Film Reviews by Steve

This invented a whole new sub-genre; the conspiracy thriller. And inspired a wave of films that imagined secret corruption at the heart of the establishment. And really, what could be more now? For that, novelist Richard Condon deserves credit as his bestseller provides the twisty intrigue of the plot.

Which is expertly adapted into pure cinema by John Frankenheimer. It looks so fresh; surely he’s been studying the Nouvelle Vague? This is the most compelling film imaginable. It grips all the way to the last reveal. A US army platoon goes missing for three days in Korea. Have they been programmed to act against the state?

Military intelligence (Frank Sinatra) investigates a well connected war hero (Laurence Harvey) who may be a communist agent. The two stars are effective- with Harvey well cast for that slightly repellant quality. But Angela Lansbury steals the film as his conniving, frightening mother.

It is the first of the director’s conspiracy trilogy. Maybe there’s disappointment that the theme of the subterfuge is anti-communism, which reflects the real objectives of the American government. So it isn’t actually subversive. But the assassination of JFK a year later made it seem thrillingly intuitive. 

Sincere though laborious adaptation scripted by Alan Sillitoe from his own short story and filmed in the style of the British new wave. So it’s a look at ordinary lives made with authenticity and documentary style realism in legitimate locations, with the use of hand held cameras and natural lighting.

The frame of the author’s original story is sturdy but there is so much ballast loaded onto it that it becomes awkward and overextended. A feral kid (Tom Courtney) who habitually commits petty crime is sent to borstal where he is handpicked by the governor (Michael Redgrave) to represent the institution in a prize race.

The prison scenes endure, including the runner’s final act of futile rebellion. Tony Richardson’s Free Cinema vérité approach is robust. But the flashbacks to the boy’s impoverished existence in Nottingham slums are commonplace and burdened with mundane political insight.

The language of the unruly adolescents is dated and inert, though as a visual record of how things once were done, it stands up. There’s too much Sillitoe; not enough Richardson. Tom Courtney’s debut performance is convincing, but this feels more like something to study than entertainment. 

Dated culture clash comedy that supposes an introverted American academic finds another way of living among the spontaneous and non-materialistic residents of the Athenian port of Piraeus. But then attempts to change a carefree but illiterate sex worker to be more like himself.

So it’s Pygmalion, but set in 1960s Greece. Presumably this was personal for its writer/director Jules Dassin who settled in the country while a political casualty of the Communist blacklist. He also plays the earnest traveller of good intentions. And maybe there is some satire of American imperialism.

This was a box office success, and nominated for five Oscars. Its ethnographic approach to postwar Athens now feels patronising, though nostalgic for a time before mass tourism. The musical theme became hugely popular and will be instantly recognised by anyone who has ever been in a Greek restaurant.

It is most memorable for the performance of Dassin’s future wife, Melina Mercouri, as the happy-go-lucky working girl, a symbol of a naive but uncorrupted proletariat. She is really the whole film. Perhaps this had a greater impact in the ‘50s, a decade of conformity, but now seems ironically to lack spontaneity. 

Intriguing modernist enigma. Or pretentious arthouse bore. Few films have polarised its audience as decisively, and for so long. Alain Resnais’ puzzle is problematic because it is many different things. It moves between layers of symbolism and mood. And it is one of the most visually arresting films ever made.

At a grand Baroque estate populated by aristocrats in evening dress, a man (Giorgio Albertazzi) tells a woman (Delphine Seyrig) that he met her last year at Marienbad. Or was it Frederiksbad? Which she denies. To emphasise that this is a riddle- or a game- they and her husband are identified by letters.

And the viewers wonder what the hell is going on. There are many diverse opinions. The figures that occupy the palace are like ghosts who never quite connect with each other, who reflect on events that may never have taken place. It scored by the eerie, ominous drone of the organ and poetry of loss, impermanence and regret.

