Perfect Blue: Satoshi Kon

[Warning: Spoilers Ahead]

Allow me to get my one big criticism of Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue out of the way first: I think that the ending was too abrupt and too neat. It lacks any hint of irony or self-awareness that might suggest that it was just a hallucination. It's too earnest. But enough about that. Perfect Blue is a brilliant film with one of the most effective rape scenes that I have ever encountered in the cinema. It is effective precisely because it is deliberately simulated: the protagonist has to act out a rape scene for an acting job which forces her to retake certain shots over and over again with her "assaulter" straddled awkwardly on top of her in between takes. The rape might be fake, but that hardly seems to matter as her screeches go on and on and on. In that moment we realize that she is being raped by society; she is forced to debase herself emotionally and physically all in the pursuit of "legitimacy" as an actress. I'd be curious to read an examination of how the film utilizes the technique of doubling: the production the protagonist performs in queerly mimics her real life situation vis-à-vis a murderous stalker and her deteriorating mental state; it is revealed that there are two mentally unstable villains involved in a folie à deux; the protagonist is at war with her true identity and her identity as a former pop idol. There aren't many films that could warrant an entire book's worth of academic evaluation. But Perfect Blue is one of them.

9/10

Waltz with Bashir: Ari Folman

So here's a seemingly impossible question: can a movie act as cultural catharsis? Peter Weir's Gallipoli (1981) was a fiction, Steven Spielberg's Schindler's List (1993) a recreation, but Ari Folman's Waltz with Bashir (2008)? It is neither, both, and more. An animated documentary, the film is a stunning, visceral meditation on the nature of memory, warfare, and the lengths the human mind will go to protect itself from trauma. It contains scenes that would have been impossible (or irresponsible) to recreate in live-action: a pack of undead dogs hunting the soldier that murdered them during a military operation, a man laying on the stomach of an impossible large woman in the middle of a sea, a partially insane soldier literally dancing with his weapon in the middle of a live sniper zone, fireballs of yellow arching slowly 'cross the sky of a war-torn city. Making this documentary animated was a bold choice. And indeed, by animating it the entire film becomes a reconstructive facsimile, much like images and events which emerge and rearrange themselves from the depths of human memory.

10/10

Shaun of the Dead: Edgar Wright

[Revisit Review]

I don't know if Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead will ever get the critical admiration or recognition it deserves. Oh sure, it has been hailed as one of the best British comedies of the last few decades. But that's just the point: people think of it as a comedy. Shaun of the Dead demonstrates one of the most remarkable syntheses of genres that I have ever encountered. Here is a film that cloaks itself in the trappings of genre films in order to transcend them. I have long believed that one of the hardest things to accomplish is to successfully blend comedy and tragedy. But Shaun of the Dead doesn't just mix comedy and tragedy; it adds horror as well. How many films can truly say that they are funny, tragic, and scary? The Evil Dead trilogy comes to mind, but its deliberate tongue-and-cheek nature is so overbearing that it never achieves tragedy. Shaun of the Dead might literally be in a league of its own.

10/10

A Fistful of Dollars: Sergio Leone

[Revisit Review]

After a murky and muddled second act and a first that more or less counterfeits Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo (1961), Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars finally comes together in the third to forge its own identity: bloody, nihilistic, operatic. The massacre of the Baxter family and the final confrontation between the Man With No Name and the Rojos where he secretly dons a steel chest-plate are so brilliant and ingenious that they almost surpass Kurosawa's original. But Yojimbo has the benefit of originality, a superior cinematic storyteller (although Leone would develop into a master himself later in his career), and, perhaps most notably, no day-for-night cinematography!!

7/10

The Equalizer: Antoine Fuqua

To read this review, go to: http://www.theyoungfolks.com/film/the-equalizer-review/40671.

6/10

Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit: Nick Park, Steve Box

Let's be totally, brutally honest for a moment: Wallace & Gromit just aren't meant for feature length films. 30 minute short films are the best format for their adventures. Nick Park and Steve Box's Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit is proof of this. The film has moments of wild invention, unbridled joy, stunning creativity, and an honestly shocking plot twist that legitimately caught me off guard (the true identity of the Were-Rabbit). But the plot is simply stretched too thin. I'll give you an example: a bit where a smarmy British hunter interrupts a public debate or discussion with plans to exterminate the were-rabbit (which is then ignored by the townsfolk and Lady Campanula "Totty" Tottington) is repeated three or four times. Once is fine. Twice is stretching it. Any more than three is simply bad screenwriting. And I do think that a bad screenplay is to blame here. Park and Box's storytelling skills are excellent...when there is a story to tell.

