36 Fillette (Catherine Breillat, 1988)

Delphine Zentout in 36 Fillette

Cast: Delphine Zentout, Etienne Chicot, Olivier Parnière, Jean-Pierre Léaud, Berta Dominguez D., Jean-François Stévenin, Diane Bellego, Adrienne Bonnet. Screenplay: Catherine Breillat, Roger Salloch, based on a novel by Breillat. Cinematography: Laurent Dailland. Production design: Olivier Paultre. Film editing: Yann Dedet. Music: Maxime Schmitt. 

Catherine Breillat's explorations of adolescent female sexuality continue in 36 Fillette. (The title refers to a French dress size in the "Junior" range.) The protagonist, Lili (Delphine Zentout), is 14 years old and precocious both mentally and physically, but perhaps not emotionally. She's visiting Biarritz with her mother (Adrienne Bonnet) and father (Jean-François Stévenin) and her 17-year-old brother, Bertrand, (Olivier Parnière). One evening, she wheedles her self-absorbed parents into letting her accompany her brother on a nighttime excursion into the clubs at Biarritz, and they hitch a ride with a 40-something businessman named Maurice (Etienne Chicot), who has a couple of Bertrand's acquaintances in his car. Eventually, Lili and Bertrand go their separate ways, and in the course of her explorations Lili encounters a local celebrity, Boris Golovine -- an extended cameo by Jean-Pierre Léaud, who got his start in movies playing a disaffected adolescent in The 400 Blows (François Truffaut, 1959). They strike up a conversation which provides the bulk of exposition for Lili's character. Then she re-connects with Bertrand and Etienne, and goes off with the latter for an evening of sexual and emotional exploration in which it becomes apparent that Lili is in many ways the more mature person of the two -- though perhaps not enough to justify such an exploitative relationship. In the French manner, the film is too talkative to be shocking, but Breillat is really not out to shock audiences so much as make them question their own reactions to such a pairing. Zentout, who was 16 at the time, gives an astonishing performance, though I find myself queasy at the thought of so young an actress playing such a role.  

The Face Behind the Mask (Robert Florey, 1941)

Evelyn Keyes and Peter Lorre in The Face Behind the Mask

Cast: Peter Lorre, Evelyn Keyes, Don Beddoe, George E. Stone, John Tyrrell, Cy Shindell, Stanley Brown, James Seay, Warren Ashe, Charles C. Wilson, George McKay. Screenplay: Allen Vincent, Paul Jarrico, Arthur Levinson, based on a radio play by Thomas Edward O'Connell. Cinematography: Franz Planer. Art direction: Lionel Banks. Film editing: Charles Nelson. Music: Sidney Cutner. 

A real sleeper, Robert Florey's The Face Behind the Mask performed poorly at the box office and was critically dismissed on its release, but over time it has gained admirers. Florey and cinematographer Franz Planer do what they can with the movie's scrawny budget, achieving some haunting expressionistic images and telling the story with great economy: The film runs only 69 minutes. It's a showcase for Peter Lorre, who plays Janos Szabo, a Hungarian immigrant to the United States whose naïve enthusiasm is smothered when he's horribly scarred in a fire. (We get only a brief glimpse of his scarred face, but it's enough to make what follows plausible.) Trained as a watchmaker and skilled with his hands, Janos is unable to find work. Then a chance encounter with a small-time thief (George E. Stone) sets him on the road to crime. Trying to earn money for plastic surgery, he becomes the head of a small ring of jewel thieves, using his expertise to break into safes and circumvent burglar alarms. (It's a sign of the small budget, and of Florey's narrative economy, that we never see him and his gang at work.) They make enough for Janos to have a rather creepy mask made to cover his disfigurement, but on learning that surgery can never fully repair his face he becomes despondent. Then he meets a blind woman (Evelyn Keyes) who doesn't care what he looks like, and they fall in love. It's a rather soppy twist to the story, and Keyes is never able to make her character other than a saccharine cliché, but the film takes a darker turn that undercuts the sentimentality. Lorre is terrific throughout, as Janos ranges from meek to menacing to heroic. 

