MCN Columnists
Mike Wilmington

By Mike Wilmington

Wilmington on DVDs: Of Time and the City, El Dorado, Zabriskie Point, and more…


Of Time and the City (Three-and-a-Half Stars)
U. K.; Terence Davies, 2008 (Strand Releasing)

The sometimes mournfully brilliant British independent filmmaker Terence Davies returns to Liverpool, the place of his birth and growing up — and the setting of his graceful, wounding autobiographical family portrait Distant Voices, Still Lives — for a movie that is poetic documentary, dark memoir, melancholy ballad, sex-haunted travelogue and subtle and lyrical classical and pop-music-drenched eulogy all at once.

The movie is non-dramatic, composed almost entirely of shots of Liverpool past and present, accompanied by ironic, despairing or elegiac narration, written and spoken by Davies. The director’s somewhat John Gielgud-ish, actorish voice envelops those photographic/cinematographic images — black-and-white or color, culled from archives or newly shot — with a Shakespearean lamentation, burdened or charged by memory, flayed by desires both physical and spiritual.

Davies also laces those recollections with scraps of poetry or literature (Shelley‘s “Ozymandias“), snips of the social and cultural history of the ’40s through the ’70s (Queen Elizabeth‘s coronation), old songs or classical pieces (Kern, Hammerstein and Peggy Lee’s “The Folks Who Live on the Hill,” The Hollies’ “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother”), classical pieces (Brahms’ “Lullabye,” Liszt’s “Consolation No. 3 in D Flat Major,” Mahler’s “Resurrection” Symphony), all to evoke his Liverpool dreamscape, this reverie-soaked photo-album of his smoky, ocean-lapped, working-class urban port homeland.

Stretching back to the immediate post-war years, as the battered district tries to struggle back to normality, through the ‘50s of Davies’ movie-haunted childhood (the first film he saw, memorably, was “Singin’ in the Rain“), through the seedy, sweaty pro wrestling matches and immaculate Catholic church confessionals that tormented his adolescence with sexual longing and guilt, through the ’60s live heyday of his fellow Liverpudlians, the Beatles (the rock ‘n roll-hating Davies lived across from the Fab Four’s pop den/showcase the Cavern during their quick rise to local fame, yet never caught their act), to the ’70s and to sunny shots of Liverpool today, Of Time and the City is, in every precious minute of its passing, a loving but sad picture of his time and his city.

Extras: Interviews with Davies and others; on-set footage, trailer.



El Dorado (Two Disc Centennial Collection) (Four Stars)
U. S.; Howard Hawks, 1967 (Paramount)

In that ‘50s-‘60s movie Western dreamland we know so well, aging sure-shot hero John Wayne, recovering drunk Robert Mitchum, cocky kid James Caan and colorful old coot Arthur Hunnicutt are besieged in the town jail by a corrupt rancher’s hired guns, just as Wayne, Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson and Walter Brennan once were in Howard Hawks‘ pop classic Rio Bravo. The approach is similar — easy-going, impeccably done, character-rich comedy laced with an occasional shootout or barroom brawl, with a little romance thrown in (Charlene Holt and the spunky Michelle Carey fill in for Angie Dickinson‘s immortal Feathers), one scene and gunfight rolling with consummate smoothness and expertise into another, ending with a blazing gun-down climax and the comforting sight of two triumphant guys strolling down a Western street.

Like Rio Bravo, El Dorado is seamlessly professional and an awful lot of fun. But the mood is different, the look crisper and more elegiac, the heroes more fallible. Wayne’s Cole Thornton has a handicap Rio Bravo’s John T. Chance never had to suffer: a bullet lodged near his spine (too dangerous to remove until after the battle is over) that periodically twists him into paralysis and screaming pain. Mitchum’s J. P. Harrah stinks and staggers more than Martin‘s Dude (the role that got Dino tagged, wrongly, as a big drinker). Caan’s Mississippi can throw a knife but he can’t shoot for shit. And Hunnicutt’s Bull often seems handier with his bugle and a wisecrack than his cackling, deadly counterpart, Brennan‘s dynamite-heaving Stumpy.

