Bank Shot (1974)

 "I'm learning how to swim, and I'm coming after you!"

This is... well, it may not be the greatest comedy ever made, but it's a lot of fun. Silly heist films always are, and this one is literally about not just robbing a bank but stealing the entire wheeled edifice. As a high concept basis for a heist film, that's pretty impressive.

And George C. Scott is simply superb as the mildly world-weary and deadpan Walter Ballantine, genius heist planner who gets involved despite his better judgement with this highly unreliable motley crew.

But the film is equally carried by Clifton James as Bulldog Streiger, Ballantine's prison governor nemesis. Oh, and Ballantine's main underling is played by none other than Boss Hogg from The Dukes of Hazzard... 

There are some genuinely laugh out loud moments. This is, essentially, a farce. It's not so much a comedy of one liners as one of circumstance, with Ballantine being very knowing about the sheer existential absurdities of life, as displayed to perfection by the ending. The prison break early on is also a delight. And there are some delightful little clever comedic set pieces towards the end, as the gang are on the run with, yes, the whole bank.

This may be a fairly anonymous little heist comedy, but not every film has to bev the greatest of all time. If a film is entertaining, as this one is, then that's enough.

The Treasure of Abbot Thomas

 "Christianity isa ratiional system of belief, Peter."

Once again we have one of the BBC's once annual Christmas ghost stories based on various short stories by M.R. James, this one from 1974. And my God, it's superb. This is the BBC, so the early Victorian period with its bonnets and mutton chops is evoked to perfection. The deliberately slow pace gives us tension of a kind that the television of recent decades cannot provide.

And at the centre of it all is a masterfdul performance from Michael Bryant as the calm, rational, scientific Revd Dr. Justin Somerton, an Oxford don of the very old school, dismissive of superstition- he puts short shrift to a couple of seance mongers-

He is, at first, far too rational to be taken in by the enthusiastic young Peter'd enthusiasm for the buried treasure on a 15th century abbot, rumoured to be an alchemist carried away by the Devil. Yet events ptroceed fascinatingly and inexorably to his temptation and doom, the Abbot and all things supernatural seen only in yerrifying glimpses.

Of all the M'R. James adaptations of the '70s... this may well be the best I've seen so far.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974)

 “Trial by twelve good men and true... is a sound system

I have read, probably, more of Agatha Christie's ouevre than not, although all of it- and it startles me still that I should happen to be of an age to say this- not much less than thirty years ago. Her plots are of course unparallelled: writing in an age where the tropes of the whodunit were well-estabished, she subverted and played with them, and did so with unmatched cleverness. In that respect, she was a genius.

Alas... he characterisation and prose were bloody awful, and she kept her snobbishness  close to the surface of her writing. I, in turn, have become rather more of a prose snob over the last few decades. Functional prose I can cope with. Bad prose I cannot. I prefer Margery Allingham.

However, there are always screen adaptation, which provide the wonder of Christie's plotting without the pain of her prose. This is a particularly sublime example, with a cast to die for, partly- Lauren Bacall, Ingrd Bergman- from Hollywood's golden age. Yet Albert Finney is incrddible. At first, having known only David Suchet as a screen Poirot, I didn't want to like him. Hercule Poirot, unlike Sherlock Holmes, is not a part known for many actors. Yet Finney's subtle and mannered performance makes the film. So does Sidney Lumet's visually creative directing style which nevertheless serves the plot well, masterfully combining subtly sublime camerawork- the backstory of the baby at the strt is particularly well done- with clear storytelling.

Sadly, I remembered over the decades who killed the late Mr Ratchett, so I was unsueprised, and noticed a few of the clues. But this is a hugely successful and enjoyable adaptation.

Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla (1974)

“Who are you?”

“Commander first conquest of Earth, from the third planet of the black hole, outer space.”

This is most certainly one of the best films the franchise has given us. I don't care how Mechagodzilla is disguised as Godzilla only in the early scenes so we get to see some old-fashioned distruction by our old friend but appears only as a robot (described as a "cyborg") thereafter. Nor do I care about the Ptofessor's suspiciously accurate guesses early on, nor that his pipe is the most obvious example of Chekhov's Gun in cinematic history.

No; this is B movie heaven, with lots of action, interesting locations and a fast-moving plot- set partly, interestingly, in Okinawa, which is culturally and linguistically not quite Japanese, and certainly gets othered here. Mechagodzilla looks awesome and, while one sinister bloke indeed turns out to be the alien leader, others turn out to be cool and friendly Interpol agents in a nice bit of misdirection. Even the true form of the aliens looks quite impressive.

