Category: Directors Te

The Equalizer (2021) s02e07 – When Worlds Collide

I’m trying to remember the last Chris Noth-centric episode of “The Equalizer;” it must’ve been last season. This episode has him running around with a machine gun and fist-fighting like they promised him he could do American James Bond or something. Instead, however, it’s old man James Bond with Noth teaming up with previously unrevealed son Wesam Keesh.

It’s a jam-packed episode, script credit to Rob Hanning, and there’s not enough time for cop Tory Kittles to do anything. Or even appear. Also, Laya DeLeon Hayes’s PTSD problem is done. Noth asks about it, Queen Latifah says it’s better, the show’s moved on. Especially since Adam Goldberg’s whole “I want to unfake my death” arc will be tied to Noth’s troubles here, one way or the other.

The episode’s action story has Latifah babysitting terrorist Anthony Azizi, whose men have kidnapped Keesh, while Noth tries to rescue Keesh. Both Noth and Latifah are going to need Goldberg’s hacking help, with Liza Lapira back to babysitting husband Goldberg duty. There’s some more static between Lapira and Noth, but it lacks energy. She generally disapproves of this episode, which is weird since the episode sets up his private security mercenary as a literal angel; he’s just gotten back from saving Syrian children—and then gets mad because he won’t help Goldberg. Or at least he won’t promise to help Goldberg yet.

The family story has the daughter of a college lover visiting Lorraine Toussaint and then Hayes pestering her for the story. Good acting from Toussaint; maybe it’ll go somewhere, maybe it won’t. It’s more than a bit sensational and soapy. But Toussaint’s real good, so it’s fine. It’s sort of like proto-character development for her. Who knows if it’ll last as long as Hayes’s PTSD.

And then Azizi’s a good foil for Latifah. Most of their scenes together are them bickering and broadly talking about global politics like it’s a pre-9/11 terrorism bit. Guess twenty years was long enough of a moratorium on the stories.

Keesh isn’t great, which is also fine because it’s more like Noth’s having fun than actually playing a part.

Solid suspense direction from John Terlesky and the first momentous cliffhanger I can remember in the series, so we’ll see what comes of it.

I’m not sure if “The Equalizer”’s finding its legs, but it certainly seems to be sturdier than it started the season. Not the biggest swings—eschewing the PTSD arc isn’t great either—but it’s gotten a lot better, especially the weaker elements like Goldberg and Lapira.

Doom Patrol (2019) s01e05 – Paw Patrol

Is Diane Guerrero’s core identity—“Doctor Harrison,” who’s got ice-blue eyes like she’s from the “Star Trek: TOS” Shatner pilot or maybe someone in X-Men—supposed to be the far and away best performance Guerrero gives on the show or is it unintentional? But also the best character for her to play? Because Dr. Harrison doesn’t play well with the rest of the cast—there’s also no explanation for the lack of aging between the present and the late seventies because no on in “Doom Patrol” ages.

I wonder if there’s a note about that decision. “Doom Patrol” makes a lot of little (and big) decisions and it’d be interesting to know how they reached them. In a good way. Because “Doom Patrol” never feels over-produced. There’s a particularly nice fluidity to this episode, which concludes a two-parter about the end of the world—an all-seeing eye is going to wink everything out of existence with a resolution–if comics accurate—is either Grant Morrison trying to make fun of Alan Moore or so desperately try to rip him off Alan Moore has to say his name or think about him or something.

And if it’s just the show… I mean, it’s from Swamp Thing Annual. Like. Come on.

Back to the compliments. The show just brings Alan Tudyk and Timothy Dalton back without any fanfare—Shoshana Sachi is probably the best writer the show’s got—and beautifully integrates them into the already running plot. See, Tudyk and Dalton can’t just let the world end if they’re going to destroy the world in their rivalry to… be rivals.

Dalton’s really good. He’s not as good with Joivan Wade as one would hope—did they not audition Wade from this episode, they should have—but having him back, as literally shoehorned as it may be, is just what the show needs to kick the character development into gear.

