May-June 2025

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE—THE FINAL RECKONING (2025)

     If a movie includes a scene every 30 minutes or so explaining what just occurred or what is about to happen, the script definitely needs a rewrite. While the plot of the apparent final entry in this mostly excellent action franchise isn’t that complex—I was more confused by “Dead Reckoning”—writer-director Christopher McQuarrie (his fourth “M:I”) and co-writer Erik Jendresen don’t seem to trust their audience.

      Yet despite the script’s overuse of exposition, there is plenty to savor about this daring, save-the-world adventure led by Ethan Hunt (the ageless Tom Cruise), including two lengthy, jaw-dropping sequences, below the ocean and in the sky, along with a cleverly plotted trip to a remote CIA station.

     If you saw “Dead Reckoning Part One” (and it’d be foolish to see this film otherwise), you know that the world, and, more importantly Hunt and his team, must find the source of the Entity before it unleashes the apocalypse. It’s a bit difficult to wrap one’s head around this AI foe; I preferred the old days when the source of evil was a mustache-swirling megalomaniac living in a luxurious fortress.

    While the (male) cabinet members demand drastic action, Hunt persuades President Erika Sloane (Angela Bassett, once his CIA adversary) to trust him and his team to make it right without going nuclear. It takes a while to get to the movie’s major set-piece but it is worth the wait. When his team, now including pickpocket Grace (Hayley Atwell) and one-time terrorist Paris (Pom Klementieff), locates the CIA outpost in the Bering Sea, they transmit to Hunt the coordinates of a sub that went down long ago, the first victims of the Entity.

      Hunt dives down to find the key to disarming the Entity, swimming through the crumbling nuclear sub and barely avoiding getting entombed near the ocean floor. The entire sequence, Hunt getting there on a military submarine and then diving down, represents everything that has made this franchise so entertaining.

     The 62-year-old actor remains the same intensely determined hero he was at 32; his insistence that he still perform many of his own stunts makes the set pieces even more breathtaking. And, more than most contemporary pictures, the film’s muscular soundtrack, with Lalo Schifrin’s famous theme just waiting to take over at the most dramatic moments, remains essential to the movie-going experience. It was composed by Max Aruj and Alfie Godfrey, the team that worked on “Top Gun: Maverick.” (The legendary Schifrin died this week at age 93.)

     Oddly, the movie features the kind of film-clip sequences, looking back on the previous seven films, that usually play at the Academy Awards shows honoring a series or actor, but not within a feature film. (Next year will be “M:I” 30^th anniversary so the Oscar producers can just cut and paste for its tribute). In “Final Reckoning,” the flashbacks play into the nostalgic mood, its heartfelt goodbye.

     I still maintain the best of the franchise is the Brian De Palma 1996 original—closest in spirt to the inventive TV show and filled with first-rate supporting work by Jon Voight, Kristin Scott Thomas, Emmanuelle Béart, Vanessa Redgrave and the indispensable Henry Czerny. But nearly as good are “Mission: Impossible III” (2006), featuring a bravado performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman while establishing the core team of Hunt, Luther (Ving Rhames) and Benji (Simon Pegg); “Ghost Protocol” (2011), with its thrilling set piece that climaxes with the destruction of the Kremlin; and the globe-trotting “Fallout” (2018) in which the White Widow (Vanessa Kirby) steals the picture as an alluringly rival.

     As much as I’ve enjoyed the series, I’m hopeful that Cruise sees his upcoming Medicare years as a reason to return to more challenging (acting wise) roles that he pursued in “The Color of Money,” (1986), “Born on the Fourth of July” (1989), “Magnolia (1999) and, more recently, the underrated “American Made” (2017). While he’s not quite the last Hollywood superstar, it’s a dying tradition that he’s shown to be the best exemplar of since the 1980s.

 

THE PHOENICIAN SCHEME (2025)

     While working in that space somewhere between absurdist Luis Bunuel and Bugs Bunny cartoons, Wes Anderson makes the most interesting (only?) dioramas in movie history. This rigorously created series of comic set pieces (co-written by Roman Coppola), which owe much to the style and tone of “Asteroid City” and “The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou,” are held together by the stoic, unflappable Zsa-zsa Korda (underplayed with supreme coolness by Benicio Del Toro), determined to find financing for his “scheme.”

