Film Reviews by Steve

Nostalgic juvenile delinquent picture set in a middle US industrial town. It was directed by Francis Coppola the same year he made The Outsiders, both adapted from novels by SE Hinton, a popular author with teenagers. Rumble Fish is more of an arthouse film, shot in an expressionist style in noir-ish b&w with weird tilts and close ups....

Other than for SE Hinton aficionados, it's the creative visual riffs backed with Stewart Copeland's spiky New Wave score which make this worth watching. The pessimistic adolescent melodrama might appeal to youngsters, but presumably kids now have JD stories of their own. Still there's plenty for buffs and fans of atmosphere. 

This is contemporary but the studio sets give it a '50s feel, the golden age of the JD picture. The actors are dreadful, but Matt Dillon as the crazy mixed up kid and Mickey Rourke as his cool older brother are crucially both doing impressions of Brando in The Wild One (1953). Nicolas Cage is doing Elvis, so maybe he missed a meeting.

It's the arty flourishes which give this cult appeal still, such as the deep shadows painted onto the walls, like in German silents. Or the time lapse photography which tells us that youth is/was ephemeral. It's basically Tennessee Williams' Orpheus Descending rewritten for an '80s teen audience, and performed by their favourite stars. 

This is about how class diminishes us on either side of the divide. Stevens is an efficient butler at a prestigious English stately home in the service of a conservative aristocrat foolishly engaged in private negotiations to appease Hitler's Nazis in an effort to avoid another war; and so comes under the influence of British fascists.

The servant averts his gaze because his lordship knows best. Both are guilty of a misplaced sense of duty. Stevens suppresses his humanity because it's not in his job description. But while he grows old alone, his inhibition is provoked by a new housekeeper who may- even if fancifully- represent a romantic last chance.

This is a quality production in all the usual ways from camera to soundtrack. James Ivory's direction is extremely sensitive and faithful to Kazuo Ishiguro's novel. But in particular, credit is due to Ruth Prawer Jhabvala whose subtle yet deeply moving screenplay performs miracles on a source which is mostly first person narrative.

And there are perfectly modulated performances by Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson. The scene in which she accosts him while he reads romantic fiction is a heartbreaker in the book, but as potent on the screen... Presumably when Stevens saw Brief Encounter after the war he felt the lovers were guilty of vulgar ostentation! 

Its reputation promises a near plotless sequence of beautiful photographic images. But that's not the case... There is a slim narrative about a calamitous love triangle set in rural Texas- 1916- between a couple of poor itinerant lovers (Brooke Adams, Richard Gere) and a rich landowner (Sam Shepard) who the woman marries for money...

Except she also continues the affair with the man she calls her brother. There's even a cross country manhunt! But certainly it's the Oscar winning cinematography that haunts the memory with the the ephemeral farmhands at work in the wheat fields, captured in the golden hours of dawn and dusk, wistfully scored by Ennio Morricone.

Everything feels eerily transient. This is about a moment in time when the machinery of modernism begins to leave its scars on the timeless pastoral landscape. We see the withered men come home from the industrial war in Europe, while the three lovers linger on in their unspoiled paradise, soon to be cast out of yet another Eden...

...And into a biblical apocalypse of plague and fire! Terrence Malick spent months in the editing suite and eventually held the story together with a voiceover; though it still feels erratic. While there's a hazy aura of mankind losing its innocence, yes, it's the honey yellow hues of Néstor Almendros'  dreamy photography that captivates.

Ultra-violent gangster film whose inspired gimmick is to stage the plot of George V. Higgins' hardboiled crime novel (1974) against the 2008 US bank crash. So the black economy of the mob reflects satirically on the crooked legitimacy of Bush Jr's financial laissez-fair; then later on, Barack Obama's phoney one nation platitudes.

All the politics happens off screen in the news; the action is set on the shabby streets of Boston during a long recession. After a stickup at a high stakes mafia card game, a hitman/enforcer (Brad Pitt) is hired to deal out reprisals and bring the cartels back into status quo... Same as in Washington, but with a substantial body count.

