Film Reviews by Steve

Minor John Ford western with a familiar narrative and most of his standard motifs. So the film opens with the rich baritone harmonies of the Sons of Pioneers. On 25 minutes there's an extended fistfight. Then a tenderfoot on a wild horse and an improvised square dance. At length, a wagon train crosses a river...

There is attractive b&w photography of the same old locations. But no stars. This has an ensemble cast drawn from Ford's stock company of support players performing the usual archetypes. Ben Johnson and Harry Carey jr. are the scouts who take a party of god-fearing Mormons- led by Ward Bond-  west across the Utah desert...

They have many adventures, including picking up a medicine show run by Joanne Dru and Alan Mowbray. Naturally he's always drunk. Western veteran Charles Kemper plays the patriarch of a gang of inbred outlaws. It hasn't got the critical status of Ford's classics, but will appeal to his many disciples.

And it's such an unassuming film that it may entertain some agnostics too. There are zero surprises, but it's a short, unpretentious genre picture which presents the customary scenarios with a broad, comical approach. It inspired the popular television series Wagon Train, which kept Ward Bond in work for the rest of his life.

Adorable neorealist musical-comedy set among the urban decay of Dublin, well before the Irish economic miracle. It is staged like a heist picture with a diverse group of hard up chancers who come together in a common cause, but are ultimately destroyed by their differences. And their own flaws.

There is mostly an amateur cast drawn from local musicians who hadn't yet broken through. Robert Arkins plays a switched on soul aficionado who wants to bring together a band, to reflect the struggles and aspirations of working class Dubliners during the '80s financial meltdown. Everyone is signing on and going nowhere.

But their pessimistic sense of humour survives. And the need for self-respect. And that is really what this is about. The greatest hits of US soul classics (Mustang Sally, Take Me to the River) offer some ersatz, ebullient positivity that speaks for the resilience of the people even better than the prickly, profane dialogue.

The cast of non-professionals are a formidable ensemble. The music brings passion; Andrew Strong makes a connection with his authentic soul vocals. Though Johnny Murphy steals the film as the likably mendacious trumpeter. It's good on the tribal impact of pop music, and how it nurtures a sense of identity and community.

Poignant memory film set in the US just before the profound social changes of the 1960s. With the nostalgic narration and rural locations it has the feel of many adaptations of William Faulkner. Except this happens in Oregon rather than the deep south, and is from a story by Stephen King.

Four boys aged about 12 shrug off their disinterested parents to search for the body of a child who has gone missing from their small town. Of course, like most pilgrimages, the significance is in the journey rather than the destination and they learn life lessons which may feel profoundly relatable for younger audiences.

And will be more nostalgic for older viewers, though all the cultural reference points and the late '50's soul/r&b soundtrack is specifically American. The quartet of child actors is extremely good, especially River Phoenix as the empathetic leader and Wil Weaton as the sensitive romantic who will tell the story many years later...

It's uneven- the older characters are shallow and some of the situations are laboured. It's like ersatz Faulkner... but the sunny day evocation of long ago friendships is haunting, as the boys start to test the boundaries of their small world. The recreation of the period is satisfying and it's thoughtfully directed by Rob Reiner. 

Extraordinary true story about Aron Ralston, a climber/explorer who was trapped down a crevice in the remote Utah desert with his right arm stuck under a rock... for five days! He reflects on the circumstances that got him there, while weighing up the extreme measures it will take to survive.

It's mostly a one man show; James Franco delivers a standout performance as a sort of introverted free spirit, while flashback, hallucination and visceral recreation of the ordeal takes us through the 127 hours of entrapment. And his existence is suddenly reduced to a crack in the earth.

But we get deep inside his head... Director Danny Boyle employs an extreme, hyperkinetic visual style, particularly with the accelerated montage and split screen compositions. There's an abundence of ostentatious technique, but it snaps together with immaculate precision.

Ralston's eventual release is a vicarious spiritual exultation- enhanced by the music of Sigur Ros. This is incredibly 4real, and an unusual cinematic experience. Even though film buffs may notice the similarity of the scenario to Japanese arthouse classic, Woman in the Dunes (1964)!

