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Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre (2023)   Guy Ritchie’s productivity has been overdrive over the past few years, which suggests there’s either a very efficient programmed clone doing his job instead, or he’s celebrating now his ex-missus is safely out of the way*. Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre finds him returning to the spycraft territory of financial failure The Men from U.N.C.L.E. – with Hugh Grant in tow – but with a significantly lower budget, somewhat offset by several exotic vistas (doubling for the likes of Morocco, the Barbary Coast and Dohar). It has more than a whiff of a

Whisky Galore! aka Tight Little Island (1949)   Ealing’s third hit of the year, after Passport to Pimlico and Kind Heats and Coronets. Collectively, they’re rightly regarded as peak Ealing, along with The Lavender Hill Mob and The Man in the White Suit a couple of years later. Whisky Galore’s theme of wily locals outwitting “ruling” English could later be found in the likes of The Irish R.M. while Basil Radford’s Home Guard Captain Waggett has a whiff of Dad’s Army’s Mainwaring (he even says “I was wondering when you’d think of that” at one point, covering for his own

Triangle of Sadness (2022)   I think I preferred this when it was The Admirable Crichton. Less vomiting, prostitution and generally crude commentary on human nature passing itself off as satire. Obviously, I knew what I was letting myself in for, as I’d previously subjected myself to Ruben Östlund’s similarly misanthropic (and similarly overrated) Force Majeure. And dim views of human nature being what they are – celebrated by critics – Triangle of Sadness won the Palme d’Or and now finds itself a – relatively surprising, as most weren’t anticipating it in the final ten – a contender for Best

The Menu (2022)   Maybe I just don’t eat out enough. Possibly, anything with Adam McKay’s name attached, in whatever capacity, spontaneously causes me to regurgitate my movie lunch. Marky Mylod (Alig G indahouse – whatever heights he may achieve in his career, this will forever blight his CV) lends a veneer of exclusive-establishment style to the screenplay from Seth Reiss and Will Tracy (the latter has worked with Mylod on Succession), but like the ridiculous dishes served by Ralph Fiennes chef, The Menu offers a persistent lack of nourishment here. Chef Slowik: The menu only makes sense if you

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)   Billy Wilder’s Holmes send-up is often attributed the status of a mutilated masterpiece that would be held aloft as an unalloyed classic, were it only possible to lay hands upon those missing scenes. The truth is rather less enticing, I feel. Rather, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, as the title suggests, plunders the most obvious and unrewarding area of Baker Street tattle, the kind of fascination with its subject nursed by baser creatures seeking to besmirch classic figures (see nu-Who and, obviously the Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss iteration Sherlock). To

See How They Run (2022)   The irony of See How They Run is that director Tom George and writer Mark Chappell could have made its woke-garbage content work to the benefit of the period production as a whole, being as it super self-reflexive in all the ways but those that really count. Such as, you know, telling its tale in an attractively self-conscious way rather than as painfully and labouredly as George delivers it. As it is, this theatre-centred, ’50s-set murder mystery is afflicted with the curious malady also found in the recent Enola Holmes 2 (as one example),

The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother (1975)   The 1970s Wilder Sherlock Holmes movie that ought to be undergoing the critical rehabilitation. The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother is as hit-and-miss as any spoof will inevitably be, such that Gene’s directorial debut is no more so than the average Mel Brooks affair. It’s a winning combination of the quite clever and the rather puerile, and if the mystery itself does little to hold together, that still makes his brother’s outing significantly more successful overall than Billy’s The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, mistakenly feted these days as an

Carlton-Browne of the F.O. aka Man in a Cocked Hat (1959)   I’d always mentally grouped this Boulting Brothers’ colonial satire with the best of their comedy output (such as Private’s Progress and I’m All Right Jack), but a belated revisit reveals Carlton-Browne of the F.O. as decidedly second tier, despite the top rank cast. Terry-Thomas’ title character bungles his way through diplomatic duties pertaining to forgotten ex-colony Gaillardia while its new king, Loris (Ian Bannen), proves exceedingly competent at mitigating the isle’s corrupt institutional framework, not least Peter Sellers’ Prime Minister Amphibulos. In the real world, no revolutionary leader

Jeeves and Wooster Ranked   In retrospect, it’s readily evident that Clive Exton’s adaptation of PG Wodehouse’s best-loved characters reached an early peak before slipping into the mire of a faux-30s New York and increasingly fast-and-loose, slapstick-fantasy embroidering via Exton’s own plot devices. Very occasionally, he came up with something inspired himself, but one mostly gets the sense of a hubristic desire to make his own stamp on Plum’s mastery. Consequently, there’s a fairly evident qualitive dividing line (the first two seasons and the last two), albeit the shifting sands of recasting simultaneously means there are positives later on absent

Night of the Creeps (1986)   I should probably like Fred Dekker’s movies more than I do. Well okay, perhaps not Robocop 3. His first two nurse a long-standing cult following, though, and his sometime collaborator Shane Black has made or written pictures that almost deserve their own subgenre (action noir?) Night of the Creeps wears all its influences on its sleeve – not least in its referencing horror-genre luminaries – but in script and direction, it’s only ever able to muster the level of scrappy horror comedy, awash with low-hanging gags and very rarely truly inspired. Dekker’s intentionally throwing

A Matter of WHO (1961)   A peculiarly positioned comedy-drama from Don Chaffey (Jason and the Argonauts) and starring the incomparable Terry-Thomas. Essentially, it’s a propaganda flick for the World Health Organisation and their global “beneficence” – you know, at the vanguard of laying the ground work for the New World Order and all, along with the UN – while simultaneously expounding the fearsome attributes of Pasteur germ theory. Bechamp must have been turning in his grave. He’s doubtless been extremely restless over the last century. Apparently, A Matter of WHO was conceived as a straight thriller before T-T came

The Adventures of Pluto Nash (2002)   How many times did Eddie Murphy’s strategy of bringing the funny to a straight movie actually bear fruit? Twice, as I count it, and both right near the beginning of his big-screen career (48 Hrs and Beverly Hills Cop). And how many sci-fi comedies have been big hits? Which makes it easy to assume giving the greenlight to The Adventures of Pluto Nash, its budget eventually clocking in around $100m, was reckless in the extreme. But who knows? Maybe, if funny Eddie Murphy, Eddie bringing his A-game, had shown up on Ron Underwood’s

The X-Files 6.4: Dreamland   The series’ only non-mythology-arc two-parter starts here. Albeit, I tend to regard it as pseudo-mythology arc, at very least, dealing as it does with arc-friendly concepts in much the same way as Jose Chung’s From Outer Space and The Unnatural, yet relegated from such status through being quirky/comedy. Of which, this is the series operating at its most confidently humorous (or should that be humorously confident?), dealing with Area 51 in a manner that may not have satisfied those expecting one of THE alien conspiracy subjects to be given due diligence but is otherwise immensely

The Pink Panther (1963)   Where it all began, and in an alternate universe, a bumbling Peter Ustinov would have portrayed the French detective over the course of a series of movies, while Sellers would have solitarily shown up in Topkapi. That might have been quite fun, if much less iconic in repercussions, since Ustinov would surely have fitted in with the ensemble found here, rather than gradually manoeuvring his fellow participants to the periphery of the screen. The Pink Panther’s appeal for me was always the broad selection of players, although I hadn’t revisited it in decades; I think

Take the Money and Run (1969)   Woody Allen’s first movie proper as director – What’s Up, Tiger Lily? only sort-of counts – is a minor league crime mockumentary, stacked with hit-and-miss gags and slapstick and a far cry from his later work. Although, it does feature a romance (with Janet Margolin), and he’d later return to the genre with the more polished Zelig. On the basis of Allen’s marriage and alleged activities, many would rather simply give his oeuvre a wide berth, and that’s entirely understandable. At least with a Polanski picture, you don’t generally have to see the

The Mask (1994)   The movie that confirmed Jim Carrey as a megastar. There’s probably a groundswell of opinion that The Mask hasn’t aged well, owing to a combination of special effects and Jim fatigue. Coming back to it, however, confirms it as a frequently very funny picture, one that might even go down better now, shorn of all the surrounding hype. It’s Carrey’s Nutty Professor, essentially: a meek and mild nobody transformed into an uber-confident smart mouth. The only caveat being that, unlike Jerry Lewis, Carrey isn’t quite downtrodden enough as bank clerk Stanley Ipkiss; there’s already clearly a quipster in there.

The Full Monty (1997)   There are certainly much less respectable examples of the modern British dramedy, but that doesn’t mean The Full Monty had any business being Best Picture Oscar nominated. It certainly isn’t in the same class – ahem – as earlier awards darling Four Weddings and a Funeral, even if it made even greater waves at the box office. And that’s what this is about, really: showing the Oscar doesn’t stuffily need to be oozing respect and refinement from every pore. Besides, if you want to pick a movie that really had no business being in contention that year, look no further

Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice (1969)   By rights, Paul Mazursky’s swinging, post-flower-power-gen partner-swap movie ought to have aged terribly. So much of the era’s scene-specific fare has, particularly so when attempting to reflect its reverberations with any degree of serious intent. Perhaps it’s because Mazursky and co-writer Larry Tucker (also of The Monkees, Alex in Wonderland and I Love You, Alice B. Toklas!) maintain a wry distance from their characters’ endeavours, much more on the wavelength of Elliott Gould’s Ted than Robert Culp’s Bob; we know any pretensions towards uninhibited expression can’t end well, but we also know Bob & Carol &

The Lost City (2022)   Perhaps the most distressing part of The Lost City, a Romancing the Stone riff that appears to have been packaged by the Hollywood equivalent of a processed cheese plant lacking its primary ingredient (that would be additives), is the possibility that Daniel Radcliffe is the only viable actor left standing in Tinseltown. That’s if the suggestions at least two of the performers here – Sandra Bullock and Brad Pitt – are deep faked in some way, shape or form, and the other name – Channing Tatum – is serving hard atonement time. If the latter’s choices generally weren’t

I Love You to Death (1990)   At the time, the sheer broadness of Lawrence Kasdan’s comedy came as something of a surprise; his previous picture was the well-regarded, Best Picture Oscar-nominated The Accidental Tourist, and yet, here he was, taking someone else’s script based-on-an-actual incident of a wife employing hit men to kill her unfaithful husband, and delivering a knockabout romp wallowing in farting, fornicating and foul play. Critics found it on the coarse, unfinessed side, and audiences didn’t find it all. I Love You to Death may not be a forgotten gem, but it is often very funny, in its shambolic way, and

Alice’s Restaurant (1969)   Arthur Penn’s picture “dramatisation” (comedisation?) of Arlo Guthrie’s classic song Alice’s Restaurant Massacre, and the actual events contributing to it, is intentionally ambling, unhurried and episodic, much like the song itself. Unlike the song, however, it’s far from a classic, regardless of the affection many may (understandably) hold for it. Penn was no master of comedy, and Guthrie is no actor, one with even less screen presence (he bears a slight resemblance to Jerry Seinfeld, also no actor, but more of one than Guthrie. And tangibly better at comedy too). Consequently, Alice’s Restaurant is rather shapeless and inert – you could

The Pentaverate (2022)   Soft disclosure, or a hard pass? In last week’s So I Married an Axe Murderer review, I speculated why Mike Myers might choose to return to comedy now, almost a decade and a half since his last effort, and considered the context of his picking the conspiracy subject – when it has never held greater currency – yet flipping the malign elite control on its head to present a positive secret society. That he was an identified visitor to Langley didn’t really make such a great case for his approaching the material with autonomy. But what if The Pentaverate is