     With his estranged daughter Liesl (Mia Threapleton), pulled out of a nunnery, and new personal secretary Bjorn (Michael Cera, in the role usually played in Anderson films by Jason Schwartzman), Korda tracks down relatives and one-time allies (played by Tom Hanks, Bryan Cranston, Jeffrey Wright, Scarlett Johansson and Benedict Cumberbatch, among others) to aid him in a giant infrastructure plan for the desert country of Phoenicia. His lifelong dream, contained in shoe and sock boxes he carries around, is as nutty as his trust in acquaintances, who may be involved in various assassination attempts.

       Early in the film, Korda is aboard his private plane (an odd-looking contraption—the setting is the 1950s) when his assistant is blown out of the plane and it’s headed for a crash landing. He goes to the cockpit and after a brief dispute with the pilot, calmly hits the eject button, sending the pilot flying out of the plane (he survives). This cartoon-inspired moment typifies the dark, underplayed, offbeat humor that makes this one of Anderson’s best films.

     If the earthly adventures of Korda and his daughter aren’t enough, when the businessman comes close to death (which occurs regularly), he dreams of trying to enter the pearly gates of heaven, where Bill Murray (who else?) plays God.

      As good as del Toro is in this role, equal to his artist-prisoner in “The French Dispatch,” Threapleton steals the picture. This is the first major film role for the 24-year-old who is the daughter of Kate Winslet (tell me that doesn’t make you feel old?). Her flat affect and cold line readings make her a perfect Anderson actress. One of my favorite moments of the film is when Liesl starts smoking a pipe.

     No doubt, Anderson remains an acquired taste who seems to have little connection to contemporary Hollywood comedy filmmaking, which may be his best attribute. (If you have Netflix, don’t miss his series of quirky shorts, mostly starring Ralph Fiennes.)

  

THE SOPRANOS (1999-2007, TV)

     While it’s not my usual practice to offer commentary on television products, I feel compelled to weigh in, after all these years, on what has become the iconic series of the small screen’s cable era.

        Though I had seen the occasional episode of David Chase’s mob soap opera over the years, only in the past six months did I methodically watch all six seasons from start to finish.

       As someone who has read and seen more than his fair share of fictional and nonfiction accounts of La Cosa Nostra and ranks the first two “Godfather” films (referred to by characters in the series as simply “one” and “two”) at the top of his favorites list, not to mention multiple viewings of “Casino” and “Goodfellas,” I fully expected to be enraptured by “The Sopranos.” I was not.

      Or, at least, I was greatly disappointed by this overhyped series, finding fault with its fractured story, inconsistent performances and the reliance on similar scenarios year after year. There are moments, even full episodes, that rise to greatness but in full I’d be pressed to including the show in a ranking of the 20 best TV series.

       (For the handful of viewers who haven’t seen the series, read at your own risk—possible spoilers ahead.)

      And for those same readers: The series follows the difficulties faced by Tony Soprano, a depressive, brutal but also doting family man who takes control of the New Jersey mob family (“our thing” in gangster parlance) once run by his deceased father. Most of the action takes place in Soprano’s home, which he shares with wife Carmela and their two children, in his therapist office where he seeks help for his panic attacks and depression, and in his office at the strip club Bada Bing (a reference to “one”) where Tony and his underlings hang out when not out collecting money from their various nefarious enterprises.

      How many times did I need to see James Gandolfini’s Tony lumber down the stairs of his home in his robe to argue with his conflicted wife (Edie Falco) over coffee or listen to Tony and his captains discuss pedestrian issues at the bar or in the office? The show also offers an endless parade of funerals, where the mobsters stand around at the viewing of another of their “family” who has been killed (often at the hands of the mourners.)

      Adding to the highlight-reel feeling the show grows into, Chase and his phalanx of writers often turned the hour-long episodes into a potpourri of scenes only loosely connected by Tony’s presence.

      The first few seasons focus on Tony’s therapy sessions (Lorraine Bracco as Dr. Melfi), focused on his unhealthy relationship with his aging, spiteful mother (Nancy Marchand) and his troubled marriage, but these scenes quickly become redundant. In the last few seasons, Tony Jr. (known as A.J.), played by Robert Iler, becomes a major subplot, his life often used to explore social issues of the day. The series also spent way too much time on the ups and downs of the self-destructive Christopher (Michael Imperioli), Tony’s surrogate son; I’m surprised Chase didn’t turn it into a spinoff.

      The argument can be made—and certainly was during its original run on HBO (now MAX)—that viewers had never seen a Mafia chief deal with depression or fight with their children to stay in school.  (Imagine Michael Corleone meeting with his son’s school principal.)  It’s the every-day situations mixed with the usual collection of treats, beatings and executions that earned the series its acclaim (and an astonishing 21 Emmys).

