Pain & Gain (2013)

Even at $26 million and without a trucker robot or asteroid in sight, movie wrecker Michael Bay can take what ought to be a simple crime tale and turns into an ordeal that is so painfully loud and soaked in obnoxious nihilistic testosterone that no sign of life or wit remains by the time the credits finally (finally!) roll. That’s “Pain & Gain.” A character has his skull crushed by a 50-pound weight, I thought, “Lucky bastard.” Mark Wahlberg, Duane Johnson, and Anthony Mackie play three lug head Miami gym freaks who crack a plot to kidnap a local millionaire (Tony Shalhoub) to rob him of fortune, home, cars, and boat. The crime goes sickeningly wrong, and the trio cannot even properly kill the man. Bay is pretending to make a film that satirizes the sick lust of the teen boy American Dream: Hot strippers, constant sex, fast cars, big homes, drugs, and guns, and forgiveness for all, because, hey this is America. But the sick prank: Bay believes this shit is the American Dream, and the right of every red-blooded, gay-bashing man. Even worse, he makes the victims more worthy of death than the criminals. Cinematic diarrhea. F

Silkwood (1983)

True story “Silkwood,” directed by Mike Nichols and co-written by Nora Ephron, effortlessly plays like a captured documentary of Karen Silkwood, a lowly 28-year-old worker at a plutonium plant who died in an unexplained car crash after she started investigating safety violations at her thankless job. During her ordeal, Silkwood (Meryl Streep) found herself on the end of repeated, unlikely exposures that even reached her own home, shared with a boyfriend (Kurt Russell) and best friend (Cher), the latter a lonely gay woman. Nichols makes no saints, our three protagonists are all coworkers and flawed people. Karen strays. Russell’s boozer alpha male is loyal to the company, and so on. Money and family struggles, and the damning judgment of the unrealized American Dream are harsh. I first saw “Silkwood” at age 12 and was blown away by Nichols’ unforgiving realism of humiliating decom showers, and Streep’s stunning near naked performance. Political punches? Big money corporate corruption is bare knuckle, but so is the depiction of a union that seems far too hungry for media attention. Streep’s singing of “Amazing Grace” is the most pained and therefore perfect version I have ever heard. A

Requiem for a Heavyweight (1962)

This is the real America. We’re told growing up that if you work hard and stay true, you can be anything with the American Dream waiting just for you. Not in “Requiem for a Heavyweight,” a true-classic film that shows the world outside the boxing ring as far crueler than the one between the ropes. In life one never sees the punch coming until it’s too late. We focus on Luis “Mountain” Rivera (Anthony Quinn) a boxer who -– as the movie opens –- sees his final fight when he’s knocked out, and the doctor deems him unfit to go again as blindness or a fatal aneurysm is assured. Born poor with no education, Rivera had and has zero chance, and now he and his “cut man” (Mickey Rooney) are at the mercy of the duo’s longtime manager, a gambler (Jackie Gleason) swallowed whole by booze and selfishness. The sick tragedy: Rivera remains true to his “master” because he knows of no other option. His loyalty is his doom. Rod Serling of “Twilight Zone” fame wrote the dagger sharp screenplay that draws blood with ripped dialogue. The final scene is one of Hollywood’s greatest gut punchers, leaving any compassionate viewer reeling hard. A+

The Black Hand (1950)

Unusually bleak for 1950s Hollywood rah-rah American films, “The Black Hand” opens in 1900’s Little Italy, New York, as a local attorney/doting father and husband is killed for daring to cross the Italian mob. The attorney’s teenage son -– a strapping with a thick Italian accent who could pass for young Brando -– vows revenge, and delivers eight years later after he returns to New York in the bodily form of 40-year-old Gene Kelly. A man as Italian as I am not. If you can get past that, this is a damn good film that takes head-on the disappointment of the American Dream for thousands of immigrants as they lived (and do still) under the thumb of petty thug dictators who hold more power and sway than the police or courts. There’s no “Singin’ in the Rain” here. In full dramatic mode singed with anger, Kelly pulls a knife on a guy for information and wields the dagger late in the film for more permanent deeds. Director Richard Thorpe (he later made “Jailhouse Rock”) makes the film feel authentic and lets Italians speak Italian for long periods, no subtitles, and takes the gritty, dark action to Naples. Seriously, Kelly is eccellente. A-

42 (2013)

The story of Jackie Robinson -– the first African-American to cross the color line in baseball and swing a bat at a bunch of white guys –- needs no embellishments. It is one of the greatest of American stories, a man finding love, fame, strength, and most vital of all respect after sustaining unspeakable hate. But in Hollywood, every story needs a rewrite. OK, writer/director Brian Helgeland (he co-wrote “L.A. Confidential”) has a good film with “42,” and I cheered on newcomer Chadwick Boseman as Robinson, despite knowing every outcome, but the “clap here!” music score deafens, Robinson is treated like Jesus, and the go-capitalists! whack-off vibe reeks. Never mind the stock side characters: The gold-hearted mentor (Harrison Ford), the bus loads of reject bigots, and the one guy who must be reborn. “42” hits high marks, though, when it shows baseball as a, yes, glorious American pastime (long past?), but one marked with sin, as is all of America. Check the scenes across the American Northeast –- not just the South -– that show the extent of prejudice, and awe when rage overtakes Robinson. In Philly. Well done that. The title, and all its meanings, is simple brilliance. B

Rocky (1975)

“Rocky” is near religion to me. No, it is religion. I grew up in Philly, and Rocky Balboa, played by Sylvester Stallone, was our god. These were not just “movies” to us kids back then. They were documents of our home. Rocky was one of us. Enough sentimentality, onto the film itself: Rocky is 30, piss poor, working for a “second rate loan shark” in Kensington, boxing on the side to make a couple bucks. He hates his life. Then he’s plucked from his rut to box Heavyweight Champ Apollo Creed for a set-up, bullshit New Year’s Day 1976 fight to marks the U.S.’s 200^th anniversary. The fight is fixed. Rocky does not stand a chance, and knows it. He cares not. He wants to prove to himself, his shy pet shop girlfriend Adrian (Talia Shire), and anyone who is ignorant of where Kensington is, that he matters, that he can go the distance, as he says. It’s hilarious that conservatives see “Rocky” as their film, when in fact this story is about the people left out of the American dream, pushed and punched around a boxing ring in a match where the rich always win. Always. One of my favorites. A+