Category: Comedy

DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE

By Marc S. Sanders

Hollywood back stories have created a quandary for the studios’ celebrated film franchises, especially the Marvel Cinematic Universe.  Disney has purchased the properties and copyrights belonging to 20th Century Fox and now, at last the X-Men can properly meet Captain America and the Hulk and Spider-Man…well only if Sony will let the wall crawler come out and play.  So, how should all these guys meet one another, especially now that some of these actors who play these superheroes have received their AARP cards?  Furthermore, some of these characters are dead…at least for now.  Marvel producer Kevin Feige has the answer.  Only Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds), the Merc With The Mouth who breaks the fourth wall at any given moment, can bring this all together.

Deadpool & Wolverine is the best of the smart aleck hero’s three movies.  Yet, it’s more of just a gimmicky flick than anything else.  This proudly excessive two-hour tentpole picture operates like a solid collection of Saturday Night Live skits, with buckets of blood to splatter instead of The Three Stooges’ cream pies.

Allow me to break down this very thin storyline.  Matthew MacFadyen is Mr. Paradox in a three-piece suit.  He informs Mr. Deadpool that his timeline is about to fizzle out of existence.  Somehow, our hero has to locate help from a Wolverine variant of another universe (Hugh Jackman, of course) to make things right again.  

There’s your open door into the silliness that normally comes with Deadpool.  Our title characters are tossed into a Mad Max kind of wasteland called the Void and an abundance of cameos commence from here on out.  The suprise appearances are a lot of fun and I dare not spoil a single one of them.  The rest of the internet did that the night before the film actually opened. I shan’t lend to that egregious violation. (I’m looking at you Variety, Yahoo and Entertainment Weekly. Was it truly necessary to go in that direction?)

I could never relate to the other Deadpool movies.  Sure, they had some hilarious wink and nod gags, at the expense of Reynolds’ career experiences with past superhero franchises.  Yet, those other films were also trying to work too hard with storylines weaved in as well.  They became tiresome and Ryan Reynolds is not the Bill Murray of yesteryear or even Robert Downey Jr. His schtick in this element was overdone.

With this third installment, the approach works with an Airplane! or Naked Gun finish.  That being said, it takes a lot of knowledge from prior Marvel films within the 20th Century Fox warehouse to get every gag.  It helps to know what other super hero movies missed out on getting green lit, which ones tanked at the box office and who are some of these very obscure characters that were churned out of the meat grinder.  If you know these guys, then you’ll applaud the purpose they serve to of any jokes or story references that allow this new picture to operate.

I found it fun.  I think most lovers of Marvel movies will too.  Yet would someone like my sixteen-year-old daughter catch every reference or cameo that walks into frame? Some characters have not appeared on screen in over twenty years.  Reynolds and company also toss out one-liners that reference dated Hollywood gossip.  There was a lot of explanation that I had to fill in for my wife on the drive home.

Beyond all this, Deadpool and Wolverine, played by Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman, work really well together like a good buddy cop picture.  Get these guys back together again in a Lethal Weapon or 48 Hrs kind of movie and I’m there.  Honda might not be too fond of these guys, but their pairing is an overdue welcome to the big screen.  Why Honda? See the movie and you’ll know what I mean, but I am eternally grateful for the automaker’s contribution to this picture.

As expected, the violence is excessive.  I think I’ve had my fill of knives and claws being thrust into men’s crotches.  Seems to happen literally every five minutes.  Beheadings abound too.  Slow mo flips and bullets and bullet casings flying and dropping out of guns is never enough for these filmmakers either.  

Some will try to convince me of how tender hearted the picture is too.  Bah!!!! I know what you’re talking about, but go watch Terms Of Endearment or even Avengers: Endgame to get your tear ducts exercising.  The Hallmark moments here never carried much weight for me.

Deadpool & Wolverine is a grand time at the movies, worth seeing with an enthusiastic crowd over settling for a lonely night at home with Disney Plus.  The movie is a little too long, though.  None of the material belongs on the cutting room floor, but a good chunk of it could have been preserved for the next Deadpool blood spattered, slapsticky flick. I just didn’t need to consume all of the eggs in the basket.

My Personal Edit for the MCU: While I toss out my bravo on Marvel’s willingness for self-depreciation on a celebrity roast level with Reynolds and Jackman at the helm, it’s time to get serious again.  

Please get off this multi verse kick.  Director James Mangold (Logan, …Dial Of Destiny, 3:10 To Yuma) said it best that multi verse approaches produce lazy writing.  There’s no stakes anymore.  Hard to believe a character is dead when we watch him/her/they die.  They’ll just come back in the multi verse!!! Enough already.  

Bring back the villains who work based on sound logic like Thanos, Eric Killmonger and Obadiah Stane.  When these guys commit their worst misdeeds, know they did it for a greater purpose than just a mustache twirl and an evil laugh.  I could get behind their arguments.

More importantly, when the job is done, let it stay done.  Treat the audience fairly.  

As Annie Wilkes passionately declared: “Are you blind? They just cheated us.  HE DIDN’T GET OUT OF THE COCKADOODIE CAR!!!!”  I know exactly what you’re talking about Annie. Where’s that sledgehammer?

NO HARD FEELINGS

By Marc S. Sanders

Jennifer Lawrence goes the route of Farrelly Brothers comedy with No Hard Feelings.  She’s a thirty something gal named Maddie Barker who gets by sleeping around with the men of Montauk, New York while being an Uber driver and a bartender on the side.  It’s easy enough to do because her mother left her with a completely paid for house.  What she didn’t account for was taxes, and now that her car has been towed away (and shortly after totaled – just watch) and the past due bills start arriving, she’s got to find some means to uphold her Uber career so she doesn’t lose her house.  Problem is the best Uber drivers drive cars.

