Reviews

At first an indictment of fluff and then a soft apologist for it. This episode finds Frasier starting his classes at Harvard where he soon discovers he's been hired as the dancing bear. Whilst Frasier is aghast by this prospect, the writing builds on signalling that this is what we the audience really should want. The sequences of Frasier being encouraged to sell out increasingly become cringe-worthy, as it feels this is the episode's only ideal of glory. Rather than explored through incisive humour or even a heart-to-heart with a character who might sympathise, it's just wall-to-wall sell-out gags echoing his TV talk show days after he left radio. It's ironic because the writing and supporting characters in this episode represent the fluff it at first mocks, but what it ultimately settles for. Worst episode, so far.

First, the good bits about Se7en are its cinematography, colour palette, and the ever reliable Morgan Freeman, replete with unnecessary end-narration.

His co-star, however - that's a different story.

Se7en is not a very good film. And it's aged much like Salad Cream. For a taster of this just check out its schlocky film-print-like titles twinned with commercial alt-rock.

Pitt has demonstrated some good acting before (Kalifornia, 1993) and after (Fight Club, 1999). Not here. Perhaps he didn't like the simpleton character he plays, or it was too underwritten, but in any case he just doesn't sell the archetype of the basic think-later masculinity the film wants to go for.

There are lots of classic literary quotes in Se7en left by the serial killer (Kevin Spacey), but it all amounts to pretentiousness. It feels rather like the film wants to sell the idea of smartness. By appealing to people who identify with Pitt's basic-man: those who hold some kind of resentment for "fag poetry", but would dearly like to be in on it. This insults not only its audience (Pitt's character is not likable enough), but also those who are somewhat well-read. Moreover, the clumsy, out-of-place, Neo-noir atmosphere plods inconsequentially to the film's culmination: the part for which it is best remembered, its shock ending. The link between the detectives (Freeman and Pitt) and the serial killer becomes personal; but radically so, and conveniently near the end. Only for the sake of the film's surprise. This is why Se7ven just doesn't work on a whole. It's too contrived and not nearly as clever as it thinks it is.

Pitt actually seems like he would rather play any other character than who he is playing, sophisticated or not. In Pitt's defense, it's likely the film still wouldn't come together even without his casting. Interestingly, there are two references made to an earlier, more skilfully made piece of art of this ilk, but Silence Of The Lambs (1991), Se7en is not. Incidentally, The Last Seduction (1994), China Moon (1994), and even The Firm (1993) are more cogent nineties noirs.

The CGI animals look like, well, CGI animals. Particularly the snake, lion and the bear. Could they not have brought in professional animal trainers for authenticity and better screen presence? One wonders. This was standard decades ago. Why not today in a multi-million dollar picture? One wonders. In other news: couldn't have the protagonist at least fashioned a moderate Native accent, like the actor who played her brother? As it is, she most decidedly provides the clear impression of a teenage girl comfortably aware of modern amenities, certainly not the idea of someone from the 18th century.

The score and cinematography often compliment each other by fashioning some kind of black comedy stylism. Unfortunately, the film offers little comedy or subversion. This points to something of a missed opportunity. Instead, the film takes itself largely serious, but without any distinct depth to speak of. However, what is nice to look at in this film is simply its sprawling nature. The colours and shots are a bit too pristine, like a 1000 other films of the modern time, but there's little else positive to recommend. That's a little unfair. The escape from the sinking sand in the swamp was the first time you might feel engaged with Prey. However, this was nearly at the 40-minute mark. The lead's physical retaliation against her oppressive male peers was also kind of exciting, even if the mental fight to equal them is too belaboured. When French settlers come into the story a better dimension is introduced, actually offering up a tense horror piece. The film then quickly devolves into en masse slaying, not at all bucking the trend of sequelitis, à la Hellraiser 3. It's a rather silly sequence. At least the other film knew it was having fun. The commentary on the patriarchy is the film's main plight, which could have served better as subtext. Surely, this is because the immediate threat is that of a volatile alien with advanced hunting weaponry, as opposed to male dominance. Since this is a contemporary vehicle, the inner meaning predictably must be pointed and prodded at until it's quite dead, and it has little or no impact on the viewer after a while.

