31 Days of Halloween: I Married a Witch

1942,  René Clair (And Then There Were None) -- download

Of note, as we watch one or more episodes of "Below" or "Carrie" every night, until they are gone, I notice I am sacrificing movies. I don't want to write about each episode, as the whole (conclusion?) will be the proper writeup, but... I will probably plug in some fillers later on the month, but admittedly I don't have as many choices The Peanut Gallery is not interested in this year.

Cute. Made by a French film director during his American exile during WWII, this movie is a comic fantasy about two burned-at-the-stake witches from Salem who come back to "life" when the tree that has entombed them is struck by lighting. The witches have laid a curse upon the family who condemned them, causing all the men in the family line to marry/love "the wrong woman". They, Jennifer (Veronica Lake, This Gun for Hire; interesting, though her name is common place in "classic black & white movies" I could look at her list and identify a single one that stood out) and her father Daniel (Cecil Kellaway, Harvey), come out of the tree as Wallace Wooley (Frederic March, Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde), a man set upon becoming Governor, is about to marry Estelle (Susan Hayward, The Fighting Seabees), though its very apparent that she is only doing this because her father, backing Wooley's campaign, demands it of her. Jennifer immediately sets about ruining his life, that is, until her love potion backfires.

Screwball comedy. Kent's been wading through the tag, much to my surprise, so he has a better handle on what makes one screwball, but in this one, its because Jennifer is constantly wandering around making Wally's life worse, even when she shifts gears for him instead of against him. Apparently Lake and March did not get along on set, her going so far to fiddle with his faddle under the table when the cameras were waist up. He was 25 years her senior then but didn't appreciate this new upstart actor playing games with him. But to be honest, she was absolutely stunning, and really into this oddball, and more than a little naughty, role.

So, yeah Jennifer and her father emerge from the tree as wisps of smoke. While Daddy sets about causing chaos at the "Pilgrim Hotel", Jennifer uses it as an opportunity to become a once again fully formed female, who Wally rushes into the burning hotel to save. She's naked, but they find a decent fur coat and leather boots, and escape out a door just before the place collapses. She's not exactly skilled in what it means to be human, but Wally isn't noticing.

The fire actually propels campaign hopefuls forward, but kind of ruins his chances of getting married, as Jennifer ends up in his bed over night. She wants him to fall for her, he still loves his fiancé, I guess, sort of? She's a bit of a shrew. But Daniel reminds Jennifer of love potions, exceeeept, she gets bonked on the head by a painting and accidentally quaffs down the cold refreshing ... love potion. So, now Jennifer may still be an Evil Witch set upon destroying humanity, except she really loves Wally. Well, Magically Really. 

Once she has successfully ruined any chances of Wally marrying Estelle, which also ruins any chance of him becoming Governor, she admits she's a witch and proves it by magic-ing up a complete landslide win -- the opposition doesn't even vote for themself. Except Daddy isn't happy with that and takes away her powers; she should not be telling the Mortals what she really is. 

The couple tries to escape but their cab driver has been replaced by Daddy, who flies the cab, and then slams it into the tree, killing the two of them (dark!). A grieving Wally returns Jennifer's body to the country inn where the two witches first spied Wallace and Jennifer revives her body, which is returned to full witchy power, and traps Daddy in a bottle of whiskey.

Some time later we see the happy family, three kids, one of whom is starting to show her own witchy powers.  And Daddy is still in the whiskey bottle, which is corked under a heavy duty weight and behind a pad-locked door over the mantle. The End.

I wonder what the state of Witches of Halloween was during the making of this movie. I mean, The Wizard of Oz was only a few years ago, and the classic image of the green faced hag in a pointy hat must have made many a costume party in years following, but there is nary a trope in this movie, but for spells and riding a broom. Part of me also wonders whether this movie, and the novel from which it was based, was inspiration for the later TV series Bewitched.

KWIF(3): City Hunter (+2)

 KWIF=Kent's "Week" in Film. I realized this past weekend that I had watched almost a film a day this August, so the goal has become to cram the last bunch of films in on the final couple of days. These are numbers 29 through 31.

This Week:
City Hunter (2024, d. Yuichi Satoh - netflix)
Seven Psychopaths (2012, d. Martin McDonagh - tubi)
What's Up, Doc? (1972, d. Peter Bogdanovich - tubi)

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After watching Jackie Chan in City Hunter, I started to inquire into what other City Hunter adaptations were out there. I had no idea there was a Netflix-produced mid-budget feature released just two years ago... but then again, why would I? Anime/manga properties are not my wheelhouse by any means, so why would I be paying attention to adaptations of them? 

Anyway, here we have a modern take on the franchise which finds Ryohei Suzuki playing horny PI Ryo Saeba.  We're introduced to him via a hero shot of him standing on a rooftop..but with binoculars ogling girls in bikinis at the bath house across the way. Acting as a sort of origin point for the City Hunter story (as so many comic or cartoon adaptations like to do, rather than, you know, just present a new adventure of this already well-established character), Ryo's partner, Makimura is killed as fallout from a case they are working on together.  Makimura asks Ryo to look out for his sister, Kaori (Misato Morita).  Makimura's death relates not just to the missing persons case they were working on, but a larger story about an experimental drug that gives its users super strength and agility, but also extreme rage, temporarily, before killing them, and it's being tested on street kids. This is all the product of an international criminal cartel called The Union, and, the story relates, improbably, to Kaori origins as Makimura's adopted sister as well (this is really a nothing thread and did not need to exist).

The film jostles back and forth between being a goofy, horny comedy, with Suzuki ably letting his freak-flag-fly (this is after all the star of Hentai Kamen: The Forbidden Superhero, look it up...or better yet, don't?) and heavy melodrama, and the two do not mesh well together.  It feels so emulative of the the last 20 years of comic book cinema, all the hoary overused tropes are there...and it would be one thing if this adaptation of City Hunter were lampooning such tropes, maintaining a consistent comedic bent throughout, but it does not. So when a depressed and angry Kaori starts following Ryo around the darker edges of Tokyo society, he winds up bringing her into his world...which involves showing him performing a "Mokkari Dance" on stage, a hyper, horny male burlesque show of sorts. While the Chan version of City Hunter may have not been the purest adaptation either, it at least found a tone and stuck to it.

Suzuki is perhaps the ideal Ryo, a very, very good looking guy with charm to spare who can easily flip the switch to salivating pervert and flip it off again to look the dashing hero and very ably perform some really fun choreographed fight sequences (one sequence finds him fighting an assassin while also fending off tranq darts fired by a sniper, all taking place at a cosplay modelling show, while having a giant stuffed horse head mounted on his crotch... it's the right tone, loaded with inventiveness and humour that most of the other fairly well-done action set-pieces lack, instead making them too straight.)

Also unlike the Chan movie, the women of this adaptation are a little less capable, a little more damsels...maybe not in distress, but also not the ass kickers we saw in the Hong Kong adaptation. It is pretty funny though that the only women in this movie that seem legit charmed by Ryo are the many, many sex workers he obviously frequents (and who are paid to be charmed). Every other woman seems somewhat put off by him, if not immediately upon meeting him then soon thereafter.

The things that work here really work, and when they're working it's quite a lot of fun. But whenever it falls into the trap of trying to be "real" it just comes undone. A sequel has been greenlit, which I hope means that they get a second chance to try harder at making this a full-on action-comedy series about a horny detective and the women who tolerate him because he's so damn capable.

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Martin McDonagh is primarily a well-regarded Irish playwright. His turn to film -- which is almost like a hobby he's dabbled in over the past 18 years -- has been likewise pretty well-regarded.  His first short film, Six Shooter, won him an Oscar, which led to his first feature length film, In Bruges. It was a film I didn't respond to at the time but has a sizable cult following (plus I've heard at least a few film nerds cite as their favourite film, ever). His third film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri was a major awards contender in 2017 and a massive success despite its dark subject matter (I didn't see it, but Toasty did) . The Banshees of Inishirin was a critical darling in 2023, and I liked it quite a bit. His second film, 2012's Seven Psychopaths is kind of the outlier, a bit pulpier and more divisive.

