Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011) is a textbook bad sequel. I found 2009's Sherlock Holmes entertaining if disposable fluff, but A Game of Shadows is so formulaic it's impossible to enjoy, even as a Friday night popcorn flick.

Years after his last adventure, Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) charts a series of assassinations and terrorist bombings across Europe. Holmes suspects a pattern, determining that Professor Moriarty (Jared Harris) plans to trigger war between France and Germany while selling arms to both sides. Closer to home, Holmes entertains mixed feelings as Watson (Jude Law) becomes engaged to Mary (Kelly Reilly), though she's disposed of when Moriarty's assassins target Watson on his honeymoon. Also along for the ride are a gypsy fortune teller (Noomi Rapace), Holmes' well-connected brother Mycroft (Stephen Fry) and a mysterious killer, Tiger Moran (Paul Anderson).

A Game of Shadows provides a parade of cliches. For all the intricate period detail and overdone humor (even 12 year old viewers will tire of the homoerotic Holmes-Watson jokes), Ritchie barely surpasses Michael Bay sensibilities: fight scenes, clipped exposition, rote character development, forced humor, murder, explosion. Writers Michele and Kieran Mulroney utterly fail to raise the stakes or flesh out their protagonists, even with a larger cast and threat of world war. Maybe the finale will shock you if you haven't seen The Dark Knight Rises, The Avengers or Skyfall. This movie's so rote it would fail a Turing test.

The deal breaker is Ritchie's direction. The original Sherlock occasionally grated with its jerky, over-choreographed fight scenes, but Shadows takes it to absurd Looney Tunes levels. The initially-cool idea of Sherlock mapping out his fight moves for the audience grows annoying through repetition. Do we really need a two minute flashback showing how Sherlock rigged a villain's rifle to misfire? When Ritchie's not shooting fights in inscrutable close-up, he's using slow motion and undercranking effects in painfully obvious ways. Watch cannon balls and bullets zip past our heroes, splintering trees and grazing cloaks!

Robert Downey Jr. wears out his welcome. Where Tony Stark successfully retained his roguish charm through four films, Downey's Sherlock becomes a self-consciously obnoxious bore. Jude Law makes a bland foil. A few glimmers come from the supporting cast: while Noomi Rapace's (Prometheus) gypsy sidekick is wasted, Jared Harris (Lincoln) makes an agreeably understated Moriarty, backed by a vicious Paul Anderson. Stephen Fry makes ideal casting as Mycroft,but he's barely in the film.

There's nothing wrong with mindless action if done well. But Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows doesn't offer anything beyond insipid cliches. There's no charm or excitement to be had, just chintzy steampunk aesthetic and Robert Downey Jr. doing his best Jack Sparrow impression. Enough already.

Ill Met By Moonlight

After their daring experimental films of the late '40s (Black Narcissus, The Red Shoes), Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger hit a rough patch. The Elusive Pimpernel and Gone to Earth (both 1950) flopped; Tales of Hoffman (1951) wowed critics but didn't achieve success. The Archers turned to more conventional fare with Pursuit of the Graf Spee (1956). That naval epic proved a commercial success, despite being one of their weaker collaborations. Their final pairing proves much better-realized.

Ill Met By Moonlight (1957) recounts a daring World War II mission, the 1944 kidnapping of German General Heinrich Kreipe on Crete. It's a typically English story, gentleman adventurers pulling off an impossible caper a la G.A. Henty or Rudyard Kipling. But Powell & Pressburger keeps things grounded in reality, however unlikely the tale.

SOE operative Patrick Leigh Fermor (Dirk Bogarde) lives undercover in Crete during Nazi occupation. Fermor receives orders to kidnap General Kreipe (Marius Goring), the island's military governor, and spirit him away to Cairo. With a small British team and some Greek partisans, Leigh Fermor kidnaps the General while bamboozling his subordinates. As the commandos make their way to the coast, however, the Germans are only a step behind.

Ill Met By Moonlight is too outlandish to be invented. The real Major Leigh Fermor just died in 2011; besides soldiering he was an acclaimed travel writer. He and his mates playact an adventure against beautiful Cretan settings, switching costumes and calling audibles when the Germans make an unexpected move. During their mission, Leigh Fermor and Moss pose for a photograph in captured German uniforms; this very "Hollywood" moment really happened. Even faced with capture they're unflappably good-humored. Gunga Din's heroes would improve of such cheeky insouciance.

Those expecting thrill-a-minute action might find Moonlight disappointing. It features only two onscreen deaths; the big action scene occurs entirely off screen. Instead it's a tense cat and mouse game. The biggest set piece shows Leigh Fermor bluffing his way through 22 German checkpoints. Kreipie proves a resourceful foe, leaving medals behind and giving a telltale coin to an inquisitive Greek boy (Demetri Andreas). There's also tension with the Greek partisans, overly eager to cut Kreipe's throat. Success is by no means a foregone conclusion.

Powell & Pressburger's restrained approach redounds to their credit, especially given later iterations of commando drama. The Guns of Navarone (1961) plays like Moonlight on steroids, packing its Cretan spy mission with explosive action scenes, ridiculous plot twists and nigh invincible heroes. Emeric Pressburger himself wrote Operation Crossbow (1965) which transforms Britain's V2 sabotage program into James Bond fantasy. By contrast, Moonlight features ordinary Englishmen and Greeks achieving amazing things through pluck.

Dirk Bogarde cuts a dashing figure, all boyish toughness and devil-may-care humor. David Oxley makes a pleasant foil. Marius Goring (A Matter of Life and Death) makes a crafty adversary, struggling to outwit his captors. Michael Gough (Batman), Cyril Cusack (The Day of the Jackal), Wolfe Morris and Paul Stassino handle key supporting roles. Christopher Lee and David McCallum have early career bits.

Ill Met by Moonlight makes a fine final bow for the Archers. Not their most artistically accomplished work, it's nonetheless an enjoyable adventure film.

Colonel Redl

"Gentlemen, is this a great moment or a small one? I can't tell."

The strange case of Alfred Redl remains legendary in Central Europe. A Galician Jew, his intelligence, dedication and innovative methods (introducing electronic surveillance to espionage) nonetheless earned him appointment to Austria's general staff while pursuing various homosexual affairs. The latter left him open to blackmail, with Russian intelligence operatives forcing Redl to provide them military secrets. Besides the case's tabloid aspects, many believe Redl's transgressions (selling fortification plans and troop deployments to Russia) directly cost thousands of Austrian lives in World War I.

Redl's best-known in the Anglosphere through John Osborne's scandalous play A Patriot for Me (1966), whose outre decadence (namely a lengthy drag ball in Act II) demolished the Lord Chamberlain's censorship power in England. Hungarian director Istvan Szabo's Colonel Redl (1985) is more subdued, mixing character study with rich historical panorama. Szabo shows prewar Europe as a tinderbox of ethnic tensions and imperial power plays.

Alfred Redl (Klaus Maria Brandauer) rises through the turn-of-the-century Austrian army. He pursues a discreet private life, marrying a noblewoman (Gudrun Landgrebe) while seeing a succession of male lovers. Redl's talents impress Archduke Franz Ferdinand (Armin Mueller-Stahl), who enlists him as chief of intelligence, ferreting out Russian spies and removing political undesirables. After a botched cleanup operation Redl begins losing faith in his mission. Redl learns that Ferdinand is planning a coup d'etat against the ailing Emperor Franz Josef, leading him to betray military to secrets to Russia.

Elegantly directed with rich period trappings, Colonel Redl functions primarily as a personal tragedy. Redl reminds us of Bertolucci's The Conformist, a deviant outsider obsessed with being "normal." In his polyglot country with dozens of nationalities (Austrians, Magyars, Poles, Galicians, Ukranians, Czechs) identity becomes a key marker of success. Forced to suppress both his sexuality and Jewish origins, Redl becomes a violent chauvinist, physically assaulting those who insult the Emperor. He keeps an unloved wife for appearance's sake, distancing himself from lifelong friend/lover Kubinyi (Jan Niklas). Redl's pose unnerves his peers but pleases Austrian officials, who peg him as an unthinking hatchet man.

