Tales from the Underimagined Crypt

AFTER MIDNIGHT (1989)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"After Midnight" is one of those el cheapo horror anthologies that teeters between tongue-in-cheek horror with a gradual touch of knowing self-winks, and real terror. Its major faults are that the tongue-in-cheek lacks sufficient wit and the real terror would barely scare any toddler less than a year old.

A creepy professor of a class called "The Psychology of Fear" (Ramy Sada) wants to do away with textbooks and really scare his students by example. First, he points a gun with one bullet in its chamber at a student. Next, he offs himself by firing a gun at his head. Well, he does not really off himself but the terminally stupid students do not know this at first. What is troubling is that the students do not react to either incident with much more than a collective, "oh, my God!" as opposed to "OH, MY GOD!, OUR TEACHER JUST KILLED HIMSELF!" This is the first day of class, mind you. The professor, who later learns his teaching methods are unorthodox, decides to have his students partake in an experiment at his house! UH, UHHH!!!

During a rainy night, a handful of students tell scary stories to the professor and this sets up the horror anthology aspect of the film. My problem is that it takes too long to get to the alleged good stuff, not that these stories are worth anything in the midnight fright factor. "The Old Dark House" segment has a little "Creepshow" vibe though most of it feels too short to resonate (Marc McClure and Nadine Van der Velde are the married couple in it who stop at an abandoned mansion - Nadine being the older sister in the memorable "Critters"). I also intermittently enjoyed the "All Night Messenger" with Marg Helgenberger as a telephone answer operator in crutches but the villain (Al Rosenberg) is so over-the-top that all sense of wicked fun is thrown out the window. The middle story, easily the worst, concerns four girls at a gas station with dogs chasing their tail. Lame, especially when the highlight is an explosion. Wow. For 1980's devotees, Judie Aronson of "Weird Science" and Penelope Sudrow of "A Nightmare on Elm Street 3" appear in this mediocre segment but all they do is run and scream.

I adore watching Pamela Segall (a curiously small role) and Marg Helgenberger in anything but they are not enough to save this trite, sparsely imagined horror anthology. Stick to "Creepshow" or even the older "Vault of Horror" or "Tales From the Crypt." 

Doesn't jump the shark, it freakin' nukes it!

NATIONAL TREASURE: BOOK OF SECRETS (2007)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I love pulp adventure, especially the escapist variety, both literary and cinematic. Alan Quatermain, Indiana Jones, and well, even Conan the Barbarian come to mind. I especially love the sight of intrepid heroes in caves carrying torches, looking for buried treasure. The original "National Treasure" fulfilled my appetite for such movies. "National Treasure: Book of Secrets" starts off with a fascinating backstory that is paced like a rip-roaring engine and then, it sputters and dies, pulling the rug from under us to reveal nothing.

Nicolas Cage (who was far more animated in the first "National Treasure") is back as Dr. Ben Gates, a treasure hunter who is an expert on history and deciphering codes. A stranger makes an admission, in a scene that looks vaguely "Da Vinci Code-like", that Gates' own great grandfather had a hand in Lincoln's assassination. Ben Gates and his father, Patrick Henry Gates (Jon Voight), are astounded and disturbed by this admission. So Gates and company, including returnees Abigail (Diane Kruger) and the computer savvy sidekick, Riley (Justin Bartha), are on a mission based on a fading 19th century letter that takes them to France's Statue of Liberty, Buckingham Palace and, finally, Mt. Rushmore where a fabled city of gold exists. For some reason or another, the Lincoln assassination may or may not have a connection to this impenetrable city of Gold, and one of the clues is hidden in the Statue of Liberty and in a secret book belonging to the President of the U.S.!

This "National Treasure" movie initially had me glued from the beginning, and I was curious to see where the details and deciphering of codes would take me. The problem is that the whole film is a convoluted, contrived mess of a movie that grows more and more preposterous as it proceeds. I am willing to forsake logic and disbelief if the story or the characters are at least mildly intriguing, but this is nothing more than an extended chase scene that leads nowhere. The connection between Lincoln's death and the city of gold is so tenuous, it merely feels like it is tacked on for the hell of it. After a while, I began to stop caring and the finale inside this city of Gold, more of an elaborate chamber that can quickly fill with water, is only a faint, tedious echo of what would work infinitely better in an Indiana Jones movie.

