Category: Marc’s Reviews

YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING

By Marc S. Sanders

You watch a miniseries and you think you know someone.  Then you watch a documentary, and well…maybe not.

Comic Nathan Fielder covers the remaining 34 days before disgraced fraudster CEO Elizabeth Holmes was to begin her sentence in prison.  A whopping eight-billion-dollar corporation called Theranos crumbled like a house of cards when her novel blood testing machine was revealed to be nothing but scraps for parts.  Holmes and her COO, domestic partner Sunny Balwani, were tried for their white-collar crimes (in her case, infamous black turtlenecks), leaving remains of endless intrigue and astonishment.  Fielder’s documentary, You Can See Everything, is edited with compelling music and intense close-ups as he catches up with how Holmes is coping and where her mindset is at the moment.  I think he discovers things are much more disturbing and incredibly surprising. As well, the filmmaker may need to reexamine his own beliefs.

The first ninety minutes of this three-hour opus take place in a San Diego beach house rental occupied by Elizabeth and her husband, Billy Evans, along with their two young children.  Nathan’s crew gets all-access shots to their activities.  At one point, they capture Billy fully nude while showering.  Why?  It’s a testament to the fact that Billy and Elizabeth welcome everything to be seen.

Nathan gets right to the point with Elizabeth, asking if she has any regrets, accepts guilt, etc. With an eleven-year stretch ahead of her, she fails to recognize any crime or deceit she’s committed.  Billy propagandizes her belief by excusing how Elizabeth mentally processes situations in a special kind of way, incomparable to anyone else. Nathan works tirelessly to simplify his questions so minutely to at least get either of them to veer off in another direction. Still, the two stay entirely on track.  Asking Elizabeth if she’s ever told a lie does not just stop with her responding with all but certain “No.”  Nathan has to rephrase his question again and again and again.  Apparently, until Elizabeth Holmes, it did not seem remotely possible that any human being ever avoided telling a lie in any kind of variance.  Not even a harmless white lie.  Elizabeth unequivocally believes she’s never, ever told a lie.

Nathan goes so far as to test Elizabeth’s comprehension of Abbott & Costello’s Who’s On First routine.  She thinks it’s funny, but can not specifically explain why it’s funny or the “miscommunication” the pair were having.  So, Nathan has to simplify the joke to practically every syllable and letter of each word uttered in the bit. The idea does not penetrate.

This woman is a miracle of some sort.

Then again, from what I know outside of this feature film, Elizabeth Holmes managed to put Presidents of the United States and Secretaries of State under her spell. How does she not comprehend the purpose of a comedy routine, but somehow sways billion dollar investors and people of absolute power into her snake oil schemes?

Eventually, it appears that Billy may be a puppet master over Elizabeth, especially when a development that led to the making of this film is revealed.  Nathan Fielder’s picture takes on a whole new and unexpected direction, and the subject of his piece is not so much on just Elizabeth but also on Billy, who stems from a wealthy family with a watchful interest of control in how Nathan steers his narrative while he oversees Elizabeth’s mentality. Her behavior is under his influence as well. Elizabeth does not scramble eggs like she’s supposed to, and supposedly can not concentrate on an interview while doing so.

Billy seems to have an unhealthy interest in his partner. Questionable use of A.I. comes into play ahead of Elizabeth’s departure.  Billy has motives for its use while Elizabeth allows herself to be subservient to his purposes.

Maybe her parents were wise to this scenario.  Nathan’s crew seem to get their perspective with little dialogue from them to offer.  Dad is interrupted (or censored) by Billy.  I don’t think mom ever says one word in the whole picture.  The title, You Can See Everything, carries multiple meanings when you simply read mom and dad’s surrendered expressions.

Perhaps You Can See Everything actually means you can see nothing.

At best, Billy’s on board with resuming a pursuit of Theranos’ original novelty of blood testing machines.  Right now, there’s no evidence in science or engineering to uphold the machine’s capabilities, but the mission stays true.  Billy believes in Elizabeth’s original conception.  Together, they push aside the skeptics and, to Nathan’s amazement, look for new opportunities for Theranos’ resurrection.

Two years after Elizabeth has begun her sentence, Nathan recruits an outsider who arguably may know Elizabeth best, actress Amanda Seyfried, who earned an Emmy for portraying Holmes in the Hulu series, The Dropout. It’s a bold choice. Yet, I wonder why Nathan stopped there. How about the script writers and directors or producers as well? Seyfried might execute the portrayal, but she didn’t craft the words of the dramatization and Nathan reminds her that she acted in a dramatized TV show regardless of her talents.

You Can See Everything is a documentary from beginning to end.  However, Nathan and his crew take an unusual approach to capture the second half of the film.  With limited access because Elizabeth is in prison and more so because Billy tightens his leash over the situation, Nathan must rely on Seyfried to demonstrate where his two subjects stand.  Without giving away all the tricks, Nathan Fielder and Amanda Seyfried make for a compelling pair of investigators.  At times, they are bold enough to challenge each other while they are supposed to be working together. What obligation does Seyfried have to any of this? Is Nathan being objective enough with his subject? An ocean swim near the end of the picture reasonably demands this kind of question.

I saw this film with my wife.  Having previously watched an HBO documentary, plus The Dropout, plus a 60 Minutes story and reading tons of social media, my preconceived notions about Holmes were firmly in place. On the other hand, my wife was primarily unaware of Theranos, Elizabeth Holmes, and the entire story. After Fielder’s film concluded, we had completely opposite perceptions of Elizabeth Holmes, and story that occurred.

That’s the beauty of You Can See Everything, and why it is one of the best pictures of the year. The finished product results in varied perceptions. For someone who insists in her own hynotic way that she has never told a lie, one has to wonder what this woman is built on. Is she a clinical eccentric, or is she a master manipulator who never vacations from a crafted persona?

Perhaps Nathan Fielder dug his hole deeper than he ever wanted, because I believe he’s surprised with what turns up.  Is Elizabeth Holmes a deceitful criminal, always aware of the costly lies and fraud she’s been evidentally proven guilty of?  Is she continuing to maintain a facade of naivety, denying awareness of the harm which stemmed from her actions?  Was she deliberately committing crimes for her personal gain with service to her id and ego?

On the contrary, was she at the behest of her former partner Sunny Bulwali, and just an accomplice, scapegoat, and pawn? Is she currently a brainwashed subject under a new operative, Billy Evans?