A seasonal annoyance of Montauk occurs when the ultra-wealthy WASPS come to reside in their summer homes.  A lot of these folks are helicopter parents for their spoiled kids who have futures awaiting them at Ivy League universities.  One such couple is portrayed by Laura Benanti and an especially flaky Matthew Broderick.  (Yes!  Ferris Bueller!)  Maddie answers the ad to literally get their dweeby son primed and ready for Princeton college life by sleeping with him and breaking him out of his shell of just video games and volunteer work at the homeless pet shelter.  In return, they will transfer the title over to a run-down Buick sedan that Maddie can own outright and catch up on her bills.  If life were only this easy.

The kid is Percy Becker played by newcomer Andrew Barth Feldman.  He’s quite good in this role and I imagine when he started on the first few days of filming he felt as awkward as he appears next to the confidence and experience emulating from Oscar winning Jennifer Lawrence.  You could never imagine pairing these two up in a film.  I mean, like they wouldn’t even work as a brother and sister.  Still, the comedic premise is so absurd like a Farrelly Brothers movie, that you just have to go with what this picture offers. Thankfully, the situations are hysterical.

It’s not easy for Maddie to break Percy of his introverted personality.  Poor kid doesn’t know how to drink or how to dress at an island bar.  He has no friends. He definitely doesn’t know how to talk to girls and even a naked Maddie accompanying him on an empty beach in the middle of the night for skinny dipping has disastrous results. 

Like a lot of romantic comedies, Maddie believes she just has to quickly lay this kid, collect the prize car and no feelings of love or like will ever get in the way.  Not so fast.  Soon, we get to see the attributes Percy possesses, and he’s hard to get off Maddie’s mind.  I read that Feldman played the title character in Dear Evan Hanson on a stage tour for a year. I can completely envision that after witnessing Percy perform a sultry rendition of Hall & Oates “Maneater” on the piano.  Close ups go over to Lawrence watching from across the room and I don’t believe she was acting.  This kid is a talented performer.  Suddenly, Lawrence and Feldman are great scene partners doing some very fine work together.

I hope to see Andrew Barth Feldman in more films.  He can do both drama, and of course comedy.  Moreover, Jennifer Lawrence has officially widened her range.  Her resume is certainly eclectic and this film only enhances her record.

The premise of No Hard Feelings is near impossible to swallow.  Fortunately, the gags that follow and especially the chemistry between the two leads allow for a sweet story with broad, raunchy,  slapstick R-rated material.  Many of the more successful comedic films followed this formula like Coming To America and There’s Something About Mary.  No Hard Feelings has just enough substance to be grouped within that fraternity. 

BEVERLY HILLS COP: AXEL F

By Marc S. Sanders

It took thirty years for Eddie Murphy’s best on screen character, Detroit Detective Axel Foley, to make a return.  He should have waited another thirty years. 

Reader, I got what I expected from Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F.  Yes, it was better than the third film in the franchise, but then again so was Morgan Stewart Is Coming Home (a Jon Cryer flick, directed by Alan Smithee).  There are moments in this latest flick, offered up by Netflix, that work, but it’s not enough to save the picture.

With Murphy producing, the smartest tactic the film takes is to gather up most of the surviving members of the other films, Judge Reinhold, John Ashton, Paul Reiser and Bronson Pinchot.  The problem is they are hardly used.  Axel F opts to go in the direction of feelings for the wisecracking cop from Detroit who always wreaks havoc in 90210.  Axel has a daughter named Jane Saunders (Taylour Paige).  I certainly know her last name because in the few moments that Murphy is shooting off his mouth, he takes time to repeat her last name and actually spell it out.  S-A-U-N-D-E-R-S.  Yes.  That’s a whole scene.  This is supposed to be comedy?  Saunders is not ranked up there with Focker.  That’s for sure.

Axel’s buddy Billy (Reinhold) is a private detective now and he’s come upon some kind of conspiracy.  He recruits Jane (a Beverly Hills criminal attorney) to represent a kid who is being framed.  When Axel gets word that Jane is being threatened, out to California he goes, but then Billy turns up missing and I mean missing throughout the whole movie.  Now Axel has to uncover the bad guys while trying to reconnect with Jane.  Of course they are estranged.  Axel also partners up with Jane’s ex, a cop named Bobby, an unfunny Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  Every so often Axel also marches into Taggert’s office (John Ashton) to just remind us that Taggert is back. 

Beverly Hills Cop never functioned on complex mysteries or storylines.  The films hinged on Eddie Murphy’s schtick, which used to be very, very funny and addicting.  As well, the smart route was always taken when the comedy of the first two pictures didn’t just rely on Murphy.  There was also material for Ashton and Reinhold, and on the side was Reiser and Pinchot as well. 

The glaring error in Axel F is that Murphy hardly does anything with these guys.  Instead, there are repetitive conversations with Paige’s character and how Axel put his career ahead of being a father.  Twice within the script, they remind one another that he’s been a father as long as she’s been a daughter.  How much thought was put into this dialogue?

The Cinemaniacs gathered together to watch Axel F, and we all agreed the film would be a half hour shorter had the storyline with Jane been completely stricken from the script.  Who says Axel Foley had to have a daughter?  The guy already has enough members within his world to work with.  Ashton, Reinhold and Murphy do not share a single moment together until an epilogue scene before the closing credits.  This is as egregious as when the new Star Wars pictures opted never to have Han, Luke and Leia reunite.  You got everyone back for Axel F and you opt not to use them or use them together.  Why?  This kind of success couldn’t have been served up better and yet it’s squandered.

Part of the fun in Axel Foley is his ability to con his way into a place.  At one point he returns to the Beverly Hills hotel from the first picture.  He approaches the counter and as he’s about to start a routine, but then he says fuck it, never mind and just chooses to pay for a room.  The script and Murphy could not have made their laziness in making this movie more apparent. 

