Reviews

I liked half of "Mash" & even much less of this film. First, simply as a viewing experience: the cinematography is relentlessly muddy (I guess to simulate a sepia, "ye old" look), & the sound is even more muddy (my wife suggested we turn on closed-captioning). The plot, too, is muddy. And the overlapping dialogue, hampered by the crappy sound, made this almost impossible to follow. Julie Christie was nominated for best __actress__?? It's a sketchy supporting role at best. The concluding scenes are beautifully shot (outside, in the midst of a snow storm), but this is an agonizing film to watch!

I watched this because of the indie hype it received.... What a bomb! Oddly enough, it reminded me of "The Devil Wears Prada," which, in comparison, is so much better than this! At least, in "Prada," we see a developing arc in Andy's character--from condescension to mania to dismissal. In this flick, the "assistant" is disgruntled & jaded from her pre-dawn start to her day to the very end. Her character remains static like an EKG flatline from beginning to end. And what should have been a dramatic clincher in the film--her confession to Human Resources about her boss--ends up being (justifiably) hearsay, thereby muting the very real toxic environment that her character is supposed to be revealing! In being so disappointing, it became also very annoying.

Just saw this, on my wife's recommendation, from (producer) Stephen Colbert's recommendation. Ack! Why couldn't this guy stick to card tricks??

This guy does indeed have a hypnotic presence on his audience, starting with his Russian roulette bit, on to his schtick involving his gay mother, to audience members reading letters (written just for them!), to the utterly bogus last routine--wherein he informs each & EVERY person who picked cards at the beginning of the show, which all start with "I am...," an architect, a brother, a mother, a leader, & on & on. Bill Gates, in attendance, is pronounced by our psychotherapist/magician as "a leader." At this end point in the program, the hypnotized audience would have nodded in agreement to anything that this guy said. (Surprisingly, no one admitted that their "mother is a fish"--with kudos to Faulkner.) Yes, it's quite mesmerizing, but it seems so much like mass manipulation. Stephen: you should go to confession for blessing this!

I watched this off Netflix primarily because of pretty decent reviews. I am speechless, however, as to how anybody could find anything of any value about it. Let me count the ways: 1) The pacing is absolutely leaden. I felt this after the first five minutes. (Oh, now I see why this is 2 hrs. 39 minutes.) I couldn't last past the first hour or so (knowing that another 90 minutes remained), after watching ennnndless scenes of nothing happening except Mel & Vince sleeping through ennnndless stakeouts where nothing happens, 2) The screenplay is totally, comprehensively tone-deaf. Waaay-too much fake dialogue (such as Mel & Vince's anti-PC chat with boss Don Johnson), and everyone divvying-up the fictitious "Bulwark" into the "financial district," the "school district," & "I don't know this part of town" (Vince). What, is Bulwark an expansive city like LA? And does any city or town have A solitary "school district"?? 3) The ham-handed performances by the leads: I don't know how Mel & Vince could speak their lines with such deep-seated conviction, when all they were spouting was utter gibberish (in terms of how human beings actually speak).

I kept saying to my wife, while watching this, "Okay, I'll give it ten more minutes....okay, five more minutes.... Okay, if nothing happens after this seemingly tense scene, then...." Finito. This has got to be one of the worst flicks I've ever seen....

The premise is pretty obvious (earthy-crunchy Selma vs. rich white pigs), but the movie actually descends from there to its pathetic, pat conclusion. Selma Hayek is earnest in her role, but the part, as written, makes her a symbol rather than a living, breathing character. John Lithgow steals the show, as the Trump-like snake-oil real-estate developer, as he is perfectly spot-on in the film. Lithgow can be quite a hammy bad guy (eg., "Cliffhanger," bad accent & all), but here he is obviously the heavy, though also a human being, unlike Beatriz. The conclusion gives us an obviously out-of-reality experience, as Beatriz follows the protagonist of Kate Chopin's "The Awakening" (1899), in taking that long swim at the end. I'm FULLY sympathetic with the filmmakers' intentions, but this is so heavy-handed & totally manipulative, that I think it ranks up there with "The Day After Tomorrow" (i.e., "Two Days Later") as a well-intentioned but profoundly flawed flick.

OMG, this movie wouldn't end! Michael Bay takes an "epic" approach to purely schlocky crap on the screen. Gee, do we need any more hackneyed stereotypes of Southerners? (Don't worry, I'd rather slit my wrists than live under the Mason-Dixon line!) However, this turd revels in perpetuating stereotypes of "woiking-class" types from down South that even a Thomas Dixon would object to. Oh, and let's spice things up in the endless lull of drilling into the asteroid by having Paris wiped out. NYC doesn't look like NYC (gee, are there subway stations for 53rd & 58th streets?? A native New Yorker, I didn't know about them!), & of course it doesn't matter what Paris looks like, since it's all conveniently wiped out. Blecch!

What drew me to this movie is purely personal: every year my family goes to midcoast Maine for a week, during which we take a day trip to Monhegan Island, so I thought this flick was a great find. On showcasing Monhegan, it didn't disappoint: the cliff walks, the wrecked ship on the surf, the snug homes & trails inland--it's all there. But happily the film didn't disappoint on the plot level; in fact it seems to be quite relevant for the Trumpian times we now live in. Treat Williams does a nice job as the beleaguered & fatigued congressman. The attacks on his supposedly unpatriotic actions may have come across as hyberbolic in an earlier age, but sadly not so now. So: it works as a postcard for Monhegan as well as a thought-provoking political message.

I'm watching "S&F" on Turner tonight (8/16/11), & I don't recognize anything from the classic novel. I had seen the ending a long time ago, with Yul (Jason) & Quentin(!!!??) (Joanne) sauntering down a southern road, musing optimistically--& I thought the same then. I vaguely recall reading something that Martin Ritt wanted to help out Faulkner ($$) by adapting his early masterpiece, & I guess this was the result: absolute garbage. Even with zilch familiarity with the novel, the film "adaptation" is just a baffling mishmash; with __any__ familiarity with the novel, the film is an abomination. Thanks to Turner & anybody else who would snooze their audience to sleep, I guess we can say with a sigh of such adaptations, like Dilsey, "they endured."

This is Peter Falk's film. Period.

I was 10 years old when this film came out; I was already a film maven at the time. Of course neither my parents nor I saw this film when it came out, but I was in love with the typeface of its ads & the aura that this was An Important Film. Okay, 34 years later I've finally seen the film--having never seen any Cassavetes-directed film previously. He's a hack, overall. Zero sense of timing, editing. Gena's performance reminds me too much of Dustin Hoffman's stint in "Rain Man": technically on par but entirely one-note. As Tom Cruise stole "Rain Man," Falk takes the cake for this film.

I was annoyed with Gena's performance, really throughout--it seemed better suited for "Awakenings" (blecch!). It's not all her fault: she's a basket case from first scene to last. We never find out why?? But Falk's character seems real & is performed WONDERFULLY by Falk as a seriously flawed man.

Shave off at least an hour (an editor needed!), and this would have been an arresting portrait not of a woman under the influence but of a simple, Cro-Magnon, man coming to grips with a wife who doesn't work & yet cannot deal with her three kids & her husband's long hours of work.

I'd rather remember Cassavetes for "The Dirty Dozen" or "Rosemary's Baby." He would have been a better director had he snipped his own tendency for excess--as he amply demonstrates with this film.

Bob