I was really looking forward to The Driver, by all accounts a tense little crime drama from 1978. The Continental Op and the Nameless Detective are, of course, famous for never being named, but this film one-ups them: nobody gets a name. Instead we have Ryan O’Neal as The Driver, Bruce Dern as The Detective, and Isabelle Adjani as The Player.
The story: O’Neal is the best getaway driver in the business. Dern is out to bag him, even if it means bending the law as far as it will bend. And that’s pretty much it.
Like many films from the seventies, The Driver is told as more through images than dialog, with only Dern getting a chance to ramble on, which he does (let’s hope the scenery was fat-free). A good approach for this kind of minimalist noir, which left me with high hopes.
Too bad the movie sucked.
First of all, it appears to be heavily influenced by the French film Le Samourai, in which the main character had a less sympathetic job as a hired killer. Both that character and The Driver live in squalor despite the fact they must be well-paid; both present a blank face to the world; both raise their competence to the level of a virtue. But where Jef in Samourai eventually showed a little humanity and a little desperation, O’Neal remains the same stony character at the end that he is at the beginning.
And one scene *totally* rips off The Getaway.
Adjani does nothing but pout her way through this role, showing all the dramatic range of a dishrag, which is strange since she was just spectacular in One Deadly Summer only a couple of years later. O’Neal never lets us see inside his character; if all his grim, silent staring had been cut, the running time would be fifteen minutes shorter. And there’s not really much of a twist at the end.
Only Dern and Ronnee Blakely (in a small part as O’Neal’s booking agent) really do anything on screen.
So, sadly, I can’t recommend this movie. See Le Samourai instead. Or read The Wheelman.
After seeing some of the enthusiastic reviews around the web, I finally kicked Kiss Kiss Bang Bang up to the top of my Netflix queue. The verdict: one of the most entertaining movies I’ve seen in a long time. The plot concerns Harry (Robert Downey Jr.), a New York City thief who stumbles into an audition while trying to evade the cops. Next thing he knows, he’s on the opposite coast, chatting up starlets by the pool. He’s up for a part as a private eye, so the studio puts him together with a real detective for “lessons”.
The real disk is named Perry – “Gay” Perry (Val Kilmer), because, well, he’s gay. The lessons turn out to be a little more intense than expected, what with a dead girl, Mr. Frying Pan and Mr. Fire, and various and sundry complications.
Michelle Monaghan was the love interest in this movie, and the word “winsome” could have been invented just for her. She had a girl-next-door charm combined with – what’s another word for “uber-hotness”?
The script was sharpsharpsharp, which is to be expected since writer/directory Shane Black wrote Lethal Weapon, Maverick (vastly entertaining and underrated), and a lot of other good films. Plenty of naughty dialog, plenty of exposed skin, a real mystery, and great chemistry between all the main characters. Although I could have done without Private Ryan as a child molester; the more serious elements didn’t mesh quite that well.
Also, found a couple of Maj Sjowall – Per Wahloo novels in Half Price Books. They were the Swedish husband-and-wife writing team who created a series of police procedurals featuring detective Martin Beck. Five of them are in print from Vintage, but the other five are hard to find. The ones I found were The Fire Engine That Disappeared and The Terrorists. Both featured plenty of socail commentary, occasional dark humor, and an interesting cast of characters.
I had a little problem with Terrorists because it seemed to suggest that killing is all right, and long as the right people get killed. The killer in that one was presented sympathetically and I don’t have much sympathy for murderers.
One common factor between them is the large role played by Gunvald Larsson, an arrogant asshole but also an excellent detective. He pretty much replaces my favorite character in the earlier books, the large and lugubrious Lennart Kolberg, who by the last book makes barely a cameo. There’s ten of these books in all, and I have three more to find.
Programming note. You may have noticed a large number of technical posts lately, with long, boring titles. I wrote these because I ran into problems when using Microsoft’s Visual Web Developer, which seemed like they should have simple answers, but didn’t. Googling didn’t give much in the way of results, so once I had them figured out I posted them here with the long descriptions so they could be easily found by other WebDev newbies.
