I can win this case!

 THE VERDICT (1982)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

"The Verdict" is Sidney Lumet's greatest film, an absolutely keen, sharply observed and absorbing character study of a troubled man who is ready to give up. It takes a lot for this drunk pathetic man, Frank Galvin (Paul Newman), to finally call it quits. He was once a prominent Boston lawyer who became an alcoholic ambulance chaser. The alcohol from day to day is all it takes for him keep living, not necessarily to keep living with any purpose. Frank frequents the same bar every day, has a beer with an  egg in it and keeps moving, but to what end. It isn't clean living.

What is of paramount greatness in "The Verdict" is that the court case itself, which is a stunningly layered, fascinating case, could have been excised from the David Mamet script and just have focused on Frank Galvin. Frank's life is one of ruin, working out of a disheveled office with gray, scratched walls, an old burgundy red couch he can sleep on, and a desk with filing cabinets. His home life is not without discoloration or messiness - bars are on his windows, as if to keep himself shut out of life's miseries. Frank frequents a bar and plays the pinball machine and, in the opening title sequence, he is practically shrouded in darkness with the daylight barely illuminating him or the machine. An outside park is shown with few pedestrians (a similar shot later on where Frank is victorious at the pinball shows one person walking by). Director Sidney Lumet intended on having a Caravaggio-based, chiaroscuro look with a single source of light filling in the interior rooms such as the bar, the courtroom, etc. But whatever victory is in Frank's life involving the case of a comatose woman who was given the wrong anesthetic by two different doctors may be short-lived. Frank is a bit scared, a little unprepared for this case and rather than taking an enormous payout from the Archdiocese, he opts to go to trial and go up against the wealthy defending attorney Ed Concannon ("The Prince of Darkness" as played wonderfully and wittily by the great James Mason). Concannon plays tough, utilizing media and newspapers at his disposal along with a major research team of lawyers while Frank only has  his former legal partner/mentor, Mickey Morrissey (absolutely brilliant and sympathetic work by Jack Warden) to help win the case. This dichotomy shows that finances have little regard when it comes to the little guy who can stand up for what is right. 

The ending can be seen for miles but it is not just a victory for Frank as an able lawyer again, it is a victory for him to rise above his liquor-drenched ashes and return to his former glory (his past was already tainted when he allegedly was involved with jury tampering). Frank is like a phoenix rising yet writer Mamet and director Lumet never stray from his alcohol-binging - a drink and a smoke at his favorite bar is his pastime. When he confronts the seductive Laura (Charlotte Rampling, alluring as a quietly effective femme fatale of sorts) who has an affair with Frank and he ends it (after finding out she works for Concannon) with physical violence, it is further proof that he is reawakened to how many lies there are in the search for justice - never trust anyone and that is his true redemption. Frank still believes in justice and we still believe he may have a drink in the future but he will try to remain sharp, hopefully avoiding funeral homes for potential clients. Justice may be blind but he's not. 

Charming with a well of tears to fill Niagara Falls

 SNOOPY COME HOME (1972)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Watching the Peanuts gang, including Charlie Brown, Peppermint Patty, Linus with that silly blanket and everyone else, cry with repetition at the prospect of losing Snoopy, their precious beagle, to his former owner is a bit of an endurance test for the average viewer. Kids will still enjoy because Snoopy and Woodstock make a good pair.

As an animated feature, "Snoopy Come Home" is not as much fun as 1969's "A Boy Named Charlie Brown" yet there's still sufficient enjoyment to be had. Snoopy is who he is, always sleeping belly up atop his doghouse as opposed to sleeping in it - he loves to play on the beach and loves to annoy his owner, Charlie Brown, whom he communicates via his typewriter. After our trusty beagle receives a letter from his previous owner named Lila (this always came as a shock to me), who is sick in the hospital, Snoopy takes off with the ever-trusting best friend, a tiny yellow bird named Woodstock of course (this was his film debut). Meanwhile Charlie Brown, Lucy and the whole gang wonder where Snoopy is, and they mope around waiting for his arrival.

