Ring around the toilet bowl

PANE E TULIPANI aka BREAD AND TULIPS (2000)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Anyone who thinks that Hollywood is the only industry that makes formulaic romantic comedies is sadly mistaken. Silvio Soldini's "Bread and Tulips" is an Italian romantic comedy with all the necessary ingredients to make it a success. The difference is in the execution.

"Bread and Tulips" stars Licia Maglietta as Rosalba, the dutiful housewife who boards a tourist bus with her son and husband back from vacation. At a rest stop, Rosalba loses her engagement ring in a toilet bowl. While trying to retrieve it, the bus leaves without her. What is Rosalba to do now? She decides to go to Venice by hitchhiking there, and enjoying her own vacation for once. This leaves her husband mad who blames her for not being in the bus. Did he ever stop to think that maybe he had taken her for granted and should have checked to be sure she was in the bus before leaving?

Nevertheless, Rosalba stays in beautiful Venice for a day until she misses the train that would take her home. She goes to a cheap hotel, eats a cold dish at the local restaurant, and decides to get a job working for a florist! Rosalba suddenly feels liberated but where will she stay since the hotel has just closed down? Back at the restaurant, a waiter named Fernando (Bruno Ganz) lets her stay in his flat out of sympathy. Rosalba has now neglected her family in favor of her own interests and desires. She becomes acquainted with the reticent Fernando, and forms a friendship with a masseuse next door named Grazia (Marina Massironi). But what of her familial obligations? It seems that her husband has hired a plumber, Constantino (Giuseppe Battiston), to do some private investigating on his wife in Venice. He needs her for her cleaning and cooking and little else since he satisfies himself with a mistress.

"Bread and Tulips" is fairly predictable since you can sense how these characters will mingle and connect. I only wish that writers Soldini and Doriana Leondeff had devised more unexpected turns and twists, especially with the overweight Constantino who fancies himself a real detective though he is only an amateur. I also wished that more was said about Fernando, and his curious habit of hanging a noose in his bedroom. He is obviously suicidal but it is hardly mentioned again when he meets Rosalba the first time. I also would have liked to hear Rosalba mention just once how she felt about her past life and her newer, happier one. The film seems to aim for that speech but it never arrives.

And yet, this is a fairly enjoyable, delicious film that holds back and never goes for any cheap gags. It simmers but never boils. Hollywood may remake it and cast Gwyneth Paltrow as the masseuse, Conchata Ferrell as Rosalba and Gene Hackman as Fernando, but I should hope not. If you like "Chocolat" or the simple pleasures of comedies that deem to be uncomplicated and optimistic, then "Bread and Tulips" is the film for you.

Marion Crane in living, breathing COLOR!

PSYCHO (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If anyone attempted to do a remake to the 1960 classic "Psycho," it should have been the Master of Suspense himself, Alfred Hitchcock. He did that with "The Man Who Knew Too Much." Hitch isn't around anymore and he's probably rolling in his grave as director Gus Van Sant ("Drugstore Cowboy") attempts to step into the limelight. This "Psycho" remake is a complete bastardization, a dull, callous, near parodic film of little or no consequence.

Granted, I am aware that they have used Joseph Stefano's original, excellent screenplay (almost word for word), and Van Sant has adopted the same angles and camera shots through most of the film. But this movie is a recreation, in the literal sense, not a remake. It replicates the original, but with none of the grace, stamina or conviction that the actors or the director brought to the original. Anne Heche comes off best as Marion Crane, but we'll get back to her in a minute.

