 Somehow featuring a Hitler cameo without feeling cheap Director: Steven Spielberg Writer:Jeffrey Boam; Story by George Lucas and Menno Meyjes Cinematographer: Douglas Slocombe Producer: Robert Watts by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... In this film, we learn that the mission is to retrieve the Arc of the Covenant, foisted upon Indiana by Englishman with a subtle Irish drawl Walter Donovan (Julian Glover) when he mentions that Indy’s father has vanished while on an expedition. He’s to meet up with Henry’s Austrian colleague Dr. Elsa Schneider (Alison Doody) in Venice in order to try and find both his father and the grail. Shortly after, Indy receives his dad’s journal in the mail, indicating he’s in danger. They fly to Venice and so we get our first map line montage, and while I won’t bore you over examining the details, even in this small sequence, Spielberg matches the pace of line being drawn to that of each of vehicles Indy travels upon. But so begins the main attraction, as Indy battles through betrayals and bullets and monstrous tanks. There’s no need to talk about the story so much as the vast amount of memorable images that extend throughout it. I remember how terrifying the German book burning was, with hundreds of its citizens throwing all the Jewish books they can find into a bonfire, marching around the towering flames. I never realized how much the grail played in combating Hitler, as after Indy and his Father escape the castle, Henry explains that retrieving the grail is for all mankind. In an age when so many films involve the end of the world, Spielberg avoids big explosions with wild scenes of exploding buildings and bridges, and instead focuses on the minute. The book burning demonstrated what was brewing. They needed to fight against what the world could be if fallen into the wrong hands. It’s a magnificent moment, in which this final film suddenly takes an even more realistic turn. It is all for something larger. I always loved the blimp scene, and really noticed the father/son bond - or lack of - in a way I hadn’t before. It’s a beautiful scene when Indiana wants to just have a drink with his dad and talk, complaining how they ever had. His dad combats the accusations by acquiescing, except Jones realizes they have nothing in common beyond archeology. But also that it’s fine, as they’re now sharing an adventure because of it. And then Spielberg uses shadows to indicate the blimp is changing direction. They steal the emergency plane, and Indy orders the father to shoot at the Nazi fighter planes attacking them. Unfortunately, he ends up shooting the tail fin off in the process. I always loved how it was such an innocent and easy mistake from a character who hadn't made any until that point, and that dad then lies any way, as any of us probably would. And in making up for all of it, he uses his umbrella to launch of seagulls into the approaching plane cause it to crash and burn. But that’s not even the greatest scene, as although I had remembered every bit of the tank chapter, I forgot how incredible it is; serving as one of the finest action scenes ever assembled. Although the entire scene could be deconstructed, it’s Spielberg’s ability to create a very logical and realistic setting that makes the scene so effective. I started Kingdom of the Crystal Skull ('08) immediately after this, and without jumping ahead, let’s just say the jungle chase sequence is the complete opposite of The Last Crusade. The scene takes place in two sections, with the driver of the tank as a goggled, large mustachioed man, showing that even the most minor character can become a highly memorable character. We cut between inside the tank where Marcus Brody (Denholm Elliott) and Henry sit, as they attempt to break free while Indy fights above. Each moment, from when Indy shoots through the five soldiers, to his head being rubbed against the tank treads, to his falling off the tank, catching a gun, and nearly being crushed to death, before falling off the mountain as he fights the Nazi to death - all intercut with Marcus and Henry as they try and steal a gun to escape and help. The two scenes are so perfectly timed, so simple in conception, and yet so intricate in execution that I almost had to stop the movie to catch my breath. I always enjoyed this scene, but as I’ve often mentioned, after making a movie, I’ve grown to appreciate the technical craft a great movie now possesses. Each decision and choice was so smart, with no moment causing me to doubt what I was seeing, or force me out of the story. To think it all concludes with Henry giving Indy an emotional hug, finally breaking from his emotional detachment, was kind of what I wanted to do to the person next to me, if I wasn’t watching it all alone. The film moves into its final sequence, where once again, I could remember all the details and yet was anxious as ever to see how they were done. I remember always wondering what blew the spiderwebs up as the men wandered through, and this time I didn’t care, figuring it was the sawblades or a draft or God. It didn’t matter. Having Henry shot in the stomach added such a great complexity to the scene, requiring Indy’s analytic mind to try and search for whatever faith he could find, before stepping onto the bridge - shot in one of the greatest dizzying effects I’ve ever seen. But it all culminates in the grail scene - when there are hundreds scattered about. It was here that I was connecting most to my old pre-teen self, blown away by how simple the puzzle was. Jesus was a carpenter and it of course would be the simplest cup. I had forgotten about the most important rule, though, and what a gorgeous rule it is - that to achieve immortality requires the cost of guarding the grail forever. After all the speculation and education and investigation, no one knew this one small thing. Indy goes on to save his dad, which when combined with sound, offers one of the greatest blood gags ever on screen. It’s a fascinating moment where the place begins to crumble, and the human desire for power is uncontrollable. Not just for Dr. Elsa, but Indy too forgets how it works, willing to die for the chance at immortality. Given the backdrop in battling Hitler, what a profound message. Even the heroes have weakness, with only a father’s word having any power. Call it cliche, they simply don’t make movies like this anymore. Even Spielberg would sacrifice logic and plausibility for flashy computer effects that sacrifice story for entertainment, losing both as a result. At no point did The Last Crusade feel old or uninspired. It held up as much as when I use to watch it every summer, and I was equally taken away. It’s a perfect movie. BELOW: More impressive than any CGI-infused action sequence out there Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 Star Wars could take a lesson on integrating Easter Eggs Director: Steven Spielberg Writer:Jeffrey Boam; Story by George Lucas and Menno Meyjes Cinematographer: Douglas Slocombe Producer: Robert Watts by Jon Cvack Every year throughout my teens, all the way up through high school, I would kick off summer by watching the Indiana Jones trilogy on VHS. I didn’t really have a favorite film from the series, since as being a kid they all felt part of the same story. The Temple of Doom remains the film that I often first associate with the trilogy, as my mother and sister hated the bug scene, which etched itself into memory as one of the first scenes I recall anxiously expecting from a movie - in this case reaching your hand inside a bug infested hole in a wall - always hearing my mother’s voice say “Oh my god” when the scene began. The films epitomized summertime in youth, where alongside Back to the Future, they provided some of the greatest adventure stories a kid could ask for. Like most others, I found a jump rope to act as my whip, digging through my closet full of toy guns, and grabbing my revolver to battle the Nazis. Thinking back, it was films like this that must have planted the seed of my love for movies - offering exciting escape into a world that was both fantastical and unfamiliar, and yet which all felt so real. These films serve as one of the finest examples in demonstrating how the highest level of filmmaking craft can tap into anyone’s subconscious; where even young kids, who know nothing of how the films are technically achieved, agree that it’s an incredible film. It shows that craft of the highest magnitude is what creates widespread praise, allowing the piece to shift from an ephemeral moment and into becoming part of the culture. While I’m not positive, I’m pretty sure I haven’t watched either this film or The Temple of Doom since high school, having possibly seen Raiders of the Lost Ark when I was in college. I recall wanting to wait until I bought or had the DVD set, which then changed to wanting the BluRay, always putting it off and waiting for the right summertime moment. Given that it’s January 30 (at the time of writing this), I’m not sure why I wanted to watch the film, other than that I’ve been working long hours on a few deadlines and needed some old fashioned escape. I knew I hadn’t seen this movie in a long time when I thought I might have put on Kingdom of the Crystal Skull for a second, as I didn’t recognize any of the intro. We’re following some type of Boy Scout club, as a young Indiana Jones and his bloviated friend follow a group of treasure hunters deep into a cavern, where the men dig up and steal the golden Cross of Coronado. Calmly and collectively, Indiana Jones pulls a snake off his friend’s lap and tells him to get the troupe. The friend leaves and Indiana Jones jumps down, grabs the cross and runs out, finding the troupe gone. He hops onto a horse and gallops toward a train pulling a bunch of circus cars, thus entering into one of the greatest action-adventure intros of all time. As though straight out of a Buster Keaton movie - in wide we see a Indiana running from one of the men. Although the very real train is moving very fast, they’re held in center frame, running along the cars like a treadmill. It doesn’t cut until Indiana heads into the lizard car, where inside there’s a bunch of crocodiles and snakes. He hangs up on the rafters, and we know where this is going - and making us all the more anxious as we just saw that Indiana doesn’t yet have his snake fear. Of course he falls in, covered in the creatures, and then escapes. He then heads up to the train roof, and again looking all exceptionally real, not at all like it was done in some green screen, Indiana fights with a man while a rhino slams its horn through the train car. It all culminates in him heading to the magic car, where he makes a very obvious hiding choice in a magic box as the man comes inside, only to create one of the coolest shots of the movies, as in a single take, where again on a moving train - Indiana disappears through the magic box, the camera pans with the man and out the rear window where we see Indiana running off. It’s a scene like this where the moment, you realize you have launched off and are about to enter into a different world. Scenes like this are most similar to the grand musical numbers that often open the genre (and strange that fans of one side typically don’t like the other). What makes the scene work is that we are constantly moving through a situation that makes perfect sense, no matter how ridiculous the situation is. From the grand desert to the cavern to chasing a train and then onto a train, but not just any train, but a circus train whose every car offers a different obstacle. All so often action scenes seem to throw away the logic of simple movement - let alone story - constructing how a character gets from one place to the other in order to accommodate the next big scene. We can laugh and they’re fun, but the world immediately feels fake in such cases. The opening of Indiana Jones shows Spielberg’s magnificent ability to show rather than tell information, as so much of the scene exists without words, and yet the amount of information and story we get is as full as any great dialogue. This extends throughout the film, where Indiana Jones finally meets up with his father Henry Jones (Sean Connery) in one of the greatest father/son roles of all time. Meeting Henry for the first time, completely oblivious to Indiana’s safety or injury, he makes the boy count one through twenty in Latin. The Sheriff then shows up, demanding the cross back. After all we just experienced it didn’t matter. And in that moment of defeat, we receive the final piece that makes Indiana Jones who he is - the hat, received not from some great and noble man, but from a corrupt treasure hunter who inspired Indiana to do what he did. This could be watched as a short film and stopped right there. Luckily it doesn’t, though, as just as the young Indiana puts on the hat and bows his head, we cut with the Spielberg touch to Harrison Ford, head bowed, hat toward us, fighting men on a ship that’s about to explode. This was another great touch, as the white-suited mustachioed man was seen in the background during the flashback, now battling modern Jones, aboard a ship that’s about explode. Jones is victorious and he finally retrieves the cross that inspired his entire career. Check back for Part 2... BELOW: One of the greatest action movie intros Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  John Lithgow - is he a creep, a malevolent or benevolent genius? Such is his power Director: Marshall Brickman Writer: Thomas Baum and Marshall Brickman Cinematographer: Billy Williams Producer: Marshall Brickman and Jennifer Ogden by Jon Cvack Given that I was using my girlfriend’s streaming account, I couldn’t remember whether I’d seen this film before. Needing something lighter, I started it up and was excited to recall the storyline about a kid that builds a nuclear bomb in his bedroom. It had to have been about eight years since I’ve seen this thing, as I could hardly remember much beyond certain images - like the neon green goo and the frisbees tossed down the hallway. Although heavily influenced by War Games (1983), the movie stands strong on its own, and I was left wondering why I only gave this ⅗ starts back whenever I first saw. The story starts with John Lithgow as Dr. John Mathewson, new Head Researcher at a government funded laser manufacturing lab Medatomic - where John and his team have just developed the most potent form of plutonium ever created, coming in the form of a neo green goo, controlled by a robot positioned inside a glass cage. Although clearly influenced by War Games’ [far superior] intro, The Manhattan Project hooks you right in, reminding me that this film wasn’t some goofy teen comedy, but a fairly