YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING

By Marc S. Sanders

You watch a miniseries and you think you know someone.  Then you watch a documentary, and well…maybe not.

Comic Nathan Fielder covers the remaining 34 days before disgraced fraudster CEO Elizabeth Holmes was to begin her sentence in prison.  A whopping eight-billion-dollar corporation called Theranos crumbled like a house of cards when her novel blood testing machine was revealed to be nothing but scraps for parts.  Holmes and her COO, domestic partner Sunny Balwani, were tried for their white-collar crimes (in her case, infamous black turtlenecks), leaving remains of endless intrigue and astonishment.  Fielder’s documentary, You Can See Everything, is edited with compelling music and intense close-ups as he catches up with how Holmes is coping and where her mindset is at the moment.  I think he discovers things are much more disturbing and incredibly surprising. As well, the filmmaker may need to reexamine his own beliefs.

The first ninety minutes of this three-hour opus take place in a San Diego beach house rental occupied by Elizabeth and her husband, Billy Evans, along with their two young children.  Nathan’s crew gets all-access shots to their activities.  At one point, they capture Billy fully nude while showering.  Why?  It’s a testament to the fact that Billy and Elizabeth welcome everything to be seen.

Nathan gets right to the point with Elizabeth, asking if she has any regrets, accepts guilt, etc. With an eleven-year stretch ahead of her, she fails to recognize any crime or deceit she’s committed.  Billy propagandizes her belief by excusing how Elizabeth mentally processes situations in a special kind of way, incomparable to anyone else. Nathan works tirelessly to simplify his questions so minutely to at least get either of them to veer off in another direction. Still, the two stay entirely on track.  Asking Elizabeth if she’s ever told a lie does not just stop with her responding with all but certain “No.”  Nathan has to rephrase his question again and again and again.  Apparently, until Elizabeth Holmes, it did not seem remotely possible that any human being ever avoided telling a lie in any kind of variance.  Not even a harmless white lie.  Elizabeth unequivocally believes she’s never, ever told a lie.

Nathan goes so far as to test Elizabeth’s comprehension of Abbott & Costello’s Who’s On First routine.  She thinks it’s funny, but can not specifically explain why it’s funny or the “miscommunication” the pair were having.  So, Nathan has to simplify the joke to practically every syllable and letter of each word uttered in the bit. The idea does not penetrate.

This woman is a miracle of some sort.

Then again, from what I know outside of this feature film, Elizabeth Holmes managed to put Presidents of the United States and Secretaries of State under her spell. How does she not comprehend the purpose of a comedy routine, but somehow sways billion dollar investors and people of absolute power into her snake oil schemes?

Eventually, it appears that Billy may be a puppet master over Elizabeth, especially when a development that led to the making of this film is revealed.  Nathan Fielder’s picture takes on a whole new and unexpected direction, and the subject of his piece is not so much on just Elizabeth but also on Billy, who stems from a wealthy family with a watchful interest of control in how Nathan steers his narrative while he oversees Elizabeth’s mentality. Her behavior is under his influence as well. Elizabeth does not scramble eggs like she’s supposed to, and supposedly can not concentrate on an interview while doing so.

Billy seems to have an unhealthy interest in his partner. Questionable use of A.I. comes into play ahead of Elizabeth’s departure.  Billy has motives for its use while Elizabeth allows herself to be subservient to his purposes.

Maybe her parents were wise to this scenario.  Nathan’s crew seem to get their perspective with little dialogue from them to offer.  Dad is interrupted (or censored) by Billy.  I don’t think mom ever says one word in the whole picture.  The title, You Can See Everything, carries multiple meanings when you simply read mom and dad’s surrendered expressions.

Perhaps You Can See Everything actually means you can see nothing.

At best, Billy’s on board with resuming a pursuit of Theranos’ original novelty of blood testing machines.  Right now, there’s no evidence in science or engineering to uphold the machine’s capabilities, but the mission stays true.  Billy believes in Elizabeth’s original conception.  Together, they push aside the skeptics and, to Nathan’s amazement, look for new opportunities for Theranos’ resurrection.

Two years after Elizabeth has begun her sentence, Nathan recruits an outsider who arguably may know Elizabeth best, actress Amanda Seyfried, who earned an Emmy for portraying Holmes in the Hulu series, The Dropout. It’s a bold choice. Yet, I wonder why Nathan stopped there. How about the script writers and directors or producers as well? Seyfried might execute the portrayal, but she didn’t craft the words of the dramatization and Nathan reminds her that she acted in a dramatized TV show regardless of her talents.

You Can See Everything is a documentary from beginning to end.  However, Nathan and his crew take an unusual approach to capture the second half of the film.  With limited access because Elizabeth is in prison and more so because Billy tightens his leash over the situation, Nathan must rely on Seyfried to demonstrate where his two subjects stand.  Without giving away all the tricks, Nathan Fielder and Amanda Seyfried make for a compelling pair of investigators.  At times, they are bold enough to challenge each other while they are supposed to be working together. What obligation does Seyfried have to any of this? Is Nathan being objective enough with his subject? An ocean swim near the end of the picture reasonably demands this kind of question.

I saw this film with my wife.  Having previously watched an HBO documentary, plus The Dropout, plus a 60 Minutes story and reading tons of social media, my preconceived notions about Holmes were firmly in place. On the other hand, my wife was primarily unaware of Theranos, Elizabeth Holmes, and the entire story. After Fielder’s film concluded, we had completely opposite perceptions of Elizabeth Holmes, and story that occurred.

That’s the beauty of You Can See Everything, and why it is one of the best pictures of the year. The finished product results in varied perceptions. For someone who insists in her own hynotic way that she has never told a lie, one has to wonder what this woman is built on. Is she a clinical eccentric, or is she a master manipulator who never vacations from a crafted persona?

