The Lost Jungle (1934, 12 chapters)

“I do all my training without beating the animals up,” declares Clyde Beatty, World’s Greatest Animal Trainer, at the outset of this serial—which is to say, it’s perfectly okay to capture, confine, choke, bully and generally terrorise your animals, but don’t poke them with a length of wood. Beatty follows up his declaration by giving his bad-tempered subordinate, Sharkey (Warner Richmond), guilty of “beating up” a leopard that won’t obey him, a sock on the jaw, thus rousing him to a state of murderous hatred which will thankfully provide a few amusing moments in this otherwise dreary effort. Deciding that he doesn’t already have enough lions and tigers to torment train, Beatty sets off for India and Africa in a dirigible accompanied by press agent / Odious Comic Relief Larry Henderson (Sid Saylor, whose schtick consists almost entirely of waggling his bowtie-covered Adam’s apple) and the increasingly psychotic Sharkey – “He’s not such a bad guy,” Beatty offers by way of explanation for the latter – but ends up stranded on an uncharted island after the airship is wrecked in a violent storm. The island is the eponymous lost jungle, left by the breaking apart of Pangaea to house lions and tigers and bears, oh my! –  as well as zebras and monkeys and a gorilla. There’s also a massively overcrowded crocodile pit that’s actually pretty cool, though we might wonder why they haven’t all eaten each other by this time. Also, they’re alligators. Already on the island are Captain Robinson (Edward LeSaint), his daughter Ruth (Cecilia Parker), and the former’s mutinous crew. The main plot of The Lost Jungle, such as it is, involves the characters playing pass-the-parcel with a casket of jewels found within “The Buried City Of Kamor” (drinking game: knock one back whenever someone says “the treasure”), with lengthy wandering-through-the-jungle sequences punctuated by depressing animal footage. Non-actor Clyde Beatty isn’t any worse than the rest of this serial’s undistinguished cast, though we should note the presence of Gabby Hayes in a bit-part on the dirigible and Mickey Rooney as one of the three obnoxious kids following Beatty around at the outset. Henderson is supposed to be an ex-aerialist, and was doubled in his climbing scenes by Yakima Canutt. There are a few laughs to be had in the behaviour of the ship’s crew, for whom mutiny, double-crossing, torture and murder are all in a day’s work – Captain Robinson sure knows how to pick ’em – but otherwise the only really enjoyable thing here is the performance of Warner Richmond as Sharkey, whose burning resentment of Beatty enlivens the first few chapters and is highlighted by his realisation that the jewels would allow him to prove who really is the World’s Greatest Animal Trainer: “I can buy a circus of my own!” You know— With blackjack. And hookers.

(The film version of this serial, released the same year under the same title, apparently features a significantly altered plot and specially shot scenes. I may feel forced to take a look, sigh…)

The Lion Man (1936)

Based on the story The Lad And The Lion by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Sir Ronald Chatham (Eric Snowden) departs England on a mission to Arabia, to secure the concession for a valuable tungsten deposit. He and his young son travel through the desert to the camp of Sheikh Youssef Ab-Dur (Ted Adams), where he is received with deceptive warmth and promises of protection. However, watching from the shadows, Sherrifa (Finis Barton) remembers when her party, too, received such a welcome… When Sir Ronald’s party is ambushed, Sherrifa saves his son but is fatally wounded herself. She delivers the boy to a local holy man (Henry Hale) at the Shrine of Lions… Twenty years later, Sheikh Youssef pursues the lovely Eulilah (Kathleen Burke), but she has eyes for no-one but the young man known as “El Lion” (Jon Hall), who protects the local people against the Sheikh… The Lad And The Lion had the distinction of being the first ERB story to be adapted for the screen, though the 1917 version is now a lost film. It was supposedly remade as The Lion Man, but this version bears next to no resemblance to the original story or its first filming—and is disappointingly bereft of lions. (“El Lion” is supposedly “the whelp of a female lion” [!]). In place of the desert adventure we might reasonably expect, this is instead a stilted melodrama full of lengthy dialogue scenes of the thee-and-thou variety, and feels endless in spite of its brief running-time. Jon Hall, originally billed under his real name of Charles Locher (later prints had their credits altered), is comfortable as El Lion and thus doomed himself to a career of similar roles. However, the film’s highlight – though it hurts to see her wasted in an obscure B-movie like this – is the performance of Kathleen Burke as the feisty Eulilah, who defies both Sheikh Youssef and her own father (Richard Carlyle) in the matter of her marriage, as the rest of the plot moves sluggishly towards the inevitable showdown between El Lion and his father’s murderer. Frankly, the most interesting thing about The Lion Man is its unnecessary opening sequence detailing the Chathams’ scandalous divorce, which grants the father custody of their son; and the fact that Sir Ronald considers the boy “safer” being taken on what his colleagues clearly consider a suicide mission than being left with his mother tells us more than we wanted to know about the mores of the time.

Moby Dick (1956)

Based upon the novel by Herman Melville. A young wanderer who calls himself Ishmael (Richard Basehart) ends up in the New England whaling town of New Bedford where, in spite of the grim warnings offered both explicitly by the locals and in the form of memorial tablets in the local chapel, he joins the crew of the Pequod. Too late, he then receives another warning from townsman Elijah (Royal Dano), who prophesies that all but one of the Pequod‘s crew will follow its captain, the grim and wounded Ahab (Gregory Peck), to their doom… As he learns his new trade, Ishmael learns also of Ahab’s history and his obsession with Moby Dick, the white whale that took his leg and left him injured in mind as well as body. Working with his harpooner friend, Queequeg (Friedrich von Ledebur), Ishmael participates in the killing and harvesting of a whale. The Pequod then discovers an entire pod of whales—only for the men to be called away from their potential bounty by Ahab, who has learned of the white whale’s whereabouts. Over the crew’s objections, the captain begins a deadly pursuit… John Huston’s version of Moby Dick is perhaps easier to appreciate than to enjoy. It does represent the first real attempt to transfer Melville’s novel to the screen, after the botched adaptations of 1926 and 1930; and while the effort was self-evidently wholehearted, the very striving for authenticity finally resulted in a film somewhat uneasily balanced between seafaring adventure and philosophical rumination and quite succeeding at neither; although parts of both are excellent. The visual recreation of the era and of the Pequod itself is beautifully done, and the film’s stars are surrounded by rough and interesting faces who convincingly embody the societies – on land and on ship – depicted; while the use of a muted colour palette adds unobtrusively to the film’s sense of foreboding. (We should note that Huston and his cinematographer Oswald Morris used some experimental techniques to lower the colour saturation of their film and give it sepia tones. Because of the technical difficulties involved – and the expense – the production’s original look has not been successfully reproduced in any subsequent reissue or release, even the Kino version. Consequently, no-one assessing the film today is seeing it as was intended.) The main issue here is that, despite the talent involved (Huston partnering with Ray Bradbury [!]), the dialogue never convinces as real human speech, and there is a lot of it: consequently, the film begins to go off the rails as soon as Gregory Peck and, to a lesser extent, Leo Genn as Starbuck open their mouths. Peck himself was notoriously uncertain of his performance as Ahab, and it is certainly problematic; but it is hard to feel that he didn’t give what was being asked for, and there are scenes in which he nails it—such as Ahab’s shocking rejection of the code of the sea in refusing the Rachel‘s plea for help. (Orson Welles, who appears as Father Mapple, wanted to play Ahab; John Huston originally wanted his father Walter, who died some years earlier; while Peck thought Huston himself would have been a better choice.) Richard Basehart was realistically too old for Ishmael but otherwise the supporting performances are all fine, though for obvious reasons I am ambivalent about the casting of Austrian actor Friedrich von Ledebur. However, this was also the first time there was an attempt, via a specially designed prosthetic, to give Queequeg his full tattoos. The special effects work here is uneven and this tends to reduce the impact of the whale scenes; though certain visual shortcomings notwithstanding, the climactic destruction remains impressive and viscerally satisfying. I may also say that in watching, I was amused to discover just how influential this film was on Steven Spielberg…

