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Capsule Review

Bell, Book and Candle (1958)

Tell me if you’ve heard this one: Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak star as romantic leads in a 1958 Technicolor film. This, of course, describes Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo, an all-time masterpiece, but it also applies to a fluffy little delight of a witch-themed romcom that has some beatnik flavor to it, Bell, Book and Candle. Stewart landed this role as the other half of the trade that sent Novak to Paramount for Vertigo. (Essentially all documentation I can find on the film eschews the Oxford comma in the title. The film’s own opening title card goes even further and skips the commas entirely.)

The mood on this one is great, shot in Greenwich Village with great scenes set in clubs and on the streets. Legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe gives it groovy, green-heavy lighting; he said he had a blast experimenting with tinted lights and filters on this one. It also benefits from an extremely charming supporting cast: Jack Lemmon playing a gay-coded warlock, Ernie Kovacs as a paranormal-obsessed writer, and, most importantly, a remarkable cat named Pyewacket. Novak’s Gillian is about as bewitching as any woman has ever been on film (this and I Married a Witch make a great double feature of contrasting but magnificent examples of eye-popping beauty and screen command with Lake and Novak). Funny that it’s ever-great Stewart who is the closest thing to a wet blanket among the bunch; he’s a bit too old and stodgy for the part, and it’s no surprise this is generally considered his final turn as a romantic lead.

It’s a lightweight affair, and its ending feels a bit like a selling out of the spirit of witchy, feminist freedom that Gillian displays throughout the film, but it’s a good time nonetheless.

This review appeared in Goodie Bag: Witch Movies

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Capsule Review

The Love Witch (2016)

The Love Witch is a film of both glimmering achievement and exhausting frustration

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Capsule Review

I Married a Witch (1942)

It’s tough to imagine a movie aging better than the screwball comedy I Married a Witch

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Capsule Review

The Devils (1971)

The Devils is one of those films that forces you to ask why it is you watch movies, and I frankly don’t know what to do with it.

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Review Capsule

Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Roman Polanski is an awful, woman-terrorizing human being; so, I guess it sorta fits that he’s made one of the most gripping and unnerving depictions of a woman being terrorized by something awful.

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Capsule Review

Day of Wrath (1943)

Day of Wrath is a strong candidate for the best movie about witchcraft, or, at least, alleged witchcraft.

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Shorts (2009)

The Robert Rodriguez kiddie digital filmmaking experience remains a half-coherent, sugar-coated blast of prepubescent id.

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38 at the Garden (2022)

I absolutely love the Linsanity story (genuinely one of the greatest American sports moments of the 21st century), and that goodwill carries this HBO doc to a certain extent, but I was continually annoyed how little of it is actually basketball-focused and how much it rushes the story. I’d much rather see more of the footage and hear the actual crowd cheers than listen to people who watched it on TV describe it.

Also, I understand there are deep cultural connections between the magic of Linsanity and the wave in Asian American hate crimes since 2020, but it’s still kind of a curveball downer of a topic for a doc about something inspiring that happened 10 years ago.

Why is the comedian Hasan Minhaj narrating 60% of this? Why does he talk more than Jeremy Lin?

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Capsule

Call Jane (2022)

Call Jane is a breezy indie dramedy about back-alley abortions. Read that sentence again.

While it crosses over into something transgressive a few times — for example, a debate about who gets their limited free abortion slots (a rape victim, a 12 year old, etc.) that plays like dinnertime banter — but in general what’s most surprising about Call Jane is how down-the-middle and low-stakes the movie is given its subject matter.

The film presents itself as uplifting slice of feminism, which I suppose is part of the point: its characters (and its filmmakers) want to normalize reproductive rights the same we do voting rights and freedom of the press and the usual topics of films like this. But it still feels so tonally jarring to me.

It’s well-made enough as a production. Elizabeth Banks and Sigourney Weaver are reliably charismatic, and Cory Michael Smith gives the film a blast of dark wryness as the doctor performing the abortions. But it just feels a little bit baffling and off-key its whole runtime.

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To Leslie (2022)

To Leslie mercifully starts us at rock-bottom, meaning this addiction-recovery drama is almost all upwards-oriented, even with the occasional backslide. Given its dour topic of a lottery winner’s life completely broken down, it’s almost charming and cheery.

Andrea Riseborough really is that good: she’s funny and humane and sad in perfect balance. It’s not on the level of Blanchett or Yeoh (or the criminally un-nominated Mia Goth in Pearl) where we’ll still be talking about it a decade from now, but the Academy has nominated less worthy performances, even this year. (See: Judd Hirsch’s 90 seconds on screen.)

Marc Maron is pretty great, too.