TRUE
CONFESSIONS (1981)
It’s easy to name the highlights of Robert
Duvall’s career—his business-like lawyer Tom Hagen, the adopted son of the
Corleones; war-loving Lt. Col. Kilgore in “Apocalypse Now; the disciplinarian
in “The Great Santini”; the soft-spoken country singer in “Tender Mercies”;
Frank Hackett, the snarling television exec in “Network” and a great man of the
West, Gus McCrae in “Lonesome Dove”—but what made him memorable was his
consistency through more than five decades of performances, as both a star and
supporting player. His death last month marked the end of one of finest acting
careers in American film history.
Memorably, the same actor who tearfully
whispered to Marlon Brando “They shot Sonny on the Causeway. He’s dead” also
observed with bravado to anyone within earshot “I love the smell of napalm in
the morning.” He didn’t disappear into roles, but, like the classic pre-war
film actors, Duvall brought a vast array of characters alive, convincingly revealing
their humanity, flaws and virtues.
By my account, Duvall should have been
nominated for 10 Oscars (the Academy gave him seven, including a best actor win
for “Tender Mercies”) and deserved three supporting awards, for “The
Godfather,” “Network” and “Apocalypse Now.”
Like his roommates from the early 1960s,
Gene Hackman and Dustin Hoffman (what are the odds?), he was primarily seen as
a character actor, yet all three became star-actors. One of Duvall’s best
starring roles was in the crime film “True Confessions,” little-seen at its
release and quickly forgotten.
In this perfectly structured and superbly
scripted film, Duvall delivers the kind of underplayed performance, not unlike
his work in “The Godfather” pictures, that should be studied by every young
film actor. He does more with a turn of the head, his trademark throaty guffaw,
squinting eyes and toothy grin than most actors deliver with a page-long
monologue.
“True Confessions,” directed by Broadway
veteran Ulu Grosbard, matches two of the finest actors of our time, Duvall and
Robert De Niro, as brothers; De Niro as a Catholic priest and Duvall as a
police detective in postwar Los Angeles. The script by the married couple Joan
Didion and John Gregory Dunne (based on his novel) was clearly inspired by the
classic Warner Bros. pictures of the 1930s—when cops and priests were always
Irish—and the real-life Los Angeles “Black Dahlia” 1947 murder of a young actress.
But unlike “Angels with Dirty Faces” and other pictures of that era, the church
in “True Confessions” finds itself connected to the sex crime and a
pornographer. The script also astutely captures post-war L.A.: the influence of
the Catholic Church, the city’s Mexican roots and the corruption of law
enforcement.
But at its heart, “True Confessions” is
about the blood connection, despite their varying views of life, that remains
between the brothers. Watching these two actors together for the only time in
their long careers (obviously, they were both in but had no scenes together in
“The Godfather, Part II”), De Niro taking the more reflective, less showy role,
is a reminder that in the 1970s and early ‘80s the power of acting fueled
American movies.
Duvall’s most overlooked great
performance can be found in “Tomorrow,” the 1972 Horton Foote-adaptation of a
William Faulkner short story set in rural Mississippi. Duvall stars as the
taciturn workingman Jackson Fentry, who takes in and bonds with a pregnant
woman. This plaintive, black-and-white movie (it plays like a forgotten movie
from the early sound era) is miles away from the mob lawyer and fixer he played
the same year in “The Godfather,” a testament to Duvall’s ability to use his
recognizable acting method to create people from very worlds.
In his later years, Duvall’s theatrical
duality, pairing soft-spoken readings and explosive anger, often came off as
predictable and hammy, including “The Apostle,” “A Civil Action,” and most of
his supporting roles in the last 20 years; the exceptions being his New York
editor in “The Paper,” an amusing cliché; and the aging tyrant in “The Judge.”
But even with all his distinctive tics, he made every film better. Just as
telling, his absence from “The Godfather, Part III” created a huge hole in
Francis Coppola’s film.