Nowhere (Gregg Araki, 1997)

James Duval in Nowhere

Cast: James Duval, Rachel True, Nathan Bexton, Chiara Mastroianni, Debi Mazar, Kathleen Robertson, Joshua Gibran Mayweather, Jordan Ladd, Christina Applegate, Sarah Lassez, Guillermo Diaz, Jeremy Jordan, Alan Boyce, Jaason Simmons, Ryan Philippe, Heather Graham, Scott Caan, Thyme Lewis, Mena Suvari, Beverly D'Angelo, Charlotte Rae, Denise Richards, Teresa Hill, Kevin Light, Traci Lords, Shannen Doherty, Rose McGowan, John Ritter, Christopher Knight, Eve Plumb, Lauren Tewes, David Leisure. Screenplay: Gregg Araki. Cinematography: Arturo Smith. Production design: Patti Podesta. Film editing: Gregg Araki. 

I have taken the liberty of listing more cast members than usual just because Nowhere is a crowded movie, a throng of newcomers, future stars, familiar faces, and a few one-shots. It's a mess, but an intentional one, the chaotic culminating film of Gregg Araki's Teenage Apocalypse trilogy that began with Totally F***ed Up in 1993 and continued with The Doom Generation in 1995. Araki called it "Beverly Hills 90210 on acid," and that serves as well as anything to describe this freewheeling farrago of sex and drugs, as Araki puts a lot of Gen Xers and Millennials through hell. It's eye-bombing and ear-assaulting, and it contains a rape scene as well as a murder committed with a can of Campbell's Tomato Soup. In short, don't watch it unprepared.   

Haywire (Steven Soderbergh, 2011)

Gina Carano in Haywire

Cast: Gina Carano, Channing Tatum, Michael Douglas, Antonio Banderas, Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Bill Paxton, Michael Angarano, Mathieu Kassovitz. Screenplay: Lem Dobbs. Cinematography: Steven Soderbergh. Production design: Howard Cummings. Film editing: Steven Soderbergh. Music: David Holmes. 

Haywire could have been a solid entry in the male-dominated action genre when Steven Soderbergh cast MMA champion Gina Carano as a sexy undercover agent named Mallory Kane. But Soderbergh may have had his doubts, because he surrounded her with a solid and experienced supporting cast, letting her beat up characters played by Channing Tatum and Michael Fassbender and outwit the ones played by Michael Douglas, Antonio Banderas, and Ewan McGregor. And even before the film was released it was clear that Carano's weakness as an actress might be a problem, so some of her dialogue was dubbed by Laura San Giacomo and some of it was digitally altered to lower it in tone. And when the film was released the critics were not impressed with her debut: In the New Yorker, David Denby said she was "strong, fast, relentless [but] not much of an actress," while Time's Richard Corliss called her "all kick and no charisma." Still, the film got mostly good reviews for what it is: a solid action film. Carano seemed on track to success, winning a role in Fast and Furios 6 (Justin Lin, 2013) and in the first two seasons of Lucasfilm's Star Wars spinoff series The Mandalorian. But then she got political, criticizing the use of face masks during the Covid crisis and supporting Donald Trump's claim that the 2020 election was stolen, thus finding her mainstream career blocked. So a star wasn't born and a genre wasn't revitalized.

Alphabet City (Amos Poe, 1984)

Michael Winslow in Alphabet City

Cast: Vincent Spano, Michael Winslow, Kate Vernon, Jami Gertz, Zohra Lampert, Raymond Serra, Kenny Marino, Danny Jordano, Tom Mardirosian. Screenplay: Gregory K. Heller, Amos Poe. Cinematography: Oliver Wood. Production design: M. Nord Haggerty. Film editing: Graham Weinbren. Music: Nile Rodgers. 

