Few films have the same sense of cinematic muscularity that Sorcerer does, and a large reason for this overwhelmingly visceral quality comes from the laser-focused direction of William Friedkin. A majority of this rugged, dangerous action-adventure movie is told with no dialogue, with Friedkin wholly trusting the near hallucinatory images from his cinematographers and realizing that the most powerful expression that cinema can offer is how the visual language of storytelling unfolds for the viewer. Existential in its themes and beyond grand in its epic scope, this is a thrilling, unthinkable piece of filmmaking, showcasing a director who clearly felt that he NEEDED to tell this story. Like Coppola’s Apocalypse Now and Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo, there’s this overwhelming sense of bravado that one feels while watching Sorcerer, as the viewer can clearly tell that the story being told could only have come from the mind of an obsessed filmmaker at the head of the controls. Yes, moviemaking, by its organic nature and process, is a collaborative effort, with multiple individuals contributing so that the art form feels complete by its conclusion. But with something like Sorcerer, and more recently a film like JC Chandor’s All is Lost, there’s a singular sensation that washes over you while experiencing the narrative; there’s a limitless quality to the endeavor that makes it feel alive and unpredictable. Tangerine Dream’s hypnotic score creates a feeling of damn near intoxication, and when combined with the stark (and often violent) visuals, Sorcerer continuously reminds you that you’re in a world where anything is possible. Roy Scheider leads the stoic and masculine cast with gritty panache, while the rest of the supporting players feel as if they were plucked off the streets and dropped into a major motion picture, giving the film a level of verisimilitude that enhances each robust set piece. Friedkin based his cult classic on the 50’s French film Wages of Fear, taking the core plot points and infusing them with a sense of new-found awe and astonishment. The bridge sequence, to this day, defies logic and reasonability (it’s as insane as the hauling of the boat over the mountain in Fitzcarraldo) while the entire film begins to take the shape of a vivid and lush nightmare. You’re in the jungle driving a souped-up dump truck with lots of nitro stored in the back – I’m not sure if there could be anything more sketchy than that. One of those films that was misunderstood and shoved aside at the time of its initial release, the film has righteously become a cult, if not slightly lost, classic. And thanks to the somewhat recently released and absolutely STUNNING Blu-ray special edition, Sorcerer gets a chance to re-enter the cinematic landscape as one of the final films from the auteur driven period of studio pictures that placed an emphasis on the unconventional, while a filmmaker was pushed to their limits to unleash their magnum opus.





unnamed (1)Podcasting Them Softly is extremely proud to present a chat with veteran production designer and art director Charles William Breen.  Charles has an extensive list of credits, having worked with Ridley Scott on BLADE RUNNER, Mike Nichols on POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE, Richard Attenborough’s CHAPLIN, James Cameron’s TERMINATOR 2, Clint Eastwood’s THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY, Neil Labute’s YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS and NURSE BETTY, and Barry Levinson’s DISCLOSURE, to name just a few. After getting his start at Universal Studios as a set designer after studying architecture at the world-renowned art and design school Cranbrook in Michigan, over the last 30 years he’s had the chance to work with some of the biggest names that Hollywood has to offer. One of his most distinctive credits was the 2006 gangster-musical hybrid IDLEWILD, from director Bryan Barber, with whom Charles has worked with many times on music videos. He was Emmy nominated for Best Art Direction in 1997 for HBO’s WEAPONS OF MASS DISTRACTION, and throughout the years, has applied his diverse talents to a strong and eclectic mix of work. We hope you enjoy this informative and passionate discussion!



The effect that Hal Ashby’s Harold and Maude must have had over an entire generation of filmmakers is very much apparent – this feels like a precursor to every Wes Anderson movie ever made, and even has some of the same scrappy qualities to the works of David O. Russell, most notably Flirting with Disaster and Silver Linings Playbook. Bud Cort was extremely funny in a morose fashion as Harold, and Ruth Gordon was many things as Maude – hysterical, odd, kooky, heartfelt, and finally, totally unique. Their relationship is one built out of loneliness and desperation, and while some stuff happens that might seem over the top, I’m always able to buy into the notion that these two people were just waiting to find each other, so that their lives could finally achieve that spark they were looking for. This is a black comedy with a strange sense of humor that clearly paved the way for so much to come. Back during its initial release, critics seemed to have been mixed and audiences stayed away, but I’m not surprised how the film has developed such a rabid cut following in the years since. The soundtrack by Cat Stevens keeps things upbeat and sunny even when the narrative goes to some extra sad and dark places, and the screenplay by Colin Higgins deftly balanced all elements, with no small amount of help coming from graceful director Ashby, who always had a natural feel for his actors and a clear sense of place for his productions. John Alonzo’s cinematography was unfussy and patient with its compositions, and it’s a further reminder of how this great cameraman from a lost era was capable of working in any genre (other credits include Scarface, Chinatown, The Bad News Bears, Blue Thunder, and Star Trek: Generations). There’s also some terrific stunt driving which contributes to the humorous tone, with jokes coming in the most surprising of places, told visually in many instances, which keeps the film moving along with a sense of the unpredictable all the way until the perfect ending. Available on Blu-ray from the Criterion Collection.



