Krull (1983) is one of those movies that I have always been aware of, but never enough to watch it. I think I had it confused with Kull the Conqueror for a while. Anyway, Filmsack used it for their very first episode, and that kind of sealed my determination never to bother to see it. Yet somehow...
Krull is an odd mix of fantasy and science fiction - and a mix of great and lousy special effects, writing, acting and pretty much everything else. It starts with a very nice model of an alien spaceship visiting a planet (apparently the eponymous Krull) - It's shaped like a great, rough mountain. I was right onboard until it lands and a bunch of rubber suit aliens jump out and start shooting up the place.
Meanwhile, a handsome prince, Kenneth Marshall, was marrying his beautiful princess, Lyseth Anthony, in a magical ceremony involving handling flames. The invaders interrupt and steal the princess, leaving the prince to quest after her.
The quest involves a wiseman, thieves, a magician, a cyclopean giant who can see the future, fire mares, a spider-lady and so forth. These adventures are very cool - and kind of lame. Of course, you have to be in the right frame of mind - this is a fantasy like the Sinbad movies or Clash of the Titans (original). And sometimes, that mythical, fairytale feeling would come flowing through. The cyclops, played by Carry On alumnus Bernard Bresslaw, is quite good. He traded one of his eyes to a wizard for the ability to see a future year, but the future that he sees is the year of his death. So he's kind of sad. But for a lot of the time, it's just Marshall princing around, or the gang slogging along on one or another quest through some terrain or other. There's even rock climbing, which Mystery Science Theater 3000 fans know is associated with DEEP HURTING!
The super-weapon known as the Glaive is also rather lame. It is also known as the throwy-flyey-pointy star-shaped thingy.
I wish I could love this movie - there really is a lot to love. If it were considerably shorter, that might help. We took two nights to watch it and fell asleep a lot. Also, maybe it would have helped if I watched it at age 10 for the first time.
Still, glad to have watched it.It was directed by Peter Yates, who did not make any other fantasy or SF films, and written Stanford Sherman, who also wrote Ice Pirates - another movie I wish I liked.
Monday, June 15, 2015
Saturday, June 13, 2015
Noir in English
Dear Murderer (1947) was a great find, a sophisticated, noir-tinged mystery, just the kind of thing I was looking for.
It starts when Eric Portman comes home early from a long business trip and finds his wife is out. He pokes around a bit and finds letters from her lover, so he heads over there to do a little murder. He has a fool-proof plan until his wife Greta Glynt and her new lover, Maxwell Reed, walk into the apartment. Then he comes up with an even better plan. He can't kill all her lovers - or can he?
Norwegian born Glynt is glamorous enough to make it look worthwhile to murder for her, and Portman is just the type of cold-fish Englishman to do it. There is an odd little twist with Hazel Court as the sister of the first lover and ex-fiancee of the second. Not sure why she was necessary - maybe her part made more sense before a re-write. Still, she seemed nice. Also, the cop on the case is played by perennial policeman Jack Warner.
At 90 minutes, this is nice and short (longer than some of these cheapies), and full of femme fatales, deep shadows, clever coppers and would-be masterminds. Always great when I find one of these.
It starts when Eric Portman comes home early from a long business trip and finds his wife is out. He pokes around a bit and finds letters from her lover, so he heads over there to do a little murder. He has a fool-proof plan until his wife Greta Glynt and her new lover, Maxwell Reed, walk into the apartment. Then he comes up with an even better plan. He can't kill all her lovers - or can he?
Norwegian born Glynt is glamorous enough to make it look worthwhile to murder for her, and Portman is just the type of cold-fish Englishman to do it. There is an odd little twist with Hazel Court as the sister of the first lover and ex-fiancee of the second. Not sure why she was necessary - maybe her part made more sense before a re-write. Still, she seemed nice. Also, the cop on the case is played by perennial policeman Jack Warner.