In 1984, a cop show called Miami Vice revolutionized its genre with hip music and lots of style, transforming the city where it was set into a place where even wickedness looked good. In the same year, director Amos Poe tried to do something similar for the gangster movie in New York's Lower East Side with a movie called Alphabet City. He cast a 20-something actor, Vincent Spano, as Johnny, a 19-year-old sharp-dressing factotum for the mob, and sent him cruising the city streets in a limited edition Pontiac Trans Am to the music of Nile Rodgers. The movie's streets are hosed-down and shiny and the city lights are haloed by a fog filter. Johnny has a wife/partner/companion named Angie (Kate Vernon), who does abstract expressionist paintings and tends to their infant daughter in the loft where they live. He cruises about, collecting from drug dealers like Lippy (Michael Winslow) and club owners who pay the mob protection. But then the mob boss wants Johnny to torch an apartment building, which is a problem because Johnny's sister, Sophia (Jami Gertz), and his mother (Zohra Lampert) live there. We learn that Sophia is a party girl and Mama spends her time ironing while her latest boyfriend snoozes on the sofa before the TV, and Johnny has some trouble persuading them to vacate. So he decides to quit the mob and tries to persuade Angie that they should take the baby and run. Naturally, the mob sends out hit men and Johnny has to deal with them. And that's pretty much it. Spano has real presence, and Winslow creates an amusingly quirky character for Lippy, but the clichés are as pervasive as the lens-created fog that blurs the streetlights. Alphabet City is worth watching only as an example of the high '80s style that MTV made ubiquitous, but if you want to see that the reruns of Miami Vice are more worth watching.

Fear City (Abel Ferrara, 1984)

Tom Berenger in Fear City

Cast: Tom Berenger, Billy Dee Williams, Jack Scalia, Melanie Griffith, Rossano Brazzi, Rae Dawn Chong, Joe Santos, Michael V. Gazzo, Jan Murray, Janet Julian, Daniel Faraldo, Maria Conchita Alonso, Ola Ray, John Foster. Screenplay: Nicholas St. John. Cinematography: James Lemmo. Production design: Vincent Joseph Cresciman. Film editing: Jack W. Holmes, Anthony Redman. Music: Dick Halligan. 

Abel Ferrara's style and ability to create an atmosphere almost manage to redeem the tawdry Fear City, but there's really no getting over the leaden familiarity of the story. Someone is mutilating and killing the dancers who work in New York City's strip clubs and the police, club owners, and managers of the women are unable to stop the carnage. Eventually, it falls to Matt Rossi (Tom Berenger), the co-owner of a talent agency that supplies the dancers, to search out the killer and deal with him. Rossi is a damaged man: an ex-boxer who killed a man in the ring and is tormented with guilt, but when the target becomes his ex-girlfriend Loretta (Melanie Griffith), he feels compelled to act. You can see from the start where the plot is going -- toward a showdown in a dark alley. It doesn't help that Rossi is at odds with the police officer in charge of the investigation, Al Wheeler (Billy Dee Williams), who hates Italians: "There's nothing I hate more than guineas in Cadillacs," Wheeler says, watching Rossi get in his car. Ferrara can sometimes be thuddingly obvious in exposition: We know from flashbacks what the cause of Rossi's guilt and depression is, but just in case we don't get it Ferrara needlessly inserts a scene in which we see newspaper clippings about the opponent's coma and death. More time might have been spent developing the character of the killer, who is just a figure out of a nightmare. The acting in Fear City is mediocre and there's more exploitative nudity than necessary in the dance club scenes, but the movie undeniably holds your attention. 

Blaze (Ethan Hawke, 2018)

Ben Dickey and Alia Shawkat in Blaze

Cast: Ben Dickey, Alia Shawkat, Charlie Sexton, Josh Hamilton, Lloyd Teddy Johnson Jr., Wyatt Russell, Jenn Lyon, Ritchie Montgomery, David Kallaway, Jonathan Marc Sherman, Jean Carlot, Alynda Segarra, Kris Kristofferson, Richard Linklater, Steve Zahn, Sam Rockwell, Martin Bats Bradford. Screenplay: Ethan Hawke, Sybil Rosen, based on a book by Rosen. Cinematography: Steve Cosens. Production design: Thomas Hayek. Film editing: Jason Gourson.  

