I can see you had some college

HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER (1986)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I attended a screening of "Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer" at a Times Square movie theater back in 1990, expecting to see what a New York Post critic regarded as "a real horror movie." I saw it and when it was over, I looked at every single pedestrian in the area, making sure I was not followed though that can be tough in a city as big as New York. I have only seen the film two more times since and I do regard it as a great film but not one I can revisit too often. "Henry" is the real deal, a completely riveting portrait of an actual serial killer from Texas, Henry Lee Lucas, who killed a lot less people than he claimed (600 was the total number at one time). The film is scary but only in the way in which it regards an average joe as completely banal who has no remorse for anyone he kills.

Michael Rooker is Henry, an exterminator living in the city of Chicago with his best friend, Otis (Tom Towles), a drug dealer. They live in extremely modest digs, to say the least, with no real regard for anything exciting in their lives. Otis' sister, Becky (Tracy Arnold), stays with them after she leaves her physically abusive husband. Becky develops an attraction to Henry but Henry is more interested in killing people. Otis becomes Henry's partner in crime as they kill prostitutes, random people in the streets and others who they deem as perhaps lower than dirt (some of the victims are reprehensible people, like a fence who has video cameras and TV's). One terrifying sequence shows the home invasion of a family who are systematically slaughtered, all from the point of a video camera. The sequence is doubly disturbing because we realize the footage is being watched by Otis and Henry in their living room! This takes voyeurism to a whole other level that not even Hitchcock or Brian De Palma have ever attempted.

"Henry" is directed with acute observation and near-documentary realism by John McNaughton, who was going to initially make a film about alien monsters. The film has a trifle few moments of gore, though mostly McNaughton relies on implication of violence rather than a slasher film mentality of monotonous carnage. The opening of the film shows a couple of dead prostitutes, one lying on a grassy field and another in a bathroom with a coke bottle in her mouth, and McNaughton slow zooms in and out of each victim while we hear their shrieking cries of help on the soundtrack. It is very effective and it also asks the viewer to sympathize with anonymous victims, even those considered deviants of society. The aforementioned nerve-jangling home invasion sequence will give you nightmares. There are also two magnificent scenes where the threat or actual act of violence is examined in an artful manner. One shows Henry sitting in his car at a shopping mall parking lot as he navigates his next victim. There is a woman he stares at intently and he follows her to her home only to find her being greeted by her husband or boyfriend. Henry drives away. Next is the guitar-carrying hitchhiker he picks up on the road. We do not see the outcome of the hitchhiker but we sense she is killed since Henry returns home with the guitar. It is scenes of this disturbing nature that will make you feel queasy and rightly horrified.

As for the actors, the steely-eyed Michael Rooker looks like an average joe as Henry and he is absolutely captivating to watch from first frame to last. When he tells the story of how he killed his mother, you will cringe. Tom Towles, who has since worked on many films as a supporting actor, is mean and nasty and completely unwatchable at times - he plays this role far too well. Tracy Arnold is the definition of banal, a sweet angel who is completely naive especially when she complements Henry on being a real gentleman! 

"Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer" is not an entertainment (though there are touches of black humor) nor it is a thriller, nor is there any suspense. This film serves as a powerful document of poisonous, dangerous and deeply sickening minds who occupy our streets. They are anyone and anybody - there are no colorful aspects or any visible traits to make the killers identifiable as monsters. After you watch the film, you might check closely to make sure nobody is following you. 

The Forrest Gump of the drug trade

BLOW (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2001)

The drug-dealing business has been shown time and again on film in great detail - it is a business that has shadowed American films as far back as Frank Sinatra's heroin addiction in "The Man With the Golden Arm." The year 2000 saw the interminable ugliness of addiction in the tough-as-nails "Requiem for a Dream" and the futility of the war on drugs in "Traffic." I still must ask this one question: what else is there to say about drugs at this point that has not been said? Well, "Blow" is fascinating for detailing how cocaine arrived in the United States in the first place, and the picture is not pretty in telling it.

