Contamination: Luigi Cozzi

I don't care if Luigi Cozzi's Contamination is an obvious Alien (1979) rip-off. It manages to be a decent film in its own right with some absolutely fantastic special effects. Long story short: when a shipment of exploding alien eggs from Mars (yes, really) are found in a derelict boat heading for New York City, a team of astronauts and military personnel travel to Colombia where they discover a sinister conspiracy to use the eggs to destroy humanity. The agents of this underground invasion are being mind-controlled by a massive alien cyclops. The animatronic alien cyclops is quite honestly of Star Wars level caliber, even if director Cozzi had to use clever editing tricks to mask the fact that the damn thing could barely move. The other two effects concern the alien eggs and their effect on humans. The greenish, football-shaped eggs quiver, vibrate, moan, and violently erupt whenever they are heated up. If a living organism is touched by its exploding contents, then they too violently erupt in a geyser of gore, guts, and body parts. The explosions were graphic enough for the film to be labeled a video nasty. But seeing this as a blood and gore schlock-fest does an injustice to the film and Cozzi's competent direction. Cozzi does a wonderful job creating suspense, particularly in the early scenes when scientists investigate the seemingly abandoned ship in New York City. Contamination may be a rip-off, but it certainly is a good one.

6/10

Phantom Lady: Robert Siodmak

Robert Siodmak's first film noir, Phantom Lady, is not only a great film in its own rights, it is also one of the most progressive films of its genre. Here we find a private dick film noir where the roles are reversed: when her boss Scott Henderson is falsely arrested, found guilty, and sentenced to death for the murder of his wife, secretary Carol Richman sets out on her own to find the real killer. The key to freeing Scott is discovering a so-called "phantom lady," a woman he spent the night with after fighting with his wife right before her murder. Scott claims that he went all over town with this lady (whose name he never heard): in a bar, in a cab, and at a show. However, when the police investigate the people who saw the two together, they all swear that Scott was alone that night. Curiouser and curiouser. Carol repeatedly puts herself in danger by diving into the underworld where she discovers that Scott is the unwitting fall guy for a criminal mastermind who, for mysterious reasons, has either bribed or coerced everyone who saw Scott that night to "forget" about his companion. Two scenes stand out the most. The first involves her investigation of the bartender. First, she sits at the bar for an entire day quietly staring at him. Then she follows him as he leaves for the subway, making him implode in a ball of paranoid terror. This is a masterful sequence of psychological storytelling that has lost none of its impact over the years. The second is when she tries to "seduce" the drummer of the show Scott attended who spent a large chunk of time trying to get the "phantom lady's" attention. The drummer, Cliff, played by long-time Hollywood fall guy Elisha Cook, Jr., shines in a scene where he lustily goes crazy during a drum solo in response to Carol's advances. Notice Carol's transformation in this scene in a faux femme fatale. Female leads rarely displayed this much depth and resourcefulness in films of the era. Indeed, Carol's skill and bravery during the film elevate her into a kind of proto-feminist hero. Much of the credit for this goes to Robert Siodmak, a German émigrée who clearly brought European sensibilities to the film. But it would be criminal to neglect the influence of Joan Harrison, Universal's first female executive and former screenwriter for Alfred Hitchcock. Working as the film's producer, her influence both as a woman and as a former Hitchcock collaborator are undeniable. Indeed, the film is full of Hitchcockian touches. My favorite is how each witness reacts when they are first approached by Scott and the police during their search for the "phantom lady." Nervous glances and odd behavioral ticks reinforce the fact that they are clearly lying and therefore helping an innocent man get convicted of a crime he didn't commit (a favorite plot device for Hitchcock). On a side note, Harrison's involvement makes you wonder if the scripts she wrote for Hitchcock also had feminist undertones. If they did, I wouldn't be surprised at all if Hitch "ignored" them in order to fulfill his twisted power fantasies concerning the women who tormented him his entire life.

8/10

Bernie: Richard Linklater

God bless Bernie Tiede: beloved mortician, musician, philanthropist, friend, and convicted murderer. Yes, the real life Bernie Tiede was convicted of murdering 81-year-old Marjorie Nugent, his long-time companion. But that’s not the whole story. Bernie was so beloved in his home of Carthage, Texas and the populace so convinced of his innocence that the District Attorney had to make a change of venue so he could get a fair trial. Truth really is stranger than fiction. Jack Black gives a career-defining performance as Bernie, a kind, amiable fellow who gets trapped into an abusive relationship with Marjorie. She becomes so demanding and possessive that when Bernie confesses to shooting her four times in a sort of uncontrollable trance, we instantly believe him. Blending documentary footage of the real-life townsfolk involved in the case and tremendous performances by Black, Shirley MacLaine as Marjorie, and Matthew McConaughey as Carthage’s fanatical district attorney, director Richard Linklater's Bernie provides one of the most eclectic and fascinating snapshots of Texan culture since his ground-breaking indie hit Slacker (1991).