       “The Sopranos” was among the first series to feature female nudity, at the family’s strip joint, what would be R-rated sex scenes between Tony and his various mistresses and unceasing profanity. I’m convinced that those were important reasons for not only its contemporary popularity but its critical acclaim.

      Yet despite all macho posing, the series dared to introduced a gay mobster (played by Joseph R. Gannascoli), who attempts to find a life away from the family before facing the intense homophobia of the mob—you won’t see that in a Scorsese film.

       While Gandolfini had the hang-dog look down pat, too often he does little to energize scenes that are begging for his presence; in fairness, the writing often failed him. I think he suffered the most from the changing directors (I counted 25 in the 86 episodes).

      While I always enjoyed scenes with Silvio, Tony’s consigliere, played with snarling sarcasm by rock ‘n’ roller Little Steven Van Zandt, you can count on one hand the number of impactful scenes he had in the six seasons. Not even at the end did Chase offer a meaningful last exchange between Silvio and Tony.

      In the same manner, Bracco had some memorable scenes early in the show but her importance to the show diminished in the last three seasons.

     The finest work in “The Sopranos” was done by Falco as Carmelo, the rare character who goes through changes over six seasons, as she struggles with enjoying the riches of the criminal life while living with the guilt over what her husband does. Also memorable is Aida Turturro, playing Janice, Tony’s unstable, mostly irritating sister who ends up marrying one of her brother’s lieutenants.

Early in the series Dominic Chianese as Uncle Junior, fighting with Tony for control of the family, and Marchand as Tony’s mother have great moments.

       The series is filled with lively guest performances, including movie directors Peter Bogdanovich as the therapist’s therapist and Sydney Pollack as a prison orderly; Annabella Sciorra as one of Tony’s mistresses and Steve Buscemi as a long-incarcerated cousin who wants back in the action.

       As for the much-debated final episode, it summarizes so much of what I disliked about the series: short scenes taking care of plot points rather than rising action leading to a dramatic climax. It felt like Chase needed another episode or two to bring this tale to a worthy conclusion. At the end, in the dinner, I still don’t understand the focus on daughter Meadow’s parking or the point of suddenly becoming so symbolic when you’re on the last page. I would rather have seen Tony taken away in handcuffs by the FBI; justice rather than the thought of another needless bloodletting.

      While I don’t regret the time I spent watching (the beauty of retirement life), considering the acres of praise the series has received over the past 25 years I felt a bit cheated. A story with great potential, unfulfilled.

  

A MODERN MUSKETEER (1917)

      One of the more amusing silents I’ve seen recently stars Douglas Fairbanks as a Kansas man who, after listening to his mother repeatedly read “The Three Musketeers” to him as a boy, becomes a modern-version of D’Artagnan.

     This Allan Dwan-directed picture begins with a scene of the 17^th Century swordsman taking on a room-full of bad guys so he can return a dropped handkerchief to a woman. In typical Fairbanks’ style, he flips and leaps all over the place, dismantling the room and the those who foolishly confront him. At first, I assumed this was an outtake from the picture that made Fairbanks’ a superstar “The Three Musketeers,” but that wasn’t made for another four years!

      After the intro, we meet Ned Thacher, an overly sincere 20^th Century man who will do anything to defend a female’s dignity and shows the same acrobatic and pugilistic skills as his French literary hero.

       Leaving his dusty small town for adventure, he runs into wealthy heal Forrest Vandeteer (Eugene Ormonde), who is headed for the Grand Canyon with Mrs. Dodge (Kathleen Kirkham) and her pretty, young daughter Elsie (teen actress Marjorie Daw) in tow.

      The real adventure begins when they arrive at the El Tovar Hotel (fascinating to see how the now very exclusive inn looked 107 years ago) and venture into the canyon, beautiful shot by cinematographers Hugh McClung and Harris Thorpe. The film doesn’t hold back on its racist portrayal of a Native-American tour guide, named Chin-de-dah and played by white actor Frank Campeau, who plans to kidnap Elsie and make her his “wife.”

    Along with Charlie Chaplin, Fairbanks was the biggest star of the silents, reportedly earning $10,000 a week by 1916 and all but inventing the movie action hero in hits such as “The Mark of Zorro” (1920), “Robin Hood” (1922), “The Thief of Bagdad” (1924) along with “The Three Musketeers.”

     Dwan’s incredible career spanned from 1911 to 1961, but, despite silent successes, was relegated to mostly B-movies in the sound era.

