Reviews

I needed some couch time, and I almost always try to watch a movie I've begun to the end, but man, was this ever a slog. I'm giving it an extra star for Richard Dreyfuss's still-energetic performance, but "Let It Ride" suffers in any number of areas, first and foremost in its quite painfully unfunny screenplay, and one in which most if not all of the characters come across as mere caricatures. Dreyfuss's cab driver/compulsive gambler Trotter (get it?) also makes some decisions that are strictly unwise and reckless (um... returning the cassette tape to the mob types?), things that no thinking person would do in the real world, so it's hard to stay with this guy. Anyway, the plot has to do with Dreyfuss coming upon a "sure thing" at the horse track via his (caricature-goofy) co-cabby friend (David Johansen), after which various antics ensue, mostly at the track. He mingles with fellow down-and-outers (more caricatures) in the local dive bar, seems to think he's on his way up when he crashes the jockey club, and finally maybe realizes what his wife (Teri Garr) means to him. Jennifer Tilly, Cynthia Nixon, and Michelle Phillips show up along the way, but mostly have little to no impact on the story or on Trotter's journey. Some of the direction is also notably weak, and the movie's saddled (pun intended) by a late-80s pop synth score (with a couple of weak pop songs) as well. I feel like I'm possibly being a little too harsh: looking around at the other reviews here, it's obvious this movie has many fans, that it's even beloved by some. But the bottom line is, this didn't work for me at all, and I was so glad when it was over. By all means give it a go if it still sounds like it might be your thing, but otherwise, yes, let it ride indeed. (The Movie Czar 6/15/22)

So, apparently this movie has its ardent admirers, but in the spectrum of enthusiasts and the less so, count me squarely in the "yeah, not so much" category. The first problem, in my opinion, is that it simply isn't terribly funny. So, you say, it's not really meant to be, it's more a fantasy and parable about "living your life to the fullest." But here, too, the movie falls down rather badly. The main problem, as I see it, is that it purports to tell the story of an average Joe escaping a grinding existence, but it relies on a deus ex machina that is akin to winning the lottery--something that the vast majority of us actual average Joes are unlikely ever to experience. In fact, the movie practically cries out for a "Marxist" (that is, economic) analysis, and doesn't fare especially well when one is applied: Joe's "intervention" comes in the form of a rich industrialist (Lloyd Bridges) who offers the supposedly dying Joe (Tom Hanks) access to his riches (mostly in the form of credit cards) in return for Joe agreeing to jump into the boiling volcano of an "angry god" on an island in the South Pacific--all as a sort of trade with the island's fearful natives for one of the island's resources. Does that sound like an entry point for a story that is remotely relatable or plausible? I think not, but the movie could still have been relevant if it was clearly commenting on Joe's surprise privilege or on our (members of the so-called "First World") reliance on vast sums of wealth and advantages. But it's not clear. Neither is the attitude it takes toward Joe's brief "servant" clear: the African-American limousine chauffeur, Marshall (Ossie Davis), who shuttles Joe to various upscale stores in the richest parts of New York City. Were the filmmakers aware of or purposely engaging with (or IN?) the theme of time-worn American privilege (white America the benefactor of black servitude)? Is the soundtrack's partial use of African-American blues a celebration of that music or cultural appropriation in the story of a privileged white guy? Again, it's simply not clear, though the screenplay may hint obliquely at some anxiety about privilege when it has Joe's love interest, Patricia (Meg Ryan), lament her "soul-sickness" at "having a price" (the yacht that her father Lloyd Bridges offers her if she does this errand for him). But there's a difference between a character having a price and the cost of telling a story being a windfall that most of us will never experience. How are we supposed to relate? Joe and Patricia talk about living a life "away from the works of man," but what does that mean exactly? Is Joe going to establish himself as a tribal chief (ala Marlon Brando's Kurtz in "Apocalypse Now") on some other island? Is he going to become a chauffeur like Marshall? And what ABOUT the Marshalls of the world?

