The Girl Who Knew Too Much: Mario Bava

When later asked about his film The Girl Who Knew Too Much, director Mario Bava responded that he did not regard it fondly. In addition to being “preposterous,” he mentioned that it left such an insignificant impression on him that he couldn’t even remember the actors who played the leads. “Perhaps it could have worked with James Stewart and Kim Novak,” he remarked. Yes, maybe if he had the same actors as Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) the film would have been more famous. But as it stands, The Girl Who Knew Too Much is seen by many critics as a technically accomplished but insignificant entry in Bava’s oeuvre. And, in many respects, the film’s lukewarm reception isn’t unwarranted. The story is clumsy, rife with inappropriate (and ineffective) comic relief, and greatly overshadowed by the cinematography. And yet, The Girl Who Knew Too Much may very well be one of the most important horror films in history. Why? Because it served as a bridge between the horror of Hitchcock and Hollywood and the future of Italian horror, a much beloved and often imitated genre known simply as the “giallo.”

Giallo, the Italian word for “yellow,” is a term used to describe a series of mystery novels published by Mondadori in the late 1920s which boasted bright yellow covers. As the series became more popular, other publishers mimicked Mondadori’s marketing techniques until the term giallo became synonymous with the mystery genre. The term continued to evolve when giallo stories were adapted for the cinema. And, indeed, The Girl Who Knew Too Much was the very first giallo: a film hybrid mixing the mystery, horror, and thriller genres. Bava would further define the giallo with Blood and Black Lace (1964), a film which introduced extremely graphic and stylized violence (almost always committed against beautiful women) and an iconic black disguise donned by the narrative’s main killer. However, Blood and Black Lace’s contributions to the genre were mostly visual. It was The Girl Who Knew Too Much that would establish the traditional giallo narrative structure.

Much as the film’s title would suggest, The Girl Who Knew Too Much was heavily influenced by the work of Alfred Hitchcock. It centers around a young American woman named Nora who travels to Rome in order to meet her aunt. However, almost immediately after she arrives she finds herself in the middle of a terrible murder plot. First, her aunt dies when she goes to see her. Next, she is mugged in the Piazza di Spagna. And finally, she witnesses a bearded man murder a young woman and drag her body away before she can alert the authorities. There are two very Hitchcock-esque traits to be found in these opening scenes. First, Nora is an innocent woman thrown into violent circumstances beyond her control. In Hitchcock’s films, this frequently manifested itself as the Wrongly Accused Hero plot archetype. Second, whenever Nora tries to tell people about what she saw, she is dismissed or ignored. Together, these create a perverse atmosphere of paranoia and dread; a sense that the world is cruelly and deliberately conspiring against the protagonist.

After the attack, Nora decides to independently pursue the truth surrounding that terrible murder. A devoted reader of mystery novels (we see her reading one on the plane to Italy) the likes of which inspired the film to begin with, she starts her own investigation. Along the way, she makes several allies: Dr. Marcello Bassi, the man who had been caring for Nora’s aunt, Laura Torrani, one of her aunt’s dear friends who lets her stay in her house, and an investigative reporter named Landini who had been investigating a series of murders attributed to the “Alphabet Killer,” a serial killer known for picking out victims with names in alphabetical order (“A” -- Gina Abbart, “B” -- Maria Beccati, “C” -- Emily Craven). However, it doesn’t take long for her snooping to catch the attention of unwanted parties. She receives an ominous phone call that says, “D is for death.” Nora’s last name? Davis.

Watching The Girl Who Knew Too Much, I was struck by how often Bava mimicked Hitchcock’s cinematographic techniques. The film’s black and white photography was obviously largely inspired by Hollywood film noir’s high-contrast, expressionist cinematography. But Bava seems to transform the camera itself into an omnipresent character. One shot in particular reminded me of the famous Sebastian mansion tracking shot in Notorious (1946): when Laura first invites Nora into her home, the camera tracks them as move through the rooms before breaking away from the two women and zooming in on the doors of Laura’s husband’s locked study. Then, via an unfortunate smash edit, it continues to zoom in until it focuses on a picture of Laura’s husband. While much of the rest of the film’s blocking, framing, and camera movements are highly subjective and reflect Nora’s state of mind, this shot is an enigma. There are literally no characters nearby who could be seeing what the audience is witnessing. This shot is from the camera’s point of view and exists for the benefit of the audience. In a stylistic flourish that Hitchcock frequently indulged in and practically perfected, the audience is transformed from fellow spectators into voyeurs.

And, essentially, voyeurism is at the heart of giallo. As the genre would evolve, it would become more and more indulgent with its use of colors, sets, and murder scenes. Red herrings, like some of the plot cul-de-sacs in The Girl Who Knew Too Much, would become a favored technique of giallo directors to keep its protagonists, and by extension the audience, misdirected and confused. Why were so many giallo victims women? Probably because, on a very primal and unspeakable level, killing a beautiful woman is like smashing a stained glass window with a rock. Both are destructive acts, but they are impossible to look away from. We take perverse pleasure in watching such corruption and annihilation. Where did this sense of voyeurism come from? Hitchcock. And in between Hitchcock and giallo is Mario Bava. Or, more specifically, The Girl Who Knew Too Much.

7/10

Date Night: Shawn Levy

Yes, yes, I'll fully admit that I wasn't looking forward to watching Shawn Levy's Date Night. I remember thinking, "A romantic comedy starring Steve Carell and Tina Fey by the guy who directed the 2006 reboot of The Pink Panther? I'll pass." But much to my surprise, Date Night is a very sweet, very sincere, very smart, and, most crucially, very funny film. It's funny, but the plot of this film reminds me of Anthony Mann's Side Street (1950), a film noir where a good man's life is turned upside down because of a momentary lapse of judgement where he stole something that he thought was insignificant. In Side Street, it was an envelope that the protagonist thought had $200 inside but actually contained $30,000 worth of blackmail money. In Date Night, it's a reservation at one of Manhattan's finest restaurants by the Fosters, a weary New Jersey married couple who want just one special night together so they can recapture the romance that they have been missing. However, they didn't just steal any reservation, they stole the reservation of a couple who had been blackmailing one of the city's crime lords. There are other fascinating comparisons between Date Night and film noir: a very convoluted plot involving corruption and crime, protagonists disillusioned by middle class life, and a dangerous city that hides villains and monsters behind every tree and in every dark alley. I was very impressed by how smart the central story was. The film manages to find very simple solutions to rather bothersome plot holes that seem to plague these kinds of movies. Why don't the Fosters go to the police? Well, they do. It's just that almost as soon as they arrive they discover that two of the policemen stationed there are crooked cops that had tried to kill them. Why don't they stay in crowded areas? Well, they do. That just doesn't stop the bad guys from trying to kill them. Even the stereotypical car chase scene at the end comes about organically from the story instead of from a producer's desire for another action beat. It also helps that I haven't seen an onscreen couple with such great chemistry as Steve Carell and Tina Fey in a long time.

8/10

Side Street: Anthony Mann

Side Street may be my favorite film noir by Anthony Mann, not necessarily because it's the best or the smartest, but because it examines a trope that I dearly love: a good man making a simple mistake. We like Joe Norson, a part-time NYC mail carrier who recently lost his gas station and has to live with his in-laws. All he wants is to be able to provide for his very pregnant wife, Ellen, but times are hard and working as a mail carrier just isn't doing the trick. So, although we may disapprove, we can certainly emphasize with Joe when he has a moment of weakness and steals what he thinks is $200 from the office of one of his clients. Unbeknownst to him, the envelope he stole actually contained $30,000 of blackmail money. So Joe, being a likeable fellow, tries to do the right thing and return the money. Too bad the man he stole from was a corrupt attorney. Even worse, he doesn't believe Joe's story. After scaring Joe out of his office, the attorney orders his goons to find the money, no matter how many innocent people get hurt or killed in the process. Side Street is a remarkably gritty film that manages to truly get under your skin. As previously mentioned, Joe is an honest guy who made a simple mistake. In a way, his story serves as a grim opposite of the wrongly accused protagonist trope that Alfred Hitchcock loved so dearly. Joe is very definitely guilty. But his punishment doesn't match the crime. And that, in my opinion, makes him much more compelling than Richard Hannay or Roger O. Thornhill.

