stevenlshoup Reviews

Duck Soup (1933)

"Tell 'Em The Enemy Comes From Afar With A Hey-Non-Nonni And a Hot-Cha-Cha!"

[10/10 · 22 April 2006]

There are two groups in the "Best Marx Brothers Movie Ever" debate. One favors the Marxes integrated into the traditional Hollywood formula: the excellent "A Night at the Opera"; the other insists it's the film where Hollywood is helpless while the boys unleash their anarchistic, trademark lunacy against conventions to new heights: "Duck Soup." I am in the latter group.

The plot in a nutshell: The Marx Brothers go to war.

The government of Fredonia has been mismanaged to the point that it must borrow $20 million from Mrs. Chester Teasdale to stay afloat. She, with single-minded termination, refuses unless the president resigns and hands the government to Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho) who proceeds to bring the nation to a grinding halt. Adding to the national woes, neighboring Sylvania has been plotting to have the Fredonian government overthrown so that they can overrun it and this mission has been headed by Ambassador Trentino (Louis Calhern), with Vera Marcal (Raquel Torres) handling Mrs. Teasdale and his two crack spies Chicolini and Pinky (guess who) shadowing Firefly. It is presidential assistant Bob Roland(Zeppo) who suggests Firefly insult Trentino who will strike Firefly and they can force the ambassador to leave the country. Sounds good on paper, but Firefly winds up being insulted by Trentino then slapping him, which leads to a declaration of war! And what a war it is: Groucho is able to be uniformed as a southern general, northern corporal, boy scout, fur trapper and drum major -- and that's during the first assault! By the time the short-wave radio cries "Help is on the way!" what follows will have you rolling on the floor!

Duck Soup is the dazzling, frenzied, unrelenting, full-steam-ahead, no-holds-barred trademark brand of nose-thumbing, up-yours comedy that the Marx Brothers created in vaudeville, honed to razor sharpness in bus and truck tours, and finally exploded onto 1920's Broadway, making them national treasures. Where W.C. Fields had his muttering, cynical way of tilting at windmills with a pool cue, Groucho, Chico, Harpo, and Zeppo stormed the windmills with surface-to-air missiles. No convention was too big, no icon too treasured, no societal norms too entrenched to be blistered by these madmen of surreal comedy. As with most classics, "Soup" bombed at the box-office and Paramount didn't re-sign the Brothers. But time and succeeding generations have elevated this film to one of the best movies in the annals of American film making.

Within "Duck Soup" is a treasure trove of priceless routines. To mention a few: Firefly's coronation and musical offering of how he'll run the country; Harpo and Groucho with a motorcycle and sidecar; Chicolini and Pinky's spy report to Trentino; Groucho's cabinet meeting; Harpo's phone conversation, the three (count 'em three) encounters with a lemonade vendor; three night-gowned Fireflys racing around the Teasdale mansion seeking the secret war plans, which leads to the legendary and Dali-like Mirror Sequence (Continuity be damned. Who cares if shattered glass disappears or a complete reversed room is behind that wall mirror -- this routine is CLASSIC); Chicolini's court-marshal and trial, all leading to the musical embodiment of national hysteria for warfare: "The Country's Going To War".

Scripted by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby (they composed the music for the Marxes Broadway show, "Animal Crackers") with Arthur Sheekman and Nat Perrin, the story is a smörgåsbord of laugh lines and hysterical visuals that skip merrily into surrealism. Kalmar and Ruby's music here (their "Hooray for Captain Spaulding," became the theme music for Groucho's quiz show and the popular standard, "Who's Sorry Now?" was theirs. MGM made them the subject of "Three Little Words") is enjoyable, albeit unmemorable and their lyrics an homage to Gilbert and Sullivan. The break-neck direction and pacing is courtesy of fabled director Leo McCarey (best remembered for directing Going My Way). Margaret Dumont returns as "the fifth Marx Brother" with her oh-so-refined and dignified Mrs. Gloria Teadale, Groucho's perfect foil for his mangy-lover/insult barrage. There are superb supporting cast members, too. Louis Calhern (Annie Get Your Gun) is dignified and oily as Ambassador Trentino (what better target for Chico and Harpo?). Also in tiny roles are Leonid Kinsky as the agitator in Trentino's office prior to the entrance of Harpo and Chico (Kinsky went on to be best remembered as Sasha the bartender in Casablanca) and Charles Middleton the prosecuting attorney best remembered as Ming the Merciless in the old Flash Gordon serials. Finally, there is the brilliant Edgar Kennedy, crowned "The Master of the Slow Burn," as the lemonade vendor. Kennedy was a staple of the silent film era, appearing in and directing hundreds of silent comedies and also producing them. A master craftsman and his work here with Harpo and Chico is a fitting tribute to his significant contribution to the movies. This film marked the farewell of Zeppo. Tired of playing the straight man and overshadowed by his brothers, Zeppo stepped behind the cameras after Duck Soup to become a Hollywood agent. He wasn't missed. Also, this is the only Marx movie where Harpo has no harp solo and one of two movies where Chico doesn't play the piano – and it doesn't matter. You're laughing too hard to care.

