Film Reviews by Steve

Creepy psychological horror which stretches its slender premise maybe further than it can stand, but then delivers one of the most unsettling final reveals in cinema! A Dutch woman vanishes at motorway services in southern France leaving her boyfriend to obsessively search for three years.

When eventually contacted by her murderer, the unhappy stooge pays a horrifying price for the truth... Bernard-Pierre Donnadieu is disturbingly convincing as the psychopathic serial killer and dominates Gene Bervoets and Johanna ter Steege as the young Dutch couple. Which is fair enough.

Director George Sluizer underplays the tension; there are no jump scares or horror music cues, or flashy gimmicks, which makes that denouement feel a long time coming. Critics have likened the approach to Alfred Hitchcock... but there is no comparison in terms of suspense or iconic set pieces.

This is more procedural. But the way the story puts the audience in the viewpoint of the imperilled hero is an inspired conceit which the Master would have endorsed. The viewer wants the truth as much as the fixated, anguished schmuck! It's a must-see, though the pay-off only works the first time.

Erratic social realism which starts out as if it's going to be neo-noir but evolves into an offbeat melodrama about the ironies of fate. The earlier scenes are better, with a sullen ex-jailbird (Johannes Krisch) filling in as strong-arm at a brothel in Vienna who intends to rob a bank and then vanish with one of the prostitutes. 

Irina Potapenko is appealing as the Ukrainian illegal immigrant who gets involved in the idiotic scheme, rather than spend a lifetime paying back fees to the scumbag who exploits her. When the plan goes awry- as it must- the deadbeat hired muscle hides out on a farm with his decrepit and equally morose elderly father.

The dramatic irony kicks in when the bank-robber makes pregnant the wife (Ursula Strauss) of the infertile cop who thwarts the robbery! Okay that's a crazy story, but there is some interest in the sympathetic portrayal of these hopeless small time stooges, especially the trafficked sex worker whose existence is a living hell.

Writer-director Götz Spielmann contributes some felicitous visual details and keeps the excesses of the oddball plot as naturalistic as possible while exploring some thematic content. And gratifyingly, these's no music score telling us what to feel.  Though the Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film is a stretch.

This is pitched as a dark thriller and a black comedy, and some of the extreme aspects of both are difficult to watch. It's not the sex and violence, because there isn't any on screen. It's the malign misogyny (and yes, the misanthropy) of the lead character which is hard to endure, though the audience's repulsion is factored in.

Luis Tosar is effectively creepy as a depressed/psychopathic concierge at a swanky apartment building who wants to make his residents as miserable as possible because he can't feel any pleasure himself. His biggest challenge is a fun/sexy/vulnerable señorita living alone, and to make her sad he has to really be bad.

Marta Etura plays the woman-in-peril and her sunny day élan is a release. But when the obsessive surveillance of the male oppressor grows into sexual assault then it goes too far for mere escapism. And the final twist offers no satisfaction. The story soon runs out of logic, though this is hardly unusual in a psychological thriller.

As a suspense picture, it is directed by Jaume Balagueró with some real flair; this is edgy stuff. For a while the comedy doesn't register, but the events are so absurd that eventually an unsettling comic resonance can be detected. Actually, if I was the sort who does, I might have pulled the plug; but maybe I'm easily offended...

It's difficult to still feel the impact this made in 1957: the critics objected to the graphic blood and gore in buzzy/gaudy Eastmancolor (it's cheaper) but this is almost invisible now; and though it influenced gothic horror for a decade, after 1960 this became secondary to the b&w contemporary scares of Psycho.

Still, Hammer's adaptation of Mary Shelley's classic novel (1818) was a eureka moment for the studio and brought together many of the cast and crew who would define its new direction, including director Terence Fisher, and screenwriter Jimmy Sangster who claimed not to have seen the Universal version (1931)!

Which is hard to believe... His masterstroke is to make Baron Frankenstein an unambiguous bad guy and his creation merely a symbol of his sociopathic overreach. Bad news for Christopher Lee whose role as the creature lacks the dignity of Karloff, though advantageous for Peter Cushing as the mad scientist.

