Arthur 2: On the Rocks (Yorkin 1988)

Time for another confession: I watched Arthur 2: On the Rocks (Yorkin 1988) years before I saw the original Arthur (Gordon 1981).

Of course, there is a good reason for that: Arthur 2 On the Rocks used to play fairly frequently as the afternoon film on weekends, along with I Come in Peace, aka Dark Angel (Baxley 1990) and the Nightmare On Elm Street sequels for reason. Thus, used to I watch it when there was nothing else on when I was a teenager. The film had a few laughs, but it was nothing great, and I certainly was not motivated to see the original film based on the sequel. More importantly, I did not hate it as so many other people did.

Watching the film now in light of my love for the original Arthur however, as well after years of maturing as a film fan, and the level of hatred directed towards Arthur 2: On the Rocks is now understandable to me. The film is a mess of bad ideas, shoddy screenwriting, and sheer desperation on the part of star and producer Dudley Moore, who clearly was trying recapture his past success after the critical and financial failures of the films he did immediately preceding Arthur 2: On the Rocks.

The film is, however, fascinatingly bad. It is the product of a rather talented group of filmmakers, with Bud Yorkin, the filmmaker behind the criminally underrated Start the Revolution Without Me (1970), directing and Andy Breckman, creator of the television series Monk on writing duties. Most of the original cast is back, including John Gielgud, whose character Hobson (SPOILER) died in the original film (More on that later). Over their respective careers, these two have produced or worked on a number of screen gems, but with Arthur 2: On the Rocks, the best that they can do is produce a few chuckles and insult the intelligence of the audience.

Set seven years after the events original film, Arthur 2: On the Rocks finds Arthur (Moore) and Linda (Liza Minnelli) happily married, with Arthur still drinking and doing nothing with his life. Linda wants to have a child, but when she discovers that she cannot biologically have one, she convinces Arthur to go along with adopting a baby. However, just as the pair are getting ready to adopt, the Bach family business merges with the empire of Burt Johnson (Stephen Elliot), whose daughter Arthur left at the alter at the end of the previous film. Still angry at Arthur, Johnson forces Arthur’s family to cut him off from the fortune until he agrees to divorce Linda and marry his daughter Susan (Cynthia Sykes), who still desperately wants Arthur. Refusing, Arthur and Linda are forced into a working class existence, which Arthur struggles to cope with as he finds himself trying to take responsibility for once in his life.

While any sequel to Arthur would have been unnecessary, the idea of Arthur giving up the booze to try and be a responsible father actually could have made for a half decent film, giving Arthur a real reason to confront the reality of his life, if we had no choice but to see him try and overcome his alcoholism. A less interesting, but still a reasonable basis for a sequel would have been to watch Arthur straighten his life out and become a functioning member of the working class after the loss of his fortune. Together, these ideas might have even complimented each other. So the question simply is this: why do none of these ideas work in the finished film?

The answer lays with the idiotic and highly artificial Johnson revenge storyline that dominates the film. The original Arthur was a villain-less piece, with Arthur caught in a tough situation that forces him to make one simple choice in his life. By contrast, this sequel gives Arthur a threat he must overcome, and in the process it undermines the fact that the real problem facing Arthur is how he chooses to live his life. When Arthur gets a job, and then is promptly fired, it is not because his drinking makes him incapable of holding a job, but because Burt Johnson buys the store and demands Arthur be fired. When Arthur and Linda cannot stay at her father’s place, it is because the "new owner" wants them out of the apartment. This transformation of the Johnsons into outright villains does a disservice to the character of Arthur by giving him an easy scapegoat for his problems. Moreover, it reduces the Johnsons to cartoons instead of real human beings in a real world.

Not that anything outside the Johnson plotline closely resembles the real either. While the adoption storyline has potential, the adoption process as presented in the film bares no resemblance to how adoptions actually work, with Kathy Bates adoption agency representative acting as an oblivious fairy godmother figure to Arthur and Linda. Bate's character ignores several problems she discovers over the course of the film relating to Arthur and Linda, problems that would make most adoption agencies take a good hard look at these pontential parents. These problems include, but are not limited to: Arthur’s alcoholism (she merely takes him at his word that he is trying to improve); the fact that Arthur and Linda have lost everything; and that the apartment Arthur and Linda have moved into is a microscopic dump (which, by the way, Bate's character shows up at mere MINUTES after Arthur and Linda agree to rent it). Even more baffling is that the adoption agent endless claims that love is one all one really seems to need to raise a child, which, as any reasonable parent will note, is a statement completely ignorant of reality. The whole subplot comes across as an underdeveloped idea, and should have been exercised from the script entirely, or made the center piece of the film.

The biggest misstep with the film however is the manner in which Arthur’s drinking problem is finally addressed. (MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD). In the final third of the film, Arthur is actually visited by the ghost of Hobson (Gielgud), I kid you not, who acts as a Clarence-like figure to Arthur’s George Bailey, without the whole alternate timeline shtick. Here, Hobson tells Arthur he finally needs to get his act together and give up drinking, and Arthur does. Right there. No questions asked.

Just like that.

The many problems with the film I have already mentioned could be overlooked, but this no effort approach for addressing Arthur’s alcoholism, one of the key defining traits of the character, is not one of them. While having Arthur give up the bottle was a mistake in the 2011 remake of Arthur, that film at least made some attempt to show that Arthur giving up alcohol was not an easy task. Not much of an attempt mind you, but more of an attempt that “ghost tells Arthur to stop drinking, and he does.” Arthur’s battle with the bottle, while still not a good idea, at least would have provided a solid comedic and dramatic backbone for the film, and too see it tossed away frivolously here illustrates just how ill-conceived this whole venture is.

The shame of it all is that there are elements of the film I genuinely enjoy. While the film was clearly born out of Moore's need for a box office hit, he and Liza Minnelli are charming in the film, rising above the material they are working with. At points, the film does manage to get a few laughs, including a priceless scene in which Arthur is told to “just marry the bitch.” And during the all too brief time spent on Arthur looking for a job, the film manages to find a pulse that the rest of the film lacks. Fortunately or unfortunately, the filmmakers manage to sully even these good moments with an ending so schmaltzy that it makes the works of Frank Capra seem downright cynical.

Perhaps the final, lasting achievement of Arthur 2: On the Rocks is that it set the bar so low, there was nowhere for the 2011 remake to go but up. Sadly, for fans of the original film, this is likely not much of a consolation. Arthur 2: On the Rocks is now available on Blu-Ray in a double feature set with the original film, which means if you want the original Arthur, you are stuck with this sequel as well. It is best to think of Arthur 2: On the Rocks as an unwanted special feature, but if you are a die hard fan, chances are you will check it out anyway. For everyone else, stay away.

The Hound of the Baskervilles (Morrissey 1978)

As Paul Morrissey’s 1978 comic adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles comes to a close, the pianist (Dudley Moore, Arthur) who opened the film and played the score throughout is booed off the stage and pelted with fruit. As Moore leaves the stage, a charming grin crosses his face that almost makes me want to be more positive towards the film. Almost.

On paper, The Hound of the Baskervilles sounds like a sure fire hit: a comic parody of arguably the most famous (and perhaps most filmed) Sherlock Holmes story with the great comic duo of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore as Holmes and Dr. Watson respectively, backed by a cast of some of the best British character actors available. The actual film however is major miss fire which, while still providing a number of laughs, seems to have been written with little actual interest in parodying the supposed source material. What we end up with instead is a series of sketches loosely connected by the mystery of a seemingly supernatural dog that prowls the Baskerville estate.

