Kurt Russell and the late great character
actor J.T. Walsh have shared the screen multiples times together, specifically
in Robert Towne’s Tequila Sunrise (1989), Ron Howard’s Backdraft
(1991), and Stuart Baird’s Executive Decision (1994). In the Spring of 1997,
I saw the trailer for a new film called Breakdown, also featuring these
two fine actors. I groaned - it looked like just another run-of-the-mill,
headache-inducing, over-the-top testosterone action fest with very little basis
in reality. Foolishly, I avoided it until I found myself at the Glendale 9, an
Arizona multiplex drive-in while in Phoenix on a business trip. Breakdown
was just about the only movie on the marquee that looked remotely interesting,
though I still had serious doubts. Reluctantly, I paid the admission, fearing
the worst. For the first time in a long time, I was wrong. Completely wrong.
My initial reservations about Breakdown were totally erased halfway
through the story. Years of suffering through uninteresting action films with empty,
amusement park-like “thrills†almost prevented me from seeing one of the best
films of the 1990s and a movie that easily lends itself to repeat viewings. I
watched Breakdown while reclining on the hood of my rental car. To say
that I was absolutely riveted would be a huge understatement. I thought the
paint would permanently adhere to my sweaty palms.
For
me, Breakdown is a near masterpiece. To disclose the plot would destroy what
I found to be an utterly nail-biting motion picture experience, which is
something I do not think I have ever truly experienced. There are some spoilers
ahead, so non-viewers please tread lightly. There is such an overwhelming sense
of menace and peril in Breakdown that it almost becomes a cruel
experiment in fear. For a first-time directing job by Jonathan Mostow, who
previously scripted the Michael Douglas/David Fincher film The Game
(1997), Breakdown is awe-inspiring. The opening credits sequence alone
is imaginative and appropriate to the story, utilizing animation to simultaneously
represent a mesh of cartographic interstates and what could also be construed
as cerebral arteries. The film’s title is a double meaning. Kurt Russell and
Kathleen Quinlan are Jeff and Amy Taylor, a forty-something married couple
moving from New England to San Diego in a brand-new Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo
SUV. On their way driving through the empty plains of the Midwest, Jeff is
momentarily distracted reaching for his thermos and just misses crashing into a
mud caked Ford F150 pick-up driven by a large man who shouts obscenities. An
unfortunate encounter ensues later when the man castigates Jeff while refueling.
Speeding away, the new Jeep suffers an electrical difficulty and Jeff and Amy
find themselves stranded in a place befitting of an Alfred Hitchcock thriller. The
Ford truck speeds by, cheerfully acknowledging the couple’s plight with a long
horn blow leading to a brief and tense stand-off which is alleviated by the
arrival of Red Barr, a truck driver (the late great J.T. Walsh) who offers to
give Amy a ride to Belle’s Diner some miles down the road to call road service
(his CB blew a fuse earlier and is non-functioning). When she accepts, Jeff
waits…and waits…and discovers an unplugged wire in the Jeep’s undercarriage.
Normally,
I would call out Amy’s foolishness for accepting such a ride as a woman her age
should know the dangers of hitch-hiking, however New Englanders routinely give
rides to one another and this plot point helps explain her action. Jeff makes
his way to the diner and all the patrons and owner (a terrific turn by
character actor Jack McGee) do not recall seeing her, except for a mildly slow
co-worker in the parking lot. This puts into motion a high level of suspense as
Jeff’s cell phone fails to get decent service while he rushes to find his wife.
It turns out that Jeff and Amy have been pegged for financial embezzlement by
Red, Earl (M.C. Gainey as the Ford driver), Billy (Jack Noseworthy, the “slowâ€
diner worker), and Al (the late Rich Brinkley), a husky accomplice. Rex Linn of
TV’s Better Call Saul is also on hand as a police officer who offers
Jeff some recourse.
Breakdown, which opened on Friday, May 2, 1997, might
appear to be an action film, but it is more of a thriller with some action
sequences. It has been a longtime indeed since this level of suspense has seen
the light of day on the silver screen. It is so good, in fact, that it feels
like a Seventies film made in the Nineties. It is amazing that it was not the
blockbuster that it deserved to be. Poor marketing perhaps?
