Wednesday, 14 February 2018

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

For Valentine's Day, a rather unusual form of romance - indeed the first of a whole new genre of its kind (not often repeated since): the "rom-zom-com". It's also one of the best zombie films of recent years and a pretty effective satire on the modern way of living, especially in Britain.

The "rom" element of it is represented by titular Shaun (Simon Pegg), and his struggles to keep in with his cute girlfriend Liz (Kate Ashfield): loving, but whose patience with a man like Shaun is, like for all girls, limited - especially where Shaun's geeky friend Ed (Nick Frost) is concerned. A love triangle, of sorts, between Liz and Ed for Shaun's affections.

The "zom" effect kicks into gear when the perennial meteorite - or in this case a flaming space shuttle on re-entry - flies by the Earth (by whatever method it is that turns people into zombies), and the following morning the world is the same dreary zombie-like existence outside for Shaun, except for some odd inconsistencies: the people want to walk into walls and also eat each other.

The mixture of romance with adventure works generally very well - more effectively than Titanic which mixed romance with adventure (in a "period" setting) - perhaps due to Edgar Wright's film being grounded in a believable contemporary setting.

One of the film's best gags: the zombie-like passengers before the attack... 
...are not terribly different to the actual zombies afterwards!

It's the first time also that I've seen the real everyday Britain as I recognise it, beyond any stereotypical American (or British) depiction. Wright weaves a skilful mixture of British comedy and archetypal zombie thriller, and his subsequent success has led him deservedly to other films of repute including Hollywood.

His cast is as exemplary as for any British film of yesterday, all seasoned actors with stage or TV experience, from veteran Penelope Wilton as Shaun's Mum, to Dylan Moran and Lucy Davis (recently to be soon in equally good comic form in Wonder Woman), and a whole score of recognisable faces, including many from British television news.

Shaun and friends, and their curiously similar fellow band of zombie battlers: Jessica Stevenson, Martin Freeman, Reece Shearsmith, Tamsin Greig, Julia Deakin, Matt Lucas.

And then there is the champion of all zombified looking British actors, Bill Nighy as Shaun's justifiably grumpy father-in-law. Nighy was already established as a familiar face from some of Britain's most entertaining recent films, and it's almost a shame that his role isn't any longer than a typical scene-stealing cameo.

Come the end of all this, Liz has the perfect recipe for dealing with the post-apocalypse:

"A cup of tea, then we get the Sunday [papers], head down to the Phoenix for a roast, veg out in the pub for a bit, then wander home, watch a bit of telly, go to bed."

The very last joke of the film is also delightfully satirical.

I watched and enjoyed Shaun of the Dead for the first time back in 2004 at the Odeon Colchester, and years later again on TV on holiday with my Dad. It made him laugh too, so it's a special film indeed, with its universal in the best of British humour, and also a pretty effective zombie flick.

Saturday, 27 January 2018

To Be or Not To Be (1942)

For Holocaust Memorial Day this may seem a bizarre choice, but it is a highly effective riposte to Nazi tyranny and pompousness. It is also one of the most brilliant marriages of comedy and drama ever written, and all the more effective for taking place during World War II itself, in one of its darkest hours.

Was it based on an actual incident? Quite possibly, although its main conceit - of actors immersing themselves as Nazis in order to escape them - is so absurd it almost seems too ridiculous not to be true. It is also the greatest truism that actors remain actors even in real life situations.

In 1942, the war was far from over and the German Reich still far from defeated, in fact well ensconced in occupied Poland. This sublime comedy made by the master of the sly undertone, Ernst Lubitsch, told the potentially ugly story of oppression in the early stages of the war in a very carefully balanced mixture of drama and comedy, from the benefit, it should be said, of being made in a Hollywood studio in faraway USA. One of its notable producers however was Alexander Korda, himself an émigré like Lubitsch, who brought a wizened European experience to the film (as he did later with The Third Man).

For the casting of the main roles in this comedy however, Lubitsch turned to an American vintage, and found it in the wonderfully deadpan form of Jack Benny. A famous stand-up and theatrical comedian, he famously decried most of his film roles (often as part of his act), but here Lubitsch used Benny to brilliantly self-obsessive effect: as Joseph Tura, the star actor of the Lubitski Theatre in Warsaw, he knows he is the star name, not only of the theatre but also of the whole Warsaw theatre scene - at least in his eyes - but is riddled with insecurities about it, most of all from his glamorous wife Maria (Carole Lombard). Not only from the fear of her upstaging him onstage, but offstage too :

MARIA: "When I start to tell a story, you finish it. If I go on a diet you lose the weight! If I have a cold, you cough! And if we ever have a baby I'm not sure I'd be the mother."