Another staple was always the outrageous chases that would happen with unconventional vehicles.  The best moment in Axel F is when Murphy and Levitt pilot a police helicopter.  Levitt gets terrified and I think a little sick.  Murphy shoots his mouth off and here is a reason to watch Axel’s return.  Other moments do not work as well including a snowplow truck careening through Detroit and a big rig crashing through the glass front doors of a mansion.  There’s also a three-wheel motor scooter that does some tricks.  I recognize the attempts at recapturing the big moments from the first two films, but the editing does not work as well with a beginner director named Mark Molloy.  Martin Brest and Tony Scott were the MVPs who cemented the success of those other pictures.

I could not help but also take issue with some minor details.  Harold Faltermeyer was the symphonic composer of the other films.  You’ll certainly recognize his tunes this time around but they are annoyingly mixed with unnecessary overlays.  At times, the needle drop of music is so distracting to what you are watching that you might think there is something wrong with your sound system. 

In addition, and I can’t believe I’m saying this about a Beverly Hills Cop film, but the costumer had to be someone who was just fired from Old Navy.  Murphy dons a Detroit Lions jacket and a pair of jeans that look two sizes too big on him.  His clothes look so baggy on his frame.  As well, for some reason, he’s given a bright orange t-shirt to wear against the black and blue Lions coat and it could not be a worse eyesore.  Any color you want and you choose orange?

Miguel’s input was that it was better than three, but what kind of endorsement is that really?  Over the last decade, the franchises that were so beloved in the 1980s are making returns with the near geriatric stars of those films.  Some work (Top Gun: Maverick, and yes Indiana Jones).  Some definitely do not (that last Die Hard movie, Rambo and Terminator).  Axel F slides into the latter category.  It has some moments to laugh at along with send ups of some of the franchises best songs.  Yet, while I’m happy to hear the picture open to Glenn Frey’s “The Heat Is On,” it’s also indicative of little thought applied to making this movie. 

Ultimately, though, why did this picture have to get so watered down with an uninteresting father/daughter soap opera while neglecting the other favorites of this franchise?  What will these filmmakers do next?  Reinvent the Three Stooges, only the trio will be split up, and you’ll only follow Larry around for two hours?

KELLY’S HEROES

By Marc S. Sanders

There’s gold in them thar Nazi castle.  Hence the plot is set in motion for a World War II romp called Kelly’s Heroes.  It’s easy to get acclimated to the lightheartedness of this comedic war picture from director Brian G Hutton (Where Eagles Dare). 

The movie opens during a dark and rainy evening within a German occupied France. The on-screen credits pop up revealing an all-star cast of tough guy actors who are also quite funny.  Clint Eastwood is the title character who sits behind the wheel of a jeep. When the Nazis take notice, he hits the gas, makes a sharp left through the muddy road, and zooms away while avoiding shell fragments coming down on him. The film’s catchy theme song marches in – “Burning Bridges” performed by the Mike Curb Congregation.  The chorus of singers speak as a soldier who does not even care about authority or the rules of war.  The lyrics are rather simple to understand, and you want to just join in on the revolutionary merriment.  The song enters the film again and again over the next two and a half hours, reminding you to just enjoy the ride against this tragic capsule of time from the first half of twentieth century history.  Hawkeye Pierce couldn’t have said it better.

In his capture, Kelly has brought back a Nazi commandant and when he sees a fourteen-karat gold bar in the German’s possession, it’s easy to surmise that there must be more where this came from.  Turns out there is a stash worth roughly sixteen million dollars crated in a bank vault in the center of a stopover town, located across enemy lines in war torn France.  Kelly and his squad, led by Big Joe (Telly Savalas), are under heavy fire and forced to retreat for safety, but that isn’t going to stop him from making a snatch and grab.

Joe has been given orders to get the unit to safety and allow them a three-day reprieve of R & R.  However, he’s just as enticed as Kelly and gradually a small team of men assemble to pull off the heist.  First, they’ll need tanks to fight off the nearly indestructible Nazi Panzer machines they expect to encounter.  Fortunately, Crapgame (a scene stealing Don Rickles) and Kelly come across the hippie loving Oddball (another scene stealer – Donald Sutherland) who can supply the tanks they need and fend off what stands in the unit’s way.  What’s also important is Oddball find a bridge for the squad to cross before the allies destroy it.  That’s not so easy.  Sutherland is somewhat of a spaz; maybe an ancestor of Cosmo Kramer.

Meanwhile, a blood and guts two-star General Colt (Carroll O’Connor) is screaming for results from his subordinates.  When he intercepts the guys’ communications, he can’t help but be impressed with their progress and strategies of attack.  He’s ready to go into the field with a handful of medals for every American soldier that’s giving a damn. 

The looniness of Kelly’s Heroes is hilarious. Eastwood carries his signature quietness about him.  So, he’s the straight man leaving the loudmouth material for Savalas, Rickles, and a bevy of supporting actors.  Plus, there’s O’Connor in his own side story.  Sutherland is another kind of comedy – the free spirit who appears to have taken one too many shells to the noggin. 

It’s not a slapstick kind of movie.  It operates like the doctors from M*A*S*H.  These draftees have no loyalty to a cause.  They look out for each other.  They know how to survive the battles and they know that some will not make it.  Brian Hutton does not forget the frightening impact of war.  A memorable scene occurs when the unit realizes they are dead center in a mine field, offering up the life and death factor blended in both the comedy and drama that comes with a heroic war picture. 

There are some inconsistencies to Kelly’s Heroes.  Often, it feels like some scenes that would connect certain dots must have been edited out of the final print.  As the men come close to the to the bank where the gold is stashed, two of the soldiers are already in the overlooking bird’s nest tower giving a low down of the area to Kelly and Big Joe.  Yet, how did those guys ever get up there?  It’s not a terrible violation.  There are sequences like this that make the movie feel a little uneven. Clint Eastwood even went on record expressing his disappointment with the film as there were excised moments that drew more out of Rickles and Sutherland’s characters, and a few of the other supporting characters played by Gavin MacLeod (The Love Boat, The Mary Tyler Moore Show), Stuart Margolin (a very underrated character actor who had memorable episodes on the M*A*S*H tv series) and a young Harry Dean Stanton (here credited only as Dean Stanton). 

