Reviews

Enough already, "Kranks" bashers. My wife and I talked about the movie after seeing the trailer before "Spider-Man 2," and we were not disappointed. It's not Oscar-winning material, but I'd rather watch a light-hearted movie like this (a matinée for $5.25) than any "Kill Bill" or "Lord of the Rings" extravaganza. Tim Allen, Dan Aykroyd and Jamie Lee Curtis have done MUCH better work, but who cares. If you want, or need, to laugh and feel good when you leave the theater, check out the "Kranks." I don't consider myself the most sophisticated movie-watcher, but neither my wife nor I, nor anyone watching with us, walked out of the theater.

Anyone who believes this movie is a true depiction of Hank Williams' life must know nothing about the man's life or walked into the wrong movie. At age 10, after seeing this movie twice at my small town's theater, I almost had a fight with my best friend and next-door neighbor about the account of Williams' death, which anyone who knows the true story will find ludicrous. Meaning no disrespect to the actress or the person on this board who considers her a great actress, but Susan Oliver's on-screen appeal escapes detection. And asking George Hamilton to portray one of the most charismatic performers of the 20th Century is simply laughable. Red Buttons gives it the old college try and Arthur O'Connell is OK as Fred Rose. In the right hands, a film version of Hank Williams' life story might be compelling entertainment. This isn't it.

Vincente Minnelli's film version bears little resemblance to Irwin Shaw's novel of the same name, not that there's anything wrong with that. This movie belongs on the second half of a double feature with "The Carpetbaggers" as a guilty pleasure I can't resist watching. It spoofs the difficulties American directors had in making quality movies overseas when European producers expressed no interest in quality, only profit. This is a lesser alternative to Fellini's "8 1/2" and Godard's "Contempt," which explored the same theme, and its trashiness is expressed perfectly with footage from "The Bad and the Beautiful," another Minnelli-Douglas collaboration. Favorite line, Edward G. Robinson to Douglas regarding George Hamilton: "He's crazier on the loose than you were locked up."

It's next to impossible not to like Paul Newman on screen, so it's a tremendous active achievement when he plays an unsympathetic character. Sully, his greatest role since "Hud," depicts Newman at his worst and thus at his best. Tom Hanks was remarkable in "Forrest Gump," but Newman deserved the 1994 Best Actor Oscar for "Nobody's Fool." The movie's greatness lies in the relationships between Newman and two other characters. Jessica Tandy is closer to Newman than her own son, played by Josef Sommer (who it's revealed is a white-collar crook and thus a bigger scoundrel than Sully, whom he despises). Likewise, Newman connects easier with co-worker Rub than with his own son, who can't see beyond his father's betrayal during a wayward youth. The reconciliation between Sully and Rub on a back porch may be the greatest of Newman's career ("Peter's my son. You're my best friend," Sully says in terms that even the slow-thinking Rub can grasp instantly). Robert Benton, who also directed the heartwarming "Places in the Heart," gives us an equally personal, but more disciplined work. He assembles A-list performers (Bruce Willis and Melanie Griffith are magnetic on screen), gives them marvelous dialogue ("You're a man among men," Griffith tells Newman twice in the movie but with different meanings) and melts our hearts. But acting honors go to Newman, whose complex Sully becomes if not loving, then at least a responsible, functioning, vital member of the human race. And, in the end, nobody's fool.

My mother died two years of complications from Alzheimer's, so it's with reluctance that I watched this movie -- but am glad now that I did. This is a love story with Alzheimer's as a reference point, lovingly directed by Nick Cassavetes, whose mother, Gena Rowlands, plays the elder Allie (I think she can prepare her acceptance speech at next year's Academy Awards ceremony). The movie comes ever so close to drifting into parity but I was blown away when Allie and her mother, played by Joan Allen, visited the sawmill and she confessed her feelings for an old flame. I was reminded of an earlier scene that Allie's mother said Noah was nothing but "trash, trash, trash," but we realize later that it wasn't so much Allie, but herself, that she was trying to convince. So, unlike Daisy Buchanan in "The Great Gatsby," Allie Hamilton, a rich girl, marries Noah Calhoun, a poor boy, and the angels in heaven rejoice. Anyone who has lost a loved one to Alzheimer's or just remembers his first love should see this one -- but take along plenty of Kleenex; believe me, you'll need it.