Perhaps Nathan Fielder dug his hole deeper than he ever wanted, because I believe he’s surprised with what turns up.  Is Elizabeth Holmes a deceitful criminal, always aware of the costly lies and fraud she’s been evidentally proven guilty of?  Is she continuing to maintain a facade of naivety, denying awareness of the harm which stemmed from her actions?  Was she deliberately committing crimes for her personal gain with service to her id and ego?

On the contrary, was she at the behest of her former partner Sunny Bulwali, and just an accomplice, scapegoat, and pawn? Is she currently a brainwashed subject under a new operative, Billy Evans?

Nathan Fielder gets so meticulous with all of the footage he acquires.  The connotations of operative words like “did,” “we” or “I am,” are questioned as a means to uncover the what and why of intent.  Amanda Seyfried is even tested based on her comments regarding Charlie Kirk, a subject completely separate from any of this but still an exploration of character and merit. Amanda quizzes Nathan about his ongoing motive.  Where does Nathan’s eventual interests truly lie? My compliment to Nathan Fielder for allowing his own intentions to be scrutinized.

You Can See Everything could have persisted for another three hours. Because this couple is so unusual and so abnormal and twisted, while living in the aftermath of one of the greatest criminal scandals in modern history, my interest would likely still be upheld.

This fully realized documentary does not surrender its moral compass to reveal truths, because…well…they will never be definitive or devoid of doubt.  That might not satisfy our curiosity.  Nevertheless, Nathan Fielder and his co/director, Lance Oppenheim, earn the A’s in exhaustive efforts. The risk Fielder took though was compromising his objective intentions as he got closer to Elizabeth.

The greatest compliment I can lend to You Can See Everything is to say it is a superb, compelling journey into a never-reaching, unsatisfying abyss.

CLAYFACE

By Marc S. Sanders

The comic book origin story has become a tired trope in movies.  The hero experiences a traumatic event and gains either an epiphany or enhanced abilities that deem him/her for especially unique purposes.  Then they face off against their antagonist and sum up their encounter with the love interest or by reciting a voiceover journal to the viewer.  Roll credits with a promise that “Widget Man Will Return.”  Sound familiar, right?

That’s all well and good but I’m not yet exhausted over a villain origin story like Wicked promised for example.  (I’ve had mixed feelings about Joaquin Phoenix’ Joker movies.) Clayface is a b-villain character spawned out of the crime ridden Gotham City to face off against Batman.  I’ve been hearing that it was modern horror wunderkind Mike Flanagan (Doctor Sleep, the 2026 Carrie series) who approached DC production captain James Gunn with conceptualizing a film for the shape shifting mud monster.  Who would have guessed that the adaptation would be an absolute thrill of grotesque body horror with a sentimental affinity for the main character, “Coast City” movie star Matt Hagen, played by Tom Rhys Harries?

This actor plays a famous actor who sleeps with the wrong woman, only to have his vanity brought down to negative one thousand when her gangster boyfriend (David Dencik) permanently disfigures his face with an assortment of sharp edges.  Matt’s world is essentially destroyed.  His high-powered agent abandons him. He loses out on winning an Oscar.  His wealth is embezzled and he endures one personal betrayal after another.  He discovers that Dr. Caitlyn Corr (Naomi Ackie) has been experimenting with chemicals that one day might intelligently alter human cellular structure.  After much convincing, she agrees to use Matt as a test subject.  When full restoration arrives, Matt is on his way to rejuvenating his fame and fortune, but he and Caitlyn do not account for the jaw slouching, eye drooping and crusty side effects or for the surprising ability to personify other people.  All of this will emerge as a blessing or a curse.

Clayface works because director James Watkins has a lot of fun with infinite inventions that come with sculpting this guy, Matt, and the seedy world of misanthropes he inhabits.  The body count rapidly increases as the very entertaining and wince inducing exposition of this Frankenstein story carries on.  I imagine a lot of the actors had fun being killed on screen in truly inventive ways only to see their name on the next day’s call sheet to come back because now Matt Hagen has assumed their appearance as a means to undo the next traitor in his path.

The skills of this Clayface are awesome.  They are reminiscent of what the liquid Terminator could do, and it’s only right this story of a movie star-pretty boy salutes a lot of Hollywood favorites including The Thing, The Shining, and The Godfather Part II while drawing inspiration from the crafts of David Cronenberg, (The Fly, Dead Ringers).

Yes, the origin story might have been done to death by now, but if creators allow their imaginations to soar, especially with such a flexible character, the possibilities are endless for what can be accomplished.

The cast of unknowns are equally as surprising as the collective unfamiliar faces discovered in the other horror hit from this year, Obsession. Tom Rhys Harries is ready to do anything.  He plays suffering very well and the movie does not over-mire itself in misery. As the monster persona evolves, Harries goes in unexpected directions with his character, including a favorite kitch of mine.  He breaks out in a group dance sequence that is never expected of this non-musical screenplay.  His forbidden love story with Ackie’s smartly sensible character offers a lot of effective conflict to keep the picture engaging.  Their will they/won’t they angle lends something else to the film because simply a warpath of revenge and casualties can get stale. Max Minghella (The Social Network) plays Ackie’s fiancée and the persistent cop who follows the clues.

Clayface is the absolute best installment in James Gunn’s DC Cinematic Universe.  It provides amazing effects with a challenging story and a well-drawn Gotham City ridden with crime and interesting ugliness.  Director James Watkins deserves a lot of credit because he did not need to rely on the famed Dark Knight or a go to commissioner or a giggling, mischievous, brightly colored lunatic.  This picture is a perfectly crafted introduction to an overused environment that has not looked so refreshing in years.

Clayface may open interest for those seeking to learn more about this very capable and powerful villain. DC comics actually has two different documented origins to the guy of glop, but the loss of vanity and pride are what’s really fascinating about this Batman baddie.

I deliver the highest of compliments because this monster mash Jekyll & Hyde left me eager for more.

CÉLINE AND JULIE GO BOATING (France, 1974)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Jacques Rivette
CAST: Juliet Berto, Dominique Labourier, Bulle Ogier, Barbet Schroeder
MY RATING: 3/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 80% Certified Fresh

PLOT: Two flighty women have a meet cute and engage in mild hijinks before stumbling into a mystery house where a story endlessly repeats itself.


