Category: Directors Ca

Mr. Right (2015, Paco Cabezas)

Mr. Right has shockingly poor direction. Daniel Aranyó makes the shots look good, though the CG-assisted bullet time thing is bad, and Tom Wilson’s editing is perfectly competent, but director Cabezas is really bad. He shoots the film with a Panavision aspect ratio and does not know what to do with that frame so it looks like, frankly, someone has cut the top and bottom off.

I suppose he does okay with the long shots. Or at least better with them than anything else. When Sam Rockwell, who plays the title character (he’s a hitman, it’s supposed to be an ironic moniker), dances around and beats guys up and then kills them? One can imagine how Mr. Right might work with a better director and a significant rewrite. Cabezas wastes the New Orleans location shooting; no one is supposed to be able to waste New Orleans location shooting.

The film also wastes Tim Roth, though maybe not. Maybe Roth has just gotten past the point of caring, which might explain his phoned in performance. At least Rockwell can be indifferent to the bad material and still enthusiastic. He does have to carry his love interest, Anna Kendrick, through a lot of the stupidity. Kendrick should be the film’s protagonist, but she’s not. Instead, she’s just the girl. It’s weird since the movie opens with her and she gets most of the first act.

Rockwell doesn’t even get a name until almost halfway into the picture, so it really ought to be Kendrick’s show. She’s affably annoying but she does try. Trying counts in a film like Mr. Right because actors trying is all there to a film when the direction is so hapless.

Good supporting turns from James Ransone and Anson Mount should help the film a lot more than they do. RZA is likable and almost good but not exactly. Max Landis’s script is all about broad humor and Cabezas can’t direct it. It’s astounding Rockwell is able to power his way through the material, even more impressive he’s able to bring his costars along with him. It’s unfortunate he has to carry Kendrick; she ought to have enough to do to get through on her own, but no. Landis and Cabezas give her less and less as the film goes on.

Also good support from Katie Nehra, who has a thankless part as Kendrick’s friend.

Michael Eklund is not good. It would help if he was good. He’s second fiddle to Ransone’s comedy villain.

Mr. Right has its charms–Rockwell and Kendrick, who don’t exactly have chemistry but they do appear to be having fun. While it should be much better, it could be a lot worse.

1/4★

CREDITS

Directed by Paco Cabezas; written by Max Landis; director of photography, Daniel Aranyó; edited by Tom Wilson; music by Aaron Zigman; production designer, Mara LePere-Schloop; produced by Bradley Gallo, Michael A. Helfant, Rick Jacobs and Lawrence Mattis; released by Focus World.

Starring Sam Rockwell (Dancer), Anna Kendrick (Martha McKay), Tim Roth (Hopper), James Ransone (Von Cartigan), Anson Mount (Richard Cartigan), Michael Eklund (Johnny Moon), Katie Nehra (Sophie), Jaiden Kaine (Bruce) and RZA (Steve).

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In the Mouth of Madness (1994, John Carpenter)

In the Mouth of Madness is a rarity. It’s a film with some terrible, terrible parts, yet it needs to be longer. There needs to be more terribleness for it to be better. And it can’t even be much better, because those terrible parts break it, but it would be somewhat better. It would definitely be a better viewing experience.

Here are the film’s problems, in no particular order. Gary B. Kibbe’s photography. Madness is Panavision aspect and Kibbe shoots everything spherically distorted. Well, not everything, but the most visually distinctive parts. One of the film’s more conceptual problems is what visually compels. Kibbe screws up the compelling visual narrative pacing. Maybe Carpenter told him to do it, in which case it’s Carpenter’s bad. But Kibbe’s photography is never great. With the sets, it sometimes looks like a shoddy attempt at a Shining rip-off and Madness isn’t that thing at all.

Next problem. Sam Neill. Fourth-rate Harrison Ford who everyone thought was just a second-rate Harrison Ford. He can’t hold his accent, which would be a hilarious bit for the film to acknowledge, but of course it doesn’t. Even though Madness eventually wants to be meta, it’s like Carpenter doesn’t really have any interest in it, which brings me to the next problem. The script. The script is awful.