serious and eerie story which treated all of its characters as mature and complex characters. After the foreboding intro, we meet the precocious and highly intelligent high school student Paul Stephens (Christopher Collet) whose penchant for science rivals even his teachers. In the first scene, we see him using the lab equipment to concoct an explosive material which can explode upon the slightest impact. He places some on the door of his rival student - a square and dandy young man, who while knowing the answer to everything, has hardly any of the passion. The best part about Stephens is his ability to make big brains seem cool. He dresses in sneakers, old t-shirts and jeans, he’s funny with a smart ass attitude and thick sarcasm. We don’t always like the guy, as his ego often cause him to say or do things that make us want to slap him across the face. After school, an attractive and sweet girl Jenny Anderman (Cynthia Nixon) invites Paul to come over to “study” in as a direct a way as possible. Once again, I was impressed by the honesty of the scene - the movie isn’t laughing at the way kids talk about sex, taking it all that seriously, or attempting to talk around what couples often do when they study. As I say often say again and again, especially about such stories as Super 8 or Stranger Things, many modern films condescend toward the kid characters, having them all talk about serious things far too seriously, leaving out the more mature and nuanced conversations kids often have. Not everything needs to drift constantly between melodrama and humor as classic films like The Goonies, War Games, and E.T. demonstrated. Dr. Mathewson meets Paul’s mom, realtor Elizabeth (Jill Eikenberry), while looking for an apartment. Now that I piece together the timeline I realize that either Dr. Mathewson was homeless for quite awhile, or he created that plutonium with lightning speed, as when he meets Elizabeth Stephens (Jill Eikenberry), he’s looking for a place to live; not caring what it looks like so long as it can provide enough room for him and his books. With the perfect touch of creepiness, Lithgow flirts with Elizabeth, suggesting a date, and getting turned down. Paul then enters the office, instantly suspicious. However, when John notices Paul’s interest in science, he proposes to take him to see his Medatomics’ new laser, so long as he can get a date with the mother. It’s weird, but they all agree. At the lab, Paul notices the neon green goo, stored in its sophisticated robotic glass cage, then seeing the lasers, in which John lights up a cigar via the laser beam that leaves you wondering if the 80s allowed smoking in science labs. Outside, Paul discovers a five leaf clover, leading him to think that something’s just not right with the town’s Nuclear Production Facility. When he talks to Jenny, we see director Marshall Brickman accomplish a really cool and simple blocking exercise (see the entry on Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)), where Jenny and Paul make their way between the living room and kitchen. Not to dwell too heavily on this, but for anyone wondering what television often misses that films don’t it’s this exact element. I’m not talking a "West Wing" walk-and-talk, so much as a clever and subtle way for the characters to interact with one another while utilizing the environment. Rather than a shot reverse shot between the two characters the couch, Brickman allows the takes to roll (and he’s not even known for being a director, but rather a screenwriter). The see culminates in Jenny asking for evidence of the lab’s nefarious activity, to which Paul pulls out the five leaf clover. Jenny asks what we’re all thinking - namely, what’s one clover really mean; to which Paul then pulls out an entire handful. The moment provided the film’s finest layer of suspense. So follows an incredible heist sequence of Paul and Jenny sneaking into the laboratory in order to get some of the plutonium. By now you accept that Paul isn’t just smart for a high school student, but for a Stanford Phd candidate. And while some might find this distracting, I love these types of characters. Combined with a very real and developed personality, it’s characters like Paul that could inspire younger kids who might be turned off by how boring science can be. Paul makes it seem fun and badass, especially with the tricks he thinks of - such as during the frisbee scene. Having only a vague recollection of what occurred, Paul throws frisbees down two hallways to set off the laser alarms. I’m figuring, “Well, of course they’ll find the frisbees” to which Paul then races down one hallway to pick up the frisbee, then heads down the other hallway in order to grab the second frisbee and make his way down the lab. For anyone thinking this was obvious, sorry for wasting your time. I thought this was an clever moment. And then Paul decides to make a nuclear bomb with the loot. It was here that I was kind of pulled out of the story, which really played as a plot-serving device in which the military comes into town in order to retrieve the device. The problem is that Paul has demonstrated his supreme intelligence so well at this point that his ego must have grasped the danger of building a bomb; not just to himself, but the entire community. And while maybe Brickman wanted to explore hubris, I just failed to buy it; especially when you learn the movie was influenced by the 1977 “A-Bomb Kid”; a student at Princeton who wrote on a paper how to just build a bomb. There’s no evidence the “A-Bomb Kid” ever built the device, probably because he grasped how stupid it was do even try such a thing. Unfortunately, a paper doesn’t make for as good a movie. I just felt that there was a far better way to get to the same conclusion - either because he found instructions for a mysterious device that happened to be a nuclear bomb, or contained a more unhinged personality. None of these ideas are good, but at least they make sense. Paul’s ability to sneak into the lab demonstrated his understanding of danger and how to manage it. Up until building the bomb, he was smart and strategic, fully aware of the dangers he’d have to overcome. If his character was a paranoid schizophrenic, whose scientific mind became overwhelmed with the imaginings of a nuclear holocaust, it might have made sense. Just like War Games, Red Dawn, or Back to the Future - the film captures the 1980s Nuclear age paranoia and just like Back to the Future it involves plutonium, leaving me to wonder if Marshall Brickman pulled directly from Zemeckis, or they they just both so happened to find plutonium as an interesting plot device. Considering this was released just shy of a year later, I’m suspecting the latter. However, The Manhattan Project’s case, it was a far less successful, hardly making back even a quarter of its budget - leaving me kind of surprised. Ebert had even given the film four stars, and I’d say while maybe not as good as War Games, it’s definitely a close second, containing an intelligence that extends all the way up and to the last scene. Perhaps it was both War Games and Back to the Future’s wild success that left little interest for additions to the genre. Unfortunately, Marshall Brickman would only go on to make one more movie after The Manhattan Project with the television movie “Sister Mary Explain It All” (which looks absolutely