Sweet Smell of Success is a dense, almost impenetrable film, packed solid with machine-gun dialog, double- and triple-crosses, Wellesian cinematography, and pure, black-as-coal cynicism. It’s an easy film to admire, but arguably a hard film to enjoy. Ostensibly a journalism drama, the film is really a disturbing exploration of one man’s lust for his sister, and another’s for the titular odor. Not a shot is fired — unusual for a noir, of course — but the barbs the characters aim at each other are far more devastating than any bullets could be.
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Is there anything left to say about Alexander Coleman and his exhaustive essays? (see his previous work on Out of the Past and The Big Heat) At work, whenever I have a break, I often head over to Coleman’s Corner In Cinema, find one of his pieces I haven’t read yet, and print it out. Because the one drawback to reading him online is that it induces eye strain.

From the abrupt opening note of David Raksin’s instantly, perceptibly moony, jazzy score, the viewer becomes aware of The Big Combo’s exquisitely composed cinematic mien as the titles play out over shots of an anonymous American city. The year is 1955 and film noir had fully matured into a self-conscious art form. Noir as an artistic style had become salient. Joseph H. Lewis, director of noirs such as My Name is Julia Ross (1945), So Dark the Night (1946), Gun Crazy (1949), The Undercover Man (1949) and A Lady Without Passport (1950), made The Big Combo as primarily a sexual contest. Lewis’s work, often marked by a distinct departure from the ordinary, “healthy” sensual impulses of people, with characters pursuing sexual satisfaction from means far from the typical, consuetudinary lifestyles of the more innocent people who occasionally ran into them. Non-noirs by Lewis such as Secrets of a Co-Ed, Duel of Honor, A Young Man’s Fancy and his two most famous noirs, Gun Crazy and The Big Combo, explore this theme with strenuously gelid intelligence. The Big Combo, however, Lewis’s last noir, most definitively and comprehensively inquires the coria of such examinations.
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Christian Divine blogs at Oh My Blog, although you can find his writing, passions, and obsessive love for Otto Preminger’s Skidoo at ChristianDivine.com. This piece was originally written for CREATIVE SCREENWRITING, hence the emphasis on the script, but Christian has graciously reupholstered his essay and donated it to noir month. Enjoy. It’s fine eatin’.

While John Carpenter clearly belongs in a class of recognized film auteurs, the scripts for his movies can be wildly uneven. He has an instinctual knowledge of film and music rhythm (he directs in a kinetic comic panel style) but the limitations of the auteur theory come into focus when one watches The Fog, Christine, Memoirs of An Invisible Man, Village of the Damned and Vampire$ (throwing away most of John Steakley’s fastpaced, funny novel was a bad idea). In other words, his unique widescreen vision cannot always compensate for low-priority narrative. It’s to Carpenter’s testament that we’re willing to go along for the ride anyway. Critics and –audiences — rarely note Carpenter’s films are often satirical (even Escape From LA is more humorous than exciting). To his credit, Carpenter remains a child of the 1970’s cinema: his films usually have ambiguous endings.
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Traitor occupies the unenviable limbo between an exciting episode of 24 and a mediocre Bourne clone. Moderately entertaining at times, sermonizingly stuffy at others, it manages to challenge one’s ability to remember it afterwards. If I were to damn with faint praise (which I am about to do), I would say it is worth a rental.
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In order to get all of the wonderful noir contributions in, we’re going to be extending the noir retrospective a few days beyond the end of August. In addition to that, don’t forget that once we hit 300 posts (this is #290 or so) we’re  giving away a boxset of 5 of the noiriest (I love making up new words with ‘noir’ in them) films ever made, Out of the Past, Murder My Sweet, The Asphalt Jungle, The Set-up, and Gun Crazy. The back of the box tells me that each film includes commentary from noir experts, including director Robert Wise and Martin Scorsese. See this post for all of the rain-drenched, cigarette-stained details.

I couldn’t help but notice that Fletch over at Blog Cabins complained that last weekend was the worst weekend ever. Really, Fletch? Did you look at the releases for this weekend?

Since I can’t recommend any films to you this time around, here’s something I can recommend: Wikipedia’s article on B-movies. Seriously, this is some of the most thorough, well-written, and entertaining stuff I’ve read in a long time. It also explains why no one really knows what “B-movie” actually means anymore. Pop some popcorn and read that, instead of going to the multiplex.

