Kid Galahad (1937)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Kid Galahad (1937) – M. Curtiz

Only after the fact did I realise this was directed by Michael Curtiz (Casablanca, 1942) with a screenplay by Seton I. Miller (responsible, with Curtiz, for a number of Errol Flynn hits, including Robin Hood, 1938).  They are already working with stars here:  Edward G. Robinson is a stubborn (but childish) fight promoter and Bette Davis is his gal.  They are at odds with Humphrey Bogart’s bad gangster who is also in the fight promotion racket.  When Robinson’s fighter double-crosses him (taking a dive for Bogie), he recruits a farm-boy turned bellhop with a wicked right hook (Wayne Morris) to be his next shot at the championship.  When Kid Galahad (Morris) falls in love with Robinson’s sister (Jane Bryan), Robinson loses his cool and Davis is heartbroken (since she fell for the Kid as well).  Having two lesser players feature in the love story does detract from things but I was surprised at how well the story (soapy and clichéd as it may be) flowed.  Perhaps it has just been too long since I returned to the golden age of Hollywood? All the players here have done better work in better films but I enjoyed this anyway.  Strange to see boxing in a film that isn’t noir, though.   

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (2018) – T. Gilliam

This is director Terry Gilliam’s fabled “cursed” production that was finally completed and released in 2018 to very little fanfare (after filming started in 2000).  I watched it with low expectations and (after an early anti-PC line in the script had me worried) was pleased that the film turned out to be very watchable.  Adam Driver plays a film director attempting to make a big screen version of Cervantes’ epic novel (updating his own earlier student film from 10 years prior) but who is struggling to find inspiration.  When he stumbles across the poor shoemaker (Jonathan Pryce) who had starred in his earlier film but who now believes he is actually Quixote in the flesh and that Driver is Sancho Panza, they embark on a number of adventures.  As befits Gilliam’s oeuvre, the line between fantasy and reality is often blurred, as Driver also seems to hallucinate a Quixotic milieu and viewers are also tossed and turned backwards and forwards between modern day and 17^th century Spain.  There is a plot of sorts that involves Driver trying to rescue Joana Ribeiro who plays a young woman whose life was altered (for the worse) after she played a role in Driver’s first film.  She’s under the thumb of a sadistic rich guy (Jordi Mollà) who Driver’s producers are courting to get the contract to produce some vodka ads – or something like that.  There are some jarring notes here, as Driver’s character isn’t always likeable (though Jonathan Pryce is always endearing as Quixote) and the modern characters swear way too much (unnecessary).  The film is also too long -- but from time to time, Gilliam does manage to conjure up something magical (a distant echo of The Saragossa Manuscript, 1965, perhaps); if only he had the discipline to distil the film down to just these moments.

Shine (1996)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Shine (1996) – S. Hicks

This biopic of pianist David Helfgott was Geoffrey Rush’s breakthrough role (he won the Oscar as well) but he is only really in half the film.  Helfgott’s teenage years and early 20s are played by Noah Taylor (who is also good).  But Rush does have the showier role, portraying Helfgott after his nervous breakdown when he has spent 10 years in a psychiatric hospital and has developed some vocal tics and mannerisms.  To Rush’s credit, he really throws himself into it, including learning as much of the piano parts that he could to serve as his own hand double (the actual playing is offscreen by Helfgott himself).  Armin Mueller-Stahl plays Helfgott’s stern father who pressures his son to become a piano superstar but then restrains him from taking up offers to study overseas. Helfgott eventually defies his father to study at the Royal Academy of Music in London.  But the parental pressure eventually causes Helfgott to crack -- and Taylor gives way to Rush.  The story arc naturally points to redemption, otherwise this would be a depressing tale indeed.  Everyone acquits themselves admirably but the film does wrap up abruptly. Biopics are tough to get right.  Nevertheless, it’s good to see an Aussie story on the big screen.