At 90 minutes, this is nice and short (longer than some of these cheapies), and full of femme fatales, deep shadows, clever coppers and would-be masterminds. Always great when I find one of these.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Zero Effect
The Zero Theorem (2014) is Terry Gilliam's latest bit of surrealist whimsy and despair. It pretty much follows Brazil and The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus. So check it out if that's the kind of thing you like.
It stars Christopher Waltz as a bald, somewhat autistic mathematician who lives in ruined cathedral in a not very dystopian future. His name is Qohen Leth, and he refers to himself in the first person plural. The job of mathematician, at least on the corporate level where he works, resembles a somewhat abstract video game - which actually kind of makes sense. His boss is a somewhat Michael-Palinesque David Thewlis: He is brusque and dismissive, but actually seems to care for Waltz. You see, Waltz is anxious that he will miss the Phone Call - the one that will tell him about the meaning of his life. So Thewlis lets him work from home.
That's what I mean by not very dystopian: Although Thewlis is rude to Qohen and pronounces his name "Quinn", even when corrected, he's actually kind of a nice guy. He assigns Qohen to solve the Zero Theorem: To prove that all existence, all meaning, sums to zero. But it's only because Management (Matt Damon in some awesome suits) told him to. Management also sent over his son, Lucas Hedges, to intern or spy on Waltz. Hedges might or might not be called Bob - he calls everyone Bob because it saves time.
Bob is another nice enemy: he's a typically obnoxious teenaged know-it-all genius and hacker, but he orders pizza from the service with the cute delivery girls because he thinks Bob - er, Qohen - will enjoy it. In fact, Qohen does try to get out some at the insistence of his co-workers, and meets a lovely VR camgirl, Melanie Thierry, who does get Qohen to loosen up some. But will it be enough or will the Zero Theorem prove to be true?
The two big selling points to this movie are:
So, this may not be the deepest philosophical film of the year, but we enjoyed it. Hope you do as well.
It stars Christopher Waltz as a bald, somewhat autistic mathematician who lives in ruined cathedral in a not very dystopian future. His name is Qohen Leth, and he refers to himself in the first person plural. The job of mathematician, at least on the corporate level where he works, resembles a somewhat abstract video game - which actually kind of makes sense. His boss is a somewhat Michael-Palinesque David Thewlis: He is brusque and dismissive, but actually seems to care for Waltz. You see, Waltz is anxious that he will miss the Phone Call - the one that will tell him about the meaning of his life. So Thewlis lets him work from home.
That's what I mean by not very dystopian: Although Thewlis is rude to Qohen and pronounces his name "Quinn", even when corrected, he's actually kind of a nice guy. He assigns Qohen to solve the Zero Theorem: To prove that all existence, all meaning, sums to zero. But it's only because Management (Matt Damon in some awesome suits) told him to. Management also sent over his son, Lucas Hedges, to intern or spy on Waltz. Hedges might or might not be called Bob - he calls everyone Bob because it saves time.
Bob is another nice enemy: he's a typically obnoxious teenaged know-it-all genius and hacker, but he orders pizza from the service with the cute delivery girls because he thinks Bob - er, Qohen - will enjoy it. In fact, Qohen does try to get out some at the insistence of his co-workers, and meets a lovely VR camgirl, Melanie Thierry, who does get Qohen to loosen up some. But will it be enough or will the Zero Theorem prove to be true?
The two big selling points to this movie are:
- The wild surrealistic sets and art direction. I think it is toned down a little, but only compared to other Gilliam movies.
- Waltz's bald, affectless presence. He is present throughout almost the whole movie and if he doesn't grab you, you won't like it much.
So, this may not be the deepest philosophical film of the year, but we enjoyed it. Hope you do as well.
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Musical Madness
I guess I'll dispatch these two movies in a single post. The theme: music.