TURA: "I'm satisfied to be the father."

His suspicion is ably exemplified in the form of Maria's circle of admirers (male of course), most especially a dashing Polish fighter pilot (Robert Stack), who sneaks out of the fourth row over to Maria's dressing room, during Tura's most famous monologue, "To be or not to be..." - much to Tura's dismay.

This running gag is one of a number of brilliant running gags that point up the farcical absurdity of human behaviour. Another is when Tura, who has already played the occupying Nazi leader in Warsaw, Colonel Ehrhardt, when dealing with the smoothly duplicitous German spy Professor Siletsky (a very convincing Stanley Ridges), has to swap places once Siletsky is out of the way and take his place, and meets the real Colonel Ehrhardt, in the form of the buffoonish looking Sig Ruman (often a memorable comedy foil for the Marx Brothers and many others), whom, to Tura's delight, uses some of the same responses and side remarks that Tura imagined he would say when he himself was playing the part: "So they call me Concentration Camp Ehrhardt!" is to be cried at many points during this film.

Tura himself is very much the leading man, around whom his dauntless supporting cast nevertheless depend. He has plenty of pretenders to this throne however besides Maria, not least Ravitch (the marvellous Lionel Atwill) who has a great stage presence but can't resist going too far and is often having to be rained in by his fellow actors. Then on the other end of the acting ladder there are Greenberg (Felix Bressart) and Bronsky (Tom Dugan), two perennially permanent spear carriers but both with acting ambitions - Bronsky gets what he thinks is the opportunity of a career, to play Hitler! His director (the excellent Charles Halton) has only cast him for a small role and is sceptical of his resemblance to the Fuehrer, but one step into the streets of Warsaw tells a very different story. It is this uncanny resemblance that proves to be the troupe's salvation - and the cause of much comedic intrigue.

Greenberg meanwhile, is the wannabe Shylock waiting for the time to come to play his great part - which he does, in ways no-one ever expected. The company stages an arrest of him attempting to assassinate Hitler (the real one), as he defends his Jewish roots:

"What does he want from us? What does he want for Poland? Why? Why? Why? Aren't we human? have we not eyes, have we not hands, organs, senses, dimensions, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, cooled and warmed by the same winter and summer? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? If you wrong us, shall we not revenge!?"

In the process of this staged assassination attempt, the actors playing Nazis sneak onto the German transports and divert from Germany over to jolly old England. Having made their escape, a grateful British nation honours them - and most especially, Joseph Tura - with their wish to stage Shakespeare, and, you guessed it...Hamlet again. Again Tura returns to the stage to five his great soliloquy, but there are handsome servicemen up to the old tricks again...

Scottish farmers Alec Craig and James Finlayson spot a familiar place coming out of the German plane...

"First it was Hess, now HIM!"

To Be Or Not To Be is one of the best ever farces without straying too far out of its real setting. For what Casablanca did to wartime romance, To Be or Not to Be does for wartime comedy. At the time it was greeted by some as being in bad taste, which is understandable. Humour is so often a subjective experience, and I confess to certain lines that give me unease as well as the treatment of Ruman's Colonel Ehrhardt as a comedic buffoon, when the Nazis at the time were far from funny. Subsequent history however, has proven the film's point (as also with Chaplin's The Great Dictator).

Tragically, it was released after its biggest star, Carole Lombard, was killed in a plane crash on the way to meet her husband Clarke Gable. Both Gable and Hollywood took a long time to recover from the loss of one of the all-time great comediennes, but Lubitsch's film is a worthy epitaph to her glory.

Wednesday, 10 January 2018

La Belle et la Bete (1946)

The recent live action Disney remake of their own animated film has reawakened interest in the old Beauty and the Beast scenario - but as that cartoon was inspired in large part by the French original, it's worth referring back to that, for it has few peers.

Certainly it is true that La Belle et la Bete reaches across to both sides of the age spectrum, as it is that rare animal, an adult fairy tale, magically directed by Jean Cocteau without sinking into heavy adult grimness, and retaining the innate beauty of the story and the setting itself

I was first introduced to Cocteau with a certain amount of caution. In the process of an experimental film we were making at Signals Media Centre Colchester with some technicians, local artists and actors, we touched on ideas of how to tell a film version of some of the classic Greek legends, such as Echo and Narcissus, as well as Orpheus in the Underworld. Such a film we watched as research: Cocteau's Orphee (above). Its quirky use of rustic and (then) modern French locations with black bikers for demonic servants and rippling water effects for mirrors was debatably entertaining, and Cocteau was feeling his way round a medium that he was only accustomed to from a distance, but was also finding new and interesting ways to express his poetry on film.

