Dr Strangelove Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

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Gentlemen you can’t fight in here! This is the War Room!  U.S. Air Force General Jack Ripper (Sterling Hayden) goes completely insane and sends his bomber wing to destroy the U.S.S.R. He thinks that the communists are conspiring to pollute the ‘precious bodily fluids’ of the American people and takes hostage RAF Commander Mandrake (Peter Sellers) before blowing his brains out when Mandrake wants the code to stop global catastrophe. Meanwhile in the War Room President Muffley (Sellers again) tries to reason with General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) and has to make an embarrassed call to the Russian premier while the Russian ambassador tries to sneak photographs on the premises and the creator of the bomb (Sellers – again) reveals it simply cannot be stopped …  Peter George’s serious book about nuclear proliferation, Red Alert, got a blackly comic workout by Stanley Kubrick and Terry Southern, producing one of the great films and one that seems to get better and more relevant as the years go by. Sellers’ triple-threat roles were a condition of the financing after his work on Lolita. The spectre of him as the wheelchair-bound Führer-loving kraut by any other name mad scientist failing to control his sieg-heiling arm and utilising an accent familiar to fans of The Goon Show is not quickly forgotten, nor the image of Slim Pickens astride the nuclear bomb, rodeo-style. It’s not just Sellers’ appearances that are brilliant – Hayden is weirdly convincing when talking about depriving women of his essence due to the fluoridation of water;  and Scott’s expressivity is stunning. Apparently it was Spike Milligan’s idea to use Vera Lynn’s We’ll Meet Again over the apocalyptic closing montage in which the nuclear deterrent has deterred absolutely nothing and blown us all to Eternity. The end of the world as we know it. A staggering tour de force.

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The Square (2017)

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The Square is a sanctuary of trust and caring. Within it we all share equal rights and obligations.  Christian (Claes Bang) the curator of a Swedish museum hires a PR team to create hype for a challenging new exhibition with explosive results after he responds with a poorly thought-out social media post when his smartphone is stolen … Written and directed by Ruben Östlund, this part-satire, part-horror utilises its international cast well in what is an overlong and episodic narrative:  Elisabeth Moss plays Anne, the journalist who winds up having a complicated one-night stand with Christian; while Dominic West essays a PJ-clad parody of Julian Schnabel; and Terry Notary is Oleg, after Oleg Kulik, a performance artist who reputedly acted like a dog and attacked people at an exhibition in Stockholm (Notary does an ape impression here). Bang is terrific in quite a complex and contradictory role in which all his pretensions are challenged. There is a dinner party from hell which is a film in and of itself.  This is a largely successful tract using issues of class, race, sex and society in a witty treatise on what could be summed up in two words:  culture shock. Like most modern art, better seen and experienced than read about. Winner of the 2017 Palme d’Or at Cannes.

Murder By Death (1976)

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Locked, from the inside. That can only mean one thing. And I don’t know what it is. Five famous literary private eyes, including Sam Diamond (Peter Falk), Sidney Wang (Peter Sellers), Jessica Marbles (Elsa Lanchester), Milo Perrier (James Coco) and Dick and Dora Charleston (David Niven and Maggie Smith) are invited to the mysterious millionaire Lionel Twain’s (Truman Capote) castle for a dinner party despite none of them actually knowing him. There, they are told that Twain plans an unsolvable murder in the house at midnight and he will pay $1 million to the one who determines the killer. But when Twain’s blind butler, Bensonmum (Alec Guinness), dies long before the deadline, the stakes go up for the trapped sleuths and it takes a real detective to figure it out … The country house/locked room whodunnit gets a decent parody and a slew of stars indulge in high jinks and costumed fun. You may notice that certain names were altered for copyright reasons (Sam Spade, Charlie Chan, Miss Marple, Hercules Poirot, Nick and Nora et al) but otherwise the ‘satire’ from the pen of Neil Simon translates as smoothly to the screen as a whiskey down the gullet even with the famously incomprehensible ending and a one-off performance by Capote. There’s a built-in discourse on the tropes and flaws of the genre. An absurdist fun item that is now deserving of cult status with a ton of one-liners. Directed by Robert Moore.

