Cinema Hype

1. Kate Beckinsale, pre-hot. Back before she was bombed at Pearl Harbor and sold a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera, she was young and unpolished and very, very charming. We find that she does “pert, straightforward ingenue” surprisingly well, and her performance indicates that she has, in fact, read the novel. Extra points for getting to read the line, upon reuniting with her true love, “Charles, you have got heavenly teeth!”

2. Besides the hilarious novel by Stella Gibbons, it’s the title of an old episode of Are You Being Served?, which I didn’t understand until recently. I feel much better now. Thank you, Netflix!

3. Stephen Fry–yes, as in Dr. House’s former comedy partner–perpetually trying to chase Beckinsale down in an attempt to kiss her, ask her on a “walk” (if you…know what we mean), tell her she’s inhibited, and ask her, “Miss Poste, do you believe women have souls?” Oh, Mr. Mybug. Where would we be without you?

4. A truly creepy opening scene that has little to do, tonally, with the rest of the film–there’s nothing scary about Cold Comfort Farm, except maybe the general squalor, but Flora soon gets that in order–but gets things off to a good start, and introduces the ubiquitous “something nasty in the woodshed!”

5. Wonderful casting, both of the stars-at-the-time and the stars-in-the-future variety: Joanna Lumley doing her Ab-Fabbiest thing, Ian McKellen preaching hellfire and damnation, Rufus Sewell looking hot in a tux and probably doing some acting as well, etc. Hilarity ensues.

It must be fall. When your friendly neighborhood movie blogger can’t even identify the http://www.tvondvdbuzz.com/top-dvds-for-the-week-of-september-24/top-selling DVD for the week without running off to IMDB, the hot season is clearly over.

That’s pretty much how it goes: I must have blinked and missed We Are Marshall, the trailer for which left only a shadow of an impression on my mind, despite a) being a sad, inspirational death-and-football movie and b) having a pretty awesome cast, including David Strathairn and Ian McShane. (Question: Is there an issue when a healthy young woman would movie-stalk Strathairn over, say, Matthew Fox? Though just barely. And for very different reasons.) It was one of those movies that rings a bell somewhere deep in scary interior of my brain, but I thought it hadn’t come out yet, or had come out a decade ago, or worse yet, I hadn’t thought of it at all. Perhaps they’d have done better with the Alive model? Everyone likes a good football movie (Hello, Rudy), but a football and cannibalism? Bring the Oscar voters running, people. Clearly, nobody asked me to attend those particular vision meetings, and aren’t they sorry now?

The rest of the list for this week isn’t much better. And so it goes: the Oscar releases are already out and the summer blockbusters won’t arrive until Christmas. It’s us, our sofas, the “movies we feel like we should watch” sections of our Netflix queues, and a long, bleak, desert-y stretch of new-release wasteland. Either that, or we can spend $10 to watch the fancy trailers for the the theatrical releases we will want to see as soon as the studio schedule sees fit.

It’s gonna be a long fall.

DVD sales, We Are Marshall, David Strathairn, Ian McShane, Matthew McConaghey, Matthew Fox, football movies

1. Wow. That…did not end at all how I thought it would.

2. My new hero = Terrence Howard’s hair. AWESOME. More men should go for the “I need a curling iron” look, don’t you think?

3. Taryn Manning? You break my heart. You’re in charge, girl.

4. Hustle & Flow is one of my favorite movie titles of all time. It’s almost onomatopoetic. Hustle and Floooooow.

5. That song is going to be running through my head for ALL MY DAYS. It’s hard out here for a pimp, apparently. FOREVER.

Good movie, though.

Hustle and Flow, Craig Brewer, Taryn Manning, Terrence Howard

Now, don’t get me wrong: I love a good mystery. Bring on the whodunits. I’m all over a good tale of murder and mayhem.

But do you know the problem with The Thin Man? I like the heroes, Nick and Nora Charles, so much that I tend to forget the plot of the movie. Julia Wolf? Something about stolen shares for Dorothy Wynant’s wedding? I believe there was an absent-minded professor in there somewhere? …Right. Now, can we go back and hang out with the Charleses again? Oh, and bring Asta. He’s awfully cute, not to mention a fine crime-fighter and a classic crossword-puzzle clue.