"Blow" stars the usually doleful Johnny Depp as George Jung, a drug dealer who first begins his business by selling marijuana in Venice Beach. He hooks up with his best friend, the portly Tuna (Ethan Suplee), and his new girlfriend, Barbara (Franka Potente from "Run Lola Run") at a beach house - they all have no desire to work real jobs though Barbara is a stewardess. A contact through Barbara, the effeminate hairdresser Derek (Paul Reubens), helps establish George's business deal as long as he can be a viable partner. Before you know it, they are rejoicing in tons of cash and partying with petite, blonde women on the beach. Deciding to make more money, George considers extending their business to the East Coast where there are some eager college students. Thanks to Barbara, she can fly out there and sell the marijuana for big bucks. Of course, he gets busted, as he does numerous times in the film and goes to jail.

In jail, he gets wind of the cocaine business in Colombia and George decides that such a drug would make a killing in the United States. It sure does, and he makes more money than he ever dreamed. He also has a stunning wife (Penelope Cruz) who becomes addicted to all the wealth and all the monetary glory. There is no end to it, but of course all good things must come to an end. Thus, George's trusted friends become backstabbers, even his own wife. How can such a business for one man turn itself upside down? Maybe because everyone wants a piece of the pie and they all want to become versions of George Jung. 

"Blow" is the rise and fall of a cocaine king, a story told countless times before as in Brian De Palma's jumbled "Scarface." The big difference is that George got their first, and he is not someone that handles business matters with machine guns or chainsaws. He is seemingly unaffected by his surroundings and that is a major flaw for a rise and fall tale like this one. Who is George Jung really? Does he have any ambitions in life besides cocaine and marijuana? The only inkling we get of his persona is through his parents (both played by Ray Liotta and a far too thickly-New-York-accented Rachel Griffiths) who want their son to be successful. Only George's mother does not share her son's enthusiasm for drugs - she even rats him out in one scene. George's father just wants his son to be careful, as if the drug business was like any other which it decidedly is not. Still, as played by Depp, he carries the same doleful expression in every scene. He has shown far more nuance as Ed Wood or as the book seller in "The Ninth Gate" than he does here.

Director Ted Demme ("The Ref") borrows stylistic camerawork and editing styles from "GoodFellas" and "Boogie Nights," using freeze frames and a roving camera to keep situations flying from one scene to the next. It often works, as does the dazzling opening sequence where we see how cocaine is made and shipped. Too often though, the film gets repetitive and monotonous but it does seem to perk up occasionally to maintain interest. Still, if you have seen "GoodFellas" or "Boogie Nights," you have seen this tale before.

"Blow" is largely uneven and inconsistent but it does burst with some magnetism, and at its core is a sad story of a man who truly had nothing to offer in his life except drugs. The downbeat ending accentuates the life of a man who had no inner life and no sign of intelligence - a Forrest Gump of the drug trade. All we learn is that George simply blew it.

Woody deconstructing Woody

MELINDA AND MELINDA (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

A great Woody Allen flick is a reminder of the cinematic glory he was (and still is). A good Woody Allen flick is better than the average comedy (and, sometimes, the average drama). Then there are the three or four bad films he made in the last forty years ("Anything Else" is clearly his worst). "Melinda and Melinda" is almost top-notch Woody Allen, a highly incisive and challenging work by the Woodsman - his best film since "Deconstructing Harry." The concept behind "Melinda and Melinda" is less about the contrast between tragedy and comedy than it is about Woody Allen himself - sort of a postmodernist spin on the creative process and who else could do it besides Woody?