What else can one say about a movie that everything has been said, and better? Although not my favorite movie, "Citizen Kane" represents a force of will never expressed quite so well by an American filmmaker. "Citizen Kane" educates not only filmmakers but teaches discerning viewers how to watch a movie of personal expression. The first hour is so good that I keep watching when the plot drags after his affair with Susan Alexander is exposed and costs him a governorship ("Candidate caught in love nest with 'singer,'" is a wonderfully inspired headline; note the single quotes around "singer," implying that Alexander is not to be confused with Maria Callas). The news-reel sequence remains fresh and exciting upon repeated viewings, using techniques that Woody Allen employed to dulling effect in "Zelig." The movie is watching simply for the dialogue, for which Herman J. Mankiewicz and Orson Welles received the film's only Oscar; note Mr. Bernstein's speech about a girl in a white parasol; Welles reciting his "declaration of principles" with Joseph Cotten's reminder, "That's the second sentence you've begun with I;" Welles, as Kane, completing a drunken Jed Leland's negative review of Alexander's Chicago operatic debut because, says Leland (Cotten), "he wanted to prove he was an honest man; an aging Welles telling his financial adviser from youth that he still should be addressed as Mr. Thatcher "because you're too old to be called anything else;" but most of all Cotten with Welles on election night and proposing a toast to "love on my terms, because those are the only ones you'll ever get." And we haven't mentioned "Rosebud," Gregg Toland's cinematography or Bernard Herrmann's score. All the more reason to watch this American original. And when the credits roll, remember that Welles made it age 25!

Nashville couldn't understand "Nashville," and no wonder. Anyone who watches "Nashville" for insights to country music probably views "The Godfather" for tips about olive oil. Altman's 1975 film uses country music and the people who perform, listen to and produce it as a metaphor about America in the '70s, when, as Warren Beatty said in "A Parallax View," released a year earlier, "everytime you turned around, one of the best people in the country was getting shot." Anyone who has seen the film and visits the Parthenon, where the final scenes are filmed, may feel a sense of unease. Listen closely and you can hear Haven Hamilton pleading to the stunned crowd, "Show them what we're made of! They can't do this to us here! This isn't Dallas; this is Nashville!"

The ending is astonishing, tidying up some plot lines and leaving others open ended. A star is born when the Albuquerque character and a gospel group minus its leader belt out a Nashville standard, "It Don't Worry Me." The Sueleen Gay character, meanwhile, suffers one final indignity; Albuquerque, on the same stage and with the same ambitions, achieves the fame that might have gone to Sueleen, a waitress/stripper/wanna-be recording artist, had Sueleen gotten the microphone first.

We never know what caused the Kenny Frazier character to crack; perhaps like Mark David Chapman (John Lennon) he was obsessed with the Holden Caulfield character in "Catcher in the Rye," although we can feel fairly certain that he did not share John David Hinckley's (President Reagan) obsession with Jodie Foster since "Taxi Driver" would not be released for another year.

Watching "Nashville" for the first time, you may feel protective of Barbara Jean's character for reasons you can't immediately explain but will learn all too well. I feel the same urge to shout at the screen, warning her character of possible danger, that I experienced in "From Here to Eternity," knowing that Pearl Harbor was imminent and would change everything.

Characters transform before our eyes. Del Reese (Ned Beatty), bored with his marriage to a Nashville superstar and as a father to hearing-impaired children, cares enough at the end to lead a wounded Haven Hamilton to safety. Hamilton (masterfully played by Henry Gibson) would stomp anyone in his path to create a hit record but is the first to care for Barbara Jean in her moment of need.

