Tag: movies (Page 3 of 4)

Several trucks full of nitroglycerin

January 14, 2025 / Zander

I’m fascinated by how different moviemakers adapt the same book to the screen. Recently, I was able to watch four versions of the same story. It’s a French novel I read many years ago in Spanish during a Costa Brava vacation: Le Salaire de la Peur (my translated version was called El Salario del Miedo), by Georges Arnaud, originally published in 1950. Comparing the 1953, 1958, 1977, and 2024 adaptations offers insights into how different filmmakers have approached the same material, reflecting their eras, styles, and societal concerns.

Le Salaire de la Peur (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1953) is often hailed as a masterclass in tension and atmosphere, capturing the grim existential dread that runs through Arnaud’s novel. The story follows four desperate men hired to drive two trucks filled with nitroglycerin across treacherous terrain in a Latin American country, with their lives hanging by a thread.

The strength of this adaptation lies in its stark realism and relentless pacing. Clouzot builds tension slowly, using the dangerous journey as a metaphor for the fragile nature of life, particularly in the post-war world. The film’s social commentary focuses on the exploitation of the working class by capitalist forces, emphasizing how these men are expendable tools in the face of profit. It’s also a deeply cynical film, with its tone of despair resonating with the nihilism of European cinema in the early 1950s. The black-and-white cinematography intensifies the desolation of both the physical landscape and the men’s mental state.

Clouzot’s version is known for its long takes and focus on the physicality of danger, often using silence and stillness to create unbearable suspense. The characters are morally ambiguous, with no real heroes, which further emphasizes the sense of human vulnerability and futility. This adaptation remains the most faithful to the novel’s bleak and pessimistic vision of humanity. If you are going to watch only one of these movies, choose Le Salaire de la Peur.

Violent Road (Howard W. Koch, 1958) is an Americanized version of the novel, and while it retains the general premise, it makes significant changes to the tone and focus. Set in the USA, the film shifts from the existential and social commentary of Clouzot’s version to a more straightforward action narrative. The drivers now transport volatile chemicals for a rocket base, tying into Cold War anxieties and America’s space race rather than the geopolitical complexities of Latin America.

This version downplays the existential angst of the original, opting instead for an adventure-oriented narrative that tries to focus on suspenseful set pieces (not always successfully). While the characters are still desperate men, their motivations and personalities are much simplified, offering less moral ambiguity. The film feels less critical of capitalism, framing the mission as a heroic endeavor rather than one born of exploitation. In this sense, Violent Road leans more into traditional Hollywood storytelling, where the characters have clearer arcs and are less morally complex.

While Violent Road lacks the artistry and depth of Clouzot’s adaptation, it still provides a somewhat tense, albeit more conventional, thriller. The change of setting and its focus on Cold War-era concerns reflect mid-century American anxieties, making it a culturally relevant interpretation for its time, though less enduring.

Sorcerer (William Friedkin, 1977) is arguably the most ambitious and controversial adaptation. Released in the same year as Star Wars, it was overshadowed at the box office but has since gained a cult following. Friedkin transports the story to Central America, drawing on the same grim atmosphere as Clouzot, but with a grittier, more modern aesthetic. Like Clouzot’s version, Sorcerer emphasizes existential dread and moral ambiguity, but Friedkin injects a deep sense of modern paranoia and disillusionment into the narrative.

The film is characterized by its unflinching portrayal of human desperation and the randomness of fate. Friedkin’s use of color, sound, and music (especially the electronic score by Tangerine Dream) adds to the film’s dreamlike yet nightmarish quality. The physical journey in Sorcerer is more harrowing than ever, with Friedkin pushing the boundaries of what audiences could endure in terms of suspense and psychological tension.

In contrast to Le Salaire de la Peur, Sorcerer delves deeper into the individual backstories of the protagonists, making their emotional journeys as important as the physical one. The film reflects the pessimism and disillusionment of the 1970s, particularly post-Vietnam and post-Watergate, where trust in institutions had eroded, and the pursuit of money or escape from one’s past felt as futile as it was dangerous. The film was a commercial failure upon release, but its gritty realism and philosophical depth have made it a favorite among cinephiles.

Le Salaire de la Peur (Julien Leclercq, 2024) is the most recent take on Arnaud’s novel and, while it returns to the original French title, it strays from the original tale about antiheroes and fully embraces the traditional hero with a past to atone for. Despite the visually immersive style, it’s closer to the shalowness of Violent Road and very far from the social realism of Clouzot’s Le Salaire de la Peur and the existential anxiety of Friedkin’s Sorcerer.

Set in a near-future dystopia, Leclercq uses the transportation of volatile cargo as a metaphor for the precariousness of human life in a world ravaged by climate change and economic inequality. The setting, though undefined, evokes a globalized environment where borders blur and human desperation transcends geography. Leclercq, much like Friedkin, explores the backstories of the characters in depth, adding layers of psychological complexity and emphasizing themes of guilt, redemption, and survival.

Visually, the film is stunning, with Leclercq’s use of large-scale landscapes and minimalist, meditative cinematography. The film balances moments of quiet introspection with heart-pounding tension, maintaining the essence of the original narrative while infusing it with contemporary relevance.

Leclercq’s The Wages of Fear is less bleak than the 1953 and 1977 versions, offering moments of human connection and solidarity amidst the chaos, though it retains the essential theme of survival at all costs. The film’s exploration of modern anxieties (technological, environmental, and moral) can be seen particularly timely by viewers trained to enjoy Hollywood tales, but the tone and the intention are so far from the original story that it almost feels like a betrayal.

Each adaptation of Le Salaire de la Peur reflects the concerns and aesthetics of its time. Clouzot’s Le Salaire de la Peur (1953) is a bleak, existential study of desperation and exploitation, while Violent Road (1958) trades depth for Cold War-era thrills. Friedkin’s Sorcerer (1977) heightens the intensity and philosophical despair, crafting a modern fable about the randomness of fate. Finally, Leclercq’s Le Salaire de la Peur (2024) reimagines the story for a globalized, dystopian world, merging existential tension with modern political and environmental anxieties.

The Lost World: One Book, Six Movies

December 17, 2024 / Zander

My latest movie marathon was all about The Lost World. First I read the original novel by Conan Doyle (yes, the same guy who created Sherlock Holmes) and then watched six adaptations for the screen.