The film begins between four people at a restaurant. They converse on a rumored story about a suicidal, depressed woman who moves in with her friends after crashing a dinner party. The idea is simple: can it work best as a drama or as a comedy, or both? We see both versions of this tale, told not as two separate stories but as part of a whole. Melinda (Radha Mitchell) is the woman in both versions. We start with the dramatic version where she moves in with her high-school friend, shopaholic Laurel (Chloe Sevigny) and her husband (Jonny Lee Miller), an aspiring actor. Melinda has just endured an angry divorce trial, separated from her kids. She is hesitant to start a new relationship, but there is a classy pianist and composer (Chiwetel Ejiofor from "Dirty Pretty Things") whom she feels comfortable with.

The comedic version has Melinda already living in an apartment shared by neighbors, such as highly charged independent film director (Amanda Peet) and her sexually frustrated husband (Will Ferrell), the other version of the aspiring, unemployed actor. Melinda still suffers from depression but it is treated with comic innuendoes, and there is the other classy pianist (played by an actor who is nowhere near as classy and sophisticated as Ejofor). And if you have Ferrell (hilariously delivering dialogue that Woody would've if he had cast himself) and Steve Carell appearing, you know you are in for a few laughs.

What's wonderfully illuminating about "Melinda and Melinda" is its juxtaposition of these two versions. Scenes play out one way delivering an outcome, and then the very same scene is delivered in a different context with another outcome, sometimes unexpectedly. The dramatic scenes carry strong, unbridled tension, well handled by Mitchell in some delicious long takes with little or no coverage that Woody is best known for. The comedic version plays like one would expect from Woody, including a visit to the Hamptons where a rich dentist resides that plays like a scene from "Mighty Aphrodite." I waited with breathless anticipation for Ferrell to say he hates snorkeling, and I got a different reading of a similar line where Ferrell exclaims, " I hate beaches. The sand, the water." Yes, Woody, we know you hate the outdoors.

The cast is uniformly perfect, including the star-making performance of Radha Mitchell ("High Art"). It is a performance (or performances) of stunning power - one interpretation of Melinda is clearly poetic while the other is pure silliness done with some comic bravado. Kudos must also go to Will Ferrell who does a fine job of handling Woody's one-liners. Also nice to see Chloe Sevigny in a small but pivotal role as Laurel, the naive, caring friend, a brief but torrentially funny Vinessa Shaw as Ferrell's date, Larry Pine and Wallace Shawn as competing playwrights (both also appeared in "Vanya on 42nd St."), and the watchable Chiwetel Ejiofor. Jonny Lee Miller I can live without. By the way, there is also Brooke Smith as one of Laurel's friends who also appeared in "Vanya on 42nd St." Somebody give this woman a leading role.

Strangely I think some critics missed the boat on this one (the studio did as well by giving it limited distribution). "Melinda and Melinda" is about as personal a statement on the difficulty of writing a comedy and a drama as any filmmaker has ever accomplished on the silver screen. Woody has done some postmodernist deconstruction on his work, essentially saying that he annually does a comedy or a drama - which do you prefer? And you know Woody fans want more comedy, and some of us love his Bergmanesque tales of woe. This time, he has it both ways and he accomplishes something he has rarely done since "Deconstructing Harry" - he is self-critical of himself as a writer and not his fans, as was the case with "Stardust Memories." To some, it may be a masturbatory and self-congratulatory Woody effort. To others, this is essentially Woody Deconstructing Woody.

Moles and identity in Boston

THE DEPARTED (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2006)

Martin Scorsese is a force to be reckoned with. He is not just a solid director who makes movies better than almost anyone - his films resonate with an energy and urgency that makes you forget you are watching a movie. Some of his films have not been well-received by critics, in particular "Gangs of New York" or the "The Aviator" or the much maligned and misunderstood "Bringing Out the Dead." "The Departed," though, has already received numerous accolades from critics and audiences may warm up to it as well. They should because "The Departed" is one of Scorsese's great films, a supercharged, thoroughly intense crime drama that may well give the genre a more vivid, urgent spin than it ever has.

