BOB FOSSE’S LENNY — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Bob Fosse’s forceful and uniquely constructed biopic Lenny remains as topical and exhilarating today as it likely did upon first release back in 1974. Nominated for six Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Cinematography, the film was a critical and commercial success, even if the potentially distancing aesthetic put off some viewers and film aficionados upon first glance. The film expertly cuts back and forth between key and intimate moments of Bruce’s life, showing him in his full comic glory, but also detailing the darker times, when he was extremely wasted and strung-out. The script also delves into the latter portions of his life where he used his own nightclub as a venting arena for all of his personal problems and hardships, often times reading his arrest reports and court transcripts. Dustin Hoffman was consistently electrifying as Lenny Bruce, burrowing deep into his feverish psyche, always a loose cannon and ready to explode with intelligent vulgarity and a sense of purpose that defined him as a stand-up comic and general rapscallion. It’s a performance of startling conviction, and a further reminder of the live-wire quality that Hoffman exuded in the 70’s.

Similar to the themes in a film like The People vs. Larry Flynt, this is yet another movie to examine the importance of free speech, and to celebrate the idea of the nonconformist. Bruce’s material had a subversive quality that the best types of entertainment can bring out, always questioning himself and those around him, and challenging societal norms and expectations. Valerie Perrine won the award for Best Actress at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival, and it’s easy to see why, as it’s a show-stopping performance of overt sexuality and unquestionable emotional tenderness, and when juxtaposed with Bruce’s hard-charging theatrics, it was easy to see why they were such a great match for each other. The smoky and gorgeous black and white cinematography by Bruce Surtees is a constant treat, and the numerous sequences detailing the various performances and arrests that befell Bruce during his rise to fame are handled with a devil-in-the-eye sense of humor. And of course, this being a tragic story, Fosse doesn’t shy away from the ugly price of fame, showing how Bruce was a true pioneer, and how that fact more than likely cost him his life. Playwright Julian Barry adapted his own work for the screen. Available on Blu-ray via Twilight Time.

 

TWELVE MONKEYS – A REVIEW BY J.D. LAFRANCE

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“It’s one thing to get lost in your own madness, but to become lost in somebody else’s madness is weirder.” – Terry Gilliam

How do you know when someone is crazy? This is a question that filmmaker Terry Gilliam tries to answer in many of his films, for he is obsessed by the notion of insanity – what makes someone insane and how do others view this person. Is someone really crazy or do they simply have a different view of the world than the rest of society? In the past, Gilliam’s films have presented characters that tend to blur the boundary between sanity and madness, but perhaps his most complex treatment of this subject is Twelve Monkeys (1995). It is with this project that the filmmaker combines his long standing obsession of breathtaking visuals with his knack for working closely with actors. This combination has resulted in more mature films for Gilliam who is normally associated with stylish overkill: films that tend to let the visuals overwhelm the story and characters. And make no mistake, Twelve Monkeys contains some of the most stunning images you are ever going to see but never at the expense of the story or its characters and herein lies one of the reasons why Gilliam remains one of the most interesting people working in film today.

Twelve Monkeys
is a film that constantly plays with, distorts, and more often than not, manipulates time. The film begins in the year 2035. A deadly virus has wiped out almost all of humanity, leaving the survivors to take refuge deep underground. Only the occasional foray up to the surface in protective gear by a select group of “volunteers” offers any clues as to what went wrong. James Cole (Bruce Willis) is one such volunteer who is particularly good at retrieving information. As a result, he soon finds himself being sent back in time to find out how the virus originated and who was responsible. Unfortunately, he goes back too far, arriving in 1990 and is promptly thrown into a rather nightmarish mental hospital in Baltimore where he meets Jeffrey Goines (Brad Pitt), a fellow inmate with a loopy sense of reality that feeds all sorts of paranoid delusions of grandeur. Cole also encounters Kathryn Railly (Madeleine Stowe) a beautiful doctor who feels sympathy for him and his plight.

As Cole travels back and forth in time he begins to realize that one of the most important clues to the source of the deadly virus may lie in the rather enigmatic underground organization known only as The Army of the 12 Monkeys. Soon, Railly and Goines begin to play integral roles in Cole’s search as he consistently crosses paths with them. But is this all taking place in Cole’s mind? Is he really humanity’s only hope at averting a catastrophic disaster or is he just insane? From the first shot to the film’s conclusion we are never quite sure of Cole’s sanity or lack thereof. It is just one of many questions that the audience must think about not only during the film but long after it ends.

