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"The best movie message board I've ever seen - and that's no lie!" - Barry Norman
All right, Barry didn't really say that. I’ll let you in on a secret: I made that one up myself. But hey - if you love
movies,
if you love arguing about movies, and - most importantly - if you love boring the crap out of everyone by banging on
endlessly about movies until all your friends have moved house without telling you, then you've come to the right place!
Thanks to my genius in setting up this forum, you can post a review of any movie, past,
present or (if you have a time
machine) future, and reply to the reviews already knocking about. In other words, if you’re a sad spanner who thinks
movies are more vital to your continued existence than oxygen (like the rest of us here) then you’ll feel right at home!
Not bored yet? Then check out the archives - you soon will be!
BRIGHTON ROCK (1947)
"Pinkie's gonna look after the skirt."
In 1999 the British Film Institute voted for what they regarded to be the 100 greatest British movies ever made. Brighton Rock came in at 15th position, a short way ahead of perhaps more realistic gangster offerings such as Get Carter! and The Long Good Friday which Grigg has when is he gonna watch the fucker?. It's deserved, though obviously the film's major complaint with a modern audience would be the stilted speech patterns that are now too quaint for a modern context (a time when men still called women "ducks" and "Bogeys" were policemen); and the "harsh violence" is now tame and ripe for parody.
Amazing that Richard Attenborough, he of ever-changing accent in Jurassic Park, is here cast as a viscous gang leader. Stranger still is the sight of William Hartnell as a tough-talking Cockney, exclaiming "stick yer mincers on that". Much later in his life Hartnell was to suffer a nervous breakdown, leaving him with a poor memory and occasional stammer. This produces ill-advised amusement as his most famous role (cue rare mention of Doctor Who) – that of the first lead in television's Doctor Who – was performed with regular fluffs and stammers. Here, however, sixteen years before he was to take on that part; we are treated to just what a striking and charismatic actor Hartnell could be. While the violent aspects can look dated in context, seeing cuddly Bill Hartnell spitting in a man's home after Attenborough has just slashed the man's face with a razor blade is still disconcerting.
Attenborough is "Pinkie", caught between the police and a larger rival gang who have taken over the Brighton protection racket. After a waitress, Judy, gets too close to his false alibis, he marries her to assure her silence. Though the girl is played with believable insecurity, it's unlikely that anyone could really fall in love with someone as openly spiteful as Pinkie. The notion of charming a girl is completely alien to him, and he begins their first date by implying he'd slash her face. His character is drawn up by having him believe in Hell (though not necessarily in Heaven) and showing a predilection for cat's cradles. Though these displays could overstate his "evil" credentials, in Richard's performance and John Boulting's direction it is a coldly accurate portrayal.
If there's one grain of sympathy for Pinkie, it is that of an underdog. His "territory" eaten up by the much larger Colleoni gang, he's effectively forced out of Brighton with nowhere to go. Photography is excellent, the black and white adding style to what could have easily been a flatter, run-of-the-mill crime yarn. I especially liked the shots of Brighton town and scenes on the ghost train. Best of all is the scene where everyone's laughing at Pinkie's expense, including, it seems, a china doll. There's a real sense of the classic to this one, each shot set up with some precision, a directoral style that Variety blasted at the time of release, claiming it to be "too leisurely for this type of picture". Personally I think it adds a real sense of style, or maybe it's just the long shadows that add a touch of noir. Grigg Grigger also slated it for not containing any flying cars. Interestingly, the somewhat obscure title refers not to a romantically-sounding desolate landmark but to the seaside sweet. Concern artist Ida (Hermione Baddeley) claims that no matter how far you bite down into her, she'd have Brighton "written through her all the way". Understandably, this esoteric – if powerful – title was changed in America to a more comprehensible Young Scarface.
No title quote, sorry.
While the original is the better film (****), Die Hard With A Vengeance is probably the most accessible for those who (myself included) aren’t all that enamoured of the series’ high-octane claustrophobia.
Vengeance opens out the formula and has the added addition of Samuel L.Jackson, graciously not acting Bruce Willis off the screen. Plotless even by Die Hard standards, it ambles aimlessly around the flimsiest of set pieces, while all the support characters are underwritten clichés.
Yet, while the weakest of the three Jackson-Willis movies (There’s a great Pulp Fiction in-joke) the team are as always imminently watchable. Willis’s balding McClane seems less noble than before, indulging in mass murder with little or no remorse. Yet his new, less applied acting technique suits the hungover characterisation well.
There are some magnificently staged explosions, whole sections of New York being reduced to rubble and hurtling trains. I remember seeing this one at the cinema, with a bored, snooty-sounding man loudly shouting "10-9-8-7-" as if in criticism of the film’s single-minded dynamic. Thankfully, he then got up and walked out, leaving the rest of us to enjoy this dumb pyrotechnic show in peace.
Jeremy Irons, working with a German, and, briefly, American accent – both rubbish – seems to be having fun, yet no one else is when he’s on screen. A good actor wasted in an underdeveloped role, the scenes where he robs the Federal Reserve Bank particularly drag, causing the film to ground to a halt at the halfway point.
After this, little attempt is made to resuscitate it. When the basic set up of contrivance and irrelevance has faded, the final third seems to go into free-fall. The microscopic plot collapses before the end, relying more than ever on time-killing chase sequences to reach the runtime.
Yet while it may falter, Jackson’s racist Zeus – an unusual characterisation in mainstream cinema – keeps things ticking over. If nothing else, this is the only movie in the trilogy that opens with The Loving Spoonful’s Summer In The City.
["As useless as a eunuch."]
This is the sort of film which goes way beyond the term "dated".
Opening with a title sequence that looks as if it was cut out of a cereal packet, we're quickly drawn into a world of laughable direction and absolutely chronic dubbing. Admittedly this would probably fare better in its native Cantonese/Mandarin tongues, but even without the dire dialogue overdubs it's still a pretty lame affair.
