SUPERMAN (2025)

By Marc S. Sanders

Once again the man in blue, red and yellow has returned to the big screen by means of director James Gunn who is intent on starting a whole new universe of DC comics characters.  The 2025 interpretation of Superman is zippy and fun even if it is a little too shallow of character development and dimension.  That’s regrettably ironic actually.  A man who dons two different personalities, Superman and mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent. Yet, neither has much to say or stand for in this two hour picture.

Gunn’s film is defiant to avoid any heavy exposition as this film begins.  There’s a slim foreword as the picture begins to describe this new universe that contains metahumans who arrived on Earth centuries ago, along with a little bit of Kal-el’s origin that many of us are familiar with.  Then we see the Man Of Steel crater into the Antarctic wounded from battle and aided by his feisty canine friend, Krypto, who drags him to his ice palace, the Fortress of Solitude.

Action commences thereafter back in Metropolis.  Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult) is pulling the puppet strings.  Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) and the rest of the Daily Planet staff witness the mayhem over the city.

Then we get a bit of Clark looking a little goofy as he rushes into work, followed by some romantic interlude between Clark and Lois back at her apartment.  The two toe the line of their relationship when finally, the Superman persona allows his girlfriend to test his purpose for serving planet Earth along with his limits of authority and decisive action.  They go back and forth but none of the dialogue lands and the argument has no impact.  A missed opportunity to set up the Lois and Clark relationship.

The rest of the picture focuses on comic book episodes of endangering Superman while other metahumans make appearances – an obnoxious Green Lantern (Nathan Fillion), Hawkgirl, the shape shifting Metamorpho, and the surprisingly entertaining Mr. Terrific (Edi Gathegi) who seems to operate like Mr. Spock from Star Trek.  Of the four, the guy with the dumbest name actually serves the picture the best.

James Gunn’s film takes a huge departure from the recent films of Zach Snyder’s universe.  Nothing is dark and hardly anything is morose.  Some subplots seem to be ripped from the headlines of current events that’ll have you thinking about the Russian-Ukraine war.  None of it is overly heavy though because this picture is designed for families to watch together. 

Superman is pure escape with a red cape.

What I miss though is what both the Snyder and the Christopher Reeve pictures offered.  What does Superman mean to himself and the planet Earth?  The one conversation between Lois and Clark/Superman goes on long and while it feels like there is a purpose in that exchange, I cannot recall one kind of conclusion that stemmed from it.  For the rest of the film, Lois flies a spaceship and helps a weakened Superman find aid. When the two share any more scenes together it is for the action of the piece followed by a kissing scene.  I just didn’t respond to the puppy love or risks of their relationship that other iterations offered.  Their connection is just written a little too thin.  That’s a problem, because the Superman mythos always hinged on their relationship in the face of danger or true love or even journalistic integrity.

Am I being too serious and hardheaded?  Yes.  Nevertheless, even with a comic book/Saturday morning cartoon gloss, I wanted to see more weight to the relationship between the two characters.

The best attraction is Nicholas Hoult as a connivingly evil Lex Luthor.  He’s a raging madman bent on destroying Superman like everyone knows and the actor chews the scenery while primarily hiding in his glass headquartered command center for most of the film.  Anytime the movie diverts to Luthor, the picture just felt more alive.  This is a great Lex Luthor!!!!!!

Like he did with a smart aleck racoon in his other films, James Gunn introduces a toy line merchandise with the flying white terrier dog known as Krypto.  His intent is for audiences to cheer for him like other precocious creatures from past films such as any Disney movie or E.T. or Baby Yoda or Rocket Raccoon.  He’s cute and spirited.  When he’s in danger, the kids will be worried.  When he flies into the center of the screen with a bark or a yelp, everyone will applaud. 

David Corenswet is Superman.  He’s fine.  He definitely looks like the part.  He’s a happy go lucky Kryptonian.  He’ll never be as memorable as Christopher Reeve.  I also have more to appreciate in Henry Cavill’s performance.  I just didn’t see Corenswet do enough with this role.  I’ve yet to really see the dramatic chops he could offer.  Simply lying on the floor of a cell while falling ill to Krytonite is not urgent or frightening enough.  I hardly got to know this guy to care enough if he lives or dies.  I hope he’ll blossom some more within future installments of Gunn’s superhero universe.  That’s up to the writers though.  David Corenswet is pleasingly relaxed in a role that demands almost a hundred years of acceptance for a modern age.  I’m confident he can do it and that Gunn cast the right guy for the part.  While he’s acceptable, both Corenswet and Brosnahan would best be served better material for them to work together. 

As for Rachel Brosnahan, I guess she’s okay.  I don’t see her do much beside fly a spaceship.  Lois Lane is such an immense character of brains and gusto striving to always be the number one reporter.  Her only weakness is her love for Superman.  There’s not much I remember about her from this film.  I did notice that she primarily wears purple like the character did in 1990’s animated series.  Nice salute.  Come on James Gunn.  Rachel Brosnahan is good actress.  Give her something more to do.  Let her act a little.  (Let David Corenswet act a little too.)

It’s wonderful that an optimistic interpretation of Superman has arrived.  We need it.  It’s colorful and fun.  It could be more exciting, though, with higher stakes that just didn’t arrive quite right.  This film is not my ideal picture of the hero, but the universe to come, especially with a quick appearance from another character at the conclusion, offers promise. 

Despite my reservations, the new DC Cinematic Universe seems to be in the right hands once again, and James Gunn’s team will deliver something entertaining for the next few years to come.

EQUILIBRIUM

By Marc S. Sanders

It’s amazing what drugs can do to you.  Take them on a regular basis and perhaps you can maintain focus and discipline as an enforcer to a dystopian humanity.  Then again, if you stop taking the medication, maybe you’ll open your eyes wider with an ability to nurture, care and appreciate.

This is the set up to writer/director Kurt Wimmer’s futuristic sci fi tale, Equilibrium.  The immense action scenes look like a modified springboard off of what The Matrix provided.  Be that as it may, at least the story stands on its own with an Orwellian inspiration to give it legs. It actually looks like an elder stepbrother to that Apple Super Bowl commercial directed by Ridley Scott.

The best of a specialized police force is the Grammatron Cleric, John Preston (Christian Bale).  Within the bustling city of Libra, large monitors periodically remind commuters to take their routine Prozium.  This allows emotions and feelings to be suppressed.  Thus, order is upheld.  Jealously, for example, is ostracized from this community. The Clerics must heed to this program strictly as a means to live by example.  

