Telstar

40%

Shrill and unmodulated movie about an innovator which itself lacks storytelling innovation. The recreation of a past era is anodyne since this movie is more interested in namedropping the pop icons of the early sixties shamelessly without offering any sense of why the social changes these stars heralded were happening. Pop music is presented in a political vacuum as if this were enough for dramaturgical purposes.

This story of the rise and fall of the world's first independent record producer (Joe Meek) does not get under the skin of the central character as if somehow frightened to defame a now dead man. Because all of the characters are more or less the same, this movie presents a weakly written screenplay that cannot differentiate who from whom; leading to a shallowness of characterization that makes the story somewhat tedious to follow. A pity, since the actual reasons why such a talented man should descend into Phil Spector like paranoia would have been fascinating.

The essential problem with films about talented people is that only those who are genuinely talented can ever make them. Ken Russell's biopics were such good value for money, for example, because he personally understood the creative process himself and so could depict it visually. At the end of the day, this movie is no more than a calling card from a film director with his eye firmly on a career in Hollywood who wants to prove he can direct. Technically well made but oh so dull.


Article copyright © 2009 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://franktalker5.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.

Gauntlet

60%

Rather self indulgent Clint Eastwood movie in which the director and star both take potshots at their own onscreen tough guy persona. This is a tale of redemption and political corruption about a slow witted Arizona cop told with great wit in a carefully written screenplay that wants to entertain as well as inform.

The set pieces are well done but over the top but Eastwood is making ironic commentary on the violence of White America, the violence of American Cinema and of his own previous portrayal of Dirty Harry. So long as you take it in the spirit intended, this is good fun, especially as Sondra Locke makes their onscreen relationship work by imbuing it with a secret sense of what their offscreen relationship was like. Solid political and sexual satire that refuses to take itself too seriously.


Article copyright © 2009 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://franktalker5.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.

I Love You, Man

40%

Yet another White Men undergoing a crisis in their masculinity comedy that shows no sign of ever trending out. Given the stupidly orificial nature of the humor, one wonders if the comedy produces the crisis rather than being merely a reflection of it. Or worse, that it actually perpetuates the desire to remain emotionally immature.

Rather more silly than funny, the sophomoric jocularity will have you falling asleep long before the film ends. It is as if the filmmakers think all the jokes have already been told, so have decided to make fun of the very concept of comedy. They are daring the audience to laugh at complete rubbish that does not even have the compensation of being the slightest bit surreal or even absurd.

The tiresome orificialness is presented as if it were emotional honesty, rather than affective self indulgence, in a tale wagging the dog story of sexual relationships wherein sex causes love rather than the other way round. Such relationships fail – as here – since they lack substance because the marriage is more important than the relationship. Yet they are still presented as either desirable or unavoidable in the apparent absence of any alternative. This explains this movie's lack of genuine content that is as morally evasive as its characters.

The superficiality of men who cannot relate to other men without the fear of homosexuality is as tiring for them as it is for us, the audience. Films about superficial people can never be anything other than boringly superficial, unless their problems are dramatically explored. If this is really how White males relate to one another in Western culture then the Feminists must be right when they claim masculinity here is in (an unfunny) crisis.

The immaturity of the filmmakers is exposed by their desire to tell their audience what they already know, as if this were somehow profound. Like a teenager discovering sex for the first time and thinking that they are the only one.

One day these filmmakers will actually come to terms with their incipient homosexuality, their fear of women and their refusal to grow up. But people without a sense of humor can never laugh at themselves. The self indulgence here is distinctly embarrassing in a movie composed almost entirely of weak, deleted scenes taken from a much better film. The worst sin of films like these is that they are so parsimonious with their jokes.


Article copyright © 2009 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://franktalker5.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.

Shifty

60%

Although well-directed, this movie has some serious narrative structure problems. The central mystery presented is difficult to follow because so little information is imparted to the audience. We lose interest because not even piecemeal data is offered to us. Without at least being told something - even if in dribs and drabs – there is almost nothing to go on in order to maintain our interest.

The actors are not at fault here but a script that has few insights into the world described and, thus, nothing much to say about it. So much so that the writer/director feels the need to conceal this behind would-be suspense. Moreover, the characterisations are ineptly written because undifferentiated; making them all more or less the same. Yet the writer makes great claims as to the eponymous character being somehow different!

This director is a better filmmaker than a screenwriter and is clearly more interested in formalistic style and technique than content. Fortunately this film is not very long and the actors first-rate, although the chemistry is not as convincing as it could be between the characters. Ultimately, this movie never raises its game much above the level of anecdote.


Article copyright © 2009 Frank TALKER. Permission granted to reproduce and distribute it in any format; provided that mention of the author’s Weblog (http://franktalker5.blogspot.com/) is included: E-mail notification requested. All other rights reserved. Frank TALKER is also the author of Sweaty Socks: A Treatise on the Inevitability of Toe Jam in Hot Weather (East Cheam Press: Groper Books, 1997) and is University of Bullshit Professor Emeritus of Madeupology.