ridiculous) shot fifteen years later. Though he did write Eastwood’s Jersey Boys in 2014, it leaves me wondering what else he would have done if this film had proved to be a bit more successful. I think in a few years, as the 80s become all the more vintage, it might finally find a larger audience. BELOW: Literally nothing on YouTube beyond the trailer, so here ya go Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Some of the most beautiful battle sequences you'll ever see Director: Akira Kurosawa Writer: Akira Kurosawa & Masato Ide Cinematographer: Takao Saitō Producer: Akira Kurosawa and Tomoyuki Tanaka by Jon Cvack Seeing Ran (1985) for the first time was as close to a religious experience as one gets. Kurosawa is one of those filmmakers that I deliberately took my time getting to, knowing that as my palate grew I would come to better appreciate his work. It was really about three years ago, during my Netflix “Director's Project” that I realized both how many incredible films this guy has made and how many I hadn’t seen (fifteen total above a 3.8, and that was after the three or four I’d already seen up until that point). Compared to his Golden Age between 1948 and 1965, Kurosawa would only make three films from 1965 to 1980; the year of Kagemusha’s release. He was widely regarded as washed up during this period, only to make his triumphant return that would extend for the rest of his life. Having reread King Lear shortly before seeing Ran, I was excited to check out see Kurosawa’s version of the play. Reading about the background of the entire production - and Kurosawa’s Golden Era in particular - made the film all the more powerful, as it demonstrated that like any great work of art, you can often feel the amount of heart that went into the project. The film was not just exceptionally and flawlessly crafted and not just one of the greatest adaptations of all time - it was the culmination of an artist’s life; offering a profound reflection on who Kurosawa was, his successes and failures, and what it all mattered. Never has a film with such extravagant action felt so deeply personal. With that in mind I was excited to get around to Kagemusha; another epic war film made five years prior to Ran. In many ways it all feels like a trial run to his magnum opus, as it contains a strikingly similar story and structure, particularly the focus on three feuding clans; Kurosawa’s unprecedented mega-epic scenes (featuring thousands of extras); and the concluding moment where Kagemusha (a Japanese term for political decoy), looks aged by years, gazing upon the slaughter that took place largely because of him. It’s easy to see how this would evolve, and how Shakespeare might have offered him the muse he needed to fully extend the story. It’s clear that Kagemusha contains many of the same demons Kurosawa would later explore in Ran; in this case the idea of impostership, unfit for the powerful responsibilities bestowed upon him. Kagemusha focuses on Takeda Shingen (Tatsuya Nakadai), who meets his thieving brother Nobukado (Tsutomu Yamazaki) that happens to bear a striking resemblance. Shingen recruits Nobukado as his body double in the emergency case of requiring one, except when Shingen is shot and mortally wounded, demanding his commanders keep his death a secret for three years, Nobukado is forced to take his role. All the while, Shingen rivals - Oda Nobunaga (Daisuke Ryu) , Tokugawa Ieyasu, and Uesugi Kenshin - have varying ideas about Shingen’s passing. Nobuko is presented before his commanders, who agree to sell the idea to the community. All is fine except for Shingen’s grandson who refuses to buy the doubling, leading to the most fascinating relationship of the film, as Nobuko develops a genuine love for his grand nephew, who soon looks past the differing appearances. Nobuko isn’t to ride Shingen’s horse, though, as the untameable animal would never bow down to any man beyond his former master. When one of Shingen’s son, Katsuyori grows jealous that an impostor is playing the role of their father - a position he covets - Katsuyori tests Nobuko by asking for his military advice before the generals, to which he admonishes them with the facile advice to stand like mountains, impressing the council. It leads to the great Battle of Takatenjin, where the rival Oda and Tokugawa clans all battle with one another, and due to the impostor’s extemporaneous strategy, they end up triumphant. Overconfident, the impostor attempts to ride Shingen’s horse, quickly falling off, revealing his identity to all, who then banish him from the kingdom. Katsuyori finally takes over and leads his men to the epic Battle of Nagashino, where along with Takatenjin, were two scenes up there with the greatest war films - Saving Private Ryan ('98), Braveheart ('95), Paths of Glory ('57), Ran (of course), you name it. Katsuyori is butchered by the Oda Clan and his army of rifled men, as the exiled Nobuko watches from the weeds. The image almost eerily resembled Ichimonji and his defeated, hopeless and heartbroken. In a glorious moment, as great as any scene in Braveheart, Nobuko takes up a sword and charges toward Oda’s men, getting shot within seconds and falling into a river whose current drags him along, past his fūrinkazan (a Japanese Battle flag that derived its slogan from Sun Tzu’s Art of War) which translates as - “In raiding and plundering be like fire; be immovable like a mountain.” Like all great films - and said time and time again - this is the type of movie that I assume gets better the more you watch it; allowing you peel layer after layer with each viewing. Thinking back, I never really grasped what was occurring between Katsuyori and Nobuko’s “Mountain Monologue” and that Nobuko might have mounted Shingen’s horse out of hubris. He confused chance with nature, believing that just like in the beginning, with luck leading to his meeting with Shingen, he could gamble once again. His failure to respect the horse led to his downfall. It left me wondering about chance and nature, and their relationship to the immovable mountain. We’re not sure if Nobuko would have won at Nagashino, but if he accepted his early fate rather than challenging nature he could have survived and maybe saved the kingdom. The State of Nature is not to be tampered with or pursued. Returning to Kurosawa’s life and what Ran all meant regarding Kurosawa’s personal life, I can’t help piecing the prelude in this. In many ways, just as he was ostensibly Ichimonji, so he was Nobuko, in this case understanding the privileged position he had entered, unfortunately destroyed by making a wrong decision. I wonder if anyone knows what Kurosawa’s horse was? While not my favorite of his, that’s simply because the bar’s so high. There are dozen more films that far outshine this story. But in terms of containing the most heart, and what Kurosawa explored within himself, I think this is a fascinating piece. BELOW: The amount of actors, set design, wardrobe, and action in this scene is absolutely staggering Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Heck of a movie set Director: James Cameron Writer: James Cameron Cinematographer: Mikael Salomon Producer: Gale Anne Hurd by Jon Cvack This is the third time I’ve seen the film, and just like the second viewing, I forgot that it’s only in the Director’s Cut that the alien scene contains the prophetic video