Category Archives: Crime

Blink Twice (2024).

The funereal pace of the exposition does it no favours; it was painful enduring this and it didn’t stop being dull for a long time in this never-ending crawl to the big reveal that you knew was coming from the off. All the characters were daft and vexing beyond belief, the type of folk I’d go out of my way to annoy – petty pursuits like sprinkling a bit of the ol’ Cyanide in their cocktails for a private wee chortle. 

The premise didn’t go anywhere unexpected and any social commentary was hamstrung by conformity to genre convention and reliance on cheap splatter … which is all the movie really is.

But it did get moderately entertaining once the faffing around ceased. 

2/5. 

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Under Siege 2: Dark Territory (1995).

I don’t care that Steven Seagal is a conceited asshole with zero acting talent, Under Siege 2: Dark Territory (1995) is a bloody great movie – funny, thrilling, and better than the first outing. This was when Sensei Seagal’s ego was bananas but could be justified through bone-crunching mayhem that was pulled off so well, you believe it when Casey Ryback doesn’t even get a scratch on him after 90 minutes of knife fights.

Not these days. He’s a fucking pie presently.

Bye for now.

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Longlegs (2024).

Delightfully throwback opening credits, recalling a time when cinema recognised the importance of setting the tone, immediately caught the eye – a rarity. And it all looks incredible, every shadowy frame an image that could have been from David Fincher. 

It suffices to say that I was fully engrossed in this splendid horror, which was as unpredictable as they come. 

We also have a barking Nicolas Cage. 

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David Lynch was cinema at its finest.

David Lynch – master of the surreal, pioneer of pastiche, maestro of the grotesque, visionary purveyor of all things weird, mood magic man, subterranean cinematic dreamcatcher. His movies were events, labyrinth journeys into the unconscious.

Thanks for the memories. And there are a lot. 

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Out of the Furnace (2013). Sigh.

A remarkable cast wasted on this wholly unremarkable drivel, the script fished from the residue of 1,000 superior crime dramas. It was a mightily depressing watch, such is its tendency to wallow in muck, everyone in it a miserable bastard with complementary chip on shoulder. It’s also not even well made. I can see what it’s getting at – Rust Belt setting, forgotten communities, crime the only way out, etc. But it’s so identikit and dull and the whole thing is by the numbers. Stick on Killing Them Softly (2012) instead, similar themes but far superior writing.

Interestingly (barely), the makers were sued by an indigenous tribe negatively depicted in the movie.

My contention is that everyone involved in this should have been sued for it being so shite. 

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Marshall (2017).

I thought this would be total crap, a patronising ‘message movie’.

But it was fine. It held interest and serves as a gateway to a historical time and place that continues to be contentious. The main actor passed away recently, which is a shame as he was tremendously good in this. It’s nothing special but as a genre piece it’s a decent watch.

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The Maltese Falcon (1941).

Bogart’s Sam Spade is fascinating to watch. His business partner is murdered and he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by this loss, but his jaded schtick runs the full gamut, distorts itself, the lad by the end a kaleidoscope of emotions (some real, some not so) in this riot of a film noir. I’ve never been so engrossed by the pursuit of an ornament. There is a grand metaphor in there somewhere.

Pristine deep-focus cinematography, mainly of conversations between shady characters in rooms cocooned by Venetian blinds, the occasional appearance of a pistol, typifies this period of noir. But this is as riveting as it gets. You remain captivated as you’re constantly trying to interpret what a person really wants and what their words actually reveal about themselves – you become a detective, deciphering signs, actively reading language.

This is a deserved classic. You cannot take your eyes off Bogart as he’s so unusual in look and delivery. 

And Peter Lorre’s deranged eyes were born for celluloid.

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The Net (1995). Oh dear.

Not to to be confused with Dragnet (1987), just in case you are like me and somehow conflate Sandra Bullock into Tom Hanks and Dan Aykroyd, this is all about that newly crowned girl next door (Ms. Bullock) in her post bomb-on-a-bus pomp showing us all manner of technological wonders in this hackneyed cyber thriller.

A promising premise – the dangers of our dependence on computer systems – that goes nowhere in particular, you know you’re in for a hard time when the opening scene features Sandra Bullock as a shy loner ordering pizza off the Internet for only herself, as an Annie Lennox remix of ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ accompanies a panning shot of her apartment.

There is a lot wrong with all of that, but the main part is that it’s 1995 and Sandra Bullock is on her own, ordering pizza from a computer that we used in primary school to play solitaire on. Yeah, right! This movie also features one of the worst chase scenes in a thriller ever, and this at a funfair of all places – an insult to funfairs because the fun was non-existent. 

You’re best viewing this as a movie about 1995 and how stupid we all were. I’m certain that future generations will look upon us with such smug glee. 

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From Russia with Love (1963).

For sheer entertainment alone this is a 5/5 but it’s suffused with added value because of its influence on its 007 progeny. More so than Dr. No (1962), this is the prototypical Bond, all the ingredients coalescing but not at the expense of plot or pacing. It’s a Bond 101, and few subsequent entries have been up to scratch.

Stunning vistas, flawlessly executed set pieces, it’s at its core a glorious spy thriller with intentional, which always helps when the jokes are not by accident, comedic elements that aren’t too outlandish. Even a scene as basic as Bond checking into a hotel and casually scouring the room for listening devices somehow dazzles.

And Lotte Lenya whacks Robert Shaw in the stomach with a knuckleduster.

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The Hitcher (1986).

The landscape offers a lot to work with, ripe vistas aplenty, but there’s no enduring image from the cinematography side of things. 

I was expecting tension and chills; this was mainly boring and unimaginative. Nothing seemed to be at stake despite all the bloodshed, and the lack of any dynamic between the driver and the demented hitchhiker is a letdown. I couldn’t locate a personality in anyone here in what in essence is a variation of the same violent road encounter occurring every 10 minutes.

The laziness of writing pisses me off, be this in a slimy thriller like we have here or a mega bucks operation. It’s not difficult to insert a few character traits and attempt to build depth but nah, apparently it’s too much of a Herculean task. 

Rutger Hauer could be a scary man, though. And what happened to C. Thomas Howell? 

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