“The seven dreaded gateways to Hell are concealed in seven cursed places…and from the day the gates of Pandemonium are opened, the dead will walk the blue planet.”

If it’s not direct to some of you already, there should be no doubt by the destruction of this review, embarassing though it may be, that the only other Fulci coating I’ve seen is “Don’t Torture A Duckling”. Fulci’s penchant for showing as much blood and assorted viscera on-screen as possible was an absolute ill in that steam, as the micro-budget effects resulted in more laughter than chills. I enjoyed “Don’t Torture A Duckling” quite a bit, but the lowly superiority of the stab made it difficult to fully enjoy. However, “The Beyond”, which also makes use of Fulci’s love of sidelong glance-gouging and control-beating, sports some effects that are…well, not supreme-register, but positively second-or-third-from-the-trim-notch. Distinctively in the later scenes in the hospital, the zombies appear more haunting than in any other film that I can recant. The tarantula kill, although overdone, had me recoiling in fulsomeness for its duration, and not to give too much away, but I’ll under no circumstances look at seeing-peer at dogs quite the unmodified way again.

I suppose I should provide some sort of plot summary, although really, if you’re looking for a conspire, you effect require to cut “The Beyond” and go for something a little more well-built. In room 36 of a N’Owlins, Leeziana hotel in ‘27, a painter, who for the treatment of some put two is blamed in the interest of dooming the hotel and the tired little vigilante-justice-sportin’ town, experiences the might of quicklime-fu and — plop, plop, fizz, fizz — dissolves. Hopping forward into the introduce daylight (well, ‘present day’ as in ‘like, twenty years ago’), a down-on-her-fortuity baggage named Liza inherits the hotel and sees it as her Possibly man form shot, Lethean to the fact that it’s built over one of the seven gateways to Tophet. The hotel is a fixer-upper, and things get off to a catchy bad start when two hired workers suffer less-than-balmy fates. Long run the enigma of the hotel and its hellish kidney are revealed, thanks to an extraordinarily expert book and a little ones eyeless woman who has literally been to Hell and back, climaxing with a confrontation with the undead at the local asylum.

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The dialogue in “The Beyond” is laughable (and the details that most of it was recorded afterwards makes the acting by a long chalk everywhere more difficult to appreciate), and some of the situations are inexplicable. I father no concept why a woman dressed up a corpse in a hospital while her daughter waited outside, at most to fall unconscious and have a small vat of acid be a stool-pigeon on her. I watched “The Beyond” twice in a row, so you’d think I’d have picked up on why by now. Hmmm. “So, Adam,” you may be wondering, “if it’s so bad, why did you rate it as a ‘Collector Series’ purchase?” Because bad conversation and a silly plot are inconsequential! Ask any groupie of Italian cinema. The appeal of such films is less there plot and character event than it is mood, marvellous visuals, spectacular direction, and, in some cases, extreme gore. “The Beyond” delivers all four of those in spades. It’s a rightly amazing film that irrefutably belongs in the collection of anyone with even the faintest engrossed in Italian horror, and Stability Bay’s contiguous-flawless presentation and exceptional collection of supplements (originally unperturbed with a view a Laserdisc that not came to be) an even more attractive purchase.

Mmm, mmm, you can smell the testosterone. Written by Oliver Stone. Directed by Brian De Palma. Starring Al Pacino. Has there at all been a manlier film than Scarface? It’s so over the pre-eminent that it becomes torpedo picture as opera buffa, and the one compelling question with reference to the movie may be why it’s develop the crime picture of choice against a new generation, with Tony Montana’s mug festooned on t-shirts and video games. It’s every gangsta’s favorite flick, one that offers a bounty of choices representing cell phone ringers. It’s probably not much of a mystery, in point of fact, but you’ve got to question people’s love of this flick picture show, because it defines overwrought. I recognize it’s got its earnest partisans, and it’s got its share of so-kind-hearted-it’s-distressing ironists (cf. Showgirls), but anybody fair minded would have to admit that while there are highlights, there are lots of precisely patches in this picture that runs close to three hours.

