Blog – Corner Store Cinema (2025)

Much has been written about the manufacturing might of the United States during times of conflict.

This is especially true during the Second World War, which sparked an industrial boom that single-handedly lifted America out of the Great Depression.

But outside of producing tanks, planes, and battleships, the U.S. was also keen on pumping out a flood of pop culture properties that kept the public sympathetic to the war effort.

This was mostly accomplished through the U.S. Office of War Information, which reviewed over 1,600 scripts throughout 1942-1945, excising anything that cast the country in a bad light.

But even before America officially entered the conflict (in December 1941), military officials were already deeply involved in various Hollywood productions, including the escapist comedies of Bud Abbott and Lou Costello.

In fact, the duo got their first big break in the movies through the military-themed Buck Privates (1941), which became so financially successful that it spawned two follow-up “service comedies” that same year.

The second part of this spiritual trilogy, In the Navy, was shot and released four months after the original, and that quick turnaround definitely shows.

While Buck Privates was charming because of its loose plot and slapstick gags, this nautical follow-up feels pretty lazy by comparison, content with coasting off Abbott and Costello’s newfound fame on the big screen.

The filmmakers’ military overseers also had a noticeably heavier hand in production this time around, to the point that the movie’s finale gets completely torpedoed thanks to third-party meddling.

As a result, it’s hard to see In the Navy as anything other than a blatant piece of military recruitment propaganda, despite it being able to squeeze in a couple decent laughs here and there.

After being relegated to a supporting role in Buck Privates, Abbott and Costello get promoted to main-character status for In the Navy, serving as a pair of hapless sailors who are eager to prove themselves on the high seas.

The duo eventually cross paths with a famous crooner (Dick Powell), who enlists in the navy under a fake name to escape the showbiz limelight.

Abbott and Costello agree to help the singer conceal his identity, which is a lot easier said than done now that an ambitious photojournalist (Claire Dodd) is on the hunt for an exclusive.

Many of the observations I made during my original review of Buck Privates hold true in this pseudo sequel, although the formula has hit some diminishing returns.

As expected, Abbott and Costello’s comedic chemistry is beyond reproach, with rapid-fire zingers and swift physical gags being delivered with pinpoint precision.

The pair work wonders even when things don’t go according to plan. An obvious outtake involving Abbott and Costello spitting water at each other is just left in the final cut of the film and remains one of biggest laughs In the Navy has to offer.

However, several of these routines drag on for far too long and bring the movie’s pace to a screeching halt.

One memorable scene involving a chaotic shell game eats up around five minutes of screen time, ending on a punchline that fails to justify such a lengthy, plotless detour.

Another skit involving Costello’s unique math skills is similarly disconnected from the overarching narrative and is most likely included to pad the film’s runtime.

A lot of these bits are obviously holdovers from the duo’s stint on the vaudeville stage, given how they would continue to recycle this same material in future projects.

While these career callbacks had some novelty in Buck Privates, they’ve grown stale by this point, especially since these digressions are so disconnected from the ongoing plot concerning Powell’s crooner.

This is a shame, since Powell’s attempts to conceal his identity from Dodd’s photojournalist are quite charming. The pair establish a contentious yet flirty back-and-forth early on, which would have given the film another layer of appeal if it was given time to breathe.

But because of director Arthur Lubin’s focus on unrelated schtick (and another factor we’ll get into later), the film fails to synthesize its various plot threads into a cohesive whole, serving as a showcase for its headlining stars more than anything.

That being said, In the Navy does improve over Buck Privates in one area, and that is how the Andrews Sisters are used.

While the singing trio were a glorified Greek chorus last time, here they function as actual characters in the plot, with Costello looking to woo one of the sisters throughout.

Additionally, the sisters offer a wider variety of musical performances this time around, ranging from a military march to a jazzy club number to a luau-themed ditty.

Unfortunately, whatever goodwill In the Navy built up during its runtime is completely washed away in its third act.

Until this point, the movie’s propagandistic aims were visible but nothing I haven’t seen in other films produced during this era.

Just like with Buck Privates or Caught in the Draft (starring Bob Hope), the military is clearly involved in the movie’s production, providing access to vehicles, equipment, and other window dressing to present an appealing vision of service life.

However, the military’s involvement is taken one step further for In the Navy, since they basically vetoed the film’s climax.

U.S. naval officers reportedly took issue with the film’s ending sequence, where Costello [SPOILERS] unwittingly commandeers a battleship and wreaks havoc in a Hawaiian harbour.

Not being able to edit this scene out of the movie, the studio opted to assuage the navy’s concerns via costly reshoots, which turned the real-life vehicular mayhem into a dream Costello experiences after ingesting a sedative.

As if the “it was all a dream” ending wasn’t bad enough, the filmmakers also kneecap the ongoing romance storyline by kowtowing to this pressure from the military.

Since Powell and Dodd can’t be included in this dream sequence climax, their development as a couple is squeezed into the dying minutes of the film, having apparently resolved all their personal hangups off screen.

Some may bristle at me putting so much thought into the plot mechanics of a silly slapstick comedy, but sacrificing your big finale due to outside interests really is beyond the pale.

When this kind of meddling is so obvious, even to the naked eye, it really mutes the film’s other admirable qualities, regardless of how appealing Abbott and Costello’s brand of humour remains in the modern day.

And by the time the credits roll, all you’re left with is the feeling that you’re being fed a meal that is severely undercooked, despite there being way too many cooks in the kitchen.

But don’t let these cliched food metaphors mislead you into thinking that I’m above enjoying some World War II movies phantom-produced by Uncle Sam.

In the past, I’ve given a tepid recommendation to glorified recruitment ads starring American golden boy John Wayne (Back to Bataan, Operation Pacific), because the people behind those projects at least 1) knew how to somewhat disguise their propagandistic aims and 2) deliver on what was being advertised.

With In the Navy, the filmmakers largely failed on both of those fronts, with the movie’s only real saving grace being its eclectic soundtrack.

However, the American public obviously didn’t see it that way in 1941, since this film netted Universal Pictures a tidy profit and continued to push Abbott and Costello as a major box office draw.

The pair then used their newfound fame to help the military more directly once the U.S. officially entered the war, conducting a 78-city tour in 1942 that sold $85 million in war bonds.

Perhaps this cross-country campaign was a better venue for the two parties to collaborate, especially if their other service comedies turned out to be as slap-dash and half-baked as In the Navy.

Verdict:

4/10

Corner store companion:

Andes thin chocolate mints (because it’s Christmas, dammit, and I need something sweet!)

Fun facts:

-Release date: May 31, 1941

-Budget: $379,207 (estimated)

-Box office: $2 million (estimated)

-The final entry in Abbott and Costello’s 1941 service comedy trilogy, Keep ‘Em Flying, was released on Nov. 28. This film features the comedy duo enlisting in the U.S. Army Air Corps.

-Outside this 1941 service comedy trilogy (Buck Privates, In the Navy, Keep ‘Em Flying), Arthur Lupin directed Abbott and Costello in Hold that Ghost (1941) and Ride ‘Em Cowboy (1942). Lupin is also responsible for helming five films in the Francis franchise, which features a talking mule enlisting in various branches of the military.

-Musical highlight: “Gimme Some Skin, My Friend,” by the Andrews Sister

(despite the blatant cultural appropriation on display, originally being recorded by The Delta Rhythm Boys, this is the movie’s catchiest number by far)

When people talk about the widening gap between film critics and average movie-goers, I feel like Adam Sandler was a harbinger of things to come.

For nearly three decades now, Sandler has been a consistent punching bag for critics, who find the majority of his comedies low-brow, lazy, and juvenile.

At the same time, Sandler’s brand of humour has endeared him to the broader movie-going masses, who ensure that most of the films released under his production company (Happy Madison Productions) turn a profit.

This success even carried through into the streaming era, with Sandler signing a lucrative multi-picture deal with Netflix in 2014 that was extended in 2017 and 2020.

Despite this long-standing divide between critics and fans, the two groups at least found some common ground in terms of their dislike for Bulletproof (1996), an R-rated action comedy that Sandler starred in (alongside Damon Wayans) just as his career was really taking off.

While the film’s reviews are predictably dismal, it also bombed at the box office, only generating $22.6 million (worldwide) out of a $25 million budget.

Even the film’s director Ernest Dickerson wasn’t happy with the final product, telling DVD Talk in the mid-2000s he wishes he could “just erase that whole experience” from his memory.

Having now seen Bulletproof for myself, it’s easy to see why few remember it fondly.

Not only is this film a complete misfire both in terms of action and comedy, but it also features some truly shoddy filmmaking that’s shocking to see in a major Hollywood release.

Because of this, I imagine that Sandler fans in 2024 will struggle to find something to like in Bulletproof, since even they have standards.

In Bulletproof, Sandler stars as a hood named Archie, who steals cars and smuggles drugs on behalf of crime kingpin Frank Colton (James Caan).

Unbeknownst to Archie, his best friend and business associate Jack is an LAPD cop working undercover to bring down Colton’s operations from within.

Jack finally reveals his identity to Archie during a police raid on one of Colton’s warehouses, resulting in Archie accidently shooting his best friend in the head before escaping.