8/10

The Great Gatsby: Baz Luhrmann

When it comes to art, sometimes near misses are more intriguing than complete realizations of an artist's intent. And that's what Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby is: a near miss. Here is a film that believes in itself, its actors, its message, and its production values. But it ultimately fails to coalesce into a coherent whole. The Great Gatsby is a film supported solely by the power of its actors. I've never been the biggest fan of Leonardo DeCaprio, an actor that I've always felt excelled at imitating characters but never truly inhabiting them. But the film's eponymous socialite seems like the role he was born to play. And, honestly, a large part of that is that he's never onscreen long enough for his performance to sway off into the awkward valley that so many of his roles crash into. Carey Mulligan and Joel Edgerton are fantastic as Daisy and Tom Buchanan. The only role that I felt was woefully miscast was Tobey Maguire as Nick Carraway. He seems to have forgotten that the film, despite its deliberately anachronistic soundtrack and production design, was still a period piece and that mumbling his lines like a bored Marlon Brando doesn't work for a character living in the Roaring Twenties. Other than the acting, everything else about The Great Gatsby falls apart. With the exception of maybe one apartment, one office, and the homes of the inhabitants of West Egg, every single set looks like it was filmed on a cheap sound-stage and smothered with CGI in an attempt to hide the seams (Gatsby's infamous parties are inundated with CGI confetti and streamers). But, in the end, I applaud The Great Gatsby. I admire its audaciousness and willingness to take creative chances. Too bad they didn't work.

6/10

Pain & Gain: Michael Bay

I have two sacred rules when it comes to reviewing films:

1) Every film deserves a fair chance and the benefit of the doubt before and while viewing.
2) A film should be judged based on its own merits, not by how it compares to other films.

By following these two rules, I have come to the conclusion that Michael Bay's Pain & Gain is a fantastic film and easily his best work yet. I have always had a...bumpy...relationship with Bay. I've always felt that with his excess, over-reliance on CGI, and offensive writing that he has long represented the very worst of what American cinema has to offer. But in Pain & Gain we see Bay's style finally being matched with a story that actually benefits it. The (regrettably) true story of three bodybuilders who try and extort money from one of the customers who goes to their gym is so incredulous, so far-fetched, and so insane that only Michael Bay could bring it to the big screen. Everything that detracts from his other films works in Pain & Gain. The grotesque gags that are such a trademark of Bay's films seem like exaggerated projections of the characters' inner feelings: when we are with the bodybuilders, everyone looks super-fit and scantily-clad women constantly flash the camera. When we are with the victim, everything takes on an air of desperation and disgust, such as when he witnesses a morbidly obese hospital patient defecate all over a bathroom. I can't emphasize enough how this film only works because of two things: the fact that it is a true story and the fact that it was directed by Michael Bay. So, to Mr. Bay, I offer my congratulations. Now keep it up, sir.

8/10

Alambrista!: Robert M. Young

Over the years I've found that one of the biggest challenges facing film-makers is striking the right balance between sentimentality and organic emotion. As a film-going culture, we seem to have developed an attitude that believes that happy endings reside in the realm of fantastical escapism. Happy endings may be all right for comedies, action films, and animation, but a film-maker's credibility can suddenly be challenged if more serious dramas end on a positive note. Robert M. Young's Alambrista! is one of those rare films that manages to have a very, very happy ending without it seeming forced or contrived. The film follows a Mexican laborer who illegally immigrates to the United States in order to earn more money for his family. He makes and loses friends, jobs, and even loves along the way before coming to the final realization that being with his family is more important than any form of material wealth. And, yes, that is a rather ordinary story. And, yes, I did just spoil the ending. But Alambrista! is a film about the journey, not the destination. Filmed with a careful, almost neorealist eye, the film is fascinated by how the protagonist eats, sleeps, escapes police, and travels. And yet, at no point does any of this seem unnecessary, boring, or tedious. A great director and cinematographer can electrify anything with their camera. And from the magnificent opening tracking shot of a small stream of water rolling through a Mexican farm, Alambrista! mesmerizes with its beauty, simplicity, honesty, and naturalistic optimism.

9/10

Europa '51: Roberto Rossellini

Much like Fyodor Dostoyevsky's novel The Idiot, Roberto Rossellini's Europa '51 attempts to ask the question of what would happen to a real-life saint in modern society. Taking inspiration from the life of Saint Francis of Assisi, Rossellini directs his camera towards Irene, a wealthy woman living in post-World War II Rome. Completely oblivious to the true suffering surrounding her, Irene's life is shattered after her young son accidentally dies while trying to get her attention. After being bedridden with grief for 10 days, she is taken by a Communist friend to one of Rome's many slums and suggests that she devote her efforts to helping others truly less fortunate. This transforms Irene into a force of righteous agape, using her influence and money to help the sick, poor, and underprivileged. However, she is viewed as insane by her family and friends. Her husband suspects that she is having an affair and leaves her. Eventually she is institutionalized for her behavior. This all seems very emotionally manipulative, but Rossellini gives his characters time to grow and evolve so that when they reach an emotional turning-point, we are right there beside them. I noticed some suspect film and sound edits that made me wonder whether or not I was watching a slightly corrupted copy of the film. But despite these occasional hiccups, Europa '51 is a pure cinematic epiphany.

9/10

First Spaceship on Venus: Kurt Maetzig

For all its camp, Kurt Maetzig's First Spaceship on Venus is a triumph of both production design and ambition. The visuals, technology, and science may be terribly outdated, but they are presented with such sincere earnestness that endearment is inevitable. After the discovery of a piece of alien technology in the Gobi desert, mankind launches a spaceship helmed with an international crew for Venus, the planet that they believe it originated from. And, lo and behold, they discover the ruins of a once mighty civilization that had been planning to conquer the earth before accidentally destroying themselves with nuclear weapons. After one of the astronauts accidentally triggers the doomsday weapon the Venusians were planning on using against earth, they must disarm it before it spells doom for the cosmos. The entire film is drenched in a heavy Eastern bloc aesthetic (being an East German/Polish collaboration) which, while making the film look artistically dated, gives the audience the impression of being truly submersed into a different world. The special effects and set designs have a distinct charm about them, as well. First Spaceship on Venus is a delightful 60s sci-fi gem.

6/10

Psych-Out: Richard Rush

When it comes to Hippie exploitation films, Richard Rush's Psych-Out is certainly one of the best. Unlike other examples of the genre like Roger Corman's The Trip (1967) which mistook general incoherence and incongruous narrative spontaneity as a means by which to depict the counter-culture, Psych-Out grounds itself with a simple story and well-defined characters. The film chiefly follows a deaf runaway named Jenny who travels to San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district in order to find her brother who, unbeknownst to her, has gone off the deep end, become a drug-fueled "prophet," and renamed himself as the Seeker. Along the way she falls in with a struggling hippie band named "Mumblin' Jim" and Stoney, their curt, but well-meaning, guitarist. During their search they encounter a whole menagerie of colorful and burnt-out characters like a violent gang of pro-war thugs, one of Stoney's ex-band mates who has modeled himself as a kind of Native American/Hindu shaman/brahmin, and other human detritus of the counter-culture. The film boasts an incredible soundtrack courtesy of the Storybook, a wry yet satisfying performance by Jack Nicholson as Stoney, and a legitimately disturbing flashback scene that explains the cause of Jenny's deafness. Psych-Out is a solid film and a helluva trip, man.

7/10

The Touch of Satan: Tom Laughlin, Don Henderson

Here's a lesson for everyone who worked on The Touch of Satan: just because you can put dramatic pauses in between every single line doesn't mean that you should. The Touch of Satan is a film so horrifically tepid that it is amazing that the creators managed to keep their actors awake during takes. It follows a young man nonchalantly cruising through the States (as teens in the 70s were apparently wont to do) who comes across a family of farmers with a terrible secret: they have been possessed by Satan! Well, more accurately, their two daughters who were almost lynched 100+ years ago became vessels for the Dark One in exchange for protection. However, one has been "blessed" with eternal "youth" while the other has been cursed to wither away seemingly indefinitely. There could be an interesting film made of such a story. Think Rosemary's Baby (1968) meets The Crucible (1996). But The Touch of Satan is painfully dull, dry, and boring. There are extended sequences where we watch characters drive down empty streets, walk through fields, put on their shoes, etc, etc. And none of these sequences add anything to the plot! They are merely filler to try and make the film reach a 90 minute run time. If there isn't enough story to make a feature-length movie, then maybe you shouldn't make a movie!!

