Reviews

The 1950s weren't exactly known for quality genre fare, but there are certainly some welcome, stellar exceptions. It doesn't take long to gather that this is not one of those exceptions. As 'Terror from the year 5,000' begins it's not very promising, as the first several minutes give us an unimportant female assistant played with utmost stereotypical airheaded dippiness, paired with the introduction of the tale's central conceit - something from the distant future existing in the present - which especially for the manner of its presentation requires an unprecedented level of suspension of disbelief. From the outset the dialogue and scene writing are less than great, and given the abbreviated runtime of just over one hour, it sure seems as if the picture approaches its plot with too much indifference. We're nearly halfway through before the story starts to advance beyond "is this from the future" and "vaguely suspicious behavior." While the narrative does pick up some more thereafter, the proceedings continue to be flush with tawdriness that's unbecoming of the suspense and excitement it ideally wishes to foster. Richard DuPage's music generally maintains a light mood even when nothing else does; an obligatory romantic element feels extra contrived; supporting character Claire is little more than eye candy for male viewers. The bulk of these 65-some minutes are built on fairly ordinary drama and conflict between present-day humans, leaving the science fiction for no more than a collective one-third of the length, and mostly in the back end.

In fairness, this flick can at least surely claim to be a step or two up from some of its contemporaries. There's no stock footage employed here, and the special effects are a smidgen better than what we've seen in other works of the period. The special makeup, and the outfit provided for Salome Jens, are modest, but an improvement on the cheapness of some kindred fare ('Attack of the giant leeches,' anyone?). Broadly speaking the cast actually give commendable, earnest performances, without (as much of) the ham-handedness that plagues other such titles. And while the plot has its troubles as written, there are good ideas here, and I think it all concludes with a fairly strong finish in the last several minutes. 'Terror from the year 5,000' never reaches a level exceeding "average" or "middling" at its very, very best, yet I'm of the mind that there's just enough value here - and equally important, just enough care taken - that the extremely low reputation it has carried over the past several decades seems excessive to me. Of all its faults, I believe the biggest issue here is that in the spirit of contemporary sensibilities (and presumably budgetary constraints), filmmaker Robert J. Gurney Jr. Takes so long to develop the story, and to gently weave in the sci-fi facets, that by the time the would-be thrills and intended weight are emphasized, we as viewers have already been somewhat dismissive of the remainder. One way or another, the movie just treads too lightly for its own good.

I don't think this feature is wholly rotten. It's sufficiently weak, however, that considering how many other things we could be watching instead from the 50s or otherwise, there's no real reason to seek this out unless one has a specific impetus. I'm glad for those who get more out of 'Terror from the year 5,000' than I do, and I also can't begrudge those who regard it more harshly. All I can say is that while there are far worse ways to spend one's time, if you're going to watch at all, it's best reserved as something light for a lazy night.

Especially among those with less appreciation for the early years of cinema, it is sometimes said that the silent era reflects "simpler entertainment for a simpler time." As an avid cinephile myself, and a huge fan of silent films, I can understand where that sentiment comes from, but even where it's selectively true it is no inherent statement on the abject quality of a piece. As we start to watch this 1922 farce, a send-up generally of 'The Three Musketeers' and specifically of Douglas Fairbanks' earnest adaptation of one year before, I don't think there's much mistaking that it commonly echoes that very notion. In various ways the picture rather exemplifies the film-making and storytelling sensibilities of a developing medium, and in neither capacity does it necessarily bear the sophistication of some of its contemporaries or successors. Yet that tack quite provides the framework in which the frivolity will ensue, and one way or another 'The Three Must-Get-Theres' remains a terrific delight. For those open to the style, it's well worth checking out if you have the chance!

While freely adapting Alexandre Dumas' novel, screen legend Max Linder cheerfully twists most every bit and bob to comedic ends, whether that means playing with characters and their names, toying with the dialogue as imparted in intertitles, or modifying story beats. The latter is the major key, I think, for the relatively uncomplicated method by which the feature is constructed leans heavily on the consideration and execution of individual scenes. The humor relies substantially on simple gags in the scene writing, usually without much follow-through from one scene to the next; there is subtler cleverness, too, but the preponderance of the flick is built on sight gags and physical comedy. There are also the performances of the cast, highly animated with greatly exaggerated facial expressions and body language - maybe beyond even the norm seen throughout much of the silent era - and that straightforward silliness also comes across in Linder's direction at large. For good measure factor in a giddy, cartoonish indifference to matters of illusion versus artifice; we're treated to abundant anachronisms, for example, and slain enemies sit up to speak, offering an unabashed spoof like those Mel Brooks would become famous for many years later.

The conscious phoniness and outright ludicrousness does not mean that 'The Three Must-Get-Theres' is any less well-made, though. Fantastic wit and intelligence shaped the screenplay, and there is outstanding detail all throughout even just in the writing. In his direction Linder maintains high energy all the way, and whether his role in that regard meant broad oversight and shaping a cohesive whole, or orchestrating a single shot to capture the desired effect, I deeply appreciate the mindfulness and skill he illustrates. I dare say there is some artistic shot composition scattered here and there. Even the cinematography has some moments of shining brilliance, and the editing is unexpectedly sharp as it sometimes plays directly into the merriment. The cast is nothing less than a joy as all actors on hand, even the extras, unreservedly embrace the irreverent spirit of the production and commit to all that is asked of them. Not to be counted out, while the title is flush with tomfoolery, the work turned in by those behind the scenes is no joke. The sets, costume design, and hair and makeup are all gorgeous; whether props feed into into the period setting or the anachronistic tendencies, they're all swell. And as much as anything else, the stunts, effects, fight choreography, and otherwise action are plainly excellent. Frivolous as the project is, there is also meaningful adventure at its core.

This may not be the film to change the minds of those who have a harder time engaging with Old Hollywood; on the other hand, as the minutes tick by the comedy reminds more and more of the tried and true goofiness that has become a staple of some of the biggest names of the art form. It may not look like much from the outset, yet when you get down to it 'The Three Must-Get-Theres' is just a classic, a mirthful gem of another era that sought only to entertain, and which over one hundred years later continues to succeed in that goal. Him and haw about the particulars as we will, surely most anyone will find something to love here as the movie's strength only grows over its abbreviated runtime. Ultimately I would stop short of calling it a total must-see, but the result is a lot of fun from start to finish, and if you have the opportunity to watch then I'm pleased to give it my high recommendation!

There are plenty of filmmakers who operate in spaces wry, offbeat, surreal, and whimsical, in comedy and otherwise, but I'm unsure if any have routinely done so with the same wild aplomb as Quentin Dupieux. Especially given his common penchant for discarding any in-universe sense of concrete reality, or storytelling boundaries or convention, there's really no predicting just where the man will go with his pictures, and to what extremes. So what does it mean for the Frenchman to subvert our expectations? Even with the central conceit being a fly the size of a small dog, the narrative in 'Mandibles' reflects the strangest thing of all that Dupieux could do: be straightforward. The humor here is very, very dry - Wes Anderson dry, if you will - and low-key as somewhat dim-witted friends Manu and Jean-Gab make a discovery, get sidetracked from a task, and barely skirt by with the situations they stumble into. In accordance with the company this feature keeps we wait for a corkscrew turn in the story, or for something outrageous and extraordinary, but there are none to be found herein. Substitute some fur-covered animal for the fly and no one would bat an eye; even the characters and dialogue feel ordinary. In a closet full of Met Gala gowns and tie-dye shirts, this flick is the plain white tee of Dupieux's oeuvre.

There's nothing specifically wrong with that. I actually applaud the daring to try something so different from the standards he has otherwise established for himself with 'Rubber,' 'Réalité,' 'Deerskin,' 'Smoking causes coughing,' and so on, no matter the end result. At the same time, as it is the tack adopted here is surely a divisive one for audiences, and given our assumptions of Dupieux, one can't help but be surprised, and possibly even a smidgen disappointed. Just as importantly, while it might seem a small thing: discuss such subjective factors as one might, more objectively concerning - an abject flaw in my opinion - is that supporting character Agnès, as written, is terribly ableist. There is no connection between her function in the plot and her defining trait, a condition, that we as viewers are intended to (a) recognize as some manner of mental disability, or placement on the autism spectrum, and (b) find inherently funny. Among those films of Dupieux's that I've seen to date this is the first time I've found something earnestly problematic and offensive. I don't know what he was thinking, but where Agnès is concerned the man plainly made a bad mistake, and the doing here definitely takes away from what favor I'm otherwise ready to bestow.

Granted, in other ways the movie fits right in with his other credits. Dupieux again wears multiple hats as writer, director, cinematographer, and editor; we discern similar film-making style in all these capacities, and even with the clear-cut nature of the script, tinges of similar storytelling. Others behind the scenes turned in fine work, the fly looks great, and the actors give solid performances. Despite the muted tenor and divergence from his custom, apart from that unnecessary, ill-considered facet of how Agnès is written, 'Mandibles' actually is a good time and provides gentle amusement - it's not Wonderfully Bizarre, but it still provides slivers of the desired oddball flavors, and it is still fun. Speak well of the flick as we are wont to do, however, I remain kind of nonplussed, and part of me wonders if I'm not being too lenient in my assessment. I do not abjectly take issue with any filmmaker going a bit off their beaten path, and in fact I salute it, but the outcome of a new trajectory still needs to be worthy in and of itself. Exactly how much parity is there between this title and the likes of 'Au poste!?' Exactly how entertaining is it? That's something we can only judge for ourselves from one person to the next. In my book 'Mandibles' is worth checking out, with the caveat that it isn't perfect and it's not as vibrant and satisfying as Dupieux at his most fanciful and creative.

I expected that I would like this, and I do enjoy it. I'd be lying if I said I weren't somewhat disappointed, though. The plot is light and unbothered, going nowhere fast; the overall vibe is more lighthearted, also especially reflected in the title character and the performance of Terence Hill; a fair bit of the scene writing is obviously built for comedy, and in turn the direction of filmmaker Tonino Valerii. All this is fine. Or, it would be fine, except for that the intended comedy is never specifically funny, only lightly amusing if anything at all: the would-be humorous scene writing lacks the vitality to evoke a reaction, and just isn't clever enough; the flat tone is of no help, and some bits are too drawn out for their own good, or too outwardly cartoonish. For Nobody to be flippant, and Hill jovial, is no more sufficient fuel on their own for laughs than in some flicks where we're supposed to delight in the childishness of "Look at that silly man! Haha! Isn't he so silly?" Even esteemed composer Ennio Morricone is drawn into this tack; while some of his themes here are as wonderfully rich and flavorful as we anticipate and hope, others just as surely embrace the unimpressive inanity, with his interpretation of "Ride of the Valkyries" frankly just turning me off. I don't think 'My name is Nobody' is everything it's generally cracked up to be.

There isn't necessarily any wrong way to make a comedy, particularly when playing in the space of another discrete genre. One can make a straight genre flick, and let small touches of levity manifest naturally among the characters, dialogue, and scenario (e.g., 'The good, the bad, and the ugly'); one can firmly establish the genre roots with the story, then layer the comedy on top (the failure to do so being a chief failing of 1987's 'Ishtar,' for example); or one can employ a genre as broad foundation to build a comedy that then just aims for all-out wackiness (see recent farce 'Hundreds of beavers'). It seems to me that Valerii, with writers Fulvio Morsella and Ernesto Gastaldi, tried to split the difference between the latter two styles, but the problem is that (a) the western plot and its development aren't entirely convincing, coming off as scarcely more than a loose framework instead of a fully-fleshed out saga, and (b) for all the stated reasons, the comedy is unable to achieve the desired reaction. Factor in some scenes that are simply bad, pointless, and ill-advised (the urinal), and the lack of a comedic partner like Bud Spencer for Hill to bounce off of, and the favor I might have bestowed continues to diminish.

