The Swimmer (1968)

The Swimmer is a 1968 film starring Burt Lancaster and directed by Frank Perry. Wikipedia also credits Sydney Pollack as directing some uncredited scenes (?) The Swimmer, based on a John Cheever short story, follows the exploits of one Ned Merrill, a handsome, slightly psychotic, former "Man in a Grey Suit," as he tries to swim a chain of neighborhood pools all the way home. Along the way Ned meets a variety of East Egg-like characters, pompous drunks, amorous housewives, and somewhat disturbingly, several children, whom he manages to coerce into joining his journey. Eventually, we discover Ned is having like the ultimate mid-life crisis, unable to deal with the loss of his wife, home, daughters, mistress, and job (which, oddly, none of his friends seem to really know about?), descending into saccharine nostalgia and a dangerous fascination with pools.

As one might expect from the previous synopsis, The Swimmer is a serious odd-duck of a film. Feeling a bit like The Ice Storm if directed by Alejandro Jodorowsky, The Swimmer alternates between oddly mystical pseudo-fantasy sequences and the shrewd examination of the vacuous East Coast suburbanites one might expect to find in a Cheever-derived work. The Swimmer, like so many films run through the Hollywood gauntlet, feels like a potentially interesting concept butchered and perverted by a litany of re-writes, re-edits, and re-imaginings. The film feels pieced together, as if each section or scene is directed (or even written) by a different person (which, given Pollack's supposed involvement, is at least partially true).

The one saving grave is an interesting performance by Lancaster, who supplies the right mixture of wide-eyed innocence and casual arrogance to make Merrill seem alternately endearing and pathetic, also delusional. Janice Rule is excellent as Shirley Abbott, an actress with whom Merrill has had an affair. The scene where Merrill arrives at Abbott's pool is the strongest in the film and feels as if it was written and directed by a completely different creative team. Joan Rivers makes an odd cameo as a needy socialite who nearly accompanies Merrill on his Quixotic journey before being warned off.

Apparently, The Swimmer has become a minor cult classic, being re-released by Sylvester Stallone's now dead son (?), which, I suppose, owes to its unceasing oddness. The Swimmer is indeed odd and, oddly, watchable, if only to see what strange thing will occur next. A film that, if I had the choice, I would probably un-watch, if only to re-possess that hour and forty five minutes used up. However, it is a film that encourages watching, as Lancaster's strange, yet strong performance propels the narrative through its various bizarre twists and turns.

Grown-Ups (1980)

Grown-Ups is a 1990 film by Mike Leigh produced by the BBC. Starring Leigh regulars Phil Davis and Lesley Manville, as well as a wonderful supporting cast helmed by the incredible Brenda Blethyn, Grown-Ups follows the travails of young couple Dick and Mandy (Davis and Manville) as they move into a new council house. Dick and Mandy are assisted, or harassed, in their efforts to settle in by Mandy's sister Gloria, played with a delirious mania by Blethyn. Gloria fails miserably to understand when she is not wanted and, increasingly pushed out by her and Mandy's mother, intrudes more and more on the young couple's privacy. Eventually, Dick and Mandy's attempts to shoo Gloria away spill over, quite violently into the next door neighbours' house, the placid Ralph and Christine Butcher (played with great verve by Sam Kelley and Lindsay Duncan). Ralph and Christine are teachers, Ralph having taught a young Dick and Mandy. Their lives, in contrast to the low-brow pursuits of their neighbours, are prim and regular. Ralph is both horribly pedantic and horribly childish, while Christine, desperate for love and a family, operates with a laconic wit and laudable restraint, managing to maintain her cool despite Ralph's boorish carrying-ons. When Gloria, practically psychotic with desperation, is pushed into the Butchers' home following the climactic "row," Christine is ironically given what she has longed for, someone to mother. Meanwhile, Dick and Mandy, at their wits end, recover from this dust-up, Dick finally relenting to Mandy's wish to have a baby. The film ends with both families more or less reconciled, though in typical Leigh fashion, no simplistic resolutions are arrived at. Gloria is still overbearing and Christine deeply unsatisfied, however, through their dramatic encounter with one another, both sides have achieved some kind of cathartic release.