With La Belle et la Bete, made 4 years before however, he was able to find a perfect blend of mainstream story telling combined with his own poetic emotional and visual sense.

Still recognisable under an arduous make-up, is Cocteau's favourite leading man Jean Marais (who also played the title character in Orphee), who brings a classic French Gallic quality of tragic charm to the Beast. Interestingly, Marais also plays one of Belle's village admirers, which perhaps suggests  (with its finale too), that a lot of what has transpired in the story may be in Belle's mind.

What's so effective about the film is that its setting outside the castle remains down-to-earth, whilst the castle remains magical and otherworldly, but the two still blend together perfectly. This is not only down to Cocteau's skill, but also I feel, the accessibility of Josette Day to play in both of these worlds so easily.

A weakness of the Disney version(s) was the need to have a villain, whereas in this traditional and largely faithful telling of the tale, there is a greater villain (and hero, in its way): that of Nature itself. The harshness of winter (metaphorically as well as physically) within the cold prison of the Beast's palace - it is also because of his daughter's wish for a rose that Belle's father is ensnared by the Beast in the first place, and it is also that rarely used power in blockbusters today, Love, that is the ultimate cure for both Belle and the Beast's enslavement.

But then, the French were always better expressing Love than anyone else.

Thursday, 23 March 2017

Postcards from the Edge (1990)

This page has suffered, in what the words of Carrie Fisher might say, from a little touch of writer's blog. So it's time to revive things, with a film sadly about two people no longer with us.

Carrie Fisher has always made me laugh - not in a conventional way - nor was she a conventional actress, although born into the standard mold for movie stars (raised in Beverly Hills), and in common with the likes of Melanie Griffith, Kiefer Sutherland, the Sheen brothers and Jamie Lee Curtis, was raised in a showbiz background of famous acting parents.

It is the parental relationship between actress Suzanne Vale and her even more famous actress mother, Doris Mann (the brilliant Shirley MacLaine, very much evoking Debbie Reynolds) that forms the central crux of Fisher's film adaptation of her semi-autobiographical book - a semi-surreal and bittersweet journey of a drug addict (as well as a second narrator, removed for the film version) who has very much turned to hard substances, to give her the lift that life often fails to give, but can also threaten to give her exactly the reverse.

Following on from the screen immortality that playing Princess Leia had given her, my own natural enthusiasm and genuine fondness for Carrie led me to follow a lot of her subsequent films - and a bit of raw batch they were (Under the Rainbow, The Man with One Red Shoe, Hannah and Her Sisters, Appointment with Death, When Harry Met Sally, and her one pre-Star Wars film, Shampoo, in a scene-stealing cameo upstaging Warren Beatty.) Having also read the book Postcards from the Edge, to hear in 1988 that the book was being adapted into a film, directed by the distinguished Mike Nichols, with an equally distinguished cast headed by Meryl Streep no less, together with the likes of Gene Hackman, Richard Dreyfuss, Dennis Quaid, and the aforementioned Shirley MacLaine, such excitement at the prospect was palpable. Come the release date in Britain of January 1991, I followed the now familiar trend of watching the film on its opening weekend in Leicester Square.

Leicester Square, January 1990

The film was gloriously cinematic, on first viewing, and the stars sealed it. On reflection now, Carrie's witty one liners have a darkness and a cynicism tinged to them, after the novelty of seeing Meryl and Shirley doing their thing had worn off. Good though Meryl Streep is (as always), the one key element missing from the film is Carrie Fisher in person, although her spirit runs right throughout the entire movie.

As is well known now, Carrie Fisher suffered from manic depression, and herself had a drugs overdose in 1984. This is chronicled - through the fictional medium of film - with Suzanne lying in bed one morning with her latest "fling", a something Lothario (Dennis Quaid) who suddenly discovers the extent of Suzanne's wild night, and rushes her straight to the nearest hospital where a specialist (Richard Dreyfuss) brings Suzanne round and has to pump her stomach. "Do I have to be there?", Suzanne asks, in one of Carrie's typically mordant one-liners.

