Sweet Smell of Success (1957)

the sweet smell of success poster

This is the kind of film that could coin an expression like “They don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” except that people have been using that line for every piece of crap that was made more than two years ago. Go ahead and say it to yourself, and I’ll say that David Mamet’s Glengarry, Glen Ross comes close. Both feature snarling and biting dialog. Both have irredeemable characters that will do anything for success. Mamet’s characters are mostly down-and-outers who are scrapping at each other to find some sampling of their former successes. In Sweet Smell of Success, there are successful characters and losers, both of which need each other to survive. It is a tale of a successful columnist and his need for a low-life press agent. It is a bitter, bleak story of power, success, and the desire to have more.

Burt Lancaster plays JJ Hunsecker, a powerful columnist who is at the top of his game. He gets what he wants when he wants it with no questions asked. He can make or break celebrities with a quick blurb in his column. He dines with politicians and gets any girl he wants. Tony Curtis is Sidney Falco, a low-rent press agent who needs Lancaster’s blurbs for his clients to keep in business. The problem is, Hunsecker has cut Falco out of his columns because Falco hasn’t delivered on a deal they made. Though Hunsecker can garner the love and admiration of anyone he chooses, the one woman he cannot win over is his own sister. As he repeatedly says throughout the film, she’s all he has. The problem is she is in love with a jazz singer, and they plan to marry. Hunsecker can’t bear the thought of losing his sister, so he forces Falco to get rid of the boy by any means necessary.

The film is relentless. From beginning to end it never stops its pounding. There is never a breath of kindness. The two characters with some redeeming characteristics Hunsecker’s sister, Susan (Susan Harrison), and her boyfriend, Steve Dallas (Martin Milner), are so overshadowed by the continual foul play by Hunsecker and Falco that they come away with a foul stench.

Tony Curtis pulls a performance that reminded me of his turn as the Boston Strangler. It is not difficult to see his Falco turning to murder if it helped him succeed. Though as the strangler, he seems to have found some remorse for his actions, whereas Falco is irredeemable to the very end.

There is a scene in the middle of the picture where Falco pulls a trick to convince a mid level performer to make Falco his press agent. At this point, Falco needs all the clients he can get. Later the performer comes to Falco, ready to sign him as his agent. Falco, now feeling some signs of success brushes the performer off without a second thought. It is a telling scene of just how heartless and uncaring Falco has become.

Where has Burt Lancaster been all my life? Sadly enough, the only film I can remember watching him in is the 1986 toss-off comedy Tough Guys. His performance here is nothing short of astonishing. He is the king of his castle, never stepping off his high throne, treating everyone as servants. Even his shows of affection for Susan are grotesque and menacing.

This is a story that is hard to watch. It is brutal, and menacing with nary a redeeming aspect. But it is a film that must be watched. The craftsmanship of the filmmakers and the performances of the actors elevate it above so many others. It is nearly a morality tale of the horrors that befall humanities greed.

The Elephant Man (1980)

the elephant man poster

David Lynch’s second full-length film contains the odd assortment of freakish characters we’ve become accustomed to in his films. Yet, despite having one of the more outlandish characters he has ever put on celluloid, it remains his most sentimental film. The Elephant Man is based upon the true story of John Merrick, a 19th-century Englishman with massive deformities throughout his body. He performed in freakshows for many years until he was found by Dr. Treves who cared for him and placed him in Whitechapel hospital. It is his time in this hospital that the film concerns itself with. For here, Merrick is able to live, more or less, as a gentleman. He is well-fed, well-kept, and educated. He can read, write, speak eloquently, and even begins to entertain the well-to-dos of society.

It is filmed beautifully in black and white. It is a very well-made piece of cinema. Lynch, for the most part, stays away from his trademark imagery and symbolism and sticks to more traditional storytelling, although the opening sequence is a straight Lynch nightmare. That the characters come from real life and not Lynch’s twisted imagination only serves to add to the surrealism of the film.

It has been said that Lynch is too sentimental in this movie. That he manipulates the audience too much. Ebert even goes as far as saying Lynch tricks the audience into believing that Merrick is a noble and courageous man. He suggests, that rather than being noble, Merrick is merely doing the best that he can, under poor circumstances. It is true that the film is sentimental. There is hardly a scene that does not prick the audience’s emotions.