6/10

Ghost in the Shell: Mamoru Oshii

The scenes that impressed me the most in Mamoru Oshii's Ghost in the Shell were the quiet scenes bereft of action where the film meditated on the scenery and the atmosphere that embodied the Japan of the future: Motoko Kusanagi's silent trek through the immigrant sector of Tokyo, Motoko scuba diving in the bay, the glassy eyes of female secretaries who pour through untold amounts of information thanks to cybernetic enhancements like mechanical hands. To me, these echoes of a possible future are the most captivating part of the film. The central story about a brainwashing hacker/A.I. was fascinating. And the frequent philosophical discussions about the nature of reality and what it means to be human were engrossing despite the fact that they would have ruined the pacing of any other film. But in my opinion, Ghost in the Shell is best appreciated and enjoyed as an experience that lulls you into a fantasy equal parts daydream and nightmare.

9/10

---

In March 2017 I got to review a new Blu-ray release of the film. I downgraded the film from a 9 to an 8. The storytelling problems really got my goat this time around. Here's my article:

http://www.audienceseverywhere.net/movie-reviews-ghost-in-the-shell-march-14-2017/

The Parson's Widow: Carl Theodor Dreyer

If Jonathan Rosenbaum is right and The Parson's Widow was the "first artistic success among [Carl Theodor Dreyer's] early silent pictures," then it is nevertheless a minor one. There is nothing extraordinary about the cinematography. The performances are capable, but pedestrian. All of the drama in the film comes from the slow, eventual revelations concerning the characters' psychology and motivations: is the eponymous widow a witch or just an old woman, was the new parson bewitched or was he just a lazy bum, does the widow have some ulterior motive in marrying the parson or is she just lonely? However, the first act of the film crawls by at such a glacial pace that it almost put me to sleep. By the time the third act arrived complete with all of the story's major twists and turns, I was damn near emotionally exhausted. Dreyer's later silent films like The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) would be more evenly balanced from a pacing standpoint.

7/10

Fantastic Planet: René Laloux

[Revisit Review]

Watching René Laloux's Fantastic Planet is like stepping into a head-space both alien and intimately familiar. The designs are creative and original and the world that the characters inhabit exudes that odd feeling of being both crowded and empty that characterizes the work of Jean Giraud. Even though the Draags are essentially blue-skinned humanoids, they are one of the single most alien races ever committed to screen. Here is a film that I am already looking forward to watching again sometime in the future.

9/10

Akira: Katsuhiro Otomo

[Revisit Review]

Akira is a fine movie, but its incredible animation and production values are undermined by an uneven script and unfocused storytelling. The film feels like the first and last hour of a 5-hour television miniseries. Here are my three suggestions for how Akira could have been a better film.

1) Get rid of all of the city politician subplots. Colonel Shikishima can still declare martial law because that's important to the story.

2) Get rid of Kaori. She has no impact on the plot and exists solely to provide man-angst for Tetsuo by getting attacked, sexually assaulted, and killed.

3) Tone down Kaneda's antics at wooing Kei. These scenes feel like they were ghost-written by Rumiko Takahashi. There's nothing wrong with a bit of comedic relief, but these scenes almost ruin the serious and intense atmosphere and tone of the film.

8/10

A Walk Among the Tombstones: Scott Frank

To read this review, go to: http://www.theyoungfolks.com/film/a-walk-among-the-tombstones-review/40249.