This film was shot in Yugoslavia simply because the country still had possession of many tanks and vehicles from the story’s time period.  The art design and battlegrounds are very impressive.  Before CGI, Brian G Hutton and his team were reenacting a lot of these loud, bombastic battle scenes complete with big fireballs of explosions along with the aftermath wreckage left behind of rubble and blasted out walls and craters.  Hutton positions his cameras either on top or right behind the cannons and guns mounted on the tanks.  So, you are actually getting a first person view of these massive war machines driving across the plains while shooting off their firepower.  The filmmakers did not hold back on making World War II look authentic in its battle wear.  I’ll be bold enough to say the settings are comparable to what Spielberg accomplished with Saving Private Ryan, and what Eastwood depicted in Letters From Iwo Jima.  The lens is just not as serious as those films.

The cast is a magnificent fraternity of brazenly funny tough guys, in the same vain as The Dirty Dozen, though much more lighthearted.  They’re a motley sort who all stand out among their similar appearances in green army fatigues and netted helmets. 

Kelly’s Heroes is a lighthearted comedic adventure where the heist is what you come to see against a historical backdrop when nothing was ever sensationalized fun.  History offers up a cruel world of pain and suffering, but who says we can’t enjoy ourselves through all the blood, guts and misery as our heroes ride off into a ravishing orange sunset?

Go for the gold and catch up with Kelly’s Heroes.

MAX DUGAN RETURNS

By Marc S. Sanders

Max Dugan Returns is one of those delightful films where the smile never leaves your face.  It’s a cozy, rainy Saturday afternoon with your favorite pillow and throw blanket.  The characters are whimsical, and they simply feel like good, good friends you would love to have in your life.

Nora McPhee (Marsha Mason) is an overworked, underpaid high school English teacher who is drowning in debt with a broken refrigerator and a car that is as ugly as it sounds on the road.  Her fifteen-year-old son Michael (Matthew Broderick, in a sensational on-screen debut performance) is a good kid, but she’s worried he’s getting too involved with the drug dealers that roam his school.

After her jalopy of a car gets stolen, the only positive that comes upon her is in the form of Donald Sutherland as a cop named Brian.  After he lends her his motorcycle to get around, there’s an immediate attraction, but it could not happen at a worse time.

Nora’s father, Max Dugan (Jason Robards), who abandoned her at age 9 arrives on her doorstep in the middle of a rainy night with a business proposition.  Now that his doctors have informed him he has six months to live, he would like to provide Nora and Michael with the six hundred thousand dollars he’s towed with him in an attaché case.  In exchange, he only wants to spend time with his grandson.  Beyond the animosity she’s held for Max, what alarms Nora is that her father stole this money from a Vegas casino.  He claims the mob stole the money from him first.  She doesn’t want the money; not with Brian the police officer in her life and she does not want to be affiliated with Max’ criminal past or associations.  Not to mention there would no way to explain this sudden windfall based on her minimal teacher’s salary.  Max won’t go away so easily, though.

Thus, the theme of Max Dugan Returns is one scene after another where a hoard of luxurious items arrive on the McPhee’s doorstep.  New appliances, new jewelry, new furnishings, fresh groceries, electronics for Michael, a Mercedes, and a thoroughbred dog named Pluto – I’m sorry.  Plato!

It’s impossible not to love this movie.  It is one of the few films that Neil Simon wrote directly for the screen.  It is so much fun though, that I think it would work marvelously as a stage play.  The story may not be grounded in reality, but Simon’s dialogue is so quick and sharp and a better cast could not be found to deliver Neil Simon’s wit.

Mason, Robards, Broderick and Sutherland have pitch perfect chemistry with one another.  These actors are so absorbed in their characters, and it makes sense.  Matthew Broderick was personally selected by Neil Simon to do his biographical play, Brighton Beach Memoirs.  Marsha Mason did five of Simon’s adapted films while she was married to him.  (They divorced shortly after the release of this picture in 1983.)  Jason Robards has an affectionate gravel to his voice – one of the best voices in film next to James Earl Jones. Robards is just so appealing as he playfully conflicts with Mason on screen while connecting with Broderick’s character under a different identity.  It’s important Max maintains a low profile.  Donald Sutherland is the straightest character in the picture.  He has a relaxed manner to him that’s found often in Neil Simon’s scripts (unless you’re a Nora McPhee or a Felix Unger).  In another actor’s hands, this would be just a walk on role, but with Sutherland on screen, you are satisfied to watch another winning performance from this actor with a relaxed stature and a genteel way about him, as his detective suits and ties hang loose on his shoulders.

Max Dugan Returns is an enchanting fantasy without the overt fantasy.  It never needed unicorns or lovable elves to deliver its magic and whimsy.  I did notice a collection of rainbows –  easter eggs hiding in plain sight, however.  Are pots of gold to be uncovered? The film asks what would happen if your long-lost father showed up on your doorstep with a suitcase full of money and a treasure trove of gifts to bestow upon you. 

Hey, it could only happen in the movies.

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!!!!!

THE FALL GUY

By Marc S. Sanders

Indulge me please while I spout off a number of movie titles. 

I am big fan of Emily Blunt.  She justifiably earned her first Oscar nomination for Oppenheimer.  She was Mary Poppins – a damn good one.  She’s good in her husband John Krasinski’s A Quiet Place monster movies.  Have you seen Sicario? The first one?  You should!  As well, there’s the role that put her on the map with The Devil Wears Prada.  Just a great actress with a huge repertoire of sensational performances under her belt.