Even though Carpenter goes for his traditional possessive titling on Madness, it’s not his vanity project. It’s writer and executive producer Michael De Luca’s vanity project. So while Carpenter can do a nod to this Quatermass here, that Corman there, this Lovecraft adaptation here, that whatever there, he’s still got this disastrous script. De Luca’s doing zeitgeist–Neill is hunting down Jürgen Prochnow’s Stephen King-esque author, not Prochnow’s Lovecraft-esque author. The script wants to be pop culture, the narrative needs literary musing, Carpenter’s doing this Lovecraft movie homage thing. Not to mention De Luca also models the structure after a film noir (Double Indemnity in particular) and Carpenter couldn’t, frankly, give less of a shit about that narrative structure. He goes out of his way not to acknowledge it.

And if you’re not going to acknowledge your femme fatale, maybe you shouldn’t have a femme fatale. Madness’s femme fatale is Julie Carmen. She’s Prochnow’s editor and Neill’s sidekick. Carmen and Neill have no chemistry, which isn’t really surprising since she’s awful. He’s awful too, but she’s awful in a different way. She doesn’t have a part. He’s just bad at his part. The film also breaks its narrative device to run off with her adventures; if the movie were a little better, it might be annoying but it’s not. The script’s already been inept at that point.

Prochnow’s bad, but it isn’t his fault. He’s just doing his schtick. It’s why he’s in the movie.

Stylistically, the front is stronger than the back. Once Neill and Carmen find Prochnow, Edward A. Warschilka’s editing starts to falter. It was one of the few excellent things about the beginning. By the end, Carpenter relies heavily on jump scares. They aren’t scary, they’re occasionally desperate, but at least he’s enthusiastic about them. There are some okay visual ideas but there’s no time for Madness to make them stick. It isn’t just the film needing another ten or fifteen minutes of visual presence to make an impression, it’s the order of the shots. Part of the film’s gimmick (Prochnow writing reality) means visual trickery. Carpenter, Kibbe and Warschilka just blaze through instead of making anything distinct.

Charlton Heston’s in a “guest starring” role and he gives one of the film’s better performances. If you’ve got a hackneyed Heston cameo and he gives the best performance, you know the film’s got problems. Bernie Casey’s good, Peter Jason’s got a nice scene. John Glover. He’s fine. Frances Bay should have a great small role and she doesn’t. Because the script’s crap and Carpenter never pushes against it.

Oh, and who thought giving Wilhelm von Homburg the film’s most important part would be a good idea? He’s awful, but of course he’s awful, he’s obviously awful and no one should’ve kept him in. You feel bad for him. But only him. Everyone else who’s awful, you blame them.

Just because it’s an apocalyptic downer doesn’t mean the entire thing should feel like a surrender, yet it does. Madness is a defeat.

Meet John Doe (1941, Frank Capra)

There’s something off with Meet John Doe. Director Capra can’t find a tone for the film, but he also can’t find a pace for it. He tries to find the tone, over and over, usually with excellently directed sequences, but he just throws up his hands as far as finding the pace. If Robert Riskin’s script didn’t have strong moments for background characters, it would just be a bunch of great monologues for the actors. But Capra wants to step too far back from it all–John Doe has a wonderful cast and all Capra wants to do is rant about the Illuminati.

At its start, John Doe is simple. Barbara Stanwyck is a reporter. She loses her job. Angry–because John Doe takes place in a time when it seems like the Great Depression isn’t actually going to end, a forlorn attitude permeating throughout the film–she fakes a letter from someone fed up with the state of the world and promising to kill himself. Turns out the letter’s a hit, so Stanywck has to turn up the writer. She hires Gary Cooper. It’s Gary Cooper after all.

There’s a little humor with Cooper and sidekick Walter Brennan getting into a posh hotel and doing nothing. Riskin’s really good at these scenes. Well, then something happens and Cooper quits for a bit then he joins back up for a bit then it turns out the Illuminati have plans for him so he has to make a big decision. Along the way, he falls in love with Stanwyck (it’s Barbara Stanwyck after all), losing Brennan, and falls under the spell of Edward Arnold, the evil Mr. Big running this nameless city’s Illuminati chapter.

The nameless city should’ve been a bigger giveaway for the film’s problems. Capra doesn’t want anything to have personality except the concept.

