Archive for Keith Carradine

Only Two Cannes Play

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on March 9, 2017 by dcairns

AN ALMOST PERFECT AFFAIR is very minor Michael Ritchie, but charming enough. Best joke is in the titles ~

Second best joke is a linguistic mix-up between lovers Keith Carradine and Monica Vitti, as she’s trying to warn him of what the future might hold — “You could be eaten be a sherk! Your teets could fall out!”

“My tits could fall out?” queries Keith, more amused than alarmed.

“Yes! Your teets!” insists Monica, and taps his impressive teeth. Aaaaaah. Got you.

Being set during the Cannes Film Festival, the film offers a few celebrity cameos, but not many. I saw more famous people the times I was in Cannes. Nice to see Sergio Leone here, though, looking like the offspring of an owl and a grizzly bear. Arnon Milchan reports that when he first got involved in the film biz, he went to Cannes, bumped into Leone, and couldn’t believe his luck when Leone pitched him ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA. It was only after committing to make the damn thing that he realized that Leone had been sat on a balcony at Cannes pitching it for fifteen years, year in and year out.

Alexander Walker was on the Cannes jury the same year as Monica Vitti, but her schedule prevented her from seeing the films at the same time as everyone else. In the interests of transparency, she was required to sign a ledger testifying that she had indeed viewed the works in competition. So when the other jurors would sign their own names, they would find her testimony — “Veni, Vidi, Vitti.”

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Hill’s Angels

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2015 by dcairns

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Fiona and I both flashed on the same minor detail in Walter Hill’s THE LONG RIDERS — a dog defecating in the main street of Northfield, Minnesota. There’s realism for you. John Ford sets up STAGECOACH with a stray horse cantering through town. Hill goes one better. Did he get lucky, or train the dog to squat on command, or wait like David Lean for his mythical perfect sunset, in the form of dog poop?

There’s also the steam-driven abstraction that putters through town just before the James-Younger Gang’s raid. The outlaws just stare at it in sullen bafflement. It’s a symbol of their obsolescence, I guess.

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Hill’s gimmick of casting real sets of brothers (David, Keith and Robert Carradine, Randy and Dennis Quaid, Stacy and James Keach, Christopher and Nicholas Guest) arguably depends on the audience being in on the gag, since no sets of brothers ever looked less alike (the Guests achieve a kind of resemblance only because they’re styled as a matching set). But it’s still fun, and all of those actors are excellent actors. Pamela Reed maybe beats all of them, though, as Belle Starr. I’ve been obsessed with her since THE RIGHT STUFF, but somehow never saw this properly before (another brown western, I thought, catching snippets on TV) and then got her confused with Joan Allen. She’s really quite different — earthier, for one thing. She had these huge, lizard-lidded, wide-spaced eyes, like the kind you might find looking out of a dwarf. Too big for the skull trying to contain them. Amazing. It’s funny when Michael Beck from THE WARRIORS turns up as her hubbie, still wearing a waistcoat with nothing underneath.

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Hill usually admits to being uncomfortable writing for women, so the fact that he didn’t script this himself is a blessing. Compare Deborah Van Valkenburgh’s translucent-topped tart in THE WARRIORS (“She was a nasty little shit-stirrer, wasn’t she?” said Fiona) with Reed’s complex, intense, angry human being here. The actor and script even manage to find a wholly unfamiliar attitude to take — ambiguous, defiant — when her rival menfolk prepare to fight over her. The potential pitfalls of obnoxious cliché are so numerous here it’s a miracle the movie negotiates them, but it does.

Bill Bryden, a Scottish writer who had been running the BBC Scotland Drama Department, initiated this script, and my main takeaway from it is that bank robbers are fools and everything these guys did was destructive and counter-productive. It could be seen as an entirely negative film. But it has some kind of affection for its characters in spite of everything, and a love for the kind of Americana it wallows in. Hill’s long collaboration with composer Ry Cooder never yielded anything else as marvelous as this, a score to rank with Bob Dylan’s for PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID and Joe Strummer’s for WALKER.

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Hill’s debt to Peckinpah (he scripted THE GETAWAY) is certainly evident in the action scenes, which look seriously dangerous to both man and horse. The lensing of talk isn’t always fluid or interesting — Hill’s comic book approach comes through here, with players locked into stand-and-deliver mode, the framing static and life supplied only by staccato cutting patterns. It verges on the televisual — but then Hill’s restless editing can make a tense stand-off out of a few flat closeups and one begins to admire how far he can push a limited technique.

Sleeper Hit

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on April 28, 2014 by dcairns

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Robert Altman’s THIEVES LIKE US sort of trundles into rickety existence with a bunch of scenes sort of recognizable from their vague equivalents in Nick Ray’s debut THIEVES LIKE US, only less incisive, more diffuse and goofy and realistic. You don’t really know why you’re watching until a dog comes panting along a railway bridge, its soft puffing exactly like that of a tiny hairy steam train. Keith Carradine, forced by barely-explained plot contingencies to sleep rough, gathers the compliant hound to his bosom. “You’ll be my blanket,” he says, rolling into a nook under the train tracks. BONK — the dog bumps its head on the overhead sleeper.

“Sorry,” ad libs Carradine, and wins our affection. He can rob as many people as he likes for the rest of the movie, his canine apology makes him one of us.

This residual goodwill proves very handy as the film, one of Altman’s most low-key, minor-league ’70s works, soon reverts to trundling, and Carradine’s character does little to ingratiate himself. Farley Granger in the original is impossibly naive, but what to Nick Ray is innocence, to Altman is stupidity. He doesn’t try to seduce us, as Arthur Penn & co did in BONNIE AND CLYDE, but that leaves the film to be defined mainly in the negative, for all the conventional things it resists doing, rather for any bold new ground it positively breaks.

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The use of old-time radio shows on the soundtrack seems unusually obvious for Altman — hearing The Shadow or something doesn’t seem to provide a new layer the way the tannoy announcements do in M*A*S*H. But the constant presence of Coca-Cola in the film is intriguing — we see it being promoted, the heroes drink nothing but, and in the final scene, every extra seems to have their own bottle. This is, I believe, before Cola got into movie-making, so I don’t think it’s mere product placement. Altman clearly has something on his mind. It’s like the fizzy drink version of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS.