Psycho (1960) ****

After years of watching Psycho on TV, thanks to TCM, I finally got a chance to see it on the big screen.  Over 60 years later Alfred Hitchcock's thriller has lost none of its power to unsettle and implicate the audience.

At a Pop Culture conference I attended a few years ago I stumbled upon a panel discussion on Psycho.  One presenter argued Psycho should be considered a comedy!  While Hitchcock typically injected humor into his films and Psycho does contain moments of levity, no one leaves the theater laughing.

Another speaker did a gender analysis.  In 1960, with the Cold War turning hot and with Vietnam War a few years away, some psychologists viewed moms as a threat to American masculinity.  The logic being that if young boys get too attached to their mothers they might end up like Norman Bates. An intriguing analysis, but I believe Hitchcock offered something more than armchair psychoanalysis.

Cultural interpretations aside, Psycho remains a masterpiece of modern cinema. Saul Bass's opening title sequence and Bernard Herrmann's ominous score set the tone from the outset.  Then the camera pans down to a hotel room where an illicit act has taken place, at least for 1960, a secretary Marion (Janet Leigh) and a divorced man Sam (John Gavin) are having an affair. They want to marry, but financial obstacles stand in their way.

Later that day, Marion runs off with a cash deposit her office entrusted to her in hopes of eloping with Sam.  In another film, we would have the basic plot: Will Marion escape and build a new life with Sam?  Almost immediately her plans go awry: her boss spots her and then she is pursued by an intimidating cop.  She trades in her car and ends up at the Bates Motel.

Then we meet Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) a seemingly decent young man. Intrigued by the attractive woman in his lobby, Norman makes awkward attempts to converse with her. With a grotesque bird of prey looming above him, Norman speaks glowingly of his mother, while also sensing Marion's not the innocent she presents to the world.

Then the course of cinema history changes.  While the shower scene's been copied a million times in every slasher film, the terror of that moment lingers.

For myself, the real horror comes during the quiet aftermath: a zoom out from Marion's lifeless eye resembles the stuffed birds in the lobby. A stark silence fell across the theater, as I'm sure it did in 1960.  At that moment Hitchcock intrudes upon and implicates the viewer; forcing the audience to ponder what just took place.

The second act follows Norman's clumsy attempt to cover up the murder as Marion's sister Lila (Vera Miles) and Sam slowly discover the truth.  It's hard not to sympathize with Norman Bates.  The idea of a sympathetic killer, a victim in their own right, suggests there are no laws to the universe.

Many object to the procedural ending when the psychiatrist provides a rational explanation of Norman's troubled psyche.  The scene reminds me of when something awful happens, say a mass shooting or an act of terrorism, and the media trots out experts to explain the unexplainable.  We just get the illusion of order being restored, but is it really?

Hitchcock's final close up of Tony Perkins negates everything the psychiatrist just said. In reality, no one can definitively explain why people do the things they do.  Despite all our tools and technology the human mind remains a haunting mystery.  Therein lies the power of Psycho.

Stripes *** (1981)

Bill Murray, originally known as the "new guy" who replaced Chevy Chase on Saturday Night Live, grew into one of the most dynamic cast members in the show's history.  His early film work included the popular Meatballs, playing Hunter Thompson in the disappointing Where the Buffalo Roam, and another goofball in Caddyshack, but in Stripes he perfected the wiseguy persona to carry him through several movies. 

The film opens with Murray and his bookish sidekick Harold Ramis as a couple of underachievers who decide to take their chances with Uncle Sam. And why not? Reagan made the army cool again, the decade of "Be All You Can Be."

Stripes painted a mostly positive portrait of the army, one of the first films in the post-Vietnam era to do so. Apocalypse Now, released two years before, took the Vietnam film as far as it could possibly go.  Stripes offered a kinder, gentler army that helps young people find their place in life, a theme it shared with Private Benjamin and An Officer and a Gentleman.

But unlike the Tony Scott/Tom Cruise vehicle Top Gun, an extremely nationalistic film, Stripes expressed a patriotism I could get behind:

Great stuff -  Beetle Bailey meets Henry V.

It's hard not to believe Stripes is thirty years old.  Three iconic actors from the era have passed on: John Candy, Harold Ramis, and Warren Oates are all at the top of their game in Stripes.  Oates especially as the tough Drill Sergeant, funny but never the buffoon and always the match for Murray.

Director Ivan Reitman duplicated his success in big budget comedy a few years later with Ghostbusters.  Stripes holds up for many reasons, mainly because it remains pretty damn funny.

Talk Radio (1987) ***

Oliver Stone was on a roll in late 80s, at the peak of his powers with Platoon, Wall Street and Born on the Fourth of July. Talk Radio rarely comes up. Based on the play written by Eric Bogosian which follows a controversial radio host who likes to push the envelope, tapping the raw nerves of the American psyche.