Still, even with most of the world population wiped out, there are factions and individuals who do not abide by this governance.  Preston, along with large squads of heavily armed militia seek out these offenders and often discover their fix for stimulation coming from sources of art, literature, and music.  Apprehend the criminal(s), and destroy the contraband they conceal under floor boards and behind plastered walls.  The actual Mona Lisa becomes an early casualty of legal property possession. 

If the culprits take up arms, they’ll be no match for the Clerics, especially the best of this class, John Preston.  

Yet, what happens if John opts not to continue his dosage?

Equilibrium does very well at teaching this unfamiliar science fiction before exploring how it all crumbles.  The expository opening presents an exciting scene of Preston’s methods.  Later, it follows how the system malfunctions.  

Miguel warned me ahead of time because about the only thing I feign at seeing in a movie is any kind of harm to a dog.  A disturbing moment occurs as John experiences his “awakening,” and considering the value I have for a dog’s affection I cannot deny how necessary the moment plays here.  It lends to the change in the protagonist’s character arc.  It is a cruel scene but with anything that feels unjust, within reality or fiction, an event has to occur to pull our heads out of the sand.

The action scenes have a unique flair to them as the Clerics reveal firearms that dispense from under the uniformed sleeves ready to use for firing, but with a martial arts kind of gloss.  While you watch it’s just plain cool, and Christian Bale looks great doing the stoic, less is more exertion to the moments.  He’s such a good actor at performing choreographed dances of shoot ‘em up violence while struggling to maintain an uncompromising mentality this character is expected to be accustomed to.

On the other hand, his new partner, Brandt, is either drafted incorrectly in the script or miscast with Taye Diggs in the role.  He’s a Cleric in training and an admirer of Preston. If the Clerics are supposed to be devoid of emotion, then why is his envy of this man so apparent.  It’s Taye Diggs stepping off his familiar Broadway stage.  However, I do not believe that’s what Equilibrium is expected to offer.  Brandt seems to possess too much pleasure for his calling.  Ultimately, Brandt becomes the antagonist who serves the greater power as his suspicions grow about Preston’s “withdrawal.”  Taye Diggs and Brandt feel like they belong in another film.

Preston had a wife who disappeared mysteriously as well, and he’s left with two children who are being designed to perform like him.  I found the kids to be too much excess for Wimmer’s script though.  Yes, the son turns up at a crucial moment of discovery.  However, after the children appear early in the film, their father does not associate or see them again until close to when the story is wrapping up.  I’m certain the daughter had no more than one line of dialogue. I think it would have been better to excise this storyline altogether.  It has no urgency, nor is it fleshed out enough.  Why must John Preston be a father?  

Equilibrium is an interesting sci fi amalgamation of George Orwell and Phillip K Dick constructs.  There are some disturbingly decent ideas here and if you’re not careful you may find yourself comparing its designs to what some worldwide political climates feel like today.  Don’t overthink it though.  

It has some faults, but the action is entertaining.  Fortunately, Christian Bale occupies the whole of the piece.  The guy is just too dang cool, dressed in black garb with surprise weapons appearing from nowhere at his will while he twirls through the air with his arms outstretched and ready for fast moving combat.

Let’s see John Preston face off against Neo from The Matrix next.  My god, that’ll make the John Wick movies feel like nursery rhyme programs.

Think about all the artillery and jiu jitsu. 

I gotta lie down.  The headrush is making me feel like I overdosed on Prozium. There was a time when I got emotional over things, wasn’t there?

JAWS 2

By Marc S. Sanders

The last movie, the masterpiece of masterpieces, told us that a great white shark is rare for the kinds of waters that surround the New England area of Amity Island.  Well, Jaws 2 disproves that fictional theory as Chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) ascertains that another man eater has arrived with a large appetite for chomping on swimmers, scuba divers and water skiers.  It’s ridiculous but it’s an entertaining sequel with a supporting cast of young actors ready to effectively tremble and scream while trying to survive the clutches of a hungry great white.  

Things appear tranquil yet prosperous for Amity.  A developer has completed a large Holiday Inn hotel that will magnify tourism profitability.  To Martin’s chagrin, his wife Ellen (Lorraine Gary) works for this guy.  Mayor Vaughn (Murray Hamilton) somehow got reelected following that terrifying Fourth of July weekend from a few years ago.  (Well…his kids were on that beach too.) Chief Brody’s biggest concern though is his oldest son Michael’s penchant to laze around sailing with his friends for the summer when he should be getting a job.  Michael just wants to score with the new girl in town.

All is well until an abandoned boat is discovered off shore with an underwater camera dropped on the ocean floor, near Captain Quint’s shipwrecked Orca.  Thereafter, is an explosive water skiing accident.  The most hideous eyesore must be the beached, partly devoured corpse of a humongous killer whale.  The bite sizes are enormous.  Chief Brody is getting terribly suspicious, but once again his intuition is being disregarded until the truth reveals its blood in the waters. 

Jaws 2 is effective suspense.  The teens are straight out of familiar slasher movies, but this film actually released ahead of Halloween and Friday The 13th fare.  Director Jeannot Szwarc captures good close ups of the whole cast and magnificent pace with a speeding fin that slices through the ocean surface.  These kids are mostly nameless but the director gives them good moments to put their greatest fears on.  When the sailboats capsize and the kids topple into the water, there’s a nervous tension all the way to the end of the picture.

It’s no secret that Scheider hated making this movie.  Universal contractually beheld him to it after he dropped out of Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter.  Nonetheless, I like the direction the character takes with returning script writer Carl Gottlieb.  Brody’s job is in jeopardy and maybe his marriage, along with the paternal strife he gets in the way of his eldest boy.  Roy Scheider does fine with the material.  Perhaps his personal frustrations lent to the performance.

What doesn’t work is Bruce II – the shark.  To this day I’m still stricken with fear of the shark from Spielberg’s film, even after we finally get to see it.  It truly is a scary monster.  In Jaws 2 however, the animal looks like something you buy at a beach novelty store for your grandson to play with in a kiddie pool.  The texture of the shark never feels authentic particularly after it survives a fire.  I am not fond of how it swims or raises its head above water.  Even when a helicopter gets in its crosshairs, the shark looks small and literally mechanical, never seeming strong or powerful enough to kill, maim and destroy. The magic trick just appears entirely too transparent.  Fortunately, I bought into how this town’s worst fears eventually come true again.  The perception of Brody and the kids is the mightiest strength of the film.