Much better performance from Mark Sheppard but it’s only because Sachi doesn’t goof around with the stupid magic stuff they did last episode. It helps immensely.

Brendan Fraser’s getting a little too one note. Especially with the constant cameos. It’s hard to miss him when he won’t go.

And it’s a bummer we’re not going to get Guerrero’s best performance full-time. The end of the episode even double-downs on what we’re in for.

Finally, nice work on April Bowlby. She’s had iffy material for a while, she’s getting better grounding here.

Like I said, “Doom Patrol” is going to be bumpy. This episode’s a bump up.

Doctor Who (2005) s04e02 – The Fires of Pompeii

It’s a big episode of “Doctor Who,” at least in terms of getting some of the show’s time travel “rules.” At least in the current series; I’m not sure about the original (though David Tennant implies there may be different rules between now and then).

When Tennant and Catherine Tate find themselves in Pompeii, the day before the volcano, before—per “Doctor Who” history, which the wife did advise probably shouldn’t be taken as fact—the residents don’t even have a word for volcano. They’ve never seen such a thing; there’s just the mountain.

Unfortunately that bit comes back into play later, for James Moran’s teleplay’s last bit of Romanophilia (but a very British actors playing Romans Romanophilia), which ought to send the episode out on a low point but there manages to be an even more quizzical epilogue. Despite featuring these philosophical arguments between Tennant and Tate, Pompeii really is about the Roman “My So-Called Life” Moran really wants to be writing.

See, after they land and realize it’s almost volcano day, Tennant wants to get out of town… only someone’s sold the TARDIS out of its parking spot. I swear the Doctor didn’t lose the TARDIS every third episode in the first season just so they’d have some inherent drama.

Anyway.

Peter Capaldi is a successful stone merchant who buys the TARDIS because it’s modern art. Tracey Childs is his wife, Francesca Fowler is the teenage daughter who’s in the soothsayer academy, François Pandolfo is the listless son. They have antics and arguments throughout the episode, with everyone apparently thinking Capaldi and Childs are just parental enough for the scenes to work without much writing.

It’s sort of right? More right about Capaldi and Childs being able to carry the scene than the scenes working without the writing. A lot of it is based on the actors’ likability more than anything else.

And it takes them a while to get likable because there’s a whole weird showdown between Tennant, Fowler, and Pompeii’s leading soothsayer, Phil Davis. The scene plays very weird.

But so long as it gets to Tate challenging Tennant, it’s fine. Tate is paying off. Though two good episodes for a companion isn’t a streak or anything yet.

Rather good production values—albeit not the best lighting or effects—on the Pompeii stuff. It feels big enough.

Absolute Beginners (1986, Julien Temple)

Absolute Beginners, the David Bowie song, is so good Absolute Beginners, this Julien Temple directed musical film adaptation of Colin MacInnes’s presumably autobiographical novel would have to be singular to be better than the song.

Okay, singular in a good way.

Because I suppose Beginners, which Temple stages as a Technicolor stage production, is singular in a bad way. The film’s never too far away from its next bad decision, like having Bowie—who also cameos on screen as one of the few people who can actually sing the songs, otherwise it’s unimaginative lip-syncing from leads Patsy Kensit (at least, I hope she’s lip-syncing) and Eddie O’Connell. As far as the dance numbers… well, whoever Temple and cinematographer Oliver Stapleton had running the Steadicam did a great job, but they’re not good. Temple composes all of his shots for what seems to be eventual pan-and-scan, so there’s empty space on half the screen, either on the sides or on one side. Not good for the dance direction. Though I suppose the scale of the production is impressive.

Beginners takes place in the late 1950s, when it was more pragmatic for white London youth to be progressive and live and hang out with the marginalized—because cheap rents, but it still did lead to personal growth. O’Connell likes the working class melting pot, Kensit wants stability so much she’s willing to marry old gay fashion designer James Fox so she can be a kept woman.

