What’s an Insomnia File? You know how some times you just can’t get any sleep and, at about three in the morning, you’ll find yourself watching whatever you can find on cable? This feature is all about those insomnia-inspired discoveries!
Last night, if you were up at 2 in the morning, you could have turned over to Starz and watched the atmospheric 2002 mystery, Insomnia.
I have to admit that I’m cheating a little bit by including Insomnia in a series about obscure films that you might find on cable late at night. While Insomnia does seem to often turn up during the early morning hours, it’s hardly an obscure film. A remake of an acclaimed Norwegian film, it not only stars three Oscar winners (Al Pacino, Robin Williams, and Hilary Swank) but it was directed by Christopher Nolan. Insomnia got a lot of attention when it was first released in 2002. But, doing an insomnia file about a movie that’s actually about insomnia was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.
I should also mention that I didn’t have insomnia last night. I was up because I currently have a cold and I watched Insomnia in a feverish and congested haze. And yet I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, that was actually the ideal way to watch Insomnia. With its ominous atmosphere and Nolan’s eye for the surreal, Insomnia plays out like a semi-lucid fever dream.
A teenage girl has been murdered in a small Alaskan fishing village. The chief of police (played by the great character actor Paul Dooley) asks his former LAPD partner, Will Dormer (Al Pacino), to come to Alaska and help with the investigation. Accompanying Dormer is his partner and friend, Hap Eckhart (Martin Donovan).
Dormer has issues that go far beyond anything happening in Alaska. He’s burned out and he’s plagued by rumors that, in the past, he was a crooked cop. He’s being investigated by Internal Affairs and, shortly after they arrive in Alaska, Eckhart admits that he’s been given immunity as part of a deal to testify against Dormer. While pursuing the suspected murderer through the Alaskan fog, Dormer fires his gun. When the fog clear, Dormer discovers that he’s killed Eckhart. Was it an accident or did Dormer intentionally shoot his partner? Not even Dormer seems to know for sure. He lies and says that the murderer shot Eckhart.
Working with a local detective (Hilary Swank), Dormer tries to solve the Alaska murder, with the knowledge that, once he does, he’ll have to return to Los Angeles and he’ll probably be indicted. Because of the midnight sun, night never falls in Alaska and, tortured by guilt, Dormer cannot sleep. Add to that, the murderer knows that Dormer shot Eckhart. And now, he’s calling Dormer and cruelly taunting him.
Who is the murderer? His name is Walter Finch. He’s a writer and, in a stroke of brilliance, he’s played by none other than Robin Williams. To me, Robin Williams’s screen presence always carried hints of narcissism and self-destruction. Even in comedic roles, there was a transparent but very solid wall between Williams the audience. When he was shouting out a thousand words a minute and rapidly switching from one character to the next, it always seemed as if it was all a technique to keep anyone from figuring out who he really was. In Insomnia (and, that same year, in One Hour Photo), Robin Williams reveals an inner darkness that he rarely showed before or after. Finch may possess Williams’s trademark eccentric smile and nervous voice but, underneath the surface, he’s an empty shell who views human beings as being as disposable as the characters in his paperback novels.
Christopher Nolan takes us directly into the heads of these two enemies, with shots of the desolate Alaskan landscape seeming to perfectly capture the inner desolation of two minds destroyed by guilt and paranoia. (Neither Finch nor Dormer is capable of connecting with the world outside of his damaged psyche.) As seen through Nolan’s lens, Alaska becomes as surreal and haunting as one of the dream landscapes from Inception.For those of us who found both The Dark Knight Rises and Interstellar to be so bombastic that they verged on self-parody, Insomnia is a nice reminder that Nolan doesn’t need a pounding Han Zimmer score to make a great movie. With Insomnia, Nolan gives us not bombast but a deceptively low-key and atmospheric journey into the heart of darkness.
Ironically, for a film about two men who cannot sleep, Insomnia will haunt your dreams.
Tonight, I watched the 1969 winner of the Oscar for Best Picture, Midnight Cowboy.
Midnight Cowboy is a movie about Joe Buck. Joe Buck is played by an impossibly young and handsome Jon Voight. Joe Buck — and, to be honest, just calling him Joe seems wrong, he is definitely a Joe Buck — is a well-meaning but somewhat dumb young man. He lives in Midland, Texas. He was raised by his grandmother. He used to go out with Annie (Jennifer Salt) but she eventually ended up being sent to a mental asylum after being raped by all of Joe Buck’s friend. Joe Buck doesn’t have many prospects. He washes dishes for a living and styles himself as being a cowboy. Being a Texan, I’ve known plenty of Joe Bucks.
Joe Buck, however, has a plan. He knows that he’s handsome. He’s convinced that all women love cowboys. So, why shouldn’t he hop on a bus, travel to New York City, and make a living having sex with rich women?
