By Matt Singer
March 19, 2003
Here’s a fun site. At YMDB.com, which stands for “Your Movie Database”, you can assemble your own list of the Top 20 films of all time, compare them with your friends and others on the site, and check out which movies are the most highly rated by the site’s members. It’s a fun and interesting exercise; picking your twenty favorites and arranging them in proper order is tougher than it sounds. If you’d like to view my own list, you can do so here.
Over on The Movie Board this week, we’re giving away three FREE copies of the new 8 MILE DVD. Click on over to enter and good luck in the contest.
THE GOOD
WHEN WE WERE KINGS (1996)
Starring Muhammad Ali, George Foreman
Directed by Leon Gast
Rated PG, 89 minutes
Available on VHS & DVD
Muhammad Ali would have been a great member of The Second City or The Groundlings. The man has quick comic timing, always ready to respond to any statement with charming wit. After Howard Cosell suggests Ali has no chance to win a fight, he angrily responds, “I’m gonna let everyone know that thing on your head is a phony, and it comes from the tail of a pony!” These skills are on display as often as his boxing prowess in WHEN WE WERE KINGS, a documentary made in 1974 to chronicle “The Rumble in The Jungle” between Ali and George Foreman but left unreleased for over two decades due to legal issues over the rights to the footage. Anyone who has seen this unforgettable film would tell you it was worth the wait.
Gast’s original intent was to document the musical extravaganza that coincided with the fight, featuring some of the most prominent African-American musical artists of the day, including James Brown, B.B. King, The Spinners and others. At some point, Gast and his crew got access to the boxers and their entourages and the final product is more of a boxing movie, intercut with the occasional live performance, complimented by a fantastic 70s soundtrack. In 1996, the events are commented on with the wisdom of time by, amongst others, writers George Plimpton and Norman Mailer and film director Spike Lee.
If you seen Michael Mann’s ALI, you know most of this story. Ali, always underestimated throughout his career, had seen his championship reign fall apart thanks to a lawsuit with the government over his refusal to be drafted into the Vietnam War. By 1974, Ali was a free man, but considered washed-up. Even if he had still been in his prime, Ali would have probably been the underdog to Foreman, who had absolutely demolished Ken Norton and Joe Fraser, and as you see in the footage from the era, has the dead stare of a bloodthirsty killer. He punches the heavy bag as if it had just killed his favorite childhood pet. This man is a long ways away from making his own grill.
The conclusion seems almost foregone, but as you no doubt know, things did not turn out quite so, well, forgonely. WHEN WE WERE KINGS gives us the big picture, of a convergence of luck and skill that is difficult to imagine as the work of anything other than some sort of higher power. The fight is delayed when Foreman’s sparring partner elbows him. The location of the Rumble in the Jungle is Zaire, where the Africans worship Ali and chant “Ali, kill him!” in their native language. While Ali gathers strength from an entire nation of cheers, a flabbergasted Foreman wonders why the Africans hate him even though his ancestors are African too.
The commentary by Mailer and Plimpton, backed by fine editing by Gast, Taylor Hackford, Jeffrey Levy-Hinte, and Keith Robinson, manages to make the brutal sport of boxing seem noble and thoroughly intelligent to even its most fervent opponent. The final bout is famous for the Rope-A-Dope, and we get plenty of commentary on this most famous of strategies along with numerous others Ali employed in the bout (including several that didn’t work). This is a boxing movie for people who don’t like boxing.
While Gast’s film is a tad heavy on nostalgia, and I’ve never been a big fan of the final theme song, WHEN WE WERE KINGS is still far more entertaining than any fiction film about Ali has been or could be. Will Smith performed admirably as The Greatest of All Time, but the translation to fiction loses that spark of creativity as Ali spouts mad poetry off the top of his head. The magic is in the improvisation, the spur of the moment genius he had like few others. To replicate that in a script misses the point.
IF YOU LIKED WHEN WE WERE KINGS, CHECK OUT: BEST IN SHOW (2000), Christopher Guest and his masters of more traditional styles of cinematic improvisation invade the Mayflower Kennel Club Dog Show.
THE BAD
BASKET CASE (1982)
Starring Kevin VanHentenryck, Terri Susan Smith
Directed by Frank Henenlotter
Unrated, 91 minutes
Available on VHS & DVD
For years, I had the virtues of BASKET CASE extolled to me. One of the loopier professors I had in college sited it frequently as one of his favorite movies, and even showed a part of it in class. As a lover of the bizarre, the plot - that of a man who carries around his homicidal blob of a Siamese twin in a basket - certainly sounded appealing. But after years of anticipation, the actual film did not live up to the hype. Though the film has a theoretical cult following (theoretical meaning I have yet to see it extend past my professor), I don’t see the appeal.
As I mentioned above, the terrific title refers to the Bradley twins, Duane (Kevin VanHentenryck) and his brother, who looks like a flesh hairball with arms. Perhaps because of a deep fascination with picnics and picnic related culture, Duane carries this creature around in a basket wherever he goes. The die-namic duo (I should write for MAD Magazine!) shacks up in a seedy Times Square hotel where they begin to pick off a seemingly random series of victims. But in movies, horror movies especially, nothing is random.
Siamese twins and freaks of this kind have had a long and healthy history in the outskirts of the movie business, as they tend to represent voyeurism at its most exploitatively thrilling. BASKET CASE does benefit from its real NYC locations, and the creature can be unsettling in its best moments. But at its worst, it is like the rest of the movie: garish, but not particularly arresting. A concept this weird from a director this unusual (he also directed the wonderfully titled FRANKENHOOKER) seems destined for slummy greatness. It has the pedigree of an ugly classic, yet I was left underwhelmed. Watching it, I was reminded of the classic line from THE PRODUCERS, spoken by Zero Mostel: “The wrong writer, the wrong director... where did I go right?”
