Author Archives: Ben Gould

American Made (2017).

With his natural, unforced charm and (still) boyish looks, it’s easy for many to dismiss Cruise as being of a limited range, a man of few talents but maximising them. It’s a nonsense argument when you scroll through the magnificent works and superlative performances. You can name at least 15 films worthy of repeat viewings, some verified modern classics. I don’t think he’s ever had a bad role, and to lazily use a well-worn idiom, he has aged like a fine wine.

American Made (2017) is rollicking fun, an ’80s throwback which is amusing as Cruise remains an ’80s throwback but he’s an ’80s throwback … throwing back … the present. What I’m trying to get at is: he’s still relevant.

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Tron (1982) is better than almost all movies about computers despite the stinking … special effects.

When I say special effects, I mean that the CGI (is it?) on display is the worst ever but it works to perfection because of how daft it looks. This was the way things were back in 1982; the movie is a remnant of its time more than anything else.

It’s the only movie that doesn’t seem outlandish yet it is. Jeff Bridges being zapped into a computer is somehow credible in this joyously entertaining film. As for the sequel – terrible dialogue, boring cast, but a Daft Punk score for the ages. Bangers!

Ozark – another eventual letdown.

It started so well and the jam they are in certainly has its enthralling moments initially but the series soon ran out of ideas, each successive sticky situation more risible and repetitive. Though the characters remain credible, their incessant switching allegiances started to grind my gears, and so too did Laura Linney’s Lady Macbeth impersonation; probably the most embarrassing I’ve seen, I’ve been more terrified of an unflushed shite in a KFC.

There isn’t really anyone worth caring about, especially as they all get increasingly Walter White. Unlike Breaking Bad, this, aside from a bit of Harris Yulin banter, is bereft of humour of any kind.

The most vexing: the characters’ addiction to addressing one another by name EVERY FUCKING SENTENCE.

“Listen, Marty.”

“I am listening, Wendy.”

“I don’t think you are, Marty.”

No one speaks like this.

Like the later seasons of House of Cards (US), I lost interest in everything so committed the Wikipedia thing.

No regrets.

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Better Call Saul was the best.

Well, that was one magisterial journey. A flawless show, every episode a veritable treat for the eyes and ears. To be just that bit more reflective, it was better than Breaking Bad, though dependent upon it.

Nothing much else to add, really.

Magical.

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The Painted Veil (2006).

The music of Alexandre Desplat can elevate even the most prosaic of scenes but the exposition here would have been just as glorious without his Malick-esque melodies. It’s the cherry on top, though.

I was intrigued from the start, and the movie never faltered in its pacing and performances, the way in which its characters continued to evolve and adapt. The stylistic flourishes, too, were a surprise, as this sort of fare is usually a static camera affair.

Naomi Watts is captivating, and Edward Norton is as far away from an Edward Norton performance as you can get. What a talent he is, as is the seemingly omniscient Diana Rigg.

A lot of these period pieces are a grind, the usual stiff yarns concerning archetypes without agency simply reacting to events. This is different, with characters influencing their calamitous environment, or at least trying to. It also felt like another time and place, not merely an attempt to depict one.

It’s so entertaining, and yet it shouldn’t be.

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Wolf (1994) – where was this buried?

It’s like it never existed, a forgotten flick, a secret wee thing that few know of. But it’s very good.

A standard horror premise mixed with office politics, James Spader chomping on the Yuppie remnants of his late ’80s heyday, and Jack just loving his life. If I think of a black comedy/thriller done well, Wolf (1994) is sinking its fangs into my mind. Jack could do any role and be great; he’s not capable of ever being uninteresting.

And Ross Geller is in this. Jack steals his handcuffs.

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Prey (2022).

This was way better than I expected – the bar is low these days.

It got so good at one point, I was awaiting a Predator and protagonist temporary collaboration against a truculent tribe. But it lost the momentum, as most movies do.

We also have the worst ever acting job (ever) from a bear, and a highly irritating and needless appropriation of a classic line (“If it bleeds ….”).

And a most unsubtle score rip-off from The Last of the Mohicans (1992).

However, the film has its moments for 55 minutes so it gets a 3/5 on my wee scale.

Definitely better than taking a shit.

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Unlawful Entry (1992).

Ray Liotta was for so long the go-to menacing nutjob. Even when he’s not trying to be creepy, it doesn’t work. Henry Hill, for example, never seems quite right despite being one of the more normal Goodfellas. Liotta is a right maniac in this one, and it works perfectly.

The crime-ridden early ’90s Los Angeles, corrupt cops, home invasion paranoia, and a creepy Ray Liotta – talk about capturing the zeitgeist. After watching this I looked up Rodney King just to reacquaint myself with the period.

This is a thoroughly unsettling movie, not just because of the era it’s from and depicts, but the downright creepiness of Liotta in a police uniform.

The word of the day is: creepy.

It works.

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Hustle (2022).

Formulaic but brilliant, this demonstrates Adam Sandler’s considerable acting chops even better than Punch Drunk Love (2002) or Uncut Gems (2019), because this character is more complex, and dare I say it, multi-layered.

I know fuck all about basketball. I don’t get it. I find it dull. This made the sport interesting.

It’s the central relationship which is the heart, an initial association of convenience which ultimately goes beyond the professional. It wasn’t Mickey and Rocky but it aped that well.

Nothing special here but good enough, a proper movie with no pretensions; it knows what it is.

And it comes with obligatory mental training montage.

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Death Becomes Her (1992). Visual effects. Nothing else.

This movie is more interested in visual trickery than the characters or plot, of which there are none. I didn’t see the point of any of it, and it took an age to get going. It was also needlessly violent, the worst cartoon kind, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn whacking each other with shovels particularly daft. Some of the reviews from the time describe the film as cruel and heartless, which is entirely accurate. It’s meant to be a comedy. I only laughed at myself for not turning the thing off.

An uncredited cameo from Sydney Pollack aside, I hated it.

Next.

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