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Reviews
Sweethearts (1997)
It's All About Janeane
By all rites, this movie should have been crap. Low budget, questionable production values, B-Movie trailers on the video tape, etc.
A well developed script delivered by superb actors bootstrapped this movie out of its own mediocrity into something truly substantial. So nice to see a film about manic depression that doesn't sensationalise the disease, shy away from its realities, its highs and lows, and doesn't throw itself a pity party.
And then of course there's Janeane Garofalo as lead and film producer who, I imagine, could *sneeze* brilliantly if she wanted to.
Plump Fiction (1997)
Plus, there's Sandra
All films should begin with an opening monologue by Sandra Bernhard. It's so hard to fail after the inimitable Sandra sets the mood. Parody such as Plump Fiction can either soar or fail miserably. I was pleasantly surprised to see PF in the former category. A clever script, an excellent cast, and a ubiquitous tongue in cheek kept this little underground gem glittering. Particularly memorable components were: well, the inclusion of Julie Brown, which is always a good thing; a brilliant and unexpected cameo by Jodie Foster's "Nell"; and the show-stealer was a brilliant send-up of Juliette Lewis's white trash Natural Born Killers heroine.
And then there's Sandra, of course.
Smile (1975)
Beauty's slimy underbelly
So rarely do we find such a dark and acidic commentary filmed in such an exquisitely light fashion. "American Beauty" is an example of success in this genre, but the relatively obscure "Smile" reigns supreme.
It lays bare all the emptiness and hypocrisy of suburban America relentlessly and without mercy, and yet somehow manages to keep itself funny and bright and rarely deals with its subject matter with an overt contempt or scorn.
"Agent 99" Barbara Feldon is superb as the veneer ice-queen teen beauty pageant coordinator -- all diplomacy and smiles glossing over a charred and empty soul. (She greets the dog with smiles and kisses then ignores the husband.) Likewise, Bruce Dern portrays his vapid community leader role with perfect candor, and it becomes delicious to see him question what he perceived as the status quo.
A truly classic and trail-blazing film, well directed and edited and brilliantly written and acted. Such a shame it remains so obscure and unknown. This is one of my top five favourite films and becomes richer and more intricate with each viewing.
And I will never hear Nat King Cole sing the title song again and not picture the strained and pained perma-grins as the opening shot pans across the hopeful beauty contestants.
Smithereens (1982)
Nu-Wav "Documentary"
There's something about black and white checkered miniskirts in 1982 that sums up an entire era.
"Smithereens" documents a brief history of an archetype that many are familiar with: the Hip Urban Street Punk on a Path to Nowhere.
What makes this film superb is that it treats the subject with a frank honesty rarely seen in such a genre. No happy endings, convoluted plot points or moral judgments are imposed upon Wren as she bumbles about New York trying to make her way.
She is neither likable nor despicable. Belonging to no demographic, she creates her own. She has vague desires, but no goals. And as such an aimless character, the film's closing shot is quite perfect.
"Smithereens" is an engaging, refreshingly stark 'documentary' that does not gloss over its themes with the glitz and glitter otherwise prevalent in the early 80's. It successfully encapsulates a time and a lifestyle rarely portrayed correctly, except maybe in "Sid & Nancy".
Looking for Mr. Goodbar (1977)
Keaton brings her character into vivid life.
Mr. Goodbar is a brilliant odyssey tracking the personal evolution of a slightly mousy, yet viciously emergent young woman. Diane Keaton brings such remarkable development to her character -- it's hard to believe this movie was shot in the same chronological timeframe as Annie Hall. Personally, I had no idea she was that versatile an actor.
The film stands alone from the book, which is a rare feat. If one can overlook the dated clothes, dated music, and ridiculous mid-70's hair, the story is still somehow relevant to this age as it was then -- a remarkable thing considering the standard of cheesey slapdash movies thrown together around the same era. The pacing and editing of Mr. Goodbar was years ahead of its time, and keeps the story moving along briskly, yet coherently, and inspires a sense of acute anticipation most effectively.
There are many memorable scenes and stills from this movie. (The opening montage of B&W stills over the choppily truncated soundtrack sets the mood perfectly.) One image that sticks in my mind is when Keaton has first moved into her own apartment and is sitting on her mattress on the warehouse floor, gazing about, a look of perfect contentedness as she soaks in her very own domain for the first time. We have all had that moment. And after a minute of this, she becomes restless and bored. This moment of boredom usually occurs after some months in 'real time', and I feel the scene summed up the first few months of her new apartment effectively and succinctly in a 20 second, wordless scene.
Realism is the film's strongest point, and as such, I found I was actually shocked and disturbed by an ending that I didn't foresee. Shocked and disturbed, and I consider myself a jaded moviegoer.
If you somehow missed this film in the last 25 years, now would be as good a time as ever to finally see it. I'll give it $$$$ out of 5 in the Money Shot scale>
200 Cigarettes (1999)
You Know Them All
Everyone seems so grumpy about this film! C'mon, it's just doing what you've been wanting to do for years. Envy is so unbecoming.
Admit it. You've always meant to take all your friends, cook them down to provide enough essential oil to include each of them as a character in a vignette, toss them all into a conglomerate situation and see where they go. 200 Cigs accomplishes this goal with effortless ease. The archetypal characters can still be found wandering the East Village today.
And if you've ever spent a night bumbling around the lower east side, trying to get somewhere, but getting caught in the mire of the late night social whirlwind that simply *is* Manhattan dahlink, you'll recognize the look and feel of this film as well. It is captured with alarming verisimilitude. It's quite amazing how little things change. Except today, Stephy's fear of Ave. B would be bumped up to D.
And, okay, it bears mentioning -- the soundtrack nails down 1981 flawlessly. Buzzcocks? Kool & the Gang? Bow Wow Wow? B Movie? Go-Go's? Grace Jones? Courtney Love singing along wistfully with the Ice Castles theme? And the most brilliant band to feature, Blue Angel -- Cyndi Lauper's pre-Lauper band. The only band they missed was the B-52's.
I watched this movie on a Friday night before I went out. I was feeling tired and done with the day and would have preferred to stay home. 200 Cigs so perfectly captured the fabulousness of being out on the town, that I caught the fevah, bay-bee, put on my glitter clothes and made some splashes. I was inspired.
$$$$1/2 out of 5 in the "Money Shot" scale.
What's the Matter with Helen? (1971)
What's the matter with Shelly, anyway?
Everyone loves to hate Shelly Winters. In the late 60's/early 70's, she was such a fantastic abomination. Barring 'Towering Inferno', this is her worst yet. She frumps out in 12 directions as once as the put-upon, mentally unstable sidekick to Debbie Reynold's kicky, trashy, B-Movie-Greta-Garbo impersonation.
The whole thing lacks production value in any form, yet is presented so earnestly and 'seriously' by Reynolds and Winters that your pity for their careers is heightened with every plot point.
The movie is worth watching if only for the final shot of Shelly's face as she bangs out "Goody Goody" on the piano--the only song she seems to know--and, well, I won't give any more away. Would hate to ruin the 'twists'. Yah right...
"Helen" is a laugh-at, not laugh-with movie, but hey, at least you're laughing. I can't say whether that was the intended emotion, but there it is.
The only element truly worthy of legitimate praise is the brilliant casting of Agnes Moorehead (Endora, we mourn your absence!) as, get this, the stern, unforgiving-yet-overly-forgiving evangelist. One particular shot of her grumpy, accusing stare is worthy of a poster.
Who told Debbie Reynolds she was allowed to tap dance anyway? --M.D.D.