How many of us would dare to get out of bed each day with similar difficulties? And here, this man, though physically plagued, manages to keep up his spirits and even write and build card sculptures. It would be a poor director at that who could not produce a tear at such a sight. If we pretend it is not a noble feat for such a creature to retain his humanity and good cheer, while being constantly bombarded with inhumane indecencies are we any better than those who stand outside the carnival and jeer?

Yet there is something in these critiques of sentimentalism. Lynch continues to use his tricks as a director to keep our eyes wet. There is a scene in which Merrick meets Dr. Treve’s wife and breaks down with tears at her simple kind acts. His tears state that no one has been so kind to him as to treat him like a gentleman. Though effective, this is using the craft of filmmaking to do nothing but manipulate emotions. In other films, I would lambaste this type of sentimentalism and chastise the audience for falling for it. Yet the overall sadness throughout the story makes me fall for it here. I cannot commend such use of it in the film anywhere, and yet it works for me in this particular instance.

Overall, The Elephant Man is a fine achievement for a young director. Lynch would go on to make more articulate, less sentimental films. But here we find him assured in his imagery and storytelling. He effectively sweeps the viewer into the emotional turmoil of such a sad, hopeless story.

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

the hound of the baskervilles

In my determination to read all of the classic detective fiction I recently picked up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles. I have a collection of Sherlock Holmes short stories, but those are a little too simplified for my tastes. They consist of a setup for the mystery and then a detailed description of Holmes using his near supernatural ability of observation to determine the culprit. Most of these never develop any real sense of mystery because Holmes is too brilliant for the reader’s good. We are briefly marveled by his powers of observation and deduction, to the point that we begin trying to concentrate our own powers on the mundane tasks of our lives. Upon some contemplation, though, it is easy to realize that paying attention to details will not bring us the answers the super detective seems to collect from the air at will. There are too many possibilities as to why our neighbor has a bit of mud on the cuffs of his pants to be able to surmise the reason out of sheer reasoning.

This being said, I was looking forward to reading a longer-length novel about this super sleuth. With more pages, surely Doyle would prepare a better mystery for his hero to unravel. Still with a mere 174 pages, Doyle managed to create a more well-rounded story and develop enough mystery to satisfy my tastes.

The story revolves around Henry Baskerville and his inherited homestead amongst the moors of England. It seems his family has been haunted by a demon hound for generations. The patriarchs of the family have befallen many a beastly end in this home. Not one for superstition, Henry moves to the homestead from America after he inherited the land when the previous owner, Sir Charles Baskerville, fell dead of fright. After a series of threats and strange circumstances, Dr. Watson travels to the Baskerville home to investigate. Holmes has announced himself too busy in London to be able to make the trip himself.

This point was a brilliant maneuver by Doyle. Allowing the more human Dr. Watson to do much of the investigation himself allows the mystery time to develop rather than be solved immediately by Holmes. Dr. Watson investigates the few residences around Baskerville Hall and finds them all to be rather suspicious in their own way. Suspense is built by the appearance of an escaped convict loose in the area, and the appearance of a mysterious stranger roaming the moors.

When Holmes does appear back on the scene, Doyle allows the action to take the place of Holmes’s usual verbal pomposity. Though, we are told numerous times that this is a most interesting and difficult case by the detective. As if the reader is too dumb to appreciate the difficulties of the case, we need to be reminded by Holmes over and over again. Once the case is solved, the novel is concluded with a meeting between Holmes and Dr. Watson months after the case had occurred. Here Holmes once again must amaze us with his brilliant deductive powers. Once again, a mystery novel must tie up loose ends with a lot of verbiage.

The Hound of the Baskervilles was a light, enjoyable read. It is easy to see why Sherlock Holmes mysteries were so popular. They are easy to read, quickly paced, and pack enough muscle to keep the page turned. Holmes penetrating powers of observation and deduction are fascinating. Like magic tricks, they entrance the reader and make us feel that with a little help and a lot of practice, we could also perform such feats. As serious literature, the book fails to be scrutinized. I will read more of the Holmes mysteries, and these books will hold a place on my bookcase, but they will have to hold a second shelf to the true masters of the genre.