7/10

Nightmare City: Umberto Lenzi

I think my favorite moment in Umberto Lenzi's Nightmare City (also known as City of the Walking Dead) is when a horde of radiation zombies break into a surgery room in a hospital. As they start to attack the surgeons operating on a patient, the head surgeon grabs a nearby scalpel and throws it like a shuriken into one of the zombies. I think that scene epitomizes why Nightmare City is such an entertaining film: it embraces sheer over-the-top insanity like scalpel-chucking surgeons while simultaneously maintaining a convincing atmosphere of dread and doom. After a plane full of cannibalistic maniacs driven insane by the radiation from a nuclear accident arrives in an unnamed European city, American reporter Dean Miller tries to escape with his wife from a city that is being quickly overrun by zombie-like monsters. During this time we are treated to several scenes of graphic carnage and gore. One of the most ridiculous scenes is when the zombies break into a television station and massacre the cast of an all-female workout program. Before they attack, we are treated to an extended sequence of the ladies flexing, stretching, and posing for the benefit of the camera. And during the attack, a couple of the ladies inexplicably run around without their tops on. Lenzi sure had his priorities straight. If there is one criticism that I can make against Nightmare City, it's that the survivors are unusually unsympathetic and stupid. Several times we meet friends and family of the military brass who are warned to flee, hide, or barricade themselves somewhere safe. But despite being told that there is a state of emergency in the city, they blithely ignore it. When they are eventually killed, we don't feel sorry for them. Instead, we feel like they got what they deserved. And why does everybody in Italian zombie movies stop and freeze like a deer in headlights whenever they are attacked? I've seen so many instances of people just standing still for 10-15 seconds while they let the zombies slowly walk up to them and kill them. I know they are supposed to be unthinkably horrifying, but zombies aren't Lovecraftian Old Ones. Fight or flight, people! Fight or flight!

6/10

Antropophagus: Joe D’Amato

I’ve noticed a surprisingly significant number of people dismiss Joe D’Amato’s Antropophagus on the grounds of it being too shocking, grotesque, or violent. And, yes, the film certainly is violent. But do people dismiss this film because it is violent or because Joe D’Amato, a noted exploitation filmmaker and pornographer, made it? The most infamous scene in the film is when the eponymous antropophagus, a term based on the Greek word for “people-eater,” rips a fetus from a pregnant woman’s belly and eats it. Is it obscene and graphic? Of course. But it is by far the most graphic piece of violence in the film. The rest of the gore is either low-key or cheaply presented, like the scene at the end when the antropophagus chews on a very fake-looking handful of his own intestines. And, believe it or not, I believe that the fetus-eating scene was earned. Most of the film centers on atmosphere and creating a sense of tension while a group of vacationers travel to a remote Greek island. There are a couple of death scenes here and there, but for the most part we watch as the vacationers try to figure out why the island is abandoned and what has been responsible for what appear to be a local string of murders. Is some of the violence unnecessary? Sure. But consider this: seven years before Antropophagus was released, William Friedkin’s The Exorcist featured a scene where an underage girl stabbed herself repeatedly in the vagina with a crucifix. At the very least, none of the characters in Antropophagus are underage and none of them are sexually tortured. So why is The Exorcist more widely accepted while Antropophagus isn’t? Well, beside the obvious difference in quality, I think in large part it comes down to the director. One was done by Friedkin, one by D’Amato. One is a respected filmmaker and the other is the director of Porno Holocaust (1981). Are we more willing to forgive grotesque content if it comes from a better movie? You make the call.

5/10

The Rising of the Moon: John Ford

John Ford’s The Rising of the Moon is an anthology of three short stories set in Ireland. The film is obviously a work of love for all those involved, chief among them Ford himself who returned again and again to the Emerald Isle throughout his career as a source of inspiration. However, Ford’s passion for his ancestors’ homeland results in an indulgent production which seems bloated despite its 81 minute runtime. The highlight of the film is the second story, “A Minute’s Wait,” a comedy about a train stopping for a pit stop at a station. Despite the best efforts of the conductor and engineers, odd circumstances prevent the train from leaving several times, forcing them to announce one more “minute’s wait” over and over again. For such a short story, the film is full of richly nuanced and sharply defined characters who give the comedic goings-on extra weight. But perhaps the most fascinating character in the film is Dan O’Flaherty, a proud old man accused of assaulting one of his countrymen in the first short film entitled “The Majesty of the Law.” Fans of Ford’s work will be drawn to the story’s themes of manly honor, tradition, and respected customs which bypass the letter of the law but nevertheless serve the cause of justice. But the average viewer might be turned off by its casual pace and leisurely tone. Indeed, most of the story consists of pleasant, reminiscent conversations. We only learn that there is an actual plot until it is nearly over. The last short film, “The Rising of the Moon,” is a rather unremarkable story about a Police Sergeant during the Black and Tan War who must choose whether or not to let an escaped prisoner scheduled for execution get away. With the exception of some interesting cinematography and dutch angles in the first few minutes, “The Rising of the Moon” is stylistically dull. In short, the film is an interesting curio for fans of John Ford and those curious about America’s views on Irish culture. But other viewers will get bored quickly.