Unfortunately, Szabo ascribes Redl's betrayal to conscience and principle. This wasn't a single act in a weak moment, but years of sustained espionage extorted by Russian spymasters. Svabo himself served as a police informant, and the movie may have been a covert act of self-justification. Regardless, Colonel Redl could have shown its protagonist in a more accurate and complex light, instead of an honorable man pushed too far. Nonetheless, Redl's central dilemma - of creating a false image, of "becoming" the ideal Austrian, at the loss of genuine identity - retains dramatic power.

Szabo additionally draws a vivid portrait of prewar Europe. Dominating the film's second half is Archduke Franz Ferdinand, a ferocious schemer eager to preserve the Dual Monarchy at all costs. The Austro-Hungarian Empire teeters on the verge of collapse, its minorities clamoring for independence; neighboring Russia, Italy and Serbia nibble at its borders. Reviewing one of Redl's operations, Ferdinand runs down a list of ethnicities to blame before finding an "acceptable" scapegoat. Later he chillingly predicts the need for a "local war," initiated by an assassination, to reinvigorate Austria. When Redl's superiors learn of his homosexuality he too becomes an expendable pawn.

Klaus Maria Brandauer gives a commendably sensitive turn. Wisely, Brandauer doesn't make Redl likeable, instead playing him as a single-minded careerist mixing jingoism with self-loathing. The actor gradually allows Redl sympathy, his ultimate realization and downfall registering powerfully. Brandauer briefly became an international star, appearing in Never Say Never Again and Out of Africa before returning to European cinema.

Armin Mueller-Stahl (The X-Files) underplays his villainous Archduke, soft-spoken but effortlessly menacing. Hans Christian Blech (Decision Before Dawn) features as Redl's mentor. Jan Niklas and Andras Balint play two of Redl's colleagues and lovers. Gudrun Langrebe handles a thankless role well, showing tragic awareness of her superfluity in Redl's life.

Colonel Redl is an enjoyable period piece. For viewers put off by the artsiness of Miklos Jancso and Bela Tarr, it's a good intro to Hungarian cinema.

The Conformist

Bernardo Bertolucci graduated from modest, politically-inflected dramas like Before the Revolution (1964) to expansive art house fare: Last Tango in Paris (1972), 1900 (1976), The Last Emperor (1987). The Conformist (1970) is considered a masterpiece, yet I found it rough sledding. It showcases Bertolucci's fascinations with Marxist politics and sexual promiscuity, but seems more interested in crafting bizarre imagery than storytelling.

Marcello (Jean-Louis Trintignant) has no greater ambition than being a bureaucrat. He joins Mussolini's secret police, marries ditzy bourgeoisie Giulia (Stefania Sandrelli) and joins with enforcer Manginello (Gastone Moschin) to assassinate a leftist professor (Enzo Tarascio) living in Paris. Marcello becomes attracted to the Professor's wife (Dominique Sanda), seduced by Parisian decadence and increasingly ambivalent towards his mission.

The Conformist works best satirizing middle class values. Mussolini's regime was never universally loved, most Italians quietly acquiescing to Fascist rule. Marcello epitomizes this attitude: he sublimates his foibles, from his assorted friendships to implied homosexuality, to reinvent himself as a "respectable" middle class functionary. His confession to an irate priest is a comic highpoint, Marcello admitting his failures but praised for wanting to fit in. Conformity is key, even if it means marrying a drip like Giulia or murdering state enemies.

The Conformist's middle section sags. The movie remains on an ostensibly comic level but its message proves shallow and repetitious. Marcello and Giulia find Paris's bourgeois lifestyle more appealing than totalitarian Italy, losing any sense of mission (or plot) as they shop, flirt and putter around. Rather than deal with their complicity in Fascist crimes, Bertolucci cuts straight to war's end, for a bizarre scene where Marcello confronts a long-lost friend - and a traumatic past incident. 

Bertolucci's direction is annoyingly showy. He splashes off-kilter color schemes, narrative shifts, Dutch angles and handheld camerawork like a proto-Oliver Stone. Bertolucci even stages a Visconti-lite dance, the surest sign of artistic pretension. In some scenes it works, like Marcello's trips to his boss's cavernous offices or the bizarrely ritualized assassination. But too often Bertolucci achieves a Tom Hooper level of self-conscious artiness; in one scene, Professor Quadri explains Plato's myth of the cave before opening a window and dissipating Marco's shadow. Such obviousness proves annoying rather than profound.

Jean-Louis Trintingant (Z) scores with a low key, quietly anguished turn. Gastone Moschin (The Godfather, Part II) plays Marcello's more committed associate with comic menace. Dominique Sanda makes an impression as Anna, but Stefania Sandrelli's Giulia is even better. Her transformation from scatter-brained materialist to beaten-down housewife is powerfully effective.

The Conformist is a mixed bag. Admittedly, it comes down to personal taste: most fans love Bertolucci's showy direction, where it mostly gave me a headache.

Zero Dark Thirty

Kathryn Bigelow crafts a striking thriller in Zero Dark Thirty (2012). It's a powerful piece of work that depicts the War on Terror in a commendably complex manner.

Maya (Jessica Chastain) is a CIA analyst assigned to Pakistan in 2003. Maya helps a field agent (Jason Clarke) crack an al-Qaeda courier and tracks Abu Hamid, a high-level operative with ties to Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Her investigation stalls when another informant declares Hamid dead, and when the CIA relocates resources to homeland defense. Years later, a new lead convinces Maya that Hamid's actually alive - and that he can lead the Agency to Osama Bin Laden himself.

Zero Dark Thirty began as a project about the 2001 attempts to nab Bin Laden at Tora Bora. Real life rewrote the plot of course, refocusing things on Bin Laden's death. Assorted media and political gasbags spouted off before its release, claiming the film an endorsement of torture, pro-Obama propaganda or flag-waving jingoism. Not surprisingly, these preliminary complaints are remarkably unjust. 

Zero Dark Thirty operates on two levels. Bigelow and writer Mark Boal first present an unusually complex spy thriller. Maya finds her colleagues viewing Bin Laden through a pre-9/11 mindset: "You can't run a global network of interconnected cells from a cave." Human intelligence is flawed, electronic surveillance useless without hard leads. Political hurdles interfere: the Bush Administration downplays the hunt for Bin Laden, Barack Obama shuts down the CIA's detainee program. CIA bureaucrats are gun-shy after proclaiming Iraq a "slam dunk," delaying the operation by months. Only Maya's determination keeps things afloat.

Bigelow commendably downplays hot button issues. The film opens with a brutal torture scene, but the actual impact of "forceful interrogation" is secondary to analytical skills and luck. The detainee program, use of drones, electronic surveillance - heck, the legality of SEAL Team Six's raid - are unquestioned. The closest Bigelow comes to overt editorial comment is showing President Obama disavowing torture. The lack of an overt message may niggle liberal viewers, but it's Zero Dark Thirty's greatest strength.

Or second greatest strength, after its protagonist. Maya spends early scenes fitting into the man's world of spying, disarming colleagues with both her intelligence and coarse profanity. Virtually ignored in early scenes, she ends the film instinctively trusted by the CIA director (James Gandolfini) and Navy SEALs alike. One imagines Bigelow relating to this, a female professional gaining respect by besting her peers. Maya has only her gut feeling to confirm Bin Laden's presence in Abbotabad.

Unsurprisingly, Maya's obsession takes a mental toll. This takes an obvious form when one of her colleagues dies. More generally, she grows completely absorbed by her mission. Maya lacks a personal life, imbuing even friendly dinners with shop talk, clinging to her leads out of self-justification more than genuine conviction. Her entire life's been about hunting Bin Laden; the end of her quest leaves her drained rather than fulfilled. More than a feminist heroine, Maya symbolizes America's lingering obsession with terrorism.

