Category: Marc’s Reviews

IF I HAD LEGS, I’D KICK YOU

By Marc S. Sanders

“Stretched too thin” is a phrase I’ve always equated to having too much on your plate.  (Sorry for using one cliche to explain another.) At the opening of Writer/Director Mary Bronstein’s film, If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You, the voice of Linda’s young daughter describes mom as being stretchy when she is upset.  Bronstein’s lens is in close up of Rose Byrne’s weary complexion as she hardly convinces anyone that she is happy, while never getting upset.  Over the next two hours, viewers will know the truth and perhaps empathize or grow just as exhausted with Linda.

With her husband (the voice of Christian Slater) away on Navy leave, Linda is left to her own devices to care for her clingy daughter (Delaney Quinn) with a hyperactive personality and an ailment of being underweight for her age.  A feeding tube must remain inserted in the girl’s belly until she reaches at least a weight of over fifty pounds.  That requires Linda to take her daughter to a special facility for education and careful monitoring.  Joint sessions with a health care professional are also required, but Linda does not have enough hours in a day to attend. At night she has to fill the IV feeding bag periodically.  Because of her unfairly described “neglect” the girl will not be able attend the facility much longer while Linda balances her overindulgent career as mental health counselor.  

On top of all of this responsibility, a leak above her apartment has turned into a deluge and a gaping hole of mildew and mold is infesting their home.  Mom and daughter have no choice but to relocate to a crummy beach side motel.  It seems they’ll be staying there indefinitely as the repairs are not getting mended with any kind of urgency.

Linda has a troubled patient too; a new mom named Caroline (Danielle Macdonald) with a paranoia of what could happen to her infant child under any kind of circumstance.  How can Linda lend professional guidance if she’s losing control of her own well being?  

Linda’s only outlet is a psychologist that she leases an office from.  The most unexpected of all people plays this uncaring and uptight douchebag.  It’s Conan O’Brien and he is so far removed from his comedic and sophomoric personality that it took me a second to recognize him.  He’s not psychotic or sociopathic, but he is disturbing.  Yet this is the guy that poor Linda has to vent her frustrations towards.  

There’s also a parking attendant who’s a consistent, nonnegotiable dick.  

Linda just can’t get a break.  She has no support system.  She can’t find help anywhere and as the days pass so does her lack of emotion and care appear to amplify.  

It did not surprise me to learn that If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You is produced by one of studio A24’s Safdie brothers (Uncut Gems, Marty Supreme).  What is it with these guys?  They love the stressful extremes that can uphold a motion picture.  The achievements found in Mary Bronstein’s film are well done in a unique way.  Nevertheless, this is no fun time at the movies.  

Bronstein’s strategy is to pound the unbearable weight of her entire script on Rose Byrne’s character.  Following a prologue, the music blares, and the title appears in giant red block letters on your screen. A few minutes later, in the dumpy hotel room, Linda has a B-horror movie on. Linda’s situation is so much worse than a horror movie.

You never see Christian Slater or Delaney Quinn on screen.  You hear Linda’s husband through her cell phone with his unfair treatment and responses to what she shares with him, and you only hear the whiney voice of a preteen’s exaggerated fears of food and brief separation from mom.  Everyone that inhabits the world of this film have their own respective aggravations, but it’s Linda’s that matters.  As additional triggers unfold, it is Linda we focus on as she drinks and gorges herself on junk food and appears more and more disheveled with her hair, clothes, complexion and body posture.

I’ll never be a mom, but I’ve been a parent for nearly two decades and I could recognize the warning signs that Linda is encountering.  Let’s talk about how hard it is to be a parent and a full time working one with a child that needs maintenance all twenty-four hours of a day.  Too often all forms of media present an idyllic way of family life, even in those heartbreaking dramas like Ordinary People or Kramer Vs Kramer.  Try doing it by yourself when no one is listening to you, while at the same time insisting you are doing it all wrong.

Once the film began, I suspected that we would not see Linda’s daughter or husband.  We’d only hear them.  Simply put, her family cannot see the agony that we see for poor Linda.  It reminded me of Charles Schultz’ Peanuts cartoons.  You’d hear the adults, like the teacher or mom and dad, in a drowned out and incomprehensible voice but you’d never see them or understand what they’re saying.  You only saw the children and what was regularly ailing them, like Lucy calling Charlie Brown a blockhead when he couldn’t kick the football, or Linus’ dependence on his security blanket.  Feels like the reverse happens in If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You.  If anyone in Linda’s current state could recognize what she’s enduring, then maybe they’d help.  At best there is only a drug user (A$AP Rocky) who offers to lend some kind of hand, but Linda recognizes a threat from his presence and only relies on him for the worst thing for her under these circumstances.

Even with Mary Bronstein’s choice to have Linda hallucinate into the depths of that giant hole in her apartment ceiling, her film is entirely relatable and absolutely unpleasant.  However, it is also fiction.  Because of that, I wish the script did not turn to the main character having the insatiable need to drink and do drugs.  I’m at a point where I ask if that is all there is for people under duress.  They can’t have gone far enough unless they’re alcoholic or addicts?  I’m not a drinker, but I’ve encountered terrible depths in my life. I insist as a dad, I experienced a kind of postpartum depression following the birth of my child. It was awful. Yet I did not turn towards alcohol and drugs. Junk food and temper tantrums are what weakened me. In movies, drugs and alcohol are too often the go to device for the poison of choice. Can’t we see something else for a change when our protagonists experience dire straits?