So I Married an Axe Murderer (1993)   An unlikely choice for an extended universe, even if unofficially. But with Mike Myers’ imminent return to original comedy, his first outing since The – unfairly maligned – Love Guru, So I Married an Axe Murderer gets a chance to be recognised as more than simply a fizzle, one best known for featuring the by-then-ancient The La’s’ There She Goes as its theme song. Charlie: Hard-hearted harbinger of haggis. The Pentaverate finds Myers heading straight to Netflix, bypassing the potential for another box-office disaster (the critical response remains to be seen). It seems the six-episode series won’t be featuring his So I

The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming (1966)   Ah, for the heady days of the Cold War. Where, even if you weren’t conscious of the comprehensive Hegelianism at work, it was perfectly acceptable to hold moderate views of East-West relations. Sadly, though, the best thing about The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming is its title. Pete: Don’t tell them anything! He hasn’t even tortured you yet! Pauline Kael, perhaps surprisingly, gave the movie the free pass of “warmly rambunctious entertainment”. Alas, this Best Picture Oscar nominee’s less than illustrious forbears are revealed in the choice of screenwriter, who adapted

Nothing but Trouble (1991)   Valkenvania’s a better title. Dan Aykroyd had that part right. He had to get something right in this monstrous misfire, which fails to ring the laughs or the horror, yet succeeds in being extremely grotesque, to the point of unpleasantness. Nothing but Trouble was a famous bomb, although one that’s now largely forgotten, since there were other more enormous bombs the same year, including Hudson Hawk and Highlander II: The Quickening. It also rather helped, along with Eddie Murphy’s Harlem Nights, to draw a line under that generation of SNL players as movie superstars (fortunately, Mike Myers was waiting in the

The Square Peg (1958)   It’s an odd realisation that little Norman Wisdom, armed with his persona of loveably inept comic man-child, only came to the fore when the actor/performer was pushing forty (in 1953’s Trouble in Store). By the time of The Square Peg, he was well into his fifth decade, his initial appeal having slid a little (this may be overstated, however, as he remained popular throughout the ’50s). Along with The Early Bird, this army farce ranks as one of his best comedies; it’s largely shorn of the sentiment that would run a number of his pictures aground and only

The Princess and the Pirate (1944)   As I suggested when revisiting The Lemon Drop Kid, you’re unlikely to find many confessing to liking Bob Hope movies these days. Even Chevy Chase gets higher approval ratings. If asked to attest to the excruciating stand-up comedy guy Hope, the presenter and host, I doubt even diehards would proffer an endorsement. Probably even fewer would admit to having a hankering for Hope, were they aware of, or further still gave credence to, alleged MKUltra activities. But the movie comedy Hope, the fourth-wall breaking, Road-travelling quipster-coward of (loosely) 1939-1952? That Hope’s a funny guy, mostly, and many

Ghostbusters: Afterlife (2021)   Say what you like about the 2016 reboot, at least it wasn’t labouring under the illusion it was an Amblin movie. Ghostbusters 3.5 features the odd laugh, but it isn’t funny, and it most definitely isn’t scary. It is, however, shamelessly nostalgic for, and reverential towards, the original(s), which appears to have granted it a free pass in fan circles. It didn’t deserve one. The casting of Finn Wolfram and Hart may have been an early tell that Sony was attempting to swathe over the backlash against the Femmebusters with a similar void of inspiration, that of a pint-sized next next generation. Afterlife is

Driving Miss Daisy (1989)   The meticulous slightness of Driving Miss Daisy is precisely the reason it proved so lauded, and also why it presented a prime Best Picture Oscar pick: a feel-good, social-conscience-led flick for audiences who might not normally spare your standard Hollywood dross a glance. One for those who appreciate the typical Judi Dench feature, basically. While I’m hesitant to get behind anything Spike Lee, as Hollywood’s self-appointed race-relations arbiter, spouts, this was a year when he actually did deliver the goods, a genuinely decent movie – definitely a rarity for Lee – addressing the issues head-on that Driving Miss Daisy approaches in

After Hours (1985)   Scorsese’s finest? Definitely his most underrated picture, even given it has found its own loyal niche. After Hours is atypical in the sense of embracing a broader comic flair, broader even than the satirical swipe of The Wolf of Wall Street. It also manages to be one of his most human movies, in spite of a technical engagement suggestive of early Coen Brothers or Sam Raimi, where exaggerated camera movement and impactive editing are as – or more – foregrounded as performance. An early entry in the “Yuppie nightmare” subgenre (see also Something Wild), After Hours is also party to urban terrors

Funny Farm (1988)   Proof, if proof were needed, that some moviemakers really should not stray outside their comfort zone. Spielberg quickly realised goofball, John Landis-style comedy was not his greatest strength. George Roy Hill, who showed no prior acumen or inclination towards anything one might deem ex-SNL fare, mystifyingly alighted on Funny Farm, for what would turn out to be his last film, and proceeded to flatten it into a form more suited to his tastes. With the result that it is likely to satisfy no one. Jeffrey Boam was very diplomatic in his description of Hill screwing up his adaptation of Jay

The Ref aka Hostile Hostages (1994)   I tend to think it’s a mistake to offer up a Christmas-set movie that doesn’t evoke a Christmas glow, or even a glimmer, regardless of whether – as in this case – it reaches a place of reconciliation and forgiveness. Anything you care to look at spanning any degree of tones and genres – from Die Hard, to Bad Santa, to The War of the Roses to Gremlins – understands this, to a greater or lesser extent. The Ref, set as it is on Christmas Eve, rather manages to miss the Yule boat. George: You wanna see Santa falling down everyone’s

A Christmas Story (1983)   I was aware A Christmas Story had a high reputation – in the pantheon of Christmas movies, at any rate – but nothing about its premise really piqued my interest: kid wants a Red Ryder BB Gun for Crimbo. It sounded like winsome, highly resistible Yule Americana. And without Jean Shepherd’s splendidly wry narration, it probably would be, give or take Darren McGavin’s hoot of a performance as young Ralphie’s dad. So yeah, I should have sought this out a long while back. Ralphie: Christmas was on its way. Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas, upon which the entire kid

Going My Way (1944)   Bing Crosby was winningly self-effacing when he accepted the Best Actor Oscar for his easy-going Father (Chuck) O’Malley in Going My Way: “This is the only country where an old broken-down crooner can win an Oscar for acting. It shows that everybody in this country has a chance to succeed”. One might construe he doesn’t think everybody deserves to from that, and certainly, Time Out’s Adrian Turner didn’t hold back when blasting this “godawful Oscar-winning schmaltz”. I wouldn’t go nearly that far, but it is overly enamoured of its own sanctified intentions, to the extent of almost flatulent self-indulgence,

Wonder Man (1945)   For my money, the best Danny Kaye movie, although most of the plaudits tend to go – also quite reasonably – to The Court Jester or The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Kaye makes the most of Wonder Man’s dual roles, showing off both his theatrical and introvert modes, and the screenplay’s a veritable wind-up motor for gags based on disbelief in supernatural goings on. Double takes at the ready! Buzzy: He’s a bookworm… I’m just a worm. The plot – with a story from Arthur Sheekman (Duck Soup), the screenplay is credited to five writers including Don Harman (a slew of

Jungle Cruise (2021)   If anything gives the lie to Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl being a piece-of-cake no-brainer, it’s this. Although, the floundering of The Haunted Mansion and Tomorrowland might also have served as pertinent pointers. Disney evidently understood the right kind of production formula at the outset – start with some decent writers – but proceeded to go awry as soon as they opted for an ancient curse (hey-ho, Curse of the Black Pearl), the director pick and… Dwayne Johnson. Because casting Dwayne Johnson means your movie instantly becomes a Dwayne Johnson movie, not a Jungle Cruise movie, with all the mediocre performative and

Riders of Justice aka Retfærdighedens Ryttere (2020)   Anders Thomas Jensen’s ruminative comedy-thriller (or should that be thriller-comedy? Neither does it justice) is one of those perfectly pitched pictures that gauges its tonal shifts with deceptive ease. The kind of movie that might have been no more than a slickly well-oiled genre vehicle, satisfyingly cathartic in its action beats and laugh out loud in its eccentric character foibles, were it not for the genuinely affecting meditation on loss and forgiveness at its core. To that extent, Riders of Justice put me in mind of the work of Martin McDonagh. At the heart

Red Notice  (2021)   Red Notice rather epitomises Netflix output. Not the 95 percent that is dismissible, subgrade filler no one is watching but is nevertheless churned out as original “content”. No, this would be the other, more select tier constituting Hollywood names and non-negligible budgets. Most such fare still fails to justify its existence in any way, shape or form, singularly lacking discernible quality control or “studio” oversight. Albeit, one might make similar accusations of a selection of legit actual studio product too, but it’s the sheer consistency of unleavened movies that sets Netflix apart. So it is with Red Notice. Largely lambasted

Free Guy (2021)   Ostensibly a 21st-century refresh of The Truman Show, in which an oblivious innocent realises his life is a lie, and that he is simply a puppet engineered for the entertainment of his creators/controllers/the masses, Free Guy lends itself to similar readings regarding the metaphysical underpinnings of our reality, of who sets the paradigm and how conscious we are of its limitations. But there’s an additional layer in there too, a more insidious one than using a Hollywood movie to “tell us how it really is”. Matt Lieberman came up with the spec script back in 2016. He has since

Mars Attacks! (1996)   Ak. Akk-akk! Tim Burton’s gleefully ghoulish sci-fi was his first real taste of failure. Sure, there was Ed Wood, but that was cheap, critics loved it, and it won Oscars. Mars Attacks! was BIG, though, expected to do boffo business, and like more than a few other idiosyncratic spectaculars of the 1990s (Last Action Hero, Hudson Hawk) it bombed BIG. The effect on Burton was noticeable. He retreated into bankable propositions (the creative and critical nadir perhaps being Planet of the Apes, although I’d rate it higher than the likes of Alice in Wonderland and Dumbo) and put the brakes on his undisciplined goth

First Men in the Moon (1964)   Ray Harryhausen swaps fantasy for science fiction and stumbles somewhat. The problem with his adaptation of popular eugenicist HG Wells’ 1901 novel isn’t so much that it opts for a quirky storytelling approach over an overtly dramatic one, but that it’s insufficiently dedicated to pursuing that choice. Which means First Men in the Moon, despite a Nigel Kneale screenplay, rather squanders its potential. It does have Lionel Jeffries, though. It was Kneale’s bright idea to bookend the main 1899 narrative with the UN’s 1964 landing on the Moon (will you just look at the supra-national approach!

The Blues Brothers (1980)   I had limited awareness of John Belushi’s immense mythos before The Blues Brothers arrived on retail video in the UK (so 1991?) My familiarity with SNL performers really began with Ghostbusters’ release, which meant picking up the trail of Jake and Elwood was very much a retrospective deal. I knew Animal House, knew Belushi’s impact there, knew 1941 (the Jaws parody was the best bit), knew Wired was a biopic better avoided. But the minor renaissance he, and they, underwent in the UK in the early ’90s seemed to have been initiated by Jive Bunny and the Mastermixers, of all things; Everybody Needs Somebody was part of their That Sounds

Crimewave (1985)   A movie’s makers’ disowning it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing of worth therein, just that they don’t find anything of merit themselves. Or the whole process of making it too painful to contemplate. Sam Raimi’s had a few of those, experiencing traumas with Darkman a few years after Crimewave. But I, blissfully unaware of such issues, was bowled over by it when I caught it a few years after its release (I’d hazard it was BBC2’s American Wave 2 season in 1988). This was my first Sam Raimi movie, and I was instantly a fan of whoever had managed to translate the energy and

Fierce Creatures (1997)   “I wouldn’t have married Alyce Faye Eicheberger and I wouldn’t have made Fierce Creatures.” So said John Cleese, when industrial-sized, now-ex gourmand Michael Winner, of Winner’s Dinners, Death Wish II and You Must Be Joking! fame (one of those is a legitimate treasure, but only one) asked him what he would do differently if he could live his life again. One of the regrets identified in the response being Cleese’s one-time wife (one-time of two other one-time wives, with the present one mercifully, for John’s sake, ongoing) and the other being the much-anticipated Death Fish II, the sequel to monster hit A Fish Called Wanda.

