SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING (2017)

Having written off SPIDER-MAN after ‘3' (lowest IMDb rating of the bunch), it’s been quite the wait between SPIDER-MEN on this site.  (Other than out-of-series efforts like the meta-clever ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE and its over-egged sequel.)  But with BRAND NEW DAY setting all-time Box-Office records, and likely the last for 30-yr-old Tom Holland as Spidey, took a chance on his first.  (Sorry Andrew Garfield.)  Holland actually came in thru the side door, thirteenth-billed in CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR/’16 (not seen here), now top-billed.  This is unquestionably THE Spider-Man to see for anyone who ever wondered what Michael J. Fox would have made of the role in his BACK TO THE FUTURE days.  Did Holland drop his U.K. accent listening to Fox tapes?*  No trace of the character’s NYC upbringing, instead Fox’s flat, Canadian, high-pitched, slightly croaky little voice that tends to speed up for no reason.  Same build and height, too; plus superior comic timing without any heat or threat.  Fox never did the Teen Beat beefcake shots they foist on Holland , but even that can’t sully Holland’s sunny disposition.  Backstory has him as Iron Man’s protégé, with Robert Downey dropping in like visiting minor royalty, acting supercilious.  A big downer.  While the main villain is Michael Keaton whom Spidey takes on before he’s primed for the big leagues.  That’s the main plot.  But as Keaton plays a sort of Anti-Iron Man and not Anti-Spider-Man, the whole film feels dramatically imbalanced.  Other characters (and there are a lot of them) make little mark (they even give Spidey the ‘wrong’ girlfriend).  And the effects often have a herky-jerky feel to them in spite of obvious masses of money thrown their way.  Guess we’re back to our lonelier than ever Spidey boycott.  (For all our Spider-Man content, type SPIDER-MAN in the Search Box in the top left corner on the MAKSQUIBS main site.)

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK: These films are as producer-led as any big studio film from Hollywood’s pre-‘50s heyday.  Initially Laura Ziskin, now Amy Pascale.  Even promising more Spideys at the final credits as if this were James Bond.  That financial juggernaut probably less valuable than the SpideyWorld now is.  Nevertheless, there is a faceless director in charge, Jon Watts whose COP CAR/’15, made right before his SPIDER-MANs, is a smart little thriller that likely cost less than ‘craft-services’ for a week of a SPIDEY shoot, yet has far more personality and pleasure to it.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2021/06/cop-car-2005.html

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *Just read on IMDb that Holland did indeed base his characterization on Fox.

WASTEMAN (2025)

David Jonsson stars in this brutish, British prison drama as a non-violent/accidental murderer who, thanks to over-crowding, gets a chance at early parole if he can keep his nose clean for the few weeks before his release date.  (With that set-up, Diogenes couldn’t find anyone who doesn’t know where this is going.)  Naturally, after getting this good news, he returns to new cellmate Tom Blyth, an ambitious sociopath working to grab the prison drug trade using drone deliveries of coke, heroin & weed flown to exterior transom windows.  What could go wrong?  No surprise, other/more established dealers are soon in his face and Jonsson’s inevitably drawn into the violence; finally blackmailed into agreeing to kill an aggressively violent rival dealer to protect his 14-yr-old son.  (Blyth has connections on the outside.)  Credit director Cal McMau and writers Hunter Andrews/Eoin Doran for ringing in a few changes on the usual pattern (the finale’s a pretty neat trick of misdirection), but it’s an uphill battle.  Fortunately, Jonsson has an wonderfully expressive, empathetic face.  If only they asked for a few more expressions!  Always a bit stoned, his sleepy/wary/beaten up look a decreasingly effective fallback position.  On the other hand, Blyth too obviously a graduate of the Robert De Niro School of Dramatic Intimidation making up for skipped classes.