Nathan Fielder gets so meticulous with all of the footage he acquires.  The connotations of operative words like “did,” “we” or “I am,” are questioned as a means to uncover the what and why of intent.  Amanda Seyfried is even tested based on her comments regarding Charlie Kirk, a subject completely separate from any of this but still an exploration of character and merit. Amanda quizzes Nathan about his ongoing motive.  Where does Nathan’s eventual interests truly lie? My compliment to Nathan Fielder for allowing his own intentions to be scrutinized.

You Can See Everything could have persisted for another three hours. Because this couple is so unusual and so abnormal and twisted, while living in the aftermath of one of the greatest criminal scandals in modern history, my interest would likely still be upheld.

This fully realized documentary does not surrender its moral compass to reveal truths, because…well…they will never be definitive or devoid of doubt.  That might not satisfy our curiosity.  Nevertheless, Nathan Fielder and his co/director, Lance Oppenheim, earn the A’s in exhaustive efforts. The risk Fielder took though was compromising his objective intentions as he got closer to Elizabeth.

The greatest compliment I can lend to You Can See Everything is to say it is a superb, compelling journey into a never-reaching, unsatisfying abyss.

CLAYFACE

By Marc S. Sanders

The comic book origin story has become a tired trope in movies.  The hero experiences a traumatic event and gains either an epiphany or enhanced abilities that deem him/her for especially unique purposes.  Then they face off against their antagonist and sum up their encounter with the love interest or by reciting a voiceover journal to the viewer.  Roll credits with a promise that “Widget Man Will Return.”  Sound familiar, right?

That’s all well and good but I’m not yet exhausted over a villain origin story like Wicked promised for example.  (I’ve had mixed feelings about Joaquin Phoenix’ Joker movies.) Clayface is a b-villain character spawned out of the crime ridden Gotham City to face off against Batman.  I’ve been hearing that it was modern horror wunderkind Mike Flanagan (Doctor Sleep, the 2026 Carrie series) who approached DC production captain James Gunn with conceptualizing a film for the shape shifting mud monster.  Who would have guessed that the adaptation would be an absolute thrill of grotesque body horror with a sentimental affinity for the main character, “Coast City” movie star Matt Hagen, played by Tom Rhys Harries?

This actor plays a famous actor who sleeps with the wrong woman, only to have his vanity brought down to negative one thousand when her gangster boyfriend (David Dencik) permanently disfigures his face with an assortment of sharp edges.  Matt’s world is essentially destroyed.  His high-powered agent abandons him. He loses out on winning an Oscar.  His wealth is embezzled and he endures one personal betrayal after another.  He discovers that Dr. Caitlyn Corr (Naomi Ackie) has been experimenting with chemicals that one day might intelligently alter human cellular structure.  After much convincing, she agrees to use Matt as a test subject.  When full restoration arrives, Matt is on his way to rejuvenating his fame and fortune, but he and Caitlyn do not account for the jaw slouching, eye drooping and crusty side effects or for the surprising ability to personify other people.  All of this will emerge as a blessing or a curse.

Clayface works because director James Watkins has a lot of fun with infinite inventions that come with sculpting this guy, Matt, and the seedy world of misanthropes he inhabits.  The body count rapidly increases as the very entertaining and wince inducing exposition of this Frankenstein story carries on.  I imagine a lot of the actors had fun being killed on screen in truly inventive ways only to see their name on the next day’s call sheet to come back because now Matt Hagen has assumed their appearance as a means to undo the next traitor in his path.

The skills of this Clayface are awesome.  They are reminiscent of what the liquid Terminator could do, and it’s only right this story of a movie star-pretty boy salutes a lot of Hollywood favorites including The Thing, The Shining, and The Godfather Part II while drawing inspiration from the crafts of David Cronenberg, (The Fly, Dead Ringers).

Yes, the origin story might have been done to death by now, but if creators allow their imaginations to soar, especially with such a flexible character, the possibilities are endless for what can be accomplished.

The cast of unknowns are equally as surprising as the collective unfamiliar faces discovered in the other horror hit from this year, Obsession. Tom Rhys Harries is ready to do anything.  He plays suffering very well and the movie does not over-mire itself in misery. As the monster persona evolves, Harries goes in unexpected directions with his character, including a favorite kitch of mine.  He breaks out in a group dance sequence that is never expected of this non-musical screenplay.  His forbidden love story with Ackie’s smartly sensible character offers a lot of effective conflict to keep the picture engaging.  Their will they/won’t they angle lends something else to the film because simply a warpath of revenge and casualties can get stale. Max Minghella (The Social Network) plays Ackie’s fiancée and the persistent cop who follows the clues.

Clayface is the absolute best installment in James Gunn’s DC Cinematic Universe.  It provides amazing effects with a challenging story and a well-drawn Gotham City ridden with crime and interesting ugliness.  Director James Watkins deserves a lot of credit because he did not need to rely on the famed Dark Knight or a go to commissioner or a giggling, mischievous, brightly colored lunatic.  This picture is a perfectly crafted introduction to an overused environment that has not looked so refreshing in years.

Clayface may open interest for those seeking to learn more about this very capable and powerful villain. DC comics actually has two different documented origins to the guy of glop, but the loss of vanity and pride are what’s really fascinating about this Batman baddie.

I deliver the highest of compliments because this monster mash Jekyll & Hyde left me eager for more.

THE INVITE

By Marc S. Sanders

Olivia Wilde takes a Virginia Woolf approach with her latest film to direct, co-written by Rashida Jones.  It’s called The Invite and she may have directed her own leading performance into an Oscar nomination for Best Actress.

Angela is married to Joe (Wilde with Seth Rogen).  He’s a music professor, who clearly feels like he’s past his prime and his talent for music is being wasted on regular school days. Those who can’t be professional musicians, teach! She is a stay-at-home wife. Their marriage is no longer in heaven, even when their twelve-year-old daughter is at a sleepover. They haven’t had sex in over year. Yet, the evening does serve as an opportunity to invite the neighbors over for dinner. Too bad they arrive while the hosts are in mid-argument over who was supposed to get the wine and whatever else has been stewing on their brains for far too long. Dinner is another thing because dietary restrictions get in the way.