On the plus side, the movie is generally well-made, and I enjoyed Meg Ryan's triple-threat performance: she shows a lot of range here, and is especially good as the slightly ditzy and rather too-eager DeDe and the possibly suicidal Angelica. A young Hanks, too, is certainly appealing. But this movie about living your life to the fullest ultimately relies far too much on fantasy and ill-defined notions about privilege to be effective either as entertainment or as parable. (The Movie Czar 3/20/22)

I'll start by stating that I'll try to refrain from making comparisons between this and Robert Wise's 1961 film. But I will say this: no version will be definitive. I love the 1961 film, but the Original Broadway Cast outdid it in terms of vocal performances, and I've see a couple of stage versions that had their own unique strengths. And that's true for this, Spielberg's new adaptation of the 1957 stage musical.

Chief among the strengths here are Spielberg's direction and the movie's cinematography: there are some truly gorgeous shots interspersed, such as the reflective puddle of water Tony stands in at one point as he searches for Maria, or the stained glass reflections that shine under Tony and Maria as they sing the beautiful (and gorgeously rendered) "One Hand, One Heart." And Spieiberg's camera movement is impeccable, energetic and yet mostly unobtrusive for the most part. Likewise, the costume and set design are gorgeous, if arguably a little too busy, but then this is the heightened reality of musical theater after all. (As far as heightened reality goes, were there ever teenage gang members who were simultaneously as sophisticated and unsophisticated as the Jets and the Sharks?)

And the music remains transcendent: "The Jet Song," "Maria," "Tonight," "America," "Cool," "I Feel Pretty," "Gee, Officer Krupke," "Somewhere"... every song is a winner, in my opinion, and some of them have the power to truly transport. This is most true in the new movie for "One Hand, One Heart," and "A Boy Like That/I Have a Love," but almost all of the songs shine. I do feel that Ansel Elgert (as Tony) might have slowed down his delivery a little on a few of the songs ("Something's Coming" and "Maria," for instance), lingered on words or phrases a little more, but he does have a fine voice. He's also a very appealing Tony, arguably the actor with the movie's best screen presence. As Maria, Rachel Zegler has a beautiful voice and a unique screen presence. Both Ariana DeBose as Anita and David Alvarez as Bernardo give energetic and engaging performances, and it's both a relief and a blessing that Rita Moreno as Valentina is more than a cameo or a mere nod to Moreno's performance as Anita in the previous film.

As with the music, the dancing and choreography are also fantastic. "The Dance at the Gym" and "Cool" are exceptional (the latter altered in character and setting significantly in relation to the 1961 film), but "America" is the most spectacular.

Where the movie loses some momentum is in what I felt were the overly lengthy non-musical sections. Many scenes are so intense that toward the end of the movie I found myself conscious of wanting to get in and out of them a little quicker: at over 2 hours and 30 minutes, this is not a short movie, nor should it be. But the musical numbers fairly soar, and I wanted to linger in those flights a little longer.

As with others, when I first heard Spielberg was making this movie, I wondered why a little, as I consider the 1961 film a classic. But then I thought, why not? Why not introduce a great musical to a new generation, as well as to previous and future ones? And I think the 2021 West Side Story is ultimately a welcome and worthy effort, and a film that will stand together with the 1961 film as fascinating, compelling, and moving companion pieces. This is a musical that is given to flight, and in its best moments, like the 1961 version, this movie soars.

"Marathon Movie" is a movie that might have worked with some significant retooling, but as it is, any number of deficiencies cause this to land pretty hard and flat.

For starters: Dustin Hoffman. I've enjoyed Hoffman in other films, but he's simply not believable here. Part of that is surely the casting, as Hoffman, who was pushing 40 at the time the movie was made, is playing a grad student ("Babe" Levy) struggling to finish a thesis on tyranny. So... surely a 40-year-old grad student isn't beyond the pale, but Hoffman seems to be playing a much younger man--or at least one who FEELS much younger and more immature, and it simply doesn't stick: I never believed Hoffman in the role, I was aware of him acting in nearly every scene--hardly the foundation you want to build a movie on. (Laurence Olivier surely fares better as the evil Nazi dentist Szell, but while memorable, it's not a performance that allows Olivier much range or complexity.)

Some of the problem too probably goes to the writing. The best movies, including the best thrillers, involve the audience on an emotional level with the characters, but "Marathon Man" fails in that regard. The best it can do is work up a backstory of trauma for Babe centered on his father having committed suicide as a result (apparently) of the McCarthy-era "witch hunts" which targeted him as a Communist. This ties is with the movie's anti-fascist/anti-Nazi theme (easy enough), but it feels like a movie construct rather than a genuine conflict.

