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Reviews
Irish Christmas (1994)
Better Than Anyone
Perry does forget the words to some of the innumerable songs in this concert, but this is a problem in many concert films. It might have been easily fixed with proper editing and sound mixing. Como was still the best of many singers who went on too long after their prime. I recall Sinatra had to sit during his last concerts and used a teleprompter to remind him of lyrics to songs he'd been singing for nearly fifty years.
It was only when an associate told Perry that he looked a bit ill during this concert that the legendary singer chose to end his concert career and his tradition of Christmas specials. I would have liked it if he chose to still do a low-key special with musical guests (he always worked well with Ann-Margret) from one of his several homes. Perhaps we could have spied a brief glance of his notoriously camera-shy wife. Anyway, taking his Christmas specials as a whole, there was never a better TV tradition than Perry Como's Christmas specials. How I miss them--and how I lament what passes as musical entertainment on TV these days.
Basil (1998)
Community College Film School attempt at Merchant/Ivory
This would be in the running for my "Worst Films Ever" list if it only had tried a bit harder. As it is, it's an endless, sleepy affair starring my two favorite bad actors: Christian "The Cop Biter" Slater (woodenly delivering his lines in an undefinable accent) and Jared "Short Bus" Leto, who acts as if he's recently experienced a serious head trauma. Long a favorite of late, late nights on the cable movie channels, this stone of a film sinks, well, like a stone. Unsure of its location and time period (maybe London, perhaps in the 1870's, 80's or 90's), Basil plays like the fan fiction of a thirteen-year-old girl with a limited imagination. Avoid this and read a good book. You'll thank me.
The Psychiatrist: Par for the Course (1971)
This Series Ended on a High Note
This was the final entry in a remarkable limited series--one which deserved at least a full season on its own. This Steven Spielberg-helmed entry is especially notable for both its striking visuals and the complex emotional interplay of its characters. Avoiding cliche at every turn, one would expect this story of the lifelong friend of Roy Thinnes' psychiatrist--a champion golfer--to be about the old friend dealing with his own impending death. Instead, it it tells its story from the point of view of Thinnes' character--how difficult the psychiatrist finds it to deal with the looming mortality of a person Thinnes cared for, admired and regarded as a winner in all things. A true Spielberg touch is the dream sequence which comes at the mid-point of the episode and then is referenced at the ending. How rare to find a network hour devoted to the confusion and internal conflict death can cause for the survivors. I so recommend this hour and all of the hours of the remarkable series.
Your Honor (2020)
Manipulative Beyond Belief or Reason
Cranston establishes himself as a superior actor within five minutes of the start of the pilot episode. The screen writer/auteur has to hurry to catch up and make this the silliest, most manipulative piece of film school trash yet streamed. It's close to laughable--camp. It's like a Charley Chase comedy of errors. First, everyone, rich and poor, seem to live within a five-minute-drive of the worst of the Jackson Avenue hood. The boy's mother somehow died right by the ghetto convenience store. Are there no supermarkets in NOLA? The mobster's son (no Class C License; no cycle helmet, no experience handling anything more powerful than a Vespa on a Euro Vacation) jumps on his unregistered, 70's café racer and is in the hood within seconds. And Don Richie Rich lives in a super-green, clear-skies, freshly trimmed district that suspiciously resembles Los Angeles' Hancock Park. It takes Thug Jr. Under thirty seconds to take his priceless, vintage café racer to the worst hood in North America. Calamity ensues. Cranston's indecision when he learns the truth is skilled and worth watching--but I liked it better when I saw it on Malcolm in The Middle. The way this bit of a story attempts to wretch every ounce of emotion from the viewer is shameful. And the kid's acting is painful even to recollect. The one good thing you can say for the kid is his acting isn't good enough to rise to the level of manipulation. Don't waste your time on this--your honor as a intelligent person will be suspect.
Saint Joan (1967)
When Television Was Worth Watching
This was a Hallmark Hall of Fame production. I recall seeing it as a boy. This was my first encounter with Shaw and the character of Joan of Arc. This was an excellent, well-cast, well played production. Hallmark specialized in mounting productions of theatrical warhorses with well-know stage/screen actors in their twilight years; this was a somewhat more difficult play (not often revived in the US) with the budding screen star Genevieve Bujold--who was very good. The supporting cast was uniformly excellent (Maurice Evans, Theodore Bikel, Raymond Massey). Alas, fancy greeting cards have mostly disappeared as has the Hall of Fame as has all intelligent drama on American TV. It's a pity these productions are not available for download; they were so much better than the vulgarities inflicted on television audiences nowadays...
Elementary (2012)
They Should Have Called it "Pedestrian"
"Elementary" does not quite do this effort justice; the product is more "Pedestrian" than anything. Not so much a Conan Doyle resetting, Elementary plays more like a ripoff of The Mentalist, which itself is a rather clear-cut petty larceny of House, which itself made no secret of it's references to the Sherlock Holmes tales and characters. As outrageously unlikely as House became as its run progressed, Hugh Laurie's performance at least kept it watchable. Not so here. Elementary plays like a Classic Comics version of The Hound of The Baskervilles.
What's wrong: Where to begin? Holmes (called by his first name by Watson--something the literary Holmes would never endure) is a "recovering" drug addict supported by a wealthy, demanding, off-screen father. Huh? In the actual Sherlock Holmes tales, Holmes' problematically-super-rational character is defined by his cocaine abuse. This PG-13 version shifts all the drug use baggage to the past and has its Watson (an MD who lost her license for a past misdeed and is employed by the mysterious Father Holmes as a "sober companion" ..ugh...) mouthing twelve-step platitudes at her charge instead of actually dealing with his past drug habit (we're led to believe his substance of choice was heroin) as a medical and/or psychiatric problem. Beyond this, it is unimaginable that any Holmes would take to a drug that would dull his intellect and cause him to nod out when he could be endlessly, sleeplessly pursuing his obsession. The performances are abysmal. Jonny Lee Miller never gets the Holmes public school accent; he pronounces so many simple words with such a sub-middle-class inflection it becomes a real distraction. Lucy Liu provides the same store window mannequin performance she has given in every other professional effort. The weekly "mysteries" are so dull and simple- minded that even Matlock or Jessica Fletcher would have cracked them before the first commercial break.
What's right: I'm happy the program provides work for so many professional crafts persons in New York. That's about it. The only character in Elementary who provides ANY intrigue is Holmes mysterious father. If the show had been about him, I might actually watch it.