Last Week Was a Movie: Aug 5 - 11, 2024
Film Vomit's weekly recap: What we watched, what we recommend, and what to avoid.
As the impending release of “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” inspired Jalen to go on a Tim Burton bender, I embarked on a journey through legendary director Francis Ford Coppola’s filmography in preparation for his upcoming passion project “Megalopolis.” Here’s everything we at Film Vomit watched last week:
Jalen: 8/10
With "Beetlejuice Beetlejuice" arriving in early September, I decided to dive into some Tim Burton films.
To kick off the week, I watched "Sleepy Hollow" (1999), directed by Tim Burton.
The first thing that struck me about this movie is that Burton never fails to create sets that, while atrocious to grow up or live in, still irresistibly draw you in with their scary, gothic, and horrifying design.
Not only is the set perfectly terrifying in typical Burton style, but the costumes are equally impressive—especially the Headless Horseman. From the boots to the tattered cape, not a single detail was missed in that fit.
Beyond the sets and costumes, "Sleepy Hollow" is definitely worth the watch, and I recommend it.
David: 5.25/10
The first film from legendary director Francis Ford Coppola, “Dementia 13” (also known as “The Haunted and the Hunted” across the pond), follows a widow who deceives her recently deceased husband’s family into thinking he’s still alive as she tries to ingratiate herself into her elderly stepmother’s will. When visiting the family’s Irish castle for a yearly memorial honoring her husband’s sister (who drowned in the estate pond as a child), the conniving widow comes face to face with an equally dangerous axe murderer haunting the halls of Castle Haloran.
Though Coppola technically cut his teeth working on sexploitation films, this film serves as his first legitimate directorial effort, handpicked by the King of B-Movies himself, Roger Corman, to direct “Dementia 13” after working as the sound man on Corman’s 1963 movie “The Young Racers.” Made with $22,000 that was left over from “The Young Racer’s” $165,000 budget, the quality of “Dementia 13” is a testament to the circumstances of its production. This is mercenary filmmaking at its finest, with Coppola cobbling together what few resources were allotted to him (as well as arranging an additional $20,000 by pre-selling the European distribution rights, a sign of things to come for Coppola) to deliver a low-budget gothic horror picture that has no shame in its desire to be a thrifty rendition of “Psycho.”
That’s not to say that Coppola isn’t cooking here – some of the kills, particularly the first axe murder, are quite effective – but the equivalent of fast-food filmmaking doesn’t allow a chef much room to stretch his creative legs. Ironically enough, Coppola still found a way to frustrate Corman with the cut he delivered, with the film deemed unreleasable until an extra kill and a wonky prologue (both shot by two different directors) were added.
If you’re going to watch “Dementia 13,” which I only recommend if you’re a Coppola completist or a die-hard horror fan with an affinity for black-and-white 60s slashers, then I strongly suggest seeking out the director’s cut, which exhumes Corman’s additional scenes and restores Coppola’s original vision.
Jalen: 7/10
This was my first time watching "Beetlejuice", and throughout the movie, I kept wondering, "Where’s Betelgeuse?"
Even though Betelgeuse wasn’t the main focus of the film, I still enjoyed it. Alec Baldwin, Geena Davis, and Winona Ryder killed it.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been on a Burton kick, but if this movie had been made by anyone else, I don’t think it would have made it out of the '80s. Burton has a unique way of designing sets, creating costumes, and making the weird and otherworldly feel exactly right.
I recommend "Beetlejuice."
David: 6/10
Francis Ford Coppola’s sophomore effort, “You’re a Big Boy Now,” follows Bernard, a neurotic late-teen virgin whose overbearing helicopter parents decide it’s time for him to grow up. According to them, this involves moving into a Manhattan apartment, where Bernard must contend with a literal cock-blocking rooster that haunts the fifth floor, attacking only pretty, young girls. Adding to his troubles is a nosy, prudish landlady, Miss Nora Thing, conscripted by Bernard’s mother to report any female company.