of Earth’s descent into Nuclear War. Although IMDb trivia says, much to the surprise of studios, James Cameron wanted the shorter version, it takes a massive drop, deeper than the miles deep canyon. After all the build toward discovering the aliens, Bud Brigman (Ed Harris) is taken aboard, sees the alien through a water wall or something, the ship rises from the ocean, the storm has ended, and everyone is saved. It’s when you see the Director’s Cut that you understand exactly what was explored, and why the aliens landed in the first place. Without it, the abrupt ending leaves you with far more questions than answers. In college I took a Sci-Fi CInema class, and during the section on the Red Scare 1950s alien invasion films, we learned the two camps - 1) fearful, pro-military, in which those in charge feared the aliens and wanted to destroy them (The Thing, Them!), and 2) empathetic, pro-science films in which the characters fight against the military in order to approach the aliens with diplomacy and understanding (The Day the Earth Stood Still). The entire discussion poses an interesting question in that why would aliens necessarily be malevolent? If the United States were to visit a planet with Intelligent Life, I can’t imagine NASA or its crew possessing any intent to harm (at least not initially, I assume - until private enterprise came in; think Avatar and what much of world history has shown; or read King Leopold’s Ghost). What I admire most about James Cameron is that he is one of the most politically AND financially successful filmmakers alive. Nearly all of his films contain a progressive message - about class in Titanic, colonialism and genocide in Avatar, militarism in Aliens, and pro-science and empathy vs. fear and aggression in The Abyss. The two sides are divided between Bud and his ragtag, begrimed and loyal crew, with his ex-wife Lindsey Brigman (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio) joining the show at the last minute, having created the underwater drilling rig. Their mission is hijacked when after a nuclear submarine implodes, a group of Navy Seals, led by Lt. Hiram Coffey (Michael Biehn), joins the the crew in order to retrieve the sub’s nuclear warheads. It’s the perfect set up, and with Cameron’s vision at the forefront, with a lot of the movie taking place in diving suits and underwater, with Harris almost drowning at one point during production, like Hard Rain, it leaves you wondering when another practical FX-heavy film like this will come about. While the aliens look great, the fact that this film is nearly 30 years old allows you to forget all that. Similar to what Cameron would accomplish in Terminator 2, he’s able to use computer graphics as a supplement, rather than with full dependence. Given the aliens’ jellyfish-like bubble, they’re referred to “Non-Terrestrial Intelligence”, using water to take on shapes per the likes of T1000, or just preserve their jelly-fish selves, complete with neon glows and facial features. However, the Navy SEALs couldn’t care less about any peace gestures from the aliens, believing they could have been sent by the Russians, providing all the more reason to hurry and get the warheads off the submarine. While Cameron didn’t pioneer the modern roughneck sci-fi crew (first seen in Alien), he definitely made it his own. Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth are so good in this film, providing a perfect amount of emotion, humor, and passion, all while alongside some of the most fascinating supporting characters in the genre. I loved how each person has a unique persona, with Lisa’s cowboy hat and good tunes, Alan “Hippy” Carnes’s pet rat (Todd Graff), Jammer’s extraordinary strength and teddy bear demeanor (John Bedford Lloyd), every character is sculpted and unique, allowing us to care about even the most minor of them. The combination of real people placed within this extraordinary situation allows it all to take on a realism usually lost in films from the genre. No matter how ridiculous things get, the characters keep it all grounded. Perhaps the best performance comes from Michael Biehn, who struggles to keep himself sharp while dealing with depth sickness, hyper paranoia, and inability to keep things under control. His demise is one of 80s/90s action films all time greatest battles, leaving you wanting the toy submarine, disappointed that they never existed. I’m not sure why the movie wasn’t as successful as Cameron’s other work, only making $90 million from its $70 million budget. I’d attribute a large portion of that to the rushed ending, which might have prevented word of mouth from spreading, as no matter how great a film is, a disappointing ending will leave a bad taste in any story. I’m even surprised how little attention this movie gets in the film community. While many people have seen it, it doesn’t at all have the following of Cameron’s other sci-fi films, or other popular blockbuster pieces. It’s smart, both with the content, characters, and message, allowing you take as much from it as you desire. Just make sure to check out the Director’s Cut. BELOW: It just doesn't work as well without this scene Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
Director: Martin Scorsese Writer:Paul Schrader and Mardik Martin; Raging Bull: My Story by Jake LaMotta, Joseph Carter, and Peter Savage Cinematographer: Michael Chapman Producer: Irwin Winkler and Robert Chartoff by Jon Cvack Every time I think about this movie I picture the first Cinema Studies class I took in high school, in which our teacher Mr. Powers could only show us select scenes. When a student asked what it was rated, he looked at the box and said PG with a grin, leaving me furious over why we couldn’t watch the whole thing. Obviously, not seeing the movie, I didn’t really get the joke. Like any great film it gets better with age, as the idea of this coming out in 1980 blows my mind more now than any other time I’ve watched it. After my love affair with Italian Neo-Realism, buying Rossellini's Criterion War Trilogy and working my way through each movie from some book my sister bought me about Italian Neo-Realism (Bitter Rice was one of my favorites), I admire the genre’s ability to capture and document the history of post-WWII Europe and the devastating effect it had upon towns and people. The classic story of Rossellini using short ends of film to finish filming Rome, Open City might have been one of the first examples of Rodriguez/Linklater inspiration to aspiring filmmakers everywhere. The stories are often simple, focused on the poor and working class, which had largely been ignored up until that point. The classic note that Scorsese had written to film students contains at least three of these films. I recall an interview with the guy saying how he’d always get excited to buy the latest tv guide to find the Italian films he could watch on the small 10” television his family owned. When people want to say they’re pissed that movie theaters are going away and it’ll hurt filmmakers, consider that this is the format where one of the greatest fell in love with cinema. Seeing all his usual supporting performers - Joseph Bono, Frank Vincent, Frank Adonis - placed within a flawlessly recreated Italian Neo Realistic style left me in awe. And I know that that sounds like one of the most pretentious and uninspired things I could