The seeds of Twelve Monkeys lie in an obscure French New Wave film called La Jetee (1962) made by Chris Marker. The film was composed entirely of black and white photographs and set in Paris after World War III. It was an apocalyptic vision in reaction to the threat of nuclear annihilation that became prominent in the 1950s and 1960s. Writers David and Janet Peoples were approached by producer Robert Kosberg to do an adaptation of La Jetee. The screenwriting couple wasn’t that keen on the idea, however. “We couldn’t see the point. It’s a masterpiece and we didn’t see that there was anyway to translate that masterpiece,” David remarked in an interview. And he was no slouch to the art of screenwriting, having rewritten the screenplay for Blade Runner (1982) and penned the brilliant Clint Eastwood film, Unforgiven (1992).

Kosberg got the Peoples to watch La Jetee again and the couple began to see possibilities for a different, more detailed take on the material. “How would we react to people who showed up and said ‘Oh I’ve just popped up from the future’ and in turn how would that person deal with our reaction.” With this in mind, David and Janet set out to write a challenging piece of fiction that not only manipulated our conventional views of time but that also dealt with the notion of madness. Janet explained in an interview, “We were very interested in asking questions like ‘Is this man mad? And how about the prophets of the past, were they mad? Were they true prophets? Were they coming from another time? What are all the different possibilities?'” The film’s script argues that certain people who are classified insane by society at large may not really be crazy at all but are in actuality presenting ideas that are way ahead of our time. And perhaps the blame for this misunderstanding should be leveled at the psychiatric profession which, as one character in the film observes, has become the new religion of a society that has deserted traditional faith for modern technology.

After showing the finished screenplay to Marker and getting his blessings, the Peoples were faced with the daunting task of finding someone who would not only click with the material but also have the visual flair that the story needed. The couple figured that the only director to handle such tricky subject matter was somebody like Ridley Scott or Terry Gilliam. The theme of madness that plays such a prominent role in the script fit right in with Gilliam’s preoccupations and so he seemed the natural choice to direct. As luck would have it the filmmaker was between projects and looking for work after several years of seeing potential projects fall through for various reasons.

Gilliam was also eager to take a lot of Hollywood money (a $30 million budget) and create a strange art film that would fly in the face of the traditional mainstream movie. “The idea that someone’s writing a script like this in Hollywood and getting the studio to pay for it was pretty extraordinary. So I thought let’s continue to see how much money we can get the studio to spend.” Gilliam’s battles with Hollywood studios are the stuff of legend – most notably his struggle with Universal over the release of Brazil (1984). They wanted to revoke the director’s final cut privileges to insert a happier ending instead of Gilliam’s decidedly downbeat ending. Gilliam’s vision prevailed in the end, but the ordeal left him understandably wary of further studio involvement. He had reconciled somewhat with Hollywood by making The Fisher King (1991), which turned out to be a surprise commercial and critical success.

Architecture plays an important role in Gilliam’s films and Twelve Monkeys is no different. “I’ve always used architecture as if it was a character.” To this end, he found all sorts of intriguing architecture to populate his film. This included the transformation of an 1820s prison into a 1990s mental hospital where the film’s protagonist, James Cole first meets the Jeffrey Goines. The director found that the structure was designed like a wheel with spokes and hub. And so Gilliam used one section where three spoke-like parts headed off into nowhere. “It seemed to me [that] this trifurcated room was right for multiple personalities.” This feeling of madness is further amplified by the extensive use of skewed, off-kilter camera angles that are often shot at low angles to constantly distort and disorient the scene. “We started doing it and it got more and more fun to see how far we could push it because I wanted to create an atmosphere that you don’t know whether this guy is crazy or whether he actually does come back from the future.” The unusual camera angles not only mimic Cole’s confused state but also reflect Jeffrey’s manic, hyperactive worldview. By presenting the mindsets of these two characters in such a fashion, Gilliam is inviting us to see the world through their eyes and in the process offer a new, unique take on the world that we might not have been aware of before.

Gilliam was not just content to challenge mainstream audiences with unusual visuals and subject matter, but he also wanted to mess with people’s perception of certain movie stars by casting box office names like Brad Pitt and Bruce Willis against type. “One of the reasons [for doing Twelve Monkeys] was taking Bruce and putting him into situations and asking of him things I don’t think he’s ever done before or that people haven’t seen him do … and with Brad Pitt it’s the same thing. Brad is pretty laconic in some ways. Suddenly he’s a blabbermouth, jabbering away at high speed. I love doing that, playing with the public’s perception of that star; otherwise, it wouldn’t be fun.” As a result we get a very different Bruce Willis here than we have come to expect. Gone are the wisecracks and smart-aleck attitude and instead we see Willis impart a real wounded sensibility to the character of James Cole. The reluctant time traveler always seems to be flinching at every little thing, often appearing disoriented or distracted as he struggles to understand what is going on around him. Willis displays great skill in this role – perhaps the best of his career – as he creates a truly tragic figure that may or may not be losing his mind.

