THE LINEUP (1958)

Classic, if wildly underappreciated, this B-pic from Don Siegel, meant to cash in on a then popular tv police procedural of the same name, got lost in the shuffle. TV fans wouldn’t pay, everyone else figured it was just the tv show on a big screen. They all missed out on a dandy thriller. Siegel runs it as a San Francisco picaresque, with loads of cool locations as a couple of pathological hit men (explosive El Wallach; implosive mentor Robert Keith) track down a list of tourists & locals who have no idea they’ve been used to smuggle packets of pure-grade heroin into the country, hidden inside toys & antiques innocently carried back to the States. Dealing out one crafty suspense sequence after another, each set in a picturesque San Fran locale, Stirling Silliphant’s script moves right along, skipping a first act so we never see the initial arranged purchase. (Something a bigger budget might have played around with. Remake, anyone?) But what really sets this apart are the characterizations. Not the police, they’re standard, pulled in from the tv show. But those unknowing drug ‘mules,’ solid citizen, seaman or tourist. Plus Richard Jaeckel’s flask-sipping pro driver. Most of all, the superb teamwork from Wallach (self-improving his grammar out of a book when he's not toying with a gun), and from Keith, in a career peak perf, as his mentor (a steadying hand who turns terrifyingly psychotic, showing his pathological underbelly when things go wrong). Siegel, working brilliantly with vet cinematographer Hal Mohr, gets just about everything out of his cast & material. Already in his late 40s and ready for the big time, he’d bounce in & out of mid-budget features & tv before breaking onto the A-list a decade later with Clint Eastwood in COOGAN’S BLUFF/’68.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID/CONTEST: There’s a serious goof involving the little girl who finds a hidden bag of heroin inside her antique Asian doll. Name it to win a MAKSQUIBS Write-Up of your choice.

THE FOUNDER (2016)

Generally well-received, then largely ignored, look at the indomitable rise of MacDonald’s usurper Ray Kroc could be held as a prime example of the pitfalls of end-of-the-year Award-Season mentality. Rushed out for a brief Oscar® qualifying run at year’s end before ‘going wide’ in hopes of reaping critical buzz (standard op for a hard-to-place prestige item), it got lost in the crowd even as its Weinstein stablemate LION won 6 noms.* In truth, the problem was less in a botched release then in an under-realized product. Frustratingly so, as you can see the outline of a more effective, more eccentric pic (once envisioned?) right below the surface of what director John Lee Hancock & scripter Robert Siegel pulled from the material. You get a feel for the artistic road not taken right from the start, watching Michael Keaton's Kroc trudge 1950s Stateside byways with his multi-mixer shake maker, finally coming across the original McDonald’s hamburger joint. A living breathing dream of modern efficiency-oriented Americana, it’s love at first sight/site with Keaton & burger-brothers Nick Offerman & John Carroll Lynch bopping rhythmic dialogue back-and-forth, chomping at the bit to work their inner Robert Preston; sniffing each other out like flimflam salesman & Iowa locals in a road company MUSIC MAN. But the partnership sours as it blooms, and high ideals darken as Kroc’s killer-instincts pervert toward something more like CITIZEN KANE. (Here, the ‘tell’ is a divorce propositioned at the dining table.) It’s a great concept, merging MUSIC MAN and CITIZEN KANE, but the makers lost their way (more likely got cold feet), scared of the eccentric stylization the project was begging for. Instead, a decent bio-pic, with good perfs; no more. A shame, even adding some bright shiny ‘60s-style TechniColor (think BACK TO THE FUTURE/’85) might have made all the difference.

DOUBLE-BILL: Francis Coppola showed a similar lack of gumption & confidence when he revamped TUCKER/’88 (failed American dreamer with cars instead of hamburgers) from Comden & Green stylized musical into standard bio-pic.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *The Weinsteins show a Ray Kroc ruthlessness every award season, throwing their slate at the wall, seeing what sticks, flogging it to death.

THE IRON CURTAIN (1948)

A miscast Dana Andrews might have been doing penance for his Commie-cheerleading WWII propaganda turn in THE NORTH STAR/’43 with this fact-inspired espionage drama ripped from Canadian headlines. Fresh out of Russia, with a plum assignment in Ottawa as a decoding cypher clerk at the Soviet Embassy, Andrews’ True-Believer status is doubly tested: at work where stolen atomic secrets are being traded; and at home where his wife & child are thriving under Western democracy. What does it say about your way of life when being sent home is a punishment? Andrews misses the sense of isolation & otherness needed to goose up the unsurprising story, not even an accent to set him apart. And Gene Tierney, as his wife, isn’t allowed to go out and experience a different way of life. Why not show her going overboard in a consumer society? Instead, he’s buried under the usual grim Soviet comrades; and her conversion needs but a three-room flat & friendly neighbor. Made in the familiar style of one of those Louis De Rochemont docu-dramas popular at the time (Andrews had just made one, BOOMERANG/’47), this comes off as a missed opportunity. Director William Wellman does ratchet up a decent level of suspense in the final story arc when no one will take a look at Andrews’ spy revelations. But the most interesting thing in here, June Havoc’s sexually assertive embassy drudge who knows how to be loyal and play the system for ‘the good life,’ largely disappears after the first couple of reels.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: No doubt, it sounded like a good idea to underscore the film with top USSR classical composers (Prokofiev, Khachaturyan, heaps of Shostakovich 5th), but the music is so much stronger than what’s on screen it draws attention away from the drama.

