Reviews

With films dealing with faith, the usual response is positive from those who already share that faith while neutral or negative from people who don't. It's difficult to judge these films objectively as films rather than theological artefacts.

With The Case for Christ, the task is easier because the film depicts a reporter seeking evidence to prove the resurrection of Jesus. So how does the case stack up? Sadly, the answer is very poor, indeed.

The evidence as presented is littered with logical fallacies and red herrings, laced with cartoonish characterisations of the believers and non-believers. Taken together, it makes for neither an enjoyable cinematic experience nor a convincing Christian polemic.

A few of the problems: it is stated that there have been a large number of ancient copies found of the New Testament (the Old Testament is treated as if it doesn't exist). From this fact, we are told that it is proof of the truth of the events depicted in the New Testament. Clearly, the conclusion doesn't follow from the premise. The existence of several million copies of Harry Potter doesn't prove that Hogwarts is real.

Next, we are told that 5,000 people are reported to have seen Jesus after he had been crucified. No detail is provided of the sightings nor information to support the veracity of these claims, nor are the sources of the claims provided. Again, that is the extent of the "proof."

There are also logical inconsistencies. While on the one hand it is argued that the number of sources claiming the same thing constitutes proof of those claims, it is also argued that discrepancies in accounts of a particular event prove they must be true, because in real life eyewitnesses remember things differently. So if sources agree on something, that proves the resurrection; if sources disagree, that also proves the resurrection.

Now a red herring: a portion of the film is devoted to disproving the claim that Jesus "faked his death" (I've been a student of spiritual matters for decades and have never heard anyone claim Jesus faked his death. The issue is whether he resurrected after his death.)

So a medical doctor whose wall is conveniently decorated with diagrams of the crucifixion explains to the title character why Jesus' wounds would have been fatal. I have no doubt this is the case. Yet again, this is in no way proof that Jesus resurrected.

Although the film is based on a nonfiction book, the characterisations are exaggerated to an unnecessary extent. The author is shown telling his toddler daughter that she is an atheist (which she dutifully repeats back to him, pronouncing the word "atheist" with precision.) Who does this? The scene where the author suddenly is converted is also unconvincing. A subplot where the author cracks a crime by discovering something missed by the police, the prosecutors and the defence attorney is the stuff of TV crime melodrama (recall that this is "based" on a true story; that means liberties with the truth can be freely taken.)

Certainly, people who believe in the resurrection of Christ have every right to their belief and I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to criticise them for their belief. But to claim that this film presents a convincing case that proves the resurrection is simply ludicrous and actually a bit insulting. The case fails.

If you're a fan of Cassavetes' work, and particularly "A Woman Under the Influence" (which bears a number of similarities to this film), you will find Opening Night irresistible.

There are few actresses who can express so well the complexities of human emotion as Gena Rowlands. She is at the height of her powers in this demanding role, perhaps her best performance ever.

Ben Gazzara is wonderful, as always, exuding warmth and passion, while Cassavetes' himself, besides writing and directing, delivers a captivating performance, playing off real life partner Rowlands. Joan Blondell is splendid as the elderly playwright who sees her work unravel in the hands of the troubled cast.

Cassavetes afficianados will be delighted with the cameo of his mother as a spiritualist and two fleeting appearances by Cassavetes rat pack member Peter Falk. Even show biz luminary Peter Bogdanovich makes a blink and you'll miss him appearance.

The themes of the play-within-the-film and the cast members intertwined relationships offstage are skilfully intertwined, culminating in the titular opening night, which I found myself viewing with hands in front of face, peering between my fingers in true horror movie style.

An absolute pleasure through the entirety of its nearly two and a half hours, I could easily watch this film over and over and will no doubt return to it frequently.

This film is a product of its time, and although some of the acting may appear hammy on occasion, it's based on a true story and harks back to a time when the Soviet Union was doing its best to subvert American democracy.

The real life undercover agent upon whom the film is based showed not only great courage, but also had the strength of character to suffer estrangement from his son and siblings in order to carry out his mission. I don't think this type of patriotic commitment would be easy to find in America of 2024.

What makes this film particularly relevant is that its themes appear to be recurring in real life as a write, with some political elements actively fomenting racial discord, free speech under attack and anti-Semitism hitting unimaginable new heights.

In view of these concerns, this film appears ominously prescient and perhaps serves as a cautionary tale of where we might now be headed. Let's all hope it is not so.

Although gentle in presentation, this film packs a wallop. The wonderful Dirk Bogarde, in his final role, portrays a man in failing health staring mortality in the face. His wife and daughter deal with him and his impending demise as best they can, but the past weighs heavily on all of them, a source of both great pleasure and intense regret.