Before chemical substances are ever introduced in this film, I felt Linda’s aggravated plight and the weight on top of her.  Midway through, the trope of downing a bottle of cheap wine and going back for more crutches the film too often.  I’ve seen this kind of story enough already.  Not everyone who is suffering the challenges of life are chemically dependent.  If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You didn’t need to go here like every other movie in that crowded fraternity of drug use and alcoholism.  

A beyond stretched Rose Byrne with a strong promise of winning a much deserving Oscar is more than enough.

BLUE MOON

By Marc S. Sanders

Ever hear of a guy named Lorenz Hart?  He was a lyricist.  I’ll bet a few of you know some of the songs he was responsible for like My Funny Valentine and Blue Moon.  Yup!  That guy, Larry Hart, wrote hundreds of songs that might have established an ongoing pop culture lexicon.  His partner was Richard Rogers.  Surely you know him.  Of Rogers & Hammerstein fame.   After a twenty-year partnership, Rogers distanced himself from Larry Hart’s substance abuse and procrastination, and went on to collaborate with Oscar Hammerstein II.  On March 31, 1943, their first effort together premiered on Broadway, receiving endless critical praise.  That production was Oklahoma! (Yes. To poor Larry’s chagrin the exclamation point was included in the title.)

On this celebratory evening, the producers, cast, crew and theatrical big wigs are planning to catch up at Sardi’s after the curtain call.  Larry, played with shrimpy, raspy, hyperactive, bitterness by a sensational Ethan Hawke, left the performance early to saddle up at the bar and regale the tolerant bartender, Eddie (Bobby Cannavale), with his bygone accomplishments and resentment towards his friend Richard (Andrew Scott) and now the replacement, Oscar (Simon Delaney).  He insists Eddie bring him a shot of whiskey-only to gaze upon, not consume.  We’ll see how far that goes. Wouldn’t you know it, but trying to keep to himself, in the corner, is E.B. White (Patrick Kennedy), the writer who’s working on a children’s book about a mouse.  

Writer/Director Richard Linklater once again partners up with his go to leading man, Ethan Hawke.  Together, they’ve done several films, some of which occur primarily over the course of one night (Before Sunrise, Dazed And Confused, and now Blue Moon).  This loose boxed-in, and theorized biography relies so much on the individual performance of Hawke.  

Nearly the whole script of dialogue belongs to the actor. As expected from most resentful and bitter artistes, Larry does not shut up.  Eddie and the piano player and later E.B. White may be his designated listeners, but schlubby Larry, with his balding combover and squat height is only talking to himself.  I read that Linklater had to modify his cameras and set design to more accurately capture the real subject of this film.  Ethan Hawke has a much taller height than Larry Hart. I think the actor and director pull off the illusion quite well.  Compared to everyone else in black tie evening wear, Larry looks like a reject from Middle Earth Hobbit-town in an old blue suit.

Like any good writer of such adored classic numbers, little Larry has a muse. She’s a twenty-year-old blond bombshell named Elizabeth, played with alluring exquisiteness by Margaret Qualley.  I must compliment the actress’ hairstylist for getting the blond coiffed hair to perfectly cover Qualley’s left eye, while the green right one draws us in, complimented by an hourglass hugging, glittery white evening gown.  

Larry is plagued.  Elizabeth is grateful for all of his attention and his guidance with getting her into the limelight. However, is he in love with her, or is his suspected penchant for men a reason why he lives through this young adult’s recent sexual conquests?  There’s a magnificent scene when Larry and Elizabeth hide in the restaurant’s cloak room, crouching down on the floor.  In a series of great talkie scenes for Ethan Hawke, his best moment might be when he’s squatting down on his haunches like a child, with little to say, and absorbing the whispered narrative delivered by Qualley.  It almost doesn’t matter what she’s describing.  It’s more about how she tells the story and how her acting partner responds with his hands clenched together under his chin.

Larry Hart was a real artist with a magnificent talent that in no way reflects his image, personality or physique.  His song lyrics are ALIVE and timeless, adoring too.  On the other hand, he’s stand offish and exhausting to be around, even if everyone at Sardi’s finds a moment to express what an inspiration he’s personally been.  A guy named George Hill looks up to Larry and is advised to make films about friendship (you know, like The Sting or Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid).  Then again, there’s also a snot nosed, know-it-all kid named Stephen who thinks Larry’s lyrics are pedantic at best.  This brat named Sondheim will probably go nowhere.

I knew nothing about Lorenz Hart.  Never heard of the guy.  Wouldn’t recognize his picture if I saw it on Sardi’s wall.  Don’t remember seeing it the last time I was there.  He’s a Saliere to Richard Rogers’ Mozart.  This poor guy had demons that ended his life at a young age.  

The best that can be said is that he provided so much cheer to the world during is forty three years on this planet.  It’s sad, but interesting to capture Richard Linklater’s one evening in this sap’s life that can sum up who he was and how he was regarded only to be quickly dismissed.

Larry Hart put everything in the spotlight but never had the opportunity to stand there himself.

FORGOTTEN FORTUNE

By Marc S. Sanders

Forgotten Fortune is a welcome film that brings attention to the unwelcome ailments of dementia/Alzheimer’s disease. Yet, what writer/director Esteban “Stevie” Fernandez Jr demonstrates is that a diagnosis does not end the value of life.

Brian Franks (Brian Shoop)  is a retired mailman.  One morning during one of his dementia induced walks, dressed in full uniform, he comes upon the aftermath of what looks to be a murder, committed by two men.  It’s hard for the local police and his adult children to believe his story though, considering his age and condition.

