Early Peter Greenaway movie ('85), from when his undeniable visual genius wasn't yet smothered by pretentiousness. Zoologist twin widowers (!) mourn their wives but begin an affair with a survivor of the crash which killed them, whose leg's been amputated. And set the animals free from the zoo. Homages to Vermeer, a Michael Nyman score, and relentless perversity with a point. Exhilarating!
Eleven years after his original expressionist classic, Dr Mabuse The Gambler, this 1933 sequel from Fritz Lang, banned by the Nazis for its political undertones (Mabuse/Hitler parallels), follows the titular crime lord's activities from beyond the grave, and features the original Lynchian'creepy velvet curtain' scene, plus one of cinema's first breakneck POV car chases.
This not-as-crap-as-you'd-fear rehash of the much-loved '60s caper, with director F Gary Gray ensuring it isn't all just gung-ho car-chase action, throwing in stylish backdrops and a good joke or two for good measure. A shame, then, that the charisma-free Mark Wahlberg leads, and perhaps they should've opted for a fresh title, but a stellar cast including Ed Norton, Charlize Theron and Donald Sutherland can't be all bad. Lively enough.
Since the career peaks of Fargo and The Big Lebowski, the Coen brothers' previously astonishing career momentum has noticeably faltered. O Brother, Where Art Thou? had some good things going for it, but is probably best remembered for its soundtrack.
Po-faced but spectacular Biblical epic starring Yul Brynner (with hair) as the legendarily wise king who risks losing the throne of Israel by making whoopee with the saucy-but-pagan queen of Sheba (Gina Lollobrigida). George Sanders plays the villain (hurrah), the cast-of-thousands battle scenes are impressive and the unintentionally hilarious 'orgy' is an absolute must-see.
Another brave taboo-buster from Joseph Strick, tackling Jean Genet's play in 1964 with the kind of cast that has you pinching yourself: Shelley Winters, Peter Falk and a youthful Leonard Nimoy. In a brothel that's a hideaway from the war outside, Winters is a fearsome madam and Nimoy's a rebel leader. Surreal and grubbily saucy, though the low budget shows its cracks at times.
Intensely felt melodrama collides with saccharine world view in this tale of an Irish immigrant family who attempt to begin life anew in an '80s Manhattan filled with friendly junkies and hackneyed racial stereotypes (see Djimon Hounsou's savage-but-wise African artist). Top performances from Paddy Considine and Samantha Morton are undercut by director Jim Sheridan's squishy screenplay.
Straining to balance bog-standard biopic with anarchic art expression, Julie Taymor's biopic of Frida Kahlo is crammed with exquisite cinematic diversions (dream sequences, hallucinations, animated Kahlo paintings) while simultaneously stultified by the need to plod through Kahlo's life with startling apathy. Wild teen, bus crash, crippled, Diego Rivera, lots of sex, arguments, affair with Trotsky, big show in Mexico, the end.
Amazing how rapidly John Malkovich has plummeted from exquisite art-house bloom to a kind of Graham Norton version of Donald Pleasance, but his teetering vanity is quite well suited to Liliana Cavani's absurd yarn. This time, Ripley is pseuding it up among the renaissance treasures of Italy's Veneto region, and takes his revenge on tactless English picture-framer Dougray Scott by turning him into a reluctant serial killer. Diverting but hugely forgettable.
