Gemko Quibi: October 2023 (Patreon)

As a reminder: These are brief (though they always wind up growing longer and longer) thoughts on films that I'm revisiting mostly just because it's been at least 20 years and I’m feeling nostalgic and/or want to have a rating for them. Mostly stuff that's about to be removed from a streaming service to which I subscribe, so far. See the original post for a fuller explanation.

Meet the Parents (2000, Jay Roach): 50/100

Previously seen: 26 March 2001, New York, NY (on DVD).

Original opinion: C+. Didn't write a review, don't even recall why I watched it on video after skipping it in theaters. (Wasn't Skandies prep—that year's survey had already happened.)

Now: Pretty much a pure C+, since that encompasses my ratings from 54 to 46. Cringe comedy isn't my favorite, and I'd prefer Greg's humiliation scaled back by about 40%; as is, he winds up pushed into actions so ludicrously extreme (and just plain stupid—by far the most likely scenario is Jinx the cat returning home on its own at some completely unpredictable moment, exposing Greg as a nearly psychotic fraud) that I just don't buy it when the family collectively decides that Jack was really to blame and forgives him. That's Ed, the climactic lie-detector interrogation, fingers on wrists, manages to be quite touching (after the initial polygraph scene ended way too soon, right as De Niro's visibly getting into its sadism), and there are intermittent laughs, the biggest of which involve very relatable airport frustration—ticket agents' insane high-speed typing, Greg pointlessly instructed to move six inches away and wait until his row number is called, etc. Wikipedia informs me that Naomi Watts, pre-Mulholland Drive, was originally cast as Pam, then fired due to insufficient sexiness; obviously that worked out fine for her, but (a) whaa? and (b) it's not as if Teri Polo looks anything but wholesome here. (Her Playboy shoot was five years off.)

Labyrinth (1986, Jim Henson): 44/100

Previously seen: ca. June 1986, San Jose, CA (Century 23).

Original opinion: Unrecorded, don't think I liked it much.  Note that I was then 18 years old, which is perhaps the worst age at which to see a heavily kid-oriented film like this one.

Now: Then again, I still don't much like it. There's a surprising lack of wit in Terry Jones' script (apparently much revised by uncredited others), though I appreciate such morbid touches as Hoggle killing fairies with the equivalent of aerosolized bug spray. And the creature design and voice performances here rarely delight—for some reason, the likes of Oz and Goelz and Prell and Whitmire and Clash operate (ugly) puppets but keep their own mouths shut, and the disjunction, while not visually detectable, nonetheless somehow comes across. You'd never imagine, watching her as Sarah, that Jennifer Connelly would one day win an Oscar; Bowie fares significantly better, but Labyrinth had the misfortune to be made at the absolute nadir of his creativity as a songwriter—see also Never Let Me Down, released a year later*—and so the musical aspect falls flat, or worse ("Chilly Down"). Only a few visual flourishes, like the shaft of helping hands and the Escher-esque castle interior, rank with Henson's best work. Fun fact: I nearly turned it off 30 seconds in, because the owl that swoops through the opening credits is obviously computer-generated and I assumed that must be some recent misguided "improvement"; turns out to have "marked the first use of a realistic CGI animal in a film," per Wikipedia. Huzzah?

* Sadly, the Glass Spider tour was my sole live Bowie experience. Still had a good time, and he played plenty of classics ("Heroes," "Fame," "Rebel Rebel," "Jean Genie," even "All the Madmen"), but a good half hour was devoted to tracks from Never Let Me Down that I'd be perfectly happy never to hear again (and that he apparently never performed again).

The Cocoanuts (1929, Joseph Santley & Robert Florey): 64/100

Previously seen: 23 April 1992, San Jose, CA (on laserdisc).

Original opinion: Unrecorded, no recollection.