Despite Bernard’s classmate-turned-co-worker, Amy Partlett, constantly pining over him, his thoughts are occupied by Barbara Darling, an icy actress with a deep-rooted hatred for men stemming from the indignities of her youth. As Bernard’s ill-fated dalliance with Ms. Darling prolongs, he struggles with impotence and the gnawing feeling that he’s traded one master for another.
“You’re a Big Boy Now” is a textbook coming-of-age comedy, charting the tumultuous chasm between boyhood and manhood. A similarly themed film, Mike Nichols’ “The Graduate,” would come out only a year later. Despite Nichols’ fear that Coppola’s film had preemptively made his obsolete, “The Graduate” would go on to overshadow “You’re a Big Boy Now,” relegating it to obscurity in Coppola’s filmography.
That’s not to say it wasn’t lauded at the time. “You’re a Big Boy Now” secured an Oscar nomination for Geraldine Page for her role as Bernard’s mother and garnered a trio of Golden Globe nominations: one for Best Motion Picture — Musical or Comedy, a Best Supporting Actress nomination for Page, and a Best Actress nomination for Elizabeth Hartman’s work as Barbara Darling. The film also awarded its director a Master’s of Fine Arts degree, as Coppola submitted “You’re a Big Boy Now” as his thesis project for UCLA, despite quitting film school years earlier.
While there are some emotional truths hidden amongst what is largely a slapstick farce and some inventive filmmaking – Coppola filmed a pivotal chase sequence through a department store during regular hours, concealing cameras in carts and shopping bags to capture the reactions of unsuspecting shoppers – “You’re a Big Boy Now” remains a stepping stone in the career of an iconic filmmaker.
Once again, I recommend “You’re a Big Boy Now” only to diehard film fans who would feel ashamed if they couldn't say they’ve seen every Francis Ford Coppola movie.
Jalen: 10/10
There’s a scene in "The Tender Bar" where JR dreams his younger self is talking to him, and the younger version says, “I think you should go back to sleep, wake up in twenty years, and tell everybody how good you could’ve been. That’s what I think.”
There’s something so raw and terrifying about the idea that your younger self could be disappointed in you—that maybe you haven’t lived up to your potential.
Your dream doesn’t have to be Yale or becoming a writer. If you have a dream for a better life, and there are a few people who believe in you, this movie will resonate deeply with you.
David: 5.25/10
Through his first three films, one thing Francis Ford Coppola cannot be accused of is a lack of experimentation. Running the gamut of horror, comedy, and, with “Finian’s Rainbow,” musical fantasy, Coppola glides from genre to genre in a way that is rare among modern filmmakers—not for lack of desire, I’d assume, but because the current state of the industry has a way of pigeonholing directors. Coppola got the job off the back of “You’re a Big Boy Now’s” critical success, though he inspired more concern than confidence in Warner Bros. studio head Jack L. Warner, who was skeptical about the “hippie” director’s lack of experience with a production this big. To his credit, Coppola holds this thing together as best he can, despite his naturalistic sensibilities clashing with the inherently fantastical elements of the source material.
The story (adapted from the stage musical of the same name) follows an Irish immigrant named Finian, played by a nearly seventy-year-old Fred Astaire, still moving like he’s seventeen, who arrives in America with his daughter and a stolen crock of leprechaun gold. Finian settles in the fictional state of Missitucky with the harebrained scheme of planting the appropriated pot of gold in the ground, believing that his settlement's proximity to Fort Knox will make the precious metal multiply. As Finian and his daughter Sharon (Petula Clark) ingratiate themselves into a community of rural landowners, Sharon falls in love with the town hustler Woody, whose latest get-rich-quick scheme involves conscripting his friend Howard, an African-American botanist completing his Master’s Degree, to create the first mint-infused tobacco.
Things get complicated for Finian when Og, the leprechaun from whom he stole the crock, shows up in Missitucky to retrieve his gold before he turns into a human. Making matters worse is the uber-racist Senator Billboard Rawkins (whose dog is literally trained to attack only black people) discovering that there is gold on the land where the community has settled and attempting to seize it for himself. There is a critical moment halfway through the film in which Rawkins unleashes a litany of racial slurs on the townspeople, prompting Sharon to “wish” Rawkins was black. Her proximity to the buried gold makes this wish come true, leading to an unfortunate use of blackface in the film. Though its narrative intention is well-meaning, as this experience does make Rawkins reconsider his bigoted perspective, I thought it was worth mentioning for anyone who is contemplating checking this movie out.
