Once in a great while, a motion picture comes along that reminds you of why you watch movies of its type—a transformative cinematic experience that leaves you wondering why it took you so long to get around to seeing it. Such a film is 1978's The Norseman; not since Citizen Kane have I seen a film that left me feeling this way—and that it lacks a Wikipedia page seems a travesty to me now.
Why, you ask?
Ah, '90s ensemble dramedies. I've seen so many of you, and you are all so similar, that it takes getting through half of one of you before I can tell whether or not I've already seen you specifically. The only way I could have been more confused on this point while watching Ron Howard's The Paper would have been if one of the Three-Name Marys was in it (e.g. Mary Stuart Masterson, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, Mary-Louise Parker, etc., and if you're planning to start a '90s-style alt-rock band, yes, you may call it Three-Name Marys.)
Indeed, I wasn't completely certain I'd seen The Paper before watching it the other day until I got to the Jason Robards scene, close to the end. That probably doesn't reflect too well on the story.
If you're actually reading this rather than scrolling past it, you're doubtlessly asking yourself the same question I do whenever I see one of these Asylum cheapies on Netflix Instant:
"Is it fun-bad, or just bad-bad?"
I'm happy to report this one is solidly in the former camp. You get:
You may have heard that Skyfall is one of the better Bond movies. I agree, though the breathless praise it seemed to garner inflated my expectations a little too much. But I found myself ruminating about the entire history of the franchise while watching Skyfall (a natural reaction, and one the filmmakers clearly meant to instill), which led me to a hypothesis.
I would like to posit, here in my first Bond review for this blog, that the rubric for determining whether a Bond movie is "one of the good ones" consists of only two essential and fairly straightforward criteria:
1973's The Paper Chase is a drama set at Harvard Law School, and despite its setting (and age), the film is relatable if you have ever:
While I never had aspirations to go to law school, I've been in both of those situations a few times (and once, both at the same time, and why yes, it did suck), and I did enjoy the one law class I took; thus, I was more engaged by The Paper Chase than I expected. (I also kept myself amused by imagining a friend of mine in the protagonist's place who has identical hair, often identical attire, a similar smile, and even had that 'stache for a time.) I have to guess that actual law students would find it scarily accurate, even if their study time is now dominated more by computers than giant stacks of identical-looking books. (Do they still even have those? Are they just props for commercials now?)
Generations may be the toughest Star Trek film to review. Maybe that's why I picked it first. (Don't worry, I'm sure a ranty J. J. Trek review is just waiting to come out of me.)
It's tough because there's a lot to like here, yet there's so much to question and doubt. As you'd expect, Trekkies seem to disagree strongly about this one. (I may be the biggest Trek fan I know, but I'm no full-on Trekkie. I have, however, witnessed Trekkie debates in online contexts.) Some like it while admitting its shortcomings; others consider it at least as bad as V—or TFF, as Trekkies probably refer to it, to prevent confusion with V.
On that spectrum, I'd have to count myself near the middle. I find watching Generations to be an exercise in frustration and tedium punctuated by moments of Trekly goodness.
I'll start with the good:
