The Third Man
(Reed, 1949)
Holly Martins is a pulp writer down on his luck who is invited to Vienna by his childhood friend, Harry Lime. He arrives in the bombed-out, post-war city almost penniless after a promise of work from Lime, only to discover that his friend has recently died in an accident.
After Martins attends the funeral, the Vienna authorities offer him a plane ticket home, but something does not sit quite right with Martins about the circumstances of Lime’s death. The people he casually asks about what happened seem fidgety and elusive, and more interestingly they each paint a slightly different version of events.
Despite encouragement from the authorities to let the matter rest, Martins sets about investigating the death and the identity of a mysterious ‘third man’ present at the scene of the accident.
The Third Man is a masterful noir thriller whose story unfolds skilfully, peeling back the layers of deceit to reveal shifting loyalties and questionable ethics. Vienna, as a city still in ruins following the war, is divided into quarters, each with its respective foreign jurisdiction. The Americans, British, French and Russian authorities all seem to have an interest in the matter of Harry Lime, but politics and the language barrier do well to ensure a healthy level of distrust and obfuscation.
It’s a gorgeously shot black and white film, clever and tense. Most of the story takes place at night, when those pulling the strings can move about without hindrance, and the next clue might be lurking in the nearest darkened doorway.
A number of the film’s characters speak largely or entirely in German, without subtitles, forcing the audience and protagonist to rely on the tone of their voice and third party interpretation, though like much in the film there is no guarantee that those interpreting can be relied on to truthfully convey the full message.
The Third Man is packed with memorable scenes and dialog, keeps the audience constantly guessing at the loyalties of every character, and is so beautifully shot and scored that even without the fantastic performances (by one character especially) this would still be one of the finest pieces of noir – British noir at that – of all time. If you haven’t already seen it, do yourself a favour and remedy that straight away, but try not to read other reviews as they have an annoying tendency of spoiling the plot for you.
tl;dr: A potent mystery thriller set in a city broken in more ways than one. Stunning visuals, classic (if occasionally overpowering) music and inspiring performances all round. The characters are fleshed-out and believable, and the action will continually excite you even after you think you’ve figured it all out.
King Of New York
(Ferrara, 1990)
Christopher Walken is Frank White, a notorious drug kingpin recently released from prison who, without breaking stride, fully intends to make up for lost time. As premises go it’s far from original, but with Walken on sinister, serpentine form and a supporting cast of loud, nasty and unscrupulous bruisers from both sides of the law, King Of New York has enough in the way of raw ingredients to produce a darkly delicious experience overall.
The irrepressible White wastes no time in sending a message to anyone who might stand in his way, and those who refuse to deal on his terms soon find the alternative less than conducive to their long-term health. Here is a gangster who is supremely confident in his methods and his manpower, and for much of the film it seems like he may just be untouchable.
As his enemies try desperately to bring him down, White merely goes from strength to strength. He uses his ill-gotten fortune to nurture a facade of respectability, infuriating the authorities and driving them to extreme lengths. Frank would exploit the law to see himself elected mayor, while his foes would forsake it to see him dead.
The film is as stylish as you might expect from Abel Ferrara, but all the beautifully dingy scenes of rain-swept streets and sweeping shots over the neon-lit New York skyline can’t cover up the fact we’re expected to take what we’re seeing at face value, without questioning the often baffling premise and storyline turns.
If you simply allow yourself to be caught up in the wake of Frank White’s manic slash-and-burn across New York by night, chances are you’ll have a really good time watching this film. A young Laurence (here billed as Larry) Fishburne puts in an excellent turn as Walken’s psychotic right-hand man, and David Caruso is highly entertaining as a hot-headed cop determined to dethrone the King of New York no matter what the cost.
tl;dr: Noisy, violent and debauched, King Of New York is a modern day Robin Hood story as told by an artisan of grimy immorality. Walken is mesmerising even when he stars in turkeys, but here he puts on one of the most formidably intense showings of his career. It might not make a lot of sense at times, but for fans of hard-edged gangster films, this is a must-see.
Zatoichi
(Kitano, 2003)
The blind swordsman Zatoichi – central character in some 26 films and over a hundred episodes of an eponymous television series – is highly iconic in his native Japan. Almost 15 years after his initial run of popularity came to an end, Zatoichi was reborn in this, an artful period piece by acclaimed director “Beat” Takeshi Kitano.
Loaded with breathtaking imagery, superbly choreographed fight sequences and a heaping dose of the director’s characteristically slapstick humour, Zatoichi is a rare modern treat for fans of samurai films. There are shades of Yojimbo and other Kurosawa classics here, but the style and tone of this film belong steadfastly to Kitano.
The character Zatoichi is played by the director himself, who opted to give the sightless samurai a unique platinum blonde mop and a strikingly blood-red cane sword. He cuts a reticent, if mischievous figure as he wanders into a poor, rural village being fought over by three violent criminal gangs, seemingly interested in nothing more than the local sake and a spot of gambling to pass the time. Soon enough the local balance of power is upset and it falls to Zatoichi and an eclectic, unlikely set of allies to set things right.
