Frank's Movie Log

Warren Oates’ first credited feature. The story centers on the titular Kelly, a trapper played by Clint Walker who finds himself caught between a Sioux tribe, the US Army, and an alluring Arapahoe hostage. Continue reading...

Bergman’s first feature from his own screenplay. An ambitious movie-within-a-movie following a writer, played by Malmsten, who falls for a prostitute, played by Svedlund. Bergman proffers a dark—bordering on nihilistic—point of view throughout and flexes his formal muscles in an extended dream sequence. The result didn’t resonate—the dream sequence felt pretentious—but I appreciated the uncompromising vision. The scene where Malmsten and Svedlund laugh at a silent film’s inanity to escape their own misery proved a standout.

Miscast island melodrama has Bogart as the mustachioed, pith helmet-wearing owner of a South Seas pearl harvesting operation. Conflict arises when the natives refuse to work, and shipwrecked stranger Donald Woods falls for Bogart’s wife. Bogart’s giant octopus fight had me laughing. The ridiculous, exposition-laden finale even more so.

Anemic prequel detailing Wolverine’s origin. Reeks of studio interference down to the awkward title. The nonsensical script feels like a Frankenstein amalgam of various drafts stitched together to meet a deadline. The plot-hole leaden result sacrifices gravitas for mass-market appeal, wasting the charismatic cast and stand-out photography.

My favorite movie stars John Wayne as a Texas sheriff struggling to hold a powerful land baron’s no-good brother for murder. Continue reading...

A high-rise apartment’s residents fall prey to a malignant parasite, compelling them to orgiastic violence. Cronenberg mixes ‘50s sci-fi sensibilities with graphic body horror, resulting in a most uncomfortable watch. Continue reading...

Little Caesar lite. Robinson plays a small-time gambler (instead of a gangster) who claws his way atop the big city game, only for a woman to prove his undoing. Cagney plays his longtime friend and heavy. I liked the gambling scenes, and Robinson and Cagney’s chemistry, but the lower narrative stakes render this less resonant than the pair’s more iconic films. Boris Karloff makes a forgettable appearance as a pimp in an early dice game.

Michael Haneke’s devastating feature debut. Calm waters of menacing monotony surrender to a crushing tsunami of bleak emotion. As the third act unfolded, I struggled to watch. It’s not what Haneke shows, but what he doesn’t show. We fill the gaps with ourselves. The dread overwhelms. I went in cold, only aware that it concerned a middle-class couple. I suggest you do the same, although I’ve already said too much.