Author: Marc Sanders

SLAP SHOT

By Marc S. Sanders

Slap Shot is to hockey what Caddyshack is to golf.  It is rude, crude and unapologetically harsh in its language, its temperament and with the memorable fraternal trio known as the Hanson brothers unforgiving with punches, slugs, checks and body slams.  The wardrobe looks dated (some of the ugliest plaids you have ever seen) and it was produced during a time when hockey players could opt not to wear helmets but it is still outrageously funny.  Best of all, Paul Newman, the guy from more upscale, sophisticated fare like Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, The Hustler, and Hud, leads the cast.  Some of the best actors are also the best comedians.  (Look at Robert DeNiro, Donald Sutherland and Clint Eastwood as well.)

The Charlestown Chiefs are the worst hockey team in the Federal League.  When the local Pennsylvania mill has announced that it is closing, it does not look good for the team as attendance will drop lower than what it already is.  The coach and oldest teammate, Reggie Dunlop (Newman), reaches for a few last-ditch efforts to elevate a demand and an appreciation for the Chiefs. 

First, he turns to reporter pal Dickie Dunn (M Emmet Walsh) and drops a made-up rumor that a Florida retirement community is interested in buying and relocating the team down south.  Then, it dawns upon him to antagonize opposing players which will lead into a series of goon fights.  His three newest recruits, the four eyed Hanson Brothers work best at bloodshed.  The enhanced violence lead to wins and suddenly the Chiefs have a new fan base that follows them on the road and sells out their home games.  Only one player, Ned Braden (Michael Ontkean) is against this new approach.  He’s college educated with a love for the game and refuses to stoop to Reggie’s level. A side story has Ned struggling with his marriage falling apart with his alcoholic wife (Lindsay Crouse).

In the meantime, as the rumor of the buyout stays alive, Reggie does his best to find who exactly owns the team.  He wants to convince that party to keep the organization running. 

Paul Newman owns this film despite a collection of fantastic characters that embody the team.  There’s the French-Canadian goalie who is not sharp at delivering proper English.  Killer Carlson (Jerry Houser) quickly develops a knack for being more of goon than a hockey guard. The team’s manager played by Strother Martin (a regular mainstay co-star in a series of Newman films) has to get the team to catwalk model the latest in fashionwear furs, and there’s Francine (Jennifer Warren).  She’s Reggie’s ex-wife, who still shares a thing with him but will not recommit while he continues to play hockey.

George Roy Hill (The Sting, Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid) is the unlikeliest of directors for a foul-mouthed film like this and just knowing that seems to make Slap Shot all the more rebellious and appealing for repeat views.  It’s as if Newman and Hill decided to lift their veil of innocence and join the ranks of the worst obscene.  These guys just said “Aw fuck it.  Let’s make the movie.”  I smile each time a sharp guy like Paul Newman delivers an F bomb.  It’s shocking, but it also works so perfectly.  Hockey is anything but delicate fare.

There are dozens of fight scenes in Slap Shot and normally I might claim exhaustion with its repetitiveness.  Thanks to Hill’s direction, every check or punch or wallop is caught differently.  No one is safe; the fans, the radio announcer, the referees, the organ player, the players.  All of them are in the line of fire of a puck or a punch.  While it should, none of what you see ever looks the same.  So, every contact in this contact sport brings one more laugh after another.  Absolutely hilarious!

The Hanson trio (played by real life hockey players – Jeff and Steve Carlson, David Hanson) became a pop culture sensation in cinema with the release of this film.  The image of these three goons, who look like nerds playing with racing car toys, is as uniquely identifiable as Arnold Schwarzenegger in his Terminator get up.  You can never forget the Hanson Brothers.

Screenwriter Nancy Dowd came up with the idea for Slap Shot after listening to her brother’s experiences of being on a minor league team.  Most of the characters she developed were based on actual players that Ned Dowd played with or against. 

I always like when a movie can teach me how an industry works.  With Slap Shot, as slapstick and raggedy as the material proudly is, there’s a mentality to witness and realize.  These guys are literally this brazen, crude and unrepentant, but like Newman’s character Reggie, they’re not stupid or unlikeable either. 

The conclusion of the picture is the championship game. It works because it performs against the grain of what the characters did to get to this point in the story.  The first period break in the locker room is hilarious with Strother Martin going off the rails while Paul Newman is muttering hilariously in the background.   What eventually sends this final game into the stratosphere is unexpected and hilarious. 

Slap Shot triumphs because it was never careful in its comedy.  It’s obscene, prejudiced by today’s standards and yet I do not believe most audience demographics would be offended because there’s an understanding in what it means to be a goon on a hockey team. 

Slap Shot may be a movie of its time from nearly fifty years ago, but it still holds up with big laughs and hilarious set ups. If I need to be more formal in my praise, it’s one hysterical fucking movie with a great fucking script.

Now cue the National Anthem because I’M LISTENING TO THE FUCKING SONG!!!!!

ARTHUR THE KING

By Marc S. Sanders

I cannot stand to watch dogs in peril.  It guts me right in the feels and stays with me long after.  I only saw the movie Single White Female once, when it was in theaters, and I still remember that puppy’s horrifying demise.  Terrible. Just awful.

On the other hand, when a dog is the companion or the factor of good fortune needed for the cast of human characters, I’m going to be won over.  Arthur The King has a shaggy mutt that you absolutely fall in love with, but I don’t think its all schmaltz, because the dog who portrays the title character is not the only storyline to follow.

Mark Wahlberg is Michael, who leads a team of four endurance adventurer racers.  He has the odds stacked against him.  He’s a well-known racer within the circuit but not for the right reasons.  The teams he’s led usually place in the top ten at the finish line, but Michael has never made it to first place.  Not once.  On social media, he’s mocked as the guy who comes up short.  His father (Paul Guilfoyle) is not very encouraging either.  As well, the window of opportunity to show himself as a champion is dwindling as he’s getting up in years.  Still, Michael is confident he has one more race left in him, but he’s granted very little sponsorship money and given a lot less time to train and prepare than he and his team are accustomed to.

Joining Michael in the competition is Olivia (Nathalie Emmanuel) who is an expert climber on any terrain.  She is reluctantly joining the team at the urging of her terminally ill father.  There’s also Chik (Ali Suliman) who serves as the navigator during the race looking for alternative routes and detours off the path that will put the team ahead of others.  Lastly, there is Leo (Simu Liu).  He is the vain Instagram celebrity with thousands of followers and a huge chip on his shoulder that tests Michael’s instincts because Leo has usually been right in the past.  Michael always made the foolhardy option to ignore Leo’s concerns and thus got stuck in the mud, missing another first-place opportunity.

The homeless, neglected dog in the picture initially follows a parallel story within the streets of the Dominican Republic.  Living off scraps with damp, dirty fur, he roams from place to place, being chased and bullied by other alley dogs.