El Dorado — written by longtime Hawks collaborator Leigh Brackett, who co-scripted Rio Bravo with Jules Furthman –began as an adaptation of Harry Brown’s Western novel The Stars in the Courses; Brackett described it then as a sort of Western Greek tragedy. But Hawks, who had shown a tragic or dark vein early in his career (The Dawn Patrol, The Road to Glory, Scarface), showed more upbeat tastes later on, and he switched the plot midstream to “Return to Rio Bravo“ to get back in his own comfort zone. It’s hard to complain, even though Brackett thought her original script was the best she ever wrote for Hawks. We like this quartet so much, we don’t want them shot up either.

I love this movie, and I don’t agree at all with the contingent that ranks El Dorado way below Rio Bravo, or the anti-western bunch who think both movies are over-aged, over-weight clunkers. It’s a fine-looking show; the very fussy cinematographer was Hal Rosson, who shot The Wizard of Oz, The Asphalt Jungle and Duel in the Sun. The memorable score and title song are by Frank Sinatra’s master arranger Nelson Riddle (“Only the Lonely”).

And the supporting cast is top-notch: R. G. Armstrong plays the good rancher, Ed Asner is the corrupt one, Chris George is Asner’s unfailingly professional top gun, and Paul Fix is the doctor who won’t take a chance on extracting the Duke‘s bullet. All this talent and experience sits well on a movie that jauntily celebrates professionalism and movingly defies age. (Hawks was 71 when it was released.) For me, everything here works –and even if something doesn’t quite hit the mark (like Mississippi‘s gunmanship), I like it anyway.

By the way, the Remington-like oil paintings under the credits are by Olaf Wieghorst– who also pops up as an actor playing the Swedish gunsmith Larsen, and makes an allusion to Hawks admirer François Truffaut’s Shoot the Piano Player. The poem “El Dorado” that Jimmy Caan keeps reciting (“Ride, boldly ride”) is by another great American pro whom the French admired first: Edgar Allan Poe.

Extras (an unusually good batch): Commentaries by Peter Bogdanovich, Richard Schickel, Todd McCarthy and Ed Asner; documentary; interview with A. C. Lyles; vintage featurette, trailer.

Zabriskie Point (Three-and-a-Half Stars)
U.S.; Michelangelo Antonioni, 1970 (Warner)

A student radical on the run after a shooting (Mark Frechette) hooks up with a hippie girl (Daria Halprin) with an older lover (Rod Taylor); the youngsters’ sexy desert encounter is followed by tragedy, death and blowup.

Michelangelo Antonioni never got worse reviews than he did for this intensely sympathetic look at American antiwar youth and rebellion in the Vietnam war years, ridiculed in its day as a flaccid, over-romantic, dramatically inert eruption of radical chic from an Italian filmmaker who didn’t know what the Hell he was talking about. (His script collaborators, by the way, were Sam Shepard, Clare Peploe and his usual co-writer Tonino Guerra.) It’s true that pretty boy Frechette, who later died in prison, isn‘t much of an actor, and that Halprin, though more effective, isn‘t too much more skilled. (Antonioni would have been better advised to cast one of his bit players, the young Harrison Ford.)

But the acting in his films was never Antonioni’s strong suit, even when he was working with first-raters like Marcello Mastroianni, Jeanne Moreau, Richard Harris, David Hemmings or Vanessa Redgrave. (He conveys emotion in other ways.) And, visually, this is one of his most stunning, beautiful, riveting works, as well as a portrayal of the times that still rings mostly true — at least to me. Watch (and listen) to the way Antonioni evokes desert isolation and Western sensibility with exquisite Alfio Contini camerawork and Patti Page‘s “Tennessee Waltz” in the café scene. Cinematically, it’s a knockout.