Cut to a few weeks later, and to cope with the rehab after the near-death experience, Suzanne is co-opted by her agent into the home of her mother Doris,  in a supervisory capacity. Having Doris for supervisor however, is for Suzanne potentially taking her from the fire into the frying pan, considering Doris's own history of alcoholism.

The potential conflict could be explosive but in the end is relatively humane and with the two celebrated ladies coming to something of an understanding and an appreciation of each other, like Debbie and Carrie themselves have come to do.

As if to emphasize the poetic irony of the story told in Postcards from the Edge, both Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds died within days of each other, Debbie being unable to cope with outliving her daughter as she had always feared. Their stars still twinkle brightly.

Friday, 30 October 2015

The Untouchables (1987)

Brian De Palma (above - front left) has made many excessive films, sometimes manipulative, sometimes misogynistic -and sometimes both. He has also frequently homaged (ripped off would be the unkinder term) the distinctive genre styles of other directors, most notably Hitchcock. Perhaps this is one reason why De Palma such a favourite of Quentin Tarantino's - also a pastiche merchant.

He is at his forte however, in The Untouchables, which has for De Palma the rare distinction of being blessed with an excellent script, by David Mamet - who can also be a little rough at the edges, and has since moved on to bigger things himself. Mamet's hard-hitting and no-nonsense adaptation of the popular 1960s TV series starring Robert Stack, here pits Eliot Ness (Kevin Costner) at the forefront of a good-versus-evil yarn where the evil is tremendously active in the form of Robert De Niro, no less, as Al Capone - effectively the Emperor of Chicago, or its unofficial mayor (in history as well as in the film.) Ness's allies - condensing the work of several of Herbert Hoover's appointed FBI agents to deal with the problem of prohibition in 20s Chicago - include of an Italian American police trainee (Andy Garcia, emerging as a new star in the making) on the right side of the law, and a meek accountant (Charles Martin Smith), who ultimately has the final solution that will bring down Capone. Beautifully simplified on both sides, but also deliciously put together, particularly with stars as representative as De Niro and Costner.

Chief ally of Eliot Ness however, and in effect also his mentor, is grizzled, cynical but knowledgeable and dignified and honourable Irish cop Jimmy Malone, destined never to rise too high up the ranks in a Chicago police force that is just as corrupt as the bootleggers. A great role for Sean Connery, and also a deserved Oscar winner.(SPOILER) De Palma's most brilliant touch was to cast a major star for the cop who dies for his convictions - another reference to Hitchcock, killing off his most famous face before the end of the film, and giving the story quite a dramatic punch.

The void that Connery creates after his loss has a similar impact to that of Gandalf or Obi-Wan Kenobi, and it pushes the remaining untouchables to fight their corner all the harder. De Palma soon pulls out all the stops, and is at his most brilliant and excessive in the staircase battle in Chicago station, a shameless rip-off of the most famous scene from Battleship Potemkin. For those who haven't seen Eisenstein's film, this is a bravura piece of tension-building (and was also itself sent up in the third Naked Gun film).

I came to The Untouchables late, just after it had finished its main theatrical release, when I had decided to edge uncertainly back to the cinema of my post-childhood (see Cry Freedom blog). The opportunity eventually came round for me on rental video, the pan-and-scan not doing justice to Stephen Burum's stylish Panavision photography (not forgetting of course a rousing and typically punchy score by Ennico Morricone), but was still surprisingly effective as a gangster entertainment of basic good versus evil.

Kevin Costner has never had a better vehicle, taking on his daunting opponent De Niro with father figure Connery keeping him in check. It may not be as layered or as dark dramatically as other gangster or crime thrillers (De Palma often paints his characters with a broad brush), but the combination of toughness, sincerity, style, Connery, De Niro, De Palma, and Costner, makes for cinematic dynamite.

Friday, 31 October 2014

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1931)

"My analysis of this soul, the human psyche, leads me to believe that Man is not truly one, but truly two. One of him strives for the nobility of life, this we call his good self. The other, seeks an expression of impulses that bind him to the earth. This we may call the bad."

This seems ever such a pertinent film, in the light of recent events about revelations of celebrity child abuse or abuses of power in positions of influence. In the case of so many of these unmentionables, the phrase "Jekyll and Hyde personality" has invariably been coined.

In spite of the many fine actors who have taken on the challenge, it's a notoriously difficult achievement to pull off. Not the Hyde part - that's a gift for any imposing actor worth his salt. No, the difficult one to play is Jekyll, for he has to carry the all too underestimated banner of sincerity, and what this brilliantly literate and chilling 1931 version of the often told story had, with the wonderful Fredric March, was Jekyll's suppressed eroticism.

