We need more directors willing to take risks with films like Get Out.
Max has been in the slammer and Lionel has been away at sea. Max has been sending his prison wages back to a savings and loan in Pittsburgh, and Lionel has been sending his to a wife in Detroit and a child he's never seen. They hitch up on the Coast and hit the road with a dream of their own car wash with real nylon brushes.
It's a trip we've taken before. We took it in "Of Mice and Men," when there was a nice little farm at the end of the rainbow; we took it in "Easy Rider," with the drug dealers who wanted to retire in Florida; we took it, most recognizably, in "Midnight Cowboy," where the goal was those Florida orange groves.
Movies like "Scarecrow" (which shared the 1973 grand prize at Cannes) depend upon a couple of conventions. One is that we know more about the lower-middle-class characters than they know about themselves. The other is that we accept the easy rhythm of a picaresque journey without depending too much on plot.
"Scarecrow" doesn't quite make it on either count, but it is a well-acted movie and for long stretches we're hoping it will work.
The performers are Gene Hackman and Al Pacino, two of the most gifted of contemporary actors, and the dialogue and locations (on the road, in taverns, at lunch counters, on a prison farm) strike a nicely realistic low key. But then director Jerry Schatzberg and his writer, Garry Michael White, commit the first of several mistakes: They tell us what the title means. The moment we hear the philosophy behind the scarecrow (he doesn't scare the crows; he makes them laugh) we begin to suspect these characters are too conscious of their symbolic roles, and we're right.
This message came to me from a reader named Peter Svensland. He and a fr...
At the ripe age of 89, Oscar can still be a notoriously picky fellow when it comes to what constitutes a contender fo...