Bob le Flambeur (Melville, 1956)

A quiet fatalism runs throughout Bob le Flambeur, slowly revealing itself in the rain slicked streets, the nightly routine of boozing and gambling, the overcast dawns, and especially Bob Montagné's face, his furrowed brow, muscles constantly contracted, always staring down. The rain, try as it might, can't seem to wash away the sins of the many who roam Paris by night, and fate, no matter how much one might try, cannot be altered. And so Bob goes about, losing his money, over and over again.

An undeniable stylistic precursor to the Nouvelle Vague, Melville's film is the type that will always seem modern and fresh, no matter how many decades pass. There is a languid vitality to the film that is impossible to do justice to through words alone. This is a film that must be seen.

Juno (Reitman, 2007)

This year's Little Miss Sunshine. That seems to be the label of choice for all of the award season pundits when discussing Juno. And though the comparisons are apt to a certain degree (this sort of hip, colorful, American indie filmmaking has become a genre unto itself) Juno does a remarkable job of toeing the line. On occasion, it comes close, but director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody never quite allow the film to implode into the realm of cloying quirkiness. Juno's cheekiness may be annoying at times, but it feels quite true to her emotional and physical maturity. Ellen Page is sure to be the beneficiary of much praise, but the performance to savor is J.K. Simmons, who imbues his role as Juno's father with humor and a wonderfully confused but unwavering love. Certainly not the year's best, but funnier, if quite a bit lighter, than last year's indie sensation.

Charlie Wilson's War (Nichols, 2007)

Charlie Wilson's War is a product that looks like an Oscar contender, smells like and Oscar contender, and has the pedigree of an Oscar contender, but once finally revealed, is nothing more than nicely polished fluff. Let me clarify that in no way do I abhor Mike Nichols' film. It's just that any talk of this film as one of the year's best is quite baffling to me. There is certainly much to enjoy. Yet, there is something about Nichols' film, its inherent simplicity, the pandering nature of the entire exercise, that I can't quite get past.

This is pop history, nothing more, nothing less. A simplistic exploration of a complex period of recent US history that nevertheless feels strangely pretend. Too refined to be considered proper farce, the film also lacks the subversiveness and vitriolic energy that the best satire requires. And Nichols' filmmaking, while polished and professional, feels strangely hollow. Gone is his feel for the contours of human behavior, and the vitality, that marked much of his early work. So while Sorkin's script crackles and pops in all the right places (done exceptional service by Hoffman's perfectly mannered and hilarious turn as CIA man Gust Avrakotos), it does so in the service of nothing particularly meaningful. Unless of course, you are the type who would confuse lazy, obvious, finger-pointing, for something clever and meaningful.

In the end, when the entire aftermath of Wilson's clandestine campaign is reduced to a single minutes long scene in a conference room (and capped by a punchline quote), it becomes clear what Nichols' real intentions are. Charlie Wilson's War is a breezy comedy that one can enjoy for a brisk 97 minutes and forget nearly as quickly. For truly inspired satire, check out Nichols' Catch-22 instead.

Gabrielle (Chéreau, 2005)

In Joseph Conrad's short story The Return (of which the author himself remarked "I hate it"), Patrice Cheréau finds the basis for this potent chamber drama, an outwardly staid, inwardly powerful tale of marital strife. There is much to savor here; in the note perfect performances of Huppert as the titular Gabrielle, and especially Pascal Greggory as the confused cuckold; in Cheréau's carefully stylized direction; in Eric Gautier's stunningly polished images; in a score by Fabio Vacchi that manages to be both melodramatic and elegant. On top of all of these things, Gabrielle also manages to illuminate the communicative space between cinema and the theater. Cheréau's film is a masterpiece in a minor key.

The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen (Gilliam, 1988)

Terry Gilliam's fantastically baroque visual sense and his childlike playfulness are on full display in this oft overlooked film, a surprisingly potent examination of the creative soul and its place in an exceedingly rational world. It is rather unfortunate that a regime change at Columbia Pictures, the film's backer and distributor, and the ensuing behind the scenes power struggles, kept this film from reaching a larger audience and the acclaim it most certainly deserves. One of Gilliam's finest. IMDb listing.

All The Colors Of The Dark (Martino, 1972)

"They exist. They bear the mark of the devil inside them. They may be your neighbors. They may be your wife, husband, sweetheart. They may even be your children. Their time has come."

Sergio Martino's dizzyingly stylistic film - deeply influenced by Rosemary's Baby - with its mounting, omnipresent paranoia and its evil cult, belongs near the top of the giallo heap. Gialli have always been about style and aesthetics first and foremost, and not only does All the Colors of the Dark have ample amounts of both - including one of the most stunningly audacious opening scenes I have ever seen - it also fares admirably in a department which is usually lacking in this sub-genre (acting), with Edwige Fenech giving a committed performance as the film's troubled protagonist.

Film Rating: B+/A-
Scare Factor: C

View Date: 10/31
Shocktober Horrorfest View Date: #31

31 Flicks That Give You The Willies!!!

Ed Hardy, Jr., of the fantastic film blog Shoot the Projectionist, had the brilliant idea to query bloggers and readers regarding the films that scared them the most. Well, the response was huge, and 183 films were nominated, many of which one wouldn't typically see on most "best-of-horror" lists. A second round of voting whittled that unwieldy list down to 31 films, one for each day of October. The end result is the first ever "Willies" list, something that I am sure will become an annual tradition.

I think the idea of a "communal" list is a wonderful spin on list making, and though I certainly disagree with some of the films that made the cut, I have absolutely no problem with the film that sits proudly at #1. I won't give it away here, so as not to spoil the fun of reading the list yourself, suffice it to say that I share Ed's high opinion of it completely. So if you're looking for another source of horror filled inspiration on Halloween, head on over to Shoot the Projectionist and check out:

31 Flicks That Give You The Willies!