Now: Better than I'd have guessed, given how rickety sound filmmaking still was at that point. Its main problem is overemphasis on the for-some-reason-de-rigueur stock romantic figures, who crowd the Brothers out for much of reel one (20 minutes elapse before Chico and Harpo finally show up) and are no less tedious than usual. And were I to compile a list of the Marx's (Marx'?) 10 funniest routines, none of them would likely come from this film. Maybe the auction might have a shot at #10. Still, there's enough choice tomfoolery to keep you grinning, including some Groucho one-liners that I'd completely forgotten. ("Three years ago, I came to Florida without a nickel in my pocket. Now I've got a nickel in my pocket.") Also, "Monkey Doodle Do" ranks among Irving Berlin's all-time catchiest melodies, and remains stuck in my head four days later.—I imagine it'd be much better remembered were it not attached to such goofy lyrics. A bit startled to hear Groucho sarcastically refer to Chico as Winnie the Pooh at one point, and had to check the relevant dates: Milne had published the first Pooh book just three years earlier. Already a phenomenon, apparently.

Westworld (1973, Michael Crichton): 59/100

Previously seen: ca. 1990-91, San Jose, CA (on VHS, when I worked at a video store).

Original opinion: Unrecorded, no recollection.

Now: Amazing how much of this relatively short film is devoted simply to establishing its premise and its self-enclosed tripartite world. Nothing truly goes wrong until past the midpoint, and then everything goes wrong at once with undue haste (mostly offscreen), leaving Richard Benjamin as the park's sole human survivor, as far as we can determine. Fatal for some, but I actually enjoy Crichton's detailed hard-sci-fi exposition and appreciate how much time we spend here behind the scenes, watching crews collect and restore robots that were "killed" by guests during the day. (Obviously there's much, much more of that in the HBO series, season one of which I consequently really dug.) Delos doesn't make a lot of sense in certain respects—I really do not believe that the androids would ever be given live ammo, no matter how many safeguards were ostensibly built in—but Crichton's overall vision, despite now being half a century old, feels so credible and specific that I have no trouble imagining something very much like it actually being constructed, should we ever achieve the required degree of technological sophistication. (Moguls and engineers will point to both Westworlds and claim they're useful roadmaps for what to avoid.) Once it's just Benjamin running from Yul Brynner's gunslinger, I get more restless, as Crichton's not remotely gifted at generating suspense and even kinda muffs the climactic moment in which our hero realizes that torches are camouflaging him from infrared vision.  (Plus, if you'd realized that, why on earth would you try to sneak away? That might well have backfired even had there not been a metal object on the ground for him to accidentally kick. Just remain still until the semi-blind robot gives up and leaves, dummy!)

Coming to America (1988, John Landis): 52/100

Previously seen: ca. July 1988, San Jose, CA (Century 21).

Original opinion: Unrecorded, no recollection.

Now: I'd completely forgotten that Murphy's multiple-roles shtick started here, not in The Nutty Professor. (Turning Eddie into an elderly Jew is arguably Rick Baker's finest work.) The problem here, though, is with Akeem, whose entire personality consists of a wide, friendly smile; Murphy thrives on aggression, and while that sometimes turned rancid during this period (I'm not looking forward to revisiting Harlem Nights or Beverly Hills Cop II), this film pushes likeable at the expense of funny, forcing Landis to rely on endless doggy reaction shots in the home stretch. And the story's so formulaic—albeit in an appealing '30s-inspired way; definitely didn't clock that when I was 20 and had seen maybe half a dozen classics—that it really needs a great deal more anarchic energy than this kinder, gentler Murphy, alongside star-not-to-be Shari Headley, can provide. (Arsenio's pretty great as Semmi, though, getting the cockeyed tone exactly right.) I laughed aloud twice: first at Oha the placidly expressionless servant suddenly belting out an impassioned falsetto tribute to Akeem's prospective queen, then later at Semmi saying, of America, "The land is so big. The choice is so infinite. Where shall we go—Los Angeles, or New York?" (Had you told me that's a line from 30 Rock, I wouldn't have questioned it. Same sardonic flavor.) Otherwise, ehh, it passes the time. Weirdly, I've spent 35 years getting the title song stuck in my head every single time this movie gets mentioned, though I'm almost positive that this was the first time I've actually heard it since 1988. Apparently I sat through the closing credits even way back then.

