‘Five Nights at Freddy’s 2’ Is the Wrong Kind of Scary

“The Empire Strikes Back.” “Terminator 2: Judgment Day.” “The Godfather Part II.” “Aliens.”

Suffice it to say that “Five Nights at Freddy’s 2” won’t join the ranks of Hollywood’s best sequels.

The horror film has one thing in its favor. The first “Freddy’s” wasn’t very good, leveraging its source material and animatronic beasts to juice its box office fortunes.

By comparison, “Freddy’s 2” can’t get much right, from its bland characters to nonexistent frights. This sequel is scary for all the wrong reasons, including a final scene begging for a third “Night.”

The horror, the horror.

A creepy prologue – the film’s best sequence – sets the story in motion. A shy girl is murdered during a children’s birthday party at, where else, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza circa 1982. Her death haunts the kiddie franchise, which eventually shuttered over time.

We knew the latter part already, but why does so much of the technology within still work like new?

It’s almost as if there’s precious little thought given to this wing of Blumhouse Manor.

The first film’s unlikely hero, security guard Mike (Josh Hutcherson), is back. He’s tasked with caring for his sister Abby (Piper Rubio), who longs to reunite with the animatronic critters inhabited by the souls of dead children.

Awww. Ewww.

That means she’ll slip away at some point and enter Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, where whoever owns the place didn’t know locks were invented centuries ago.

It doesn’t take long before Bonnie, Chica and the gang are brought back to life, along with a new threat dubbed the “Marionette.” The latter is the sequel’s big wrinkle and the closest the film comes to invoking any chills.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The other saving grace, a term loosely applied here? Wayne Knight does his unctuous routine as a local school teacher. He’s a pro who knows exactly how to process this sub-par material – with his dignity intact.

The rest is a crush of fuzzy subplots, odd character motivations and back stories that just don’t add up. Director Emma Tammi relies on cheap jump scares to keep us awake, and once again she can’t maximize the creep factor built into these robotic goons.

RELATED: IS ‘CADDYSHACK 2’ THE WORST SEQUEL … EVER?

Whatever spark existed between Mike and his frenemy Vanessa (Elizabeth Lail) in the first “Freddy” goes POOF! during round two. The film also wastes Matthew Lillard and Skeet Ulrich, the dueling “Scream” connections.

An early sequence involving “ghost hunters” is similarly underwhelming but ripe with potential. That’s a pattern here.

What’s left? Presumably, some fan service tied to the source material and the notion that this IP will rake in cash no matter what’s seen on screen.

HiT or Miss: “Five Nights at Freddy’s 2” keeps the franchise alive, but that’s about the best we can say about this sloppy sequel.

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‘Fackham Hall’ Is the Parody We Didn’t Know We Needed

You knew it couldn’t last.

For 20 solid minutes, “Fackham Hall” parodies stuffy British dramas with a glee that would make “Airplane!” maestro David Zucker blush. Sight gags. Silly word puns. Daffy surprises.

Bliss.

Then, slowly, the film settles into an agreeable groove, leaving smiles and the sense that we almost had a modern comedy classic. It’s still a laugh-out-loud affair, one not to be missed.

But oh, what might have been!

The Davenport clan that calls Fackham Hall home is empirically inbred and darn proud of it. The family’s spinster, 23-year-old Rose Davenport (Thomasin McKenzie) is the independent gal hoping to find love the old-fashioned way.

Cousins need not apply.

Sister Poppy (Emma Laird) found a husband through, what else, the Davenport gene pool. That marriage will keep the family in Fackham Hall in perpetuity. But will the not-so-happy couple make it to the wedding day?

And what about scrappy Eric (Ben Radcliffe), the grown-up orphan who insinuates himself into Fackham Hall while turning Rose’s head at the same time?

It’s a perfectly droll set up for 90 minutes of pure parody fun, with a murder mystery on top for good measure. Director Jim O’Hanlon (TV’s “Trying”) and a gaggle of screenwriters (including Jimmy Carr and brother Patrick) have fun with the extreme class divides without overdosing on woke lectures. Phew.

Some jokes are on the naughty side, giving the film a mild R rating. Others are just plain silly. A few prove to be downright marvels of ingenuity. No spoilers here. The film’s witty trailer gives audiences a sense of what’s to come.