Only when clues are uncovered following the unexpected death of his best friend, Leo (Lou Ferrigno), does the reality of seeing these two men Brian insists on witnessing appear to convince everyone else.  Now it is up to Brian and his pal, Larry (Jimmie JJ Walker), to solve the mystery and catch the culprits.

Forgotten Fortune is produced with simplicity, not a lot of aggressive beats in suspense or action.  The attempts at humor want to go no further than PG rated material, with the most risqué beat stemming from someone peeing loudly while wired by the cops. 

Fernandez is interested in sending a message about how to live a new normal with the elderly in the family and he spices up his message with some adventure.  I appreciate the sensitivity devoted to dementia and Brian Shoop plays it well.  He’s likable as the straight man to this trio partnered with Walker and Ferrigno.  I do wish the undertaking relied more on the recognizable strengths of these fellows. 

Ferrigno, who I had the pleasure of meeting in person, is still the muscle man and he’s got comedic chops (The King Of Queens).  Jimmie Walker with his “dyn-o-mite” personality still transcends generations long after Good Times ended.  He might be pigeonholed to that role, but he owns it all by himself and no one can take that away.  These three guys are such an odd match up that there is real promise in blending their career defining histories together.  I wish Fernandez would have depended more on why these guys are truly beloved within the world of pop culture and their devoted fans. 

Forgotten Fortune stands out among a crowded assembly of films because of its focus on a very real and likely fate for many people.  Aging is the one thing that none of us can escape, and a large percentage of the world population experience the side effects of that situation.  Yet Alzheimer’s and dementia should not make any of us or our loved ones feel any less than what we once were.  Intelligence and instinct can remain and therefore trust and faith should be upheld.  That’s the forgotten fortune of this film.

SORCERER

By Marc S. Sanders

William Friedkin’s Sorcerer is that diamond in the rough kind of movie.  In 1977, it was overshadowed by something called Star Wars.  It had a no name cast with Roy Scheider as the headliner, but look, he was no Bruce The Shark.  The movie lacked any confidence from two of the biggest studios in Hollywood.  Universal likely thought they’d schlep the hassle of marketing this movie over to Paramount.  Paramount likely had the same idea as Universal.  Mom and dad wanted nothing to do with this red headed stepchild.  Even Friedkin, a craftsman director, did a disservice to this outstanding adventure by labeling the film with the irrelevant and puzzling title of Sorcerer.  This is not a story of witches and wizards.  It’s not even a cousin of The Exorcist.  Yet the director saw fit to bestow this odd moniker as a means to imply the imminent fate of those who face a sorcerer.  Something like that?!?!?!? I dunno.

It took me a while to get into this film because just like Friedkin’s Oscar winning The French Connection and later his scary screener The Exorcist, Sorcerer leaps off into far off trajectories of exposition – four different stories to be precise, all of which occupy the first forty-five minutes of the film.  In four different corners of the world, four kinds of criminals, a terrorist, an Irish mobster, an assassin and a bank embezzler, see their respective careers of violation fall apart.  Their paths collide as they are each hiding from their pasts in a Latin American country. Feels like a precursor to a Tarantino formula.

An American company’s oil geyser has ignited into an uncontrollable blaze.  To contain the inferno will require a supply of nitroglycerin that is found leaking from delicate crates of dynamite.  The safest way to transport the material down a rain forest mountain is by trucks where the boxes can be encased in soft sand.  The slightest tremble could cause the boxes to explode.  So, expert drivers are recruited to apply for maximum risk with a hefty paycheck if they can survive the mission.

I will not deny that a lot of fat could have been trimmed from this retread of the classic movie The Wages Of Fear.  I was getting a little tired of trying to piece all these stories together.  Thankfully the road smooths out as the lanes merge together, and then the trip gets rocky and rough for heightened suspense that does not let up.  

To watch two junky trucks ride over uneven grounds through dense South American jungle foliage while these drivers endure squelching humidity and harsh rain will leave you on edge.  The film chooses wisely when to cut to the back of the trucks to see how well these fragile containers are holding up.  Swamp roads sink the tires while dry ground crumbles apart underneath the vehicles.  

One of the most effective scenarios occurs when the trucks have to cross a rickety old suspension bridge over a bottomless chasm with harsh rain attacking their skills and senses.  One poor bastard has to get in front of each vehicle to serve as a guide.  Though I wouldn’t qualify their responsibilities as the easier and safer position to be in.  

Four years ahead of what Steven Spielberg would do with Indiana Jones, so many scenes from Sorcerer hold so impressively with mounting tension and realistic chance and dangerous risk.  The trucks look heavy, the cargo feels delicate, the men seem drained, nervous and scared, and the outer elements are unforgiving.  The bad guys who occupy this story are antagonized by the vehicles they ride in and what they are transporting, along with the harsh environments they have no choice but to endure.

The smaller ingredients built into this story heighten the tension exponentially with an, at the time, new kind of symphonic soundtrack from would be musician prophets of the eventual 1980s, Tangerine Dream (Risky Business, Thief).  The copy I have is the Criterion Edition on 4K.  On my 9.0 sound system, the audio of music and explosive sound effects is awesome.  Absolutely surrounding and jarring. This feels like a newly made film.

Despite my misgivings mentioned earlier, Sorcerer is a huge crowd pleaser by the time its conclusion arrives and you sum up all its individual parts.  I have no doubt on a repeat viewing I’ll discover a better appreciation for those moments that I could not realize were part of a grander picture.

I highly recommend you seek out Sorcerer.  Uphold your patience initially because the payoff is definitely worth it.