6/10

India Song: Marguerite Duras

I don't usually get angry at movies, but Marguerite Duras' India Song made me irrationally furious. I don't think I have seen a film so contemptuous of its audience since Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010). India Song is opaque simply on principle. It claims to be a meditation on upper class ennui and alienation, but instead of trying to engage with an audience, Duras created a cruel joke masquerading as an endurance test. The film follows the wife of a 1930s French ambassador to India who dives into the depths of promiscuity to ease her unbearable boredom. This could make for an intriguing film, but Duras presents us with stale tracking shots that move at a glacier's pace. Even worse, they are accompanied by voice-overs of the characters reciting vague and cryptic "poetical" nonsense. We are treated with punishingly long takes of characters sitting or lying down on the ground perfectly still. One scene that could have been fascinating involves a small handful of dignitaries who move around an empty ballroom while the sounds of a lavish party can be heard. It's a powerful metaphor for how they are completely alone even while immersed in robust social atmospheres. But it goes on for at least 20 minutes without anything happening. India Song isn't just a failed piece of art, it is intellectual masturbation.

1/10

The White Balloon: Jafar Panahi

Jafar Panahi's The White Balloon is the kind of film that I treasure and cherish. It isn't so much about characters as it is about people. Panahi quietly invites us into the world of children to experience a simple story of warmth and compassion. It is the eve of the Iranian New Year. Little Razieh wants to buy a goldfish from a local store to be used during the festivities. Her mother sternly reminds her that they have a pool of goldfish at their house. But, no, Razieh wants a big one from the store that looks like it dances when it swims. After much begging and pleading, her mother gives her enough money to buy one of the shop's prized goldfish. But along the way she loses the money not once, but twice. First she is cheated out of the money by a conniving snake charmer. But his partner returns the money when he realizes what happened. Then she accidentally drops the money into the entrance grate at a nearby store. The film then watches as she enlists the aid of her brother and passersby to help retrieve the money. There's an old lady who tries to help, then a soldier who can't afford to return home for the New Year. And then there's a young Afghan street balloon seller who devises the ingenious method by which the money is rescued. The White Balloon moves at a naturalistic, leisurely pace. It invokes memories of being a child and having to patiently wait and daydream while adults argue on about boring adult things. In this sense, The White Balloon replicates time from the point of view of impatient yet stubborn children. And therein lies the beauty. Therein lies the magic.

9/10

Bloody Moon: Jesús Franco

I mentioned in my review of Devil Hunter (1980) that the films of director Jesús Franco seem to have a cruelty quota. If there isn't a certain amount of misery and pain in one of his movies, then he has to figure out a way to artificially add some. One of the best examples that I can think of is in his film Bloody Moon, a relatively effective slasher flick about a deranged killer going on a murder spree in a Spanish resort/language school. I have only seen a handful of Franco's films, but Devil Hunter stands apart from them with its emphasis on pacing and character psychology. The film's plot is surprisingly well formulated and even provides an interesting twist at the end about the identity of the killer. Standard slasher logic tells us that if you never get a good look at the killer and the film tries to finger a particular character without explicitly confirming their guilt, then that character is a red herring. But Bloody Moon manages to pull a kind of double red herring, subverting genre cliches and expectations without seeming forced or satirical. And while the film is very plot and character driven, Franco still delivers several stomach-churning death scenes. The most notable is when the killer manages to trick a victim into getting tied up in a lumber mill before sawing her head off with a power saw. But even that grisly death scene didn't satiate Franco's cruelty quota. So Franco finishes the sequence with a scene where the killer runs over a young boy who happened to witness the murder and tried to stop it (being hit by a car inexplicably chops this boy in half with such surgical precision that one wonders if there was another power saw beneath the car). And then there's a scene where a real snake was decapitated for a cheap jump scare. While the other murder scenes at least somewhat tie into the plot, this authentic moment of fatal animal cruelty is completely pointless. But that doesn't stop Franco from prepping the audience for this random plot cul-de-sac with an establishing shot of a scientist looking around a laboratory for a lost snake. Nevertheless, Bloody Moon is one of the better Franco films that I have ever seen. Think about that for a bit.