A brief mention is given to Matt Hooper (famously played by Richard Dreyfus in the first picture).  That always left me curious with why Universal did not pursue a sequel based on his character instead of Brody.  It’s hard to swallow that another monster shark is terrorizing Amity again.  Wouldn’t it have more plausibility for the actual shark specialist to pursue another brutally unforgiving Carcharodon Carcharias elsewhere in the world?  I think a story moving in this direction could have opened a lot fresher possibility.

Regardless, Jaws 2 is a fun summertime escape with one of the most familiar taglines in cinematic history: “Just when thought it was safe to go back in the water.”

Only watch Jaws 3 & The Revenge when you’re ready to get your itch for a Mystery Science Theater 3000 kick to commiserate with some friends on a Saturday night.  Save Jaws 2 for when you want more shark chum after having watched the classic original for the five thousandth time.    

F1

By Marc S. Sanders

Miguel and I are the two unpaid movie critics who find ways to entertain ourselves beyond the IMAX picture on the screen.  By now, I know when Nicole Kidman is arriving and I start her off by saying out loud “We come to this place…”. Mig turns his head down in sarcastic annoyance.  We applaud at the return of Jaws in theaters this August.  There’s a rhythm we chemically thrive on.

Thirty minutes after a series of trailers plus an unwanted Allstate commercial (Thanks a lot AMC), the film begins, and the personal hand gestures begin.  Excuse me a moment.  I must pause for a moment.  (a-hem!) 

GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTERS!!!  

Now, where were we?  

Oh yes…

During the running time of Brad Pitt’s racing movie, F1, there were animated fist pumps (“Yeah!  Alright!!”).  There was rhythmic poking in and out of my right index finger jamming into my left thumb and forefinger (“Brad is about to get it on with Kate, the staple romantic interest, played by Kerrie Condon”).  A palm up facing twirl of the wrist (“Of course.” “Naturally!”). There’s the muted gasp pat on Miguel’s arm (“Is it?” “Could it be?” “Don’t tell me!” “Brad is fully recovered and walking through the steam cloud to pilot his race car?” “Again?”  “For one last time?”).  F1 covers all the expected beats.  

Frankly, I am not aware of too many racing films.  Days Of Thunder with Tom Cruise, of course.  Ron Howard did an engaging piece called Rush.  Ford Vs Ferrari works better as a bio than just a racing movie.  Pixar has its series of cute films. Still, just like the new Jurassic World picture, and I’m sure the latest Superman iteration arriving later this week, F1 is all too familiar like any kind of sports movie or Top Gun on the track Jerry Bruckheimer pic.

Tom Cruise—I mean Brad Pitt—is legendary stock car racer Sonny Hayes, a middle aged, washed up and broke recovering gambler desperately invited by his friend and former teammate Gabriel (Javier Bardem) to rescue his racing team from going belly up and leaving him hundreds of millions of dollars in debt.  Gabriel already has a cocky, promising driver named Joshua enlisted. He is performed very well with a lot of appeal by Damson Idris.  However, the young man does not have focus yet and lives for his social media likes and attention.  It’s up to Sonny to make the Formula One racing squad look like a contender while reigning in Joshua who can’t let go of personal conceit and a jealous animosity.

Kerry Condon is the engineering designer of Sonny and Joshua’s racing vehicles.  With each race, Kate trouble shoots what needs improvement and what can advance the drivers’ rankings.  Too bad she can’t fully invest her expertise as F1 demands she flirts with Sonny.  (Cue my right index finger while Miguel is ready to brush it away.)

The most impressive moments from Joseph Kosinski’s (Top Gun: Maverick) film are the racing scenes.  You are seeing both Pitt and Idris tucked within the snug cockpits of these low to the ground speedster machines.  The editing is superbly matched with the roaring sound and a pulsing soundtrack from another Hans Zimmer masterpiece.  

My one issue is the final cuts of the various races lacked overhead shots.  I would have liked to have seen moments from above where I could follow when the race cars pull in and out of a pit stop for example and stay on pace with unnamed competitors.  Kosinski gives an overabundance of close-up shots of the actors in the cars but not as much outside of the vehicles.  It’s all very exciting though, and when a film opens with revving engines playing in tandem with Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love, well you have me hooked.

F1 is like another exciting amusement park ride that you’ve experienced a hundred times before.  In between the races, while there are well drawn characters played by good actors, there’s ho hum filling material that keeps this speedy ride going about a half hour to forty-five minutes too long.  The guys have to argue.  They have to lose the race.  They each have to crash their cars.  They have to be tricked into getting along.  There also has to be a traitor among the ranks.  There has to be sequences of music overplaying a series of different races and the voiceover commentators chiming in with standard fare like “…and here comes Sonny Hayes from behind…” As well, Pitt and Condon have to get it on.  She has to tell him she doesn’t get romantically involved with racers before they hump each other’s brains out (Cue the index finger!).  

Sonny also has to be told he’s finished, before emerging from that humid, sunlit steam cloud where Joshua and the pit crew slowly raise their sunglasses and drop their jaws, upon his return. (Cue the muted gasp, followed by my twentieth fist pump.)

Look, F1 is entertaining.  It’s well made.  It’s got great action with impressive direction and an enthusiastic cast.  Still, I’m tired of this more of the same.  I alluded to my same feelings yesterday with Jurassic World: Rebirth.  It’s all the same flavor and these iterations are not daring enough to take big risks or surprises with what they offer.  Consider Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame.  Those films were expected to play by the same beats and yet there were some shocks to come through.  Look at what happened with The Empire Strikes Back.  Anyone see those surprises when first encountered?  The stakes were always surprisingly high, and the heroes were getting personally affected, not just episodically, but permanently.  

Blockbusters need not be so cookie cutter all of the time, but that’s exactly what is happening.  I already know the outcome of the upcoming Fantastic Four movie.  It could not be more apparent and unimaginative.  

I watched Companion which just hit HBO MAX earlier this month and in ninety minutes, that bloody delicious film diverts in so many different directions with a bare minimum setting and a small cast.  It’s as bloody as most thriller movies we’ve seen but an applied script turns on its axis over and over again.

On an IMAX screen, F1 especially delivers. Yet, while I’m absorbing well staged cuts of movie made racing footage, my mind is turning into comatose mush and the only thing that keeps it electrified is to acknowledge the standard beats.  

Declaring “Gentlemen, START YOUR ENGINES!” will not hold my attention for 200 laps.

Do it with me now:

Fist pump!

Finger fuck!

Muted gasp!