I imagine the praise for Prey comes from critics gushing over this radical narrative shift, rather than from fans of the franchise, especially of the first film featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger. It also seems unlikely to acquire new fans, as it never quite commits wholeheartedly or authentically to its historical premise. An attempt to add some kind of prestige to an ailing franchise thuds flat on its face with copious amounts of CGI claret. We didn't even have time to touch upon the sound effects which lean far too bombastic during the ever occurring acts of limb removal. And what of the Predator? A CGI mess of lava and digital ash. When it's not digital it looks and walks like a man in a suit without any of the original's menace. The fight scene between it and the teenage protagonist at the end is fairly well-done, despite all being said.

In summation: Unnecessary use of CGI; the clouds, spaceship, and snake all look like they're from an expensive computer game, but not a movie. The cinematography is pristine, like a thousand productions, before and after, and not offering up much artistry, despite the beauty of a natural setting. The acting is fine, but the character interactions at times seem snappy and modern, rather than from 18th Century Native American. In general, there is a whiff of historical reenactment or even cosplay. The film lacks substantial grit to suspend disbelief. Why do all the characters have immaculate skin? You'll find neither a blemish, animal wound, or soiled piece of clothing in Prey. Only sanitisation.

I'm fairly neutral when it comes to Adam Sandler, finding his low humour brand of comedy rather hit or miss. Click, however, really didn't click with me. This feels derivative of A Christmas Carol and Sandler really wants to have his cake and eat it. AND then with some cherries on top. The toilet humour is present, but he also wants us, the audience, to root for him during some fairly dramatic moments. The problem is that not only is this all a mess that never convincingly melds, but Sandler's character isn't particularly endearing, and we can all see what will happen from more than mile away. Throw in a recycling of '90s pop songs which further cements this as overly contrived, tick-box, movie filler.

Melodramatic and quasi-fairytale like-moments reach to serve the idealism of heroism. However, the whole thing is a rather delightful saga depicting themes of friendship, corruption, and changing relationships. Dick Van Dyke is great as the diplomatic boss and Annette O'Toole is cast perfectly as the best friend, although it's likely this two-parter would have ran out of steam without its lead, Pamela Sue Martin. Probably a forgotten talent now, but quite worth becoming acquainted with, especially if all her work is this good. The author's centrepiece of the pharmaceutical industry provides lots of twists and turns too. Sam Neil's accent is a bit questionable, but all in all a very pleasing drama indeed.

For all intents and purposes, Books of Blood (2020), is essentially a television anthology movie, and is better than it has any right to be.

Drawing from the dark poetry of Clive Barker's short story series, it succeeds as a modern update, yet avoids the pitfalls of jump-scares and overtly contemporarising social issues. The care and attention lavished here displays a fervour for storytelling and wicked conceits, despite having possessed what was likely a modest budget. The minimal CGI is forgiven considering the breadth of exploration, which runs a wide gamut of subversiveness: misophonia, bereavement fraud, and dismemberment therapy all feature. The acting, pacing, and the neatness of how all three stories intertwine is a tour de force. A great companion piece to 2022's Hellraiser. A true macabre delight.

I really enjoyed this. A subversive fantasy, kind of set in the real world of curious and questionable adults.

I think I was the same age as Elijah Wood when he starred in this movie, and I think I recall seeing the world something like this, albeit minus the American satire. What we don't know and imagine about adults when we're kids is both wonderful and terrible. North captures this quality well. I also was questioning of my parents and this movie struck a chord.

This is also the only film you'll likely see Bruce Willis in a pink bunny rabbit costume. If you like wonder and anarchy you may like North.

I felt this fell short as a courtroom drama. Perhaps it was more tantalizing at the time, but with the benefit of a few decades, the narrative felt a bit wrinkled in the dust.

It's very predictable. The actors, who are all fine, just didn't get enough to work with here. Even Woods' over the top performance isn't enough to save this series of cliches, and it feels unearned. Robert Downey Junior is far too subdued, and his character grew overnight without any realistic escalation.

Miscarriage of justice themed films can be very powerful, but every turn and corner that True Believer takes feels overly-surveyed. The cinematography and some scenes of 1980s New York are the only real highlights.

This is spread very thin. Not least of its flaws are the characters of the daughters. One is obnoxious and the other is whiny and spoilt. One almost sympathises with sociopath John. That's not good because this is not a comedy.

John's played really well by Eric Bana and provides a chill for the audience, but neither he or Connie Britton can save this 8-part series. Dirty John could have easily fitted into a 90 minute feature. One can only hope the new story in season two has a bit more to say throughout eight episodes.

