Author: Marc Sanders

THE DEVIL’S ADVOCATE

By Marc S. Sanders

The Devil’s Advocate does not get the accolades it truly deserves, and I’ve never understood why. It is more than just a supernatural thriller or a legal drama. It’s both actually, and most films cannot lay that claim.

Director Taylor Hackford has assembled a brilliant cast that boasts a debut from Charlize Theron in the incredibly complex role of Marienne, wife to Keanu Reeves’ hot shot southern drawled, Gainesville attorney. Theron hits every pulse perfectly beginning with loose, beautiful and cocky to insecure, haunted and victimized. When I first saw the film in theatres, I left believing she’ll get an Oscar nomination. Alas, the powers that be never gave her consideration and they were wrong. Beyond a relishing Al Pacino as the lord’s most infamous fallen angel, Theron’s performance sends the script home into absolute believability. The power of Satan is executed on Marienne, and the visual and audible evidence lies in Theron’s delirious performance. She’s astonishing.

Next up, Reeves is entitled to lots of credit. The role of Kevin Lomax is his best role (Ahem…Sorry, Neo. Sorry John Wick. Sorry Johnny Utah.). He carries a disillusioned swagger that he is as good as his record of trial wins implies. Yet, is he as good as the best of the best New York City attorneys? When you are the son of Satan, maybe so. What works best though are the ongoing tests of will for Reeves’ character. His inescapable hillbilly dialect blends perfectly with a script that questions temptation against instinct, against opting for what is right. At the time of release, Keanu Reeves might have been perceived as his surfer dude Bill & Ted character not be taken seriously enough here. I never let that be an interference for me, however. Reeves doesn’t compromise and he avoids the wholesome, God-fearing kid that Kevin Lomax is meant to be. Instead, his Christian teachings seem like a nuisance for him; an obstacle to a more satisfying life regardless of sin. Reeves balances the dimensions beautifully.

Then there’s the machine behind all this. Al Pacino is John Milton, hardly disguising his true identity. He’s too proud of who he is to do that. Sure Pacino is chewing the scenery. Yet, shouldn’t he? This is Mephistopheles he’s playing here; an entity ready to undo the will of the Lord. He carries no honor for God. However, he maintains a rule book and before he accepts a disciple, he’ll make certain that it is by the follower’s choice alone. He administers the test, but he doesn’t take it. Pacino gets the best lines and the best monologues. He’s treated with an opportunity to two step along to Frank Sinatra. He’s given free reign to operate based on his legendary career. He’s my favorite devil of any and all films.

Taylor Hackford is meticulous in his direction. There’s a great moment near the beginning where Kevin is saying goodbye to his God loving and very Christian mother. He goes to her church. This is the first of many smart choices for Hackford. He does not allow Kevin to step inside the church. Rather, he paces just outside the door. Kevin does not have a relationship with God, thus opening an opportunity for Satan. Other moments are there too, such as Milton always insisting on traveling by subway…underground. Heck, there’s even a moment where a man with a box that says “Halo Industry” walks by Kevin and John; nice subtle nod. New York City is treated like a character boasting its numerous, sky-high cathedrals and angelic artwork. Pacino is the ultimate NYC resident; a creature of the concrete jungle. Hackford also recruits the notorious to boost the lair surrounding Reeves and Theron with appearances from the likes of Don King and Alphonse D’Amato. (Satan’s disciples, perhaps?)

This is one of my favorite films. It carries not one single flaw. It is richly assembled in dialogue, story, cast, set design and direction.

The Devil’s Advocate is one of those films that you want to watch over and over and delight in Pacino’s thought provoking one liners, debate with your conscience vs Satan’s own argument (he makes some good points here) and question the power of free will. It’s a fun, thinking picture.

SKYFALL

By Marc S. Sanders

Skyfall is a great James Bond film. One of the best. However, …it has one major shortcoming that always gnaws at me. Regrettably, it has a contrived middle section that steals some of the magic away from the film. Yes, for a moment, my suspension of disbelief is robbed from me.

Daniel Craig’s third outing as 007 has become a favorite among fans and movie goers. Craig is magnificent in a primarily dramatic turn in the part. Following a fantastic action packed opening where Bond pursues an assassin through the streets of Istanbul, Turkey (widely known as a favorite locale of Ian Fleming), the chase involves cars, motorcycles, rooftops, fruit stands and trains for well edited shootouts and fist fights. Alas, the assassin gets away and Bond is left for dead.

