billy wilder's DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944)

alex proyas' DARK CITY: THE DIRECTOR'S CUT (1998)

in the final couple of years of the twentieth century a heady sort of trend emerged in science fiction film; reacting largely to technology's progressing effect on the human experience, The Matrix and a handful of lesser tagalongs wrapped up notions of reality and experience in a bow of paranoiac sci-fi capering. the easy pinnacle of this mini-genre, though (now that we can all agree on The Matrix as little more than a rad tech demo) is the one that takes its cues from deep fantasy rather than virtual reality: Alex Proyas' 1998 stunner Dark City, which follows an apparently murderous amnesiac (Rufus Sewell) through the streets of its titular metropolis as he investigates his own emerging telekinetic powers as well as a race of pasty "Strangers" who may or may not be bending reality to their own sinister purposes.

silly as its synopsis may sound, Dark City's gorgeous, austere blend of fantastical sci-fi and film noir has gained an enthusiastic following since its initial box office sputter (Roger Ebert champions the film as 1998's single best), and the newly prepared Director's Cut should only improve its standing. most of the changes are minor, even unnoticeable, but it's the big one that makes the difference: gone is the theatrical release's studio-mandated opening narration and montage, which together gave away egregious chunks of information about the nature of the Strangers.

the result is a much more suitably mysterious film, as these antagonists and their visually wondrous methods are afforded the introductions and impact they deserve, reinforcing Proyas' strong vision for what the disc's special features reveal to be a film of great personal importance to him. it's generally true that the "alternate cut" has lately become as much a way to move DVDs as a deference to the filmmaker, but fans of the film (and even moreso those seeing it for the first time) will be glad to know that this one moves an already underrated film squarely into the upper reaches of the sci-fi canon.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)

paul mcguigan's LUCKY NUMBER SLEVIN (2006)

this is another movie i wouldn't have ever given a second thought but for offhand recommendations from friends, and once again i was fairly pleasantly surprised. there are plenty of flaws, the most critical being the general lack of inspiration; both McGuigan and screenwriter Jason Smilovic seem to be perfectly satisfied with "good enough" in their respective capacities, so what could obviously have been a superior contemporary noir emerges instead as an indifferently slick twist picture, snappy but lazy in its scripting and handsome but bland in its aesthetics. but it's engaging nonetheless, and it's fun to imagine what could have been if the film weren't so determinedly middle-of-the-road.

scott frank's THE LOOKOUT (2007)

ben affleck's GONE BABY GONE (2007)

it turns out Ben Affleck isn't a complete cosmic waste of space, just that he was on the wrong side of the camera! Gone Baby Gone is a slick, capable and occasionally impressive debut from everyone's eleventh-favorite romantic lead, drawing a lot of strength from a great cast (it is, for instance, damn clear who got whatever acting genes there are to be had in the Affleck lineage) but even more from an uncommonly well-drawn portrait of the smaller corners of a big city. even if it didn't share Amy Ryan, Michael K. Williams and Dennis Lehane with The Wire, there would still be easy parallels to draw between the two: GBG's Dorchester streets are as finely textured as those of The Wire's Baltimore, featuring faces and types you don't often see in movies but quite plainly belong where they pop up, which is all the more conducive to the startling depth of the character constellations. in the end it's a pity that Lehane's lopsided narrative doesn't squeeze more comfortably into a feature film, but Affleck's still to be commended for a job finally well done.

alex cox's REPO MAN (1984)

alfred hitchcock's STRANGERS ON A TRAIN (1951)

woody allen's CASSANDRA'S DREAM (2007)

it’s not easy being a Woody Allen fan. American cinema’s comic laureate has released a film practically every year since his 1969 debut Take The Money And Run, running the gamut between ribald gag-a-minute comedies and philosophically smothering chamber dramas as he carved out a body of work as curiously personal as it is significant. a handful of his films are among the all-time greats, and at least fifteen more aspire closely to greatness. but several others are just okay. and, to be very honest, an increasing number are damned dreadful. such is the curse of productivity.

in 2005, however, Woody’s diminishing batting average was unexpectedly bolstered with the home run that was Match Point, a sharp, wicked tale of luck and murder set across the pond from his beloved New York City. besides being better than anything he’d made in at least half a decade, the film exhibited an encouraging restlessness in Allen’s craft, and at the age of seventy he proved he could still surprise his audience. was it his newest muse, Scarlett Johansson, or perhaps the United Kingdom itself, that so inspired him? his subsequent film, the middling Scoop, suggests not. so perhaps it was the straightfaced, low-key crime drama?

the answer, for better or worse, lies in Cassandra’s Dream, Match Point’s opposing bookend in his British trilogy. the film centers around Ian and Terry Blaine (Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell), two lower middle class South Londoners with a propensity for living beyond their means: Terry chases spurts of good and bad luck to the dog tracks and high-stakes private poker games, while Ian daydreams of hotel investments and woos a beautiful actress with optimistic lies. as the chasm between means and aspirations expands, their successful Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson) blows into town with a dark proposition dressed up in language of generosity and family loyalty: a former associate is preparing to testify regarding unsavory business practices, and must be dealt with. capital D, capital W.

and thus the brothers Blaine are faced with a tough decision, and its consequences reverberate through the rest of the film: one brother tries to cope with guilt and fear, the other with their absence. superficially, Cassandra’s Dream echoes Match Point in its form: Allen again plays the film straight (he stays behind the camera, for one) and pulls off another impressive exercise is style and restraint. in content, however, the film is much closer to 1989’s Crimes & Misdemeanors, an earlier masterpiece dealing with the spiritual implications of murder gone unpunished.

sadly, Cassandra’s Dream lives up to neither. one of the main problems is the characters: as with Match Point, he has little trouble bridging the cultural divide, but here the added problem of social class proves trickier; Allen has his heart set on nuance and realism, but his scripting undoes him, taking little care to disguise what amounts to a poored-down version of his typical milieu. this becomes a serious problem as the film progresses, as the story and its psychology hinge entirely on Ian and Terry’s desperation, but time and time again their plight rings untrue, and so the events in motion around them carry the weight of contrivance.

even worse, the film’s conscious echoes of Crimes & Misdemeanors end up working against it as well, if only because C&M is a much more definitive piece of work; Allen borrows against his own ideas a little too enthusiastically, and though Terry’s plight adds another dimension to the struggle, his weakness seems somehow affected and dramatically insufficient. Ian’s arc does push the story into pulpier territory than C&M dared tread, and the film is engaging throughout, but it’s hard to ignore the soft hum of a coasting filmmaker, especially by the film’s abrupt, unsatisfying finale, a small wonder of boring irony.

ah, but then, I’m only rough on Woody because I love him so. (this isn’t an uncommon affliction among Allen apologists.) Cassandra’s Dream is still in many regards an impressive 38th feature film by a onetime standup comedian, branching out confidently as it does into unfamiliar territory that proves just slightly beyond its grasp. and as much as Match Point has probably spoiled fans into hoping he’s got another ace up his sleeve, for the moment it’ll suffice to be quietly thankful that he’s still making stabs at greatness amidst a slow decline of recycled whimsy. see you next year, Woody.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)