Robert Louis Stevenson based his story The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll (pronounced "Gee-kull") and Mr. Hyde on the activities of Dr. Robert Knox, a renowned Edinburgh surgeon by day who resorted by night to hiring the services of the infamous William Burke and William Hare to supply him with fresh corpses for his microscope (the history was later adapted in other films such as Flesh and the Fiends and The Body Snatcher). It was the aspect of a good man on the outside dabbling in evildoings on the inside that so intrigued Stevenson, and subsequent storytellers and dramatists since.

The first notable name to take on the challenging role(s) was Edward Mansfield, who shocked London
theatre audiences every night his seeming physical transformation right in front of their eyes, without any need of off-stage trickery. Mansfield's example was followed by John Barrymore, who became the first notable silent film Dr. Jekyll. Using a little rustling of the hair and an adjustment of the muscles and a contortion of the body, he was able to emulate Mansfield's feat, and set the pattern for seeing Jekyll's transformation into Hyde before our very eyes.

Rouben Mamoulian went one step further in 1931 by adding brilliantly subtle photographic effects and filters that gave March the appearance of his face changing colour and transforming - when actually, the process was reversed: the filters initially covered up the marks. Seeing, as they say, is believing.

Indeed, the whole film uses the camera in a very clever way, often placing the viewer directly into Jekyll's perspective, looking at his friends or adversaries, but rarely seeing him - at first, until the transformations begin - to give the character an undercurrent of mystery and something dark hidden underneath. To transform one character into his complete antithesis requires a pretty strong test either of the audience's disbelief or of the make-up department. In the latter case Paramount came up with a memorably bestial Hyde, so unrecognisable that at times it's hard to believe that it's still Fredric March.

March himself was also a distinguished name of the American stage and then the screen, a frequent leading man to some of the most glamorous leading ladies such as Garbo, Norma Shearer, and at the time, Miriam Hopkins. As such, he was the ideal eligible romantic lead in a standard drama or romatic comedy of the time - and therefore also the ideal Dr. Jekyll, because he seems to be the most unlikely Mr. Hyde. His scenes with Rose Hobart (right) as his betrothed have all the required passion and tenderness to make one see how and why Jekyll is tempted into doing what he does.

His catalyst is flighty but vulnerable Cockney singer Ivy (Miriam Hopkins), in a a story notionally switched by
Hollywood from obscure Edinburgh to foggy London - thus establishing the legend often linked between Jekyll and Hyde and Jack the Ripper. Soon it becomes apparent that Jekyll's transformation into Hyde does not need the use of medicine alone; in one desperately poignant little scene, Jekyll watches a bird in a tree, only to see it stalked and hunted down by a cat. The subsequent act of minor savagery stirs Jekyll's emotions and turns him automatically into Hyde (in a style that The Incredible Hulk would later find useful), for his final rampage.

For this, March deservedly won the Oscar for Best Actor in 1931. Few can touch his achievement, or Mamoulian's.

Sunday, 27 October 2013

Airplane! (1980) & The Naked Gun (1988)

The 1970s seemed to be the decade of disasters, or near disasters in the cinema. Whilst there were hijackings of  trains and airliners in real life, in the cinema every three years or so out came another airborne disaster movie, packed with stars in varying stages of their careers, in highly melodramatic and often improbable stages of peril whether in tower blocks, overturned liners, earthquakes and volcanoes, or most often of all, in the skies.

Improbable they may have been, but they successfully kept me away from flying for several years (as much as audiences were also dissuaded from swimming after Jaws.) The market had been well and truly laid bare with Airport 1979: The Concorde - following on from Airport 1975 and Airport '77, going all the way back to Airport in 1969, meaning that the series had spanned practically the entire decade.

Just one year after the last Airport film, at the beginning of the 80s came its spoof, and the mother of all spoofs.

There didn't seem to be a huge difference from this.... this.


Such a genre was ripe for parody, but when it came, the source material was interestingly not from the 70s, but the similarly insecure 1950s.

It is probably extremely difficult not to see Zero Hour nowadays without laughing at the many unintentionally funny scenes which Airplane! was to directly parody - some of the lines are even exact reproductions!

