"White Dog"

It must have seemed like a great idea to all concerned back in 1981. Paramount Pictures wanted a “'Jaws’ with paws” horror film; teen star Kristy McNichol was looking for a project that would help her make the transition to adult roles; director Samuel Fuller (“Shock Corridor,” “The Naked Kiss”) needed a big hit to continue his comeback. But what they found was a movie that was ultimately too hot to handle.

The sad story behind “White Dog” illustrates how a misunderstood message movie sparked a controversy that derailed careers.

It’s amazing something as potentially incendiary as “White Dog” was even put into production by a major studio, but, as with so many things, it was all in the timing. “Dog,” based on a semi-autobiographical book by Romain Gary, had been on the back-burner at the studio since the mid-1970s when it was supposed to be directed by Roman Polanski. With potential strikes by the Writers’ Guild and the Directors’ Guild on the horizon, Paramount executives were anxious to stockpile as many pictures as possible and rushed “Dog” in front of the cameras.

Curtis Hanson (later to direct “L.A. Confidential” and “8 Mile”) collaborated with Fuller on a screenplay about a young actress, Julie Sawyer (McNichol), who saves an injured German shepherd, only to discover she’s been caring for a “white dog,” an animal trained by racists to kill African-Americans. Although Julie is advised to have the dog destroyed, she insists on taking him to Keys (Paul Winfield), a black trainer who thinks he can change the dog’s programming, using B.F. Skinner-style behavior modification techniques.

Keys runs an animal refuge called Noah’s Ark with his elderly partner, Carruthers (Burl Ives). “Can’t nobody unlearn a dog,” Carruthers insists, but Keys is certain he can complete his mission in five weeks. Winfield skillfully navigates the rivers of emotion flowing through Keys, who is clearly no stranger to prejudice and persecution; in Keys’ confrontations with the dog, editor Bernard Gribble cuts back and forth between the frenzied eyes of the snarling animal and the glacial glare of Keys, daring us to guess which one is ultimately more dangerous.

There are a few freakishly funny moments in “White Dog,” including a bizarre, possibly ad-libbed line from a police officer as he arrests a man who assaulted Julie (“Same damn rapist I nailed last year!”) and some weird walks down Memory Lane from Carruthers, who detests America’s obsession with technology and hurls syringes at an R2D2 dart board. It’s also easy to chuckle at the fuzzy tops, pastel-colored pants and Olivia Newton-John headbands in Julie’s oh-so-early-‘80s wardrobe.

But even when McNichol’s clothes are comical, the sincerity in her performance demands she be taken seriously. At the time “Dog” was filmed, McNichol was at the peak of her career, having just wrapped up a four-season run in ABC’s acclaimed series “Family” that brought her two best supporting actress Emmys. She’d had a surprise box office hit with the summer camp comedy “Little Darlings” in 1980 and had just completed filming “Only When I Laugh” with Marsha Mason. Although Julie may not be a complex or particularly fascinating character, McNichol gives her an impressive balance of vulnerability and volatility. When Julie finally erupts, it’s not a showy, “polish up that Oscar for me” tantrum: She sputters and repeats herself and gets caught up in loops of anger, just like a normal person in an emotionally charged situation. Honesty and straightforwardness were always McNichol's trademarks, and they are very much in evidence here.

Fuller was not a director given to pulling punches, and he builds the intensity to an almost uncomfortable level in some scenes. Far from being an enjoyably scary monster movie, this is a chiller that truly shakes you up, its foreboding mood constantly accentuated by Ennio Morricone’s gripping score (permeated with quietly churning pianos and strings that sound like muted sirens) and the outstanding cinematography of Bruce Surtee.

“White Dog” is ripe with unsettling images and offbeat directorial choices. In one sequence, the dog attacks a victim in an empty church. Although Fuller does not spare us from the anguished screams of the man being mauled, the camera drifts away from the violence and settles on a stained glass window depicting, of all people, St. Francis of Assisi. Similarly, when Keys pulls a gun on the dog during a standoff, the camera moves in not on the barrel of the revolver, but on Keys’ finger caressing the trigger. It’s not the weapon that will possibly kill this creature, Fuller is telling us, it’s the fury of the man who is wielding it.

For Fuller and company, the trouble began even before the cameras rolled. After the NAACP voiced concerns about the material, a representative was invited to supervise the filming; apparently, that wasn’t enough to calm the organization. “When you train a white dog to kill black folks, that gives the KKK and other white supremacist organizations ideas,” said Willis Edwards, then-president of the NAACP’s Beverly Hills/Hollywood chapter.