  

TWILIGHT (1998)

     Just before the last act of Robert Benton’s senior-citizen neo-noir, Paul Newman’s Harry Ross, a “retired” private eye, sums up the entire history of movie detectives, appropriately in the bathroom of a pair of murder victims: 

    “Ever strike you this is a lousy way to make a living? Start out thinking you are going to win a few, but mostly it’s, just like tonight, watching people run out of the little bit of luck that they got left. Think you are going to beat the odds, but you don’t or not very often.”

       The dialogue of “Twilight,” like most of Benton’s scripts (here co-written with novelist Richard Russo), captures his characters’ lifetime of struggle or, on the other side, the arrogance of privilege, and the poor choices they’ve made. In his best work—“Bonnie and Clyde” (1967), “The Late Show” (1977), “Kramer vs. Kramer” (1979), “Places in the Heart” (1984) and “Nobody’s Fool” (1994)—Benton, who died last month at age 92, created people who were distinctly of a time and place but edgy enough to leave a memorable impression. Though he worked infrequently, directing only 11 pictures, Benton elicited more first-rate performances than most filmmakers with three times the credits. Dustin Hoffman, Meryl Streep and Sally Field won Oscars in his films; Art Carney, John Malkovich and Paul Newman gave performances among their best.

      Of course, it all began when his and David Newman’s script for “Bonnie and Clyde,” written while they worked for Esquire magazine, was turned into a seminal film of the 1960s by star-producer Warren Beatty and director Arthur Penn.    

       Benton took home screenwriting and directing Academy Awards for the child-custody drama “Kramer vs. Kramer,” and then won his second screenplay Oscar for the Depression-era farm tale “Places in the Heart.” He was nominated five times for his scripts.

      He might have deserved another for “Twilight,” which, on a second viewing, makes most contemporary films look and sound like cheap TV melodramas. To start with, the cast is a filmmaker’s dream: Newman, Susan Sarandon and Gene Hackman are the principals with exemplary supporting from James Garner, Stockard Channing, Reese Witherspoon, Liev Schreiber, Giancarlo Esposito, M. Emmet Walsh and Margo Martindale. In the first 20 minutes of the film, no one shows up on screen who isn’t a familiar face.

      After retrieving their underage daughter (Witherspoon) from a Puerto Vallarta love nest, Harry becomes house guest and handyman for one-time Hollywood actors Jack (Hackman) and Catherine (Sarandon) Ames. Seeing Harry eying her flirty mother, the daughter tells him, “You’re just the hired help.”

     The scenes between Newman and Hackman are priceless—two of Hollywood’s all-time greats in a game of deceit and confession. Harry finds himself knee-deep in a 20-year-old murder after Jack sends him to deliver a blackmail payoff.

      Not only is this one of the last great performances in Newman’s storied career (he was 73), but the older actors, including Sarandon, Garner and Channing, have rarely been more self-assured.

     One could argue that the plot is a bit too obvious, telegraphing the bad guys early on and relying on puzzle pieces from 1940s and 50s film noirs. So what?

       The pleasure of watching these veteran actors play out the intriguing machinations tops 90 percent of what Hollywood markets as mystery today.   

THE GODLESS GIRL (1928)

     Few would make the case for Cecil B. DeMille as a great director but his importance to the industry cannot be overstated. After directing the first movie in what would become “Hollywood” (“The Straw Man” in 1914, which he remade twice), DeMille all but created the movie melodrama, making more than 50 pictures before the coming of sound. He also was one of the founders of the movie company that became Paramount Pictures.

     The talkies slowed DeMille’s unsustainable pace, but he also produced and directed some of the biggest hits of the 1930s, including “The Sign of the Cross,” “Cleopatra,”—both with Claudette Colbert—and “The Plainsman.” When he made his final picture in 1956, the epic “The Ten Commandments” with an all-star cast, it was the year’s top box-office winner and soon became an annual Easter event on television.

     One of his lesser-known efforts, “The Godless Girl,” takes on two controversial issues: atheism and the harsh conditions of juvenile detention centers, the plot inspired by actual events at Hollywood High School in the late 1920s. The first-rate restoration of this silent is shown on TCM and available on YouTube.

       Lina Basquette, part of DeMille’s troupe before she was a teen, plays Judy (the credits call her “The Girl”), an outspoken high school student who leads the atheist club. Of course, this “disturbed” group is condemned by school officials and then psychically attacked by a group of conservative Bible-loving students. (DeMille plays the two sides somewhat evenly, but you just know Judy will eventually see her way to Christianity.)