Trivia: As a kid, long before I was ever aware of this movie, there was a favorite cartoon episode of G.I. Joe that adopted a very similar scenario as the “Greatest American Heroes” attempt to transport some delicate crystal MacGuffins across treacherous terrain while the vile armies of Cobra attempt to thwart the mission.  Whatta know!?!? The influence of this film and The Wages Of Fear carried on for generations. 

TRAIN DREAMS

By Marc S. Sanders

Clint Bentley directs a script he co-wrote with Greg Kwedar, based on Denis Johnson’s novella, Train Dreams.  It’s a gorgeous looking picture that covers an early 20th century logger and railroad worker within the dense woods of Washington state.

Joel Edgerton is Robert Grenier, a bearded logger with an unknown background. The soothing voiceover narration from Will Patton tells us that Robert never knew his parents and is unsure of his exact age.  

Unexpectedly, he quickly falls in love with Gladys (Felicity Jones).  They envision an idyllic life together in a log cabin next to a peaceful lakeside.  They have a daughter and could not be happier.  Yet, during logging season, Robert must leave his family behind to cut down trees for industry supply of a quickly evolving western civilization.  He takes other jobs laying down railroad tracks that lend to the conveniences of transportation and shipping (before the reliance of air travel), including the logs he cuts down. His purpose is circular to a thriving country.

His committed work is not always pleasant.  As a means of revenge, a friend is gunned down right in front of him.  The casualness of the act is the most shocking element of this moment.  Still, there is no time to grieve.  

When he’s working on the railroad, he bears witness to the cruel treatment that others deliver to a Chinese immigrant.  He can not stand up to these behaviors.  He has money that needs to be earned.  So the work takes precedence.

A mentor and demolition expert (William H Macy) meets an unfortunate fate, as well.

Tragedy personally befalls Robert upon his return home following a job. Now, the man is left to resort to isolation where little human interaction exists among the wooded areas.

It’s hard to take your eyes off Train Dreams, now playing on Netflix, and one of ten films Oscar nominated for Best Picture.  The screenplay speaks like a Robert Frost poem.  That’s a compliment and a shortcoming for me.  Will Patton says so much when there’s not much to be said.  Rather, Bentley’s film works visually as you watch a concentrated Edgerton focus on his character’s hallucinations and especially the loneliness he endures in the second part of the film.  

Regrettably, this movie is also a little boring.  Sometimes it feels like I’m watching one of those short nature films you look at while in a museum that a documentarian provided.  When I’m a tourist, a ten minute film like this can show the trees getting chopped as they make their slow tumble to ground.  Frankly, when it’s too hot outside is when I go into these theaters to get some air conditioning and a quick snooze.  Train Dreams teeters on that experience.  

There’s no denying how solid the film is considering the subject matter.  Technically it’s very impressive with expansive forest fires and artificial trees masked as tall pines to demonstrate the sawing of hundreds year old barks.  When the camera is pointing up through the green leafed branches into the wide blue expanse of sky, you want to freeze frame and perhaps paint a scenic skyline.  Adolpho Voleso’s cinematography is rich in color.  Definitely worthy of recognition.

I found it interesting how much I took Robert’s perspective for granted.  He uses a floppy aluminum saw that is pulled and pushed to cut through the wood.  As he gets older, a fellow woodsman relies on an battery powered chainsaw, thus making Robert’s skills more obsolete.  

Later, he meets a woman (Kerry Condon) who has been recruited to oversee the treatment of the forests from a high-rise lookout post; she just might the coming of the forest rangers.  Robert only knew of trees from what was way over his head.  Now he can look down upon them.  The ending goes even further and demonstrates how Robert’s self-absorbed isolation held him back from keeping up with a developing age of technology like automobiles and airplanes, far beyond the trains that had been the faster way to travel along the tracks that he built.

Train Dreams is an interesting issue of a National Geographic that I’d never have picked up had the Oscars not given it some recognition.  Now that I’ve seen it, it’ll go back on top of the tall stacks of magazines in my grandmother’s basement.

A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE

By Marc S. Sanders

Blanche Dubois emerges from the steam of a New Orleans bus depot.  She looks worn and lost, but she once felt confidence in the glamour she evoked in and out of her family’s Mississippi estate called Belle Reve.   Now, with the aid of a chivalrous Navy shipman, she’ll board A Streetcar Named Desire to visit her sister Stella and her husband Stanley Kowalski.  The estate is no longer owned by the Dubois family, and Blanche has given up being a teacher.  Blanche will be staying in the French Quarter ground floor apartment for quite some time, though no one knows how long.  Her life is stuffed in a large trunk with some fashionable suitcases in tow, and an infinite variety of colorful storytelling.

Tennessee Williams’ Pulitzer Prize winning play was a smash on Broadway and though it is checkered with, at the time, questionable topics ranging from mental illness to domestic abuse and rape, it was a smash hit on Broadway.  Other than Jessica Tandy, the majority of the play’s cast was hired for Elia Kazan’s film adaptation.  Marlon Brando, not yet a box office star, is the brutish and sexually appealing Stanley Kowalski, arguably one of his top five best performances.  Kim Hunter presumed her role as Stella, the meek wife against Stanley’s hulking build.  Karl Malden played Harold “Mitch” Mitchell.  Hunter and Malden won Oscars for their performances.

Vivien Leigh was the top billed actor, replacing Tandy, in the Oscar winning role of Blanche.  Leigh is working very hard throughout the course of the picture with long winded rants about what became of her teaching career and Belle Reve, along with her tales of conquests with all sorts of men.  At times she reaches into her trunk for the guise of a southern genteel lady with enormous amounts of experience behind her.  

