How about a few Roger Corman films:

The Day the World Ended (1955), directed by Roger Corman. In the 1950s, Corman was fascinated by monsters of various kinds, and by end of the world scenarios. Here we have a post-apocalyptic world in which six people come together in a secluded house somewhere in America, probably somewhere in California, but who cares. The film begins, as we read on screen, at the end, just after the nuclear nightmare has taken place. We watch five people and a burro make their way to a house in which a father and daughter reside. This father, Jim Maddison (Paul Birch), is a survivalist and has prepared for end times, but his preparations were meant for only himself and his daughter. Now he has four others to worry about, plus the burro. The fifth, a contaminated Radek (Paul Dubov), is hardly a drain on supplies because he only eats raw flesh out in the wilds, and he is doomed not to live long. Conflict ensues. Thug Tony Lamont (Mike ‘Touch’ Connors) has eyes for Jim’s daughter Louise (Lori Nelson), while she has eyes for Rick (Richard Denning), and Tony’s moll Ruby (Adele Jurgens) feels abandoned, and old-timer Pete (Raymond Hatton) frets over his burro. Action moves along until the creatures come out of the woods. Mayhem of a sort takes place until we are left with Louise and Rick who leave the secluded place to begin a new life and a new order. Go Roger go. A few noteworthy items here are Jonathan Haze (you may know him as Seymour Krelborn) appearing unrecognizable as the contaminated creature, Chet Huntly (from Huntly and Brinkley) as the narrator, and Roger Corman himself appearing in a sort of cameo. He is the man in the photograph of Louise and her one-time fiancé. The very 1950s drama does not feel all that dated in these days of nuclear posturing.

It Conquered the World (1956), directed by the incomparable Roger Corman. This is arguably the best worst film to appear in the 1950s. Imagine Lee Van Cleef as the kindly but misdirected scientist who contacts an alien from Venus and does Its bidding. The alien is one of the best tacky monsters I have seen, looking like a carrot with teeth and lobster-like claws. Or perhaps it is a pear-shaped cucumber. whatever it is, it looks wild. And its flying progeny are also pretty nifty. Anyway, It has come to conquer the world and to do so by taking over the minds of earth's people, turning them into emotionless automata. Sound familiar? Yes, this is very much 1950s fear of communist infiltration perhaps best expressed in Don Seigel's Invasion of the Body Snatchers. And it is lots of fun. Look for both Dick Miller and Jonathan Haze in small roles as soldiers who serve as comic relief! Haze seems to be playing with a Spanish accent, and he wears a slim moustache. All in all, this is an excellent example of B-grade cinematic flare in the 1950s.

Teenage Caveman (1958), directed by the inimitable Roger Corman. [Spoilers below] I am a fan of Corman's films, but somehow I missed this one. I can now report that it has the Corman touch: men in silly monster costumes, familiar faces, low production values, stilted dialogue, and an interesting premise. The 1950s saw many films dealing with teenagers, often dubbed delinquents, and many films dealing with fear of the atomic bomb. This film combines both themes, and does so in an interesting and even influential manner (check out the later Planet of the Apes). Twenty-six-year-old Robert Vaughn plays eighteen-year-old cave boy about to become caveman. Characters do not have proper names, but are known by what they do; for example, the boy's father is the symbol maker. Anyway, young cave boy is rebellious and questioning. He wants to know why going across the river is forbidden when across the river are lush forests and fertile sources of food. He knows this because he has gone there. His clan is not happy with his flaunting of the rules, and one member calls for the boy's execution. What ensues is a chase across the river, the boy having gone again after strict orders not to go, his father trailing after to bring him safely back, and a gaggle of clansmen pursuing to carry out the execution of the transgressor. After encounters with a variety of creatures great and small during which we have footage from the 1939 One Million BC and the 1948 Unknown Island, the boy confronts a strange creature that looks like a wild version of TV's Alf. It transpires that this beast is actually a human in a hazmat suit. By now the clansmen have caught up to the boy and they promptly kill the old man in the unusual hazmat suit, but not before this man gives a book to the boy and then in voice over explains that long ago humans engaged in atomic warfare and most of the human race was wiped out. He warns that this unpleasant fate could happen again. As he narrates, we see atomic explosions on the screen. I ought to let you know that the film receives a 3.3 rating on IMDB. Anything below a 6.0 rating is a sign of an inferior film and so a 3.3 rating indicates a dud. Well this film may be a dud, but an interesting dud. Part of the fun comes from the actors taking their parts seriously. Unlike many Corman films, this one does not poke fun at itself, and for this reason it delivers its own sort of fun.