Shooting
in the 2.35:1 Panavision ratio, Mr. Mostow has created a plausible scenario
replete with four of the most frightening villains seen of late. They certainly
give Bill McKinney and Herbert "Cowboy" Coward, the mountain men in Deliverance
(1972), a run for their money. J. T. Walsh, who unfortunately passed away not
too long after this film was released (his death is a real loss to the film
world), appears in one of the best performances of his sterling and memorable career:
a purely evil man who doubles as an everyday Joe who loves his wife and son (Moira
Harris and Vincent Berry, respectively) but commits terrible acts for money. You
get the feeling that these monsters have been doing what they do for a long
time, although there were moments wherein I thought a double-cross would
transpire among them. They all appear to be loyal to one another, making me
wonder how these guys ended up together in the first place. The supporting cast
all do a phenomenal job as well.
Breakdown’s plot is by no means original. This type of
story depicting a person who goes missing has been told over many decades: Robert
Fuest's And Soon the Darkness (1970), Philip Leacock's television film Dying
Room Only (1973), and, in particular, George Sluizer’s icy 1988 Dutch/French
character study Spoorloos, known in the States as The Vanishing. Breakdown
succeeds for the same reason that Steven Spielberg's Duel (1971) does
(though Duel is more cinematic): it takes two ordinary human beings and
thrusts them into a horrendous situation they would never have any reason to
suspect they would ever be a part of. That is not to say that the film does not
have a few convenient plot devices, but even when it does, they can be
forgiven.
As
related by Ian Christie, author of Gilliam on Gilliam, the filmmaker
Terry Gilliam has forever had an uneasy relationship with Hollywood studios. He
is “difficult†or “problematic†or whatever, because sometimes he runs over
budget or the films don’t make back the cost, or whatever.
This
is unfortunately true, no matter how hard Gilliam tries to “play the Hollywood
game.†That said, any afficionado of cinema can appreciate that Terry Gilliam
is always interesting. Even when his pictures tend to jump the shark,
they’re always worth seeing. And when he’s good, he’s often great.
Such
is the case with the 1995 science fiction oddity, 12 Monkeys. It’s one
of the great ones. It is arguably one of Gilliam’s most accomplished
achievements, along with Brazil (1985), The Fisher King (1991),
and, with some reservations, Time Bandits (1981).
When
Gilliam, the only American member of the Monty Python comedy troupe, entered
the 1990s, he was coming off the “disaster†that was The Adventures of Baron
Munchausen (1988), which, while admired by many, was a money loser and troubled
production. It sealed his reputation in Hollywood as the aforementioned
“problematic†director. He set out to make The Fisher King under the
strict Hollywood guidelines and succeeded, and then proceeded to do the same
with 12 Monkeys—and he triumphed with that, too. The studio (Universal),
however, attributed the film’s success to the cast, especially the presence of
Brad Pitt, and not to Gilliam’s imaginative vision. What a shortsighted bunch
of bureaucrats!
12
Monkeys is
a time-travel/apocalyptic tale about James Cole (Bruce Willis), a man from the
future who is sent back in time to gather evidence and perhaps the tools needed
to prevent the outbreak of a deadly virus that wiped out much of humanity in
the year 1996. At first, he is mistakenly dropped into 1990, where he is
perceived by all, including psychiatrist Dr. Kathryn Railly (Madeleine Stowe),
as insane. In a mental institution, he meets Jeffrey Goines (Brad Pitt), a
total wacko with environmentalist/activist leanings. He is the leader of an
underground, possibly terrorist, group called the Army of the 12 Monkeys. Goines’
father, Leland (Christopher Plummer), is the biologist who ends up creating the
virus. The scientists in the future realize their mistake, bring Cole back to
their present, and then send him back to the correct year, with the brief
hiccup of him landing on a battlefield during World War I. Once again, he
connects with Dr. Railly, but this time she begins to believe his story. With
his third journey back to correct the mistakes he’s made, Cole and Railly work
together to prevent the release of the virus—and fall in love, too.