I’m not saying the Charleses are much in the way of role models, though naming a line of pajamas after them isn’t such a bad idea. Nick and Nora are drunk most of the time, and solving mysteries is really more of a hobby for them than a serious engagement. But who are we to judge? After all, a murderer caught in fun (at a lovely dinner party, no less) is still a murderer caught, and we can’t fault them for that. And they do seem to very much enjoy being married to one another, which isn’t such a bad thing. In any case, they win at witty banter.

If only I could remember who did it and why. But never mind; Nick and Nora probably wouldn’t, either.

The Thin Man, Nick and Nora Charles, Nick and Nora, William Powell, Myrna Loy, Dashiell Hammett

1. Gene Kelly has been holding out on me! I’m a huge sucker for tap-dance movies, but apparently good old Gene isn’t so bad with them ballet skills, either.

2. Holy Prestigious Pedigree, Batman! Choreographed by Kelly, music and libretto by George and Ira Gershwin, directed by Vincente Minnelli. Now, if they’d only been able to find someone famous to take care of this stuff…

3. In Little Women, the sisters play a game where one girl starts a story and another has to end it. Does anybody get the feeling the same thing happened with An American in Paris? “Once upon a time, there was a standard musical with dialogue and songs and a plot.” “And then everything wrapped up with a 25-minute dance number. The end.”

4. Milo (”as in Venus de”) is my heroine. She’s the new Baroness Schrader!

5. Whatever happened to the hybrid tap/ballet musical? Come on, Neve Campbell. Pick up the pace. This is your chance!

Oscar and Felix,
meet priest Richard Gere and his
singing “buddy,” Gene.

Do you ever get that feeling where you look at your Netflix queue and wonder whether drunken elves took over your computer and shuffled everything around? We at CHHQ freely admit that our to-see list is fairly narrow: we’re all about the comedies, the romances, the comic romances, and the occasional documentary thrown in just for that extra touch of spice. We like dramas fine; it’s just that we sort of lack the initiative to watch them without someone else prodding us into it. So how is it that I currently have Primal Fear and An American in Paris staring each other down next to the DVD player? These are movies that don’t even speak the same language. They have different turf, and things get strange when they pass on the street. I’m keeping my eyes open for a red-envelope brawl, though I’m pretty sure I know which one’s going to be doing the “When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet” act.

It’s not exactly that I don’t want to watch Primal Fear. I do. My friend Sarah recommended it, and Sarah is my East-coast doppelganger, a person with whom I share a parallel life (if you can ignore the time difference). Sarah knows what I like, because it tends to be what she likes. So I know that, because of Sarah’s good faith and because of Edward Norton, it’s going to be a winner. But who can devote a brilliant summer day, or even a precious long evening, to priests and murder, or whatever it is? Maybe it’s the wrong time of year. I’m just thinking that I’m really more in the mood for Gene Kelly singing, and that I will probably always be more in the mood for Gene Kelly singing than I will for anything Richard Gere, ever. I’ll get there. It’s just going to take a little convincing.

Anyway, I’m going to go. I think I hear snapping.

1. Music and Lyrics falls under the same category as You’ve Got Mail: so-so films that worm their way into my heart by virtue of sheer quotability and repeated viewing. Mark my words: my DVD shelf feels perfectly complete without it for the time being, but give me a few more late-night watchings and a couple of well-timed quotations, and I’ll be scouring the under-$10 shelf at Target.

2. It pleases me that Hugh Grant has been able to cut his hair and move on. I miss the William Thacker and Daniel Cleaver phases–the halcyon days of Grant’s attractiveness–as much as any girl, but the fact is that he just isn’t as good-looking as he once was. But he’s taken Meg Ryan’s personal identity crisis to heart, avoided the Botox, gone all Emma-Thompson spiky, and gotten it over with. He didn’t make a big deal of it, and it worked out: he’s Romantic Lead, v.2.0. Well played, Hugh.

3. That said, Romantic Lead v.2.0 has decidedly less chemistry than the original, or maybe he just didn’t hit it off with poor Drew. (Or Sandra.)

4. Kristen Johnston! Why isn’t Kristen Johnston more famous? She is a funny, funny woman who will break you in half if you tell her otherwise. Rock on, Kristen.

5. If I ever write a song, it will contain a hand motion. You may all hold me to this.

Music and Lyrics, Hugh Grant, Drew Barrymore, DVD reviews

I’ve been watching Pride and Prejudice this week. It’s part of my Keira Knightley film festival, but I’ve gotten stuck. You see, I have Domino sitting next to the DVD player, ready to go. But have I moved on? I have not.