    The clash between the two groups results in three of the students getting shipped to juvie, Judy, Bob or “The Boy” (Tom Keene, future star of B-cowboy movies, in his debut) and the jokester Bozo (Eddie Quillan, who was still working in the late 1980s). There they battle with The Brute (veteran bad guy Noah Beery), the facility’s unforgiving guard.

     The controversial picture was written by Jeanie Macpherson and features set designs by Mitchell Leisen, who worked with the director through “The Sign of the Cross” (1932), after which he became a director himself (“Death Takes a Holiday,” “Midnight”).

     It is somewhat ironic that Basquette’s stardom disappeared when sound came in as she was married to Sam Warner (one of her seven husbands), who was the real force behind Warner Bros. experimenting with sound films. He died of a heart attack the day before “The Jazz Singer” premiered in 1927.

PHOTOS:

Tom Cruise with Simon Pegg and Hayley Atwell in “Mission: Impossible—The Final Reckoning.”  (Paramount Pictures)

Michael Imperioli, James Gandolfini, Tony Sirico and Steven Van Zandt in “The Sopranos.”  (HBO)

Writer-director Robert Benton at the Venice Film Festival in 2003. (Wireimage)

Lina Basquette and Tom Keene in “The Godless Girl.” (Image Entertainment)

 

 

 

April 2025

 

SINNERS (2025)

     One movie vampire can create a sexy, creepy, ominous atmosphere and serve as a troubling metaphor for the unknown space between life and death. Dozens of vampires in a movie are just silly, sending me in search of the channel changer. 

     Up until necks began to be bitten, Ryan Coogler’s latest film (following “Creed” and the “Black Panther” pictures), again starring Michael B. Jordan (two of him), is a beautifully rendered portrait of African-American life in Depression-era Mississippi Delta. Twins Smoke and Stack (Jordan) return to their hometown after a stint working with Al Capone in Chicago, with a bundle of cash and plans to start a juke joint.

       The star attraction—other than plenty of food and drink—at the blues club is their young cousin Sammie (Miles Caton), who plays a mean guitar, and veteran bluesman Delta Slim (a memorable Delroy Lindo). The planning for opening night, along with reunions with Smoke’s and Stack’s and Smoke’s old flames, make up the first two-thirds of the film. Once the party begins, the film goes into full force, with Coogler, who also wrote the script, juggling a half-dozen plot lines.

      Then a young Irish immigrant and a pair of white locals camp out in front of the club, sending the story into “Walking Dead” territory. I struggled to see the point as the vampires didn’t seem to represent white racists—the local KKK has its own plans to erase the juke joint—or serve as symbols of a society keeping Black entrepreneurs from succeeding. It felt to me as if Coogler found himself struggling for an ending and thought: “Hey, everyone loves a vampire/zombie story.”

       What I admire about the movie is its heartfelt tribute to blues music, and the genre’s Delta home. Just a few of the blues greats who came from this part of the country include Charley Patton, Robert Johnson, Son House, Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Willie Dixon and the last of them, Buddy Guy, who has a touching cameo in “Sinners.” Unfortunately, the vampires also bring the blues, and not in a good way.

  

QUALITY STREET (1927) and BEVERLY OF GRUSTARK (1926)

       Marion Davies’ career has been both underrated and overrated since she became a star in the early 1920s.

       Her film work was dismissed for many years because of the promotional assistance she received from the vast media empire run by William Randolph Hearst, her constant companion for 30 years. Hearst pulled her out of the chorus line and made her a leading lady, financing most of her films and controlling her career with an iron fist.

       As his mistress, Davies became a leading hostess of the Hollywood community at both Hearst’s San Simeon castle and in their Santa Monica villa (while Hearst’s wife mingled in high society in New York). It was easy to write off her movie success—even as she became one of the most popular stars of the 1920s—since she was the boss’s girlfriend.

        And then there was the uncomplimentary portrayal penned by screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz, ironically a close friend of Davies, who created the fictional Susan Alexander, a failed opera singer, in his not-too-obvious attack on Hearst in “Citizen Kane.” That Davies was anything but a failure in Hollywood—though she was an alcoholic like Alexander—didn’t stop the comparisons.

        In recent years, her work has been rediscovered and now she’s acclaimed as one of the great comedians of the late silents and early 1930s. As always, the pendulum has swung too far. While her acting is better than the typical silent performance and brings a casual naturalism to her roles, Davies was far from a great actress as some would have you think.