DOUBLE-BILL/LINK:  For an ageless Hollywood take on the genre (and to see what’s missing here), Jules Dassin’s BRUTE FORCE/’47, with Burt Lancaster in his sophomore lead fronting an all-thug line up.   https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2008/05/brute-force-1947.html

THE SUBTERRANEANS (1960)

After winning his first Oscar® on GIGI/’58, composer/arranger/conductor André Previn’s next call from producer Arthur Freed had him not only score, but also perform ‘live’ on camera as jazz pianist within the club settings of this adaptation of Jack Kerouac’s best-selling novel about ‘The Beats.’   (Not hep to the term?  Think late ‘50s hipsters.)  Knowing the story was about Kerouac as a struggling writer (miscast George Peppard) unable to love before he encounters a mentally troubled mixed-race (Black/Cherokee) beauty who breaks thru his reserve, Previn asked the studio exec, ‘Who’s playing the Black girl?’  ‘Leslie Caron.’  Which explains everything.  At least, everything that's wrong here.  Not just Caron.  There’s clueless director Ranald MacDougall replacing clueless initial director Denis Sanders; Robert Thom’s script tossing out all but three of the novel’s characters; Freed’s conception of a small, raw, b&w film losing out to standard studio policy for MetroColor & CinemaScope; savage cuts to the film without input from Freed or MacDougall . . .   You get the idea.  Checking out old tv clips of the real Beats is embarrassing enough.  (Some of the writing, too.)  But this is off the charts.  (Excepting Jim Hutton whose scraggly attempt at a beard looks downright authentic.*)  M-G-M buried the remains, making this one of their few films never given home video release in any format.  (The curious can find Pan and Scan copies online.)

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK:  *The year before, Roger Corman’s b&w horror cheapie BUCKET OF BLOOD/’59 got closer to the mark on The Beat Generation.  (It’s actually more in line with Freed’s original conception.)  If only the poetry club denizens snapped their fingers rather than clapped their  hands.    https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2023/11/a-bucket-of-blood-1959.html

DESIERTO (2015)

Mainstream commercial debut for Jonás (son of Alfonso) Cuarón, this Mexican illegal immigrants-on-the-run thriller is more interesting than first appears; just not for the right reasons.  Gael García Bernal (doing Alfonso a favor?) stars as the nice fence-jumper, a fair-minded guy trying to get back to the son he had to leave in California.  But when the truck he’s riding in breaks down, it leaves him, along with a baker’s dozen of fellow border crossers, with no choice but to hike thru the desert on foot in shadeless temps touching 120°.  Then things really start to go wrong as sharp-shooting ‘patriotic’ homicidal maniac Jeffrey Dean Morgan, along with his ferocious dog Tracker, spot the desperate group.  The rest of the film standard chase stuff, the hunter and his prey.  But what makes it interesting is just how far Cuarón goes to depoliticize the situation; never stopping to ask if it should be depolitized.  The only legit cop we see runs into, then drives away from Morgan.  Each miming disdain for the other.  Elsewise, Cuarón models the film on totally apolitical classics like THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME/’32, an oft-filmed story of a wild game hunter releasing human prey to chase around.  Or, say, THE LOST PATROL/’34, a John Ford film about an unseen enemy sniper taking troopers down one-by-one.  Plus Morgan brings in his own layer of inappropriate references from his long run in THE WALKING DEAD.  Odd decisions.  And if you are going to emphasize the sheer sports-like horror of a human hunt, you need a surer hand at action and suspense than Cuarón shows.  Where’s Raoul Walsh to work out those now-you-see-him/now-you-don’t angles between hunter and prey as they climb round rocky cliffs?

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK:  For a great angle on the Mexican immigrant experience, I CARRY YOU WITH ME/’20.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2021/01/i-carry-you-with-me-te-llevo-conmigo.html

THE CHRISTOPHERS (2025)