6/10

Devil Hunter: Jesús Franco

Jesús Franco's Devil Hunter is the most boring cannibal film that I have ever seen. And now that I have just finished writing that sentence, I need to go lie down and re-evaluate my life. What does it say about me when I hold a movie like Cannibal Holocaust (1980) or Cannibal Ferox (1981) up as a model that other films should aspire to? Regardless, Devil Hunter is a punishingly boring film about a kidnapped white model being held in a South American country. Two men go into the jungles to try and pay the ransom. But when both sides try to double-cross each other, the woman gets free. However, she is quickly captured once again by a native tribe who intend to sacrifice her to their cannibalistic god. So the surviving rescuer has to try and find her before she is killed. Clocking in at around 100 minutes, the film is mercilessly padded with scenes of people stalking through the jungles and naked native women doing erotic "jungle dances." Most of this is overlaid with audio of the cannibal god gasping and choking through what sounds like an asthma attack. The film's dullness is only occasionally interrupted by scenes of pointless cruelty (the model endures a lengthy rape scene that literally does nothing to further the plot and is never mentioned again). The film is also blatantly misogynistic. It features a leering camera that randomly lingers on close-up shots of the female characters' naked genitals, recalling Franco's work as a pornographer. It's one thing to use porno aesthetics in a porn film and another to use them in a film about women being kidnapped, raped, tortured, murdered, and eaten. Every woman in the film either gets tortured, mutilated, killed, raped, or objectified by Franco's camera. As I watch more and more of Franco's filmography, the more I'm inclined to believe that he had a cruelty quota for every single one of his films. What's worse, I know that Devil Hunter is child's play considering some of the other films in his oeuvre.

3/10

Hell of the Living Dead: Bruno Mattei, Claudio Fragasso

Is it possible to hate and love a film at the same time? Bruno Mattei and Claudio Fragasso's Hell of the Living Dead may be proof that it is. The film, a grotesque spectacle that follows a squad of commandos and a pair of reporters as they travel through a zombie-infected Papua New Guinea, is disturbing, offensive, and in extremely bad taste. And yet, I loved every minute of it. That doesn't make the film good, mind you. Almost everything in the film is terrible from a technical standpoint: the cinematography is slipshod, the dialogue laughably inane ("Patience is the chief virtue for those who have faith. Mahatma Gandhi, New Delhi, 1946. " "Up your ass. Lieutenant Mike London, Shit Creek, the year is now."), and the special effects are sub-par at best. Not to mention that the film liberally inserts stock footage of dead and dying tribal people during a bizarre interlude that seems straight out of an Amazon cannibal film by Umberto Lenzi or Ruggero Deodato. The wildly anachronistic soundtrack by Italian progressive rock band Goblin doesn't help, either. It is said that both directors had different visions about what the film should be: Fragasso wanted a darker film more akin to Apocalypse Now (1979) while Mattei wanted a lighter, more entertaining take on the zombie genre. So Hell of the Living Dead ended up being a mishmash of extremely bleak and absurdly campy material. Let me be clear: the finished film is not a good piece of filmmaking. But somehow all of its flaws managed to cohere into something that was at the very least entertaining. Of course, that could just be me.

4/10

I, the Jury: Harry Essex

Harry Essex's I, the Jury is unfortunately one of the worst film noir that I have ever seen. Even more tragically, it was the first film to adapt a story featuring Mickey Spillane's infamous pulp character Mike Hammer, a misanthropic private investigator who shocked readers of the era with his extreme violence. After an old war buddy was brutally murdered, Hammer goes on a one-man crusade to bring justice to the killers by any means necessary. He does so by traveling throughout the city and mingling with some truly eccentric characters, many of whom will die during the course of the film. The film is presented more as a series of vignettes than a single, cohesive narrative. Unfortunately, neither the director nor the actor playing Hammer, Biff Elliot, were capable of maintaining the film throughout its entire run-time. The film is also not very appealing visually, a fact that seems even more incredible considering that the cinematography was done by none other than John Alton, one of the single most accomplished and influential noir cinematographers in history. The best scene in the entire movie is when Hammer confronts the main antagonist in the end. Closely following the ending in Spillane's novel, it is emotionally devastating and awe-inspiring. If the entire film could have been as intense and gripping as the ending, then I, the Jury might have been a great film. But it didn't, so it isn't. What a shame.

