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. 

Audition (Takashi Miike, 1999)

Eihi Shiina in Audition

Cast: Ryo Ishibashi, Eihi Shiina, Tetsu Sawaki, Jun Kunimura, Renji Ishibashi, Miyuki Matsuda, Toshie Negishi, Ren Osugi. Screenplay: Daisuke Tengan, based on a novel by Ryu Murakami. Cinematography: Hideo Yamamoto. Production design: Tatsuo Ozeki. Film editing: Yasushi Shimamura. Music: Koji Endo. 

Takashi Miike's Audtition evokes so many genres -- the femme fatale fable, the succubus myth, feminist revenge stories, body horror, even torture porn -- that it risks being overloaded with subtext. At the same time, combining all of those themes and tropes is what makes it rise above most horror movies. It's both gripping and audacious. Much of its audacity lies in the creation of an initially sympathetic protagonist, Shigeharu Aoyama (Ryo Ishibashi), whom we originally see at the deathbed of his wife with his young son, who has just entered the hospital room with a present for his mother. Years later, we see Aoyama with his son, Shigehiko (Tetsu Sawaki), now a bright, handsome teenager with a pretty girlfriend and an absorbing interest in paleontology. Aoyama realizes that now that his son is almost grown up, he'll be left alone, so in a conversation with a friend, a film producer, a scheme is hatched: They will put out a casting call for young women, and in the audition process Aoyama will find another potential wife. Almost immediately, Aoyama is drawn to the beautiful Asami Yamazaki (Eihi Shiina), whose résumé says she trained in classical ballet until she incurred a hip injury and is now only partially employed in a bar. Aoyama's infatuation will slowly turn into terror. The moral crux of the film lies in whether the grisly punishment Aoyama receives fits the crime, his sexist attempt to forestall his loneliness. On that score, at least, Audition fails: Asami's actions go well beyond anything endorsed by the Me Too movement. So in the debate whether Audition is feminist or misogynist, I have to conclude that it's neither. It's just a well-made horror movie without a message of any coherence. 

Lifeforce (Tobe Hooper, 1985)

Mathilda May in Lifeforce

Cast: Steve Railsback, Peter Firth, Frank Finlay, Mathilda May, Patrick Stewart, Michael Gothard, Nicholas Ball, Aubrey Morris, Nancy Paul, John Hallam. Screenplay: Dan O'Bannon, Don Jakoby, based on a novel by Colin Wilson. Cinematography: Alan Hume. Production design: John Graysmark. Film editing: John Grover. Music: Henry Mancini. 

Tobe Hooper's Lifeforce is a delirious mashup of space travel sci-fi, vampire thrillers, zombie movies, sexploitation flicks, and apocalyptic disaster films. A British-American crew exploring Halley's comet, making its appearance near Earth, finds an alien vessel caught up in the comet's wake. All of its batlike crew seem to be dead, but there are three containers on board with naked humanoid beings, one female and two males, in some kind of stasis. Back on Earth, when mission control loses contact with the space ship, a rescue ship is sent. It discovers that everyone on board, except the three humanoids, is dead. The aliens, brought to Earth, awake and begin to create a mess: They apparently have the ability to shape-shift and to suck the life force from humans. Meanwhile, a member (Steve Railsback) of the crew from the original ship who managed to board an escape capsule arrives on Earth to explain what's going on and to help save the planet from the aliens. It's a standard horror-from-outer-space setup, but the script keeps embroidering on it until the creepiness turns ludicrous: Patrick Stewart, for example, plays the administrator of an insane asylum that belongs in a Universal horror movie from the 1930s. The heroes, played by Railsback and Peter Firth, have to dash across an embattled London to St. Paul's Cathedral to kill the female alien (Mathilda May), who is lying on the altar transmitting a glowing stream of human souls to her ship. Somehow, the only weapon that will kill her is an antique sword. Lifeforce, in short, is the stuff of which video games are made. Other than noise and carnage by the bucketsful, it has little to recommend it beyond some wildly entertaining overacting and a preposterousness that can only be called chutzpah. 

