Archives for posts with tag: crime

MV5BNTYzN2MxODMtMDBhOC00Y2M0LTgzMTItMzQ4NDIyYWIwMDEzL2ltYWdlL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTc1NTQxODI@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_Is this movie well made? Yes, if you correct for its being the early nineties and an adaptation of a stage play. The first means the close-ups are irritating and the clothes are disastrous; the second that it is talky and uneventful.

Did I like it? I hated it. Look, it’s about terrible people who do lousy things and you keep trying to figure out which one is the least awful but it’s a moving target and the film ends with a sordid little shrug. And Al Pacino is there being Al Pacino, which sucks.

They–Ed Harris, Jack Lemmon, Alan Arkin, and Al Pacino–sell real estate, but in an aggressively scammy way. Kevin Spacey manages their office and they hate him. Alec Baldwin comes from the head office to shout at them. Further scams are cooked up, alliances are made, burglaries occur, and Jonathan Pryce’s life is probably ruined. Definitely his marriage.

I hate movies like this, even if they are quotable. Because…yeah, yeah:

“As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Eldorado. Anyone wanna see second prize? Second prize is a set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired.”

Ugh. Ugh.

Director: James Foley
Rating: R, extremely
Length: 100 minutes
Score: unrateable, because I get why people like it, but also 1/5

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You know how this goes.  Michael Corleone (Al Pacino) fights in WWII, is romantically involved with a New England WASP, Kay (Diane Keaton), and seems unlikely to become involved in his father’s crime family.  But his father (Marlon Brando) is shot and his brother Sonny (James Caan) is a hothead, so poor Michael has to become a mobster. His sister Connie (Talia Shire) is also around, and she is so badly treated and her psychology is so opaque that I pray for her to go back to Rocky.

In the second installment, we see young Don Vito Corleone (Robert DeNiro), from his tragic childhood in Sicily through his gradual and seemingly passive slide into organized crime in New York. This is in parallel to Michael’s rise through casinos and hotels from Las Vegas to Cuba, where of course he sees the revolution happen. Kay’s not sold, and then he has to murder his brother Fredo (John Cazale). Also he blackmails some senators.

In the third installment, we see a director’s ego run amok.  I haven’t seen it in ten years and I hope I never do again.

I was re-watching these because you’re supposed to be familiar with them. I internalized so little of them last time that I didn’t get the “IT Crowd” episode entitled “Jen the Fredo.” So on the one hand it’s probably good that I can get references, but on the other: I still hate mob movies. Yes, these films are grand and the drama is sweeping, but everyone is unpleasant and hateful and sometimes you end up with a horse’s head in your bed. And Pacino, while he has not yet got to the point where his acting seems to be dictated by a sadist with pins, is an unconvincing blank. Everyone else is better, but that mostly tends to throw his flatness in your face.

Also, wow, are the costumes bad.  Some effort is made with cars and the width of ladies’ skirts, but hair, suits, and decor are just early 70s, and it’s dire.

Director: Francis Ford Coppola
Rating: R
Length: a billion trillion minutes
Score: unrateable

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This one is a true story! Henry Hill (Ray Liotta) goes from childhood to mob peon to informer. He can’t actually achieve much, because he’s not all Sicilian (his father’s Irish), in which boat he joins Jimmy Conway (the very Irish Robert DeNiro). The chappie who can become a made man, Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci), is rather unfortunately a touchy, sadistic nutbar. The film opens as we dispose of the body of a man who reminded Tommy he used to shine shoes. It turns out he’s not quite dead. It’s disgusting.

On the way, we meet Henry’s wife, Karen (Lorraine Bracco), who doesn’t seem very bright, but she will give him a blow job when he gives her shopping money and doesn’t seem to mind being slapped around, so that’s nice. He cheats on her repeatedly and flagrantly. Sometimes with Debi Mazar!

