Born on the Fourth of July (1989)

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I’m not home. I never will be. I first encountered a Nam vet on Central Park West. He chased me despite being on crutches that were well past their sell-by date. I guess maybe it was because I had more legs than he did. I was waiting tables in a township on Long Island called Massapequa at a ghastly restaurant where a deranged and thankfully distant relative worked. Massapequa is the hometown of the Baldwin brothers and Ron Kovic, the subject of this impassioned film by Oliver Stone, a man whose own combat experiences had informed his previous film, Platoon, that astonishingly immersive journey of a naif to manhood in a horrifying exposition of American soldiers’ experiences. Ron Kovic’s book is the basis of another coming of age tale, this time of a Catholic boy whose parents’ devotion to JFK unwittingly unleashes their sports-mad son’s inner patriot.  I hadn’t seen this since its release and my fresh impression of its first sequences was of overwrought melodrama, underlined by John Williams’ overheated score. But this is all of a piece with the film’s intentions:  starting with a heightened picture of America’s hearth and home;  the futility and horror of war; the brutality of veterans’ experiences in epically gruesome, filthy underfunded hospitals (Kovic’s God-loving mother never even paid him a visit); the utter loneliness of being a castrated, paralysed man with a beating heart and functioning brain who is ridiculed by the anti-war protesters; the recognition that the only people with whom he now has anything in common are the other vets who are even more fucked up than he is. And so it moves into its more austere final sections. Politicisation. Separation from a family who refuse to accept he could have killed women and children and for whom he is a mere embarassment in a block where the other soldiers at least died. Is there a better correlative image in Stone’s entire oeuvre than the crane shot over the Wilson family home, where Ron has confessed to killing new recruit, their nineteen year old son William, in the dunes of Nam as the sun flared during an ambush, then he is wheeled away by a helper amid the scraps and detritus dumped in their yard and the leafy branches fade into a fluttering stars and stripes – and we are plunged into more police brutality at the 1972 Republican convention where he has joined the protest movement? This is elegant filmmaking. It is not without its humour or self-awareness. Ron has finally had his cherry broken by a Mexican whore in a sequence of T&A that reunites Stone with Willem Defoe who welcomes him to this sick paradise and he thinks it’s love – but hides his gift for her when he realises sex with a cripple is just a job for her. These vets’ wheelchair-off is a salve for those of us who might have liked to see one between Cruise and Daniel Day-Lewis, who beat him to an Academy Award that year (DDL gurned more). I’ve never been back to Massapequa or that cruddy restaurant but Stephen Baldwin has a small role as a schoolfriend, Tom Berenger gets him to join up, Frank Whaley is the other surviving vet who helps Ron out of his doomladen hole and Kyra Sedgwick is the gorgeous girl he loved so much he ran through the rain to dance with her at the Prom and she turns him on to the anti-war crusade. Cruise is simply great, giving a complete performance from boy to man in a narrative which exemplifies the art of juxtaposition and emotional arcs. This is cinema, utterly moving and indignant and humane. Watch it and weep.

Sideways (2004)

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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.

L’Avenir (2016)