Barry Champlain takes calls from the fringe: the angry, the dispossessed, the jilted, the vigilantes, and the bile spewing haters.  The issues discussed are very much 80s: AIDS, the war on drugs, racism, distrust of government - the midway point between Post-Watergate cynicism and Tea Party paranoia. Like so many shock jocks, Barry browbeats his callers, it's an Est seminar on the radio.

The film takes a few unfortunate detours when exploring the backstory of Barry and how he got into radio.  Those scenes slow down the momentum, but I suppose they were meant to humanize Barry - a lost soul himself.

On the verge of going national, Barry's under pressure to take the craziest, most outrageous callers.  He talks to a zoned out metal head, Neo-Nazis, and extremely creepy callers detailing the crimes they have allegedly committed.  All edgy high drama that TV cannot capture, the kind of content to make audiences salivate.

By the late 80s, the loudest and crudest voices took over the airwaves. Barry would never command such a large audience today, but he would find a niche audience of malcontents. One could read Talk Radio as the death of liberalism, predicting the new politics to come. It's all sound bytes with no context - the loudest voices always win.  And Barry's the garbage man, processing all the trash that people do and say with violence as an ever present possibility. 

Bogasion delivers the performance of his life, portraying media star pushed to the brink of madness and ego, reminiscent of Dustin Hoffman in Lenny.  Talk Radio remains a potent film for its uncompromising portrait of 1980s America.

The End of the Tour ***1/2

Based on the book Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself, The End of the Tour recounts David Lipsky's five day interview with David Foster Wallace shortly after the publication of his epochal 1996 novel, Infinite Jest.  Lipsky, on assignment for Rolling Stone, taped his conversations with Wallace. All the dialogue in the film derives directly from those tapes.  As a film, The End of the Tour is Planes, Trains, and Automobiles meets My Dinner With Andre.  Jason Segel as Wallace and Jesse Eisenberg as Lipsky are compelling and do a fantastic job in their respective roles.

At its heart, the film is about the friendship between Wallace and Lipsky.  An aspiring novelist himself, Lipsky's intimidated by Infinite Jest and all the critical praise heaped upon it. His writing seemed conventional by comparison, a fact made all the more annoying when his girlfriend cannot stop praising Wallace.  Meanwhile, Wallace envies Lipsky's ability to charm his ex-girlfriend. Meanwhile Rolling Stone pressured Lipsky to prod Wallace on his struggle with addiction, creating a dramatic tension throughout.

Snarky reviewers have compared the Wallace/Lipsky relationship to Mozart and Saliari in Amadeus, the genius toying with the mediocrity.  I would disagree, the proper analogy would be James Boswell and Samuel Johnson, for when the biographer illuminates their subject they provide a great gift to future generations.

I watched the film in a packed theater.  While the audience laughed at the banter on Alanis Morissette and junk food, I sensed an uneasiness when Wallace pontificated on the dangers of technology. His words do seem prophetic as you can sense people itching to check their phones as the movie's playing. Their looks seemed to say, How could this brilliant guy with the brightest future before him feel so unhappy and lonely?  I'll credit Segel's performance for refusing to turn Wallace into a tortured artist cliche, provoking the conflicted reaction from the audience I sensed in the theater.

In addition to his fiction, Wallace shined in his non-fiction writing, most famously "A Supposedly Fun Thing, I'll Never Do Again," an uproarious chronicle of his week on a luxury cruise ship.  His journalism is a great place to start.

As a drama, The End of the Tour hits all the right notes: the bleak beauty of winter in the Midwest, the cold comfort of chain restaurants, and the millennial unease of the 90s. When they share an awkward goodbye at the end (should we hug or shake hands?) we feel a sense of loss as Lipsky drives away. The ending echoes My Dinner With Andre because we're sad to leave our friend, especially when you know they're never coming back.

The Limey ***1/2 (1999)

A neo-noir from 1999, Steven Soderbergh's The Limey is a revenge tale told with verve and poignancy.  It gets better with each viewing.

The Limey begins with cockney ex-con Wilson (Terence Stamp) arriving in Los Angeles to investigate the death of his daughter. He's a stranger in a strange land. Eventually Wilson learns aging record producer Terry Valentine (Peter Fonda) could be responsible for her death.

The passage of time figures prominently in The Limey, a theme reinforced by an editing style that evokes a spinning wheel narrative.  A circular story, instead of a linear one.

The Limey also plays upon the cultural memory of the 60s, specifically the lost hopes and ideals of the decade. Many conversations in the movie reflect on the passing of time and the need to make sense of the past. Soderbergh went as far to include clips from the 1967 film Poor Cow, which starred a younger Terence Stamp.

A combination of razor sharp editing, top notch acting, and stunning daylight cinematography mark The Limey as a modern classic.

Also, don't miss the DVD commentary track with Steven Soderbergh and veteran screenwriter Lem Dobbs. They openly discuss their creative differences and the challenge of adapting the written word to the screen.