Despite an unintended racial slur that mars the film this is a movie to treasure. I introduced my six year old niece to the Marx Brothers last summer. Having been weened on a diet of TV kiddie shows, computer animated cartoon films, and the pablum and sludge that passes for comedy today, she fell in love with the Marx Brothers! Yes, Harpo is her favorite, but she enjoys them all. So please, please, please, sit your kids down in front of the TV, get this movie and enrich them with unrestrained, genuine laughter, and introduce them to the funniest comedy team this nation ever produced and arguably the funniest movie ever made.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

"See Mother? I Make All Things New."

[10/10 · 15 April 2006]

This is the last day of the life of Jesus of Nazareth. Even atheists know this one by heart.

In all of the ballyhoo, hub-bub, and ethnic finger pointing prior to and after this film's release, I'm convinced that the core of Mel Gibson's message of this picture got buried: We are unable to grasp what is meant by "Jesus suffered for our sins" and it waters down our faith. We have had our image of "suffering" psycho-babbled, humanized, compassion-ized, rehabilitized, and anesthetized beyond our 21st century comprehension.

Prior to Gibson's film, Hollywood was of no help with this either. They gave us a "suffering" for Jesus that amounted to a roughing up, bloody nose, and smudge or two on his ornate costume. Afraid that they might offend Christians (prior to a change of heart whereby they actively mock Christian faith) they white-washed the final 24 hours of Christ's corporeal life for the sake of family entertainment.

Mel Gibson has stepped up to the plate, researched his history very well indeed, and shown us exactly how the ancient Romans dealt with that which they deemed improper, criminal, immoral (which had a lot of wiggle room in ancient Rome) or that which they out and out feared and Caesar feared this lone Jew who was claiming minions for followers by telling them that he was a "king." Caesar wasn't about to be dethroned, which is how he interpreted Jesus' message. He relied upon the justice administered through his centurions and these centurions were wicked in battle and vicious beyond decency in their punishments. Rome had reached an uneasy but workable truce with the huge Jewish following within the regions they now owned and dominated. They had no love for the Jews, but tolerated them because they had to and visa-versa.

Gibson also captured the accuracy of the Jewish leadership of that age. The Sanhedrin (Jewish Council) had by this time corrupted service into personal power and standing for the Pharisees and Scribes (Hmm, sounds like a certain federal government I know of) and a renegade rabbi was turning the people away from them and to his view of Faith and Belief not by ones and twos, but by hundreds and hundreds. These power-mongers of the Sanhedrin weren't about to let this stand and they used every bit of guile, cunning, and semantics at their fingertips to trap this rebel. But this rebel was untrappable. And so to this crew it became "The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend" and colluded with the Roman Empire to destroy one man both powers feared dearly.

The chess game between Rome and The Sanhedrin over who takes ultimate responsibility for bringing the heretic to atonement is a clever parry-and-thrust of two powerful organizations. But Christ is aware that they are playing into God's hands, where Jesus is already prepared for what he knows lies ahead for him. He has seen Roman cruelty. He knows he will be exposed to it. He knows He must be. It is the will of his Father and no one else.

Many have criticized the graphic violence in this picture, but it is imperative that Christ's ordeal be graphically displayed. Only by this can we understand the full measure of His suffering. Only by this can we understand and have revealed to us what we see in the final moments of this film and what awaits us as good and faithful servants. Only by this can we know without question that Jesus IS the Messiah. Only by this can the honest impact of Revealed Truth of the Word of God be verified. Anything less is disingenuous.

Every aspect of this picture technically is impressive all around. Mel selected his department heads with great care here and it shows. Cinematography, art direction, set direction, costumes, lighting, props, score, performers – they all work together like a well-oiled machine. He has recreated the ancient Holy Land as it was. This film is made with a distinct "seasoning" of Catholicism, but it doesn't detract from the story for Protestants. Gibson does take some directorial embellishments not found in his source material: Satan's repeated visits; the snake in the Garden of Gethsemane; the raven and the crucified convict; Judas' delusions of children as demons, and such, but they don't work against the story. He also kept the dialog in ancient tongues. Not a word of English is spoken and it works! Jim Caviezel is a more Semitic-looking Jesus and gives a simple-stated, vulnerable, and moving performance. Hristo Naumov Shopov is a standout as Pilate, nicely played is Simon of Cyrene who is forced to help Christ carry his cross and Jarreth Merz is to be highly complimented here. There is not a sour note in any performance. Wisely, Gibson chose Non-name actors for the roles so that no "star" would outshine his/her performance.

