A Night to Remember (1958)

Ways to Make This Movie More British:

- Change the name to "McCricklesby's Shipping Donnybrook".

- As the ship is sinking, make everyone run around really fast and play "wackety sax" while Benny Hill squeezes the "Unsinkable" Molly Brown's bosom.

- Replace the lifeboats with giant tea cups and crumpets.

- Every character should constantly be complaining about how terrible the food is.

- Replace fiddle band with Oasis

- Instead of the boat hitting the iceberg, it merely quarrels with it, and then settles the matter with a firm handshake and a tip of the bowler hat.


Just Cold Reviewin'

Everbody knows that James Cameron’s “Titanic” is about the Titanic. But because of James Cameron’s “Titanic” (ego), few people have ever seen “A Night to Remember,” the first and best rendition of mankind’s cruise ship hubris that was the Titanic. It’s important to know that “A Night to Remember” is a British film, and as such, it’s significantly less bombastic than Cameron’s film, and much more understated, wrapped up in all the customary British formalities. So, no car-sex.

We don’t spend much time building up to the famous iceberg incident in this movie—it occurs about half an hour in. We’re essentially introduced to the characters and watch the hordes of people at the docks wish the ship off on its journey during the film’s first half-hour. There’s no Kate & Leo thing going on here—we follow upper class travelers, lower-class travelers, the captain, the boiler room, the telegraph operators, the unsinkable Molly Brown, and of course the fiddle band that played on. No one is necessarily the protagonist in this film—the passengers are shown as a collective, made up of a series of vignettes, which is a much more realistic approach than Cameron’s remake took.

The boat may be sinking, but you’d never know it, as every character goes about the night with polite dignity. There’s are a lot of “Hmm, yes, I believe the boat’s sinking, Reginald” followed by a “Hmm, yes, quite” followed by each straightening their tie and calmly walking away after a brief nod. Oh, the British…

“A Night to Remember” is a calm retelling of what really is a horror story. The crew are portrayed as understated heroes, coolly guiding passengers onto the dearth of lifeboats. Strict order is maintained. In one scene, well after the boat has begun to sunk, an officer reprimands a group of bellhops smoking in one of the lounges, telling the boys to put out their cigarettes at once or face a reprimand from the Captain. It should be noted for accuracy’s sake that the Captain of the Titanic didn’t give a flying fuck about who was smoking on the boat at this point.

The ship’s final moments as it sank beneath the water were incredibly chilling—unexpectedly so. Director Roy Ward Baker really did a remarkable job capturing the terror of the moment. We see the ship from the perspective of the survivors on the lifeboats, hearing the screams of the passengers and then nothing in the cold night air.

Ultimately a Night to Remember is a solemn retelling of a horrific tale, serving as the most accurate and definitive version of the story. It’s really worth a viewing, especially if you hated Cameron’s version.

X-Men (2000)

I really thought I’d hate this movie, but it was surprisingly entertaining. Superhero movies tend to bore me, as they mostly consist of bad writing, stupid costumes, and some of the worst acting imaginable. But the original X-Men manages to buck the trend, which is probably why it spawned two sequels a Wolverine movie. The film isn’t perfect—the CGI is a bit dated, some of the acting is flat, and there are still the typical action movie clichés of saving someone at the last second from an exploding vehicle that explodes for no reason.

Much of the movie is carried by Hugh Jackman as Wolverine, the perfect anti-hero for the movie. Skeptical about being a superhero, skeptical even about wearing the dumb leather costumes they wear as X-Men, and wisecracking throughout, he helps keep the movie smart and sharp. Perfect example of this: Cyclops (dude with the lasers) asks Wolverine how he should know he’s the real Wolverine (because of course there’s some shape-shifter character posing as everyone), and Wolverine replies, “You’re a dick.” Great, unexpected line, and delivered perfectly by Jackman. It was also a brilliant move to pair seasoned Shakespearean veterans Patrick Stewart and Ian MacKellan against each other as arch-enemies—it’s literally watching two masters at work in their scenes together.