4/10

It’s Alive: Larry Cohen

Do not mistake Larry Cohen's It's Alive for a schlocky horror film. Here is a film that demonstrates incredible skill in pacing, tone, and atmosphere in order to create a genuinely disquieting cinematic experience. The story of an unsuspecting Los Angeles couple who give birth to a deformed monstrosity that escapes from the hospital and embarks on a killing spree, It's Alive show remarkable restraint in not actually showing the titular monster. There are, of course, brief glimpses of the baby during attack scenes, but they are always just a few seconds long and usually obfuscated. No, Cohen isn't interested with filling the screen with random, excessive gore. This is a film about suspense. The first 13-14 minutes lull the audience into a domesticated stupor with naturalistic dialogue, believable characters, and a lilting pace. When the baby first attacks (an event that we don't actually see), we are jolted into nervous attentiveness. The idyllic setting inhabited by the characters, one firmly rooted in reality, has been violated by an otherworldly other. Many other horror films telegraph the fact that they are, well, horror films, in the first few minutes. It's Alive doesn't, thereby making things even more terrifying for the audience. Incredibly, the film doesn't reveal the baby at the end, either. Even Spielberg eventually showed the Shark. But this isn't a film about effects. This isn't a film about a killer baby. It's a film about the terrified parents who have to deal with their own monstrous creation. As a side note, keep an ear out for the Bernard Herrmann (yes, THAT Bernard Herrmann) soundtrack. It helps elevate an already fantastic film into greatness.

8/10

Iron Man 3: Shane Black

What the heck happened? The first two Iron Man movies, while nothing special, were entertaining in their own right. But Iron Man 3? This is just a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad movie. First off, it has almost the exact same plot as the first two films: Tony Stark is a lovable asshole who messes up, gets the people he cares about threatened by villains (specifically one ethnically charged baddie and the corporate CEO type that's REALLY pulling the strings), initially loses, then pulls himself back together in time to save the day. This was okay during the first film because Tony Stark was just becoming Iron Man. But three movies in? This is not a character arc that he should be having, let alone repeating for the third time! The plot is full of holes, so much so that I literally wrote an article listing the top ten worst. I know why people love this film: we get to see Robert Downey, Jr. be Tony Stark. And, yes, RDJ does a tremendous job bringing the character to life. But everything else about this film is terrible. It's an ugly film shot with an over-abundance of CGI (even for a blockbuster). The scene near the beginning with Stark's mansion is almost opaque with its over-use of reds, browns, and incoherent yellows. You can almost see where and when studio execs stuck their fingers into this film: we need a cute kid sidekick HERE, we need another comedic relief character HERE, we need more action HERE! At the end of the day, Iron Man 3 is not a film made by film-makers, but by studio execs. It's unpleasant and atrociously written. I will admit that the twist concerning the Mandarin was exactly the kind of thing that the comic book film genre needs to truly evolve and grow. But Iron Man 3 didn't earn it.

5/10

Eating Raoul: Paul Bartel

Paul Bartel's Eating Raoul is a short, succinct, and sinfully delightful black comedy about a prim and proper married couple who seduce, murder, and rob rich degenerates in order to fiance their dream of opening a restaurant. The couple, Paul and Mary Bland, come into this arrangement by chance after Mary accidentally kills a local swinger who tried to rape her. After realizing that this would be an easy, albeit messy and unpleasant, method of getting enough money (as well as a great method of revenge against the "perverts" and "degenerates" that they loathe), they begin their crime spree. However, things are complicated when their "business" is accidentally discovered by a locksmith/burglar named Raoul. But they set up an arrangement with Raoul wherein he "disposes" of the bodies (in reality selling them to a dog food company) for cash. There's just three problems. 1) Raoul doesn't tell the Blands that he is also selling their victims' cars and keeping all of that cash to himself. 2) Paul begins to suspect that Mary and Raoul are having an affair. 3) Mary and Raoul are totally having an affair. What happens? Well, let's just say that it is violent, dark, and absolutely hilarious. The film was directed by Paul Bartel (who also plays Paul Bland), who is also known for making Death Race 2000 (1975). Both films demonstrate his deadpan approach to outrageous settings and social situations: despite everything that goes on, the characters act like everything is normal. For instance, you may think that Paul and Mary might be freaked out by killing a rich pervert with a frying pan while dressed like Minnie Mouse. But they treat it as business as usual, despite the fact that they mention to each other how much they hate having to resort to such crimes to achieve their dream. In doing so, the film demonstrates a delirious disconnection of tone and content that solidify its status as a cult classic.

9/10

The Phantom Planet: William Marshall

I can't decide whether the makers of The Phantom Planet were honestly trying to do something great with the film despite their budgetary limitations or were simply attempting to add false gravitas to a thoroughly silly sci-fi B-film in the hopes that it would be mistaken for something "artsy." On the one hand, the film begins on a very sombre note with the death of one of the pilots of a United States Air Force space mission. After spouting out philosophical gobbledegook that makes the ending monologue from Roger Corman's It Conquered the World (1956) seem quaint and subtle, he drifts into space reciting the Lord's Prayer. These scenes are completely tonally dissonant from the rest of the film which follows the other pilot trying to survive after he is captured and shrunk to only a few inches high by the tiny residents of an asteroid. From there, he helps these creatures fight off an invasion of monsters all while wooing the affections of a mute local. The film is rather jarring in its abrupt transition from serious drama to campy sci-fi shlock. And yet, again, I still get the feeling that the director, William Marshall, was taking this project completely seriously and was trying to make...I dunno...some kind of statement. But that's just me, I suppose.

4/10

The Proposition: John Hillcoat

John Hillcoat's The Proposition is a stark vision of Australia's past that carries many similarities with the American Old West. Here, the encroachment of civilization is represented by Australian authorities, in particular Captain Stanley, who seek to bring order and justice to an untamed frontier. The infamous outlaws and gunslingers are here represented by the Burns brothers gang, a savage group of criminals who raped and murdered a frontier family. Stone-faced Native Americans are replaced by stoic Australian Aborigines, men who serve both as guides and adversaries to the forces of "justice." The film begins with the capture of two members of the Burns brothers gang, Charlie and his feeble-minded younger brother Mikey. Captain Stanley makes a deal with Charlie that if he can bring in his homicidal older brother, Arthur, before Christmas, he will let him and Mikey go free. From here the film splits into two narratives. The first follows Captain Stanley as he tries to keep the peace with his fragile wife, the local blood-thirsty townsfolk, and his corrupt superior. We gradually learn that Captain Stanley might be more noble than we were first led to believe. In fact, he soon becomes the only beacon of sanity in his community which begins to froth at the mouth with the desire to lynch Mikey. The second narrative follows Charlie as he tracks down Arthur and makes the impossible decision about whether or not to bring him in. Here is the only problem I find with the film: it tries to romanticize Arthur as a kind of noble maniac who gives speeches about how family is the most important thing in life. But I don't buy it. This is the film's only real failing. Everything else about The Proposition is masterfully executed. Also, the film must be given credit for having some of the best sound mixing and editing to grace the Western genre in years. Wait until you hear the hellish, metallic, locomotive howls of the Outback which seem to forewarn of treachery and doom. You'll know when you hear it.

8/10

Delta Force 2: The Colombian Connection: Aaron Norris

Now this is more like it! While the first Delta Force film was burdened with extreme tonal inconsistency, switching between sincere drama and Chuck Norris actionsploitation at a moment's notice, this sequel, Delta Force 2: The Colombian Connection, has no confusion about what kind of a movie it is. Quite simply, it is a pure-bred Chuck Norris extravaganza. After several DEA agents and his partner, Major Bobby Chavez, are brutally murdered by the sadistic Colombian drug lord Roman Cota, Colonel Scott McCoy (Norris) attempts to infiltrate his mansion, rescue a number of hostages, and bring Cota back alive. Norris' usual stoicism helps elevate McCoy from being just another 80s action beefcake to a legitimate character. If there actually was a special ops soldier capable of doing what McCoy does in this film, we can easily believe that he would act in a similar manner. The other high point of the film is the performance by Billy Drago as Cota. Even among other dickish 80s action villians, Cota ranks as one of the most twisted and evil. This is a man who personally executes Chavez's family (and pregnant wife) just for the hell of it after being released on bail from the police. This is a man who kills the husband and infant child of one of his slaves before raping her after she is unable to continue harvesting drugs. This is a man who sees unnecessary cruelty as its own reward. He doesn't just kill Chavez, he gasses him to death in a room with a plexiglass window so he can enjoy watching him die. Yes, his unusually grotesque antics are emotionally manipulative, but they are nevertheless effective. Not only is it a fun movie, but it is one of Norris' best.