For me two things struck me like a speeding locomotive: The aerial view of the crucifixion and Christ's near final words. In the former we watch until we realize that we are seeing the scene through a single rain-drop but as the drop falls, we become conscious we are watching a son's death through the eyes of his own Father. I was thunder-struck.

All my life I'd read and heard Jesus proclaiming from the cross, "It is finished." However, Gibson translates that phrase into, "It is accomplished" and the impact of that spoken insight was cathartic for me. I haven't been the same since.

This is NOT a picture you enjoy or are entertained by. Believers are either moved to the point of being more deeply imbued in their faith or they're repulsed by the violence. Agnostics and Atheists can watch this film as a different kind of political thriller. There is no in between.

The Ghost and the Darkness (1996)

"These Lions . . . Don't Act Like Lions."

[10/10 · 8 April 2006]

It is 1898 and charming, cretinous Captain of Industry Beaumont has hired Col. John Patterson,eminent engineer/bridge builder to complete a bridge spanning the river by Tsavo, Africa.

Arriving in the continent he has dreamed of forever, Patterson meets his project. There are problems with it: Competing French and German rivals, Ethnic hatred among the crews and, on Patterson's first day there, a worker is attacked by a lion. He goes to "sort it out" by shooting the beast with one shot; gaining the admiration of his crews, lifting spirits, adding motivation to complete the bridge, and unleashing a nightmare

Only weeks after the shooting the camp is suddenly besieged by a pair of giant man-eating lions. Their first "kill" is Mahina (Henry Cele), considered the strongest man in the camp. This serves to unnerve every man on the project, including Indian rabble-rouser Abdullah, who doesn't like Patterson from the start. Nerves jangle and fray as the lions repeatedly and relentlessly attack and attack and attack! They strike under the cover of night AND during the heat of day; They kill not for hunger, not for sport, but simply because they like it. Men are dragged from their beds and mauled to death in the tall grasses; the hospital becomes a blood-bathe; Laborers aren't safe as the beasts leap out and snatch them from their work. Everything is falling apart and Patterson is at his wit's end as Beaumont arrives to make matters worse. And still the lions attack and attack and attack.

Enter Big Game Hunter Charles Remington who is as determined to destroy the lions as the lions seem determined to eat every man in camp.

This is an under-appreciated, well made, well scripted nail biting adventure. It boasts solid artists on both sides of the lens: William Goldman penned the script, Gail Anne Hurd and H. Kitman Ho are two of the producers who know how to spend the budget wisely, the great Vilmos Zigmond is responsible for the mesmerizing African cinematography. Stephen Hopkins directs with great vision and skill and the actors are uniformly solid and believable in their roles. Val Kilmer plays Patterson with an understated, simple and elegant performance; Tom Wilkerson is the charming snake of a boss Beaumont, Brian McCardie gains the viewers sympathy as a youthful, innocent, and doomed Angus Starling, John Jani is the stalwart Project Manager Samuel, Bernard Hill the irritable/irritating Dr. Hawthorne, Om Puri is the creepy, sarcastic Abdullah ("You are white. You can do anything.") and Michael Douglas, also an Executive Producer – he got the money – plays hunter Charles Remington, removing the sweet edges of his Romancing the Stone role to create our renown hunter.

Hopkins not only knows how to build tension, suspense, and terror, but when to let us relax and how to fill that time. The quiet moments are never dull. They let us empathize with these men, their characters get to develop and we bond with them and their nightmare. Zigmond (Close Encounter of the Third Kind) uses deep oranges and blacks for the African locale, except during a daylight lion hunt and cave exploration when he switches to bright sunlight, vibrant greens and sharp browns as if to show us that even a travelogue holds a nightmare. It is near Hitchcockian.

Rolling underneath the film like summer thunder (or the breathy growl and snarling of our killer lions) is Jerry Goldsmith's pounding, tribal driven score, which accents the mood and gives further dimension to the narrative. Listen closely, you can hear him using tonal motifs he developed for Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

As the hysteria builds and the men frenzy, many explanations are offered for the appearance of these animals: Are they the spirits of medicine men come to exact revenge; Or demons sent by the devil to keep Africa unsoiled; Or have they come to claim John Patterson? Is it to helplessly watch as they strip away the layers of security around him until he is exposed and defenseless against their teeth and claws? It is no coincidence that Kilmer is photographed at times slack- faced and full on and LOOKS like a lion himself.

Once this film starts, I can guarantee you that you won't be able to take a snack break, bathroom break, or even think about dozing off. It is that good. And remember this: You can see the preserved bodies of these two giant man-eaters at the Field Museum in Chicago, Illinois because this incredible story is TRUE.