Beverly Hills Cop (1984)   You could reasonably argue Eddie Murphy was a phenomenon before Beverly Hills Cop, but following the release of Martin Brest’s 1984 box-office champ, the entire world now knew it. At about the same time, Bill Murray was making similar waves in Ghostbusters (no one was quoting Aykroyd and Ramis from that movie), so it must have been a particular rue to studios that both then dropped off the screen for a couple of years. With 1980s stars, in particular, there’s often a dissonance between the size of their hits and the actual quality (look no further than Tom Cruise).

Laughter in Paradise (1951)   The beginning of a comedic run for director-producer Mario Zampa that spanned much of the 1950s, invariably aided by writers Michael Pertwee and Jack Davies (the latter went on to pen a spate of Norman Wisdom pictures including The Early Bird, and also comedy rally classic Monte Carlo or Bust!) As usual with these Pertwee jaunts, Laughter in Paradise boasts a sparky premise – renowned practical joker bequeaths a fortune to four relatives, on condition they complete selected tasks that tickle him – and more than enough resultant situational humour. While Laughter in Paradise doesn’t quite reach the consistent peaks of

Tremors (1990)   I suspect the reason the horror comedy – or the sci-fi comedy, come to that – doesn’t tend to be the slam-dunk goldmine many assume it must be, is because it takes a certain sensibility to do it right. Everyone isn’t a Joe Dante or Sam Raimi, or a John Landis, John Carpenter, Edgar Wright, Christopher Landon or even a Peter Jackson or Tim Burton, and the genre is littered with financial failures, some of them very good failures (and a good number of them from the names mentioned). Tremors was one, only proving a hit on video (hence

I’m All Right Jack (1959)   I don’t think I previously recognised quite what an incredible performance Peter Sellers gives in I’m All Right Jack. There are others for which he is better known – Clouseau, Strangelove, maybe Chancey Gardner – but none are as wholly immersive as this transformation. You can’t see Sellers in Fred Kite, waiting to corpse, even though, being Sellers at his best, the performance is very funny. Perhaps he rose to the challenge so immaculately because the Boulting Brothers’ satire is so perfectly sculpted. Every character, plot development and pointed barb is acutely judged; it remains

Two-Way Stretch (1960)   Did Ronnie Barker have Peter Sellers’ Dodger Lane in mind when he approached the role of Norman Stanley Fletcher? They’re both very much the resigned con versed in pulling the wool over the eyes of the warders yet forced to contend with a hard-case nemesis. Sellers is very good in Two-Way Stretch, but as with the later The Wrong Arm of the Law (also from the pens of John Warren and Len Heath), he’s upstaged by the magnificence that is Lionel Jeffries. Sour Crout: Basket weaving. I’ll get you baskets a weaving, don’t you worry. Jeffries’ comedic high point might

Only Two Can Play (1962)   There aren’t very many occasions when Peter Sellers immersed himself in “proper” characters, as opposed to caricatures or sketches. Probably because, in such instances, he had too little foliage behind which to conceal himself. Mostly, these were straight roles (Mr. Topaze, Hoffman, The Blockhouse), but there’s also this, a curiosity of a kitchen-sink comedy from Launder and Gilliat. Only Two Can Play’s far from the top of their game, an adaption of Kingsley Amis’ second (published) novel That Uncertain Feeling – his first, Lucky Jim, had earlier been made by the Boulting Brothers – but it’s an interesting performance from

The Mouse that Roared (1959)   I’d quite forgotten Peter Sellers essayed multiple roles in a movie satirising the nuclear option prior to Dr. Strangelove. Possibly because, while its premise is memorable, The Mouse that Roared isn’t, very. I was never overly impressed, much preferring the sequel that landed (or took off) four years later – sans Sellers – and this revisit confirms that take. The movie appears to pride itself on faux-Passport to Pimlico Ealing eccentricity, but forgets to bring the requisite laughs along too, or the indelible characters. It isn’t objectionable, just faintly dull. US Defence Secretary: Do you want it recorded in history that

Super Mario Bros. (1993)   The other dinosaur movie of 1993. And it was out of the gate two weeks before Spielberg’s. And it stinks. A whole lot has been written about the disastrous decisions that accompanied Hollywood’s first attempt to make a movie from a video game (endeavours to make a really good one are still ongoing). I actually went to see it in a cinema back in 1993, and even given it’s positioning near the front of the UK summer –back when release dates were rarely day-and-date globally – it managed to squander any accompanying goodwill. The cardinal sin of

Alfred Hitchcock  Ranked: 26-1   The master’s top tier ranked from worst to best. You can find 52-27 here.  The Lodger (1927) The first real sign of the director’s signature style, and by some distance, the best film of his silent period. The Lodger finds a – yes – innocent man under suspicion of being a murderer, a ripper-in-their-midst idea Hitch would still find appealing as much as 45 years later with Frenzy. Rather like Grant in Suspicion – well, in spite of the director’s intentions – the titular lodger couldn’t be the killer because he’s played by Ivor Novello. The first of his movies that could

Too Many Crooks (1959)   The sixth of seven collaborations between producer-director Mario Zampi and writer Michael Pertwee, Too Many Crooks scores with a premise later utilised to big box-office effect in Ruthless People (1986). A gang of inept thieves kidnap the wife of absolute cad and bounder Billy Gordon (Terry-Thomas). Unfortunately for them, Gordon, being an absolute cad and bounder, sees it as a golden opportunity, rather enjoying his extra-marital carry ons and keeping all his cash from her, so he refuses to pay up. At which point Lucy Gordon (Brenda De Banzie) takes charge of the criminal crew and turns the tables.

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (2020)   I wasn’t going to watch globalist stooge Sacha Baron Cohen’s Borat Subsequent Moviefilm: Delivery of Prodigious Bribe to American Regime for Make Benefit Once Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. I’m not a fan of sub-Beadle’s About comedy cruelty generally, however “deserving” the recipients are, and I was even less keen to see another incarnation of this “public service” format where Cohen valiantly exerts every propagandising tool in the book to shame those who aren’t on the same page. Not square with the liberal Hollywood bubble/MSM spin on the world? Dare to speculate about conspiracy theories? Sacha will set

The Wrong Arm of the Law (1963)   The signs were arguably there with the acclaim he received for his performance as Quilty in the previous year’s Lolita, but we’re right on the cusp of the second phase of Peter Sellers’ movie career here, just before The Pink Panther and Dr. Strangelove sent his star into the stratosphere. One might even trace this germ back to The Mouse That Roared (1959), his first significant US success and a spark for his more troublesome tendencies. Coming at the end of Sellers’ post-war British comedy period, The Wrong Arm of the Law is in some respects relatively run of the mill

Barnaby and Me (1979)   A comedy showcasing one of Australia’s greatest national treasures. No, not Paul Hogan: the koala bear. This curiosity came from a writer and a director with long Hollywood careers, and was one of six pictures made by Transatlantic Enterprises and ABC with a view to expanding their international markets. Following the example set by the UK, such a formula involved transplanting American stars to local productions, hence one Sid Caesar appearing opposite Barnaby. Let’s face it, though, the real star of Barnaby and Me is Daws Butler. Barnaby: Careful. I am an endangered species! Butler being Hanna-Barbera’s go-to

It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963)   One might suggestive the connective tissue between this and director Stanley Kramer’s other, conspicuously non-comedic fare, is the thunderingly obvious. By which I mean, whether he’s delivering painfully self-righteous social justice or broad slapstick, subtlety simply isn’t on his radar. I hadn’t revisited It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World in a least three decades – so this is the first time I’ve actually bothered to count the “Mad”s; there are less than I assumed – but it’s good, bad and incredibly distended are nevertheless etched on my memory, and little has changed

The Green Man (1956)   The Green movie from Launder and Gilliat starring Alastair Sim that isn’t Green for Danger. Which is to say, The Green Man can’t quite scale the heady heights of that decade-earlier murder mystery triumph, but neither is it any slouch. Sim is the antagonist this time – albeit a very affable, Sim-ish one – and his sometime protégée, a young George Cole, the hero. If the plot is entirely absurd, Robert Day’s movie wastes no time probing such insufficiencies, ensuring it is very funny, lively and beautifully performed. Hawkins: In fact, I was wondering, that after that perfect andantino, I might offer u a

Skidoo (1968)   You could at least discern that someone involved had some degree of awareness or first-hand knowledge of the scene with most of the counter-culture cash-ins Hollywood attempted during the ’60s, regardless of how shipwrecked the results were. No such luck befalls Skidoo, frequently cited as one of the biggest dodos ever made and with which director Otto Preminger evidences to anyone interested why he had not, hitherto, explored the comedy genre. The result is a grimly unfunny satire, as well as being woefully square, but it’s nevertheless so wrongfooted at every turn, unfolding with all the narrative sophistication of one

Family Plot (1976)   The master takes his final bow. Family Plot seems consigned by consensus to the “Yeah, it’s okay” Hitchcock pile. Even I do that mentally, although when I do revisit it, I invariably conclude it’s bit more than that, that it’s actually pretty good. But it has several things working against a resoundingly positive assessment. One is that it’s a Hitchcock comedy (well, dramedy), and when he stepped on that peddle, the results were occasionally regrettable. Another is that, in terms of production values and general presentation, Family Plot might easily be mistaken for a TV movie (all that’s missing are

The Magic Christian (1969)   As with Candy, also from the pen of Terry Southern, you instinctively want to give these star-studded, satirical ’60s counter-culture forays a bit of credit. Alas, it’s very difficult when they’re as bad as The Magic Christian. More often than not, projects Peter Sellers turned his attention to around this period turned to ashes, but the major problem here – aside from the source material – is one common to many an overblown disaster. Joseph McGrath may have been a darling of Beatles shorts, but he was not a film director. The Magic Christian’s path to screen

The Naked Truth aka Your Past is Showing (1957)   We’re all – or should be – familiar with the idea that the Elite/TPTB have their claws embedded in the great and not so good via that old favourite of “the goods”, or dirt. For the most part, their goods, or dirt, are sure to make anything Dennis Price – himself rumoured to have been the victim of blackmail at various points – has his mitts on in The Naked Truth look positively innocuous. But what Mario Zampi’s movie may lack in authentic grimness, it more than makes up for by being very, very

Duffy (1968)   It’s appropriate that James Coburn’s title character is repeatedly referred to as an old hipster in Robert Parrish’s movie, as that seemed to be precisely the niche Coburn was carving out for himself in the mid- to late-60s, no sooner had Our Man Flint made him a star. He could be found partaking in jaundiced commentary on sexual liberation in Candy, falling headlong into counter culture in The President’s Analyst, and leading it in Duffy. He might have been two decades older than its primary adherents, but he was, to repeat an oft-used phrase here, very groovy. If only Duffy were too. Stefane: Gonna