Back in their early Kentucky Fried Theatre days (of which the anarchic comedy Kentucky Fried Movie was an early film effort), the brothers Zucker and Jim Abrahams videotaped  a movie one evening in order to study the commercials that were useful material for parody (such as the Yuban "Jim never has a second cup" coffee ads), but their eyes were drawn irresistibly to the film that emerged between them: Zero Hour. Starring Dana Andrews as a traumatised WWII fighter pilot who suddenly has to re-utilise those skills when the entire crew of an airliner contract food poisoning, the film had limitless melodramatic and comedic possibilities, but played straight. It was so redolent of the 1950s, that the actual sounds of the aeroplane in Airplane! are not jets, but propellers.

The idea of a parody of Zero Hour was seized upon by Paramount, and veteran producer Howard Koch (who co-wrote Casablanca) helped guide these manic undergraduate filmmakers on their airborne laughter ride of a lifetime. Many of the jokes were crude, some topical ("I haven't felt as bad as this since we watched that Ronald Reagan film"), but the bottom line was that all were funny. Depending on your taste.

With a major Hollywood studio and producer to guide it, the project therefore attracted all manner of established veterans who were happily willing to send-up their image, even if few of them they were ever qualified for comedy. Some seasoned veterans were surprisingly adept, and all gave fine deadpan comic performances: Robert Stack, Peter Graves (my personal favourite), Lloyd Bridges - and Leslie Nielsen. In the latter's case, something of a future career was forged on this kind of comedy; no longer the straight-laced hero or the earnest pragmatist for Mr. Nielsen anymore (such as the captain of the Poseidon), oh no.

As a spoof, Airplane! cast its shadow for many years, so that come 1988, its memory was still fresh in people's minds, as much surely as Nielsen's deadpan doctor. And don't call him Shirley.

Immediately after the success of Airplane! (whilst an imitative follow-up Airplane II: The Sequel was being made by other hands), the Zuckers spread their wings onto television itself, spoofing that even more ubiquitous entity on TV, the cop show. Police Squad! received a small but nonetheless devoted cult following, only lasting one series, but left possibilities in later years for further development on the big screen....

For my 18th birthday, I decided to treat my parents to dinner, rather than them treating me, as I had officially come of age; in return for that, about a month later they offered to take me out to dinner somewhere some weeks later. The film we went to see that evening: The Naked Gun.

The cinema was the Century in Clacton (already covered with some nostalgia elsewhere in this blog), in the big screen with some of the Clacton denizens. My most vivid memory of that evening at the pictures was that of my mother exploding into laughter at the sight of the Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran being kicked in the groin and punched by Lt. Frank Drebin (Nielsen), to reveal a mohican punk hairstyle under his turban! (The Zuckers often had this "explosive" effect their audiences.)

This rather sinister prologue to The Naked Gun seems oddly prescient, in view of subsequent political events where we (ie. America) went to war or near-war with most of these nasties, the two missing from the picture at the time being Saddam Hussain and Osama Bin Laden. Chief baddie of the piece however, is Vincent Ludwig (pronounced "Ludd-wigg"), played by the ever panther-like Ricardo Montalban, who could play scary villains in his sleep, and as the poster publicity so aptly puts it, "even Mother Theresa wanted him dead".

The plot is just a little more involving and dramatic than the average episode of Police Squad!, and also even scores one or two points up from Airplane!  by having Frank Drebin as the central protagonist of the story rather than having several character viewpoints.

That, coupled with some hilarious set pieces. The terrorism prologue I've already mentioned, but there are plenty of others such as the hilarious opening credit sequence, Drebin's hand caught in a fish tank, and the climactic baseball game (complete with Jeanette Charles herself as the Queen) where the tone-deaf Drebin unwisely stands in for a famous opera singer and is required to sing Star Spangled Banner. My favourite is the farcical car chase with a Learner Driver (such a real possibility in the car-obsessed United States), and her bewildered instructor beautifully underplayed by the late John Houseman in a priceless uncredited cameo.

The teaming of Nielsen and his sultry but inwardly kooky leading lady Priscilla Presley was sufficient to see through two successful sequels, The Naked Gun 2 and a Half: The Smell of Fear and The Naked Gun 33 and a Third (a title for older audiences to recognise), the last in the series featuring two figures who sadly became almost as infamous as the Zuckers and co.: O.J.Simpson, and his murdered wife Nicole Brown Simpson.

Neither Airplane! or The Naked Gun are masterpieces, but if films were scored on how much they made (and still make) audiences laugh, they would win the Gold and Silver at the Comedy Olympics every time.

100 Favourite Films

100 Favourite Films