And thus, their partnership was born... As was standard at Hammer, the splendid period art direction is at odds with the B film budget. Maybe best of all is James Bernard's invigorating orchestral score. A monster hit in its time, this has lost the power to shock; but it remains a crucial rite-of-passage for horror buffs.

Notoriously impenetrable neo-noir/head movie which is least interesting when any attempt is made at literal analysis. With the non-linear narrative, extensive dream sequences, doppelgangers and surreal digressions, David Lynch isn't making that sort of picture. This is more of a midlife review of his career in cinema so far.

Besides, any interpretation is going to have the first half going on inside someone's head- which is such a letdown. None of the online academic essays add much to the experience, including by the director! Rather than dwell on the significance of the colour red, maybe enjoy the many references to classic noir and old Hollywood...

Plus the contemporary cynicism aimed at the film business and the Los Angeles moral inferno. Best of all is Naomi Watts' virtuoso performance as a small town ingénue aiming to break into the movies who gets tangled up in the mystery of a femme fatale (Laura Harring) with amnesia and a handbag full of bankrolls. Or does she?

Anyone who has seen this surely remembers Watts' audition scene, which damn near stops the picture. And there's satisfaction to be had from the maverick director's late career success. But, despite the larger audience, the complexity means this will still mainly appeal to David Lynch aficionados. Who knew there are so many?

Amiable comedy-romance which is typical of its decade but better than most. Nineties hotshot Cameron Crowe revises a few of the character types from his script for Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), except the kids are now five years older and starting work while learning the rules of enduring love...

There are agreeable ensemble performances as the twenty-something metropolitans who play the dating game with the stakes bigger than in High School. They live in condos for single occupants and do yuppie jobs. Kyra Sedgwick is the standout as a lovelorn ecologist who only recently got burned.

The trump card is to set their standard rites of passage experiences in Seattle, in the emerging grunge scene with a soundtrack which features an impressive A-Z of future stars (except for Nirvana!). Matt Dillon is the idiot stoner/slacker in a local band stringing along Bridget Fonda's compliant good-girl. 

The rocker laments metal has become lifestyle music. Crowe must know this is the film equivalent. Nothing much matters, the dialogue is fun but incredibly obvious. It's just a conventional lifestyle picture- a beer commercial- for '90s gen. x kids who may now be ready to revisit for reasons of nostalgia. 

This royal melodrama is an outlier for Ealing Studios; it is neither the social realism they usually produced after WWII, nor the issues led advocacy often directed by Basil Dearden. Also, it stars Stewart Granger, but isn't the sort of historical romp he starred in for Gainsborough or the swashbucklers he made in Hollywood.

Now it is mainly remembered as the studios' first colour production which received a (well deserved) Oscar nomination for set design. And it looks extremely lavish. But if it was meant to bring zest to a nation entrenched in postwar austerity, then it failed because the audience stayed away. And what about that gloomy title?

My best guess is this was intended as rapprochement towards Germany as it's the story of the Hanoverian King who became George I of Britain, and so a reminder of our common heritage. But then he is portrayed (by Peter Bull) as a malign rogue! Still, it looks sumptuous, particularly the masked ball, with fireworks.

But it's overwritten and Dearden obviously not at ease in historical melodrama. Granger is ok in a static role, but otherwise the casting is a disaster; Joan Greenwood barely registers as a romantic lead and Flora Robson bizarrely plays a coquette! Critics say there is some real history here, but alas, not much entertainment.

Quality arthouse parable faithfully adapted from Paul Auster's 1990 modernist novel, which is unapologetically highbrow, but still accessible. This is Philip Haas' debut as director and he exclusively made films from the sort of modern classics that win literary prizes, and it's a shame there wasn't much of an audience for them.