First: Salt and Pepper (1968). Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawford own a club in swinging London. Davis is Salt, Lawford is Pepper ("Confusing, isn't it?" is the punchline to that gag). When a semi-comatose Asian woman turns up on the floor of Lawford's office, he assumes she's just stoned and makes a date with her. But she winds up dead and they wind up in the middle of a plot to... Wait, I almost remember, something about a nuclear submarine in the middle of a forest... Nope, I can't remember or maybe I never really cared.
Also, Sammy does a few songs and at least one is an attempted rock 'n' roll number, but none of them are very good. Basically, this is sub-Matt Helm stuff. There's one joke about I Spy that reminded me of how much better that show was.This movie was directed by Richard Donner - his first feature. He had directed Get Smart and Man from U.N.C.L.E. episodes, but never I Spy.
Next up: Nine (2009), the film adaptation of the musical adaptation of Fellini's 8 1/2. Now, I love 8 1/2, so this is either the best or worst thing for me to watch - maybe best and worst. I suppose you know the original story - a famous Italian director is starting a new film and doesn't have the faintest idea what it is about. All he has is anxieties and fantasies about women.
Nine starts with one of the climax scenes from 8 1/2: the Revolt of the Women. Our director, Daniel Day-Lewis standing in for Marcello Mastroianni, imagines all the women in his life as totally subservient to him. When they threaten, he beats them back. It makes a lot of sense to stage this as a Vegas-style chorus line, but it is much more dramatic in the original.
Of course, it's hard to beat that original. Take the music: as a musical, Nine is full of songs, mostly interesting pieces of pop artistry. But the original had Nino Rota. Discussion over, Nino Rota wins.
My favorite part of Nine was the women. It's a neat trick - the movie's all about a male chauvinist, but the women that he surrounds himself with are wonderful. They include Marion Clotillard as the wife who knows him too well, Penelope Cruz as his mistress who knows a thing or two as well, Nicole Kidman as the blonde bombshell who is his muse, Fergie as the slut-goddess of his childhood, and of course, Sophia Loren as his late mother. Judi Dench has a role that isn't in the original material, his long-suffering costume designer. They all do a great job. Without them, this movie would not have made much of an impression on me, I'm afraid.
I might need to kind of taper off the musicals.
First: Salt and Pepper (1968). Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawford own a club in swinging London. Davis is Salt, Lawford is Pepper ("Confusing, isn't it?" is the punchline to that gag). When a semi-comatose Asian woman turns up on the floor of Lawford's office, he assumes she's just stoned and makes a date with her. But she winds up dead and they wind up in the middle of a plot to... Wait, I almost remember, something about a nuclear submarine in the middle of a forest... Nope, I can't remember or maybe I never really cared.
Also, Sammy does a few songs and at least one is an attempted rock 'n' roll number, but none of them are very good. Basically, this is sub-Matt Helm stuff. There's one joke about I Spy that reminded me of how much better that show was.This movie was directed by Richard Donner - his first feature. He had directed Get Smart and Man from U.N.C.L.E. episodes, but never I Spy.
Next up: Nine (2009), the film adaptation of the musical adaptation of Fellini's 8 1/2. Now, I love 8 1/2, so this is either the best or worst thing for me to watch - maybe best and worst. I suppose you know the original story - a famous Italian director is starting a new film and doesn't have the faintest idea what it is about. All he has is anxieties and fantasies about women.
Nine starts with one of the climax scenes from 8 1/2: the Revolt of the Women. Our director, Daniel Day-Lewis standing in for Marcello Mastroianni, imagines all the women in his life as totally subservient to him. When they threaten, he beats them back. It makes a lot of sense to stage this as a Vegas-style chorus line, but it is much more dramatic in the original.
Of course, it's hard to beat that original. Take the music: as a musical, Nine is full of songs, mostly interesting pieces of pop artistry. But the original had Nino Rota. Discussion over, Nino Rota wins.
