Movie Review: Bloodline (1979)

A so-bad-it's-almost-good crime and business drama, Bloodline is a dressed-up pig choking on layers of glossy lipstick.

When her tycoon father dies while mountain climbing, Elizabeth Roffe (Audrey Hepburn) inherits a financially troubled pharmaceutical empire. Corporate lawyer Rhys Williams (Ben Gazzara) appears to be her trusted advisor, while the board of directors is stacked with greedy cousins including British aristocrat Sir Alec Nichols (James Mason), racing driver Hélène Martin (Romy Schneider), and two-timing lothario Ivo Palazzi (Omar Sharif).

The cousins and/or their spouses and lovers all have financial troubles and pressure Elizabeth to float the company to raise funds. She resists, determined to protect her father's family-ownership legacy. Inspector Max Hornung (Gert Fröbe) finds evidence Elizabeth's father was murdered, and her life is soon in danger. Meanwhile, prostitutes are being killed during the filming of snuff porn movies under the watchful eyes of a mystery man.

It's unfortunate one of Audrey Hepburn's final roles landed in a Sidney Sheldon novel adaptation, her presence and expensive gowns consumed by rubbish. A plastic script by Laird Koenig is mishandled by director Terence Young, and any potential for quality is eradicated by botched editing. Even the usually reliable Ennio Morricone flounders, his music score unmemorable and unsuitable. The international cast members (also including Irene Papas, Claudia Mori, Michelle Phillips, Maurice Ronet, and Beatrice Straight) go through the mechanical motions, spouting lines with television-level efficiency and a bewildering lack of conviction, eyes firmly on cashing the cheque.  

Elizabeth invests her time traveling for no purpose between European cities, with one particularly awful detour to Poland, where amateurish flashbacks are supposed to capture key moments (involving a horse and big needle) from her father's formative years. Somehow, Poland of the 1940s here resembles the Middle Ages. When not in jet-set and time-travel mode, Elizabeth is dodging an unseen assassin in repetitive but tension-free close-calls. The rest of the characters personify Eurotrash in action, unhappy women spending money their incompetent and philandering husbands do not have, while everyone tries to keep up appearances.

An irrelevant snuff movie subplot is wedged into the drama, providing Young an excuse for superfluous nudity and titillation. And adding a final bizarre tone, Inspector Hornung spends most of his scenes talking to a computer, which seems to have all the answers but only reveals them at the necessary pace to prolong the movie. 

Hardened by ineptitude, Bloodline is an embarrassing stain.



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Movie Review: Road House (1989)

An action film set in the rough and tumble world of bouncers, Road House is a good bad film.

Bar owner Frank Tilghman (Kevin Tighe) hires professional "cooler" Dalton (Patrick Swayze) to help clean up the rough environment at the Double Deuce club in a small rural Missouri town. Dalton, an expert martial arts fighter, is considered the best in the business, and quickly sets about getting rid of corruption and rowdy behaviour. Gradually the Double Deuce is elevated to a respectable establishment. Dalton also starts a relationship with local doctor Elizabeth Clay (Kelly Lynch) and a friendship with band leader and ace guitarist Cody (Jeff Healey).

Dalton: Pain don't hurt.

Dalton's progress is not appreciated by corrupt rich businessman Brad Wesley (Ben Gazzara), who runs the town with an iron fist and demands protection money from all businesses. Wesley's goons start to pressure Dalton to leave town, leading to violent confrontations. Dalton calls on his old buddy Wade Garrett (Sam Elliott) for back-up.

Garrett, referring to Elizabeth: That gal's got entirely too many brains to have an ass like that.

Directed by Rowdy Herrington and produced by action film master Joel Silver, Road House is one bad movie that is undeniably entertaining. Filled with cringe-inducing dialogue, superfluous nudity, ridiculous and frequent fight scenes and a total detachment from reality, Road House is nevertheless enjoyable for its sheer bravado as it luxuriates in its awfulness.

Dalton, instructing the other Double Deuce bouncers: I want you to be nice...until it's time...to not be nice.

The plot borrows heavily from that most basic western cliche, the mysterious stranger with one name, a dark past and few words who cleans up a town run by baddies and frees the long-suffering local residents. The Road House script adds bone crunching and bloody violence, nudity and foul language to meet the expectations of the low-brow market in 1989. And just because this is a Joel Silver film, somehow an impromptu and utterly needless striptease makes its way onto the screen.

