jakebe: (Entertainment)

Darby O'Gill and the Little People (1959)
Darby O'Gill is a walking cliche, that "drunken" old Irishman you find in every pub telling tall tales about his escapades with leprechauns and other Fair Folk. What's different is Darby doesn't drink and his stories are all true; so when he is finally sacked by Lord Fitzpatrick, the land-owner whose estate he's supposed to be tending, his frienemy King Brian steals him away to the innards of Fairy Mountain, where he will naturally live out the rest of his days. Darby, who has a daughter he cares for more than anything else in the world, isn't having that. So what's a wily old man to do?

I wasn't expecting to like this movie as much as I did, which is to say not much at all. When you hear about a live-action Disney film from the 1950s, you naturally think of the corniest all-ages entertainment you can think of -- at least, I do. And while Darby O'Gill and the Little People is definitely a G-rated movie, it's also surprisingly engrossing. The film exists so comfortably in its own skin that if you take it on its own terms you might just find yourself having a pretty good time.

What makes the movie work is how well they're able to capture the rhythm and flow of a good faerie tale. Sometimes Brian -- the King of the Leprechauns -- is a friend and confidant, and other times he's a dangerous adversary with powerful magic who must be outwitted. Darby O'Gill is sometimes a clever old man who tricks leprechauns as easy as breathing, and sometimes he's a poor mortal wretch so far out of his depth you can't imagine how he'll get out of trouble. The dynamics of power and emotional investment are always changing, and even by the end of the movie you're not entirely sure his experience with the fae is ultimately positive. It's fun to watch the stakes shift as much as they do.

A pre-007 Sean Connery is the romantic interest here, and he's so young he doesn't have any of that urgency or gravitas that we've come to know him for. But he does make for a good crooner, and it's fun to watch him drift in and out of Darby's narrative. It's also neat to live in a setting where everyone knows the rules of magic better than you do; their reactions tell you everything you need to know about what's going on, even though the finer details are missing.

Still, if you haven't quite gotten into the movies of old Hollywood, chances are this isn't the movie that's going to sway you. If you're more comfortable with the rhythm of old cinema storytelling, this works well. Darby O'Gill and the Little People is an old-fashioned story, but it's still well told.


Cry-Baby (1990)
John Waters made this film right after the unexpected success of Hairspray, when movie studios were practically beating down his door in order to work with him. The fact that he made this wonderfully insane ode to trash and 50s teen idol musicals just makes me love him more.

Here, Johnny Depp is playing around with his teen-idol image in ways that are actually more effective than burying it under a ton of pancake make-up. He plays the leader of a "drape" gang named "Cry-Baby" Walker; he earned the nickname by squeezing out only a single tear when something upsets him. Cry-Baby is backed up by his perpetually-pregnant sister, Pepper; "Hatchet Face," a legit crazy woman who steals every scene she's in; Milton, Hatchet Face's devoted boyfriend; and Wanda Woodward, a sexpot played by none other notorious porn actress Traci Lords.

Cry-Baby falls in love with a "square," a good girl being groomed by the stuck-up parents in charge of 1950s Baltimore society. Allison falls for his rock-and-roll singing as well as his single tear trick, and ends up forsaking her clan for the chance to live with the drapes for a while. That's the basic story, though there are all kinds of detours through it that are surprising and hilarious.

No matter what your expectations coming into this film, Waters manages to upend them. The characters are varied and expertly-drawn, so idiosyncratic that you know who they are by the end of the film's prologue and opening credits. The fact that their backstories are still surprising when they're revealed is impressive.

I can't think of another director who delights in his own weirdness as much as John Waters, and that's what ultimately makes Cry-Baby so fun. Walker's gang of drapes are undeniably insane and fundamentally broken, but there is such a passionate and loving bond between them you can't help but see them as good people. Waters has been the champion of loving weirdness throughout his career, and the fact that he made one of his weirdest and most passionate films as the major studio release here shows a dedication to that vision that's been simply unwavering.

The third act of the film falls apart a little bit, but it's still a lot of fun and really engaging. Well-drawn characters are sacrificed to get the "everything and the kitchen sink" finish that Waters wanted, but it doesn't eat up too much of the goodwill the movie earns. If you're an neophyte in the ways of Waters, I'd say Cry-Baby is an excellent film to cut your teeth on -- if you hate it, then it's highly unlikely you'll love anything else he's written or directed.