(…and speaking of which: check out the tagline on the poster for Moby Dick‘s 1976 re-release…)

Battle Hymn (1957)

Two years into his ministry, Dean Hess (Rock Hudson) begins to doubt his vocation, and even his faith. Hess is still wracked with guilt over his experiences as an WWII bomber pilot, in particular an incident when a technical issue delayed the drop of a bomb, which struck an orphanage instead of its intended target. Hess’s wife, Mary (Martha Hyer), is aghast when, after the invasion of South Korea, he decides to resign his ministry and rejoin the Air Force—not as a chaplain, but not, he assures her, in a combat role either: he will be in charge of a training unit. Arriving in Seoul, Hess is given firm orders to look after the few planes under his command, and to avoid any contact with the enemy. His small air base is in poor condition, while the handful of American servicemen stationed there have become careless about their duties. Blasting his officers, Sergeant Herman (Dan Duryea), Major Moore (Jock Mahoney) and Captain Skidmore (Don DeFore), the latter of whom he served with in Germany, Hess puts his men to work preparing the airstrip for use. With the arrival of the South Korean trainees, Hess’s work begins in earnest; though he and his men are increasingly called upon to care for the displaced children who are drawn to the base… This biopic about Dean Elmer Hess, who earned the honorific “The father of the Korean war orphans” for his work in establishing homes for refugee children, is a well-meaning but ultimately rather thudding work: Douglas Sirk with all of his usual solemnity but none of his compensating bite. Whether or not because Hess himself was heavily involved in its production (the facts often being tampered with, ditto), Battle Hymn remains a rather superficial examination of one man’s crisis, veering between the obvious and the awkward as it attempts to deal with the contradictions of war and faith, and finally settling down as one of that subset of films I tend to think of as It Is God’s Will That We Kill (At Least If We’re American). Despite its setting and its premise, the film keeps its Koreans firmly in the background with two exceptions. The first is En Soon Yang (Anna Kashfi), a local woman who becomes Hess’s mainstay helper in his efforts to rescue children orphaned and displaced by the conflict; the second is the elderly Lun Wa (Philip Ahn), who is also roped into the rescue work but whose main task is to force Hess to deal with his unresolved issues via bible quotes that nevertheless sound like they should be prefaced with “Confucius say”. A series of crises serve to bring Hess to a better understanding of himself, but his most daunting challenge comes when he and his people must find a way to protect the several hundred orphans they have gathered when the enemy suddenly sweeps towards them… Battle Hymn also features James Edwards, Carl Benton Reid, Alan Hale Jr and James Hong; while real-life four-star General Earle E. Partridge delivers the film’s rather awkward introduction. Jung Kyoo Pyo, as a young orphan who attaches himself to Hess, has the distinction of being the only actual Korean to appear in the film.

Home From The Hill (1960)

Based upon the novel by William Humphrey. While out in a hunting-party, Wade Hunnicutt (Robert Mitchum) is shot in the shoulder by an outraged husband, his life being saved by the quick reflexes of Rafe Copley (George Peppard). By the time Wade arrives home after having his wound treated, his scornful, estranged wife, Hannah (Eleanor Parker), has heard the whole story. Meanwhile, the Hunnicutts’ teenage son, Theron (George Hamilton), falls foul of a snipe-hunting prank. Learning his whereabouts, Wade retrieves the embarrassed boy from the woods and sets about “making a man” out of him—much to the fury of Hannah, who reminds him of his promise to leave their son to her: a promise made to stop her leaving him at the time of Theron’s birth, after she was made painfully aware of her husband’s womanising. Wade’s first move is to teach Theron to hunt: he turns the boy, who shows a natural aptitude, over to Rafe; the two become friends, with Theron viewing his older companion with a degree of hero-worship. Theron passes his father’s test, single-handedly killing a vicious wild boar; but he still cannot bring himself to ask the girl he likes, Libby Halstead (Luana Patten), to the celebratory barbecue, and has Rafe do it for him. However, when Theron calls to pick Libby up, he is ignominiously turned away by her father (Everett Sloane), who tells him they want nothing to do with “his kind”… One of Vincente Minnelli’s sprawling melodramas, Home From The Hill is a somewhat deceptive film that places conventional ideas about masculinity front-and-centre before stepping back to offer a thoughtful examination of what it really means to “be a man”. Making good use of Robert Mitchum’s own larger-than-life persona, the early stages of this film seem to be endorsing Wade Hunnicutt’s my-way-or-the-highway approach to life and his initiation of his son into the ways of real manhood—by which he means hunting, explicitly, and sex, implicitly. But having set up this scenario, Home From The Hill proceeds to undermine it, with the gradual revelation that the town’s obsequious attitude towards Wade hides mingled fear and disdain; while Wade’s demand to be taken as he is or not at all finally ends in comprehensive rejection by both his wife and his son. Meanwhile, against its dominant masculine image, the film offers up two alternative views – and, in a sense, hope for the future – in its younger generation. Though sneered at as a “mama’s boy”, Theron is self-evidently kind and decent, albeit a bit shy and young for his age; while his interests speak to a bright and inquiring mind. (At least that’s my point of view: Wade has nothing but contempt for his son’s hobbies, which are chiefly scientific…) But the triumph here is Rafe, who in the teeth of cruel social disadvantage refuses to let his circumstances dictate his character or his conduct: his steady self-respect becomes increasingly admirable as his story is revealed. The friendship that develops between the two young men is sincere on both parts—and it survives the blow we expect to shatter it, when Theron belatedly learns of the connection that exists between them. This is, in truth, the hardest thing to swallow about the narrative of Home From The Hill: given the milieu, it is hard to believe that this devastating secret has not long since reached Theron’s ears. (That the town’s most vicious gossips are a group of middle-aged men is one of the film’s interesting touches.) Theron’s appalled rejection of his parents and his own privilege is in its way to his credit, but his absorption in his own pain leads to him inflicting pain in turn and sets in motion a series of tragic events… Robert Mitchum and Eleanor Parker are both fine here as the bitter and estranged older couple, but fittingly the best performances in Home From The Hill are from George Peppard and – perhaps a little surprisingly – George Hamilton.