Following an attempt on the life of M (Judi Dench in her absolute best portrayal in the role), Bond returns for active duty. However, he’s not what he used to be. His aim is off and his body is worn. The question remains if Bond is ready to be back in the field.

The plot centers on a bitter former MI6 agent named Silva (Javier Bardem in a potentially Oscar worthy performance) out to seek revenge on M for the sins he believes she’s committed.

It’s funny. The Austin Powers films, and even film critic Roger Ebert, would always draw attention to the fact the villain would just longingly speechify when they have all the time in the world to just shoot Bond dead and move on with their devious plot. Silva is a response to that issue. He has a mutual respect for Bond, and you can see he’d rather keep him alive for the time being to allow the game to keep running. It’s not said outright, mind you. Yet that’s what I took away from the character. A superbly written monologue to introduce Silva at the midway point of the film compares him and Bond to the last of two rats surviving a trap. Which rat will win out?

It’s also quite special that Bardem shapes his villainous role with a homosexual tendency. Silva is fashionable and proudly dons a bleach blonde hairstyle. He gleefully rubs Bond’s legs and opens his shirt to examine his scarred chest, pronouncing that Bond must ponder his “training” at the moment. Silva is beyond the typical femme fatale. It’s different and it’s time the Bond franchise acknowledges the differences in people. A welcome trait for a major character.

The plot set up of Skyfall‘s devices are ingenious in simplicity with a basic revenge tale but also with broadening the legacy and responsibilities of the M character. What Casino Royale did for a story arc for James Bond, Skyfall does for M, and with Dench in the role it works beautifully. She must answer to superiors, like a very welcome Ralph Fiennes, for the death of several agents and a bombing of MI6 headquarters. She must resist the pressure of early retirement. This is the most that M has ever had to contend with personally, and it’s here at last.

My one reservation with the film occurs just after the midway point. Silva somehow arranged to get apprehended and then managed to escape, don a police uniform, travel through London’s tube, and time an explosion on a runaway train ready to crash into James Bond who is on his trail. Thereafter, he’s able to locate the interrogation session where M is making a public statement in her defense and try to kill her. There are way too many factors at play that work too conveniently to Silva’s advantage. It’s a tension filled sequence. It looks great. It has great action and effects, but it’s overly contrived. I wish the script from Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and John Logan made this middle section a little more believable.

Sam Mendes (American Beauty) directs a terrific, action-packed film filled with more drama and minimal tongue in cheek that the series is primarily known for. I was grateful for the more serious Bond. Like the other Craig installments as well as the Dalton films, Skyfall offers a different and fresher approach.

Granted the ending plays more like an Arnold Schwarzenegger action piece from the 1980/90s, but it’s highly entertaining, well edited and well shot, nonetheless.

I highly recommend Skyfall for its outstanding cast that also includes Ben Whishaw as a nerdy variation of Q, the gadget man, and Naomie Harris in a secret role that has a satisfying payoff. As well, the standard revenge story works quite well here when you have Bardem, Fiennes, Craig and most especially Dench doing some really top notch acting with terrific dialogue. Mendes is a stage director first, and it shows quite admirably here.

Again, Skyfall is not the best Bond film but it’s at least one of the best.

DOG DAY AFTERNOON

By Marc S. Sanders

Sidney Lumet uses his best strengths in this ridiculous Brooklyn bank robbery that is actually based on fact.

Here, Al Pacino and his cohort, John Cazale, play inadvertent stupidity without compromise. If two of the three stooges went on to do drama, this would be the material they’d use.

A simple bank robbery with little to no planning spirals out of control and into sheer pandemonium. Nothing goes right even when Pacino’s dimwit character, Sonny, is deluded enough to believe all is going in his favor. He immediately earns the support of the encroaching Brooklyn community only to lose them when he shows his true homosexual nature. Then he’s blindsided as to what happened. Layered in drenching sweat, Lumet wisely takes advantage of Pacino’s best up close facial expressions. Utter delirium!!!!!

Once again, Lumet’s camera moves while his best actors remain naturally in place. Al Pacino does his thing and trusts his director will find his shots. As the cop initially in charge, Charles Durning does as well. Pacino and Durning especially have great scenes together in the middle of a heavily populated New York Street as the robber shines off the cop, and the cop does his best to obtain some measure of control. It’s a scream fest for the ages. “Attica! Attica!” Pacino and Durning’s best career performances were always the ones where it looked like neither of them were ever acting. Dog Day Afternoon is one those better examples.