At the end of the 19th century, Sir H. Rider Haggard was the king of stories about lost worlds, with books like The People of the Mist (about a lost tribe in Africa) and Heart of the World (about a lost Mayan city in Mexico). But the genre got it’s masterpiece in 1912, when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle unleashed The Lost World. Explorers venturing to mysterious, uncharted lands teeming with prehistoric creatures? That’s the stuff that launched a thousand jungle expeditions, both literal and fictional. But while the book was groundbreaking, it wasn’t without its wobbles, especially the racist overtones and imperialist assumptions. Still, it’s hard to overstate its impact. Without The Lost World, we might not have had Edgar Rice Burroughs’s The Land That Time Forgot, or King Kong, or even Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park.

The first crack at bringing Doyle’s tale to the silver screen, The Lost World (Harry O. Hoyt, 1925), was a silent masterpiece – and “masterpiece’ isn’t an exaggeration. Faithfulness to the novel? Decent enough. Professor Challenger and his team head to South America, find a plateau full of dinosaurs, and bring one back to London. Sure, liberties were taken (like adding a romance subplot), but the spirit was intact. The cinematography was beautiful for the time (I watched the tinted version restored in 2016), but the real star was the stop-motion wizardry of Willis O’Brien. Those dinosaurs were revolutionary, decades before CGI. O’Brien’s work on The Lost World paved the way for King Kong in 1933, which was like this movie’s rebellious teen cousin. Plot holes and pacing issues aside, the 1925 version remains a classic, with Challenger (played by Wallace Beery) as a brash, bearded and mustachioed force of nature.

With The Lost World (Irwin Allen, 1960), we enter B-movie territory. This adaptation swaps out Doyle’s intelligent, scientifically minded tale for lizards with glued-on horns. Yes, instead of lovingly crafted stop-motion dinosaurs, we get iguanas and crocodiles dressed in drag to look vaguely prehistoric. It’s as ridiculous as it sounds. The plot diverges wildly too. Gone is the novel’s thought-provoking narrative about science versus nature. Instead, we get melodrama, generic villains, and some dubious jungle antics. On the upside, the cast is stacked: Michael Rennie (The Day the Earth Stood Still) as Lord Roxton, Claude Rains (Casablanca) as Professor Challenger, and Jill St. John (who would later be the Bond Girl in Diamonds Are Forever) adding some glamour. But the sheer campiness of the production makes this one for die-hard dinosaur completists only.

Another thirty years and we got not one but two new adaptations, The Lost World (Timothy Bond, 1992) and its sequel Return to the Lost World (Timothy Bond, 1992). This version took some odd liberties. Instead of Doyle’s South American plateau, we’re now in Africa. Why? Probably because someone found an African savanna more budget-friendly than a South American rainforest. Lord Roxton is swapped for a new female character, Jenny Nielson (Tamara Gorski), in what feels like a half-hearted attempt at modernization. The rest of the cast is not bad: John Rhys-Davies (from the Indiana Jones movies) as Professor Challenger, David Warner (Jack the Ripper in Time After Time) as Professor Summerlee, and Eric McCormack (before becoming famous for Will & Grace) as Edward Malone. The special effects? Quite weak, even for a tv production, and definitely nothing you’d brag about at a paleontology conference. The dinosaurs really look like puppets. While they tried to retain some of the novel’s spirit, both films felt more like Saturday matinee fillers than genuine adaptations.

The next version of The Lost World (Bob Keen, 1998) is even worse. Only loosely based on the original novel, the action now happens in Mongolia. And the story is so much changed that only two members of the expedition return to London. Patrick Bergin plays Professor Challenger, in what may be the worst movie of his career. Dinosaurs? Not many, and several years after Jurassic Park none of them look impressive. Characters? Forgettable. Is it worth watching? Only if you enjoy movies that feel like they were cobbled together over a long weekend to cash in on a trend.

A few years later we got a new tv adaptation, The Lost World (Stuart Orme, 2001), with the advantage of having 145 minutes to tell the story (it was first broadcast in two 75 minutes episodes). They followed the story fairly closely (and even returning to the original setting in South America), but added a few new elements. Besides the romantic subplot that every adaptation insisted in including, there was also a detour about a religious fanatic trying to keep the lost world a secret because it could support Darwin’s theory of evolution and weaken the creationist dogma. Bob Hoskins as Professor Challenger was a great choice, and James Fox as Professor Summerlee is also a good contribution. The CGI dinosaurs are fine, nothing to get very excited about but not embarrassingly bad. What this film lacks in spectacle, it tries to make up for in earnestness, and there’s something endearing about that.

Which adaptation reigns supreme? If we consider them in the context of their time, the 1925 silent film is the winner. It’s not just a great adaptation, it’s a landmark in cinematic history, with Willis O’Brien’s dinosaurs setting a high standard for generations. Best special effects dinosaurs? Again, the 1925 version. No iguana cosplay here, just pure artistry. Best Professor Challenger? Bob Hoskins in 2001 nails the character’s mix of gruffness and charm. Best Lord Roxton? Michael Rennie from the 1960 version is hard to beat, even if the movie itself is a dud. Edward Malone, however, is such a dull character that he is forgetabble in all versions.

All the adaptations, whether faithful or not, wrestle with the clash between humanity and nature. Doyle’s novel asks whether we have the right to dominate nature, and that question lingers in every adaptation (even the ones with the lizards-in-costume nonsense). Each version also grapples with adventure and exploration, though often in ways that reflect the era of their production: awe in the 1920s, kitsch in the 1960s, and commercialism in the 1990s. At its heart, The Lost World remains a tale about discovery, danger, and our never-ending fascination with dinosaurs. Some adaptations soar, others stumble. But like the dinosaurs themselves, the story endures — an ancient, lumbering giant that refuses to go extinct.

Lost in Space: from Robinson Crusoe to the Stars

November 19, 2024 / Zander

I’ve recently bingewatched the many iterations of Lost in Space. The “castaway as hero” idea is surprisingly adaptable. It has been marooned on islands, stranded on planets, and even hurled across galaxies. As a concept, it all started with one resourceful guy: Robinson Crusoe and his tale of survival that kicked off a whole genre, sparked imitators and adaptations, and eventually landed an entire family Lost in Space.