7/10

The Delta Force: Menahem Golan

Menahem Golan's The Delta Force is quite an odd duck. Most of it is a gripping, emotionally exhausting retelling of the real-life hijacking of TWA Flight 847 in 1985. But it is also an action movie starring Chuck Norris and Lee Marvin about the U.S. Army Delta Force tasked with rescuing the hostages. To be fair, Golan manages both narratives individually quite well. The segments about the hijacking are tense, thrilling, and captivating. Scenes where the Islamic hijackers separate the Jewish passengers are a bit emotionally manipulative, however. But considering the fact that Golan is a native Israelite who fought in the Israeli War of Independence, these creative choices are somewhat understandable. The action scenes with Norris and Marvin are excellent and cheesy, as well. But here's the film's biggest problem: the two narratives don't blend. Clearly the hijacking scenes are meant to be taken seriously. But the action scenes are deliriously over-the-top in that special 80s Golan-Globus manner. Imagine if Schindler's List (1993) periodically cut to footage from Inglourious Basterds (2009). That's not to say that the film isn't entertaining or worth watching. But viewers should be warned that they are about to witness a disjointed, uneven film.

6/10

The Projected Man: Ian Curteis

While many of the greatest movie monsters are unknowable, unstoppable enigmas, I've always been drawn to the more tragic creatures. Frankenstein's monster is borne into a world that can never accept him, the Fly was the accidental creation of an earnest scientist, and Darth Vader (yes, he counts) was a good man led astray. Ian Curteis' The Projected Man also features a sympathetic villain: Dr. Paul Steiner. Much like Andre Delambre from Kurt Neumann's The Fly (1958), Dr. Steiner was a scientist seeking to perfect a method of matter transportation. However, after a horrific accident, Dr. Steiner was mutated into a sinister creature with an instantly fatal touch. But here's the kicker: Dr. Steiner's experiment was sabotaged by a rival who wanted to steal his research grant. While it can be argued that Dr. Steiner's hubris was mostly at fault for his accident, it cannot be denied that he is also a victim in his own right. While mediocre in other respects (everything appears to be shot through a yellow filter, the special effects and makeup are sub-par, and the transportation device looks like it was cobbled together from spare parts found under the prop guy's sink) the drama surrounding Dr. Steiner is sufficient to make The Projected Man a decent sci-fi B-movie.

5/10

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension: W. D. Richter

It's easy to see why a film like W.D. Richter's The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension would inspire both confused derision from some and fanatical loyalty from others. On the one hand, it does almost nothing (save an opening text crawl) to introduce the audience to the strange world of Buckaroo Banzai. Characters like the eponymous hero, a physicist/neurosurgeon/test pilot/rock musician, the dastardly Lord John Whorfin, and Dr. Sidney Zweibel, a neurosurgeon/cowboy from New Jersey, are given little to no background or establishment. In fact, the attitude the film adopts towards the uninitiated borders on contempt. Make no mistake, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension is a fascinating film. But its unwillingness to ease viewers into its world is almost avant-garde. In my opinion, the film feels like an old Republic serial with the first 2 reels missing. But therein lies its charm, I suppose. To summarize the film's plot is madness. Suffice to say Buckaroo Banzai fights off inter-dimensional aliens, saves all mankind, and even squeezes in a kick-ass rock concert. I can't say that I am as enthusiastic about the film as many other people. But, nevertheless, I do admire its bravery.

6/10

Missing in Action 3: Aaron Norris

Third verse, same as the first. Aaron Norris' Missing in Action 3 continues the story of the most tragically beleaguered American serviceman in history: Colonel James Braddock (Chuck Norris). In the first movie, he had to break into Vietnam to rescue American POWs. In the second, he had to break out of Vietnam. Now, in this third movie, he has to do both. First, he has to break into Vietnam to rescue his wife (who he thought was killed during the Fall of Saigon) and his son (that he never knew he had). Unsurprisingly, after learning that Braddock, the inexplicably invincible and unstoppable killing machine responsible for humiliating their military and government twice, the North Vietnamese capture him, kill his wife, and torture his son. So, of course, he now has to break out of Vietnam along with the Reverend who operated the Mission that took care of Braddock's family and the dozens of other orphans under his care. So, yeah, there really isn't anything that new or groundbreaking in this film. Once again, Chuck Norris doesn't really act. Instead, he just sorta keeps his mouth shut so he can stare stoically and dramatically at the people around him. That worked in Missing in Action 2: The Beginning (1985) because for almost the entire movie he was a POW and had to project an aura of confidence and strength to keep his men motivated. But in this film, the stoicism wears thin, particularly during the scene where he first reunites with his long-lost wife and child. Instead of acting like, you know, a human being, Norris delivers his lines like an automaton. I will give this film credit where credit is due: I did like the opening with the Fall of Saigon. It did a fantastic job depicting the chaos and terror of an entire city self-imploding. Otherwise, this film is largely forgettable.

5/10

Missing in Action 2: The Beginning: Lance Hool

Lance Hool's Missing in Action 2: The Beginning really got to me. It bothered and disturbed me on a deeper level than films like I Spit on Your Grave (1978) and Cannibal Holocaust (1980). Why? Because...well...a lot of what is depicted in this film may have actually happened. Let me explain: the film is about a group of American POWs in North Vietnam. Their leader, Colonel James Braddock (Chuck Norris) is being blackmailed by the camp's commanding officer, Colonel Yin, into confessing to a list of phoney war crimes. To try and make him "confess," Colonel Yin resorts to a series of unspeakable tortures, both physical and psychological, to break Braddock and his men. These tortures take up the majority of the movie. Imagine if the Russian Roulette scene from The Deerhunter (1978) was stretched into a feature length film. This being a Golan/Globus production, we know that eventually Chuck Norris will break out, kill Yin, and save everyone. But the film takes such sadistic pleasure in watching him torment the POWs that it's essentially a rape/revenge film by way of the Vietnam war genre. And, yes, the Vietnamese characters are almost all presented as being completely bereft of redeeming qualities. But here's the kicker: I did some research on how real-life American POWs were treated in North Vietnam and discovered that Missing in Action 2 didn't exaggerate too much (at least for an 80s action film). Is a film like this jingoistic if such things really happened? Nobody seems to think that it's racist to depict Nazis as German. If this were a more "serious" movie by someone like Oliver Stone, would it be considered a masterpiece? Missing in Action 2 certainly left more of an emotional impact than any other film I've seen recently. Is the fact that it's a Golan/Globus Chuck Norris vehicle keeping it from getting the attention that it deserves? I don't know. But I do know that forgetting about this film is an impossibility.

6/10

Bikini Island: Tony Markes

I was going to give Tony Markes' Bikini Island a 3/10, but the last 3 minutes so thoroughly disgusted me that I felt obligated to drop it down to a 2/10. Basically, after surviving a massacre on the eponymous 'Bikini Island,' a young model is approached by a modeling company executive, told that the rights to her traumatic story (you know, the one where EVERYONE IS BRUTALLY MURDERED) has been sold to a movie studio, and that she is going to star in the ensuing film. In the hands of a competent director, this could be a devastating critique on American commercialism. But in the world of Tony Markes, this is supposedly a happy ending. That is how Bikini Island went from simply being stupid to being insulting. I mean, the rest of the film is essentially a softcore porn without any nudity. The "plot" is that a group of bikini models are taken to an island for an extended photo shoot. For the first 45 minutes, the movie is nothing but pathetic attempts at suspense (all of which are red herrings) and extended sequences of the models frolicking around in bathing suits. Oh yeah, and in the last third everyone starts dying. It's like mid-way through production Markes remembered that he wasn't making a porno and decided to throw together a half-baked slasher movie plot. Here's what you need to know: Bikini Island is boring, poorly made, infuriating, and not even that sexy.