The film is well-written, well-shot, and well-paced, but it’s also super fucking gross. And the tone is not lacking in admiration. Which bothers me. Sometimes you have to make movies about things that aren’t nice, but this is too glamorizing. Henry is supposed to be sexy and appealing, at least until the coke really makes his face go blooey. And then you’re supposed to feel bad for him when Paulie (Paul Sorvino) will only give him $3200 to go away. I don’t.

The only good thing about this, as far as I can tell, is that Robert DeNiro is still trying.

Director: Martin Scorsese
Rating: R
Length: 156 minutes
Score: 3/5

MV5BMTcyNzk5NDg1Nl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwNTM5MDQxNDM@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_Not your mother’s buddy-cop comedy,” we are told. I wish it had been. I would have liked it a lot more. Instead it was tonally inconsistent and gory.

LA, some time, some universe. Lots of different species live there: the Elves are all rich, the Orcs get the crap beaten out of them by the LAPD in front of their wives, the humans seem pretty standard. Ward (Will Smith) is a human cop, and he’s been shot in the chest by an Orc robber. Now his new partner, Nick Jakoby (Joel Edgerton), is an Orc. No one is thrilled about this, and Ward’s police friends (Margaret Cho, Ike Barinholtz, some others) are impressively gross about it.

I expected this to be a parable about racial difference, and if the jokes had been as good as the first ten minutes promised, that would have been a solid film. But no, there’s a bunch of supernatural nonsense instead. There are (gasp!) evil Elves, led by Noomi Rapace, and a crazy Elf lady with a magic wand that drips glowing blue goo and kills people (Lucy Fry), and gangs of mean Orcs and gangs of mean humans, and a lot of not making sense. Oh, and a prophecy!

It may have been better as a series, à la “Almost Human.” Then the world-building would have been less rushed, and the magical Feds (Edgar Ramírez and Happy Anderson) might have been more than vestigial, which probably I would have enjoyed. Or at least understood.

Director: David Ayer
Rating: TV-MA
Length: 117 minutes
Score: 2/5

I am too dumb for Coen Brothers movies and I didn’t need to see Steve Buscemi get stuffed in a wood chipper.

Frances McDormand is great.

Director: Joel & Ethan Coen
Rating: R
Length: 98 minutes
Score: 3/5

How much I liked this hovers between 1 and 2 out of 5. How capable an adaptation of the book it is hovers between 4 and 5 out of 5. How good a movie it is probably lands about average.

Look, Gone Girl the novel has a lot of aspirations about being a satire, and it’s well enough executed that you often wonder whether the over-writing is deliberate. The film compounds the problem–were the casting choices likewise deliberate, to emphasize the hollowness and artificiality at the heart of the narrative? Or is it just bad casting? I think it might just be bad casting.

Amy Elliott (Rosamund Pike) grows up rich and beautiful in Manhattan, and eventually marries Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck), even though he is from Missouri. Her parents (David Clennon and Lisa Banes) buy them a brownstone (notably not a brownstone in the film, though it is still called so), and life is wonderful for the first few years of marriage, until they lose their jobs, because both of them work for magazines.

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They move back to Missouri to take care of Nick’s dying mother, and Nick buys a bar with his sister Margo (Carrie Coon). He calls her “Go.” It’s trying too hard to be verisimilitudinous. I suspect that she is the best actress in the film. Nick also adjuncts in the journalism department at the local college. Amy doesn’t work. Obviously Nick meets a hot young student, Andie (Emily Ratajkowski), and has an affair with her. It’s not obvious to me that Andie can read, much less write, but sure.

Then Amy disappears, and it looks like Nick murdered her and incompetently covered it up. Detective Rhonda Boney (Kim Dickens) and Officer James Gilpin (Patrick Fugit) investigate. They are the only people in the film you can stand, and they don’t have enough to do. Amy’s parents arrive, a nationwide campaign to find her begins, and so forth. It’s worse, because her parents wrote a series of books about her as a child, so she’s universally beloved. And everybody hates Nick, because he has a charming smile (ha! Ben Affleck in 2014! as if!). Because of course.