Frank Pierson’s jagged script of wild turns makes every person whose an extra like the pizza delivery man, for instance, caught up in the hysteria. The pizza kid shouts out to the crowd “I’m a star!!!” It’s great reason to applaud Sidney Lumet’s control over a crew and the entire company of extras he’s employed. This film is a rare example where all of the extras (seemingly the entire Brooklyn population) are as integral as the leads. The setting is the main antagonist from the media all the way to the observers who can’t look away and can only cheer, yet mock as well. Brooklyn, New York is a great character here.

Most fascinating about Dog Day Afternoon is that it is all based on fact from the media circus to dumb bank robbers with a need to steal in order to fund a lover’s sex change operation. It’s ridiculous. It’s funny. It’s frighteningly stressful and it’s all true.

This was released following the first two Godfather films and confirms the enormous range Al Pacino possesses with his performance talents. Hyperactive and dumb here as gay bank robber, Sonny; quietly contained, evil as Michael Corleone. His range was through the roof in the 70s before absorbing his loud, crackling, smokers voice. It was when the script outshined Pacino and before the current age of writing being catered to its bankable star.

Lumet also allows great moments for the hostages who become undone to the point of regretfully using foul language, to actually befriending their captors. He’s a director who efficiently leaves no stone untouched.

Chris Sarandon as Leon, Sonny’s male gay spouse is great here too. He’s full of melodrama, panic, worry, and a New York maternal despair. Another great scene is a phone exchange between Pacino and Sarandon. It might appear funny at first, especially in the 70s when homosexuality was lampooned often with the other F-word, but anyone who appreciates the filmmaking of Lumet will quickly contain their snickering when they realize a gay man is equal flesh, bone and feelings like anyone else.

Dog Day Afternoon is very telling of an out of the closet social media future. The story will always get grabbed regardless of danger or sensitivity. People will get swept up in the hoopla (a teller hostage quickly boasts her brief fame on television “Girls, I was on TV!”), police will overextend their privilege, helicopters will swarm, the criminals will demand their moment in the spotlight, and the public will serve as jury per the majority.

It’s a vicious cycle but considering it is a 1975 masterpiece, it’s all disturbingly valid and sensationally true.

FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF

By Marc S. Sanders

I’ve said before how John Hughes had an instinct for making interesting stories out of the mundane. Sure he might broadly exaggerate, but the storylines stem from relatable anecdotes like cross country traveling, forgotten birthdays or school detention. Thankfully he also explored a day in the life of faking illness and skipping school with Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Matthew Broderick memorably plays the title character with an answer for everything and the means to outsmart his naive parents, his pesky sister Jeannie (Jennifer Grey), as well as the dim witted victim of staged slapstick, school principal Ed Rooney (Jeffrey Jones). Hughes teams Ferris up with his beautiful girlfriend Sloane (Mia Sara) and his troubled best friend Cameron (Alan Ruck) for a romp through downtown Chicago.

Ferris Bueller… is simply a party to watch. The tempo of its comedy thankfully gets very familiar, very quickly. There’s gag after gag to celebrate the inventiveness of Ferris. With Cameron, he manages to get Sloane out of school, alter his absent days in the school system, arrange for a high-end fancy lunch thanks to the “Sausage King of Chicago” and actually pilot Cameron’s father’s prized, rare Ferrari convertible. There’s nothing Ferris can’t do, nor won’t do. There’s nothing Ferris can’t get away with. The guy can even hop on a downtown parade float to get the entire city engaged in a rousing rendition of “Twist & Shout,” arguably one of the most fun scenes to ever be filmed. Hundreds of extras crowd the streets to remind any one of us how fun life can be. What a joyous pleasure life is.

As expected with most of Hughes’ films though, this picture has a heart. Life should always be celebrated, but that does not mean we don’t have episodes where we suffer. Alan Ruck as Cameron is not well with his home life. Parental discourse and the lack of a loving home weighs upon him. The storyline is embraced very sensitively. A touching moment occurs as Cameron tours the Art Institute of Chicago and maintains an engrossed stare with the painting called A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. Cameron is a product of loneliness lacking the ability to cry for help unlike the child in the painting. It’s another one of those treasured moments in film where dialogue is not needed to describe a character’s pain.