The Little Mermaid (1989)
The 70s and 80s were rough on Disney animation; after The Jungle Book, there weren't too many films that were looked upon fondly before this one. Even though I liked quite a number of the animated films of that period, there is simply no question that The Little Mermaid raised the bar for the company and began a creative high period that would take them through most of the 1990s.

Ariel is the title character, a mermaid princess who is fascinated by the human world above the surface of the oceans. Her father, King Triton, knows the cruelty that man is capable of and wants to protect his daughter from being hurt -- his isolationist demands runs counter to her curiosity and optimism. When the terrible sea witch Ursula grants Ariel's fondest wish -- to be human so she can marry a prince she's fallen in love with, the fate of two kingdoms is suddenly hanging in the balance.

The songs in this movie are some of the greatest in any Disney musical ever. "Part of Your World" is a fantastic, ideal "I want" song; "Kiss The Girl" is the most romantic song that I can think of in a Disney film; and "Poor Unfortunate Souls" is so delightful that it almost gets you on Ursula's side for a hot second. The animation has to be better just to be worthy of the words, and Disney steps it up in wonderful ways here. Taking fish, crabs and other sea-creatures into anthropomorphic territory is not easy. Sebastian scuttles nervously, and you at once recognize he's a crab (ew!) and that he has these intense emotional desires (aw!) that endear you to him. Flotsam and Jetsam, Ursula's hench-eels, are creepy, predatory, yet hypnotic. It's easy to imagine how naive Ariel could be pulled under their sway.

There are some problems. This time around I found Ariel's character design a little weird; her head feels really long, accentuating the forehead in this distracting way. And Prince Eric is kind of a terrible character, this wishy-washy dude who seems to be mostly defined by his love of alto voices. Even when Ariel gets Eric in the end, you get the feeling that she could do so much better; the humans in the story are more bland than sadistic, so what was King Triton even worried about there?

The stakes are supplanted by the battle between Ariel and Ursula in the third act, and even then Prince Eric effectively kill-steals the encounter. What did Ariel actually learn through this? How will she be a bit more discerning and a bit less reckless in the future? How did she earn her happy ending?

The argument could be made that this is not that kind of children's movie, and you might be right. But Ariel's flaw -- the thing that gets her into trouble -- is never really identified and addressed through the course of the story. The happy ending feels just a little lessened because of this, even though the rest of the movie is nothing short of delightful.

Still, if it's been a while since you've seen The Little Mermaid, it is definitely worth another look. The songs are amazing, the environments and (most of) the character designs are fantastic, and its ambition is really something to admire. After the long dark time of Disney's lesser canon, it's a great example of how you can take Walt's original passion for telling great stories and update it for modern audiences.

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Oliver and Company (1988)
Ryan and I are making our way through the library of Disney animated film, and we've made our way up to this re-imagining of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. The action is transplanted from Victorian London to modern-day New York, and Oliver is an orphaned orange cat that no one wanted. He's befriended by Dodger, a stray mongrel who lures him into Fagan's petty theft operation. Fagan is...a homeless guy?...who owes a ruthless businessman named Sykes a whole lot of money. Sykes menaces Fagan, while his two dobermans menace the gang. This being a Disney movie, things work out for the best, but not before the characters move through a lot of complications.

This movie is pretty heavily 80s, with Billy Joel providing the voice of Dodger and so many of the songs -- which are deeply influenced by the pop music at the time. In a way, it's kind of endearing; so many movies that aim for the "latest and greatest" in terms of attitude are usually the ones that end up being the most dated, and this film is no exception. It is very much a love letter to 80s entertainment.

I think that attitude is what makes the movie stick with you; the story is what it is, and it moves through the beats about as well as it can for something so predictable. But the characters, whether you love them or hate them, stick with you. Dodger is the star of the show; well-designed, bristling with attitude, the dog with the emotional arc that wraps up neatly at the end. Oliver is more of a catalyst character -- he has a journey that he moves through as well, but he's pretty much the "orphan in trouble" through most of the movie.

Disney has this great "shared" universe, it feels, with movies like this that runs from 101 Dalmatians, through Lady and the Tramp and The Aristocats, and into Oliver and Company. Who knows, maybe The Rescuers belongs to the same cinematic world? There are supporting characters in one movie that will pop up in the background of another -- or at least, their models will. It's a fun game to see what you can notice.

