Joseph Stalin on Film: Red Monarch and Stalin (1992)

Hollywood releases seemingly hundreds of Nazi-themed dramas annually, yet serious treatments of the USSR remain scarce. During Hollywood's Red-baiting heyday, most anti-Communist films focused on espionage (The Kremlin Letter) or internal subversion (Big Jim McLain). Reagan-era flicks like Red Dawn and Firefox reduce Russians to shooting gallery targets. Even historical dramas marginalize the Bolsheviks: Nicholas and Alexandra makes Lenin a bit player in the Romanov tragedy, while Reds focuses mainly on American leftists caught in the Revolution.

Consider Joseph Stalin. Few leaders aside from Adolf Hitler inspire such universal hatred, yet outside of Russia he's received little cinematic attention. This may come from the lingering perception, perpetrated by rivals Trotsky and Bukharin, that he was an uncouth dimwit who achieved power through animal cunning. This characterization is unfair: an evil visionary is still a visionary. Stalin catapulted Russia from feudal state to modern superpower, while causing anywhere from 10-20 million deaths.

Undoubtedly so long as the USSR existed, key historical records remained unavailable to Western filmmakers. Yet the Cold War's end hasn't significantly increased the output of Soviet dramas. There's no Bolshevik Downfall dissecting Stalin's leadership, no Schindler's List treatment of the Holdomor. One exception is the Polish film Katyn (2007), depicting a wartime atrocity covered up by Stalin's Western allies. Peter Weir's The Way Back (2010) starts in a Siberian gulag but focuses on its protagonists' escape across Asia.

Alternately, some blame this on Hollywood's supposed affinity for Communism, as if the Hollywood Ten remains on the loose. Inasmuch as even the Politburo disowned Stalin 57 years ago, it's an unconvincing argument. More likely, Stalin films are a hard sell to audiences apathetic towards foreign history and radical politics. It's easy to label Marxism evil, harder to examine how a Communist state actually functions. After all, few Nazi films espouse a message deeper than "genocide is bad."

Aside from Manart Kippen's laughably benevolent Stalin in Mission to Moscow (1943) and the Russo-American The Inner Circle (1991), the most notable Western depictions of Stalin are made-for-television efforts. Neither Red Monarch or Stalin flatters its subject, but their approaches differ drastically.

Red Monarch (1983, Jack Gold)

"Why is the sky blue and what are lesbians for?"

Britain's Film4 produced our first picture, a scabrous satire of state socialism. Drawing on KGB defector Yuri Krotkov's novel, Red Monarch takes the bold step of making an historical monster monstrously funny.  

Focusing on Stalin's final years, Red Monarch becomes a portrait in absolute power. Stalin (Colin Blakely) micromanages the USSR down to miniscule details. At one point, he ponders executing Minister Molotov (Nigel Stock) after the Soviet basketball team loses to France! He releases rival Sergo (David Kelly) from a gulag, seemingly just to confide in him horrible secrets. When Sergo refuses to believe Stalin's confession, the dictator threatens to imprison him again! Like a feudal monarch, Stalin treats mass murder as a lark.

Faced with such a capricious leader, only the slimiest survive. Lavrenity Beria (David Suchet) alternates between groveling toady ("Do what you like me with me, I know nothing!"), backstabbing plotter and ceaseless skirt chaser. (Since the real Beria was a serial rapist, this last seems polite.) He grows unnerved when Stalin forces him to play an honest game of billiards. A Soviet general (Ian Hogg) spells out his code of "M for Marx, E for Engels, L for Lenin..." "Where is the 'S' for Stalin?" the dictator demands. Only Stalin's wastrel son (David Threlfall) challenges Stalin's self-image, with little success.

Director Jack Gold and writer Charles Wood excel in surreal gags. Stalin grants an interview to an American journalist (Carroll Baker) while screening propaganda films. His flunkies fumble desperately with film reels to illustrate Stalin's answers; the dictator reaches a fever pitch while My Darling Clementine plays. Later he challenges Mao Zedong (Fred Lee Own) to an arm-wrestling contest! Stalin's inner circle becomes as buffoonish as the English gentry in Wood's Charge of the Light Brigade, inflated appearances belying interior absurdity.

Colin Blakely (A Man for All Seasons) gives a superlative turn. His casting allows Gold to play up Stalin's outsider origins, albeit as an Ulsterman rather than Georgian. Blakely becomes a man relishing his arbitrary power, evincing wicked delight in his actions: he hits the right note of restrained hysteria and focused psychosis. The supporting cast does fine work, with David Suchet and David Kelly especially good, but it's Blakely's show all the way.

Good satire can illuminate truths missed by serious drama. Whether Stalin was a raving madman or a calculating monster, he dangled the fate of millions on a string. Red Monarch's bloody climax registers like a kick in the stomach: suddenly Stalin's buffoonery doesn't seem funny at all. This coda reminds us that while irrational dictators often become punchlines (Idi Amin, the Kims), they remain a national tragedy.

Stalin (1992, Ivan Passer)

An HBO production, Stalin is much more conventional. Long, solemn and portentous, it's an earnest rendering of Soviet history with famous actors impersonating the Bolshevik inner circle. Stalin's commendable in its scope and detail even if it offers little insight into its protagonist.

Stalin covers the Man of Steel's life from the Revolution through his death. Stalin (Robert Duvall) starts as a minor functionary, trusted by Lenin (Maximilian Schell) but scorned by intellectuals like Leon Trotsky (Daniel Massey) and Nikolai Bukharin (Jerone Krabbe). He's appointed General Secretary of the Politburo, allowing him to accumulate power even before Lenin's death. Stalin bests Trotsky and plunges the USSR into brutal dictatorship, mixing rapid modernization with mass repression. He also suffers strained relations with wife Nadya (Julia Ormond) and son Yakov (Ravil Isyanov).

Stalin remains an impressive production. Shortly after the USSR's dissolution, director Ivan Passer shot key scenes on authentic Russian locations: Stalin's dacha, Lenin's private apartment and the prison. The credits boast an impressive coterie of historical advisers, including biographer Robert Conquest. Passer's direction is assured and occasionally impressive, aided by Vilmos Zsigmond's expressive photography. On these levels, Stalin's hard to fault.

But Stalin still falls victim to the usual biopic hurdles. Despite a three hour length, Passer provides only terse sketches of key historical moments. Stalin's feud with Trotsky, the Five Year Plan and resultant turmoil, even the entire Second World War are treated almost parenthetically. When Stalin slows down to breathe it's compelling: the extended segment on Stalin's Great Purge is power stuff, as are scenes where Stalin humiliates his Politburo colleagues. But these moments are few and far betwen.

Hoping to explain Stalin's monstrous temperament, Passer and writer Paul Monash probe the dictator's personal life: his fractious marriages and background as a Georgian outsider. Arguably, this marks Stalin's weakest point. The domestic squabbling plays out like any "Great Man" biopic, no more enlightening with an Evil Man. These scenes do little to leaven a stiff historical pageant. It's telling how Stalin plays certain scenes almost identically to Red Monarch (say, Beria's reaction to Stalin's imminent death) with far less impact.

Robert Duvall, an extremely gifted actor, faces an unenviable task. Besides bearing little resemblance to Stalin, Duvall brings inevitable baggage: persuading a rival to kill himself to spare his family, he inevitably recalls Tom Hagen. Duvall fares better in later scenes; as Stalin settles into power, Duvall seems more comfortable inhabiting the character, overcoming his heavy makeup and dodgy accent. Still, it's a performance that's competent but unsatisfying.

The large supporting cast reduced to making impressions. Maximilian Schell and Daniel Massey (Mary Queen of Scots) provide vivid impressions but bow out early. Julia Ormond (My Week With Marilyn) brings tragic gravitas to another short-lived character. Roshan Seth (Gandhi) makes Beria memorably cruel, mocking his victims for Stalin's amusement. Frank Finlay, Jim Carter, Miriam Margoyles and Kevin McNally flesh out supporting roles.

* * *

Needless to say, neither Red Monarch or Stalin provides the definitive portrait of the Red Tsar. I admire the former's audacity and respect the latter's intentions, yet both feel inadequate. Here's hoping some filmmaker - American, British, Russian or Martian - soon gets a chance to fill the void.

Note: I will resume my tributes to certain recently-deceased stars soon. Somehow I've felt it easier to ponder genocidal Bolsheviks than the death of my favorite actor over the past two days.