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The setup is actually kind of brilliant—a remake of Howard Hawks’ 1932 gangster classic, the action moved to Miami circa 1980, in the wake of the Mariel boatlift. (The cover is actually dedicated to Hawks and his screenwriter, Ben Hecht, though whether or not they would be flattered by this specifically tip-off of the hat is an uncovered without a doubt. Also, we learn in the supplementary tangible that this transposition was the idea of Sidney Lumet, who was briefly fastened to the undertaking.) Pacino plays Tony Montana, Cuban criminal turned Florida dishwasher, and the movie is the story of his rise and fall, to the clip of the cocaine pyramid and then down in a blaze of nimbus. Tony’s vocabulary consists almost entirely of profanities—it’s not offensive, really, but it does become considerate of numbing, and the performance is in many respects the fulcrum of Pacino’s career, the change-over from Michael Corleone, Sonny and Serpico to the Kabuki period of Scent of a Woman and The Devil’s Advocate. (Hoo-ah!) He also sports the thickest stress since Natalie Wood’s in West Side Story, but you’ve got to keeping it to him for cutting loose—it’s a crazed and unrestrained performance, at least as cartoony as his turn in Dick Tracy.

Like many veil gunsel preceding him, Tony’s got some issues with women, here made manifest by Michelle Pfeiffer as Elvira, a coke princess that he steals from the boss he unseats (a most unsubtle Robert Loggia), and especially his little sister, Gina, played by Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, the virgin to Elvira’s whore in Tony’s uncouth morality. This is in divers ways a movie near detestable supererogation, and nothing is done without gusto, ranging from the gold chains around the gangsters’ necks to the saturated reds and blacks of the production design to the mountains of cocaine in which Tony rabidly buries his nose. Loggia has rivals, too, both as a gangster boss and as a ham—the most egregious is suitable F. Murray Abraham, and in comparison, Steven Bauer’s turn as Tony’s lifelong compadre is downright Beckettian.

The contours of the tale are familiar—Tony makes his bones and gets his non-professional Easter card by tiring a Castro apostate in a detention camp, and we dedicate him through to the final comeuppance, all of it blood-soaked, much of it grisly. The movie is big-hearted of inventive about its sadism, too—the mind reels when you think about what a savage coke jobber can do to an contender with a chainsaw in a motel shower stall. (These fellows make Norman Bates look like a cub scout with a pen knife.) But on some level Elvira gets it conservative about Tony after a point: “Can’t you terminal saying ‘f**k’ all the sometime? You’re arid.” And even tarted up with self-awake, unmotivated pellicle-schooly camera moves, De Palma’s fairy tale is a youthful dull—you place the sense that the technical showmanship is there exclusively to detract us, and that the filmmakers fell too in appreciate with their footage to lead it the rigorous cutting it so certainly needs. There are some grand short arias, but you may have a yen for to keep your finger on the fast forward button to get to them—that is, as long as the other hand is on your bling and you’ve got someone you trust invidious you your next line.

The Python swansong, a nostalgic return to the sketch looks of the character TV shows, garnished with the ‘explicit’ sex and violence jokes that are deemed necessary to don bums on seats in cinemas in these depraved times. This is the one with the exploding Mr Creosote, the parody of Zulu, and the sketch relating to annual-snatching from live donors. The high accentuate comes break of dawn, when a All-embracing folks in Yorkshire bust into to-do with ‘Every Sperm Is Sacred’.

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The year is 2047: a let loose ministry is sent to the outer reaches of the solar system to rescue the Event Horizon, a precedent spaceship designed by Dr William Weir (Sam Neill) to reach far stars, but vanished without a trace seven years ago. Captain Miller (Laurence Fishburne) leads a team of seasoned professionals on live the rescue move: navigator Starck (Joely Richardson), emergency technicians Peters (Kathleen Quinlan) and Cooper (Richard T. Jones), engineer Justin (Jack Noseworthy), doctor D.J. (Jason Isaaacs) and pilot Smith (Sean Pertwee). Only when they are in deep latitude does Weir reveal the genuineness about the Event Horizon, a quit he built to fail space and thus make travel in time and lacuna possible. What nobody expected was that the move, named after the lip of a dark hole, would cross over from our macrocosm into another authenticity - Tophet.

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Santa Kleinman just sent me a fist full of Pam Grier classics. We already talked about Foxy Brown a few weeks back, but rashly skipped right over the immortal Coffy (1973, 90 minutes), which burns a bit hotter and longer than its slick, non-sequel sequel. It won’t happen again, sugar. We’ll also explore the kinder, gentler side of Ms. Grier in the comic-strip-turned-motion-picture called Friday Foster. And finally, for the moment, the Queen of Blaxploitation revisits her women-in-prison roots in the sweeping anti-buddy picture Black Mama, White Mama. All-in-all vintage Pam. But where’s that Jackie Brown disc?