In 1719, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe hit the shelves, changing the literary world forever. Possibly inspired by the true story of Alexander Selkirk, a marooned Scottish sailor who survived alone on an island for over four years, Defoe created a character that wasn’t just about survival. He was about resilience, ingenuity, and conquering the wilderness. Crusoe embodied the everyman, facing an unknown world with only his wits and some salvaged tools from his shipwreck. Robinson Crusoe became a huge hit, inspiring readers with its themes of self-reliance and adventure. The novel’s success wasn’t just due to its gripping story but also to Defoe’s new, realistic style that made readers feel like they were living each harrowing day alongside Crusoe.

But let’s not forget that Crusoe, by our contemporary standards, was not such a good guy. All that resilience, self-reliance, and determination were supported by his contemporary belief in European superiority, a mindset that defined much of the colonial age. When his shipwreck occurs, he’s en route to buy slaves, demonstrating his view of other people as property. Later, his treatment of Friday, the native man he rescues on the island, also reflects this perspective. Instead of asking for his name, Crusoe just names him “Friday” and establishes himself as “Master”, reinforcing the hierarchy typical of colonial relationships. While Crusoe teaches Friday his language and customs, he doesn’t treat him as an equal. Instead, he sees himself as “civilizing” Friday, which reflects a distinctly European, colonial view of the world and its people. Despite this (or perhaps because of this), Robinson Crusoe resonated widely with readers, not just as a tale of survival, but as a story that expressed Europe’s growing fascination with exploration and domination.

With Robinson Crusoe‘s massive popularity, writers rushed to create similar tales of isolation and survival in hostile environments. Thus was born the “Robinsonade”, a genre that echoed Crusoe’s trials, only with new settings, characters, and scenarios. Robinsonades often share certain characteristics: a protagonist isolated in a hostile or unfamiliar environment and forced to rely on ingenuity to survive, themes of self-discovery, and the idea of re-civilizing oneself while taming the wild around them.

Some notable examples include The Coral Island (1858), by R.M. Ballantyne, where three boys are stranded on a Polynesian island, and Lord of the Flies (1954), by William Golding, which turns the Robinsonade on its head by showing kids devolving into savagery rather than embracing civility. Robinsonades captivated readers by making them ask “What would I do in that situation?”.

If Robinson Crusoe did his thing solo, The Swiss Family Robinson (1812), by Johann David Wyss, took a family of castaways and set them loose on an exotic island. Here, we get the full family adventure, complete with domestic disputes, moral lessons, and an endless supply of miraculously useful shipwrecked supplies. The story follows a pastor, his wife, and their children as they shipwreck on an uninhabited island. Together, they build a treehouse, tame wild animals, and create a self-sustaining mini-society, all while keeping a spirit of togetherness and moral fortitude. Even as a kid, I found that book extremely boring. But in its time the novel became one of the most popular Robinsonades, particularly for children. It made the idea of surviving as a family team seem achievable and even fun, despite the occasionally outlandish plot devices.

Inspired by The Swiss Family Robinson, creator Irwin Allen brought a twist on the Robinsonade to the small screen with Lost in Space in the 1960s: here, the Robinson family is lost again, but in space. Set in the distant future of 1997 (which seemed much more futuristic in 1965, when the series was launched), the series follows the Robinson family as they embark on a mission to colonize a distant planet to escape Earth’s overpopulation. Their ship, the Jupiter 2, is sabotaged by the scheming Dr. Zachary Smith, who accidentally strands himself along with the Robinsons in an uncharted galaxy.

This version of Lost in Space brought us classic, campy 1960s scifi: clunky robots, cardboardy sets, and the iconic catchphrase “Danger, Will Robinson”. Dr. Smith, who began as a sinister villain, quickly morphed into a clumsy comedic character, stealing every scene with his cowardly antics. Though entertaining at times, the original Lost in Space made no effort to be realistic and relied too much on slapstick humor and “monster of the week” episodes. It was fine for its time, but it often lacked depth or continuity. However, it did spark imaginations and set the stage for the scifi family adventures to come.

In 1998 we got Lost in Space, the big-screen adaptation meant to reintroduce the Robinsons to a new generation. Starring Gary Oldman as a creepier Dr. Smith and a whole lot of CGI, this movie went full throttle with its special effects. The story largely stayed the same: the Robinson family, Dr. Smith’s betrayal, and the quest to return home. While the film had some cool moments, it also had a bit of an identity crisis. It was tonally inconsistent, wavering between scifi action and family drama, and it often got lost in its own convoluted plot twists. Despite the star-studded cast (William Hurt, Matt LeBlanc, Mimi Rogers, Heather Graham, and good old eerie Oldman), it fell flat with audiences, who were left scratching their heads over some confusing story choices (especially that poorly conceived time travel bit). It didn’t exactly do justice to the Robinsons’ legacy, unless you enjoy that kind of late-90s blockbuster energy. And that alien monkey is an unforgivably stupid idea.

And then came the 2018 Netflix reboot of Lost in Space. Finally, a version that explored the original concept with some depth and creativity. The Robinsons were once again stranded in a hostile galaxy, but this time with a serious upgrade in production, storytelling, and character depth. This series put the focus back on family dynamics, making each Robinson a fleshed-out character with distinct strengths, flaws, and personal arcs.

This Lost in Space skillfully blended high-stakes drama with visually stunning scifi worlds, bringing a modern spin to the Robinsonade. But what makes it really work is the reinvention of the main characters

John Robinson (Toby Stephens) is now a career military man. He begins the series as a somewhat distant father and husband. His years away on duty strained his relationship with his family, particularly Maureen, and left him struggling to connect with his children. However, throughout their perilous journey, John evolves into a steadfast protector and a more emotionally available father, proving his devotion to his family through acts of heroism and sacrifice. His practical mindset and combat skills are crucial in ensuring the family’s survival.

Maureen Robinson (Molly Parker), very differently from the previous versions, is now the brains behind the Robinsons’ mission to colonize space. She is a brilliant scientist, fiercely determined, resourceful, and willing to make tough decisions to ensure her family’s survival. Maureen’s love for her children is her main drive, though her single-minded focus sometimes causes friction, particularly when her ambition leads her to make morally ambiguous choices. She’s a powerful portrayal of a mother and leader in equal measure.

The Robinson sisters, who had very little agency in their previous iterations, now are strong figures with their own character arcs. Judy (Taylor Russell), the eldest, is now Maureen’s daughter from a previous relationship, adding an interesting dynamic to the family structure. A young doctor with nerves of steel, she is a natural leader and role model for her siblings. Her mixed-race heritage is a refreshing update to the character and adds a modern dimension to the family’s story. Penny (Mina Sundwall), the middle child, provides much of the series’ humor and heart. She’s sarcastic, creative, and sometimes impulsive, balancing the serious stakes of the story with her lighthearted quips and teenage perspective. She’s also, in a way, the narrator of the story.

