A Poor "Black Man" adopted by Mabel King

THE JERK (1979)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Comedy is a rare gift for anyone, whether it is the writers or the actors who have to perform it. Timing is everything and Carl Reiner's "The Jerk" is an oddball comedy. It was Steve Martin's first foray into a comedic leading role, playing the most insanely dumb and most ignorant white man on Earth. You know you are ignorant when you think you're a poor black man.

Martin is Navin, adopted by Southern black sharecroppers who bear nothing but absolute love for him. One day, after hearing a radio channel where jazz music is playing, Navin is inspired to hit the road and appear on radio! His family supports him but they are afraid he might discover what a cruel white man's world it really is. Nevertheless, after Navin hitchhikes across the country, he works at a gas station (and assumes the public toilet is his bedroom!), works at a circus where he gets a tattooed, motorcycle-driving female daredevil who consistently has sex with him, operates a mini-railroad ride for kids where he meets the sweet Marie (Bernadette Peters), and eventually invents a new pair of eyeglasses with a built-in support mechanism for the nose so they do not fall off. Naturally, Navin's new invention makes him filthy rich. And this is where the film lost me. For somebody so dimwitted and naive about everything, it turns out Navin inadvertently invents something that is supposedly useful. The fact is that the sympathetic Navin becomes a wild and crazy guy who wants to party and has no scruples - I just didn't buy it.

"The Jerk" has too many long pauses, too many hesitations when in fact it should drive forward with the special brand of that kinetic Reiner engine (it worked in "All of Me" and "Oh, God!"). The engine this time floats around, and some gags run on too long. When Navin tries to buy time with some discovered Latino thieves at the gas station, I lost patience because the gag is drawn out. The payoff works but the buildup is slow as Navin keeps running back into the gas station over and over again to keep the thieves waiting. Same with a crazy shooter (M. Emmett Walsh) who tries to kill Navin at the gas station. The shooter shoots at one paint can, then another, and another, and another until you say, get on with it already!

I liked "The Jerk" overall and Steve Martin is often quite hysterical. He is the kind of physical comedian who can't stay still for long - he always has to gyrate or use his body language to emphasize distress or anxiety. Jackie Mason is a showstopper of a presence with his perfectly timed one-liners. I can't help but adore Mabel King as Navin's adopted mother - her unadulterated love for her son is heartbreakingly real. I only wish that the comedic gags were exerted with far more energy and pizazz.

Curtains for the critics!

THEATRE OF BLOOD (1973)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Vincent Price was the Grand Guignol of cinema, the man with the snarling, exquisite voice that pronounced chilling, spine-tingling horrors. His charm and elegance left impressions of cold, remorseless evil, but with a smile. At his best, he remained true to this persona, fixating audiences with his stare and arched eyebrows and twirling mustache. Though his career was strewn with villainy, "Theater of Blood" was an attempt at showing audiences and critics that he could be a towering actor when it came to drama, if only someone had given him the chance.

Price plays Edward Lionheart, a hammy Shakesperean actor who has endured critical beatings in every one of his plays. He had been accused time and again of being over-the-top yet also as someone who could make a grand exit. Lionheart thought he would be bestowed with the prestigious Critic's Circle award for best actor in his last play when instead a young newcomer receives the award. Lionheart visits his critics at a gathering and lambasts them for ignoring his work, and supposedly commits suicide. A few years later, one critic after another is killed in grisly ways, and the murders ape the murders in the very Shakespeare plays Lionheart had appeared in. Nobody thinks of accusing Lionheart at first, considering he is supposed to be dead, but Lionheart's own daughter, Edwina (Diana Rigg), may have the answers to the culprit responsible.

All the critics are astounded at what is happening. Police protection is used, but the critics never realize the lengths to which this murderer aspires to. A wine tasting event turns sour. Fencing practice becomes a realistic duel. A cooking show turns into a Grand Guignol of tastelessness. A hairstyling dryer becomes an electrocution chamber. The best of these characters is the always colorful Robert Morley as Meredith, a critic who treats his poodles as if they were his own children. There is also the understated Ian Hendry as Peregrine, the youngest of the critics, who was most savage in his attacks agains Lionheart's acting, and possibly the most reasonable.