The Wash (1988, Michael Toshiyuki Uno): 60/100

Previously seen: ca. late 1988 – early 1989, San Jose, CA (probably at Camera One or 3).

Original opinion: Unrecorded, no recollection.

Now: Made for American Playhouse, and it looks blandly televisual in every respect, as those productions almost always did. Yet I still miss the days when a low-key adult drama like this one—devoid of any high-concept hook, culturally specific without relying on that as its raison d'être—could play in arthouse theaters. (Minari might qualify as a recent example, I suppose.) The Wash chronicles an elderly couple's separation, delving into their efforts to date other people and the split's effect on their two grown daughters; certain elements (like the titular one) relate to the characters' Japanese heritage, but the film's mostly just a slightly mournful portrait of divorce happening probably several decades after it should have. I seem to recall an unsuccessful Oscar campaign for Mako (previously nominated decades earlier for The Sand Pebbles), who's quite good when tasked merely with being stubborn and ornery (less good when he has to really emote). But it's Nobu McCarthy's depiction of a woman terrified of letting herself finally be treated with tender respect that makes the film worth seeing. Fun fact: A majority of The Wash's cast list on IMDb was added by yours truly, just a few days ago as I write this. Plenty of info still missing there.

Notting Hill (1999, Roger Michell): 51/100

Previously seen: 29 May 1999, New York, NY (most likely at the Loews Village).

Original opinion: C+. I wrote a drive-by at the time: "Call me a deviant, if you must, but I do tend to prefer at least a little sexual chemistry between the two stars of a romantic comedy; Four Weddings compensated for Andie MacDowell with great jokes and a winning supporting cast, but this retread, despite considerable (and visible) effort, manages neither."

Now: Less bothered by how little interest Roberts and Grant seem to have in fucking each other, more bothered by how shamelessly contrived everything is, even by romcom standards. Anna instantly assuming that William sold her out to the press (despite knowing all about his idiot flatmate). William not only being invited to watch filming but getting headphones that allow him to hear Anna seemingly trash him on a hot mic. Even stupid little things like Hugh Bonneville's character somehow knowing Anna Scott very well by name but not at all by face. (Similarly, William adores Anna Scott, who clearly makes big-budget Hollywood movies, but has never heard of Leonardo DiCaprio, two years after Titanic. Anything for the gag, eh Richard?) Both stars are appealing, and Anna's speech about her limited shelf life as a movie star has predictably become very poignant indeed with the passage of time, and yeah the "Ain't No Sunshine" shot starts off looking embarrassingly literal and then expands into something glorious. But too much of the film is just dumb (I don't find Ifans remotely funny here), exemplified by the customer who can't grasp the concept of a travel bookshop no matter how many times it's explained to him. Even the press-conference ending, which is pretty irresistible schmaltz, kinda gets ruined by a closing montage that insists upon telling us "And they got married and had children and lived happily ever after." Retroactive amusement: Alec Baldwin's basically test-driving Bob Barrenger in his cameo.