Leonardo DiCaprio is Bill Costigan, a troubled new recruit to the police force who is commissioned by Captain Queenan (Martin Sheen) to become a mole. "You won't get a regular cop pay but there is a bonus," says Queenan. The job is to be a mole inside an organized crime syndicate led by the maniacal Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), the racist mob boss who rules South Boston with an iron fist. Costello shows contempt for anyone of any race, creed or color - he shows little love for nuns too. Costigan has to appear as someone who's just been released from jail and kicked out of the force. By impressing Costello with his volatile nature, Costigan can help the state police bust Costello for numerous homicides.

Ah, but there is a little problem. Costello has his own mole in the police department, a man he has nurtured since childhood. That is Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), a cop with aspirations but without an ounce of remorse as to whom he hurts to get there. He is in close contact with Costello every step of the way. He knows there is a mole in Costello's syndicate, and he also has to find the mole in the police department as assigned by Ellerby (Alec Baldwin), the head of the task force on organized crime. So what we have here is a cat-and-mouse game where the mole is trying to find the mole, and where one mole has to find himself.

Based on "Infernal Affairs" and on the famous Boston mobster Whitey Bulger, "The Departed" takes a few steps further than a conventional thriller. It is about the loss of identity in characters pretending and acting their way out of situations to the point where their real identity doesn't seem to exist. Costigan is seemingly a hooligan, a tough kid who spends too much time inside Costello's world. Is he any less of a cop by pretending to be a gangster or is he clueless about where his loyalty lies? Same with Frank Costello, the truly nefarious mob boss who seems like an unhappy man with no real ambitions beyond what he has already accomplished. He has women, drugs and everyone fears him. You get the impression Costello wants more out of life, but what exactly? If, as Costello says in the opening voice-over, there is no difference between cops and criminals, then who can they trust when the loyalty is spread so thin?

The most riveting character is Sullivan, an amoral, highly corrupted cop working for Costello. Sullivan falls for a police psychiatrist (Vera Farmiga, in the only underdeveloped role in the movie) yet, in one highly unsettling scene, he tells her that if she moves in with him, she can't place framed photos of herself in the living room. The reason? Sullivan keeps no pictures of himself in the living room either. Is he ashamed, guilty, or does he deny his own existence in order to keep doing his strenuous job?

I think there are far too many positives for "The Departed." For one, Scorsese has assembled one of the best casts in recent memory (second only to the glorious repertoire of actors in "Glengarry Glen Ross"). Leo DiCaprio shows the innermost conflicts of Costigan beautifully as he strains not to fall apart from his justly strenuous job. Martin Sheen glows in every scene as Queenan, who obviously cares for Costigan. Alec Baldwin is commanding in every scene, perhaps more so in his supporting roles than in leading ones in recent years. Major heap of praise goes to Mark Wahlberg, a fiery dynamo of a presence, as the foul-mouthed Sgt. Dignam - he ignites every scene he's in, even upstaging Sheen and Baldwin. And what can't one say about Jack Nicholson that hasn't been said before playing a truly loathsome being to the hilt, who shows up at standoffs with his orange-tinted sunglasses, and carries a black dildo with him to porno theatres. He also likes the opera, and throws cocaine at a woman's butt and says to his girlfriend, "Now don't move until you are numb." The guy gets more unhinged as the movie progresses.

But the real star of "The Departed" is Matt Damon, an expert at showing the duplicitous nature of a character (see "The Talented Mr. Ripley" for proof). His Sullivan becomes so wrapped up in his corruptible ways that there is no way back - he is doomed from the start. Damon is such a likable presence that I still hoped he would learn from his mistakes and redeem himself. Of course this never truly happens in a Scorsese film and as the movie becomes unbearably tighter and tighter towards a bleak resolution, we realize Sullivan is past any point of redemption. Comparing to past Scorsese antiheroes, I don't think I've seen a character as fatalistic as this one. I hope Damon is remembered at Oscar time.