DOUBLE-BILL: Joseph L. Mankiewicz shows just the sort of imagination missing here in his underseen fact-based WWII embassy espionage drama 5 FINGERS/’52; wonderful perfs from James Mason, Danielle Darrieux & Michael Rennie.

PRINCE OF PLAYERS (1955)

Perhaps it’s appropriate that one of the first CinemaScope pics to fail at the box-office shows up on DVD in cropped Pan-and-Scan format. Fortunately, if that’s the word, it was also the directing debut of long-time 20th/Fox scripter Philip Dunne, and he shows so little aptitude for dramatic composition (WideScreen or Square) the loss is minimal. Line-‘em-up and keep ‘em in focus. (Actually, no small thing with the early Bausch & Lomb lenses.) A lateral tracking shot backstage is rare enough to give off a jolt; and the last shot in the pic startles simply by bothering to come up with dynamic use of space. A shame, because in spite of the film’s poor rep, it’s quite an entertaining piece of factoid hooey on those famous Booth Shakespeareans: alcoholic, a touch mad, brilliant. Richard Burton gets a welcome amount of recitation as the talented Edwin. (Most of the Romeo & Juliet balcony scene, with Moss Hart’s script cleverly placing him in a brothel balcony against Maggie McNamara’s pretty good Juliet standing below.) Raymond Massey flails away as the failing father and mush-mouthed John Derek descends into assassin-mode as John Wilkes. (Twas actor’s jealousy that made him do it!) Too bad Moss Hart, fresh off writing A STAR IS BORN/’54, didn’t take up Darryl F. Zanuck’s offer to try his hand at directing. Most of his great B’way successes were (poorly) adapted by others, but his original Hollywood scripting (GENTLEMAN’S AGREEMENT/’47; HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN/’52; STAR IS BORN and this) make him 3½ for 4. Then again, his next project, back on B’way, was directing MY FAIR LADY. (And after that, CAMELOT with Richard Burton.)

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: In spite of his movie career, Burton truly was born for the stage, often uncomfortable on film. Critic Walter Kerr movingly made the point upon Burton’s return to the stage taking over the lead in EQUUS. (Then, in the 1977 Sidney Lumet film, he overacts it.) Here, some play excerpts come off far less mannered than what we have of his Shakespeare elsewhere. Including the unhappy modern-day/dress rehearsal HAMLET under John Gielgud in ‘64. But one shot of him, in bed with his ailing wife, humming a song to comfort her, has him showing star quality he rarely mustered on screen.

LINK: From 1890, a LO-FI wax cylinder recording reported to be Edwin Booth reciting a bit of OTHELLO. The calm, almost untheatrical delivery typical of his style. Like Eleanora Duse, audiences were often initially puzzled by a lack of grandeur & size, only gradually succumbing to his subtle anti-histrionic effects. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LM82m1MJn_g

BAMBI (1942)

Last of the animated Disney foundation features (after SNOW WHITE/’37; PINOCCHIO/40; FANTASIA/’40; DUMBO/’41) and too expensive to earn out in initial release (so too PINOCCHIO and FANTASIA). Disney wouldn’t try again till CINDERELLA/’50, with streamlined techniques to reduce the time-consuming/ labor-intensive/ hand-drawn detail that made the first five legend. BAMBI must be the most unusual of the bunch, with a pastoral/watercolor look and little in the way of plot. It’s observational drama, a couple of years in the life of a young deer, with a tone more realistic, less cartoony than the studio had attempted. Seen again, it’s fascinating to note how the art directors move set pieces in & out of naturalism, alternating gentle fun & tragedy. Usually with ‘man’ as villain.* (A spring-fever sequence could have been a ‘Silly Symphony’ short with mating rituals that have Bambi bed down with Faline once his voice drops, and Thumper the rabbit climaxing when touched. Yikes!) That wise old owl?, not only vegetarian, also a ringer for popular culture maven of the day Alex Woollcott. But let the sexual innuendoes and jumps in tone fall where they may and concentrate on the drop-dead gorgeous backgrounds. Then follow the link to this NYTimes piece on Tyrus Wong who was largely responsible for their look. Abstracting down from the overdone undergrowth burying the characters & effects, he brought an Asian influence that clarified/abstracted the look, sometimes with simple washes of color and hints of detail. Some of the most sophisticated art in the Disney canon, hiding in plain sight.

LINKs: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/05/arts/design/how-bambi-got-its-look-from-900-year-old-chinese-art.html https://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/30/movies/tyrus-wong-dies-bambi-disney.html

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: *Imagine the political protests if this anti-development/anti-gun film came out now.

