A gritty critique on contemporary British society about an elderly shut-in who’s spurred to action by a senseless act of violence.
Michael Caine going all vengeance badass? Sign me up! Or so I thought.
Harry Brown opens with a shocking scene of violence and sets up a movie that gradually enters bad camp territory. The film features one of the most distractingly awful scores I’ve ever heard. The 70s film noir-esque theme is incredibly out of place and the poorly executed social commentary offers no insight whatsoever into youth violence. Instead, it is handled in such broad terms that you’d think the writer didn’t even attempt a second draft of Harry Brown.
Perhaps Michael Caine is better suited in films playing a butler of a man doling out vengeance instead of doing it himself.
In 1961 Long Island Alice is just that bit younger than her playmates. She doesn’t quite understand yet about some grownup things and is teased a lot. Her heroine is Sheryl, the teenager over the road who has a succession of boyfriends. Alice even copies her perfume and favourite records, though she has never spoken to her. When Sheryl’s father dies suddenly and she takes up with Rick, who is viewed with horror by all the parents around, she and Alice become firm friends as they try to keep the romance going.
Released a year before The Sandlot, That Night covers somewhat similar grounds. A coming of age film that introduces a young and bitchy Katherine Heigl, starts off fairly entertaining and then dips further and further into a irreversible, melodramatic territory. American Graffiti, this is not.