You probably have to be deeper into outlaw country music than I am to fully appreciate Blaze. It's a familiar story: a promising musician whose life comes undone because of substance abuse and failure to manage their career wisely. This one is informed by the woman in the musician's life: The film is based on the memoir of Blaze Foley's sometime companion, Sybil Rosen, who co-wrote the screenplay with the director, Ethan Hawke. It's a solid biopic that stars an unknown actor, Ben Dickey, in the title role, with Alia Shawkat as Sybil. Foley was the kind of intensely personal songwriter whose music lends itself to a biopic -- almost shapes it, in fact -- and Hawke takes full advantage of it by presenting most of Foley's songs in performance scenes that blend into dramatic sequences. Dickey and Shawkat get good support from Charlie Sexton as Townes Van Zandt. There are also some cameo performances, including Kris Kristofferson in his final screen appearance as Foley's father, and an amusing turn by director Richard Linklater and actors Steve Zahn and Sam Rockwell as some oil millionaires who decide to get into the record business -- not really to Foley's benefit. Blaze is slowly paced and the narrative sometimes gets oblique, and the 129 minute run time betrays the slackness that often afflicts independent film, but on the whole it's a success and another landmark in Hawke's increasingly impressive career. 

Queen of Earth (Alex Ross Perry, 2015)

Elisabeth Moss in Queen of Earth

Cast: Elisabeth Moss, Katherine Waterston, Patrick Fugit, Kentucker Audley, Keith Poulson, Kate Lynn Sheil, Craig Butta. Screenplay: Alex Ross Perry. Cinematography: Sean Price Williams. Production design: Anna Bak-Kvapil. Film editor: Robert Greene. Music: Keegan DeWitt. 

Alex Ross Perry's Queen of Earth is about a breakdown. And just by virtue of being about a breakdown, it's going to be a showcase for an actor, in this case Elisabeth Moss, who has made her career by playing young women on the brink. Moss is Catherine, an artist whom we see at the beginning of the film with her eye makeup smeared, so that it looks like she has two black eyes. She has just learned that her marriage is over, her husband (Kentucker Audley) having confessed to an affair with another woman. This blow is added to another, her father's suicide, so that she retreats to a house in the country with her best friend, Virginia (Katherine Waterston), to recover. But companionship and isolation don't help soothe Catherine's troubled psyche, especially when it's violated (from her point of view) by the presence of Rich (Patrick Fugit), a young man who's staying at a neighboring house and feels happy just wandering into theirs occasionally. It gets worse when Rich and Virginia start seeing more of each other. You can guess the rest. The problem with Queen of Earth is that it's not much more than a showcase for Moss, even though Waterston gets some good scenes too. Perry steadfastly refuses to give us much more about Catherine's background than what we can glean from conversations with Rich and Virginia: There are no revelatory scenes from her married life, and only hints at her relationship with her father, a celebrated artist and her mentor, and what drove him to suicide. The ending of the film, too, hints at more than it tells. So what we are left with is a chronicle of disintegration, some artful use of Keegan DeWitt's eerie minimalist score, and a demonstration that Moss is a fearlessly inventive performer. That may be enough for some viewers, but I wanted more. 

Empire Records (Allan Moyle, 1995)

Liv Tyler and Renée Zellweger in Empire Records

Cast: Anthony LaPaglia, Maxwell Caulfield, Debi Mazar, Rory Cochrane, Johnny Whitworth, Robin Tunney, Renée Zellweger, Ethan Embry, Coyote Shivers, Brendan Sexton III, Liv Tyler. Screenplay: Carol Heikkinen. Cinematography: Walt Lloyd. Production design: Peter Jamison. Film editing: Michael Chandler. 

