Alan Thorndike (Walter Pidgeon), well-known big game hunter, trains his high-powered rifle on Adolf Hitler. But, as he tells Nazi Major Quive-Smith (George Sanders) after his capture, he didn't intend to shoot. It was, he says, a "sporting stalk." The thrill was in proving he could do it. The Major doesn't buy it, but Thorndike talks a good line -- a cultured English gentleman's version of General Zaroff's tune from "The Most Dangerous Game." When Thorndike refuses to sign a confession stating that he not only intended to kill Hitler but did so at the request of the British government, Quive-Smith has him tortured and thrown over the side of a cliff, to die an "accidental" death. He survives, and another hunt is on. All of this takes place "shortly before the war." During the course of the film, Germany invades Poland and World War II is begun. Joan Bennett plays Jerry, a London streetwalker who aids Thorndike and, of course, falls in love with him. It's easy to see why. Part of the charm of this movie is Thorndike himself, who is tough yet refined, rich but not snooty, serious yet carefree and optimistic. Too perfect? Absolutely. But he's still fun to watch. Made before Pearl Harbor, albeit by a man who hated the Nazis (Lang), when America was still isolationist. (According to Wikipedia, we don't see Thorndike's torture because the Hays Office wouldn't allow it, thinking it put the Germans in a bad light.) But this isn't a movie just for history buffs. It's exciting, funny, suspenseful, and refreshingly free of the naiveté of the country and the time that produced it. Based on the novel Rogue Male by Geoffrey Household.
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Alan Thorndike (Walter Pidgeon), well-known big game hunter, trains his high-powered rifle on Adolf Hitler. But, as he tells Nazi Major Quive-Smith (George Sanders) after his capture, he didn't intend to shoot. It was, he says, a "sporting stalk." The thrill was in proving he could do it. The Major doesn't buy it, but Thorndike talks a good line -- a cultured English gentleman's version of General Zaroff's tune from "The Most Dangerous Game." When Thorndike refuses to sign a confession stating that he not only intended to kill Hitler but did so at the request of the British government, Quive-Smith has him tortured and thrown over the side of a cliff, to die an "accidental" death. He survives, and another hunt is on. All of this takes place "shortly before the war." During the course of the film, Germany invades Poland and World War II is begun. Joan Bennett plays Jerry, a London streetwalker who aids Thorndike and, of course, falls in love with him. It's easy to see why. Part of the charm of this movie is Thorndike himself, who is tough yet refined, rich but not snooty, serious yet carefree and optimistic. Too perfect? Absolutely. But he's still fun to watch. Made before Pearl Harbor, albeit by a man who hated the Nazis (Lang), when America was still isolationist. (According to Wikipedia, we don't see Thorndike's torture because the Hays Office wouldn't allow it, thinking it put the Germans in a bad light.) But this isn't a movie just for history buffs. It's exciting, funny, suspenseful, and refreshingly free of the naiveté of the country and the time that produced it. Based on the novel Rogue Male by Geoffrey Household.