The romantic subplot also feels like a movie construct, probably inserted to get a little sex into the picture: Hoffman and Marthe Keller have little chemistry, and it's no surprise whatsoever when Keller's Elsa turns out to be something other than what she presents.

The screenplay fails in other areas as well. An early scene has a pair of (I want to say) septuagenarians in an automobile dogfight/chase through the busy streets of New York City that culminates in the explosive death (yes, via a crash into an oil rig) of one of the key characters. Maybe this is meant as a mild parody of movie car chases, but it just plays as silly and sets the tone (improbable, removed) for much of the rest of the movie.

Dialogue doesn't exactly ring true either: at one point, one character says, "I know whereof I speak." But did the writers know that no one speaks like that? And in general, conversations feel strangely fake. I wasn't sure if this had more to do with the dialogue or with something in the direction or editing, but there's a distant, superficial quality to much of the movie that eats it out from the inside.

Then you have the dental torture scenes. This movie seems to be in/famous for those scenes, but that pretty much sums it up: you may want to see the movie just for those scenes, or you may very well want to avoid it for the same reason. That is, they are more than a little difficult to stomach.

Ultimately, "Marathon Man" is a revenge thriller: an upright Jew seeks to thwart the machinations of an evil Nazi. That's all well and good: sometimes a black and white conflict is just what we need. I think the problem is that this movie feels simultaneously too constructed and not well-constructed enough. From the casting to the dialogue to the lack of character development to the weirdly empty roads around New York City, this feels more than a little off throughout. I found it significantly undernourishing and disappointing--to the point that I even actively disliked it. In the end, I hardly begrudge the filmmakers their efforts, but "Marathon Man" is, in this viewer's estimation, most interesting as a case study in the subtle and myriad ways a movie can go wrong. (The Movie Czar 12/12/21)

I wasn't entirely into this movie en route: "No Way Out" is an exceedingly slick, cold thriller, and very much of the late 1980s. What I felt was rather typical of its era and milieu was an early scene in which Kevin Costner's Navy man Tom Farrell and Sean Young's "girl for hire" (well, sort of) Susan Atwell have sex in the back of a limousine--only minutes after having first met. So very 80s, I thought! And much of the movie is along these lines: sex, love, and power plays amongst the federal government's elites and not-quite-elites. But the story, an adaptation of Kenneth Fearing's novel "The Big Clock" (also a movie by that title directed by John Farrow from 1948), is a clever, intelligent update of that source material, and the suspense is undeniably well-handled.

The basic premise is this: Costner's Farrell, recently hired as an assistant to Gene Hackman's Secretary of Defense, David Brice, falls in love with Young's Atwell, who also happens to be Brice's mistress. When Atwell is murdered (no spoilers here), Farrell is put in charge of the investigation--one which ultimately points to himself as the prime suspect. It's an ingenious (if contrived) plot, and fine performances from Costner, Young, Hackman, and Will Patton go a long way in putting it over, even if none of the characters (even Farrell and Atwell) are entirely sympathetic: there's a kind of vague cold detachment to nearly everyone here that is a little off-putting at first glance. But by movie's end, that seems likely to have been precisely the point: set in the glassy, tiled, computer-laden government halls of Washington (and in the Pentagon in particular), there is an antiseptic quality to nearly every scene in the movie, and its accumulation, especially after a bit of a twist ending, leaves a palpable chill, so that what seemed perhaps merely impersonal filmmaking en route becomes filmmaking that is intentionally and appropriately--and effectively--icy. Among the screenplay's bolstering strengths is its treatment of friendship: almost every friendship in the movie is vulnerable, susceptible to the expediencies of self-interest and (political and professional) survival. Patton's gay Scott Pritchard is especially implicated in this regard: it may be unfortunate on some level that this homosexual DOD man is presented as something of a monster, but one might argue that his "minority" status only makes him that much more susceptible to the exercise of cold self-interest that is the hallmark of many, if not most, of this world's characters. If none of the characters here are entirely sympathetic (Costner's Farrell at least seems to do his utmost to outrun coldheartedness), neither are any of them completely unsympathetic.