Capricorn One (1977)

"We're dead." "What?" "We're dead."

[8/10 · 1 April 2006]

WHY CAPRICORN ONE? Capricorn: "Capricorn is one of the most stable and (mostly) serious of the zodiacal types. These independent, rock-like characters have many sterling qualities. They are normally confident, strong willed and calm. These hardworking, unemotional, shrewd, practical, responsible, persevering, and cautious to the extreme persons, are capable of persisting for as long as is necessary to accomplish a goal they have set for themselves." It ain't just about the mission's name.

The space program is in trouble. Their next mission MUST succeed or the funding is axed and the entire agency vanishes. That next mission is the first manned landing on Mars and it is going very smoothly indeed, to the awe and excitement of the U.S.A. and the entire world. What the world outside of the space agency doesn't know is that the whole mission is fake. It's been set up and broadcast from a deserted military base 300 miles west of Houston.

It seems a critical piece of equipment proved faulty too late to abort the project and so the space agency (it is never directly called N.A.S.A.)-- in cahoots with shadowy, high government powers -- had pulled the three astronauts from the capsule moments before launch, whisked them to the deserted base, explained the situation, pleaded for their (reluctant)cooperation through some not-so-subtle intimidation, and all has been peaches and cream and now it looks like their "re-entry and landing" will be near perfect albeit 200 miles off-course so that they can get the spacemen back into the capsule.

Nothing is going to ruin this mission.

So what if one of the console technicians has noticed that the TV broadcasts are earthbound, not from space? He simply disappears.

Nothing is going to ruin this mission.

ALmost nothing: a bad circuit in one of the other consoles claims that the heat shield has separated from the capsule upon re-entry and all three astronauts burned alive in the capsule. But they are alive and well in a deserted base in Texas . . . and they know that they are expendable.

Nothing is going to ruin this mission.

The chase is on between 3 frightened pilots, a far-flung, well organized cover-up machine, two relentless black-ops helicopters, and a lazy, cynical reporter (friend of the missing console jockey) who smells a rat.

Writer/Director Hyams has build himself one slick, fast-paced thriller from a script conceived during his CBS reporter days covering Vietnam. It was there that he envisioned how easy it could be for a huge government to cover up anything it wished. In the post-Moonwalk years, when some wing-nut conspiracy groupies insisted NASA had faked the moon landing, Hyams found his base plot and it works like a charm! The casting is near perfect. Dependable old Hal Holbrook is the head of the space agency, in over his head and resigned to having to kill his crew, including the team leader (Brolin); his friend of 16 years. Nothing is going to ruin this mission. Brolin, O.J. Simpson, and Sam Waterston never really get any chance for character development, save for Waterston's likable wise-cracking. Brenda Vacarro and Karen Black give equally strong performances; David Huddleston is dead on as the Florida senator in support of the space program. In tow with James Karen as the Vice President, they have some enjoyable moments satirizing Washington Double-Speak; Robert Walden, as the doomed console technician, gives an intense, sad, dark sense of puzzlement in his performance of a man who is trying to help but feels like he's to blame. Elliot Gould just normally comes across to me as someone sleeping his way through a role, but for this picture it is perfect for the character of reporter Caulfield. This sleepy, cynical, unenergetic man who is slowly putting the pieces together and too frightened to say his surmises out loud, is deftly handled through Gould's stock-in-trade persona.

I really felt that David Doyle and Telly Savalas should've switched roles. Neither man was truly convincing in his performance and their characters might have been better served being traded between them.

However, the real star of the film is Bill Butler, the Director of Photography. What he releases on your screen is an artful array of cinema: The pull back, and cross pan shots of the in-studio Mars terrain; the terrifying out-of-control car Gould is trying to avoid being pulverized in; the quiet terror of Hal Holbrook's office as he makes and takes his telephone calls; Those evil insect-like helicopters in landing or in flight; the dark dread in the cave as Brolin, hiding from the pursuers, confronts a nasty viper; the stark, dry brittleness of the desert that Brolin, Waterston, and Simpson must challenge; The strain and exhaustion of Waterston as he scales the dry mountain side to escape his fate, but in vain. But most of all it is the exciting, jolting aerial ballet of the copter and bi-plane chase. It draws you in visually to the point of giving you a queasy stomach! (Yes, I know. There are no mountains in central Texas. There are no 50 feet tall gorillas in New York City either, but you enjoyed King Kong didn't you?) The icing on the cake of Butler's images and Hyams well done script is the pounding, driving score by Jerry Goldsmith. It is all beats of percussion, plucks of strings and short orchestral punches. It gives a sense of impending doom, fear, conspiracy, and paranoia.