My one gripe is that the Peanuts gang are not as well-characterized as they were previously in "A Boy Named Charlie Brown." Snoopy and Woodstock are the stars of this film, and there are several humorous touches such as Snoopy getting into some ruckus with a girl named Clara who wants him as a pet! They run around, back and forth, as they enter and exit several rooms in her house. I also love how Woodstock is somehow obsessive-compulsive about walking on each divider of a subway grate. Snoopy and Woodstock steal the show yet we are then saddled with the gangs' crying fits and excessive sobbing about Snoopy leaving Charlie for Lila (of course, you know this will not stand for long) and the beagle receives many parting gifts. This section simply goes on for too long - their tears would fill the Niagara Falls. Still, "Snoopy Come Home" is such a charming film with so much humanity and love that it is easy to see why we all love Peanuts.  

Sahara via Mayan Myth

 FATA MORGANA (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Expansive, repetitious and sometimes mind-numbingly dull, "Fata Morgana" is not for all tastes nor will it be for all Werner Herzog devotees. An experimental film dealing with Mayan-creation myths coupled with the vastness of the Sahara Desert could have worked but I find Herzog doesn't have the knack to know when to quit. There are flashes of brilliance though.

Separated in three sections accordingly, the first is "Creation," the second is "Paradise" and the third is "The Golden Age." Peculiarity doesn't begin to this describe this visual odyssey of desert landscape, some of it quite breathtaking. However, I could have lived without the narration by Lotte Eisner (a German film critic and Herzog's mentor) to bring forth what was initially a science-fiction story that looks mostly like a travelogue of the Sahara and other parts of Africa. There are shots of mutilated animals, half-eaten remains of camels, kids dragging small dogs with a rope leash and posing for the camera or pointing to the sand by the beach, half-finished construction sites, sea turtles, hungry lizards, and many mirages of vehicles and buses and people in the horizon. 

The "Creation" episode is soporific without enough spatial desert scenes beyond endless tracking shots. In fact, this section starts with planes landing in an airfield, one after another until they become "mirages." Once we get past this major lull, "Paradise" and "The Golden Age" become far more engaging because we see the inhabitants of this arid region amidst broken down cargo planes and cars. The narration carries on and most of it is not analogous to the images, perhaps purposefully so (“In Paradise, you quarrel with strangers to avoid making friends.”). A brothel stage with a man humming a tune wearing goggles while the madam is at the piano feels like something out of a David Lynch film (no context is provided for this scene, which is only something I came across in my research. For all I knew, this could have been some musical act at a ramshackle bar). 

I wish Herzog let the images speak for themselves rather than choosing a religious context but one has to remember that he shot what he could for a different kind of film and chose another avenue. I have no idea what any of it means (and I much prefer Godfrey Reggio's "Koyaanisqatsi") and, though it can be a tough slog to get through its 79 minutes, I still found it sort of semi-alluring. 

I, Madman

WOYZECK (1979)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Klaus Kinski's penetrating, unblinking (literally and otherwise) eyes are like a force of nature that will eviscerate your soul. When Kinski appears in a Werner Herzog film, attention must be paid because both leading actor and director are madmen who chew up the silver screen with wild, audacious tales of madmen - Madmen making madmen movies. That has been their stock in trade and whether it was the lyrical, deadeningly brilliant "Nosferatu" or the creeping-to-a-crawl intensity and inevitability of "Aguirre: The Wrath of God," Kinski rose to the task of Herzog's demands. "Woyzeck" is a creepy curiosity that has themes of jealousy and madness in equal measure and Kinski gives the performance equivalent of cracked glass that will eventually shatter.