Stella is concerned with her older sister’s behavior, but tolerant if it brings her comfort.  It’s clear that Blanche is not well.  

As he tries to uphold his drunken control over Stella while hosting Mitch and the guys for nightly poker games, Stanley is only agitated by Blanche’s intrusion.  He sees through all of his sister in law’s stories and is certain, as a husband to Stella, he has earned the right and proper possession of whatever monies and assets were collected from the ownership transfer of Belle Reve.

As the rundown two-bedroom Kowalski apartment is intentionally small and cramped, Kazan’s film often operates like a stage play.  There are some editing tricks like weaving echoed voices and triggering sounds to stimulate Blanche’s paranoia, along with a sleepy soundtrack to deliver a quiet, sticky, muggy jazz ambience, normally associated with the Square.  Even in the black and white photography of the film, you don’t have to try looking for the perspiration on Stanley and Mitch’s shirts and brows.  The heat also works towards Blanche’s moments of delusion.  

Early on, I had problems with Vivien Leigh’s portrayal.  She’s talking a mile a minute and had I not read Williams’ original play ahead of time I’d be listening to her with no idea of what she’s talking about.  I realize that’s the point, however.  When Blanche arrives, Stella is as confused because her sister is going off in so many fast-talking directions all at once.  Kim Hunter’s Stella is trying to keep up but fails to stay with Blanche.

Even though, his portrayal has been satirized too often (“STELLA!!!!”), Marlon Brando gives one his best performances.  He’s a giant on screen with a stylish, messy, short mousse-soaked hairstyle and t-shirts that adhere to his large torso.  This performance is unforgettable. Kazan’s set up of the apartment has old junk strewn about the place, but Brando can easily find a prop to vent his frustration or deliver frightening in-your-face anger and tantrums. As patterned mentality so often demonstrates, Brando is very skillful at turning his animalistic behavior into false regret and whiny need for his wife Stella to embrace his hulking mass and stay with him. As long as Stella comes back and holds him, he can carry on with his abuse and dominance. I never joke about Brando’s famous scene. It’s raw and natural. For Stella’s sake, it’s also terribly offensive and inappropriate. Yet, that’s Stanley. Marlon Brando knew that too well.

Elia Kazan had artistic challenges with this film.  Religious boards were insisting Warner Bros remove the film from distribution.  The studio’s compromise was to edit the film to appeal to organizations and general audiences. To his dismay, Kazan was unable to deliver the Final Cut as he envisioned.  At last, however, the film company recanted that order and in the late 1980s. Kazan’s original picture was released as intended.  

So interesting to watch Tennessee Williams’ story unfold for everyone to see.  As Stanley is a former Marine, I believe Williams was striving to show the never discussed diagnoses of PTSD.  Compared to today’s standards, the violence primarily committed by Brando’s character is nothing alarming and yet it builds tension every time he’s on screen.  To a movie going public, this is unfamiliar territory.  

Kazan deliberately made the set of the apartment smaller as filming persisted. This tactic evoked a cramped and claustrophobic lifestyle for Blanche and Stanley under one roof.  Making it smaller and smaller as the making of the movie went on, showed the troubled characters feel more pressured and inhibited, trapped among each other’s poisons. The characters cannot help but live practically on top of each other.  The tension amplifies with each passing scene until it all comes to a shocking boil.

Stanley Kowalski and Blanche Dubois are a dangerous cocktail of different abnormalities clashing together with a helpless Stella caught in the middle and a shy, introverted Mitch looking in the wrong direction for a healthy dose of companionship.  These characters are very complicated with sudden shifts in mood and behavior.  Often, Kazan will have the characters emerge from dark voids into straight up-close frames.  One moment characters feel like they’ll pet you.  Other times, they look like they’re about to strike. Kazan strategically knows how to use the dark shadows of black and white photography to emote an assortment of personality.  It’s amazing, and something much more overt here than on stage or within the script.  Even when Blanche takes advantage of a young man who arrives on the Kowalski doorstep, we see the animal instincts of the woman about to pounce on innocent, unsuspecting prey.  Since it is often challenging to comprehend Blanche’s actions and rambling dialogue it’s all the more shocking to witness how she takes advantage of the young man when no one else is around.

The palpable discomfort of A Streetcar Named Desire upholds Tennessee Williams’ famous play.  Exploring the film in present day, his work defies changes in culture and mutual treatment because people are much more open and less remorseful about their sins.  Statutory rapes committed by teachers are reported nearly every month.  Alcoholism has never changed since the addiction first occurred long before this was a movie.  Here, the disease serves as a fuel to engines of tempers and weaknesses. 

Elia Kazan and Tennessee Williams knew what buttons to push, resulting in an ending that still feels too hard to accept.  During the epilogue of the story, two strangers appear at the Kowalski home.  Who could they be and what are their intentions?  

For 1952, all of the gratuitous natures of the characters seem extreme and disturbing.  Tame compared to any kind of material coming out in 2026, following Presidential administrations where sex is weaponized and psychological research has been researched with viable proof for specific ailments.  Kazan’s film with Williams’ script seems pioneering.  How many other storytellers were going this far with their projects?

A Streetcar Named Desire will always be a classic passed down to future generations.  It’s fair to say that other than the black and white cinematography, very little of the film feels outdated.  Sadly, much of what is shown is authentic to details of domestic violence with smashed dishes, broken radios and torn t-shirts.

Tennessee Williams never explores why these people are this way.  Instead, he demonstrated that people are this way, and outside stimulants will only exacerbate personal challenges.  

