Category: Crime Drama

FARGO

By Marc S. Sanders

The seeds of a crime begin in the dead of winter, in a saloon, located in Fargo, North Dakota.  A car salesman requests two thugs kidnap his wife so that they can demand an eighty-thousand-dollar ransom from his wealthy father-in-law.  The salesman will split the monies with the crooks and all will be well.  Hold on there!  It’s not as simple as it looks.

The Coen Brothers (Joel and Ethan) completed some of their most legendary work when they opted to “adapt” a supposedly true story that sheds blood over the snow-covered plains of northern Minnesota when all of the characters involved choose not to cooperate with one another.  The unpredictable is what keeps their film Fargo so engaging.  With each passing scene, you ask yourself “What next????”

Jerry Lundegaard (William H Macy, in my favorite role of many good ones from him) is the salesman who gets in over his head.  This cockamamie scheme of his stems from a need to land a get rich quick investment, but he doesn’t have the money and his father-in-law Wade Gustafson (Harve Presnell) certainly won’t lend it to him.  Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare are the hired criminals, Carl and Gaere.  As quick as the agreement is made, Jerry wants to call off the arrangement, but things are already set in motion.  The kidnapping occurs, albeit sloppily, and a late-night pullover on a dark, snow covered back road leads to the bloody shootings of three people. 

Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand, in her first Oscar winning role) is awoken early in the morning.  Her sweet husband makes her a quick breakfast and she’s off in a jiff to inspect the crime scene of the three murders.  She is seven months pregnant, but she’s got a job to do.

Murder, kidnapping, fraud, and embezzlement piece together the Coens’ Oscar winning script.  What makes Fargo special though is how out of frame it all seems among these odd and quirky characters.  The Minnesotan dialects and vernacular (“You betcha!!” “You’re darn tootin’!” “Oh, for Pete’s sake!!!”) from Marge and Jerry do not seem standard in a story like this.  Even their names – Lundegaard and Gunderson – seem totally out of place here.  However, the pregnant, sweet natured police officer should not be underestimated, and the puppet master behind this plot should have known better.  In fact, other than Marge, no one should be doing what they’re doing, and yet that’s exactly what spins everything off the rails.

The Coens humanize the characters of their film.  Marge must stop inspecting the grisly crime scene because her morning sickness is about to overtake her.  “No, I think I’m gonna barf!” It is not the blood or the cold winter that’s holding her back.  Natural pregnancy gets in the way.  When clues lead her to Minneapolis for an overnight stay, she takes advantage of meeting with a high school friend.  Their meet-up has nothing to do with the central plot, but the writers insist on showing Marge during her off hours.  It’s a hilarious scene and Frances McDormand’s timing is naturally comedic with a guy who just has an overenthusiastic way about himself.  Marge is not just a smart cop.  She’s got a life outside of her career as a loving wife, friend and soon to be mother.

As well, Jerry insists to Wade not to contact the police and let him deal directly with the kidnappers when they call.  Wade isn’t just going to sit by for long though.  He got to the top of his powerful pyramid by taking things head on.  Jerry just doesn’t have the instinct to realize this is how the cards will fall.  Wade was not to be involved, under any circumstances.  Yet, that’s exactly what is happening.  This is not good Jerry.

Carl and Gaere (These names!!!!  I’m telling ya.), as crooked hoods, have no honor among themselves.  One might betray the other and that could lead to another gory, very gory, yet inventive moment. 

Other than Marge, either no one is particularly smart in Fargo, or they are just not seeing the possible outcomes all the way through.  Still, even the dumbest of folk can make a turn of events gone awry so fascinating.  When one tiny detail gets out of place, then the players improvise. That only twists several other expectations to go off kilter and the dominoes begin to tumble.  Very quickly, as everything has unraveled, it is any wonder how this all began in the first place. 

Fargo demonstrates that crime is hardly committed with a perfect plan.  Fortunately, the imperfections are at least as entertainingly curious as the perfections found in so many other films.  Oh, you betcha!!!!! 

ANATOMY OF A FALL

By Marc S. Sanders

Was Samuel Maleski pushed or did he commit suicide? It appears he fell from the balcony of the French chalet he shares with his wife Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller) and their blind son, Daniel (Milo Machado Graner).  That is the focus of Anatomy Of A Fall, one of the films to be recognized in several Oscar categories for 2023 including Best Picture, Best Director for Justine Triet, Screenplay, Editing and an acting nomination for Hüller.

Triet’s film kept my attention right from the start because this newsworthy story has all the elements many would look for in a Netflix documentary or a Dateline program.  New details are introduced in nearly every scene whether it stems from conversations that Sandra has with her attorney Vincent (Swann Arlaud) or as part of the witness interrogations during the thrilling trial scenes that take place a year after she has been indicted for causing her husband’s death.

Sandra is German.  Samuel (Samuel Theis) is French.  To stay on a common ground, they speak to one another in English.  We learn this as the film flashes back to conversations and arguments the pair have prior to the deadly scene that occurs soon after the film begins.  The inconsistency in how they communicate as a married couple will have one ponder how pertinent it is when Sandra is considered a prime suspect in her husband’s death.  Also, it’s curious that Samuel suddenly decided to record a number of their disputes.  More evidence is revealed as the story carries on.

On the surface, the story plays like a typical Law & Order episode.  However, there’s a fresh quality to this kind of supposed crime drama.  A large portion of Triet’s screenplay (co-written with Arthur Harari) takes place in a French courtroom and it’s interesting to see how the procedures of witness questioning varies from what American audiences are accustomed to.  For example, an expert on blood splatters gives testimony and conclusion. While he is still on the stand awaiting further questioning, the Procureur will divert questions directly at Sandra, the accused, for explanations. 

The material witness for both sides is Daniel. After returning from a nature walk with the dog, Snoop, he comes upon his deceased father lying in the snow with blood gushing from the side of his head.  The blind son is thoroughly questioned about if he could hear arguments coming from his parents while loud music was blasting from his father’s upper-level workspace.  He’s probed about his parent’s relationship and how he got along with his mother and his father respectively.  Daniel is also put to the test of reenactments on the day in question.  While he is outside with Snoop, could he hear the argument his parents were having over the loud volume of the music from 50 Cent playing.

