Laws of Attraction (2004)

Laws of Attraction theatrical.jpg

Lawyers are scum.  Divorce lawyers are the fungus growing beneath scum.  So declaims Daniel Rafferty (Pierce Brosnan), the apparently hapless blow-in to the Manhattan Bar Association who has beaten fellow divorce pitbull Audrey Woods (Julianne Moore) in court. And he has never lost a case anywhere he’s ever worked. They appear to be at daggers drawn but really they like each other straight off. She’s a redheaded neurotic addicted to sugar and advice from her well-connected Mom (Frances Fisher) who can get anyone on Page Six. He seems to be shambolic until Audrey realises he’s written a book called For Better For Worse and it’s going down a storm.  When Audrey tries to soften him up in his grimy office above a Chinese supermarket and he’s not there she looks around it for information to use against him and he plays the surveillance footage in the courtroom. Then he gets her drunk on goat’s balls and she wakes up in his bed after their one-night stand … This really isn’t about opposites at all despite their living accommodation – they both play down and dirty when they can and it’s when they take opposing sides in the divorce of a wretched designer (Parker Posey) and her witless rocker hubby (Michael Sheen) and have to tackle their custody battle over a castle in rural Ireland that their own true feelings get expressed maritally. Moore and Brosnan are terrific in a comedy that is extremely well played but not as barbed as it ought to be. When he meets his mother in law for the first time he asks, Are you really 56? And she replies, Parts of me are. We needed more lines like that. The Irish scenes are typically an echo of John Ford (a donnybrook in the pub, almost) with a fake wedding at the village festival after Daniel drinks way too much poteen but the usual paddywackery is thankfully not as lethal as in Leap Year, that Amy Adams effort. In fact there’s depth to both principal characterisations, with the only weird note struck by Sheen – until you check yourself and remember this was the era of The Strokes and The Libertines and you realise his choices are probably spot on:  rock stars are really that awful. Meanwhile information lying about the marital home comes in useful in the mother of all celebrity divorces and Nora Dunn is fantastic as the judge adjudicating the legal duels. Almost a winner, with Brosnan exhibiting exactly why he should still be James Bond (in a film he executive produced). Am I wrong?! He and Moore could have been like Tracy and Hepburn  in this story of professional one-upmanship if it had been handled better but they really spark anyhow. Somewhat casually written by Aline Brosh McKenna, Robert Harling and Karey Kirkpatrick and directed by Peter Howitt.

Advertisements

Snatched (2017)

Snatched movie poster.jpg

I worship Goldie Hawn. Foul Play is on constant rotation chez moi. After a terrible 15 year break, she’s back, playing Amy Schumer’s mother. I use those words with caution because in one phrase I have alienated Goldie fans and realise that Schumer fans may not even know who Hawn is. Schumer is dumped by her boyfriend in a scene that is excruciating for all the wrong reasons – too long, badly written, overly expository and revelatory of one crucial fact:  Schumer cannot act. Then after social media intervention by her mom who lives with three rather cool cats  (Andrew, Arthur and Philip) she goes home because she has non-refundable tickets for a holiday to Ecuador and nobody will go with her. Turns out there’s an autistic/agoraphobe/nerd brother (Ike Barinholtz) resident too. After more, long, excruciating, badly written scenes, we fetch up with Goldie and Amy in a luxury resort in Ecuador. Amy wants to have sex with an Aussie adventurer (Tom Bateman) but he’s just keen to bring her on a day out. She brings mom too and they’re kidnapped. There are a few funny bits – Amy has the classic millennial reaction to being parted from her smartphone;  she ends up killing someone with a spade (“Are you sure?” she asks Goldie; “I saw his brains,” Goldie deadpans in response);  they partner up with an Indiana Jones-wannnabe jungle guide (Christopher Meloni) who turns out to be a total phony with a week to live (a bit less, actually); the complete lack of interest from the State Dept.; and there’s a tribute to Alien with a massive tapeworm.  But… there’s the brother’s subplot with the State Dept. And don’t get me started on the bewildering squandering of Wanda Sykes and a mute Joan Cusack (mute! Joan Cusack MUTE!!!!) as a sidebar of handy Lesbian rescuers who just …. disappear in a manner that is literally the opposite of good characterisation and plotting . OMG. I lay most of the issues at writer Katie Dippold’s door:  the scenes are long, lazy and the episodes of (literal) toilet humour – playing to Schumer’s apparent strengths/demographic – are just vile. The story simply doesn’t make sense from scene to scene – and don’t ask me how it winds up in Colombia from Ecuador. I mean I understand South American kidnap and murder gangs don’t go through passport control, but …  Misdirected by Jonathan Levine. Schumer is morphing into Will Ferrell. I still love Goldie! Give her a better film!