Most people say that Disney had a fairly rough go of it in the 70s and 80s, and while they were doing things that pushed them away from their "Golden Age" I've come to admire the risks they were taking. In a lot of ways, Oliver and Company feels like a bit of a step back into safer territory. Still, the movie was successful enough to usher in a bolder leap -- the very next film on the list begins the Disney Renaissance in earnest (it's The Little Mermaid).

If you like your Dickens stories a bit more frenetic, a bit brighter, and with talking animals, I'd recommend this. You could certainly do worse!


Man of the Year (2006)
This movie definitely could have been something special; Robin Williams stars as a Bill Maher-type who ends up making an improbable run for the White House. After several instances of speaking truth to power and being disruptive in the best way, he's taken seriously enough to be added to the debate; from there, the dominoes just keep falling.

Meanwhile, in another movie, Laura Linney is a high-level employee at Delacroy Inc., which has just been given government approval to be the sole company providing voting machines in national elections. She notices that there's something wrong with the counting algorithm, tries to talk to her superiors about it, gets shut down. Of course, that error causes some significant stuff to go down that could change the course of the country.

Lewis Black and Christopher Walken co-star as the advisers of Tom Dobbs (Williams' character). Barry Levinson directed a script that he wrote. This...should have been a lot better than it was. It felt like there were two great movies struggling to climb out of a merely-adequate one.

Williams does his usual ad-libby stuff here; sometimes it hits, sometimes it doesn't. The idea of Dobbs no longer being content throwing tomatoes at politicians and showing up to change the system himself is really intriguing, and I think Williams is at his best when he presents Dobbs as someone who is genuinely interested in pushing the country through its political gridlock, using humor and tactical honesty to do it. Linney's part of the movie is intriguing in its own way, especially considering that we were just five years removed from Bush vs. Gore and the 2000 election. Rigging was hot on everyone's mind at the time.

But instead of really diving into a political satire -- or wish-fulfillment drama -- we get this sort of muddled story that tries to be a lot of things all at once. Linney is sometimes stuck in a political thriller, sometimes she's in a movie about a woman's slow and steady mental breakdown, and sometimes she's in a weird political romantic comedy. Levinson has a lot that he's trying to do here, and he doesn't navigate the shift in tones or genres very well at all.

It's a shame, because I love everyone involved here. They deserved better, and I'm not entirely sure what went wrong. Was Levinson's script tampered with by producers? Was Williams simply not a good fit for what he was trying to do?

At any rate -- if you miss Robin Williams and want to see one of his lesser works where he still shows promise but the movie ultimately fails, this is for you? More likely, you're either a Barry Levinson completist or a Williams fanatic.


The Giver (2014)
Jeff Bridges was one of the driving forces trying to bring this film to the screen, and it's easy to see why. The Giver is one of those books I absolutely loved growing up, and I could see how it would make for an excellent movie.

This adaptation isn't quite there, but it's pretty solid. The basic thrust of the story is this: in a post-apocalyptic world, a community had been built that works on very strict rules. A person's life is guided through milestones that allow them independence, or purpose, or a sense of completion of their life's work. Jonas is coming up on just such a milestone -- he is about to leave childhood behind and be given his job.

It turns out that Jonas has a few special qualities that make him chosen for one of the rarest positions: The Receiver of Memory. He must hold the collected memory of all humanity, so that he may dispense the wisdom of history when it is needed. The old Receiver shows him what has come before, and why the world is in the state it's in now. Jonas has to struggle with the crushing weight of his knowledge, and just how much it alienates him from his friends, family unit and entire community.

It's a fascinating book that shows us the power and danger of emotion, the inherent tension in society between safety and freedom, and what happens when the balances tip too far into one corner. The movie largely gets that down through the first part, but then the second half falls into the well-worn tread of most young-adult action movies we're seeing these days. Even though it becomes fairly generic, the performances of the child stars and the lovely world design is just enough to keep you from giving up on it.

Brenton Thwaites is just about perfect as Jonas, bringing the character from his unquestioning acceptance of his life through the series of painful, disorienting revelations that follow. He's tremendously emotive, so even when he struggles to find the word for an emotion he's feeling the first time, we're already feeling it with him. His confusion about the world around him, as well as the delight he has in these discoveries, are tremendous. His first days as the Receiver of Memory are easily the best part of the film.