Anthony Perkins will always be Norman Bates, just as Harrison Ford will always be Indiana Jones. Therefore, it is a shame to see another actor step in his shoes. The shameful overacting by Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates sheds no doubts in my mind. He has a self-deprecating type of laugh but he brings none of the wit, charm, or nervous tension associated with the stuttering, sexually ambiguous Perkins. He's like a big baby who wouldn't harm a fly, nor scare one either. The marvelous cast on hand is a complete waste of time and talent. There's Viggo Mortensen as Sam Loomis, originally played by John Gavin, a hardware store owner who looks like he's poised to kill. Here's an actor who's too seedy and animalistic to be normal, playing a boyfriend for the second time in a Hitch remake, the first being the suspenseless "A Perfect Murder." Julianne Moore is the biggest disappointment as the one-note character, Lila Crane. I never imagined Moore to be faceless, unsympathetic, and uninteresting yet she manages all the same. Bring back Vera Miles! Worst of all is William H. Macy as the flippant detective Arbogast dressed in a blazing dark blue suit and wearing a ridiculous-looking fedora - how could anyone take this guy seriously, including Norman? Macy's line readings are so flat and antiseptic that I realized why the performers were so listless - they brought no energy or conviction to their roles. They rattle through their line readings quickly with no degree of nuance or diction. Ditto Robert Forster as the psychiatrist in a final scene that was unnecessary in the original, though meant as a joke perhaps.

No one can blame the script, but you sure can blame Van Sant for not recreating the feeling or the mood. There's no tension, no surprise. By the time the marvelously sensual Anne Heche exits, the rest of the film flounders searching for an identity. There is none. Philip Baker Hall is the only actor who brings a sense of authority as Sheriff Chambers. Anne Heche brings class, elegance and a wink of humor to Marion before she's offed.

The original "Psycho" is one of the few great horror classics of all time. I've seen and studied it at least thirty to forty times. I have committed most of the camera shots and dialogue to memory. I can sense Van Sant's giddiness in stepping in the Hitch's shoes, and seeing the film through his eyes. I wish Van Sant would use that giddiness to make an original creation of his own. I just don't see the justification in making a colorized recreation of a film that was pitch-perfect.

Check out of this Bates Motel room

PSYCHO III (1986)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Norman Bates is one of the most indelible portraits of psychotic killers in cinema. Hitchcock and Anthony Perkins made Norman a household name. Sadly, in 1986, Anthony Perkins chose to revisit the Norman character in a slasher flick in the guise of a Hitchcockian thriller. The Bates House and Motel are still there but it may as well be Crystal Lake.

Perkins reprises Norman Bates as far more kooky and anxious than normal. He still runs the motel that nobody ever stays in, and good old mother is still seated in a chair seen through the bedroom window. Something wicked this way comes in the form of an ex-nun, Maureen (Diana Scarwid), who resembles Janet Leigh from the original "Psycho," and a drifter and musician named Duane (Jeff Fahey) who is probably just as kooky as Norman. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a trio of nutcases staying at the Bates Motel who don't deliver a smidgeon of humanity or sympathy from us.

For gore fans, there is more than expected. A woman is killed while sitting in a toilet, another one while making a call in a phone booth, and there are the requisite impalements, great falls from great heights, and so on. This movie is not as gory as most slasher flicks from the same period but it is nasty and gorier than "Psycho II."

Except for one scene featuring Hugh Gillin as the Sheriff who licks a bloody ice cube, "Psycho III" merely recycles what worked so well before minus the suspense, the atmosphere, the thrills or the black humor. There are no new insights into poor old Norman - he is merely as insane as he was before (though he tries to woo Maureen with great difficulty). The late Perkins is a shadow of his former self and "Psycho III" (also directed by Perkins) is a pale echo of the Hitchcock classic.

Decent but Hitch might still twitch

PSYCHO II (1983)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally viewed in 1983)

Anthony Perkins will always be Norman Bates in my heart, and the original "Psycho" will always be one of the great suspense thrillers of all time. Having said that, I watched "Psycho II" again the other night and as much as I admire some of it, it falls two thousand peaks below the original (but less so than the bloated Van Sant remake).

Perkins is once again a tanned - but older - Norman as he is released from a mental institution after spending 23 years there for murder. The man is still as loony as ever and returns to the dreaded, ominous house across from the Bates Motel. Life has changed dramatically for poor old Norman. Firstly, he starts to work at a greasy spoon kitchen. Secondly, a sleazy owner (Dennis Franz) runs the Bates Motel now, occupied by oversexed teens, drug addicts, drunks, etc. And to make matters worse, Norman has invited a demure, clumsy waitress (Meg Tilly) to stay at his house as a roommate. But now Norman is getting phone calls from someone purporting to be his dead mother! Who is it? Could it be the high-strung, vengeful Lila Crane (Vera Miles returning from the original)?

