Film Reviews
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Dead Poets Society (Peter Weir, 1989)
Drama with Robin Williams, Robert Sean Leonard & Ethan Hawke.
Peter Weir knows how to make a truly beautiful film, and this film's appeal
is almost as simple as that. Dead Poets Society tells the story of John
Keating (Williams), an English teacher at a private school in 1950s New
England who encourages his students to seize the day --- carpe diem. I never
did appreciate Williams much as a comic actor, but in his straight roles I
have found him to be an exceptional actor, and Dead Poets is certainly among
his finest. Hawke and Leonard are also outstanding as two of the vulnerable
young students he inspires. Weir films in his usual, mesmerizing way that
seems to bring out the beauty in everything. The Delaware locations are the
ideal backdrop for his characteristic juxtaposition of human constraints and
the childlike innocence of nature.
This is a film that really does challenge us to live, and move us to seize
the moment. I can overlook the occasional brief lapse into sentimentality that
seeps through into an otherwise convincing, inspiring and utterly
unforgettable celebration of life.
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Deconstructing Harry
(Woody Allen, 1997)
Comedy-drama with Woody Allen, Richard Benjamin, Billy
Crystal, Kirstie Alley, Bob Balaban & Judy Davis.
There is no doubting the genius of Woody Allen. The clever ideas and witty
dialogue flow thick and fast here, but there is just one problem: The film is
totally and utterly heartless. Allen's humour here is unabashedly cynical.
Cruel, even. The film has a narcissistic feel to it, where everyone is mocked
and ripped apart mercilessly apart from Woody's alter-ego, Harry. I simply
couldn't bring myself enjoy it. His cynicism here is left untempered by
optimism and faith, something that marked out his earlier work. Like eating
too much mangetout, I overdosed on Deconstructing Harry, and it left a bitter
taste in my mouth.
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Devil Rides Out, The (Terence Fisher, 1968)
Occult thriller with Christopher Lee, Charles Gray, Patrick
Mower, Leon Greene, Nike Arrighi, Paul Eddington & Sarah Lawson.
Were I to identify Hammer's finest film, it would almost
certainly be a close call between the 1958
Horror of Dracula and this
impressive chiller from 1968. In Wheatley's story, adapted by fantasy/sci-fi
stalwart Richard Matheson, the Duc de Richleau (Lee in perhaps one of his two
or three greatest roles) finds himself in a battle with the forces of evil in
the guise of satanic ringleader Mocata (a sinister Charles Gray). Fisher
directs a riveting and intense "fairy tale for adults" in which darkness and
light collide, and God triumphs over the Devil. The suspense and fear are
effectively conveyed through Fisher's sharp direction, James Bernard's macabre
and sometimes frenetic musical score, and Arthur Grant's brilliant lighting
and photography, which comes into its own in the justly famous library scenes
in which our protagonist and his allies must defend themselves against a
nightlong satanic assault.
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Doctor at Large (Ralph Thomas, 1958)
Comedy with Dirk Bogarde, Muriel Pavlow, Donald Sinden & James
Robertson Justice.
Doctor at Large represents a typically light-hearted British comedy of the
1950s: Plenty of banter, lots of tomfoolery between the sexes, and a slew of
comical episodes connected only by the barest of plots. It is all quite
delightful and amusing, if not particularly sophisticated. This particular
genre of films continued with a number of additions to the Doctor series, and
is kind of a precursor to the Carry On films, which managed to take the level
of humour down a couple of notches further. Afficianados will take great
pleasure in the supporting cast, which is positively overflowing with familiar
names and faces from British films.
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Dracula (Tod Browning, 1931)
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Dracula Has Risen from the
Grave (Freddie Francis, 1968)
Horror with Christopher Lee, Rupert Davies, Veronica Carlson,
Barry Andrews, Ewan Hooper & Barbara Ewing.