I am also a big admirer of Ryan Gosling.  Magnificent in the long-awaited Blade Runner sequel.  He’s a dancing wunderkind and musical genius as well with films like La La Land.  You ever seen The Nice Guys where he partnered with Russell Crowe?  Another one you should see.  Also find him in The Ides Of March, directed by George Clooney.  He got his umpteenth nomination for Barbie recently, but let’s face it, after that Oscar show performance for Best Song the man only overshadowed what he blew our eyes out with, and now I believe they should bow to his dancing feet for hosting duties.  Plus, the guy is now the pinnacle live action Beavis to go with Mikey Day’s Butthead.  Is there nothing this guy can’t do?

I think back to all of these sensational cinematic achievements, and I am dumbfounded that when this pair finally, at long last, team up it is for wasteful bash up/smash up junk like a television adaptation of the Lee Majors’ ABC action series The Fall Guy.  It’s been a long time since I was so bored watching a stunt filled two-hour flick with zero spice or flavor.  There are fire balls aplomb in this movie and I don’t think Gosling ever feels the burn.

I’ve seen the Die Hards and the Lethal Weapons with the fight scenes and car chases and bombastic explosions. Amid all nine of those pictures (well maybe not the last Die Hard movie) the action usually drove at least some semblance of story, suspense and amazement.

The Fall Guy, directed by former stuntman David Leitch, proudly declares itself a stunt movie because the hero, Colt Seavers (Gosling) is a stunt man for action movies.  However, the audience is shortchanged on…well…the stunts.  I remember Miguel and I watching The Fast And The Furious for the first time.  We both agreed the movie failed because it did not provide what it was selling, namely car chases and car stunts.  At least not enough of them.  Instead, we got Paul Walker and Vin Diesel getting all Terms Of Endearment like and we asked ourselves, when are they going to get in a car and drive.

Consider the opening sequence of The Fall Guy.  First I’m dazzled by a well-done Steadicam shot the runs at least four minutes as it follows Colt talking on his cell phone as he struts from his movie set trailer then on into the lobby of a sky rise building, through a crowd of movie extras, crew and cameras, up an elevator and then over to a platform ledge where a harness is strapped to his uniform and he is suspended high above the ground below, while facing up.  A fall is gonna happen, right? And it does, but then we do not see the finish of the fall.  This one shot walk for Gosling cuts the legs out from under us. Just as the fall is about to finish, it cuts to the guy in a stretcher being wheeled into an ambulance. 

Now you can insist to me that is the start of the story.  Colt breaks his back in a stunt fall gone wrong and thus he’s now retired and surely 18 months later, he will be called back to do his best bidding and set the wheels in motion for the rest of the movie.  Okay.  Fine.  I’m with you.  The hero comes out of retirement for one last job. Yet, THE RYAN GOSLING just did the actual fall and we couldn’t see THE RYAN GOSLING finish the fall.  This wasn’t a stunt double as far as I could tell.  I’ve used this analogy before, but this is like Moe throwing the cream pie at Curly, only you don’t get to see the pie make impact with Curly’s face.  I feel cheated, and I felt cheated during most of The Fall Guy.

This approach is done often during Leitch’s film.  He’ll put Colt into a stunt sequence but then cut away to something else.  Later in the movie, Colt gets into a fist fight with some bad dudes while trying to hang on to a runaway truck and trailer careening through the streets of Sydney, Australia.  Colt throws punches.  He gets punched.  He falls.  He hangs on.  He gets up again.  Wash, dry, repeat.  The problem is that Leitch opts to cut away after each punch or fall to Emily Blunt doing a rendition of “Against All Odds” in a karaoke bar.  This whole action scene is chopped up for no purpose that keeps me in the film.  It’s like when I would have to ask my kid to stop interrupting while the grown ups are still talking.  I love watching Emily Blunt sing.  I love watching Ryan Gosling do his version of what a kamikaze Mel Gibson used to do in his younger years.  Can we just have one thing at a time though?  This kind of juxtaposition is not intriguing or beguiling or whatever the filmmaker wants it to be, and it does no favors for either lead.

The story is pretty simple and pedestrian. Nor does it follow the theme of the TV show that everyone has forgotten or that this generation has ever heard of.  Blunt plays Jody Moreno, a maybe former flame/middle school crush of Colt’s.  Unbeknownst to her, the producer (Hannah Waddingham) of the science fiction film Jody is directing has reached out to Colt a year and a half after his broken back accident to come to Australia and not only work on the set but also track down the star (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) of the picture who has disappeared without a trace.  Colt is not very bright and he’s especially not a detective of any sort. 

Once this is all set up, The Fall Guy flip flops from the search, over to Colt getting set on fire repeatedly on the set, and then back to the search, followed by the inevitable twist, which is in no way a twist because the surprise seems known as soon as movie begins. 

I was not expecting utter brilliance here, but I was hoping for substance.  Gosling and Blunt are two of the biggest stars out there right now and can have their pick of the litter in what they do next.  It only makes sense that these two should pair up for a movie, but this is what they choose?  The script has less wit or intelligence than a coloring book that has yet to be scribbled in by a four-year-old.  I remember the hype around a picture called The Mexican with Julia Roberts and Brad Pitt, the biggest stars of the time finally teaming up, and just like it is with The Fall Guy, they had zero chemistry, and they barely shared any scenes together.  When they did, they hardly acknowledged each other.  Filmmakers cannot just stop working when they get the marquee names to sign a contract for the film.  They gotta work to live up to the hype that comes with these capably appealing actors.

In his pursuit, Colt gets drugged and then we see a unicorn standing next to him for a long sequence.  The audience sees the unicorn, but Colt hardly acknowledges it.  I don’t get where the ha ha ha is supposed to come from this bit.  I think the writers were maybe going for an Airplane!/Naked Gun gag.  Colt gets thrown through glass walls.  He tells us he was part of the Miami Vice stunt show at Universal Studios by simply wearing a jacket that says it, but so what?  There’s no dimension to any of this. (I did appreciate hearing the theme song during a very brief nighttime boat chase.)