Strictly speaking, if it's a spaghetti western you want, then it's a spaghetti western you'll get. Set aside the screenplay that is far too questionable in several crucial ways, and at large the picture is duly well made. We get gorgeous filming locations, detailed sets and costume design, and excellent stunts, effects, and action sequences. Save for where the contributions are guided to ends as dubious as the writing, the cinematography is lovely, and the editing sharp. The audio is strong, and I repeat that at its best Morricone's score is just as terrific as we assume of the icon. Though themselves impacted by the nature of the material, the cast give commendable performances, with Henry Fonda easily standing out above his co-stars. And while I place the responsibility mostly on the shoulders of the writers for how this feature went wrong, in fairness I think there are some splendid ideas herein that, approached mindfully and used judiciously, could have been outstanding for either an earnest western or a comedy. Then again, even the climax is troubled by gauche, unnecessary flourishes, the ending is overdone in some measure, and I'm really of the mind that even on paper far too much of the story is thin and weak. In every last capacity, for every one stroke of brilliance, there are two notes of tawdriness, or tidbits that raise a skeptical eyebrow.

I don't dislike 'My name is Nobody.' I recognize what it does well, and I see the potential that it carried. I also think its shortcomings are at least as readily evident, and possibly more prominent. There are worse ways to spend your time, yet since there are far better ones, too - even among western-comedies - our reasons for watching this dwindle to "well, maybe if you have a specific impetus." I'm glad for those who appreciate this movie more than I do; having now watched it once, that's more than enough for me.

This has been strongly suggested to me personally by several people, and by Jove, they did not lead me astray! The story and the humor kick up in no time at all and to put it very simply, the picture is a total blast from top to bottom. An outrageously farcical comedy of errors flies swiftly with some of the sharpest and most fluid dialogue and banter I've ever heard in a movie - anchored with characters of vibrant personality, leading to stupendous dynamics and wonderfully animated performances in some of the most outstanding, robust scene writing I've ever seen. It's no wonder that Buck Henry, David Newman, and Robert Benton's screenplay has been so highly esteemed, and I'm rather aghast that this flick isn't even more widely known and highly celebrated. I don't know if 94 minutes have ever passed by so (too) quickly; have I ever had as much fun watching something as I have with 'What's up, doc?' Maybe, but other examples are precious few and far between! Drop whatever other plans you had for tonight, because this should be your next priority!

That brilliant, effervescent screenplay is really all the fuel that the film needs to be a rip-roaring good time - from that foundation, it's hard to imagine that the end result could have been anything other than a riotous success no matter who else was involved - yet it is far from alone. Filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich keeps the proceedings running smoothly, and at a steady clip, while unfailingly maintaining marvelous high energy, and he is to be commended for commanding such a proverbial "tight ship." In fairness, his task was probably easier with a phenomenal cast that nimbly meets every need of the script. The acting is outright flawless as each and every player embraces their role with wholehearted vitality and enviable zest and vigor. There's unmistakable Madeline Kahn, channeling high-strung Eunice as no one else could; Ryan O'Neal, cute, hapless, and put-upon as smart but absent-minded and flummoxed Howard; thirty-year old Barbra Streisand, truly stunning with the charm and confidence of clever troublemaker Judy; to say nothing of all others involved, too many to name as they round out the tale and the merriment with boisterous, self-sacrificing gusto.

I sat to watch with no meaningful foreknowledge and was blown away time and again by the superbly funny rancor to greet me. At pretty much every turn, just when I thought the viewing experience couldn't get more silly and outlandish, it does! All along the way cinematographer Laszlo Kovacs very smartly keeps up with the shenanigans, and all those behind the scenes from costume design, hair, and makeup to production design and art direction lend magnificent flavor and individuality to the look for each character and each setting. Why, the filming locations themselves are just grand, with San Francisco taking center stage in a manner quite unlike most other titles. Wherever stunts and effects are employed - and to my delight, they are employed in abundance - they are completely fantastic, and never more so than in the extended climactic sequence that gives any other point of comparison, in comedy or in action fare, an earnest run for its money. It's noteworthy, furthermore, that all this transpires and succeeds with flying colors without any embellishment of musical accompaniment. Some features feel flat without a score or soundtrack to complement or foster the mood, yet this is an instance in which it gets along perfectly fine without. As small touches of diegetic selections round out choice moments, the exceptional ingenuity of the whole is only confirmed.

I had every reason to expect I would enjoy this, and those expectations were far exceeded. I altogether, unquestioningly love 'What's up, doc?' The writing is stellar, the direction is impeccable, the cast is flawless, and every little contribution that went into crafting this 1972 romp is a minor joy unto itself. What more is there to say? I cannot overstate how incredibly entertaining this is, and I cannot recommend it highly enough. Forget that other movie you were going to watch - seek out this treasure, however you must, and get ready to have a ball!

Maybe more than films of any other genre, comedies are prone to subjectivity and don't always age well; tastes and sensibilities change over time, and what was funny in one timeframe won't necessarily hold up in another. It seems sometimes as if this might be especially true of comedies of the 80s, where quips and gags pertaining to marginalized communities, sex, relationships between men and women, and harder, meaner edges to the would-be humor are arguably more present. Above all with two names attached to 'Spies like us' whose reputations aren't what they used to be, and a story trading on government agencies and Cold War fears, how might this look forty years on? Well, very honestly, it's a mixed bag; the movie isn't as sorry as I feared it might be, but also not nearly as worthwhile as I might have hoped. All told this is mildly amusing, but the entertainment value it offers is middling and unremarkable.

If you want a comedy of spy-laden adventure, technically you've got it. There are indeed some facets of tawdry humor that haven't survived the 80s, mostly whenever Chevy Chase's character Emmett interacts with or talks about women, but if nothing else, for the most part the writing is a smidgen better than the sort to broadly rely on such cheapness. That's some good news. The bad news is that the strength here is highly variable, and much more than not the feature doesn't make a major impression. Really, it's the type that one can "watch" without actively engaging. I'm rather reminded of Elaine May's infamous misfire of two years later, 'Ishtar.' There the comedy and the picture at large were strongest at the very beginning and the very end, where the focus was on Clarke and Rogers' songs, and the preponderance of the length was a mess with dubious narrative writing and unfunny jokes. Here, the picture does earn some laughs, but only at the simplest of bits: a proctored exam, greetings between doctors, the announcement of a phone call, a quietly spoken rhetorical thought, a cheeky final scene. I do believe that's an accurate assessment, for the record - a total of five laughs in a tad less than two hours. Such instances are where the cleverness of the writing shines through. Elsewhere, the title plainly struggles.

Dan Aykroyd and Chase's animated performances start to wear thin rather quickly, and in general there isn't enough disparity between the characters to foster dynamics fit for comedy. Not dissimilarly, despite the action sequences and intended frivolity, I don't think John Landis' direction confers enough energy into the proceedings to particularly drive engagement; the viewing experience feels kind of flat, with soft pacing even in some individual scenes. These unfortunate traits of the direction compound the troubles of the plot. It is generic material for a spy flick, but suitable, with some commendable ideas and themes that have been employed to fine results in other kindred fare, and which remain sadly relevant a few decades later. On the other hand, the story is light, is marked with minimal development in the entire first half, and in the second half becomes messy as it's smashed into a smaller length. I also just don't think this one narrative is all that well-written in the first place, and where a film wishes to subvert a genre to comedic ends, the genre roots must first hold firmly; here, they do not. And just as it is the simplest thoughts that work best in evoking the desired reaction, the more grandiose and impressive 'Spies like us' tries to be in its humor, its action, or its storytelling, the less sure-footed and notable it is.

The movie is duly well made, certainly. Landis' direction is technically capable, the stunts and effects look great, Elmer Bernstein's music is just fine, and all those operating behind the scenes turned in excellent work. Strictly speaking the acting is just swell, too; that some actors come off better than others has more to do with the writing and direction than with any failing on the part of the players. When all is said and done I don't think the picture is bad, but overall it's somewhat weak, and fails to excite. The fact that I can count the number of times I laughed is regrettable. In some measure I like 'Spies like us,' yet for as little fun as I had at large, I also wonder if I'm not being too generous. It remains the case that if you want a comedy of spy-laden adventure, technically you've got it. We can get these flavors in other places, however, and there's the rub: for as uninspiring as this is except in select examples, why would we not instead spend time with something else that readily commands more favor? Watch 'Spies like us' if you wish, and may you find it more outright enjoyable than I do. I just quite believe that there are more worthy flicks out there, so I don't anticipate ever revisiting this one.

The premise sounds promising, and the first outside glimpse we might get of any imagery tells us that we can expect the flick to be either a delightfully irreverent farce, or dubiously considered schlock. Thankfully, as the minutes tick by following an introduction, and the core thrust of the picture becomes evident, it's safe to say that the former holds true much more than the latter. Granted, this arguably goes a tad too far at points as the proceedings rely in part on juvenile puerility, and even some gross-out humor, that are somewhat boorish. Yet such instances are the exception, and not the rule, and much more than not 'Hundreds of beavers' is marvelously clever, and decidedly atypical among modern comedies. In fact, to whatever extent one facet or another of the entertainment may not meet our personal preferences, overall the title is such a blast that such subjective critiques fall by the wayside; moreover, if that's the worst I have to say, then the contributors have done very well for themselves. Kudos to filmmaker Mike Cheslik, co-writer and star Ryland Brickson Cole Tews, and all others involved, for this a joyous lark that deserves a lot more attention!

Cheslik, Tews, and their producer friends take inspiration from a variety of sources and blend it all together into something uncommon, whimsical, and fresh. In the cinematography, some choices of editing, occasional, intertitles, and mild flavoring and graininess lent to the fundamental black and white presentation, we see influence from cinema dating back to the silent era. Touches of realistic considerations come with the necessary resourcefulness of life on the frontier in the frozen north, cheerfully contrasting with the abject cartoonishness that the flick largely adopts. And I do mean cartoonishness, for one is plainly reminded of 'Merrie Melodies,' 'Looney Tunes,' and other like-minded fare including live-action kin with the use of animation, puppets and props, and full-body animal suits; sound effects, music cues, and over the top special effects; exaggerated, animated performances, the predominant declination of dialogue, and the intelligence with which animals are written; scene writing and gags ripped straight from the exploits of Wile E. Coyote and The Roadrunner, or Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny; and so on, and so on. For good measure factor in some pop culture references, much more modern and/or adult sensibilities, and obvious echoes of videogames, from lighthearted puzzle games, to platformers, to action-adventure.

This feature is one that wears its artificiality on its sleeve, yet by completely leaning into that tenor and the flippancy of classic cartoons the sum total is not just witty, but unconventional by most any standards, and rather innovative. We're apt to draw comparisons with most anything we watch as a way of understanding what we haven't seen before, and finding points of praise or criticism, and usually it's quite easy to do so from top to bottom. Far fewer are those works in any genre that emphatically tread into new territory, and the fact that 'Hundreds of beavers' can take recognizable ideas and tropes and spin them into something well outside the bounds of familiar comedy speaks so well to the great creativity of all on hand. Just as much to the point, the movie might go all-out with its frivolous buffoonery and unremitting frivolity, but in no capacity is it sloppy or ill-gotten. The mixture of all the visual elements is surely the most complex facet of the production, but the doing is navigated with aplomb, a tremendous credit to all those operating behind the scenes. The players unreservedly embrace the silliness with their wild acting, very much recalling the most outlandish ideations of any more ordinary romp, and all are to be commended; Tews, Olivia Graves, and Doug Mancheski, among others in the cast, just readily go with the flow, wherever it takes them.