After somehow recovering from this grievous injury, Jack is tasked with bringing Archie into custody so that he can testify against his boss.

The rest of the movie basically turns into an elaborate trust building exercise, where Archie and Jack must squash their personal beef and work together to stay one step ahead of Colton’s hitmen.

Based on this premise, the film has a lot of potential and instantly calls to mind underrated action-comedy classics like Midnight Run (1988) and Bird on a Wire (1990).

Unfortunately, Bulletproof lacks all the key ingredients that made those movies work, including a sharp script, well-choreographed chase scenes, and palpable chemistry between the two leads.

The most glaring omission from this recipe here is the rapport (or lack thereof) between Sandler and Wayans.

A lot of the film’s glaring weaknesses could be forgiven if the pair were at least believable as former best friends who gradually rebuilt their relationship throughout the narrative.

But the back-and-forth between Sandler and Wayans is consistently stiff and lifeless, almost like the duo rehearsed to shoot a Super Bowl commercial rather than a feature film.

It also doesn’t help that their individual performances are pretty weak.

Wayans ends up looking the worst out of the two, since he’s tasked with tackling a dual role as an undercover cop.

As Sandler’s criminal associate, Wayans adopts this ludicrous “street” accent that’s supposed to make him sound tough, but he just comes across as one of his sketch characters from In Living Color.

Once he sheds that identity, Wayans is similarly unconvincing as a strait-laced police officer, who lacks the commanding presence necessary to sell the film’s dramatic beats.

Sandler doesn’t fare much better, since his performance in Bulletproof is indistinguishable from the wise-cracking characters he played in films like Happy Gilmore (1996) or Big Daddy (1999).

Perhaps that approach was intentional, to satisfy the fanbase Sandler had cultivated through his pure comedies and stand-up career, but it doesn’t it doesn’t jive with the movie’s harder edge.

Admittedly, there is some appeal in watching Sandler tackle some R-rated material, like yelling “gross, right in the fucking eyeball” after he shoots a bad guy in the head.

But that novelty quickly runs out its welcome, and all you’re left with is an unfunny script that never transcends lazy middle-school jokes related to bodily functions and implied gay sex.

The film’s action sequences suffer from the opposite problem.

Dickerson and his team show no shortage of ambition, since they stage several set pieces that feature plenty of carnage and vehicular mayhem.

Unfortunately, the filmmakers obviously bit off more than they could chew, since these scenes are poorly shot and clumsily slapped together in the editing room.

This incompetence is on full display during an airplane crash sequence early on, where Dickerson doesn’t even attempt to hide Sandler and Wayans’ stunt doubles as they leap to safety.

The only time the film really nailed that 90s action feel was during a quick shootout in the third act, when Sandler and Wayans encounter some goons in a suburban kitchen.

For whatever reason, the filmmakers decided to significantly up their game for this 60-second scene, tying it together with smooth camera movements, juicy blood squibs, and Sandler’s only funny quip in the movie (“I think they’re eating fajitas!”).

It’s almost like the studio hired Robert Rodriguez for an afternoon of uncredited consulting work, where he was able to impart his tricks of the trade to a crew that was clearly in over their heads.

But momentary flashes of competence can’t make up for the film’s other technical shortcomings, including its atrocious sound.

If you clicked on the above clip, you’re sure to get an earful of the ambient techno diarrhea that’s meant to serve as the film’s score.

Not only does the music sound like a toddler hitting a Casio keyboard at random, but the mixing is also all over the map.

During the movie’s climax, the music is so low it’s nearly inaudible, almost like the filmmakers left it in the final cut by accident.

And then there’s the movie’s spotty ADR, where the characters’ dialogue is piped in seemingly at random.

At one point, the filmmakers even neglected to dub in one of Wayans’ lines, resulting in an awkward moment where he mimes his dialogue with no sound.

Some may tilt their head at my attempt to critique themise-en-scène of a goofy Adam Sandler comedy, which isn’t meant to be taken seriously.

While that may be true, I feel some baseline professionalism must be maintained in even the zaniest of film projects, and Bulletproof fails to clear that low bar.

This is especially true given that Bulletproof is standing in the shadow of much better buddy action movies starring stand-up comedians, with Eddie Murphy having found great success with this formula over a decade ago with 48 Hrs. (1982) and Beverly Hills Cop (1984).

However, the film’s worst sin is how painfully unfunny its script is, with virtually all attempts to pull a chuckle out of me landing with a dull thud.

One of the few exceptions to this dismal trend takes place during a climactic fist fight between Wayans and Caan, when the latter nonchalantly removes his toupee before throwing hands.

Does this gag sully the dignity of a legendary actor like Caan? Definitely. But that’s kind of why it works, and I wish the film took more chances like this rather than fall back on jokes that were already worn out by the mid-90s.

Admittedly, this same criticism could be levied at a lot of Sandler’s other comedies, even though most of those projects were financially successful and well-liked by fans.

So why is Bulletproof largely forgotten these days?

My guess is that the R rating turned a lot of people away, with most of Sandler’s other projects falling into that PG-13 sweet spot.

Another factor is that this movie was presented as more of a vehicle for Wayans, who was given top billing as his career was much better established at that point.

But whatever the reason, Sandler wouldn’t let this little bump in the road stall his career.

Over the subsequent 28 years, he went on to churn out dozens of films that have cumulatively grossed over $3 billion worldwide, making him one of the most successful comedians in Hollywood.

He even used this industry clout to (occasionally) flex his dramatic chops, seeking out projects with heavyweight directors like Noah Baumbach, Paul Thomas Anderson, and the Safdie Brothers.

Because of these career detours, some of which resulted in industry awards, I get the sense that critics have softened on Sandler these days, or are at least willing to ignore his comedies now that they’re all relegated to Netflix.

While critical re-evaluation is always welcome (and necessary) in today’s increasingly hostile film discourse, this exercise can only go so far.

No amount of historical hindsight could convince me that Bulletproof is worth recommending to anyone other than diehard fans who are compelled to consume every one of Sandler’s films in a marathon rewatch.

Even in this case, these folks may want to skip Bulletproof anyway, since its sheer awfulness may sour the rest of Sandler’s early filmography by association.

Verdict:

2/10

Corner store companion:

Maltesers (because they look good on the outside, but there’s nothing going on under the surface)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Sept. 6, 1996

-Budget: $25 million

-Box office: $22.6 million (worldwide)

-Sandler nabbed a “Worst Actor” Razzie nom for his performance in this film and Happy Gilmore. He ultimately lost this award to the dream team of Tom Arnold and Pauly Shore, who starred in a number of comedies throughout 1996. Bulletproof was also represented at the 19th Stinkers Bad Movie Awards, with Caan being nominated for “Worst Supporting Actor.”

– Ernest Dickerson went to film school alongside Spike Lee and served as a cinematographer on several of his early projects. These collaborations include She’s Gotta Have It (1986), School Daze (1988), Do The Right Thing (1989), and Jungle Fever (1991). After trying his hand at directing feature films, Dickerson has been mostly focused on directing television for the last two decades. His TV credits include work on Treme, Bosch, Dexter, and The Walking Dead.

-“Bulletproof” serves as the title for a number of other films, including a 1988 action movie starring Gary Busey and a 2020 documentary on gun violence in American schools. “Bulletproof” is also the name of a British police procedural that ran between 2018 and 2021.

-A direct-to-video sequel to Bulletproof was released in January 2020, 24 years after the original film was released. It featured none of the original cast, with actors Faizon Love and Kirk Fox filling in for Wayans and Sandler, respectively.

When it comes to escapist cinema, crime thrillers and film noir always hit that sweet spot for me.

While sci-fi and fantasy movies are often marketed as the ultimate break from earthly concerns, the settings and characters are sometimes a little too outlandish to be relatable.

Film noir, however, always keeps one foot rooted in the real world by focusing on the kinds of gritty crime stories that have been grabbing news headlines since Prohibition.

But at the same time, these movies also present a heightened reality full of broad archetypes, hard-nosed dialogue, and stylized visuals.

Another recurring trope is the protagonist (whether that be a private eye, journeyman boxer, or everyday schmuck) getting wrapped up in a vast criminal conspiracy beyond their comprehension, which serves as an ideal audience surrogate.

All these elements are at play in Chester Erskine’s Take One False Step (1949), one of three movies bundled into Kino Lorber’s Film Noir: The Dark Side of Cinema IX collection.

For the first half-hour or so, this project showcases some of the best that the “classic” era of film noir has to offer, with an intriguing mystery and appealing cast that draws you into the story.

Unfortunately, Erskine’s film kind of falls apart after taking a major plot digression in its second act, resulting in an experience that feels like the cinematic equivalent of a giant red herring.

In Take One False Step, William Powell stars as Andrew Gentling, a respected professor who is visiting the State of California to secure funding for a new university.

However, Gentling’s plans get waylaid by the sudden appearance of an old flame (Shelley Winters), who strong arms him into a night of flirtatious drinking before vanishing the following day.

Fearing he could become the prime suspect in this missing persons case, Gentling must scramble to find out what happened to his former lover and dodge a cadre of shady characters in the process.

Despite its title, and a goofy opening montage showcasing a bunch of random people tripping over themselves, Take One False Step actually kicks off on the right foot.