There's some extreme bloodshed and an excess of dialogue, which is mostly idiot criminals telling anecdotes to fill in some backstory. But these are often quite amusing, especially with the decent ensemble performances of the all male cast. Scoot McNairy makes an impression as the only even halfway likeable lowlife.

Andrew Dominik directs with the occasional stylistic flourish, but aside from the CGI, this mostly feels like a bluff, tough '70s gangster film, which is pessimistic and brutal and macho. Except the unsubtle political context sets it apart. Brad's final line is extremely quotable: 'America's not a country. It's just a business. Now pay me!'

Melancholy romance set against the US moral inferno. The neo-noir atmospherics create a profound impression of urban desolation, though it's the last chance affair between a suicidal alcoholic (Nicolas Cage) and a Las Vegas hooker (Elisabeth Shue) which captured the public imagination.

Cage won the Oscar and Shue was nominated and they give their doomed love story some real heartbreak. And yet... it's the despair of a society which has lost its way which lingers. Where every human need is transactional, where the deal is paramount and the dollar is the ultimate good.

Desire is a component to be packaged and sold back to us at a premium rate plus tips. Only the incurable drunk and the tough-yet-vulnerable sex worker have any humanity worth a damn in the rising tide of sleaze, in the pitiful, nocturnal city. This feels like an end-of-the-world picture.

And it's an overwhelmingly gloomy experience. Mike Figgis wrote the script and directs with rare wisdom on a minuscule budget. He also composed the jazzy soundtrack, and plays trumpet! Sting sings a few standards for maximum nostalgia. It's about addiction but better on the ambient sadness.

Prime Americana from Hal Ashby's absolute peak as director in the '70s New Wave. This is loosely based on the 1943 autobiography of Woody Guthrie, the illustrious troubadour of the Great Depression. His own memoir only marginally reflects reality; it's suspiciously similar to John Steinbeck's classic novel, The Grapes of Wrath (1939).

So it's a case of print the legend. The story runs between 1936 and '39, from Guthrie's hobo journey from Texas through the dustbowl of the midwest to the fruit orchards of California, until his arrival in New York where he wrote This Land is Your Land. This is an extraordinarily beautiful picture with near magical capture of sunlight.

Perhaps that's a weakness as the horrors of the '30s may have been represented better in grainy b&w. Still, there's a realistic look at the social and political divisions; between fascism and socialism. We hear plenty of the songs performed by David Carradine who is exceptional as the legendary songwriter, as man, musician and myth...

And also as a hero of class struggle. The locations are well chosen and the set design feels authentic. The long running time and leisurely rhythm won't be a problem for anyone with an interest in Woody's legacy. And his ideology will always reflect on where the US is in the present time. Now is always the time for another revival.

The first of director Susanne Bier/screenwriter Anders Thomas Jensen's award winning collaborations. It was released at the back end of the Dogme 95 wave and is shot according to its rules, with the natural light, digital cameras and authentic locations...

Yet despite the ostentatious realism and out-of-focus camera wobble, this is really melodrama. Like all of Bier and Jensen's early pictures, there's a schematic narrative which is propelled by the chance occurrence of a life changing event.

It dissects forensically the consequences of a road traffic accident which leaves a young man as an incurable quadriplegic, while his traumatised girlfriend finds solace in an affair with the husband of the woman driving the car! Which is some premise...

Most of the interest is in the horrifying breakdown of the marriage which is incredibly 4real, mainly due to the Dogme approach and the raw, intense performances of Mads Mikkelsen and Paprika Steen. This deservedly broke Bier outside of Denmark.

Slow, dreamy exploration of the trauma-memories of a young woman who escapes from a clandestine rural commune. Debut writer-director Sean Durkin claims this isn't intended to be political but more of a reflection on the psychological process.

Though this is clearly an anti-capitalist cult, rather than, for example, neo-Nazi. The narrative cuts between the victim's troubled recovery with her sister (Sarah Paulson) and flashbacks to her ordeal of brainwashing, sexual abuse and even murder.

