MY MOVIE SHELF: Suspect

 

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 162  Days to go: 115

Movie #276:  Suspect

I love it when my kids watch these movies with me. Tonight my son sat down for Suspect, and he’s the exact age I was when it came out. It’s funny to me the ways in which our initial impressions were eerily similar. Are movie watching habits/preferences hereditary?

He kept being struck by the music in this one. Being a murder mystery, Suspect is filled with striking, dramatic music with ominous tones and startling crescendos. They did not underplay their hand on this one, is what I’m saying. I remember being just as affected when I was younger, finding the whole thing a lot more gruesome and terrifying than it perhaps is.

Suspect is the story of a murdered law clerk and the deaf-mute homeless man (Liam Neeson as Carl Wayne Anderson, showing an aptitude for punching things well before it became his vocation) on trial for the crime. His put-upon public defender is Kathleen Riley (Cher) who winds up illegally working with lobbyist Eddie Sanger (Dennis Quaid) — a smooth-talking sly fox who gets sort of cornered into jury duty on Kathleen’s case by way of sexy banter– to find the real killer and the underlying conspiracy that led to it. The movie is tense and puzzling and the final showdown is incredibly satisfying, as well as being a surprising revelation. I’ve seen it a dozen times, at least, and I never get tired of it.

First and foremost, I can’t possibly emphasize enough how much of a sweater and jacket game both Cher and Dennis Quaid are bringing to this party. She’s got warm, comfy sweaters she lounges around reading case files in, big chunky bold print sweaters for looking chic but casual at the office, and gorgeous midi-length sweater dresses with pockets for conveniently hiding secretly delivered keys. To say nothing of her shearling-lined coat she wears with a jaunty beret or the smartly cropped black leather number she sports in the final scene. Dennis Quaid, meanwhile, has chunky fisherman’s cable knits for days, which he pairs with upscale leather bomber jackets in a combination thick enough to save his life from a maniac wielding a straight razor. Sad it no doubt got ruined by the cut and all the blood, though when he takes it off it’s “Hello abs!”

Supporting turns come by Philip Bosco as the maybe-underhanded District Attorney Paul Gray, Joe Mantegna as the ruthless, arrogant and snide prosecutor Charlie Stella, and an unfortunately-coiffed John Mahoney as the having-none-of-Kathleen’s-shit Judge Helms. One or more of them are onto her.

The movie’s tangential attempts at a little social commentary by way of Carl’s afflictions are pretty half-assed and ineffective, and I must admit I keep wondering if maybe the writers made him a deaf-mute just because Liam Neeson is this awesome, imposing figure to look at but his accent was too strong at the time. It was 1987, after all. It seems plausible to me.

Still, like I said, the central mystery is satisfying and the chemistry between the two leads is surprisingly potent. Quaid was at the peak of his sex-appeal in this era, and Cher has this awesome, reluctant but enthusiastic laugh to close the film that you just know is accompanied by some serious frisky activities behind her closed office door. Seems like good old Kathleen Riley won’t be feeling so put-upon anymore.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Frequency

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 260 Days to go: 257

Movie #117: Frequency

Some people think time is immutable, that whatever happens was always going to happen and even the little things you do to make changes in your life either do not impact, or are part of, the grand design. Whatever happens is what was always meant to happen, and nothing can change that. I, however, feel differently. I’ve been in a few situations myself where I was aware of how a small change in how I acted or what I said would’ve made a huge difference in the outcome — where, for a brief moment, the roadmap of my life came to a distinctive fork that I could see before me as well as the roads in my own neighborhood, and I was keenly cognizant of the fact that the path I took would influence everything that came afterward. Sometimes I didn’t see it until it had just gone by — like realizing a split second too late which exit to take on the highway — and sometimes in those cases it’s simply too late to go back. Other times I’ve noticed its approach, and I’ve prepared myself for the choice. Regardless of the details, though, I’ve seen those moments, I’ve felt those moments. There are absolutely moments in life that can change everything, and one of the reasons I love Frequency so much is that it deals with these tiny moments. Even better, it handles them in a practical rather than an existential way.

Dennis Quaid is Frank Sullivan, a firefighter in 1969 Queens. Jim Caviezel is Frank’s son John, a cop in 1999 Queens. Through the magic of HAM radio and solar flares, they connect across the years (John has taken over the house he grew up in, so they’re sharing the same space, just in different times) for the first time since Frank’s untimely death in a fire the following day. The moment they realize who they’re talking to, when Frank burns the desk and John sees the burn appear thirty years after the fact, I can’t contain my squeals of glee. HE BURNED THE DESK AND IT SUDDENLY APPEARED ON THE FUTURE DESK. (Seriously: Squeals of Glee.)

Just as anyone would do if given the chance to talk to their deceased father the day before his completely preventable death, John’s first instinct is to desperately plead with his father, so he gives him the details of the fire and how if Frank had just gone against his instincts, he would’ve gotten out. Frank doesn’t believe him, of course, but when the Mets’ World Series game happens just as John says it would, and then they get the call for the warehouse fire where Frank’s going to die, he remembers John’s words and follows his advice. As he does so, John’s own memories change. It’s fantastic.

