Showing posts with label Michael Caine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Caine. Show all posts

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Gambit (2012)

“Gambit” takes the 1960s Michael Caine Brit caper of the same name –- which I have only seen sections –- and casts Colin Firth and Alan Rickman in roles tailor made for each man’s screen persona. Firth is the charmer. Rickman is the asshole. Firth’s plan: Sell a fake Monet to Rickman’s media tycoon, and get rich. We have Joel and Ethan Coen given screenwriter credit. Don’t believe that PR move. Whatever version they wrote died long ago. Nor should you believe the flimsy animated credits opener that wants us to think “Pink Panther,” but delivers nothing of the sort. Believe nothing about this romp. The main gag has Firth’s hero as a delusional con artist who sees ideas play out perfectly in his mind before reality kicks in. He attracts disaster. A wink at Firth’s unending charisma? No. Director Michael Hoffman pulls the worst gotch’ya ender in history, negating the entire movie. Worst bit: Cameron Diaz channels Jesse from “Toy Story” as a cowgirl at the center of the wonky plot. She’s intolerable. D-

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Get Carter (1971)

I am supposed to love “Get Carter,” the gritty Brit mob flick about a London enforcer (Michael Caine) going home to north England to kill the bastards who popped his connected brother. And, damn it, Caine is friggin’ brutal bad ass in the role, swinging a woman into bed or swinging a rifle into another man’s skull. But I just could not get into this film, directed by Mike Hodges – who made “Pulp” with Caine, and later “Flash Gordon.” So, I didn’t get “Carter.” There are too many trite names –- Alexes and Allans and Alberts –- and too many scenes where Caine’s Carter has to drive someone palace to meet some guy to talk about another guy he has to go drive to and see and talk some more. And, hey, did Carter even like his brother? No. A gangster film should be watched leaned in, eyes ready for the next blast of violence, not spent studying the bloke under the shepherd’s cap wondering, Now who’s he? The ending, though, knocks you back into the seat. If only all that came previous were as direct. B-

Friday, February 7, 2014

Pulp (1972)

Mike Hodges’ Italy-set dark comedy “Pulp” is the tale of a crime writer (Michael Caine) who fancies himself a gangster and a blowhard retired actor (Mickey Rooney) who was once that gangster. The plot: Novelist Mickey King gets hired to ghost write the memoirs of Rooney’s mobster, and all that pulp fiction that bubbles out of King’s pointy head becomes real with guns, bombs, and bodies. Hodges (“Flash Gordon,” a long-time guilty pleasure favorite) starts strong with a free-spirit slapstick vibe that screams anything goes, but that pitch comes with a price. Vital exposition is endlessly told, rarely shown, by Caine, and when Rooney exits, “Pulp” loses its punch. By the finale, set on a beach and truly unexplainable, nothing seems worth caring about. As that’s how King operates, maybe it’s on purpose, and I’m just not hip to the joke. Caine is marvelous, making a joke of his fantastic accent and lady-killer charisma. But I loved Rooney. I prefer him gruff, here and in “Requiem for a Heavyweight.” (He’s damn funny, too.) This tiny guy blowing fury, tearing down meat-hook-hands guys 6 foot 5? It’s great stuff. B

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Now You See Me (2013)

As a comic book geek, I love the crop of summer superhero flicks. This year alone, “Iron Man 3” and “Man of Steel” roar loud, and more Avengers and Spider-Man are on the way. But it’s a genre that is now well-worn, so all the more welcome to “Now You See Me,” what I call a One-Upper Film. That is, a group of great actors play out action -– here’s it’s magicians bent on Robin Hood thievery and the FBI agent on the hunt –- as they try to outsmart, out-trick, and show off to one another. Not just as characters they play, but as actors, too. Yes, CGI and big explosions abound, but “Now” is about the cast: Sharp curious eyes and bows of pleasurable worship as Woody Harrelson, Mark Ruffalo, Jesse Eisenberg, Morgan Freeman, and Michael Caine, among others, show off for us and themselves on camera. Director/ writer Louis Leterrier’s complicated, can you top me?, magic trick plot pitches illusion, flashbacks, and double- and triple-takes, and it all may not stand up to deep scrutiny, but damn, I dug this. A wild card summer hit that’s as popcorn bright fun as “Prestige” –- another magic tale with Caine -– was dark. A-

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Sleuth (1972)