4/10

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Terence Fisher

The first film adaptation of the classic novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to be shot in color, Terence Fisher's The Hound of the Baskervilles is a Gothic delight. Traveling to a remote village, Sherlock Holmes (Peter Cushing) and Dr. Watson (André Morell) set out to solve the case of the Hound of the Baskervilles, a demonic dog that kills any member of the Baskerville family if they ever travel alone at night on the moor. When confronted with such a widely adapted story that has been interpreted and re-interpreted many times over the years, it is helpful to focus on two different things: the acting and the tone. The acting in the film is absolutely superb. Cushing gives a commanding performance as the infamous detective, managing to portray him as an actual human instead of just an analytical robot. Morell's Watson is a fascinating creation that is just as entertaining and fascinating as his esteemed partner and colleague. Christopher Lee also gives a towering (both figuratively and literally) performance as the seemingly doomed Sir Henry Baskerville. But the film is also supported by a number of truly wonderful supporting roles. My favorite was Miles Malleson as the absent-minded and sherry-thirsty Bishop Frankland. As for the tone of the film, Fisher turns the story into a kind of thriller instead of a simple detective story. Fisher must have realized that almost everyone going to see the film would already know the true culprits, so less attention is given to the clues than relishing the atmospheric countryside and the eccentric characters surrounding our heroes. It is a fine film that manages to entertain in a wonderful way.

7/10

Man of Steel: Zack Snyder

In the 1930s, he was a populist champion protecting the working man from corrupt politicians, gangsters, and common criminals. In the ‘50s, he became an alien god among men who could move planets with his bare hands. And in the last few decades, he regained his humanity, lost his more outlandish powers, and struggled to find his place in a cynical culture fixated on dark, brooding heroes and stark, joyless realism. But despite every change, he has remained a hero, a symbol, a realization of humanity’s ultimate potential. He is, quite simply, a Superman.

Riding the tide of recent superhero box office sensations, Warner Bros. have released a new take on this first and most iconic of all superheroes entitled Man of Steel. The film boasts a veritable who’s who of industry superstars who have helped establish superheroes as the biggest genre of the decade: director Zack Snyder, the man who brought 300 [2007] and Watchmen [2009] (a work long considered to be unfilmable) to the screen, producer Christopher Nolan, the director of The Dark Night Trilogy (2005-2012), a series of films that became cultural phenomenons and pushed the genre to new levels of artistic respectability, and writer David S. Goyer, one of the main creative forces behind The Blade Trilogy (1998-2004). Disappointed with the box office returns of Green Lantern (2011), DC’s last superhero film that didn’t prominently feature a man who dresses like a flying, nocturnal mammal, Man of Steel was designed to be the last test to see whether or not a DC character could helm not only its own franchise, but the weight of an expanded cinematic crossover universe akin to the one created by Marvel Comics. Early box office results look promising. But how well does the film portray Superman’s mythos?

Man of Steel is yet another retelling of Superman’s origin. Snyder moves us through all of the requisite story beats like they were the Stations of the Cross: launched from a doomed planet named Krypton, the infant Kal-El lands on earth, is raised by a kind Kansas couple as mild-mannered Clark Kent, discovers his powers, and becomes Superman. Perhaps in an effort to keep such a familiar story fresh, Snyder reveals most of the details about Superman’s childhood in flashback. We see how his mother taught him to focus and control his powers when they first manifested during an elementary school class. We see how his father tempered his stern instructions about keeping his powers a secret with promises of a greater destiny. These scenes, some of the best in the entire movie, give practical and convincing explanations for Superman’s indefatigable compassion. While many miss Christopher Reeve’s warm, perpetually smirking interpretation of Superman, Henry Cavill gives us a man haunted by his responsibilities yet guided by a single-minded determination to help others. It is a convincing performance that rises above many other actors’ attempts to make superheroes “realistic” or “relatable.” Cavill is well-balanced by Amy Adams’ performance as Lois Lane. Adams’ Lois continues in the grand tradition of tough, go-get-’em reporters who have served as Superman’s love interest, partner, and soulmate over the decades. If there is one criticism to be leveled towards this Lois, it is that she is not featured nearly enough.

The other true revelation of Man of Steel is Michael Shannon’s performance as General Zod, a criminal from Superman’s home planet determined to retrieve a codex containing the sum of Krypton’s knowledge that was stashed away in Kal-El’s spacecraft by his father. Shannon had equally huge shoes to fill in matching Terence Stamp’s performance as Zod in the first two Superman movies as Cavill did with Reeve’s. Yet he succeeds in capturing the over-the-top mannerisms and wild-eyed fanaticism that made the character so endearing to generations of movie-goers. His band of outlaw Kryptonians are reminiscent of the Ancient Romans in their imperialistic dispositions, rabid militarism, and flair for the dramatic. Indeed, Zod’s ultimatum against earth for the surrender of Kal-El and his subsequent plans to terraform it into a new Krypton are chilling and vengeful. Why doesn’t he just find another planet to terraform with his spaceship capable of traversing the cosmos? We suspect it is because of a grudge against Kal-El’s father for his betrayal at the beginning of the film when he refused to join him in his rebellion against Krypton’s leaders.