The film begins promisingly enough with an pre-credits sequence involving Holmes and Watson being visited by three nuns desperately wishing to know the whereabouts of a missing relic. The sequence sets a crass tone with a tired, slightly degenerate Holmes and a bafflingly idiotic-yet-enthusiastic Watson displaying little of the class and sophistication of earlier interpretations. Everything is played broad, with Sherlock displaying simplistic logic and Watson no logic at all, but given that this is Peter Cook and Dudley Moore before the 1980s, it is to be expected. More importantly, the material is mostly funny, with Moore and Cook in fine form as they play off of one another.

Things continue to look upward as the main mystery is introduced with Dr. Mortimer (Terry-Thomas) requesting the help of Sherlock, only to be stuck with Watson. Once Watson arrives at the Baskerville estate though, the film begins to go off the rails as the central mystery takes a backseat to scenes that are closer to unfocused sketches, featuring increasing amounts of gross out humour. While Moore and Cook’s involvement was pretty much a guarantee that the film was never going to be aiming for the more sophisticated humour of Billy Wilder’s The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970), endlessly urinating dogs go a bit too far in the opposite direction. The film bares more than a passing resemblance to the chaotic and scatological humour of Mike Meyer’s Austin Power sequels, and while some of the gags work, more often than not they fall flat.

The resemblance to the mixed bag sequels to Austin Powers is furthered by the film’s increasingly unfocused targets for comedy The film takes a surprisingly lengthy jab at The Exorcist that tries to hard, while a bizarre subplot involving mediums, Sherlock Holmes’ mother, and a Kentucky Fried Chicken joke only work to give the impression that no one involved with the film was particularly familiar with Doyle’s creation. Again, I will be the first to admit some of the jokes work, but in a parody of such rich material, the whole endeavour comes across like a waste. If Moore and Cook were interested in doing a series of gross out gags, why bother with “The Hound of the Baskervilles” at all? An original scenario would have invited less expectations on the part of the audience, and freed the film up to take as many pot shots at other works as Moore and Cook would have liked.

When the film does work however, it works marvellously. While the subplot of Holmes’ time alone in London eventually falls apart, the early sections involving Holmes attempting to relax at a brothel manages to generate a substantial number of laughs. Better yet are some of the film’s visual gags, including Holmes reading a book titled “Guilt Without Sex” and a scene involving the sending of a Morse Code signal. And while Moore’s portrayal of Watson as an idiot Welshman likely borders on being offensive, his interaction with Kenneth Williams’ equally idiotic (and borderline offensive) “young” Henry Baskerville often manages to overcome the obviousness of the material.

The best laugh tied to The Hound of the Baskervilles is not too be found in the film itself however, but in the film’s trailer. Playing off of the traditional trailer hyperbole for an actor’s performance and the manner in which the performers of John Watson historically tend to be ignored, the trailer’s narrator announces that “Peter Cook is unforgettable as Sherlock Holmes! Dudley Moore is forgettable as, um, what’s his name?” It is a gag that shows a keen understanding of the screen history of Holmes and Watson, an understanding that would have been nice in the film proper.

Game Boys (Jones 2008)

Let’s face it: when it comes to being a geek, there is a certain level of childishness that comes with it. We spend time focusing on the minutia of our obsessions, litter our shelves with nerdy objects and in general tend to hold onto a great fondness for our childhood loves. Growing up tends to be something of a balancing act, as we take on adult responsibility and maturity whilst still holding on to our geeky passions.

Its no wonder then that as our fellow geeks have come into being filmmakers, television producers, writers and artists, we have seen a surge of films that try and address that tension between childhood geek-dom and entering into adulthood: Free Enterprise, Clerks II, and Shaun of the Dead amongst others have explored this theme, usually organizing the conflict through the trials and tribulations of their protagonists’ romantic pursuits. In each of the mentioned films, the female partners sought become the guide and symbol of adult life, and whom our heroes must meet in maturity.

Joining this canon of films is Brad Jones fourth feature length film Game Boys. The film marks a break from Jones previous efforts Cheap, Freak Out and the yet-to-be-released-online Midnight Heat, which have all played in the exploitation film sandbox. Game Boys focuses on Scott (Jones), and old school gamer who as the film starts is dumped by his girlfriend of six months. Given that Scott is prone to drinking, his roommate and friend Ray (Alex Shryock) comes up with a plan to get Scott’s mind off of his ex: hold a video game competition/party built around (arguably) the most notorious video game in existence, Custard’s Revenge. Scott is less than enthused with the idea of the party (and the game itself), but gets onboard when he realises the event holds the opportunity to get close to Sally (Bianca Queen), a fellow classic gamer. The only problem? Getting a copy of the game itself.

Game Boys is both literally and figuratively a film of growing pains, as Scott works out his life and Jones launches into different territory for him in his feature length work. Moving away from his plot heavy horror/thrillers, Jones focuses on a narrative that is stripped down both in terms of plot and thematic complexity, a change that does lead to a few problems for the film as a whole. The looser structure of the film leads to several sequences that go on too long, most notably the montage sequences, and some important characters, including Sally, are underdeveloped while more simplistic characters such as Steve receive more screen time. And at points, the gaming dialogue goes a tad too far, working in gaming references at points when more straightforward dialogue would have worked in the film‘s favour.

However, for all the film’s flaws, Game Boys is Jones’ best film yet, showcasing a greater sense of confidence and control as a filmmaker from when he first began. As the film opens, we are introduced to Scott and Ray in a simple conversation that quickly and effectively establishes who the characters are, with a snappy rhythm built out of the performances and editing that shows none of the beginning filmmaker uncertainty in his earlier films. By the time the film launches into its excellent opening credits sequence, which between the images of classic advertisements and music clearly outlines the film’s exploration of nostalgic longing and comfort, there is no doubt that Jones knows where he is taking his audience as we wander through the classic gaming subculture, including instructional videos, back ally game dealers and gaming obsessed mothers.

At its best, Game Boys is a character focused comedy of people and places familiar to the geek set, deftly blending moments of absurdity with an understanding of the fine details of geek life. Moreover, in taking on a romantic comedy, Jones allows his innate likeability to shine through as an actor, making an effective romantic comedy lead. Luckily, in Bianca Queen, Jones has an actor of equal strength to play off of, and the chemistry between the two allows for the relationship to have an innocent sweetness despite some of the characters’ rougher edges. More uneven is Shryock, who occasionally oversteps the fine line between being a heightened character and being slightly like a cartoon, but more often than not he finds the right balance for most of his scenes.

Perhaps the most surprising element of the film is the way in which Jones avoids the road of showing nostalgia as being something which needs to be grown out of, and in the process avoids transforming Sally into little more than a end goal to be reached by Scott. Nostalgia here is an important part of all the characters here, and it becomes the foundation for a community. Given this, Scott’s quest is not one in which he seeks to leave behind the community, or grows out of it, but grows within it. With this, Jones manages to avoid the clichés of the romantic comedy genre for the most part, and build scenes out of small moments, such as the wonderfully tender final shot of the film.

The one element of the film which does need to be addressed is the film’s most controversial plot point, that of Custard’s Revenge being the focus of the film’s narrative. While I am not going to describe what the game is about, I will say that the game is one of the most horrific and sexist games ever put to market, and its placement at the heart of an otherwise light comedy is certainly a curious choice. Within the film, Jones does go out of his way to acknowledge the game’s content and address it, partly by the volatile reactions demonstrated by some characters towards the game, and in part because the game is ultimately acknowledged as trash. Indeed, (SPOILERS) part of the point of the film’s conclusion is that the game and the contest built around it is a fruitless endeavour in and of itself, and that the sense of community built around gaming is the real core of the film. However, because the film never fully addresses the issue head on and places it to the margins, it can potentially make some audiences uncomfortable. Moreover, I do believe that the game does have a thematic point as well, but I will be the first to acknowledge that the film doesn’t nearly develop this thematically enough to be able to say that it is a defendable point. (SPOILERS END).