There are some other people around. Tyler Perry plays the lawyer, the last chance option for men everyone thinks killed their wives. Missi Pyle is a gloriously angry Nancy Grace type. Lola Kirke condescendingly plays a trashy woman on the run from her abusive boyfriend. And Neil Patrick Harris plays Desi Collings, a man Amy dated at her posh boarding school and has kept on the hook ever since. He’s awful. I’m sure Harris can act, but he’s totally ludicrous as Midwestern old money, and I don’t think it’s on purpose. Sorry, Barney.

In the novel, the suspense and innovation more or less made up for the cringingly terrible gender politics and the vacuity was arguably by design. Here, no.

Directors: David Fincher
Rating: R
Length: 149 minutes
Score: 3/5

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The collocation of the words “London” and “spy” suggests a stylish thriller with a lot of umbrellas and conversations in St James’s Park. At the very least, some gritty leather jackets and terrorist-thwarting à la “Spooks.” Not, say, a self-pitying club kid and an irritating naïveté.

But that’s what we get. Danny (Ben Whishaw) stumbles out of a club at dawn looking like nine kinds of hell and encounters Alex (Edward Holcroft), who is a posh banker out for a run. Alex is closeted and slightly strange, but nonetheless Danny falls heavily for him, and they are together for some months. Then Alex disappears just when they’re supposed to be going away for the weekend, and when Danny manages to get into his flat, he discovers a secret bondage attic and Alex’s body in a trunk. To put it mildly, this does not jibe with Danny’s impression of Alex’s preferences, and he is therefore convinced that Alex has been murdered, and the sadomasochistic fripperies are part of an elaborate frame-up.

Danny enlists Scottie (Jim Broadbent), an older friend of his, to help him prove that his lover didn’t die in a sex game gone wrong. Things escalate quickly. Danny’s vague impression that Alex is “good with numbers” turns out to be accurate, insofar as Alex works for MI:6, and has been working on a world-changing algorithm of a truly absurd kind. The security services continue to concoct and backstop truly staggering conspiracies. Danny becomes increasingly insufferable, even to people who are trying to help him.

Atmospherically, it works. By which I mean that the blue filter suffusing everything more or less creates a plausible English misery. But the plot has holes like a Connect Four set, and only Jim Broadbent and sometimes Harriet Walter manage to invest their characters with any depth. Charlotte Rampling is mired in clichés of posh repression; both Holcroft and Adrian Lester are clumsy caricatures of men too brilliant to possess emotions. You never believe in Danny and Alex.

I would have forgiven it many of these things if it had managed to be tonally consistent. But its pretentious claims to authenticity take a nosedive into cheese fondue in the final episode, and it’s awful.

Stray observations:

  • A climactic plot moment depends on the supposedly secret algorithm being already implemented by the very security services that seek to destroy it. Okay.
  • Danny wears terrible jeans. I’m not sure anyone wears jeans like those, and I’m certain that adherents of warehouse parties don’t.
  • Scottie does have a very nice umbrella.

Director: Jakob Verbruggen
Rating: a robust TV-MA, I should say
Length: approximately 300 minutes
Score: 2/5

This movie came out 20 years ago, and I had almost no idea what happened in it. That is to say, I thought it was Air Force One, but with Nic Cage as Gary Oldman. It’s not.

Cameron Poe (Cage) is an Army Ranger from Alabama. We are told. His accent is from nowhere on Earth and presumably from nowhere else either. Some guys are unpleasant to his wife, Tricia (Monica Potter), in a bar, and then try to beat him up too. He accidentally kills one of them, and goes to prison. Eight years later, a parolee, he is put on a prison transport plane home. It’s his daughter’s birthday, and he’s never seen her.

