In The Other, To Kill a Mockingbird director Robert Mulligan does a great job engendering sympathy for a schizophrenic child who is channeling the spirit of his deceased twin. Chris and Martin Udvarnoky do a commendable job playing the boy and his ‘other,’ and famed acting teacher Uta Hagen is good as the Russian aunt who begins to put two and two together after a series of tragic ‘accidents’ happen on the family farm.
Cary Grant already has three children and little time alone with his wife (Betsy Drake), but that doesn’t stop her from bringing home a few troubled foster children. Room for One More is a sweet comedy with just enough dramatic heft. Grant (at his droll, beleaguered best) and Drake have some great exchanges, especially after one of their boys inquires where babies come from. Grant draws the figure of a woman in the sand and explains. Drake then comes along and asks what the drawing is.
SPOILER REVIEW
I really liked American Beauty when it was first released. Maybe I was wooed by its quirky introspection and aesthetic achievments. Or maybe it was screenwriter Alan Ball’s fresh new way of blending the real with the surreal. Or even the meditative lilt of Thomas Newman’s trend-setting score. But whatever the reason(s), watching the film ten years later, I realize — American Beauty ain’t all that. It’s kinda whack.
Pacific Rim is good, dumb summer fun. It’s beautiful, sexy, exciting, funny, and it kinda made me feel like a kid again. The premise involves Kaiju and Jägers… scratch that. Let’s call it like it is: this movie is about big fucking robots fighting big fucking monsters. The monsters come from another dimension, entering our world from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. The robots, each manned by two psychically linked people (often blood relatives), are humanity’s last hope for survival. The concept sounds like the germ of another big, loud, stupid summer movie — you know, the kind Michael Bay makes. But director Guillermo del Toro (Hellboy, Pan’s Labyrinth) handily beats Bay at his own game with Pacific Rim, imbuing the film with more style and substance than any of Bay’s Transformers movies ever had.
I never particularly liked Westerns until I saw this film, my first ‘Spaghetti Western.’ Most people credit Sergio Leone for inventing the genre. If it weren’t for his so-called Man With No Name trilogy (three films starring Clint Eastwood, of which A Fistful of Dollars is the first) the sub-genre may have never taken flight. What Leone did was take the stagey, polished, over-produced Hollywood Western, drag it through the mud, tear it up around the edges, and make it more violent, more crude, more rock and roll.
In this Howard Hawks production, an arctic science team finds an alien buried in the ice, so they bring it back to their facility for closer inspection. Things go awry, the monster gets loose, and before long, all the men are in danger of becoming food for the alien’s progeny. This is a great atomic-age monster movie that well exceeds expectations for the genre and the period it was made.
Oliver Stone’s epic bio of the Macedonian military legend, like so many pet projects, is a glorious mess of a movie. The screenplay goes back and forth in time, mixing scenes of Alexander’s youth with scenes of his conquests. The result is jarring, never allowing you to get to know the character in any time. The narrative also relies far too much on Anthony Hopkins’ narration to explain what is going on. Stone has an Academy Award for writing Midnight Express, but his writing on Alexander seems like the clunky work of an amateur.