Legendary New York Times film critic
Vincent Canby once wrote that Duvall was “America’s Olivier.” And though he
never reached the stardom of his contemporaries De Niro, Al Pacino or Jack
Nicholson, he brought acting precision and unbridled commitment to some of the
most memorable characters of the last half-century of American cinema.
CRIME
101 (2026)
There’s nothing spectacular about this
well-plotted, Los Angeles-set jewelry heist thriller. But that’s fine. We need
more pictures that don’t strive for raves from influencers and simply provide a
lively, thoughtful two hours at the cinema.
Based on acclaimed crime writer Don
Winslow’s novella of the same name, the movie follows a determined police
detective (a Colombo-like Mark Ruffalo) who seems to have figured out the MO of
a shy, cautious thief (steely-eyed Chris Hemsworth) who robs stores up and down
the California coast.
The story kicks up a notch when Davis, the
thief, turns down a job from his handler (Nick Nolte, even more gravelly voiced
than usual) and it’s botched by his replacement, a punk on a motorcycle played
sneeringly by Barry Keoghan, a 2022 Oscar nominee for “The Banshees of
Inisherin.”
Meanwhile, we’re introduced to event
insurance agent (who knew?) Sharon (Halle Berry, under-utilized by Hollywood
since her 2001 Oscar win), who Davis enlists in his latest heist plan, which,
of course, he promises, will be his last.
Winslow and director Bart Layton
(“American Animals”) bring it all together in a snappy finale set inside the
famous Beverly Wilshire Hotel.
Hemsworth, the Australian best known as
Thor in “The Avengers” films, is well cast as the inarticulate, but clever
thief. Needless to say, Ruffalo fits this type of off-kilter, smart-as-hell
character like a glove.
The superb cast also includes two more
previous Oscar nominees: Jennifer Jason Leigh as Lou’s separated wife, who
deserved more screen time, and Monica Barbaro (Joan Baez in “A Complete
Unknown”) as Davis’s love interest who manages to find the heart of this
secretive man. I can only dream that more pictures can boast of a supporting
cast of six Academy Award nominees.
THE
BLACK PIRATE (1926) and SPARROWS (1926)
One hundred years ago, Douglas Fairbanks
and Mary Pickford were the most famous couple in the world. Since the marriage
of these two Hollywood stars in 1920, nearly every movie they made was a hit
and when they travelled the world—which they seemed to nearly every year—they
were mobbed by crowds. From China to Chicago to Paris, movie fans fought to get
a glimpse of the pair.
Fairbanks, who specialized in acrobatic
derring-do, came to Hollywood in 1915, already a star on Broadway. By 1920,
when he began his run of swashbuckling adventure films (“The Mark of Zorro,”
“The Three Musketeers,” “Robin Hood,” and “The Thief of Bagdad”) his movie
popularity was matched only by his best friend, Charlie Chaplin. The year
before, the two buddies along with Pickford and director D.W. Griffith, in the
hopes of giving actors more control over the final product, created United
Artists, a releasing company that continues today.
Pickford, who came to Hollywood as a
teenager in 1909 with Griffith’s company (appearing in about 50 shorts that first
year), soon became known as the “Girl with the Curls” for her roles as a young
innocent and trademark hairstyle. Pickford was so beloved by audiences in
heartwarming adolescence roles that she continued to play children into her
30s.
In “Sparrows,” she’s a teenager tasked
with playing mother to a half-dozen toddlers (and a couple of infants) at a horrific,
back-woods “baby farm.” Primarily unwed mothers would pay to have someone care
for their child, a version of foster care popular in the early years of the 20th
Century. Minus regulations, “Sparrow” shows the evil owner mistreating the
children and using them to tend his farm.
The picture doesn’t have much to offer
until the final 20 minutes when Pickford’s Molly helps the children escape,
leading them through the swap land that surrounds the farm, avoiding deadly
quicksand and hungry alligators. It reminds one of some of Griffith’s thrilling
chases. Of course, a teary ending follows.