Sideways (2004)

Sideways_poster.JPG

Pinot’s a very thin-skinned grape, it doesn’t like light or humidity. Miles (Paul Giamatti) is a wine-loving high school English teacher and wannabe author whose best friend actor Jack (Thomas Haden Church) is getting married next Saturday:  road trip! To California wine country, where he can educate Jack in the mysteries of tasting. Two middle aged men on an emotional journey, one a depressive mourning his marriage, the other a past-it who can’t wait to get it up. Maya (Virginia Madsen) is the college professor’s wife waiting tables who has the best palate for wine of any woman Miles has ever met and Jack fancies her smartass friend and single mom Stephanie (Sandra Oh). There ensue some funny sexcapades (Jack), sad drunk dials (Miles), terror on the golf course and major education in oenology:  sometimes all it takes is the feel of a bunch of grapes in the hand to get the mojo going and a bottle of wine can bring anyone back to life. The marvellous Maya turns out to be the woman who coaxes Miles to his truest expression. Funny, louche, and humane with killer lines and tone-perfect performances from all concerned. Beautifully written, staged and shot, this is the comical male midlife response to Thelma and Louise, minus the violence and police. Mature, full-bodied and earthy, it simply gets better every year. From Rex Pickett’s unpublished novel, adapted by Jim Taylor and director Alexander Payne. Savour it.

The Other Boleyn Girl (2008)

The Other Boleyn Girl movie.jpg

Peter Morgan’s ironed out some of the flummery from Philippa Gregory’s Tudor bestseller, already adapted by the BBC a few years earlier. The Boleyns need money so dad Mark Rylance plots with his brother in law the Duke of Norfolk (the awful, honking David Morrissey) to whore his daughter Anne (Natalie Portman) to Henry VIII (Eric Bana), that great ugly philanderer whose wife just will not reproduce a healthy son. Trouble is, this rather one-note Henry gets a look at Anne’s sister Mary (Scarlett Johansson) and his feelings betray him so he decides to have her first – and she goes on to bear him a bastard son, just as the scheming Anne gets her claws into him. But when Anne continues to refuse Henry bedding rights he sodomises her and she needs Mary’s sympathy as she tries to rid him of his wife and gain the throne and when she does she will do anything to bear a healthy son … If this never reaches the powerful emotional heights it seems to be striving for, it’s a moderately gripping and quite streamlined interpretation of the power plays that went on in royal circles and proves what Diana, Princess of Wales discovered – life at court can be nasty, brutish and short. Divorced, beheaded …

A Howling in the Woods (1971) (TVM)