Halle Berry just plain sucked in this though. Considering that she won Best Actress in Monster’s Ball a year after this, you’d think she could, uh, you know...act. But her performance as Storm was incredibly wooden throughout. Famke Janssen’s Jean Grey was a hell of a lot better, as she actually expressed emotions at some point. Maybe Storm is a robot? I really don’t know much about the X-Men.

The movie moves at a brisk pace, thanks to Bryan Singer’s smart direction and sharp editing. Bryan Singer would forget all of these techniques when he made the incredibly boring “Superman: The Return of Marketing Superman for $$$” in 2006. At 90 minutes, it’s the perfect length for an action movie, and lacks the sluggishness that plagued many of the other comic book movies that followed in this decade, like the aforementioned Superman and the seemingly interminable Watchmen.

Rambo III: Ultimate Edition (1988)

What can you expect from Rambo III? Even in 1988 Sylvester Stallone was well on his way to becoming a complete joke, following up this disaster of a movie with the trifecta of horribleness: Rocky V, Oscar, and—my personal favorite--Stop Or My Mom Will Shoot.

We begin with a montage of some military/dictator dudes walking around a mansion, and then, lest we forget our lady viewers, we see the back of a muscle-y man--shirtless, of course. Naturally this is Rambo. The arms stretch out and dramatically tie a red headband. Then the man turns around, revealing….Sylvester Stallone with a giant mullet! He looks angry!

As is the case with many action movies from the 80s and 90s, we find our protagonist earning a living by battling random men in some sort of Southeast Asian fight club/flea market. Apparently this is the only way 80s screenwriters felt a character could be truly badass. Then Andrew Dice Clay came along and CHANGED CINEMA FOREVER.

Sylvester Stallone wrote something good once: the original “Rocky” film. He also wrote “Rambo III,” but let’s remember that most famous people were on a lot of coke in the 80s, so it probably seemed like a good idea at the time. One could interpret the Rambo movies as a deep, scathing commentary on the psychological havoc that Vietnam wreaked upon American soldiers. But let’s be honest here: this is a movie that contains lines such as, “The war may be over, but the war inside me is still going on.” So no, not a deep commentary.

Rambo III literally spends 30 seconds on the plot. Rambo’s mentor, Richard Crenna, is kidnapped by Russians and held hostage in Afghanistan. Why? Doesn’t matter, WE NEED EXPLOSIONS. Red Forman from That 70s Show tells Rambo that Richard Crenna is captured and says there’s nothing to be done. Rambo says, I’ll go get him. THAT’S THE ENTIRE PLOT. There’s not even a piece of dialogue devoted to “Are you sure you can do this? Do you need backup?” Nope, Red Forman’s just like, “Don’t fuck it up.”

As this is one of the most clichéd action movies of all time, the next scene involves Rambo finding a loveable Afghani sidekick who speaks perfect English with a “foreign” accent and takes Rambo into the “jungle,” or whatever they have in Afghanistan. Then: EXPLOSIONS AND MACHINE GUNS MORE EXPLOSIONS MUSCLES COCAINE EXPLOSIONS TERRORISTS MISSILES HELICOPTERS EXPLOSIONS GUNS KICKIN’ ASS & TAKING NAMES EXPLOSIONS and that’s the movie.

Alphaville (1965)

This is a strange, strange movie—strange for 1965, and still strange today. While Jean Luc-Godard is mostly known for his abstract romances, Alphaville takes abstraction to a whole new level. Instead of the plot revolving around two French lovers reciting bad poetry in bed, Alphaville is about cosmic space agent Lemmy Caution’s intergalactic mission to destroy the oppressive supercomputer Alpha 60. Seriously.

While that plot description may make you think of 60s space suits and model UFOs, Alphaville is shot in tenement buildings in Paris, and Lemmy Caution is dressed like a detective in a trenchcoat. It’s supposed to be a dystopian society, but it takes place in the 20th century. While modernist buildings are used in many scenes, these buildings were a product of the current times, not the future.