While it is safe to say that N.A.S.A is the most non-political, benign department of the government, an agency whose efforts have given the public such fruits of success as the microwave oven, superior fibers for insulation, freeze-dried foods, and Tang, just to name a scant few, if you can put your common sense on hold and believe that the space agency could be cold, crisp, self-serving, and ruthless enough to kill to stay alive, then you've come to the right movie.

The Cowboys (1972)

C'mon. We're Burnin' Daylight.

[10/10 · 25 March 2006]

An engrossing Coming-Of-Age story and a rollicking good western to boot! Wil Anderson (John Wayne), a 60 year old cattle rancher is ready to herd his stock to Belle Fouche, but "gold fever" has struck the able-bodied men in his community, so Anderson is left with three choices: Herd the cattle alone; fore-go until next year and leave himself and his wife pauperized; or whip 11 boys from ages 9 through 15 into ridin', ropin' and ranchin' cattle-hands to get his livestock to market. He opts for the third choice and what happens next is as entertaining a tale as the old west could ever provide.

Having lost his own two sons ("They went bad. Or I did . . . I'm not sure which,") from the outset Anderson is ill at ease in the company of 11 virginal children, more at home playing cowboy than being one and his solution is to treat them as men so that they grow up quick and keep him from losing his income. Adding to his troubles is an untried cook named Jebediah Nightlinger, a world-wise man of the plains who happens to be black -- something new to everyone on the ride.

The script is well written and never boring. The dialogue and performances are uniformly enjoyable all around. Watching these school kids turn from babies into men as they are introduced to a world with unforgiving weather, hazardous terrain, their first experience with Tennessee Sour Mash, death, treachery, and cattle rustling is a sight to behold. And as the youngsters become men, Wil Anderson, in his own rough and awkward way, is able to become the father he failed to achieve with his own sons.

There is a quaint and delicately restrained scene involving two of the boys stumbling upon a traveling troupe of prostitutes, headed up by Kate, an older Madam seamlessly played by the late, great Colleen Dewhurst. You can't help but smile at the entire delicious interplay between boys and girls; Nightlinger and Kate.

But every deck has a joker and in this story it is Long Hale, played with wild-eyed psychotic subtlety by the exceptional Bruce Dern. Anderson knows a vicious criminal when he sees one and Hale is the dictionary definition in Wil's book. Anderson refuses to hire Hale and his "friends" for the cattle ride. Better done with the school boys. But Hale has a surprise in store for Wil. He's following the cattle ride and plans to rustle the herd away from Anderson. What kind of resistance will 11 kids have against a gang of over a dozen seasoned killers"? Directed with consummate skill by the brilliant and unheralded Mark Rydell (the man also responsible for The Reivers and On Golden Pond), he bathes the film in rich russets, dark and supple browns, creamy beige, and captures the dusty plains, the sparse autumn woodlands, the cow hides, horse flesh, leather, ropes, and tumbleweeds of the Old West with an almost pastoral beauty. This picture is gorgeous to look at! John Williams contributes a vibrant and energetic score (what else would you expect?) with a harmonica's drawl and wail that let's you know Long Hale isn't far away.

Wayne is just right as Anderson. He sort of softens his John Wayne persona for the role and hits all the right notes. But it is Roscoe Lee Browne who stands out in this film. He is the brightest penny in a cast full of bright pennies. He, too forges a bond with the boys in the moment of everyone's darkest hour through his understanding that they've become men worthy of his respect and praise and, while he may not be able to achieve a surrogate father role, he becomes their trusted uncle and one of them.

How the boys resolve the theft of the cattle herd and exact a fitting justice on the evil Long Hale is nothing short of brilliant. And the arrival of the cattle into Belle Fouche is almost tear producing as the town and we the viewers understand the price of manhood.

This is not a western for pre-teens or younger. The language is rough and Nightlinger is referred to by the "N" word frequently. But for teens and older, this is a great introduction to John Wayne, Roscoe Lee Browne, and westerns in general. It is also a chance to get to know the work of one of Hollywood's true great contemporary directors, Mark Rydell. I would love to tell you more but, as Nightlinger points out at a key moment in this film, "I have the inclination. I have the maturity. I have the where-with-all. Sadly, I do not have the time." Enjoy!

Road to Morocco (1942)

Well, I'll Be A Monkey's Uncle!

[10/10 · 18 March 2006]

Typical Hope and Crosby nonsense. More of a "big budget home movie" than anything else, but funny and enjoyable anyhow.

By the Time "Morocco" was created, the Road Pictures had been embraced and enjoyed and the formula was set in stone: An exotic locale, Dorothy Lamour, a couple of songs and go easy on the script because Bob and Bing are gonna "jab-lib" their way through it regardless. The result here is a slick and entertaining yarn about absolutely nothing. Don't let the current climate of "Islam/Arab/Terrorism" mindset disturb you about the on screen antics because this was filmed in a different era and has nothing to do with the goings on in our world today.