This leads to the film’s main problem: its narrative verbosity. We are given Superman’s origin not once, but twice. The film opens with a lengthy sequence where Superman’s father, Jor-El, walks us through every step of Krypton’s destruction and Kal-El’s salvation: his appeal to Krypton’s leaders, his dismissal, his battle against Zod, his dispatching of his son to the stars, his death, and the end of his planet. Then these events are related in full again to Superman when he discovers a Kryptonian scout ship. These segments easily add on 20-30 minutes to an already lengthy final run time that tests its audience’s patience.

But the film nevertheless manages to provide an satisfying and compelling origin for the Man of Tomorrow. Unlike more recent superhero films like The Dark Knight Rises (2012) and Iron Man 3 (2013), Man of Steel doesn’t suffer from game-breaking plot holes (although why General Zod demanded the surrender of Superman and Lois Lane is left unexplained). Here is a film with a film and cohesive grasp on a story that has become an indelible part of American mythology. Many have balked at this new realistic interpretation of Superman which is deliberately reminiscent of Nolan’s Batman. After all, the entire point of a man who can fly and smash through steel buildings is that it isn’t realistic. Superman is supposed to be a character who will never let us down, who will always win, who will always find a way to make everything right in the end. But real life isn’t a comic book. There isn’t always a perfect solution that will leave everyone alive, healthy, and happy at the end of twenty-two pages or a ninety minute run-time. But Man of Steel preaches that while the world is mired in pain, evil, and suffering, mankind is still worth fighting for. And not only are we worth protecting, but every single one of us is a Superman on the inside. Man of Steel offers a practical message of purpose and hope for our troubled times. This isn’t our parents’ Superman. This is a Superman that we need even more.

8/10

Woman on the Run: Norman Foster

I have friends who would probably sneer at Norman Foster's Woman on the Run because of its ending: after being chased by gangsters and criminals, estranged married couple Frank and Eleanor Johnson tearfully reconcile and make up. At the beginning of the film, Eleanor (played by the wonderful Ann Sheridan) makes no hint of her disdain and possible outright hatred for her husband. But when Frank witnesses a murder and skips town before the cops can force him to testify against the murderous crooks, Eleanor slowly realizes that there may have been real love in their relationship after all. The renewal of their love at the end definitely seems like a relic of the Production Code era where crime was not allowed to go unpunished. And, yes, maybe the film would appeal more to the modern masses of cynical moviegoers if it ended with them both dying. But Sheridan's performance manages to lend credibility and authenticity to this scenario. Woman on the Run is a wonderful film full of twists and turns. Two of my favorite characters are the rough and blunt police Inspector Martin Ferris and the sweetly charming newspaperman Danny Leggett who accompanies Eleanor in her search for Frank. At first, we are suspicious of Ferris and sympathetic towards Danny. Watching Foster subvert our perceptions of the two characters is positively delightful.

7/10

The Two Mrs. Carrolls: Peter Godfrey

Peter Godfrey's The Two Mrs. Carrolls would make an excellent double feature with Nicholas Ray's In a Lonely Place (1950). Both films feature stunning performances by Humphrey Bogart as a mentally unstable artist who is finally driven to violence over his affection towards a beautiful woman. But whereas Dix Steele is a tragic figure seemingly doomed by fate to destroy everything he loves, Geoffrey Carroll is legitimately mentally ill. He has developed a habit wherein he falls in love with a beautiful woman, becomes temporarily endowed with tremendous inspiration and clarity of artistic vision, and suddenly loses his creative spark whereupon he falls in love with yet another woman, restarting the cycle. Unfortunately for the first woman, he believes that once they have served their purpose, they must be disposed of. Enter Sally Morton (Barbara Stanwyck), Carroll's second wife. The film watches as Sally gradually figures out Carroll's terrible secret, successfully creating an enormous amount of dread and suspense. This works in large part because we don't get any clear confirmation that Carroll is a murderer until later in the film. Stanwyck is, as always, incredible. However, there is one exception to an otherwise flawless performance: there is a painful scene where Godfrey lost his nerve and resorted to using second-person narration to explain how Sally figured out Carroll's secret. This scene has Stanwyck standing still and staring obliquely off-screen as her own voice taunts her with her revelations. Watching Stanwyck twist her face in silent agony for 10 or so seconds is simply uncomfortable. Maybe a silent actress could have pulled it off. But the scene clashes with Stanwyck's otherwise bombastic acting style. But there is much to love in The Two Mrs. Carrolls: the use of church bells to underline decaying mental clarity, sumptuous cinematography by J. Peverell Marley, a haunted performance by Bogart, and a wonderful scene near the end where Carroll breaks through a window and throws the massive curtains behind him in an entrance that makes one think of Dracula tossing his cape over his shoulders as he prepares to prey on an innocent young woman.

