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◊ 2015-12-10 22:13 |
Some movies should be cherished only in the warm nest of memory. Alas, I returned to Wim Wenders' thirty three years later to find it had let me down. Pastiche, homage? Almost parody, with no fun. I can't remember Joe Gores' novel but, if noir is what you need, go to your favourite dealers, the one selling their stuff raised and cropped in the 30ies, the 40ies and the 50ies. Avoid this one. Frederic Forrest seems to have made a bet: playing the part of Dashiell Hammett through impersonating Humphrey Bogart playing the part of Sam Spade. It's almots a succes. The rest is tedious, and John Barry's score is obnoxious. To know that actually Francis Ford Coppola made 70% of the movie is no redemption for anybody. Well… If you finally watch this, you'll have a glimpse at Elisha Cook Jr. having a last swing at it, and one minute of the great Sylvia Sidney (remember Mamoulian's City Streets?). Unidentifiable, I guess, this 01:27:01 Identifiable, I suppose, those pick-up… … and sedan in the distance. Cruelle déception pour moi que ce retour au film de Wenders. Bah, n'en disons pas plus, les petites douleurs sont presque muettes. -- Last edit: 2015-12-10 22:18:35 |