Film Reviews by Steve

This is where the 1980s cycle of US High School comedies begins. Though it still feels like the '70s- with the dated fashions, long hair and white-bread radio rock- as 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.

This was made for teenagers, but is now a period piece for nostalgics. Maybe it's my age... but many years on, the teachers seem more relatable; and 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 dvd extras claim VHS rental copies were damaged by freeze framing. It's fun to see all the future stars as 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 rep for being hard hitting, but isn't, by modern standards.

It's adapted by Cameron Crowe from his book which was acclaimed for authenticity! Though it's really more of a glossy jukebox comedy made under the influence of early Woody Allen, except for teens. If this is realism, it's only in comparison with Animal House (1978). Still, few films have been ripped off as comprehensively.

After watching this in a cinema on its initial run, I didn't want to speak because any words would break the enchantment of the experience and deliver me back into my ordinary day. And then it turned out the long silence of my companion was for exactly the same reason. And how appropriate, because it is mostly about unspoken, ethereal connections.

This is a transcendental film about two identical looking young musicians (both played by Irène Jacob) living materially unconnected but similar lives; one in Warsaw, the other in Paris. They have contrasting destinies but are linked in mysterious, spiritual ways. Some motifs also interrelate with other films by Krzysztof Kieslowski, including future releases!

Both women have a habit of raising their face upwards in a gesture of optimism and wonder. In Poland the impetuous, ill-fated Weronika looks up into rain, and then dust. But in France, the visage of the more pragmatic Véronique is bathed in sunlight. This gives the film its colour palette, with the yellow filters which saturate the picture in a gold autumnal glow....

Which is burnished by Zbigniew Preisner's blissful score. Irène Jacob is luminescent in the demanding dual roles. This is a mystical encounter which speaks in an impressionistic cinematic language. It is an exquisite, metaphysical poem from the supremely gifted Kieslowski; as much a vision as a film. A quiet, meditative and incredibly beautiful dream.

Even though Sofia Coppola's debut is a faithful adaptation of Jeffrey Eugenides' novel, its translation to the screen ostentatiously borrows from Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975). It's a period melodrama about the group behaviour of female adolescents which is unresolved and mainly memorable for its hazy-dreamy atmosphere.

The atmos is constructed in familiar ways: with the turned up room tone and ambient noise; the yellow sunny day brightness, with the lens flare; the fashions and nostalgic chart music... But this is different because its aura is also created by the five teenage sisters who are similarly blonde, pretty, hippyish- and lack individuality.

So the younger female actors don't much stand out. Kirsten Dunst gets most screen-time as the 14 year old who is the only sister with a motive for suicide. Clearly we are expected to find a cause for their mysterious deaths- whether the mystic occultism of puberty... or the stranglehold of bourgeois christian conservatism, etc...?

But ultimately... there isn't a reason... and if there was, how much certainty could there be? The story is told by a collective of unreliable narrators recalling their long ago past. This must remain an enigma, much like at Hanging Rock. Yet there is still some satisfaction in this, and in the soft focus wistfulness of our reminiscences...

It's difficult to say what this is without merely assembling a lot of new age buzzwords; like serenity, simplicity and balance... Or- eek!- mindfulness. So let's not try. This is a meditative film about the environment and the cycle of life.

It is slow cinema, which gives the viewer space to contemplate where they belong spiritually in nature. Exactly like the remote monastery which serenely floats on a still, misty lake enclosed by the green expanse of the rainforest...

Kim Ki-duk wrote, directed- and edited- this philosophical minimalism, staged within a single location, about a monk who teaches his apprentice simplicity, tolerance, compassion and forbearance. He also appears in the final cycle

And yes, balance; this feels especially resonant rewatching while the UK countryside is set alight by drought, with nature in jeopardy. There isn't much incident, but it is exquisite, illuminating and mindful... and then ultimately, mythic.

It isn't obvious why this sci-fi Hammer horror ripoff is so durable. There's clearly zero budget as the monsters and special effects are pitiful. The dialogue has the idiotic faux scientific jargon which must have felt dated even back then: 'Is the tri-chem stage complete?/Yes/And the vapour-applicator?/The histo-connect problem has been solved...' Though that can be fun!

Also on the debit side is an inappropriate music score which sounds like it was composed for a glossy mid-60s spy spoof. The story is hardly original, with echoes of Day of the Triffids (1963) and the Quatermass series; research boffins meaning to cure cancer inadvertently create hoover-like creatures which absorb the bone from anyone looking in the wrong direction...

So why still so entertaining after all these years? Much of the credit is due to stalwart Hammer director Terence Fisher, who generates quite a lot of suspense from the standard situations. The photography is much better than it needs to be. And the cast are clearly not phoning this in. No matter that every one of these actors once dreamed of playing Hamlet... Or Ophelia!

They still treat their foolish encounters with the latex bone-munchers with integrity; even poor Carole Gray who is stuck with the most annoying scream queen role in films. Peter Cushing is an appealingly rakish academic. Edward Judd is also fine as a playboy orthopaedic specialist. We even get Niall MacGinnis as the head yokel. So thanks to them all- from the real future!

