French policier, more real than Maigret, more real than Castang, more real even than real. There are lengthy passages of transcript-style dialogue, the sort of thing that dries up sooner on screen and becomes much harder to follow than on the printed page. But perhaps the illusion of reality is …
Any sequel to any movie as bad as the original Poltergeist stands a good chance to beat the odds on so-called sequelitis. How could it be worse? But then again it could easily be as bad. You might have thought, in this particular case, that the Pandora's Box of evil …
Sidney Lumet on the American political scene, coming at it from a slightly new angle, shifting the spotlight to illuminate a formerly shadowed nook of it: the anonymous groomer behind the public candidate. On the pretense of enlightening the benighted, Lumet can content himself with, or console himself for, any …
That snobbery is a two-way street, that it is just as pernicious either way, that even the occasional "richie" is blessed with a speck of decency — these are worthwhile lessons. But the assumption in John Hughes's screenplay is that any lesson worth teaching doesn't need to be taught well. …
Anthony Perkins resumes the role of Norman Bates on the condition that he get to direct it himself. Not too awfully forbidding a task: he doesn't have to equal the original, only the first sequel. This he does, within an inch or so, one way or the other. Of course …
A bicycle-motocrosser (Bill Allen) tries to enter a corrupt promoter's nationally televised cash-prize race in Hal Needham's cult-BMX-classic.
Arnold Schwarzenegger, who has proven himself to be at least adequate when cast as himself (Pumping Iron) or a fictional version of himself (Stay Hungry) or a comic-book superhero (Conan the Barbarian and the Destroyer) or a robot (The Terminator), is nonetheless an actor of severe and obvious limitations. It …
A deep salaam to American jazzmen, with a bit of bootlicking thrown in, by French filmmaker Bertrand Tavernier. The venerable Dexter Gordon, with a ponderous raspy speaking voice and a mellifluous supple saxophone (as well as an artful method of blowing out a birthday candle), plays a fictional composite of …
Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines are partners on the Chicago police force, rather bantam-cockish for that line of work -- but not for their more earnest vocation as a fast-patter comedy team. Loosey-goosiness is the order of the day; and suspense, when wanted, is impossible to summon. Billy Crystal gets …
Respectably black comedy, even if really only charcoal-gray, and disappointingly rosy at the end. A nice young couple kidnap the wife of the clothing manufacturer who has stolen their idea for a Spandex Miniskirt. They want half a million or they'll kill her (just bluffing). But the businessman, who has …
The final film, before his death by cancer, of Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky, made in Sweden with local cinematographer (and regular Bergman collaborator) Sven Nykvist — and recommendable on that count alone. In fact recommendable on the basis of the first shot alone, a placid, contemplative long-take, with leisurely and …
The final film, before his death by cancer, of Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky, made in Sweden with local cinematographer (and regular Bergman collaborator) Sven Nykvist — and recommendable on that count alone. In fact recommendable on the basis of the first shot alone, a placid, contemplative long-take, with leisurely and …
Sleazoid journalist becomes engagé in El Salvador, ca. 1980-81. He also becomes the vehicle for the filmmakers' political convictions, or in other words The Straight Truth -- or in the words of the caricatured American military advisor: "wild, left-wing commie crap." This comes ill from a man who had gone …
Good-looking psychological thriller -- deep space, flat color, a slithering camera -- about a Boy Who Cried Wolf, his mother, and their separate but equal entanglements with an escaped convict. The psychological part is all right, as long as it stays within the family circle. But the movie has to …