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The Review Archive

(Being an assessment of all pre-2003 films I watch.)

Princess Mononoke:
(Hayao Miyazaki, 1999)

Often described as the most epic animated film ever made, Mononoke certainly lives up to its reputation: it's grand in visual and dramatic scale, chock-full of happenings, and ambitious in thematic depth. It's also surprisingly even-handed in its exploration of the nature-versus-industry conflict, refusing to clearly define lines of good and evil. That being said, the fact remains that there are disquieting similarities to another of Miyazaki's films: Nausicaa of the Valley of Wind. Both deal with young (and royal) protagonists on a difficult quest; both are concerned with ecological imbalance; both feature large-scale battle scenes near the ending; both feature gigantic demons threatening to destroy everything; both feature... you get the point. Does this repetition of elements truly hurt Mononoke? Not really ... but they make for a less surprising experience than, say, Spirited Away, and keep it from true greatness.

***
^{(Highly recommended)}

In The Mood for Love:
(Wong Kar-Wai, 2001)

The most clearly defined and stylistically focused of Wong Kar-Wai's films, it's pure, exquisite nostalgia in cinematic form. And more specifically, it's an evocation of longing for lost moments in time: moments as clearly defined as crossing a woman on a rainy evening in a narrow staircase, or as broad as several months of living in an apartment house in Hong Kong, in 1962. While WKW is clearly the driving visionary behind In The Mood for Love, credit must be given to cinematographer Christopher Doyle, whose cameras are the very definition of elegance, and to the two main actors (Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung), who underplay their characters sublimely.

***
^{(A must-see.)}

The Kid with the Golden Helmet:
(Cheh Chang, 1979)

A short 65-minute offering from the master of '70s kung-fu that's light on story and character but crammed with action. The fights come early and come often, and although unexceptional, entertain through clever use of props, and through the distinctiveness of the individual combatants (indeed, most of the characters are brightly drawn and memorable). The film may not have the operatic melodrama of Chang's own Golden Swallow, or the colorful good-nature of Chia-Liang Liu's kung-fu epics, but it's fast-paced and entertaining enough to warrant a recommendation for fans of the genre.

**
^{(Worth a look to genre fans.)}

Happy Together:
(Wong Kar-Wai, 1997)

[Unorganized thoughts...]

A brash, vivid film, whose exploration of a "relationship" instead of a "gay relationship" gives it refreshing candor. Typically breathtaking work from the creative team: Doyle's expressive camerawork, William Chang's rhythmic editing and romantic settings, Kar-Wai's flawless musical selection. The acting is of a high caliber too -- but with Tony Leung and Leslie Chang in the main roles, how could it not be? Some critics decried the repetitive bickering of the couple during the film's first half; I enjoyed the subtle reversals and psychological mind games. No one makes films like WKW, and this is at once one of his most vivid and most accessible. Highly recommended.

***
^{(Highly recommended)}

Sherlock Jr.:
(Buster Keaton, 1924)

Another wonderful 45-minute gem from the annals of silent cinema. Each individual sequence is exceptional: the crime scene surprisingly tense; the journey through the worlds of film genuinely funny; and the extended, climactic chase scene often wildly suspenseful. Of course, it also helps that these disparate sequences are strung together by a compelling plot, and tethered by the unequaled presence of Buster Keaton, who combines physical comedy and self-effacing pathos with equal deftness. This is pure cinema, almost childlike in its simplicity yet universal in its appeal.

***
^{(Highly recommended)}

Runaway Train:
(Andrei Konchalovski, 1985)

As gritty as the titular behemoth, this Akira Kurosawa-scripted thriller mixes the existential and the adrenal, with generally successful results. Our attention is caught by Jon Voight and Eric Roberts, whose excellent performances as unhinged and increasingly desperate escaped convicts anchor and drive the film. Our attention is held by Konchalovski's strong, workmanlike direction, and by the technical team, which adopts aesthetics unconventional but bleakly beautiful. Whether the film is, as some argue, a genuinely profound meditation, or whether it simply stands as an above-average action film is still in question -- but I would be lying if I said I didn't feel something stir during those last, almost ethereal moments.

***
^{(Recommended)}

Five Deadly Venoms:
(Cheh Chang, 1978)

A disappointment, considering its reputation and pedigree. That it's among the most ambitious and narratively accomplished of Cheh Chang's features is undeniable -- the plot is satisfingly convoluted and the characters memorable -- but it lacks the inventive spark and manic energy that infuse the greatest Shaw features. Indeed, the pacing is slow, the middle muddled, and the ending abrupt, and the fact that its 96 minute running time seems to stretch on for quite a bit longer is testament enough to its shortcomings.  