Nicolas Cage tries hard and he has a couple of funny moments where he overacts (I like the homage to "Roman Holiday"), but he looks mostly indifferent throughout this film. Diane Kruger as Abigail, the girlfriend, is reduced to an anonymous blonde whose central preoccupation is tagging along with Gates because he is allegedly the hero - unfortunately, there is still no chemistry between them. Jon Voight and Helen Mirren both look perplexed and confused, lending zilch to nothing roles as Ben Gates' parents. Ed Harris always manages to bring integrity to his roles but I can't quite figure out his character's purpose. Harvey Keitel slips in and out of this movie like a snake. Only Justin Bartha gives a lively enough performance. I love his first few scenes where his Ferrari is taken by the IRS and how he tries to sell his conspiracy book to no avail. If he had been the lead, this would've been a more fun ride (and I do ordinarily like Nicolas Cage).

"National Treasure: Book of Secrets" is empty popcorn filmmaking designed to entertain us yet it fails to since it has nothing up its sleeve and no real story. It is by-the-numbers filmmaking of the worst kind - it is bereft of imagination and has no sense of wonder or excitement.

Cage's passion for antiquities

NATIONAL TREASURE (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally written in 2005)

"National Treasure" is pure escapism, a sort of latter-day Indiana Jones with Nicolas Cage as the treasure hunter with a heart of gold. Though one may scoff at casting Cage as a hero with a passion for antiquities (well, not quite, but he is knowledgeable about them), do not fret: he gives such a freely entertaining performance that it doesn't matter the film and the character aren't 100% believable.

Cage is Ben Franklin Gates, a devoted "Treasure Protector" who is looking for an ancient treasure that his family of many generations have been seeking, and endured a bad reputation as a result since it has never been found. Gates would like to change all that. After suffering a near-fatal confrontation with some greedy treasure hunters in the Arctic, Gates learns that the map leading to the treasure is written in invisible ink in the back of the Declaration of Independence! The problem is in obtaining this document from the National Archives where it is kept in a highly secure and highly impenetrable system. Not an impossible mission for Ben Gates. Needless to say, he obtains the document (in a sequence so improbable that it will leave you laughing at the sheer ridicule of it) and leaves with the unwilling Dr. Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger), a National Archivist who is also devastatingly beautiful and blonde as expected in a movie like this (note the sarcasm). Chase spends a long time being upset that Gates stole a national document but, hey, she changes her mind when sprinkling lemon juice on the document to...well, you get the idea. I'd loved it if she accidentally spilled her perfume or lipstick on it but then that would be highly improbable, wouldn't it?

So the chase goes on when those evil treasure hunters from the Arctic, headed by Ian (Sean Bean, the villain du jour), track down Cage and his friends and, well, this becomes a sort of latter-day Indiana Jones flick. Their journey takes them from Washington, D.C. to New York City (the latter where we note that the caves from "Gangs of New York" still exist). There are clock towers with hidden letters, countless museums to peruse, those cliched laser beams that guard documents, revolving doors that reveal dusty rooms, icy sailing ships that are hundreds of years old, torches, collapsing stairwells, and so on.

Watching a movie like this is a form of escapism, nothing more. And Nicolas Cage is more than game for it, running and jumping and yelling in the best Cage tradition. He can be so over-the-top that he looks like a madman from Looney Tunes cartoons, and yet remains focused and restrained enough to make us care for him as he embarks on this wild adventure. The less said of Diane Kruger, the Vanity Fair girl from "Troy," the better. There is mild comic relief from Riley (Justin Bartha), Gates's sidekick, who tries to be as clever as Gates. And Sean Bean, who mostly played villains before he played Boromir in "The Lord of the Rings," is appropriately threatening and evil enough. Only Harvey Keitel, Jon Voight and Christopher Plummer are wasted in secondary roles that anyone could have played.