Evil Does Not Exist (Ryusuke Hamaguchi, 2023)

Hitoshi Omika and Ryo Nishikawa in Evil Does Not Exist

Cast: Hitoshi Omika, Ryo Nishikawa, Ryuji Kosaka, Ayaka Shibutani, Hazuki Kikuchi, Hiroyuki Miura. Screenplay: Ryusuke Hamaguchi. Cinematography: Yoshio Kitagawa. Production design: Masato Nunobe. Film editing: Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Azusa Yamazaki. Music: Eiko Ishibashi. 

I happen to agree with the title of Ryusuke Hamaguchi's film: Evil does not exist, or at least not as some demonic entity named Satan or Lucifer. What we call evil are manifestations of human frailty and fallibility like ignorance and greed. What makes Hamaguchi's movie so challenging is that he's able to state the case for, or at least not lay the blame for, both of those manifestations. There's a long historical precedent for doing so: As Thomas Gray put it back in 1747, "Where ignorance is bliss,/'Tis folly to be wise." More recently, we've had assertions that "greed is good," which is the underpinning of laissez-faire economics and the trickle-down theory. Hamaguchi takes a long slow time establishing the idyllic setting of a rural community and the apparently simple man named Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) who lives there with his small daughter, Hana (Ryo Nishikawa). Into this earthly paradise come representatives of corporate greed, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), who are tasked with persuading Takumi and the other residents of this rural community that it would be in their interest to allow their company to build a facility for glamping there. (Glamping is a pursuit that reminds me of the court of Marie Antoinette playing shepherds and shepherdesses at the Petit Trianon.) Takahashi and Mayumi are overwhelmed by the well-founded environmental objections to their company's proposal. Both of the corporate emissaries find the villagers' objections persuasive, but when they return to headquarters in Tokyo they're stonewalled by management and forced to return for another pitch, this time directed at Takumi himself. And so goes the setup for a moral tale that has no easy conclusion. And it doesn't get one: Hamaguchi chooses to end the film enigmatically. Evil Does Not Exist wasn't received as whole-heartedly as Hamaguchi's Oscar-winning Drive My Car (2021), and its slowness and ambiguity turned off some viewers, but it's a deftly characterized movie made with a capable cast of unknown actors, beautifully filmed with a haunting score by Eiko Ishibashi. 

The Fog (John Carpenter, 1980)

Cast: Adrienne Barbeau, Jamie Lee Curtis, Janet Leigh, John Houseman, Tom Atkins, James Canning, Charles Cyphers, Nancy Kyes, Ty Mitchell, Hal Holbrook. Screenplay: John Carpenter, Debra Hill. Cinematography: Dean Cundey. Production design: Tommy Lee Wallace. Film editing: Charles Bornstein, Tommy Lee Wallace. Music: John Carpenter. 

John Carpenter's The Fog gets off to a great start with John Houseman playing an old salt with a plummy voice, telling a fireside ghost story to a bunch of wide-eyed kids. It sets up the plot gimmick and announces exactly what the movie is supposed to be: the kind of story you tell around a campfire. Unfortunately, Carpenter can't seem to play it straight on from there, but keeps introducing irrelevant elements, starting with Elizabeth, the character played by Jamie Lee Curtis. What is Elizabeth doing, hitchhiking on a lonely California back road in the middle of the night? We never exactly find out because it's just a way of getting Curtis, who had just made Carpenter's 1978 Halloween into a smash hit, into the movie. Anyway, she gets picked up by Nick (Tom Atkins) just before the spooky stuff really starts, and winds up in his bed. And from then on, Elizabeth doesn't really contribute much to the story: She just rides around Port Antonio with Nick and gets in jeopardy as things happen. The real star of the movie is Adrienne Barbeau, making her transition from TV into movies, particularly movies by Carpenter, whom she married. She plays Stevie Wayne, a late night disc jockey who broadcasts out of a lighthouse she owns. When the creepy stuff begins to happen in the isolated little town of Port Antonio, she interrupts her easy-listening playlist to provide news and warnings, and eventually to become a target of the phantoms lurking in the titular mist. There are too many narrative threads that need to be followed, and the denouement has trouble unknotting them. But The Fog still generates a good bit of tension, and it's handsomely filmed, with a good use of the location: Port Antonio is actually Point Reyes and Inverness, north of San Francisco.