At the end of the day, save that one quibble, I give Game Boys a full recommendation, and it can be viewed at Jones' site here. It is a flawed film, but one that has more passion and understanding of geek culture then some films which are available. With any luck, Jones will return to feature length filmmaking again, and with any luck will once again push himself into a new direction as he develops as a filmmaker.

Arthur (Gordon 1981)

Coming into Steve Gordon’s one and only directorial effort Arthur (1981), I knew only a few details about the film: first, that Arthur was the story of a wealthy alcoholic looking for love; second, that the title role pretty much defined star Dudley Moore for the rest of his career; and third, that the featured an infuriatingly catchy theme song from Christopher Cross. What I wasn’t expecting was a film that, while often funny, featured such a strong undercurrent of sadness, which Arthur very much does.

And God bless it for featuring such sadness, because Arthur ultimately gains an immense power that it otherwise would lack. Arthur is the story of Arthur Bach, an incredibly wealthy New York alcoholic who spends his time wandering the city with his butler Hobson (John Gielgud, who won an Oscar for his work here), looking for some form of companionship. With his childlike, alcohol fuelled antics embarrassing the family, Arthur is threatened with being cut off from the family fortune unless he agrees to marry Susan, the daughter of another elite family. Of course, it is at this time Arthur meets Linda (Liza Minnelli), a working class woman who captures Arthur’s heart.

While the plot is standard material, Arthur is set apart from similar films which try and carryout a fairytale storyline in a modern setting by embracing the harsher realities of the material, rather than attempting to ignore or mute them. Arthur’s themes include class conflict, escapism, poverty, and absentee parents, and while the central characters may be caught up in their dreams and fantasies, the film never succumbs to the temptation to provide easy, fantasy answers or false resolutions to the questions it proposes. Arthur is a deconstruction of storybook fairytales, particularly those of the Disney mould, as it showcases the contradictions and ambiguities inherent in finding ones’ fairytale “other half.”

Director Gordon accomplishes this by choosing to stand back and observe his characters, allowing them to exist with their flaws on full display rather than idealizing them. Given the immense flaws of his characters, Gordon’s approach runs the risk of allowing them to become fairly grating or horrific, but Gordon lucks out with his cast which manages to bring out the humanity in these people, even at their worst. This is particularly the case with Dudley Moore in the title role, as Arthur’s alcoholic, self-pitying man-child behaviour could have defined the character as a loathsome monster. Instead, Moore brings an innocence to the role that allows Arthur to be as charming and noble as his namesake, while never loosing sight of Arthur’s failings, such as his self-absorption and complete impotency when it comes to taking control of his life.

The fact that Arthur is likeable whilst still clearly being a incapable of looking after himself becomes the crux of the film’s deconstruction of fairytale narratives, as the audience is forced to both confront its desire for a fairytale ending while trying to understand why they want it. We want Arthur and Linda to get together, but what would such a relationship be when one is clearly unable to function in everyday life? If Linda marries Arthur, is she merely gaining a wealthy existence in exchange for being Arthur’s new caretaker? If so, and if we are rooting for this marriage to happen, are we in turn endorsing this conception of marriage? Lastly, if we are indeed supporting vision of Arthur and Linda's relationship, is the audience any better than that of Arthur’s father and grandmother who seek to marry him off to Susan? Are we not worse, given that Linda, like Hobson, will most likely allow Arthur to indulge in his current behaviour rather than force him to mature and sober up?

These questions underpin one crucial scene in which Hobson visits Linda, acting as a sort of fairy godmother figure by prompting her to go to Arthur’s engagement party in a dress he has provided. As written and directed by Gordon, the scene becomes something of a sales pitch from the ill Hobson towards Linda, trying to convince her that his position of Arthur’s “caretaker” is fulfilling. Gielgud plays the scene with an undercurrent of sadness from Hobson, an awareness that he is using his sophistication and intelligence to manipulate this woman into something she desires, but may not fully understand. It is a remarkable scene, and is mirrored later in the film when Linda shows similar awareness of the unlikelihood of Arthur being able to function as a provider when it appears he has been cut off from the family money, despite his grand planning and dreams. It is at this point Linda has become the new Hobson, complying with Arthur’s delusions for his “sake,” and Minnelli performs the scene magnificently.

Thus, the sadness that I described earlier is the sadness that comes from being aware of our willingness to go along with Arthur’s fantasy, but like Linda and Hobson, being aware of the truth of the situation. It would be so much easier if Arthur was unlovable, as he believes himself to be at one point in the film. However, we like Arthur, and as such when we see he and Linda drive off to their happy ending, it is with the bittersweet feeling rather than an uplifting emotion, no matter how great that Christopher Cross song is.

It is unsurprising then that audiences and critics were less than taken with the unnecessary sequel Arthur 2: On the Rocks (1988) seven years later, despite the well meaning intentions of that film’s director Bud Yorkin and screenwriter Andy Breckman, creator of the television series Monk (Steve Gordon died shortly after the release of Arthur, though I have been unable to find a cause of death). That film takes the undercurrent of sad reality and forces it right into the audience’s face, and as such the complexity of the original is lost. As with many films in this era of Hollywood filmmaking, Arthur is being remade with Russell Brand set to star. While I wish the crew and cast of that film luck, I question whether they will nail the charm or complexity of the original. It’s not impossible, and the presence of Helen Mirren gives me hope. However, in a more politically correct era, I can’t help but feel that this new take on the material will turn it into the very fairytale that the original film sought to question. We shall see next year.

Gunless (Phillips 2010)

One of the more peculiar elements of America is the prominence which guns have in their society and culture. From the right to bear arms to the continued resistance to gun control legislation, guns just seem to be something of an obsession. Take a look at American cinema: from the action film to the thriller, guns tend to get quite a bit of screen time, and are perhaps mythologized most in the Western genre, where the gun is both the symbol of the wildness of the west while simultaneously acting as the primary tool for the forces of civilization.

It is this gun obsession which William Phillips’ 2010 Canadian Western comedy Gunless attempts to examine, juxtaposing the “code of the west” against the culture of its northern neighbour, aka my home country. The end result of this effort is a rarity for Canadian cinema: a mostly successful populist film which manages to dodge the usual pitfalls of imitating American genre pictures without Hollywood budgets whilst shoehorning in Canadian references where they are not needed. Instead, the highly allegoric film relies on strong comedic performances from its talented cast, lead by Canadian icon Paul Gross and Sienna Guillory, verbal wit rather than endless slapstick, and a dedication to embracing the more serious side of its chosen subject matter.

Gunless’ story is that of the Montana Kid (Gross), an American gunslinger on the run from a group of bounty hunters for having killed seven men on record, each in a fair gunfight. The Kid’s latest escape from his pursuers lands him in a small Canadian town where he quickly challenges a local blacksmith to a gunfight for the “offence” of looking after the Kid’s horse. There is just one problem: there is no working pistol in town. Bent on getting his gunfight, the Kid agrees to a local woman’s (Guillory) proposal: if he helps her build a windmill on her property, she will let him have her long broken pistol to mend. As the time passes and his pursuers ride closer to town, the Kid finds himself increasingly confused by the culture around him as well as being conflicted about his own identity as a gunslinger.

The film’s hypothesis as to why guns and a culture of violence persist in America today is a surprisingly intelligent one, dodging the culture of fear proposed in Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine and instead pointing towards the guilt and fear of admitting past failings as a society and culture. The Montana Kid is a character weighed down by the acts of violence he has committed, and in order to cope with the guilt has mythologized his entire identity in order to live and function as an individual. In the best scene of the film, the Kid breaks down why it is that he cannot back down from a gunfight and the implications of this speech suggest that admittance to being wrong in his use of violence in any situation would be tantamount to being wrong in all cases. The allegorical implications of this speach are massive with regards to American history, and transforms the film from being a simple deconstruction of mythology into a study of how mythology, particularly national mythology, serves the needs of both individuals and nations.