Alphaville’s strangeness comes from the interactions between the characters. Lemmy is attacked in his hotel room, but doesn’t even raise an eyebrow, calmly murdering his attacker. He isn’t even surprised when he initially hears the attacker’s voice from the bathroom as he’s carrying on a conversation with a woman in another room.

Godard films the movie strangely, expanding his convention-shattering filmmaking style he began with “Breathless,” using bizarre editing and jump cuts to create a jarring rhythm. Scenes end abruptly, cameras cut to abstract close-ups of eyeballs, computers recite Borges in gravelly French robot voices, neon Einstein formulas flash on screen mid-scene, and characters have little emotion. Loud beeping computer noises came and go from scenes.

The lack of human emotion is due to Alpha 60’s iron-clad control over society—the computer has outlawed emotion and poetry, which, given Godard’s cinematic track record, is something that would piss him off to no end. Of course, no Godard film would be complete without a solid half hour of two lovers aimlessly philosophizing in a bedroom, and Alphaville is no different in that respect. Lemmy Caution falls in love with the daughter of the creator of Alpha 60, a woman who cannot experience emotion (because Alpha 60 is an asshole).

Alphaville is ultimately a film that’s ahead of its time. Orwellian in nature, it’s sci-fi filtered through a film noir detective story, full of Godard’s typical jump cuts and irreverent, roguish filming style, influencing everyone from Kubrick to the Wachowski Brothers to Tarantino.

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

She Went Fucking NUTS, That's What Happened.

Things Baby Jane does:

- Hates her sister, who is a cripple. Traps her sister upstairs in their dilapidated house.

- Kills her sister’s pet bird and serves it to her on a platter. For lunch.

- Then for dinner she serves a dead rat. WTF?!

- Then she kicks her in the head. Repeatedly.

- Kills the maid with a hammer. She was getting too suspicious!



Just Cold Reviewin'

“Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” is equal parts “Psycho” and “Sunset Boulevard.” The film revolves around two Hollywood sisters who were both famous, beautiful, adored actresses. Bette Davis (Baby Jane) was the child starlet, a Shirley Temple-type, who never made the transition into adult films (cue the bitterness!). Joan Crawford managed to become a successful adult actress. Early in the film both are driving back from a party in the 30s. We’re led to believe that out of jealousy, Baby Jane drives the car into her sister, crippling her for life, and pretty much resigning both of them to their Hollywood mansion, where they remained up to when the film resumes action, in 1962.

So Crawford’s holed up in the house in her wheelchair, while Davis just fucking TERRORIZES her, all while planning her big showbiz “comeback.” Baby Jane is equal parts dark comedy and searing drama. In one scene, Davis—who is made up to look absolutely repulsive in this—is dancing around her darknened living room, reliving her song & dance days, when she suddenly catches sight of herself in a mirror and understandably screams with horror.

You can tell that Bette Davis just relishes this role—bitter old has-been actress who just torments people she knows, and desperately seeks recognition and admiration from the outside world. After being tormented by a soulless, heartless industry like Hollywood, she’s turning it back on her poor sister—Hollywood created a monster. You can also tell that a lot of this character comes from her own life, and she plays it perfectly—she knows exactly when to get a laugh and when to freak you out.

Naturally, in real life, Joan Crawford and Bette Davis just plain hated each other. “Whatever happened to Baby Jane” was supposed to both of their comebacks, but Davis naturally got the juicier role (and rightfully so—she pulls of psycho better than anyone, even though Joan “Mommie Dearest” Crawford.

One of the most memorable scenes in the film is when Baby Jane heads into a newspaper office to place a classified ad. She puts on the Betty Davis charm, dressed like it’s 1935 and acting like she’s auditioning for “Jezebel”. The crucial moment of the scene is when she gives her name. “Maybe you remember me. I’m Baby Jane!” as she flashes a big Hollywood smile at the man. He politely plays along and says, “yeah sure lady.” When she leaves the guy standing next to him deadpans “Who the hell was Baby Jane?” Showbiz!

