Tag Archives: Paul Schrader

The Card Counter (2021). Brilliant and vintage Paul Schrader.

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.

This is a proper masterpiece.

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American Gigolo (1980) is beyond cool.

I mean, look at that fucking poster! Cool as milk, as is the movie. The script is a bit too melodramatic and Schrader is clearly a little too much obsessed with the cinema of Robert Bresson – the ending is almost shot-for-shot Pickpocket (1959). But the movie is pure sleek, art deco deluxe. And to top it off you’ve got Blondie and Giorgio Moroder on soundtrack duties.

Peak Richard Gere. No one plays the narcissist as well as he can.

Once more with feeling:

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Bringing Out the Dead (1999).

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Scorsese’s last movie of the ’90s is curiously his weakest work. It’s a lazy narrative that seems enamoured with MTV standards/trends of cinematography. It also suffers from ‘The Affliction’: the liberal use of popular music tracks to paper over deficiencies in the script.

It’s a promising concept: Nicolas Cage’s paramedic, physically and emotionally drained, drives around an early ’90s Manhattan – by all accounts a crack-strewn cesspit at that time – in search of the high of saving a life, and a broader redemption as he’s haunted by those he couldn’t save.

By the one-hour mark the picture sadly has nowhere to go. There are a few moments of transcendence, particularly the final shot, but it’s all rather boring, from the cartoon character supporting roles to Cage’s … bored performance. One suspects it could have worked better as a small-scale picture, Mean Streets (1973) with a defibrillator.

The life of an ambulance driver has never looked so torporific. One of the very few Scorsese pictures I’ll pass on should it ever crop up again.

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