This is what noir looks like when its play of light and shadow has no psychological ground -- like just another crime drama. It is, however, one of those rare movies that reverses the typical trajectory and actually gets better as it goes along. Or rather, gets better after a certain point. The film is based on Cornell Woolrich's novel (written under his William Irish pseudonym), and so it is about the search for a woman who can provide a man falsely convicted of murdering his wife with the alibi he needs to avoid execution. The point at which it improves is also an improvement over the book. Where Woolrich was content to conceal his killer until the very end, hiding the malefactor behind literary obfuscation, Siodmak and screenwriter Bernard C. Schoenfeld reveal their "paranoiac" about halfway through, instantly heightening the drama and the suspense. But it isn't enough. This is noir light (contradiction intended), from the lightweight performances of the stars (despite Ella Raines' obvious efforts as the accused's loyal and loving friend) to Siodmak's professional yet toneless visuals. It's supposed to add up to a nightmare world of murder and betrayal, but in reality -- because the off-key theme music that is both too happy and too romantic links directly with the ending -- it comes off instead as little more than a weird detour in two interrupted lives. Also with Alan Curtis, Franchot Tone, and Thomas Gomez.
++1/2
This is what noir looks like when its play of light and shadow has no psychological ground -- like just another crime drama. It is, however, one of those rare movies that reverses the typical trajectory and actually gets better as it goes along. Or rather, gets better after a certain point. The film is based on Cornell Woolrich's novel (written under his William Irish pseudonym), and so it is about the search for a woman who can provide a man falsely convicted of murdering his wife with the alibi he needs to avoid execution. The point at which it improves is also an improvement over the book. Where Woolrich was content to conceal his killer until the very end, hiding the malefactor behind literary obfuscation, Siodmak and screenwriter Bernard C. Schoenfeld reveal their "paranoiac" about halfway through, instantly heightening the drama and the suspense. But it isn't enough. This is noir light (contradiction intended), from the lightweight performances of the stars (despite Ella Raines' obvious efforts as the accused's loyal and loving friend) to Siodmak's professional yet toneless visuals. It's supposed to add up to a nightmare world of murder and betrayal, but in reality -- because the off-key theme music that is both too happy and too romantic links directly with the ending -- it comes off instead as little more than a weird detour in two interrupted lives. Also with Alan Curtis, Franchot Tone, and Thomas Gomez.
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+++ Reasonably good, fast-paced crime thriller about a diver who is hired to salvage a ship which, he discovers, hasn't sunk yet. Nominated at the time for an Edgar Award in the Paperback Original category, and it delivers on that level. Before it's all over John Lange (i.e., Michael Crichton) has mixed in money laundering, the Mafia, and missing World War II treasure. And a couple of vicious ocelots. Our hero doesn't say much, but that's probably because the plot is so breathless. +++ Tough yet principled New York detective (Frank Sinatra) has his hands full with a failing marriage, the high-profile murder of a homosexual, a questionable suicide, and his own career goals. Supporting cast includes Robert Duval as a bigoted cop, Lee Remick as the detective's wandering wife, and Jacqueline Bisset as a woman who believes her husband's death has been whitewashed by the cops. Bleak, but with much to appreciate if not precisely enjoy: a convoluted plot that is nevertheless well-constructed, its dark and moody atmosphere, and fine performances. Based on the novel by Roderick Thorp, the sequel to which, Nothing Lasts Forever, was also made into a standalone film -- Die Hard. ++++ 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. +1/2 Essentially a dramatic PSA, the "goal" of which, if you believe the opening title card, "is not to win commercial awards but to create an 'awareness of a present danger.'" That danger, of course, is the Zodiac killer (and, vaguely, others like him), who killed five people and wounded two others in late-sixties California. The killer himself, who taunted police with letters and cryptograms, claimed many times more victims, but without proof or official consensus. To this day, he has not been caught or conclusively identified. Bargain-basement effort (it's just as well that the filmmakers had no commercial aspirations) that casts the Zodiac (Hal Reed) as a bunny-loving mailman with afterlife issues and an institutionalized dad who wants nothing to do with him. The movie shows us his officially recognized crimes, then tacks on a few more, ostensibly to frighten the audience by suggestion -- since scaring them the old-fashioned way, with technical skill and a talent for cinema, was impossible. Of curiosity value only, and only to those interested in the Zodiac murders. ++ Thriller and courtroom drama about a whackjob who savagely kills five people and the prosecutor who, theoretically conflicted, argues in favor of the death penalty. Based on the book by William P. Wood and “inspired by” true events — the case of serial killer Richard Chase. Friedkin (who produced, wrote, and directed the film) provides no easy answers, yet fails to provide much in the way of food for thought, either, despite tackling both the death