Will Robinson (Maxwell Jenkins), boy genius, is in the center of the narrative, not so much for his personality but because of his link with the Robot. He can be an annoying character at times, especially when he combines an idealistic moral compass with the very naive and inexperieced decision making process of a child.

The Robot (Brian Steele) was completely reinvented for this series, from his looks to his origins. Now he is an alien machine with a mysterious past. Initially terrifying, he transforms into Will’s loyal guardian after an early act of compassion. The Robot’s arc explores themes of redemption and free will, as he struggles to reconcile his violent past with his new role as a family ally. His bond with Will is one of the show’s emotional pillars, offering moments of warmth and tension alike. And yes, the Robot says “Danger, Will Robinson”.

Someone decided that Don West (Ignacio Serricchio) should be the comedic character in the group, and he was demoted from the dashing pilot and adventurer of the original series to a bumbling roguish mechanic. I think he was supposed to be the lovable scoundrel with a heart of gold, but no character carrying a pet chicken can be taken seriously.

And finally, Dr. Smith (Parker Posey), the most interesting reinvention for this version of Lost in Space. Unlike the campy villain of the original series, this Dr. Smith is a cunning and dangerous sociopath, willing to exploit anyone to survive. Her backstory reveals a troubled and desperate individual who uses deception as her primary weapon. Despite her villainous tendencies, her complexity makes her a fascinating character, the kind you love to hate but can’t entirely dismiss. Her unpredictability keeps everyone on edge.

Where the original series was largely episodic, the 2018 reboot gave us a more serialized story that built real suspense and stakes, making each escape and confrontation feel genuinely perilous. The modern Lost in Space didn’t just update the effects, it also enriched the emotional layers and themes.

Traveling with Sinbad and Ray Harryhausen

October 22, 2024 / Zander

The stop animation of Ray Harryhausen has always fascinated me. That sword fight against skeletons in Jason and the Argonauts (Don Chaffey, 1963) will forever have a place in my heart. So, when I recently had the chance to watch three of his films, I didn’t hesitate. None of these are great movies, but even the worst of them has some good moments.

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (Nathan Juran, 1958) is a classic in the realm of fantasy cinema. At that point, it was a significant leap forward in visual effects, establishing itself as a milestone for stop-motion animation and popularizing the genre of mythological fantasy adventures.

The true standout of The 7th Voyage of Sinbad is Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion animation, which brought to life some of the most iconic creatures in cinematic history. From the menacing cyclops to the serpentine dragon and the sword-fighting skeleton, Harryhausen’s work elevated the film far beyond its contemporaries. His unique Dynamation process, which combined live-action and stop-motion animation, allowed fantastical creatures to interact with the human characters in a way that felt groundbreaking at the time. The battle between Sinbad and the skeleton is particularly memorable, later influencing fantasy films like Jason and the Argonauts and even contemporary blockbusters. While the monsters may look dated by today’s standards of computer-generated imagery, they still hold a certain charm and sense of wonder. The tactile, handcrafted nature of Harryhausen’s animation gives the creatures a weight and physical presence that CGI often lacks. In fact, modern audiences may appreciate the artistry and patience required to bring these creatures to life frame by frame.

The film follows the basic structure of a classic adventure tale, with Sinbad and his crew embarking on a perilous journey to the island of Colossa in order to find a way to reverse the curse placed on Princess Parisa, who has been shrunk by the evil sorcerer Sokurah. The plot is simple, but it effectively serves as a vehicle for the fantastical encounters and adventures that unfold. This Sinbad (Kerwin Mathews), however, strays significantly from the original character from the Arabian Nights tales. Rather than focusing on Sinbad as a seasoned sailor, the film presents him more as a heroic adventurer, imbuing him with qualities of both a swashbuckling action hero and a chivalrous knight. This transformation aligns with mid-20th-century Hollywood’s tendency to simplify and romanticize complex source material for mainstream audiences, packaging it as family-friendly entertainment. The result is, unfortunately, largely one-dimensional, serving as the archetypal hero figure without much complexity.

The mythological elements also don’t conform with the original Middle Eastern tales and instead offer a blend with Greek mythology, perhaps in an attempt to have a broader, more universal appeal. However, this fusion sometimes lacks cohesion, feeling more like a showcase of Harryhausen’s creatures than a unified narrative. At some points, we wonder whether this is Sinbad or Ulysses.

The villain Sokurah (Torin Thatcher) ends up being a more interesting character, despite the over-the-top performance. Driven by ambition and greed, he is a classic antagonist in the tradition of mythological evil-doers, though he too remains somewhat shallow. The princess Parisa (Kathryn Grant) is given little to do besides being the damsel in distress. Her character, like many female roles in adventure films of the era, is underdeveloped and primarily serves as a plot device rather than an active participant in the story.

The rousing musical score, by no other than Bernard Herrmann, with its use of exotic instruments and bold, sweeping melodies, enhances the film’s mythical atmosphere and adds to the excitement of Sinbad’s various encounters. Yes, that’s the man who created the soundtrack for Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane and Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, among many others.

It’s also worth noting that The 7th Voyage of Sinbad reflects the cultural attitudes of the 1950s, particularly in its portrayal of Middle Eastern characters and settings. Like many films of its era, it relies on Westernized interpretations of non-Western cultures, resulting in some problematic depictions and a lack of authenticity. Sinbad, for instance, is portrayed by a white actor, and the film’s version of the Middle East is filtered through an exotic, orientalist lens that flattens the culture into a fantasy world for Western audiences.

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (Gordon Hessler, 1973), tries to repeat the success of The 7th Voyage of Sinbad using the same blend of mythological ambience, swashbuckling action, and groundbreaking stop-motion animation. But, for an adventure movie, it has a very slow pace. Some sequences, particularly in the middle portion of the film, feel sedate and lack the urgency needed to maintain momentum. The episodic structure of Sinbad’s journey can also make the film feel somewhat disjointed at times, with the plot sometimes pausing for the next creature encounter rather than unfolding organically.