Now, Beginners Technicolor dancing melting pot includes a lot of gay folks and O’Connell always seems more anti-homophobic than anti-racist (eventually it’s going to turn out he was just too busy trying to be a teen heartthrob to notice the subtle hints of a white terror organization in his photographs but also because he didn’t talk to his one Black friend, Tony Hippolyte, about Bruce Payne and his sidekicks burning down buildings)—but there’s a lot of digs at Fox for being a gay guy pretending to be straight so he could have a business in 1958. He’s a villain, sure, but… the last thing Beginners ever needs to do is come off more white. Especially once the film decides it’s going to do race riot as musical number.

Other bad choices… Bowie’s accent. I got lost in the other rotting weeds of the film but Bowie’s accent. Wow. It’s a fake American accent looped in, so there’s an added level of unreality to it. It’s such a profound move, I suppose whether or not Bowie is good or bad isn’t an answerable question. Is he effective?

No. But it’s not his fault. They stunt cameoed him in a bad part.

The film’s at its best—so it takes about an hour—in the studio-built streets where O’Donnell, Hippolyte, and Payne collide for the big race riot musical number third act. Beginners has four editors, but only the one or ones who worked on the third act managed to establish any kind of pace. Otherwise it’s jerky, with O’Donnell’s unwelcome narration popping in. At first I thought it was Bowie doing it from old age, which would bring some personality.

Instead, it’s O’Donnell, who’s absent personality, which it turns out isn’t the worst. Kensit’s got some personality but it’s all bad. Bowie doesn’t have any because of the dubbing, though Anita Morris isn’t dubbed and she doesn’t have any either. Lionel Blair does but it’s potentially problematic personality. Steven Berkoff’s cameo as a British Hitler wannabe is easily Temple’s best direction of an actor in the film, which is certainly something.

The Sade cameo—she sings a number—is easily the best musical bit outside the opening and closing use of Absolute Beginners, though the finale action is so bad it would’ve been better to hold the song for the end credits.

Doctor Who (2005) s03e13 – Last of the Time Lords

So, when I started watching “Doctor Who,” I didn’t have any idea the title is a joke. Or can be a joke. Even though I’ve known about the show most of my life… didn’t realize it.

Now, is the “Time Lord” thing… is the “Lord” part really important? I don’t think I’ve ever seen heavy Christ symbolism in a British production before—Life of Brian aside—and it’s really weird to see. It’s also bad because it invalidates the very idea of Freema Agyeman getting anything to do with the show.

Given John Simm at one point mocks her for not being Billie Piper to her face… you’d think she’d get to something more than just blow smoke up David Tennant’s derrière. But no, it turns out smoke blowing is Agyeman’s whole job. What’s the point of having a stronger character and a better performance if the show’s going to shaft you even more than it shafted your predecessor. But with an added, frequently iffy racial element.

Tennant does end up having a good moment in the episode, as he gets yet another showdown with Simm—I don’t even remember if it’s the final showdown—the episode’s got a lot of action and a lot of running and a lot of walking and a lot of showdowns.

And farewells. And surprises. It’s never anywhere near as cute as it ought to be. Tennant, despite that one good moment—and not counting when he’s only doing a voice performance—doesn’t really get much to do in the big season finale. Agyeman gets less, but she got more throughout the season. Sometimes. Even with her part so decimated, when the episode ends with Tennant in the same spot as last season… they should’ve just had him waking up and taking a shower. At least show what the TARDIS living quarters look like.

And Agyeman’s send-off is awkwarder than it ought to be. Especially considering how strong she started. It all feels like a defeat.

Doctor Who (2005) s03e12 – The Sound of Drums

It’s still got Russell T. Davies but there’s a director change since last episode. Now it’s Colin Teague, which turns out fine because Teague’s the best director they’ve had all season except maybe Hettie Macdonald. But as far as doing straightforward “Doctor Who” successfully—especially since it’s a modern day episode—Teague excels.