War of the Satellites (1958), directed by the inimitable Roger Corman. Our hero is Dave Boyer (Dick Miller – yes Walter Paisley himself), a scientist and astronaut who figures out that his boss, Dr. Pol Van Ponder (Richard Devon) is not himself, but he is several selves. The once good Dr. Van Ponder has been taken over by aliens who want to stop humans from leaving their planet and infecting the heavens. We have streamed-down sets serving for complicated scientific and aeronautic offices and laboratories and space ships. The United Nations appears to have a rather small number of nations represented. All this is good fun, as we would expect with a Corman film. Not the best of Corman, but Corman-workmanlike is perhaps the way to describe the film. Mr. Miller is, well, Mr. Miller. Susan Cabot as Sybil Carrington is the romantic interest for Mr. Miller. Put together quickly to capitalize on the hoopla surrounding the Russian satellite Sputnik, War of the Satellites is short and to the point. The special effects by Irving Block, Jack Rubin, and Louis DeWitt are so rudimentary that one wonders why it took three of them to make them. But, as I say, the film has its charms; it is brisk, quirky, and even clever.

 

Atlas (1961), directed by Roger Corman. This is Corman’s entry into the sword and sandal genre so popular in the early 1960s. I am not sure if it is trying to be a parody or not. This is not, I fear, one of Corman’s better efforts. He took his small crew to Greece to film this one and he must have spent most of his budget on travelling from America to Greece because the film shows every sign of a tiny budget: relatively small cast, wooden acting, Woolworth costumes, and some over-the-top acting by Frank Wolff. Take, for example, the scene in which our hero is introduced. The villain of the piece, Proximates (Frank Wolff), who proudly introduces himself as Proximates the Tyrant, seeks a champion to fight for him, Achilles-style, against the champion of Thenos, the city state Proximates is trying to conquer. To find his champion, Proximates attends the Olympic Games which just happen to be taking place at the time. Here we see a crowd of some 8 or10 spectators who watch a wrestling match between Atlas and some other fellow. I know this is supposed to be ancient Greece, but even then I expect more spectators would turn up for the Olympic Games, especially given that the “stadium” has hundreds of seats. Then we have the frenetic battle scenes in which Corman takes a page from Orson Welles and stages battles of armies consisting of just a few fellows made to look like thousands through editing. One of these fellows, by the way, is an uncredited Dick Miller, a couple of years after the apex of his career when he played Walter Paisley in Bucket of Blood. Mr. Miller grimaces well, but he does not have any lines to deliver. Another soldier is played by an uncredited Roger Corman. You can’t say he did not get into the thick of things on his sets. Atlas, by the way, is played by Michael Forest. Anyway, this low budget extravaganza does have its low budget charms. I do not, however, recommend it to newcomers to Corman.

 

The Intruder (1962), directed by Roger Corman. Wow. Just wow. I am a Corman fan. He is king of the low-budget genre pieces: monster movies, science fiction films, westerns, beatnik flicks, Edgar Allan Poe films, gangster films, and so on. Here, however, he occupies a central place in “social reform” films. The main character, Adam Cramer (William Shatner), gives us a prescient look at our own times. Cramer is a self-styled “social reformer,” who comes to the southern town of Caxton to incite resistance against racial integration. He is a member of something called the Patrick Henry Society. He is slick, slimy, seductive, and most of all mendacious. He hates Jews and Black people. He preys upon high-school-aged young women. He seduces another man’s wife. He is narcissistic. He is a devil in a white suit. Shatner’s performance is uncomfortably convincing, reminding us of a contemporary race baiter and misogynist who seeks power. His adversary here is Sam Griffin (Leo Gordon), a pen salesman. Although the film takes place during the Civil Rights Movement, what Corman delivers is powerfully present today – sadly. This is a film about prejudice, hatred, gullibility, fake news, and mob rule. As usual, Corman made the film without much of a budget and in only three weeks. The film crew was constantly under suspicion and under threat; they had to move location several times. Most of the actors were non-professionals who were unsure what they were doing. The film, however, is powerful. Dare I say – see it if you can.

Battle Beyond the Stars (1980), directed by Jimmy T. Murakami. The producer of this film is none other than Roger Corman and it certainly has the Corman touch. John Sayles wrote the screenplay and James Cameron was set designer. The plot derives directly from The Seven Samurai, and the gentle farming people are named the Akira in a nod to the director of that famous Japanese film. And in a nod to the American version, The Magnificent Seven, we have Robert Vaughn among the cast. The young man who sets out to find help for his people (Richard Thomas as Shad) drives a space ship that has prominent breasts! Need I say more? Roger Corman, aliens, outer space, cowboys (George Peppard plays 'Cowboy'), explosions, strange sets and psychedelic colours - what could be more fun? 

 Some mid-winter horror films.