If released two years earlier, Zero Dark Thirty might be a dark tale of obsession, a terrorist Zodiac. Instead Bigelow ends with SEAL Team Six's incredible mission. Truth be told, the climactic raid feels like a set-piece tacked on to an existing script. All the same, Bigelow handles it with remarkable skill, mixing handheld camera with night vision effects. It's an excellent finale, tense and exciting yet commendably muted. No rah-rah heroics at film's end, just numb relief.  

Jessica Chastain gives a flawless turn. She's not a complete blank slate, allowing humor and camaraderie to bleed through periodically. But the main impression is Chastain's bluntness, smarts and fierce dedication, whether coolly directing operations or telling off superiors. Chastain makes a commendably rounded heroine, easy to root for and emotionally sympathetic, and should nab this remarkable actress an Oscar.

Bigelow provides Chastain solid support. Jason Clarke (Public Enemies) makes a strong impression as Maya's hard-nosed partner. Jennifer Ehle (The King's Speech) gets an affecting role playing a CIA friend with a poor prognosis. Kyle Chandler, James Gandolfini, Mark Strong (Kick-Ass) and Stephen Dillane (John Adams) play skeptical agency bigwigs.

Zero Dark Thirty is remarkable. Smart, lucid and realistic, it joins Lincoln as a real-world drama for thinking adults.

Outside the Law (2010)

Algeria's War for Independence remains a contentious subject. Not a far-off colony like Indochina, Algeria was an incorporated region of France with a large settler population (pied noirs), making its 1954-1962 revolution especially bitter. Besides the conflict's nastiness - widespread torture, terrorist bombings and up to 1,000,000 deaths - the fallout embroiled France in several military coups, a domestic terror campaign and an influx of pied noirs and loyalist Algerians (and massacre of those remaining in Algeria). Algeria descended into a brutal dictatorship, more recently experiencing civil war with Islamist groups. Algerian immigration to France remains a tense issue between these nations.

Outside the Law (2010) provides a controversial take on this "War Without a Name." It compares favorably to past portrayals: Gillo Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers (1966) is masterful Algerian propaganda cleverly framed as a docudrama, while Jean Larteguy's novel The Centurions invests its hard-bitten paratroopers with nationalist angst. Rachid Boucherab's film is less flattering towards FLN and France alike. Its ambiguity and diverse protagonists make it refreshingly complex.

Three Algerian brothers, separated by 1945's Setif Massacre, reunite ten years later in southern France. Abdelkadr (Sami Bouajila) spent the intervening decade in prison for nationalist agitation; Moussaud (Roschdy Zem) is an ex-paratrooper who survived Dien Bien Phu; and Said (Jamel Debouzze), an amoral criminal. The three form the nucleus of an FLN cell within France. They target both French officials and rival MNA nationalists, aided by French leftists. Abdelkadr's single-mindedness alienates his brothers, with Massoud pining over his wife (Louiza Nehar) and Said's devotion to his nightclub undermining his commitment. The French government brings in Colonel Faivre (Bernard Blancan), who forms a paramilitary unit - the Red Hand - to beat FLN at its own game.

Outside the Law re-frames Algeria's struggle as a stylish gangster movie. Bouchareb stages smoke-filled meetings in restaurants and night clubs, clothes his heroes in pinstripe suits and lifts set pieces (Said stabbing a traitorous Caid, a mistaken car bombing) from The Godfather. The FLN certainly appear as brutal thugs, whether extorting supporters or murdering rival nationalists. The heroes have the panache of the Corleones in their period duds and colorful assassinations (including a daring raid on a police station), but Western viewers may have trouble cheering them on.

Not that this ambiguity ill-serves the drama. Indeed, Bocuherab presents three commendably complex protagonists. Abdelkadr is a frightening extremist willing to provoke police raids and sacrifice anyone in furtherance of independence. Massoud proves more sympathetic, his bitterness and family loyalty drawing him to a fight he's ambivalent about, while Said remains interested in business. A subplot has Said grooming an Algerian boxer (Assadd Bouab) to be France's heavyweight champion. The FLN views this as unacceptable: any Algerian glory, sporting or otherwise, must accrue to Algeria.

The movie came under fire for historical license. FLN activities in France were more modest than the film suggests, while Boucherab's comparing their exploits to the wartime Resistance will rankle some viewers. More contentious is the staging of the Setif Massacre: hardly an unprovoked "police riot," French reprisals came after Muslim rioters killed 103 Europeans. But Alistair Horne notes that "even if one were to accept the very lowest figure [of 1,000 Muslims killed]… it still represents… ten-to-one over-kill." Boucherab correctly marks Setif as the catalyst for Algerian nationalism and, along with a childhood eviction, the protagonists' formative event.

Outside the Law grows more predictable in its second half. With Faivre's arrival the movie falls into cops-and-robbers plot conventions, with man-hunting, chases and shootouts. Fortunately, Boucherab compensates with engaging set pieces and a downbeat ending. And the script by Boucherab and Olivier Lorelle remains commendably lean, with few subplots and only a wisp of romance (Abdelkadr's flirtations with leftist Helene [Sabrina Segvecou]) to distract from the main story.

Most of the actors worked on Boucherab's Days of Glory (2006), and all excel here. Sami Bouajila makes Abdelkadr a single-minded revolutionary to make Tom Courtenay's Strelnikov flee in terror. Roschdy Zem is perfect as a man scarred both physically and mentally, while Jamel Debouzze makes an agreeable hustler. Bernard Blancan is a ferocious villain but no Colonel Matthieu. The female roles are sparse, though Chafia Boudra's matriarch gets some choice dialogue.

Outside the Law falls just short of greatness. Despite a familiar conclusion, it's still a powerful, revisionist look at a bloody conflict.

Skyfall

I'm conflicted over Daniel Craig's tenure as James Bond. On the one hand, Craig's done a fine job making Bond his own. Unfortunately, the films themselves have been forgettable. True, after the absurd Pierce Brosnan era a more grounded approach was welcome. But Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace more resemble Jason Bourne and Christopher Nolan's Batman than 007. Mix lame villains, nauseating shaky cam and irritating faux-"realism" and you have generic Hollywood action product.

Skyfall is a welcome improvement. Sam Mendes' installment suffers from lazy, inconsistent plotting. But it's got a few elements unquestionably right. The action is comprehensible, Bond is a more compelling, rounded hero - and best of all, there's a worthwhile villain.

James Bond (Daniel Craig) narrowly survives a mission in Turkey, where M (Judi Dench) orders another agent (Naomie Harris) to fire at an enemy regardless of risk to Bond. Bond lives incognito for a time until a terrorist attack on MI6 headquarters brings him back. Bond tracks a ring of hackers to China, where he uncovers Silva (Javier Bardem), an ex-MI6 agent with a grudge against M. M herself is blamed for the loss of several agents, with a Defence Ministry official (Ralph Fiennes) breathing down her neck. Bond and M go on the lam, goading Silva into a showdown at Bond's family estate.

Over everything else, Skyfall feels like a Bond movie. It delivers the requisite action, humor and thrills, though is fairly light on sex. Unlike previous films, the character development proves interesting: Bond cautiously reveals back story and vulnerability, while M battling bureaucracy grounds the movie better than epileptic camera work. Nods to Bond mythology abound, not least the introduction of new Q (Ben Whishaw) and Moneypenny. Indeed, two set pieces - a fistfight in a komodo dragon pit, Bond target-shooting with Silva - seem more authentically Bond than anything else in the Craig era.