It features James Spader's signature performance in the centrepiece role, as a loud, unsophisticated card shark who is bankrolled by a more level headed stalwart (Mandy Patinkin) in a high-stakes poker game with a pair of eccentric millionaires (Charles Durning and Joel Gray). And that's already an intriguingly offbeat cast.

When the challengers recklessly lose, they agree to pay off the debt by building a huge, pointless wall in the grounds of the wealthy duo's mansion with the stones from a medieval castle- while the winners go to Europe. And we also get M. Emmet Walsh as the obsequious/insidious go-between who manages the futile project.

So it's a surreal allegory for the iniquities of capitalism... which is deepened by the unique imagination of the author and the eerie, dreamlike ambience of Haas' staging until it generates a considerable emotional charge. And we may begin to empathise with the two schmucks. It's a head movie, but more engaging than that implies.

Not the best of Patricia Highsmith on the big screen, but this BBC co-production captures the psychology of her novels unusually well: with the true nature of an alarming sociopathic outsider obscured by a bland exterior. And the innocent- if flawed- bystander dragged under by an inexorable vortex of dumb bad luck/fate.

It's a loose adaptation which loses its way, but for over an hour this is genuinely strange, especially the eccentric, intermittent romance between a sad washout and a volatile, emotionally insecure loose cannon... who are both poignantly alone. He is recovering from mental breakdown while being divorced by a vindictive wife,

All this is raised well above the level of a TVM by the lead performances. So that's Paddy Considine as the diffident stalker who obsesses on Julia Stiles as an oasis of normality in his void of disappointment; except she turns out to be even crazier than he is. Okay, this has now become a familiar plot riff, but still makes a reliable hook... 

Besides, the cruel wife is the real freak... Writer-directer Jamie Thraves creates more neo-noir melancholy than actual suspense but the stars make the ambient hysteria quite immersive. Plus there are decent small town Canadian locations. This should interest Highsmith buffs or anyone in need of outré late night melodrama.

Cult sci-fi parable/head movie about a solitary alien who comes to Earth in search of a means to take water back to his dying planet, but is compromised. Its big idea- from Walter Tevis' novel- is the spaceman is corrupted by an acquired humanness...

Which now seems to have become a popular science fiction motif. There is some topicality in his planet being advanced in electronics, but has turned into a desert due to the heat and aridity. But on release, the main interest was in the stunt casting of David Bowie.

Though a limited actor, he looks astonishing as the wan, diaphanous extraterrestrial who sets up a corporation to front and finance his real project, but is ultimately subverted by the humanity he learns from tv. And then neutralised by earthly capitalists.

It's quite long, with most of the best scenes in the first half, but looks stunning, with the arthouse photography, the futuristic set design and SFX and especially the otherworldly atmosphere of the New Mexico desert. This is Nicolas Roeg still at about his peak.

The best of many big screen accounts of the invasion of Guadalcanal in 1942 by the US Marines, which was the first US victory of WWII and accomplished with many casualties. This is loosely adapted from a novel by James Jones, who was there. The approach combines bloody realism with an abundance of interpretation.

Though any apprehension regarding Terrence Malick exploiting the immense sacrifice of the soldiers to post his own personal philosophy is soon laid to rest. This may be the most empathetic view of their experiences ever attempted. Sure this is cine-poetry; a beautiful looking arthouse war with a melancholy soundtrack...

But it really feels like we see through the eyes of the men. For over two hours this is terrifying, until the last 30 minutes when the author's voice gains control. The ensemble cast is led by Jim Caviezel and few of the many celebrities get much more than a cameo. My standout is Woody Harrelson's pretty harrowing death scene.

And I'd like to see more of John C. Reilly. The reflections on nature and man's tribal heart are not illuminating, but this excels as cinematic art which also conveys the combat events with some coherence. 1998 was the year of Saving Private Ryan which critics felt should have won the Oscar. But this would have got my vote.

This is where the 1980s cycle of US High School comedies begins, though the vibe is like it's still the '70s with the dated fashions, long hair and white-bread radio rock. There was no mainstream punk/new wave movement to sweep them away. So this may feel alien to UK viewers, and not just because the kids drive to class.

