MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE GHOST PROTOCOL

By Marc S. Sanders

When JJ Abrams took the reins of IMF adventures with Mission: Impossible III, he brought his penchant for meet cute romance between Tom Cruise’s super spy and his love interest Michelle Monaghan. It worked well as a new dynamic in the high-octane series. In the follow up film, noted Pixar director Brad Bird takes over with his own touch of tongue in cheek wry humor courtesy of Simon Pegg, as well as a little bit from Cruise and some side characters.

This is a great installment opening with a fun prison break moment accompanied by some Frank Sinatra in the background to earn your appreciative grin. An energetic credit theme sequence featuring Lalo Schifrin’s adventurous theme song follows with a spark on a fuse. I get so wired when I hear the Mission: Impossible Theme.  From there, Bird offers up challenges like putting a spin on the now familiar ID retina scan by any typical spy computer.  There are shootouts, of course. More running – lots of running courtesy of Tom Cruise – a sandstorm, a Kremlin covert operation and a climactic chase for a briefcase within a weird multilevel movable parking garage filled with cars to crash, bash, and drive off high level platforms.

The main centerpiece reaches for the sky however with the world’s tallest (I think) building, the Burj Khalifa in Dubai. I love this scene. Not just because Cruise is doing the stunt of climbing the glass tower himself, but it screams of hilarious moments that belong in Bird’s other great accomplishment, his Incredibles films.  The photography is unbelievable in this sequence even when watching it on a 4K flat screen at home.  This one scene can be taken out of the context of the film and treated like a short story adventure.  The goal that Ethan Hunt is trying to accomplish is to quickly hack into the building computer.  Seems so trivial for the enormous lengths he goes through, but then we wouldn’t get the scene!!!!  So, scale that glass Ethan and let’s see how you get yourself out of this one.  A highlight of not only the film series, but Tom Cruise’s amazing career.

Simon Pegg is hilarious against the reluctance of Cruise’s straight man along with an out of touch Jeremy Renner. There’s a sticky glove that won’t work for Cruise as he scales the outside of the building, but Bird milks the joke while also using Renner, who is of no help but invites nervous glee and desperation.

Especially with Ghost Protocol, the film seems to begin, conclude, and then begin again.  Over and over, the players are explaining what must happen or needs to be done, or what the next step in the mission is.  So, there’s a lot of stops and starts with exposition through the course of the film.  What does it all spell out?  I hardly care.  All I know is the heights of danger are that much bigger, because all IMF agents, including Ethan Hunt and team, are now disavowed following an attack on the Kremlin in Russia. 

I don’t try too hard to piece everything together in the M:I films. Other than Phillip Seymour Hoffman in Abrams’ film, the villains have not been altogether memorable. The breathtaking action is much more fun than the stories. Though this film talks a little too much, something is always happening. This occurs in nearly every installment of the franchise, save for John Woo’s short-changed Mission: Impossible II.

This is a franchise that hasn’t self-destructed.  Cruise and company choose to up the ante with each new installment.  I hope the films continue on that course.

TERMINATOR 2: JUDGMENT DAY SPECIAL EDITION

By Marc S. Sanders

Hailed as one of the greatest sequels ever made, James Cameron’s sci-fi extravaganza Terminator 2: Judgment Day remains revolutionary in its achievements in special effects that still hold up over thirty years later.  This was a major film in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s career, but Robert Patrick became a known character actor for his stoic expressions as a sinister android with the ability to shape shift out of a substance of liquid metal that consumes his entire body.  Neither of these actors have much dialogue and yet the hero versus villain element is so well defined with Cameron’s imagination and drive for effects enhancements. 

It’s ironic.  The first Terminator was a scrapy film with an interesting plotline of time travel to serve outstanding shoot out and car chase mayhem for an hour and forty minutes.  Stan Winston’s make up work was effective. Visual effects of the metal exoskeleton look like the work of Ray Harryhausen from his days working on the Sinbad movies.  Impressive, but they looked outdated.  It’s forgivable though because the storyline and the action were masterfully orchestrated.  Cameron’s sequel makes up for these shortcomings.  It was a box office smash.  The image of Schwarzenegger mounting a Harley Davidson with sunglasses and a black leather motorcycle outfit (shotgun in hand) became as iconic as his standard promise of “I’ll be back,” and just about everything in the film raised the bar that much higher for all vision effects to be produced thereafter.  Some of the imagery in this film remains absolutely astonishing.

In this 1991 installment, two Terminators from the year 2029 are sent back in time to protect a pre-teen John Connor (Edward Furlong in a wonderful and spirited debut performance), the leader of the human resistance in a futuristic war between man and machine.  There is Schwarzenegger as a new T-800 (a steel skeleton with living tissue and skin on top) designed with good intentions to keep John alive.  The T-1000 is the much more advanced liquid metal monster who can form sharp objects like knives and stabbing weapons.  It can also take the shape of any human it encounters.  So, it has the capability of deceit.  This thing is truly unstoppable. 

John’s mother, Sarah (Linda Hamilton), who was being hunted in the first film is now a bulked-up warrior imprisoned in a psychiatric hospital for her violent tendencies, making outrageous stories that predict a doomed future, and for the crime of blowing up a computer factory.  Hamilton makes a major departure from her hokey damsel in distress in the first picture.

James Cameron is a director with high standards.  With each film he has made in his storied career (Titanic, Avatar), he seems to be both the teacher and student of advanced filmmaking.  Every new film shows a new discovery on his part.  The dazzling special effects of Terminator 2 work because they serve the robotic characters.  The effects are the threats and superpowers meshed within the plotline.  The technology used, along with Stan Winston’s artistic make up imagery, serves the story.  The liquid T-1000 will get frozen in liquid nitrogen.  Cameron will show Robert Patrick breaking apart like chipped ice.  Schwarzenegger will shoot the frozen statue, breaking it into a thousand pieces.  Is the monster dead though?  Cameron applies another cool effect for a fast resurrection, and you see how it all functions and morphs into something new.  The T-800 will shoot a grenade into the head of the T-1000, and you’ll see it break apart and what it does next in response.  It’s groundbreaking.  More importantly, it is eye opening.  Absolutely marvelous work.

There’s a handful of cheesy dialogue in Terminator 2: Judgment Day.  That’s to be expected in many of James Cameron’s scripts.  I can’t help but roll my eyes when I hear Michael Biehn or Linda Hamilton deliver a line like “On your feet, soldier!”  I dunno.  It just doesn’t come off authentic to me in the same way a drill sergeant would demand.  Hamilton’s voiceovers never did it for me either and I think it’s a combination of the dialogue and the vocal performance from the actor.  The melodrama is a little too thick in these areas. I’ve often regarded faults like those of Cameron.  That doesn’t make his films any less watchable.  I’m looking at some of the greatest visuals ever to grace a screen.  I do wish that he would take his screenplays to a script doctor, though.

