Film Reviews by Steve

This is the John Hughes picture which broke out of the multiplexes to more widely enter the culture. It's another teenage comedy, but has become a very quotable cult film for political conservatives. Ferris is a sociopathic High School senior who bullies his depressed best pal into wrecking his dad's limited issue Ferrari, under the premise of living his 'best possible day'.

Matthew Broderick stars as the ultimate '80s bad guy- a rich kid easily as smug and solipsistic as Michael Douglas in Wall Street (1987). Cheer as Ferris owns the liberal losers, the joyless drones who run public services... and dupes his idiot parents, who are too warmhearted to be worthy of respect. So Ferris can mime to Twist and Shout and threaten working stiffs with the sack.

Others can clear up the mess. As usual with high school comedies, the actors are a decade too old- except 18 year old Mia Sara who can't make much of her underwritten girlfriend role. Neither can Alan Ruch as the best friend. So most of the interest settles on Broderick vs. Jeffrey Jones' cartoonish portrayal of the killjoy who wants put the charismatic maverick in detention.

Which surely anticipates the broader slapstick of Hughes' 1990 smash hit, Home Alone. We see plenty of the tourist sights of Chicago, which Ferris exploits as if his own personal playground. This is a divisive film but broadly entertaining with the usual soundtrack of cool indie records. In the sequel, Bueller goes to college and starts up the first US branch of the Bullingdon Club.

Now this looks like fan fiction! Anyone watching Tom Stoppard's adaptation of his prodigiously clever stage play needs to come prepared. Some pre-knowledge of William Shakespeare's Hamlet is essential, even if just reading a synopsis. But the more immersed the viewer is in the immortal tragedy, the deeper the experience.

It's a mashup of Elizabethan tragedy and theatre of the absurd. The two incidental characters from Hamlet are the heroes of this story, occasionally becoming part of the main play, but more usually killing time, wondering who they are and why they have been summoned to Elsinore. While also playing whimsical games...

Or are the duo even R&G at all? They are not sure... and Hamlet doesn't recognise them. I like to imagine they are the eternal tramps from Waiting for Godot, centuries before they ever get to that country road, as imposters in the court of Denmark. Anyone who appreciates Shakespeare, and Beckett, should find this a lot of fun.

And there's a quality cast, with Gary Oldman and Tim Roth in the title roles and Richard Dreyfuss maybe even stealing the picture as the leader of the players. The set design and Stoppard's own direction are fine, but this is mainly a faithful adaptation of a stage classic; and the best chance most of us will ever have of seeing it.

This is one of those Hollywood romances that feature mental illnesses which are photogenic and tasteful and responsive to the needs of the plot. Which is to say it's fake, and maybe even offensive to those who suffer from such conditions... However, if you accept the rules of screen love affairs, then this is charming, and optimistic and blessed with likeable star performances. 

Mary Stuart Masterson portrays a teenage schizophrenic with a fondness for the tactile application of oil on canvas in a modernist style. This is mostly seen in a montage set to I'm Gonna Be 500 Miles by The Proclaimers. While irascible carers come and go, the possibility of love for her put-upon brother- a hunky, kindly mechanic played by Aidan Quinn- is passing him by.

What they need is a miracle! And that comes in the guise of Johnny Depp as a benevolent oddball whose life is a sort of visual tribute to the legendary comedians of the 1920s, mainly Chaplin and Keaton. This is from a period across the 1990s when Depp became a major star for several borderline magical performances outside the range of every other actor in Hollywood.

The cast are all appealing enough to carry the impossible premise.  But JD lifts it to another level, with his gift for making the extraordinary so relatable. And his virtuoso routine drawn from the silent comics is adorable. Maybe an eccentric Buster Keaton impersonator and a psychotic abstract impressionist don't have a realistic shot at happiness. But that's for the sequel...

Harrowing melodrama loosely based on the turbulent life of 1930s Hollywood starlet, Frances Farmer. This is most memorable for Jessica Lange's colossal portrayal of her epic story arc from small town nonconformist- to Paramount screen beauty- to victim of barbaric psychiatric institutions.