Though not even Teague can handle the rough opening, which has David Tennant, Freema Agyeman, and John Barrowman getting out of last episode’s big deal cliffhanger with absolutely no difficulty because sonic screwdriver.

And then we get a really fast information dump catching the viewer up on what the characters are quickly realizing—all season has been just four days in Agyeman’s regular timeline, culminating in an election of a new prime minister (John Simm), who has quite the history and bone to pick with Tennant. More, everything conspiring against Tennant and Agyeman has been for this Simm related plot. It even gives a way to redeem Agyeman’s duplicitous mom, Adjoa Andoh, while again using sister Gugu Mbatha-Raw as a damsel in distress. Only this time she doesn’t get to be second sidekick, she’s just… damsel in distress.

Because there’s a real danger—Simm—who’s got everyone in his reach and has no qualms about getting rid of his enemies. He even gets back up from his wife, Alexandra Moen, who seems reservedly horrified at his behavior. But Simm’s got all the power.

Moen’s good. It’s a weird, quiet part, but she’s good.

And Simm’s great. Especially once his master plan—getting to do a first contact meeting with some aliens, bringing new glory to the United Kingdom—is in full motion. Because there’s something off about those aliens, which are little flying globes—Tennant’s never even heard of them, which is impossible.

Colin Stinton plays the U.S. president, who doesn’t want the British getting all the history glory. Stinton’s not a good stunt cast. It’s a miss.

But everything else is a hit. Until the last act when it seems like a kids’ TV show as Simm rules from on high in his SHIELD helicarrier, which is a particularly silly turn but whatever.

The last act gets silly, but the character drama for Agyeman in particular… it’s good.

Ever After (1998, Andy Tennant)

Ever After imagines the Cinderella story as a vaguely historically accurate period drama. It’s desperate to present itself as “realistic,” including bookends with special guest star Jeanne Moreau adding some actual French to the film, which is set in France and acted by Americans or Britons of various origin. Moreau’s got a scene and a couple voiceovers; she’s telling the Brothers Grimm they got the Cinderella story wrong and she’s going to tell them the whole truth. No singing birds, just Leonardo da Vinci saving the day.

Until the ball, which is its own thing, Ever After is lead Drew Barrymore suffering or falling in love with Prince of France Dougray Scott. She’s a progressive, he’s a royalist. She challenges him though; he’s never met a noble like her. Little does he know she’s not nobility—it’s unclear why not, given her widower father (Jeroen Krabbé) married a widowed Baroness, Angelica Huston. Of course, Krabbé drops dead—in the flashback—the day after he brings Huston and her two daughters back home with him, leaving his wife without a husband and Barrymore (or the kid who plays young Barrymore) without a father. Huston predictably becomes an evil step-monster immediately and puts Barrymore to work around the house while Huston and daughters Megan Dodds and Melanie Lynskey live it up. Relatively speaking. When the film gets to the main action, Huston’s run up a bunch of debt and is selling off servants and furniture to maintain her lifestyle. All she’s got to do is marry Dodds off—Lynskey’s ostensibly too heavy to deserve a man’s attentions (Lynskey being too “heavy” is only slightly less realistic than the da Vinci stuff)—and it will have been worth it.

Little does she realize Barrymore is sneaking off to seduce Scott with her mind and whatnot.

Huston’s great, Dodds’s great, Lynskey’s great. They’re in this black comedy, set aside from the rest of Ever After, which is de facto about Barrymore showing more agency than any of the other women in… well, existence at the time, and Scott learning maybe he needs to be less of a thoughtless snob. It’s not until the dance, when the film heads into the third act—the plotting is fine, it’s the actual scenes where the problems arise—and, of course, the film avoiding the hell out of Barrymore just when it should be focusing on her.

