This film is pretty much unique in its mastery of tone, a sense that you really don’t know whether it’s a drama or a comedy or where it’s going – it’s almost two or three genres in one and it’s informative to read the director’s quote about how they managed to achieve this no small feat: ‘With Grosse Pointe Blank I shot three movies simultaneously. We shot the script as written, we shot a mildly understated version, and we shot a completely over-the-top version, which usually was what was used.’
There’s a sweeping theme here of trying to recapture something that was never really there in the first place, the most thoughtful treatment of nostalgia ever to feature in what is ostensibly a comedy with gunfights. Only a peak John Cusack – the only ’80s geek to graduate to the postmodern – could carry it off. And as High School reunions go, ‘Mirror in the Bathroom’ should accompany each event:
A flawless movie. Even Dan Aykroyd is great in it and I generally cannot stand the lad.
I saw this in the cinema when it came out and thought it amusing but couldn’t quite articulate why. Now I get it: you’re just laughing at these ‘characters’ and how stupid they are. I don’t find it funny to laugh at this. Almost every scene is an extended shot of our aloof protagonist doing something unusual and not being aware of it. That’s about it. Another one of these self-consciously ‘quirky’ movies about absolutely nothing – celebrating geekdom is not a subject matter – that goes quite literally nowhere. And I hate Jamiroquai.
Another gem from yesteryear best stayed away from, Willow (1988) is embarrassing at times. There’s so much wrong going on, from a village of midgets to Val Kilmer in a dress to the ropy special effects to the overbearing James Horner score which he’s regurgitated for decades. It’s so lethargically paced, badly scripted and ultimately derivative that I’m even questioning the sanity of … myself for once thinking it a decent way to spend two hours.
The characters are some of the most thinly drawn I’ve seen, and so too is the realm or kingdom they inhabit. It’s just lakes and hills and a few castles. Boring. Shockingly, it’s a PG-certificated film. I find this rather beguiling as the violence on display is way too much for the little ones (kids, not midgets). There is one thing to recommend, though: Val Kilmer briefly metamorphoses into a pig.
The title was a joke (haha). Nah, this is as dead as I’ve ever seen it, even if it’s an early morning snap. The Mash Tun over the road – not a bad wee pub that. I expect it will be rammed on a daily basis once the Epoch of Corona ends.
This place and I go way back. It’s gone through so many transformations over the years that I wish I had taken a yearly snap just to document the evolution. Highlight? I once saw a bloke in scuba gear doing backstrokes … in February.
I’ve never seen it in the cinema, which is a personal and public tragedy considering the following have been witnessed to a munching of popcorn and the intake of a sneaked-in batch of Blue WKDs: a Transformers movie, a crime-against-humanity Predator crapper, Cuba Gooding Jr. looking after kids, the list goes on and on.
The weirdest protagonist to ever feature in a movie of this kind. For 1962 it’s crazy the stuff on display – his sadomasochism and homosexual leanings, the rampant ego for a hero, his being a conduit for others’ ambitions, a conflicted symbol of British Imperialism, a puppet and a master. You have to read a bit about the context of the depicted period and ’60s Britain to understand the movie beyond its sheer scope and spectacle, the beauty of every frame. It’s also one of the few examples of the great man theory of history actually being given the full treatment. This bloke was certainly someone special yet David Lean in no way kowtows to the legend.
There is not a single female character because there simply weren’t any in the story. These days you’d have a token love interest or a signposted lesbian (or whatever) operating field artillery from the back of a camel. It’s what separates then from now. The insertion of silly politics into storytelling will be the death knell of this genre. I also imagine today we’d be subjected to a CGI bonanza replete with a script dumber than ….Wait a minute, Peter O’Toole was in Troy (2004) and that horrible film pretty much defines the post-Gladiator (2000) historical epic barren landscape.
This one-of-a-kind experience, though, can’t even be emulated. It’s a journey, a narrative about a hundred different things, even stuff you project onto by convincing yourself that’s what that scene means. For me, it’s always been about losing your marbles in an unfamiliar land and taking it back home with you for the banter and the scrapbook.
My favourite scene: the wondrous Claude Rains running his pinky across the table to inspect the dust on it. It’s so subtle and hilarious and just incredible. I am praying for a cinema release. The intermission, that bonkers sequence of black with Maurice Jarre’s bombastic score from the outer regions of audacity, that’s where I’ll sip my Blue WKD.
