Pickup on South Street

Film noir arose in the 1940's as a reaction against typical Hollywood storytelling. As such, it has certain inherent strengths. Noir films are realistic in the sense that they usually lack traditional heroes and villains; at best, the protagonist is willing to do some rather terrible things. Noir also frequently explores the seamier side of life, inspiring dramatic and effective lighting and camerawork.

Unfortunately, noir films also tend to feature hectic pacing, which can lead to slapdash filmmaking and ridiculous plot twists. The best noir explores the grittiness of its characters and settings without resorting to silliness.

"Pickup on South Street," written and directed by Samuel Fuller, is mostly successful in this regard. Skip McCoy is a skillful pickpocket who lifts a purse containing a film intended for delivery to Communists. Soon he finds both G-men and Communists on his trail. The momentum builds to some very energetic action sequences. Particularly effective is a scene involving a man hiding from the police on a dumbwaiter. Fuller knows how to film men throwing punches; small wonder that Martin Scorcese counts him among his influences.

Unfortunately, there are still some goofy little plot twists here. Candy, the owner of the purse Skip lifts, falls hard for him within minutes of meeting him: she's soon risking her life on his behalf. Noir frequently features such sudden swoons; it adds to the drama, by giving the characters new motivations, but it also seems especially unlikely for individuals who are supposed to be hardboiled.

Still, Fuller manages to use his characters to make a couple of points. First, the criminals respect one another; even when being double crossed, Skip recognizes that it's just business. They even manage to assist one another on occasion. Second, they have no use for politics. Skip will help the commies or the cops, whichever will get him cash and keep him out of the clink.

One other gift the film offers is the terrific performance of Thelma Ritter. Playing a stoolie at least twenty years older than her actual age, Ritter received one of her six Academy Award nominations in twelve years for the film, though she never won. Like her character in "Pickup," Ritter didn't get much attention, but she was terrific at her craft.

Public Enemies

"Public Enemies" is a robotic sort of film. It's technically proficient, but it doesn't have much of a soul.

Those familiar with the director, Michael Mann, who also helped write the screenplay, will hardly be surprised that he's produced another well-crafted, gritty crime drama. This one follows famed 1930's bank robber John Dillinger (Johnny Depp) as FBI agent Melvin Pervis (Christian Bale) hunts him down.

Mann seems to be going for a crime movie that's as realistic as possible. Most of the time "Public Enemies" gives us just the facts, ma'am, with little in the way of characterization or Hollywood touches.

This approach yields some very effective heist and chase sequences. But Mann is so busy chronicling events that we don't really get to know Dillinger: we learn that he's impatient, egotistical and loyal, but that's about it. As for Pervis, he's more of a plot device than a character. This seems like quite a waste, partly because Bale can do a lot more than look tough in a suit, and partly because in real life Pervis committed suicide at 56; surely his job took a large psychological toll on him.

Moreover, Mann still indulges in some inaccuracies. For example, Baby Face Nelson was killed after Dillinger, but the film reverses this to make the latter the last gangster standing. Also ridiculous is a scene in which Dillinger walks into an FBI office hunting him down; the G-men are too caught up listening to a ballgame over lunch to notice him.

One other issue: Mann's use of digital film. This also serves his instincts for realism, with lots of handheld, ultra-sharp shots, but I'm not convinced digital is preferable to film. Digital shots tend to show fast motion--and there is a lot of that in this film--as a distracting blur.

Mann wants to create a grim, documentary-like film, but he still recognizes the need for dramatization. He would have been better served by giving in to the second impulse. It might have taught us more about Dillinger and Pervis; more importantly, it might have made us care.

The Deer Hunter

"The Deer Hunter" has some very promising ideas and nice moments. The trouble is that the film runs over three hours, which means there's a lot of chaff to separate from the wheat.

The film tells the story of three Pennsylvania steelworkers, Michael (Robert De Niro), Nick (Christopher Walken), and Steven (Nick Savage). In the film's first hour, Steven gets married and goes hunting with his buddies. This part of the movie is by far the most effective. It gives us the most realistic look at male comradery I have seen on film: the backslapping, the pranks, the crude banter, the drinking.

After their hunting trip, the men are shipped off to Vietnam. Predictably, the film shifts in tone here. The first scene in Vietnam is absolutely harrowing: having been captured by the Viet Cong, the men are forced to play a deadly version of Russian roulette. One bullet is put in a pistol and each man is forced to fire the gun at his own head, praying that the bullet is not in the chamber that fires.

