The Grouchy Editor

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In the recent documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work, the venerable comedienne insists that, when it comes to standup, no topic is off limits.  That might be true, but when compared to today’s top comedians, old pro Rivers seems awfully tame.

Case in point:  Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic.  Silverman, who joins Kathy Griffin in the upper echelon of American female comics, doesn’t seem to have any limitations:  “Smelly” Mexicans, blacks who don’t leave tips, anus analysis, and dying old people are all just fodder for a routine which, I have to admit, is often hilarious.  What seems to be sad but true is that the crueler the setup, the funnier the payoff.

What separates Silverman from the standup pack is her surface innocence.  Her “who, little old me?” persona and cutie-pie face are at comic odds with her delivery whenever she drops the f-bomb, simulates sex, cracks wise about the Holocaust, and so forth.   It does make me wonder, however, just how well Silverman’s shtick will play when she’s 45 and no longer “cute” – something never an issue for Rivers, and probably not for Griffin, either.

But for now – or, in the case of this concert film, 2005 – Silverman’s politically incorrect, profane, and outrageous offensive works just fine.       Grade:  B

Director:  Liam Lynch  Cast:  Sarah Silverman, Brian Posehn, Laura Silverman, Bob Odenkirk, Kelsie Lynn  Release:  2005

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The World of Henry Orient is a small movie that begins as a silly romp about two teen girls infatuated with a zany pianist, and then — thanks to a pair of adult actors at the top of their game — becomes something much better:  a quietly powerful story about growing up.

Despite the title, The World of Henry Orient is initially a world belonging to New York City girls Marian and Valarie.  Marian (Merrie Spaeth) is a child of divorce who lives with her mother and a friend of the family.  Valarie (Tippy Walker) is a child prodigy who rarely sees her own parents, wealthy globetrotters who visit their daughter only when it’s convenient.  When Marian and Valarie hook up at a private school, they concoct a childish obsession:  the stalking of Henry Orient (Peter Sellers), a cowardly lothario from the Bronx with uptown aspirations and a bogus, continental accent.

Sellers, riding high in 1964 with The Pink Panther and Dr. Strangelove on his resume, does his deadpan shtick in this film and is, as always, amusing.  Walker and Spaeth have winning personalities and, although I confess there were times I felt I was watching two novice actors attempting to act, their enthusiasm is infectious.

But something near-miraculous occurs in the film at its midpoint, and this is largely thanks to a pair of consummate actors who turn a frivolous comedy into something sad, powerful, and utterly wonderful.  Tom Bosley and Angela Lansbury, as Valarie’s absentee parents, command the screen, Lansbury as a self-centered socialite and lousy mother, and Bosley in a precursor to his Happy Days role on TV —  the perfect Dad.  Bosley, in particular, has a scene with Walker that is heartbreaking, uplifting, and emblematic of why this little gem from 1964 still sparkles.      Grade:  A-

Director:  George Roy Hill  Cast:  Peter Sellers, Paula Prentiss, Angela Lansbury, Tom Bosley, Phyllis Thaxter, Bibi Osterwald, Merrie Spaeth, Tippy Walker  Release:  1964

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It’s hard to say who might be more offended by the cult classic A Boy and His Dog:  feminists, the citizens of Topeka, Kansas, or sperm banks.  I’d vote for sperm banks, because institutions generally have little or no sense of humor.

The genesis of this low-budget oddity is a Harlan Ellison novella, which tells the story of Vic (the boy) and Blood (the dog), two roving souls in post-apocalyptic America, circa 2024.  Vic (Don Johnson) is the dumb one, a hormonal homeboy who at least has sense enough to recognize the “smart” one:  Blood.  The dog, for some unexplained reason, has developed an ability to communicate telepathically, which he uses to deliver some wickedly funny one-liners (particularly the last line of the film).  Blood also boasts more mundane dog skills, such as sniffing out scarce food — and even scarcer human females.

When Vic is seduced by a female recruiter from the (literal) underworld, our scruffy heroes are given a choice:  remain above ground, where vicious bands of males fight for food and women, or follow Quilla June Holmes (Susanne Benton) to the land down under.  Vic wants to go with his new girlfriend; Blood does not.  I mentioned which of the two of them was smart, didn’t I?

Ellison’s story posits some interesting questions.  Is it better to live free but among savages (the “natural” state), or in a society where everyone must conform or face dire consequences for “lack of respect, wrong attitude, [and] failure to obey authority”?  In the world portrayed by A Boy and His Dog, this is not an appetizing choice.