Sure, some of the songs are terrible -- some country music is terrible -- but could anything be more poignant than Barbara Jean's rendition of "My Idaho Home" or Keith Carradine singing "I'm Easy" in a nightclub where four of his conquests look on equally with lust and bewilderment. Country singers, like stock-car drivers, inspire tremendous loyalty and jealousy among their fans, which Altman depicts beautifully when Scott Glenn, a devoted fan of Barbara Jean, leaves the Opry as Connie White appears to sing a tribute to her ailing rival. Hamilton's character is never better than when between songs he asks listeners to send Barbara Jean a card and "tell her that Haven told you to write."

Altman would rate among the greatest directors -- as the American Fellini -- if this were his only effort. Despite its convoluted plot structure, "Nashville" achieves greatness and searches for truth. If the 1970s shaped your life in any respect, this is a movie experience not to be missed.

People criticize that "Giant" is too long. What do they want? A movie by George Stevens about Texas with big-name stars simply had to be vast and sprawling. I've never read the book but imagine that Stevens condensed dozens of written pages into single scenes. Much of the movie's greatness comes from the scenes without dialogue, such as Hudson and Taylor's different expressions when looking over their grandchildren, the Mexican youngster playing outside the church during Sal Mineo's funeral -- and especially the reunion scene between Hudson and Taylor in Virginia.

I prefer "Giant" to "A Place in the Sun," for which Stevens won his first of two Oscars as best director. Elizabeth Taylor was in both pictures but in "Giant," five years later, has become a mature, independent woman of substance who could stand up to Rock Hudson on any issue. And to think she was 24 when the picture was released!

James Dean's character development is a little unclear -- where was Errol Flynn to play an aging drunk? -- but it's interesting to watch Dean's character drift into racism and Hudson's become more open minded. Taylor's purifying effect upon Hudson -- and the lack of such a person in Dean's life -- is most evident.

Who knew what lay ahead for Hudson, Taylor, Dean, Dennis Hopper and Sal Mineo. (I never cease to be moved by the newspaper headline: "Angel Obregon comes home today"). All suffered tragic fates, which makes "Giant" like "The Misfits," although clearly a child of the 1950s and in the hands of a master director at the top of his game. Stevens masterfully invests the minor characters, like Chill Wills and Jane Withers, with lifelike roles. Or Jett Rink's right-hand man/handler who advises, "We haven't changed anything. Changes tend to throw you!" Carroll Baker gives it her best shot and Earl Holliman is, well, Earl Holliman.

Essential viewing, one instance of Hollywood competing successfully with TV. Some lines you may never forget, like: "Jett, you want to know something true? You're all through."

Channel surfing, I stumbled across this movie on TCM and must say, "Wow!" As a child during the Cold War, I remember the tension between America and Russia, which this film captures well -- at least from the U.S. perspective. Richard Widmark's performance tops that of Humphrey Bogart in "The Caine Mutiny," strawberries or not. Sidney Poitier fits his role like a glove -- the scene between Poitier and Widmark in the latter's cabin is splendidly acted, allowing the viewer to get inside Widmark's head while not giving away too much -- and Martin Balsam gives another example why he was one of the screen's greatest supporting actors. It's better than "Fail Safe," sparing us Henry Fonda's hysterics as president. The tension builds aboard ship until a breathtaking climax. One worth watching.

Watching "The Grapes of Wrath" 60 years after its release, one still asks: How did Hollywood allow this film to be made? But as viewers, we are cheered that Darryl Zanuck permitted John Ford and his cast to tell an important story. Although inferior, I think, to John Steinbeck's source material, arguably the greatest American novel, the film is brutally frank about terrible conditions imposed upon Americans. Gregg Toland's unsparingly bleak cinematography dominates the film; the scene in which the Joads ride into the labor camp is so unsettling that I am relieved when the camera stops panning the other residents and returns to the Joads. The unspoken resentment of the new arrivals is palpable; they are not looked upon as fellow Americans but as enemies: more people looking for work, more hungry mouths to feed. The Joads don't have much but when Ma Joad cooks something for dinner, it's as if Pa Joad can hear the rumblings of every hungry belly in the camp when he tells Ma, "I can still see them in the tent."