In the end, "No Way Out" is, finally, a modern noir that trades very well in the bleak, fatalistic view of film noir: a world in which there is indeed perhaps no way IN from the cold. (The Movie Czar 11/25/21)

"Fear Strikes Out" is interesting as an early "mental illness picture," but from the perspective of 2021, it plays as rather simplistic. I don't know the factual story of baseball player Jimmy Pearsall very well, but the movie chooses to portray his struggles with mental illness as solely the result of an overbearing, demanding father. We now know that mental health/illness is multidimensional, so the focus on the father-son relationship as the sole cause of Jimmy's problems feels a little shallow.

That's a problem, but it's compounded by other flaws, the first of which is an only sporadically good performance from Anthony Perkins. At times he's really good, even kind of great, and his boyish, handsome looks lend themselves well to the character and the screen. But man, Perkins had a tendency toward dark expressions and gazes, as well as obtrusive acting "business" and tics (such as flexing his jaw muscle, for instance), and those are on full display here. Of course, Perkins is playing a character who undergoes a nervous breakdown, but I was conscious of wishing that director Robert Mulligan had reined him in a bit. A close analogy to Perkins's performance here is Fenway Park's "Green Monster" (the tall left field wall): in some shots (apparently filmed at Fenway), it's there in the background; in others, it's clearly not. (Perkins would, of course, star as Norman Bates three years later in Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho," the role that he would become most famous for, even typecast. He used his business and tics to absolutely masterful effect in that movie, and I consider that turn one of the great movie performances.)

Another big problem in "Fear Strikes Out" is the almost total lack of believable chemistry between Perkins and Norma Moore, who plays Jimmy's love interest/wife, Mary. Moore is strong and mature-looking, while Perkins often looks like a lost little boy, and it's virtually impossible to believe Moore's Mary (a nurse with a steady income) would acquiesce to Perkins's Jimmy's impulsive marriage proposal when he seems to have so little to support her with.

Karl Malden, meanwhile, is good as Jimmy's father, John Piersall, and though the character is often difficult to stomach ("WE'RE on our way," "WE'RE going to play for the Red Sox," etc.), Malden lends him at least some vulnerability: this is a man who not only tries to live his dreams through his son (never a good thing, to paraphrase the movie's psychiatrist), but a husband and father who is simply struggling to keep his family afloat and who desperately wants better for them. No doubt, he pushes Jimmy too hard, but he also guides him, for instance, instructing the young Jimmy to "hook his slide." One powerful scene has Jimmy telling Doctor Brown that he wouldn't be where he is today (a major league baseball player--but one in the hospital after a mental breakdown) without his father. It's a fascinating ambiguity that suggests a fine line between pushing and pushing too hard.

Ultimately, "Fear Strikes Out" is a decent but decidedly flawed movie. It might in fact have benefited from pushing a little harder in some places--or hooking its slide a little more consistently. (The Movie Czar 11/12/21)

There's a scene toward the end of "Niagara" in which the movie's young, all-American, honeymooning couple, Ray and Polly Cutler, find themselves in tow on a recreational outing with Ray's new boss, the president of (yes) Shredded Wheat. Polly doesn't seem entirely happy, and the ever-energetic Ray tells her to cheer up. But we know that Polly knows that a killer is lurking nearby, and is very much on her guard. You can take the scene literally: Polly is terrified of a killer on the loose. But the subtext seems to have something to do with Polly's dissatisfaction with her rather overly enthusiastic, corporate-climbing (and possibly gay?) husband and the lifestyle they aspire to. And I would argue that the subtext is actually the text of the movie, a quite dark and disturbing vision of love, romance--and America in the 1950s.

In fact, "Niagara" is a movie that I've never really heard too much about. It just doesn't seem to garner much attention, so I was a little surprised at just how effective and memorable I found it to be. On the one hand, it's quite Hitchcockian; if I didn't know better, I might have guessed this was a Hitchcock movie: though it never really matches the best of Hitch in terms of suspense, a couple of sequences are very much in the style of "the Master." At the same time, it could be called, as I have seen it, a film noir in color, joining other such early Technicolor noirs as "Leave Her to Heaven" and "Desert Fury," for instance. In fact, the color cinematography is often stunning, a quite intense pleasure of the movie, made all the more remarkable by the extensive location shooting at Niagara Falls: even if many of the scenes were probably actually shot on studio sound stages, one is practically left with the sense of having visited Niagara Falls, such is the degree to which the location is part and parcel of the film--with the falls and their environs functioning as both something like a travelogue of the early 1950s as well as the more general metaphor for love, romance, and (of course) sex that Niagara Falls have come to represent for people.

