I'm not in the mood for lists, at least not without detailed explanations. Oh well. Right now, anyway, I'm trying to clear through the next batch of films due to leave Netflix Instant, and it's going to be a rough journey.
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The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (Sargent)
The editing's awkward, Mr. Brown ain't much more than a Mr. Grey expy with no development, and I get the feeling that many sequences could have been compressed for time's sake. But that doesn't stop Joseph Sargent's subway thriller from speeding down the rail-line. I think much of the film's successes come from the script more so than from Sargent's direction, though. Witty dialogue (almost as impromptu as later scripts from Tarantino) and perfect performances make up for a sometimes clinical visual style, at least by the standards of contemporaries like Friedkin. What the movie excels at is selling a ridiculous premise with realistic clarity and depth of performance, allowing the viewer to focus more on outcomes and less on whether or not a subway-train ransom trip would ever happen.
Films like The Taking of Pelham One Two Three also remind me of how overlooked Walter Matthau is as an actor. He can play wise-guy connivers in stories like Charade, or perhaps a more worn-out old man like Lieutenant Garber in this flick. But both roles benefit because of his presence, and Garber has more screen presence than most of the other characters despite the snappy to-and-fro editing. Even when the mayor's up and then the police chief, and then maybe Rico in the back of the subway department, Garber becomes a protagonist based on the emotional visibility of Matthau's acting. It's quite interesting, I tell ye.
Joe Bob sez check it out!
****
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Max Dugan Returns (Herbert Ross)
There comes a time when a burgeoning cinephile decides which actors, directors, and writers he or she should follow. The decision can be as simple as watching all the movies involving so and so people, or as tricky as watching a few flicks to determine, in a nutshell, the magic that these film-making people put into each production. Sometimes, however, which personnel a film-goer gets interested in can come down to strange attraction—the feeling that, even if this person hasn't seen this actor, director, or writer in action, their filmography simply has to have some worth.
I first experienced this feeling when I encountered Harvey Keitel and the stories he participated in. It's also happening to me for a different man: Jason Robards.
His sole presence in Max Dugan Returns raises a reasonable script, seldom-complicated direction, and a mostly average supporting cast to levels otherwise unattainable. As the titular ne'er-do-well of mythic proportions, his crimes seek the background and his personality finds itself in the foreground; Max Dugan himself provides the blueprint for characters like Royal Tenenbaum, and Robards portrays him perfectly. With subtle body language and an overt interest in his philosophy career, the kind of work that gets few men anywhere in life, Max Dugan embodies the kind of father for which there is no full redemption, and who can only give in the material what he should have left in the spiritual. I'm not surprised that he silently antagonizes his estranged daughter for much of the film: he failed her, yet he knows her son Mike can still heed his words.
Throughout the story's middle, Neil Simon brilliantly captures the futility of understanding Max Dugan's backstory and his eccentric personality, which involves giving mental and monetary currency to those around him. But Robards' scene-chewing can't distract from inconsistent performances from Sutherland, Mason, and a young Matthew Broderick. The opening sequences, featuring the McPhee's constant troubles as near-poverty citizens of a swamped-out southern California, just take too long to resolve into Max Dugan's introduction. On the contrary, the third act of the film rushes past events, giving viewers little time at all to consider the philosophical implications of Max Dugan's lifestyle. I really wish Simon wrote a more even screenplay for Max Dugan's story, considering how interesting the concept is at first sight.
Max Dugan Returns mainly suffers from poor execution of story structure, but it also veers into comedic brick-walls at times too. Many moments in the movie reek of humor, but other sequences either fail to achieve high precedents or fall apart completely. Perhaps, though, the film's complacency mirrors the main character's. He rides high on gliding crescendos of music, like Jacques Tati; he gives off the impression of wise living, even if he doesn't truly adhere to Wittgenstein's tenets; ultimately, he's afraid to reveal himself to others, expecting people like Nora and Bryant to do the hard work themselves. I struggled past a sluggish opening and overcompensating finale to find the quality in Max Dugan Returns, and what I see now is an intruiging character study, and one more reason to let instinct guide me towards other great actors like Jason Robards.
Joe Bob sez check it out!
***
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Swingers (Liman)
Nostalgia's a powerful thing, and this film's full of it. It doesn't just deal with exterior stuff like the post-modern culture worshipped by Trent and the rest, but also with underlying issues of attraction and an inability to communicate in a poseur culture. Honestly, though, this movie's so money and it doesn't even know it. Liman's direction alternates between heavily staged and gorilla guerrilla, and the cast pretty much sells the entire story standalone. Favreau made the best choice possible in attaching an archetypal set-up to an otherwise dated setting: the retro revival happening down West.
Joe Bob sez check it out!
****