Tailor made to director Tony Scott’s aggressive and intense filmmaking sensibilities, his ferocious last action thriller Unstoppable is a wildly entertaining throwback to the mid-to-late-90’s “high-concept” actioner genre that he helped pioneer. Sort of like Speed but refreshingly constructed without a mad-man terrorist character, the film is inspired by true events and doesn’t suffer in the slightest when it comes to a non-existent mega-villain – the runaway train at the center of the film is plenty mean and nasty. Scott, working for the fifth time with Denzel Washington and for the first time with Chris Pine, got two meaty, manly performances from his charismatic leads, and as usual, peppered his film with a terrific supporting cast (Rosario Dawson, Kevin Dunn, Ethan Suplee, Kevin Corrigan [love this guy!], T.J. Miller, scene-stealer Lew Temple, and David Warshofsky all pop up in key roles). Mark Bomback’s lean, fast-moving screenplay injects nice character beats all throughout the propulsive narrative as opposed to front-loading the first act with nothing but background and exposition. We get to learn about the characters as the movie progresses ala a 70’s film, while Bomback and Scott pile on the near-death encounters that Washington and Pine have to contend with. There’s also a quiet little streak of working-class anger running throughout Unstoppable when it comes to the way mega-corporations care more about their bottom line than the lives and well-being of their employees; the subversive subtext is there no matter how much it’s overshadowed by explosions and flipping-cars.

Based on an event that occurred in 2001 where an unmanned train carrying highly-toxic chemicals careened through the Ohio countryside at speeds of up to 50 mph, Unstoppable ups the ante considerably (now a heavily populated city is in jeopardy and the train is chugging along at close to 70 mph) but still stays true to the events that inspired it. Due to simple human error, one segment of a train dislodges from the main portion, and with the gears in forward motion, takes off down the track. Most people won’t know much about trains going into this film (I certainly didn’t) but by the end, you’ll likely have a better understanding of how they work and just how dangerous they really are. Credit goes to Washington and Pine for never over-stating the obvious. They are playing classic men of action who rise to the occasion when they are most needed (a theme running all throughout Scott’s body of work) and they never went over the top with their performances. Pine has a great way of never seeming overly pushy as an actor, possessing a natural quality which makes it seem like he’s being himself at all times. Washington is completely at ease under Scott’s direction and did a nice variation on the same character that he’s been perfecting for the last 15 years. There’s nothing complicated about Unstoppable – how will these train operators (one a veteran, one a rookie) stop the runaway bomb-on-wheels and save the day?

There’s a certain element of predictable eventuality to Unstoppable – it seems inconceivable to think that the train will really crash and eviscerate close to a million innocent people. So without spoiling anything (and there are more than a few surprises in Bomback’s fast-moving script), I’ll say that Scott keeps you invested the entire time, not only by destroying any number of objects that get in the train’s way as it charges towards its destination, but by staying focused on the brass-tacks of the story and never succumbing to cheap humor or stupid side distractions. So it’s no real secret to reveal that the real star of Unstoppable, beyond the train itself, is Scott the auteur. No other filmmaker, to my recollection, has transported their audience directly on a train in the way that Scott does in Unstoppable. Every single shot in the film looks real – viciously, dangerously real. At no time do you feel like you’re watching actors on a set or in front of a green screen, which goes a long way in making the entire movie feel vital and alive. The aerial photography is stunning, with numerous shots of the hard-charging train going neck and neck with helicopters and pick-up trucks that are trying to stop it. Scott, along with the gifted cinematographer Ben Serensin, always managed to keep all of the action coherent and spatially understandable in Unstoppable, without ever sacrificing anything in the style department. They’re aided immensely by Scott’s long-time, go-to editor Chris Lebenzon and his partner Robert Duffy. All of Scott’s kinetic shooting and editing tricks (jump-cuts, rich color palette, on-screen titles, staccato editing patterns) are sampled during Unstoppable, so as a result, some people might get motion sickness, as the camera never stops swirling, never takes a breather, and is always on high alert. It’s visceral filmmaking of the highest order and a further reminder that Scott was the best in the business when it came to this sort of stuff. It’s indescribable how much I miss him as an artist.




Intense, mean, and violent, Michael Cimino’s Year of the Dragon is really overdue for a Blu-ray release. It’s sort of hammy with its dialogue but it’s no less entertaining for being so. Alex Thomson’s bravura cinematography consistently dazzles. The visceral, blazing shootouts feel real and wildly dangerous. The nightclub scenes are electric, clearly paving the way for Collateral/Vice-era Mann. Rourke is both agonizing and heroic, and even if he might not have been truly old enough for the part as written, he was his usual, fascinating self, always a reserve of surprise, ever the actor to keep you guessing. David Mansfield’s evocative musical score heightens the mood and Wolf Kroeger’s absurdly amazing production design is beyond sumptuous — you’d never know that almost the entire film was shot on North Carolina sound stages. The screenplay, co-written by Cimino and Oliver Stone from Robert Daley’s novel, is both on the nose and subtle, cliched and unpredictable, which is no easy accomplishment, while the level of startling and bloody violence is bracing to behold — people get FUCKED up in this movie. Cimino, as always, just totally went for it, giving this explosive if at times overwrought narrative tons of dynamic sequences and individual moments, while also hammering home his distinct visual aesthetic, which here borrowed neo-noir and gangster movie elements to tell a propulsive and engrossing story that feels intimate and epic all at once. The production value on this movie truly is wondrous, I can’t say it enough.




