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Clint Eastwood's second Dirty Harry film is essentially an apology for the first. Harry is assigned to solve a series of murders in which vigilantes have been killing criminals (I'm surprised Harry wasn't the prime suspect). In the end he traces the problem back to his own police department.
The film starts of well. Post's direction is good enough - the film has a gritty feel that suits the material. Halfway, however, the script loosens the ties somewhat and nothing Post can do can salvage it. All the plot points are telegraphed way in advance - a long scene between Harry and some traffic cops is obviously irrelevant unless they are the killers. Perhaps the screenwriter(s) did not intend this to be a mystery (the "show the bomb under the chair" approach to suspense) but it's difficult to tell. I kept wondering exactly how much I was supposed to have worked out. This makes the whole conclusion something of a procession, with the audience waiting for the film to let Harry discover everything we've already worked out. The only plot point that achieves any surprise is the revelation of the group's ringleader- and that catches us out simply because it's such a stupid choice that we thought the screenwriters wouldn't stoop to it. We should have known better.
Making Mr Right (Susan Seidelman), 1987
Very similar in tone to Seidelmann's previous Desperately Seeking Susan- the light farce elements are given exactly the same weight and several characters have been lifted almost directly from the earlier film. More ambitious, but less successful, due partly to very unattractive production design (lots of flourescent lights -even if it is relatively low budget, a little work and imagination could have given a nicer looking lab than this). The casting is mixed - most of the actors are surprisingly uncharismatic. Only Glenne Headly, as the heroine's best friend (she was the swindlee from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels) is really appealing - this is in stark contrast to D.S.S. where even Madonna came off as someone you wouldn't mind having around. John Malkovich's double role as a robotlike scientist and his humanlike android (how's that for a cliche) is brilliantly done, but unsettling. Both look like twelve year olds, but they move and act in seperate distinctive ways. The robot incarnation of Malkovich is especially unsettling to watch - he takes it absolutely seriously, and while there are some funny situations, he never plays it for laughs. I might have liked it all more if the nerdy doctor was more charismatically nerdy, like Crispin Glover in back to the future.
Certainly deserves a courage award for its ending - though I don't like the way it treats the doctor, no matter how triumphant his final line seems (the treatment of all the supporting characters is a little lax, come to think of it).
Joe Dante went from the brilliant but under-appreciated Gremlins 2 to this film, in a similar vein but not as good and even less widely seen. I was kept waiting so long for it (during which time I kept hearing positive reviews) that when it eventually appeared I was disappointed. It's another film that plays on the barrier between audience and movie characters (in many ways it could be seen as an expanded version of the similar joke in G2) but this is a joke that is wearing thin. I'm still willing to see this kind of film, but it has to be brought off very well. Matinee's chief problem is an almost comatose opening hour. The fun is the final scenes at the Matinee itself, but Dante first has to set up half a dozen plot threads which are put in place painfully slowly - you'll be way ahead of him. Even once the film is in full swing (and we are getting abundant clips from Dante's great film-within-a-film Mant) the plot is uneven. Our hero and heroine get locked in an air raid shelter (the film is set during the Cuban Missile Crisis, an inspired idea that is never quite used properly) only to get let out a few nanoseconds later, as if the two scenes somehow drtifted together during the editing process. You'll wish someone had poured some Gremlins into the theater to shake things up a little.
Maverick (Richard Donner), 1994
Or: Lethal Western.
Bizarre little joke of a movie from Good Film/Bad Film director Richard Donner. Donner's competence in this one is better than usual, but it's another of his bad films. Any pretence at seriousness is abandoned in the opening seconds with a bizarre attempt at a bungled execution (I refuse to believe those guys were attempting a successful execution) leading us into a non-stop succession of joke scenes with Gibson. Never has Gibson been more clownish- all the seriousness of his previous screen incarnations has been leached off leaving a portrayal of Brett Maverick that makes this very episodic film into a virtual sketch comedy. It's a western only in that it has some beautiful shots of desert canyons and riverboats: as far as having that western feel goes, it succeeds like your average F-Troop episode.
All cheap shots aside, it must be admitted that Maverick is fun in spots. All the performances, on a purely comical level, are great (with the exception of Graham Greene, who gives us a native american character for whom the term "injun" seems too dignified). The numerous bizarre plot points (like the fact that Maverick gets robbed innumerable times but still never has anyone take his $22,000) just add to the giddy air of ridicule. Only the nonsensical ending goes too far: it's one thing to play jokes on the audience, its another to charge $10 for them.
Danny Glover has a brief, self congratulatory cameo.
