Junta Juleil's Top 100: #100-#96

Alright, here we go, ladies and gentlemen:

#100. AMERICAN GRAFFITI (1973, George Lucas)

Ah, how I love the late 50's, early 60's nostalgia pic, of which AMERICAN GRAFFITI is the beloved grandaddy. Though I and many of the genre's admirers cannot lay claim to having experienced the era firsthand, so many films which I deeply enjoy (THE WANDERERS, STAND BY ME, CHRISTINE, etc., etc.) use it as an effective template for imparting profound lessons about the nature of adulthood and what it means and feels like to be on the cusp of it, the cusp of that storied abyss. (They also use it as an effective template for cramming in as many great Oldies tunes as is humanly possible!) In retrospect, I can't help but feel that these films go even further, sort of imparting mythical lessons about what life was like Before Things Got Shitty, or the fairy-tale time When People Had Something To Look Forward To. Now perhaps I'm being somewhat facetious, but it certainly feels that way these days. Regardless, this is a humanist masterpiece with a vital young cast (Ron Howard, Richard Dreyfuss, Cindy Williams, Charles Martin Smith, Paul Le Mat, Candy Clark, Mackenzie Phillips, among others) and a bittersweet ending that speaks toward What Came Next. It's George Lucas (or was it really Marcia?) at his best.

#99. SOMEWHERE IN TIME (1980, Jeannot Szwarc)

I'm not exactly a fan of the 'Romance' genre by any means, but the genuine aura of tenderness and melancholy which flows forth from this movie can play my emotions like a piano. As he has proven again and again, Richard Matheson's mastery of time travel as a narrative device is rarely (if ever) matched; he tackles it not as science, but as a reverie, an abstraction, a wandering sense of nostalgia and regret. John Barry's score is a pleasure to the point of pain, and Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour's connectedness easily make us forget about pop culture personas like "Superman" and "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman." A beautiful film, and one which didn't blow 'em away at the box office, but which has inspired a rabid cult following, including an extremely dedicated fan club which predates the Internet.

#98. RUNAWAY TRAIN (1985, Andrei Konchalovsky)

A prison escape film, of sorts, which passed through the hands of Akira Kurosawa, Paul Zindel, Eddie Bunker, and Golan & Globus before it became white-knuckle reality. RUNAWAY TRAIN is scraping steel, snowy vistas, blood and oil and grease and steam. The sheer, absolutely brutish intensity of Jon Voight and John P. Ryan is mind-blowing- we see men become animals, we see animals become men. Eric Roberts gets in on the action, too– this thing is a goddamn master's course in acting. One of the most potent, well-constructed thrillers in recent memory.

#97. THE PENALTY (1920, Wallace Worsley)

Some of you know that I'm quite the Lon Chaney devotee; I've said in the past "from his achievements in self-mutilation to his mind-blowing makeup effects to his mastery of the crazy-eye to his portrayals of mad jealousy, mangling frustration, and unfettered pathos; he assembled a vast body of work that really can't be matched for variety, commitment, or poignancy- and half of his films are lost!" The man's masochistic streak and tortured countenance are well-demonstrated here in THE PENALTY as he plays a frightening gangster named "Blizzard" whose legs were mistakenly amputated as a boy. The apparatus he uses to sell the effect is astounding, as are the nuances in his facial expressions, particularly given the fact that he was in enormous pain and hence prone to losing consciousness for the duration of the shoot. This is silent melodrama at its finest: whether it's slugging you in the gut or tugging at your heart-strings, you feel as if you've utterly surrendered yourself to the experience– it grabs you by the lapels and takes you for a ride, and isn't that what cinema's all about?

#96. ACE IN THE HOLE (1951, Billy Wilder)

Ah, the "newspaper flick." They're full of gritty, fast-talking men who're part-time wordsmiths and full-time swindlers, the sort of men who'd rather die than see some rival publication get the scoop. Enter Kirk Douglas, a gal-slappin' sonofabitch named Chuck Tatum who turns manipulatin' the masses into a spectator sport. I applaud this film and its ridiculous cynicism; it knew that that the days of aw, shucks truth-bending ("when the legend becomes fact, print the legend," anyone?) would one day give way to poisonous, THEY LIVE-grade distortions on a global scale. The alternate title was THE BIG CARNIVAL, and how goddamned right they were, what a big fucken carnival, indeed. As this list progresses, I'll likely say that a number of films seem prophetic in today's world (including this one!), but then again I suppose the repressers of the truth have always been sonsabitches; just who knew to what scale they'd end up takin' it? ACE IN THE HOLE is a movie that takes you by the throat, leads you toward the glory of "The Information Age," and shows you a few of the uglier pit-stops along the way. I also highly recommend: SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS and NETWORK.

Coming up next...some Carpy, some Polanski, and possibly the biggest, baddest tear-jerker of all time!