Random trivia quiz for the day: Israeli actor Chaim Topol (better known as just Topol) was in several popular movies from the early 70s to the early 80s. Name three. The rules: 1) I decide what “popular” means. 2) No using IMDB.com. 3) If no one gets it by tomorrow I’ll put up a picture and you can have another go.
UPDATE: Only one guess, so I’ve added a photo as a hint. This practically gives you one of the movies. Come on, people!
Tags: Movies.
So I’m now the proud owner of an official Red Neck, which along with my short sleeve shirt tanline means I have what’s known in these parts as a “farmer’s tan”. Strangely, most farmers in these parts are smart enough to wear a hat and a shirt with long sleeves, even during the summer.
But I came by this new look honestly, as I spent all weekend plowing and sowing… or, more accurately, trying to keep a rented roto-tiller from taking off down the street like a motorcycle.
Several years ago I build a little flowerbed border in the back yard, but never got around to removing the grass so that we could, like, plant some flowers. With a couple of other landscaping projects on tap I was going to rent a tiller – really! I was! – but my wife decided to force my hand by doing the flowerbed herself.
And by “doing the flowerbed” I mean “piling mulch on top of the sod”. Just dump out a couple of bags, and voila! A flowerbed! In addition, her idea of “planting” is “set the roots down on the ground and pile compost around it until it stands up on its own.”
So after moving all the flowers she “planted” and bagging all the compost and mulch, I fired up the Manly Brand roto-tiller and went to town. Almost literally – the ground where I live is hard as a brick, with the occasional softball-sized rock to make things interesting. The tiller didn’t much like this, and I struggled to hold it back like I was playing tug of war with Hulk Hogan. And when I hit one of the aforementioned rocks, the damn thing would jump about six inches in the air, nearly tearing my arms loose at the elbow.
Once all the tilling was done, I still had to dig the holes for a bunch of shrubs. Did I mention the ground was hard as a brick, with the occasional softball-sized rock? I swear, it felt like I was prying up the dirt, not digging it. A crowbar would have been more useful.
Finally, everything was done, and I have to say the yard looks just beautiful. I look forward to enjoying it for the next couple of months, until the summer sun burns it to a crisp.
Flicks. When I wasn’t working in the yard, I spent the weekend watching movies. First up was Cabaret, the classic 1972 tale of the decadent nightclubs of Nazi Germany. Good thing I got this through Netflix, because it royally sucked. Where to begin? Oh, yes: Liza Minelli. I have never in my life seen a “vamp” with less sex appeal. Was everyone in the country suffering from mass hysteria? (Oh, wait – 1972. Riiiiight.) I didn’t have much sympathy for her character, either. I suppose at one time ditzy dreamers who trampled on everyone else to make themselves happy appealed to me, but she just seemed selfish and childish.
Plus the story didn’t really go anywhere, and didn’t really seem like it was intended to go anywhere. Just a tedious muddle.
After that I watched Peter Jackson’s King Kong. Meh. A half hour could have been cut without losing the good parts. Naomi Watts – an excellent actress, especially in Mulholland Drive – had basically nothing to do after the first hour. Adrien Brody was also wasted (his talent, that is, he seemed sober enough), and Jack Black didn’t really fit his role. So, blah.
Milestones. The littlest Powell, my 2-year-old son, learned how to climb out of his crib just last week. This gave us a choice for his next milestone: move the crib out and let sleep in the Big Boy Bed, or let him climb all over the crib and end up taking his first trip to the hospital.
Famous Powells. I’m working on a list of famous Powells. So far:
Boog Powell (baseball player)
Dick Powell (actor, Murder, My Sweet)
William Powell (actor, The Thin Man)
Colin Powell (former Secretary of State)
Talmadge Powell (writer)
Richard Powell (writer, Say It With Bullets)
Adam Clayton Powell (policitian)
Josh Powell (basketball player)
Bud Powell (jazz pianist)
If you can think of any others, post in the comments.