Walker

"It is not every man who's offered a country of his very own!"

Alex Cox's most ambitious film, Walker (1987) is a movie like no other. This recounting of America's most notorious filibuster functions on multiple levels: satirical biopic, absurdist critique of American foreign policy, surreal art film.

In the 1850s, American adventurer William Walker (Ed Harris) leads an unsuccessful invasion of Sonora, Mexico. Walker considers retiring, but his fiancee's (Marlee Matlin) death prompts him to conquer Nicaragua for Cornelius Vanderbilt's (Peter Boyle) railroad company. Leading a polyglot band of freebooters, known as the "Immortals," Walker liberates Nicaragua, appointing himself military commander while placing a pliant puppet in the Presidency. But Walker's regime grows more repressive, turning the Nicaraguans, Vanderbilt and his own men against him. Walker still considers himself a "man of destiny," confident that faith will see him through.

Politically and artistically, Walker is remarkably subversive. Besides shooting in Daniel Ortega's Nicaragua, Cox employs a rococo aesthetic, mixing period detail with riotous anachronisms. Characters drink Coca-Cola, read Newsweek and use IBM computers in 1850s Nicaragua. The incongruities extend further: Cox scores battle scenes to lively salsa music, employing slow motion and grisly blood squibs to make Sam Peckinpah blanch. Actors perform Julius Caesar in a riot-torn city. Vanderbilt appears in extreme close-up like an Eisenstein villain, an effect undercut by flatulence.

Filibustering was a long-standing tradition until the Civil War. Possibly the most famous is Aaron Burr, who left the Vice Presidency to claim the Louisiana Purchase as a private fiefdom. Contemporary with Walker, John Fremont established California's Bear Flag Republic, Narciso Lopez invaded Cuba and Irish-American Fenians constantly raided into Canada. Aside from Fremont these men failed, but sewed chaos abroad while commanding much admiration at home.

Historian Robert E. May frames filibustering as the logical extension of "Manifest Destiny." After all, 19th Century America expelled Native Americans and conquered half of Mexico, spreading destruction and slavery alongside democracy. Walker and Co. were merely small-time players in the same market. Likewise, Cox and writer Rudy Wurlitzer depict Walker as the Id of American adventurism, much as Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo equated the Mafia with Big Business.

Appropriately, Cox sends up the absurdity of aggrandizing epics. Walker provides a narration track that incongruously glorifies his squalid actions. (Anytime his troops "liberate" a town, it's accompanied by plunder and bloodshed.) Walker and his Nicaraguan lover (Blanca Guerra) speak in different languages, yet understand each other perfectly. This neatly pastiches the absurdity of standard biopics, transmogrifying historical figures into marble models. Walker borders on cartoon, yet surely the cinematic treatment doled out to, say, Lincoln and Gandhi isn't less ridiculous?

Similarly, Cox and Wurlitzer use Walker to deconstruct the "Great Man" view of history.  Justifying his actions with abstractions about God and Democracy, yet admits he doesn't understand his own principles. He sees no incongruity between introducing slavery to Nicaragua and upholding "freedom." His grasp of military tactics consists of walking unarmed towards dumbfounded Nicaraguan troops. Ultimately Walker's campaign becomes not a political or moral crusade, but megalomania writ large.

Ed Harris gives arguably his best performance. Constantly reserved and intense, completely unironic, Harris mixes flinty determination, unlikely naivety and disturbing singlemindedness. Walker isn't so much power mad as blind to reality: he's determined to make an impact, regardless of (and oblivious to) the actual results. It's a masterful turn, humorous yet unsettling, that Harris sells beautifully.

It's Harris's show all the way, but Cox throws the supporting cast a few bones. Rene Auberjounois gets the best secondary role, as a German mercenary who holds Walker to ridicule. Bianca Guerra proves quite memorable as a Nicaraguan matron who seduces and tries to manipulate Walker. Peter Boyle sweats and farts through his scenes, a broad caricature of capitalist avarice. Marlee Maitlin gets some funny bits before bowing out early. Joe Strummer of The Clash, who also produced the soundtrack, cameos as one of Walker's men.

Walker was a colossal flop, damaging Cox's budding career. No doubt Cox's radical politics played a part in its failure, though his artistic excesses undoubtedly turned off mainstream audiences. Definitely not for all tastes, it's nonetheless a remarkable experiment.

Spaghetti Comedies: Seven Guns for the MacGregors/Life is Tough, Eh Providence?

As long as there have been Spaghetti Westerns, there have been spoofs. 1964 saw not only A Fistful of Dollars but Two Gangsters in the Wild West, a comedy starring the popular duo Franco and Ciccio. As the genre repeated itself to the point of exhaustion, parodies proliferated. Many sent up genre tropes, but too many fell back on the slapstick and flatulence formula popularized by Terence Hill and Bud Spencer. Not that audiences cared: They Call Me Trinity and Trinity is Still My Name became Italy's highest-grossing films of all time.

This article considers two of the form's best examples. Seven Guns for the MacGregors (1966) is less comedy than playful romp, and all the better for it. Life is Tough, Eh Providence? (1972) bites off more than it can chew, but generates laughs through sheer absurdity. Those seeking an alternative to Trinity and Bambino's fart parade should check them out.

Seven Guns for the MacGregors (1966, Franco Giraldi)

Leone protege Franco Giraldi directed this early comic Spaghetti. Seven Guns for the MacGregors (1966) provides a lighthearted atmosphere, contrasting with the genre's cynical ultraviolence. It's an enjoyable romp, short on plot but highly entertaining.

The MacGregor clan are Scottish immigrants who make rough-housing a way of life. Early on the family's elder members repulse a raid led by Miguel (Fernando Sancho), a bumbling bandit. The seven younger MacGregors pursue the bandits, who've murdered Perla''s (Perla Cristal) family. Gregor MacGregor (Robert Woods) acts as leader, infiltrating Miguel's gang and finds crooked Santillana (Leo Anchoriz) pulling the strings. The MacGregors usurp Santillana's planned robberies, leading to a bloody showdown.

Seven Guns for the MacGregors gets points for originality, at least. The Scottish characters provide eccentric color, though the effect is decidedly odd. There's something to be said for the surrealism of Italo-Spanish actors dubbed into English with broad Scottish brogues. Not to mention Ennio Morricone's faux-Celtic title ballad, sung in Glasgow-by-way-of-Rome accents!

Fortunately, MacGregors offers much more than unintentional silliness. Girardi goes for good-natured goofiness rather than broad gags. One funny bit has Gregor faking a gunfight with his brothers with Miguel's bandits. In another effective scene, a straight-laced banker says he's never had so much as playing a criminal! The movie plays off genre tropes (especially Manco's shenanigans in For a Few Dollars More) but remains its own work rather than a parody.

Girardi mixes the playfulness with excellent action scenes. The movie opens with an exciting siege, the elder MacGregors using a crank-fired gun rack and a swivel gun named Queen Anne to repel Miguel's bandits. Girardi matches this with several full-blown bar brawls and a finale which cleverly inverts the opening. But MacGregors retains an edge, as Santillana proves his psycho credentials dragging captured enemies through bonfires. It's tongue-in-cheek but serious enough to invest viewers.

Robert Woods makes a stiff but appealing hero. He's more Giuliano Gemma than Clint Eastwood, a straight-laced hero with guile and sardonic humor. Fernando Sancho plays another boorish bandito, but he's overshadowed by the sadistic Leo Anchoriz. That the other Macgregors are fairly nondescript provides a minor damper on a breezy, surprisingly fun flick.

Life is Tough, Eh Providence? (1972, Giulio Petroni)

This oddity came much later in the Spaghetti cycle. Giulio Petroni's associated with darker fare like Death Rides a Horse, so a picaresque comedy is a marked turn. Life is Tough, Eh Providence? is more funny in moments than the whole, but Tomas Milian's clever Charlie Chaplin impression makes it worthwhile.

Bounty hunter Providence (Tomas Milian) hunts the Hurricane Kid (Gregg Palmer) across the Old West, capturing him time and again, only to see the crafty outlaw escape. During their travels the duo match wits with a duplicitous saloon girl (Janet Agren), a rabble of Southern renegades and assorted riffraff. The two team up when they discover crooked Sheriff (Maurice Polli) has conned them out of money.

