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FILM REVIEWS
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TOP 5 FILMS TURNING 20
IN 2017
The year? 1997. Dolly the sheep becomes the world’s first clone, the first book about a pubescent wizard named Harry is published, the Heaven’s Gate cult commits mass suicides (in a move in no way related to the previous piece of trivia), Hanson’s seminal hit ‘Mmmbop’ rockets to Number 1 in the charts, and the People’s Princess is ruthlessly assassinated as part of a shadowy conspiracy whose members include the newly-elected Tony Blair, the British Royal Family, the Bilderberg Group and, bafflingly enough, the aforementioned Hanson brothers.
Film-wise, the Oscar-sweeping and then-record breaking Titanic came out and ensured that countless love-struck teens adorned their bedroom walls with Leonardo DiCaprio posters, the Batman franchise was buried along with Joel Schumacher’s now infamous Batman & Robin, and a mulleted Nicholas Cage was desperately trying to get the bunny back in the box on a plane full of cons.
As for yours truly, I was getting my mind blown by OK Computer while memorising the lyrics to ‘Men In Black’, wondering how to convincingly slow dance with a girl called Sarah, and even managed to sneak into the 15-rated Good Will Humping (Hunting - Damn you, Friends!) while only being 12 at the time. Suck on that, careless employees of the Grafton Centre Cinema!
It was watching Luc Besson’s dire Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets - released on the 20th anniversary of the superb Le Cinquième Elément - that got me thinking about films celebrating the big 2-0 this year, and which films have endured as cinematic highlights.
Without further ado, prepare to feel old, and here are the 5 best films which celebrate their 20th birthday in 2017. We may as well begin with the one that kickstarted the idea for this piece...
LE CINQUIEME ELEMENT
(THE FIFTH ELEMENT)
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: Le Cinquième Elémént is green. Super green. I love it so much I snobbishly insist on referring to it by its original title - as intended by French director Luc Besson - as opposed to the commonly-used ‘The Fifth Element’.
Pfff - youuu alwayz butcher ze Frrrench language...
Le Cinquième Elément was a turning point for Besson: after critically applauded films like Subway, The Big Blue, Nikita and Léon, it was to be his last great film. Since unapologetically opening the floodgates of his imagination in 1997, he’s been in freefall, embracing and coming to define the Eurotrash genre as a writer-producer (both the Transporter and Taken series, From Paris With Love, Columbiana, 3 Days To Kill, Lucy...) and never directing anything truly worthwhile (2005’s Angel-A being the exception to the rule). It’s one of the many reasons his career lynchpin and extravagant fairy tale should be celebrated as the visionary sci-fi masterpiece it continues to be.
His heartfelt space-adventure holds up remarkably well even after 20 years, far better than his godawful Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets ever will. This is due to a heroically silly script that had heart and goofy humour to spare, as well as striking the delicate balance between outlandish visuals that were equally mind-blowing and relatable. It was controlled excess that felt like the gorgeous futuristic visions of a future that might yet happen. Unlike this year’s CGI orgy, the special effects were wisely matched with equally impressive practical effects, making audiences feel that what awaits us is rooted in a present we recognise. Add Jean-Paul Gaultier’s costume designs, mesmerizingly vivid details that include cigarettes that are 80% filters, a kick-ass soundtrack and a knock-out cast featuring Gary Oldman on villain duties, Bruce Willis at the peak of his 90s powers and a newly discovered Milla Jovovich as Leeloominai Lekatariba Lamina-Tchai Ekbat De Sebat, and you’ve got yourself a deliriously entertaining extravaganza that continues to be the high-water mark for sci-fi blockbusters.
I strongly advise that you dig out your Muuultiiiiiipass and head back to Fhloston Paradise. And for the love of all that’s good and pure, Aziz, LIGHT!!!
Pfff - youuu alwayz butcher ze Frrrench language...
Le Cinquième Elément was a turning point for Besson: after critically applauded films like Subway, The Big Blue, Nikita and Léon, it was to be his last great film. Since unapologetically opening the floodgates of his imagination in 1997, he’s been in freefall, embracing and coming to define the Eurotrash genre as a writer-producer (both the Transporter and Taken series, From Paris With Love, Columbiana, 3 Days To Kill, Lucy...) and never directing anything truly worthwhile (2005’s Angel-A being the exception to the rule). It’s one of the many reasons his career lynchpin and extravagant fairy tale should be celebrated as the visionary sci-fi masterpiece it continues to be.