So, as you can tell, there’s a lot going on in “Finian’s Rainbow,” and I’ve still left you with much to discover if you decide to watch it. Among its merits are some delightful production design and a couple of stunts that make you genuinely wonder how no one died, but I wouldn’t bemoan anyone who skipped this altogether. There is an endearingly chaotic energy to the movie—years later, Petula Clark would admit that almost everyone was high during the making of it—but more than anything, “Finian’s Rainbow” feels like a dry run for the kind of massive-scale productions Coppola would manage later in his career. In charting the arc of Coppola’s career, perhaps the most important aspect of the film is that it introduced Coppola to his lifelong friend and future business partner, George Lucas, who shadowed him during the making of the movie.
I can only recommend “Finian’s Rainbow” to the most musically obsessed cinephiles who love anything with an overture, intermission, entr’acte, and exit music.
David: 6.25/10
You can read my thoughts about “Cuckoo” here. While the movie is definitely worth a watch, I wouldn’t blame anyone for waiting for “Cuckoo” to hit streaming before giving it a spin.
Jalen: 6.5/10
"Cuckoo" strangely rents a spot in my mind, and I’m not sure why.
Do I feel the need to watch "Cuckoo" again? No. Would I recommend "Cuckoo" to friends? Yes. Was "Cuckoo" enjoyable? Yes.
For some reason, "Cuckoo" is a movie I can’t quite wrap my head around. It’s not because I didn’t understand it or because it was so out of left field, but because I found the movie to be average—it got the job done. Yet, there’s still a part of my mind that can’t stop thinking about it.
Usually, the only movies that stick with me are either so good that I wish I could go back and watch them again for the first time, or so comically bad that I can’t stop laughing.
Weirdly, "Cuckoo" is neither incredible nor comically bad. It just is.
Maybe that’s the point—maybe the movie is supposed to make you feel a little cuckoo?
David: 7.25/10
“The Rain People” opens with a poignant visual metaphor for its protagonist’s plight, as a woman (Shirley Knight) struggles to get out from under the arm of her sleeping husband without waking him. This woman, Natalie, has just discovered that a baby is growing inside her, prompting her to flee the suffocating responsibilities of motherhood and embark on the late-60s equivalent of a "brat summer." What follows is a quintessential road trip movie in which Natalie encounters a CTE-riddled ex-college football player nicknamed “Killer,” portrayed by the great James Caan in one of his most charming and understated performances, and a toxic highway patrolman named Gordon, played by the equally excellent Robert Duvall in the first of many collaborations with Francis Ford Coppola.
There is an argument to be made that “The Rain People” is one of Coppola’s most personal films—he wrote and directed the film with the intention of producing it himself, though the studio had to underwrite the movie after he went over budget. Coppola’s career circumstances at the time mirror his main character’s dilemma. Throughout the movie, society is constantly trying to put Natalie in the designated box for women of the era, something Coppola pays visual homage to by frequently placing Natalie in telephone booths, or as Ron Burgundy might call them, "glass boxes of emotion." Much like Natalie, Coppola felt restricted by the studio system, feeling that his visions were being stifled by the bean counters and desiring a drastic change in his approach. This would, of course, lead to Coppola and George Lucas (who not only worked as an aide on the film but also made a short documentary about its production) founding American Zoetrope, with the intention of making mainstream movies as a means of financing personal passion projects and creating a platform for up-and-coming directors.
Thankfully, things worked out better for Coppola’s production company than they did for Natalie, as “The Rain People” has a shockingly bleak ending that leaves many questions unresolved in the same painful way that real life often does.
I recommend “The Rain People” to anyone looking for a solid drama or an early piece of feminist filmmaking.