probably ever say in an essay about Scorsese, but to be able to understand what he accomplished is so fucking cool when you know where it stems from. It looks like you’re watching a European film from the early 1950s. And if that’s still pretentious, it looks like you’re watching a movie made in a completely different time period. A Christmas Story would accomplish the same thing three years later, looking like it was filmed in the 1950s. I actually think this is what a movie like Allied did so poorly, in that it didn’t try and make itself look like it was from its Hitchcock/Reed WWII spy thriller. It just took the storyline, but none of the style, when the equation needed to be flipped. Both A Christmas Story and Raging Bull are visual time machines. They brought in fresh stories and placed them within an older style. Thinking back, a few other films would accomplish this from then on: The Master, Buffalo ‘88, It Follows, and No are a handful I can name It leaves you wondering how that conversation must have gone, saying you want to make a boxing movie with a classical style, shot in mostly black and white. It’s an easy joke, but it’s faith in this type of material that leaves me thinking those were better days. The risk of making something like this today would just be too high. It then leaves me kind of sad thinking that there is another Scorsese out there who wants to do an equally ambitious project, and are things so bad that he can’t? It makes me appreciate the movie all the more so - for being able to even exist at all. Of course there’s the characters, and their fusillade of profanity and misogyny, which like Taxi Driver and Travis Bickle, leaves me wondering why so many people identify with this movie? It’s been so long since I’ve seen this that it provided that strange shift in perspective that some movies do, where once you related to one side of the story or characters and now the other. I always remembered a bunch of badass dialogue and incredible boxing scenes. I never really grasped how sad LaMotta’s character actually was. Contrary to all the discipline he has to train, Jake has an absolute inability to control his wandering thoughts about Vickie (Cathy Moriarty). He distrusts everyone, even Joey, where in that classic scene Jake accuses his brother of fucking his wife. Throughout all this, Vickie plays along, trying her hardest to be good to him, all while he continues to abuse her. I loved watching Moriarty explain herself truthfully, with a calm and objective tone, simply laying out the facts, which seemed to get under Jake’s skin even more. It almost goes with mediocre books making great movies; the same goes for past celebrities (whether Raging Bull or Boogie Nights). The movie is far greater than the man, and yet it’s scenes with that man that we celebrate. What is it about De Niro's performance that draws us in to watch, no matter how far it goes? He is an impotent man, and we’re watching him implode, with each scene between him and Joey taking our breath away. There’s a truth that’s captured; honoring the spirit of Neo-Realism (had to refer to it one more time), along with the photography, score, performances, style that all add up, capturing that vision, to something that feels so real; on the precipice between humor and tragedy, gently tottering back and forth between the two. Raging Bull is a movie that leaves you wondering if there’ll ever be another film like it. To hold such a strong place in culture - and for being built on such artistry and craftsmanship - deserve every bit of praise. It leaves me nostalgic. Not for a time, but for a possibility. Like the greatest films, it inspires you to want to make something. BELOW: Few filmmakers can combine such an obscure style with great performances and create a scene that ranks amongst the greatest of all time Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Marilyn Monroe using toys to explain the General Theory of Relativity to Einstein. No idea why. Director: Nicolas Roeg Writer: Terry Johnson Cinematographer: Peter Hannan Producer: Alexander Stuart and Jeremy Thomas by Jon Cvack I was looking through a list of the best chamber drama films (I can’t seem to find the link) and came across this one, which was ranked far higher in the subgenre's pantheon than is deserving. I’ve been working on a similar story setting and I was wondering how many films I’ve missed. Insignificance sounded weird - something about characters per the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Joe Dimaggio, Joe McCarthy, and Albert Einstein, who aren’t actually those characters, all meeting in a hotel room was enough to pique my interest. The beginning starts out exciting, flashing across the many departments of a film set, clearly, but not specifically The Seven Year Itch, as Monroe is about to step above the train tunnel vent. This is edited against Einstein in his room doing math; Senator Joe McCarthy drinking in a bar before walking around town; Monroe later being driven around the city and buying toys; Joe Dimaggio at a different bar (or maybe the same as before), with some famous piece of Marilyn Monroe Art on the wall next to him. Soon they all end up at a hotel. The first meeting involves McCarthy, who I didn’t even know was McCarthy until I paused the movie halfway through and looked it up on Wikipedia. I’m more embarrassed that I didn’t know it was Tony Curtis. He accuses Einstein of communistic ties, threatening to destroy the single copy of his work on the General Theory of Relativity, written in notes scattered across Einstein’s apartment. McCarthy then leaves, Monroe enters and explains his theories out loud, using the toys she purchased to demonstrate ideas on the speed of light and time travel. She’s about to sleep with Einstein for a reason I don’t understand and then Dimaggio comes to the motel and the two start fighting. The next day McCarthy wakes up Monroe, with Dimaggio gone and McCarthy thinking Monroe is a prostitute. He then punches her in the stomach and tosses Einstein’s papers out the window. Einstein returns and laughs about the papers, pulls out a watch, revealing it's 8:15; the time the Atom Bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, and the entire hotel room explodes, as though straight out of Sarah's hallucination in Terminator 2, except a longer sequence. Here was a film I couldn’t wait to return to Roger Ebert for, a bit nervous that maybe I completely lost the point and was due for some embarrassing insight. Sure enough Ebert sums it up perfectly, “I am not quite sure, however, what the point of the movie is.” Neither am I. Allowing myself to speculate, I think there’s clearly an idealization of the past. A fascinating bit of trivia involved Theresa Russell who was reluctant to take on the role on account of much the image had been hijacked with popular culture, with Madonna embracing the persona right around the time of release. Even with that fear in mind, and although doing a pretty good job, there’s something about the dress and high pitched ditzy voice that just don’t feel genuine (even Michelle Williams had a tough time pulling it off in My Week with Marilyn). Still, by placing Russell into the epitome of Monroe-vian stereotypes, embracing the sexuality as much as the personality, we see a time when a woman like this was worshipped that cannot exist today - or even in the