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Archive for the ‘Movies’ Category

Pont Alexandre III and Tour EiffelWriters…we often cast ourselves in the lead of our own internal dramas, but rarely does one of our number actually make it to the big screen in a leading role. A couple of examples I’ve seen in recent years are The Words and Wonder Boys, in which Bradley Cooper and Michael Douglas were cast as the “writer.” (Ever notice how writers on-screen look a hell of a lot better than writers in real life?)

This weekend, I added another to my list.

Paris When it Sizzles is a 1964 rom-com starring William Holden as the writer and Audrey Hepburn as his amanuensis. It is a thoroughly ’60s thing, this movie, but it is also one of the funniest movies I’ve seen from that era.

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Last night, after watching Amour (2012), I was positively knackered.

I’d just spent two hours reeling from the blows inflicted by this unflinching story of an elderly couple dealing with the inevitable. I’d wept sharp, stinging tears of grief and had the air punched from my lungs. It left me weakened by a powerful catharsis, spent of all emotional reserves. I was a raw, flayed thing.

And I was exceedingly glad of it all.

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It’s a rare occasion when I’m wholly surprised by a movie. Rarer still is when I come across a star-powered film of which I’ve heard absolutely nothing. Rarest of all is a movie that combines both of these.

Morituri (1965) is such a film.

Before I stumbled across it while channel-surfing, I’d never heard of this WWII story starring Marlon Brando and Yul Brynner. It was released in ’65 to middling reviews and box-office crickets. The title of the film was deemed the main culprit for this poor performance–audiences didn’t understand the title’s reference to the phrase Nos morituri te salutamus, or “We who are about to die salute you.”–but I think it also it was a matter of the public’s waning appetite for tense movies about the war. In the early ’60s, we saw a definite down-tick in the number of WWII films produced by Hollywood, alongside a shift to movies with more romance and humor (The Americanization of Emily, Ensign Pulver, Father Goose, and The Sound of Music– I mean come on…singing Nazis? ). We were still making great WWII dramas, to be sure; some of the greatest, in fact, came out of the mid-’60s, such as Judgment at Nuremburg and The Longest Day, but on the whole the WWII thriller was becoming less common.

Into this changing landscape steamed Morituri. (more…)

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I am a sucker for epistolary movies. Throw in ethnic food and cookery, and you’ll have me on toast points.

The Lunchbox (2013) stars Irffan Khan and Nimrat Kaur, and is the first full-length feature by director Ritesh Batra (who also wrote the screenplay and produced the film). Western movie-goers might recognize Khan from movies such as Life of Pi, Slumdog Millionaire, and The Darjeeling Limited, but most of his work–as almost all his co-star Kaur’s work–has been in Indian cinema.

The story is set in Mumbai, a place of contradictions and juxtapositions between old and new, modern and old-school. Ila (Kaur) is a young housewife who cooks a lunch for her husband every day and sends it to him using the city’s arcane but incredibly efficient lunchbox delivery service. One day, however, the lunch she prepares goes astray, and is delivered instead to Saajan (Khan), a middle-aged widower who works at an insurance office. Ila quickly realizes that her husband didn’t get the lunch she prepared but can see that whoever did get it, enjoyed it, and so in the next day’s lunchbox, she includes a note.

Thus, a correspondence begins, filled with food, secrets, dreams, and hopes.

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Clock TowerSome people (you know who you are…Ari) feel that Kenneth Branagh’s cinematic version of Much Ado About Nothing is the gold standard. I admit, though Ken’s version is one of my favorites, I cannot find it within me to apply that label to anything with Keanu Reeves in it. Sorry. Ain’t gonna happen.

Then there is Joss Whedon’s Much Ado, filmed on a shoestring at his home in Malibu, but for all that it’s made by Joss (squee!), it still takes about 20 minutes of film-time to get its feet under itself, and that’s too long.

There’s also the Brandon Arnold version, a high-school production that might best be re-titled “Much Ado 90210.” Just…don’t.

Beyond that, you have to go back to the ’80s or the ’70s to find a decent version so, still and all, Branagh’s version is one of the best…

…but…

…it’s a movie.

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It seems to me that Hollywood–and entertainment in general–can’t come up with anything new.

Sequels. Prequels. Spin-offs. Reboots.

The so-called “summer blockbusters” are nothing more than tasteless CGI pastries injected with a gooey filling made of bantering superheroes, giant robots, zombie fighters, and sparkly vampires, all which we viewers scarf down while speeding past fiery explosions on our way to a happy ending. Every actor and action, from the abdominal beauty of the Spartan 300 to the hypnotically-slo-mo destruction of iconic American landmarks, is retouched and enhanced into a stylized pabulum for our plebeian appetites. There is no grit. There is no ambiguity. All is good and bad, beautiful and evil, plucky survivors and defeated foes.

Then, along comes Max.

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The Red Knight, Parry’s nemesis in The Fisher King

I got very angry yesterday, after hearing the news of Robin Williams’ death, but I wasn’t angry with him. I was angry with two other people.

The first person I was angry with was an acquaintance who berated Williams for his suicide, calling him selfish and weak. Thankfully, many came to Williams’ defense, chastising this person for both his insensitivity and his ignorance.

The other person I was angry with was myself, because there was a time when I would have said something similar. (more…)

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