And I need to confess something: when the movie came out–a mere two years ago!–I was a Pride and Prejudice snob. I had, along with many others, attached myself to the Mother of All Pride and Prejudice Adaptations, the six-hour BBC miniseries that launched a thousand Colin Firth wet-shirt fantasies. After all, how could they re-adapt the great Pride and Prejudice? After less than a decade? Who would have the gall to follow that stunning, encyclopedic act?

But what I’ve found is that, for better or for worse, I have a hard time saying no to Elizabeth Bennet, her embarrassing family, and her emotional duel/love affair with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. The 2005 version isn’t the most complete, and it’s not the most serious, but it hits all the high points (with some glorious cinematography, I might add), and somehow that seems to be all I need. And so, for all of the P&P fans and P&P fans-to-be, I present a comprehensive history of Pride and Prejudice on film.

Pride and Prejudice (1938): The original Austen mini-series, adapted even before the big-screen crowd got a hold of it. Starring a woman called Curigwen, who was surely destined for great fame until her parents stepped in and chose a name.

Pride and Prejudice (1940): Before there was Firth, there was Olivier, who can only have been fabulous opposite Greer Garson. Probably the only time Jane Austen and Aldous Huxley share writing credit on anything.

Pride and Prejudice (1952): Of absolutely no note except that Mr. Darcy is played by the utterly fantastic Peter Cushing! I had no idea! Imagine: Grand Moff Tarken, being an ardent admirer! The mind, it boggles! So many exclamation points! But worth every one of them!

Pride and Prejudice (1958) and (1967): Probably fine adaptations, but lacking in weird, famous screenwriters or any kind of famous cast. The age of the mini-series before HBO, apparently.

Pride and Prejudice (1980): The predecessor to the current BBC version. There’s not a single recognizable name (or photographic IMDB entry) in the cast, but I know at least one person who loves this version. Worth a look, ostensibly.

Pride and Prejudice (1995): I think we all know how I feel about this one. Need I go on?

And then there are the P&P knock-offs: the references, the similar-tos, and the updated versions.

Bridget Jones’s Diary: Wherein The Firth reprises his role and gets into the best nerd-brawl ever to grace the big screen, and Mr. Wickham is a tangerine-tinted buffoon. Highly recommended.

Pride and Prejudice (2003): How did I miss this the first time around? (Not to be snotty, or anything, but: Good sense, perhaps?) Pride and Prejudice in present-day America. Hmmm.

Bride and Prejudice: The Bennets go Bollywood! This one hasn’t made its way to CHHQ yet, but it’s apparently pretty good. And Sayid from LOST (Naveen Andrews) plays Mr. Bingley, so how bad can it be? Also, random appearances by Ashanti–the mark of a fine film, I always say–and Alexis Bledel as Georgiana Darcy. Oh! And Gurinder Chadha directed, and she’s all-around excellent. So good things all around.

That’s all. If you need me, I’ll be on the couch, waiting for the big rejection scene. PAIN!

Watching Oscar winners is an epic proposition in both senses of the term–the watching of eighty major films is time-consuming, certainly, but I’m talking about the kind of film that tends to win Best Picture. The Academy voters definitely skew towards the Achievement film: they like the big, the expensive, the elaborate, and the heavily-costumed. Surprisingly, then, Grand Hotel, the Best Picture winner in 1932, must have had a large casting budget and not much else: the film stars Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, and both Lionel and John Barrymore, but takes place in an enclosed location (the aforementioned Grand Hotel) with more or less nothing in terms of effects or architectural shots. (Does this make it the Studio 60 of Oscar winners?) The absence of bells and whistles makes Grand Hotel stand out in the Best Picture roll call, but it doesn’t lessen the quality of the movie–by virtue of quality writing and a creme-de-la-creme cast, the film is definitely worth watching.

William A. Drake’s adaptation of the German novel Menschen im Hotel has that mid-century American feeling that so few modern films have: light and efficient, even in the face of heavy character development and impending tragedy. The film tells a sort of ring-shaped story about the beautiful people staying at Berlin’s swankiest hotel in the 1930s, where, we’re told, “nothing ever happens.” There’s a terminally ill man discovering life in the shadow of death, a temperamental ballerina, a beautiful and street-smart stenographer, her bullish boss, and the axle turning the wheel, a cash-strapped baron–nobody really seems to leave, and we get the sense that these characters are as interchangeable as the new Ford motor parts, but nothing here is boring. Everybody is connected, everybody has needs–some of which remain tragically unmet–and everybody stands to lose something important. In short, there’s not much action, but there’s plenty going on.