Sure, anyone else could have stepped in and directed "The Departed" with enough finesse and assurance. But Scorsese infuses his film with such sweat-inducing, unbreakable tension and such ferocity and verve that your palms will sweat and your knuckles will whiten. The shootouts are never gratuitous and always surprising (this film has its share of violence but it is not as violent as "Casino" or "GoodFellas"). The pacing is erratic and propulsive from one scene to the next. There are a couple of shots of Christ paintings to show that Scorsese is always thinking of the religious underpinnings of essentially a tragedy of unexpected depth. Tough-as-nails, emotionally and dramatically intense and completely in-your-face with gallows humor and some lighter humor as well, not to mention a fairly tight pace that will quicken the nerves and make your heart skip a few beats, "The Departed" is further proof that Scorsese can make a crime thriller better than anyone.

Scorsese's Intolerance for the 21st century

GANGS OF NEW YORK (2002)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in Dec. '02)

It is clear by now that Martin Scorsese's films are as misunderstood as most other directors. This is not a man prone to happy endings, optimism, redemption or clear-cut morality. In that respect, "Gangs of New York" represents some of the director's finest work since "The Age of Innocence." It is a crossbreed of "Age's" meticulous reconstruct of a long-lost era with the savage tendencies of people from the mean streets as witnessed by "GoodFellas" and "Casino." This is not a pretty picture postcard view of American history during the Civil War, nor is it a morally sanctionable one. "Gangs of New York" is as sadistic and brutal as one can imagine - a time of corruption and hateful violence where a glimmer of humanity still exists.

Set in 1863, Amsterdam Vallon (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a young lad arriving in New York City by ship. The New York back then is not the New York of today, or for that matter the New York of "Age of Innocence" (the latter set only seven years later). The city is a breeding ground of sin, squalor, sex, drinking, prostitution, pickpockets and outright mayhem on every corner. Women are practically naked in bars, severed ears are used as barter for liquor, pig carcasses are used for target practice, hatchets, butcher knives and any other blunt weapon are used for attacks, cavernous dwellings exist as hideouts, dogs maul rats, bareknuckle fights ensue for money, and so on. There is also the P.T. Barnum Museum in town with its gallery of freaks, a club called "Satan's Circus," and the Chinese stage their own operas for entertainment.

The political game is run by Irish Catholics, especially Boss Tweed (Jim Broadbent), the highly corrupt boss of Tammany Hall (an Irish political machine). Votes for politicians are fabricated (nothing new there). The police and the fire chiefs are like gangs themselves, trying to make the peace in a volatile town where corpses litter the road and nobody gives them a second look. Pickpockets, like Jenny Everdeane (Cameron Diaz), pass themselves off as maids in upper class homes of bigwig politicians and steal jewelry by the handful.

Amsterdam's place in this hell is suspect, particularly by those who discover he is Priest Vallon's son. Priest Vallon (Liam Neeson) was the Irish leader of the town twenty years earlier, later maimed by a rival gang leader. Amsterdam's intentions are to seek revenge against Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis), who had slain his father in that very same ugly battle. Amsterdam worms his way into this sick society by engaging in bareknuckle fights. Bill is so impressed that he takes him in as a surrogate son. Then there is Jenny who manages to steal from street toughs like Amsterdam yet shows some degree of warmth and love (she has a history with Bill the Butcher). Jenny and Amsterdam fall in love and compare the scars on their bodies. Will Amsterdam ultimately seek revenge on Bill or will he decide not to intervene? After all, Bill takes him under his wing and uses him for betting bareknuckle fights. A war is also brewing between the North and the South and soldiers are needed to fight. With all this chaos ensuing, how can Amsterdam expect to ever leave this city? Or does he plan to?

If any flaws exist in "Gangs of New York," it is mostly centered on Amsterdam, a character who thrives on his toughness yet is no match for Bill. The question is: what is Amsterdam's purpose, outside of his vengeful mind? Who is this recalcitrant kid and what does he want from this hellish New York? As played by Leonardo DiCaprio, he exudes all the qualities of a young, foolish mind who is thinking more with his heart than his mind. DiCaprio does as well as he can with the thin character, and shows the charisma and talent that felt shorned in "Titanic" ever since. What is missing is Scorsese's subjectivity, favoring objectivity this time to tell the story of a time and place. This way we see how characters behave in the era portrayed rather than feeling their internal emotions. That is not to say that we still don't feel those internal emotions.