Director Simon Cellan Jones goes for a documentary approach to the endurance racing.  Bylines and GPS maps cut into the picture showing the team’s progress and where they stand in the rankings.  Sometimes there are voiceover commentaries.  It’s efficient information that allows the audience to keep up with the team’s progress as the flow of the film moves at a brisk pace.

We see the team of four run, bike, kayak, climb, stop for breaks, and debate their next options.  Challenges arrive where a large rock must be climbed.  Heavy rain weighs upon their progress.  Snakes are encountered.  Swamp conditions must be overcome.  A thrilling zip line sequence will have you sitting up in your chair.  The footage in this scene is amazing to look at from the enormous height over a bottomless jungle chasm.  It’s certainly dramatic.  Because the film does not rely on the standard suspense music you might find in other sports films, it performs like a documentary with the director’s well positioned camera work and the unexpected reactions of the cast.

At a rest stop the dog captures Michael’s attention.  Some scritches and scratches along with a few meatball treats and then the team must move on.  However, the dog seemingly turns up within the dense jungle terrain having followed their trajectory.  Michael can’t help but be fascinated by the stamina of this animal, and thus a connection is made.  Shortly thereafter, Olivia, Chik and even Leo warms up to the fifth team member.

The race goes on.  Michael’s wife and daughter follow the team’s progress from home.  Dehydration sets in.  A twisted knee interferes.  It’s all standard.  Yet, it’s hard not to get caught up in this film.

If you have never been a pet owner, it might be hard to truly relate how an animal can change a person.  It might sound cliché but there’s really no way to describe how unconditional a dog’s love can be, and Arthur The King certainly demonstrates that kind of affection. If that is still not enough for you to swallow, then consider that this film is based on a true story. 

There was a dog named Arthur The King who defied the odds to keep up with an endurance racer named Mikael Lindnord, thereby inspiring the team to push forward and strive to win.  The inspiration of the real-life Arthur established The Arthur Foundation whose ongoing mission is to raise funds to provide resources to help dogs around the world receive better care.

Arthur The King might have mapped out its story as soon as the movie began, but that does not mean it is devoid of genuine emotion.  This film possesses a yearning for adventure and a need to defy doubt and reach for victory while never losing sight of what could be more valuable than a championship.  The main character starts out as a confident endurance racer.  Yet, he’s a new kind of racer with an eye-opening perspective when he meets Arthur The King.

TUESDAY (2023)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Daina Oniunas-Pusic
CAST: Julia Louis-Drefyus, Lola Petticrew, Arinzé Kene (voice)
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 82% Fresh

PLOT: A mother and her teenage daughter must confront Death when it arrives in the form of an astonishing talking bird.


Movies about death are a dime a dozen.  Movies about “Death” with a capital D, as a character, are a bit rarer, and for a movie to make its mark in this subgenre, the personification of Death incarnate must be something interesting or unusual.  Terry Gilliam’s The Adventures of Baron Munchausen portrayed Death in the expected way, a skeletal figure cloaked in black and carrying a scythe, but it could also disguise itself.  Meet Joe Black dressed Death in a tux and gave it Brad Pitt’s face and body – perhaps unlikely, but good for ticket sales.  And in the most famous movie version of Death, it was a pale man in black who played chess with Max von Sydow in Ingmar Bergman’s uber-classic, The Seventh Seal.

But no movie that I’ve ever seen has ever approached the character of Death itself the way Tuesday does.  In this film, Death is a bird.  A parrot with dirty gray feathers.  A parrot that can change size at will, sometimes as tall as a house, sometimes as tiny as a toad (or smaller), and sometimes just parrot-sized.  And, as we eventually discover, it can talk and mimic voices.

Tuesday looks and feels like an early Spike Jonze film, back in the days of Being John Malkovich and Adaptation.  It is filled with imagination and unexpected plot turns and laden with meaning, but it never feels pretentious or preachy.  It tells a familiar story – we must make peace with Death one way or the other – but the uniqueness of Death’s form and what happens after it reveals itself had me riveted for the entire running time of the film.

In this film, Tuesday is a 15-year-old girl (Lola Petticrew) who is dying of an unspecified disease that has relegated her to home-hospice care with an attentive, if slightly impersonal, nurse (Leah Harvey) and her mother, Zora (Julia Louis-Dreyfus, giving the performance of her career).  Zora has not seemed to get past the first stage of grief, denial.  She literally sneaks past Tuesday’s room so she can leave the house just as the nurse arrives, without having to speak to her.  Instead of going to work, Zora spends her day going to pawn shops and coffee shops and sleeping on park benches.

On one such day, Tuesday looks up and sees…this parrot.  The overall vibe of this parrot is hard to describe.  It looks beat up, it’s dingy, it’s blind in one eye, but there is a sense of menace to it.  Tuesday immediately intuits what the parrot is and why it’s there.  As it approaches her to perform its duty, Tuesday stops it by telling a joke.  (It’s the one about the cop who stops a guy who has twelve penguins in his car.)  The parrot takes it in and…laughs.  I’ve never been in the same room with a laughing psychotic, but I would imagine it would sound pretty much the same as when Death laughs.

And then the parrot opens its mouth and talks to Tuesday.  They have a conversation.  And suddenly Death seems to suffer some kind of panic attack, as the voices of all the creatures on Earth whose time has come assault Death’s ears.  Tuesday instinctively coaches it through a breathing exercise.  The voices go away.  She recommends a bath.  They bond.  She pages through a history book and gets Death’s commentary on dead historical figures.  Stalin: “An absolute prick!”  Jesus: “Oh, He LOVED irony.”  It mimics Jesus’ voice.  Whatever you think Jesus’ voice really sounded like, I promise you will be surprised.

Also, don’t get the idea that this is an all-out comedy because of the above dialogue.  Keep in mind that this is Death we’re talking about.  Death’s voice, when it speaks, is low, gravelly and menacing, even when it’s cracking jokes.  At one point, Tuesday plays an old song on her computer, and Death, being eternal, is familiar with it.  It even sings along and dances.  At least, as far as any parrot CAN dance.  Yet even in this moment of levity, there is still that sense of menace in the offing because of that brilliantly chosen voice, provided by an actor named Arinzé Kene, who is unknown to me, but if I ever see that he recorded an audiobook, I’m buying it.

This whole time, I’m watching the movie thinking to myself, WHERE is this GOING.  I was fascinated by this exceedingly odd couple.  The direction by first-timer Daina Oniunas-Pusic is just as assured and risky as anything by Spike Jonze or Sofia Coppola.  I was worried that it was going to veer off into a weird tangent where Death falls in love with Tuesday, but nothing like that happens.  Death knows its function, and so does Tuesday, so the problem now is how to deal with Tuesday’s mother, who is clearly not prepared to deal with Tuesday’s death, imminent or otherwise.