This is an entertaining addition to Hammer's Dracula series. Terence
Fisher, who directed the first three in the series, had to pull out at the
last minute due to an accident, and it was left to lighting cameraman Freddie
Francis to take the reins. The film reveals a shift in the underlying
worldview: Fisher's triumphant vision of good conquering evil, God defeating
Satan is supplanted by Francis's bleaker universe, where God is apparently no
guarantee against the Devil, and whose central religious figure (Monsignor,
played by Rupert Davies, no match for Andrew Keir or Peter Cushing) is
blustering, naive and impotent in the face of evil.
There are some great scenes, as one would expect from a distinguished
cinematographer like Francis, although some of the most visually compelling
moments (eg. Maria's bedroom scene with the Count, by far the most explicitly
sexualized portrayal of vampirism seen up to that time) sit uneasily alongside
the bizarrely artless, shaky and badly focused handheld shots.
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Dracula, Prince of Darkness
(Terence Fisher, 1965)
Horror with Christopher Lee, Andrew Keir, Barbara Shelley,
Francis Matthews, Philip Latham, Suzan Farmer, Thorley Walters & Charles 'Bud'
Tingwell.
Dracula, Prince of Darkness tends to get short shrift from the critics, but
it is hard to see why. Director Terence Fisher is on top form, delivering some
of Hammer studios' most memorable and fascinating images: Klove's
pseudo-Eucharistic ritual to bring Dracula back to life; the staking of a
female vampire; the Count's destruction at the film's icy climax. Cast are
second to none: Lee reprising his role as the Count; Shelley as a repressed
Englishwoman-cum-vampire; Keir as Father Sandor, a rough-and-ready Van Helsing-type.
Rest of the crew are top-notch: The atmospheric photography is by Michael
Reed; the score is one of studio regular James Bernard's best; and Bernard
Robinson's set designs are among his most memorable (the castle exterior was
shared with the less impressive but still entertaining
Rasputin the Mad Monk in the same
year). This film had me riveted as a child, and it still captivates me today.
It certainly belongs in the essential Hammer canon as perhaps the finest of
the Dracula sequels.
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Dr Phibes Rises Again! (Robert Fuest, 1972)
Comic horror with Vincent Price, Robert Quarry & Valli Kemp.
The Abominable Dr Phibes,
for all its gruesomeness and unpleasantness, was witty and sharp, but this
hasty sequel is just pedestrian and flat. As the doctor, Vincent Price doesn't
seem to enjoy himself as much, and the film is absent the irony that made the
original so memorable. Brian Eatwell's sets aren't half as impressive as his
earlier creations, and Basil Kirchin's musical direction is sorely missed.
Only the ending manages to capture something of the same spirit, but it is
hardly worth waiting an hour and twenty minutes for.
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Dr Terror's House of Horrors (Freddie Francis, 1965)
Horror anthology with Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Alan
Freeman, Roy Castle, Donald Sutherland, Max Adrian, Neil McCallum, Michael
Gough, Bernard Lee, Jeremy Kemp & Jennifer Jayne.
A rather silly, but often entertaining anthology of spooky
stories from Amicus studios, Hammer's only serious rival in the British horror
film industry of the '60s and '70s. The stories work only intermittently: The
first, a tale about a werewolf, is probably the most successfully crafted; the
second, about a killer plant, is ridiculous, but has its moments; the third, a
comedic episode about a jazz musician who dabbles in voodoo, rings pretty
hollow, and borders on tedious; the fourth, about a savage art critic pursued
by a disembodied hand bent on revenge, is most notable for its stars, horror
stalwarts Lee and Gough; and the fifth, a vampire tale with a twist, is
enjoyable, and features a young Donald Sutherland. Linking them all is Peter
Cushing on top form as the mysterious fortune-teller, Dr Terror.
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End of the Affair, The (Neil Jordan, 1999)
Drama with Ralph Fiennes, Julianne Moore, Stephen Rea, Ian
Hart & Jason Isaacs.