Thankfully, it’s not a case where the best jokes are shoehorned into the marketing material.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Comedy works best when it catches us by surprise, and the film’s crisp editing gives every joke a fighting chance. There’s not a second wasted here, and that’s by design.

Some jokes tumble out in predictable fashion, but that only adds to the fun. We’re bludgeoned by bits large and small, putting us in a giddy mood that refuses to leave. You have to watch closely to catch them all, further investing us in this silly saga.

It’s still frustrating that that extreme level of mirth can’t be sustained.

The best running gag of all, working just below the surface, is the air of entitlement felt throughout the Davenport clan. It’s best exemplified by Tom Felton, the “Harry Potter” alum playing the oh, so ordinary Archibald. 

He’s prime marriage material – a Davenport cousin is all it takes – but he’s so unworthy even he senses it. 

The cast isn’t inspired, but the actors never let the material down. And look for Jimmy Carr’s cameo as a priest who doesn’t know where one sentence ends and the next begins. It’s a running gag that doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Some genres cry out for the parody treatment. Horror gets endlessly teased, from the “Scary Movie” franchise to that “Cabin in the Woods.” The stuffy “Downton Abbey” franchise didn’t seem suitable for this sort of shakedown, but the results speak for themselves. 

“Fackham Hall” is smart enough to lean into its pompous tropes with a loving wink.

HiT or Miss: “Fackham Hall” is an Oscar season surprise, a warm and witty romp deflating British pomp and circumstance.

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‘Bonfire of the Vanities’ Endures as Epic Hollywood Black Eye

I’ve never encountered a film flopping with a louder, more surprising thud than Brian De Palma’s “The Bonfire of the Vanities” (1990).

Film buffs can usually detect these things coming, as the months leading up to release can often give red flags, leaked word of mouth or tell-tale trailers that the film in question is a turkey. The release of “Ishtar” (1987), for example, was all but met by a crowd of film critics, torches raised and knives sharpened, ready to carve the bird into oblivion.

With “Bonfire,” its reception snuck up on me and most of America.

Other than word that De Palma (actually, his screenwriter, Michael Cristofer) had changed the ending Tom Wolfe had written for his phenomenal 1987 novel (upon which the film is based), the early word was stellar.

Leading up to its December opening, right in time for Oscar season, “Bonfire” was written up by many journalists as a potential Best Picture contender.

Everyone in the cast was coming off career highs: Tom Hanks was a recent Oscar nominee for “Big” (1988), Bruce Willis had branched out from comedy to score big with “Die Hard” (1988), Melanie Griffith was coming off her Oscar-nomination for “Working Girl” (1988), and co-star Morgan Freeman had just appeared in the 1989 Best Picture winner, “Driving Miss Daisy.”

Even De Palma, whose prior “Casualties of War” (1989) was a much-respected flop, still had the polish of “The Untouchables” (1987) from a few years earlier.

I remember exactly where I was when I found out “Bonfire” was in trouble: I was boarding a flight and was handed a complimentary copy of USA Today. The Life section had a one-star review of “Bonfire” on its cover and a still of the film, in which Hanks was seen behind bars.

It was if he and the whole movie were immediately sent to film penitentiary for life, with no chance for parole.

I am no cinematic parole officer, as the movie is even harder to watch today than it was in 1990. The swarm of legendarily bad, viciously snarky reviews it received (“More Like a Bomb-fire of Inanities!”) were truly mean.

Yet, decades later, after its brief run as a Christmas event film that became a national punch line, only a few movies from the same year (particularly “Problem Child” and “Ghost Dad”) were worse.

It doesn’t help that I’m one of the many who read Wolfe’s novel, found it thrilling and saw the film and wondered if anyone involved had read more than the book jacket.

The opening scenes immediately demonstrate that something’s off, as a beautiful, time-lapse shot of New York City fades into De Palma’s much-discussed, minutes-long, unbroken tracking shot. Beginning in the basement of the World Trade Center into its massive, exquisite lobby, we see Willis playing tabloid journalist Peter Fallow, stumbling drunk and being guided to the unveiling of a press event, celebrating his novel.

