* Spirit Untamed (Bogan & Torresan, 2021): 3/5

Jerry guessed it: the first movie I saw in the theatre after the pandemic was with Jack. The popcorn was not bad! Girl meets horse with a decidedly emo-boy haircut/mane. One of her friends rides a boy horse and another rides a girl horse. Is this meaningful on a symbolic level?

* Peter Rabbit 2: the Runaway, 2021): 3/5

Second one too. Did I mention the popcorn?

Shiva Baby (Emma Seligman, 2021): 3.5/5

A painful and hilarious horror movie where every interaction at a family party is fraught with self-loathing and the possibility of further humiliation. In other words, exactly like the Fourth of July at my mom’s house!

Riders of Justice (Anders Thomas Jensen, 2021): 3/5

A wry, Coen-like take on nerds, millennials, and revenge flix. Like in a Wes Anderson movie, the characters are both cartoony and psychologically deep, comically dealing with trauma and grief through community-building. 

Wrath of Man (Guy Ritchie, 2021): 3/5

At times loud, it’s also narratively ambitious. We are introduced and sympathize with Statham’s character who is trying to catch a group of thieves for personal reasons. About half-way through, the movie backs all the way up and starts again with the thieves, and we sympathize with them as well. As the conclusion approaches, who does one root for? 

Those Who Wish Me Dead (Taylor Sheridan, 2021): 2/5

Sheridan has some fun with Nicholas Hoult and Aidan Gillen Jolie as hitmen, but once the plot gets rolling, it’s all bad fire and lightening special effects. Horrible title too, since no one really wants Jolie’s firefighter (!) protagonist dead (besides the audience).

You Only Live Once, rw (Fritz Lang, 1937): 3/5

Simple, expressionist use of fog and light as well as its born-bad, fated main character points to early noir, before the movie pivots to an early Lovers on the Run movie in final 20 minutes. Silvia Sidney gives birth all by herself in a cabin, while Henry Fonda sits on a log with some wilted flowers. 

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (Mikio Naruse, 1960): 2/5

…expect yet another tale of pseudo-prostitution (here, bar hostesses) full of shame, regret, compromises, debt, suicide, betrayal, resignation. 

Funeral Parade of Roses (Toshio Matsumoto, 1969): 4.5/5

A phantasmagoria, terrifically free in its plot and camera as well as its treatment of sexuality, drugs, gender, violence. Full of dazzling sequences of subjective interiority—dreams, reverifies or zone-outs, including a memorable LSD-fueled orgy where masks are cast aside, exposing more masks beneath.

Hair (Milos Forman, 1979): 3/5

A Broadway/theater-kid version of NYC hippies, plus some decent ditties that are meant to be enjoyed once—so super-catchy. The LSD sequence is a flop. Like Greetings, this is a movie partially about trying to get out of the draft, but this one has a slightly more acute geopolitical grasp. 

The Hot Rock (Peter Yates, 1972): 3.5/5

A droll tale of at least four capers/heists. Funny and relaxed, Redford is expert at holding the center while generously letting the others do their things. Watching him, I now see what Brad Pitt has been doing for the successful part of his career.  

City of Sadness (Hou Hsiao-Hsien, 1989): 3/5

How to review this? “Mommy, this Monet painting has no plot!!!” Gaping narrative elisions and assumption of knowledge of historical reference make this a challenge, but it’s obviously aiming for something closer to the gallery than narrative cinema. Nothing much happens (in a beautifully, still manner) for a long time, then you might hear word someone has died, then nothing happens some more. 

The Story of the Last Chrysanthemum (Kenji Mizoguchi, 1939): 3/5

Focuses on male pain, so maybe I forgive/relate, relative to (say) Street of Shame miserabilism. Its long-take style leads to intimacy and realism, but I really miss closeups, which this movie completely eschews. Even a nice medium shot is seized upon and relished. In the end, it proves to be another remake of A Star is Born, where the ascending star psychically sucks the life out of his/her partner on the way to stardom. 

