Tag Archives: Images

The Big Man (1990).

This has the most insane sudden shifts in style and tone. It fees like a student movie, and then you have some ludicrous sentimental schmaltz – strong Rocky (1976) pretensions – thrown in the mix. It’s certainly unpredictable and often entertaining, and the confidence of it all is twinned to an actual story with proper societal issues. Visually, it has some impressive and daring scenes, and the physical specimen that is peak Liam Neeson. 

But, unfortunately, Hugh Grant turns up. I don’t know what accent he’s speaking in because I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.

I didn’t believe a minute of this movie. But I’m not bothered. 

I’m more perplexed as to how and why Ennio Morricone scored this to tunes that sound like the b-side of The Untouchables (1987). 

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Croupier (1998).

Atmosphere from the gods here.

It doesn’t even matter what the subject matter is – this is ridiculous in that it’s just Clive Owen narrating a few events. It’s so magisterial in its framing, the shot syntax, the subtext of the bare-bones screenplay, that I was kind of engulfed in it all despite not actively being engaged in the story. A brooding exercise in style.

Casino (1995) is the best movie about a casino, but this casino-based film isn’t about a casino; it could be set in a Lidl.

If that makes any sense. 

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Enemy at the Gates (2001).

This really was a wasted opportunity, the gift of a premise – two snipers in a dance of death amidst the backdrop of the bloodiest battle in history – compromised by a pointless romance, daft politics, dodgy accents, and a complete misunderstanding of the time and place depicted.

It would have been better to not tackle the complexity of it all and just show the antagonists facing off, with allusions to the wider ideological foes.

The first 10 mins, though. Watch those and then turn it off. Here you go:

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Shaft (2000).

Bit of a trivial non-story this one but what else do you expect from a rejig of a silly caper?

It starts off all kitsch and almost in awe of its prototype, but it gets much better once the police corruption is exposed; it ended up delivering more than I expected.

Christian Bale is a Very Bad Bale, just a slimy, smug yuppie, and as shameless as it gets, but he somehow imbues the scumbag with vulnerabilities; it’s just before his Full-Bateman turn before he went Full-Batman. But the big kudos go to Jeffrey Wright’s wannabe socially protean drug baron. He’s a ludicrous Tony Montana imitation. And extremely funny. 

The small pleasures from these movies mostly consist of spotting the actor. We’ve got George Costanza’s boss from Seinfeld, Dan Hedaya (the bloke who is in everything), and both Kima Greggs and that annoying prat Bubbles from The Wire. And the mom from The Sixth Sense (1999).

Good theme tune. 

It’s not bad. 

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In the Shadow of the Moon (2019).

This was just plain annoying, featuring a very annoying protagonist with a very annoying voice. I realised it’s one of the blokes from Narcos and the reason I stopped watching that show. Michael C. Hall is also in this and he also has an annoying voice. We also have Bokeem Woodbine, who possesses the softest, suavest voice, but he’s not in it enough for the movie to be decent.

I lost interest in it all after half an hour and doubt I’ve missed anything worth writing about. It’s just an array of annoying voices.

Next.

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Noah (2014) is terribly dull.

I know very little about any of this; I quite simply do not care for the yarn, and I never will. So such Biblical inaccuracies are of no concern to me, much as a filmic deviation from a comic book also rouses no faux-incredulity on my behalf.

Visuals here were impressive. The rest, absolute shite, from the horrible characters to the bombast, and the general tedium of it all.

Pish.

Bye for now.

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Melancholia (2011).

The personal narratives – mega meltdowns – linked to an Extinction Level Event (ELE) is a lofty ambition but the director cannot be faulted for his audacity, and this film has a preternatural quality from the start with its striking opening and inspired use of Wagner (Tristan und Isolde).

We also have an acidic Charlotte Rampling, a plastered John Hurt, and Kiefer Sutherland doing his best ‘Fuming Mode’ in quite some time. There are scenes of such awkwardness in the first act that it’s a genuine feat to have put them together in rapid succession. Then we get all apocalyptic and it somehow works. There are so few movies like this, one toils to put it in a category.

It’s fucking depressing but in a good way. 

Further reading/viewing:

https://slate.com/technology/2011/11/lars-von-trier-s-melancholia-what-are-the-chances-of-a-planetary-collision.html

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Look Who’s Talking (1989). What the fuck have I just watched?

Classic songs you’d expect in a Scorsese movie ruined by their despairing accompaniment to threadbare scenes of Travolta and Alley mugging it, that’s Look Who’s Talking (1989) summed up.

I don’t get the point of any of it. It’s coarse, crude, cheap, and frankly just a minging watch. How is the interior monologue of a baby amusing? Oh, Bruce Willis does the voice of the critter. What genius! 

A movie that can’t decide if it’s family fare or an R rating, it’s somewhere thrashing in the middle, daft and pointless. I suppose this got Travolta through his ‘wilderness years’ as it beguilingly scooped up a fucking fortune. But audiences know nothing.

I watch a lot of shite. I seem to enjoy it.

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Red Sparrow (2018).

Riotously entertaining if totally ludicrous and unnecessarily graphic in its violence and shagging. This is preoccupied with sleazy old men and delectable items of the flesh plucked to seduce them. It’s awkward to watch and I suppose that’s the point of the honey trap premise, which is apparently a widely-practised tactic by intelligence services.

There is nothing complicated here and it doesn’t really matter what city the characters are in. I don’t think I can recall a spy thriller with such a nonchalance as to its locations, which are without distinction.

But whatever, it’s just high trash with a cast who seem to know what it is.

Enjoyable hokum. 

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The Bounty (1984).

This was verily an impressive motion picture, and it starts with the cast, even though the highly irritating, 100% talentless ‘lad’ from ghastly ’90s British TV series Men Behaving Badly is somehow in it.

The music is pure Vangelis and it suits the story and locales surprisingly well; one wouldn’t expect Blade Runner (1982) stuff to work in this setting. The attention to detail (life on a ship) is necessary, the toils a clear element in the breakdown of the crew, most of them toothless goons who appear to have been press-ganged. You can see the temptation to mutiny. It’s the late 1700s and you’re presented with Tahiti when all you’ve got upon return to Great Britain is living in a cesspool. 

The weirdo Anthony Hopkins does his best weirdo Anthony Hopkins, which is just the right amount of weird.

The Robert Bolt screenplay is a tad disappointing. After the craftily put together exposition, he resorts to homoerotic undertones to explain Bligh’s reaction to Christian’s shagging, which is just lazy writing. And there’s not enough drama on display, which sounds nuts considering the scenes. Not enough characterisation, no scenes exploring a character doing anything outwith the collective, not enough style that grabs; you’re in the hands of a most journeyman director.

But it works despite of its bad handler.

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