Night of the Demon (1957), directed by Jacques Tourneur. This film was released in America as Curse of the Demon with some 13 minutes trimmed. The longer version has more character development and nuance. Controversy over the inclusion of a seriously hideous monster/demon has followed this film, and we know that its director, Tourneur, did not want to show the monster in the detail that it has in the finished film. In any case, with Tourneur at the helm, Night of the Demon has the atmosphere of creepiness we might associate with the Val Lewton films of the 1940s, three of which were directed by Tourneur. The plot pits Professor John Holden (Dana Andrews), a psychologist sceptical of things supernatural, against Dr. Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), practitioner of the black arts. Early scenes are bathed in daylight, while later scenes move into darkness and terror. Even the daylight scenes, however, convey a sense of the macabre. A wonderful scene that takes place on Halloween shows a children’s party where Dr. Karswell, dressed as a clown, conjures candy and also a terrific storm. We also have a scene in which a séance takes place, perhaps the most jaunty séance on film. I even enjoy the appearance of the demon monster at the beginning and then again at the end of the film. The final scene is, perhaps, a tad too willing to give credence to the existence of the supernatural, but Tourneur’s ability to merge monster and train does give us pause. Perhaps Karswell imagined that he saw a demon while he ran wildy down the train tracks. 

 

Comedy of Terrors (1963), directed by Jacques Tourneur. Boasting a cast list that includes Basil Rathbone, Peter Lorre, Boris Karloff, and the inimitable Vincent Price as an inebriate undertaker, Comedy of Terrors can hardly fail to please. Oh, and it has the director of The Cat People, I Walked With a Zombie, and Night of the Demon to keep things brisk and atmospheric. As the title indicates, this photoplay has a Shakespearian overlay, especially in Rathbone's spouting of familiar soliloquies from the Scottish Play. The whole thing is played broadly. The sets and cinematography have the look of Roger Corman's Poe films of the same period. Along for the ride is the chanteuse Joyce Jameson, whose voice manages too shatter glass and wilt flowers. The whole thing has a knowingness that winks at the audience throughout. "What did you step in?" "What place eez this?" "Is this a dagger I see before me?" The hijinks are completely unbelievable and the grand ending plays like Hamlet mixed with a happy-ending Romeo and Juliet. 

 

Shutter (2004), directed by Banjong Pisanthanakun and Parkpoom Wongpoom. I first watched this horror film from Thailand ten or more years ago and it scared the heck out of me. We decided to dust off the DVD and watch it again. The viewing did not disappoint, although I have to confess it did not scare the heck out of me this time. The film does, however, know how to construct a convincing and creepy psychological thriller and without all the Kensington gore we see in Hollywood attempts at horror these days. Shutter is closer to a film like Hitchcock’s Psycho, than to the Saw franchise or the Hostel franchise or to the remakes of Japanese horror films or even the remake of this film. In fact, we have one jump scare that comes right from Psycho. The two directors begin the creepiness near the beginning and never let up. Scenes in the developing room are frightening as is the "bed scene." The walking-on-the-ceiling scene is cool. A second viewing also allows us to see just how much of what we see throughout prepares for the revelations as we close on the end, an end that is a zinger, a hum dinger, and both inevitable and satisfying and creepy. As horror films go, this is a worth putting on your viewing list.

 

The Mummy (1932), directed by Karl Freund. Freund was a superior cinematographer known for his expressionistic lighting and camera work. Under his guidance The Mummy is a moody romance rather than a terrifying horror film. It draws on the success of Universal Studio’s earlier Dracula (1931), and has the loony person who lets the danger loose upon the unknowing by reading from the Scroll of Thoth, something he should not have done. It has David Manners who was in Dracula. It has a Van Helsing-like scientist/occultist played by Edward van Sloan who played Van Helsing in Dracula. It has moody lighting and shadowed rooms. It has a villain who has mesmeric powers. When I say “villain,” I misspeak somewhat. Imhotep/Ardath Bey, the ancient Egyptian mummified man who revives to seek his long-lost love is not your typical evil villain. He just wants to renew his love for Anck Su Namun, the woman he lost 3,700 years ago. Boris Karloff plays this character with dignity and just a whiff of melancholy that draws on the audience’s sympathy. Zita Johann as Helen Grosvenor/Anck Su Namun, the love interest and reincarnation of the ancient Egyptian princess, is suitably exotic and alluring. If the film has any serious concerns, these may have something to do with the plundering of ancient artifacts for profit as much as for knowledge. This theme is perhaps even more evident in this film’s sequel, The Mummy’s Hand (1940).