2/10

American Pop: Ralph Bakshi

“I had this dream that animation could be the medium of the people...if Disney worked for the middle class, I was gonna work for the kids in the street.” - Ralph Bakshi

Somewhere in New York City, a skinny young man with hair as yellow as corn weaves in and out of a nerve-frayed punk wasteland. He carries a bag of narcotics which will soon pulsate through the veins of a generation of alienated musicians. It is the 1980s and everyone he meets seems bleary-eyed, sick, and apathetic. However, as he struts down the streets, he hears a sound which catches his attention: an Orthodox Jew singing a hymn. The young man stops, turns, adjusts his sunglasses to get a better look. Something stirs deep inside him and he begins to pulsate in time with the singing. As he walks away to meet his customers, the young man can’t shake the odd rhythm.

This young man is Pete Bolinski. And though he doesn’t know it, he has just reunited with a heritage that he didn’t even realize was his birthright. It is a heritage of culture and religion, of traditions lost in the shuffle of war and tragedy. It is a heritage of several generations of young men who in seeking to find their place in American society helped forge it. But most of all, it is a heritage of music; a heritage of American pop.

Audacious in scope and staggering in ambition, Ralph Bakshi’s American Pop is one of the great iconoclastic animator’s most indomitable films. The film manages to chart nearly 90 years of history in approximately the same number of minutes, creating a lush tapestry of emotion and drama that attempts nothing less than a summation of 20th century American popular music.

Most sources claim that American Pop follows four generations of the Bolinski family. But actually, it covers five. The first is Rabbi Jaacov Bolinski, the victim of a late 1890s pogrom in Tzarist Russia. As his community is attacked by Cossacks, Rabbi Jaacov forces his wife and ten-year-old son, Zalmie, to flee as he stays behind to finish his interrupted prayer and protect the Torah. The scene of Jaacov’s death, his family’s flight, and the ghetto’s destruction is set to the sounds of a Ukrainian religious chant. This haunting music is like a kaddish for the Bolinskis as they mourn the loss of their old lives, their old ways, their old songs. As a nation of immigrants, American culture and music was borne not on its own shores, but from the tattered remnants of the Old Countries. In this way, Rabbi Jaacov Bolinski and his martyred songs are just as important as his descendants.

Zalmie and his mother eventually take up residence in New York City’s Lower East Side. While Mrs. Molinski slaves away in the garment-district, Zalmie finds work handing out chorus slips at burlesque houses. His talents as a singer are quickly discovered by the other performers. After Mrs. Molinski is killed in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company holocaust, Zalmie becomes a full-time performer specializing in “juveniles,” or roles that take advantage of his angelic voice. But after receiving a vicious throat wound during World War One, he abandons the stage and falls in with mobsters so he can support his new wife and child, Benny.

As a teenager, Benny throws himself into the world of music and becomes a jazz piano virtuoso. And yet, there is something...off...about Benny. I suspect that today he would be diagnosed with either autism or Asperger’s. Painfully shy and rigidly introverted, he doesn’t even scream or cry when he watches his mother get accidentally killed by a bomb intended for Zalmie. He just silently watches and continues playing the piano. He eventually marries the daughter of Zalmie’s mob boss and impregnates her. But it’s easy to suspect that if the marriage hadn’t been arranged, Benny would have lived a life of self-imposed celibacy. Despite Zalmie’s objections, Benny enlists to fight in World War Two. In one of the truly transcendent moments of Bakshi’s career, Benny discovers a piano in a bombed out building in Nazi Germany. As he begins to play As Time Goes By, a Nazi soldier emerges from the rubble and takes aim at him. Benny pauses for just a moment before playing the first few bars of Lili Marleen. The Nazi, overcome with emotion, closes his eyes. For a few short seconds they partake in a communion of beauty and joy. “Danke.” Gunshots. A blood-stained piano.

Cut to years later and Zalmie’s son, Tony, is a spaced-out pressure cooker of anger and fear who steals his stepfather’s car and goes on a cross-country roadtrip. During one stop in Kansas, he finds a moment of peace with a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed waitress. We suspect that this tryst will be one of the last times that anything will truly make sense in his life. For Tony is so uptight that he seems doomed to self-destruction.

Once in San Francisco, Tony joins a six-piece rock group as a harmonica player. Visions of Haight-Ashbury, heroin, and rock ‘n’ roll coalesce into the mother of all bad trips that leaves his lover, the lead singer of the band (an amalgam of Grace Slick and Janis Joplin), dead of an overdose and himself stranded in New York City with a familiar-looking blonde-haired young boy. Perhaps realizing that his continued presence will only serve to doom his son, Tony abandons the boy (after taking his acoustic guitar to pawn for drug money).

The boy eventually becomes a man: Pete Bolinski, drug-dealer extraordinaire for the New York punk scene. Just as Zalmie before him, Pete is a stranger in a strange land, forced to hustle for survival on the mean streets of NYC. And just like his fathers before him, he is destined for a career and future in American pop. One day he forces one of his clients to record one of his songs or he will cut off their supply. The band reluctantly agrees. The rest...is history.

American Pop saw the height of Bakshi’s talents both as a storyteller and an animator. The rotoscoping techniques that Bakshi experimented with in Wizards (1977) and The Lord of the Rings (1978) reach new levels of beauty and magnificence in American Pop.  By rotoscoping his characters (and historical footage from classic movies like The Public Enemy [1931] and Stormy Weather [1943]), the film exudes an aura of authenticity, almost like an animated documentary. Unlike his earlier films like Heavy Traffic (1973) and Coonskin (1975) where characters were represented as extreme racial caricatures, Bakshi and his animators took great pains to detail every nook and cranny of their subjects. Some might find this technique repellant, but I think it highlights a facet of Bakshi’s work that has gone criminally under-appreciated and under-examined: his warm humanism.

As I see more and more of Bakshi’s films, the more and more I’ve come to view him as a cinematic humanist of the same caliber as Jean Renoir and Robert Bresson. Yes, Bakshi exploits crude stereotypes. He is provocative, but very rarely towards individuals. Bakshi’s crosshairs are always pointed at corrupt societies, manipulators, liars, con men, and sell-outs. His characters wear the grotesque labels of racism, homophobia, misogyny, and hatred as badges of honor, transforming them into weapons with which to annihilate the ignorant. Here in American Pop, Bakshi refuses to simplify his characters. They are fat, misshapen, ugly, scared, and transcendentally beautiful.

Some might say that American Pop is a tragedy that mourns the destructive influence of American society on the marginalized. But I think Bakshi had other ideas. Notice how, despite everything that the five generations of Bolinskis lose, they always have the music. It is an inexplicable bond that connects them together through the fires of war and the march of time. It is something that can never be broken, defined, or explained. It is the fire of the pogroms, the crowded seats of vaudeville halls, the bleary-eyed piano players, the human debris of the Lost Generation, and the punks with nothing to lose. It is American Pop.

9/10

The Horse Soldiers: John Ford

I can’t stand people who claim that John Wayne couldn’t act. There is a scene in John Ford's The Horse Soldiers that I wish I could carry around in my pocket just so I can pull it out and show it to people who bad-mouth his acting abilities. The film is about a Union cavalry brigade led by Colonel John Marlowe (Wayne) who are tasked with heading behind Confederate lines in order to destroy a crucial railroad. At one point, they are forced to bring along a short-tempered Confederate belle named Miss Hannah Hunter who accidentally heard their secret plans. The special scene involves Hannah and John as they recover from a battle against Confederate soldiers in Vicksburg. It’s a simple scene: it starts with Wayne nursing his pain at a bar. Hannah chastises him for being rude to the local doctors. Wayne then delivers a heart-breaking monologue about the death of his wife and how it led to his hatred and mistrust of doctors. It’s about two-and-a-half minutes long. No edits. No fancy frame compositions. The camera barely moves. It’s just Wayne acting his heart out in one long single take. The rest of the film, while competent in its own right, pales in comparison to this one scene. It saves the movie and makes it something truly special.