Sam Mendes seems an odd choice for a Bond flick but proves surprisingly adept. He makes brilliant use of locations, with photographer Roger Deakins providing distinct looks: crowded Istanbul, flashily-lit in China, foreboding moors in Scotland. The action scenes are wonderfully straightforward, shot and blocked in classic, unrestrained style. CGI aside, the final farmhouse siege is one heck of a set piece.

Skyfall suffers mainly from lazy storytelling. The second half begins with a profoundly tiresome trope: Silva allowing himself to get caught. After The Dark Knight and The Avengers surely this has lost any cleverness or surprise. The first half builds up slow-burning intrigue with Silva exposing MI6 agents and undermining world security. This vanishes as Silva shifts gears to a personal vendetta, the mastermind becoming a mindless thug. Fortunately, Skyfall is entertaining enough to overcome these shortcomings.

Daniel Craig continues his fine work. Bond's as indestructible as ever, surviving a shot to the shoulder and 50 foot fall with effects seemingly only on his aim. But Craig relishes the chance to express some depth: his increased emotional strain, old-fashioned patriotism and testy relationship with M. We also see, for the first time in years, Bond reveal something of his background. He's the best Bond since Sean Connery and finally has a film worth his performance.

Judi Dench gets an excellent sendoff: she's been M since 1995's GoldenEye and excelled even in her weaker movies. Dench reveals a proud woman whose cold professionalism catches up with her. Ralph Fiennes, fine actor though he is, doesn't inspire confidence as her putative replacement. Feisty Naomie Harris (Pirates of the Caribbean) and droll Ben Whishaw make strong impressions as future MI6 mainstays. Albert Finney has an hysterical cameo as Bond's estate keeper.

It's Javier Bardem though who steals the show. From his marvelous introduction scene on Bardem personifies the classic Bond villain: frosted hair, greasy charm, sexual ambiguity, grisly deformity. His motivation is simplistic but Bardem's colorful menace proves far more interesting than Mads Mikkelsen or Mathieu Almaric. It's nice to see Craig up against a worthy opponent.

Skyfall remains a flawed movie, namely through awkward plotting. That said, it's easily the best Daniel Craig installment yet. Here's hoping when James Bond returns, he'll continue in this vein.

Argo

Ben Affleck's Argo (2012) is a pleasingly creative thriller. Part "incredible true story" satire and part intense thriller, it depicts a truly bizarre scenario: a Hollywood-CIA conspiracy to rescue refugees from the Iran Hostage Crisis. Besides its timeliness with recent Middle East violence, it's a cracking good movie.

Six American diplomats escape the Iranian takeover of America's embassy in 1979. While the world focuses on the greater hostage crisis, CIA extractor Tony Mendez (Ben Affleck) focuses on rescuing these six from the Canadian embassy. His plan: disguise the hostages as a Canadian film crew scouting locations in Iran. This involves convincing Hollywood producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) and makeup man John Chambers (John Goodman) to manufacture Argo, a science fiction epic with a screenplay, advertisements and even a press event. The early stages work flawlessly, but indecision by the hostages, executive meddling and suspicious Iranians make their getaway no easy task.

Like Charlie Wilson's War, Argo's covert ops are an expose reshaped as farce. Hollywood (or at least a chunk of it) is shown in bed with the US government, who engineer a dummy film with no one batting an eye. At the end, when higher-ups call off the plan, Mendez disobeys orders, short-circuiting the whole chain of command. At the end, the CIA successfully covers its tracks, allowing Canada to take credit. Beyond a fleeting reference to the Mossadegh coup, Affleck opts not to probe the story's darker implications.

And why should he? The story's mix of farce and derring-do deserves celebration. Affleck and writer Chris Terrio provide a perfect balancing act, mixing satire with thrills. The Hollywood scenes crackle with pointed barbs, with Siegel and Chambers using bluff and guile to arrange a "fake hit." The best scene has Siegel confronting a hack screenwriter whose value is exponentially inflated by the crisis. Unionized and cliquish Hollywood proves thornier than the Ayatollah's regime.

Argo flawlessly shifts gears in the second half. We get glimpses of Iranian repression to raise the stakes, while early exposition establishes the Carter Administration's uneasiness with Mendez's plan. Afraid of an embarrassing catastrophe, the State Department nearly scrubs Mendez's plan. The last half hour is an exercise in tension, with brilliant inter-cutting between the hostages's escape, bureaucratic muddle and near-misses with Iranian authorities. It's amazingly gripping, so intense that the sappy finale barely registers.  

Ben Affleck's wooden acting isn't too big a drawback: playing an intense G-Man minimizes his woodenness. John Goodman and Alan Arkin are perfectly cast as archly cynical movie big shots: their scenes are alone worth the ticket price. Bryan Cranston gets a meaty role as Mendez's boss. The excellent supporting cast includes Victor Garber, Bob Gunton, Phillip Baker Hall, Zeljko Ivanek, Titus Welliver and Isabelle Adjani.

Argo is a resounding success. It proves again that Ben Affleck should stay behind the camera instead of take up space in front of it.

The Lady Vanishes

The Lady Vanishes (1938) is Alfred Hitchcock's most inventive British film. A meticulously crafted thriller, it transcends even The 39 Steps in its streamlined plotting and tonal blend. An appealing cast, headed by the radiant Margaret Lockwood, helps too.

Iris Henderson (Margaret Lockwood) travels to her wedding through Bandrika. While waiting for a train struck in the head and is tended to by Ms. Froy (May Whitty), an elderly English matron. After falling asleep Ms. Froy appears to have vanished, and her fellow passengers claim she never existed. Iris suspects something's afoot, joining Gilbert (Michael Redgrave) to unravel a curious spy plot.

The Lady Vanishes takes cinematic duplicity to an extreme. Iris herself isn't sure if Ms. Froy existed or not, between her injury and everyone contradicting her. But it turns out her passengers have hidden agendas: the Todhunters (Cecil Parker) are hiding an affair, Caldecott and Carothers (Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford) want to reach a cricket match, the Doctor (Paul Lukas) is treating another patient and several passengers are spies. Even after confirming Ms. Froy's identity Iris still needs to uncover other passengers' agendas. Lady delights in baffling both its characters and audience.

Hitchcock incorporates this playful sleight-of-hand into his direction. An extended set piece has Iris and Gilbert fighting the magician Doppo (Philip Lever), who uses a false-bottomed case to escape. Amusingly, Doppo's rabbits watch the fight from a nearby crate! Several double-exposure dream sequences (a train wheel montage a la I Know Where I'm Going!, Ms. Froy's face imposed on other passengers) and miniature sets further enhance the unreal atmosphere.

For all its frivolity Lady has a serious undertone. Unlike many late '30s films it's grounded in pre-WWII tensions, though the only overt acknowledgment is Caldecott and Carothers worrying about England's cricket team. At film's end the disparate passengers must unite against the villains. One character makes a surprise sacrifice while a misguided pacifist naturally eats a bullet. A musical code provides the clever Macguffin.

Margaret Lockwood might be Hitchcock's most endearing heroine. In contrast to the usual femmes fatale, nutcases or confused victims, Lockwood's Iris is pleasingly plucky, shrewd and quick-witted. Michael Redgrave makes a good romantic match. May Whitty makes a strong impression and Paul Lukas excels against type. Naunton Wayne and Basil Radford's doubles-act proved so popular they revived it in a half-dozen films.

The Lady Vanishes is a delicious cinematic confection. Even among Alfred Hitchcock's oeuvre it has few equals in mixing comedy, suspense and romance.

Hanna

Beware genre films helmed by a prestige director. When filmmakers retool their style for the material, you get films like Tim Burton's Batman or the Coens' True Grit. More often a self-professed auteur thinks he's too good for a mere spy flick/horror film/superhero movie, injecting it instead with muddled "meaning" and irritating artistry. Witness John Frankenheimer's Prophecy passing off homicidal bear jerky as a profound ecological statement.