Of course, once he arrives in the city, Joe Buck discovers that New York City is not quite as inviting as he thought it would be. He lives in a tiny and dirty apartment. He can barely afford to eat. Walking around the city dressed like a cowboy (and remember, this was long before the Naked Cowboy became one of the most annoying celebrities of all time) and randomly asking every rich woman that he sees whether or not she can tell him where he can find the Statue of Liberty, Joe Buck is a joke. Even when he does get a customer (played, quite well, by Sylvia Miles), she claims not to have any money and Joe Buck feels so sorry for her that he ends up giving her his money.
As I watched the first part of the movie, it stuck me that the main theme of Midnight Cowboy appeared to be that, in 1969, New York City was literally Hell on Earth. But then Joe Buck has flashbacks to his childhood and his relationship with Annie and it quickly became apparent that Midland, Texas was Hell on Earth as well. Towards the end of the film, it’s suggested that Miami might be paradise but not enough to keep someone from dying on a bus.
Seriously, this is a dark movie.
Joe Buck eventually meets Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman). Ratso’s real name is Enrico but, after taking one look at him, you can’t help but feel that he’s a perfect Ratso. Ratso is a con man. Ratso is a petty thief. Ratso knows how to survive on the streets but New York City is still killing him. As a child, Ratso had polio and now he walks with a permanent limp. He coughs constantly, perhaps because he has TB. Ratso becomes Joe Buck’s manager and roommate (and, depending on how you to interpret certain scenes and lines, perhaps more) but only after attempting to steal all of his money.
Unfortunately, Ratso is not much of a manager. Then again, Joe Buck is not much of a hustler. Most of his customers are men (including a student played by a young but recongizable Bob Balaban), but Joe Buck’s own sexual preference remaining ambiguous. Joe Buck is so quick to loudly say that he’s not, as Ratso calls him, a “fag” and that cowboys can’t be gay because John Wayne was a cowboy, that you can’t help but suspect that he’s in denial. When he’s picked up by a socialite played by Brenda Vaccaro, Joe Buck is impotent until she teases him about being gay. In the end, though, Joe Buck seems to view sex as mostly being a way to make money. As for Ratso, he appears to almost be asexual. His only concern, from day to day, is survival.
Did I mention this is a dark movie?
And yet, as dark as it is, there are moments of humor. Joe Buck is incredibly dense, especially in the first part of the movie. (During the second half of the film, Joe Buck is no longer as naive and no longer as funny. It’s possible that he even kills a man, though the film is, I think, deliberately unclear on this point.) Ratso has a way with words and it’s impossible not to smile when he shouts out his famous “I’m walking here!” at a taxi. And, as desperate as Joe Buck and Ratso eventually become, you’re happy that they’ve found each other. They may be doomed but at least they’re doomed together.
There’s a lengthy party scene, one that features several members of Andy Warhol’s entourage. I was a bit disappointed that my favorite 60s icon, Edie Sedgwick, was nowhere to be seen. (But be sure to check out Ciao Manhattan, if you want to see what Edie was doing while Joe Buck and Ratso Rizzo were trying not to starve.) But, as I watched the party scene, I was reminded that Midnight Cowboy is definitely a film of the 60s. That’s both a good and a bad thing. On the positive side, the late 60s and 70s were a time when filmmakers were willing to take risks. Midnight Cowboy could only have been made in 1969. At the same time, there’s a few moments when director John Schlesinger, in the style of many 60s filmmakers, was obviously trying a bit too hard to be profound. Some of the flashbacks and fantasy sequences veer towards the pretentious.
Fortunately, the performances of Voight and Hoffman have aged better than Schlesinger’s direction. Hoffman has the more flamboyant role (and totally throws himself into it) but it really is Voight who carries the film. Considering that he’s playing a borderline ludicrous character, the poignancy of Voight’s performance is nothing short of miraculous.
Midnight Cowboy was the first and only X-rated film to win best picture. By today’s standards, it’s a PG-13.
You take a risk when you review a Woody Allen film, even an acknowledged, Best Picture-winning classic like 1977’s Annie Hall. Do you address the accusations that have been made about him? Do you ignore them and hope that they won’t be the Elephant in the Room, stomping through your review? Do you try to justify reviewing (or, in some cases, even watching) Allen’s film? Or do you just let the work speak for itself?
I love Annie Hall. Quite frankly, I like a lot of Woody Allen’s films, even though I understand why his work is an acquired taste for quite a few other people. I’ll address the elephant in the room in a paragraph or two but you know what? I watched Annie Hall last night and I want to mention a few reasons why I enjoy this film.
First off, Annie Hall features one of Christopher Walken’s first (and best) performances. He only has a few lines but he makes quite an impression. He plays Duane, the brother of Annie Hall (Diane Keaton). When Annie’s boyfriend, Alvy Singer (Woody Allen), is visiting the Hall family, Duane invites Alvy into his bedroom and tells him that, whenever he’s driving, he fantasizes about intentionally swerving into incoming traffoc. In the very next scene, Duane is driving an oblivious Annie and a terrified Alvy to the airport. It’s a wonderfully funny moment. (If you keep your eyes open, you’ll notice that Annie’s apartment is full of pictures of Duane and his thousand yard stare.)