        In truth, she was both limited by and profited from her attachment to Hearst. Even at the height of her popularity in the late 1920s, Davies roles were handpicked by Hearst and he chose the director assigned to her through an arrangement with Louis B. Mayer, according to various recent biographies.

 

    In “Quality Street,” she plays a young French girl betrothed to the most eligible bachelor (a bland Conrad Nagel) in town, but before they can marry, he goes off to the Napoleonic Wars. When he returns, she’s a dowdy, glass-wearing (in old movies, a clear indication of age) and teaching school (could it be worse?). He loses interest but when Davies pretends to be her younger niece, spicing up her looks, his interest increases. Believing that he is fooled by her slight change of appearance takes a great leap of the imagination. Ten years later, it was remade with Katharine Hepburn in the lead.

     From a play by J.M. Barrie, best known for his “Peter Pan” books, this is a rather tiresome romance clearly influenced by Shakespeare’s much-used identity switching, a theme that runs throughout Davies career. (In “Little Old New York” (1922), she plays an Irish emigrant to America who pretends to be her dead brother to claim an inheritance. It’s only slightly more believable.)

    Again playing a version of the Bard’s Rosalind, she is “Beverly of Graustark,” one of her best silents. In the kingdom of Graustark (invented countries were all the rage in the early days of cinema), Davies’ Beverly steps in for her cousin the prince when he’s incapacitated after a skiing accident, dressing as a man and handling his royal duties. Of course, she falls in love with his military aide, which opens up a Freudian can of worms. With uninspired support from the men around her, Davies carries the daffy screwball comedy.

      Both “Beverly of Graustark” and “Quality Street” were directed by Sidney Franklin, who in the sound era became MGM’s house director for Norma Shearer. He earned an Oscar nomination for “The Good Earth” (1937). 

     The actresses best remembered silents are two 1928 films directed by King Vidor, “The Patsy” and “Show People.” But unlike many performers, Davies made a smooth transition to sound film, continuing her career until 1937, highlighted by “It’s a Wise Child” (1931), in which she fakes a pregnancy.

      In her final picture, “Ever Since Eve” (1937), she again disguises herself, this time remaking herself into an “unattractive” woman, with wire-rim glasses, baggy clothes and a page-boy haircut to avoid the sexual harassment she encounters everywhere she works.

     Then, of course, she falls for her latest employer, a dilettante writer (Robert Montgomery), spurring her to switch back and forth between cute and plain.

     She was just 40 when she retired to care for Hearst, who suffered through various ailments before his death in 1951. Davies lived another ten years.

  

WARFARE (2025)

     Director Alex Garland, who last year imagined a domestic warfare in “Civil War,” partnered with Navy SEAL veteran and film producer Ray Mendoza to re-enact an intense skirmish during the Iraqi War.

     The film, which plays out in virtual real-time, has the feel of a documentary with its wrenching realistic depiction of the horrors of war and a cast of mostly unfamiliar faces. It’s based on the recollections of the survivors of an actual assault by Iraqi forces on a squad of SEALs who had taken over a house to observe the neighborhood.

    The very business-like approach of the story—the nonstop military lingo will go over the head of most viewers but adds to the film’s verisimilitude—doesn’t allow much character development before the action gets hot. Not much happens until about halfway through when a rocket blows up the squad’s attempts to exit the area. From that point on, “Warfare” is as visually nerve-racking as any battlefield movie I’ve seen since “Black Hawk Down” (2001).

     Many scenes are difficult to watch (I looked away more than once) as Garland doesn’t shy away from showing bloody battle wounds after the attack. Showing realistic death and traumatic injury doesn’t necessarily elevate a war film; plenty of great battlefield war pictures were made before censors allowed blood to be depicted---“The Red Badge of Courage,” “The Steel Helmet,” “Men at War,” “Paths of Glory” and “War and Peace” (see below), just to name a few. But considering the destruction of the human body that is shown in contemporary horror films, it’s commendable that Garland and Mendoza do not hold back in showing the casualties of war.

     As with most war films, viewers can come away from the experience with different impressions: patriotic pride, the admiration of men doing their duty and/or wondering what the point of it all is. In the 21^st Century, must young men sacrifice their lives over disputes between nations as if we are still living in the Middle Ages?

  

THE FIREBIRD (1934)

    Maybe if I knew beforehand where this story was headed, I would have been less impressed, but its sudden turn about 30 minutes in when one of the main characters is murdered makes it one of the more interesting pictures of the early 1930s.