Around The World In 80 Days (2004)

around the world in 80 days movie poster

There are some films that I make no plans to watch, nor have any desire to see. Yet, sometimes, through circumstance, watch them is exactly what I do. Recently, I was invited to dinner at a friend’s house. Another invitee decided to rent this Jackie Chan vehicle. Never to be one to turn down a free movie, I watched.

I am not one of Jackie Chan’s fanboys. The action sequences in his films are generally spectacular, and often hilarious. But his film’s lack of a cohesive narrative, god-awful dialog, and horrid acting turn me off, more than any stunt can save. From time to time, I do manage to catch one of his films, even enough to notice their general degeneration of late. His earlier, non-English films, though containing worse overall production value, had more bang for your buck. His American-made films seem to be bent on adding plot and characterization to the detriment of the action. This might be commendable if the additional plotting was any good. But more often than not, it’s just a glossy version of the same old schlock. Around the World in 80 Days follows this formula.

Waiting thirty minutes into a Jackie Chan film for the first action sequence is an atrocity. When that action sequence is lame, you might as well take up the pooper scooper and walk the dog. The movie followed this pattern. Thirty minutes of mind-numbing story development followed by tame, lame action sequences.

The plot is old and rehashed. Loosely based on the Jules Verne novel of the same name, Chan plays Lau Xing masquerading as Passpartout, servant of snooty inventor Phileas Fogg (Steve Coogan). Through a bet, they impart on a journey around the world in…oh, who cares? Who watches a Jackie Chan film for the plot? And if you don’t know this story by now, stick around and I’m sure they’ll make another TV movie of it shortly.

The film is scattered with high-profile cameos. Most interesting of which is the now California governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s turn as a Turkish prince. The others are mostly pointless and unfunny cameos designed to make the audience go “oh that’s Rob Schneider” and miss the fact that he’s amazingly unfunny and his character serves no particular point. The casting of Kathy Bates as the Queen seems most spectacularly ill-placed. Her British accent is appalling. Was it too hard to find a real Brit to play this role? Some of my French friends have better British accents than that.

With the exception of but a few moments, the fight scenes, few that we get, are unspectacular. The joy of Jackie Chan is in his ability to stage acrobatic action sequences while using an odd array of props. Chairs, stools, flags, and culinary devices have all served as weapons in previous pictures, yet here he is mostly intent on using his hands to fight against regular swords and blades. It’s not that the action is terrible per se, but that they pale in comparison with so many of the others he has performed.

There is really nothing to recommend this movie. It is age appropriate enough. There is little to offend the younger sensibilities (besides the acting, plot, and production values)If you have children, I suppose, they might find it silly enough to enjoy. But, with so many other quality films out there appropriate for children, I can’t make myself recommend this one to them either.

American History X (1998)

american history x poster

There are spoilers. Read at your own risk.

It has been many years since I have seen this film. My memory attested it to be an excellent picture that meaningfully discussed issues as heavy as race relations, prejudice, and hatred. Unfortunately, my memory is a little at fault, and upon viewing it this time I found it a bit disappointing. The film sets its sights on the heavens, and while succeeding in many ways, it could not attain such a lofty height. In trying to cover all the basis in such a thorny issue as race relations it cheats a bit in its storytelling. But we’ll cover more of that in a bit.

The plot involves a young, white man named Derek Vinyard (Edward Norton) and the tumultuous 24 hours after his release from prison for killing two black men, while they were trying to steal his car. Much of the story is told in a flashbacked black and white. Here we learn that Derek was a Neo-Nazi skinhead leader who had a change of heart after his stint in prison. Post-prison time is being spent trying to keep his brother, Danny (Edward Furlong) from following in his footsteps. A path he is already walking down.

This is a powerful, moving film. Reading the boards on IMDB will attest to lives being changed through watching it. It works best when it shoots for an emotional response, rather than an intellectual one. Scenes such as when Edward Nortan’s skinhead leader rallies the troops to loot a local grocer, the opening scene where we see Norton kill the two aforementioned black men, or a traumatic rape scene in prison, emit a guttural response from its viewers. It is in such scenes that we are rallied into a discourse on the issues presented. Yet when the film gets talky it falls short of its ideals. It presents nothing beyond the general rhetoric you can find just about anywhere. In fact, most of the rhetoric is spewed from the Neo-Nazi skinheads, and this type of discussion can be found every other day on daytime talk shows. There is little in way of discussion from the rational, unprejudiced mind.