Aaron Taylor-Johnson (Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Kick Ass, and one time James Bond candidate) is another fine actor, not doing his best work.  He’s a jerk here with bleach blond locks and nothing to do.  He’s just unlikable and unfunny.  Hannah Waddingham?  Never heard of her, but I can only imagine she’s got something better lined than this obnoxious movie producer role with an annoying over the top Australian accent.  If she’s really Australian, then I’ll have to surrender to the fact that I just don’t know the down under dialect.  Frankly, she’s just terrible. 

Never thought I’d say this but Gosling and Blunt had a thousand times more chemistry when they did that presentation at the 2024 Oscars jabbing at the Barbenheimer trend and shamelessly promoting the upcoming release of this film.  In this movie, they look like they are not making eye contact with one another or listening to what the other actor is saying. I don’t blame them, though.  I call foul on David Leitch for lousy directing.

The most interesting thing about the film adaptation of The Fall Guy are post credit behind the scenes footage where I got to see all of these stunts in their uninterrupted entirety, but without the glossy cinematography finish.  However, an Easter egg scene shows up with THE LEE MAJORS and the other blond Heather from the 1980s, THE HEATHER THOMAS.  She is given blond wig and probably an unseen muzzle because she has no dialogue to say except stand there in a cop’s uniform with her butt and boobs sticking out.  Majors is left to be dull, like he probably was in the final season of the show when it was jumping the shark.  If the writers of this movie just used a tenth of their imagination, they could have kept Lee Majors as the original Colt Seaver who mentors Gosling into being THE FALL GUY of today.  Why couldn’t Lee Majors have a substantial role in this picture?  It would have worked.  However, that is not likely because there’s barely a plot, character, or even stunt scene that implies the makers of this movie have that kind of capable imagination. 

Find another movie for Emily Blunt and Ryan Gosling. STAT! They are so much more worthy then the building they jumped off of only to land in this fire ball blasted junk resting below.

THE MAJOR AND THE MINOR (1942)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Billy Wilder
CAST: Ginger Rogers, Ray Milland, Rita Johnson, Robert Benchley
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 100% Fresh

PLOT: A frustrated city woman disguises herself as a 12-year-old girl to get a cheaper train ticket, but her plan backfires when she winds up befriending a very adult Major on the train.  Risqué hilarity ensues.


Billy Wilder’s The Major and the Minor, contains big laughs, true love, and comic/cosmic misunderstandings – in other words, it’s a classic farce from the fledgling career of one of Hollywood’s true legends.  However, there are certain plot elements that I suspect would make this movie virtually unfilmable today, at least not without tinkering with the structure here and there.  I think the plot points in question will be glaringly apparent to any reasonable viewer, so if I acknowledge them with only the occasional eye roll in my review, I hope readers will forgive me.  It is not my intention to prepare a compare/contrast treatise on prevailing attitudes towards women during the 1940s versus today.  You don’t need me to tell you that the very concept of an adult male bunk-bedding with a strange 12-year-old girl he just met (among other plot devices) raised my eyebrows.  It is firmly a product of its more innocent time. But the whole endeavor is so breezy and carefree that I think it would be a shame to give this film a pass without hearing more about it.  So, here goes.

Ginger Rogers plays the lead, Susan Applegate.  Having only seen Rogers in the occasional dance film with Fred Astaire, I was bowled over by how naturally comic she is.  Based on this movie alone, she could have given Lucille Ball or Rosalind Russell a run for their money.  Anyway, Susan Applegate is fed up with living in NYC.  Tired of being besieged by lechers at every turn, she quits her job – her 25th in a year! – and tries to buy a train ticket back home to Iowa.  When she finds herself short on cash, she dresses up as a 12-year-old girl to get a ticket at half price.  Her real troubles begin when the train gets underway, as the conductors are not movie-dumb enough to fall for her act.

She winds up hiding in the compartment belonging to Major Philip Kirby (Ray Milland in a mildly uncommon comic role).  Because he has a bum right eye, he falls for Susan’s story (she calls herself Su-Su to complete the façade) and takes it upon himself to be her impromptu guardian.  Through an unfortunate series of events – a blocked train track, the unexpected arrival of Kirby’s beautiful fiancé, Pamela, and some ill-timed misunderstandings – “Su-Su” finds herself being whisked away to a military school with Major Kirby promising to get her on the next available train back to Iowa.  Trust me, it all makes sense, I’m leaving a lot of details out, otherwise we’d be here all night.

The rest of the film involves Su-Su’s misadventures on the military school campus, surrounded by three hundred school-age boys who are inexplicably attracted to this girl who somehow has the presence of an adult woman.  They like her, but they’re not quite sure why.  The same phenomenon begins to afflict the Major himself, which makes him extremely uncomfortable (understandably so), which makes things more complicated for Susan because SHE’S beginning to fall in love with HIM, and meanwhile Kirby’s future sister-in-law sees right through Susan’s disguise and wants Susan to help her break up the impending marriage, and 20 different cadets show up to escort Su-Su to the school dance, and so on and so on and so on.

This was only Wilder’s second film, but already we can see ideas and situations that he would return to in some of his future films.  The woman disguising herself as a girl is a funhouse-mirror version of the men disguising themselves as women in Some Like It Hot.  We get the reverse situation, a girl becoming a woman, in Sabrina.  The idea of how tough it is to live in the big bad city is echoed in The Apartment.  And if you really squint, you might even see an early forerunner of Norma Desmond in Major Kirby’s beautiful but devious and controlling fiancé…it’s a stretch, but I think it’s valid.