Kings Of The Sun (1963)

When the army of rebel Mayan general Hunac Ceel (Leo Gordon) descends upon Chichen Itza, the survivors led by their newly ascended king, Balam (George Chakiris), escape to a coastal fishing settlement. Commandeering the fishing boats, Balam tries to convince the locals of their own danger and that their only chance for survival lies in joining the attempted crossing of the sea. The chief (Ford Rainey) agrees upon condition that, if they find a refuge across the waters, Balam will marry his daughter, Ixchel (Shirley Anne Field), making her his queen and merging their peoples. Barely ahead of the pursuing army, the boats are launched: a slow and dangerous journey under scorching suns follows; one boat is lost, and there are deaths among the other refugees; but finally the party makes it safely to the distant shore where they begin to rebuild their fortified city-state. Balam’s main concern is finding a way to irrigate the crops; while the High Priest, Ah Min (Richard Basehart), insists that the priority must be a new temple—and a new sacrificial altar. Balam and his party are attacked by Black Eagle (Yul Brynner), chief of the local tribe, but manage to wound and subdue him. When they carry him back to the city, Ah Min declares the prisoner to be the perfect sacrifice… Another of the bigger / brighter / noisier / more crowded school of 1960s anti-TV film-making, Kings Of The Sun re-teamed Yul Brynner and director J. Lee Thompson after the similarly motivated Taras Bulba. This is an odd historical drama—interesting for its subject matter, yet with an air of the producers losing faith in the project somewhere along the way. It also does that exasperating thing of sticking to history or ignoring it as suits the narrative: Hunac Ceel’s attack upon Chichen Itza is fact, but the central relationships here – national and personal – and the climactic battle are very much fiction. The film is worth watching just for Yul Brynner, whose intensely physical (and minimally-clad) performance as Black Eagle gives it an anchor otherwise absent in spite of its supposed focus on the Mayans. We do not blame Ixchel one bit when her interest begins to drift from the callow, foot-dragging Balam to the passionate and forthright outsider; though the result is that the young king is seized with a jealousy that threatens to wreck the already fragile peace. Another serious clash is that between Balam, who has begun to question the tradition of human sacrifice, and Ah Min, who orders Black Eagle nursed back to health, to have him in the best possible condition to “meet the gods”. When Balam decrees that Black Eagle be released instead, it forges a temporary alliance between their peoples that is tested in the most extreme way when Hunac Ceel arrives… Yul Brynner aside, Kings Of The Sun is more successful visually than dramatically, with its set design and art direction capturing the Mayans’ striking use of colour and decoration. The film was shot on location around Chichen Itza itself and in Mazatlán, and it is evident that many locals were hired as extras, with those in the crowd scenes all properly looking the part (not always the case with films like this). It is the American cast-members who strike a discordant note, particularly Shirley Anne Field’s blue eyes and black wig, with Richard Basehart suffering under an embarrassing grey mop-top. George Chakiris, though not inappropriately cast physically, is entirely unable to hold the screen against his charismatic co-star.

The Bedford Incident (1965)

Based upon the novel by Mark Rascovich. Journalist Ben Munceford (Sidney Poitier) and naval reservist Dr Chester Potter (Martin Balsam) are transferred by helicopter to the destroyer USS Bedford, under the command of Captain Eric Finlander (Richard Widmark). Finlander is hostile and dismissive towards both: he insists that his ship doesn’t require a medical officer, which the dismayed Potter soon learns is true, with the Bedford entirely free of both illness and malingering. Munceford, however, has Department of Defense backing and Finlander is forced to give him access; although he makes sure the journalist’s time onboard is as uncomfortable as possible. Munceford reveals that his professional interest lies in Finlander himself, who was passed over for promotion after criticising his country’s position as insufficiently forceful. The Bedford is stalking a Soviet submarine that has crossed into territorial waters, forcing it out and into a field of icebergs where sonar contact is lost. Knowing that the submarine will have to surface eventually to replenish air and power, Finlander plays a waiting game—one that also requires his own crew to stay on alert. Potter and the Bedford‘s Executive Officer, Commander Allison (Michael Kane), separately warn Finlander of the dangers of keeping his men sleepless and in a state of high tension but, intent upon his prey, he ignores them… The Bedford Incident is a Cold War thriller that, while offering escalating suspense via its overt cat-and-mouse plot, examines the role played by human personalities and human error in any potential catastrophe. The film’s early stages are deceptive, with self-satisfied Munceford and civilian-life failure Potter displaying ignorance and incapacity in a manner that throws Finlander’s hardline command style and his crew’s professionalism into positive relief; with the captain’s pragmatic acceptance of his former deadly enemy, Commodore Wolfgang Schrepke (Eric Portman), as an advisor adding shadings to his character. However, with the revelation of Finlander’s lost promotion (a subplot referencing the B-59 incident during the Cuban Missile Crisis), the balance begins to tip, with the pursuit and harrying of the Soviet submarine taking on a disturbingly personal aspect – complete with allusions to Moby Dick – even as the question of what, ultimately, Finlander intends to do if he succeeds in forcing the submarine to the surface is left worryingly unanswered. Meanwhile, the relentless demands made upon the crew overall, Finlander’s constant riding of the nervous and error-prone young Ensign Ralston (James MacArthur) and his refusal to take advice push everyone on the Bedford towards breaking-point… The Bedford Incident was criticised by some at the time of its release as too exaggerated for credibility, although hindsight has had the last word on that point. (I see that the same people say the same things about Failsafe; possibly more justifiably, but ibid.) On the other hand, the same distance now allows us to find a certain dark humour in the film—particularly over its closing stages, which offer up one of cinema’s all-time great “Oh shit” moments. Other pleasures are to be found amongst the supporting cast, which includes Wally Cox as sonar operator Queffle, whose relationship with Finlander indicates rare real respect on the latter’s part, and – in the delightful early sickbay scene – a young Donald Sutherland.