But if Boy is infamous, it’s not because of any social questions it raises; it’s because of its notorious ending, in which Blood proves to be “man’s” best friend, indeed.  Is the ending misogynistic?  Is the entire movie misogynistic?  I’d say yes, but then I’d be like that sperm bank and totally devoid of a sense of humor.  Perhaps it’s just a matter of taste.       Grade:  B

Director:  L.Q. Jones  Cast:  Don Johnson, Susanne Benton, Jason Robards, Tim McIntire, Alvy Moore, Helene Winston, Charles McGraw, Hal Baylor  Release:  1975

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There are two scenes in Curtis Hanson’s Wonder Boys that stick with me.  The first takes place in a solemn college lecture hall, where a pompous author (Rip Torn) is addressing his audience.  As Torn drones on in a god-like manner, there is a sudden bark of derisive laughter from the back of the hall; a student, recognizing arrogant bullshit when he hears it, has not been able to restrain himself.  The second scene is purely visual.  An inexperienced young cop gets out of his parked patrol car and begins to cross the street — but he forgets to set his parking brake, and must comically scamper back to the car as it begins to roll downhill.

Neither of those scenes has diddly-squat to do with the plot of the film, and director Hanson could easily have relegated them to the cutting-room floor.  That Curtis kept them in his movie is telling.  This is a writer’s film.  Screenwriter Steve Kloves, adapting a novel by Michael Chabon, was free to fill Wonder Boys with many memorable, quirky vignettes that do nothing but add delicious flavor to the story.  

Memorable and quirky also describe the performances in this film.  We are so accustomed to seeing Michael Douglas wearing Armani and a sneer, manipulating his way through corporations or Wall Street, that it’s a bit jarring to instead see him in a frayed woman’s nightgown, floundering through life as English Professor Grady Tripp, a one-time literary sensation who now prefers pot-smoking to anything resembling real work.

As a sidebar, it’s interesting to note the career paths of Douglas’s two young co-stars in Wonder Boys, Tobey Maguire and Katie Holmes.  Maguire, hilarious in this film as deadpan, kleptomaniac, student-writer James Leer, went on to solid roles in the Spider-Man films, and more serious fare like Brothers.  Holmes, a T-shirt-and-panties-clad source of sexual temptation to Professor Tripp in Boys, went on to … Tom Cruise.  (I have no comment on which of them made the better career choice.  You decide.)  Adding immeasurably to the “quirk factor” in this movie are supporting actors Robert Downey, Jr., Rip Torn, and Frances McDormand.

But this is Douglas’s picture.  He said he was attracted to the role of disheveled, well-meaning-but-clueless Grady because he wanted a break from playing “the prince of darkness.”  His Professor Tripp is a shiftless man who needs a good push to make changes in his life.  Watching his struggle to do so is both hilarious and rewarding.      Grade:  A-

Director:  Curtis Hanson  Cast:  Michael Douglas, Tobey Maguire, Frances McDormand, Robert Downey, Jr., Katie Holmes, Rip Torn, Richard Knox, Richard Thomas  Release:  2000

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If you’re going to make an effective, thoughtful movie about alien abduction, your story had better hit very few false notes.  This is, after all, material that’s remarkably easy to mock:  little green (or grey) men, flying saucers – it’s all in the script, and every detail is a potential landmine if you want your movie to be taken seriously. Miraculously, Fire in the Sky works because director Robert Lieberman does almost everything right.

According to true believers, in November 1975 a work crew near Snowflake, Arizona was returning home when the men encountered an alien spaceship.  One of the crew, Travis Walton, was allegedly abducted and, after a five-day manhunt, mysteriously reappeared, shell-shocked and with an incredible tale to tell.  Walton went on to write a book depicting his supposed experience with aliens, and this film followed in 1993.

Now, whether you take any of this to heart or are simply in the mood for good science fiction, Fire in the Sky is well-crafted entertainment.  Lieberman wisely concentrates on character, focusing on the work crew, local law enforcement, and a skeptical Arizona public for two-thirds of the movie before turning things over to the “greys” and his special-effects department.

We can debate how true the film is to Walton’s book — and how true that book is to reality — but as thought-provoking entertainment, Fire in the Sky is a blast.           Grade:  B+

Director:  Robert Lieberman  Cast:  D.B. Sweeney, Robert Patrick, James Garner, Craig Sheffer, Peter Berg, Henry Thomas, Bradley Gregg, Noble Willingham, Kathleen Wilhoite  Release:  1993

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The Vanishing is a tale of two men.  One of them is a mild-mannered family man, a chemistry teacher named Raymond Lemorne who is adored by his two young daughters.  The other man is a wild-eyed fellow, a bachelor named Rex Hofman who is incapable of forming long-term relationships with women.  One of the two men is also a sociopath who kidnaps and kills women.  Guess who the madman is, Raymond or Rex?

