DaViD´82

"My dad used to clean toilets in Spain. He came here with high hopes. He wanted pay-toilets in Mexico." A satirical spaghetti western from the much-popular wave of revolutionary conscious movies from the era of the Mexican Revolution. But after a more than solid start, it loses its breath for a long time; and it even looses its refreshing self-depreciating perspective. It's not until the stylish final third (the village versus Nero with a machine gun defending Mexico's Gandi²) that it catches its second breath, and then it's too late. The empty filler passages are only saved by Ennio, who is also a bit sloppy this time around but cleverly helped himself with the catchy leftist title song, which is (over)used wherever possible.

While the Scandinavians and even the Argentinians have already shown that they can make the “serial killer playing with the police" concept work in TV series form, the Americans (or Williamson, specifically) are yet to succeed. And the devil knows if they'll ever manage to do it in this series, given the concept; and by the way, the genre, as it happens to be overly polished. The visuals, the characters, and… actually everything, but above all the atmosphere. An average, run-of-the-mill TV show that is pretending to be something that it is (so far) nowhere near.

The funeral story should have been the very last one. It would have been a beautiful symbolic end (not only) to the eleven satirical (micro)short stories, not all of which are worth remembering (and some are not even worth paying attention to), but where the Gassman/Sordi duo invariably impresses. And, of course, Ornella Muti's swimsuit camel toe. That above all.

A film about a female Fantomas "Catwoman"" Lupin, which was created perhaps only so that Logereau could drool over the lovely Danièle in a nice and very (but really very) tight costume. And not that I blame him, but he could have added at least the semblance of suspense, story, or style to the drooling, considering the genre.

An (un)chivalric satire about a Don Quixote-esque hero, his band of crafty cowards, and one yellow horse who has the most common sense of them all. A great comedy of our youth for many of us and, most of all, a movie that (like Frosty) is based on the genius of Czech dubbing from 1969, and which has nothing to do with the original (just like Frosty), but it is certainly not to its detriment (as with Frosty). And one of the obvious sources for the future Monty Python and the Holy Grail (unlike Frosty).

Everything good, except for that uncharismatic, non-actor piece of wood Gemmu. And this wood is a stick thrown under the feet of an otherwise excellent Spaghetti Western and especially Van Cleef, who tries his best, but his performance bounces off the wood like a tennis ball off a crooked wall.

Anyone expecting a regular spaghetti western will be sorely disappointed. It is more of a typical verbose Tarantino movie with western scenery than a tribute to the genre (or genres) with everything they entail. It was to be expected, but it is still a crying shame, because if anyone, Quentin should have tried to challenge the holy Italian Trinity of Sergios (Leone, Sollima, Corbucci) in their sovereign field. Anyway, it doesn't matter “what it is/isn't“, when it’s such a damn good and stylish movie. Of course, the more you watch it, the more references you notice, but ultimately it doesn't matter if you know which genre classic is referenced by the composition “Für Elise" being played on a harp in the saloon or by the other hundred allusions to this and that; Fans of Monty Python humor will also find something to enjoy in the scene involving the birth pains of a beta version of the Ku Klux Klan… There are only two blemishes. First, the length. It’s too short and therefore in many places inappropriately hurried. And then the finale which lacks a tension-building, face-to-face duel. Which is an unforgivable faux pas, Quentin!

Exhaustive (informatively, not for the viewer!) and with more items of interest and information since the Encyclopedia Britannica. Instead of being about Making Prometheus, this is more of a loose sequel to Dangerous Days: Making Blade Runner, about how high-budget movies are made in the twenty-first century. As a result, it is the right (and, for many viewers, the only) reason to buy an original dvd of Prometheus.

A film that can make even Chris Tucker likeable can't be bad in principle. And the Dirty Dancing Therapy, despite all its cheap melodramatic pretense, it’s not bad.

A second-rate Spaghetti Western that, for all its plot dullness and inartistic overacting (a brilliantly bad Henry Silva), doesn't bore and treads without any major stumbles; mainly thanks to its varied and frequent action. It’s guilty pleasure fun, but fun nonetheless.