It's just too bad they couldn't bring that same energy to the resolution of the story. Once the movie begins to sink into its familiar beats, that's all there is to it until the credits roll. It doesn't quite finish as strongly as it could, which is unfortunate because the book ends so tremendously. Still, it's worth your time if you're a fan of the novel. If you want to see Jeff Bridges and Meryl Streep snipe at each other, or Eric Freaking Northman as the world's nicest, blandest dad, then this movie is for you.

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Before Sunrise (1995)
This is one of the earliest works for Richard Linklater, the writer-director responsible for my favorite film last year, Boyhood. It was a little cult film, though critics love it and it's still really fondly remembered by film-loves everywhere. I can see why -- this is a quintessential Linklater film: the narrative tricks are all meant to strip away anything but the central conceit, and while still a movie it's really concerned with ideas. It's as introspective as you can get without being inert.

Here's the set-up: American tourist Jesse (Ethan Hawke) meets a French woman named Celine (Julie Delpy) on a train and convinces her to get off with him and spend an evening walking around Vienna. There, they talk about their lives, loves, and the nature of each as they see them. The bond they share over the evening -- especially as it nears its end -- deepens and grows more complicated, and the interactions they have with various people in the city only spurs that along. The decisions they make reflect an opening up to one another, and this singular experience.

It's a great idea, but it took a little while to convince me it was. I spent a little more than half of the movie hating Jesse, a self-involved, smarmy faux-intellectual who speaks like he has these grand realizations. Really, they're the ideas you have in college, where your knowledge of reality gets its first great expansion. It can feel like your mind has expanded in these earth-shattering ways, but for those of us on the other side it can be a struggle not to roll our eyes.

Celine, on the other hand, is almost immediately fascinating. She has complicated ideas about what it means to be a woman, how that affects romantic entanglements, and what exactly she wants to be. You can see her struggle between the image of independent, willful man-eater and allowing herself to be vulnerable, to deeply love a man and choose a domesticated life. Her bravado up front clearly masks an almost aching desire to buy into a fairy-tale romance, and it's fascinating to see.

After sunset, as they walk through an alley, Celine opens herself up to Jesse, who in turn drops the cynical act and offers up a bit of himself. Once he stops holding the movie back it becomes much richer, deeper and engaging, and it's a lot easier to invest in these characters and entertain their ideas. As the movie follows them through the evening, and they become increasingly aware of the fact they'll need to go their separate ways, the ephemeral, transitory nature of their evening becomes all the more precious and their resistance to it surprisingly touching.

In the end, it becomes a beautiful movie, and even better, a jumping-off point for your own complex, vulnerable conversations. This is a film you have to see with someone you love, or at least someone you love talking to, simply because it awakens in you a newfound love for simple, earnest conversation. I highly recommend this, with a cup of tea or coffee, and a good walking trail in mind.

Ragtime (1981)
Apparently 1981 was an exceptional year for movies, and I had no idea. The Academy Awards were dominated by Chariots of Fire, On Golden Pond and Reds. Arthur earned John Gielgud an Oscar, and there was also Raiders of the Lost Ark, Superman II, Clash of the Titans, Escape From New York and Time Bandits. So many great movies, so many of them threatened with the ravages of time.

My continuing education in 80s film brought me to Ragtime, which was nominated for eight Oscars that year. I had never heard of it, and I'm sorry I hadn't -- this was the movie Milos Forman directed before Amadeus, adapted from the novel by E.L. Doctorow. There are so many great actors in it, from James Cagney in his last film role to an early appearance by Samuel L. Jackson, it kind of blows you away. But the story and performances are what's really gripping here.

It's a sprawling movie that drops you into three different entry points to the story: a rich family in a suburb of New York City is enjoying dinner when one of their servants screams at the sight of a black baby left in their garden; a jealous industrialist shoots an artist over the unveiling of a nude statue he believes was modeled after his wife; a street vendor (Hi, Mandy Patinkin!) discovers his wife (Hi, Fran Drescher!) cheating on him and promptly throws her out. The set up is a bit dizzying; the world is chaotic and full of people, and you're left to determine relationships and conflicts on your own. The plot does not wait for you.

Things get a bit easier as the disparate plots come together. A musician named Coalhouse Walker arrives at the family's house, claiming to be the father of the baby; the younger brother of that family becomes obsessed with the model of the nude statue, then with Coalhouse's stand-off against a volunteer fire department who harassed him, then vandalized his Model T car. Coalhouse slowly emerges as the main character, and his run-in with these racist firemen becomes the focal point all of the other stories revolve around.