The movie is overlong and has its lulls. At times, it is tremendously funny and exciting, and sometimes it sputters into oblivion when it tries to be romantic (Cage and Kruger are no romantic pair). If nothing else, "National Treasure" may whet your appetite until the next Indiana Jones flick.

Insufferable sitcom noir

GOODBYE LOVER (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1998)

Roger Ebert devised a term for film noir that is jokey, sanitized and lacking that air of desperation so central to the genre. He called it "deadpan noir", which is precisely what "Destiny Turns on the Radio" was, and what Roland Joffe's execrable new film "Goodbye, Lover" is. It is so groundless and putrid that you'll leave the theater in disgust for all the wrong reasons.

Patricia Arquette stars as Sandra, a real-estate dealer who is having an affair with a PR executive (Don Johnson) who is also an organist at the local church. Their frequent trysts occur at the houses she plans to sell to prospective buyers. Johnson wants to quit the affair, though, because Sandra's alcoholic husband (the always unconvincing Dermot Mulroney) is suspicious and poised to kill her lover. What makes things even worse is that the two men involved are brothers. And Johnson, you see, is beginning an affair with his secretary, the underused Mary-Louise Parker. Yes, I could feel the puzzle pieces of noir start to fit neatly with aplomb and true danger. And it is around this time that the movie comes tumbling down like the Berlin Wall.

Without giving too much of the plot away, I can safely add that the movie's twists and turns are predictable to the core, and that the motive behind a murder in the film is so that the protagonists can collect a tidy insurance settlement. We have heard that plot idea before - it goes back as far as the classic "Double Indemnity," along with a million other films. But "Goodbye, Lover" does a curious thing - it becomes a sitcom-ish noir tale. In other words, the perilous machinations of noir becomes a set-up for an elongated joke, a put-on, especially when Ellen DeGeneres turns up as a cynical detective. Her comic timing is flawless and she is fun to watch...but what is she doing in this movie? It seems as if we are in the latest "Ellen" episode with a colorful cast of characters behaving like buffoons.

"Goodbye, Lover" is an unredeeming piece of junk with no trace of humanity or purpose. Arquette hardly dazzles as a siren with a fetish for "The Sound of Music," unlike the alluring quality she displays in the underrated "Lost Highway." Only Johnson seems to invest some interest and charisma in his shopworn role but it is short-lived. Roland Joffe's direction is surefooted, but all the superb camerawork and canted angles can't do justice to an absurdly uneven, rottenly scripted film.

This tough girl won't cry

MILLION DOLLAR BABY (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2004)

"Million Dollar Baby" has all the elements of Clint Eastwood's finest work. It is competently acted and directed, it is beautifully understated, and it has its heart on its sleeve. But, at its core, we have to deal with a female protagonist who has not been handled well by the director or the screenwriter, and some heavy-handed scenes that scream illogical and inconsistent. Let me explain further.

Clint Eastwood, in one of his better roles in the last ten years, plays Frankie Dunn, an aging boxing instructor and promoter who owns a boxing gym. He has a former boxer, Scrap (Morgan Freeman), working for him as a janitor. They avoid confronting their past, especially when Frankie used to train Scrap for a title shot where, in his 109th fight, Scrap lost his sight in one eye after a severe blow to the head. The boxers in this gym are all male, that is until Maggie (Hilary Swank), a 31-year-old Missouri waitress, shows up and wants to be trained by Frankie. He refuses but Maggie doesn't budge as she trains every day and works up a sweat past the closing time. Frankie is reluctant to train a girl but is impressed by her zeal for the sport and her guts, despite lacking any real ability to throw a punch. Scrap, in his own quiet manner and ensuing commentary on Frankie's decisions, persuades Frankie to train her. This comes soon after Frankie loses one of his prizefighters to the big-time managers who can grant anyone a title shot.

Maggie vigorously trains. Frankie teaches her how to move her feet, how to punch a bag and how to take a hit. Maggie learns quickly, or so it seems in one of those extended "Rocky" montages, that she blows the competition out of the roof. When she gets in the ring, she knocks out a fighter in the first round. Money and fame are coming in her direction, though this movie wisely avoids the fatal flaws of something like "Rocky V." Eastwood the director is more interested in his characters, their emotions, their own inner flaws and their guilt.