And then there’s the cast. Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford were the same age–both born in 1905. So how is it that Garbo comes across as the patron saint of the 20s melodrama, while Crawford feels like the most modern of modern girls? Perhaps it’s the roles they play–Garbo is a depressed, smitten ballerina, and Crawford a sarcastic, pragmatic working girl (not in that sense; she’s the stenographer). Either way, Crawford practically pops off the screen, while Garbo just threatens to faint at any moment. The comparison is striking, and an interesting insight into women of the 1930s–we’ve got old-world vs. new century living in the same hotel. There’s also John Barrymore as the aging, impoverished baron-turned-cat-burglar, and his performance is not to be missed (though, it should be noted, none of the cast were nominated for performance Oscars for this film). He’s believable in both parts of his role–the debonair man-about-town and his desperate, ashamed private self (and also bears a striking resemblance to his famous granddaughter, who is very modern in her own right).

The upshot: A small but thoughtful and very watchable film. Definitely worth a rent.

Next up: Cavalcade (1933); It Happened One Night (1934)

Project 501, Oscar winners, Grand Hotel, Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Joan Crawford, classic film

I am convinced that there is an entire generation in the world today that doesn’t understand the theoretical hotness of Robert Redford. Same with Jane Fonda. It’s not our fault–we were born in the 80s, or later. To us, Redford is a Prius-driving, suntanned ex-cowboy who makes the occasional movie. Fonda is the aerobics queen. What do you want from us?

What this generation needs, I say, is a good viewing of Barefoot in the Park, Neil Simon’s 1968 New York romantic comedy. Before Redford started wearing those silly glasses and Fonda broke out the leotard, they were young. Attractive. Modern. Adorable, really. They were people we would certainly have wanted to hang out with.

That’s part of the basis of Barefoot in the Park: Paul and Corie Bratter (Redford and Fonda) get married, spend six days on their honeymoon, and then settle into a weird Greenwich Village apartment and start on the business of combining their lives. Fonda is all free-spirited, dragging her conservative (but very good-looking) new husband along with her in an endearing but slightly insensitive way. There are wacky neighbors and a hole in the skylight, and it’s all kind of charming, because we know those crazy kids will work it out. It’s like Dharma and Greg in 1968, and it’s thoroughly, thoroughly watchable.

The thing about Barefoot in the Park is that Simon’s screenplay makes everything look so easy. It’s a simple story told without flourish by a small cast of characters–it’s not a movie about fanfare, elaborate setting, or riding off into the sunset. There are just characters, and the characters rub up against each other (literally and emotionally) in a small space, and there you have it. There is nothing epic here, just small problems, the same things everybody goes through. How can a movie be so easy?

And yet that same simplicity is also what makes the movie satisfying. Without any other embellishments to distract, the audience is left with the Bratters and their situation. There’s nothing to do but stare at them as they love and fight and learn and regress and ultimately grow, and Simon’s script doesn’t try to cheat. He does the work, drags his characters with him, and lets us hope that it all works out in the end. It’s a kind of writerly honesty that only makes us admire him all the more.

That, and the casting of the cutest couple the 60s had ever seen.

classic movies, robert redford, jane fonda, barefoot in the park, neil simon, stage plays, romantic comedies

It’s been awhile since we at CHHQ have made a trip to the ol’ proprietary DVD shelf, but we suppose that every now and again it’s good to honor what we have. The problem with honoring Sixteen Candles is that honestly, there’s not that much to say. What is unique and outstanding about an 80s John Hughes movie starring Molly Ringwald, exactly? What are the themes? Where are the narrative choices? How is this film unique? Not in many places, really.

But wait. There are some outstanding moments here. It turns out that Sixteen Candles is pretty run-of-the-mill in terms of Ringwald and All-American Team Hottie Michael Schoeffling as Jake Ryan (been there, done that, literally have the t-shirt; ask my mother). But they’re not the end of the story. This movie is packed with strange and fascinating side characters, from the nerds upon whom Hughes built his legacy to the female uber-athlete who just wants a date. It’s in this spirit that CH presents the All-Time Top Five Characters List, Sixteen Candles edition.

1. Long Duk Dong: How Hughes got away with such a blatantly racist portrayal of an Asian exchange student is unclear, but the Donger is probably the most memorable character in the whole movie. The urge to shout “Automobiiiiiiiiiile?!” at random moments is nearly irresistible. I’m sorry. But it’s funny.

2. The Nerd/”Farmer Ted”: The brilliance of Farmer Ted is clearly a casting victory–the high-school nerd is nothing new to the 80s teen comedy, but Anthony Michael Hall is so boundlessly energetic and so totally enthusiastic that it’s impossible not to love him. Alas, the role haunted him long into adulthood, and forced him to get really buffed out before anybody could forget him trying to sniff Ringwald’s neck.

3. Bryce and Cliff (John Cusack and Darren Harris): Farmer Ted’s minions are perfect in small doses and always appear together, sealing their identity as a single character. They taught the world that the only thing better than an extraterrestrial is a female extraterrestrial, and that wearing head lamps in public is cool. Also, we hear one of them’s kind of famous now, but whatever.

4. The grandparents: Covering both ends of the senior-citizen spectrum (“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” to Dick Clark), Sam’s grandnparents are simultaneously awful and awesome, unable to deal with anybody, including one another. “Oh, Frank. She’s gotten her boobies! And they are so perky!” Priceless.

5. Back-Brace Girl: For having landed a role with no lines and no importance to the story at all, Joan Cusack seems to have done all right for herself. Back-Brace Girl appears throughout the movie, navigating life in a depressingly solitary but matter-of-fact way, and then wiping her mouth with the lace skirt sewn to her sweatshirt. Again: not super-sensitive, but still funny. And hey, she (ostensibly) lost the brace and grew up to be a major movie star, so she wins in the end, no?

Sixteen Candles, Molly Ringwald, Jake Ryan, John Cusack, 80’s movies

I feel like I’ve come to a good place in my Netflix queue. Do you know what I mean? My queue and I are not always at peace in this manner. For one thing, it’s a little embarrassing, as a movie blogger, to admit that I mostly use Netflix for TV shows–I could spend years, probably, catching up on the shows I’ve missed. And then sometimes there are those obligation movies we all add to our queues, the things we Should Have Seen, but actually could sort of take or leave.

But right now I’ve found a bit of a groove: I’m looking out over a wide swath of movies, and they’re good movies, or at least movies I’m looking forward to. I’ve got a couple of noteworthy Project 501 films and some regular old non-new non-award-winners coming up, movies I want to watch just because I want to watch them. That’s kind of a nice feeling.

Red-headed Hepburn,
murderous Winona(?), and
hot Redford, oh my!

When I started Project 501, I thought a lot about all of the great movies I was going to get to watch. It Happened One Night! An American in Paris! Think of all of the rich stories and beautiful cinematography! The whole thing sounded so exciting! I thought a lot less about the war movies and the westerns–fine films that aren’t as…relatable, I guess, for a woman in her 20s. So coming upon Cimarron, the first western in the Best Picture dynasty, was a bit of a stretch for this critic. I sat down knowing that I needed to watch the movie eventually, but also not really feeling enthusiastic for a movie about the Oklahoma land grab. Sue me.

I’m pleased to say that I was wrong. Cimarron, it turns out, is…well, it’s kind of great.

You may have seen the opening sequence before: at the sound of a starting gun, thousands of people run, gallop, and drive their covered wagons into the Oklahoma territory to claim their free land. It’s chaos–the fastest riders take off, zigging and zagging; wagons collide and flip over; there’s even a man on an old-fashioned bicycle making his way through the grass. It’s a big scene–a long scene–even by today’s standards; in 1931, it must have been unspeakably expensive to film. It’s a testament to the director’s eye that seventy-six years later, his opening scene is still a little bit thrill-inducing.

The rest of the film is equally good. The secret to Cimarron is that it isn’t a western in the traditional sense: it takes place on the frontier, but it’s not really about posses and shootouts and riding the range in the West. It’s about family life–Yancey Cravat (Richard Dix) and his fearful, delicate wife Sabra (Irene Dunne) are among the founding settlers of Osage, Oklahoma, and build their public and private lives there over the course of forty years. It’s a good mix of engaging plot and epic family drama–there’s plenty going on, but Director Wesley Ruggles also makes it character-driven in a way that keeps it from being over-grand in the way that so many epics are. He keeps things moving with horses and saloons and the occasional gunfight, but those things serve the characters–Yancey’s good but restless heart and Sabra’s latent strength–over the long haul of the movie. Because so many Best Picture winners are mile-wide-inch-deep epics, it’s refreshing to see a big movie that takes the time to get to know its characters. The ending feels inevitable for Yancey and somehow surprising–but exciting–for Sabra. There’s been growth, but it’s growth that makes sense. Essentially, Ruggles ends up with a film that’s just the right size.