Maybe Steven Soderbergh needs to direct fewer films.  (To say nothing of his work as producer.)  For well over a decade his projects (even the more obviously commercial ones) have been reasonably well-received critically, sometimes commercially, too, but forgotten so fast, it’s as if they never existed.  So too here on this well acted, but empty whimsy on failing artistic powers, greedy children, a truth-telling assistant and the difference between what art costs and what it’s worth.  Not strictly a two-hander, though it feels like one; a throwback to faux-stylish death-haunted ‘70s play adaptations like SLEUTH or DEATHTRAP.  Ian McKellen plays the fast-fading chattering bore of a painter whose estranged children (Tweedledum Jessica Gunning and Tweedledee James Corden) hope to cash in post-mortem on a late work, THE CHRISTOPHERS, a series of unfinished portrait studies on his last great love.  Lucky for them, talented but undiscovered painter Michaela Coel needs a job and hits it off in an antagonistic way, to get hired by McKellen as his assistant.  Her secret assignment: finish The Christophers after his imminent death using his paint & brushes to hide the forgery, then split the sales with the siblings.  Has no one told these dopes that unfinished ‘lost’ work can fetch prices equal to if not higher than finished second-rate stuff?  In any event something of a real relationship develops between the painters scuttling the plot . . . but in a good way.  A fun watch, if you have the patience.  Some of the heavily improvised dialogue does go on (McKellen not one the great Shakespearean monologists for nothing!), but the teasing will he or won’t he destroy his unfinished work before he kicks the bucket, holds less interest and puts out less tension than Soderbergh counts on.  So this time, the film was forgotten before it hit the screen.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK:  For something in the same ballpark: aging gay writers/artists confronting their demons, try LOVE IS THE DEVIL/’98 or QUEER/ 24.  Each with Daniel Craig, but going from object to subject.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2025/01/queer-2024.html

ALIBI (1929)

‘The Talkies’ truly arrived at the movies not as you’ve no doubt repeatedly been told in 1927 with THE JAZZ SINGER, but in 1929 when films with some sort of synch-sound capacity flipped from 1928's 20% sound/80% silent to 80% sound/20% silent.  (These figures about as rough as the recording quality at the time.)  Audiences, studios and critics picked up on the shift and knew things would never go back.  But much woe amongst film intelligencia who saw the change as either bad canned theater or canned bad theater; an art form immobilized.  Yet even in 1929, signs of life were appearing if you looked for it.  Visually imaginative, fluidly shot, still enjoyable today.  Standouts holding on to camera mobility and personal style included Ernst Lubitsch’s THE LOVE PARADE (next year he’d invent the Music Video in MONTE CARLO);  F. Richard Jones’s BULLDOG DRUMMOND (alas dead of T.B. the next year); and this film’s Roland West* who’d inexplicably fall out of the biz two films/two years later at 47.  Here, after a quick-step opening to get wise-guy mob man Chester Morris out of jail, West films a big single-take thru art director William Cameron Menzies’ Art Deco nightclub to establish antihero Chester Morris’s character with a tracking shot Martin Scorsese might envy.  And while the visual pizzazz comes & goes, it all leads to the film’s climax with a penthouse escape that can still cause a gasp or two.  The plot gimmick involves a five-minute gap in Morris’s alibi that would have given him time to kill a cop.  And it’s trusting fiancé Mae Busch, a cop’s daughter, no less, who trips him up.  Other than West’s sure hand, it’s Morris who makes the pic.  The ruthless gangster kept in reserve behind the romantic lead Busch falls for still packing a wallop.*

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID/LINK:  *Morris would slip to formula programmers, hamming it up in BOSTON BLACKIEs and the like.  But seen here, in THE BIG HOUSE/’30 and in RED-HEADED WOMAN/’32, he’s the real deal.   https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2019/09/the-big-house-1930.html    https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2018/04/red-headed-woman-1932.html

SCREWY THOUGHT OF THE DAY:  *The uptick in ‘Talkie’ quality so apparent even Oscar® noticed, with these three films collecting eleven nominations.

LA CASA LOBO / THE WOLF HOUSE (2018)

Partners in animated shorts since 2007, Joaquín Cociña and Cristóbal León went feature-length with this vaguely political allegory, a well-reviewed, if little seen chiller that mixes various styles of animation (hand-drawn; puppetry; stop-motion).  It opens with a ‘restored’ faux ‘60s documentary on a discreet German Colony in Chile’s back-country, a happy land where  strong local honey, strong personal discipline and strong support for the fascist Pinochet government lead one freedom-loving woman to escape.  Now she’s living in a cabin of fear with a wolf at the door and fellow visiting victims.  Or something like that.  JC/CL none too clear on narrative detail; much more concerned with laying out overstuffed design elements amid constant washes of colors and animated movement in every corner.  All very 1970s avant garde in decor and technique.  (1973 when Pinochet took power, so . . . intentional?)  The animators’ visual idée fixe a deadly bleed out (seen in many of their earlier shorts) which turns into a spontaneous blood bath.  Less stop-motion animation than glop-motion animation as characters ooze away in front of your eyes.  No doubt, appealing to some.  It certainly got attention from Film Fest juries.