Jacques Rivette’s celebrated Céline and Julie Go Boating [subtitle: “Phantom Ladies Over Paris”] is the kind of foreign film that made me swear off foreign films for several years when I was a younger man.  Maddeningly elliptical, rambling, and boring, which is especially disappointing because there is an intriguing time-bending subplot that dominates the second half (or more) of the film.  If the entire movie had focused on that one thread and told it more coherently, I would have been satisfied.  Instead, I spent over three hours yelling over and over again at the screen: “Who cares?”

The movie opens with Julie, a bright, Phoebe-Bouffe-esque redhead reading a book about magic on a park bench.  Suddenly, Céline strides by, an elvish brunette in a tank top and a green boa.  She drops something (I can no longer remember what it was) and keeps walking.  Julie picks it up and runs after Céline, trying to return it, but Céline is oblivious, or faking it for some reason.  (Before they even leave the park, the film asserts its God-given right to be weird by adding insert shots of a cat stalking a pigeon in the park.  Are we to infer something about this in relation to these two women?  Hell if I know.)

Eventually, Julie catches up to Céline, invites her to stay at her place, and…and…and from there it becomes an endless series of scenes intended to be quirky and, I guess, feminist in some way, but there was no story to any of it.  Céline takes a shower and spins a tall tale of a safari in Africa, while Julie impulsively rummages through Céline’s backpack and arranges the items she finds around the room.  Céline visits Julie at the library where Julie works (I think?) and starts slamming large children’s books together over and over again.  Why?  Hell if I know.

There is a long detour so we can watch Céline at work as a magician at a sparsely attended nightclub.  Best thing I can say about her act is that she rocks her costume and she’s a reasonably skilled illusionist, but it drags on foreverrrrrr.  One trick after another after another, and I’m watching it going, “Who cares???” Admittedly, there is a sorta-kinda payoff to this scene later when Julie impersonates Céline at the same nightclub, but that scene drags on forever, too, plus her motives are impenetrable.  UNLESS it’s to get Céline back for impersonating HER to meet Julie’s old boyfriend, in yet another scene of obscure motivations.

The intriguing Twilight-Zone-y subplot does play with time in an interesting way, showing us snippets of scenes playing out in an empty house, then replaying them with additional information each time so each successive iteration is more revealing than the last.  But like so much of the rest of the film, it takes foreverrrrr to get off the ground.

It’s not that I didn’t like Céline or Julie.  I had no problems with them in terms of likability.  It’s just that the movie was not structured in a way that made me care about what happened to them or why.  Godard’s Weekend (1967) has a similar storytelling approach, with wild edits and non-sequitur moments, so why did I respond so much more positively to that movie than to this one?  I don’t know.  As I sit here trying to remember plot points as I write this review, I am running out of ways to describe how apathetic I was to the characters, even when they latch on to an actual story with the “haunted” house.  It just didn’t make me care.  Period.  And this went on for three hours…

If I simply didn’t understand the movie, so be it.  There’s a lengthy essay on the film included with the Blu-ray, so maybe I’ll give that a read and maybe try to find what I missed.  There’s an argument to be made against a movie that requires remedial reading, but then we start getting into 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) territory, and I don’t feel like typing much anymore.

Gene Siskel had a tongue-in-cheek litmus test: “Is this movie better than a documentary of the same actors having lunch?”  Céline and Julie Go Boating incriminates itself by including a five- or ten-minute scene of Céline having lunch with some of her friends in which all of the dialogue was improvised, and that scene is one of the better scenes in the movie.  Talk about having your cake and eating it, too.

THE INVITE

By Marc S. Sanders

Olivia Wilde takes a Virginia Woolf approach with her latest film to direct, co-written by Rashida Jones.  It’s called The Invite and she may have directed her own leading performance into an Oscar nomination for Best Actress.

Angela is married to Joe (Wilde with Seth Rogen).  He’s a music professor, who clearly feels like he’s past his prime and his talent for music is being wasted on regular school days. Those who can’t be professional musicians, teach! She is a stay-at-home wife. Their marriage is no longer in heaven, even when their twelve-year-old daughter is at a sleepover. They haven’t had sex in over year. Yet, the evening does serve as an opportunity to invite the neighbors over for dinner. Too bad they arrive while the hosts are in mid-argument over who was supposed to get the wine and whatever else has been stewing on their brains for far too long. Dinner is another thing because dietary restrictions get in the way.

Piña and Hawk (Penelope Cruz and Edward Norton, and yes, you read his character’s name correctly) are the opposite of the stressed, overridden Angela and Joe.  Through the dark lighting of most of the film, the complexions of Piña and Hawk practically glow.  Norton and Cruz look like they swam in the fountain of youth. 

It doesn’t take long to learn that Hawk and Piña are sexually active, a lot, and they relish and ravage each other’s company.  Perhaps, they enjoy others’ company as well.

It’s best not to reveal too much about what develops during this awkward and unexpected evening.  However, it is worth saluting the genuine dialogue of aggravations expressed by a tired married couple who have lost a purpose to remain with each other, while their unmarried upstairs neighbors have every reason to stay together.  It also does not help that Joe is over the constant racket that comes from the happy couple’s apartment due to their constant sexual escapades.

The main attraction of The Invite is Olivia Wilde’s inventive direction. Within a claustrophobic New York City apartment, she places her camera in unusual positions to observe the chatter among the four actors. Close ups hardly ever happen. Instead, Wilde will point her camera at a mirror to catch the reflection of Rogen yelling at Wilde who is out of frame on the other side of the room. Joe’s study is cut off by an interior window-paned door. So, Wilde puts the camera on the outside of the window to peak in on Joe and/or who he brings into the room with him. Olivia Wilde’s camera is the fifth wheel as the viewer is given the opportunity to be a fly on the wall, snooping in on this obstinate evening. We might find ourselves standing at the end of the hall, yards away from where the action is happening, or we are looking through a window across to the other side of the apartment where there is another window to see what our spouse is doing with one of the guests. Everything Olivia Wilde does with shooting this film is accompanied with intended, strategic measure. We’ve always wondered what goes on behind closed doors, and now we have the chance to observe, without getting in the way.

