Film Reviews by Steve

Typically droll policier from Claude Chabrol's late period, which aims a few satirical barbs at the corruption of the provincial bourgeoisie- one of his standard preoccupations. The story might have been written for a murder-mystery on daytime television, with its familiar plot twists... and a soupçon of very dry comedy.

But the writer-director also creates interest with the eccentric characters, who are an odd combination of the whimsical and the intimidating. Particularly Jean Poiret as the inspector who is introduced as a classic, self-effacing Columbo style detective, but then beats up the suspects under interrogation...

A postal worker (Lucas Belvaux) in a conservative small town is being maliciously coerced into giving up his home by a trio of respectable professionals (including Chabrol stalwart, Michel Bouquet) who want to build on the land. Then the charred bones of a prostitute are found in a car crash that looks like it was worked on...

And we all know what an unrecognisable corpse means... It's a Chabrol film, so there's a role for his ex-wife Stéphane Audran, this time as the postman's volatile mother. Pauline Lafont is best as his screwball co-worker who lends a hand... and yes, she's the craziest of all! So... no surprises but still a must for Chabrol enthusiasts.

Complex arthouse psychodrama from Nicolas Roeg's classic period. So there are his usual preoccupations, including the non-linear narrative. And while this isn't difficult to navigate, some attention is rewarded by the ultra-expressive juxtaposition of images, and the outré thematic connections.

Which may feel like homework... but the pessimistic atmosphere and the delirious conclusion make this linger in the memory. Art Garfunkel plays an American research psychiatrist in Vienna tangled up in a convoluted affair with a promiscuous free-spirit (Theresa Russell). His fixation is more like surveillance than love...

While doctors save her life following an overdose, a saturnine Austrian cop on the nightshift (Harvey Keitel) investigates, which takes us into into the darkness of the academic's obsession*. And contributes some noirish fatalism. This is mostly told from the jilted lover's perspective and he's obviously an unreliable narrator...

The odd rock and pop soundtrack is a minor negative.  And Roeg doesn't get nearly as much out of Vienna as he did from Venice in Don't Look Now (1973). Garfunkel and Keitel fail to engage, though Russell is electrifying. Still, for anyone who appreciates the director's unique oeuvre, this is close enough to his peak.

*There is a realistic sexual assault.

Not my personal favourite of the classic melodramas Douglas Sirk directed at Universal studios in the 1950s, but probably the most critically admired. And it's the one which made the heaviest cultural impact. Jane Wyman plays a wealthy widow who falls in love with the young free-spirited hunk (Rock Hudson) who tends to her garden...

Meanwhile her two awful children and the wealthy country club conformists try to wreck their relationship, mainly for reasons of class. It reunites the stars of Sirk's massive 1954 hit, The Magnificent Obsession, and once again struggles to insert a rather superfluous philosophy; this time related to American transcendentalism!

Though Sirk is clearly more interested in the iniquities of US capitalism, and the audience in the glossy romance between the two stars. But there are two main potential drawbacks: it's a wish-fulfilment fantasy about a woman of a certain age who gets another go around with... Rock Hudson. And sure, what that means is now ambiguous...

But not everyone will identify! Secondly, this might climax unforgettably with the haunting reflection of Wyman in a tv screen as she is confronted with the loveless future the small town conservatism demands. But the studio insisted on a Hollywood ending! Still it's a key Sirk melodrama with the usual superior production polish.

This is a sequel to Mystery Road (2013), and both are apparently from a wave of post-millennial Australian crime pictures collectively called Outback Noir. Which seems to be inspired by Scandi-noir, but this one has an additional racial aspect. Aaron Pedersen stars as a cop locked into a boozy downward spiral after a messy divorce.

If this is a cliché, then the difference is he's an Aboriginal detective, which adds another level of prickliness to the already cantankerous rural rednecks. He's on the trail of a missing Chinese woman trafficked into prostitution for a mining company which is beyond the usual reach of the law. Which is the reason for all the noirish pessimism.

The story is compelling, even though the resolution depends on unscrupulous scumbags developing a conscious, which surely happens more in fiction than real life. But it hits several worthy political targets, including the corrupt dominion of big business. Because once the settlers took this land off the indigenous people...