Secondly, this film also features an early role for Jeff Goldblum. He only has one line — “I forgot my mantra” but my God, he does amazing things with that line.
Third, when Alvy and his agent, Rob (Tony Roberts), are driving through Los Angeles, they pass a theater. According to the marquee, the theater is showing House of Exorcism, a Mario Bava film. That’s right: Italian horror in a Woody Allen film. How glorious is that?
Fourth, Annie Hall is an extremely dated film. It was made in 1977 and, as to be expected about a film directed and written by a stand up comedian, it’s full of references that were probably hilariously on target then but rather obscure now. As well, like almost all Woody Allen films, it’s a very New York film. Alvy is an intellectual, left-wing Jew who suspects that everyone he sees is an anti-Semite and who is dating an aspiring actress and singer who hails from middle America. (During the scene where Alvy meets her family, he immediately pegs Grammy Hall as a “classic Jew hater.”) The film is very much told from Alvy’s point of view, which means jokes about New York periodicals and a flashback to an Adlai Stevenson rally. That being said, I’m a Texas girl who was born long after Annie Hall was first released and I still enjoy the film because it’s a film that captures some universal truths about human relationships.
The first time I watched Annie Hall, I was 17 and I saw a lot of myself in Annie. While I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing some of her outfits, I knew what it was like to be insecure. I knew what it was like to be nervous. I know what it was like to worry about being smart enough. And, like Annie, I eventually learned that independence was the key to happiness. Annie Hall has stood the test of time because both Annie and Alvy are relatable while still remaining wonderfully unique and neurotic individuals.
(If ever a film has been a ode to the joy of being neurotic, it’s Annie Hall.)
Fifth, I love the scene where Alvy asks a random couple of the street how they make their relationship work. “I’m totally shallow and have no original thoughts,” the woman replies. “And I’m the exact same way,” her husband cheerfully adds.
Sixth, I’m going to assume that Paul Simon was primarily playing himself.
Seventh, there are just so many great scenes. Like when Alvy deals with a rude cop by ripping up his license. And then, there’s that lobster scene. And that moment when Alvy comes over to Annie’s apartment to kill a “spider the size of a buick.” (Judging by the number of times Alvy has to hit the spider with that tennis racket, I assume buick’s are pretty big.) There’s the two scenes of Annie singing, one when she’s still insecure and can’t compete with the sound of plates smashing around here and the other when she’s developed the confidence to dominate and control both the stage and the audience. There’s the scenes where Alvy breaks the fourth wall and get advise from random people on the streets of New York. And what about when Annie starts laughing while telling the horrible story of how her uncle died at the post office? Or what about when Alvy tries to avoid having sex with his first wife by discussing the JFK assassination? Or when we literally see Annie mentally check out of making love to Alvy? Or how about the split-screen therapy sessions? Or the sudden moment when Annie and Alvy become cartoon characters? Or the scene with the pretentious blowhard at the movies?
(As a Southern girl, I have to admit that it’s always strange to me to hear Alvy and Annie talking about “waiting on line” at the movies. Down here, we say “in line,” which makes a lot more sense. Since a line is just a crowd of people standing in a certain order, saying that you’re “on line,” is the same as saying your standing on someone’s head. You get in a crowd, not on them. Whenever I hear someone from up north talking about “waiting on line,” I assume they must be bidding for something on Ebay.)
I like Annie Hall and I always will. As for the accusations against Woody Allen, they don’t keep me from enjoying his better films because:
I’ve always been a big believer that art can and should be judged separately from the artist.
Having read what both sides have said about Woody Allen and the accusations that have been made against him, I don’t think he did it.
Obviously, some are going to disagree with me on both those points. So be it. Everyone has to make their own choice. For me, though, what’s important is that Annie Hall is a film that I’ve loved since the first time I saw it and I’ll continue to love it.
If you’re ever visiting my former hometown of Denton, Texas, you owe it to yourself to do two things.
Number one, go to Recycled Books and Records. It’s right across the street from the old courthouse and it’s perhaps the greatest used bookstore in the world. When I was going to college at UNT, I would spend hours in Recycled Books. Not only do they have three floors of books but they have some really nice apartments on the fourth floor. I attended my share of hazily remembered parties in those apartments.
The second thing that you must do is stop by the Campus Theater. The Camps Theater is located on the other side of the old courthouse and it is a true historical landmark. (It’s also the home of the Denton Community Theatre.) When you step inside of the theater, be sure to look for a plaque on the wall. The plaque will inform you that, in 1967, Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde premiered at the Campus Theater.
Bonnie and Clyde not only premiered in Denton but it was also filmed around North Texas. This was a pragmatic decision, made to minimize studio interference. Even with that in mind, that’s still the way it should have been because Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow are true Texas legends. In the 1930s, they were young, they robbed banks, and they killed people. Much like many of the outlaws of the era, they became folk heroes and they died in a hail of bullets.