A sort of competition between Sandra and Samuel is also noted, as she is a published author. He has been insecure of becoming a writer himself after giving up his job as a literature professor and moving the family into the mountains to restore this chalet as a personal project. 

The performances in Anatomy Of A Fall are outstanding, especially from its lead Sandra Hüller, whose role was specifically written with her in mind.  Of the many great dramatic moments, there’s a specific flashback scene introduced as evidentiary recording.  It is a telling argument between Sandra and Samuel in the kitchen.  Justine Triet directs this long scene as a common occurrence among most marriages but then it begins to elevate.  Just when you think the two spouses are winding down, the intensity cranks back up again only it goes from a lower pitch to a much more aggressive state very quickly.  Their quarrelling becomes erratic, and while we are watching the flashback, it cuts away the moment it gets physical. Triet wisely returns the film to the courtroom observing Sandra listening to her memory all over again while the packed audience focuses.  In particular is the boy Daniel who is learning more about what weighed on his father and mother both individually and as a married couple.  When the argument gets physical the viewer of the film is in the same position as everyone in the courtroom, or more specifically blind Daniel, left to only imagine who breaks what dish and who slaps who.

Vincent, Sandra’s attorney, reminds his client early on that there is the truth and then there is what a jury and a court of public opinion will believe.   Swann Arlaud is not an actor I’m familiar with.  (Actually, I’m not familiar with anyone involved in this film.)  Arlaud is a standout though.  I like how he listens and asks well timed questions of Sandra as she recounts what occurred the day of the incident; where Samuel was and what he was doing along with where she was, interviewing someone about one of her books, on the floor below.  Swann Arlaud has a dubious expression as he absorbs all the information.  Even he knows this could have gone several different ways.  Maybe Samuel did intentionally jump to kill himself.  Perhaps the aggravation that Sandra endured of her husband motivated her to push him over or to hit him bluntly on the head causing his fall over the balcony railing.  There’s evidence to suggest a number of different outcomes. 

Anatomy Of A Fall succeeds on the examination of a crime and how it is tried, particularly in a French court of law.  Fortunately, the script does not offer many definitive answers when it concludes.  There are hanging threads left to consider and wonder.  Yet, it goes in depth with analysis so that when the verdict arrives, I could accept either decision of guilt or innocent.  It’s unfair, but in a murder trial, especially if there’s a possibility that the accused is not guilty, then the victim is somewhat put on trial as well.  Anatomy Of A Fall lends a case for either party.  This film deserves its accolades for its fair and thought-provoking writing as well as the performances of the cast which include a main character that you might or might not find believable.

BLOOD SIMPLE.

By Marc S. Sanders

 “blood simple” is a term coined to describe the addled, fearful mindset people are in after a prolonged immersion in violent situations.

         IMDb – originally located in the book Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett

The Coen Brothers’ first of several legendary and unique films is a seedy noir thriller called Blood Simple.  Joel Coen is the director.  Ethan Coen is the producer.  They wrote the script together and collected whatever pennies they could find door to door from anyone willing to invest in the picture.  You see how shoestring the budget was for this small film, but that’s exactly why it works so effectively.  The lowlifes of their script are not the sophisticated type like Hannibal Lecter or Harry Lyme.

This is a condensed piece, just over ninety minutes, with four principal players who inadvertently cause themselves to get tangled in a bloody web of gory crime.  The fun part is that none of the four know the whole picture of what’s occurring, or how, or why.  I’m satisfied the audience is in on the whole thing, though.

Without giving too much away, Dan Hedaya is Marty, the owner of a sleazy Texas saloon.  A private investigator provides evidence of Marty’s wife, Abby (Frances McDormand, in her debut performance), having an affair with one of his bartenders, Ray (John Getz).  Marty hires the P.I. to murder the two lovers.

Simple enough, right?  Wrong, because the Coen Brothers wisely have their players color outside the lines and soon there’s blood all over the floor, as well as in the back seat, and maybe something important was mistakenly left at a crime scene.  Perhaps someone who was thought to be dead is not, and maybe what you thought occurred is something else entirely.

Blood Simple. works because it operates beyond convention.  The characters are so unaware of what to do next or what precisely has happened that it introduces one layer of confusion and misunderstanding after another.  This is nowhere near a common episode of Three’s Company.  What’s even more appreciative is that once the end credits roll, those that survive this lurid tale will still never have a complete grasp of what’s happened or when or where the convolutedness began.  It’s satisfying that all of the answers are at my disposal. It gives me a sense of omnipotence.

M Emmet Walsh is the scuzzy private investigator.  You’ve seen this celebrated character actor countless times before.  It is this performance that might be the one where you would no longer recognize him as “What’s that guy from?” because now you’ll never forget his name. He’s a villain who pounces on a genius opportunity, covering all bases, until there’s one minor oversight.  The Coen Brothers inventively have this guy circling the waters of the whole film, and yet only one other character is aware of his existence.  Still, this guy is vital to the assorted conflicts uncovered in this sort of graphic novel pulp fiction.

Blood Simple. sets up scenes  that can be bridged together by what if scenarios. How can two windows mere inches away from each other lend to a painfully agonizing, thrillingly welcome moment of terror and suspense? When this scene arrives, does it make sense for how the characters play it out?  You bet it does.  

The film is strong due to its lack of dialogue too.  We watch what these characters do much more than we listen to anything they have to say.  Important props and locations seem to tell us more than any of the actors, and that’ll allow you to think like the character.  You read their minds rather than feeling a need to have everything explained to you.

Blood Simple. is an inspired nod to some of Hitchcock’s bewildering best like Dial M For Murder and Strangers On A Train.  It succeeds because of the twists it offers as nothing ever goes according to plan.  You’ll watch it once and then you’ll want to see it again to follow the breadcrumbs that trail off the path.

SEA OF LOVE

By Marc S. Sanders

Al Pacino is a twenty-year veteran New York City cop, working out of Manhattan, on the trail of a serial killer in Sea Of Love.  The profession is nothing new to Pacino’s repertoire of roles, but the portrayal is unique thanks to a smart and suspenseful script from Richard Price and intense directing from Harold Becker.