Thin plot is merely a showcase for Bruce Lee's martial art skills, his every punch and kick getting sound effects that resemble a thunderclap or gunshot. Han Ying Chieh is the big boss of the English title, a curious man who brags that he's a "great master" and pays his son to hire "young chicks". After he arranges the "disappearances" of several staff to cover up his dope racket, it's not long before Lee questions his promise never to fight again.
Shaky 70s soundtrack is strictly restaurant ad material, while an underdeveloped love interest appeals to a broader audience. There's also a sex scene which is as erotic as a bag of spanners.
So bad it verges on parody, with a terrible script and abysmal technical values. It is, of course, a work of genius.
["We fight alone... or all together!"]
The narrative tension is flattened somewhat by Lee beating the tar out of over twenty Japanese students (simultaneously) within the first twenty minutes. If he can do that then who can stop him? The answer is of course no one, but then that’s not the point. Yet the sense that the majority of the story is played out within the first act pervades, and weakens it structurally. To pad things out we get many irrelevant, albeit amusing scenes, such as the one with the stripper. The narrative takes the form of a detective story; Lee uncovering clues as to whom murdered his mentor. As there’s only one suspect it doesn’t really build up any suspense and just fills in time until the final showdown. If the story shoots its bolt early, then it’s still notable for Bruce’s more Western fighting style in several sections, including boxing and even a headbutt.
Technically, the direction is much improved over his previous vehicle (including slanted angles, zooms, slow motion and first person perspective), and there even seems to be a conscious effort to get the dubbing to match... well, a little. It’s notable that the film opens with the funeral of Lee’s martial arts teacher. We never see the teacher or his training; the story picks up where Lee is fully schooled in Kung Fu. Promoted as Lee’s most violent film, it’s also his most racist, pitting his reactive Chinese innocent against the cold aggression of the vindictive Japanese. Yet it’s a swaggeringly good film, full of pace and conceit. And I should have a final sentence but I haven't, sorry. But I did make up a new word there - "swaggeringly" - you'll all be saying it tomorrow.
["Dragon whips his tail."]
Meng long guojiang opens with Lee in Rome, the first ten minutes being a comedic culture clash, as he cannot speak Italian and has to use mime. The joke is stifled somewhat by having both Lee and the Italians dubbed into English, meaning the joke literally loses something in translation.
Production for this one is a step back from Jing wu men with the film stock poor and the overdubs (not a fault of the original version, of course) once again mismatched. The incidental music also seems designed specifically to get on your nerves. Lee’s direction isn’t awful, but it’s far from exceptional, with garishly unsubtle usage of the location, except for canny utilisation of a coliseum at the climax.
Tang Lung, Lee’s dopiest character, continues to be embroiled in flat comic setpieces, the plot not kicking in until the half-hour mark. Lung eventually finds himself fending off a protection racket from his uncle’s restaurant, becoming embroiled in gang warfare.
There are some amusing moments, such as fuck knows as a stereotyped homosexual, but generally the screenplay is a little too flabby to satisfy its medium. Even the climatic showdown with Chuck Norris features a cute fluffy kitten. At times impressive, though mostly unfocused, this is a worthwhile, though only semi-successful attempt at a lighter vehicle for the star.
Couldn't get a suitable quote for this bugger.
There are many myths built up around Bruce Lee, some of which are true, others which aren’t. Is he an icon? Yes. Is he charismatic? Yes. A great film star? Yes. Did he make great films? Well, no, not particularly. You always get the feeling that Bruce was on the verge of greatness before his death yet never quite made it.
Enter The Dragon is better than most, though not the dramatic equal of Jing wu men. It is, of course, technically his best film, and not just because for once Bruce isn’t dubbed. His only western martial arts movie, the budget is clearly larger, taking in scores of extras and huge panoramic shots. Direction and editing are much slicker than his comparatively amateur eastern movies.
Bruce goes undercover to expose Han, a criminal mastermind (on the punningly titled "Isle of Han") by entering in a martial arts competition. On his enrolment there he and his fellow entrants are treated to a party which features legions of birdcages, sumo wrestling, rich food and prostitutes. It’s almost a metaphor for the film itself, which is bloated and flabby from the product of excess. Even Bruce seems more broadly muscular, less sinewous (is there such a word?) in this one.
The fights themselves, choreographed by Lee, are nicely arranged, but lack sufficient dramatic impetus to carry them forward until the final half-hour. While the expansion of irrelevant, expensive set pieces isn’t a betrayal of his ethic, Bruce does indulge in some needless killing in this one.
It’s also very much a three-hander, with Kelly and John Saxon taking large roles, the producers doubtless worried Lee could carry it alone. They’re likeable characters, though the makes needn’t have worried, as Bruce more than holds his own.
Kein Shih's Han, with his Persian-stroking, metal-handed nature and henchmen seems to be a definite Bond send-up. He even has an underground hideout and a sideline in drugs. As Jim Kelly tells him "Man, you come right out of a comic book." That said, I guess Bond had had its own light dig at the martial arts genre just two years earlier in Diamonds Are Forever, so the compliment is returned. Best bit? Bruce’s ho-hum expression as two guards flee in terror from his snake. The final fight in the hall of mirrors is also stylish, not least in the way it doesn’t reflect any cameramen.
Lacking a clear focus, this is a well made showcase for Lee’s undeniable talents, though in narrative strength not the finest of his work.
Cinematic grave robbing.
Game of Death was the second Bruce Lee film I ever got to see, the one I caught after watching Tang shan da xiong. The seven year division between his first starring role and last is marked. Far more sophisticated than the 71 movie, the direction and production values are greatly improved, though this isn’t the better film.
I was staggered to find that, kung-fu wise; Lee had only made five movies, despite acting in over fifteen previously. The mythology built up around him tells you that he surely must have made more, but five it is. Or four and a bit, for Game of Death contains no more than fifteen minutes of original Lee material.