In the picture above, Clyde is short, scrawny, and slightly handsome in a class clown sort of way. Bonnie, meanwhile, is even shorter than Clyde and has the hard look of someone who has never known an easy life. Both of them have a look that should be familiar to anyone who has spent any time in the small towns that dot the North Texas landscape. They look like real people. They don’t look like film stars.
Here’s the movie’s version of Bonnie and Clyde:
In other words, Bonnie and Clyde is not a documentary. But that doesn’t matter. 50 years after it was first released Bonnie and Clyde remains a powerful and, even more importantly, extremely entertaining film. When the film was released, it was controversial for it violence and, having recently rewatched it, I have to say that the violence still makes an impression. When guns are fired, the shots seem to literally explode in your ear. When people are torn apart by bullets, they die terrible deaths and the film’s most graphic demises are reserved for its most likable characters. Towards the end of the film, with the Texas Rangers relentlessly closing in on Bonnie and Clyde, the tension becomes almost unbearable.
What makes the violence all the more disturbing is that it often interrupts scenes that, until the bullets started flying, were often humorous. A bank robbery starts out as a lark, becomes an exciting chase scene as Bonnie and Clyde attempt to escape, and suddenly turns into an act of shocking of violence when Clyde fire a gun and shoots a man point-blank in the face. Later, stopping to help an old farmer change a tire leads to a sudden ambush. Perhaps the film’s outlook is best captured in a scene in which the Barrow gang cheerfully bonds with a hostage until they suddenly find out that he’s an undertaker, a reminder that the promise of death is always present.
“Get him out of here!” Bonnie snaps.
Like many of the great gangster films, Bonnie and Clyde presents its outlaws as being folk heroes. They may rob banks and occasionally kill people but they look good doing it and they seem like they would be fun to hang out with. The thing that set Bonnie and Clyde apart from previous gangster films is that it refused to even pretend to condemn its bank robbers. The cops and the Texas Rangers are all on the side of the banks and the banks are on the side of big business. Bonnie and Clyde aren’t outlaws. They’re rebels. When they rob banks, they’re not just taking money. They’re standing up to the same establishment that was feared in the 30s, resented in the 60s, and hated today.
Clyde is played by Warren Beatty (who also produced the film) and Bonnie is played by Faye Dunaway and both of them give performances that literally define screen charisma. You never forget that you’re watching two movie stars but, at the risk of repeating myself, Bonnie and Clyde is not meant to be a documentary. At times, it almost seems as if Beatty’s Clyde and Dunaway’s Bonnie know that they’re characters in a gangster movie. They know that they’re doomed because that’s how gangster movies work so, as a result, they’re determined to live as much life as possible before that final reel. The supporting cast — Gene Hackman, Estelle Parsons, Michael J. Pollard, Gene Wilder — are all great but the film is definitely a celebration of Beatty and Dunaway.
Bonnie and Clyde went from premiering at the Campus Theater to a best picture nomination. However, it lost to In The Heat of the Night.
The Story of Suicide Sal
A Poem by Bonnie Parker
We each of us have a good “alibi”
For being down here in the “joint”;
But few of them really are justified
If you get right down to the point.
You’ve heard of a woman’s “glory”
Being spent on a “downright cur,”
Still you can’t always judge the story
As true, being told by her.
As long as I’ve stayed on this “island,”
And heard “confidence tales” from each “gal,”
Only one seemed interesting and truthful —
The story of “Suicide Sal.”
Now “Sal” was a gal of rare beauty,
Though her features were coarse and tough;
She never once faltered from duty
To play on the “up and up.”
“Sal” told me this tale on the evening
Before she was turned out “free,”
And I’ll do my best to relate it
Just as she told it to me:
I was born on a ranch in Wyoming;
Not treated like Helen of Troy;
I was taught that “rods were rulers”
And “ranked” as a greasy cowboy.”
Then I left my old home for the city
To play in its mad dizzy whirl,
Not knowing how little of pity
It holds for a country girl.
There I fell for “the line” of a “henchman,”
A “professional killer” from “Chi”;
I couldn’t help loving him madly;
For him even now I would die.
One year we were desperately happy;
Our “ill gotten gains” we spent free;
I was taught the ways of the “underworld”;
Jack was just like a “god” to me.
I got on the “F.B.A.” payroll
To get the “inside lay” of the “job”;
The bank was “turning big money”!
It looked like a “cinch” for the “mob.”
Eighty grand without even a “rumble” —
Jack was last with the “loot” in the door,
When the “teller” dead-aimed a revolver
From where they forced him to lie on the floor.
I knew I had only a moment —
He would surely get Jack as he ran;
So I “staged” a “big fade out” beside him
And knocked the forty-five out of his hand.
They “rapped me down big” at the station,
And informed me that I’d get the blame
For the “dramatic stunt” pulled on the “teller”
Looked to them too much like a “game.”