It's not much of a compliment to call a movie "harmless," but that's the only word I can think of to describe Empire Records, which was a flop when released but has an enthusiastic following today among Gen-Xers. The best I can say, as a member of a generation not even contiguous with Generation X, except that my daughter was a member, is that it provided a nice diversion from pre-election anxiety. And that it has some performers -- Rory Cochrane and Renée Zellweger in particular -- that it's fun to watch. The story is negligible and predictable: a small record store is threatened with being taken over r by a large corporation, and the madcap young employees, who never seem to do any work, manage to save it. That's just enough to hang a lot of songs from the '90s on. There is a place for movies that disarm criticism like this one, so I respect it for being just that. 

Eva (Joseph Losey, 1962)

Jeanne Moreau in Eva

Cast: Jeanne Moreau, Stanley Baker, Virna Lisi, James Villiers, Ricardo Garrone, Lisa Gastoni, Checco Rissone, Enzo Fiermonte, Nona Medici, Alexis Revidis, Peggy Guggenheim, Giorgio Albertazzi. Screenplay: Hugo Butler, Evan Jones, based on a novel by James Hadley Chase. Cinematography: Gianni Di Venanzo, Henri Decaë. Production design: Richard Macdonald, Luigi Scaccianoce. Film editing: Reginald Beck, Franca Silvi. Music: Michel Legrand. 

Jeanne Moreau, as was so often the case when she was cast in a movie, is the best thing about Joseph Losey's Eva. She plays a high-class prostitute who makes the messy life of Welsh novelist Tyvian Jones (Stanley Baker) even messier. He has hit the jackpot with his best-selling novel, now made into a movie, and is living it up in Venice when he meets Moreau's Eve Olivier. The rest is the old familiar story of the undoing of a man who has already started to come undone, so there's not much plot to follow in Eva. There are some glimpses of Venice and Rome in winter, denuded of tourists, and some interest to be had in watching how the inevitable occurs, but apart from capable performances, Eva doesn't have much else to recommend itself. 

Don't Torture a Duckling (Lucio Fulci, 1972)

Barbara Bouchet in Don't Torture a Duckling

Cast: Florinda Bolkan, Barbara Bouchet, Tomas Milian, Irene Papas, Marc Porel, Georges Wilson, Antonello Campodifiori, Ugo D'Alessio, Virgilio Gazzolo, Vito Passeri, Rosalia Maggio, Andrea Aureli, Linda Sini, Franco Balducci, Marcello Tamborra. Screenplay: Lucio Fulci, Roberto Gianviti, Gianfrancoi Clerici. Cinematography: Sergio Offizi. Production design: Pier Luigi Basile. Film editing: Ornella Micheli. Music: Riz Ortolani. 

From its offbeat title to its gruesomely overdone climax, Don't Torture a Duckling is an unsettling movie. At heart it's a whodunit, with amateur sleuths outdoing the police in solving a mystery -- typical of the giallo. But writer-director Lucio Fulci can't resist perverse twists throughout the film. It takes place in a picturesque town in Apulia, the boot heel of Italy, where the mysterious murders of several young boys attract the attention of the police and the press. The place is isolated enough to be rife with superstition and suspicion of outsiders, providing a variety of suspects that include the village simpleton and a woman thought to be a witch. There's also an outsider, a rich young woman sent to live there by her father after a drug bust. And there are the prostitutes brought in from elsewhere to sate not only the lusts of the local men but also the curiosity of the boys of the town, who spy on what's going on in the isolated shack where the women ply their trade. Fulci serves up this mixture of sex and blood with skill, scattering false leads throughout, but also with some gratuitous scenes that display a serious lack of taste.  

Alexandria ... Why? (Youssef Chahine, 1979)

Mohsen Mohieddin in Alexandria ... Why?

Cast: Mohsen Mohieddin, Farid Shawqi, Ezzat El Allaili, Gerry Sundquist, Naglaa Fathi, Yehia Chahine, Ahmed Mehrez, Youssef Wahbi, Leila Fawzy, Seif Abdel Rahman, Ahmed Zaki, Mahmoud Al Meledji. Screenplay: Yussef Chahine, Mohsen Zayed. Cinematography: Mohsen Nasr. Production design: Abdel Fattah Madbouly. Film editing: Rashida Abdel Salam. Music: Fouad El-Zahry. 
 