There are two powerful performances from Edward Norton and Edward Furlong. At this point Norton was already beginning to take his role as the new Robert DeNiro, who had previously taken his turn as the new Marlon Brando. Let’s hope he escapes the fate of mediocrity that they fell into. Furlong who once made Arnold Schwarzenegger look like Laurence Olivier with such a wooden performance, here has finally made himself worthy of attention. He gives a fine performance here, as a young man struggling with the passionate feelings of youth.

Tackling an issue as heady as racism in America is a worthy, yet difficult cause. It proves to be too much for first-time screenwriter David McKenna and director Tony Kaye. Trying to condense their story into regulation movie time they either skipped over completely or barely touched on some important issues. To give reasons for Derek’s turn as a skinhead we are only allowed one small dinner table conversation with his father who spews some hateful race sentiments. This and his father’s murder at the hands of black addicts in a crackhouse, whom he was trying to save from fire must suffice for an intelligent, middle-class youth to turn into a Nazi. Likewise, his subsequent salvation in prison does give us sufficient reasons for this turn of heart. Yes, the skinheads in prison are hypocrites, and yes the rape scene is brutal enough to turn away from their midst. But, his relationship with his black coworker, Lamont (Guy Torry) is not enough to change the heart of such hatred. Torry gives a fine performance, and does enough to show Derek that all blacks aren’t as vile as the rhetoric made him believe, but are jokes about sex really going to make a skinhead believe in the goodness of the black race?

In searching for a cause behind the Neo-Nazi scene in America the filmmakers seem to point directly towards the intense feelings of anger found in adolescence and the need to fit in with some social group. And rightly, these two issues play powerfully on the minds of many in the skinhead culture. But the issue goes deeper than this, and it is here, again, that this film misses the mark. Just as Derek dismisses issues of poverty, and social position in the plight of the black man this film seems to skim over some of the deeper motivations behind racism.

Don’t get me wrong. This is a powerful, well-made film. There is plenty to chew upon and discuss. It is, in fact, a good film to watch with others and bring to light an important debate. Yet when I watch it I can’t help but think of how it could have been better, how it could have reached the heights it was reaching for.

Shadows and Fog (1991)

shadows and fog poster

Editors Note: I wrote this long before I knew of the various accusations against Woody Allen. I have no comment to make about those allegations, but as I am reposting this review in 2022 I wanted to note that this is not any sort of endorsement of Allen as a human being, but simply a review of his film.

Woody Allen’s tribute to German Expressionism is better than most critics would have you believe. Sure there is very little plot to speak of, it’s more a series of vignettes and gags than a cohesive narrative. Sure, it ends rather abruptly, never solving the mystery, but none of this stopped my thorough enjoyment of this film.

As the title suggests the entire movie is designed in shadows and fog. Shot with beautiful black and white photography, Allen and cinematographer Carlo Di Palma create the look and feel of an unnamed East European city as seen in such films as M and Nosferatu. The lighting is set up so that in nearly every shot underlying shadows engulf the scene. In the exteriors, a vicious fog rolls across the night sky obscuring most details. Through the fog bumbles Kleinman (Allen is his typical neurotic schmuck role) trying to find his role in a vigilante mob’s plan to stop a serial killer roaming the streets. From dark night until dawn, Kleinman wanders from place to place meeting a wide variety of curious characters (played by an even more curious group of celebrities), the most endearing of which is a desperate sword swallower (Mia Farrow)who has wandered into a brothel after fleeing her cheating boyfriend/clown (John Malkovich).

It is a little unsettling to watch Allen do his normal schtick while the characters around him are murdered, subjected to racial prejudice, and beaten by the police while discussing such subjects as love, sex, and meaning. There is a subtext involving the plight of the Jews between the World Wars, foreshadowing the Nazis. Yet the gags remain as solid as any Woody Allen film. Amongst the seriousness of his subtext and the films he is paying homage to, Allen finds a way to bring full-bellied laughter. Though his quirky neurosis isn’t as resolutely hilarious as it is in such films as Annie Hall, it is still enough to fill the film with mirth.

The film ends rather abruptly with Kleinman having never learned his role in the plan, nor the killer having been caught. Yet as the credits role we realize the mystery was not so much the reason behind the story as a method of creating it.

