Director: Jonathan Mostow
Writer:Jonathan Mostow and Sam Montgomery
Cinematographer: Douglas Milsome
Producer: Dino De Laurentiis and Martha De Laurentiis

by Jon Cvack

I had seen this movie close to half a dozen times growing up. I recalled the eerie first act in which a couple’s car breaks down in the middle of the desert and the wife hitches a ride with a trucker to get some help, never returning, forcing the husband to walk to town where no one had seen her. I loved the beginning, though remembered losing interest as the story carried on, tanking as they get to the barn and the mystery is unraveled. I figured I’d turn it off once I lost interest and instead discovered an incredible 90s Hitchcockian thriller that I was anxious to finish up.

The yuppie couple involves Jeff and Amy Taylor (Kurt Russell; Kathleen Quinlan), who are driving cross country in their brand new Jeep, coming from Boston and moving to San Diego, narrowly hitting an old beat up truck and later meeting the aggressive driver at a gas station. It’s here we get the first taste of Russell’s stellar performance and nuance; with his squinty eyes speaking volumes as he provides a fine balance between passive with the slightest hint of underlying aggression. I had forgotten where this character goes, and knowing it would only evolve, it was fascinating to see Russell’s impatience and obsession take over.

As with any good screenplay, it’s the seemingly insignificant details that all add up in near perfect order. After the confrontation, Amy shows off some of the junk food she bought at the station, particularly the donuts which are offering a giveaway of either $90,000 or 90,000 donuts (before even getting anywhere, this seems like a grossly disproportionate prize, as they should have at least offered 90,000 donut packs as otherwise they’re worth pennies on the dollar).

Jeff mentions selling the donuts for thirty cents each to pay off the car. Meaning it’s worth about $27,000. He then says something about the poor state of their finances and we learn that while the couple is comfortable, they have very little in liquid assets - as it’s all tied up in the car and likely the home they’re moving to. Like the donuts, this becomes a seemingly minor detail that becomes important as we piece together the story, which I didn’t at all notice the last time I watched this, and wouldn’t have understood growing up watching it. The Jeep then starts to putter then stall, forcing them to pull to the side of the road.

Jeff and Amy can’t understand the problem, as it’s a brand new car. Being in the middle of the desert and unsure of what to do, a semi-truck comes roaring down the highway, driven by Warren “Red” Barr (J. T. Walsh), who has one of the purest bad guy faces that has ever brazed the screen (unfortunately I learned he died only a year later of a heart attack at the age of 54). It’s with that face that his polite offer to drive Amy back to town sits so uneasy. Amy takes off and Jeff waits, hanging by the car for hours until finally checking the engine again, discovering that someone removed all of the electrical wiring. He hooks it back up and heads to town where we get one of my favorite types of scenes - The Person Entering the Diner Looking for Someone (seen in Back to the Future ('85) or The Killers ('46), for instance). We meet Jack McGee in an awesome role as the bartender, who declares that he hasn’t seen anybody, leaving me wondering long after whether or not he had anything to do with the situation, possibly getting a kickback, or if he just hated yuppies.

With no avenues left, Jeff leaves, soon coming across Earl once again, forcing him off the road and providing us our first taste of Savage Jeff. The Sheriff then arrives, played by Rex Linn and offering yet another amazing supporting performance. And in the film’s best scene, close to up there with any Hitchcock film, we watch as Earl pretends he’s never he’s never seen Jeff before and Jeff then Breaks Down (get it? I actually think this is a smart and clever title), demanding the Sheriff search the truck. He does and looks to the rear cabin and back of the truck, which holds nothing but a few boxes. 

It raises such simple and juicy questions - what happened to the wife, and why doesn’t Earl know who Jeff is? Is this in Jeff’s head? Is it a supernatural element? Is Earl a twin? I can’t remember what I initially thought when first watching this, but as a kid, I know I had an uncanny type of feel, as though there was something beyond any of that; maybe involving the entire town. It’s a question that so few films have answered well (Joy Ride ('01), most of Hitchcock, pre-mid millennium de Palma, etc.) and so many have failed at (Identity ('03) being the most tragic for how great the movie was until the explanation). I believe it’s this that made me have a different experience, for as a kid I couldn’t understand the nuanced motives, hoping for a better answer, and now accepting that it’s much more about the journey, as the ending is far from the greatest, but relatively high on the scale of satisfaction.

