The Sugarland Express

The Sugarland Express (1974) dir. Steven Spielberg
Starring: Goldie Hawn, William Atherton

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Pauline Kael famously remarked about The Sugarland Express that it was “…one of the best directorial debuts ever.” How prophetic Ms. Kael was at the time. Revisiting Steven Spielberg’s first theatrical feature now is still a wonderful experience. At only 27 years old and already with four years of extensive television directing experience and one of the best made-for-TV films ever made (Duel), Sugarland was a natural extension from Spielberg's previous work.

Lou Jean Poplin (Goldie Hawn) visits her convicted husband, Clovis Poplin (William Atherton), in his pre-release correctional facility. Clovis has only four months before he is released, but Lou Jean threatens to leave him if he doesn’t escape from prison and help her reclaim their foster-homed child. Clovis does what he’s told and together they skillfully flee the premises unnoticed by the guards.

As soon as Lou Jean and Clovis are on the road the momentum starts to build. They quickly find themselves in a car chase with a state policeman, after which they kidnap the cop and steal his car. Now speeding away in a stolen cop car holding a cop hostage, the stakes are sufficiently raised to alert virtually every officer in the state.

Spielberg’s innate skills in producing order out of chaos are in full force. Much of the film takes place in one long convoy – the threesome in front with 200 cop cars behind them. It’s overkill to the nth degree, but hey, we’re in Texas and it's a comedy. Spielberg's instincts are impeccable in this regard. A relationship between hostage and hostage-taker develops, and much of the humour arises from the absurdity of this unusual relationship. Overnight, Lou-Jean, Clovis and officer Slide become 15-minute celebrities. Like the Bronco Chase, the citizens of the small towns they pass through surround them, touch them and throw gifts at them – a virtual Christ-like adulation. It’s refreshing to see how natural and organic Spielberg portrays old country Middle America.

The journey ends at the home where their child is in foster care. At this point, for the first time, Clovis and Lou Jean are forced to face the reality of their situation and come to grips with the decisions they’ve made. Spielberg is tougher on his characters in the end than he would be in later pictures. SPOILERS...Clovis is shot and killed and Lou Jean is sent to prison for five years. Spielberg cleverly manipulates his audience by emphasizing the care-free aspects and only freckles hints of their inevitable demise into the story. The tonal shift in the ending is not unnatural and is earned, the same way as in Bonnie and Clyde and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

It’s fun to see Spielberg’s favorite cinematic trademarks developing right before our eyes – his use of overlapping dialogue, his confidence with crowds, big set pieces, and his love for quirky characters and natural dialogue. However, in the past 20 years he’s clearly lost this ear for dialogue, which is a shame. His cinematography looks much different than today, but his camera moves are all the same, tracking and craning to reveal his characters in the most innovative (and motivated) ways.

Most cinephiles have memorized shot-for-shot the early Spielberg classics, including Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Raiders of the Lost Ark, and so there are no surprises when watching those films multiple times. That’s why The Sugarland Express is worth a visit, as it gives you a chance to rediscover a great filmmaker straight out of the womb and with a clean, unblemished slate.

Citizen Kane

Citizen Kane (1941) dir. Orson Welles
Starring: Orson Welles, Joseph Cotton, Dorothy Comongore, Anges Moorehead, Ruth Warrick, Everett Sloan, Erskine Sanford

****

By Alan Bacchus

Even heady proclamations like the ‘Greatest Film Ever Made’ cannot overstate how powerful this picture is. The story of a mercurial newspaper magnate who began his career as an idealistic entrepreneur raised with a silver spoon in his mouth who, over the course of his life, breaks down to an egomaniacal tyrant is like an insatiable addiction. Welles’ tale of American big business and the cult of personality which arises from unabated success has become as fundamental to cinema as The Odyssey is to classical literature.

The layers of complexity and intrigue entwines itself both inside and outside this work of art. Not only the technical advances of the film's production, but the thematic connections of character and the fallibility of great men, the analysis of genius is fascinating, and even more so when connecting the filmmaking author of the picture Orson Welles to his target of attack, newspaper baron William Randolph Hearst - elements which converge like a perfect storm of culture, art, politics and the American dream. Citizen Kane is like a cockfight of monumental proportions.

The magnificent deep focus cinematography, the superlative transitions, the long take scene coverage, the time-compression editing and the structurally innovative narrative plotting are impossible not to miss. It’s a technical triumph, a stylistic landmark film, but we can’t look past some of the emotional moments which move us profoundly. One of the most striking scenes is the sequence which gets Kane to travel with his first wife by car to his mistress, Susan Alexander’s house. The sequence is built up to terrifying levels. We know where it’s going to go, outing Kane’s tryst with Alexander, which, as we know from the March of Times sequence broke up his marriage. But when Jim W. Geddes is revealed also in the house, we’re shocked into a stunned silence. The conversation in Alexander’s bedroom, which Kane, Geddes, Mrs. Kane and Alexander is the key turning point in the film and sends Kane on his descent into madness.

It's an arc as grandiose as the rise and fall of Michael Corleone, or Lawrence of Arabia. These characters, whether real or not, fascinate us because of what is kept hidden. Throughout the film we’re purposely kept a distance from Charles Foster Kane, his hubris and confident arrogance, acting like a impenetrable barrier to his inner turmoil. Welles’ restraint in keeping this from us is like a striptease of sorts – a theme foreshadowed in the opening montage where we get the public summary of his life. Through the film, the private summary of life is as beguiling and mysterious.

This is why the seemingly trite Rosebud maguffin works so well. It might feel like a wonky device used to drive the story. Until the last moment, the reveal of Rosebud ceases to be a maguffin, but an earth shatteringly profound revelation of Kane’s deep-rooted agony. In one image we get it. We get it all. Like Susan Alexander’s jigsaw puzzle metaphor, the piece which opens us up to Kane, however small and slight, the loss of his mother and the loss of childhood - a monumental tragedy worthy of the bible.

This review first appeared on Exclaim.ca

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2010) dir. Niels Arden Oplev
Starring: Michael Nyqvist, Noomi Rapace, Sven-Bertil Taube, Lena Endre, Peter Haber

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Since the discussion of the first Tattoo movie in relationship to the new film comes up all the time for me, why not repost my original review of the Niels Arden Oplev version. For the Fincher version, click HERE.

The success of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy books is widely known – a European phenomenon, which over this past year has finally broken in North America. All three films based on the three books, including The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, have already been shot, completed and released abroad to mega box office success. So, for once, North America has been left as the ‘last to know’ about these stories.

Not much has been made of the success of its North American theatrical release yet, but it’s an achievement. Considering the ‘in and out and get to the DVD release’ pattern of most films these days, its 13 weeks in release in a modest number of theatres is remarkable. Though it's only garnered a modest $7.3 million dollar take, the distributors and exhibiters seemed to have hit the sweet spot of its release – just enough theatres for it to maintain a solid word of mouth momentum and profitability, and a precedent for how smaller films can have lasting power in the cinema.

As for the movie, it’s just as remarkable. It’s a thrilling slice of Euro-pulp and a heavily plotted investigative, serial killer, feminist melodrama. Slick production value, salacious subject matter and an instantly iconic performance by Noomi Rapace make this the guilty pleasure of the year – a truly epic and inspired piece of airport trash.

Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) is a shamed investigative political journalist who has found himself sentenced to prison for apparently slandering a prominent politician publicly in his latest article. At his worst moment he receives a call from an even more prominent Swedish businessman, Henrik Vanger, who wants to hire Mikael to investigate the murder of his niece from 1966. With six months of freedom before having to serve his sentence and without a job, Mikael accepts the offer and soon becomes embroiled in a complex and sordid 40-year-old trail of family squabbles, neo-Nazism tendencies, gruesome sexual fetishes and grisly murder.

Meanwhile, a young 24-year-old tattooed and pierced goth chick, Lisbeth Salander (Noomie Rapace), the anti-social yet brilliant investigator who hacked into Blomkqvist’s computer on behalf of Vanger, is on her own path of adventure. Out of the blue she’s been told her guardianship (she's still being recognized as a youth) has been transferred to an especially slimy attorney. He turns out to be a masochist who subjects Lisbeth to humiliating sexual torture. That is, until she turns the tables and exacts some sweet revenge against him. After this escapade she joins up with Blomkvist to help solve the 40-year-old cold case.

This rather quick synopsis only scratches the surface of hair-raising peculiarities that make up this narrative. Particularly gruesome is the lengthy build-up to Lisbeth’s history. We don’t know much about her, but her physical appearance suggests a rebellious attitude and a hardened emotional exterior due to some trauma in the past. When the despicable court-appointed guardian enters her life her character is taken to the extreme. The actions of the guardian don’t make much sense logically, but it reinforces with severity Larsson’s pervasive theme of misogyny. The film successfully teases us with flashbacks to Lisbeth as a child and the death of her father via a lit match and some gasoline – a history we just might see fleshed out in The Girl Who Played With Fire.

As a serial killer genre film, director Oplev hits all the right buttons stylistically to entrap us in the complex web of evidence, back story, politics and the delightfully bad deeds of his killer. There’s a lot of procedural information thrown at us, but it’s expertly revealed like peeling the layers of an onion to provide maximum tension. If anything, the final reveals don’t quite elevate its shock value to anything higher than what we saw happen to Lisbeth at the beginning. And the rather sappy reunion that happens in the denouement is a tad too soft for this otherwise darkly cynical film.

Unfortunately, looking ahead to the other films, it appears the director Niels Arden Oplev directed only the first film and another director helmed the last two. In a few months we’ll see if the other two meet the expectations satisfied by Tattoo.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is available on DVD and Blu-ray from Alliance Films in Canada.

Hanover Street

Hanover Street (1979) dir. Peter Hyams
Starring: Harrison Ford, Lesley-Anne Down, Christopher Plummer

**½

By Alan Bacchus

A young Harrison Ford in a romantic lead makes this obscure wartime romance an interesting discovery of the past. Peter Hyams, director of some decent ‘70s/’80s action thrillers (Narrow Margin, 2010, Capricorn One), directs this hopelessly tragic romantic war film channeling the sweeping epic qualities of David Lean, unfortunately, at times, with the heavy bluntness of Joe Wright.

Harrison Ford is an American pilot, David Hallerin, stationed in London in 1944. He catches the eye of a beautiful and well mannered erudite British gal, Margaret Sellinger (Lesley-Anne Down), and immediately develops an infatuation with her. An illicit romance starts, dramatized with gentle touches, heavy breathing and all the guilt that follows. Poor Margaret is actually in a happy marriage to a dull but well meaning bore of a man, Paul, played by Christopher Plummer.

Meanwhile, David continues to fly his bombing missions into France, becoming more belligerent and disillusioned about the danger his superiors are putting him in. Coincidentally, David and Paul meet on a secret mission inside Germany and are forced to work together for the cause without knowing their connection with each other. Love, courage and heroism collide with full-on heartbreaking tragedy and exhilaration so often featured in these sweeping epics.

The picture was shot right after Star Wars, so it’s fun to see a young and spry Harrison Ford with maximum charisma, rebellious confidence and foolhardy innocence. He looks damned fine in military garb and Lesley-Anne Down's big doey eyes are also irresistible, so it's not hard to sell us on this romance, which is thrown at us without much set-up other than the fact that they are the two most beautiful people in the room.

Peter Hyams’ trademark photographic look is pastoral beautification personified. His long lenses crush the edges of the frame squeezing out the periphery of the populated London streets to concentrate solely on his two lovers. The opening scene on the trolley where David and Margaret first meet is poorly written, but with such lovely compositions, Ford at his charismatic best and John Barry’s grand swooning score it sets the mood appropriately.

There’s not much on-screen chemistry that isn’t forced down our throats with these other cinematic embellishments. The age and relative obscurity for a Harrison Ford-led picture allow us to excuse contrivances I would normally pounce on.

The third act climax is reverse engineered without much nuance. Out of the blue David is assigned to pilot his lover’s husband on a dangerous mission into France. And for much of the journey they get to know each other without knowing they’re sleeping with the same woman. We see where it’s going a mile away, but Hyams manages to make it all exciting by dulling us to the outrageousness of it all - he even throws in a well choreographed chase scene (also a specialty of his).

Hyams certainly does not reach the mark of the David Lean-inspired romantic grandeur, but with top notch production values and a handsome and young Harrison Ford as an anchor, Hanover Street is rendered watchable. Enjoy.

Thief

Thief (1981) dir. Michael Mann
Starring: James Caan, James Belushi, Tuesday Weld, Robert Prosky

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Some filmmakers take years to hone their style and aesthetic tastes. Others announce their vision right out of the gate. Such is the case with Thief, which instantly established Michael Mann’s unique, unmistakable viewpoint on the world. It also features one of James Caan’s best roles (including The Godfather) as a professional thief who yearns to establish a legitimate domestic life with a wife and child, but who instinctively gets pulled back into the world of crime.