"Theatre of Blood" has an imaginative conceit at its core - the systematic execution of critics who rip apart actors's performances - but it is nothing more than Hammer horror delivered with a high body count. Yes, all the critics meet their maker (save for one, of course), but the gore is likely to turn off viewers who've enjoyed Price in the delicately strange surroundings of the "Dr. Phibes" movies. I could have lived without seeing blood spurting from decapitated bodies, electrical shock that turns a body into toast, poodles used as a delicacy on the order of "Titus Andronicus," and many other stabbings and mutilations. Yes, gore has gone to far more explicit extremes since 1973 to be sure, but this black comedy thinks gore in and of itself is funny - it is not. There is no maniacal glee or imagination in the killings - they look too much like leftovers from any Hammer horror film (note: I am no big fan of Hammer in general). We are obviously dealing with a demented actor who doesn't see how over-the-top and hysterical his acting has become, not to mention how killing his critics does not improve matters. Had the film concentrated on Lionheart's soulless charisma, it might have been a real winner. As it is, it is merely passable, wicked, crude fun.

Despite the bloody theatrics, "Theater of Blood" does have the towering presence of Vincent Price and he makes the most of his juicy role. He snaps, crackles, shouts and delivers with every bit of wickedness in his body - it is a bravura performance. Just imagine if he had been allowed to tackle Shakespeare in the any of the mentioned plays Lionheart performed in. We might have seen that Price's talent was not just horror.

My mind is crowded

THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I've never heard Daniel Johnston's music but, like any introduction to someone I have next to zero knowledge about, "The Devil and Daniel Johnston" is a haunting and powerful documentary that will prove illuminating enough to want to sample some of his tunes.

Tracing the life of Daniel Johnston proves exhausting and exasperating and frustating, to be sure. Here is a Sacramento, California man (who looks like a shaggier version of Paul LeMat) with manic depression who, from an early age, decorated his basement bedroom into a full-fledged studio for writing songs and drawing his Captain America character in portraits of good and evil. Daniel wanted to be as famous as the Beatles, loved a classmate who was his muse named Laurie (she married a mortician), worked at McDonald's as a busboy (to the point where McDonald's was getting calls from agents), eventually landed a spot on MTV, got acquainted with groups like Sonic Youth and Half Japanese, and then the trouble truly started. He had episodes where he thought the Devil was everywhere, even inside his own friends (he had an obsession with the number 666). He thought people were out to get him, even his own manager whom he fired. It gets to the point where he attacks an elderly woman in her home, and where he nearly kills himself and his father in a private plane. Johnston's reasons for these two strange events were that the elderly woman was pushed out of her two-story bedroom window by the Devil, and the plane incident was his own doing because he was Captain America at that moment. Eventually he is in and out of mental hospitals, which strangely enough builds his legendary status, especially in Austin, Texas.

If you are a fan of Ted Zwigoff's "Crumb," one of the best documentaries ever made, then you'll like "The Devil and Daniel Johnston." Whereas Robert Crumb could separate art from his life, Daniel Johnston feels they are one and the same. Here is a tortured, stubborn artist who filmed most of his life with an 8mm film camera and a video camera, sometimes reenacting his own hellish arguments with his Christian fundamentalist mother by assuming the role of his mother. The question then arises: what contributed to Daniel's mental breakdown at an early age? Was it is his parents who insisted he get a job? Was it the love for Laurie whom he still felt triumphant over even when she got married to someone else? Did his lack of attaining status serve his self-destructive phase? Of course, his albums were never big sellers (5,800 copies were sold through Daniel's new manager at the time) so was he ahead of his time, or are the myths of Daniel's haphazard, chaotic life what make him legendary? The viewer will have to decide.

By the end of "Devil and Daniel Johnston," we see Daniel still living with his parents in Texas and still plugging away at his music with a local punk band. It is difficult to say if Daniel was as manic-depressive as he seemed or if he could control it through his art. That parallel is what makes this film as poetic about the artist's soul as any film I've ever seen.

Yippie Kay-Yawn

A GOOD DAY TO DIE HARD (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Maybe it is because odd-numbered movie sequels never quite work. Maybe it is because Bruce Willis doesn't carry the show this time. Or maybe it is because there is nothing left to explore in a series that ignited with a firecracker of an action movie in 1988, leaving each sequel to gradually lose focus of what made the original so great to begin with. "A Good Day to Die Hard" feels like flavorless leftovers from the 1980's.