The performance by Ginger Rogers in this movie was a revelation to me.  I had absolutely no idea she could play this kind of character.  She plays everything so believably, whether she’s Susan or “Su-Su.”  In scenes where she’s near Major Kirby, her longing for him is palpable, but her outward reactions are perfectly subtle: a slight pause before a reply, a constant gaze, only occasionally a little mugging when he’s not looking at her, and always making sure to keep her brassy voice in a higher register to sound more girly.  I learn from IMDb that she was anxious to play this role because she was able to draw from her own experiences: as a younger woman, when she toured vaudeville halls with her mother, she would often make herself appear younger to get cheaper train tickets.  Who knew?

Ray Milland had a trickier time of it in this movie.  He manages to pull it off, but imagine the minefields he had to navigate.  He plays a grown man who is the self-appointed guardian of a 12-year-old girl who, by his own admission at one point, looks like a full-grown woman in the right light.  There’s a scene where he feels compelled to at least try to explain the facts of life to Su-Su so she’ll understand why all the cadets are attracted to her like a moth to a light bulb.  (In one of the less-enlightened moments of the film, he advises her: “Maybe if you made yourself a little less attractive…”  HUGE eye-roll.)  Now, we as audience members know there’s really no problem with his mild flirtations because, of course, Su-Su is really Susan.  But HE doesn’t know that.  Wilder has the good sense to pull everything back from the brink before anything unsavory occurs.  It’s one of the best high-wire acts I can think of in a comedy.

(I’m itching to relate all the hilarious Wilder-esque bits peppered throughout the movie, like finding the occasional burnt end in a delicious brisket, but I am anxious to avoid spoilers.  There’s the tap dance, the Veronica Lake look-alikes, “the Maginot Line”, the cigarette on the train…oh, too many to list.  They’re wonderful.)

As with the best farces, a crisis occurs and it seems as if all is lost, but fear not.  Wilder is not known as a genius for nothing.  If you think this romantic comedy from the early forties is not going to have a happy ending, you need to see more movies.  The Major and the Minor is a delight from start to finish.  And if the last line doesn’t quite come up to the standards of “Well, nobody’s perfect!”…well, I mean, what does?

[Note: It’s also interesting to know that The Major and the Minor was filmed and released in 1942, it’s set very specifically in May of 1941, before Pearl Harbor.  Here and there are in the movie are references to Kirby’s desire to be stationed abroad in case war breaks out.  There’s a moment when he confesses that no woman would want to marry a military man stationed overseas, only getting a letter from him once every two weeks.  The reply he gets is very direct, clearly indicating where Wilder stood on the matter: “I think you underestimate us, Mr. Kirby.  Perhaps all a woman wants is to be a photograph a soldier tacks above his bunk or a stupid lock of hair in the back of his watch.”  Sexist?  Or patriotic?  Discuss.]

THE RULING CLASS (United Kingdom, 1972)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: Peter Medak
CAST: Peter O’Toole, Alastair Sim, William Mervyn, Carolyn Seymour, Arthur Lowe
MY RATING: 8/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 77% Fresh

PLOT: A member of the British House of Lords dies, leaving his estate to his son. Unfortunately, his son thinks he is the one true God made flesh.  Murder and mayhem ensue.


Re-watching The Ruling Class for the first time in some fifteen years, I came up with a great but still imperfect way to describe it: Being There directed by Terry Jones and written by Terry Gilliam.  It has more religious blasphemy than Life of Brian – not a great example because Life of Brian is not technically blasphemous, but whatever – and more exuberant overacting than any two Nicolas Cage movies put together.  There’s nudity (but no sex), a little cross-dressing, murder, auto-erotic asphyxiation, impromptu musical numbers, and more jabs at organized religion and class structure than you can poke a burning cross at.  It feels a little too chaotic for its own good at times, but I am willing to forgive those transgressions because I am so grateful for its periodic flights of fancy and for the deliciously hammy performance from Peter O’Toole.  Is it a masterpiece?  Not quite.  But you just can’t turn away from it.

One day, the veddy-veddy proper 13th Earl of Gurney dies after a mishap involving a silken noose, a tutu, and a dislodged stepladder.  His brother, Sir Charles Gurney, is dismayed to learn that the heir to the Gurney fortune and name is none other than Jack (Peter O’Toole), the 14th Earl of Gurney.  We see the reason for Charles’s dismay when we see Jack for the first time…dressed as Jesus Christ, in a brown robe and white rope belt and long golden locks down to his shoulders.  He tells everyone he is God.  Someone asks him, “How do you know you’re God?”  He answers with unassailable logic: “Simple.  When I pray to Him, I find I am talking to myself.”  He also says things like, “For what I am about to receive, may I make myself truly thankful.”

Charles realizes he must have Jack committed to wrest away control of the family fortune, but he cannot do so until Jack has an heir.  But Jack (who insists on being referred to as “J.C.”) refuses to marry because he says he’s already married to the Lady of the Camellias, which everyone knows is the name of a less-famous novel by Alexandre Dumas fils.  To get around this inconvenience, Charles arranges for his own mistress to impersonate the Lady.  Meanwhile, Charles’s wife, Lady Claire, puts the moves on Jack’s psychiatric doctor to distract him because he opposes the marriage, citing Jack’s condition.  And always in the background is Tuck, the family butler, who received 30,000 pounds from the 13th Earl’s will, but stays in service apparently just to blow raspberries and say exactly what’s been on his mind for the last several years.  I would say he’s the comic relief, but he’s more like a demented court jester.

Peter O’Toole’s performance as Jack must be seen to be believed.  Imagine, say, Daniel Day Lewis or a young Robert De Niro, dressing up as Jesus Christ, talking animatedly to flowers, and taking a nap while standing on a life-size crucifix, arms outstretched.  At one point, Jack woos the faux Camille by impersonating a bird, and she follows suit.  You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Peter O’Toole dressed in an impeccable white ensemble, strutting across the lawn, head bobbing like an oversize pigeon, and literally cooing.