The opening scene is riveting, establishing Frank (Caan) as a crackerjack jewel thief breaking into his next score and going through the elaborate procedure of cracking the safe. Frank’s use of heavy steel drills and welding equipment feels more like a tool and dye operation than the whimsical fun of say, a Jules Dassin picture, or other heist romps of the ‘70s, like The Brink’s Job or Dollars. This is part of Mann’s modus operandi for most of his career, depicting criminals as working class men albeit on the fringe of legitimate society.

After the heist, Frank connects with a new source, Leo (Prosky), who offers him a chance at more scores and more money. Frank’s instinct is to decline, preferring to work on his own. It’s a noble stance to take, but after reconnecting with his girlfriend, Jessie (Weld), with whom he wants to start a new life, including marriage and kids. With these prospects staring at him and with little money in his pockets he needs the scores and decides to go against his judgement.

Much of the second half of the film is prep for the big score, a diamond heist in an ultra-secure high-rise building. From the casing of the joint to purchasing the supplies and hiring the team, Mann makes the details of the preparation for the job as important as the actual theft.

Of course, as one would expect, there’s a double-cross threatening both Frank and his new family, which forces him to make some tough but pragmatic decisions about his family and his career in order to escape the web of criminal deceit he’s caught in.

Mann managed to create a resolute stone cold attitude to his world not present in other crime pictures before it – not even Sydney Lumet, William Friedkin or Don Siegel achieved this kind of realism. And combined with the precise but textured cinematography – glowing street lamps reflecting off rain-soaked Chicago streets would be a hallmark of Mann's later work too – it became a style Mann could call his own. Other than his rigorous attention to detail, the other thematic hallmark established in this picture is Mann’s characterization of thieves as identifiable men with many of the same domestic problems as the audience. One of the best scenes in the film is a long dialogue between Caan and Weld, lovers and life partners who are trying to figure out how to make their relationship work.

There’s also the electronic magnificence of the Tangerine Dream score, some of which dates the picture badly, but most of which sizzles with a feeling and tone unlike most other pictures of its kind. The synthesized sounds are diametrically opposed to all other styles of movie up until that (very short) period in Hollywood. Now with films like Tron: Legacy, Drive and Contagion, the electronic score might just make a comeback. But I don’t think any modern film would attempt to recreate the extremity of Tangerine Dream’s unorthodox sounds here.

Like any auteur’s work it’s fun to connect the themes, plotting, visualizations and tone of Thief to Mann’s other work, such as Heat, Manhunter and Miami Vice. The connections to Heat are the most direct. In fact, the narrative structure and building of characters in Thief seems like a trial work for the more expansive, epic and ambitious work of Heat.

As mentioned, as much as Thief was a showcase for the new American voice of Michael Mann, so it was for James Caan, who never really fulfilled the promise of The Godfather. Sure, Sonny Corleone was an iconic character that was impossible to forget, but look no further than Thief to find arguably Caan’s best work.

The Strawberry Blonde

The Strawberry Blonde (1941) dir. Raoul Walsh
Starring: James Cagney, Olivia De Havilland, Rita Hayworth, Jack Carson, George Tobias and Alan Hale

****

By Greg Klymkiw

Casey would waltz with a strawberry blond,
And the Band played on,
He'd glide cross the floor with the girl he ador'd,
and the Band played on,
But his brain was so loaded it nearly exploded,
The poor girl would shake with alarm.
He'd ne'er leave the girl with the strawberry curls,
And the Band played on.
- Chorus, "The Band Played On" by Palmer & Ward, 1895

He was one of the original two-fisted, piss and vinegar Old Hollywood filmmakers - a man's man and then some - and yet, in spite of this reputation and a canon that included sprawling, dusty westerns, brutal gangster dramas and some of the most effective and affecting war propaganda, Raoul Walsh directed one of the most grandly entertaining, politically astute and decidedly progressive romantic comedies of the 1940s, one that placed women's roles and rights in a society controlled by men at the forefront of its narrative and thematic concerns while, at the same time focusing on a very different male figure, a regular guy from the wrong side of the tracks who is drawn to the surface attributes of both beauty and success, but discovers in himself something deeper.

The Strawberry Blonde is set against the backdrop of a simpler, gentler time in American history - the Gay 1890s - where every Manhattan street corner seemed equipped with a cheerful barbershop quartet crooning away to whomever would listen and when a man's biggest worry was what young lass he'd stroll through the park with on a Sunday afternoon. Life was sweet and an innocence and complacency gripped the towns and cities of America with the promise of new beginnings and sky's-the-limit opportunity.

Biff Grimes (James Cagney) is a working stiff with a dream. He wants to be a dentist. His pal from the old neighbourhood, the amiably smarmy Hugo Barnstead (Jack Carson) wants wealth and power. What they both have their sights on is the flirty, charming, strawberry blonde of the picture's title, Virginia Brush (Rita Hayworth). In all things that SEEM to matter to Biff, Hugo wins and Biff loses, but in the process, Biff learns a few lessons in life when he ends up genuinely falling in love with Virginia's free-thinking, generous suffragette girlfriend Amy Lind (Olivia De Havilland) who has devoted much of her life to the profession of nursing.

On the surface, the movie is a grass-is-NOT-always-greener-on-the-other-side tale of love, friendship and what the true meaning of happiness is, but within the context of a shiny bauble, we get a story that, for its time was AHEAD of its time and in contemporary terms, is a drama for OUR time and frankly, universal enough to be for ALL time.

Walsh was a director imbued with such a strong sense of place and time. Film after film, characters moved through interior and exterior sets, backlots and locations endowed with meticulous attention to detail. Walsh played his characters thoughtfully and carefully, like chess pieces crafted from the ivory of Wooly Mammoth tusks and he moved them on sets as painstakingly rendered as the famed Staunton-crafted wooden boards. There are seldom false moments in a Walsh film and the reason for this is how he blocked his action with only the best actors - making sure that interior and exterior landscapes surrounding them were rooted in WHO they were as characters. To do this required scrupulous attention to every detail and he had the eye of a true Master. (In fact, one of Walsh's eyes was savagely extricated during a car accident when a jackrabbit jumped through an open window as he drove to the In Old Arizona set in the late 1920s. For most of his directing career he only had one eye, but WHAT an EYE!!!)