Jeffrey Jones makes for a good foil in a Three Stooges style storyline as he attempts over and over again to catch Ferris in the act. It never works well for him and leads to hilarious moments with the house dog and every other unfortunate circumstance imaginable such as getting his car towed and his foot stuck in the mud. Hughes pieces these cheap gags together to make them really feel much more valuable than they should be.

Lastly, John Hughes creates good inside gags within his setting. The city of Chicago works as a character concerned with Ferris’ supposed illness, including well wishes from his classmates, to the faculty, and even the police department much to the chagrin of his sister.

Let’s just say it’s imperative we all do our part to Save Ferris!

TRAINING DAY

By Marc S. Sanders

When I first saw Antoine Fuqua’s Training Day in theaters, I found it difficult to watch. The violence or the induced police brutality is very strong. There’s no humor and there’s no thrill. Just an in your face pull over excuse for a cop to exercise his strong arm with his two strapped nickel played Barettas.

Jump to the present and it’s even harder to look at because what the film perpetuates is quite parallel to how many parties view law enforcement and people of color today. Training Day isn’t pretty, nor is it assuring. It’s more or less glamorized evil with a good-looking Denzel Washington driving a gorgeous looking pimped out black Chevy Monte Carlo.

Washington gives an Oscar winning turn (though I’ve seen him in more deserving and nuanced roles; Hello? Malcolm X, anyone?) as narcotics detective Alonzo Harris. He begins his day taking on a new partner named Jake Hoyt (Oscar nominee Ethan Hawke), a boy scout looking cop fresh out of his uniform and into street clothes eager to advance his career and eventually get the kind of big house that other high salary detectives reside in.

Alonzo knows the streets of Los Angeles so well that he can literally stop his car in the middle of an intersection and every other driver will circumvent around him with no protest. Alonzo is here to show Hoyt how to learn the streets for himself and earn the respect of the various gangs and pushers that will lead to the big busts. Only thing is that Alonzo Harris is not a good man. This is a cop who uses his badge as a way of power and intimidation. In this one day, with each passing moment, Hoyt questions his own training and considers if crossing line after line is how you get ahead. Does Alonzo truly know what it means to be a cop making a difference? Does Alonzo care? Does Hoyt care, or does he only concern himself with his career aspirations?

There’s no question that Fuqua’s film is very well made. His dirty, criminally ridden Los Angeles is very convincing and the command that Washington has with his corrupt cop role is all the more intimidating. However, I didn’t feel good with the film after it ended. I didn’t learn anything about race or social classes in America. I didn’t learn that a cop can be a hero. After all, Jake Hoyt doesn’t exactly take the noble approach to surviving his first day in the new job.

There’s a lot of preaching monologues from Alonzo Harris, who is a pretty frightening guy. He’ll his gun at his apprentice’s head, as a means to convince him to smoke some street PCP, because it’s a first step in knowing these streets. Hoyt gives in to the pressure. Still, none of this tells me anything.

Harris goes from one questionable incident to another and Hoyt gives merely dubious expressions but not much else. Eventually, as things boil over between the two men, Hoyt takes the law into his own hands rather than following procedures.

Training Day dictates who is the good guy and who is the bad guy. In the film, however, the good guy more or less becomes the bad guy by the end. That simply didn’t sit right with me. All the necessary ingredients are here for a good cop/bad cop thriller, but I didn’t feel quite good about myself when the film closed out. There really is no one who comes up triumphant. There’s nothing to question about my own view of the world we live in, and there’s too much edge to allow for any kind of suspense. Alonzo Harris is just a bad, bad guy and John Hoyt is never really a good guy. He’s a wimp succumbing to an evil brainwash.

So, then what’s left is to wonder exactly what is there to truly appreciate in Training Day, and the answer is practically nothing except the construction of the film and Washington’s performance. Otherwise, the film is a harsh fiction never concerned with conveying a message within a real problem area of the United States. I would’ve appreciated a response to a harsh reality.

THE RAINMAKER

By Marc S. Sanders

Francis Ford Coppola didn’t just call his film The Rainmaker. He called it John Grisham’s The Rainmaker. I understand the significance as a large portion of the film relies on voiceover narration from its main character, Rudy Baylor (played very well by Matt Damon).