By the way, speaking of music, this movie has some great stuff also by the Rolling Stones (Keith Richards screaming on “You Got the Silver”), Pink Floyd and Jerry Garcia. But I’ve always hated the last title song by Mike Curb, who eventually became the Republican lieutenant governor of California. I suggest, when it comes on, that you do what I always did when I showed Zabriskie Point in college at the University of Wisconsin: Turn the sound off.



TCM Greatest Classic Film Collection: Western Adventures (Two Discs) (TCM: Warners)
U.S.; Various Directors, 1969-73 (TCM: Warners)

Another excellent TCM package, with two masterpieces (The Wild Bunch and McCabe and Mrs. Miller), one sometimes neglected gem (Jeremiah Johnson) and one rousing entertainment (The Train Robbers).

Includes: The Wild Bunch (Sam Peckinpah, 1969) Four Stars. With William Holden, Ernest Borgnine, Warren Oates and Ben Johnson. McCabe and Mrs. Miller (Robert Altman, 1971) Four Stars. With Warren Beatty, Julie Christie and Keith Carradine. Jeremiah Johnson (Sydney Pollack, 1972) Three-and-a-Half Stars. With Robert Redford and Will Geer. The Train Robbers (Burt Kennedy, 1973) Three Stars. With John Wayne, Ann-Margret, Rod Taylor, Ricardo Montalban and Ben Johnson.



Children of Men (Three-and-a-Half Stars)
U.K.-U.S.; Alfonso Cuaron, 2006 (Universal)

P. D. James’ grim futuristic thriller, about a world without children, in a really thrilling adaptation by Cuaron and his great one-take, seemingly acrobatic cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. With Clive Owens, Julianne Moore and Michael Caine.



New in Town (One-and-a-Half Stars)
U.S.; Jonas Elmer, 2009 (Lionsgate)

Welcome to New Ulm, Minnesota, where the tapioca is fine, the snow is omnipresent, the accents are out of Fargo, ice fishing is the town craze, the local most-eligible bachelor and labor union rep is played by Harry Connick Jr., and the local food plant is about to be downsized by a lot of mean big city Miami executives in expensive suits, who’ve sent sexy little Lucy Hill (Renee Zellweger) up to New Ulm to do their dirty work. Heh-heh. Those dumb-ass city slickers! Don’t they know widower Connick is waiting for her there, with an adorable little daughter, all primed to convert Lucy to the joys of tapioca and ice fishing?

Don’t they know that Blanche Gunderson (Siobhan Fallon Hagon) — who must be related somehow to Marge Gunderson of Fargo, because they talk alike — is Lucy’s secretary sweetie pie (and maybe her Ethel Mertz) and also the master tapioca chef? Don’t they know Lucy, with her orange makeup, stiletto heels and repertoire of sexy sneers and baby-doll put-downs, will melt like one of those frosty snowmen and wind up battling the big bad Miami execs to save the little people and their jobs? (No Ann Coulter she. Lucy doesn’t fondle checkbooks.)

Don’t they know that, as sure as shootin’, Blanche‘s tapioca will somehow save the day, doncha know?

They may not have tumbled, but I’ll bet you will. New in Town is a movie where all the surprises are stupid ones and all the clichés are honored citizens. This movie doesn’t work even if you like it’s late-arriving political theme of the little guy battling the big guy. (Which I do).

So picture this, guys. When hot Lucy shows up in New Ulm, to throw a lot of workers out of a job, she arrives smirking and scowling and insulting everyone. (Hey! All the executive backstabbers I ever met, smiled and grinned so much, you’d think their faces would get a hernia.) Connick‘s Ted, probably one of the hottest bachelors (or widowers) New Ulm ever saw, doesn’t even have a girlfriend, jealous or whatever — though it’d be a nice secondary role for some at-liberty Hollywood sexpot, say maybe Jessica Simpson. When Lucy‘s car runs off the road and she piles up in the snow bank, and her cell phone doesn’t work, and things look awful bad, she just starts drinking. (Maybe that’s what the screenwriters did.)