The Strawberry Blonde is a movie that pulsates with the life of a world that is both magical and real - so much so, that the visuals come close to conjuring actual smells. The spittoon-laden beer halls where Biff and his ne'er-do-well boozing Dad (Alan Hale) wind up in brawl after brawl practically reek with the stench of cheap tobacco smoke and draught-soaked floors. The barber shop where Biff hangs out with his master hair-stylist buddy Nick Pappalas (George Tobias) is so perfectly accoutered with the fixtures and implements of the trade that one's olfactories are gently pummelled with the aroma of pomades, lotions and talcum powder.

The gaslight illuminating the streets at night, the fresh leafy parks, the grocery-market-lined streets, the stuffy, oak-paneled boardrooms and offices of Hugo's construction empire, the gaudy, ornate nouveau-riche mansion Hugo lives in, the warmth of Biff's eventual hearth and home - all are teeming with sounds and sights that embrace all the characters in a world that's as bygone as it is familiar.

And the sounds!

Even in the 40s, this is a movie that delivers a richly layered soundtrack that rivals (if not downright trumps) the over-mixed, over-crowded digital aural blankets so prevalent in contemporary movies - but in glorious, delicious optical mono. And the music! Bands playing, tenors trilling; the movie is blessed with all this in addition to the almost continuous use of vocal and instrumental renderings of Palmer & Ward's insanely popular ditty of the period "The Band Played On" (which was re-popularized after the release of The Strawberry Blonde).

Walsh lays an incredibly rich tapestry before us. It's all that money could buy and then some - not surprising as The Strawberry Blonde was born out of the glory that was Warner Brothers studios. Walsh, began his career as an actor during the silent era and eventually moved into production. He worked as an assistant director to the legendary, groundbreaking D.W. Griffith - the height of Walsh's mentorship under cinema's first true master of cinematic narrative was assisting in the direction and co-editing the immortal Birth of a Nation. In addition to learning the ins and outs of narrative, editing and the use of the frame, Walsh even credited Griffith with his learning everything about techniques of production and production management - all contributors to Walsh's command of the film medium. In spite of this, Walsh was a contract director at the staid Paramount Pictures during the early sound period and his work here was perfunctory at best. However, when he moved to Warner Brothers, he positively exploded.

Walsh was one of those directors who thrived on collaborative relationships with people as brilliant as he was. Never surrounding himself with uninspiring yes-men, he worked in tandem with only the best artists and craftsmen. This aroused a spirit of artistry that was even greater than what he was naturally imbued with. At Warner Brothers, many of his best films were in collaboration with the visionary producer Hal B. Wallis (who would go on to produce Casablanca). Wallis was a showman par excellence and Walsh was a cinematic storyteller of the same order. They were formidable creative collaborators. Add to this that Walsh was always fixated on stories about "the little guy" or regular "Joes" against the backdrop of worlds bigger than they were, he and Wallis made ideal bedfellows - Wallis loved heroes, Walsh loved making all his characters bigger than life (yet in so doing, infusing them with a life force more real and sophisticated than most studio productions).

The Strawberry Blonde excels in this notion of making its little guy a hero. Biff is someone who wants more out of life than what's normally dealt to Joe-Blows, but he doesn't think, even for a second, that it will be handed to him. He works his butt off in matters of both his career and the heart. When he falls big-time for the coquette-ish Virginia, he's briefly afforded a taste of what he thinks would be Heaven-on-Earth, but as the film progresses, she has her sights set on bigger things and she not only breaks his heart, but eventually, her true colours are revealed. She's as exploitative and manipulative as Biff's "friend" Hugo. Virginia and Hugo become a match made in Heaven - or rather, Hell. Biff, on the other hand, is saddled with a fifth wheel in the romantic roundelay - though eventually, Amy offers the sort of love and support he needs - this is no mere infatuation as it was with Virginia, but deep and soulful. Even when Biff is offered a high-paying, high-ranking position with Hugo, he desperately wants to work hard and learn the business and experiences considerable frustration that his only job appears to be reading the morning papers and signing contracts he doesn't understand.

The character of Amy is beautifully rendered and way ahead of both the times of when the movie was made and certainly during the times in which the movie is set. She works as a nurse, and on the first double date twixt herself, Virginia, Biff and Hugo, she shows up adorned in her nurse uniform. Virginia - dolled up in all her finery - scolds Amy, but the fifth-wheel will have none of it. She's proud to be a working woman, a caregiver and intends to go straight to a nightshift at the hospital after a night on the town. She's also surprisingly and delightfully straightforward (modern, if you will) with respect to sexuality and in one of the best scenes in the movie, she shocks a horrified Biff with her modern frankness in matters of amore.

In contrast, Virginia is a gold-digging tease - all talk, no action - and unlike Amy, Virginia's talk is bubbly and empty-headed. Amy displays her own brand of froth, but her sex appeal comes from open-mindedness, intelligence, a keen wit, political savvy and overall, a deep, genuine sense of caring. Virginia chides Amy for being a suffragette, but she's unapologetic - Amy is a firm believer and fighter for the rights of women, but at the same time, she wants to make a place for herself in the world with a man - not as her ruler and/or protector, but in an equal partnership founded in love, mutual respect and making a better life for both of them and those around them.

One of the aspects of this tale that resonates in contemporary terms is the notion of how the rich exploit and deceive the poor. A turn in the tale has overtones of tragedy. Once Biff is duped into joining Hugo's company, he becomes the fall guy in an illegal development scam. Even here, though, Walsh focuses on the indomitability of the working guy and we see strife metamorphosize into strength and Biff's character is deepened in his resolve to get free of the shackles imposed upon him by the dishonesty and thievery of the "ruling" class.

All of this is played by an astounding all-star cast. As Cagney proved time and time again, he was more than just a movie tough guy. Certainly in Footlight Parade and Yankee Doodle Dandy, he was a spectacular song and dance man and here, he's a terrific, (though pugnacious) romantic leading man with a great sense of humour. Olivia De Havilland offers up a snappy, sexy leading lady, far removed from the whiny, helpless, long-suffering Melanie Wilkes in Gone With the Wind. Rita Hayworth is her super-sexy self, while Jack Carson, George Tobias and Alan Hale lend the sort of magnificent support as character actors that the Warners stable always offered up.

Not only was Walsh endowed with an eye to championing the rights of the impoverished (or, in the cases of some, at least understanding when impoverishment led to socially deviant behaviour), but he was, thanks to producer Wallis, given magnificent material to work with. Based on a popular play, this was the second of three screen versions of this tale. Its screenplay was provided by the brilliant Epstein twins, Julius and Phillip (Daughters Courageous, Four Wives, The Man Who Came To Dinner, Casablanca) and with the outstanding Raoul Walsh at the helm, Strawberry Blonde is a truly delightful and intelligent romantic comedy - one for the ages and beyond.