The movie begins with the roadside abduction of Saskia (Johanna ter Steege), Rex’s lover and a girl who is entirely too trusting of strangers.  Rex is understandably distraught when Saskia seems to simply vanish, and he proceeds to devote his life to an obsessive search for her.  But just when it looks like The Vanishing is headed down an all-too-familiar, track-down-the-killer storyline, director George Sluizer surprises us by shifting the film’s focus to good citizen Raymond.

There are more twists in store, but The Vanishing is unusual in other ways.  For one thing — shattering the stereotype of nubile, female victims in most American slasher flicks — Steege’s Saskia is friendly and likable.  In her scant 15 minutes of screen time, the actress makes the audience fear for her safety.

On the other end of the personality spectrum, Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu’s sociopathic Raymond will make you think twice before ever lending a quarter to a stranger.  Raymond doesn’t seem like he’d harm a fly.  However, as he explains:  “When I was 16, I discovered something … a slight abnormality in my personality, imperceptible to those around me.”  Raymond recognized his own mental illness, his difference from others.  Now he requires unusual stimulation and has discovered an all-consuming, if antisocial, “hobby.”

To Raymond’s way of thinking, kidnapping is just another chemistry experiment.  The suspense in The Vanishing boils down to one question:  Which will prevail, Rex’s determination to learn the truth about Saskia’s fate, or Raymond’s calculated game?  Although I don’t completely buy into one character’s fateful decision near the end of the movie, there’s no doubt that the consequences of that decision are truly horrifying.         Grade:  B+

Director:  George Sluizer  Cast:  Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu, Gene Bervoets, Johanna ter Steege, Gwen Eckhaus, Bernadette Le Sache  Release:  1988

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Think of director Bill Condon’s 1998 film about James Whale, director of the first two Frankenstein films, and you might think of “that movie about an old gay guy in Hollywood.”  That’s true, but the film is much more than that.

I recently rewatched Gods and Monsters and was surprised to see how much humor Whale inserted into his horror which, in addition to the Frankenstein pictures, included The Old Dark House and The Invisible Man.  I also believe Monsters’s portrayal of Whale is less about homosexuality, more about aging and being an outsider — no matter your sexuality.

Early on in the film, the elderly Whale suffers a minor stroke and experiences a series of flashbacks, including everything from childhood poverty to his eventual professional success.  He tries to convince himself that at last he has his freedom, but laments that “I’ve spent much of my life outrunning the past, and now it floods all over me.”

In his old age Whale is alone, and just like his famous monster, he is in dire need of “a friend.”  Actually, as played by Ian McKellen, Whale wants a bit more than simple friendship.  He is a dirty old man, lusting after young hunks like the one portrayed by Brendan Fraser.  Whale is a vain and proud man.  He is also filled with self-loathing.

Gods and Monsters is an actor’s movie, a Sunset Boulevard for a new generation. McKellen was deservedly Oscar-nominated, but his supporting cast is also first-rate. Fraser brings a surprising sense of curiosity to his blue-collar hunk,  and Lynn Redgrave conveys sensitivity beneath the surface of Whale’s gruff housekeeper.          Grade:  A-

Director:  Bill Condon  Cast:  Ian McKellen, Brendan Fraser, Lynn Redgrave, Lolita Davidovich, David Dukes  Release:  1998

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When I walked into a movie theater three years ago to watch Zodiac, I felt the film’s box-office success was a foregone conclusion.  It had the right director, David Fincher, who had helmed the nightmarish, tension-filled Se7en and an ingenious little mindfuck called The Game.  It was a serial-killer movie, and witness the popularity of The Silence of the Lambs.  It starred Robert Downey, Jr. and Jake Gyllenhaal.  So I watched the movie, enjoyed it … and it was a box-office flop.  Why?

It failed at North American theaters for one of two reasons:  bad marketing, or bad execution.  I think its downfall was due to a little of both.

First, the good things about Zodiac, and there are many.  Once upon a time, before he sold out to comic-book junk like Iron Man and Tropic Thunder, Downey was an inventive actor who appeared in interesting movies.  His chain-smoking, sarcastic journalist in Zodiac is a hyperactive joy.  Downey can sit on a barstool and do nothing but flick ashes onto the floor, and I’m glued to his every move.  Second, Fincher directs the movie like a no-nonsense, serial-killing cousin of All the President’s Men.  In the hands of the right filmmaker, such as Fincher, bureaucratic paper-pushing can actually be gripping stuff, and much of the time in this movie it is.