The “police” called it a “frame-up,”
Said it was an “inside job,”
But I steadily denied any knowledge
Or dealings with “underworld mobs.”
The “gang” hired a couple of lawyers,
The best “fixers” in any man’s town,
But it takes more than lawyers and money
When Uncle Sam starts “shaking you down.”
I was charged as a “scion of gangland”
And tried for my wages of sin;
The “dirty dozen” found me guilty —
From five to fifty years in the pen.
I took the “rap” like good people,
And never one “squawk” did I make.
Jake “dropped himself” on the promise
That we make a “sensational break.”
Well, to shorten a sad lengthy story,
Five years have gone over my head
Without even so much as a letter–
At first I thought he was dead.
But not long ago I discovered
From a gal in the joint named Lyle,
That Jack and his “moll” had “got over”
And were living in true “gangster style.”
If he had returned to me sometime,
Though he hadn’t a cent to give,
I’d forget all this hell that he’s caused me,
And love him as long as I live.
But there’s no chance of his ever coming,
For he and his moll have no fears
But that I will die in this prison,
Or “flatten” this fifty years.
Tomorrow I’ll be on the “outside”
And I’ll “drop myself” on it today;
I’ll “bump ’em” if they give me the “hotsquat”
On this island out here in the bay…
The iron doors swung wide next morning
For a gruesome woman of waste,
Who at last had a chance to “fix it,”
Murder showed in her cynical face.
Not long ago I read in the paper
That a gal on the East Side got “hot,”
And when the smoke finally retreated
Two of gangdom were found “on the spot.”
It related the colorful story
of a “jilted gangster gal.”
Two days later, a “sub-gun” ended
The story of “Suicide Sal.”
The Story of Bonnie and Clyde
Another Poem by Bonnie Parker
You’ve read the story of Jesse James
Of how he lived and died;
If you’re still in need
Of something to read,
Here’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang,
I’m sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.
There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They’re not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate all the law
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
“I’ll never be free,
So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.”
The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn’t give up till they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it’s fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.
From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can’t find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hand it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There’s two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy;
“I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We’d make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped.”
The police haven’t got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, “Don’t start any fights
We aren’t working nights
We’re joining the NRA.”
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won’t “stool” on Bonnie and Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They’re invited to fight
By a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.
They don’t think they’re too tough or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They’ve been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Some day they’ll go down together;
And they’ll bury them side by side;
To few it’ll be grief
To the law a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.
In the Lifetime film, Boyfriend Killer, there was a brief scene that I really liked and I think it epitomizes why I enjoyed this film and why I watch Lifetime films in general.
In the scene, Sandra Durro (Barbie Castro, who also produced this film) shares a hug with Krystal Kellers (Kate Mansi), her son’s girlfriend. The camera quickly cuts back and forth from Sandra’s face to Krystal’s face and the audience sees that both of them have the same look of irritation and loathing on their face. That really does get to a basic truth. A mom is never going to fully trust her son’s girlfriend. And a girlfriend is always going to suspect that her boyfriend’s mom is judging her.
Of course, Sandra has good reason to not fully trust Krystal. Boyfriend Killer opens with the death of Sandra’s son, Preston. Preston, who was handsome and charismatic and had a great life ahead of him, was killed in a car crash and Sandra suspects that it wasn’t an accident. When Sandra and her friend Carrie (Yancy Butler) are packing up Preston’s things, Krystal suddenly shows up and announces that she wants to help.
From the first minute we meet Krystal, there’s something off about her. She claims to be sad but her grief is almost too theatrical. It’s almost as if all she knows about being sad is what she’s seen in the movies. Add to that, Krystal claims that she and Preston were deeply in love, despite the fact that Preston rarely spoke about her. Krystal always seems to be sneaking around the house, searching for something. When Sandra gets near Preston’s computer, Krystal freaks out. Krystal explains that she and Preston both used that computer so if Sandra touches it, she’ll actually be invading Krystal’s privacy.
Well, what’s a mother to do?
It turns out that things between Preston and Krystal were never as perfect as Krystal claims. In fact, shortly before his death, Preston had told Krystal that he never wanted to see her again. Could that have had something to do with the fact that Krystal tried to convince Preston to kill her ex?
Sandra certainly thinks that it might. However, before Sandra can really pursue her suspicions, she has a funeral to attend, a funeral that Krystal makes all about her. It turns out that Krystal has an announcement to make, one that catches everyone by surprise…
Boyfriend Killer is a fun melodrama, one that pretty much epitomizes everything that we love about Lifetime movies. Barbie Castro is relatable and sympathetic as the grieving mother (you really want her to get justice for her son) and Yancy Butler provides good support as her friend. Kate Mansi, who played a similar role in Unwanted Guest, is a force of nature in the role of Krystal. Krystal is a familiar Lifetime character — the duplicitous temptress — but Mansi plays the role with such determination and drive that Krystal becomes a wonderfully hissable villain. Krystal is less defined by the bad things she does than by her total confidence that she’ll never get caught. You alternate between marveling at how far she’ll go and eagerly anticipating the moment when she gets her comeuppance.