But that dance. It reveals how little Ever After has done to actually establish Barrymore as protagonist; she’s just the victim and straight man in Huston’s story. Sporting a da Vinci—designed dress (you’d think he’d do better, he thinks some angel wings and glitter makeup are enough), Barrymore shows up at the Ball, apparently has a moment of apprehension, which makes no sense for the character in general or specifically in the scene, and then everything goes to crap so there can be a third act redemption arc for characters needing one. Along with some reveals; one of them raises more questions than it answers. Ever After doesn’t have a good script. Susannah Grant, director Tennant, and Rick Parks turn in an entirely mediocre screenplay, even if you forgive all the “real” nonsense.

Tennant, as a director, does lots of sweeping crane shots, playing up the location shooting, and trying to make it into a grounded fairy tale romance. An intellectualized one, where Barrymore’s peasant pretending to be royalty is able to show Scott how stupid he’s been about his life. Unfortunately it has the result of making Scott the protagonist in the third act, which is a bit of a slight to Barrymore, given it’s supposed to be her story. Her “real” story, which is fake. Either Ever After started with the gimmick of a realistic Cinderella adaptation or it added it later. A better director might do some magical realism, but Ever After doesn’t have much in the way of ambition. Not given how little it actually gives Barrymore to do. It gives her a lot of action, but not a lot of acting.

She’s fine, though. Better at some points than others. Same goes for Scott, who’s never quite charming enough to be a Prince Charming, but he’s likable. Neither of them can compare to the supporting cast; Huston’s amazing, Judy Parfitt’s really good as Scott’s queen mother, Richard O’Brien has a great bit part as a rich lech after Barrymore.

Nice enough score from George Fenton. He plays up the fairy tale romance, which matches all of Tennant’s big shots. Shame Tennant’s big shots are almost always poorly conceived so Fenton’s music is always going on about fifteen seconds too long.

After some genuine drama in the third act, the wrap-up is way too pat. But Ever After is still a lot more successful than you’d think from the tacky prologues.

Alligator (1980, Lewis Teague)

Alligator has quite a few things going for it. Lead Robert Forster is great, Robin Riker’s solid as his love interest and sidekick, John Sayles’s script has some excellent moments in it (some of them just being the attention he pays to Forster and Riker’s relationship), the giant alligator effects are solid, Larry Bock and Ron Medico’s editing is outstanding. Unfortunately, director Teague is a bit of a liability. He doesn’t direct actors well, he doesn’t set up shots well, he doesn’t understand scale when it comes to the giant alligator. The film is also shooting Los Angeles for Chicago, which comes off as pointless since there’s nothing Chicago about the film except the casting. They don’t even have second unit shots of Chicago. They shoot second unit against the mountains. Teague’s lack of ability and imagination with the budget hurt immensely.

Other problems–let’s just get them out of the way now–include the score and the plotting. Craig Huxley’s score rip-offs the Jaws theme way too obviously, but then the rest of the music is bad too so it’s not like it should be a surprise. Joseph Mangine’s photography is generally competent–especially given the amount of sewer shots–but lacks personality. Even though Forster and Riker have personality, Alligator doesn’t.

There’s some nice supporting work from Henry Silva as the absurd great white hunter. He comes off the best besides the leads. Dean Jagger is pretty lame as the evil industrialist who unintentionally creates the giant alligator because he’s an evil industrialist. I’m assuming Jagger’s part was supposed to be humorous, but Teague doesn’t have an ear for comedy. At all.

Michael V. Gazzo should be better as Forster’s boss. The only thing Teague does reliably is direct Gazzo’s scenes worse than anything else in the film. Perry Lang’s okay as a young beat cop, Bart Braverman’s okay as the noisy reporter. If the film just had more perfectly okay performances… well, it would still have all the problems Teague brings to it.

It’s hard to dislike Alligator, but only because of Forster, Riker and the film’s somewhat reluctant concentration on their relationship. Oh, and Silva. Silva’s really amusing. And you want to like Gazzo’s performance. It’s just not well-directed enough to get over the budget issues and it’s not well-written enough to get over the directing issues and it’s not well-produced enough to get over any of it. It’s all right. For a giant alligator movie set in Chicago but filmed in Los Angeles without enough good supporting performances, tepid direction and a too wonky script, Alligator is all right.