The Mummy's Hand (1940), directed by Christy Cabanne. In the 1940s, Universal renewed its series of monster films, and The Mummy's Hand was one of this new series. The film is about two down-on-their-luck American archaeologists, played by Dick Foran and Wallace Ford, who think they have stumbled on the tomb of Princess Ananka in Egypt, and if they can find the tomb they will reap the rewards. Their mercenary motive nicely points out the unpleasantness of cultural despoiling, although the film does not pursue this theme with much heft. Anyway, unbeknownst to the two Americans, the dastardly Andoheb (George Zucco) has revived the mummy, Kharis. To do this, Andoheb has used nine tanna leaves. Woe betide if anyone uses more the nine tanna leaves. Kharis is now on the lookout for his lost love, Pricess Ananka, who looks much like the Magician's daughter. The magician (Cecil Kellaway), by the way, is an American travelling in Egypt with his daughter. These two are also down on their luck and looking for some ready loot, such as the various items that might be found in Princess Ananka"s tomb. The film uses stock footage from the earlier Mummy movie and from another film. This film's most striking touch are the black hollow eyes of the Mummy. This Mummy does not speak; he just shambles about here and there. He is played by the sometime cowboy hero, Tom Tyler. Tyler was also the screen's first Captain Marvel. The Mummy's Hand was the first of a few more Mummy movies from Universal in the ensuing decade.

 

Dracula’s Daughter (1936), directed by Lambert Hillyer. It took five years for this sequel to Tod Browning’s Dracula to appear, but the wait was worth it. This is the first vampire film to feature a female vampire, and also a vampire who desires to overcome the thirst for blood and live a normal life. Dracula’s daughter, Countess Marya Zaleska (Gloria Holden), cremates her father early in the film, then sits at her piano and plays Chopin’s Nocturne No. 5 hoping she has overcome the curse of her family. Then her servant Sandor (Irving Pichel) does a reverse Renfield and slyly convinces Zaleska to continue her evening walks about town seeking prey. The prey Zaleska finds, at one point, is a young woman wandering the streets alone. Zaleska seduces this young woman, inviting her to be her artist’s model. Desire here clearly involves more than blood, as Zaleska watches the young woman remove her blouse. Gloria Holden is a terrific vampire who manages to convey both lust and a struggle to be different from what she is. We also have Edward Van Sloan reprising his role as Professor Van Helsing, and of course we have the young couple whose lives are torn asunder by Zaleska’s vampiric desire. The film opens in London with the staking of Dracula by Van Helsing, and ends where the earlier film began, in Transylvania. We have some nice expressionistic touches, although the film is perhaps a tad thinner in this department than Browning’s film. Despite the difficulties in production, Dracula’s Daughter is an impressive and important addition to Universal’s series of monster films.

 

Bedlam (1946), directed by Mark Robson. This is the last of the Val Lewton produced pictures, and usually thought to be the lesser of the series of films he produced in the 1940s. The inspiration for the film is a series of drawings by the eighteenth-century artist William Hogarth, The Rake's Progress (1732-1734), and Hogarth even gets a writing credit for the film. Throughout we have shots of Hogarth's work to introduce and then to serve as transition pieces between scenes. The plot involves young Nell Bowen (Anna Lee), protege of the corpulent Lord Mortimer (Billy House), experiencing the dreadful conditions in a nearby Hospital for the insane, and setting out to improve conditions, much to the irritation of the Hospital director, one George Sims (Boris Karloff). In one scene, Sims puts on a masque for Lord Mortimer and his cronies, and one of the performers, the "Gilded Boy," dies because his body is covered with gilt and he cannot breathe. Nell is outraged and makes her opposition to Sims clear. He then conspires to have Nell committed to the Hospital where she becomes something of an angel to the patients/inmates. The ending has something of the Edgar Allen Poe touch. As we would expect with the Lewton productions, the film boasts atmosphere galore, the lighting, sets, compositions all working to accentuate the sense of dread that the hospital exudes and the decadent opulence of Lord Mortimer and his kind. I especially like the wigs!

 A random collection of films for a wintry January.

Leave the World Behind (2023), directed by Sam Esmail. A very large herd of deer stand menacingly reminding us of Hitchcock’s birds. Oh, and speaking of birds, we have a small flock of flamingos swimming in a house pool. Something is wrong, folks, although just what this may be remains murky. By the film’s end we get the distinct impression that a civil war may be in progress, something viewers of the film may find unsettling. The film gives us end of the world storytelling. The paranoia is clear, and even well-founded. Everything comes to us through innuendo, like Amanda’s (Julia Roberts) racism. The film takes a look at the human response to disaster. It does this in snippets, discrete scenes such as the one in which Amanda’s husband Clay (Ethan Hawke) drives willy-nilly looking for a nearby town. He finds only a lonely woman standing in the middle of nowhere. She speaks only Spanish and Clay does not understand Spanish. He leaves her there in the middle of nowhere to – what? I don’t know. Then we have survivalist Danny (Kevin Bacon) who threatens to shoot his neighbour and friend, G. H. Scott (Mahershala Ali) ostensibly to protect his family. This is a film of big moments – the beaching of an oil ship, the crashing of a passenger jet – and moments of haranguing intimacy between the characters. It is overly long, but then this is the way of big films these days. It is also nicely in tune with the zeitgeist. 