7/10

8 Million Ways to Die: Hal Ashby

Wait, wait, wait...this movie has a 0% rating on Rotten Tomatoes? That doesn't make any sense. Hal Ashby's 8 Million Ways to Die isn't just a good crime thriller, it's a smart one. More and more I've begun to believe that the American crime films of the 1980s emulated the crass materialism of the decade as a means of cultural exorcism. And much like Scarface (1983), 8 Million Ways to Die is a film obsessed with appearances and extreme displays of conspicuous consumption. This hardly comes as a surprise considering that both films were written by Oliver Stone. But whereas Brian De Palma and Al Pacino swung for the fences with over-the-top violence and performances in Scarface, Ashby's film is more constrained and interested in the psychology of its main character, alcoholic ex-Los Angeles Sheriff's Deputy Matt Scudder. There are still a number of intense action scenes, including an excellent yet brief car chase where Scudder drives a car with busted tires. But the best scene is a tense stand-off near the end of the film where Scudder starts to destroy a stockpile of drugs he stole from a drug dealer when said drug dealer refuses to cooperate while exchanging them for a hooker he has hostage. A gunfight ensues, but it is overshadowed by the chorus of screaming, hollering, and threatening that proceeds it as Scudder almost nonchalantly starts to burn the packages of cocaine while one of the drug dealer's thugs (who has his hand duct-taped to a shotgun duct-taped to the hooker's neck) struggles to decide what to do. Andy Garcia is absolutely mesmerizing as the drug dealer Angel Moldonado. We get the sense that he may never have been as wealthy as Scarface, but he would have had the good sense (i.e. sanity) to survive longer than he did...if he had been smart enough not to kill one of his subordinates right in front of Scudder.

8/10

Kiki’s Delivery Service: Hayao Miyazaki

Hayao Miyazaki's Kiki's Delivery Service is a film that I earnestly wish every little girl could see. Here is a film about growing up and the need that every young woman feels to get out on her own, start her own life, and carve out a place for herself in the world. It alternatively funny and tragic, exciting and paced. It grapples with such devastating problems as depression, the inevitable loss that everyone feels when they finally start to grow up and have to say goodbye to the world (and friends) of their childhood, and personal independence. There are times when Kiki is lost and doesn't know what to do, occasionally spurning the attentions of genuinely well-intentioned peers for seemingly arbitrary reasons. But therein lies the beauty and truth of Kiki's Delivery Service: growing up doesn't make much sense in the first place. My only problem with the film is that the ending sequence with Kiki saving her friend from falling from the blimp seemed like a cheap cop-out ending intended to solve all of her complex problems in one fell swoop (pun maybe intended). Little girls won't be given a similar magical opportunity to hand-wave all of their emotional problem away. So why should Kiki? And yes, I know...I know...the ending is symbolic and argues that love and the friendship of others is the key to finding one's way in life. But did we really need a gigantic action scene to drive that point home? Oh well...at the very least it didn't hurt the film.

8/10

Porco Rosso: Hayao Miyazaki

I have never felt that any of Hayao Miyazaki's films were bad, but Porco Rosso may be his only film that underwhelmed me. Miyazaki's themes and imagery surrounding flight and the futility of armed struggle are on full display. But not much of the film felt like a Miyazaki movie. There are three exceptions. The first is an early scene where the eponymous bounty hunter rescues a class of schoolgirls from a group of sky pirates. The juxtaposition of the dangerous action, the schoolgirls' gleeful refusal to take their kidnapping seriously, and the seemingly unspoken shared knowledge between the schoolgirls, the pirates, and Porco Rosso that no matter what happens the children will not be harmed was something that could have only come from Miyazaki's mind. The second exception was a sequence where a group of women of all ages come together to build an airplane in the absence of their male family members. It's charming, but it would ultimately be out-done by a similar scene involving the denizens of Irontown in Princess Mononoke (1997). Finally, a scene where Porco Rosso witnesses his slain pilot friends from World War One ascend into the sky to join an endless contrail of dead planes was one of the most fantastic pieces of visual imagery that Miyazaki has ever committed to celluloid. Howard Hawks once said, "A good movie is three good scenes and no bad scenes." And Porco Rosso is just that: a good movie. But it isn't a great one. It lacks a certain je ne sais quoi that keeps it from reaching the same heights as Miyazaki's other films. I hope one day I can figure out what it is.

7/10

Ceddo: Ousmane Sembène

Ousmane Sembène's Ceddo is a film of rhetoric and debate, of decorum and pageantry. The film is about the religious struggles that take place when an African king orders the persecution of the pagan "ceddo," or "common people," after converting to Islam. The ceddo abduct the king's daughter in protest, sparking a conflict that will leave many dead and wipe away an entire culture. The bulk of the movie is comprised of lengthy debates where representatives of the king, the local Muslim imam, and the ceddo argue either for their freedom or for their supremacy. There isn't anything inherently cinematic about prolonged conversations, but the viewer must keep in mind that this is an African film by an African filmmaker utilizing African sensibilities. If Western audiences can patiently sit through all 7+ hours of Béla Tarr's Sátántangó (1994), then they can engage Ceddo on its own terms despite the inevitable fatigue most viewers will feel watching it. The film is also a curious examination of the impact of the Western world in African society. Two of the most memorable characters are a white Christian missionary who dreams of filling his empty pews with converts and a slave trader who happily trades guns and ammunition to whoever brings him fresh slaves. One of the most striking elements of the film is the use of modern African-American spirituals during scenes where new slaves are bound and branded, seemingly predicting the future of the African diaspora.