The four actors show their training. Seth Rogen might be doing his regular schtick. However, he has not grown old on me yet and at least you witness genuine pain in this hopeless soul. A sort of slapstick moment occurs for the schlub, but it does not upstage other moments for him.

Edward Norton, and especially Penelope Cruz are very good at restraining themselves. You can feel their pulses are not racing like the other couple’s, who are treading a mile a minute. The screenplay allows Cruz’ character to present her knowledge and experience, and she never looks like she’s trying very hard. It’s not easy to portray complete relaxation and bliss. I was entirely convinced that the neighbors exhaust their energies in the sexual bouts they happily boast about, while the other pair are overtired in fits of rage and aggravation.

Olivia Wilde is the standout though. Her frustrations by sitting adjacent to her character’s husband and his unbearable presence demand enormous concentration. You have to be impressed with how this director sets up a shot or a scene, and then has to take the time to get into character when off camera she’s spinning a lot of plates. In front of the camera, the lines on Wilde’s face say so much about Angela’s background and the long life she’s already led even if she’s not that old. An outstanding and focused performance.

In someone else’s hands, at present or in a past decade, The Invite could have operated like an ordinary get together, where the acting is the main attraction. The performances are very good on level with the biting, cutting dynamics of Mike Nichol’s Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? and likely better than what John Hughes’ The Breakfast Club ever offered. Again, though, it’s clear that Wilde is looking to stand apart from those films that arguably will outlast the test of time that her film will not. Like me, I imagine the overall populace will not rewatch The Invite. Nor do I anticipate a Criterion edition or an AFI ranking in its future.

The concept of The Invite is nothing new or special. Neither is what is revealed during this lone evening.  At the very least, it’s the director’s technique that upholds this picture, along with four very capable actors delivering its wise, yet wordy, script.

WILDWOOD (2026)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Travis Knight
CAST: Carey Mulligan, Jake Johnson, Peyton Elizabeth Lee, Charlie Day, Tom Waits, Angela Bassett, Awkwafina, Mahershala Ali
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 99% Certified Fresh

PLOT: A young girl’s search for her kidnapped brother kicks off a gripping fantasy adventure in the forbidding forests outside of Portland, Oregon.


Wow.  Just…WOW.  Wildwood, the newest entry from director Travis Knight and Laika, the studio behind Coraline (2009), ParaNorman (2012), and Kubo and the Two Strings (2016), pulls out all the stops and delivers the first stop-motion fantasy adventure epic.  The first trailers made it look like a loose retread of 1986’s Labyrinth, with a young girl in search of her baby brother who was kidnapped by shadowy, magical forces.  I was wrong.  Wildwood should be remembered as one of the best fantasy films ever made in any medium.

(Also, just in passing, please note, it earns its PG-13 rating.  Littler kids are likely to be traumatized by some of the visuals, as well as the numerous gruesome onscreen deaths.  You have been warned.)

After a grim prologue involving the suicide of what appears to be a primitive automaton, we meet the modern-day McKeel family: Mom, Dad, Prue, and baby boy Mac.  After numerous light-hearted, but still portentous, warnings to not leave the house with Mac and especially to stay away from the dense woods bordering their home in Portland, Oregon, Prue does exactly that, bumping into a nerdy acquaintance, Curtis, along the way.  In a scene right out of Hitchcock, a playground gradually fills with large crows in a series of clever edits.  This murder of crows swoops down in a cloud of caws and claws, grabs baby Mac, and soars away into the forest.  Prue gives chase with Curtis in tow, and when she arrives at the edge of the forest, something curious happens: the trees part to reveal a path after some blood from Prue’s hand, cut during her pursuit, touches an ivy plant.

What follows is a spectacular adventure that incorporates all the best aspects of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and J.K. Rowling…along with any other fantasy writer who uses initials for their first name.  Prue finds herself in a magical world where talking animals live side-by-side with humans.  (Wolves, for example, are soldiers, though they’re not always the brightest bulbs in the box.)  The land is divided into principalities, each ruled by a different species of animal, some of which will help Prue with her quest and others who will stop at nothing to prevent it. 

The riot of diversity in this world was a constant source of amazement for me, especially considering everything was made with stop-motion animation.  I won’t get into the technical details (I’ll assume most of you know what stop-motion is and how time-consuming it is), but that fact alone makes Wildwood nothing short of miraculous.  If it doesn’t win the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature of 2026, it will be a grave miscarriage of justice.

For the entire running time (it’s also the longest stop-motion feature ever made), I felt a nostalgic echo of the great fantasy adventures from my childhood.  Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal (1982), The Secret of NIMH (1982), Willow (1988)…these were movies that had great stories, yes, but they strove to present unforgettable images to go along with their stories.  Wildwood isn’t content just to show us massive flocks of birds – in stop-motion! – or other fantastical creatures.  We also get a massive battle between two armies that plays and feels exactly like something out of The Lord of the Rings.  We get a dynamic, tragic story of a mother’s loss and the lengths to which she’ll go to find her son.  We get a surprise twist regarding Prue’s little brother.

And the entire time, that stunning animation is on display.  I had thought Kubo and the Two Strings would remain the high-water mark for stop-motion films for decades, but I was wrong.  Wildwood tops it, in terms of spectacle and storytelling.  It feels a little bit like Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988): an astonishing technical feat that could be duplicated in the future, but who would want to?

