The Delta Force (1986)

 "You don't need beds. You're gonna die tomorrow..."

I seem to be very much in the mood for cheesy '80s action films and this very much seemed to fit the fill- by Cannon, themasters of the genre, and starring Chuck Norris yet featuring a rather impressive-looking cast.

And it is, indeed, a fun watch, slowly going through the events of a hijack based loosely on one from real life the previous year. While there's plenty of action towards the end, there's plenty of tension throughout and the decision to take us through the mechanics of the hijack is in itself highly engrossing.

It helps, too, that we spend time getting to know and like the passengers and crew, many of whom are played by rather high profile character actors. It's very odd indeed to see a young Robert Forster, who I know from Jackie Brown and Mulholland Drive, as the chief hijacker... but he's very good indeed.

The film is, however, of its time. Very gung-ho, and the main flashpoint of the world is of course Beirut. The presentation of Arab characters- not just the hijackers but air traffic control and so forth- is, let us not mince words, quite shockingly racist. And there's a very prominent pro-Israeli subtext throughout the film. It's not crudely overdone, but it's ever-present.

However, there's no denying that, if you're in the mood to switch your brain off and enjoy a proper '80s action film, this very much does the trick.

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.

All the President’s Men (1976)

 “Follow the money!"

This is the second time I've seen this film- my first viewing was many years before this blog was even imagined. Nevertheless, I'm as blown away by this magnificent film now as I was back then.

This is, despite the desperately important subject matter- back in 1976 we all thought Nixon's sins were the worst imaginable, and had no concept of the sheer evil of Trump- a film about the process and the excitement of investigative jurnalism. Oh, it's beautifully and thoughtfully shot; Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman are sublime, with a nod to the superb Jason Robards; the script is witty, philosophical and natural all at once; and yet it all boils down to the thrill of the chase.

Nixon appears only in stock footage; only functionaries appear in the film. Action is punctuated throughout by radio footage of the 1972 campaign, and the implosion of the Democrats through Republican ratf**king. We see literally everything from the perspective of Woodward and Bernstein, knowing what they know, being utterly unaware that Deep Throat is Mark Felt, and feeling the tension when they have to present their conclusions to Ben Bradlee, properly sourced. It's a thrilling advertisment to journalism as a career in a pre-digital age, and the many scenes of witnesses being cleverly interviewed are fascinating. This is a very strange and very brave sort of film to be so unequivocally sublime. It's up there with the very greatest.

Still, the Republicans in 1972 may have been corrupt bastards- but they weren't fascists who hated freedom, as is every Republican today who fails to recognise Biden as president or fails to condemn Majorie Taylor Green and all of her ilk. May the party either die or suddenly accept democracy.

Psycho (1960)

"We all go a little mad sometimes..."

Wow. This film is a bit good, innit?

I suppose what strikes me, aside from the sheer power of the shower scene and the suddenly artier camerawork with  Marion’s corpse, something which is profoundly effective- and brave, doing something so arty in a film pitched at such a mainstream audience.

But the genius of the film isn’t limited to individual scenes or shots, or indeed to the gloriously radical decision of killing off what we’re implicitly told is the main protagonist halfway through. No; it’s the masterful code-switching between parts of the film which feel like ordinary drama and parts which ramp up the tension and unease- and the sheer mastery of switching between them.

This is a Hitchcock film, of course; you expect tension. Janet Leigh is superb, and carries the film, in thosezearly scenes where she’s on the run and evading the ever-present police. But once we reach the Bates Motel, the mood changes- or rather, it doesn’t, at least not immediately. The excellent Anthony Perkins comes across as lonely, weak, a little dorky perhaps, but he feels normal at first, and we (and Marion) feel at ease.

And then we don’t.

The sudden switch where Marion says the wrong thing to Norman- about putting his mother away- is deeply effective, and that’s certainly down to the performance but also down to the direction; suddenly the entire visual grammar of the film changes and the way the camera is used- the very thing that controls our sense of reality- suddenly becomes uncomfortable, unnerving. And stats that way whenever Hitchcock wants it to.

What lingers, though, is that extraordinary final shot of Bates looking as scary, through sheer acting, as anything in all of cinema. Superb.