Where the film falters however is in its mythologizing of Canada at the same time as it deconstructs the myths of the America West. Unlike America, Canada has never had a strong national mythology to draw upon. As such, our tendency has been to rewrite our past with more recent national myths which have been at best dubious. Multiculturalism and peaceful existence are high ideals to have, but the degree to which we as a country have succeeded in upholding such values is questionable, and certainly not ideals we have managed to uphold in the past. Canada's history features no less than two attempted uprisings in the American mould,and the treatment of both aboriginal groups and Japanese immigrants are some of the darker parts of our history. The film instead projects these lesser traits wholly onto the American bounty hunters in the film, thus allowing Canada to get off nearly free of our failings. It doesn’t sink the film, but it is a misstep which needs to be critically examined.

However, I don’t wish to give the impression that the film is a weighty sociological study. Gunless from start to finish is a predictable, lighthearted comedy carried on the backs of its likable cast. Gross is in fine form here, showing that he is a capable leading man when his is willing to forgo the self important and indulgent tendencies often seen in his “auteur” projects, and Guillory manages to make a perfect foil for Gross. However, the biggest surprise in the film is Tyler Mane of X-Men and Halloween remake fame, as the blacksmith at the center of the Kid’s problems. While not award winning work, Mane show far greater skills as a performer than has been seen thus far, proving that he has the ability to take on greater challenges as an actor than merely silent killer number three.

Phillips writing and direction are solid, if unremarkable. At numerous points, Phillips allows the film to be too heavy handed, bringing far too much obvious attention to the presence of guns in the film when a more subtle approach would have worked. However, Phillips keeps a tight control on the production as director, carefully grounding the film in a sense of realism while keeping his actors in check from going overbroad. He isn’t going to be in the big leagues with David Cronenberg anytime soon, but he accomplishes what he sets out to do.

If Gunless suffers from any major problem, it’s that it has been released at the wrong time. I don’t know who planned the release date, but opening the film a week before Iron Man 2 was one of the more idiotic moves I’ve seen in recent cinema, dooming the film to obscurity. If it is playing near you at the moment, I would highly recommend seeing Gunless while you still can. Tony Stark will still be around to give your money over to next weekend. Gunless needs it now.

The Losers (White 2010)

The sad thing about The Losers is that for its entire running time, you can tell the filmmakers were trying hard to make this film work. This isn’t a half assed effort of a film; from the directing of Sylvain White to the acting, everyone brought an A level effort to the film, and you have to admire that. The problem is none of that effort ultimately makes The Losers a decent film going experience.

A partial update on the premise of the 1980s television cheese fest The A-Team, The Losers is an adaptation of a mature readers’ comic book series of the same name, following a group of special operations soldiers who are left for dead and framed for the murder of a group of children in Bolivia by their handler Max (Jason Patric). Understandably angry, the group takes up the offer from a mysterious woman named Aisha (Zoe Saldana) to bankroll their return to America in exchange for killing Max. This is only the start of their troubles however as group tensions and the mysterious identity of Aisha threaten to unravel the whole scheme.

The material is standard action fare, but workable for a fun, if vapid, film. So why does The Losers ultimately not work? While the film suffers from several flaws, they are all the result of the film’s attempt to achieve the rarified status of “cool.” While there are many things in both life and film which hope to become cool, the common denominator for most things which do become cool is that don’t actively seek to gain that status, but rather have the status of “cool” pronounced upon them by the culture in a natural way. Actively seeking the status of “cool” more often than not achieves the opposite result, and it is this problem that dodges nearly every moment of The Losers.

The type of “cool” which the filmmakers behind The Losers wish to achieve is clear from the outset, as they try and blend 1980s style “men on a mission” action films with the pop culture soaked wit and syntax of the post-Pulp Fiction era of American filmmaking. The characters which populate this world are media saturated individuals who wear this knowledge on their sleeves and take little of what happens around them in an overly serious fashion, not being quite as ironically detached as some of Quentin Tarantino’s characters while never being as ethically obsessive as Jason Bourne.

What the filmmakers miss however is that the films they are trying to emulate, even at their most frothy, tend to have a better sense of grounding which never exists in this film. While the popular culture may be the way in which many people structure and express their views of the world in both real life and in film, the important thing is that such expressions are still about something tangible. Randal of Clerks and Clerks 2 fame may spend most of his time discussing pop culture, but his choices of topics and the way in which he chooses to talk them tell us much about his concerns, thoughts and ideals. Even the absurd macho posturing of the military unit in Predator tells us something about those characters, as simple as it may be.

The same cannot be said about the characters of The Losers, where nearly every character mouths off in and endless series of light banter which exists solely to be light hearted banter. Consider the characters of Jensen (Chris Evans) and Pooch (Columbus Short): I can honestly tell you next to nothing about these characters because there is nothing to say. One has a wife and another a niece, but those details amount to little. I cannot even tell you which one for sure is the obligatory smartass of the group, because their dialogue is frequently interchangeable. This is not the fault of the actors at all, as they make due with what they have. The problem is that they have nothing of substance to work with, transforming the film into more of a sketch comedy than an action comedy.

The villains fair no better than the heroes in the film, if not worse because they are nearly cartoons with no menace to them. Oh yes, Jason Patric is amusing to watch as Max, but at no moment is he ever a credible threat. He is a bad guy because, well, the film needed a villain, and therefore he must do villainous things. We are constantly reminded about how dangerous he and his organization of criminals are, but we are never actually shown anything to make us believe that. The Losers make frequent note as to how tough and frightening Max’s right hand man Wade (Holt McCallany) is, but the film never gives you one moment to believe that concept. Instead, we are treated to some admittedly funny scenes of misunderstandings, banter and frustrations between the super villain duo, but they would have worked better in an outright parody of the genre than in this film.

All of this is all the more annoying because there are nice moments and elements in the finished production. Chris Evans manages to come out of the film totally unscathed, thanks to a natural charisma and comic timing that rises well above the material, and the idea of environmentally friendly terrorism is an amusing idea, even though it goes nowhere in the film. And I would be remiss if I didn’t point out the excellent the use of Journey on the soundtrack in the film’s best moment.

That is just the point though: the film is nothing but moments. I honestly cannot recommend The Losers as anything more than a time killer if you actually have some time to kill. It is an entirely disposable film, likely to be forgotten about as soon as it is over, a point that no film wanting to be cool can ever survive.

War Inc. (Seftel 2008)

(Here is another classic review from my facebook days, while I work on three new reviews for the upcoming week. Enjoy!)


There is no way to talk about War Inc. (Seftel 2008) without talking about Grosse Pointe Blank (Armitage 1997), John Cusack’s cult classic comedy about a hitman who’s most recent job coincides with his high school reunion, for several reasons. First, much of the underlying structures between the two films is similar, as both revolve around their respective protagonists (Hauser in War Inc., Martin Blank in Grosse Pointe Blank) undergoing a transformation from apathetic existence to attempting some form of redemption. Secondly, in both cases Cusack is not only the star of the films, but a co-writer and producer whose influence is easily found in the finished work. Lastly, I have to consider the two films together because Grosse Pointe Blank is one of my all favourite films, which left me with high expectations going into War Inc., given it was acknowledged as being the thematic sequel to the earlier effort by Cusack himself.