Opening with a jazzy title sequence scored by John Barry, it’s a cross between James Bond and Bullseye. This then opens out onto film where doubles with the biggest sunglasses in human history pretend to be Bruce and get beaten up rather a lot. There is the sense of cut and paste throughout, with many of the shots extremely obvious cuts from his earlier films, or a double with his face superimposed.
The whole thing has the sense of the macabre, not to say downright tasteless. With an element of sad irony that would only be topped by his son in resurrection movie The Crow, Lee plays a film star threatened with death. In order to escape mob bosses he feigns his own demise and undergoes plastic surgery (a plot element later discarded when we catch up with the real Lee footage at the end), arranging his own mock funeral. An idea of how insensitive this whole endeavour is can be gleaned from the fact that shots of Lee’s real coffin were used for this sequence.
The use of disguise wasn’t new to the star, being used for humorous intent in 1972’s Jing wu men. So perhaps it’s not that wide a stretch, though seeing him overpowered in combat was. It would have been interesting to have seen the star’s original plan for a pagoda where every level featured a new opponent, but as it is Game of Death is the salvageable remains. And er..... oh shit. I thought I had a concluding sentence, sorry!
I don't use half-stars like a girl, but for the record, Game of Death and The Big Boss would have got **1/2, Way of the Dragon *** and Fist of Fury/Enter The Dragon ***1/2. As it is, they all get a rough:
["As useless as a eunuch."]
This is the sort of film which goes way beyond the term "dated".
Opening with a title sequence that looks as if it was cut out of a cereal packet, we're quickly drawn into a world of laughable direction and absolutely chronic dubbing. Admittedly this would probably fare better in its native Cantonese/Mandarin tongues, but even without the dire dialogue overdubs it's still a pretty lame affair.
Thin plot is merely a showcase for Bruce Lee's martial art skills, his every punch and kick getting sound effects that resemble a thunderclap or gunshot. Han Ying Chieh is the big boss of the English title, a curious man who brags that he's a "great master" and pays his son to hire "young chicks". After he arranges the "disappearances" of several staff to cover up his dope racket, it's not long before Lee questions his promise never to fight again.
Shaky 70s soundtrack is strictly restaurant ad material, while an underdeveloped love interest appeals to a broader audience. There's also a sex scene which is as erotic as a bag of spanners.
So bad it verges on parody, with a terrible script and abysmal technical values. It is, of course, a work of genius.
["We fight alone... or all together!"]
The narrative tension is flattened somewhat by Lee beating the tar out of over twenty Japanese students (simultaneously) within the first twenty minutes. If he can do that then who can stop him? The answer is of course no one, but then that’s not the point. Yet the sense that the majority of the story is played out within the first act pervades, and weakens it structurally. To pad things out we get many irrelevant, albeit amusing scenes, such as the one with the stripper. The narrative takes the form of a detective story; Lee uncovering clues as to whom murdered his mentor. As there’s only one suspect it doesn’t really build up any suspense and just fills in time until the final showdown. If the story shoots its bolt early, then it’s still notable for Bruce’s more Western fighting style in several sections, including boxing and even a headbutt.
Technically, the direction is much improved over his previous vehicle (including slanted angles, zooms, slow motion and first person perspective), and there even seems to be a conscious effort to get the dubbing to match... well, a little. It’s notable that the film opens with the funeral of Lee’s martial arts teacher. We never see the teacher or his training; the story picks up where Lee is fully schooled in Kung Fu. Promoted as Lee’s most violent film, it’s also his most racist, pitting his reactive Chinese innocent against the cold aggression of the vindictive Japanese. Yet it’s a swaggeringly good film, full of pace and conceit. And I should have a final sentence but I haven't, sorry. But I did make up a new word there - "swaggeringly" - you'll all be saying it tomorrow.
["Dragon whips his tail."]Meng long guojiang opens with Lee in Rome, the first ten minutes being a comedic culture clash, as he cannot speak Italian and has to use mime. The joke is stifled somewhat by having both Lee and the Italians dubbed into English, meaning the joke literally loses something in translation.
Production for this one is a step back from Jing wu men with the film stock poor and the overdubs (not a fault of the original version, of course) once again mismatched. The incidental music also seems designed specifically to get on your nerves. Lee’s direction isn’t awful, but it’s far from exceptional, with garishly unsubtle usage of the location, except for canny utilisation of a coliseum at the climax.
Tang Lung, Lee’s dopiest character, continues to be embroiled in flat comic setpieces, the plot not kicking in until the half-hour mark. Lung eventually finds himself fending off a protection racket from his uncle’s restaurant, becoming embroiled in gang warfare.
There are some amusing moments, such as fuck knows as a stereotyped homosexual, but generally the screenplay is a little too flabby to satisfy its medium. Even the climatic showdown with Chuck Norris features a cute fluffy kitten. At times impressive, though mostly unfocused, this is a worthwhile, though only semi-successful attempt at a lighter vehicle for the star.
Couldn't get a suitable quote for this bugger.
There are many myths built up around Bruce Lee, some of which are true, others which aren’t. Is he an icon? Yes. Is he charismatic? Yes. A great film star? Yes. Did he make great films? Well, no, not particularly. You always get the feeling that Bruce was on the verge of greatness before his death yet never quite made it.
Enter The Dragon is better than most, though not the dramatic equal of Jing wu men. It is, of course, technically his best film, and not just because for once Bruce isn’t dubbed. His only western martial arts movie, the budget is clearly larger, taking in scores of extras and huge panoramic shots. Direction and editing are much slicker than his comparatively amateur eastern movies.