7/10

Missing in Action: Joseph Zito

I didn't know it was possible that you could water down a movie like George P. Cosmatos' Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985). But Joseph Zito's Missing in Action proved me wrong. Apparently based on the story treatment that would eventually become the aforementioned Rambo sequel, Missing in Action follows an American ex-POW who goes back into Vietnam after the conclusion of the war to rescue fellow POWs. In Rambo: First Blood Part II, the American officer was played by Sylvester Stallone, an actor who could bring a sense of authenticity to even the most overblown and over-the-top material ("Do we get to win this time?"). In Missing in Action, the American officer is played by Chuck Norris, a man who, while extremely skilled at martial arts, is only a mediocre actor. To be honest, his character, Colonel James Braddock, is rather bland despite being inexplicably invincible to bullets. Early scenes where he is forced to interact with an evil North Vietnamese general played by James Hong are satisfyingly effective. Hong knows how to play a good villain, a fact which reflects both on his talents as an actor and on Hollywood's shameful reliance on him for "evil Chinamen" stereotypes. But the film delivers exactly what it advertises: patriotic chest-thumping, gigantic explosions, and, of course, Chuck Norris.

5/10

Born to Kill: Robert Wise

The key to great tragedy is anagnorisis; the "hero's sudden awareness of a real situation, the realisation of things as they stood." In film noir, perhaps the most introspective genre of American cinema, the protagonists would frequently find themselves in such a situation. One of the very best examples that I can think of is contained in the last third of Robert Wise's Born to Kill. The first film noir by the acclaimed director, Born to Kill follows the doomed romance and destruction of Helen Brent (Claire Trevor), an ice-hearted socialite, and Sam Wilde (Lawrence Tierney), a two-bit crook who flies into murderous jealous rages. The two meet completely by accident as they flee Reno, Nevada for different reasons: Helen just finalized a divorce and Sam unknowingly had murdered her neighbor (his cheating girlfriend) and her lover. Though they fall in love, they are forced to maintain a facade of respectability by getting engaged with and marrying other people. It's quite chilling to see these two characters manipulate, abuse, and use other people, even their own friends and family, to suit their greedy desires. Trevor is one of the most subtly diabolical femme fatales this side of Bette Davis. Tierney is more a violent force of irrational anger than a man. However, when Sam's sins are discovered by the police, Helen realizes that she has isolated herself from everyone she cared for. This is the anagnorisis I was referring to earlier. As she desperately tries to find someone she can rely on to protect her from Sam, both she and the audience realize that she is doomed to a fate of her own design. The film also has two very fascinating supporting characters. The first, Albert Arnett, is a private eye hired to investigate Sam. At first, he seems like a foppish, eccentric dandy of a detective. But his charming exterior is merely a thin disguise for a shrewd extortioner. The second is Marty, Sam's ever-faithful friend who seems a little too eager to please him. Are those homosexual undertones I sense? Knowing Robert Wise, I might not be wrong. Either way, Albert and Marty add to the intrigue and tragedy of Born to Kill instead of grinding the plot to a halt like so many other film noir supporting characters.

8/10

Four Friends: Arthur Penn

Arthur Penn's Four Friends recalls another one of his films about teenagers lost in the cultural miasma of 1960s America: Alice's Restaurant (1969). Both films follow young men who try and make sense of a society that is quickly devouring itself. Alice's Restaurant may have a more authentic portrayal of 60s culture due to it actually being made in 1969. But Four Friends is much more introspective and personal than I remember Alice's Restaurant being. Four Friends is actually more focused on one character: Yugoslavian-born Danilo Prozor. After coming to America at the age of 12, he finds himself torn between his old country and his new home. These feelings are exacerbated by his three best friends: the timid, overweight David, the handsome Tom, and the (obnoxiously) free-spirited Georgia. To say Georgia is eccentric is an understatement. We see here a character in full maniac-pixie-dream-girl mode, imagining herself as the reincarnation of Isadora Duncan, dressing outrageously even for the era, and trying her damnedest to alienate everyone around her. Of course, the other three friends are inexplicably in love with her. The film then watches as the four friends fall in and out of love, in and out of jobs, and in and out of touch with each other. It's a bittersweet film about nostalgia and regret that, in my opinion, surpasses Alice's Restaurant.

7/10

Romper Stomper: Geoffrey Wright

Two films immediately come to mind when I think about Geoffrey Wright's Romper Stomper: Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (1971) and Kevin MacDonald's The Last King of Scotland (2006). Both films are about human monsters: Alex DeLarge and Idi Amin, respectively. Both films use these characters as a springboard to examine the nature of evil and the depths to which mankind can fall. However, there is a massive difference in how these films approach their monsters. A Clockwork Orange is told from Alex's point of view. The Last King of Scotland invented a fictional secondary character through which we view Idi Amin. This effectively made Idi Amin a supporting character in his own film. Unfortunately, Romper Stomper makes the same mistake. At its center is Hando (Russell Crowe), the leader of a neo-Nazi group in Footscray, Victoria, Australia. While his fellow neo-Nazis are heavily implied to be in the group primarily for the sense of community, he sees the struggle for White Supremacy with total seriousness. He truly believes that non-white races need to be exterminated. Hando is truly terrifying to behold. Every second he is on screen is electrifying. However, instead of focusing on Hando, the film mostly focuses on Gabrielle, a drug-addicted teenager who joins their gang after fleeing from her sexually-abusive father. For a while, the film doesn't truly focus on a "main character," instead documenting the gang's exploits as they go to parties and attack local Vietnamese-Australians. However, after an impressive sequence where an all-out war breaks out between the skinheads and the Vietnamese-Australians (which leaves several of their number dead), Romper Stomper becomes Gabrielle's film. Hando, who had largely dominated the first half of the film, gets pushed to the side. In my opinion, Wright should have either kept the film's narrative focus on the group's dynamics or on Gabrielle from the very start. Or at the very least Wright shouldn't have made Hando, the most fascinating part of the film, a side character in the last half. This is what keeps Romper Stomper, an otherwise incredibly powerful film, from reaching true greatness.

6/10

Heavy Traffic: Ralph Bakshi

It's tempting to regard Ralph Bakshi's first three films as a kind of trilogy. All three involve social misanthropes trying to survive in New York City during the turbulent 60s and 70s. They featured Bakshi's adult-oriented take on animation which saw characters with simple designs juxtaposed with real-life footage and documentary-like audio. The first, Fritz the Cat (1972), was a savage attack on the 60s counter-culture. The third, Coonskin (1975), was a vicious examination on inner city black culture. Heavy Traffic, on the other hand, doesn't really have a political agenda (although several scenes can be politically interpreted). It simply follows the bizarre fantasies of a young cartoonist named Michael Corleone: his strained family life, his inability to get laid, his eventual relationship with a black bartender named Carole, the possibility of starting a life of crime, his father's messy relations with the mafia, etc, etc. Like Fritz the Cat and Coonskin, Heavy Traffic is full of lurid, grotesque, and extremely graphic depictions of nudity, sex, and violence. And yet, by examining these topics with such honesty and earnestness, Bakshi's work adopts a strange but undeniable humanism. I personally think that the film suffers because of its more free-form narrative techniques. Fritz the Cat and Coonskin were so focused that they hit like ballistic missiles. But Heavy Traffic is still an enjoyable and thought-provoking film by one of animation's greatest iconoclasts.

7/10

Dead Reckoning: John Cromwell

For the past few days I've tried to figure out how to properly express my feelings towards John Cromwell's Dead Reckoning. Overall, it's a fairly mediocre film noir with decent performances by Humphrey Bogart and Lizabeth Scott. But something about the film was making my brain itch. Then it hit me: Dead Reckoning copies many character traits and plot points from John Huston's The Maltese Falcon (1941). Hear me out: after his best friend is mysteriously murdered, Humphrey Bogart dives into a world of deception and violence to bring his killer to justice. During his investigation he keeps running into a beautiful femme fatale who may or may not have something to do with his best friend's death. He then learns the terrible truth behind the femme fatale's relationship to the murder. The film ends with him sacrificing her love in the name of his higher ideals concerning justice. Only whereas The Maltese Falcon involves private eyes, Dead Reckoning centers on two American paratroopers (one played by Bogart) who are called to Washington in order to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Service Cross for their actions in World War Two. However, Bogart's friend runs away before he can receive his awards. Bogart follows him to a small town where he finds him burned to death in a car. It turns out he was involved in a scandalous relationship with a rich man and his oh-so-beautiful wife. I will admit that it was fascinating to see The Maltese Falcon's San Francisco replaced with Dead Reckoning's more nondescript small city as a hotbed of vice and murder. After all, the idea of small-town America being corrupted in the post-war years would become one of the most important themes of film noir. But the film is just going through the motions. Everything that Dead Reckoning does was done ten times better in The Maltese Falcon. I know that it isn't fair to base an opinion of one film on how it compares with a classic. But in this case, the comparison summarizes my odd dissatisfaction with Dead Reckoning.