Unfortunately, as Frank lives on, other things change and the guys find out that something different has occurred which causes John’s mother / Frank’s wife Julia (Elizabeth Mitchell, who looks smashing as a brunette, by the way) to become the victim of a serial murderer. So the second thing they do with their space-time crossover is to solve murders, as you do.

I love this movie so much. The burning desk, yes, but there’s also a broken radio in the past that gets magically busted (and later, magically fixed) in the future. Andre Braugher is there, too, as Satch — Frank’s old friend the police detective who becomes John’s mentor and associate — who makes the most perfect face about a baseball game ever made during an inopportune moment. And the climactic showdown with the murderer is balls-out amazing. If you saw the way I screamed and clapped and bounced in jittery happiness as all of it played out, you’d either think I was adorable or crazy. I lean adorable, but I don’t rule crazy out.

(I’m not crazy, this movie is great.)

MY MOVIE SHELF: Far From Heaven

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 272  Days to go: 264

Movie #105: Far From Heaven

Nothing against Nicole Kidman, and The Hours is a lovely, lovely film that I think is simply wonderful, but Julianne Moore in Far From Heaven is transcendent, and frankly it’s insane the woman doesn’t have an Oscar yet. Not one!

Years before Mad Men, there was Far From Heaven, a movie that juxtaposes the cinematic ideal of the 1950s with the more realistic and painful social and cultural conflicts that existed just below the surface. To emphasize this contradiction, the movie is filmed in bright and striking colors, the score is melodramatic to the point of being intrusive, and even driving scenes feature the obvious stock-footage film projected behind the back windows of the car. The characters, too, epitomize the suburban lifestyle of the ’50s, as seen in the movies of the time. Don and Betty Draper may have had an outwardly ideal marriage cloaked in secrets, but Frank and Cathy Whitaker (Dennis Quaid and Julianne Moore) did it first.

Cathy Whitaker is outrageously perfect. Always impeccably coiffed and dressed in the latest upper-middle class ’50s housewife fashions — petticoats, pointed bras and heels included — Cathy manages the home, shuffles the kids off to bed or to do their homework, oversees a housekeeper and a gardener, hosts functions, is active in the community, models for Frank’s company’s advertisements, gets written up in the society pages, and calls her husband “darling” at least three times per sentence. It’s over the top on purpose, to reflect how far removed this flawless exterior is from what’s really going on. Frank, see, has been acting shady — staying late at work, getting arrested under ambiguous circumstances, going to the movies by himself and following people into a secret bar around the corner. Cathy accepts his every excuse, but when he calls to say he’s staying late again and Cathy already has dinner ready, she opts to go bring him a plate, perfect wife that she is. What she finds at his office, however, is Frank and another man half-dressed and feverishly making out. Suddenly Cathy’s whole world is shaken. Having a homosexual husband can really strain a girl’s marriage that way.

Cathy is open-minded, though, and eager to help her husband in whatever way she can. He starts going to see a psychiatrist, but that only brings his anger and frustration and shame to the forefront. He drinks more heavily than ever, which leads to an out-of-control moment in which he flails to get her away from him and winds up striking her in the forehead. Losing her grip on the tightly wound life she’s lived up to that point, she bursts into tears and her (black) gardener, Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), sees her. Cathy soon finds herself opening up to him and enjoying his company at a time when, even in Hartford, CT, racism runs rampant. People start talking about and snubbing her, Frank forbids Raymond from working for them ever again, and Cathy is blamed for jeopardizing Frank’s reputation. Desperate and forlorn, she tells Raymond she can’t be his friend any longer. She hopes this will solve everything, but it doesn’t, and life just gets messier and more complicated for Cathy by the day.

Everything about Julianne Moore’s performance is fantastic, from her monied-New-Englander accent to her airy, sophisticated way of holding herself and treating everyone with respect. The desperation and unexpected heartbreak she experiences upon her separation from Raymond reads as stark pain on her face. Haysbert, too, is lovely to watch. The character of Raymond is warm and steadying in a world that, for Cathy, has suddenly turned cold and shaky. And Dennis Quaid is a tightly wound bundle of desire, aggression and self-loathing. He is barely restrained at all times, constantly appearing as if he jump off the screen and bolt to some safer ground. Even Viola Davis, downplaying her natural beauty and captivating persona as the Whitaker’s housekeeper, eyes the goings on in the household with a knowing circumspection and protectiveness. Only Patricia Clarkson, as Cathy’s best friend Eleanor, is played with anything but restraint at the breaking point. Clarkson, to her infinite credit, gets to be bold and outspoken, but she when she finally hears the whole story from Cathy, it’s Cathy’s close friendship with a black man, not Frank’s homosexuality, that rubs her the wrong way. Poor Cathy can’t catch a break.

Far From Heaven is the kind of movie that’s wonderful to remind you that not everything is what it seems, and that people often have far worse problems on their mind than what appears on the surface, in addition to being a touching tale of impossible love amid unfair social rules. It’s one of those films that reinforces a person’s powers of empathy, which is always a good thing, in addition to being a gorgeous visual and emotional statement. It’s not something I watch often, but I always think of it fondly.