A vehicle, such as a city streetcar trolley, of any form or embodiment will deliver a fly in an ointment.  People have all kinds of ways to respond thereafter, and some will never be able to find that vehicle to drive them back towards a peaceful salvation.  That is the sadness of A Streetcar Named Desire.

SONG SUNG BLUE

By Marc S. Sanders

Films that are based on true stories will always take theatrical liberties with the storytelling.  Look at Oliver Stone’s JFK.  Sometimes, if it is so skewed you absolutely should not approve of it.  Consider Bowling For Columbine which starts out with an offensive, bold-faced lie to draw you in.  

On other occasions, the alterations made justifiably serve the picture to obtain an emotional reach from the audience.  Craig Brewer wrote and directed Song Sung Blue, which he calls an incredible true story.  The set ups seem too perfect to convince me some of these events actually happened.  However, the major highlights ring absolutely authentic and with an entertaining pair like Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson leading the picture, this is a magnificent experience.  The audience I saw it with on Christmas Day was so wrapped in what was put on screen, with organic comedy, tragic setbacks and toe tapping harmonized energy from the two actors doing outstanding “impressionism” of Grammy winning singer Neil Diamond.  

Mike and Claire Sardina (Jackman and Hudson) meet while working as tribute performers at a local fair.  She’s doing Patsy Cline.  He’s refusing to be Don Ho.  They quickly fall in love, like literally on the next night after they meet, and brainstorm with his guitar and her piano how they can become a musical act on their own.  Mike wants to emulate someone that lives up to his energy and persona. He declares to an AA group that he’s a “superhero of music.”  He’s Lightning.  She’s Thunder.  Claire thinks Neil Diamond is the perfect facade.  Mike agrees so long as the unfavorable “Suleman” opens their shows, and they resort to other numbers besides “Sweet Caroline.”

Soon they are married while his daughter Angelina (King Princess) befriends her daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson).  Her son Dana (Hudson Henley) takes to video recording their performances.  One happy, blended family.  

Like most musician biographies, Lightning and Thunder get off to a rocky start performing in seedy venues with audiences who would rather they play Lynyrd Skynyrd.  Naturally, a following and a stride eventually build, and the act is somehow opening for a popular grunge band from the 1990s.  I won’t spoil who it is because Mike and Claire never heard of this headliner. This delivers a great gag.

Song Sung Blue is a warm comfortable journey through its first act.  It’s hard not to love anyone occupying this picture, including supporting turns from Michael Imperioli, Fisher Stevens and an unrecognizable Jim Belushi.  Once you’re settled into the story the dramatic weight of the piece enters, and it becomes heartbreaking for Lightning and Thunder.  Only after this unexpected change is introduced does the need for triumph work as the story’s conflict, and there is a lot to contend with for the couple, and particularly Rachel.

These characters are so likable that you’re apt to feel proud of them and Brewer does good work at showing the struggle.  Kate Hudson, with a Midwest accent, is especially effective.  She goes from offering a welcome personality to being cold, bitter and angry.  I wouldn’t object if she got an Oscar nomination.

Hugh Jackman is a magnificent entertainer.  Unlike his Wolverine films, his real age with wrinkles and grey hair deliver a twenty-year sober alcoholic living with a chronic health issue. However, Mike has an unstoppable drive of positivity through music with a microphone, a strumming guitar, and his flowing hair to compliment his colorful and sparkled stage outfits.  Brewer allows room for Lightning’s weaknesses, both physically and mentally.  

There’s a nice balance of both characters at the top of their game as well as far beneath the bottom rung of the ladder.

Song Sung Blue is very absorbing in the moment.  Only after I walked out did I question some of the set ups and wonder if certain events truly happened as assembled into the final edit.  I’m skeptical if the conclusion for one character truly played out like it did.  It’s just too neatly wrapped up like a Hallmark film or a soap opera episode.  That being said, the manipulations worked on me and the audience.  So, why should it bother us?

A twisted irony also happens though, which I had no choice but to believe.  It’s just simply too outrageous that Craig Brewer would work it into this story if it wasn’t true.  My wife exclaimed “No way!  You’ve got to be kidding me!”  Without knowing anything about the real Mike and Claire or seeing the documentary film this picture is based on, my gut insists this has got to be true and a reason why Song Sung Blue merits a movie presentation featuring two Oscar nominated actors.

When you see Song Sung Blue I urge not to frown on the film if you notice some of the truths are stretched a little.  Instead, absorb the outstanding performances of Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson doing electrifying interpretations of Neil Diamond’s collection of hit songs including “Better In Blue Jeans” and of course “Sweet Caroline.”

Song Sung Blue is marvelous entertainment.

YOUNG GUNS

By Marc S. Sanders

In the late 1980s a novel idea hit the screens.  An MTV interpretation of the Old West with a rock anthem soundtrack of electric guitars and drums. A far separation from Ennio Morricone’s unbeatable spaghetti western approach.  

The film was Young Guns, featuring handsome stars like Emilio Estevez, Kiefer Sutherland, and Lou Diamond Phillips.  They were each different kind of gunslingers in their own right while delivering stand out personalities.  The film has some problems in editing, and some sequences do not work.  Yet, it remains stylish with impressive set designs, props, costume wear, and an especially appealing array of performances from the whole cast.  

Billy The Kid aka William H Bonney is one of the most notorious outlaws in American history.  Emilio Estevez brilliantly turns the gunslinger into a quick draw joker with an addictive cackle and an adorable smile.  William is taken in by the mentoring John Tunstall (Terence Stamp) who already oversees a collection of orphaned young men.  He’s teaching them to bear responsibility on his farm while they learn proper manners at the dinner table and how to read.