Landscape with Invisible Hand (2023), directed by Cory Finley. Adapted from M. t. Anderson’s 2017 novel, Landscape with Invisible Hand takes a dystopian look at our planet’s near future, after a successful invasion by creatures called the Vuvv. It seems the future is an extension of the present, only now the rich live in floating sky cities, and the aliens amuse themselves watching the behaviour of humans. They seem specially amused by the 1950s TV series Ossie and Harriet. The film is chock full of ideas from its take on the excesses of capitalism, to its concern for art and its place in a community, to family dynamics and the willingness of humans to do demeaning things to survive poverty, to voyeurism and the end of privacy. All this is delivered well. The actors are convincing. The special effects are effective (I like the way the Vuvv communicate and I also like the way they walk or scramble about). The design of both the places on earth and the few places we see in the sky city are well done. In short, I like the film. 

 

The Whale (2022), directed by Darren Aronovsky. This film about suicide-by-obesity gives us a stellar performance by Brendan Fraser as the titular hero. He’s the great white whale confined in his Idaho apartment and confined in his enormous 600-pound body (CGI enhanced). The story is rather melodramatic with Charlie (Fraser) struggling about his apartment trying to manipulate his bulk while confronting a few people, the would-be missionary young man Thomas (Ty Simkins), the nurse and sister of Charlie’s deceased lover Alan, Liz (Hong Chau), the pizza delivery person Dan (Sathya Sridharan), his daughter Ellie (Sadie Sink), and briefly, his ex-wife Mary (Samantha Morton). What we have is a tear-jerker, saved by the performances of Fraser and Chau. I guess this is supposed to be a story about redemption, although why Charlie needs redemption is a bit murky to me. Saddened by the death of his lover, he begins to eat himself to death. His obsession with his daughters eight-year-old school essay on Moby Dick connects Charlie with a whale, but really, what is this supposed to mean? Moby Dick was responsible for Ahab losing his leg and I suppose he did this without malice or even forethought. Does this mean that Charlie’s actions – leaving his wife and daughter for a man – somehow crippled his wife and daughter? The wife, Mary, is now an alcoholic and the daughter, Ellie, is a nasty teenager seemingly without compassion or any other redeeming quality. Charlie’s attitude to his daughter is sappy. I’m not sure any of this deals directly with obesity. But I repeat: Brendan Fraser is convincing and even compelling in this role. The film derives from a stage play and the theatricality shows. Finally what we have here is a whiff of Grand Guignol. 

Berlin Alexanderplatz (2020), directed by Burhan Qurbani. This is a modern adaptation of Alfred Döblin's 1929 novel that tells of a refugee arriving in Berlin with hopes of a good life. He finds only sorrow. This modern adaptation has Francis (Welket Bungue) from Guinea-Bissau washed up on shore after what we have to imagine was a refugee boat that has capsized. Francis’s back story is only partially give in scenes with an imposing bull or ox, a machete, and a dwelling of some kind. We also know he has done terrible things and now wants to start a new life and be a good person. I guess he tries, but when he meets Reinhold (Albrecht Schuch) things go awry. Reinhold is a drug dealer with a screw loose, but he somehow captures Francis’s affection. So too does the hooker Mieze (Jella Haase). Much of the film takes place in dimly lit rooms, rooms often dimly lit in red. Francis finds himself in the Berlin underworld, and it is Dantesque indeed. To be honest, I am not sure what director Qurbani is trying to communicate here. Despite the racial slurs directed at Francis by a few of the characters, the film does not appear to be forthrightly confronting the plight of refugees. Rather it gives us a character who wants to be good, but finds himself in situations that bring out the worst in him. The production has something of an operatic feel to it, and a tragic inevitability. The character of Reinhold is creepy to a degree, and played with relish by Mr. Schuch. The running time of three hours moves along well enough. However I did not find the film as engaging as I think it should have been.

Troll (2022), directed by Roar Uthaug. For those of you who enjoy movies with the likes of King Kong or Godzilla, this Norwegian entry into the monster film world might just be your cup of tea. Scenes with the huge Troll are clearly reminiscent of the Kong and Godzilla films, but the setting is different and the folklore behind the film is different. The action is fast, and the characters nicely drawn. I won’t go over plot and character in any detail because I doubt these would be the reason for watching the film. The script is good for such a film, and the special effects are, as we would expect these days, excellent. The passing reference to Greta Thunberg lets us know that the film has an environmental theme, although this lies buried beneath the surface, as it were. The scenery is breathtaking.