Piña and Hawk (Penelope Cruz and Edward Norton, and yes, you read his character’s name correctly) are the opposite of the stressed, overridden Angela and Joe.  Through the dark lighting of most of the film, the complexions of Piña and Hawk practically glow.  Norton and Cruz look like they swam in the fountain of youth. 

It doesn’t take long to learn that Hawk and Piña are sexually active, a lot, and they relish and ravage each other’s company.  Perhaps, they enjoy others’ company as well.

It’s best not to reveal too much about what develops during this awkward and unexpected evening.  However, it is worth saluting the genuine dialogue of aggravations expressed by a tired married couple who have lost a purpose to remain with each other, while their unmarried upstairs neighbors have every reason to stay together.  It also does not help that Joe is over the constant racket that comes from the happy couple’s apartment due to their constant sexual escapades.

The main attraction of The Invite is Olivia Wilde’s inventive direction. Within a claustrophobic New York City apartment, she places her camera in unusual positions to observe the chatter among the four actors. Close ups hardly ever happen. Instead, Wilde will point her camera at a mirror to catch the reflection of Rogen yelling at Wilde who is out of frame on the other side of the room. Joe’s study is cut off by an interior window-paned door. So, Wilde puts the camera on the outside of the window to peak in on Joe and/or who he brings into the room with him. Olivia Wilde’s camera is the fifth wheel as the viewer is given the opportunity to be a fly on the wall, snooping in on this obstinate evening. We might find ourselves standing at the end of the hall, yards away from where the action is happening, or we are looking through a window across to the other side of the apartment where there is another window to see what our spouse is doing with one of the guests. Everything Olivia Wilde does with shooting this film is accompanied with intended, strategic measure. We’ve always wondered what goes on behind closed doors, and now we have the chance to observe, without getting in the way.

The four actors show their training. Seth Rogen might be doing his regular schtick. However, he has not grown old on me yet and at least you witness genuine pain in this hopeless soul. A sort of slapstick moment occurs for the schlub, but it does not upstage other moments for him.

Edward Norton, and especially Penelope Cruz are very good at restraining themselves. You can feel their pulses are not racing like the other couple’s, who are treading a mile a minute. The screenplay allows Cruz’ character to present her knowledge and experience, and she never looks like she’s trying very hard. It’s not easy to portray complete relaxation and bliss. I was entirely convinced that the neighbors exhaust their energies in the sexual bouts they happily boast about, while the other pair are overtired in fits of rage and aggravation.

Olivia Wilde is the standout though. Her frustrations by sitting adjacent to her character’s husband and his unbearable presence demand enormous concentration. You have to be impressed with how this director sets up a shot or a scene, and then has to take the time to get into character when off camera she’s spinning a lot of plates. In front of the camera, the lines on Wilde’s face say so much about Angela’s background and the long life she’s already led even if she’s not that old. An outstanding and focused performance.

In someone else’s hands, at present or in a past decade, The Invite could have operated like an ordinary get together, where the acting is the main attraction. The performances are very good on level with the biting, cutting dynamics of Mike Nichol’s Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? and likely better than what John Hughes’ The Breakfast Club ever offered. Again, though, it’s clear that Wilde is looking to stand apart from those films that arguably will outlast the test of time that her film will not. Like me, I imagine the overall populace will not rewatch The Invite. Nor do I anticipate a Criterion edition or an AFI ranking in its future.

The concept of The Invite is nothing new or special. Neither is what is revealed during this lone evening.  At the very least, it’s the director’s technique that upholds this picture, along with four very capable actors delivering its wise, yet wordy, script.

SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES

By Marc S. Sanders

Neil Simon has always been a huge influence on me.  I grew up watching Randall & Klugman spar as his Odd Couple.  I recognized the northeastern Jewish vernacular of his B-trilogy semi-autobiographies that run through Brighton, Biloxi and Broadway, and I’ve performed and directed a number of his winning stage plays (Rumors, Lost In Yonkers, Chapter Two).  The comedic mind and personal pains of live theater could not continue without hearkening back to the great Neil Simon.

One of his lesser celebrated works told only in the form of a screenplay (a rare achievement of Simon’s) is Seems Like Old Times.  Released in 1980, it’s the writer’s sendup of classic screwball comedies like Bringing Up Baby and equipped with fast talking dialogue from one character to the next like you would find in His Girl Friday or It Happened One Night.  I’m not much of a Chevy Chase fan, but when he’s in the right properties, he’s a master at tossing one quip away after another while earning the chuckle. Neil Simon tweaked his script to cater to Chase’s timing along with his co-star, Goldie Hawn.

Seems Like Old Times is remembered as the second team up for Chevy Chase with Goldie Hawn, who was everyone’s favorite adored actress of the time.  Audiences followed her from giddy flower child in Laugh-In and an Oscar in Cactus Flower with Walter Matthau, over to Foul Play with Chase and then on to her fish out of the army swamp in Private Benjamin.  She was an absolute hit, and while these pictures appear dated by today’s standards, they still hold up. Seems Like Old Times even feels like it could garner a Jennifer Aniston remake today.

Chevy Chase is Nick Gardenia, a writer working on a book in a mountain rental home overlooking the Pacific near Carmel, California.  When he’s taken hostage at gunpoint, he’s forced to rob a bank.  This may or may not affect Ira Parks’ (Charles Grodin) campaign for State’s Attorney.  Ira is married to Public Defender Glenda (Goldie Hawn) who used to be married to Nick.  When Nick shows up in the middle of the night in the Parks’ garage, it’s up to Glenda to hide Nick from Ira and figure out a way to get him exonerated.  It’s not easy when the couple will be hosting the Governor and his wife for dinner, along with a litter of six lovable dogs who happily express themselves and intrude at the most inconvenient times.  They range in size from St. Bernard to tiny terrier with the jingling bells on the collar.

Seems Like Old Times is a perfect marriage of Neil Simon’s unending wit with easy to swallow, but complicated scenarios that beautifully complement Goldie Hawn and Chevy Chase comedic specialties. Charles Grodin was actually nominated for a Razzie for his performance.  An absolute insult to a well suited antagonist for clean, escapist lunacy.  It’s Grodin being Grodin, but it works so well.

Jokes thankfully run on repeat with cars getting stolen over and over while Glenda upholds her career of winning in the courtroom by employing her small time crooks to help them stay out of trouble.  T.K. Carter is great as Chester, her limo – rather station wagon driver, who just can’t put down an inviting bottle of wine.