To look back on Grosse Pointe Blank is to see a film which is clearly of a specific moment in time. Like many films of this period, including mainstream blockbuster efforts such as Mission Impossible (De Palma 1996) and Goldeneye (Campbell 1995), Grosse Pointe Blank reflects upon the end of the Cold War and the lives of those whose existence was defined by it. Martin Blank (Cusack), a freelance assassin, is in the midst of an identity crisis, questioning his profession and the direction that his life has taken, which has seemingly descended into a form of mindless capitalism as he works for the highest bidder. Worse, this form of greed is in the midst of being organized by fellow hitman Grocer (Dan Aykroyd), transforming the random mass of freelance hitmen into a unionized force so that they can “make more, (and) work less.”

The film’s central premise of Martin’s return to his high school and attempts to reunite with Debi (Minnie Driver), the woman he failed to take to the prom the night he signed up with the army, serves not only as a point of personal reflection but also of a metaphorical political reflection, attempting to look to the Cold War past in order to find a new direction for the country other than unrestrained greed. As Grosse Point Blank ends, it manages to find an optimism that perhaps a change is possible, as Martin and Debi literally drive out of Grosse Point and their pasts, with Grocer dead and Martin’s target alive.

Cut to eleven years later and War Inc. This time out, Cusack is Hauser, a depressed hitman working for Tamerlane, a company owned by the recently resigned Vice-President (Dan Aykroyd again), and which is running the first completely privatized war in the occupied country of Turaqistan. Hauser is ordered to the country to commit a political assassination, while hiding under the guise of being a Tamerlane executive planning a publicity stunt wedding of a Middle Eastern pop star named Yonica Babyyeah (Hillary Duff). At the same time, Hauser attempts to form some type of relationship with reporter Natalie Hegalhuzen (Marisa Tomei), who is trying to expose the sins of Tamerlane.

If Grosse Pointe Blank was an optimistic tale of being able to move past the sins of old, War Inc. is an almost hopeless film which ends on a deliberately ambiguous note (pay close attention in the final few scenes of the film), a world where Grocer won and is getting away with it, almost literally as Aykroyd’s casting as the VP insinuates. Unfortunately, the film also differs from Grosse Pointe Blank in being nowhere near as sharply written, fined tuned, or timely. Whereas Grosse Pointe Blank was riding the zeitgeist of its time, War Inc. is arriving at least a year too late, if not four, offering a pessimistic take on America’s future and politics just as the country seems to be moving in a more hopeful direction.

The main problem with War Inc. is that it goes the exact opposite route of what made its predecessor work: it places its politics before its characters, rather than allowing the politics to be subtext. The film is so overt in its politics that it feels like Cusack and crew were reading H.G. Wells before embarking on the screenplay, didactically denouncing the Bush administration’s policies while forgetting that they were attempting to make a comedy. The near future/semi-sci-fi setting of the film is gratuitous and unnecessary, and the film would have worked better by distancing itself from its very topic , at least overtly. Setting the film in a middle eastern country, fictional or real, is so in the audiences face that the characters are almost entirely reduced to caricatures, rather than real flesh and blood human beings. This could have worked had the film entered into almost total abandon with any sense of reality. Unfortunately, the film does want you to take the supposed drama of the film completely seriously and invest in its characters.

Nothing makes this point clearer than the film’s twist towards the end (MAJOR SPOILER AHEAD). As we learn during the course of the film, Hauser’s wife was murdered years before and his daughter taken, with him completely unable to locate her. However, as Hauser confronts the mysterious Viceroy (at least the film wants the character to be mysterious. It will take you all of five seconds to piece the identity of the character together once you hear the voice), we learn that Yonica is his daughter. This revelation adds nothing to the film whatsoever, rather acting as a convenient plot device. In fact, it really only seems to exist to justify the casting as Duff as a Middle Eastern pop star. Of course, just about everything involving Yonica serves no purpose in the film, seemingly instead to be a tangent about low brow American culture dominating other countries that nobody seemed to ask Cusack remove from his script. (SPOILERS OFF)

However, this is not to say the film is not worth watching. While the satire might be a bust, the character of Hauser remains strangely compelling to watch. While on the surface Hauser might seem much like Martin Blank, Hauser is a far more broken and bitter character. In one of the running jokes throughout the film that actually works, Hauser engages in forms of therapeutic conversation with the disembodied Guidestar employee, voiced by of all people Montel Williams, letting the viewer in on Hauser’s disconnect from the world around him. Furthermore, the banter between Hauser and Natalie is fairly witty and enjoyable. Nothing as quotable as the majority of Grosse Pointe Blank is, but not bad.

In fact, Cusack and the rest of the cast are solid enough. The hitman role is tailor made for Cusack and he delivers in acting, if not in the scripting this time out. Tomei makes for a good “straight man” to Cusack’s Hauser, while Duff manages to surprise by not make me hate her every minute she’s onscreen. Aykroyd however is wasted, as is Joan Cusack who tries her hardest to make every scene she is in work.

As for the direction from Joshua Seftel, it is solid, though the film is clearly the artistic efforts of Cusack more than anyone else. Seftel brings a solid hand to the film, but is hampered by the weaknesses of the script. He does have an eye for action, effectively staging a number of sequences without drifting into too much shaky cam or Michael Bay style editing.

To sum it all up, War Inc. is a well intentioned disappointment, failing to live up to its thematic predecessor or deliver upon the promise that it holds at its core. I would still recommend renting the film, but simply keeping low expectations going in.

Hopscotch (Neame 1980)

While I am not surprised to find that Ronald Neame’s Hopscotch (1980) is a deftly crafted comedy, what took me by complete surprise is just how relevant the film remains 30 years after its original release, and 19 years after the conclusion of the Cold War. While the political landscape of the film is clearly that of the late Cold War era, and hence draws upon those tensions for its story, the film in fact is an exploration of political ideology in the broad sense, and its role in the way we choose to live our lives and run as a society, framed in this film within a generation conflict.

The story of Hopscotch is that of CIA agent Miles Kendig (Walter Matthau), a long time field agent who loves his job, only to be confronted with being tied to a desk by the young, incompetent Myerson (Ned Beatty), who cannot stand Kendig and his view of their work as being that of a game. Rather than taking this forced career change, Kendig bolts to Europe and begins to write out his memoirs, full of embarrassing secrets about the CIA, KGB and others organizations. Mailing out the first chapter to his former employers and the KGB, Kendig initiates a worldwide game of hopscotch as he tries to stay ahead of both the CIA and KGB, doing his best to embarrass both in the process.

In his review of the film, Roger Ebert gave Hopscotch faint praise and more or less dismissed the film as a lightweight romp, surprising given that the film is anything but. Oh yes, the surface of the film, with its quirky banter between characters, loveable renegade protagonist and well executed series of set pieces might appear to be insubstantial as a film, serving as little more than an escapist fantasy. Yet beneath the surface, Hopscotch is something of an expose about the ideological underpinnings of war, contrasting the beliefs of those on the ground with that of the state.

Kendig is fascinating as a character because of his reasons for being a spy rather than his skills, impressive as they be. Unlike James Bond with his imperialist overtones, or the ever ethically conscious Jason Bourne of modern times, Kendig is totally uninterested in the supposed ideological reasoning for the conflict he and others like himself are caught up in: all he does is play a game, and it is a game he loves. When visiting a Russian counterpart, Kendig reveals that he is not able to act as a double agent for the Russians, not because of any loyalty to the US of A, but because he would be terrible at the “game.” Kendig simply respects players and their level of skill, and the stakes of the conflict only manage to peak his interest rather than acting as a motivator. By all accounts, Kendig could be considered a selfish monster, willing to play a part in any conflict as long as it provides him with the excitement and stimulation he craves.