Finally, I have to make special mention of Patrick Muldoon, who plays Sandra’s alcoholic ex-husband. To a certain group of pop culture fanatics, Muldoon will always be known as Jeff, the handsome college student whose smile and killer dance moves inspired Kelly to dump Zack on Saved By The Bell. (Hell, I would have dumped Zack for Jeff. Jeff’s in college, has a great smile, and is a manager at the Maxx. Zack’s in high school and spends all of his time with Screech.) And some are always going to think of Muldoon as being the doomed Zander Barclow in Starship Troopers.
However, over the past few years, Patrick Muldoon has given some seriously good performances. They haven’t gotten the attention that they deserve but he was excellent in both Patient Killer and Deadly Revenge.And he’s excellent here, playing a well-meaning guy who cannot shake his demons. It’s a good and poignant performance, one that elevates the film.
One of the great things about Lifetime is that they constantly rebroadcast all of their movies so keep an eye out for Boyfriend Killer!
On Sunday night, I watched the premiere of Deadly Ex on the Lifetime Movie Network.
In Deadly Ex, Jason Gerhardt plays Gary. He’s a guy who appears to have a successful life, despite a few regrets. For instance, he gave up his teenage dream of being a lawyer but he’s still managed to do okay for himself. He’s married to Jess (Marguerite Moreau) and his two wonderful, teenage children (Sammi Hanratty and Matt Cornet) but domestic bliss has somehow eluded him. In fact, he’s on the verge of divorce.
How bad is Gary’s marriage? It’s so bad that he leaves his wife and children behind when he goes to his high school reunion! However, that also means that he gets to spend some time catching up with his ex-girlfriend, Valerie (Natasha Henstridge). In turns out that, in high school, Gary wasn’t the best boy friend. He rather callously dumped Valerie. But that was a long time ago and Gary’s changed. He says that he’s sorry and he means it. Valerie tells him that she forgives him and…
Well, this is a Lifetime film. And it’s called Deadly Ex. So you can probably guess that Valerie hasn’t quite forgiven or gotten over Gary. Instead, Valerie follows Gary back to his hometown. She enrolls as a student in Jess’s yoga class. She starts to send gifts to Gary’s house. And, eventually, she shows up with a knife…
Plotwise, Deadly Ex is typical Lifetime fare but it’s distinguished by two things. First off, Natasha Henstridge gives a terrific performance as the insanely driven Valerie. Films like this are only as good as their villains and Henstridge bravely throws herself into her performance. Marguerite Moreau also does a good job, playing a mother who will take any risk to defend her family. Secondly, the final confrontation between Valerie and Jess is extremely well-done and director Tom Shell actually keeps you guessing as to how it’s going to end and who is going to survive.
Finally, Deadly Ex manages to tap into a fantasy that I think everyone has. Who hasn’t wanted to run into their ex and brag about how wonderful their life has been since the break-up? For that matter, who hasn’t wanted to get a chance to put an ex in his place? Me, I’d rather do it with a perfectly timed quip than a knife but I guess that’s just me.
(Also, I should mention that, while watching the film, I was able to totally relate to Gary and Jess’s daughter, Carissa, largely because she had perfected the dismissive “whatever” glance that I’ve been employing since I was 13 years old.)
If you’re into Lifetime movies (and who isn’t, really?), Deadly Ex is one to keep an eye out for.
Last night, I rewatched the classic 1934 mystery-comedy, The Thin Man.
And you know what?
Nick and Nora Charles should be everyone’s relationship goal.
Technically, The Thin Man is a murder mystery and it’s actually a pretty good one. While I was rewatching the film, I was surprised to see that the whodunit aspect of the plot held up far better than I remembered. But, ultimately, the movie is really a portrait of the ideal romance. Every couple should aspire to be like Nick and Nora.
Nick Charles (William Powell) is a retired private detective, an unflappable gentleman who speaks exclusively in quotable quips. Nick is the type who can apparently spend every hour of the day drinking without ever getting stupidly drunk. He has beautiful homes on both coasts and a list of friends that would make anyone jealous. Whether cop or crook, everyone loves Nick.
Nora Charles (Myrna Loy) is Nick’s wife. She’s independently wealthy. She’s beautiful. She’s always chic. She is always the smartest and funniest person in the room. And she’s probably the only person who can outquip Nick. Nora loves Nick’s lifestyle, whether they’re throwing a party or literally shooting ornaments off of a Christmas tree. As Nora says at the end of one crowded party, “Oh, Nicky, I love you because you know such lovely people.”
And, of course, there’s Asta. Asta is their terrier. If Nick and Nora are the ideal couple, Asta is the ideal pet. Asta is just as quick to investigate a mystery as Nick and Nora. Asta may be a playful dog but he’s also remarkably well-behaved. No insistent yapping. No accidents on the carpet. No growling at visitors. As I’ve mentioned many times on this site, I’m not a dog person but I love Asta.