A Woman Sobbing (1972)

In their isolated country home, night after night Jane (Anna Massey) and Frank Pullar (Ronald Hines) lie sleepless—she insisting that she can hear a woman sobbing somewhere in the house, while he insists he hears nothing. Tired and irritable, Frank urges Jane to take another of her pills: she does, but also gets up to search for the source of the sound, which she traces to the attic; though it stops as soon as she enters the room. Convinced, however, that she smells gas, Jane throws open a window and rushes down to Frank. As he goes resignedly to check – finding nothing – Jane hears the sobbing again… A Woman Sobbing was the seventh and final (and final surviving) episode of the BBC series “Dead Of Night”. Like Return Flight before it, A Woman Sobbing creates unease through ambiguity: Jane clearly does have mental-health issues and is taking antidepressants when we meet her, but the chicken-and-egg scenario begs the question of when her troubles began and whether they were created or exacerbated by her circumstances. We learn along the way that, for the health of their children, the Pullars have moved to a house in the country that is some nine miles from the nearest town—and with Frank working long hours and the two young boys in school, Jane’s fate is to spend day after day in total isolation. The narrative plays fair inasmuch as, in her misery, Jane is prickly and hostile and increasingly hard to live with, creating a vicious circle in which Frank understandably looks for reasons to avoid engaging with her and so feeds her sense of abandonment. However, there is both condescension and impatience in Frank’s response to Jane’s malaise – this is a man who takes half-an-hour off work from time to time to give his wife sex in exactly the same spirit in which he urges her to “take a pill” – and the promptness with which he responds, “Gaslight” when Jane only mentions, “That play” sets alarm bells ringing that, loud enough in 1972, are deafening today. This touch highlights one of the most notable things about A Woman Sobbing: it is deeply aware of its literary roots. This is effectively a Gothic story brought up to date (as one commentator has observed, the only thing missing from Jane’s search for the source of the sobbing is a lit candelabrum), and one which also explicitly alludes to Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s iconic feminist short story, The Yellow Wallpaper. It is possible to accuse A Woman Sobbing of being heavy-handed, but the serious and respectful manner in which it handles its beleaguered protagonist is remarkable; while its subject matter, alas, has only become only more relevant with the passage of time.

Ransom (1974)

Also known as: The Terrorists. After suspects in a wave of deadly bombings across London are arrested, the leader of the organisation responsible, Martin Shepherd (John Quentin), retaliates by taking hostage the British ambassador to Scandinavia and two of his staff. In exchange for their lives, Shepherd demands the release of his collaborators without charge, and also a plane and parachutes for himself and his team. Captain Barnes (Jeffry Wickham) reports to Bernhard (James Maxwell) of the Scandinavian ministry that the British government has decided to comply. Bernhard reluctantly promises cooperation; however, he warns Barnes that his country’s Head of Security, Colonel Nils Tahlvik (Sean Connery), will not be happy about what he will certainly view as surrender. Barnes and Tahlvik make their way to the Embassy to meet with Shepherd: he tells them that, once he is assured his people are free, he and his companions will depart by plane—taking the ambassador with them as security. On their way out, Barnes confides to the disgusted Tahlvik that it is known where Shepherd intends to bail out. Meanwhile, just before a commercial airliner lands, it is commandeered by four men led by Petrie (Ian McShane). The pilot lands as ordered but turns off the anti-skid device, damaging the landing-gear. Petrie reports to Shepherd, telling him the transfer to the airport must wait while the plane is repaired. He then gives Tahlvik three hours to get the job done—with the lives of those on board at stake… Ransom is an interesting if not entirely successful political thriller. Some of its choices create confusion for the viewer: it treats “Scandinavia” as a separate country, presumably to avoid offending anyone in particular, and it has some of its local actors / characters dubbed into very English English, making it difficult to tell who is who—particularly during the key opening conversation between Barnes and Bernhard. This is, however, very much a product of its time—immersed in the political violence of the early 70s, yet most striking for its uniformly negative view of the British government. “The British have told us nothing” is almost the first line of dialogue we hear and one that sets the tone for much of what follows; while the willingness not just to negotiate with terrorists but to capitulate eventually makes us wonder what else the British government might be willing to do. This background creates—not an excuse for Shepherd and his people, but certainly a context; and there is also a brief debate between him and the Ambassador over the difference between war and terrorism. However— Orders to the contrary be damned, Colonel Tahlvik is having none of it; and the body of Ransom concerns the escalating game of cat-and-mouse that evolves between Tahlvik and Petrie, as the former tries to find a way out of the hostage crisis while apparently going along with the hijackers’ demands and the time-limit granted ticks away… There are some clever things in Ransom, which makes its messy ending a disappointment. Ian McShane brings energy to the character of Petrie, but Sean Connery – his accent a sore thumb as always – is low-key to the point of suggesting a lack of engagement, with Tahlvik barely reacting to the serial thwarting of his schemes. The film was shot in Norway by Finnish director Casper Wrede, and one of its highlights is the cinematography of Sven Nykvist, particularly during an aerial pursuit through the mountains. The film’s score is by Jerry Goldsmith.

Sharks’ Treasure (1975)

Dive-boat operator and treasure hunter Jim Carnahan (Cornel Wilde) is approached by Ron Walker (John Neilson), who shows him a gold coin discovered off Honduras. Though initially dismissive, upon a closer examination Carnahan discovers that the coin may be part of the cargo of a famous lost Spanish ship: he agrees to return to the site with Walker to search for more, though this requires taking out a loan against his boat. Discovering that Carnahan is putting together a treasure hunt, Ben Flynn (Yaphet Kotto) offers himself and his friend, Larry Hicks (David Canary), as divers on a percentage basis. The party’s first stop is in Mexico, where they cross paths with police officers hunting a group of prison escapees and witness the fatal shooting of one man. They then set out for the dive site, where they find treasure beyond their dreams—but also a dangerous population of sharks… Sharks’ Treasure belongs to that weird, late-stage section of Cornel Wilde’s career when he was trying to reinvent himself as an action hero of sorts; he also wrote, produced and directed this film, and you would be right in guessing that it is more than a little self-indulgent, with the sixty-three-year-old Wilde showing off his physique at every possible opportunity and giving his character a series of quirks including a grating Southern accent. Evidently Wilde had been trying to get this film made for several years before the ballyhoo preceding the release of another sharky film secured him funding; and so troubled was that production, he managed to sneak his own into cinemas first. The poster for Sharks’ Treasure boasts about the dangers faced by its cast and crew in terms that send shivers down the spine of the experienced shark-film watcher, as the same language was employed by William Grefé for Mako: The Jaws Of Death and for the same reason. Wilde had to shift his production from Bonaire to the Coral Sea to find what he considered “enough” sharks to kill on camera (meaning those were OUR FUCKING SHARKS, you bastard); while what is called “the most sensational shark fight ever filmed” is actually one unfortunate animal being killed in about three different ways at once for our supposed edification. Around this sickening interlude, Sharks’ Treasure unfolds in a rather lackadaisical way. The first half is taken up with treasure-hunting, bickering, and Jim Carnahan fishing for compliments on his body; the second finds the escapees taking over the boat and making prisoners of the crew, with the focus shifting to the group’s leader, Lobo (Cliff Osmond), who has forced his young prison “boyfriend”, Juanito (David Gilliam), to escape too just so he can go on brutalising him. This gives Carnahan the chance he has been waiting for, as he works to persuade Juanito to sell out his companions… Though recently restored to its original 97-minute running-time, Sharks’ Treasure is more readily available at about 87 minutes; although whether it was cruelty to sharks or cruelty to Juanito that hit the editing-room floor, I couldn’t tell you.