8/10

The Wind Rises: Hayao Miyazaki

Perhaps the story of Jiro Horikoshi and his creation of the Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighter can never be divorced from the controversy surrounding its use during World War Two and the use of slave labor to produce them. But I believe that Hayao Miyazaki was fully aware of this when he made The Wind Rises, a stirring, melancholy film that is easily the great master's best film since Spirited Away (2001). The central theme, if one can be picked out, would be the need of the individual to follow their bliss despite the world around them. Whether or not the historical Horikoshi really only wanted to create "beautiful airplanes" is irrelevant. Miyazaki's Horikoshi was a dreamer who lived to see his creation be turned into an instrument of warfare and destruction like Alfred Nobel and Mikhail Kalashnikov. Thinking back on this film, I realize that perhaps it may have been just as much about Miyazaki as it was Horikoshi. Considering how flight plays such a central role in Miyazaki's films and how uneasy his fame as one of the world's greatest animators makes him, it isn't difficult to equate the airplane industry with the animation industry.

9/10

Loulou: Maurice Pialat

I'm not entirely sure what I think about Maurice Pialat's Loulou. On the one hand, the central performances courtesy of Isabelle Huppert and Gérard Depardieu are excellent and the two share a remarkable on-screen chemistry. But the characters are one-dimensional and flat. I also didn't feel that Pialat effectively addressed his central story element: a bourgeois woman who abandons her marriage and prosperity for an intensely sexual relationship with an unemployed slacker. If Pialat was trying to make a statement about sexual need, then he shouldn’t have used strawman characters like the woman’s husband who was obsessive and abusive. That gives her a REASON to cheat. A more proper statement against the bourgeoisie would be if he was the PERFECT husband. Any woman, regardless of class, would try to escape an abusive spouse. So his indictment of the upper-class lifestyle falls flat. Still, for what it's worth, the acting was great.

6/10

The Puppetmaster: Hou Hsiao-Hsien

Unlike his earlier film A City of Sadness (1989) which I felt diluted its message concerning the White Terror through its oblique narrative methods, Hou Hsiao-Hsien's The Puppetmaster successfully examines the trials and tribulations of the Taiwanese people in the early 20th century by primarily focusing on a linear biographical narrative. The eponymous puppetmaster on whom the film is based, Li Tian-lu, even makes occasional documentary appearances to recount experiences in his life. As hypnotic and beautiful as Hsien's cinematography and mise-en-scène are, they can be challenging to watch for extended periods of time. So these touches of documentary filmmaking help keep The Puppetmaster fresh and engaging during its 2 1/2 hour run-time. But truthfully, I can't see myself running to revisit this film any time soon in the future. It is a wonderful work of art and I am genuinely glad to have watched it. But I found its slow pacing exhausting both physically and mentally.

9/10

Four Weddings and a Funeral: Mike Newell

[Revisit Review]

My favorite part of Mike Newell's Four Weddings and a Funeral was the eponymous funeral. Sounds strange, doesn't it? The film is a brilliant comedy that helped launch Hugh Grant's career.  It is jam packed with brilliant situational gags and sharp dialogue. But the funeral is still my favorite scene. See, I've always believed in something called "dramatic relief," the opposite of "comedic relief" where serious dramas are occasionally interrupted by comedy to help lighten the mood. I find that comedies that successfully utilize dramatic relief take on a more bittersweet tone that makes the laughter more joyful and the overall experience more memorable. And the aforementioned funeral is one of the single greatest pieces of dramatic relief that I have ever encountered.

8/10

Princess Mononoke: Hayao Miyazaki

[Revisit Review]

To read this review, go to:

http://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/the-film-canon-princess-mononoke-1997/39879.

10/10

Open Your Eyes: Alejandro Amenábar

[Spoilers Ahead]

One of the fastest ways for a movie to win me over is to surprise me. One of the fastest ways for a movie to lose me is to focus on an unlikeable protagonist. And Alejandro Amenábar's Open Your Eyes centers on a spoiled, self-centered playboy that women inexplicably fall in love with. But, thankfully, Open Your Eyes is ceaselessly surprising. Here's the moment when I knew that I loved it: when the protagonist discovers that everything is going right in his life because he is living in an artificially-induced dream that fulfills his wildest fantasies. But, in a twist that would make Philip K. Dick jealous, the dream becomes a nightmare. That is a diabolically ingenious set-up for a movie. And Open Your Eyes doesn't disappoint.