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++++ Quite possibly King's best book -- despite the fact that it is King all over, which isn't always a good thing. It's wordy, it's got a kid much too advanced for his age, and it ends with that Mythbuster mentality that isn't satisfied until everything gets blown to hell. But this book, more than the others, is the one that was built for King's style. It's about Jack Torrance, an alcoholic man who carts his family along when he takes a job as the winter caretaker of a posh hotel in the Colorado mountains that just happens to be haunted. He doesn't know this going in, of course, nor does Wendy, his wife. But his son, Danny, does; his "shining" -- psychic talent -- clues him in real fast that the Overlook is one Bad Place. In the Overlook, King has a boogeyman just big enough for all those words and yet small enough to keep things focused. In other words, it isn't like Pet Semetary, which is the same length as The Shining, but all about that little place in the woods where Sparky was buried. And it's not like 11/22/63 either, which might have merited its 800-plus pages if were really about what happened on that date, but instead is split into three different stories rudely rammed together. King, you see, is a character guy. He said somewhere that his ideas tend to start with, Wouldn't it be funny if -- which makes him sound like a plot guy. But it's obvious that plot doesn't interest him nearly so much as his characters. His books don't run as long as they do because his plots are intricate or complex; they balloon because he can't stop riffing on the characters. Every once in awhile, he reaches a happy confluence of both. Most of King's characters, if they went looking for a house to contain their egos and their histories, would end up buying the Overlook Hotel. But only Jack Torrance gets to do that. He gets to do it because he's a haunted man who needs a haunted house to feel at home. Jack isn't a deep man, but he skates a wide surface. There's the time he broke his son's arm, the time when he and a friend nearly killed a kid, the time when his father attacked his mother, and so on. It's not without reason he thinks the Overlook is hot for him. But the Overlook has more than a quick roll in mind. For that, it needs Danny -- and for Jack, not being the favorite threatens to turn him into a living pun: a man overlooked. And that he can't abide. So this book is all about what happens when an insecure man with violent tendencies gets backed into a corner, when inner demons meet real demons. If they were serial killers, Jack would be Ottis Toole to the Overlook's Henry Lee Lucas. (Toole, in fact, lived for awhile in Boulder.) It's a match made in Hell, a Molotov cocktail. That's probably why King's explosive ending works much better here than in other novels. Usually it's not much more than an afterthought. Here, it's an inevitability. ++++ Martians invade Earth one ship at a time for ten straight nights, build titanic tripedal fighting machines armed with heat-rays and chemical weapons, and set out to kill or consume mankind, beginning with the English. While it is interesting to note that had these Martians invaded only a few decades later, their technological superiority would have been eliminated and men would have made short work of them, this remains a compelling novel of survival in a world turned upside down almost overnight. Realistic and believable, thanks in no small part to Wells' choice of narrator, a hearty philosopher whose interest in his own harrowing story is augmented by a wider historical viewpoint, and whose moral sense (thankfully) rejects any notion of the innate preeminence of humankind. A thoughtful story, but also an exciting one, with enough apocalyptic destruction to satisfy all but the most jaded readers. Adapted twice to film, once in 1953, then again in 2005. Also famous for inspiring Orson Welles' "realistic" radio broadcast in 1938, which fooled a few people into believing Martians had indeed invaded. ++++ Democratic populist from California is persuaded to run for the United States Senate on the idea that because he can't possibly win, he can say whatever he wants. Then he begins rising in the polls. Written by Jeremy Larner, a former speechwriter for Eugene McCarthy, this wry, realistic portrait of high-stakes political campaigning follows the inexperienced candidate (Robert Redford) and his savvy campaign manager (Peter Boyle) from announcement to election, and offers a behind-the-scenes (and decidedly adult) look at everything in between, things like campaign stops, television advertising, and a debate. Mentions without really examining a number of key issues, which keeps the film from ever becoming terribly partisan. Larner's script, by the way, won the Academy Award for 1972. ++++ Outstanding crime thriller about a successful bank heist and its bloody aftermath (not that the heist itself wasn't bloody enough) as the three robbers try to make good their getaway. Doc, the engaging leader of the gang, is cool, smart, suave, resourceful, and ruthless; everyone likes him (likability is his stock in trade). And yet, through some marvelous sleight of hand, Thompson keeps him at arm's length, turning him neither into hero nor anti-hero, positioning him instead for his highly unusual fate, detailed in an ending that segues into near-fantasy and is both horrific and hilarious. Fast-paced, written with confidence, verve, and humor, and hardboiled as hell. Filmed twice, once in 1972 with Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw, then again in 1994, with Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger. Note: The naval cap worn by the man in the cover painting and anything it might conceivably imply has no relevance whatsoever to this story. ++++ The first suspense novel in Woolrich's "Black Series" is a cunningly conceived tale of revenge and rough justice. The opening quotation from Guy de Maupassant has us rooting for the murderess before we've even met her. Then we meet her, and she's so beautiful, so clever and efficient -- so deliciously dark -- that our admiration and affection for her grow, even as she takes out one seemingly average man after another. We trust her. Julie Bailey is one of the great women of suspense fiction, a woman who has only one thing for the five men who killed her husband and got away with it: a violent death. It all works so well because Woolrich takes the time to introduce us to each of the victims, while showing us how Julie gets close enough to them to make the killings personal. Superior noir, but not without a touch of levity: Woolrich closes out each section with the poor cop who's going nuts trying to figure out what's happening and why. Adapted for film in 1968 by French director François Truffaut. ++++1/2 Director Jacques Tourneur and producer Val Lewton's follow-up to Cat People may be the best zombie movie ever made. Of course, we're talking old school zombies here. The story takes place on a small Caribbean island, where the descendants of African slaves practice voodoo. It is told by Betsy, the nurse who comes to the island to care for plantation-owner Paul Holland's ailing wife, Jessica. Jessica, we discover, lives in a semi-comatose state: though she can walk and follow simple directions, she has no will of her own. The story, written by Curt Siodmak (Donovan's Brain) and Ardel Wray, is one of surprising depth. There's the double-backstory, for instance -- of the island's history and the history of Paul and his family -- the brooding atmosphere, and the realistic detail of the voodoo rituals. Layered one atop the other, what emerges is a portrait of a family torn apart by dark forces and passions. Relatively early in the film, Betsy and Paul's brother sit down for a drink at a local bar. Their conversation is interrupted by a calypso singer (Sir Lancelot), telling the story of the Holland family. The words provide backstory, the style a Caribbean atmosphere, and the title, "Shame and Sorrow," the theme of the entire picture. A short film this may be, but it packs a lot into 69 minutes. ++++ Physicist Lionel Barrett is the nominal leader of a small group of investigators hired by a dying man to investigate a supposedly haunted house in order to establish conclusively whether or not there is survival after death. Barrett doesn't think so; Florence Tanner, a mental medium, disagrees; and Ben Fisher, a physical medium and the only sane survivor of a previous investigation years before, agrees with Florence -- but he's there less to prove anything to his employer than to avenge his previous failure. Edith, Barrett's seemingly timid wife, is along for the ride. It's a wild ride, to be sure. This is not a book that skimps on its supernatural manifestations. Spirit guides, poltergeist activity, possession, teleplasmic extrusions -- the list goes on and on. You want action? You've found it. To Matheson's credit, it isn't, however, mindless mayhem. He doesn't toss a ghost in the house and figure anything goes. Matheson weaves together the personalities of his investigators with the sordid history of the house to create a believable framework for all the insanity. The final revelation -- a psychologically weak explanation for the house's most evil ghost -- can't spoil an otherwise satisfying resolution. Made into a film, The Legend of Hell House, in 1973. ++++ Seminal slasher film "introduces" Jamie Lee Curtis as a smart, virginal teen who becomes the primary target of a mask-wearing psychopath named Michael Myers. Michael, however, is no ordinary man: as Donald Pleasance, playing his psychiatrist, tells us, he is, in fact, the boogeyman come to life. Still holds up today, thanks to good performances all around, a simple but effective script, and suspenseful direction that relies as much on showing us the killer as not. That, and the terrific theme music, written by Carpenter himself. With Nancy Loomis, P. J. Soles, and Nick Castle as "The Shape." Followed by six sequels, and a remake directed by Rob Zombie. ++++ Grit, like any other admirable human quality, comes with a price, and the truer it is, the higher the cost. That's what Charles Portis seemed to say in the book on which this film is based. But that's not what Hathaway and screenwriter Marguerite Roberts say, and perhaps that's what's wrong with this movie -- if indeed there is anything wrong with it. This, from start to finish, is a wonderful film. Kim Darby shines as young Mattie Ross, a girl whose strength, determination, and moral fiber won't let her take the murder of her father sitting down. John Wayne is so perfectly cast as the toughest, most trigger-happy Federal Marshall Mattie can find to track the killer that he won the Best Actor Academy Award for his performance. Glen Campbell, better known as a singer, of course, is just fine as a Texas Ranger who is after the same man for reasons of his own. With great dialogue (often lifted straight from the novel), lots of humor, and plenty of action. But, for what it's worth, this is a softer version of Portis' book, one with, ironically, a bigger heart that may be, deep inside, the littlest bit hollow. Also with Dennis Hopper and Robert Duval. Remade in 2010 by the Coen brothers. |
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