While Baby Jane’s parading around LA in 1962, where kids are dancing the twist rather than the jitterbug, Crawford goes for a power play, attempting a coup over the household by throwing a typewritten note out of the window towards the neighbors’ lawn. But of course Bette Davis drives home just at that point, after humiliating herself at the newspaper office, and picks up the note. Aw, fuck. Now she’s really pissed. Hey, things are hard when you’re sister is trying to kill you! If I were Joan Crawford, I would’ve just charged that cold bitch in my wheelchair, flew down the stairs and out the front door to safety. Then maybe go chill with Don Knotts or something. Whoever was famous in 1962.

Victor Buono injects some humor into the film as an out of work songwriter hired by Davis to be her piano player for her non-existent revival. Fat, shy, and British, Buono’s not exactly leading man material. The look on Bette Davis’ face when she opens the door at their first meeting is priceless. Clearly she was expecting a “Sunset Boulevard” kind of arrangement, but nope, handsome William Holden was not on the other side of that door. William Holden was probably drunk somewhere nearby, though. Watching Davis—her voice destroyed by years of booze and smoke--attempt to revive her childhood act is both depressing and creepy. Crawford makes this situation even funnier, as she cautiously peers from her balcony, thinking “ooh! A gentleman caller!” It’s hilarious to see two of Hollywood’s most desired women, a couple decades later, fawning over Victor Buono as if he’s the last man on Earth. Showbiz!

Buono has his own charisma, and manages to hold his own against Bette Davis, which says a lot. Their initial exchange is priceless—it’s fascinating to watch how Baby Jane interacts with people from the outside world. When Buono asks her how much she can pay him for his services, she looks absolutely crestfallen (forgetting that this is a job for him), then like the ol’ Hollywood pro that she is, she plasters a huge insecure smile on her face and suggests $100.

The movie ends with a “Sunset Boulevard” style descent into madness. As the police crowd around Crawford’s body, on the beach, while she does one of her song and dance routines that were popular and charming when she was, oh, seven. By the end of the film, Davis is no longer villainous. She’s reduced to a child, dancing along the beach while her sister lays there dying. Showbiz!

The Jay Leno Show (Debacle)

The whole Jay Leno Show fiasco has reeked of desperation and awkwardness from the start, since Jay began quietly bitching about how he wasn’t ready to leave the Tonight Show last year. And why would he want to leave? He’s not old, and his show continued to dominate the ratings in the 11:30 time slot. But NBC was afraid of losing Conan O’Brien, who--despite the comparisons to Johnny Carson—doesn’t really have mainstream appeal.

Conan’s hilarious, extraordinarily talented, and easily my favorite late night TV host, but he doesn’t have the “aw shucks” all ‘merican persona that Carson had and Jay has (even though they are cultivated personas--Carson was very, very shy in real life). And despite the chasm of differences between Carson and Leno, what bound them together and kept the Tonight Show on top for years was the fact that they connected with the average ‘merican, watching their late night TV in some McMansion in Tulsa, looking for some PG-13 humor before having to get up for their job again.

But NBC gave Conan the Tonight Show, which means absolutely nothing, as he’s still the guy on after Leno. And now Jay Leno has this charity case of a TV show—and that’s really what it is, a consolation prize for NBC giving him the heave-ho too soon.

The show feels awkward and forced because of its awkward and forced origins. Leno has this whole "What the hell am I doing? Why is NBC doing this to me?" kind of attitude throughout his familiar segments, like interviewing dumb people or finding typos in newspapers. The most awkward parts were the interviews, where a visibly uncomfortable Jerry Seinfeld could barely contain how pathetic he thought this whole operation was.

The show is a brutal reminder of how cruel show business can be. Jay Leno had one of the greatest jobs in the entertainment industry up until a few months ago, and now—even though he has a better time slot—he’s on this complete disaster of a show that feels like damaged goods, desperately spinning his wheels for a laugh. Because of contracts, basically.

