IT is back. The Losers Club, a tight-knit group of kids—good kids—with chips on their shoulders, humiliated Pennywise the dancing (and shapeshifting) killer clown (Bill Skarsgard), forcing him to hide in his hole. Now, 27 years later, Pennywise (he, she, “IT”) wakes from its slumber, hungry for flesh. Loser flesh. As conceived by director Andy Muschietti, Pennywise always looks and sounds demonic. But IT Chapter Two and its 2017 predecessor over-telegraph the evil. IT’s mouth drools. The head is bulbous, spider-like. The blood-tear makeup is sinister. Skarsgard goes all in to give us all kinds of creep. By contrast, the
Recently by Jack Cormack
In which Pennywise, the shapeshifting killer clown, strikes back! And scares no one.
Fans of this 1981 Ozploitation nailbiter claim it is worthy of Hitchcock's best. They are not wrong.
From scene one of Road Games, the film grabs us. There is an extended moment, however, when we realize we are in the hands of a director who knows exactly what he wants and has the chops to pull it off, and it comes several minutes into the picture: Stopping at a diner in the Australian outback to fuel up and stretch his legs—but most importantly call the cops—a well-read trucker, Quid (Stacy Keach), tries in vain to be heard over the other customers. Reception on the line is bad. Shifty-looking dudes play a loud tune on the jukebox, and
John Frankenheimer's creature feature is not easily forgotten. For possibly the wrong reasons.
It was not supposed to turn out like this. For years, the Pitney lumber mill in Maine soaked its river-borne logs in mercury, poisoning the water and wreaking havoc on the ecosystem. Tadpoles are now as big as boots, the salmon even bigger. Then there are the bears—oh God, the bears! They tower. They look like the offspring of a skinned boar and a 20-foot muskrat. And they move like the wind. On a pushcart. Told of disputes the mill has had with a local tribe of Native-Americans, Dr. Robert Verne (Robert Foxworth) steps in to mediate. This is a
Hal Ashby teams up with Warren Beatty & Robert Towne in this ineffectual look back at 1968 L.A.
Few films capture the mood of late '60s Los Angeles quite like Shampoo does; and few films of the '70s—that hallowed, so-called final golden age of cinema—carry so much pedigree but do not hit the bull's-eye. I think that to love, let alone like, Shampoo, you must share its filmmakers' sense of affection—for Southern California, for gorgeous bodies caught up in the tail spin of the free-love era, and for characters who are way in over their heads. But Shampoo is not a love letter so much as it is a fond, only mildly funny look back at a collective