And still it's Cheslik as director, and writing alongside Tews, who almost certainly earns the most substantial congratulations for this film. It's one matter to devise the concept, and create an outline for the absurdity to come. Uncharacteristic of a picture this roundly ludicrous, one plainly discerns incredible detail in the narrative and scene writing, and in the conjuration of all the odds and ends of the humor, to bring the entirety to fruition. From the amalgamation of each clear inspiration, to the extremes to which all were taken, ultimately 'Hundreds of beavers' probably well outpaces any short with those figures we know and love - Tom, Jerry, Daffy, Sylvester, Tweety, Porky, Speedy, Woody, Donald, and all their brethren - in terms of the unbridled goofiness of it all. As a matter of our individual tastes in comedy maybe that means the final product is too preposterous for its own good, yet the title can claim stupendous ingenuity, energy, skill, and care in every last regard. For my part, having sat with high hopes but mixed expectations, I am positively thrilled by just how terrifically fun it is, and Cheslik deftly draws together all the constituent parts into a bizarre but solid, cohesive whole. I could hardly be happier with just how funny this flick is, and I'm grateful I caught eye in passing of good word of mouth. In turn I can only pass on that suggestion, as I think there's something here for just about anyone. Whether you're an especial fan of the noted cartoons of yore or just looking for something irreverent and enjoyable, 'Hundreds of beavers' is utterly fantastic, I'm glad to give it my very high and enthusiastic recommendation!

It was only by chance that I stumbled onto this; being a person who will watch just about anything, good or bad, of course I was going to give it a try. The premise is certainly promising, and the opening moments affirm the mockumentary bent as the name of famous documentarian Ken Burns is referenced with a wink. Happily, I don't think it takes very long at all as 'The Battle of Pussy Willow Creek' begins that it starts to show its cleverness, and filmmaker Wendy Jo Cohen is to be commended for a sly piece that swiftly and roundly delights. This feature models itself after historically minded fare on channels like PBS, or more dubiously "The History Channel," in telling viewers the little-known story of a fictional, crucial engagement of the U. S. Civil War, and the figures therein who were unlikely heroes of the Union. In doing so the project was approached with a welcome mind for detail, and the presentation is replete with fabricated, falsely aged correspondence, photos, paintings and illustrations, and props, and even a few "old timey" songs, in addition to narration with a mild tone, interspersed clips of interviews with "scholars," "historians," or "descendants," and the requisite mentions of real persons and events. Inasmuch as this aimed to replicate its earnest cousins, I dare say that goal was achieved with aplomb.

Mind you, no one could ever mistake this for a portrait of real history. The parodying, comedic slant is readily evident in the extremes of the fictional nineteenth-century figures as written, the words put in the mouths or on the papers of figures invented or genuine, and the scenarios into which all are subsequently placed. That slant is furthered with cheeky, witty, daring minutiae, sometimes bordering on problematic, that toys with period conceptions of race (racism), homosexuality (homophobia), disability and birth defects (ableism), and so on, let alone coy euphemistic phrasing, even ingeniously underhanded potshots at religion, and much more. As we learn of the lives and careers of a gay colonel, a Chinese servant, a former slave, and a youthful sex worker who unbeknownst to the general populace saved the United States in the midst of the Civil War, the comedic slant is cemented with the most overt instances of language and acting from the interview subjects, the most plainly ridiculous fake historical records, sparing "reenactment," and intermittent title cards that themselves are less than perfectly serious. In summary, the humor herein is a mixture of the shrewdly satirical and the outwardly absurd - at times nearly recalling the likes of Monty Python in concept and in word, and quietly becoming more outrageous in the back end - which might more or less mean that there's something here for everyone.

I don't think 'The Battle of Pussy Willow Creek' is entirely flawless. The pacing is too swift in my estimation, meaning that the resplendent frivolousness is shortchanged every now and again as we move quickly from one idea to another. While it's part and parcel of the merriment, I also think the most overt inclusions - chiefly in the snippets of interviews - would have benefited from a smidgen more tact and restraint on the part of the actors, and on the part of Cohen with her direction, for the doing somewhat clashes with the more subtle elements. Though less substantial, I would further suggest that the indie nature of this picture comes off more as a reflection of its low budget, for there is an unpolished, bare-faced quality to the production values, the sort that in a conventional movie I would usually cite as glaring and painful on the eyes. At infrequent moments the totality is a bit much, and both on paper and in realization I believe the flick may have benefited from a tad more mindfulness in how it was put together. For the record, strictly speaking, a content warning should be noted for use of language that reflects period values, but which today would be unacceptable save for the saucy tenor of this farce.

Yet everyone involved obviously knew very well what type of "documentary" they were making, and all fully embraced the silliness. Ultimately those subjective faults aren't all that significant, and more to the point, the film is so tremendously fun and funny, and surprisingly smart in its flippancy, that the entertainment here far outweighs any possible criticisms. Ranging from nuanced twists on classic, typical documentary fare, to unabashedly outlandish, nonsensical impertinence, Cohen whipped up a wonderfully enjoyable piece that hits all the right notes, even if it sometimes goes a hair further than may have been ideal. I had somewhat mixed expectations when I sat to watch, and I am very pleased that when all is said and done those expectations were far exceeded. This is a joyful blast of irreverence that was nonetheless crafted with skill, care, and intelligence, and I'm quite of the mind that it deserves more recognition; I've seen major studio comedies that weren't half as good as this is. Keeping in mind some outdated language and imagery (however purposefully employed they may be) and tinges of inelegance in the making, by and large 'The Battle of Pussy Willow Creek' is a fantastic comedy, and whether one has a specific impetus to watch or is just looking for a great time, I'm glad to give this my very high, enthusiastic recommendation!

War films tend to come in two varieties, being filled either with battle action or drama on the home front. There are outliers, certainly, but relatively few are those war films that focus primarily on the camaraderie between people in the services, and the human spirit that keeps them going, in the midst of uncertainty, combat, and death. Not only does this Ukrainian Soviet classic count among such gems, but I don't believe I specifically need to see any other examples to know that this is surely one of the best, if not the superlative. 'Only "old men" are going into battle' is a delightfully smart wartime comedy-drama in which all flavors receive emphasis in turn, but are all centered around the care shown for each other in the squadron, and the common joys that unite them The result is a feature that's tremendously heartwarming while being both funny and tragic as the narrative shifts; that this also focuses on pilots, fighter planes, and the battle in the air is a nice additional touch, a rarity in the genre. I'm rather aghast that I came across this only by chance, because as far as I'm concerned it's a superb movie that deserves far, far more recognition.

It's very much worth reading background information about the production, for in doing so it becomes very clear how much hard work and research writer, director, and star Leonid Bykov poured into the project. Bykov accordingly blended together various odds and ends in the historical record of the Soviet fight against Germany to fashion this tale, and he did so with such passion and thoughtfulness that the outcome received high praise from veterans. The fruit of that labor is an unexpectedly dynamic, vibrant picture in which the mood wanders to and fro, but only with natural fluidity and dexterity, and utmost warmth. Historical footage from the war is mixed with filmed stunts, effects, and action sequences; beautiful music greets us in occasional interludes as the squadron keeps perspective on what they're fighting for; joyous humor is juxtaposed with deeply affecting scenes of the costs of war. I can only commend Bykov for such a smart screenplay where the characters, dialogue, scene writing, and narrative all shine with such life, and to be honest his direction is just as sharp in bringing all the moving parts together into a cohesive whole.

My one criticism is that the editing is a little rough. Through to the end there is a brusque, ungainly curtness in the progression of the narrative, and in transitions from scene to scene, such that it seems we've gone from A to B too abruptly while missing details in between. Unfortunate as this is, however, it's not so severe a problem as to significantly detract from the entirety, and by and large the title is excellent. From production design and art direction, to costume design, hair and makeup; from the music, sound, and those stunts and effects, to the planes supplied for the production, everything about 'Only "old men" are going into battle' is marvelously well done, reflecting the skill and intelligence of all on hand. That absolutely applies to the acting above all, as integral to the overall success as the writing and direction. Every actor here gives a marvelous performance that truly draws forth the heartfelt tenor of the comedy-drama, with Bykov and Aleksei Smirnov only the tip of the iceberg among others including Sergei Ivanov and Vladimir Talashko. Even those in smaller supporting parts, like Yevgeniya Simonova or Olga Mateshko, make a big impression with what time they have on-screen.

Put simply I'm solidly of the mind that this flick is deeply underappreciated. Countless are those war films that show us epic battle sequences, that take us into the fog of war, that plumb moral depths, or which latch onto the juvenile boorishness of the boys who one way or another will never become men. For every classic, there is a forgettable or regrettable misstep. Much more uncommon are those war films that speak to not just the bonds between those who serve, but the bonds of humanity that keep soldiers, sailors, and pilots grounded amidst violence and spiritual destitution. Fifty years on this movie resonates on a level that exceeds questions of allegiances and borders, and it is just as engaging, compelling, and indeed rewarding as it was upon release. I'm so very pleased with how good it is, and I can only give 'Only "old men" are going into battle' my very hearty and enthusiastic recommendation!

What a striking, powerful, disturbing film, and one that continues to be all too relevant. Few are those titles to come to mind across all genres in which the active narrative is more or less imparted from the perspective of the antagonists and concludes with the defeat of the sympathetic party; if we're lucky we'll at least get an afterword that informs the protagonists' struggle wasn't in vain. And for all those works of past eras that speak directly to living history and continuing geopolitical, sociopolitical, and cultural issues, I can't immediately think of any of the latter bent save for this. It's noteworthy and in no way accidental that though a select few characters are spotlighted, representations or amalgamations of real-life figures from the period depicted, the actors are at most secondary and are here only to serve the story. That story, presented in stark black and white and with another timeless, often underhandedly haunting score from Ennio Morricone, is terrifyingly appropriate nearly sixty years on: the tale of an extreme differential of power in which colonizers and occupational forces are faced with the struggle for liberty, independence, and self-determination by those whose land they illegitimately claim. Both sides commit ugly acts of violence, yet those who benefit from the lion's share of that power differential - while presenting a false face of freedom, peace, order, and moral rectitude - are both deadlier and more indiscriminate with their acts, and at the same time actively forsake any notion of ethics or humanity, and use past heroism or victimization (specifically, resistance against or detention by the Nazis) as if it were a shield that could protect them from the abominable, blatant hypocrisy of now being the unquestionable villains.