His heartfelt space-adventure holds up remarkably well even after 20 years, far better than his godawful Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets ever will. This is due to a heroically silly script that had heart and goofy humour to spare, as well as striking the delicate balance between outlandish visuals that were equally mind-blowing and relatable. It was controlled excess that felt like the gorgeous futuristic visions of a future that might yet happen. Unlike this year’s CGI orgy, the special effects were wisely matched with equally impressive practical effects, making audiences feel that what awaits us is rooted in a present we recognise. Add Jean-Paul Gaultier’s costume designs, mesmerizingly vivid details that include cigarettes that are 80% filters, a kick-ass soundtrack and a knock-out cast featuring Gary Oldman on villain duties, Bruce Willis at the peak of his 90s powers and a newly discovered Milla Jovovich as Leeloominai Lekatariba Lamina-Tchai Ekbat De Sebat, and you’ve got yourself a deliriously entertaining extravaganza that continues to be the high-water mark for sci-fi blockbusters.
I strongly advise that you dig out your Muuultiiiiiipass and head back to Fhloston Paradise. And for the love of all that’s good and pure, Aziz, LIGHT!!!
L.A. CONFIDENTIAL
Set in the City of Angels in the 50s, three police officers - the wet-behind-the-ears cop who’d “screw himself to get ahead” Ed Exley (Guy Pierce), the brute with a big heart Bud White (Russell Crowe) and spotlight-obsessed TV cop show “advisor” Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey) - all find themselves trying to solve the Night Owl murders. The deeper they go, the murkier the revelations, and as their paths intertwine, they realise to what extent they have become entangled in the same web of corruption, murder and prostitution.
The late Curtis Hanson’s neo-noir masterpiece is based on the novel by James Ellroy and the filmmaker can’t be praised enough for not only streamlining the author’s sprawling narrative without sacrificing narrative complexity, but also for creating what is a veritable time capsule of a movie. It is a film that does justice to the period not just through production value, but because of a true appreciation for the era; rare are the filmmakers who manage to get a period setting this intoxicatingly spot-on. Mention must go to cinematographer Dante Spinotti, whose craft contributed in no small way to making the film such a richly textured affair.
The eye-watering cast also includes James Cromwell as a weathered police Captain, David Stathairn as a suave pimp of women “cut to look like movie stars”, Danny De Vito playing a sleazy-yet-endearing editor and Kim Basinger, who rightly bagged an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for her trouble, playing the femme fatale of the piece. (The film’s second Oscar was won by Hanson and Brian Helgeland, who both adapted the screenplay).
The fact that this spiritual successor to Chinatown lost out to Titanic for best film at the Oscars is just a question of bean-counters wowed by record-breaking box office numbers. L.A. Confidential is the far superior film, a layered detective thriller that is utterly engrossing and without a doubt the best film not only on this list, but of 1997 and the 90s as a whole.
The late Curtis Hanson’s neo-noir masterpiece is based on the novel by James Ellroy and the filmmaker can’t be praised enough for not only streamlining the author’s sprawling narrative without sacrificing narrative complexity, but also for creating what is a veritable time capsule of a movie. It is a film that does justice to the period not just through production value, but because of a true appreciation for the era; rare are the filmmakers who manage to get a period setting this intoxicatingly spot-on. Mention must go to cinematographer Dante Spinotti, whose craft contributed in no small way to making the film such a richly textured affair.
The eye-watering cast also includes James Cromwell as a weathered police Captain, David Stathairn as a suave pimp of women “cut to look like movie stars”, Danny De Vito playing a sleazy-yet-endearing editor and Kim Basinger, who rightly bagged an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for her trouble, playing the femme fatale of the piece. (The film’s second Oscar was won by Hanson and Brian Helgeland, who both adapted the screenplay).
The fact that this spiritual successor to Chinatown lost out to Titanic for best film at the Oscars is just a question of bean-counters wowed by record-breaking box office numbers. L.A. Confidential is the far superior film, a layered detective thriller that is utterly engrossing and without a doubt the best film not only on this list, but of 1997 and the 90s as a whole.
GROSSE POINTE BLANK
From one of the decade’s best films to the 90’s most underrated comedies...
