Reviews

there's nothing offensively or expressly bad about this movie, but what exactly was the point of it all? it isn't a sensitive or insightful portrait of madness, nor does it seem to have been intended that way. it isn't dramatically powerful or rewarding or cathartic. and it isn't particularly scary or suspenseful. it does have a few hardcore Polanski-style creepy images, like the dead rabbit, the crumbling walls and the creepy nosy neighbors at the end. the violent parts, like when Catherine Deneuve is slashing away with a straight razor at the face of the nice young man who is courting her, are just extremely unpleasant, not scary. this film is beautifully, immaculately made but, as far as i'm concerned, pointless.

Everyone i've talked to about this film has said to me, "Oh, it's just like the book". No, it is not! True, the gist of many of the scenes in the film resemble scenes in the novel, but only in the most rudimentary way. As cinematic as the book seems, it actually presents a major problem to any adaptor who wants to do anything like justice to it in a screen adaptation: I would say over two-thirds of the entire book is narration, and most of its scenes, as cinematic as they may seem, are embedded in this narration, and while there is also a great deal of dialogue, these scenes are tempered by passages where key things that happen are rendered in print only through vague description in the narration, of the "Oh, and then this happened" sort - meaning that anyone who wanted to turn this book into a movie where there is any kind of successful narrative flow that does justice to the book's sustained vision and creativity would have to do a LOT of creative work filling in these gaps, turning Berger's intermittent vagueness into specific screen action that matches in tone the dialogue and action Berger has already supplied. It's the kind of problem one can only envision being solved satisfactorily by bringing in the author himself to do the adaptation. In this respect, the filmmakers have failed utterly - there is not one second of this film that is anywhere near as inspired or witty as anything in the book. As craftsmanship, the film is mediocre; the film looks like it was shot on a soundstage, and gives the viewer no feeling for nature or the absurd, crazy poetry of American Indian life that is so much a part of what makes the book so successful; Berger's superbly sophisticated and imaginative moral absurdism has been turned into crude, ugly, cheap, cartoonish left-wing caricature that resembles the work of Oliver Stone; and, aside from the one glorious exception of Chief Dan George, in his wonderful turn as Old Lodge Skins, the performances are gross, sloppy and impersonal, with Dustin Hoffman terribly miscast, his innocent, square, adenoidal man-child persona subtly but completely wrong for the sketchiness and semi-amoral pragmatism of Jack Crabb, a man who drifts between two opposed lifestyles, American and Indian, forming no loyalty with either – a character which would require a projection, not of guilt or corruption, but of simple adult knowledge, something Hoffman is incapable of.

this is no great shakes as a comedy or as anything else, there are maybe two or three lines in this whole film that will even make you laugh, and even those are pretty dumb. the whole thing is quite inoffensive, though, and agreeably dopey (in a rather knowing way). Married to the Mob is probably Demme's most sheerly beautiful film, physically - it has an exquisite look to it, capturing the mob milieu with an exquisite tackiness rivalled only by Scorsese's Casino. And Demme really knows how to put together a cast - there's not a deadbeat or a lame, Susan Clark-type actor in the bunch, and while they really have very little to work with here, they make the whole dumb enterprise just that much more likable. And Dean Stockwell is great.

okay, this is no masterpiece of any kind, but it's just about perfectly done for what it is (with one exception). literary sensibility is always wonderful when brought to the screen, and this is no exception - even when the work in question is as utterly insignificant as Hilton's "Goodbye, Mr. Chips". I haven't actually read Hilton's novel, but this movie feels pretty unadulterated to me. An insubstantial, pleasingly sentimental little wisp of a story, a bit like "Driving Miss Daisy" in its smallness and tastefulness, but better directed and more emotionally satisfying and fuller. Peter O'Toole gives what is, in my opinion, the best performance of his extraordinary career (along with his - utterly different - turn in "The Stunt Man"). He manages to project Chips' timidity and smallness of spirit beautifully (especially in the scene in the restaurant where he first meets Petula Clark's character, his future wife), while lending him great dignity and carrying the film emotionally. There's no question in my mind that he should have won the Academy Award. Petula Clark is, in the beginning of the film, a bit too old and plump to be convincing as the hot young showgirl she's supposed to be, but she still looks great and, most importantly, has the charm and joie de vivre that the role demands she have, in spades, in order for her to convince us that she could melt the quiet old prune that is O'Toole's Mr. Chips and bring charm and gaiety into his life. The film is, in general, surprisingly well directed and atmospheric, with a very convincing school atmosphere. The extras all seem very convincing and well-directed, and the film is lavish - enjoyably so. So kudos to Herbert Ross in that department. The other superb performance comes from Sian Phillips as Clark's actress friend Ursula Mossbank, a heavenly role invented for the film. Phillips is pure style, an exquisitely charming, campy creature, towering in skimpy silk dresses with the sinuous neck of a leopard. The only flaw in the film is the music, which Pauline Kael aptly described as "a form of instantly disposable muzak....Your brain flushes it out while you're hearing it". That's pretty much the size of it, in fact, one may have fond memories of the film, having completely forgotten that it was a musical, as the music is so uninspired you barely experience it at all. It's just a faint irritation that unnecessarily stretches the film out to its unwieldy length. Oh well. A lovely film, just the same.