Sound familiar? This is the story of 'The Battle of Algiers,' a barely fictionalized account of a part of the Algerian fight for independence for France, but change the setting and people and we could just as well be watching a movie about any similar struggle, set in any time, even now in 2024. That the saga herein is so identifiable and relatable makes it extra absorbing and harrowing; the viewing experience is marginally softened only by the fact that we know Algeria ultimately succeeded and became her own nation, as the last seconds emphasize. Every choice made along the way in shaping this feature is marvelously sharp, if not brilliant. That black and white presentation makes the gnawing tension, the fine acting, and the excellent stunts, effects, and action sequences feel all the more pure and vivid, and impactful in turn. Morricone was one of the greatest film composers to ever live and his work here is highly engaging and memorable as it complements the visuals; some moments are utterly stellar. Everyone in the cast, largely non-professionals, give superb performances that come across as achingly real and believable - a verisimilitude perhaps bolstered by the fact that some were indeed accordingly active agents in the Algerian fight against French settlers and occupiers. Between the root story of Franco Solinas and filmmaker Gillo Pontecorvo and Solinas' subsequent screenplay, adapting Saadi Yacef's firsthand account of then-recent events, and Pontecorvo's oversight as director, on paper and in execution the picture really does feel like a reenactment in which we as viewers are thrown right in the the action. The dialogue could be ripped from any modern-day video; the characters are shrewdly penned with utmost determination and tenacity; for good and for ill the scene writing is vibrant and compelling, just as the narrative at large keeps us firmly locked in. Between Pontecorvo's direction and Marcello Gatti's cinematography we're often given the effect of feeling as if we're right there on the street, or looking down on events from a window at which we're witting, while at other points the presentation really does come off as a near-perfect replication of a documentary or newsreel. The result is all but dazzling.

It would be enough for 'The Battle of Algiers to relate these events of the 50s and 60s; it would be enough to zero in even more particularly on those themes and ideas that are echoed in every similar struggle of resistance, rebellion, and defiance against looming titans, entrenched powers, and fascists. It would be enough for the movie to boast action, or fierce drama, or the legacy of fantastic music, or smart direction or cinematography. 'The Battle of Algiers' instead does all these things, and more, and is therefore captivating, deeply satisfying, and at length, frankly essential. Given the subject matter and the violence it's not always the easiest title to watch, but if these are not obstacles to exploring cinema, I can hardly recommend this any more fervently. Immensely engrossing, thought-provoking, and stirring and even inspiring - and not least of all given those topics of real life to which it speaks, infuriating - this is a tremendous classic that holds up stupendously, and maybe too well. As far as I'm concerned this is a flick that's worth going out of your way to see, and it would be a mistake to pass up any opportunity to watch.

Despite their best efforts, The Asylum isn't the bottom of the barrel. They make a lot of awful schlock, yes, but I've genuinely enjoyed some of their pictures, and there are other production companies that are consistently even worse. Be that as it may, one must necessarily approach anything they make with the lowest of expectations, especially with regards to any "mockbuster." As soon as we begin watching 'Battle Star Wars,' released to ride on the coattails of 'Star Wars Episode IX,' it's readily apparent that it does not count among the studio's best work - but if nothing else, I also don't think it's the lowest of the low, either. This isn't good, yet if you're looking something light to pass the time, it's somewhat acceptable.

There are flubbed lines, a flat and bland tone accompanying mild, milquetoast direction, and wholesale overacting and chewing of scenery. We're given a bounty of dialogue in lieu of action sequences and special effects that require a budget, and just as we've seen in other genre fare like 'Supernatural,' where non-human races and monsters were often depicted taking human form, there is no special makeup on hand here, let alone prosthetics, fanciful costume design, or fabrications from a shop. (Well, okay - there is ONE non-human race depicted.) The lighting used to represent the rebels and "The Coalition" is more heavy-handed than latter-day 'Star Wars' or even M. Night Shyamalan would dream of, and writer Jeremy M. Inman lifts ideas from both George Lucas' flagship creation (such as Paladins, standing in for both Jedi and Sith) and other science fiction (e.g., HLPRs are holograms a la the EMH of 'Star Trek') in fashioning characters, dialogue, scene writing, and the narrative at large. Even the props master and costume designer follow the same path as Inman, the trio of composers take direct inspiration from John Williams, and the editing makes use of the same playful scene transitions as Lucas.

In fairness, all involved obviously knew what type of flick they were making. Whether it's a matter of James Thomas' direction or the cast's inability there is certainly some acting that's less than great, but in general one can't fault the actors for leaning into the nature of the production. The men were clearly instructed to be extra ham in their portrayals, and they do so heartily, not least Canyon Prince, Benedikt Sebastian, and Justin Berti; the women were given an opportunity to actually demonstrate their skills, insofar as The Asylum allows it, and Alyson Gorske, Alissa Filoramo, and Aimee Stolte come off better at some times more than others. The music is fairly unremarkable and often imitative, but not bad, and much the same could be said of the designs of visual elements (including CGI ships), the sets - yes, actual sets, and not just green-screen projections! - and the costume design, hair, and makeup, such as they are. Those special effects and action sequences that we do get are minimal as they present, less than completely robust, and don't specifically inspire, yet even in their modesty are decent enough. The story is generic, but suitable, even if some bits (especially dialogue) are questionable and poorly written. There is some intended humor herein that really did earn a laugh, and some genuine good ideas, not all of them lifted.

No, 'Battle Star Wars' isn't exactly good, but it's not terrible. I've seen far, far worse features than this, and even recognizing some instances of outright theft (e.g., a hologram like Leia's recorded message in 'A new hope') I don't think the utmost denigration it's received in the past four years is remotely deserved. It's possible I'm being overly generous, but there's a part of me that even sort of enjoyed this as the unabashedly low-grade romp that it is. Considering how rotten even big-budget, major studio releases can sometimes be, the very fact that The Asylum can churn out something that's not strictly abominable, let alone anything that can hold something approximating meaningful value, is kind of admirable. This is hardly a movie that one needs to make time to watch, but if you do come across it, and if you're receptive to the sort of cheesy, middling fare it calls kin, then it's passable for a lazy night.

Though taking somewhat different approaches to their narratives, 1955's 'Pather panchali' and its 1956 sequel 'Apajarito' were both rich, beautiful pictures, and the latter demonstrated notable growth in the skills of filmmaker Satyajit Ray and all others involved. Just as the latter stepped away to some degree from the plainspoken realism of the former to focus a tad more on a concrete plot, one may well assume an additional like step in this third chapter of the story, released another three years later. As soon as we begin watching 'Apur sansar' that seems to hold true; while the feature still gives something of a portrait of life in India, it comes across even more as a conventionally built drama. Maybe such considerations are splitting hairs, though, for it's also true that as we begin watching this 1959 follow-up readily impresses; at the end of the day it's another fine film, and shows still further development in the skills of returning participants, and the skills of those new to the saga. As a matter of personal preference I find the first installment to be strongest, and the second after that, but this is really a worthy conclusion and worthwhile on its own merits.

It seems to me that there are clear differences in how Ray approached each title; the first felt effortlessly fluid, and the second more precise and calculated. 'Apur sansar' is a bit curious, for at once the construction comes across as looser, and more relaxed, while plot development is more direct, or even brusque, and the story more common. Mind you, though there are times when that directness - further echoed in fragments of the direction - is glaring and unfortunate, broadly speaking this is no reflection on quality, only on disparities in method. And still, for all that, I also see ways in which this partly improves on its predecessors. Overall I recognize still more mindfulness in Ray's direction, and even more keen shot composition; Subrata Mitra's cinematography, crisp and vivid as ever, similarly feels steadier. In continuing his adaptation of Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay's novel, in general Ray's writing illustrates like growth, with complexity and subtlety in the characters, and arguably greater dynamics in the story, scene writing, and even the dialogue, including welcome warmth and touches of humor in addition to the predominant drama. There is some fine editing herein, and returning composer Ravi Shankar once again contributes a fantastic, enticing score that all by itself does much to keep us invested.

And for as much as the casts of 'Pather panchali' and 'Aparajito' left an indelible mark with their performances, I wonder if stars Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore don't deserve even more praise in this flick. Both are wonderfully charming as adult Apu, and Aparna, at large exercising splendid nuance to realize their character's complicated and varying emotions. I don't think 'Apur sansar' necessarily explores its emotional depths quite as much as its antecedents do theirs, but the actors do an excellent job of bringing them to bear nonetheless. Further factor in some sharp details in most every capacity - at one time or another every participant has a time to shine with the work they turn in - and even though the sum total may have some subjective weak spots, all told the picture is a swell credit to all, and a satisfying finish to "The Apu Trilogy." In some measure I see rough spots in these 100-odd minutes, but 'Apur sansar' remains absorbing and compelling, with a strong ending, and both on its own and as a companion piece to its forebears, this is well worth checking out if you have the opportunity.

While bearing a discrete narrative, with its muted tone and gentle pacing 1955's 'Pather panchali' is most noted for its realism. In developing a sequel one might expect that filmmaker Satyajit Ray would inherently step away to some degree from that approach to somewhat lean more on abject storytelling, and from the start I think this is the case. We still get a low-key representation of life in India, certainly, but it seems evident to me that there is more focus in this 1956 feature on a concrete plot, continuing to follow the Roy family, and especially Apu as he grows and pursues an education. Still, to whatever extent that is true, by and large 'Aparajito' maintains the same feel in many regards. Key players behind the scenes and in front of the camera return for this film to do so, notably including composer Ravi Shankar, cinematographer Subrata Mitra, and stars Pinaki Sengupta, Karuna Banerjee, and Kanu Banerjee; just as much to the point, this similarly progresses softly in imparting its tale, but is likewise nevertheless engaging and absorbing. With all this in mind this picture might not be as wholly striking as its predecessor, though in fairness, that also might just be the disadvantage of coming second.

Split hairs as we may about the particulars, however, this movie is really just as rich and compelling as 'Pather panchali, and ultimately pretty much just as beautiful. Shankar's score is stupendous, and maybe more measured, doing much on its own to keep us invested; Mitra's photography remains crisp, vivid and fetching. While the doing here may come off as marginally less natural and marginally more calculated, I believe Ray demonstrates discernible growth in his skills as a director, with specific instances of admirable shot composition that are easy on the eyes in addition to his otherwise orchestration of scenes. Moreover, in building what feels like a more conventional drama, the writing might be more developed; there is arguably more personality and vitality in the characters, and the same sort of goes for the scene writing as we follow Apu from life with his parents to Kolkata for school. Gratifyingly, I dare say the cast also show even greater nuance in their acting; it is a joy to see how Karuna Banerjee progressed in her craft from the previous production, and Smaran Ghosal, starring as teenage Apu, is a minor delight. In every fashion there is some splendid detail and subtlety throughout 'Aparajito,' and if in not quite the same way, I'm inclined to think it rather matches its antecedent.

There are again instances of both brighter levity and downtrodden tragedy as the story advances, yet all involved navigate the shifts with grace and ease. The sights to greet us are once more wonderfully fetching, from settings both rural and urban, to costume design, hair, and makeup. We may observe marked differences between 'Pather panchali' and this title, but it's clear how the participants' capabilities have improved, and what the successor loses in plainspoken realism and utmost fluidity it makes up for with even more carefully rendered storytelling, film-making, and otherwise craftsmanship. Nitpick as we may, when all is said and done the 1956 flick is just as satisfying and worthy as its forebear, and any self-respecting cinephile owes it to themselves to watch these classics. There's not truly any going wrong here so far as I'm concerned, and I'm pleased to give 'Aparajito' my very high and hearty recommendation!