A Howling in the Woods dvd cover.jpg

This adaptation of Gothic romance queen Velda Johnston’s novel heralded the reunion of I Dream of Jeannie‘s Barbara Eden and Larry Hagman. In truth, Hagman has a glorified cameo as her husband whom she’s divorcing. Her arrival in Lake Tahoe is not welcomed – the police follow her when she hits town and stepmom Vera Miles cannot conceal her annoyance when she walks in the door of her former home. New stepbrother John Rubinstein sees her as seducible fodder but something is up since Pop never seems to be around. She takes up residence in a cabin and soon gets the distinct impression she’s in danger and there’s that dog howling in the woods  …This NBC TVM has pedigree – adapted by Richard De Roy, directed by Daniel Petrie, scored by Dave Grusin, whose work would be so significant to so many big screen features in the coming years. It operates almost completely in the suspense mode and is all the better for it, with little relief coming from the welcome arrival of Tyne Daly down the cast. Eden does very well as the woman in jeopardy. Just a shame it’s not properly available in a decent format, like a lot of early 70s TV movies.

Mildred Pierce (1945)

Mildred Pierce-One-Sheet.jpg

The film that marked Joan Crawford’s comeback after she was unceremoniously dumped by Metro, this is a reworked and condensed adaptation of James M. Cain’s Depression-era novel by Ranald McDougall, with uncredited rewrites by melodrama specialist Catherine Turney. And:  William Faulkner, Albert Maltz, Margaret Gruen, Margaret Buell Wilder, Thames Williamson and Louise Randall Pierson. Director Michael Curtiz didn’t want Crawford – she was the last of a long list that was topped by Bette Davis and Barbara Stanwyck – and they fought tooth and nail throughout production with producer Jerry Wald acting as go-between. She’s the woman with the straying husband who starts baking cakes and waiting tables to support her daughters – the younger one, Kay, is a smart and funny tomboy, the elder, Veda (Ann Blyth) is a spoiled puss of a musician with a taste for the high life. The action takes place over four years in the Forties as Mildred starts up her own restaurant and builds a chain with the help of her husband’s realtor partner Wally (Jack Carson) but when playboy investor Monte (Zachary Scott) enters the fray, a tangled web of business and adultery leads to murder. Crawford gets to show off her full emotional range in this superb maternal melo mix of independent woman, weepie and film noir, distinguished by Ernest Haller’s deep shadowy photography and Max Steiner’s score. And what about Anton Grot’s sets! Crawford took home the Academy Award for Warner Bros. What a show!

Wives and Lovers (1963)

Wives and Lovers movie poster lge.jpg

Are you working these days or are you writing?! Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Van Johnson has. He’s the unsuccessful author in a NYC coldwater flat happily married to dental assistant Janet Leigh with a 7 year old kid. Then agent Martha Hyer (‘the hottest agent in town’ – ‘in and out of the office!’) suddenly sells his novel to Broadway, a literary publisher and Hollywood and they move to the posh burbs where neighbours Shelley Winters (formerly married to a movie star) and her house guest Ray Walston rock the marital boat. When actor Jeremy Slate takes the lead in the play, he finds in Leigh a neglected stage wife, ripe for plucking … A super-slick 60s drama with sharp performances by a great cast (particularly Leigh and Walston) who have some rare, acid dialogue and enjoy casting caustic social comment. The only disappointments lie in the monochrome filming and the fact that the Bacharach and David song performed by my beloved Jack Jones (and inspired by the film) never made it to the soundtrack, which is pretty good stuff by Lyn Murray. Adapted by Edward Anhalt from Jay Presson Allen’s play, directed by John Rich with cinematography by Lucien Ballard. Biker movie fans will recognise Slate from his roles in The Born Losers (he takes on Billy Jack!), The Mini-Skirt Mob, Hell’s Belles and Hell’s Angels ’69.