Grown-Ups finds Leigh rounding into his more modern form, following on 1979's solid Who's Who. Feeling like a fully-fleshed feature film, as opposed to the somewhat half-baked dramas of his early career, Grown-Ups features many, by now, familiar Leigh tropes. Both Christine and Mandy are hard-done-by wives, dealing with petulant, childish husbands. They both "get on," in classic Leigh fashion, despite their lackluster partners. There is also the predominant concern with babies. Both women, in very different ways, yearn for children. Mandy is very upfront with Dick about her desire while Christine's simmers below the surface, percolating in thinly veiled comments before exploding out angrily at the end. These are women desperate to settle in and get on with family life, while their husbands seem content to be cared for, like insolent children. This tension, between feminine and male desires, ties this drama together, uniting the two women in a seemingly hopeless quest for domestic harmony and progress. Leigh is expert at identifying humane allegiance between disparate people, and illustrating this in an unpretentious, un-didactic manner.

Like all of Leigh's best work, the performances in Grown-Ups are sterling. Davis and Manville are perfect as the casually feuding Dick and Mandy, while Blethyn is a force of nature as the barely-hinged Gloria. Duncan and Kelley are similarly great as the prim teachers, a perfect foil to their slobby neighbors. Blethyn's magnificent performances in Grown-Ups and Secrets and Lies, makes one wish her and Leigh worked together more often. Blethyn is so excellent at tempering her odd, almost screwball comic tendencies, with a heartbreaking sensitivity. The character of Gloria is unceasingly obnoxious yet supremely endearing. She is incapable of not annoying people, yet it is clear she is nothing but well-intentioned.

Grown-Ups shows Mike Leigh rounding into his present form, demonstrating the visual control and balance of zany comedy and startling intimacy that informs his best films. While not quite reaching the heights of some of his later works Grown-Ups is an excellent early film, and an interesting incubator for many of his most central preoccupations.

Tenebre (1982)

Tenebre is a 1982 giallo film by Dario Argento. Peter Neal arrives in Rome to promote his latest novel Tenebre, only to find that a copycat murderer is replicating the deaths from his book. Neal also starts receiving cryptic messages from the killer, and several of his coterie of comely young female assistants begin to be targeted. Neal and his lone male assistant, the fey Brit "Gianni" stalk the house of an obsessive reporter, believing him to the killer, only to see him get murdered. Gianni goes off the rails and is promptly relieved of his driving duties, however he too falls victim to the killer's knife. As seems to be typical of this type of film, lots of people, generally attractive young women whose connection to the narrative is tentative at best, get killed in grisly fashion. One is nearly killed by an acrobatic Doberman Pincher that chases her right into the killer's lair (can these chicks catch a break or what?). Not sure if the dog was in cahoots with the killer or perhaps some sort of schizophrenic hallucination (a la Son of Sam), either way... Eventually it is revealed that Neal himself is the killer (trip out!), or at least had killed some of the people (I wasn't paying that close of attention), spurred on by a memory of seaside sexual humiliation (he also killed that chick).

Apparently banned in the US for some time (before a highly-edited version under the hilarious moniker "Unsane" was released), Tenebre is the sort of lurid splatter-fest for which Argento is famous. While I didn't find the film terrifically interesting, Tenebre certainly presages the work of notable auteurs like Abel Ferrara and Vincent Gallo, with its combination of fashion, music, and "nastiness." The music is one redemptive aspect of the film as Goblin contribute a devastating soundtrack, most notable for the title track, which Justice would beef up for their hit "Phantom." The soundtrack, which at times sounds as if it was made for a different film, is remarkably modern, balancing the corny, arpeggiated sleaze of italo with a a dark, hollow cynicism.

While I appreciate some of Argento's more impressionistic touches (particularly the Fellini-esque flashback to the seaside rebuffing), the film often feels too vicious to enjoy. I don't mind watching people murder horrifically if there seems to be a point. Argento's films too often feel like the fever dream of a blood-obsessed music video director, the substance, if any, lies in the visuals, or, in the case of Tenebre, the soundtrack, which, in fairness, is ripping. For this one, watching a trailer and downloading the soundtrack would have sufficed.

Curtains (1983)

Curtains is a 1983 Canadian horror flick directed by Richard Ciupka. In preparation for the role of a lifetime, veteran thespian Samantha Sherwood (played by Samantha Eggar) fakes insanity in order to be institutionalized in an insane asylum. However, despite her inspiring commitment to the role, the director Jonathan Stryker (John Vernon) decides to hold a casting session at his creepy country home, inviting five strikingly different actresses. Not to be denied, Sherwood crashes this session, insisting she be considered for the role. Somewhere along the line a creepy doll and haggard old woman start killing people. It's not quite clear why these killings are happening, but generally foxy young women are the targets. Eventually, the killing reaches the country home, where it is revealed that Stryker owns the creepy old hag mask, using it for acting exercises. One by one the actresses, and Stryker, fall, until only Sherwood and a comedienne, Patti O'Connor (Lynn Griffin) are left. And though Sherwood, in a jealous rage, has killed Stryker, O'Connor turns out to be the real killer (she would "kill" to get the role, get it?).

