Do the Movies Have a Future?

Asks venerated critic David Denby in the ’78 Superman-styled title of his new book, Do the Movies Have a Future? (Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes, they certainly do.)

Don’t be misled by the title, as this is not a near-400-page examination of the arguably rhetorical question. He deals with cinema’s place — and the criticism of cinema — in the Internet age only in his introduction and first few chapters, which then give way to an unthemed collection of essays and reviews, most previously published in the pages of The New Yorker. Whether you’re new to Denby or not, it’s a pleasurable, first-rate read of film criticism.

Among the features and profiles on stars, directors and genres, he delivers the single-best summations of “mumblecore” and “chick flicks” I’ve ever read. He’s sharp in both brain and barbs, able to break apart a genre with wit without being entirely dismissive — for example, “In romantic comedies as well as in chick flicks, Hollywood has been throwing women against the wall of Matthew McConaughey’s stupidity to see what sticks (the answer: Kate Hudson).”

In another piece, he gives director Victor Fleming his due and wonders, as I have, how the man responsible for helming two bona fide classics in The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind — both from the same year, mind you — isn’t often top-of-mind among discussions of finest filmmakers. He even examines two film critics, notably Pauline Kael, which backs up the entirety of Brian Kellow’s recommended bio, Pauline Kael: A Life in the Dark: namely, that friendship with her was often one-sided and doomed to be temporary, and that she could be quite the rhymes-with-stunt.

Now, Denby is not the type of film critic who second-guesses his use of a word like “exegesis.” If you don’t know what it means and don’t bother to look it up, that’s your loss. The man definitely has his own language, which I’d argue is part of why he’s been able to carve a career out of talking about the language of movies themselves. Phrases like “a bounder” and “learned boobies” abound — and with the latter, he’s not talking about the breasts of a hot teacher.

Speaking of the body, I was amused at how often Denby describes his subjects in physical terms, and in the inimitable way he does it. For example, he notes Julia Roberts “for her big easy carriage” and “with her loose, shambling, cowhand’s walk”; Seth Rogen, meanwhile, sports “the round face and sottish grin of a Jewish Bacchus.” Whereas some may find these observations off-putting, I chalk them up to part of the book’s overall wide appeal.

Show me one online-only, fanboy “critic” who can turn such a phrase. You can’t; it’s as futile as viewing a film on a iPod screen — the subject of an early chapter. Do the Movies Have a Future? is a strong antidote to the ill-informed, online fanboy poison that sadly passes for film criticism these days. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Master of the Flying Guillotine (1976)

Jimmy Wang Yu’s Master of the Flying Guillotine begins with a monkey-owning blind old man learning that his two disciples have been killed by the One-Armed Boxer. This makes him mad, so he jumps out of his house — through the roof, mind you — burns it to the ground and grabs his flying guillotine, that blasted basket-and-blades contraption that tears heads clean from their bodies.

The blind man goes in search of each and every one-armed man he comes across, and then promptly beheads them. As a result, there’s an absurd amount of three-limbed fellas in this epic, which is simply one of the best martial-arts films ever.

Wang Yu, however, is the one the blind guy is, um, looking for. He’s a kung fu teacher who can walk on walls and ceilings. They almost meet up at a kung fu tournament where all sorts of miscreants battle each other to the death, including an Indian man with long, retractable arms like Reed Richards of The Fantastic Four!

When Wang Yu and the blind man do meet, it’s one helluva finale in a booby-trapped coffin shop. But the action is good ‘n’ plenty throughout all of Guillotine, including a fight on a flame-broiled floor where one poor sap is barefoot. There’s no shortage of flying fists, drunken monkey antics or rolling noggins in this killer flick — and with a Krautrock theme song, no less! —Rod Lott

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Paper Man (1971)

In Paper Man, a fat, suspenders-wearing college nerd who looks like the spawn of John Denver and Munchie accidentally receives a credit card sent to his address to someone named Henry Norman. With the help of four computer lab buddies — including a foxy Stefanie Powers — they create a whole identity for this Norman character, thus enabling them to use the credit card for a spending spree.

After getting Henry a driver’s license, a Social Security number and even a birth certificate, “Henry” starts to become all too real. After the gnome boy dies from an insulin overdose and the token Asian is cut in half by an elevator — the result of computer errors both — the survivors get their computer theory pal, Avery (a sleepy Dean Stockwell), to erase Henry from the computer, which is as outdated as Ms. Powers’ hairstyle. It’s one of those big honkin’ mainframes with lotsa blinking lights, spinning tape reels and a court-stenographer interface.

But Avery’s efforts fail and Henry keeps on killin’, with fingers pointing to Avery himself. Says the computer lab technician to the sheriff, “He’s a brilliant student, but he’s abnormally shy.” Replies the sheriff, “Y’know, if there’s one thing I don’t look forward to, it’s spending time with a brilliant student who’s abnormally shy.” Huh?

The entire story is built upon incredible gaps of logic, but for a ’70s CBS made-for-TV movie, that’s expected and welcome. It doesn’t live up to the promise set forth in the first half, but the time mostly flies. I recall seeing a Married … with Children episode that was just like this mistaken-credit-card madness — just minus the murder. —Rod Lott

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The Undertaker and His Pals (1966)

This goofy-as-hell cannibal comedy leads with a lamb to slaughter — namely, comely Sally Lamb — an innocent blonde murdered by the titular undertaker and his two pals, while the expression on her boyfriend’s nearby photo changes from smiling to horrified.

It’s just the latest in a string of senseless murders carried out by Shady Rest Funeral Parlor head Mr. Mort, who specializes in the $144.98 funeral, complete with Green Stamps, and shares half of each corpse with his friends who run the Greasy Spoon Café, where the day’s special is fresh from the kill — like, for instance, the “leg of Lamb.”

Looking for subtlety? It’s hiding somewhere with cleverness. So when clean-cut playboy detective Harry Glass stops by for a bite with curvy secretary Ms. Poultry … well, you just know tomorrow’s special will be breast of chicken.

And, of course, it is. The Undertaker and His Pals is very much an imitation of Herschell Gordon Lewis, and while it’s no work of art, neither is Lewis’ stuff. Nope, like the work of that Godfather of Gore, this even-lower-budget effort is just a fun mix of a little blood, a lot of bosomy dames and painful slapstick. At 63 minutes, it simply doesn’t have time to be dull. —Rod Lott

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The Accidental Spy (2001)

Equal parts Rush Hour and Rumble in the Bronx, Jackie Chan stars in The Accidental Spy as a mild-mannered fitness equipment salesman thrust into a world of espionage after he foils a bank robbery. He’s then recruited by an impressed government to play spy games involving drugs and chemical agents, and learns his dying father — whom he never knew — was quite the secret agent himself.

Like father, like son … except the son is Jackie Chan, so one can expect a heaping side of shenanigans with that derring-do. Therefore, there’s a great scene where Jackie escapes from the bad guys all while rigging their fortress to come tumbling down. This is one-upped by the climactic tanker-truck-on-fire set piece.

But the highlight has him running naked from a spa through a crowded outdoor market, trying to fight off a horde of pursuers while attempting to protect his modesty. The mix of humor and pathos isn’t always an easy one, as if the globetrotting Spy can’t decide which way it should lean. However minor in the grander scheme of Chan’s career, it’s still a solid homegrown effort that showcases his aging form ably. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

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