Brad Pitt’s character, Jeffrey Goines, resides at the exact opposite end of the spectrum. Where Cole is a sad, brooding figure, Goines is a frenetic psychotic oscillating wildly between paranoid ravings and calm interludes where his madness is kept in check but still resides behind wild eyes. It’s a daring performance for Pitt who lets it all hang out as he gladly chews up the scenery with his loony radical environmentalist cum revolutionary that all but steals every scene he’s in. It’s a performance that Pitt worked long and hard to achieve and it paid off in a Golden Globe Award that year for Best Supporting Actor and an Academy Award nomination in the same category.

It is easy to see what attracted Terry Gilliam to a project like Twelve Monkeys. In keeping with his past films, this one also played “with the same old things – time, reality, madness – so I was intrigued.” Even though it was one of the few projects he did not originate himself, Gilliam quickly made the film his own. In fact, it is Twelve Monkeys‘ unique look that prevents any easy categorization. As Gilliam observed in an interview, “I’m determined to make it indefinable.” It is this avoidance of any clear cut genre that makes the film a riddle waiting to be solved. The film is also structured somewhat like an onion. On the surface, the audience knows very little at the beginning, but gradually as it progresses and the layers are removed, more and more of the mystery is revealed. However, this is not readily apparent after an initial viewing. Only after subsequent screenings does the full impact and brilliance of what Gilliam and his cast and crew have created sink in. It is this great amount of care and detail that has clearly gone into this film that makes Twelve Monkeys worth watching.

BOB RAFELSON’S BLOOD & WINE — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

2Bob Rafelson’s Blood & Wine is a seriously underrated film. Released 20 years ago, it feels like a downbeat effort that should have been made in 1976, not 1996, and with this cast, it’s hard for me to understand how this film came and went with nary a trace when it was buried with a late February opening. This is a hot blooded neo-noir with ripe dialogue and a starry ensemble, and I just can’t fathom how it only grossed $1.1 million in the theaters. Jack Nicholson was perfectly cast as a desperate wine salesman who concocts a jewelry robbery that then goes way off the mark after the initial job. Stephen Dorff, Michael Caine, Judy Davis, Harold Perrineau, and a very sultry Jennifer Lopez were all terrific in supporting roles, but my guess is that the material was too unlikable to be widely embraced. Critcs were mostly kind but nobody really went crazy for it, which seems a shame, because it’s damn good.

This is a dark movie about flawed people, and while it featured megastar Nicholson in the lead role, he’s nothing like a traditional hero or easy to identify with. There’s a moral ambiguity that strengthens the entire film, with the pungent and twisty script by Alison Cross and Nick Villiers never allowing for easy answers to the complicated situations posed by the increasingly sinister plot. The Florida atmosphere lent an interesting visual texture, with cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel bathing the film in a gauzy visual sheen that recalled films from two decades previous, while legendary production designer Richard Sylbert made terrific use of the hot and seedy Floridian locations. This was the seventh collaboration between Rafelson and Nicholson, and even if the film is more conventional in its overall schematics than some of their previous team-ups, there’s still a distinct level of old-fashioned confidence in all of the genre tropes that this type of film can exploit. Nicholson has some terrific moments during the big car-crash sequence, and the film ends on a moment of sad realization for all involved.

 

 

JULIEN MAURY & ALEXANDRE BUSTILLO’S INSIDE — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Inside (À l’intérieur), a stunningly violent French thriller from filmmakers Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo, sets the standard (at least from what I’ve scene) for on-screen death and punishment. Listen — I’m no horror junkie — it’s the one genre I’ve seen the least from, but every once in a while I hear about a foreign language effort that supposedly pushes the envelope and Holy Shit does this movie do that. This is a mercifully short (75 minutes) but unrelentingly brutal horror-thriller that utilizes fantastic digital cinematography and brilliant sound effects to create one of the craziest, nastiest, bloodiest cinematic home-invasions ever put on film.

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The set-up is simple. A pregnant woman named Sarah (Alysson Paradis), who has just recovered from a devastating and life altering car-wreck where you see portions of the accident from the POV of a fetus in the womb, is home alone on Christmas eve on the probable last night of her pregnancy. A strange woman knocks on her door and asks if she can use the phone as she’s been in an accident. The woman, never named in the film but played with icy, intense devotion by Beatrice Dalle in an astonishing performance, seems to know a little about Sarah, and before long, she has broken her way into Sarah’s house. The general air of mystery helps to propel the slim narrative, with twists being doled out in the final moments that cement the generally believable depravity of the film’s strikingly nihilistic scenario.