Film Review: VIOLENT CITY (1970, Sergio Sollima)

Stars: 3.9 of 5.
Running Time: 100 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Charles Bronson, Jill Ireland, Telly Savalas, George Savalas, Michel Constantin, Umberto Orsini. Music by Ennio Morricone. Screenplay co-written by Lina Wertmüller (SWEPT AWAY, SEVEN BEAUTIES).
Tag-line: "The Godfather" Gave You an Offer You Couldn't Refuse. "The Family" Gives You No Alternative." Classic.
Best one-liner: “You shouldn’t tell daddy lies.”

Sergio Sollima’s VIOLENT CITY is a fairly standard Eurocrime flick full of the standard revenge seekers, codes of honor, jealousy, femmes fatale, mob bosses, and absurd dubbing. But there are a few elements- including the squinty, stoic presence of Charles Bronson; the New Orleans locale; the freaky patchwork of flashbacks, hallucinations, and psychedlia; the unnverving, animalistic, avant-garde Ennio Morricone score; and a shocking, stylish, expressionistic, take no prisoners finale- which really push this thing over the edge. It's no REVOLVER, but it's certainly well worth a watch. (In fact, at times it almost seems to be a loose remake of my all-time favorite noir, OUT OF THE PAST?!) But as in many (Italian) films of this type, it's not the big car chases or the big shootouts that win you over-


Though the shootouts and chases are by no means bad– note the use of frightened children.

-instead it's the bizarro subtleties, eclectic performances, and screwy flourishes. So here's 11 reasons why Sollima's VIOLENT CITY is a place worth visiting:

#1. Bronson is not scared of tarantulas. Or at least mind-blowingly outré tarantula puppets (its unsettling movements must be seen to be believed). In a display of raw machismo, he allows the monster spider to slowly walk past his crotch as he ponders the meaning of his life from the confines of a jail cell.


What's even more ridiculous is that this scene is really well done. The Morricone score drones with suspenseful foreboding; Bronson's cell-mates watch in jaw-clenching horror– and the scene ends with a masterfully jarring *WHOMP* of a finale.

#2. Morricone twangs. I don't care if Lee van Cleef is unbuttoning his saddle to reveal an arsenal of guns or Bronson is revealing that his picnic basket is full of weapons- Morricone will provide a booming, thunderous TWANNNG-G-G! to accompany it. His sense of humor is often apparent in his scores, and VIOLENT CITY is no exception- but he'll quickly wipe away that smirk and replace it with a sonorous growl if he has to...

#3. Telly Savalas. As a suave New Orleansonian mob boss, Savalas gets lots of massages and dispenses fatherly advice to Bronson ("You shouldn't tell daddy lies").

In fact, he's always making references to how Bronson is some greenhorn who can't remember the good ole days (“You wouldn’t understand, you’re too young").

Well, for starters, Bronson is a year older than Savalas; but secondly, Bronson looks like a well-grizzled war vet shitkicker who's no stranger to the insides of a coal mine (well...that's because it's all true), whereas Savalas kinda looks like Mr. Potato Head.

I think it's the glasses that really pull it all together.

In all seriousness, though, Savalas is great. He collaborated four times with Bronson, and here, his smooth, skeezy, and hobnobby presence is an excellent foil to Bronson's laconic badass.

#4. George Savalas, Telly's brother. What is this, FORCED TO KILL?

#5. Bronson's disdainful refusal of a girl drink from Savalas- which, in a single moment, perfectly lays out the relationship between the two men.


#6. Lina Wertmüller's work on the screenplay. An interesting choice for co-writer on an action flick, Wertmüller's solo work tackles politics, gender dynamics, and the natural forces which drive men and women alike to act so despicably, again and again. Her influence comes through most clearly in the semi-complex love/hate hate/love relationship between Bronson and Jill Ireland's character.

#7. Sleazy Antonioni. When beautiful Italo-cinematography collides with genre cinema, a sort of seedy, art house aesthetic emerges, which I clearly like quite a bit.



If Bronson were in L'AVVENTURA, it'd probably look a lot like this.


#8. Bronson's lawyer is hitting on him the entire movie. I'm not sure that Bronson was aware of it- in fact, I'm certain he wasn't, but there's an extremely awkward, one-sided homoerotic dynamic at play here.

Umberto Orsini: unrequited love at the tennis court.


Bronson: flattered, but possibly unable to even fathom the concept of same-sex attraction.

#9. Bronson passive-aggressively stomps on Jill Ireland's photos a full 32 years before Asia Argento would aggressive-aggressively stomp on photos of Vincent Gallo in SCARLET DIVA.


#10. Bronson as a sicky.

I'm not sure I can exactly pinpoint it, but there's something extremely clichéd and surreal about this image, which is fantastic. Get the man an ice pack, please.

#11. Not exactly part of the film, but in an interview with Sollima on the Anchor Bay DVD, he is reminiscing about how Jon Voight was originally considered for the Bronson role. Only he doesn't say "Jon Voight"– he says "Angelina Jolie's dad."