The killer leaves a calling card.  A 45 LP record of Phil Phillips ’50s classic crooner, “Sea Of Love,” spinning on the turntable.  The victims are naked men lying face down in bed with a bullet to the head.  Turns out that a cop from another precinct played by John Goodman has uncovered a similar crime scene in Queens.  So, the two team up.  They believe the murderer is a woman.

All the victims have posted a Lonely-Hearts Club blurb in a magazine. The invitation for a date stands out because the text rhymes.  The detectives decide to post their own ad in the same kind of format, meet the women who respond and hope to nab the killer.  It gets complicated when Pacino encounters a breathtaking and sultry woman played by Ellen Barkin. 

Pacino’s cop is a smart guy.  He’s got instincts.  Yet, perhaps due to his constant drinking, insomnia, and the bitterness he carries now that his partner (Richard Jenkins) has hooked up with his ex-wife, he’s also quite vulnerable.

The mystery is strong, and the tension builds as Sea Of Love moves on.  Barkin has Pacino and the audience convinced that she’s the prime suspect.  Still, he lets his defenses down because he’s easily getting seduced by her advances.

Whether you’re watching Al Pacino share scenes with John Goodman or Ellen Barkin, the execution is fantastic.  Great performances from the three.  Pacino and Goodman have a natural exchange with one another. Often humorous, but the guys always talk like cops.  When Pacino admits to tossing away a fingerprinted glass from Barkin, Goodman suggests lifting the prints from something- ahem – more personal of his.  A cute wink and nod exchange.

More important to the film is the erotic chemistry between Barkin and Pacino.  Harold Becker uses a late-night supermarket visit in the vegetable aisle to evoke the risky and irresistible nature the two characters develop for one another.  Other scenes build well on the relationship between these two lonely strangers who’ve only recently met. 

Moments of isolation and drunken stupors also work towards fleshing out Pacino’s burned out cop.  He’s got a schleppy posture to him and an exhausted expression with his sullen eyes and shaggy black hair.  At the same time, his character’s twenty years of experience seem to uphold his alertness.  This cop knows he’s letting his guard down. Without any dialogue, you see the internal struggle Pacino has with what should be done against what he is deliberately neglecting.

This film was Ellen Barkin’s breakthrough role.  She received rave reviews as someone who takes care to uphold a New York City trendy appearance by day as a shoe salesperson in contrast to a woman looking for some carefree lust in the evening.  For Pacino, Sea Of Love reinvigorated a career slump following a series of poorly reviewed films.  Together, they make for a sexy yet untrusting pair.

Circumventing this relationship is the mystery.  Is Barkin the culprit? She seems to have a dark way about her that may not surprise you.  Price, Barkin and Becker designed the character quite well for her to at least have the potential to be a killer of men.  Is she setting Pacino up to be the next victim?

New York City from the late 1980s looks great, even though interiors were shot in Toronto.  Trevor Jones offers a nail-biting soundtrack to keep the suspense heightened at just the right beats of the picture with Becker’s camera pointing down dark hallways or when new clues are discovered.

I’ve seen Sea Of Love a few times and even with knowing the surprise ending, the film still holds up thanks to the performances from its three stars, along with its taut editing, well-paced writing, and smart direction. 

This is a good erotic murder mystery.

THE MEAN SEASON

By Marc S. Sanders

I get caught up in movies focused on serial killers.  As an actor, I imagine it must be fun to portray a deranged psychopath like Norman Bates or Hannibal Lector, or maybe even John Doe from Seven.  On the other hand, maybe not because an effective screenplay needs to be nearby.

The Mean Season from 1985 has an effective premise but that’s where the positives of the picture stop.  Kurt Russell portrays Malcolm Anderson, a burnt-out reporter for the The Miami Journal.  He is the paper’s most reputable writer but just as he is ready to resign and move to Colorado with his loving girlfriend, Christine (Mariel Hemingway), he’s tasked with writing an article about the murder of a teenage girl on the beach.  Soon after, he’s getting phone calls from the killer himself, played by Richard Jordan whose face is concealed through most of the film by his hand holding a telephone.  The killer insists on only maintaining communication with Malcolm and no one else, especially not the cops.  He relays that the city of Miami can expect four more murders.

The title of the film stems from south Florida’s well known weather variations that occur at the start of hurricane season, primarily in July.  That does nothing for me, but the title alone sounds marketable enough for a thriller.  Almost sounds like a Stephen King novel.  The Mean Season!!!!!  Unfortunately, that’s all that this movie has to rely on, even if Kurt Russell is doing his best like he always does in better suspense movies like Unlawful Entry and Breakdown.

The fault with The Mean Season resides with the director’s amateurish approaches.  Fifteen minutes into the film, with the story hardly in motion, a nude Christine is taking a shower.  The haunting music begins and suddenly the shower curtain is pulled for Malcolm to deliberately startle his girlfriend.  So, we have the Psycho salute.  Check!  Later, following an argument between the two lovers, Malcolm gets in his car and is startled by Christine coming up from behind in the backseat. Ha!!!! Okay and there’s the Halloween nod.  Another check!  I bet these cheap tactics were not even written in the script.  Director Phillip Borsos (never heard of this guy before; doesn’t surprise me) must be so insecure in his skills behind a camera that he just goes for duplicative tripe.

Threats to the couple elevate as the film moves on and when Malcolm gets wind of Christine being in danger, he’s in his Mustang racing to her.  The cops (Andy Garcia, Richard Bradford) are right behind him, and no one thinks of summoning a squad car to where Christine is expected to be?  Of course not.  If they did, then we wouldn’t be treated to a clumsy sequence where an elevated bridge gets in Kurt Russell’s way forcing him to make a leap across the gap and come down on the steep other side and continue his foot race.  Kurt Russell really looks stupid in this moment, and I’m sure he was thinking I can not believe I agreed to this.

As with any of these movies, there is a just when you think the bad guy is dead, there he is again.  No wonder we didn’t get a long enough closeup on the corpse found in the dense Everglades.  However, we get treated to seeing a long, meaningless sequence of Kurt Russell being a passenger on a swamp buggy.  Big deal.  Does this enhance any kind of suspense?  Does it move the story along?  The director got access to a couple of swamp buggies and a day of shooting in the Everglades and said we gotta get this in here.