...And now the corporations have stolen it from everyone. The performances are strong with Jackie Weaver contributing another of her psycho-wrong 'uns. It's just one more laconic, low budget neo-noir; but better than most and well directed by Ivan Sen, whose use of the widescreen format is ideal for the lonely desert panorama.

Long and very detailed domestic drama from Taiwan which enquires into an ordinary middle class family and how they respond to the trials of their normal lives; while arousing a deep sense of empathy for their fears and aspirations.

Director Edward Yang's approach is reminiscent of Yasujirô Ozu, with the static camera and the absence of closeups. And this classical style makes for a stark contrast with the very modern lives of the people of Taipei in a period of instability.

There is an economic recession. More significantly the traditional family cannot withstand the pressure of westernisation. While grandma is in a coma... the younger generations struggle to adapt, and become isolated and uncertain.

The director's disinterested camera exposes the interior space while their personal traumas slowly unravel; the sadness deepened by a beautiful piano score. Everything is understated and unhurried and quietly heartbreaking.

A change of direction for writer-director John Hughes as his characters leave education behind and become adults. And he no longer casts his Brat Pack actors. This features Kevin Bacon as a graduate who marries his steady college sweetheart (Elizabeth McGovern). And she eventually... becomes pregnant.

It's mostly from the male perspective as he goes through his post-grad rites of passage, while borderline paralysed by what is now called FOMO. Old friends and alternate potentials drift away replaced by grownup responsibilities. He's also writing a comic novel so there are occasional fantasy inserts based on his anxieties.

This isn't all that original, but Hughes is always good with dialogue and the comic situations are fine. The stars are amiable enough and there's the usual support cast of oddball parents. Plus music from the UK indie charts. This may even be the moment when Hughes realises he will never be another Woody Allen.

It lost money, but his '80s films are often good at how life gets serious. The best scene is the childbirth montage, scored by the extreme heartbreak of This Woman's Work by Kate Bush and the empathy goes up another level; with the bargaining and awful panic. And all the fathers in the audience choke back their sobs.

This is usually promoted as King Lear set in medieval Japan. But according to the internet, Akira Kurosawa based it on a historic warlord before he was familiar with the Shakespeare play. Then he later worked in a few connections. It's the legendary director's end-of-life film. Anyone approaching this as a Japanese Lear is likely to be disappointed.

This is mostly because the translated dialogue isn't comparable with a Shakespearian text. What this has is spectacle; something you never got at the Globe. On that level it is a triumph, with the immense production logistics, including costumes and castles and the dazzling vitality of the photography. There is lots of authentic, pre-CGI craft.

But Kurosawa doesn't tell the story so well. The screen is loaded with dramatic imagery but lacks cinematic narrative... and the main characterisations are not complex. The various armies are identified more through colour coding than their motivations. And with the impassive performances, this feels longer than its 160m running time.

Even so... Tatsuya Nakadai is massive as the egotistical but foolish military commander. Mieko Harada is also a standout as the scheming, ultra-pragmatic wife of one of his warring inheritors. The whole bloody pageant in Panavision is colossal; especially the many battle scenes. Arthouse blockbusters on this scale are genuinely not made anymore.

Writer-producer John Hughes said this is an attempt to correct his unsatisfactory ending for Pretty in Pink, released a year earlier. It is the same formula, with the soundtrack of hits from the UK indie charts and the usual high school rituals, with some cute dialogue about teenage angst.  

Except there's a gender flip. This time Eric Stoltz is the redhead from the wrong side of the tracks, torn between the unattainable babe (Lea Thompson) who hangs with the rich crowd, and his punky, androgynous best female friend (Mary Stuart Masterson) who is secretly love with him.

When the misfit is sexier than the honey, well it's obvious where this will end up. Still, the ride is a blast. If it's not as good as Pretty in Pink, that's mainly because the main actors are too old and there's no Molly Ringwald. Stoltz is handsome enough but lacks star charisma. 

Masterson is better and her drum solo to Dr. Mabuse by Propaganda gives the opening credits a dose of adrenaline. Maggie Corman steals all her scenes in a little sister role. The budget allows for more gloss, but it's just another '80s High School romcom. So no surprises, yet still a touch classier than most.