“The Black Pirate” is one of Fairbanks’
best films, as he plays a nobleman who pretends to be a pirate to seek revenge
on the man (Sam De Grasse, legendary bad guy of silents) who killed his father.
The pirate ship setting gives Fairbanks the chance to glide up and down the
mast and showoff his fencing prowess.
The film is also one of the most
successful uses of two-strip Technicolor process. Though far from the quality
that the company would achieve by the early 1930s, it was popular with
audiences. The print available on YouTube has a distinctive look that certainly
makes it stand out among the usual black-and-white silents.
Among the stars of the film is Donald
Crisp (originally set to direct the film), playing a shipmate loyal to
Fairbanks’ Black Pirate. The actor, part of Griffith’s company for many years,
became a beloved character actor during Hollywood’s Golden Age, memorably in
“How Green Was My Valley.”
Not long after “The Black Pirate,”
Fairbanks lost interest in moviemaking, preferring to travel the world and
golf. His career wasn’t helped when rumors of an affair put an end to the
fairytale of Pickfair, the couple’s Beverly Hills mansion. The couple divorced
in 1936 and three years later, Fairbanks died of a heart attack at age 56. (Pickford
marriage to “Wings” star Buddy Rogers lasted for 42 years, until her death in
1979.)
Not
only did Fairbanks almost single-handedly invent the adventure film but he was
among the first free-spending stars (by 1920 both Doug and Mary were earning
over $1 million a year), pioneering the lifestyle that movie stars would become
famous for. One of the most interesting figures of the early 20th
Century, Fairbanks is entertainingly profiled in “The First King of Hollywood”
by Tracey Goessel, both a well-researched bio and an excellent introduction to
silent film and early Hollywood.
PROJECT
HAIL MARY (2026)
Because of my dismissal of “La La Land”
and “Barbie” as nonsensical junk, I failed to pick up on the fact that Ryan
Gosling has become one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. That’s why he finds
himself as a virtual one-man show in this big-budget sci-fi epic that combines
elements of “Interstellar” and “E.T.” While the film doesn’t reach the heights
of either of those films, it’s an entertaining mix of save-the-world gadgetry
and heartwarming close encounters.
The picture opens with Gosling’s Prof.
Ryland Grace realizing he’s the only crew member left on a space ship headed to
a star in a distant galaxy, having only a vague idea of why he’s there. Through
flashbacks, Grace remembers, and the audience sees, what led to his current
dilemma. (He doesn’t know how to navigate the spacecraft, but it seems to be
pretty much self-driving.)
But before the tech talk gets too thick,
our one-man crew meets up with a creature who shares the Earth’s concerns. His
planet faces extinction from the same molecular troublemaker.
In what seems like record time, Grace and
this crab-like rock learn to communicate (voiced by James Ortiz) and start
working together on the problem. Once Grace christens him “Rocky,” their
relationship becomes the heart of the movie---almost to the point that their
shared existential fears are secondary to their bromance.
The flashback scenes are anchored by Sandra
Hüller (the wife in both “The Zone of Interest” and “Anatomy of a Fall”), as
the all-business director of the project who never stops reminding Grace (and
us) of the seriousness of the situation.
Directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller
(“The Lego Movie,” the “Jump Street” comedies) do a good job of mixing the
pre-flight scenes with the space scenes—brilliantly shot by Greig Fraser—to
maintain the mystery in the first third of the film and deepening our
understanding of Grace in the last third. I was less impressed with Drew
Goddard’s adaptation of Andy Weir’s novel (he also scripted Weir’s “The
Martian” for the 2015 film), in that he both overloads the picture with
scientific details while never making non-astronaut Grace’s space feats
believable.