Quality tearjerker set in 1950s Dublin about a spinster in middle age (Maggie Smith) who devoted her youth to the care of a curmudgeonly aunt (Wendy Hillier)... Now she finds herself chronically alone and unloved, which she palliates with whiskey while drifting from one cold, impersonal guest house to another...

Until she loses her faith and identifies the Catholic Church as the main driver of her inconspicuous tragedy. This adaptation of Brian Moore's novel is foremost a medium for Smith's heartbreaking performance as the solitary woman who spends a lifetime putting her faith in god but finds she got so little in return.

Surely Dame Maggie would have been a global star but for the collapse of the UK film industry in her peak years. Bob Hoskins is well cast in a support role as an Irish-American suitor who assumes the rueful introvert has some money set aside he might exploit... Plus there's Chopin and a sorrowful string score...

Though this isn't heritage cinema; there's a touch of grotesque realism in the candid photography and the wilful cruelty inflicted on the lonely heart. This is the final feature of Jack Clayton who- in the UK at least- only directed classics and channelled so many all time great performances by legendary female actors.

Werner Herzog has made a life out of seeming to blur the line between the mythos of his chaotic productions and the folklore of the grand histories he puts on the screen. Sometimes these are proven to be untrue; Amazonian Indians didn't die making this film. But they are an indication of the kind of extreme experiences he is known for...

So we say... only Herzog would make a film about hauling a 320-ton paddle steamer over the Andes, by doing just that. And this is probably the most legendary example of his risk taking authenticity. It's inspired by a Peruvian rubber baron who similarly transported a boat over the mountains. Except Herzog's was ten times heavier!

Klaus Kinski plays a reckless Irish adventurer in the early 20th century who dreams of building an opera house in the Amazon interior which he will finance with trade from latex in its least accessible location. Which inevitably leads to contact with the warriors of the remote indigenous tribes, who are unexpectedly accommodating...

Kinski conveys another performance from the edge of human experience, in a film about an obsessive, made by an obsessive. This is either a moral tale about the misguided heroism of empire, or a wild shaggy dog story. It's impressive Herzog gets these eccentric fables made at all, which are outré and spectacular, yet still personal.

This is the film that completed the transformation of Arnold Schwarzenegger from a crash test dummy in action pictures for genre fans- into 'Arnie', an 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, improbable shoot-outs and the monosyllabic 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 pithily titled We Can Remember It for You Wholesale. And this gives all the whiz-bang some thematic content and most of the interest for those who didn't just buy a ticket for the stunts and Oscar winning effects. And the mayhem. The rest is a Hitchcock wrong-man scenario.

Today, the art design of a futuristic Mars colony in 2084 looks like an old idea of the future. There's no internet! And it's so bulky... But that's the charm of long ago sci-fi. And now, in an age of ersatz CGI, the mechanical SFX are even more amazing. Personally, I like it for the crazy concept... but the blockbuster production is fun too!

Nostalgic WWII memoir approximately based on the experiences of its writer/director John Boorman as an 8-11 year old during the London Blitz. With the men away, he grows up among the women. His mother is middle class, but hardly Mrs. Miniver and has little control over the boy who runs wild with his gang among the bomb-sites...

...While his incredibly self absorbed 16 year old sister gets pregnant by a Canadian soldier. There's a likeable performance from 11 year old Sebastian Rice Edwards as the boy who lives in his imagination more than the real dangers of the home front. Sarah Miles is appealing as the mother. There is a strong impression of an actual family.

This is very like Woody Allen's Radio Days, released the same year. It's mostly an ensemble comedy with period atmosphere from popular songs and newsreel. And it's incredibly moving at times. There is generational stuff about how these events changed those who lived through them. And explaining their unassailable patriotism.

The best moments are loaded at the front, during the air raids. Later scenes on the river with grandad are amusing, but don't have the emotional gravity. The period detail is authentic, but this is not realism; the hardships are filtered out. It's an account of the unusual freedom and adventures of one too young to see the big picture.

Based on the true story of one of the last women to be guillotined in France, with Isabelle Huppert as an illiterate, destitute mother in Normandy during WWII who carries out illegal abortions for money, which may have led to a death. And as the title suggests, it also reflects more generally on the experience of being a woman.

This is mainly biological, but also social and within the home. Claude Chabrol usually focuses on bourgeoise hypocrisy and there is something of that here too as the subordinate French Government sends the abortionist to her execution in an attempt to reassert moral authority. While their fascist bosses commit mass murder.

It's a complex performance from Huppert. There is some justification offered for her actions, as her own children are starving, and there is a complete social and moral breakdown in the community. Everyone sells what they can. But she is not sympathetic. She is uneducated, but also venal, disloyal and unscrupulously pragmatic.

Yet the director's dismay is reserved for the sanctimonious patriarchs of the Vichy government. There's fine support from François Cluzet as the rejected husband and Marie Trintignant as a cheerfully resilient prostitute. The northern coast is rotten with fog and poverty. This is a grim, self-eviscerating take the Nazi occupation.

Anti-bloodsports docudrama adapted from Henry Williamson's 1927 novel. It's set in period, before otters had the legal protection which saved them from extinction. It takes place over a year in the birth and short life of Tarka within his habitat on the rivers of North Devon.