The setup here finds L.A.-based screenwriter Marty (Colin Farrell) who has literally nothing but a title for his overdue screenplay, "Seven Psychopaths". He's best friends with Billy (Sam Rockwell) whose current job is stealing dogs from parks, waiting for reward posters to go up, and his partner, Hans (Christopher Walken in prime form) returns them. Billy steals the wrong dog one day, taking the beloved shih-tzu of mobster Charlie (Woody Harrelson).

Of these characters I mentioned, only one of them is labelled as one of the seven psychopaths when we first meet them, but eventually a couple more will be a part of the seven. The remaining psychopaths are part of the stories told to Marty as he's trying to fill out his screenplay, with Billy providing a story or two and a stranger, Zachariah (Tom Waits), responding to an ad, tells his dark tale.

The script is, at times, very funny, quite punchy, but also at times too clever to the point of cutesy and annoying. I'm frankly tired of stories centred around script writers, because all too often stories about script writers start to get meta about talking about the actual scriptwriter, and get too lost in the idea that there's something laborious or glorious about the process of writing. Here, more than once, Marty talks about how he wants a certain type of pacifist psychopath protagonist or placid tone for his movie, while Billy desires much more a splashy, guns-blazing type of tale. So naturally we get both. *Wink*  

McDonagh also blurs the line between screenplay and screenplay-within-a-screenplay a few times, telling stories that are just tales that turn out to be true within the context of the film, or a story that just can't be cracked. As sharp as McDonagh can be, the agonies of a writer are not that exciting.

Farrell is sort of promoted as the lead but is a passive passenger in the film. A somewhat hapless guy with a drinking problem that he refuses to admit is a problem, he kind of lets things happen around him without intervening. Rockwell is more in charge, certainly spewing the most lines and having the most fingers in the plot pot. Walken is magnificent, and there's probably a better movie if he's just our central figure. 

It's definitely not neo-Tarantino, and we should be thankful for that. There's something more at the root of it that McDonagh is looking for with this story than just a off-brand Coen Brothers mobster picture, but I don't know that he ever finds it.

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I have only ever seen one other Peter Bogdanovich film. It was The Last Picture Show, a "new Hollywood" classic which I watched, and neither enjoyed nor appreciated much back in 2019. I don't think I've ever seen a Barbara Streisand movie before, but, growing up, Streisand was still an important pop culture figure even if you didn't listen to her music or see her films. You just knew who she was.

I have, however, seen quite a few works of screenwriter (and also actor and director) Buck Henry. Get Smart was fundamental to the development of my sense of humour. He's one of three screenwriters credited on the Bogdanovich-directed, Streisand-starring What's Up, Doc? (with story by Bogdanovich) but you can definitely tell what Henry contributed to the film.

The story finds Ryan O'Neal's handsome but drab musicologist Howard Bannister arriving in San Francisco with his drab and dour fiance, Eunice (Madeline Kahn) to attend a special dinner party where he will lobby for a research grant. Upon checking in he's spied by Judy Maxwell (Streisand) a creature of id, who cherchez l'homme right into a drugstore where she forces a meet-cute upon them and proceeds to both attempt to woo and grift him.  We were introduced to Judy mere moments before as she followed a man carrying pizzas perhaps through San Fran traffic causing many a scene...her stomach motivating her more than common sense.

Judy and Howard just so happen to have the same plaid duffel bag, and it also just so happens that another hotel guest also has the same bag.  He's just arrived from the airport where he's collected the bag, which is revealed to be full of top secret documents. He's been followed the whole time by a man who is very poor at being discreet and yet still doesn't blow his cover (we're not sure for some time who is the good spy and who is the bad spy in this scenario). Meanwhile a fourth guest at the hotel, a posh, upperclass elderly woman also has the same overnight bag, only this one's stuffed with jewels. The hotel clerk has shady colleague who he is colluding with the steal the jewels before they're locked up in the safe.

So the thrust of the film is two-fold, Judy is almost criminally forcing herself into Harold's dull, dull existence, shaking everything up and spraying it all over the walls, floor, ceiling and anything touching them. And then there's the game of bags being played like three-card monte, as people come in and out of the hotel rooms mixing up the bags that makes it almost impossible to keep track of which one's where at any given time.

The Buck Henry influence finds a tremendous amount of quick-talking characters who have the snappiest responses, taking them out of the sphere of normal and into something quite other. And then there's the situational comedy of it all, which together with the dialogue, feels so Get Smart adjacent to me. The film escalates into a chase sequence across San Francisco which doesn't get into Blues Brothers level of chaos (nothing else really does) but still is quite chaotic and features an extended sequence within playing with the gags of smashing a pane of glass and knocking a guy off a ladder.

Streisand as Judy is iconic. Her blue eyes have such a majestic twinkle, a little devilishness that is very flirty and sexy. She is a poster child for ADHD. There's not as much chemistry between her and O'Neal as one would hope, mainly because he's meant to be fighting his attraction for the entire picture (but mid-way, when a kiss just so happens to occur, well, it's an all-time cinematic kiss, as opposed to the one at the end pales direly in comparison). 

What's Up, Doc? is straight up a zany comedy that just so happens to have a little bit of romance. It's not a romantic comedy, which is truly unfortunate. We don't ever really see the moment where Harold falls in love with Judy, just the moment where he gives in to her, mostly because they're too busy dealing with the swapped bags and angry gangsters and other sub-plots that have nothing to do with the romance. 

There's a lot to like, little to dislike, just a desire for a little more of what we don't get.

31 Days of Halloween: Arsenic and Old Lace

1944, Frank Capra (It's a Wonderful Life) -- download

A movie about a pair of serial killers set during the Halloween season? What could be more 31 Days !!

This movie is a classic, both very much a product of its time but still stands the test of time. Dark Comedies have that enduring ability, but I guess a little slap stick doesn't hurt.

Renowned theatre critic Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant, North by Northwest) wants to marry Elaine (Priscilla Lane, Four Daughters), but feels a need to hide it, for his reputation is built on hating marriage, romance and all the drivel. Meanwhile over in Brooklyn (the movie comes with a lot of derision for Brooklyn, something I would have to research) police officer Brophy is showing his beat to O'Hara who will take over from him, and this includes the old house belonging to the Brewster sisters, sweet old ladies that never turn a hungry soul away from their door. Mortimer and Elaine, her parents living next door to the Brewsters, and Mortimer wants to break the news to his aunts. We also meet Teddy, Mortimer's brother who thinks he's Teddy Roosevelt and whom the neighbours are constantly complaining about, but mainly his trumpeting in the middle of the night.

And then Mortimer finds a body in the window seat. You see, his sweet old aunts like to invite homeless men in, under the pretense of renting a room (the room is never rented) and kill them with wine laced with arsenic, strychnine and cyanide. They were inspired when their first potential renter died of a heart attack in front of them, and looked so peaceful afterwards. At first Mortimer believes Teddy must have done it, given his brother's state of mind, and begins to make plans to have Teddy committed to the Happy Dale Asylum. Then he learns it was his aunts, and begins cracking himself.

Screwball Comedy is the term. The situation just keeps on heaping more and more complications upon poor Mortimer. His black sheep other brother Jonathan returns, an escaped criminal with his own body count, seeking to hide out at his aunt's place, as well as hide his own body. His partner Dr. Einstein, an escaped murderer in his own right, will also finish the botched plastic surgery job he did on Jonathan, an operation that has left the man with a resemblance to Boris Karloff, in the movie Frankenstein to be precise -- this is an in-joke, as Boris Karloff played the character in the original Broadway production. Meanwhile Elaine just wants to head off to Niagara Falls, and they even have a cab waiting outside for them. 