Brad
Pitt, especially, shines in the film, playing against type as a crazed,
hyper-energetic weirdo (wearing brown contact lenses, and one eye that manages
to operate independently of the other). He was nominated for a Supporting Actor
Oscar and won a Golden Globe for his performance, and this reviewer is hard
pressed to pinpoint a better turn through the rest of Pitt’s career to date.
Willis, too, plays up his “sensitive†side—something new for audiences then—and
comes across extremely well.
Most
significantly, 12 Monkeys plays today as ironically potent, given what
the world has been going through since the spring of 2020. It’s a film dealing
with a deadly global pandemic that was made 25 years earlier. The tag line at
the time was “The future is history.†Today, we could say, “The future isn’t
history, it’s now!â€
Arrow
Video’s exquisite Blu-ray edition was released in 2018. Cinema Retro received
the new Limited Edition Steelbook for review, and it’s a gorgeous package. The
disk is the same as the 2018 release, it’s just encased in the keepsake
steelbook with newly commissioned artwork by Matt Griffin and a booklet
containing a piece on the film by Nathan Rabin and an excerpt from Gilliam
on Gilliam. The feature is presented in High Definition with both DTS 5.1
Master Audio and 2.0 stereo soundtracks, plus optional English subtitles for
the hearing impaired. There is an entertaining and informative audio commentary
by Gilliam and producer Charles Roven. Supplements include a feature-length
documentary on the making of the film, a vintage interview with Gilliam by film
critic Jonathan Romney, and a superlative “appreciation†of the picture by
author Ian Christie. There is also a collection of archive material and the
theatrical trailer.
While
12 Monkeys is worth the trip just for Brad Pitt’s out of the box
performance, it is also Terry Gilliam at the height of his powers. Don’t miss
it.
Remember
the 1986 comedy The Money Pit, starring Tom Hanks and Shelley Long? The official
credits of that film do not mention the excellent writing team of Frank Panama
and Melvin Frank, who adapted Eric Hodgins’ 1946 biographical comic novel Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House into the popular 1948 “disaster comedyâ€
starring Cary Grant and Myrna Loy. The Money Pit is, in reality, an
under-the-table remake of Blandings. It’s a pity that the original was
not acknowledged, for, frankly, Blandings is much more realistic (and
clever).
Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House was indeed a popular film and yet during its
initial run was deemed to have lost money—just like the hapless Mr. Blandings does
while attempting to move out of New York City to Connecticut. The movie is
funny enough, for sure, but perhaps in 1948 audiences were wary of a motion
picture that shed a dark—albeit comic—shade on what many Americans were doing
at that time—moving out of the big cities and into the suburbs!
The
Blandings (Grant and Loy) and their two teen daughters live in a pretty nice
three-bedroom (or is it two?—it’s unclear) apartment in Manhattan… although
like all apartments in Manhattan, it is simply not big enough for the family of
four. They all share one bathroom, and the closet spaces are hazard zones.
Blandings is an advertising executive who is under pressure to create a winning
slogan for a brand of ham called “Wham.†Against the advice of his best friend
and lawyer, Bill Cole (Melvyn Douglas), Blandings buys a decrepit Revolutionary
era place in Connecticut. Before he can remodel it, though, every surveyor and
inspector tell him it’s best to tear it down and start building a new house
afresh. That’s where the trouble starts. Everything becomes more expensive than
was first imagined, and the venture indeed becomes a money pit.
The
picture is a collection of often amusing set pieces that feature Grant doing
his frustrated slow burn act, with Loy somewhat nonchalantly enjoying the havoc
the house is wreaking on the family. Yes, the movie has some laughs, but
ultimately there is something amiss when Melvyn Douglas surprisingly steals it
away from the likes of Cary Grant. Douglas plays the narrator/friend role with
a detached, delightful cynicism, and without a doubt he has all the best lines.
Without his presence, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House might truly
have been a disaster.