The final fight is as moronic as the rest of the picture.  Richard Jordan and Kurt Russell are going at it in the living room while a hurricane rages outside.  Mariel Hemingway just sits on the sofa and watches.  She just watches.  She doesn’t reach for a kitchen knife or a vase to smash on the bad guy’s head and help her poor boyfriend.  We just get a sad excuse of a damsel who is not in distress. 

Thankfully, Kurt Russell’s career survived this junk of standard jump scares and shortness on intellect. 

As I’ve said before in other columns, there was a better movie here.  There could have been a movie that explored the endless hours that an investigative reporter must endure.  His editor and photographer (Richard Masur, Joe Pantoliano) could have shared the heightened fear and suspense.  The cops on the case could have applied more pressure and/or assistance to the reporter.  They don’t even tap his phone to trace where the calls are coming from.  In 1985, I think they already had the technology to do that.  A tape recorder was used though, and the audience not only gets to listen to the conversations once as they are happening but then again as the characters listen to the tape.  Why?  Is there something I missed the first time I heard Kurt Russell say hello?  This is filler crap. 

A better movie would have pursued what motivates this killer we hardly get to know.  We should have learned more about this guy because he’s the one making the phone calls.  So, it is obvious he wants to be heard.  However, the guy has nothing to say of any significance.  Even a psychologist who’s recruited for one scene doesn’t make any observation that gives me, or the characters in the film, pause. 

The Mean Season is an “I got it!” film.  It’s where the director gets his big break and declares “I’ve got it!!!!  We’ll do Psycho and then we’ll do Halloween.  Gotta make sure we see Marial Hemingway topless.  That’s definitely at the top of the list. Oh yeah, and then we’ll get swamp buggies and can we get some wind and rain machines for a really, really, really mean—I mean very mean—season!”

THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN

By Marc S. Sanders

Growing up as a teenager, in the dog days of summer, and living in a new town with few friends at the time allowed a lot of binge watching of movies on Showtime.  Top Gun must have been shown twelve times a day.  So was Back To School.  The other movie on constant repeat was The Legend Of Billie Jean – a movie of few merits and yet the heroic sweep of the fugitive rebel on the run with her trailer park gal pals and her little brother was addicting.  It’s a brisk ninety-minute film, but each time I’d watch the movie it felt like the title character raised even more awareness and support for her cause than the last time I watched, which was likely four hours earlier in the day, during breakfast.

Helen Slater is Billie Jean.  Her younger brother is Binx played by Christian Slater, in his first film.  NO RELATION!!!! 

Under a hot sun-drenched setting in Corpus Christie, Texas, the siblings are bullied by Hubie (Barry Tubb).  Binx gets beat up.  Even worse, his shiny maroon motor scooter is stolen and trashed.  When Billie Jean approaches the bully’s father, Mr. Pyatt (Richard Bradford), to collect the six hundred dollars for the cost of the bike, she narrowly escapes a rape after Binx shoots the scumbag in the shoulder.  Now the kids are on the run with Ophelia and Putter (Martha Gehman and Yeardley Smith – eventual voice of Lisa Simpson).

A firestorm starts to spread with a loyal underground following for Billie Jean and her band, and they receive assistance from the District Attorney’s (Dean Stockwell) son Lloyd, played by Keith Gordon.  The cop on their trail is played by Peter Coyote.  Wait!  I’m not being fair.  This cop is never on their trail.  Somehow every kid in the state of Texas can find and help Billie Jean, except the cops.  Even with the DA’s son in tow, these fugitives cannot be located by one single, solitary police cruiser.  Yet, the kids on the playgrounds make no effort to find Billie Jean, Binx and the others.  Yes.  You shake your head at the whole thing.  When you are age fourteen though, you get caught up with Helen Slater, one of your first celebrity crushes, and the accompanying soundtrack of Pat Benatar’s rebellious anthem “Invincible.”

The Legend Of Billie Jean is a stupid movie.  I don’t think anyone can argue with me.  I mean think about this for a second.  Peter Coyote’s cop finds their getaway car with Putter and Ophelia.  Still, he doesn’t choose to search the vehicle for a significant clue to the hero’s whereabouts until the next day.  Isn’t this sloppy investigative fieldwork?  As well, during the climax a brushfire is started by Billie Jean and no one runs or calls for a firetruck.  The DA, the cops, the kids – they all just stand there watching in deep thought like they were directed.  I can only imagine the director with his megaphone yelling out the command to stare straight ahead at the growing flames.  Mind you, this isn’t a control burn firepit.  This is a BRUSH FIRE with hay and wood and clothes as accelerants.

Nevertheless, the movie is an only slightly embarrassing guilty pleasure.  It’s not as hokey as it looks on the surface.  The acting isn’t terrible because the young cast is embracing the absurdity of the whole situation.  It stands, albeit wobbly, on the same plotline of an eventual and exceedingly better film called Thelma & Louise.  More importantly, Helen Slater makes for a good lead role and heroine.  When she tells Mr. Pyatt “No,” and cries her anthem of “Fair is fair” you root for her.  Slater’s performance is far grander than the script she is working with. 

The Legend Of Billie Jean performs like an afterschool special without dubbing out the cursing. The cause of these kids’ plight enhances as the film progresses.  What starts out as a simple bullying story and a demand for monetary damages of only six hundred dollars turns into a fight for respect and honor from the adult males within a small, southern local community.  However, there is little to feel inspired by, and I’m afraid Billie Jean’s supposed legend unfolds into only a slightly miniscule smidgen of Legendary. 

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

By Marc S. Sanders

Killers Of The Flower Moon reflects on a period in Oklahoma history that I imagine has hardly been told.  In the early 1920s, the Native American residents, consisting of four tribes, came into a blessing of wealth when oil was discovered on the land they occupied in Osage County.  Almost immediately, white folk from all over the country migrated to this area and built up an infrastructure of capitalism that included private practices, pool halls, movie houses, law enforcement, pharmaceuticals, and even cab drivers.  However, they didn’t want to just stop at developing the area.  They wanted to seize it and they proceeded to do so by wiping out the Native American residents.  Family lineages were all but erased as the whites married into the race and gradually found ways to kill and bring about surprising deaths that would ultimately allow them to legally inherit what was rightfully owned by the Indian people.