I should also mention the darker aspects of the story, specifically how it involves death in a number of ways throughout the movie.  We get a suicide right at the top of the film.  At one point, several prisoners are literally murdered in their cages by soldiers with guns.  During the climactic battle, we aren’t shown a lot of especially gory details, but there is no mistake that both sides are out for blood and holding nothing back.  There is at least one unmistakable decapitation.  Wildwood remembers that, without high stakes, there can be no real suspense.  And when the final denouement occurs between Prue and the enemy leader, I gasped the same as I did when poor Wash got skewered in Serenity (2005.)  [If I ruined that for you, you need to watch more movies.]

So, seriously, please, pretty please, with a cherry on top: find a local theater that might still be playing Wildwood and go see it on the big screen.  It is the best movie I’ve seen so far this year.  It is hands-down the best stop-motion film I’ve ever seen.  It will be money well spent, I assure you.

TWO-LANE BLACKTOP (1971)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Monte Hellman
CAST: James Taylor, Warren Oates, Laurie Bird, Dennis Wilson, Harry Dean Stanton
MY RATING: 3/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 93% Certified Fresh

PLOT: While drag-racing through the American Southwest in a 1955 Chevrolet 150, a driver and his mechanic cross paths with an enigmatic hitchhiker and the tall-tale-spinning driver of a GTO.


Once upon a time, comic strip Bloom County name-dropped Gregory Peck in a Sunday-paper cartoon.  When this was brought to Peck’s attention, he read the cartoon and asked, “What is Bloom County?  What is the matter with me that I don’t understand it?”

Gregory, I know how you feel.  Monte Hellman’s car-culture cult classic Two-Lane Blacktop is a film that was and is critically lauded, is on the National Film Registry, and is one of the 1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die.  But after watching it – or sitting through it, more appropriately – I wasn’t angry; I was completely mystified.  What did I just watch?  What was the point?  Why should I care?  Did I miss the point because I missed the sixties?  What is the matter with me that I don’t understand this film?

The ostensible plot involves a quartet of unnamed characters: The Driver (James Taylor!), G.T.O. (Warren Oates), The Girl (Laurie Bird, who tragically took her own life at the age of 26), and The Mechanic (Dennis Wilson!!).  We first see Driver and Mechanic rambling around Arizona in their souped-up, but dressed-down, 1955 Chevy 150.  [Eagle-eyed movie fans will recognize this as the same model car that Bob Falfa drives two years later in American Graffiti.]  To make some bread, they hustle other hot-rod owners into illegal street races which they handily win because, like the Millennium Falcon, their Chevy doesn’t look like much, but she’s got it where it counts.

After one such race, two fateful things happen.  The first is that they are spotted and passed twice by a stock 1970 Pontiac GTO 455 (nice) driven by the Warren Oates character.  The second is that they pick up a hitchhiker, The Girl.  Well, not exactly…she climbs into their car outside a diner, and when they walk outside to leave, they see her in the back seat and just drive off without any observable reaction that I could spot.  Probably wouldn’t happen today, but this was an era still reveling in the remnants of the Summer of Love, so I give it a pass.

At this point, I could spot French New Wave influences, not to mention echoes of The Hustler (1961), Easy Rider (1969), and good omens of American Graffiti (1973), especially in the film’s fascination with cars.  One short scene involves virtually nothing but shots of The Mechanic changing out the rear racing tires for street-legal tires.  I remember thinking, this is a movie about gearheads, BY gearheads, FOR gearheads.  Not necessarily a bad thing – I’d put Mad Max (1979) and its sequels in that category.  So, okay, I thought, let’s see where this goes.

And I waited, and waited, and waited some more.  James Taylor as The Driver has a great intense look while he’s actually driving, but I have to say it: he has zero charisma.  He could have used an acting coach.  Dennis Wilson as The Mechanic is marginally better.  He’s very easygoing on camera, while Taylor looks stiff and uncomfortable.  I can only imagine their presence was a calculated ploy to bring younger audience members to theaters.  Newcomer Laurie Bird as The Girl is as okay as okay gets.

I get it: the French and Italians used non-actors in their neo-realist films to achieve authenticity from their performances.  Well and good.  But whatever those films had, this one does not.  Blacktop would have benefited immeasurably from veteran actors in the two leads, actors who could at least generate some chemistry with Warren Oates, who gives by far the best performance in the film, even it’s in the service of a vaguely antagonistic character that I never understood.

Full confession: this movie is not badly or clumsily made.  Parts of it felt like they were going for a Five Easy Pieces (1970) vibe, and I think they got it visually.  But the movie never got me to care about what happened to any of the characters.  The Driver is a cipher, The Mechanic is barely more than that, The Girl (who, I guess might represent the concept of “free spirit” in the hippie culture?) is maddening at best and impenetrable at worst, and G.T.O. is all over the place emotionally, which I guess makes him the most interesting character in the film.  I didn’t like him much, but I was always curious what would come out of his mouth next.  (His overriding character trait is that he constantly lies to everyone he meets about who he is, improvising his own backstory with each new encounter.)

Which made me think.  For the longest time, I thought that I had issues when movies or TV shows centered their plots on characters who I thought were unlikable.  But then there’s Succession which I can’t rave about highly enough, or Get Carter (1971) or The Godfather (1972), all filled with genuinely unlikable characters, but which are among my favorite entertainments.  Watching Two-Lane Blacktop, I at first thought I didn’t like the movie because I didn’t like the characters, but that’s inaccurate.  I didn’t like the movie because I didn’t care about the characters.  An effective film can introduce anti-heroes and straight-up villains and get us to root for them because we start to care about the characters and the story.  Two-Lane Blacktop was unable to get me to care about the characters, so I simply didn’t care what happened next.  For a hundred minutes.  That’s a long time.

On the Criterion Blu-ray, director Monte Hellman and various other film fans and scholars wax rhapsodic about the film’s existential overtones, and its place in film history as a time capsule of an era when studio films like this one would become more prevalent for the next decade, while simultaneously heralding the rise of independent films (which can actually be traced further back to 1958 with Cassavetes’ Shadows, but what do I know).  While I acknowledge there may be aspects of this movie that eluded me and which I may pick up on if or when I see it again, I have to be honest…my initial reaction was one of consternation.  If I have to peel the movie like an onion to understand its relevance, is that necessarily a good thing?  I don’t know.  Some movies have achieved that kind of goal (I’m thinking specifically of 2001: A Space Odyssey [1968]), but they are few and far between.  For me, Two-Lane Blacktop was not one of them.  Yet, he said with hope for the future.

AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER (1957)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Leo McCarey
CAST: Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Richard Denning, Neva Patterson
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 65% Fresh

PLOT: A couple, both attached to other people, falls in love and agrees to meet in six months at the Empire State Building – but will it happen?


First, a word to devotees of this film:

No, I have not yet watched Sleepless in Seattle.  Yes, I am aware of the deep connection between the two films.  No, Sleepless is not currently on my watchlist radar, but rest assured I will post a review of it if or when I finally watch it.  Today is not that day.  Tomorrow’s not looking good, either.

All good?  Okay, let’s move on.

Leo McCarey’s An Affair to Remember is a grand old melodrama that would have been a perfect example of its genre if only it had ended differently.  As it happens, McCarey’s filmography does include a perfect example of melodrama: Make Way for Tomorrow (1937), not quite as romantic as An Affair to Remember, but packing a devastating gut-punch of an ending that other films can only aspire to.  If Affair had had the nerve to stick to that kind of an ending, I would absolutely have given it a perfect 10 out of 10.  But, while I don’t believe it’s perfect, it still belongs on your watchlist.

Cary Grant plays Nickie Ferrante, an incurable playboy who is nevertheless engaged to be married to an industrial heiress.  Deborah Kerr is Terry McKay, an “everywoman” type – or as everywoman as one can be while looking like Deborah Kerr.  She is also romantically attached to another man (NOT engaged, which plays a crucial factor later in the film).  The two have a pleasantly non-contrived meet-cute aboard a transatlantic cruise to Europe.  As fate would have it, they are both traveling solo for various reasons.

Their connection is immediate and unforced, reminding me a bit of two of my favorite films, Lost in Translation (2003) and Dodsworth (1936).  Grant and Kerr have a wonderful, breezy onscreen chemistry.  Their conversations, especially when they’re alone in her stateroom, are positively gravid with subtext, but they are careful not to let things get out of hand, even when it’s clear they would both like that very much.  It’s a wonderful balancing act that is rarely successful, so it’s a pleasure to watch when it is.

The development of their relationship unfolds perfectly, so I won’t spoil it.  As their ship pulls back into New York Harbor, they make a hasty, almost teenager-esque pact: meet in six months to see if their connection is still as strong as it is now.  The location: the top of the Empire State Building, still the tallest building in the world in 1957.  “It’s the nearest thing to heaven we have in New York,” gushes Terry.  It’s a tribute to how pervasive this movie is in the pop culture zeitgeist that I knew exactly what would happen just prior to that fateful appointment, but I nevertheless gave a little gasp when it happened.

For me, it’s the second half of An Affair to Remember that shines.  The first half is no slouch, but I masochistically perked up when the possibilities of a tragic romance reared its head.  There’s something about heartbreaking tragedy that makes for a sensational film.  There’s nothing wrong with happy endings, don’t get me wrong, but my favorite Broadway musical of all time isn’t My Fair Lady…it’s Jesus Christ Superstar. When done right, tragedy is strangely cathartic.  I’m thinking of movies like Atonement (2007) or The Remains of the Day (1993) or Brokeback Mountain (2005), movies that will never top anyone’s list of feel-good films, but which are somehow more powerful because…well, I find myself unable to articulate why.  They just are.

And that’s why An Affair to Remember does not quite reach the level of perfection attained by Make Way for Tomorrow.  There was a moment in the final reel when I thought it would, but it goes for the happy ending instead.  That’s right, I begrudge the movie’s happy ending just a little bit.  Sue me.  I fully acknowledge that the moment when Nickie sees a particular item in a particular room during the final scene is a thing of brilliance and beauty.  (Treading carefully here…)  It’s a lovely moment capping a sensationally written and performed scene.  …but it just didn’t strum my heartstrings.  I wanted it to, I really did.  I wanted my heart to swell and feel like it’s going to burst, but it never happened.

(For the record, I also could have done without the multiple musical interludes, especially the two with the kids singing…although I did enjoy Nickie’s flashback/memory when he revisits his grandmother’s house in France.)

Does this make me a curmudgeon?  I don’t think so.  I just feel there was an opportunity here to pull out all the stops for some real reach-for-the-hanky moments.  But, hey, what do I know?  See it and judge for yourself.  An Affair to Remember is a pleasure to watch and listen to, just like the stars themselves.  And, hey, if the ending reduces you to a blubbering mess like Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle, then it did its job.  I won’t judge.  Promise.

SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES

By Marc S. Sanders

Neil Simon has always been a huge influence on me.  I grew up watching Randall & Klugman spar as his Odd Couple.  I recognized the northeastern Jewish vernacular of his B-trilogy semi-autobiographies that run through Brighton, Biloxi and Broadway, and I’ve performed and directed a number of his winning stage plays (Rumors, Lost In Yonkers, Chapter Two).  The comedic mind and personal pains of live theater could not continue without hearkening back to the great Neil Simon.

One of his lesser celebrated works told only in the form of a screenplay (a rare achievement of Simon’s) is Seems Like Old Times.  Released in 1980, it’s the writer’s sendup of classic screwball comedies like Bringing Up Baby and equipped with fast talking dialogue from one character to the next like you would find in His Girl Friday or It Happened One Night.  I’m not much of a Chevy Chase fan, but when he’s in the right properties, he’s a master at tossing one quip away after another while earning the chuckle. Neil Simon tweaked his script to cater to Chase’s timing along with his co-star, Goldie Hawn.