That Kendig isn’t an out and out monster due almost entirely to that fact that he is honest about this, unlike Myerson. Myerson, like Kendig, is totally driven by selfish pursuits, in this case the desire to move up the ladder of power and maintain his comfortable lifestyle. Unlike Kendig however, Myerson, more likely unconsciously than consciously, tries to hide these drives behind the party line, believing wholeheartedly in the ideological basis for their conflict with the Soviet Union. Kendig’s mission in the film of exposing the hypocrisy, stupidity and emptiness of Myerson becomes one of exposing the hypocrisy, stupidity and emptiness of the supposed ideological nature of the conflict. Kendig knows that the conflict is just a case of showing off before other players, and the anything else reduces the purity of his beloved game.

However, while the filmmakers clearly wish the audience to root for Kendig, he is also not a figure whose interpretation of the world is to be taken without question. Kendig is flanked by two key supporting characters in the film, that of his love interest and reluctant partner in crime Isobel (Glenda Jackson) and Kendig’s replacement Cutter (Sam Waterson, whose appearance here shockingly reminds us that yes, at one time, Waterson was young), who understands Kendig while at the same time chasing him. Like Kendig, both characters share a dislike of stupidity, and a detachment from the supposed seriousness of the world they live in. Unlike Kendig however, they understand fully how dangerous such ideological beliefs can be when acted upon, and thus act as a reminder for the audience, if not for Kendig, that something very real is at stake, even if it is not what fools like Myerson believe it to be.

However, I don’t want to give the impression that Hopscotch is a political treatise, as the film without question is an incredibly fun romp. Gentle in pace and style, the film is a relaxed effort from director Ronald Neame that finds its humour in its characters and witnessing how clever they are in thought and action. Chief among the joys of this is star Matthau who, as ever, is endlessly entertaining to watch, unearthing a youthful cockiness for his role that more than overcomes his physical age and ever harried face. It is something of a shame that my generation will mostly know him as having been the star of Grumpy Old Men and Dennis the Menace, as his older work constantly reminds us that he was an actor that was on par with his frequent co-star of slightly higher acclaim, Jack Lemon, who turned out films of equal greatness late in his career, unlike Matthau.

More than matching Matthau is his co-stars Jackson and Waterson, carefully walking the tightrope of grounding their characters in a sense of realism while absurdly agreeing to go along with Kendig’s plans. Beatty as Myerson is given far less to work with, playing a character that is more of a caricature, but manages to keep his character from becoming too broad despite the easy traps to have fallen into.

Without question, Hopscotch is worth seeing when the opportunity arrives (and like Carnival of Souls, is available for online rental from the Criterion Collection). In fact, it is a shame that Matthau has passed on, as a sequel to this film featuring an even further aged Kendig matching wits with an overly politically conscious and serious spy ala Jason Bourne is ripe with possibilities to extend and expand the thematic framework of this film. Alas, we’ll just have to settle for doing this ourselves.

Cop Out (Smith 2010)

Cop Out: it is a tribute to the buddy cop films of the 1980s.

That is about it.

Ok, Cop Out is a decent tribute to the buddy cop films of the 1980s that manages to amuse, but not much more than that. Director Kevin Smith, working for the first time on a script that he himself did not write, claimed that the reason he did the film was because it was one that his father would have loved. While that might be the case, I cannot help but feel that another reason Smith did the film was because he simply needs an outright hit, something which he has never quite managed to achieve thus far in his career. Given how conventional and safe everything is in Cop Out compared to Smith’s usual work, I can only imagine that it must have seemed like a possible contender to be box office smash, as it lacks the wit, warmth and daring of Smith’s best, but financially underperforming, work.

Cop Out follows the story of Jimmy Monroe (Bruce Willis), a cop who’s daughter is about to get married. With the wedding costing $48 000, Jimmy decides to sell a rare baseball card to pay for the whole thing. However, when attempting to sell the card, it is stolen in a hold up, leaving Jimmy and his partner Paul (Tracy Morgan), who is preoccupied with the possibility of his wife cheating on him, to try and recover it.

Cop Out is a work that is so indistinctive that the only thing that really manages to be of any interest is Smith’s involvement in the film. Outside of a few Star Wars references and the appearance in Jason Lee in a cameo, good luck finding anything to mark this as a Smith film. At his best, Smith has always been the most personal of filmmakers, wearing his feelings and ideas of his sleeves on just about any topic he wishes to talk about, from religion (Dogma) to geek culture (Clerks; Clerks II) and even fatherhood (Jersey Girl). Cop Out however is a film that is shocking in just how impersonal it is. Even in the fairly critically slaughtered Jersey Girl, you could feel Smith’s personality shine through, blending toned down crudeness with sweetness in his attempt to pay tribute to his father. Cop Out is just plain crude and not even inventive in its methods of crudeness, seeking no emotional investment on the part of the viewer, nor offering a unique take on the genre. It is pure imitation of better films.

My main question with regards to the film is this: why were Tracy Morgan and Bruce Willis put together in this film? They are actors who work best when taking center stage by themselves, with well defined, bigger than life personalities. Morgan and Willis are not bad together, but they hardly have much in the way of chemistry. Bruce does his thing, and then Tracy does his. Their best moments are actually when they are apart or with other characters, and when a buddy film is at its best when the buddies are apart, then there is a serious issue here. In fact, arguably, the film would have been more interesting if it had followed the rivals of Jimmy and Paul, Hunsaker and Barry played by Kevin Pollack and Adam Brody. That pair are just so bizarre in their behaviour and relationship; it would have been fun to spend time inside their odd little world.

Actually, there is no point about talking about the buddies of the film because there is no reason why this needed to be a buddy film in the first place. The story is supposedly about Jimmy trying to pay for his daughter’s wedding, losing the baseball card that would do just that, and then trying to recover it. What role does Paul serve in all this? Well, nothing: he has his own story that is in no way connected, either plot wise or thematically, to Jimmy’s story. Meshing the two together just creates a narrative mess that goes nowhere. The wedding story is lost and seemingly forgotten until the end of the film, and at no point is the Paul subplot about his wife’s possible infidelity treated with any actual weight. The events simply happen, with no actual meaning or impact upon the characters. Cut down to one story, the film at least might have been focused.

I could go on Cop Out, but there is very little point. If you attend, you will be amused, but not much else. It is simply a film that exists as product, tying over the cast and crew until better film projects come along.

Life Stinks (Brooks 1991)

While I certainly don’t feel bad for filmmakers with critical and commercial success, I can imagine that often they feel trapped by the expectations that come with that success, making it harder to take chances and evolve as filmmakers. A good case can be made of this is happening to Mel Brooks, who in the 1980s was more ambitious as a producer, working without credit on films such as The Elephant Man and My Favourite Year. As a director during this period, Brooks made films such as History of the World: Part I and Spaceballs which, while fun films, were were less focused and sharp in their satire compared to his earlier work. Brooks seemed more focused on living up to his reputation as a filmmaker specializing in parodies during this time, drifting ever more in the direction of the Zucker Brothers and Jim Abrahams’ brand of kitchen sink comedy, a type which only the Zuckers and Abrahams ever were able to master to perfection.

Life Stinks, a 1991 film by Brooks, is an attempt to reconcile these competing sides of the filmmaking legend, seeking to capture genuine emotion and exploring the relationship between the wealthy and the impoverished in a manner evocative of (though not nearly as effective as) Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights (1931). Life Stinks stars Brooks, playing Goddard Bolt, a wealthy man who, as part of an effort to buy and redevelop a poor section of Los Angeles, agrees to a wager proposed by his rival, Vance Crasswell (Jeffery Tambor), in which Bolt will live in poverty for an entire month. During the course of the month, Bolt not only has to learn how to survive, but also deal with the meddling interference from Crasswell, all while slowly falling in love with a homeless woman named Molly (Leslie Ann Warren).