This is, very plainly, a beautiful film. It's Ravi Shankar's score that greets us first, followed in short order by Subrata Mitra's cinematography, and both are tremendously rich and vibrant, smartly cementing the setting, and serving the mood and the narrative, while providing real treats for our ears and eyes alike. With eyefuls of beautiful rural and natural settings, and small villages, alongside the accoutrements of the same - garments, jewelry, hair and makeup, material goods - we viewers are given a portrait of poverty, yes, but even through the hardships, also a portrait of life in contemporary India, and the small pleasures of earnest, simple living. Even if one knew nothing otherwise about the picture it doesn't take long as we begin watching that one can surely recognize the pure, low-key nature of the storytelling: 'Pather panchali' relates the childhood of young Apu, the life of his family, and their struggles, but not so much in a manner of imparting a story with an arc and discrete beats. Rather, reminding of Italian filmmakers of the prior several years, the feature is one of modest, heartfelt realism. The tone is hushed and the pacing gentle as the tale to greet us flows mildly where it may, with only slight nudges here and there to add drama of varying degrees into the lives of the Roy family. Even through that overall quiet tenor, however, the saga is raptly absorbing; it's not for nothing that this has been held in such high regard over time.

Comparatively reserved as the construction may be, these choices of filmmaker Satyajit Ray allow the story to speak entirely for itself. Even though that tone and that pacing 'Pather panchali' is unexpectedly impactful, with shifts to and fro of brightness and warmth, and dourness and tragedy, both landing softly but unmistakably. Just as much to the point, there is some terrific subtlety and minor ingenuity throughout, sometimes in ssmomething as tiny as a scene or a single shot. As both writer and director Ray demonstrates marvelous skill and intelligence even in his debut; from dialogue and characters, to scenes and the overarching plot, to the realization of it, every last facet is very shrewdly considered. The cast, too, are to be congratulated - it's not that their performances are specifically remarkable, yet all on hand illustrate splendid nuance and emotional depth with acting that is nevertheless very natural, and reflective of the otherwise approach to the movie. At all times and in all ways this treads lightly, yet even as the actors and crew alike were accordingly inexperienced, with Ray's oversight all show their capabilities, and the end result is greatly satisfying and rewarding. Countless other works that are more conventionally direct and overt only wish they could bear as much potency as this does, even with all its objective and subjective disadvantages. I can understand how it may not appeal to all comers, but for the avid cinephile and those open to all the wide possibilities of the medium, 'Pather panchali' is a superb classic that deserves its continued celebration, and I'm pleased to give it my very high and hearty recommendation!

It seems to me that there are relatively few pictures in the world that broach the same subject matter that this does. Many are those titles that tell stories of child-rearing, family life, and relationships between parents and children; many are those titles that tell stories of women, or men, who live their lives without children, or without any interest in raising children. Far fewer are those flicks that tend instead towards exploration of the deep-seated desire and pursuit of motherhood, and of parenthood, and the turbulence that may arise from trying to build a family. I must give credit where it is due, for filmmaker Milcho Manchevski was marvelously shrewd in crafting his screenplay, and in bringing it to fruition. 'Willow' is somber and heartbreaking, unmistakably, yet across its three discrete tales - linked by themes, small references, and in some measure by narrative threads - there is also tremendous warmth, a thriving human element, and even tinges of humor. Just as much to the point, there are more than enough differences between each segment to keep the proceedings fresh, and to keep us engaged; each bears a slightly different tenor. I forget how I first came across this, but I've very much been looking forward to watching and assumed I'd enjoy it, and I'm incredibly pleased with how good it is.

It's not that any one facet wholly leaps out at us, but in every capacity the feature is stupendously smart, crafted with utmost skill, intelligence, and care. Manchevski's direction is impeccable, shaping every scene with sharp mindfulness that brings to bear the emotional depth and potency of each element therein. Tamás Dobos crisp, vivid cinematography, and Kiril Dzajkovski's score, which while dynamic and sparing always manages to come to the fore and shift in just the right manner to both complement and reinforce the tension at any moment. All these same descriptors quite apply to the cast, for from one to the next every actor is truly just as terrific in finding the core of their characters and embodying them. Sara Klimoska, Natalija Teodosieva, and Kamka Tocinovski stand out most both for how their roles are written, their prominence in their segments, and for the overall thrust, yet each in turn also give fantastic, nuanced, yet powerful performances that speak directly to the heart of the concept. To scarcely any lesser degree, Nikola Risteski and even more so Nenad Nacev make big impressions in their supporting parts, not to mention Ratka Radmanovic and young Petar Caranovic, even with their more limited or strictly defined time on-screen. Further rounded out with flawless sound design, surprisingly keen and even impactful editing, and excellent production design, art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup, 'Willow' is gratifyingly well made in every regard.

And still I think it may be the script that provides the primary strength in these 100-odd minutes. In ways big and small Manchevski penned something bright and thoughtful, from the overarching ideas on hand, to those fashions in which each subsequent tale calls back to the one before it, to the very fluid and natural approach Manchevski takes to informing us of how time has advanced in each story. Modern cinema often downplays maternal yearnings, desires, and instincts, leaning toward the very reasonable ethos informed by feminism that a woman is to be valued as and for more than just her reproductive function, yet the ability to bear a child can be just as much a part of women's experiences as her personal strength, individuality, intellect, and otherwise capabilities. This is the tent pole of Manchevski's film: centering women, and their struggles in one way or another of motherhood or becoming mothers, while also definitively writing Donka, Rodna, and Katerina as women asserting (or trying to assert) control over their bodies, their lives, and their personal destinies. With this in mind, the character writing is gratifyingly firm, particularly in the second and third plot lines; there is wit in the dialogue, too. Hand in hand with the narratives and thematic considerations that are wonderfully absorbing, compelling, and satisfying, the scene writing is uniformly vibrant and flavorful while also remaining focused on the underlying intent.

I could hardly be any happier with this feature. It sadly gone rather unremarked in the world at large, a grave error in my estimation; the fact that one is likely to come across it only by chance is a significant disservice to Manchevski, and all others involved, for in my mind they deserve hearty congratulations and recognition. 'Willow' is impactful, engrossing, and indeed rewarding to an extent I did not anticipate; it's one matter to watch a little-known international movie and appreciate them, but for such a work to stick with us, and resonate with us, is less common. I can only give this my very highest recommendation; 'Willow' deserves far wider viewership, and is well worth seeking out!

I've been a fan of 1933's 'King Kong' from the time I was a young kid, and my appreciation for it has only grown over the past many years; as far as I'm concerned it's an essential classic that continues to hold up marvelously. I've been long overdue to check out this remake of 43 years later. While not possessing especial foreknowledge, I was fully aware that much would be changed and updated. What I was not prepared for was just how different this flick would be, including with regards to its quality. It's hardly that 1976's 'Kong' is specifically, abjectly bad, and I do not regret watching. It's a very mixed bag, however, and the entertainment herein comes at least as much from our criticism as from the film itself.

There is a lot to like here. The updated premise is swell, and timely, as an expedition sets out for Skull Island in pursuit of rumored oil deposits; broadly speaking Lorenzo Semple Jr.'s story is solid and engaging in reimagining the prior work of Ruth Rose, Merian C. Cooper, and Edgar Wallace. Two chief characters, Jack (Jeff Bridges) and Wilson (Charles Grodin), are unexpectedly well written; Grodin in particular gives a swell performance, making this title's version of Carl Denham extra slimy, and all in all the cast do a fine job. In general the costume design is splendid, particularly the dresses, and the production design and art direction at large are terrific; the sets are fantastic. Stunts, and the practical effects, broadly, are excellent. Composer extraordinaire John Barry gives us a lovely score, very much reminding of his famous work with Eon Productions' James Bond franchise; the music may not be super memorable, but it's a nice touch all the same. And among some very good ideas in the writing, I think the aspect of this 'King Kong' that's most admirable is its accentuation of the themes that Rose, Cooper, and Wallace first explored a few decades before. Semple selectively but poignantly zeroes in on the exploitation and destruction that the characters have wrought on Skull Island, and the culpability they have in the tragic tale of Kong. As Jack and especially Dwan (Jessica Lange) come to understand the terrible thing of which they have been a part, through to the extra bleak ending (nearly invoking Billy Wilder) the feature is rife with both an ugliness and a sorrow in the calamitous disruption to the natural order, to life on Skull Island overall, and most of all to Kong's life.

All this is welcome and commendable, and representative of what strength the movie could claim. Yet this is also troubled with significant problems that heavily diminish the lasting value. While Semper leans into the most dour facets of the narrative, others are shortchanged (the romance, that here is less than completely convincing, and the drama generally) or even omitted: the invigorating sense of adventure that characterized much of the 1933 progenitor, chiefly with events on Skull Island and its other gargantuan wildlife, has effectively been excised, let alone the tinges of horror that came along with it. From Kong's journey with his bride, to the rescue effort of Jack and the ship's crew, there are only two fragments ported across the span of four decades, and they are not treated well (watch for Kong's abrupt appearance as the expedition crosses the jungle). While Semper's approach to the themes is strong, the remake nevertheless feels a little flat for lack of thrills or energy. This dovetails into other weaknesses in the screenplay, including some highly questionable scene writing (e.g., watch for three soldiers inexplicably showing up at the climax) and dialogue. Just as much to the point, while much of the previous flick boasted many tremendous, iconic moments, nothing in these 130 minutes makes a major impression. And still other choices throughout raise a skeptical eyebrow, including the manner in which Barry's love theme is employed, not least with tonal disparity at the end, and a coat that is given to Dwan at one point in the back end.

There are two other big issues that burden the 70s 'King Kong,' though, and they are far more prominent and prevalent. The first of these to come to our attention is Dwan, the sole named female character and a main character in the plot, played by Lange. With rare exception the writing surrounding Dwan is just awful. I understand that Semper and famed producer Dino De Laurentiis intended for this film to bear a lighter tone, yet even with scattered bits and pieces of levity that intent does not meaningfully come across here, least of all given the somber ideas predominant in the plot. Dwan, on the other hand, pretty much is a joke unto herself, with flummoxing if not laughably bad dialogue, and a flimsy and seemingly uncertain characterization overall, like Semper couldn't figure her out. Meanwhile, I don't know how much of Lange's performance is her struggling with lousy material, how much is a lack of skill, and how much is dubious guidance from the director John Guillermin, but for every scene in which Lange does well, there is another that leaves us actively doubting. On paper and in execution, the female lead was poorly considered.

The second big issue, to be very frank, is Kong. The primary attraction. Seen fleetingly, the gorilla suit looks fine, and perhaps even more so the giant mechanical hand in which Lange is often seen. The more we see of the suit up close, however, the less believable it is - and worst of all is when Kong's face is manipulated with the purpose of expressing some emotion, or performing an action, other than "angry grimace." I'm not sure if I spent more time groaning in pain or laughing uproariously as the picture tries to make the ape suit carry human expressions. And as if this weren't sorry enough, this time around Kong is perfectly bipedal. There is no effort to even approximate our simian cousins' perambulation, and the storytelling illusion is all but totally dispelled as we see not a titanic gorilla, but a man wearing a gorilla suit. I'm taken aback that this feature was celebrated for its special effects, for I find them to be wanting and undeserving. Wherever footage of an actor is spliced together with a projected background the application here is more transparent than with similar examples in much older fare: I think of 'Vertigo' with a scene of a person falling, I think of titles I've seen from the 40s and even 30s, and I think the most glaring failure of the use here might be at the climax, with Kong himself. The special effects, and Kong, continue to hold up better in the 1933 movie than they do in this one of 1976.