9/10

Godzilla vs. the Sea Monster: Jun Fukuda

[Revisit Review]

Jun Fukuda's Godzilla vs. the Sea Monster was so forgettable that I didn't realize that I had already seen the film twice before until I checked my official movie records. Godzilla is in full theme park mascot mode in this film, giving coy finger gestures to human bystanders and taunting his giant lobster adversary with one of his claws after ripping it off. This isn't a film about kaiju, if that makes any sense. It's about the boring humans who get a worm's-eye view of the mayhem. That's par for the course in kaiju films, but you could have practically removed all of the kaiju from this film and still have had a coherent plot. Well...maybe not during the last 20-30 minutes. But during the first hour or so, the kaiju are rolled out as giant pieces of scenery who practically do nothing to advance the plot. This is a film about bumbling criminals who just so happen to come across Godzilla. And, quite frankly, neither the characters nor their motivations are interesting enough to make me care about them...or the film.

5/10

A City of Sadness: Hou Hsiao-hsien

Hou Hsiao-hsien's A City of Sadness isn't really about a story or the characters that populate it. Instead, it's a film about a pervading atmosphere of gloom, doom, and the inescapability of fate. It was the first Taiwanese film to openly address the KMT White Terror of the late 1940s. Therein lies its greatest strength and greatest weakness. Because it was the first film of its kind, its place as a classic of world cinema was assured. And Hsiao-hsien's trademark pacing, elliptical editing, and tightly controlled, mostly static frame compositions gave it a Taiwanese identity all of its own. But I wonder if Hsiao-hsien's decision to deal with the White Terror obliquely via the story of a family far removed from the immediate violence was the best decision considering its subject matter. There are occasional smatterings of political talk, but for the most part the White Terror is some kind of distant cataclysm that mostly only indirectly effects the family. The White Terror was a brutal military crackdown where 10,000-30,000 civilians were massacred during an uprising known as the 228 Incident. It was a Crime Against Humanity, plain and simple. But A City of Sadness, for all of its beauty, for all of its stylistic inventiveness, makes it seem like it was only a minor incident that effected only a handful of people.

7/10

Keeper of Promises: Anselmo Duarte

Anselmo Duarte's Keeper of Promises is a film that could only have been birthed from the cultural and religious melting pot of Brazil, though its themes and ideas are universal: simple piety versus domineering dogma, faith versus doubt, and the nearly uncontrollable societal urge to bend individuals to the will of movements or organized groups. A simple landowner named Zé do Burro has promised to carry a cross from his home to the Saint Bárbara Church in Salvador, Bahia in return for the saint interceding and saving the life of his beloved donkey. But when he reaches the end of his long journey, the priest at the church rebukes and denies him because he technically made the vow to the Catholic saint to a Candomblé orisha. Dismissed as a follower of witchcraft, Zé tries to reconcile his promise to the saint with a church that considers him a heretic. He is quickly seized upon as a revolutionary leader by Marxists, a living saint by the peasants, and a hero by actual practitioners of Candomblé. But Zé wants none of it. He just wants to deliver his cross. Not only is Keeper of Promises a fascinating and thought-provoking drama, there is something inherently cinematic about the image of a lone man walking the streets of a modern city with a cross on his back. Quite simply, it is unforgettable.

10/10

Mother and Son: Aleksandr Sokurov

Aleksandr Sokurov's Mother and Son is a film of breathtaking, elegiac beauty. It occupies the same detached head-space inhabited by other such dream-like films as Marketa Lazarová (1967), The Mirror (1975), and Eraserhead (1977). To watch Mother and Son is to be lulled into a feverish stupor. The cinematography is deliriously gorgeous, using distorted lenses, mirrors, and sheets of glass to blur, distort, and contract the frame into harsh, one-dimensional images. The film follows the final quiet moments of an elderly mother's life as she is cared for by her son. One long stretch of the film is comprised of him carrying her in his arms to her eventual deathbed, stopping on the sides of various roads to reminisce. The distorted landscapes which comprise so much of the film highlight and identify the emotional states of the characters: shallow, empty, and barren in that particular way that only an autumn afternoon mere minutes before a thunderstorm can be. The last third of the film will be the most polarizing for viewers. Having left his mother for a "walk," the son stumbles through a large assortment of landscapes and lonely environs in near total silence. In the last few minutes he crawls next to his mother's corpse and weeps. Some will see this as one of the most perfect depictions of grief ever put on film. Others will see it as self-indulgent and pretentious. Truth be told, I can see a bit of sense in both arguments.