"Psycho II" has some tension generated mostly from Perkins, who does solid work as an older, kinder Norman. I particularly like the moment when he slices bread while staring intensely at the knife. The direction by Richard Franklin is diverting, and there are numerous high-angles of the Bates House and one exceedingly wide-angle lens shot that shows the house to be more dangerous than inviting. In fact, there is a lot to savor in this film, but it never jells (as Martin Balsam's Arbogast said in the original). During the second half of the film, it borders on the slasher-film mentality (including a gratuitous scene where two teens make out in the basement of the Bates House). One too many killings slices the psychological impact that I am guessing writer Tom Holland was after - to expose Norman as something more than having a murderous Oedipal Complex.

The cast is uniformly perfect (including Vera Miles, Meg Tilly and Robert Loggia as a doctor), the visuals are scarily effective, the music occasionally spooky (though it does lack the late composer Herrmann's thrust). But it is an undernourished sequel, lacking the cleverness, depth and madness of the original. And showing the infamous shower scene from the original does little justice to this movie.

Overall, this is a decent sequel that would not make Hitchcock roll over in his grave in shame. Maybe he would just twitch a little.

Hip to be Psycho

AMERICAN PSYCHO (2000)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Patrick Bateman is not your typical serial killer. He is obsessed with consumerism and has an affinity for music by Huey Lewis and the News and Whitney Houston, not to mention Phil Collins. He also happens to work at a firm in Wall Street. Patrick is a handsome, young man who is ruthless and arrogant - a yuppie who just happens to love killing people.

I was initially miffed to hear that Christian Bale was going to play the title role, but then I guess I had forgotten his smugness and arrogance in 1994's wonderful "Little Women." Bale is the perfect choice because he encompasses the soulless, excessive period of the 1980's integral to the character of Patrick Bateman better than any other actor would have.

Bateman's life is not all that exciting. He works in merger and acquistions (which is slyly referred to as "murders and executions"), though we mostly see him listening to his walkman in his office. He has a pretty secretary (Chloe Sevigny) and has a group of friends whose main concern is where they will be eating dinner and if there are reservations available at any one of the top restaurants. Bateman's day begins by applying several lotions and creams to his body while taking a shower, working out by doing a thousand push-ups a day and, in general, planning his evening with his dates including a socialite girlfriend (Reese Witherspoon). Sometimes Patrick picks up some prostitutes and then kills and dismembers them. Other times he will kill someone he knows, such as an ex-girlfriend or a rival co-worker (who has mistaken him for someone else) by using an ax or a nail gun. But who is Bateman really? Is he so devoid of identity that murder is all he needs to bring spice to his life? Or has he lost his soul and thinks that his identity is defined by his consumerist ideals, or the specific type of business card he carries?

I have read the controversial, infamous book by Bret Easton Ellis, though I am fuzzy on recalling certain details. Naturally, the big shocker of the book was the relentless, graphic violence against women - how they were dismembered and, well, you get the idea. For about the first hour of director Mary Harron's adaptation (she co-wrote it with Guinevere Turner), "American Psycho" has great fun with all the minute details of Patrick's life and his circle of friends. There is a classic scene set to the music of Huey Lewis's "Hip to be Square" where Bateman invites his rival (Jared Leto) to his home while explaining the brief history of the rock group and their gradual artistic integrity - the scene is especially tense considering that one can smell murder in the air. But the film loses its grip after a while mainly because Bateman seems to lose his mind, and we can't fathom why. Has he realized the errors of his murderous ways? We are never sure and though I would not expect a motive necessarily, his reasons can't be any more silly than that he feels his life has become a void - empty and unidentifiable. Many other Wall Street types may feel the same way without having to kill anyone. Somehow this rings false, as in the book, and I wish that the twist ending was removed. It feels like a cheat and makes the whole affair more surreal than it should have been.