What's genuinely troubling here is how dark the movie's vision is of love, romance, and sex--and, by a subtle interweaving in the screenplay of character and incident, of America in the 1950s. Marilyn Monroe (stunning in what seems to have been her first real invocation as the sex goddess Marilyn Monroe) is the dissatisfied and ultimately murderous Rose Loomis, wife to troubled war veteran George Loomis (Joseph Cotten). Meanwhile, the Cutlers (Jean Peters and Casey Adams aka Max Showalter) at least seem to be mere witnesses to this unhappy couple, their honeymoon compromised by their putative involvement in the drama in the cabin next door. But the screenplay starts the movie with a voiceover from George Loomis, leading the viewer to assume this will be his story, only to gradually shift the focus to the character who is most closely associated with him (by way of interaction and screen time together): Polly Cutler. And it is this shift that allows the movie to both soar and genuinely disturb: if the rushing, cascading falls are a symbol for sex, they are also one for George's madness, for Rose's waywardness--and by extension, for the possibility that the "normal," well-adjusted, all-American Polly might herself be in for a rough time of it. Where exactly might Ray and Polly--and America--be rushing off to?

And where does that leave love and relationships? Or making it in the world of 1950s America? Or making it in the world in any place or era? Ultimately, "Niagara" is a beautiful movie, full of colors and vibrancy. But like Monroe's Rose Loomis, clothed at one point in a hot pink dress, there's a darkness at its center, a darkness that threatens to swallow up all its colors. I for one will probably never think of Niagara Falls in quite the same way after seeing "Niagara": such is the colonizing power of its dark vision. (The Movie Czar 11/10/21)

Your enjoyment of "Man Without a Star" may very well depend to a large degree on your feelings about Kirk Douglas's over-the-top performance. For me, it was just a little too much of Kirk Douglas being Kirk Douglas: he's all physicality and coiled energy, tight-wasted, barrel-chested, (dimple-chinned, natch), lusty brawler in this one. Nobody pulled this off quite like Douglas, so I may in fact be underestimating what he brought to this movie, but... whenever there's the hint of something like grandeur or poetry, for instance (say, in the direction and/or cinematography), here comes Douglas barreling across the screen. (I should add that I've very much enjoyed other Douglas performances. Vincente Minelli's Vincent Van Gogh biopic "Lust for Life" comes to mind, for instance, which I thought marshaled Douglas's seemingly boundless energy in precisely the right direction; and I remember liking him quite a lot in another, later western, "Last Train from Gun Hill.") Likewise, there are moments of broad humor which I found slightly tiresome, for instance, the running joke about the bathroom in the house. I also thought Claire Trevor was nearly wasted in this movie: though her role was more than a cameo, and she played a part in the film's climax, her role was strangely underdeveloped, a mere tool in Douglas's cowpoke Dempsey Rae's story. That's unfortunate, because Trevor is a fine actress and a compelling screen presence, and I thought her character might have been one of the more interesting in the movie had it been developed a little more, even if it just highlighted her jealousy of Dempsey's fascination with Jeanne Crain's Reed Bowman, the new ranch owner with dollar signs in her eyes. As it is, the story has Dempsey sort of caught between his lust for Reed and his loyalty to his conscience and Wyoming's other ranchers, mostly upright men simply trying to survive and make a living herding cattle on the range. There's a young buck in tow (William Campbell as Jeff Jimson, or Tex), which allows for a number of mentoring scenes (some of which, frankly, just play as an excuse for Douglas to play Western movie star via sharp-shooting, gun twirling, etc.). I guess my main complaint was that there were hints of something else, something more mature: scenes in the boarding house, for instance, reminded me of scenes from "Of Mice and Men" (the novel as well as different movie versions), but here the stye was all Hollywood and very little realism. Overall, I would hardly say that "Man Without a Star" is without its pleasures: it's nicely directed and shot, with colorful Technicolor cinematography, and there's some fine work among the supporting players (Jay C. Flippen and Richard Boone are of note). But I mostly only recommend this for classic movie Western fans who like Kirk Douglas at his broadest. (The Movie Czar 10/17/21)

Sequels to great movies are rarely as good as their originals, and "The Two Jakes" is no exception: For those who have seen "Chinatown," "The Two Jakes" could hardly be called essential, or even really necessary, as it mostly recapitulates themes and characters from that great movie. Instead of intrigue around the importation into L.A. of water, this one features the machinations of the oil industry. Besides this, Robert Towne's screenplay, while undeniably intelligent and punchy, is more than a little hard to follow, and might have benefited from some good editing or a judicious rewrite. In short, the story is too convoluted, with the relationships between characters almost impossible to decipher, and the movie is decidedly overlong.