Terminator 2 is never boring.  I opt to watch the Special Edition found in a DVD set.  It’s a recut of the film with lots of extra footage that flesh out the functionality of these sci fi futuristic figures and lend to more character depth.  A dream sequence is included.  Sarah sees the return of Kyle Reece (Michael Biehn), John’s father, to push Sarah on her campaign to change the future and ensure the technology that soon develops in a future 1997 never comes to be, while also continuing to protect their son.  My favorite new addition comes in the final act when we see the T-1000 suffer from the cumulative damage done by the heroes.  That welcomes some new visuals not seen in the original theatrical cut.

No matter which edit you watch though, the set pieces are spectacular with lots of shoot ‘em up mayhem, truck and motorcycle chases, and bullets blazing all over the place, including bouncing off of Arnold Schwarzenegger, while being “absorbed” by Robert Patrick.  A helicopter collides with a SWAT team van.  An entire building explodes into a huge blaze. Cameron offers frequent nightmares for Sarah that depict a truly frightening end to nearly all of humanity with scorching white heat, fire and ash.  A playground never looked so scary.

I digress with a mild spoiler alert.  This most recent watch of the film was fun because I showed it to my fifteen-year-old daughter.  She had a different impression than most movie going audiences who saw the film in 1991.  Promotions at that time clearly demonstrated that Schwarzenegger was a good Terminator this time, while Patrick was the threatening bad guy.  My daughter had no idea.  So, a well edited suspense scene that builds in a shopping mall left her quite surprised when both Terminators meet face to face for the first time, with their guns drawn and John perched right between them.  Who was the protector and who was the killer?  See?  It pays not to watch the commercials and previews.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day is one of many outstanding achievements for James Cameron.  It enhanced a new visual effect introduced in an earlier film of his, the “water worm” in The Abyss, and made it a major story element.  He might not be the best dialogue writer, but Cameron repeatedly showcases the art of writing a solid storyline around the technology he toys with as he brings it all to perfection. 

INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY

By Marc S. Sanders

When a film director, the writers, and producers are trying to make a fifth installment of a franchise that spans over forty years, centered around one of the most iconic characters in history, it is important to consider every factor involved in the process.  My colleague, Miguel, commented that Indiana Jones And The Dial Of Destiny had four writers attached to the project.  Normally, I call that a shortcoming.  When you’re stumped for imagination, turn to yet another writer.  In this case, however, I believe it served to ensure they were providing a fitting send off to the famed archeologist in search of rare antiquities.  Dr. Jones’ final silver screen adventure hits all the right notes thanks to storytellers focused on imagination and sensitivity for the celebrated character.

James Mangold, a director who I don’t think gets enough credit for his accomplishments (Walk The Line, Logan, Ford Vs Ferrari, 3:10 To Yuma) takes over for a busy Steven Spielberg who occupies the producer’s chair this time.  The Dial Of Destiny has a modern Mangold gloss to the cinematography, compared to the distressed, washed out films of Indy’s earlier adventures.  However, it remains a very well-constructed film that should be recognized especially for some outstanding editing.  At the center of the film is a swashbuckling chase through Tangiers on three-wheel scooters and cars. It is as breathless as any of Mangold’s prior work or Spielberg’s pieces.  In fact, all the fined tuned action sequences function so beautifully.   Give the editors an Oscar nomination now!  The DC superhero films need to take a lesson from this esteemed house of Spielberg.

The film has a wonderful prologue worthy of being in the same fraternity with the other films in the series as Indy (a de-aged Harrison Ford) and his colleague (Toby Jones) come face to face with Nazis as Hitler’s reign is quickly collapsing.  The set up of the titled MacGuffin is introduced aboard a high-speed locomotive through German territory.  Flash forward to 1969 in New York City, and it is the eve of Dr. Jones’ retirement being overshadowed by America’s parade celebration of the moon landing.  Circumstances that our hero was never looking for occur and before you know it, Indiana Jones is riding horseback through a subway tunnel after being set up by his long-lost goddaughter, Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge).  Clandestine antagonists are hot on their trail, particularly a professor who goes by the name of Schmidt (Mads Mikkelsen). Then it is on to Morocco, followed by a diving expedition among a school of threatening eels. Sicily is next, and I dare not even reveal where the final destination takes place, but it’s a welcome and very appropriate surprise.  Bravo to the promotion machinists for not even hinting where this new film eventually escorts Indy and his pals.

When George Lucas invented the famed archeologist with the fedora hat, crackling whip, and leather jacket, I believe he was simply looking to arrange with Steven Spielberg to offer an update of the Saturday cliffhanging serials they watched as adolescents.  Indiana Jones was not a character in Raiders Of The Lost Ark.  He was a carving.  Harrison Ford occupied the well-worn image. Spielberg’s silhouettes of the man kept him thankfully recognizable.  Later films gave the world traveler more depth with back stories pertaining to his father (a timelessly memorable Sean Connery) and his one true love Marion (Karen Allen; isn’t she great?).  Indiana Jones is an archeologist by trade. Yet, in an age of advancing technology with television sets in every home during the 1980s and video games being updated quicker than people pay for them, the character is cinema’s greatest historian and one its most adoring adventurers.  The greatest achievement that The Dial Of Destiny offers is an absolutely perfect send-off to the character that movie goers have gotten to know since he first appeared in 1981, when he was the best alternative to James Bond.

Unlike the British secret agent, though, I truly believe only one actor can play Indiana Jones.  All five films demonstrate that Harrison Ford is irreplaceable.  Unlike Bond, who is written to adapt to the respective modern age in which every new film is produced, Ford has aged in line with Jones.  Indiana Jones is a traveler through the history of the twentieth century, researching and uncovering evidence of centuries past.  In his youth he’s fallible, and his improvisation to get out of a tight squeeze remains thematically the same during his elder years.  Time passes and evolves over the twentieth century, but Dr. Jones’ profession and vast intelligence lives in a past before evolution and technological advancement.  

This film features snippets of 60s rock music and references the moon landing.  Jones clearly is grumpily dismissive of these new discoveries.  They are not appropriate in his world. His best skills in the field to fend off what interferes with him are a weapon of ancient times (his whip), some hard-hitting punches and a six-shooter pistol.  Other than his researched knowledge, he doesn’t advance further than that.  So, the character ages physically and out of modern date, just as the man who portrays him does as well.  Ford goes shirtless in one scene.  The wrinkles, grey hair, pot belly and love handles show.