Resnais creates a unique space which is instantly recognisable. The visual imagery gives the film a surreal, dreamlike quality and a cool, aloof beauty. The symmetry and formal design emphasise the schematic nature of the plot. And we get lost- once more- in its mysterious, labyrinthine passageways.  

Fascinating though complex- and yes, difficult- arthouse classic which famously aroused loud disapproval at its opening in Cannes, though ultimately won a prize. It reflects on the themes which became characteristic of Michelangelo Antonioni’s films: isolation, communication and cultural atrophy.

And there is the familiar satire of some kind of elite; here, of the wealthy fashionistas of la dolce vita. A party of well connected yet trivial socialites visit the volcanic islands around Sicily and mysteriously lose one of their group (Lea Massari). Her partner (Gabriele Ferzetti) and friend (Monica Vitti) try to find her.

The opening titles are scored like a Mediterranean thriller and the disappearance might trigger that kind of story. But the two photogenic sleuths are soon distracted. They have an affair and their lives return to usual patterns. This unwillingness to pursue, or even resolve the puzzle is what got everyone upset at Cannes.

But of course, Antonioni is representing the condition of being alive. The scenes among the rocky islands are the most haunting, illustrating the inert isolation of the characters. Sure, sometimes this is frustrating, even boring, but that’s part of the experience! Antonioni was an esoteric, cerebral film maker, but usually more accessible than this sounds.

Gorgeous and ultra-stylish version of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley set on the touristic Amalfi Coast, Italy, which deservedly made a star of moody Alain Delon in the title role. Its serene pacing allows for atmosphere without compromising on the suspense.

The sunny locations are so lovely that although this is about a schizophrenic who kills a couple of filthy rich expats, the tourist board of Naples must surely have approved. And with the shabby-chic clothes, beautiful stars and elegant interiors this is one of the most fashionable films ever made.

That aspirational quality is ideal for story about an insolvent, sociopathic American (Delon) who wants some of what the rich have and will do anything to get it. And given how cooly he goes about it, may have done it before. Which means danger for the affluent dilettante (Maurice Ronet) he was hired to bring home.

Delon is a sensation. At first, as the poor nobody, he is sympathetic. Until we see just how crazy he is. The whole photogenic cast is excellent. And it is superbly edited and photographed. There is nothing else like this. The remakes don’t come close; this is one of the great thrillers. 

This raw, spontaneous musical made a significant critical and cultural impact in 1959; it won the Academy Award for best foreign language picture and introduced the bossanova to a worldwide audience. It updates the Greek mythology of Orpheus and Eurydice to a favela in contemporary Rio de Janeiro.

Which caused a ruckus in Brazil as critics felt the ethnological approach trivialised the characters, who just want to sing and dance and be joyful. But hell, it’s a musical! That’s how people usually are! Though it certainly established an enduring impression of the country, with the samba rhythms and the carnival.

There is a cast of (mostly) amateur actors led by a footballer (Brent Mello) as Orpheus and the director’s wife (Marpessa Dawn) as Eurydice, and they are quite limited. The script is poor and the slim premise is mainly there to present a focus to the authenticity of the location.

Which is the slums; this isn’t really touristic. Gradually, the abundant documentary footage overwhelms the drama. This badly needs an edit. What survives is the vibrant colour palette, and the bossanova score by Antônio Carlos Jobim and Luiz Bonfá, which includes the gorgeous Manhã de Carnaval. 

Landmark blockbuster set within the biblical story of Jesus of Nazareth. But it’s an account of another life which connects only occasionally with the gospels. An epic tale of seagoing adventures, a celebrated chariot race and heroic human endurance, staged over a demanding 3 hours and 42 minutes, including symphonies.

William Wyler is among the standout film makers of old Hollywood, but this is not the best example of his virtuoso visual storytelling. This is more about the prodigious production. The cast of thousands. The Panavision, the Technicolor and the stereo sound. But most of all, the inspired casting of Charlton Heston in the title role.