Bing gets a chance to croon the very lovely Moonlight Becomes You, which to this day is still one of the most touching love songs ever written; Bob gets to do his "screen persona schtick" and it is hilarious; Dorothy has a forgettable song and a funny reprise of Moonlight Becomes You, sung in the desert accompanied by the boys and it is extremely funny. Anthony Quinn (who was a Road Picture Regular) returns in a typical villain role in which he does his best.

A couple of notes. Early in the picture Bob and Bing get involved with a camel who licks them. At the end of this routine as they prepare to ride away on the beast it spits at Bob. This was NOT in the script. The camel ad-libbed and the reactions of both Hope and Crosby are genuine. The director liked the take so much he used it in the final cut. Secondly, it took forever for the boys to sing the theme song, The Road to Morocco. It seems that every time they got to the lyric " . . . like Webster's Dictionary we're Morocco bound. . . " they'd break up over that lyric and would have to re-shoot the song.

It's a breezy, light-weight, fun evening with Der Bingle and Old Slope Nose. Make yourself a bowl of popcorn, grab a large soda and laugh away for 82 minutes. It'll do you good!

The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (1966)

Tarot, Tarot, Salome!

[9/10 · 25 February 2006]

This inoffensive, gentle, portrait of the-nerdy-coward-turns-hero-and-gets-the-girl popcorn muncher, fits like a comfortable old sweater and never fails to warm your heart as a genuine smile-fest. Set in Rachel, Kansas and shepherding the story through the characters of Midwestern Americana, this picture paints a loving landscape homage to such "plain folk" without ever humiliating, hurting, or upbraiding them. In fact, the humor of this movie is never aimed at these characters, but comes from these characters. It always takes me back to my small town upbringing with wistful delight.

It is the epitome of the family feature. Parents won't have to prescreen this one to insure that their children aren't scarred by any shenanigans; adults and kids alike will find the whole venture entertaining and enjoyable; and it is actually refreshing in this age of graphic violence, filthy dialog, insipid TV sitcom (sub)writing to discover a little gem like this that the whole family can enjoy.

Make no mistake: This is NOT visionary film-making. These are TV people on both sides of the camera doing it quick, doing it efficiently, doing it on time and within budget. So what if it's obviously a stunt man diving down a coal chute (Knotts never had that much hair in his entire life)? However, at no time does this picture look or feel "cheap." The budget was spent wisely and it shows on screen.

Don Knotts simply shines. His character's name may be Luther Heggs in this picture, but that's Barney Fife up there, no ifs, ands, or buts -- right down to his gray Sunday Church-goer suit, bow-tie, and hat. Knotts gets to go through his entire catalog of twitches, shakes, double-takes, hemming and hawing, quiet shyness, high-pitched whining hysteria, and blustery false bravado and it is a treasure to behold! Supporting him is a sea of familiar faces from the Golden Age of Television and they all work together like well oiled machinery! A trivia piece: Robert Cornthwaite who plays the character of Springer is the same Robert Cornthwaite who played the role of Dr. Carrington in the 1951 sci-fi classic The Thing From Another World. Talk about range! This script well never be accused of rivaling Neil Simon for out and out laugh lines. There are none. The truly funny lines are character driven throw aways and subtle observations such as "And they used Bon Ami", "She came home and vibrated for an hour", and "my entire body's a weapon." However, you're not watching this to feast on gag lines -- it's Don Knotts who delivers the laughs with his now-perfected brand of physical comedy (you just may spend the next new days after viewing this shouting out "Atta boy, Luther!" when others speak however).

Vic Mizzy's score is simple but effective. The man who gave us the music for Green Acres and The Addams Family TV shows, does his yeoman's work here, too. I don't care how old you are, when that organ music plays IT'S JUST SCARY! Listen to it closely as the movie comes upon its climax. Mizzy put some substantial Bach-like work into that! The ghost story/murder plot may be weak, but all in all, it's warm, enjoyable, funny, fulfilling, and a welcome addition to any film collection. Atta boy, Luther!

Don Juan DeMarco (1994)

DeMarco, Delightful, Delovely!

[10/10 · 16 February 2006]

A young man, dressed in a "Zorro-like" costume and professing that he is Don Juan. wishes to die at the hands of a fellow swordsman, having had his own heart broken by the only woman he truly ever loved, but lost. "Don Juan" is talked off the high precipice by world weary psychiatrist Dr. Jack Mickler and hauled off to a mental hospital in Queens, New York.