6/10

Two Flags West: Robert Wise

In Two Flags West, director Robert Wise transforms a rather average story about Confederate POWs joining the US cavalry in exchange for clemency into a surprisingly effective psychological study of two stubborn, patriotic men. The first is Col. Clay Tucker, the commanding officer of a group of captured members of the Confederate 5th Georgia Cavalry. With his men sick and dying in a Yankee prison, he is faced with a devastating choice: stick to his principles as a Confederate and let his men die or change sides, fight for the Union on the frontier, and give his men a fighting chance at survival and, perhaps, escape. With great reluctance, he convinces his men to accept the Union's offer. The second main character is Major Henry Kenniston, the commander of Fort Thorn, New Mexico, the home of the Union 3rd Cavalry and the destination for the newly galvanized Confederates. Kenniston, while patriotic, is furious being sent to the frontier after he was wounded earlier in the war. He is also plagued with feelings of confused lust and protectionism towards Elena, the widow of his brother. Elena is desperate to leave the Fort and travel West to be with her family, but Kenniston refuses, feeling it is his duty to protect her. Elena is one of the film's most tragic characters, essentially being used as a pawn in the power schemes of both Tucker and Kenniston. But the true meat of the movie is in the relationship between Tucker and Kenniston. They engage in a truly fascinating duel of military intrigue. Kenniston knows that he can't trust Tucker and that he and his men will try to escape as soon as they can. And Tucker knows that Kenniston knows that he can't be trusted. And yet he tries to gain Kenniston's trust, a task which he knows may very well be impossible. His dilemma is exacerbated when he is approached by a Confederate spy and told that they will soon have a chance to escape. I enjoyed Two Flags West. It has plenty of intrigue, action, and a surprising amount of insight concerning Union abuses towards Native Americans and Confederate prisoners.

7/10

Marketa Lazarová: František Vláčil

Held by native critics and publicists as the single greatest Czech film of all time, František Vláčil's Marketa Lazarová isn't so much a movie as a cinematic experience that transports the viewer into a different mindset. In this sense, the film shares the stage with such other brain-bending masterpieces as Alain Resnais' Last Year at Marienbad (1961), Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and Béla Tarr's Sátántangó (1994). These films cannot be approached just through an analysis of their narratives. Trying to describe Marketa Lazarová to someone who hasn't seen it by merely summarizing its plot would be like trying to describe a painting by Van Gogh or Monet to a blind person by only telling them its subject (i.e. a boat, a field, a starry night). This is a film of moods, textures, and atmospheres; of stark, snowy landscapes, barren fortress walls of stone, and mud made with water and mud. It is a mediation on the nature of mankind, of the struggle between Paganism and Christianity, and of righteousness born of hypocrisy versus evil forged from honest self-indulgence. The film essentially follows the feud between two families during the Middle Ages. The first is a band of pagan robber knights who prey on the weak. The second family is headed by a feudal lord who used to rape and steal but has since converted to Christianity and attempted to earnestly reform himself. Along the way young men are massacred, fortresses are attacked, and a young daughter of the Christian feudal lord is kidnapped, raped, and forced to marry one of her father's enemies. This is a film that scholars could devote entire careers towards studying. But I was fascinated by the aforementioned struggle between whether or not well-intended hypocrisy is better than wickedness that is true to one's basic instincts. Yes, the Christian feudal lord is a hypocrite. But it was the pagans that drew first blood and essentially forced the local king's hand in quelling their violent activities. But in the end, Marketa Lazarová isn't about answers. In fact, I'm not even sure if it's about questions. It simply is.

10/10

The Missing: Ron Howard

In Ron Howard's The Missing, Tommy Lee Jones plays Samuel Jones, a frontiersman who years ago ran out on his family to "go native" by joining a local Indian tribe. Some time later, he returns weary, wind-scarred, and destitute to the home of his grown-up daughter Maggie Gilkeson. Of course, he is no longer the Samuel Jones that she knew. Now he is known as "Chaa-duu-ba-its-iidan," a term which roughly translates to "shit-for-luck." And really, has there ever been any other better way to characterize the persona that Jones has developed over the years? Jones has one of those faces to which sadness, resignation, and inevitable tragedy seem permanently etched. His best roles are frequently ones where he plays tired, stubborn old men helplessly out of their element (The Fugitive [1993], Space Cowboys [2000], No Country for Old Men [2007], In the Valley of Elah [2007]). I doubt any other actor could have brought as much pain and pathos to the role of "shit-for-luck." And it's a good thing, too. The Missing is a film with several glaring problems that is only saved through the power of its main performances. The plot, although adapted from a Thomas Eidson novel, seems largely inspired by John Ford's The Searchers (1956). After Maggie (magnificently played by Cate Blanchett) rejects Samuel for leaving her family, her eldest daughter is kidnapped by a band of murderous Apache led by a grotesque racist caricature of a villain named Pesh-Chidin. Pesh-Chidin, while played by an authentic Native Canadian actor (Eric Schweig), nonetheless makes The Searchers' Scar seem politically correct in comparison. Anyhow, Pesh-Chidin's band of Apache have been stealing local young women to be sold into prostitution in Mexico. So Samuel, Maggie, and her youngest daughter Dot (played by Jenna Boyd in the film's third astonishing performance) set out to rescue her and kill Pesh-Chidin. As I said before, The Missing has major issues concerning harmful stereotypes and somewhat cliched plot devices. Its views on the possible legitimacy of Native American magic is suspect as well. One moment it is dismissed as superstitious hogwash and the next it is responsible for nearly killing Maggie. But the film is rescued by its central performances. And chief among those is ol' "shit-for-luck" himself: Tommy Lee Jones.

7/10

Wreck-It Ralph: Rich Moore

Rich Moore's Wreck-It Ralph is a charming, legitimately heart-warming film that unfortunately misses the mark and falls flat on its face. The first half hour and last twenty minutes of Wreck-It Ralph is a sheer joy. However, everything in between collapses in on itself as the eponymous Wreck-It Ralph becomes a secondary supporting character in his own film. Here's the basic idea of the film: in a world where video game characters come to life and socialize after their arcade has been closed à la Toy Story, Wreck-It Ralph, the villain of a classic arcade game, decides that he has had enough of being a Bad Guy and sets out to become a Good Guy. To do this, he invades other video games in the hopes of earning a hero's medal. This is a great concept that lends itself to some truly breath-taking animation, some impressive character arcs, and numerous video game celebrity cameos. However, the film is hijacked by an annoying little "glitch" named Vanellope von Schweetz (voiced by the egregiously miscast Sarah Silverman) when Ralph wonders into a new racer called Sugar Rush. The film then becomes about HER quest to be accepted by the other racers. Ralph just tags along for the ride. I'm not saying that Vanellope didn't have a place in the film's story. It's just that the film is named after RALPH. It should be about RALPH. I went to this movie because I was interested in RALPH'S story. Wreck-It Ralph is a film in desperate need of a round of script re-writes. It's a shame, really. This film had so much potential.

6/10

Monsieur Hire: Patrice Leconte

Patrice Leconte's Monsieur Hire is proof that a film's ending can elevate it from merely being 'good' to being 'great.' The final five minutes add a layer of heart-breaking emotional intensity and depth that literally left me speechless. Until then the film's plot seemed rather straight-forward. It concerns the eponymous Monsieur Hire, a voyeuristic tailor who lives in self-imposed isolation. His odd behavior has made him a pariah to his neighbors, but Hire doesn't care. He spends his nights spying on his neighbor, a beautiful young woman named Alice. When she catches him in the act, Hire confesses his love for her. He promises to take Alice away from her abusive, small-time gangster boyfriend to his little home in Switzerland. All of this goes on in the midst of a police investigation of the murder of another young woman. Hire is accused by his neighbors of being the culprit, not necessarily because they have proof against him, but because their dislike of him has evolved into a sinister hatred. We begin to believe that the community sees this murder as the perfect opportunity to rid themselves of this strange, quiet tailor. These two plot threads, Hire and Alice's relationship and the murder investigation, might seem only tangentially related, but in the last five minutes they become inseparably linked. Monsieur Hire is a beautiful little film that relishes the subtle nuances of its characters and the mysteries of human behavior. At first it may seem like the film is a simple stylistic indulgence on the part of its director. But I urge you to pay close attention and wait until the end. Believe me when I say that it is worth it.