The movie is hilarious. Its not really Halloween-ish, as the only connection is the commentary about it at the beginning. I am not sure of the state of decorating for Halloween in the 40s, but I would have liked to at least see some more trappings. Still, it checks the box.

KWIF: Splitsville (+4.5)

 KWIF=Kent's Week in Film. A good week...in film at least. Sigh.

This Week:
Splitsville (2025, d. Michael Angelo Covino - in theatre)
Intolerable Cruelty (2003, d. Joel [and Ethan] Coen - DVD)
Hennessy (1975, d. Don Sharp - amazon)
The Omen (1976, d. Richard Donner - hollywoodsuite)
Tank Girl (1995, d. Rachel Talalay - amazon)
Fixed (2025, d. Genndy Tartakovsky - netflix)

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Every time you go to the movie theatre to see a new film, it's a gamble. Even if you've seen the trailers, read some reviews, are familiar with the actors or filmmakers... you still don't really know what to expect. Will it be worth my time and money? Will I feel good afterward, or bad, or regretful, or bummed out? Little can truly prepare you for seeing a film you've never seen before. It's always a leap of faith.

Of course, attending a screening comes with baggage that can give you expectations. You may already be in a film's pocket if you're a fan of the screenwriter, or director, or composer, or star, or co-star. You may just be amped up to see how a moment you saw in a trailer plays out in the rest of the film, or you may have seen photos that have you curious about the set design or costuming. A film reviewer may have planted a seed of a shining moment that you're already curious about, or there may already be a meme bouncing around the internet you're eager to contextualize. The film excites you, but the unknown...it still holds you back. 

Do I even dare? 
I could stay home and rewatch my favourite show or movie, or scroll the socials and feed my brain its precious dopamine in empty, hollow bites.
Going to see a movie, it's a crap shoot, a roll of the dice, outcome unknown.

All this to say, in deciding to see Splitsville, a comedy from a writing team/director who I have had no prior experience with, and starring the same writing team/director, as well as an actress I dislike (Dakota Johnson) filled me with incredible trepidation. I've been to the theatre many times this year excited to go see the latest directorial effort from a favourite, or partake in whatever superhero fare is churned out like a good little nurd... but trying something so untested, even if it did come highly recommended, riddled me with angst. It happens to me frequently, and I've bailed on seeing many a film in the theatre because I didn't know what I could expect.

But I know my anxieties have me missing out (and not just on movies, but events and social engagements too). It's a whole thing.

Splitsville has reminded me why its good to take these gambles, to try out things that are unfamiliar or different or challenging (a second Dakota Johnson movie this year? Come onnnnn...) because, hot damn was it ever a delight.

(I could just end it there, since the purpose of these posts on this blog is not to sell the film to a non-existent audience, but as a future reference for myself to come back to, to refresh/trigger my stupid brain on what I thought or felt about a film)

From writers Michael Angelo Covino and Kyle Marvin, Splitsville is a screwball comedy about open marriages. I'm tempted to say satire, but I don't think either Covino, Marvin, or the characters in this film are ever truly interested in exploring the topic seriously.  We have Carey (played by Marvin, WeCrashed) who is married to Ashley (Adria Arjona, Andor), and she wants a divorce. Ashley declares her infidelity and her desire to be free of the marriage and Carey, well, he's having none of it. He, quite literally, runs away from the conversation. Oh boy does he run.

Taking solace at his best friend's cottage (ahem, "cottage"...more like a luxury waterfront estate), he learns that Paul (Covino) and Julie (Johnson) are in an open marriage and that it really, really works for them. Or so they say. While Paul is away Julie and Carey have a fling.

Carey returns home, where Ashley is engaged in another affair, but Carey declares his cuckolding terms, there are no rules, she can do what she wants. And she does with many, many guys... each of whom Carey winds up befriending and soon there's a commune of ex-lovers hanging around the abode.

But the emotional stakes start warping as Paul's marriage falls apart, mostly due to possible fraud and criminal charges Paul is facing as a result of some business deals. Carey and Julie find themselves more emotionally invested than they, or their partners, could have anticipated.

And it only gets sillier and messier from there.

"Screwball" comedies are about toying with the expectations of the romance genre. In the olden days, screwball comedies would upend the gender norms in relationships for comedic effect. Now days, it's the norms of relationships themselves that are shaken and stirred, and Splitsville is an incredible example of that.

What had largely taken hold of comedy for the first two decades of the new millennium, has been either gross-out humour or cringe comedy, and I keep forgetting that those times have largely passed. Gross-out and cringe have fallen out of favour but nothing has really taken its place.  It would be fantastic if there was a resurgence in screwball, but even then, it might be too much of a good thing.

Covino and Marvin have crafted a wild script, and both, as actors, are willing to forego any and all pride in their performances. They remind me of Jason Segel in that regard. Marvin, as our central protagonist (though props for giving Johnson and Arjona top billing), is a likeable sort-of schlub who's not a total pushover, just mostly one. But he's endearingly likeable in his very unfiltered emotional reactions to things. Paul is more caustic, the guy hiding everything under a veneer of importance and pretension, but his armour is finally penetrated in the third act.

Arjona's Ashley may not be the funniest written character in the film, but she's the main vehicle in which the comedy is built around. She's by no means a straight man, but she's got to be the un-self-aware gateway for everything in this film to happen, and she delivers. 

Johnson I've bristled against for years, but like a proper beard oil, Materialists kind of softened me up... and repeated half-ironic viewings of segments of Madame Web on cable have further just softened what I used to find immediately repellent. It's possible that she's found her groove and is taking the roles that best suit her somewhat detached demeanour, or maybe it's that the roles are being tailored more to play into her sensibility, or it could be that she's just evolving as an actress and showing that she can manoeuver more broadly in what used to be a very limited range. In any case, she's really fun here.

But it's all about the relationships. It's Carey and Ashley, and Carey and Julie, and Paul and Julie, and Carey and Paul, and, well, just a little of Paul and Ashley, and every pairing is uniquely comedic. It's so well crafted.

Splitsville is not for everyone, no comedy is. We saw two elderly women walk out after about 25 minutes, following what was, hands down, the funniest fight scene of the decade, and a top-ten all-timer. They took a gamble, just like I did. I won, they did not.

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This deep into Coen rewatch territory and we hit the charming Intolerable Cruelty, perhaps the most inconsequential film in the Coens' repertoire. It is a screwball comedy (there's that term again) starring George Clooney (Peacemaker) as Miles Massey, perhaps the uncontested best divorce attorney in the country. He has saved as many fortunes as he has taken in proceedings. Gold digger Marylin Rexroth (Catherine Zeta-Jones, The Phantom), who married her wealthy magnate husband solely because she though him an easy mark for an expedient and fruitful divorce, butts up against Miles in court and loses.

But Miles, hitting middle age and quite lonely, is intrigued by Marylin, and the two flirt vivaciously and floridly with one another, the patter quick and all too easy. Marylin trains her sights on Miles, and it's unknown whether it's romantic interest, his money, or revenge. (Why not all three?)

But confusing the picture, months later, Marylin comes to Miles for a pre-nup. She's met a wealthy, folksy oil-man (Billy Bob Thornton, The Man Who Wasn't There) and she confounds Miles with her actions. She's a gold-digger, so why would she want a pre-nup? All part of her devious plan.

Miles, despite being a shark, is chum in the water as far as Marylin is concerned, and she's famished. She's looking for full meals and wanting to eat him up for dessert.

