Category: Kim Basinger

NEVER SAY NEVER AGAIN

By Marc S. Sanders

If it walks like James Bond, if it talks like James Bond, it is…STOP RIGHT THERE! 

Sean Connery in Never Say Never Again is not James Bond…at least not the James Bond that I know.

Why was this movie even made?

I know.  You don’t have to tell me. 

For the most part it was a legal blessing for a gentleman named Kevin McClory, a contributing writer to the film Thunderball.  McClory sued the Ian Fleming estate for the rights to such named properties as the villainous “Ernst Stavro Blofeld” and the organization he heralds known as “SPECTRE.”  Eventually, it came to be that none of the films could use these copyrighted terms going forward.  (Hence, why Roger Moore never uttered these names in any of his films.  He just dropped a wheelchair bound bald man down a smokestack.)  Anyway, the courts allowed McClory a second chance at his Thunderball creation by granting him the blessing to remake the film with certain moments and developments that upheld the structure of the story.  So, in 1983 a competing studio to United Artists called Warner Brothers greenlit the release of this new film and banked on Sean Connery’s return to the famed secret agent.

Frankly, the backstory is a much more tantalizing adventure than this misfire.

Never Say Never Again always eluded me.  I never had a desire to see it.  I regarded it like a generic brand.  I turn to the EON productions for my James Bond fix the same way I turn to Heinz ketchup, never, ever Hunts.  What I’d heard of this film and the scant moments I saw of Connery in the picture over the years made me question how necessary this movie ever was.  It’s like that Gus Van Sant shot for shot remake of Psycho.  Why do it?  Because you can?  Is that all you need?

So, Connery opted to return for a large salary and for the only time in history two James Bond films were released in the same year, 1983, when Moore’s Octopussy also made it to the big screen.  Connery’s picture is a direct remake of Thunderball. One of SPECTRE’s top agents Maximillian Largo (Klaus Maria Brandauer) catches possession of two United States nuclear missiles and hides them in the Bahamas.   Bond is older now, reflective of Connery’s age at the time, and practically retired as he loses a bit of his step in a training simulation.  Soon, however, he is on the case and contends with a female henchman by the name of Fatima Blush (Barbara Carrera) while also womanizing Largo’s main squeeze Domino (Kim Basinger, in a very early role).  His primary gadget is an exploding fountain pen.

Other than Carera who was Golden Globe nominated for her role, I can’t say anyone is doing anything terribly wrong here.  It is simply that this reiteration seems altogether flat.  This film is certainly missing the exhilarating pace of director Irvin Kershner’s The Empire Strikes Back.  Here, James Bond the hero just seems to walk and sit and stand in and out of frame.  A lifeless tango occurs midway between Connery and Basinger as an opportunity to share some confidential information.  I don’t care if 007 is adorned in his tuxedo next to a 1980s hair sprayed Kim Basinger, the tango is boring to watch.  It is a dance that goes nowhere or builds to anything. 

Games are updated as well.  We are not in the casino watching baccarat or poker anymore.  James Bond plays video games against Largo and the only threat is a shock on the joystick when a parlay is struck.  I can’t feel the zap that is supposed to happen, and Sean Connery is hardly displaying any anguish as Klaus Maria Brandauer smirks in triumph.  So, where’s the suspense here?  Sound effects from an Atari 2600 while the hero and villain sit at a table with joysticks doesn’t send this scene into astonishment. In 1983, in the movie theatre next door, Roger Moore is undoing a cheating Louis Jordan in backgammon while the muscle headed henchman crushes the dice into dust.  That’s much more frightening. 

A midway motorcycle moment with smoke and missile gadget tricks is fun but still not as escapist as most other Bond pursuits. Maybe it’s because 007 wears a dark helmet and thus hiding his charm.  It’s a lot more fun to see Connery or Moore give a wink and nod as the chase continues.  Here there is no reaction and no response to the environment of the Bahamas.  Couldn’t a banana tree topple over or something?  Maybe some coconuts?  Could a yacht or boat capsize?