7/10

The Thing from Another World: Christian Nyby, Howard Hawks

Confirming the old joke that Howard Hawks could direct any genre he damn well wanted, The Thing from Another World is a tense, claustrophobic, and thoroughly enjoyable horror film. Following a stranded Air Force crew at an Arctic research station, the film follows their reactions when they discover nothing less than an authentic flying saucer and its humanoid occupant. They bring the Thing into the base for further study. But through an unfortunate accident it is re-awakened and manages to break free from its bonds. The Thing then goes on a killing spree seeking the one thing that provides it with sustenance: blood! Two things really stood out to me when I watched this film. First, it was fascinating to see Hawksian archetypes and tropes (like split-second, overlapping dialogue and the Unit of Men as a tight-knit community nigh impenetrable to outsiders) applied to a horror movie. Second, the film carries what can be construed as an anti-science disposition. The head scientist makes it very clear in no uncertain tones that he is willing to sacrifice everyone at the base in order to "make contact" with the Thing for scientific purposes. The head scientist even commits the Hawksian cardinal sin: he betrays the community. This suspicion towards science in a sense reflects the sentiments that much of the American populace felt in the wake of World War Two and the atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Thing from Another World is therefore, much like other great sci-fi films, a kind of time capsule of American society.

8/10

Phenomenon: Jon Turteltaub

Now here's a charming little film. Jon Turteltaub’s Phenomenon follows George Malley (John Travolta), a kind yet otherwise unremarkable man living in northern California. On the night of his 37th birthday party, he witnesses a blinding white light in the sky. Afterwards, he becomes a genius with an eidetic memory, extraordinary intellectual stamina, and telekinetic power. He attempts to use his newfound abilities to help his neighbors and woo a local single mother. However, the government becomes involved after he accidentally decodes a top secret military cypher. When he is taken to a hospital, the true nature of his gifts are revealed. Much of this film relies on Travolta's performance. A lesser actor would transform Malley into a creature that would elicit revulsion and suspicion in its audience. But Travolta keeps Malley warmly sympathetic and charming even when his powers reach his full potential and he becomes akin to an intellectual oracle. Robert Duvall also turns in a fantastic performance as the local doctor who becomes Malley's confidant. This film's one glaring flaw is its soundtrack: many scenes that should have been light, emotional, and sweet are drowned in malignantly cheesy 90s pop. But for a film that could have easily become melodramatic schmaltz, Phenomenon manages to hit (most of) the right marks.

7/10

Bowfinger: Frank Oz

After finishing Frank Oz's Bowfinger, I closed my eyes, smiled, and thought to myself, "I am so glad that I watched that." Bowfinger is a true treasure of a comedy, one rooted in a fantastic premise and supported by talented performers. Unlike many modern comedies which rely on shock value and anti-humor, Bowfinger is funny because the writing is funny. The film follows Bobby Bowfinger (Steve Martin), a wannabe film producer desperate to bring his dream picture, a ludicrous sci-fi thriller entitled “Chubby Rain,” into fruition. He just has two problems. First, he only has about $2000 for a budget. Second, his distributor won’t support the film if it doesn’t star Kit Ramsey (Eddie Murphy), the hottest action star in town. However, Ramsey, an extremely high-strung and paranoid follower of a new religious movement named MindHead, won’t agree to do the film. So Bowfinger decides to shoot the film without his knowledge anyway, making his actors approach him on the street and shout gibberish at him. These scenes will then be cleverly edited into the finished product. However, because MindHead is essentially a thinly veiled parody of Scientology which purports to help its members “keep in control” against neurotic delusions of alien invaders, Ramsey begins to believe that he is actually in a sci-fi invasion film. Hardly a minute goes by without some sort of preposterous roadblock or complication springing up in Bowfinger's way. And yet Martin keeps the character endearing and sympathetic, channeling his "asshole with a heart of gold" persona that he largely became famous for. So, in case I haven't made this clear enough...go watch Bowfinger. You'll be glad you did.

9/10

The Possession of Joel Delaney: Waris Hussein

I don't think it's possible to address Waris Hussein's The Possession of Joel Delaney without discussing the last fifteen minutes. Until then, the film was simply a decent story about a young Manhattan socialite that may or may not be possessed by the spirit of an evil, dead Puerto Rican. But in the last fifteen minutes, the young man, Joel Delaney, becomes completely devoured by the spirit inhabiting his body. His sister Norah, the film's protagonist, has taken her children to a beach house for protection. However, he tracks them down and...well...then things get intense. He psychologically tortures Norah, forces her daughter to eat dog food, and makes her (prepubescent) son strip naked and dance for his amusement. Yes, there is (brief) full frontal nudity of a young child. Yes, this wasn't simulated. So, here's the question: is such a horrible thing justified if it is done for the sake of art? These last fifteen minutes are easily the best part of the film. But does the fact that The Possession of Joel Delaney was "good" forgive the child abuse? After all, Harry Revier's Child Bride (1938) had authentic full-frontal nudity of a minor as well. If The Possession of Joel Delaney was as bad as Child Bride, would the film-going culture be so quick to forgive it? I don't know. But The Possession of Joel Delaney is still a good movie. It is intense, unsettling, and manages to earn its scares. I just feel sorry for those kids...