Khartoum (1966)

khartoumt

One of the fun things about going to the library is that you never know what you are going to get. They have a wide selection of DVDs, but very few are available at any given time. I was surprised this last time when I actually had a choice to pick from. Albeit it was a choice between 2 films (the few others available were either foreign films translated into French or straight French films). The choice was between the Gary Cooper version of A Farewell to Arms and an unheard-of by me Charlton Heston/Laurence Olivier adventure called Khartoum. Not in the mood for Hemingway, I decided a Heston/Olivier picture might be a treat.

To say this is a Laurence Olivier picture is to say too much. Though he gets top billing, and his character plays an important part in the picture, his actual screen time is minimal. He plays a part known only as The Mahdi, who is a Muslim that rose out of the desert to claim his place as the chosen one. I believe Olivier is an African Muslim like I believe Heston is a Mexican cop. But we suspend our disbelief and all that for the sake of the story.

As it is the story is a grand one. Based on historical events, of which, sadly, I’ve never heard a lick of until this film, where the Mahdi attempts to take control of British ran Sudan. The mysterious General Gordan (Charlton Heston) is sent down to help things along. A standoff evolves and it is wit against wit.

It is not a bad film, but neither is it a great one. There are some truly beautiful shots of the scenery. Heston plays Gordan without as much conflict as the character requires, but with enough gusto to make it believable. Olivier is, as always, near perfect. With simple facial expressions, he carries the convictions of a man who believes himself a prophet. The scenes between Olivier and Heston, though historically inaccurate, add a much-needed emotional punch. The direction is a bit plodding, nothing particularly bad, but nothing exceptional either.

When watching historical films such as Khartoum, having some connection with the actual events helps bring meaning to the picture. Films based on the holocaust are often forgiven some of their cinematic sins due to the weight of the history behind the story. Yet, historical films that are not as well known can also entrance the viewer through the weight of their story. Knowing that the events actually happened often stir the viewer to greater emotional depths than a depiction of completely fictional events. It is here that Khartoum failed for me. As I said there was nothing particularly wrong with the production, but it never really captured my emotions. Admittedly I know very little about British history or the struggles of the Mid East beyond the years of my own life. This is a fault of my own, yet a film should be universal in its undertaking. If it fails to move an audience unfamiliar with its history then it will likely fall into obscurity. For those familiar with this particular history, the film may bring more to you than it did me. As for me, it was a mostly entertaining, and an interesting couple of hours in my life, it will be one that will largely be forgotten in time.

The Phantom of the Opera By Gaston Leroux

phantom of the opera book cover

I’ve never seen a movie version of Phantom (not the classic, silent Lon Chaney version, and certainly not the new Joel “I should repent of my cinematic sins” Schumacher version). Nor have I seen any stage version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, or listened to music from that particular show. What I knew about the material is what everyone knows, what pop culture understands from the spoofs and the chattering fans in the back. I’ve never really been that interested either. What made me pick up the book then? I’m not really sure. Maybe it was the heavy amount of publicity it was getting from the new movie. Maybe it was my wife’s love of the musical, and a faint remembrance of her sending me a homemade card with a lyric from it. Or maybe it was the only halfway interesting book in English the library had.

Either way, I’m glad I picked it up. In a peculiar way, it is a continuation of my fascination with detective fiction. No, this is not Phillip Marlowe or Hercule Poirot chasing down some notorious killer. Gaston Leroux has created a mystery involving a ghost and murderer without the help of private detectives or Scotland Yard. Much of the words included in the book are determined to unmask this phantom, through a series of clues and hints. It is here we find kinship with the likes of Agatha Christie.

I’ll not explain much of the plot, for everyone knows it for the most part (and if you don’t just who are you?) It is a story set in the Paris Opera, a gigantic, intricate building with layer upon layer of subterranean levels masked in noirish, dark shadows. It involves a ghost, or phantom if you will, that lives in the bowels of the opera and makes frequent, and peculiar requests (such as a monthly salary and nightly tickets to the Opera in one of the best seats)to the new management. The old management, it seems, was all too happy to give in to the requests, but the new management is not so sure. Thus begins a series of punishments. There is also a love triangle involving the ghost, an accomplished singer of the opera, Christine Daae, and her childhood friend, Raoul.