But if Edwards had bothered to wait until the film was completed, he might have seen that “White Dog” is an indictment, not an endorsement, of such practices. The screenplay attacks the sick minds responsible for turning the dog into what one character calls “a four-legged time bomb”; instead of being intrigued by the situation, the filmmakers are repulsed. One of the most terrifying moments occurs when Keys explains to Julie how racists can teach a dog to “attack black skin,” as he puts it: Hire an African-American wino or junkie to beat the dog regularly until it learns its horrible lesson.

Rumblings about a possible NAACP boycott led Paramount to nix a nationwide release of “Dog” in the spring of 1982. There are no signs the studio even bothered to make up marketing materials for it, such as posters or a trailer. Ultimately, the movie played a one-week test run in Detroit before being quietly shuttled off to the late-night cable TV graveyard. The film cost $7 million to produce and brought in less than $50,000 during its brief run.

The bad buzz around the film tarnished McNichol’s reputation (and her subsequent appearance in the campy Australian musical “The Pirate Movie” didn’t help a bit); a disgusted Fuller left America altogether, spending his remaining years in France.

Neither of them had any reason to be ashamed. "Dog" is a hard-hitting horror film with a staunchly anti-racist theme, and it’s exceptionally well played by Winfield and McNichol. Even without the controversy, it’s unlikely “White Dog” would ever have become a box office hit. But it remains one of the most disturbing films of its day, a movie that goes straight for the jugular — just like its namesake.

'Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps'

"Greed is good," Wall Street wizard Gordon Gekko famously proclaimed in director Oliver Stone's 1987 hit "Wall Street." The statement was meant to be alarming but, in the rush-rush, help-yourself climate of the late 1980s, plenty of people agreed with him.
Twenty-three years later, in the era of "too big to fail," we've all seen the catastrophic after-effects of that philosophy, and "Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps" finds Gekko, once again portrayed by Michael Douglas, serving as more of a Cassandra than a cheerleader. He's served a lengthy stretch in prison ("the best thing that ever happened to me," he insists) and written a book titled "Is Greed Good?" that's he's actively promoting.
But while "Money" is quick to condemn the amorality and excesses of the modern "masters of the universe" -- the villain, predictably, is a fat cat with a George W. Bush smirk who gets his kicks destroying competitors for fun and profit -- it also teases us with flashy labels (Moet Champagne and Johnnie Walker Blue Label get prominent placement) and a blinding array of bling: A scene at a charity ball functions as little more than an excuse for Rodrigo Prieto's camera to drool over the dangling diamond earrings and knockout necklaces draped on a parade of over-primped trophy wives. Similarly, a superfluous motorcycle race through the woods amounts to little more than a commercial for Ducati bikes. Greed may no longer be good, but it's still pretty glamorous.
Unsurprisingly, the there's-more-to-life-than-your-bank-balance message of "Money" ends up muddled. At the end of the original, we could believe trader Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen) had learned something about loyalty and the dangers of taking the easy way to the top. The conclusion of "Money" is harder to buy, partly because it depends on a half-hearted twist and partly because even screenwriters Allen Loeb and Stephen Schiff don't seem to believe their own contrivances.
While Stone's film is often flashy and sometimes funny, it's just as frequently frustrating, since the most engaging characters keep getting dumped out of the story or squeezed into the sidelines. Mystifyingly, that includes Gekko, who pops in occasionally to make a speech or pitch a plan and then vanishes for entire reels.
That gives us ample opportunity to get acquainted with Jake Moore (Shia LaBeouf), an investment bank hotshot who makes millions, but kindly sends a chunk of each check to his buddy who's working on an ambitious alternative energy project. Moore is also living with Gekko's estranged daughter, Winnie (Carey Mulligan), who operates a left-wing online news outlet that she describes as "non-profit"; to Moore and his cronies, that's practically a four-letter word.
Winnie hasn't spoken to her dad in years and has no interest in mending the broken family ties, but Moore meets with Gekko in secret and becomes convinced the old snake has finally shed his slimy skin. For his part, Gekko sees a bit of himself in Moore's take-charge spirit and his ability to stay a step ahead of his enemies, which include Gekko's old nemesis, Bretton James (James Brolin), a loathsome wheeler-dealer who makes Gekko seem like a Sunday school teacher.
Yet despite the admiring looks Gekko throws in Moore's direction, Moore is not another Gekko and LaBeouf is certainly no match for Douglas. "Money" requires LaBeouf to do a considerable amount of heavy lifting, and he simply isn't up to the task. While he reads his lines more or less convincingly, his acting is all on the surface; when you look into his eyes, you don't see a driven financial genius or a passionate boyfriend -- you see a performer waiting for his next cue and trying to remember the right line and reaction. Putting him up against emotional powerhouses like Douglas, Mulligan and Frank Langella (who plays Moore's worn-down mentor) is reminiscent of the old "Don Adams' Screen Test" show, in which starry-eyed amateurs got their chance to play scenes opposite seasoned pros.
Imagine visiting your favorite steakhouse and being served one tantalizing cube of Kobe beef every 20 minutes or so while the waiter kept bringing breadsticks and water: That's what it feels like when Michael Douglas is reduced to Special Guest Star status in a Shia LaBeouf movie.
Still, a little Gekko is better than none at all, and Douglas provides a believable portrait of a lion in winter, sorting through the fragments of his turbulent past and trying to figure out his next move. The strongest scene in the movie has nothing to do with business at all. It's a riveting, splendidly played conversation/confrontation between Winnie and Gekko, in which both of them try to express their anger and regrets while still, cautiously, reaching out to one another. The rest of "Money" is eye-appealing, but this is the only moment that actually stirs the emotions.