The movie: Coffy (Grier) is a nurse fed up with the police department’s inaction in her community — one that’s crawling with dope pushers, pimps and the politicians who seem to be pulling the strings. But it’s when her own sister falls victim to the scourge of drugs that Coffy picks up a sawed-off shotgun and decides to settle the score. And revenge fells GOOD, baby. In between some late-night cavorting with her civic-minded boyfriend, the one-chick hit squad follows a trail of junkies and working girls to King George (Robert DoQui) who is the pimpiest pimp who ever pimped. And that’s just describing his wardrobe. Coffy infiltrates his harem of high-class escorts, which isn’t easy especially seeing how they’re an extremely MEAN group of gals. Thankfully, this tension builds into a catfight royal that’s darn near unrivaled in B-cinema’s lurid history. Though her detective work isn’t exactly in Jim Rockford’s league, she talks and sexes her way into the inner circle responsible for most of the unseemly stuff that’d hacked her off in the first place. But who she comes face-to-face with there may prove more than one woman can take. At least without a loaded scattergun in her hands. CineSchlockers will snicker when they first see Allan Arbus as the diminutive mob boss who makes, ahem, UNUSUAL demands of King George’s girls. Arbus is probably most recognized for his recurring role as Dr. Sidney Freedman on “M*A*S*H.”

Notables: 13 breasts. Eight corpses. Shotgun blast to the face. High-speed pimp pull. Gratuitous Jamaican accent. Dinner tray to the brainpan. Throat slashing. The ol’ razorblades in the bouffant gag. Busted bottle as weapon. Multiple diddling.

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Quotables: Coffy in Angel of Death mode, “This is the end of your ROTTEN life — you mother f@#%ing dope pusher!!!” In Seductress mode, “Now don’t start gettin’ insecure … you know the long goodie will keep on workin’ as long as I’m able to handle it.” At least he’s an HONEST wimp, “I’m sorry, man. I can’t argue with no .45.”

Time codes: Coffy puts the permanent hurt on a dealer (6:22). Angry lesbian comes to the rescue of her woman (31:10). High-class hookers try to pull each other’s hair out (43:00). Cop gets clobbered by a car (1:15:30).

Audio/Video: Presented in its original widescreen (1.85:1) format. The print is mostly clean, but exhibits noticeable grain during dimly lit scenes. Utilitarian Dolby Digital mono track. This disc is part of MGM’s “Soul Cinema” line that each carry an unusually low suggested retail price ($15 and lower). The prints aren’t exactly pristine, nor is any real effort spent on creating superior audio masters, but most feature trailers and the occasional commentary. Titles include Black Caesar, Coffy, Cotton Comes To Harlem, Foxy Brown, Friday Foster, Sheba, Baby, Slaughter, Slaughter’s Big Rip-Off, Truck Turner and Black Mama, White Mama. Plus, the Keenen Ivory Wayans parody of these films, I’m Gonna Git You, Sucka.

Extras: Another solid commentary by legendary B-auteur Jack Hill. The writer/director talks about preparing the script with Ms. Grier in mind, as he’d worked with her previously on The Big Doll House and The Big Bird Cage. He also explains why he specifically cast a one-eyed man as one of the heavies. Mr. Hill is insightful and refreshingly modest when discussing his work. Theatrical trailer. Static menus without audio. No insert or liner notes.

Final thought: Coffy is a ferociously violent, but truly unique heroine, as she uses her wits and buxom bod to seduce the scum who ultimately end up in her crosshairs, instead of her bed. Highly Recommended.

G. Noel Gross is a Dallas graphic designer and avowed Drive-In Mutant who specializes in scribbling B-movie reviews. Noel is inspired by Joe Bob Briggs and his gospel of blood, breasts and beasts.