Director Martin Scorsese has introduced a new kind of historical education with a film that I believe will be my favorite picture of the year.  I was mesmerized by every photographic shot, closeup, edit, and musical accompaniment contained in this movie.  Everything works so well. 

Robert De Niro reunites with the director for the tenth time; an amazing legacy of a partnership spanning fifty years.  He portrays William “King” Hale.  King is a kindly old fellow on the surface, but his intelligence shows as he strategizes how to take over more and more of this area.  He oversees a control of the white gentlemen folk, leading them into quick marriages with the young women of the tribes.  From there, they have children and over time will gradually purify the bloodline.  It’s a ruthless and scheming tactic and it successfully works thanks to how taciturn Mr. Hale is.  De Niro might win his third Oscar for this role.  This character joins that exclusive fraternity of the best villains in cinematic history, ranking up there with The Wicked Witch, Harry Lime, Norman Bates, Darth Vader, Joker, Daniel Plainview and Hannibal Lecter.

Early on in the epic film, The King’s nephew, Ernest Burkart (Leonardo DiCaprio) has returned from the war to work under his uncle.  Ernest starts as a cab driver and meets Molly (Lily Gladstone), the Native American woman he will take as a bride and establish residence together.  DiCaprio does some of his best work following a very boastful career of roles.  He’s also sure to get at least an Oscar nomination.  This is already his sixth film with Scorsese.  Ernest is not very bright, but with The King’s guidance and instruction he’ll also come to own much of this territory.

Mysterious deaths of unexpected natures occur within the tribes of Osage County, particularly in Molly’s family.  Over the course of the film, one relative after another perishes until what’s left of her bloodline is practically only herself.  The children she bears are a mix of Molly and Ernest.  Molly knows something is amiss.  She is starting not to feel well, and her suspicions speak to her.  Others in the community are also suffering peculiar deaths following doctor’s visits or evenings of drunken binging.  An investigation is warranted before it becomes too late.

Lily Gladstone will become a surprise hit at Oscar time as well.  A breakthrough role where her feared silence and bravery matches well against the deceit emanating from the King and even the poorly hidden conniving of her husband Ernest.

Scorsese builds his film with suspense and shock.  A quiet beat of instrumental music haunts certain scenes.  Who will be the next target of the King’s bidding?  The King hides behind his empathy for loss by attending funeral services and allowing the survivors to cry into his shoulder.  On another side, he instructs Ernest to carry out an assignment to some flunky to make a murder appear like a suicide.  A shot in the back of the head will not send a convincing cause and effect though, and the King and Ernest must make up for that. 

The King is everyone’s friend in Osage County, but he’s also a puppet master Grim Reaper.  With the circular rim glasses that DeNiro wears along with his peaceful beige suits, it’s a wonder that this man is an executioner using the hands of others to carry out his bidding.  He dances in the middle of town during festive gatherings.  It even amuses the Sheriff’s office when he voluntarily offers himself up following a warrant for his arrest.  At the risk of getting politically sided, DeNiro was recently interviewed during a press junket for the film.  His animosity towards President Trump is no secret.  I was in the audience at Radio City Music Hall when he led a unified roar of “Fuck Trump” during the Tony Awards.  Still, the skilled actor said he used the enmity he harbors to his advantage for this role.  In the latter half of the film, William “The King” Hale preaches in a similar approach to Trump.  There are figures in our history who just know what buttons to push and absorb massive amounts of influence while earning respect through fear. 

Killers Of The Flower Moon covers a wide berth of its period in history.  Scorsese takes an inspired approach by cutting away on occasion with black and white footage and photographs of the Native Americans coming along with their good fortune and then on to how the white “immigrants” of this area enter this land and assume a daily life within the community, whether they were welcomed or not.  All is depicted from how Osage County quickly changed following the discovery of “black gold,” to how Ernest becomes wise to the advantages of power. 

Leonardo DiCaprio has a great undertaking.  Ernest is not very bright.  He can hardly read.  He’s not subtle with his approach like his uncle.  Yet, the actor maintains an expression of no choice to abide by but what he’s been told is right.  DiCaprio does this incredible expression with long frowned lips and a fat chin that stands out from beneath his nose.  It almost seems like a barrier to finding the humanity he may have once had when he was an infantryman fighting with the allies in Europe.  It is just a haunting performance.

The third act picks up with J Edgar Hoover’s newly established Bureau of Investigation entering the story to investigate the odd happenings in Osage.  Jesse Plemons again plays that guy that you have seen somewhere before.  Often, he occupies similar kinds of roles, and still, I like what he contributes to this picture as Investigator Tom White.  Screenwriter Eric Roth lends the character simple, plainly worded questions for Plemmons to work with and it seems to come off as nothing intimidating.  Rather, the presence of Tom White on Ernest’s doorstep, with Molly mysteriously sick in the bedroom, is enough to rattle Ernest, the King, and the whole county.

It’s no secret that Killers Of The Flower Moon has a long running time at nearly three and a half hours.  However, it is necessary.  This widespread crime is not done in just minutes.  How it is gradually orchestrated needs to be seen, followed by those that uncovered how sinister it became.  Then attention needs to be given to how biased the trials of Ernest and The King had become.  Men who conspired with the King and Ernest serve on the jury.  A lot of unfair wrongs occurred during this time spanning what I believe was at least a decade and a half. 

Roth and Scorsese bring the conclusion of the film with a welcome invention.  In a time where Netflix, Dateline, 20/20 and ABC News thrive off true life crime documentaries that become so addicting, the filmmakers resort to a radio show to sum up what happened to the main players of this devastating episode in twentieth century American history with the director making a cameo to offer his final words for the main victim of the piece, Molly Burkhart.  This bookend to the film has stayed with me since I finished watching the movie, and I applaud Scorsese and Roth for their execution.  Newsmakers of today go for the most sensationalized crimes that have occurred; the ones that leave the most shock and awe and even audaciousness.  What happened in Osage County is unforgivable.  Likely a genocide of bloodlines that were unjustly ceased so that what was rightfully theirs to own could be seized.