"Strawberry Blonde" is available through the on-demand Warner Archives. Better video retailers (like Toronto's Sunrise Records at Yonge and Dundas and My Movie Store at Dundas and Tomken) will also carry it.

Other great Raoul Walsh pictures that MUST NOT BE MISSED ARE:

White Heat, The Roaring Twenties, Objective, Burma!, High Sierra, Pursued, They Died with Their Boots On, They Drive by Night, Manpower and Gentleman Jim.

Rules of the Game

Rules of the Game (1939) dir. Jean Renoir
Starring: Marcel Dario, Nora Gregor, Jean Renoir

****

By Alan Bacchus

Robert de la Chesnaye (to the Servant): “Please, will you end this farce?”
The Servant: “Which one?”

Generally cited in most international polls as one of the greatest films of all time, Rules of the Game has proven to be a major influence on the unique sub-genre of ensemble-chamber films and a major influence on Altman, Lars von Trier, Woody Allen, Denys Arcand, Luis Bunuel and many others. It’s a biting farce and critique of the social follies of upper-class French aristocrats.

A snobby French aristocrat, Robert de la Chesnaye, is planning a hunt at his country estate, and he invites not only his friends, but their husbands, wives, mistresses and lovers as well. In Renoir’s world, wives and mistresses are interchangeable. Husbands have mistresses, and their wives are mistresses to other men. Even the mistresses have other lovers. And everyone is invited to the party. The title is appropriate because Renoir’s upper-class twits have ‘rules’ to their social games, where everyone is supposed to accept their dalliances as such. But only the upper-class can be naïve enough to think their social superiority will immunize them against envy and greed. That’s how it starts, but of course we know the house of cards will eventually fall – it always does.

Renoir deftly juggles half a dozen plotlines and character relationships throughout the film. He uses pre-Citizen Kane deep-focus photography to show action and dialogue in the background and foreground. It was innovative then and is still fresh and exciting to watch today. After establishing all the characters and their relationships with each other, the film moves to another level with the famous hunting sequence. Renoir crafts the scene well, with a terrific montage of the killing of rabbits, pheasants and various other animals. The foreshadowing isn’t subtle, but it provides the film with a darkly comic edge.

In the evening during a stage masquerade show for the guests, the energy of the film is ramped up to another level. Jealous anger boils over causing a series of arguments and fights throughout the house. These scenes, which make up much of the second act, create one of cinema’s most famous set-pieces – a masterpiece of movement and choreography.

Unlike Kane, which begins with a bang and announces itself as a cinematic rule breaker with force, Rules of the Game is more subtle. At the outset it may not be an obvious masterpiece, but as Roger Ebert puts it, ‘You can't simply watch it, you have to absorb it.' By the end the characters get into your skin. And it's not just the follies of the rich, but every substrata of class as well – the wait-staff, servants and grounds keepers all watch and participate in the elaborate game.

The impending war, though not specifically referenced, provides another level of socio-political context. Renoir made the film prior to WWII and didn’t have the benefit of hindsight, which makes his achievement even more remarkable. With the war on their doorstep, the naiveté of the ruling class and the triteness of their ego-driven preoccupations are even more scathing.

Unfortunately, the result was a complete dismissal of the film by critics and the public when it was released, as well as being banned by the Vichy government for being unpatriotic. Like Citizen Kane, it wasn’t until the late ‘50s that Renoir's masterpiece could be appreciated as a film years and decades ahead of its time.

Rules of the Game is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

The Hudsucker Proxy

The Hudsucker Proxy (1994) dir Joel Coen
Starring: Tim Robbins, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Paul Newman

****

By Alan Bacchus

If there was a support group for fans of The Hudsucker Proxy, I’d be the first to join. For the longest time, Hudsucker was considered the Coens’ official ‘failure’, a big budget Joel Silver-produced critical and commercial bomb. Though Fargo has the praise, prestige and Oscar win attached to it, on a personal level The Hudsucker Proxy is my all-time favourite Coens film, and I’ve been taking flack for it for years.

The story is about Norville Barnes (Tim Robbins), a down-on-his-luck college grad (Muncie College of Business Administration), who starts off in the mailroom of Hudsucker Industries and then instantly gets promoted to CEO in an attempt by Chairman of the Board, Sidney J, Mussburger (Paul Newman), to reduce the stock price for personal gain. But Norville isn’t the imbecile Mussburger thinks he is, and he in fact turns his simplistic idea of a round piece of plastic into the hula hoop phenomenon. Norville becomes the toast of the town, but then is brought down by a meddling newspaper reporter, Amy Archer, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh by way of Katherine Hepburn. At the worst moment of his life, Norville attempts to commit suicide by jumping off the 44th floor (not counting the Mezzanine) until a moment of divine intervention brings him back to life.

It was generally agreed at the time that Hudsucker was the most visually stunning American film in years and arguably the claim holds up today. There’s never a dull moment. From the opening shot we're reminded of Citizen Kane, a long tracking shot into a large building with lovely snow falling, a single light illuminated in the background. The city is clearly a model – like the opening push into the spinning globe in Casablanca - so, right away, we’re given the rules of the film – it’s an homage to the past and a fantasy film.

The opening sequence, which shows how Norville is hired by the company, is tremendous. More than just a virtuoso technical exercise, it establishes the themes of the film - karma, the circle, the clock and many of the metaphors that will be repeated in the film. There are so many details to be discovered in subsequent viewings, including Mussberger’s cigar (note how the length changes throughout the film), the contrasting devil and angel characters of Moses the Clock Man and Aloysius the Spy, as well as the half-dozen other virtuoso moments in the film, including the mail room sequence, the Hula Hoop sequence and the rousing finale.

Borrowing from the best Bogart, Hepburn, Grant, Bacall and Edward G. Robinson exchanges of the past, the dialogue zings along at lightning pace – gags are disguised in between lines and over top of other lines (think His Girl Friday meets Bringing Up Baby meets Mr. Deeds Goes to Town). It’s impossible to catch it all in one sitting. Todd McCarthy (Variety) described the film as esoteric, which is a cop-out criticism. Sure, the idea and influence is esoteric, and buffs may enjoy it on another level, but the themes are universal and inspiring. The story is remarkably tight, as not a scene, line of dialogue, character or prop is wasted. With Norville hanging in mid-air during the fight between Moses and Aloysius in the gears of the clock, it's a perfectly constructed climax and includes the most clever use of a man’s dentures. Adding ample support is Carter Burwell’s usually proficient score. It’s perhaps his best, a grand series of compositions - humorous, melancholy and epic all at once.

