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Poor Things (2023)
Too much theatre, not enough film
A sublime first 30 minutes, but the thing is too set bound. The artifice of the central character is engaging enough but to then place scene after scene within mediocre theatrical backdrops negates the invention and vision of writer Alasdair Gray, and leaves the viewer wondering what could have been had the eccentric tale been filmed in natural environments which would have enhanced the peculiarity of the humans on display to greater effect - instead the whole film is one step removed to a place of theatricality instead of the surrealist gem that it had the potential to be.
So many scenes seem to overstay their welcome, shot in a repetitive rehash of those preceding them, too many interiors and the exteriors that are on display are so obviously studio bound lacking the grandeur of a transcendent make believe world exemplified in films such as Sweeney Todd, where the masterly hammer and nails backdrops only add to the splendour of the whole.
The Day of the Locust (1975)
Wow !
Hugely underrated film and the obvious precursor to and recaller of so much else - you can see Mulholland Drive in here, Apocalypse Now, Sunset Blvd, In A Lonely Place, etc etc. The occasional, but vital Hollywood evaluation of its own Frankenstein monster, a reckoning of form vs substance - the Karen Black character, the 'dumb blonde' yet overly-powerful femme fatale temptress, resonant as an archetype since prehistory, the Goya obsessed artist and visionary used and abused by the talent free money men.
Small tragedies in so many of the characters, an outdated Vaudevillian transmuted to snake-oil salesman, corrupted starlets, creatives subsumed by commerce, the Munchkin come chancer. The horrors of that conveyor belt West Coast town, spitting out the many, embracing the very few. Showbiz, industry, profit margins.
The upcoming Nazi surge prefigured in Donald Sutherland's bulging eyes and dubious moustache, segueing into mob hysteria, baying for blood as a fast alternative to screen worship.
And 'Homer Simpson', the asexual killer, taken up as a moniker for the all-American cartoon Dad - well, that's another story........
The Mad Doctor (1940)
Under appreciated cinematic Noir.
Strangely lacklustre reviews to this quite novel 1940 Noir. Insightful, knowledgeable scripting, wonderful schwartz photography from Ted Tetzlaff. A sinister Rathbone undulating between predator and smitten, with both his male accomplice and the full lips of Ellen Drew on the way to more resolute acting ahead. The opening 10 minute rainstorm introduces the maelstrom perfectly and it continues at a good pace, with a variety of well edited sequences adding to the narrative flow, the high night time shots above 5th Avenue conjured well by subtle SFX. The ubiquitous Ben Hecht had a hand in the screenplay, alongside Harold J. Green, and it shows in this robust, ballsy psycho-drama.
The Long Arm (1956)
Wonderful visuals undermined by an antiquated priggish elitism.
Stunning cinematography by Gordon Dines and fine directive variety is let down by a top down police procedural plot centering around a stale, elitist core of characters, somehow still espousing attitudes of the 1890's in late 1950's Britain.
It is a distinct relief when the story briefly veers into the street life of the era, away from the plummy inanity of the office bound protagonists - Jack Hawkins referring to the unseen masses as 'them', the polemic of Empire 101 still dominating the administrative and ruling classes of this era and sewn into the poker straight characters and asexual women strewn throughout the cinema of mid-century Britannia.
The Royal Festival Hall as a nod to modernism is not enough to blunt the appalling military and public school attitudes still dominating populist cinema at this point in time. The leather driving gloves of the James Mason school of acting prevalent in so much inflexible dross of post-war British film had thankfully just a few years left to run its course.
Robin Williams: Come Inside My Mind (2018)
Orson in absentia
A Hallmark card effort, truly awful - how such a unique individual could be eulogised in a completely sackless manner is staggering. If you like your movies in familiar paint by numbers chronology, lacking any real depth, analysis or zeal, then this is for you. The man is deserving of far better - and hopefully that time will come. Sure, you get the anecdotes a plenty - but no where in the frames and composition of those two hours does it come close to any true revelation or reflection of his essence, his use of language, speed of thought and the sadness that ran throughout his days. No where is he echoed in those tailored segments, no where is he seen.