Only, Riskin’s script has those amazing monologues I mentioned. James Gleason, who plays Stanwyck’s editor and Arnold’s reluctant stooge, gets at least two great scenes. His second one, where he gets wasted and talks about the Great War, is phenomenal. Gleason’s great and all, but that scene is phenomenal. Riskin’s dialogue is great, Capra’s patience is great, everything’s great. It just doesn’t belong in the movie. John Doe’s so lost, having every actor (except Cooper) directly address the camera when talking to Cooper’s character might work better. First person for the audience. Why? Because, while Capra’s interested in shooting the film well, having fantastic performances from his cast, he’s not actually interested in the film. It’s like he’s avoiding the lack of story.

Unfortunately, the rocky pace means no one gives an overall great performance. Brennan disappears, then comes back with nothing to do. He’s good, often really good, but the film doesn’t give him enough time later on. It never establishes who’s supposed to get the most time–even Cooper and Stanwyck manage to disappear from the story. The present action’s a mess. The film goes on for months and months and doesn’t let the characters grow.

It’s too much story. There are a half dozen points throughout the two hour runtime where Riskin and Capra could’ve focused for a far better experience.

Capra’s direction is outstanding. Riskin’s monologues are great. Cooper, Stanwyck, Gleason, Brennan, all great. Arnold’s not, but it’s hard to fault him. He’s got no part. He’s not even a caricature. He’s just “rich bad guy.”

Dimitri Tiomkin’s music has a few missteps, but it’s generally okay. It tends to stumble through the parts where everything else stumbles. Except maybe George Barnes’s photography and Daniel Mandell’s editing, their work is always strong.

Meet John Doe doesn’t work out. I wish it had, but it’s still one heck of a swing.

This post is part of the Remembering Barbara Stanwyck Blogathon hosted by Crystal of In the Good Old Days of Classic Hollywood.

Star Trek: Generations (1994, David Carson)

Star Trek: Generations has one good sequence in it. The Enterprise has a space battle with the Klingons. It’s too short, paced wrong, but it’s good. Peter E. Berger’s editing for the film is never better and director Carson manages to shoot it well. He doesn’t manage to shoot a lot of Generations well (he’s clearly uncomfortable with Panavision), but that sequence–the film’s biggest in terms of effects–is good.

The rest of Generations? It’s usually inoffensive. Except for John A. Alonzo’s “sad times” photography. Whenever someone is supposed to be sad, there aren’t any lights on in the Enterprise and instead there’s natural lighting. From the nearest sun, I suppose. It sure does make Patrick Stewart look extra sad.

Stewart’s story arc involves him being sad and running across original “Star Trek” captain William Shatner, who is also sad, but for different reasons. Stewart’s performance is okay. Shatner’s is likable, but not very good. His writing is awful–even worse than Stewart’s sad arc–so it’s impossible to blame him. Even though Generations has a lot of strong production values (the effects are quite good), Carson never gives the film a tone. He’s not trying to grow the Star Trek audience, he’s trying to placate the existing one.

Of the supporting cast, Brent Spiner gets the most to do, but only as far as his range goes. He gets to be a silly and stupid android. It’s occasionally fun, occasionally endearing, but it’s just another plot contrivance from Ronald D. Moore and Brannon Braga, who don’t really have a story for anyone.

Except Stewart’s sad story.

Another big problem is Dennis McCarthy’s score. Generations never seems grand enough.

Still, it’s passable. Everyone in the “Next Generation” crew is (intentionally) likable. Malcolm McDowell’s uncommitted to the villain role, which is underwritten; it’s not like Carson could direct him to greatness anyway.

A better script and a better director would have helped a lot.

A Hole in the Head (1959, Frank Capra)

The first hour of A Hole in the Head is slow going. It shouldn’t be slow going, not with everything the film has going for it, but director Capra is real lazy. He’s lazy with his composition, he’s lazy with his actors, he’s lazy with the pace. It’s amazing how the film’s pluses are able to turn things around in the second half.

The script’s a very stagy adaptation of a play, with original playwright Arnold Schulman doing the adapting. Capra takes the easiest approach possible to everything in the first half of the film, which takes place almost entirely at lead Frank Sinatra’s hotel. It’s not a nice hotel, Sinatra’s not a good hotelier, but there’s something interesting about a little bit of a rundown hotel amid otherwise glamorous Miami Beach. Capra is indifferent to that possibility, unfortunately. Instead, he plops the camera down and shoots almost everything in medium shot, two characters in profile. It’s beyond boring.