The beautiful setting on the coast of France is an ironic backdrop, a sun kissed panorama of holiday pleasure, against which the three protagonists struggle to accept the disappointments of the past and the daunting future that lingers ever closer.

The performances are note perfect, capturing the flashes of tenderness, regret and anxiety that play out in a never-ending merry-go-round of conflicting emotions. But it is the terrifically subtle screenplay and masterful direction of Taverner that makes the viewer feel they are witnessing a genuine experience of life rather than a filmed entertainment.

This film is not for everyone, but the audience that is receptive to its charms will feel deeply moved and enriched by the experience.

As the film begins, the viewer will feel he is one step ahead of the plot. But this notion is quickly dispelled as a number of twists and turns keep things fresh in the excellently plotted screenplay (based on a serial in the Saturday Evening Post).

Ida Lupino is her usual excellent self and Howard Duff exudes a casual charm that is thoroughly winsome. But what really sets this project head and shoulders above many similar efforts is the fantastically moody lighting in the extended action sequence at its conclusion. A whole series of beautifully framed and lit shots are so expertly rendered it almost became a distraction for me from the unfolding action.

Secondary performances are uniformly excellent and by the time of the end credits I was completely won over. Great fun, expertly crafted.

I've never seen anything like this before: Andrew Scott plays every role in an adaptation of Chekhov's Uncle Vanya and delivers an astonishing performance. One quickly becomes accustomed to the conceit of one actor utilising a multiplicity of gestures, inflections, body language and mannerisms to depict different characters; Scott's exceptional skills in carrying this off have to be seen to be fully appreciated.

The adaptation of Chekhov's material is expertly devised and although there are many, many laughs in this production, what really strikes home is the deep emotional intensity of the performance. Scott is in tears at several points and it is both heartbreaking and exhilarating to witness.

Anyone who has the slightest interest in the theatre should make it a point to catch this film. Wonderfully filmed, with expressive and thoughtful camera work, it is an undiluted triumph for all concerned.

This film is highly recommended for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was written and directed by star Aleksey Chadov, a top Russian film actor who exudes charisma and likeability in all his films.

Secondly, on a purely action film level, Chadov more than delivers, with explosive action sequences that are superbly executed. The viewer barely has time to catch his breath after one firefight before the next one hits the screen.

But perhaps most importantly, the film deals with both the tensions and the alliances that arise between the numerous groupings that feature in the events depicted: Russian and American troops, Syrian civilians and ISIS terrorists, even domestic differences among Russians and Chechens and Russian commanders vs. The troops they lead.

This is all handled with intelligence and finesse, and despite the international tensions that exist at the time of writing, as an American I was cheering for the success of the Russian hero, who will completely win you over with his humanity and courage.

Available on DVD from the USA with English subtitles, this one's well worth seeking out.

Films like this aren't for everyone. But if you like trashy, flashy melodrama artfully executed, you can't get much better than this.

This film deserves a 9-star rating on the basis of the opening credits and closing sequence alone, both brilliant and creative. Being a black cat afficianado will bring added delight.

Although the cast reportedly despised each other, they are uniformly excellent. Laurence Harvey is cast against type and nails both the southern accent and the laconic character of the protagonist. Capucine is sexy and sultry while masterfully portraying the shifting emotions of Harvey's long lost love. And the performance from then newcomer Jane Fonda is more than competent.

If this sounds like your bag, you will fall in love with this picture, as I did. As for all the nay-sayers and detractors...well, they just don't get it.

There are so many wonderful aspects of this film, it's hard to know where to start. Perhaps its primary virtue is the respect it shows its audience: the viewer is never bludgeoned with a preferred interpretation of the events depicted, but instead is left to draw his own conclusions.

Secondly, the performances of all four leads is staggeringly good, starting with the understated but emotionally complex performance from Andrew Scott in the central role. He is utterly convincing in a performance that is both heartbreaking and uplifting.

Claire Foy also dazzles in a pitch perfect performance as Scott's mother, while Jamie Bell touches deeply with an effortless performance as the father. It's hard to remember a more subtle demonstration of masculine vulnerability by an actor.

What truly gives the film its power is the deft manner it conveys the dimensions of love, whether between parents and child or between struggling lovers. In an astonishing visual coup de grace, Andrew Haigh illustrates the power of love to transcend both time and space.

Mention must also be made of the skillful integration of Eighties pop into the soundtrack, with appropriate lyrics matched seamlessly with unfolding events.

Ultimately, this film achieves the highest of cinematic accomplishments by demonstrating the transcendent power of love in a universe that can often seem uncaring.

This is truly a classic.

A beautiful and powerful film that packs its punch with great subtlety and finesse. Nearly all the main characters are haunted by complex social and sexual needs that interplay in a beautifully woven narrative.