The state is giving the staff 10 days to decide if he should be taken off of medication and released or locked away. Since Dr. Mickler is slated to retire in 10 days, and being strangely drawn to this new study, he lobbies for and gets the young man's case. In the days that follow, as Don Juan relates his life of adventure, love, danger, tragedy, and sensuality, Dr. Mickler realizes that his life has been one of resignation and complacence, and passed along to his loving wife, and that he is steering them toward a retirement equally as empty. What is this spell of Don Juan? Will Mickler release him or confine him? From the moment Johhny Depp begins his opening restaurant seduction, you know you are watching a charming, inoffensive little masterpiece of a romantic comedy. I don't think Marlon Brando has ever been finer in a role that simply requires him "to be." He wears the role of Dr. Mickler like a comfortable, old slipper. Faye Dunaway blends seamlessly into the story as Mrs. Marilyn Mickler. Their scenes together are as real and enjoyable as you can put on celluloid.

Jeremy Leven's script cleverly let's us watch the tug and pull of several conflicts within Brando: Is Depp Don Juan or a Schitzo? Is this the life my wife and I deserve or can there be more? Do I retire in Glory or Humiliation? It's all delightfully done. To watch Don Juan even seduce Dr. Mickler's sense of self, reality, and zenith of life, is charming to watch. Leven is no visionary director, which is a wise choice for this vehicle. It's story and performance driven, not auteur driven.

Be aware of the late Michael Kamen's lilting, dreamy, warm, and haunting score. It adds so much to the tale

There are some fine touches. As Don Juan, Depp is able to turn the head of every female nurse in the institute to the point he's assigned a male nurse -- and Depp victors over that; in the opening it is magic to listen to Depp explain the passions that kissing a woman's hand ignites within her and watch it have its effect; familiar character actor Bob Dishy's twitchy supervisor Showalter, desperately trying to get Mickler to give Depp the damned "meds" and find out what's in store for the board interview on the tenth day, strums the right chords that have made him a dependable performer; every scene Brando and Funaway have together is just a joy to watch; the tales Don Juan relates are romantic, wistful, hopeful, and make you fall into line with Brando: Is this kid crazy or is this for real? Gee, I hope it's real! Yes, the women in Don Juan's "life" are all gorgeous, even his mother and grandmother have aged as beautiful women, but it is the growing emotions and changes he brings to Dr. Miickler that are the heart and soul of the tale. Grab a date. You'll both love this flick!

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Some Nice Cuts of Meat but NOT USDA Prime

[4/10 · 4 February 2006]

An American Werewolf in London starts out with real promise, but soon after the tragic attack on the moors, this picture dims out and only occasionally brightens.

David Kessler and Jack Goodman are tagged as goners from the moment we first see them (lambs to the slaughter) and there are intermittent scenes that either start to "rev up" the suspense and mystery or outright take us for a thrill ride, but in the end John Landis wastes a lot of time on scenes that would have been better replaced with dawning discovery of what is going on and the need to stop it, or unraveling the sinister web of fear in East Proctor where the tragedy began. Instead, he fills the movie with tableau after tableau of David's escalating nightmares; gratuitous shower sex scenes; and far too much time in David's "after feast" scramble to get back home, when that screen time would have been better served on Dr. Hirsch's suspicions or breaking the silence at The Slaughtered Lamb.

Griffin Dunn's scenes as the progressively "ageing" Jack are as hilarious as they are morbid, but when it comes to speaking simple dramatic truths for the plot ( "You will change." "Kill yourself before you kill others.")Dunn loses his sense of drama and the lines are painful to hear.

Jenny Agutter is wonderful, Frank Oz is wasted and his scene unneeded as are the scenes between Agutter and the convalescing child who can only say "No!" All of the scenes I've pointed out so far stop the story dead in it's tracks. Once again we are amateurishly introduced to Scotland Yards answer to Beavis and Butthead -- when are British bobbies going to start taking offense at this stuff? -- in scenes that need severe rewrites, They just don't work and the story slams into neutral.

Yes, there are moments of of truly fine craft: pets instinctively snarling at the normal David (they know what he is); the corpse conference in the porno house; The overwhelming sense of melancholy captured within the film; David's touching long distance phone call; every scene in East Proctor; every single werewolf attack (high marks for us seeing "them" seeing "it" without us seeing "it" and when we do, "it" is just a scary flash-cut); Hirsh's growing sense of dread and urgency, and of course, Rick Baker's mesmerizing and flabbergasting full fledged werewolf transformation scene (it is because of this scene that AMPAS created the category of Outstanding Achievement in Special Effects Makeup). A comment about the makeup effects: SFX techies yearn to have their stuff fully lit with the camera lovingly dwelling on it so they can let people appreciate what they've accomplished. Wisely, this is seldom done, as the human mind can fill in the blanks with much more depth than seeing the real thing and every good director knows this. However, in this film, it would have been nice to open the barn doors on the lighting set ups just a tad so we could get a little better glimpse of what Baker created -- in short, it's too damned dark! The finale is dizzying mayhem and exciting gore. Sadly, the ending leaves us empty. Vacant. Unfulfilled. Unfinished. It's as if Landis suddenly realized he couldn't come up with something poignant or touching, or even teasing (Mr Landis, Kessler and Nurse Price made love together, couldn't you have teased us with Son of American Werewolf in London?) so instead of turning to others for an answer, he just slapped on the closing credits, flipped up the house lights and cried out, "Go Home!" It's a shame to see so much potential ignored.