Providence impresses with its go-for-broke style. There's plenty of slapstick violence, with Providence clobbering villains with umbrella and pool cues, along with more conventional action like a thrilling stagecoach chase. Nor does Petroni shy away from playful anachronism. Early on, when Hurricane disguises himself as Providence, a criminologist sees through the ruse by staging an Old West trivia game. When Providence isn't slugging villains or chattering like a squirrel, he engages in headscratching non-sequitirs. "My mother may not have been all she should, but I pay my taxes," he assures Hurricane.

With its wacky humor and nonexistent plot, Providence is alternately funny and cringe-worthy. Two of the movie's big set pieces - the encounter with Confederate soldiers and especially the long pool game - drag without generating many laughs. Indeed, the repetitive cartoon fights and Looney Tunes-inspired sight gags quickly grow old. Petroni does avoid the scatology of the Trinity films, save an idiotic moment where Hurricane kills a river full of fish with B.O. Providence's style of humor plays better in small doses than at feature length; fortunately, at 95 minutes it doesn't overstay its welcome.

Tomas Milian keeps Providence afloat with a spirited turn. The intense actor lets loose in a role that indulges every ham antic imaginable. Besides his Little Tramp garb and mustache, Milian giggles girlishly, imitates animals (sporting), cold-cocks a villain with his hat brim and sings a romantic ballad. Gregg Palmer makes a decent foil and Janet Agrin plays a crafty femme fatale, but it's Milian's show all the way.

Life is Tough, Eh Providence? earns a cautious recommendation. It's too repetitive to be a classic, but one respects Petroni's overreaching absurdity. Milian revived the character for an even wackier sequel: Here We Go Again, Eh Providence? (1973)

Dick

With my fascination for all things Richard Nixon, I was intrigued by Dick (1999). One of innumerable '90s Boomer nostalgia flicks, it's basically Clueless meets Forrest Gump, with two ditzy teen girls playing a pivotal role in the Watergate scandal. It's a cute idea, but writer-director Andrew Fleming provides only the most obvious jokes in a tedious would-be comedy.

Betsy (Kirsten Dunst) and Arlene (Michelle Williams) are two precocious 15 year olds who inadvertently witness the Watergate break-in. During a school trip to the White House they recognize G. Gordon Liddy (Harry Shearer), and later see H.R. Haldeman (Dave Foley) shredding documents. To buy their silence, President Nixon (Dan Hedaya) employs the girls as dog walkers, leading to an improbable friendship. After hearing one of the Watergate tapes, in which Nixon swears and kicks his dog, the girls become Deep Throat to journalists Bob Woodward (Will Ferrell) and Carl Bernstein (Bruce McCullouch).

Dick certainly has potential. Fleming re-stages scenes from All the President's Men and Oliver Stone's Nixon almost verbatim, two self-important dramas ripe for lampooning. Instead of political satire, he mainly contrasts teen naivety with political backstabbing. Betsy's airhead proclamation that "war is bad for children" sparks a bitter debate over Vietnam, for instance. Arlene gets a crush on the President, building a bedroom shrine and fantasizing about a romantic getaway. Shredding the Constitution is no biggie, but mistreating Checkers is too far!

Sadly, Dick makes little use of its clever premise. The movie starts with a silly slapstick fight between Woodward and Bernstein and never transcends the sophomoric. Writers Fleming and Sheryl Longin cram the show with repetitive gags about pot cookies, porn movies and puns on the President's nickname. Long set pieces just sit there: the idea of a baked Leonid Brezhnev (Len Doncheff) singing "Hello Dolly" to Nixon and Kissinger sounds funnier than it actually plays. Not to mention a painful, pointless scene where Betsy flirts with a teen hunk (Ryan Reynolds) she thinks is Haldeman's son.

Kirsten Dunst and Michelle Williams salvage something through charisma. Williams steals the show with her brainy earnestness and unlikely affection towards Nixon. Dan Hedaya makes such a good Nixon we almost wish he played him in a drama. Fleming assembles and wastes a neat supporting cast. Will Ferrell and Bruce McCullouch just bicker obnoxiously; Dave Foley (Haldeman), Saul Rubinek (Henry Kissinger) and Jim Breuer (John Dean) merely offer lame impressions. Harry Shearer gets two hilarious scenes, then completely vanishes.

Dick is a good idea badly executed. It's harmless and silly, with an appealing cast that will win over some viewers. Too bad it's not very funny.

Lost Stooges short film!

Any fans of The Three Stooges out there? If so, you may take heart at this bit of news from Australia:

The only missing short film by The Three Stooges has been found in a Manly shed. Film collector Malcolm Smith, 78, was clearing out his old films when he came across Hello, Pop!, an 18-minute backstage musical from 1933 that he bought from another collector in the 1950s.

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/movies/three-stooges-film-found-in-australian-garden-shed-20130928-2ukw2.html#ixzz2goJEsmgY

On a sadder note, we'll note the passing of novelist Tom Clancy. I've always been more of a Frederick Forsyth fan, but there's no denying he created an impressive body of work.

Local Hero

Scottish filmmaker Bill Forsyth excels at small-scale human dramas like Gregory's Girl (1981) and Being Human (1994). His best-known film, Local Hero (1983), is a low-key charmer that invests a cliched plot with surprising warmth.

Mac Macintyre (Peter Riegert) is an ambitious comer at Knox Industries, a Texas oil company. His boss Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) dispatches Mac to Ferness, a small Scottish seaside village, in hopes. Along with local (Peter Capaldi) Mac sets out to woo locals, only to find them (and the townspeople) suspicious. But Mac and quickly fall for the small village, whose inhabitants seem to exist outside the pettiness of modern life.

Local Hero's charm is simple but undeniable. A very humanist drama, it emphasizes Ferness's mollifying effects on everyone. Mac starts out as a budding Gordon Gekko, cold towards people and eager to succeed ("I'm more of a telex man," he repeatedly insists), but quickly thaws after arriving in Scotland. Locals like landowner Ben Knox (Fulton Mackay) stonewall him with simple logic: no amount of money can persuade them to abandon ancestral homes. Even Happer is more figure of fun (subjected to endless taunts by a "therapist") than outright villain; his obsession with astronomy proves plot convenient. In approved sitcom fashion, Danny crafts a solution that satisfies everyone.

It's a set up from a million old-school melodramas, yet Local Hero mostly avoids the obvious trappings. Forsyth shows an agreeably down-to-earth sensibility, crafting a dozen charming vignettes. Mac and Danny board with Gordon Urquhart (Denis Lawson), who makes love to his wife over lunch and cooks Mac's pet rabbit for dinner. The local priest (Christopher Asante), an African missionary, explains the town's attraction. Mac and the locals befriend a rival Russian investor (Christopher Roszycki) over karaoke. Adorably awkward Danny spends his free time pursuing a Marine biologist (Jenny Seagrove).

Forsyth skillfully interweaves slice of life with fairy tale trappings. Ferness is one of those mythic Celtic towns like Brigadoon or Innisfree where outsiders can forget their materialist troubles, being embraced by hearty salt-of-the-earth types. Even its atmospheric phenomena - comets and aurora borealis - signals a place beyond the mundane, further highlighted by Mark Knopfler's quietly triumphant score. Hero's definitely a fantasy, but an immensely comforting one.

Peter Riegert does well as the corporate cynic charmed by village life. Burt Lancaster chews scenery in an agreeably self-effacing turn (one recalls, perhaps unintentionally, his star-obsessed aristocrat in The Leopard). Peter Capaldi (In the Loop) makes an effortlessly charming sidekick. Jenny Seagrove is the charming lass who woos Danny; Christopher Asante is the befuddled local minister; Denis Lawson and Fulton Mackay the most hostile villagers.

Local Hero makes pleasant viewing. Its cult status is well-deserved; you don't begrudge a movie predictability when it's done this well.

The Witches (1967)

Producer Dino De Laurentiis assembled five of Italy's greatest directors for this anthology. A showcase for Silvana Mangano (or Mrs. De Laurentis), The Witches (1967) is more notable for its talent than the uneven content. Besides auteurs Luchino Visconti, Pier Paolo Pasolini and Vittorio De Sica, there's also an oddly-cast Clint Eastwood.