Joe Wright's Hanna (2011) is Exhibit B. What highfalutin nogginhead thought attaching the director of high-toned Oscar bait Pride and Prejudice and Atonement to a violent spy thriller was a good idea? The movie received modest acclaim but this blogger found it insufferable, a half-digested mixture of stomach-turning style, facile story and misused actors.

In the Finnish wilderness, teenager Hanna (Saorise Ronan) is raised by Erik Heller (Eric Bana) to be a self-reliant killing machine. Hanna's decision to see more of the outside world brings fateful consequences. CIA Agent Marissa Wiegler (Cate Blanchett) knows Erik has damaging information on the agency and enlists freelance thug Isaacs (Tom Hollander) to kill him. But Hanna proves an even bigger threat, especially when she learns of her twisted origins.

Hanna contains all the careful, considered craftsmanship of a bad music video. Wright crams the film with circling camera angles, hard dissolves, dizzying colors, international locations (Morocco, Finland, Germany) and strange imagery (headless dinosaur statues, Isaacs' gauche nightclub) but it's all ostentatious, empty preening. Long, pointless scenes and annoying dialogue proliferate. Coupled with the Chemical Brothers' roiling techno-score, the overall effect is nausea.

The story is even worse. The "fairy tale structure" (informed I guess by Hanna reading a Brothers Grimm book) seems a convenient excuse for endless clichés, plot holes and one-note characters. Hanna's baffled by light switches and kitchen appliances yet quickly masters a laptop? Hanna skipping from continent to continent without notice or interference is equally hard to swallow. Similarly, the last-act revelations about CIA genetic experiments come out of a screenwriter's handbook.

Wright and writers David Farr and Seth Lockhead fail further handling Hanna. She's a blank slate lacking the self-awareness of Hit Girl or Katniss Everdeen's rounded characterization, all meaningful glances and fancy gun tricks without substance. Wright pointlessly adds a family of hippie tourists for cringe-worthy character non-development. Then again, even a better-realized character couldn't overcome the twee disconnect between Hanna's self-discovery and barehanded neck breaking.

Saorise Ronan struggles to wring any humanity from an ill-conceived part. Eric Bana is merely bland, but the bad guys are pathetic. Cate Blanchett mixes cartoon villainy with a laughable Texas drawl, while Tom Hollander sporting frost blond hair and a Hogan's Heroes accent is terrifying in the wrong way. And these are actors I ordinarily like.

Hanna is just a gloppy mess. Joe Wright's attempts to transcend the pulp story merely inspire incredulity. No matter how many close-ups of Cate Blanchett's bleeding gums you insert Joe, it's still a teenaged assassin flick.

Flame and Citron

Flame and Citron (2008) is Denmark's entry in the burgeoning World War II Resistance genre. Like its peers (Black Book, Army of Crime) Flame is packed with graphic violence, double-crosses and moral ambiguity. If not the best of its kind, it's certainly entertaining.

In 1943 Denmark, the Holger Danske resistance group targets Nazi occupiers and their collaborators. Bent Faurschou-Hild, aka Flame (Thure Lindhard) is a trigger-happy fanatic, while Jorgen Haagen Schmith - Citron (Mads Mikkelsen) is a neurotic man with a haunted past. The two have no qualms killing Nazi collaborators, but things grow complicated when Flame falls for Ketty (Stine Stengade), who claims to be a fellow Resistance fighter. Flame discovers that his boss Winther (Peter Mygind) may be playing a dangerous double-game, selling out his colleagues to Gestapo chief Hoffman (Christian Berkel) - and having Flame and Citron clean up his mess.

Flame and Citron provides an extremely jaundice view of wartime heroics. Unlike Army of Crime, which glorifies its insurgent heroes (they'd *never* murder civilians!), Flame shows the Danish partisans dispatching victims without sentimentality. The Resistance leaders' incessant infighting makes Hoffman's Gestapo look genial. It's never clear who's betraying who, with Ketty, Winther and Hoffman working personal agendas. The double-dealing makes Flame's patriotism a bitter joke: the idea that he's dispatching innocents to cover his boss's tracks is disturbing. We sympathize with Flame's father (Jesper Christensen), a hotelier who quietly sits things out.

Flame stumbles a bit on the character front. Flame's willingness to allow victims to explain themselves becomes increasingly frustrating, even if it helps unspool the plot. Less functional are Citron's marital troubles, which serve a character purpose but distract from the story. But Ole Christian Madsen's direction sells the drama, providing grim photography and well-scaled shootouts that overcome its dramatic missteps.

Thure Lindhart's intense performance makes his flawed character believable. Even better is Mads Mikkelsen (Casino Royale), whose wonderfully grave, stubbled face speaks volumes about a painful past. Stine Stengade handles her femme fatale role well, and Christian Berkel (Valkyrie) adds another odious Nazi to his resume. Hanns Zischler (Munich) gets an intriguing character, a semi-retired German colonel of inscrutable allegiance.

Flame and Citron doesn't get points for originality in its subgenre. Even so, it's a compelling film with a dolorous moral subtext.

Scorpio

Michael Winner's Scorpio (1973) came just as the spy genre morphed into anti-government conspiracy thrillers. It's a remarkably turgid film, notable only for its top-flight cast.

Aging CIA spook Cross (Burt Lancaster) is planning to retire, but the Company suspects him of treachery. They task Cross's reluctant protégé Jean (Alain Delon) with killing him. But Jean proves lackadaisical in pursuing Cross, while the latter winds up in Vienna with Zharkov (Paul Scofield), a high-ranking Russian spy.

Scorpio is a mess. For all its twists the plot is a dud, the story unengaging and characters nonsensical. David Rintel and Gerald Wilson's script mixes clichéd tough guy dialogue ("We can't all miss!") with reams of stultifying exposition. Even with so much explanation Scorpio never clicks: the opening assassination seems unconnected with anything else, Jean drifts aimlessly through the story while Cross's motives are unintelligible. The pervasive cynicism and "shocking" payoff falter in a movie completely lacking in dramatic tension.

Hack director Michael Winner matches boring disquisitions with poorly-staged action. A gunfight/chase through a construction yard is particularly insipid, resulting in one of cinema's dumbest explosions. The movie's sole highpoints are the scenes with Cross and Zharkov, two old-school warriors with a shared past and professional appreciation.

Burt Lancaster and Alain Delon seem bored, evincing no conviction in their silly characters. Paul Scofield's crafty Russian injects some much-needed life into the show. John Colicos (Anne of the Thousand Days), J.D. Cannon (Cool Hand Luke) and Vladek Sheybal (The Wind and the Lion) have peripheral roles.

Scorpio is an empty-headed thriller that confuses incoherence with intelligence. With so many great spy flicks out there, it's best consigned to the burn bag.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (2011)

There's a lot to like about Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (2011), Tomas Alfredon's new take on John Le Carre's spy novel. I found the old BBC series a chore, Alec Guinness notwithstanding, and Alfredson crafts a more streamlined experience. Certainly Gary Oldman's George Smiley is superb. But the movie never becomes as absorbing as it should be, remaining detached and often unengaging.

In the early '70s, MI6 agent Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) is apparently killed in Budapest by KGB boss Karla. Retiring boss Control (John Hurt) assigns George Smiley (Gary Oldman) to ferret out a Soviet mole, believed to be ensconced in "the Circus's" upper echelons. The suspects: Percy Alleiline (Toby Jones), the pushy new boss; Bill Haydon (Colin Firth), who has a personal connection with Smiley; Roy Bland (Ciaran Hinds), an odious bureaucrat; and Toby Esterhase (David Dencik), a Hungarian emigre. Deep-cover agent Ricki Tarr (Tom Hardy) becomes the focal point, his recent mission in Istanbul providing Smiley crucial information.