Challengers (Luca Guadagnino, 2024)

Mike Faist, Zendaya, and Josh O'Connor in Challengers

Cast: Mike Faist, Josh O'Connor, Zendaya, Darnell Appling, Shane T Harris, Nada Despotovich, A.J. Lister, Naheem Garcia, Jake Jensen, Hailey Gates. Screenplay: Justin Kuritzkes. Cinematography: Saymombhu Mukdeeprom. Production design: Merissa Lombardo. Film editing: Marco Costa. Music: Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross. 

Luca Guadagnino's sexy, entertaining, and very well made Challengers set me to wondering once again why "love" is the word for "zero" in tennis. Nobody is entirely sure, it seems, but the most plausible explanation is that at some point in history players insisted that they played for love of the game and not just to win. Maybe it made the losing player feel better. There's plenty of love of various kinds in Guadagnino's movie, which is another two-guys-and-a-girl story made fresh by stellar performances by Zendaya, Mike Faist, and Josh O'Connor and by a smart screenplay by Justin Kuritzkes that uses tennis as a metaphor for sex -- or maybe sex as a metaphor for tennis. It also has a cleverly elusive ending that somehow satisfies the demand for closure by avoiding it. 

On the Bowery (Lionel Rogosin, 1956)

Ray Salyer and Gorman Hendricks in On the Bowery

Cast: Ray Salyer, Gorman Hendricks, Frank Matthews, George L. Bolton. Screenplay: Richard Bagley, Lionel Rogosin, Mark Sufrin. Cinematography: Richard Bagley. Film editing: Carl Lerner. Music: Charles Mills. 

Although it was nominated for an Oscar as best documentary, the fictionalized elements of On the Bowery are patent. Lionel Rogosin created this classic docufiction to provide an entry into the blighted lives of the street people of New York City. The men (and a few women) we see in the film are the ones who almost don't need film to be visible: They were on display for passersby every day. What they needed was understanding, and Rogosin's film at least provides a start to that by dramatizing several days in their lives -- the parts we don't see after we've left them on the street. The "actors" for the most part aren't acting: Rogosin met them on the street and crafted situations for them and let them improvise. The central figure is Ray Salyer, a man whose damaged handsomeness makes him stand out from the paunchy and grizzled men among whom he exists. Several of the other men we meet in the film would be dead in a few years, and after attempts to get his life together, Salyer would eventually die on the streets too. Bosley Crowther, the influential New York Times film critic, dismissively called On the Bowery "sordid." Fortunately, less complacent viewers have preserved it as an enduring look at a problem that refuses to go away.  

Buddies (Arthur J. Bressan Jr., 1985)

Geoff Edholm and David Schachter in Buddies

Cast: Geoff Edholm, David Schachter, Billy Lux, David Rose, Libby Saines, Damon Hairston, Tracy Vivat, Susan Schneider, Joyce Korn. Screenplay: Arthur J. Bressan Jr. Cinematography: Carl Teitelbaum. Film editing: Arthur J. Bressan Jr. Music: Jeffrey Olmstead. 

