Screened: August 10, 2008
Format: DVD - Warner Brothers (2008)
Selected By: Curt
While there are caper films that surpass Ocean’s Eleven, few films so perfectly embody the all-or-nothing spirit of Las Vegas, that oasis of wild-eyed opportunism and frank fatalism. Moreover, few films can claim with both justification and pride—and a bit of hindsight—to sit at the center of an American pop culture phenomenon. So it is with Lewis Milestone’s 1960 Eleven, which brought together for their first feature the most renowned version of the Rat Pack, a loose affiliation of entertainers who took Sin City by storm. And while Eleven featured a swath of famous faces from the era—Angie Dickinson, Cesar Romero, Henry Silva, even a cameo from Shirley MacLaine—the Rat Pack is at the glittering center of the film.
The 1960s Pack that inhabits Ocean’s Eleven—Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Joey Bishop, and Peter Lawford—was but the most recent iteration of a social gathering that once orbited around Humphrey Bogart and a younger Sinatra. There were other luminaries in this earlier version, and more women as well: Judy Garland, Lauren Bacall, David Niven, and other Classical Hollywood veterans. The later 1960’s incarnation of the Pack might have been a Hollywood institution, but members played Las Vegas frequently, and their appearances there became so legendary and popular that the gathering became a part of the city’s entertainment identity. The group was also a force in first Democratic and then Republican politics, owing to Sinatra’s mafia allies and Lawford’s ties as John F. Kennedy’s brother-in-law.
Russian by birth, Ocean’s Eleven director Lewis Milestone served in the U.S. Army’s Signal Corps before heading out to Hollywood. A Howard Hughes protégé, Milestone eventually became known as a studio workhorse with a flair for war features. He would arguably attain his career triumph in 1930 with All Quiet of the Western Front, but Milestone continued to direct for another three decades. Ocean’s Eleven allegedly had its origin when writer Jack Golden Russell, then a gas station attendant, handed the script to Sinatra. Script aside, however, the pleasure of Eleven rests on the Rat Pack ad-libbing their way through a two hour on-location romp in the Sin City they worked and loved tirelessly.
What more can be said of Victor Fleming’s 1939 musical fantasy triumph, 
Yes, Terry the Dog, who plays Toto, was paid more than twice the rate received by the actors who portrayed the Munchkins. Yes, the original silver slippers of Baum’s novel were changed to ruby slippers to better show off the Technicolor film process. And, of course, yes, there are eerie synchronicities between this 1939 film and Pink Floyd’s 1973 concept album, Dark Side of the Moon. Since awareness of the phenomenon first surfaced on Usenet in the 1990s, it has been dismissed by the band and album engineer Alan Parsons, but this has not dissuaded film and Floyd devotees from exploring this odd coincidence.
After 
Which raises the question: Is Bound a queer film, or merely a titillating thriller with some queer trappings? The brothers contend that the film’s themes reflect homosexual concerns, but that their ambitions were broader, while Bright has argued that Bound is definitively lesbian in its character. To be sure, the film endures as a touchstone in gay cult cinema, as does Gershon’s reputation as a gay idol. Yet in some ways, the film’s graphic violence remains more shocking than its homosexual content. The Wachowskis have cited 
Since 1999, when 
Balagueró and Plaza eschew Blair Witch’s less-is-more methods in favor of mainstream scares and gores, but [•REC] achieves an uncommon realism and simplicity in its presentation. Shot entirely on location, the film tells the story of a shoestring Barcelona television news crew comprising one reporter and one cameraman. In the course of taping a humdrum human interest feature, the pair find themselves trapped in an unthinkably nightmarish situation. In keeping with journalistic standards and the rules of the subgenre, naturally they keep right on filming. Consistent with the best traditions of horror, the film deftly delves into modern fears about paranoia, community, isolation, and biological terror. Running a lean 75 minutes, [•REC] shuns indulgent digressions in favor of the classic pairing of slowly mounting tension and gruesome shocks.
The verdict may still be out as to whether American writer-director 
Hustle & Flow reflects Brewer’s enduring interest in capturing textured, affecting portraits of people in the meanest corners of society. His backdrop is often the dusty, sticky Tennessee that he grew to love in the 1990s. Yet Brewer has faced criticism for his lack of Southern credibility, and Hustle & Flow in particular engendered controversy with its arguable misogyny and glorification of the criminal life. Nonetheless, Brewer and his slate of remarkable performers discover a striking vision of human striving, ugly survival, and artistic ecstasy from a deceptively simple premise. Howard in particular offers a potent, nuanced portrayal. He convinces us that a lowlife pimp and drug dealer could posses dreams and talents that can make him into perhaps not a good man, but a better man.
With the release of his suspense masterpiece 
The cunning of Rear Window’s story is easy to recognize: Stewart, as photojournalist L.B. Jeffries, is laid up in his sweltering New York apartment with a broken leg. While spying on his neighbors across the courtyard out of boredom, he sees strange events that he believes to be evidence of a murder. What Hitchcock does with this simple premise is breathtaking, crafting not only a brilliantly constructed and shot thriller, but a dense inquiry into sex, relationships, marriage, voyeurism, art, and filmmaking itself. This is Hitchock’s genius: Rear Window transcends its significant technical virtues and emerges as one of the most potent films ever made about the act of watching.
The number of characters and storylines in the film is dizzying, but it never feels directionless. It spins one witty anecdote after another, all set to a brash, romantic Big Band soundtrack. The cast is enormous. There is
And what a cast it is. Glengarry boasts one the most impressive dramatic ensembles of the past fifty years. Any member could and has held together a feature film with his own talents: 
It’s difficult to appreciate the venomous controversy that accompanied the 1939 release of 
The plot is an intricate puzzle box of affection, loyalty, and rivalry. The film flits between the upstairs world of faithless, selfish, cruel aristocrats, and the downstairs world of the equally ill-behaved servants. Overall, however, Renoir’s viewpoint is not judgmental but sardonic and melancholy. Ambling between the two worlds is the director himself as the charming buffoon Octave, easily the film’s most compelling character. Keeping up with the story of The Rules of the Game is a challenge. First time viewers should instead concentrate on Renoir’s use of deep focus and a constantly shifting camera, which capture a dizzying kaleidoscope of interactions. Frequently lauded as one of the finest French-language films of all time, The Rules of the Game may be one the greatest films in any language about social relationships. It is a work that effortlessly captures the complexity, absurdity, and perils of human connection.
The performance by Swiss actor