The Wild Duck (1984)

This adaptation of Henrik Ibsen’s 1884 play is indeed an odd duck – if I may be excused that expression – with French ex-pat director Henri Safron relocating the action to pre-WWI Tasmania and offering a mostly local cast, but one headed by Jeremy Irons and Liv Ullmann. The eponymous duck – the literal one – is brought down by local businessman George Wardle (Michael Pate) who, in one of the more amusing retouches here, owns a brewery; the injured bird is rescued and delivered into the care of Major Ackland (John Mellion), the product of a military family but now a broken man with prison time behind him. The Major keeps a menagerie in his attic-apartment – some of it for practical, food production purposes – but he gives the wounded wild duck to his granddaughter, Henrietta (Lucinda Jones), who makes it her special charge. Meanwhile, Gina (Liv Ullmann), once a servant in the Wardle household, manages both the family and her husband’s photography business, freeing the self-absorbed Harold Ackland (Jeremy Irons) to work sporadically on the invention he is certain will one day earn him a fortune. When Wardle’s estranged son, Gregory (Arthur Dignam), returns home for the first time in many years, his stubborn idealism and insistence upon truth being brought to light sets in motion events that will end in tragedy… Though interesting, The Wild Duck suffers from the usual difficulties in attempting to film a play—and particularly a play by someone as given to symbolism and metaphor as Ibsen. In addition to the duck itself and its human counterpart, Henrietta, themes of blindness and the inability or unwillingness to “see” permeate the story. Debating at its fringes the actual desirability of truth, while admitting the impossibility of the whole truth, The Wild Duck unfolds like a slow-motion accident, the weight of its events bearing down upon a final inevitable victim. The main shortcoming here is that the screenplay (to which five writers contributed, perhaps highlighting the issue) never succeeds in making Gregory Wardle a real human being rather than a dramatic device. Perceiving himself as an instrument of truth but in fact functioning as a diabolus-ex-machina, Gregory’s beyond-naive belief that exposure of secrets will clear the air and allow for new beginnings creates an expanding circle of destruction for those around him. But this seeming idealism hides a dark heart, with Gregory’s estrangement from Wardle based upon the belief – not knowledge – that while his mother was dying, his father was having an affair with a servant—none other the present Gina Ackland…

(Discovering Liv Ullmann in unexpected places seems to be a thing at the moment…)

Striking Distance (1993)

While a serial killer dubbed “the Polish Hill Strangler” is abducting and killing women in Pittsburgh, the Pittsburgh PD itself is taken up with the case of Detective Jimmy Detillo (Robert Pastorelli), who is convicted of use of excessive force on the evidence of his partner and cousin, Tom Hardy (Bruce Willis). As a result of his testimony, Hardy becomes a pariah, with only his father, Captain Vincent Hardy (John Mahoney), supporting his actions. When a suspect in the murders is spotted, the Hardys become part of an escalating police pursuit that ends with them rolling their car—and with Vincent shot dead. Having suffered this blow, Hardy must then deal with the suicide of Jimmy Detillo, who throws himself off a bridge rather than face sentencing… Two years later, Tom Hardy is part of the River Rescue Squad, working with a new partner, Jo Christman (Sarah Jessica Parker). When the two are called to recover the body of a woman, Hardy is horrified to discover that the victim is a former girlfriend. When another woman from his past is murdered, Hardy realises he is being targeted—while the PPD considers him the prime suspect… Striking Distance is a film that suffered an extremely troubled production, including a complete change of mind about what kind of film it should be, and the seams of its reworking are clearly visible throughout. Initially conceived as a psychological thriller, with Tom Hardy’s guilt a real possibility, in the end the film was reshaped into a much more predictable cop-action movie, complete with one of my most hated tropes, the killer who transforms into a ranting, cackling maniac the moment he is exposed. The fallout from this twisting of purpose is that Striking Distance is often confusing, with information repeatedly presented after the point at which it is narratively desirable, and the implications of certain plot-points likewise late in making themselves felt. Meanwhile, the film’s depiction of law enforcement is uniformly negative—and this extends to its protagonists. Tom Hardy is, frankly, rather unsympathetic in spite of all he suffers, though some of this seems a hangover from the original, more ambiguous conception of his character; while the wholly unbelievable relationship that—well, happens, rather than develops, between him and Jo only adds to the problem. (He has a cat, though, so he’s not all bad.) The best thing about Striking Distance is its Pittsburgh setting and the use made, plot-wise and visually, of the city’s rivers, both of which make a refreshing change in this sort of film (albeit, as certain aggrieved locals have pointed out, no-one here even attempts an authentic accent). When the plot-confusion settles, we understand that some poor dweeb has been railroaded for the original murders, that Hardy believes that the two series of murders have been committed by the same person in spite of the change in MO, that the killer is likely a cop—and that his demotion from homicide was a result of him saying so publicly. When the women from his past start turning up dead, Hardy initiates an illegal investigation (complete with stolen police files) to clear his name, but soon learns that there are no lengths to which that killer will not go to destroy his life… One other positive aspect of Striking Distance is its supporting cast, which also includes Dennis Farina as Hardy’s uncle, Tom Sizemore as another cousin, Tom Atkins as another uncle, Andre Braugher as the DA, Brion James as an obnoxious cop, Jodi Long as Hardy’s friend and dispatcher, and Timothy Busfield as his first RR partner whose sole contribution is to get thrown overboard. Kurt Russell has a blink-and-you’ll-miss-him cameo.

(Given SJP’s notorious “bra on during sex scenes” stance, this film offers an inadvertently hilarious touch when she pulls an early version of it here—having stripped off a dress under which she was clearly not wearing the bra in question…)

A Chinese Odyssey Part One: Pandora’s Box (1995)

Based upon Journey To The West by Wu Cheng’en. During their journey to India to collect scriptures, the Monkey King (Stephen Chow) becomes infuriated with the constant lectures of his master, the Longevity Monk (Law Kar-ying), and turns on him. The goddess Guanyin intervenes and captures the defiant Monkey King, but his life is spared when the Longevity Monk, arguing that he has failed his disciple, offers to sacrifice himself instead… Five hundred years later, robbers based in a derelict tavern on the edge of the desert are approached by a lone woman (Yammie Lam Kit-ying), who is herself a famous bandit: she fearlessly makes herself at home. The gang’s Assistant Master (Ng Man-tat) runs off to find his superior, Joker (Stephen Chow), who is suffering the after-effects of a savage beating by a rival. Nevertheless he confronts the woman, who easily defeats and terrorises the whole gang, forcing them to join her hunt for a man with three birthmarks on the sole of one foot. The gang plots to kill her but, that night, find themselves facing a new danger when the woman transforms into a gigantic spider… Released in two parts across 1995, the Jeffrey Lau / Stephen Chow adaptation of the iconic 16th century novel, Journey To The West, is one of the key works of Hong Kong fantasy cinema—but it is not without its challenges, especially for western audiences. That synopsis describes only the set-up for the main narrative, which highlights one of the main problems here: the film assumes familiarity with the base text (or at least, with the TV series Monkey), and also that the viewer will grasp how it is being reworked. The opening phase with the bandits operates chiefly as a vehicle for Stephen Chow’s particular brand of physical and verbal humour, and YMMV as to whether it is overlong or not; a rampaging giant spider is either compensation or the icing on the cake. Things finally settle down – somewhat – with the appearance of Bak Jing-jing (Karen Mok), Spider Woman’s sister-demon, and of Grandpa Buddha (Jeffrey Lau), who between them spell out the actual plot. The bandits’ hideout is located on the site of the destined reunion of the reincarnated Longevity Monk and Monkey King, who may then resume their journey to the west. However, various entities including King Bull (Lu Shuming) are searching for the Longevity Monk, all hoping to eat his flesh and thereby achieve immortality; while Bak Jing-jing has a very personal reason for seeking out the Monkey King, who has been reincarnated in human form but can be identified by the three dots on the sole of his foot… “Chaotic” is perhaps the best way to describe the unfolding of A Chinese Odyssey, with shape-shifting demons, dual identities, attempted murder and attempted cannibalism, repeated crotch-stomping, and Assistant Master (aka Pigsy) accidentally impregnating Spider Woman…as you do. However, through all this runs the serious thread of Joker and Bak Jing-jing’s doomed romance, with the latter dying during the battle of Waterfall Cave. The grief-stricken Joker then finds “Pandora’s Box”, here a magical device that can open up a time portal, and uses it to try and avert Bak Jing-jing’s death—only to arrive just too late over and over again, before overshooting the mark and landing five hundred years in the past…