Powell does such a good job at playing the strait-laced academic that his descent into the criminal underworld, where he is forced to constantly lie and break the law to evade police, feels like a big deal.

This tonal shift is hammered home thanks to a nice selection of colourful characters, who give the film’s first act a lot of weight and texture.

Winters’ femme fatale is an obvious example of this, since her glamorous wardrobe and hot-blooded persona serve as the perfect foil for Powell’s dry everyman.

The two also make for an interesting pair considering their contrasting views towards post-WWII America.

While Winters is content with wallowing in the excitement and uncertainty of wartime, Powell remains committed to leaving his military service in the past and build towards a better future (hence the new university).

However, as the story moves forward, Powell is increasingly put in a position where he must abandon these high-minded ideals for his own self-preservation, which adds a nice psychological wrinkle on top of everything.

His descent into moral ambiguity is made even more compelling thanks to some strong supporting players besides Winters.

This includes Marsha Hunt as Winters’ level-headed best friend and James Gleason as the police detective on Powell’s heels, with the latter projecting an unassuming intelligence reminiscent of Peter Falk’s Columbo.

All this is all tied together with some snappy dialogue and slick visuals that one would expect from the genre, combined with an energetic score that helps move the action along at a nice pace.

Unfortunately, all this good set-up is thrown out the window 33 minutes into the movie when Powell gets bitten by a supposedly rabid dog.

Once that happens, the broader mystery regarding Winters’ disappearance is quickly abandoned in favour of this rabies sub plot, where Powell must avoid the authorities while fighting off any emerging symptoms of the disease.

This leads to a handful of scenes where the movie basically stops so that medical professionals can explain what rabies is and how it affects the human body.

It got to the point that I started to wonder if the film’s budget was subsidized by some advocacy group, with its funding being dependent on the script containing some amount of educational content concerning rabies.

This is extra puzzling given the fact that rabies was hardly considered a scourge in North America at that point, with around 40 cases reported each year in the early 1940s and decreasing to a total of 99 for the entire next decade.

While Erskine eventually circles back to the main mystery plot, the film has lost much of its momentum by that point and must settle for a bunch of rushed resolutions.

We don’t even find out about the true nature of the bad guy’s criminal dealings until the last five minutes of the movie, which comes across as a complete afterthought.

This weak revelation is also preceded by one of the stupidest cinematic deaths I’ve seen in a while, which takes place [SPOILERS] when Powell confronts the bad guy in a rail yard.

After a brief tussle with Powell, the villain is spooked by incoming police and quickly finds himself caught between two trains travelling in the opposite direction.

Even though there is clearly enough space and time to avoid these oncoming locomotives, the bad guy stutter-steps like an idiot and gets crushed.

Despite not being shot in a comedic style, I was instantly reminded of the steamroller scene from the first Austin Powers movie, where a henchman’s severe lack of self-preservation is played up for yuks.

The similarly ridiculous death in Take One False Step is extra confusing since the film is sprinkled with humorous moments throughout, which don’t always land or gel with the more serious story beats.

This points to a broader problem with the film, since it lacks a cohesive vision that can marry the good performances and moody visuals with a complimentary script.

As a result, watching Take One False Step is a profoundly frustrating experience, since you can tell its merits are being weighed down by a few head-scratching decisions.

Turning this mystery story into a rabies PSA is obviously the filmmakers’ biggest blunder, and it might be one of the strangest narrative detours I’ve witnessed covering movies for this blog.

Admittedly, it is kind of funny that a film called Take One False Step so noticeably trips over itself in its second half, a fate that might have been willed into existence by running with such an unwieldy title in the first place.

Hopefully the remaining two films in this Kino Lorber collection can provide more of that crime thriller escapism I mentioned earlier, while containing at least 50% less canine fear mongering.

Verdict:

5/10

Corner store companion:

Nature’s Recipe Chewy Bites (because dog owners will pick up a lot of useful information watching this film)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Aug. 14, 1949

-Budget: $855,000

-Kino Lorber’s DVD case for Take One False Step claims that actor Tony Curtis makes an uncredited appearance in the film, with AFI listing his role as “hot rod driver.” However, Curtis is not included amongst other uncredited actors on the movie’s IMDB page and I personally didn’t spot him during my multiple viewings of the film.

-William Powell received three Best Actor Oscar nominations throughout his career for his work in The Thin Man (1934), My Man Godfrey (1936), and Life With Father (1947). Powell retired from acting following his supporting role in the Best Picture-nominated Mister Roberts (1955) due to health issues.

-I might have subconsciously selected Take One False Step (1949) for a screening based on its titular similarity to Carl Franklin’s One False Move (1992), another crime thriller that I covered back in 2018.

-Despite her extensive filmography throughout the 1930s and 40s, Marsha Hunt was largely blacklisted from Hollywood in the 1950s for speaking out against the House Committee on Un-American Activities and being branded as a Communist sympathizer. Hunt was mostly relegated to working on TV throughout this time, although she would return to film in the decades to come and received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1960. She passed away in 2022 at the age of 104.

–Take One False Step can currently be watched in its entirety on YouTube.

Film critic Roger Ebert famously described cinema as a “machine that generates empathy” and to me that machinery is running at peak efficiency when it comes to sports dramas and romantic comedies.

As someone who doesn’t follow professional sports in real life, I’m constantly wowed by films like Moneyball (2011), Rocky (1976) and Remember the Titans (2000) that sucked me into the world of professional baseball, boxing, and high school football, respectively.

The same kind of amazement is at play when I watch a good rom com, since I generally don’t dwell on the interpersonal lives of those outside of my friends and family.

Richard Loncraine’s Wimbledon (2004) was largely able to bridge that divide on both fronts.

Not only did Loncraine and his team create a couple I actively rooted for, but they also managed to hook me in with the competitive aspect of a sport that I couldn’t care less about (tennis).

Plus, the writing team should be commended for the way they turned this genre mash-up into a core part of the plot, since the protagonist is caught between his athletic legacy and his desire to pursue a new relationship.

While there are some annoying remnants of 2000s filmmaking at play, Wimbledon is still an immensely charming affair that should unify fans of sports movies and romantic comedies, as long as both parties come in with an open mind.

The plot of Wimbledon follows Peter Colt (Paul Bettany), a journeyman tennis pro who is at the end of his career and decides to enter the renowned UK tournament for the final time.

Despite going into the competition with limited expectations, Peter quickly finds that his fortune has changed once he meets and begins a relationship with up-and-coming American tennis star Lizzie Bradbury (Kirsten Dunst).

Not only is he playing better on the court, but Peter’s growing feelings for Lizzie allow him to envision a happy life beyond tennis for the very first time.

Unfortunately, the high-pressure environment of Wimbledon, and the media circus surrounding it, threatens to tear these two apart as the tournament reaches its conclusion.

Of course, the first inevitable hurdle that most romantic comedies must clear has to do with the leads and whether or not they are a believable on-screen couple.

Luckily, Bettany and Dunst sell you on this idea as soon as they first lock eyes in Wimbledon.

Their mutual attraction and chemistry is palpable, so much so that you don’t question the pair hooking up less than 20 minutes into the movie (a development that other filmmakers would have saved for the, er, climax of the story).

Bettany’s performance is particularly impressive given that Wimbledon marked his first major role in a romantic comedy.

During a 2018 interview with GQ, Bettany revealed this part proved extremely difficult, as he wasn’t prepared to take on a character who is required to be “relentlessly charming” in every scene.

But whatever difficulties Bettany was experiencing behind the scenes didn’t follow him in front of the camera, as his underdog tennis pro remains a consistently engaging presence who is easy to get behind.

Dunst is even better equipped to handle this material, having recently cut her teeth on a range of comedies and romantic dramas like Drop Dead Gorgeous (1999), Bring It On (2000), and Crazy/Beautiful (2001).

Because of this, she effortlessly slips into the role of a firecracker love interest, while also maintaining a strong sense of agency that makes her an interesting character in her own right.

Much of the pair’s likability should also be credited to Wimbledon’s trio of screenwriters (Adam Brooks, Jennifer Flackett, and Mark Levin), who managed to craft a whole cast of characters that remain grounded despite engaging in some heightened romantic comedy hijinks.

Peter Colt (Bettany) is a prime example of this, since a lesser film would have taken the easy route and presented audiences with a complete screw-up to garner more sympathy right off the bat.

Instead of being saddled with a drinking problem or some inherent klutziness, Peter’s inner conflict is rooted in his fear of becoming irrelevant in a sporting world that is leaving him behind.

And despite his oblivious foibles, Bettany remains a cool operator when it comes time to chat with reporters or literally fight for his lady’s honour at a party, presenting a character who is aspirational without being unrealistic.

I know this sounds like basic screenwriting, but a surprising number of romantic comedies screw up this formula, where the characters are presented as one note or cartoonishly flawed in order to generate cheap laughs.

One such famously underwritten rom com archetype is the love interest’s disapproving father, whose dislike of the protagonist often borders on psychotic.

However, Sam Neill injects some much needed subtly into this kind of character in Wimbledon.

While he definitely serves as an obstacle that Bettany must overcome to court Dunst, Neill remains soft-spoken and completely reasonable from the get-go, explaining that his daughter’s full attention should be on the tournament if she wants to succeed as a tennis star.