Having said that, "Million Dollar Baby" has its own flaws in its screenplay by Paul Haggis. Frankie is a cast iron, wrinkled, steadfast man with specific problems. For one, he is estranged from his daughter, though he has written letters to her for years only to have them returned. He goes to church on a regular basis and has verbal quarrels with Father Horvak (Brain F. O'Byrne) over matters of faith and demigods. The question is why does Frankie even bother with church? Why is he drawn to Maggie? Is she the daughter he never had because of her interest in boxing? The movie curiously avoids asking such questions and assumes we can figure it out. The problem is that Frankie is more of a cursory character - a question mark in the annals of Eastwood's past character incarnations. I learned more about Eastwood's William Munny in "Unforgiven" than I did about Frankie. I don't mind enigmas but I sensed that Frankie's own valued teachings wouldn't allow him anywhere near someone like Maggie. Suddenly, he takes her on, despite her age and lack of experience. Of course, she turns out to be a terrific fighter but this is the result of irony, not depth. Nevertheless, Eastwood lends gravity to the role to stand out.

In contrast, Morgan Freeman seems to embody a fuller character in Scrap. Here is someone who has always stood in the shadows, watching the action unfold as he cleans the toilet seats. He had his past glory and lost it all, squarely sitting in a drab bedroom in the gym. That sense of loss in Scraps is more poignant and moving than anything else in the film.

But the biggest problem is Hilary Swank who, let the hate mail begin, is miscast as Maggie. Did I just say that? Yes, I know she won the Oscar for it. Yes, the character is tough, determined, honest. Swank, however, just seems to embody one facial characteristic - a terrific smile. We see the glory in her eyes and the need to belong to something besides a family surviving on welfare who don't seem to care much about her. In hindsight, we care about her only because she is a female boxer who needs a father figure. Swank never reaches, or is allowed to reach, for any real complexity out of Maggie. And her final scenes will make you wonder what are her real intentions as to her well-being and her demands to Frankie. Swank captures the spirit of Maggie but not the soul. I still think she gave the most forceful, riveting performance of her career in "Boys Don't Cry," just so you know where I stand. It may have helped if the film was not told from Scrap's point-of-view, but rather from Maggie's. What we finally get is a decent performance by Swank but not a great performance.

"Million Dollar Baby" has an ironic title more appropriate to Disney but don't be fooled - this is not an uplifting "Rocky" clone. It is occasionally powerful and has moments of real truth. Eastwood and Freeman are often sublime, especially in their own subtle exchanges. Swank is fierce and watchable but not completely believable. As compared to Eastwood's masterful "Mystic River," "Million Dollar Baby" does not plumb the depths of its characters. I suppose I expected more from Eastwood than a film of graceful footnotes and curiously misguided intentions.

Old pros in Sin City

LAST VEGAS (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Last Vegas" is what it is. But what is it, exactly? A well-meaning, well-intentioned, astute and sporadically funny and dramatic enough movie that will not offend anyone. It is the last kind of picture I would ever expect Michael Douglas, Robert De Niro, Kevin Kline and Morgan Freeman to make but they had fun making it, and the movie is sort of fun to watch.

The Flatbush Four (Billy, Paddy, Archie and Sam) are raucous neighborhood kids from Brooklyn who have stayed in touch for 58 years. The spry Billy (Douglas) is a successful businessman who is marrying a woman almost 30-plus years younger than him. Paddy (De Niro), a miserable grump, is living alone in his apartment that is adorned with various pictures of his dearly departed wife. Archie (Freeman) lives with his son, Ezra, and feels he is living in a cage. Sam (Kline) is married to his Miriam (Joanna Gleason) and is hoping to get his mojo working again soon. Oh, he will since he has been invited to Billy's wedding in Las Vegas, along with the old chums and the very reluctant Paddy. Don't think for a moment that this is a leisurely-paced reworking of "The Hangover" - not even close. The movie reminded me of "Grumpy Old Men" except that they are now in Vegas. We also get one of the few delightful and magical actresses in modern movies, the one and only Mary Steenburgen as a Vegas lounge singer who can't find much of an audience. Guess who will pine for her? Guess why Paddy is so reluctant to attend this potentially disastrous wedding? Guess if Sam will actually get his Hall Pass fulfilled? Yep, a Hall Pass permitted by Miriam!