The Rainmaker (1997)

Based upon the novel by John Grisham. Prior to sitting the bar exam, struggling law student Rudy Baylor (Matt Damon) takes an associate’s position with notorious Memphis legal figure, J. Lyman “Bruiser” Stone (Mickey Rourke). Stone tells Rudy he will be responsible for bringing in his own cases and hands him off to Deck Shifflet (Danny DeVito), who is unqualified but a shrewd operator with few moral qualms. Through his law school, Rudy acquires two cases: the elderly Colleen Janice Birdsong (Teresa Wright) – “Miss Birdie” – asks him to redraft her will, cutting her family out of it; while Dot Black (Mary Kay Place) wants to sue the Great Benefit Insurance Company for denying her leukaemia-stricken son, Donny Ray (Johnny Whitworth), a life-saving bone-marrow transplant. Meanwhile, to Rudy’s dismay, Deck introduces him to the art of ambulance chasing. Ordered to follow up on his own, Rudy reluctantly spends time at the hospital where he becomes aware of young battered wife, Kelly Riker (Claire Danes). Shown the details of the Blacks’ case against Great Benefit, Bruiser agrees to take it on under his own name; but when federal investigators make a move against him he flees, leaving Rudy and Deck to face the insurance company’s powerful attorneys and limitless resources on their own… The Rainmaker is an enjoyable adaptation of John Grisham’s best-seller, but one somewhat lacking in substance. While the pruning away of the novel’s baggage and back-story is understandable, the over-simplification of the actual legal drama – replacing the critical medical evidence with a heavy-handed “gotcha”, for instance – occasionally gets a bit exasperating. However, the film also scrupulously retains the elements that made the novel so popular—which is to say, it pisses all over the legal profession first and the insurance business second, so what’s not to love? This seems a curious project all around for Francis Ford Coppola, who also wrote the screenplay; though it is no doubt due to Coppola that the film boasts such an extraordinary cast, from its leading roles right down to its briefly seen but key supporting players. The masterstroke here was the casting of Danny DeVito as Deck Shifflet—though this is also one of the film’s problems, because the obvious and understandable desire to beef up DeVito’s role comes at the expense of Matt Damon’s Rudy Baylor, who is made less competent in the courtroom to allow for Deck’s greater involvement. (We come away wondering how Deck failed his bar exam so often; and while I won’t say, Or how Rudy passed his, we-ll-ll…) At the same time, Damon makes Rudy’s emotional adoption of the Black family, his befriending of the doomed Donny Ray and his spiraling indignation on their behalf believable; while conversely, Jon Voigt exudes smugness and slime as Great Benefit’s lead attorney. The Rainmaker also features Danny Glover as a sympathetic judge; Dean Stockwell as his chain-smoking predecessor; Virginia Madsen as a key witness; Roy Scheider as Great Benefit’s CEO; and Randy Travis as a potential juror who does not like being called a liar…

Python (2000)

A military transport plane crashes when its cargo breaks out of confinement and attacks the crew… In the woods outside of the small town of Ruby, a romantic tryst between Roberta (Kathleen Randazzo) and Lisa (LoriDawn Messuri) is interrupted, first by the latter’s pet Burmese python, Lady G., and then by something far more deadly… After clashing with his brother, Brian (Chris Owens), who runs their late father’s metal plating plant, John Cooper (Frayne Rosanoff) meets his girlfriend, Kristin (Dana Barron), and their friends, Tommy (Wil Wheaton) and Theresa (Sara Mornell), by a mountain lake. The group has just discovered and recognised Lady G. when they are confronted by Deputy Greg Larston (William Zabka), who tells them Lisa has been reported missing. Shortly afterwards, her body is found burnt and disfigured by acid. John’s history with Lisa and his access to acid at the plant bring him under suspicion. Meanwhile, Dr Anton Rudolph (Robert Englund) meets with NSA agent Bart Parker (Casper Van Dien) to brief him on the missing “cargo”: a gigantic mutated snake… Crocodiles, spiders, octopuses and then snakes (oh my): the direct-to-DVD killer critter films just kept coming in the early Oughts, with Python one of the—well, least terrible of the bunch. The titular snake is completely absurd, apparently having been conceptualised by an overexcited eight year old – “It’s huge, and really fast! AND it spits acid! AND it’s armour-plated! AND—” – making it perfectly understandable that the screenplay should choose to remain hilariously vague about its origins in spite of all the gobbledegook. Much more predictable is the shonkiness of the CGI through which the snake was realised, although this too has its amusing side. Where this film really stumbles is in making John Cooper the hero, when he is frankly rather a whiny jerk: we’re left to wonder at Kirstin’s lousy taste when she chooses him over the much more likeable Deputy Greg. However, at least the film didn’t feel obliged to resolve its love triangle in the common ruthless way. In fact, Python unexpectedly redeems itself throughout via some sensible writing: the suspicion that falls on John is reasonable under the circumstances; Deputy Greg is able to put his personal issues aside as the situation worsens; both he and his superior, Sheriff Wade (Gary Grubbs), respond in a level-headed way at all stages of the crisis; and the Dirty-Harry-wannabe behaviour of Deputy Lewis (Sean Whalen) is meant to be exasperating. Robert Englund is fun as the film’s resident Mad Scientist, at least up until Dr Rudolph’s unmotivated change of heart (consequently I prefer his performance in Black Swarm), with his descriptions of the snake landing over in Immortal Dialogue; while as in the same year’s Deep Core, the producers hired Wil Wheaton just so they could kill him horribly. There is also humour, intended or otherwise, in Theresa’s astonishingly unmovable towel (apparently she shops at the same place as Barbra Streisand in What’s Up, Doc?). On the other hand, we get far too many unwanted Hero’s Death Battle Exemptions here – i.e. John gets most of them – as the small band of survivors must find a way to defeat a creature impervious to gun- and mortar-fire, explosions and plane crashes…

(Speaking of Deep Core, this film also carries a thank-you to my UFO-associated namesake. Hugs, sister!)