This is the release that completed the transformation of Arnold Schwarzenegger from a crash test dummy in action pictures for genre fans- into 'Arnie', the improbable multiplex superstar. All those terse one-liners were scripted because he could hardly deliver speech, but still looked larger than life holding a big gun in a fight scene.

This might seem like a sci-fi comic strip with all the speech bubble dialogue, implausible shootouts and the comic asides. Only it's a cartoon with a body count in the  thousands. And a heck of a lot of swearing. And it was a huge box office smash, even though logic becomes less of a factor as the conspiracy plot unspools.

There's a decent premise taken from Philip K. Dick's wonderfully titled We Can Remember It for You Wholesale. And this gives all the wiz-bang some thematic content and most of the interest for those who didn't just buy a ticket for the stunts and state of the art effects. And the mayhem. The rest is like an Alfred Hitchcock wrong-man scenario.

Today, the art design of a futuristic Mars colony in 2084 feels like an old idea of the future. There's no internet! Everything is bulky... But that's the charm of long ago sci-fi. And now, in an age of ersatz CGI, the mechanical visual effects look even more fantastic. Personally, I like it for the concept... but the blockbuster production is a blast too!

There are 1950s sci-fi films which reflect on the breakdown of society or even the end of mankind. But this is the first to show us what this might look like. A nuclear cloud has enveloped the earth killing nearly everyone, but leaving buildings intact. An African American (Harry Belafonte) was buried underground. When he digs himself out, he is alone in New York City.

Eventually the engineer encounters another survivor (Inger Stevens). Though they are the last people on earth, the conventions of the vanished society still limit their freedom. When a white male (Mel Ferrer) joins them, the acrimony is mostly motivated by masculine rivalry rather than race. Conflict is bred in the bone of mankind.

The events are interestingly compromised by censorship; a romance between the resourceful, charismatic black man and the blonde is forbidden. But while race is a factor in the balance of power between the three, sexual jealousy is more prominent.

The main attraction is the eeriness of Belafonte walking the Manhattan ghost town, and beginning a new life in its empty buildings. This would be copied many times but never improved on and the b&w CinemaScope captures the otherworldly emptiness of the metropolitan wilderness. 

This begins like it was made for the Mexican tourist office to promote one of their fabulous holiday destinations. There’s a very slender idea for a thriller as a gangster’s moll (Linda Darnell) is chased around the sights of Taxco in Guerrero by a psycho-assassin (Jack Palance).

Her second chance is to testify against the mob. Robert Mitchum is a boxer, and his is to survive the guilt of killing an opponent in the ring. He protects/romances her among the historic hotspots of Mexico, trading sardonic dialogue which might easily be leftovers from his role in Out of the Past (1947).

Almost nothing happens. Then suddenly in the last 20m the action lurches into motion as the protagonists face off on a vertigo inducing cable car- which I now want to visit- as the support wires fray… threatening to pitch them into the rocky abyss… This should have been the whole film!

It gives this humdrum Technicolor-noir a thrilling climax. It was originally released in 3D which apparently was even more effective. The print is is need of an upgrade. But still the denouement is worth seeing, and the stars make the rest worthwhile. And who knows? If you visit, you may have an adventure too!

Effective hardboiled crime picture which suggests western specialist Budd Boetticher might have operated just as profitably on the mean streets of noir. It was made cheaply and quickly, but there’s a decent cast and the slender yet compelling story is told with suspense. It’s High Noon done as pulp fiction.

Wendell Corey is ultra-intense as an introverted bank worker who is found guilty of being the inside man on a violent robbery. When a detective (Joseph Cotten) kills the crooked clerk's wife by accident, the prisoner swears to execute the cop’s wife (Rhonda Fleming) in revenge. And then he wastes a guard and breaks out of jail…

The dialogue might have been edited, but this is still a spare and tense thriller, with good LA noir locations. Corey is scary as the avenging psycho-killer, and there is plenty of disturbing violence- for the period. OK, the narrative is underdeveloped, but then this is a low budget B picture.