A neighboring industrial enemy, L.G. Murphy (Jack Palance) commissions his men to gun down Tunstall.  Billy and the rest of the gang are then deputized by the local Sheriff to issue warrants for the arrest of the killers.  However, Billy repeatedly exercises his own form of justice by killing one guy after another with his pair of six shooters.  Soon after, the boys are on the run by horseback while creating a whole bunch of mayhem.

I never considered Young Guns to be a perfect film, but I like it a whole heck of a lot.

There are moments that serve no purpose, like when the men get high on peyote, introduced by the Navajo, Chavez Y Chavez (Lou Diamond Phillips).  It’s not amusing.  It’s not quotable and the scene runs too long as we watch the cast walk and talk while in daze.  Frankly, most movie scenes of just watching people get high are boring.  Often, they go nowhere and I’m not sure how to respond. It’s like I’m the designated driver fiddling with my car keys at a drunken binge fest. This is no different.

As well, there seem to be gaps within the body of the story. I know it is inspired by the Lincoln County War, but it’s never entirely clear why Tunstall and Murphy are at odds with each other.  We just have to accept that the two elderly men of equal proportions are against one another.  Still, Palance versus Stamp is a very inviting conflict to look at. (Supposedly, the real John Tunstall was only in his mid-20s.)

Young Guns has a very cool polish.  These cowboys are downright attractive, sexy like Hollywood movies tend to offer, and I love how they handle each other, their horses and their pistols.  Every time a six shooter whips out of a holster and clicks, the movie becomes more alive.  The guys look well-worn within this environment, close to the Mexican border of the 1870s.  The image is just as effective as Clint Eastwood appears in his various assortment of westerns.  

Billy The Kid, over this film and its sequel, is Emilio Estevez’ best role of his career.  The actor has such a cocky, nervy way about him and his over-the-top laugh is impossible to forget.  A favorite scene in all of movies emerges when Billy toys with a bounty hunter in a saloon.  Estevez delivers much fun before gunning the guy down. I never tire of watching that moment.

Kiefer Sutherland is second in line with a graceful sensitivity as the educated and poetically romantic Doc Scurlock.  You worry about him and his courting affair with a young Chinese concubine that is owned by Murphy.  Lou Diamond Phillips specializes in knife throwing as Chavez, the token Navajo.  His presence belongs here as an unpredictable sidekick.  

The best surprise is delivered by Casey Siemaszko as the virginal, boyish illiterate Charlie.  Some gunslingers were afraid to ever become outlaws.  Charlie is ugly and dirty, bumbling and sweet, reminiscent of Fredo in The Godfather films.  Siemaszko never became as established as the others in the cast, but he’s a good performer who delivers panicked fear and brings the glamour of Young Guns down to a semblance of reality.  

Young Guns is a style over substance product.  It has potential for a stronger storyline, but the dialogue works and the cast is stellar, which also includes Dermot Mulroney, Terry O’Quinn and Charlie Sheen.  The sequel is actually better as it commits closer to the intrigue of Billy The Kid.  

Not perfect, but this is a fun escapist western experience.

RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II

By Marc S. Sanders

David Morrell’s literary character Rambo (no first name in the book, First Blood) cinematically survived his first post Vietnam adventure to spill buckets of bloodshed for many more follow ups.  Sylvester Stallone hit box office gold when he signed up for Rambo: First Blood Part II.  The Vietnam War was long over leaving an endless supply of storyline threads for Hollywood.  Who better to go back there with a ripped upper torso, a bow and arrow, a bayonet knife that won’t carve your steak but will hack up the cow, and a lot of firepower?

Green Beret John Rambo is specially recruited by his former C.O., Colonel Trautman (Richard Crenna) for a solo mission into a Viet Cong camp where American POWs might be held captive.  He’s got thirty-six hours to get in and out.  There’s a catch though.  A mercenary led operative named Murdock (Charles Napier), who hides behind a desk, a white collar and necktie specifically instructs Rambo to only survey the area and take photographs.  Under no circumstances is he to engage the enemy or escort any prisoners back to his rendezvous point.  Thing is that Rambo is not much of a photographer.  

James Cameron is credited as one of the screenwriters and apparently Stallone modified the script from there.  This bloody sequel is entertaining but I always found it a little mundane despite all the action.  

Just as the movie is about to grow a brain and intelligently debate with itself about how so many American soldiers were disregarded following the war, it stops talking and only resorts to one action set up after another.  Crenna and Napier potentially engage in a worthy debate focusing on government mistrust and moral servitude before the moment is cut short.  Trautman is the easily assumed ally of Rambo.  Murdock is the antagonist, but truly I have to ask why.  What is the motivation not to side with Rambo’s efforts to literally rescue half a dozen abandoned soldiers?  First Blood Part II cuts the argument short and never returns to settle the discord. 

There is perhaps only 5 or 6 lines in the last forty-five minutes of the picture.  There’s a melodramatic closing monologue from Stallone’s morose character.  Otherwise, this movie would prefer not to think.  Sadly, there is a lot to consider here, but the explosives and machine-gunning filibuster, insisting on holding the floor.

The action is categorized in a series of episodes.  A five minute section offers a variety of ways Rambo covertly takes out Russian military soldiers who are maintaining a stronghold with the Viet Cong.  It’s clever how one guy is taken by surprise when a mud caked Rambo guts him with his knife.  For another stooge, he’s literally sucked away into the mouth of a cavern.  You don’t even see Rambo.  How does the hero get around with enough time to set up these sophisticated traps?  This is all cool to look at but I would have liked to have learned more about how the Russian General (Steven Berkoff) formed an alliance with the Vietnamese.