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Aka Things to Come. La professeure de philosophie du lycée Nathalie (Isabelle Huppert) a une vie très satisfaisante, mariée à un autre enseignant, ses deux enfants adultes, aimant ses recherches intellectuelles et ses livres, discutant de la nouvelle édition de son manuel, avec seulement une mère dépressive narcissique (Edith Scob) la traînant vers le bas. Elle dénonce les critiques de son mari à propos de son passé et dit qu’elle n’était qu’un communiste pendant trois ans, comme tous les intellectuels. Elle a abandonné les staliniens après avoir lu Solzhenitsyn. Elle aime les amitiés avec ses étudiants, dont Fabien (Roman Kolinka, oui, c’est vrai, le fils de l’actrice assassinée Marie Trintignant, petit-fils de Jean-Louis) décèle une commune de campagne pour écrire un livre, un accord sécurisé par Elle dans sa maison d’édition. Ensuite, son mari avoue qu’il a affaire et déménage. Sa mère doit être emmenée dans un hôpital coûteux. Nathalie se réconforte dans ces livres et poursuit son dernier voyage dans la maison de vacances de ses parents en Bretagne et lui fait remarquer que sa maîtresse devrait soigner le beau jardin qu’elle a passé des années à cultiver. Sa mère meurt. Son livre n’est pas réémis. Elle passe du temps avec Fabien et se fait décourager quand elle se rend compte qu’il dort avec un collègue communard – n’est-ce pas ce que sont les communes, après tout? Et finalement, elle lui donne et sa petite amie le merveilleux chat de sa mère. Elle est toute seule. Elle est libre – et quoi maintenant? La vie continue, une longue voie de compromis, expliquée et justifiée par l’expérience et la philosophie et le manque de contrôle sur les actions des autres. C’est un recit superbement controle avec l’accent sur tous les details et le changement de tonalité.  Huppert est merveilleux (aussi le chat – qui s’appelle Pandora!) Un film de Mia Hansen-Love.

The Man Who Haunted Himself (1970)

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Probably Roger Moore’s favourite of his non-Bond outings, this is a fascinating and underrated cult offering from a weird time in cinema. Basil Dearden adapted Anthony Armstrong’s novel The Strange Case of Mr Pelham with Armstrong and Bryan Forbes, who was newly running EMI Films and gave this the greenlight. It was part of a clutch of films starring big names they were planning to shoot on middling budgets – but they didn’t market this correctly and so it got left behind somewhere in cultdom. Moore is a City worker who has a terrible car crash (is it on the Westway?!) in his Rover (whatcha expect?!) and ‘dies’ in hospital where he suddenly has two heartbeats. Resuming his life he appears to be … someone else. He has a doppelganger and this Saintly family man now has a mistress (played by Olga Georges-Picot, to add to the Resnais-ishness of the time scheme) and has agreed to a marine technology deal to which he was previously opposed and he’s being followed by a silver Lamborghini Islero (super wows!). This conservative man suddenly has a more exciting other self … We are in the realm of ego and id, straddling traditional British horror haunting tropes in a very well-tuned drama, and the obliqueness of contemporary London makes it all the more unsettling. The final face-off in his own house where his wife and kids want him gone!! is pretty satisfying, leading to a brilliant car chase, fatal for one of the two Pelhams. Proof, if it were needed, that all film titles beginning The Man Who are pretty darned great actually. In horribly meta fashion and with a great dollop of strange karma, Dearden himself had a terrible car crash in west London a year later (this was his last film…) and died in a hellhole called Hillingdon Hospital where I myself had a very narrow escape but still bare the scars – which bizarrely caused me another injury today before I watched this again. You couldn’t make it up. Chin chin!

Collateral (2004)

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Michael Mann took digital to a new level with this limpid portrait of nighttime LA in a story of taxi driver Max (Jamie Foxx) whose latest ride is hitman Vincent (Tom Cruise) carrying out a clutch of killings. His last mark is a prosecutor (Jada Pinkett Smith) whom the driver gave a ride and wants to save. Stylish, lean and beautifully written by Stuart Beattie, this is a perfect mesh of star performance and genre, heading for a climax almost out of Jean-Pierre Melville with two contrasting characters struggling with the fallout from their occupations. Made with care, this is a pretty perfect film.

