every movie ever made, in alphabetical order
(we’re in the I’s, with anti-alphabetical cheats)

Ishtar (1987)

Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman star as bad songwriters and worse singers, who take a gig performing in a Middle Eastern country called Ishtar. Soon as the plane lands, though, it’s clear that Ishtar is on the brink of revolution, and they’re swept into local politics by shadowy locals and untrustworthy CIA agents.

The American operatives, led by Charles Grodin, are the bad guys. The Ishtarian Emir is very obviously a white American actor, as are most of the Arabian-dressed American and foreign spies. It’s part of the intentional silliness.

Written and directed by Elaine May, with intentionally awful songs by Paul Williams, Ishtar was a legendary box office bomb. Critics shat all over it, but I watched an opening day discount matinee, and didn’t hate it. Saw it again tonight, and didn’t hate it all over again.

The beginning and end are funny, sometimes very funny, and the rest of the film is an ordinary comedy that sputters but delivers some laughs. For long stretches, the stars aren’t particularly good, but the chaos swirling around them often is. What it adds up to, then, is a somewhat better than average comedy, and in another 40 years I might want to see it a third time.

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

Island Claws (1980)

A scientist is conducting experiments on crabs, which amount to nothing more than noticing they grow bigger if the water’s heated. Down the beach, a nuclear power plant is dumping hot water into the ocean. What could possibly go wrong?

The film offers ample footage of real crabs, which are suitably ugly and creepy for a horror flick. There’s plenty of screaming and running from the crabs, and dead people lying on the beach as crabs crawl around, but we never see the crabs kill people, because crabs don’t, you know, kill people. There’s a racist Republican who’s convinced it’s Haitians and voodoo, not crabs, behind the attacks. And right on cue at the climax, comes a giant crab big as a Buick, created with a not-awful fakery and lots of quick-cut camera work.

This is schlock done right — hard to take seriously, but why would you?

Verdict: YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

Island in the Sky (1938)

This is an incredibly far-fetched old movie, about a dame who’s engaged to the local District Attorney, but puts their wedding on hold because she’s bothered that her fiancé won a court case that convicted a man of murder. She thinks the convicted perp is innocent, and sets out to prove it before his execution.

The story might work better if it was played for laughs, but it’s treated seriously, despite the severe impossibility of every moment of the plot.

The titular Island in the Sky, if you’re wondering, is a bar atop a skyscraper. Gloria Stuart stars, about 60 years before she was the old lady in Titanic.

Verdict: MAYBE.

♦ ♦ ♦

Island of Flowers (1989)
a/k/a Isle of Flowers

This is a brilliant short, made in South America but dubbed in droll British English, offering a comedic look at the life cycle of a tomato, with a biting critique of capitalism as the subtle subtext. It starts silly and ends profound, with another set of jokes running under the closing credits.

Written and directed by Jorge Furtado, someone I’ve never heard of, and I’d love to see more of his work. He has a long IMDB page full of flicks that sound interesting, but he’s Portuguese and so are all his movies. This appears to be his only work that’s been translated or subtitled in English.

13 minutes of laughs and light philosophy, not to be missed.

Verdict: BIG YES.

♦ ♦ ♦

No Country for Old Men (2007)

As a rule with no exceptions until today, when I’m reviewing a movie I’ve seen before, I’ll always watch it again to freshen my perspective. But not this shitshow. I’ve seen No Country for Old Men once, and once is one time too many. I’m only writing about it because a friend mentioned he’d seen it and hated it, and for ten minutes we talked about our shared hatred of this film.

Javier Bardem plays Anton Chigurh, a personality-free serial killer who carries a cattle-slaughter gun that blasts a metal cylinder into your brain. Blam, you’re dead, and then he’s looking for his next victim. Tommy Lee Jones plays a lawman who speaks fatalistic or fetishistic poetry about the killer, and Josh Brolin plays a local schmoe who encounters Chigurh and fights back.

As Brolin’s character flexes his righteous anger, the movie briefly raises your hope that all the crime might at least lead to some enjoyable punishment, but nope, Bardem is basically the Borg so resistance is futile. Blam, have another shot in the brain from his cattle-slaughter gun.

It’s the usually reliable Coen brothers pulling the trigger, with a story adapted from Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same name, which I haven’t read and wouldn’t for less than two-thousand bucks, cash up front.

Sure, I can see what McCarthy and the Coens were doing: Let’s subvert everyone’s expectations and let the bad guy win, like real life, instead of like a book or movie. But real life is what I read fiction and watch movies to escape from — we’re shat on by joyless and remorseless bastards, over and over from birth until death, always fresh shit before the previous shit has even dried. I don’t need to buy a ticket to see that, but here’s a very well-made movie designed only to blast a metal cylinder into my brain and shout “Ha ha, the psychotic killers win again!”

I’ve hated many, many bad movies, disturbing movies, mentally ill movies, but this might be the movie I hate most. It won Oscars for Best Actor (Bardem), Screenplay, Direction, and even Best Picture, and coming soon, blam, Donald Trump will win his Nobel Peace Prize. That’s the way things go — but damn it, don’t make me pay good money to watch.

Verdict: BIG NO.

♦ ♦ ♦

Trans-Atlantic Tunnel (1935)

Richard McAllen has constructed the Channel Tunnel, connecting England to France. (The actual tunnel was finished in 1994; this is science fiction from 60 years pre-reality.) McAllen’s next project is to build a tunnel connecting England to America, stretching thousands of miles under the Atlantic Ocean.

On the supervisor’s wall, a plaque lists all the men killed in the construction process. It’s a long list. The movie’s tech and effects are dated, of course, but not as dated as you’d expect, and most of the tunnel scenes still hold up. The dialogue is unexpectedly lifelike, with people talking like people talk.

The story grows maudlin and melodramatic toward the end, but (well, at least if you’re an infrastructure geek like me) you’ll stick with it to see if they finish the tunnel.

Verdict: YES.

11/3/2025

Logo illustration by Jeff Meyer. No talking once the lights dim, and only real butter on the popcorn, not that fake yellow stuff.

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