The Witches consists of five short films featuring Mangano. Luchino Visconti's The Witch Burned Alive shows Mangano as Gloria, an actress taking refuge at a mountain resort. Besieged by papparazzi, inflaming the men to passion and the women to jealousy, Gloria's exile drives her to despair. Mauro Bolognini's Civic Responsibility depicts a selfish woman driving an injured man (Alfredo Rosi) to a hospital. The Earth as Seen from the Moon is a fairy tale by Pier Paolo Pasolini, with widower Ciancicato (Toto) and son Baciu (Ninetto Davoli) pursuing their ideal woman - the deaf-mute Absurda Yelp. The Sicilian shows an unfaithful Sicilian wife triggering a blood feud. Finally there's An Evening Like the Others, where housewife Giovanna fantasizes about cheating on her milquetoast husband Carlo (Clint Eastwood).

The Witches advances from a singularly macho conceit: women (specifically Mangano) always cause trouble. The Witch Burned Alive explores this at greatest length: the hotel women relish in stripping Gloria's makeup and wig; a jealous rival (Annie Garadot) seduces a young waiter (Helmut Berger) to prove her womanhood. But the selfishness of Civic Responsibility and The Sicilian's protagonists registers, along with Giovanna's shrewishness. The ideal woman, of course, is Absurda, unable to communicate or hear anything. Baggage aside, how do the stories stack up?


Visconti's story is long, stiff and ponderous without appropriate payoff. Auteurists may recall Bellisima's excoriation of stardom, while Gloria's catatonic exit presages Ingrid Thulin's final scenes in The Damned. But the material's just to thin to match Visconti's pretensions. Bolognini's and Rossi's shorter entries just sort of sit there. Civic Responsibility is an unfunny gag stretched out interminably; The Sicilian resorts to crude jokes about shotgun murders and shrieking widows. Somewhere the filmmakers forgot to add humor.

Nonetheless, Witches gets two lovely chapters. The Earth as Seen From the Moon is a mini-masterpeice. Stars Toto and Ninetto Davoli previously collaborated on Pasolini's The Hawks and the Sparrows (1966), a similarly broad comedy. With absurd hairstyles, exaggerated gestures, fast motion and goofy sight gags (flirting with a mannequin!), they effectively update comedia dell'arte for the '60s. Mangano matches them with an hysterical pantomime performance, down to a delightfully absurd demise. It's strange yet endearingly whimsical, without the off-putting tawdriness of Pasolini's later work.

De Sica's An Evening Like the Others plays like Brief Encounter re-imagined by Fellini. De Sica contrasts Giovanna's dour marriage with her absurd fantasies of sex and violence. She alternately flirts with superheroes Diabolik and Batman, shoots Carlo while wearing a Barbarella costume, or stripteases in a stadium of drooling admirers. Eastwood sends up his image, sporting Man With No Name garb and asking Giovanna if she wants to see A Fistful of Dollars! Mangano comes off best here, eschewing vanity to play an unattractive, unappealing woman.

The Witches is an odd patchwork film, alternately brilliant and lousy. (I haven't even mentioned the Terry Gilliam-style credits animation.) If nothing else, it's an eclectic monument to Dino De Laurentiis's hubris: five of Italy's most talented filmmakers, collaborating on a silly vanity project/sketch comedy. The mind would boggle if this weren't the man who later gave us Orca.

8 1/2

"Just make sure what interests you, interests everyone else!"

Federico Fellini's 8 1/2 (1963) has a formidable reputation as one of Italy's best movies. It's much more approachable than rivals like The Leopard and L'Avventura, though. Incisive yet playful, it's a self-portrait of an artist at his creative peak, yet unable to overcome interior doubt and external pressure.

Director Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni) faces a mid-life crisis. He's got a big budget, an expensive set, a leading lady and no idea how to use them. Stuck in a creative rut, he bickers with his producer Pace (Guido Alberti) and long-suffering wife Luisa (Anouk Aimee), who fail to snap him out of his funk. He desperately woos Claudia (Claudia Cardinale), an unapproachable actress who becomes his ideal woman. Guido increasingly retreats into his fantasies, unable to render them onscreen.

What makes 8 1/2 so appealing is its personalized, imaginative approach to film making. Even Hollywood's best films on the subject (Sunset Blvd., Sullivan's Travels) don't go much deeper than showing Tinseltown as a soul-destroying wasteland. 8 1/2 really engages the idea of what it means to be an artist. What's the difference between narcissism and genius, fantasy and self-expression? Is there one?

Fellini's best-known for broad set pieces, and 8 1/2 regularly blurs reality and fantasy. Some scenes flirt with surrealism, like the bizarre flashback with a hideous prostitute (Eddra Gale) and the impromptu beach carnival. Others evoke existentialist dread, like Guido's vision of automobile asphyxiation. But most frame Guido's women problems in comically macho terms. While Claudia meekly becomes his "ideal woman," Guido battles a harem of past lovers with a bullwhip! This reflexivity defines Guido, an interior character sharing his obsessions with the world.

At the same time, 8 1/2 slyly subverts the stereotype of European films as inherently highbrow. Anyone who's read Christopher Frayling or Marcia Landy knows postwar Italian cinema was dominated by cheap genre flicks: lowbrow comedies, sword-and-sandal epics, spaghetti Westerns. Neorealist classics like Rome: Open City and Bicycle Thieves flopped domestically while winning international acclaim. Italy generated home grown stars like Mastroianni and Sophia Loren, but often imported Hollywood actors for prestige pictures. Even geniuses like Guido don't get carte blanche in this environment.

There's a constant contrast between cinema's ideals and its sordid reality. Guido dodges questions about his politics and the "message" of his movies: this could be a dig at auteurist critics, or Marxist directors like Visconti and Pasolini who cram their work with "meaning." An obnoxious critic (Jean Rougeul) bombards him with pompous platitudes about art. Pace lauds Guido as a genius to the press, while threatening him should the film fail. Aspiring actresses offer themselves to Guido in exchange for a role. Guido's forced to admit there's no role for Claudia in his work, so idealized she scarcely seems real.

Mainly though, 8 1/2 reflects Fellini's own insecurities. Notably, Guido doesn't view himself as a genius. Not exactly humble, he nonetheless recognizes his shortcomings. If an artist doesn't work so hard as a coal miner, still it's no easy thing to render one's inner thoughts for an audience. Hence the expansive beach set, where Guido oversees the construction of a rocket ship without knowing what it's for. Hence also Luisa: she tolerates Guido's dalliances but grows frustrated when his navel-gazing leads nowhere. Outside of Woody Allen, it's hard to find a more endearingly self-critical director than Fellini. 

Marcello Mastroianni does brilliant work. Mixing arrogance and vulnerability, he makes Guido a credibly harried protagonist. Anouk Aimee gets some meaty scenes, trying to drag Guido back to reality. Claudia Cardinale mostly smiles alluringly, not a stretch for this prettiest of actresses: she landed a far more challenging part in The Leopard that same year. Barbara Steele (Black Sunday) and Madeleine LeBeau play more approachable actresses. Jean Rougeul's pompous writer and Guido Alberti's penny-pinching producer represent both extremes of filmmaking.

Federico Fellini has his detractors, and indeed his flamboyant style can be hard to swallow at times (Satyricon anyone?). But with 8 1/2 he achieves the perfect blend of high art, entertainment and personal vision.

In the Loop

With Peter Capaldi recently crowned the next Doctor Who, it's a good time to revisit his most famous role. Armando Iannucci's In the Loop (2009) is a spin-off of his BBC series The Thick of It, a mordant satire mixing The West Wing and Yes, Minister. Capaldi's foulmouthed, piratical spin doctor Malcolm Tucker is one of television's great creations, transferred intact to the big screen.

The US and UK gear up for war in the Middle East while maintaining a vague public stance. Britain's Secretary of State for International Development Simon Forster (Tom Hollander) tells a BBC reporter that war is "unforeseeable," enraging Malcolm Tucker (Capaldi), the Prime Minister's PR point-man. Malcolm sends Simon and his assistant Toby (Chris Addison) to meet with American official Linton Barwick (David Rasche) in DC. The Brits find State Department official Karen Clark (Mimi Kennedy) eager to avert war, though Toby's more interested in hooking up with her assistant Liz (Anna Chlumsky). Tired of Simon's cock-ups, Malcolm and hatchet man Jamie McDonald (Paul Higgins) arrive Stateside to handle things personally.