"American Psycho" is often fun and, at times, surprisingly funny and on-target. Thanks to Harron's almost monochromatic visuals, such as Bateman's apartment, there is a Kubrickian coolness to it, detached and grayish as if life meant nothing. Even the restaurants look like science-fiction artifacts from "2001" - this is the alternate reality of the 1980's where money and greed were all that mattered. But the film also feels cold and remote and since we follow Bateman in his violent streak, we never come close to understanding him one bit. Despite some satirical touches and Bale's superb performance, this "Psycho" needed a little more savagery to really hit the mark.

Andy Kaufman is alive?

MAN ON THE MOON (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
(Originally reviewed in 1999)

Andy Kaufman remains as the old saying goes, "a mystery wrapped inside of an enigma." He was the most unconventional comic to ever grace a stage or an open mike because he purely challenged the whole notion of what comedy was. Comedians are known for one-liners, such as the famous Milton Berle, and punchlines - a plethora of jokes are expected to make the audience laugh. Kaufman is not someone you would accuse of taking the easy road to make people laugh - his intentions were based on showing up as the showman and nothing more. He did not tell jokes nor did he know how to tell them, and he was not a political or angry comedian like Lenny Bruce was. No, this man played the theme to "Mighty Mouse" and wrestled with women to get laughs.

"Man on the Moon" stars Jim Carrey as Andy Kaufman, showing us his early stage routines of mimicking Elvis Presley leading to his famous Latka Gravas character on the popular TV show "Taxi." His agent (played by Danny De Vito, who does not do a reprise of his "Taxi" character) is amazed by Kaufman, but has no idea how to promote such a talent so he lends him the coveted "Taxi" role promising a "Fonzie-type" breakout character. It is no secret that Andy despised "Taxi" and caused a ruckus often using his hateful alter-ego character, Tony Clifton, a lounge singer, to cause chaos on the set. It is also no secret that Tony become a bigger star than Andy, especially in the days of Andy wrestling with Memphis wrestler Jerry Lawler (amusingly playing himself).

The moments where Tony Clifton appears, silencing the crowd before singing or insulting audience members, are the most outrageous and the funniest. Clifton was Andy, and sometimes Andy's best friend and writing partner, Bob Zmuda (Paul Giamatti), was also Tony and so this caused more confusion among audiences. How could anyone respond with a straight face to anything Clifton or Andy did on stage or on TV?

In fact, that is largely the appeal of "Man on the Moon." The film distorts reality on screen just as Andy did - we never knew what to expect from him or when he was staging fights or insults or actually doing them. The truth is that it was all staged, including the punishingly slow one-year debacle of Lawler fighting Andy on the ring or on David Letterman. That distortion or the fact that Andy was always in on the joke himself is what makes his life so speculative. Who was Andy? What kind of man was he? When was he not fooling around, and when was he being serious? There came a point when his sister did not believe that Andy had lung cancer, which he tearfully admits on stage while the audience bawls with laughter.

Carrey is so good as Andy that he disappears into the role, and it is more than just a recreation of the man or his acts - it is spookily eerie in that it really feels like Andy Kaufman is alive and well on screen. Carrey also carries scenes of tenderness beautifully such as the movie's key line where he tearfully replies to his girlfriend's remark "There is no real you" with "Oh, yeah, I forgot." I also like the moment where Andy is tricked by a psychic surgeon, who is actually a charlatan, into believing that his cancerous condition will be taken away - Carrey's face shows a mixture of elation and sadness. Jim has so many good moments that an Oscar nomination should be guaranteed - we have not seen such an authentic recreation of a key figure in show business since Val Kilmer's Jim Morrison in "The Doors."

If only the film dealt with his childhood past in more detail, especially in the days when he thought there were cameras in his bedroom walls watching his act (a reminder of Carrey's performance in "Truman Show"). And what did his parents think of Andy's act? Or his sister and friends, especially his girlfriend (thanklessly played by Courtney Love)? There must have been some thoughts on Andy - was he just a showman out for thrills or a genius of comedy?

