I usually hate revisionism because it’s almost always ‘crafted’ through the lens of ridiculous zeitgeist lefty reevaluations of a now controversial time. Artistry comes second with this crusade. They are just message movies and aesthetically worthless.
This one looked ominous. However, it was surprisingly almost brilliant. Bale was … Bale. He is titanium. He cannot be broken. This did baffle me a wee bit as with a lot of these flicks we have the flawed protagonist die at the end because of his sins and he somehow finds catharsis in this. Not so here. Which is just fabulous.
I say almost great. There aren’t any memorable moments or sequences which wander out of formula. But it’s masterfully shot and put together. And I hate most movies.
It happened somehow – Cage became the best action movie star ever.
He, or a group of wise men, created the Cage Blockbuster Event. Name me a better trilogy than The Rock (1996), Con Air (1997), and Face/Off (1997). He is pure charisma, 100% mental, and in desperate need of a decent bout of hair surgery. These are extraordinary action pictures, repeat viewings, … action art. It’s the Golden Age of Cage.
He makes so many stinkers these days, the same shit over and over again. But just when you think he’s consigned himself forever to the straight-to-video dungeon, he pops up in something like Mandy (2018), away with the fairies, off his tits, barking mad, Extreme Cage. It has to be method. But it probably isn’t.
“In Cage’s hands, cartoonish moments are imbued with real emotion and real emotions become cartoons. Everything – from individual scenes down to single lines of dialogue – feel like they have been embraced as opportunities for creation. Cage is usually interesting even when his films are not. He is erratic and unpredictable; he is captivating and he is capricious. He is a performer. He is a troubadour. He is a jazz musician.” – Luke Buckmaster in The Guardian.
If you’re going to watch ‘companion piece’ movies then these two barking mad features are the ones for you.
The only thing really connecting them is the title, the film from 2009 the most loose ‘remake’ ever. Harvey Keitel goes Full-Harvey and Nicolas Cage goes Full-Cage. You can’t choose a winner. The films aren’t about plotting or themes; they are just an opportunity for the actor to do a Brando, go a wee bit nuts. And it’s a joy to watch. Stay off the drugs, people!
Somehow, Kietel and Cage both wound up in an appalling feature named National Treasure (2004), phoning it in in the worst way. They look bored shitless. As was I. But one has to pay the bills so I forgive them.
The movie is a masterpiece that would not get made today; can you imagine what the hysterics would do to Twitter? I will write all about this some other time.
The soundtrack, though. Oh my. It’s quite possibly the best compendium of ‘tunage’ ever. 1994 was a grand year for all involved, even if Jeff Daniels got blown up by Dennis Hopper.
An hour in and you’re thinking that if the movie can keep it together the experience could quite possibly be up there with the best of them, a thought-provoking sci-fi masterpiece for the ages. But then it descends into sub-slasher ridiculousness, a third act that feels like the team behind Event Horizon (1997) rejected it. This happens quite a lot with these movies, and even more so when it comes to TV shows. There’s so much expertly paced build-up that goes … nowhere. Why try and turn it into a horror? The makers simply didn’t know how to fulfill all the promise or how to end it so resorted to cheap genre ‘thrills’, frenzied cutting and pointless bombast.
But for 70 minutes this is great. I highly recommend turning it off once it gets silly. And then proceed to stick 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) on.
Lee Marvin had a bonkers year in 1967, this thriller and The Dirty Dozen representing the peak of his cult, not that your random audience member knew it at the time. They are a curious twosome as Point Blank appears a blueprint for a future style of film aesthetics and the Robert Aldrich ripper a throwback or definition of the classical form, if not in its then-graphic onscreen violence. It’s a watershed 52 weeks. I wasn’t alive back then, and thank fuck. But it looks eventful (just watch The Graduate).
What a seductive picture, and even the jarring time jumps work to reinforce the dreamy atmosphere of the film. The precise framing and use of colour, it LOOKS AMAZING (CAPS LOCK ALERT). The overlapping sound is pre-Robert Altman but betters those seminal works because it’s more than a silly afterthought or accident. There are scenes in this which require so little dialogue they may as well be Godard in a traffic jam. It’s an exercise in stylistics. You get this with first-time filmmakers or those in the early throes of the game – the bold choices, the going with the instinct. Peckinpah retained it almost to the end. Scorsese – the last man standing – still has it.