Still, there is quite a bit that could be called great in "The Two Jakes": the set and costume design is absolutely exquisite, as is Vilmos Zsigmond's cinematography, and Jack Nicholson's direction is better than good, even very nearly inspired. Even in these areas, though, the movie has a rather controlled tone that borders on oppressive: the set design very nearly overwhelms the story in the same way that Nicholson's direction feels arguably a little too redolent of his own (very often successful) laconic, measured acting style. One wonders if this might have been intentional: one great scene has Nicholson's Jake Gittes interviewing Meg Tilly's Kitty Berman while she gets a facial, her face covered in green mud, only her eyes and lips visible as she smokes a cigarette and takes probing questions from Gittes. This scene, as with much of the movie, creates a quite intense sense of claustrophobia, of the interconnectedness of everything and everyone, present and past. In this respect, "The Two Jakes" could be said to work quite well: as the screenplay would have it, there is no escape from the past. But even more, there are few actual escapes in a culture that has been, to a significant degree, built on rapaciousness and escape. The filmmakers seem confident of this viewpoint, and it plays convincingly, if, however, in relation to "Chinatown," redundantly. (The Movie Czar 12/16/19)

I'd seen some good things about this one, but I was largely disappointed in "The Wonderful Country." First off, I applaud Robert Mitchum for stretching here: he plays a white Missourian raised in Mexico, his accent and even his posture a departure for Mitchum. The problem is, it just doesn't work. (That accent sure comes and goes!) The bigger problem is an unfocused (and rather hard to follow) screenplay that has Mitchum's Martin Brady running guns into Texas for the Mexican Castro family, recuperating there after a fall from his horse, then, after he kills a man, escaping back over the Rio Grande into Mexico. There's a spark with a married woman (Julie London's dissatisfied army wife, Helen Colton), meetings with rival Castro brothers... and, well, some more stuff which doesn't add up to quite enough in the end. Whether due to the accents and/or the sound recording, I found a significant amount of the dialogue simply hard to understand, and the story difficult to follow. But it also felt more than a little unfocused and rather dramatically inert, so that I found myself bored, which is one of the worst things I might say about a movie. Overall, maybe still worth a look for fans of classic Westerns, but mostly as a curiosity--an ambitious, if not exactly interesting, failure. (The Movie Czar 8/19/19)

"Run of the Arrow" is an interesting movie despite some significant flaws. What makes it most worth a look is its complex take on its various peoples: Southern rebels, Sioux (Lakota) Indians, and the U.S. Cavalry are all treated with complexity, neither the Southerners, the Sioux, nor the Americans rendered entirely good or evil. Indeed, the story is seen through the eyes of former Confederate States infantryman Private O'Meara (Rod Steiger), who leaves the defeated (and what he sees as the prostrate) South for the far West--where he chooses to live among the Sioux after an especially evocative and brutal "initiation." He marries a Sioux woman and then is recruited as the Sioux liaison to scout for the U.S. Army a new location for a fort that is acceptable to both parties. Suffice it to say, things don't go entirely as planned: individual men on both sides have their own ideas which they put into action, and O'Meara and the others are caught in the middle.

Where "Run of the Arrow" tends to miss is in its rather rushed screenplay - and in Steiger's choppy performance. Steiger looks the part of Southern Reb, but his performance leaves something to be desired, especially given his shaky Irish accent--which, like much of the dialogue, is also obviously, and rather painfully dubbed. (Dubbed dialogue is most often a big stumbling block for me, so readily does it take me out of the movie, and it does so here.) The screenplay also has O'Meara learn the Sioux language awful fast (though all the dialogue is in English), and doesn't even bother with any kind of a courtship between O'Meara and his Sioux bride, Yellow Moccasin. The pacing never quite gels, and a couple of very good actors (Ralph Meeker and Brian Keith), if not exactly wasted, are underserved by the somewhat tepid drama, while the direction and cinematography are above average in some places, merely competent in others.