Bruce goes undercover to expose Han, a criminal mastermind (on the punningly titled "Isle of Han") by entering in a martial arts competition. On his enrolment there he and his fellow entrants are treated to a party which features legions of birdcages, sumo wrestling, rich food and prostitutes. It’s almost a metaphor for the film itself, which is bloated and flabby from the product of excess. Even Bruce seems more broadly muscular, less sinewous (is there such a word?) in this one.
The fights themselves, choreographed by Lee, are nicely arranged, but lack sufficient dramatic impetus to carry them forward until the final half-hour. While the expansion of irrelevant, expensive set pieces isn’t a betrayal of his ethic, Bruce does indulge in some needless killing in this one.
It’s also very much a three-hander, with Kelly and John Saxon taking large roles, the producers doubtless worried Lee could carry it alone. They’re likeable characters, though the makes needn’t have worried, as Bruce more than holds his own.
Kein Shih's Han, with his Persian-stroking, metal-handed nature and henchmen seems to be a definite Bond send-up. He even has an underground hideout and a sideline in drugs. As Jim Kelly tells him "Man, you come right out of a comic book." That said, I guess Bond had had its own light dig at the martial arts genre just two years earlier in Diamonds Are Forever, so the compliment is returned. Best bit? Bruce’s ho-hum expression as two guards flee in terror from his snake. The final fight in the hall of mirrors is also stylish, not least in the way it doesn’t reflect any cameramen.
Lacking a clear focus, this is a well made showcase for Lee’s undeniable talents, though in narrative strength not the finest of his work.
Cinematic grave robbing.
Game of Death was the second Bruce Lee film I ever got to see, the one I caught after watching Tang shan da xiong. The seven year division between his first starring role and last is marked. Far more sophisticated than the 71 movie, the direction and production values are greatly improved, though this isn’t the better film.
I was staggered to find that, kung-fu wise; Lee had only made five movies, despite acting in over fifteen previously. The mythology built up around him tells you that he surely must have made more, but five it is. Or four and a bit, for Game of Death contains no more than fifteen minutes of original Lee material.
Opening with a jazzy title sequence scored by John Barry, it’s a cross between James Bond and Bullseye. This then opens out onto film where doubles with the biggest sunglasses in human history pretend to be Bruce and get beaten up rather a lot. There is the sense of cut and paste throughout, with many of the shots extremely obvious cuts from his earlier films, or a double with his face superimposed.
The whole thing has the sense of the macabre, not to say downright tasteless. With an element of sad irony that would only be topped by his son in resurrection movie The Crow, Lee plays a film star threatened with death. In order to escape mob bosses he feigns his own demise and undergoes plastic surgery (a plot element later discarded when we catch up with the real Lee footage at the end), arranging his own mock funeral. An idea of how insensitive this whole endeavour is can be gleaned from the fact that shots of Lee’s real coffin were used for this sequence.
The use of disguise wasn’t new to the star, being used for humorous intent in 1972’s Jing wu men. So perhaps it’s not that wide a stretch, though seeing him overpowered in combat was. It would have been interesting to have seen the star’s original plan for a pagoda where every level featured a new opponent, but as it is Game of Death is the salvageable remains. And er..... oh shit. I thought I had a concluding sentence, sorry!
I don't use half-stars like a girl, but for the record, Game of Death and The Big Boss would have got **1/2, Way of the Dragon *** and Fist of Fury/Enter The Dragon ***1/2. As it is, they all get a rough:
["As useless as a eunuch."]
This is the sort of film which goes way beyond the term "dated".
Opening with a title sequence that looks as if it was cut out of a cereal packet, we're quickly drawn into a world of laughable direction and absolutely chronic dubbing. Admittedly this would probably fare better in its native Cantonese/Mandarin tongues, but even without the dire dialogue overdubs it's still a pretty lame affair.
Thin plot is merely a showcase for Bruce Lee's martial art skills, his every punch and kick getting sound effects that resemble a thunderclap or gunshot. Han Ying Chieh is the big boss of the English title, a curious man who brags that he's a "great master" and pays his son to hire "young chicks". After he arranges the "disappearances" of several staff to cover up his dope racket, it's not long before Lee questions his promise never to fight again.
Shaky 70s soundtrack is strictly restaurant ad material, while an underdeveloped love interest appeals to a broader audience. There's also a sex scene which is as erotic as a bag of spanners.
So bad it verges on parody, with a terrible script and abysmal technical values. It is, of course, a work of genius.
["We fight alone... or all together!"]
The narrative tension is flattened somewhat by Lee beating the tar out of over twenty Japanese students (simultaneously) within the first twenty minutes. If he can do that then who can stop him? The answer is of course no one, but then that’s not the point. Yet the sense that the majority of the story is played out within the first act pervades, and weakens it structurally. To pad things out we get many irrelevant, albeit amusing scenes, such as the one with the stripper. The narrative takes the form of a detective story; Lee uncovering clues as to whom murdered his mentor. As there’s only one suspect it doesn’t really build up any suspense and just fills in time until the final showdown. If the story shoots its bolt early, then it’s still notable for Bruce’s more Western fighting style in several sections, including boxing and even a headbutt.
Technically, the direction is much improved over his previous vehicle (including slanted angles, zooms, slow motion and first person perspective), and there even seems to be a conscious effort to get the dubbing to match... well, a little. It’s notable that the film opens with the funeral of Lee’s martial arts teacher. We never see the teacher or his training; the story picks up where Lee is fully schooled in Kung Fu. Promoted as Lee’s most violent film, it’s also his most racist, pitting his reactive Chinese innocent against the cold aggression of the vindictive Japanese. Yet it’s a swaggeringly good film, full of pace and conceit. And I should have a final sentence but I haven't, sorry. But I did make up a new word there - "swaggeringly" - you'll all be saying it tomorrow.
["Dragon whips his tail."]Meng long guojiang opens with Lee in Rome, the first ten minutes being a comedic culture clash, as he cannot speak Italian and has to use mime. The joke is stifled somewhat by having both Lee and the Italians dubbed into English, meaning the joke literally loses something in translation.