When Willis’ severely overdone narration begins, it’s accompanied by David Shire’s dishearteningly generic score. Willis’ voice over, which carries on throughout the film, sounds exactly like his cutesy, what-me-worry vocal work he provided as the baby in “Look Who’s Talking” (1989).

The normally delightful Rita Wilson plays Willis’ press agent at such a manic pitch, and the dialogue is so overtly cartoonish, it almost undoes the magic of De Palma’s tour de force, cleverly designed and choreographed camera work.

We’re stuck in an unending shot, with characters who are obnoxious and only the technique of the filmmaking holding our attention, which come to think of it, is exactly what it’s like watching “Birdman” (2014).

We then push in on Hanks as Sherman McCoy, the film’s hero, a stockbroker and “master of the universe,” whose life takes a crucial and literal wrong turn. McCoy picks up his mistress, Maria (Griffith), from the airport, gets lost and strikes a young man with his car.

The hit and run haunts McCoy, who is quickly found out to be the culprit. With his career in free-fall, journalist Peter Fallow (Willis) and his ilk swoop in, picking apart the morsels of the circus, shaping and influencing the outcome of the sensational trial and news coverage that follows.

As an adaptation of a decade-defining novel, De Palma’s film is a disaster, but that description fits everything else here.

The new TCM podcast, #ThePlotThickens: The Devil’s Candy tells the epic story of how THE BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES went from bestseller to big-screen infamy.

It is based on the book by Julie Salamon, the journalist who was embedded in the production. pic.twitter.com/lwZpZLvj3s

— TCM (@tcm) July 4, 2021

The film’s troubled making of was accounted in Julie Salomon’s stunningly tell-all, fly-on-the-prestigious-wall book, “The Devil’s Candy: The Bonfire of the Vanities Goes to Hollywood,” published in 1991. It’s a great read, so I’ll avoid reiterating any insider information that Salomon so deliciously dishes out.

Sometimes the filmmaking is dazzling, but it’s often shrill, like everything else here. The quirky choices by the cinematographer are eye catching but they’re capturing performances that would feel broad in an opera.

This is as ham-fisted as De Palma’s “Wise Guys” (1986), as he pushes the caricatured quality of the characters to an off-putting extreme. Much of this is akin to watching those bad, mid-1980s “Saturday Night Live” sketches that didn’t have Eddie Murphy to save them.

This is a good time to mention the crucial miscasting. While Kim Cattrall, Saul Rubinek and F. Murray Abraham all give loud, smug supporting turns, at least, on the surface, they appeared to be a good match for their characters.

The four leads offer star power but never fully connect with the material.

Hanks ably played dark roles much later in his career, but as McCoy, he’s too nice, doesn’t convey the character’s lust or greed and frequently overacts to compensate for how out of place he is.
In his establishing scenes, Hanks doesn’t appear to belong on Wall Street. To think what Michael Douglas, in his prime as the face of ’80s guilt and excess, could have done with this.

Since Fallow was British in Wolfe’s hands, it makes sense that Willis is playing him as a New Yorker and not attempting a cockney accent (on page, the role screams out for Michael Caine).

As Maria, Griffith certainly oozes desire, both for sex and extravagant living, as though her Tess McGill from “Working Girl” (1988) went over to The Dark Side, but her Southern accent is all over the place.

Tom Hanks and Bruce Willis in The Bonfire of the Vanities (1990) pic.twitter.com/oF0eRgwpVv

— Frame Found (@framefound) September 27, 2022

There’s a sequence written just for the film, in which McCoy and Fallow interact on a subway; it’s interesting watching Hanks and Willis, two very different actors, sharing a moment, but their scene and chemistry is forced.

Freeman brings the expected, authoritative weight to his scenes as the judge (Wolfe’s white, racist Judge Kovitsky becomes Freeman’s righteous, voice of reason Judge White on film). Noted New Yorkers George Plimpton, Andre Gregory, Alan King and Richard Belzer pop up in small roles, suggesting a grit and lived-in authenticity that De Palma never strives for but should have.

The story lurches forward when it should have been fast-paced and engrossing. Wolfe’s edgy, provocative material has been brought to the screen with the edges sanded down.

Character actor John Hancock plays Reverand Bacon, the film’s thinly guised spoof of both Rev. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. It’s an ugly caricature, in a movie overflowing with them, but Hancock’s portrayal and the role itself display neither Sharpton nor Jackson’s charisma or showmanship.

