King of New York (Special Edition) (1990) Review

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(More customer reviews)Some way into Abel Ferrara's 'King Of New York', two gangsters conspire in a small cinema showing F.W. Murnau's 1922 horror classic 'Nosferatu'. Playing the scene where the vampire disembarks his corpse- and rat-ridden ship docked in England, it has clear reference to Ferrara's protagonist, Frank White (Christopher Walken in one of cinema's great, mercurial performances), a drug-smuggler recently released from a long period in prison, hoping to reassert his local criminal power. White refers to his return as 'coming back from the dead', and Walken's long, haunted figure and dancer's movements have some of the aristocratic grace of a famous screen Dracula, Christopher Lee. Mostly seen at night, he gathers new recruits (fresh blood) around him to 'feed' on. One remarkable shot, after a prolonged sequence of speedy violence, has him lit so his eyes shine like some haunted undead; another has the camera following him through a railway station until it is stopped by bars - it can only impotently watch as White glides up the stairs to be swallowed by the night. The film even has as one of his opponents a cop played by future vampire-slayer Wesley Snipes.
But the 'Nosferatu' allusion points to something else - Ferrara's strange absorption of silent cinema. In terms of content, 'King' is a gangster film like any other: loud, ugly, violent, brutal, lurid, hysterical. But it has a purity and beauty very different from the stylised melodramas of Martin Scorcese, whose equally bloodthirsty 'Goodfellas' came out in the same year. The first ten minutes is an astonishing, virtually wordless, visual tour-de-force, not simply presenting the main character, his situation and environment, but introducing symbolic motifs that are all the more powerful for being real, a part of Frank's world, and not simply imposed. Bars and grids (in prison, gates, bridges etc.) are the most prominent, signifying initially Frank's literal imprisonment, then his difficulties with the law and fellow criminals, and his frustrated ambitions (including a Guiliani-like zero-tolerance programme to clean up the streets), but eventually, as we might expect from a Ferrara littering his film with religious iconography, something much more metaphysical, outside the confines of genre (hence the references to Melville).
After this, there is a lot of talk - noisy, profane, funny, aggressive, threatening - but the best sequences retain this silent aesthetic: the night-club double cross leading to a car chase and man-hunt under a bridge; a police funeral in which a limousine hit provokes the scattering of black-clad, bankside mourners; the 'Le Samourai'-like subway confrontation between gangster and cop [although the film's very greatest scene, Larry Fishburne's Jimmy Jump ordering fast food just before being busted for murder, depends for its effect on the conflict between talk and silence, his bluster oblivious to the soundless arrests playing out behind him]. The use of huge, intense close-ups recall the emotional silent era, as does Ferrara's camerawork, more deliberate and heavy than Scorcese's flash pyrotechnics. The staging of set-pieces is as artifical as Murnau's setscapes in 'Sunrise'; the underworld carnival is more Celine than Scorcese. Even the use of blue filter in key scenes is less a signifier of atmosphere or artifice than a nod to the practise of 'colorising' monochrome silents.
By employing this style from a period he clearly loves, Ferrara is able to inject a spirituality and ceremonial gravitas not immediately apparent in the crudity of the genre subject.

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Miller's Crossing (1990) Review

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(More customer reviews)Yes, FARGO won lots of awards, and sure, RAISING ARIZONA isuproariously funny, but make no mistake: MILLER'S CROSSING is thequintessential Coen brothers film. In point of fact, it's flawless, a jewel you can turn over and around in your hands again and again, seeing a new facet every time, each one striking and smooth and perfect.
The script is awash with Prohibition-era jargon both historically grounded and whimsically invented, a symphony of phrases and exchanges that linger and echo long after being heard. (It isn't unusual after a viewing to walk around asking friends, "What's the rumpus?", or to complain about being given "the high hat" upon being snubbed.)
The performances, as well, are individually and collectively irresistable. I defy you, in fact, to find a single film in which _any_ of the major players has ever been better. There's not a false or miscast note in the whole of the dramatis personae. There's Gabriel Byrne as the inscrutable, Machiavellian Tom Reagan, a trusted advisor to the city's Irish mob lord who falls out of favor and "defects" to the Italian camp to save his own skin...or does he? Albert Finney plays Leo, the aforementioned Irish power broker whose fists of iron, vicious survival instinct, and all-too-vulnerable heart congeal into a simply remarkable, unforgettable character. John Turturro is equal parts pathetic outcast and conniving opportunist as Bernie Birnbaum, the unscrupulous, vampirically pale bookmaker whose shady maneuvers set the whole plot into motion. Marcia Gay Harden exudes fierce intelligence and buckets of carefully-aimed sex appeal as Bernie's sister Verna, whose unflagging drive to protect her brother -- even from himself -- almost excuse her twisted machinations. J.E. Freeman drips evil and impending violence all over the screen as smarter-than-you-want-him-to-be enforcer Eddie Dane. Jon Polito, as hot-tempered Italian ringleader Johnny Caspar, may be the only character at hand to actually feel sorry for, as his oddly consistent ethical code makes it a sure bet he doesn't stand a chance in his environment.
There's more to say about the acting, of course, but I'll stop there rather than pour accolades onto the entire cast. And when I say "entire," I'm not exaggerating: every person who comes into frame, from the leads to the smaller parts to the people with one line or none at all, fit together and play off of each other as though they'd been born to do nothing else in their entire lives. The whole of it actually makes it difficult not to notice acting and casting problems in other films.
I'm running out of room here, so I can only nod to some of the other perfect elements of production. Barry Sonnenfeld's dead-on photography is measured and seamless where appropriate, frenetic where necessary. Set design and costuming make for such an astonishing illusion that were this not a color film, you might actually forget that it was released 9, not 69 years ago. And even the sound -- from the music (diegetic and otherwise) to the crystal-clear sound effects that pierce the visual and draw you in by the ears, like they're supposed to -- is a _presence_ in its own right throughout the film. I mean, when was the last time ice cubes dropping into an old-fashioned glass or the wringing out of an alcohol-soaked rag into a tinny dish felt truly woven into the designed effect of a scene in a movie?
What continues to amaze me about MILLER'S CROSSING is that no matter how many times I see it, regardless of how hard I look, I _can't find anything wrong with it_. That's an extremely rare situation in my experience. It's what we all want out of a movie, and almost never get. MILLER'S CROSSING delivers exactly that feeling, and when Tom Reagan leans against that tree and adjusts that hat in the haunting final shot, he knows it just as surely as we do. He doesn't seem to feel especially happy about it, but that's okay. _You_ will.

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Leo is the benevolent Irish gangster and political boss who rulesan Easter city with the help of Tom, his trusted lieutenant and counselor. But their control of thetown is challenged by an over-reaching Italian underboss and his ruthless henchman. Just as this threat erupts, Leo and Tom have a falling out over the same woman. Tom, caught in the jaws of a gangland violent outcome.

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