The real star of this violent world is Daniel Day-Lewis as the vicious, humanistic, compassionate, racist, hypocritical Native-American who rules New York with a fist. "I am New York," says Bill, and he means it. He is cruel and sadistic, uses knives with a natural ease, but can also appear like a wounded animal. Most films show villains to be so devoid of humanity that their savagery is all that matters. The fault lies in presenting such villains as cartoons, assuming that audiences could never accept them as human beings. Ah, but Scorsese is too smart to allow such one-dimensional savagery, witness "Taxi Driver," "Raging Bull" or the organized crime figures in "GoodFellas" and "Casino." Consider a truly powerful scene where Bill is draped in the American flag and confesses to Amsterdam that he plucked one of his eyes out after his initial fight with Priest Vallon. He also says that in a war, one man can stand out and make a difference, like his father had. It is an amazing scene that makes us feel some sympathy for Bill.

Bill the Butcher is one of the great villains of cinema history, on par with Henry Fonda's cold-blooded killer in "Once Upon a Time in the West" and Joe Pesci's uncontrollable Tommy in "GoodFellas." One of the executives of this film called Bill the Butcher "the meanest man in film history." It is possible considering that Bill can snap from a violent mode to a soulful to a sarcastic mode, depending on what triggers his moods. He can stab a man in the hand without much provocation, head butt anyone in his way, throw out equally potent words with wicked relish, and show some affection and fake tears over a dead rabbit. It is a shrewd, deftly controlled performance, and I would be remiss if I said he is not the main character of "Gangs of New York." Everyone acts in the film according to Bill's motives or plans, and nothing ever happens without sensing Bill is involved in some way.

There are two major gang battles, one at the start of the film and the other at the end. The first battle implies much of the violence between two gangs, the Native-Americans and the Irish-Americans. We see one character, known as Hellcat, sever an ear from one person, and mostly we hear the crushing of bones and knives thrust into bellies. The fight ends with an omniscient long shot where we witness the blood covering most of the snow-filled streets. Interestingly, the opposing gangs stand around and gather the corpses, as if the violence was their way of acting out their rage yet they are able to communicate for more than twenty years without raising a fist. Another later scene shows Bill having some kind of conference where he discusses what kinds of weapons should be used, asking the opposing gang (known as the Dead Rabbits) and other rival gangs if guns are objectionable. They will kill and maim each other as part of their control of New York's Five Points, but they can sit and discuss anything else without resorting to violence. Interesting to see this dichotomy of attitudes. The final battle, known as the Draft Riots, is an orgy of violence unprecedented on film where New York becomes a stage of bloodletting that may sicken and twist your stomach into knots. We see hangings, cannon blasts, rivers of blood, elephants running from Barnum's circus, buildings on fire and other unwatchable atrocities.

"Gangs of New York" can be seen as a historical piece or as an exceedingly violent melodrama of a past that many may want to forget. It is purely cynical, suggesting that New York's and America's foundations of democracy and racial attitudes were intensely corrupt to the core. Nobody could be trusted and politics was a mere fiasco where votes could be bought and selected politicians could be easily dispatched and replaced. In all this hate and racism emerged the New York of today, but can we truly say that those antiquated attitudes and values have not carried over to the present? Do we believe votes can still be bought? Is racism still a factor today or has it really disappeared? And what about drafts? If poor people then could not afford to pay the $300 to avoid the draft, then what about the possibility drafts of today to fight the war in Iraq when the country is in a recession? (As of this moment of writing, drafts are not likely to occur).