I always preferred Robin Williams when he went DARK — stuff like Insomnia (as good as remakes get), Death to Smoochy (brilliant satire), What Dreams May Come (visionary), One Hour Photo (supremely creepy), Good Will Hunting (downbeat but still lovable), and The Final Cut (unnerving) rank as my favorite movies from this legendary comedic actor — but I am not sure anyone was prepared for how screwed-up and obscenely hysterical Bobcat Goldthwait’s World’s Greatest Dad was going to be. This is a scalding, deeply perverted, and oddly touching little comedy that’s destined to find a huge cult following. The less you know about the story the better, but here’s a small summary: Williams is high school teacher and failed writer Lance Clayton, a single dad who is raising his punk-ass teenage son Kyle (the amazingly nasty Daryl Sabara) and carrying on a secret relationship with fellow teacher Claire (the extremely cute Alexie Gilmore). When Kyle accidentally (and embarrassingly) dies, Lance decides to write a suicide note on behalf of his son. That’s when all hell breaks loose. Again, know as little about this movie as possible before you check it out. All I will say is that it’s one of the sharpest high school satires since Election, and overall, the film has a nasty streak of diseased humor running through its cinematic veins that is extremely refreshing. It’s also a unique film about parenting and family, and while much of the delinquent son’s behavior might putt off some people from even attempting reproduction, Goldthwait’s narrative still has plenty of genuine heart. This is an audacious, unsafe comedy, unafraid to go to some truly bleak places, and always succeeding because of Goldthwait’s ability to cull humor out of the perverse. Williams gives a terrific performance, on par with his career best work in stuff like Insomnia, Death to Smoochy, and One Hour Photo; when he wanted to knock it out of the park, he really crushed it. This is easily one of the funniest, most transgressive comedies in years, on par with stuff like Observe and Report and Bad Santa.




Sean Mullin’s sweet and feisty romantic dramedy Amira & Sam hits all the right notes, and a big reason for the film’s success is the terrific performance from leading actress Dina Shihabi. I love that this film went with its heart in the final act, and I found it to be a touching, sad, and finally hopeful little gem that knew exactly what it wanted to say. That the film believes in the power of love is one of its greatest virtues, as Mullin created two fully fleshed out characters (Shihabi’s co-star is the fantastic Martin Starr) in a relatively short amount of time, lending credence to the notion that great chemistry can propel any cinematic relationship forward even in the briefest amount of screen time. The story hinges on Sam (Starr), an Iraq war veteran who by chance meets Amira (Shihabi), the beautiful niece of his wartime translator, who also happens to be an illegal immigrant. Through a series of potentially life altering circumstances, Sam is asked to hide Amira after a run-in with the NYPD, while an unexpected romance blossoms between the two lost souls. Their “meet-cute” is wonderful and the palpable chemistry that Shihabi and Starr crafted together was playful and sexy. The film feels like a cousin in some respects to Tom McCarthy’s The Visitor, as it’s a work that operates on multiple levels, with comedy masking some rather upsetting notions of estrangement, and while what happens in the final moments might strike some as unlikely, I believed it because of how well defined the central relationship was and because Mullin clearly had an affinity for his characters.
But when you cut to the film’s core, the bleeding heart of the narrative rests in the two wonderful lead performances from Shihabi and Starr, who both inhabit real people in an increasingly stressful yet hopeful situation, one with no easy answers and no pat resolutions by the time the story has come to its conclusion. Shihabi, for her part, knew precisely how to balance her character’s initial frustrations with a keen sense of comic timing and dramatic intent, while never allowing her potentially caustic behavior to overwhelm any portion of her early scenes. She paints a well balanced portrait, in an economical amount of time, of a person who is struggling to find herself in the world, and you gain her sympathy — and empathy — almost immediately as a result of her openness as an actress. Her eyes suggest desire and hope while her body language suggests fear and pessimism, which was crucial for the audience in order to understand how volatile her situation was during the course of the story. And without spoiling anything that this lovely film has to offer, the final moments strike as note-perfect, encapsulating all of the ideas and themes that Mullin had worked so hard to convey throughout his story. Shihabi’s ability to convey hard-fought sincerity while allowing her emotional guard to be slowly lowered by Starr’s smitten potential beau is a further testament to how carefully conceived her character was by Mullin, and how delicately Shihabi pulled it all off. And while Amira and Sam’s road might be fraught with uncertainty, you’re always rooting for them as a couple, which is a pleasure for the audience. This is one of those small, under the radar movies that deserves to find an audience!



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