The
script, however, is witty. The writing team of Panama and Frank worked with Bob
Hope on many of his better pictures, and they also wrote the hilarious The
Court Jester with Danny Kaye. Perhaps with better direction (H. C. Potter
has only a handful of titles on his CV, although he directed Loretta Young to a
Best Actress Oscar in The Farmer’s Wife), Blandings might have
soared.
The
Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray is an upgrade on a previous DVD release—it looks
and sounds sharp with its DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 Mono soundtrack. There are
English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Supplements include two different
radio broadcasts of the piece. One is the Lux Radio Theater from 1949 starring Grant
and Irene Dunne, and the other is the Screen Directors Playhouse from 1950 starring
Grant and Betsy Drake. A vintage Tex Avery cartoon, “The House of Tomorrow,†is
shockingly sexist and near-misogynistic, but reflects the times in which it
appeared. The re-issue trailer rounds out the package.
Mr.
Blandings Builds His Dream House is worth a date-movie evening and still might
serve as a cautionary tale before one does a deep dive into erecting a home.
Buyer beware!
Robert
Young had a career of playing mostly trustworthy nice guys—after all, one could
say he was born to play Marcus Welby, M.D. on television. But in 1947, he took
the chance of portraying an all-around heel, a no-good philanderer who married
for money and looks for every opportunity to score with someone new. And yet, Young’s
admirable qualities are still there, making his character of Larry Ballentine
in the film noir drama, They Won’t Believe Me, a likable cad. He
pulls it off, too.
Audiences
didn’t take to the change, though, and the picture was a box office dud.
However, the lack of profits when a movie is released is never a true
indication of its quality. They Won’t Believe Me is an artfully crafted,
well-acted, twisty tale about lies, fate, and luck.
The
original screenplay was written by Jonathan Latimer, creator of the William
Crane crime novels as well as other mysteries and thrillers of the 30s through
the 50s. He was also a prolific screenwriter; his work includes The Glass
Key (1942) and The Big Clock (1948). The director, Irving Pichel,
was primarily an actor, but he often sat behind the camera for two decades; one
of his later pictures was Destination Moon (1950)! Hollywood stalwart
Harry J. Wild served as cinematographer, and he already had his film noir chops
down with such fare as Murder, My Sweet (1944) and Johnny Angel (1945).
The
cast is excellent. Besides Young, who is in every scene of the movie, there is
the luminous Susan Hayward, an extremely talented and beautiful actress who
left us far too soon. Supporting them are Jane Greer (of Out of the Past fame),
Rita Johnson, and Tom Powers (who played Barbara Stanwyck’s doomed husband in Double
Indemnity).
Larry
(Young) is on trial for murdering Verna (Hayward). His defense lawyer puts him
on the stand to tell his story; thus, the film is told in flashback, with the
courtroom sequences functioning as a framing device. Larry admits he was not a
good husband to wealthy Gretta (Johnson) and that he married her for her money.
Gretta was also aware of this and she tolerated his infidelities because she
knew he would never leave. After an almost-tryst with Janice (Greer), he meets
Verna at his lucrative new office job that Gretta had arranged for him. Verna
is likely going to marry the boss, Trenton (Powers), but she honestly reveals
to Larry that she’s a gold-digger and, frankly, what we call a “party girl.â€
She has no qualms with having an affair with Larry. But they actually fall in
love, so Larry makes sincere plans to leave Gretta and run away with Verna.
Unfortunately, twists of fate interfere with their plans. We know Verna dies from
the beginning of the movie, and how this occurs is one of the surprises in the
plot. When Gretta meets a similar fate, then Larry sweats it out until he is
ultimately arrested. At 95-minutes, They Won’t Believe Me is the
celluloid equivalent of a page-turner, and how it all plays out is always
unpredictable.
The
Warner Archive has released an astonishingly gorgeous high-definition
restoration in glorious black and white that looks as if the print is brand
new. It comes with a DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 Mono soundtrack and English
subtitles for the hearing impaired. Unfortunately, there are no supplements on
the disk.
You
won’t believe how compelling They Won’t Believe Me is until you see it. Check
it out.