Powerful, compelling, riveting from first frame to last, "Gangs of New York" is one of the great film epics of all time. The New York of the 1840's and 1860's has been meticulously and believably recreated, minus the use of CGI. This is Scorsese's "Intolerance" for the 21st century, a fabulous walk into the past to a long forgotten historical footnote. DiCaprio, Cameron Diaz and Daniel-Day Lewis give extraordinary performances, though like most Scorsese films, these are not characters I would ever want to meet. Jim Broadbent as the quiet Boss Tweed, David Hemmings as an upper class politico who knows nothing of what is really going on, John C. Reilly as an Irish cop who knows he is not the mainstay of order and Henry Thomas as a childhood friend of Amsterdam's who betrays him contribute highly to this eclectic production. And the ending is one of the most moving sequences of all time, placing emotion in a vast canvas of violence and chaos showing that men of strength could be weakened and destroyed. When such a vicious bastard like Bill the Butcher elicits a smidgeon of sympathy from me, then I know I am in the hands of a director who can place a human face in the face of inhumanity. "Gangs of New York" is one of the seminal masterpieces of the 2000 decade, and surely one of Scorsese's greatest triumphs. You may never look at New York the same way again.

Feels and tastes like life

MEAN STREETS (1973)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Martin Scorsese made a big splash in 1973 with his evocative, insanely funny and brutal "Mean Streets." He made a splash with critics, but not with audiences who stayed away. I suppose they felt that the mob scene was "The Godfather" and nobody was going to tell them different. Scorsese had always felt that "The Godfather" was not authentic and that it did not tell the ugly truths regarding the mob. After being told by director John Cassevettes to do something more personal than "Boxcar Bertha," Scorsese returned to his Little Italy roots and came up with an influential masterpiece.

"Mean Streets" stars Harvey Keitel as Charlie, a hood who works directly for the big boss in the neighborhood (Cesare Danova). Charlie mainly runs around town making sure the boss's clients are paying their protection money on time. One of these clients is a restaurant owner who wants out since his business is failing. Then there is Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro), a hapless fool who blows up mailboxes and owes everyone in town money. There are people that want to break his legs, but Charlie vouches for him. The reason may be that Charlie is seeing Johnny's cousin (Amy Robinson), who wants out of the big city and wants Charlie to follow her. Of course, Charlie just can't pack up and leave. And what will he do about Johnny Boy who has a major temper and can't pay any of his bills?

"Mean Streets" was one of the first truly personal films to evoke a sense of time and place with a small budget and with Hollywood distribution. Yes, Cassevetes and others have their low-budget roots but Scorsese came knocking to Hollywood, and arrived there with style. Never mind the box-office numbers, Scorsese got noticed. He was even optioned to direct "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore," a high-profile Hollywood effort with Ellen Burstyn. And the gritty New York of small-time hoods, teenage kids seeking firecrackers, drunk homosexuals cracking wise, Italian food festivals, a pretend duel with garbage can lids and so on was accomplished largely by filming in California! Scorsese was showing the early stages of a dynamic style of storytelling, complete with hand-held camera movements, tracking shots, point-of-view shots, and so much more to show the life and energy of those streets. There is one stunning scene (since aped by many, including Spike Lee and Darren Aronofsky) where Charlie walks around drunk in the bar, from one room to the next, getting showered with champagne. We follow him restlessly as he finally falls flat on his face. What's amazing about this scene is that the camera was strapped to Keitel's waist so that it creates a synergetic movement that is quite dazzling and exhausting to watch.

There is nothing better in the cinema of Scorsese than to see Keitel and De Niro prancing around in the streets of New York. Every scene of theirs bursts with vitality and an anything-goes air of improvisation. But it is more than that - they are tense, charismatic personalities that clash in one horrific scene involving Johnny's cousin with an epileptic fit. Other scenes in a graveyard, rooftops, street level arguments outside tenements and so forth bring an intensity that is a real thrill to watch. They argue, bicker, slap each other, console each other. It is like watching a married couple, only they are two Italian American hoods! More than that, it is like watching a documentary, a slice-of-life of America's seamier side. We see a world where anything can happen, and where danger is right around the corner. A shooting in a bar seems to come out of nowhere. Johnny Boy shoots at the air on rooftops. A Vietnam Vet loses his cool and flips out during a party. And, just when Charlie has done everything to protect Johnny Boy, a fatalistic, grim denouement faces them and strikes abruptly. And all this is visually composed with frequent Catholic imagery (lots of shots of crucifixes and churches). The film plays like a Catholic morality play where one must adhere to the codes of a family, even if that family is the mob. There is no irony, only plenty of guilt over sex, violence and religion. Yep, this is a Scorsese film after all.