Yep, Willis is back as John McClane, older but less witty yet still packing a lot of heat. John visits Moscow to visit his jailed son, Jack McClane (Jai Courtney), who is actually a CIA agent. There is some business involving a secret file that is kept at Chernobyl, yes that Chernobyl, where the bad guys have to wear gas masks but not our heroic father-son team. John, by the way, is on vacation which is no more of a contrivance than going to Moscow where Russian baddies still exist yet Chechen rebels keep their weapons in the trunks of their cars!  The plot hair dangling from a supersonic helicopter (the best character in the movie) deals with a political prisoner who knows the file's contents and may have other secrets he is harboring. The prisoner's daughter is not what she seems and we get the usual cliches and double-crosses, spurious gunfire, spurious explosions and a truly unbelievable car chase that is so cartoonishly manic with such excess mayhem that I am surprised all of Moscow didn't just shut down after all the vehicle collisions. John and Jack jump through so many panes of glass and fall through so many wooden boards that it is a miracle no one suffers a broken bone. I know the series has become cartoonish ("Die Hard With a Vengeance" is even more implausible) but I still think back to John's bloodied, wounded feet after walking through so much broken glass in the first "Die Hard." A dose of reality would have been nice.

"A Good Day to Die Hard" is a bland, boring, by-the-numbers action picture with none of the thrilling hallmarks that marked the earlier entries. The concept of John reluctantly fighting terrorists, especially confined to a singular setting, is gone. Willis does get a chance to shed a little light on his McClane character, stating that work kept him from paying attention to his kids. It is so cliched and so slight that ultimately, after five movies, I would think McClane can express something other than stiff dialogue. Alas, no.

Looking for dignity in all the wrong places

KLUTE (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Klute" is an absorbing character study with thriller elements thrown in that make for a semi-off-balance and off-key experience. The two central actors are so damn good, such intuitively disciplined actors, that it doesn't matter much that the thriller aspects do not always mesh.

Jane Fonda is a New York City call girl, Bree, who has no emotional connection to any of her male clients. She does her job, pure sex for money (and hilariously checks her watch while faking orgasms) but deep down, she is a troubled soul. Bree has acting aspirations that get her nowhere so she plays the part of a call girl, thinks like one, yet comes home every night to an empty apartment with only a cat for company. She consults a psychiatrist she can barely afford, seeking help so she can feel something, some measure of emotion to keep her dignity.

Donald Sutherland is private detective Klute, a family friend of a businessman who has gone missing. Klute is hired to find him and his first clue are letters sent to Bree, rather obscene, unsavory letters. Bree brushes Klute off when he tries to interrogate her but she comes around, and a very moving and complicated relationship develops.

Directed by Alan J. Pakula, "Klute" is a film of silences, observations, voyeurism and an unsettling music score that occasionally creeps in. Klute discovers who might be responsible for the businessman's disappearance and it leads to a frightening climax involving reel-to-reel recordings and Bree's reaction that will linger long in your memory. But the investigation is far more interesting than the culprit, despite the stunning climax, and it appears that we learn who is responsible long before Klute does. The suspicious character intrudes the narrative, specifically the complex relationship between Bree and Klute that leaves us unsure of their commitment to each other.

Jane Fonda is a sparkling gem of an actress in this movie, giving Bree equal doses of strength and vulnerability and some heartbreaking passages with her psychiatrist (Fonda deservedly won the Oscar for Best Actress). Donald Sutherland is stoic yet sympathetic and nonjudgmental as the detective. Also worth noting is Roy Scheider as Bree's classy pimp who fortunately doesn't play the role with gimmicks or unrestraint.

"Klute" is a near-perfect film containing a villain that is a sop to conventionality, though it does climax beautifully. And the final ambiguous scene with Fonda's words of uncertainty will tear you up for days and months.

Slashes but it doesn't burn

THE BURNING (1981)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Scores of "Friday the 13th" clones cluttered movie theaters in the early 1980's. "The Burning" is one of those clones that got a very limited release. Is it gory and excruciatingly bloody that it deserves its reputation as a video nasty? Not at all, in fact by the standards set by most of these disposable "Friday the 13th" clones, it is fairly mild exploitation that is a slight cut above the rest - let us boldface that word, slight.