The Cabin in the Woods (2011)   Drew Goddard and the recently cancelled Joss Whedon attested that The Cabin in the Woods, bashed out over an intensive weekend, represented a critique of and love letter to the horror movie. Such a mission statement shouldn’t be that much of a surprise from Whedon, the guy who made meta a badge of pride throughout his various pop-culture-littered TV shows and movies. But it’s as a consequence of that very element that The Cabin in the Woods also very easily invites another layer of reading; indeed, not to read it this way invites a response that’s more towards

The Ladykillers (1955)   Alexander Mackendrick’s ghoulish black comedy, with the emphasis on ghoulish, as five crooks pull off a daring robbery, a key component in the success of their plan being the co-opting of a dear, sweet, oblivious little old lady. Unfortunately for them, she turns out to be the Terminator. Obviously, if The Ladykillers were a modern take – of the sort John Hughes’ might have fashioned, perhaps – she would be delivering literal blows, Home Alone style (the Coen Brothers’ 2004 remake has its moments, but it fails to come up with a distinctive reason for existing, aside from transatlantic relocation

How to Murder Your Wife (1965)   I feel it’s probably necessary to present to the jury the case for the defence: that it really is okay to like How to Murder Your Wife, despite the rampant sexism, misogyny and chauvinism. I mean, after all, it’s a very, very silly movie. A brazen example of a “You’d never get away with it now” cheeky wish-fulfilment fantasy with a jet-black streak that can only truly be labelled offensive if you take its characters’ positions literally. Well, okay. No. It is offensive, but it’s also clearly absurdist: it knows it’s being provocative (see the poster). The finale revolves around

After the Fox (1966)   I’ve always liked After the Fox, since first seeing it as a youngster, in thrall to its catnip Burt Bacharach score while simultaneously perplexed by its final reveal. It has to be admitted, though, it perhaps isn’t quite as funny as it might have been. And further, it may have been a bit too clever to have stood a chance of garnering another The Pink Panther (1963) size hit for Peter Sellers (it came complete with animated-animal titles and potential hit single from The Hollies that failed to chart). Taking shots at Fellini movies simply isn’t the kind

The Trouble with Harry (1955)   Hitch was very partial to this atypical comedy, one he went ahead with over Paramount’s objections (“With Harry I took melodrama out of the pitch-black night and brought it out into the sunshine”). The Trouble with Harry probably represents very few Hitchcock fans’ favourite of his films, so it is conversely a prime contender for “most underrated” lists. I’m not hugely on board with it, I have to admit. It’s enjoyably lightweight (it has that in common with his previous film) but almost painfully self-conscious in its quirkiness. Funny as The Trouble with Harry often is, its trouble is that

National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (1989)   Chevy Chase gets a bad rap. By which, I don’t mean the canvas of opinion suggesting he really is a bit of a tool in real life is misplaced, as there’s no shortage of witnesses to his antics (head of the pack probably being Bill Murray, whose brother Brian appears here as Clark’s boss). But rather that, during his – relatively brief – heyday, I was a genuine fan of his deadpan delivery in the likes of Caddyshack and Fletch. The National Lampoon’s Vacation movies, even the initial trilogy overseen by John Hughes, are very hit-and-miss affairs, but it’s

The War of the Roses (1989)   Danny DeVito’s ruthless black comedy is an evergreen. Based on Warren Adler’s 1981 novel of the same name – Adler’s Random Hearts was later adapted much less successfully – it finds the director using audience familiarity with Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner and himself to sell a very different prospect to the Indy-riffing Romancing the Stone. The War of the Roses certainly wasn’t guaranteed to become the hit it did, but it’s uncompromising freshness, and its offbeat seasonality (it was released in December in the US, with an accompanying 12 Days of Christmas-riffing trailer), hit a nerve with audiences. Much

The Fisher King (1991)   The Terry Gilliam film everyone loves, especially those who aren’t Terry Gilliam fans. Often claimed as his best picture, it’s one he himself says he made “in the real world”. Which is true, if you consider the real world to be composed of a slightly less sugary Hollywood confection than usual. The Fisher King finds the director making an “acceptable” film. Which is basically one the critics can fully embrace as he navigates the path he is expected to navigate when going the studio route, with a very conservative sprinkling of his own idiosyncrasy. It is essentially,

Time Bandits (1981)   Terry Gilliam had co-directed previously, and his solo debut had visual flourish on its side, but it was with Time Bandits that Gilliam the auteur was born. The first part of his Trilogy of Imagination, it remains a dazzling work – as well as being one of his most successful – rich in theme and overflowing with ideas while resolutely aimed at a wide (family, if you like) audience. Indeed, most impressive about Time Bandits is that there’s no evidence of self-censoring here, of attempting to make it fit a certain formula, format or palatable template. Gilliam came up with

The Party (1968)   Blake Edwards’ semi-improvisational reunion with Peter Sellers is now probably best known for – I was going to use an elephant-in-the-room gag, but at least one person already went there – Sellers’ “brown face”. And it isn’t a decision one can really defend, even by citing The Party’s influence on Bollywood. Satyajit Ray had reportedly been considering working with Sellers… and then he saw the film. One can only assume he’d missed similar performances in The Millionairess and The Road to Hong Kong; in the latter case, entirely understandable, if not advisable. Nevertheless, for all the flagrant stereotyping, Sellers’ bungling Hrundi V

Pulp (1972)   Pulp has undergone something of a reassessment since its initial release, to a resoundingly underwhelmed response from audiences and critics alike. Some have even suggested it’s on a par with Get Carter, Mike Hodges and Michael Caine’s classic collaboration from the previous year. This is very much wishful thinking. Pulp isn’t a bad movie by any means, but it’s a pastiche doodle of detective fiction, never quite as clever or spry as it thinks it is, so leaving the viewer shrugging at it as much as Caine’s protagonist Mickey King does throughout when confronted by a succession of oddball – but

A Shock to the System (1990)   A Shock to the System might have arrived a few years too late, even though it’s as sharp as ever. Based on Simon Brett’s 1984 novel and relocated across the Pond – one can’t help thinking it would have been more effective, not least on Michael Caine’s never-entirely-effective transatlantic vowels, to stay put – it reputedly got the greenlight off the back of Wall Street’s success. By the time it, and The Bonfire of the Vanities for that matter, appeared, the zeitgeist appeal had dispersed. If it had waited another few years, it might have garnered the

Rich and Strange  aka East of Shanghai (1931)   Hitchcock experimented with a number of ill-fitting genres during his early sound period. As with the melodrama of The Skin Game, one senses that broad, or even “straight”, comedy was never quite his wheelhouse (The Trouble with Harry is a later example, and remains a very minor work, even as it has more traditional “thriller” elements around the fringes). Alma adapted Rich and Strange, based on Dale Collins’ novel, in which a married couple, stuck in a middle-class routine, seize the opportunity to cut loose on an expenses-paid cruise. These freedoms don’t turn out

Juno and the Paycock (1930)   Hitchcock’s second sound feature. Such was the lustre of this technological advance that a wordy play was picked. By Sean O’Casey, upon whom Hitchcock based the prophet of doom at the end of The Birds. Juno and the Paycock, set in 1922 during the Irish Civil War, begins as a broad comedy of domestic manners, but by the end has descended into full-blown Greek (or Catholic) tragedy. As such, it’s an uneven but still watchable affair, even if Hitch does nothing to disguise its stage origins. Well, aside from a scene at the pub, in order

Dr. Dolittle (1998)   By several miles the least ambitious Doctor Dolittle adaptation, but possibly for that reason, probably the most agreeable. No one here is trying very hard – although the Jim Henson Creature Workshop creations are mostly pretty good – from the screenplay credited to Nat Maudlin and Larry Levin to director Betty Thomas (who managed a couple of decent, sharpish comedies prior to this, The Brady Bunch Movie and Private Parts), to star Eddie Murphy, sinking firmly into the family comedy morass that would preoccupy him for the best part of twenty years. But if this Dr. Dolittle is almost proudly underachieving – its

The Marx Brothers  Worst to Best   Thirteen features over twenty years, and the general consensus is that Paramount = the Marx Brothers’ golden era, before drifting into gradual decline after back-to-back hits on moving to MGM. That’s at least partly true, but… read on.  Love Happy (1949) A fizzle of a final outing for the brothers, one that, due to Groucho’s largely bookended presence as narrator, barely qualifies as a film proper for the trio. Groucho is Detective Sam Grunion, enlisted to find the Royal Romanoff diamonds, hidden in a tin of sardines that Harpo has swiped – amongst

The Big Store (1941)   Three go mad in a department store. The results are undoubtedly more diverting than low point Go West, but it feels as if there is even more flotsam to wade through to get to the good stuff in The Big Store. Which is almost exclusively delivered by Groucho as private detective and bodyguard Wolf J Flywheel. Perhaps surprisingly, however, the climax is one of the better ones, an extended chase sequence through the store that is frequently quite inventive. Flywheel: After all, you’re a woman. You are a woman, aren’t you? Margaret Dumont is back, as Margaret Phelps,

Go West (1940)   Comedy westerns were nothing new when the Marx Brothers succumbed – Buster Keaton had made one with the same title fifteen years earlier – but theirs served to underline how variable the results could be. For every Bob Hope (Son of Paleface) there’s a Seth McFarlane (A Million Ways to Die in the West). In theory, the brothers riding roughshod over such genre conventions ought to have been uproarious, but they’d rather run out of gas by this point, and the results are, for the most part, sadly pedestrian. Even Go West‘s big train-chase climax fails to

Animal Crackers  (1930)   The Marx Brothers’ second feature, and like The Cocoanuts, adapted from their stage musical. Also like its predecessor, Animal Crackers very much wears its origins, unadorned, on its sleeve, but that barely matters when the japes, wit and reigning anarchy are as unfettered and firing on all cylinders as they are here. Spaulding: One morning I shot an elephant in my pyjamas. How he got in my pyjamas, I don’t know. The musical was written by George S Kaufman, Morrie Ryskind, Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby, the former two also credited for The Cocoanuts, with Ryskind adapting both for the screen; all

The Cocoanuts (1929)   The first Marx Brothers movie proper – Humour Risk appears to be forever lost – and an adaptation of their 1925 Broadway musical, with music and lyrics by no less than Irving Berlin. The Cocoanuts is serviced with a fairly no-frills approach by directors Robert Florey and Joseph Santley (their only work with the brothers: “One of them didn’t understand English and the other didn’t understand comedy” quipped Groucho). Groucho, Harpo and Chico arrive on the big screen fully formed, as does Margaret Dumont’s Mrs Potter (Groucho would no doubt make a gag there), while Zeppo’s Jamison is as shapeless

Men in Black: International (2019)   The failure, both critically and commercially, of Sony’s limpid attempt to reignite (soft reboot) the Men in Black franchise has confirmed how desperate they are, scrabbling about for anything that might turn their fortunes around but without a scintilla of the inspiration or acumen to achieve it. They’re now on their second attempt with Ghostbusters, resuscitating Bad Boys – perhaps surprisingly, a big hit – and not making as much hay with their one smartly reinvented property (Jumanji) as they should have. And yes, they have their Spider-verse, but having all their eggs in one basket led to the downfall

The Personal History of David Copperfield  (2019)   To go by Mark Kermode’s Twitter rant a few weeks back, anyone who doesn’t see eye to eye with him on Armando Iannucci’s decision to adopt a “colour-blind” approach in casting his David Copperfield adaptation is a closet racist (or a not-so-closet one). Actually, no. They’re “whingebagging closet-racist asshats” (guaranteed to get the Twitterati upvotes, that one). Now, some of those objecting to Iannucci’s approach may well fit that description, but Kermode’s stance is as excessive as slapping five stars on what is, at best, a fitfully enjoyable adaptation of Dickens’ favourite of his novels. Iannucci’s