Part of me likes this, and I see what it does well. Part of me loathes it, and is aghast at where it goes wrong. One way or another, I'm a person who will watch just about anything, so I'm glad I took the time to do so. Yet for all those works that have been produced in the past ninety years, adopting one of cinema's most legendary beasts for different ends, it remains true that none match a piece recognized for its stop-motion animation and black and white presentation. For where the '76 rendition succeeds, above all with its themes, I want to like it more than I do; as I reflect once more on its faults, I wonder if I'm not being too generous in my assessment. I suppose I'm glad for those who get more out of this 'King Kong' than I do, and you're welcome to it; having now watched it, once is enough, and I'll stick to the original.

This film clearly means a lot to many people. I think it boasts a terrific concept in its disjointed, nonlinear storytelling, with newsreel footage intercut: somewhat examining history of Russia and on the continent, while - bolstered with the intermittent poetry of Tarkovsky's father - exploring a man's life and memories. The picture is smartly edited, and beautifully shot; I love the music throughout, and the cast give fine performances. The feature offers us some sidelong glances at Soviet culture through the select timeframes, and gentle rumination on our own lives, mortality, and indeed our memories. This would surely be most meaningful, though, to those who lived in the culture or through very similar experiences; more esoterically, perhaps to those who are able to wholly immerse themselves in Tarkovsky as a person and as an artist. Outside of such specific audiences, what we take away from this will vary considerably on a case by case basis. For my part, I see the objective value that 'Mirror' boasts, but I'm unable to extend my appreciation much further, and I just don't get anything deeper or more profound from it as other folks have.

That's okay. We all have our personal preferences when it comes to cinema, and even setting aside those preferences, different titles will speak to each person in different ways. I'll watch just about anything; no matter what descriptive labels you wish to append, I've loved some flicks, hated some, too, and simply felt indifferent to others. Tarkovsky's 1975 drama is very much shaped as a rather experimental, unconventional art film - both in its structure and in the smaller choices of individual shots and scenes - and among such fare that we may call its nearest kin, I have indeed loved some, hated some, and been indifferent to others. This piece I actually very much like, and I find it rather fascinating. If you're looking for greater enthusiasm, though, or some reflection on the grander thoughts and ideas herein, I cannot provide any such illumination. If nothing else, that surely accentuates how the viewing experience will hold significantly larger or smaller degrees of favor from one person to the next. C'est la vie.

I think 'Mirror' is worth watching on its own merits, exactly as it is, even just for the strength of its craftsmanship and the contributions of its participants, and for the ingenuity of its concept and construction. Some bits are certainly more striking than others - including, in my mind, the last several minutes - and likewise more impactful, no matter our opinion at large. I'm glad for those who see in this movie something that resonates with them on a more substantive, intimate, intellectual, and/or analytical level. It's just that if one is not such an individual who will have such a response, then no matter how highly we might admire This or That the sum total will nevertheless feel a tinge flat, and possibly a measure unreachable. Watch, and take away from it what you will; as to the high esteem it has held across the world in the past fifty years, well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Maybe we can attribute failings to the title's nature as a TV movie; though there are exceptions, that medium has a poor history when it comes to full-length presentations. Maybe producer Mervyn Gill-Dougherty is to blame, or filmmaker Malcolm McKay; there are some notable stars here, and I know what they're capable of, but these two figures are not known to me, and maybe their vision was flawed, or they were just incapable. Wherever the fault lies, by the time even just fifteen minutes have passed we're given two notable scenes that are tawdrily forceful and forthright, impacting too much in turn. That includes McKay's direction, first and foremost, but also the editing, the dialogue and scene writing, subsequently the story at large, and even the acting of so esteemed an actor as David Suchet, and co-stars Saskia Reeves and Adrian Dunbar. No, not every scene is so troubled, and other parts of the picture are more suitable. Yet 'Cruel train' doesn't get off to a good start, its strength is otherwise rather variable, and the same weaknesses rear their heads again and again.

Gawkily tactless and blunt at too many times, in too many ways, the adaptation to the screen of a fine root narrative becomes messy in execution, and not particularly engaging. There are some nice, subtle touches here and there, sure, and some more nuanced instances of acting; on the other hand, sometimes the flick isn't nearly as clever as it often thinks itself to be, and there are even moments that inspire unintended, mocking laughter. For good measure, factor in some gratuitous nudity, and character writing that in and of itself is less than fully convincing. Nick Bicât's score is okay, but repetitive as it is used here. Even as the plot does actually progress, McKay's direction somewhat flattens the plot development such that the tale at large also comes across as flat and middling.

There was potential in this feature, but too many elements show tiresome flaws that significantly diminish its lasting value. Why, there is no element that is consistent enough to deserve round praise; incredibly, this grows more heavy-handed as the length draws on, and ever more questionable. What should in theory be a compelling, tragic crime drama - with complex characters, strong performances, and aching, pervasive tension - is instead flimsy, trifling, and forgettable. I quite feel bad for everyone involved. Writer and director, producer, cast, and crew members all meant well, but to be frank the end result is pretty terrible, including a final ten minutes or so that all by themselves are awful enough to flush away all but the smallest shreds of whatever credit I may have very generously assigned. I'm glad for those who get more out of 'Cruel train' than I do, but I'm not sure how they do it. In my opinion there are far too many other films in the world, far more worthy ones, to bother spending time here.

Only a fool would dispute that Kurosawa Akira is one of the greatest filmmakers to ever live; to date I've managed to watch only a fraction of his oeuvre, and two-thirds of those I would readily suggest deserve to be named among the greatest films ever made. We expect much of the man, as he clearly expected much of himself, and to the extent that there is ever a difference in quality from one feature to the next, it's by a measure only of small degrees and personal preference. With its deliberate, careful plot development and somewhat more restrained tone 'Ran' is not so immediately grabbing as some of Kurosawa's others; even much of the jarringly strong violence is partly washed over with choices that temper, in some tiny way, its utmost ferocity. In an equally infinitesimal sliver of moderation, even the cinematography is marginally less outwardly fetching and artistic compared to, say, 'Seven samurai,' or 'Red Beard.' And yet none of this is accidental: every move that Kurosawa made in crafting this 1985 masterpiece was meticulously calculated bolster the strength and vibrancy of every element, and of the whole. If this is in any less fashion not as instantly striking as some of its brethren, it's only so that the stunning and even outright horrifying core of the saga can resonate with all the more intensity at the psychological moments. Kurosawa proves once again, undeniably, that he was a true visionary of the medium.

This movie is stridently, disturbingly dark, a tale of pride, ambition, betrayal, growing madness, and ruin that, as the length draws on, is rendered with increasing severity and potency. In realizing that tale, every component part is altogether exquisite, if not superficially then with underhanded shrewdness. Shot in color - color that sometimes seems purposefully oversaturated, as if to reinforce the grotesqueness of the story - the filming locations are impossibly beautiful, not to mention the many hues of the impeccable costume design, hair, and makeup, themselves rather crucial to the proceedings and adding immense flavor. Yet these chromatic considerations are ultimately the most significant reprieve we viewers get from the ugliness herein, and even at that they are sometimes partly the source of it. The wonderfully detailed production design and art direction operate hand in hand with those latter facets, Kurosawa's keen shot composition and otherwise stalwart direction, and the smart cinematography of Saito Takao, Ueda Masaharu, and Nakai Asakazu to intermittently yet reliably provide no few moments of ingeniously shaped import, and even spectacle that at times feels haunting and otherworldly. The employment of many extras, scores of horses, many props and weapons, and substantial stunts and effects, particularly in big action sequences of stark, grim, explicit violence, is deeply gratifying as a viewer, and only works to further ensorcel us. All this is to say nothing of Takemitsu Toru's stupendously rich yet understated somber score, lending still more inescapable gravity to the picture; the lush, vivid sound design; or Kurosawa's own marvelously sharp editing.

Not to be outdone, the cast give firm, impressive performances befitting the epic feel of the narrative. I don't think in this instance there is any one actor who specifically stands out, not like Mifune Toshiro in many of the filmmaker's works, or Shimura Takashi in 'Ikiru'; rather, in this case the ensemble more or less seem to share equal prominence and credit for the resounding success of the entirety. It's hard to pick favorites from among Nakadai Tatsuya (Hidetora), Nezu Jinpachi (Jiro), Harada Mieko (Kaede), Igawa Hisashi (Kurogane), Yui Masayuki (Tango), or mononymic Peter (Kyoami), among all the others. From one to the next all the players give superb, dexterous performances of depth and range that rise to meet the shifting needs of the saga, and all are to be roundly congratulated. None of this would be possible, however, without the tremendous screenplay devised by Kurosawa with Oguni Hideo and Ide Masato. Most every character, even figures who in other titles we may expect to be deprioritized, are fleshed out with personality, intelligence, and complexity, and most every character has a major part to play, even if only in furthering the overwhelming dourness and tragedy. There is some splendid cleverness and weight given even to the dialogue, at times providing exposition, sometimes insights into characters, or maybe just bolstering the robust scene writing that grows to be all but visceral and harrowing as the course of events progresses. And the narrative at large, adapting William Shakespeare's 'King Lear' as a period piece of feudal Japan, is nothing less than fierce. It remains true that 'Ran' does not leap out at us from the get-go as no few of Kurosawa's other films do, but this is only so that the writing can lay the groundwork for the veritable assault on our senses and emotions that is to come. With the foundations laid, establishing the air of deceit and treachery and the initial dynamics between Hidetora and those around him, the picture can subsequently nudge the pieces into motion and let the torrid affair unfold with calamitous results.

Sometimes we can begin to form an opinion about a feature right away, whether for good or ill; sometimes more rewarding are those features that weave their magic in a more thoughtful, reserved manner as the sum total comes into focus. This feature, to my utter pleasure, counts among the latter. It cannot be overstated how gloomy and bloody this piece is, to the point that its tragedy and violence come to more closely resemble their application in the horror genre rather than those of its more plainly dramatic kin. Above all with that nature of the storytelling in mind this will not appeal to all comers. If this is no obstacle, however, then whether one is a fan of Kurosawa, or of Shakespeare, or has some other special impetus to watch - or is just looking for something good - then I cannot recommend 'Ran' highly enough. I assumed I would appreciate it, and still I'm taken aback by how incredible a viewing experience it is, and how well made and impactful. It's not a movie for the proverbial faint of heart, but as far as I'm concerned its place in the annals of cinema history is as secure as that of Kurosawa. 'Ran' is a stellar classic, and you'd be making a sore mistake if you passed on an opportunity to check it out.

It wasn't the first matter to draw my attention, nor the first I intended to remark upon, but as one watches one can't help but observe that this rendition of William Shakespeare's play rearranges the story in some measure. The beginning of Act III, Hamlet's scene with Ophelia, has been moved to the middle of Act II, preceding a cheeky scene between Hamlet and Polonius (which leads into Hamlet's conversation with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, etc.). This is unexpected, but truly brilliant: following all the prior plot development, Hamlet's dismissal of Ophelia then hits extra hard as the most dour note so far, and a portent of darker things; that the mood, here, next completely reverses to provide hearty blasts of humor is a stunning shock of whiplash that keeps we viewers alert and on our toes. I assume this choice, represented in 2009's televised adaptation, flows immediately from director Gregory Doran's 2008 staging with the Royal Shakespeare Company, and I can only commend him for that choice. Mind you, even outside of such specific moments - more of this, both by order and by tone, and still other flavorful variations - Doran's direction is plainly outstanding. There is at once a meticulous precision to the arrangement and delivery of every line, movement, and performance, and to the contributions that capture the whole on film, and also a roaring vitality that makes the whole presentation feel, as much as it could, like an extemporaneous expression of emotion by the characters themselves, indivisible from the players depicting them. One assumes great things wherever The Bard is invoked, and where these actors are involved, and still this 'Hamlet' is so sharp and captivating that Doran can only be congratulated for the vision and guidance that brought it to bear.