 

Hotel Mumbai (2018), directed by Anthony Maras. The film is based on the three-day terrorist attacks in Mumbai in November 2008. It is a troubling film precisely because it purports to chronicle these deadly events. As a work of docu-fiction, as it were, it plays out as a fairly conventional thriller with plenty of gunfire and explosions, after the early set-up in which we meet several people, most importantly the Hotel chef Oberoi (Anupam Kher), the Hotel employee Arjun (Dev Patel), the American guest David (Armie Hammer) and his wife Zahra (Nazanin Boniadi), their infant and his nurse Sally (Tilda Cobham-Hervey), and the Russian Vasili (Jason Isaacs). These people will give the viewer characters to root for as things get dicey. The young terrorists remain, for the most part, ciphers. They take orders from a person called Bull who speaks to them over the phone. This person is safe in Pakistan. Yes, the film has much tension and suspense as we follow events over the three-day siege. The senseless killing of innocent people is disturbing, and I guess this is the point. The motive for the attacks (several took place in various places in the city) is suggested in the anger directed at the wealthy and at wealthy foreigners. The opening of the film makes very clear the contrast between the poor and abject and the wealthy and privileged. And yet what matters here is the downright ugliness of killing and the manipulation of people. Does this film offer edification or exploitation? To be honest, I am unsure.

 

Man of Tai Chi (2013), directed by Keanu Reeves. The cinematographer here is Elliot Davis and the stunt choreographer is the renowned Woo-ping Yuen. This is a martial arts film about, what else? – honour and tradition. The main character is Tiger Chen (Tiger Chen), a young student of tai chi who has a day job as a delivery person. His master is Yang (Hai Yu) who lives in an ancient temple now slated for demolition. Meanwhile we have this bad guy, Donaka Mark (Keanu Reeves), who runs an illegal fight cub that specializes in fights to the death. Donaka is a very bad dude, and he has his eye set on making Tiger one of his fighters because Tiger brings something different – tai chi – and also because Tiger is an innocent and Donaka gets off in seeing innocence ruined. Then there is Inspector Suen Jing Si (Karen Mok), a persistent police officer bent of bringing down Donaka’s criminal enterprise. This is entertaining, if a bit wan. We have seen the plot before. But Davis’s fine camera work and Yuen’s brilliant fight choreography make this one worth watching. In terms of tai chi, I think Twin Warriors (1993 – aka Tai Chi Master), directed by Woo-ping Yuen and starring Jet Li and Michelle Yeoh is more interesting and engaging. As an aside, I note that Tiger Chen was a stuntperson on the second two Matrix films.

Shazam! (2019), directed by David F. Sandberg. Although the name is never mentioned, we have here C.C. Beck’s creation for Fawcett Comics in 1940, a character known as Captain Marvel, the Big Red Cheese. This is the one about the foster kid, Billy Batson, who utters the word Shazam (Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, Mercury) and transforms into the superhero Captain Marvel, or as this film has it Red Cyclone or Captain Sparklefingers. Sparklefingers is, of course, a comic version of Superman, just as Billy Batson is a child version of mild-mannered Clark Kent. Shazam! is played for laughs, although the foster home with Rosa and Victor Vasquez (Marta Milan and Cooper Andrews) proves to be a lesson in love and diversity, so much so that by the end this diverse family has morphed into a diverse band of superheroes. As for the villain, we have Dr. Sivana (Mark Strong) who brings gravitas and even death to those he does not like. As superhero films go, this one has its charms. It also has lots of CGI and crashes and bangs and booms and blowing up things.

 

Living (2022), directed by Oliver Hermanus. This is an unabashed remake of Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru (1952). It is faithful to the original, perhaps to a fault. Anyone who has seen Kurosawa’s film may spend the time watching this film for the connections with Ikiru. Perhaps the only difference between the two films is the inclusion of the character, Peter Wakeling (Alex Sharp), who serves as a surrogate for the audience. Bill Nighy, in the role of stiff civil servant Mr. Williams, gives a masterfully nuanced performance. It is worth seeing the film for Nighy’s performance of a man re-evaluating his life. Also noteworthy is Aimee Lou Wood as Margaret, the young woman who catches Mr. Williams’s interest. The first third and a bit of the film is rather slow, as if everything was moving in slow motion. However, once we reach mid-point, and especially after Mr. Williams’s funeral (!), things pick up. The sense of a life spent in a stultifying job is powerful, and the release of finding purpose is clear. The script by Ishiguro Kazuo makes the tightly-held emotional lives of the characters palpable. This is a film that does not refashion its precursor; rather it faithfully follows that precursor with just one or two tweaks (e.g. dropping the voice over, and dropping the gangsters that Mr Watanabe (Takashi Shimura) beards in the original). Both films, of course, derive from a short story by Leo Tolstoy, “The Death of Ivan Ilyich.”