Street of Shame (Kenji Mizoguchi, 1956): 2.5/5

Prostitutes in 1950s Tokyo are in debt, estranged from their families, and commonly being almost murdered and descending into madness. Like Grapes of Wrath, but in this case the bordellos are the labor camps where escape is impossible, since everyone is in debt to the company. 

Detour (Edgar G. Ulmer, 1945): 4/5

An inescapable nightmare, devastating in its brevity. I couldn’t bear to click on the accompanying documentary that purported to flay out the meaning from this mysterious object—and that used Bogdanovich as its screen capture and was 11 minutes longer than the movie itself. 

The In-Laws (Arthur Hiller, 1979): 4/5

Features two geniuses (Falk and Arkin) working near the top of their game, plus the always able Arthur Hiller doling out vivid and realistic (if comic) action sequences. North by Northwest if Cary Grant was a panicky but otherwise realistic dentist.  

Berlin Alexanderplatz (Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1980): 2/5

Michelle said this about it, and I can’t disagree: “For RWF completionists only, otherwise don't bother because it’s neither a game changer nor a masterpiece.” I think ultimately the length is the point, as we are forced to just marinate in the movie’s juices as it goes around and around like a boring nightmare. Completing this movie has freed my mind: if I can make it through this, I can truly make it through any movie, including the 4-hour….

The Iceman Cometh (John Frankenheimer, 1973): 3/5

12 Angry Drunks. Robert Ryan’s and Frederic March’s final performances, and indeed the Iceman came for Ryan before the movie was even released. The length here serves a similar purpose as it does in Berlin Alexanderplatz—allowing the artist to wallow, to make a work that is indulgent and immersive. 

Moonrise (Frank Borzage, 1948): 3/5

Crime and Punishment in the swamp. Stunning deep focus and deep blacks. The film’s first five minutes are especially startling and beautiful. 

Fat Girl (Catherine Breillat, 2001): 3.5/5

Yeah, sex is pretty disturbing from the outside. I totally bought the crazy ending that pushes the titular character’s life-outlook to its limit, exposing and indicting everything. 

The Tale of Princess Kaguya (Isao Takahata, 2013): 2/5

Episodic and surprisingly unengaging, despite its reputation. The plot resets every 20 minutes but never hits on anything I cared much about. Some nice evocations of nature with simple animated lines. 

L’humanité (Bruno Dumont, 1999): 3.5/5

Are these characters (or actors) actual developmentally disabled, and does it matter if they are? They do seem capable of feeling—including even ecstatic and previously unconsidered ways of feeling—when not staring blankly into space for periods of time. Also, pretty funny. 

Placido (Luis Garcia Berlanga, 1961): 3.5/5

A black comedy of frustration with overlapping dialogue, prefiguring Sour Grapes by decades. The rich invite the poor (whom they distrust and are disgusted by) to dinner, meanwhile thoughtlessly insulting, debasing and harming them. A laff riot savaging class and religious hypocrisy. 

Orlando (Sally Potter, 1992): 2.5/5

Impressionistic, capricious, free-wheeling pageant across the centuries. Billy Zanes it up. 

DePalma Film Festival

I’m not going to be able to dive deeper than this. 

Greetings (Brian DePalma, 1968): 2/5

Richard Lester crock o shit. De Niro fails to distinguish himself in his first credited performance. Kind of a sketch review and not at all funny (any more?) Draft dodgers, Kennedy assassination conspiracies, peeping Toms, all in a blabby improv style. DePalma pretty much just comes out and admits he just got into film so he could get girls to take off their clothes. Tap dancing pornographer: “Oh gee you’re not feeling very patriotic. Why is that?”

Obsession (Brian DePalma, 1976): 2/5

A foggy, groggy, ponderous Vertigo/Rebecca variant, where the last beautiful gestures in Vertigo are blown out to a full-movie fantasia that includes a non-healthy amount of incest. 