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What ensues is a vicious fight to the death between Sarah and the mysterious psychopath, with cops and other innocents making their way into the house at various points in the film, but never making it out. The directorial craft and technique of Maury and Bustillo cannot be ignored; they are phenomenally talented at mounting cinematic dread and maintaining a hugely creepy atmosphere, and their level of stylized filmic sadism is something to behold. IF – and ONLY if — you have a strong stomach for blood and gore. Really strong. There’s no question that this is one of the bloodiest movies I’ve ever seen, and while I normally steer clear of genre fare such as this, I couldn’t resist viewing it a while back as people had told me it would raise the hair along my neck. It did. And then some. The performances from Paradis and Dalle, are, in a word, exhausting, both emotionally and physically. Throwing themselves around the house and with the inherently vulnerable Paradis in emotional turmoil for almost an hour straight, the dedication to their parts deserves commendation.

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But while the film is technically fantastic and the gore handled in a very up-front and realistic fashion, what purpose does the film serve overall? Many mentions are made throughout the film to the 2007 riots in France, but any ideas of social critique are absent in the story. Instead, what we’re subjected to is a film with brass balls, a movie that punishes its characters and the audience for the sheer thrill of it. And trust me, unless you’re a student of New French Extremity, you’ve probably never seen ANYTHING like this. Most amazing are the subjective “from-the-womb” shots that Maury and Bustillo cut too while the pregnant Sarah fights for her life — terrifying and unforgettable. I doubt I’ll ever watch it again but I’m glad (in some sort of sick and deranged way) I got a chance to see what many people feel is one of the best horror movies in recent years.

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Forsaken: A Review by Nate Hill

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It’s refreshing that in an age populated by revisionist westerns and snazzy new takes on the ancient genre, some filmmakers just want to play it straight and deliver a good old oater without any newfangled bells and whistles. Jon Cassar’s Forsaken does just that, arriving a few years late (turbulent post production issues) but in modest, simple form, here to tell the age old tale of one man who stands up to some evil frontier bankers with stoic heroism. Kiefer Sutherland is John Henry Clayton, a man who has been away from his quiet hometown for nearly a decade. Following a traumatic stint in the war, circumstance led him into the life of the gunfighter. His unannounced return home stirs up old wounds in his preacher father (Donald Sutherland) who cringes in the very presence of his violent aura. John has thrown down the guns and sworn never to pick them up again, but we all know that just ain’t true, and when he meets a certain group of unsavory dudes in town, he becomes a time bomb of righteous anger that’s liable to go off any time. He spends some time mourning his mother and reconnecting with a lost love (Demi Moore), until the inevitable conflict brews. Corrupt banker James McCurdy (Brian Cox) is buying up farms and forcing families who don’t want to sell off their land, using despicable methods carried out by his two goons, vicious Frank Tillman (Aaron Poole) and mercurial ‘Gentleman’ Dave Turner (Michael Wincott). Tensions arise and everyone finds themselves headed for an unavoidable and blistering conclusion. Kiefer always has a jagged rage simmering just below the surface, which is what made him so perfect as Jack Bauer, another time bomb. He’s downright implosive here, delivering the best work I’ve ever seen him give. He’s got a touching scene with his father in which he goes to places I didn’t know he was capable of in his work. Donald is quiet, resentful and compassionate, wrestling internally to keep his serenity in the face of injustice. Cox always puts on a good show as the villain, and he’s exactly what he needs to be here: beaurocratic menace with just a dash of swagger. It’s Wincott who steals the show though, with the best work in the film. He inhabits Dave (and his incredibly dapper costume) with a relaxed, lupine calm, punctuated by sudden bursts of danger and always presided over by the midnight black, raspy croon of a voice that makes him so special. He jaunts along the line between villain and sympathetic antihero so well, the only character in the film to shirk the archetypes, and I was please try reminded of Jason Robard’s Cheyenne from Once Upon A Time In The West. His best work in a while as well, but then he’s always perfect. The film is refreshingly violent in its gunplay, with an earned brutality that never feels gratuituous, and always satisfying. The production took place in wildest alberta, a trip worth the taking for the breathtaking scenery we get to feast on, especially in an opening credit sequence that is very reminiscent of Eastwood films of yesteryear. It’s a landmark in the sense that although both Kiefer and Donald have been in the same film before (Joel Schumacher’s underrated A Time To Kill) they never have shared the same frame until now. Trust me, it was worth the wait. They are both excellent, along with their peers in a simple, honest to goodness Western film that should please fervent fans of the genre and moviegoers alike.