"Green Zone"

There was a time when movies were promoted as being "torn from today's headlines." Although director Paul Greengrass' "Green Zone" can't exactly make that claim, the story it covers remains unresolved, giving the film both a touch of timeliness and a bit of a lingering sting as well. Set in Baghdad in 2003 and 2004, it's compelling and somewhat suspenseful; on the downside, it also leaves you with that sinking feeling of just having found an old bill you forgot to pay.

Read the full review here.

"Remember Me"

“Remember Me” is a tearjerker that won’t make you cry. It will, however, make you groan and squirm and possibly snore as it painstakingly details the lackluster love story of a bitter rich-kid-turned-rebel and a sunny social-worker-to-be brought together by police brutality. That may sound a bit peculiar but, as Al Jolson once said, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.

Read the full review here.

"Alice in Wonderland"

Although it may be called “Alice in Wonderland,” director Tim Burton and screenwriter Linda Woolverton (“The Lion King”) have taken substantial liberties with Lewis Carroll’s original stories, a decision that may infuriate purists but one that actually turns out to be somewhat shrewd.

Considering how many times filmmakers have put “Alice” in front of the cameras, it’s surprising how few of the adaptations have worked. The major obstacle is the scattershot structure of Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking-Glass”: They’re primarily collections of whimsical anecdotes that don’t necessarily coalesce into a plot. So many screen versions of “Alice” have turned into little more than fanciful variety shows, with Alice meandering from one crazy character to the next.

Read the full review here.

"Brooklyn's Finest"

"One-Adam-12. One-Adam-12, see the multiple plotline pile-up at the corner of Desperation and Heartache."

Officers Reed and Malloy never got that call, but then again they were both far too wholesome to be involved in any of the seamy shenanigans that trip up the top cops in the ironically titled "Brooklyn's Finest."

Robbing gangsters, cavorting with drug dealers, partying with prostitutes and double-crossing friends are all in a day's work for Eddie Dugan (Richard Gere), Sal Procida (Ethan Hawke) and Clarence "Tango" Butler (Don Cheadle), each of whom has enough moral conflicts and sordid secrets to fill a squad car.

Read the full review here.

"Me and Orson Welles"

Ten years ago, Winona Ryder produced and starred in "Girl, Interrupted," in which she'd play a bright young woman struggling with mental illness and institutionalization. Although she earned an Oscar nomination as Daniel Day-Lewis' quietly calculating bride in "The Age of Innocence," Ryder was still best-known as the winsome ingenue of "Mermaids," "Edward Scissorhands" and "Little Women." Here was her chance to finally dazzle critics and fans in a mature, challenging role.

But then she made one fatal mistake: She cast a semi-unknown named Angelina Jolie as a fellow patient. And once audiences got a look at Jolie, Ryder's star vehicle was officially hijacked. Jolie won a best supporting actress Oscar, a Golden Globe and a Screen Actors Guild award for her electrifying performance; hopefully, she remembered to send Ryder -- who got some favorable reviews for her performance and little else -- a lovely bouquet and a kind thank-you note.

Read the full review here.