DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE (1920)

On the cusp of revolutionizing Shakespearean acting in America with B’way openings of RICHARD III in 1920 and HAMLET in’21*, John Barrymore also got serious about film.  (Not something you could count on other than during his miraculous run of 1932 - 1934,)  The reason was likely his love of grotesquerie, a passion handsomely serviced by this more or less faithful adaptation of the Robert Louis Stevenson novella.  Directed by John S. Robertson in stiff, poetic ‘prestige’ style as a series of romantic or ghastly tableaux vivants which can now make a proper effect thanks to an early 2000s restoration.  (Try the KINO edition.)  The story is much as you recall: brainy doctor tries to isolate man’s good side from his bad with a potent potion, then can’t find the OFF switch.  With a decent cast and standout perfs from BAD companion Louis Wolheim (in real life a ‘working man’ with a concave face Barrymore discovered and got into acting), and from BAD wench Nita Naldi.  Successfully pitiable.  But who are we kidding?  You’re here to watch Barrymore, still a youthful 38, transition au naturale, without camera tricks or makeup from handsome/saintly Jekyll into hideous villain Hyde.*  Makeup and camera dissolves will be used later, but the initial change remains both wild and impressive.   The later ones also have their charms; especially in a print where you don’t need to squint to see it happen.

READ ALL ABOUT IT:  *See Michael A. Morrison’s JOHN BARRYMORE: SHAKESPEAREAN ACTOR for details on Barrymore’s Bard influence.  Or simply watch Laurence Olivier’s HAMLET/’48, loaded with Barrymore touches as well as something like Barrymore’s highly Freudian ‘cut’ of the text.  Right down to what soliloquies were dropped.  (Olivier saw the Barrymore production in London 25 years before as an impressionable 16-yr-old.)

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:   *Barrymore repeated his one-shot transformation trick (now shown going in both directions) with better/closer framing in DON JUAN/’26.

THE BURNT ORANGE HERESY (2019)

Back-loaded adapted screenplay from Charles Willeford & Scott B. Smith puts a dark spin on an old standard, the one about the painter who fakes his own death, goes into hiding incognito and watches as his work soars in value now that he can’t produce anymore; suddenly a sellers’ market.  SPOILERS!  Here, it’s not the painter (Donald Sutherland) manipulating his output for profit, but art critic Claes Bang taking advantage of the painter’s age and frailty, especially as he’s famously already lost his old work to fire and only has a small cache of new canvases as his legacy.  The idea: win his trust; destroy all but one of his new canvases, and end up owning the only original painting left intact, now worth millions.  (It's as if Patricia Highsmith were doing an iteration for the Talented Mr. Ripley.)  Ultra-rich art collector Mick Jagger (of all people) might be behind the scheme, while recent pickup Elizabeth Debicki is an unknowing complication who can be used to entice Sutherland into opening his clam shell of a personality and locked up studio.  But once they get inside, they hardly find what they expect.  Without spur-of-the-moment murder and forgery, plans and profit certain to be forfeit.   It’s a clever idea, but director Giuseppe Capotondi can’t invigorate a script that lolls around over its first two acts, then does a poor job cramming in and explaining the caper mechanics toward the end.  He covers (or is it uncovers) with sex (some) and nudity (lots).  Until by the end, characters & events reduced to mere literary devices .

WATCH THS, NOT THAT/LINK: Imagine GAMBIT/’66 with all the fun sucked out of it.   https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2019/06/gambit-1966.html

DR. NO (1962)