Upon their escape, however, the film begins to drag considerably. Steven is injured, while Michael and Nick wander the streets.

In the film's final section, Michael returns home, only to find out that Steven has lost three limbs and Nick is AWOL. Michael can no longer engage in macho roughhousing; he can't even bring himself to shoot a deer, his previous favorite pastime. He has seen the logical conclusion of the masculine mindset, and it horrifies him.

If "The Deer Hunter" were focused on this theme, it would be a powerful statement. But director Michael Cimino has too much else on his agenda. His sequences are bloated and often unnecessary; for example, the ending, which explains Nick's fate, adds nothing that we couldn't already have inferred.

Had "The Deer Hunter" been made five years earlier or later, the studio would likely have forced Cimino to trim it down. Alas, it was made at the height of '70's Hollywood excess. The film could have been a punch to the stomach; instead, it's more of a sedative.

Alexander Nevsky

Sergei Eisenstein is justly acclaimed as one of the most influential directors in history. Unfortunately, I must take issue with one of his most lauded films, "Alexander Nevsky."

The plot of "Nevsky" could not be any more straightforward. The Germans invade 13th-century Russia. Prince Alexander must lead his countrymen against them. Since the film was funded by the Soviets, you can guess who wins.

Most of the film is very stiff and wooden. It feels like a silent movie with spoken dialogue put in--which makes sense, since Eisenstein started in the silent era. Each time a different character must speak, there is a brief pause as the camera cuts to that character.

This sort of filmmaking was necessary, even preferable, in the silent era because we couldn't hear any of the dialogue, and we needed to know who was speaking. But by 1938, film had advanced quite a bit; "Nevsky" was made the year after "Grand Illusion" and the year before "Gone With the Wind." Yet we still get shot after static shot of one character, delivering dialogue.

However, the film is mostly praised not for these sequences but for the "Battle on the Ice" scene. This scene was extremely influential, but it's not particularly effective.

The scene fails for the same reason that most battle scenes fail: we can't get a good grasp on what's happening. There are thousands of things happening on a battle field at any one time. It's impossible to capture all of them, so instead Eisenstein does the only thing he can: he gives us lots of shots of people swinging swords, interspersed with shots of people running around. After a half an hour, we're told the Russians won. But since we couldn't really understand what was going on, there was no sense of suspense or urgency.

Contrast this with, say, the "Odessa Staircase" sequence in Eisenstein's "Battleship Potemkin." Here, we see the Tsar's men chasing civilians down a staircase. There is a real sense of terror here, since we can actually comprehend what we're seeing.

Again, this isn't Eisenstein's fault. The challenges of filming a good battle scene have still only partially been overcome. Some things just don't work well on film. We'd be better off if directors stuck to action sequences that the audience can get a handle on.

Mystic River

"Mystic River" is a reasonably well-done crime thriller. Like the career of its director, Clint Eastwood, it's solid, if a bit overrated.

The plot, based on a novel by Dennis Lehane, is the strongest part of the film. Jimmy Markum (Sean Penn), a Boston born and bred ex-con, is out for blood following the murder of his daughter Katie. A great deal of circumstantial evidence points to the guilt of his childhood friend, Dave Boyle (Tim Robbins). Boyle, who is still haunted by a nightmarish childhood molestation experience, is becoming mentally unhinged and struggles to defend himself. The only person who seems skeptical of Dave's guilt is Sean Devine (Kevin Bacon), another childhood friend of Boyle and Markum who is now investigating the case.

The film is an actor's showcase, and Penn and Robbins make the most of it. They provide a nice point-counterpoint, Penn's coiled rage contrasted with Robbins' withdrawn and troubled demeanor.

The trouble is that there are too many other juicy roles, including that of Boyle's wife, who believes her husband guilty, and Devine, who has separated from his wife in a rather pointless subplot. The film never gets a chance to breathe; it's constantly jumping from one scene of emotional turmoil to another.

Another problem is that Bacon lacks the chops to handle his role. When called upon to provide anger during an interrogation scene, he instead seems merely irritated. In addition, some of the line readings feel a bit rushed and rote. Laura Linney, who plays Markum's wife, has a particularly undercooked monologue at the end of the film. (However, the fault may not lie with Linney, who is quite talented. "Gran Torino," another recent Eastwood film, occasionally suffered the same problem.)

