Tag Archives: Movie

The Offence (1973).

The tackiest, most gimmicky slow-motion sequence opens this stagey, plodding bore of a time. It bombards you with the drab and dreary and seems to have no other purpose.

Connery is powerful as always, vulnerable and domineering both at once, but is wasted on a cruddy premise. And the camera ‘effects’ are so shoddy and unnecessary. It’s like a mediocre play but made even worse with superfluous shots which, rather than heighten the drama, merely draw attention to how dramatically damp everything is. 

Heard so much about this movie over the years, the main leitmotif being that it’s a hidden gem. It isn’t.

It’s shite.

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The Driver (1978). Watch. Promptly repeat.

It’s certifiably COOL and immaculately framed, from a director who understands framing and why it matters. 

Ryan O’Neal is once again in a masterwork in which he’s the only actor you can envisage as the protagonist. No one else did impassive cool like him, and it’s even a cool that suggests dimensions behind the glacial exterior. His career never progressed beyond that ’70s apex because director’s didn’t use him properly, oblivious to the magnetism and effortless insouciance he could radiate within a narrow range.

You don’t need a surfeit of unnecessary dialogue in a movie this visual, which is what movies are, first and foremost. And the verbal exchanges may be minimal, but memorable, nonetheless. 

Why is this so stylish? It’s from 1978. Influential is the term. 

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The Ghost and the Darkness (1996).

Was my fond memory of this movie clouded by nostalgia? Of course it was, but it’s not entirely rubbish.

We have embarrassingly cruddy dialogue exchanges and a bog-standard voice-over which is so nondescript it could be applied to a hundred movies. It runs out of ideas after 45 minutes, but looks and sounds glorious despite all the unchallenged British imperialism on display. 

There is a ‘wasted opportunity’ dimension to it, given the highly respected screenwriter William Goldman penned the screenplay, and the Michael Douglas deuteragonist is as multi-dimensional as a Ned robbing Toilet Duck from a Lidl, in broad daylight, wearing a tracksuit from 1977. And Ice Man and Gekko’s methods of snaring this man-eating beastly duo aren’t imaginative and wearily become tiresome. 

It’s nothing special; it’s not garbage, either, because it’s kind of funny.

But I don’t think Roger Ebert liked it much.

Even if Alex Ferns, a.k.a. wife-beating EastEnders villain Trevor Morgan, makes an appearance.

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Alita: Battle Angel (2019).

Eavesdropping on the Lothian Buses no. 29 bus brought me here. 

Christoph Waltz features so I thought it worth a proverbial bash. It looks spectacular in an anonymous way. It’s cliche-ridden to the max. It gets boring very quickly.

I evacuated after 34 minutes.

Next.

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Ghost Ship (2002).

The opening is ingenious, a peach of gleefully shameless gore and sadly the rest of the movie can’t top it. It’s a neat wee concept for a horror but it’s as predictable as you get. I made a wee bet (with myself) that one of the characters would allude to the Mary Celeste. Within half an hour they did exactly that. 

These movies are funny – actor-stars like Gabriel Byrne turning up in dross for the lolly. Why not? I’d do the same if I were still offered decent scripts after my sins. 

Some of the kills were amusing. It looks fine enough. It’s stupid, but I wasn’t bothered. A shitter to watch if you’re ever on a DFDS Seaways and you have fuck all else to do as the bar has closed.

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Woman of the Hour (2023).

This kind of nails the age – or how I imagine what this glitzy but grotty period was like. 

I do enjoy a wee slice of ’70s kitsch, even if it features creepy, sleazy men in their element. That and the obligatory strangler. It’s quite depressing viewing when you’re reminded of the media of bygone ages, three networks and no other alternate content. All folk did back in the day, it appears, was supinely plonk themselves in front of a box every evening like veggies, not a modicum of purpose in the endeavour. I’ve been there; I was a cabbage.

Any fool who appears on a game show has to be hampered with serious deep-seated issues, and this includes Ronald Reagan on ‘What’s my Line?‘. And on the serial killer stuff, never trust a stranger possessing the hair of Meat Loaf. 

Good movie.

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Under Siege 2: Dark Territory (1995).

I don’t care that Steven Seagal is a conceited asshole with zero acting talent, Under Siege 2: Dark Territory (1995) is a bloody great movie – funny, thrilling, and better than the first outing. This was when Sensei Seagal’s ego was bananas but could be justified through bone-crunching mayhem that was pulled off so well, you believe it when Casey Ryback doesn’t even get a scratch on him after 90 minutes of knife fights.

Not these days. He’s a fucking pie presently.

Bye for now.

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Addams Family Values (1993).

Ludicrous movie – part satire, part macabre black comedy. 

They are a weirdo household, oddball vestiges from another century but somehow less nuts than the WASP irritants they must interact with. It’s a lot of fun and and I didn’t snore once. 

And spot Peter MacNicol, a.k.a. Dr. Janosz Poha. And Harmony from Buffy. And Chandler Bing’s unfunny boss. And a dozen more familiar faces. 

Christopher Lloyd’s Uncle Fester with carrot sticks up his nostrils should not be funny. But it is. 

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Slumdog Millionaire (2008).

This was okay but the hoopla and hysteria around it, encapsulated in some quite bonkers spunking on the flick at awards seasons, had me confused. 

I didn’t know it was a multiple Oscar winner, and I don’t know why. My conclusion here is that the Oscars are meaningless and movies aren’t judged outwith the the realm of the political, the contentious – trends trumping genuine art.

It’s a good movie, though. But it’s no masterpiece.

Jai Ho! 

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Longlegs (2024).

Delightfully throwback opening credits, recalling a time when cinema recognised the importance of setting the tone, immediately caught the eye – a rarity. And it all looks incredible, every shadowy frame an image that could have been from David Fincher. 

It suffices to say that I was fully engrossed in this splendid horror, which was as unpredictable as they come. 

We also have a barking Nicolas Cage. 

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