Not the movie – I’d say it’s extraordinary, but I hated the experience of watching it. The gloom and the dread and the realism and Clint being a very unhappy Clint. I just mind folk were peeved because he won the Best Director Academy Award over Marty for his The Aviator (2004), a standard Oscar bait biopic and one of the few Scorsese movies not even worthy of a second viewing.
Clint does this thing – he will make five stinkers in a row but then pull a motion picture out the bag that totally blows away all doubters.
This guy makes movies about the worst people, humans you don’t even want to know. But he always draws out the dimensions and probes at the reasons why people are the way they are. He’s the most mature filmmaker, a bloke actually interested in the human psyche and how film can treat this. He’s also clearly obsessed with Robert Bresson. The ending here, I think he’s done the Pickpocket (1959) tribute a dozen times now.
The acting in this is magisterial and the style of Schrader always suits his stories; he’s so underrated as an artist, perhaps because he’s not razzmatazz, but he can be when the moment needs it.
Most films these days are fucking pathetic, either derivative tripe, childish nonsense about superheroes, or leftist politics running riot at the expense of story or ideas. There is no fun in The Card Counter but that’s the essence and point of it – it’s gruelling and heartbreaking, like Travis Bickle taking a WASP to a porn movie (thank you, Paul Schrader).
Schrader is one of the few left with a soul and the lad has been kicking about for half a century. I define ‘The Few’ as writers and directors who make cinema about and for adults and aren’t afraid to take risks and put themselves out there. He’s incredible and we need many more gems from the lad.
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.
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.
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.
What is the point of this terrible movie? Allegedly, it has something to do with Orson Welles, but I see nothing of the master in this (I’m convinced he was taking the piss).
A wee knock-off Godardian thing, it has the pleasure of existing as the only Welles movie I have extinguished after 26 minutes. It felt like the makers behind Medium Cool (1969) had decided to ridicule their own aesthetic. It’s unwatchable, so carelessly shot and put together. Stick to Charlie Kane and Hank Quinlan.
Bill Pullman just disappeared for a decade and a half, but here he is in his prime, a remnant from the James Stewart acting school of nonchalance. He really should have graduated to the role of troubled leading man, a jaded cop or something.
One would deem this an archetypal neo-noir, but your femme fatale here is the protagonist for once. The multi-faceted, polymathic, boozing, smoking, shagging, utterly obscenely ridiculous Linda Fiorentino running rings around every idiot she meets.
Marry me?
We also have J.T. Walsh and his sleazy voice.
And a jazz soundtrack that doesn’t feel like a desperate bolt-on feature.
Jarhead (2005) is one of most visually unmemorable good movies ever. It all looks lovely but entirely anonymous, solid craftsmanship rather than the captivating. I can’t recall a single striking shot; the poster leaves more of an impression than any of the images. Maybe this is the point – capturing the monotony of war. But is war really this boring? A dozen other movies say no.
It’s quite the riot, though, for the first hour, lots of lolz and a frenetic pace, an atmosphere that builds up to something that … never really happens. The early promise peters out and you just get repetition. Once again this may be the point. But what’s the point? This is a war movie, not an episode of Seinfeld. Watch Three Kings (1999) instead. It’s about something.
And Chris Cooper’s high billing for this annoyed me. He is barely in it and leaves little impression other than a weak imitation of Robert Duvall’s Colonel Kilgore.
Loved this. Think John Wick/The Equalizer/Death Wish rolled into a can and Saul Goodman peeking in for a whirl. It’s frankly ludicrous in bits but just so entertaining. This is action done right – it stems from the real-life scenarios we see daily in the tabloids and hope such things never happen to us (sometimes they do).
I recall the Travis Bickle’s tragic line, “Here is a man who would not take it anymore.”
But talk about fight scenes. This film demonstrates what it’s like to be punched in the face. It really hurts. Personally, I’ve always preferred a whack in the chin than the nose; with the former, you’re done. The latter, you bleed and show the wounds of battle.
This movie is hilarious and believable at the same time. It’s a 5/5. Well done, Bob Odenkirk. Top lad.
This season is unfortunately a bit stale and diluted, and the elements which could have salvaged it – the first season’s unrelenting reverence for the ’80s and its accompanying cheese, the dark humour and the amusing SJW bashing – are in short supply. Johnny Lawrence is just not as interesting as an upstanding nice guy as he is as a fish-out-of-water shambles lost in the wrong century. The staid version of Johnny is one without an edge, and it’s as if the show has been robbed of its biggest star.
Other things are annoying, from the constant switching allegiances, the pointless cameos from past characters that go nowhere, and the moments of catharsis that are simply not earned. It had some decent craic in it and the choreography was great as always, but this show should probably end now.
And I’m probably taking it all a bit too seriously.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 