Tinker, Tailor succeeeds on most levels. Writers Bridget O'Connor and Peter Straughan do a fine job with Le Carre's complex narrative and moral ambiguity. The twists are easy to navigate and the shifts in time and place are well-handled. Alfredson provides interesting direction, with nice use of internationale locales (Budapest, Istanbul, Paris) and clever imagery (the multiple window shots). The only technical demerit is a bland Alberto Ingelasias score, topped by the regrettable use of a La Mer dance mix (!) over the finale. It's certainly interesting to watch Smiley unravel Karla's plot.

Interesting is the operative word. For all its intricacies Tinker is never entirely involving. There's no sense of urgency, its twisty plot and brisk pace resulting in cold detachment. The large cast remain ciphers, when their relationships are crucial to the story. One climactic scene between two characters is a damp squib when it should be an emotional high point. Superior spy films like The Day of the Jackal and The Kremlin Letter achieve clinical versimilitude while engaging the audience. In this regard, Tinker is only a step or two above Topaz's terminal numbness.

Gary Oldman's Smiley makes the film. His cobra-like visage, with devious smile and piercing eyes, reveals his true nature, a ruthless spy hunter with a mask of gentility. Oldman's performance is a study in underplaying, rarely raising his voice but dominating the screen through sheer will. This makes Smiley's few unguarded moments, as when he recounts meeting Karla, all the more powerful. If there are sequels I'll check them out just for Oldman's sake.

The rich supporting cast is reduced to making impressions. An unrecognizable Tom Hardy (Inception) gives a standout turn, giving Ricki Tarr real depth and feeling. You can't go to theaters these days without tripping over Mark Strong and Toby Jones, and both do well in underwritten parts. David Dencik (The Girl in the Dragon Tattoo) and Kathy Burke (Elizabeth) benefit from their relative anonymity.

On the other hand, Colin Firth's pivotal role is so thinly sketched that his revelations make no impact. Benedict Cumberbatch (War Horse) has lots of screen time and an ugly haircut, but zero personality. John Hurt (A Man for All Seasons), Ciaran Hinds (Munich) and Stephen Graham (Public Enemies) get what amount to extended cameos.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is a mild disappointment. It's certainly a good film, but lacks the depth or impact to push it into classic status. But if Gary Oldman returns as George Smiley, I'll definitely be watching.

Three Days of the Condor

I first saw Three Days of the Condor (1975) freshman year of college on a Friday night TCM triple-bill with The Day of the Jackal and Marathon Man. Watching so many thrillers so late probably turned my brain to mush, as I found Condor murky and hard to follow.

On a second go-around, I enjoyed Condor a lot more. Sydney Pollack's spy extravaganza is one of the smarter '70s thrillers, mixing its anti-government paranoia with a coherent plot, great cast and ace direction.

CIA analyst John Turner (Robert Redford) takes an early lunch break and returns to find his co-workers murdered. After getting ambushed during an agency "pick-up," Turner goes on the lam, enlisting the reluctant help of Kathy (Faye Dunaway) to evade his superiors. Spymaster Higgins (Cliff Robertson) initially thinks Turner killed his colleagues, but discovers the hit team came from inside the Company. The key to the mystery is Joubert (Max Von Sydow), a French contract killer with inscrutable allegiances.

Three Days of the Condor shrewdly tapped into then-contemporary angst. In 1975 Congress convened the Church Committee, which showed that CIA skullduggery extended far beyond Watergate. Testimony confirmed long-standing rumors about agency involvement in overseas coups and assassinations, domestic surveillance and infiltration of media and student groups. Suddenly no government conspiracy seemed too outlandish or paranoid. Condor's depiction of an Everyman taking on the CIA served as powerful wish fulfillment for disillusioned Americans.

Condor is certainly a fantasy. Pollack takes the Oliver Stone view that the CIA generates its own policy, an awkward dodge that shields policymakers from criticism or responsibility. I'd also think it easier (and less risky) to quietly destroy an intelligence memo than to kill everyone who might have seen it. But the portrayal of a CIA whose leaders lie to and deceive each other is more interesting and believable than the monolithic fever dreams of The Parallax View. Nor has the film especially dated: the covert cornering of natural resources, even at the risk of war, certainly tacks with post-9/11 concerns.

Pollack and writers Lorenzo Semple Jr. and David Rayfield craft a thriller that flows smoothly, even if its plot threads get a bit tangled. Pollack makes great use of silence and ambient noise in his set pieces: the opening hit, Turner's slugfest with a Company goon and a tense elevator ride with Joubert. The biggest detriment is Kathy, a useless character clearly shoehorned in as a token love interest. On the other hand, Pollack and Co. can't be blamed for covering all their bases.

Robert Redford is perfect: handsome, a brainy whiz kid and a scrappy fighter, he's more than a match for his perfidious bosses. Faye Dunaway gets a lousy character, developing an acute case of Stockholm Syndrome that makes her jump into bed with Turner within hours of her kidnapping! Cliff Robertson (The Best Man) gets one of his best roles as the reptilian spymaster, and Max Von Sydow's (Shutter Island) amusingly detached hit man makes a delicious villain. John Houseman (Seven Days in May) turns up briefly as a CIA bigwig.

Three Days of the Condor is among the best of the '70s spy thrillers. It maintains the government skepticism of its peers while remaining at least internally plausible, and is plenty entertaining to boot.

Stay tuned for a special Valentine's Day post!

The Debt

After four months of banal summer fluff, it's nice to see a movie for grown-ups. The Debt (2011) is an enjoyable, intelligent spy thriller with an interesting message. If it weren't for the clunky ending, it might be the best film of 2011 (so far).

In 1967, a trio of Mossad agents - Rachel (Jessica Chastain), David (Sam Worthington) and Stefan (Marton Csokas) - carry out a daring mission into East Berlin to kidnap Nazi war criminal Dieter Vogel (Jesper Christiensen). The mission doesn't go quite according to plan, but Rachel manages to kill Vogel and the three come home as heroes. Thirty years later, the publication of a book by Rachel's (Helen Mirren) daughter (Romi Aboulafia) leads an elderly Ukranian man to claim that he is Vogel - forcing Rachel to face a secret from her past.

The Debt is an unusually smart spy film, telling a good story without losing credibility. The Mossad protagonists aren't the super-efficient (if troubled) heroes of Munich, but inept amateurs whose convoluted plan goes awry. The richly drawn characters help a lot: the love triangle that develops is tastefully handled, and Vogel is given a human side to balance out his evil nature. The second half of the film, with the protagonists perpetuating a face-saving lie that echoes down through the decades, provides some disquieting food for thought. How much of any country's national myth is built on convenient, self-aggrandizing falsehoods?

The 1960s scenes are brilliant: well-acted, cleverly plotted and gripping, the flashbacks make for engrossing viewing. The modern day scenes are servicable but suffer in comparison: the trio's future relationships are hinted at, but we don't learn enough about the intervening thirty years to make their older incarnations compelling. Then there's the contrived ending, which tries too hard to mix an intellectual message with a crowd-pleasing climax.

John Madden's direction is assured without being flashy, his crisp staging of key scenes (especially a railyard shootout) and Ben Davis's photography the perfect air of tension. The film is carefully crafted, with the flashbacks and modern scenes complementing each other perfectly.

Jessica Chastain is having a breakout year, with roles in this film, Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life and The Help. She's just about perfect here, a wonderful mixture of vulnerability, toughness and doubt. Sam Worthington (Avatar) scores with a quietly intense performance and Marton Csokas (Lord of the Rings) is perfect. Jesper Christiensen (Quantum of Solace) gives a wonderfully complex performance, making Vogel a very human monster. Helen Mirren makes the most of her limited role, but Tom Wilkinson (Valkyrie) and Ciaran Hinds (Munich) are wasted.

The Debt is a solid spy thriller. Despite its flawed conclusion, it remains a smart, thought-provoking film.

Big Jim McLain

One of John Wayne's most egregious vehicles, Big Jim McLain (1952) is hard to take seriously. A mediocre police procedural with a right-wing edge, it rivals Red Nightmare as one of Hollywood's most overwrought Red-baiting efforts.