This Sinbad (John Phillip Law) is a bit more charismatic than his predecessor, but once again doesn’t have the same screen presence as the villain Koura (Tom Baker, who would later achieve fame as the Fourth Doctor in Doctor Who), an evil magician (it’s always an evil magician, isn’t it?). Baker imbues Koura with a menacing presence and a deeper motivation than many fantasy villains of the time. His desperation to regain his youth and power adds a layer of pathos to his character, making him more than just a stock villain. Koura is cunning and relentless, using dark magic at great personal cost, which slowly drains his life force. This adds an intriguing dynamic between the hero and villain, as Koura becomes increasingly desperate and physically weakened as the story progresses, making him a tragic antagonist. In contrast, Sinbad’s love interest, Margiana (Caroline Munro) seems to be there just to display her cleavage, the only thing preventing her from disappearing in the background.

There are also some anachronisms. The original Sinbad from One Thousand and One Nights is supposed to have lived between the 8th and the 9th centuries. However, here he decides to travel to Lemuria, a lost continent hypothesized only in the 19th century by zoologist Philip Sclater. But this is a fantasy movie with magic and mythological creatures, so it may not matter.

Once again, the true star of The Golden Voyage of Sinbad is Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion work. Among his extraordinary creatures, this time we have a centaur and a griffin in a deadly battle, and the fascinating six-armed goddess Kali, a statue brought to life. As always, Harryhausen’s work retains a sense of wonder even in a modern context, because the craftsmanship behind the animation feels tangible. The creatures possess a surreal quality that sets them apart from today’s computer-generated monsters, making the action sequences feel dreamlike and otherworldly.

Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (Sam Wanamaker, 1977), is the weakest in the Sinbad trilogy brought to life by producer Charles H. Schneer by Ray Harryhausen. It follows the same idea of having a Sinbad detached from the original Arabian Nights tales and mixed with elements from Greek mythology. At this point, however, there’s a sense of formulaic repetition.

This Sinbad (Patrick Wayne, the son of legendary actor John Wayne), is quite bland. He lacks the charisma and gravitas needed to make Sinbad a compelling figure, leaving the character as little more than a stoic action hero. The great villain this time is reduced to a yelling caricature, Zenobia (Margaret Whiting, the British actress, not the American country singer). Her transformation into various animals and her pursuit of Sinbad create some tension, but the character lacks the depth and tragic elements of Koura from The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. And all that yelling leaves you wondering if that is supposed to be funny or is just the result of overacting and poor directing skills. There’s also Melanthius (Patrick Troughton, known for his role as the Second Doctor in Doctor Who), introduced as a wise man and eccentric scientist, but his wisdom is highly doubtful. He manages to interrogate someone and give her more information than he is able to extract. Then, in the same scene, he acquires a potion that enlarges creatures and decides to test it on a poisonous wasp, creating a lethal monster that endangers everyone on the ship. Lastly, as expected, we have Princess Farah (Jane Seymour, who would later win two Golden Globes and one Emmy) largely relegated to a passive role, as is the fate of all of Sinbad’s love interests in this series.

Once more, Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion creations are the most significant highlight of the film. There’s a mechanical minotaur (creatively named Minoton), a massive saber-toothed tiger, a giant troglodyte (which reminds us of the cyclops from the first movie), and a menacing baboon that houses the spirit of a cursed prince. Unfortunately, though, while impressive in its own right, the stop-motion animation feels less fluid and polished than in previous films, which may reflect both the demands of the increasing complexity of the creatures and the potential limitations of the budget or production schedule.

The quest structure (traveling from one mystical location to the next while overcoming a series of obstacles) follows the formula established in the previous films. However, it feels more mechanical here, with little sense of novelty or innovation. There are some anachronisms here too. Again, the original Sinbad from One Thousand and One Nights is supposed to have lived between the 8th and the 9th centuries. But Melanthius refers to Archimedes of Syracuse, who lived in the 3rd century BCE, as if they were contemporaries. Anyone cares about these inconsistencies?

If you have to choose just one of these movies, get the first one. The 7th Voyage of Sinbad remains a landmark film in the fantasy genre, particularly for its groundbreaking use of stop-motion animation. While its narrative and characters are somewhat shallow, the film succeeds in creating a world of wonder and adventure that continues to captivate audiences. Its influence on the genre is undeniable, paving the way for later films that embraced the fantastical and the mythological.

Six Terminators

September 24, 2024 / Zander

How many Terminator movies can you watch in a single day? Well, if you are a geek like me and happens to be stranded at home feeling a bit sick, you can watch all of them. At the time of this writing, there are only six Terminator movies out there, so I was able to fit the whole 722 minutes (that’s a bit over twelve hours) into my totally not busy schedule for the day.

The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984) started everything. A near-unstoppable cyborg assassin (Arnold Schwarzenegger), is sent from a future dominated by machines, to kill Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), the mother of the future leader of the human resistance, while a guerrilla fighter (Michael Biehn) also travels back to protect her. We had seen time travel before, like for example in Time After Time (1979). We had seen computers declaring war on humanity, like in Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970). We had even seen determined killer androids, like in Westworld (1973). But all those elements combined into a cohesive story and presented in a gritty narrative made The Terminator an instant science fiction classic. The Terminator itself became an iconic figure, representing the cold, unfeeling nature of machines contrasted with the resilience and ingenuity of humans.

The Terminator does more than just tell a standalone story. It lays the groundwork for a complex mythology that would be expanded (and eventually ignored) in the subsequent films. The concept of Skynet, the self-aware AI that decides humanity is a threat, and the nuclear apocalypse known as Judgment Day, are pivotal in defining the thematic core of the series.

Like many time travel movies, it invites some questions regarding the logic of causes and consequences, and the possibility of paradoxes. If the Terminator succeeds in killing Sarah Connor, John Connor will not be born and will not become the leader of the resistence, and there will be no reason to send a Terminator back in time. Then, with no Terminator traveling to the past, who killed Sara Connor? Also, ironically, if Kyle Reese is not sent to stop the Terminator, he won’t father John Connor, which means it’s the Skynet mission to prevent John Connor’s existence what makes his existence possible.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (James Cameron, 1991) picks up years after the events of the first film. A more advanced Terminator, the liquid-metal T-1000 (Robert Patrick), is sent back from the future by Skynet to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong), the future leader of the human resistance. He is supposed to be 10 years old, but he looks like a 14-year-old juvenile delinquent. To protect John, the resistance reprograms another Terminator, a T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger), and sends it back in time. The film explores Sarah Connor’s (Linda Hamilton) struggle to prevent Skynet’s creation and stop Judgment Day, the apocalyptic event in which Skynet becomes self-aware and triggers a nuclear holocaust.