The Of Course!

Now you know the drill! Hit the gas!!! Turn up the volume and let Robert Plant remind you that You need coolin’/Baby I’m not foolin’

JURASSIC WORLD: REBIRTH

By Marc S. Sanders

You’ve seen this movie before.  You likely saw it when you saw the trailer.  

The Jurassic films spawned from Michael Crichton’s ingenious best-selling novel, Jurassic Park (my favorite book of all time), stampede on and on, going on thirty-two years now.  Here is the seventh installment.  Once again, reinvigorated with a new cast and a bankable headliner/former Marvel Avenger.  

All year long, just like the last five films, I’m asking myself again why any of these people are going back to these islands.  Well Rebirth lends as good an answer as any.  Somehow the DNA from three different prehistoric mutated mega beasts will lead to a cure for heart disease.

Reader, from the outset I recognized the familiar pattern.  I knew precisely who was going to survive and who was going to perish before the closing credits arrived.  I got a perfect score, by the way.  Likely, you will too and thus the suspense is very watered down in Jurassic World: Rebirth. Seven times on the merry go round, you should know by now which direction this ride is moving.

Nevertheless, I was hoping against hope that the cure for heart disease will make it for the eventual consumption of human civilization.  The vials of Dino-DNA are collected and stored in an airtight briefcase.  So, while the scant cast of people screams, runs, tip-toes, swims, climbs and falls all over this tropical island, located close to the equator, my eyes were fixated on this medical breakthrough.  

Where are your priorities people? On the kid and her toddler dinosaur friend named Delores?  Come on!!!!! There’s much more at stake here than that or Scarlett Johansson and two-time Oscar winner Mahershala Ali. 

Gareth Edwards (Rogue One: A Star Wars Story) is new director in the franchise and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  The visuals of his dinosaur adventure are marvelous if not as impressive as they used to be.  Just like David Koepp’s script shamefully admits, the world no longer cares about dinosaurs as much.  Much of Jurassic World: Rebirth feels like a retread of the same old stuff.  At best, the only inventions left to tackle is to mold new monsters that are of a Frankenstein product.  The animals look fiercer and meaner and toothier and bigger…like way, way bigger.

Edwards and Koepp put the creatures in the ocean and in nestled caverns that have not been depicted as much before.  The sequences are done well but still I felt as if I had seen this movie before.

Not much can be said about Johansson or Ali’s performances.  She’s a high priced, skilled mercenary.  He’s the charter boat captain.  The rest of the cast is just the rest of the cast which includes some ready-to-sacrifice nameless folks gifted with screams to edit within and about five or six lines (one guy is privileged to share his French fluency), a pair of teenagers, an adorable kid and the resident greedy industrialist.  You know who I’m talking about, right?

I’m amused by those who rank the Jurassic movies.  How can you decide what is best or worst anymore?  The blueprints are so identical and the Dino gobbles and Dino chases and Dino roars all blend together for me by now.  If it was a Jeopardy category to identify which movie any scene was from, I’d lose big time and wager little on the Daily Double.

Beyond the first film from Spielberg none of these films are as special to me.  Like Chinese food, I fill up and I go back for more but that’s it.

Still…

Go to the movies.  Keep the cinema alive.  See the new Jurassic World movie and have fun with this new iteration of people going to the restricted island where dinosaurs romp and play.  I enjoyed it even if I never felt overwhelmingly stimulated.  At the very least I enjoyed watching my wife clap when she learned that one character survived.  

Me? 

…and 3…2…1… of course!

A PLACE IN THE SUN (1951)

by Miguel E. Rodriguez

DIRECTOR: George Stevens
CAST: Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor, Shelley Winters, Raymond Burr
MY RATING: 9/10
ROTTEN TOMATOMETER: 82% Fresh

PLOT: A struggling young man gets a job working for his rich uncle and ends up falling in love with two women, one rich and one poor.


I first saw A Place in the Sun many moons ago at a friend’s house.  I remember enjoying it but thinking it was too soapy for my taste.  Years went by.  I finally got around to watching Woody Allen’s Match Point and was stunned at how much Allen’s film borrowed from George Stevens’ celebrated melodrama.  Having just re-watched A Place in the Sun, my opinion of it has warmed considerably, without diminishing my admiration for Match Point, which remains one of my favorite films of all time.

A Place in the Sun tells the story of young George Eastman, played by Montgomery Clift at or near the height of his powers.  He’s a bit of a layabout who wrangles a job at his rich uncle’s swimsuit factory.  When George meets his rich relatives, I was reminded of a George Gobel quip: “Did you ever get the feeling that the world was a tuxedo and you were a pair of brown shoes?”  That’s George Eastman to a T, a ne’er-do-well in a sea of the well-to-do.

Against company policy, George falls in love (or at least in lust) with a rather plain girl, Alice, played by Shelley Winters in a de-glamorized role that went completely against type at that point in her career, winning her a Best Actress nomination.  Alice and George flirt and hold hands and occasionally neck (mildly scandalous for a 1951 film), but George can’t help but stare at another girl who pops up occasionally: Angela Vickers.  Angela is played by a ravishing Elizabeth Taylor, who was only 17 at the time of filming and empirically one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood, if not the world.  It’s not too hard to imagine any man, let alone poor George Eastman, falling in love with her instantly.

But George is still connected to Alice, especially because he’s already slept with her.  When George learns Alice is pregnant, he despairs because he had been planning to end things with Alice to pursue Angela.  Alice even visits a doctor who might possibly provide an abortion.  Of course, this being 1951, “abortion” is never mentioned out loud, nor is the word “pregnant.”  But Alice’s visit to the doctor is handled with incredible intelligence and brilliant screenwriting that manages to say everything it needs to say without ever uttering those forbidden words.

The rest of the film examines what George may or may not be willing to do for the sake of his love for Angela, who loves him back, it turns out…but she doesn’t know about Alice.  Since this is based on a then-famous novel called An American Tragedy (by Theodore Dreiser), it may not be too hard to divine what is in store for George before the final credits roll, but getting there is the fun part.  By casting heartthrobs as the hero/anti-hero and the rich girl he loves, the film cleverly gets us to root for them a little bit, even when George is considering murder.