Unlike Brooks’ earlier efforts, Life Stinks does not use cinema itself as its subject matter, instead evoking elements of cinema’s past to help tell his most grounded tale. Brooks seeks to examine the issues of poverty in America, particularly in urban centers, and as such moves away from the subversive, meta jokes and slapstick that marked his classic efforts, though only to a degree: there is still plenty of broad comedy moments throughout the film. The film however is an attempt to have the viewers invest emotionally into the characters in a way Brooks never really has before, or since, while still allowing for those moments of broad comedy. Brooks is clearly moving out of his comfort zone, and it gives the film a level of energy that his latter efforts often lack: you can just feel Brooks putting his all into this one, and it makes it all the more frustrating as a viewer when the film just misses the mark.

The first real problem with Life Stinks is that Brooks’ satire is not focused. As crazed and episodic as Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein appear, those films are tightly focused efforts which know their subject matter backwards and forwards, skilfully blending social satire and cinematic lampooning. Here, Brooks has brilliant moments of satire, targeting the systemic failures in American society, but the Life Stinks never quite goes for the throat like his other efforts and explore the material in depth. Instead, Brooks relies on wealthy stereotypes and cartoonish behaviour rather than substantive criticism.

The first issue is likely the result of the second issue, which is Brooks’ unwillingness to commit to this film being something different from the rest of his body of work. While Brooks plays closer to reality, he also seems to want to hedge his bets by including moments of Brooks’ brand comedy which simply do not fit in the film, from random visual gags to forced slapstick. The entire final third of the film completely abandons any notion of grounding for a completely absurd, fairy tale ending that was probably slapped onto the film because the more natural, bittersweet ending point for the film (which I will get to in a moment) was too much of a “downer” for audiences. Thus, the film concludes with a fight between two construction vehicles, the poor of the L.A. area mingling with the wealthy, and a small man pretending that his legs are getting crushed. The ending completely undoes any investment made by the audience into the story, giving into cheap tricks, artifice, and low brow gags that had thankfully been kept in check till this point.

This total lack of faith from Brooks in making a different type of film is unfortunate, because when Life Stinks works, it works wonderfully. The highlight of the film is the relationship between Bolt and Molly, which manages to be sweet and touching without giving into the typical romantic clichés. One of the best moments of the film is a scene in which Bolt and Molly engage in a silly, fantastic, and old fashioned dance number which manages to be charming and one of the best scenes in any of Brooks’ films. Greater than this though, is a scene which should have ended then film, as Molly visits a comatose Bolt, who has suffered a massive personal setback and has ended up in the hospital (whose staff is responsible of Bolt’s state). The scene is one with Molly pouring her heart out, performed beautifully by Warren, and ends on a simply look between herself and Bolt. It is a wonderful scene, and in many ways, feels like the film’s end. It wouldn’t wrap up all of the threads of the narrative, but I don’t believe that the film really needs to offer a conclusion to everything. The issues Brooks addresses and the more grounded approach to them do not befit a fantasy ending.

Perhaps Life Stinks wouldn’t have been any more successful if Brooks had gone for broke with the film. However, we do know that the finished film was not a success critically or commercially, and if Brooks’ last two films are anything to go by, he took the wrong lesson away from the failure of Life Stinks, returning with a vengeance to mocking cinema in a manner that was derivative of his early successes. I’m personally sad that the ambition Brooks shows with this film was never developed further. For all its flaws, Life Stinks might have been the first step in the development of a second stage of his career as a filmmaker. Instead, it is cursed to be known as the first step in ending Brooks’ career.

Films for Those Who Love Valentine's Day, and Those Who Hate Valentine's Day

Five Films for Those Who Love Valentine's Day

1. Say Anything



2. Bringing Up Baby



3. Grosse Pointe Blank



4. Mad Dog and Glory



5. Shaun of the Dead



Five Films for Those Who Hate Valentine's Day

1. Hot Fuzz



2. Bubba Ho-Tep



3. The War of the Roses



4. The Fly (1986)



5. Dead Ringers

At the Circus (Buzzell 1939)

At about fifteen minutes in, I could already tell what the problem with Edward Buzzell’s At the Circus was: it wasn’t a Marx Brothers’ film. Yes, the Marx Brothers are in it (well, the most famous three: Groucho, Chico and Harpo), and some of their classic wit and humour manages to come through, but the filmmakers so misunderstand the Marx Brother’s and their comedy styling’s that At the Circus is left a mostly lifeless affair, with the comedy trio only occasionally getting to flex their muscles.

The film follows the story of Jeff Wilson (Kenny Baker), a young circus owner who needs to pay off a debt to a man named Carter (James Burke), who is looking to take over the circus. All appears well for Wilson to payback the debt and finally marry his star attraction Julie Randall (Florence Rice) when Carter has two of his thugs rob Wilson. Hoping to help his boss and save the circus, Antonio (Chico Marx) brings in the lawyer J. Cheever Loophole (Groucho Marx) to investigate and find the money, with circus clown Punchy (Harpo Marx) helping (or hindering) along the way.

While At the Circus is hardly a horrible film, the entire setup of the film runs counter to the Marx Brothers’ unique comedy. The Marx Brothers are comic anarchy incarnate, savagely attacking the targets of their humour without mercy and bouncing from one bit of insanity to the next. This is why in their best films they are usually going after the “respectable” elements in society: the wealthy, the elite, etc. There are no real values that they uphold, and they are not really heroes in any sense of the word, as they are far too dangerous and usually selfish to make heroic decisions.

At the Circus almost completely fails to get anything about the Marx Brother’s right in the first half of the film. The controlled chaos of the circus gives the trio nothing to work with, as they all too easily blend into the world around them. Take Harpo for instance: as a silent comedian of physical gags and immense musical talent, Harpo fits right in with the circus rather than standing apart, as does Chico. Groucho as Loophole doesn’t fit in at the circus, but neither does anyone at the circus provide him with any real material to work with. Groucho Marx works best when he is tearing down those who have built themselves up or are too slow witted to realize he is insulting them. The members of the circus are far too bland for the Groucho to have anything to say about them.

This poor set up for the film results in having Groucho being the comic victim rather than victimizing others. Groucho is so powerful a screen presence that he often dominates the proceedings. When he shows up on screen, he owns it and everyone around him, controlling them and manipulating them from the minute they meet him. Yet in At the Circus, Groucho spends the first half of the film as the butt of the jokes. Compare how Groucho enters into the film Duck Soup to his introduction here, and the difference is night and day. In Duck Soup, Groucho arrives and takes swift charge, beginning his reign of comic terror with pure energy. In At the Circus, he simply arrives by car and is quickly undermined by Chico, which would have been fine if the next thirty minutes were not like that as well.

The film also suffers from its poor excuse for a story and “protagonists” that we are supposed to care about. While Kenny Baker and Florence Rice try and make due with the material they have, the simple fact is that Jeff and Julie are dull, cloying characters with absolutely nothing interesting about them. Why are we supposed to care about them? Well, apparently because they are nice, in love and young. Absolutely no effort is made to give any depth to these two, serving more as plot devices than anything else. Well, plot devices that sing poor excuses for love songs. After all, this is an MGM film.

Yet, once the film gets away from the circus and its performers and into the upper class world of Mrs. Susanna Dukesbury (the wonderful Margaret Dumont, once again the comic victim of Groucho), the film finds its footing and gets back into being a real Marx Brother’s film. Yet, by the time this happens, the film is already at its halfway point with very little laughs. Furthermore, the second half of the film still insists upon cutting back to the young lovers story that stopped mattering from the minute it was introduced, and kills any momentum that is built up by the real stars of the film.