Sure, the performances in Arthur J. Bressan Jr.'s Buddies could be more nuanced, and the lack of a generous budget shows, but this first ever feature film about AIDS holds up splendidly after almost 40 years. It's far more moving and effective than glossier treatments of the subject like Philadelphia (Jonathan Demme, 1993), if only because it was made when the urgency of the syndrome was at its height. Both writer-director-producer-editor Bressan and Geoff Edholm, who plays the bedridden Robert, died of complications from AIDS a few years after the film was made. Bressan made a wise choice in treating the film as a two-hander. Although other actors than Edholm and David Schachter, who plays Robert's "buddy," David, are credited, they're mostly voiceovers -- the few who appear on screen are carefully kept out out of the center of the frame. The effect is to internalize and intensify the drama. In fact, the scenes that move out of the hospital room, even the flashbacks to the healthy Robert and the concluding scene in which David fulfills Robert's dying wish, felt intrusive, the way scenes from a play that has been turned into a movie often feel. But if Buddies had been a play and not a film we might have lost this record of a sad and terrible moment in time.   

The Student Nurses (Stephanie Rothman, 1970)

Karen Carlson in The Student Nurses

Cast: Elaine Giftos, Karen Carlson, Brioni Farrell, Barbara Leigh, Reni Santoni, Richard Rust, Lawrence P. Casey, Darrell Larson, Paul Camen, Richard Stahl, Katherine MacGregor, Pepe Serna, John Pearce, Mario Aniov, Ron Gans. Screenplay: Don Spencer, Stephanie Rothman, Charles S. Swartz. Cinematography: Stevan Larner. Art direction: David Nichols. Film editing: Stephen Judson. Music: Roger Dollarhide, Clancy B. Grass III. 

Yes, the dialogue is clunky, the acting is amateurish, and the nudity is gratuitous, but The Student Nurses has a heart. That heart is Stephanie Rothman's. Working for the great quickie producer Roger Corman, she devised a story that would be exploitative enough for audiences wanting a little sex and yet give her the opportunity to deal with hot-button issues like drugs, abortion, and social protest. So she came up with a quartet of student nurses and devised situations in which they might encounter one or more of those issues, at the same time making a case for female independence and strength. True, they're nubile and somewhat randy women with no hesitation about taking off their tops, and the men they encounter are far from ideal. Phred (Karen Carlson) hooks up with a young OB/GYN named Jim (Lawrence P. Casey), Priscilla meets a drug-selling biker named Les (Richard Rust) at a love-in, Lynn (Brioni Farrell) falls for a Chicano activist, and Sharon (Elaine Giftos) befriends an embittered young man named Greg (Darrell Larson) who is dying of cystic fibrosis. If The Student Nurses had a real budget and some sharper dialogue and the four nurses had been played by actors like Jane Fonda, Natalie Wood, Katharine Ross, and Faye Dunaway, it might be remembered as a minor classic of its day.    

Someone's Watching Me! (John Carpenter, 1978)

Adrienne Barbeau and Lauren Hutton in Someone's Watching Me!

Cast: Lauren Hutton, David Birney, Adrienne Barbeau, Charles Cyphers, Grainger Hines, Len Lesser, John Mahon, James Murtaugh, George Skaff. Screenplay: John Carpenter. Cinematography: Robert B. Hauser. Art direction: Philip Barber. Film editing: Jerry Taylor. Music: Harry Sukman. 

The hysterically titled Someone's Watching Me! (the working title was High Rise) was made for TV, and it's not up to John Carpenter's usual standards. But it's still a watchable thriller with a good performance by Lauren Hutton and some moments of genuine suspense. Hutton plays Leigh Michaels, a director of live television who comes to LA for a new job and takes an apartment in a newly built high rise that the leasing agent assures her has state-of-the-art computer-controlled amenities. She quickly makes a new friend in coworker Sophie (Adrienne Barbeau), who lets her know that she's a lesbian but that Leigh "isn't her type." She also lands a new boyfriend, Paul Winkless (David Birney), by hitting on him in a bar -- a spur-of-the-moment thing after she gets tired of being hit on herself. He's a philosophy professor at USC, of all things. But then creepy things start to happen to Leigh, and she realizes she's in some kind of danger. Sophie and Paul urge her to call the police, but when she does they say they can't help her until she's got better evidence that something truly criminal is going on. So everything is set up for a solid woman-in-jeopardy tale. The only thing that struck me as novel about the movie was that the introduction of a queer character in a strong second role was unusual for a major network like NBC as early as 1978. And then when we had a second scene in which Leigh shows her comfort with Sophie's sexual identity I realized what was going on: Sophie was being set up as the sacrificial character, the one who would fall victim to the harasser, thereby heightening Leigh's peril. The Kill-the-Queers trope loomed its tired old head again. Too bad, because otherwise Someone's Watching Me! smartly displays its debt to Rear Window (1954) and to Hitchcock in general, and Hutton is an attractive heroine (though she smokes too much). 

