Michael Caine, 1990 ("Mr. Destiny")

Oct. 12, 1990
By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff 

SALT LAKE CITY -- Looking as if he might have just slid off a stool at the pub, Michael Caine takes a seat for a trans-Atlantic satellite teleconference to promote his new film, "Mr. Destiny."

Salt Lake City is the latest city to link up with the London studio where Caine is seated, and he asks in a pleasant, vigorous voice if everyone on the other end is feeling all right.

A screen capture from "Mr. Destiny"

In "Mr. Destiny," Caine plays what he describes as a "fixer," an angel -- albeit a "tarnished" one -- who comes into the life of a sporting goods executive to allow him to change his destiny by reliving a pivotal event from his past and dealing with the consequences.

"This one isn't even a leading part," Caine says, hands clasped in front of him as he sits behind a white-topped table. "'It was just a three-week guest shot because I wanted to do it. ... I haven't worked since last March. And I have nothing that I've found I want to do. So you probably won't see me in another film until probably next October."

'Casino' (released Nov. 22, 2005)

By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff

A ponderous, meandering beast of a crime epic, Martin Scorsese’s “Casino” takes many greatish elements and reduces them to tedious mediocrities.

Scorsese is a filmmaker with an affinity for stories about mobsters and their peculiar manner of doing business -- he directed “Mean Streets” and “GoodFellas,” the latter of which is one of the finest films released since 1990. So he seems a natural for this tale of a mob-run Las Vegas casino in the ‘70s, before corporate America took the gaming racket away from organized crime.

Alas, Scorsese’s affinity for the minutiae of the gambling industry hobbles “Casino,” diverting attention from the characters and the story at hand: how gambler Sam “Ace” Rothstein and his childhood friend, Nicky Santoro, managed to screw up a gig that not only managed itself, but was also making them fabulously wealthy.

'A Low Down Dirty Shame' (released Nov. 23, 1994)

By DONALD PORTERStandard-Examiner staff

Sometimes filmmakers get it so right, even when they get it wrong.

That’s the case with “A Low Down Dirty Shame,” the new “Shaft” spoof by writer-director Keenen Ivory Wayans (“I’m Gonna Git You Sucka”). It’s a low-down dirty shame that such a talented man -- he created the irreverent Fox TV sketch-comedy series “In Living Color,” too -- has made such an awful mess.

“A Low Down Dirty Shame” is truth in advertising: Sexist, homophobic and derivative of so many better action films, “Low Down” is disappointing at the outset and goes downhill from there.

Wayans takes the structure of a conventional detective movie, then dresses it up in fancy, allegedly hip clothing. It doesn’t work.

Wayans stars as Andre Shame, a former cop who was tossed off the force in the wake of a botched drug bust. Now Shame works the streets of L.A. as a lowly private eye -- poor but honorable, at least in his own eyes.

"Amateur": Deadpan humor fills intriguing plot

By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff

The landscape of the American cinema is littered with enormously talented people you've never heard of. Hal Hartley is a writer-director you probably don’t know, and that’s too bad. His previous films, “Trust,” “The Unbelievable Truth” and “Simple Men,” are gems savored by the select few who saw them play in art houses or festivals or, possibly, who rented them by accident at the video store.

Now comes Hartley’s latest, “Amateur,” and he’s lost none of his edge or his talent for finding humor in the oddest places.

“Amateur” stars frequent Hartley collaborator Martin Donovan as a man who awakens in a New York City alley, injured and suffering amnesia. He wanders into a cafe, his head bleeding, and is rescued by a former nun, Isabelle (Isabelle Huppert). She takes him home, and together they set about trying to find out just who he is.

"Get Shorty"

Probably my favorite author is Elmore Leonard. I love his work. So when a respectful adaptation of his fantastic “Get Shorty” was made, it was time for a celebration. I had fun with the writing style on this one.
“Get Shorty” one of this year’s best

By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff

There’s this guy, name’s Chili Palmer. Works as a shylock for a Miami outfit -- you know, mob.

So, he’s a debt collector, right? Gets sent to L.A., supposed to find a movie producer owes this Vegas casino a wad of green. But when Chili gets to L.A., he falls in with the producer, Harry Zimm. They decide to make a movie together. The movie’s about Chili’s trip to L.A., only Harry doesn’t know about that just yet.

Chili's makin’ it up as he goes.

This is the movie, called “Get Shorty.” It’s based on the Elmore Leonard novel. Leonard’s books have been made into movies before. Or should I say ruined by the movies before? Watch Burt Reynolds’ “Stick,” and you’ll know what I mean.

“Get Shorty” was made by guys who liked the book. Respected the book. Its tough-guy dialogue, its humor, its grit. In Leonard’s books, the characters talk like this. In short sentences. No wasted words.

“Pure Formality” a nice surprise; “Paradiso” director turns to intrigue

“A Pure Formality” has one of the best surprise endings I’ve seen in years. I have heard people say they saw it coming, but I don’t believe them.

The film is the latest from Italian writer-director Giuseppe Tornatore, who has charmed American audiences with “Cinema Paradiso” and “Everybody’s Fine.” While those two films depended upon his ability to create bittersweet evocations of nostalgia, “A Pure Formality” sets aside the sweetness, retains plenty of bitterness and cranks up the intrigue.

The film opens with a famous author, Onoff (Gerard Depardieu), running through a raging downpour.The police stop him, take him into custody and transport him to the local police station. The building is a ramshackle affair, with an incessantly leaking roof and big, drafty rooms filled with books stacked hither and yon.

Finally, the Inspector (Roman Polanski) arrives to begin an interrogation. A body has been found nearby, beaten so badly the authorities cannot identify it. The Inspector asks Onoff where he’s been, and what he’s been doing.

A trio of vampire movies

Since the second installment of the "Twilight" series is set to open in theaters soon (I haven't read the books, nor did I see the first film), I looked back and found three reviews of vampire movies to post. The first is a Mel Brooks spoof of the genre, though focused mostly on the classic "Dracula," and it doesn't work too well. The next is an Eddie Murphy romp. And the third -- the one worth a look, if you can find it, is an atmospheric, interesting exercise.

“Dracula” needs more life

By DONALD PORTER
Standard-Examiner staff
Mel Brooks’ new comedy “Dracula: Dead and Loving It” is one of those good news/bad news movies. While it may be better than “Robin Hood: Men in Tights” and “Spaceballs,” it doesn’t come close to “Blazing Saddles,” “Young Frankenstein” or “High Anxiety.”
Brooks’ tenure in Hollywood has been meteoric: It burned white hot, then plummeted.

“Dracula: Dead and Loving It” marks a partial return to old form for the once-master spoofer. He lampoons not only the movies that have been adaptations -- loose, and otherwise -- of the classic horror novel “Dracula,” but also the novel itself. In his own offbeat way, he remains as close or closer to the source material than many previous adaptations, including Francis Ford Coppola’s “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” and Tod Browning’s 1931 version of “Dracula” starring Bela Lugosi.

Leslie Nielsen (“The Naked Gun”) stars as Count Dracula, and Peter MacNichol plays his mad slave, Renfield. Together, they travel from Transylvania to London, where the count sets about gnawing on the necks of a pair of local women. Out to stop him are the uptight Harker (Steven Weber) and famed vampire hunter Dr. Van Helsing (Brooks).
The film is about equal parts funny and stupid. The best scene begins with this exchange between Harker and Van Helsing, upon entering the crypt where a vampire sleeps:

“She’s dead,” observes Harker.

“No,” counters Van Helsing.

“She’s alive?”

“She’s nosferatu.”

“She’s Italian?”