Showing posts with label John Travolta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Travolta. Show all posts

Wednesday, 12 September 2018

Review #1,390: 'Gotti' (2018)

If you've ever seen 2015's Entourage, you'll likely recall a scene in which Jeremy Piven's super-agent Ari Gold sits down to watch the directorial debut of movie superstar Vincent Chase. He sits clenching his teeth because he knows it's going to be awful, and when we get to see a snippet of Chase's garish futuristic monstrosity, we know it to. Only in this consequence-free world of naked ladies and supercars, the film is actually a masterpiece. You get a similar feeling when watching Gotti, the biopic of the Teflon Don directed by Entourage star Kevin Connolly. One can picture Connolly, surrounded by his boys, viewing the final cut in the editing room for the first time and high-fiving his entourage bros with a sense of clueless triumph. Gotti is an utter travesty, a half-baked film student's daydream seen through a haze of weed smoke which loosely throws together a few lines they might remember from Gotti's Wikipedia page.

John Travolta plays John Gotti, and with a decent script and a competent director behind him, this may have been one of the roles of his career. Instead, we get a sluggish performance that barely skims the surface of one of the most notorious and powerful figures in mafia history. We meet him grey and in jail, taking in a visit from his son John Jr. (Spencer Rocco Lofranco), whose book the film is based on. Jr., a made man himself, wants to take a plea deal offered by the police, but rolling over for the government is as despicable as being a rat in the old man's books. This offers John Sr. the chance to reflect on his life and decisions, so the film jumps back in time to remind us how Gotti rose from gangster soldier to the boss of bosses. Only Connolly isn't interested in telling a coherent story, choosing instead to throw in a bunch of seemingly random moments you may expect to be reconstructed on a Discovery Channel documentary. There's a mob hit here, a domestic argument there, and every now and then Gotti will say something to his son about respect and manhood.

I'm not particularly fond of biopics as it goes, but I can't recall ever leaving a film feeling like I know even less about its subject matter than I did when I came in. Rather than peeling away Gotti's layers to understand what motivated the man behind the dapper suits, Connolly stages scene after scene of unconnected action and wiseguy rambling, like a man raised on the work of Martin Scorsese and who may have seen The Sopranos at some point in his life, but without a grasp on what made those works of art so absorbing. If this isn't bad enough, Gotti is peppered with a near-constant soundtrack of songs apparently plucked out of the air. An over-reliance on music is always a telltale sign of a director without vision, but it's especially grating here, with everything from Dean Martin to Duran Duran to Pitbull thrown in for good measure. It ends with real footage of Gotti's funeral in 2002, intercut with regular folk beaming about how good the gangster was for the community. He may have been just that, only we wouldn't know it from this film. After almost 2 hours of brooding, murder and terrible parenting, these final moments only leave a bad taste in the mouth. We may someday get a good movie about John Gotti, but for now we'd be better served watching Jim Abrahams' Mafia!.


Directed by: Kevin Connolly
Starring: John Travolta, Spencer Rocco Lofranco, Kelly Preston, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Stacy Keach
Country: Canada/USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie



Gotti (2018) on IMDb

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Review #854: 'Pulp Fiction' (1994)

I remember that back in the mid-90's, when Tarantino-mania was in full swing, the motor-mouthed former video store clerk-turned-auteur was always surrounded by controversy. His two movies, Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction were portrayed as cruel, violent and sadistic by the media, while movie critics swooned over his pulpy, reference-heavy characters and innovative dialogue. Over 20 years later, Tarantino's films seem laughably mild compared to the casual ultra-violence of most 18-rated movies regularly released today. But while Reservoir Dogs can arguably be dismissed as a marvellously scripted and meticulously acted rip-off of City on Fire (1987), Pulp Fiction seems as fresh as the day it was released.

The black-suited duo of Vincent Vega (John Travolta) and Jules Winfield (Samuel L. Jackson), and the misty-eyed gangster's moll Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman) have been reduced to movie icons, adorning the walls of students and making it easy to forget just how well written they are. Tarantino is fascinated by the humdrum of these casual killers' lives, and their conversations about cheeseburgers, foot-massages and what constitutes a miracle sparkle with invention, intelligence and laugh-out-loud humour. It makes these cartoon characters, who seem they have been ripped straight from the pages of a book found in a dime-store book shop, seem real. Even though they have just shot two unarmed men in cold blood, you would still want to buy them a cup of coffee and pick their brains.

Pulp Fiction, as I'm sure you already know, tells three intertwining stories out of chronological order. After successfully obtaining a briefcase belonging to their boss, hit-man Vincent Vega is given the responsibility of looking after the big man's wife, Mia, for the night. He takes her to a retro diner where they talk pop culture and dance to Chuck Berry, and the night's events then take an unexpected turn. Travolta makes for an astonishingly sweet killer and heroin addict, and this story in particular sizzles with sexy dialogue and real chemistry between Travolta and Thurman. The now-infamous scene of an improvised adrenaline shock still has the power to make you wince, while remaining funny and utterly absurd all at the same time.