As for the corny sci-fi dialogue and hilariously 70s alien spacecraft, well, those are the reasons we watch these sorts of films. We even get an appearance from Angilas, and a cool new monster in the form of King Seesar. 70s Godzilla is really on form by now. And what’s pleasing is that each film is interestingly different.

Captain Kronos- Vampire Hunter (1974)

"What he doesn't know about vampirism wouldn't fill a flea's codpiece."

This is a film that, whatever its virtues, and notwithstanding that it isn't the last one, is as good as any to mark the end of Hammer. With Lee and Cushing pretty much gone from the scene, this film was intended to spearhead an entire new series of Hammer horror films- but it ended up having its delayed for two years and flopping at the box office. What went wrong?

Well, at first glance an awful lot went right. The script from Brian Clemens is clever, twisty-turny, full of compelling characters and nicely establishing a wider mythology about various types of vampires which behave differently- this one ages its victims- and can be killed in different ways, something explored nicely and which gives obvious sequel potential. It’s also creepily shot by Brian Clemens himself, with the vampire attack scenes creatively shot from the vampire’s POV and with plenty of suspense. There’s also a solid and effective cast of splendid British character actors, led by the superb John Cater but including Wanda Ventham, Ian Hendry and John Carson. It also features the very delightful Caroline Munro. There’s a lot going for this film.

Sadly, though, it has two big problems. The first is the casting of Horst Janson. The character of Kronos is awesome- I love his swordsmanship and how he deals with the ruffians in the pub- and Janson is pretty good, but if you have to dub all of your star’s lines because you can’t understand his German accent you have a rather big problem. There’s an awkward disjoint here that overshadows everything. And the second problem is, I think, Clemens’ direction. He can shoot certain types of scenes very well indeed, and you can’t fault his visual storytelling, but there’s a certain dull, overcast feel to the cinematography where a hint of swashbuckling fun was required. The tone doesn’t feel quite right.

It’s a real shame. There’s an excellent film inside this struggling to get out but alas it, and the continuing future of Hammer, was not to be.

The Godfather: Part II (1974)

”Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer..."

 I've always thought, before seeing both films again lately, that whilst The Godfather: Part II is utterly sublime,it isn't as good as its genius predecessor. Now I'm not so sure. This epic sequel (there's even an intermission!) just carries on where its predecessor left off, like a Patrick O'Brian novel, giving us another splodge of saga with the same unbelievably awesome directing and acting. Al Pacino is awesome in exactly the same way as before, but Robert de Niro amazes as the younger Vito Corleone in a wonderfully realised 1917, with mannerisms that evoke the earlier performance of Marlon Brando but also branch out into new areas,

It's a non-linear narrative, taking us from Vito's brutal Sicilian origins in 1901, through to the beginnings of his empire in 1917 towards (the bulk of the film) a present day that has moved on to the late 1950s and Michael Corleone is safely ensconced in Nevada, branching out to Cuba and losing touch with the old-fashioned New York world exemplified by the rather interesting character of Frank, too "Italian" and too old-fashioned for this brave new world. And yet, the Corleone family is tested, but it survives even if Michael's hopes of a normal family life cannot.

Again this is a film on the Italian-American experience, showing us the early waves of tired, huddled masses on Ellis Island, the fascinating period details of early twentieth century life in Little Italy with everyone in those early decades still speaking Italian with each other, and to the almost contemporary struggle to escape the Mafia legacy. But theme isn't really the point; the characters, the visuals, the acting- this is just the pinnacle of how to make a film well. Right up there with the greatest.

Chinatown (1974)

"Middle of a drought and the water commissioner drowns..."

SPOILERS

Best film about utilities and nonces ever. Ironic, seeing as it was directed by a man who urgently needs to get on a plane to the very city that this film is about to face the charge of being a nonce himself. But let's not get distracted by a certain heinous event in 1977 for which the perpetrator has yet to face justice...

Annoyingly, even nonces can direct films which are exquisite works of art. It's a film noir, it's a whodunit, it's an early '70s auteur film in the same vein as Scorsese and Coppola's stuff. The 1930s as a setting is glorious, the whole fictionalised history of the Los Angeles Water Wars manages to completely avoid being, ahem, dry, and Jack Nicholson is the best Philip Marlowe ever as he plays Jake Gittes. Faye Dunaway also impresses as the femme fatale who turns out not to be that at all, and John Huston(!) is suitably evil as the rich old corrupt nonce who causes so much misery.