Based on an unfinished play by author Georg Büchner, Franz Woyzeck (Kinski) is a military private who doesn't function well as a rifleman (in the opening title sequence, he is in training mode and keeps failing at his exercises). The bullied, punished private is in the unenviable task of being a barber to his superior (Wolfgang Reichmann), a strict Captain who senses and communicates the lack of morals and lack of goodness in Woyzeck. Woyzeck is no dummy and waxes on philosophically about whatever moral stature he does possess (often startling the Captain) - he may or may not be virtuous but he's still a good man, in his own eyes. Woyzeck has a mistress (Eva Mattes), more frightened by him than anything else, and bore an illegitimate child with her and, though he provides for his family, he knows she is not a saint. And when his Captain and his doctor (Willy Semmelrogge), who uses the willing private as an experiment, imply that she is sleeping around, Woyzeck is deeply unsettled by this and probably a steady diet of peas doesn't help.

It is inevitable what will happen next and the foreshadowing is obvious with dialogue that is shoehorned a little too neatly. Still, "Woyzeck" is often darkly brilliant and completely absorbing. That is a testament to Herzog's masterful direction and perfectly framed compositions - he apparently shot this film in 18 days not long after he completed "Nosferatu." The town itself is bathed in tan-colored tones that paint a colorless community where not much happens, other than some dancing and a lot of drunkenness (in the open greener pastures, Woyzeck assumes something unnatural is about to happen). It is only a matter of time before something brutal threatens it. As for Klaus Kinski, he haunts us and is unforgettable and unshakable. His eyes pierce our soul.  

Happiest of Turkey Days

 PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES (1987)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

For my collective upbringing during the 1980's, writer-director John Hughes was synonymous with "Sixteen Candles" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and other teen angst flicks. Whenever someone brought up the name John Hughes, I instantly thought of my teen crush on Molly Ringwald from "Sixteen Candles" and "The Breakfast Club." Now that I have reached the age of 51, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is what I think of first (a close second is the vastly underrated "Only the Lonely") and there is good reason to - there are no teenagers in it and it is all about two grown, mature adults who can act immaturely yet both are living adult lives. What's even better is that it is one of the funniest, most energetic and fun-filled comedies of the 1980's and easily would make my list of the ten best comedies of all time. Even better than that, it has Steve Martin at his most obscenely hilarious and John Candy giving us the warmest, most humane performance of his career who still manages to tickle your bone.

Almost immediately there is tension in the air. Neal Page (Steve Martin) is part of a marketing team and the boss can't decide which model photo to use, which makes Neal worried since he has to catch a flight from New York to Chicago and be home for Thanksgiving. If a character like Neal, as played by Steve Martin, would make it home in a jiffy, this movie would be a disappointment. Not so. Neal can't catch a cab without being outrun by none other than Kevin Bacon as a hurried passenger. When a cab is available, it is inadvertently stolen by Del Griffith (John Candy), a boisterous shower curtain ring salesman. It is a case of the dependable running gag for most of the film as Neal keeps running into Del Griffith, whether it is an airport or near one. At first it is on the same flight to Chicago but trouble brews when every flight is cancelled. They stay at a cheap motel where the money from their wallets are stolen! The bathrooms becomes a sloppy mess of wet towels and floor puddles, thanks to Del Griffith. Neal and Del Griffith reluctantly share the same bed where Del Griffith has spilled a lot of beer on the mattress and makes loud gurgling noises to help himself sleep. Then there is the dramatic moment where Neal shares everything he can't stand about Del Griffith - the moment of truth that does hurt Del Griffith who can't help but be who he is. This scene should be studied and revered in master classes on sublime comedy. 

Everything I have described is just the beginning of this chaotic and touching road comedy. There are too many classic, inspired pieces of comedy, too many great scenes. And just when the movie could veer into cartoonish extremes (like Candy as a vision of the Devil, or the faces of Martin and Candy seen as skeletons as their car veers between two incoming 18 wheelers), the drama settles back to earth. "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" has one of the most sidesplitting scenes Steve Martin has ever performed on film as he launches an expletive-laden attack on a car-rental agent (a very memorable Edie McClurg) but that scene does not run on too long and that is the mastery of John Hughes - initially a 3 hour long cut, Hughes and his skillful editor Paul Hirsch ("Star Wars" for which he won and shared the Best Editing Oscar) shape every scene with just enough rhythm before cutting to the next comical moment - brevity is comedy's friend. Nothing feels forced and every scene is maximized by the two genuine talents of comedy for humor and ample dramatic effect. You feel compassion for both men and hope they make it out of their hapless predicaments. Already a staple of required Thanksgiving viewing, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" is John Hughes at his zaniest, most hysterical and most human.     