Like many of Kitano’s films, Zatoichi consists of extended periods of subtle, clever dialogue and character development that are liberally peppered with cheeky humour and roughly punctuated with sudden and extreme acts of violence that often appear from nowhere.
Words like good and evil do not really belong in a story such as this. The usual rich vs. poor dynamic is present here, but characters working both with and against Zatoichi are driven to violence by their own peculiar backstories, and Zatoichi himself is not averse to dispensing a bloody coup de grâce to a misguided soul that in another lifetime may have called him an ally.
Kitano always seems to be having great fun making films, and one can only imagine the frenetic on-set scene transitions where the director-star was rushing around between centre stage and the director’s chair.
Watching films like this is a joyful experience. It combines moments of quiet beauty with sudden bursts of energetic action, but no matter what is happening you are liable to burst into laughter without warning. With Zatoichi, Kitano has taken an established franchise and given it his own unmistakeable flourish.
tl;dr: A masterfully-woven tapestry of great beauty, tragedy, violence and comedy, Zatoichi is a unique take on the samurai formula that will surprise, fascinate and enchant you. It is impossible not to like Kitano’s blind swordsman, and the story will scoop you up and take you on a wild, wildly entertaining ride.
The Hurt Locker
(Bigelow, 2008)
War, we are often told, is hell. No matter the field of battle, war distills the least savoury parts of mankind’s character into a vicious, hard to swallow soup. War films, by their very nature, are going to have a tough time uplifting us. Even the borderline propaganda we are occasionally subjected to leaves a niggling feeling in the mind of anyone in possession of a shred of sanity that nobody would choose to go to war if they didn’t feel they had to; fewer still would want to go back after they made it home the first time. But war, it is also said, is a drug, one which affects those who experience it in strange and profound ways.
The principal character in The Hurt Locker is one Sergeant First Class William James (Jeremy Renner), a bomb disposal expert with many years of field experience. James is drafted as the squad leader of Bravo Company in a U.S. Army bomb clearup unit based in Baghdad, Iraq. His squadmates are a straight-laced Sergeant and a young Specialist who is troubled by the things he has seen in the line of duty.
Sergeant James’ lax attitude to protocol borders on suicidal, which causes considerable friction between him and his new squad. Much of the film is spent on the relationship between the Bravo squad mates who, despite the tensions, work exceedingly well as a unit. The men are placed in considerable danger on an almost daily basis, and as the weeks count down before the squad is rotated they find themselves relying on one another, with every other person in the vicinity either actively trying to kill them, or merely content to look on with indifference.
The Hurt Locker is an extremely taut film, with the threat of hidden danger ever present. The action is shot largely in close-ups with lurching, shaky camerawork driving up the tension and capturing the blistering heat and dry, hostile working conditions Bravo Squad endure as they go about their invariably stressful day. It’s nerve-shredding stuff and pulls no punches, unapologetically helping to illustrate that the good guys don’t always win.
Renner is exceptional in this, playing the gung-ho explosives specialist with a fearsome abandon. Kathryn Bigelow handles the tender subject matter with great respect, not once betraying an action movie cliché or a veiled political sideswipe. This is a film which combines powerful, natural performances with beautiful cinematography and an unbiased perspective of the brutality and senselessness of warfare, no matter how modern it gets.
tl;dr: Though it forgoes a conventional story in favour of taut, often shocking set pieces, as a piece of cinematic art The Hurt Locker is stupendous. There are a couple of times where the story wills the suspension of your disbelief, but even these weaker moments can’t detract from an otherwise superlative piece of film.
Snatch
(Ritchie, 2000)
For his second full-length film, Guy Ritchie obviously thought it best not to deviate too greatly from the winning formula of his wildly successful debut, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. Some might argue he barely deviated at all. Once again, there’s an expensive piece of treasure that everyone wants and once again, there’s a veritable army of twitchy sociopaths tearing Old London Town apart in order to put their hands on it.
The budget is bigger this time around, but so too is the cast. Whereas Lock, Stock gave us a manageable number of crooks, thugs and gangsters to chase around, Snatch liberally piles bodies into the mix. You only really need to pay attention to maybe three or four of them; the rest, it seems, are simply there to act as comic foils or swear at opportune moments.
Jason Statham and Vinnie Jones more or less made their careers off the back of Lock, Stock…‘s success, and with Snatch it stands to reason that Ritchie knew Hollywood would be paying close attention this time around. To this end, Statham and Jones reprise their roles from Lock, Stock… in everything but name: Jones with his car-vs-skull brutishness and Statham with his laconic smart-assery. Neither were particularly good in this film, but it doesn’t seem to have done them any harm in the long run.