While Elizabeth Taylor dominates every scene she’s in just by standing there, the Academy made sure Shelley Winters was recognized for her incredibly difficult performance as Alice.  There are some movies where, if a character is an emotional yo-yo, it can be frustrating.  With Alice, Winters never crossed a line into unlikability, even when she calls George at a fancy dinner party demanding he marry her tomorrow, “or else.”  It’s clear she has no options left to her if she wants to have any semblance of a life in polite society (by 1950s standards, anyway).  I felt bad for her.  But I also felt bad for George – to a degree – when he demonstrates how sincerely he has fallen head over heels for Angela.  Not just because she’s stunningly beautiful, but also because she really seems to have fallen for him, too.

Lately, my movie-watching itinerary of classic films has involved a fair share of outstanding melodramas (Leave Her to Heaven, 1945; The Heiress, 1949; Dodsworth, 1936).  A Place in the Sun fits right into that mold.  It doesn’t quite achieve the perfection of The Heiress, but it is a fantastic example of its genre, good enough for Woody Allen to “reimagine” its basic story for Match Point, so it’s definitely worth a look if you’re into that kind of thing.

SILKWOOD

By Marc S. Sanders

As the 1980s were setting its stride, Silkwood might have been one of the earliest in a line of films to focus on the union worker who fights back at the billion-dollar corporation.  Some might unfairly regard the movie as The China Syndrome, Part II. Other well-known pictures of this mold are even more familiar to me like Michael Mann’s The Insider.  However, director Mike Nichols, working with a first screenwriting effort from Nora Ephron who partnered with Alice Arlen, showcases the aggravation on not just Karen Silkwood, the real life potential whistleblower, but also her friends and co-workers in a one factory town just outside of Oklahoma City.

Karen (Meryl Streep) lives with her boyfriend Drew (Kurt Russell) and her best friend Dolly (Cher) in a run-down house in the middle of nowhere.  They ride to work together at the local plutonium manufacturing plant where they dress in scrubs and gloves. Punch in, punch out kind of days, and often they are expected to work double shifts and weekends.  Karen works an assembly line where she places her hands in rubber gloves and assembles dangerous combinations of chemicals in an enclosed box.  It’s also routine that before you leave your station you wave your hands over a sensor to ensure you have not been exposed to radiation.  There’s even sensors you walk through as you enter and leave the plant.  When those sensors go off, a calm kind of film seemingly turns into a horror movie.  The last thing anyone could ever want is to get “cooked.”

Karen does not live a perfect life.  Her three kids reside with their uncompromising father in Texas.  Money is not ideal.  Dolly is a slob and has also invited her girlfriend to live with them.  Karen can manage with all of this, but when she observes some unconventional activities around the factory she gets up the nerve to head the union for better protection and working conditions.  However, the further she goes looking at files and photos, jotting down notes of what people say and do, plus taking trips to Washington DC, and getting phone calls from attorneys at night, she becomes more and more isolated from Dolly and Drew, along with the rest of her close-knit workers.  Karen is not just risking her job, but everyone else’s jobs and worse her own life.

The attorneys lay it out to the townsfolk and the union of the horrifying statistics that go along with radiation exposure.  The tiniest fraction of a miniscule of exposure to the smallest crumb of chemicals could increase a human’s bearable limit towards radiation and cancer.  The sad irony is that the more that is learned, the more the people of this area smoke and smoke some more.  Granted, this story takes place in the early 1970s, though.    

The company is primarily represented by an intimidating Bruce McGill.  He’s great in everything he does and is worthy of an Oscar nomination somewhere.  M Emmet Walsh has no lines but his presence is enough to shake you; the slimy guy you easily recognize from every other movie you have seen.  While the company’s overbearing intrusion is shown plenty, the script for Silkwood focuses more on how these working people get by.  They are treated unfairly and in dangerous working conditions, but they also know this is the only place that offers steady income in the area.  Without this factory, the whole town would be left in dire straits.  Karen is repeatedly told or implied to leave well enough alone.

Meryl Streep notches another harrowing performance on her resume and bears such a departure from more sophisticated characters found in Sophie’s Choice and Kramer Vs Kramer.  Karen Silkwood is not educated and she bears an unmistakable white trash dialect but she’s also not stupid and the more progress she makes at exposing the plant’s shortcomings the more unfairly she is treated with department transfers and workplace shake ups that she is indirectly blamed for.  Potential threats on her life begin to build, but she only upholds a bravery.  You really observe the strength of Meryl Streep.  She’s at the top of an elite class of actresses at this time that also included Sally Field, Jessica Lange and Glenn Close.

Cher plays Dolly in her first on screen role.  The variety act performer probably subjected herself to a bigger departure than Streep.  She was not a professionally trained actress at the time.  Mike Nichols insisted on no makeup along with her hair unkept and flat, while dressed in green chino pants and baggy sweatshirts.  The new actress carries herself so well without the usual glitz that accompanies her.  Her scenes with Streep are workshops in acting technique. 

Kurt Russell delivers another understated performance.  One of the best actors out there who has never been enough of a critical darling.  Drew is likable and Kurt Russell plays him as a settled in match for Streep’s portrayal of Karen.  Watch how they tangle up in each other’s arms in bed or when he snaps at her as she carries on her crusade while he’d rather things be left alone.  His timing is perfect for the script.

Mike Nichols keeps his film calm, except when the go by the numbers narrative must be disturbed.  A radiation cleanse with high pressure hoses will make you wince.  The factory alarms will terrify you.  Meryl Streep accepts the physical taxations necessary for this setting.  Nichols gets in close with his camera to show how cleansers dressed in scrubs and masks rub Streep down until her skin is a burning red.  I distinctly remember how her right ear appears in this scene, getting flushed by something just short of a fire hose, and the aftermath of her sitting in a chair is so discomforting while a company doctor assures her that there’s not much to worry about as long she brings in her urine samples daily.  In fact, soon all of the employees are tasked with delivering their urine samples.  What kind of place is this?

While Silkwood is based on a true story with a burning question left behind, I do not want to reveal too much.  Many have seen Silkwood since it was released over forty years ago, but as the third act begins, the fallout only becomes more disturbing and Mike Nichols directs a horrifying sequence built primarily on the pealing of old wallpaper.  That’s all I want to suggest. 

Karen Silkwood was a very unlikely crusader.  She probably never envisioned what she would become and what she would fight for.  Yet, she uncovered horrible truths that should not have been occurring under the eye of billion-dollar corporate America.  After watching Silkwood, I can only imagine what else was there to turn over.

NOTE: Another good reason to watch Silkwood is to discover early performances from some amazing character actors who were either just starting their careers or continuing to hide in the crowd. 