There’s a surprise or two in the credits. The director, Jonas Elmer, is a prize-winning maker of Danish art films, and one of the writers, C. Jay Cox, gave us the somewhat similar Sweet Home Alabama and the gay comedy about Mormon sex, Latter Days. Maybe that’s what this movie is: a gay Danish Mormon art film in disguise. That might explain everything but the tapioca.

Beyond Rangoon (Three Stars)
U. S.; John Boorman, 1995 (Warner)

Visually often remarkable, this political thriller sometimes stumbles on drama. With Patricia Arquette as a woman on the run in Burma, Frances McDormand and Spalding Gray.

Falling Down (Two-and-a-Half Stars)
U.S.; Joel Schumacher, 1993 (Warner)

The ultimate road rage movie. Michael Douglas plays a white collar Angeleno who reaches his boiling point and starts a deadly march through the town; Robert Duvall is the cool vet cop trying to find him. With Barbara Hershey and Tuesday Weld.

We’re Back! A Dinosaur’s Story (Two-and-a-Half Stars)
U.S.; Dick Zondag/Ralph Zondag/Phil Nibbelink/Simon Wells, 2009 (Universal)

Made by executive producer Steven Spielberg the same year as his Jurassic Park, this is another dinosaur show and it’s cuter. Four dino-pals (including John Goodman and Jay Leno) are spirited off in a time machine to modern New York City, by a kindly old scientist (voiced, believe it or not, by Walter Cronkite) where they’re headed for a kindly museum exhibitor (voiced, b.i.o.n., by Julia Child), before they and their kid buddies, are sidetracked into a horrific circus run by Cronkite’s evil brother (Kenneth Mars) and clowned by Martin Short.

This is better than its rep. The chancy script is by John Patrick Shanley (of Doubt and Moonstruck). The highlights: two renditions of James Horner‘s and Thomas Dolby‘s catchy Mesozoic rock song, “Roll Back the Rock,” the first by John Goodman (as Rex), the second (under the end-titles), a screamer from Little Richard.

Detective Bureau 2-3: Go to Hell Bastards! (Two-and-a-Half Stars)
Japan; Seijun Suzuki, 1963 (Kino)

Seijun Suzuki directed a ton of action and cliché-packed yajuza and cop thrillers in the ‘60s while developing the wild, baroque style that flowered in movies like Branded to Kill. This combustible tale of a cocky journalist (played by smirky Jo Shishido), who joins the police, infiltrates a yakuza mob and throws everything into bloody, fiery chaos, is one of them. It’s pretty silly, but it passes the time. And it does have some punch and style. In Japanese, with English subtitles.

Westbound (Three Stars)
U.S.; Budd Boetticher, 1958 (Warner Archive)

Taciturn hero Randolph Scott battles to keep the stage line running, against the villainous efforts of Andrew Duggan and Michael Dante and with moral (or immoral) support from Karen Steele and Virginia Mayo. Probably the least of the Scott-Boetticher Westerns, but still a good show.

The Red Lily (Two-and-a-Half Stars)
U. S.; Fred Niblo, 1924 (Warner Archive)

Two star-crossed French provincial lovers (Ramon Novarro and Enid Bennett) run off to Paris, become accidentally separated and plunge into the underworld and impending tragedy. From the director of Valentino‘s Blood and Sand and the Novarro Ben-Hur, Fred Niblo, who both wrote and directed here. The plot is a Borzage-like melodrama, but though it lacks Borzage’s style, it holds your interest. With Wallace Beery and Sydney Franklin. Silent, with subtitles. With original score by Scott Salinas.

– Michael Wilmington
May 26, 2009

Be Sociable, Share!