The racism portrayed in Ragtime is shocking mostly because you're exposed to so many different forms of it: the casual, matter-of-fact dehumanization of black people by doctors and the law; the blatant and almost cartoonish idiocy of overt bigots; the frustrating stonewall of institutional racism. It shows how this kind of thinking infects almost every aspect of life, and how difficult it can be for black people to escape it even as they struggle to present themselves legitimately and for white people to even understand it in the face of "sudden" black anger and unwillingness to accept one more insult.

This is an incredibly important idea, that the institution of racism has insinuated itself into the fabric of our society, and that relatively good and decent people can still hold racist ideas or support that institution through inaction or preserving the status quo. Ragtime shows the radicalization of victims of racism, and how they're pushed to these drastic measures simply to be heard. It's astonishing how the situation escalates simply because the power structure in place cannot understand what is at stake here, and refuse to stop and listen. That's the tragedy here.

Ragtime is necessary viewing for understanding the black experience in America. I recommend you watch it. No qualifiers. Just do it!

Snowpiercer (2013)
You've probably heard about this movie during the summer of 2013, when it was one of those small independent movies that broke through the pop culture chatter to grab a good portion of the hype that year. Mostly, it was described as a smart and crazy mid-budget blockbuster that was like nothing you've ever seen. That part is true. But it's also an intensely polarizing film that's doing a lot of stuff all at once, and your reaction to it will largely depend on how you're interpreting the action.

In the near future, attempts to combat global warming with weather engineering via a chemical called CW7 has gone terrifically wrong. The entire world froze, killing all life on Earth save for a small remnant of humanity huddled aboard a train called the Snowpiercer. The track transverses the globe, and the train is designed to complete one loop every year.

Of course, there's a class system on the train. Those who paid for tickets or contributed to the creation of the project are in the front. Those poor sods who were "lucky" enough to gain free passage are in the back, packed into dirty cars with nothing but protein bars to eat. One day, after enduring the theft of their children to the front and a rather brutal punishment for fighting back, a revolution is organized. The movie follows this resistance as they move from the back of the train towards the luxurious front and the creator of the Snowpiercer, Wilford.

The microcosm of the train is fascinating. Each new traincar offers a surprise that gives us a little more information about the world that's developed in the 18 years since civilization has fallen, and it's endlessly interesting to compare that information to the structure of our own society. There's a mixture of world-building, very solid character moments and vital action that keeps you engaged through the entire film. It's really hard to think of a single moment that was wasted.

I loved this movie; the plot was great, the stakes were never far from the top of my mind, and the subtext within the story is something that just blows me away. Like so many films that swing for the fences, Snowpiercer might be too over-the-top for some, and that's fine. It can be really hard to take something this high-concept and make it feel grounded; I feel that director Bong Joon-ho mixes the familiar and the outlandish quite well, but other people might not.

Still, it's a unique film that I highly recommend. It's best watching this in summer; the movie is atmospheric enough that you'll feel the cold despite the temperature outside, and personally I love the idea of stepping outside and feeling the heat. It's easy to imagine that quick and desperate measures will become increasingly plausible as the effects of climate change connect and multiply; despite its insanity, it's insanely easy to imagine the world of Snowpiercer becoming our own.

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Philomena (2013)

Martin Sixsmith (Steve Coogan) was a disgraced adviser for the British government trying to determine what he should do next. At a party, he was approached by a woman suggesting he write about her mother, an elderly Catholic who had been forced to give up her son for adoption while living in a convent. Though initially reluctant to do a "human interest" piece, he eventually agrees to meet the woman, Philomena Lee (Judi Dench). Her story -- uncovered in fits and starts despite opposition at nearly every turn -- proves to be shocking, tragic and almost unbelievable. Of course, most of it is true.


This was a lovely surprise. It was on our radar mainly because it had been nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards, and Judi Dench had been nominated for Best Actress. Honestly, who can resist a great Judi Dench movie? She's just amazing.


Here, she largely disappears into the role of Philomena, an old, slightly doddering woman who remains devout despite the failings of the Church she believes in so strongly. It's impressive to see her so ordinary and simple, pulling out only hints of her natural gravitas when she needs to underscore a dramatic beat. It's unlike almost any other role I've ever seen her in.