The second story, 'The Gold Watch', focuses on ageing boxer Butch (Bruce Willis), who after failing to follow thorough with his role in a thrown boxing match - organised by Vincent's boss Marcellus Wallace (Ving Rhames) - flees to the safety of a hotel room and into the arms of his lover Fabienne (Maria de Medeiros), who he intends on whisking overseas along with his wad of stolen loot. However, upon realising that Fabienne has failed to pack the gold watch handed down to him through many generations and eventually by his father's friend Captain Koons (Christopher Walken), he must return home to reclaim it. The events that transpire are some of the most outlandish work Tarantino has ever done, filled with gunfire, mutilation, rape, and a gimp. Such relentless brutality may have been off-putting, but Tarantino keeps you reassured that it's okay to laugh at what you're seeing, that it's only a movie. It's a textbook lesson in black comedy.

The narrative then jumps back in time to Vincent and Jules in the aftermath of the hit seen at the start of the movie. After an extremely gory accident, they are forced off the road and seek the hospitality of Jimmie (played by Tarantino himself). They hire professional fixer Winston Wolf (Harvey Keitel), who races against the clock to clean up the mess before Jimmie's wife arrives home from a night shift. The film climaxes at the diner shown in the opening scene, as Vincent and Jules's quiet breakfast is interrupted by a husband and wife stick-up team (Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer). The third segment is the funniest and features the most memorable dialogue, as Winston tries to motivate an objectionable Vincent ("pretty please, with a cherry on top, clean the fucking car,"), and Jules educates his new foe's following the life-altering miracle he believes he has just witnessed.

Featuring highly on practically every 'best of' list from 1994 to the present, Pulp Fiction needs no introduction and I doubt it ever will. Though I have enjoyed all of Tarantino's movies with the exception of 2007's tedious Death Proof (though it fares better when viewed in its Grindhouse entirety), I don't rate him as a truly great film-maker, as I don't feel he has ever managed to shake his compulsion to homage.  But Pulp Fiction is undoubtedly a masterpiece, like nothing else made before or since (though many attempts have been made in vain). A thrilling exercise in style and substance, beneficial to cinema as a whole and responsible for re-igniting a few careers on the way. I cannot see Tarantino ever topping his achievements here, but then again his movies never fail to surprise me.


Directed by: Quentin Tarantino
Starring: John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, Uma Thurman, Bruce Willis, Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Amanda Plummer, Maria De Medeiros, Ving Rhames, Eric Stoltz, Rosanna Arquette
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie



Pulp Fiction (1994) on IMDb

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Review #557: 'Savages' (2012)

Two childhood friends, Chon (Taylor Kitsch) and Ben (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) run a highly profitable business in Laguna Beach, California, where they share everything including their girlfriend O (Blake Lively). Chon, an ex-Navy SEAL, is the muscle, and Ben, a highly skilled botanist, is the brains. After a few years of hard work, they now grow and sell the most powerful strain of marijuana in the world. When they are sent a video depicting a mass chain-saw murder by Lado (Benicio Del Toro), they move to meet a powerful Mexican cartel ran by honcho Elena (Salma Hayek). Against the advice of CIA insider Dennis (John Travolta), Chon and Ben refuse the cartel an offer of partnership and plan to flee to Indonesia the next day. Unimpressed by the insult, Lado and his crew abduct O, forcing them into a three-year business deal, but Chon and Ben have other ideas.

Treading relatively unfamiliar ground, Oliver Stone's latest film is most akin to his sleazy 1997 neo-noir U-Turn, employing cinematographer Dan Mindel to create a violent yet sun-bleached world of torture, corruption, and sleazy Mexicans. The film begins with a group of masked unknowns being decapitated with a chain-saw, captured on shaky hand-held footage, and the film doesn't let up. The hulking Lado represents the physical side of the drugs business, and we later see him murder a lawyer and his wife in cold blood. But where the film is most impressive is when dealing with the tactical side of the situation, with Chon and Ben refusing to back down, and employing their own means of negotiation while Elena continues her wave of intimidation. It is these twists and turns that keep the film interesting, and while I found myself not really caring who gets out of it alive, the execution kept me on my toes.

The ensemble of unrelatable and despicable characters is the main weakness of the film, with none of the large cast standing out as the focal point of the movie. Chon is suitably stoic as the much-needed physical presence in Chon and Ben's business, but it is Ben who provides the only remotely sympathetic character, a naive botany genius that is as horrified at the violence that unfolds before him as we are. The narration is provided by O, who after explaining her romantic situation with Chon and Ben admits that we are probably thinking "slut!", and she's right. Why would I care about a beautiful spoilt rich-girl living off the riches of two criminals? The performances are outstanding throughout, however. Del Toro proves genuinely terrifying straight from the off as we witness just what his character is capable of, but, surprisingly, it is Travolta's slimy CIA agent that impresses most. His panicked actions provide some amusement, and the scene with his dying wife is genuinely moving. Savages is not particularly original, intelligent or innovative, but it is two hours of exciting, if often unpleasant, entertainment.


Directed by: Oliver Stone
Starring: Taylor Kitsch, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Blake Lively, Benicio Del Toro, Salma Hayek, John Travolta, Emile Hirsch
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie



Savages (2012) on IMDb

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