The depiction of the characters one decade after the first movie is convincing. With the knowledge of what’s going to happen, Sarah Connor becomes a self-reliant paranoid survivalist. And her son, growing up from foster home to foster home, is a precocious proto-nihilist rebel. But what makes the sequel memorable is the return of the Terminator now as a heroic figure, this time sent back to protect John Connor.

In Terminator 2 we get a more detailed explanation of how Skynet was created. A company called Cyberdyne Systems reverse-engineered future technology found in the remnants of the dismantled Terminator from the first movie, and used it build Skynet. Sarah Connor is determined to prevent that by destroying the Terminator parts. No future technology, no Skynet, no Judgement Day. But if she succeeds in stopping that future from happening, who sent the Terminators in the first and second movies? And if she fails and Skynet is created, that’s a classic closed loop time travel paradox: Skynet exists because of the technology that only exists due to its own future existence, being at the same time the cause and the consequence.

The new model of Terminator is visually striking but also raises some questions. First, we know that the time travel machine only allows for live tissue to go through. Kyle Reese was human and the T-800 model was fully covered in live human tissue. But if the T-1000 model is all liquid metal, how was it able to travel? Second, while the T-800 has a power source (and even an alternative battery), the T-1000 doesn’t (it’s all liquid metal). Quite a lot of energy is spent running after the protagonists, changing shapes, or even taking a walk, but that mass of mimetic polyalloy is not receiving energy from anywhere. It just spends it, never acquires any. That’s never explained.

Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (Jonathan Mostow, 2003) is much weaker than the previous two movies. Nick Stahl as a young adult John Connor is very unconvincing. He has a passive or reactive role, lacking decisiveness and leadership qualities. That’s not someone capable of organizing a weekend camping trip, much less of leading the human resistance against the machines. And we are missing Sarah Connor in this movie, because she apparently has died.

The new Terminator model, the T-X (Kristanna Loken), is too powerful to be credible. It can do everything the T-1000 could do, plus it can create machines with moving parts, sophisticated electronic devices, remote controls vehicles, and even has an internal mini-lab for DNA testing. Power source? T-800 says she’s driven by a plasma reactor. It looks more like magic. Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, future wife and fellow resistance fighter of John Connor, is a nice addition. But the few good moments here are actually provided by Arnold Schwarzenegger as a new (and funny) good Terminator.

Terminator 3 negates the plot achievements of Terminator 2. Sarah and John believed that by destroying Cyberdyne Systems and the T-800’s arm and chip they had averted the creation of Skynet. But here we learn that Skynet’s development seems inevitable, regardless of Cyberdyne’s destruction. And the proof that Skynet is alive and well in the future is that it keeps sending Terminators to hunt John Connor and his associates.

Terminator Salvation (McG, 2009) is the first film in the series to take place completely in the post-apocalyptical world that follows Judgement Day. After unborn John Connor, child John Connor, and youngster John Connor, it’s logical this time we get adult John Connor. Christian Bale is very good in the role. Anton Yelchin as young Kyle Reese is also a good surprise. Bryce Dallas Howard replaces Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, now Kate Connor. Sam Worthington is Marcus Wright, a human-terminator hybrid experiment. Schwarzenegger, governor of California at the time, allowed his CGI image to be used so the original T-800 could be in the story. Overall, the movie feels like a big improvement after the weak Terminator 3.

Time travel is just hinted here, and only because we already know about the Kyle Reese versus T-800 battles from the first movie. It focuses instead on the ongoing clash between humanity and Skynet, emphasizing war, survival, and moral ambiguity. It’s possibly the darker film in the series. One of the more compelling aspects of Terminator Salvation is Marcus Wright’s journey. Marcus, who is revealed to be a cyborg, grapples with questions of identity, free will, and what it means to be human. His internal conflict drives much of the emotional weight of the film, adding some complexity to a narrative that otherwise focuses heavily on action. It’s unclear, however, why human-machine hybrids aren’t used more widely by Skynet, and why Marcus is the only one we’ve seen.

Terminator Genisys (Alan Taylor, 2015), the fifth movie in the series, makes some unexpected choices. It ambitiously revisits and reinterprets the franchise’s mythology, especially the first two iconic films, while disregarding the later sequels. By doing that, it basically reboots the series by offering an alternate timeline that alters key events from the original films.

The movie opens with familiar territory: the year is 2029, and the human resistance, led by John Connor (Jason Clarke), is on the verge of defeating Skynet. Skynet’s last-ditch effort is to send a Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) back to 1984 to kill Sarah Connor (Emilia Clarke) before she can give birth to John. In response, John sends Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) back in time to protect her. However, when Reese arrives in 1984, he finds that the timeline has been altered: Sarah Connor is already a skilled fighter and is protected by an aging T-800, affectionately called Pops (also played by Schwarzenegger). This sets off a series of events involving alternate timelines, new villains, and the discovery that John Connor himself has been turned into a machine by Skynet.

Surprisingly, there are many things that work very well here. The opening sequence is a direct homage to The Terminator, with shot-for-shot recreations of iconic scenes, such as the arrival of the T-800 at the Griffith Observatory. The movie taps into nostalgia by revisiting familiar moments and offering new spins on key events, like Sarah Connor’s first encounter with the T-800. Schwarzenegger returning as the T-800 brings a new twist, as he is now playing an older version of the character, the Pops Terminator, with a blend of action prowess and humor. His interactions with Emilia Clarke’s Sarah Connor (a good choice for the role) provide some of the film’s more heartfelt and comedic moments, especially in the dynamic of their surrogate father-daughter relationship.

The new takes on established characters (for example, Sarah Connor is no longer the vulnerable, unsuspecting woman from the first film, but instead she has been raised by the T-800 and is fully aware of her role in shaping humanity’s future) and the idea of a fractured timeline (events from the original films have been altered) bring a much needed freshness to the series.

The new logic of time travel, however, raises new problems. For example, if the timeline has been altered, why does Skynet send the original T-800 back to 1984 when the Sarah Connor of that timeline is already prepared for him? The film never adequately explains why Skynet and the resistance continue to send agents back in time despite the timeline having already changed. If Skynet is aware that the timeline has been altered, why does it still use strategies from the original timeline?

Despite what some people may consider cheating (ignoring the events of Terminator 3 and Terminator Salvation) and despite the plot holes (how many movies about time travel avoid those?), Terminator Genisys can be quite entertaining.