Jeff returns to the diner, again asking about his wife, demanding the bartender turn over the receipts so he can check the work when the bartender pulls a gun on him, forcing Jeff out where he meets a seemingly impaired young man, Billy (Jack Noseworthy) who asks if he’s looking for his wife, saying he knows the men who took her and that the police are in on it. Jeff drives off, turning down the wrong road that leads to a dead end, giving the feel of an inescapable town - an idea that Identity would explore half a decade later and be unable to resolve. Breakdown makes the idea work by avoiding any need for truth. The extraordinary journey could be just as much an experience or vision of hell (perhaps for living a selfish life), as it is true life. Earl’s pickup truck appears and he takes out his rifle, ready to kill. With nowhere to go, Jeff rolls over the hill and speeds down toward a roaring river, hoping to jump it and landing right in the middle of the current, taking on water and escaping, hiding in the woods until Billy bludgeons him in the head and he falls, waking up with Billy, Earl, and Red all standing above, with Red demanding Jeff to get all the money that his wife said she had - $90,000. Jeff pieces together the puzzle and heads down to the bank. This is a big detail that I had completely failed to comprehend as a kid, figuring he had the money and simply faked how much he took out (which is pretty cynical way to for a kid to remember something, if I did). Jeff has only about $9,000 in his bank account, and that’s with maxing out his credit card. That is, the $90,000 was the way for his wife to send confirmation that he was alive (something Jeff doubted up until that point).

Continue to Part 2...

BELOW: Gotta love unnecessarily elaborate 90s action scenes 

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Director: Mark Sandrich
Writer: Allan Scott, Dwight Taylor, Ben Holmes, Ralph Spence, Károly Nóti
Cinematographer: David Abel
Producer: Pandro S. Berman

by Jon Cvack


This is the first of ten musicals from Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers that I’ve seen, and while I wish I had more to say, it was this complete lack of thoughts that made me realize how disappointing the film is. The first musical I had seen from Astaire was The Band Wagon (1953), which was a smart, mildly meta narrative that deconstructed theater, film noir, and theater, combining tropes and conventions at a volume that would never be seen again until the 90s. It’s rare for such a popular film to fall so flat with me; where I can at least appreciate what it did for the genre or its position in history. Unfortunately it failed the DVD Clock Test, where I kept on glancing over to see how much longer I had to go.

Top Hat involves American performer Jerry Tavern (Fred Astaire) who arrives in London to star in a show produced by the neurotic Horace Hardwick (Edward Everett Horton; in a role that makes you realize how long this character type has existed). While Jerry is practicing in his hotel room, he wakes up aspiring dancer Dale Tremont (Ginger Rogers), forcing her to head to his room and complain where she mistakes him for Horace the Producer, hoping to get a role in a show. Jerry falls in love with Dale, following her to Venice where they meet Dale’s friend and Horace’s wife Madge (Helen Broderick). With Dale still thinking Jerry is Horace, Jerry proposes to Dale, enraging her and so begins the famous rom-com formula that extends for an hour with minimal laughs and a lot of song and dance numbers.

Having just watched The Love Parade (1929) and learning that it was the first to integrate song numbers into a narrative - at times awkwardly - it’s no surprise that a movie made only six years later would experience the same gawkiness. The story and how it transpires simply doesn’t warrant an 95 minute runtime, and the numbers aren’t extravagant enough to completely distract. Even the classic “Cheek to Cheek”, while by far the best scene of the movie, caused me to wonder what movie incorporated this song in a creepy way (it was The Green Mile ('99)). When the movie ended I was left with that empty feeling that just-okay movies provide - with no resentment or joy to be felt. It was a cinematic experience where I’ll soon forget most of the details and avoid returning to for decades. Maybe I’ll like it the second time.

BELOW: Astair/Rogers' most famous number

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​

 Director: Pablo Larraín
Writer: Noah Oppenheim
Cinematographer: Stéphane Fontaine
Producer:  Juan de Dios Larraín, Darren Aronofsky, Mickey Liddell, Scott Franklin, and Ari Handel

by Jon Cvack

I’ve been anxious to check out Jackie since discovering it was directed by Pablo Larraín, who made No (2012) four years earlier; another historical drama in which an ad man gets involved on the 1988 Chilean plebiscite, deciding whether or not dictator Augusto Pinochet should stay in power for another eight years. While the story itself was engaging enough, it was the photography that etched the film into memory, shot entirely on old video news cameras that made it look as though I was watching a film that was shot during the period.