I always remember the infamous shark scene in Thunderball as Bond gets trapped in a swimming pool with a couple of great whites.  That scene is now changed to an ocean floor shipwreck setting.  For the most part this works as Bond circumvents through the wreckage trapping one shark after another.  This is one of the film’s few improvements.

The big regret is that Klaus Maria Brandauer as the main villain Largo was not served a better product. He is gleefully good.  He’s at least trying as hard as he can. He has the evil grin and short fused temper, but he’s also sophisticated among his wealth. 

He’s certainly working much harder than Sean Connery who seems to just be going through the motions and hardly exerting himself.  The actor is much too relaxed in his role here.  It looks like he memorizes his few lines minutes before the camera starts shooting.  Then he says what needs to be said.  You can subconsciously visualize Connery walking back to his trailer take after take.  There are some decent one liners, but none of his delivery soars anymore.  I think Connery was out of the role far too long since his last turn in 1971 and he just didn’t pick up where he left off.  He’s never applying himself.  His wardrobe, from the tux to a camouflage uniform, or even his swimsuits do not seem to rest well on him.  The tailoring looks off.  He’s not wearing anything as well as he used to.  Not even his hair piece, which is far too thin and uncooperatively resting on his scalp, sits well.

Kim Basinger is the blond.  Nothing more needs to be said.  Rowan Atkinson debuted on the screen with some silly escapist humor but either he’s not on long enough or he’s there too much.  The part should have just been cut altogether.

You don’t forget Barbara Carrera but that’s not necessarily a compliment.  She’s working like a dastardly cartoon from the Adam West Batman TV show and Connery is hardly responding to her screaming or antics.  Funnily enough, the screenwriter is Lorenzo Semple Jr, writer of the Batman show and Flash Gordon, from 1980.  So, while the tongue is trying to touch the cheek it’s only reaching the roof of the mouth this time.  Carrera is a headache. She acts like a misbehaved child.  Somebody loved her though for that Golden Globe nomination.  How? Why?

Another bit of buyer’s remorse is the casting of Max Von Sydow as Blofeld.  Inspired casting.  Yet, why is he given nothing to do?  This is Max Von Sydow!!!!!  He’s been hired to watch a Sony monitor with his white cat tucked into his lap, but that’s it.  Between Brandauer and Sydow, these are some heavy hitters.  Plus, Connery, and a built-in storyline.  It should have all worked but it doesn’t.

The theme song is a painful earworm.  It is performed by Lani Hall, doing a Holiday Inn barfly lounge act that will never leave your consciousness.  You can practically see that wet, shiny lipstick slobber all over the microphone while she’s wearing a blingy sparkle dress and a red, leafy boa around her neck.

Never Say Never Again is a lifeless, uninteresting, tedious and sleep-inducing picture that no one but a Mr. Kevin McClory wanted. 

Like Jeff Goldblum would say ten years later, just because you could doesn’t mean you should.

BATMAN (1989)

By Marc S. Sanders

If Warner Bros was to abandon the campy familiarity of the Adam West TV series, Tim Burton was the best candidate to deliver The Dark Knight into the macabre gloominess of a bustling crime ridden Gotham City.  Burton is proud of his grotesque weirdness which is what this famed comic book character demands.  

Despite a story that always teetered on flimsy to me, this close-out picture of the decadent 1980s, has so many elements that work. It begins with the marquee cast to the richly deserved Oscar winning hell on Earth art designs from Anton Furst to silly pop/funk samples from Prince and the orchestral score from Danny Elfman.  This is truly the film that put Elfman on the map.

Jack Nicholson collected buckets and buckets of cash to bring Batman’s arch nemesis Joker to life.  He earned every penny.  There’s been copycat attempts (Hello Jim “Mr. Shameless” Carrey) to a handful of other interpretations of the psychotic clown, and still no one has overshadowed what Nicholson brought to the role.  His performance seems like a combined amalgamation of previous celebrated career roles from Easy Rider to …Cukoo’s Nest.  Prince served as his cheerleading entourage to compliment the purple and green color schemes.  This Joker is a perfect antithesis to the famed title character superhero.