This Pakistani writer/director shows contemporary Hollywood how gender issues can be dealt with without the heavy-handed and preachy woke-ism that infect most American productions. The viewer is left to draw his own conclusions regarding the rights and wrongs of what is presented. But the beautifully observed portrayals never fail to ring true and utterly believable.

When I read the plot synopsis stating the main character falls for a trans woman, I had a feeling this was going to be preachy and predictable. Happily, I couldn't have been more wrong.

By the close of events, I felt stunned to the point of speechlessness. I could easily have immediately watched the film all over again, and have no doubt I will revisit it. A must-see.

I avoid music described as "easy listening." Likewise, I abjure shallow, commercial cinema that might be described as "easy viewing." Frig is not easy viewing under anyone's definition.

Rather than a narrative framework, Hickling's project is an impressionistic work in three parts incorporating performance art, dance, music and the visual arts. It is not an easy film to watch and there are no doubt a considerable number of film goers who will find themselves unable to stick it out to the project's conclusion.

This is indeed a pity, as the film must be seen in its entirety to be properly appreciated. The sadism and scatology of the disturbing middle section is tempered by both the magical forest sequence that follows it and the idyllic scenes that precede it in part one. Taken as a whole, one can appreciate the kaleidoscope of both darkness and light that contribute to Hickling's overall vision.

Ultimately, with a film such as this, the question must be asked: is the use of such dark and frequently grotesque images an honest expression of a sincerely held artistic vision or is it intended merely to disturb and offend complacent audiences? With Hickling it is clear both from this individual film and the other two parts of the trilogy ("Little Gay Boy" and "Where Horses Go to Die") that there is a cinematic intelligence at work here that is both fearless and relentlessly sincere.

It is a matter of personal inclination whether a viewer is prepared to go all the way with Hickling on his dark adventures, but a failure of courage on the part of the viewer is in no way a reflection on the creator's accomplishment.

This is the type of film that has to be judged in its own terms. It doesn't set out to be groundbreaking or cerebral; it aims are to simply entertain and raise the occasional chuckle. It succeeds in both these aims admirably.

Brian Donlevy is a force of nature as the lead, brash to a fault, but always forgiven for his sometimes excessive zeal. Norman Foster is perfect as the barroom piano player Donlevy takes under his wings as a fledgling underwater engineer.

The female leads, Glenda Farrell and Helen Wood, are both playful and charming, yet stand up to the men when appropriate. The plot machinations may be predictable, but are executed with skill and aplomb.

If you're looking for intellectual stimulation, look elsewhere. But it's a cracking good time you're after, High Tension will fill the bill.

A painter of mature years embarks on a journey into his own psyche by prowling the fringes of Parisian society, opening up a vivid world of struggle and degradation, but also beauty and liberty. David is sympathetic and approachable; he is not deterred by the tough exterior or the harsh comments of the prostitutes and transexuals he encounters.

Instead, David finds renewed inspiration and a resurgent artistic vitality through his interactions, which are played out in an elliptical and expressionist style. At various points in the film I also felt a cinematic connection with Almodovar, Warhol and John Waters, surely a good sign on all three counts.

The film's title derives from an exchange toward the end, where a character asks where horses go to die, to which the sardonic response is "the abattoir." Despite their hardships, the inhabitants of Hickling's world are clearly heading in the opposite direction, extracting a flawed glamour from their unforgiving environment.

Bonus points: the excellent soundtrack also has a commercial release.

Surely there can be no higher aspiration for a work of art than to seek the ultimate truth of human existence. Bergman makes a valiant attempt to answer the most basic of all questions: Is there a God? Through a harrowing depiction of mental illness and family disintegration, he reaches tentative conclusions in a striking and unforgettable fashion.

Just as God can appear detached from human suffering, Gunnar Bjornstrand is the father who seems remote and detached in his underlying relationship with his schizophrenic daughter and her younger brother. He uses her illness as fodder for his writing and fails to engage meaningfully with the boy.

But as Karin lapses into hysterical hallucinations in which God is about to appear, the family is forced to face the reality of their dysfunction and, in doing so, reach tentative conclusions on the presence of God in that reality.

Beautifully photographed with superbly atmospheric lighting, this is a film that requires some patience as it moves towards its dramatic and profoundly moving denouement. But there is no one who can touch Bergman where, as here, he is at his most brutally honest. A cinematic masterpiece.

This is a fascinating documentary capturing the goings on in a marriage broker's office in Iran, where the drama extends not just to the troubled souls seeking a mate, but also to the women who work at the agency, who are involved in their own personal romantic complications. The ladies act as agony aunts as well as matchmakers, counseling and extending advice to both male and female clients.