penalty and legal insanity. Alex McArthur handles the “innocence” of insanity quite well (he’s certainly a cheerful maniac) and Michael Biehn is good as the prosecutor; the script, however, never allows either of them to dig very deeply into their characters or the issues surrounding them. Which is just as well, as the ending undercuts their differing psychologies anyway. Originally released in Europe with a different ending; re-cut and modified for US release by Friedkin after studio bankruptcy left the movie stranded on the shelf for five years. Less violent than you might expect: the really horrible stuff occurs off-screen. ++1/2 Two detectives investigate a series of murders linked to the seven deadly sins. (If you've forgotten the mnemonic, WASPLEG, these are Wrath, Avarice, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony. But, let's face it, it doesn't really matter; it's just a hook.) We are told that the killer remains so long at large because he is especially clever, leaving behind no clues to his identity. This, however, is a very dark film, figuratively but more importantly literally. The clues are probably there, the police just can't find them in the beams of their silly flashlights. On the other hand, only in the darkness could some of the film's bizarre observations on life appear to be profound. "I sympathize completely," Detective William Somerset tells his young partner, David Mills. "Apathy is the solution. I mean, it's easier to lose yourself in drugs than it is to cope with life. It's easier to steal what you want than it is to earn it. It's easier to beat a child than it is to raise it." Is it? Somerset, supposedly cultured, well-read, and wise, comes off as jaded when in fact he is merely myopic. As Mills says, just having a library card doesn't make you Yoda. Fortunately the actors are all quite good. Morgan Freeman as Somerset, Brad Pitt as Mills, and Kevin Spacey as...well, Kevin Spacey. Morgan certainly sounds good spouting all his nonsense. And the film has a few genuinely funny moments sprinkled about, as when Mills tires of the source material for the seven deadly sins -- books like Dante's Inferno -- and gets the Cliff's Notes versions instead. But it's all in the service of a story that gets its weltanschauung wrong. Here, apathy leads to crime. The reality is far worse: it leads to not caring about crime. "[T]he crime scenes are rendered in sickening detail, and the whole film has a murky, madly pretentious tone. Visually, the effect is that of spending a long time looking at a bowl of oatmeal on a rainy day." - Janet Maslin, The New York Times, September 22, 1995 "[I]t is, like Silence Of The Lambs, a genuine original which, if it leaves a brackish taste in the mouth, nevertheless keeps you on the edge of your seat." - Derek Malcolm, Thursday 4 January 1996 * Poor adaptation of A. J. Quinnell's novel -- made infinitely worse by Scott's psychotic direction -- is almost criminal waste of Denzel Washington's talent and the audience's time. John Creasy, a burnt-out counter-terrorist operative, takes a job as the bodyguard for a nine-year-old girl in Mexico City; when she is kidnapped, he vows violent revenge on everyone involved. Quinnell himself liked the picture, which in itself should be enough to give the rest of us pause. For all its blood and pyrotechnics, this is decidedly a more soft-boiled version of the story, as it turns Creasy from a man repaying a debt into a pathetic loser who claims to be fighting for a child but who in reality is merely using her as an excuse in his quest for personal redemption. It's also softer in the head: the way the movie ends, unlike the book, makes a mockery of Creasy's entire mission. After a terrible opening -- featuring Scott's heavily tricked up photography and editing -- the film settles down for awhile as little Pita (Dakota Fanning) teaches Creasy how to be human. In spite of the miscasting -- not that Fanning isn't good (she is), but she (and her mother) should have been Hispanic -- this part of the film is actually good. Beginning with the kidnapping, however, Scott's worst instincts take over and the rest is a jumbled, pretentious mess that makes momentous occasions out of "events" like opening a car door. Eight years later, director Scott committed suicide. *** Liberal, mild-mannered New Yorker (Charles Bronson) turns vigilante after an assault on his wife and daughter leaves the former dead and the latter in a catatonic state, becoming in the process a public hero and a police headache. Less restrained and more exciting than the Brian Garfield book on which it is based, but also somewhat less believable as a result. Still, this is satisfying escapism for anyone who is concerned about violent crime or who believes that self-defense is the answer. Includes a brilliant bit of adaptation (the screenplay was written by Wendell Mayes) that much improves an important trip to Tucson, where the city and a business client (smartly played by Stuart Margolin) put the finishing touches on the vigilante's psychological turn toward retribution. Followed by four sequels. *** Liberal CPA turns vigilante after his wife and daughter are brutally attacked in his New York apartment. Slow-starter (the hero doesn't even take a swing at anyone until the halfway point) that develops into a thoughtful, non-exploitative discourse on crime and self-defense. You know it isn't all about the killing when a large chunk of the climax is in the form of a psychological profile of the unknown killer. Ends well. Made into a movie in 1974 starring Charles Bronson. Followed by a sequel, Death Sentence, in 1975. |
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