I saw the original “Sleuth” ages ago, whilst in college, and remember it as highly entertaining, a wild cinematic shape shifter, turning in on itself repeatedly as a cuckolded old man of wealth (Laurence Olivier) invites the hairdresser (Michael Caine) sleeping with his wife to his home for a cruel game of psychological torture. But the tables turn, and the characters onscreen one-up each other, as do the actors, classic theater thesp versus young hotshot sex symbol. I also recall it being painfully overlong, just one damn parlor trick too much. And, damn it, I hold at exactly that. Seriously, watch this film if you love acting, the way people play at bouncing off each other on screen, revealing -– and more importantly, holding back information -– until exactly the most painful or ludicrous moment. But beware, past the two-hour mark, you as I did, may get antsy and there’s 20 minutes to go. Based on a play, Anthony Shaffer’s screenplay desperately needs shortening. Olivier and Caine are beyond great, I can barely imagine the thrill of being on set. So watch. But squirm. Avoid the remake. B

Monday, July 30, 2012

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

“The Dark Knight Rises” is the third and clear final installment of Christopher Nolan’s definitive, genre-defining trilogy of Batman films. It is pure topsy-turvy genius Nolan, an epic urban-war film and rule-bending comic book movie that wraps around and fits like snug fingers into “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight” so exactly, it feels as if we have just witnessed the ultimate story arc of a super hero’s life, unlike ever before. No fat. No lose ends. Near perfect. The balance, themes, visuals, and characters expertly played. 

In the first film, a doomed father asks his son, “Why do we learn to fall down?” And the boy, now the Batman, is still answering that question, that we are even still pondering that question is worthy of story-writing accolades. Nolan and his co-writer brother Jonathan have again raised the bar, not just on the super hero film genre, but the entire idea of the summer movie tent pole. I’m looking at you, every Michael Bay film ever made, or even the stellar, popcorn fun (but, in hindsight, flat as a flapjack) “Avengers.” 

Case in point, name another summer flick that tips its hat and quotes from “A Tale of Two Cities.” This does, liberally. Average film fan: Clueless. Nolan: All the happier devil.

The amazing kicker of this finale: Nolan’s best hat-trick of the ultra-dark film franchise, a “Prestige,” if you will, is to introduce a new hero rising from tragedy, pain, and lost trust in leadership. Not evil mass death of the Joker, nor the vigilante violence that haunted Bruce Wayne as Batman. But honest, cautious goodness. Let the fan fiction begin. The final image, before Nolan’s trademark “black screen” sign off, is a literal “Dark Knight Rises.” I saw it coming, months back, sort of. But Nolan defies the script I wrote in my head.

If you have not seen this film, then stop, SPOLIERS abound. And, really, 10 days?

“Rises” opens eight years after the events that closed out “Dark Knight,” with Harvey “Two-Face” Dent (Aaron Eckhart) killed after a deadly rampage that also almost killed the son of Commissioner James Gordon (Gary Oldman). Batman (Christian Bale) remains hated and hunted, taking the millstone of Dent’s sins onto himself. Tones of Christ, anyone?

The Dark Knight’s thinking: Give Gotham (New York, naturally) the hero he thinks it “deserves,” whatever that means, the Boy Scout White Knight that Dent was before he crossed paths with the Joker. As for the Clown Prince, he receives no mention here, with Heath Ledger’s death already hanging over the franchise like a heavy fog. Nolan didn’t want to bring up more scar tissue, so to speak. In the end, it is a smart move.

Back to this drama: Gotham is enjoying an unprecedented drop in crime thanks to a hardcore, no appeal law for criminals handed down in the name of Dent, and the Batman remains vanished. Bruce Wayne also is in hiding, rumored to be crazy or disfigured, similar to Howard Hughes -– an in-joke as Nolan once tried to make a biopic of Hughes before Martin Scorsese beat him to the punch. (Anyone still want to see that movie? I do.)

This is just the start of “Dark Knight,” and we have much to go. A hulking, massive brute of a terrorist named Bane (Tom Hardy) is living in the underground of Gotham’s water system, planning an all-out war on the city, with a purpose that strikes close to Occupy Wall Street: Take down the rich establishment, share it all, and destroy the infrastructure. 

(Yes, the film cuts deep into the left, but know that the city’s corrupt law-and-order-at-all-costs tactics, and blatant lying about peace and stripping of Civil Rights mirrors the right-wing’s mantra, including the great lie that this nation was founded on some Christian value. Never generations of racism or the murder of countless Native Americans.) 