Jackie is shot with comparable complement, utilizing Super 16mm film to match the actual footage from the period, along with breathtaking set design from Jean Rabasse that looked like they somehow gained access to the actual White House and all its amenities. The film takes place from the moment JFK was shot, all the way up through one of the first interviews Jacqueline Kennedy (Natalie Portman) gave about the horrific event, including the physical transition from Kennedy’s administration and into LBJ’s; providing an intimate look into Jacqueline’s determination to handle the situation as best she could.

From the interview, the story begins with Jacqueline on the plane, covered in blood, as LBJ (John Carroll Lynch) is being sworn in. John Carroll has large boots to fill after both Bryan Cranston in HBO's All the Way and particularly Michael Gambon’s brilliant performance in HBO's other LBJ bio-pic Path to War (from my count, LBJ has been portrayed in five films, as of 2019). However, counter to those films, we receive a more superficial look at the man who unfortunately is portrayed as at least mildly excited for the position, offering little in the way of empathy for the Kennedy’s grief. 

The film moves on to follow Jacqueline as she works with Bob Kennedy (Peter Sarsgaard) to make the funeral arrangements, with Jacqueline determined to provide her husband the grandest procession the country has ever seen, going so far as to have an assistant research Lincoln’s funeral, which included Heads of State from the world over, all led by horse drawn hearse down the eight blocks to Arlington Cemetery. Though when Lee Harvey Oswald is suddenly assassinated, the LBJ administration cautions her about security, advising against the Kennedy’s walking such a relatively long distance. We watch as Jackie drifts between melancholy and madness, seemingly incapable of making a decision without second guessing herself and forcing everyone to change the plans.

What the film does so well is take an objective look at the woman and what it means to be a Kennedy. As I’ve mentioned before - most recently in Street Fight (2005) - what I find most interesting about politicians, and especially the presidency, is the expansive ego it demands; in which the candidate has to believe that they are the one who can lead an entire nation against the vast challenges it faces. In the modern era, and matters of seniority aside, a person is not often chosen to be president so much as possesses the faith they could be. Working in entertainment where egos run sky high - and for things which do not matter in any comparable way - I have trouble grasping the idea of someone thinking they can guide the country in the correct direction; that their ideas are the ones the people should vote for. 

Given the increasingly expensive cost to run, it often demands that the individual comes from wealth; with only a fraction having come from more modest means (I highly recommend reading McCullough’s "Truman" to gain insight into a modern example of how things use to be). The Kennedy wealth, stemming from Joseph P. Kenny, Sr., came from banking and investments, some originating in bootlegging and others arguing insider trading (back when the SEC, in its lenient stage, was far more lenient). Currently, there’s yet another Kennedy serving in congress - 36 year old Joe Kennedy III, who’s allegedly inherited between $15-55 million. While I agree with much of the man’s politics, there’s something I find gross about the Kennedy dynasty; the way I find both the Bush and burgeoning Clinton dynasties gross. In a country that was founded on the principle of all people being created equal, families of this sort, with their vast wealth and name recognition, make it increasingly difficult for the average person to reach higher office.

​Continue to Part 2...

BELOW: Probably one of the top ten accents ever designed

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Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Writer: Mark Boal
Cinematographer: Barry Ackroyd
​Producer:  Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Matthew Budman, Megan Ellison, Colin Wilson

by Jon Cvack

Continued from Part 1...

As terrifying as Platoon’s Mai Lai portrayal was, it didn’t go on for the majority of the film; it was a scene within a larger film, which I think could have benefited Detroit. The more appropriate portrayal would have focused on the shocking trial, where even with nearly half a dozen witnesses, mostly black, testifying to what happened, the officers were found not-guilty and simply relieved of duty.