Seems Like Old Times is remembered as the second team up for Chevy Chase with Goldie Hawn, who was everyone’s favorite adored actress of the time.  Audiences followed her from giddy flower child in Laugh-In and an Oscar in Cactus Flower with Walter Matthau, over to Foul Play with Chase and then on to her fish out of the army swamp in Private Benjamin.  She was an absolute hit, and while these pictures appear dated by today’s standards, they still hold up. Seems Like Old Times even feels like it could garner a Jennifer Aniston remake today.

Chevy Chase is Nick Gardenia, a writer working on a book in a mountain rental home overlooking the Pacific near Carmel, California.  When he’s taken hostage at gunpoint, he’s forced to rob a bank.  This may or may not affect Ira Parks’ (Charles Grodin) campaign for State’s Attorney.  Ira is married to Public Defender Glenda (Goldie Hawn) who used to be married to Nick.  When Nick shows up in the middle of the night in the Parks’ garage, it’s up to Glenda to hide Nick from Ira and figure out a way to get him exonerated.  It’s not easy when the couple will be hosting the Governor and his wife for dinner, along with a litter of six lovable dogs who happily express themselves and intrude at the most inconvenient times.  They range in size from St. Bernard to tiny terrier with the jingling bells on the collar.

Seems Like Old Times is a perfect marriage of Neil Simon’s unending wit with easy to swallow, but complicated scenarios that beautifully complement Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase comedic specialties. Charles Grodin was actually nominated for a Razzie for his performance.  An absolute insult to a well suited antagonist for clean, escapist lunacy.  It’s Grodin being Grodin, but it works so well.

Jokes thankfully run on repeat with cars getting stolen over and over while Glenda upholds her career of winning in the courtroom by employing her small time crooks to help them stay out of trouble.  T.K. Carter is great as Chester, her limo – rather station wagon driver, who just can’t put down an inviting bottle of wine.

Robert Guillaume delivers his Benson sitcom timing and partners well with Grodin. Harold Gould is the exasperated judge who knows Glenda all too well.

I recommend you dig up Aurora’s (the Parks’ illegal immigrant maid) recipe for chicken pepperoni and saddle up for an old-time romantic comedy at home. Seems Like Old Times is a fun romp for the whole family to watch, but especially with the one you love, or maybe the one you used to love.

BIGFOOT WOODS

By Marc S. Sanders

There’s a moment in Bigfoot Woods where a character describes Paul (Rich Sommer) as just a science teacher, not a scientist.  It’s clear that Paul is more than irked by the regard, especially because this person is a believer in the legend of Bigfoot – a Sasquatch fur covered, monstrous figure who’s never been proven to exist beyond its never ending myth.  Paul is a scientist though.  He studied the principles of science.  He researched evidence that describes all the various natures of science.  He’s a high school teacher in the small town of Steamer, Minnesota, but he’s most definitely a certified scientist.  It’s therefore unfortunate his identity is not taken seriously.

This occurs midway through Elizabeth Chatelain’s film.  Paul is already roiling with Bridget, his conflicted fourteen year old daughter (Ambrose Velasco Jenkins).  They are realizing that they are not in fact non-binary.  Bridget is coming to the conclusion that they/them are not the appropriate pronouns.  Going forward, Bridget is certain of being addressed as he/him, and is unequivocally ready to be identified as Jonah.  Paul, and his wife Taylor (Tristen MacDonald) realize they’ll have to adjust.

It’s not even a question of options.  Paul and Taylor love their child.  It’s still a struggle, but that’s okay.  A new job or school or living situation can also require time and patience while adapting.

Chatelain’s film is smart because while Jenkins’ character occupies the most screen time, Bridget/Jonah is not the only one affected by this transition.  How does mom and dad feel about this?  What about friends?  Actually, how does the whole town of Steamer respond when there is primarily a unified mantra in believing in the  Christian values that come with the influence of the church and an ultra conservative mindset of what Jesus Christ stands for?

Steamer, Minnesota is hardly found on a map.  At best, it’s known for being a possible resting place for Bigfoot.  Paul and Bridget have father/child time together by roaming the woods and documenting discoveries in nature.  At best, maybe fifty people watch their series of You Tube videos.  However, that number explodes into the thousands when someone notices a rustling in the trees that could very likely be Bigfoot.  At last, certifiable evidence may exist in Bridget’s footage and attract a wider scope that’ll bring welcome recognition to town.  The folks are giddy over this discovery.

However, Bridget does not stop at what they share with Paul.  Bridget is making a new declaration of self identity when Jonah is introduced, but many folks in Steamer are quick to change their tune.

Bigfoot Woods is simple in its cinematography and editing.  It may operate like an Afterschool Special but that may also be its greatest achievement.  The script by father and trans-son Bruce and Abel Pavalon brings a transparent honesty to trans youth who are developing into who they really are and how family and environment responds.  Despite talent or accomplishments, some will overlook all of that when a trait feels unacceptable.  Others will not get up in arms over how someone chooses to live and will simply welcome the change.  It’ll justifiably become concerning, but they’ll need time.  The script covers a wide range with a small cast and a condensed script.

Bridget/Jonah also suffers from a habitual side effect of cutting.  I’m not here to minimize the character’s physical and mental ordeals.  However, at only a running time of an hour and twenty minutes, I did not think there was ample material to address this ingredient of the story.  Cutting is a very real symptom that needs serious attention.  Either more could have been expounded on that, or it should have been excised from the final product.

One factor I’m grateful for is that Paul, the scientist, does his research on trans topics.  He discovers the anatomical studies that upholds the need for transitioning down to how XX or XY chromosomes operate when another gene comes into play with a person’s DNA.  A majority of those opposed to the idea of transitioning fail to do the research and neither uncover validity or the material that could repute it.  People just make up their minds like it’s an opinion. Bigfoot Woods hinges on facts found in science, not instinctual prejudice.

In all fairness, I’ve done no research on the topic.  Still I trust what’s included in Chatelain’s film.  It’d be foolishly bold of her and the Pavalons to deliver a story that champions transition with unproven or false material.