8/10

The Plague of the Zombies: John Gilling

Hammer horror and zombies. What's not to like? John Gilling's The Plague of the Zombies is a wonderful horror film rich in atmosphere, tone, and color. In many ways, the film's plot seems very reminiscent of Bram Stoker's Dracula: two men, a younger gentleman and an older, distinguished doctor, investigate a strange number of disappearances and deaths in 1800s Europe. These deaths are inevitably revealed to be linked to a local aristocrat capable of dark magic. Eventually, when a young woman related to the two men is captured and poisoned by the aristocrat, they must race against time to stop him before the young woman's transformation is complete...and permanent. As I said, these plot points seem directly lifted from Stoker's novel. However, there are enough variations to the story that none but the most acute horror connoisseurs would notice. The Plague of the Zombies may have inspired imagery in future zombie films, but the explanations for their breed of walking undead are firmly planted in a Haitian voodoo tradition. These zombies aren't flesh-eaters, but mindless slaves. It would be another two years before George A. Romero redefined zombie lore in his ground-breaking Night of the Living Dead (1968). So The Plague of the Zombies is a kind of fascinating bridge between what movie zombies originated as and what they would inevitably become.

7/10

Silver Linings Playbook: David O. Russell

Two things really hit me hard watching David O. Russell's Silver Linings Playbook. First, it was fantastic seeing Robert De Niro back in top form again. I'm sick and tired of seeing him in movies that fail to take advantage of his talents. And, second, Silver Linings Playbook is one of the most kinetic family dramas that I have ever seen. In stark contrast to most films that I've seen centering around serious family dynamics, Russell frequently uses hand-held cameras, lightning editing, and prominent camera movements. Russell seems to work best when dealing with violent stories and characters (think Three Kings [1999] and The Fighter [2010]) and Silver Linings Playbook, a film about Pat Solitano Jr., an adult mental patient who moves back in with his parents after a prolonged stay in a mental health facility, is as violent as they come. During his recovery, he meets and falls in love with another mental malcontent named Tiffany Maxwell who suffers from acute nymphomania. Tiffany convinces Pat to be her partner in an upcoming dance competition. However, Pat's father, played by De Niro, has bet all his money on an upcoming Eagles game on the same night and is convinced that they will lose if Pat doesn't watch it with him. So, as you can imagine, things get heated, violent, loud, and ugly. But at its center, Silver Linings Playbook is a film about healing. You just have to wade through a lot of nastiness to get to it.

7/10

The Innocents: Jack Clayton

I honestly can't remember the last time a horror film made me look behind my shoulder several times to make sure nobody was behind me. I mean, I've seen more horror films than I can count. But Jack Clayton's The Innocents legitimately got under my skin and frightened me. Although, I don't think calling it a "horror" film is appropriate. It's more of a "terror" film. As Stephen King once explained, "terror" is "the suspenseful moment in horror before the actual monster is revealed." The Innocents is all about the anxiety, fear, and panic of knowing that you're not completely alone in a dark room in the middle of the night. It's about the dim figure you spy out of the corner of your eye that disappears when you turn to take a better look. It is a film about fear itself. The film follows Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr), a young woman who gets a job as a governess for two young children under the "care" of their uncle. The children are initially a delight, but soon she begins to suspect that they might have terrible secrets (particularly the boy who acts and speaks more like a grown man than a child)...secrets involving a past caretaker and her relationship with a fiendish valet...a secret that might involve past abuse and demons, both figuratively and literally, that haunt them to this day. Even if the story fails to gain your interest, the film's cinematography by Freddie Francis will. I haven't seen a film use such beautiful framing, deep focus cinematography, and expressive use of chiaroscuro lighting since William Wyler's The Little Foxes (1941). The film is simply mesmerizing to behold. I've often argued that black and white films can be even more inherently colorful than color films. The Innocents is proof of this. Though Kerr's performance veers ever so gently towards blatant over-acting, The Innocents is one of the most perfectly realized and brilliantly effective "terror" films I've ever seen.

Side Note: While watching I accidentally took a screenshot with my computer. When I ended up looking at it, I realized that I might have serendipitously captured the essence of the film (or at the very least a very important part of it) in one frame. I have included it below.

10/10