Maybe not the great train robbery but a pretty good one.
Michael Crighton is not an artist but he's a fine storyteller. Often his films are better than his novels. But everything comes together in this one -- script, score, direction, photography, and performances. How does someone like Leslie Anne Down come to look so droopy-eyed and lovely? And how come Sean Connery looks so good and so sexy as he ages? (A criminal act, if you ask me.) Donald Southerland is the epitome of an 1855 criminal rogue. Goldsmith's score is lively and reminiscent of Prokoviev's Lieutenant Kije.
The whole enterprise is witty, well thought out, and engrossing. There's an excruciating byplay between Connery and the younger wife of an old banker. They are having tea al fresco watching the workmen build an "ancient" water wheel out of old parts. Neither of them cracks a smile as they talk about how the parts are bolted tightly together instead of screwed, how the joints must be tightly fitted ("so rare," remarks the lady), and how America is "a land of many prominent erections." Connery probably has the best lines. One of them is keen. His girl friend, Downe, demands of him, "Do you ever tell the truth?" He smirks slightly and answers, "No." I'm uncertain about whether to explain exactly why this exchange is so funny because I don't want to insult anyone who already knows. But for any kids who may be reading, this exchange of lines constitutes a "logical paradox." If you are asked if you ever tell the truth and you deny it, well then you are lying in your response, which means you must be telling the truth. The answer is both true and false at the same time, as is this sentence, "This statement is false." Sorry, a little tedious, I know, but that's the sort of thing you find in this film.
The script will also give you an entertaining lesson on the life and lingo of early Victorian England. You learn what a "jack" is and what "a ratter" is and what a "crib" is. The moral calculus of the film is a little wedged, what with Connery having strangled to death a shrimpy squealcat who didn't deserve being murdered by any but "The Godfather" standards.
It's not all intrigue and planning though. The climax is filled with rip-roaring action. Crighton has said that when they were shooting the scene in which Connery is crawling along the top of the train, the coat he was holding accidentally was blown out of his hands but the actor stayed in character, turned around and retrieved it.
You won't regret catching this if you can manage it. Kind of a family movie and a nicely rendered one.
Michael Crighton is not an artist but he's a fine storyteller. Often his films are better than his novels. But everything comes together in this one -- script, score, direction, photography, and performances. How does someone like Leslie Anne Down come to look so droopy-eyed and lovely? And how come Sean Connery looks so good and so sexy as he ages? (A criminal act, if you ask me.) Donald Southerland is the epitome of an 1855 criminal rogue. Goldsmith's score is lively and reminiscent of Prokoviev's Lieutenant Kije.
The whole enterprise is witty, well thought out, and engrossing. There's an excruciating byplay between Connery and the younger wife of an old banker. They are having tea al fresco watching the workmen build an "ancient" water wheel out of old parts. Neither of them cracks a smile as they talk about how the parts are bolted tightly together instead of screwed, how the joints must be tightly fitted ("so rare," remarks the lady), and how America is "a land of many prominent erections." Connery probably has the best lines. One of them is keen. His girl friend, Downe, demands of him, "Do you ever tell the truth?" He smirks slightly and answers, "No." I'm uncertain about whether to explain exactly why this exchange is so funny because I don't want to insult anyone who already knows. But for any kids who may be reading, this exchange of lines constitutes a "logical paradox." If you are asked if you ever tell the truth and you deny it, well then you are lying in your response, which means you must be telling the truth. The answer is both true and false at the same time, as is this sentence, "This statement is false." Sorry, a little tedious, I know, but that's the sort of thing you find in this film.
The script will also give you an entertaining lesson on the life and lingo of early Victorian England. You learn what a "jack" is and what "a ratter" is and what a "crib" is. The moral calculus of the film is a little wedged, what with Connery having strangled to death a shrimpy squealcat who didn't deserve being murdered by any but "The Godfather" standards.
It's not all intrigue and planning though. The climax is filled with rip-roaring action. Crighton has said that when they were shooting the scene in which Connery is crawling along the top of the train, the coat he was holding accidentally was blown out of his hands but the actor stayed in character, turned around and retrieved it.
You won't regret catching this if you can manage it. Kind of a family movie and a nicely rendered one.