Point Blank (1967). How fabulous this is.
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.
Point Break (1991), I like you.
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.
Outstanding.
I hated The Deer Hunter (1978) so much.
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 don’t.
Absolute shite.
The Last Samurai (2003). Well done to everyone involved.
An Edward Zwick movie – when I hear that I think workmanlike and solid, but this surprised me by how exciting and gripping it was. Adventure, thrills, history, and Hans Zimmer. The bad lad from Ghost (1990) is even quality here. Ghost is terrible, by the way, an unholy mess. I cannot stand Whoopi Goldberg. Acting talent of a Wotsit.
Back to this, and Cruise, as always, is epic. You always believe in what he does because he gives his all every time. The voice-over is a tad annoying and ventures into spelling out the obvious but this aside the picture is a stunning achievement. And I love Japan. It was one of those trips that couldn’t be scripted. And I did do the karaoke thing and was so appalling it has gone into semi-legendary folklore.
Starship Troopers (1997) is an absolute belter.
It’s hilarious satire, and so smartly done. It’s also damn entertaining. And it hasn’t aged a bit.
It’s in fact way ahead of its time. The lunacy of some of the reviews of 1997. These idiotic ‘critics’ didn’t seem to grasp that everything about the movie is a joke, a piss-take, a borderline comedy. The characters are straight out of a Nazi propaganda piece, and they have legit no redeeming features. But you still watch it for their complete lack of self-awareness.
And the carnage. I like proper carnage.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 