The Evening Star (1996)

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Aka Three Funerals and a Wedding. Just kidding. Well, not exactly. I didn’t love Terms of Endearment and have read neither of these novels about willful selfish Houston widow Aurora Greenway but this messy ragtag followup directed by Robert Harling is not without its charms. Shirley MacLaine is back, aged grandmother and parent to her late daughter’s tearaway grownup children, irritated by longtime housekeeper gimlet-eyed Rose (Marion Ross) and pined after by General Hector (Donald Moffat). Melanie (Juliette Lewis) is living at home but itching to get out and she shacks up with bozo Bruce (Scott Wolf) which of course ends badly – but in LA, which is not so bad, as it turns out. Tommy (George Newbern) is in prison and Teddy (Mackenzie Astin) is married to a tramp and they have a bad-mannered toddler son. Rose plots to get Aurora to therapist Jerry (the late, great Bill Paxton) who has a thing for her – mostly because as she eventually finds out she’s a dead ringer for his Vegas showgirl mom, which doesn’t stop him from sleeping with Aurora’s rival Patsy (Miranda Richardson) which has a great conclusion in an inflight catfight.  The relationship with Paxton is funny and lifts the whole show with MacLaine getting some choice lines especially when she finally meets his mother! There’s a lot of life, love and thwarted passion as Aurora seeks out the great love of her life – and eventually finds it in the arms of her disastrously unaccomplished family while some of those closest to her die. There is a distinct shift of tone when Garret Breedlove (Jack Nicholson) pays a visit in the last quarter hour but the big performances make this, with MacLaine really making it work. You might be surprised to learn that it’s Cary Grant’s daughter Jennifer who is wooed by Newbern. This was Ben Johnson’s last film and it’s dedicated to him – he was of course in McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show where he delivered a performance of incredible subtlety and affect:  not bad for a stuntman. There’s more than a hint of Cloris Leachman in Marion Ross’s performance here. Not a bad recommendation in a film which looks at some of life’s different stages and comes out in favour of them all, by and large. Written by McMurtry and Harling.

Carlito’s Way (1993)

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My heart, it don’t ever stop.  How much do I love this film? Apparently it’s now a cult but some of us were on it from the first day of release. Al is Puerto Rican gangster Carlito Brigante, fresh out of the clink after a deal struck by his lawyer Dave Kleinfeld, played by Sean Penn. Carlito and his mangled language in the courtroom in front of Judge Edwin Torres (actor/director Paul Mazursky) has to be seen to be believed. Penn was persuaded out of his early retirement to do this and shaved his hairline, permed his hair and dyed it red: truly a sight to make your eyes sore (Alan Dershowitz sued for defamation). Carlito is persuaded into a drugs deal and has to shoot his way out. His part of the take enables him to buy a nightclub. He meets old friend Lalin (Viggo Mortensen) who unbeknownst to him is carrying a wire for the DA. This was the first time I really noticed Mortensen and Carlito’s opening line is killer: Lalin, my standup guy! Lalin is a paraplegic in a wheelchair. He turns down the offer of a business partnership with Benny Blanco from the Bronx (John Leguizamo):  a very bad idea, as it turns out. He romances dancer Gail (Penelope Ann Miller), is persuaded by Kleinfeld to assist him in a mob boss client’s prison escape (another bad idea) and winds up in a truly stupendous shootout in a pool room.  Turns out a lot of people are bailing and talking to the DA. Then there’s nothing for it but make a break as Kleinfeld’s coke-addled paranoia and the trouble on the streets can mean only one thing … There’s more, of course, but this is the bones of it. Beautiful cinematography, by Stephen H. Burum, an astonishing score by Patrick Doyle (it’s what I want played at my funeral, natch) this is a stylish but not overdone tour de force from director Brian De Palma, working from a screenplay by David Koepp adapting one of two books, but mainly After Hours, by Judge Edwin Torres. There’s nothing about this I can’t love. Al is simply great in what amounts to a Shakespearean performance and it’s a wonderful, blessed event in moviedom. Here comes the magic. See it and die happy.