Greatest Vampire Film ever made

 NOSFERATU: PHANTOM DER NACHT (1979)

An Appreciation by Jerry Saravia

There are an untold number of Dracula movies and Frankenstein movies - the pair of which probably surpass the number of Hollywood westerns in existence. By my count, there have been three Nosferatu films, one which is in-name only yet all three sort of deal with the famous Count Dracula. Yet it is Werner Herzog's 1979 remake of "Nosferatu" that is easily the greatest vampire film I have ever seen. Atmospheric to its core with a muted palette of grainy colors and muted performances and only the slightest amount of blood on screen, "Nosferatu" is the vampire film where we have more compassion for the famous Count than ever before.

The story based on Bram Stoker is nothing new and it is fairly straightforward in terms of the standard events in its prose, despite changes in mood, text and themes (a necessity when you consider Bram's wife sued the makers of the original "Nosferatu" for copyright infringement). Jonathan Harker (Bruno Ganz) is commissioned to sell a housing property in Wismar, Germany to Count Dracula and travels to Transylvania; a very arduous journey. The frightened Transylvanian townspeople tell him to stay away from that castle. Harker eventually meets the fragile Count and is eventually held prisoner, bitten by the vampire and away we go with the usual shenanigans. The difference here is in the execution of such oft-told material, imagined with realistically conveyed surroundings and a near-documentary look of people (the gypsies seem more real than ever before) and some expressionistic use of shadows (though not nearly as sharp as they were in the 1922 film). This time, though, director Werner Herzog aims for a deeper reality and a deeper hopelessness when it comes to Count Dracula. Klaus Kinski (absolutely magnificent as the Count) shows some layers of humanity in this Dracula with his long nails, bald head, two protruding fangs, and cold, dead white skin. When the Drac sees blood on Harker's finger after clumsily cutting bread, black space surrounds Dracula in close-up whereas in a master shot, there is no black space at all (it is almost as if Herzog is aiming for horror when Dracula is expected to snarl and act like a panther-like creature at the sight of blood). The Count does not act like a creature of the night who relishes the act of sucking blood; instead he's a wounded animal who has been doing this for one century too many. He retreats from sucking Harker's finger yet then proceeds with some nuance of regret. "It is the oldest remedy in the book," says the Count. 

Later on, Dracula fancies Harker's wife, Lucy (the luscious Isabelle Adjani), as is often the case with most versions, but there is something more than a lovely neck to bite. The Count wants to feel love again, which he can't, and to be loved, which he also can't, and this initial confrontation between Dracula and the remorseful Lucy doesn't result in any bearing of fangs - she is initially frightened but she also feels pity for the Count. So when we get to the closing scenes where Lucy holds Dracula in an embrace as he bites her neck all night, you sense Lucy is not just sacrificing herself but also feeling a twinge of attraction to this creature (who also tries to pull her nightgown up to her bosom though she stops him). Considering Lucy loves Harker and they walk on the beach in an earlier, stunning sequence of forlorn beauty, they still sleep in separate beds (you have to wonder if these two ever got intimate at all beyond embraces and sweet kisses).

"Nosferatu" obviously differs from the original black-and-white classic in its slightly monochromatic look - substituting something far more graphic in terms of its grayish scale of soiled, decaying matter. All the actors look, excepting the gypsies, like emaciated automatons who know death is lurking (Lucy with her pale, translucent skin looks like a vampire before she's ever bitten). There is no passion or excitement to the denizens of Wismar. One sad, almost despairing sequence shows the townspeople merrily singing and dancing and dining in the outside town square, celebrating what little life they have left to live after the Black Plague has spread thanks to hundreds of rats brought by the Count. Everything in the film is washed-out, colorless, including the Harker journey to Dracula's castle complemented with music cues from Wagner's towering opera "Das Rhinegold." 