Though I am learning the French language, my skill level is nowhere near the point where I have tried to tackle reading a novel in that language. So it is an English translation that I read. What I am learning in my French courses, though, is that translation is often a very difficult thing to do. Though many words literally translate well, often subtler meanings behind the words do not come through in a translation. Also, often words have no exact translation so approximations must be made. The story may come out the same, but the poetry is left behind. Maybe someday I’ll be able to read The Phantom of the Opera in its original language, but for now, I must be satisfied with this translation.

The first half of the novel acts exclusively like a mystery. There are rumors floating around the Opera of a ghost that haunts the lower levels of the building. Random notes appear to the new managers, threatening horror if the ghost’s demands are not met. There are ones who claim to have seen the ghost, others who claim to know him well, or as well as one can know a ghost. It is written from an outsider’s perspective. Our point of view is that of an investigator, someone interested in finding the truth about the ghost and events that happened during this time period. Leroux does a marvelous job making this piece of fiction look like history. After reading I even spent some time researching the events described to see if there was any truth to the story.

It is in the second half of the story that things change. We are introduced properly to the ghost and his madness. From this point, the story shifts from a mystery to a thriller. We know who the phantom is, but we are unsure of what he is going to do. Raoul and Christine are mad to leave the opera and be wed, but the ghost intercedes to create a great deal of suspense. As separate halves I found them both to be exhilarating, and a great read. But considered as a whole they leave a lot of questions. As with any good mystery, Phantom of the Opera begins with a lot of questions. The narrative spends a great deal of time trying to determine what the ghost is, whether it is flesh and blood or a spirit. Whether the events happening are caused by the supernatural, or are just tricks and games. As mentioned, the ghost makes many requests for service, it acts in peculiar ways to add to the mystery. Yet, when the nature of the ghost is revealed, these things go unanswered. The great mystery is revealed, but much of what was mysterious is never explained. This is a small quibble because the story moves along with such gusto it leaves little time to be perplexed.

Overall, Phantom of the Opera is a fast, entertaining read. There is much to enjoy and think over. It is a well-written, well-plotted, and well-done piece of fiction. It is not a great piece of literature, but this should not keep any fan of the written word from picking up and enjoying this novel.

How to Be Good by Nick Hornby

how to be good nick hornsby

How to Be Good is the third book by Nick Hornby that I have read. The other two, High Fidelity and 31 Songs were insightful, well written, and hilarious. Both, happen to also be about music. 31 Songs is a collection of essays about, well, 31 songs. High Fidelity uses the protagonist’s obsession with pop music to discuss his relationships with women. I have not read the book, but the movie version of About a Boy also contains a similar musical theme. Music, is obviously, something very dear to the heart of the writer. With How to Be Good, Hornby seems to be making a real attempt to steer clear of this area. In fact, the narrator/main character, Katie Carr, mentions that her life is completely devoid of music, books, and movies. Unfortunately, her life and this book are almost completely devoid of what makes Nick Hornby’s novels so good.

In choosing to leave his normal type of fiction, Hornby chose to write this novel in the first person from the perspective of a middle-aged, middle-class, female doctor. Whereas he can write articulately, with great perspective, about a middle-aged male obsessed with music, Hornby has no true understanding of how a woman doctor might feel. This character comes off sounding whiny, self-important, rattlebrained, and false. The plot comes off so implausible I spent most of the novel groaning for help.

Katie Carr tries to live a good life. She became a doctor to help people, she tries to love her husband, and raise her two children right. Yet by the books beginning her life is thoroughly messed up. Problems with her husband David, the self-professed “Angriest man in Holloway” have been going on for years, and her she is no longer sure of how she feels about her own children. In fact, she is ready for a divorce and a new life. However, before she is granted this, her husband, healed by some mystical healer changes things around. Instead of the sarcastic, angry man he has always been, suddenly he is a kind, generous, make the world better kind of guy. The crux of the story is Katie trying to come to terms with this change. Having a hateful husband was horrible, but she is not sure having a super husband is much better. What follows is a series of mildly amusing, if highly suspect, adventures, and a great deal of preaching.

There are few scatterings of great writing. My favorite moments are when we get small snippets of the old David. His anger is in the form of sarcasm and we get summaries of articles he wrote for a paper, which are quite hilarious. When Hornby is on, he is able to bring out humor and poignancy in any scene. Here, we gleam a few moments of this brilliance before he bogs us back down into his sermon.