8/10

Blue Velvet: David Lynch

[Revisit Review]

To read this review, go to: http://www.theyoungfolks.com/review/the-film-canon-blue-velvet-1986/39460.

9/10

Thunderball: Terence Young

Let me make something clear: Terence Young's Thunderball doesn't really work. But I still admire it. The film doesn't work for a couple of reasons. First, it's too long. It was the first Bond movie to be over two hours in length. And, quite frankly, it doesn't have the steam to last its full run-time. The film's excitement is hobbled by a strange sense of tedium as they stretch the narrative out. Second, Connery's performance as Bond is...underwhelming. Truth be told, he seemed really tired. There were a few scenes where his charisma poked through, but overall he seemed weary and burnt out. But here's why I kind of liked Thunderball: any filmmaker that decides to set most of the major action scenes in their new movie underwater has balls of steel. Shooting this film must have been a nightmare. And, in my humble opinion, the underwater scenes were pretty damn good. I was shocked to find that most reviewers found them to be tedious and unintelligible. I couldn't disagree more. I thought that the scenes above the water were boring and repetitive.

6/10

The Spy Who Loved Me: Lewis Gilbert

Lewis Gilbert's The Spy Who Loved Me is at its best when it's at its silliest: a snow ski chase scene capped off with parachuting off the side of a mountain, a silent and unstoppable assassin with steel teeth, an underwater villain fortress complete with orange jump-suited minions, a car that can instantly transform into a workable submarine, and elaborate death traps involving a trick elevator and a very hungry shark. However, it is dragged down by the tepid love story between James Bond and Anya Amasova. That's not to say that she isn't a great character. In fact, I wish that Bond had had more Bond Girls that could so easily outfight, out-think, and out-maneuver him (not to mention that she helps foster a theme of international cooperation, one that is almost entirely absent from the espionage genre). But the first hour of the film dominated by their love story screeches the narrative to a sudden halt. Basically, The Spy Who Loved Me only truly comes alive whenever there is a large body of water involved. Oh, and the Atlantis and Liparus are easily two of the most creative, striking, and memorable set pieces in the history of the franchise. They alone make the film worth a watch.

7/10

Smokey and the Bandit: Hal Needham

Let me get a very minor but aggravating nitpick out of the way before I explain what I thought about Hal Needham's Smokey and the Bandit: the ADR work was absolutely ATROCIOUS. Alright, now that I have that out of my system...what did I think of the film? Well, I thought it was a lot of fun. I must admit that I was slightly underwhelmed by it, though. Knowing Needham's reputation as a director and stuntman, I expected Smokey and the Bandit to be a mile-a-minute chase movie crammed full of outrageous stunts. Well, the film certainly contains a lot of chases. And there is some great stunt-work. But the film is not afraid to slow things down (metaphorically, of course) and give its characters, Burt Reynolds and Sally Field in particular, room to breathe and develop. My favorite part of the movie was all of the random people who go out of their way to help the Bandit and thwart the police officers chasing them. It speaks to a delightful "brotherhood-of-the-road," a common consciousness that transcends class, race, and gender all in the pursuit of sticking it to the Man. Brings a tear to my eye, really.

7/10

Women in Love: Ken Russell

Bleagh. Bllearrruuughhh. I'm sorry, but Ken Russell's Women in Love was one of the toughest sits I've experienced in quite some time. Te film has all of the boring dreariness of Merchant Ivory with none of the coherency! There was hardly a moment of the film where I knew what was going on or why. Instead, the film seems a conglomeration of non sequiturs which may have made sense within the original D. H. Lawrence novel, but not here. Why was there a scene where one of the female protagonists played chicken with a herd of cows? What was the significance of the drowned couple? Where did the speech about the proper way to eat a fig come from? What was the point of the naked wrestling scene? Why the sudden interest in the German sculptor during the trip to the Alps? Things just sort of happen in Women in Love. There is practically no structure or cohesive story to speak of. And considering that the film's final scenes seem to imply that they are the denouement of some great emotional construction, this indicates shoddy craftsmanship and filmmaking.

3/10