Bonus quasi-review: Wes Anderson's Roald Dahl shorts (no ratings)

I don't generally write about or even rate short films (and also don't log them on Letterboxd, because I want the home page number to reflect how many features I've seen in my life—closing in on 10,000), but eventually someone's bound to ask me what I thought of this remarkable project. [Roughly 10 hours later: Yep, there it is.] Had Anderson released them as a feature—suggested titles: Welcome to the Dahlhouse, Valley of the Dahls, Dahl Parts, Hello Dahl-y!—and used Fiennes-as-Dahl to tie the whole thing together in some way, that film would almost undoubtedly be somewhere toward the top of my '23 list (for sure above Asteroid City), and I'm frankly a bit peeved, given how blah my list looks at this writing, that he didn't. Which is not to say that it's in competition with Rushmore or (yes) The Life Aquatic or even Moonrise Kingdom for my affection. Because they're very very very very faithfully adapted from short stories that tend to build toward a climactic rhetorical flourish, none of the invididual shorts packs the complex emotional punch of Wes' finest work, and my possibly unique order of preference—"The Rat Catcher" > "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar" > "Poison" > "The Swan"—favors fanciful/goofy over poignant/devastating. What's marvelous here, in any case, is really the storytelling mode itself, blending various literary and theatrical and cinematic techniques into a dazzling hybrid form that has innumerable antecedents (some of them in Anderson's own previous films) yet still comes across as new and inspired. Glad to see I'm not the only one who thinks Dev Patel in particular was born to communicate with an audience in this unorthodox way. Though were the project Skandie-eligible I might be giving Best Supporting Actor points to Dahl's space heater, which boasts exemplary timing. Anyway, ho-hum, this dude's a national treasure, etc.

Enemy of the State (1998, Tony Scott): 53/100

Previously seen: 12 May 2001, New York, NY (on DVD).

Original opinion: "Speaking of Haneke, I watched Enemy of the State on DVD over the weekend. (The nature of that segue is left as an exercise for the reader; most creative guess wins a free copy of Chicken Run: Hatching the Movie, except I'll never send it out because I still haven't sent James Callan the Wallace and Gromit set that he won like a year ago.) Anyway, this is not a very good movie, but it does have one absofuckinglutely brilliant conceit, which is the casting of Gen-Y slackers Jack Black, Jamie Kennedy and (especially) Seth Green as the NSA baddies. Theo commented on this in his review, and maybe everybody else did as well, but it's worth remarking again how oddly chilling it was to see these dudes sitting behind a bunch of high-tech equipment and hunting Will Smith as if he were the object of a really cool video game. Who would have imagined that a Jerry Bruckheimer flick would offer the most cogent statement to date about the dehumanizing effect of modern technology? Beats the shit out of Mon Oncle in my opinion." [from a nerd group post, 14 May 2001]

Now: Surveillance aspect no less disturbing, possibly even more so; it occurred to me at one point that something not terribly unlike what we see here must actually be happening whenever law enforcement tracks down, say, a mass shooter who flees the scene and inevitably gets either apprehended or cornered into suicide within a matter of hours. (Not that they shouldn't be doing that, but still, to quote Murray Roman, "What's to stop them? I mean, what's really to stop them?") And the whole first hour or so showcases Scott's agility with frenetic yet spatially comprehensible action—the Jason Lee chase scene (I miss that guy, been 20 years since I last saw him in a film) is a real doozy. Enemy of the State is one of those rare movies with a bona fide shark-jump moment, which occurs when Will Smith's Hitchcockian pursued everyman fast-talks his way into a hotel room and winds up stripping in front of an elderly Japanese couple (his clothes are bugged), who delight in what they assume is impending sexual frolic, I guess. Comedy! Most of what follows is hot garbage, with literally every single plot complication triggered by our hero not following simple directions (he gives away their location by calling a known associate from a pay phone, gets nabbed because he didn't split after four minutes like he was supposed to, etc.). My favorite idiocy sees Dean realize where the MacGuffin must be after seeing his wife wearing the lingerie that he'd bought her at the store where he encountered Zavitz—lingerie that she's conveniently donned just for the hell of it that day, even though he hasn't yet given it to her and isn't even living at home. She missed him, so she put on the sexy undies. Sure Jan. It's not at all Gene Hackman's fault that Enemy takes a nosedive right when he finally, very belatedly shows up, but the dumber things get, the more those Conversation allusions rankle.