Many reviewers compare In the Loop to Dr. Strangelove, but it's most obvious progenitor is The Office: the same hand-held camerawork, improvised dialogue and absurd office politics. Inquisitive reporters make mincemeat of the hapless Simon, a dunce unable to help his constituents rebuild a brick wall. The Brits are disturbed by DC's glut of 20-something assistants, with Malcolm denigrating the "master race of toddlers" executing American policy. In politics as with business, we see characters swallowing their beliefs for personal advancement. The difference, of course, is that the cast's eccentricities play on a world stage, with dire consequences.

The depressing thing about In the Loop is that it's scarcely exaggerated. The Iraq War already seems a distant memory, even though sectarian violence continues in that country. But anyone who recalls Donald Rumsfeld's incoherent musings on "known unknowns" will wince at Barwick's ridiculous analogies ("All roads lead to Munich") and Simon's "climbing the mountain of conflict."  Simon seems like a distaff Clare Short, an antiwar Blair official who thought it braver not to resign when war began. Few of the characters actually want war, but lack the guts to oppose it.

Iannucci does a good job selling Thick of It's premise to an international audience. By focusing on foreign policy, he downplays the intricacies of British politics that might throw casual viewers. He downplays the Anglo-American culture clash, though Malcolm takes strong offense when someone calls him "English." Still, the character dynamics, dry wit and semi-improvised profanity arrive intact. It's a textbook satire, gutbustingly funny yet strikingly credible. Iannucci's currently helming Veep for HBO.

Peter Capaldi inevitably dominates. If Malcolm's less complex than his TV incarnation, Loop nails the character's utter lack of scruples and imaginative tirades. It's certainly fun watching him threaten to demolish the BBC and recoil at American bonhomie while dropping more F bombs than Tommy DeVito. Yet for all his bluster, he's merely a pawn of his political masters. Later on he trades barbs with General Miller (James Gandolfini), the pacifist Pentagon official who calls him out as a lapdog. Capaldi makes Malcolm a ruthless bastard you can't help rooting for, even while drawing two countries towards war.

Loop brims with Thick of It regulars, though only Capaldi and Paul Higgins reprise their series roles. James Smith, Alex MacQueen, Olivia Paulet and Joanna Scanlan assay variants on familiar parts. Chris Addison's Toby is a crasser version of Thick's Ollie. He's set up as our hero, but proves more interested in "antiwar shags" than politics. Simon upbraids Toby in a delectably sarcastic rant: "[At least] you didn't whip out your dick, pluck it and shout 'Willy Banjo!'" In contrast, Gina McKee (Atonement) proves level-headed enough to resolve most situations, cheerily shrugging off Malcolm's sexist barbs.

In the Loop adds several stars to the familiar ensemble. Tom Hollander (Land of the Blind) makes a brilliantly frazzled doofus, out of his depth both in diplomacy and politics. He's a master malaproper, from his bizarre public statements to proclaiming intelligence work "lemon difficult." James Gandolfini fits snuggly into the cast: the self-proclaimed "Gore Vidal of the Pentagon," Miller whimsically projects casualties on a children's calculator. He loudly opposes the war but proves as craven as everyone else. David Rasche hits the right note of banal smugness, with Mimi Kennedy and Anna Chlumski as his opponents. Steve Coogan gets a memorable bit as one of Forster's hapless constituents. 

Nothing better points up differences in American and British culture than their reactions to political catastrophe. Hollywood responded to Bush's wars with earnest but dull dramas like Lions for Lambs and Syriana. The Brits meanwhile produced black comedies like In the Loop and Four Lions. Whether or not they made a difference, the latter hold up much better.

Sullivan's Travels

Preston Sturges is the comedy god of Hollywood's Golden Age. His work meshes the slapstick and social commentary of Charlie Chaplin with the snappy wit of Howard Hawks, resulting in a remarkable body of work. His finest achievement is the near-perfect satire Sullivan's Travels (1941).

Movie director John L. Sullivan (Joel McCrea) determines to adapt the muckraking book O Brother Where Art Thou? into a pretentious art film. Sullivan's producers (Robert Warwick and Porter Hall) prod him towards a comedy, insisting he knows nothing of how the other half lives. Sullivan strikes out out as a hobo, accompanied by a failed actress credited only as "The Girl" (Veronica Lake). Sullivan and The Girl strike a bond toughing out a transient camp, but can't escape the press or Sullivan's studio buddies. Sullivan gets into real trouble after being mugged, then winds up in prison for assaulting a railway guard.

Sullivan's Travels works on several levels. Sturges takes shots at limousine liberalism, Hollywood's secondary raison d'etre; Sullivan oozes sympathy with the lower classes when he's never worked an honest day in his life. Both his producers and servants (Robert Greig and Eric Blore) convince him there's no glory in poverty. The film's best gag has Sullivan constantly returning to Hollywood, whether by car or train: his exploits are followed by press photographers and with patronizing gestures, like giving $100 to a friendly restauranteur. Eventually Sullivan learns the hard way that poverty's too grim to sentimentalize on film.

Sturges gets the most mileage examining the interplay of high and low art. Sullivan's hysterically pretentious film concludes with "labor" and "capital" fighting atop a moving train - a grand metaphor lost on audiences relishing the violent action. Sturges seamlessly blends comedy styles, barbed wit existing alongside Looney Tunes sight gags. Its central question is whether high art, with its intellectual appeal, or low, which moves mass viewers, has more value. This argument continues apace in critics' circles and chat rooms, ignoring that there's room for both. For this shrewd meta analysis, Sullivan's Travels rivals Sunset Blvd. as the best movie about Hollywood.

Finally, Sturges provides impeccable direction. His handling of snappy dialogue rivals Hawks, driving the story at a zippy pace. He's equally adept at brilliant set pieces like the wild chase scene, while his silent sequence of John and The Girl's time in a work camp is a master class in montage. When the story starts to sag, Sturges wraps things up with an ingenious solution: Sullivan the hobo claims he killed Sullivan the director!

Joel McCrea gets big laughs as a misguided artist and pathos as a fallen man. McCrea plays brilliantly off his screen image, his granite integrity bleeding into a caddish character. Veronica Lake makes a brilliant counterpart, smarter and snappier than most blonde bombshells. Inexplicably, Lake never gained the stature of contemporaries like Barbara Stanwyck and Rosalind Russell. Sturges complements his leads with a dozen character turns: Robert Warwick, William Demearst, Robert Gleig, Eric Blore, Bryon Fulger.

Sullivan's Travels ends on a warmly populist note. Artistic ideals are fine, but society's better served by a good laugh. The cynic in me scoffs at such idealistic hooey; the humanist embraces it wholeheartedly.

Much Ado About Nothing (2013)

It's a testament to Joss Whedon's flexibility that, while on break from The Avengers (2012), he created the antithesis to that box office behemoth. In just two weeks he assembled a slew of actors from his past shows and films, tweaked a well-loved William Shakespeare play and shot it in crisp black-and-white. The result is Much Ado About Nothing (2013), an enjoyably off-beat take on Shakespeare's best comedy.

Returned from "the wars," Don Pedro (Reed Diamond), Claudio (Fran Kranz) and Benedict (Alexis Denisof) visit the home of local Duke Leonato (Clark Gregg). Claudio instantly grows smitten with beautiful Hero (Jillian Morgese) while Benedict resumes a long-running feud with Beatrice (Amy Acker) - a feud which masks deep-seated affection. While friends and family connive to unite the feuding couple, Pedro's brother Don John (Sean Maher) has more malign plans. Along with partners Borachio (Spencer Treat Clark) and Conrade (Riki Lindhorne), he schemes to separate Claudio and Hero. Things go awry, relying on bumbling Constable Dogberry (Nathan Fillion) to set things right.

This blogger always found Much Ado easier-going than Shakespeare's other comedies. It lacks the overdone plot of Twelfth Night, the implausibility of Merchant of Venice, the repulsive sexual politics of Taming of the Shrew. The story's pretty flimsy but Shakespeare's witty lovers Beatrice and Benedict mouth some of the English language's best comic writing. Kenneth Branagh's splashy 1993 version holds up well, despite some egregious stunt casting (Michael Keaton and Keanu Reeves?); it's hard to imagine a better screen couple than Branagh and Emma Thompson. 