The Report (2019)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Report (2019) – S. Z. Burns

When all is said and done, this really is a movie about a report getting stuck in a government committee (based on a true story, of course).  But it is a very important report – about the CIA’s involvement in torture (which they called “enhanced interrogation techniques”) during the Bush administration.  Adam Driver plays Dan Jones, a senate staffer who is assigned by Diane Feinstein (on the Senate Intelligence Committee; played by Annette Bening) to investigate the CIA’s internal communications and write the report.  Which turns out to be 7000 pages long.  And which the CIA would like to suppress.  So, there’s a battle to be had and Jones/Driver is steadfast in his willingness to take up the gauntlets, in an unassuming sort of way, as befits a public servant.  The real villains of the piece are the two military psychologists, James Mitchell and Bruce Jessen, who were apparently paid upwards of 80 million dollars for their role in the torturing of Al Qaeda suspects and somehow were immune from prosecution (as were all of the CIA employees involved) – although I recall that they were later expelled from the American Psychological Association.  A key theme of the film is that the “science” behind the torture techniques (such as waterboarding) was faulty and that, contrary to what the CIA PR team stated, there was no unique information made available by suspects as a result of these techniques (only lies and information already known).  The film rises to a final crescendo:  will the report be publicly released or not?  (Obama’s administration is criticised for its willingness to redact large sections).  In the end, it is probably too naïve and self-congratulatory to argue that the US is a country where the government is willing to admit its own faults and never transgress again.  But that optimistic conclusion is rousing enough for a movie about getting a report done.

JFK (1991)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

JFK (1991) – O. Stone

It’s hard to mentally return to the early ‘90s (thirty years ago) to recall whether Oliver Stone’s conspiracy theory info-dump (based on Jim Garrison’s book) was perceived as revelatory, crackpot, or someplace in between.  Wasn’t there a recent release of previously classified documents that backs up some of the theorising here?  Certainly, Stone lets it rip by implicating the CIA, the FBI, LBJ, and the mob in the assassination of Kennedy – but I still buy the argument that human nature being what it is, it would be hard to keep a secret of that magnitude under wraps. Nevertheless, the film did have an immediate impact in orchestrating the earlier release of some papers and the Warren Commission’s single shooter conclusion does seem unlikely too.  But the film itself (at 3 ½ hours long) feels windy, packed with speeches whose only intent seems to be to get certain “facts” into the public record for debate, and a surplus of characters that are difficult to remember. Kevin Costner as New Orleans District Attorney Garrison is flat and boring (as Costner always is) and Stone seems uninterested in scenes of Garrison’s home life (with wife Sissy Spacek and children).  In contrast, when reviewing the Zapruder film or presenting any of the events from 1963, Stone brings all of his powers to bear, using a mix of colour and black-and-white, providing real footage as well as re-enactments, blurring reality and fiction (in a way that might confuse future historians – trying to mentally return 60 years ago), and throwing in name actors in cameo roles to heighten the “fun” (Ed Asner, Jack Lemmon, Donald Sutherland, Kevin Bacon, John Candy).  Tommy Lee Jones takes a bigger role as Clay Shaw who Garrison charged with conspiracy to assassinate Kennedy, the case purportedly at the centre of the film but which often feels neglected (perhaps a “true” feature of Garrison’s investigations).  In the end, this could have been a tighter better film (and reading books might provide clearer hypotheses about JFK’s murder) – and I certainly didn’t need to see it again – but it’s good that Stone got it off his chest.     

Uncut Gems (2019)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Uncut Gems (2019) – B. Safdie & J. Safdie

The problem with Uncut Gems is that it is generally unpleasant all the way through.  That’s not to deny the artistry that is certainly involved in the filmmaking here (by the Safdie brothers) -- but spending all this time with Adam Sandler’s Howard Ratner is not an enjoyable experience.  He plays a jeweller who has a (sports) gambling problem and has managed to beg, borrow, and steal enough money to maintain an expensive lifestyle and mistress, despite being married with 3 or 4 kids.  When we join him, he’s got a big scheme going to make a killing on a black opal from Ethiopia that turns out to be attractive to superstar basketball player Kevin Garnett (playing himself).  But the script doesn’t give him an easy out – his creditors have their goons after him, his wife is ready to divorce him, his various shams and ruses are coming apart.  The Safdies ratchet the tension way up.  I tried to think of this as a film noir, where the central protagonist makes a key mistake (often due to a personal weakness), and then pays a heavy price for that mistake.  It’s more or less true but we keep hoping that Howard will make that next big score that offers salvation (if he is willing to stop there).  The film doesn’t actually feel like noir though – it is too amped up, despite taking us to too many locations, introducing too many characters and then dead ends in true noir fashion; it’s a wonder that Howard doesn’t collapse from a stroke at any point.  Sandler’s acting is solid – he disappears into this character – but this character is a loser.  Probably best to think of this as another exercise in the Safdie’s trashy style, laced with some druggy interludes, and unafraid to go for broke.