Though any credibility- and fun- is eventually sunk by the ridiculous role of the detective's unhappy wife. When it turns into a home invasion/woman in peril film, she is too erratic to be credible. Or tolerable. Which is implied to be because she is pregnant! Still, its punchy noir aesthetic has a way of staying in the memory. 

Bittersweet Australian road-comedy which was groundbreaking for its wider exposure of the drag queen circuit as three cabaret performers travel from cosmopolitan Sydney, via the majestic interior, to the rural backwater of Alice Springs- meeting with confusion, hostility and sometimes, acceptance. In 1994 this was praised for dragging an underground subculture into the public gaze.

Pun alert! Some critics are now sniffy about the casting of mainstream actors as the artistes, though the trio give performances which seem authentic and sincere, at least to an outsider. Terence Stamp is best as a post-op transgender female dealing with the disappointments of middle age as well as maybe being too old for all this full-on fabulousness and sequins.

Plus the constant attritional cosmetic work. Guy Pearce as the wild, hyperactive rookie and Hugo Weaving as a wiser, more diplomatic gay dad also offer sympathetic, detailed portrayals. The plot feels like a greatest hits of anecdotes from the road, but this really cares about their motivations and experiences. And there's a soundtrack of the usual disco classics. Including ABBA...

By the fade out, it is possible to imagine how it feels to walk in their shoes. Or rather, heels. Unfortunately, a disastrous subplot about a Filipina bride wrecks the middle section, and betrays an absence of the empathy and tolerance the story expects for its heroes. And brings into focus a wider lack of taste. So, without judicious use of FF this potential crowd pleaser is ultimately flawed.

My pick for Harold Lloyd’s funniest picture. He plays a rich hypochondriac who travels to a South American island for his health, only to unwittingly get involved in a revolution. And eventually fall in love with his long suffering nurse (Jobyna Ralston). It was extensively ripped off by Woody Allen for Bananas (1971).

The star is more pompous, affluent and entitled than usual. Yet still another naive optimist. The comedy trades on mistaken identity. So the rebels who wage a coup d'état think Lloyd has been sent by an American bank to put down their insurrection, rather than an effete toff in search of restful privilege.

Most of the story relates to our hero's relationship with a giant hermit (John Aasen) who becomes loyal after Harold removes his bad tooth and who carries out all the dangerous work behind the wealthy tourist’s back. As usual, there isn't much to do for the female lead.

Ralston would be Lloyd's foil for the rest of the decade, and while not much of a change from Mildred Davis (who Lloyd had married in real life…) she is still appealing. This is a fast paced, well plotted comedy full of crazy, imaginative sight gags and athletic stunts. And one of the great silent comedies. 

Or maybe trophy wife vs. career girl. Clark Gable is a filthy rich New York publisher with servants and a vast Manhattan apartment who is happily married to Myrna Loy's chic homemaker. But everyone warns her that all men will stray given the chance. So watch out for the sexy girl-Friday (Jean Harlow) who runs his office.

MGM wasn't a prime studio for screwball. This is more of a social comedy drawn from a familiar contemporary scenario. Today, the most striking feature is how astonishingly sexist this world is. Not just because the boss calls his secretary 'toots' but how diminished she is. She doesn't have any status, but significantly helps run the business.

This was a makeover role for Harlow. The platinum blonde look has gone as she aims to broaden her range beyond the shrill floozy. Loy is well cast as the elegant, playful wife who is slow to be jealous but goes all the way when she is. Gable is least convincing. He's fine as the alpha male, but doesn't feel right on Madison Avenue.

Clarence Brown directs with his customary fluency, but doesn't raise any sparks: the class differences imply a friction which never happens; and the script finds little fault with the entitled male. Yet, it's possible to care about both women, because of how invidious was either role in '30s America, which trivialises both wife, and secretary. 

Ominous and fatalistic pre-noir which captures a vision of London just before the blitz. Michael Redgrave plays a construction worker who thinks he sees the murder of a young woman in a boarding house. It turns out to be a fake, but he becomes involved in the internecine intrigues of the girl (Sally Gray) and her would-be killer/magician husband (Paul Lukas).