Scavenger hunt for Anthony Heald, James Rebhorn, David Strathairn, Ron Silver, Fred Ward, Diana Scarwid, Bill Cobbs, M Emmet Walsh, Craig T Nelson, Tess Harper, Will Patton, Richard Hamilton and Josef Sommer.

NEVER SAY NEVER AGAIN

By Marc S. Sanders

If it walks like James Bond, if it talks like James Bond, it is…STOP RIGHT THERE! 

Sean Connery in Never Say Never Again is not James Bond…at least not the James Bond that I know.

Why was this movie even made?

I know.  You don’t have to tell me. 

For the most part it was a legal blessing for a gentleman named Kevin McClory, a contributing writer to the film Thunderball.  McClory sued the Ian Fleming estate for the rights to such named properties as the villainous “Ernst Stavro Blofeld” and the organization he heralds known as “SPECTRE.”  Eventually, it came to be that none of the films could use these copyrighted terms going forward.  (Hence, why Roger Moore never uttered these names in any of his films.  He just dropped a wheelchair bound bald man down a smokestack.)  Anyway, the courts allowed McClory a second chance at his Thunderball creation by granting him the blessing to remake the film with certain moments and developments that upheld the structure of the story.  So, in 1983 a competing studio to United Artists called Warner Brothers greenlit the release of this new film and banked on Sean Connery’s return to the famed secret agent.

Frankly, the backstory is a much more tantalizing adventure than this misfire.

Never Say Never Again always eluded me.  I never had a desire to see it.  I regarded it like a generic brand.  I turn to the EON productions for my James Bond fix the same way I turn to Heinz ketchup, never, ever Hunts.  What I’d heard of this film and the scant moments I saw of Connery in the picture over the years made me question how necessary this movie ever was.  It’s like that Gus Van Sant shot for shot remake of Psycho.  Why do it?  Because you can?  Is that all you need?

So, Connery opted to return for a large salary and for the only time in history two James Bond films were released in the same year, 1983, when Moore’s Octopussy also made it to the big screen.  Connery’s picture is a direct remake of Thunderball. One of SPECTRE’s top agents Maximillian Largo (Klaus Maria Brandauer) catches possession of two United States nuclear missiles and hides them in the Bahamas.   Bond is older now, reflective of Connery’s age at the time, and practically retired as he loses a bit of his step in a training simulation.  Soon, however, he is on the case and contends with a female henchman by the name of Fatima Blush (Barbara Carrera) while also womanizing Largo’s main squeeze Domino (Kim Basinger, in a very early role).  His primary gadget is an exploding fountain pen.

Other than Carera who was Golden Globe nominated for her role, I can’t say anyone is doing anything terribly wrong here.  It is simply that this reiteration seems altogether flat.  This film is certainly missing the exhilarating pace of director Irvin Kershner’s The Empire Strikes Back.  Here, James Bond the hero just seems to walk and sit and stand in and out of frame.  A lifeless tango occurs midway between Connery and Basinger as an opportunity to share some confidential information.  I don’t care if 007 is adorned in his tuxedo next to a 1980s hair sprayed Kim Basinger, the tango is boring to watch.  It is a dance that goes nowhere or builds to anything. 

Games are updated as well.  We are not in the casino watching baccarat or poker anymore.  James Bond plays video games against Largo and the only threat is a shock on the joystick when a parlay is struck.  I can’t feel the zap that is supposed to happen, and Sean Connery is hardly displaying any anguish as Klaus Maria Brandauer smirks in triumph.  So, where’s the suspense here?  Sound effects from an Atari 2600 while the hero and villain sit at a table with joysticks doesn’t send this scene into astonishment. In 1983, in the movie theatre next door, Roger Moore is undoing a cheating Louis Jordan in backgammon while the muscle headed henchman crushes the dice into dust.  That’s much more frightening. 

A midway motorcycle moment with smoke and missile gadget tricks is fun but still not as escapist as most other Bond pursuits. Maybe it’s because 007 wears a dark helmet and thus hiding his charm.  It’s a lot more fun to see Connery or Moore give a wink and nod as the chase continues.  Here there is no reaction and no response to the environment of the Bahamas.  Couldn’t a banana tree topple over or something?  Maybe some coconuts?  Could a yacht or boat capsize?

I always remember the infamous shark scene in Thunderball as Bond gets trapped in a swimming pool with a couple of great whites.  That scene is now changed to an ocean floor shipwreck setting.  For the most part this works as Bond circumvents through the wreckage trapping one shark after another.  This is one of the film’s few improvements.

The big regret is that Klaus Maria Brandauer as the main villain Largo was not served a better product. He is gleefully good.  He’s at least trying as hard as he can. He has the evil grin and short fused temper, but he’s also sophisticated among his wealth. 

He’s certainly working much harder than Sean Connery who seems to just be going through the motions and hardly exerting himself.  The actor is much too relaxed in his role here.  It looks like he memorizes his few lines minutes before the camera starts shooting.  Then he says what needs to be said.  You can subconsciously visualize Connery walking back to his trailer take after take.  There are some decent one liners, but none of his delivery soars anymore.  I think Connery was out of the role far too long since his last turn in 1971 and he just didn’t pick up where he left off.  He’s never applying himself.  His wardrobe, from the tux to a camouflage uniform, or even his swimsuits do not seem to rest well on him.  The tailoring looks off.  He’s not wearing anything as well as he used to.  Not even his hair piece, which is far too thin and uncooperatively resting on his scalp, sits well.

Kim Basinger is the blond.  Nothing more needs to be said.  Rowan Atkinson debuted on the screen with some silly escapist humor but either he’s not on long enough or he’s there too much.  The part should have just been cut altogether.

You don’t forget Barbara Carrera but that’s not necessarily a compliment.  She’s working like a dastardly cartoon from the Adam West Batman TV show and Connery is hardly responding to her screaming or antics.  Funnily enough, the screenwriter is Lorenzo Semple Jr, writer of the Batman show and Flash Gordon, from 1980.  So, while the tongue is trying to touch the cheek it’s only reaching the roof of the mouth this time.  Carrera is a headache. She acts like a misbehaved child.  Somebody loved her though for that Golden Globe nomination.  How? Why?

Another bit of buyer’s remorse is the casting of Max Von Sydow as Blofeld.  Inspired casting.  Yet, why is he given nothing to do?  This is Max Von Sydow!!!!!  He’s been hired to watch a Sony monitor with his white cat tucked into his lap, but that’s it.  Between Brandauer and Sydow, these are some heavy hitters.  Plus, Connery, and a built-in storyline.  It should have all worked but it doesn’t.