The Awful Truth (1937)

The Awful Truth 1937.jpg

Leo McCarey was probably the best looking, classiest, coolest director in Hollywood in his time. When smoother-than-thou Cary Grant suffered a crisis of confidence shooting this comedy of remarriage and couldn’t switch roles with Ralph Bellamy he ended up imitating McCarey and inadvertently became the hero of the screwball genre and probably the greatest comic actor of all time – and that’s saying something. And this was the role that shaped his approach to most of his other performances. He and Irene Dunne are both playing around and agree to a divorce – but argue for custody of the fabulous Mr Smith the wire fox terrier played by Skippy aka Asta from The Thin Man series – and who wouldn’t? Bellamy is the hayseed oilman she takes up with, Molly Lamont is the wealthy playgirl Cary fools around with, but they can’t avoid their attraction to each other. This ends with a notorious tease and a black cat. Truly, Leo McCarey had the Lubitsch Touch – better even than Lubitsch himself. Art Deco screwball at its most sophisticated and witty. Adapted from Arthur Richman’s play by Vina Delmar with help from Sidney Buchman and McCarey himself. Sublime.

La Banquiere (1980)

La Banquiere.jpg

Aka Lady Banker. L’histoire de Marthe Hanau, dans tous les noms, vient de films lesbiens avant 1 Guerre mondiale sur la Dépression des années problématiques et les affaires concernant les femmes et les hommes jusqu’à la fin tragique d’une femme qui a poussé leur richesse, de partager des conseils par un système financier distribuer le journal et l’agence, qui a apparemment été basée sur des sociétés fictives. Schneider donne une merveilleuse performance, parfaitement arrondi, mais les tons changeants de la narration, des actualités humoristiques et des aigus d’une chambre à paniques bancaires, faire leur service ne sont pas pris entre les pôles de l’analyse historique et la nostalgie dans un champ précédent quelques années de Stavisky. Georges Conchon a écrit cette sortie quasi-biographique avec le réalisateur François Girod, de tout, même jette un magnifique score de Ennio Morricone dans ce domaine.

Deconstructing Harry (1997)

deconstructing-harry-poster

When I saw this last it was at its film festival premiere and my companion said he’d never sat beside someone who squirmed so much in discomfort at a movie. I was horrified by it. It starts with Julia Louis-Dreyfus going down on Richard Benjamin and then being entered by him from behind in front of her blind grandmother. Funny? Not so much. Turns out it’s a dramatisation of a scene from the latest novel by Harry Block (Woody Allen) and Benjamin is him, Dreyfus is his ex Lucy( Judy Davis) who promptly arrives at his apartment with a pistol prepared to shoot him because now everyone knows about them and their adultery – and she’s his sister in law.  There are other mini-movies drawing on Block’s work and there are both flashbacks and interactions between Block and his fictional characters. The film turns on issues primarily of Jewishness and its evocation both cinematic and writerly, hence the significance of Benjamin’s casting:  he is Philip Roth’s most famous on-screen avatar (Goodbye Columbus, Portnoy’s Complaint) and there are many, myself included, who would see this as a foul-mouthed excoriation of one of America’s greatest writers, and not merely a revisiting of Stardust Memories. And why, you might ask? I’m not a psychologist but Allen’s former paramour Mia Farrow was rumoured to have been involved with Roth for a spell and it has often been speculated that Allen himself was envious of his achievements. Roth has never really made me laugh, he has made me think, while Allen at his best makes me laugh like a drain. The reference to Block’s having an affair with his sister in law would appear to be material he had already plundered in Hannah and Her Sisters – an affair Allen allegedly had with one of Farrow’s sisters (and, some claim, more than one sister.) Then there’s the casting of his underage object of desire from Manhattan Mariel Hemingway and his behaviour regarding their son,whom he kidnaps, another dig into his own grubby public past, whether true or not. His muse Elisabeth Shue (sporting a Farrow-like mop of hair) splits for his best friend. And he hires a black prostitute to accompany them on their trip to a university where he’s being honoured and he slides out of focus just like one of his characters played by Robin Williams earlier in the story. (Face and fiction have blurred to the point that even he cannot tell them apart.)  Even after all these years I just can’t enjoy this tacky, tasteless outing, an admission on Allen’s part (perhaps) that psychoanalysis is a greenlight for perverted recidivism and that he had lost his greatest muse to strange desires. A very uncomfortable watch.