A Deadly Adoption

As a piece of performance art/satire, the Lifetime movie A Deadly Adoption may be one of the funniest things to ever air on basic cable.  Will Ferrell looks like he wandered off the set of Falcon Crest.  And Kristen Wiig's pitch perfect as the supportive, quasi-Stepford Wife. Everything from the tone of the dialogue, the soft rock/new age music, and the string of cliches familiar to a schlocky TVM: a sick child in danger (Gene Siskel hated it when movies put a child in danger), a devious heavy on the mascara fake pregnant femme fatale, semi-competent cops, an ominous lake, organic bake sales, and fake revolvers.  Look out Hallmark Hall of Fame - You're Next!

Jaws **** (1975)

Forty years ago this weekend Universal Studios released Jaws. I had a chance to finally see Jaws on the big screen, while the film plays wonderfully on television, it's a far more immersive experience in a theater. Despite all the inferior sequels, countless rip offs, and parodies, the original remains as compelling as ever.

Setting: The decision to shoot the film at Martha's Vineyard added a sense of place and local flavor. Not some generic American town we get in so many horror movies.

Casting: The three leads Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, and Robert Shaw were not Universal's first choice, they wanted A-list stars like Charlton Heston and Paul Newman. Casting lesser known actors added so much because they created characters we care about. As Chief Brody, Scheider plays against the traditional hero type. Out of his element, he makes mistakes and shows real fear at times, but manages to triumph against great obstacles.

Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider, and Richard Dreyfuss

Special Effects (or lack of): Ironically, the lack of dazzling effects works in the movie's favor.  The actual mechanical shark appears on screen for maybe 30 seconds, due to problems with getting the machine to work.  Spielberg used the absence of the shark to build up the suspense but the idea of the shark is ever present.

John Williams: John Williams' minimalist score remains one of the most effective soundtracks ever composed for a movie.  Spielberg credited 50% of the film's success to the music.

A Superior Adaptation: Jaws is an excellent case study of how to adapt a potboiler novel. There's no doubt Peter Benchley created amazing source material, but those who read the novel will be taken aback at the racy subplot involving an affair between Ellen Brody and Hooper and a tedious storyline involving the mob.  Removing those elements saved the movie.

A Realistic Sea Adventure: Really Jaws is two separate movies: the first half is Amity dealing with the threat to their livelihoods, while the second part is a hair raising sea adventure with many allusions to Melville's Moby Dick.  The two act structure is rare in mainstream movies, but it works perfectly in Jaws.  Verna Fields earned an Oscar for her meticulous editing.

A Siege Narrative: I'm not sure if I would classify Jaws as a horror film, but it has some horror elements.  The people of Amity island, cut off from the mainland, cannot go about their everyday lives because of the shark.  Later on Brody, Hooper, and Quint are under siege when the Orca is crippled, increasing the sense of isolation for the viewer. Classic siege narratives such as Night of the Living Dead and Halloween achieve a similar effect.

The town debates what to do after a string of deadly shark attacks.

Political Dimensions: Jaws also played upon the anxieties of the 70s. The mayor attempts a cover up because he places the town's economic interests ahead of the safety of his own people, his own little Watergate. The shark works as a metaphor of consumerism, as Hooper says "all sharks do is swim and eat and make little sharks."

Brody and Hooper argue with the Mayor.

Spielberg's Signature: Putting the family drama at the forefront would become a familiar trope in many Spielberg films  One can argue Brody joins Quint to protect his family.  We also see Spielberg's amazing ability to blend reality with the fantastic, a method he would perfect in his follow up to Jaws, Close Encounters of the Third kind.

Robert Shaw as Quint: Robert Shaw created a truly mythical character in Captain Quint. He dominates the last act of the film.  There's the obvious parallel with Melville's Captain Ahab and Hemingway's Old Man and the Sea, but the USS Indianapolis speech feels like a separate movie, adding another layer to the character's myth.  According to The Making of Jaws on the DVD screenwriter Howard Sackler suggested the Indianapolis backstory for the character, then Spielberg's friend and fellow filmmaker John Milius wrote the speech, then Robert Shaw added his own revisions. Although remembered for his acting, Shaw was an accomplished playwright and novelist in his own right.

Humor: Watching Jaws with an audience reminded me of all the humor in the film, the slapstick Woody Allen type banter still works.  Screenwriter Carl Gottlieb who went on to write The Jerk earns much of the credit here.

A Shout Out to Duel: Spielberg's first feature Duel had a similar plot, an everyday man being chased by a maniacal truck driver.  The shark explodes in Jaws with the exact same sound effect when the truck crashes in Duel.

The Original Blockbuster: The making of Jaws went way over budget and almost derailed Spielberg's career. Instead the film went on to shatter every Box Office record, the first to make over $100 Million.  I don't wanna criticize every blockbuster Hollywood releases as inferior to Jaws - that's not the case.  However, I will point out Jaws did not rely on special effects, 3D, merchandising, or any other type of gimmick. Instead it relied on the basics of good storytelling: a strong sense of setting, well developed characters, and a compelling man vs nature conflict.