He is magnificent as the Jewish nobleman of Judea who is enslaved by a commander (Stephen Boyd) of the Roman occupation and swears revenge. And in doing so, becomes a Christian. The amount of naked male flesh has led some to detect a homoerotic theme, but it isn’t obvious. This is about spectacle, not subtext.

It is a triumph of set and costume design, of photography and music and logistics and the usual virtues of the studio system on the threshold of decline. It will entertain those with an interest in the period and its emerging faiths. But despite the record 11 Oscars, it’s a disappointment for disciples of its great director.

This is an atomic age paranoia thriller but its procedural approach recalls the documentary noirs of the postwar period. It’s a downmarket, low budget rip off of Panic in the Streets (1950). Only this time the public health hazard comes from radiation.

An escaped prisoner (Vince Edwards) steals a canister which he thinks is filled with cocaine but actually contains Cobalt-60, for use in nuclear reactors. His greed ensures he never lets it out of reach, while it gradually kills him and makes everyone he contacts dangerously sick.

Obviously this has potential as an allegory, but it’s played entirely for thrills as the police pursue the killer convict to save Los Angeles from a major catastrophe, while he tries to actually break into the cylinder to get his hands on the narcotics! And the situation is as tense as that sounds!

There’s another level of interest in the pushers and users who form the slowly dying fugitive’s’s support group, a gang of witless creeps and goofballs who just want part of the windfall for themselves. It’s a B film with a minor cast, but decent tough-guy dialogue and directed with some style. 

Sensual love story about a beautiful, privileged woman who feels trapped with her wealthy husband and unfulfilled by a frivolous affair. She discovers romantic and sexual fulfilment in a chance meeting which alters the path of her life. It’s an ideal star vehicle for Jeanne Moreau as the sad, elegant lady of leisure.

She and Jean-Marc Bory share a potent chemistry as the photogenic lovers. With the lonely, hazy country lanes, the classic cars and clothes and the shabby-chic chateau, this is just beautifully directed by Louis Malle, and photographed in ultra-widescreen b&w.

And scored too, with the romantic chamber music of Johannes Brahms. Despite an overload of good taste, this ended up in the US supreme court, though eventually acquitted of obscenity. The sexual content is almost invisible today but was a revolution in ’58.

Like Lady Chatterley, re-imagined by the Nouvelle Vague... There is some eroticism, but it is more philosophical about love. What else can you want from a French film! It’s a poetic daydream remarkable for a depth of romantic intimacy beyond the range of ‘50s English language cinema. 

Wordy WWII drama about the ethics of combat, which can’t quite escape its origins as a television play. The set designer creates an impressively dense swamp jungle, but it still all looks artificial and the action is static. It’s more instructive than spectacular.

Stanley Baker plays the inflexible, pragmatic leader of a dwindling and exhausted British army brigade which takes a Burmese village off the Japanese and gathers crucial intelligence by ruthless means, including the murder of civilians. When the enemy recovers the camp, the captain has to answer for his methods.

The brief moments of battle are well staged, and the situations- based on actual events- are tense. But this is mostly conversation, initially between the captain, a priest (Guy Rolfe) and a journalist (Leo McKern) attached to his tiny fighting force. And then Japanese intelligence (Philip Ahn).

The diverse assembly of archetypes feels like a Hollywood war film, though the constant moral debate doesn’t at all. But it is still interesting with a fine British cast, including Gordon Jackson as an extremely compliant sergeant. And Baker is superb. It’s a minor UK war film worthy of rediscovery.

The gangster films of the 1950s represent the growing influence of organised crime in postwar America. The criminals are not called the mafia, but that is who they are. Richard Conte plays a former accountant for the organisation who makes a new beginning in Florida and intends to start a family with his lovely wife (Dianne Foster).