Mermaids (Richard Benjamin), 1990
Weird drama about a close knit single parent family in
the sixties. Mrs Flax (Cher) is a well intentioned but chaotic mother of
two girls. She has a tendency to move town regularly, which has resulted in
her daughters (especially her fifteen year old, Charlotte, played by Winona
Ryder) being strange, troubled, and slightly resentful of their mother despite
her good intentions. This film throws in all kinds of details as it explores
Charlotte's troubled attempt to find her identity. Many scenes don't work
at all, some misfire, and at times key events are skipped over or confusingly
handled. What saves the film and makes it watchable are the great performances.
Bob Hoskins isn't taxed by his role as Cher's latest guy (he stands around
and looks goofy), but Cher and Winona Ryder are both great. Compare Ryder's
work here (as a fifteen year old) to her other roles made about the same
time where she plays older girls and you'll realise how good she is.
Minority Report (Steven Spielberg),
2002
Spielberg's recent return to form continues with a film
that is straightforward in intention yet tricky in its details. An adaptation
of a short story by Phillip K. Dick, it's a murder mystery complicated by
science fictional concepts: the murder is yet to happen, having been foreseen
by prescient teenagers kept captive as a crime-prevention measure by the
police. The action scenes, although less numerous than expected, are pulled
off with Spielberg’s usual panache, and the performances are excellent across
the board (Spielberg is always underrated as a director of actors). Yet the
film would be unsatisfying if it were just an action film: Spielberg has undermined
his reputation by trying to alternate between “prestige” pictures and braindead
action movies. His best films - Jaws, Duel, E.T., Raiders
of the Lost Ark - are satisfying because he took them seriously despite
them being fundamentally lowbrow material. Here he rediscovers this skill
and gives us a thriller that is also about something.
Jumping on the Philip K. Dick bandwagon was a good move: even when the
adaptations of Dick's work are flawed, and completely transform the source
material, enough of his sensibility seems to make it through to ensure the
result is well above the Hollywood norm (think Blade Runner and Total
Recall). Unlike so may of Spielberg’s weaker films, there is here some
sense of moral ambiguity: the "precrime" program run by the police of 2054
is established early on as an enormous success, so the gradual exposure of
the system’s flaws becomes more satisfying. While the ending may be a little
pat, the message of the film - that the overzealous protection of the legitimate
public interest can quickly degenerate into abuse of civil rights - is a
welcome one in this post September 11 age.
Miracle Mile (Steve De Jarnett), 1989
One of those films (like Frantic) that starts with such a tantalising setup that it can never hope to deliver a fully satisfying conclusion. The first half of this film verges on the brilliant, with a love story between Anthony Edwards and Mare Winningham giving way to an intriguing story involving the possibility that a nuclear strike has been launched by the United States. Gradually, though, the tension slackens (it eventually becomes clear that there is no way known that they will ever make their flight) and the film's tension and bizarre off kilter humor gives way to arty, overly philosophical endings (plural intended).
Mister Canton & Lady Rose (Jackie Chan), 1989
AKA: Miracles
My chief source for information on Hong Kong action films, Bey Logan's Hong Kong Action Cinema, gives this film surprisingly short shrift, noting chiefly that it was regarded as an "expensive flop." It is, in fact, one of Chan's most impressive vehicles, though admittedly I might not have enjoyed it so much if I'd have had to sit through the original cut, which apparently ran over three hours. The version I saw (the beautiful widescreen print screened by SBS in Australia) was in the original Chinese language, but ran a little under two, and in that form the film is highly entertaining. (The chief sign of the cuts in this print was some slight confusion over a subplot involving Anita Mui as a singer in Chan's nightclub).
Admittedly, Mister Canton and Lady Rose is hardly the film some of Chan's fans might have come to expect (especially his Western fans, used to the more Hollywoodesque Rumble in the Bronx and First Strike). Chan, who also wrote the script and directed, plays a naive outsider who arrives in Hong Kong only to be chosen (for no particular reason) as the new boss of a large crime syndicate. Despite the dubious morality of his role, Chan - as always - remains more of a nice guy than a wiseguy. Thus, when a poor flower seller needs help persuading her future in-laws that she is actually a wealthy socialite (don't ask), Chan draws on his criminal resources to arrange an elaborate charade. This plot, drawn from Damon Runyon's story "Madame La Gimp" via Frank Capra's Lady for a Day, is an odd mix of melodrama and farce, as Chan tries to outwit not only his criminal enemies, but also the Clouseau-esque chief of police (amusingly portrayed by Richard Ng).
The more narrow-minded of Chan's fans might find this all a bit trying, but Chan livens things up by providing two of his most exceptional sequences. The first has Chan fighting his way out of a restaurant in which he has been trapped; the second is the extraordinary double climax in which Chan first engages in a running battle on the streets of Hong Kong, then takes on his enemies in a rope factory. These sequences show Chan at his athletic best, and make the viewing of a widescreen print compulsory. It's a shame that in his more recent films Chan has moved away from such intricately choreographed action to an increasing emphasis on more Hollywood style action.