"Mean Streets" doesn't feel like a conventional, smoothly executed, polished work from a seasoned director. For one, this film is the antithesis to "The Godfather." "Mean Streets" is full of Rolling Stones tunes and old 50's sentimental songs ("Be My Baby" has more resonance in this film than in "Dirty Dancing.") It is crude, rough and jumpy, as if Godard decided to make a New Wave rendition of "Godfather" with a frenetic, juiced-up energy. The movie plays like a roller-coaster ride of thrills and jazzy sequences so astounding, you'll marvel at Scorsese's chutzpah in failing to adhere to gangster film conventions and traditional seamless editing techniques. There is also no one to root for and no real plot. "Mean Streets" merely unfolds before our eyes, and was the obvious precursor to Scorsese's masterful "GoodFellas." It feels and tastes like life, and I can't exactly call that faint praise.

Laboriously labored Lohan

LABOR PAINS (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2009)

Lindsay Lohan's career is on a definite slump. Rumor had it that she was considered for a role in a remake of "Rosemary's Baby"! That was quickly abolished in favor of a different kind of baby movie called "Labor Pains." Not the worst of its kind and hardly the best and Lindsay Lohan almost saves it, but then she should not have to carry a by-the-numbers flick all by her lonesome.

Lohan is Thea, an inefficient secretary at a publishing company who almost loses her job until she claims she is pregnant! Of course, she isn't really pregnant but she lies to keep her job. I would assume her employer (Chris Parnell, Dr. Spaceman to the rest of you) would see through her fake smiles and fake sincerity (and fake bulging belly) but I guess I am wrong. Before long, Thea falls for her temporary boss, Nick (Luke Kirby), while Parnell is on leave for his sick puppy in Bethesda (that little plot point could've used more exposure). And wouldn't you know that Thea turns out to be as efficient as an associate editor with her own office as she was a lowly secretary, to the point that she helps to promote a pregnancy book that focuses on the downside of pregnancy. This is all thanks to the smitten Nick. Oh, and I did leave out Thea's sister who lives with Thea and cuts class to be with her boyfriend yet she is dismayed when she discovers Thea's lies, to the point of tearing the fake pregnancy pouch from Thea's belly! And why does Thea's sister look like a more mature Britney Spears? Just a thought.

"Labor Pains" starts off too slowly and only recovers somewhere around the three-quarter mark. Yet there is nothing here that can't be anticipated and it yields few surprises. Only Lohan manages to make you care for her character, which is fitting yet not enough. It is nice seeing Cheryl Hines as Thea's best friend but even she yields little surprise. The director Lara Shapiro doesn't engineer a fast-paced, rollicking ride of a comedy, like the 30's and 40's snappier paced "The Philadelphia Story" or any Hawksian comedy where the dialogue was delivered like a roaring engine that never let up. Even the 1980 counterparts such as "Baby Boom" and "Three Men and a Baby" had more rhythm. This movie simply takes too long to get anywhere, and drags along labored performances and a labored screenplay, no pun intended. This should have madcap written all over it.

As I mentioned before, I enjoy watching Lindsay Lohan and she has ample charm and good comic timing, when she is allowed to use it. But she needs better writers and directors or else she'll be stuck in romantic comedy mode forever. I see one of her future projects is "Machete" by Robert Rodriguez. Let's hope that breaks the spell of her most unfortunately titled picture, "Just My Luck."