Free Fire (2016)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Free Fire (2016) – B. Wheatley

Yes, it’s basically a 90-minute gun fight between characters to which we are never properly introduced and which are never fleshed out.  So, if that’s not what you are after, look elsewhere.  I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted either.  But I enjoyed High Rise (2015) from director Ben Wheatley and so I thought I would give it a try.  So, beyond the fact that it’s shallow, it is a marvel of technical craft.  Basically, you have 10 (or 13) people spread out across a warehouse floor, shooting at each other, getting hit but not killed (as Wheatley apparently wanted realism and drew from actual FBI records of gun battles), dragging themselves bloodily to different hiding spots, and mustering all their strength to escape, call for reinforcements (on the one telephone, as this is set in 1978; cue John Denver), or kill the opposition.  That’s about it, except that it is also pretty funny.  The technical wizardry is less to do with blood and gore and a lot more about the editing and storyboarding that keeps the viewer straight with both who is still alive and their physical location in the complicated set.  But, yeah, if you don’t want to see blood, violence, and a lot of swearing, this isn’t your film.  Starring Bree Larson, Cillian Murphy, Armie Hammer, Noah Taylor, and others with whom I was unfamiliar (Sharlto Copley is a stand-out and Babou Ceesay has a great surprising turn). 

Pygmalion (1938)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Pygmalion (1938) – A. Asquith

George Bernard Shaw’s play, scripted for the screen by the playwright himself, was first directed by Anthony Asquith (with co-director’s credit to star Leslie Howard).  But then it was famously revisioned as the musical, My Fair Lady (first on stage and then on screen in 1964, directed by George Cukor and starring Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison).  Having seen the musical first, as a child, it is hard not to hear the lines of the play/1938 film (“the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain”) and recall the songs they became later.  But without revisiting the latter film, it is rewarding to say that Pygmalion may be better.  Both Leslie Howard (as Professor Higgins) and Wendy Hiller (as Eliza Doolittle) present memorable and charismatic characters and the plot twists (such that they are) are funny and well-played; Wilfrid Lawson and Esme Percy are solid and comical in support.  Of course, the basis of the story, Higgins’ boast that he could refashion Cockney flower seller Doolittle into a princess simply by teaching her phonetics and improving her diction, is still condescending and paternalistic – but Howard plays Higgins with his flaws foregrounded, so perhaps this can be forgiven? (And Eliza does tweak him in the end, at least – but what will their relationship be, if relationship there is to be?).  Eighty years on, the social satire (or fantasy?) designed for the British class system may or may not hold up (depending on your aims) – and it is tempting to imagine the roles with different cultural variations (for example, there appears to be a version with genders reversed) but any new version would require a lot more bite and insight than what is managed here. There’s no denying that we use accents to stigmatise people though…

The Spiral Staircase (1946)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Spiral Staircase (1946) – R. Siodmak

Version 1:  A high water mark for the "woman in peril" genre (with all of its flaws) that is basically just a fulfilled opportunity to try to scare viewers. A serial killer is on the loose, hunting women with disabilities of some kind, and he's apparently made it to the sprawling dark mansion in which Helen (Dorothy McGuire), who has been mute since childhood, is working as a maid for invalid Ethel Barrymore. Sumptuous in its décor and art direction and expert in its camerawork, Robert Siodmak (The Killers, Phantom Lady) uses his noir skills to great spooky effect. Anyone could be the killer (of course) but the pay-off is sort of ho-hum.

Version 2:  A serial killer menaces women with disabilities in a Gothic New England town in the early 20^th century in this noirish tale.  Dorothy McGuire, mute since a childhood trauma, is handmaid to Mrs. Warren (Ethel Barrymore), an seemingly insufferable invalid who lives with her son, Steven (an irresponsible rascal just back from Europe) and her stepson, Albert (a Professor who has taken on the burden of caring for his stepmother after his father’s death).  Early in the film, it is made clear that the killer has entered the house, now besieged by a terrible storm, and director Robert Siodmak takes the opportunity to introduce us to a number of suspects, including Mr Oates (Rhys Williams) and Dr Parry (Kent Smith), the latter also a possible love interest for Helen (McGuire).  The cast is rounded out by Rhonda Fleming, Elsa Lancaster, and Sara Allgood who work for the family in various capacities.  As I said, it was a dark and stormy night.  McGuire can’t scream.  The killer strikes.  Who will be his next victim?  The conclusion sees a number of characters running up and down the spiral staircase which leads to the basement.  Although my synopsis may make this seem formulaic, the result is not anything like the various mystery serials that were popular in the day (which often say the suspects rounded up into a room where the detective announced the killer).  Instead, things are moodier, more visually interesting, darker, and hard (but not impossible) to predict.