Chan's direction is excellent, with the fluid camerawork getting the most of the several enormous sets constructed for the film.
Moonraker (Lewis Gilbert), 1979
Half baked Bond film that is, if not the worst, certainly the most lowbrow. The mummified Roger Moore is plugged into a plot involving a space station in outer space intended to pave the way for a Nazi style cleansing of the worlds genetic pool. This Star Trek plot is carried off with virtually no flair whatsoever. The only highlight is a great opening stunt.
Most embarrasing is the filmmakers' attempts to make Bond look smart by finishing the sentences of Dr Holly Goodhead (Lois Chiles, trying valiantly to ignore the sleazy double pun her name represents). First he merely states what every man and their dog knows (the space shuttle re-enters earth and glides to a landing like a conventional aircraft - well, duh! This wasn't an impressive piece of knowledge even in 1979). Then he starts getting things wrong, stating that a centrifuge simulates the "gravity force" felt during takeoff- a blunder any high school physics student would correct him on.
The film was one of the biggest hits of the series.
Jackie Chan filmed this extremely enjoyable, if pedestrian, actioner in my home town of Melbourne, and as I write it is yet to be seen in this town's cinemas. But - assuming it does come out here sometime - the wait is worth it. Chan may not be aiming as high as he used to (there's nothing to match the conclusion of Mister Canton and Lady Rose in his recent films), but his work is still very enjoyable. Here directed by frequent co-star Samo Hung (who has funny cameo), Chan is as charming as ever and only slightly less nimble. The plot is straight out of Rumble in the Bronx, but you'd be missing the point to care. Chan comes up with several good action set-pieces (the highlight being a fight on a construction site) that lift the film to be one of his best in the last few years. It is also his first that features dialogue filmed (rather than just post-dubbed) in English, which makes the film seem more professional than his previous releases. This is particularly gratifying given the setting, and its great to see Melbourne looking so good in such a high profile movie. Only a weak conclusion mars the film: like First Strike, this is one really good punch-up short of greatness.
But I always say that.
Mrs Doubtfire (Chris Columbus), 1993
Opening shot of Mrs Doubtfire: someone is singing. It becomes clear we're watching a cartoon, and the scene shifts so we see the singer is a cute little bird not entirely unlike Tweety. The cartoon action gets underway, with a cat trying to eat the bird, and we pull back to see Robin Williams adding the sound to the completed animation. We are maybe fifteen seconds into the film, and already it lacks credibility. Nobody post-dubs an animated cartoon. It's virtually impossible, not to mention completely pointless.
An odd point to dislike a film for, I admit. I just mention it because Mrs Doubtfire's plausibility problems never go away. The story is as simple as it is silly: Williams, missing his cloyingly cute children after separating from his wife (Sally Field), gets back into the house by assuming a female identity and posing as the housekeeper / nanny Mrs Doubtfire. Allegedly comical complications ensue when Field starts courting a semi-sleazy playboy (Pierce Brosnan). The result is just like any other Hollywood comedy you've seen, except the funny bits are less so and the unfunny bits are more so.
The implausibility of a man successfully escaping the detection of his family members simply through makeup, glasses, and a Scottish accent is obvious, but perhaps forgivable. Unfortunately, the film pushes further: its two big comic set-pieces involve Williams trying to be himself and Mrs Doubtfire simultaneously by alternately donning and removing his Mrs Doubtfire disguise. This is asking the audience to grant too much for too little payoff (the disguise would obviously take several hours to apply). Williams' performance doesn't help: he's fine as Doubtfire, but for the rest of the film is uninspiring. We are obviously supposed to think his cartoon voice-over man is a funny guy, and there are several moments in which Williams is given a free reign. Yet his voices are poor (his inadequate Porky Pig kills one of the film's better lines) and his verbal riffs disappointing. At one point, Williams is considered so funny by his boss (Robert Prosky) that he is allowed to take over a children's TV show, but (in spite of his call not to patronise kids) the show we see Williams present is strained and unfunny. You get the unfortunate feeling that the screenwriters pencilled in space-filling material on the assumption that Williams would improvise something better, and that Williams then read it as it was.
The director, Chris Columbus, brings little lift to the material. He started his career writing bad scripts for mediocre movies (The Goonies, Gremlins, Young Sherlock Holmes): here he shifts gear and instead creates a bad movie from a mediocre script. One or two moments click (as when Williams mistakenly sits down in front of Prosky in drag) but far more scenes miss the mark. Particularly trying is the overbearing sentimentality, which has the unfortunate effect of ruining the otherwise engaging performances by the juvenile actors: we go into saccharine overload. Columbus gives everything a slick Hollywood look, but a little reality was needed if this was to be even half the film that the similarly plotted Tootsie was.
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© 2003 by Stephen Rowley