Whedon conjures a straight modern dress adaptation, with modern affectations that emphasize the story's ridiculousness. Dogberry comes on like a sad, RayBan-wearing Dirty Harry wannabe, viciously interrogating Borachio and Conrade like serial killers. Benedict ponders the horrors of marriage while sitting next to a dollhouse; Beatrice trips over her laundry while overhearing her maids' conversation. Yet Whedon smartly allows the text, and more importantly the cast, to carry the show. He's helped by Jay Hunter's unfussy black and white photography, with only a few flourishes (flashbacks, a dreamlike masquerade ball) to fill in story gaps.

Practically every actor's a veteran of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Dollhouse or The Avengers. Alexis Denisof dives whole hog into Benedict, whether mouthing Shakespeare's "oyster" soliloquy or performing push-ups for a bemused Beatrice. Amy Acker proves equally appealing, dispatching her barbs with wit and self-possession. Jillian Morgese makes a likeable Hero while Reed Diamond and Frank Kranz have fun with characters usually played as wet blankets. As Don John, Sean Maher at least purges memories of Keanu Reeves's dude-tastic turn. Clark Gregg overdoes Leonato's mugging, but he's such an agreeable presence it seems mean to criticize.

Much Ado About Nothing is a refreshing experience. In this summer's sea of sequels, superheroes and general junk, it provides a beacon of wit for those demanding more than explosions.

Crazy, Stupid, Love

Two-thirds of the way through Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011) stops being a solid dramedy and decomposes into treacle. As with so many comedies, directors Glenn Ficara and John Requa can't take their idea to the finish line, falling back on resolutions either cliched or facile. It's a nice try anyway, mostly providing a romcom of unusual depth and feeling.

Cal Weaver (Steve Carell) and his wife Emily (Julianne Moore) split after Cal finds out she's been seeing coworker David (Kevin Bacon). Emily quickly regrets the breakup, fending off David's advances while managing teenaged son Robbie (Jonah Bobo). Cal fails pathetically on the dating scene until he meets Jacob (Ryan Gosling), a smooth womanizer who takes Cal under his wing. Cal gains confidence to start dating, while Jacob falls unexpectedly for Hannah (Emma Stone), a law student with her own ideas about love.

Crazy, Stupid, Love captures something of the messy truth about relationships. Cal and Emily provide a realistic couple whose relationship grows stale. The two met in high school, a sweet story until the circumstances come out; there's more work put into marriage than being a soul mate. Emily's fling is a cry of desperation but leads to trouble when David develops feelings for Emily. Hannah initially rejects Jacob's advances, holding on to her drippy boyfriend (Josh Groban) who seems to love her. She runs to Jacob in a weak moment but discovers depth beneath his sculptured abs and suave demeanor. For his part, Jacob enjoys his lady killer lifestyle and is shocked when he falls for Hannah.

Writer Dan Fogelman skilfully mixes humor with characterization. The movie's big laughs come from Cal's hilariously inept dating strategy, inevitably recalling The 40 Year Old Virgin, but presents them in clever fashion: he beds Robbie's English teacher (Marissa Tomei) by being ruthlessly honest! The highpoint involves Jacob's abortive one-night stand with Hannah; instead of "banging" all night they bond over massage chairs and intimate conversation. It's funny, heartfelt and affecting, a brilliant centerpiece that gets everything right. Sure, there's no need for the annoying subplot with Robbie and his babysitter (Analeigh Tipton), but that comes with the territory.

Unfortunately, Crazy, Stupid, Love eventually moves wholesale to that territory. The final 30 minutes completely derail, pulling out mawkish cliches alongside some decidedly odd twists. The big revelation(s) about Hannah comes with no set up and seems a curve ball designed specifically to create friction between Cal and Jacob. Silver Linings Playbook went a similar route but there the cliches and twists feel almost organic; it "earns" its happy ending. When Crazy degenerates into a slapstick fight and sexting jokes, before leaning on a 13 year old to tell us the unvarnished truth, we've taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Steve Carell anchors the film with a fine performance. Best-known for TV's The Office, Carrel balances comedy and drama with equal adeptness, getting some of the funniest scenes (seducing Kate) and most heartfelt (his "break up" with Jacob and end speech to Emily). Julianne Moore plays more or less the straight woman, heartbroken but sincere, instantly regretting her break with Cal. Kevin Bacon makes Dave likeable rather than sleazy, a smart approach. John Carroll Lynch (Zodiac) plays Cal's friend as a nice guy, but Marissa Tomei (The Ides of March) is a comic nutter. Singer Josh Groban cameos as Hannah's pathetic boyfriend. Only the kid actors flop, hurt more by lousy writing than their performances.

But it's the younger couple who steals the show. Ryan Gosling plays outside his somnambulist pretty boy persona, to great effect. Jacob reveals layers to his ladies' man act, making an unlikely friend in Cal and forging an unexpected connection with Hannah. Emma Stone, fresh off her breakout role in Easy A, is a revelation. Beautiful, charming and sassy, she's immensely likeable and makes Hannah a rounded character, smart and serious but romantically frustrated. The two make an appealing couple, both attractive and likeable, getting the movie's best scenes.

Crazy, Stupid, Love is so good for its first 90 minutes that it's possible to downplay its cloying conclusion. I'm always happy to see a romantic comedy that aims higher than the Katherine Heigl demographic, so cheers. Too bad about the ending.

Father Brown (1954)

G.K. Chesteron's priest-detective Father Brown has been a screen mainstay, from 1934's Father Brown, Detective to the current BBC series with Mark Williams. The best-regarded version remains 1954's Father Brown, a loose reworking of Chesteron's story "The Blue Cross." Alec Guinness is perfectly cast as the amateur sleuth, adding charm to a relatively thin caper.

Meek parish priest Father Brown (Alec Guinness) moonlights as an amateur detective. Brown's bishop (Cecil Parker) taps him to transport a holy relic to Rome. Unfortunately he's outwitted by Flambeur (Peter Finch), a French con artist who steals for enjoyment. With help from Ms. Warner (Joan Greenwood) Brown tracks the thief across Europe, ending up at an estate outside Paris. Brown considers Flambeur a lost soul, and hopes to woo him to an honest life.

Father Brown is a slight but enjoyable romp. Director Robert Hamer (Kind Hearts and Coronets) presents the detective's adventures as light comedy, poking playful fun at Brown's stuffy superiors and Bernard Lee's bumbling cop. Brown appears a silly goose but his keen observational skills and understanding of human nature makes him Flambeur's match. Admittedly the film amounts to relatively little: the stakes never advance beyond Brown's wish to convert Flambeur, while supporting characters remain archetypes. Fortunately the ride's fun enough to compensate.

Alec Guinness plays Brown much like Holland from The Lavender Hill Mob, masking a snappy wit behind endearing awkwardness. It's said that this film convinced Guinness to convert to Catholicism. Peter Finch (Sunday, Bloody Sunday) makes a suave adversary, though Joan Greenwood feels wasted. Cecil Parker (The Ladykillers) and Bernard Lee (Last Holiday) feature in supporting roles.

Father Brown is an agreeably frothy concoction, light-hearted but enjoyable. More comic than Chesteron's original character, Alec Guinness's Brown is still fun to watch.

A Genius, Two Partners and a Dupe

After the success of My Name is Nobody (1973), producer Sergio Leone rejoined Terence Hill for another Western spoof. A Genius, Two Partners and a Dupe (1975) isn't as bad as its reputation suggests, but neither is it especially good.

Joe Thanks (Terence Hill) is a gunslinger-conman roaming the American West. Along with sometime partners Steam Engine Bill (Robert Charlebois) and Lucy (Miou-Miou), Joe stumbles onto Major Cabot's (Patrick McGoohan) evil scheme. Cabot discovers a gold mine on Navajo Indian land, and hopes to procure it by provoking a war with the Indians. Joe, Bill and Lucy stage an elaborate con with Bill impersonating a Cavalry Colonel (Jean Martin) to swindle Cabot and save the Navajo.

Genius started as a Western riff on Going Places (1974), a French sex farce also featuring Miou-Miou. Though packaged as a Nobody sequel (an alternate title is Nobody's the Greatest) Genius has no connection to Tonino Valeri's movie. Like the earlier film, it's full of nods to classic American Westerns and Leone's own work. But there's even more emphasis on Hill's slapstick and athletic prowess, more closely recalling his Trinity films. At first it's fun watching Joe outwit opponents with card tricks and climbing skills, but eventually gets old.