Intolerable Cruelty is, intentionally, frivolous. It is the Coen Brothers in full pastiche mode. They're not genre blending like they so often do, and the weirdness/non-sequiturs are kept to a minimum (it's only Miles' wheezy, past-his-expiry-date boss that one cocks and eyebrow at). This, if anything, seems like a play at mainstream success, at doing something the average people might like. After all, Clooney was one of the biggest leading men at the time and this on-screen pairing of attractiveness seemed long overdue.

What I think sunk Intolerable Cruelty's mainstream success was the lack of mainstream instincts on the Coens' part. I mean, the "best friend/sidekick" characters here are play by Paul Adelstein (who?) and Julia Duffy (of Newhart fame?) rather than an rising star comedian or improviser, as you would normally see. Their instincts are to cast character actors in as many roles as possible (instinctual, yes, but budgetary constraints also yes) and when Miles calls a surprise witness and in walks... Jonathan Hadary (Private Parts) as Heinz, the Baron Krauss von Espy.  Now don't get me wrong, Hadary fucking delivers in spades, but the reveal that it's not, I dunno, Nathan Lane or someone kind of lessens the impact at first.

But whatever, a trivial delight is still a delight.

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Hennessy came to my attention by way of the Quentin Tarantino/Roger Avery podcast "Video Archives", where they explore Tarantino's VHS tape collection that he acquired from the now defunct video store where the two film-obsessed directors first met and became friends. A lot of the films Tarantino and Avery explore are, well, junk...or junky, at least. They're often lower budget or off-studio releases all from the 1980s or earlier, although they do sometimes cover actual studio release that may not have garnered the respect (or at least attention) at the time. 

I get intrigued by films by listening to conversations about them, and Tarantino and Avery have a particular way of being enthused by film. What they get out of films is not what the average reviewer or film snob does, which I think is part of their enduring appeal. They see merit in the outcasts. I've watched more than a few films that I never would have heard of because of the podcast (less so now that they've put it up behind a paywall), like the Russian monster/fairy tale The Amphibian Man, or the Italian gangsters of the Milieu trilogy.  

In most cases if I was intrigued by one of these oddball films and I couldn't watch it, I would simply forget about it, but not Hennessy. It was not available streaming anywhere, and it did not seem to have a DVD release of any consequence, but it remained something I was keeping an eye out for, even long after I had forgotten why. All the memory that remained was an effusive "Go, Hennessy, Go" from Roger Avery that was permastuck.

The film came up as available on Amazon Prime when I was cross-referencing roles played by the stunning Lee Remick while watching The Omen, and I was ready to drop The Omen mid-movie and jump into Hennessy I was so excited (but timing was not in my favour, so I finished The Omen).

Starting the film at the first available opportunity, I was reminded of what Hennessy was about, but only after the first 20 minutes. It opens in Northern Ireland, still deep in the Troubles at this time, and conflict and resistance is still very, very active, but some people, like Niall Hennessy (Rod Steiger, Duck,You Sucker) are wanting to move past it, raise their family, live their lives. But an accidental and tragic conflict winds up taking the lives of Hennessy's wife and daughter, leaving the man with nothing but hate left for both the IRA and the English.

He ventures to London (though after the very public funeral of his family and other victims of the incident, eyes are very much on him) where he finds residence with the wife of an old (deceased) acquaintance (Remick). She doesn't know what Hennessy is up to, and, at first doesn't ask.  

It's a tense film that is a dog and cat and mouse chase, where the IRA and British Intelligence are both aware that Hennessy's presence in London cannot be good news. For the IRA, whatever actions Hennessy might take would bring immense attention upon them that they do not want. Ultimately, it's discovered, Hennessy plans to bomb the Queen as she opens the next session of the Parliament.

The film uses archival footage of the Queen's opening of Parliament in 1970, and used with permission, though perhaps not as was originally understood. It's remarkable how seamlessly it fits in the film, such that one might think the scenes were legitimately part of the production.

It's a really, really decent thriller that is only more impactful by its obscurity. It's anonymity means that its events haven't been spoiled (well, except all I've said above) and it's full of surprises. Hennessy's quest is one of quiet, calculated rage, and, much like my recollection, you do kind of feel a "Go, Hennessy, Go" spirit, just as much as you know he should definitely not be allowed to succeed.  It's pretty sharp.

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The Omen opens in Rome with a priest being transported in the back of a car. In voiceover we hear his thoughts about a stillborn baby. He is rehearsing what he has to say to the father of the child. The father is US diplomat Robert Thorn (Gregory Peck, Pork Chop Hill). Robert is told by the chaplain that at the same time his child died, another woman died giving birth, but that baby survived. He implores Robert to take the baby and pass it off as his own, no one else besides them being the wiser. Robert, already wrestling with shock and grief, eventually concedes to the plan to gaslight his wife for eternity.

Jesus Hucking Christ.

For a few years Robert and Katherine (Lee Remick, Hennessy) and their child who they named Damien (well, there's your problem right there... was "Damien" already a name with evil connotations or does the name Damien only have such connotations because of this film?) appear to be a happy family, although Damien does seem a little...off from other children. Robert is appointed as ambassador to the UK. 

On Damien's fifth birthday, the Thorns throw a big upperclass party, but the party is sullied by Damien's nanny hanging herself dramatically ("Look at me, Damien, it's all for you!"). Photojournalist Keith Jennings (David Warner, Tron) is on the scene, and when he examines his photos later, it appears that photos of Damien's nanny have some kind of line extending from the back of her neck.

More weird events happen. A seemingly disturbed priest starts harassing Robert, trying to convince him something is amiss with his child, and Damien freaks out wildly whenever he approaches a place of worship. A new, very creepy nanny turns up out of nowhere, and the Thorns question it, though not deeply, and suddenly there's a large rottweiler hanging around the house all the time.

Characters in the film present a series of prognostications that eventually come true that tip Robert off to the fact that his adopted son may be the Antichrist himself, but Robert, along with photographer Jennings investigate the myth of the Antichrist and the sign that he may be here. Certainly there's a large network of worshippers who have infiltrated the church and other elements of society.

The Omen is told very old school, where Katherine is but a wife and mother with no agency or capacity for decision making. Before her accident she's already gone a little nuts because of Damien's behaviour, and has detached from the child. Remick does what she can with the role, but I really dislike that Robert, for all his love and infatuation with his wife, does not see her as an equal.

What I do like about The Omen is the wrestling with the idea of having complicated feelings around one's children...I just wish it explored it more. I don't think this script was really wrestling with parenting. It seems to be built out of the desire to tell an Antichrist story through the eyes of a parent, and not tell a parenting story that happens to involve the Antichrist.

It's a solidly acted, decently engrossing film that, while pretty tame by today's standards of horror, creates a pretty ominous (omenous?) atmosphere that persists straight through to the end of the film.  The hanging sequence was a big shock and still pretty visceral an experience to watch. The other deaths in the film have aged in a way (whether it's the special effects or editing) that they're amusing now, but also very likeable the way that outdated effects can often be. You get what they were going for and the effect is probably the best it could be given the tools at the time.  

I know there's a bunch of sequels out there, and this hasn't really inspired me to pursue them, though the third Omen film stars Sam Neill as an adult Damien which is a bit intriguing.

---

A pre-production teaser poster for Tank 

Girl from when before Lori Petty was 

 cast in the role?

Tank Girl was both critically lambasted and a box office bomb at the time of its release. A stab-in-the-dark comics adaptation (back when Hollywood was regularly flirting with comics adaptations, as opposed to a decade later when they were the dominant concern from the studios), it was always a gamble. The Tank Girl comic had very little name recognition outside of the alt/indie kids crowd of the early-mid 90's, which for director Rachel Talalay and script writer Tedi Sarafian meant there was a bit of a blank slate as far as what they could do with the character when transporting to a product for a mass audience.