Production for this one is a step back from Jing wu men with the film stock poor and the overdubs (not a fault of the original version, of course) once again mismatched. The incidental music also seems designed specifically to get on your nerves. Lee’s direction isn’t awful, but it’s far from exceptional, with garishly unsubtle usage of the location, except for canny utilisation of a coliseum at the climax.
Tang Lung, Lee’s dopiest character, continues to be embroiled in flat comic setpieces, the plot not kicking in until the half-hour mark. Lung eventually finds himself fending off a protection racket from his uncle’s restaurant, becoming embroiled in gang warfare.
There are some amusing moments, such as fuck knows as a stereotyped homosexual, but generally the screenplay is a little too flabby to satisfy its medium. Even the climatic showdown with Chuck Norris features a cute fluffy kitten. At times impressive, though mostly unfocused, this is a worthwhile, though only semi-successful attempt at a lighter vehicle for the star.
Couldn't get a suitable quote for this bugger.
There are many myths built up around Bruce Lee, some of which are true, others which aren’t. Is he an icon? Yes. Is he charismatic? Yes. A great film star? Yes. Did he make great films? Well, no, not particularly. You always get the feeling that Bruce was on the verge of greatness before his death yet never quite made it.
Enter The Dragon is better than most, though not the dramatic equal of Jing wu men. It is, of course, technically his best film, and not just because for once Bruce isn’t dubbed. His only western martial arts movie, the budget is clearly larger, taking in scores of extras and huge panoramic shots. Direction and editing are much slicker than his comparatively amateur eastern movies.
Bruce goes undercover to expose Han, a criminal mastermind (on the punningly titled "Isle of Han") by entering in a martial arts competition. On his enrolment there he and his fellow entrants are treated to a party which features legions of birdcages, sumo wrestling, rich food and prostitutes. It’s almost a metaphor for the film itself, which is bloated and flabby from the product of excess. Even Bruce seems more broadly muscular, less sinewous (is there such a word?) in this one.
The fights themselves, choreographed by Lee, are nicely arranged, but lack sufficient dramatic impetus to carry them forward until the final half-hour. While the expansion of irrelevant, expensive set pieces isn’t a betrayal of his ethic, Bruce does indulge in some needless killing in this one.
It’s also very much a three-hander, with Kelly and John Saxon taking large roles, the producers doubtless worried Lee could carry it alone. They’re likeable characters, though the makes needn’t have worried, as Bruce more than holds his own.
Kein Shih's Han, with his Persian-stroking, metal-handed nature and henchmen seems to be a definite Bond send-up. He even has an underground hideout and a sideline in drugs. As Jim Kelly tells him "Man, you come right out of a comic book." That said, I guess Bond had had its own light dig at the martial arts genre just two years earlier in Diamonds Are Forever, so the compliment is returned. Best bit? Bruce’s ho-hum expression as two guards flee in terror from his snake. The final fight in the hall of mirrors is also stylish, not least in the way it doesn’t reflect any cameramen.
Lacking a clear focus, this is a well made showcase for Lee’s undeniable talents, though in narrative strength not the finest of his work.
Cinematic grave robbing.
Game of Death was the second Bruce Lee film I ever got to see, the one I caught after watching Tang shan da xiong. The seven year division between his first starring role and last is marked. Far more sophisticated than the 71 movie, the direction and production values are greatly improved, though this isn’t the better film.
I was staggered to find that, kung-fu wise; Lee had only made five movies, despite acting in over fifteen previously. The mythology built up around him tells you that he surely must have made more, but five it is. Or four and a bit, for Game of Death contains no more than fifteen minutes of original Lee material.
Opening with a jazzy title sequence scored by John Barry, it’s a cross between James Bond and Bullseye. This then opens out onto film where doubles with the biggest sunglasses in human history pretend to be Bruce and get beaten up rather a lot. There is the sense of cut and paste throughout, with many of the shots extremely obvious cuts from his earlier films, or a double with his face superimposed.
The whole thing has the sense of the macabre, not to say downright tasteless. With an element of sad irony that would only be topped by his son in resurrection movie The Crow, Lee plays a film star threatened with death. In order to escape mob bosses he feigns his own demise and undergoes plastic surgery (a plot element later discarded when we catch up with the real Lee footage at the end), arranging his own mock funeral. An idea of how insensitive this whole endeavour is can be gleaned from the fact that shots of Lee’s real coffin were used for this sequence.
The use of disguise wasn’t new to the star, being used for humorous intent in 1972’s Jing wu men. So perhaps it’s not that wide a stretch, though seeing him overpowered in combat was. It would have been interesting to have seen the star’s original plan for a pagoda where every level featured a new opponent, but as it is Game of Death is the salvageable remains. And er..... oh shit. I thought I had a concluding sentence, sorry!
I don't use half-stars like a girl, but for the record, Game of Death and The Big Boss would have got **1/2, Way of the Dragon *** and Fist of Fury/Enter The Dragon ***1/2. As it is, they all get a rough:
This time Big Grigger will be springing a lot of surprises. One of those surprises will be that when the first contestant is voted out, another will be voted in. Three contestants are available to choose from:
Tosh - "I'm a muscly gay bloke that talks shite. Vote for me, love."
Flan - "I'm a bossy, brassy old slag who loves up it up the cacker."
Shatasha - "I love myself and I've got a right chip on my shoulder. Wanna make something of it?"
THE RUNNING MAN (1987)
"If you’re not ready to act, give me a break and shut up!"
That’s what the director said to Schwarzenegger – tee-hee!
Seriously though, this dumber than dumb run-around is actually quite good fun, even if its depiction of 2018 is no longer valid. With its late-80s obsessions about aerobics, disco and stretchy perms, this is never going to overtake Blade Runner as the acceptable vision of the future, though I hardly think the people behind the film would lose any sleep over it. It even ends with a cheesy MOR pop ballad to complement the skinny ties.