Yet Doran's command of the production is only part of the equation, and speaking of those actors, I am so overjoyed by their work here that I feel lightheaded. I admit that there are only a couple names here that I am particularly familiar with, but the full cast is exceptional in bringing the tableau to vivid life. From those bits of wry, barbed, sardonic wit, to those of the most frivolous, cartoonish flippancy; from the tragic notes of harrowed or sorrowful drama to the most animated, invigorating emanations of anger and violence, and everywhere in between, all involved provide staggeringly strong displays of acting that are each in and of themselves raptly absorbing. Only for the fact of the time they are given in the play do some stand out above others; among the unmistakable highlights are Mariah Gale (Ophelia), Penny Downie (Gertrude), and Oliver Ford Davis (Polonius), and among those others still highly deserving themselves, Ryan Gage, Mark Hadfield, Edward Bennett, and more. Even given a supporting part as Claudius (and further doubling as the ghost of the king), Patrick Stewart wields dazzling power and presence; one wishes his role were still larger, because Stewart is such a tremendously skilled actor that he shines so even with such limits. And still, for as wonderfully impressive as all are in these three hours, demonstrating superior range, nuance, and emotional depth, calculated poise and physicality, and unfailing intelligence, in one fell swoop I've fallen in love with David Tennant. The electric fervor and boundless energy and vibrancy the Scotsman carries as Prince Hamlet, across every mood, through feigned madness, and from beginning to end, excites and inspires as a singular, superlative performance with few points of comparison amidst everything I've ever watched. It cannot be overstated how stellar Tennant proves himself to be, and by his work here alone I estimate he earns a place among all the greatest players that have ever been named.

With both director Doran and the exemplary cast doing so much to carry the weight of this picture, it remains true that everything else about it is consistent with its excellence. The sets are relatively austere, but still bring the updated setting to bear with gratifying aesthetics and mindfulness; likewise the lovely costume design, and no less the hair and makeup that really does play a critical role at some junctures. Those environmental effects that are employed are splendid as they lend to the presentation, not to mention the choreography and stunts that dovetail into Doran's instruction of the cast's flawless acting with impeccable fluidity, like a water pitcher gently poured into a stream. I especially adore Paul Englishby's music, a selection of somber themes that stick to the background but help provide definite, dreary atmosphere. Even Chris Seager's cinematography, and Tony Cranstoun's editing, seem notably smart throughout in a manner that earns a mention. But on top of all this, one must surely observe the absolute ingenuity of Shakespeare's play, written some 400 years ago. Bits and pieces of the drama are ubiquitous in popular culture to varying degrees by way of homage, reference, parody, quip, and adaptation, and I would hazard to guess that many people in the English-speaking world have had some familiarity with 'Hamlet' at one time or another, at least in its written form. To actually see this story and these words realized, however, is another matter entirely. The tale is marvelously engrossing and compelling, with awe-inspiring scene writing and carefully considered characters. The verses alone pop out with such breathtaking spirit and cleverness that I swiftly found myself swept up even merely in the poetry of the dialogue. How much of that intoxication here can be attributed to Bill Shakes, and how much to the conjuration by Doran, Tennant, and the other direct participants, I do not know, but I was totally spellbound for the entirety of the length.

What more is there to say? I can appreciate that as a matter of personal preference this will not appeal to all, and the runtime might be daunting for more casual viewers. Yet whether one admires The Bard, or someone involved in this feature, or is just looking for something good to watch, I cannot recommend Doran's 'Hamlet' highly enough. I anticipated enjoying it, and my expectations have been far, far exceeded. As far as I'm concerned this is a must-see; I'm remiss that it's taken me so long to watch, and I must urge all others to attend to it as soon as they're able. Bravo!

It's usually a good sign when a picture has barely begun, with no plot yet in sight, and we as viewers have already fallen in love with it. The opening credits are still flashing on-screen and I'm already swept away by Zdenek Liska's original music, a superb mixture of forward-thinking electronics (recalling similar groundbreaking ideas in 'Forbidden planet') and some tasteful, more conventional instrumentation. While modest by modern standards, the sets of the titular space vessel are still wonderfully imaginative, and beautiful in their relative simplicity and somewhat artistic designs; much the same goes for the costume design, hair, and makeup. Jan Kalis' cinematography immediately comes across as smart, mindful, and dynamic, keeping us invested in its own right, and likewise Jindrich Polák's firm, somewhat understated direction, including some fine shot composition. Even the sound effects are splendid, helping to immerse us in the tale, and while the practical effects and sparing post-production additions show their age they still look fantastic. 'Ikarie XB-1' once again illustrates that even less sophisticated tangible creations, fabricated in a shop or studio, will always be preferable to and age better than the most advanced digital wizardry, and that sense is echoed more broadly in a title of 1963 that holds up tremendously well.

It's worth observing that the picture mostly carries itself with a decidedly soft tone as a sci-fi drama in imparting the story of humans traveling to a distant star, lightly touching upon their daily lives on the ship and personal difficulties in addition to the discrete events and phenomena they face along the way. Yet while this is fairly low-key in comparison to many of its genre brethren, contemporaries included, that bolsters the minor art film sensibilities that fill certain corners of the presentation. And even more importantly, exactly as it is the feature remains engaging, compelling, and satisfying, boasting a terrific narrative flush with detail, strokes of brilliance, and earnest, growing tension and suspense as events escalate in the last quarter. I can claim no familiarity with Stanislaw Lem's novel, but filmmaker Polák and co-writer Pavel Jurácek penned an excellent screenplay that declines utmost outward fancifulness to instead focus more on the human element of the drama - a few key kernels that subsequently allow the saga to resonate all the more, and draw out the emotional center of the astronauts' journey. This is surely Polák's achievement as director, too; the movie could have gone into a more adventure-laden, action-oriented direction, but it would have been straining to do so. Under Polák's guidance the nuance and gravity in the story become veritable tent poles, and the marvelous cast is enabled to capture these same traits in their deft performances.

It's no outright revelation, and modern viewers who have difficulty entreating with older fare won't necessarily find anything to change their minds. But from top to bottom this Czechoslovak classic is perfectly solid. Any discussion to be had concerns personal preferences, and changes over time in film-making technology and techniques and storytelling sensibilities, rather than any flaws (there are none) or questions of abject quality. I anticipated enjoying it, and I am so very pleased with just how good 'Ikarie XB-1' really is. Everything about these eighty-six minutes is strong, flavorful, and very well done, and anyone who appreciates older flicks will find much to love. As far as I'm concerned this is highly entertaining, and more impactful than I might have supposed, and I'm happy to give 'Ikarie XB-1' my very high recommendation!

While they are hardly alone, no one in Hong Kong cinema carries a reputation quite like The Shaw Brothers. With rare exception one can rely on their features for outstanding martial arts action and gorgeous visuals, and a standard of high quality in all other regards is just a common bonus. Rest assured that with fluid, fast-paced, artistic fight choreography and stunts that first expectation is fulfilled; as we're treated to phenomenal, heavily detailed sets, costume design, hair and makeup, and some swell practical effects, the second expectation is also well met. In those ways that we anticipate most from the famed production company, 'The spirit of the sword' delivers just what we came for. Unfortunately, however, in other critical capacities this picture is far less impressive, and to be frank the viewing experience is troubled, if not also aggravating, and genuinely exhausting. I can't believe I'm saying this, but in all honesty, this is the first Shaw Brothers title I've seen that outright disappointed me.

Between the editing and even more so the direction, the pacing in these ninety minutes is untenably swift from moment to moment even in individual scenes, diminishing all possible impact of action and story alike. On paper that story has some value, yet it hamstrings itself for the fact that the antagonist to be revealed in the third act turns out to be a figure whose villainy had been indicated within the first few minutes. It's the aching dullness of kids' cartoons: "Gosh golly, who could the bad guy be behind the nefarious plot this week? The same bad guy as every other week?! Wow, no way!" Furthermore, in execution that story suffers not only from the forced pacing, but from dialogue and scene writing that poorly communicate plot development, and any details, while squashing the narrative into a length of film that is too small for it. As a result, the whole narrative just feels terribly unwieldy, reduced from suitable potential to a gawky, clumsy mess. Moreover, there are times when the dialogue and scene writing share baffling traits with too many instances of the direction and cinematography, and some practical effects: there is a flummoxing, childish simplicity, lack of sophistication, and extremely on the nose approach taken toward some odds and ends that is plainly off-putting. Despite the finesse that the movie illustrates at its best, there is an unpolished sloppiness to wide swaths of the length that almost suggests the uncareful artificiality we suppose of low-budget family-friendly fare.

How could there be such a glaring disparity between the fight choreography, and the aesthetics and visuals at large, set against woefully sloppy construction in numerous essential ways? What happened here, as compared to most anything else the company churned out? I don't think it's literally true but there comes a point where it feels like there is less action than there is dubious plot development; there definitely comes a point where the best strengths of the production no longer compensate for its weaknesses. Admittedly I couldn't pinpoint when that was, but I can say that the minutes drag by, and in all sincerity 'The spirit of the sword' feels about twice as long as it is. It's not 100% rotten, but for all the terrific features that The Shaw Brothers made, boasting the same worth this does but without its flaws, why would we want to spend time here in the first place? No doubt other folks will watch this and find it highly enjoyable; I'm sad that I sat to watch assuming the greatness I always do of so storied a production company, and step away wishing I had chosen something else to watch. Check it out if you want, I won't stop you, but as far as I'm concerned you should skip right past this and keep browsing.

While there are certainly exceptions, one doesn't typically look to the 40s for high quality cinema, especially not as censors' production codes neutered much storytelling and film-making. Not all pictures were so heavily subject to the whims of reactionaries, however - some distinctly scraped by in some manner - and it doesn't take long after this one begins that we recognize the enduring strength of its narrative, the infuriating, despairing relevance that it continues to have eighty years later, and the fact that it surely falls into the latter category. 'The grapes of wrath' is a story of the wealthy, powerful, and amoral exploiting hardship and desperation to set people against one another, and to selfishly reap gain wherever possible, and moreover of forsaking humanity to destroy lives instead of coming together to lift up the unfortunate and disadvantaged to mutual benefit. Of course it is also, more specifically, the story of one family persevering despite these conditions and trying to abide and survive, but it is through the lens of that particular set of characters, and their friends and acquaintances, that we see laid bare the lasting iniquity, dismissive indifference, oppressive abuse, and murderous callousness of the powers that be. Here, perhaps, is where the cinematic sensibilities of the 40s have a proverbial leg up on modern fare, for despite the dour subject matter, the feature endeavors mightily to carry itself with a warmth and hopeful optimism that maybe, just maybe, the Joad clan might make it through these dark years and come out stronger on the other side. Even as that endeavor struggles through brutality and grief, there is shrewd wisdom and and tact in the construction that helps the flick to continue to shine brightly, and to duck the ax of regressive cultural forces.