It may come as no surprise that the film was co-written by Sam Raimi, who blends his unappreciated comic touch with the Coen's style seamlessly. Of course, the Coens and the Raimis have a long history with each other, and I hope there will be more collaborations in the future.

The reputation of Hudsucker is growing with encouragement from bloggers and fanboys like me, so I think my support group would have a lot of members. But the hit we all took as fans over the years still stings, and we all need more comfort. The best you can do is watch and, hopefully, enjoy the film.

THE HUDSUCKER PROXY: Movie Trailer. Watch more top selected videos about: The Hudsucker Proxy, Charles Durning

Design For Living

Design For Living (1932) dir. Ernst Lubitsch
Starring: Gary Cooper, Frederic Marsh, Miriam Hopkins, Edward Everett Horton

****

By Alan Bacchus

Tom Chambers (Marsh) is a playwright, George Curtis (Cooper) is an artist, and in between these two libidinous best friends is Gilda Farrell (Hopkins), the third angle of a unique love triangle, which in the pre-code era resulted in a coy spin on our preconceived notions of male-female sexual relations.

The Criterion Collection has appropriately dug out this delicious farce directed by the master of romantic-sexual comedies, Ernst Lubitsch (Trouble in Paradise, Ninotochka), and written by the master of British wit, poise and the complexity of relationships, Noel Coward. What a team!

It’s so refreshing to watch how quickly these older movies get to the point. The opening scene features Gilda getting into a train car to Paris occupied by Tom and George. Both are sleeping against each other. A carefully framed close-up of Cooper’s hand on Marsh's might even suggest a homosexual relationship. They aren’t gay, but their proximity foreshadows just how closely they will be linked. There’s clearly an attraction between all three. Once in Paris, Gilda engages in a sexual relationship with both of them (separately).

When they find out that both of them have tasted the fruit of her loins, in order to save their friendship Gilda proposes they make a ‘Gentlemen’s Agreement’ to become platonic friends, professional colleagues critiquing each other’s work, but never sleeping with each other. These best laid plans go awry when, while Chambers is making it big in London, George genuinely falls for Gilda and starts up a real relationship with her. Of course, the tables switch again when Tom sleeps with Gilda after returning from London. The wildcard, which eventually causes the biggest rift, is Max Plunkett (Horton), a long-time admirer of Gilda, who manages to weasel in between the friends and steal her away. It would then take a full reconciliation of Tom and George and some social savvy to save Gilda from a dull marriage to the drab advertising man Plunkett.

As we all know, some of the sharpest and delightfully salacious sex comedies came from the pre-code, that is the brief time in the talking picture era when Hollywood could do whatever they wanted on screen – before the Hays Code (and then the Breen Code) spelled out in detail what was ‘acceptable’ to show on screen. That said, these pre-code films still exercised restraint and subtlety with their bawdy material. The word sex is mentioned on a couple of occasions in this picture, a word which immediately makes us turn our heads, especially coming out of the mouth of Miriam Hopkins, but everything is between the lines.

Gilda’s liberated view of sex can be seen as a pre-dated feminist ideal. It would be years before we would see a woman take control of and be frank about her sexual predilections. In Design For Living this comes in the form of the film’s best scene, the moment when Gilda confesses to both men that she has no problem sleeping with both of them. For the most part Gilda has this power through the film. I wonder if the Farrelly Brothers had seen Design For Living before making There’s Something About Mary, arguably an updated and grossly exaggerated version of the male obsession with women.

Coward provides a delightful witty and light tone for most of the film, but things get the most interesting when the film finds a very serious tone in the second half. While the sexual games make for fun repartee, we gradually start to feel the emotional weight of their mutual attraction to Gilda. Frederic Marsh has a great scene in which we see him break down when he discovers that George has broken the agreement and courted Gilda in his absence. The weight of Gilda’s forlorn love and the betrayal from his best friend is simply too much.

And for a film made in 1932 we’re also treated to a beautifully art decorated picture full of wondrous gothic/art deco imagery and pristine compositions and camera movement proving Lubistch’s mastery of the art form. In addition to the beautiful high definition imagery, one of the treasures of the disc is Lubitsch’s short film Clerk starring Charles Laughton, one part of the omnibus film If I Had a Million. Lubitsch’s superlative images and delirious visual techniques are a pure cinematic delight, all showcased in a matter of minutes.

Design For Living is available on Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

The Guard

The Guard (2011) dir. John Michael McDonagh
Starring Brendan Gleeson, Don Cheadle, and Mark Strong

By Blair Stewart

***½

John Michael McDonagh's The Guard approaches the hoary old fish-out-of-water/mismatched buddy-cop genre and leaps nimbly over those critical bear traps as if it was a ballerina in the pub avoiding a snoring drunk. Brendan Gleeson, the Irish character actor of great repute and anamorphic girth, is the local Guarda (Gaelic for 'Cop'), none too perturbed about his work as long as it's not interrupting his casual whoring and chemical intake. As amusing as it would be to spend a few hours or so with the big ginger lug shirking duty, a great calamity befalls our Sergeant Gerry Boyle: he has to get off his ass when big city criminals – tailed by sedulous FBI big shot Wendell (Don Cheadle) – show up in County Galway.

On cue a corpse pops up in the area after the rumour of a boat carrying half a billion dollars in street value coke ("What street are you buying your cocaine on?" - Gerry) is on the way, and our anti-hero pairs with Wendell to take the piss out of the Yank while they slap down the bad guys. Said bad guys on the opposite end of the thin blue line (that Gerry crosses all the time with gusto) are a trio of enjoyably literate thugs played at descending levels of cynicism by Mark Strong, Liam Cunningham and David Wilmot. Eventually, they'll all run into each other and wackiness will ensue.

Typically when faced with a plotline that could reasonably be described as an 'easygoing Lethal Weapon meets Local Hero with a dash of Western Ireland malarkey' I would attempt to pull a fire alarm or commit an act of self-harm, and yet McDonagh's film works for me. In the tailored role Gleeson is superbly entertaining as Gerry, his dopey grin taking the edge off of the small-town racism/tactlessness booming from his mouth. I can only count on two hands a cinematic character as enjoyable to watch as Gleeson's Gerry, somewhere between Tom Regan and Sanjuro on the right one. How much better Hollywood would be if Officer Gerry could pop into some earnest Oscar chaff to dress down the Sean Penns and Will Smiths in a cameo. I'd happily pay top dollar to see that. Don Cheadle's Southern accent slips a few times, but one of his strengths has been his ability to sell a reaction shot, and The Guard (which he helped produce, good on him) has a slew of those while Gleeson does his shtick.