Freeman’s climactic speech, the infamous “Be Decent To Each Other,” is a stinker, as is the rushed way the whole movie ends.

Wolfe’s brilliant, passionate and angry cautionary tale is all but gone, and the savage moments that break through here feel out of place. At one point, McCoy describes another character as “a poet, he has AIDS, you’ll love him!” The line should have satirical sting, but it just comes out as weird and mean spirited.

There’s an opera scene that, strangely, has an unmistakable and unfavorable similarity to the extraordinary opera scene from Jonathan Demme’s “Philadelphia” (1993), in which the pain in the music and the suffering of Hanks’ character in that film congeal.

The only scene that has any emotional impact is when Donald Moffat, playing McCoy’s father, confronts his son before the big trial. It’s the one moment that feels real. The insistence that everyone on screen be as crass as an obvious political cartoon undoes any of the nobler intentions of all involved.

It’s interesting to think that, at the very least, De Palma’s film was made during the time in which the novel was set, whereas any subsequent version would require expensive sets and costumes to recreate a lost era.

Wolfe’s novel was ahead of its time, but also VERY ’80s, whereas any subsequent adaptation would now have to stock up on the shoulder pads and “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirts.

Whereas Hank’s McCoy was eviscerated by the press and mocked openly in newsprint, “The Bonfire of the Vanities” was greeted by journalists all too happy to trample the film to death. It provided a real-life commentary on how the film and its subject matter died at the hands of movie critics who acted like vultures with vocabularies.

I wish I could say I was above picking on this movie, but time has not been kind to it, nor to anyone who endures sitting through it.

In the cinematic hall of shame, few infernos burned brighter than this “Bonfire.”

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‘Keeper’ Confirms New King of Horror

Osgood Perkins’ “Keeper” begins with a great, bone-chilling sequence: a montage of women, all existing at different moments in time, on a date with an unseen man that is about to go very badly.

The clothes and hairstyles suggest different eras, but these vignettes all end the same. A blood-freezing close-up of each woman, their faces caked in blood, screaming.

It is mercifully the most visceral shock here, as Perkins’ follow-up to his blockbuster “Longlegs” and this year’s hilarious, underrated “The Monkey” isn’t gory but generously dishes out the shocks.

The promotional items promise a “dark trip,” which is an understatement. “Keeper” is 100 percent proof nightmare fuel.

We meet Liz (Tatiana Maslany) and Malcolm (Rossif Sutherland) during a romantic getaway in an isolated cabin in the woods. The lovebirds are enjoying their time together when a knock at the door announces the arrival of Malcolm’s loathsome cousin Darren (Birkett Turton) and his weird girlfriend Minka (Eden Weiss).

In addition to the obnoxious Darren is, the other disruptive element is a chocolate cake, which is overly emphasized by Malcolm. Like everything else about this weekend in the woods, the chocolate cake is yet another thing that initially seems like a good idea but comes across like a red flag.

Perkins’ terrifying, surreal love story is centered by excellent performances from Maslany and Sutherland. Unlike most protagonists, Liz is aware of potential danger but is taking a calculated risk because she’s in love and, really, there’s no way she could fully sense the danger she’s in.

Sutherland, whose voice is in the same authoritatively low register as his father, the late Donald Sutherland, keeps us guessing as Malcolm. His chemistry with Maslany is so persuasive that I frequently forgot I was watching a horror film.

Moreso than prior Perkins films, “Keeper” is a love story. Turton, playing Cousin Darren, vividly creates Perkins’ most hateful character (yes, even moreso than Nicolas Cage’s Longlegs).

On a superficial level, the isolated setting and even the appearance of the lead female character bear a resemblance to Danny and Michael Philippou’s awful “Bring Her Back” from earlier in the year, which was derailed by the second act.

Perkins’ film, which builds steadily and sticks the landing, is closer to the works of David Lynch (particularly the most jolting moments from “Twin Peaks”) than “Companion” or “Oh, Hi!,” the other rom-coms-gone-bad from earlier in the year.

The story becomes a commentary on how a good relationship can seem like a prison sentence if the goal is to control and contain your partner (the title can also be written as “keep her”).

