The Untouchables

More so than a movie, more so than a story, this flick is an entertainment. It can hardly be called flawless, but when you’re watching it you really couldn’t care less, because it is so engaging. Those flaws come largely—and somewhat ironically given the screenwriter’s reputation for a smartly crafted story—from David Mamet’s script, which indulges in a lot of bland exposition in its dialogue and plays fast and loose not only with the history, but also with just plain good storytelling. Despite his legendary arrogance about his craft, this work suggests Mamet doesn’t merit the rep. So if the storytelling is less than Grade A, why then does this movie work so well? Chalk it up to a host of likable characters, truly exceptional production design—everything looks fabulous, from the Armani clothes to the period cars to the detailed build of every inhabited space—and a plethora of fantastic scenes, including great, well-choreographed action sequences, impressive visuals (director Brian de Palma’s handiwork), and a whole catalog of memorable lines. Get enough of those goodies together and an audience will forgive a movie’s flaws. (One extra perspective added by re-watching this film in 2026: just how much Robert De Niro’s Al Capone stirs up echoes of a certain president.) I don’t know about untouchable, certainly not impeccable—but very, very watchable.

Risky Business

You remember those Star Trek episodes where they wind up in an alternate universe? This movie is like watching the alternate universe version of Ferris Bueller's Day Off. From the Chicago suburbs setting to the madcap teenage adventures to the unrealistically tidy denouement, everything in this movie echoes not just the Ferris film but the entire John Hughes oeuvre—except here it’s all a bit more dangerous, a bit more adult (versus the self-consciously adolescent tone of the Hughes movies), and a bit more serious in disposition. And it all comes from a different auteur (Paul Brickman). Where the overlap is greatest lies in the '80s sensibility that pervades every atom of the world inhabited by the characters in this flick. If anyone tried to remake this movie today it would be impossible; no one active now had the same connection to that particular wavelength, and the story would end up wildly different, and probably not as good. (It would certainly be more violent; the action here practically demands more extreme behavior, and it says something about the relative innocence of those times that this plot plays out as tamely as it does.) Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay work extremely well together here as rich high school boy Joel and Lana the hooker, respectively, Joe Pantoliano is a bit too lightweight as Guido "the killer pimp," while Curtis Armstrong nearly steals the show as Joel’s overly encouraging buddy. The soundtrack features a number of terrific—and contemporary representative—songs, and the Brickman's direction, in certain sequences, approaches something artful now and then (unlike Hughes’ generally more simplistic staging). So which universe is better? Perhaps it’s a reflection of my personal childishness, but it must mean something that I saw most of the Hughes films long ago, while I waited till I was an old man to watch this movie. I guess I prefer the adolescent hijinks over a slightly more downbeat version of coming of age. That’s not a pan—this qualifies as a good movie—but I do tend to choose pleasure over business, risky or otherwise.

An Inspector Calls

Subtlety matters. That’s the lesson here (or at least one lesson), where a story from a more credulous age meets a more modern plot. The presence of personal favorite (and birthday buddy!) Alastair Sim as the titular character, with his inimitable sensibility, really gives this tale a certain verve and dramatic momentum. The story drives towards a seemingly inevitable conclusion, and then there’s a twist that, frankly, I didn’t see coming, but that raises the level of this film from run-of-the-mill whodunnit to something much more clever and thought provoking. The rest of the cast is quite good, too, in presenting the very essence of how hierarchy and status generate the kind of frame of mind that propels certain people to bad actions, if not actual crimes. As a critique of capitalism and wealth and stratified society in general, this film works really well—which is good because as a mystery it is frankly a bit predictable. But when you get to that twist at the end… then you begin to see just how clever the storytelling here actually is.

Hard Boiled

It had been forever since I first watched this movie, so most of it had long since been forgotten—and thus most of the film came across as fresh and surprising. Well, not the hospital sequence—that is simply unforgettable. What truly came as a surprise to me, upon re-viewing, was this movie’s inspirations and antecedents. I didn’t recognize it upon first viewing, but this flick actually comes across as an extended, Hong Kong flavored Miami Vice episode. It’s all there, pretty much from the first scene: the ‘80s music video styling, with plenty of quick cuts and rapid fire beats; the saxophone laden soundtrack; the mismatched partners, with Chow Yun-Fat and Tony Leung Chiu-wai as the Chinese Crockett and Tubbs: one plain and veteran and tough, the other fashionable and somewhat mysterious; and all the cop story cliches, including the rogue inspector, the angry, yelling supervisor, the thin line between the cops and crooks, and even the glamorous port city setting. It becomes clear watching this story how much John Woo, far from being an innovator, owes a great deal as a director to Michael Mann and countless MTV video directors. None of which is to say that this movie gets downgraded in any way—it remains a smashing good time as a viewing experience, with all the action one could want (or even stand), terrific performances by the leads bolstered by strong supporting work, and just enough pathos to make all that violence seem to have real importance. It’s still one of my favorite foreign language films—nothing hard about making that call.