MV5BMGZmNGIxMTYtMmVjMy00YzhkLWIyOTktNTExZGFiYjNiNzdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_Here is our second infusion of characters. There’s a young, by-the-book US Marshal Larkin (John Cusack), and an older swashbuckler who drives a convertible with the plate “AZZ KIKR” (Colm Meaney) on the good side. For the villains, a litany of goofy nicknames and surprisingly major actors: Cyrus “The Virus” Grissom (John Malkovich), Diamond Dog (Ving Rhames), a serial rapist called Johnny 23 (Danny Trejo), and total weirdo who apparently once wore a victim’s face as a hat (Steve Buscemi), among others. They hijack the plane. Nic Cage tries to stop them from escaping.

Aside from the accent, and the terrible hair, and the outfit, Cage is mostly fine. Malkovich and the rest of them are convincingly off-putting in various stations on the train line to Psychotown. John Cusack is a weenie, Colm Meaney is a jackass. Dave Chappelle is Dave Chappelle.

It’s bad. But it commits, so I’ll allow it.

Director: Simon West
Rating: R
Length: 115 minutes
Score: 2/5

Somehow I made it through middle school without reading S. E. Hinton’s novel. I think it was pure contrariety. Other people liked it, so I refused to.

ButMV5BY2E4Njk4N2UtZWFhOS00NzczLWFmNDgtMzdhMjFlNTZjMmVhL2ltYWdlL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI@._V1_UX182_CR0,0,182,268_AL_ also I suspect it is not very good, because this movie is insane. It’s the fifties, presumably, and somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, America, there are rich kids in khakis and poor kids in jeans and they hate each other and have dumb gang names. Accidents happen, children get trapped in a fire, Matt Dillon dies for reasons I’m not sure of. Apparently Hinton wrote the novel when she was sixteen; it shows.

The thing about this movie is that everyone is in it, and somehow few of them have aged. A friend suggested that they all joined a vampire cult, and, frankly, it is really hard to believe that Tom Cruise and Rob Lowe, especially, are 35 years older than they were when they made it.

Also everyone is shirtless all the time.

Director: Francis Ford Coppola
Rating: PG
Length: 91 minutes
Score: Unrateable

This resembles the John Buchan short story in very few particulars and is, I’m sure, worse than the Alfred Hitchcock movie I haven’t seen. Moreover, it is chock full of battle-of-the-sexes clichés and heavy on modern-audiences-don’t-know-what-an-oubliette-is exposition. It is, nonetheless, completely charming.

Summer, 1914. Richard Hannay (Rupert Penry-Jones) is a mining engineer back in London from South Africa, and he is full of ennui. Just when he’s about to chuck it in and head back, a man (Eddie Marsan) is killed in his flat, having left Hannay with a notebook in code and a lot of stuff about a German spy ring. Naturally, Hannay is suspected of the murder. He goes on the run, concluding that his best bet at not being hanged is to expose the spy ring. Trains, planes, automobiles, suffragettes…

MV5BMTYyMjcxNDExNF5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzE2MTIwMw@@._V1_UY268_CR4,0,182,268_AL_Victoria Sinclair (Lydia Leonard) falls in his way and is somehow not irritating. She tells him off, withholds information, climbs walls, and generally does everything that such a character usually does, and yet is charmingly spunky rather than hamfistedly shrill. Also they have very good chemistry, even when she calls him a “prehistoric boor” and he calls her an “unhinged hysteric.” We’ve seen it all a thousand times, but here it manages to be amusing instead of hackneyed and lame.

Oh, obviously there are spies, and Patrick Malahide is quietly sinister while David Haig flutters about the place. It’s not, you know, good, but it is deeply enjoyable.

Stray observations:

  • At the beginning Hannay is wearing a white necktie with a godawful white waistcoat and a ventless black jacket. No one has ever worn this combination on purpose, and certainly didn’t in 1914.
  • Patrick Kennedy as Victoria’s brother is so much less unbearable than he is as Carstone in Bleak House or McKechnie in Parade’s End.

Director: James Hawes
Rating: PG or so
Length: 90 minutes
Score: 3/5