Directed by Damiano Damiani, best-known for the politically charged Bullet for the General, Genius has several inspired scenes. Leone himself directed the opening, a darkly humorous riff on Once Upon a Time in the West's family massacre. Another highlight has Joe stage a phony duel with a glowering Klaus Kinski, complete with self-firing Colt! Damiani helms elaborate action scenes, including a chase where one character recreates Yakima Canutt's legendary Stagecoach stunt. The gorgeous Monument Valley scenery ensures a pleasant-looking film, with Ennio Morricone providing a boisterous comedy score.

Genius provides plenty of laughs but ultimately bogs down in plot. The gang's elaborate con plays like a second-rate The Sting, a convoluted series of double-crosses with a lame payoff. Bill and Lucy prove annoying sidekicks, while the villains are silly featherweights. Marxist as he is, Damiani insists on inserting political commentary ("We're not ordinary people - we're Americans!") that feels singularly inappropriate. The movie ends with a literal bang but still feels empty, with a cheesy moral out of an after-school special.

Terence Hill provides his usual amiability: few stars are so effortlessly likeable. Co-stars Robert Charlebois and Miou-Miou don't fare so well: Charlebois's grumpy griping gets old fast, while Miou-Miou's sunk by a hideous dubbing job. Patrick McGoohan seems as surprised as viewers that he's slumming in a Spaghetti Western. Pietro Vida plays a shifty go-between, playing Cabot and Joe against each other. Klaus Kinski gets a show-stealing cameo before an ignoble exit.

A Genius, Two Partners and a Dupe won't be high on too many Spaghetti fans' lists. It's amusing but disposable, a fairly routine parody Western.

Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day is a pretty big deal in Pennsylvania. I live fairly close to Punxsutawney, so Phil's annual prediction (early spring this year!) gets extensive news coverage. I personally doubt the wisdom of a rodent too dumb to cross the highway intact, but it's a harmless enough tradition aside from DUI-related arrests. At face value though, it's hard to see much dramatic potential in the holiday.

Harold Ramis's Groundhog Day (1993) though is a classic comedy. Words like life-affirming, heart-warming and feel-good get thrown around like Styrofoam peanuts, but this wonderful fantasy earns them all.

Phil Connors (Bill Murray) is a jaded Pittsburgh weatherman who's stuck covering Groundhog Day. Unfortunately Phil becomes stuck reliving February 2nd for eternity. Phil uses his dubious gift to indulge himself, scoring with women, hitting it rich and gorging on pastries. Soon he grows depressed and takes to killing himself. Over time however he masters several skills, wooing his producer Rita (Andie McDowell) and learning to be a better person.

A modern day film blanc, Groundhog Day is a pleasantly uplifting fantasy. Danny Rubin's script makes brilliant use of its inventive premise, exploring the contours of human existence. When Phil adjusts he uses it to act without consequences (be it robbing a bank or stealing Punxsutawney Phil) and ultimately to help friends and townspeople. Yet his powers are limited, as when he tries (and fails) to save a homeless man. Phil can "live forever" but he can't control fate.
 
Groundhog Day's simplest lesson is self-improvement. Bill goes from indulging fantasies to helping townspeople with every conceivable errand, until he's Punxsutawney's most honored citizen. It takes a few hundred Groundhog Days but Phil gains real skills and empathy for others. He can score with Rita by "learnings" Ramis handles this material lightly, providing plenty of gags while keeping sentimentality dialed down. It compares well to Murray's awful Scrooged, which force feeds its audience unearned treacle.

Bill Murray gives a career-best performance. He starts off with typical deadpan snarkiness but gradually evolves into an endearing character. Andie McDowell makes a charming love interest. Ramis provides amusing support: Stephen Toblowsky as an annoying insurance salesman, Chris Elliot as Phil's cranky cameraman, Brian Doyle Murray (Bill's brother) as the groundhog honcho. See if you can spot a very young Michael Shannon in a walk-on role.

Hooray for Groundhog Day, a genuinely heartwarming movie. Hooray as well for an "early spring"! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to dig my car out of the driveway...

Silver Linings Playbook

Watching Silver Linings Playbook (2012) after Les Miserables is like taking Tums after a bout of dysentery. It's an agreeably warm movie, providing viewers a genuine emotional payoff. True, Les Mis will make you cry; so will getting kneecapped with a tire iron. Neither is recommended. David O. Russell's brilliant dramedy earns sentimentality through authentic characters and flawless performances.

Patrick Solitano (Bradley Cooper) returns home after a stint in the mental hospital. Suffering from bipolar disorder, he snapped after catching his wife Nikki (Brea Bee) in flagrante and assaulting her lover. Patrick struggles to adjust: his father (Robert DeNiro) works as a bookie, betting on Philadelphia Eagles games to fund a restaurant, while Nikki's issued a restraining order. Patrick finds solace with Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence), a mentally-scarred widow. Tiffany agrees to help Pat communicate with Nikki in exchange for help with a dance contest. Their plan grows complicated when Pat's dad bets a friend on their contest.

Structurally, Silver Linings Playbook resembles your typical romcom. When Pat and Tiffany meet it's little doubt where their relationship's heading, while the dance tournament provides familiar third act drama. Writer-director Russell crafts a closely-observed drama around these familiar tropes. Russell's ear for dialogue and knack for characterization shape a film that's alternately funny, raw and heartfelt.

Silver Linings handles familiar conflicts unconventionally. Pat's mental illness is treated believably, his recovery a painful process rather than instantaneous cure. His obsession with restoring his old life backfires, forcing him to start from square one. Tiffany deals with her husband's death through promiscuity; middle-aged suitors proposition her and she immediately offers Pat sex. Their budding relationship provides each with much-needed stability. Pat Sr. focuses obsessively on football, bonding with his son by fusing their mutual "projects." Russell makes these characters remarkably warm and three-dimensional, helped immeasurably by his cast.

Bradley Cooper gives an outstanding turn. He's had dramatic roles before but really comes into his own. After some character-appropriate outbursts early, Cooper dials down to quiet intensity, communicating Pat's anguish, confusion and tortured character growth. Cooper registers perfect chemistry with co-stars Lawrence and DeNiro, nailing both Russell's barbed comedy and emotional payoffs. Pat's a difficult character, often violent and hateful, but Cooper makes him effortlessly sympathetic.

Jennifer Lawrence is equally impressive. She avoids "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" cliches for a unique character. Tiffany's quirks aren't treated as whimsical insights but deep-seated anguish, recognizing Pat as an opportunity for growth. Her chemistry with Cooper generates a slow-burn romance, moving in believable fits, starts and mutual frustration. After Winter's Bone, The Hunger Games and this Lawrence has both artistic and popular acclaim, a remarkable achievement at 22. With her talent she's certainly earned it.

Robert DeNiro is excellent playing a regular guy with scarcely-acknowledged mental baggage. It's nice to see the star of Raging Bull in a role worthy of his talent. Jacki Weaver plays her nagging mother broader and perhaps less effective. Chris Tucker is uncharacteristically low-key playing Pat's friend. Supporting actors John Ortiz (American Gangster), Shea Whigham and Anupam Kher perfectly complement the leads.

Silver Linings Playbook proved a wonderful surprise. It's ultimately a feel-good movie, Russell's challenging presentation making the payoff infinitely more satisfying.

Meet John Doe

Frank Capra crafts a confused message movie with Meet John Doe (1941). Ostensibly another Capra film extolling political activism, its commentary winds up garbled and nonsensical. Fortunately, it works okay as a straightforward comedy.

Angry reporter Ann Mitchell (Barbara Stanwyck) publishes a letter by a fictional "John Doe" threatening to kill himself protesting social iniquity. The letter proves a popular smash, and publisher D.B. Norton (Edward Arnold) insists on propagating the story to further his political ambitions. Ann selects vagabond John Willoughby (Gary Cooper) to fill the role, and John's plainspoken demeanor proves just the ticket. John's speeches inspire a genuine mass movement, rising Norton to a presidential contender. When John discovers the charade, the whole movement threatens to unravel. 

Capra's earlier populist epics Mr. Deeds Goes to Town and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington play it safe by being apolitical. The movies are cynical about the political establishment but maintain a certain idealism and belief that the common man can change it. By avoiding political designations, Capra won't alienate his audience while pushing home the truism that the system is corrupt: one imagines both Glenn Beck and Michael Moore watching Mr. Smith and envisioning themselves in the lead. 