The Myth (2005)

Hong Kong-based archaeologist Dr Jack Chan (Jackie Chan) is plagued by vivid recurrent dreams involving a Qin Dynasty general called Meng Yi and his relationship with the Korean princess Ok Soo (Kim Hee-sun), who is being sent to the imperial court to serve as a concubine. Jack is reunited with his old friend, William (Tony Leung Ka-fai), who tells him he has arranged funding for him—but needs a favour in return. William is part of a group working to develop an anti-gravity device, and believes that Jack’s own research into the ancient kingdom of Dasar in India and its legend of an immortal king in a floating coffin may hold the key. Insisting that he is going with or without him, William wins Jack’s reluctant cooperation. In Dasar, the two are witness to the levitation of a local holy man. They slip into the temple where they find a stone coffin and a sword floating without any obvious support. Jack translates the inscriptions on the coffin, learning that when the king chose the Qin Emperor’s favourite concubine, he was recompensed instead with her portrait and something called “the Qin Star Gem”. To his horror, Jack then finds William prying a large crystal from its setting—an action which sends the coffin tumbling to the ground and brings upon them the fury of the temple guards. The two escape but are pursued into the surrounding cliffs, where Jack slips and falls—plunging also into another vision of General Meng Yi and the Princess Ok Soo… The Myth marked Jackie Chan’s return to his home turf after his disappointing American sojourn and as such was eagerly anticipated as a potential return to form; but while this film has its virtues, including its location filming in China and India, its fight sequences and the remarkable climax to the “past lives” plot, overall it is also something of a disappointment. The main problem is that instead of being an organic whole, The Myth feels rather like three or four different films smooshed together—none of them entirely satisfactory—while the results are overlong and a bit wearying. The Indian interlude is self-indulgent, albeit the glue-trap factory sequence is prime Jackie physical comedy and a delight to watch; while the fantasy ending (complete with Secret Supervillain^TM) seems to come out of nowhere. The Indiana Jones-esque modern plot is entertaining enough but also a bit on the nose, with Jack going along with the unscrupulous William in spite of his declared position against tomb robbing and other such activities (he doesn’t do such things, he just stands around while they’re being done by others). The Qin Dynasty subplot is certainly the film’s most effective aspect, partly because of its sincerity, partly because of the scale of its execution, and partly because Jackie, playing an age-appropriate role for once, is convincing as the soldier torn between his duty to his emperor and his passion for the woman he is duty-bound to deliver up to him. The main problem with this part of the film is a lack of clarity regarding the various factions in play, which makes some of the battle sequences confusing. However, in compensation we are given a truly extraordinary set-piece in which Meng Yi takes on – and almost defeats singlehandedly – an entire army: a sequence in which, I think, Jackie kills more people than during the rest of his career put together; though alas, not quite everybody…

The Third Murder (2017)

Original title: Sandome no Satsujin. Criminal defence attorney Shigemori Tomoaki (Fukuyama Masaharu) is called late to the case of Takashi Misumi (Yakusho Kōji), chiefly with a view to helping avoid the death penalty after Takashi is charged with murder and burglary in the brutal death of his former employer. Takashi’s original attorney, Settsu Daisuke (Yoshida Kōtarō), complains that his client confessed to the murder before being represented and now keeps changing his story. The case holds an extra significance for Shigemori: thirty years before, Takashi was convicted of the murders of two loan sharks in his home town in Hokkaido, but avoided the death penalty then on the recommendation of his judge—Shigemori’s father, Akihisa (Hashizume Isao). In his first interviews with Takashi, Shigemori tries to pin him down to a version of events that might result in a lessening of the charges against him: that the murder was not premeditated, and that it was not done with a view to robbing the victim. While examining the crime scene, Shigemori and his assistant, Kawashima (Mitsushima Shinnosuke), see a teenage girl with a limp leaving the area. The two lawyers are disturbed to note that the post-death burning of the victim has made a distinct cross-shape upon the ground. They call upon the victim’s family and discover that the girl is his daughter, Sakie (Hirose Suzu); her mother (Saito Yuki) spurns the lawyers’ overtures. Later, however, they discover a money transfer to Takashi before the murder, suggesting a different motive… Though structured as a legal thriller, The Third Murder is, rather, a rumination upon subjectivity, the unknowability of individuals, and the way in which irreconcilable realities may be constructed from the same material—alternative facts, if you like. The film carries with its more philosophical elements a stinging indictment of the Japanese legal system, which it depicts as preferring a neat, ends-tied-up narrative to the messy truth, with justice a very secondary consideration, even when a life is at stake. And “truth” is a messy business indeed in this low-key but disconcerting drama from writer-director Kore-eda Hirokazu. After opening with a blunt depiction of a brutal crime, The Third Murder proceeds to call into question everything that the viewer – and the characters – thought they knew. Possibly invoking Rashomon, the screenplay finally offers up five different motives for Takashi’s killing of his former employer, a corrupt food-factory owner. Takashi admits at least tacitly to four of them in turn – one of which emanates directly from him – before not only retracting his confession, but insisting that he denied the crime at the outset—until his attorney, Settsu, told him that confessing was the most likely way to save his life. Shigemori, meanwhile, who starts out dismissing the truth as simply getting in the way of legal strategy, finds himself increasingly consumed by the need to know—only to find himself dealing with a client whose very willingness to confess may be a way of concealing the truth… As it unfolds, The Third Murder becomes increasingly a two-person drama, with Takashi and Shigemori filmed together in tightening close-up and presented as overlapping or mirror images of one another. Even as this approach visualises the psychological battle between the two, it also positions Shigemori as a stand-in for the viewer, trying to discover the truth in a wilderness of theories and lies—and be warned: if you are the kind of viewer who needs “an” answer, you won’t find it here; even that elusive fifth motive raises issues the film has no intention of addressing. Yakusho Kōji and Fukuyama Masaharu both give powerful performances here, with Hirose Suzu offering strong support as wild-card Sakie.