      Based on a play of the same name by acclaimed Hungarian writer Lajos Zilahy, the script by B-movie scribes Charles Kenyon and Jeffrey Dell not only is a tightly constructed murder-mystery but, with little fanfare, examines the changing morals and attitudes of the first generation of the 20^th Century. Director William Dieterle, just before his box-office hit bio-pics “The Story of Louis Pasteur” and “The Life of Emile Zola,” smoothly mixes a familiar tale of offbeat characters living in an apartment complex (in Vienna) including popular actor Herman Brandt (Ricardo Cortez) and a family of royal blood, the Pointers.

        The movie seems as if it’s just another lightweight romantic comedy, with complaining neighbors, a bothersome dog-walker and Brandt’s ex-wife fighting him for alimony payments, until Brandt corners Carola Pointer (Verree Teasdale, best known as Adolphe Menjou’s wife) on the staircase and confesses that he’s been in love with her for years though they’ve never spoken. He tells her to visit his apartment at midnight, which she dismisses out of hand and, in fact, decides to move the family when the landlord is unable to evict the actor. 

        A few days later he’s found dead in his apartment of a gunshot to the head, which brings police detective Muller, played by the great character actor C. Aubrey Smith in one of his best roles. (Also giving a subtle, convincing performances is Lionel Atwill, a regular in horror pictures in the 1930s and ‘40s, as high-minded John Pointer.)

       Other than a few scenes on the street in front of the apartment building and in the theater where Brandt is performing, the story unfolds inside the rooms of the building. Muller calmly but decisively untangles the truth about the actor’s character, not made clear in the film when he was alive, that led to his murder. 

       The title comes from the famous 1910 ballet music by modernist Igor Stravinsky, who, after this film was released, sued Warner Bros. over its use of his composition. In the movie, it’s used as a symbol of society’s break with the values of the 19^th Century. Nowhere were those changes displayed more prominently than in Hollywood’s Pre-Code movies, of which “The Firebird” is among the most literate.    

  

QUEEN OF THE DESERT (2017)

      Bad reviews and abysmal box office sunk this Werner Herzog chronicle of the astonishing life of Gertrude Bell, whose travels in the early part of the 20^th Century made her one of the leading Western experts on the Arab world, before and after World War I.

      Born to an upper-class British family, Bell (Nicole Kidman, giving another fine performances) refused to lead the life she was raised to follow, persuading her father to arrange for a position in Tehran with the British embassy. After a short, but doomed romance with a fellow embassy employee (an uninspired James Franco), she dedicates her life to exploring the Middle East, learning about the many tribes of the desert, and meeting their emirs.

     A contemporary of T.E. Lawrence (played without much energy by Robert Pattinson), with whom she worked with in the British foreign office, Bell was influential in drawing the post-war map that created the modern countries of the region, offering a rare voice from the West sympathetic to the Arab people.

      The German-born Herzog, who in recent years is best known for his striking documentaries (“Grizzly Man,” “Encounters at the End of the World,” “Cave of Forgotten Dreams”), directed his first feature in 1968. His fictional film about a 16^th Century explorer seeking the gold of the mythical South American city of El Dorado, “Aguirre, the Wrath of God” (1972), put the filmmaker on the map. It’s one of the best films of the 1970s. Known for his willingness to venture into difficult locations and push his cast to the brink, Herzog has since made a handful of memorable features, including “Fitzcarraldo” (1982) and “Rescue Dawn” (2007).

     While the script of “Queen of the Desert,” is clunky and didactic at points, the presence of Kidman elevates the film along with Herzog’s focus on the desert landscape. Morocco stands in for the Middle East, stunningly captured by cinematographer Peter Zeitlinger, who has shot many of Herzog’s films in the last 30 years.

     The film might not make a list of important Herzog pictures (I stumbled upon it on the free streaming service Tubi), but it serves as a very watchable introduction to a fascinating and daring woman who was unafraid to go where few Westerners had ever ventured.

  

WAR AND PEACE (1968)

    This acclaimed Soviet movie adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s mammoth novel, and one of the longest films ever made at seven hours and 11 minutes (you can watch it in four installments on YouTube), lives up to its reputation, featuring some of the most vivid battlefront scenes stunningly contrasting with shimmering ballroom sequences in gorgeous Russian palaces.