Red-Headed Woman (Jack Conway, 1932)

Chester Morris and Jean Harlow in Red-Headed Woman

Cast: Jean Harlow, Chester Morris, Lewis Stone, Leila Hyams, Una Merkel, Henry Stephenson, May Robson, Charles Boyer, Harvey Clark. Screenplay: Anita Loos, based on a novel by Katharine Brush. Cinematography: Harold Rosson. Art direction: Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: Blanche Sewell. 

Momma's Man (Azazel Jacobs, 2008)

Matt Boren, Flo Jacobs, and Ken Jacobs in Momma's Man

Cast: Matt Boren, Flo Jacobs, Ken Jacobs, Dana Varon, Piero Arcilesi, Richard Edson, Eleanor Hutchins. Screenplay: Azazel Jacobs. Cinematography: Tobias Datum. Film editing: Darrin Navarro. Music: Mandy Hoffman. 

A canceled flight leaves Mikey (Matt Boren), on a business trip to New York, spending a night with his parents in the apartment where he grew up. The stay extends into weeks as Mikey is drawn back into his childhood by the memorabilia crammed into the apartment. His mother (Flo Jacobs) is solicitous, constantly offering him food, while his taciturn father (Ken Jacobs) remains preoccupied with his own interests. Mikey sinks into his old collection of notebooks and comic books, and develops a kind of agoraphobia, becoming frozen at the top of the stairs that lead to the world below. Meanwhile, his wife, Laura (Dana Varon), is back in Los Angeles with their infant daughter, wondering why Mikey doesn't return her calls. Azazel Jacobs's movie is not only a story of a midlife crisis, but also a loving but slightly critical portrait of his own parents, who play Mikey's mother and father, filmed in their actual cluttered apartment where the director grew up. It's not like any other movie you've seen, being not a documentary and not quite fiction, but somehow real and touching and wistfully funny.   

 

Big Deal on Madonna Street (Mario Monicelli, 1958)

Carlo Piscane, Tiberio Murgia, unidentified baby, Marcello Mastroianni, and Renato Salvatori in Big Deal on Madonna Street

Cast: Vittorio Gassman, Renato Salvatori, Memmo Carotenuto, Rossana Rory, Carla Gravina, Marcello Mastroianni, Claudia Cardinale, Carlo Piscane, Tiberio Murgia, Totò. Screenplay: Agenore Incrocci, Furio Scarpelli, Suso Cecchi D'Amico, Mario Monicelli. Cinematography: Gianni Di Venanzo. Production design: Piero Gherardi. Film editing: Adriana Novelli. Music: Piero Umiliani. 

According to director Mario Monicelli, Big Deal on Madonna Street was intended not just as a parody of heist thrillers like Jules Dassin's Rififi (1955) but also of neorealism as a genre. We may get a glimpse of that when Tiberio (Marcello Mastroianni) hears that the target of the heist is a pawn shop: "My sheets are there," he says, perhaps reminding the audience of the scene in Bicycle Thieves (Vittorio De Sica, 1948) when the couple pawn their sheets so the husband can buy a bicycle. Whatever the target, Big Deal stands on its own as an Italian comedy classic, revealing the comic gifts of actors like Mastroianni and Vittorio Gassman, and providing a small but important role in the budding career of Claudia Cardinale. It's a tale of screw-ups, as everything possible goes wrong in the attempts of a crew of ne'er-do-wells to pull off a burglary that involves extensive planning, surveillance, and other feats that are just beyond their abilities. The comedy ranges from small ironies to broad slapstick, all set to a lively jazz score by Piero Umiliani. 

Come Back, Africa (Lionel Rogosin, 1959)

Zachariah Mgabe in Come Back, Africa

Cast: Zachariah Mgabe, Vinah Bendile, Miriam Makebe, Lewis Nkosi, Bloke Modisani, Can Themba, Myrtle Berman, George Malabye, Morris Hugh, Hazel Futa. Screenplay: Bloke Modisani, Lewis Nkosi, Lionel Rogosin. Cinematography: Ernest Artaria, Emil Knebel. Film editing: Carl Lerner, Hugh A. Robertson. Music: Chatur Lal. 