The movie begins with a sadistic, alcoholic caretaker of a camping ground who is accidentally and severely burned by some campers who just wanted to play a prank on the guy (it involves a skull with worms and small candles in it, how very prankster-ish). The caretaker, known as Cropsy (Lou David), survives but his face and body resemble a monster who applied a lot of peanut butter to his face, not the wounds of a burn victim (Tom Savini, the expert makeup artist, didn't have enough time to get it right). Nevertheless, the campers and the camp counselors (including Jason Alexander, in his debut) are clueless to any man walking around with a black hat, black coat and black gloves carrying a pair of garden shears. I would think he would stick out like a sore thumb more so than Jason Voorhees carrying a machete, but then who would suspect a burn victim in black clad seeking murderous revenge at a campsite?

One of the problems with these slasher films is that no clear motive is given. Sure, the caretaker was the victim of third-degree burns by foolish campers who had no intention to do the damage they had done. I understand that, but what is up with the gratuitous murder of a prostitute after he is released from a hospital? Why is she a victim? And since this killer is largely faceless and soulless, then we the audience are left wondering why he is killing all the campers. Why not go after those original pranksters?

For a quickie picture like this (produced by Harvey Weinstein!), the acting is not half-bad and it is a kick to see tough-guy Larry Charles as an obnoxious sleaze who wants to have sex with one of the pretty campers. It is less of a kick to see Holly Hunter in her debut with only one line of dialogue! Jason Alexander is damn good and there are some decent scenes between Brian Matthews as Todd, a counselor, and young wimp Brian Backer as Alfred, a consistently harassed camper. Most of the campers are upbeat and friendly so it is a shame to see half of them slaughtered, especially after enduring another have-sex-and-you-will-die cliche. Basically, "The Burning" is as run-of-the-mill as it gets. False scares, vaseline-covered Cropsy point-of-view shots, a few bloody scenes (the canoe slaughter is not nearly as bad as its reputed) and an awkwardly shot and poorly timed copper mine climax. Not in the list of the bottom-of-the-barrel slasher flicks but not quite a decent flick either. Eat some peanut butter instead.

Does 12 Years a Slave have a chance at Best Picture Oscar?

NO OSCAR CHANCE FOR 12 YEARS A SLAVE?

Written by Jerry Saravia

In the last twenty-five years of Academy Awards picks, only a handful have won Best Picture that felt justified. I'll mention some off the bat: "Silence of the Lambs," "Unforgiven," "The Departed," "No Country for Old Men," "Slumdog Millionaire," "The Artist" (though "Hugo" is a far greater film) and that is all folks. 1990 shoulda, woulda, coulda been the year of "GoodFellas" but it got swiped by the marvelous Kevin Costner western, "Dances With Wolves" (an important film to be sure but not exactly groundbreaking). 2005 should have been the year of "Brokeback Mountain" but it was eclipsed by the generally cliche-ridden if often galvanizing "Crash" - I sense a love story about two gay cowboys made some Academy members nervous despite the nominations and rewarding Ang Lee as Best Director. 2012 saw Ben Affleck's "Argo" win Best Picture and that was a safe bet, in my view, when up against the unsafe, untidy, chaotic charms of "Silver Linings Playbook" or "Django Unchained" (the latter would not have been my pick for Best Picture anyway).

So what about Best Picture of 2013? As of this writing, the Oscar nominations have not been announced but I sense that Hollywood will go down the safe route, perhaps choosing "American Hustle" with the naked golden boy. "American Hustle" is a safer bet than the wild shenanigans of "Wolf of Wall Street" or the vicious, unflinching look at slavery in "12 Years a Slave." "12 Years a Slave" is a tough, demanding, uncompromising look at slavery as told from the point-of-a-view of a slave (a first in Hollywood history when you consider previously-nominated films about slavery with white protagonists such as 1989's "Glory," which did not win Best Picture that year. Nope, the safe bet that year was "Driving Miss Daisy"). But the severe whippings that Lupita Nyong'o's character, Patsey, undergoes not to mention the virtually painful moment where Solomon Northup (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is hung from a tree while trying to place his feet on the ground, so as to not break his neck, are an endurance test for audiences and the Hollywood elite. It is one of the great films of all time, a masterpiece of chilling horror about a time most would like to forget. But an unblinking look at slavery and a black protagonist are sure signs that, despite a Golden Globe win for Best Drama, it will be eclipsed by a safer bet. "American Hustle" may prove to be that as it garnered a lot of attention when it was released, and possibly an apology for the Academy having resisted "Silver Linings Playbook" the year before with a win. I hope I am wrong but in La-La-Land, safe, reassuring, optimistic films often get crowned with jewels.