  

Q: The Winged Serpent

This flick is like watching an extended episode of the old Night Stalker series, minus Darren McGavin's Kolchak. The whole vibe is that of a monster movie from the 70s, except this one was hatched in the early 80s. That doesn’t just come through in production values, either. Several movies that I watched before this one featured New York City in the '60s, which was all spiffy and glamorous and, well, clean. This outing, however, showcases the Apple in its gritty, grimy 1980s incarnation—mostly in aerial shots, though there’s street level looks, too—where things were rotting and falling apart and you were as likely to see someone on the streets lying in their filth as you were someone in a mink coat. That vibe works well with the story’s monster angle; you can sort of believe that a monster was living atop the Chrysler Building while Ed Koch was the mayor. Speaking of monsters, of a different sort, the film features one of the better career performances from one of the screen's true chameleons, David Carradine, as the cop who is on the case and looking up the Aztecs for insight. Meanwhile, Michael Moriarty chews up the scenery—almost as much as the titular beastie—as the small timer who tries to make it big with his knowledge of the critter. The special effects aren’t all that special, which is glaring from a movie contemporaneous with E.T. and Poltergeist and especially the New York-based Ghostbusters—but that actually gives the film a certain amount of charm, like the old Ray Harryhausen stop-motion classics of a previous era. It would be overselling the thing to declare this a good movie, in an overall sense, but for a willfully cheesy monster movie, it’s not all that bad for killing an hour and a half. Feel free to kick back in your nest and chew on this one when you have an evening to kill.

D.O.A.

The biggest, and most immediate, flaw with this movie is its star: Edmond O’Brien simply isn’t handsome enough to come across as anything more than a schlub. So you spend most of the first reel wondering why that chick dotes on him so much—its not like he seems to deserve it for his character—and why he is immediately accepted as the life of the literal party next door. Then he learns he’s been poisoned, and the race is on, and from then on the action really begins and the lead’s flaws gradually don’t matter anymore. In other words, it takes a while for this flick to get going, but eventually it grows more engaging and carries the viewer through to its ultimate—and, indeed, preordained—destination. The plot seems kind of flimsy, like it’s a matter of faith that the thin thread that connects O’Brien’s character Bigelow to a distant crime is enough to set all this in motion, but the action scenes, as well as the views of 1940s San Francisco and Los Angeles, make up for the lack of compelling plot points. I don’t think this one really deserves its reputation as a film noir classic (many better movies leap to mind), but for a bit of old time entertainment for a night in front of the tube, it does enough to satisfy. It stays barely alive just long enough to make it worth watching.

One Battle After Another

Well, that’s an interesting concept for a movie: make a film about characters whom only a crazy person would find sympathetic. I guess this is what happens when you start from a position of making sure you have the correct politics, and then work on developing the story from there. That applies especially so when those correct politics echo the most deranged fever dreams of campus justice warriors. The result here is that the story’s villains are plainly villainous, but the putative heroes are simply bundles of uncontrolled animal urges who are not any more admirable than the other side. Other relatively minor issues grow out of a muddled timeline—the tale clearly has contemporary happenings on its mind, but includes a time shift that requires an origin point much further back in the day—and a central relationship that is preposterous on its face. So much for the problems. On the other hand, one must acknowledge that the plot has good pacing, the performances are solid all around, the script does not shy away from any particular difficulties, and—lastly but certainly not least—the core story in its human dimensions overcomes the film’s self-inflicted wounds to grow increasingly more compelling as the narrative moves forward. Also, the movie deserves credit for presenting a most compelling argument for the fact that security and liberty are diametrically opposed forces; increased emphasis on the former necessarily undermines the latter. That’s a political statement that is very much worth making these days, more so perhaps than the blanket canonization of one population cohort versus the demonization of another. So while this flick would hardly qualify as a Best Picture nominee (let alone winner) but for it tickling the strings of Hollywood’s preferred viewpoints, it must merit consideration as a good to maybe even excellent film—it’s just not an example of greatness. So don’t take that PURR as more than it really is. As usual, the real neverending battle is the fight to get people to stop overhyping whatever catches their momentary, acculturated but unrelated fancy. 