THE LONG GOODBYE – A REVIEW BY J.D. LAFRANCE

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“I felt that the film was almost an essay, an education, to the audience, to say, ‘Stop looking at everything exactly the same way.’” – Robert Altman

When The Long Goodbye was released in 1973, United Artists promptly bungled its ad campaign. Robert Altman’s film radically reworked Raymond Chandler’s novel of the same name and the studio had no idea how to market the offbeat movie. It polarized critics and promptly disappeared from theaters. People weren’t ready for its offbeat vibe and the way it satirized Los Angeles culture. However, it was Elliott Gould’s unusual take on private investigator Philip Marlowe that drew the lion’s share of people’s criticism. His loose, easy-going style flew in the face of the traditional interpretation made famous by Humphrey Bogart and was tantamount to heresy among cinephiles but in retrospect paved the way for a film like the Coen brothers’ The Big Lebowski (1998), which also confounded the mainstream with its own eccentric take on West Coast culture.

While trying in vain to feed his cat late one night, private investigator Philip Marlowe (Gould) receives a visit from his friend, Terry Lennox (Jim Bouton). Lennox asks Marlowe to drive him to Tijuana, Mexico. When he returns home, the police are waiting for him and claim that Lennox brutally murdered his wife. Marlowe does not believe that his good friend is a murderer and refuses to tell the police anything. After three days in jail, he’s released when the police inform him that Lennox committed suicide in Mexico. It’s an open and shut case but something doesn’t quite sit right with Marlowe. He is subsequently hired by the wealthy Eileen Wade (Nina van Pallandt) to find her alcoholic husband, Roger Wade (Sterling Hayden), a famous author with an Ernest Hemingway complex. Marlowe learns that the Wades knew the Lennoxes and that there is more to Terry’s suicide and his wife’s murder than initially reported.

The Long Goodbye
is bookended by the strains of “Hooray for Hollywood” and the song quickly fades out as if to signal that this film will not be a classic noir take on Chandler. Marlowe wakes up after an undetermined period of time. How long has he been asleep? He mutters to himself while trying to feed his cat, a very fickle pet that will only eat a specific brand of food, and when he tries to fool the feline with another brand hidden in an old can, the cat bolts. So what is the purpose of the first ten minutes of the film dedicated to Marlowe feeding his cat? First off, it establishes that this is going to be a very different take on Chandler’s book and that Marlowe’s friend, Terry Lennox, is as fickle as his cat – he only hangs around Marlowe when he needs him but when he’s no longer of use, he splits. This opening scene came from a story a friend of Altman’s told him about his cat only eating one type of cat food.

The Long Goodbye
is much more than a murder mystery. Taking Chandler’s novel set in the 1940s and updating it to the 1970s, Altman is also interested in satirizing the superficiality of L.A. culture. Marlowe is surrounded by an odd cast of denizens that populate the city: his neighbors are a group of women who spend their time getting high and doing yoga with very little clothes on, the security guard for the Wade’s gated community does impersonations of famous actors like Barbara Stanwyk and Jimmy Stewart, and Marty Augustine (Mark Rydell) is a nasty gangster who is proud of his Jewish heritage. Throughout it all, Marlowe repeats his own personal mantra of sorts, “It’s okay with me,” which personifies his easy-going nature.

The heart of the film is Elliot Gould. His Marlowe is a laid-back guy in a rumpled suit that wanders through the film muttering jokes to himself and chain smoking constantly. Gould’s character is man out of time, a throwback to another era, which provides a sharp contrast to the trendy, health-obsessed ’70s culture that surrounds him. Altman nicknamed Gould’s character Rip Van Marlowe, as if he had been wandering around L.A. in the early ‘70s but “trying to invoke the morals of a previous era.” The actor delivers a wonderful assortment of smart-ass comments to anyone who gives him trouble but also knows when to play it straight during key dramatic moments. He’s also not afraid to improvise in a given scene like when the police interrogate him and he smears the fingerprinting ink under his eyes like a football player and then applies it to the rest of his face a la Al Jolson, riffing off the police officer that is giving him a hard time. Gould delivers a multi-layered performance that ranks right up there with his other classic Altman films, M.A.S.H. (1970) and California Split (1974). There was clearly a creative synergy between the two men that resulted in both of their best work to date.

Producers Jerry Bick and Elliott Kastner commissioned a screenplay from Leigh Brackett, who had written the script for the Humphrey Bogart version of The Big Sleep (1946). The producers offered the script to both Howard Hawks and Peter Bogdanovich. Both directors passed on it but Bogdanovich recommended Altman, whom he admired. Bick and Kastner sent Brackett’s script to Altman while he was shooting Images (1972) in Ireland. Brian Hutton was supposed to direct but was offered another film and Altman took over. Initially, he didn’t want to do it until he was told that Gould would be cast as Marlowe.

In adapting the book, Brackett had problems with its plot which she felt was “riddled with clichés” and was faced with the choice of doing it as a period piece or updating it. Altman and Brackett spent a lot of time talking over the plot. He wanted Marlowe to be a loser. Her first draft was too long and she shortened it but the ending was inconclusive. She had Marlowe shooting Terry Lennox because it was the way Hutton wanted it. Altman liked the ending because it was so out of character for Marlowe. He agreed to direct but only if the ending was not changed.