…and from here on out, I am going to give no more story specifics.  To say that I went into this movie cold is an understatement.  Trust me, the colder you are, the better it will be.  The ultimate message of the film, as I said, is not that far removed from any number of other films.  I would even compare it to the first Inside Out from Pixar, which demonstrated that sadness is an ultimately necessary part of becoming who we are.  Tuesday also uses a CG character (in the real world) to remind us that the only way to make peace with who we are is to make peace with where we’ll all be in 100 years.  The final words of the film are a call to action to everyone watching.

[Ed. Note: Tuesday is one of those so-called rarities, a completely original studio film, released in movie theaters before heading to a streamer, that’s not a sequel or insanely high-budget.  It’s intelligent, compelling, and non-stop surprising.  And it had absolutely zero publicity, at least in my area.  I saw no trailers, no posters, no internet hype.  According to boxofficemojo.com, it has grossed a little over $320,000 since its domestic release on June 7th.  Not exactly setting attendance records.  If you’re interested in seeing it in theaters, I’d say your window is extremely limited at this point.]

THE RIVER

By Marc S. Sanders

A film like Mark Rydell’s The River only thrives on witnessing the misery of people living with the misery of others.  That’s not to say this is not how ordinary people are often forced to live.  There’s too much suffering in the world.  I can never deny that.  A homeless shelter or a prison are settings of great misfortune, hardship and sadness.  Yet for a movie, sometimes you must ask what the point is, especially when it is apparent that the heroes are destined to lose against the forces of nature while the villain is entirely correct in his own cause.  Sometimes in a no-win situation it is honorable to just give up.  I wish Tom Garvey, the corn farmer, would have just quit being a farmer and sought a better life for his wife Mae and their two young children.

Tom and Mae are played by Mel Gibson and Sissy Spacek.  He is the current generation who owns the Tennessee corn crop farm that his family lineage has passed down.  The first twenty minutes of The River depict the harshness of terrible rainstorms that flood the nearby river and wash away the family’s prized crops and land.  Tom, Mae and the children do everything in their power to recede the water as the rain continues to come down in buckets.  Mae fills up sacks of mud and water with their daughter Beth.  Their son Lewis works with Tom on the beat-up tractor against a never-ending battle of plowing the flood waters away from the land.  There’s no way to overcome this terrible plague of weather that comes at least twice every year.  As I watch the sopping wet struggle that opens the picture in the middle of a stormy night, shot very well by Rydell and his crew, I already ask myself what’s the point?  Get out of this situation Tom!!!!! Take up babysitting, tutor, become a fireman, go back to school.  Relocate for heaven’s sakes!!!!

What recuses the Garvey family and the farm, one more time, is when the rain finally stops.

Scott Glenn is Joe Wade.  He is a wealthy industrialist, who also grew up in these parts under a family legacy.  Joe is on the good side of the state politicians and is aggressive in buying out the farmers’ land so that he can flood the valley, build a dam and use the overabundance of water to power the utilities of the area in a more efficient and much less costly way for everyone.  And he’s the villain of the story????????

Joe makes sense.  Tom’s passion for holding on to what his family has owned does not.  I get the idea of grasping on to family heirlooms like my grandfather’s watch that he maybe kept hidden in an uncomfortable orifice while being held captive by the Nazis, or the prized jewel that survived a shipwreck generations ago.  I also understand the desire to carry the torch of the harsh labor a father and a father before endured and died for while allowing a farm to thrive.  Yet, there are children to feed and debts to pay. The ruin that comes from the acts of God do not empathize.  Therefore, I say again, sometimes the bravest and most sensible thing a person can do is actually quit.

Tom, along with most of the neighboring farmers, are adamant about not selling their land to Joe.  When auctions occur to sell off the equipment and leftover supplies of the few that do surrender, it is practically considered a gross violation of a sacred code in these parts.  I look at the stubborn folks who frown upon their peers as terribly disrespectful.  The script is expecting me to empathize with Tom and those who stand with him though. 

Midway through, The River takes a detour as Tom leaves to do hard labor elsewhere to earn much needed cash.  This is where misery does not love company.   He is one of many men selected to do factory work as an inexpensive replacement for the union workers on strike.  Tom, along with the other recruits, are threatened, called scabs, and in a glaring scene spit directly in the face.  A fellow worker is beat up in the middle of the night.  All of this is powerful footage and yet who am I supposed to empathize with?  These workers on strike are demanding better benefits and rights.  A guy like Tom, who values the survival of the Garvey farm, interferes in someone else’s just cause for his own welfare. 

I think about films like Schindler’s List and even The Lord Of The Rings fantasies and I witness the hardships and suffering of a collective people.  Those stories never expect me to value the misery of a select few over others.  I take stock in a whole populace.  In Mark Rydell’s film, however, I feel like I’m only asked to cry for Tom Garvey’s relief, the stubborn father who is defiant for an unlikely future of promise for the area he occupies while also ignoring the welfare of his family against the forces of nature.  Joe is offering Tom and Mae hundreds of thousands of dollars for their land so that he can enhance the state.  Joe’s bounty will rescue the family from insurmountable debt and the unforgiving floods that repeatedly destroy their crops.  Still, I’m supposed to believe that Joe is the asshole.

Sissy Spacek was nominated for Best Actress for her performance.  She competed against Sally Field (who won) and Jessica Lange.  Both were ironically featured in their own “farm life films” in 1984.  Spacek remains one of Hollywood’s finest actors.  However, I did not think there was much for her to do here.  A drawn-out sequence has Mae caught under a tractor with a nasty wound while the blistering heat bears down with no one around to help.  It has its moment of suspense because this film could go in many different directions of tragedy, but a development like this is more circumstantial than performance based.  If Katherine Hepburn or Laurence Olivier were under that tractor, the scene would not play out much differently.  It’s just a standard farmer accident destined to be included in a standard farmer picture.

The possibility of a love triangle is also implied during the film.  As soon as I saw the opening credits (Sissy Spacek, Mel Gibson, Scott Glenn), I hoped against all hope that the story would not go there, and yet…

Having hardly even used a rake or a shovel, I know that farming is a grueling life and still so necessary for our world consumption to survive.  The River attempts to demonstrate this message. I empathize with people like Tom.  I really do.  However, I empathize with the sacrifice they may need to take, not with their with their foolhardy stubbornness or their intrusion upon others’ challenges for gain.  If a doctor told me that no matter what efforts he performs he will not be able to save my arm or my leg, I’m going to have to believe him and accept that the limb must be amputated.  If an overflowing river and an unbearably long rainstorm affects my home, my farm, my family and my livelihood at least twice a year, eventually I’m going to come to my senses and tell myself that the bad guy is probably right. 

Contrary to the well-known slogan, sometimes money is everything.

THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE (1973)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Peter Yates
CAST: Robert Mitchum, Peter Boyle, Richard Jordan, Steven Keats, Alex Rocco
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 98% Certified Fresh

PLOT: After his most recent arrest has him looking at a long prison sentence for repeat offenses, an aging Boston gangster must decide whether or not to snitch on his friends to avoid jail time.