Any Stephen King-derived material is already too obvious in satirical intent. Rewrite said satire as a Schwarz action movie and you’ve eked out any subtlety you hoped to savour. An Arnhuld satire ultimately fails to work because you know that the socio-commentary is really the least of the maker’s concerns. It’s just a perfunctory addition to what is an excuse to let Arnie indulge in some violence and rubbish puns. ("He had to split" and "He was a real pain in the neck" being the "best" – the inclusion of useless catchphrase "I’ll be back" is also an irritation) The lame The 6th Day (**) paid lip service to eugenics while at heart being a very dumb shoot-‘em-up. The Running Man is more stylish than that (Thanks largely due to Harold Faltermeyer’s synth incidentals, incongruous with the action format) though is still fundamentally the same. Its pretence as a condemnation of media violence (yeah, okay, I made exactly the same point with Natural Born Shitheads, but it’s still valid, okay?!!?) is also clearly hypocritical. Or maybe it’s just seeing Republican Arnie pretending to be Liberal that jars. The rather silly about-face of the audience (Agnes’s line is amusingly overdubbed on UK TV to a softened "That boy’s one mean bugger") is also grating.
In acting terms, Richard Dawson, a real-life game show host, is particularly good, though Yaphet Kotto is wasted on a few meagre lines. Even less acceptably, women are tied up, pushed around, dressed in skimpy leotards and fantasise about rape while men attempt it. This is a film as pure testosterone; all feminine content specially isolated and removed. The fact that such scenes could be served up as entertainment is questionable.
Not the best of Arnold’s modest back catalogue yet not the worst either. Tripe, but watchable tripe.
I was in the fucking cinema and so couldn't take down an appropriate quote. I managed to scribble one on my hand but then washed the bugger off by mistake. OKAY?!!?
Generally okay-ish romantic comedy that skirts with frightening regularity between likeable wit and soundtrack-flogging luvvie smugdum.
Despite Zellwegger's Texan origins (Her accent is pretty good, and, despite the bitching she did about it, she looks a lot sexier at ten stone) you can practically taste the phrase "darrrrrrrrling, you were wonderful" all the way through this one. All the prerequisite Richard Curtis (Four Weddings and an Unfunny, Notting Shite) elements are there: the wacky friend with the squeaky voice, the token homosexual (leave it, Grigg, it wasn't me, I like the women!) and the posh friend that says "fuck" a lot. I don't know who it was that decided posh people swearing was funny, but whoever it was they should stop it.
Chances are the laboured Brit comedy and signposting of gags will wear you down before the end, OTT plot contrivances and self-conscious dialogue stifling the charm of the piece. It's not bad, but the self-satisfied performances and embarrassing escapades make you want to leave the cinema rather than egg Bridget on for all her social faux pas.
Being in the company of such people for 100 minutes is acceptable, but would you really want to know any of them in real life? Not f****** likely, old bean!
Okay, couldn't think of much to say when I came to write it. So up yours!!! Won some tickets, y'see, saw The Mummy Returns as well. They were both shite really, but both get:
By Sue Cows'end
Monday, 6:00pm: Get up for work nice and early. I love going to work, I get to spend all day dreaming about Bobby Zee. Oh, how I love him.
7:00pm: Go for a poo on the toilet. While I sit there I compose an ode to Bobby Zee. He truly is the best.
8:10am: While baking some bread one of the rolls comes out in the shape of the DeLorean. I make a witty anecdote out of this to the girls behind the counter. They all look really interested.
12:00am: Bit of a sad time for me as it's nearly time to go home and I haven't chatted up many pensioners today. I know when I get back and log on to the internet that Rich will have posted again. Oh, if only I could be as witty and informed as he is! Every time he posts a review he talks so much sense - wherever does he get his wisdom from?
13:30pm: Cheer myself up by combining kleenex, the bogs and a mental image of Michael J.Fox to glorious effect.
15:30pm: See Jim for a bit, tell him a new BTTF anecdote. Says he's heard it 6000 times already. He is a wag, and I'm sure he's really interested and he's just putting it on.
17:30pm: Post some new BTTF anecdotes to the board. They ought to fascinate the millions of visitors it gets.
18:30pm: A bit of a down spell for me as I realise I can't go on for another fortnight without justifying the board by posting a review. Oh, how I hate writing reviews! Still, I suppose I shall have to...
19:30pm: My bedtime. I cheer myself up by going to sleep thinking of Christopher Lloyd. Ah, bliss!
If all the sequels to Planet of the Apes were so bad then the series wouldn't have lasted as long as it did. Of course, it doesn't help matters that while they were exceptionally entertaining, the original (***** - yes, Jim - *****) is an absolute classic. It's 45-day shoot period was completed between 21st May - 10th August 1967, with just a $5.8 million budget, over a sixth of which went to it's Oscar-winning makeup effects. Premiered on February 8th 1968, it made over $26 million at the American box office alone (not taking into account inflation). (I'll probably scrap that shit, actually, it has "I've seen the behind-the-scenes show" written all over it) Not just an action-adventure with an evolved race of monkeys, it was perfect in every respect, including direction and performance. With its satires and commentary on race, sex, religion, politics, class, war, youth and famine, it was everything that science fiction should be and more, a true classic with an ending that is possibly the greatest in American cinema. Never mind "This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship"; Heston damning everyone to Hell and THAT image (which I won't reveal as a spoiler) is the ultimate conclusion to a thoroughly intelligent sf movie.