The cast is very welcoming in this latest movie.  Phoebe Waller-Bridge is especially fun and spunky in the same vein as Karen Allen.  She’s smart and instinctual.  Daringly adventuresome too.  I know she’s a newly celebrated screenwriter, but I’d love to see more of her in front of the camera as well.  Toby Jones is that character actor who always looks fitting for a period piece.  Mads Mikkelsen is who casting agents dial up for the quiet, yet scary, villain that the best heroes in film need to face off against.  He’s not doing anything we haven’t seen him do before, but he works well as a smart Nazi stooge.  Antonio Banderas is here, not doing much really.  A kid actor named Ethann Isidore joins the party, reminiscent of the Short Round character, and John Rhys-Davies as Indy’s trusty pal Sallah returns for a few scenes to welcome applause.

The cast is dynamic, and all have their shining moments, but the film belongs to Harrison Ford. I regard his latest performance with a warm smile as a salute to his distinguished career of playing those everyman roles without the bulked-up muscles or tough guy bravado.  He never had the skillful soldier like ease of getting out of any dangerous situation like a Stallone or Schwarzenegger.  Ford steers his characters to those pictures where none of them, including Indiana Jones, ever expect to get caught up in grand adventures.  Yet, when it happens his performances leave you yearning for him to triumph and win out in the end.  The best example is Indiana Jones, of course.  He carries his audiences with the smarts of the character and the pursuit of the unknown and what we can learn more about.  The Indiana Jones series is one of the greatest inventions to ever grace a movie theater.  Because they are born out of history, they will always remain timeless and priceless with each passing generation that discovers these wonderful films.

It’s good to have Indiana Jones back in theaters.  I can’t wait to see this movie again.

SHE SAID

By Marc S. Sanders

I get high off movies about journalism.  All The President’s Men and Spotlight are at the top of this pillar.  The main characters seem to be moving a hundred miles per hour even if they are reserved to their cluttered desks and phones, or if they are talking delicately, and slowly, with empathy as they carefully approach a potential, yet frightened source.  She Said is a 2022 film about how the New York Times reporters, Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor (Carey Mulligan, Zoe Kazan), exposed the systemic process of sexual harassment and rape that was running rampant through Miramax Films.  The accused was always its CEO, Harvey Weinstein.

It’s extraordinary that this film got produced so soon after the MeToo movement and Weinstein’s downfall occurred.  All of it seems like it just happened yesterday.  In fact, Harvey Weinstein is still going through court procedure and trials for sexual crimes he’s accused of that occurred in London, New York and Los Angeles.  There might even be more locations.  New developments hit the internet all the time.  This guy just never stopped.  So, there’s much for the courts to process and try.  This was a terrible black eye, not only for Miramax’s reputation (at the time owned by Disney), but on the entire film industry in Hollywood.

She Said explores not only Twohey and Kantor’s relentless pursuit of the truth and various descriptions of Weinstein’s method with young women, but also how corrupt non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) were used.  The NDAs contained unreasonable demands for hush money provided.  Mandates such as speaking with a therapist or other professionals and close-knit relatives were never allowed lest they suffer consequences.  The victims would get paid, but would also be denied of a copy of the contract, and thus Weinstein found a way to allow his constant grooming and sick pleasures of perversion to carry on. 

The reporters concluded that these victims had no money or resources to stand up to the kind of bullying and harassing that Weinstein’s power exerted.  Quitting or getting fired for fighting for their rights or just refusing his advances left these women out of an industry in which they were trying to elevate their careers.  They lacked proof of the occurrences.  They had to fight a he said/she said scenario.  They were victimized by a man who associated with some of the most powerful people in the world.  It happened to known actresses like Rose McGowan and Ashley Judd (who plays herself in the picture).  It nearly happened to Gwyneth Paltrow (providing her own voice on the phone) as well.  Even worse, it happened to women who didn’t even have the luster of celebrity brand name recognition to help them in their cause.    Nevertheless, it practically destroyed McGowan’s reputation in Hollywood altogether as she was labeled a crazed pariah for declaring her truth.  The tolerance and strategic payoffs were perhaps just as overwhelming as the attacks by Harvey Weinstein.  (Forgive me, I say perhaps because there is no way I am qualified to empathize, measure, or relate to what these victims endured or continue to survive through.)

Maria Schrader’s film does a good job at explaining the risks these reporters take.  A brief prologue shows Megan Twohey getting death threat calls for her write up of Donald Trump’s accusations of sex crimes.  A very convincing Trump vocal impersonator even calls her to tell her she’s a disgusting human being and how he must be innocent simply because he does not know any of these women.  Reader, it bears repeating that many rapists and harassers never know their victims.  When Twohey teams up with Kantor, the intimidations don’t stop and their supervisors and editors in chief (Patricia Clarkson, Andre Braugher) lend support.

Paltrow’s ex-boyfriend, Brad Pitt, was a producer on this film and it’s gratifying to see him lend the support.  I recall reading how he confronted Weinstein following attempts of harassment upon Paltrow shortly after they began dating and making the film Seven together.  Looking back to those years of the mid-1990s, I’d argue that Pitt and Paltrow were taking enormous risks with their careers.  They were just becoming marquee names. Yet, they could have still been ruined within the industry.  This is an environment synonymous with putting blinders on to systemic offenses that occur while lending praise to those that’ll eventually grant them potential Oscar winning roles or twenty-million-dollar paychecks.  

When Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, George Clooney, and Quentin Tarantino say in interviews that I’ve seen that they had no idea what was occurring with Harvey behind closed doors, my reaction has always been skeptical to these claims.  At one point in this film, Twohey and Kantor refer to Harvey’s antics as the worst kept secret in Hollywood. It is sad to say that these marquee names will always owe their careers and success to Harvey Weinstein, criminal rapist or not.

I do have some reservations with She Said, though.  Often the reporters are typing and quick close ups or glances at their monitors are edited into the film, but I can’t read what they are documenting, and I believe the film was assuming I could.  At one point, Braugher’s character announces that Weinstein spoke to Variety magazine and another competitor to share his side of the story and declares “This is bad.”  Yet, we never find out what Weinstein said, and we just get the “Oh shit!” expression from Twohey and Kantor.  Why leave us in the dark on subjects like this?  Why is this so bad? 