When scrolling through movie titles online or on your favorite streaming service, you might be forgiven for thinking that a 1973 movie with a title like The Friends of Eddie Coyle is a dialogue-driven character study by John Sayles or John Schlesinger, about a group of friends gathered at a hunting cottage or a class reunion or something.  Imagine my surprise when I watched it, and it turned out to be a nearly-forgotten gem of early ‘70s crime films.  (I’d call it a neo-noir, but it was released over fifty years ago now, so I’m not sure the term “neo” applies anymore.)  Featuring spare, economical storytelling reminiscent of other crime classics like Rififi [1955] or The Killing [1956], The Friends of Eddie Coyle is indeed a character study, but one that manages to downplay even Robert Mitchum’s heroic persona.

Eddie Coyle is getting old, and he knows it.  He’s currently facing up to 5 years in jail when he goes in front of a judge in a few days, but his old associates still rely on him to obtain “clean” firearms to use in pulling bank robberies.  The first time we see him doing this thankless job, he tells his cocky young supplier a story about why he has extra knuckles on his left hand, a speech that might have been written by a multiverse version of Quentin Tarantino.  (In fact, the bank robberies are accomplished when Eddie’s friends hold the bank manager’s family members hostage, so he’ll open the vault without question, a method paraphrased by “Pumpkin” in the opening scene of Pulp Fiction.)  Mitchum delivers this mini-logue with his trademark brand of world-weariness and menace, leading us to believe at the outset that he’s a man not to be trifled with, when in fact he’s little more than a glorified gofer for his bosses.

The film oozes a 1970’s atmosphere in every frame, but somehow it doesn’t feel all that dated.  There are no long zooms or extended chase sequences.  The most suspenseful scenes are the two bank robberies and one aborted car chase that is over as soon as it starts.  (I actually thought that was pretty clever, subverting our expectations by ending the chase after about fifteen seconds; this method was also put to good use in 2003’s not-as-bad-as-you-think S.W.A.T.)  The dialogue feels more modern, laced with f-words and racial epithets that, again, feel more at home in a Q.T. film than in a Robert Mitchum movie.  For my money, there may be a few movie-watching experiences that can top hearing Robert Mitchum telling someone to go f— himself, but I can’t think of what they are right now.

Director Peter Yates (Bullitt, Breaking Away) never once strains for effect, never showboats.  Like John Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle, it is content to merely set the stage and observe what happens, letting the events and the characters drive the plot instead of contrived action scenes or fancy camera movements.  Instead of becoming bored, I was drawn into Eddie’s dilemma, his conflict between loyalty to his so-called friends and his desire to stay out of prison.  Complicating matters is the fact he has a wife and three school-age kids; they all live in a tiny townhouse where you can touch both walls of the kitchen with your arms outstretched.  This is a wrinkle uncommon in most gangster films, where the heavies lead unattached lives.

When Eddie approaches a federal agent (Richard Jordan) and asks if the New Hampshire judge will look favorably on Eddie’s sentencing if he agrees to squeal on his gunrunner friend, I felt a little sorry for him, and that’s a neat trick.  Because of Mitchum’s presence, you almost automatically want to root for him to do the right thing, but because of the character he’s playing so well, I just got the feeling that things were not going to end well for him, and I was right.  After getting a taste of what Eddie has to offer in terms of high-profile arrests, the federal agent leaves him dangling, telling him the judge will keep him out of jail if he keeps ratting on his buddies.  Poor Eddie is in an impossible situation, and the irony is, when he finally makes his decision, it’s already too late…but I don’t want to spoil anything.  It’s a brilliant catch-22 that left me feeling even sorrier for Eddie than I did before.

The whole movie is like that.  We’re shown right up front that Eddie is a criminal.  But the hands-off filmmaking approach allows the viewer to make up his own mind.  You could, I suppose, watch this movie in one of two mindsets: either you empathize right away with Eddie and his predicament, or you can take him at face value and watch the movie waiting to see if he gets what’s coming to him, both for being a crook AND for squealing on his friends.  Either way, I think the movie’s resolution satisfies both interpretations, which is not an easy task.

If you sit down to watch The Friends of Eddie Coyle, just remember that it’s not The French Connection or Heat or anything splashy or flashy.  It’s a grim, gritty crime drama with a bona fide legend playing a petty thug instead of a crime lord.  Mitchum fits the bill, and the movie fits Mitchum.  The Boston environments – all shot 100% on location – mirror the way Eddie walks and talks: gray, blank, tired.  Beneath that grimy coating, though, is a rather brilliant character study of a man whose life has brought him to a crossroads where he must decide what’s more important to him, his friends or his life.  (His decision kinda surprised me, I’ll be honest.)

HOTEL TERMINUS: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF KLAUS BARBIE (1988)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Marcel Ophüls
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 100% Fresh

PLOT: A documentary about Klaus Barbie, the Gestapo chief in Lyon, France, and his life after the war.


There is so much to unpack in Hotel Terminus, Marcel Ophüls’ epic documentary, that I am hesitant to even try to write about it.  In terms of the craft of filmmaking, there is nothing to critique aside from the skillful editing, which surprisingly makes its 4.5-hour running time fly by.  In terms of content…I mean, where could I even begin?  Here’s a summary I found online: “Marcel Ophüls’ riveting film details the heinous legacy of the Gestapo head dubbed ‘The Butcher of Lyon.’ Responsible for over 4,000 deaths in occupied France during World War II, Barbie would escape – with U.S. help – to South America in 1951, where he lived until a global manhunt led to his 1983 arrest and subsequent trial.”

Wait, what?  The United States intelligence apparatus smuggled a brutal Nazi officer out of Europe?  Six years after the Nuremberg trials?  Yes.  Ophüls interviews various players from US Army Counterintelligence – known as the “CIC” in the 1940s – who state flatly on camera that Barbie had connections and information regarding Russian communists, so it was in America’s best interests to keep Barbie alive and out of prison and get him to South America.

So, at the very least, today I learned something.

This sprawling documentary also features eyewitnesses to Barbie’s atrocities in Lyon, France, where he was stationed.  I don’t want to recite a laundry list of these terrible acts, but the film does key on two specific events during his tenure: the arrest and execution of Jean Moulin, a French Resistance leader, and the deportation to Auschwitz of 44 Jewish children from an orphanage in a town called Izieu.  Ophüls interviews scores of people who were in the room when Barbie arrested Moulin.  Many of them disagree who was to blame – a rat or someone with loose lips – but they all remember who made the arrest.  The stories from witnesses to the deportation of the children are beyond belief.

What is the point of a documentary like this?  Why should it be important for a filmgoer, or just an average Joe, to block out nearly five hours to watch a series of talking heads tell story after shocking story about the inhuman tactics of a monster?  Well, for one thing, that’s not the whole story.  Hotel Terminus actually has an arc, because Barbie was discovered living in Bolivia in 1972.  In 1983, he was extradited to France where he was convicted on numerous crimes against humanity and sentenced to life in prison, where he died in 1991.  The filmmakers didn’t know that in 1988, of course, but it felt good to throw that factoid in there.  Another interesting factoid: America apologized to France in 1983 for helping him escape to Bolivia in the first place.  Better late than never, I guess?