Curtains is an odd movie, feeling like one red herring after another.  Initially, it seems like it will be a straight forward case of an actress going over the edge for a role, actually going crazy in preparation. Then it seems like a fairly straight-forward slasher flick, with some deranged pervert going around killing girls. One by one these storylines are abandoned, or sublimated, leaving a strange mish-mash of narratives. The disjointed structure is somewhat hard to understand as the writing, on a scene by scene basis, is quite strong. The dialogue is sharp and pointed, with just the right amount of humor to let us now we shouldn't be taking anything too seriously. It's not surprising to learn that this production was bereft with conceptual problems, as it seems the director and producers duked it out over the essence of the film. What we are left with is a strange, somewhat incoherent oddity; not so truly odd as to be unique, but a kind of malformed cinematic child.

What redeems the film, enough to make it watchable, are the strong performances. Samantha Eggar is wonderful as the mannered Sherwood, the type of career thespian you can imagine summering in Stratford. Lynn Griffin is likewise solid as the wise-cracking O'Connor, providing a nice comic foil to the refined Sherwood. John Vernon is also great as the mercurial auteur Stryker, pushing the woman beyond their boundaries with controlled Kubrickian aloofness. Though far from perfect, Curtains is passable viewing for those interested in the b-horror genre, particularly of Canadian origin.

Orange County (2002)

Orange County is a 2002 film directed by Jake Kasdan and written by Mike White, frequent JB collaborator. Concerning the fate of one affluent OC ex-surfer and aspiring writer Shaun Brumder (Colin Hanks), Orange County charts Shaun's attempts to get into Stanford after a spaced-out guidance counsellor (Lili Tomlin) submits the wrong transcript. With the help of his ne'er-do-well brother Lance, Shaun storms the Stanford campus, accidentally getting the Dean of Admissions (Harold Ramis) high. Meanwhile, Lance is burning down the admissions building after a romantic encounter with the always-charming Jane Adams. Luckily, Shaun, in the depths of despair, encounters his literary idol Marcus Skinner (played by the very literary Kevin Kline), who convinces him that, hey, home is where the heart is, man, and didn't like Beckett and Joyce and those dudes write about their homes? So, like, maybe staying in OC isn't such a bad idea? Shaun sees the light and returns home to find that his wacky mom (Catherine O'Hara) and his wacky dad (John Lithgow) have gotten back together, which is like, pretty groovy actually. Everyone seems super happy that Shaun has decided to stay home and Shaun seems super happy that everyone is so super happy. And that's about it.

This movie is carried by a raft of excellent supporting performances, most notably by comedy genius Jack Black. Black delivers what may be his finest performance as the manic Lance, exuding his singular mixture of laconic puppy dog charm and high-keyed mischief. Harold Ramis' brief cameo is, like most of his acting work, endearingly (and knowingly) labored, but always appreciated. Mike White is great as the spaced-out English teacher, delivering an eternal lecture about Shakespeare, while Jane Adams is perfectly cast as the dowdy pyromaniac secretary.

Though the script often borders on parody, Orange County is a solid MTV slacker comedy. The tongue in cheek atmosphere of the whole thing, not to mention the great supporting cast, nudge this above your average MOR comedy fare. As usual, JB steals the show, proving again that he is the most charming man on the planet. His performance is delightful and it is a shame the writers couldn't find a way to fit him in even more.

Who's Who (1979)

Who's Who is a 1979 BBC "Play for Today" by eminent British filmmaker Mike Leigh. This film concerns, in typical Leigh fashion, a wide swath of characters, vaguely related by an accounting office where several of them work. Alan is a middle man and an ingratiating social climber. Obsessed with social lineage, celebrities, and particularly the monarchy, he desperately attempts to curry favour with anyone in the upper classes, whether it be the young Oxford educated upper management at his work, or the high-bred woman attempting to buy a cat from his wife, April. April is the consummate cat lady, a breeder who lives and breathes all that is feline. April is actually quite sweet, despite her obvious quirks, and a good deal of the film's sympathy lies with her. We watch in horror as Alan drives her to tears, first upsetting her transaction with the frigid Miss Hunt, as he tries to suss out her family's origins, then later shamelessly badgering the photographer, Mr. Shakespeare, whom she has hired to take glamour shots of her cats. At the other end of the spectrum lie the aforementioned Ivy Leaguers, the prim but well-intentioned Nigel, his "punk" girlfriend Samantha, the immature Giles, the mutely shy Caroline, and Anthony, a pompous, braying elitist and shameless flirt. This near-absurdly mannered group gathers for a dinner party prepared by Nigel, disintegrating into a fractious argument about "punk." Nigel, ever particular, is hurt as his hoped-for order is lost amidst the argument and the quickly disintegrating level of decorum. The group dissolves somewhat awkwardly, leaving Nigel and Giles with uncertain romantic prospects. Meanwhile, back at the office, Alan is baited by his co-worker Kevin (played by charming Leigh regular Phil Davis), who claims to have visited a fictitious historical residence, one Alan falsely states he is familiar with. The ending somewhat redeems Alan however as he finally shows interest in the romantic scene occurring in an adjacent building. Finally, we see a human Alan, a simple Alan, amused by the daily minutiae Leigh is so adept at capturing.