Annnnd on that note... nearly four stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: RUNAWAY TRAIN (1985, Andrei Konchalovsky)

Stars: 4.7 of 5.
Running Time: 111 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jon Voight, Eric Roberts, Danny Trejo, Eddie Bunker, John P. Ryan (IT'S ALIVE, DELTA FORCE 2, CLASS OF 1999), T.K. Carter (Nauls in THE THING), Rebecca de Mornay, Hank Worden (THE SEARCHERS, STAGECOACH, the odd, milk-delivering waiter from TWIN PEAKS Season 2), Tommy 'Tiny' Lister (EXTREME PREJUDICE). Music by Trevor Jones. Produced by Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus.
Best one-liner: [makes flatulent noise] "That's your mother's farthole, Rankin. The bitch is LOUD."

"Existential." "Poetic." "Award-winning." These are not words I would expect to use while describing a Golan-Globus film. To put it in perspective, they produced DEATH WISH 3, RAPPIN', INVASION U.S.A, and MISSING IN ACTION 2 the same year (1985).

Now, the forces which collaborated to make RUNAWAY TRAIN a reality are simply mind-blowing: it began its life as a shelved Akira Kurosawa script, picked up by Cannon and adapted by Paul Zindel (Pulitzer Prize winner for EFFECT OF GAMMA RAYS ON MAN-IN-THE-MOON MARIGOLDS), Djordje Milicevic (Serbian writer of John Huston's VICTORY), and Eddie Bunker (former inmate turned writer/actor). Bunker (who plays a memorable role here), is likely the most fascinating of the bunch- he stabbed a boy in the eye with a fork at 15, he was on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List, he shivved a prison guard and befriended Danny Trejo (who makes his debut here), became buddies with Michael Mann after his release, wrote STRAIGHT TIME and ANIMAL FACTORY, and appeared in RESERVOIR DOGS (as Mr. Blue) and THE RUNNING MAN, among others.

Annnyway, Golan and Globus handed the directorial reins to Russian art house director Andrei Konchalovsky, and cast it with Hollywood powerhouses and Cannon heavies alike. Holy shit, what a combination! Our plot is this:

Two inmates- Jon Voight (a charismatic, raging grizzly of a man- "I'm at war with the world and everybody in it!") and Eric Roberts (who possesses a sleazy, oddly snakelike naivete)- escape the clutches of their steely, gum-chewing, mustachioed warden John P. Ryan

(who prays "God, don't kill them- let me do it!"), only to find themselves on a...RUNAWAY TRAIN. It develops into a brutal meld of TAKING OF PELHAM 1,2,3 and BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI that feels like a shiv to the palm.

It all ends with a Shakespeare quote, and your gut reaction is not "Damn, that's pretentious," but rather to catch your breath, wipe your brow, and make sure your guts are still there. Now, THAT says a lot.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: NATIONAL TREASURE- BOOK OF SECRETS (2007, Jon Turteltaub)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 124 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Nic Cage, Ed Harris, Jon Voight, Harvey Keitel, Helen Mirren, Diane Kruger, Justin Bartha.
Tag-lines: "Nicolas Cage."
Best one-liner: "What's the final clue?"

Alright, class, raise your hands if you want to see a Nic Cage movie. Good, good, almost everyone. Now, keep your hands raised if you also want to learn about American history. Alright, a bunch of hands just went down. What's the deal, kiddies? Alright. So...what if it was make-believe American history? Great, most of those hands went right back up. Now, keep your hands raised if you want to see Ed Harris play the villain.

Wow, not a single hand went down. Okay, so keep ‘em raised if you want to see Ed Harris' villain have his hands tied behind his back by some Michael Bay-lite hack in a PG-rated, violence free cornball fest? Hey! Where'd everybody go?

And there you have it, ladies and gents. If you want to see a bored Keitel sitting behind a desk,

Keitel's spirit is so broken he didn't even ASK if he could have a nude scene.

an exasperated Ed Harris daydreaming about APPALOOSA II, and Helen Mirren sadly bantering with Jon Voight

"Jon, stop thinking about Angelina for a minute, you're just gonna get yourself all worked up. We have some scenes to shoot."

(who's either phoning it in, or has totally lost it), then by all means, NATIONAL TREASURE 2 is for you.



Even with one arm tied behind his back, Ed is still majestically terrifying. "Hey kiddies, how'd you like my movie?"

The last hour is basically a geriatric GOONIES. No kid wants to see that. But, surprise, surprise, no adult wants to see this, either. And who the hell is this Justin Bartha guy? Smack dab in the middle of a crowd of paycheck collecting A-listers is this prime jag-off J. Crew faux-nerd intended for comic relief.

Nearly every scene is bookended with his nauseating delivery of nauseating lines, so, even if you sorta like a scene, he's going to make sure you leave with a bad taste in your mouth.

Also, the film promises to show Nic Cage KIDNAPPING THE PRESIDENT.

This could've been a real coup- I was thinking ball gag and everything. And with the superb Bruce Greenwood as the Pres, what could go wrong? Well, there is no kidnapping. Cage instead briefly speaks privately with the president.

An action flick should be like a shot of bourbon. The first one was watered down, but had a little bite. Here, we got a shot glass full of water. If you hold it up to the light, you can kinda see a tinge of brown, but not really. No sale, fellas.

-Sean Gill