Dolores Claiborne (Taylor Hackford, 1995)

Kathy Bates and Jennifer Jason Leigh in Dolores Claiborne

Cast: Kathy Bates, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Judy Parfitt, Christopher Plummer, David Strathairn, Eric Bogosian, John C. Reilly, Ellen Muth, Bob Gunton, Roy Cooper. Screenplay: Tony Gilroy, based on a novel by Stephen King. Cinematography: Gabriel Beristain. Production design: Bruno Rubeo. Film editing: Mark Warner. Music: Danny Elfman. 

Stephen King is usually likened to Edgar Allan Poe, but the writer Taylor Hackford's film of King's Dolores Claiborne puts me in mind of is Dickens: the Dickens who respected melodrama and created flawed protagonists and convincing (and sometimes redeemable) villains. At 132 minutes, the movie is a little too long, but I wouldn't lose a minute of the performances by Kathy Bates as Dolores and Jennifer Jason Leigh as her daughter, Selena. Christopher Plummer, never reluctant to chew the hambone, threatens to go a bit over the top as Dolores's chief antagonist, Detective John Mackey, but Hackford keeps him under control. Judy Parfitt is superbly acidic as Vera Donovan, though it's a shame her later scenes had to be covered in old-age makeup. And David Strathairn does both the hair-trigger violence and the slimy seductiveness of Joe St. George well. It's also visually engaging, with Nova Scotia standing in for Maine, and Gabriel Beristain's cinematography making the most of the solar eclipse scenes. Dolores Claiborne has been praised for its feminist point of view, but perhaps that's because we so rarely see women dominate an American thriller as well as Bates and Leigh do. 

The Entity (Sidney J. Furie, 1982)

Ron Silver and Barbara Hershey in The Entity

Cast: Barbara Hershey, Ron Silver, David Labiosa, George Coe, Margaret Blye, Jacqueline Brookes, Richard Brestoff, Michael Alldredge, Raymond Singer, Allan Rich, Natasha Ryan, Melanie Gaffin, Alex Rocco. Screenplay: Frank De Felitta, based on his novel. Cinematography: Stephen H. Burum. Production design: Charles Rosen. Film editing: Frank J. Urioste. Music Charles Bernstein. 

The Entity was inevitably compared to The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973), often unfavorably. Unlike the earlier film, The Entity doesn't dabble in theology to explain why Carla Moran (Barbara Hershey) is being subjected to terrifying attacks by an unseen assailant. Instead it dabbles in psychology and research into the paranormal. Neither of which ultimately can explain what's happening to Carla. The psychologist, Dr. Phil Sneiderman (Ron Silver), has a plausible diagnosis for what's happening to her, rooted in sexual repression. But not all of the pieces fit, and when Carla rejects the treatment Sneiderman proposes, the attacks continue. Carla, afraid of being judged mentally ill, turns to researchers in the paranormal, whose scientific bona fides is questioned by Sneiderman and his colleagues. When neither approach succeeds, Carla is left on her own. If the film works as anything more than a horror shocker it's because of Hershey's splendidly convincing performance, which takes the focus of the film off of the supernatural and onto issues of trust and credibility. Carla's plight becomes a parable about women who fail to find empathy and support for a personal trauma, particularly rape. But only that subtext saves The Entity from being anything other than a routine thriller.