The upshot: A good place to start if you’re afraid of westerns. A delight from the very beginning.

Next up: Grand Hotel!

Who knew John Wayne could pull off a tweed suit? We know his real name was Marion and that he lived a long and glamorous life in Los Angeles, but isn’t he the American Cowboy Extraordinaire? And yet, in 1951, right in the middle of a spate of Westerns, John Wayne surprised us–or at least the heads of studios all over Hollywood. He shed his Wranglers and neckerchief and headed off to Ireland to make a little romantic comedy, The Quiet Man, which should be on everybody’s St. Patrick’s Day viewing list.

The Quiet Man is an old, well-worn story: man returns to homeland and meets fiery local girl (Maureen O’Hara, the ultimate fiery local girl). There are wacky neighbors, a town crank, and plenty of community-spirit events. What this iteration does best, though, is that it keeps going long after most romantic comedies have ended with a fading screen and swelling music. The story doesn’t end when Sean Thornton and Mary-Kate Daneher fall in love; in fact, the meat of the movie takes place after the wedding. It’s a story about two strong personalities learning how to live and love together in a place where their business is everybody’s business. It’s a comedy with dramatic themes–starting a new life, loving concretely, sacrificing self–and though it clocks in at 129 minutes, it’s an easy movie to enjoy. A few parts come across as dubious where the treatment of women is concerned, but that’s both due to the characters (Mary-Kate doesn’t take an insult sitting down, we’ll say) and to the setting of the film–it shouldn’t be enough to make anybody skip the movie altogether.

It’s funny to see Wayne without his pistol and his cowboy persona, but he pulls it off, despite the distracting diction and mildly embarrassing horseback-riding posture. Wayne is a big performer–a big man with a big presence onscreen, even when he steps outside of his American Hero role. Thankfully, O’Hara refuses to fade into the background; she comes across as being his equal–a worthy match for someone with brains and spark.

In all, it’s a good movie, and something a little bit off the beaten path. If you’re looking to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with someone other than Tom and Nicole, The Quiet Man is a good place to start.

St. Patrick’s Day, The Quiet Man, John Wayne, Maureen O’Hara, classic movies

So, toads are out of fashion these days. Penguins? We like penguins. Camels? Camels are nice. But toads? Toads are warty and hoppy and have transparent eyelids, and nobody really feels the need to either make or watch an epic about toads these days. Luckily for us(?), in 1988, Mark Lewis didn’t care what was in or out of fashion in the animal-documentary world. The future director of The Natural History of the Chicken and Standard of Perfection: Show Cats went out, and he made himself a movie. He made Cane Toads: An Unnatural History.

Cane Toads is exactly how it sounds: a documentary about cane toads in Australia. Lewis spends 47 minutes telling his audience about the importing of the cane toad, its subsequent population boom, its unique traits, and its place in Queensland culture (partially, it must be admitted, as roadkill). He uses nature-show footage and conducts interviews with people who love cane toads and people who run them over on purpose. The movie is, essentially, a no-holds-barred look at cane toad life.

The best thing about Cane Toads–about any good documentary, really–is the people. Comic documentary filmmaking in particular relies on the earnestness and unself-consciousness of the people being featured; directors need to find people who say hilarious and/or ironic things in front of the camera without cracking a smile. (Non-comedic documentary filmmaking also relies on earnestness and unself-consciousness, but in a different way, i.e. the people are less at risk of being mocked openly.) The residents of Queensland readily fit the bill, including an American researcher with a toad vendetta and an older woman who refers to the toads as “not pets, exactly…more like friends.” In that way, the movie isn’t just about toads; it is, one might say, about toads and the people who love them. Or hate them. On the next Sally Jessy Raphael!

Cane Toads is also…well, fine. It’s informative. The staff at CH now know far more about the Cane Toad and its place in the modern history of Queensland than we did previously: their disastrous introduction to Australia as a “solution” to an infestation of sugar cane grubs, their vigorous reproductive habits, their unofficial and sometimes grudging status as the Queensland regional mascot. According to Wikipedia, the film is sometimes shown in science classes, indicating that has actual educational merit. And it’s true, we’re smarter about cane toads than we used to be. Thank you, Mark Lewis. Now go find some parakeets to film, or something.

documentaries, cane toads, mark lewis