Liam (2000, Stephen Frears): 47/100

Previously seen: 9 September 2000, Toronto, ON (Varsity 2).

Original opinion: C+. This is actually among the few films I wrote up from TIFF that year (my first).

Now: My main problem with Liam is Liam himself: Anthony Borrows (whose career didn't make it out of childhood) was clearly chosen for maximum heart-tugging adorableness, and the character's stutter always comes across as a dramatic contrivance—most gallingly at the climax, when he can't tell Pa not to accidentally firebomb his own daughter. (I'll admit to chuckling at the scene in which his inability to speak gets him more money at the pawnshop.) Teresa's by far the most compelling figure, wracked with guilt about helping her employer conduct an extramarital affair; it helps that we never see her at school and so are spared more religious-indoctrination interludes. Earnest and well-intentioned, but precious little rings true, and Frears shoots everything in that soporific BBC-approved way that makes most of the frame look expendable.

The Man Who Wasn't There (2001, Joel Coen): 95/100

Previously seen: 20 June 2001, New York, NY (press screening, I believe at Magno 2); 1 August 2001, New York, NY (another press screening, likely the same venue); 18 October 2001, New York, NY (yet another press screening, no idea where that time); 30 December 2001, San Francisco, CA (The Bridge); 13 January 2002, New York, NY (I believe that was a VHS FYC screener, kids); 16 October 2004, New York, NY (on DVD). (I was then burned out for a while, as you might imagine.)

Original opinion: A-, then A (second viewing), then 95/100 (in 2004). Here's the Time Out New York review; here's another piece I wrote for Scott Tobias and the Oscilloscope blog.

Now: So much for any concern that I've lost the ability to swoon. There's scarcely a moment of this film that doesn't seem perfect to me, operating on a level that nothing I've seen recently can touch; only slightly prosaic scene is the wedding, which I always forget about because it really only exists to get Doris passed-out drunk when Big Dave summons Ed after learning the truth. Thornton's performance is so exquisitely calibrated that I'm still discovering new things on a seventh viewing, e.g. the barely-discernible smile Ed flashes in the background when Doris calls Bingo. Finally think I have a handle on the UFO (think about Ed's nod in relation to the kind and totally understandable but nonetheless condescending way that he treats Ann when she shows up babbling about Big Dave having been the victim of an alien conspiracy; btw omg at the arrangement of leaves' shadows playing on Thornton's face throughout), and also think I'm finally at peace with grokking the tar macadam flashback strictly on an unconscious level. Seemingly innocuous line that hadn't registered before: "Don't say those words, Ed. Don't say those words."

The Madness of King George (1994, Nicholas Hytner): 61/100

Previously seen: 23 January 1995, New York, NY (Angelika); unknown date later in 1995 (hadn't yet started logging rewatches), New York, NY (likely the Angelika again).

Original opinion: "I actually fell asleep for about half an hour the first time I tried to see The Madness of King George (which I enjoyed, if mildly). I was exhausted; it was stupid of me to have gone in the first place. I later went and saw it again, and discovered how much of it I'd missed." [email to a friend, 10 September 1995; yes, I used semicolons in casual emails at age 27.]

Now: I enjoyed it, if mildly. Doesn't really get cooking until Ian Holm shows up halfway through to offer stony resistance, though the Fox/Pitt rivalry and attendant political intrigue does fascinate. (Are there any other films about the Regency Crisis? As far as I can tell, no. Seems like a missed opportunity, though I'm not generally a fan of historically-based fiction.) Rupert Everett goes way more broad than does every other actor whose character isn't clinically manic, but it sort of works. Wonderful dialogue from Bennett's play remains intact, my favorite line being Willis' "The state of monarchy and the state of lunacy share a frontier. Some of my lunatics fancy themselves kings. He—he is the King. Where shall his fancy take refuge?" Bennett never did quite work out a dramatic resolution, though (admittedly the nature of mental illness makes that quite difficult), opting to have identification with King Lear improbably nudge George back to sanity. 

