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: SATURN 3 (1980, Stanley Donen)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kirk Douglas, Harvey Keitel, Farrah Fawcett. Written by novelist Martin Amis. Soundtrack by Elmer Bernstein.
Tag-lines: "Trapped between unnatural love and inhuman desire."
Best exchange: Keitel: "I wish you would talk! You know you can; why won't you talk?" Robot: –NOT YET READY Keitel: "Why not? What have I done wrong?" Robot: –MURDER Keitel: "Not that! Blank that; that's not what I meant." Robot: –BLANKED AS ORDERED Keitel: "That was an improper thought leakage. What have I done wrong?" Robot: –YOU FAILED COURSE Keitel: "Don't get smart." Robot: –WHAT SHALL I GET

THE BLACK HOLE + DEMON SEED + a bunch of pretentious ideas = an excruciating 87 minutes of a troubled production that smacks of 'made for TV.' The plot is this: a bored, sociopathic Harvey Keitel (with a ratty little ponytail) comes to Saturn 3 to interrupt the Utopian existence of a geriatric Kirk Douglas and wide-eyed Farrah Fawcett. Keitel brings a robot with him (which they call a "Roh-butt" á la the Professor in ROBOT MONSTER)

and all hell breaks loose. Director Stanley Donen (SINGIN' IN THE RAIN) misuses each of his primaries:

Keitel says everything in monotone (he seems to be dubbed). His "crazed scientist" is extraordinarily lethargic. He doesn't moan or cry or get naked, or even half-naked, all of which are key markers for how much Keitel cares about a project. Kirk Douglas is naked more often than Harvey Keitel; consider that.

The real Keitel only shines through for a fleeting, horrifying moment where he insinuates he's eaten dog and asks Fawcett: "Yes, you have a great body...may I use it?"

"May I use it?"

Kirk Douglas is similarly bland, though you must read Martin Amis' Money for a full accounting of what that entailed, behind the scenes.



Gotta love promotional stills. "Kirk, can you hold it a little higher? No- nah- alright, that's it. ...No, look more pained. But like you're in danger, too. But you have a hardened resolve. Aw, shit, your costume's falling apart."

There's unexpected (laughable) gore, rub-on tattoos, special effects that look more like SPACE ACADEMY than STAR WARS (despite a similar budget), and a soundtrack that can't make up it's mind whether it's going to be serious and orchestral or something noodlin', 70s, and heavy on the tambourine. The whole thing's about as enlightening as talking to Dr. Sbaitso.

So, SATURN 3, what do you have to say in your defense? Ohhh, I see. So you were trying to work in some 'Garden of Eden' symbolism and some Greek mythology and some weak commentary on pollution and drug culture? Alright, I take it all back. Five stars.
...Jussst kiddin'.

Film Review: SEVEN DAYS IN MAY (1964, John Frankenheimer)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Rod Serling, Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Ava Gardner, Fredric March (THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES, DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE), Martin Balsam (PSYCHO, TWO EVIL EYES), Edmond O' Brien (Oscar-nominated here, THE WILD BUNCH, THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE).
Tag-lines: "I'm suggesting Mr President, there's a military plot to take over the Government of these United States, next Sunday..."
Best line: "He's not the enemy. Scott, the Joint Chiefs, even the very emotional, very illogical lunatic fringe: they're not the enemy. The enemy's an age - a nuclear age. It happens to have killed man's faith in his ability to influence what happens to him. And out of this comes a sickness, and out of sickness a frustration, a feeling of impotence, helplessness, weakness. And from this, this desperation, we look for a champion in red, white, and blue. Every now and then a man on a white horse rides by, and we appoint him to be our personal god for the duration. For some men it was a Senator McCarthy, for others it was a General Walker, and now it's a General Scott. "

God damn, do I miss Rod Serling. His work at once effortlessly managed to tackle complex political subject matter whilst never appearing overly preachy or hitting you over the head with his generally grim assessments of the human condition. Serling's writing possessed a certain fluidity, mystery, and intellect that almost couldn't exist today; for it struck that near-impossible balance between universal accessibility and a refusal to pander to the masses.

Serling's obviously not the only creative force behind this film (along with director John Frankenheimer and original novelists, Charles Bailey and Fletcher Knebel), but his screenplay definitely sets the tone for the subject matter, which, given the events of November 22, 1963, could be just at home in reality as in the Twilight Zone. And given those then-current events, SEVEN DAYS IN MAY is jaw-droppingly, courageously bold; audacious for any time period, much less in the year after Kennedy's assassination.

Now, John Frankenheimer at his best (SECONDS, THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE) can easily match Hitchcock for pure foreboding and dread-inducing quoditian suspense, and with the narrative involving the slow unraveling of a hostile takeover of the U.S. government by the military elite, Frankenheimer has plenty of chances to shine. The acting is not only top-notch, it has a tremendous amount of class.

Burt Lancaster was a true razor-edged powerhouse, and to see a sharp battle of wits, politics, and logic between him, Kirk Douglas, Fredric March, Edmond O'Brien, and Ava Gardner shows off the classic Hollywood machine at the height of its powers. This film is beyond excellent; subversive, compelling, entertaining, artful, and a complete masterpiece, and without a doubt, the major template for every political thriller that followed in its wake.

-Sean Gill