In George Armitage‘s Grosse Pointe Blank, we meet Martin Blank (John Cusack), a jaded professional hitman battling existential ennui. He’s pressganged by his somewhat unhinged secretary (Joan Cusack, who hits comic peaks here) and his reluctant therapist (Alan Arkin) into going to his high school reunion, which happens to coincide with a job he can’t turn down. Thus begins an impromptu trip down memory lane to expel a few demons, seek redemption in the arms of Debbie (Minnie Driver), the girl he stood up on prom night and can't stop thinking about... and to whack somebody. Naturally.
“Why can’t you say kill - why do you always have to romanticize it?”
Fair enough.
The wonderfully playful script, written by Tom Jankiewicz, DV DeVincentis, Steve Pink and leading man John Cusack, has a frighteningly first-hand ring of truth about it, and a lot of the zingers owe a debt to Pulp Fiction, released only three years prior. It’s no surprise or mere coincidence that a particular shootout ends with a life-size promotional cardboard cut-out of the Pulp Fiction cast being utterly obliterated by gunfire...
As if the sharp script and spot-on performances by both Cusacks weren’t enough, Grosse Pointe Blank features arguably Dan Aykroyd’s last great comedic tour-de-force as Grocer, one of Martin’s competitors desperately trying to start an assassin’s union. Every time he’s on screen, popping pills or yelling catchphrases (‘Popcorn!’), you can’t help but marvel at every mimic or gesture, culminating in what can only be described as a pouty waddle as he ‘runs’ into the final confrontation holding a gun in each hand and a last-straw look in his eyes. It’s quite something. His performance, as well as the endlessly quotable dialogue and an absolute gem of a soundtrack, which includes the likes of The Clash, Violent Femmes, The Specials, Echo & The Bunnymen, The Cure, Eels - and allows the opening contract hit to play out to Johnny Nash’s ’I Can See Clearly Now’ – contribute to making this a black comedy for the ages.
In George Armitage‘s Grosse Pointe Blank, we meet Martin Blank (John Cusack), a jaded professional hitman battling existential ennui. He’s pressganged by his somewhat unhinged secretary (Joan Cusack, who hits comic peaks here) and his reluctant therapist (Alan Arkin) into going to his high school reunion, which happens to coincide with a job he can’t turn down. Thus begins an impromptu trip down memory lane to expel a few demons, seek redemption in the arms of Debbie (Minnie Driver), the girl he stood up on prom night and can't stop thinking about... and to whack somebody. Naturally.
“Why can’t you say kill - why do you always have to romanticize it?”
Fair enough.
The wonderfully playful script, written by Tom Jankiewicz, DV DeVincentis, Steve Pink and leading man John Cusack, has a frighteningly first-hand ring of truth about it, and a lot of the zingers owe a debt to Pulp Fiction, released only three years prior. It’s no surprise or mere coincidence that a particular shootout ends with a life-size promotional cardboard cut-out of the Pulp Fiction cast being utterly obliterated by gunfire...
As if the sharp script and spot-on performances by both Cusacks weren’t enough, Grosse Pointe Blank features arguably Dan Aykroyd’s last great comedic tour-de-force as Grocer, one of Martin’s competitors desperately trying to start an assassin’s union. Every time he’s on screen, popping pills or yelling catchphrases (‘Popcorn!’), you can’t help but marvel at every mimic or gesture, culminating in what can only be described as a pouty waddle as he ‘runs’ into the final confrontation holding a gun in each hand and a last-straw look in his eyes. It’s quite something. His performance, as well as the endlessly quotable dialogue and an absolute gem of a soundtrack, which includes the likes of The Clash, Violent Femmes, The Specials, Echo & The Bunnymen, The Cure, Eels - and allows the opening contract hit to play out to Johnny Nash’s ’I Can See Clearly Now’ – contribute to making this a black comedy for the ages.
LOST HIGHWAY
For many, Mulholland Dr. is David Lynch’s bone fide masterpiece, but for me, Lost Highway did it first and remains my favourite. Its two-part story completely adheres to dream logic and sees saxophonist Fred (Bill Pullman) and wife Renee (Patricia Arquette) receive strange video tapes in unmarked envelopes. The bizarre gifts, which show up in Michael Haneke’s Caché nearly a decade afterwards, lead to Renee’s bloody murder. Fred goes to jail for a crime he says he didn’t commit, and after some heavy headaches and a restless night of morphing in chokey, the prison guards can’t find him anywhere. In his cell is Pete (Balthazar Getty), who has no idea how or why he got there. As one sweaty guard rightly says to his chief: “This is some spooky shit we’ve got here”.