In the end, we hear that the filmmakers don’t know what actually happened that night, relying solely on the surviving participants. Unfortunately, having sprinted through the trial and its proceeding, I couldn’t help but take this fact and wonder what else was left out. We see how the witnesses’ individual histories and unrelated character impacted the trial, but with the absence of hard facts, I was left wanting more from both sides. What was the officer’s defense? What was the strategy? How did the media respond? How did the community respond? Countless questions began popping up, leaving me to think that this story would have been much better served by abandoning the extended torture and murder of those involved and toward what happened with the trial and what it all meant. The movie might have been better and less effectively titled The Algiers Motel than Detroit, as I was hoping to see more of all the events that occurred; the injustices throughout the city and the way the politics played a role between the governor, mayor, community leaders, National Guard, and police; allowing us a well-rounded view into these tragic days.

I was left depressed in the end; in a way that I don’t think is needed right now. The black community and those on the left don’t need to see such grotesque actions in a film in this era; they see them every month, if not more; with officers often excused with equally similar slaps on the wrist. To see that this has been going on since 1967 and essentially for all of time, often in much worse terms, doesn’t add much to the conversation. Seeing how the system worked and the ways in which it was used to favor officers against the black community is something that would have provided value. And thus the film seems relevant solely for conservatives, who refuse to see a problem, and yet would very likely take issue with the closing statement regarding the facts. And if not for a political audience, I’m not sure who this is for, as even someone removed from current affairs would likely have a hard time watching this.

It’s a very well made film, telling a story that’s better to exist than left unexplored. All problems with focus aside, it contains some of the finest performances from an ensemble cast in years. One of the strongest performances from Will Poulter, who masterfully conveys the sheer hate, bigotry, and blatant disregard for the law in order to maintain his white supremacy, all without the slightest degree of empathy. He’s one of the most vile characters I’ve seen graze the screen this decade. To show the world what the dregs of humanity actually look like - that it stands to infect anyone from any race, should power and opportunity present itself - that is what’s most terrifying to see. Just as most have no clue what would possibly cause them to set fire to their own community, we also don’t know where or when evil will infect humanity.

BELOW: Truly one of the most vile characters of the decade

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​

Director: Kathryn Bigelow
Writer: Mark Boal
Cinematographer: Barry Ackroyd
​Producer:  Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Matthew Budman, Megan Ellison, Colin Wilson

by Jon Cvack

The film opens up at a party, shot in a handheld style that I truly wish could be retired for all big budget dramatic stories (military films excluded), containing bumpy camera work and tiny snap zooms that is ugly to watch and completely unnecessary; sacrificing creative camera work in order to achieve a realistic style that has been long played out. It was distracting enough for me to dread the near two and a half hour running, wondering what to expect.

Well, I was completely wrong, and while the opening scene did little to capture the essence of 1967, the rest of the films looks and feels as though it was shot during the period, intercutting footage from the era, and often leaving you wondering what was Bigelow's footage and what was actual. Having no understanding of the history, we see that the state brought in tanks, with the black community destroying and looting property, setting much of the town on fire.

I often hear ignorant criticism from white people who wonder why people would want to burn down their neighborhood. It’s an inherently racist statement, indicating that - as white people  - they would never do it to their neighborhood. The refute, which I was glad to see included, is to reframe the question - in that how bad things must have to get for you to burn down and destroy your neighborhood? Things had become so desperate, particularly with relationship to the police and their responsibility to protect the neighborhood, that the community was willing to do whatever necessary, and then watch how much more extreme the animosity would become (Trump's presidency and his supporters could likely understand this point, metaphorically speaking).

Days later, we meet the young and very punchable faced Detroit Officer Philip Krauss (Will Poulter) who while patrolling the shoots a black looter that’s running away, who crawls underneath a truck to hide. Krauss is interrogated by an aboveboard internal affairs detective - he’s going to file a case of murder against Krauss.*

Nevertheless, until convicted, Krauss is free to continue roaming the streets. Rarely have I so hated a character based solely on their looks, which when combined with a devastating performance by Poulter, provides one of the most despicable characters since Anton Chigurh. He heads out with his other two partners and night begins to falls.

We then turn to pop black boy band The Dramatics, who are about to play to at a packed music hall where record producers are checking out the talent. The group is led by Larry Reed (Algee Smith) and his friend Fred Temple (Jacob Latimore), convinced that the night will provide their big break. We remember that this is Motown’s heyday, where amidst all the incredible songs, there were riots outside the door - in this case literally, and the show is shut down. Larry and Fred decide to walk back to the hotel and we see a world that looks like the apocalypse, with police everywhere, lining up dozens of black citizens, and others throwing rocks through the bus windows. They manage to navigate through the riot police, getting back to their motel at The Algiers. Regardless of the riots, the place is bumping, with people drinking and hanging in the pool.

