Moonraker (Gilbert 1979)

It is safe to say that the Broccoli family, co-owners and powers in charge of the James Bond franchise, have made some rather major missteps with their main cash cow over the years. These mistakes tend to involve the Bond films getting away from their roots as spy thrillers/action films, usually to the point where course corrective films which strip down the spectacle, villainous plots, and humour to reasonable levels are required. It is no mistake that the 2006 re-launch of the series, Casino Royale, followed the over-the-top insanity of Die Another Day (2002), or that the brilliant On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969) followed the fun-but-goofy You Only Live Twice (1967). A camp, larger than life fantasy Bond is simply not sustainable.

However, no film in the series illustrates just how wrong a Bond film can go more than Moonraker (Gilbert 1979), a film that blatantly tried to cash in on the surprise success of the 1977 film Star Wars (Lucas). The film follows Bond (Roger Moore in his fourth outing) as he attempts to stop madman Drax (Michael Lonsdale) from destroying all life on Earth. Drax’s goal is to eventually repopulate the planet with select human specimens, who are being safely kept in a hidden space station. Thus, after globe trotting around the world as usual for two thirds of the film, Bond heads into space, along with American CIA agent Holly Goodhead (Lois Chiles) to stop Drax and his mad plan.

If the idea of Bond in space sounds like a bad idea, it is. While Ian Fleming’s famous creation has always been a fantasy, it is a fantasy set within a heightened reality, a sexed-up world of international espionage and assassination. A Bond film that responded to mankind’s move into the stars during or immediately after the initial space race could have been made into a workable film, as long as the filmmakers understood that it was the geopolitical ramifications of going into space that would drive the story. Unfortunately, the new frontier of outer space in Moonraker serves as little more than a back drop for spectacle: American soldiers are shown battling Drax’s men with lasers in outer space itself, while Bond and Goodhead's journey to Drax's space station is reminiscent of the notoriously overlong reintroduction of the U.S.S. Enterprise in Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979).

The irony, however, is that in terms of visual spectacle and inventiveness, the space material is the best in the film. Director Lewis Gilbert, the special effects crew, and director of photography Jean Tournier clearly went the extra mile to make sure that these sequences were magnificent, and they are more than a match for the visuals featured in George Lucas’ space opera. The space based shoot out between Drax’s men and the US astronauts/military is simply spectacular, while the model work on both the space station and space ships is top of the line. However, as great as this material is, its inclusion in a Bond film is jarring, undercutting the impact that the spectacle would otherwise have. It would have simply been better had producer Albert Broccoli created his own space set film to capture the audience's desire for space adventures, rather than turn the Bond franchise into something it is not.

The side effect of all the effort seemingly being spent on the space material in the film is that the more typically Bond-ian elements are rather bland and uninspired. Everything leading up to the third act is pretty much by the book, with little in the way of inventive variation. The scenery looks beautiful, and the stunt work is professional, but none of it has any of the punch that it should have. The only sequence which stands out is one set during Carnival in Rio de Janeiro, but its presence only serves to highlight how pedestrian the rest of the film is before it goes off the rails as an electric light show.

None of this is helped by star Moore, who by this point simply does not look like he gives a damn. More than any other of his Bond films, Moore seems to be playing the role for laughs, undermining even the minimal tension generated in the film. Worse, unlike Sean Connery, Timothy Dalton, or Pierce Brosnan, Moore simply aged poorly, making it hard to continue buying him as a believable as 007. Naturally, Moore carried on playing Bond in a further three films after Moonraker.

There are one or two saving graces in the film, thankfully. While Lois Chiles is saddled with the worst name for a Bond girl prior to Denise Richards' Christmas Jones in The World is Not Enough (1999), she manages to bring a level of class missing from most of the rest of the film in her role as Holly Goodhead. Desmond Llewelyn and Bernard Lee are as reliable as ever as Q and M respectively, while Lonsdale does make for a rather creepy villain. The same cannot be said of Richard Kiel's Jaws, who shows up to drag the threat level of the villains down a few levels, just as he did in the immediate predecessor to Moonraker, The Spy Who Loved Me (1977).

The real saving grace of the film is the music of composer John Barry, who in Moonraker provides one of his best scores of the entire series. Entire scenes are carried by Barry's music alone, and once Bond and Goodhead launch into space, the score has a haunting beauty that is reminiscent to Barry's work in The Black Hole, also released in 1979.

Thankfully, Barry's score is available on disc apart from the film itself, allowing viewers to skip Moonraker all together. Hard core Bond fans will no doubt already have seen the film, or if not, will subject themselves to it regardless of any negative reaction to the film, including this review. For casual fans, pick up the score on itunes, crank it up, and read Fleming's original novel upon which Moonraker is barely based. It is a better use of your time, and will be a far more enjoyable experience.

Woyzeck (Herzog 1979)

There are some ways of describing a film that have simply become clichés, and I do my best to avoid using them. Referring to a film as a “minor work” is one such description that has fallen into overuse. Yet when it comes to Werner Herzog’s Woyzeck, I really cannot think of anything better than to describe it as a minor work. While I still have many films to go in my viewing of all of Herzog’s work, Woyzeck simply feels like a filler project, going over ideas and concepts that other films and filmmakers, including Herzog himself, have touched on before without really saying anything new, or at least finding a new vantage point from which to talk about these topics.

