Movie Review: Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery (1997)

A satire of everything James Bond, Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery takes aim at plenty of targets from the slick secret agent genre, and hits most of them with ridiculous ease.

Ooo, behave!

It's  1967, and Austin Powers (Mike Myers) is a secret agent enjoying the hedonistic London life of sex, more sex, and a bit more sex. Powers may have bad teeth and a horrible mat of chest hair, but he is irresistible to most women, although his assistant Mrs. Kensington (Mimi Rogers) does manage to stall his advances. Madman Dr. Evil (Myers again) heads a terrorist organization intent on world domination. But when Evil fails to assassinate Powers, he cryogenically freezes himself in a Big Boy rocket ship and orbits earth for 30 years, hoping to get back into action in a future without Powers. The Department of  Defence responds by freezing Powers, to be thawed upon Evil's return.

Groovy, baby!

Sure enough Evil reactivates in 1997, sets up his base near Las Vegas and with the help of Number 2 (Robert Wagner) hatches a plot to blackmail the United Nations with nuclear weapons. Powers is brought back to life, and Mrs. Kensington's luscious daughter Vanessa (Elizabeth Hurley) is assigned as his assistant. Soon they catch up with Number 2 and his girlfriend Alotta Fagina (Fabiana Udenio). Powers has to adapt to a new decade, catch-up with a much changed world, make up for a lot of lost time chasing women, and stop Evil from destroying the world.

Yeah, baby, yeah!

A broad comedy with a brand of humour both infantile and successful, Austin Powers almost has it too easy. The James Bond series itself often descends into self-satirizing, and contains no shortage of juicy targets: the megalomaniac villain with his cat and idiotic accomplices, the destroy-the-world plot, the curvaceous and outrageously named women seduced for secrets, rampant sexism, double entendres, the plastic colours of the 1960s and the grand yet cardboardy sets. The funniest thing about Austin Powers is that most of its individual pieces could have actually come straight from a Bond film.

It's freedom, baby, yeah!

Directed by Jay Roach and written by Myers (who also co-produced) but featuring plenty of ad-libbing, Austin Powers clocks in at barely over 90 minutes, which includes a few irrelevant musical interludes. Myers throws the jokes onto the screen at a manic pace, and achieves a solid success rate. This is an undoubtedly funny viewing experience, and Myers frequently chucks away any pretense of a plot and just unleashes a barrage of laughs for the sake of eliciting hysterical guffaws, including an endless peeing scene (the aftereffect of cryogenic unfreezing), group maniacal laughter by Evil and his associates, and the prolonged non-death of one Evil's underlings. There is also a completely superfluous and not as successful sub-plot about Evil's difficult relationship with his son (Seth Green).

I never forget a pussy...cat.

Most of the hilarity is derived from Powers' out-of-control sex drive, his attempts to bed Vanessa, and his obsession with recreating the fun times of the swinging sixties. With its adolescent fixation on sexcapades and titillation, the film almost forgets about the central spy satire premise and confines itself to long stretches of locker room humour, with Myers inventing a whole new phraseology to spice up Powers' libido-driven personality.

Shall we shag now, or shall we shag later?

Over-the-top, over-sexed and just generally over-clocked, Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery lives life in the funny lane, no matter which decade he populates.

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The Movies Of Robert Wagner

All movies starring Robert Wagner and reviewed on the Ace Black Movie Blog are linked below:

With A Song In My Heart (1952)

The Longest Day (1962)

The Pink Panther (1963)

Harper (1966)

The Towering Inferno (1974)

Midway (1976)

Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery (1997)

Wild Things (1998)

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Movie Review: Wild Things (1998)

A neo-noir with an abundance of style and seduction, Wild Things saturates the screen with back-stabbing characters up to absolutely no good, although the fun goes somewhat off the rails in the final third.

In the posh Miami community of Blue Bay, hunky high school counsellor Sam Lombardo (Matt Dillon) is fending off the advances of cheerleader Kelly Van Ryan (Denise Richards). Sam used to be the lover of Kelly's mother Sandra (Theresa Russell), one of Blue Bay's richest women. Meanwhile, Suzie Toller (Neve Campbell) is a white trash teenager from the wrong side of the tracks, holding a deep grudge against Sergeant Ray Duquette (Kevin Bacon) of the local police force. Suzie holds Ray responsible for the shooting death of a friend. Whenever he can, Sam tries to help Suzie, who is held in contempt by Kelly.

Blue Bay is rocked when Kelly accuses Sam of rape. Sandra hires high-priced attorney Tom Baxter (Robert Wagner) to seek justice for her daughter, while a shocked Sam can only afford cut-rate lawyer Ken Bowden (Bill Murray) to represent him. The case makes headlines, and takes a sensational turn when Suzie comes forward to claim that she too was raped by Sam. With his prospects looking grim, Sam's fate is in the uncertain hands of the less than trustworthy Ken.