Of all of Perkins’ works, this one is closest to his “Gretel & Hansel” (2020), but not in the ways one expects. Yes, this can be interpreted as another be-careful-who-you-encounter-in-the-woods thriller. However, Perkins loves his characters, and his narratives feel driven by life’s unexpected detours and not by Screenwriting 101.

Perkins leaves the metaphors and personal parallels up to the viewer, never over-explaining the themes on hand. As a writer/director who creates an environment of fear and places people we understand and root for at the center of the threat, Perkins is among the best and smartest filmmakers working in this genre.

There are very few other contemporary masters of horror making film art at this level (Mike Flanagan is a close second).

“Keeper” is Perkins’ strongest and strangest work yet. Arriving the same year as “”Wolf Man,” “Sinners,” “Companion,” “Weapons,” “The Conjuring: Last Rites,” Final Destination: Bloodlines,” “Good Boy” and “Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein,” Perkins has made a film that, like the other standout genre films of 2025, surpasses expectations, is a filmmaking tour de force and, at its most unforgettable moments, profoundly scary and unsettling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I was able to shrug off the remake of “I Know What You Did Last Summer,” and I’ve already forgotten the capable but underwhelming “Black Phone 2,” but the third act of “Keeper” is still doing somersaults in my psyche, taunting me when I just want to get some sleep.

We’re still a few weeks away from “Five Nights at Freddy’s 2” but I’m calling it: this is the best horror film of 2025.

Four Stars

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Why ‘Eternity’ Feels So … Familiar

David Freyne’s “Eternity” is a schmaltzy fantasy/love story, in a year that already subjected filmgoers to “A Big Bold Beautiful Journey.”

Thirty-five years later, “Ghost” (1990) is still the king of these types of movies.

When we meet Larry (Barry Primus) and Joan (Betty Buckley), they are elderly and driving to a gender reveal party. When each dies at a separate time, Larry and Joan find themselves in an afterlife that resembles a Holiday Inn.

Case workers choose which version of Heaven one wants to spend the rest of eternity.

When Larry and Joan are rejoined in the afterlife, they look like their younger selves and are now played by Miles Teller and Elizabeth Olsen. The couple appears destined for eternal bliss. Until Joan’s deceased first husband, played by Callum Turner, reappears and expresses that he never stopped loving her.

Nothing about “Eternity” is offensively bad. As a depiction of what happens when we die, it can be taken as seriously as the science in “Star Wars.”

The most disagreeable thing about it is how much it rips off Albert Brooks’ “Defending Your Life” (1991). The premise, nature of the jokes and themes explored are so similar that Brooks might want to seriously sue the screenwriters for plagiarism.

Teller is playing Larry as an old man, which mean the actor dials down his natural comic exuberance. Weird but true – Teller’s performance here isn’t unlike his take on Mr. Fantastic in the unloved “Fantastic Four” (2015).

Prior to his breakout roles in “Whiplash” (2014) and “Top Gun: Maverick” (2022), Teller appeared in dumb but entertaining teen comedies (like “21 & Over” and “Project X”) where he stood out as a quick-witted comic scene stealer.

I wish that kind of energy were on display here.

Olsen is giving a dramatic performance and rarely leans into the screenplay’s comic beats. Teller and Olsen are such powerhouse actors, I have no idea what drew them to such a lightweight project like this.

Turner is playing a “perfect” man, but he’s utterly boring, akin to watching James Marsden in “The Notebook” (2004). To think what Ryan Gosling could have done with this role.

Da’Vine Joy Randolph plays Larry’s case worker and has some of the best moments, though her role isn’t much; it’s especially disheartening when you compare what Rip Torn did with basically the same role in “Defending Your Life.”

Ditto, the rules and gags about the afterlife were better and funnier in that film.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Most of the story is set in this state of limbo, which resembles a hotel complex/ bus depot, making for a mostly visually uninteresting film.

A bit involving Dean Martin is funny, and the promos for each of the advertised afterlife worlds (like Mountain World and Library World) are amusing sight gags. Otherwise, the premise would be best utilized for a “Saturday Night Live” skit and seems too drawn out for a feature film.

“Eternity” may play as a fantasy for some, in the same way “The Notebook” and “Tequila Sunrise” (1988), to name a few, offer the who-will-she-pick hook of the love story. It’s also a film for an older audience, since the central characters are geriatrics on the inside and the film is basically about deciding who you want to retire with.