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

The Black Dahlia is based on the Los Angeles brutal murder in January
15, 1947 of 22-year-old aspiring starlet Elizabeth Short, a case that remains
one of the city’s most notorious unsolved crimes. Director Brian De Palma
(”Femme Fatale”/ “Greetings”/ “Body Double”), the Hollywood veteran filmmaker
noted for his style over substance films, and his co-writer Josh Friedman,
lifted the tale from the weighty best-seller novel by James Ellroy (penned
“L.A. Confidential”) and focused the film on the relationship of the two
investigating police officers rather than on Short (selling Short short
by making her into a prostitute when she wasn’t). The Black Dahlia, who
had dyed black hair (the reason for her nickname given to her by the newspapers)
came to Southern California from small-town Medford, Massachusetts looking
to be an actress and locate her missing father, whom she found, to no avail,
working in a diner as a short-order cook. Dahlia’s played by Mia Kirshner,
who returns only in film clips (an audition and in a stag film) and in
the recollections of those who knew her (like in Preminger’s 1944 film
noir Laura with Gene Tierney). Dante Ferretti’s elegant sets, including
an extended look at the lesbian bar scene (most of the shoot took place
in Bulgaria) are aimed to bring the pulp fiction brand of Southern California’s
swinging lifestyle, crime, gruesome murders, sleaze, racial unrest and
police corruption to life, and along with the splendid period costumes
by Jenny Beavan and appealing moody score by Mark Isham give the viewer
a well-crafted and visually delightful film–but not a true one. The film
dips way into the film noir environs of Chinatown and Sunset Boulevard
to capture the LaLa landscape, but falls short in coming up with an inspired
story about the pathetic figure who died so savagely because she was so
trusting. It’s more or less a hyper-stylized atmospheric and at times campy
rendering of Dahlia’s sad demise (something the vic didn’t deserve), when
what was needed was to tell her story so we could feel it and possibly
get closer to understanding who could commit such a brutal murder. 

The film quickly establishes the complicated though shallow relationship
between the two main protagonists, puglists-cops Sgt. Leland “Lee” Blanchard
(Aaron Eckhart) and Officer Dwight “Bucky” Bleichert (Josh Hartnett), who
as boxers were nicknamed “Fire” and “Ice.” They become partners on a special
homicide team approved by the ambitious publicity-seeking DA (Patrick Fischler);
their camaraderie is tinged with competitiveness; initially hotshot cop
Lee seems to have the world by the balls, in and out of the ring, as he’s
in the better career position and his live-in girlfriend is blonde bombshell
Kay Lake (Scarlett Johansson). As the film moves along, there are changes
in them that are unpredictable. The partners fight the endless city crime
and the hot-tempered Lee can’t seem to hold his water and becomes more
vulnerable and seemingly out of it as he’s plagued with dark secrets. During
this period, the low-key Bucky shows he’s the better and more reliable
cop, and though he has the hots for the vamp he refrains as a matter of
honor. The shocker comes when the police find in a weed field Elizabeth
Short’s surgically cut in half body– dismembered and disemboweled–with
her blood drained. Lee and Bucky are assigned as lead investigators, and
track down leads such as the girls Short made a lesbian porn film with.
Tired of being the weak third leg in the triangle, Bucky pursues thrill-seeking
rich gal Madeleine Linscott (Hilary Swank), a friend of Short’s and possible
suspect, whose daddy (John Kavanagh) is a building construction tycoon
and wasted mom (Fiona Shaw) who is not all there. The bitchy Madeleine’s
supposedly a dead ringer for the Dahlia (maybe to those in the film, but
not to me) and prowls Tinseltown’s hot nightspots for both men and women
lovers, and ends up taking Bucky to bed. 

The film’s problems are many (overplotted, too many other complicated
crime cases thrown into the mix to adequately follow all of them and no
closure or finality to the murder except for a highly inventive suggestion
as to who was the killer that comes off, at best, murky), but the most
important weakness does not come from the director but in the acting department;
though Hartnett, Johansson and Swank look as if their characters were inhabiting
the 1940s, their acting was too flat, clumsy and lacked credibility to
make us believe that they were 1940s characters with explosive issues raging
inside them. The drab Hartnett and the posing only instead of acting Johansson
may be lovers in real life, but on the screen they had no chemistry and
their lovemaking was as stiff as if they were two corpses. While Swank
is simply miscast as the femme fatale. It’s only Eckhart’s performance
that gives the film the bloody energy it desired despite problems in believing
he could so suddenly go bonkers; but it’s Kirshner’s tearful performance
that’s the film’s most endearing and earnest one. There’s fodder for a
good film in the screaming headline material, but De Palma only gets a
whiff of that and can’t put his finger on where to go with all the volatile
material before him.

Film buffs should be pleased that De Palma included cinematic homages
such as a tracking shot of Welles’ 1958 Touch of Evil  and showing
a theater screening of Conrad Veidt in the 1927 Victor Hugo silent The
Man Who Laughs–which serves as part of the plot line. 