It’s not just that Nick and Nora are obviously in love and, in this pre-code film, they’re actually allowed to express that love. And it’s not just that they say things in The Thin Man that they wouldn’t be allowed to get away with in the film’s sequels. (If you have any doubt that this is a pre-code film, just check out the scene where the police are going through Nora’s dresser. “What’s that man doing in my drawers?” Nora demands while Nick does a double take.) It’s that Nick and Nora seem to be having so much fun. They’re wealthy. Other than to themselves, they really have no commitments. (Nick only comes out of retirement because Nora say she thinks a mystery sounds like it would be fun to solve.) They have no children to worry about. Even if you don’t want to be either Nora or Nick by the end of this film, you’ll still definitely want to hang out with them.
The Thin Man is a murder mystery. In fact, it’s probably one of the most enjoyable movies ever made about a double murder. Dorothy Wynat (Maureen O’Sullivan) asks Nick to help find her father (Edward Ellis), the thin man of the title. The investigation leads to a rather complicated mystery, one in which everyone that Nick and Nora meets is a suspect. I have to admit that, with my ADD, I always have a hard time following all of the clues.
Of course, so does Nick. That truly is part of the appeal of The Thin Man. Nick is often confused about what it all the clues and evidence add up to but that never seems to upset him. He and Nora are too busy enjoying themselves to get upset. That’s one reason why, even after you know who the murderer is, The Thin Man is a movie that’s enjoyable to watch over and over again. The Thin Man is less about the mystery and more about the way Nick and Nora manage to throw the perfect dinner party even as they reveal who the murderer is.
1934 was a good year for comedy. The Thin Man was nominated for best picture but it lost to another charming little comedy, It Happened One Night.
I’m not just sharing this because it’s one of the best things that I’ve ever tweeted. I’m also sharing it because it’s a beyond perfect description of Jerry (played, in an Oscar-winning performance, by Norma Shearer), the lead character in The Divorcee. (Whenever you tweet something that is beyond perfect, you’ve earned the right to make sure everyone else knows it.) The Divorcee came out in 1930 so, needless to say, it’s a bit dated but I totally related to the character of Jerry and that’s perhaps the main reason why I enjoyed this film.
The Divorcee tells the type of story that, today, would probably make for a memorable Lifetime film. It’s a film that follows four friends over several years. They are the idle rich, the type who go to parties, dance on tables, and cheerfully ignore the ban on liquor. Jerry (Norma Shearer) loves Ted (Chester Morris). Dorothy (Helen Johnson) loves Paul (Conrad Nagel). However, Paul loves Jerry and when Jerry announces that she and Ted are engaged to be married, Paul doesn’t handle it well. In fact, Paul gets drunk, Paul drives a car with Dorothy in the passenger’s seat, and eventually Paul crashes the car, leaving Dorothy so disfigured that she spends the rest of the movie wearing a black veil.
The years pass. In order to make up for horribly disfiguring her, Paul agrees to marry Dorothy. Jerry marries Ted. They’re happy until they’re not. On the day of their third anniversary, Jerry discovers that Ted has been cheating on her. So, Jerry cheats on Ted. When Ted gets upset, they file for divorce.
Suddenly, Jerry is …. (dramatic music cue) … THE DIVORCEE!
Ted becomes an alcoholic, the type who makes scenes at parties and destroys ornate wedding cakes. In the past, I assume Jerry would have been forced to wear a scarlet D and she would have made it work because there’s nothing that Jerry can’t do. However, since this film takes place in the 1920s, Jerry spends her time flirting and plotting to steal Paul away from Dorothy.
And it would have worked too if not for the fact that Dorothy is a complete and total saint…
Drinking, sex, adultery, disfigurement, and Norma Shearer!? That’s right, this is a pre-code film! The Divorcee is actually a pretty typical example of a type of film that was very popular during the 1930s and actually remains rather popular today. This is a film where rich people do stupid things but look good doing it. When an audience watches a film like this, they can both look down on the rich and vicariously experience their lifestyle. No wonder these movies are so popular!
Anyway, I liked The Divorcee. It’s an incredibly silly little film but it’s hard for me not to enjoy something this melodramatic. Chester Morris and Conrad Nagel are stuck playing heels and Helen Johnson is a bit to saintly but it doesn’t matter because the film is pretty much designed to be a showcase for Norma Shearer, the most underrated of all of the Golden Age actresses. (Far too often, Shearer is dismissed as simply being Irving Thalberg’s wife.) Shearer gives a great performance. She seems to be having the time of her life and it’s fun to watch.
The Divorcee was nominated for best picture but it lost to a far different picture, All Quiet On The Western Front.
It’s been a while since I’ve shared any old educational films here on the Shattered Lens but I figured now might be the perfect time to share an old movie from 1951, What To Do On A Date. Produced by the good (or so I assume) people at Coronet Films, What To Do On A Date is … well, the plot is pretty much in the title.