The film is fast paced, but many of the scenes are identical to prior ones.  As the reporters speak with victims, they break down their own story.  I believe Weinstein practiced a similar method each time, but the dialogue in these accounts seems redundant.  I get that we are to understand how excessive his predatory actions were, but I was hoping for fresh angles to their ongoing investigation.

The cast is spectacular, particularly Mulligan and Kazan who make a great pair. I really like the dialogue written and delivered by Andre Braugher.  I always thought I don’t see that actor enough in films.  He’s sensational in everything he does, and he carries a real strength to his authority in the New York Times offices.  A championing moment occurs when he cuts in on Harvey’s call with the reporters to give an ultimatum and hangs up.  He just told Harvey, “ENOUGH ALREADY!”

She Said relies on prior knowledge that you must have before watching the film.  You must know who Harvey Weinstein was and the large space he occupied within Hollywood and the film industry.  You need to know who these actresses were, and you have to be familiar with the overwhelming female response to Donald Trump’s agendas which set up the picture.  Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock, it’s hard not to be aware of what’s occurred in the last 5-6 years. 

However, as this film is discovered by future generations, long after Weinstein and Trump, and these victims are passed on, future generations like our children’s children may not fully understand the terrible conspiracies that transpired. 

She Said is a good movie and it holds significant importance.  However, I imagine the book written by Twohey and Kantor provides more details and exposition that I wish the film adaptation offered.  The pace and performance of the picture work very well.  I’m just afraid the script relies a little too much on assuming we know the whole backstory as the film carries on to its triumphant ending.

Watch it anyway, though.  It’s a bravely daring film to say the least.

DEMOLITION MAN

By Marc S. Sanders

In the years since the Sylvester Stallone/Wesley Snipes futuristic action picture Demolition Man came out in 1993, bloggers have been giddy to post about how brilliant the satire is, especially since much of its fictional future set in a totalitarian San Angeles (formerly Los) in the year 2032 ended up becoming real to some degree.  Okay, fine.  I’ll go with what they say.  However, Reader, this is not on the same level as Paddy Chayefsky’s prophetical film, Network, and the legacy it has bestowed.  Demolition Man remains just as stupid as it was when it first came out.

In a mid-1990s prologue of fire, gunfire, and flames, a vicious killer named Simon Phoenix (Snipes), with a happy go lucky habit of giggling through the mayhem he unleashes, is apprehended by decorated cop John Spartan (Stallone).  However, both men are sentenced to decades of cryo-freeze imprisonment because the hostages that Phoenix held had perished and Spartan was found neglectful.

The film jumps to 36 years later. Phoenix has been released and immediately returns to his old habits.  The problem is the law enforcement of this period is not equipped to contain the crazed criminal.  So, Spartan is defrosted as well to go up against Phoenix.  This future is occupied by the cute smiles and charms of Sandra Bullock, Benjamin Bratt and Rob Schneider as the cops who happily sing the melodies made famous by radio and television ads.  Guns are entirely outlawed along with drugs, alcohol, spicy food, and obscene language.  Say a curse word and a machine is nearby, quick to charge you with the offense.  Touching and the exchange of bodily fluids are forbidden as well.  A high five with no contact was an uncanny precursor and is now reminiscent of the early days of the Covid crisis when it was strongly urged that people not even shake hands.  About the only favorable improvement of this future is that toilet paper is no longer used, and people resort to solving their hygiene problems with three seashells.  Regrettably, the technique is never demonstrated.

This film invests a lot of time in its satire, and I appreciate the attempt to find its humor.  The problem is the humor is delivered by Sylvester Stallone and he’s not Bill Murray or Aaron Eckhardt (check out Thank You For Smoking).  Satire is not a wheelhouse for Stallone to reside in.  Sandra Bullock on the other hand is cute in her response.  A memorable scene could have been so much better had Bullock had a more appropriate scene partner.  Lovemaking takes on a whole new method in this 2032 future.  Head devices are used to stimulate the mind.  Oddly enough, you could say that’s the direction that virtual reality has taken.  I appreciate the intuitiveness, but Stallone’s performance doesn’t.  What was intended to be a foreign experience for sexual gratification, comes off very clunky with Stallone.  Imagine what Ben Stiller or Paul Rudd could have done here.  Bruce Willis would have been marvelous in a scene like this.

Wesley Snipes is just as good an action star as Stallone or Willis or Schwarzenegger.  Unfortunately, his Simon Phoenix is so one note as a villain.  He’s a got a bleach blonde crew cut and a giggle and nothing else.  Stallone’s character describes Phoenix as a dirt bag, and the dastardly bad guy shoots guns and does quick kicks.  There’s nothing to know or learn about this guy.  He’s just a target for Sylvester Stallone to do his typical Sylvester Stallone with a shotgun and a handgun and his signature rahhhhhhh bellow that he’s provided in Rambo and Cliffhanger and Cobra and most of the rest of his career.  (Don’t get me wrong though.  Stallone does have a good repertoire of movies.  This one in particular is what doesn’t work.)

Denis Leary lends to the thin plot for a time.  Back in ’93, Leary was known for a few MTV ads where he did his infamous ranting monologue while popping a cigarette.  Because the script for Demolition Man is so nil, the angry comedian is granted opportunity to do his schtick here…twice!  It didn’t amuse me in ’93.  Now it’s just terribly outdated.

Back to the satire, I question the response of the players.  This film takes place only 36 years after a time of violent crime and cursing and smoking and drinking and all the debauchery that we were tolerated.  When Rob Schneider and the police look shocked and terrified at Simon Phoenix’ measure of violence, they are completely oblivious to what’s occurring.  I dunno.  Should they be that gullible?  This guy is only from a time that’s just over thirty years ago.  It hasn’t been that long.  Bullock even has a poster of Lethal Weapon 3 hanging in her office.  The response was hard for me to swallow, and that’s what killed the satirical attempts.  You can’t be that dumbfounded or naïve, can you?

There was a good idea here, but any kind of semblance of thought went out the window once that was jotted down.  The right player was not inserted into the main slot.  Stallone is miscast.  That’s the biggest problem.  Demolition Man hinges on the ho hum gunplay of any Sylvester Stallone actioner and stands on a sliver of irony with how dynamics have played out since the film’s release.  That’s not enough to consider it a fun kind of popcorn flick, though.  Demolition Man needs to remain frozen in time.

LIFEGUARD

By Marc S. Sanders

Sam Elliott is Rick, the Lifeguard at a sunny Los Angeles beach in 1976.  He’s handsome with his trademark mustache and bronze tan.  He’s also in his early thirties and his parents as well as some friends think it’s time he moves on from his occupation into a more responsible and adult line of work.  Even Rick considers the fact that perhaps it is time to finally come of age.