The Witches (Nicolas Roeg, 1990)

Anjelica Huston in The Witches

Cast: Anjelica Huston, Mai Zetterling, Jasen Fisher, Rowan Atkinson, Bill Paterson, Brenda Blethyn, Charlie Potter, Anne Lambton, Jane Horrocks. Screenplay: Allan Scott, based on a novel by Roald Dahl. Cinematography: Harvey Harrison. Production design: Andrew Sanders. Film editing: Tony Lawson. Music: Stanley Myers. 

Roald Dahl hated the happy ending that was tacked on to this film version of his novel, and I understand why. The book's ending was a resigned acceptance to the way things turned out, a touch of maturity to an otherwise childish fantasy. (I say "childish" here with respect for Dahl's ability to peer into the dark side of childhood.) But what works on the page doesn't work on the screen; the raucous pace and the grotesque makeup substitute the filmmakers' imagination for the reader's. What stimulates the imagination on the page is lost in translation. The viewer needs more assurance that all will be well than the reader does. So The Witches mostly works for me, thanks to Anjelica Huston's performance, in which the menace persists even after the makeup is removed. Mai Zetterling is an endearing grandmother and Jasen Fisher a suitably plucky hero, with amusing character turns from Rowan Atkinson, Bill Paterson, and Brenda Blethyn. I'd have to know the grownup pretty well before showing The Witches to them, but children should be able to handle it.  

Ring (Hideo Nakata, 1998)

Cast: Nanako Matsushima, Hiroyuki Sanada, Rikiya Otaka, Miki Nakatani, Yuko Takeuchi, Hitomi Sato, Daisuke Ban, Rie Ino, Masako, Yoichi Numata, Yutaka Matsushige, Katsumi Muramatsu. Screenplay: Hiroshi Takahashi, based on a novel by Koji Suzuki. Cinematography: Jun'ichiro Hayashi. Production design: Iwao Saito. Film editing: Noboyuki Takahashi. Music: Kenji Kawai. 

Hideo Nakata's Ring is a film with nicely creepy images and a neat premise that imbues modern technology with ancient dread: an ordinary and (at the time) familiar item like a videocassette that carries a deadly curse giving its victim a few days of torture and fear. The supernatural by definition has no rules, so the best anyone investigating a supernatural occurrence like a haunted videotape can do is find out what's causing it, which constitutes the film's plot. Of course, it helps if the investigator has supernatural powers like extrasensory perception, which is why I think the screenplay cheats a little, depriving the film of some of the menace it would have had if the tape's victims had less of an advantage.    

His Kind of Woman (John Farrow, 1951)

Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell in His Kind of Woman

Cast: Robert Mitchum, Jane Russell, Vincent Price, Tim Holt, Charles McGraw, Marjorie Reynolds, Raymond Burr, Leslye Banning, Jim Backus, Philip Van Zandt, John Mylong, Carleton G. Young. Screenplay: Frank Fenton, Jack Leonard. Cinematography: Harry J. Wild. Production design: J. McMillan Johnson. Film editing: Frederic Knudtson, Eda Warren. Music: Leigh Harline. 

His Kind of Woman starts out as a tough-talking film noir and ends up as a knockabout action comedy. The credit or blame for that belongs to Howard Hughes, the RKO studio head and executive producer, who waited until John Farrow had finished the movie and then had Richard Fleischer re-shoot it, even recasting the villain, originally played by Lee Van Cleef, with Raymond Burr. The New York Times reviewer hated it, partly because of the shift in tone, but most people like it. Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell were never going to outdo Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall in dialogue like "They tell me you killed Ferraro. How did it feel?" "He didn't say." But they're good enough at it that they give the movie a core that the flurry of oddball characters and the loony setup for the plot needs. Vincent Price is wonderful as an Errol Flynnish movie star who spouts tags from Shakespeare as he joins Mitchum in taking on the bad guys. Hughes made sure that Russell's gowns, designed by Howard Greer, were as revealing as possible, and Mitchum spends a lot of the film without his shirt, looking a little thick in the waist to contemporary viewers used to gym-toned physiques. The end product probably wasn't worth the money Hughes lost on it, but it's still fun.