Mr. Holmes

Ian McKellen makes a pretty good old Sherlock, so much do that this film makes one wonder what he might have done with the role in his younger days. I doubt he could have unseated the legendary Jeremy Brett, but he could have been at least an adequate substitute. Here he plays the consulting detective in his last days, approaching death and loaded with regrets, and the whole package delivers both the keenness we’ve come to expect from the famous man and a vulnerability that reminds us that even the greatest of humankind are not without their flaws (even if the representation is of a fictional character). Laura Linney as the old Holmes’s housekeeper and Milo Parker as the housekeeper's son and the detective's unlikely compatriot provide quality supporting work. The story delivers the kind of logical flourishes one expects from a tale of Sherlock solving—or in this instance, trying to remember—a long ago case, though given the circumstances of Holmes being in his deep twilight, the plot simply could not include the level of action and danger that were hallmarks of the canon. No matter—you just have to be satisfied with a movie that entertains and intrigues on a quieter, subtler level than the usual. There’s reason enough to stay on the trail of this flick. 

Bugonia

Well, they never showed that on the history channel. Those of us who are well-versed in the various themes of paranormal paranoia will have little trouble navigating this narrative, but I suspect many others will find this story to be a real head-spinner, possibly so much so that it may take them out of the movie. If one focuses on the dynamics of the performances, that should steady the metaphorical ground under the viewer’s feet—and that is a good strategy, given that the verbal and emotional duel between Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons forms the core of this movie’s appeal. Admittedly, there isn’t a lot else to work with here, as the film is a study in interiority, but the leads do such a good job of giving their characters life, detail and plausibility that you can ignore the bits of the plot that are clearly telegraphed and the ones that don’t entirely add up. (You'll be helped in that if you don’t have a rigidly logical mind, and most people don’t). So, good acting, a brisk pace, and a tolerable amount of preachiness add up to a solid cinematic trip—whether you’re of this earth or not. 

Nobody 2

See, these people understand one of life’s fundamental principles: violence is always the answer. Conflict inevitably follows one of two paths: resolution or escalation. And this story decidedly leans towards the latter. Bob Onenkirk’s Hutch is a man who simply can’t avoid escalation, even when he wants to, and that produces both some rumination on the nature of one’s being, and a metric ton of cinematic carnage of the mostly amusing type. The proceedings don’t start out particularly promising, but soon enough the mayhem starts, and it includes not just an orgy of entertaining terrible things—or, perhaps, terribly entertaining things—but also some laugh-out-loud visual humor. The family angle plays well enough, but it never gets in the way of Hutch throwing down in his creative and oddly indestructible way. Christopher Lloyd provides able if limited support as the grandfather who got this train rolling, Connie Nielsen starts out as a long-suffering wet blanket but eventually rallies to stand tall and enjoy some mayhem of her own, and Sharon Stone gives one of the most scenery-chewing performances ever committed to media (before the scenery gets blown up, that is). It’s not a great movie by any measure, but this flick does exceed expectations and entertain the audience, especially so for a sequel. And who can resist that? Well, you know… 

Wake Up Dead Man

Word of warning: don’t watch this movie if you’re sleepy. I did, and wound up dozing off about 45 minutes in. Is that a commentary on the quality of the film, or just a product of circumstance? Maybe a bit of both. For sure, this story takes its time getting to the heart of the proceedings. That leisurely pace gives the movie a sense of being—somewhat appropriate for a murder mystery—rather lifeless. The film does eventually get going, and in doing so presents an interesting aspect of the script: some intriguing ruminations on faith and the church and their value and meaning. Plus you get to watch more of Daniel Craig inhabiting the character of Benoit Blanc, which is good entertainment. Still, I can’t help but think that this entry in Rian Johnson’s series is a touch below the previous outings. Whether that marks a death knell for the franchise or represents just a momentary dip remains at this point a question still to be answered. Not dead yet, perhaps, but in need of a little more energy—something you can say about your correspondent as well. 