This is a fusion of melodrama and Soviet style realism. The sensational story is a remake of a French film, but shot on location around London. And both aspects work well. The unrealistic narrative is unusual and absorbing, and the realist montages bring a vivid impression of the developing city; primarily the building of Waterloo Bridge.

Redgrave probably isn't everyone's idea of a crane driver. Or even a romantic lead. But he's an engaging presence. Patricia Roc is as adorable as ever as his working girl wife. But the real star is the beautiful and sulkily sexy Sally Gray as a low rent femme fatale. With Hollywood about to enter the era of film noir, it's a mystery why she wasn't snapped up.

The weakness is Paul Lukas as her charmless and jealous husband. Why did she marry him? He's not even rich. Apart from the outside locations, there are fascinating interiors, of clubland and the music hall. The featured comedy act is hilarious! The drama is overstated, but the portrayal of working class Londoners is sympathetic, and not patronising.

Oddball genre mashup which kicks off with a gunshot as if it's going to be a melodrama with a touch of noir, like Mildred Pierce (1945). But then wanders off into comedy, as if Nicholas Ray got bored during the extensive, troubled production. The police detective's screwball wife ends up taking on the case!

Maureen O'Hara plays an ex-singing star who lost her career to a throat infection and plans to manage a protégée (Gloria Grahame) to the big time, assisted by the wolfish piano player (Melvyn Douglas) who keeps a lascivious eye on them both. When the gun is fired, the ingénue goes to intensive care and the svengali to prison.

So a grizzled, stalwart detective (Jay C. Flippen) investigates. With his interfering wife (Mary Philips). There is an interesting- if familiar- premise in the spirit of James M. Cain. But it is squandered through poor direction, script and editing. And probably the usual interference from RKO boss, Howard Hughes.

The characters are anaemic and inconsistent. The main asset is Gloria Grahame as the small town dumb blonde who just happens to emote like all the sorrows of the world. GG shows she can do comedy, though her singing is dubbed. She's photographed beautifully and gets all the best lines. And Ray married her shortly after production wrapped. 

The quintessential 1970s conspiracy thriller is also an extraordinary true story and one of the best political films ever made. It is adapted from the book by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein about their investigation for the Washington Post into surveillance ordered by the US President on the Democratic opposition, which was covered up by all the highest levels of state.

But you don't have know anything about Richard Nixon... This is so brilliantly directed by Alan J. Pakula, that the story is compelling even though there is a surplus of information to absorb. The state of the art editing, sound and photography all contribute, and William Goldman's Oscar winning script tells the complex events with clarity. And for maximum suspense.

Remember, follow the money... The portrayals of the journalists by Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman are understated. There is no odd couple comedy. This is all about the politics. The support performances are muted, except perhaps Hal Holbrook as the informer. There is realistic detail of how serious newspapers once worked and how stories like this were broken.

Now it seems like nostalgia for a golden age of journalism, when the press told truth to power- but without bias. Could there even be a Watergate now, in the era of fake news? Woodward and Bernstein convey that truth and integrity are necessary for democracy to survive, but may be lost without tenacity, curiosity and toil. This now stands as a memorial to such ideals.

King Vidor's spirited adaptation of Elmer Rice's Pulitzer Prize winning play is one of the 1930’s ultimate melodramas. The director thrillingly frees his camera from the restrictions of early sound cinema and explores the set of an impoverished New York tenement, where the ensemble cast pursue their various conflicts, usually sparked by intolerance.

An elderly tenant has ideas which could improve their lives, but is ignored, or called a Red. His notions are complicated. And it's too hot. Tempers are shredded. Money is scarce. And then a gunshot... Vidor's staging of the panic that follows is spectacular.

It can seem the precode era was just about salacious censor-baiting. But there was social realism too, usually adapted from the New York stage. Sylvia Sidney was the star in many of these. Her gift was to be ordinary without exposing much frivolous Hollywood glamour. She’s in a class of her own among a pretty decent cast.

She communicates an intense adversity while being relatively impassive. There's a Gershwinesque score from Alfred Newman and an exceptional screenplay. But this is Vidor's triumph and one of the best early talkies. It might not be as visually stunning as his landmark silent, The Crowd (1928), but given the impediment of sound, this is just as impressive.