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988) – T. Gilliam

When Terry Gilliam could still be counted on for a (relatively) coherent cinema experience and one that was predictably visually cluttered and surreal, he made this version of the Munchausen tale (which had been filmed several times before).  The Baron is a possible spinner of tall tales, which see him riding on a cannonball, visiting the King and Queen of the Moon (Robin Williams and Valentina Cortese), engaging with Vulcan (Oliver Reed) and Venus (Uma Thurman), and defeating the Turkish army with just a few friends (Eric Idle, Charles McKeown, Jack Purvis, Winston Dennis – all with special powers, such as running fast, blowing a gale, super strength, long-distance vision), and so on.  The framing device is that we are in a town laid siege by the Turks at the end of the 18^th century and a troupe of actors is staging a version of the Munchausen adventures when in walks the Baron himself (John Neville).  He begins to regale the audience (including evil bureaucrat Jonathan Pryce) with his tales which Gilliam shows to us (leaving the stage to show us the full three dimensional experience).  But at some point things become blurred and young Sarah Polley, the daughter of the leader of the actors, joins the Baron on his adventures, which do end up freeing the city (and the actors) from the Turks (or perhaps Pryce’s pretense that they were really besieging the town).  Although the plot is (overly) complicated, Gilliam manages to retain a sense of childlike wonder for the proceedings and Neville is an excellent raconteur/guide/hero.  Perhaps there is slightly too much bombast and sameness throughout, but on the whole, an enjoyable affair.

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992)

☆ ☆ ☆

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992) – D. Lynch

I decided to re-watch Fire Walk With Me, the prequel to the original Twin Peaks (filmed in 1992), to see if it gained anything in light of the recent new series in 2017 (which I enjoyed).  Indeed, the first 30 minutes with special agents Chris Isaak and Kiefer Sutherland, was pretty great – with David Lynch as Gordon Cole, David Bowie as Philip Jefferies, Miguel Ferrer as Albert, and Harry Dean Stanton as Carl from the trailer park, all reprising the roles they would play again in 2017 (albeit with Bowie only in flashback).  There is a reference to a Blue Rose case and the same haunting and weird atmosphere found in the latest series.  However, as soon as Isaak finds the “green ring”, that part of the film ends and we enter the story of Laura Palmer, one year later.  This is a bit grim, given that the plot revolves around incest, since Bob has entered Laura’s dad, Leland Palmer.  The ambiguity is that we don’t know if Bob exists or if Laura’s perception is a result of the trauma she is experiencing.  Her drug use and acting out sexually could also be symptoms.  Of course, Twin Peaks fans know that Bob is real and now we know more of his backstory (born in the first atomic test?) and we understand that Leland was not acting of his own accord.  But that doesn’t make the degradation here any easier to take.  Those who wish to experience Lynch’s haunting world (the music, the sets, the debauchery) can find it here – except don’t come into this hoping for the same thrills and puzzles as we found in the last series (after the first half hour, that is). 

  

Robin and the 7 Hoods (1964)

☆ ☆ ½

Robin and the 7 Hoods (1964) – G. Douglas

Perhaps, once upon a time, there was an audience for the Rat Pack pictures (starring Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis, Jr., and here with Peter Falk as their nemesis and Bing Crosby as a fellow traveller).  I thought it would be interesting for kitsch-value – but alas, not true.  Instead, the film is rather plodding, hoping to skate along on its stars’ charisma (certainly not their acting) and therefore coming across as not much more than a rehashed 1940s gangster pic with a bunch of “dad jokes” and some rather weird musical numbers.  The only hit tune is “Chicago, My Kind of Town”—but Sinatra’s listless delivery doesn’t really rouse the troops.  Crosby is given little to work with, though makes the best of his (comic?) part, whereas Martin is so laid back he doesn’t really seem to care if he’s in the picture or not.  I was hoping for better when the curtain opened on “Big Jim” (classic gangster Edward G. Robinson) – but he is soon shot dead, leaving room for gang war between Falk and Sinatra, with Big Jim’s daughter, played by Barbara Rush, doing her best to manipulate all of the men into letting her run the town.  Sinatra and his gang decide to give the money meant to bribe them over to charity – hence the title and Robin Hood analogy (Sinatra’s character is “Robbo”).  I could go on but I’ll spare you.  This isn’t a bad movie really but there are far better ways to spend your time, unless you are part of the audience that once upon a time this picture was made for.

Walker (1987)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Walker (1987) – A. Cox

Director Alex Cox (famous for Repo Man, 1984, and Sid and Nancy, 1986), here takes a stab at a historical biopic of William Walker, an American “Filibuster” who became the self-appointed President of Nicaragua in 1856.  Of course, Cox’s focus on Nicaragua was no accident, given Ronald Reagan’s then-current efforts to undermine the Sandinistas by providing (illegal) aid to the anti-government “Contras”.  However, Cox clearly did not set out to make a serious film, instead presenting Walker’s time in Nicaragua (after an earlier, very bloody, foray in Mexico) as almost comic chaos, with cartoonish violence and anachronistic dialogue and props (from the 1980s, not the 1850’s).  Ed Harris plays Walker serene and very nearly straight but with just a tinge of lunacy that starts to manifest in his decisions (to legalise slavery, to burn the town of Granada, etc.).  In fact, a quick look at Wikipedia suggests that Rudy Wurlitzer’s script has stayed very close to the facts of Walker’s life and exploits (and ultimate death by firing squad).  But, as I said, this is not a reverential treatment (nor should it be, given the imperialistic and inhumane actions of the “hero”) – only as the final credits scrawl do we get reminded of the current US actions in Nicaragua, underscoring the otherwise implicit statement being made.  After the film flopped, Cox found that he was never again able to make a movie with Hollywood backing.  Yet his subversive approach here might be the best way to present the horrors of history, keeping you laughing in order to stop you from crying. But the take-home points still get through.