A much better fantasy about deciding who you want to grow older with is Ron Howard’s “Cocoon” (1985).

I liked the final scenes, though they borrow a great deal from “Eternal Sunshine from the Spotless Mind” (2004). However, without spoiling anything, the conclusion is basically telling us, “If you can’t have the one you love, then love the one you’re with.”

In case you’ve lost count, I’m accusing “Eternity” of ripping off Albert Brooks, Charlie Kaufman and Crosby, Stills & Nash.

One and a Half Stars (out of four)

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Movies for Men: ‘Sideways’ (2004)

Jack Lopate is about to get married, and all he can think about his cheating on his fiancée.

His buddy Miles Raymond is too buried in his own misery to stop him.

So goes “Sideways,” the Oscar-nominated dramedy that earned five Oscar nominations in 2004, winning for Best Adapted Screenplay (Alexander Payne, Jim Taylor).

The film earned a healthy $71 million stateside, the kind of figure Oscar-bait films rarely earn in our streaming age. Consider three recent examples from this year’s awards season race:

• “Die My Love” – $5.4 million / three weeks 
• “Rental Family” – $3.3 million / opening frame
• “Bugonia” – $16.9 million / five weeks

What’s vital about “Sideways,” beyond its dry wit and assault on Merlot wine? The film captures essential truths about manhood, and some are far from flattering.

Paul Giamatti plays Miles, a school teacher and wannabe author, taking his friend Jack (Thomas Haden Church) on a pre-wedding vacation. The plan is simple – tour Wine Country and celebrate Jack’s final days as a single man.

It’s not so easy.

Jack, a fading actor, intends to leave bachelorhood behind by having sex with someone new before time runs out. Miles is mostly miserable, struggling to find a publisher for his novel and still mourning the loss of his own marriage.

In between wine tastings, the pair flirt with two beguiling women. Sandra Oh plays Stephanie, a plucky bartender who falls for Jack’s screen-tested charisma. Virginia Madsen, snagging a Best Supporting Actress nomination, is a budding wine snob enchanted by Miles’ expertise on the subject.

What could go wrong? Plenty in this wise and witty film that holds up perfectly 21 years later.

Director/co-writer Payne ensures every exchange is grounded in real emotions. Miles is a sad sack, but he’s relentlessly loyal to Jack. The would-be groom feels the same toward Miles, putting up with endless shrugs and moods.

Their bickering feels natural, not forced. And it’s often very funny.

Watching the pair woo the ladies in question is a fascinating study in contrasts. Jack could charm Stephanie in his REM sleep. Miles misses every cue Madsen’s Maya throws his way, turning their flirtation into a master class in cringe.

Why is this a “men’s” movie? Where are the car chases and machine gun shootouts?

Payne and co. capture how men think, behave and respond to pressure. Miles should counsel Jack against pursuing one last fling, but he can barely keep his head up in his sorry state.

Jack has a seemingly sweet fiancée whose family can set him up for life in the family business. That isn’t enough for someone able to woo women at a moment’s notice. He sees marriage as the end of his libido, and it terrifies him.

What if I meet someone better? Younger? More beautiful?

Both understand that Miles’ best chance at romance, on a superficial level, is to pretend his book deal is a done deal. They underestimate how Maya might react to the book itself, or that she finds Miles’ intellect as attractive as six-pack abs.

The men in play are immature, reckless and occasionally rude, yet the script also views them with empathy. Plus, the consequences for Jack’s behavior flow organically from the story.

There’s no speech about The Patriarchy to slow down the story or betray the redemptive arcs.

FAST FACT: They called it the “Sideways Effect.” Sales for Pinot Noir spiked after the film’s release, based on Miles’ affection for the varietal. The news wasn’t as good for Merlot, which suffered a sales slump due to Miles’ distaste for it.

The best movies about men and male friendship acknowledge flaws without condemning the characters. Yes, Jack takes a whupping once Stephanie realises he’s mere days from getting married. And Miles’ best chance at romance nearly capsizes after Maya learns how his pal betrayed Stephanie.

Consequences, not finger-wagging lectures. Ah, to be back in 2004 again.