The original novel packs a real punch, and so does Neil Jordan's 1999
adaptation. Fiennes, Moore and Rea (playing the part magnificently, and with
the perfect amount of pathos) are caught up in a strange menage-a-trois in
Graham Greene's classic tale of love and jealousy. Michael Nyman's score sets
the tone of the film, deftly blending tragedy with passion. There are a few
lulls throughout the film where the pace slackens, but there are enough
brilliant moments to redeem the film, making for an intriguing and moving
cinematic experience.
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Etre et Avoir aka To Be and to Have (Nicolas Philibert,
2003)
Documentary.
It is a pleasure to see the everyday events of classroom life in rural
France unfold in all its varied details -- some momentous, some apparently
trivial -- in Nicolas Philibert's gentle documentary. It is a privilege indeed
to see teacher Monsieur Lopez at work, softspoken and consistently calm in
manner, with a genuine affection for his students, and yet also having
authority and commanding real respect. The schoolchildren themselves, making
up a delightful cast of characters, both amuse us and move us. Admittedly, the
joy is somewhat soured by the unpleasant legal battle that took place between
the director and his subjects after the film's release.
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Everyone Says I Love You (Woody Allen, 1997)
Musical comedy with Goldie Hawn, Alan Alda, Woody Allen, Julia Roberts,
Drew Barrymore, Edward Norton & Tim Roth.
I grow fonder of this film every time I watch it. The tone is whimsical and
warm, the musical numbers charming in their simplicity. Here is Woody at his
most genuine, devoid of the cold-hearted cynicism that characterizes some of
his more recent work, such as the ugly
Deconstructing Harry.
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Ferris Bueller's Day Off (John
Hughes, 1986)
Teen comedy with Matthew Broderick, Mia Sara, Alan Ruck,
Jeffrey Jones, Edie McClurg, Jennifer Grey & Charlie Sheen.
When I was growing up, Ferris Bueller was a cultural icon. He
was the hero of my generation. So imagine my surprise when as a
twenty-something high-school teacher I decided to show my students Ferris
Bueller's Day Off only to discover that not one in a class of thirty
fourteen-year-olds had so much as heard of the film. This is tragic.
This is a laugh-out-loud comedy that epitomizes the eighties
teen-movie genre: All the usual John Hughes ingredients are here, including
the adolescent angst, the deservedly humiliated high-school principal and the
teen romance. There are even some truly poignant moments in there amid the
hilarity. And the director lenses his native Chicago with great affection.
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First Men in the Moon aka HG Wells' First Men in the
Moon (Nathan Juran, 1964)
Science-fiction with Edward Judd, Lionel Jeffries & Martha
Hyer.
I was entranced by this fantasy classic as a child, and waited years for
the opportunity to see it again. When I finally got my hands on a copy, I was
not disappointed. This adventure-filled tale has worn well, and even the dated
elements nevertheless retain their charm. Where to begin spelling out the
treasures First Men in the Moon holds? Lionel Jeffries's endearingly eccentric
professor (his delivery of the line "Madame, the chances of bagging an
elephant on the moon" is priceless)? Ray Harryhausen's distinctive animated
creations? Laurie Johnson's atmospheric score? Nigel Kneale's witty
screenplay? Magnificent, all.
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Flight of the Phoenix, The (Robert Aldrich, 1965)
Wartime drama with James Stewart, Richard Attenborough, Peter Finch, Hardy
Kruger, Ernest Borgnine, Ian Bannen, Ronald Fraser & George Kennedy.
At almost two and a half hours, Aldrich's desert-bound drama is a little
overlong, but a good cast and regular points of interest compensate. James
Stewart is an ageing pilot who crashes a plane in the desert and must, with
his dozen or so fellow passengers, find a way to escape. Help comes from an
unlikely source, a German engineer played by Kruger, who sets about building a
second plane from the remains of the first. It was a mild stroke of genius to
have Stewart, the all-American, ever-triumphant homeboy in the role of a
dilapidated pilot who must concede failure and let himself be upstaged by a
German. In post-WWII America, this is a kind of subversive statement on
America's collective ego, in contrast with comparable films of the same era,
such as, say The Great Escape, where Steve McQueen's cool, macho persona is a
far cry from Stewart's proud, yet impotent character.