This is peak Tarantinto three decades before peak Tarantino. But without the feet obsession.
It’s also hilarious. Marvin has to be the coolest bloke to ever be off his tits. He retains throughout a semi-plastered hangdog expression and even in his quietest rage barely looks interested in proceedings. It’s all too easy for Marvin. All he wants is his cash but not even the corporate pyramid semi-responsible for his fate are even capable of doing the basics. Almost everyone in this movie is useless. It’s a life lesson.
Point Blank is a relic and a template.
P.S. There is no relation between this and Point Break (1991), which I watched a few weeks ago.
A Friday night last month was the first time I’d ever seen this. I really should have done so before but I was too busy in my youth crawling around the arty-farty remnants from Fellini’s nightmares.
Gary Busey was the main draw, someone I’ll watch in anything. I have always retained an admiration for his white chompers. He is a kind of human shark.
It’s an impressive movie from the off with its immediate characterisation – you know straight away what the players are all about, and the dialogue sounds like it’s satirical but it isn’t. A template for satire is on display.
The weird Zen thing which Swayze and Reeves have between them is hilarious. Swayze knows the lad is FBI but just strings him along for the banter and to better the both of them. How do you connect EXTREME SURFING and the rest of it with robbing banks?
And the director Kathryn Bigelow has rather the unique message going on for her with her approximation of women being just as solid as the lads and kicking the fuck out of them, and the boys giving it back. It’s a non-gender-nonsense movie. All rather refreshing, and then you realise it’s from 1991, WAY ahead of its time.
So much energy; within every frame is a zest for the kinetic. It’s not exactly ‘deep’ but an attempt is made. It’s only a bank heist/surfer movie after all.
It’s so unnecessarily long-winded and frankly pointless.
I’m struggling to think of a more eclectic display of moronic and wholly unsympathetic characters in a motion picture. Everything about them is annoying; they are smug, boring, stupid, and generally just excruciating. It’s universally described in the reviews of the time as being “epic”. This consists of a few wide-angle shots of mountain landscapes in order to paper over thin characterisation; mountains act as filler.
Yet despite occasional David Lean pretensions it’s so inept from a framing perspective. Every scene is astonishingly horrible to look at, an ugly beast shot with all the artistry of a severely undisciplined student movie; there is no syntax to scenes or reason behind shot decisions. It’s a fucking mess. Vietnam has never looked so anonymous. What else? The score pissed me off. It screams of folk feeling sorry for themselves. Which is the essence of the film.
As for the famous Russian Roulette scene – who cares?
I had to slap myself by the end of this because I once, for reasons beyond any understanding of my own psyche, thought it was brilliant. It’s not. It’s fucking dire. It’s SO boring. Everything about it is boring. The characters are boring. The story is boring. It even makes WWII boring. Nothing in it is even worth telling. Almost everyone on display is an imbecile; Juliette Binoche is the only one with a personality.
I don’t get the central romance on display. The Katharine character (if you can call her that) is just so … BORING. There is literally nothing about her worth bothering with because she is a cure for insomnia. And I lost track of how many times the director had to pull out a plane crash or a plane being shot in order to advance the plot. It infuriated me. Is this nonsense in the book? It swept the awards in 1996. The voters must have all been on drugs.
I must have been on drugs when I watched this a decade ago and thought it a cracker. There’s no other explanation.
This admittedly amusing movie is not about a single thing aside from how the narrative strands collide, and they are loose connections at most. It is merely highly entertaining, brimming with energy and giggles, though we mainly laugh at how stupid and un-self-aware most of the characters are. It’s a lot of fun until Vinnie Jones turns up and sinks the joys. He’s just awful in everything, but especially this.
For some reason he transitioned from being a dreadful footballer to a dreadful actor. I blame that whole late ’90s ‘lad culture’ … thing, the heyday of Loaded magazine and the milder second renaissance of the beer-swigging hooligan. Only back then could someone so talentless be glorified for thuggery. He’s a former football hardman turned hardman ‘actor’ and this is meant to be hilarious. Sigh.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 