And the result is a weird, weird film that's taking inspiration from the comics of Alan Martin and Jamie Hewlett, but bringing its own sensibilities that aren't just the writer and director, but also the influences of Courtney Love, who assembled the film's pretty rad soundtrack, and production designer Catherine Hardwicke (who would become a notable film director herself), among the other hands in this eccentrically flavoured pie. The film feels very scrappy, a labour of...well, maybe not love, but certainly deep affection and a desire for everyone involved to prove themselves. The film has energy, vitality, even if it's absolutely bizarre (for many, prohibitively so).

I liked the film when it came out. Quite a bit. I bought a VHS (or maybe a Laserdisc?) of the film, I enjoyed it that much. I had the soundtrack, which I listened to frequently. It's a timestamp of the mid-90's for me and returning to it was like an acid trip flashback, a portal to a very different time.

Astonishingly, much of the film still inspires within me the same zeal for it I had back then, even though I have not seen it in at least 25 years. The film's opening with Devo's updated rendition of "Girl U Want" playing over Hewlett's drawings of Tank Girl in vibrant four-colour pop art fashion. It's still delightful and captivating.

The film is set in a post-apocalyptic future. Everything is desert, and it's totally governed by Water & Power, a corporation monopolizing both water and power. At its head is Kesslee, played with utter conviction by Malcolm McDowell. There's no reason for McDowell to be so locked into this character, but as I said, it's a pretty scrappy production and he's delivering an exceptionally delightful shouty, evil villain that completely fits the playful tone of the film. Kesslee seems to have taken Darth Vader's leadership seminar, and has a penchant for murdering his lieutenants with one of my favourite po-ap/sci-fi devices ever: a portable device with two dozen needles on one end and an accordion water bottle on the other end that sucks all the water out a person, desiccating them in seconds. In the first on-screen use of the device in this film, Kesslee grabs the bottle from the back of the just-killed underling and drinks the freshly extracted water. It's a truly phenomenal sequence.

The titular Tank Girl is actually Rebecca (Lori Petty, Point Break) a rebellious, horny, ADHD-addled survivalist who finds herself captured after her whole commune is killed by a Water & Power raid.  She defies her captors at every turn, and Kesslee, certain she has information she needs about a band of resistance fighters called the Reavers, tortures her, except Rebecca seems to kind of get off on it. This egg's already cracked, boys.

In prison she meets Jet (pre-stardom Naomi Watts at her mousiest), and, well, Rebecca kind of forces her to be her friend, but the alternatives for Jet are non-existant.

The fist two acts of the film are so full of life, vibrant neons decorate scavenged costumes and ramshackle or industrial sets, and the process of world building and discovery are and absolute blast. The film is hyperactive, cutting in inserts of comic book effects or animated sequences in a very Liquid Television fashion. It's all so early 90's MTV, it hurts so good.

Eventually Tank Girl and Jet Girl find their respective namesake vehicles and venture out into the wastes where Rebecca learns a young girl from her commune is still alive, so she makes it her mission to save her. In the process they meet the Reavers, a squad of genetically modified ultimate commandos that were the result of an experiment blending human and kangaroo DNA. The prosthetics were designed by Stan Winstson and on the budget for the film, the effect is pretty remarkable, buuut also a bit unappealing. Also, Ice-T is one of the kangaroo men which was a very weird statement for 1995 and even more weird today.

The third act sags and drags as it tries to tighten all its narrative threads together. In hindsight the right answer was probably to have sort of Mad Max-style roving adventure in the wastelands, as the necessity of dealing with kangaroo men mythology and the heroic narrative of saving a precocious child and destroying the villain take focus away from the most appealing aspects of the character of Tank Girl. But Petty's inspired performance that's part Pee Wee Herman, part Lucille Ball. 

I don't really see a world where Tank Girl is a commercial success, but the impact is clearly there. The evolution of Harley Quinn as a character seems to point directly to this film, both Kaley Cuoco's animated rendition and Margot Robbie's big-screen rendition seem to mirror most of Petty's attitude and playful, manic spirit, and the 2020 Birds of Prey feature feels like a superhero pivot of Tank Girl's aesthetics. 

---

...and finally...

---

There aren't many films that I've not finished watching. I could probably count the films on one hand that I've started but not completed (the last one I can recall is the 2019 rendition of Hellboy). I never thought an hand-animated feature from Genndy Tartakovsky would be one of them.

I really liked Tartakovsky's work on Dexter's Lab and The Powerpuff Girls, but I've flat out loved Primal, Clone Wars, and Samurai Jack, shows where the animation does most (or all) of the talking. (I'm utterly indifferent to the Hotel Transylvania series, mainly because it's Tartakovsky working in CGI animation as opposed to cel animation). His latest film, Fixed, is a passion project he's been pursuing for some time, and in a traditional animation style, it should be something worth getting excited about.

*Should.*

But the conceit of Fixed is a ribald comedy about a dog having a "one crazy night" adventure as he tries to flee having his beloved testicles neutered. 

I'm not prude. I watched and delighted in eight season of Netflix's Big Mouth, which is as in-your-face about all the taboos of sex and sexuality that you could think of and so many more that you couldn't (and sometimes wish you hadn't). Fixed's approach to canine sex and sexuality is so...basic... in comparison. It's a film that feels like it was made in the shadow of American Pie not Sausage Party.  When you think of it, Tartakovsky's better known for his action set pieces than his comedy, and almost all his comedy is meant for a younger audience. So is it any wonder that when he tries to venture into "adult" humour it comes off as tepid and juvenile?

I watched just a pinch over 30 minutes of Fixed and I had a couple little chuckles from Fred Armisen's "influencer" weener dog Fetch, Beck Bennet's pompous Borzoi Sterling, and Idris Elba's Boxer Rocco. But the film hangs on the central performance of Adam Devine as Bull, a pudgy blue pit bull mutt, and the performance lacks inspiration, but then so does every comedic setup.

The animation is, not unexpectedly, fabulous. The character designs are stunning to look at and I probably could have continued watching the film in its entirety only for the animation had I not had more pressing concerns pulling me away after the first act, and I just don't feel the need to go back and finish it.

I never did get to see that wild and crazy night, but nothing I saw up to that point would lead me to believe that there was anything particularly wild or crazy forthcoming.

The humour is attempting to be outrageous, to surprise or stun the audience into a laughing reaction, but its sense of what is outrageous is so lacking, and the comedic structures feel at best dated, at worst unrefined. A predictable will-they/wont-they (they will) romantic entanglement with Kathryn Hahn's prize-winning Afghan Honey has no juice, we know the beat its going to follow (and Honey's attraction to Bull makes no damn sense, as much as Hahn's vocal performances tries to sell it). 

Fixed is broken, and it's disappointing.

KWIF: Rebel Ridge + The Hudsucker Proxy

 KWIF=Kent's Week In Film. This week, one of the better Netflix originals (as happens when it's a more auteurish director at the helm) and yet another film from the Coens (we're only 1/3 of the way through folks). I also rewatched Thunderbolts* but nothing new to contribute since my original review... except to say that the measly 2 deleted scenes on the blu-ray adding maybe 20 new seconds of material to the film was utter bullshit. There has to be more that was cut, but Marvel always seems resistant to expose what has been excised from their films.

This Week:
Rebel Ridge (2024, d. Jeremy Saulnier - netflix)
The Hudsucker Proxy (1994, d. Joel (and Ethan) Coen - dvd)

---

The films of Jeremy Saulnier have a common thread, which is protagonists out of their element. In Hold the Dark, Jeffrey Wright is a wolf-hunter brought to Alaska. In Green Room [I've seen it but no review... but Toasty's is spot on], it's a desperate punk rock band playing a remote neo-nazi bar. In Blue Ruin, it's a nebbish vagrant trying to enact a revenge plot. In all cases, the conceit itself contains an innate sense of tension, and Saulnier is masterful at ratcheting it up, often with a dramatic pivot (or two).