This isn't an objective account; it strips the real life of its politics, particularly how much of the ill treatment was due to her communism. And it certainly blanks out the fascist ideology behind the use of lobotomies. This concentrates more on Frances' toxic relationship with her ultra-conservative mother.

And she's straight out of American Gothic. Kim Stanley's scenes with the star have massive dramatic impact, but drift off into the mythic. Still, they demonstrate how much indoctrination and grotesque cruelty it takes to turn a liberal freethinker into a cookie-cutter patriotic conformist.

And they expose the horrifying revenge taken on those who don't submit. There's some interest in the early scenes set in the old Hollywood- presumably sanitised. But there are few famous names aside from Clifford Odets (Jeffrey DeMunn). The reason to watch is Lange's monumental star performance.

As a biopic of a music legend this is more for bebop aficionados than the casual viewer, though the dense weft of social history may interest both. This is the short life of Charlie 'Bird' Parker (1920-55) the saxophonist who revolutionised the sound of jazz, while destroying himself with booze and heroin.

Perhaps suitably for such a modernist way of playing, the script breaks up the timeline and drops in and out of the life, picking up the threads of romance, race, addiction and of course, the jazz. This only covers the peak years in any depth and there isn't much insight into Bird's own influences.

But we do hear plenty of the music. Parker's saxophone is isolated from historic- sometimes rare- recordings, and mixed into a new band assembled by director/fan Clint Eastwood, to better utilise modern stereo. So it's been polished but still offers an insight into why he's so revered and enduring. 

Forest Whitaker lacks charisma, but mimes effectively in some gorgeous recreations of '50s jazz clubs. For an outsider, the tragedy is the loss of such a cool scene to rock & roll, as much as Bird's ruined life. It's the period feel and the cool urban atmos- as well as the music- that make this worth seeing.

Erratic social realism which starts out as if it's going to be neo-noir then 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 gets pregnant the wife (Ursula Strauss) of the infertile cop who thwarts the robbery! Okay that's a crazy story, but there's 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 detail and keeps the excesses of the oddball plot as naturalistic as possible while exploring the thematic content. And gratifyingly, there's no music score telling us what to feel. Though the Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Language Film is a stretch!

Slight but clever experiment from Woody Allen and his technical crew- particular credit is due to cinematographer Gordon Willis. Leonard Zelig seeks to conform so absolutely that he takes on the physical characteristics of whoever is near him. It's a satire on celebrity and the dangers of wholesale public compliance.

Zelig (Allen) becomes briefly famous as the human chameleon, a novelty of the roaring '20s. Mia Farrow plays the nerdy psychiatrist seeking to restore his individuality. Eventually his life takes a darker turn when the need for anonymity among the acquiescent masses leads him to Nazi Germany in the '30s.

There is a dusting of funny gags, but this is more philosophical than hilarious. It scores with the visual effects; Woody and Mia are inserted into old photographs and newsreel of famous people like F. Scott Fitzgerald and William Randolph Hurst. New scenes of are aged to blend into the historical b&w footage.

It feels like a long, ingenious sketch. The scene where Zelig spots his analyst in the crowd at Munich while onstage with Adolf Hitler, is stunning. No CGI back then! As a bonus there is a handful of gimmicky songs recorded in the swing style of the jazz age, composed by Dick Hyman. My favourite: Doin' the Chameleon.

Mythic baseball picture which conveys a sentimental, sanitised impression of the US between the wars. This is a beautiful production which received well deserved Oscar nominations for set design and photography. There's some allegorical subtext too; this is for the arthouse crowd rather than a feel-good sport film.

The dialogue alludes to Homer's Odyssey, and an internet search suggests a parallel with the legend of King Arthur. This takes place in a realm of enchantment. Robert Redford- at 48-is too old for the teenage country prodigy of the prologue, or even the 35 year old of his comeback. But he's surprisingly credible on the diamond.

Yet his portrayal is lifeless...The main problem for UK audiences is the subject of baseball, which is unfamiliar to most and may have little resonance. Sure, this is a medium for an idea about mythic Americana- and there is obviously a deep love for the history of the sport. But today the US is much less a fellow traveller...