Meet John Doe is a different kettle of fish. Capra provides the ostensible message is that grassroots movements are swell until co-opted by the establishment. John is sincere enough to believe his message of goodwill and cooperation, but we see Norton's crew organizing John Doe clubs across America. The movement has obvious appeal but it's obvious the System's twisting it for its own benefit. Downplayed, of course, is that the System itself created the movement, or that their actual platform has no substance beyond the brotherhood of man.

It's an observation shrewd in some ways, but also obvious and problematic. Genuine populism in America is virtually non-existent, save extraordinary exceptions like the Civil Rights Movement. Today's Tea Party movement is funded by billionaires like the Koch Brothers, while George Soros bankrolls leftist groups like Code Pink and MoveOn.org. In a country generally apathetic or hostile to activism, joining "the System" is the only way for most movements to get ahead.

For a movie made in 1941, its commentary on mass politics are remarkably tin-eared. Waiting for a rabble-rousing savior, explicitly compared to Christ (!), to deliver us from "the System" invites all sorts of unsavory implications in the era of Fascism in Europe and Father Coughlin in America. Capra tries to fudge this by focusing on John's message, but it scarcely registers when this is vague quasi-socialist gush about "the people." How can it be valid anyway when the message is, to begin with, a fraud? There's a thin line between idealism and demagoguery which Meet John Doe, in all its warm mushiness, is too unsophisticated to delineate.

As a light dramedy, Meet John Doe works fine. Capra and writer Robert Riskin keep a brisk pace, with creative montage work and direction. The movie gets some big laughs, especially John's cynical partner (Walter Brennan) ranting about capitalist "helots" corrupted by creature comforts. The lead romance is appealing, with Cooper and Stanwyck recapturing their chemistry from Ball of Fire. With its appealing stars and clever humor, it will certainly appeal to moviegoers looking for a pleasant evening in.

Gary Cooper turns on his gruff Everyman amiable to full effect here. Barbara Stanwyck is nothing less than charming, mixing sweetness with tough-minded ambition. Walter Brennan steals the show in inimitable fashion, proving an improbable oracle. Edward Arnold, James Gleason and Gene Lockhart occupy colorful supporting roles.

Meet John Doe is entertaining but problematic. Don't give its message overmuch thought and you'll have fun. Groggy isn't the sort of viewer to take films on face value, however.

Django Unchained

At different points during Django Unchained (2012) I felt like I should be amused or excited, offended or sickened. But Quentin Tarantino's new flick mostly inspired indifference. You can only see the same tricks umpteen times, and Django's only marked distinction from Kill Bill or Inglourious Basterds is its genre.

Texas 1858. Dentist-bounty hunter King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) frees slave Django (Jamie Foxx) and enlists him as a partner. King needs Django to identify the Brittle brothers, three slave overseers-turned-outlaws. The two quickly bond, with King agreeing to help Django track down and rescue wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington). Unfortunately Broomhilda now works for Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio), a brutal Mississippi plantation owner with a nose for intrigue.

Tarantino's nominal branching out from crime films has paid off handsomely. Audiences loved Kill Bill's blood splatter and Uma Thurman's strong performance, while Basterds won acclaim as a deconstruction of war films. Yet Groggy finds Tarantino's style extremely grating when applied to other genres. Django Unchained approaches the Western as Pulp Fiction in Stetson and chaps. (Aside from cribbing Luis Bacalov's title tune and a cutesy Franco Nero cameo, it bears no resemblance to Sergio Corbucchi's Django.)

Django Unchained is a lumpen, self-indulgent mess. Scenes go on interminably for their own sake, dissolving the expected tension and humor. You initially admire Tarantino's audacity in staging a Birth of the Nation-style Klan rally with the vigilantes complaining about ill-fitting masks. When it goes on for five minutes though the charm wears off. Every scene is like this, with Tarantino seeing no need to cut a single frame. For all the pretty scenery and loquacious persiflage there's not enough to justify the 165 minute run time.

The film's treatment of slavery raised many eyebrows. Suffice to say Tarantino dwells on its nastier side, from whippings and dog maulings to brutal slave fights. These scenes aren't played for laughs but feel jarring contrasted with Tarantino's jerky zooms, blood-gushing shootouts and jaunty hip-hop score. Django Unchained riffs on exploitation films like Mandingo and Boss Nigger, without their sleazy earnestness. Instead it plays like a really rotten joke.

In fairness, Tarantino gets some things right. Django's evolution from submissive slave to self-assured action hero is an effective character arc, making him an amiable black avenger. His buddy dynamic with King provides the film drive and focus. Tarantino sends up "scientific" racism by making Candie a phrenologist who justifies slavery by studying a Negro skull. Making Candie's house servant (Samuel L. Jackson) an even worse villain is another nice touch. These bits show the film Django Unchained could have been.

But mainly Django is just repetitive and overly familiar. Long passages merely rehash Basterds: King's verbose introduction, a "private" conversation auf Deutsch, Candie's tense dinner party, the explosive ending. Robert Richardson provides gorgeous photography but the landscapes and luscious detail don't advance the story. The last 20 minutes are completely superfluous. Tarantino throws in nifty homages to Spaghetti favorites like A Professional Gun (the bleeding carnation) and Sabata (King's derringer-rig) but they're fleeting moments.

Jamie Foxx is solid. Django's not the deepest character but Foxx has the perfect defiant swagger to pull him off. Christoph Waltz though falls too readily back on Hans Landa shtick. If Waltz has anything else in his repertoire he'd better break it out soon. At least he's less irritating than Leonardo DiCaprio, whose cartoon Southerner quickly grows annoying. Samuel L. Jackson's vicious Uncle Tom proves the most memorable character.

Tarantino provides numerous B-lister cameos. Not only Franco Nero but Bruce Dern, Don Johnson, Robert Carradine, James Remar, James Russo, M.C. Ginley and Michael Parks make brief appearances. More ill-advised are Jonah Hill as a budding Klansman and Tarantino himself, sporting the gnarliest Aussie accent this side of an Outback commercial. These walk-ons are fun but don't add up to much.

Which sums up Django Unchained perfectly. A movie with this much violence and controversial content ought to provoke some reaction. Sadly, Django Unchained is just more Tarantino silliness in a slightly different package.

Holiday (1938)

George Cukor's Holiday (1938) is a fun but slight comedy. Playwright Philip Barry's satire of the idle rich seems quaint today despite its top-flight stars and ace director. The same cast and crew explored similar topics far better with The Philadelphia Story two years later.

Johnny Case (Cary Grant) is a noveaux rich man of the people who falls for Julia (Doris Nolan), the socialite daughter of old money patriarch Edward Seton (Henry Kolker). Johnny soon learns his in-laws have certain expectations of him, his free spirit and curiosity clashing with their staid worldview. When he meets Julia's sharp-tongued sister Linda (Katharine Hepburn) however, Johnny finds that can be wealthy without compromising their personality.

Holiday encapsulates Barry's preoccupations with high society. The movie is careful to avoid class dialectics: being rich isn't bad, but being a bore is unforgivable. Johnny's made it big on his own terms, personifying the American Dream. His faux-Horatio Alger story makes him both a financial success and a vivacious person with ideas and free will. His would-be in-laws maintain rigid codes: knowing the right people, behaving at parties and being generally complacent. When Julia claims that "going after money is the most exciting thing there is," viewers either laugh or recoil with horror. From then on we're only counting time until Johnny and Linda end up together.

Under Cukor's steady direction, Holiday moves briskly enough at 95 minutes, with sumptuous art direction and solid casting. The problem is that it's not very funny. It misses the screwball antics of His Girl Friday or The Lady Eve, falling readily on a conventional love triangle. The thematically handy but overlong New Years Party generates wry amusement, but few big laughs. A gag with the Professor (Edward Everett Horton) losing a dress shoe in a mud boot is about as clever as things get. The movie relies on star power to keep itself afloat.

Cary Grant isn't believable as a proletariat striver but his charm gets him over Johnny's rough patches. Katharine Hepburn plays a free-thinking socialite much less irritating than her scatterbrain from Bringing Up Baby. Lew Ayres (All Quiet on the Western Front) is hopelessly goofy though Henry Kolker makes a good straight man. Edward Everett Horton and Jean Dixon are scene-stealers as Johnny's good time pals.

Holiday is unremarkable fluff. Well-liked by fans of Grant and Hepburn, it's nothing that wouldn't be done better in George Cukor's follow-up project.