The House Un-American Activities Committee dispatches Agents Jim McLain (John Wayne) and Mal Baxter (James Arness) to unravel a ring of Communist spies operating out of Hawaii. McLain discovers that psychiatrist Dr. Gelster (Gayne Whitman) heads the group, who have infiltrated labor unions, Navy bases and medical institutions, hoping to sabotage Hawaii in the event of war. When Gelster's thugs kill Mal, McLain makes things personal.

Made at the height of McCarthyism and the Korean War, Big Jim McLain bluntly embraces right-wing paranoia. The movie is racially tolerant, with respectful portrayals of Hawaiians good and bad, but finds other ways to promote bellicose conservatism. Many of the loathsome Commies are simpering eggheads, but the worst is a self-proclaimed "country club" type, a well-heeled thug who gets Wayne's goat by comparing him to a nigger. These "intellectual" Bolshies are none-too-bright, discussing their nefarious plans in excrutiating detail for the benefit of the authorities. Of course, the Red weasels escape prosecution by hiding behind the Fifth Amendment. Just like those Commies to abuse our Constitution!

It's hard to ignore its ideology, but Big Jim McLain isn't much even as a straight thriller. The film garners bad laughs through McLain's pompous narration: "Frankly, I'm scared of leprosy!" he proclaims as he follows a lead to a leper colony. Director Edward Ludwig shoots some beautiful Hawaiian locations, but the plot is by-the-numbers, there's not enough action for most Wayne fans, and the Duke's romance with a pretty secretary (Nancy Olson) is underdeveloped. The film primarily exists to promote its fossilized Cold War politics, not to entertain.

John Wayne is in two-fisted hero mode, kicking Commie butt, romancing the pretty Nancy Olson (Sunset Blvd.) and upholding the American Way in inimitable fashion. Duke protege James Arness (Them!) plays his ill-fated sidekick. Veda Ann Borg's fiesty blonde informant steals her scenes, but the villains are a boring collection of stereotypes.

Big Jim McLain is a ridiculous curio, and one of John Wayne's worst pre-1970s films. Unless you still think Red-baiting is a swell idea, you're not likely to enjoy it.

The Tall Target

Anthony Mann returns to historical noir with The Tall Target (1951), an excellent thriller based on the 1861 Baltimore Plot to kill Abraham Lincoln. Presaging The Day of the Jackal and Valkyrie, Mann crafts an assassination film where the outcome is predetermined; the interest lies not with the assassins' chance of success, but how they'll be stopped.

New York Police Sergeant John Kennedy (Dick Powell) discovers that President-elect Abraham Lincoln is the target of an assassination plot by pro-Southern citizens of Baltimore. Unfortunately, Kennedy's superiors don't believe him, so he takes it upon himself to foil the plot. Kennedy boards a Baltimore and Ohio flyer full of suspicious characters: a shifty stranger (Leif Erickson) who tries to impersonate Kennedy, a Southern West Point dropout (Marshall Thompson) planning to join the Confederate Army, a Union Colonel (Adolphe Menjou) who's not what he seems. Kennedy himself is targeted by the assassins, who try to frame him for murder before the train reaches Baltimore - and before Lincoln can be warned.

The Tall Target is a taut little thriller that zips along at a brisk pace. The plot is riveting from the word go, with Kennedy facing a forbidding gallery of antagonists. Many of Kennedy's fellow passengers openly declare that they want Lincoln dead, and the Sergeant has his work cut out for him just determining the scope of the plot, let alone stopping it. Writers George Worthing Yates, Art Cohn and Geoffrey Cohn craft a twisting deliciously complex plot keeps the audience on the edge of their seat, with the biggest plot twist coming offscreen. Mann's typically stylish direction, Paul Vogel's forbidding photography and a vividly rendered cast bring this story to life.

Dick Powell is excellent as the tough, grimly determined Kennedy. The supporting cast is equally solid. Adolphe Menjou (Paths of Glory) and Marshall Thompson (Battleground) are suitably devious as the plot's ringleaders, and Leif Erickson (On the Waterfront) gets a choice bit as a sleazy impostor. Ruby Dee (Cat People) shines as a helpful, quietly rebellious slave. Paula Raymond's (Devil's Doorway) feisty soldier's wife and Florence Bates's (Rebecca) arrogant abolitionist are also vividly rendered. Will Geer (In Cold Blood) and Victor Kilian (Abe Lincoln in Illinois) provide some light comic relief as the train's conductor and engineer.

The Tall Target is a superb historical thriller. It doesn't quite match the brilliance of Mann's earlier Reign of Terror, but it's still a solid film that's highly recommended.

Elizabeth

Queen Elizabeth I is one historical figure well-served by cinema. A plethora of talented stars have provided memorable portrayals of Good Queen Bess: Bette Davis, Flora Robson, Jean Simmons, Glenda Jackson, Judi Dench, Helen Mirren. She's definitely a choice role for actresses, the complex monarch who brought England into the modern era, stared down its enemies, juggled myriad "favorites" and proved a woman could indeed rule with "the heart and stomach of a King."

Then there's Shekhar Kapur's Elizabeth (1998). The film received an armful of Oscar nominations but lost out to another Tudor piece, Shakespeare in Love. It's a mixed bag: visually ravishing and well-acted, but soap operatic and historically suspect. At the very least, it has Cate Blanchett's marvelous performance at its center.

Elizabeth Tudor (Cate Blanchett) lives under house arrest, suspected of treason and heresy by her Catholic sister Queen Mary (Fanny Burke). Elizabeth takes the throne after Mary's death in 1558, and must navigate extremely treacherous waters: the King of Spain and the French Duke of Anjou (Vincent Cassel) want to marry her, Franco-Scottish troops led by Mary of Guise (Fanny Ardant) threaten England's border, Pope Pius (John Gielgud) sanctions her assassination and the Duke of Norfolk (Christopher Eccleston), a Catholic nobleman, plots to seize the throne. She carries on a bold affair with Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester (Joseph Fiennes), which earns the disapproval of her chief minister, William Cecil (Richard Attenborough). The initially naive Elizabeth must learn statescraft in a hurry, enlisting the help of her ruthless spymaster Francis Walsingham (Geoffrey Rush) to secure her throne and neutralize her opponents.

No one will mistake Elizabeth for A Man for All Seasons. Writer Michael Hirst went on to create Showtime's The Tudors, which depicted Henry VIII's reign as a soft-core soap opera. Elizabeth has the same MO, amping up the sex, violence, sex, intrigue, sex, speculation, and did I mention sex? Hirst's work titilates its audience with bare chests and heaving bosoms while convincing viewers they're learning something.

History buffs will quibble with more than gratuitous sex. Various anti-Elizabeth plots are conflated together, which is forgivable for dramatic economy. The movie oversells Elizabeth's naivety: surely the "consummate actress" who escaped implication in Thomas Wyatt's plots against Mary wasn't a complete babe in the woods? Additionally, Elizabeth's "Can't we all just get along?" speech during an interrogation is ridiculously anachronistic. Dudley and Cecil are ill-served, with life-long friend Dudley betraying Elizabeth and the ruthless administrator Cecil portrayed as a doddering old man. The movie borders on anti-Catholic, but I'd argue the subject makes it difficult to be otherwise.

Still, Elizabeth has enough virtues to overcome its pulpy nature. If the depiction of events is inaccurate, the complicated conspiracies and plot twists make for gripping, deliciously complex drama. The movie's sense of danger, from the burning of heretics to the endless backroom plots and lurking armies, is palpable from beginning to end. To his credit, Hirst does an excellent job drawing Elizabeth's transformation from waif to ruthless queen, and she's a mostly credible and always compelling protagonist. Elizabeth is certainly more sophisticated than your average bodice-ripper.