Comments are closed.


awesome stuff. OK I would like to contribute as well by sharing this awesome link, that personally helped me get some amazing and easy to modify. check it out at All custom premade files, many of them totally free to get. Also, check out Dow on: Wilmington on DVDs: How to Train Your Dragon, Treasure of the Sierra Madre, The Darjeeling Limited, The Films of Nikita Mikhalkov, The Hangover, The Human Centipede and more ...

cool post. OK I would like to contribute too by sharing this awesome link, that personally helped me get some amazing and easy to customize. check it out at All custom templates, many of them dirt cheap or free to get. Also, check out Downlo on: Wilmington on Movies: I'm Still Here, Soul Kitchen and Bran Nue Dae

awesome post. Now I would like to contribute too by sharing this awesome link, that personally helped me get some beautiful and easy to modify. take a look at All custom premade files, many of them free to get. Also, check out DownloadSoho.c on: MW on Movies: The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, Paranormal Activity 2, and CIFF Wrap-Up

Carrie Mulligan on: Wilmington on DVDs: The Great Gatsby

isa50 on: Wilmington on DVDs: Gladiator; Hell's Half Acre; The Incredible Burt Wonderstone

Rory on: Wilmington on Movies: Snow White and the Huntsman

Andrew Coyle on: Wilmington On Movies: Paterson

tamzap on: Wilmington on DVDs: The Magnificent Seven, Date Night, Little Women, Chicago and more …

rdecker5 on: Wilmington on DVDs: Ivan's Childhood

Ray Pride on: Wilmington on Movies: The Purge: Election Year

Quote Unquotesee all »

It shows how out of it I was in trying to be in it, acknowledging that I was out of it to myself, and then thinking, “Okay, how do I stop being out of it? Well, I get some legitimate illogical narrative ideas” — some novel, you know?

So I decided on three writers that I might be able to option their material and get some producer, or myself as producer, and then get some writer to do a screenplay on it, and maybe make a movie.

And so the three projects were “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” “Naked Lunch” and a collection of Bukowski. Which, in 1975, forget it — I mean, that was nuts. Hollywood would not touch any of that, but I was looking for something commercial, and I thought that all of these things were coming.

There would be no Blade Runner if there was no Ray Bradbury. I couldn’t find Philip K. Dick. His agent didn’t even know where he was. And so I gave up.

I was walking down the street and I ran into Bradbury — he directed a play that I was going to do as an actor, so we know each other, but he yelled “hi” — and I’d forgot who he was.

So at my girlfriend Barbara Hershey’s urging — I was with her at that moment — she said, “Talk to him! That guy really wants to talk to you,” and I said “No, fuck him,” and keep walking.

But then I did, and then I realized who it was, and I thought, “Wait, he’s in that realm, maybe he knows Philip K. Dick.” I said, “You know a guy named—” “Yeah, sure — you want his phone number?”

My friend paid my rent for a year while I wrote, because it turned out we couldn’t get a writer. My friends kept on me about, well, if you can’t get a writer, then you write.”
~ Hampton Fancher

“That was the most disappointing thing to me in how this thing was played. Is that I’m on the phone with you now, after all that’s been said, and the fundamental distinction between what James is dealing with in these other cases is not actually brought to the fore. The fundamental difference is that James Franco didn’t seek to use his position to have sex with anyone. There’s not a case of that. He wasn’t using his position or status to try to solicit a sexual favor from anyone. If he had — if that were what the accusation involved — the show would not have gone on. We would have folded up shop and we would have not completed the show. Because then it would have been the same as Harvey Weinstein, or Les Moonves, or any of these cases that are fundamental to this new paradigm. Did you not notice that? Why did you not notice that? Is that not something notable to say, journalistically? Because nobody could find the voice to say it. I’m not just being rhetorical. Why is it that you and the other critics, none of you could find the voice to say, “You know, it’s not this, it’s that”? Because — let me go on and speak further to this. If you go back to the L.A. Times piece, that’s what it lacked. That’s what they were not able to deliver. The one example in the five that involved an issue of a sexual act was between James and a woman he was dating, who he was not working with. There was no professional dynamic in any capacity.

~ David Simon