There's a central performance of startling quality from Elizabeth Olsen as the runaway who can't escape the insidious psychological control of the cult nor re-adjust to mainstream society which doesn't offer the same sense of belonging.

Nor will normal life replace the illusion of utopianism. Durkin looks at why misfits join cults, including mental illness and homelessness; it exposes the strategies of its malevolent leader (John Hawkes); and it is unsettling, and ultimately unresolved. 

This is mainly remembered for its code-busting treatment of heroin addiction, which still stands up fairly well. It's a loose adaptation of a bestseller by Nelson Algren, who was sacked from the screenplay by director/producer Otto Preminger, which isn't so much a sign of malign studio interference as a reflection of the author's limitations.

The novel is hard to read, and not because of the challenging themes. Still, Otto has a reputation as a tyrant on the set and he doesn't get quality performances from the browbeaten cast. Including Frank Sinatra as the jazz drummer/junkie trying to get the monkey off his back while being dragged down into the criminal underworld.

This is well outside his range, and neither Eleanor Parker, as his neurotic wife, nor Kim Novak, as the other woman/cashier in a burlesque joint, are convincing ghetto rats. It's shot entirely on a soundstage which feels theatrical without boasting the Broadway level script which sometimes makes that work. Plus it's over-lit...

There are redeeming factors: Elmer Bernstein's jazz-blues score conveys a frisson of dangerous sleaze; and Saul Bass' title cut ups are cool. Maybe it's harsh to commend a film for its poster! What is best about this is still the groundbreaking depiction of the curse of addiction. But old Hollywood rarely went slumming with much authenticity.

This is the most habit-forming substance in modern cinema; lowbrow B-picture hokum made by accomplished professionals on a substantial budget. It's a wildly implausible neo-noir, but skilfully directed, edited, photographed... The script has the profundity of a magazine article, but is laced with addictive wit.

There's a well chosen cast from top to bottom, which helps smooth out some bumpy plot chicanery. Rosamund Pike is best as a sociopathic minor celebrity who plans to incriminate her unfaithful husband (Ben Affleck) by elaborately staging her own murder and then disappearing... like she's in an episode of Columbo.

It's the classic noir scenario of the femme fatale who manipulates the idiot male dupe, but rebooted for the age of social media. Its main strength is showing how the 24 hour news-entertainment cycle and smartphone opportunism immediately enclose the life of the mostly innocent (but inadequate) fall guy.

For an hour this promises to revitalise the Hollywood thriller, before opting for dubious melodrama and so many twists they eventually become tiresome. The buttons it pushes on gender politics are wilfully provocative, which may make it a fun date-picture, as well as a more-ish stimulant for noir junkies.

There can't be many Hollywood comedies about the war in Vietnam. There's MASH (1970) set in Korea, but that's about educated medics. So this irreverent Australian story of working class larrikins getting by in 'Nam while squeezed between boredom and bloodshed, brings a different mentality to the 1970s war picture.

William Nagle's source novel was a bestseller down under. His characters are in the Aussie SAS, though the author was a cook, which gives an idea of how unheroic this is. The soldiers are usually gambling or drinking Fosters from an esky, between a few brief forays into enemy territory, which seem to have no purpose.

There may be little of the soul searching and angst of the many US blockbusters about the conflict and its consequences... and there's no soundtrack of contemporary hits. But the themes are the same; the folks back home don't want to hear about the war and none of the soldiers will be acknowledged on their return.

The men make a likeable mob, with Graham Kennedy the purveyor of pessimistic wisdom, Bryan Brown as a laconic, inscrutable bogan while John Jarratt plays the new recruit whose letters from home are drying up. The knockabout banter leaves an impression of futility, and of working class kids getting stiffed yet again.

Boy meets girl is the greatest story ever told, whether it ends in matrimony or heartbreak. With the touristic pictorial of Los Angeles, some decent sub-Sondheim showtunes and the boisterous photography/editing, there is potential for an optimistic musical romcom... in CinemaScope! And such ultra-vibrant colour!!