The Shout (1978)

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Psychiatrist Graves (Tim Curry) is keeping score at a lunatic asylum cricket game where the doctors play the inmates. He tells the story of a wandering man Crossley (Alan Bates) who insinuates his way into the home of an avant garde composer/sound engineer Anthony Fielding (John Hurt) and his psychiatric nurse wife Rachel (Susannah York) and uses his aboriginal magic acquired while living in the Aussie Outback to take over their lives and steal Rachel from Anthony.  He lures Anthony to sand dunes at the beach and shows him how his magical shout can kill people … This weirdly engrossing supernatural horror is the second British production from Polish director Jerzy Skolimowski – he had previously made The Deep End and the deeply atmospheric story takes its lead from the sounds that Anthony records (there’s an amazing soundtrack by Tony Banks) and unusual shot framing that makes the deep Devon countryside appear quite sinister. An odd work that repays multiple viewings.  Adapted from Robert Graves’ story by the director and Michael Austen.

Big Business (1988)

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Is this how you dress for the office? You look like a blood clot! Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin in a reworking of The Comedy of Errors? (With maybe a touch of The Prince and the Pauper… and Aesop).  NYC 1988?  The Plaza? Hell yeah! They’re the two mismatched pairs of identical twin sisters separated at birth in a country hospital in the 1940s and now … the bumpkins are coming to the big city to deal with the proposed takeover of their family firm in Jupiter Hollow which is being handled by … their posh twins whose socialite folks were just passing through forty years earlier! And neither set knows the other set exists! And they have the same names – Rose and Sadie – because the poor farmer overheard the rich guy naming his daughters! Bette is the obnoxiously bitchy divorced CEO with a kid she pays to do better at school, Lily is the timid flibbertigibbet sister who can eat anything and is sympathetic to the factory at Jupiter Hollow because their father wanted it in the family to honour their birthplace; and Bette is also the louder bumpkin with the skinny sweet sister who runs their company. When they get the posh women’s suite at the Plaza all sorts of screwball mixups ensue which should be a little funnier – costume and accents are not as riotous as they might be but when push comes to shove country Sadie’s wannabe beau (Fred Ward) turns up and the company’s execs think he’s a conman – who doesn’t get it when they invite him to sleep on their couch (they’re a gay couple).  The finale – the meeting with the stockholders – is run like a scene from Dynasty because country Rose has studied Alexis Carrington like a book. The writing (by Dori Pierson and Marc Reid Rubel) lets this brilliant premise deflate – not to get too Aristotelian about it there are  no real scenes of ‘recognition’ other than the failsafe one in the Ladies’ bathroom and the original baby switch which leads to the concluding life swap is never dealt with satisfactorily in terms of even reference to it – this convoluted plot never really stands scrutiny. But it’s a breezy show even if these fabulous women never really get their considerable comic chops into it. Wonder what would have happened if Barbra Streisand and Goldie Hawn had starred, as was intended?! Heck, the clothes are just great. Directed by Jim Abrahams.

London Town (2016)

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This is a strange one – a coming of age story set against a few songs and performances by The Clash and a couple of run-ins with the iconic singer/guitarist Joe Strummer, a man who inhabited several different musical incarnations but whose major persona was forged in the late Seventies against a maelstrom of sociocultural chaos. Shay (Daniel Huttlestone) is from a broken family with dad Dougray Scott running a music shop and driving a taxi by night to support him and his little sister. Mum Natascha McElhone has run off to live in a squat with Tom Hughes and some other handsome alternatives to find herself on the punk scene. Shay meets Vivienne (Nell Williams) a cool punkette scenester who introduces him to The Clash but when his dad has an accident moving a piano which hospitalises him, Shay has to man up, run the house and the gauntlet of debt collectors. With Vivienne’s help he drags up to take over his dad’s taxi runs and takes Joe Strummer (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) home one night.  Strummer serves as a kind of Jiminy Cricket or even Humphrey Bogart a la Play it Again, Sam but there is no real reason for him to be in this story and the conclusion is unbelievably low-key considering the potential in a narrative which sees real-life footage of an Anti-Nazi concert, with Rhys Meyers doing his trademark immersive performance (he’s already portrayed Bowie and Elvis with some success). Directed by Derrick Borte from a screenplay by Matt Brown. London was definitely not calling this one with neither story strand properly developed. The only real attraction is to hear The Clash originals and some of their songs reworked (even anachronistically). How odd.