 "Nosferatu" complements and enhances the F.W. Murnau "Nosferatu" and that is an unusual comparison when it comes to remakes. Whereas Max Schreck's Dracula (or Count Orlok depending on which silent film version you see) was a rat-like creature devoid of humanity, Klaus Kinski's is all humanity - a Count who is tired from the repetition of barely living century after century. The curse exhausts him and it is a cruel existence. Dracula recognizes he is still human after all despite being a creature of the undead. Undeniably cruel.

Damn fine movie, if I say so my damn self

 CONFESS, FLETCH (2022)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When the news was announced that Jon Hamm was playing I.M. Fletcher, a character practically immortalized by Chevy Chase, I was not convinced. Hamm is a solid actor of the "Mad Men" variety and he can be very funny making fun of himself. However, as the intrepid investigative reporter of an L.A. newspaper who often uses various aliases in the hopes of finding the clues to a mystery, Hamm would not be my first choice. There has to be a sense that Fletch is in on the joke himself, that he is purposely a smart-aleck reporter, and a damn fine one if I say so my damn self. Of course, that was the direction aimed in the Chevy Chase incarnations, and that is not quite the depiction from the books. It turns out that laid-back Hamm is perfect for the role. It is also a damn fine movie if I say so my damn self. 

Based on the second book in the "Fletch" series written by Gregory Mcdonald, "Confess, Fletch" finds Irwin (don't call him that) knee deep in trouble from the start when he finds a dead woman in the living room of the Boston townhouse he's staying in. The townhouse belongs to Fletch's Italian fiancee, Angela (Lorenza Izzo), yet Fletch (who mistakenly has his fingerprints on a wine bottle that serves as the murder weapon), is now the prime suspect in the murder. The Boston Police detective Monroe (Roy Wood Jr.) and rookie Griz (Ayden Mayeri) - both a hilarious pair - definitely suspect Fletch after the discovery of surveillance footage showing our retired reporter wearing a blue cap (though from the high camera angle, it is hard to tell if it is a L.A. Lakers hat). The culprit of said murder may tie in to Angela's unexpectedly kidnapped father and a ransom involving a priceless Picasso painting. Then we are introduced to a small gallery of eccentrics like Angela's mother, the Countess (the sublime Marcia Gay Harden); Fletch's clumsy next-door, pot-smoking neighbor (Annie Mumolo), and an art dealer named Horan (further sublimity provided by Kyle MacLachlan) who does some sort of workout to loud, techno music.

There is much more to the plot but the movie thrives successfully on contriving numerous situations with snappy payoffs. Written with quick wit and graceful, sharp notes of absurdity by director Greg Mottola and Zev Borow, "Confess, Fletch" maintains a breezy, informal comic tone throughout. It is not laugh-out loud funny like Chevy Chase's first "Fletch" film but rather it finds its own restrained humor through some histrionic performances and the murder mystery itself which keeps one guessing till the final reveal. Jon Hamm helps enormously with his daftness and poise as Fletch and he turns out to be smarter than anyone thought, though everyone thinks he's an idiot. Lorenza Izzo gets her manic act dialed up to soprana levels but it still works, and you keep hoping she's not a criminal (she loves Fletch after all). Marcia Gay Harden is bewitching and often captivating as the Countess - I love how she tests Fletch's fidelity.  

Despite a couple of supporting characters that stuck in my craw, "Confess, Fletch" is a welcome return to good comic mystery writing and a great introduction to Gregory McDonald's novels. It is not on the same comic trajectory as Chevy Chase's 1985 flick but it flies by with comic precision and tight pacing. A damn fine movie, indeed.