Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid (USA; Carl Reiner, 1982)

   I had seen numerous clips of this film noir spoof but had never screened it in its entirety until now. Seeing as I've been a long-time fan of both the noir genre and Steve Martin, needless to say I found this intelligently stupid parody greatly enjoyable. The perfect vehicle for Martin's deadpan, casual flakiness, Dead Men is astutely sophisticated in its satirical manipulation of film noir conventions, mocking while simultaneously giving tribute to this post-WWII cinematic movement. The film follows private eye (of course) Rigby Reardon (Martin) as he attempts to uncover some sinister plot that grows more and more absurd as the frames move along. Hired by a mysterious woman (Rachel Ward) who can extract bullets with her teeth, Reardon encounters iconic film noir personalities throughout his investigation, their parts in the plot shown through footage taken from actual noir films of that era. Humphrey Bogart's Philip Marlowe (whose quotes are plastered all over Reardon's office walls like scripture) heads the line-up of stars from the golden age that pop-up incessantly during the picture, including Ava Gardner, Ray Milland, Barbara Stanwyck, Burt Lancaster, Veronica Lake, Lana Turner and many others, the recognition of the films chosen to be inserted into the narrative adding greatly to the picture's appeal, the juxtaposition of old and new being cleverly constructed. Further adding to this is the change in context concerning the dialogue taken from the older scenes, in itself a testament to the formative powers of editing. Making fun of film noir's self-inflicted tendency of being over-complicated (as indicated by its repetitive inclusion of Bogart as Marlowe from The Big Sleep, a film known for its intentional confusion), Dead Men is absurd in the best sense of the word, letting the viewer slip into cinematic nostalgia while simultaneously cracking up to Martin's unique blend of comedy in what is arguably one of his best early titles.

Brooklyn's Finest (USA; Antoine Fuqua, 2009)

   It's a shame that Brooklyn's Finest doesn't really have a point other than establishing violent death as the only solution to law enforcement calamities. Beautifully shot, the film's gritty depiction of a world filled with crime and injustice, while often harrowing, remains but only that: a depiction. It doesn't seem to give the viewer any comment or offer any alternatives to the dysfuntional state of the NYPD that it portrays through the three disparate narratives of its protagonists: Sal (Ethan Hawke), a high-strung detective desperately seeking extra-cash; Eddie (Richard Gere), a suicidal soon-to-be-retiree who's in love with a prostitute; and Tango (Don Cheadle), a decade-long undercover cop looking for a way out. Through the various tribulations we see these characters endure, we are dually exposed to an inexperienced and exhausted police force whose lack of effective structure ultimately lead to the loss of innocent lives (a fact we are reminded of by media inserts throughout the film). While clichés abound and the character's evolution are quite predictable, the film is greatly redeemed by the crisp night-time photography and, most notably, its performances. Never having been a big fan of Gere, I was surprised by his subdued and convincing portrayal of an empty man futilely seeking to fill his void (which of course he eventually achieves through acts of violence). And as usual, Hawke and Cheadle give engagingly strong performances, the latter's Tango arguably being the film's most honorable character. The film is also strengtened by the appearance of Ellen Barkin and Wesley Snipes, refreshing as a multi-targeted crime boss. While it lacks the social awareness and psychologial depth of earlier cop dramas like Narc (Joe Carnahan, 2002) or Dark Blue (Ron Shelton), Brooklyn's Finest remains a fine addition to the cop-film family, another brutal reflection on the hardening times gone through by the boys in blue.

The Sandlot (USA; David M. Evans, 1993) - Revisited

   Me writing about this film, while being a tribute to what I consider to be one of the best films ever made about baseball, also serves to explain why I haven't written much about films lately, my last post strangely coinciding with the start of the new baseball season and the beginning of my addiction to mlb.tv. Having the time and opportunity to watch ballgames this season, that's exactly what I'm doing. Obviously I will also be watching films during the summer and when I hit on one that's worth mentioning I will surely write about it. Interestingly enough, the movies I have been watching lately, due in part to my surroundings, have been children's films and therefore had a chance to re-experience one of my childhood favorites, once again following Smalls, Bennie 'the Jet' Rodriguez and the rest of the baseball ruffians in The Sandlot as they try to get their priceless baseball back from the Beast, a neighborhood watchdog. Focusing primarily on baseball as a unifying enterprise, The Sandlot is part of a small group of children's pictures of the 90s which stand-out amongst its peers as not having any antagonists per say, letting the children's innocence blossom and grow unencumbered without any imminent (usually criminal) threat from the outside (adult) world; an innocence that gets shattered through the normal course of childhood rather than by an imposed adult intrusion. While there are adults in the picture, their understanding of common elements differ widely in perception (the most crucial of which being the Babe Ruth-signed baseball) and the film's central threat turns out to be unfounded and erroneous. The only thing that can be taken at face-value in The Sandlot is baseball, the only reality that remains unchanged and unfazed from beginning to end. In setting the film in the 60's, the film also brings us back to when the game was just a game, before the days of 275 M$ contracts and HGH, reminding us that only kids really know how to play the game.