Glass Onion

A few years ago, it seemed like Daniel Craig was certain to be remembered as a guy who played James Bond. Maybe that still holds, but a couple more of these films—we're at three as of this writing—and it may no longer be a sure thing. His Benoit Blanc is arguably a more memorable character, and you can’t deny that it is a persona that is truly Craig’s own, rather than a borrowed or inherited legacy. It helps, too, that these Knives Out movies are good, entertaining, fun and funny, and blessed with a lot of current (at least) cultural currency. In this edition, the story works well, and the cast and setting have plenty of interesting facets (though here the collected characters border on caricature). The fly in this ointment lies in the focus on—and critique of—the ultra rich and their natures. The view has merit and the parody pulls few punches, but it means spending a lot of time with some really unpleasant characters, even if just representations thereof. That aspect of the story does get a bit distracting, one might say…though one can argue the critique is not so much a distraction as the point of the presentation in the first place. I guess it depends on how much you care about the mystery aspect of a mystery, versus character, setting and mood. Me, I’m not so much on the whodunnit angle, so my viewing mind tends to shift towards the other story elements. It works here, though I’m not sure it would in every story. As it is, you can just focus on Craig and let him be your guide to a decent way to kill a couple of hours. I guess this movie doesn’t exactly shatter any expectations, but the fact that it works overall is crystal clear. 

Winter's Bone

The feel good movie of the season it ain’t. This is like watching a Dorothea Lange picture set in motion, and with an equal measure of sociological implications in the viewing. Most prominent in this viewer’s thought: the remarkable persistence of this sort of living, even into our postmodern, allegedly advanced world. Some minor details might be different—meth rather than moonshine, for instance—but otherwise this could just as easily be a story from the Depression years as the 21st century. And that suggests the question: how do people stay in this state, seemingly without any aspiration toward some better kind of life? The implication, if not the actual answer, is that even if aspiration does exist in this sort of setting, then it has little efficacy in most people's lives. That must be due to people giving up—and, based on what we see here in a fairly true-to-life telling, then the give-up must typically happen at a remarkably young age. That's depressing. Apart from such cultural musings, what stands out here is Jennifer Lawrence in her breakout role, which was helped immensely by her bringing personal verisimilitude to her character and that character’s journey through the ins and outs of a tricky, dangerous subculture. She really shines here, both in this context and also in terms of being the very picture of someone who was bound to break out. You can put Lawrence in as many stocking caps and hunting jackets and other countrified accoutrements as you like, but the embryonic movie star underneath still shows through. Again, this is not exactly a crowd-pleaser, but the film tells a strong story with realism, fine acting, and a note-perfect script that keeps the tale moving and comes across as spot-on throughout. If this vision reflects your upbringing, my condolences; if you’re just visiting through the magic of cinema, take it in and leave with plenty to think about. 

Ghost in the Shell

Style and substance, yet ironically little soul. The warning about a cybernetic future is well taken, though at this point it feels both derivative and a bit too late. One can’t help but mentally compare this movie in real time to the Matrix films, with their similar themes and at least congruent visuals, but the more widely known—and successful—iteration of this vision injected touches of humor and humanity into the technological spectacle, whereas this work is largely grim and almost as mechanical as the very thing that it wants to warn us about. Even the opportunity to ogle Scarlett Johansson, in various painted-on get-ups, only provides a thin layer of extra entertainment to these proceedings. I guess cyber dystopias only have so much appeal. Who would have thought that (besides anyone with a soul)?

Paper Moon

As comedies go, this one is about as low-key as it gets. Though the story clearly has a lot of humor embedded in the characters and circumstances, nothing ever really reaches laugh out loud funny. It’s more the kind of movie you watch with a sly grin constantly on your face. The film’s reputation clearly rests in large part on Tatum O’Neil’s Oscar-winning performance; the astonishing spectacle of a child that young playing a role that well definitely perks up the interest level. So too does director Peter Bogdanovich’s overall vision for the story, in particular the recreation and evocation of Depression-era America, not to mention the rural country in all its simplicity, guilelessness and homeliness (in any and every sense of that term). Also worth noting: this flick breaks the rule that films named after songs are generally bad. Perhaps this isn’t quite the classic the early opinion once had it, but it still gives the viewer plenty of entertainment value for a nickel and dime cost. It won’t be make believe if you believe in it. 

Novocaine

This is a movie built entirely around someone saying, “wouldn’t it be cool if...” Sadly, the answer is mostly, “no, it wouldn’t.” It turns out that a movie where not just the villain but also the hero, and pretty much everyone else, is an unstoppable killing machine isn’t as entertaining as some might believe. You watch this flick constantly thinking about all the holes in the concept, every little thing that makes the entire story impossible from the get-go. Rarely does anything in this film ever come as a surprise to the audience, whereas many moments and actions are entirely predictable. While this is ostensibly an action comedy, the actual laughs are few and far between. Notably, many of the elements herein—gaming, tattoos, difficult interpersonal relationships—are completely congruent with the current zeitgeist. That probably makes the story all the more representative—and makes it all the more disturbing that, ultimately, this movie boils down to an exercise in vicarious cruelty and sadism. The one redeeming feature is the performances of the cast—mostly no-names beyond the relatively established Jack Quaid—all of whom are fairly believable in their roles; that’s a bright spot, given that movies that feature a half-baked concept often compound the trouble with bad acting. In the end, the protagonist may not feel any pain, but any who watch this one will feel discomfort, frustration, and probably a bit of anger, too—at the very least. 