The Fury (Brian DePalma, 1978): 3/5

Kirk Douglas is stuck in a half-baked adventure spy scenario, but Amy Irving and Andrew Stevens are in a much more interesting teen psychic twin-lover movie. This movie is barely competent and instead swirls a dozen moods and references in a blender (this is not necessarily a criticism). It’s much more fun and interesting, than, for example…

Casualties of War (Brian DePalma, 1989): 2/5

A completely rote script, lacking in a single moment of surprise or novel insight. 

Mission to Mars (Brian DePalma, 2000): 1.5/5

Like a space adventure but slower. DePalma makes good use of some massive rotating sets and a camera that rotates 360 as well, but unfortunately there are actors on screen talking, too. 

Robert Ryan Film Fest

Expert at playing an asshole, god love him.

Crossfire (Edward Dmytryk, 1947): 3/5

Stuffed with incident, dialogue and characters. Still, it’s an odd mixture of problem film (racism, specifically hating Jews) and noir. All the Roberts (Young, Mitchum and Ryan) are expert and in their lanes.  

Caught (Max Ophüls, 1949): 3/5

I’m pretty sure that the title is referring to when Robert Ryan gets Bel Geddes pregnant. Then he’s really got her. Lots of big, beautiful rooms full of spider web shadows. Would be fun to see the same movie but with James Mason as the sadistic rich asshole and Ryan as the saintly doctor. 

On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1951): 3.5/5

Dirty Harry-ish city cop Ryan joins a manhunt in the snowy mountains. Blind girl Ida Lupino (whom Imdb also credits as a co-director) talks to him about loneliness and lack of trust. Lots of emotions flying around, some rational and some not. The father of the murder victim picks up the fallen murder and carries him like a child, Dardenne-like. 

Odds Against Tomorrow (Robert Wise, 1959): 4.5/5

I’ll bet you $100 that this movie shows up in Marclay’s The Clock at 6:05 pm. The time when all honest people have knocked off work. Chock full of jaw-droppingly blunt and forceful racism, much of it spilling out of Robert Ryan in full-on asshole mode. Plus, Shelly Winters, Gloria Graham and Ed Begley Sr. Capped by an honest-to-god pulse pounding caper and startling high contrast photography. And I rarely notice soundtracks but I liked this jazzy one, with ample vibraphone that Harry Belafonte is at one point shown playing. Under-discussed!

The Set-Up, rw (Robert Wise, 1959): 5/5

A boxing picture, see. Begins on a clock showing that it is 9:05 pm. A bit early for anything too crazy—maybe just a little routine pressure on a poor patsy. A normal Wednesday (says the sign) at the Paradise City arena next to the Dreamland bar, across the street from the hotel where a washed-up bum is sleeping. Everyone is betting against him, but is he smart enough to take the dive? 1:12 minutes later the clock shows 10:17, verifying that the movie was in real-time, a normal and routine Wednesday. Ryan’s best performance.

Sidney Lumet Film Festival

Most of these are very interior dramas. You rarely see a real antagonist on the screen. Instead, you’re dealing with a world of thoughts, memories, feelings and inner conflict. 

Tragedy in a Temporary Town (Sidney Lumet, Feb. 1956): 3.5/5

The Alcoa Hour. A young girl is touched/frightened in the woods outside of a temporary-workers camp, giving Jack Warden and his friends an excuse to start taking names, intimidating the people of color, etc. Warden is a live wire, and I’ve never seen Lloyd Bridges this loose and intense. If this aired today, people would say it was Woke, dismissingly. Meaning, I guess, that we haven’t woken up much in my lifetime. 

The Hill (Sidney Lumet, 1956): 3/5

The same setting and most of the homo eroticism, mental illness and sadomasochism of Beau Travail, plus a pre-toupee Sean Connery sweating through his khaki shorts. Surprisingly, the film muffs the big, central, titular symbol—a phallic nub the warden of this desert prison uses to march his prisoners up and down. It’s never really used as the promised crucible. Similar to but not as good as Cool Hand Luke or One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Long Day’s Journey into Night (Sidney Lumet, 1962): 4/5

Did Katherine Hepburn ever portray a junky? Why yes, she did, and at times excellently, especially during the highs. The dreamy, live, long takes of Act 2 place this among the greatest film performances, period. Drunk-ass Ralph Richardson and Dean Stockwell are also worth watching. Surely, Bergman is greatly influenced by the play. 

The Pawnbroker (Sidney Lumet, 1964): 4/5

Powerful movie with a deep character, capable of great suffering. The plot pushes him to the limit of his own hypocrisy and his need to integrate the normal, corrupt world (and in one memorable sequence, sexuality) with the horror of his own memories. He is still and always in a cage. Lots of great, very free documentary footage of New York buildings and people. Naturally it’s about the search for meaning in a world full of suffering, and what could possibly be more important than that? Schrader would have made this God’s Lonely Man conflagrate, but here he just keeps turning inward and turning inward.

The Offense (Sidney Lumet, 1973): 2/5

Lumet in Scotland and working again with Sean Connery. A police procedural with grey skies and a burnt-out cop beating people up then getting drunk, which devolves into angry young man poetry about how hard it is to be a cop. Boo hoo. An admirably dark protagonist, but it’s expressed through an awful lot of speechifying. It was a play, of course, but that’s no excuse.

Serpico, rw (Sidney Lumet, 1973): 4/5

Really all about how cool it would be to walk into your boss’ office in a flowy polka-dot shirt, leather vest, full-on beard, soulful eyes and bucket hat, put your Cuban-heel boots up on his desk and yell FUCK YOU while someone is trying to tackle you. An all-time great and charismatic performance, which is good since it’s a very internal drama that doesn’t give his character much to do besides brood and shout at the ones he loves the most. Always very real-feeling while obviously being method-y and dramatic. 

Running on Empty (Sidney Lumet, 1988): 3.5/5

River Phoenix is so great and cries in almost every scene. River must have been a weepy guy naturally, because he’s not really acting. He’s just being very emotional up there on the screen, and it’s powerful. The movie places him into a drama about how hard it is, in some families, to be allowed to go off to college, and I could relate. Hersh and Lahti are game, but their story is not very sympathetic, as their failed 60s idealism is sublimated into self-involved parenthood. Also: terrible title. 

Karel Reisz Film Fest

All three share an underlying feeling of dread that this is all going to end badly—which for the most part, it does. 

The Gambler, rw (Karel Reisz, 1974): 5/5

“What do you want? Some clams? They’ll fix you some clams. Jerry, bring over two-dozen Little Necks.” Caan plays basketball, boxes, plays tennis, dances. Paul Sorvino, Burt Young, M. Emmett Walsh, James Woods and Vic Tayback shine in small but piquant roles. Beautiful use of Mahler’s 1st. In the end, our protagonist seems satisfied if not exactly happy, having finally brought some of his hidden injuries out into the real world. 

Who’ll Stop the Rain (Karel Reisz, 1978): 2/5

The concluding standoff takes place in an old hippie compound psychedelically wired for sound and lights—heroin once and for all blowing up the Kesey acid-test dream. 

French Lieutenant’s Woman (Karel Reisz, 1981): 3.5/5

Jeremy Irons just loves to play the obsessive lover who ruins his life with desire. See also: M. Butterfly and Damage. At one point, Irons and Streep begin to mack out, and he carries her to the bed, takes 20 long seconds to remove his vest while Streep visibly passes through four distinct emotional states, and they fuck. I thought, during most of the film, that the contemporary stuff was postmodern fiddling, but soon the parallels and doubles start paying off. The conclusion satisfyingly resolves the happy-ending question.