THE NICE GUYS (2016)

Going back to his beginnings (make that from before his beginnings), writer/director Shane Black reconfigures his own LETHAL WEAPON/’87 for more buddy/buddy comic chaos, set a decade earlier, and with Private Eyes instead of cops. The story’s a bit of a mess (catalytic converters, political protests & pornography, deferred daddy duties), which doesn’t matter too much; the structure & direction also a mess, which does. Pretty fun though, with Ryan Gosling’s slow-think dick grooving on period detail; and tough-guy partner-of-convenience Russell Crowe all fat & happy for the occasion. Nice supporting turns, too, from Angourie Rice as Gosling’s sharp teenage daughter; an eerily preserved Kim Bassinger as a wily Justice Department attorney; Beau Knapp’s dyed-in-the-face henchman; and Matt Bomer’s birth-marked assassin. If only the film weren’t quite so eager to launch a potential franchise (grosses came in a bit shy) or look like it was more fun to make than to watch. Still, enough mischief gets thru. Hard not to think the studio is missing a trick not going for the sequel.

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY: Crowe hasn’t been this enjoyable in many a moon. There’s something about actors giving in to their inner slob that makes an audience happy.

A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (2014)

Ana Lily Amirpour’s voguish, well-received modern vampire pic, less artful than fashionably artsy, has all too quickly devolved into a Do-Not-Return bottle of Sundance buzz. Bathed in WideScreen monochrome cool, it stars a white T-shirted James Dean wannabe* who roams a decaying town crushing on his classic roadster, a pear-shaped cat & the bloodsucking stranger who sleepwalks thru town trolling for victims. Amirpour lays on the dread & atmosphere with an impasto knife; then hangs around to watch it dry. With little talent for dramatic composition, she coasts on eye-candy magazine layout shots, favoring static, angst-ridden stares of gelid passion. (Offering plenty of time for deep-think theorizing.) Small wonder that the recent release of her dystopian follow-up, THE BAD BATCH/’16 (with Keanu Reeves & Jim Carrey, no less), opened to near complete indifference except for a few critics playing catch-up.

SCREWY THOUGH OF THE DAY: *Much of Dean’s iconographic appeal stemmed from only appearing in color films at a time when that wasn’t ubiquitous, especially in serious drama. Now, b&w sets you up.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT: For artistic engagement with this subject, try Carl Dreyer’s inexplicable VAMPRY/’32. (Look for Criterion’s 2-disc set.) OR: Béla Tarr’s WERCKMEISTER HARMONIES/’00 to see what Amirpour may have had in mind.

PARIS (2008)

Writer/director Cédric Klapisch, a Gallic Woody Allen wannabe, toasts a few arrondisements in a hormone-addled cross-sectional portrait that would have been excoriated had it been in English, but gains a pass en Française for perceived Gallic charm & City of Light sagacity. The OO-La-La La Ronde kicks off when a young revue-dancer learns he’s got a bum ticker. But depression lifts once sis moves in (Juliette Binoche with three squalling kids) while he awaits a transplant. Espying a possible sex partner across the street, she’s off to interview their target, posing as a research interviewer. Alas, the sexy young thing’s taken, though not averse to bedding a prof forty years older who’s TEXT-stalking her. No prob, a neurotic co-worker can fill in as coital back-up. And for sis? A'marketing she shall go, finding a friendly fish monger who's wounded & needy since his ex died. More such delightful tales, given with little embarrassment (they're meant to be celebratory) & unearned affection. The ‘cute factor’ is slightly down from Klapisch’s recent CHINESE PUZZLE/’13, but Paris might just think about suing PARIS for defamation of character.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT: Jean-Luc Godard’s TWO OR THREE THINGS I KNOW ABOUT HER . . . /’67, made before collage, philosophy, politics & didacticism cannibalized his moviemaking instincts.

LIVE BY NIGHT (2016)

The poster tips Ben Affleck’s hand: a $110 mill vanity project as writer/star/producer, catching a ride on the Hubris Express in a suit that, like the film, is a couple of sizes too large for him in this dud Roaring ‘Twenties saga. He even looks odd, as if he dunked his face in cold water to firm it up before every shot, and bulked up (for an upcoming SuperHero role?), yet looking like a waxwork Gene Kelly.

There’s also a perfectly lousy story, from the Dennis Lehane novel, about prohibition turf wars in Boston (Irish vs Italian) with Affleck’s WWI vet turned unaligned/principled indie stick-up guy losing it all before getting a shot to run the rum business in Florida for one of the families. Beating off adversaries right & left (rival gangs, KKK, Christian Revival movement fanatics), a couple of set pieces have a handsome glow, if little excitement or logistical grounding. But it hardly matters when only Brendan Gleeson playing Copster Dad (gone after the prologue) passes ‘The Fedora Test.’ You know, the one that asks younger actors, ‘Do I look like an asshole in a period hat?’ Oh, yes, Ben, yes, yes, yes.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT: Heck, choose just about any Warners gangster pic from the ‘30s, preferably with James Cagney. Early rough & ready like THE PUBLIC ENEMY/’31; or polished and slightly pre-digested like THE ROARING TWENTIES/’39.