year 1950, as television was starting to make its splash and the movie screen was beginning to deal with significant competition. The same goes for Einstein, who leaves us wondering when the next great mathematician will come along to make discoveries that will inspire a generation. And yet we remember that his involvement led to splitting the atom, and given what he provided, it’s strange that McCarthy would accuse him of communistic affiliations, or that Joe Dimaggio was there at all, though I guess he too is a piece of the past that many want to return to - not that there haven’t been great or greater ball players since. Then the world blows up. The end of a generation or something, or maybe the end of those idealized 1950s when everything seemed easier and better, caught by Happy Days whose run would extend midway through the 80s. While before it was all about sex, math, and baseball, now it’s about weapons that can destroy the entire world, and the parodying of those figures we once held in such high esteem, who serve as no more than symbols now. I could keep going, stretching what I think it all meant, I just don’t think any of it is all that interesting or adding up to anything special. It was a film that you knew would be slow to finish within the first ten minutes. It was such a great set up - imagining these characters all together, talking. Instead it dove in the opposite direction, avoiding substance in favor of abstraction, getting lost in it’s own exploration, never really returning back to anything. BELOW: A very long apocalyptic sequence Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on our contact page  I do like me some Dogue de Bordeaux, Director: Roger Spottiswoode Writer: Dennis Shryack, Michael Blodgett, Daniel Petrie, Jr., Jim Cash, and Jack Epps, Jr.; story by Cinematographer: Adam Greenberg by Jon Cvack I recall seeing this movie cover near as long as I can remember, with Tom Hanks next to that awesome and ugly dog (a Dogue de Bordeaux, FYI), and for all the animal buddy movies from throughout the decade (Beethoven, Dunston Checks In, Homeward Bound, etc.) and over twelve years of cinephilia I’ve just never been in the mood, thinking it’d be god awful, never giving Hanks the benefit of the doubt that his performance would carry this entire film, soaring above any silliness I expected. The story takes place in a Steinbeck’s neck of the woods, in the fictional Cypress Beach in Monterey California near Cannery Row. This was particularly exciting to watch given that I was reading "Tortilla Flat" at the time, getting to witness what became of the area that Steinbeck had described countless times prior. Scott Turner (Tom Hanks) has grown bored with small town police work, getting ready to hit the big leagues over in Sacramento, preparing to hand the torch off to the supremely type-casted and everyone’s favorite cop Reginald Veljohnson playing Detective David Sutton. They meet up with an old fishermen, Amos Reed (John McIntire), who spouts off conspiracy theories about how the new ice factory next to his houseboat is participating in some shady dealings, which is further confirmed when a ziplock bag full of thousands of dollars washes up shore. It’s here that Hooch (Beasley the Dog) is introduced as a begrimed, incessantly drooling dog that loves to mess with Scott and his OCD tendencies. When Amos is found murdered, Scott decides to take in the animal, convinced that it might know something about the killing, discovering that while the dog is capable of destroying his entire home, he can also feel affection for it, aided by assistance from the local veterinarian Emily Carson (Mare Winningham), who quickly becomes Turner’s love interest. The story is designed in such a way as to keep your focus, as though pulled out - and, from my recollection, mentioned - in the countless screenwriting books that promise you million dollar formulas. Everything seems to serve the purpose of getting these two opposing personality types together. And while most other performers would have allowed this move to fall flat, Hanks is such a powerhouse, capable of making even the most passing scene entertaining that for all the tropes and formulaic twists and turns, the story never stales. It’d almost be easier to list the scenes that didn’t work than for those that did, everything from having a stake out with Hooch in the car, improvising line after line of ball busting toward the dog, to his initial reaction upon getting back home while out shopping for dog food and toys, discovering his meticulously cleaned and finely furnished apartment completely destroyed - Hanks made me believe that he without a doubt to learned to care for and admire the dog. Hanks has that rare ability to make every character he plays feel completely real and pure, somehow balancing between charm and humor, as though he’s performing and speaking directly to us. We know where the story is going, and yet his performance alone is enough for the entire story to feel original and fresh. However - and SPOILER ALERT - I was definitely not expecting the ending, in which Hooch takes a bullet for Turner, after discovering that the Police Chief Howard Hyde (Craig T. Nelson) has actually been in on the money-laundering, drug-smuggling, and whatever else was going on. Allegedly, two endings were shot - one in which Hooch died and the other where he survived. Test audiences were split and they decided to go with tragedy, to which Hanks attributed for the film’s mild success. I never would have expected the dog to die in this one. I wasn't emotional so much as blown away by Hanks' ability to display such emotion, where allegedly Hanks thought about how he’d never see Beasley again once the shoot was over in order to conjure up the tears. The fact that all it took was realizing that he’d never see his friend again to elicit such a powerful reaction doesn’t just go to show the depth of Hanks’ talent, so much as his empathy and compassion as a person. Tom Hanks is considered by many to be one of the nicest celebrities in the world . He exudes kindness and appreciation for his fans; seemingly like a genuinely good man and exceptional friend. To see a character of his go through such pain after losing his best friend was incredible, especially as you snap out of the scene, realizing that while perhaps maybe not wiping the tears away, you were quiet and understood what he was going through - and then you realize you’re watching a buddy-dog comedy. Hanks is the type of actor that could never be replaced, as original as Jimmy Stewart, Marlon Brando, or any giant of cinema. As with any great artists, no matter the material, he connects to the individual viewer, transporting them to another world and immersing them within a believable reality, no matter how absurd the concept. I was expecting a really silly movie when I put this on. Instead, I was glad to be able to experience it later in life, with no association of youth; rather watching it with a fresh adult eye and having an even greater appreciation for what Hanks managed to achieve. BELOW: Is he bad in any movies? Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on our contact page  When you discover someone like Chris Kimbrel you appreciate Wild Thing all the more Director: David S. Ward Writer: David S. Ward Cinematography: Reynaldo Villalobos by Jon Cvack Continued from Part 1... Having read a bit more into the game, I now understand the many references that would have otherwise gone completely over my head. Bull Durham is regarded as the baseball fan’s movie (quoted extensively in "Men at Work"), containing countless references and jokes that only the most diehard fans would pick up upon. For instance, in Major League, when Wild Thing is in the locker room, he sees one of the older pitchers with vaseline rubbed all over his arms and chest so that he can throw a spitball (which has an fascinating history if you read it, but basically is a ball with vaseline or any other lubricated substance on it that affects the throw by making it move erratically through the air - similar to the Knuckleball [again look up history or watch the Netflix Documentary] creating a danger to the batter), with the older pitcher admitting that he’s doing whatever it takes to keep his edge. Another player, with a beautiful face and who plans to take his career beyond the field, fails to make a play one game because he didn’t want to risk hurting himself, ruining his trade or non-player opportunities. Each player represents the stereotype that is often associated with the position, or that you could picture in your mind when reading about what the position demands. Tom Berenger epitomizes the concept, playing catcher Jake Taylor, where if you read about the catcher, is the most difficult defensive position on the team, and as one friend explained to me, basically controls everything on the field - from identifying weaknesses, calling the signals, or coaching the pitcher if they get into a rut. Jake is the Indians biggest advocate, wanting to win the series for no reason other than to prove Rachel Phelps wrong, inspiring the team to work together and win. Two things don’t really make sense - one being that even though most of these guys were pulled from the minors, or straight from civilian life, they’re somehow able to perform vastly better when discovering that they were recruited solely to fail. I guess it’s a common underdog story, but given all of Phelps' admissions of deliberately choosing the worst players it was difficult to ingest. The larger issue, though, is that the Big Game in the movie is really just a one game qualifier in order to get into the playoffs, with the movie ending immediately after. Like any Big Game, it’s exciting to watch and knowing the mechanics of the game made it more enjoyable, but then you realize that it really isn’t that big of deal. Sure, it might have saved the team from moving to Miami, but it’s as though the story was cut prematurely when they realized that they couldn’t possibly make a 5 or 7-game series as exciting as a one off game. For that reason it works; it’s just that when it ends, I was left wondering “and then…?” Jake Taylor’s other story is trying to get back his old athletic lover, Lynn Wilson (Rene Russo; who really is the best love interest in a sports movie [see Tin Cup]), who has gotten together with a rich businessmen and not all that inspired character. We know where it’s going, though again, given your preconception of a slapstick comedy, there are genuinely touching moments. Other scenes fall victim to the 80s misogyny often discovered in comedy films from the period, such as motivating the team to win by getting a life sized bust of Rachel Phelps, covered in leopard skin cut outs, which they’ll remove one by one for each game, until she’s finally wearing nothing but underwear, making you wonder if it was always just underwear, or if it was once meant for the more offensive gratuitous 80s boobage. You can’t help thinking of how that would have played in today’s world, and while it doesn’t take up too much of the focus, it’s still there, showing the film’s age. It’s a fun summer time comedy, perfect to watch while reading and watching baseball, once that last game ends on a Sunday night. BELOW: The greatest walk up song in movie history (also made me understand what a walk up song is) Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on our contact page  Contrary to the poster, not a slapstick comedy Director: David S. Ward Writer: David S. Ward Cinematography: Reynaldo Villalobos by Jon Cvack I think the major issue with this film is that it both sounds and is marketed to look like a slapstick comedy in the vein of Spy Hard or Police Academy, especially with Wild Thing’s (Charlie Sheen) jagged hair cut and the antics of a last place team who’re failing to hit, catch, or accomplish any simple task of baseball. Yet it’s actually a decent comedy-drama, balancing an underdog story with that of a freshly widowed and newly crowned Cleveland Indian owner Rachel Phelps (Margaret Whitton) who hopes to maintain the Indian’s long losing record, hoping for them to reach third place, which would put them in a better sales position, where hopefully they’ll get picked up by Miami and provide her with a heavy payout. I’ve been reading a lot about baseball lately, and the more I explain what I’ve learned to people, the more I realize how much I don’t know about the game, which makes me read more, which leads me to discover I know even less than before (this is currently occurring after having finished George Will’s “Men at Work”, which is an incredible - and at times dense - breakdown of the game and its recent history). One thing I now understand is that being into baseball requires the same kind of mind as any connoisseur - whether art, films, literature, wine, whatever. Because even supreme talent is still batting below .400, there’s a determination to compare and contrast who was the very best, which extends beyond individual players and into the individual players' extensive stats. Pull up the stat acronyms for a pitcher and discover figures beyond your imagining. Every single accomplishment, error, or impact on the game is measured, quantified, and used to try and put together the best teams possible. As Moneyball demonstrated, each player has a position within that spectrum, balanced between how much they prevent runs and how many they gain. It is here where it gets interesting, as I truly believe that anyone with a fascination in role playing games such as Dungeons and Dragons or Warhammer - who might resent baseball, observing it as a stupid boring sport; something that the “bros” watch - would actually enjoy the game if they understood it. Baseball is a battle and the players are soldiers - each with the most detailed grade of skills possible to score and prevent as much as possible. The same goes for the flip side, with Sabermetric and Stat Geeks who might have no interest in either physical or video game RPGs, but might develop an interest when learning about the statistical strategy. Nevertheless, I would argue that it’s more impressive deal that the RPG gamers don’t like baseball, as it’s a live example of what they love to imagine. If D&D battles came to life, people would want to watch them. This is what baseball is providing, but with less fantastical elements (though that’s also debatable given the fantasy league). At the end of the day it’s all up to chance - whether the role of the dice, or the unknown unknowns of the professional game. Continued with Part 2... BELOW: Put some snot on that spitball Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on our contact page |
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