Reviews

Though well-acted, there is little charm in this Christmas movie. The little girl is a competent actress, but her character devolves into a very grating presence. Worst of all is when we realize at a pivotal moment, she really has no use for this lovely deer unless he's truly Prancer. When he doesn't fly to prove he's from Santa's herd, he can drop dead for all she cares and she makes that clear. That absolutely killed the movie for me. If it's not a celebrity deer, he's no use to her. I have to admit I couldn't watch another minute after that, but one review here implied that she and her father head for a cliff on Christmas day to force the animal to jump so they can see if he can fly. Gruesome.

When it was first released, I avoided this picture because I was sure it was a slasher movie and I had read and heard the book wallowed in the most obscene kind of violence. I finally caught this movie on television and have seen it countless times.

Mary Harron brilliantly circumvented the gore by making the movie a satire on American greed during the 1980's. Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman, the quintessential hollow man, gives one of the most amazing performances in the history of movies. Why he didn't win an Oscar, I'll never know. He makes Patrick Bateman as memorable and tortured a monster as Norma Desmond in 'Sunset Boulevard.' Patrick is the 27-year-old CEO of a company whose obsession with status has turned him psychotic. He is a sociopath who embodies the meaning of the term 'cutthroat' by literally hacking the competition to death. He's a narcissist whose rabid drive for physical perfection and financial success have made him extremely dangerous.

Aside from Bale, the entire cast is excellent and the dialogue and cinematography make this a perfect film. Highly under-rated.

Every time, this film's on, I have to watch it. That quality alone defines it for me as a great movie. As others have noted, I have no idea why 'The Hudsucker Proxy', 'The Big Lebowski' and 'O Brother, where art thou?" are more popular except that they're crasser and louder. In short, crowd pleasers.

This is a quiet film and Michael Stuhlbarg's performance as the gentle, perplexed Larry Gopnick makes it a classic. He should have, at least, been nominated for an Oscar. Larry is a basically kind and intelligent human being who can't understand why his life is in total chaos. As a reasonable person of impeccable conduct, it stands to reason that circumstances around him should follow his thoughts and actions. Instead, his wife is leaving him for another man and he's on the verge of bankruptcy and public humiliation.

As a mathematician, it's in his nature to be logical and he can't stop trying to make sense of it all. Like many whose world has crashed, he turns to faith and seeks out the counsel of rabbis who really know less than he does and can only rely on timeworn adages and obscure parables. There is a rabbi, considered wisest of the wise and holiest of the holy, and so importantly mysterious, Larry is never permitted to approach him. In a crucial scene, we discover this man is either senile or the truth is all the religious wisdom in the world might as well be the lyrics to a well-written rock song, in this case 'Somebody to Love'. No one can assign meaning to our lives; we have to do that, ourselves.

Some people have complained that the characterization of Jews in this movie is anti-Semitic. That mystifies me and I'm Jewish, myself. These characters are far from perfect and for the most part, they're broadly portrayed, but that's the Coen Brothers' style whether the characters are Jewish, African-American or Minnesotans of Scandinavian background. The depiction of Suburban Minnesota in the late sixties is so accurate, it's eerie.

Aside from the actors being forced by Bresson to give self-consciously impassive performances, the whole premise of the picture is false and tortured. Bresson makes a donkey a metaphor for saintly Christian behavior and by imposing his religion on nature, Bresson, himself, is contemptible and grandiose. Animals are pure beings for the very fact that they are outside of man made dogma. They are creatures of intuition and emotion who often seem far more moral than human beings steeped in the kind of theology Bresson wants to extol, here.

I know I'm in the minority, but I think, for the very reason Bresson forced his own world view onto innocent Balthazar, the movie is a failure. For me, the only moving scene was the climax where dying Balthazar seeks out a herd of sheep for comfort. These animals are as pure and unassuming as he is for the very reason that they have no religion or agenda, unlike the film's director.

This is a rather engrossing movie despite some stilted dialogue and humdrum performances. Frank Sinatra plays Dave Hirsh, a writer down on his luck, who returns to his hometown after a stint in the army. Like all writers depicted in the 1950's, he drinks a lot and is fatalistic to the degree that he marries a known tramp (brilliantly played by Shirley MacLaine) when the woman he really loves (Martha Hyer) spurns him because he isn't solid husband material.

The best I can say about Sinatra's performance is that he's adequate. It would have been far more exciting to see how Marlon Brando would have pulled off this role. Dean Martin as Hirsh's buddy, Bama, a small time gambler, is entertaining as usual, but it's Shirley who brings the film to life and makes it worth watching.

She plays Ginnie Moorehead, a truly luckless girl, who is nonetheless, the kindest, most sympathetic character in the whole movie. It's clear she's known nothing, but tough breaks since the day she was born, but her determination to show everyone "a good time" makes her valiant.

This picture could be an artifact of the naive and childish romantic notions of the fifties and the plight of women at that time. The audience is asked to suspend reality on too many levels, the first being William Holden as a drop-dead gorgeous young stud. At 37, Holden was prematurely old from alcohol. Even with his shaved chest (which was supposed to make him look younger), he seems closer to 50. All of the gusto and even the lust are forced. Hal would have been an ideal role for Paul Newman or Marlon Brando at that time; maybe Joshua Logan just hated method actors. It would be understandable as to why Kim Novak, the Village Beauty, would dump the richest boy in town (Cliff Robertson) for a loser with no prospects. He would need to have overpowering sex appeal while Holden just appears used-up. In this situation, you can't help but feel for Betty Field's character who knows Madge's life will be a disaster once she marries Hal. The best outcome is that Madge will divorce him before she loses her looks. How audiences, at that time, could consider her union with Hal a happy ending is symptomatic of how delusional and pathetic the nineteen fifties were.