Based on a play by Georg Buchner and set in the early 1800s, Woyzeck is the story of Franz Woyzeck (Klaus Kinski, once a frequent collaborator with Herzog despite their equally frequent clashes), a poor private in the military whom has had an illegitimate child with his wife Marie (Eva Mattes). To earn money for his family, Franz performs tasks for his Captain, who views him as little more than a cheap amusement, and also works as a guinea pig for a local doctor’s bizarre and cruel experiments. Used an abused, Franz hears voices inside his head, but seemly remains stable enough to ensure his family is taken care of. When his Captain lets slip that Franz’s wife is having an affair with a Drum Major, the last remains of Franz’s sanity begin to collapse with tragic results.

Woyzeck certainly isn’t a bad film, yet it never manages to be as engaging as one would hope from a work by Herzog. Herzog approaches the film in a fairly detached and ironic manner, utilizing a series of long takes with a mostly stationary camera which allows the viewer to carefully observe Franz Woyzeck and the world around him. Herzog also presents the events of the film in a manner which may be linear, or may be totally fragmented, furthering the feeling of disconnect from the world of the film. In taking this approach to the film, Herzog allows the viewer to be objective in the act of watching the narrative unfold while at the same time giving viewers a sense of how Franz views the world. The balance between objectivity and subjectivity is a major accomplishment, and for that alone the film is certainly worth viewing. Furthermore, Herzog's approach to the film transforms the viewer into one of the clinical scientists and military officials that observe Franz as a curiosity, a point made clear time and again when Kinski as Franz gazes out of the screen and directly at the viewer, seemingly lost in confusion and pain and in search of answers that never come, thus putting the whole of the cinematic apparatus under critical examination.

However, as magnificent as the film making and narrative technique are, Woyzeck never really manages to be overly involving on any level. Emotionally, the film is too detached to truly draw in the viewer into the narrative. We have a sense of who Franz is, and even a limited understanding of him, yet as noted, the viewer is encouraged to remain distanced from Franz and approach him (and the film as a whole) from an intellectual perspective. Yet intellectually the film is not overly involving either. Class politics, time, religion, money, exploitation and the relationship between the individual and the whole of society are all subjects that the film examines, yet it all feels tired and doesn't offer anything new to the discussion of these topics. Indeed,much of the subject matter and even the observational, detached style are reminiscent of Herzog’s earlier film The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974). While both films are certainly different from one another, Woyzeck in many ways feels like a collection of ideas that Herzog didn’t get to use in the earlier work, resulting in Woyzeck feeling like a retread rather than a progression for Herzog as a filmmaker.

The film also occasionally suffers from the conflict between Herzog’s brilliant cinematic visuals and the dialogue that comes from the original play (presumably from the play, I really should say, as I have never read the work, nor seen a production of it). It’s not that the dialogue is bad, but rather that Herzog makes many of his points visually, nullifying the need for the dialogue. I admit that this point is a nitpick, but it was certainly something that occurred to me during the film and continued to bother me afterwards.

Yet, I don’t want to come down too hard on Woyzeck, as there is wonderful material to be found in the film, from moments of grim satirical humour with both the Captain and the Doctor, to the brilliant execution of a scene of murder that is shockingly violent whilst showing the viewer nothing. Then there is the haunting closing shot in the film, with the sinister and ironic closing text that does manage to bring the film to a powerful close.

Then of course, there is Klaus Kinski, who is at his reserved best in the film as the title character. Tortured, confused and yet strangely articulate, Kinski manages to portray a dissent into madness in a manner that dodges the overblown performances of other actors in similar roles. It isn’t Kinski’s definitive work, but it is damn fine work that continues to show why Kinski is held in such high regard as an actor.

Still, I cannot help but feel that Woyzeck is a film that should probably wait until one has seen all of Herzog’s greater works, or viewed before seeing any of his efforts. It’s a good film, but in a career of great films, flawed but ambitious films, and films that are fascinating failures, Woyzeck can wait to be seen.

Being There (Ashby 1979)

Being There, Hal Ashby’s 1979 comic-drama masterpiece is one of those films that have been discussed to the point that it is really hard to bring anything new to the table. From the satirical nature of the story, to Peter Seller’s brilliant performance, and to the notorious final shot, Being There is a film that has been talked to death, yet we still feel a need to try and say something about it. If that isn’t the mark of a brilliant film, what else is?

The film is the tale of a middle aged man named Chance, played by Peter Sellers, who has lived his entire life inside the confines of a wealthy man’s home, alternating between watching TV and working in the garden. He cannot write, cannot read, and only seems to be capable of imitating behavior presented on television. When the wealthy, elderly man dies, Chance is thrust out into the world for the first time, wearing the clothing of the deceased man. Through a series of, um, chance meetings, Chance ends up in the residence of Ben and Eve Rand (Melvyn Douglas and Shirley MacLaine), a wealthy couple with connections to the President of the United States, all whom mistake Chance for being a highly intelligent, warm and understanding individual instead of the near cipher that he is.