Robert Guillaume delivers his Benson sitcom timing and partners well with Grodin. Harold Gould is the exasperated judge who knows Glenda all too well.

I recommend you dig up Aurora’s (the Parks’ illegal immigrant maid) recipe for chicken pepperoni and saddle up for an old-time romantic comedy at home. Seems Like Old Times is a fun romp for the whole family to watch, but especially with the one you love, or maybe the one you used to love.

BIGFOOT WOODS

By Marc S. Sanders

There’s a moment in Bigfoot Woods where a character describes Paul (Rich Sommer) as just a science teacher, not a scientist.  It’s clear that Paul is more than irked by the regard, especially because this person is a believer in the legend of Bigfoot – a Sasquatch fur covered, monstrous figure who’s never been proven to exist beyond its never ending myth.  Paul is a scientist though.  He studied the principles of science.  He researched evidence that describes all the various natures of science.  He’s a high school teacher in the small town of Steamer, Minnesota, but he’s most definitely a certified scientist.  It’s therefore unfortunate his identity is not taken seriously.

This occurs midway through Elizabeth Chatelain’s film.  Paul is already roiling with Bridget, his conflicted fourteen year old daughter (Ambrose Velasco Jenkins).  They are realizing that they are not in fact non-binary.  Bridget is coming to the conclusion that they/them are not the appropriate pronouns.  Going forward, Bridget is certain of being addressed as he/him, and is unequivocally ready to be identified as Jonah.  Paul, and his wife Taylor (Tristen MacDonald) realize they’ll have to adjust.

It’s not even a question of options.  Paul and Taylor love their child.  It’s still a struggle, but that’s okay.  A new job or school or living situation can also require time and patience while adapting.

Chatelain’s film is smart because while Jenkins’ character occupies the most screen time, Bridget/Jonah is not the only one affected by this transition.  How does mom and dad feel about this?  What about friends?  Actually, how does the whole town of Steamer respond when there is primarily a unified mantra in believing in the  Christian values that come with the influence of the church and an ultra conservative mindset of what Jesus Christ stands for?

Steamer, Minnesota is hardly found on a map.  At best, it’s known for being a possible resting place for Bigfoot.  Paul and Bridget have father/child time together by roaming the woods and documenting discoveries in nature.  At best, maybe fifty people watch their series of You Tube videos.  However, that number explodes into the thousands when someone notices a rustling in the trees that could very likely be Bigfoot.  At last, certifiable evidence may exist in Bridget’s footage and attract a wider scope that’ll bring welcome recognition to town.  The folks are giddy over this discovery.

However, Bridget does not stop at what they share with Paul.  Bridget is making a new declaration of self identity when Jonah is introduced, but many folks in Steamer are quick to change their tune.

Bigfoot Woods is simple in its cinematography and editing.  It may operate like an Afterschool Special but that may also be its greatest achievement.  The script by father and trans-son Bruce and Abel Pavalon brings a transparent honesty to trans youth who are developing into who they really are and how family and environment responds.  Despite talent or accomplishments, some will overlook all of that when a trait feels unacceptable.  Others will not get up in arms over how someone chooses to live and will simply welcome the change.  It’ll justifiably become concerning, but they’ll need time.  The script covers a wide range with a small cast and a condensed script.

Bridget/Jonah also suffers from a habitual side effect of cutting.  I’m not here to minimize the character’s physical and mental ordeals.  However, at only a running time of an hour and twenty minutes, I did not think there was ample material to address this ingredient of the story.  Cutting is a very real symptom that needs serious attention.  Either more could have been expounded on that, or it should have been excised from the final product.

One factor I’m grateful for is that Paul, the scientist, does his research on trans topics.  He discovers the anatomical studies that upholds the need for transitioning down to how XX or XY chromosomes operate when another gene comes into play with a person’s DNA.  A majority of those opposed to the idea of transitioning fail to do the research and neither uncover validity or the material that could repute it.  People just make up their minds like it’s an opinion. Bigfoot Woods hinges on facts found in science, not instinctual prejudice.

In all fairness, I’ve done no research on the topic.  Still I trust what’s included in Chatelain’s film.  It’d be foolishly bold of her and the Pavalons to deliver a story that champions transition with unproven or false material.

The performance from Ambrose Velasco Jenkins is winning because there are multiple dimensions to the role.  I didn’t really care for Bridget who was not connecting with their loving parents.  Bridget is off putting and insensitive to mom and dad.  Jonah is very likable though.  It has to come down to an internal peace that Jenkins eventually delivers.  Very good work.

I also really felt for Rich Sommer’s interpretation of a dad who’s a good, well educated father but also confused and lacking the confidence to deal with a change in his family’s dynamic.  Too often men are expected to have all the answers.  This man doesn’t.  Yet, he will not cry about it or give up.  He applies skills that will aid him into deciding for himself with confidence.

Tristen MacDonald offers another kind of identity struggle.  A breast cancer survivor who opted for a double mastectomy.  I recall stories where women feel less of themselves once they have gone through this kind of trauma. Bigfoot Woods tackles a wide berth of identity struggle.  It’s not exclusive to members of the LGBTQ+ community.  MacDonald only has a few lines that address her character’s background but she’s impactful enough to demonstrate self-identity does not stop with gender identity.  It’s a mindset that depends on various factors and situations.

Bigfoot Woods is smart and insightful.  It’s a straightforward account of a teenager ready to recognize internal thoughts beyond outside influence while figuring out who they want to be.  With a curious story of the Bigfoot legend wrapped around it, there’s an intriguing aspect to this collection of three characters who are accepted by some while dismissed by others.  A perfect button on the picture is a nice wink and nod that crosses the last caption before the credits arrive.  I was smiling by the end.

JAGGED EDGE

By Marc S. Sanders

Joe Eszterhas is the screenwriter of Basic Instinct, which attracted a slew of controversy for its risqué nudity and sexual content framed around a brutal crime drama that many took issue with painting lesbianism in an unfavorable light, by means of an icepick.  If I recall correctly, he sold his screenplay for twenty million and while I consider it to be a crackling good thriller, it’s clear the writer and director (Paul Verhoven) were aiming for shock material of boobs, blood and revealing cross legged visuals to amplify what could’ve been an tame episode of Columbo. 