The film focuses on much of the underpinnings of the legal system within the state of Tennessee. Rudy gives insight into his position of ethical practice – he’s fresh out of law school but doesn’t have a license yet – versus the large giant sell out attorneys (a towering, sharp dressed and slick Jon Voight) that represent goliath parties like big time insurance companies. Grisham’s novel, along with Coppola’s screenplay, also leave room in the beginning of the film for the sleaze of the law practice with Rudy’s first employer who goes by the moniker “Bruiser,” played by an oily Mickey Rourke.

Rudy has not even passed the bar exam at the start of the film but he’s already got three cases in progress. He has agreed to completing a will for a kind old lady (Teresa Wright) who is adamant about leaving her estate to a television evangelist. He also volunteers himself to protecting a young woman named Kelly (Claire Danes) from an abusive husband. His biggest case is going after a million dollar insurance company for wrongfully denying a claim filed by one of it’s ill insured. Rudy knows the insured is justified to sue and it could be a huge and necessary windfall for him and his unlicensed, corner cutting partner (Danny DeVito), but it’s only him against a grand army of legal gods lead by the great Leo F. Drummond, Esq. (Voight).

Grisham and Coppola wanted to depict a drive for doing right by the law and the people it’s meant to protect. Damon’s portrayal of Rudy represents that ideal. His father hated lawyers and he grew up in a home life that never responded favorably to the merits of officers of the court. Rudy defies what his father frowned upon. Despite his inexperience in a courtroom and his ability to respond with objections and cited legal rules, he knows he’ll be a good lawyer simply because he can distinguish between right and wrong. He doesn’t need to sink as low as Drummond’s cronies by bugging the opposition’s office. Will Rudy’s righteousness be enough though? He’s so dang honorable in his profession that it might just be the ultimate means of his defeat.

Same can be said for Rudy’s will to protect Kelly, the young, abused wife. Precedents of law keep her husband on the streets no matter how bruised and bloody she gets time and again. This man is a monster, but no higher power is looking upon this victimized wife to legally protect her, and this man will continue to beat her until one day she’s dead. Rudy wears his heart on his sleeve for this woman and again can only serve as an honorable servant of the court. When he steps out of that line a little by risking his life to save this woman, he’s testing his own sworn code that he’s respected while others have dismissed it.

John Grisham’s The Rainmaker is one of those under the radar films not celebrated enough. I recall it being shown in limited theatre capacity, and it hardly did well at the box office, but it’s really a remarkable piece as it shows an unconventional and honorable attorney, reminiscent of Harper Lee’s Atticus Finch but set in modern day. Nearly everyone around Rudy, from his own father, that he describes to the students he attended law school with, to even the even the fool of a judge (Dean Stockwell) who swears him in as well as his own partner (DeVito in a hilarious, quick solving, underhanded role), are beyond any moral compass and yet Damon ensures Rudy Baylor sticks to his convictions.

Coppola’s film is not a legal thriller. It’s an observation of how the established perceive the law and the one fish who treads water above the bottom feeders, allegorically shown in Bruiser’s fish tank, seek out big rewards. For Rudy, the client matters. For everyone else, only the money matters.

MEAN STREETS

By Marc S. Sanders

I must not be that much of an intuitive movie watcher because I can not comprehend what is so fascinating about Martin Scorsese’s Mean Streets.

Robert DeNiro was hardly known at the time but he is certainly a scene stealer here as Johnny Boy. He’s the wild one with no concept of the danger he puts himself and his best friend in. Charlie is the much more respectable and well-dressed hoodlum. Charlie is played by a young strait-laced Harvey Keitel. Keitel & DeNiro are the strengths of the film.

Beyond the headline cast, the structure of Mean Streets is a very loose patchwork of random events that circulate around Little Italy, NYC. The soundtrack comes from side street buglers, transistor radios, and jukeboxes consisting of The Rolling Stones, The Sherrills, The Ronettes, and samplings of Italian opera. It lends to the setting as another character. For a Scorsese film, that’s all part of the plan. The setting talks back to you, or it’ll take your hand and lead you on. Martin Scorsese is a prophet of New York. He uses the grime and steam of the streets to his advantage (even if some of this film was actually shot in Los Angeles).

Still, I just don’t get this picture. It moves slow at times. Random meet ups occur and I found myself asking if we have met this character and that character already.