Batman is portrayed by Michael Keaton.  Let the record show that when news broke of Mr. Mom occupying the part, I was not a skeptic.  I had seen the dark and dramatic side of the former standup comic a year prior (Clean And Sober, my review is on this site).  I knew he could pull it off.  His quiet pondering as either billionaire Bruce Wayne, whose parents were gunned down in front of him as a child, to the Batman under the cape and mask work on the opposite spectrum to Nicholson’s uncompromising insanity and hyperactivity.  

Keaton against Nicholson are a defined Yin and Yang.

The supporting cast have good moments too including the loyalty of Bruce’s butler, Alfred.  Michael Gough brings Wayne Manor alive and Burton, with a script from Sam Hamm, welcomes several spotlights from the expected council of the trusty character.  Kim Basinger is photojournalist Vicki Vale, Bruce’s love interest.  Frankly she has better scenes to share with Robert Wuhl as Gotham’s reporter.  The Batman fan in me stops short at Pat Hingle as Commissioner Gordon.  It’s not the actor’s fault however that the film offers little for him to do on screen.    Hingle never had much material to play with in the four films he occupied.  That’s regrettable.

The best supporting character is the setting of Gotham City.  With Burton’s penchant for a Vincent Price characterization, he relies on Anton Furst to bring the towering midnight blue steel, skyscraper pillars to enormous heights, reaching into the blackness of heaven.  Every street, alleyway, balcony, puddle, garbage can or mugger, policeman and cabbie that circumvent this city lend life to this hopeless, criminal world.  It’s astonishing how well constructed this Gotham is.  Designs go just as far with Wayne Manor, the underground Bat Cave and a chemical plant designed in hot steam,  with enormous barrels of rainbow, acidic liquids and rickety platforms. Even Vicki Vale’s apartment is gorgeous to look at as both Bruce Wayne and the Joker compliment it as having “lots of space.” Tim Burton and Anton Furst make certain the people who roam these environments are entirely aware of what they occupy.

Sam Hamm’s script doesn’t appear as solid as everything else on screen.  There’s never a cohesive beginning to end trajectory and a lot of the film feels like short story episodes.  Joker takes over the localized mob.  There’s that story.  Joker somehow concocts a chemical poisoning amid the various hygiene products.  Yet it only spreads to the local newscasters.  Gordon, Alfred, Vicki Vale, and certainly not Bruce Wayne ever gets exposed.  Once that storyline begins, it’s quickly disposed.  A little attention focuses on Batman’s beginnings.

The irony of Batman is that unlike other superhero films, this one does not hinge on an origin story for the good guy dressed in black.  That angle is devoted mostly towards Joker, and Nicholson makes the most of his large amount of screen time.  A favorite, sinister scene that maybe Edgar Allen Poe might have approved of is Burton’s invention for Joker to gradually reveal himself beneath the darkness.  He’s depicted sitting in a dirty office basement with an underground cosmetic doctor who witnesses a transformation in the gangster turned madman.  I just like it.  It’s hair raising.  The moment plays like Poe writing a new version of The Mask Of The Red Death.

For me, this is likely Tim Burton’s best film, just below his passion for detail in Ed Wood.  Batman offers up a lot of variety ranging from the darkness of the character to the disruptions revealed in the antagonistic, loudly dressed, Joker.  

There’s no denying how visually memorable the film remains and how quotable it is as well.  In 1989, when superhero movies were not the event release commodities they are today, the endless hype only enhanced the experience of finally seeing the movie on the big screen.  Over a year ahead of release, t- shirts, caps, action figures and costumes were of the highest demand among kids, teenagers and adults.  I actually miss the marketing blitz that overtook the finished film product.  Everyone you encountered was embracing Batman and Joker.  These might be pop culture phenomena, but they created a commonality among the masses of the world.  Batman was worthy of all its swag and endless mania.  It was a celebration of movies for people of all ages to take seriously.

Fortunately, the first half of the 1989 promotional partnerships were never squandered on a decidedly terrible movie.  The end product was immensely satisfying.