The most recent James Bond film/s (in case you forgot, it was split into two parts) goes on five & a quarter indigestible hours.  This first James Bond film (now an improbable senior citizen) runs an hour 50 minutes and plays better than ever.  Long considered a trial run next to its two top-rated follow-ups (FROM RUSSIAN WITH LOVE/’63; GOLDFINGER/’64), a look at the refreshed print proves it holds its own in the early Bond pecking order.  With a just unpacked quality from semi-regular Bond director Terence Young on a laundry list of Bond iconography.  From bloodied gun-barrel kickoff and Monty Norman’s hot electric guitar-lick theme; into Maurice Binder’s opening credits; that unstirred martini; brief banter with Miss Moneypenny; chemin de fer at the card table, the formal introduction ‘Bond . . . James Bond’; Ken Adams sets; Richard Maibaum script & quips.  (Plus hardly a process shot in sight, the bane of '70s BOND, none till the 50" mark.)  And, of course, Sean Connery’s Bond; classic & classy, but with an indelible touch of working-class bully-boy in his cruel curled lip.  Only two missed elements of much importance: no John Barry score* and no final credit notification saying ‘James Bond Will Be Back.’  The storyline (wacko genius, think Asian Captain Nemo, hopes to disrupt NASA’s latest moon-prep launch from his secret ocean fortress near Jamaica) as clever & lean as Connery’s never surpassed Bond.*  Both story and character driven, the film blessedly bloat-free (bloat crept in early, starting with THUNDERBALL/’65.  And note, those early films came out every year, no six+ year wait between.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *Per that famous Bond theme: John Barry (and his band) credited with the rendition, and Barry long claimed partial authorship. 

CONTEST:  *People also think Connery the hairiest of all Bonds.  (Not on his head!  Look close, it’s already going,)  He’s not!  Name the most hirsute 007 to win your choice of a MAKSQUIBS writeup. 

ARCO (2025)

Well intentioned, critically well received, this Oscar nominated French animation (Ugo Bienvenu/Gilles Cazaux direct) is a ’Gaia’ friendly botch on Earth’s short & long term future.  A 2070s robot serviced/A.I. organized near future vs Earth reborn centuries on via personal responsibility & humanism.  The two time periods coming into contact when a ten-yr-old kid, officially too young to ‘rainbow fly’ thru time, takes a forbidden joy ride, loses control and crash-lands in the 2070s.  Taken in by a young girl who lives near the crash site, they’re soon on the lam from state & police authorities and from a nutty trio of comic-relief conspiracy stooges.  (Dubbed to annoying effect in the English edition by Will Ferrell, Flea & Andy Samberg.)  Only when the runaway boy’s parents show up to collect their son, does he discover the true cost of his careless irresponsibility.  And what of his out-of-time playmate who now wants to join him on the ride back?  (Imagine Eliot going ‘home’ with E.T.*)  A mess of borrowed ideas, this might have worked with a more physically appealing look.  What to call it?    Euro-anime?  It certainly carries the minuses, if not the pluses of that style.  Character design a particular problem.  (What’s up with the weird mouths?)  Ambitious ideas alone aren’t enough; you’ve got to execute.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK:  *Yes, lots of E.T. THE EXTRATERRESTRIAL/’82 echoed here.  But the main influence is more likely youngish anime master Makoto Shinkai.  Especially WEATHERING WITH YOU, his follow up to YOUR NAME./’16.    https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2020/11/tenki-no-ko-weathering-with-you-2019.html

UNEXPECTED UNCLE (1941)

No film genre is more unforgiving than Screwball Comedy.  Most examples of the form not even Screwball, merely uppity Rom-Coms, studded with a few classic Screwball elements: rich, dysfunctional family; mansion with majestic staircase and sassy servants; disdain for their own inherited wealth; furs treated like pets/pets treated like furs; et al.  And the most important one that later films were unable to use: The Great Depression as social/financial backdrop.  It gave weight & irony to the weightless principals.*  Compared to Noir or Westerns, to Courtroom Drama or Police Procedurals where thresholds for success might be low as 45%, or to the second toughest genre, Musicals, which might be saved with a couple of standout numbers, Screwball needs a batting average of 750.  And that’s just to get to first!  So credit this little number for getting the gist of things right.  And for hiring Charles Coburn (sixty before he got into films) to replay his Grandpa Cupid speciality and bring the couple together.*  Here, that’s Anne Shirley at her prettiest and James Craig at his tipsiest.  The rest is cringe city.  Premise: sales girl Shirley loses her job after telling off tush pincher James Craig, unaware America’s youngest industrial tycoon also owns the shop.  Coburn offers himself as Fairy Godfather and connives to get them back together . . . for keeps.  The film is hardly helped by changing mores that have turned Craig’s attempts at ‘making love’ (as the old phrase used to put it). into what now would be called out as sexual harassment.  Also ‘hilarious’ episodes of drunk driving and kidnaping for love.  Yikes!  While as a rom-com stylist, Craig no Cary Grant.  Even the vocal cadence all wrong for this sort of thing.  Director Peter Godfrey, under producer Tay Garnett, manages a wicked traveling shot around the sales floor, but elsewise too unvaried in pacing.  Plus the usual lack of simple explanations just to keep the ball rolling.  Co-writer Eric Hatch, the source of superior Screwballs like TOPPER and MY MAN GODFREY should have known better.  And the suggested happy ending, ‘millionaires!, you have nothing to fear but your own wealth’ doesn’t cut it in 1941.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK:  *Coburn got his Oscar® doing similar duty for Jean Arthur & Joel McCrea in THE MORE THE MERRIER/’44.    https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2008/05/more-merrier-1943.html