As a supplement, some brief notes re: movies I bailed on last month. That they're all directed by women should perhaps be concerning, but really I'm just excited that we're approaching a degree of parity that'll allow women to make as many ho-hum movies as men always have. There actually weren't any male-directed films last month that I theoretically could have given up on! (Would happily have cut Passages short, but my self-imposed rule doesn't allow that if I've seen even one of the director in question's previous features.) Also, all of the below have intelligent champions, otherwise I wouldn't even have started watching them. So give 'em a chance yourself. 

Our Father, the Devil (Ellie Foumbi): Same basic scenario as Polanski's Death and the Maiden, which I don't think I particularly liked (been almost 30 years). Making the possible bad guy a priest just cheapens it, really. Also seemed overly blunt (an early scene exists solely to establish the protagonist's paranoia) and baldly contrived (where could she bring him? hey, what if someone dies at the beginning of the movie and conveniently leaves her an isolated property?).

Fair Play (Chloe Domont): Apologies to my pal Rian, whose company produced this, but I'm afraid it just failed to interest me. In particular, it seemed very obvious (and skimming reviews confirms my suspicion) that Luke's ostensible full-throated support of Emily's promotion—to a job they both expected he'd get—could only be prelude to some serious gender-war toxicity on his part. And the setup didn't offer enough character insight or formal brio to make that feel anything but rotely inevitable. Haven't watched Bridgerton so I did get to be impressed by Phoebe Dynevor.

Scrapper (Charlotte Regan): Elide S. (That's a tribute to the greatest two-word review ever written, in which my friend Charles summed up Burton's Sleepy Hollow with "Insert comma.") Found the kid annoying bordering on insufferable, which is pretty much death for a movie like this one. Then her frighteningly young dad showed up and it started to look like Aftersun, but "quirky" and "spunky."

Piaffe (Ann Oren): First few minutes are tantalizing in their oddity, then it becomes weird-for-weird's-sake but also kinda banal (in that the protagonist basically just does half-assed foley work). Absolutely the sort of film that only works if you're dreadfully curious about what happens next, and I pretty quickly wasn't anymore. Plus, believe it or not,  I've already seen a movie about a woman who inexplicably grows an animal tail, and Zoology (2016) got 46/100.

Small, Slow but Steady (Sho Miyake): Fictionalized portrait (they even slightly change her name) of deaf boxer Keiko Ogasawara. Imagine what it might look like. That's precisely the movie you'll get.

Earth Mama (Savanah Leaf): Perfect example of the disconnect between what's widely acclaimed nowadays and my own sensibility (as recently noted in my Killers of the Flower Moon review). I kinda can't believe that critics take this film's incessant head-clonking seriously. Here we have a story of maternal sacrifice. How do I know that? Because five minutes into the movie, its pregnant protagonist (whose other two children were taken away by Child Protective Services) buys her son a toy at the drugstore, and two young dudes in the checkout line behind her are discussing crab spiders. "Man, shut the fuck up with that." "I'm serious, I swear. It was more like matriphagy or some shit." "What? What is that?" "Bro, I'm tellin' you. Like, the mom gives birth and then she feeds herself off to the baby until there's nothing left. It was crazy." "[N-word], it ain't no crab spiders in the Bay." That's Leaf's idea of subtle foreshadowing: an overheard, "incidental" conversation in which the word "matriphagy" fucking appears. And she's not done! 15 minutes later, Mom's watching TV and apparently stumbles onto the same nature doc those other guys were discussing. Narrator: "The mother sacrifices herself by laying into her children and pressing against the web, encouraging their instinct to hunt. The baby spiders then swarm over their mother..." Uninterested, she changes the channel, and gets another doc about the thriving root systems of dead trees. Sorry to belabor this, but I mean come on. Glowing reviews I read don't even mention this stuff.