Support Your Local Sheriff! aka The Sheriff (1969)   James Garner was, of course, no stranger to the western, having made his name in Maverick, which if not actually spoofing the genre, coasted along with easy-going comedic undertones. The actor’s greatest claims to fame would be on the small screen, but between his heyday bookends of that show and The Rockford Files, he delivered several memorable movie roles; he’s likely best known for the Scrounger in The Great Escape, but coming in second was this super-relaxed, super-confident Jason McCullogh in Support Your Local Sheriff! Support Your Local Sheriff! arrived in a year of revisionist

Trading Places (1983)   It’s incredible to recall that Eddie Murphy was only in his early twenties during his first flush of success (48 Hrs, Trading Places, Beverly Hills Cop). And not, like contemporary Tom Cruise, playing teenagers, but rather adult roles, roles where age wasn’t an identifier. Here, he co-stars with the decade-senior Dan Aykroyd, but let’s not pretend Eddie isn’t the lead and main attraction. Director John Landis’ retro treatment of Trading Places, which Pauline Kael unflattering described as “a time warp… with its stodgy look, suggesting no period of the past or the present”, adds to the sense that the

Jack Frost (1998)   Horrifying variant on The Santa Clause, in which no one believes a kid, Charlie (Joseph Cross), when he claims his dad has transformed into a hallmark of Christmas. Horrifying because, while Tim Allen probably isn’t anyone’s idea of a perfect Santa, Michael Keaton definitely does not make a good snowman, even as rendered by ILM and Jim Henson’s Creature Shop. There’s also the small detail that Troy Miller, a TV comedy director drafted in at short notice, appears to have zero aptitude for the material. Or movies generally. I sensed he much preferred shooting the band footage we see

Christmas with the Coopers aka Love the Coopers (2015)   Presumably the UK title change to Christmas with the Coopers was spurred by the thought of commercial cachet, rather than the concern that Love the Coopers would elicit a response of “No, I really don’t”. Because the charms of Jessie Nelson’s Yule dog are highly resistible. Cooper and screenwriter Steven Rogers previously collaborated on the lustrous jewel that was Stepmom. Although, to be fair to Rogers, he also penned the recent I, Tonya. Cooper meanwhile, has especially damning history with the season to be jolly via a story credit on Fred Claus. Christmas with the Coopersdoesn’t, at least, supply

Mixed Nuts (1994)   The faintly desperate title says it all. Farces are deceptively difficult to get right, which is probably why so few writers try them anymore. That Nora Ephron should have deep-dived into this Christmas black comedy immediately after one of her most celebrated romcoms (and certainly the most celebrated she directed herself) only makes her errors of judgement look that much worse. Indeed, the only bits of Mixed Nuts that vaguely land are the ones with a romantic twinge. Much of Ephron’s writing here (with sister Delia) appears to mistake humorous for noisy, frenetic and laboured, compounded by a

Jumanji (1995)   My main recollection of this original Jumanji-verse outing was that it was overly reliant on shoddy CGI. There is a hefty wodge of that, in particular the monkeys, but there’s also a significant physical effects element in Joe Johnston’s characteristically serviceable-but-nothing-more-than-that movie. Otherwise, while the actual environment is very different to the recent computer game-ised incarnations, it’s structurally fairly similar, in that the best of Jumanji is in the set-up, faltering somewhat once all hell breaks loose. But while the new movies have comedy antics on their side – yes, I know this one has Robin Williams, but he’s in relatively restrained

Local Hero (1983)   With the space of thirty-five years, Bill Forsyth’s gentle eco-parable feels more seductive than ever. Whimsical is a word often applied to Local Hero, but one shouldn’t mistake that description for its being soft in the head, excessively sentimental or nostalgic. Tonally, in terms of painting a Scottish idyll where the locals are no slouches in the face of more cultured foreigners, the film hearkens to both Powell and Pressburger (I Know Where I’m Going!) and Ealing (Whisky Galore!), but it is very much its own beast. Indeed, a more direct inheritor of the tradition of Whisky Galore! might

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? (1967)   The Best Picture Oscar nominee of 1967 dealing with racial tensions and starring Sidney Poitier that didn’twin, but had enough impact on the cultural lexicon that its title has taken on meaning beyond the film itself (and indeed, informed the recent Get Out). Most conversations regarding Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? are compelled to address that it hasn’t aged all that well, which in many respects it hasn’t, but it’s debatable that it appeared especially boundary pushing at the time; compared to fellow nominees Bonnie and Clyde and The Graduate, it seems like the product of a different era. The same

Four Rooms (1995)   I had an idea that I’d only seen part of Four Rooms previously, and having now definitively watched the entire thing, I can see where that notion sprang from. It’s a picture that actively encourages you to think it never existed. Much of it isn’t even actively terrible – although, at the same time, it couldn’t be labelled remotely good – but it’s so overwhelmingly lethargic, so lacking in the energy, enthusiasm and inventiveness that characterises these filmmakers at their best – and yes, I’m including Rodriguez, although it’s a very limited corner for him – that it’s very easy

Ghostbusters II (1989)   Columbia doubtless saw a Ghostbusters sequel as a licence to print money. Well, they did after David Puttnam, who disdained the overt commercialism of blockbusters – as you might guess, he didn’t last very long; just over a year – was replaced as chairman by Dawn Steel. Troubled waters were smoothed over – he’d effectively insulted Bill Murray, as well as claiming a sequel was going ahead; Ivan Reitman’s office responded that it was “The first we’ve heard of it” – and development put into high gear. But the studio ended up with a box office also-ran, thoroughly eclipsed by the summer

The Phantom Light (1935)   This lighthouse-set comedy thriller represents one of Michael Powell’s early films, made a couple of years before his career “proper” took off with The Edge of the World. He was making “quota-quickies” during this period, cheap-and-cheerful no-frills productions resulting from the requirement for UK American distributors and British cinema owners to screen a quota of British films. As you’d expect, Powell ensures it all looks pretty good, despite the budget constraints, while the presence of Gordon Harker in the lead role ensures it’s also pretty funny. The set-up – Harker’s lightkeeper Sam Higgins takes over the

Tom Jones (1963)   It’s my impression that retrospection hasn’t been overly kind to this streamlined adaptation of Henry Fielding’s substantial novel. Chief among its assumed sins are the quirky filmmaking ticks and devices employed by director Tony Richardson, many of which are now regarded as injudicious or undiscerning. Certainly, Tom Jones hasn’t remained on everyone’s lips as a go-to great Oscar winner (the picture was an instant hit in Britain despite iffy reviews; it was only when the French critics embraced it that its rep built across the pond). In contrast to such a trend, I think Richardson’s jaunty irreverence (aided

The Big Lebowski (1998)   I do think it’s possible to have too much of a good thing. There are movies I’ve watched so many times – Withnail & I springs to mind – that I can’t envisage enjoying it as “purely” as I once did again, and certainly doubt I’ll revisit again any time soon. Indeed, these days, I’ll rarely watch a new movie (that I like) more than a couple of times in short order so as to preserve that quality as much as possible (sometimes that’s hard; Fury Road is five and counting). The Big Lebowski is one I’ve seen on numerous occasions

Green Book (2018)   It’s understandable that there’s been a backlash against the backlash against Green Book (most recently evidenced by its Producers Guild Awards win for best film). Whatever its broadcast failures in avoiding standard (decried) Hollywood tropes for addressing issues of race, its cardinal sin, when you drill down to its essence, is that it’s a good story well told. We can’t have that. Green Book would likely have a much easier ride if it weren’t getting this awards attention, such that there’d be less of a spotlight on the imperatives it’s failing to meet. And of that awards conversation, yes,

The Christmas Chronicles (2018)   Tis the season to be schmaltzy. Except, perhaps not as insufferably so as you might think. The Christmas Chronicles feels very much like a John Hughes production, which is appropriate since it’s produced by Chris Columbus, who was given his start as a director by Hughes. Think Uncle Buck, but instead of John Candy improving his nieces and nephew’s lives, you’ve got Kurt Russell’s Santa Claus bringing good cheer to the kids of the Pierce household. The latter are an indifferent duo, but they key here is Santa, and Russell brings the movie that all important irrepressible spark

The Witches (1990)   (Nicolas Roeg making a kids’ movie? Why, that would be tantamount to… someone as twisted as Roald Dahl writing children’s stories. What’s strangest is that it should have dropped in Roeg’s lap at this point, after a decade of making wilfully uncommercial movies, even by his idiosyncratic standards. The last time he’d flirted with anything the public might go and see in any numbers was Flash Gordon, before Dino de Laurentis decided not to give him a huge budget for something that would probably go straight over people’s heads (more’s the pity). What with its “metaphysical messiah”,

The Hitman’s Bodyguard (2017)   An unabashed ’80s/90s throwback antagonistic buddy action movie, albeit lacking the finessing and sharp dialogue of the master it aspires to, Shane Black. Samuel L Jackson, who appeared in a few of those movies, is the loud, outgoing, emotionally-contented hitman Darius Kincaid, Ryan Reynolds the careful, measured, reserved bodyguard Michael Bryce. And, given the title, you can tell how it will escalate from there. Except that Reynolds has to backtrack somewhat, from the down-at-heel guy who’s lost his mojo and leaves bottles of piss in his car, in order to be Sam’s straight man. Nevertheless,

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)   Yes, it’s another Shane Black screenplay set at Christmas. And, as per usual, it’s in the trappings rather than the content – aside from lost characters finding themselves, or others, during the season of goodwill. And Michelle Monaghan looking very fetching in a Santa hat. One wonders if this collection of moviemakers would get together in the current climate, since Joel Silver, Robert Downey Jr and Black all have some form of ignominy attached to their names, of various orders of seriousness, and the material itself is particularly focussed on the Babylon of vice

Home Alone (1990)   A lot of the goodwill Home Alone engendered was subsequently undone by the ubiquity of Macaulay Culkin, who stopped being wide-eyed and cute at probably about the time the immediately diminishing returns of the 1992 sequel kicked in. But he’s perfectly placed here, in what was the biggest surprise smash of its year – a year that included several who-knews such as Ghost and Dances with Wolves – even if its biggest selling point, the Tom and Jerry abuse inflicted on robbers Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern, is back ended to the point where you might accuse the trailer makers of wilful misselling.