While Heston loved the film and was proud of his involvement, he was wary of sequels and appeared in the inevitable follow-up Beneath the Planet of the Apes (***) only as a favour. Rejected ideas for this sequel included "Planet of the Men" and an ape/human hybrid, finally going into production under the working title "Planet of the Apes Revisited". Ted Post’s directing and Marion Rothman’s editing prove to be less proficient than the first, though the real problem lies in trying to emulate the plot of the original, a flaw that also plagued the final entry. It ups the ante with greater matte effects of ruined structures, though this time the element of surprise is absent. The next two instalments told a different story from another time period, this is more a grandiose continuation. Fittingly, the satire, too, is overstated, with chimp war protestors and remarks on the colour of man’s skin. This concludes with a race of underground mutants who have an atom bomb as a God. Though quite eerie, their ultimate appeal places the film further into the reaches of extreme science fiction and lacks the subtlety of its predecessor. Perversely for a film that purports liberal satire, its sole black character is the only one of the mutants to demonstrate real physical cruelty. Don Pedro Colley tortures and instigates a would-be fight to the death between Taylor (Heston) and Brent (James Franciscus). And I don’t think I’ve ever seen another film where a man’s credit is given as "Negro". Just as the original had lost elements and shaped itself constantly up to its production (including an aged Edward G. Robinson opting out of the role of Dr.Zaius and the revelation that Nova was pregnant), so too did Beneath change constantly during inception. In fact, it was Heston's idea for the apocalyptic finale, in the vain hope it would prevent any more sequels.
He was wrong, and Escape From The Planet of the Apes (****) redefined the rules so that three of the chimpanzees stole Taylor's spacecraft and travelled back in time to present-day Earth. It’s a little odd that they didn’t choose Brent’s merely slightly-battered one, as the last time we saw Taylor’s spaceship it had malfunctioned, partially exploded and sank to the bottom of the sea. This also presents a goof for the entry. Though Beneath claimed to be set in 3955, malfunctioning ship logs could give any vague read-out. However, this film also gives the 3955 year as the one registering on Taylor’s ship clock, even though we had seen the said clock in close-up during the first film, and it clearly read "3978". Also, for a franchise that couldn’t get the green light until 20th Century Fox were assured convincing ape make-up was achievable, there’s a "real" gorilla that is laughably fake. Though this is just quibbling, Escape is a light-hearted interlude, a very entertaining diversion from the darker parables that surround it. Initially witty and charming, (even though the relative failure of Beneath - grossing just 54% of the original at the box-office - had caused the budget to be shaved to $2.5 million), it ultimately becomes a darker abortion analogy, another political comment for the series.
The next two films, though achieving in cinemas, both had their budgets trimmed further, produced for significantly less than $2 million each. Battle (**), the shortest of the series, is the least inspired. While the series perhaps needed a fifth segment to round things up, Battle isn’t it. Direction, acting, and especially writing, are average at best. It exists merely to tie up loose ends in the franchise (set after the events of "Conquest", though before the first two movies, in a soon-to-come 2070). The mutants from the second film return, though this time around they haven’t yet mutated enough to have disfigured skin or telepathy. Rather like having Muhammed Ali in a movie and not allowing him to box or say something witty. Limp and trite platitudes like "ape shall never kill ape" are meeted out, while General Aldo (a good performance from Claude Akins) states "We – want – guns. Guns – are – power". Then there’s Austin Stoker as McDonald (who is tellingly only referred to as black by a fellow human), who says of the revolting apes "I guess you might say they just joined the human race". There is a nice twist towards the end of the mutant-ape war, though anyone who’s seen Goldfinger should quickly be able to tell what it is. Generally, the script is poor, and studio sets doubling as exteriors lead this to resemble the spin-off tv series more than the films. It brings nothing new to the franchise, and contains little plot or dramatic tension. And, as the dialogue extracts should indicate, the allegory is far from subtle.
Running out of steam for the series, the producers instigated a CBS television spin-off, a traditional action-adventure family fare that began on September 13th 1974 and was axed after just fourteen episodes. An NBC cartoon series Return to the Planet of the Apes also ran for a single year in 1975.
And so we come back to Conquest, a film that nearly lost its family rating due to violence and was a direct parallel of the Watts riots. Lasting for less than 80% of the original’s length, this is a concise picture that consolidates the Apes backstory by illustrating how the apes grew to be the dominant species on the planet. This also creates a paradox – the apes became dominant through the leadership of Cornelius’ and Zira’s son, yet the ape in question would not have been born in this time were it not for Taylor’s ship landing in the future, giving his parents a handy escape capsule into the past.
Hmmmmmm..... bit of a shitty review that, needs a lot of work... and, of course, for me to actually see the film it's supposed to be about...
I really can’t understand all the negative criticism directed against this film, as it’s really not all that bad.
It’s not without fault, of course, and I was less impressed second time around, but it’s still a sufficiently entertaining movie. Despite being nearly two hours long, the pace never drags, though that’s perhaps one of the major flaws. The first half, in particular, has such a rapid pace that scenes are played out in bite-sized chunks, never letting you get a real feel for the characters or mood. The direction is reasonable, though the overblown score, bright colours and dizzying camerawork do little do evoke the eighteenth century setting. Even the desperate move of casting Mozart himself (Tom Hulce) does little to convince that this really is set two hundred years ago.
Directed by Branagh himself, his almost constant use of circling shots marks him out as a one-trick pony, a gimmick that becomes ever more irritating with its increased regularity. Occasionally the 30s movies are referenced ("It’s alive! It’s alive!" cries Branagh, though with naturalistic/toff delivery as opposed to Universal’s melodramatic/camp coding) though, as the full title should attest, this is a film that uses the novel as it’s source text. (At least I think it does, I ain’t read the f***** yet). That said, the dead boy/girl motif and the blind man are direct lifts from the James Whale pictures.
Acting-wise, Branagh is fine, while John Cleese is surprisingly good in a straight cameo. De Niro, though, gives arguably his worst performance ever as the creature, causing the pathos to seem somewhat forced. This then, amazingly, means Richard Briers gets the acting honours. The bloke from Ever Decreasing Circles winning an acting bout against Travis Bickle? Surely not!