Prior to that profitable notoriety, Eszterhas churned out courtroom drama mired in lust and murder called Jagged Edge.  I imagine this film was considered daring when released in 1985.  However, jumping to forty years later, everything from the sexual material to the courtroom antics appear stale, outdated and lacking any kind of zip.  In this movie, the murder trial plays like a table tennis volley.  A witness is called by the prosecution, and the defense is shocked as to who this could be.  The favor is returned when the defense calls a witness.  Both sides sit up in their chairs and ask why they didn’t know about this person or why wasn’t evidence presented in discovery and so forth.  Two years after this movie came out, L.A. Law hit the airwaves every Thursday night and this routine became ritual fodder.   Counsel would outsmart the opposition and grin like they shot baskets from center court.  Today though, even I’m much smarter than the lawyers that Eszterhas drafted into this script directed by the late Richard Marquand (Return Of The Jedi, Eye Of The Needle).

Jeff Bridges is the handsome local San Francisco newspaper editor, Jack Forrester.  He is the husband accused of murdering his wealthy wife in bed with a hunting knife.  The blade is curved and the top of it is jagged.  Hence the title. He’s known for his infidelity, and for repeatedly criticizing the city prosecutor, Tom Kransy (Peter Coyote) in print.  His business attorneys recruit Teddy Barnes (Glenn Close) to defend him.  Teddy has partnering experience with Kransy when they were prosecuting together.  A rift occurred between the two lawyers over a question of ethics.   She moved away from crime and into contract law.

Teddy warns Jack that if he’s not honest with her, she will cease to represent him.  Mr. Eszterhas, I think we know what will happen.  Right?  The witnesses in this trial are nothing challenging for either side.  They topple easily under Teddy and Tom’s questioning and when one side gets a huge advantage, the panic on the other side never feels truly convincing or suspenseful.  If these lawyers had more intelligence than the pens they hold, they would have vetted these people just a fraction better before allowing their testimony. Yet, Jagged Edge is supposed to be fast food law. 

What complicates this case is that ahead of the trial, as Teddy prepares, she becomes engaged in a sexual relationship with Jack.  Horseback riding specially builds the stimulation.  There is the Eszterhas label that many will recognize (Basic Instinct, Jade, Sliver, Showgirls).  The titles speak for themselves when glancing over his resume.  Teddy is supposed to come off with brains and intuition.  Yet, she follows through with unconvincing neglect.  Glenn Close is just too smart a person to be playing someone this reckless and stupid.  In 1985 though, maybe I could buy this. Law & Order episodes likely enhanced the intelligence of what we see in the eyes of the court since that time.

Jeff Bridges and Glenn Close have good chemistry, but Jagged Edge is cookie cutter material in the courtroom while the breadcrumbs that bring the two together are ridiculous.  Recently, I saw Lawrence Kasdan’s Body Heat for the first time.  That’s a sexy thriller that works between a lawyer and a murder suspect because the lawyer was a sleaze from the get-go.  Teddy Barnes is an attorney with principals. She’s also a loving mother and maintains a good relationship with her ex-husband.  So it lacks merit when I see her break her code of ethics so easily by getting involved with her murder suspected client.    It only happens because the omnipotent Joe Eszterhas makes it so by forcing a circle into a square. This professional woman even invites the accused back to her house where her kids reside. Really? Glenn Close’s characters would never do this. Kim Kardashian’s portrayals are another story.

When the killer is finally revealed in Scooby Doo fashion – mask pulled off the culprit – it could have gone one of three ways and any answer would have worked as well as drawing a card in a game of Clue.  Basic Instinct has a similar kind of ending.  It really didn’t matter how it wrapped up.  Columbo would have to walk back his steps to deliver undeniable proof.  Joe Eszterhas just makes it so and that’s what it will become, like a Choose Your Own Adventure.  

Actually, this film had some controversy because when the mask is pulled off the killer, audiences questioned whose face they were actually looking at.  The studio insisted on editing a little more time on the close up following the film’s initial release of first prints.  Siskel & Ebert devoted some airtime three weeks after the film came out to discuss as well.  I can see why there was skepticism, but I felt certain on who it was I was looking at.

Either way, Jagged Edge would always be considered pedestrian material with deliberate shocks of SEX and MURDER for the sake of drawing in crowds for its erotic nature.  Five years later, Basic Instinct would be the one to go full tilt, though.

COOGAN’S BLUFF

By Marc S. Sanders

Coogan’s Bluff is hardly Clint Eastwood’s best film.  The first collaboration with director Don Siegel is thin on story, flat on romance and light on its bad guy.  However, it is an important chapter in Eastwood’s storied career.

Shortly after the famed Sergio Leone spaghetti western Dollars trilogy, and ahead of his big city cop pictures, Coogan’s Bluff was the go-between.  The movie starts like a western with Deputy Coogan emerging out of the hot Arizona desert in his cowboy hat, uniform and rifle.  He’s not on horseback though.  He’s riding a jalopy of a jeep and he’s apprehending a wanted Navajo criminal.  He’s got the cool looking sunglasses on too.

The movie shifts gears, and now Coogan is arriving by helicopter into the concrete jungle of New York City.  We never even see him get his assignment.  He shuttles to the police precinct by cab, maybe the deputy’s first cab ride ever because he gets charged a “luggage fee” for his briefcase. The station is run by Lt. McElroy (Lee J Cobb).  Coogan is the fish out of water, dressed in his white ten-gallon hat, brown suit and bolo tie.  McElroy doesn’t know any better and presumes this brute is from Texas, quite different from Arizona, and especially New York.  In 1968, Coogan is not a typical Midnight Cowboy.

He is here to extradite James Ringerman (Don Stroud) back to Arizona.  Not so fast though because McElroy tells him the crook is locked up at Bellevue for an LSD overdose.  There’s a lot of red tape with the judge and the state Supreme Court to go through before Coogan can get his hands on him.  Like a lot of Eastwood characters, Coogan will exercise his own kind of “bluff” and recover the lawbreaker who has actually escaped from the ward.

Coogan’s Bluff performs like a very rough first draft of a screenplay.  There are gaping holes in the narrative.  It’s never clear what crime Ringerman committed and how or why Coogan was assigned this case.  Siegel’s film began with this Navajo fugitive and a blond, adorable lass for Coogan to get in a tub with at home.  It’s a very abrupt cut to the New York City skyline though with his helicopter arriving on the famed Pan Am building (which is a few years away from a notorious helicopter crash).  Ten minutes in and we are watching a very different movie than what we started with.