As, unfortunately, most mainstream films (or even indie films, whether local or abroad) demonstrate, it is unwise to slavishly follow the formula of a genre completely. Where a tired formula can be improved upon is in individuality, as McDonagh trots out memorable oddballs from his neck of the woods – or his parents’ neck of the woods really; John and his brother Martin of Six Shooter/In Bruges fame grew up in London – to liven up the surroundings and by treating his audience with respect by making his oddballs witty, and thankfully, intelligent. The Guard earned its climax when I actually cared about what happened to Gerry and Wendell, something very few films succeed at.

If the disposable likes of Cowboys and Aliens depresses the hell out of you, and if you enjoy a filthy joke as much as the next guy, give this film a chance. After all, Ireland's economy needs the money.*

*Sorry, couldn't resist.

The Guard is available on Blu-ray and DVD from Alliance Films in Canada.

The Lost Wold: Jurassic Park

The Lost World (1997) dir. Steven Spielberg
Starring: Jeff Goldblum, Julianne Moore, Vince Vaughn, Pete Postlethwaite, Arliss Howard

***

By Alan Bacchus

Spielberg’s sequel to the thoroughly enjoyable and successful Jurassic Park at times feels like a shamelessly perfunctory and lazy exercise in tent-pole filmmaking using the bare minimum of creative energy to get more dinosaurs onto the screen. But Mr. Spielberg's superb flare for cliff-hanger and action filmmaking overachieves what was on the written page.

Arguably, Michael Crichton’s novel The Lost World was better than his first book. Sadly, the same inspiration was not put into the movie version. Barely anything from the book makes it to the screen with the exception of Ian Malcolm (Goldblum), who serves as the hero this time around.

But with Ian Malcolm as the protagonist, sadly his character loses all the edge from his unique presence in the first movie. Malcolm is so utterly dull and saccharine, it’s hard to believe it’s the same character from Jurassic Park. Presumably he’s still a slightly deranged mathematician (excuse me, chaotician), who had the best dialogue in the first film – specifically the great exchange about evolution and the metaphor of Hammond's manipulation of DNA being like a kid wielding his father’s gun – but there’s no sign of anything as intellectually challenging from Goldblum's mouth here.

There’s no doubt that the lack of involvement of Michael Crichton in the screenplay has something to do with this. David Koepp, whom Spielberg has gone back to on numerous occasions since (ahem, Crystal Skulls), has no desire to plug Crichton's scientific and technical proclivities into his screenplay.

The setup to get Malcolm to the island wouldn’t even pass muster in a B-movie. In the opening, years after the first Park incident, Malcolm is summoned to park impresario John Hammond’s house where he’s informed of 'Site B', another island full of dinosaurs where the abandoned dinos now run free from their cages. With almost no time to breathe Malcolm and his new cohorts are back on a boat to the South Pacific on their adventure.

Malcolm declares it a rescue mission to save his paleontologist girlfriend (Moore), who is already there. The group, including a journalist (Vaughn), a tech expert (Eddie Carr) and... shriek… Malcolm's young daughter, is soon being chased and nearly killed by rogue dinos. Things finally get interesting with the introduction of a second team sent in by the corporate douchebag, Peter Ludlow (Howard), who wants to bring the dinos back to civilization for his own zoo exhibit.

The most interesting character here is Roland Tembo, played by the great Pete Postlethwaite (who sadly died recently), a South African game hunter who is here for no other reason than to express his domination and shoot a T-Rex. Tembo is a great character because he exists within his world, neither good nor evil – a pragmatist and both friend and foe to all characters.

After the rough patches in the opening act, things kick into high gear when nightfall hits and those awesome T-Rex dinos start attacking. In fact, one of Spielberg’s best ever set pieces involves Eddie’s attempted rescue of Malcolm, his girlfriend and the journalist while they hang over the side of a cliff in their RV. The intensity of this sequence is elevated by John Williams’ magnificent action score. In fact, The Lost World is one of the last great scores by the master and one of the best he’s ever done for Spielberg.

I still don’t know what to think of the final sequence, which takes place in San Diego – a new environment in civilization. It plays like the King Kong scene in New York but without the emotional weight. The liberated T-Rex running wild curiously presents no threat to anyone, but the change of scenery indeed provides an unexpected twist in the story.

War Horse

War Horse (2011) dir. Steven Spielberg
Starring: Jeremy Irvine, Peter Mullan, Emily Watson, David Thewlis, Niels Arestrup

**½

By Alan Bacchus

This film certainly lived up to the expectations as an often stunning action/war film with some phenomenal production values recreating WWI warfare and lively horse action. But it also features heavy doses of syrupy Spielberg sentimentality that, in his later years, he keeps grabbing for and just never seems to reach. As with most of his post-1982 work, War Horse is admirable in some moments but not a complete winner.

John Ford's influence on this film is even more front and centre than in Spielberg’s other works. The opening act featuring the birth of the animal and his rearing as a plow horse on a quaint English farm feels like Ford nostalgia from The Quiet Man or How Green Was My Valley. Even the unique cinematography tries to capture the saturated look of early Technicolor. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work. The inconsistent lighting and background cloud cover seems to have been over-corrected, and on a few shots I even noticed the actors standing in front of green screen-generated cloudscapes. These opening scenes on the homestead set up the bond between man and horse, specifically Albert (Jeremy Irvine), a teenager who's smitten with the young stead, and the titular horse, named Joey by his master. The plotting of Albert's father (Mullan), who is penniless and desperately needs Joey to plow the field, is the schmaltzy, syrupy stuff mentioned before. Peter Mullan and Emily Watson, normally endearing personalities on screen, are rendered dull in the case of Mullan and overly deified in the case of Ms. Watson.

The film hits its gears in the second act when Joey is brought into WWI to fight in the British cavalry in a series of spectacular action scenes. Twists occur over the course of the journey, which allow us to see both sides of the battle and show the confounding tragic irony of the war as a conflict of wonky gentlemen fought by innocent and naive kids with nothing at stake except their lives.

The worst moments in the film are with the normally wonderful Niels Arestrup. Playing a Frenchman who speaks English, he comes into possession of the horse with his granddaughter. These scenes stop the film dead, but luckily the horse eventually moves on to new owners for the film’s rousing finale.