There’s some curious homoerotic imagery as a sweaty; shirtless Branagh wrestles with a naked De Niro amongst oil and chains. In fact, you could even argue that this is a subtext as Ken regularly chooses between the monster and his fiancée. Then again, you could also argue his bearded, longhaired appearance is a Christ analogy. You could make up all sorts of theories, but in truth this isn’t a film with a great deal of meaning. As Branagh himself said in an interview "I just wanted to tell a good story."
A couple of words on the nature of anatomy: wasn’t it fortunate that Helena Bonham-Carter’s neck was the exact same width as Trevyn McDowell’s? And wasn’t it lucky that the creature knew precisely where to grab to find her heart? There are some striking sequences, such as Branagh’s macabre dance with the animated corpse of Elizabeth. But the concluding minutes of pulsing, torn-out hearts and pyrotechnics do extract it rudely from its Renaissance Films origins and into pure Hollywood.
Still, not a terrible film by any means, and if nothing else than you can have a laugh at the name of the Executive Producer on the end credits – Fred Fuchs. I bet he does, too!
Hey - how many Griggs does it take to change a lightbulb?
- Three! One to say he's going to do it, one to bellyache about having to do it, and a third to get round to it, three weeks later. Tee-hee-hiddle-hi-hee!
Frequently Asked Question All About Rich
1. You're obviously a man of much wisdom, Rich - where will you be putting your talent next? I heard you might be doing a Red Dwarf guide?
A: To be honest, Richfan, I found once I started it I suddenly couldn't be arsed to finish. What's coming up next on the schedule is the completion of my Paul McGann review, then one on the Patrick Troughton stuff so I can tell Grigg what he's been missing (Cos he's only seen the ropey Dominators which is *** if I'm feeling in the mood). After that I'm going to exploit the fact that Charlie Higson reads the r & h sites and - sad confession alert! - I'm going to write a Randall and Hopkirk story and put it on my site. This in the hope that Charlie will read it and go "bloody hell, call the publishers, quick!" More likely he'll go "this is shite" though, but worth a go...
2. What's all this about these "mardies" I keep hearing Grigg going in? Do you have them too?
A: No, Richfan, I am a mardy-free zone. What you have to remember is that Grigg is a girl and as such is prone to bouts of PMT and irrationality. Recently, for example, he's been prone to ignoring his mates on this board, and thinking having a Tommy is beneath him. On a good day he'll just come on here and ignore half the messages (see below for several unscanned down pieces).
3. What's this about Grigg talking shite? Every time I read one of his reviews it's absolute bollocks. Does he really believe what he says? And do you talk crap too?
A: Sadly, no. Or if I do (on just two rare occasions so far) I admit to it. Grigg still labours under the false pretence that Bobby Zee is a decent director. Usually I talk the Gospel as related by Mark.
4. What about the amount of reviews you post? I seem to read one of yours at least once a week. Surely that's illegal?
A: No, Richfan. Posting reviews a minimum of one a week is perfectly within the law.
5. Rich, you're the best. Everything you say is just like the f******* truth written in stone. So, using your mighty wisdom, can you tell me where I can order videos on-line?
Sure, try BLACKSTAR VIDEO
"Cover your faces! Cover your eyes!" You know, it’s rare that I’m wrong about anything, ever, but after slating The Birds fifteen months ago on the IMDb I have to concede that this was one such instance. It’s perhaps a film that has to be watched more than once to be fully appreciated, a factor which does it few favours with a casual audience. Maybe it comes from years of being told the Hitchcock films are suspenseful thrillers. An accurate description, but one that fails to take into account their camp, knowing humour. As a result the twenty and thirty somethings that didn’t get to see them firsthand may be disappointed. Tippi Hedren is a little wooden, as were the majority of Hitchcock’s girls, and is caked in soft focus. The initial storyline sees her following Rod Taylor all the way from San Francisco to Bodega Bay. She goes to a lot of trouble just to get into a bloke’s pants, doesn’t she? The eerie mood is actually enhanced by the obvious filmed backdrops Hedren has to drive/sail in front of. It’s not until the twenty-five minute point that Hedren’s head is pecked by a gull. The direction in terms of shots is magnificent, and the film’s potency can be directly paralleled with the trailer which Hitchcock himself performed. A five-minute monologue, which tends to go on a bit, then culminates in a genuinely unsettling scene where his caged bird draws blood. It’s the meandering pace of the trailer and the film that makes the eventual shocks all the more disturbing. And making you care about the characters as three-dimensional people (the first attack proper is over fifty minutes in) is a masterstroke. Some of the effects to achieve the attacks may now be a little obvious, but in combining them together it works wonders. In fact, the iconography of this film is arguably more imitated than any other Hitchcock movie, including Psycho. Unusually gory for the director, its total absence of incidental music, save for a mosaic of birdcall, is also startling. The clever avoidance of any kind of explanation is the key to its real success, carefully avoiding science fiction territory. When told there’s no reason for the attacks, Taylor replies "it’s happening – isn’t that a reason?" Some genius scenes – the light innocence of child song juxtaposed with the massing crows; the unexpected horror of the gouged eyes; a beautiful, silent aerial shot of the garage, gradually filled with squawking gulls – are vital to the film’s worth. The understated conclusion, meanwhile, is probably one of the ten best climaxes cinema has to offer. It gives not even the comfort of an "end" caption, leaving the effects of the film to continue unresolved in the mind of the audience... I admit it! For the first time ever, I was WRONG! "Cover your faces! Cover your arse!" Abysmal comedy-horror starring Grigg Grigger of "Grigger and Rich" fame. Truly atrocious plot sees Grigg gamely rogering the entire contents of Dudley Zoo, to ill-advised comic effect. The conclusion – Grigg going in one of his famous mardies, culminating in him buggering a chimp with a Black and Decker drill – saw the film placed on the notorious "video nasties" impoundment list of the mid-eighties.
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