"Last Vegas" is a sweet little movie that aims to be nothing but pleasing entertainment. I do wish there was more ingenuity and less of a formulaic connect-the-dots script by Dan Fogelman ("Cars," "Fred Claus"). These old pros have played these roles before and there is nothing fresh about them except their age. Adding some pizzazz is April Billingsley (from TV's "Resurrection") as Sam's Hall Pass who sees his tenderness. Like revisiting your past with a certain brand of nostalgia, it is lively and entertaining to see these actors strut their stuff, even in well-traveled roads like Sin City.

Murder on the Oneida Yacht

THE CAT'S MEOW (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Watching Peter Bogdanovich's take on that day in November in 1924 when certain movie stars and moguls were involved in a scandalous murder, I was reminded of the lurid details films often confront nowadays. A murder is not just detailed, it is shown in extreme close-ups with the kind of frantic cutting you might see on TV's "C.S.I." So it is an unmistakable privilege to see a film whose focus is not so much murder as much the people behind the murder. "The Cat's Meow" is like taking a chill pill - it is quiet, toned-down, restrained cinema that is unlikely to cause much of a ruckus but it will please folks who feel words speak louder than actions. Think of it as an Agatha Christie mystery, only this is a true story.

Set almost entirely aboard a yacht, "The Cat's Meow" sets its eye on Hollywood in the Prohibition Era. William Randolph Hearst (played with real vigor by Edward Herrmann) has a private yacht, a 280-footer named the "Oneida," where he invites all kinds of luminaries and movie stars. They include the renown Charles Chaplin (Eddie Izzard) whose latest film, "A Woman in Paris," flopped due to his non-appearance; a Hollywood producer named Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes), known as the "Father of the Western"; an interminably whiny gossip columnist, Louella Parsons (Jennifer Tilly), and others. Hearst is of course having a highly publicized affair with Marion Davies (Kirsten Dunst), another movie star who is also having an affair with Chaplin. When Hearst discovers this indiscreet affair, murder enters his mind. Unfortunately, he kills Ince, the studio head, whom he mistakes for Chaplin. "Murder of a Hollywood Producer" is the screaming headline we can imagine aboard this yacht - a tale of scandalous proportions that seems to have sprung from Kenneth Anger's "Hollywood Babylon" book (it is covered in-depth in the first volume).

Ultimately, "The Cat's Meow" is not a lurid melodrama but rather a sophisticated, dryly witty comedy-drama. The comedy may fly over most people's heads since it consists of asides thrown by the major characters without the exclamation points to make the sure everyone gets the joke. Like Altman's recent "Gosford Park," "The Cat's Meow" is more concerned with the characters and their own flaws and faults than an actual murder mystery. Hearst, as is well known, was already married despite having an affair with Marion Davies, so it is hypocritical of him to despise her fling with Chaplin. Chaplin was already known for dalliances with many women, and had decided to leave his pregnant teenage fiancee behind just to party and continue his love affair with Marion.

The film merely doesn't cover the conflict between Hearst, Marion and Chaplin but also sneaks a peek at other secondary characters. The wittiest is Elinor Glyn (Joanna Lumley), the British romance novelist and screenwriter who delivers quips and putdowns with tremendous ease. Particularly enjoyable is her retort towards the omnipresent Parsons, who keeps talking past beyond the point of anybody listening. Cary Elwes is appropriately arrogant as Tom Ince, who is aching for a box-office hit and hopes Hearst can help him. Unfortunately, other characters such as Ince's business manager and his mistress merely exist as decoration - their limited screen time reduces them to cardboard cutouts. They lack the juice and vitality of the principal characters and, thus, slow down the action.

"The Cat's Meow" is fitfully entertaining and pleasant, and doesn't aspire to be anything more. For director Peter Bogdanovich, it is certainly a return to form after doing TV sequels like "To Sir, With Love Part 2." And for those of us interested in Hollywood scandals galore, this sparkling film should fit the bill.