Seeing Jean Smart in make-up to look twenty years older was another no-no. Dear Lord.

Many frequently point out that this doesn't have a high horror element considering its author. Well, that's not anything new, as King has written some of the most wonderful dramas. Dolores Caliborne, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption, and Hearts of Atlantis, to name a few. Let's also not forget Apt Pupil, which does possess a passing resemblance to this tale.

The performances in this adaptation are great by its leads, especially Donald Sutherland who provides a foreboding presence. The production looks and feels like typical NetFlix fare, therefore a tad bland, yet competent. The score is pleasantly generic, and apart from those leads, there really is nothing here that will set the viewer's imagination on fire beyond the novella, from the story collection: If It Bleeds (2020).

Where the film most suffers is in its final act. It's too predictable. If you like Stephen King, you should, at least on this occasion, read the original story. The audio book is actually excellent, and is read by Will Patton.

Christine Lahti is an underrated and understated jewel of a character actress, despite much of the cliche she has been given to work with here. Much the same can be said for Meg Tilly, although she's given a bit more freedom to be slightly more enigmatic playing the younger character beset with different troubles.

Leaving Normal reminds me of a few earlier nineties films, and that's not a problem at all. Whilst Thelma & Louise is hard to put out of mind, beyond the basic premise of two women on a road-trip in the early '90s, this film fulfills more of the quirk and whimsical aspects of that era of movie making, rather than anything truly gritty. Nonetheless, it's certainly delightful and can linger in the memory long after.

Weaver's character should be unlikable, but the humanity of her flaws, as well as her humour makes that not so. I can't say this is Weaver's best film, but she's highly watchable.

Themes include friendship, class, and alcoholism. There's really not a lot new here, but Weaver breaking the 4th wall is a nice touch and all the subjects are treated with a degree of finesse.

I'm sure many will watch The Good House for the third outing of Kline and Weaver together, despite it being their softest. It's not as bleak as The Ice House, or as quirky as Dave.

This is predictable adult-contemporary fare, but I was engaged until the end. Weaver mostly steals the show.

Comically grotesque rednecks contrasted against the beauty of American wilderness with the burgeoning promise of violence. Familiar premise? This has Texas Chainsaw' written all over it, although X does attempt to elevate itself.

A discussion of sex through a stylized lense of late-1970s independent film-making soon comes into focus. The confrontation of sex is simply too banal and binary however, as the film contrasts two extremes: an adult movie production vs the repression of a backwoods couple. The retro-indie direction won't fool any discerning cinema viewer of this, and the heavy gore is too jarring to elicit, at the very least, some camp sensibility which would have been prime for the film's ridiculous pairing. Lucky McKee's, The Woman (2011) manages a good mix of gore and commentary, but knows it is little more than brutal parody.

X renders its themes as if they are attempts at subversiveness, seemingly to only legitimize the horror genre. However, at the cost of sympathetic characters or an engaging sequence of events, X ultimately achieves the opposite. Even if it does at times manage a prestige machination of cinematography (the looming alligator sequence is memorable), all the protagonists' deaths are inconsequential. Perhaps the director doesn't want us to view the protagonists as anything more than shallow, and rather our sympathies were supposed to lie elsewhere. Now that's something radical, and a truly a sinister conceit, but X most definitely took too long to get there.

A contrived plot brimming with cliches leads this Elvira vehicle and makes for a fun bad-movie. Jokes either land with laughs or clunks, and the acting by Cassandra Peterson is decidedly poor. A positive mess to behold and certainly a product of the MTV zeitgeist; you'll either enjoy this for what it is or view it as bizarre and dated artefact. At any rate, the soundtrack is likely to be enjoyed by many and it appears to borrow from a camp, John Waters aesthetic. Goofy fun poking at conservative America.

The film romanticises and sympathises with the main character; her struggles; and ultimately her solace in a 12 / 13 year-old boy. This retelling is supposedly quite accurate to the real-life incident.

The actress committed to the difficult role and plays her as emotionally vulnerable, and even likable, but perhaps with a hint of confused-delusional thinking. When the teacher is falling for the boy the film's score swiftly tells us it's wrong. Thus, in some sense, you could say the film is balanced in attempting to portray this woman's sense of mind, as well as society's split feelings. In any case, it mostly makes for uncomfortable viewing with a TV-movie sheen negating some of its sting.