And now, since I need to fill up some more space…

Babylon A.D.
Wait, what? A French action movie starring Vin Diesel as a mercenary assigned to escort a woman who may be pregnant with “the next messiah”? Yeah, um…no.

Recommended if you liked The Chronicles of Riddick, The Children of Men or The Terminator (pretty much anything with “The” in the title, really)

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Traitor
Wait, what? A spy thriller created and produced by…Steve Martin? Okay sure, why not? I can try to care about that.

Recommended if you liked Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid or that godawful remake of The Pink Panther (the only two other movies I can think of with both Steve Martin and espionage)

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College
Premise That Might Have Been Clever Thirty Years Ago, meet Title That Might Have Been Clever Ten Years Ago. Get this: some guys are in college, and they get drunk and chase coeds! It’s totally gonna be hilarious!!!!!!111!!

Recommended if every title in your DVD collection begins with “National Lampoon Presents”

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Disaster Movie
And finally, this thing. There was a time when this endless barrage of “parodies” (here put in quotes because the word “parody” implies humor and commentary) were an outrage of awfulness, inspiring hatred from the pen of every two-bit blogger out there. Now they’re just so much white noise playing in the background while you go see the The Dark Titanic (or whatever it’s called) for the nineteenth time, their existence essentially drowned out by their own irrelevance (the 21st-century equivalent of a Police Academy sequel, if you will). If the one person who’s actually going to go see this movie is reading: Enjoy!

Recommended if you’re thirteen, have never heard of Mel Brooks, think that you’re clever because you know what a movie is, and can get your parents to drop you off at the multiplex without embarassing you too much in front of your friends. (But take off some of that perfume before you go out, young lady!)

Rick Olson runs the stellar Coosa Creek Mambo, a wonderful mix of reviews, scene analysis, history, and pointed opinion. Here he combines all of his talents to present a thorough essay on one of the greatest heist flicks of all time. After reading this, be sure to visit his extended piece on Jules Dassin and the blacklist. Great, great stuff.

The thing to understand about Rififi (in French, Du rififi chez les hommesi) is that it was made by an exile, a stranger in a strange land, to use an overused phrase. But it’s true — having been in Paris for only a few years, Jules Dassin’s French was none too good. Further, he wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind — just three years before, he’d left the United States, blacklisted, out of work, and heartsick at his treatment by people he thought to be friends. Finally, he needed the work, so he took a job writing and directing an adaptation of a novel — by Auguste le Breton — that he hated upon first reading.

Nevertheless, he took the job and made it his own . . . and he did it by expanding an incidental section, that took up only a fraction of a chapter, to make it the centerpiece of the film. I’m talking, of course, about the famous heist scene, which has been so influential to so many movies over the years. Twenty-eight minutes long, and without dialog or music, it is perhaps the textbook case of how to build and maintain tension over an extended piece of celluloid.
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The last few days have been quite difficult, both for myself and for Sam Juliano. Sam and I have spoken on the phone together, and rather than allow the events that occurred to remain the Elephant In The Room, we’ve jointly decided to open things up for discussion.
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Hamlet 2 begins with a series of cable-access commercials all starring Steve Coogan’s character, washed-up actor Dana Marschz, while Peter O’Toole, in a tone perfectly suited to a death-bed confession, waxes philosophical on the actor’s craft. It’s an odd mix, seeing Coogan grinning like a tortured Cheshire cat in a herpes ad while Lawrence of Arabia attempts his best James Lipton impersonation. Maintained the entire film, this tone (‘state of mild schizophrenia’ might be more accurate) is a risky decision that is, at the very least, admirable for eschewing the conventional Hollywood comedy equation (Will Ferrell + Random Sport = $$$$$!). Whether you’ll appreciate that decision is entirely dependent on how eccentric your sense of humor is; Hamlet 2, like Napoleon Dynamite, is a film that cannot be easily recommended – you either get it or you don’t.
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Note: this review contains significant SPOILERS about the ending of the film.

Before the noir movement ground to a halt in the late 50s, it surged forward with one last manic burst of energy, much like a sprinter inches from the finish line. Noir pictures became darker, more nihilistic, and even achieved some measure of self-awareness. Whereas foundational films such as Double Indemnity and Out of the Past had little idea they were establishing the conventions of a movement, later pics (even if they still lacked a word for it) proudly tattooed “NOIR” across their cinematic foreheads. Kiss Me Deadly is one such 11th hour noir, a film boiling over with post-war anxiety and featuring a protagonist that is nearly as amoral as his adversaries. If The Maltese Falcon was a slap to the cheek, Kiss Me Deadly is a boot to the head.
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Update: a joint statement was posted explaining the events that led up to this apology. You can find it here.