So, it’s good to know while watching that the man in question will eventually get his just desserts.  But there are times when it almost feels like the “A-story” of Barbie’s eventual arrest gets overwhelmed by the “B-story,” which is the paradoxical attitudes of many of the people interviewed.  One man wonders, what’s the point of it all?  Barbie committed his crimes forty years earlier, and France has a statute of limitations of twenty years, so just let the man grow old and die in obscurity.  Another theorizes that stirring up old memories of the war when many would rather move on actually created more civil unrest in France and Germany.  Barbie’s defense attorney at his war crimes trial (a Eurasian Frenchman) wonders why Barbie is being tried for crimes against humanity while France’s own acts of torture and horrific imprisonment during the Battle of Algiers are discreetly ignored.

And always Ophüls has rejoinders for each of these statements with stories of families separated, men and women tortured, family members whisked away and never seen again.  One woman recalls being tortured as a girl by Barbie, while her mother was told, “This is YOUR fault; if you would just talk, we would stop.”  And so on, ad infinitum.  But I am compelled to point out again how compelling this was.  These and so many other stories like them did not depress me or lower my spirits.  Instead, I was riveted.  I can’t explain why.  For myself, I felt like this was something I needed to hear, and other people needed to hear.  Here was a record of something that really happened, to real people in a real place in a time that was not so long ago, in the grand scheme of things.

There was also a section that really made me take notice.  Many, MANY people said on camera that, in his old age, Barbie was “a good man.”  He was friendly to his neighbors – even some Jews! – and a loving father.  His daughter-in-law is interviewed, and she states that he always had a kind word for her and always tried to include her in his family circle, even after her husband (Barbie’s son) died.  It made me think about the driving force behind last year’s brilliant Zone of Interest: the banality of evil.  Perhaps among many others, Barbie was living proof that evil will not always wear a black hat and have glowing red eyes.  Evil is just as capable of engaging you in friendly conversation as the next man.  (I was also reminded of a line from David Fincher’s Se7en: “If we catch John Doe and he turns out to be the devil, I mean if he’s Satan himself, that MIGHT live up to our expectations.  But he’s not the devil.  He’s just a man.”)  Is that one of the lessons of this film?  That evil is not supernatural or some kind of horrific aberration, but just a small person with delusions of grandeur?  Discuss.

There are echoes of Schindler’s List in the details of these stories, but Ophüls notably never uses any archival footage of concentration camps or of the Holocaust itself.  He apparently felt that audiences had, regrettably, become accustomed to the gruesome imagery of those events.  Instead, he relies on the viewer’s imagination to provide all the necessary details.

He also, tellingly, never provides answers to the stickiest questions that surrounded Barbie’s trial, especially the one about France being willing to charge him with crimes against humanity while ignoring their own history in Algeria.  I thought about that one a lot in relation to America.  Our country is great for a whole host of reasons, but it’s not perfect.  We rise up in vocal disapproval when a foreign country commits genocide, or when a country’s citizenry is threatened by totalitarianism…while ignoring (for the most part) the fact that our country exists because of genocidal practices against indigenous Americans.  Am I suggesting that perhaps Ophüls is wrong to focus on Barbie and not France’s history?  Absolutely not.  Barbie was a monster and got what he deserved, belatedly or not.  But I am suggesting that the film raises questions that deserve further discussion.

Ultimately, I’m glad I saw Hotel Terminus, and I would unhesitatingly recommend it to anyone who asks.  The visceral nature of the stories told by some of the subjects is enough to make it compelling, even without the overarching structure of following Barbie to his downfall.  It’s a challenging watch, to be sure, but I promise you’ll never be bored.  Trust me.

MAGNUM FORCE

By Marc S. Sanders

If you don’t know by now, I’m a huge admirer of Clint Eastwood’s work. His talents broach so many facets.  He acts.  He produces. He’s likely even better when he’s in the director’s chair.  He actually sings and he has even orchestrated his own music for some of his films.  Ever since I was first introduced to him at a young age when he played Dirty Harry Callahan and Fido Beddo, partnered with Clyde the orangutan, I was fascinated by his coolness and confidence in his stature on screen.  Whether he’s raising a fist, donning a scowl, giving a smirk or a squint of his narrow eyes or using his most famous prop, a .44 Magnum handgun, as an extension of his right arm, I’ve always been magnetically drawn to what he does on screen.

Online, a common question is asked: What is your favorite Clint Eastwood movie?  If I have to choose one, I guess it would have to be Magnum Force, the follow up to Dirty Harry.  Yet, I always believed Magnum Force could not operate without hitching on to the impact and message from Dirty Harry.  I can’t just like The Godfather Part II without liking the first film.  I can’t just love The Empire Strikes Back without liking its box office predecessor.  Same goes for The Lord Of The Rings pictures.

Magnum Force works so well because it questions what celebrated the Harry Callahan character that Eastwood portrayed two years prior.  This is a San Fransisco cop who defies authority when he knows that a danger must be suppressed without the inconvenience of bureaucratic red tape and police procedurals that ultimately will work in the criminals’ favor if not taken care of immediately.  As the first film demonstrated, it is easy for us to side with Harry’s desperation because we know the crazed killer is on the loose and he is only going to kill again and again while never surrendering or negotiating.  This second follow up film (in a series of five) tests the ideology of Eastwood’s character. 

A series of grisly murders are occurring within the city and it appears that a traffic cop is committing the acts.  The victims are the worst mobsters and pimps within San Fransisco who time and again have been overlooked for their crimes and/or have been released from trial or prisons based on technicalities.  A handful of characters within Magnum Force remind us that someone is saving the taxpayers a lot of money each time the body count increases. 

There’s a slight mystery to this film.  Harry encounters four rookie cops (David Soul, Robert Urich, Kip Niven and Tim Matheson) who seem very likable.  They are admirable of Harry’s reputation.  Harry is impressed by their shooting skills in particular.  Another traffic cop is an old friend of Harry’s, a guy named Charlie McCoy (Mitchell Ryan) who is on the edge and might pose a threat if he continues working the streets.  Any of these men could be suspects to these vigilante murders as it is soon realized that the scene of some of these crimes are similar. Often, cars are pulled over for traffic violations.  As well, ballistics indicate that the weapons of choice are normally a .357 Magnum, the standard issued firearm for a police officer.

The debate with Harry’s philosophy, firmly established in the prior film, is staged against that of his superior, Lt. Briggs.  He’s played by Hal Holbrook who is one of the best antagonists in all of Eastwood’s films.  They play so well against one another.  Early on, Briggs declares he’s never once had to pull his gun out of his holster.  Callahan sarcastically salutes the lieutenant by reminding him that men have got to know their limitations and that’s where the measure of asking what is ultimately necessary in fighting crime.  Where does it begin and when does it end?