The movie is directed briskly by Stephen Frears, who guided another British treasure to a Best Actress Oscar (Helen Mirren for The Queen). The more we learn about Philomena's past, the more sympathy we feel for her and the deeper our desire to know what happened to her son. The answers lie in Washington, DC, and they're just as surprising. How the film handles each revelation, allowing just enough time for the shock to settle in before moving quickly through the fallout, is kind of a marvel of pacing. This is a film that knows what it's about, and doesn't waste time getting there.


Coogan is great as Sixsmith, the prickly journalist who bonds with Philomena through the search but never quite stops being himself. A final confrontation underscores the wide gulf between the reporter and his subject, and while you understand Sixsmith's reaction (and probably share it), Philomena's gives us much-needed grace and closure.


If you're waiting for more episodes of Downton Abbey or Doctor Who, this is going to be your jam.



Tequila Sunrise (1988)

Robert Towne wrote and directed this California crime film, which is pretty confusing. On one hand, he wrote the classic film Chinatown and here he is returning to the genre that made him. But on the other, maybe Roman Polanski deserves all the credit and visibility he gets for Chinatown; while that film's many, many twists are managed quite nicely, this one feels inert -- like we're standing in one place, spinning in circles, and calling it entertainment.


Mel Gibson, Kurt Russell, Michelle Pfeiffer, JT Walsh and Raul Julia all star in this movie but it's hard to care about that. Gibson is a former drug dealer who Russell's detective believes is selling again. They're at each other's throats for a good bit of the movie, but it's hard to care about that either. The dialogue sinks pretty much every exchange, aiming for crackling and witty and landing far short.


After an hour or so, when we see the seventeenth slow-burn conversation between two of the characters, I realized that I had no idea what was going on, why the characters knew what they did or why they were saying what they were saying to each other. Ryan and I turned it off without finishing it, which almost never happens. Life's too short and there are too many great (or at least more interesting) movies to watch.


I can't say I recommend this one, but if you want to see an early Mel Gibson movie where he hasn't quite gotten the hang of an American accent or Kurt Russell looking like he's auditioning for the part of Patrick Bateman, this is your movie.



Last Action Hero (1993)

The real star of this movie is Frank McRae as Lt. Dekker, the stereotypical shouting black police chief, but Schwartzenegger actually does pretty great work here as well. This is one of those movies that got buried by bad timing and kind of unfair press; it opened a week after Jurassic Park and held up poorly against Sleepless in Seattle later. By the end of the summer, everyone called it a bomb and to this day there's not a lot of fondness the way there is for other overlooked classics like, say, UHF.


But the movie is a really solid concept held back just a bit by shaking execution. To be fair, it's a bit of a high-wire act that had never been done before -- Last Action Hero tries to straddle the line between a parody of action movies and an homage to them, while also being a parable about the value and nature of storytelling. It swings for the fences, and that earns it my respect, and it mostly succeeds. Everyone gives it their all, and it's really enjoyable if not quite as emotionally effective as it tries to be.


Teenage movie-buff Danny Madigan finds himself transported into the world of his favorite action hero, Jack Slater, through a magic ticket handed down to him by the elderly projectionist of an old movie theatre that's about to be torn down. His presence in the film shades the live-action cartoon enough that the stakes are changed, especially when the sub-boss Benedict (Charles Dance!) slips through to the real world and realizes that the rules of the cinema don't apply. Benedict is a great villain -- smart, amoral, calculating, and he makes a nice foil for Schwartenegger's meathead protagonist, Jack Slater.


Not everything works here -- the big scene introducing the magic ticket is pretty corny, and not every self-aware joke lands quite right -- but Last Action Hero gets more right then it gets wrong. The action is at once silly and engaging, and the comic timing actually works well slipped in amongst the thrill beats. Schwartenegger is game for self-parody, and he's a lot funnier than he's given credit for.


It's still a minor film in his filmography, but it's good enough for me to say it's overlooked. Then again, I've been pleasantly surprised by a lot of Schwartenegger's panned films; I thought Jingle All The Way is a legitimately-good Christmas movie, and Kindergarten Cop is not great, but fun. The same could be said for Last Action Hero, but I hold it up a little higher because of all it tries to do. It's a mild success that could have been an unmitigated disaster, and that deserves at least a little love.


