Reviews

Man on the Flying Trapeze is almost too sad to be funny. Fields creates such a believable schnook that the gratuitous cruelty his character endures makes the viewer cringe. And the scenes are slow, drawn-out set pieces to rub our noses in the petty nastiness of man. Banality of evil? It's here. Usually you chuckle at Grady Sutton; in this movie you want to see him dead. That it's all so believable makes it that much more painful. Fields ropes us in by having the funniest scenes at the beginning. "There's not a man in the United States or Canada who can get out of this hold," he assures the neighborhood patrolman before getting flipped onto his head. That's funny, but less so is when he gets three tickets in a row from sadistic cops. That scene hurts, and of course it crawls along at a snail's pace to make sure we get the message. Fields was an artist who gave us much more than laughs, and it wasn't always easy to watch.

In rattling off one lame joke after another, persevering like a stevedore in the face of his time slipping away, cocky crooked grin intact, Hope approaches depths of surrealism that should've impressed Bunuel. When he tells Dina Merrill that he's never met an interior decorator with her exterior, and she reacts with a dewy smile, it's like cutting the eyeball in Un Chien Andalou. Meanwhile Frankie Avalon struts around like he's the Tom Cruise of his generation. Check out Frankie's astonishing, hip-gyrating 'I'll Take Sweden Ya Ya Ya' number and you'll swear someone slipped mescaline into your coffee. This is one of the all time great camp classics, awaiting its proper appreciation.

It's as if, following a decade of beyond-lame comedies, Bob Hope decided what was missing was a little seriousness. So in `Cancel My Reservation,' his character feuds with his wife, and gets accused of a murder he didn't commit. Then, he really gets going and tosses social commentary into the mix – with a Native American sub-plot. Cancel my RESERVATION – get it? Hope tries to crack his jokes as per usual, with his crooked grin, rakish fedora and duck-toed strut. But the snap is gone, and as the villains, Ralph Bellamy and Forrest Tucker don't get the jokes anyway; they sit around and look dyspeptically into the camera, which the director had apparently nailed to the floor before walking away. Maybe he was trying to find the lighting director, because the quality of the film looks sub-high school videotape. In what has come to be known, among Hope aficionados, as the `Dina Merrill' role, Eva Marie Saint plays Hope's wife, clinging to some dignity in front of the camera while probably wringing her agent's neck behind it. Meanwhile, Chief Dan George sits on a mountain and grunts as Hope tries and fails to make jokes at his expense. Some Hope movies of the 1960s were so bad they were endearing, and they reward repeated viewings. But this one is just morbid. Seen once, you won't remember its details, but you may carry around a weird, unpleasant feeling for some time.

Fields adds a commentary on the indignities of old age to his repertoire. Often more somber than his reputation -- and all the funnier because of it -- Fields here plays a version of himself trying to sell a script to a movie studio. So we see a drawling, slow-moving older fellow in the humiliating position of pitching an idea to a producer who isn't necessarily honored or interested. Fields's script is, of course, ridiculous, just as his ideas in real life must have seemed crazy to many a studio executive. We "see" the script played out as the producer reads it, giving Fields a chance to go through his paces -- delightful, as usual, even if his obviously failing health makes it melancholy at the same time. Leaving the meeting with his tail between his legs, Fields is lovingly embraced by his niece, Gloria Jean, who contrary to what you might think, is wonderful. Her love for her uncle, and all his eccentricities, is endearing throughout. What can one say about the Keystone Kops-like windup, except that they probably had to tack a conventional finish onto a very unusual movie? This was Fields's final full-length performance, as if he knew the end was near. A sad and funny sign-off by the best comedian in movie history.

This moves at an unhurried pace, and you may feel as if you've seen much of it before, especially if you're a spaghetti western fan. But it's worth seeing for the character played by Warren Oates, a former gunfighter whose behavior swings from the sympathetic to the unforgivable and almost back again. In a modest Western like this, it's a pleasant surprise to see ambiguous characters. So that his conflict with Fabio Testi, a younger gunfighter who steals Oates' wife, is full of uncertainty. For all the familiar trappings, you're uncertain how it will end; and that should keep you watching. As the object of desire, Jenny Agutter is constrained by a mumbling Irish brogue and an under-written part. But you can see why Testi is smitten with her. Bottom line: see this for Oates, a great actor in a worthy role.

This does not live up to its reputation as a top Marx Brothers movie. To make the Marxes commercially attractive (their previous effort, the great `Duck Soup,' had been a box office bomb, go figure), MGM decided to make them conventionally sympathetic characters. Ho ho! But it was a shrewd move for its time - `Night at the Opera' was a big hit. Yet the Marxes went from artists to average 1930s comedians. So that Harpo, Groucho and Chico expend energy, in appalling fashion, trying to help the lovebirds, Kitty Carlisle and Alan Jones. To get the audience on Harpo's side, they have the villain repeatedly beat him with a stick. THEN whip him! Lou Costello never suffered such indignities. The comedy routines suffer. You no longer get the idea the Brothers are spirits from another dimension. Instead, they could play double bills with the Three Stooges. The famous stateroom scene still works. There are a few chuckles. But Groucho's lines have lost their bite; and Harpo just makes faces. Chico is a vaudevillian with a broad Italian accent. And just try and sit through those dreadful musical numbers without screaming.

This is an example of the latter-day version of the "B" movie -- the direct-to-video/cable job. As such, if you don't mind cheapness (New York City seems to be portrayed by a small town in Canada) or occasional silliness, it's pretty good. William Baldwin is noble as a cop contending with a corrupt partner (an effectively scary Adam Baldwin) and a murderous joker of a bad guy (Jon Seda having a heck of a time). He falls for a threatened witness, a shrink played with soulful intelligence -- no kidding -- by Elizabeth Mitchell. There's even a nasty hit man haunted by the memory of his musician father. The Baldwin/Mitchell dialog scenes are quite acceptable, and Seda makes your heart race whenever he's on camera. This movie stretches to encompass a theme of redemption and loss, film-noir style, and just about manages it. The action scenes, such as they are, suffer from budget stretching. A bad guy is running away from cops; after he runs half a block, nobody's chasing him anymore. But the conviction of the actors makes it work. Warner Brothers might have produced something like this to play on double bills, and the audiences would've come away satisfied.