After the tragedy of Jean de Florette (also 1986), part two is more like melodrama, with its revenge narrative and the heartbreaking but very literary dénouement. Both were filmed in a single production so there is no change in approach. We are back in the idyllic campagne of Provence with the sound of the solo harmonica and the cicadas...

Except it's ten years later. Jean's daughter has grown into a lowly- but lovely- goatherd who exacts poetic justice upon the landowners who destroyed her father, by blocking up the stream that serves their farms and the village. The locals are what is now called low information voters. It's dismaying to listen to their (familiar) ignorance and prejudice.

But the unknowable mystery of unintended consequences brings about an even more profound revenge. And the entire four hours ends in a complete emotional overload... Daniel Auteuil and Yves Montand return as the duplicitous villains who are deepened by ill-fortune. And '80s arthouse pinup Emmanuelle Béart makes a beautiful agent of retribution...

Which really makes the complex narrative function. Credit also to writer-director Claude Berri, who gets the elaborate final twist to unravel with exquisite precision. There may be tears! Then there is the understated but rather sweet love story. This period drama is still relevant to who we are now. And seems to have got better over the passing years.

What was once called Cinema du Look, now appears to be an assortment of mannerisms lifted from contemporary Hollywood imports. Now it seems less satisfying- and more dated- than the previous generation of French cinema which Luc Besson was reacting against. Like the Hitchcock inspired thrillers of Claude Chabrol. 

This is nominally in the same genre but the McGuffin is so spurious that it is essentially plotless. The concept is interesting; Christopher Lambert (in a dinner jacket) enters a labyrinthine network of subterranean crime in the Paris Metro; much like the mysterious tunnels and passageways of the Casbah in Pepe le Moko (1937)!

And he meets up with a gang of maverick hipsters, including Jean-Hugues Anglade as a roller skating purse snatcher and Jean Reno as a gnomic drummer. Isabelle Adjani is the cool rebel who follows the hero underground, evoking the period more through her cartoonish shoulder pads, than any thematic content.

When a dude with designer stubble in a sleeveless t-shirt and shades plays slap on a fretless bass, it may be the most '80s thing that ever happened on screen. What was once groovy is now a period piece with a surplus of awkward comedy and a funky soundtrack. It hasn't aged gracefully- and that is now the attraction.

This is an end-of-the-world picture in two respects: it was made by Andrei Tarkovsky after he was diagnosed with a terminal disease and is a personal reflection on a lifetime in cinema and a summation of his late life ideas; plus it's a sci-fi fantasy which imagines a nuclear holocaust through the dream of an older man in decline.

The deeper we get into his subconscious, the more surreal is the director's symbolistic landscape. The sacrifice is the extreme bargaining the academic (Erland Josephson) will consider in order to save his young son, and the whole world. The plotless visual poetry creates sensual expressionism out of light and sound...

There are (apparently) 115 slow tracking shots, leading to the climactic house fire scene which is one unbroken seven minute edit. Sven Nykvist's desolate colour photography is so desaturated that the core of the dream is in b&w. And if this sounds pretentious, then of course, it's the last statement of a complex arthouse legend...

And it's an immersive experience, which breathes in Ingmar Bergman, and breathes out Béla Tarr... Much of the imagery is religious but there is no meaningful redemption. Tarkovsky ends on a long close up of a tree, which evokes the sacrifice of the crucifix. And returns us- says Wiki- to the opening shot of his 1962 debut, Ivan's Childhood.  

There is such irony that the vogue for UK metropolitans to move to rural France was inspired by this parable on the abuse of immigrants. And maybe it's supremely shallow if their takeaway from this epic tale of avarice is how lovely it all looks. Well, the widescreen cinematography is exceptional, as well as the interwar period decor and costumes.

Gérard Depardieu plays a hunchback/outsider whose persecution is justified by his physical difference. Yves Montand and Daniel Auteuil scheme like a pair of Shakespearean rogues to destroy the goodhearted hero via the tragic flaw of his naivety. Before his family arrives to farm their inherited land, the nativists seal up the spring, then observe them go bankrupt in a drought.