Terminator: Dark Fate (Tim Miller, 2019) feels like a bad joke. After the alternative view offered by the previous movie, this one goes with “forget everything not made by James Cameron and let’s pretend this is the third installment of the franchise”. Not surprisingly, Cameron is the producer and one of the story creators. The film begins with a shocking and controversial twist: John Connor, the leader of the future human resistance, is killed by a rogue T-800 Terminator shortly after the events of Terminator 2. That reduces the importance of the character’s story arc, which was central to the original films. Killing him off in the opening scene not only feels disrespectful to the character but also undermines the emotional investment fans had in his journey. The whole “John Connor must live because he will lead the human resistance against the machines” becomes irrelevant. Why would they do that? It feels like a bad decision fueled by the desire to pander to a woke audience: let’s kill the white male hero and replace him with a hispanic female protagonist. I like stories with strong female leads, but not when that requires disrespecting the legacy of an established plot line.

In conclusion, and in very simple terms: The Terminator (1984), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), Terminator Salvation (2009), Terminator Genisys (2015), all good. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), Terminator: Dark Fate (2019), not good. But I’m sure sooner or later there will be more Terminator movies. Like Schwarzenegger would say, “I’ll be back”.

Favorite Movies 2011-2020

September 3, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order, only one movie per director.

Mientras Duermes (Jaume Balagueró, 2011)
Her (Spike Jonze, 2013)
About Time (Richard Curtis, 2013)
Only Lovers Left Alive (Jim Jarmush, 2013)
The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson, 2014)
Birdman (Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2014)
Ex Machina (Alex Garland, 2014)
Relatos Salvajes (Damián Szifrón, 2014)
The Hateful Eight (Quentin Tarantino, 2015)
The Lobster (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2015)
Trumbo (Jay Roach, 2015)
Captain Fantastic (Matt Ross, 2016)
The Shape of Water (Guillermo del Toro, 2017)
Marjorie Prime (Michael Almereyda, 2017)
Get Out (Jordan Peele, 2017)
Parasite (Bong Joon-ho, 2019)
Dolor y Gloria (Pedro Almodóvar, 2019)
Waiting for the Barbarians (Ciro Guerra, 2019)
Ventajas de Viajar en Tren (Aritz Moreno, 2019)
The Midnight Sky (George Clooney, 2020)

Favorite Movies 2001-2010

August 20, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order, only one movie per director.

The Lord of the Rings (Peter Jackson, 2001/2003)
The Ring (Gore Verbinski, 2002)
Basic (John McTiernan, 2003)
The Dreamers (Bernardo Bertolucci, 2003)
Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola, 2003)
Kill Bill: Volume 1 / Volume 2 (Quentin Tarantino, 2003/2004)
Sideways (Alexander Payne, 2004)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Michel Gondry, 2004)
Crash (Paul Haggis, 2004)
House of Flying Daggers (Zhang Yimou, 2004)
Match Point (Woody Allen, 2005)
A History of Violence (David Cronenberg, 2005)
La Moustache (Emmanuel Carrère, 2005)
Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo del Toro, 2006)
Volver (Pedro Almodóvar, 2006)
The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2006)
The Man from Earth (Richard Schenkman, 2007)
Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008)
The Time Traveler’s Wife (Robert Schwentke, 2009)
Inception (Christopher Nolan, 2010)

Favorite Movies 1991-2000

August 6, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order, only one movie per director.

Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991)
Delicatessen (Marc Caro & Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 1991)
Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994)
The Usual Suspects (Bryan Singer, 1995)
Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead (Gary Fleder, 1995)
Twelve Monkeys (Terry Gilliam, 1995)
Fargo (Joel Coen, 1996)
Contact (Robert Zemeckis, 1997)
A Simple Plan (Sam Raimi, 1998)
Fight Club (David Fincher, 1999)
The Matrix (Andy Wachowski & Larry Wachowski, 1999)
Being John Malkovich (Spike Jonze, 1999)
Todo sobre mi Madre (Pedro Almodóvar, 1999)
Nueve Reinas (Fabián Bielinsky, 2000)
Memento (Christopher Nolan, 2000)

Favorite Movies 1981-1990

July 23, 2024 / Zander

In chronological order, only one movie per director.

Body Heat (Lawrence Kasdan, 1981)
The Postman Always Rings Twice (Bob Rafelson, 1981)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (Steven Spielberg, 1981)
Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982)
Storia di Ordinaria Follia (Marco Ferreri, 1982)
Amadeus (Milos Forman, 1984)
Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (Hugh Hudson, 1984)
The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984)
Ran (Akira Kurosawa, 1985)
The Decline of the American Empire (Denys Arcand, 1986)
House of Games (David Mamet, 1987)
Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios (Pedro Almodóvar, 1988)
Farewell to the King (John Milius, 1989)
The War of the Roses (Danny DeVito, 1989)
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (Tom Stoppard, 1990)
Misery (Rob Reiner, 1990)

Watching the same gunfight in seven different ways

July 16, 2024 / Zander

Sometimes I get obsessed with a theme and dive into a marathon of movies and/or books about it. This week it was the famous Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. It all started because I read the book Tombstone – Wyatt Earp, the O.K. Corral, and the Vendetta Ride, by Sean McLachlan. It’s a straightforward account of the gunfight and the events leading to it and spreading from it. That got me thinking about all the movies I had seen that misrepresented the episode, so I decided to watch them again.

I couldn’t find Law and Order (Edward L. Cahn, 1932) or Frontier Marshal (Allan Dwan, 1939), so I started my marathon with Tombstone, the Town Too Tough to Die (William C. McGann, 1942). It’s a simplistic tale where Wyatt Earp (Richard Dix) and his friends are all good and courageous and Curly Bill Brocious (Edgar Buchanan) and his band of bandits are all bad and mischievous. No room for subtleties here. And then there is Johnny Duane (Don Castle) – is he a replacement for Johnny Ringo? -, a bad boy who is actually a good boy, so Wyatt Earp is determined to bring him to the light side of the force. Doc Holliday (Kent Taylor) looks pretty healthy, no signs of tuberculosis. The actual gunfight at the O.K. Corral is handled poorly, and with almost no importance in the plot.