There are several memorable moments provided by an eminently interesting
cast. The epic finale is fantastic; retired stunt pilot Paul Manz died while
filming it, and the film is dedicated to him.
By the way, what is it about Englishmen stuck in the desert and their
insatiable thirst for beer? There was an echo of
Ice Cold in Alex, the 1958 war
film in which John Mills treks across the Egyptian desert with his men in
search of a cold beer; and in Aldrich's film, Attenborough steps into the
desert to lament ruefully, "The only thing wrong with this country is there
aren't enough pubs!"
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Frankenstein (James Whale,
1931)
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Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed (Terence Fisher, 1969)
Horror with Peter Cushing, Freddie Jones, Simon Ward, Veronica
Carlson & Thorley Walters.
This film represents one of Hammer's most delicately crafted
productions. Production values are above par. Bert Batt and Anthony
Nelson-Keys deliver an excellent script. Arthur Grant's photography, James
Bernard's score and Terence Fisher's direction are all exemplary. The talented
cast includes Cushing in one of his greatest performances, an amusing Thorley
Walters and an early appearance from Jones as the screen's most tragic and
pitiful Frankenstein's "monster" since Christopher Lee (1957)
if not Boris Karloff (1931).
Central to the film is a pervasive irony: The irony of a man whose everyday
manners are impeccable and gentlemanly, but whose total contempt for human
life will lead him to murder and rape without a second thought; the irony of a
man given back life only to be cheated out of the one thing in life he loves.
Never is this irony more clearly captured than in the very first scene, in
which a lilting ballad accompanies a beheading, or (a few scenes later) the
quick cut from Anna's words, "You'll find it very quiet here", to a screaming
patient in an insane asylum (a surprisingly effective shock moment).
Baron Frankenstein here is no longer the ambiguous anti-hero of sorts that he
was in Hammer's previous Frankenstein outings (excepting The Evil of
Frankenstein). In Fisher's Hitchcockian opening sequence the camera follows a
pair of black and white shoes, suggesting a certain ambiguity, as they make
their way through the Victorian streets, but when the owner of the shoes
(having just committed one murder and an attempted murder) tears off his
hideous mask, it is revealed to be none other than Frankenstein himself. Now
the Baron is clearly the monster, and it is he who must be destroyed.
The Baron here takes on god-like dimensions like never before. In Fisher's
series there were always clear allusions to the wrongness of the Baron's
attempts to usurp the place of God; here Frankenstein's spiral of descent into
degeneracy, tyranny and blasphemy is complete. With great command, he exerts
an almost supernatural force over the two young lovers he blackmails into
assisting him in his experiment.
The first hint of his demise is towards the end of the film when Karl (Ward)
watches him, unbeknownst to the Baron, and discovers his plans, which
information he then uses to foil the Baron. Thus for the first time, the shoe
is on the other foot: Frankenstein is no longer in control, and his
destruction is imminent. His destruction is one of the film's finest
sequences. The shoe really is on the other foot now: "I fancy... that I am the
spider and you are the fly," says the creature. Frankenstein is trapped inside
a burning house with the police waiting outside. In the words of his creation,
he must choose between "the police and the flames." The implication is clear:
Even if Frankenstein manages to evade human justice, "the flames" (a symbol of
divine judgment) are totally inescapable. In a finale that harks back to Mary
Shelley's original novel, the embittered creature himself carries his creator
with him to their shared fate.
Other fine sequences include the water-pipe bursting, forcing the cadaver of
one of the Baron's victims to resurface, as well as the forceful scene in
which Professor Richter, transplanted into the body of Freddie Jones, and
hidden behind a screen, pleads with his frightened wife to believe his story.
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© David L Rattigan 2003-5
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