Nature exists in a kind of balance, except for the human hunters who kill for pleasure. They are portrayed as ignorant lickspittles or careless aristocrats. But this is more about the wildlife. Anyone of a certain age will notice how influential this was on kids' tv.

And it's usually rated a family film; except the body count is off the chart... It's just that none of the victims are human. We observe at length the otters as predators. While all the animals are anthropomorphised, this is still realistic; red in tooth and claw. It is not Disney.

The gorgeously photographed scenes from the riverbank are set to Peter Ustinov's avuncular, poetic narration. Apparently Williamson was not opposed to bloodsports, but this film clearly is. And there is a palpable sense of wonder for the otters and their precarious lives.

The first of seven horror anthologies by Amicus intended to break into a UK production market utterly dominated by Hammer. The five original stories by studio boss Milton Subotsky are not on the level of later script ideas by Robert Bloch, and are extremely derivative of the old favourites.

So there are vampire and werewolf tales, and even one about a disembodied hand! Most memorable is the newer concept of a house invaded by a sentient killer vine... This stars radio dj Alan Freeman! Then Roy Castle turns up as a nonchalant jazz trumpeter menaced by Caribbean voodoo.

There are also the horror stars of the period, with Christopher Lee pursued by the severed body part. The standout is Peter Cushing as the mysteriously accented Doctor Terror who relates the malign fate of his fellow passengers on a steam train to hell via his well thumbed deck of Tarot cards.

A decade later, this would be made for tv, but in 1965, the Technicolor and Techniscope format made it worth leaving the house. Oscar winning cinematographer Freddie Francis directs with gusto. But the big shocker is how much Michael Gough resembles future horror star Nigel Farage- aargh!

Long intelligent biopic about Carlo Levi, a dissident painter/writer who was exiled by Benito Mussolini in 1935-36 to a feudal backwater in southern Italy, isolated from the more prosperous north. While assisting the peasant workers as their doctor he identifies the reasons for their political indifference.

So there is some extended political chat. But it's as much about the social history of the rural south, including their superstitions and the burden of corruption. There is an overwhelming impression of poverty, though ironically this is Matera and now the whole region is a UNESCO World Heritage Site!

Today the hovels carved out of rock sell for millions of euros... Gian Maria Volontè- from the Dollars films!- is impassive as the political exile, but has a quiet charisma, while Irene Papas lifts the second half as his lively maid and the mother of innumerable children. And Levi's stray dog is adorable!

The title implies history only ever gets as far as the towns and the rural poor always remain left behind. For anyone with an interest in politics between the wars, this is fascinating. I suppose it isn't authentic neorealism but Francesco Rosi directs with a similar approach, and this is his masterpiece.

*note, the dvd is 150m which suggests it is the cinema release, not the 220m tv version, or 200m as advertised above... So the aspect should be in 1.66 (according to IMDB) but the dvd is in 1.37 which suggests it's the tv copy. I'm not going to guess why, because I don't know....

For about an hour its possible to imagine this was influenced by Auf Wiefersen, Pet, with its motley crew of labourers from around the UK who left their home towns due to unemployment in the '80s recession and then are mixed up in amusing misadventures on a building project in London.

But this is Ken Loach working from the only ever script by Bill Jesse, a former construction worker. So initially this represents the UK as a divided nation adrift in drugs, crime and homelessness; it's a polemic aimed at the contemporary Tory government a year after Margaret Thatcher resigned.

Of course, the workers are transforming a hospital into luxury apartments, while the bosses exploit a shocking disregard for health and safety... Robert Carlyle plays the main character, an ex-con with tiny dreams who joins the posse, then shacks up with a delusional wannabe (Emer McCourt).

But the heart of the film is (ex-builder) Ricky Tomlinson as an exile from Merseyside who argues for union representation and loses his job. And then it all gets much darker... It isn't the '80s of tv nostalgia shows, but it's the one many of us will remember. And this acutely captures the zeitgeist.

This was a box office bomb and the problem is obvious; it's a David Mamet film about US mixed martial arts. So, will the arthouse crowd buy a ticket for a story about showbiz sport? Alternatively, are fans of ringside razzle-dazzle going to sit still for an allegory on the iniquities of American capitalism?

Well, no and no. But for those on the first half of that conundrum this may have been a win-win. This is a pretty decent Mamet drama about the struggle of a virtuous practitioner to stay aloof from the sleaze and corruption of the moronic inferno. Plus he's also brutal on sport as a fake spectacle for tv.

This isn't a Rocky (1976) ripoff. It's not entirely successful- and feels cut down from something more complex- but it's fun to hear the Mamet-speak around the fight game. And Chiwetel Ejiofor is engaging and charismatic as an honourable redbelt forced into the phoney MMA circus when his life implodes

Mamet practices jiu-jitsu, which hardly matters in terms of combat, but may have inspired the stuff about the code of the warrior. Or it was lifted from a Japanese Samurai film. It's long on chat and short on action and Redbelt 2 will never be made... But the cool pessimism may appeal to noir aficionados.