Later, Rambo uses his endless supply of arrows to blow away acres and acres of marsh and tall grass.  I buy one man army tropes in movies.  Yet, I still question how a guy on two feet can set ablaze the equivalent of five football fields worth of territory.  How does he always manage to get in range? 

A war copter hovers over a river.  The henchman riddles the surface with bullets, and Rambo LEAPS from the depths INTO the chopper.  I mean he flies up like Superman.  Another moment has him submerged and then he pops out of the water with perfect aim to mow down a mob of men.  How did he know where to shoot?

I guess all of this is entertaining.  I just don’t relish it like I’m expected to because I’m asking too many “how does he…” questions.  My suspension of disbelief doesn’t have a high level of tolerance for what Rambo is apparently capable of.  David Morrell’s character was somehow blessed with superpowers, practically!  

With Rambo serving our country, how in the hell did we ever lose the Vietnam War? Seems damn near impossible.

First Blood embraced a common problem with veterans who were disregarded by the institutions they swore to defend and serve.  It’s a terrible blemish on our country’s patriotism.  An awareness was offered in that film amid all of the believably capable action scenes.  Part II clearly shows a lack of concern.  POWs get rescued but they are not even given an opportunity to reflect and speak.  Their bearded and malnourished figures speak for them in close ups.  I didn’t think enough was delivered for any semblance of a message that was asking to be heard.  Instead, we get a Stallone showing off a bronze, ripped chest, red bandana and a slew sophisticated weaponry. Rambo looks sexy here, and that does not sit right with me.

I can rewatch Rambo: First Blood Part II.  I just can’t feel for any of it.  I think I was entitled though.  Moreover, those that served in this awful conflict are deserving of a product that would better honor their sacrifices.

BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD

By Marc S. Sanders

When it comes to crime – New York crime – few directors come as close as Sidney Lumet to make an audience feel the authenticity of its trappings.  Maybe only Martin Scorsese can stand next to Lumet.  Either with crime on the streets (Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico) or within the courtrooms (Find Me Guilty, 12 Angry Men), or both (Night Falls On Manhattan), Sidney Lumet hones directly upon how the plans should operate and when everything should unfold or derail.  

With the last picture before his death, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead zeroes in on crime within an educated Irish family nucleus.  Andrew (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) has it laid out perfectly for his younger brother Hank (Ethan Hawke) to commit the perfect robbery. No one will get hurt and the insurance company will cover any loss.  The approximate take is around six hundred thousand. These guys carry their own desperate reasons for even considering such an idea, but Andy knows nothing can go wrong.  Hank has some trepidation though, because the target is mom and dad’s jewelry store.

Kelly Masterson’s script shows how quickly everything comes undone with bloodshed and unaccounted for details that could lead straight back to the two brothers.  It’s all told through three different perspectives – Andy, Hank and their father Charles played by Albert Finney.  Often, Lumet will return to the very same scene you saw moments earlier to show two sides of a phone call or in what direction one character goes versus that of another following a particular action that has occurred.  The timeline even jumps back in time a few days to show the direct perspective of any of these three particular characters ahead of showpiece scene – the robbery. Charles was retaking his driver’s license test. Elsewhere, Hank was struggling to pay spousal and child support with an angry ex-wife (Amy Ryan). Andrew was scheming and committing other clandestine acts both at work and in his free time.

However, Masterson’s script weaves all of these side details into how much more complicated this botched robbery becomes in the aftermath. All of what they commit following the robbery compounds into potentially making it worse for everyone involved.

Some of the breadcrumbs don’t carry enough water at times though. You might have to tolerate the characters being more intuitive than they likely should be.  Andrew leaves a business card with a side character.  When the film circles back to this item, it seems a little too easy for someone else to get wise about what has transpired.  I just chose to go with it.

Marisa Tomei is also part of the cast, caught in a love triangle as Andy’s wife and Hank’s mistress.  Tomei is really good, lending some authenticity with unscrupulous nudity in scenes with both Hoffman and Hawke.  This storyline serves as character exposition and only briefly scrapes against the crime drama at play.  It could have been excised from the film, but because the dialogue and scenario is written and performed so well, it effectively held my attention.

Albert Finney is magnificent as the patriarch owner of the store.  Simply his devastated, echoey breathing and the way he fumbles to put his eyeglasses on to learn more about what has occurred is absolutely genuine.  A late middle-aged man discovering horrible truths.  Finney plays it beautifully.  That being said, I wish the film offered more backstory to his character.  There are few hints suggesting how he regarded Andy as the first born who needed be thrown to the wolves and learn to fend for himself.  Contrarily, Hank is the younger and more disappointing son.  Yet, the script is short on material that further explores the relationship between the father and his sons.  I felt the film demanded more because Charles is quite significant to the conclusion of the story, which carries an unexpectedly abrupt ending.  

The acting and assembly of time and perspective are so finely tuned by the whole cast under Lumet’s direction.  Still, Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead needed another twenty to thirty minutes of storytelling.  One character runs out of frame with an unfinished storyline.  Another, seems too hasty in making a final decision with an easy convenience.

Don’t get me wrong.  I strongly recommend this last effort from Sidney Lumet.  It’s a unique crime yarn with an especially conniving Phillip Seymour Hoffman doing some of his best work.  The set up had me riveted and I couldn’t wait to see how all these terrible scenarios were going to fix themselves or make things horribly worse.