Making it all worthwhile is Patrick Swayze, displaying star magnetism through sheer looks, flowy hair, a singular expression and coiled energy in his frequently shirtless body. Dalton drivers a Mercedes instead of riding a horse, and is supposed to have a philosophy degree from NYU. Through screen presence alone, Swayze almost makes that achievement believable.

Dalton: Nobody ever wins a fight.

Musician Jeff Healey somehow ends up in this cluttered mess, and adds to a soundtrack rocking out to energetic country blues. Best of all is Sam Elliott as Dalton's mentor, wandering in for the sole purpose of kicking ass with the wisdom of an older man who built his life's purpose on ass kicking.

Tilghman: It's a good night. Nobody died.
Dalton: It'll get worse before it gets better.

Road House is an unpretentious exercise in lowest common denominator action filmmaking, where star charisma, familiar plot elements, and the hot button of simplistic justice are served on a chipped plate with a greasy spoon.

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Movie Review: Anatomy Of A Murder (1959)

An absorbing courtroom drama, Anatomy Of A Murder bids a firm farewell to the 1950s and welcomes a new, much more liberal decade. With sometimes startlingly frank discussions about rape, semen, abuse, panties, and women's sexuality, and a probing of the link between psychiatric condition and criminal acts, Anatomy Of A Murder happily jumps from one taboo subject to another, ushering in a new era.

In small-town Upper Michigan, Paul Biegler (James Stewart) is a former District Attorney, now struggling to run his own home-based law practice. Paul's best friend is old-timer Parnell McCarthy (Arthur O'Connell), a former lawyer but now a confirmed drunk. Desperate for work, Paul accepts a seemingly hopeless case: to defend Lieutenant Frederick Manion (Ben Gazzara), who admits to shooting dead a pub-owner called Barney Quill, after Quill raped Manion's wife Laura (Lee Remick).

Laura is stunningly beautiful, dresses provocatively, and can't help flirting with every guy she meets, including Paul. But she insists that Quill did rape her, triggering an uncontrollable rage in Manion. Paul convinces Manion to plead not guilty due to temporary insanity, and sets off to find a medical expert to prove the point. Paul also uncovers the role played by Quill's bartender Alphonse Paquette (Murray Hamilton) on the night of the rape and murder, while McCarthy tracks down the background of the mysterious Mary Pilant (Kathryn Grant). When the trial starts, Paul is up against a shark of a prosecutor in the form of Claude Dancer (George C. Scott), who will do his best to prevent Paul from turning what should be a straightforward murder trial into a rape and revenge case.

The poster art and the angular, playful credit sequence announce the forthcoming change of decades. Anatomy Of A Murder also immediately deploys an enjoyable and innovative all-jazz soundtrack by Duke Ellington (who also makes a cameo), capturing the spirit of a movie tackling serious issues with a light touch. And the Wendell Mayes script wastes no time in going where few movies had gone before, delving into the vocabulary associated with rape cases and courageously portraying the victim as a liberated woman pro-actively seeking the attention of men.

Otto Preminger keeps Anatomy Of A Murder moving along a taut wire for its entire 160 minutes of running time. Cleverly injecting humour to break the tension, and giving equal time to the exploration of murder, rape, and a marriage punctured by jealousy, the film is rich with characters worth knowing and truths worth unveiling. The entire final third is dedicated to the court proceedings, and Preminger creates a dynamic and cavernous courtroom environment with a multitude of perspectives presided over by a caustic but reasonable judge. There are enough colourful events and personalities on show that Sam Leavitt's black and white cinematography is a simplifying relief.

Paul Biegler is one of James Stewart's final great roles. Stewart received his fifth and final Best Actor Academy Award nomination for bringing to life a lawyer who is smarter than he looks, more melancholy than he shows, charming and disarming when needed, and much more dogged than his foes give him credit for. Stewart sparring with the uncompromising George C. Scott in the epic courtroom battle is a duel for the ages.

Lee Remick is the other star of Anatomy Of A Murder. In just her fourth screen role, Remick sizzles as an over-sexed wife attracting the eye of every man she meets, and revelling in the attention. Dressed in pants, high heels and tight tops as she proves too hot to handle for rural upstate Michigan, Laura is a challenge for Paul both in fending off her lustful looks and insofar as her story of rape may have sounded suspicious even to her own husband. In a performance full of refinement, Remick ensures that Laura is convincing both as a seductress and a victim.

Anatomy Of A Murder expertly dissects a case of death by jealousy, and finds within it societal norms already changing and about to be severely disrupted by a decade of tumultuous upheaval.

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