This film from director Daniel Petrie is nothing special or necessarily memorable.  However, while I first thought it would be a wasteful story of just the various walks of life that peruse the beach, it turns out to be a personal story about a man well past the time when he should have transitioned into the next phase of his life.

Rick has been invited to his fifteenth-year high school reunion.  It’s pretty telling when he enters the ballroom.  Petrie does close ups of the other attendees who are all talking about their jobs, maybe their children and spouses as well, maybe even their divorces.  Rick arrives in his gorgeous bachelor ride, a Corvette Stingray convertible, donning a leather jacket and a shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest.  He’s a fish out of water with his former classmates, but he’s still admired and welcomed.  He rekindles a romance with an old flame, Cathy (Anne Archer) who’s a successful art dealer, and he’s welcomed to get to know her young son.  Cathy is ready to go the distance in a relationship with Rick.

At the same time, Rick is trying to hold on to his youth of a bygone time.  He warns his new, college age lifeguard partner, Chris (Parker Stevenson), not to get involved with a cute and precocious seventeen-year-old kid named Wendy (Kathleen Quinlan).  Wendy has her eye on Rick though, and for a moment he returns to when the beach and the surf were once new to him, and he welcomes her invitation for an evening of lovemaking.  Later, as Rick becomes more aware of people his own age doing more appropriate activities for his generation, does it become a challenge for him to reject Wendy’s ongoing attention. 

The legalities and morals of Rick’s involvement with an underage girl are approached but the movie doesn’t delve much deeper than that.  It’s a film of its time, made in the mid-1970s.  I thought of movies like Little Darlings and even the original Meatballs when the drama focused on the internal struggle of some of its main characters. 

Lifeguard starts out episodic as it shows the shenanigans of its beachgoers.  Rick and Chris laugh as two goofballs manage to strip a bikini top of a young blond.  They also fend off a couple of potheads picking on a teen regular.  They deal with a perverted flasher.  Then the movie improves as it gets personal with Elliott’s character and his performance. 

Rick is the guy that everyone looks up to, but he’s human and he can even falter on a team relay race, gasping for breath that just won’t come as he sprints out of the water.  This is a good moment in the film.  Rick is desperately trying to catch his breath and young Wendy is looking right at him trying to see if he’s okay.  Rick’s youth is speaking directly to himself fifteen years later. 

He’s encouraged by a classmate to become a Porsche car salesman where he could make good money.  A good dinner table scene with his parents also occurs when he’s pointedly told to grow up.  I remember a couple of conversations like that with my father.  The question is who does Rick have to grow up for, himself or those around him? At the same time, he’s a very responsible and good lifeguard, and he reminds us that being a lifeguard is also about being a literal life saver.

I appreciate the conclusion to the film.  It’s more realistic and grounded than other movies might have offered with similar themes.  Framed around acoustic guitar and vocals from Paul Williams, Daniel Petrie allows moments of silence for Rick to contemplate and think while gazing at a sun soaked beach and ocean, not talking with anyone about what his next step in life should be.  Don’t we all do that, where we just sit and think, pondering the possibilities of various outcomes for ourselves? 

Lifeguard may be outdated, nearly fifty years after it was filmed, but it is an honest account of a guy who may be content with his current state, even if he’s not ready to consider what’s to come as he continues to age. 

THE LOST WEEKEND

By Marc S. Sanders

Ever wonder why I write so many reviews?  It’s because I yearn to be a successful playwright/screenwriter.  I’ve directed three original plays that I’ve written over the years.  I will be directing a fourth for the holiday season later this year.  Had a few short plays I wrote performed locally as well.  Still, I suffer from a terrible ordeal that often grinds me into bouts of depression and internal rage.  Writer’s block! 

My father always told me that he stayed away from gambling and casinos. He said it was because he could have an addictive personality and he was not confident he could stop if he started.  I know what he means.  I have an addiction.  One that’s not commonly recognized, but I obsess over something every single day. Without fail, every damn day.  It’s my weakness.  Sorry.  I must keep that to myself, though.  Yet my pursuit of what preoccupies my mind taxes on my motivations to write and stretch the imagination needed for churning out one script after another.  So, a remedy is to write about movies that speak to me in lieu of my next great play. 

Billy Wilder’s Oscar winning drama The Lost Weekend demonstrates a writer’s inability to exercise his talent when an endless need for alcohol consumes his every waking moment.  Ray Milland delivers an Oscar winning performance as Don Birnam, an alcoholic wannabe writer of the worst kind.  When Wilder’s film opens, Don seems healthy and spry.  He’s clean shaven, well dressed, and ready to pack a bag for a weekend getaway that his brother Wick (Phillip Terry) has arranged for him along with Don’s girlfriend Helen St. James (Jane Wyman).  Wick implies to Don that this trip is just what his brother needs after what he’s recently been through, and he’ll have his typewriter with him to write in calming solitude.  Eventually we get an idea of what Wick has been referring to as Don attempts to sneak a bottle of rye that is strung outside the window of his New York apartment.  Wick catches Don in the act, pours the bottle down the drain and assures him that he won’t find another drop of liquor anywhere.  He doesn’t even have money to go to the corner bar.  So, Wick and Helen leave Don alone for a few hours before it’s time to depart. Don gets ahold of some cash though, and thus begins a spiral into a drunken binge over a four-day weekend.

I read that when this film was released, test audiences laughed at it.  I guess in 1945 people were not attuned or prepared to witness an account of a very real disease like alcoholism.  I’m not certain it was even diagnosed as a disease at that time.  Surely, the addiction was an ailment though, and Billy Wilder uses some effective cinematic devices to demonstrate the journey into madness and desperation for even just a tiny shot glass of gin or rye. 

A repetitive device is to show a tormented performance from Milland within the shadow of bars or fences.  He’s trapped in his own need for swill.  A telling moment occurs when Don is desperately trying to pawn off his typewriter just for some money to buy more alcohol.  Every store in the city is gated and closed on this particular Saturday though.  It’s the Jewish holiday of atonement for past sins, Yom Kippur.  I found that little detail to be interesting.  Surely, it’s a sin to harm yourself whether by alcohol or suicide, for example, and the holiday is a time for speaking to your inner self and Hashem (G-d) for your past transgressions.  Yet, that is no matter to Don.  He’s not ready or wanting to climb out of his dark hole.