Is what society values the same as what we desire in our hearts? Can we buy what we imagine is in our hearts? Should we try? Seconds is a devastating indictment of the ideal life whilst simultaneously responding to 1950s values in America. Its a haunting depiction of the bottom falling out revealing a sinister reality beneath. Comparable to another great paranoid narrative, Rosemary's Baby (1968), Seconds is one the best films of the 1960s.

Feels almost abridged, in the sense that some characters don't get their comeuppance. However, it's perhaps more truthful in its depiction of the criminalisation of the working poor in the 1950s because of this. Tyne Daly's character is the main focus and she plays every beat realistically. Her performance and the story make this film worth a watch, even if it's not completely satisfying due to predictability and hurried production values.

It's difficult to understand how anyone could come away from this film feeling like this is a positive proviso for marriage, or finding the central couple at all likeable. This film was presented as a quirky comedy in its trailer, but rather, Leigh exposes a taboo of loneliness in Ebglish society, whether he intended it or not.

Another Year contrasts a well-matched couple approaching their twilight, along with their single friends who are quite the opposite. They're ravaged with loneliness, alcoholism and mired in a strong sense of hopelessness. This is especially realised in the character of Mary. The pull of a tragedy for her is great, and Lesley Manville's performance is palpable, kudos to her.

The film's contrivance is too much, however. It facilitates a doctrine which suggests that only slow and steady wins the race. An English middle-class mentality, perhaps. If this was indeed director Mike Leigh's intended commentary, it has backfired in some viewers' minds. The lonely people garner a lot of sympathy even if their life choices don't match those of the moderately paced couple at the center of the narrative.

Of that couple: they don't come off as particularly connected people. Their friends seem there only to feather their sober successes through their misfortune, and are quickly and rather coldly cast down when their turmoil is overly keen and inconvenient. Their dullness is as immaculate as their conceitedness and we must endure it all for what indeed feels like a year.

You've seen this before: broken person stuck in their ways is born again through a chance meeting and all who sees are uplifted. The difference here is the subtle elegance Freeman and Madsen bring to their respective roles. The film is still rather slight, with no real emerging crisis or antagonist to speak of, but these characters are inspiring, just as is the story's idyllic setting.

My main observation of this film, is how it's burdened with weak plot points and unnecessary characters. Although based on a true story, I didn't see the necessity for a sassy secretary or the DA's vaguely racist wife played by the underused Virginia Madsen.

Elsewhere, Whoopi's acting isn't up to scratch, and James Woods overdoes his southern racist stereotype to the hilt bordering on absurdity. I felt there wan an outrageous comedy somewhere in the filmverse missing this character.

Simply, there are better put together movies about the civil rights movement, as well as various 1990s court dramas with more expertly executed thrills. Ghosts of Mississippi is a missed opportunity. It is predictable and plodding, but is passable.

The beginning and end have powerful moments about an abducted child, but the middle is an odd muddle centered on political fall-out for the Los Angeles Police Department. It's especially this element that weakens the potency of the film's main underpinnings of a mother's loss and despair. What's more, it's ineffective and begs credibility because of the stylised manner through which it's executed. Jason Butler Harner's performance as a serial killer is plain clownish. More bizarre is Jolie: she regularly looks as if she's posing for a glamour magazine during her character's grief. Perhaps she was secretly yearning for a good film noir,, who knows?

The film's historical period is presented as an eye-catching and glossy ideal of 1920s Americana. This juxtaposition to the downbeat subject matter distracts from the audience's sober sense of their suspension of disbelief. Are we suppose to admire the film's chic visual opulence or identify with familial heartbreak? I guess we could do both, but it sure is deflecting.

More ambitious than meaningfully effective. This remake insists on continual homage to its superior predecessor (1992), but in the process forgets to craft a compelling story of its own. Whacking you repeatedly on the head with issues of contemporaneous racism and gentrification, it acts more as a prop than an engaging narrative, aptly echoing its hollow characters who signify representations of identities, rather than layered human beings with unique experiences. Not a whole lot to get your hook into.

The Joker is a film too incongruous for my tastes. The film uses social-realism and politics, and explores the declining mental health of the comic book villain, thus in the process making him an anti-hero. With a backdrop of mixed eras, visually comic shots evoke only irony because of its stark theme, and the entire film acts as a miserable escalation, for in the end there's no one to root for. In places, this is visually appealing, and Phoenix's acting is far from throw-away, but the concept simply equates to a pointless commercialization of an art film.