I've got no time for trivialities, I've got a girl who's waiting home for me tonight
Videodrome (David Cronenberg, 1983). You know you're in old school Cronenworld when a videocassette starts pulsing like a black heart. The proud Canadian freakshow's follow up to the attention-getting exploding noggins of Scanners is, in part, a biting (and gnawing) examination of the increasing exploitation and accompanying desensitization of sex and violence in the media. James Woods, settling in just fine in the matching set of decidedly off-kilter actors Cronenberg has pulled from to populate his films over the years, plays a television producer looking for the next envelope pushing material to emblazon across the video landscape. Even though the television landscape was still fairly innocuous in '83, Cronenberg's prescient effort forecasts a time when it takes nothing short of a snuff film to get people's attention. Lest it all seem too heady with all this social commentary, this is absolutely Cronenberg in peak gross-out form, complete with a yonic slit that appears upon Woods's midsection allowing him to handily store things like videotapes and guns inside his torso. It's interesting to watch a film where "cerebral" applies equally to the themes and the fact that brains are going to get graphically spilled at some point.
Infamous (Douglas McGrath, 2006). Perhaps most infamous to have the bad fortune to cover the same ground as the excellent Capote but come out one year later. Even without the comparison, Infamous is pedestrian, resorting to faux documentary talking head footage to convey plot details or inner motivations and playing up a romantic entanglement between Truman Capote and one of the incarcerated subjects of In Cold Blood to heighten the drama. It all starts to feel phony. Toby Jones does a competent job as Capote, but he doesn't burrow past the familiar mannerisms. The only element of the film that is an improvement on its predecessor is the depiction of To Kill a Mockingbird author Harper Lee. The earlier film basically defaulted to Lee as a passive bystander to the Kansas reportage, largely in the narrative, it seemed, for a little gentle comic relief as other characters drastically underestimate the significance of her first novel. Here, Harper Lee is more instrumental in the work, correcting her cohort's recollections and serving as a vital conduit to getting the small town citizenry to open up to this flamboyant little man. There's no better moment than a small scene with a farmer in his field recounting his views of the crime to the more accessible Lee as Capote stands nearby, unnoticed, soaking in the information. Sandra Bullock grounds the role in a sturdy earthiness that is more insightful than anything else in the film.
30 Days of Night (Doug Slade, 2007). No matter how junky it looks, this story has a great hook. Vampires infiltrating an Alaska town that experiences the prolong darkness of the title has the makings for a fine chiller, and recruiting the director behind the solid Hard Candy seemed to indicate that there was a desire, at some level of corporate movie decision-making, to inject something a shade more intelligent into this feature. If so, that instinct has been fully obliterated by the standard overediting and slopbucket mayhem of the execution. Danny Huston plays the chief vampire with the sort of tilted-head, dumbfounded curiosity you might see in a spaniel whose just see an anticipated treat disappear up a sleeve. It's still better than anything offered from leading man Josh Hartnett with his big moon face as expressive as a frozen lake.
A Hard Day's Night (Richard Lester, 1964). A giddy film filled with wry absurdist humor that also serves as a vibrant slice of cultural history. Watching the quartet of moptops engage in rambunctious play at the starburst beginning of their superstardom is a grand reminder of just why their music, their images, their appeal have all endured. Lester captures their energy and their bright-eyed ingenuity in beautiful black-and-white, keeping the plot thinner than a guitar string all the better to showcase the bliss of making brilliant music, flirting with lovely birds and escaping those grumpy, bickering authority figures at every opportunity. It's happy and shrewd, coming as close as any film conceivably could to capturing just why these lads inspired people to scream with joy.
Fracture (Gregory Hoblit, 2007). This feels like the kind of story that usually emanates from those interchangeable paperback thriller that sell like gangbusters in airport gift shops. Maybe that's only because you'd need to be a little loopy from high altitudes to stomach all the mounting implausibilities and general character chicanery in Fracture. As a brilliant engineer who uses his capability for spotting weak points and manipulating situations to try and pull off the perfect murder, Anthony Hopkins gives one of those completely disinterested performances that have dominated his filmography in recent years. Ryan Gosling tries to inject something a little different into his prosecuting attorney role with a thick layer of furtive self-regard that manifests itself in everything from his courtroom performance to his disgusted reaction to a deliveryman's jellybean selection. It's a nice try, but not enough to enliven this dull trudge.