The synopsis covers barely half the film. Once Ken starts to interrogate Suzie, the revelations cause outright pandemonium, and the courtroom twist is only the first of many to come. Wild Things has plenty of secrets waiting to bust out, as the characters carry many hidden motivations and brutal scores to settle. This is a small film with a big agenda, drawing on the rich noir legacy to bring forward a convoluted story of seduction, big money, betrayal, revenge and class warfare in the Miami heat.

Wild Things is filmed in vivid colours, accompanied by a siren call of a George S. Clinton music score, dripping with the dangerous sensuality of the Florida swamps. And for the most part, director John McNaughton steers the film with silky smoothness, introducing the many characters and focusing on the pervasive lust in a community with too much money and too much time dedicated to rapacious pursuits.

Wild Things' appeal is in updating most of the noir elements into a hyper-driven modern context. The schemers are younger, the money bigger, the scandal more sensational, and the sex more intense, particularly a legendary threesome that provides an exclamation mark next to the film's crowning revelation. But the film also forges ahead with a plot that while comprehensible, just pushes for too many convolutions. Once the twists start coming, they never stop, and with a new reveal every few minutes as the film enters its final half an hour, the surprises lose their edge.

The cast is outstanding in depth and execution. The roles are almost all played straight, with Richards and Russell providing gallons of fervor, Campbell contributing dark broodiness, while Dillon and Bacon (who also served as executive producer) play the men who don't quite know how little control they have. Murray is a riot as a crooked lawyer in unkempt suits, with the twinkle in his eye suggesting that the ruffled persona may just be a camouflage for a sharper than expected mind. Where the wild things roam, nothing is as it seems.

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Movie Review: With A Song In My Heart (1952)

A musical biography of wartime singer Jane Froman, With A Song In My Heart sprinkles a little bit of story with a whole lot of songs. Susan Hayward in the lead role and Froman's actual singing voice ensure a reasonable level of enjoyment.

In the late 1930s, unknown singer Jane Froman (Hayward) is discovered by small-time music writer Don Ross (David Wayne) when he helps her to prepare for a radio audition. With assistance from Ross, Froman's career takes off, and she is soon propelled to the front ranks of stage performers and recording artists. After a lot of prodding, she agrees to marry Ross. But his songwriting career is going nowhere, and the inevitable jealousies creep into the relationship.

With World War Two raging, Froman heads out on a tour to entertain the troops. Tragedy strikes when her plane crashes off the coast of Lisbon, with many of the passengers losing their life. Froman survives, but one of her legs is severely damaged. During a long recovery phase, Froman falls in love with Captain John Burn (Rory Calhoun), a fellow survivor of the crash. She also establishes a deep friendship with nurse Clancy (Thelma Ritter). Once she recovers sufficiently, and despite her mobility challenges, Froman heads back out on a triumphant tour to raise the morale of America's fighting men.

A solid two thirds of With A Song In My Heart is occupied with performances of Froman's songs. In various settings, the radiant Hayward is excellent at emoting, and Froman's deep and distinctive voice shines. The film carries around 17 songs, not counting another 10 that feature in a climactic medley celebrating the good old U.S. of A. For fans of Froman's voice and music, the film delivers.

As a dramatic experience, the remaining 40 minutes or so of narrative development are adequate at recounting the story of Froman's rise from obscurity to stardom, the struggle to overcome debilitating injuries, and her comeback as a performer who uniquely understood the scars of men wounded in the line of duty. The film is narrated by Wayne, Calhoun and Ritter, and therein lies its nagging weakness: this is Froman as superficially seen through the eyes of others, and director Walter Lang, working from a script by Lamar Trotti, never comes close to delving into her essence. The film offers nothing about Froman's background, motivation, values, or inner thoughts.

Wayne and Calhoun provide relatively low-key support as the two men in Froman's life, while Ritter offers some of the film's best moments, and crackles as the nurse who became a key friend and companion. Both Ritter and Hayward earned Academy Award nominations. Robert Wagner has a small but memorable role as a paratrooper entertained by Froman first in the United States, and then under very different circumstances in Europe.

With A Song In My Heart is first a celebration of music and then a sketched story of a life. More a concert show than a drama, it nevertheless soldiers on, powered by the fuel of good intentions.

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Movie Review: The Pink Panther (1963)

An attempt at suave comedy, The Pink Panther is a plodding, mostly unfunny farce. A caper involving the attempted theft of a large diamond quickly skids off the road into antiquated flat jokes and an unconvincing romance.

At an exclusive ski resort in Europe, expert jewel thief Sir Charles Lytton (David Niven), better known as The Phantom, has set his sights on stealing the famous and massive Pink Panther diamond owned by the deposed Princess Dala (Claudia Cardinale). The diamond has a flaw that resembles the image of a panther, but is nevertheless worth a fortune. Sir Charles gets close to his target by attempting to romance the Princess.