The next one was My Darling Clementine (John Ford, 1946). Despite all the critical acclaim, to me it’s the worst movie made about the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Yes, it’s a well told story (probably the reason people like Akira Kurosawa or Sam Peckinpah listed it as one of their favorite movies), but it’s not even close to what happened (the reason it displeased me so much). It starts with Wyatt Earp, played by Henry Fonda, taking a herd of cows to California with his brothers, and he only stops at Tombstone because his cows were stolen and his younger brother was killed. (In fact, the Earp brothers went to Tombstone following a plan to invest in many businesses there and become rich, and there was no cattle involved. Also, they took their wives, which don’t show up in the movie. Also, James Earp was not the younger brother and he wasn’t murdered in Tombstone but died of natural causes many years later in California). Then Wyatt Earp meets Doc Holliday, poorly played by Victor Mature, for the first time in Tombstone. (In fact, they were already friends at that point.) This Doc is not a gambler, doesn’t travel with a prostitute, looks very robust for someone suffering from tuberculosis, and doesn’t even have a mustache. Then there’s the love interest, Clementine Carter (Cathy Downs), who used to be Doc’s girl. She’s not the real Doc’s Big Nose Kate and she’s not the real Wyatt’s Josephine Marcus, just a made up character. To make it more dramatic John Ford makes the fight at the O.K. Corral happen at sunrise. (In fact, it happened at 3 PM.) On one side, Wyatt Earp, Morgan Earp, and Doc Holliday. Virgil Earp is missing because he had been killed earlier. (In fact, Virgil was in the fight, wasn’t killed before or during the fight, and survived even when he was shot later. Also, Virgil was the older brother, and not Morgan like in the movie.) On the other side, Old Man Clanton and his sons. (In fact, the cowboys on the other side were Billy Claiborne, brothers Ike and Billy Clanton, and brothers Tom and Frank McLaury. Old Man Clanton had been killed in another incident a couple of months earlier.) The fight lasts a few minutes, with both sides shooting at each other from afar. (In fact, the fight only lasted 30 seconds and they were fairly close to each other.) And Doc Holliday gets shot and dies. (No, no, no, he wasn’t shot in the fight and died six years later in a hospital bed.) If that’s the story you want to tell, tell it without using the names of people from a different story. I don’t care if it’s John Ford, his movie is ridiculous.

The third movie was Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (John Sturges, 1957). This Doc Holliday, played by Kirk Douglas, sports a mustache (a small one, but much better than no mustache) and has a love-hate relationship with Big Nose Kate, played by Jo Van Fleet. But Wyatt Earp, played by Burt Lancaster, has no mustache. Any non-mustachioed Wyatt Earp has zero credibility. DeForest Kelley (yes, that DeForest Kelley, aka Dr. Leonard Bones McCoy) plays Morgan Earp, also without a mustache. A fun fact is that years later in the sixth episode of the third season of Star Trek, Spectre of the Gun, DeForest Kelley, as Bones, would be involved in a re-enactment of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. I also find it interesting how the bromance between Earp and Doc seems very suggestive of a platonic homoerotic attraction between the two. But the movie takes too many liberties with the facts. For example, like in My Darling Clementine, they make James Earp a younger brother (he was actually an older brother) and get him killed to serve as an excuse for the fight at the O.K. Corral (James actually lived until 1926). Also like in the John Ford movie, they schedule the shootout for sunrise (actually, it was at 3 PM). And the fight itself is convoluted, with all the gunmen spread out, and even has a wagon on fire (it was actually at close quarters and over in 30 seconds). In any case, even with the incongruences, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral is a better movie than My Darling Clementine.

John Sturges liked this theme so much he returned to it ten years later in Hour of the Gun (John Sturges, 1967). This time he added some more historical accuracy, and the opening states that “This picture is based on Fact. This is the way it happened.” Well, almost. There are still several liberties, like how some of Earp’s antagonists died. They also add a train station at Tombstone, which is completely anachronistic. But it’s good that Sturges decided to correct the falsehoods of his previous movie. However, this is not a remake, it’s a sequel, starting right with the shootout and following it with the trial and acquittal of Doc and the Earps, and then the revenge section fills most of the movie. James Garner, with a mustache, is Wyatt Earp. Jason Robards, with a mustache, is Doc Holliday. Curiously, almost all the women seem to have disappeared from Arizona, as this is a movie about men, for men, and the director only shows men.

The fifth movie was Doc (Frank Perry, 1971). Not a bad idea to tell the same story with Doc Holliday as the protagonist. Stacy Keach is good in the role, as is Faye Dunaway as Big Nose Kate. Harris Yulin lacks charisma to be a good Wyatt Earp, but perhaps that’s part of the plan. The movie has a very 70s vibe, with too much talk and a few artsy-fartsy moments. The imbroglio with Ike Clanton doesn’t follow the historical facts at all, and is just played as a personal conflict. And Ike Clanton beating up Wyatt Earp in a fist fight seems very out of character for both men. Good effort, but still inadequate results.

We had to wait over twenty years to get a good movie about the famous Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (which actually didn’t happen at the corral but nearby): Tombstone (George P. Cosmatos, 1993). Unlike other attempts, this film strikes a remarkable balance between cinematic entertainment and historical accuracy. While there are still some liberties taken for dramatic effect (which is part of cinematic narrative), it manages to capture the essence of the events surrounding the legendary gunfight more faithfully than its counterparts, and distinguishes itself by weaving a compelling narrative while maintaining a level of authenticity that remains true to the spirit of the historical events. It not only serves as an engaging piece of entertainment but also as a more credible and respectful representation of the iconic showdown. Kurt Russell, with a magnificent mustache, plays a solid Wyatt Earp. Val Kilmer, in the best role of his life as Doc Holliday, captures the character’s complexities and showcases his wit, charm, and inner turmoil with remarkable skill. Plus Sam Elliott (king of mustaches) and Bill Paxton as the other Earp brothers, and Powers Boothe and Michael Biehn as the villainous Curly Bill Brocius and Johnny Ringo. Tombstone is easily the best movie made about this theme.

The seventh and last movie in my marathon was Wyatt Earp (Lawrence Kasdan, 1994). Kevin Costner as Wyatt Earp, with an underpowered mustache. The story starts with Wyatt Earp as a kid, which gives some background to the character but also makes for the least interesting part of a very long movie. For the first hour (the whole thing is over three hours) he doesn’t even become a lawman. Dennis Quaid does a good Doc Holliday, but it lacks the finesse shown by Val Kilmer in Tombstone. Well, I can’t say it’s a bad movie or too far from historical fact, it’s just too long and too slow to be really engaging.

And that was my obsession for this week. Onwards to the next one.