The acting is uniformly superb with Henry Fonda giving the necessary edge to Tom's character and Jane Darwell word perfect as the matriarch of the Joad family. The scene in which Ma models a pair of aged earrings in a faded mirror before leaving for California ranks with the greatest in American cinema. The first and last scenes of Ma and Tom together are guaranteed to touch one's soul. The story is too grim to support a happy ending, but what we have is about the best that can be hoped for, with Ma Joad reassuring her loved ones that "they can't lick us because we're the family."

"The Searchers" is a must-see movie for anyone who loved the concept of the Old West or admired John Wayne, which should include a good many people. As Ethan Edwards, the most complex character he ever played, Wayne gives his greatest screen performance, for which he deserved the Best Actor Oscar that in 1956 went to Yul Brynner. Many hail this as John Ford's masterwork and one of the treasures of American cinema. At certain moments, it stirs the soul like no other picture even attempts -- when Dorothy Jordan strokes John Wayne's coat while Ward Bond tries not to look on; when Wayne picks up Natalie Wood, instead of killing her, as we have been led to believe he would, and says, "Let's go home, Debbie;" and in the famous final shot, when Wayne rests his left palm in his right elbow before walking away. (After watching "The Searchers" one time, I knew that I would never be dispassionate again about the opening and closing of doors.) And, yet, the movie has certain, shall we say, Fordian flaws. The love triangle involving Vera Miles, Jeffrey Hunter and Ken Curtis belongs in another movie. As every Ford admirer knows, the director had a cinematic sweet tooth and included sentimental touches in even his most serious works, namely "The Grapes of Wrath," in which Ma Joad models an old pair of earrings before leaving for California, a scene that one reviewer has called the most unforgettable 10 seconds in cinema. This scene works because we are bound up with the Joads and their quest for a better life in "the land of milk and honey." Vera Miles and Ken Curtis are incidental to "The Searchers," and whether Miles marries Hunter, Curtis or Hank Warden (Mose Harper) is of no great importance to the storyline. Were 1956 audiences so squeamish that Ford considered it necessary to water down his great story (if so, Ford misread public taste because another of that year's finest films is "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," which to this day I find terrifying)? "The Searchers" influenced "Taxi Driver," a greater movie and with a central character, Travis Bickle, whom Ethan Edwards could have inspired. More disconcerting is the lack of character development that makes Wayne's character save Debbie instead of kill her. Did a mere act of retribution (scalping Scar) against her captor purify Wayne's character? If so, how does one reconcile the scene of Wayne cradling Wood and saying "Let's go home, Debbie" with the final shot, in which Wayne doesn't enter the house (a metaphor for civilization) and instead continues his personal search for cleansing? Fans of "The Searchers" cherish the best parts and discard the rest. Perhaps they rewind and fast-forward their VCRS to the beginning and ending scenes over and over. As a work of art in the Western genre, "The Searchers" stands alone. As a Western drama, it falls short of being a masterwork.

I wouldn't call this a classic but must say that it's repeatedly entertaining _ long before the final poker game. Listen closely to the dialogue between Robinson and McQueen during a break in the action. Robinson quizzes McQueen about women and learns enough to judge that McQueen, while possibly the best player he's ever opposed, can be distracted. Ring Lardner Jr.'s screenplay has the same bite as Robert Rossen's in "The Hustler," exposing light on a seamy underworld of predators and the assorted hangers-on. Karl Malden, once a great player but now a member of McQueen's entourage, gives a typically outstanding performance (amazing that he could go from "The Shooter" in this movie to Gen. Omar Bradley in "Patton). Ann-Margret is sexy, as usual, never more so than at the rooster fight, but Tuesday Weld does little in the equivalent of Piper Laurie's role in "The Hustler." Rip Torn goes over the top playing Slade, yet I remember every line of his dialogue ("How's that steak, kid?"). It's McQueen's movie all the way, though, with Robinson given more meat in his role than Jackie Gleason as Minnesota Fats in "The Hustler." As he demonstrated two years later in "In the Heat of the Night," Norman Jewison has a feel for the South.