Killers Of The Flower Moon is a drama that had to be told because the motivations that led to the series of crimes happens not only to Native Americans, but to practically any other demographic across the globe.  This is a captivating story and one of the best films Martin Scorsese has ever made.

Again, this will likely be my favorite film of the year and Oscars are deserved for DeNiro, DiCaprio, Gladstone, Roth, Scorsese and for Best Picture of the Year. 

NOTE: As I watched this movie, I could not help but think of the film August: Osage County, the motion picture adapted from Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize winning play.  There is one Native American character in the film who is hired to serve the white family living on a wide expanse of land in present day 2013 (2007 for the play).  The first time I watched the movie, I could not recognize the purpose of the character.  On a second viewing, following a conversation among the dysfunctional family of characters about Native Americans, it was much clearer.  Having now watched Scorsese’s film, this picture serves as a great companion piece to watch afterwards.  I’ll be directing a stage production of this soon and much of what I learned from both films will be incorporated into my interpretation.  Even the architectural designs of the homes in both films, interior and exterior, are uniquely similar. 

Look for my review of August: Osage County (featuring Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep) on this site as well.

COLLATERAL

By Marc S. Sanders

A salt and pepper haired gentleman in a knitted suit with sunglasses arrives at LAX before the sun sets.  He exchanges bags with a man he runs into, played by Jason Statham. Elsewhere, a driver does a polish and check on his taxi cab before beginning his evening shift.  He picks up an attractive, overworked attorney named Annie (Jada Pinkett Smith) and before she hands him her business card, the driver has at least convinced the woman to re-examine her life’s purpose and consider simple ways to escape reality.  The man in the suit is Vincent played by Tom Cruise.  The cab driver is Max played by Jamie Foxx.  They are about to collide with one another on this night and put Michael Mann’s film, Collateral, into play.

Following being a massive fan of the TV show Miami Vice, and the films Thief, Heat and The Insider, I remember my anticipation sky rocketing when I saw the trailers and write ups for Collateral.  Mann, Cruise, Foxx, and crime in a cool looking L.A. with a symphonic soundtrack? I’m there!  It seemed like a perfect formula.  When I finally saw the movie, I think I was let down because it was too formulaic following a step-by-step recipe.  The editing for Collateral is abundantly cookie cutter, never taking any risks with its story.

Vincent chats with Max as soon as he gets in the cab.  He offers eleven hundred dollars to occupy Max’ evening, transporting him from one location to the next. Max has dreams of running his own limo company one day and this easy money is too good to resist.  It’s only when Vincent tosses someone out a fourth-floor window to land on the roof of the cab that Max realizes there’s a hitch to this arrangement.  

Vincent is a hitman out to check off a list of targets before sunrise, and he needs Max as a cab escort.  Threats to Max’ ill mother in the hospital will keep the driver in check, and if inconveniences like a shattered windshield draw the cops’ attention then Max will have to abide by Vincent’s demand for no interference with his plans.  

The two hour running time of Collateral is structured on one stop after another.  Mann abides by side scenes from Stuart Beattie’s script to look at the undercover night detective (Mark Ruffalo) who is one step behind the pair’s frequent stops within the city.   I guess it’s fortunate for this guy that ballistics and coroner’s reports are quickly and readily available within minutes and hours to connect some dots.  

In between the kills, Vincent and Max chat in the cab.  Standard stuff really where Tom Cruise is at one time charming and other times sociopathic.  Jamie Foxx is the bright but frightened guy with dialogue that doesn’t amount to much in convincing this unwanted passenger to either let him go free or to give up on his mission.

Ironically, the many scenes shared between Tom Cruise and Jamie Foxx are the least interesting parts of the film.  When the sound editing isn’t failing by making their dialogue sound like incoherent mumbling, neither guy is ever convincing the other to look in a new direction or consider another idea.  Therefore, the conversations never go anywhere.  Look at films like The Silence Of The Lambs, Cape Fear, Seven, and especially Mann’s best picture to date, Heat by comparison.  Those films work when either the antagonist or protagonist allow themselves to consider the arguments, even if it’s just for a second, against the ones they are debating.

There is action and violence in Collateral, but it’s really a talking piece.  Still, the best exchange of dialogue occurs with Foxx and other cast mates besides Cruise.  A great scene occurs when Vincent insists that Max act under the guise that he is Vincent when he has to report to the drug kingpin employer who originally hired him (a surprise welcome from an at the time unknown Javier Bardem); great acting and writing happening here.  The early scene between Jada Pinkett Smith and Jamie Foxx also works at a thought provoking and interesting level.  These scenes are short one act plays that belong elsewhere.  Jamie Foxx is doing some great work in these moments.

Unfortunately, when Foxx and Pinkett Smith reconnect later in the film, they are not written with the same kind of intelligence during a run and hide third act climax.  The suspense is absent here because the setup is ridiculous.  While standing on the top level of a parking garage, Max can easily see Annie in a fourteenth-floor office window, blocks away across the city, and specifically direct her where to run from the dangerous killer who is a few floors below, all while using a dying cell phone.  

More to the point, why is Annie still wearing a suit and heels, with her hair and makeup done up, at four o’clock in the morning? I know an aggressive lawyer never stops working, but don’t they go home, pour a glass of white wine, get into sweats and pop open the laptop while Miles Davis plays softly on the stereo?  How would these guys even know this is where Annie would be at four in the morning? Reader, you might tell me to dismiss what’s merely circumstantial here, and normally I would.  Yet, if I’m an expert hitman like Vincent is supposed to be, my first instinct is to go to Annie’s home first before the office in the middle of the night.  It’s the circumstances that negate the believability of the main character.  

As expected, Los Angeles looks moody and cool like in any other Michael Mann picture.  He’s got blazing overhead shots that emit a white glow in the thick of night.  The wolf is holding a fang and claw to the neck of the sheep as they careen through this endless city maze.  In that respect, the environment of this film works like a great character game master. What turn or straight avenue or bridge is going to work in either saving Max or getting him killed?