Elf (2003)   Much as Jon Favreau deserves plaudits for making Iron Man’s success look easy, his achievement with Elf was even more unlikely. A Christmas movie that manages to be sincere without also being mushy, a comedy that’s incredibly silly but doesn’t stray from the point (as Will Ferrell movies have a tendency to do, bless his freewheeling improv) and a romance that kindles even though composed largely of bullet points (thanks enormously to Zooey Deschanel’s patented manic elfie dream girl). Buddy: Ow! Son of a nutcracker! Favreau came to the material, which had been knocking around for about a decade, with a

Jingle All the Way (1996)   During the decade between The Terminator and True Lies, Arnie could barely put a foot wrong commercially, and often critically too (what he did with his hands was another matter entirely…) But then, it all went pear-shaped. It would be another decade before he began governating, but movie-wise he made dud choice after dud choice; the best you could say of the best of his output during this period is that it was passable. The worst…. Jingle All the Way is generally regarded as one of his stinkers, a nadir that resulted from going back to a well

The Death of Stalin (2017)   Armando Iannucci’s previous big-screen effort, In the Loop, wasn’t, I felt, quite as effective as the short-sharp-sniggers its tighter TV companion The Thick of It delivered. With The Death of Stalin, the only common ground is that he’s still immersing himself in politics. Which, let’s face is it, is a substantial amount of common ground, as both follow a procession of ineptitude, backstabbing, power grabs and self-preservation. What makes the The Death of Stalin particularly stand out, though, is that it isn’t just very funny, it also works as a thriller. One can, if one so chooses, impress upon the

Dark Star (1974)   Is Dark Star more a John Carpenter film or more a Dan O’Bannon one? Until the mid-,80s, it might have seemed atypical of either of them, since they had both subsequently eschewed comedy in favour of horror (or thriller). And then they made Big Trouble in Little China and Return of the Living Dead respectively, and you’d have been none-the-wiser again. I think it’s probably fair to suggest it was a more personal film to O’Bannon, who took its commercial failure harder. Carpenter certainly didn’t relish the tension their creative collaboration brought (“a duel of control” as he put it), as he

Paddington 2 (2017)   Paddington 2 is every bit as upbeat and well-meaning as its predecessor. It also has more money thrown at it, a much better villain (an infinitely better villain) and, in terms of plotting, is more developed, offering greater variety and a more satisfying structure. Additionally, crucially, it succeeds in offering continued emotional heft and heart to the Peruvian bear’s further adventures. It isn’t, however, quite as funny. Even suggesting such a thing sounds curmudgeonly, given the universal applause greeting the movie, but I say that having revisited the original a couple of days prior and found myself enjoying it

Free Fire (2016)   I had low expectations for Free Fire, as nothing I’ve seen by Ben Wheatley has equalled the hype surrounding him. Yet this, which has garnered a somewhat mixed reaction, is streets ahead of his previous form, a very funny, delightfully-staged “bottle episode” period crime movie with an eclectic cast bouncing deliriously off each other. Wheatley’s critical moment really occurred with Kill List, which ever so slightly left me with that feeling you get when you weren’t in on the joke. If that’s his outright horror picture, there’s nevertheless a streak of the macabre persisting through all his genre

War Dogs (2016)   The news that Martin Scorsese and Todd Phillips will be collaborating on a Joker origins movie (most likely not starring Leonardo DiCaprio, if he has any common sense) elicits a secondary reaction after the initial “Why ever would you want to make a Joker origins movie?”; What does Marty get out of the deal? He’s only producing, after all, so lending his name to a Todd Phillips written and co-directed effort will inevitably bear fruit tantamount to every other Todd Phillips comedy vehicle. Because War Dogs is essentially Phillips trying on a Scorsese overcoat for size, of a The Wolf on

Vamp (1986)   My affection for Vamp is only partly based on the adorability therein of Dedee Pfeiffer, in what might be the closest she’s come to a starring role. Ostensibly an entry in the resurgent vampire-comedy genre (Fright Night, The Lost Boys), Vamp actually slots more effortlessly into another ’80s subgenre: the urban-nightmare comedy. We’d already had Scorsese’s masterful After Hours and John Landis’ knockabout Into the Night, and writer Richard Wenk’s big screen directorial debut shows a similar knack for throwing its protagonists in at the deep end, up against an unfamiliar and unfriendly milieu. Having recently revisited Fright Night, I can readily attest Vamp’s superiority, even if

Sneakers (1992)   I hadn’t seen Sneakers since its original cinema release, when I pegged it as a likeable but ultimately rather too amiable conspiracy yarn. I mean to say, conspiracy yarns can be a lot of things – straight thrillers, satires, outright comedies – but you don’t usually associate them with amiability. After reading a recent Birth Movies Death piece singing its praises, I thought it might be time to give the picture another look, to see if I’d confess to a glowing reappraisal. Unfortunately, no. It’s the same rather amiable, well-made-but-slight piece. Director Phil Alden Robinson was coming off the high of

Fright Night (1985)   Horror laced with comedy, or comedy laced with horror, has now been so defined by Buffy the Vampire Slayer that precursors tend to look like they’re setting the stage rather than acting as an influence. It’s difficult to believe Joss Whedon didn’t at least have the tone of Fright Night in his head when he wrote the 1992 movie (and it’s notable that the serviceable but personality-free Fright Night remake was penned by Marti Noxon, ex of Whedon’s writing team). How does the picture stand up? It’s pretty much the same; scrappy, goofy, over-indulgent to its (endearing) special effects and anchored by

Big Trouble in Little China (1986)   Much as I’m okay with Dwayne Johnson, even if he gets a bit touchy about critics lambasting his shitty comedies (no one’s asking you to make them, Dwayne), I find it frankly impossible to believe he’s a huge fan of Big Trouble in Little China. If he were, he wouldn’t go near the prospect of remaking it with a Rock-sized barge pole. How are you going to replicate such unbridled lunacy and offbeat idiosyncrasy? Try really hard? It’s tantamount to redoing Hudson Hawk. Or, for that matter, scribe W D Richter’s other cult fave, The Adventures of Buckaroo

School for Scoundrels (1960)   Possibly the pinnacle of Terry-Thomas’ bounder persona, and certainly the one where it’s put to best caddish use, as he gives eternally feckless mug Ian Carmichael a thorough lesson in one-upmanship, only for the latter to turn the tables when he finds himself a tutor. School for Scoundrels is beautifully written (by an uncredited Peter Ustinov and Frank Tarloff), filled with clever set pieces, a fine supporting cast and a really very pretty object of the competing chaps’ affection (Janette Scott), but it’s Terry-Thomas who is the glue that binds this together. And, while I couldn’t say

War on Everyone (2016)   John Michael McDonagh’s latest is all over the place, in much the same way his younger brother’s Seven Psychopaths was all over the place, only less coherently and satisfyingly in the end result. Which isn’t to say War on Everyone isn’t, for the most part, hugely enjoyable, in a gleefully provocative, disgracefully inappropriate and unruly manner, but that the most propitious milieu for the McDonaghs may not be Stateside, where the impulse to move towards – for want of a better word – Tarantino-esque crime storytelling may ultimately detract from all the other elements fighting for air. It also

Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016)   The accolades for Taika Waititi’s latest are of a piece with those for his previous picture, What We Do in the Shadows, in that they’re slightly over-effusive. Hunt for the Wilderpeople strikes unqualified gold with the odd couple relationship between Julian Dennison’s rotund juvenile delinquent Ricky and Sam Neill’s gruff bushman Hec, or “Uncle” as he objects to Ricky calling him. However, it’s less convincing when it comes to Waititi’s erratic comedy quality control. He’s more Paul Hogan than Monty Python. Maybe such broadness of temperament is an Oz/Kiwi thing, or maybe it’s simply that Waititi’s always

Monte Carlo or Bust! aka Those Daring Young Men in Their Jaunty Jalopies (1969)   Ken Annakin’s semi-sequel to Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines tends to be rather maligned, usually compared negatively to its more famous predecessor. Which makes me rather wonder if those expressing said opinion have ever taken the time to scrutinise them side by side. Or watch them back to back (which would be more sensible). Because Monte Carlo or Bust is by far the superior movie. Indeed, for all its imperfections and foibles (not least a performance from Tony Curtis requiring a taste for comic ham), I adore

A Hologram for the King (2016)   Tom Tykwer makes stunning-looking films (Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, The International and his sequences for Cloud Atlas among them), even if his – usually self-penned – screenplays aren’t quite on the same level. This is especially the case with his adaptation of David Eggers novel A Hologram for the King, which manages to finish up as disappointingly nothing much of anything, an amiable enough shrug of a movie that delivers Tom Hanks with his most traditionally Hanks – as in comedic – role in many a moon. It certainly isn’t a satire, although there are traces

The Dressmaker (2015)   A gleefully warped, jet black comedy from Jocelyn Moorhouse, one that, for the most part, manages to juggle its potentially jarring shifts in tone and plot. The Dressmaker is a revenge drama, a murder mystery, a comedy of small-town jealousies and a morality play concerning dark secrets, in which Kate Winslet’s pariah arrives home and, like a vindictive version of Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, transforms lives through her special gift of seamstressing. But Moorhouse’s approach is closer to Joe Dante’s The ’Burbs, such that the outback settlement of Dungatar is populated by larger-than-life grotesques and crazies, and is fuelled by

Ghostbusters (2016)   Paul Feig is a better director than Ivan Reitman. Or at very least, he’s savvy enough to gather technicians around him who make his films look good. But that hasn’t helped make his Ghostbusters remake (or reboot) a better movie than the original, and that’s even with the original not even being that great a movie in the first place. Along which lines, I’d lay no claims to the 1984 movie being some kind of auteurist gem, but it does make some capital from the polarising forces of Aykroyd’s ultra-geekiness on the subject of spooks and Murray’s “I’m just

Ghostbusters (1984)   I was never an uber-Ghostbusters fan. I liked it alright, Bill Murray was really funny in it, but Bill Murray was really funny in everything at that point (well, except The Razor’s Edge), so that didn’t explain its enormous success. I think part of it is that, even now, that theme, and the images of those guys, used to maximum montage effect in the movie itself, suggest a popular classic of folk memory even to me, knowing otherwise. Much as Harold Faltermeyer’s Axel F, and the presence of Eddie Murphy, mask how thin Beverly Hills Cop essentially is. Although, Beverly Hills Cop is at least well directed, and

The Diary of a Teenage Girl (2015)   Not so much flirting with controversial material as belly flopping into it, actress Marielle Heller’s writer-directorial debut adapts Phoebe Gloeckner’s 2002 graphic novel The Diary of a Teenage Girl: An Account in Words and Pictures with winning flair for the visual flourishes of its source material, its protagonist given to flights of fantasy and doodlings come alive. It comes as little surprise then, that Robert Crumb was an inspiration to Gloeckner; there’s a similarly libidinous grotesquery in protagonist Minnie’s style and obsessions. At times, one can’t help but recall Terry Zwigoff’s doc Crumb and the animated

The Nice Guys (2016)   The strong reputation of an artist can be a two-edged sword. It rightly results in anticipation for a new offering, but conversely can lead to greater disappointment when they fail to live up to past form. I had tempered expectations for Iron Man Three, expecting a watered-down, Marvel-isation of its author’s imprint, yet came away thrilled by just how much of a Shane Black movie it turned out to be. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang arrived as a fully-formed, instant classic, but I still knew I’d need several viewings to take it all in. The Nice Guys may also require further

True Lies (1994)   James Cameron might not quite yet have been King of the World in 1994, but he was definitely King of Science Fiction Cinema. Terminator 2: Judgement Day had become the biggest movie of 1991 worldwide (luckily for Carolco, which bet the bank on it), and consequently he could do anything he wanted next. And what he wanted to do was mystifying. Perhaps it stemmed from an attempt to show his “range” (after all, his next non-genre offering nabbed him the coveted Best Picture Oscar), but a remake of obscure French movie La Totale!, a spy comedy that allowed Cameron

Hellzapoppin’ (1941)   The film that tends to get credited as the progenitor of unfettered fourth-wall breaking. Not that comedies weren’t doing this kind of thing from the get-go, but not quite as concertedly or consistently or inventively as Hellzapoppin’. Universal had scooped up the rights to the musical revue (and Hellzapoppin’ is nothing if not inhabited with the feel of a revue) by comedians Harold “Chic” Johnson and John “Ole” Olsen, who star in and compere the proceedings, betting it would translate somehow. Somehow it does, albeit by way of a very hit-and-miss movie, one in which you can’t help but admire