In 1982 this was meant to appeal to teenagers, but is now a period piece for nostalgics. Maybe it's my age, but the teachers seem more relatable and (for me...) Ray Walston steals his scenes as Mr. Hands. Back then, Sean Penn made an impact as a stoner/slacker/surfer. As did Phoebe Cates sunbathing by the pool in her red bikini....

...The extras claim VHS rental copies were worn out by freeze framing. It's fun to see so many future stars as the gen-xers doing low wage weekend work in the mall. Jennifer Jason Leigh is appealing as the good-girl who gets pregnant by the main scuzzball. It has a reputation for being hard hitting but really isn't by modern standards.

It was adapted by Cameron Crowe from his own book and acclaimed for authenticity and sexual realism! Though it's more of a glossy jukebox comedy written under the influence of early Woody Allen, but for teens. If this is real-life, it's only in comparison to Animal House (1978). Still, few films have been ripped off as comprehensively.

This is mainly remembered as Clint Eastwood's first film back in Hollywood after his spaghetti westerns. However they had not yet been released in the US where he was still better known for Rawhide. It was made by the star's production company and he appointed as director a colleague from his television days.

Ted Post is not a film maker on the level of Sergio Leone... but he obviously saw the Dollar trilogy as he borrows some of the visual motifs, like the extreme closeups and a feel for the grotesque. And there's a faint echo of Ennio Morricone in the music score. Plus there's Eastwood who clearly is ready to be a cinema star.

He carries the film as a cattleman erroneously hanged by a posse of diverse vigilantes who becomes a lawman obsessed with bringing them to justice. So it's a standard revenge western, and it's effective for about an hour before it explores at length several less interesting philosophical and historical themes... 

It threatens to become anti-death penalty as the Marshal grows dismayed by how bloodthirsty is the law, but never quite comes together. Bruce Dern as a weaselly gunman stands out in a strong support cast, but second billed Inger Stevens is wasted. It's decent entertainment for western buffs and fans of the star.

Lightly fictionalised account of the 1968 strike for equal pay by female machinists at the Ford factory in Dagenham, who were driven into activism by gross injustice. This isn't social realism but more of a mainstream entertainment which also inspires and informs. And takes care to demonstrate the value of a Union. 

The ensemble of British actors operates on the level of an Ealing comedy. It may provoke sadness for the decline of UK cinema that all these class acts will never become big screen stars. Sally Hawkins leads as an uneducated but resilient wife/mother raised up by circumstance to become the voice of the strikers.

Miranda Richardson as Barbara Castle is another standout... but the whole cast is fun! William Ivory's script mostly hits feel-good Hollywood beats and there is some sentimentality but he widens and deepens the scenario to give an impression of the legal and cultural discrimination women were forced to endure. 

There's some surface gloss with the jukebox hits and period fashions, but also serious ideas about class, as well as gender. Labour introduced the Equal Pay Act (1970) against hostile opposition, though there isn't much party politics and Ford don't come out too badly. But really, did it have to be this bloody difficult? 

This gets called a rom-com, though the love story between two  women is mostly in the background. And the humour is very abrasive. It's more of a rites-of-passage, except the point-of-view character is 30 years old, and doesn't learn any life lessons.

While the title refers to the postcode for central Reykjavik, surely 101 is intended to evoke George Orwell's concept of the ultimate terror. So maybe what this is- most of all!- is a satire on liberal Bohemians seeking release from the freezing Arctic darkness.

Also... it's a sombre black comedy about an aimless deadbeat  (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) who can't engage with life on any level. The brutal northern winter seems to freeze his soul. Mercifully, Victoria Abril sparks a little warmth as his mother's Spanish lover.

This is adapted from an Icelandic best seller and retains the first person narrative; its focus is on how the misfit sees his world. As a look at an alien culture, there is interest. But actual engagement may depend on identifying with the sociopathic anti-hero!