One thing, though: why does Katherine pretend to be her mum/sis and hire Jake to expose the rather nice Hollis as an adulterer? If it's a hint at getting him to find out about the conspiracy then it's a rather odd one. But the film is a triumph, and reminds us of just how much Los Angeles is a desert city, unnaturally watered. Ironic that the Los Angeles Aqueduct was designed by William Mulholland, and that I would have watched Mulholland Drive tonight if Amazon Prime had been civilised and had subtitles...

Young Frankenstein (1974)

"He would have an enormous Schwanstucker!"

Ok, so Gene Wilder excels, in the best performance I've ever seen by him, as Victor Frankenstein's grandson Frederick, who he plays in a delightful pastiche of Vincent Price. Gene Hackman is great too, and ends his scene with a splendid ad-lib. But the film is really about Marty Feldman, whom we must all worship. I mean, one of his ad-libs even caused Aerosmith to write their most well-known song. That's impressive.

The film- in monochrome, utilising the same sets, using deliberately similar opening titles- is a superb pastiche of James Whale's two Frankenstein films. The humour is classic early Mel Brooks, but the sense of a cast having fun, and the ad-libbing, make the film. Marty Feldman, though, shows again what paragon of comedy he is.

There aren't as many laughs per minute, perhaps, as later Mel Brooks films, but the jokes are funny, and just as gloriously Jewish. This is a pastiche specifically of the Universal Frankenstein films by James Whale, in monochrome, using similar opening titles and even using the same lab equipment, with riffs on several scenes. But this is a world where you can get on a train in New York and get off at a "Transylvania Station" where things are still very Mittel-Europe and Ceaucescu's regime is nowhere to be seen. It's the world of Mel Brooks at its very best.

The Odessa File (1974)

"You are not even worth a bullet..."

Frederick Forsyth is one of those guilty pleasures; hardly a literary writer, prose that makes no pretensions to be anything more than functional, and (especially late on) somewhat right-wing, Biafra aside. But he's a quick, undemanding writer and, dammit, exciting, so it's no surprise that, after the previous year had brought The Day of the Jackal to the big screen, 1974 should see a second adaptation in the shape of this Anglo-German production, with Hollywood star Jon Voight parachuted in to join the largely Anglo-German cast in a film which manages to impress in spite of all the English- speaking actors putting on comedy German accents. It's odd seeing a young Derek Jacobi in such a small role, but great to see the wonderful Mary Tamm, four years before Doctor Who, playing the leading lady.

It's an interesting artifact from the year of the Watergate scandal, and I think that's a valid thing to say even if the novel was published in the year of said burglary itself, starting with a moment of nostalgia for the very recent past of Kennedy. Except the West Germany of 1963 had some very dark shadows lurks by beneath the prosperity, the flawless constitutional democracy and the Beatles in the Reeperbahn; not all of them were SS, but many Nazis had quietly integrated into society and there was a quiet determination to cover things up, to be in denial: even the head of the police War Crimes Unit attends a deeply disturbing regimental reunion. And that kind of sinister doublethink is what the film is about. Peter Miller may represent a younger, less tainted generation who is horrified by the Holocaust (at last re-emerging as an event in its full enormity into the wider culture in the 1970s) but ultimately motivated by personal reasons.

This is an entertaining and exciting political thriller, even if the characterisation is close to non-existent. But the Holocaust flashbacks- filled in monochrome- certainly stay with you.

Foxy Brown (1974)

"You pink-ass corrupt honky judge, take your little wet noodle outta here and if you see a man anywhere send him in because I do need a man."

I've already blogged one Blaxploitation film; why not, I thought, blog another, this time an iconic one that actually stars Pam Grier herself? Well, this is certainly a watchable film and possibly the most '70s thing ever. I mean, Huggy Bear is in it. And it's always good to see Sid Haig.

Foxy is, essentially, setting out to avenge her murdered cop boyfriend armed with no more than a gun, a whole lot of sass and some enormously cliched dialogue. There's not a lot more to it than that but it's enormous fun, and Grier certainly has the charisma. There are car chases, there is action, but it's all about her. And..  that's about all that can be said about the film.

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974)

"Why is everything so hard for me? Why can't I play the piano like I can breathe?"

I've been fascinated by the story of Kaspar Hauser since I was a child. Was he a fraud? Why was he brought up in such bleak captivity? Did he really subsist for twelve years on bread and water? It would be cool if he were indeed the rightful Duke of Baden as many say, much as I'm wary of conspiracy theories: I'm not one of those who think the Moon landings were faked or any of that silliness. But the 2002 DNA test results are interesting.