2/4★★

CREDITS

Directed by Lewis Teague; screenplay by John Sayles, based on a story by Sayles and Frank Ray Perilli; director of photography, Joseph Mangine; edited by Larry Bock and Ron Medico; music by Craig Huxley; produced by Brandon Chase and Mark L. Rosen; released by Group 1 International Distribution Organization Ltd.

Starring Robert Forster (David Madison), Robin Riker (Dr. Marisa Kendall), Michael V. Gazzo (Chief Clark), Dean Jagger (Slade), Jack Carter (Mayor), Sydney Lassick (Gutchel), James Ingersoll (Helms), Bart Braverman (Kemp), Perry Lang (Kelly) and Henry Silva (Brock).

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Godzilla vs. Megaguirus (2000, Tezuka Masaaki)

To say Godzilla vs. Megaguirus is good for a while might be a stretch, but it’s definitely okay for a while. It’s a Godzilla movie with a lot of CG, whether it’s the giant monster itself swimming or the millions of prehistoric dragonflies out to sting him. Director Masaaki tries hard to integrate various effects styles, all with a certain degree of competence. This perceived competence makes it easier to endure the film’s lesser elements, like charmless lead Tanaka Misato.

Megaguirus takes itself–and its characters–way too seriously. Whether it’s Tanaka with her Ahab complex or Ibu Masatô’s politician with a secret, the film tries to give undesirable depth to its already unlikable cast. As the likable guy–the rogue computer programming with an inevitable crush on Tanka–Tanihara Shôsuke is actually sort of likable. Amid all the angst and seriousness, Tanihara seems like he’s at least enjoying being in a Godzilla movie. Him and one of the people running away from Godzilla later on. She doesn’t get a line, of course, but from her expression, you can tell she’s trying.

Then the bad guy, Megaguirus, shows up. It’s a giant bug. It’s a terrible design, terribly executed in the special effects, whether it’s the giant bug or how the giant bug flies around. Immediately upon its arrival, Masaaki’s built-up goodwill is gone. It just gets worse from then on, with terribly stylized fight scenes, bad mattes, ineptly constructed mattes, terrible music. For over halfway, Megaguirus is dumb but not incompetent, in fact it appears like it might be downright ambitious in creating a 21st century Godzilla.

But it isn’t. It’s a lame wreck of a film. It doesn’t help Tanaka manages to get more annoying in the finale. It probably doesn’t hurt much–after Tanihara’s inexplicable striptease of silly bandages, nothing could bring Megaguirus back from the brink.

Godzilla: Tokyo S.O.S. (2003, Tezuka Masaaki)

While it doesn’t make the film any better, one sort of has to have seen the original Mothra to truly appreciate Godzilla: Tokyo S.O.S.. Why? Because director Tezuka keeps that film’s weird Christian imagery. Pretty sure the living Barbie dolls who deliver messages for a giant moth isn’t Christian, but dang if it isn’t effective for them to proselytize while standing in front of a cross.

Sadly, Tezuka doesn’t have any fun with their scale. It’d have been awesome if the cross were made out of a couple straws in a takeout bag or something.

Even more sadly… there’s nothing awesome in Tokyo. In fact, it’s often boring. Four giant monsters, one giant robot, nothing interesting going on. Some of the effects composites are great, most are not. Tezuka makes it worth with some terrible composition for his human actors too. He has one unpredictable moment in the entire film and he degrades it with a cheap reaction shot.

He and cowriter Yokotani Masahiro set up some interesting character relationships–lead Kaneko Noboru has a female admirer, a rival in the hot shot Mechagodzilla pilot and then some extended family issues–and do nothing with them. Kaneko isn’t great, but he’s not bad. Yoshioka Miho’s actually quite good in her three scenes as his admirer. Tezuka simply doesn’t know how to make a good movie, not with action, not with narrative.

Another sore point is Ohshima Michiru’s lame score.

Tokyo isn’t particularly horrific or atrocious, but it’s insufferably lame.