Lifeform

Director:

Mark H. Baker              


Cast:

Cotter Smith, Deidre O'Connell, Robert Wisdom

Every so often, I see a movie that gets unbelievably close to making
it, to becoming a great movie, but blows it by making one or a few more
crucial mistakes, turning the movie into a "could have been". I actually
call these movies "interesting failures". These movies aren't really bad
- some are still quite watchable - but it can be a frustrating experience
watching them. We see so much good stuff in the movie, but we also see
that with just a little more effort, the movie would have been so much
better. One such movie is the 1987 Eric Stoltz movie


Lionheart


(not
to be confused with the lame 1990 Jean-Claude Van Damme movie of the same
name) - the movie has great locations, good actors, action, romance, and
an intriguing story. But all of these elements are put together into a
movie that moves at a snail's pace, and viewers will become quickly frustrated
with it. Another such movie is


Lifeform


, a low budget sci-fier
blessed with intelligent writing, good acting, and likable characters -
but ultimately shot down, not really by its sometimes glaring and annoying
mistakes, but by its ending.

The flick picture show starts inaccurate justly, bringing in intimacy from the beginning:
The American military tracks the landing of an aim that seems to have
stop by from space, and has landed in a outside area of a leave to twist slowly in the wind military reservation.
Scouts locate the fact, which turns at large to be a Viking 2 lander - which
is supposed to be allay on Mars. But…it couldn't have possess c visit from space…face?
After all, a mark of NASA reveals that people of specific landers built is
unaccounted respecting. Anyway, the military takes no chances, and takes the lander
to a close at hand aside underground military concoct (which somehow is still
equipped with computers and other complex equipment), where several military
scientists rush to cross-examine the lander before the arriving team of military
higher-ups and a military platoon choose it away elsewhere.

I'm sure no reader will be surprised to hear that the movie takes a
turn into


Alien


territory , not just because of all those
ingredients, but because of that title. An egg attached to the lander hatches,
and then just like in


Alien


, the newborn escapes into the
ducts. Though the movie wouldn't have existed without


Alien


being
made, it does make some effort to differentiate itself, and not become
a clone. Instead of having one specific group fighting an alien, we have
two groups - the military and the scientists - battling not just an alien,
but fighting over how to deal with this situation. Though the military,
naturally, wants to destroy the alien, they actually come off pretty well
in this movie. For example, when the scientists early in the movie argue
with the military about the lander, the military tells them that no one
knows who sent it, why, and if it's a risk - all true facts. And when they
attempt to battle the alien later, much to the scientists' grief, their
actions still seem very reasonable under the circumstances they find themselves
in. We also see the soldiers, even their commander, are at times

scared

,
which makes them more sympathetic. The scientists are also pretty likable,
because not only are their actions also reasonable under the circumstances,
they are smart. Before downloading the data on the lander's computer, they
make sure that the computer in the lab is not connected to any outside
computer. They discuss why an intelligent alien race would send one of
our probes, instead of one of their own (the eventual reasoning behind
this actually makes sense.) One scientist deduces that since a baby alien
is about the size of a human baby, a full grown alien should be human sized.
But, reasons another scientist, what about the dinosaurs? Hmmm…. These
and other discussions in the movie are intelligently written, and are fun
to listen to, because they make us wonder what the answers to these mysteries
are.

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The alien in this movie is pretty interesting, and not just in its design
by the F/X crew. To be sure, the alien, once it's seen, is pretty impressive
for a low budget movie. It puts the usual rubber suit method to shame,
and it sure looks menacing. But what's really interesting are the actions
the alien takes. Yes, it does get into fights with the people in the complex
during the course of the movie, but a lot of the movie has it traveling
all around the complex doing unexplained activities. Why did it take the
gunpowder from one dead soldier's bullets? Why is it taking pieces of electronic
equipment? How does this newborn (yet growing) alien

know

how to
do all of this? I'm not telling the answer to these, and other questions
concerning the alien. You might have some ideas, as I thought I had when
watching this movie. But the script's intelligence also shines here, because
when we get the unexpected answers to each question, in our heads we have
to start our deductions about the alien all over again. I must admit I
was hooked on the questions of the alien's activities, and I was really
interested in finding out the explanations to them.

I mentioned earlier that this was a low budget production, but I should
have made that

ultra

low budget program. Though the alien is pretty
impressive, it seems that most of the production design budget went there.
The movie then has to resort to filming in either generic desert locations,
or in what seems to be shabby office rooms with sparse furnishings, and
a garage. These indoor locations are darkened and shot in a fashion that
do somewhat mask these bland interiors, but the movie is still clearly
shot in a place that's nowhere like an underground military base. Technical
goofs, like an obvious reflection of the boom on a jeep's windshield, are
not that unusual to see throughout. And though the script is generally
intelligent, there are also a number of times when the characters act really
dumb. For instance, early in the movie there's an obvious clue discovered
that, if examined, would provide more information to the characters. Yet
the characters somehow forget about this glaring clue until about the last
third of the movie.