I give Scorsese credit, in one respect. He testifies that although the film is fiction, it is a direct representation of what he experienced during his own upbringing. I believe all of that. Again though, why couldn’t it all be pieced together a little more tightly? Had it been, I’d probably have taken more of an interest in the setting and the dangerous exploits of Charlie & Johnny Boy.

It’s okay though. I’m glad I watched it, nonetheless. I had seen it many years ago and I was excessively bored then as much as I am right now. Scorsese was destined for better things. MUCH BETTER THINGS.

SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK

By Marc S. Sanders

Bipolar disorder can be a crippling ailment, not only to the person, but to his/her family as well. That, I imagine are the limits of my knowledge on the subject. David O. Russell’s Silver Linings Playbook will have you believe a way to embrace the disorder is to be involved with people who accept it and love you regardless.

Bradley Cooper is magnificent as Patrick; a hyperactive man suffering from his own demons. He is short tempered, confrontational, and prone to exhausting and uncontrollable outbursts. Because of that, he has lost his wife, his job, his friends and when the film begins, he is being picked up by his mother from an eight month court ordered stay in a mental institution on his way to live with his parents, Dolores and Patrick Sr., played brilliantly by Jacki Weaver and Robert DeNiro. Patrick is determined to rebuild his life. He feels confident that he is now on a positive track of exercise and healthy eating, and he wants to win back his wife. It is not so easy however, when Pat refuses to take his prescribed medication and his own father probably suffers from a similar disorder and he has to share a house with him. This means dealing with Pat Sr’s obsessive compulsiveness over his beloved Philadelphia Eagles, as well as his own short temper and his insistence on using family time with Pat Jr as a means to break the “jeu, jeu” that has cursed the team. Pat Jr. wants to move on with his life and find meaning and peace. His own obsessions with winning back his wife and overcoming witnessing the affair she was having behind his back do not help.

However, then Pat Jr meets Tiffany (Jennifer Lawrence in her Oscar winning role) and her own past is tormenting her, following losing her policeman husband in the line of duty. It’s clear she has not overcome this experience and she has taken up dance, which she is teaching herself in a refurbished garage. Tiffany is not quick to accept Pat Jr, but eventually the moments necessary for any film about relationships line up despite some screaming and shoving.

It sure sounds like I’m describing a heavy, miserable drama, here. Reader, I’m not. David O. Russell offers up moments of comedy without any of his characters really trying. No one is outright normal in this film. They are all burdened with their own idiosyncrasies and diagnoses, even Pat Jr.’s therapist, who we learn is an obsessed, face painted Eagles fan himself. Russell repeatedly uses a steady cam (I believe) to rush right up into the face of his characters, individually, when a moment is overtaking him or her. It’s a way of showing that no one else in the room can see what the sufferer is seeing. Everyone else is bound by their own disorder. Russell uses this device to isolate the character that owns the scene whether it is Delores, who endures the aggravation of her husband and son, Tiffany who can not get over the loss of her husband at a young age, Pat Sr. who must live with his Eagles losing another game, or Pat Jr. who is only trying to adapt to a new way.

There is no calmness in the domesticity of Pat Jr’s life and it only feeds the fire of his bipolar disorder. What he needs is someone who will not shun or ignore the disorder but embrace it and Tiffany is that person. Tiffany is also the person who will beat up on Pat Jr in one scene to bring his self-involved neglect to light. A helpful gesture for Pat Jr, but not a fulfilling action for Tiffany. Then in another scene she will solely come to his defense. The best moment in the film belongs to Jennifer Lawrence as she storms through the door and quickly confronts DeNiro on his own shortcomings, basically disarming him with sports statistics of every Philadelphia team, only to prove that Pat Jr had nothing to do with the outcomes of these games. Lawrence is harboring a machine gun of dialogue and she does not let up. DeNiro, I’m sure, loves to balance scenes like this with talent of this caliber. (I’d imagine he was missing great acting moments like this when he was shooting his Focker movies.) Russell wisely captures most of this scene in one shot. He is well aware of his leading actress’ strengths.