Sinatra’s not just an unsuccessful businessman, he’s a widower with an eleven year-old son (a likable Eddie Hodges) and a twenty-one year-old girlfriend (Carolyn Jones). Between Schulman’s script and Capra’s direction, none of the actors get much favor, but Jones easily gets the worst treatment. She’s actually got a character and she does well. Schulman’s just lazy. She lives in Sinatra’s hotel, they’re not discreet, yet Hodges never gets to acknowledge her. Not really. When the film finally does try, it cops out. Worse yet, it cops out with one of editor William Hornbeck’s awful fades. Terrible editing in Hole. Not sure if it’s Hornbeck or just Capra refusing to take the time to get solid coverage. I’d assume the latter.

But Sinatra’s also unlikable in this first part of the film because it’s about him being a deadbeat dad. When redemption does arrive, in the film’s deftest move, it doesn’t come in the shapes of Edward G. Robinson and Thelma Ritter (Robinson’s Sinatra’s successful, if miserly, brother and Ritter’s Robinson’s very patient wife) or Eleanor Parker (as the widow who Robinson wants Sinatra to marry), it comes because Sinatra finally gets a character to play.

By not shooting his actors in close-up, except as comedic reaction shots, Capra never asks them to act. He never asks them to try. I guess Hodges does get close-ups, but it’s so he can be likable, which is probably worse.

Sinatra and Parker have a very nice, very grown-up scene, with Sinatra leaving the hotel and going somewhere not shot in front of rear projection for once. Hole definitely shot on location in Miami, but not enough. At least not when none of the studio-shot inserts come close to matching. (Again, Capra’s clearly checked out).

After that scene, the whole thing starts to turn around. Schulman and Capra take Sinatra (and the viewer) outside the hotel, the script gives Hodges something to do besides be cute, Ritter and Robinson aren’t just playing for laughs anymore.

And, in the last half hour, A Hole in the Head gets quite good. The cast has a whole lot of goodwill banked from the first half, when Capra and the script clearly waste them, and it all pays off towards the end. The actors save A Hole in the Head. They save it from Schulman’s unsteady script, from Capra’s unimaginative visualizing of said script, from Hornbeck’s jarring cuts. They even save it from the awful Nelson Riddle music.

Capra asks everyone to do movie star acting in a story needing a far more muted approach. Sinatra, Parker, Ritter, Robinson. They’re all good enough actors to know what their characters need. Would better direction improve the film? Definitely. But it does all right without it.

This post is part of the Sinatra Centennial Blogathon hosted by Emily of The Vintage Cameo and Judy of Movie Classics.

They Live (1988, John Carpenter)

Maybe a third of They Live is amazing. The film has three distinct parts. The first, where Roddy Piper arrives in L.A.–Piper never gets a name and L.A. never gets identified, though director Carpenter obviously expects the viewer to recognize it and understand its use–is the best. It’s a Western, sort of. Piper’s the Man With No Name, only he’s not a bounty killer or a homesteader, he’s an unemployed construction worker. Carpenter’s screenplay quickly establishes him, establishes the ground situation; it’s a sensitive look at the working homeless with matter-of-fact presentation from Carpenter. Keith David quickly shows up as Piper’s sidekick. Carpenter has a good time with the bromance. Both Piper and David’s performances are the best in this part of the film.

The second part of the film is when They Live becomes a fifties sci-fi movie set in the eighties. Thirty minutes in, Piper discovers aliens out to subjugate the human race through the all mighty dollar. Carpenter goes big with the anti-commercialism sentiment and it works. There’s also just a strange vibe to the film during this part. Gary B. Kibbe’s flat but intricate photography–which works beautifully in the first third for juxtaposing paradise against squalor–does okay for Piper’s odyssey through the “real world” but doesn’t work when cut against the black and white “sci-fi world” shots. They Live’s budget is frequently a problem, particularly in the final third, but Carpenter never embraces the visuals of the fifties sci-fi paranoia.

Then Meg Foster shows up and there’s this shaky bridge to the final third of the film, which starts as hard sci-fi (well, as hard of sci-fi as a scene out of “V”) and descends quickly into lame action movie theatrics. Carpenter’s direction is weak during this part of the picture. He doesn’t have any of the interest he had in the beginning (or the middle).