But up to about near the end of the movie, I was still prepared to forgive
the movie and write up a mildly positive review about it. Then, all of
a sudden, in about two minutes of screen time, the movie is concluded first
with one of the worst special effects sequences of all time, some stock
footage, a minor character from elsewhere mumbling some explanation to
the few remaining questions at hand (which doesn't really answer the questions
at all), plus a few additional frames that suggest a potential sequel.
And fade out. My jaw dropped at seeing this rushed and utterly lame ending.
It's like the filmmakers suddenly ran out of money, and had to construct
something with the little money and time they had. This ending is so bad,
it completely deflates every positive thing generated in the 88 previous
minutes, so I can't recommend the movie, no matter how good and interesting
the movie had become before the rug was pulled from under me.


Lifeform


is
yet another interesting failure to scratch up on my list. Yes, just a few
minutes in a movie can make a complete difference.

UPDATE:

Joshua Lou Friedman wrote in with
this information:

"I was Production Coordinator for the film reviewed in your Sci-Fi
section entitled:



Lifeform



.

"Two questions were posed in your review… one you answered correctly,
one incorrectly.

"The incorrect statement you made was that for a movie taking place
within an abandon military base, that it looked nothing like one…

"Sorry, we shot the film at an abandon military base (Morton AFB
to be exact in San Bernadino, now an airport I believe).

"The correct observation you made was that the ending was way to
abrupt and that it seemed like we ran out of money.

"YOU ARE CORRECT… we didn't even have the cash to bring the cast
back


to shoot the original ending. We therefore decided to NUKE EVERYTHING


via stock footage. A regrettable ending to all involved, yet, the
only way we could get it finished for distribution.

"What I'm surprised that your review did not point out was the presence
of (then budding actor) Ryan Phillipe of



Cruel Intentions



/

Way
of the Gun

fame. He was third billed in the film and was seen throughout.
Perhaps an addendum to your review would be necessary.

"Anyway, thank you for allowing me to shed light on these facts and
please check out another "unknown movie" I worked on called

Safe House



starring Patrick Stewart and Hector Elizondo (you can rent it at any
Blockbuster). I like the way you critique rare films and would be curious
to see how you would react to

Safe House

.

"Anyway, thanks for hearing me out… and thank you for keeping the
faith alive because without bad, unseen films… the good ones wouldn't
be good now would they?"

I guess I just imagined military bases to have wide and
long corridors, and other similar attributes. It didn't occur to me that
maybe in certain environments and operations, there would be more practical
methods. Thanks for pointing this out, and for filling me in on the explanation
for the ending.

M-G-M/Warner. Skipper Herbert Ross; Producer Gleam Stark; Screenplay Neil Simon; Camera David M. Walsh; Editor Margaret Kiosk; Music Dave Grusin; Art Director Albert Brenner

Richard Dreyfuss

Marsha Mason

Quinn Cummings

Paul Benedict

Barbara Rhoades

Theresa Merritt

Richard Dreyfuss in weirdo romantic head up casting, and vibrant Marsha Mason head the cast as two lovers in put out of themselves.

Story peg finds Mason, once-divorced and now jilted, finding out that her ex-lover has sublet their NY pad to aspiring thesp Dreyfuss. Mason has two other problems: a precocious daughter, Quinn Cummings, and her own thirtyish age which will prevent a successful resumption of a dancing career necessary to make ends meet.

The Neil Simon script evolves a series of increasingly intimate and sensitive character encounters as the adults progress from mutual hostility to an enduring love.

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Performances by Dreyfuss, Mason and Cummings are all great, and the many supporting bits are filled admirably.

1977: Best Actor (Richard Dreyfuss).

Nominations: Best Picture, Actress (Marsha Mason), Supp. Actress (Quinn Cummings), Original Screenplay

(Color) Available on VHS, DVD. Extract of a review from 1977. Running time: 110 MIN.

 

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- Sat., Jan. 1, 1977

We to a series of video diaries recorded by two teenage best friends, Cal (Calvin Robertson) and Andre (Andre Keuck), who are planning a extermination romp to be carried out on “zero day”. Determined to leave a quality on the unbelievable, and aiming to act with military-style correctness, the two talk in cite chapter about their plans and goals, regarding the video as a “testament” to be discovered after their deaths.

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