Back in 2004, director Steven Spielberg decided the time was ripe to remake the granddaddy of all hostile alien narratives, H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds, the 1898 serialized novel telling the story of a Martian invasion as seen through the eyes of an unnamed narrator based in Surrey and his younger brother, based in London. This would be quite a departure for
As with any narrative art form, crafting a satisfying ending to movie is a tricky proposition. Even the strongest works can fall victim to a last few minutes that don’t quite follow through on the promise that preceded them. And while I don’t think a weak ending totally ruins a good movie, it certainly can leave you feeling a bit cheated. One such example, for me, at least, involves
Mise-en-scène. Ring a bell? Unless you speak French, probably not. For a good portion of my formative years I was in the same boat–a sackful of mise-en-scène could’ve dropped from the sky, landed atop my head and still I would have been none the wiser. This changed my senior year of college. Somehow, despite drinking a goodly portion of all the Goebel® and Natural
Of this blog’s massive readership (19 and counting!) I’d hazard a guess that no more than two of you would have the slightest idea who I’m referring to when I drop the name John Frankenheimer. Which is quite amazing considering he was widely considered an auteur, his direction of four classics in succession back in the early 1960s–Birdman of Alcatraz (1962), The Manchurian Candidate (1962), Seven Days in May (1964) and The Train (1964)–a singular run.
Back in late July 1996, my fiancé and I made the short walk from our apartment to the middling, yet convenient, 8-screen Webster Place Theaters in Chicago’s Lincoln Park to check out a flick that, since its release, had garnered wildly contrasting reviews. Entertainment Weekly felt it “blithely moronic,” while The San Francisco Chronicle called it “fair, at best.” Yet, back here in Chicago, the world’s most influential film critics (according to a June
A well-regarded writer for both TV and movies in the 70s–his curriculum vitae includes The Carol Burnett Show and Mel Brooks’ 1977 Hitchcock parody High Anxiety (in which he cameoed as Dennis, the high-strung bellboy), Barry Levinson made the leap into the director’s chair with 1982’s Diner, a semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story set in late-50s Baltimore.
Just took Mark Caro’s 2015 Test Your Oscar Knowledge quiz and bombed it to the tune of 3/20 or 15%. Can you do better? I hope so. On second thought, maybe I should be proud of my pathetic showing. After all, a conflicted film snob isn’t conflicted about the Academy Awards. It is, after all, nothing more than a popularity contest unfairly influenced by studio campaigning (cinema’s version of Citizens United v. FEC) and voted on by white (93%), male (76%) and geezerly (average age: 63) members. Unless, of course, they can’t be bothered to fill out a ballot, thus leaving the picks to their secretary personal assistants.
The other night my 12-year-old son roped me into the first 30 minutes of Return of the Jedi, director Richard Marquand‘s 1983 conclusion to George Lucas’ original Star Wars trilogy.
And while I could dedicate an entire post to the movie’s shortcomings (one word: Ewoks), I only want to mention a quick moment as a springboard to another topic altogether, a moment that will forever have me and my kids nodding at each other knowingly.
In the film Diner, writer-director Barry Levinson’s 1982 comedy about a group of friends in late-50s Baltimore, the character Edward “Eddie” Simmons (Steve Guttenberg) proves to be such a rabid Colts fan that, before he commits to walking down the aisle with his fiancé, he insists she pass a comprehensive examination on the history of Baltimore’s professional
Have you seen 2012’s The Grey? My guess is that you haven’t, but for those not sure, maybe this’ll help jog your memory: it’s the one with Liam Neeson and the wolves.
If you did see it, I’m going to assume that you probably didn’t like it. Because that seems to be the standard answer–most of those I’ve queried have given me some variation on “Actually…I though it sucked.”