In Rebel Ridge, we meet Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre) who is biking to a small town in Louisiana to bail out his cousin from jail. On the road into town a cop car starts trailing him, no lights, no siren, and then aggressively manoeuvers and bumps his rear tire sending Terry flying. The cop, weapon drawn, starts barking commands, and soon is joined by another cop, again, no sirens or lights. Terry's large hiker's backpack is searched, and in it is discovered a bag with over $30,000 in cash. As Terry calmly and clearly  explains it's to bail out his cousin in town, and then they're going to buy a pickup truck to long-haul boats across country. The cops twist everything he says into being a cover for drugs and drug running (his cousin is in prison for possession afterall). Terry is eventually let go, but his money is seized under "civil forfeiture", a law that effectively lets the police seize assets they think have been or will be involved in crime. 

The dynamic established in this opening sequence is prime Saulnier...just every muscle tense pretty much from the first moment. The violence and aggression of a car bumping a bike, if you've ever had it happen, makes your stomach churn. The vulnerability of a cyclist against a 1 ton car is like Bambi vs Godzilla. And from there, it's hard not to see a black man being railroaded the way that Terry is as purely racist in intent. When places in the United States, under the thumb of Tangerine Palpatine, now feel emboldened to declare their towns "whites only", you can't help but think that Shelby Springs is one of these places.

Terry's mission to free his cousin is a desperate one. His cousin had previously turned against gang members and if he goes to state prison, where he will be sent since Shelby Springs' jail is under construction, he will surely be murdered. Terry has mere days to either get new money or recover the cash from the cops. He finds an ally in a Summer (Anna Sophia Robb), a courthouse clerk with a troubled past, but with an acute awareness of the laws and how the laws are being bent by the local police department.

It comes clear that Terry's assault wasn't an act of racism...or, rather, not *just* an act of racism, but a scheme the local chief Sandy Burnne (Don Johnson) and his officers have cooked up with much complicitness at different levels of local law and bureaucracy.

Terry is an ex-Marine, but never served overseas, which carries some weight with the PD. It's only when they discover he was the trainer close quarters combat, disciplined in many martial arts ("Uh oh...I think he's on the Wikipedia page") that they realize that they're going to have a real problem.

The expectation when have from films of this ilk is that Terry is going to use his "special set of skills" to absolutely destroy this police department full of fuckheads. Instead Saulnier is careful to point out that Terry's skills are specialized, and that he is outmanned, outgunned and is fighting not just against the law but legalized corruption. So when the Sheriff gives him an out, Terry takes it, ending act one.

Act two finds Terry drawn back into Shelby Springs, where things have turned pear-shaped, and what was already a bad situation gets much worse. But Terry is awakened in this moment and he's driven into action where once he retreated.  In a normal film, this is where the action would kick into higher gear, instead the film goes into detective mode, as Terry and Summer start digging into the Sheriff's dirt and seeing what they can find. There's certainly something that's off-board and a state case of corruption could be made against the police department.

Again, the expectation set by the genre is that once our hero and protagonist establishes a plan of action it's going to be a success. Saulnier would never have such simple pleasures. By the time we think a film of this sort should be winding down, Rebel Ridge is just ramping up to its third act where the catharsis we've been looking for all along is waiting.

Except every time we think that Terry has got the upper hand, Saulnier's reality comes shaking down. It's still one man versus a so many and Saulier grounds it pretty tangibly so that the reality of the One-Man-Army is still just a fairy tale. There's only so much one man can do even a man as skilled and determined as Terry.

Rebel Ridge is gripping from moment one. It has its quiet moments, but even those never let go of the tension underneath. Saulier's script is built around injustice and the abuses and corruption within law enforcement, but there's a whole layer that is casting an eye at race without anyone ever explicitly calling it out. It's all micro aggressions and subtlety, like the fact that Terry looks to Officer Jessica Simms (Zsané Jhé ) - who Burnne clearly indicates was a diversity hire - for solidarity.  The script is sharp, insightful, and has more than a few wonderful moments, both on the action/standoff front and in dialogue.

Aaron Pierre, very shortly after Rebel Ridge's debut on Netflix was quickly cast in the HBO Max Green Lantern TV series as its lead character, John Stewart, which having now seen him in action, is completely on point. Pierre has presence, charm, wit and grit.  Don Johnson should look out, because playing a villain this well could have repercussions of people thinking he's actually this slimy, with scales about to poke out through his skin. It's an excellent performance, and the scenes between Johnson and Pierre crackle with electricity.

As immediately ramped up as I was upon watching Rebel Ridge, spending time thinking about it started posing questions which undermined the story, if only a little, and it starts with the opening moments based on a reveal towards the end. Also, as a cyclist, it's absolutely crazy Terry wasn't wearing a bike helmet, and listening to music while cycling, come on, man?.... And I don't think stomping SD cards into the dirt is going to have the effect on them you think it is, dude....

Hands down the best "Rebel" Netflix movie by a very wide margin.

[toastypost...we agree!]

---

The Coen Brothers blasted onto the scene with the radical neo-neon-noir Blood Simple, announced themselves to a receptive public with the live action cartoon antics of Raising Arizona, impressed critics with the very different mob drama of Miller's Crossing and won the Palm d'Or at Cannes with Barton Fink. Even if none of these was overwhelming blockbusters, they were all strikingly unique and bold storytelling successes made relatively cheaply. Producer Joel Silver wanted in on the Coen Brothers business and gave them over $25 million to play with for their next movie, at least two and a half times their previous most expensive production. That movie was The Hudsucker Proxy, and its domestic box office barely reached $3 million. It flopped. It bombed. And like all Coen Bros. movies, it eventually got itself a cult following.

The Hudsucker Proxy is a weird, weird film for 1994, hearkening back to the screwball comedies of the 1930s and '40s mixed with the heightened reality of a Frank Capra production, it's a full-tilt period piece that is homage to the cinematic entertainments of yesteryear while being bathed in the glorious, incomparable cinematography of Roger Deakins. As retro looking as it was, it also wasn't looking too far askance from modern filmmaking, with elements owing to Terry Gilliam's Brazil and the works of Tim Burton up to that point, almost like those director's bold aesthetic choices showed the Coens how visually fastidious they could be given an appropriate budget.

At once a fantasy and a nightmare about capitalism, The Hudsucker Proxy is like It's A Wonderful Life filtered through The Producers, as the board of the monolithic Hudsucker Industries enacts a scheme to tank the share prices of the company. You see, the founder and majority shareholder of the corporation has swan dived out a window, and with no heirs, as per the corporate rules, his shares go public in a month's time on January 1. In order to tank the stock, they need a rube, an idiot, a patsy to put in charge and purposefully ruin them.

Enter Norville Barnes (Tim Robbins) who just arrived in the big city from Muncie, Indiana with a college degree, big idea and all the gumption, but no experience. He finds a job in the mailroom at Hudsucker, but a chance awkward encounter with shark-like Sidney J Mussberger (Paul Newman) finds him moving on up to the big time in a jiffy.

The media is aflutter with news of this new, ever-so-random President of Hudsucker, and tough-talking, Pulitzer Prize-winning ace reporter Amy Archer (Jennifer Jason Leigh) is on the beat. She pulls a ploy on Norville, and (hud)suckers him into thinking she's a helpless fellow Muncie-ian who just fell off the turnip truck, so he gives her a job being his secretary. She writes a scathing story on him, and the inverted Lois Lane/Superman dynamics at play are pretty delicious as he starts to question this pseudonymous reporter's character to her face.