**
^{(Worth a look, but not much more)}

Buenos Aires Zero Degree:
(Pung Leung-Kwan, 1999)

 Wonderful meta-documentary about the making of Wong Kar-Wai's Happy Together. Intersplicing (sometimes seamlessly) unused scenes, interviews, and footage of the filmmaking team revisiting the shooting locations, director Pung Leung-Kwan provides a remarkable look at unconventional creative processes. What makes Zero Degree more than just a glorified DVD feature, however, is that it is modeled after the WKW's film itself; following a non-linear, often wandering path, featuring intoxicating montages and unconventional camerawork, and generally relying on mood to drive home its points, it presents true artistry. Perhaps too oblique for the casual viewer, it is a must-see for fans of the director or film. Highly recommended.

***
^{(Highly recommended)}

The Werckmeister Harmonies:
(Bela Tarr, 2000)

Tonal perfection and masterful camerawork aside, Bela Tarr's rumination on politics, life, and the cosmos is just too vague to justify its demands on the audience. There is perhaps an hour of startling filmmaking to be found in the 124-minute film -- the rest, while pretty, struck me as vacuous.

**
^{(Worth a look)}

Flowers of Shanghai:
(Hou Hsiao-Hsien, 1998)

Hou Hsiao-Hsien's anthropological look at the lives of several brothel workers in 1800s Shanghai is unique cinema. Repeating imagery and music and confining the film to saturated interiors, the director evokes the ornate monotony of their lives, and creates a film at once intoxicating and cold, an unusual experience that, while limited in appeal, is enormously sophisticated. 

***
^{(Recommended)}

Throne of Blood:
(Akira Kurosawa, 1957)

The best epics paint complex ideas in broad strokes; Kurosawa's adaptation of Macbeth, while sensationally stylized and staged with a master's eye for space and geography, tells a fairly simple story of ambition and tragedy. Worth seeing for Mifune's volcanic performance and the bleak, windswept locations, but it doesn't reach the heights of the director's masterpieces.

***
^{(Highly Recommended)}

The Professionnal:
(Georges Lautner, 1981)

Gleefully amoral action film, in which debonair Europeans go around killing, maiming, and generally misbehaving with smiles on their faces. It gets off to a rocky start, with dubious acting and weak production values, but the second and third acts feature increasingly exciting set-pieces (including a gritty, old-school car chase). Combined with surprisingly kinky sex and a lyrical Ennio Morricone score, it's a minor cult classic.

***
^{(Recommended)}

The Frighteners:
(Peter Jackson, 1996)

[This review refers to the 122-minute Director's Cut.]

A surprisingly effective mix of comedy, gore and murder-mystery. Granted, the story and acting range from good to awkward (a pitch-perfect Jeffrey Combs notwithstanding), but Jackson's direction showcases an uncanny ability to stage memorable sequences (be they action or exposition), and brings life to the whole affair. All in all, not something to write home about, but good entertainment.

**
^{(Recommended)}

After Hours:
(Martin Scorsese, 1985)

After Hours is an expression closely associated to jazz; that Martin Scorsese’s dark comedy works by the rules of that genre seems fitting.

Paul, dismally bored by his job, meets Marcy in a New York café, and gets invited to her pad in SoHo. An auspicious beginning to a story that’s anything but: over the course of the next two-odd hours, the everyman gets tangled in a web that includes a suicide, a lusty artist and the repeated theft of her sculptures, a clogged bathroom, a forced haircut, a taxi driver with a grudge, several unfortunate sets of coincidences, and a wild mob led by a madwoman in an ice-cream truck.

The screenplay, credited to Joseph Minion and what I can only assume was a bad batch of mushrooms, keeps its feet on the ground: events segue fluidly, the mounting hysteria of the central character is well-delineated, and even the most deviant passages remain believable. Also impressive is that the structure feels improvised, and sometimes almost musical: motifs of character and setting appear, disappear, and reappear with rythmic randomness, to humorous and sometimes disturbing effect.

Scorsese uses this quality to its fullest. His direction, freed from the violence of his usual subjects, is canny and playful, with elaborate camerawork (courtesy of Michael Ballhaus) and big-band musical cues (courtesy of Howard Shore) coming together in black, amusing moments. He also coaxes good performances from his actors. As Paul, Griffin Dunne is present in practically every scene, and makes a convincing everyman, and the large supporting cast, ranging from Rosanna Arquette to Cheech Marin, meshes well.

So then, why is After Hours one of Martin’s lesser films, and seldom mentioned? Because, in spite of the praise above, it has little heft or aftertaste. The twisty script ultimately serves as little more than a reminder of how odd nights can get – a pat and dissapointing conclusion that leaves little food for thought. And while Scorsese’s direction is technically flawless, it lacks grit and personal passion and fails to conjure the magic of his greatest films.

After Hours is solid entertainment, with the brisk pace and unfortunate series of events leaving little room for boredom. But as Martin Scorsese films go, it’s something of a minor work. Recommended with reservations.

**
^{(Worth a look)}