The technique of this filmmaker, who I usually favor, is here.  It’s been seen many times before for the other sharp, well-dressed killers in Michael Mann’s worlds. I welcome it back, but it’s not new or inventive in Collateral.  I guess that’s why the film is ordinary.  It lacks the depth that other productions from Mann rely upon.  The setups are quite amateurish and most of the talking is wholly uninteresting.

In spite of a phenomenal and reputable cast and crew, it’s a shame this Michael Mann installment is only ho hum in its finished product.  Collateral needed another script rewrite, followed by some additional reshoots.  There was a better movie to made here. 

THE BIG CLOCK (1948)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: John Farrow
CAST: Ray Milland, Charles Laughton, Maureen O’Sullivan, George Macready, Elsa Lanchester, Harry Morgan
MY RATING: 10/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 100%

PLOT: A harried magazine editor finds himself in the unique position of trying to track down the person who murdered his boss’s mistress…when all the clues lead back to him.


I have been a fan of 1987’s No Way Out since first seeing it on cable umpteen years ago.  The marvelous twists and turns in the script – yes, including that improbable ending – kept me guessing from the moment of the murder to the final pull-away shot.  Having seen it multiple times, I always noted the fact that it was based on a book with an odd title: The Big Clock.  Since No Way Out takes place mostly at the Pentagon, I always wondered what the story has to do with a clock, but I wasn’t motivated enough to track down the book, so I just let it go.

Imagine my surprise when years later, I discovered that No Way Out is not just based on a BOOK called The Big Clock, it’s also a reboot of an earlier film-noir from 1948, also called The Big Clock.  For years I had never been able to track down an affordable copy of the movie until recently.  I just finished watching it a couple of days ago, and wow.  It has all the snappy pacing of a Howard Hawks screwball comedy, the witty dialogue of a Thin Man film, and the coiling suspense of Hitchcock at the height of his powers.  The Big Clock is a forgotten film that deserves to be rediscovered by the public.

The story opens in typical noir fashion with our hero, George Stroud (the dour-but-likable Ray Milland) avoiding security guards before hiding inside a giant mechanical clock located in the lobby of the office building where he works.  His voice-over narration wonders how he got into this mess and tries to figure out where it all began…and we’re on our way.  So far, pretty stereotypical, not very promising.  But once the prologue ends, the surprises start rolling in.

George’s boss is Earl Janoth (Charles Laughton), a clock-watching, penny-pinching tyrant who doesn’t hesitate to fire an employee who leaves a light on in a broom closet, for example.  George is the editor of a magazine called Crimeways, one of many magazines in Janoth’s publishing empire.  Crimeways specializes in investigative reporting like tracking down murder suspects, allegedly to assist law enforcement, but mostly so they can publish attention-grabbing headlines about captured criminals to boost circulation.

Through a series of events too circuitous to list here, George winds up missing a very important train (he was supposed to finally give his wife a long-delayed honeymoon) and spends a drunken night carousing with Pauline York (Rita Johnson), a blonde bombshell who also happens to be Janoth’s mistress.  He winds up passing out on her couch at her apartment (having NOT slept with her, mind you), but is forced to skedaddle when Janoth unexpectedly shows up.  Janoth catches a glimpse of George in the hallway but cannot see his face.  When Janoth confronts Pauline, things get heated, and Pauline winds up dead.  Instead of going to the police, Janoth confides in his second-in-command, Steve Hagen (George Macready, whom you may or may not remember as the slimy general in Paths of Glory [1957] who charges three men with treason for not following a suicidal order).  Hagen returns to the scene of the crime, “amends” the crime scene, and comes up with a brilliant plan: use the magazine’s considerable resources to track down the mystery man Janoth saw outside Pauline’s apartment.

And who better to lead the investigation than George himself, whose investigative skills are second to none?

There is a delightful thrill of suspense when George receives his assignment and realizes that he cannot reveal the truth of his whereabouts without implicating himself, but he is compelled to lead the investigation as thoroughly as possible.  There is an amusing but highly-charged moment when an investigator reaches a witness on the phone and starts dictating the suspect’s vital features…and they match George almost to a T.

The beauty of the film is the head-fake.  We are shown the details of the drunken night George spend with the dead woman, but we are never tipped off that what we’re watching will eventually come back to haunt him.  Green mint martinis.  The hunt for a green clock.  A sundial.  An antique painting.  An eccentric painter.  A radio actor.  All disparate elements that are almost thrown away while they’re happening, but all of which come back to neatly bite George in the ass at just the wrong moments.

I cannot stress enough how ingeniously the screenplay is constructed.  One of the greatest joys of watching The Big Clock is admiring how airtight it is, how George is forced to fly by the seat of his pants from one moment to the next, putting on a show of doing his job while simultaneously trying to find a way to sabotage the investigation without showing his hand in any way.  I won’t give away how he manages this high-wire act, but it’s brilliant screenwriting.

Eventually, the building gets locked down with George still inside and two or more witnesses who can identify him prowling the hallways, including one who is drawing a sketch of his face.  At this point, even though I’ve seen No Way Out many times, I was 100% sucked into the story: “How can this guy possibly get out of this?”  The answers will be just as unexpected to you as they were to me.

(I should mention a small role played by an impossibly young Harry Morgan.  It’s one of the most sinister performances by a mute character that I’ve ever seen.  One shot in particular feels out of time, like it was shot in a movie from the ‘60s or ‘70s.  Creepy stuff.)

The Big Clock deserves a place among the great noirs like The Maltese Falcon, Out of the Past, and The Big Sleep.  It’s filled with great performances, the visuals are suitably moody and shadowy when necessary, and the plotting is impeccable.  What more can you ask from a great film noir?

PRINCE OF THE CITY

By Marc S. Sanders

Sidney Lumet made an outstanding career of bringing attention to corruption within the halls of police precincts, amid the offices of politics and the inside the hallows of cherrywood courtrooms with manipulating lawyers and unsympathetic judges. His films are spellbinding with difficult conundrums for his protagonists to overcome and survive.  Prince Of The City is a perfect example.