My favorite part of Nine was the women. It's a neat trick - the movie's all about a male chauvinist, but the women that he surrounds himself with are wonderful. They include Marion Clotillard as the wife who knows him too well, Penelope Cruz as his mistress who knows a thing or two as well, Nicole Kidman as the blonde bombshell who is his muse, Fergie as the slut-goddess of his childhood, and of course, Sophia Loren as his late mother. Judi Dench has a role that isn't in the original material, his long-suffering costume designer. They all do a great job. Without them, this movie would not have made much of an impression on me, I'm afraid.
I might need to kind of taper off the musicals.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Vice Squad
I've been a big Tom Pynchon fan since I read Crying of Lot 49 in college. Just a tip if you're thinking of checking him out, Crying is a very short, very finishable novel that is nonetheless just a crazy as anything he's written. But I even finished Gravity's Rainbow. Paul Thomas Anderson made Inherent Vice (2014) from Pynchon's latest - it's also one of the most accessible, and mostly optimisitic, and maybe my favorite.
It takes place in Gordita Beach, early 70s. Joaquin Phoenix is doper detective Doc Sportello. He is just staring at the wall when into his life walks Shasta Fay, his ex-old-lady. She's played by Katherine Masterson, a free-spirit hippie chick who cut her hair and hooked up with a real-estate guy, Mickey Wolfman (Eric Roberts). Doc, on the other hand, is true to the spirit of the 60s, with Neil Young muttonchops and messy hair that he spends a lot of time on - bell-bottoms and bare-feet, sticky with beach tar.
So Doc has to find Wolfman, and an unrelated (?) junkie surf-band sax player (Owen Wilson), probably deceased. He also meets a very nice Asian masseuse and finds out who is behind the Golden Fang (or does he? (Yes (it's Martin Short.))).
That kind of recursive, elusive, paranoid conspiracy vision is what Pynchon is all about. I don't think Anderson was quite able to capture the whole density of secrets, agendas, hidden messages that the books get across. For example, in the book, the Owen Wilson character seems mythical - a rumor, a shape in the shadows, a ghost, maybe even the resurrected Christ. Anderson puts him into a last supper scene, but doesn't manage to get the mystic dimensions. I haven't seen any of his other movies (funny, huh?), but I suspect he's too much of a literalist. Maybe Wes Anderson would have had more luck.
But PTA does a great job with the actors. Phoenix makes a great Sportello, and Masterson sells the hippie femme fatale, which cant have been an easy job. But my favorite is Josh Brolin as Detective Bigfoot Bjornson. Every private eye needs a cop who is part nemesis, part buddy, and Bigfoot is Doc's Lestrade. He is loud, violent, and ultraconservative, although he plays a hippie on TV. He is also pretty funny - a lot of the time you might otherwise forget that this is really a comedy.
So, I'm sorry that PTA couldn't quite get the woozy stoned feeling I was hoping for - the closest he comes is some odd framing choices, where a new character is introduced but the camera keeps cutting his head off. Still, I had fun watching this and hope it leads to a Pynchon movie craze, like the one for Philip K. Dick.
It takes place in Gordita Beach, early 70s. Joaquin Phoenix is doper detective Doc Sportello. He is just staring at the wall when into his life walks Shasta Fay, his ex-old-lady. She's played by Katherine Masterson, a free-spirit hippie chick who cut her hair and hooked up with a real-estate guy, Mickey Wolfman (Eric Roberts). Doc, on the other hand, is true to the spirit of the 60s, with Neil Young muttonchops and messy hair that he spends a lot of time on - bell-bottoms and bare-feet, sticky with beach tar.
So Doc has to find Wolfman, and an unrelated (?) junkie surf-band sax player (Owen Wilson), probably deceased. He also meets a very nice Asian masseuse and finds out who is behind the Golden Fang (or does he? (Yes (it's Martin Short.))).