A guilty pleasure of watching "Virginia Woolf" is wondering where the lines blur between life and art, and when Burton and Taylor toss George and Martha aside and go at it as real-life husband and wife. Unless Ernest Lehman or Edward Albee wrote the dialogue, I doubt that anything Burton and Taylor said behind closed doors quite matches that of the movie. Deliciously filmed in black and white, this movie is pure adult entertainment with two of the greatest English-speaking actors of the 20th Century working at the peak of their powers. Liz won the Oscar, deservedly so, but with a lesser actor than Burton to bounce lines off, she would suffocate the film. As it is, she barely holds her own, taking a knife to a verbal gunfight. For reasons I can't explain, I find the movie entertaining upon repeated viewings, unlike "A Streetcar Named Desire," which I could only endure one time. Watching mental cruelty, as dished out by George and Martha, somehow is much more perverse than watching sex acts depicted on screen. Other movies have pushed the envelope farther with regards to sex and language, but none in 35 years holds a candle to "Virginia Woolf" for guilty pleasure. As Martha said to George, "A thousand years with you is quite enough."

Two scenes stand out from this timeless classic: (1) Harold Russell takes off his shirt in front of his girl friend, showing her his helplessness and what she would have to face if they married. Watching the film, I wanted to help Russell, which is the last thing the film character wanted. (2) The scene in the bar with Hoagy Carmichael, Harold Russell and Fredric March around the piano and Dana Andrews calling Teresa in the background, a tribute to Gregg Toland's deep-focus photography. The movie's message might be a little heavy for someone born after the war, like myself, but resonated strongly, I'm sure, with the rest. If William Wyler called this his best movie, who am I to say otherwise?

Having recently reread the book, I saw the second half of the movie a few nights ago on Women's Entertainment. I now would like to see the first part. Anything's better than the original movie. Veronica Hamel is a gorgeous Jennifer North and gives the character depth that Sharon Tate couldn't, or didn't, in the movie. She actually develops the character better than did Jacqueline Susann, who depicted her as a sexpot with nothing to offer except a pretty face and large breasts. Hamel's scenes with Gary Collins (who will never be confused with Gary Cooper, who has the same initials) were especially touching. Jennifer's female relationship was tastefully played and her fadeout scene was as good as one could expect from schlock such as this.

Lisa Hartman as Neely ("Neeley" in a movie billboard) O'Hara didn't work for me, but she was an improvement upon Patty Duke in the original. Susann depicted Neely brilliantly as a Judy Garland-type diva who was devious enough to have played Eve Harrington in "All About Eve." I would like to see how Hartman plays Neely in the first part of the movie. But Neely as a rock singer? Forget about it.

Catherine Hicks as Anne Welles held my attention throughout the two hours. She captured the spirit of Susann's character much better than Barbara Parkins and was much sexier, I thought, playing a professional woman than Lyon Burke's love interest. Her romantic stuff with James Coburn was handled poorly (I could picture Henry Bellamy bedding with Helen Lawson but not with Anne) and, although sympathizing a little with Lyon, I didn't care whether the two stayed together or not. As for Lyon and Neely together, it worked much better in the book than in the movie remake.

Having Anne and Neely remain friends through it all stretched the boundaries of common sense, but anyone who sits through two hours of this cinematic common candy wasn't channel-surfing for "Hamlet" in the first place.

Having reread the book, let me say that it comes nearer to a literary equivalent to "Gone With the Wind" than the movie cinematically to "Citizen Kane." What was Patty Duke _ an Academy Award winner _ thinking? Sadly, Sharon Tate is remembered more for her gruesome death than anything she did on screen. Emotionally, she makes Kim Novak look like Katharine Hepburn. And, Barbara Parkins has much, too much Lawrenceville, Mass. in her character and not enough New York City. Thankfully, the movie gods (if such exist) spared us a Judy Garland performance. Dorothy without the wig. Movie belongs as the second part of a drive-in double feature with "The Carpetbaggers."

