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Jack Crow (James Woods, apparently attempting to channel Arnold Schwarzenegger) is a bad-ass vampire exterminator who works for the Catholic Church, rooting out “masters” and “goons” in the American southwest. He’s got a major chip on his shoulder when it comes to vampires, ’cause the bloodsuckers got his parents when he was just a kid.
In Gods and Monsters, movie director James Whale (Sir Ian McKellan, in a brilliant performance) talks about how the movies he was best known for — Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstein — were comedies about death in which the humor was subtle enough so as not to ruin it for people not in on the joke. Much the same could be said for Gods and Monsters.
It comes as a bit of a shock to be reminded that, after so many years of movies the likes of Daylight and Oscar, that our man Sly got his start not only as the star of this superb movie but also as its screenwriter. This tender movie, on the surface about the most violent of sports, is really a Marty-esque romance about two lonely people reaching out to each other.
It’s ironic that the image of Jack Nicholson’s character in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest — R.P. ‘Mac’ McMurphy, in that black watch cap and grinning his devilish grin — has become a kind of visual shorthand for insanity. McMurphy isn’t insane. I’m not sure if very many of the characters surrounding him in this quietly shocking movie are, either.
Part II continues the sweeping family epic that ironically juxtaposes quintessential American values with the extremely realistic violence and criminal mentality of mobsters. The Godfather Part II, even more so than its predecessor, tells a story of immigrants in America that — minus the felonies and murders — many of us might recognize as tales our grandparents told.
The Sting is pretty universally acknowledged as one of the best films ever made. From the flawless performances all round to the clever script, this is movie magic that approaches a kind of wizardry. Not a note is out of place — every line, every scene builds on what’s come before until it ends so breathlessly and abruptly that it leaves you astounded at its audacity. Lonnegan’s not the only one who gets conned; writer David S. Ward and director George Roy Hill sting the viewer, too. This is just about as perfect as movies come.
What would the AFA have to say about The Godfather? Francis Ford Coppola’s riveting generational saga of Sicilian mob families in New York City is steeped in themes like loyalty to family and the importance of religion, and at the same time demonstrates how dangerous too-close family ties can be.
The French Connection is Patient Zero in Hollywood’s epidemic of blood, guts, and mayhem, the Typhoid Mary that spread gunplay, car chases, and psychotic cops throughout filmdom. Like Typhoid Mary, though, The French Connection has only a mild, nonfatal case of the sickness that continues to rage through movies. This film demonstrates how smart action movies can be, and points out how dumbed down most of them have gotten.
For a movie written by Joe Eszterhas (who also wrote Showgirls, among other travesties), Telling Lies in America is a surprisingly heartfelt coming-of-age story. It’s actually Eszterhas’s own coming-of-age story (it’s semiautobiographical, anyway), and it makes a start on explaining this maddening Hollywood personality.
I could reduce the film to How Green Was My Valley meets Dead Poets Society, but that would be terribly unfair. For woven in with the simple story are subtle examinations of human desperation, perseverance, and imagination; a tender exploration of a rocky father/son relationship; complex characterizations; and wonderful performances.
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