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY:  *You'd have thought The Great Depression would have made the idea that wealth drives these people crazy wouldn’t have played in those days, but the reverse ('money isn’t everything') was the unspoken moral.

ATOMIC BLONDE (2017)

David Leitch, in various capacities, has had his hand in some of the biggest action franchises of the last decade.  JOHN WICK; DEADPOOL; FAST AND FURIOUS.  But after watching this ‘original,’ where he feels fully in charge as sole director, you may wonder how much of a positive influence he was on those successes.  Told in flashback, 1989 Berlin is erupting in the societal unrest that will soon lead to the ‘Wall’ coming down.  With spillover instability bringing on chaos in the world of international espionage, there's little time to settle scores and grab the upper hand before everything changes.  No wonder East/West divides of loyalty feel fluid.  Whom to believe as the Cold War goes into its death rattle?  So, it makes sense there’s a race to find the ultimate Spy vs Spy Big Book o’ Secrets floating around Berlin.  Crackjack agent Charlize Theron is getting all beat up divining the various gangs keeping the ‘other side’ frm getting their paws on it.  But just how many ‘sides’; are there?  The vaguely delineated book the McGuffin to end all McGuffins.*  Theron works with double-agent James McAvoy to figure out a ‘safe’ way to get it out.  But can it be gotten, and can he be trusted?  Other gangs, East German Stasi and KGB also on the hunt), so Theron is forced to fight or shoot her way out with acrobatic moves and the trick rope skills of a circus vet,  Theron can take care of herself, but also shows the effort involved.  She’s pretty beat up at a debriefing for spy lords John Goodman and Toby Jones (another untrustworthy pair) and quite undone physically in a blonde fright wig.  This all should work a lot better than it does, but Leitch can’t decide what style it will best play in, alternating OTT martial arts with logistically unconvincing shoot-‘em ups.   Should actors simply brush off impossible blows like gnats or show real injuries and pain?  (So unlike WICK where it’s all of a piece, all dance and decor.)  Same goes for choices in set design and lighting.  As if Leitch wanted to order test swatches of style from all the films he was involved with, only to find they cancel each other out.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *A McGuffin is the important thing everyone in the film is trying to get their hands on, but of little importance to the audience.  Hitchcock came up with the term, but the idea is pretty common.  What’s less common are the three iconic Hitchcockian moments Leitch (and his writers?) rip off.  From DIAL M FOR MURDER, a woman stabs her attacker in the back, but the blade really goes in when the guy falls on it.  From THE 39 STEPS, a Mr. Memory figure who’s memorized the ‘McGuffin’ and dies because of it.  (Though here it’s also pointless within the film plot.  Boo!)  And finally, repurposing the decoy umbrella murder gag from FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT.