Tim Burton upheld his dedication while still a young director in a cutthroat and competitive industry.  As the later films, from a careless Joel Schumacher, demonstrated, it takes an endearing kind of passion to pull these eccentrics off on a silver screen.  Fanboys will happily toss that Bat logoed t-shirt away if they feel betrayed by the movie, they couldn’t wait to sink their teeth into.

An enormous sigh of relief came across the entire pre-internet world.  Keaton is great.  Nicholson of course.  Check out the Batmobile and Bat Jet as well!!! Prince’s music videos served as free commercialization to see the movie over and over again.  A separate record was released to highlight Danny Elfman’s work.

Rightly so!

The grand scheme of delivering Batman and Joker to audiences, was worth every second of the wait.

An astounding achievement of near perfect filmmaking, this Batman film was never overshadowed even with a better, leaner Dark Knight interpretation to arrive nearly two decades later.

Right this way Mr.  Nolan.  Your table is ready for you.

THE SENTINEL

By Marc S. Sanders

You know those movies where in the first twenty minutes you learn that there is a mole in the department?  The department could be the police or the FBI or the Starship Enterprise.  In the Presidential assassination thriller, The Sentinel, the mole is someone within the Secret Service.  Having read several John Grisham and Brad Meltzer novels in my day, I have a weakness for assassination plotlines within the hallowed halls of the White House or on-board Air Force One.  However, if the object is to uncover who is framing the hero, in this case that’s Michael Douglas, and more importantly to reveal the mole, then at least give me more than one possibility. 

Director Clark Johnson works adequately with the sunglasses, dark suits and ties adorned by Douglas and his antagonist former colleague and friend played by Kiefer Sutherland.  Douglas portrays Pete Garrison, an elder agent who has commendations for heading off the Reagan assassination.  Amazing that President Reagen was even shot because on top of Michael Douglas, I believe Clint Eastwood and Kevin Costner were also there on that fateful day.  Sutherland is Dave Breckinridge. He wasn’t there because he was just a teenager in 1981.

There’s troubling bubbling up in this Presidential cabinet, particularly because black and white photographs have mysteriously landed on Garrison’s desk depicting his clandestine tryst with the First Lady, played by Kim Basinger.  An agent partner of Garrison’s is shot dead on his front porch.  Then Marine One is taken out by a missile.  Obviously, someone has the President (David Rasche) in their sights.  Therefore, it must be a mole.  Who’s the likely traitor?  Pete Garrison is suspect numero uno, and so Michael Douglas is in the spotlight doing a subpar Jason Bourne treatment of resourcefulness to prove his innocence and uncover who framed him.

The Sentinel is not a terrible movie by any means.  It’s just this flavor of film has been done countless times before it came out in 2006, and thereafter.  Eva Longoria plays a former student of Garrison and now partner to Breckinridge and together with Sutherland they do the staple run with guns drawn down the streets of D.C. and the black sedan daytime drives while trying to stay hot on Garrison’s trail.  For some extra spice, Pete and Dave had a falling out some time ago and when we discover what that’s about it’s not very savory.

What keeps Johnson’s film from entering the lexicon of other grade A thrillers is that the true bad guy is completely apparent long before the plot unravels itself.  You know who’s spiking the voodoo doll within the first five minutes of the picture.  Why did Clark Johnson have to give this character the most oblivious close up?  That’s a failure on the director’s part, I’m afraid.  The Sentinel is short of plausible red herrings.  Someone told me recently that the best part of a magic trick is when you forget you are watching a magic trick.  Well in this movie, you know how the rabbit pops out of the hat.

There are obligatory shootouts. There’s also the big speech the President gives at the end when the bad guy is about to make a deadly move at the podium. As well, naturally there’s another typical Michael Douglas affair in a long line of on-screen Michael Douglas affairs.  Kim Basinger, I’d like to introduce you to Sharon Stone, Demi Moore, and Glenn Close.

Michael Douglas and Kiefer Sutherland (more or less doing his Jack Bauer schtick) have a magnetism on screen that’s upheld their long careers.  However, The Sentinel is not evidence of their worthiness.  Watch this film after you’ve exhausted all the other movies belonging in this category, and you just need to see who Michael Douglas is sleeping with this time, while the President gets saved one more time.