So this now seems even more like alien, esoteric self-absorption. And why so long? But there is an intoxicating feel for the period, plus an Oscar nominated score by Randy Newman. Director Barry Levinson tells the story with genuine warmth; it should appeal to those who like baseball and/or relate to US cultural legends.

Ultra-violent revisionist western which in 1970 was in tune with the attitudes of the US counter-culture, but now in the time of MAGA feels like a revolution. It doesn't merely acknowledge the injustices inflicted on Native Americans, but is incandescently hostile towards the myths the pioneers invented to obscure their genocide.

It's based on the real life slaughter of a defenceless Cheyenne village- including women and children- by the US Cavalry in 1864. Then it places the historic event within the wider context of man's bloody nature; director Ralph Nelson has said this is a commentary on the US war in Vietnam, particularly the massacre at My Lai.

Yet, aside from the righteous political anger, it's an uneven film. Between the two brutal battles, there's mostly an odd-couple screwball romance between Peter Strauss as a reactionary, fastidious soldier and Candice Bergen as a free-spirited feminist who has lived with the Cheyenne. So he's the square and she's the hippie.

And she gradually gets him to compromise his rigid conservatism. This is entertaining enough but grinds awkwardly against the gut-wrenching savagery. And their performances lack charisma. Donald Pleasance is a welcome diversion as an eccentric trader of guns to indigenous tribes. The merit of the film is its subversiveness.

Delirious period melodrama set in 18th Century Jutland. A brief internet search suggests there isn't much real history here, and is adapted from a novel closer to Catherine Cookson than Hilary Mantel. Other than the superior set design and luminous widescreen photography it might suit Sunday evening tv more than a cinema release.

This is a time of heartbreaking rural feudalism. Mads Mikkelsen plays a low born soldier who applies to the King for land on the barren heathland of the Jutland Peninsular where he plans to grow the humble potato. Through formidable perseverance he clears the land but faces even greater hardship from the vicious, idiotic bandits...

More infuriating resistance comes from the most feckless, decadent - and psychopathic- aristocrat in fiction, in a portrayal from Simon Bennebjerg which must have been inspired by Tod Slaughter. Well, this is melodrama! With the support of a pair of selfless women usefully enamoured of the dour farmer, he ultimately prevails...

Which is ideal, as everyone gets what they deserve, which is all we really ask. There is a tiresome plot strand with a 'cursed' little girl which goes nowhere. But we get a lavish, epic production and aside from the extreme events, an impression of the incredible hardship endured by pioneers to prepare the land for their apathetic descendants!

Gloomy melodrama adapted from a bestseller by Stephen King, which eventually conveys a frisson of real-life horror. It stars Kathy Bates who won an Oscar in 1990 for Misery, based on another of the author's novels. This is technically really well made, so there was obviously some money on board, with the editing a main standout.

When a tough, gnarly housekeeper (Bates) is caught about to stave in her dead employer's skull with a rolling pin, she is charged with homicide and her estranged daughter (Jennifer Jason Leigh) drives back from New York to a fishing town in Maine to see what's up. The film is made up of flashbacks into their long ago heartbreaks.

The case is investigated by the cop (Christopher Plummer) who years earlier accused the mother of murdering her drunken, violent husband (David Strathairn). The revelation of the extent of the father's abuse is pretty harrowing and gives the film a big payoff. And we are reminded of the eternal burden and sorrow of women...

The complex timeline is well organised, and director Taylor Hackford gives the sombre melodrama some welcome polish. The main weaknesses are a folksy script and the idiotic inquest scene. It's the sort of picture which might have starred Bette Davis or Joan Crawford in the studio era, but obviously this is so much more explicit. 

At first glance this is a typical 1990s indie lifestyle comedy, but as the film- and title- ultimately makes clear, appearances can be deceptive. And indeed this is loaded with thematic content on the superficiality of contemporary New York, the burden of male passive aggression- or even outright hostility- on ordinary working women...