Also at the resort is inept French Inspector Jacques Clouseau (Peter Sellers), tasked with putting an end to the Phantom's crime spree. A bungling idiot, Clouseau's speciality is walking into fixed objects and knocking things over, mostly himself. Clouseau's wife Simone (Capucine) is The Phantom's silent partner and lover, helping to plan and pull off the thefts. With Sir Charles' nephew George (Robert Wagner) making a surprise appearance and adding to the reigning chaos and raging lust, the theft of the Pink Panther will not be an easy task.

The Pink Panther climaxes with a wild costume party, a favourite plot device for director Blake Edwards, with various cast members decked out as gorillas or knights in clunky armour, and blundering attempts to break into a safe and steal the diamond. Earlier, there is an interminable scene with Sir Charles and his nephew George simultaneously caught in Simone's hotel room and having to hide under the bed and in the bathtub as Inspector Clouseau unexpectedly barges in on his wife. It's all supposed to be hilarious, but the script by Edwards and Maurice Richlin causes the odd chuckle at best. The timing is slow, the actions and dialogue a lot more dull than smart, and the shenanigans contrived rather than calculating.

The romance between Sir Charles and Princess Dala is warmed-over rather than spicy, with Niven and Cardinale unable to generate meaningful heat. The bed-hopping escapades centred on George are best described as infantile, Robert Wagner never appearing sure as to his role in the movie.

Peter Sellers as Clouseau induces the most sympathy and a few good laughs, but tripping over every conceivable object gets old fast. In his first movie appearance, Clouseau is missing the supremely bloated self-importance that would become key to his character in future outings. Here, Clouseau is just a dim police inspector seemingly unable to stay on his feet, and wrapped tightly around the finger of his devious wife.

The humour and the romance may be flat, but at least the Henry Mancini score brings some stylish respect to the film. As the actors fall all over themselves, the gracefully drawn panther sneaks his way to fame, moving to a magically languid tune.

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Movie Review: Harper (1966)

An attempted homage to 1940s detective movies, Harper falls quite flat. Despite the presence of Paul Newman and Lauren Bacall, the convoluted story and the derivative characters never come close to their intended target, while stylistically the film is simply bland.

Private detective Lew Harper (Newman), struggling to reunite with his wife Susan (Janet Leigh), is summoned to the house of wealthy socialite Elaine Sampson (Bacall). She hires him to find her missing husband Ralph, although Elaine seems unperturbed that Ralph is missing and would be quite pleased if he were to turn up dead so she could outlive him. The characters swirling around Elaine include free-spirited daughter Miranda (Pamela Tiffin), her boyfriend and the Sampsons' private pilot Allan Taggert (Robert Wagner), and the family lawyer and Harper's friend Albert Graves (Arthur Hill).

Harper follows a trail leading to an assortment of distasteful characters: Ralph Sampson's possible lover, overweight former starlet Fay Estabrook (Shelley Winters); her husband Dwight Troy (Robert Webber); drug-addicted lounge singer Betty Fraley (Julie Harris); and phony cult leader Claude (Strother Martin). Harper uncovers multiple tangled plots involving kidnapping, blackmail, illicit affairs, unrequited love, the smuggling of illegal immigrants, and bad guys turning on each other. With $500,000 in ransom money at stake and Ralph Sampson still missing, Harper is frequently at gun-point or being beaten-up as the body count begins to mount.

Trying to borrow heavily from the plot of The Big Sleep, even Bacall's resonant presence cannot liven up the William Goldman screenplay (an adaptation of the Ross MacDonald book A Moving Target, with Lew Archer changed to Harper). A significant shortfall is the lack of any charm, charisma or genuine evil among the large assortment of unsavoury plotters scheming to profit from Ralph Sampson's disappearance. They all come across as low level riff-raff, more likely to intimidate each other than to harm their intended victims, lowering the movie down to an uninteresting level of scuzziness.

Director Jack Smight fails to add any panache to the battle of the low lifes, the film's look and style pedestrian at best.

With Bacall's role marginally above the level of a cameo, it is left to Newman to grapple with the inferior material. While he enjoys a few solid wisecracks, for the most part Newman appears ill-suited to the role of a private investigator bumbling around the lives of the rich and poking at the scum gathered in the corners. Newman almost comically overacts his more puzzled moments, and when it's time to stop chewing and kick ass, he simply does not bring enough intensity. The overriding theme of the movie is of Newman being heavily pushed around by others, not a good premise to hang any film on.

Pamela Tiffin almost saves the day with a dazzling portrayal of Miranda as the spoiled 1960s rich girl, certain that she could not care less about her father but almost oblivious to the carnage that her mere presence is causing among the crooks around her. While Janet Leigh is underused in an interesting role, Robert Wagner, Arthur Hill, Robert Webber, Shelley Winters, Julie Harris and Strother Martin are an example of quantity over quality resulting in so much wasted talent, limited and poorly defined roles sinking Harper ever faster with each additional unconvincing snarl.

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