Inanimate objects or props are also given much focus.  Early on, Don is seen at the local bar and Billy Wilder brings an inventive visual to explain just how much this character has consumed in under two hours.  The camera focuses on the wet rings on the bar top left by Don’s shot glass.  First there are two rings, then four and soon, fifteen.  Wilder also zooms his lens into the very bottom of the small glass filled with liquor to show how much the audience will drown in Don’s despair over the course of the film.

Other props also work towards Don’s paranoia such as a ceiling lamp bearing the shadow of a hidden bottle.  Milk bottles left in front of his apartment are not collected from one day to the next showing the passage of time for this weekend, and how even the most basic chore is dismissed so Don can extend his stupor.  A lady’s unguarded purse offers temptation.  A tossed lamp shade seems to glare at Don like a hole that he’s in, as he gets weaker and weaker. 

A magnificent scene, one that I can envision a skilled director doing today with quick cuts on digital film, occurs as Don recalls sitting in a crowded opera house watching the toasting scene of La Triviata; one of the most recognizable operas of all time.  Don is one of many in the audience, and yet he’s the only one alone with the production’s props of various drinking glasses and champagne bottles being used on stage that are mere inches away.  Very quickly into the scene, Billy Wilder skillfully draws focus from the opera singers and diverts towards the immense amount of liquor adorning the stage and the cast with quick cuts of Don salivating and perspiring alone in a chair of a crowded theater.  Everyone else is watching the performance.  Don is gazing at the alcohol.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Martin Scorsese had much admiration for such a sequence.

Phillip Terry is very good in his performance.  I’m surprised he’s not promoted as much as the other two stars of the picture.  Wick cares for his brother, but he’s ready to give up on him after six years of this ordeal, with one more transgression played out. He’s exhausted from lying to cover for Don’s weakness.  He represents the outsider of the dilemma who’s been affected by someone else’s ailment. Jane Wyman as Helen serves a nice purpose as well.  The one last hope for Don.  She’s the only one left who holds on to the faith that she can pull Don out of this nightmare.  Wilder presents these characters as side effects in the Oscar winning script written by him and Charles Brackett. 

Another haunting, but effective dimension comes when Don finds himself in the alcoholics’ ward at Bellevue Hospital, shot on location, and the first film to ever do so.  With an eerie use of a theremin in the soundtrack from Miklós Rózsa, Don is surrounded by dark shadows and tormented victims suffering from drying out just like him.  A nurse explains that he still has the DTs to experience like envisioning being surrounded by horrifying images like bugs crawling on him or something comparatively worse.  I recall from childhood seeing this symptom used on an episode of M*A*S*H.  Wilder invents his own kind of imagery and it’s pretty shocking in its grotesqueness.

I ask for forgiveness when I say that The Lost Weekend seems a little melodramatic. Maybe that’s because movies have built themselves into much more graphic and honest depictions of alcoholism since 1945.  The ending seems to welcome a stringy violin to accompany Ray Milland’s final scene with Jane Wyman.  However, I’m completely impressed with how pioneering this movie must have been for its time.  Billy Wilder didn’t shy away from the dramatic side of drinking. 

The Lost Weekend is certainly an effective and important piece on the study of alcoholism.  I’d recommend it as a visual reference to what can happen to the one who suffers, as well as those around him, including the bartender who deals with the regulars he easily knows by name.  While it’s certainly a movie of its time, the message remains the same.  Though I’m no expert on the effects of alcohol, I’ve seen enough friends who deal with the problem to know that the message in Wilder’s film still rings true.  An addiction to drink will dominate a life.

I always say that movies offer another valuable avenue to learn from.  There’s much to learn from The Lost Weekend.

SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

By Marc S. Sanders

Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse is a gorgeous kaleidoscope of color and kinetic energy.  Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers and Justin K Thompson are a directing powerhouse trio making every scene, moment, or caption completely unique from anything you’ve seen before.  This movie never stops being inventive with itself, all the way down to its end credits.

Within the first half hour of the film, two stories unfold where two “Spider heroes” from different dimensions are struggling with maintaining their costumed alter ego while grasping with lying to their families.  Reader, having just seen the 2023 live action interpretation of The Little Mermaid, I can tell you that in comparison, Across The Spider-Verse is more frank and honest in its characters with what makes them tick and what pains them during their adolescent years.  The acting in this film of various forms of animation is sensational.  Often, animated films don’t let up on the high energy, like the Minions movies for example.  It can get tiring.  This Spider-Man picture allows those quiet intimate moments where it is hard for any teenager to come to terms with his or her parents.  Gwen and Miles are fearful of disappointing those that are close to them.  They’re also reluctant to surrender the secrets they value only with themselves.  Thus, it puts a strain on their respective familial relationships. 

Eventually, the two friends must even come to grips with secrets they’ve kept from one another.  It doesn’t matter that these characters are superheroes.  This is a coming-of-age film on the same level and maturity that writer/directors John Hughes and Cameron Crowe approached with many of their films.  Most teenagers have something unusual in them, and part of growing up is sometimes struggling with whether to ever let our guard down.  The conflicts that Gwen and Miles experience are trying to figure out what is best for themselves and the relationships they have with their parents.  I really felt for them in those quiet moments when the music was turned off and the fast paced scene changes that moved the film’s adventures came to a welcome pause.  Santos, Powers and Thompson know the beats to uphold their story.

Gwen Stacey (Hailee Steinfeld) is known as Spider-Gwen.  Miles Morales (Shameik Moore) is known as Spider-Man, residing in different dimensions of Earth separate from Peter Parker’s interpretation that most people are familiar with.  Complications arise when an inventive new villain causes mayhem in Miles’ neighborhood.  This guy is known as Spot (Jason Schwartzman), who opens holes or portals for him to transport objects like, say an ATM machine from one spot to another as he tries make way with his robbery loot.  Seems like a simple villain of the week, but then Spot gets some ideas and before you know it, Miles is following Gwen into another alternate dimension in pursuit of the dastardly mischief maker. 

Much like we see in time travel films like Back To The Future, if you mess up what was meant to be, it could alter everything else a million fold.  Just one tiny pebble rippling across the water can cause all sorts of trouble, and without even realizing it, Miles’ heroics may have caused a problem that can’t be undone.  This only invites more trouble for the poor kid.

The real treat of Across The Spider-Verse is what Gwen and Miles encounter, which is pretty much the entire history of the most famous Marvel Comics character of all time.  So many different interpretations of Spider-Man eventually lend to this story, and each one serves a purpose within the two-hour film.  My comic book experience allowed me to recognize so much from cartoons of the 1960s to the Saturday morning series of the 80s, and all the way through the various iterations found in newspaper pages and comic magazines. The last 20 years of films are also given their due.  It’s unbelievable how deep the filmmakers go.  Still, you don’t have to know about one single Spider-Man to follow this picture and appreciate all of its frolics.