No one really wins here. Jay and his viewers are going to feel uncomfortable for a while, maybe for the duration of this show. Critics and most people will eventually forget that this show is on. And any prestige/career advancement that Conan O’Brien may have felt by inheriting the institution of the Tonight Show is massively cheapened, or completely destroyed altogether.

Well, I guess Jimmy Fallon won. Good for him!

Dances With Wolves (1990)

Kevin Costner's Plunge from Glory:

- The Untouchables (1987) - hey, great movie! nice work!

- Field of Dreams (1989) - heartfelt blockbuster. Good job!

- Dances With Wolves (1990) - still doing great! Hey, I won some Oscars!

- JFK (1991) - got your token Oliver Stone collaboration in, still doing fine

- The Bodyguard (1992) - begins the decline into "bad movie, but makes a shitload of money" phase

- Wyatt Earp (1994) - begins the "I'm pompous and can do whatever the fuck I want, but hey, why isn't this making any money?"phase

- Waterworld (1995) - nobody wants this on their conscience, or resume

- The Postman (1997) - and we're done.




Just Cold Reviewin'

Kevin Costner was riding high in 1989. With the triple punch of “The Untouchables,” “Bull Durham” and “Field of Dreams,” Costner was unstoppable, a quintessential all American leading man with hit after hit. So he set out to be his generation’s Orson Welles, and directed and starred in his Civil War Oscar-targeted “Dances With Wolves.” Yes, it’s self-indulgent (the director’s cut is FOUR HOURS), and Costner’s self-indulgence would get old quickly (his career was dead with “Waterworld”, and I still have no fucking clue how he was allowed to make “The Postman”). But “Dances With Wolves” makes up for the self-indulgence by being incredibly good.

“Dances With Wolves” is a hell of a good movie. It’s gorgeously shot, well-paced and well acted. For a first time director, Costner knows what he’s doing—each shot is expertly framed, and the landscapes and colors are simply stunning.

The movie opens with death, all around. Costner’s body is covered in blood, and surgeons—hands really, no faces are shown—are pouring over him. He’s about to lose a leg to gangrene. So he’s like, “Fuck it, I’m going to commit suicide by riding a horse through ‘no man’s land’ and get shot by 800 people.” Miraculously (but not really because we have 3 hours and 45 minutes left!) he survives, and the Captain is so impressed with his heroism, he fixes Costner’s leg and lets him move to a new post. Costner—or should I say Lt. Costner—decides to go out west, to the frontier, as he poignantly remarks “Before it’s gone.”

He’s led out to beautiful Wyoming by Murphy Brown’s house painter (Robert Pastorelli). Once there he finds his post abandoned and decrepit. So Lt. Costner figures, “Hey, this kind of blows, but it beats being in the fucking CIVIL WAR,” so he stays and fixes up the place. After a few brushes with the Sioux, who discovered that someone else is living in Wyoming, he decides to go confront them, with an American flag, because that’s always impressive.

And who does Lt. Costner encounter on the abandoned plains of Wyoming? Why, President Roslin from Battlestar Galactica, of course! Yep, Wyoming is just dotted with hot cougars crying under trees. Lt. Costner rescues her and returns her to the Sioux camp, beginning a slow build towards friendship between the white man and the native Americans.

The story unfolds slowly, as Lt. Costner and the Sioux court each other, becoming more familiar and friendlier, but the film hardly drags. KC keeps the action interesting, moving the scenes along briskly and letting the gorgeous vistas speak for themselves. The film focuses on the many nuances and details in the developing relationship between Lt. and the Sioux—from showing them how to make coffee to wild buffalo hunts, to English-Sioux grammar powwows—the scene where Lt. Costner explains his name to the Sioux is priceless (“No, Dun-BAR, not DUMB BEAR!”).

Bottom line: if you like epic westerns and Wyoming, you’ll love this.