9/10

Panic in the Streets: Elia Kazan

In his seminal essay Notes on Film Noir, Paul Schrader classified Elia Kazan's Panic in the Streets as a Phase Three film noir; a film which focuses on self-destructive characters pushed to the limits by society. But after watching the film, I have to disagree. Panic in the Streets is obviously a Phase Two film noir; a film that strives for utmost realism and usually focuses on police procedurals and other forms of investigations. Not only is Panic in the Streets a Phase Two film noir, it's one of the best. During what should have been a routine autopsy of a murdered illegal immigrant, traces of pneumonic plague, a form of bubonic plague (more commonly known as the Black Death), are found in his blood. Realizing that he could be an index case for a full-blown plague, U.S. Public Health Service officer Clinton Reed and police captain Tom Warren must dive into the criminal underworld of New Orleans to discover where he came from and if he had infected anybody else. Panic in the Streets is an early triumph by Kazan. His trademark realism brings the alleys, dives, and seedy docks of New Orleans to life. But my favorite part of the film is Kazan's use of long takes that frame his characters against the harsh, uninviting world of the New Orleans criminal underground. The scene where the "index patient" is murdered is one of the most brilliant tracking shots I have ever seen, following the sick victim over busy train tracks, abandoned buildings, and desolate roads. This shot belongs in the tracking shot Hall of Fame right next to the Copacabana nightclub scene in Goodfellas (1990) and the opening of Touch of Evil (1958). A dark, thrilling wonder of a film, Panic in the Streets is an under-appreciated treasure.

8/10

The Ballad of Little Jo: Maggie Greenwald

In the American Western, there seem to be only three kinds of women: schoolmarms, hookers, and cowgirls. The schoolmarm, representing the encroachment of civilization in the savage West, is atypical of her harsh surroundings; a stranger in a strange land bringing culture and knowledge to the brutal and ignorant. The hooker, on the other hand, is an extension of the frontier itself. While they may get gussied up in French perfume and fancy finery, they are nevertheless an embodiment of lawlessness and exploitation; of disease and carnal commerce. And then there is the cowgirl. Donning the etiquette, manners, and iconography of her masculine counterparts, she is frequently framed as the object of desire and fetishization for a stalwart male hero; an untamed filly that must be broken in for a role of domesticity (or at the very least lassoed into a traditional heterosexual relationship).

These three women all have established spaces with the fictionalized world of the Old West that sustain and provide for them: the schoolhouse for the schoolmarm, the saloon for the hooker, and the ranch for the cowgirl. Though very different, they all play crucial societal roles.

But the mythology of the Old West is just that: a mythology. Not every woman who braved the Western frontier had a place carved out for them by society. Many had to improvise their own role. Those that did were faced with more than just the hostility of the unknown, uncontrollable wilderness. These women had to contend with an insidious, institutionalized misogyny that was ready and more than willing to prey on those who didn’t stay “in their place.”

Josephine Monaghan was one such woman. The true story of her life seems more of fiction than fact: after being disowned by her parents for having a child out of wedlock, she moved to Idaho and became a successful rancher for 30 years, all the while masquerading so successfully as a man that her true identity was only discovered upon her death. How did she manage such an illusion for so long? How did nobody find out? And why did she feel like she needed to dress as a man?

Maggie Greenwald’s The Ballad of Little Jo attempts to address these mysteries by charting Jo’s years of exile. The film begins with young Josephine traveling alone on a road on her way West. Immediately she is beset upon by men who view her as sexual prey. After escaping from a group of soldiers who try to rape her (after an older man that she thought was her friend attempted to sell her), she cuts her hair, scars her face, trades her skirts for pants, and becomes ‘Jo.’ Notice the scene where Josephine buys a set of men’s clothes. The shop-keeper, an old lady, scowls, “It’s against the law to dress improper to your sex.” This, of course, happens right after a muddy, terrified, and disheveled young woman bursts into her store asking if she’s seen two soldiers. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the look in the shop-keeper’s eyes reveal that she has put two and two together: this poor young woman was sexually assaulted. And yet, when she tries to buy men’s clothes to prevent future attacks, the shop-keeper chastises her. Herein we discover one of the most unsettling yet vital truths about the Old West: to act outside of one’s societal role is inexcusable. If Josephine must be raped, then so be it. Better for her to get sexually assaulted as a woman than for her to pretend to be a man.

Eventually Jo arrives at Ruby City, a crude mining camp populated by filthy workers searching for gems and gold. There are few, if any women. If there are wives, sisters, and daughters, then we do not see them. Periodically a traveling band of prostitutes come by and all of the men dutifully take their turn. Little Jo, having already been accepted as a man, is viciously mocked for refusing one of the prostitute’s advances. “Little Jo, I think you should reconsider. A man can get diseases he don’t do it regular,” one of them wisely explains. It’s not enough that Little Jo looks, acts, and talks like a man. Jo must go through the motions expected of a man to be accepted as one.

But still Jo refuses. Suddenly Jo is looked upon by the other men with a confused curiosity and a growing resentment. So after learning the basics of frontier life from Percy, an exiled Englishman who nurses a grudge against the female sex, Jo spends five years as a shepherd tending the flock of a man named Frank Badger. Periodically spending months without human contact, Badger worries that Jo might go crazy. But Jo assures Badger that the loneliness “suits me.”

After saving enough money, Jo purchases a homestead way out yonder where her only neighbor is Badger. But one day while visiting Ruby City, Jo encounters Badger and a group of men lynching a ‘Chinaman’ for trying to “take our jobs.” After saving him, Badger and the others force Jo to employ him as a housekeeper so he won’t simply wander to another town and take a job away from another honest white man. Jo refuses, but eventually relents, adopting the ‘Chinaman,’ whose name is revealed to be Tinman Wong. At first, Tinman seems to be mentally slow and stupid. But after just three days, he reveals that he knows Jo’s secret. But Tinman explains that he has a secret, too: he is only pretending to be stupid. After 15 years of inhuman treatment while working on the railroad, Tinman, whose real name is ‘Tien Ma,’ learned that the best way to survive was to keep his head down and play the part of the stupid ‘Chinaman.’

The two strike up a passionate love affair, living a kind of role-reversed life where Jo is the masculine bread-winner and Tinman the feminine home-maker and cook. Both living in a society that affords them no place, Jo and Tinman find sanctuary in both their little homestead and in each other. It is here that Greenwald’s genius as a director and a social commentator truly emerges. Take one scene where Jo longingly stares at Tinman while he bathes. The visual grammar of the scene is directly reminiscent of the traditional male gaze. Later, during a scene where Jo and Tinman cuddle together in bed after making love, they share a fascinating conversation that seems to summarize both the film and Greenwald’s artistic intent:

Tinman: [Regarding a picture of Jo before she got pregnant] Who is this society girl?
Jo: It’s me. Can you imagine?
Tinman: I like you much better as you are.
Jo: Why?
Tinman: This white girl would never do this with me.

Looking back over what I’ve written so far, I’ve noticed that I’ve skipped over much of the film’s plot: Jo’s tragic friendship with Percy, Jo’s relationship with a family of homesteaders, an Eastern corporation’s attempts to buy out all of the local land via terrorism and groups of men in white masks, and even Jo’s inevitable death and discovery. But the plot is secondary in importance to the character of Little Jo. The film is not necessarily concerned with what happened to Josephine Monaghan when she moved out West, but instead with why and how they happened. How did a refined, educated high society woman survive for 30 years on the Idaho frontier? Why did Josephine become Jo? How did she manage to deceive everyone for decades? Why were the men so easily duped?

I like Roger Ebert’s theory that the men of Ruby City were fooled into thinking Little Jo was a man because on some sub-conscious level they chose to believe it. As he wrote: “So ingrained was the notion that only men could do "men's work," Greenwald says, that if a woman could ride and rope and run a ranch, she was accepted as a man even in the face of other evidence.” How ironic. Could it be that the very societal forces that damned Josephine in the first place were in part responsible for the success of her transformation into Jo? Perhaps. Perhaps not. All that’s clear is that the Old West was no place for a woman who wasn’t a schoolmarm, a hooker, or a cowgirl. Make of that what you will.

8/10