Now, to be honest, this could have just as easily been called What To Do On A Date If You Want To Make Sure That Lisa Never Agrees To A Second Date. Seriously, this is totally squaresville. Like real Melvin. But you know what? I’m notoriously hard to please and, with Valentine’s Day coming up, this may be helpful to someone.
I don’t know who, exactly. But hey, it’s on YouTube and that’s the important thing.
(I’m all about helping. You know that.)
If you still need help after What To Do On A Date, you can watch 1949’s Dating Do’s and Don’ts. It was directed by the same guy who did What To Do On A Date. People in the 1940s were notorious for knowing what to do on dates. The Baby Boom didn’t just happen, y’know.
(Apparently, the version of Dating Do’s and Don’ts uploaded to YouTube is incomplete. But you’ll get the general point.)
Well, The Walking Dead is back and again, I am going to try to watch and review each episode for the Shattered Lens. You may remember that I attempted to do this during the first half of season 7. I reviewed the first five episodes of the new season and then…
Well, how to put this?
I got bored.
Seriously, I tried to make excuses for the glacial pace of season 7. I kept telling myself that it was actually a brilliant narrative decision. I defended the controversial first episode and I’ll continue to do so. I enjoyed the second episode, largely because of the tiger. But, after that, I started to get bored. Each episode introduced us to a new community of boring people. Each episode featured a lot of conversation but little action. And what little action there was regularly interrupted by Negan popping up and screaming for half an hour. As much as I like character development and conversation, this is a show about the end of the world. There’s only so much time that I can spend watching Rick look depressed.
And so, after five episodes, I gave up on the first half of season 7. It was just too slow and the show was spending so much time on what a badass Negan supposedly was that the zombies had become an afterthought. Did season 7 really need a special 90 minute episode of Negan acting like a dick? I still watched the show but mentally, I checked out. And, judging by how the ratings cratered between the 1st episode (8.7 million viewers) and the 8th episode (5 million viewers), I was not alone in being dissatisfied.
But, in the break between the end of the first half of season 7 and tonight’s return, I’ve had time to recover. Today, as I debated whether to actually watch the new episode of The Walking Dead, I considered that this show has hit rough spots in the past. It’s never been a perfect show. I wasn’t a huge fan of season 1 and, in later seasons, I thought they spent way too much time at Herschel’s farm. But, in the past, when The Walking Dead has needed to deliver, that’s exactly what it’s done. In short, I decided to give The Walking Dead a second chance.
And, having just watched tonight’s episode, I’m glad that I did. Rock in the Road was a good episode. In fact, it may have been the best episode since The Well.There were still flaws, of course. As any true Walking Dead fan knows, this show has always been uneven. The Walking Dead is a gloriously imperfect show but, at its best, it’s the type of show that can almost make those flaws seem admirable. It’s easy to get frustrated with The Walking Dead‘s leisurely pace and rambling narrative. But, ultimately, that leisurely pace has also led to some of The Walking Dead‘s most resonant moments.
Much like every other episode so far in season 7, Rock in the Road told its story slowly but, at the same time, it at least had a destination in mind. Rick has finally snapped out of his self-pity and is now trying to build an alliance to fight Negan and the Saviors. As this episode showed, it won’t necessarily be easy. But, at least Rick is actually trying to do something!
There are several reasons why Rock in the Road was a noticeable improvement over the first half of the season. Here’s a few:
Action Rick is more fun than Shellshocked Rick. As an actor, Andrew Lincoln is far more compelling when he’s standing up for himself than when he’s being grimly morose. To be honest, I’ve never been sold on Rick as a leader. When I watched him trying to build up his anti-Negan alliance, I found myself wondering if people were aware that Rick doesn’t exactly have a great track record as far as keeping people alive is concerned. But, in the end, it didn’t matter. Action Rick is fun, even if you know all of his plans are doomed to go terribly wrong.
This episode actually had a few moments of humor. The first half of season 7 was way too grim. Just because the world is ending, that doesn’t mean people are going to stop being snarky.
Ezekiel! The first community that Rick and his group visited was the Kingdom so they got to meet King Ezekiel and Shiva. Ezekiel and the Kingdom were the highlight of the first half of season 7 and it looks like that might be true for the second half as well. I loved the entire sequence at the Kingdom, everything from Ezekiel’s promise to have an answer by “the morrow” to the wonderful moment when Jesus realized that he had forgotten everyone’s names.
No Negan! Well, that’s not quite true. We heard Negan’s voice but, for the first time in a long time, we had an episode where the entire narrative didn’t have to stop just so Negan could launch another one of his insane gym coach monologues. Like most great villains, Negan works best in small doses.
That final scene! I’m going to guess from the lack of men and children that those were Oceansiders who were surrounding Rick. Rick’s smile provided a wonderful final shot for this episode. When he flashed that smile, I realized that the old Rick was finally back.
I was really happy with Rock in the Road. In fact, I’m happy enough to actually watch next week as well. Hopefully, this episode will be the start of season 7’s redemption.