Knowing a little biography of the author, and his own tumultuous marriage, I can’t help but think this is his way of sorting things out. Perhaps he is even trying to see things from his wife’s perspective. There is a lot of cutthroat bickering between spouses here, and one wonders if some of it isn’t autobiographical.

Elsewhere, Hornby has been able to give us a glimpse of how to be good, without overtly showing us. In other novels, he gives us characters who have flaws but are able to sort something out for themselves while remaining true to their character. Here the story seems sacrificed in order to tell the audience how to live. Let’s hope he returns to his earlier form by showing us, and not preaching.

Out of Sight (1998)

out os sight poster

When I purchased my DVD player, I wanted to only own the old classics and excellent new, indie films. The first DVD I purchased was Steven Soderbergh’s Out of Sight. It had the indie cred I desired, plus it was by a director I admired. And I am the type of person to admire directors over actors, and genres. Plus it didn’t do well at the box office so I could feel justified in my ability to overlook the big blockbusters and snuggle into something small and arty.

I have since realized that trying to impress some film buff that will never show himself at my house is both immature and not very practical. After a few additional classics (2001, Taxi Driver, and Evil Dead II) I came to realize that there are some extremely popular DVDs that are must-haves. It’s hard to claim indy cred when you’re picking up Jaws and Animal House. Plus my DVD player came with free copies of crap like Michael and Basic Instinct. Add that to the odd assortment of movies I keep picking up as gifts and swiping from my brother via Mom and you have a whole heap of DVDs not worth bragging about.

All of this is simply to say I like Out of Sight a great deal. I have watched it every six months or so since I bought it 5 years ago and have never been disappointed. It is a crime story more interested in characters than crime. Though some of the plot points are on the implausible side, the film is so overwhelmingly enjoyable it is easy to forgive such faults.

Soderbergh is a talented artist, though as a director he is a bit of a mixed bag. He has created some truly brilliant films (Traffic, the Limey) but also a few bombs, artistically speaking (Full Frontal, Oceans 11). After starting the indie revolution with Sex, Lies, and Videotape he created the first of several experimental films, Kafka. Thus developing a theme for his films: smart, original films followed by artistic experiments that mostly fail. With Out of Sight, he began what I would call his attempt at being mainstream. It is based on an Elmore Leonard novel, produced by Danny DeVito and Barry Sonnefeld, and stars a couple of up-and-commers looking for a hit. For those of you that scoffed at my labeling, this movie “indie” do understand that this movie was pre-Erin Brokovich, Traffic, or the Oceans series for Soderbergh.

George Clooney was a television star from ER but had yet to have a successful movie. And Jennifer Lopez was still Jennifer Lopez rather than J.Lo, Jenny from the Block, or Bennifer. In 1992 it was, well, not exactly an indie movie, but it definitely was not a sure-fired blockbuster. Point of fact, it rather bombed at the box office.

Soderbergh tends to be his own director of photography in his pictures. By his own admission, this is more because of his method of producing pictures quickly, than of his own expertise at this skill. Though he does do a good job at it. In fact, one of the first things I noticed about the picture, was its use of light. There are two prisons seen in the picture, and both are given a different enough look that you can easily tell them apart. During the scenes in Miami, the lighting is very bright and sunny. Soderburg intentionally over-lighted the windows for interior shots to give the outside a particularly sunny look. Detroit is shot in a lot of blues that give an added feel of cold and separation.

Each character is given a chance to shine. There are no flat characters designed to move the plot along. Rather they are fleshed out and appear real. Clooney and Lopez show real chemistry on screen and you begin to believe that a US Marshall could actually fall for an escaped bank robber. I have never seen an episode of ER and my buddies and I used to make fun of Clooney for his charming good looks and general star quality. This is the film that began to change my mind and understand him for the fine actor he has become. This film also made me believe that Jennifer Lopez was a fine actress and someone to look out for. But, of course, she quickly became a caricature of herself and has not done anything since then to make me a believer.

I love this film. It is a crime drama that pays more attention to the character than the crime. It is romantic, without being schmaltzy. It is funny, without shooting for gags. It is a well-made, competent movie that holds up on repeated viewings. I can still brag that it holds a place on my DVD shelf.