As you can imagine, the cards are stacked in favor of the male of the species, who are the only ones who have the right to accept or reject proposed partners. At one point a conference hall is secured for the lonely hearts, both male and female, where candidates tell the assembly what their "standards" (or desired characteristics) are. Everyone is assigned a number, but only the men are allowed to choose prospective matches; the women's role us totally passive, hoping they receive a follow up call confirming a man has expressed an interest.

Although the all female staff are straight talkers and not shy about calling out unreasonable applicants, they are also warm and sympathetic, while remaining realistic about the restraints within which a theocratic society must operate.

It's just over an hour long, but one is left feeling satisfied that the high drama of Iranian love lives has been given a insightful and sensitive portrayal.

Nobody could achieve the operatic heights of outrageous melodrama like the brilliant Douglas Sirk. A major influence on German filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder, among others, Sirk had a sense of style which masterfully serves the extremes of human behavior that he lovingly documents.

The star-studded cast are a delight, with Robert Stack's carpet chewing excesses nicely counterbalanced by Rock Hudson's understated turn as both Stack's best friend and lifetime rival. Lauren Bacall delivers a nuanced and complex portrayal as the third point in the triangle at the heart of events. But the picture is stolen lock, stock and barrel by Dorothy Malone asthe seductive floozy who holds Hudson's fate in her hands in the climactic courtroom scenes.

Some may deride material such as this as lowbrow trash, but it is in truth a tour de force of high camp and expertly executed entertainment. Accept it on its own terms and you will in no way be disappointed.

Christian mystics often achieved a spiritual ecstacy that mirrored sexual orgasm. Ecstacy and orgasm intermingle in this trinity (pun intended) of short films from auteur Antony Hickling.

Part One is titled Conception and we begin with a journey through tunnels, mirroring the emergence of the newborn through the birth canal. Our first glimpse of the mother is of a dejected, overweight frump, who quickly transforms into a lacquered and painted lady of the night (or of a rainy afternoon, in this case).

When punters appear thin on the ground, her next stop is into a church, introducing the sacred/profane dichotomy that permeates the project in both conception and execution.

As the film progresses, we are inundated with the juxtaposition of opposing themes. Beyond the baseline sacred/profane duality, we see domination/submission; tenderness/cruelty; beauty/grotesqueries; pleasure/pain; connection/alienation: opportunism/exploitation; innocence/decadence, and on and on.

Rather than trying to impose a narrative framework on what one sees, the film is best experienced by letting the images and themes stimulate one's individual response to Hickling's cinematic provocations. I found much that was disturbing (as was clearly the director's intent), but also much that was uplifting and even inspiring. One is left with a lot to think about and with a host of emotions that are difficult to articulate but strongly felt.

This is a great film to see with (open-minded) friends, as you will have much to discuss and debate in its aftermath.

While claiming to be a documentary, it becomes clear within minutes that this is a hit piece on Israel, with no intent of presenting a balanced account. The heavily one-sided narrative is so clumsily executed that anyone with a modicum of sophistication will instinctively recognize that there must be another side to these events.

Much like news accounts that report on Israeli military actions while omitting mention of the terrorist acts which prompted them, the film neglects to mention the desperate plight of Holocaust survivors who were turned away from country after country before finally turning to their ancestral Jewish homeland.

Similarly, the film complains of Israel building a wall while omitting to mention the acts of Palestinian terrorists which necessitated the building of the wall as a defensive measure.

In short, this is a dishonest and biased polemic with the clear intent of inciting antipathy to Israel and the Jewish people. It is unworthy of your time unless you're an anti-Semite who hasn't yet got their fill of Israel bashing, to which we are already constantly bombarded.

I watched this in anticipation of watching the second film in the series. I've saved myself some time by doing so, as I won't be going anywhere near the new one.

This hollow, soulless piece of cinematic polyester is phony and clumsy at best and simply laughable (but not in a good way) at worst. The characters are as believable as Daniel Craig's painful Foghorn Leghorn accent and the ridiculously overcomplicated plot is a time-wasting exercise in mental masturbation. The whole thing is phony to its core, and while it thinks it's clever-clever, it's simply stupid-stupid.

Naturally, since Hollywood's elites feel compelled to inject their tiresome woke politics into EVERYTHING, there is an extraneous political conversation inserted into the script, with a dig at Trump and his supporters being labeled Nazis. What's this got to do with the plot? Nothing, but the luvvies need to constantly parade their disdain for the unwashed masses who don't concur with their political viewpoint.

I've been watching a lot of classic international cinema on the Criterion Channel and I suppose it makes the contrived artificiality of films like this all the more annoying in comparison . This film fails as either entertainment or art and instead stands as yet one more example of the artistic black hole that is mainstream US cinema. Repulsive on every level...