Filmed surreptitiously and edited with skill, Lionel Rogosin's Come Back, Africa is everything a docufiction film should be, with the chief weakness being the fiction part. It's a revelatory exploration of apartheid in South Africa, concentrated on Johannesburg, that gets its focus by following the misadventures of Zachariah Mgabe, which is also the name of the actor who plays him. Zachariah comes to Johannesburg in search of work, leaving his wife and children in what is now the KwaZulu-Natal province. He finds work in the gold mines, but when the agreed-upon term of employment is over, he wants something that pays more. He negotiates the "pass laws," a notorious system of internal passports devised by the white South African government to enforce segregation, and finds work as the "house boy" for a white couple. But the mistress of the household, played by anti-apartheid activist Myrtle Berman, constantly scolds, berates, and finally fires him, so Zachariah moves from job to job, encountering suspicion and contempt from the white employers. Things become more desperate when his wife, Vinah (Vinah Bendile), and their children join him in Johannesburg. The film vividly explores the street life of the city, and climaxes in a scene set in a shebeen where Black intellectuals discuss their situation and Miriam Makeba, already a celebrity in the country, sings two songs -- a  superb performance that helped launch her international career. But the narrative thread of the film isn't sustained as well as the documentary scenes and after an act of brutality that isn't set up properly, the film ends on a harsh but inconclusive note.   

One From the Heart: Reprise (Francis Ford Coppola, 1981, 2024)

Teri Garr in One From the Heart

Cast: Frederic Forrest, Teri Garr, Raul Julia, Nastassja Kinski, Lainie Kazan, Harry Dean Stanton, Allen Garfield. Screenplay: Armyan Bernstein, Francis Ford Coppola. Cinematography: Ronald Victor García, Vittorio Storaro. Production design: Dean Tavoularis. Film editing: Rudi Fehr, Anne Goursaud, Randy Roberts. Music: Tom Waits. 

Was it the success of Baz Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge! (2001) and Damien Chazelle's La La Land (2016) that inspired Francis Ford Coppola to try revamping One From the Heart, the 1981 musical that destroyed his hopes of creating a film studio? One From the Heart had often been called "ahead of its time," for its attempt to revive the movie musical with stylized sets and performers that weren't known for singing and dancing. The knock against One From the Heart was chiefly that the elaborate production overwhelmed the rather thin story: a couple who quarrel, split up, have flings with others, but return to each other at the end of the film. Unfortunately, that defect remains in the re-edited version, with previously unseen footage, that Coppola called One From the Heart: Reprise. And both Frederic Forrest and Teri Garr feel miscast: Forrest was a fine character actor, not a leading man, and Garr was a wonderful comic actress in movies like Young Frankenstein (Mel Brooks, 1974) and Tootsie (Sydney Pollack, 1982), but they have no chemistry together as the sparring lovers. Tom Waits's songs, beautifully sung by Waits and Crystal Gayle, work nicely as a kind of Greek chorus commenting on the action, but some who admire the original version of Coppola's film object that in the Reprise they've been smothered by dialogue. Mostly it's a treat for the eye and sometimes for the ear, but it never reaches the heart.    

The Spell (Lee Phillips, 1977)

Susan Myers in The Spell

Cast: Lee Grant, Susan Myers, Lelia Goldoni, Helen Hunt, Jack Colvin, James Olson, James Greene, Wright King, Barbara Bostock, Doney Oatman, Richard Carlyle, Kathleen Hughes, Robert Gibbons, Arthur Peterson. Screenplay: Brian Taggart. Cinematography: Matthew F. Leonetti. Art direction: Robert MacKichan. Film editing: David Newhouse. Music: Gerald Fried. 