A romance sparks between the lawman and a police psychologist (Susan Clark, “Ma’am” on Webster) as quick as Coogan arrives.  That relationship goes nowhere because Clark’s role and storyline lend nothing to the film except to stretch the running time to ninety minutes.  The pair end on a very weird note as well.  Scenes were missing to make this connection add up to the sum.  In their second to last encounter, Susan Clark is fuming with Eastwood over how Coogan treated one of her patients in his pursuit of Ringerman. In the final shot she is adoringly waving him away as his helicopter takes flight. What did I miss here?

It’s not all bad as Siegel’s picture plants the seeds of what would become all too familiar with Clint Eastwood – a tough, handsome, quietly brooding brawler who can handle himself in a bar fight and be triumphant in a thrilling, motorcycle chase.  The edits of both scenes are outstanding and Siegel captures magnificent shots.  

The fights, with pool cues, bottles and beer mugs as weapons of choice, are choreographed really well.  It doesn’t even look like the performers are being careful.  The set looks like something off the Universal lot though. Bar stools and tables break apart too neatly. The blood looks like paint. 

I have to believe Eastwood did most of his own stunt work, including leaping off a speeding bike and tackling Don Stroud’s antagonist.  Seamless work with well positioned camera placements.  It’s all so much more defined than the shaky stuff that Michael Bay would do thirty years later.  That kind of junk only hides the action that they would be afraid to execute.  The real stuff from guys like Siegel, Eastwood, McTiernan, Donner, and Peckinpah will always reign supreme.

Famed musician Lalo Schifrin is dropping familiar notes and cues that would thrill within the Dirty Harry world, four years later.  (Loved his assorted themes for Starsky & Hutch too.) Deputy Coogan, who doesn’t carry a gun, transitions into Inspector Harry Callahan with the .44 Magnum, and the stakes become bigger all around.  Schifrin’s piano keys and nervously fast strings amplify later in his own career from what he initially composed here.  It’s fun to recognize but like the script and edits of the movie, his work also feels incomplete.  Effective and interesting, but choppy and rough.

Don Siegel’s signature camera work is also familiar.  To ensure you recognize something of consequence, the director quickly zooms in on the bag, or prop or picture or close up.  Again, every tactic executed in Coogan’s Bluff feels like practice for what would be perfected later on.

Too much material must have been excised from Coogan’s Bluff in post.  Dots feel unconnected and while Clint Eastwood is worthy of acceptance, his performance is like an audition tape of the tough and silent guys his career will eventually offer.  

The cowboy cop enters a hippie nightclub splashed in rainbow colors and drugged flower power where he meets eventual Dirty Harry regular, Albert Popwell.  It’s fun to see the conservative Clint stick out, and would become a staple routine for his pictures, but this first try doesn’t quite stick the landing.  A bit like this remains unmatched to Eddie Murphy’s famous scene in 48 Hrs. with the honky-tonk club.  

The Man With No Name hung up the poncho, shaved the stubble, exchanged his thin Spanish cigars for cigarettes, put on a suit and carried a badge.  Why, the guy is just almost Dirty Harry!!!! Forgive my redundancy.  It’s just so evident of showing where Clint came from and where he was going next.  The story of this picture doesn’t matter.  The story of the guy leading this picture is what’s important.

I recommend watching a large sum of Clint Eastwood’s filmography before taking in Coogan’s Bluff.  Out of context of the actor/director’s choices, it’s a poor, uninteresting film.  Looking at it after familiarizing yourself with Clint Eastwood, and Don Siegel, it’s fun to see how apparent these men hopped from the dry desert heat into the city streets.

Coogan’s Bluff is not a great movie, but it’s a fascinating transitive piece from 1968.  It simply serves as a confident stride for its marquee name who will carry on a legendary tradition for the next fifty years thereafter. 

COYOTE VS. ACME

By Marc S. Sanders

It’s ironic and a bit reflective to think about how Coyote Vs. Acme eventually made it to theaters.  Along with an anticipated release of Batgirl, featuring another return for Michael Keaton as Batman, the Looney Tunes feature was abruptly shelved by Warner Brothers as a tax write off.  Corporate America was exercising its accountant’s bloody fist in order to amplify the books.  However, the people have spoken and the animated rascal would eventually have his day in court.  Batgirl seems to have not survived the Joker’s man-eating Venus Flytrap, however. (That was actually an episode from the ’60’s TV series that scared the bejeezus outta me when I was a kid…but Robin got eaten, not Batgirl.)

The mega-conglomerate known as Acme is arguably bigger than Amazon, Walmart, Disney, Apple and the world’s crop supply of Frozen Concentrated Orange Juice combined.  Why?  Well, because they have John Cena as their attorney with a bolo tie and cowboy hat to boot along with the shrewdest…I say…I say the shrewdest rooster known to mankind, Foghorn Leghorn as its current CEO.  One thing these guys know how to do is circumvent the faults of their products by executing small settlements or finding loopholes to escape from liability.

Wile E Coyote has had enough!  He’s invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in anvils, slingshots, gigantic magnets, rocket skates, and falling pianos.  Yet, his targeted prize – the meep, meeping Road Runner – evades captivity.  It’s time Acme bear some responsibility and pay.  So, he hauls all of his defective purchases into a handkerchiefed sack tied to a stick on his shoulder and hires an injury attorney for the cartoon community to represent him – a sad sack in a brown suit named Kevin Avery (Will Forte), assisted by his capably, confident, crusading niece Paige (Lana Candor).

The little man – ahem, rodent – is finally gonna sock it to Goliath corporation.  Suck it WB—-I mean Acme!!!!!

Coyote Vs. Acme is what you’d expect from Looney Tunes.  Everything is ridiculous and welcomes immense laughter with sight gags that only their brand of animation can offer.  No matter how many times poor Wile E. finds himself suspended in midair before suffering an enormous drop below, I love to see the dust cloud poof up and hear the “wampf” foley sound as he slams into the ground.  Being that the Road Runner/Coyote shorts were always my favorite of the Tunes, I never got enough of their routines.  The painted hole in the ground – you know to fall through? That’s here too.

None of the characters are reinvented.  They are just slotted into a courtroom liability suit that’s as familiar as what the Ford Corporation was culpable of when they knowingly left potentially explosive cars on the lots.  (See my review of Class Action found on this site.) 

Why? 