This movie can't withstand close examination to "The Searchers," which raised the Western genre to an art form and inspired "Taxi Driver" and other screen classics. Yet, John Ford further demythologizes the John Wayne character he helped create (compare, for instance, Wayne's first entrance in "Stagecoach," a tight closeup that should leave no doubt to The Ringo Kid's ability to make everything work out for the best, with his final scene in "Valance," where he leaves the convention hall after persuading Ransom Stoddard to do the right thing. Although not as emotionaly stirring as the classic final shot of "The Searchers," the ending to "Valance" works similar ground. "Valance" shows us people electing the right person for the wrong reason and, in the case of Wayne vs. Valance, someone doing the wrong thing (i.e., killing Valance) for the greater good. One reads that Ford just wanted to get "Valance" over with and, yes, the screenplay is riddled with cliches (Edmond O'Brien's role is played for laughs, for one thing, and anyone who knows anything about the West can guess that Valance is holding aces and eights, the so-called "dead man's hand," before his shootout with Ranse). But the movie is great entertainment, never more so than when Wayne and Lee Marvin are on screen together ("He's been hiding behind your gun long enough, Tom. You've got a choice, dish washer. You can leave town or be out in the street tonight. And don't make us come get you!"). Vera Miles, John Qualen (a staple of many Ford films) Jeannette Nolan, Denver Pyle and Woody Strode are ideally cast.

Two Westerns make my career top 10, one each by Howard Hawks and John Ford: "Red River," a triumph despite a trite ending, and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance," which is much more than the flawed masterpiece many have made it out to be. Critically, both provide entertainment upon repeated viewings, which any great movie should.

Roger Ebert has written that Midnight Cowboy is a good movie with a masterpiece trapped within. I first saw it at a small-town drive-in theater at age 14 and again, years later, on TCM> The movie speaks of New York and the 1960s. With the exception of Brenda Vaccaro, the acting was uniformly superb. It's a shame that Dustin Hoffman received an Academy Award for his one-note performance in "Rain Man" and not for playing Enrico Rizzo. His physical deterioration is something to see and the final scene of Jon Voight cradling Rico's head on the bus bound for Florida ranks with the best in American cinema. Voight's performance is over the top but still resonates strongly. It is remarkable that the same actor (Hoffman) played Benjamin Braddock in "The Graduate," Rico Rizzo in "Midnight Cowboy" and the lead role in "Tootsie." Voight deserved his Oscar for "Coming Home," but neither he nor Hoffman has done anything better than "Midnight Cowboy." Not a perfect movie, but emotionally enriching even after 30-something years.

At the time of its release, this was the best American movie since "Citizen Kane." "Star Wars" has since exceeded it as a more influential movie, serving as a bridge between "Kane" and the future as did "Kane" between "Birth of a Nation" and the silents. But this is master filmmaking, sure to grip a viewer even on repeated showings.

I saw "The Godfather" for the first time in 1973, after turning 18, and it marked the only occasion that I was "carded" at a movie. The dialogue borrows heavily from the book, but what source material! From "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse" to "Leave the gun; take the cannoli," this was inspired stuff. (In fairness, I must admit that Coppola and Puzo took the screenplay for Part II to an even higher level.)

Brando's performance secured his place in movie history. Although his on-screen time is limited, he dominates in every frame that he appears. From a simple whisper ("Where's Michael?") on his sickbed to the scene where he peers at an aquarium while Michael conducts family business to the final scene in the garden, Brando becomes Vito Corleone and, like Clark Gable in Rhett Butler, is the only actor one can imagine playing the part so well. The transfer of power between Brando and Pacino in the garden, a scene written by Robert Towne ("Chinatown"), ranks with that in the taxicab between Brando and Rod Steiger in "On the Waterfront" as the most powerful in American cinema.

What we have is a cinematic masterpiece, pulsating with excitement until the final scene, when Al Neri shuts the study door on Kay in the kitchen _ Coppola here paying homage to the final scene of "The Searchers," as he would do also in the two sequels.

I'm torn between "The Godfather" and "Casablanca" as my favorite movie. Perhaps the difference is that I saw "The Godfather" first, at an impressionable moment of my life. For me, no sequel was necessary. The first look at the Corleone Family remains the best.