This concern mirrors Bettany’s lingering anxiety about his own legacy in the sport, creating a shred of understanding between the two opposing characters that was a nice touch.

That being said, the film’s main antagonist is the one character in the cast who remains completely underwritten.

As Bettany’s American tennis rival, Jake Hammond isn’t given any opportunity to play anything other than an arrogant, sneering villain, who slut shames women off the court and (accidently) assaults small children while on it.

These antics do succeed in getting you to hate Hammond, but it doesn’t take away from the reality that his one-dimensional character sticks out like a sore thumb.

A similar lack of subtlety is on display during the early one-on-one tennis scenes, which feature some garish computer-generated trickery.

Instead of focusing on the athleticism of his actors, Loncraine uses these digital camera movements to follow the ball from one side of the court to the other, harking back to that dark period of the mid 2000s when most directors hadn’t quite mastered CGI as a story-telling tool just yet.

Thankfully, Loncraine reels back his usage of this virtual reality hell as the film goes on, letting Bettany and Hammond take centre stage for the grand finale.

And by that point, the writers had already laid the groundwork necessary to get me invested in this big showdown, tying Bettany’s success in the tournament to many of the supporting characters in the cast.

Not only does his relationship with Dunst ebb and flow in tandem with each successive match, but so do the financial endeavors of his brother (James McAvoy), his agent (Jon Favreau), and the emotional reconciliation of his parents (Bernard Hill, Augusta Colt).

And by having all these characters show up to cheer him on in the finals, alongside the rest of England watching on TV, Loncraine creates an organic underdog story that doesn’t seem phony or forced.

Because of this, I can look past a lot of the film’s shortcomings, like its bland villain, sporadic use of bad CGI, and dated soundtrack that features the kind of radio-friendly soft pop that’s best left in the 2000s.

All that noise fades into the background for what ends up being a solid sports-romantic comedy hybrid that focuses on the human element first and athletic spectacle second.

If you feel like the filmmakers’ priorities are backwards when it comes to this material, then Wimbledon might not be for you.

But for someone like myself who gravitates towards the theatrical elements of professional sports, but not the games themselves, this movie hits the right notes and is an easy recommendation.

Unfortunately, Wimbledon wasn’t compelling enough to convince me to watch the actual tournament this coming July.

That being said, I might change my mind if this year’s event features another relentlessly drunk Woody Harrelson cheering from the sidelines.

That’ll be must-see TV.

Verdict:

7/10

Corner store companion:

Kiwi Strawberry Vitamin Water (because it’s a refreshing treat, as long as you’re prepared to deal with the sugar rush)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Sept. 17, 2004

-Budget: $31 million

-Box office: $17,001,133 (US and Canada), $41,682,237 (international)

-Scenes from this film were shot during the actual 2003 Wimbledon tournament, with real-life spectators and officials featured in the background. This is the only time this kind of filming has been allowed in the tournament’s history.

–Wimbledon features several actors who have played famous Marvel Comics characters on the big screen. This includes Dunst (Mary Jane, Spider-Man), McAvoy (Professor X, X-Men), Favreau (Happy Hogan, Iron Man), and Bettany (Jarvis/Vision, various). In fact, Bettany claims that Favreau cast him as Jarvis in the first Iron Man film because of their time shooting Wimbledon together.

-Bettany spent eight months training to prepare for his role as a tennis pro, having never picked up a tennis racket beforehand. He credits Wimbledon champion Pat Cash with teaching him how to play.

-The career trajectory of Bettany’s Peter Colt parallels real-life Croatian tennis pro Goran Ivanišević, who remains the only wild card singles player to win a Wimbledon title (having done so in 2001 while being ranked 125th in the world).

-Surprise cameo(s): Renowned tennis pros John McEnroe and Chris Evert (playing themselves) provide play-by-play and colour commentary throughout the film.

If you’re looking to pick a fight on social media these days, a good place to start (outside of the ongoing Israel-Hamas conflict) is talking about generative artificial intelligence.

This is especially true in sections of the internet where people like to discuss the arts, since this new technology is viewed (depending on who you ask) as something that will either revolutionize the entertainment industry or bring about its downfall.

Personally, most of the AI-generated images and videos I’ve seen aren’t a convincing substitute for the projects made by flesh-and-blood creators, since they almost always possess some bizarre alien quality that makes my skin crawl.

However, the recent advances in AI shouldn’t distract you from the fact that humans have always had the potential to produce works of art that are completely uncanny, off-putting, and devoid of logic.

Enter Fabrizio De Angelis’ Man Hunt (1984), a neo western so lazy and nonsensical in its construction that you think the script was written during a drunken round of Mad Libs.

Admittedly, this does result in somewhat of an engaging viewing experience, since you’re constantly left wondering when the next wacky story development or plot hole will pop up.

But taken as a whole, Man Hunt’s pervasive weirdness can’t sustain a feature-length runtime and it just leaves you with the creeping feeling that your home has sprung a gas leak.

Some may look at this film’s synopsis on IMDB or Wikipedia and conclude that I’m being a little hyperbolic, since the set-up is typical western shenanigans.

The plot of Man Hunt revolves around a nameless stranger (Ethan Wayne), who buys a pair of horses at a rodeo and accidently wanders onto some land belonging to a corrupt rancher (Ernest Borgnine).

After the rancher steals the horses for himself, the stranger gets thrown in prison after attempting to retake his property.

The rest of the film details the stranger’s attempts to escape from captivity and clear his name, all the while trying to stay one step ahead of the law.

You’ve probably seen a variation of this plot in a dozen other movies, but it’s the way that De Angelis and his crew tell this story that’s truly baffling.

For one thing, the stranger’s first escape from prison is never shown or discussed on screen, even though it’s supposed to represent a major turning point in the story.

Before you can get your head around such a weird creative decision, the stranger is immediately caught and gets thrown back behind bars, leading to his second escape minutes later.

After hijacking a bus and blasting his way through an army of cops, the stranger is then given safe passage thanks to Borgnine’s corrupt rancher, whose change of heart comes out of nowhere and is never given any explanation.

This kind of plot progression would make sense if Man Hunt was a comedy or Zucker Brothers-esque parody of old prison break movies.

But the tone of the film is deadly serious throughout its 91-minute runtime, which exposes the grim reality that De Angelis and his team have no idea what they’re doing.

That lack of direction is laid bare in the first four minutes of the film, which consists almost entirely of boring b-roll footage of the rodeo where the stranger buys his horses.

This opening remains a pretty blatant example of “Shooting the Rodeo,” a term coined by RedLetterMedia that describes the tendency for directors of low-budget movies to pad their runtime by filming real public events.

Man Hunt is an especially egregious example of this trope, since De Angelis lingers on this intro for way too long and includes elements like unnecessary slow motion to add insult to injury.

These strange filmmaking techniques persist throughout the entire narrative, so much so that I was almost convinced that De Angelis was trying to create the kind of surreal, dream-like atmosphere one would find in a David Lynch movie.

But unlike Lynch’s works, Man Hunt is a pretty boring and lifeless affair for long stretches of its runtime, which is made even worse by a lead performance that is dull as dishwater.

For those of you who are unaware, Ethan Wayne is the son of Hollywood icon John Wayne, who found work as an actor throughout the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s.

A brief scan of Wayne Jr.’s acting credits reveal that he never really made it as a major leading man like his dad, and in Man Hunt it’s easy to see why.

Pretty much every line that comes out of his mouth is stiff and robotic, almost like he’s a non-English speaker who learned the language for this role.

Wayne’s monotone performance extends to his blank facial expressions, which I’m assuming he employed to come across as a stoic western hero archetype just like his father.

But Wayne just doesn’t have the presence or charisma to pull this off and ends up looking like a pretender, especially when he’s asked to do anything physical.

This includes a couple of embarrassing running scenes, where Wayne gets to show that he has all the dignified grace and coordination of a young Steven Seagal.

To be fair, even a lauded thespian like Orson Wells would have trouble grasping this material, since it never finds its footing in a consistent style or tone.

Instead, the filmmakers decide to put a bunch of other movies in a blender, with the beginning of Man Hunt serving as a clumsy fusion of First Blood (1982) and Cool Hand Luke (1967).

The last third of the film ultimately becomes a downscaled version of Clint Eastwood’s The Gauntlet (1977), where the stranger has to evade an army of trigger-happy cops.

And to the film’s credit, these chase sequences do at least feature a lot of impressive pyrotechnics and automotive stunt work.

One scene near the end of the film stands out as a particular highlight, where a police cruiser flips over and showers the concrete street with broken glass.

Seconds later, two cruisers collide into each and explode, treating us to the amusing sight of flaming wheels skipping down the road.

All this technical expertise comes to a head in the film’s climax, where [SPOILERS] Wayne gets cornered in a mobile home and the cops open fire on him for what feels like five minutes.

This one-sided shooting is so excessive that it becomes a complete farce and instantly reminded me of a famous gag from The Naked Gun 2^1/2(1991).

Unfortunately, the filmmakers had to ruin this fun time by delivering one of the dumbest endings that’s ever been committed to celluloid.