Beyond a Best Animated Film Oscar, here is an animated film worthy of a nomination in film editing.  Miles and Gwen call it threading.  I love that term!  When they are swinging over skyscrapers and then down into the valleys of the metropolitan city streets alongside the multi lanes of traffic, buses and cabs, through alleyways, over sidewalks, and then up into the skies again, only to run atop an elevated train, the action moves so fast and seamlessly.  It’s a glory to watch it play out.  It feels like a wonderous amusement park ride.  The action is bridged together beautifully in different shades of reds, blues, greys, pinks, and purples.  This is how you assemble a film and take passion in the project.

I did think the movie ran about ten or fifteen minutes too long.  However, the ending packs such a punch.  When the film finishes, I defy you not to hearken back to the first time you saw The Empire Strikes Back, or The Fellowship Of The Ring, or Avengers: Infinity War.  The preview audience that my Cinemaniac pal Anthony and I were a part of roared with cheers at the conclusion of this film with tremendous applause.  Put it this way, reader, sadly the theatre we saw this film at left me wanting a better sound system.  The volume was way too low.  However, it never hindered the thrilling experience we had with this inventive picture story.  (That’s another recommendation.  See Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse with the best sound system you can find on the best screen you can uncover.)

Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse may be one of the top 10 best films of the year.  I know I’ll be considering it for my list come late December/early January.  Few films get as inventive as this, and it is definitely one of the best Spider-Man films to ever grace a movie screen.

THE LITTLE MERMAID (2023)

By Marc S. Sanders

Film remakes can go either way.  It’s even more of a challenge for it to succeed artistically if the original interpretation is such a favorite among the masses.  The 2023 updated version of Disney’s The Little Mermaid directed by Rob Marshall is fair, but it also never overcomes the challenge.

The new film primarily repeats the same story that many are familiar with.  A youthful mermaid girl named Ariel dreams about living among the humans above the surface.  Her father refuses the idea as he finds humans to be vile and dangerous.  Ariel makes a deal to trade in her beautiful voice to Ursula, the sea witch, in exchange for becoming a human.  She is granted three days to fall in love with Prince Eric.  If at the end of the three days she has not kissed the prince with a means of true love, she will turn back into a mermaid and will remain a prisoner of Ursula forever.

To call this new film adaptation of the Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale a live action film is only partially true.  If we are to witness the undersea life of mermaids and talking fish, well then, it’ll have to be animated somewhat, even if it is done digitally.  Therefore, to have the freedom to animate the sequences set to unforgettable numbers like “Part Of Your World” and “Under The Sea,” I wish the filmmakers were paying a little more attention. 

Consider some lyrics to “Under the Sea:”

Down here all the fish is happy…

Up there all the fish ain’t happy

They’re sad, cuz they’re in the bowl

It doesn’t win my attention if Sebastian the singing crab is singing about fish while the heroine of the story, Ariel, is swimming among dolphins who are scientifically regarded as mammals!!!!!!  You can show me any number of different colorfully prancing ocean dwellers, and you show me dolphins?????  In a musical number, the choreography must serve the purpose of the song.  In the original 1989 film, every animated image of any particular song lines up with the lyrics of numbers written by Alan Menken and Howard Ashman.  Regrettably, Rob Marshall seems to have turned the sound off while reinventing this moment. 

Sadly, I didn’t care for the updated composition of “Under The Sea” (an Oscar winning number) or “Part Of Your World.”  Why alter the notes and vocal delivery of some of the most famed pieces in Disney’s musical library?  Steven Spielberg’s update of West Side Story didn’t do that.  Spielberg knows that if ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  These are favorites!!!!  I can’t be the only one who doesn’t like it when the artists change everything about his/her/their greatest hits when I’m at their concerts.  The same accounts here. 

Still, it’s not all bad in this new The Little Mermaid.  Most of the cast is quite good.  Newcomer Halle Bailey (sure to be memorable in the upcoming musical version of The Color Purple) is sensational and she’s wonderful to look at as either the mermaid or the human version lacking a voice.  She has a wonderful singing voice and she’s a terrific actor against a CGI world of complicated water shots and imaginary creatures serving as her companions.  Melissa McCarthy is unrecognizable as Ursula, the sinister squid sea witch.  Her voice has a gruff intimidating edge to it and her torso and head donned in purple texture flow nicely with the CGI tentacles.  Javier Bardem is not doing his best work here because the script doesn’t demand it of him, but he fits in nicely as Triton, king of the undersea and father to Ariel.

Jacob Trembley lends a preteen personality to Flounder whose role is significantly diminished in this update.  That’s a mistake.  Instead, we get more of Scuttle who doesn’t look like a pelican any longer but is a bird who can somehow hold his breath under water for long periods of time to carry on panicked conversations with her pals.  Awkwafina voices Scuttle, and though I heard some laughter from the audience in response to her performance, it just didn’t win me over.  I found this Scuttle to be a nuisance that took me out of the film with each appearance.  The hip hop rap number (written by Lin Manuel Miranda) she performs was a very underwhelming substitute for comedy.  What was sacrificed was the hilariously silly, slapstick number from the original, where the French chef enthusiastically sang “Les Poisson,” as he torments poor Sebastian in a kitchen full of knives, boiling water and searing hot stoves.

Sebastian, the well-known sidekick, is just okay.  Daveed Diggs is a talented vocal performer, but I don’t think the final product served him well.  Often, I looked at this little guy and was not impressed, as remembrances of disappointment came back to me when I saw Jar Jar Binks for the first time.  Just like that Star Wars character, the googly eyes are detached from the head and Sebastian only evokes expression in that one area.  Nothing is done with the tiny mouth or cheekbones or ears.  Not even his claws or tiny legs offer much to do.  This crab lacked life.  As my colleague Miguel simply put it, the crab was not funny.  He just wasn’t funny in the slightest. 

A nice surprise comes from Jonah Hauer-King as the dashing Prince Eric, rescued from a shipwreck by a mysterious woman with a hypnotically, sensuous voice.  Eric’s role is thankfully expanded with the inclusion of his mother the island Queen (Noma Dumezweni).  Grimsby, the Prince’s aid, is also a welcome appearance (Art Malik) with more to do this time around.