Harry Callahan is that unusual cop who is frowned upon for the actions he takes in his own hands.  Other cops in movies played by Stallone or Gibson go to extreme measures simply for the cinematic action of it all.  Callahan is never thanked or given any serious commendations for what he executes with his .44 Magnum, a weapon that is as outside the lines as Harry himself. 

The difference between Harry and whoever this vigilante is must be deciphered and much of Magnum Force’s grey area is all that is seen.  Eventually, the black vs white clarity reveals itself and a telling lesson presents itself between what Harry Callahan stands for and what guise a vigilante operates under.  At the risk of revealing too much, the best scene of the picture occurs between Holbrook and Eastwood’s characters as they sum up the entirety of the film before the climax.  This film is over fifty years old and still the assortment of mindsets found within Magnum Force are worth pondering. Callahan is put to the test one time before in a haunting parking garage.

Beyond what’s worth considering among these many dangerous philosophies, this is a solid action picture with thrilling and well edited shoot outs among the cops and robbers.  A hilarious plane hijacking is derailed by Harry when he poses as a pilot.  Later there’s a store robbery that is undone and then there is a warehouse port exchange of gunfire that puts Harry and his partner in unexpected danger. 

There is an interesting target competition between the cops that implies what Harry suspects.  I like this scene in particular because it gives an inside look into how police officers interact and admire one another when not on the streets.  Yet, when one particular cop cannot get a thought out of his mind, it carries over into the action of the moment.  At the combat range, Harry fires his gun at one particular target that may cause you to sit up in your chair a little.  Often, Eastwood performs with little to no dialogue in his films and this is one very informative moment.

As much as I’m a big fan of Magnum Force, the penultimate scene always sticks in my craw a little.  Callahan is pursued on foot within the bulk of a freighter.  There is very little light provided in this sequence as Harry moves down one corridor or around a corner elsewhere.  It’s hard to see what is happening and who is where or who I am looking at.  For such a thrilling movie, this is a bit of a letdown as overall much of the action of this movie is driven by the plot.  Nothing feels random in Magnum Force.  Everything moves towards more story development or realizations.  Yet, I have to be somewhat forgiving only because this darkened scene occurs after all of the cards are put on the table and all the hero has to do is survive.

Just before the foot chase, there is a thrilling car chase with Eastwood actually doing the driving that takes us through the well-known twists of Lombard Street.  Director Ted Post wisely covers this from an overhead shot.   The car careens up and down the steep slopes of San Fransisco’s avenues and there are plenty of intense close ups of Eastwood behind the wheel accompanied by the screeching tires, bullets bouncing off the windshield and motors humming.  I have declared it before, the best place to have a car chase is in San Fransisco.  Surprisingly, this pursuit hardly ever gets categorized with the great ones like Bullitt, The French Connection, Ronin or The Seven Ups.

If you have never seen Magnum Force, check it out.  It is off color at times, but the exploits of Harry Callahan and the scum he’s forced to associate with were never about political correctness.  Still, there is much to debate, argue, and lend some serious thought to, especially in a newly unsteady climate of police acceptance and procedure.  My one recommendation though is to watch it as a double feature with the original Dirty Harry to truly see the two sides of Harry Callahan’s coin. 

NOTE: An interesting fact I just realized at the end of Dirty Harry, the cop shoots the bad guy with his right hand.  Later, he tosses his badge, but with his left hand.  Especially with Magnum Force as a follow up film, I see the internal struggle of Harry Callahan pitting his gun up against the mindsets that come with his badge.

THE SCORE

By Marc S. Sanders

Nothing like a good heist thriller.  Am I right? 

It is hard to believe that Marlon Brando’s final performance was with Robert DeNiro and yet the two were never part of the same cast before.  Finally, though, the Oscar winning actors, who were both recognized for portraying Vito Corleone, teamed up for a little film that contained some daring thrills while also welcoming some crackling good acting scenes together.  Edward Norton joined them, and it worked sensationally.  The Score, directed by Frank Oz, is a forgotten gem, or in this case as priceless as the gold and jeweled scepter the three set their sights upon stealing.

Filmed on location in Montreal, DeNiro portrays Nick, a professional thief who is very disciplined in his work and would never dare commit a heist in his own town where he publicly operates as a jazz nightclub owner.  As the opening scene suggests, he only practices outside of his city and usually outside of Canada.  Yet, a brash cocky kid named Jack (Norton) enters his private life with a proposition too good to pass up.  DeNiro’s handler/investor, Max (Brando), urges Nick to overcome his reluctance and team up with Jack for one last score that’ll rake in thirty million dollars. Once the job is done, six million is earmarked for Nick.  Finally, Nick can get out of this business and move on with his nightclub mortgage paid off.  He can also get more serious with his stewardess girlfriend Diane (Angela Bassett). 

The MacGuffin?  A scepter from the 1600s that was crafted for French royalty.  It is currently locked in a state of the art safe located within the basement of the Montreal Customs Building.  This fortress is equipped with cameras, security guards, sensors, you name it.  Jack is working on the inside, posing as a mentally challenged maintenance man.  He supplies all the intel to Nick with ways to get inside showing him who is doing what, where and how.  Nick then prepares the strategy around what information is collected.

The shakedown of The Score is nothing unfamiliar.  The enjoyment comes from the acting scenes between the actors, especially when it is DeNiro and Brando.  It is as thankful to see these two legends perform on screen as it was to see DeNiro team up with Al Pacino in Michael Mann’s Heat.  This older interpretation of Brando is so entertaining.  He has a lot of fun with Max’ sarcasm and when he curses it just comes so naturally.  Just a huge departure from what the actor did in classics like Streetcar and On The Waterfront.  DeNiro is great at chastising Brando’s character with the risks he’s taking at getting them in trouble.  Their dialogue works beautifully with their performances.

Same goes for DeNiro and Norton.  It’s not so much a mentor/student relationship.  Right from the start, there is friction. Nick is overly cautious while Jack is anything but.  Yet, the film primarily focuses on the thieves’ preparation for the big job and the characters speak as if there is a trust or honor among them, but the skepticism remains.  Often Jack is defiant of Nick’s specific instructions.  Norton is great going at odds with DeNiro.

Once the wheels are set in motion, the pattern of the script is to introduce one unexpected obstacle after another.  At one point the men realize they need a particular access code.  So, an exchange in a public park has to take place. Against Nick’s wishes, Jack plays a potentially dangerous game.  Later, it is learned that the scepter might be moving on from Montreal.  So, the job has to be completed much sooner than planned.  Max seems to be hiding some details as well that leave Nick uneasy.  By the time all these bridges are crossed you have a solid foundation for the first two acts of the film before the heist gets going.  It’s all good stuff.  The epilogue to the picture is very satisfying as well with a couple of unexpected twists thrown in.  When a bag gets unzipped, you’ll likely be nodding your head and applauding.