Once Wayne emerges from this bullet-riddled trailer, completely unscathed of course, the cops go to arrest him, but he has a secret weapon up his sleeve.

Instead of carrying a gun or smoke bomb, the stranger produces a bill of sale which proves that he legally bought the horses at the beginning of the story.

This magical receipt completely freezes the corrupt cops in their place and forces them to let the stranger go, even though they were trying to unlawfully cut him into Swiss cheese seconds earlier.

Of course, this piece of paper shouldn’t absolve Wayne of all the property damage and lives he put in mortal danger during his multiple escape attempts.

But I guess we’re well past the point of pretending like Man Hunt takes place in a world that adheres to logic or reason, unless there’s some real legal precedent that gives you immunity from all manner of prosecution if you simply yell “It’s okay, officer! I have a receipt!!”

I know I’ve spent a lot of time on this one plot point, but I think it’s a microcosm of how disorienting this film is as a whole.

Almost every aspect of this project feels artificial or randomly generated, from its script to the acting to the musical score.

Part of me feels like this comes down to De Angelis’ inexperience as a director, since Man Hunt is only his third feature film after nearly a decade of producing Italian genre schlock.

Perhaps that jump into the director’s chair was too much to handle, so he resorted to throwing a bunch disparate American film tropes at the wall to see what would stick.

De Angelis’ scattershot approach to directing Man Hunt is probably what triggered the AI comparison I brought up earlier, since that technology (in its current form) is only able to generate new works of art using pieces of pre-existing material.

Some may argue that this is no different than the creative process most humans undertake, and maybe there is some merit to that line of thinking.

But with a man-made trainwreck like Man Hunt, I can at least trace the creative influences of the people who worked on it and see that the director went on to embrace his exploitation roots by making films like Killer Crocodile (1989), Karate Rock (1990), and Breakfast With Dracula (1993).

This form of film analysis is infinitely more interesting than looking at the prompts and lines of code that went into creating an AI-generated blockbuster, which sounds about as fun as filing my taxes.

I would much rather look into the history of a deeply imperfect filmmaker than stare into the gaping maw of a machine-driven algorithm, even if the former ends up producing a completely incomprehensible piece of shit like Man Hunt.

Verdict:

3/10

Corner store companion:

Buffalo Ranch Pringles (because this film is seriously lacking in real western flavour)

Fun facts:

-Release date:

Nov. 30, 1984 (West Germany)

Dec. 6, 1984 (Italy)

-Outside of the film’s original Italian title of Cane Arrabbiato (which roughly translates to “Mad Dog”), Man Hunt was also known as Uppercut Man in France.

-For most of his directing career, Fabrizio De Angelis was credited under the more American-sounding name of “Larry Ludman,” including for his work on Man Hunt. De Angelis also directed under the alias of “Ted Russell” for Breakfast With Dracula (1993).

-As an actor, Ethan Wayne is probably best known for portraying Storm Logan on The Bold and the Beautiful. Wayne played this character throughout 217 episodes of the long-running soap opera, eventually retiring from acting after he left the show for good in 2003.

–Man Hunt can currently be watched in its entirety on YouTube (with Asian subtitles).

The American public was riding a collective high in the spring of 1945, with the Third Reich having officially surrendered to the Allies in early May of that year.

With the fighting in Europe now wrapping up, the United States military turned its full attention to the Pacific theatre of World War II, with the hope of bringing this destructive conflict to a swift end.

Several weeks after Germany’s surrender, American cinemas were able to capitalize off this massive change in fortune through the release of Edward Dmytryk’s Back to Bataan, a film that chronicles the US’ attempt to liberate the Philippines from Japanese control.

Now, I’ve sampled a decent number of WWII-era propaganda for this blog, including another war film starring John Wayne called Operation Pacific (1951).

While that movie was a lot more easy-going in its tone, Back to Bataan features a much more palpable sense of urgency, probably due to the fact that it was shot and released while the Philippines campaign was still underway.

In fact, Dmytryk’s film could be seen as a form of cinematic retribution on behalf of the US military, who had been handed a monumental defeat when Japan successfully invaded and conquered the Philippineislands several years earlier.

Even though the war would eventually come to an end in summer of 1945, Back to Bataan was probably viewed as a way to keep American morale high in the interim, with a fictionalized recount of the hardship US soldiers and local resistance fighters endured to take back the commonwealth territory.

Admittedly, this “ripped-from-the-headlines” kind of story doesn’t hold nearly the same weight as it did 78 years ago, especially with world-shaking conflicts in Europe and the Middle East holding everyone’s attention in the final months of 2023.

So while Back to Bataan is pretty dated, it at least serves as a time capsule of a lesser known chapter of WWII, with some well-produced action sequences that hammer home the desperation and brutality that characterized the Pacific theatre of that war.

Instead of sailing the high seas like he did in Operation Pacific, John Wayne mostly sticks to dry land this time around as Joseph Madden, an army colonel who is tasked with mobilizing Filipino guerilla fighters to drive Japanese troops out of their homeland.

After making contact with some eager recruits, Madden and his men find themselves in a hopeless situation after US forces are decimated following the Battle of Bataan in early 1942.

Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, this small resistance group is determined to liberate the islands from this invading force, especially with the grandson of Filipino revolutionary Andrés Bonifacio (played by Anthony Quinn) on their side.

Some may bristle at my use of the word “propaganda” to describe Back to Bataan, but I think it’s pretty apt.

Not only does the film begin with a title card thanking the US armed forces for their aid in the production of this film, but it’s followed up by a parade of supposedly real-life American POWs rescued from Japanese prison camps in the Philippines.

While you could brush this off as just patriotic window dressing, Dmytryk and his screenwriters actively bake these themes and images into key points of the film, usually to its detriment.

For example, the film opens with a puzzling flash forward, where US Army Rangers raid a Japanese prisoner camp near Cabanatuan City in 1945.

This scene is only included because the real-life Raid at Cabanatuan (also known as “The Great Raid”) took place in January of that year and the filmmakers wanted to include it even if they couldn’t organically work it into their story that’s set three years earlier.

By introducing the movie with such a momentous military victory, Dmytryk and his team immediately deflate the ongoing tension in favour presenting the audience with a comforting narrative right off the bat.

American movie-goers are presented with further nationalistic navel gazing once the actual plot gets underway.

This includes a moment when some Filipino school children take turns listing all the great things the US has done during its occupation of their country (like importing soda pop, baseball, and Hollywood movies).

The school’s principal then adds his two cents by proclaiming that America taught the Filipino people that “men are free or they are nothing,” underplaying the fact that the US took control of these islands through shedding lots of blood in the Philippine–American War (1899-1902).

However, the principal’s martyr status is solidified once he is executed by the Japanese several minutes later, firmly establishing the Americans as the benevolent colonizers in this scenario.

Revisionist history aside, the scenes are pretty blunt and heavy-handed in their presentation, focusing on political talking points rather than the humanity of the people caught up in this conflict.

Thankfully, all this patriotic cheerleading is largely balanced out by the filmmakers’ sound technical expertise, particularly when it comes time to blow shit up.

Rather than pushing the complicated action off screen, or hiding it behind convenient edits, Dmytryk’s team relies on long takes that keep a lot of the explosions in-camera.

Special credit should be also given to the stunt team on this project, who were willing to stand uncomfortably close to these pyrotechnics to create a tangible sense of danger.

This praise must be extended to Wayne himself, who noticeably performed a lot of his own stunts for this project, including a scene where he was tied to a leather harness to simulate being blown away by a mortar shell.

For the time, Back to Bataan also features some particularly grizzly kills that highlight the nasty jungle fighting that the Pacific front of WWII was known for.

Midway through the film a Filipino resistance fighter takes out a Japanese soldier with a throwing knife and the director is not shy about showing the bloody blade visibly sticking out of both sides of the sentry’s neck.

And despite not being shot in the Philippines, for obvious reasons, the filmmakers do a decent job of replicating the look and feel of a south-pacific battlefield with some interior sets and scenic exterior locations in southern California.

I understand that this visceral action aesthetic is meant to reinforce the movie’s propagandistic aims, but the caveman part of my brain can’t help but admire the high level of craftsmanship on display.

And while Wayne puts in the kind of stilted, stoic performance you would expect from this kind of film, the rest of the cast is filled out by some decent supporting performances that give the dry military proceedings some life.

Outside of veteran character actors like Beulah Bondi and Paul Fix, Anthony Quinn puts in some good work as the film’s co-lead, whose Aragorn-like reluctance to accept his destiny as a leader injects the story with some much-needed humanity.

Still, your enjoyment of this project is entirely dependent on whether or not you can disassociate it from the politics of the time.

While the US’ entry into WWII was undoubtedly a just course of action, some of the government’s domestic policies during this period were decidedly not, like the internment of Japanese citizens from 1942 to 1946.

Despite not being explicitly stated in the film itself, I can’t shake the feeling that movies like Back to Bataan were made to reassure American audiences that their xenophobic paranoia towards certain groups is justified during wartime.

But with all those caveats out of the way, I still think Dmytryk and his team put together a slickly produced piece of entertainment that works as an action movie and an interesting window into the past.

And if you’re still concerned about the film’s propagandistic aims, just know that the negative impact of one war movie from 1945 pales in comparison to all the social media misinformation currently being spread about conflicts in Israel and Ukraine.