Like many blogs on the internet, MovieZeal is staffed by numerous volunteers who write for the sheer love of it, without pay, but it has been brought to my attention that one of our writers plagiarized a fellow film critic. This is unacceptable. MovieZeal may not be large and we may not generate any revenue, but it was founded on certain principles, those of integrity, honestly, and excellence. As such, every review by the critic in question has been removed, and he will no longer be writing for MovieZeal. To Nick Schager of Slant Magazine, I offer my sincerest apologies.

Evan Derrick

Founder and Senior Editor of MovieZeal.com

evan@moviezeal.com

Who loves grilled cheese sandwiches as much as I do? I could literally eat them 3-4 times per week, and I often do. I use my own handmade wheat bread, coat it with butter, and layer in thick slices of raw, sharp cheddar cheese that I get from a local dairy. That is the stuff that dreams are made of my friends. With that out of the way, lets get to some DVD releases.

Chicago 10
The top pick for the week, hands down. This experimental documentary tells the story of the infamous “Chicago 10″ trial in 1969, where 10 activists became the center of a political witch hunt. The film combines archival footage with animated recreations of the court transcripts, an aesthetic that I am dying to see on screen. It also stars the voices of Hank Azaria, Mark Ruffalo, Nick Nolte, Jeffrey Wright, and Liev Schreiber, among others. Daniel Getahun gave it a mostly glowing review over at Getafilm, so I am eagerly anticipating its arrival on Tuesday.

Recommended if you liked Waking Life, A Scanner Darkly, or The Weather Underground

Redbelt
David Mamet does martial arts! In any other case that would be cause for celebration, but the critical acclaim for this film has been mostly on the quiet end. Chuck Bowen wrote that it was “competent, never particularly boring, but…doesn’t ever amount to anything.” Harsh words, but still. It’s friggin’ Mamet! That’s got to count for something, right?

Recommended if you’ve spent long nights dreaming about a Glengarry Glen Ross / Karate Kid mash-up. I know I have.

August
I know nothing about this film, although some IMDB user with way too much time on his hands says that it “centers on two brothers fighting to keep their start-up company afloat on Wall Street during August 2001, a month before the 9/11 terrorist attacks.” I know, I know, not exactly a premise that sends lightning bolts down your spine. But in addition to starring Josh Hartnett (not exactly in its favor), it stars Rip Torn and David Bowie, and any movie with Rip Torn and David Bowie in it can’t be half bad.

Recommended if The Man Who Fell to Earth (the only other film to star both Bowie and Torn) has its own shrine in your closet, complete with burning incense and David Bowie rosary beads. Also, if that’s the case, please don’t read my blog anymore.

Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden?
I liked Supersize Me well enough, although the acclaim and hype it kept generating got a bit tiresome (it wasn’t that great). This is Morgan Spurlock’s second feature length doc, wherein he goes tramping around the middle east looking for you-know-who. Apparently he makes some nice observations about tolerance and the universality of the human experience, but the whole idea doesn’t really appeal to me on an entertainment level. Add middling reviews and this gets 2 1/2 shoulder-shrugs.

Recommended if you liked Supersize Me or Spurlock’s FX TV program 30 Days.

Hit the jump for more Digital Video Disc goodies.
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This review was originally published May 10th, 2008.

One imagines that What Happens in Vegas is the sort of film Michael Medved would love—after all, it reinforces traditional values without challenging your previous assumptions, asking you to think, or even questioning your vices. This is the sort of film that—despite the titular metropolis—is designed to “play in Peoria,” as the saying goes. It’s the quintessential bread-and-circuses film, reaffirming the paper-thin presumptions of the middle American masses while entertaining them for an hour and a half. The only surprise? It’s a thoroughly watchable film.
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Graham Culbertson of Movies et al. has provided a definitive list of noir inspired comics. I’ve read a handful of his selections and cannot wait to dig into the others. This is truly an epic list.

If you’re like me and you love all kinds of “genre” entertainment, comics are a great way to get your fill of superheroes, police procedurals, horror, fantasy, science fiction, mice with swords, and all the other fun escapist pleasures that are ignored or reserved for hackwork in the film world.

One of these is noir. Ever since Frank Miller revitalized Batman in 1986 with the noir-influenced The Dark Knight Returns, noir comics have been a steadily growing commodity. As part of Noir Month, here are 10 great comics that can get you through these dark times where the Hollywood noir is as rare as the well-written Fantastic Four movie. Happy reading!