That kind of recursive, elusive, paranoid conspiracy vision is what Pynchon is all about. I don't think Anderson was quite able to capture the whole density of secrets, agendas, hidden messages that the books get across. For example, in the book, the Owen Wilson character seems mythical - a rumor, a shape in the shadows, a ghost, maybe even the resurrected Christ. Anderson puts him into a last supper scene, but doesn't manage to get the mystic dimensions. I haven't seen any of his other movies (funny, huh?), but I suspect he's too much of a literalist. Maybe Wes Anderson would have had more luck.
But PTA does a great job with the actors. Phoenix makes a great Sportello, and Masterson sells the hippie femme fatale, which cant have been an easy job. But my favorite is Josh Brolin as Detective Bigfoot Bjornson. Every private eye needs a cop who is part nemesis, part buddy, and Bigfoot is Doc's Lestrade. He is loud, violent, and ultraconservative, although he plays a hippie on TV. He is also pretty funny - a lot of the time you might otherwise forget that this is really a comedy.
So, I'm sorry that PTA couldn't quite get the woozy stoned feeling I was hoping for - the closest he comes is some odd framing choices, where a new character is introduced but the camera keeps cutting his head off. Still, I had fun watching this and hope it leads to a Pynchon movie craze, like the one for Philip K. Dick.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Shattered Shoulder
It had to happen sooner or later: I broke my first bones. After a lifelong policy of skeletal integrity, I ran my bicycle into a temporary roadsign in the bike lane, fell and broke my collarbone and a rib. So, typing is a bit slow - of course, it was my left arm, and I'm a lefty. But I still wanted to blog about what I've been drinking lately.
I know, don't mix Vicodin and alcohol - But I can alternate, right?
It was a combination of things: a friend gave me some homemade lemon syrup, and I got the urge to drink gin cocktails. So I made a variety of drinks based on Tanqueray (on sale at a very nice price), lemon or lime juice and lemon syrup. As I understand it, gin, lemon and syrup is a gin sour, with lime, it is a gimlet (Rose's lime is popular but wrong), and with soda, it's a rickey. I made all of these, plus the Fitzgerald: a gin sour with some bitters (homemade grapefruit bitters in my case).
But the real fun came when I got a bag of frozen raspberries for a fruit salad. Add 5-6 to a gin sour, and you've got a lovely drink. Of course, you can do the same to a margarita or daiquiri if you prefer tequila or rum to gin, but I think the sweet/tart berries match the bitter/botanical gin very nicely. The color is lovely too. Just for fun, I'll call this raspberry gin sour the Shattered Shoulder:
2 oz. gin
1 oz. lemon (or lime) juice
1 oz. simple syrup (or lemon syrup, or even triple sec)
5-6 frozen raspberries (or fresh, why not?)
Shake hard with ice to muddle up the berries. Serve in rocks glass.
I know, don't mix Vicodin and alcohol - But I can alternate, right?
It was a combination of things: a friend gave me some homemade lemon syrup, and I got the urge to drink gin cocktails. So I made a variety of drinks based on Tanqueray (on sale at a very nice price), lemon or lime juice and lemon syrup. As I understand it, gin, lemon and syrup is a gin sour, with lime, it is a gimlet (Rose's lime is popular but wrong), and with soda, it's a rickey. I made all of these, plus the Fitzgerald: a gin sour with some bitters (homemade grapefruit bitters in my case).
But the real fun came when I got a bag of frozen raspberries for a fruit salad. Add 5-6 to a gin sour, and you've got a lovely drink. Of course, you can do the same to a margarita or daiquiri if you prefer tequila or rum to gin, but I think the sweet/tart berries match the bitter/botanical gin very nicely. The color is lovely too. Just for fun, I'll call this raspberry gin sour the Shattered Shoulder:
2 oz. gin
1 oz. lemon (or lime) juice
1 oz. simple syrup (or lemon syrup, or even triple sec)
5-6 frozen raspberries (or fresh, why not?)
Shake hard with ice to muddle up the berries. Serve in rocks glass.