Because monetarily speaking the settlements would be more cost effective than a widespread product recall.  Well, as Wile E, Paige and Kevin will discover, Acme has a similar mindset for the cartoon community.  This makes for good courtroom drama such as the Tasmanian Devil’s raucous, indecipherable testimony (hilarious by the way) or the clandestine secrets that Tweety Bird and Bugs Bunny might be holding on to.  

Daffy Duck likely will not be a reliable witness, though.  DAMN YOU ACME!!!!

Coyote Vs. Acme is great entertainment that you can take your kids to while you laugh and nod your head at the newsworthy stories that inspired this plight of the plaintiff, Mr. Coyote.  Believe it or not, there’s a message mixed within all of the insanity.

I grew a little tired with the middle portion of the movie, and I could have welcomed some more antics within the courtroom that feature an underused Luis Guzmán as the judge.  The stakes of Kevin’s practice going under ring true of material from A Civil Action and Erin Brockovich as the case becomes more insurmountable.  Didn’t really need this frankly.  I don’t care about Kevin.  Just let Kevin do his job in court.  His insecure schlub slows the picture down some, even if Will Forte has cute chemistry with all of the characters.

I love that Tweety’s granny made it into the picture, but where was Sylvester? He’s in the background, having a catnap in the family room, but otherwise he’s got nothing to do.  That was a shame.  

Minor quibbles aside, Coyote Vs. Acme is refreshing animation combined with live action.  The artwork is thankfully not the newly updated computer graphics of Pixar and Minions fare.  I know the Looney Tunes were likely not hand drawn for this feature, but at least their images and actions are preserved in their original fashion.  If it ain’t broke don’t fix it and this is one thing that Acme, Warner Brothers and producer James Gunn keep intact.  Everything looks great with a perfect blending of human characters falling into complicated Looney Tunes traps. The conversations between the animated and human communities are seamless.  John Cena trying to decipher through Tweety’s speech impediment is winning.  I even applauded how the writers approach the now taboo character of the perverted and horny Pepe Le Pew.  The little stinker can actually still serve a purpose in a post Me Too climate.

I hope Coyote Vs Acme opens doors for more material.  Put the guys in a police station, or a hospital.  Have them enact a Law & Order episode.  Any one of them can run for President against Kelsey Grammar or Sean Penn or Mark Ruffalo for example.  These guys can easily operate in an internet world crowded with confusion and identity.  Keep the locomotive going, and if you get run over, dust yourself off, step off the tracks, and sift through the Acme catalog for the next novel invention.

Something has gotta work! Right Doc?

MEEP MEEP!!!

BREEZY

By Marc S. Sanders

The great thing about following Clint Eastwood’s career that spans over seventy years is there is so much I still have to uncover.  For example, following his well-known directed pictures Play Misty For Me and High Plains Drifter, he followed up with a surprising May-December meet cute romance called Breezy, which marks the first time he opted not to direct himself in front of the camera while going against type with an absence of threat or violence.  Heck, he even makes that clear when his heroine of the title makes a run for it out of a stranger’s car.

Breezy is played by a young Kay Lenz, her breakthrough role as a cheerful flower child, which reminded me of Julia Roberts’ hooker with a heart of gold in Pretty Woman.  Breezy aimlessly wanders through the California hillsides with her floppy hat and personalized guitar case on her back, hitching rides from one car to another.  When she comes upon the home of real estate agent Frank Harmon (William Holden), she happily hops in his car with a smile and a lot to chat about.  Frank is the middle age, twice divorced lonely bachelor, who is not looking for any company.  Yet, Breezy’s magnetism grows on him.  Her casual nudity around his house is not so much erotic as just a way to get past any awkwardness between the two. Breezy is young but you’d be hard pressed to find any insecurities about her. The more experienced and elder Frank may be quite the opposite, though.

William Holden plays a similar kind of personality that he would offer a few years later in Network; not quite over the hill but not looking back at the youth he might have felt thirty-five years earlier at Breezy’s age.  The main difference is that Breezy is nothing like Faye Dunaway’s cold-hearted character. Frank is mired in what he gave up too easily in his prior marriages (Joan Hotchkis, Marj Dusay), one on bitter terms, the other was regrettably let go.

Breezy is such a departure from what Eastwood, the filmmaker, accomplished in the 1970s.  He’s not crafting anything in the realm of his violent pictures like Dirty Harry or his six shooter cowboys.  Misty was also bent on a twisted and frightening nature which is entirely absent here.  About the only fingerprints you’ll find is a blink/miss it cameo of the proud director standing on the boardwalk as the lovers stroll by.  They also buy two tickets to see Drifter.  I like these wink n’ nod moments, reminiscent of Hitchcock’s notable mischief.  

This adult romance etched out of mid-life crises mixed with naive youth seems like a variant follow up to the success of Love Story. Kay Lenz occupied the Ali McGraw slot.  Midway through this picture, I told myself that had Eastwood been older, he likely would have played Holden’s role who was in his mid-50s at the time.  Eastwood would get the opportunity decades later with his superbly quiet adaptation of The Bridges Of Madison County. I’ll even say his soft spot shows in his Every Which… movies, albeit with an orangutan or Sondra Locke.

I discovered Breezy after listening to a podcast on the director’s career (Make My Day, found on Apple Podcasts) and my observations are much more alert.  Thematically, I had always divided Clint Eastwood’s career into two halves.  Whether it was comedy or drama, I always considered the bulk of his work before Unforgiven to rely on violence being resolved with violence delivered by his fists and gunplay.  To my knowledge thus far, the Oscar winning western was a first that paved the next thirty years of his career with messages of anti-violence (A Perfect World, Letters From Iwo Jima), steering his persona away from any celebration of bloodletting.  Breezy however, seemed to project maturely sensitive insights that I hardly saw from the filmmaker.  

Like most of his films, Breezy was furnished under budget with simple camera work.  The wheel is not being reinvented here, but with his regular crew, Eastwood assembles a tight story that evolves at a nice pace.  The love story is not rushed even if young Breezy opens every page of her book as quickly as she meets a new person.  William Holden in his sport coats, wide ties, and casual sweaters is the turtle against the rabbit of this race.  The enjoyment is observing when these two parties can move at similar speeds.  