Yet, Bane has more in plan, fully indifferent to politics. It all goes back to the first film. Nolan has followed Peter Jackson with his  “LOTR”  Trilogy, and Lucas with his own trilogy. You know the name. It is all that rock solid. (Let me say it here, this film meets our impossible expectations of the trilogy's closing, not excel, but meets. That alone is worthy of endless praise.) Consider the opposite: “The Matrix” trilogy. 

I digress. Mr. Wayne, still heartbroken over the death of Rachel Dawes, injured more in mind than body, is flummoxed by a new woman. She is Selina Kyle (Ann Hathaway), a jewel thief who breaks into Wayne’s personal safe when the manor is full of guests. She discombobulates the man, leaving him first flat on his face, then as the film progress, unable to finish sentences and struck silent. (The film is immensely dark, but also quite funny.) Kyle intrigues Wayne, and is the catalyst to bring him, both of him, out into the light. Indeed, Wayne dons the Batman suit again, but only for short chunks of time. 

This trilogy always has been about Bruce Wayne –- the rich playboy -- as the disguise, after all. The rubber suit, by now, is irrelevant. A tool. The suit, though, must come out because after a stunning set of scenes -- the film is 2 hours 45 minutes, but flies by -- has Bain and his henchmen leading a hands-on assault on Wall Street, and later ups the ante with a full-on attack of the city, centered on a football stadium, but spanning outward to include bridges and various infrastructure. Batman, sure as hell, is needed again.

The finale takes place on the streets and air of Gotham, and again has echoes of “Begins” and “Dark Knight” in certain punches, crashes, and other beats of action cinema. It’s a pulverizing film that had me thinking of 1970s Cold War paranoia films, “The Siege,” or a classic Tom Clancy novel, more than anything found in the libraries of D.C. Comics, and also of 9/11, and terrorism in our day and time. Nolan is going big here, not looking back.

Again, Nolan takes Batman out of the film for well more than half its running time. I’ll hold off on why. If you have seen it, you know why, if you have read the comic books, you know why. It’s a daring step that would make the folks behind “Avengers” or “Iron Man” quake: A superhero with an MIA superhero. Here, it perfectly fits in with what we were told in “Begins,” this is all Bruce, Batman can be anyone, the man behind the mask is irrelevant. The move also takes Batman down several pegs, a fallen boy in an old well.

Back to Gotham where a lone, hotheaded policeman (Joseph Gordon-Levitt of the Nolan-directed “Inception,” which also had Hardy in it) becomes not just the right-hand-man of a sidelined Gordon, but a stand-in for the Dark Knight. Nolan shifts his film to this man, John Blake, also an orphan, as if it were an Olympic relay race. He is the man, the Dark Knight, who Rises in the end, wary of violence, iron-strong structures and also anarchy, and we presume will take on the mask. That his story plays out much like a police thriller (as did “Dark Knight”) is another way Nolan defies expectations. Gordon-Levitt rocks the role.

As with “Prometheus,” the other surprisingly great, against-the-grain summer film, there are errors along the way, mostly the Wall Street attack and its immediate aftermath, which seems to go from day to dusk to darkest night in far too short a frame period, and a questionable gap in how long the Batman remains sidelined, is it the full three months, or five? I’m still uncertain at this point. All are forgiven, easily. One more crack follows.

What is certain: This film, is a huge, bloody marvel (I know, D.C.), but it does not have the drive of Ledger’s Joker sending electric shocks out into the audience. How could it ever have equaled? Ledger’s performance remains legendary, and could never be topped. The scarily muscular Hardy –- a great actor, catch him in “Bronson” -– is playing such a different sort of evil menace, that comparisons are unfair, and irrelevant. (Had Ledger lived, had the Joker returned, would the story be repetitive? Would Bane be here?) 

Bane wears a “Mad Max”-type gas mask that obscures most of his face, and the effect is purposefully off-putting, almost fully repugnant. So we must watch his eyes, blazing with anger and power, and study his body language, how when he lays his hand gently on a man’s shoulder and brings him –- powerful as he is –- down in a second, by sheer intimidation. 

