Judge, Juror #2, and Executioner

A remake, especially of a classic (or cult classic) is tricky. You’ll have a tough time winning over the purists – too similar and it is considered a cheap rehash. . . too different and it is looked upon as not paying proper tribute to the original, meaning that you’ve really got a lose/lose situation (in regards to your core audience). One remake that deserves a second look is the 2005 Jean-François Richet (Mesrine Part 1 & 2; Blood Father) action crime film Assault on Precinct 13. Based upon the John Carpenter film of the same name (the filmmaker carrying with him a group of diehard fans that are hard to please), James DeMonaco (the scribe of The Purge franchise) takes over the gargantuan task of modernizing this iconic cult classic. Rooted in a very similar situation (but changing enough to make it feel quite fresh), as in its predecessor, the Precinct is closing in one short day – in this case, on January 1st.

When it comes to On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, there may not be another James Bond film that is more divisive amongst fans. Tending to have people falling on either the love it or hate it side. . . there are good arguments to be made in both camps – yet that is not something to be settled here today. No matter where you fall within this conversation, if you’re a Bond fan, the 2017 documentary Becoming Bond, written, directed and produced by Josh Greenbaum, is for you. As playful as any Bond film (and perhaps as implausible), George Lazenby (star of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service – and the only actor to play 007 just once) narrates us through his fascinating life (including when Sean Connery decided to step away from the character. . . only to return once more after Lazenby decided not to put his John Hancock onto a seven film deal that included a one million dollar signing bonus – preferring freedom and a life over fame and fortune).

Are you in the mood for a Taste of Sin. . . perhaps with a dash of Double Jeopardy. . . and what the heck even is a Prozzie (for those of you not in the know, it is slang for a prostitute). . . or, to end with the most generic and lackluster of all, meet Olivia. Every once in a while, you’ve just got to love finding a little known, underground, low budget B movie that has stayed hidden from most of the world since its release (in this case, 1983), and Olivia (which was also released under the three other titles mentioned above) fits the bill. A film that pulls a bit from Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (you might also recognize some similarities to Marnie and Psycho), as well as from the luridly entertaining crime and thrillers coming out of Europe the decade previously (gialli and poliziotteschi), and a number of other sources, co-writer/director Ulli Lommel (who was a frequent collaborator with acclaimed Rainer Werner Fassbinder), introduces us to poor Olivia (Suzanna Love as an adult; as a five year old – Amy Robinson), a young woman who has been dealt a poor hand in life. Growing up with her prostitute mother overlooking London bridge, she witnesses her mom’s demise at the hands of a sadistic American soldier (Nicholas Love). . . flash forward fifteen years, and she has found her way into the arms of the first brute she bumps into, Richard (Jeff Winchester) – already four years married to the uncouth, violent factory worker.

Ryan Gosling’s first, and to date, only writing and directing credit, 2014's Lost River is by no means a film for everyone. . . an arthouse style dark fairytale with tinges of gialli violence and colour, the actor turned filmmaker sets in place a slow, unsettling mood that will either hold you in its oppressive grip, or might just leave you up the creek without a paddle. The title a reference to the town in which we are dropped into, it is like much of smaller town America (and some of larger city America as well – it is actually filmed in Detroit), a crumbling locale where many young folks have fled, businesses sit empty, roving gangs of hoodlums burn houses for the fun of it, and everyone lives in a dystopic-like fugue state of depressed apathy.

Like watching a magician shuffle a deck of cards (including jokers) into perfect numerical order, director John Crowley (Brooklyn) takes Mark O’Rowe’s screenplay, which consists of a whopping fifty-four characters (hence the jokers) and eleven separate storylines, weaving them together in wholly interesting ways to make Intermission (2003). What is it about Irish screenwriters that gives them the ability to build these complex stories in clever ways? I really don’t have an answer, but like the works of brothers Martin and John Michael McDonagh, there is a unique essence in this narrative that avoids tropes, Crowley intersecting all of O’Rowe’s stories in an impressive way.