I’ve broken the list into two sets of 5. The first set is straight noir for those of you purists. The second five represent noir intersecting with science fiction, superheroics, or some other genre exercise. If you only like your noir straight up, the first five are for you, but if you can handle a cocktail, the whole list is for you.
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Get out your pitchforks film noir purists. Graham Culbertson of Movies et al. lays into what many consider to be a minor noir masterpiece. Knowing Graham, he eagerly welcomes any and all combatants in the comments section.

The rural Midwest is an odd place to set a film noir - they’re usually set in either the asphalt jungle of a big city or amid the body heat of sexually repressed suburbia. Furthermore, director Laughton and cinematographer Stanley Cortez have filmed the rural setting less like a mid-century noir and more like a work of German Expressionism; the impressive set design is lit in such a way as to transform every room and field into a Gothic showcase.
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Adam Sandler should probably watch his back. His production company, Happy Madison, has traditionally featured two kinds of films — those starring him, and those starring people far less talented than him (Rob Schneider, et. al.) — presumably either as favors to college buddies, or to keep the spotlight where he wants it. But somehow, the company recently picked up Anna Faris.
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Settle in for another exhaustive look into one of noir’s finest examples. Alexander Coleman of Coleman’s Corner in Cinema has provided a meticulous, intelligent, and entertaining essay on one of Fritz Lang’s quintessential forays into the world of noir. Alexander, do you have, like, a day job or anything?

Why did the “rogue cop” sub-genre within the greater tapestry of film noir reach such a zenith in the 1950s? Two decades earlier Hollywood had tackled the rise and fall of the gangster, that most seductively lawless of creatures. In the 1940s, it was the private-eye and then the dupe who often figured most prominently in the finest noirs. Yet the 1950s, a decade of so many incongruous contradictions—a span of time that saw the ascendancy of the American middle class like never before, greater economic prosperity and the patina of unmatched satisfaction, marked by paranoia, distrust, quietly fermenting alienation and despair—saw Hollywood filmmakers essay the cop. With each decades-long step, the message became clearer: violent criminals were a kind of exotic animal, their inescapably brutal livelihoods making magnetically attractive stories; private-eyes like Sam Spade (The Maltese Falcon) and Philip Marlowe (The Big Sleep) navigated their way through the foggy ambiguity of everyday business, usually utilizing the police for their own ends, the relationship between private and public investigators mutually adversarial and beneficial, while everyday dupes like Walter Neff (Double Indemnity), Frank Chambers (The Postman Always Rings Twice) and Michael O’Hara (The Lady from Shanghai) found themselves caught in the lustful, heated trap of the gorgeously manipulative femme fatale, a dangerous being Spade, Marlowe and Jeff Markham (Out of the Past), to name three P.I.s, all encountered in the otherwise soul-draining ennui of their occupations. The 1950s, a decade arguably defined by the relationship between symbols of authority and the public in all of its complexities, found turpitude, angst and moral compromise in the shielded figure of the police officer.
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At some point during the month, Daniel Getahun posed the rhetorical question to me, “Who ever thought it would be a good idea for me to write about film noir?” Which, of course, is just crazy talk. This is his third and final treatment for the month (following The Big Sleep and The Asphalt Jungle), and I think it’s his best.

P.S. Visit Getafilm. Now.

Of all the rich detail in the first three minutes of Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train, it’s a lightning-quick gesture made by our protagonist, the tennis pro Guy Haines (Farley Granger), that cuts right through to me.
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In the first half of his career, director Billy Wilder specialized in films revealing the dark underbelly of American society. With Double Indemnity, he all but created the noir aesthetic. The Lost Weekend was the first film to realistically convey the horror of alcohol addiction and Sunset Boulevard exposed the superficiality of the Hollywood system with seamless direction and beautiful gothic sensibility. In 1951, Wilder had one more dark drama in him before moving on to comedy and farce.
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Director Paul W. S. Anderson (Resident Evil, Alien Vs. Predator) probably continues to work because he can either 1) bring movies in under budget, 2) on schedule, or 3) with as little fuss as possible (i.e., no arguments with studio execs over his ‘vision’). The man is a glorified Assistant Director, and the nicest thing that can be said about Death Race is that it isn’t shameful. Given Anderson’s oeuvre (if he even warrants the use of that word), that’s actually quite the compliment.
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