The Front Page

As has been noted before, the past is like a foreign country that you can never visit again. Contemplating that fact is often the root for nostalgia, but in some cases, it conveys a sense of relief. That’s what roughly the first third of this movie is like; it takes about as long as that to figure out just what the hell this thing is all about, and to wade through all of the baffling trappings of olden (1931) days. Eventually, the story coalesces into a coherent vision that mostly represents the reality that “fake news” and media manipulation and political/press corruption are nothing new. Though this is a comedy—really, a satire—laugh-out-loud moments are few and far between, such that the real value of this tale comes from documenting how appropriate is one’s cynicism regarding the press and the powerful (and especially where they intersect). The film’s archaic elements can be a bit of a challenge for modern viewers, but for the most part the effort pays off, if only to learn the lesson that paeans to the prestige of the Fourth Estate are mostly humbug. Remember that when you watch the news these days, oh boy.

Killers of the Flower Moon

This is an exceedingly difficult call to make. The issue right out in front: this movie is simply too long. The running time, combined with its languid pace, makes it a trial to keep focused on the story in its many beats. A healthy dose of economy in storytelling would have served the tale much better. Has this been a sweeping epic of grand scenes the length may have been forgivable, but this really is a much more intimate story than the largess implies. Also, lingering in the background of the whole thing is the sense that this is yet another example of Scorsese and De Niro making a big crime movie—practically to the point of seeing obsession in the repeated efforts. That interjects a feeling that we’ve seen all this before, in a sense, and dulls the feeling of there being anything truly fresh here. Finally, I note that the score features throughout a pulsating drum line—likely the contribution of the film’s musical director, the late Robbie Robertson—that may convey tension and drama...in smaller doses, but that starts to get on the viewer's nerves after a while. So much for the negatives. On the other hand, the performances are very good, everything looks fantastic—including the recreations of the 1920s milieu—the script is solid, with lots of great dialogue, and above all, this is a fascinating story that deserves to be told. It just should have been told with a little more brevity. If you have patience and are willing to make the big commitment this film requires, then I think it is worth a recommendation. But just know going in that you will be asked to sit and focus on this subject for a very long time in order to take in its full measure.

Wolfs

An enjoyable bit of crime fluff. The story is a little thin, but that’s hardly the point of this operation; it’s mostly about having Pitt and Clooney playing off each other in a battle of aging paragons of coolness, in a context that is, if not a legitimate heir, then at least a bastard offspring of Tarantino’s best works. Neither protagonist wins or loses, choosing instead to share in the good lines and smooth turns. This movie won’t go down as an indelible example of these stars at their zenith; it’s more the sort of thing that gets made in a top-class star’s in-between moments. As it turns out, that’s quite good enough to kill 107 minutes in an entertaining manner. 

Joker: Folie à Deux

This movie routinely confounds expectations. Usually, that’s a recipe for something interesting, and in this case I think that mostly works out here—although it is plain why some viewers might not have been particularly enchanted with this result. The execution of this flick's fantasy conceit is uneven; some of the songs are almost apologetic intrusions into a standard narrative, while others come onto the screen as full-blown set pieces à la traditional musicals. That conveys the sense that the filmmakers really didn’t know what to do with their ideas, or at the very least that they weren’t convinced of their own concept. You have to wonder, then, how such a concept was likely to go over with viewers. At least the performances are good; both Phoenix and Gaga acquit themselves well in their roles, although one suspects that the overall experience might have been better if his character had been more the dynamic Joker and less the relatively passive Arthur Fleck. In the end, this is a different, and a mostly welcome, odd spin on the comic book genre—not awful by any means, engaging throughout (I was never bored through the running time), and at least somewhat creative and ambitious, though perhaps not really all that necessary in the final analysis. If you’re going to take the stage, you should open with a strong joke, then finish with something equally good. This movie mini franchise got the first half of that right, but offers a closer that’s good for a chuckle, not a roaring mic drop.