Only you can never really leave. The mafia makes him an offer he can’t refuse- to seek out his brothers who are suspected of betrayal. Though Conte is a classic dupe and it’s in b&w, this isn’t film noir. It’s shot in bright daylight. The fashions, apartments, air travel and the cars belong to the affluent Eisenhower period.

This is more like a proto-60s gangster film. The vision of the mob as a parasite insidiously devouring its legitimate capitalist host is extremely plausible. They are embedded. There is nowhere for the eldest Rico brother to turn. At least until the unrealistic Hollywood ending, probably insisted upon by the production code.

Conte's role is paramount. Everyone else is in support. Larry Gates is best as the ruthless, duplicitous mafia fixer. There’s a fine script and the sound mix is sophisticated for its time. It has been forgotten because of the many more violent and stylish mafia films to come. But it feels like a landmark.

Alain Resnais’ debut feature is an innovative arthouse masterpiece which changed the language of cinema while also functioning as a memorial to the atrocity at Hiroshima in 1945. It’s a French/Japanese co-production shot by crews in both those countries which explores the ‘horror of forgetting’.

The picture is dominated by Emmanuelle Riva, playing what she is; a French actor in Hiroshima to make a film for the peace movement. She falls in love with a Japanese architect (Eiji Okada) and to an extent this is a poetic romance with incredibly lyrical dialogue by Marguerite Duras, suggestive of TS Eliot.

And this is sensual and intense with extraordinary photography. Resnais’ master stroke is to understand that the aftershock of the detonation of atomic bombs is too overwhelming to be confronted directly. So he sublimates the emotions it provokes into a subplot about the actor’s love for a German soldier in WWII.

The way it cuts between reality and memory is extremely evocative. The subliminal flashbacks are now ubiquitous. It is more art than entertainment, yet it is seductive. This is an allegory which challenges our empathy and intuition. It attempts to keep the memory of a monstrosity alive so it may never happen again.

Louise Malle’s debut as director is an unconventional and ultra-stylish crime thriller which borrows from film noir but also trials methods later associated with the French New Wave. While the suspense is unreliable, it looks amazing and made an international star of the photogenic Jeanne Moreau.

Maurice Ronet plays an ex-soldier who murders the rich husband of his lover (Moreau) but gets trapped in a lift on returning for incriminating evidence. Which leaves her to wander around Paris trying to find him. Meanwhile a couple of teenagers (Georges Poujouly and Yori Bertin) steal Ronet’s car and kill some tourists.

The weakness is the amount of time spent watching Moreau search for her accomplice. Though that is hardly a chore! Filmed with handheld cameras in natural light on the streets of Paris accompanied by Miles Davis’ improvised jazz score; what could be more Nouvelle Vague?

There’s a cute ending, but as a thriller this is uneven. Yet, as a vehicle for a fresh cinematic approach, it’s stunning. Malle is a quality film maker who always engages the eye. There’s some politics and reflections on Americanisation, but it’s really all about the bebop soundtrack, and the novelty of the look.

Andrzej Wajda’s arthouse masterpiece has always been controversial in Poland for its political moderation in an era of conflict and ideology. It is most potent as a lament for a lost generation trapped between the Nazi occupation and Soviet oppression. And for its haunting, poetic imagery.

Zbigniew Cybulski became a legend in Polish cinema for his role as a survivor of the Warsaw Uprising who finds he is being exploited by the leaders of the resistance to seize power while peace is proclaimed. Rather than murder a Communist as commanded, he chooses humanity.

Which Wajda implies, is not an available option. To an outsider, the political intrigue isn’t always engaging. Yet the melancholy romance between the disillusioned partisan and a hotel worker (Ewa Krzyzewska) is heartbreaking, as their lives are ground by the gears of factional opportunism.

Cybulski looks more like a star of the ‘50s than the war, but he gave Polish cinema its James Dean. It’s Krzyzewska and he together who endure, bonded by a brief experience of love which can never be more than a moment of intimate solace within a malign national destiny.