There are moments in At the Circus that work, including a lovely musical number that gives Harpo a chance to really show off his harp playing abilities, a scene involving the worst ever interrogation of a possible criminal, and an excellent crack at the Hay’s office. Still, the whole thing feels like a miss for all involved. For those interested in the Marx Brothers’ films, it is worth checking out At the Circus, but keep your expectations low, and don’t watch after Duck Soup or Horse Feathers.

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.

Blue in the Face (Auster and Wang 1995)

Blue in the Face is the kind of film one wants to love while watching it, but at the end of the experience one finds that they can only appreciate the finished work. Blending episodic, improvised scenes with shot on video testimonials from real people from Brooklyn, Blue in the Face is an amusing if not overly insightful attempt to reflect on how a community shapes and is shaped by its own history and culture, and what manages to survive as the times change around such a community.

A sequel of sorts to Wayne Wang’s Smoke from the same year, Blue in the Face has no story, but instead provides a series of sketches surrounding those who find their way into the Cigar shop manned by Auggie (Harvey Keitel). The sketches range from everyday moments of life on the streets, to monologues, and even moments of the fantastic, as one character comes face to face with Jackie Robinson (Keith David). The film is far more jovial in tone compared to Smoke, and in its best moments, Blue in the Face is like a casual get together with some close friends. Nothing much happens, but the environment is warm, pleasant, and comforting.

The downfall of the film is the one that is typical of most episodic films: the ratio of great sketches to weak ones. The opening scene involving a purse snatching that is a simple bit of comic gold built entirely out of the ways in which characters interact and react to a fairly common event. Unfortunately, the more the film moves away from the everyday, the weaker the film becomes. Perhaps the worst offender is the scene involving Jackie Robinson which, while featuring wonderful performances, feels out of place in the world of the film. While I understand both the story and thematic reasons for the scene, the scene is overly staged and artificial, undercutting the sense of grounded reality within the film.

The Robinson story is not the only moment when this becomes a problem however. The film is full of celebrity cameos, which manage to range from inspired to feeling like a marketing gimmick. Jim Jarmusch, for example, appears as a man who has decided to quit smoking and wants to smoke his last cigarette with Auggie. Jarmusch works in the film unlike many others because he feels like he belongs in the neighbourhood of the film, managing to have chemistry with Keitel that allows their interaction to feel natural. Others however have a much harder time blending in. Roseanne for example, appears and quickly drifts into cartoonish behaviour in her performance, as does Lily Tomlin as a homeless woman looking for waffles; Lou Reed, speaking directly to the camera throughout the film, delivers a series of monologues about Brooklyn that only manage to be interesting in any way because it is Lou Reed delivering them, and Madonna manages to show up in a role that clearly had little point other than to work Madonna into the film. With each appearance, these stars manage to detract from the reality of the film and feel like a parade, making one wish that unknowns had been cast in those parts instead.

For all these faults though, I really love the world that both Smoke and Blue in the Face reside in. Laid back, contemplative, and welcoming, it is the kind of cinematic universe one doesn’t mind returning to time and again. I would hope that at some point, the filmmakers would return to the world of these characters, hopefully without the cameos next time.

Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (Harrington 1971)

There is no way a film like Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (Harrington 1971) could ever be made today. Dark, bizarre and filled to the brim with insane and morally questionable characters, Curtis Harrington’s 1971 film could only have been made by American International Pictures. The company, formed in 1956, specialized in lower budget genre films and famously released Roger Corman’s earliest and (arguably) best work. Despite the low budgets and commercial focus of the company, it often produced some surprisingly memorable films, and employed some highly recognizable talent in front of the camera and behind, such as Richard Matheson, Vincent Price and, in the case of this film, Shirley Winters.

Set after World War I, Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? stars Winters as Mrs. Forrest, an American woman living in England. Left wealthy by her deceased magician husband, Forrest is mentally unbalanced by the accidental death of her daughter. Forrest’s mental unbalance is made clear in the opening scene of the film, as the audience discovers Forrest singing to the skeletal corpse of her daughter, which she hides in her home. In this state of psychotic guilt and loneliness, Mrs. Forrest employs a medium named Mr. Benton (Ralph Richardson) to hold séances to speak to her daughter.

Each year at Christmas, Mrs. Forrest holds a party for ten orphans, and it is at this point we are introduced to siblings Christopher and Katy (Mark Lester and Chloe Franks). Abandoned and trusting only each other, the siblings promise only to lie to others, a promise which manages to get them into trouble and keeps them off the guest list to Mrs. Forrest’s party. Christopher and Katy instead manage to sneak to Mrs. Forrest’s house on their own, only to be discovered. Rather than being angry, Mrs. Forrest allows the children to stay. However, during another late night séance, Katy enters the room just as Mrs. Winter’s asks for the return of her daughter, crystallizing in her mind the similarities between her lost daughter and Katy. Meanwhile, the imaginative Christopher begins to notice some peculiar activities about the house, prompting his own suspicious of Mrs. Forrest.

Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? is a pitch black comedy with a strong dose of irony. Set after World War I, a war in which the world lost a supposed innocence as a result of the horrors witnessed, the film explores the ways in which individuals cope with loss through fantasy, and how such loss shapes their respective fantasy. Mrs. Forrest, with her husband and daughter dead, desires to preserve a state of childhood innocence and purity she assumes of children, beautifully illustrated in a speech she gives to the orphanage headmistress about why she makes her Christmas parties extravagant. Mrs. Forrest herself is the true innocent of the film, despite her extreme behaviour, desiring to love and be loved in return. The role is a meaty one for Shelly Winters, who manages to play the role at extreme levels without drifting into parody.

In direct opposition to Mrs. Forrest’s fantasy of childhood is Christopher. Hardened by the abandonment of himself and his sister, Christopher has developed a strong distrust of adults and combats them in any way he can, taking steps to ensure the future for him and his sister. In a particularly memorable scene, Christopher steals some of Mrs. Forrest’s diamonds by stuffing them into Katy’s bear, with the goal to sell them as adults should they never be adopted. This distrust of adults results in Christopher filtering everything through the fables he knows, particularly the story of “Hansel and Gretel,” envisioning Mrs. Forrest as a witch.

While Christopher expresses the fear that Mrs. Forrest may eat him, his key fear is the loss of his sister to Mrs. Forrest, who desires to adopt Katy. The battle for Katy thus becomes the battle against loss and loneliness, a demented battle in which both individuals lie and manipulate Katy for their own ends. While emotionally touching, the film never descends into sentimentality as the battle remains one between two individuals who totally misread one another and take extreme action in achieving their ends. I will not spoil the ending of the film, but the reaction of the victor to realizing they may have misunderstood the situation is a wonderful bit of deadpan gold.

The film has a beautifully surreal quality, utilizing the film medium’s ability to be both distanced from the subject of the camera while at the same time being fully brought into their point of view. It is a film of careful observation, as camera angles, music and editing technique are carefully selected to maintain an ironic distance from its subjects without drifting into the over detachment of later horror films such as Scream (Craven 1996), a film so in love with its own ironic cleverness that no level of investment in the characters or situation is possible. The production design helps immensely in this regard, making good use of the period setting to create a heightened reality through its theatricality while managing to maintain a level of authenticity. The film thus takes on the quality of a fable, though a fable for adults.

None of this is to say that the film is a masterpiece of any sort. There have been better films about delusional characters grappling with fantasy that feature more pointed humour, including the earlier film Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (Aldrich 1962) and the more recent Nurse Betty (LaBute 2000). However, the macabre, bizarre nature of Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? is a pleasure to watch. Furthermore, unlike Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? does not feature a terrible performance from Joan Crawford in a lead role. Perhaps had Shelley Winters had starred alongside Betty Davis instead, I might be able to call that film perfect.