The ending is as quirky and inspired as Little Miss Sunshine, where Pat Jr and Tiffany participate in a dance competition that has everything is on the line, not just for their own sanity, but also for that of Pat Sr and the rest of the family. At the risk of spoiling a piece of the story, I have to recognize the dance sequence in this climax. Russell and his choreographer wisely mix it up with contemporary music that quickly switches over to head banging heavy metal and back to contemporary again. I caught it as an allegory of the mood swings these characters, especially Tiffany and Pat Jr, go through. The dance is messy, unsophisticated, aggressive and most of all it is adorable and lovable all at the same time. Psychologically, there must be something eating at Pat Sr and Pat Jr, and Tiffany and the rest of the cast, but that is, in no way, a reason not to love them.

RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK

By Marc S. Sanders

Raiders Of The Lost Ark remains as one of the greatest films of all time. There’s nothing not to like about it and the accolades go to Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, Harrison Ford, Lawrence Kasdan and John Williams, along with a sensational cast of still unknown actors that owned their roles with absolute authenticity.

Ford became a great action film star due to Indiana Jones and Han Solo. This film is an example of his best work. He’s the best at facial expression during high action moments. Watch the truck chase during the second half of the film. As he is careening a truck through the sand streets of Cairo, he winces in pain, evokes anger and dons a toothy grin as he shakes Nazis off the vehicle, and throws them through windshields.

He’s got the perfect delivery of lines as he love/hate banters with Karen Allen as tough broad Marion Ravenwood (Jones’ best gal pal of the series). Their chemistry is great because they are two loudmouths who work off insulting and shouting at one another. They are one of my favorite on screen couples; like two Oscar Madisons who belong together.

Recently Ford said no one else can play the role; the role dies with him. He couldn’t be more right. Indiana Jones is not an interchangeable part like James Bond or Batman. Those roles change with the times and technology. Jones remains in history with a trusty whip, a sign of the times fedora hat and a drive to uncover the great unknown. None of these films work unless Harrison Ford is Indiana Jones.

John Williams also needs recognition. Who isn’t familiar with the famous build up horns calling for adventure? His composition just puts a smile on your face. Dialogue isn’t at play much during one of Spielberg’s well orchestrated action scenes. So we rely on the march of Williams’ efforts to relish in the fun of a foot chase through a Cairo marketplace or to thrill at a fast rolling boulder chasing the famed archeologist after he snatches his prized booty.

Spielberg and Lucas always get praise for their brilliant imagination. I venture to guess how many people were aware of the occupation of archeologist before the film’s original release in 1981. Sure, this isn’t what the job realistically entails, but the film opens your mind to what is out there and what we can learn more about from our past.

A great moment in cinematic exposition is when Jones explains the power of the famed biblical Ark of the Covenant. The dialogue works great here, thanks to a winning script from the great Lawrence Kasdan, and it has the audacity to convince an audience that some MaGuffin we read about in Sunday school could actually make Hitler’s Nazi regime invincible. Seriously? What?!?!? When you blend Spielberg and Lucas’ bravado, Williams’ eerily quiet thinking music, and Ford’s professor obsessed role with Kasdan’s efficiency for description all in one scene…yeah…you believe this could be a very, very real threat.

Every scene is different. Snakes, truck chases, spiders, foot chases, bottomless pits, bar shootouts, Nazis, the power of God, and a wide variety of antagonists all used to build the structure of two of the best hours in a film. It’s all brilliantly weaved together with transitioning red lines across a traveling map on screen. This is great editing, people.

Nothing has ever come close to Raiders Of The Lost Ark. Nothing ever will. It is a perfect film.

“Trust me.”

THE INSIDER

By Marc S. Sanders

When I think of Michael Mann’s The Insider from 1999, I cannot get over how deep it is with its storytelling. Inspired by true events and based upon a Vanity Fair article, I consider the adjective “deep” because it’s really a one-story trajectory, but it covers so many different facets; so many different industries and how they operate and sometimes overlap with one another. The tobacco industry, journalism in both television and print, state law and even the deterioration of an American household. Michael Mann shows how one simple action can balloon into something bigger affecting others all at once. You gotta get through one thing before you swim deeper into the bottomless pool of policy, contracts, ethics and threats.

Russell Crowe portrays Jeffrey Wigand, a top leading chemist with the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Company. Upon realizing that he has detrimental information should it go public, the company fires him and compels him to sign a confidentiality agreement not to reveal any of his research or activities while in service to them. That won’t suffice for the incredibly powerful tobacco company though, as Dr. Wigand receives threats that include disturbing emails, possible prowlers and a bullet that mysteriously turns up in his mail box.