The Ruling Class is clearly a jab at its namesake, the upper-class nobs and snobs of England who firmly believe they rule their country simply because they are more suited to it than anyone else.  They never suffer from the same human foibles as the lower classes do, and if they do, it’s never acknowledged, or acknowledged and hushed up, or blamed on someone or something else.  The film is based on a stage play, which explains the occasional fourth-wall breaks and the frequent interruptions for short musical numbers, which further enhances the Python-esque feel of the movie.  I would imagine it was much more notorious upon its release than it might be today, but the message itself hasn’t dated.

That message is especially brought home when Jack is ostensibly cured, after a fantastic sequence involving a second psychotic patient, a lightning storm, and a vision of a gorilla wearing a top-hat and a tux.  However, his “cure” has an unintended side effect.  To everyone else, it looks like he’s back to being himself: Jack, the 14th Earl of Gurney.  But a creepy monologue in the attic reveals his secret.  He no longer believes he’s God, nor does he believe he’s Jack, the 14th Earl.  He believes he’s another historical “Jack,” the one who stalked prostitutes in 19th-century London.  He has visions of old London streets.  In one masterful scene, he is in the sitting room of his country house, and as he crosses the floor, the house magically transforms into an old London cobblestone street at night, in an uncut take with no visual effects.  I can imagine Terry Gilliam nodding approvingly at that absurdist touch.

What will become of the “new” Jack?  Will he remain a member of the ruling class to which he was born, whether he deserves it or not?  Will his former doctor, or his wife, ever learn of Jack’s new persona?  With his newfound purpose, he delivers a speech to the house of lords in favor of capital punishment, quoting no fewer than three verses from the Old Testament.  Their response to his words serves as the macabre capper to the film.

TOM JONES

By Marc S. Sanders

Watching Tom Jones I wondered if the Monty Python troupe took inspiration from producer/director Tony Richardson’s film.  It’s all quite madcap.  With Albert Finney as the lead title character, there’s a zany quality to this eighteenth century piece adapted from Henry Fielding’s novel The History Of Tom Jones, A Foundling.

The film opens like a silent movie with title cards being used to emote dialogue.  The Squire Allworthy (George Devine) returns to his estate and upon retiring for bed, he discovers newborn Tom beneath the blankets.  Allworthy decides to raise the child. 

The film transitions to a talkie picture and Tom grows up to be portrayed by Albert Finney.  The orphan man gets himself into all kinds of predicaments, notably with an assortment of women but his true affections are directed towards Sophie (Susannah York), the daughter of the neighbor Squire Western. The cad known as Blifil (David Warner, in his very first film role) convinces Allworthy that Tom is a villain and thus he’s excised from the estate with cash to seek out his own fortune.  Interactions lead to unexpected circumstances for Tom, including being robbed penniless, crossing paths with the butler who was presumed to be his father, and being sentenced to death for murder after he rescues an endangered maiden from the assault of a British red coat (Julian Glover).

Tom Jones takes unexpected turns in its narrative, and it leads to big laughs.  Upon discovering that his wallet is stolen, Albert Finney breaks the fourth wall seeking the viewers assurance that he is not making it up.  Other characters are depicted in freeze frame silliness as they eavesdrop on Allworthy.  There’s lots of running around escapades as Tom flees from being caught with a couple of mistresses.  I was waiting for the Benny Hill music to cue in, though John Addison’s score suffices well to keep it all lighthearted during such times when the film speeds up with a Keystone Kops kind of pace.

A film like Tom Jones is not what I normally gravitate towards.  Going back and forth, there’s lots of screaming banter and deep English dialects that swallow the words being uttered.  Drunken debauchery is relied upon for Hugh Griffith as Squire Western; he was one of five actors nominated for the film.  At one point, Griffith falls off his horse and the animal lands on top of him.  Apparently, this was not stunt work as Griffith notoriously showed up drunk each day on set and the horse easily overtook him.

Albert Finney, though, is a comedy gem as he innocently portrays Tom with no ill intent.  Watching him here in his youth, he’s adorable with an occasional prince and pauper romantic interpretation of his performance. A memorably hilarious scene involves Tom and a lady mistress seducing one another from both sides of the table as they gorge themselves with a bevy of food including pheasant, pears, potatoes and so on. Without Finney’s fearlessness in leading this sloppy, drooling scene, I’m not sure it would have worked as well. Richardson elongates the moment between the two to build the laughter.

I’m impressed with much of the filmmaking from Tony Richardson.  Cameras must have been mounted on horseback to get up close pursuit during a sporting hunt of a deer that also included a large number of rabid dogs.  Still, I was a little queasy in the follow up scene when the deer is slaughtered amid the canines barking for a portion. Technically speaking though, the film works on many levels.

As well, I could not help but consider that a modern filmmaker like Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things, The Favorite) adopted some of Richardson’s comedic approach.  Tom Jones is proudly weird and obscure just like Lanthimos’ storytelling.

Yet, I cannot comprehend the praise awarded to this movie, including Best Picture and Director as well as the nominations in cast performances by critics, Oscars and BAFTAS.  I’m convinced of the period timing and what the script and actors lend to the film, but I’ll never say any of it left me enraptured in the novelty.  It’s a cute story, but that’s all.  Kind of like Arthur with Dudley Moore, where the innocent man child happily lives within his sophomoric mentality while uncovering who he truly loves.  There is likely more to take away from Tom Jones, but I didn’t recognize it.

If anything, as I continue my trek towards watching and reviewing every Best Picture winner in Oscar history, I’m at least glad I got Tom Jones checked off my list.  At times, it’s delightful and it’s also proudly oddball in its execution.  What constitutes it as the best film of 1963? Reader, I’m just not sure.  Yet, it is at least entertaining with much praise for Albert Finney and cast.