Payne’s camera captures the various vineyards and thoroughfares with an eye for their unassailable beauty. He also highlights the seedier side of the duo’s actions.

The sad hotel hot tubs. The lonely walks along neon-lit streets. The motel rooms and their ghastly bedspreads.

It’s like … life, and “Sideways” never flinches from it. Even when we see men at their very worst.

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‘Last PIcture Show’ – A Perfect Blast from the Past

Peter Bogdanovich’s “The Last Picture Show” is a film I feel deeply.

Every time I return to it, there’s always a sense of going back to an old town, recognizing how it used to look and considering how life has changed so much since the last time I visited. Because the film is frozen in time, as every film is, but portrays the past with a sense of regret and nostalgia, it hits harder than most films that are designed to create inner reflection.

Taking place mostly in Anarene High School and in the living room and bedrooms of the town folk, we’re introduced to a cluster of teenagers and their parents living in Anarene, Texas of 1951. The teens are a piece of work but so are their parents, who we learn were once every bit the troublemakers their kids are.

We meet Ellen Burstyn as Lois, the life-weary but still glamorous mother of Jacy, played by Cybil Shepherd. Cloris Leachman is Ruth Popper, a lonely widow who becomes infatuated with Sonny, played by Timothy Bottoms- Sonny is basically the film’s central character.

There’s also a gawky young Randy Quaid as Lester, Jeff Bridges as high schooler Duane Jackson (Bridges is baby-faced but still sounding the same), Clu Gulager as the questionable Abilene (Gulager was a charismatic scene stealer) and Ben Johnson’s Sam the Lion. The latter actor has a killer monologue, with Bogdanovich’s camera pushing in on his beautiful speech.

The citizens of Anarene read Colliers Magazine, watch “Father of the Bride” (1950) at the one movie theater in town, attend all the town’s social rituals and all carry secrets. It’s based on Larry McMurtry’s 1966 novel of the same name, which is said to be semi-autobiographical and based on his experiences in Archer City, Texas.

This is a lived-in environment, as nothing we see looks like a set. Bogdanovich’s film is one of the essential works of the 1970s, a time when the director and screenwriter were calling the shots.

“The Last Picture Show” is observant, honest, character-driven and sublime.

Bogdanovich’s approach, in that the film replicates the look of a film from the 1950s but is unflinching in its depiction of sexual discovery and betrayal, separates it from most movies that offer a look back at the past. It’s striking to watch a film that looks like it was made during the Golden Era of Cinema but features sexual frankness and a contemporary eye.

Some compared the film to Orson Welles’ “Citizen Kane” (1941) because it was, likewise, a debut film shot in black and white. If anything, Bogdanovich’s film compares to Welles’ in that it was a first movie that towered over everything else in his body of work.

Welles aficionados will probably state, as I often do, that “Citizen Kane” is still fantastic but no match for the compromised but amazing “The Magnificent Ambersons” (1942) and Welles unbeatable, utterly fantastic “Touch of Evil” (1958).

In a similar way, “The Last Picture Show” deserves distinction as a perfect film, though Bogdanovich not only made the comparably stellar “Paper Moon” (1973) afterward, but his “Mask” (1985) is one of the best films of the 1980s.

Like Welles, Bogdanovich’s cinematographer makes sweeping moves and captures arresting angles that surprise for how striking they still are.

Few filmmakers who proclaimed themselves students of Welles and Hitchcock were actually at this level. Bogdanovich’s best works demonstrate his tremendous skill at film craftmanship, as well as a simpatico and trust with actors.

For a story about young people and the adults in their lives doing rotten things to one another, the compassion of the story always gets to me.

In the first scene, Sonny’s date bares her breasts for him, then is furious when his fingertips are too cold. Even during the most sexually frank moments, McMurtry keeps it honest and real. There’s lots of sexual discovery and humiliation, but the point is contrasting the difference between sex and intimacy.

Burstyn’s performance, which wasn’t the most acclaimed when the film was initially in release, is my favorite in the film. Burstyn conveys so much here. She has a killer line: “Everything gets old if you do it enough. Learn about monotony.”

The final scene still devastates me – when Duane leaves town and Sonny is on his own, that’s when things begin to crumble for him, almost immediately.