Indeed, this unpredictable story of suburban intrusion, murder, mafia bosses, porn rings and mistaken identities is a confounding film, one which manages to be both disturbingly beautiful and arousingly creepy.
There’s a layered oxymoronic headfuck of a sentence for you.
It’s as if Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly had taken a plunge into hell; it stands, alongside Eraserhead, as the closest the bequiffed auteur has come to a full-on horror film. It features some jolting scares and indelible imagery that haunts this reviewer’s nightmares to this day. The menacing mood is paramount and enhanced by the performances, specifically Robert Blake’s, who leaves an indelible mark as the pale, saucer-eyed golem at the centre of one of cinema’s most terrifying phone calls ever. (Click here if you don't believe me.)
As well as channelling Dostoyevsky, Kafka and Breton - all major Lynchian influences – the director also makes Lost Highway a schizophrenic love letter to the noir genre, one which can be read as a meditation on jealousy, infidelity and male impotence. Ultimately though, it resists out-and-out explanations: it’s a film to rewatch and theorize over at length, preferably while on a dizzying high. Alternatively, you could do what Lynch would want you to and let go of the trappings of logic reasoning. The film, as pretentious as this may read, invites you to embrace the values of surrealism, to surrender to the surreal workings of a Mobius strip narrative that emphasizes intoxicating atmosphere over a limiting search for meaning. Wanky sentences or no, and whether you do or not, few can argue that Lost Highway is a gripping and self-aware descent into the sinister and dark desires we all have within ourselves.
So maybe not a first date film then…
Indeed, this unpredictable story of suburban intrusion, murder, mafia bosses, porn rings and mistaken identities is a confounding film, one which manages to be both disturbingly beautiful and arousingly creepy.
There’s a layered oxymoronic headfuck of a sentence for you.
It’s as if Robert Aldrich’s Kiss Me Deadly had taken a plunge into hell; it stands, alongside Eraserhead, as the closest the bequiffed auteur has come to a full-on horror film. It features some jolting scares and indelible imagery that haunts this reviewer’s nightmares to this day. The menacing mood is paramount and enhanced by the performances, specifically Robert Blake’s, who leaves an indelible mark as the pale, saucer-eyed golem at the centre of one of cinema’s most terrifying phone calls ever. (Click here if you don't believe me.)
As well as channelling Dostoyevsky, Kafka and Breton - all major Lynchian influences – the director also makes Lost Highway a schizophrenic love letter to the noir genre, one which can be read as a meditation on jealousy, infidelity and male impotence. Ultimately though, it resists out-and-out explanations: it’s a film to rewatch and theorize over at length, preferably while on a dizzying high. Alternatively, you could do what Lynch would want you to and let go of the trappings of logic reasoning. The film, as pretentious as this may read, invites you to embrace the values of surrealism, to surrender to the surreal workings of a Mobius strip narrative that emphasizes intoxicating atmosphere over a limiting search for meaning. Wanky sentences or no, and whether you do or not, few can argue that Lost Highway is a gripping and self-aware descent into the sinister and dark desires we all have within ourselves.
So maybe not a first date film then…
STARSHIP TROOPERS
Now, I know what you’re thinking - “An ironic inclusion of a cult classic at the end of the list to pander to the fanboys... How original.”
Pipe down and roll your eyes back. Starship Troopers may not rank as a masterpiece by any means, but it’s a far more intelligent film than people tend to give it credit for. Originally titled 'Bug Hunt At Outpost Nine', this self-aware and camp adaptation of Robert Heinlein’s novel sees a trio of free-faced recruits (Casper Van Dien, Denise Richards and Neil Patrick Harris) join the military to become “citizens” and fight in the interstellar conflict that rages on between mankind and ‘Arachnids’. The special effects hold up surprisingly well, the action sequences are a blast and Paul Verhoeven’s use of Stiob still makes it a multi-layered anti-imperialist film that subverts military propaganda, as well as satirises American jingoism.
(Stiob can be roughly defined as an ironic form of Soviet parody that plays on the fact you often celebrate what you condemn: it is so necessarily entrenched in its subject matter that many misunderstand where celebration ends and parody begins. Don’t say I don’t treat you to cold hard facts.)