By virtue of that tale alone, Nunnally Johnson's adaptation of John Steinbeck's novel, this title is immediately grabbing, captivating, and absorbing, with both a soulful richness and an urgent message that we don't always find in the medium. Among other frames of reference, in the case of the latter I am obliquely reminded of King Vidor's 'Our daily bread,' and in the brightest instances of the former, Kurosawa Akira's 'Red Beard'; in the most grim moments, well, those comparisons are harder to come by except in daily real-life headlines. The sum total speaks resolutely to a conflict between the needy and the cruel; unthinking complicit state agents, migrants, labor movements, and individuals on all sides who leap to action for good and for ill; and those who try to help as they can: all operating within a titanic, unjust, inhumane sociopolitical and economic system that would require truly unprecedented unity and pressure to change. Vibrant scene writing, alongside the narrative at large, offers a portrait of humanity both heartfelt and dire - and as tragically, devastatingly, maddeningly relevant to the world of 2024 as to that of 1940 - and even the characters and dialogue are incredibly smart and flavorful. As 'The grapes of wrath' speaks directly to the malice of wealth and power, the value of community and collective action, and the unswerving determination of all, there can be no disputing that as much as this is a fictional drama for our consumption, it is also a call to action with a strident, welcome aim to radicalize.

This is to say nothing of the otherwise craftsmanship of the movie. It's not that any facet is singularly revelatory, but from top to bottom this is shaped with fantastic skill, intelligence, and vision that does just as much as the writing to breathe life both terrific and terrible into the saga. The production design, art direction, costume design, hair, and makeup realize The Great Depression with stark, unfailing clarity and severity, not to mention utmost detail; those stunts and effects that are employed arguably hit harder for the measure of restraint present in contemporary film-making compared to subsequent decades. Gregg Toland's cinematography isn't outwardly striking, but at all times is stupendously keen and focused, centering the drama in a steadfast manner that makes it ring out all the clearer; the very use of light and shadow in this black and white presentation lends magnificently to the gravity of the story, proving that sometimes even with all its advantages modern cinema can't match the unyielding purity and ardor of the classics. The cast is simply a treasure, from one to the next all bearing wholehearted vitality in their performances that lets their characters pop out. In Johnson's adaptation the family is given different treatment than in Steinbeck's novel, but that in no way diminishes Jane Darwell's portrayal of Ma Joad, a proto-feminist anchor of familial and community bonds; Henry Fonda and John Carradine's acting as Tom Joad and Jim Casy, both driven and resolute in their dawning recognition of social conditions; nor the efforts of their co-stars, all just as crucial to the tableau.

And all this is definitely a fine credit to filmmaker John Ford, sagely guiding each element into the exact right direction to tell a compelling story, and to make a picture that would stand as a testament to the times, while bearing great purpose. Ford is not a filmmaker I'm especially familiar with, but of any of his works I've seen to date, this is unquestionably the best. I assumed I would like 'The grapes of wrath,' but it is absolutely far more impactful and rewarding than I ever could have guessed. In all the past 130 or so years there are a relative scant few titles that might be heralded as some of the best ever made; I don't know that this would specifically make my personal shortlist, but for the level on which the film operates in every capacity, the distinction is a matter of semantics more than substance. It's dreary, yes, and not always easy to watch; words like "enjoyable" or even "satisfying" carry too positive a connotation for the ways in which the story plainly mirrors real life, past and present. Yet even at that, and for the contributions of all involved, and for the thought-provoking, inspirational messaging that ultimately sits at the core, the end result is so outstanding that it altogether demands viewership, an essential classic that feels genuinely important and educational. Some features exist beyond questions of personal preference, and in my opinion this is one of them: 'The grapes of wrath' is superb, and I must give it only my very highest and heartiest recommendation!

I thought I was prepared for what this movie was going to be. I was wrong.

Baz Luhrmann quickly established himself as a terrific filmmaker even with his joyful directorial debut, 1992's 'Strictly ballroom, let alone 2001 sensation 'Moulin Rouge!' - or more recently, 2022's 'Elvis.' But it's not just that his works are well made, compelling, and entertaining; he is known for nothing if not a penchant for heavily stylized spectacle, an approach that even informed his World War II drama 'Australia.' I've been long overdue to watch his modern take on Shakespeare with 1996's 'Romeo + Juliet,' and I fully anticipated the same mind for excess and splendor. What I did not anticipate was the extremes to which Luhrmann and his collaborators would lean into that whimsy, for I this well outpaces everything else in the man's body of work in terms of flair, pizazz, cheek, and bombast. To wit: this is possibly the most 90s film I've seen to date, with the production design, art direction, costume design, hair, makeup, music, and frankly even Luhrmann's direction, the cinematography, the editing, and the acting all reminding of the preposterous cartoonishness and vibrant color (figurative and literal) of not just 'Moulin Rouge!' at its most raucous, but 1997's 'The Pest,' 'Clueless,' 'An American werewolf in Paris, Guy Fieri, 'The Mask,' live-action Looney Tunes fare, 'Zoolander'... Well, you get the idea.

With that free-wheeling abandon firmly in mind, any recommendation must be paired with a fair caveat; anyone who is not receptive to all the wide, wacky possibilities of the medium, and to titles that adopt such a nearly hubristic level of bold flippancy, may have a difficult time swallowing these two hours. All involved unreservedly embrace the spirit of the proceedings, and there's certainly something to be said for watching the cast (including some surprising, familiar names and faces) thusly letting loose, just as - whatever one specifically thinks of the most outrageous facets of the visuals - those operating behind the scenes turned in contributions that are solid and admirable in and of themselves. And hey, in fairness, some of Luhrmann's choices here really are fun, and funny, in adapting Bill Shakes; wherever the tale turns to a scene of more quiet, thoughtful drama and character moments, the feature just as ably shifts gears to allow such moments to resonate and hold more power than one might expect given all that surrounds them. The question does remain, though: even as the screenplay keeps The Bard's verses intact, is it possible that the drama is inherently diminished to some degree by the brazenness of the presentation? To the extent that 'Romeo + Juliet' does faithfully adapt the play of four centuries' past, is it possible that said brazenness inherently diminishes the strength of the play? I'm not 100% sure what the answer is, but the fact that these thoughts come to mind at all probably says something.

It seems important to speak to the aesthetics and stylization first and foremost, not just because it is genuinely the first aspect to greet us from the very beginning, but also because it's so prominent at pretty much all points. If one can get on board with the flagrant wantonness, however, I can't say that the picture isn't well done, enjoyable, and satisfying just as it is. I deeply appreciate all the hard work that went into the production, and the skill and intelligence to churn out something so committed to its very particular idiom. However much we may scrutinize the treatment of the play, many beats really are tremendously sharp as they are realized here, including the lovers' encounter on the balcony, and the crucial scene where Tybalt and Mercutio have a bad day. Just as much to the point, there comes a time when the fancifulness begins to recede some into the background, allowing the earnest, meaningful drama to take center stage as events escalate. Despite some curious choices in the music - especially versions of popular songs - they're catchy and actually used quite well; the score is fantastic, with some select themes distinctly standing out, and always ably capturing the mood. And though some instances of acting are better than others, and every actor is sometimes subject to the observed immoderation, far more than not the cast is superb. Leonardo DiCaprio shows some moments of weakness, but we know how fine an actor he was even in his youth; Claire Danes gives a marvelously strong performance that arguably outshines all her co-stars. Those co-stars, having a blast and going where Luhrmann asks them to, include John Leguizamo, Paul Sorvino, Diane Venora, Miriam Margolyes, Pete Postlethwaite, and Vondie Curtis-Hall, among many others.

From the moment we press "play" this movie is a lot to take in and process, and I can't begrudge those who have a harder time engaging with something so far removed from the typical interpretation of Shakespeare, or to be honest, of much of cinema. Still, for all the wild ideas that define vast swaths of the length, there is also real, concrete value in Luhrmann's vision. 'Romeo + Juliet' is a decidedly unique updated rendition of so classic, celebrated, and poetic a play, but ultimately the weight it carries outshines its more stridently playful, garish flourishes. Compared to, say, Franco Zeffirelli's timeless 1968 adaptation, there's no disputing that this film is likely to appeal to and hold the favor of a more niche audience. Nonetheless, the capabilities of Luhrmann and all participants are affirmed once more, and if you're open to the embellishments this indulges, all told it really is commendable, and a good time, and worth checking out.

There are some highly reputed filmmakers whose works just don't resonate with me in the manner I think they are supposed to. I might enjoy some of their works, or even love some, but others I hate, or worse, am indifferent to. Like select films in the latter group from Federico Fellini, Jean-Luc Godard, Luis Buñuel, or even Ingmar Bergman, I don't dislike 'Andrei Rublev,' but I just don't get much of anything meaningful from it. It's beautifully shot, and I recognize the ardor of the production. All those who worked to bring this project to fruition did a terrific job: acting, sets, costume design, hair, makeup, stunts, effects, cinematography, editing, and so on. Inasmuch as this feature explores the life of the titular painter, it comes across even more as a historical drama examining the Russia in which Rublev lived, and in that especially it is engaging and even fascinating. Moreover, anyone who has watched other pictures out of Russia and Eastern Europe, particularly period pieces, will discern a kinship in the portrayal of the harsh conditions, brutality, and poverty, even as there is some depiction of cities, manors, lords, and wealth. In one fashion or another I am reminded of Aleksei German's 'Hard to be a god,' or Frantisek Vlácil's 'Marketa Lazarová,' among others; in some measure, this is itself an art film.

Yet to read of Andrei Tarkovsky's reflections on the movie, and his intentions, one gets the impression that Rublev's life and the Russia he knew were in no small part just vehicles for more high-minded thoughts. One gets the impression that Tarkovsky wished to examine The Artist, how and whence an artist may draw inspiration and conjure the fruit of their labor, and indeed how an artist may go about their work. More specifically, with Rublev as the centerpiece, one gets the impression that Tarkovsky wished to examine religion, and faith, and the role that they have played in the history of most any culture in serving to inspire and produce art. I absolutely see flashes of these notions at varying points throughout these three hours. But I don't think they are communicated steadily or lucidly, and certainly not to the extent I was led to expect. Just as much to the point: I am irreligious, but I can still appreciate topics of a religious nature; I'm not an artist, but I can still appreciate art and lofty discussion thereof. Even so, the way in which Tarkovsky does approach these matters in this title is such a way that I don't think one is likely to get the most out of it unless they identify concretely and very particularly with religion, or with art. I think of Bergman's 'Winter light,' in that I admire the craftsmanship on hand, including the direction and the cinematography, but the headier intended substance often falls on deaf ears. With that said, at least 'Andrei Rublev' has a leg up on the latter Bergman piece, from which naught is to be gleaned but the insider's ruminations on faith.

Don't get me wrong; I find this to be a fine film. I repeat that it is beautifully made, and shot; the perspective on Rublev's life, and on fifteenth-century Russia, is compelling and gratifying, and even for the layperson Tarkovsky provides some keen insight into his philosophy of art - perhaps above all in the eighth segment, which might well also be the most complex and the most impactful. At the same time, for as highly celebrated as this epic is in many places, and by many people, I can't help but note a considerable disparity between their adoration and my experience of far less investment. Maybe if I were to watch again I would find myself admiring 'Andrei Rublev' with a clearer head, and deriving more meaning from it. As it stands I definitely think this is worth watching on its own merits, yet as it is surely on an individual basis that a viewer will find the value herein that will speak to them - whatever its nature - it's difficult to make a more explicit recommendation. Watch, by all means, and just as others have come to hold the feature in high esteem, may that be your experience as well. I think there's something in 'Andrei Rublev' for everyone; the question is exactly what, and how much.