“The Last Picture Show” portrays the agony of change and loss. The former aspect is reserved for the long-gone movie theater, in which the camera lingers in a few shots, while the latter is Bottoms’ late brother. The final fade out speaks volumes, as Sonny is the town, his story a pillar, whereas Duane escaped.

America still looks like this; I’ve spent lots of time in towns in Kansas, Nebraska and Colorado that have more than a passing resemblance to Anarene. From my experience, the people who live in very small towns are either grateful for the quiet and passionate about their town, or just feel stuck and don’t know quite how to part with a familiar way of life.

I love visiting places like that and meeting people who love where they are. At the same time, I know how Duane feels, as the stillness and compact environment make me want to drive away and keep going.

Bogdanovich creates a sustained, confident style, with sudden tonal shifts that hit hard but always work. I had the great joy of seeing “The Last Picture Show” in 2005 at the great Mayan Theater in Denver, Colorado. Seeing Bogdanovich’s film in a theater is a joy that I hope other cinephiles can experience.

On the other hand, while “The Last Picture Show” remains a powerful work, there is a sequel.

Based on McMurtry’s 1987 novel, Bogdanovich’s “Texasville” (1990) reunited most of the cast from the original film, taking place 33 years later and is set in Anarene during the Reagan era. Bridges’ Duane has returned to Anarene, where he runs a successful business and now has Ruth as his secretary.

Duane’s marriage to Karla (a terrific Annie Potts) is rocky, and it seems that everyone in town is still bed hopping and failing to keep their personal lives from falling spectacularly apart. The one exception is Sonny, who seems haunted and numb by his past.

When Jacy returns to Anarene for the town’s centennial, it rattles Duane, but also gives him a sense of perspective his aimless life has otherwise lacked.

Long out of print and yet to be fully appreciated for its highly unusual approach as a sequel, “Texasville” is, like its predecessor, quiet and observant, farcical in tone but never as funny as it thinks it is. Instead, it has these quiet, profound moments, but it finally fizzles out at the end.

It’s too good to dismiss, but it’s never as great as it should have been.

As in the original, it boldly resists the temptation to make the characters likable. The episodic nature of the story makes it feel fragmented, rather than having the varying plot points meet together, as it did in the original.

When “Texasville” arrived in theaters during the fall of 1990, “The Last Picture Show” was out of print and had not even been released on videocassette at that point. Not seeing the first film diminishes the strengths of “Texasville.”

Yes, the sequel is little more than a literal high school class reunion for the characters, but what a worthy reason to have a film!

Bogdanovich stumbled with farce in his later years, as the skill with slapstick that highlighted his “What’s Up, Doc?” (1972) was not always present in subsequent works. For example, whereas “Noises Off!” (1992) worked, “Illegally Yours” (1988) did not.

“What ‘The Last Picture Show’ (1971) did was establish me. I didn’t have to make another picture. I could have just lived off of that one, or I could have kept making the same picture over & over.”

— Peter Bogdanovich pic.twitter.com/kgXu9MIrTl

— DepressedBergman (@DannyDrinksWine) May 4, 2024

Instead of creating a contrivance for the characters to run through, McMurtry allows them to show themselves for who they are. Not all of the performances are great, but the best of “Texasville” is in the way it creates a continuity between the films that is honest.

Too many sequels fail to justify their existence, but this one does, simply because we want to know what happened to those characters. What we see, even at the film’s broadest, is telling, sad and fascinating.

This time, McMurtry’s screenplay is semi-plotless but still lively, just as the high school reunion is in the movie.
What Shephard and Bottoms do here is extraordinary – the former gives an earthy, compelling performance as a woman in charge of her life, while the latter never resorts to grandstanding to portray a man who has lost his way since the events of the first film.

Time has made Jacy tough and smart, whereas the years have caused Sonny to fade. I wanted more of Leachman, though her scenes here are delightful. There’s no Burstyn, as her character has been killed off.

“Texasville” is often more shrill than funny, as the flimsy narrative comes apart at the end…or maybe it just resists consistent narrative structuring and finally bellyflops when the obvious climax is presented.

The big nothing of a climax might just be exactly the point – as the camera pulls back and the crane shot gives us one last God’s eye view of Anarene, we’re once again noting the passing of time, and how little changes and how those in this mini-universe also don’t change that much, either.

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