 

Maudie (2016), directed by Aisling Walsh. This film tells the story of Maud Lewis (Sally Hawkins), Nova Scotian folk artist who lived with debilitating arthritis and a cantankerous fishmonger husband, Everett (Ethan Hawke). Although the film does present Everett as both verbally and physically abusive, this aspect of the story is kept at a low level as we watch Maud and Everett slowly come to appreciate each other and form a bond. Perhaps the money that Maud collects for her painting helps Everett come to terms with having to live with another person who expresses independence. Yes, Maud is an independent spirit, even if she presents this spirit quietly, modestly, and even shyly. Like other films of this sort, this film's cinematography celebrates a natural environment of distinctive beauty, here coastal Newfoundland standing in for coastal Nova Scotia. What sparkles here is not only Maud’s painting, but Hawkins’s performance. Her role demands both a physical as well as an emotional expression, and Hawkins brings this off well. She gives us an inkling into how the creation of art can be therapeutic for the artist, as well as transforming for space. In art there is joy, even art created despite pain and suffering. As for Hawke, he brings roughness and emotional confusion to his role. This may be a paint-by-colours film, in that is follows a well-worn pattern, but it nevertheless triumphs with Sally Hawkins’s performance, a stunning landscape, and some attractive art.

 

Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), directed by Peyton Reed. A sequel to Ant-Man (2015), this film has energy, wit, and nifty special effects. The plot is simple: Dr. Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) and his daughter Hope (Evangeline Lilly) enlist the help of Scott Lang (Paul Rudd), aka Ant Man, to rescue Janet (Michelle Pfeiffer), wife of Hank, mother of Hope, from the Quantum Realm. Meanwhile gangster-capitalist Sonny Burch (Walton Goggins) and Ava Starr (Hannah-John Kamen), aka Ghost, are, for their own reasons, trying to thwart Hank and Hope’s quest by stealing their scientific discoveries. Things are played for fun, and we have allusions to such stalwarts of Hollywood cinema as Them (1954), The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957), Attack of the 50-Foot Woman (1958), and probably several others I missed. The special effects are impressive, I think this deserves second notice. What raises the bar here are the characters who actually do have some dimension. Although the film is part of Marvel’s universe with references to other films from the studio’s output, you can view it on its own with pleasure. 

 Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger:

The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Colonel Blimp is the creation of David Low, first appearing in 1934. Blimp, as his name might suggest, is a rotund, blustering old fellow with a walrus moustache. Powell and Pressburger turn him into something of a folk hero, following his time in the British army from 1902 when he receives the Victoria Cross for valour during the Boer War, until the early 1940s when, as an old man, he joins the Home Guard. His name in the film is Clive Candy and he rises from Corporal to General. Martin Scorsese has noted that the film is a major influence on Scorsese's Raging Bull, both for its depiction of a slim young man turning into an older blimp and for its manner of storytelling. He especially notes the duel scene in the first third of the film, and also the way Powell handles the marriages of Clive Candy's German friend and of Candy himself. Powell presents these events by, in effect, not presenting them. Also noteworthy is the look of the film, its cinematography and contrasting colours. The opening sequence, as well as the moments throughout the film, have, perhaps strangely and surprisingly, something of a Bunuel cast to them. As for the story, Roger Ebert nicely encapsulates things:

"The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp has four story threads. It mourns the passing of a time when professional soldiers observed a code of honor. It argues to the young that the old were young once, too, and contain within them all that the young know, and more. It marks the General's lonely romantic passage through life, in which he seeks the double of the first woman he loved. And it records a friendship between a British officer and a German officer, which spans the crucial years from 1902 to 1942."

A Canterbury Tale (1944), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (“The Archers”). This is a strange film, both an homage to Chaucer, as the beginning shows, and a celebration of Englishness. In short, this is a film to buoy the spirits during wartime. The slight plot has three unlikely chums, the American soldier Bob Johnson (John Sweet), the British soldier Peter Gibbs (Dennis Price), and the shopgirl turned farmgirl Alison Smith (Sheila Sim), meeting one night on their way to Canterbury. They find themselves in the village of Chillingbourne at night and Alison runs into the “Glue Man,” a mysterious fellow who puts glue on women’s hair. This event sets the three friends on an adventure as they attempt to solve the mystery of the identity of the Glue Man who pours glue on womens' hair, eleven women so far. The mystery is slight, and the real interest in the film is in Britain itself, the countryside, the history, the people, the tradition, the green and pleasant land. We have tracking shots of a boat rowed by children, young soldiers in the making, a clever cut from a falcon to an airplane, panoramas of the countryside, long shots of the famous cathedral, details such as a huge bed in which the first Elizabeth once slept, farm animals and local working people, and a detailed conversation about the timber/lumber business. We also get to know a little bit about the inner lives of the principle characters, the three chums and also the local lay magistrate and gentleman farmer, Thomas Colpeper (Eric Portman). The naturalistic look of the film is suffused with a sense of the numinous. Be forewarned: this is a strange film, but very interesting. It may take patience. Oh yes, we do find out the identity of the Glue Man and why he does what he does to the local women.