Gosling’s screen presence holds the film
together, a giant step-up from his recent efforts (“The Fall Guy” was
unwatchable), but it still doesn’t come close to his best work from early in
his career, including “Half Nelson” (2006), “Lars and the Real Girl” (2007),
“Blue Valentine” (2010) and “The Place Beyond the Pines” (2012). But I guess
that actor is long gone—he’s now a star.
TALES
OF MANHATTAN (1942)
Anthology films pop up every so often, but
have never been a popular trend. A list of the best of this offbeat genre includes
“Fantasia” (1940), “Dead of Night” (1945), “O. Henry’s Full House” (1952), “New
York Stories” (1989), “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” (2018) and two Jim
Jarmusch pictures, “Mystery Train” (1989) and last year’s “Father Mother Sister
Brother.”
Highly entertaining and featuring one of
the best casts ever assembled, “Tales of Manhattan” follows a man’s
old-fashioned tailcoat, which brings both good and bad luck to its owners after
being cursed by its maker.
The first segment stars Charles Boyer as a
suave suitor of flirty Rita Hayworth, leading to a showdown with her alcoholic
husband (Thomas Mitchell) at a party. Superbly acted and elegantly written
(it’s not clear which screenwriter worked on which episode), this is the one
segment that easily could have been a full-length feature. Adding a comic
element to the episode is the always memorable Eugene Pallette as Boyer’s
faithful butler.
After two clichéd segments---Charles
Laughton as a musician whose big moment is ruined by the jacket and a love
triangle featuring Henry Fonda, Ginger Rogers and Cesar Romero—Edward G.
Robinson plays a desperate man living in a low-rent hotel who puts on the dog
at his college’s 25th reunion. He’s renewed by reconnecting with
classmates until one arrogant classmate (George Sanders) calls him out. It’s
one of Robinson’s finest performances.
Surprisingly, 20th Century Fox included
a Black segment in which the jacket filled with cash gets tossed out of a
plane, landing on a farm of singer-actors Paul Robeson and Ethel Waters. They
take it to the village minister (Eddie “Rochester” Anderson of “Jack Benny
Show” fame), who decides to make the prayers of every member of the community
come true. Typical of how African-Americans were treated by Hollywood in that
era, they are portrayed as wide-eyed innocents who burst into song at the drop
of a hat.
Another episode filmed by French director Julien
Duvivier (“Un Carnet de bal,” “Pepe le Moko”), and then later cut by the studio,
stars W.C. Fields as Prof. Pufflewhistle, a snake-oil salesman who entertains a
room filed with upright citizens, covertly getting them drunk. The segment also
features Marx Bros.’ alumni Margaret Dumont. Both the film and the Fields’
outtake are available on YouTube.
The
director’s next picture was another star-studded anthology film, “Flesh and
Fantasy” (1943), also featuring Robinson and Boyer along with Barbara Stanwyck.
THE
ABOMINABLE DR. PHIBES (1971)
This gruesome nightmare of a film opens in
a ballroom featuring a robotic pop band (Dr. Phibes’ Clockwork Wizards), a costumed
female dancer and an elaborate church organ, which rises from below floor level,
played by Anton Phibes. Vincent Price, of course, is Phibes, looking like his
face is a mask, sporting a gray Beatle-like wig and draped in an oversized
black cloak.
Falling somewhere between the Price-Roger
Corman Poe adaptations and an early version of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,”
this creepy British horror movie, lingering over the hideously defaced murder
victims more than earns its cult status. The film’s palette emphasizes reds,
blacks and purples, all deeply saturated contrasting with Phibes’ cadaver-like
face.
Saved for last is Dr. Vesalius (a slumming
Joseph Cotten), who cooperates with the detectives in hopes of apprehending the
insane criminal. For reasons that are made clear by the end, Price’s Phibes
never speaks but his voice is heard via a recording he controls.
I found this oddball relic on YouTube as
part of an on-line show called “Creature Features,” modeled after those
late-night movie programs popular in the 1970s and ‘80s. (Watching the film
includes endless ads and silly skits to click through.)