The problem could be the uneasiness of story. The prologue does not show the Basket Case (for lack of a better name for the character), and the following scenes seem to be establishing a horror-mystery, where we don’t really know what is inside that basket and who or what is killing the victims. But just as quickly, that angle is abandoned and we see the creature in all its bubbly glory as it commits a murder. Henenlotter isn’t sure whether Duane is a hero or a villain and VanHenteryck’s portrayal suggests he was taking acting lessons from his puppet twin brother - a puppet whose vocal abilities, I should mention, are limited to the phrase “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Despite my professor’s recommendation, BASKET CASE is really a generic 1980s slasher with a clever premise and some decent puppet work. There is plenty of gore, buxom women whose life expectancy relates directly to their purity, and an ending that punishes the guilty (but which also begs the question how two BASKET CASE sequels were made). But the final film is surprisingly mediocre, and its languid pace makes it feel far longer than its 91 minute running time. If you have an interest in this genre or period, the film could hold your interest as a curiosity piece, but for the average fan looking for entertainment, they best seek it elsewhere. My professor should have shown scenes from ED instead.
INSTEAD OF BASKET CASE, CHECK OUT: ICE CREAM MAN (1995), a really bizarre slasher, with Clint Howard in a rare starring role, as an ice cream man who puts human eyeballs in the ice cream. This is weirdness in thirty-two delicious flavors.
THE UGLY
MOMMIE DEAREST (1981)
Starring Faye Dunaway, Diana Scarwid
Directed by Frank Perry
Rated PG, 129 minutes
Available on VHS & DVD
I guess when you want to take revenge on someone who is already dead, you write a brutal tell-all book about what a jerk they were. Such is the case with Christina Crawford, the adopted daughter of legendary actress Joan Crawford, whose memoirs served as the basis for this creepy historical biography. The last line of the film makes its intent abundantly clear: this is Christina getting the last word on her drunken, disciplinarian mother for once in her rotten, tortured life.
Crawford, played here with the intensity of an evangelical preacher by Faye Dunaway, was one of the biggest stars of the studio system era. She had everything her heart desired except a child (Crawford was unable to carry one to term). So she stumbles on the idea of adoption, but California law of the time did not allow single mothers to adopt and, what’s more, the adoption agency finds her unfit as a parent. They’re absolutely right, but why should that deter a big movie star? She gets a child anyway, thanks to her connections and power (in Hollywood, even child bearing is all about who you know).
Things seem perfect at first, but don’t they always. With the formalities like character introduction out of the way, MOMMIE DEAREST uses its remaining screen time to chronicle a series of degradations Christina and her sibling Christopher were forced to endure. There isn’t much of a plot, merely a parade of increasingly pathetic displays of bad parenting and bad acting. No attempt is made to rationalize Joan’s outbursts, or to give Christina the voice for her rage that this film alleges to be. This is simply a laundry list, and the Crawford family has some very dirty laundry.
Nearly any situation can turn ugly under the stern eye of Crawford. Playing in the pool turns into a mother-daughter race in which Crawford wins again and again, forcing her exhausted child to keep racing. Christina pretending to accept an acting award, becomes a harsh lesson in grooming, as Joan bellows at the child while brushing out and then cutting off her hair. In the movie’s most disturbing scene, Crawford wanders her children’s closet while they sleep and comes across a dress placed on a wire hanger. She flies into a rage, screaming “NO WIRE HANGERS!” and then proceeds to beat Christina with the hanger. When she tires of that, she drags the child into the bathroom, and forces the child to clean the floor, which she has deemed unclean. “NOTHING IS CLEAN!” she exclaims. “CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” I forgot to mention that Dunaway is covered in gooey white makeup during this scene, so she looks sort of like a psychotic, drug-addicted kabuki dancer.
This ugly movie is not like most in this column. It has excellent production design, and handsome costuming and cinematography. But it is so utterly bizarre, so intensely repulsive, that it is uniquely fascinating to watch. Dunaway’s performance is, on paper, phenomenal. She looks the part, ages with her character, is fearless in portraying an unlikable character, and becomes downright scary when she has to. But on screen, her performance is so screechy and so frequently despicable in a movie that has nothing to say or show other than its message of “That Joan Crawford was a real bitch” that the entire enterprise becomes almost laughable. There’s only so much punishment we as an audience can stand before it becomes overkill. That a real person endured these hardships is sad, but the fact remains, the entire situation’s over-the-top treatment in this way is sort of mesmerizing. Some of the less abusive moments are quite humorous. Call me heartless, but Faye Dunaway, covered in fake blood screaming “TINA, BRING MOMMIE THE AX!” in the middle of the night, is funny. A sixty-year-old woman taking over her daughter’s role on a soap opera and pretending she’s twenty is even funnier. And it really happened!
Once again, a film reveals its own philosophy and shortcomings through its own dialogue. When Christina gets in trouble at her private school, Crawford scolds the headmaster for a lax punishment. “I think you are overreacting Ms. Crawford!” the headmaster responds. “I think you’re UNDERreacting!” barks Crawford. You can’t argue with that logic. In its perversely enthralling way, MOMMIE DEAREST is the epitome of a guilty pleasure: revenge served warm, with a side of wire hangers.
IF YOU LIKED MOMMIE DEAREST CHECK OUT: NETWORK (1976), which won Dunaway a Best Actress Oscar, in happier times.
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