Piper does okay for most of the film. He’s likable. He can’t handle the poorly written monologues but no one could. David’s better, but he too gets some weak lines. Foster’s mostly weak. The film takes place over a few days–it’s unclear–and her character’s sort of pointless. George ‘Buck’ Flower has an amusing small part.

They Live simultaneously has too much of a budget and not enough of one. Carpenter seems somewhat disinterested in what the film could do and busies himself with chunks of it, whether it’s the opening’s Reaganomics commentary or the middle’s L.A.-bound action thrills (and an awesome, exceptionally long fist fight between Piper and David). By the finish, there’s just nothing for Carpenter to do except end the movie. The postscript gags are better than anything else in the last thirty minutes, which is a big problem.

But there’s a lot of good stuff in They Live. Enough Carpenter should’ve taken it more seriously.

The American Dreamer (1971, Lawrence Schiller and L.M. Kit Carson)

The best part of The American Dreamer is some of Warner E. Leighton and co-director Schiller’s editing, which only works thanks to Schiller and Carson’s filmmaking. They have this wonderful device where they film their subjects listening to recordings of their previous filming and then cut, often imperceptibly, between the subjects listening to themselves and the subjects speaking. They do it twice in the film, once towards the beginning, once towards the end. It’s best at the beginning.

The American Dreamer is Dennis Hopper. He’s editing a big studio motion picture (The Last Movie) in Taos, in a lovely home, populated by a bunch of stoned people. Presumably, a lot of them are on the Movie’s post-production team. Dreamer doesn’t introduce anyone. Carson and Schiller are more comfortable centering the film around Hopper–who then complains about it at the one hour mark, at which point Dreamer sort of rushes to wrap up.

If Carson, Schiller and Hopper intend to reveal or suggest anything mysterious about Hopper (who is credited as a co-writer), they fail. At one point, probably halfway into Dreamer, after listening to Hopper talk about how he loves people’s thoughts and ideas and hearing them, he keeps interrupting this Playboy bunny while condescendingly explaining Playboy to her (and to the camera).

Later on, just before he rails against the directors in an interview moment, he flips out about their inability to properly shoot him while he’s presenting his photographs. Early in the film, Hopper was far more open, far less condescending. Maybe I just gave up on him when he started justifying Charles Manson to the bunny.

As for Hopper as a filmmaker, what does American Dreamer reveal? He compares himself to Orson Welles, not Robert Wise. His filmmaking objective is not narrative but revolution; at least, he wants the viewer (and his entourage) to believe its revolution. He’s convincing, in no small part to Carson and Schiller. Even though he’s openly hostile to them by the end, he’s still the hero.

The folk soundtrack is also amusing. It’s okay enough, especially at the beginning, but these are folk anthems to the glory of Dennis Hopper, presumably added in post-production. The American Dreamer is a strange example of egomania, which is really too bad, because the stuff Carson and Schiller capture of Hopper editing the film–he’s focused, angry, irritable–is striking. Even the most honest-looking cinéma vérité is still cinema.

Especially in the second half, when someone clearly thought they needed to spice up the movie with a dozen girls there to fulfill Hopper’s fantasy of a sleepover.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by Lawrence Schiller and L.M. Kit Carson; written by Dennis Hopper, Carson and Schiller; edited by Warren E. Leighton and Schiller; produced by Schiller; released by EYR.

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Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936, Frank Capra)

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town is astoundingly (and rightfully) confident. Director Capra and screenwriter Robert Riskin don’t shy away from anything in the film–Capra’s more than willing to go with sentimentality, but the film isn’t often sentimental. Even when Jean Arthur’s world-weary reporter breaks down, she doesn’t get sentimental.

Most of the film involves Arthur deceiving Gary Cooper’s titular Mr. Deeds–he’s a small town guy who’s just inherited twenty million dollars–for her story. He becomes infatuated, she starts to regrow her heart. Riskin’s script runs these two subplots parallel to one another, but somehow not concurrent. Deeds maintains three perspectives throughout–Cooper’s, Arthur’s and, in the beginning, Lionel Stander’s.