Altman conceived of the film as a satire and it was his decision to cast Sterling Hayden and Nina Van Pallandt. The director only knew Van Pallandt from The Johnny Carson Show and from the Clifford Irving scandal. He felt that she resembled a character from Chandler’s novel and the studio allowed him to do a screen test. He also made all kinds of changes to the script, like Wade’s suicide and Marty Augustine smashing the Coke bottle into his girlfriend’s face. Altman did not read Chandler’s book and instead gave copies of Raymond Chandler Speaking to the cast and crew and advised them to study the author’s literary essays. Altman originally wanted Dan Blocker for the role of Roger Wade but he died just before shooting began and the director was persuaded to meet with Sterling Hayden.

When Bogdanovich was briefly attached to the project, he wanted Robert Mitchum or Lee Marvin to portray Marlowe. United Artists president David Picker may have picked Gould to play Marlowe as a ploy to get Altman to direct the film. Bogdanovich did not see Gould in the role because he was “too new” and left the project. Brian Hutton also wanted Gould to play the private detective. At the time, the actor was box office poison in Hollywood after his rumored troubles on the set of A Glimpse of Tiger where he argued with co-star Kim Darby, exchanged blows with director Anthony Harvey, and abused drugs as well as being unreliable and absent. Warner Bros. stopped the production early on and Gould claimed that he was blamed for its failure. The studio collected on an insurance policy that attested the actor was crazy. For The Long Goodbye, United Artists gave Gould the requisite physical before approving his contract and demanded a psychological exam to determine that the actor was mentally stable. Gould read the first draft of Brackett’s script described it as a “pastiche” and very convoluted. Altman called Gould to discuss the film and the actor told him that he always wanted to play Marlowe. Altman asked Gould to read the novel as well as Chandler on Chandler. Gould discovered that he was exactly the same age, height, and weight as Marlowe.

When it came to the scenes between Marlowe and Wade, Altman had Gould and Hayden ad-lib most of the dialogue. Hayden, with his long, scraggily beard and scattershot delivery of his dialogue, is great as the eccentric writer who constantly refers to Marlowe as “Marlboro” (“the Duke of Bullshit,” he adds at one point), in reference to his ever-present cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Hayden delivers a wonderfully unpredictable performance full of bluster and eccentric line readings. According to Altman, Hayden improvised a lot of his dialogue and was drunk and stoned on marijuana most of the time. In the scene where Marlowe tries to save Wade from drowning himself in the Pacific Ocean, Gould almost drowned when he went out too far. He was only able to do three takes. The director decided that the camera should never stop moving and put the camera on a dolly. However, the camera movements would counter the actions of the characters so that the audience would feel like a voyeur. To compensate for the harsh light of southern California, Altman gave the film a soft, pastel look reminiscent of old postcards from the 1940s.

Mark Rydell is something else as Marty Augustine. In the first scene we see him in he threatens Marlowe, then talks sweetly to his girlfriend, and then goes back to menacing Marlowe. At times, Augustine is downright charming and then he suddenly and shockingly smashes a Coke bottle across his girlfriend’s face just to make a point. With the shocking violence of this scene, Altman said, “It was supposed to get the attention of the audience and remind them that, in spite of Marlowe, there is a real world out there, and it is a violent world.” Augustine is clearly a psychopath and Rydell nails the character’s shifting moods with unsettling intensity. The Coke bottle scene is like a cold splash of water to the face and it causes not only the audience to sit up and notice but Marlowe as well, who, up to this point, has mostly been in his own little world. Now, Marlowe has a real, vested interest in what happened to his friend Lennox because he owed Augustine a lot of money and is now threatening Marlowe’s life.

The Long Goodbye
was previewed at the Tarrytown Conference Center in New York. The gala was hosted by Judith Crist, then the film critic for New York magazine. Altman flew in for the Q&A session. The film was not well-received by the audience except for Nina Van Pallandt’s performance, which got good notices. The mood at the Q&A was “vaguely hostile” and afterwards Altman was reportedly “depressed.” The Long Goodbye did not fare well in its limited release in Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Miami. As a result, the New York City opening was canceled at the last minute after several advance screenings had already been held for the press. The Long Goodbye received mixed reaction from critics and performed poorly at the box office because of the unconventional story, plot, and character changes from the novel.