That may seem like cold comfort, but in today’s incendiary political landscape old movies like Back to Bataan seem quaint and harmless by comparison.

That’s not a ringing endorsement, by any stretch, but these days I’ll take some dumb escapism where I can find it.

Verdict:

6/10

Corner store companion:

Werther’s Original Caramel Hard Candies (because it’s something your grandpa would enjoy)

Fun facts:

-Release date: May 31, 1945

-Box office: $2,490,000

-Despite the strong nationalistic themes present in Back to Bataan, director Edward Dmytryk was actually a member of the Communist Party in 1945 and was later called to testify before the House Committee on Un-American Activities. Alongside nine other directors, screenwriters, and producers —collectively known as the “Hollywood 10” — Dmytryk refused to testify before the committee and was blacklisted from the American film business as a result. However, Dmytryk managed to worm his way back into Hollywood after telling the committee about his former communist associations in 1951. He would go on to work steadily throughout the next three decades, including high-profile gigs like The Caine Mutiny in 1954 (which earned him seven Oscar nominations including Best Picture).

-The Axis occupation of the Philippines officially ended on Aug. 15, 1945 following the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki earlier that month. Japanese forces in the Philippines were ordered to surrender by the mainland government, who officially capitulated on Sept. 2 aboard the USS Missouri in Tokyo Bay.

-The Philippines finally received its independence on July 4, 1946 through the Treaty of Manila, which relinquished US sovereignty over the land.

When it comes to the modern slate of TV showrunners, Noah Hawley can always be relied upon to deliver a pleasant surprise.

Not only did he spearhead a cult series based on an obscure X-Men character (Legion), but he also managed to successfully adapt the Coen Brothers’ beloved 1996 crime drama Fargo for the small screen (winning half a dozen Emmys in the process).

But Hawley’s ability to subvert my expectations can be traced back to the very beginning of his screenwriting career when he penned the script for Lies and Alibies, a 2006 crime thriller that was released straight to home video after a limited theatrical run.

Because of its low budget and lack of a wide release, this film has largely been forgotten by vast swaths of the movie-going public, so much so that Mill Creek Entertainment packaged it into their 2014 “Chick Flicks” DVD box set for some reason.

Despite this confusing marketing, I was shocked to discover that Hawley’s writing skills were still sharp in Lies and Alibis, which is particularly impressive given that this is his first produced screenplay.

While elements of this production are a little rough around the edges, it features the same kind of snappy dialogue and quirky criminal archetypes that Hawley would later refine to great success in shows like Fargo.

With that solid script at its core, Lies and Alibis is definitely worth watching for fans of Hawley’s current neo-noir tomfoolery, as long as you can stomach some glaring budgetary restrictions and a couple key casting missteps.

The plot of Lies and Alibis follows smooth-talking entrepreneur Ray (Steve Coogan), who runs a “risk management” firm that helps men and women cheat on their partners without getting caught.

While Ray runs a pretty tight ship, that all gets upended one day when one of his clients accidently kills his mistress in bed.

The resulting cover-up drags Ray into a seedy underworld full of crooks and Mormon gangsters, with the cops also putting him under heavy scrutiny.

To get out of this predicament unscathed, Ray must rely on his wits and a rag-tag group of allies, including his new alluring assistant played by Rebecca Romijn.

Since I’ve already heaped praise on Hawley’s script, let me at least take a moment to balance the cosmic scales of movie criticism by highlighting this film’s worst elements, which are its two leads.

While Coogan has proven himself to be a more than capable actor in the realm of comedy and drama in other projects, he doesn’t do a good job of fusing those two elements here.

Even though this role calls for a kind of fast-talking slickster with a heart of gold (think Bob Odenkirk in the early seasons of Better Call Saul), Coogan can’t quite tap into that energy and just comes off as a little bland.

Romijn suffers a similar fate playing Coogan’s confidant and love interest, which is made even worse by the fact that these two have absolutely zero romantic chemistry together.

If I were to guess the source of this on-screen dysfunction, I would lay it at the feet of directors Kurt Mattila and Matt Checkowski. Lies and Alibis marks their first feature film project after working as visual effects artists, so perhaps guiding principal actors wasn’t their strength at this point.

Thankfully, the rest of the cast is filled with a treasure trove of veteran character actors who have a much better handle on the material.

Sam Elliot makes a big impression as the head of the Mormon mafia, whose leathery drawl and weather-beaten scowl make for an imposing antagonist.

While not as threatening as Elliot, James Brolin and James Marsden also work well as a father-son team of serial philanderers, whose vast wealth is only outweighed by their blatant sleaziness.

And even though certain film noir stock characters are extremely played out by this point, actors like John Leguizamo (the savvy roughneck), Debi Mazar (the hard-nosed detective), and Selma Blair (the femme fatale) are still used to good effect with the little time they have on screen.

Admittedly, it’s a little difficult to keep track of all these characters and their motivations as the plots barrels along, especially when they start turning on each in the third act.

But all this organized chaos is at least held together with some smooth editing, which rapidly flips between several locations without overwhelming the senses.

This level of craftsmanship is on full display during the last 20 minutes, when all the characters converge on one building (a hotel) for the big finale.

Anyone expecting an explosive climax that’s full of gunfire and blood squibs will be sorely disappointed, since it’s obvious that the filmmakers didn’t have enough money for the kind of theatricality that be found in movies like Joe Carnahan’s Smokin’ Aces (2006) or Tony Scott’s True Romance (1993).

However, directors Mattila and Checkowski at least put their past experience as visual effects artists to good use, staging some impressive floor-by-floor transitions that are reminiscent of their work on Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report.

Hawley’s script also shines in this finale, where he manages to take a bunch of tangled plot threads and resolve them all within the space of a couple minutes (without it feeling too contrived).

This marriage of tight editing and smart writing remains Lies and Alibis’ biggest strength, as it provides the same kind of crime thriller catharsis one can find in an Elmore Leonard or Raymond Chandler novel.

Given that Hawley has published a couple thriller novels of his own, I’m sure he was trying to channel some of that same literary style for his feature film debut.

And with a svelte 90-minute runtime, the end product definitely succeeds in replicating the look and tone of those old dime-store detective novels that are light on substance but are never-the-less very entertaining.

Admittedly, the narrow confines of a feature film runtime also present a significant drawback for Hawley, since he isn’t given enough time to adequately flesh out the movie’s worldbuilding beyond the first act.

I could actually see the underlying premise of Lies and Alibis functioning much better as a TV series, where the inner workings of this fictional “cheating” agency are given some room to breathe throughout a 10-to-12-episode season.

Hawley obviously shared similar thoughts about the advantages of this format, which is why so much of his later career is defined by crafting long-form stories on television.

But everyone has to start somewhere and Hawley’s ambitions as a writer are still front and centre in Lies and Alibis, even if this early film project has largely faded into obscurity.

Even so, if Hawley wants to drop some sly references to Ray’s “risk management” firm in the next season of Fargo, he would at least turn me into that meme of Leo DiCaprio pointing at his TV screen.

Verdict:

7/10

Corner store companion:

Maynards Swedish Berries and Creme (because it’s well-constructed and a lot of fun to consume, even though it largely amounts to a short sugar rush)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Lies and Alibis was screened in various countries throughout 2006, including the CineVegas film festival on June 17. The film later premiered on DVD during the fall and winter that same year.

-This film was also released under the alternate title “The Alibi” and is referred to as such on both Wikipedia and IMDB.

-Noah Hawley is currently developing a new series for FX that’s set within Ridley Scott’s Alien universe. In a recent interview with Esquire, Hawley revealed that this series takes place on earth and will examine the corporate greed that fuels companies like the fictional Weyland-Yutani Corporation. This marks Hawley’s latest attempt to break into a well-established sci-fi franchise after his involvement in a new Star Trek film fizzled out.

Media consumers of the streaming era will never truly know the pleasure of randomly flipping through cable channels on a lazy Sunday afternoon, which was one of the most reliable forms of entertainment for bored youth growing up in the 1990s and early 2000s.

Sure, most of the television programs available during that weekend block were infomercials or reruns of ancient sitcoms, but every once in a while you would stumble upon a random action movie that would catch your attention.

Even if the film wasn’t very good, there was something captivating about getting thrown into the middle of a car chase or shootout without the ability to rewind, forcing you to fill in the gaps using your childish imagination.

These impromptu screenings would also serve as a nice bonding experience between you and your dad, who would reliably drop whatever he was doing at the sound of gunfire and explosions and sit down on the couch next to you.

It’s in this environment that movies like Jack Sholder’s Renegades (1989) really thrive, since you don’t need to engage with it at an emotional level and just get to enjoy the cheap spectacle before Sunday dinner is ready.

However, watching this film as an adult on DVD is an entirely different story, since its underlying hollowness is inescapable in this format and you don’t have mom’s famous shrimp pasta dish to help soften the blow.

Like so many action movies of the 1980s, Renegades can easily be slotted into the buddy-cop genre, with Kiefer Sutherland and Lou Diamond Phillips starring as an undercover police officer and Native American tourist visiting Philadelphia, respectively.