Pardon Mon Affaire (1976)

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Aka Un Eléphant Ca Trompe Enormément. Quatre Parisiens subissent une sorte de crise de la quarantaine. Bouly (Victor Lanoux) l’homme de la dame, tombe en morceaux quand sa femme le quitte. Etienne (Jean Rochefort) sérieux et marié dans un scénario typiquement bourgeois, tombe amoureux d’une autre femme Charlotte (Anny Duperey) qu’il voit dans son garage quand une brise lui souffle sa jupe à la Monroe. Tout cela concerne grandement Simon (Guy Bedos) le cynique résident qui est cependant un ‘mama’s boy’ qui n’est pas grandi . Enfin il y a Daniel (Claude Brasseur) le fanfaron. Les adultes qui refusent de grandir, les quatre ont tous quelque chose à cacher. Ils discutent de leurs problèmes et entreprennent plusieurs sorties imprudentes. Alors que sa femme Marthe (Danièle Delorme) rebute son poursuivant adolescent précoce, Etienne décide d’avoir un recontre érotique avec la femme de ses rêves finissant se retrouver sur une corniche au huitième étage, en robe de chambre devant la foule, un public grandissant regarde … La comédie sexuelle classique d’Yves Robert annonçait une série de collaborations avec Rochefort, victorieux et cadavérique, et ce fut un énorme succès international. C’est une belle combinaison d’écriture, d’interprètes et de slapstick rempli de vignettes satiriques avec la thèse de la masculinité en crise particulièrement actuelle et la narration de Rochefort amusante et cannibale. Écrit par Robert et Jean-Loup Dabadie.  Suivi par Nous Irons Tous au Paradis et refait en Amérique comme The Woman in Red.

The Apartment (1960)

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Normally, it takes years to work your way up to the twenty-seventh floor. But it only takes thirty seconds to be out on the street again. You dig?  Ambitious insurance clerk C. C. “Bud” Baxter (Jack Lemmon) permits his bosses to use his NYC apartment to conduct extramarital affairs in hope of gaining a promotion. He pursues a relationship with the office building’s elevator operator Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine) unaware that she is having an affair with one of the apartment’s users, the head of personnel, Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) who lies to her that he’s leaving his wife. Bud comes home after the office Christmas party to find Fran has taken an overdose following a disappointing assignation with Sheldrake … Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond were fresh off the success of Some Like It Hot when they came up with this gem:  a sympathetic romantic comedy-drama that plays like sly satire – and vice versa. Reuniting one of that film’s stars (and a nasty jab at Marilyn Monroe using lookalike Joyce Jameson) with his Double Indemnity star (MacMurray, cast as a heel, for once) and adding MacLaine to the mix, they created one of the great American classics with performances of a lifetime. Bud can keep on keeping on as a slavering nebbish destined to be the ultimate slimy organisation man or become a mensch but he can’t do it alone, not now he’s in love. This is a sharp, adult, stunningly assured portrait of the battle of the sexes, cruelty, compromise and deception intact. With the glistening monochrome cinematography of Joseph LaShelle memorializing that paean to midcentury modernism, the architecture of the late Fifties office (designed by Alexandre Trauner), and an all-time great closing line (how apposite for a Wilder film), this is prime cut movie.  The best Christmas movie of all time? Probably, if you can take that holiday celebration on a knife edge of suicidal sadness and bleakly realistic optimism. Rarely has a home’s shape taken on such meaning.

Trumbo (2015)

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You talk like a radical but you live like a rich guy.  In the early Forties in Hollywood Dalton Trumbo (Bryan Cranston) is the highest paid scriptwriter but he’s also a member of the Communist Party. In a 1947 purge led by gossip columnist Hedda Hopper (Helen Mirren) and John Wayne (David James Elliott) Trumbo and several of his fellow writers are hounded into appearing before the House Un-American Activities Committee in Washington where they go off-script and ten of them wind up being imprisoned and their careers are ruined. When they get out they have to rebuild and face down their betrayers as they scrabble to write for the black market … Adapted from Bruce Cook’s biography of the blacklisted screenwriter, this is so good on so many levels. It takes a relatively complex history of the Hollywood anti-communist campaign and makes it understandable and it comprehensively names all the people who were behind it as well as communicating the terrible fear that descended upon the creative industries when what America was really fighting was creeping liberalism (which it learned decades later and which was also feared by the communists). It accurately portrays the documented differences among the Hollywood Ten and how they were perceived by their peers (not entirely positively especially following their self-aggrandising performances at the HUAC hearings) and the terrible compromises and betrayals between friends:  Edward G. Robinson (Michael Stuhlbarg) didn’t work for a year and gave names of those men already behind bars. How to win against the oppressive Hollywood machine drives so much of their post-prison experience – sue them like the composite figure of Arlen Hird (Louis CK) wants to do? or do what they’re good at and beat the bastards at their own game? like Trumbo does – and how apposite that Trumbo was selected to rewrite Spartacus after winning the Oscar for both Roman Holiday and The Brave One under a front and then a pseudonym. What raises this again above other films dramatising the same situation is the sheer wit and brio with which it is written and performed – which you’d frankly expect of anything with Trumbo’s name attached:  kudos to John McNamara. It also clarifies the extent to which this was a self-administered situation – these guys were screwed over by the studios voluntarily, not Government decree. Cranston is perfect in the role which is suffused with sadness and smarts and he embodies the writer we all really want to be – smoking like a train, drinking like a fish, tranked up on benzedrine and writing in the bathtub. A wonderfully ironic touch for a man who didn’t wallow. It’s wonderful to watch him deal with his daughter Nicola (Elle Fanning) become as politicised as him and he must assume a different parental role as she matures:  he admires her but he can’t be disturbed to get out of the tub and celebrate her birthday because he’s got a deadline.  There are great scenes:  when Trumbo notices that Robinson sold a Van Gogh to pay for the writers’ legal defence;  the writing of the cheapie scripts for the King Brothers. This is a complicated portrait of a fascinating and contradictory individual. Diane Lane has a thankless and almost dialogue-free part as his brilliant wife Cleo but her charismatic presence transforms her scenes:  she is duly thanked by Trumbo in the film’s final scene in 1970 during a Writers Guild ceremony. John Goodman is fantastic as the Poverty Row producer Frank King who meets a Motion Picture Alliance thug with a baseball bat and leaves him in no doubt as to what will happen if he gets the way of his hiring Trumbo because he’s in the business for money and pussy and doesn’t care about politics.  There’s a fantastic scene sequence that illustrates the different working methodologies of Kirk Douglas and Otto Preminger:  Trumbo played them off one against the other to get his credits restored. The best tragicomic moment is perhaps in the clink when Trumbo encounters his nemesis J. Parnell Thomas who’s been imprisoned for a real crime – tax evasion. Trumbo was however convicted of one thing – contempt. He was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party and this film does not shirk from that fact.  Directed sensitively and with panache by Jay Roach who has made a film that is literate, eloquent and humane. I am Spartacus.