The film was abruptly withdrawn from release by United Artists with rumors that it would be re-edited. Altman went to Picker and told him, “No wonder the fucking picture is failing. It’s giving the wrong impression. You make it look like a thriller and it’s not, it’s a satire.” The studio analyzed the reviews for six months and concluded that the advertising campaign was too narrow. They created a new release strategy for The Long Goodbye with a novel ad campaign that featured a poster illustrated by legendary Mad magazine artist Jack Davis. Altman explained that he “had to prepare audiences for a movie that satirizes Hollywood and the entire Chandler genre.” United Artists spent $40,000, and the New York City première was profitably and critically successful. The Long Goodbye ended up on The New York Times’ year-end Ten Best list. Cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond won the National Society of Film Critics’ award for best cinematography in 1973. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done and the film still failed to perform well elsewhere.

The Long Goodbye
has endured and become one of Altman’s signature films. It also has some famous fans, chief among them the Coen brothers who cite it as their favorite of Altman’s and an influence on The Big Lebowski. Aside from being a cheeky satire on Hollywood almost as much as The Player (1992) was, a later Altman film that brought him back into the mainstream, it is a film about loyalty. By the end of the film, Marlowe has learned a valuable lesson – there are some friends you don’t stick your neck out for. He is loyal to a fault and realizes that Lennox wasn’t the friend that he thought he was. As the Altman quote states at the beginning of this article, Marlowe is forced to stop looking at everything exactly the same way, just as we are, and see his friend for who he truly is.

CHAD STAHELSKI & DAVID LEITCH’S JOHN WICK — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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John Wick is exactly the bullet to the face that the American action picture desperately needed. There’s nothing remotely new to the mostly predictable narrative of this film and that’s totally fine – it’s just lean, mean, and very, very effective. Obviously inspired by the blood ballet that is The Raid and The Raid 2 and John Woo films from the 1990’s, first-time directors (and veteran stunt coordinators) Chad Stahelski and David Leitch shot their impressively staged action scenes with a stylish, confident hand, emphasizing long takes with a static camera, letting the ammo fly all over the room, and ramping up the body count to obscene, old-school-Schwarzenegger levels. I had an absolute blast watching this totally kick-ass action film, and if it loses some overall points in the way of originality, there’s something to be said for a lower-budgeted Hollywood actioner such as this that returns the R-rated action film to some form of glory.

There’s nothing complicated about John Wick, but that’s sort of what I loved about it, as it appeals to your primal levels in an immediate, visceral, and universal way. A stoic assassin (Keanu Reeves, well cast) goes for the straight life after years of loyal and lethal service to his Russian boss because he’s finally found the woman worth retiring for. She then gets cancer, quickly dies, and leaves him a farewell present: A beautiful puppy. After the gangster son of Wick’s ex-employer unwittingly roughs up Wick, steals his treasured car, trashes his house, and kills his dog, what’s an ex-contract killer to do than take out ALL of the trash?

And that he does – people are sliced, diced, shot repeatedly, thrown across the room and over ledges, and used as general battering rams against all sorts of sharp objects. The Gareth Evans effect is in total display here, as Stahelski and Leitch go for broke with their wild yet coherent action scenes, letting the bad guys have it at all times, always trying to up the ante from scene to scene. And honestly – if you’re not down for seeing an animal abusing scum bag and a slew of his henchmen get what they deserve – well, this isn’t the movie for you, and you need to check your priorities. PETA should use this film as their calling card from here on out. I fucking LOVED this piece of simple minded action cinema.

 

B Movie Glory with Nate: Blood Shot

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Folks, this is one for the books. Ever wish there was a film made about a badass, gun slinging vampire who is secretly contracted by the President of the United States  (Highlander himself, Christopher Lambert) to carry out dangerous missions and thwart evil Islamic terrorists? Well your very specific and demented wish just came true. Imagine for a moment that John Carpenter, Joe Dante and Michael Bay got hammered one night and wrote the most ridiculous script for a horror action comedy this century has seen. The resulting treatise would be Blood Shot, an absolute hoot of a flick that combines elements that wouldn’t be caught dead (or undead) together in any other setting but that of the gloriously unrestricted world of the B movie. The President uses a craggy operative named Sam (ever brilliant Lance Henriksen) to brief the Vampire in question (Michael Bailey Smith) on his missions. He is to hunt down violent Islamic rebels, led by a dude called Bob. Bob is Arabic. Bob is played by Brad Dourif, who is white as a sheet, but here shows up caked in brown makeup and hollering away in the most idiotic accent I’ve ever heard. His casting alone is just hysterical, and should drive the social activists up the wall screaming, while the rest of us howl in with laughter. His character is called Bob because of everyone’s inability to pronounce his real arabic name which is a mile long and completely nonsensical. His crew are terrorists straight from a Mel Brooks film, complete with a midget amongst them. There’s also a lone hero cop (Brennan Eliott channels the hotshot, reckless law enforcers of 80’s movies) hunting both the terrorists and the Vampire, getting in everyone’s way and capping anything that moves. The fact that Highlander plays the President in a film about a Vampire who hunts down terrorists named Bob should be more than enough for any self respecting film fan to drop whatever they’re doing and go bask in this baby’s glow. Despite being a direct to video flick, it contains not a trace of the trademark ineptitude and shoddiness that you’re always likely to find when exploring the genre. Campiness and lunacy, oh yes. But never mediocrity or laziness. But that’s what your friendly neighborhood Nate is here for, to wade through the unwatchable sludge and mine out the priceless gems for you all to see. This one’s funny, imaginitive, off the wall and a pint of B positive fun. 