Monday, June 1, 2015
The Bus Came by and I Got On
I might have mentioned that I'm a fan of the Grateful Dead. Not a Deadhead, because I rarely went to more than one of their shows a year, even when they were playing just down the street from me. But I'm enough of a fan to know quite a bit about the band members - I've read bios or autobios about Jerry, Mickey and Phil. I used to tend to think of rhythm guitarist Bob Weir as a pretty boy without the musical depth of the rest of the band. If I hadn't gotten over that already, The Other One: The Long Strange Trip of Bob Weir (2015) would have set me straight.
The movie does a great visual on the Weir-meets-Garcia story: I knew they met when young Weir was wandering around Palo Alto early on New Year's Eve, looking for a club that would let him and a friend in. They were in the alley behind a music store when they heard a banjo playing. It turned out to be Jerry, waiting for his music students to show up, which wasn't happening because it was New Year's Eve - which he had overlooked. Weir acted this all out in the much-changed Palo Alto alley where it all started. I hadn't realized that he was 16 at the time.
It actually helps that I had already heard that story - he kind of skims over it. Same with how he wrote the line "The heat came round and busted me for smilin' on a cloudy day." It's a true story, but he kind of leaves out some details, like how the cop knew who threw the water balloon.
We get some fun stuff about how Bobby got all the girls, and how he settled down with his wife. We find out about the couple that adopted him, and how they reacted to him joining a psychedelic rock band at 17. We get some sad stuff about Jerry and smack, and how helpless the band was. But mostly, when he was with Jerry, they were laughing.
One thing, though. There is considerable discussion about Weir's unique style of rhythm guitar - the chord voicings and stuff. People like Sammy Hagar and Thurston Moore talk about this, but the movie doesn't really show it. they show Bobby playing solo or in a small group, but I really wanted them to show him playing with the Dead, then isolate his channel and show you what he was doing.
Well, it just isn't that kind of a documentary. For one thing, it's more personal, not so musicological. For another, it's short - around 80 minutes. Also, it was co-produced by Justin Kreutzmann, son of Dead drummer Bill. So the connection goes deep. And, credit where due, Netflix funded this. I generally don't care for Netflix making original content - stick to making existing content available. In this case, Ill make an exception.
The movie does a great visual on the Weir-meets-Garcia story: I knew they met when young Weir was wandering around Palo Alto early on New Year's Eve, looking for a club that would let him and a friend in. They were in the alley behind a music store when they heard a banjo playing. It turned out to be Jerry, waiting for his music students to show up, which wasn't happening because it was New Year's Eve - which he had overlooked. Weir acted this all out in the much-changed Palo Alto alley where it all started. I hadn't realized that he was 16 at the time.
It actually helps that I had already heard that story - he kind of skims over it. Same with how he wrote the line "The heat came round and busted me for smilin' on a cloudy day." It's a true story, but he kind of leaves out some details, like how the cop knew who threw the water balloon.
We get some fun stuff about how Bobby got all the girls, and how he settled down with his wife. We find out about the couple that adopted him, and how they reacted to him joining a psychedelic rock band at 17. We get some sad stuff about Jerry and smack, and how helpless the band was. But mostly, when he was with Jerry, they were laughing.
One thing, though. There is considerable discussion about Weir's unique style of rhythm guitar - the chord voicings and stuff. People like Sammy Hagar and Thurston Moore talk about this, but the movie doesn't really show it. they show Bobby playing solo or in a small group, but I really wanted them to show him playing with the Dead, then isolate his channel and show you what he was doing.
Well, it just isn't that kind of a documentary. For one thing, it's more personal, not so musicological. For another, it's short - around 80 minutes. Also, it was co-produced by Justin Kreutzmann, son of Dead drummer Bill. So the connection goes deep. And, credit where due, Netflix funded this. I generally don't care for Netflix making original content - stick to making existing content available. In this case, Ill make an exception.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)