"Man on the Moon" does not try to understand Andy Kaufman nor is there any attempt to. The mystique is still there, including the possibility that his lung cancer was a joke and that he will return in the year 2000 (the film makes no attempt to disprove the hoax). It is not a complete or fulfilling biography as was director Milos Forman's last film, "The People vs. Larry Flynt," but it is a strange and entertaining experience. I have a feeling Andy would have wanted it that way.

Can you imagine?

THE MASTER (2012)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"The Master" is the most frustrating, exasperatingly opaque film of P.T. Anderson's career. At times emotionally draining and emotionally cold, "The Master" never fully establishes itself and it never hits the high notes of its very ambitious themes. That being said, "The Master" offers a lot of food for thought and is often rather brilliant, and sometimes simply offputting and a little overlong (even "Magnolia," P.T's best film that ran 3 hours didn't feel as long as this one that runs an hour less). But it is Joaquin Phoenix who will leave you feeling far more frustrated than P.T. Anderson might have intended and that is the film's ultimate flaw.

Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) is a emotionally crippling and horny WWII vet who is left to fend for himself and discover what the future holds, or if it holds anything in particular. Quell is an alcoholic lost soul (he concocts a drink using paint thinner) who parades from one job, one drink and one woman after another. He is a seaman, works as a migrant farm worker, a department store family portrait photographer, and eventually he finds himself as a stowaway in a yacht. It turns out that Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is in this yacht, acting as a minister for a wedding and reception. Dodd is also the founder of a new religion called The Cause (obviously meant to evoke Scientology and its own creator, L. Ron Hubbard) where he indulges new participants in a recorded session of repeated questions such as "What is your name?" and "Did you ever kill anyone?" Quell participates and lives "rent free," along with Dodd and his wife Peggy (Amy Adams), in the homes of women who support the Cause. But Freddie is as lost as ever, though he acts as muscle for Dodd's non-believers or those who challenge the Master's book. 

My main quibble with "The Master" is Joaquin Phoenix whose misshapen body language and catatonic persona reduced my interest a little. For a short film about a WWII vet undergoing disillusionment and dissatisfaction, Phoenix would have been mesmerizing. At 2 hours and 17 minutes, it is simply a chore to watch Freddie who engages in sex or humping a nude sand figure, stares and laughs maniacally or indulges in uncontrollably violent confrontations. The performance has two notes and maintains it even when he may be changed by Dodd's "processing" through the Cause but I can't say for sure if he is remotely changed at all. A fine actor overall, Phoenix aims for a level of restraint during the film's closing scenes that goes beyond what he had shown in the first two hours. That may be too little and too late for most viewers. 

Philip Seymour Hoffman brings humor, a slight touch of sympathy, lightness and the occasional outburst particularly when his movement is criticized for suggesting outrageous claims, such as claim that Earth was created a trillion years ago. Hoffman is indeed mesmerizing as a the founder of a religion he is clearly making it up as he indulges further into his subjects - he is a charlatan and knows how to control those he processes. It is a frighteningly vivid and top-notch performance.

 Various scenes and shots in "The Master" will stay with me for a long time such as the motorcycle endlessly rampaging through the desert; the ocean's waters that look mysterious and uninviting; the somehow askew wedding and reception on the yacht; the moments where Dodd relentlessly tests Freddy with clinical trials that make no sense whatsoever such as walking from one end of a room to the other; Amy Adams' compassion and smile masking a far more firm individual than her own husband; the models in a department store, etc. Yet as intoxicating as many scenes are, the overall effect is deadening and too coldly detached. P.T. Anderson may be trying for a touch of Michelangelo Antonioni ambiguity but even Antonioni could wring emotion out of dead silence and sustained long takes. Every time I saw Freddie, I saw a catatonic lost soul from a war that may have ravaged his psyche. That is a realistic angle but I can only handle so much catatonia with no shades or glimmer of anything other than suppressed anguish, or a need for a father figure though that angle is disputable. 

"The Master" is indelibly fascinating and spellbinding and worth a look but it is also dramatically inert - a bit of a Catch-22.