..And more! But this is most of interest as a reflection on the life of a struggling actor and how the wannabes of stage and screen staff many adjacent trades from the low wage economy all the up way up to advertising, including lookalikes, fashion models, pornography... and the ultimate ignominy of a career in daytime soaps.

Matthew Modine is an out of work thespian who does serious work inside his own head, but makes ends meet with a humiliating job as a waiter at upmarket business lunches. Catherine Keener plays his girlfriend who does makeup for advertising aimed at the glossies. And it's hard to get by in the marketplace with any integrity.

There's a familiar support cast playing the chancers, losers, manipulators and sell outs. Elizabeth Berkley has a sweet cameo as Madonna's body double... but the lost dog steals the picture! It's Tom DiCillo's only release with studio money, and it bombed. Now this would be made for Netflix, etc, but it's much better than that implies.

For this low budget Palm D'Or winner, Ken Loach adopts the Irish War of Independence (1919-21) as a vehicle for his own socialist agenda. He portrays the IRA as divided between an elite who will merely replace British colonialism, and the rebel-heroes intent on creating a more equal and free society with broader political representation.

As the fight for self-rule mutates into civil war, two brothers (Cillian Murphy, Pádraic Delaney) must take opposite sides in the struggle for the soul of the Republic. With horrifying consequences. This is strikingly photographed on location in County Cork in the customary Loach style, with native songs and a simple production design.

So the IRA are all local Irish actors, and aside from the leads, mostly non professionals. IMDB says the British army was cast from ex-soldiers who were asked to improvise. Miscues were not reshot. This feels raw and spontaneous, rather than heritage cinema. The political lessons are converted into scenes of unconvincing dialogue.

The story is not well told, so some pre-knowledge is an advantage. Its scope is limited to the soldiers in the field rather than the politicians, so the wider picture is not seen. It's probably more of interest to students of the director than those of Irish history though its portrayal of colonial rule offers a useful head reset for UK patriots.

Supercool neo-noir which now also has the period appeal of mid-70s US urban sleaze! Plus those extended car chases in boxy gas-guzzlers. This gets called existential-noir because the loner anti-heroes are cyphers without any real motivation or backstory or even a name. They just are. The dialogue might fill a side of A4.

The performances are not so much impassive as comatose. Ryan O'Neal plays The Driver, the best getaway man in the business. Bruce Dern is The Detective who is going to catch the cowboy who's never been caught; the Driver is also the cowboy because he listens to late night country heartbreak on a crackly radio. 

Isabelle Adjani contributes some inscrutable glamour as The Player, a card dealer who always loses in real life. It has the numb fatalism of classic noir, as well as violence more typical of '70s crime films. Plus the the car stunts as the poker-faced Driver changes gear while running a red light, pursued by a cop with a perm.

This obviously borrows its laconic, narcotic minimalism from Jean-Pierre Melville, and just as scrupulously pays it forward to Nicolas Refn's Drive (2011). It was a box office flop and the critics were bored. Yet it instantly achieved cult status on tv where the pessimism and nocturnal atmosphere proved a turn on for noir buffs.

This is a photographed stage play adapted by writer-director David Mamet from his own controversial off Broadway production. It's a provocation which probes the inflammatory divisions of what is now called gender politics. Naturally, we bring our own opinions to the controversy and are expected to take a side.

William H. Macy is the self-absorbed, middle aged university professor who patronises a female student at length about her personal problems, his new house purchase and the principles of education. Debra Eisenstadt plays the weaselly/flunking undergraduate who fights back against this patriarchal persecution...

The academic unravels when her protest/entrapment leads to his suspension. Which may already push buttons. And then it goes further... It's a two hander set in an office. The performances are necessarily abrasive. It's not an easy watch as Mamet turns the screw on ultra-sensitive themes like gender, class, sexuality...

And he puts the audience through the emotional wringer. Yet afterwards, there is an impression this is black comedy and the situations absurd... and it begins to seem schematic... It's more a wordy dramatisation of ideas lifted from a sociology journal than pure entertainment. But on those terms, this is dynamite!