David: 10/10
What more can be said about “The Godfather,” a certified classic and one of the greatest American films ever made? It would take a full day to list all of the movie’s accolades and even longer to trace every piece of art in every medium that is a lineal descendant of Francis Ford Coppola’s first masterpiece. As legendary film critic Pauline Kael put it, “The Godfather” is a perfect synthesis of commerce and art. Mario Puzo’s best-selling novel of the same name, the most popular book at the time, gave birth to what became the highest-grossing movie of its era.
Conceived in a moment of weakness for all involved and constructed amid near-constant chaos, the most impressive aspect of “The Godfather’s” perfection is its tumultuous origins. Puzo pre-sold the rights to the book to pay off gambling debts to a studio in shambles, with Paramount reeling from the failure of recent films and ballooning budgets across all their productions. Coppola himself initially wanted no part in making “The Godfather,” but he acquiesced due to financial struggles and the underperformance of his last film, “The Rain People.” Even the film’s main star, Marlon Brando, was going through a rough patch in his illustrious career; the baton of "greatest living actor" had already been passed to Laurence Olivier, and Brando was considered a relic of the past.
Despite numerous attempts to sabotage the film’s production, Coppola fought tooth and nail to secure the relatively unknown Al Pacino—deemed too short by the studio—for the role of Michael Corleone. Reuniting with his boys James Caan and Robert Duvall and populating the movie with family members to maintain an authentic Italian-American vibe, Coppola’s greatest achievement lies in preserving this carefully constructed mosaic. It's hard to imagine the movie at all if even one piece of it had been removed or altered.
Equal parts Shakespearean family tragedy and cinematic treatise on American capitalism, what becomes most compelling about “The Godfather” is the mundanity of its proceedings. Bodyguards play catch with the kids while petitions for murder are heard at a daughter’s wedding. Bulletproof vests are strapped on for Christmas, and shotguns are necessary for a simple hike through the countryside. A wife’s request to bring home cannoli is fulfilled even during a hit. The film’s runtime further perpetuates a feeling of unbiased documentation; you are not watching a movie, you are witnessing real life.
Perhaps no compliment better illustrates the grandeur of “The Godfather” than a quote from the former underboss of the Gambino crime family, Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano, who once said, “Maybe it was fiction, but for me, then, that was our life. It was incredible. I remember talking to a multitude of guys, made guys, who felt exactly the same way.” With “The Godfather,” Coppola created a mafia movie with such fidelity that actual mafiosos started to model their lives after it. Totemic is not a strong enough word to describe this work of art.
If you are a human being who breathes oxygen, then you should have already watched “The Godfather.” If you haven’t, I recommend rectifying this mistake as soon as possible.
David: 8.5/10
Couched within what is arguably the greatest streak of filmmaking in history, during which three certified all-time classics were produced, is 1974’s “The Conversation," written, directed, and produced by Francis Ford Coppola. The film (which some argue stands on the same level as Coppola’s other masterpieces from the 1970s) follows Gene Hackman as Harry Caul, a surveillance expert and the pound-for-pound most paranoid man on the planet.
Caul takes on a complex job: to produce a clear recording of a conversation between a couple as they walk through the lunch-time crowd at Union Square. Being the consummate professional he is, Caul devises an elaborate, multi-faceted plan to complete the mission. However, once he finally distills a decipherable recording from the multiple tapes required to achieve this feat, the ambiguity of the couple’s dialogue begins to drive him insane. The recording suggests that the couple is in danger, putting Caul in the precarious position of navigating this morally fraught assignment.
Racked with guilt over a previous job that ended with dire consequences, Caul’s unknowable persona slowly starts to unravel over the course of the film, as Coppola delves into themes of Catholic guilt and the thin line between surveillance and participation. While the film’s revelations might seem obvious to modern audiences, prescient doesn’t begin to describe its thesis in 1974. The modern world of smartphones and social media would be a personal hell for a character like Harry Caul, and even the notorious Watergate scandal (which was coincidentally perpetrated using techniques and technologies showcased in this film) helped “The Conversation” retroactively receive the recognition it deserved after disappointing at the box office.
You wouldn’t expect a film that dedicates so much of its runtime to surveillance-themed trade shows and wiretappers arguing about best business practices to feature some of the most bone-chilling scares you’ve ever experienced, but that’s exactly the kind of film Coppola has crafted here—a true thriller that sneaks up on you in every conceivable way. The final shot is a stroke of tongue-in-cheek genius.