The Spell was planned as a theatrical feature, but when Brian De Palma's Carrie (1976) became a big hit, the producers decided that another film about a telekinetic teenager would be dismissed as a copycat, so it was reworked into a TV movie. In the process, as its writer and director responded to tighter censorship, time constraints, and the need to accommodate commercial breaks, it lost a lot of suspense as well as some essential characterization and backgrounding. The Matchetts, Marion (Lee Grant) and Glenn (James Olson), are an affluent couple with two daughters, 15-year-old Rita (Susan Myers) and 13-year-old Kristina (Helen Hunt). Rita is overweight, and her father criticizes her at the dinner table for eating too much. She's a misfit at school, taunted by the mean girls, and when she's asked to do a rope-climbing exercise, she's unable to do it. The girl she was paired with in the exercise succeeds and starts showing off, but when Rita glares menacingly at her, the girl falls from the rope and breaks her neck. It's not an accident: Others who cross Rita, including her father and her sister, find themselves in danger, too. Marion  is closer to Rita and more defensive of her than the others in the family, but when a friend of hers dies in a freakishly inexplicable manner, she too becomes concerned. The story builds to a surprise twist, but the ending fizzles into anticlimax. The cast, especially Grant and Hunt, does the best they can with a clumsily mishandled narrative. 

Rabid (David Cronenberg, 1977)

Cast: Marilyn Chambers, Frank Moore, Joe Silva, Howard Ryshpan, Patricia Gage, Susan Roman, J. Roger Periard, Lynne Deragon, Terry Schonblum, Victor Désy, Julie Anna, Gary McKeehan. Screenplay: David Cronenberg, Cinematography: René Verzier. Art direction: Claude Marchand. Film editing: Jean LaFleur. 

David Cronenberg admitted he had trouble writing the screenplay for Rabid, and it shows. The movie begins promisingly in a somewhat isolated plastic surgery clinic in Quebec, where the surgeon, Dr. Keloid (Howard Ryshpan), is persuaded to try a new technique whose side effects are still unknown. When a young woman named Rose Miller (Marilyn Chambers) is seriously injured in a motorcycle accident near the clinic, he decides to use the technique to save her life. Rose lingers in a coma after the operation until she wakes up screaming one night with a serious hunger for human blood. The surgery has somehow left a sphincter-shaped organ in her armpit, from which a kind of stinger emerges that allows her to feed on other people. The victims wake up with no memory being attacked but with a similar hunger, and they swiftly go mad, infect others, and die. Rose escapes from the clinic and makes her way to Montreal, spreading the plague behind her. Rose doesn't suffer the madness and death that her victims do, so nobody suspects that she's the carrier of what is initially diagnosed as a new strain of rabies. Rose's story should provide a steady through line for the film, but Cronenberg gets sidetracked too often into scenes that take the plot nowhere and dissipate the suspense a thriller needs. Cronenberg had Sissy Spacek in mind for the role of Rose, but the producers disagreed, thinking that Chambers's notoriety as a porn actress wanting to go straight would attract audiences. Chambers gives a competent performance, but the role needs an actor who can generate both sympathy and menace -- the sort of thing Spacek demonstrated in Carrie (Brian De Palma, 1976).

Pulse (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2001)

Cast: Haruhiko Kato, Kumiko Aso, Koyuki, Kurume Arisaka, Masatoshi Matsuo, Shinji Takeda, Jun Fubuki, Shun Sugata, Sho Aikawa, Koji Yakusho, Kenji Misuhashi. Screenplay: Kiyoshi Kurosawa. Cinematography: Jun'ichiro Hayashi. Production design: Tomoyuki Maruo. Film editing: Jun'ichi Kikuchi. Music: Takefumi Haketa. 

Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Pulse is a quietly unnerving movie about the apocalypse, which comes not with a bang but with a slow (very slow) fading away. It seems to be brought about by technology, particularly the internet, which causes people to become lonely and isolated. The film is also a ghost story, which posits that the afterlife is a place of intense loneliness and isolation. As the film progresses, cities thin out and some of the characters simply fade into blurry splotches on the wall. One crumbles into flakes and is blown away by the wind. Unfortunately, we expect more from movies than melancholy disintegration, so the impact of Pulse disintegrates too, as it takes its long slow time to create a mood at the expense of telling a story.