But the best laid plans of mice and men go awry when Norville's big idea  of the hula-hoop becomes the national fad and  the stock prices soar. His rise to the top of the business world was swift, but his rise to the top of public notoriety and fame is even swifter. It goes to his head, and Norville becomes too big for his britches. Amy wants to be the one to knock him down a few pegs, especially upon developing feelings for him and seeing him for not quite the hayseed she initially though he was (he's definitely a hayseed, just smarter and more capable than the stereotype suggests). But it's the board, using the court of public opinion and planting false stories, that finds Norville's good fortune dry up just as fast as they came. 

The film opens with a sweeping cityscape that is a gorgeously constructed miniature set that tricks the eye and the brain constantly. It's at such a huge scale that it's hard to believe that anyone outside of a Godzilla flick would have taken the care to build such a dense network of art deco mini-buildings, primarily for an establishing shot. These days it would be a bland CGI recreation of somewhere or other, and not wow nearly as much. The city could is intended to be New York but it could be Chicago, Metropolis or Gotham, or another unnamed surreal fantasy location (the cityscape was reconfigured and reused in many other films including Batman Forever and 1998's Godzilla, among others).

The sets, costuming, wardrobe, hair and makeup are all exceptional. Though it's set in the late 1950's, it feels like a mashup of the 1920s, '30s and 40's, but with the encroaching beatnik crowd (complete with Steve Buscemi cameo) bursting the bubble otherwise.  Carter Burwell delivers yet another incredible score. Blood Simple has some great themes, and Miller's Crossing was a stylistic triumph of mixing traditional Irish sounds with noir-stylings...here it's completely orchestral sweeping, lush and epic, with hints of playfulness without directly acknowledging the levity to the crowd. Each Burwell piece for the Coens so far is distinct from the last. The only thing that sticks out as a unifying component at this point is exceptionally high quality and thoughtfulness.

Paul Newman's cruel, capitalistic villain is a timeless one. A power/money monger that seems to be just as  prevalent today as it did in 1994 as it did in the 1958 and the 1930s and in Dicken's A Christmas Carol. (We learn nothing as a society from these tales, as we expect these villains to change on their own or be destroyed by goodness, only in reality they just keep succeeding with the backing of government and others of their kind). Jennifer Jason Leigh's reporter character is so fantastic, even if at times I don't agree with the Coens handling of the character, undermining her confidence with Norville's talk of her not being womanly enough (but it does fit the time period, so it's a nominal complait...). At this stage I have to wonder if I've seen a JJL performance that has not impressed me, that has not been fantastic? Doubtful. I find Tim Robbins to be the weakest link in the production. He's playing at least 10 years his junior at the time of filming, so he just seems too old to be so...fresh. His peformance delivers the appropriate nativity, hopefulness, ambition and eventual callousness, but the apparentness of his age undermines the fact that he is supposed to be a newly graduated youngster. If the parable of Hudsucker were spanning years instead of weeks, the casting would seem more appropriate, but it's like Norville ages from a 23-year-old to a 34-year old in 3 weeks as a result of his success. Maybe that's intentional on the directors' part.

I sound like a broken record, but many a Coens film requires multiple viewings before the vibe kicks in. I definitely didn't "get" The Hudsucker Proxy upon first viewing years ago, but this delighted me greatly now. I know I didn't really have any foundation in the classic cinema the Coens were calling upon, but even just a few dribbles into that pond since were enough to give me the language I needed to engross myself here. The Coens are so much more film literate than most of the filmgoing audience that when they smash up styles and genres in the way they do, and then defy storytelling conventions on top of that, they can be pretty perplexing upon first visit if your unable to catch on and hang on for the ride..

Also this is the first Coens film, and one of few, not to be centered around a crime...unless the kind of stock-tanking is a white collar crime, at which point nevermind (but even if it is a crime it seems like one of those "legal crimes" not unlike the one at the center of Rebel Ridge).

The Hudsucker Proxy may have bombed at the box office, but it's is an unequivocal success. For a 30-year old film that is recalling tropes and styles of 70, 80, 90 years ago, it still feels really, really fresh, exciting and unique. I've seen the film before and yet it was still utterly surprising.

The film's title is terrible if you're trying to convey something to an unknowing audience. They don't know what a "Hudscuker" is and "proxy" is such a rarely used word, it's sometimes hard to contextualize. But The Hudsucker Proxy walked so The Phoenician Scheme (and most of Wes Anderson's output) could run.

KWIF: Superman (+2)

KWIF=Kent's Week in Film.

This Week:
Superman (2025, d. James Gunn - in theatre)
Raising Arizona (1987, d. Joel Cohen - hollywoodsuite)
The Awful Truth (1937, d. Leo McCarey - hollywoodsuite) 

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Superman is exactly the type of comic book movie I dreamed about all through the 1980s and 1990s, one that just drops you in the middle of an active superhero universe, assumes you already have a basic foundation on who these characters are, and goes from there. And boy does Superman go.

It's a lively, adventuresome, superheroic comic book of a movie, and yet I didn't leave completely satisfied. My whole family came out buzzing, having really, really enjoyed the film quite thoroughly, but I couldn't exactly match their energy. I wanted to love James Gunn's Superman, but I don't. I like it quite a bit but there's something holding me back.

This is, without a doubt, my favourite Superman movie, but then I never really cared for any of the others despite being a lifelong Superman fan (the familial surname in common kind of made it mandatory). David Corenswet is a great Superman, doing all the things I wish we'd been able to see Christopher Reeves or Henry Cavill do, both action wise and in a legit superhero universe. Corenswet's Clark is almost indistinguishable from his Superman, which may be the point, or maybe it's that there's not much time for Clark Kent in this film. This is the pure-hearted, people-first, happy-to-help Superman I grew up loving. There's no mopey Superman with a messiah complex here. Also, Gunn, in dodging past the character's origin story, minimizes the burden of Krypton, and, in fact, finds a jettison point so that it doesn't really ever have to be dealt with in this new DC cinematic universe again (despite Bradley Cooper being cast as Jor-El in an unglorified cameo).

Rachel Brosnahan is an incredible Lois Lane, I fell in love with her instantly...and she doesn't get rescued by Superman once this film but still feels integral. Incredible. She's also not fixated on Superman, not in the slightest. She's likes the lug but the world's too be a place to keep Lois' attention in one spot.

Nicholas Hoult's Lex Luthor is an evil slimy supergenius billionaire. We don't have any of those in real life (most of our evil slimy billionaires aren't geniuses) so Hoult is drawing from something other than just the real world. Plus his motivation this time is envy, jealousy, and pure hate (there's still a land scheme of sorts on top of everything though, as is tradition).

I could fill another dozen paragraphs talking about the rest of the cast, including the Justice Gang (Edi Gathegi's Mr. Terrific lives up to the name, while I don't think there's been a more note perfect page-to-screen translation of a Superhero than Nathan Fillion's Guy Gardner [iykyk]), the Daily Planet crew, Luthor's henchpersons, Clark's family, the Superman Robots, and, of course, Krypto.

It is a very well-stocked movie. It has a very large assembly of characters, and it moves fast. I thought at first that, perhaps, Superman was overstuffed, that there's too much going on, with too many characters. But that's not true. I never had a hard time tracking what was happening or why or to whom, and I was never unclear on character motivations. No, what I was thinking was "overstuffed" was actually me just wishing for more time with these characters, more time with this story, and more time in this world.

This is compressed storytelling. In the comic book realm, it used to be you would pick up a single superhero comic book issue, you would get a complete story. The 1980's really started serializing comics like long running soap operas, and by the 2000s the industry had basically solidified the five-or-six issue storyarc as the norm which has sustained ever since. "Decompressed" storytelling they called it.