The theme song is a painful earworm.  It is performed by Lani Hall, doing a Holiday Inn barfly lounge act that will never leave your consciousness.  You can practically see that wet, shiny lipstick slobber all over the microphone while she’s wearing a blingy sparkle dress and a red, leafy boa around her neck.

Never Say Never Again is a lifeless, uninteresting, tedious and sleep-inducing picture that no one but a Mr. Kevin McClory wanted. 

Like Jeff Goldblum would say ten years later, just because you could doesn’t mean you should.

CIAO, MAMA

By Marc S. Sanders

I’ve been listening to a podcast covering Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas, and one of the commentators pointed out that too often Italian Americans are only depicted within a vacuum of mobster mentality.  Wracking my brain, I couldn’t disagree.  However, a small film written and directed by Luca Perito called Ciao, Mama sways away from that stereotype.  The mama of the title, whose name is Gloria, has passed on.  Family and friends gather in upstate New York to celebrate her life.

The film primarily focuses on Tony (Micah Joe Parker), the son who went to Hollywood with an ambition of becoming a successful actor.  Away for nine years and the best he’s doing is trying out for Cop #3.  He gets a call from his one-time girlfriend Danielle (Rebecca Radisic) that his mother has passed away from cancer.  Tony was never supposed to know until she was gone.  Gloria specifically told Danielle and his childhood friend Marco (Johnny Wactor) to keep her illness a secret.

Back in New York, the house is full of all who knew Mama, including her husband who is experiencing early onset dementia, plus Marco and Danielle, but Tony cannot bear to go inside.  It’s clear he is shell shocked by this news and holds his internal vigil in the backyard while nursing a beer.

Ciao, Mama needed to be a longer film, clocking in at roughly only an hour and fifteen minutes.  Especially because I quickly grew to love this collection of characters.  The problem is I did not learn enough.  What is fortunate is that I grew to love Mama (Alessia Franchin) through flashback. 

Perito’s film, adapted from his one act play, demonstrates how full a home is with the matriarch there to connect all who enter through its front door.  The past life moments of Franchin’s character makes whoever she is talking to the most important person in the world at any given moment.  A touching scene shows her being the inquisitor as she interrogates Danielle and then later Bianca, Marco’s girlfriend (Emily Alabi), on their favorite color, favorite drink, what makes them happy, what makes them sad and so on.  The natural chemistry of the two young ladies in front of this middle-aged woman set on a tranquil patio setting is so comfortable.  The girls enjoy her presence.  They want to be nowhere else and Mama does not have desire to do anything other.  I wanted Mama to question me next.

Shortly after, the temperature changes and Marco is learning that Mama’s cancer is getting worse and treatment is too expensive.  This lifelong friend of the family insists on paying for her medical bills.  I’ve seen conversations like this before.  It’s in every WB drama or Hallmark film.  I know where it always goes and what notes it hits.  However, Johnny Wactor, as Marco, with Alessia Franchin strike a special chord.  This is one of the few scenes they share in this short film, and I feel like I’ve seen a whole relationship.

Michah Joe Parker as Tony does good work as the anguished son who seems to be ten steps behind everyone else when he returns home.  His early confrontations with Marco are peppered with the f-word and angry roughhousing in the grassy backyard.  Wactor and Parker have good chemistry.  I do wish there was more substance to their conflicts, however.  When a film takes place over one afternoon into night with less than ninety minutes of running time, it’s important to be economical with these exchanges of dialogue.  Before Tony reveals that he hooked up with Marco’s sister, Danielle (Rebecca Radisic), what was truly eating away at these childhood best friends? Good scenes but there is definitely some treading water in a pool of f-bombs and not much else. I needed more back story for these two guys.

I also wanted to learn more about Danielle and Tony and what drew them together.  There’s an adorable flashback scene where they finally attack one another with passion only to get interrupted by Gloria, who has no serious objection. However, then not much else is shared beyond Danielle consoling Tony after the funeral and trying to fence off her inebriated brother Marco.

Great humor comes from the minister (Pete Gardner).  In between confrontations or flashbacks, the film cuts back to Father O’Malley in the kitchen, near the buffet table, savoring the delicious Italian food while chiming in with terribly inappropriate jokes.  To see a priest declare that he hates funerals…because he’s not a mourning person is hysterically ill timed.  To further see him roll his eyes to the back of his head and lose his footing while he chows down on lasagna with one hand and homemade brownies in another introduces a whole other dynamic.  Whenever Gardner shows up on screen, I fell in love with Perito’s film all over again.  This priest should be containing himself more with decorum. Yet, it’s hilarious that he does not.  This was a such a wise choice of Perito to uphold this side bit because it also welcomes an appreciation of Italian culture and cuisine…from an Irish minister.

It’s a terrible sadness to learn that Johnny Wactor was tragically murdered just before this film was completed.  Marco is a tormented soul plagued by addiction and pain, while appearing like he has it all together.  Wactor beautifully sets up a lot of different dimensions from Perito’s script of effective dialogue. I would have liked to see Johnny Wactor’s career flourish.  My wife watched him on General Hospital, a young actor with such promise.  Thankfully, he can be seen here in a delicately sensitive and unstable character performance. I welcome a sequel, perhaps at Marco’s funeral, where Wactor’s invention of the character can be celebrated next. Because of the short length of Ciao, Mama there is definately more to tell about this family and the surrounding community.

An adjustment I wish was considered was the instrumental soundtrack.  Often it is intrusive and unnecessary. Rather than amplifying any given scene, it is used as a crutch to build up emotions.  I found it too loud. On occasion, it was hard to hear the actors’ dialogue.  More importantly, this cast is very capable already.  So, I did not need a soundtrack to feel a connection.  These actors and this script had me already. 

Ciao, Mama is worth the watch, but again it begs for more.  There’s a lot of good, substantial baggage offered, but the film requires additional material to breathe and cover the promising stories that I was not ready to let go of. I was taken with the piece all the way through until its conclusion when a final farewell from Mama is read to Tony on a north shore beach. Otherwise, Ciao, Mama is a beautiful film.

BATMAN BEGINS

By Marc S. Sanders

The merits of a lot of action/adventure films is predicated on how strong the villain is to the story.  Often the hero is the straight character in the heroic garb ready to enter the scene just as the bad guy is on the brink of maniacally destroying the world.  In the early 2000s however, the focus diverted to the hero when big franchises opted to reinvent themselves.  James Bond’s origin was finally offered up in the best film of the series, Casino Royale.  Christopher and Jonathan Nolan served up one of the best cinematic Batman stories on screen.  The title said it all.