This is an easy recommendation; if you love smart, taut, psychological thrillers, then you’ll love “The Conversation."
David: 9.75/10
There is precisely one flaw in” The Godfather: Part II” that prevents this sequel from being as absolutely perfect as its predecessor: the absence of Richard S. Castellano as Peter Clemenza. The exact reason for this remains unclear. Initially, it was reported that Castellano declined to return because the producers wouldn’t allow him to write his own dialogue. However, Castellano’s widow later disputed this claim. Regardless of its cause, the absence of Castellano’s character leaves a noticeable void. Despite the great work by Coppola and Mario Puzo in creating the character of Frank Pentangeli—and Michael V. Gazzo’s excellent portrayal of him—there is something lost by not having Castellano return.
As the film’s dual narrative unfolds—one following the rise of Vito Corleone (now portrayed by the great Robert De Niro) in the 1920s and the other chronicling the descent of Michael Corleone in the 1950s—Clemenza’s presence in Michael’s portion of the story would have further tied the father and son’s arcs together, providing a more emotionally enriched experience for an audience already familiar with Clemenza, rather than requiring them to get to know Pentangeli. Still, when the filmmaking is this good, any flaw can be overcome.
At the height of his powers and finally given the complete creative control he’d always craved, Coppola crafts not only the greatest sequel of all time in “The Godfather: Part II,” but also the greatest prequel. The way the narrative intercuts between Vito and Michael’s stories is poignantly tragic; you witness the core tenets of a man building an empire for his family, only to see his son break those tenets in what he believes is honoring his father’s legacy. I almost cried four times while rewatching “The Godfather: Part II,” and I don’t even really know why. I think I was just in awe of the beautiful magnitude of this movie.
Once again, if you are a creature living on the planet Earth, then “The Godfather: Part II” is mandatory viewing.
David: 10/10
“Apocalypse Now” is one of those rare films whose very existence is worthy of the word miracle. Francis Ford Coppola’s epic masterpiece about an Army Captain journeying through war-torn Vietnam on a secret mission to assassinate a renegade Special Forces Colonel, who has amassed his own private army of zealots in Cambodia, endured enough setbacks and turmoil to warrant an entire documentary (“Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse”) chronicling its production.
Among the many hurdles Coppola had to overcome to get “Apocalypse Now” on the screen were multiple sets destroyed by severe weather, Marlon Brando (who plays the pivotal and insane Colonel Kurtz) arriving on set overweight and unprepared, and lead actor Harvey Keitel (initially cast as Captain Willard, the would-be assassin of Colonel Kurtz) being replaced by Martin Sheen, who subsequently suffered a mental breakdown and a near-fatal heart attack during filming. What was initially intended to be a five-month shoot took 238 days, and the million feet of film generated during production took almost two years to edit.
The chaos of “Apocalypse Now’s” production is palpable in every frame, with each actor (most of whom were struck with dysentery the moment they arrived on set) looking as though they are mere seconds away from unraveling on screen. Yet, through his visionary eye, Coppola controls that chaos and, from it, delivers the most genuinely disturbing portrait of war ever rendered.
At times, “Apocalypse Now” is difficult to watch—not because bodies are gruesomely blown apart and mangled as in “Saving Private Ryan” (though there is plenty of that for the gore-heads out there)—but because Coppola immerses the audience in the shared fugue state that all his characters inhabit. Though it is a fictional story, the true horror that rises from the swamp of “Apocalypse Now” is the realization that this war actually happened, fundamentally blackening the heart of our country in ways that would reverberate for generations. Simply put, this is the greatest war movie ever made.
Though I watched Francis Ford Coppola’s preferred cut for the purposes of this project, I personally recommend the leaner, meaner theatrical cut. No matter which version you choose, everyone should experience the horror of “Apocalypse Now” at least once.
So, that’s everything we watched last week, but we want to know what you’ve been watching! Jump into the Discord and let us know if you’ve seen anything good lately."
David Lee
Published August 12, 2024