The satire was prescient, considering our post-truth / fake news era. Some of the news flashes and ads from the Federal Network that punctuate the film’s acts are not only hilarious (a mother laughs hysterically as the kids in her suburban neighbourhood stomp on bugs, while the voiceover track spouts unmistakably fascistic rhetoric) but also eerily topical (‘fact’-based indoctrination spots about the intergalactic immigrants). As Verhoeven stated, his knowing evocation of Nazi imagery, SS iconography and totalitarian state propaganda was to show how war leads to fanaticism and how a post-WWII US had evolved into the very thing it was combatting. From McCarthyism to Trump’s America, it’s hard not to recognize the many ways in which he hit upon something…
So, before you dismiss it as a trashy sci-fi B-movie that borders on offensive - something many have done, having taken some of the fascist-echoing imagery at face value - know that Starship Troopers was deliberately designed as an OTT and darkly parodic piece of entertainment with that exact aesthetic in mind, unbridled cheesiness and all. It’s an impressive romp with its tongue deep in its cheek, one which says more about the perils of war and nationalistic pride than a lot of films portending to do so.
Plus, this is the film that makes me - to this day - use the quote “We can ill afford another Klendathu’” whenever a situation is on the brink of becoming pear shaped. What more do you need?
Pipe down and roll your eyes back. Starship Troopers may not rank as a masterpiece by any means, but it’s a far more intelligent film than people tend to give it credit for. Originally titled 'Bug Hunt At Outpost Nine', this self-aware and camp adaptation of Robert Heinlein’s novel sees a trio of free-faced recruits (Casper Van Dien, Denise Richards and Neil Patrick Harris) join the military to become “citizens” and fight in the interstellar conflict that rages on between mankind and ‘Arachnids’. The special effects hold up surprisingly well, the action sequences are a blast and Paul Verhoeven’s use of Stiob still makes it a multi-layered anti-imperialist film that subverts military propaganda, as well as satirises American jingoism.
(Stiob can be roughly defined as an ironic form of Soviet parody that plays on the fact you often celebrate what you condemn: it is so necessarily entrenched in its subject matter that many misunderstand where celebration ends and parody begins. Don’t say I don’t treat you to cold hard facts.)
The satire was prescient, considering our post-truth / fake news era. Some of the news flashes and ads from the Federal Network that punctuate the film’s acts are not only hilarious (a mother laughs hysterically as the kids in her suburban neighbourhood stomp on bugs, while the voiceover track spouts unmistakably fascistic rhetoric) but also eerily topical (‘fact’-based indoctrination spots about the intergalactic immigrants). As Verhoeven stated, his knowing evocation of Nazi imagery, SS iconography and totalitarian state propaganda was to show how war leads to fanaticism and how a post-WWII US had evolved into the very thing it was combatting. From McCarthyism to Trump’s America, it’s hard not to recognize the many ways in which he hit upon something…
So, before you dismiss it as a trashy sci-fi B-movie that borders on offensive - something many have done, having taken some of the fascist-echoing imagery at face value - know that Starship Troopers was deliberately designed as an OTT and darkly parodic piece of entertainment with that exact aesthetic in mind, unbridled cheesiness and all. It’s an impressive romp with its tongue deep in its cheek, one which says more about the perils of war and nationalistic pride than a lot of films portending to do so.
Plus, this is the film that makes me - to this day - use the quote “We can ill afford another Klendathu’” whenever a situation is on the brink of becoming pear shaped. What more do you need?
There we have it.
With the benefit of hindsight, 1997 was a particularly a stellar year for cinema, so apologies to those who went unmentioned in this list: Face/Off, Hana-bi, Jackie Brown, Gattaca, Event Horizon, Funny Games and The Game. Had this been a Top 10... well, even then, 2 of those would have been excluded. And apologies to the deluded souls out there who still believe that Contact is a masterpiece. It’s not. It’s Jodie Foster dementedly fucking about within the time-space continuum from a seated position while Matthew McConaughey looks on dreamily.
Anaconda, on the other hand, will one day be recognised as the untrumpeted masterpiece it is and always has been. Same goes for The Relic.
On that note, I bid you farewell and happy discovering or re-watching of these 20-year-old gems.
- D - 15/08/17