Overall, not as good as it might have been, but still worth a look for Western fans. (The Movie Czar 8/19/19)

"Garden of Evil" is beautiful to look at. Unfortunately, the screenplay is too dialogue-heavy and, worse, rather muddled: it ultimately leads to a non-climax and its themes feel only half-formed. That being said, as a Western fan I'm glad I watched it. The setting is the jungles and mountains of Mexico, and the Cinemascope cinematography is quite stunning throughout. Henry Hathaway's able direction and Bernard Herrmann's score are also top-notch. Overall, hardly a great movie, but still worth a look for fans of classic Westerns. (The Movie Czar 7/29/19)

Maybe not quite what it could have been, but recommended. This probably suffers most from what appears to be a low budget--and arguably a dearth of style from director Fritz Lang. But Lang could be quite flamboyant in other films, so perhaps the relatively straightforward style here is meant to suit the movie and its themes. And it's the story and themes that will have you talking afterwards: Though it's vaguely far-fetched and certainly contrived, this is quite the screenplay. I won't say anything other than the following: Dana Andrews plays Tom Garrett, a novelist who's persuaded by his newspaper mogul friend Austin Spencer (Sidney Blackmer) to pose as the suspect in a murder in order to prove the pitfalls of circumstantial evidence and politics in death penalty cases. Andrews eventually gets in over his head, and... well, see for yourself. Mildly underwhelming in route, "Beyond a Reasonable Doubt" nonetheless gathers a pretty good head of steam by its surprising climax. Dana Andrews gives a typically solid performance; if that sounds like slight praise, I don't mean it like that; he's a personal favorite of mine, especially for the work he did in noirs, and he seems today rather sadly under-appreciated, if not largely forgotten. Joan Fontaine is also on hand here as Susan Spencer, Garrett's fiancé and Austin's daughter. Overall, somewhat disappointing on the level of production, but otherwise very much worth a look for classic film fans.

(5.5 out of 10!) Fairly forgettable for the most part, but still sort of interesting as an artifact of a 1950s B movie thriller/police procedural. The problems: Joseph Cotten (whom I often like) isn't particularly good here, looking rather tired and perhaps a little disengaged; the character of his wife, played by Rhonda Fleming, is considerably shrill and annoying, to the point of being very nearly unsympathetic; the story itself is considerably simple; and the climax is rather weak and too abrupt. Still, Wendell Corey is quite convincing as psychopath Leon "Foggy" Poole, and it's fun to see some of the settings, styles, and conventions of mid-50s Los Angeles. (Future Gilligan's Island resident Alan Hale Jr. is also on hand.) Budd Boetticher's direction may be closer to very competent than anything else, but it's not bad by any means. Overall, nothing like a must-see, but this may still add some B movie color (not literally, it's black and white) to your classic film viewing.

I probably never would have bothered with this were I not a big Jean Arthur fan; but even in her oeuvre this is rarely mentioned. That may be because "Whirlpool" isn't *quite* the quintessential Arthur movie (see "Easy Living," "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," "The Devil and Miss Jones," etc.--now!). Still, Jean's in full blossom here, and well on her way to her glory days. Either way, this is a remarkably entertaining little movie, told in a brisk, energetic, entertaining style that seems to have been practically unique in some ways to the Hollywood of the early to mid-30's. Jack Holt stars as an ex-con who is reunited by chance with his daughter (Arthur) after a 20-year stint in prison: He's high up in the underworld, she's a newspaper reporter. The plot machinations come fast and furious, and contrived though they may be, they are only so in the best way--the way Hollywood could pull this kind of thing off in the 30's. Good performances all the way around, but Holt--often looking very much like Brando's Don Corleone in "The Godfather"--and Arthur carry the show. (Another Godfather mention: Donald Cook, who plays Arthur's boyfriend Bob, looks quite a lot like Al Pacino!) Holt, in fact, really carries this picture, bringing to his Buck Rankin/Duke Sheldon a very sympathetic mix of no-nonsense tough guy and heart, and the relationship between him and Arthur is thoroughly convincing. I have to say that the opening credits had me worried: The "whirlpool" seems to be nothing more than water spinning down a sink! But this is mostly the exception: There's even one montage of father and daughter that's remarkably well-done, almost even poetic in its images and editing. Overall, I wouldn't call this a classic, but if you like Jean Arthur or the movies of the 30's in general, this is a better bet than you might have guessed.