WATCH THIS, NOT THAT/LINK: Top notch animated/allegorical anti-Pinochet pic in EL CONDE.’23.  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2023/09/el-conde-2023.html

COOGAN’S BLUFF (1969)

To New Yorkers, Coogan’s Bluff is a natural promontory by the Harlem River, think 150th to 160th St, then big apartment buildings West to St. Nicolas Ave.  Old timers remember the Polo Grounds in Washington Heights.  Not movie mavens.  For them, COOGAN’S BLUFF is where Don met Clint; that’s Don Siegel & Clint Eastwood.  Siegel becoming, along with Sergio Leone, one of Eastwood’s two directorial father-figures.  Leone for vision & ambition; Siegel for tools & efficiency.  Yet it almost didn’t happen when studio execs put up either DON Taylor or Alex SEGAL to direct Eastwood’s first Universal project.  Luckily, the memo split the difference and Don Siegel got the call.  Siegel claimed not to have even seen an Eastwood pic.  Together they worked up a shootable script from five drafts and got along fine.*   But how hard could it have been?  The story no more than a fish-out-of-water/bull-in-a-china-shop story about a lean/mean Arizona Sheriff Coogan losing his extradition in those tough Manhattan streets and overstepping his authority to get him back between stare downs with Lt. Lee J. Cobb (pleasingly reserved), pushy romantic passes at criminal psychologist Susan Clark (giving as good as she gets), and the general mayhem of Manhattan in its Fun City days.  Check out the Swingin’ Discotheque Club.  Boobs and LGTB action.  Neatly run, as expected by Siegel, though don’t look for the actual Coogan’s Bluff, the big action finale filmed in Fort Tryon Park below the Cloisters Museum far West of Coogan’s Bluff.

READ ALL ABOUT IT:  *This out of Don Siegel’s excellent auto-bio A SIEGEL FILM.

DOUBLE-BILL:  BLUFF not only an unplanned trial-run for Siegel/Eastwood’s era-defining DIRTY HARRY/’71, it also served as a stealth-pilot for tv’s McCLOUD, a six-yr run with Dennis Weaver, nicer/less sexy.

PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED (1986)

In spite of being a considerable hit (because of being a considerable hit?), this is the peak period Francis Ford Coppola film no one talks about.  It’s also the last time he worked as a  hired hand (replacing Penny Marshall after production started).  More importantly, it’s the only female driven film of his maturity.*  And if Magical Realism Americana in the suburbs ain’t in Coppola’s fach (a lesser talent who could believe in sentimental life-lessons via time-travel might have been better), enough comes thru when a gag touches a nerve to make the film play.  As when lead Kathleen Turner belts out ‘My Country ‘Tis of Thee’ in front of her embarrassed High School classmates in 1960.  The unlikely situation possible because a story that opens in 1985 as Turner contemplates divorcing ‘High School steady’ husband Nicolas Cage (relentlessly pulling focus by over-egging his role), does a Fade-Out/Fade-In to 1960 after Turner faints at their 25th High School Reunion.  Structurally, we’re close to THE WIZARD OF OZ, but here Turner’s ‘Dorothy’ alternately tries to fit into her wised-up teenage self while offering advice to help her old gang prep for what she knows is coming.  Instead of Tin Man, Scarecrow, Lion, she dreams of a future with Cage (the one she got), nerdy Bill Gates type Barry Miller and dangerous literary Jack Kerouac wannabee Michael Fitzsimmons.  And barely giving a thought to her future children not showing up if she swaps.  Original scripters Jerry Leichtling & Arlene Sarner not bothered by the usual narrative rules of cinematic time-travel.  They also fudge her return to the present.  Things improve whenever the older generation shows up, including Mom Barbara Harris and especially a wonderful Leon Ames as Grandfather.  If only they had more to do.  Hard to care when Cage & Turner inevitably make nice.

DOUBLE- BILL/LINK: To see just how many opportunities are wasted here, go to PLEASANTVILLE/’98  https://maksquibs.blogspot.com/2022/10/pleasantville-1998.html

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID:  *Much the same could be said of Martin Scorsese’s ALICE DOESN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE/’74.