MILOS FORMAN’S THE PEOPLE VS. LARRY FLYNT — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Incendiary. Forceful. Incredible. The People vs. Larry Flynt took on a larger than life subject with gusto and bravado, with director Milos Forman plunging neck-deep into the smut and kinky fun that accompanied the hard-living life of exuberant Hustler Magazine publisher Larry Flynt, brilliantly portrayed by Woody Harrelson in a performance that’s nothing less than a tour de force. This film absolutely ripped my head open at the age of 16 when I viewed it theatrically, and over the years, I’ve remained fascinated by the film, due in no small part to the fabulous, three decade spanning screenplay by masters of the biopic Scott Alexander and Larry Karaszewski. This is a raucous, ribald, and totally righteous film about an outrageously insatiable man, with a personality the size of Texas, and a sex drive to equal it. Co-starring the perfectly cast Courtney Love as Flynt’s long suffering romantic companion Althea, Forman populated the edges of his film with a sterling acting ensemble, including Edward Norton as Flynt’s crusading lawyer, James Cromwell as the venal Charles Keating, Richard Paul in a hilarious performance as scumbag Jerry Falwell, Vincent Schiavelli and Crispin Glover as magazine cohorts, and Donna Hanover in a sickeningly awesome performance as Ruth Carter Stapleton.

Forman’s effortlessly natural storytelling sense was on firm display all throughout, with the tone bouncing back and forth between jovial fun to serious darkness. This film is scene after scene of terrific filmmaking, crafted by an intelligent director who seemingly paid attention to every single element that went into his films. And most importantly, it was a warts and all exploration of a man who lived life according to his own terms, a project fully sanctioned by Flynt, who also made a disturbingly ironic cameo as the judge who sentenced him to prison. The velvety cinematography by Philippe Rousselot was in perfect tandem with Patrizia von Brandenstein’s evocative production design, all pulled together by Thomas Newman’s pensive score and the swift editing of Christopher Tellefsen. The film received excellent reviews but, sort of unsurprisingly, stalled out at the box office, no doubt hampered by the potentially alienating subject matter and the mostly prudish, immature attitudes of mainstream audiences. But it’s a tremendous entertainment, and a film with much to say about free speech and freedom of expression, still feeling relevant and important today just as it did 20 years ago.

Passion Of Mind: A Review by Nate Hill

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Passion Of Mind is a little seen fantasy romance tale that stars Demi Moore as a woman named Marie, essentially living double lives in a way. She lives and works in New York, and is as ordinary as any other woman in the world, but when she goes to sleep she wakes up to another life in the French countryside, with another job and children who aren’t in New York. She lives a day in the French life, goes to sleep, wakes up back in the New York life and lives for another day before going to sleep and back again. And so it goes. Is one life a dream? Or both? Is she imagining things, or stuck in some rift? To complicate things, as always happens in film, there are two men, one for each life. Aaron (William Fichtner) is a kind, caring businessman in the New York life who she begins a relationship with. In France she meets compassionate, romantic William (Stellen Skarsgard) who she also begins to fall for. Quite the predicament, no? If the premise sounds familiar to you, here’s why: there was a short lived NBC drama called Awake which ran for one season, starred Jason Isaacs and had the exact same setup. Now while the show obviously borrowed it’s central plotline from this film, it’s no big deal because it’s such a great idea it deserves more than just one shot. The film is quiet, pleasent and sweet, never really taking steps to explain it’s concept but simply letting it’s characters live within it in perplexed, whimsical harmony. Moore has an inherent sweetness to her and she’s wonderful here. One might think a protagonist who is put through a scenario would be confused, stressed out and damaged. Moore plays it her own way, as she always had. Her character is enchanted by her situation, if a little wary. Skarsgard and Fichtner are left field choices for romantic leads, as both are kind of considered character actors with stark, specific looks. Both play it straight here and their casting helps the film loads. Marie has two separate therapists, each from one of the lives (an element which the NBC show used as well), played by Joss Ackland and Peter Riegart. It’s not to serious, not too fluffy, just the right kind of low key romance with an imaginitive streak and a high concept that fits neatly into the story.