Edward Norton is a fantastic character actor (when he’s not being a straight lead in other films).  Just like in films such as The Incredible Hulk, Fight Club and especially his debut Oscar nominated performance, Primal Fear, he dons a dual personality for this role.  Norton easily contorts his physicality to portray “Brian” the guy who’s working on the inside of the Customs Building.  When the persona is shed though, Jack is a guy that most need to be careful to trust or go up against.  Edward Norton demonstrates such ease with the transitions from one personality to the other. 

Angela Bassett is terrific actor, but her character belongs in another movie.  The one shortcoming is that Bassett feels more like a prop for DeNiro’s motivation rather than a fully-fledged love interest.  Out of context, the scenes they share are really impressive, but within the framework of the picture, Bassett comes off as an inconvenient detour.  It’s not her fault.  The relationship between Nick and Diane just does not seem to belong here.  I never had any urge for their happily ever after wrap up.  I was only concerned with Nick, Jack and Max pulling off the score.

Another minor shortcoming is Howard Shore’s soundtrack for the film.  It plays with loud horns that scream official action.  Yet, when the scenes are absent of music or only accompanied by soft jazz performances from Mose Allison and Cassandra Wilson does The Score feel like it is in its quiet mood comfort zone.  Howard Shore’s louder pitch just feels a little too intrusive here because these guys operate in whispers and clandestine actions.  I especially get a kick out of how Nick and Jack use their special tools that quietly click and turn and thump with no other sound in the area.  Their hardware work like musical instruments. 

Overall, this is a delicious, sophisticated thriller with an outstanding cast and Frank Oz’ direction thankfully does not get too inventive because he knows he’s assembled an A plus collection of actors.  Oz also has the art design and scenic details within Montreal working to his advantage. The locales are peppered in with a welcome French culture along the cobblestone streets.  DeNiro and Brando seem very comfortable and absorbed in this city that’s rarely used as a backdrop in film. Lastly, the procedure of the actual theft at play is a lot of fun to watch as it all seems plausible but still impressively crafty.

It’s worth your risk to check out The Score on a Friday or Saturday night when you need to get away from the chaos of everyday life.  It’s a quiet, relaxed suspense yarn that’s so very pleasing.

NOTE: If you have not seen the film yet, I encourage you to stay away from the trailer which can be found online.  I believe too many of the twists and surprises contained within the movie are revealed simply to bait an audience.  The less you know about what happens, the more satisfying the picture is.

FURIOSA: A MAD MAX SAGA

By Marc S. Sanders

George Miller has never gone deep with his Mad Max movies.  The director treasures the inventions of his auto chases and the tricked out diesel junk contraptions that participate in high speed pursuits through his apocalyptic desert wasteland.  The more outrageous the vehicles and the crazier the stunts are, the more fulfilled Miller appears to be with his filmmaking.  However, the fifth film within this gonzo world of barbaric S & M dressed drivers invites us to explore the past of a surprisingly treasured character,  introduced in the prior film.  Her name is Furiosa and this time we see what she experienced as a young child (Alyla Browne), followed by what she learns as a young adult (Anya Taylor- Joy).  This fifth film in the franchise serves as a prequel to the last film, Mad Max: Fury Road.

As a pre-teen, Furiosa is abducted by the bandits who serve under the pompous and proud Dr. Dementis (Chris Hemsworth, playing his Thor role as if the Marvel character was a celebratory villain). A thrilling prologue covers this sequence of events with rescue efforts from the would-be heroine’s mother to save Furiosa and bring her back to their secret home of green vegetation located beyond the desert plains.  There are heart stopping motorcycle chases with the warrior mother bearing a sniper rifle and fighting with her last breath through the whole sequence.  Charlee Fraser portrays the title character’s mother. Thanks to her performance, she had me convinced me that the rescue will deem successful, accompanied by Miller’s reliable direction.  An absolutely thrilling opening.

Dementis rides his esteemed tri-motorcycle chariot steed, inspired by the sword and sandal adventures of Ben Hur and Gladiator.  A hilarious over the top vehicle to see Chris Hemsworth piloting.  His biker gang is in tow along with young Furiosa as they journey to the Citadel, first seen in Fury Road.  Dementis puts his conceit against that of Immortan Joe (Lachy Hume) the skeleton masked ruler of The Citadel for a chance at…what else?  Conquest and power.

Furiosa grows up a few years and gets mentored by a trucker named Praetorian Jack (Tom Burke).  I still love these character names by the way.  The truck chase is the highlight of the picture, with paragliding motorcycle riders swooping in like large attack birds trying to sabotage the weaponized rig full of delightful surprises that’ll make you shout “OH!!!” in the middle of the theater.  It is sequences like this that audiences adore in the Mad Max pictures. 

Unlike the other films though, Furiosa gets a little lethargic during the story set ups which are angles that never anchored the other better installments, The Road Warrior and Fury Road.  Reintroducing the Immortan Joe character is not as interesting this time and this desert picture gets a little too waterlogged when he enters the story.  He just doesn’t feel very necessary.  The two younger Furiosas and the self absorbed Dementis are plenty with just enough story opportunities to make a solid movie.  Retreading on other characters slow this fifth installment down a bit.

The whole cast looks great.  Anya Taylor-Joy is the best bad ass version of a younger Charlize Theron, who originated the role.  She hardly has any lines but her expressions on camera beneath the war paint, grease, dirt and long hair extensions look awesome.  Though the lead actress is hilariously dwarfed by Hemsworth’s Dementis, they make for a great dichotomy of hero vs villain.  She’s the quiet reserved David.  He’s the proud Goliath.  This is a dream casting pair.

Practical stunts are done once again and George Miller does impressive work with his camera.  His tactics for filming action scenes demonstrate why a Michael Bay normally fails.  Nothing is a quick take edit.  You watch these motorcycle riders and Furiosa hold onto to the bottom of the speeding truck and Miller will circle the camera, with no cuts in the take, so we see what is happening next to both sides of her profile.  The camera will then swoop up to see who’s running and holding on to the top of rig or who is parasailing from a great height while tethered to some kind of buggy vehicle below.  Amazing work.

However, seeing Furiosa on a large Dolby screen, it’s not hard to see a computer enhanced finish applied to the photography.  It’s very glossy and nowhere is it grainy like the very early Mad Max films from over forty years ago.  Yet, as dirty as these vehicles and characters are, the cleanliness of the cinematography sometimes does not clash well with what’s on the screen.  It’s a little distracting honestly and that was a surprise to me considering how perfect Fury Road looks on my 65-inch flat screen at home.  This one looks a little too perfect.  This might be that film where less may have been more.  

The background story work on Furiosa is not a terrible grievance.  The final print of the picture is acceptable.  All of it is definitely worth watching and I hope box office picks up following a sluggish opening weekend because I encourage anyone to see Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga on a big screen first.  I just think George Miller and company may have leaped much further than necessary this time around.

MAD MAX: FURY ROAD

By Marc S. Sanders

After watching Mad Max: Fury Road, you will feel like you need a shower.  Strike that, you will need a shower in aloe first, then a traditional shower and then a weeklong bath in aloe.  It’s a baked in environment that gives you the feel of grainy sands and burning sunbeams.