The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

Phibes: Phine, Phabulous, Phantastic Pheat!

[10/10 · 2 February 2006]

This charmingly evil adventure was Vincent Price's 100th motion picture and as such, it is filled with many references to his past career. Dr. Phibes is disfigured a'la the Price character in House of Wax; he is obsessed with portraits of his dead wife who haunts his soul, a'la his (and Dana Andrews')obsession with the "dead" Laura in the film of the same name; even the name of Phibe's dead wife, Victoria Regina Phibes, is a nod to Price's first Broadway play, Victoria Regina, which he starred in with Helen Hayes. For this one, they pulled out all the stops and it is a doozy! Believed dead from an automobile crash while racing from Switzerland to England to be by his suddenly ill beloved wife, but merely hiding for ten years, the grief-crazed Anton Phibes has amassed a truly ingenious and deliciously terrifying fate for the surgical team he believes murdered his soul mate on the operating table. He is killing them one at a time according to the ancient Curse of the Pharoah's from the Old Testament (after all he is doctor of Theology as well as a concert organist and acoustics expert) and he is saving the best for last for lead physician Dr. Versalius (Joseph Cotton). Assigned the case, Inspector Trout is having the devil of a time uncovering whodunnit and isn't quite certain who his real enemy is: some homicidal maniac or Chief Inspector Waverly, his prissy demanding boss who is driving him to unleashing a curse of his own. The art direction and sets are full blown Art Deco, but with a sad, melancholy tone; Dr. Phibes' Clockwork Wizards are reflections of Phibes himself: beautiful music makers lifeless and just going through the motions; the period music and film's score are impeccable and notice the opening theme played by Phibe's on his magnificent, eye-popping multi-tiered concert organ: Mendelson's March of the Mad Theologians. Now how clever is that, eh? The dialog and patter between the police officers is a joy; Terry-Thomas gives a "full blooded" portrayal of an unsavory Dr. Longstreet, Aubrey Woods is priceless as the proud and humorless goldsmith, and Vincent Price has seldom been finer. The artistry of Price in this vehicle is how he times his throat and jaw movements to his voiced-over dialog -- try it, it's not easy to do, but you can't keep a good acoustics expert down. And behind those red-ringed eyes, beneath that Beatle-styled graying hair, behind the ghastly pale elegant visage of Price's Dr. Anton Phibes lurks a hideous, dark secret which makes for one of the most thrilling and disturbing climaxes in film history. "The organ plays 'til midnight at the large house in Muldeen Square." Don't miss this one!

Theater of Blood (1973)

Price, Shakespeare, and Revenge -- Now THAT'S a Movie!

[10/10 · 2 February 2006]

Theatre of Blood stands next to The Abominable Dr. Phibes as pen-ultimate Vincent Price horror movie entertainment. An elegant blend of performances, sets, art direction, and one of the most ingenious story lines ever conceived, this is a dream come true for every actor who ever got a bad review from a critic! As Edward Lionheart -- self-deluded "artiste" who insists on only performing the works of The Bard -- Price's character botches a dramatic suicide attempt after the Annual Critics' Circle Awards Dinner in front of those critics who perpetually gave him bad notices for his Shakespearean roles. He is revived by a band of "meth" addicts, whom he forms into a rag-tag (and that's being generous) "troupe" and proceeds to murder said critics, one by one, according to the death scene of the very play each critic denounced him in. Each set-up, each ironic similarity to the Bard's actual death scenes, each jewel-like performance is just a joy to behold. It's as grisly as Shakespeare, yet fascinating to watch. The dialog is peppered with darkly clever asides and when Vincent Price performs those Shakesperean roles, you get a glimpse of what a well crafted, classical actor he was never allowed to be. Even better than his impressive Shakespeare speeches is his Lionheart's "What know you of the sweat and toil of a theatrical production?" monologue. In it's own way it is as moving as Henry Fonda's end speech in The Grapes of Wrath. Robert Morley is a stand out as a flaming gay critic (wearing a full pink suit no less), hopelessly enthralled by his two pet "doggies" who is forced to, literally, "eat dog food" as punishment for his review. And let's face it: who else but Vincent Price could rewrite Shakespeare so that The Merchant of Venice gets a death scene? This is a must see motion picture.