The Big Sick (2017)

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What’s my stance on 9/11? Oh um, anti. It was a tragedy, I mean we lost 19 of our best guys. In present day Chicago, Kumail (Kumail Nanjiani) is a Pakistani comic who meets an American graduate student in psychology named Emily (Zoe Kazan) at one of his stand-up shows. They have sex on the first date and as their relationship blossoms, he soon becomes worried about what his traditional Moslem parents will think of her. His mother brings prospective brides (for an expected arranged marriage) to their weekly family dinner, something Kumail doesn’t admit until Emily finds a tin box filled with the women’s photos called The Ex-Files, in homage to his favourite TV show. Then she admits she was married as an undergraduate. They break up. When Emily suddenly comes down with an illness that means she must be placed in an induced coma, which Kumail has to approve, he finds himself developing a bond with her deeply concerned mother (Holly Hunter) and father (Ray Romano) who travel from South Carolina to keep a bedside vigil and know all about him, but his parents know nothing about her. And he’s got to get a spot in the Montreal Comedy Festival …. A culture clash romcom that feels plugged into a political charger, taking place in reverse:  have sexual relations, get to know each other, split up, meet the parents. While Emily lies in a coma the difficult intercultural exchanges take place:  a kind of discourse over Sleeping Beauty (although she has a complex about her looks stemming from high school bullying) that presumably has some deeper significance about white women.  A romantic comedy in which one of the protagonists is mainly unconscious is daring if not foolhardy except that this is all about him, you see, the Pakistani navigating his ethnicity in America. The culture wars that take place end up being defused in a comedy club and are stimulating because they then wind up being resolved through common humanity involving putting down ignorant white frat boys wearing baseball caps making jokes about Islamic terrorists.  A plea for understanding? Probably, but mainly for Kumail. Quelle surprise. This autobiographical work was written by Nanjiani and Emily V. Gordon (who presumably has Stockholm Syndrome), directed by Michael Showalter.

Casino Royale (1967)

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You are joke shop spies, gentlemen.  The original James Bond (David Niven) is the debonair spy, now retired and living a peaceful existence. He is reluctantly called back into duty when the mysterious organization SMERSH begins assassinating British secret agents (through the medium of sex) and he is impersonated by six impostors and his return to service includes taking on the villainous Le Chiffre (Orson Welles) and baccarat expert Evelyn Tremble (Peter Sellers) who is hired by Vesper Lynd (Ursula Andress, the greatest Bond girl of all!) to be yet another iteration of the great spy as she plays both ends against the middle.  Then there’s Bond’s bumbling nephew, Jimmy Bond (Woody Allen)… Producer Charles Feldman acquired the rights to Ian Fleming’s first Bond novel in 1960 but despite protracted negotiations with Eon could never agree terms so decided to send it up – everyone else was making Bond spoofs, so why shouldn’t he?  Wolf Mankowitz, John Law and Michael Sayers play fast and loose with the source and it’s directed variously by Ken Hughes, John Huston (who gets blown up early on in the film as M/McTarry), Joseph McGrath, Robert Parrish and an uncredited Richard Talmadge. Niven has fun in the film’s early sequence overlong though it is stretching credibility at its occasionally joyless spoofing. However there are compensations – Ursula and Peter’s sidelong romance;  motormouth comic Allen becoming silenced in the presence of his famous uncle;  Welles doing a magic trick. And what about Bond finding his illegitimate daughter Mata Bond (Joanna Pettet) by Mata Hari?! Meta is the word. And I love seeing Charles Boyer and George Raft (as himself!), Deborah Kerr sending up her Oirish accent from Black Narcissus playing the nun-wannabe widow of Huston, French spy spoofer Jean-Paul Belmondo, TV stars Ronnie Corbett and Derek Nimmo (and Catweazle plays Q!) with starlets Jacky (Jacqueline) Bisset and Alexandra Bastedo. Mad and quite bad it might be – there’s a flying saucer! And cowboys! – but heck it’s also a lot of fun, dated as it is. The cinematography by Jack Hildyard, Nicolas Roeg and John Wilcox is decadence itself. And then there’s the Burt Bacharach soundtrack and that song:  the desert island classic…