Hollywood Boulevard (1976)   Joe Dante’s debut, co-credited with Allan Arkush, came courtesy of his training ground as an editor (cutting trailers) for Roger Corman’s New World pictures. It was producer Jon Davison (later of Paul Verhoeven sci-fi classics Robocop and Starship Troopers) who got Dante and Arkush the gig, suggesting to Corman “Let the trailer boys make a picture”. Corman agreed, on condition what became Hollywood Boulevard was a ten-day shoot and the cheapest picture New World had ever made. The idea was to churn out a “found-footage assemblage”, with newly shot scenes linking existing studio archive material, but the duo, fashioning a ramshackle

Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003)   Looney Tunes: Back in Action proved a far from joyful experience for director Joe Dante, who referred to the production as the longest year-and-a-half of his life. He had to deal with a studio that – insanely – didn’t know their most beloved characters and didn’t know what they wanted, except that they didn’t like what they saw. Nevertheless, despite Dante’s personal dissatisfaction with the finished picture, there’s much to enjoy in his “anti-Space Jam”. Undoubtedly, at times his criticism that it’s “the kind of movie that I don’t like” is valid, moving as

Zoolander 2 (2016)   In which Derek Zoolander is brought out of self-imposed retirement, where he has become a hermit crab, following personal mishaps including the literal collapse of his Derek Zoolander Center For Kids Who Can’t Read Real Good (killing wife Matilda and horribly disfiguring Hansel) and the removal of son Derek Jr into the custody of Child Protection Services, due to the brainless supermodel’s inability to cook pasta even marginally good. Spurred by the prospect that gainful employment will lead to a reunion with his son, Derek Sr returns to the catwalk, but Interpol, and more especially Penelope

Zoolander (2001)   In which really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking, self-absorbed simpleton male model who can be manipulated like Play-Doh Derek Zoolander is brainwashed by fiendish fashion designer Mugatu to assassinate the President of Malaysia. The only sign of Ben Stiller’s hilariously loopy fashion spoof showing its age is that some of the cameos come courtesy of now faded celebs. On the other hand, some of them (Donald Trump) seem to have circled right back round to relevance again. And, whether or not the sequel can match this (see this review), it bears emphasising that any movie directed by the comedy star

Spy (2015)   (Extended Cut) Paul Feig labours under the curse of Apatow. I don’t mean his penchant for orifice humour, although that is abundant, but rather the illusion that the perfect length for a comedy is no less than two hours. There’s a very funny movie lurking within Spy, but it’s definitely no more than 100 minutes long. Which is half an hour longer than the extended cut. One of the raft of 2015 espionage movies, Spy brandishes a better Bond theme than the actual Bond movie and, in Jude Law, someone with a suavity Daniel Craig lacks (this was also true of the main players

Army of Darkness (1992)   Or, Bruce Campbell vs Army of Darkness, as the opening title suggests. In some respects, Army of Darkness follows the Mad Max trilogy comparison; it’s bigger, more sprawling, and much less concerned with the engine that should be driving these films (it’s pretty much suspense-free). Fortunately, unlike Beyond Thunderdome, it’s still a lot of fun, prone to going off at comic tangents the way Joe Dante (much more successfully) did in Gremlins 2 a couple of years earlier. If Evil Dead II mixes comedy with horror tropes, Army of Darkness does the same with the fantasy genre, most notably Ray Harryhausen. Much of it is irresistibly goofy;

Evil Dead II aka Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn (1987)   Evil Dead II (also known with the subtitle Dead by Dawn) is one of the funniest films ever made, as a result of which it remains a high-water mark Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell have yet to surpass. Understandably so, it will be no blemish against them if they are unable to again equal the sheer energy, inventiveness, exuberance, glee and craziness very throw into its every frame. It’s the movie that made both their careers, and the very definition of cult fare; one that was an extremely modest success on

Jeeves and Wooster (1990-1993)   Successfully adapting PG Wodehouse may look easy – as a read he flows so, so why shouldn’t it be – but anyone who has seen the recent, horrific BBC Blandings will surely attest otherwise (the Beeb’s 1995 one-off with Peter O’Toole as Lord Emsworth is how Blandings should be done). The radio has generally been a more fruitful adaptive home, probably because it is more reliant on the joy of language that makes Wodehouse’s work so beloved. But it’s perhaps surprising that, for such a well-known character, there haven’t been more versions of Jeeves and Wooster than

The Early Bird (1965)   With his frantic cry of “Mr Grimsdale!”, perpetual idiot-man-child act and insatiable appetite for slapstick, Norman Wisdom’s oeuvre is something of an acquired taste. He elicits similarly divisive response to his US counterpart Jerry Lewis, in fact. If Wisdom never achieved the full auteur multi-hyphenate status that made Lewis so beloved by the French (he had to settle for Albania), he nevertheless actively co-wrote his pictures and maintained a tried-and-tested line up of collaborators (Edward Chapman, Robert Asher). The Early Bird comes at the tail end of his big screen zenith and, in terms of career high points,

The Voices (2014)   Persepolis director Marjane Satrapi’s first US film is a horror comedy just distinct enough to overcome the familiarity of its serial killing subject matter.  Much of this is down to Satrapi’s playful, vibrant style, but credit is also due to never-a-box-office-star-no matter-how-hard-he-tries Ryan Reynolds. His placid schizophrenic Jerry isn’t a showstopper in and off himself but, in combination with his handful of supporting vocal performances, most notably those of Jerry’s pets, dog Bosco and cat Mr Whiskers, Reynolds infuses The Voices with an offbeat energy that perfectly complements his director’s offbeat tone and visuals. Screenwriter Michael R Perry’s form is

The ‘Burbs (1989)   The ’Burbs is Joe Dante’s masterpiece. Or at least, his masterpiece that isn’t his bite-the-hand-that-feeds-you masterpiece Gremlins 2: The New Batch, or his high profile masterpiece Gremlins. Unlike those two, the latter of which bolted out of the gate and took audiences by surprise with its black wit subverting the expected Spielberg melange, and the first which was roundly shunned by viewers and critics for being absolutely nothing like the first and waving that fact gleefully under their noses, The ’Burbs took a while to gain its foothold in the Dante pantheon. It came out at a time when there

Mortdecai (2015)   David Koepp’s (very loose) film adaptation of the first of Kyril Bonfiglioli’s novels concerning louche art dealer Charlie Mortdecai arrived in January to resounding disdain. Much of this was directed at star Johnny Depp, whose whacky voices/ wigs/make-up schtick is now being judged as a full-blown irritant by even his most charitable critics.  While I’m not immune to a sense of fatigue at his determined mugging, I’ve yet to succumb to thermal death point; I do, actually still find him entertaining for the most part. So with that caveat, for the most part I found his latest crazy creation, Charlie

Burying the Ex (2014)   We shouldn’t have to wait five years between Joe Dante movies, even when the results are as close to middling as he’s ever got. Burying the Ex follows the example of The Hole in sticking to the received script and reining in the director’s more eccentric, cartoonish touches. But where The Hole had a good creepy story to tell, here Dante’s stuck with something decidedly more pedestrian and familiar; the possessive partner who won’t let a little thing like death end the relationship. Dante has compared it to EC Comics fare, and the macabre twist has something of that. It also

Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)   Kingsman: The Secret Service, Matthew Vaughn’s latest attempt to go his own way, has flashes of greatness. As a director, he has honed his technique to the point where his action set pieces are peerless. Unfortunately, his continued affiliation with comic book writer Mark Millar (of Kick-Ass, and Vaughn’s superior adaptation) appeals to his worst instincts. Kingsman, the comic, which Vaughn suggested to Millar, has been bashed out of recognition by Vaughn and regular collaborator Mrs Jonathan Ross Jane Goldman, but it remains essentially puerile. As such, Kingsman is fitfully quite superlative entertainment, the kind of moviemaking that

Paddington (2014)   There’s good reason to be surprised at the pedigree of Paddington. Aardman aside, British animations are often less than auspicious, and the history of CGI-character-led live action adaptations of children’s favourites have generally met with tepid results (Yogi Bear, Scooby Doo). Nothing in the pre-release material, not least the generically cute design of Paddington himself, led me to think any differently. Then there was the loss of Colin Firth as the titular bear. If even Firth was quitting surely it must stink? And yet Paddington is a hugely enjoyable family movie, stylishly made, witty, sweet without being mawkish, and updated without offending defenders

You Must Be Joking! (1965)   A time before a Michael Winner film was a de facto cinematic blot on the landscape is now scarcely conceivable. His output, post- (or thereabouts) Death Wish (“a pleasant romp”) is so roundly derided that it’s easy to forget that the once-and-only dining columnist and raconteur was once a bright (well…) young thing of the ’60s, riding the wave of excitement (most likely highly cynically) and innovation in British cinema. His best-known efforts from this period are a series of movies with Oliver Reed – including the one with the elephant – and tend to represent

Muppets Most Wanted (2014)   It’s a funny kind of a way to express one’s love for a property and its characters: spending a disproportionate amount of time on wholly new ones. True, a series shouldn’t stay still, or rest on its laurels, but if the innovation lacks any of the flair and that made it so good in the first place it would be better not to bother. Acknowledging this, as Muppets Most Wanted sort of does several times, can only do so much to affirm the self-referential wit for which the series is famous; it’s only clever to say you’re

Calvary (2014)   I was instantly won over by both the McDonagh brothers’ film debuts, Michael’s In Bruges and John Martin’s The Guard. Michael McDonagh’s follow-up Seven Psychopaths proved to be a playful, self-aware dissection on screenwriting and Hollywood mores, much less immersive emotionally but winningly tricksy in structure and character. John Martin’s sophomore film, Calvary, is on the face of it a more straightforward affair than his sibling’s; seven days in the life of a Roman Catholic priest who has been told at confessional he is to die in a week’s time. As such it seems more instantly comparable to In Bruges, a tragedy shot through

The Double (2013)   I didn’t quite feel the unreserved raves Richard Ayoade’s directorial debut Submarine received, but I liked it well enough and could see it carried across his idiosyncratic sense of humour – albeit in more overtly dark and twisted form – from his funny man persona. Most impressively, also was a fully formed technical confidence and filmmaking craft. His follow-up, based on Dostoyevsky’s novella, reinforces those opinions but its decidedly the lesser beast. It is at once a keenly stylised piece of world building and underwhelming in terms of personality. We’ve seen this story before, many, many times. And

The Harry Hill Movie (2013)   The Harry Hill Movie was decidedly not greeted with rapturous applause by audiences high from TV Burp and, erm, You’ve Been Framed (you’d have thought anyone watching the latter would welcome any old crap). Undoubtedly, this is a very patchy affair. Possibly, if you appreciate Hill mocking the slenderest of motivations for the plot, you will be on-board to at least get the most out of it. While it’s no surprise that a performer schooled in sketch comedy should deliver a movie as episodic as this, it is disappointing that the randomness isn’t more off the wall. Too frequently, at a loss over

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)   At least this second big screen adaptation of James Thurber’s short story is no by-the-numbers remake. Unfortunately, few of Ben Stiller’s and writer Steve Conrad’s choices in this very different take to the Danny Kaye original are positive ones. It’s all the more disappointing, as Stiller’s directorial work has been a consistent bright spot in a career frequently marred by a tiresome comedy klutz persona spread across chasm of undifferentiated movies. One suspects the problem may be too little involvement in the screenplay, as on paper at least the writer-director of Zoolander and Tropic Thunder is

The Thin Man Goes Home (1945)   The penultimate Thin Man movie arrived after a four-year gap spanning the majority of the US’ involvement in WWII. This time Nick (William Powell) and Nora (Myrna Loy) visit the former’s parents in Sycamore Springs. The small-town New England locale is the antithesis of Nick’s preferred fast-living big city comfort zone. The juxtaposition is irresistible, and much fun is had with the couple snooping around a backwater. Slightly awkwardly, since character development wasn’t of great importance previously, the theme of Nick just wanting to please his father is caught lurking on the verges of the

Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues (2013)   The long-awaited, some might suggest past-its-sell-by-date, return of Ron Burgundy doesn’t begin well. It pretty much confirmed my fears this was a sequel with no reason to be, one that weakly rehash the gags and set-ups from the first movie. It isn’t until the gang gets back together that Will Ferrell and Adam McKay hit their groove, by which I mean there’s a higher hit than miss ratio to the jokes. Many of the ideas that come with the central concept are soft connects, but the more absurd The Legend Continues gets, the funnier it

About Time (2013)   The usual life affirming, romance-driven, slop from Richard Curtis, his formula long-since honed to a blunt edge. He’s indicated he was inspired backwards, so to speak, to make a movie involving time travel by his wish to express the sentiment that the best possible day would be a day like any other, with your loved ones, and lived as if it is your final day. You know, sodden mush filtered through a treacly upper-middle class dial-a-script.  There isn’t an ounce of originality here, once he’s magpied the likes of Groundhog Day and The Time Traveller’s Wife. And not even very

Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989)   The news that Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter are still considering a third outing for Bill and Ted, the loveable fools who somehow manage to bring about a 27th century utopia of peace and serenity (apart from the music bit) through their band Wyld Stallions, hasn’t been met with the usual declamations that they’re bound to ruin it. That’s understandable, as they have a sequel under their belts that managed to improve on the clever-stupid original. There’s also a sense that, for all the easy catchphrases (“Party On!”, “Excellent!”) their adventures and journeys haven’t

The Family (2013)   Luc Besson’s star-powered Mafia comedy arrived last autumn to a less than enthusiastic response. Complaints centred on over-obvious targets and repeated tropes, and I guess that’s fair comment. It might not be the most uproariously funny, cleverest or most acutely observed mob comedy ever. But it’s an enthusiastically black-hearted piece of confectionary, nevertheless. What it lacks in nuance it makes up for with superlative casting (the kids included) and a director who actually reminds you (finally) why he was so hyped back in the day. This is Besson’s best movie since the ’90s, which is perhaps

Dom Hemingway (2013)   It’s easy to make bad British crime movies, particular ones that also try to do the funny. They can end up seeming like lads’ days out. Guy Ritchie cornered this market back in the late ’90s, in a mostly quite poor post-Tarantino glut. His technically elaborate slices of cockney mayhem followed a similar wannabe hard man course (from a posh boy) as Tarantino during his inadvisable bouts of attempting to show he was a tough as his characters. In their obsession with showing how cool they were, these movies often lacked much beneath their veneer and

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)   The Grand Budapest Hotel is a dizzying medley of all that is finest in Wes Anderson’s films. Which is to say, if you aren’t a fan already this is highly unlikely to convert you. Except, perhaps, by virtue of its pace. A madcap escalation of stories within stories, episodic incidents, arch dialogue, eccentric characters, and musical staging, all set against his familiar tableau compositions, Anderson’s latest film is an irresistible feast that serves its final course long before you’re in danger of feeling bloated. One might argue this isn’t a terribly deep film, its undercurrents

John Dies at the End (2012)   One might cynically see John Dies at the End as in instant cult movie, tailor-made as a stoner favourite. It’s sure to be exactly that. I’m quite certain it is already, since I’ve come a bit late to the game in seeing it. It’s the kind of story thought up after one too many bong hits, and the result is a picture that instantly invites X-meets-Z movie comparisons, or reminds the viewer of the giddiness of discovering a weird spectacle with a truly off-the-wall sensibility. If John Dies at the End can’t quite pay off the promise

Short Circuit (1986)   Strange as it now may seem, and certainly few were talking about it in hushed tones at the time, John Badham was one of the more reliable directors of the 1980s. Blue Thunder, War Games, Short Circuit, Stakeout and into the first digit of the ’90s with Bird on a Wire, he made a string of successful but forgettable movies (War Games is actually pretty good, though) that put the lie to the idea the talent behind Saturday Night Fever had a career ripe with potential ahead of him. Badham made a career out of journeyman gigs, and you could imagine at least a couple

American Hustle (2013)   Where once David O Russell came across as a dependably unsprung director, he now appears to have settled into a sort of indie-populist middle ground making medium budget movies with off-key or distinctive subject matter but hitting all the necessary notes for mass audience consumption. American Hustle confirms that trend. It’s a highly enjoyable picture yet it never feels more than a rehearsal of its story, swathed in ‘70s regalia but lacking a really strong subtext or meaning. If it were a wholly Sleuth-esque exercise in twist and counter-twist, that might be sufficient to claim greatness but it doesn’t quite have

Ishtar (1987)   Ishtar is iconic for all the wrong reasons. It stands as one of the big box office bombs with which to compare all big box office bombs. Even if later Warren Beatty disasters have vied for attention (Love Affair, the insane overspend on Town and Country) they don’t have the instant recognisability of Ishtar. Beyond the marked absence of audiences queueing round the block on its release, Ishtar has a reputation as an absolute stinker. Does it deserve such unhallowed status? Maybe not quite. It’s undoubtedly misconceived, mishandled and misbegotten, but there’s also a fair amount to enjoy. I mean to say;

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)   Along with Pain & Gain and The Great Gatsby, The Wolf of Wall Street might be viewed as the completion of a loose 2013 trilogy on the subject of success and excess; the American Dream gone awry. It’s the superior picture to its fellows, by turns enthralling, absurd, outrageous and hilarious. This is the fieriest, most deliriously vibrant picture from the director since the millennium turned. Nevertheless, stood in the company of Goodfellas, the Martin Scorsese film from which The Wolf of Wall Street consciously takes many of its cues, it is found wanting. I was vaguely familiar with the title,

Pain & Gain (2013)   It’s been suggested that Pain & Gain is Sturm und Drang-meister Michael Bay’s take on a little arty movie; his version of a Coen Brothers picture, if you will. It’s certainly small by his standards (budget-wise, as opposed to posturing). And there are also recognisable Coens touchstones present; a crime tale of less-than-cerebral criminals whose abysmal plans quickly spiral out of control. It also has the based-on-a-true-story cachet that Fargo didn’t really have at all, actually. And it’s because the plucked-from-the-headlines tale is so bizarre, a litany of cluelessness and ultra-violence, that it sustains the interest. But it’s not

Red 2 (2013)   If in doubt, sign on for an unnecessary sequel. Red 2 isn’t bad, but it adds nothing whatsoever to its predecessor. More than that, director Dean Parisot may have a feel for the comedy but his action beats seem to be taking place somewhere else (calling second unit). In the end, it’s the continually impressive cast, old and new, that save this one from being completely redundant. Parisot gave us the splendid Star Trek parody Galaxy Quest, but that was nearly 15 years ago. Since then he’s mostly made a nest for himself on TV (as have a platoon of directors

Red (2010)   A second viewing of that latter-day Bruce Willis rarity; one of his movies where seems to be making an effort and engaging with the material. I selected it as a double bill with this year’s sequel and, for all the common complaint that Red’s an agreeable movie that refuses to stick in the mind ten minutes after it’s over (I have to admit that, Malkovich aside, that was also true for me), it holds up to a repeat encounter. This also makes it an even rarer of beasts; a decent movie based on a DC comics property (albeit

Scrooged (1988)   If attaching one’s name to classic properties can be a sign of star power on the wane (both for directors and actors), a proclivity for appearing in Christmas movies most definitely is. Just look at Vince Vaughn’s career. So was Bill Murray running on empty a mere 25 years ago? He’d gone to ground following the rejection of his straight-playing The Razor’s Edge by audiences and critics alike, meaning this was his first comedy lead since Ghostbusters four years earlier. Perhaps he thought he needed a sure-fire hit (with ghosts) to confirm he was still a marquee name. Perhaps his agent persuaded him.

Gremlins (1984)   I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much-awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was

This is the End (2013)   As the apocalypse comedy of 2013 that isn’t The World’s End, This is the End was at least favoured by limited expectations. Schlubby Seth Rogen and his semi-famous pals essay versions of themselves as the world falls apart. Cue a succession of semi-improvised scenes of variable quality. Rogen and co-writer/co-director Evan Goldberg based the picture on their short film Jay and Seth vs. The Apocalypse. It’s more a credit to the essential narrative fortitude of end-of-the-world scenarios than their threadbare plotting that This is the End is, for the most part, moderately amusing. Possibly the best choice Rogen and Goldberg

Groundhog Day (1993)   10 Key Ingredients of Groundhog Day: 1. Bill Murray Harold Ramis initially had Tom Hanks in mind for Groundhog Day, but realised that the audience always expect Hanks to be a nice guy. There’s no element of surprise when he turns, as it’s inevitable. With Bill Murray, you’re never quite sure. And he’s quite right; we love Murray no matter what he does, no matter how bastardly, because he is such a quick wit. But he doesn’t have to be lovable; we’d really rather he wasn’t, as it would defang him. He’s deadpan, dry, cynical, sarcastic. And

Beverly Hills Cop III (1994)   I wasn’t sure I’d ever made it all the way through Beverly Hills Cop III before. But some sequels are so awful, all that remains is an amorphous memory of their fundamental shitness (Robocop 3, Highlander 2: The Quickening). So I thought, best be certain; give it another chance. But, my God, it stinks. The first sequel to the 1984 phenomenon that really put Eddie Murphy on the map had already experienced diminishing returns but, by inflation adjusted (and worldwide gross) standards, it remains his second most successful non-animated movie. Understandably, ideas had been knocking about for a trilogy-forming

Into the Night (1985)   “I was taken aback because I did everything I always did. I didn’t do anything different. People just did not show up.”  Into the Night was John Landis’ first brush with movie failure, but for a time it would be merely a blip on his résumé. Until the end of the 1980s he would keep on making hit movies. You only have to glance at the book from which that Landis quote is taken (John Landis, by Guilia D’Agnola Vallan) to see that there are a good few out there who vouch for it as one of

Amazon Women on the Moon (1987)   Cheeseburger Film Sandwich. Apparently, that’s what the French call Amazon Women on the Moon. Except it probably sounds a little more elegant, since they’d be saying it in French (I hope so, anyway). Given the title, it should be no surprise it’s regarded as a sequel to Kentucky Fried Movie there. Which, in some respects, it is. John Landis originally planned to direct the whole of Amazon Women himself, but brought in other directors due to scheduling issues. The finished film is as much of a mess as Kentucky Fried Movie, arrayed with more miss sketches than hit

The World’s End (2013)   It’s perhaps inevitable that The World’s End should be the Pegg/Wright/Frost film where the hype finally catches up with them. They’ve been in the vanguard of can-do nerds for a long while based purely on past glories; the third part in their Cornetto trilogy has assumed a status of legendary anticipation. And, for many, they can do no wrong (hey, as a collective they had a three-for-three success so I was buying into it). The problem with that assumed weight is that they’ve decided they’re not just funny guys but artists too, so they need to make

Matinee (1993)   Joe Dante has referred to Matinee as “a paean to the days when it was fun to go to the movies, and I miss those days”. It’s probably his most personal film, set during the period when he was a teenager (1962) and filled with references and homages to the 1950s monster movies that were his bread-and-butter. It’s a warm, utterly amiable picture, but it’s also very slight. The distant rumble of nuclear standoff (in the form of the Cuban Missile Crisis) represents the only real conflict. While it is stuffed with expected in-jokes and movie-love, the sheer nostalgia for “his”