about this one, I would suggest staying far away from anything that might give up it’s numerous secrets. The narrative centers on Dennis Cleg, aka “Spider,” played by Ralph Fiennes in a shattering performance that’s very hard to shake upon first viewing, a man who is recovering at a halfway house after being released from a mental institution after decades of treatment. He begins to attempt to make sense of his fractured life, striking up a friendship with another resident of the house, played by the great John Neville. It seems that Spider’s childhood was one filled with terror, as he was abused by his father, played by Gabriel Byrne, and lived through the murder of his mother, hauntingly played by Miranda Richardson. Themes of transference, emotional isolation, and mental duplicity are all at work, while Fiennes went all out in a performance that ranks as one of his absolute best.

The layered screenplay by Patrick McGrath, which was based on his novel, perfectly balances the real world with Spider’s remembrances, while adding a trippy “is-this-really-happening” element in certain spots. The appropriately dark, shadowy, and murky cinematography by Cronenberg’s regular director of photography Peter Suschitzky casts a gloomy pall over the entire film, that feels very much in line with psychologically complex story being told. Howard Shore’s creepy score and the tack-sharp editing by Ronald Sanders keeps you on edge at all times. Spider premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and was released in 2002, and while it received extremely strong reviews from critics, it failed to catch on with audiences, as it was only released in a handful of theaters in select cities in America. Cronenberg won Best Director at the Genie Awards. Produced by the legendary Samuel Hadida (Domino, True Romance, Freeway, The Rules of Attraction, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, and Good Night, and Good Luck).

Warren Beatty’s towering historical drama Reds is one of the grandest achievements in cinema, a film that matches its epic scope with poignant intimacy on a character level, resulting in a work that has genuine grandeur and a sense of sweep that immediately engrosses the viewer. The often-imitated faux interview structure is marvelous to look back upon in retrospect, as it’s informed so many other filmmakers on so many diverse projects, and the way that Beatty was able to shape this sprawling yet always coherent narrative into something fully cohesive is a testament to both his innate understanding of filmmaking, and to the astounding work done by the film’s editors, Dede Allen and Craig McKay. The dense and info-packed screenplay by Beatty and co-writer Trevor Griffiths was based on the John Reed novel Ten Days that Shook the World, focusing on Reed’s life as a journalist during the Russian Revolution, and with Beatty assuming the lead role. Co-starring Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton, both absolutely superb, the film had a deep supporting cast, including Paul Sorvino, Jezy Kosinski, Gene Hackman, Nicolas Coster, M. Emmet Walsh, Maureen Stapleton, Ramon Bieri, Edward Herrmann, and many others.

There’s a tremendous sense of romance running all throughout this big and volatile motion picture, with history and Hollywood colliding in the best sense, while the filmmakers stressed intelligence in all departments, resulting in a film made by adults and for adults. Master lenser Vittorio Storaro’s burnished and elegant cinematography worked in perfect tandem with the nearly overwhelming and astonishingly detailed production design by the legendary Richard Sylbert, while the evocative costumes from Shirley Russell reveled in period authenticity. After a year long shoot, in which Beatty and Keaton’s personal relationship apparently greatly suffered, the post-production process reportedly lasted close to two years, as this behemoth of a movie required various teams of editors to sift through nearly two and half million feet of film and the constant supervision of Beatty to bring it all home. Released in December of 1981 and garnering glowing reviews from critics, the film preformed solidly at the box office, grossing $40 million domestic; the over three hour run time definitely limited the number of screenings and likely dissuaded some people from seeing the film on the big screen. Beatty won the Oscar for Best Direction, Storaro for Best Cinematography, and Stapleton for Best Supporting Actress, with nine other nominations.