The picture, beyond its distinctive look,
is well directed by Robert Fuest, who also directed the nearly as insane “The
Devil’s Rain” (1975), with Ernest Borgnine as the devil and William Shatner as
his determined foe. He also was behind the camera for “Dr. Phibes Rises Again”
(1972), which adds Peter Cushing to the cast.
DEAD
OF WINTER (2025)
For nearly 40 years, Emma Thompson has
been among the most consistently excellent actresses in both American and
British films. No one was more impressive during the 1990s, starring in
“Howards End,” “The Remain of the Day,” “In the Name of the Father” and “Sense
and Sensibility,” which also earned her an Oscar for adapted screenplay.
Since then, she has shined as a woman
dying of cancer in the TV movie “Wit,” in her three roles in the television
version of “Angels in America,” as Prof. Trelawney in a handful of “Harry
Potter” films, as Goneril opposite Anthony Hopkins’ “King Lear” and as a talk
show host making a comeback in “Late Night.”
Deserving more attention is her most
recent film, “Dead of Winter,” streaming on HBO/Max in which she plays an
ordinary woman who finds herself facing deadly circumstances. After getting
used to Thompson’s Minnesota accent (it sounds as if she watched Francis
McDormand in “Fargo” over and over), she perfectly captures the will-do,
determined attitude of Midwesterners.
Barb, seeking directions to a frozen lake,
stumbles on the kidnapping of a young girl, held by a gun-toting couple (Judy
Greer and Marc Menchaca) holed up in a camp house deep in the snow-bound
hinterland of northern Minnesota.
The why and wherefores are revealed in
drips by screenwriters Nicholas Jacobson-Larson and Dalton Leeb, leaving the
viewers with just their resolve that Thompson won’t stop until she’s freed the
girl or is killed trying. Much of the action takes place on the frozen lake,
with the deadly water below the ice a constant threat.
Part of the appeal of the film is that
you don’t expect to encounter murder and mayhem with Emma Thompson in the
middle of it. But she turns out to be a refreshing, very humane, alternative to
the usual action hero.
Most spaghetti Westerns are a mix of
tough-guy attitude, lingering shots of the hills of Spain or Italy and jolting
closeups, in support of a childishly simple plot.
What elevates this creation of Sergio
Corbucci, best known as the writer-director of “Django” (1966), is the casting
of two of the era’s most interesting actors, France’s Jean-Louis Trintignant
(“A Man and a Woman,” “Z,” “The Conformist”) and Germany’s Klaus Kinski (“A
Bullet for the General,” “Aguirre, the Wrath of God”) as rival gunmen in the
Old West.
Kinski’s Loco leads a ruthless group of criminals who live in the mountains of Utah, killing indiscriminately in hopes of scoring bounties. Among their victims is the husband of Pauline (Vonetta McGee, later in “Blacula” and “Shaft in Africa”), a black woman living in a small Utah mountain settlement.
After she nurses Trintignant’s Silenzio,
a mute gunfighter, back to health, he becomes her protector, facing desperate
odds versus Loco’s gang.
Adding to the intensity of the film is
the unrelenting snow drifts that make the simplest actions more difficult; few
films look as achingly cold as “The Great Silence.”
Along with the fine acting, dominating
geography and surprisingly diverse casting (for the late 60s), the film’s
ending is among the most cynical you’re likely to see. Proving that not all
spaghetti Westerns were made with cookie cutters.
PHOTOS:
Robert De Niro and Robert Duvall as brothers in “True Confessions.” (United Artists)
Douglas Fairbanks is “The Black Pirate” (United Artists)
Ryan Gosling in "Project Hail Mary." (Amazon MGM Studios)
Vincent Price as a twisted doctor-musician in “The Abominable Dr. Phibes.” (American International Pictures)
Jean-Louis Trintignant plays a mute gunfighter in “The Great Silence.” (The Criterion Channel)
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