It's not news that Spielberg has lost his edge, and here, like in most of his films, the quieter moments are marked by a tin ear for dialogue. This is unlike some of his films, such as Close Encounters, ET, Jaws and The Sugarland Express, in which the actors spoke in natural rhythms no matter how outrageous the situation, and the humour contained a whimsical joie-de-vivre. Here, every gag is hit home with a sledgehammer of subtlety and stung by John Williams' forgettable music contributions. I know there's some loyalty here, but the aged John Williams and his turn-key orchestral arrangements have been so lacklustre over the past 15 years, I firmly believe he's pulling Steven down.

Despite rolling my eyes at the gushing sentimentality, Spielberg does engineer a satisfying and cathartic reunification at the end. It’s a moment drawn out to excess, but the scene is in keeping with the storybook tone of the rest of the film – a scene Spielberg earns dutifully. War Horse is no masterpiece, but at times it’s rousing, cinematic entertainment.

All the Real Girls

All the Real Girls (2003) dir. David Gordon Green
Starring: Paul Schneider, Zooey Deschanel, Danny McBride

****

By Alan Bacchus

This is one of the most truthful and honest stories about love. Co-written and directed by David Gordon Green, the 27-year-old sophomore director strips away the artificiality of Hollywood romance and manages to capture the awkwardness and painful realities of real life love. Nobody’s perfect, and there are no formulas or scripts for achieving happiness.

Paul (Paul Schneider, looking like a young John C. Reilly) and Noel (Zooey Deschanel) are two young people in the throws of new love. Though we’re only told after the fact, Paul was a former playboy with a bad reputation for loving and leaving his girlfriends. Noel, on the other hand, is a virgin and naïve to sex and relationships. The romance causes conflict with Noel’s brother, Tip, who happens to be Paul’s best friend. Despite this the relationship blossoms, though Paul chooses to delay sex because he’s actually in love with Noel and wants to treat her differently than his one-night stands. But just as things are going well, an act of infidelity causes a major rift. Suddenly everything is flipped around and both characters are thrown into the deep end of emotions and forced to tread water to survive. Both Noel and Paul make bad decisions and catching up to fix them complicates things even more. Over the course of the film complexities compound each other, and the question then becomes why can’t two people who truly love each other be together?

All the Real Girls is a different film than say, Garden State; it’s certainly not as accessible and requires patience to see the whole story through. Conflict begins about halfway through the film, and from that point on I guarantee you’ll be completely engrossed. Green sets the mood by capturing moments in time. He often enters scenes halfway through the conversation and enjoys watching and observing people doing the most banal of endeavours. Therefore, he’ll often shoot his characters with extremely long lenses as they fix a wheel or brush their hair or light a cigarette. This is how Green establishes the reality and eschews artificiality.

Green also de-romanticizes the environment. The film was shot in North Carolina, which was also the setting and location for Dawson’s Creek. In many ways All the Real Girls is the anti-Dawson’s, as there’s no grandiloquent pontificating or neat life-lessons learned. But Green is not subtle about his love for his characters. For example, the bowling alley scene is so simple and touching but also shamefully romantic. Though the film is beautifully shot with magic-hour light and bathed in golden browns and yellows, Green relishes the ugliness of the town. He spends more time looking at decayed rusty train tracks and dirty old cars than Dawson’s autumn leaves or peaceful rivers.

All the Real Girls threatens to be overly precious, a hallmark of mid-00's quirkiness. The film’s preciousness is summed up in the clown scene, which, looking back, is kind of brilliant and one of the best stand-alone scenes of American indie quirkiness. Enjoy.

Redbelt

Redbelt (2008) dir. David Mamet
Starring: Chiwetal Ejiofor, Emily Mortimer, Tim Allen, Ricky Jay, Joe Mantagna

***½

By Alan Bacchus

One of the best films of 2008 was David Mamet’s Redbelt – part con film, part sports film. It’s always fascinating, evolving and unpredictable. Redbelt is a unique hybrid film combining Mamet’s fascination with mind games and deception with some traditional structure from the classic sports genre.

Though it’s not the first film to showcase Mixed Martial Arts as its central concept, it’s by far the best, and I doubt there will be any better. It turns out that the Pulitzer Prize-winning Mamet and badass of the Chicago theatre scene has a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. His dedication and passion to the sport translates on screen, as he delivers one of the best sports films in recent years, and in my opinion his best film as director.

It’s a fascinating set-up. Laura Black (Emily Mortimer) is an attorney who is driving erratically at night. She accidentally hits the car owned by Mike Terry (Chiwetel Ejiofor), who is teaching a Jiu-Jitsu class in his studio. When she walks into the studio she’s on edge, and after a series of small events she accidentally grabs an off-duty police officer’s gun and shoots out Mike's store window.

Mike’s wife is angered because they now have to pay for the window with money they don’t have. This event, so accidental, is the beginning of a journey of survival for Mike. Along the way a Hollywood star and director ingratiate him into their world. But when things are looking up they easily crash down, which forces Mike to make decisions that challenge his personal ethics and beliefs about fighting and Jiu-Jitsu. Mamet is careful to drop this other shoe, and it all unfolds masterfully.

As expected, Mamet crafts some wonderful dialogue. It’s largely bereft of his showy profane-laden Glengarry Glen Ross style. At times, the actors deliver their lines in this familiar voice, but Mamet tailors his dialogue to the characters. Mike Terry is first a student of the discipline of Jiu-Jitsu and honourable and idealistic to the core. He is full of Sun Tzu-like philosophies, including, “A man distracted is a man defeated” and “There is no situation you could not escape from.” Ejiofor expresses these lines with honour, integrity and believability. But nice guys finish last, right? So we know his morals will get compromised somehow.

Mamet is also an expert at skewering Hollywood (Wag the Dog, State and Main), and there’s a running theme of the corruption of the art by the television industry, which has made MMA such a success. MMA owner Dana White has a feature interview on the DVD Special Features, and legendary fighter Randy Couture has a role. Yet, ironically Mamet is clear to show how sanctioned rules, fame and money easily and quickly corrupt the philosophy and grounded ideals of the art. This is the inner conflict for Mike. No one expounds or confesses these ideas in a speech. Instead, it’s subtly fed to us through background dialogue, nameless unimportant characters and throwaway lines. And so, after the problems compound on Mike and he’s forced to make his decision, we understand the weight of his choice.

Redbelt gets a little sloppy in the end as it wraps up its subplots. And the tone of the climax may divide some audiences. It moves closer to a genre film than we might expect based on the first half. However, in a movie about fighting it’s inevitable that it would come down to a fight in the end. But thank you David Mamet for not making the audience applaud. Redbelt is a great film. Enjoy.