Wigand crosses paths with Lowell Bergman (Al Pacino), a producer with 60 Minutes at CBS Television. Bergman works often with famed interviewer Mike Wallace (Christopher Plummer, who should have been nominated, much less won an Oscar). Wigand gets more and more motivated to go on Bergman’s show and tell everything about how the tobacco industry manipulates cigarette manufacturing to make it all the more addicting.

Bergman wants the story but he wants to play it carefully. Toeing the the line of maintaining Wigand’s confidentiality agreement might require a deposition by the scientist in a state courtroom so that his testimony will be public record. In other words, get a state to subpoena him and then the interview can happen because what Wigand says in an interview is already public record.

It’s complicated. Not so much for the viewer though. It’s complicated for Jeffrey Wigand. Russell Crowe emotes his rock and hard place situation with terrible anguish and a short temper. Michael Mann gets great closeups that capture the stress like deep wrinkles and dark circles under the eyes along with pale white skin, a big gut, wrinkled dress shirts, and rough shaves. The stress also carries over to his southern gentile wife (Diane Venora in an entirely different role from Mann’s Heat) and his two girls. They are collateral damage here. Wigand could also lose medical coverage on top of his salary and the threats of civil liability. Jeffrey Wigand is an ant under the very large heel of Big Tobacco.

Lowell Bergman also has obstacles from within his own camp. Journalistic integrity is tested with Wigand’s interview. It’d almost be better if Wigand was lying. That way Big Tobacco could not sue CBS for breach of a confidentiality contract. The more truth he tells, the greater the liability. Considering that CBS Corporate is in the middle of a buyout that could be very profitable for a select few, CBS is disregarding Bergman’s reputation for bringing in experts and informants that have made 60 Minutes the most watched news program on television.

These are the dilemmas that comprise Mann’s near three-hour film. What’s as interesting is the in between material. With Mann sometimes shooting with a documentary like approach, we catch glimpses of how a journalist will pass a colleague in a rotating lobby door and they’ll make arrangements to exchange one story in a time slot for another. These are mere seconds, but it paints a colorful setting that the news never sleeps. We see how Big Tobacco (represented by a slimy Michael Gambon) can subtly intimidate one man in a corporate office. We see a trio of lawyers take a phone call from a private jet they are piloting to consider Wigand as a material witness. We see how one of those lawyers (Bruce McGill) will handle an objection during his questioning of a witness (an unforgettable scene). We see how Wigand must adjust with his family to downgrade to a smaller home with old dusty kitchen cabinets and how it all gradually weighs down his marriage. We see how Bergman has to be covert with meeting Wigand in a hotel lobby. We also see how Big Tobacco can issue a smear campaign and how Bergman has to go across the street to a newspaper colleague to first ask for a deadline of print to be pushed back, and later how he grants a story to the paper to reveal shady dealings and how to refute what’s already been falsely claimed. There’s even a deal that indirectly involves the infamous Unabomber. It’s these little details that keep the film’s pulse alive.

Even before all of this begins, Mann demonstrates the lengths Bergman and Wallace will go to for 60 Minutes. They go deep into the Middle East to get an exclusive interview with the Head Sheik for the Hezbollah terrorist group. Christopher Plummer as Mike Wallace is marvelous here as he stands up against an irate bodyguard strapped with a machine gun to argue about how close he will sit next to the Sheik. If you want the story, the true story, you have to be genuine and be fearless with risk.

I can’t say enough good things about The Insider. It’s truly an education to watch the film with blazing cinematography in blues and grey hues from Dante Spinotti. Mann is always known for his coolness with film, dating all the way back to the MTV vibe of Miami Vice to Thief with James Caan, and his LA crime drama Heat. The tradition carries on here.

As well, the dialogue is so crisp from a script by Mann and Eric Roth. Pacino is memorably given an opportunity to sum up the machinations of CBS corporate in the third act of the film. The Mike Wallace character is not written as a television personality with a cue card. He’s got real, good, seasoned intelligence in his words. Plummer just enhances the script.

The Insider ranks at the top of the list of films focused on journalism next to features like Sidney Lumet’s Network, Tom McCarthy’s Spotlight and Alan J Pakula’s All The President’s Men. It explores the danger that can come from truths that need to be told which others never want disclosed. It covers the methods by which parties are recruited to help get the truth and the lengths operatives will go to, to squash a story.

The Insider is a gripping, magnificent film.