We meet Julie Ann (Hannah Murray) and Karen (Kaitlyn Dever) as two white girls wearing dresses, and it’s here that Bigelow’s talents shined, as this would have been so easy to overlook the additional layer of sexism occurring during the period and yet she combines the two with taste and perfection. It’s tough for me to admit, but after seeing situations like this across hundreds year of cinema, I assumed the two girls were prostitutes and I’m comfortable assuming I’m not alone. And I believe that was the point. Bigelow wanted to play with our expectations, to unravel our assumptions and stereotypes and make us feel guilty in the process. 

Turns out they're friends with some of the other men in the house, and while open with their sexuality, they're portrayed as comfortable with their bodies and fully aware of who they are. The girls introduce Fred and Larry to Carl Cooper (Jason Mitchell) and Aubrey Pollard (Gbenga Akinnagbe; in a great role; hoping to see more from him) as they pass around a joint, with Julie making out with Larry, as Carl and Aubrey talk politics and what the situation means. In a brilliant scene we see Aubrey and Carl put on an act, culminating in Aubrey pulling out a pistol, pretending to shoot Carl who plays dead. Aubrey declares the best trick is to shoot out the window, scaring the police into thinking it’s a sniper. Against everyone’s recommendation, he fires away, discovering the gun loaded and alarming the police who return fire, soon discovering the source and entering into the house.

I can’t remember the last film that offered such a realistic immersion into another time, as often period pieces will rely on far more extravagant photography and style. As much as I hated the handheld style, like subtitles, you quickly get use to it, and the story takes over. It felt as though Bigelow had time traveled with a production crew, and like journalists, snuck into the heart of the ‘67 Detroit riots. Unfortunately, not knowing that this was based on a very specific story, the film then went inside the Algiers house, and all of that was abandoned, focusing on a terrifying and almost unbearably uncomfortable scene from recent American history.

I had seen many of the political blogs attack the film, and in an age where it’s nearly impossible to make a film without offending some group or individual (recently a co-worker said she was boycotting Get Out because she was in an interracial relationship; I didn’t want to start the debate). Without having read the details of these blogs, I do see where their overall point. The scene that follows involves Officer Krauss and his crew of crooked officers as they torture the black men and two white girls in order to find out where the gun is - refusing to accept that there is no gun. Similar to the opening scene, Krauss shoots and kills Aubrey point blank in the back, tossing a knife down next to him to make it seem like he was under threat.

Amidst the chaos, the body’s discovered by security guard Melvin Demukes (John Boyega), who’s accused of being an Uncle Tom, willing to suck up to the white Guardsmen and Officers in order to avoid any mishaps, in addition to offering a little extra protection to the store he’s protecting. The action at Algiers causes him to abandon his post and check out the situation, discovering Aubrey’s body and being entrusted to accomodate the officer’s interrogation tactic of taking each suspect one by one into a private room and pretending to assassinate them; hoping one of the other suspects would eventually provide the information.

The scene is full of yelling and crying and such abhorrent injustice, all dragging on for what has to be a least forty-five minutes, soon making me realize that this film is not about “Detroit” at all, but rather this specific event that would go on to make national headlines. Similar to Platoon’s and the Mai Lai massacre of the innocent and unarmed civilians, this film enrages you over the gross injustice taking place; especially as guardsmen and other officers (even one of the police Lieutenants who arrives and leaves) enter into the scene, saying nothing, not wanting to cause any problems for their fellow men in blue.

It’s a terrible and tragic moment, and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about Haneke’s criticism over Schindler’s List in creating entertainment out of the holocaust. While I disagree with attacks against Spielberg, a film like this does float a similar question. I was watching this film in a high luxury AMC theater with reclining sofa chairs, and the fact that some people might make money off this film left me feeling uneasy. Later digging into the criticism from other sources, the writers too took issue with essentially showing black men be tortured and killed for two and a half hours. Personally, I thought that this situation was far too much and veered toward bad taste.

*In writing this that I realize this was never raised in the court case, leaving me wondering what ever happened to this pending offense.

Continued to Part 2...

BELOW: Great scene of both politics and tension

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