I watched this abomination of a movie because someone (British) said “blank cheque” on the bus, but that’s by the by.
The viewing was a major mistake, for this was definitely one of the worst nostalgia trips I’ve subjected myself to.
Horrible little film.
The master of the slow zoom and the overlapping conversation, frequently several happening at once, Robert Altman’s very amusing, freewheeling thriller is half satire, a director taking the absolute piss and slandering his own environment.
It’s peerless entertainment and one of his most enduring works.
Just brilliant, absolutely magical scenes, and that score is quite special:
I’m always dubious when it comes to horror as there is so much detritus a mere click away; this genre is uniquely positioned to beat a successful premise to death, a running theme for all of celluloid and beyond.
This shocked me (horror!) by not being shit. It was disconcerting from the very start, an expert lesson in how to develop a creepy atmosphere and build chills. The director evidently studied the winning tropes of modern horror and all the usual pitfalls were avoided, as there are genuinely terrifying moments.
Cinemas are suited for fare like this, not a laptop screen smaller than a squirrel. I can only apologise.
Impressive movie.
Thank you, IMDB. This has bothered me for decades:
It’s definitely not Scream (1996). It’s certainly not I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997). It’s not even Cherry Falls (1999). This is not good in any way, as derivative and formulaic as they come, a copycat slasher from the late ’90s churn-them-out age. These pictures are meant to scary, or at least attempt to purport to be. This mess isn’t, but remains a peculiarity because tripe like this was once made. And continues to be shat out in great buckets.
The movie’s risible/mad premise is that all these students of a certain university campus sit around chatting constantly about urban legends in a movie called Urban Legend, even discussing urban legends with a class lecturer who looks scarily like Freddy Krueger. How postmodern! With all the urban legend-inspired murders of thoroughly stabbable ‘characters’ played by C-list irritants, there isn’t time for anything else; not a single conversation in this pointless morsel of trash alludes to the wider world, a reality outside of their wee sorority of … urban legends.
Regrettably, Brad Dourif stutters up regurgitating his Billy Bibbit act from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975). Weird.
I hate urban legends but I hated this movie more.
With the films of Alan J. Pakula, The Conversation (1974) sits right in the middle of Watergate as a dark inspiration, and you couldn’t get a more clinical, claustrophobic portrait of paranoia.
Hackman is masterful. His character’s job and the perfectionism he demands is his entire life, and once he makes mistakes, succumbing to emotions that compromise his skills, he is at a loss, a petrified wreck, playing his saxophone in a torn-to-pieces-apartment.
It’s one of Coppola’s few original scripts and one wonders at the output if he did more of that. There is so much going on in this film, from the moody low-key jazz score to the extraordinary sound design, and it’s a movie obsessed with the peculiarities of its era.
The twist ending is just shocking and I must confess I never saw it coming.
And Harrison Ford is in it.
Well, the movie’s score is memorable. And we have a macho Kurt Russell constantly sparking up fags and yuppie James Spader doing a bit of bumbling. And that androgynous person from The Crying Game (1992). And the sheer comedy that is Roger Ebert’s review. Oh, he hated this movie and I can understand why.
Stargate (1994) is certainly stupid, oh aye. Really, really stupid.
It’s so stupid I recommend it.
By its climax, it descends into the rather ludicrous in such a far-fetched way that even someone with no basic knowledge of warfare would be aghast at, though it never entertains the farcical.
But I forgive its transgressions as it’s so well put together, the action – no-holds-barred as one would expect from the trailers – is ferocious, and the characters all have their arcs. Most of them aren’t even likeable, which adds to the realism the movie achieves for much of its duration.
And stranger things have happened in war, so our five-member tank crew holding off what seems to be an entire SS division for half a day isn’t that outrageous and insane.
I think.
A pointless excursion that feels numbingly déjà vu, this was devoid of invention, bereft of purpose.
A universe now steeped in desperate irony and improbably self-aware characters, this is just another messy, insipid episode from a never-ending series of cape-infused guff. It’s a draining affair, hopeless writers attempting and failing (miserably) a high-wire juggling act that comprises appealing to Every. Single. Demographic. Possible.
And there is no solid whole, no soul. This isn’t even a film but merely a recognisable image, a go-to archetype to flog when the chips are down. How many iterations of this wank are needed? It needn’t matter. There will be another mortifying reboot by the end of this sorry decade.
Superman? Super … fuck off.
I lasted 40 minutes.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 