     Director Sergey Bondarchuk, a loyal nationalist, went on to become one of the Soviet Union’s finest filmmakers, following “War and Peace” with “They Fought for Their Country” (1975), a World War II epic, and “Boris Godunov” (1986), from the Pushkin play about the 17^th Century tsar. In 1968, a trimmed version of “War and Peace” was released in the U.S., becoming the first Soviet film to be nominated for, and win, the best foreign film Oscar.

 

     Obviously “War and Peace” is meant to be seen on the widest possible screen—the filmmaker moves the camera (in collaboration with a team of cinematographers) across the sets like few filmmakers of the era dared attempt—which I appreciated even on my 26-inch computer screen. The print available on YouTube is excellent, retaining its vibrant colors.

      Bondarchuk also plays the tale’s lead actor Pierre, whose feelings about the Napoleonic wars, the place of royalty in Russia and his oft-confusing love life serve as the connecting thread of Tolstoy’s narrative. His romance with the Countess Natasha (Lyudmila Saveleva), who goes from girl to woman in the course of the story, is one of the most famous in literary history.

     This incredibly complex production, cited at the time as the most expensive movie ever made, was filmed between 1962 and 1967 and shown in four parts to Russian audiences starting in March 1966 and finishing in November 1967. Reportedly, the 1956 Hollywood version of the film, starring Henry Fonda and Audrey Hepburn, inspired the Soviet leadership to launch the project.

      In America, the Soviet original was trimmed by an hour and, of course, dubbed. A few years later, in 1972, it was shown on ABC over four evenings.

    Not surprisingly for a seven-hour picture, it drags at points as it depicts a 19^th Century world that moved at a much slower pace. The epic’s most impressive performance is given by Vyacheslav Tikhonov (among the stars of another Oscar-winning Soviet film, “Burnt by the Sun”) who plays Prince Andrei Bolkonsky, a tightly wound soldier whose family is central to the story.

     In this era of lengthy streaming series, “War and Peace” doesn’t seem so epic today, but contemporary writing rarely matches Tolstoy’s insight into the decisions made by individuals and societies that shape the world. It’s a powerful cinematic experience, one I never thought I would have the opportunity to enjoy.

  

THE HIDDEN ROOM (1950)

      Edward Dmytryk, who went from being an admired martyr as one of the Hollywood Ten, serving time in prison for his connection to the Communist Party, to a pariah who named names in front of Congress, somehow managed to forge a productive career as a filmmaker.

     Born in Canada to Ukrainian parents, he grew up in Los Angeles, starting his movie career as a messenger for Famous Players-Lasky while still in high school. After years of working as an editor and then director of B-movies, he broke through with “Crossfire” (1947), an acclaimed picture about antisemitism starring Robert Mitchum and Robert Ryan, which scored was Oscar nominations for best picture and best director.

     That same year Dmytryk rejected HUAC’s request to testify against others who were former members of the Communist Party and was blacklisted by Hollywood. Moving to England, he directed one of his best films, “The Hidden Room” (released in the U.K. in 1949 as “Obsession”), a deceptively low-key tale of a psychiatrist taking revenge against the latest suitor of his wife. 

      A very proper Robert Newton (“Odd Man Out” and, as Bill Sykes in David Lean’s “Oliver Twist”), plays Dr. Clive Riordan who has run out of patience with his unfaithful wife Storm (Sally Gray), forcing her and her date, an American, Bill Kronin (Phil Brown) to confess at the barrel of a gun. The doctor eventually ushers Kronin into the night, one assumes to kill him, but instead locks him up in what seems to be an abandoned bomb shelter.

    It’s not surprising that the movie’s screenwriter Alec Coppel was one of the writers contributing to Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” (1958), the ultimate picture about an obsession.

    As Scotland Yard gets involved (Naunton Wayne is entertaining as Supt. Finsbury) when the family dog goes missing, Riordan sticks to his devious plan.

     His work was recognized at Cannes as a finalist for best director, but soon after he return to America to serve his prison term and then went before the committee to name many fellow filmmakers who had been in the party.

      Like Elia Kazan, another director who testified, Dmytryk flourished in the wake of his turncoat actions, highlighted by “The Caine Mutiny” (1954) with Humphrey Bogart, “Raintree County” (1957) starring Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift and “The Young Lions” (1958) starring Marlon Brando, Clift and Dean Martin.  His career continued into the 1970s.

 

PHOTOS:

 Michael B. Jordan plays twins Smoke and Stack in “Sinners.” (Warner Bros.)

 Marion Davies with Conrad Nagel in “Quality Street.” (MGM)

  The poster from “The Firebird.” (Warner Bros.)

A battlefield scene from “War and Peace.”  (Janus Films)