Shanghai Fortress (2019)

Based upon the novel Shanghai Fortress aka Once Upon A Time In Shanghai by “Jiang Nan” (Yang Zhi). Space exploration brings back to Earth a new fuel source known as xianteng, which quickly replaces fossil fuels and allows for rapid technological advancement. However, several years after its adoption, Earth is besieged by alien invaders seeking to reclaim the precious material. A fullscale war erupts, with major cities falling across the globe and finally only Shanghai, over which a protective shield has been erected, standing between the invaders and the destruction of mankind. Though a United Nations Defence Committee assembles, responsibility for the Shanghai Fortress and the military response falls chiefly upon General Shao (Shi Liang) and his subordinate, Lin Lan (Shu Qi aka Lin Li-hui). The two bring together a crack team known as the Gray Eagle Squadron, led by young officer Jiang Yang (Lu Han), which can fight the invaders both directly and via combat drones. But while conventional forces attempt to defend the Fortress, the main hope for successful retaliation lies in a new weapon called the Shanghai Cannon. However, as General Shao is aware, the weapon must draw upon all existing reserves of xianteng, which is proving dangerously unstable… Shanghai Fortress was a resounding flop in China and it isn’t too hard to see why: whatever Jiang Nan’s novel might have brought to the table, the film is an astonishingly obvious compendium of clichés, offering very little that we haven’t seen before in any given science-fiction action movie from Independence Day onwards. What interest there is here lies in the relocation of these clichés into a Chinese setting and a Chinese mindset; in this respect, the film probably plays better to non-locals. Shanghai Fortress starts quite well in setting up its premise, and it is enjoyable to see an unfamiliar city suffering the familiar bombardment. The film’s rapid dismissal of the rest of the world, New York explicitly included, is also amusing. (Los Angeles doesn’t even rate a mention here, though Rio does; intriguingly, only New Delhi is allowed to contribute towards the saving of humanity, though at the price of being wiped out.) But as soon as our clean-cut – and cardboard cutout – young heroes appear, Jiang Yang being joined by Lu Yiyi (Sun Jialing), Zeng Yu (Wang Gongliang) and Pan Hantian (Wang Sen), everything begins to fall into its all-too-obvious place—with only the film’s missteps breaking up the predictable unfolding of the action. Curiously in a Chinese film in particular, there is no sense here of strict military procedure or protocol: the saviours of humanity spend their spare time drinking and partying, while Jiang Yang almost misses the attack on Shanghai because he has taken a day off. The film also devotes an embarrassing amount of its time to Jiang Yang’s unspoken passion for his older recruiter / trainer, Lin Lan…a relationship which ought to be interdict anyway. The main thing that separates Shanghai Fortress from its confrères is the lack of any attempt at humour—in fact the reverse is true, with the film displaying an unusual degree of ruthlessness towards its characters and even its setting…though this is offset by the outrageous Hero’s Death Battle Exemption^© which marks its climax and allows for a rather bathetic ending.

The Rhythm Section (2020)

Based upon the novel by Mark Brunell. Investigative journalist Keith Proctor (Raza Jaffrey) tracks down Stephanie Patrick (Blake Lively) in a London brothel, and tells her that the plane crash that killed her family was no accident, but the result of a bombing. Stephanie also learns that the government has taken no action against the suspected bomb-maker in order to use him to trace a wider terrorist network. Stealing some of Proctor’s information, Stephanie takes the drastic step of buying a black-market gun and tracking down Reza Mohammad (Tawfeek Barhom) herself at the university he is attending, but at the critical moment she cannot pull the trigger. Afterwards she discovers that her bag, containing Proctor’s details, has been stolen—and then finds the journalist murdered… Having learned that Proctor’s source was former MI-6 agent Iain Boyd (Jude Law), Stephanie travels to his isolated cabin in Scotland and finally wins from him a reluctant agreement to train her as an assassin… Made overtly as an anti-Bond espionage thriller, there is – or ought to be – some powerful material in The Rhythm Section – the mutability of identity, living with the consequences of our choices, the cost of revenge and the danger of (so to speak) becoming what we swore to destroy – but whatever Mark Brunell achieved in his novel, in his screenplay for Reed Morano’s adaptation it just never gels. The film never really recovers from its painfully clichéd opening showing just how happy-happy-happy the Patrick family was and how far sole survivor Stephanie has fallen; and the obviousness of all this works against audience engagement despite the magnitude of the tragedy / crime at the narrative’s heart. However, even this pales beside the gaping plot-hole of Stephanie’s interaction with Proctor—with no reason whatsoever offered for him tracking her down, telling her his theories, and opening up his classified research to her. Once Stephanie locates Boyd, The Rhythm Section becomes an exercise in the messy reality of covert operations, with her strikes against her targets succeeding through no natural ability but rather a combination of desperation, dumb luck and a death wish, while the moral waters are repeatedly muddied by revelations of collateral damage. In spite of all this, the film often feels weirdly simplistic, worryingly so around its terrorist back-story (possibly because of its pre-9/11 source); and the murkiness of the characters’ motives, though presumably intentional, becomes frustrating. Struggles with her accent aside, Blake Lively gives a commendably committed performance that conveys Stephanie’s shifting sense of identity.

Holy Spider (2022)

Across 2000 and 2001, in the holy city of Mashhad, prostitutes are strangled and their bodies dumped in remote areas, with the police unable – or unwilling – to identify their killer. Tehran-based journalist Arezoo Rahimi (Zar Amir Ebrahimi) arrives to investigate the case, and immediately finds herself targeted as a professional single woman. While complying with the demands of the morality police, Rahimi makes contact with Sharifi (Arash Ashtiani), a local newspaper editor who has received phone-calls from the man dubbed “the Spider Killer” in which he claims to be on a mission to cleanse the city. Dissatisfied with the police response, Rahimi begins her own investigation. Meanwhile, construction worker Saeed Azimi (Mehdi Bajestani), who is fixated upon his time in the military and his failure to achieve “martyrdom” during the war with Iraq, cruises the night streets of Mashhad on his motorcycle… Holy Spider is the second of two films to deal with Iranian serial killer Saeed Hanaei, following 2020’s Killer Spider—and both following Maziar Bahari’s 2002 documentary And Along Came a Spider . The first was shot in Iran with government approval; the second was shot in Jordan without it by Danish-Iranian director Ali Abbasi, and ought to be a stronger work than it ultimately is. Abbasi’s intentions are admirable but his choices and his execution work against his film’s success. In particular, the director dwells upon the details of the murders far beyond the point necessary to bring their horror home to the viewer, and this ends up muting what ought to be (and to an extent still are) the key narrative thrusts of the story: the social conditions that can produce both a serial killer and his victims, and that society’s reaction to crimes of this nature—which in this case was to make a hero out of Saeed Hanaei. The other contentious decision here was to insert the invented character of Arezoo Rahimi into the story, and have her set herself us as bait for the killer once she and Sharifi have identified his pattern of behaviour. The real Hanaei was caught when an intended victim escaped from him and had the courage to go to the police in spite of having to expose her own circumstances to bring her charges. Possibly this decision was made to protect that individual; and it does allow Abbasi to explore, via Rahimi, further aspects of the profound cultural misogyny of which the celebration of Hanaei’s crimes and the demonisation of his victims was only one face. In this respect, the film exposes the killer’s sick hypocrisy, with Azimi (as Hanaei later admitted) getting sexual gratification from what he publicly claims are acts committed purely in the name of his faith. Barely escaping with her life, Rahimi brings about Azimi’s apprehension by the police, to whom he proudly confesses his crimes; but though the killings stop, the horrors do not—with demonstrations staged in support of Azimi, widespread demands for his release, and the real possibility that he will be freed to resume his “mission”…