George Miller’s return to the gonzo, apocalyptic diesel future franchise is exciting from the moment the Warner Bros logo appears with the vroom vroom blaring through your sound system’s speakers.  Miller hardly surrenders the breakneck speed of his two-hour picture to let an audience catch a breath, and because the director is so unforgiving it makes this a tour de force of action entertainment that other adventure films can only strive to at least match.  Still, the movie has next to no story, and that’s fine.

Up until this 2015 reinvention, Mel Gibson was the Aussie Road Warrior donned in leather fighting to survive against lawless bandits coming from any direction in the sand swept plains of an earth afterlife.  Now Tom Hardy takes over the role.  Frankly, it could have been anyone who got recast in the part.  Hardy has few lines and for half the film his face is caged in a grotesque, steel bar mask while he is strapped to the front of a hot rod, gear grinding, amalgamation of a vehicle, simply to be a kind of three-dimensional hood ornament.  This Max is suffering through high-speed chases with his head trapped in animalistic headgear and his arms and legs bound behind his back while he’s tethered to this four-wheeler.  It’s brutal and we can feel how tortuous it is for Hardy’s character.  Yet, we love it!!!!  Keep it going, George!

The real star of Fury Road is Charlize Theron as a one arm rebel caked in black grease with a shaven head.  Her name? Imperatour Furiosa.  What a name!!!!!  Furiosa attaches a steering wheel to the driving hilt of an 18 – no 20, maybe 24-wheeler (it could even be 36) big rig with a big ball of fuel hitched to the back. She detours away from a band of outlaw drivers ruled over by Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Burn).  Yes!  His name is Immortan Joe. 

In tow with Furiosa are Joe’s pregnant concubines whose fetuses are declared his property.  These lovely lasses dressed only in bed sheets have names like Capable, Cheedo The Fragile, The Dag, Toast The Knowing and The Splendid Angharad (Riley Keogh, Courtney Eaton, Abby Lee, Zoë Kravitz and Rosie Huntington-Whitley).  What is the point of listing off these ladies’ identities? Well, the script for the film doesn’t do so. Yet, the end credits do in a heavy metal kind of font, and it is clear that George Miller is proud of every name, every piece of junk that flies through the air in one crash and bash after another, and every flame that exhausts out of a pipe or even a death metal rock guitar orchestrated by a guy simply known as The Doof Warrior (played by a musician named Iota).  Incidentally, The Doof Warrior is garbed in red long johns and tethered by chains to a big rig with the biggest, blastiest speakers known to man.  The Doof Warrior serves no purpose except to scratch on the guitar while flames shoot out of the stem.  I’m laughing as I type this all out.  This whole display is thankfully ridiculous while all of these figures have the most outlandish and greatest names of all time!!!!

When Furiosa diverts away in the mighty big rig with the pregnant women, Joe follows suit with his endless band of albino crazies in one tricked out vehicle after another.  One car has the chassis of a Mercedes wedged on to the fattest wheels ever conceived.  Another is a Chrysler (I think) resting atop a pair armored tank tracks.  Joe’s automobile looks like it got disqualified from a monster truck rally because it was caught taking diesel steroids. 

Anyway, Mad Max eventually catches up with Furiosa and the ladies.  His last name is not something simple like Jones, Smith, Sanders or Rodriguez.  It’s ROCKATANSKY!!!!!  BOOM! That is awesome!!! A one-time underling of Joe’s, named Nux (Nicholas Hoult), eventually sways over to the heroes’ side as well, and the pursuit carries on.  Furiosa’s destination is a location of green, beyond the desert wasteland.

It’s a wonder that Mad Max: Fury Road was applauded so much in 2015.  However, take a moment to consider the construction of this two-hour operatic noise fest and you cannot help but salute all the merits that went into the final product.  First the nominated visual effects are primarily practical with little to no CGI.  If George Miller is going to make another Mad Max film, he’s going all the way.  The cinematography is gorgeous in a tan, orange, and yellow sun burning desert, while the night scenes are unhidden due to a pure, bright blue.  The interior of the truck seems cramped and uncomfortable, and yet Miller leaves enough room for the viewer to sit inside and uncover every hidden firearm plus get up close with the driver and the lady passengers.  There’s even a cool weapon found in the stick shift.  Wait until you see that!  The editing is relentless with perfectly captured close ups of so many character drivers and passengers all in a matter of seconds.  Plus, wide overhead shots and extended ground captions make it easy to understand just how many vehicles are included in this endless demolition derby.  I’m talking hundreds of monster machines ready for weaponized destructions. The choreographed action scenes of gun shots firing and vehicular collisions is like a ballet of a perfect derby show.  Monster razor blades are given their due, along with an assortment flame throwers. Also, kamikaze suicidal albinos are ready to act like destructive grenades.  Not one scene or shot in a Transformers CGI picture of metal vomit comes close to a millisecond of George Miller’s craft.

No other film could be as deserving of Academy Awards for sound, cinematography and editing as well as nominations for Best Picture and Best Director.  Even the warped-out S&M costume designs and make up are eye popping; merits that also earned Oscars.  You might have a fondness for art house cinema like Fellini or perhaps a Daniel Day-Lewis piece that invests in the method of caliber acting performances, but you cannot deny the artistic efforts vested by George Miller, his editor wife Margaret Sixel, and the rest of the crew. Mad Max: Fury Road was placed on so many top ten lists in the year 2015, and its because the film succeeds in the best of technical achievements. 

George Miller operates like that nasty kid named Sid from the Toy Story pictures.  He assembles his set pieces in the most tricked out, ugly and grotesque combinations of auto body parts, gives them engines that breathe fire and roar like vicious beasts that smell like diesel and then collides them altogether in a wide open plain.  Try to imagine Miller as a young child with his Matchbox cars on his bedroom floor.  His parents might have had some concern while observing his play activity.  What’s appreciated though is that this director never settled for simple with his Mad Max films and he never repeated what he’s already demonstrated.  No car crash looks the same.  No single shot is  repetitive.  This is how a director of any film genre should operate.  When they take attentive care to every frame they capture with their camera, then they get a Mad Max: Fury Road. 

One of the best films of the twenty-first century!

NOTE: I originally saw this film in 3-D in the theaters.  Wanna know my sentiments towards 3-D? Well, I hated this film after I saw it.  I gave up five minutes into the piece because the 3-D was unforgiving in distraction and dark beyond comprehension and measure.  Watching Mad Max: Fury Road again, a number of years later in a standard 4K on my 65-inch flat screen, you can likely tell by my write up that my sentiments have drastically changed for the picture.  It’s also telling to note that the new prequel film Furiosa is not being presented in 3-D.  Unless it is a James Cameron film or a special exception like Ridley Scott’s Prometheus, modern 3-D is as big a failure as the new formula Coke was back in the 1980s.