You also get the opportunity to see how Frank and Breezy’s backgrounds clash.  The hippies that carry over from the sixties hang on the street corners while the white-collar professionals sit at their desks on the other side of the window, closing real estate transactions.  Frank’s friend Bob Henderson (the typical boring middle age/ middle class name) played by Roger C Carmel (Harry Mudd of Star Trek) thinks about what his life could be if he didn’t have his past choices to weigh him down.  That’s still a common issue for middle-aged men to wrestle with.  Breezy’s girlfriend Marcy (Jamie Smith Jackson) is a cute pal but it’s clear she has no future because of a neglectful boyfriend, and their shared habit of LSD highs.  Interestingly, neither camp has a problem with the other. In Eastwood’s film, these two very different communities are tolerable of the other’s existence. That’s refreshing. Still, Frank and Breezy have to realize the independence they have even if they are years, and worlds, apart from each other.

Clint Eastwood checks off all the boxes to emulate beautiful chemistry from his two leads. Their unexpected romance is uneven, but there lies the challenge for finding solid foundations of love and respect.

DON’T SAY GOOD LUCK

By Marc S. Sanders

Adam Sandler’s production company, Happy Madison, has released a new film for his daughter, Sunny Sandler, to star in, and like her their previous collaboration, You Are So Not Invited To My Bat Mitzvah, it’s an engaging, comedically emotional hit.  Don’t Say Good Luck is not as strong as the family dramas that are built on blocks of biting sarcasm like Terms Of Endearment and Steel Magnolias, but the cast and writing devote at least the same level of emotional maturity to the product.  

You might argue that Sunny Sandler falls under the category of a “Hollywood nepo-baby,” but the actress’ talent in performance, accompanied by show stopping singing, demonstrates that she deserves to be on stage and/or in front of a camera.  She’s a dynamo that I find far more appealing than I ever gave her comedic father credit for.

Laura Hankin wrote this screenplay based on her experience as an eighth grader who was cast in the school play while dealing with a terminally sick relative at home.  Sandler portrays Sophie who only hopes to get cast as the supporting role in the school’s upcoming production of Waitress: The Musical.  Following call backs, Sophie learns that she’ll be playing the lead.  It’s exciting, unexpected and certainly challenging, especially because she’ll romantically be playing opposite the cute boy in school and they’ll have to kiss on stage.  Yet, it’s also bittersweet because she has to accept her best friend Carolyn (Scarlett Estevez) has dropped out of the show while not being entirely forthright with Sophie, and Carolyn’s new friendship with Erin.  

Sophie’s happy home life is also compromised because mom’s cancer has returned and the forecast for survival is not likely.  Mom is Elizabeth, played with beautiful sensitivity by Melanie Lynskey.  Lynskey and Sandler make a perfect mother/daughter pair with outstanding chemistry.  Their pace is marvelous either when they are putting on southern belle acts for strangers in the mall or struggling with Elizabeth’s decline.  They make you laugh and cry.  I’m bold enough to declare that Sunny is much more entertaining than her successful father Adam, who I’ve never been that drawn to. Lynskey’s performance is contained with an energy to remain as an active mom. She relies on the convincing makeup to gradually show her decline while not crutching upon a weakened voice or droopy body language. That happens too often. This portrayal is welcome and convincing as one of those people who say “I’m gonna fight this.”

Don’t Say Good Luck is a refreshing coming of age comedy-drama that treats its young actors with authentic respect.  Following …Bat Mitzvah and now this film, I gratefully believe that Adam Sandler seeks out these scripts because they are not exclusive to just the two or three leads.  Hankin’s screenplay fleshes out the other kids in the musical’s cast.  Every actor with at least one line of dialogue appears to serve a meaningful purpose to this film. With so many active participants in the cast the setting’s community is on a solid foundation. There’s life within this high school where the kids go through the theatre games followed by musical choreography and vocal warmups. Even the quirky musical director, who has few lines, has a characterization that is relatable. This is rarely seen, and hard to accomplish in most movies, especially with a brisk running time of only ninety minutes.

Claire Scavone stands out as the enthusiastic actor freshman with the big smile, big glasses and BIG VOICE who absolutely loves theater and the kids she performs with.  She’s an outstanding escape from the heavier moments of the film.  The typical, blond popular girl (Elyse Bell) who always gets the leads is not the staple enemy of the picture. She’s got the privileged ego at first sight, but then there’s a quick reveal to how she relates to Sophie. Don’t Say Good Luck is not that movie where the snob gets her comeuppance. None of us should love to hate a kid. Sandler’s production knows this.

Adam’s friend Steve Buscemi has reached the stage of playing a grandfather and paired with Bebe Neuwirth as his wife who comes home to help their daughter with family tasks.  Buscemi is not trying to steal any scenes.  Neuwirth is the mother who oversteps her offers to help but rattles the discomfort that comes when cancer is killing a loved one.

Stephanie Beatriz does more with the theater teacher role than you’d find in typical Nickelodeon or Disney fare.  She emulates what is rewarding about teaching with encouragement and respect for her class.  As a community theater actor/director/producer, I related to every issue that comes her way from tech issues to sets coming apart and especially to instilling confidence in her student actors.  My daughter missed out on this experience in her high school productions.  This film reminds me of what I absorbed when I took up theater in school.  I also appreciate that the kids are not heightened to be smarter than standard dimwit adults that so many other films rely on.  

Max Greenfield as dad might have been worthy of a more expansive role.  The guy who runs the sandwich shop with Jon Lovitz, while balancing taking care of his terminally ill wife and a pair of rambunctious twin boys.  However, like Endearment and Magnolias, this film hinges on the mother/daughter perspective.  So, I can forgive this shortcoming.

Don’t Say Good Luck is schmaltzy with the inevitable sappiness found in tear jerkers, but the dialogue does not appear wasted, and director Julia Hart finds those perfect beats with her ensemble of mostly young actors and extras.  She also captures heart wrenching close ups of Sunny Sandler whose dynamic performance must respond to first love, friendship challenges, domestic drama, exciting opportunities and a likely potential for loss.  If you are not completely engaged in her closing song performance that wraps up this piece, you left behind several pieces of both your heart and soul somewhere. She belongs on the charts.

Don’t Say Good Luck pulls Sunny Sandler out of Adam’s large shadow.  She gives an emotionally strong, breakthrough performance that might earn her at least a Golden Globe award in the Comedy/Musical category, as well as trophies in the young actor awards ceremonies.  

Don’t Say Good Luck is now streaming on Netflix.