If you want to see Schwartenegger poking fun at his oiled-up machismo or the role that probably got Dance the part of Tywin Lannister, I'd recommend this one. It's a great one to pop in on a Friday night where you just need to decompress.
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Raging Bull (1980)
Starring Robert de Niro, Joe Pesci and Cathy Moriarty
Written by Paul Schrader and Mardik Martin (screenplay) and Jake La Motta (novel)
Directed by Martin Scorcese

This movie feels like something of an "anti-Rocky", the story of all those fighters that don't manage to stay on top very long or sacrifice something fundamental to get there. Even though there's success in the ring for the Raging Bull, his personal life is in a perpetual shambles of his own making. The adaptation of LaMotta's autobiography is surprisingly stark about painting him as an unsympathetic character, and by the time the credits roll you wonder how the real LaMotta must feel about it. Does he realize, at long last, what he's done to his life? Or does he understand what people must think about the events that unfolded on the screen? The movie suggests that he simply lacks the self-awareness to realize the consequences of his actions. I genuinely hope that's not the case.

La Motta is a middleweight boxer, coming up as a hot-headed kid raised in a neighborhood full of them. In one of the early scenes, a fight erupts in the club that La Motta hits after one of his bouts. He grew up in a place where fist-fighting were one of the major ways to resolve your conflicts, and it's clear that he took that lesson to heart. Jake is the first to take offense, the last to explain why he's offended; he simply causes things to escalate until he has the opportunity to make them physical.

His brother Joey (Pesci) is the stabilizing influence that keeps Jake on track when he threatens to go off the rails. Poor Joey has to put up with a lot; from Jake's ever-shifting moods to managing the reputation of the fighter in the neighborhood. It's a thankless job that he does because he sees the potential of his brother, and possesses a weary, patient love that's evident in just about everything he does.

Jake gets out of a relationship with a woman he ignores and marries a very young blonde he fancied from the first moment he laid eyes on her in the public pool. He's charming at first, but as soon as he's wed her he becomes extraordinarily paranoid and possessive while ignoring her as well, for the most part. Meanwhile, he reluctantly throws a fight to get the title shot that he's always been looking for after being told to take a dive by the Mob. Jake is banned for throwing the fight in such an obvious manner, but comes back to win the middleweight championship. He's on top of the world with a loyal brother in his corner and a beautiful blonde on his arm. But he's still completely miserable.

That misery gets spread to everyone he knows because he doesn't know how else to handle it. His paranoia spares no one, and he becomes increasingly abusive to his wife and his brother. What's worse is how he keeps sinking lower and lower both professionally and emotionally, each side exacerbating the pain of the other, and how he never realizes that the hell he's in is the one he created for himself. It's incredibly hard to watch; at first you feel sympathy for Jake's lack of self-awareness, but then you just want to see his family get out of an awfully toxic situation.

Scorsese does a wonderful job making sure no punches are pulled. He's not working with a sympathetic lead here at all, but he doesn't try to gloss over Jake's behavior or make excuses for him. De Niro is a wonder here, as a man who is fascinating in his unlikeability, but is somehow sympathetic with this basic, relatable desire to be liked, respected, loved. The trouble is that Jake doesn't let higher thinking work for him. If he thinks he's been slighted then he lashes out with the immediate, unthinking hostility of an animal. It's instinct for him to lash back, and he does repeatedly against enemies real or (mostly) imagined.

The brutality in Jake's world is inescapable. Even when he wins it feels like a loss; he simply takes a tremendous beating without going down before the other guy. The boxing scenes, which comprise surprisingly little of the movie are memorable for the mood they create. I remember glimpses of faces rocked by oversized gloves, the sound of meat being slapped, a face that is gradually degraded. Each battle takes something out of Jake, even if he downplays it or doesn't realize it. Maybe it's living with those consequences that makes it so easy for him to fly off the handle; the movie never makes that connection for us, but simply lays the evidence there to make of what we will.

So what do we make of this? Jake serves as a cautionary tale, a warning to make sure that whatever we do, make sure we do it for the right reasons. Remember who our friends are, remember their hardships too. But most importantly, be aware that we are shaped by the people around us and we shape the people we're with. We might not be able to help the impression left on us, but we can control the impression we make. Jake has no idea about any of this because he can't think past his own pain or pleasure. And the effects of that short-sightedness are terrible to see.

I can see why so many people regard Raging Bull as Scorsese's best movie. He's a director with a sure hand here, working with two actors who give stunning performances. It's definitely earned its place here in the top 100, but that being said I'd never want to watch it again. It contains a bleakness that's hard to stomach, and no guarantees that the people involved have learned anything by what they've been through. Much like La Motta himself, it is what it is.

Rating: 9/10.

November 2016

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