When Sutherland’s involvement in a diamond heist results in a precious artefact being stolen from Phillips’ tribe, the pair must team up to bring down the bad guys.

From there, the plot unfolds in a pretty predictable fashion, since the two start out not trusting each other but gradually develop a bond as they get closer to cracking the case.

But unlike more famous buddy-cop movies from that era — like Lethal Weapon (1987) or 48 Hours (1982) — screenwriter David Rich doesn’t do a good job of giving these characters contrasting personalities.

Instead, both Sutherland and Phillips are written to be loose cannons who don’t abide by the rule of law when it comes to tracking down the people who have wronged them.

As a result, most of the conflict between these two is purely driven by the plot or superficial elements like their background, which isn’t very compelling.

It’s also pretty apparent that screenwriter David Rich was only interested in fleshing out one main character out of the two.

Sutherland’s undercover cop is at least given a decent backstory to explain his motivation throughout the story, since the audience is explicitly told that his father was a corrupt police officer who died in disgrace.

Meanwhile, Phillips’ character is completely shrouded in mystery, with details surrounding his upbringing only briefly hinted at through sparse bits of dialogue.

To compensate for this lack of depth, Rich takes the lazy route of imbuing Phillips with Jedi superpowers, hoping that viewers will be won over by his quick reflexes and ability to tap into “the force” whenever his family is in danger.

But believe it or not, this one-note Hollywood depiction of the “noble savage” gets old pretty quickly, especially since Phillips’ chemistry with Sutherland is average at best.

Thankfully, Renegades at least delivers in the action department, with a handful of standout sequences that elevate it over the Steven Seagal-tier shlock that was circulating in the industry around that same time.

A car chase 20 minutes into the movie is honestly worth the price of admission alone, where Sutherland is forced to drive a getaway car at gunpoint after the aforementioned diamond heist goes horribly wrong.

Parts of this scene actually reminded me of the famous car chase from William Friedkin’s The French Connection (1971), where the director used a lot of first-person camera shots to create a palpable sense of danger.

The level of automotive destruction on display is also reminiscent of John Landis’ The Blue Brothers (1980), albeit with a less comedic touch.

The movie’s climactic night-time shootout at a horse ranch is similarly high on spectacle, since the filmmakers expertly compensate for a lack of natural light by setting the surroundings on fire.

And while the rest of the film’s action sequences aren’t up to that same high standard, they are at least well-edited and contain a lot of messy carnage that a more timid director would have shied away from.

Needless to say, these meaty chunks satiated my inner bloodlust and made me temporarily forget about the less desirable aspects of Renegades, like its cliched dialogue, generic music, and pedestrian plot that often veers off into being nonsensical.

But as soon as the action quiets down and you’re given some room to think, all these weaknesses bubble to the surface and the film falls apart.

Even the movie’s inciting incident is half-baked, since the main bad guy decides to take a breather from getting chased by the cops and steal Phillips’ family heirloom (a spear) for no reason.

Because of this, the protracted MacGuffin hunt that follows feels totally perfunctory, almost like the filmmakers were looking for the weakest excuse possible to link a couple of (admittedly cool) action sequences together.

Again, this kind of viewing experience is much better suited for the long-lost days of weekend cable TV, where you could put it on in the background as you wrestled with your brother or finished your homework before school on Monday.

But experiencing Renegades through the lens of an adult who is interested in obscure DVD collections, I can’t help but feel like something was lost in translation, almost like I was watching a foreign-language film with the subtitles turned off.

So unless I get my hands on a time machine, the optimal viewing conditions for this film are lost forever, and all I’m left with is a standard 80s cop movie that features good action but is severely lacking in emotional stakes.

Sounds like my last Tinder date.

Verdict:

5/10

Corner store companion:

McCain Pizza Pockets (because it’s the kind of food that also peaked in the 1990s and early 2000s)

Fun facts:

-Release date: June 2, 1989

-Budget: $16 million

-Box office: $20 million

-Because of Louis Diamond Phillips’ mixed heritage (Spanish-Filipino on his mother’s side and Scottish-Irish, Cherokee on his father’s side) he’s been able to portray a variety of ethnicities throughout his acting career, including Native American. Through preparing for Renegades, Phillips grew closer to the Indigenous community and was even adopted by an Oglala Lakota Sioux family in 1991. His Lakota name translates to “Star Keeper.”

-Outside of helming Renegades, Jack Solder is probably best known for directing A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985).

-While Renegades is set in Philadelphia, it was mostly shot in and around Toronto.

-Sutherland and Phillips would later reunite in a two-episode run of the popular TV action drama 24. During this section of season one, Phillips plays the warden of a secret detention facility who encounters CTU agent Jack Bauer (Sutherland) investigating the attempted assassination of a presidential candidate.

-Musical highlight: “Only the Strong Survive” by Bryan Adams (plays over the end credits)

Shirley Temple is one of those actors that modern audiences are mostly familiar with through cultural osmosis rather than through her actual filmography.

Even if you can’t name a single movie that the renowned child actor starred in during her peak of popularity, which ran from 1934 to 1938, chances are that you’ve ordered one of her famous non-alcoholic drinks or seen her signature blond curls plastered on an expensive piece of Hollywood memorabilia.

Because of these cultural artefacts, the name “Shirley Temple” is still considered cute and marketable in the 21st century, so much so that modern movie studios were still willing to release some of her films through collections like the “Little Darling Pack” in 2007.

One of the movies included in this collection is Henry Hathaway’s Now and Forever (1934), which served as my official introduction to Temple’s body of work.

Admittedly, I walked into this screening anticipating nothing but light fluff, since my idea of what to expect from a film starring America’s favourite child star had been filtered through all the pop culture refuse mentioned above.

However, I was pleasantly surprised that Hathaway and his writers managed to use Temple’s natural charm to tell a fairly mature story about parenting and how bad decisions can have a disastrous ripple effect on the ones we love most.

Despite this film being included in a Shirley Temple DVD collection, the plot of “Now and Forever” actually revolves around Gary Cooper’s Jerry, a travelling con man who is far too busy globe trotting with his lady friend Toni (Carole Lombard) to check in on his five-year-old daughter Penny (Temple) from his first marriage.

After a trip to Shanghai leaves him in desperate need of cash, Jerry is drawn back to the United States to sell his daughter’s custody rights to his brother-in-law, with the mother having died years ago.

But when Jerry meets Penny for the first time, he’s immediately taken with her and decides to finally become the child’s legal guardian.

While the two establish a strong bond right away, Jerry’s criminal past continues to linger in the background and threatens to tear their new relationship apart as he tries to carve out an honest living.

One of the most important elements to nail right off the bat with a film like this is the chemistry between the leads, since the story would collapse without a believable family unit at its core.

Luckily, Cooper and Temple establish a snappy back-and-forth from their first scene together, with that rapport only growing stronger as the movie moves forward.

This is no easy task, since Cooper’s character was fully willing to abandon his child for money at the beginning of this story; a writing choice that risks putting the audience at a distance right away.

However, the two leads are able to bridge this emotional gap in a very short time through their combined charm alone, even with Cooper’s past misdeeds continuing to hover over the proceedings like an unseen Sword of Damocles.

Lombard also adds an additional layer of jovial camaraderie into the mix, bucking the tired trend of wicked stepmothers in movies by accepting Temple into her life unconditionally.

In all honesty, Hathaway could have gotten away with filming these three having a fun vacation in Paris without any major looming conflict and gotten away with it, since they play off each other in a very compelling fashion.

But as the movie’s narrative moves forward, it becomes obvious that the director’s true objective was to craft this idyllic on-screen family just so he could cruelly smash it into a million pieces.

The agent of chaos mostly responsible for this tonal shift is actor Sir Guy Standing, who plays a shady businessman that catches on to one of Cooper’s scams and is using this knowledge to blackmail him.

Standing’s performance might be the absolute highlight of Now and Forever, since he successfully crafts a menacing persona without coming across as outwardly rude or threatening.

Instead, he reels Cooper back into a criminal lifestyle through fake British politeness and innuendo, which is way more infuriating than if he simply adopted the American method of commanding someone at gunpoint.

That sleight-of-hand trick is also frequently used by the filmmakers themselves, who lure the audience into a false sense of security thanks to Temple’s cuteness before pulling the rug out from under you.

This dynamic is at play for much of the film’s third act, with Cooper’s unsavory activities constantly overlapping with his idyllic family activities.

The best example of this comes later in the film when Temple performs a lively song and dance number in front of some rich American expatriates living in Paris.

But instead of using this scene for pure spectacle and whimsy, like in most other Temple films, the director intercuts it with shots of Cooper stealing an expensive necklace and stuffing it into his daughter’s teddy bear.

He later uses this teddy bear to smuggle the necklace out of a rich family’s house and into the villain’s hands, all the while lying to Temple about what really transpired.

Not only is this sequence completely gut wrenching, but it also serves as a succinct encapsulation of the movie’s main theme of childhood innocence being sullied by the world of adults.

It also doesn’t hurt that Now and Forever features a snappy script and tight pacing throughout, which manages to wring some of that old Hollywood charm out of a story that feels pretty modern by 1934 standards.

However, some dated elements from that era have not aged as gracefully.