I want Superman to be decompressed. I want more time with Lois and Clark and how things weigh on their relationship. I want more Daily Planet bullpen banter. I want Lex to really stoke the flames of public outrage against Superman, I want Clark and Lois to have more time with Ma and Pa Kent, I want more time at the Hall of Justice...I just want more of all of this and I feel let down that I don't have it.... that I just have this highly entertaining 129 minute film that is at once a filling meal that still makes me want more. This film, despite being part of a superhero universe, is self-contained. It's not setting up anything beyond the immediate story. 

Compared to other Superman films, the weakest point is the music. James Gunn is so used to constructing his movies around a soundtrack, and here he's opted for, mostly, an original score, but it just doesn't have the same delicious bite or synergy like the Guardians of the Galaxy trilogy or Suicide Squad. It's not terrible but I did find the score drawing my attention away from the events on screen from time to time, and not for positive reasons.

In some ways, Superman feels very experimental. It isn't following the rules that its predecessor superhero movies have followed, and it places itself into a reality the one could call escapist. It's a film where a guy in a cape and underwear on the outside has superhero pals and an unruly dog in a cape. Hard to mistake that for the real world. 

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In my teenage years as a budding cinephile, I watched Raising Arizona and, quite specifically, did. not. get it. It was one of those films that came highly recommended and critically lauded that completely went over my head.

Coen Bros. films can be like that. I remember coming out of The Big Lebowski having had an absolutely miserable time, only to fall deeply in love with it upon repeat viewings. My second viewing of Raising Arizona, a decade later, didn't go any better than the first. I don't think I've ever done a Coen Bros. ranking, but if I did, it would have remained in the bottom of my Coen Bros. rankings since that first viewing. 

I'm a more wizened film viewer now, with quite the affinity for most of the Coens repertoire, so surely this latest viewing of Raising Arizona will yield the dividends I always expected. 

Which it did. But...

I still didn't like it. I understood it this time, but I don't think it works. I feels like the prototype for a Coen Bros. movie. The basic tone and sensibilities, the small-stakes crime, the comedy and sentimentality are all there, but they're just not hitting the rhythms the way they would in their later films. 

I liked Nic Cage's H.I., a compulsive robber of convenience stores (with an unloaded weapon) who just keeps rotating through the local prison's revolving door. During every turn of the door, he finds time with Holly Hunter's Ed, a police officer whose main duty seems to be mugshot photos and fingerprint stamping. They fall in love and get married. H.I. goes straight and gets a job and things are good, until they find out they can't have kids and H.I.'s criminal record keeps them from legally adopting. Ed gets depressed, quits her job, and the joys in their life diminish.  And then local furniture magnate Nathan Arizona (Trey Wilson) has quintuplets and, according to one newspaper report, claims it's too much to handle. So Ed and H.I. get it into their mind to abduct one of the babies.

As a premise for a crime caper, the script does a fairly good job at showing us just how desperate Ed and H.I. are for a baby, and yet I still don't buy that anyone without a serious mental illness, would steal another person's child. The premise fundamentally doesn't work for me. It's a different story if they find the baby, become attached and fight through their guilt and jump through hurdles to try and keep it, but to proactively go out and steal a child is a big fucking ask that I just can't get behind.

There's a slapsticky sequence with H.I. in the quints' room trying not to make noise and negotiating all the babies as they quickly become too much for him to handle. This is still early in the Coens career (not far off from scripting the live-action cartoon that was Crimewave with Sam Raimi) so their comedic tone still owes a debt to Looney Tunes, something they wind up grounding a lot more in their later movies. It's so close to working here but can't quite grasp it, which is so much of the film for me.

Just as the new family unit is trying to cohere, H.I. and Ed are paid a visit by Gale (John Goodman) and Eville (William Forsythe), H.I.'s friends from prison who have just busted out and are on the lam. They start to ride H.I. about his straight-and-narrow ways, posing that tired-even-by-1980's-standards cliched question of "who wears the pants in the relationship". One thing leads to another and the film descends into a third act clusterfuck of people angling for the baby, including a bounty hunter H.I. envisions comes straight from hell (played, of course, by Randall "Tex" Cobb).

The third act, where everything falls apart in madcap fashion, should be a triumph, and there's glimmers of the Coen Bros. genius that's to come, but it doesn't all congeal. For instance, the fourth party, H.I.'s former boss, should really be in the baby-grabbing mix during this final act. But Goodman and Forsythe's part in it all is so good, I wish we had been following their characters all along instead.

The film's resolution is poppycock. It's the correct emotional payoff, and the Coens do their damnedest to get away from the Hollywood happy ending, but the scenario, just like at the start, finishes with a suspension of disbelief I can't buy into.

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I often think of films from the 1930s and 40s as being primitive, of their time, puritanical, having little to offer in a modern context. And so I tend to avoid them, even though my experience with films from the era have proven that, hey, adults made some of these things, smart adults with skill and talent and vision. Just because they were beholden to certain standards of "social decency" doesn't mean they can't be entertaining, insightful or artistic. I think I continue to avoid golden age of Hollywood movies because I really don't want to have to wade through the dreck, the studio films that were churned out as the "content" of the era. I need to basically trust the consensus on what the good ones of the era are, but I naturally distrust the consensus. It's a burden.

After watching The Awful Truth, I feel a much stronger desire to watch more screwball comedies of the era, particularly those starring Carey Grant. If you've seen a Carey Grant comedy, you know why. The man is a gifted comedic performer with wonderfully understated physical gestures and facial muggings that can accentuate an already delightful script (and no doubt save a film with a less than punchy one).

The premise here finds Jerry Warriner (Grant) coming home from a trip away to an empty house, only to have guests arrive with no hostess. When Lucy (Irene Dunne) finally shows up, she's escorted by a swarthy Frenchman who proclaims to be her voice coach. They were waylaid overnight by car issues. The suspicion is immediate, Jerry doesn't trust a word his wife or this Frenchman say, but it's probably because he knows he's been lying himself, having told his wife he went to Florida but brought home a basket of California oranges. The distrust in the marriage going both ways leads to a big blow-up and divorce court (with custody of their beloved mutt Mr. Smith a heated part of the battle).

They have to have a 60 day trial separation before the divorce is finalized. Lucy moves in with her aunt who introduced her to the neighbour, an Oklahoma oilman named Dan with a slow drawl and dim sense of humour. Dan falls in love with Lucy instantly, and Lucy mainly plays along knowing it will drive Jerry crazy, which it does, but Jerry's sabotage leads Lucy to realize she still loves him and the short engagement is called off, but Jerry is likewise moving on.

A short time later, Jerry is seen with a debutante and Lucy is envious. With only days to go before their divorce is final, Lucy insinuates herself in Jerry's life, and interferes in his budding relationship by posing as his sister.

Things explode, they reset, they explode again, and eventually after a few of these cycles, there's the expected resolution of Jerry and Lucy rekindling their partnership, and it's a pretty delightful ride, if a wonky and lopsided one.

To start, Lucy's suspected infidelity is paid a disproportionate amount of attention compared to Jerry's, which is brought up in the opening moments of the film, and really, never again. The first act of the film introduces the couple, breaks them up and establishes their not-so-bitter trial bitter divorce. The second act is all about Lucy's relationship with Dan, Jerry's interference, and bringing back the French vocal coach (to an incredibly funny denouement). The third act then has to wrestle with Jerry's new love interest, Lucy getting in the way and then contriving a scenario that will pull Lucy and Jerry together again.

It's this final act that needs more breathing room and doesn't fully work. Lucy's "drunk sister" routine is incredible (Dunne is every bit as gifted as Grant is comedically, and maybe even more) but following that sequence, it's a pretty contrived situation that leads to some unusually quiet romantic tension and just the itsiest bit of bedroom smouldering that calls for some sexiness from the leads but (given the times) isn't allowed to get there.

By and large, though, The Awful Truth is a romp, a bustling good time with a scene-stealing dog and hilarious dialgoue and delightful characters. I do need to see more of these from the era.