I know for sure that I preferred the second half of the film over the first where new surprises are offered.  Rob Marshall’s film switches the influence of the story to a calypso/Caribbean vibe which is different from the slightly implied Greek environment of the 1989 piece.  This change allows a variety of different people of color and cultures to blend nicely together with believability.  After Ariel transforms into a human and Eric guides her across the island for a day of fun and escape, the story and settings come alive in color and calypso harmony.  In this area of the picture, much of the script is concentrated on Eric and his debates with his mother and her disapproval of the undersea colonies.  Confidant conversations also arise between Eric and Grimsby that I liked.  There’s more innocent flirtations between him and Ariel.  Hauer-King has good scenes with all of his co-stars from Halle Bailey to Noma Dumezweni and Art Malik.  The first half of the film is where much of the underwater life takes place, and it only convinced me so far, really taking me out of the film with the reinvention of the movie’s most famous songs.

Ultimately, like the live action interpretations of Aladdin and Beauty And The Beast this new version of The Little Mermaid is not a must watch and as much as I’m impressed with Melissa McCarthy, Halle Bailey and Jonah Hauer-King, I can’t recommend seeing it at $15 a ticket.  Why should you when the easily accessible and wholly original film is available?  This is just an unnecessary venture.

I’ve grown up as a Disney fan, but once again the Mouse House is demonstrating a lack of will to broaden its imagination.  They’d rather run in with another cash grab at the box office by issuing a substandard product repeat. 

THE DEAD POOL

By Marc S. Sanders

Sometimes five is too much.  It was for Clint Eastwood as Inspector Dirty Harry Callahan.  The Dead Pool was the fifth and final entry in the famed crime drama series.  Eastwood moves slower this time.  He does not come off as much of a rebel any longer.  Most notably, the story doesn’t have the feel of a Dirty Harry film.  The cop who was infamous for questioning the laws set in place seems to be just slotted into this film. 

The Dead Pool is directed by Buddy Van Horn, who had a long career as a stuntman and assistant director for many of Eastwood’s films, and other actors like Charlton Heston and Henry Fonda.  He does a ho hum job with the picture.  I don’t need to be treated to inventive shots or camera angles to enjoy a movie.  I have yet to visit San Francisco, but at least Buddy Van Horn provides enough locales to feel like I’m getting a serviceable tourist view.

A twisted game is being played in the underground scene.  People are making lists and betting on local celebrities they expect to die soon.  One name includes a heavy metal rock star played by James Carey, later to be known as Jim.  There’s also a snobby film critic who is a deliberate inspiration of Pauline Kael.  (Kael’s reviews were not too kind to many of Eastwood’s films over the years, particularly the original Dirty Harry.)  At the bottom of the list is Harry himself, who is surprisingly favored by the police department officials – first time that has happened – for putting away a powerful mob boss.  A side story consists of the boss giving orders out to his crew to take revenge on Harry and provide some escapist shootouts to move the film along. 

The police department want Harry to cooperate as their hero poster boy.  Harry doesn’t care for fame, though.  It’s not his style.  Yet, a persistent television reporter (Patricia Clarkson) wants his story.  A little romance is implied but Harry is not one for gossip fodder.  Unfortunately, Eastwood and Clarkson are really lacking chemistry here.

The rock star and the movie critic are murdered.  Harry must be next, and a horror film director (Liam Neeson) seems like the prime suspect because his dead pool list had included all three names. 

The Dead Pool is not a terrible movie, but it does not live up to other Dirty Harry installments. Primarily because it does not follow the character’s familiar mantra against the bureaucrats and the flawed system of prosecution and law enforcement that he’s always been challenged with.  At times, I’m looking at Eastwood and I’m asking myself who is this guy?  Sure, he’s got a few one liners of dry wit.  The famed eyebrow stare is there too, and the .44 Magnum as well.  However, Harry doesn’t seem to stand apart so much from everyone else as he did in the other films.  Beyond the giant gun, that is what made Harry Callahan so famous on screen. 

The investigation that Harry is assigned to with a Chinese American cop (Evan C Kim) is very bland.  We hardly get to know any of the victims or what they stand for, and when the true killer is revealed, it turns out to be a last-minute introduction of someone we’ve yet to see.  There’s no surprise to the culprit behind all of this. 

The series is also well known for the partners that Harry is forced to work with.  In The Enforcer, Tyne Daly brought out Harry’s regard towards women working in his dangerous field that demonstrated his initial frustration followed by his reluctant acceptance.  In the first movie, Remi Santori came about when it was okay to say that Harry took issue with all kinds of demographics, including Mexicans.  A chumminess nicely developed between those two guys as they tracked down the killer, together.  The second film, Magnum Force, offered a partner to also care about.  These are good side performers that colored in much of the Harry Callahan lore.  In this movie, Evan C Kim has one standout moment in the first ten minutes where he surprises everyone, especially Harry, with how he disarms a robber by use of martial arts.  It’s a great scene.  After that, though, he’s given nothing to do.  This actor had promise for more interactions with Eastwood.  It just never delivered.

The series started in the gritty times of 1971 when political correctness was not ever considered.  By the time the last two films were released in the 1980s of Ronald Reagan, who famously adopted “Go ahead.  Make my day,” for Gorbachev, there was a new wave of sensitivity abound.  I like to believe with the prior installment, Sudden Impact, Harry Callahan learned something new about himself with regards to the rights women had or were denied of while still applying his own code.  With The Dead Pool, the writing seems reluctant to go anywhere near a potential debate, and so it drips itself into a stale slasher movie with the cop ready to fire his six shooter.

The grand highlight of the film is a car chase on the hilly streets of San Francisco, which is the best place for a car chase, always.  What separates this one from the others is a little remote-controlled car that pursues Harry and his partner, ready to activate its equipped detonator at just the right moment.  The editing of this sequence is really fun, and it’s a great salute to Bullitt and other gritty, urban cop films, particularly the Dirty Harry movies.  This toy car flies over fruit stands and careens through sidewalks and over sewer holes.  Meanwhile Harry screeches down one hill after another trying to evade this pesky rapscallion.  It’ll definitely put a smile on your face while the moment lasts.

I recall being eager for another Dirty Harry movie.  I grew up loving many of Clint Eastwood’s films.  Dirty Harry is a favorite character of mine.  Yet, I also remember feeling really let down when my dad and I walked out of the theatre.  The Dead Pool just doesn’t have the same flavor as the other Eastwood products.  Again, it’s not the worst picture.  It’s standard cop fare coming in at a lean ninety minutes.  Eastwood and the rest of the cast are okay with what they’re doing.  I just would’ve changed the name of the main character listed at the top of the cast list.  He could have been Dirty John Doe for all I care.