 

A Matter of Life and Death (1946), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. This film is in a league with It’s a Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz, although its sumptuous use of both colour and black and white is all its own. Quite simply, this is visually stunning, thanks to the two directors and their cinematographer, the inimitable Jack Cardiff. The story is schmaltz, but what the heck. A British airman in May 1945 speaks to an American military woman just before he leaps, sans parachute, from a doomed plane. He expects to die. Instead, he finds himself landing near where the military woman lives and works. They fall in love. But an emissary from that place up there arrives to correct a mistake in the heavenly records. Thus begins the story of Peter (David Niven) and June (Kim Hunter). Oh, I neglected to mention the opening bit where we take a tour of the outer galaxy guided by a droll voice over. This sets the otherworldly tone of the film. Anyway, June and Peter, with the able help of Dr. Frank Reeves (Roger Livesey), get to work trying to outwit Heaven’s emissary and later the court in Heaven where an intense Abraham Farlan, one-time American revolutionary, tries to see it that Peter does not get a stay of, well you know. All this plays out on an earth coloured to look like Heaven (love exists here) and a Heaven in monochrome. The visuals are nothing short of stunning. Frank’s camera obscura is something to behold, and it offers on earth a peek at a heavenly-eyed view of the coming and going of human beings. The film also touches lightly on British and American relations. The British airman, Peter, insists on living, just as Britain insists on continuing after its experience of terrible war. Finally, I suspect George Lucas watched this film a few times before embarking on Star Wars. 

 

Black Narcissus (1947), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. “I think you can see too far,” remarks Sister Philippa (Flora Robson) as she gazes out across the Himalayas from the newly created convent atop a precipitous cliff. Too far and not far enough. A small group of English Nuns have been granted the ancient Palace of Mopu as a place where they can teach and administer to the health of the local community in the valley far below. This palace was once the residence of the local Prince’s harem and its frescoes depict the life of the flesh is glorious detail. Now it is to be a holy place. This is India, colonial India, and the film, and Rumer Godden’s book from which it derives, take a look at the cultural divisions and the fallout from colonial activity. The film also serves up a sumptuous gift of colour, sound, and sets. Filmed almost entirely in England (except for a brief flashback filmed in Ireland), it depicts an India from an English perspective. It has a heaping of melodrama that morphs into the gothic in a powerful ending that pits the crazed Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron), who has abandoned her vows, against the repressed and ambitious Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr). The film is a visual feast from the sets to the painted vistas to the costumes (check out the young General’s (Sabu) lavish costumes) to the subtle play of light to the echoes of painters such as Vermeer, Rembrandt, and Van Gogh. The acting is praiseworthy with much of the emotional and psychological force coming from wordless looks and gestures. We also have many shots that resonate with a Freudian reminder of repression, sexual repression, and a vertiginous sense of the precarity of human interaction. I saw echoes of such silent classics as Murnau’s Nosferatu and Wiene’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. The visual banquet here looks forward to the same directors’ The Tales of Hoffman (1951). We even have a spontaneous erotic dance, performed by Kanchi (Jean Simmons).

 

The Tales of Hoffmann (1951), directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. You know the truism, ‘You can never get too much of a good thing and too much of a good thing clogs one’s mind.” The latter half of this truism (is this really a truism?) weighs on me after experiencing this filmed version of Offenbach’s opera based on three stories by E. T. A. Hoffmann. The three stories focus on three women: the automaton Olympia (Moira Shearer), the courtesan Giulietta (Ludmilla Tcherina), and the consumptive soprano Antonia (Anne Ayars). The tenor Robert Rounseville plays Hoffmann in all three tales, plus the Prologue and Epilogue. Anyway, saying this film is lavish is an understatement. The sets, props, costumes, make-up, colours, and choreography are breathtakingly opulent. We have a surfeit for the senses. So much so that the film begins to grow wearisome by the time of the third story. Everything takes place on elaborate sets. I was reminded of Fellini’s late films. The operatic experience is the experience of spectacle and this film offers spectacle galore. The dance sequences with Moira Shearer are also fabulous. There is much to admire here, but one can have too much of a good thing. I haven't mentioned the music simply because it, like the story or the acting, is overwhelmed by the visual feast.