Who's Who is a nice return for Leigh after the unrelenting and irritating Abigail's Party. Furthermore, Who's Who, while another BBC "Play for Today," feels like a proper film, not a stilted studio creation like some of the others in that series. While Who's Who does dip into caricature at times, we are mostly treated to well-rounded characters, that even at their most obnoxious, reveal themselves to be inescapably human. Alan and April, on the surface a sort of sketch comedy duo, are a complicated couple. While generally placid and polite, the tedium of their domestic situation, intensified by April's roaming army of white cats, eventually simmers to the surface, as Alan, completely ignoring April, badgers the wealthy Mrs. Hunt, betraying his selfishness and disregard for her feelings. Likewise, the haughty Giles, who initially seems to be little more than a boorish, immature rich kid, eventually betrays sensitivity and a sweet boyish reserve. His relations with the exceedingly shy Caroline are never fully explained, but is clear that a complicated, melancholy subtext is playing out between them. It is a testament to Leigh's methodology that subtle emotional undercurrents such as these resonate as deeply as they do, contributing a great richness to the overall effect of the film. This can be seen particularly in the treatment of smaller roles as two of the most memorable characters in the film also receive some of the littlest screen time. The aforementioned Phil Davis is excellent as Kevin, the mischievous office clerk prone to needling the pretentious Alan, and Sam Kelly delivers a delightful turn as the sweet-natured photographer Mr. Shakespeare. The depth afforded these smaller characters pays great dividends as their scenes, though small, and in the case of Kevin, not overly concerned with the main thrust of the story, become poignant, enriching moments.

While not as fully fleshed out as later masterpieces like Life is Sweet or Secrets & Lies, Who's Who is definitely in the strong second echelon of Leigh films, a film enjoyable to fans of his work and the casual viewer. The film is also noteworthy for the choice of actors, other than Phil Davis, who would appear in High Hopes and Vera Drake, I didn't recognize any of the performers from other Leigh films. However unsung (at least to me) they all do a great job, particularly Joolia Cappleman as April.

Dead Kids (aka Strange Behavior) (1981)

Dead Kids (also known as Strange Behavior) is a 1981 slasher film directed by Michael Laughin and written by Bill Condon, director/writer of part 1 and 2 of the Twilight franchise. Looking to score some cash to help pay for his college applications, Pete Brady signs up as a test patient at the local bio lab. Unbeknownst to him, the tests are having some like wacky effects - resulting in expanded mental capacity and an insatiable blood lust. These tests, conducted by vivacious researcher Gwen Parkinson, continue the research of the late Dr. Le Sange, a creepy Oppenheimer-esque scientist who communicates his post-mortem wishes through a library of film. Pete's Dad John, the "Top Cop" in town, starts to become suspicious, what with all the dead teenage bodies piling up, eventually tracing the bloodbath to the research lab, where it turns out his late wife worked, herself a casualty of these strange mind control experiments. John arrives just in time to rescue Pete from what appears to be a lobotomy, meanwhile revealing the still-living Dr. Le Sange's experiments as, to say the least, dubious.

Despite losing steam in the second half, Dead Kids is an enjoyable, worthwhile B-horror flick. Fiona Lewis is great as the ice-blooded Dr. Parkinson, somehow making the act of inserting a foot-long needle into someone's eye erotic. Louise Fletcher makes a brief, but indelible appearance as John's longtime GF, perpetually in the cotton-candy pink uniform of the diner where she serves shakes. Also noteworthy is the excellent soundtrack featuring angular new-wave from NZ's Pop Mechanix, typically drizzle-y goth-rock from The Birthday Party, and this:

This amazing Halloween party sequence, featuring the wonderful "Lightnin' Strikes" by Lou Christie, is by far the highlight of the film. From the scantily clad seductresses to Waldo puking in the sink prior to hitting on a 13 year old, this scene perfectly captures the innocent debauchery of high school partying. Overall, a fun flick, mildly recommended.