The three stars are perfect casting, with Montand the standout as a pretty coldhearted villain. His accomplice is conflicted, which is arguably even worse; but their greed and resentment are an addiction. Claude Berri adapts and directs this revision of Marcel Pagnol's 1952 original version, with both detail and spectacle. The production is simply magnificent.

It had a huge cultural impact overseas... and was massive box office everywhere. The opening strains as the harmonica plays Verdi over the drone of the cicadas, folds the passing years in an instant. It ends on a huge downer, partly because it's only the first half of the story. Anyone who sees this will want to watch the conclusion unfold in Manon des Sources (also 1986).

This is the second of Douglas Sirk's 1950's melodramas for Universal which are the nucleus of his reputation as an auteur.  Most of the motifs are in place, with Frank Skinner's lush, classical influenced score and Russell Metty's lustrous Technicolor photography. In his breakout role, Rock Hudson is paired for the first time with (Oscar nominated) Jane Wyman.

And Sirk delivers a few asides on the disease of American capitalism. Although this is early in the cycle, it feels like a pastiche, with the melodrama turned up to max. A millionaire playboy (Hudson) becomes a neurologist to restore the eyesight of a middle aged widow (Wyman), whose blindness he brings about in a reckless accident.

This serves as a prompt for flimsy philosophical ideas related to philanthropy. But mostly invokes the hand of the almighty... especially when the celestial choir kicks in. It's tempting to imagine this sort of poetic romance was done better in John M. Stahl's 1935 original*, when melodrama was more tuned into the audiences of the depression...

But no, this is superior, with the photogenic stars, lavish set decor, Sirk's elegant direction, the lifestyle of the WASP upper set... Naturally, unless the viewer is predisposed to love such hyper-emotional fantasy, the astonishing story is ridiculous. But for those who are, it is an extreme experience, and a portal into a kind of cinema which is no longer possible.

*both versions are on the bluray.

There's a curiously warm, nostalgic afterglow to  François Truffaut's occupation drama, maybe because the Parisians keep calm and carry on- as much as possible- against hardship and provocation. And there is an occasional soundtrack of sentimental ballads. There are no interrogations or executions on screen.

This is about the wartime boom in theatre attendance... because the public can't heat their homes. It focuses much more on the French collaborators than the Nazis, including how freely the citizens report the enemies of the occupation to their oppressors; usually suspicion of Jewish heritage. Often over minor disputes.

Catherine Deneuve plays a popular star of the stage who hides her Jewish husband (Heinz Bennent) in the theatre cellar while the show goes on. There is an affection for the liberal creatives who do what they can to bend the new laws. Gérard Depardieu is her romantic lead who offstage is involved in the resistance.

The villain is a theatre critic who finds the occupation suits his prejudices very well. It's a slow, affectionate tribute to a resilient way of life which is broadly critical of any intolerance; and it's disturbing to hear the racism present today in UK politics. This was a huge success in France and my pick as Truffaut's best.

Influential crime-vérité which shows the futile struggle of Parisian narcotics officers against an incoming tide of drugs, and the further lawbreaking this provokes. If it seems drawn out at 145m, the many tv series it inspired are far longer. Didier Bezace plays the ordinary cop who is the hub of a colourful melange of informers.

His police squad is based in a caravan, indicative of the rapid spread of drug crime and the meagre resources against it. They are neither idiots nor academics. Although this is seminal, it avoids most future genre clichés: so there is no funeral for a hero, or corrupt/addicted officers, or moles... Or the cops as just another gang.

But there are some... such as the lonely wife. The story is episodic without a single narrative arc, because the war on drugs is ineffectual. Crime is too deeply embedded in the ordinary lives of the poor. Director and co-writer Bertrand Tavernier doesn't actually bother with the criminality of the rich, other than a few sardonic asides.

And there isn't much about the pushers, who are all immigrants, with their own ethnic divisions. This is all about the disorganised, traumatised law enforcement officers in a conflict which is already lost, and mostly destroys the destitute, uneducated users rather than the traffickers. The title? This is the number of French laws opposed to narcotics.