Right about here, I would start performing an analysis of the film, trying to grapple with some of its intellectual complexities. Perhaps talk about the playful biblical allusions in the film which give it an almost mythic feeling, all while discussing how the concept of the simulacra contextualizes this biblical inversion. Or maybe I could just rant about how brilliant Ashby and Sellers work is here, this being Sellers last fully completed film and Ashby’s last great (and even just plain solid) film. I could, if I wanted to, try and compare Being There to Ashby’s other works, or films of a similar nature.

However, I can’t help but feel I would be doing Being There a total disservice. This is a film built on observation and nuance, where Ashby fills every frame with small details that require the viewer to spend time diligently studying the film. While no film is objective, Ashby works hard to avoid dominating over the ideas put forth in the film with his own perspective, seeking to embody Roland Barthes’ concept of the writerly text (I hate the literary bias the term holds), where the viewer must truly work to bring meaning to the text. The film is filled to the brims with possibility, but it takes the viewer to bring it to living life.

For myself, I oddly find Being There a comforting experience. As much as the film is a critical reflection upon society and culture, I don’t feel that the film is entirely condemning of the society upon which it reflects. The world is one that simply is: for all its faults, for all its failings, it’s our (well, Western society’s) world and the one we are stuck with. Is Chance’s existence any more absurd than our own? And do we not project onto others our own thoughts, feelings and ideas? At some point in time, are we not a Chance to somebody? In that sense, the film is an acceptance of flawed humanity and miscommunication.

This is a much shorter review than I usually write, but I feel, just this one time, that my simply telling you to go see the film is the best thing I can do. Watch it with large groups; watch it with strangers; watch it with loved ones and, hell, even watch it with people you just plain dislike. When it is all done, start talking. I’m sure you’ll all have something fascinating to say.

The Amityville Horror (Rosenberg 1979)

The Amityville Horror is sadly one of those films that somehow have managed to make it into the popular consciousness of North America despite nothing being remotely remarkable or interesting in the film. At its best, The Amityville Horror is a TV movie that somehow found its way to the big screen (upon researching its history, a made for television film was originally what the production was intended to be), with dull production values, acting ranging from bad to decent, and direction that is a poor imitation of William Friedkin and Richard Donner’s work from The Exorcist and The Omen respectively. Its worst sin however is that it is totally devoid of anything remotely worth discussing.

The film is the story of the Lutz family, headed by George (James Brolin) and Kathy (Margot Kidder). Recently married, George has become the stepfather to Kathy’s children, and the family has moved to a new home in Amityville, where a year earlier, an entire family was killed in a homicide. Slowly but surely, odd events start happening to the Lutz, taking its mental toll on George as he drifts into cruelty. Is the house haunted, or is it...ah hell. It’s haunted. Let’s just leave it at that.

The film is based on a book Jay Anson about the supposedly real haunting of the real Lutz family, a story that is often debated as to whether it is a hoax or not. It is this debate that was highly publicized upon the film’s original release, and was resurrected when the film was recently remade. While I cannot comment on this debate, I can say that whatever real life fascination with the story that the public had/has does not manage to save the film in any way.

The first major problem is that similar stories have been told elsewhere, and told better. Stephen King’s original novel version of The Shining mines similar territory, as the supernatural becomes a way in which the very real, very unsettling domestic horrors are able to come to the surface. Whereas King’s novel focuses on exploring the roots of such familial tensions and its relationship with American culture as a whole (Kubrick would take such a different view of the material in his adaptation that it requires a whole different discussion), The Amityville Horror honestly has little to say about the topic. Yes, George’s own unresolved anxieties about his new family surface due to the haunted house, but the film doesn’t seem to have any real point to make about the topic, or question to ask concerning this issue. Is the picture a portrait of the stress of the modern family on one man? Or is it a narrative about the failing of the modern husband and father? The film never manages to settle this issue and results in a muddled mess.

It would have helped if any of the characters were interesting. Unfortunately, the Lutz parents are complete nonentities. James Brolin’s performance as George is as wooden as any other James Brolin performance, making George a completely uninteresting. Brolin is totally incapable of drawing any sympathy to the character, and only manages to come alive when he is in full on sadistic mode. Margot Kidder as Kathy, while at least brining some energy to the performance, is so underwritten that she has little to do other than look concerned and be the target of George’s abuse. We are offered no keys to her psychology, or understanding as to what drives her as a character at all.

The only saving grace in the cast is Rod Steiger, playing a Catholic priest who early on in the film has his own encounter with the demonic house which eventually spirals into a crisis of faith and battle of church politics. While the character is underwritten, Steiger manages to give an excellent performance that is more than the film deserves. The whole subplot, in truth, has little to do with the events of the Lutz family, and seems to go off in its own direction. What is fascinating about this subplot is that it is a flip on The Exorcist: the crisis of faith in this film is the result of the church‘s actions, and not the result of the supernatural force itself. An entire film following this priest and this story would have been far more interesting that the end result.

Honestly, I think that I have exhausted anything I could really say about the film. I’ll be back soon with a review of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.