Stander is sort of Cooper’s sidekick (a rich man’s press agent) but he’s also the first one to come around to Cooper’s way of doing things. Capra and Riskin take the Hollywood norm–the New York newspaper picture–and mix in the social commentary of the Depression, while bringing in a big question of town vs. country values. It’s a very tricky combination and they always do it perfectly; Deeds is a marvel of filmmaking construction. The way Capra uses sound–Cooper and Arthur are romancing in a picturesque New York landmark, the hustle and bustle around them, but the sound just has them. The lovely Joseph Walker photography just adds to it. Lots of quiet moments for Cooper and Arthur, who both give marvelous performances.

Everything about Mr. Deeds is fantastic. It’s an exceptional motion picture.

4/4★★★★

CREDITS

Produced and directed by Frank Capra; screenplay by Robert Riskin, based on a story by Clarence Budington Kelland; director of photography, Joseph Walker; edited by Gene Havlick; released by Columbia Pictures.

Starring Gary Cooper (Longfellow Deeds), Jean Arthur (Babe Bennett), Lionel Stander (Cornelius Cobb), Douglass Dumbrille (John Cedar), Raymond Walburn (Walter), Ruth Donnelly (Mabel Dawson), George Bancroft (MacWade), Walter Catlett (Morrow), John Wray (Farmer) and H.B. Warner (Judge May).

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The Last Days of Peter Bergmann (2013, Ciaran Cassidy)

The Last Days of Peter Bergmann is something of a procedural documentary short. A man, using the alias Peter Bergmann, checks into a hotel in an Irish town. A few days later, he is found dead on a nearby beach. Unable to ascertain his identity, the police use CCTV footage from around town, from the hotel, to try to discover something about the person.

Director Cassidy, a few years later, takes that footage, along with interviews of the people who interacted with the man, and cuts together this strange little film. Cassidy weighs it heavy at the end–there’s a reveal of sorts–but Cassidy keeps Last Days very flat.

The police inspector talks about the haunting quality of the man on all the CCTV footage around town–something David Cantan and Jack Quilligan’s music helps emphasize–but Cassidy has no judgement. There’s no metaphor, no thesis, just the unexplainable.

3/3Highly Recommended

CREDITS

Written and directed by Ciaran Cassidy; director of photography, Kate McCullough; edited by John Murphy; music by David Cantan and Jack Quilligan; produced by Morgan Bushe.

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Clean and Sober (1988, Glenn Gordon Caron)

In hindsight, as the film settles during its final scene, it becomes clear a lot of Clean and Sober is obvious. Director Caron and writer Tod Carroll withhold a few pieces of information until that final scene, which do inform a little more, but the obviousness isn’t actually a problem. Protagonist Michael Keaton’s motivations do not have to be mysterious or singular, because he’s neither.

The film tracks Keaton’s drug addled real estate salesman through rehab and his time immediately following it. Caron and cinematographer Jan Kiesser portray the rehab clinic as drab and weathered, in contrast to Keaton’s home and office, which are sterile. The second half of the film feels either like a lengthy epilogue or the first half is just a lengthy prologue. Probably the former, since Carroll’s script forgets a lot of outstanding plot threads.

Caron’s direction matches the forgetful nature of the script; he never picks one style or another, sometimes using comedic techniques and pacing for dramatic scenes and vice versa. While the incomplete narrative plays towards realism, Caron fails to acknowledge it or embrace it.

But none of Clean and Sober would work if not for Keaton, who gives a singular performance. Every scene has something phenomenal from him.

The supporting cast is excellent. Kathy Bates, M. Emmet Walsh, Morgan Freeman, Luca Bercovici; all great.

Gabriel Yared’s minimalist but sympathetic score is essential.

Clean and Sober has its problems, but it’s a significant success. Keaton is mesmerizing; Caron builds the film around him.

3.5/4★★★½

CREDITS

Directed by Glenn Gordon Caron; written by Tod Carroll; director of photography, Jan Kiesser; edited by Richard Chew; music by Gabriel Yared; production designer, Joel Schiller; produced by Deborah Blum and Tony Ganz; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Michael Keaton (Daryl Poynter), Kathy Baker (Charlie Standers), Morgan Freeman (Craig), Luca Bercovici (Lenny), Brian Benben (Martin Laux), Tate Donovan (Donald Towle), Claudia Christian (Iris) and M. Emmet Walsh (Richard Dirks).

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