Anyway, Werner Herzog doesn't really dwell on the conspiracy theory angle: he's not Oliver Stone. Instead we get a meditation on innocence, beauty, a twisted kind of childhood and the strangeness of religion to one not indoctrinated, all anchored by Bruno S as Hauser who, bizarrely, was in his late thirties at the time. Even the English title is misleading: the German title translates as Every Man for Himself and God Against All.

This very Bavarian film is an utter triumph for Herzog, the world's most avowedly Bavarian filmmaker. From the classical soundtrack to the visuals to the poetic stories told by Hauser- his deathbed story is pregnant with meaning- this is an extraordinary film and a beautiful work of art. Just don't expect any real focus on the mystery.

The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)

"I admit it's a little kinky..."

It says a lot for the recent high standards of Bond films that, while The Man with the Golden Gun is a splendidly enjoyable film in which both Roger Moore and Christopher Lee are excellent, it is in comparison not as good as many of its predecessors, merely very good rather than superb. Still, the run of good Bond films continues.

Lulu's stab at theme tune is a perfectly good one even if it's no one's favourite and she's so Shirley Bassey. And those lyrics... "Who will he bang?" Oo er!

Q is back, this time paired with a ballistics expert played by the superb James Cossins, who I will always remember fondly from a certain episode of Some Mothers do 'Ave 'Em. But it's an unusual Bond film, the villain being an assassin whose grand scheme to monopolise solar power seems almost an afterthought. But seeing solar power as a panacea? And one has to raise an eyebrow, given the current price of oil, that supplies of oil and gas were thought to be exhausted back in 1974, even if the central point is true.

The film is a splendid series of entertaining set pieces, this time in various parts of the Far East. I was a little perturbed to find Sumo wrestlers in Thailand, though: it's almost as though all eastern Asian countries and cultures are considered interchangeable. Our agent in Hong Kong even has convenient relatives in Thailand. Still, schoolgirls kicking ass with martial arts are cool.

I'm not sure about including that annoying sheriff from the last film as comic relief, but the film is another triumph. We get the first of the formulaic endings, too, with M phoning Bond while he's otherwise occupied with Goodnight ("She's just cumming, Sir"). The Roger Moore era is in full swing already.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)

"My family's always been in meat..."

This is the template for a certain kind of slasher and, surprisingly, whereas the budget is obviously limited, it's rather better than both of them, the film being full of incident and suspense. It's also notable that, while there are a few brief and therefore effective moments of gore, the film relies much more on the suggestion of blood and gore than in showing it in any great detail. This kind of slasher is never going to trouble the "best ever" lists, but it's one of the best of it's kind.

Much of this comes from a clever plot structure and the device of having one of the characters be a wheelchair user. The kids are picked off at regular intervals throughout the film, providing us with regular bursts of excitement, and the early scenes with the hitchhiker give us some early incident and foreboding.

It matters not that we know perfectly well that the hitchhiker will turn out to be one of the baddies, or the petrol station owner. Predictability is the point. This is a well-executed film which, while part of a genre which is somewhat limited and reliant on simple melodrama in the absence of any extra little metatextual touches, justifies its status as a pioneer within that genre.

Black Christmas (1974)

"That's the Mormon Tabernacle Choir doing their annual obscene phone call."

Er, merry Christmas, folks.

This film is so refreshing- one of the earliest slasher movies from before any of the tropes were truly established and so not weighted down by them. It also has that certain look that you find in the best films of the mid-'70s, all shot on proper film, brilliantly shot, naturalistically acted and with an emphasis on realism rather than glossiness of sound and picture. Oh, and Margot Kidder is in it.

The film is both very '70s and very Canadian, from the clothes to the sexual free-for-all to the ice hockey. At it's heart, though, its a well-rounded slasher which succeeds because of good characterisation, from the comical Mrs Mac with a bottle of whisky in every nook and cranny to the amusingly strait-laced Mr Harrison and from the realistically and terrifyingly misogynistic attitude of Peter towards Jess to the contrast between the virginal (and first to die) Clare to the deliciously naughty (and therefore doomed- tropes have to start somewhere) Barb, played by the brilliant Margot Kidder. The performances are as good as the characterisation, although perhaps Olivia Hussey is somewhat lacking in charisma. But even the police officers come across as individuals. It's a good slasher because it's a good film.

Best of all is the inconclusive ending; it isn't the red herring, but a semi- supernatural "Billy" in the attic, still reciting those creepy lines about "baby Agnes" and "what we did". That's how to do scary; undefined menace sitting there inexplicably in a world of realism.