But Fincher’s adherence to “getting it right” can also be a dramatic drag (for the true-crime-impaired, Zodiac is based on an actual case that stymied San Francisco police in the 1970s – and to this day).  At two hours and 38 minutes, the film is simply too long.  If you’re going to make an audience sit through that much conversation and paperwork, you’d better deliver a decent payoff.  Fincher, religiously sticking to the facts of the case, cannot do that.

Or maybe the movie’s disappointing box-office was a result of poor marketing.  This is how Fincher explained it:  “My philosophy is that if you market a movie to 16-year-old boys and don’t deliver Saw or Se7en, they’re going to be the most vociferous ones coming out of the screening, saying, ‘This movie sucks.’  And you’re saying goodbye to the audience who would get it, because they’re going to look at the ads and say, ‘I don’t want to see some slasher movie.’”        Grade:  B+

Director:  David Fincher  Cast:  Jake Gyllenhaal, Mark Ruffalo, Anthony Edwards, Robert Downey, Jr., Brian Cox, John Carroll Lynch, Chloe Sevigny  Release:  2007

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Match Point is one odd duck of a movie.  It was written, directed, and filmed in London, England, by Woody Allen — a man not known to venture long nor far from his Manhattan comfort zone.  It’s a crime caper heavily influenced by the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and Patricia Highsmith — yet no crime occurs until the final third of the movie.  In other words, it’s not a typical Woody Allen movie, it violates standard suspense-film protocol — yet it’s often absorbing and always entertaining.

Match Point tells the tale of a Ripley-like character straight out of Highsmith, an Irish tennis pro without much cash but with a whole lot of social ambition.  Chris Wilton (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) does his highbrow homework and soon worms his way into the heart of a plain-Jane London lass with a very wealthy daddy.  But then he meets his match in Nola (Scarlett Johansson), an American actress who shares Wilton’s humble background, if not his ruthless ambition.  Lust and adultery ensue.

At this point, you might expect the film to veer into crime-film mode.  The pesky rich girl must be eliminated, but her money must be gained.  Instead, Allen ignores plotting and continues to explore relationships:  among rich and poor, men and women, the lucky and the unlucky.  Two-thirds into the movie, Allen seems to wake up and remember, “Oh, yes.  There’s supposed to be a crime in this story.”

On the one hand a viewer might feel cheated, because there isn’t a whole lot of Hitchcock in this Hitchcock homage.  On the other hand, the social interplay is always amusing, the actors are in fine form, and the stylish location photography is great fun.  Woody should leave Manhattan more often.          Grade:  B

Director:  Woody Allen  Cast:  Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Scarlett Johansson, Emily Mortimer, Matthew Goode,  Brian Cox, Penelope Wilton  Release:  2005

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There is a scene in the 2008 family movie Marley & Me that depressed me.  No, it had nothing to do with the dog.  I’m referring to a scene in which we meet a middle-aged, pudgy character named “Ms. Kornblut.”  The chubby, plain-looking woman, obviously cast for comedic effect, looked vaguely familiar.  I sought her out in the end credits: “Ms. Kornblut — (oh … my … god) — Kathleen Turner.”

Thirty years ago I sat in a Texas movie theater and watched as a Hollywood sex symbol was born.  Lawrence Kasdan’s steamy Body Heat was taking the country by storm, largely due to the performance of 26-year-old Turner, making her film debut as conniving murderess Matty Walker.  In casting Turner for this role, Kasdan accomplished a Hollywood rarity:  He’d found a sex kitten with gravitas, a Lauren Bacall for the 1980s.

Turner’s Matty convinced everyone in the audience (and in the film) that she was much more than just a pretty face.  Here is critic Roger Ebert’s summation:  “Turner … played a woman so sexually confident that we can believe her lover (William Hurt) could be dazed into doing almost anything for her.  The moment we believe that, the movie stops being an exercise and starts working.”  By the end of the film, when Matty luxuriates on a tropical beach while her latest male victim rots in prison, I could also envision Turner, the retired movie star, lounging on just such a beach in 30 years.  Alas, I did not foresee Ms. Kornblut.

Body Heat is classic film noir for more reasons than Kathleen Turner, of course.  It features a meticulous, sly script by Kasdan, a perfect foil in Hurt, and nuanced supporting turns from Ted Danson, Mickey Rourke, and Richard Crenna.  The musical score by John Barry is legendary.  The 2006 DVD contains a treasure-trove of trivia.  Among the tidbits:  Filming of this oh-so-hot movie occurred during the coldest Florida weather in memory.  It was so chilly during the famous band shell scene with Turner and Hurt that you could actually see the actors’ breath.  Body heat, indeed.              Grade:  A

Director:  Lawrence Kasdan  Cast:  William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Richard Crenna, Ted Danson, J.A. Preston, Mickey Rourke, Kim Zimmer  Release:  1981

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