On its own merits, Snatch is decent enough; it’s very funny in parts, and some of the cast give great performances. Brad Pitt, in particular, puts on a hell of a show as an indecipherable bare-knuckle gypsy boxing champion. Elsewhere, though, otherwise strong performances are made underwhelming by the insertion of laborious monologues and needless posturing.
The story skips merrily along, pitching us the kind of plot twists that made Lock, Stock… great. The soundtrack, too, is just as strong as its predecessor’s. The film oozes style, but in parts the effect is scuppered by the feeling that it knows how stylish it is. We’re supposed to be impressed by this, but really it would have been a lot more impressive if Snatch had ended up more than a tarted-up facsimile of what had come before.
tl;dr: Snatch is more polished, louder and more crowded than its gritty forerunner. The overall effect, though, is of a director who seems merely to be going through the motions. The film would have been far punchier were it not for the abundance of pointless dialogue. A shame, really, because in places this film is actually pretty entertaining.
The Mask
(Russell, 1994)
Back when Jim Carrey looked like he might turn daft facial expressions and leftover stand-up routines into a long-lasting film career, “Wacky” was the name of the game. 1994 was Carrey’s break-out year, with the first Ace Ventura flick and Dumb and Dumber sandwiching The Mask, in which the man making a name for himself as a living cartoon character got to play his wildest, most cartoonish role yet.
The Mask is the story of Stanley Ipkiss. Under-appreciated bank clerk and doormat by day, dog-loving, cartoon-obsessive man-child by night. One day, following a series of calamities that see him lose the girl, get in trouble once again at work, and have his car held for ransom by cowboy mechanics, Stanley happens upon a discarded wooden mask. When he puts the mask on, he finds himself transformed into a manic embodiment of his innermost desires, stripped of his inhibitions and blessed with superhuman strength, speed and invulnerability.
The mask’s form is defined by whoever puts it on, so Ipkiss – who is a fundamentally nice guy at heart – is mischievous, playful but ultimately harmless. All he’s interested in is getting dressed up and partying, but in doing so he manages to attract the attention of local mobsters, whose activities are hampered by the scattershot antics of Stanley’s alter ego. To complicate things further, the local police are on the hunt for the “masked menace”, and Stanley’s bumbling protests of innocence will only protect him for so long.
This is neither a children’s film nor one strictly for grown-ups, although it does possess qualities of both. The mix of live action and cartoon-like CGI, together with Carrey’s arsenal of silly noises (for the kids) and celebrity impressions (which will sail over the heads of younger audiences) give this film a broad appeal that has stood up remarkably well over time. There are a couple of darker or more risque moments, but nothing that’ll make protective parents reach over and cover their kids’ ears and eyes.
The cast are all very entertaining, from Carrey himself to Richard Jeni’s comical best friend, as well as Peter Greene’s power-hungry mob lieutenant and Cameron Diaz (in her debut) as the busty, husky femme fatale. The story is fairly rudimentary and the humour doesn’t always quite click, but since this is essentially a feature-length cartoon it can be forgiven the odd descent into farce. As star vehicles go, this one was made for Carrey, and no other man alive could have pulled it off.
tl;dr: A good bet for both the young and the young at heart, The Mask is a living comic; an entertaining blend of romance, comedy and crime drama with over-the-top special effects and up-tempo theme music inspired by the classic cartoons of the 40s and 50s. Frantic, inoffensive and fun.
Born To Kill
(Wise, 1947)
Also known as “Lady Of Deceit” in the UK.
Some filmmakers go to great lengths to produce characters of great depth, complexity and unpredictability of intent. Some you can read a mile off, but at least the writer has the good grace to provide you with the odd bit of double-dealing and bluff.
Then there are films like Born To Kill, where the players are painted with such broad strokes as to make their motives transparent as a cat rubbing up against your leg every time you go anywhere near the kitchen. This is murder, avarice and blackmail by numbers.
That’s not to say that Born To Kill is a bad film. On the contrary, it’s sometimes quite nice to know exactly where you stand with characters: a hulking psychopath who will not only do whatever it takes to get what he wants, but will openly admit it to anyone who asks; a gold-digging coquette who is happy to use anyone who puts their trust in her; and a morally vacuous private investigator willing to sell out everyone in sight to achieve a better profit.
The morality of Born To Kill is almost exclusively black and white. Characters exist to exploit or be exploited, and betrayal is never more than a phone call away. Lawrence Tierney’s character is the destructive force that drives the film, and while he is rather one-dimensional, his frank callousness and barely-concealed rage give him credibility as an irredeemable noir heel.
The story, while not especially complex, keeps you guessing as to which, if any of the deeply unpleasant characters will come out on top in the end. This isn’t deep enough to qualify as noir at its best, but is definitely worth a watch for the entertaining individual performances and the unflinching fatalism of the narrative.
tl;dr: A film ahead of its time in terms of the gritty unpleasantness of its seedy little world, Born To Kill is enjoyable, stock film noir with an uncomplicated plot and three wickedly depraved central characters.