Shekhar Kapur's direction is ravishing. He mixes the scope and pageantry of Hollywood epics with the stylization of Indian cinema, making striking use of shadow, color (Elizabeth is constantly shot through "filters" of curtain and fabrics) and impeccable art direction creating a foreboding, gloomy atmosphere. David Hirschfielder's extraordinary score, with heavy use of portentious chorus, adds immeasuribly. A few bits don't come off well: Elizabeth practicing her speech to Parliament is unbearably cheesy, and the plot culminates in a trite Godfather-lite murder montage. Otherwise, it's a first-rate job.

Cate Blanchett is one of Groggy's favorite actresses, and this is among her best performances. Extraordinarily radiant, Blanchett captures Elizabeth's transformation perfectly, giving her the perfect mixture of vulnerability, confusion, dignity and strong will. Blanchett nails all of Elizabeth's sides, whether addressing Parliament, flirting with Dudley or scheming with Cecil and Walsingham. Blanchett reprised her role in 2007's Elizabeth: the Golden Age, but sadly that film was worthless junk.

Geoffrey Rush is superb, exuding craft, quiet menace and twisted Machiavellian genius. Joseph Fiennes has little to do besides smolder and pout. Richard Attenborough (10 Rillington Place) won't make anyone forget Trevor Howard's vicious Cecil in Mary, Queen of Scots. On the flip side, Christopher Eccleston's Norfolk is a bit too obviously evil. An interesting array of actors fill out supporting roles: Kelly Macdonald's (Gosford Park) flirty lady-in-waiting, Daniel Craig's (Munich) demonic assassin, Kathy Burke's (Nil by Mouth) ferocious Mary, Vincent Cassel's (Black Swan) effete Anjou. John Gielgud (Becket) makes his final film appearance as Pope Pius V.

Elizabeth isn't for anyone hoping for a serious history lesson. For those hoping for a sexy, well-plotted period film though, it's definitely worthwhile.

Marathon Man

Marathon Man (1976) is easily the best of the '70s ex-Nazi thrillers (The Boys from Brazil, The Odessa File). Best-remembered for doing to the dentist's chair what Psycho did to the shower, John Schlesinger and William Goldman craft a stylish, exciting film, combining a gripping story with a top-notch cast.

Thomas "Babe" Levy (Dustin Hoffman) is a New York grad student who gets unwittingly mixed up in a case of international intrigue. Turns out his brother Doc (Roy Scheider) is a government agent with ties to Christian Szell (Laurence Olivier), a Nazi war criminal hiding in South America. A car accident in New York City brings Szell out of hiding, fearing his cache of diamonds is at risk. Because of Doc's unsavory associations, Babe becomes a target of Szell's scheming.

Marathon Man is a cleverly-plotted thrill ride, with Schlesinger's assured direction and Goldman's well-crafted script. The assured plotting and detailed characterizations make the requisite twists and revelations organic and clever. The film never lacks for creative set-pieces: the random car accident that sets the plot in motion, Doc's fight with a hulking assassin, Szell's paranoid walk through Manhattan's East Side ("Der Weise Engel!"). My favorite scene has Babe paying a gang of street thugs to rob his apartment (and distract his pursuers). And of course there's Szell's impromptu surgery on Babe, a scene that still inspires cringes.

A lot of recent movies try and put an "Everyman" protagonist in harm's way, leading to gaping credibility problems: is Transformers anything but a teenaged nerd's fantasy? In comparison, Babe Levy is extremely credible: he's athletic, smart and competent with a gun, but his heroics remain within the realm of plausibility. Coupled with his trouble past (his father was blacklisted by McCarthy) and a deceptively sweet romance with Ilse (Marthe Keller), he becomes a well-rounded and sympathetic hero. It helps that he's not facing impossible odds, his adversaries a grandfatherly old man and a few garden-variety thugs, and that their motive isn't world domination but simple greed.

Dustin Hoffman is in full-on Method mode, playing a particularly intense yet believable hero. Laurence Olivier gives his best late-career performance, making Szell a paragon of quiet, understated menace. Roy Scheider (Jaws) is excellent, though he exits the film way too early. William Devane's (Family Plot) duplicity is never in doubt but the lovely Marthe Keller makes an unlikely traitor. Reliable thugs Marc Lawrence (The Ox-Bow Incident) and Richard Bright (The Godfather) play Szell's henchmen, Fritz Weaver cameos as a professor and Jacques Marin (Charade) turns up as a Paris jeweler.

Marathon Man stands tall as another fine thriller from the '70s. Coupling a smart script with excellent performances and assured direction, it's a highpoint of its genre.

Black Book

This is the movie Inglourious Basterds could have been, if Quentin Tarantino had been more interested in plot and character than self-indulgent film references. Paul Verhoeven's Black Book (2006) is a stylish, creative war thriller, a Resistance tale mixing a well-crafted story with moral ambiguities and striking action scenes. Oh, and there's Carice Van Houten too.

Rachel Stein (Carice Van Houten) is a young Jewish woman living in Nazi-occupied Holland. After her host family is killed by a German bomber, she enlists the help of Resistance member Van Gein (Peter Blok) to flee with her family to Belgium. However, their boat is ambushed by SS troops under Franken (Waldemar Kobus). Rachel survives and joins a resistance cell headed by Kupiers (Derek de Lint), dying her hair blonde and taking the name Ellis de Vries. Rachel then becomes the secretary to, and mistress of, Captain Muntze (Sebastian Koch), the local Gestapo leader. A variety of double-crosses ensue: Rachel learns that a Resistance colleague set up the ambush that killed her family, a rescue of Dutch prisoners goes badly awry, Muntze negotiates with the Dutch without authority, and Franken tricks the Resistance into thinking Rachel is a double-agent. And that's all before the war ends.

Black Book is perfectly-crafted escapism. It lacks the realism of, say, Army of Crime, but makes up for it with a deliciously complicated plot. Moral ambiguity is taken to an extreme: aside from the hateful and greedy Franken, all of the characters are complicated. Muntze is more likeable than any of the Resistance fighters, who all too eagerly turn on the Jewish Rachel. The most interesting character is Rachel's pal Ronnie (Halina Rejin), whose willingness to shag the winning side makes her the ultimate survivor. Then there's the cruel irony of the post-war scenes, where innocent people are punished and the guilty escape due to changing political realities - though at least the main villain gets his just desserts.

Paul Verhoeven made a long-awaited return to Dutch cinema after twenty years in Hollywood (Robocop, Starship Troopers). In Soldier of Orange (1977) Verhoeven delivered a fine, down-to-earth portrayal of WWII, and shifts just as easily to stylish entertainment. The action scenes are well-staged, brutally violent yet thrilling, but the focus always remains on the characters. There's plenty of sex but the film avoids the gratuity or demeaning content of Showgirls. The characters prostitute themselves out of necessity, and Rachel endures nasty treatment after Holland's liberation, but it does nothing to lessen our sympathy or admiration for them.

Carice Van Houten gives an extraordinary performance. She is strikingly beautiful and exhibits incredible star quality, dominating the screen. Rachel makes a fine protagonist, whose simple revenge motive is complicated by an unplanned romance, a thousand betrayals and the harsh reality of war-torn Europe. Such a character could be trite or unbelievable, but Van Houten maintains her dignity (and glamor) even when sleeping with the enemy or being doused in feces.

English-language viewers may recognize Van Houten, Christian Berkel, Waldemar Kobus and Halina Rejin all from Valkyrie. Berkel gets a bland role, but Kobus makes a wonderfully hateful villain and Rejin's randy Ronnie provides some light comic relief. Sebastian Koch gives a sensitive performance as a functionary unwilling to shed unnecessary blood, or to out his lover. Dutch characters are played Dolf de Vries, Peter Blok and Thom Hoffman.

Black Book is one of the decade's best war films. In a time when Hollywood war films are mired in violence and cliches, a European director shows everyone how it's done.