The Tin Drum (1979)

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There once was a drummer. His name was Oskar. He lost his poor mama, who had eat to much fish. There was once a credulous people… who believed in Santa Claus. But Santa Claus was really… the gas man! There was once a toy merchant. His name was Sigismund Markus… and he sold tin drums lacquered red and white. There was once a drummer. His name was Oskar. There was once a toy merchant… whose name was Markus… and he took all the toys in the world away with him. Oskar Matzerath (David Bennent) is a very unusual boy born in Danzig in 1924, after the city has been separated from Germany following WW1. Refusing to leave the womb until promised a tin drum by his mother, Agnes (Angela Winkler), Oskar is reluctant to enter a world he sees as filled with hypocrisy and injustice, and vows on his third birthday to never grow up as he watches his mother take her cousin Jan for a lover and she becomes pregnant – but by who? Miraculously Oskar gets his wish when he throws himself down a staircase.  His talent for breaking glass when he screams garners him attention. As the Nazis rise to power in Danzig, Oskar wills himself to remain a child, beating his tin drum incessantly and screaming in protest at the chaos surrounding him as his mother dies, his father takes a new wife who has a baby Oskar is convinced he has fathered and Hitler takes over while Oskar decides to join a travelling circus and entertain the Nazi troops in Paris … Günter Grass’ stunning 1959 novel was adapted by Volker Schlöndorff (and Jean-Claude Carriére and Frank Seitz Jr.) and he became the first German director to win the Palme d’Or at Cannes with this transgressive, arresting and surreal impression of Nazism and the breakup of Europe. It’s mesmerising, brilliantly conceived and performed – Bennent is one of a kind – and once seen can never be forgotten. It is the blackest of comedies about the darkness in Germany and the way in which Polish people handled the transition to Nazism. The coda in real life – that Grass was found to have been in the Waffen-SS as a teenager after a lifetime of denial –  somehow just gives this greater heft. Amazing.

9 to 5 (1980)

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Okay, I’m gonna leave, but let me tell you one thing before I go: don’t you ever refer to me as ‘your girl’ again.  Judy Bernly (Jane Fonda) is forced into the workplace after her divorce from husband Dick (Lawrence Pressman). She is introduced around Consolidated Companies by supervisor and widowed mom Violet Newstead (Lily Tomlin) who is routinely put down by boss Franklin Hart Jr. (Dabney Coleman) who steals her ideas for updating office practice. His married secretary Doralee Rhodes (Dolly Parton) is presumed by everyone to be his mistress – because that’s what he tells them.  The three women spend a night together having drug-induced fantasies of killing him. Doralee panics the following day when she suspects she really has poisoned the tyrant but it’s all a misunderstanding and they then swear revenge on the sexist liar by kidnapping him and running the company themselves… This has a really great premise:  three women take on a male chauvinist sex-harassing idea-stealing embezzling pig and…  forty minutes in it descends into a drug-fuelled fantasy and absurdist farce and everything falls apart. With one of the most charismatic casts you’ll ever encounter and singing star Parton making a fantastic screen debut you’ll wonder how this was so poorly conceived.  It was all Fonda’s idea and Patricia Resnick did the first draft before production and it evolved from a labour drama into a straightforward comedy. We are literally taken away from the scene of the action – the office – and back to Hart’s house where he swings from the ceiling in an apparatus that looks like it’s from an S&M store. Writer-director Colin (Foul Play) Higgins (who rewrote it) wrecks his own movie as he loses the plot but it’s still good-natured and did bonzo box office and even led to a TV series, due in no small part to the amazing title song which Parton composed during filming as she tapped her acrylic nails along to the rhythm of the typewriters.  Higgins said the cast were a joy and he went on to do The Best Little Whore House in Texas with Dolly. All’s well that ends well!