Hardy's chosen voice will remain controversial forever, tones of Darth Vader, mixed with that of an early James Bond villain, many words inaudible. It’s all crazily over-the-top theatrical, but as Liam Neeson’s Ra’s al Ghul taught Wayne in the first installment, that’s how you intimidate. Nolan is playing by the rules off screen that he lays out on screen. (Amazing how many people miss that. And, yes, Neeson appears here, but not how I expected. ) 

The film has a legion of detractors, those who hate how Nolan has mangled and morphed the Batman history and legend, to his own will, and his (undeniable) epic arc, but, again, as with “Inception,” people cannot stop talking about this movie. That’s power, for Nolan, as Ra’s al Ghul would indicate. (And that is art, too.)  

Let’s not forget just how good Bale is here, how permanently hurt and old he appears. As in the first film, Nolan and company are not afraid to show a hero making mistakes and truly getting in over his head. Case in point, despite his mantra to “fight harder,” look at the shock on Bale as Batman’s face, when he first fights Bane. It’s one for the books. Not a heroic rebel yell, but a look of sheer, absolute, “Oh, shit,” fear. Somehow fans hate that. Why? It is real.

Now, that penultimate scene, with Alfred in the Italian cafĂ©, looking up, to see his life’s hope. I wish it were the very final image, not the Rising scene, and I wish Nolan didn’t show what Alfred sees, instead leaving us hanging and spinning like Cobb’s top. Cain staring out from the screen. Cut to black. Seeing those faces confirmed, it kills the drama before it. At the last moment, an over-reach that drives me mad. Debate onward...

I already have burned through too many words here, and I still have yet addressed the women of this trilogy, and the way Hathaway as “Catwoman” (the name is never mentioned, thank the film gods) turns not just Batman’s brain upside down. Nor have I touched on Wally Pfister’s endlessly fascinating cinematography, never better than the scenes where Batman fights Bain in the low, dark sewers. Hans Zimmer’s score thunders as if he were scoring a deadly serious take on “Clash of Titans,” or another story of gods at war. Every technical mark is just struck dead-on target, besting all before it. (O.K., wait, nothing beats Ledger’s  tractor trailer crash in downtown Chicago.)

“Rises” has that much going on. That many plates. Nolan barely drops a fork. I’m writing this and thinking of a third trip back to the Batcave. To discover more that I missed, re-watch the finale. That’s what movies are all about, are they not? If only that one tiny scene had been cut short, leaving us wide open, rising, in mystery, shock, wonder, and in applause. That's what I wanted. It is the sole reason -- OK< no, I still hate that time jump Wall Street attach to pieces, bad move all around -- this doesn't get a solid “A score. A-

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Journey 2: The Mysterious Island (2012)

Warner Bros. made “Journey 2: The Mysterious Island” for 3D big screens in 2012, but watching the pop-art colors, goofy-grin special effects, and family-on-an-adventure story, I thought of the Disney movies from 30 years back, fantasies that put children center stage. “Journey” is proudly rah-rah family fun, hokey with “I love you, dad” montages that rocket past cringingly cloy, but it is miles better than the first “Journey” film, “Center of the Earth.” That piffle drowned in bad CGI, but here we get tiny elephants, giant bees, raging waters, and falling rocks that ring more true. (Sort of.) Speaking of Rocks, Dwayne Johnson replaces Brandon Fraser as the adult who joins our teen hero (Josh Hutcherson) on an adventure that again focuses on Verne and a missing relative (Michael Caine as one cool grandpa). Hutcherson is too old to be short-bus style yelling “Grandpa!,” but Johnson has a ball singing and playing a ukulele. Adults won’t mind when the cast breaks the fourth wall and smirk. B-

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Sleuth (2007)

The new version of "Sleuth" has one thing going for it right out of the box: a witty, but simple, character-driven story of pure actor one-upmanship derived from the early-1970s classic film inspired by a play.
The story: A cuckolded husband (Michael Caine) dishes psychological torture on the man (Jude Law) sleeping with his wife. Then tables are turned. Then turned again. Caine, it should be noted, played the young man in the 1972 film, so that's also a huge plus. But this update sinks fast. Not because of the can-you-top-this actors, nor Harold Pinter's more nasty screenplay, but because director Kenneth Branagh constantly gets in the way of the story. His camera hangs from ceilings and fireplaces, it lurks behind window blinds, watches the actors through a television screen, sits still as actors walk off, stares at a nostril or eyeball for whole minutes. It plays like a hyperactive film student's thesis project. In essence, Branagh is trying to one-up his own actors as the true artist (Caine plays a writer/Law a would-be actor). The crap lighting and the gaudy art direction also compete as deadly distractions. Thankfully, it's short -- just under 90 minutes. C