The front door to an apartment swings open... an unseen figure walks through the living area and approaches a beautiful blonde woman wearing a robe as she walks around the bathroom... he then deliberately empties the barrel of his revolver into her – this is the jarring cold opening to the film noir Illegal (1955), and one thing is for sure, it knows how to grab your attention. Funnily enough, this was the third adaptation of the 1929 play “The Mouthpiece” by Frank J. Collins, following Mouthpiece (1932) and The Man Who Talked Too Much (1940) – and they say movies are remade too much today. Flash to Victor Scott (Edward G. Robinson), a district attorney who is wise to all the angles and is graced with a silver tongue. With an unyielding desire to win (he got it from growing up and fighting his way out of the slums), he argues every case like it is his last.
A musical murder mystery? Yes, you read that right. . . and that was the type of film you often saw during the Pre-Code era. If 1934's Murder at the Vanities was made just six months later, it never would have passed code and been released – fortuitous for the film makers and us. Directed by Mitchell Leisen, this on stage/backstage premise finds Jack Ellery (Jack Oakie – The Great Dictator) putting on a sumptuous musical revue, featuring his two stars, an Austrian making his American debut, Eric Lander (Carl Brisson), and up and coming Ann Ware (Kitty Carlisle). Unbeknownst to everyone, a whirlwind romance has swooped up between the two stars. . . and they plan to marry after the opening show (they make the announcement upon their arrival at the theatre).
John Michael McDonagh’s follow up to The Guard, 2014's Calvary (which he again writes and directs), is a thought provoking mystery infused drama which delves into irony, theology, predestination, and how the wounds of the past influence the present in most powerful ways. Opening with a quotation from Saint Augustine – “Do not despair; one of the thieves was saved. Do not presume; one of the thieves was damned.”, we are then introduced to our main character, Father James (Brendan Gleeson), a good man in small town Ireland. Originally married with a daughter, when his wife died, he followed a calling to the priesthood, attempting to impart his spiritual wisdom and some much needed solace to his flock.
By now, most film fanatics have discovered the works of playwright turned film maker Martin McDonagh, starting with the 2004 short film Six Shooter (it earned him an Oscar), he then went full length with 2008's In Bruges (it quickly became an acclaimed cult classic), next heading Stateside with the rather violent 2012 comedy Seven Psychopaths (again, garnering much praise), only for his fourth, and to date, final effort, 2017's Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, to earn multiple Academy Award nominations (including two wins. . . while many believed it should have won Best Picture as well). While we wait for his still untitled next feature (which is currently in pre-production), perhaps some of you have yet to discover his very talented brother, John Michael McDonagh. Today, I’ll introduce you to the short film that started it all, as well as the full length feature that blossomed out of it.
You just have to wonder if the overt sentimentality of a Frank Capra-type picture can’t work with a twenty-first century mindset. . . known as Capracorn, his movies were so sweet that they would even cause a perfectly healthy individual to get diabetes. Case in point, 2005's The Amateurs (sometimes known as The Moguls), a movie so obscure, a teacher makes more money in one year than it grossed at the box office. Panned by critics and never given a chance at the box office, it was relegated to a grim alternate reality akin to Pottersville. Written and directed by first time film maker Michael Traeger (sadly, this is still his only directorial credit), he follows the Capra mold, finding a rather ironic storyline to juxtapose the heart-filled tale.
Only Bong Joon Ho’s second movie, 2003's Memories of Murder already shows the masterful brush strokes of a confident young artist, writing a thought provoking, multi-layered script (based upon a series of real life murders as well as Alan Moore’s graphic novel “From Hell”) that is paired with a mesmeric visual onscreen presence. Set in a rural town in South Korea, this is a location that has been left behind. Usually a peaceful, quiet place (except when the trains pass through), October 1986 has brought with it the dead body of a young woman – both raped and murdered. Riots and protests routinely pop up in this fractured time and setting.
Next time you see your friends, you might just want to take a gander into their peepers, for if we learn one thing in today’s feature, it’s that Death Has Blue Eyes (aka The Girl Is a Bomb). A 1976 Greek film written and directed by first time film maker Nico Mastorakis (though his more famous cult classic Island of Death was released first, it was in fact made second), this one is a mish-mash of C movie ideas rolled into a honey-trap of underwhelming baklava (sadly, the Greek pastry does not make an appearance in the flick). Feeding off of the James Bond and giallo craze of the time (as well as any other genre they could pop in), financed by the porn king of Greece, and with a budget so low that the writer/director would not earn one penny (or should I say drachma), in the end, it does intriguingly share some similarities with Brian De Palma’s Carrie – which was released the same year as this one. Keep in mind, perhaps, the fact that this is arguably the first supernatural film to be made in Greece – so maybe we can be kind in saying that it has a good concept that just isn’t executed particularly well.