This includes a noticeable lack of music and prevalence of janky editing that is undoubtedly a byproduct of the limited technology available to filmmakers at the time.

The movie’s ending also leaves a lot to be desired, since it’s pretty obvious that the studio forced Hathaway to tack on a much more uplifting resolution to the main conflict in an effort to not completely alienate the movie-going public.

But minor gripes aside, Now and Forever still managed to surprise me and showcase an engrossing family drama that wasn’t afraid to touch on some darker subject matter.

It might not be the best introduction to Temple’s filmography, as I’m led to believe that most of her other work is pretty wholesome and not subversive in the slightest.

However, I feel like Now and Forever remains a pretty good showcase of Temple’s talent as an adorable child actor, while also offering a prime example of how to harness that cuteness and weaponize it against the audience (in a good way).

In other words, this film is the cinematic equivalent of a candy apple that’s been coated in absinthe, since it looks innocent but will fuck you up if you’re not ready.

Verdict:

7/10

Corner store companion:

Snapple Spiked RaspCherry Tea vodka (because it’s sugary and sweet but will mess you up in quick fashion)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Aug. 31, 1934

-Temple appeared in 29 films by the time she was 10 years old. She would temporarily retire from the film business in 1950 at the age of 22. Her last official acting role was in a 1963 episode of The Red Skelton Hour.

-After retiring from the entertainment industry, Temple began her career as a United States diplomat in 1969 and would serve under several presidents in this capacity, including Gerald Ford and George H.W. Bush. She also became the US government’s chief of protocol between 1976 and 1977.

-Temple won a “Juvenile” Academy Award in 1934 for her outstanding contribution to screen entertainment during that year. She was later given a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in February 1960.

-Carole Lombard tragically lost her life eight years after Now and Forever premiered in theatres. The actress, mostly known for her roles in screwball comedies, was the passenger of a plane that was returning from a war bond tour overseas and crashed into a mountain range in Nevada. She was only 33 years old.

-[SPOILERS] In the theatrical ending of Now and Forever, Cooper’s character gives Temple away to a rich friend to raise before he is arrested by the authorities. In the original ending, both Cooper and Lombard die driving alongside a train that is taking Temple away. Paramount executives felt this dark conclusion didn’t jive with the rest of the film and ordered Hathaway to reshoot the ending.

-The title “Now and Forever” is also associated with popular songs from musicians like Drake, Richard Marx and Carole King.

While Ronald Reagan’s transition from Hollywood to the White House has been extremely well documented, I always believed the early acting career of the 40th president of the United States was some sort of elaborate hoax.

For someone who was so influential in the realm of politics (for good or for ill), Reagan left virtually no lasting impact on the pop culture zeitgeist past the Baby Boomer generation, unlike some of his tough-guy contemporaries like John Wayne or Gary Cooper.

Up until recently, my only reference for Reagan’s filmography was a single photo of him cradling a chimpanzee in the comedy Bedtime for Bonzo (1951), which could be easily mistaken as a doctored piece of Democratic Party propaganda.

But this past Christmas, my parents provided me with irrefutable proof that Reagan’s acting career was, in fact, real by stuffing a DVD copy of Allan Dwan’s Cattle Queen of Montana (1954) into my stocking.

And after watching this western, it’s easy to see why Reagan’s run as an actor is mostly overshadowed by his political career, since he comes across as a generic leading man who relies on the same three facial expressions over and over.

Luckily, this film is largely saved by the titular “Cattle Queen” Barbara Stanwyck, who is far more compelling than her male co-star and manages to craft a likable protagonist who elevates this fairly boilerplate material.

In fact, Stanwyck is so good that it makes you (temporarily) overlook some of the film’s glaring weaknesses, like its odd production shortcuts and prevalent use of brownface for all the Indigenous characters who have speaking roles.

The plot of Cattle Queen revolves around Sierra Nevada Jones (Stanwyck), who travels from her home in Texas to Montana after her father inherits a large piece of land.

As soon as the family arrives at their destination, they are set upon by Blackfoot tribesmen, who steal their cattle herd, kill the patriarch, and take Sierra hostage, all at the behest of a corrupt local rancher.

Once she is released from captivity, Sierra vows to reclaim what’s rightfully hers and teams up with mysterious ranch hand Farrell (Reagan) to get the job done.

Even though Cattle Queen of Montana is very much a project of its time in many respects, it does set itself apart from a lot of other Golden Age westerns through Stanwyck’s protagonist.

Rather than be relegated to the role of a love interest or a damsel in distress, Sierra Jones is a surprisingly very active character who drives most of the plot, constantly hatching schemes to outwit the bad guys and using emotional intelligence to recruit allies to her cause.

She also doesn’t hold back during the action scenes, standing toe-to-toe with Reagan and her other male co-stars once the shooting starts.

I know this sounds like very basic character writing, but these kinds of acting roles were few and far between for women in 1950s Hollywood, especially for someone like Stanwyck who was in her late 40s by this point.

But for whatever reason, Stanwyck was able to use the goodwill she built up in the industry to secure herself some meaty roles in this film and several other hard-hitting westerns like The Furies (1950) and The Maverick Queen (1956).

Judging by her performance in Cattle Queen alone, it’s easy to see why so many directors opted to give Stanwyck top billing in a traditionally male-dominated genre, since she oozes that same calm, confident charisma that defines most classic western hero archetypes.

It also doesn’t hurt that Stanwyck is surrounded by so much lovely scenery during her time on screen, with Dwan’s team opting to shoot part of this film on location at Montana’s Glacier National Park in vivid Technicolor.

This adds a considerable amount of spectacle to what’s admittedly a pretty basic revenge story, since it gives the cast free reign to run around in real meadows and rocky outcrops instead of being stuck on an artificial studio sound stage.

Unfortunately, the use of these gorgeous landscapes is slightly undercut by some head-scratching production decisions, where the filmmakers will occasionally cut from a gorgeous wide shot of a mountain range to two actors standing in front of what’s obviously a rear projection.

Not only is this technique extremely jarring, but it’s employed inconsistently throughout the movie’s 88-minute runtime, with most other outdoor medium shots and close-ups being captured on location in either Montana or rural California.

My guess is that some footage originally shot in Montana was either lost or unusable by the time Dwan and his crew got back to Hollywood, forcing them to cobble together some insert shots on a studio backlot.

These cheap-looking transitions are made even worse by the filmmaker’s prominent use of day-for-night shooting, which makes some of the early action incredibly hard to keep track of on modern TV sets.

I understand that this technique was a necessary evil used to keep movie budgets in the black, but the end result is far from ideal, especially when you can still see puffy white clouds in scenes that are supposed to take place at night.

However, the biggest thing dragging Cattle Queen down, beyond those technical snafus, is the fact that all the Indigenous characters are quite obviously played by Italian actors.

Now, this isn’t a matter of my “liberal” sensibilities getting wounded by a practice that was much more prevalent in old Hollywood.

And in the movie’s defense, Dwan and his screenwriters at least go out of their way to portray the Blackfoot tribe in a nuanced light, casting a great many Indigenous characters as sympathetic and heroic rather than as a uniformly evil force (like in so many other western films of that era).

Unfortunately, a lot of that hard work goes out the window as soon as actors with names like Lance Fuller and Anthony Caruso show up caked in what looks like dried mud, speaking in broken English like they’ve been clubbed in the head a couple times.

Those distracting sights and sounds are made even worse when the movie tries to posture itself as being anti-racist, with Sierra going out of her way to admonish some of her fellow White settlers for harboring prejudices towards Native Americans.

Again, it’s a nice sentiment, especially in a pre-civil rights America, but it rings very hollow when the very people you’re defending aren’t even allowed to play themselves on screen.

Despite these significant shortcomings, I still had a decent time watching Cattle Queen of Montana, especially since it served as my official introduction to Stanwyck and her filmography, which I’m very interested in exploring further.

The same can’t really be said for Reagan, since his stoic line delivery in this film is definitely better suited for the kind of rabble-rousing stump speeches that he became famous for in his political career.

But at the very least, I can now say with confidence that I’ve seen at least one Ronald Reagan film, which gives me the proper context to fully enjoy this gag from Robert Zemeckis’ Back to the Future.

Verdict:

6/10

Corner store companion:

Simple Pleasures oatmeal cookies (because this movie will remind you of a “simpler” time when you could get away with utilizing brownface to this degree)

Fun facts:

-Release date: Nov. 18, 1954

-Outside of referencing Ronald Reagan’s acting career in Back to the Future (1985), a poster for Cattle Queen of Montana is also featured in a scene immediately after Michael J. Fox arrives in 1955 Hill Valley.

-Reagan reportedly watched this film at Camp David on Jan. 14, 1989, six days before the end of his two-term presidency.

-Reagan’s career as a screen actor lasted from 1937 to 1965 before he transitioned into politics, first becoming the Governor of California in 1966 before moving on to the White House in 1981.

– Barbara Stanwyck was nominated for four Academy Awards throughout her acting career, eventually winning an honourary Oscar statue in 1982. She also won a Primetime Emmy and a Golden Globe for her role in The Thorn Birds TV miniseries from 1983.

– Stanwyck performed most of her own stunts in Cattle Queen of Montana, including a scene where her character goes for a swim in an icy lake.