A handsomely young Treat Williams stars as Danny Ciello.  He’s a famed cop working for the New York City Special Investigative Unit.  He’s part of a squad of partners who are also his best friends.  Jerry Orbach is the standout among the gang.  They make a huge difference in the big busts they accomplish.  In fact, some of them were part of the famed French Connection cocaine takedown.  Their celebrated careers lend to their monikers.  Danny is an especially accomplished “prince of the city.”  Proudly, they march into a crowded courtroom with a packed audience to announce another huge indictment with the criminals handcuffed together in a line.  However, these officers are also immoral in their daily practice. 

A bust of illegal immigrant drug dealers is made early in the film where over ninety-two thousand dollars is uncovered, and the team agree to share half among themselves.  A little later, Danny gets a desperate call in the middle of the night from one of his informants and to appease him he rips some heroin off another street user to give to the other one.  It’s a necessary evil to ensure progress as an accomplished detective.  The snatching of the monies? Well, as his brother frustratingly points out, that’s so he and his partners can live comfortably in furnished homes with nice clothes and jewelry. Yet perhaps all of this is no longer sitting right with Danny.

None of this is unusual for Danny but considering that an internal investigator (Norman Parker) has approached him about going undercover to reveal corruption that’s rampant throughout the police force, his conscience is weighing on him.  Danny agrees to go to work on this assignment.  However, he lays out one important condition. He’ll never give up his partners, including wearing a wire in their presence.  He lives with his wife, but he loves his partners.

Prince Of The City is a long film, but its running time is necessary because there are so many facets to Williams’ character.  Also, the residual effects of Danny’s work branch off in so many directions.  More than once, Danny is warned not to perjure himself.  Legal authorities find it hard to believe that Danny only broke his ethical code just three times in eleven years.  However, Danny insists that’s all there is.  He’s warned over and over it better be.  Otherwise, those that are working with him will later work against him.

Lumet is very good at showing realistic settings.  An abandoned post office is designated as a secret locale to store evidence and wiretap records that Danny collects.  In the beginning, the joint is empty, but over a progression of five years’ time, the shelves fill up quickly and a large staff is assembled, equipped with computers, typewriters and stuffed file cabinets.

Danny catches cops on the take.  He gets a crooked lawyer on tape.  He’s also taking big risks that amplify his stress.  Lumet showed the increasing agony of a cop against a police department in Serpico with Al Pacino.  I thought the actor was a little overdone in that film.  Here, Treat Williams could not be more authentic, and the transition from cocky detective to paranoid informant, working against his colleagues, comes through much more subtly as the film carries on.  Danny gets caught in a diner sting wearing his wire.  His quick instincts save him, but only after his shirt is torn open showing the wire, and a gun comes out of nowhere.  The sloppy struggle that ensues with a broken glass door and overturned tables loaded with food and dishes is frighteningly realistic.  Lumet shoots the moment with a documentary kind of feel.  Deliberately, there’s no special effect to the camera work here.  It’s all in Williams’ performance and the actors he shares the scene with.

Treat Williams performance is so wired that I am very surprised it did not lead to more recognizable and stand out roles later in his career.  Williams was unknown at the time of this film’s release in 1981, but his lead in this picture is as welcome as Ray Liotta in Goodfellas.

Danny Ciello is a fictional character based on the real-life narcotics detective known as Robert Leuci.  Leuci had a checkered background dating back to when he became an undercover cop informant.  Neither Danny or Robert wears the white hats of pure honor and loyalty.  That is what makes these men so challenging.  Because they are somewhat impure, there is a tipping scale to how they should be regarded. 

A marvelous part occurs in the last act of the film.  Danny’s transgressions as well as what he’s accomplished have all been laid out.  The costs of his partners’ careers have been considered.  The risks and dangers that Danny and his family with two young children have encountered are given their due attention.  Now, as the film is concluding, Lumet along with his co-writer Jay Presson Allen, assemble close to twenty prosecutors and district attorneys in a dark, slightly sunlit office to debate whether Danny Ciello should be charged for violations of perjury.  One prosecutor threatens to resign if Danny is prosecuted.  Another one cannot see how a police officer can be granted pardons for violating the very laws he’s been sworn to uphold. No one is right or wrong in this argument. The collection of actors in this scene is amazing. 

The Oscar nominated script from Lumet and Allen do not provide a straight answer as to whether Danny is a hero or a criminal.  Prince Of The City is never spoon fed to its audience.  Different perspectives and receptions have likely been generated from the picture.  I’d love to hear other people’s viewpoints.

Once again, I commend the running time of Lumet’s film.  Danny Ciello is a complicated man who sacrifices so much that the cost of everything needs to be acknowledged.  The rampant corruption that is uncovered among his colleagues is so extensive that the turnaround response must be depicted.  Some men committed suicide for their crimes.  Some swear they’ll never give themselves up or even Danny.  Danny is expected to do the same in return.  Danny lost friendships and trust over the assignments he accepted. His children and his wife (an excellent Lindsay Crouse) were undeservedly forced to live in fear for their lives, and upend their household, ironically feeling obligated to accommodate those assigned to protect them.  At one time, Danny is relying on men who are heading the investigation, promising to abide by his conditions and guarantee his safety.  Later, these men accept promotions that pull them away to other departments, leaving Danny to deal with people he cannot count on going forward, and who may work against him or refuse to honor original promises.

It’s quite unfair for Danny as he continues to make headway.  An uncaring portrayal by Bob Balaban (really good in everything he does) as a federal prosecutor forces Danny into uncompromising positions where he’s squeezed into offering up everything with little to no options.  Because Danny is no longer the conceited prince that he once considered himself to be, these authorities keep him beholden to his commitments, no matter the cost of his career, his partnerships or how it affects the lifestyle of himself and his family.

Prince Of The City is a very heavy film with much to address.  If this were to be remade, without the guidance of Lumet’s expertise, it could only work as a miniseries.  Though I doubt it would ever compare to Treat Williams’ performance or Sidney Lumet’s specialty in covering the complexities that organically stem from police corruption.  This is a fascinating film that I’m looking forward to watching again.  Because the weight of the material is so thick, I’m certain I’ll discover something new in a repeat viewing.  This is one of Sidney Lumet’s best films.