As usual, Eastwood's direction is solid but unspectacular; he does what is needed. The editing is particularly good during the climax of the film, which cuts between two scenes at just the right moments.

"Mystic River" garnered some deserved praise, including two Academy Awards: Penn for Best Actor, and Robbins for Best Supporting Actor. But it could have been a classic, if only it hadn't overplayed its hand.

Gran Torino

"Gran Torino" is an R-rated after-school special. It's much more interested in teaching its characters lessons than in storytelling.

Clint Eastwood stars as Walt Kowalski, but he's really more of a caricature than a character here. In case you ever forget that Kowalski is old as dirt, Eastwood grimaces, groans and delivers lines about how Young People Today Have No Respect in about three-quarters of the scenes.

Kowalski is a lonely widower living in suburban Michigan. His life takes a turn when he befriends the family next door to him. This friendship is unlikely, to say the least, because the family is of the Hmong ethnicity, while Kowalski is racist enough to fit in at a Klan meeting.

He seems to have a particular contempt for Asians, perhaps because of his service in the Korean War. Even when visiting his neighbors' house, he tosses around the word "gook" as often as Tony Montana drops F-bombs. It seems improbable that Kowalski could overcome his racism to see that his neighbors are better people than his own children. It's downright absurd that the family would put up with his open ignorance and contempt ("I thought Asian girls were supposed to be smart").

Kowalski forms a particularly close bond with Thao, a teenage boy. Thao's father has died and he clearly needs guidance. He looks to Kowalski to provide it, even though the old man accuses him of being a "pussy" enough times in one monologue to set some sort of Hollywood record.

Thao and his family are harassed by a gang, which leads to a confrontation between Kowalski and the young punks. The ending is telegraphed from a mile away.

Not surprisingly, a movie this preachy features some ham-handed dialogue, particularly between Kowalski and a priest ("I've been thinking about our conversation about life and death"). Eastwood directs, and as usual, he is competent. He deserves credit for making the gang scenes passable, considering he's working with actors sixty years his junior.

In a recent interview, Eastwood was asked who he makes movies for now. He pointed to himself. That sums up "Gran Torino" pretty well. It's an opportunity for Eastwood to berate young whippersnappers, show he's racially enlightened and play a martyr.

The Virgin Suicides

In "The Godfather" Part 3, Sofia Coppola proved she could act about as well as a professional wrestler.

But in "The Virgin Suicides," Coppola proves she can direct the hell out of a movie.

Based on a novel by Jeffrey Eugenides, the story is economical. In 1970's suburban Michigan, the five teenage Lisbon sisters live under the aegis of their strict Catholic parents. When rules are relaxed and the girls are allowed to bring boys over, their behavior takes a predictable turn. A stern crackdown ensues, which leads to the tragic events heavily implied in the title.

A plot summary can't really do this film justice, though, because it leaves out the eerie atmosphere which pervades "The Virgin Suicides." There are two major reasons for this disturbing mood. First, we barely get to know all but one of the Lisbon sisters; they remain mysterious pretty things throughout the film. Secondly, we are warned at the outset and throughout the film of the tragedy to come.

Coppola helps build this atmosphere not with fancy tricks, but with an understated direction. She uses straightforward camera angles and provides only brief glimpses of the misdeeds, large and small, committed by the sisters.

As for the music, Coppola has always shown she has good taste, but she hasn't always known the right time to use it. (Putting the Strokes on your soundtrack is rarely a wrong move, but it certainly is in a film about Marie Antoinette.) Here she eschews quality--save for a nice recurring score by the French duo Air--in favor of songs which encapsulate adolescence in the 1970's.

The faults of "The Virgin Suicides" lie mostly in the plot. We are told that everything changes when the girls are allowed to invite boys over, but they attend a public coed school. Haven't they already been exposed to plenty of testosterone? More puzzling is that the film continually insists that the events of its climax are a mystery, impossible to explain, even though the reasons are all laid out for us.

In fact, this explanation may be the film's greatest strength. "The Virgin Suicides" is a first-rate portrait of adolescence: the ignorance and immaturity of the boys, the sexual allure of the girls, and the persecution complex of both genders which can sometimes lead to unspeakable acts.