Batman Begins gets every note right with the all too familiar back story of Bruce Wayne’s drive to become Gotham City’s Dark Knight vigilante.  The film has its collection of villains but the center of the picture is always circumventing around Bruce Wayne, perfectly played by Christian Bale, with somber truth hidden by handsome playboy disguise.  As a child, he discovers his fear of bats and then attends the theater with his billionaire parents.  Upon their exit through a back alley, he witnesses their death and is left to be raised by his trusty butler, Alfred Pennyworth (Michael Caine, my favorite actor in the role to date).

This film achieves my undivided attention because it paints a full canvas of this character before he ever adopts an alter ego in a black costume.  We explore how he becomes motivated followed by his intense training in the zenith alps, on the Asian continent.  Then we see how he supplies himself with all of the familiar gadgets and costumes when he befriends an ally within his father’s company, Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman). 

Jonathan Nolan’s script diverts away on occasion to embrace the capable villains of this story with the Scarecrow (Cillian Murphy), Rha’s Al Ghul (Ken Watanabe) and mob boss Carmine Falcone (Tom Wilkinson).  Bruce’s mentor, Ducard (Liam Neeson), is a big factor in the hero’s development as well.  Lastly, there’s Bruce’s childhood friend and legal connection, Assistant D.A. Rachel Dawes (Katie Holmes).  Lt. James Gordon is the uncompromised police detective that Bruce singles out to trust within this dense world of corruption.

Just to read this cast list is impressive as they fall beautifully within the matrix of Nolan’s blueprint.  Everyone is given enough time to make more than one impression as their storylines twist and alter.

Christopher Nolan’s films are always moving like a smooth ride on a never-ending stretch of road with no traffic in the way.  Nothing bears repeating from what was already shown in an earlier scene.  There’s something new to learn as the pace continues.  Nolan is one of the few filmmakers where you do not mind the time jumps he incorporates into his stories.  Bruce will first be seen as a ten-year-old boy, then in his muscular fit thirties in a Chinese prison completely departed from the wealth of Wayne Manor.  A step back before that shows him as a Princeton drop out with a mop top haircut.  Every different appearance of Bruce is interesting and you become intrigued with how he ends up in one place after another. 

Like the first appearance of Daniel Craig in the Bond series, this Batman/Bruce Wayne is repeatedly imperfect.  He’s flawed because he still needs to learn and the characters that enter and exit and reenter his life must teach him.  Alfred will lecture a short-triggered Bruce when he’s on the cusp of risking the reputation of his father’s legacy.  Rachel will slap him when he’s prepared to kill in cold vengeance.  Ducard will teach him the ways of physical survival and will test Bruce’s loyalty and the measures of crime with punishment.  Even the Scarecrow is smarter than Batman when he springs an unexpected trap.

The ongoing education of Bruce Wayne is the theme of Batman Begins, all the way to the end, when he finally learns to mind his surroundings.

Christopher Nolan made Batman exciting in a new unfamiliar way.  The Batmobile is a not a sporty kind of vehicle.  It’s a tank called The Tumbler and it bears a thunderous series of sound edits as it barrels through Gotham City.  After some slip and falls off rooftops, Batman becomes much more covert than in other interpretations.  You don’t have to physically see Batman to observe him operate.  If a thug gets swallowed into a void of darkness, you know what has ensnared him.  The crusader’s devices which stem from his gold utility belt are demonstrated with explained reason for why he selected them for his fighting advantage.  The Nolans proudly recognize the theatricality of this guy.

Cillian Murphy is unforgettable as he lives up to the name of Scarecrow, also known as Dr. Jonathan Crane, a criminal psychologist.  His choice to put his victims into a hypnotizing sense of fear lend to the back story of Bruce Wayne’s intent to become a frightening figure himself, where his enemies will recognize his dread.  Tom Wilkinson claws his gangster persona straight from a Godfather kind of picture, but he represents an old guard of Gotham City before costumed and makeup identities take over.  Gotham will transition from the sharp dressed mobsters over to the crazed clowns yet to come. 

Gary Oldman invents another unique personality – a strait-laced city guy who might have come from a 1970s ABC cops and robber show like Dragnet.  No two characters of Oldman’s are ever the same.  So much so, you almost wish they would all assemble in a movie for the various personalities to interact.  Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine are like comfort food who are so subtle and relaxed in front of a camera.  Neither one makes big waves with their characters.  Jonathan Nolan wrote their respective purposes for this Bruce Wayne and they execute their techniques of less is more beautifully.

Liam Neeson delivers the second-best performance of his career thus far, after Oskar Schindler.  He adopts the same kind of method that Freeman and Caine work with, but then he sways from that behavior when Ducard has to surprise Bruce as a means for his pupil’s development. Some of what he does comes from nowhere.  Early in the film, his first two scenes could not be more different.  Neeson works like an unpredictable entity.

The next film in this trilogy replaced Katie Holmes with Maggie Gyllenhaal.  I was disappointed because Holmes was maturing as a very formative actor by this time.  She was blessed with a well written character in Rachel Dawes.  When I watch the next film, The Dark Knight, I cannot help but wonder how she would have performed the role for a second and much more developed opportunity. 

There is not one flaw in Batman Begins.  This is the movie that placed Christopher Nolan in the echelon of top blockbuster directors like Spielberg and Hitchcock, along with Lumet and Mann.  Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack is thrilling as it speaks for The Dark Knight who is of few words.  Zimmer’s scores announce the introduction of Bruce Wayne first, and then later Batman. 

Gotham City makes for a sensational character with various rooftops, fire escapes, tunnels, bridges and a gorgeous, elevated train at its center.  The entire city breathes steam amid the distressed decay, wet streets and rusted architecture. 

Wayne Manor has a ghostly effect as Alfred and Bruce climb the large staircases and floors.  Further down under its platforms rests the cave that’ll serve Batman well.  The waterfalls and rocky caverns are immense. 

Batman Begins is not one of the best films of a genre like any other superhero movie.  I refuse to recognize it that way.  Instead, I see a character study where a man accepts a responsibility to fix what scarred him at a young age.  He wants to right a world that once had promise.  I don’t see the costumed protagonist announce himself as a superhero.  I don’t see the costume.  With the cape and the horns on the head and the car and the tools, I see an image, never a superhero.  With Christopher Nolan’s first film in what will become a well-received trilogy, I always see the man underneath the mask.