The opening number is a blast, and for about half an hour it delivers a rousing adrenaline surge. But eventually a lack of real quality shows though the conspicuous technique and feelgood tropes. And resentment takes root that this owes its heart and soul to Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964).

Then the climax leaps right off the meta highboard... Which might have been interesting in '64 but now is a bit of a chore. And in a musical which generates so much nostalgia for the studio era, the stars- Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling- start to seem ordinary. Partly because they are stuck with the humdrum dialogue.

It's a romance; a tale of serendipity. We go to these films for the conventions; so recycling standard genre riffs is expected. And like Demy's classic, it takes place in a sweet spot somewhere between dreams and magic. But it's also the kind of ersatz knockoff the old-school jazz enthusiast played by Gosling would have deplored!

Superior costume drama with a twist. It's primarily a star vehicle for for Glenn Close who was Oscar nominated as a middle aged hotel waiter who was born a women but identifies and lives as a man, and who works in a shabbily genteel Dublin hotel in the last years of Victoria, which mostly caters to the English aristocracy

He is conservative and naive and the reality of his sexuality is mostly a mystery. Janet McTeer is also immensely affecting as another female living a similar secret life, but with more confidence, and who liberates Albert with tragic consequences when he foolishly falls for a lusty and very heterosexual maid (Mia Wasikowska).

Their identity is not entirely genetic as both have been sexually traumatised by male brutality. Close appears in every scene, supported by a familiar cast, even down to minor roles. Also this is a splendid and authentic feeling time capsule located in a city of disease and appalling destitution for the workers and unemployed.

This is a cruel dystopia where the wealthy brutalise the poor who grow up to repeat the sins of their fathers. Yes, once again it's the malign impact of poverty and ignorance. Yet this isn't preachy... it's a sensitive, pitiful insight into the dramas of unregarded lives, which reflects on the unorthodox enigmas of the human heart.

The original version of Nosferatu (1922) is so fundamental to the history of horror cinema that this remake could never get close to replicating its legacy. However, Werner Herzog's faithful tribute absolutely understands what is so momentous about FW Murnau's silent adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula.

While the locations differ, the set design employs a similar expressionist style. Both evoke the spirit of German Romanticism, which Herzog actually brings into clearer focus. He tightens up the plot and imagines a more realistic environment... though this may not be why we visit this spectral other-world.

Klaus Kinski would be inspired casting in the title role... if Herzog didn't always use him! Naturally, the star can't make an impact as immense as Max Schreck in the original; Kinski has more pathos, but isn't so mythic. Isabelle Adjani is a standout as the ethereal Lucy Harker, with her gothic pallor, and incredible eyes.

Now it feels like folk horror, with the rural animalism and arcane superstition. But everything here happens in the shadows of Murnau's landmark. Similarly it is also dwarfed by Herzog's other achievements in the 1970s. This is the end of his peak and a welcome extra, rather than integral to his reputation.

The best film ever made about love at first sight. Kim Krizen and director Richard Linklater get the screenplay credit, but (apparently) Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke rewrote the dialogue, and star as the twenty-somethings who meet on a train and spend an evening and nighttime walking and talking in Vienna.

This invented an indie-genre, though owes something to Éric Rohmer. The American is cynical and insecure, the Frenchwoman is clever but passionate... and beautiful. As the film goes deeper into their encounter it feels like an intrusion into the magic of their intimacy. Sometimes they just gaze in astonishment.

Of course they do... Julie Delpy creates the most adorable screen presence since Ingrid Bergman. By the fadeout, who isn't just a little bit in love? And she gives herself some amazing lines. The city of Vienna is heartbreakingly beautiful, but mostly a medium in which they readjust their emotional wavelengths.

When Linklater shows the empty spaces of the eternal city, now vacated by their human transience, it like feels more like the end of a favourite poem which is mysteriously and unforgettably true. The will they/won't they ending is sort of spoiled by there being a sequel. But heck, Before Sunset (2004) is even better!