BILL CUNNINGHAM: NEW YORK (2010)

Richard Press’s terrific documentary follows street-wise fashion photog icon Bill Cunningham (free at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6vFJv3Mnh4), a classic New York character who naturally lives in a teeny studio at Carnegie Hall.  (Not near it; in it.)*  Productive and personable, the eccentric Cunningham seems to have no life beyond his work, beginning in the ‘50s as a fashionable milliner before gravitating toward photojournalism (Women’s Wear Daily; DETAILS) before landing at The New York Times with matched columns to fill.  Here, pushing 80, but still dashing about town on his bike to cover Night-Life Society: parties, openings, art shows, happenings among the rich and arty/the beautiful and the hip.  While during daylight, hitting the streets on his three-speed bike to snap unstaged Found Fashion spottings from encounters among the hoi polloi.  Judgmental on fashion, but non-judgmental on people, Cunningham’s speciality might come off as stalking if he weren’t so elfin & asexual.  Brilliantly caught by Press & Co. who must truly believe that neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night should stop them from pursuing their subject.  Indeed, they go all the way to Paris where he’s feted and honored without having to change his blue work smock.  It’s the most touching part of this elsewise NYC-centric story.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *The last two rent-stabilized Carnegie Hall studios were being phased out as the film was being shot.  Too bad we don’t get a better look at the eccentric layout of Cunningham’s.

IL TRADITORE / THE TRAITOR (2019)

Maestro of Italian cinema, Marco Bellocchio, writing and directing since 1965*, celebrated  his 80th year by sweeping the Italian Film Awards with this excellent, straight-forward docu-drama on Tommaso Buscetta.  A Sicilian mob boss (living in Brazil as the film starts in the early 1980s), his clan under attack in Italy by rival gangs and by special police forces, while he faces crimes of his own, agrees to work with Prosecuting Judge Giovanni Falcone, Patron Saint of Mafia busters.  Il Cosa Nostra, as Buscetta insists on calling what had long been, in his warped view, an honorable association now falling into chaos.  Backed into becoming the first inside informer to testify against the organization after losing so much manpower and territory.  He and his family are given witness protection in America, yet he’s drawn back to Italy so he can settle scores after Falcone is assassinated.  Superbly done, note details like how Pierfrancesco Favino, as Buscetta, wears facial prosthetics before he has face altering plastic surgery so he can play the final act without the props.  Good as it is, there’s a built-in structural weakness in that all the more juicy rub-outs (so damn cinematic a cow could shoot them effectively) come cheek by jowl in what amounts to the prologue, leaving the rest of the film largely without easy kinetic excitement.  The interrogations/interviews between Falcone & Buscetta and, of course, the trial & testimonies have plenty of drama, but can’t really compete with graphic killings.

DOUBLE-BILL/LINK:  *Bellocchio (whose name translates as ‘beautiful eye’) will always be shadowed by his debut, the revolutionary masterpiece FISTS IN THE POCKET/’65.  There are worse curses to carry around your neck.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2008/05/fists-in-pocket-1965.html

DAVID (2025)

Angel Studios (now simply ANGEL), specializing in the (supposedly) under-served Christian-friendly market, moves into big-time Old Testament animation with what could have been titled YOUNG DAVID.  You know the one, shepherd boy; too many brothers (one source lists seven!); lion killer (here, catch & release); slingshot Giant killer (Goliath, not catch and release); singer of song to ailing King Saul; then on the lam as falsely accused usurper; finally hailed as the anointed one/King of what would become, under his forty-year rule, Judea..  Oh, that David.  (Serial love-making and personal betrayals saved for the sequels.)  All this covered more faithfully than expected here, but, like the promise of David’s beautiful son Absalom, ultimately unfulfilled.  But where Absalom’s tragedy is tricky to explain, DAVID’s (the film that is) very easy: ANGEL took the generic route and wound up with Biblical Brand X.  The songs, each working overtime to become next year’s church camp sing-a-long hit, faux Alan Menken at best, with glints of Elton John’s LION KING & Lloyd-Webber’s JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR at worst; character animation a la 1990s DreamWorks, with a spritz of 1950s hairspray for that stiff finish look; lame lamb jokes for the kiddies/pointless older references to thank the grown-ups for driving them.*  A shame, as the bones of the story are there.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *Best gag for the adults: when they swap Davids from PRE to POST pubescent, using the mere flick of a cape (Brandon Engman vocals out/Phil Wickham vocals in), suddenly young adult David morphs into Michael Landon.  Make that, Michael Landon with the same Groucho Marx eyebrows everyone in the film has.  Do co-directors Phil Cunningham & Brent Dawes have them, too?