The performance from Ambrose Velasco Jenkins is winning because there are multiple dimensions to the role.  I didn’t really care for Bridget who was not connecting with their loving parents.  Bridget is off putting and insensitive to mom and dad.  Jonah is very likable though.  It has to come down to an internal peace that Jenkins eventually delivers.  Very good work.

I also really felt for Rich Sommer’s interpretation of a dad who’s a good, well educated father but also confused and lacking the confidence to deal with a change in his family’s dynamic.  Too often men are expected to have all the answers.  This man doesn’t.  Yet, he will not cry about it or give up.  He applies skills that will aid him into deciding for himself with confidence.

Tristen MacDonald offers another kind of identity struggle.  A breast cancer survivor who opted for a double mastectomy.  I recall stories where women feel less of themselves once they have gone through this kind of trauma. Bigfoot Woods tackles a wide berth of identity struggle.  It’s not exclusive to members of the LGBTQ+ community.  MacDonald only has a few lines that address her character’s background but she’s impactful enough to demonstrate self-identity does not stop with gender identity.  It’s a mindset that depends on various factors and situations.

Bigfoot Woods is smart and insightful.  It’s a straightforward account of a teenager ready to recognize internal thoughts beyond outside influence while figuring out who they want to be.  With a curious story of the Bigfoot legend wrapped around it, there’s an intriguing aspect to this collection of three characters who are accepted by some while dismissed by others.  A perfect button on the picture is a nice wink and nod that crosses the last caption before the credits arrive.  I was smiling by the end.

THE BAND WAGON (1953)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Vincente Minnelli
CAST: Fred Astaire, Cyd Charisse, Oscar Levant, Nanette Fabray, Jack Buchanan
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 95% Fresh

PLOT: An aging song-and-dance man reluctantly teams up with a prima ballerina to headline a Broadway musical, but the pretentious goals of its director threaten to sink the show before it even opens.


The Band Wagon has officially been added to the list of my favorite backstage films, along with The Bad and the Beautiful (1952), 42nd Street (1933), and Singin’ in the Rain (1952), to name just a few.  Even aside from the “meta” aspect of the plot, the scenes of a stage show in various stages of rehearsal hit close to home…sometimes TOO close.  After a disastrous tech rehearsal, one actress asks, “Are we really supposed to open tomorrow night?”  If I had a nickel for every time I’ve said or thought that when performing in a stage show…I’d have a lot of nickels.

Fred Astaire plays Tony Hunter, an aging song-and-dance man whose best days and best movies are behind him.  This is made poignantly clear in an opening scene where Tony’s famous top hat and cane are being auctioned off – and they don’t get a single bid.  He’s in New York because he’s been offered a role in a brand-new musical comedy written by his two good married friends, Lester and Lily Marton (Oscar Levant and the perky Nanette Fabray).  The catch: they want to pair him with Gabrielle Gerard (Cyd Charisse), a top-tier ballerina who can handle the challenging dance moves from the show’s choreographer, Paul Byrd (James Mitchell), with whom she’s involved romantically.  Tony, an old-school soft-shoe hoofer, is not confident he’ll pair well with a tall, leggy ballet dancer and “modern” choreography.

To top it off, the new show will be directed by Broadway darling Jeffrey Cordova (Brit comedian Jack Buchanan) whose artistic sensibilities run more towards Camus and Goethe than Comden & Green.  Will Tony and Gabrielle overcome their differences?  Will Jeff Cordova see the light before turning a light comedy into a long dark night of the soul?  Will Lester and Lily kill each other before opening night?  If you don’t know the answers to these questions being posed in an MGM musical from the height of the Arthur Freed era, you need to see more movies.

The plot of The Band Wagon could be blown over by a smoke ring, but it is extremely perceptive when it comes to backstage life during a stage production.  As an amateur actor, I eat this stuff up with a spoon.  There’s the audition scene: do we go with the seductive blonde or the girl who can actually dance?  There are the seemingly endless dance rehearsals.  There’s the ambitious director who fills the stage with special effects and forgets about the actors.  There are the threats of quitting, the fights over changing a line, the show-mance, and the gallows humor following a disastrous performance.  The Band Wagon, like 42nd Street, should be required viewing for anyone involved in live theater, especially musicals.

But that’s all just background for the main attraction: Astaire and Charisse.  While Gene Kelly was pure athleticism, Astaire was grace personified.  While Ginger Rogers was unquestionably (and literally) Astaire’s equal, Charisse brings a sensuousness to her duets with Astaire that is unmatched.  In fact, I got the sense in their dances together that Astaire, intentionally or not, was there to make Charisse look good, or even better, I should say.  Or maybe it’s just that Charisse is all I look at in their numbers together.  Little of column A, little of column B.  The highlight of their pairing is the justly celebrated “Girl Hunt Ballet”, a dazzling showcase for Astaire, Charisse, and choreographer Michael Kidd, which serves more or less as the movie’s finale.  A verbal description wouldn’t do it justice, but even if you’re not a fan of The Band Wagon, chances are good you’ve seen one or two YouTube videos that compare this scene to Michael Jackson’s video for “Smooth Criminal.”  Good stuff.

There are other highlights, as well.  This movie gave us the immortal showbiz anthem, “That’s Entertainment”, which was reportedly written in 45 minutes.  There’s also the famous “Triplets” number where Astaire, Fabray, and Buchanan use visual trickery to appear as infants in three little high chairs.  There’s the opening number where Astaire dances through a penny arcade on 42nd Street, incorporating an all-too-brief double act with a shoeshine man whom the producers literally pulled off the street when they saw him dancing for his customers.  Everything is done in the broad, brassy, Technicolor fashion for which director Vincente Minnelli was famous.

That’s really about it.  Astaire has been quoted as saying The Band Wagon was his favorite film of his career, and it’s not hard to see why.  Many moons ago, I watched this movie and, as I recall, slept through most of it.  I was younger and stupider back then.  As a devotee of theater and of classic films, The Band Wagon is one of my favorite musicals overall.  Check it out whenever and wherever you can.