Netflix continues to bolster its back catalog of important directors. There are new additions this month from Woody Allen (
Annie Hall), Jim Jarmusch (
Coffee and Cigarettes), Howard Hawks (
El Dorado), Steven Spielberg (
1941), and three more from Robert Altman, not to mention the return of those itinerant
Francis Ford Coppola films that never seem to stick around for more than a month or two. And in the
No News Is Good News department, the handful of James Bond
movies that showed up last month remain available
—a first in the year-plus since this blog began. Bond titles, as many of you know, usually vanish after 30 days. But one of the bigger stories in June is the streaming debut of a movie as infamous as it was unavailable (at least in the U.S.), and as underrated as it was underseen
—the one, the only:
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"Honest and popular don't go hand in hand" |
An early example of a movie reviewed for its budget rather than its quality,
Ishtar sits only a notch below
Heaven's Gate in terms of the critical scorn and audience indifference hurled its way. It may not have ruined a studio, but it certainly helped ruin the directorial career of Elaine May (who also wrote it), and long served as one of a handful of poster children symbolizing Hollywood excess prior to today's Tentpole Era. Me, I've always thought the movie got a bum rap. Having seen it during its initial
—extremely brief
—theatrical run, I remember being puzzled by the critical pummeling. Certainly it wasn't The Greatest Comedy Ever, but it was clever, entertaining, and silly in equal portions. Essentially a big-budget homage to the Bob Hope-Bing Crosby road pictures (anyone remember those?), it revels in the absurdity of Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty, as two of the world's worst songwriters, getting dragged into an international crisis involving the CIA, gunrunners, and Middle Eastern revolutionaries. Hoffman and Beatty have a blast playing against type (Beatty is hopeless with the ladies), bringing real zest to their off-key interpretations of the deliberately awful Paul Williams songs they're meant to have written. Some of it may be dragged out and, at times (yes), excessive, but like the characters in a Will Ferrell or Farrelly Brothers movie, these are very smart people playing stupid, and most of the time they get it right
—especially Charles Grodin, whose sly underplaying steals every scene he's in.