Short Take: All That Jazz

One may be inclined to think of All That Jazz, directed and co-written by Bob Fosse, as two movies: Jazz and All That. The Jazz movie is an enormously entertaining backstage drama. It’s a fictional treatment of Fosse’s experiences during the post-production of his 1974 film Lenny, and the concurrent casting and rehearsals of the stage musical Chicago, which debuted on Broadway in 1975. The director-choreographer’s self-portrait is warts-and-all. The Fosse character (played by Roy Scheider) is a womanizer and an obsessive workaholic. He’s shown throwing his all into his two projects while trying not to alienate his producers, the young dancer he’s grooming (Deborah Geffner), and those in his personal life: his steady girlfriend (Ann Reinking), his ex-wife and stage-show leading lady (Leland Palmer), and his 12-year-old daughter (Erzsébet Foldi). One sees all the angst of the director’s life, but one also sees the work he takes pride in. There are the occasional joys as well, such as the happier moments with his daughter and girlfriend. The portrayal is anchored by Roy Scheider’s outstanding performance. He’s completely convincing as a harried, occasionally tyrannical perfectionist, and he makes it all of a piece with the character’s considerable charm. Scheider makes one believe one is watching Fosse as he truly is. That’s the Jazz movie, and it's terrific. However, there is also the All That movie mixed in. Following the obvious lead of the Federico Fellini film 8½, Fosse includes multiple fantasy scenes in which the director reflects on his life. These climax in a tasteless five-song production-number finale that may be the most insufferable musical sequence ever put on film. Thankfully, the non-fantasy material is so strong that one quickly puts the All That movie out of mind. The Jazz movie reigns. Giuseppe Rotunno provided the cinematography, and Alan Heim is credited with the top-notch editing. Robert Alan Aurthur is credited with co-writing the script.

Short Take: Star Trek: The Motion Picture

This review originally appeared on Pol Culture.

Star Trek has been described as the middle ground between the unabashed pulp fantasy of Star Wars and the philosophical science fiction of 2001: A Space Odyssey. In 1979, the initial TV series received an upgrade to feature-film status with Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The filmmakers, namely producer Gene Roddenberry and director Robert Wise, were clearly eager to identify it with the 2001 end of the genre spectrum. They went ridiculously overboard. The story takes place a few years after the end of the television series. A massive, destructive, and apparently omnipotent alien entity is making its way towards Earth. The Star Trek crew’s ship, the Enterprise, is the only vessel in range to intercept it. This is a solid premise for a science-fiction adventure film, but the picture is too bloated with its own sense of importance to be entertaining. Action scenes are kept to a minimum, and the story seems less about drama than pseudo-philosophical blather, such as questions about the nature of one’s relationship to the Creator, the role the quest for knowledge plays in the meaning of existence, and so forth. These never go anywhere worthwhile, and their conceit is insufferable. The screenplay, credited to Harold Livingston and Alan Dean Foster, also has little feel for the character relationships that helped define the TV show. A central dynamic was of the man-of-action Captain Kirk (William Shatner) squaring the circle of the opposed views of his two main lieutenants: the cold, logic-minded Spock (Leonard Nimoy) and the passionate, emotion-driven ship’s doctor (DeForest Kelley). That’s all but gone, and the other series regulars (James Doohan, Nichelle Nichols, George Takei, and Walter Koenig) are little more than extras. Like 2001, the film seeks to end on a moment of lofty existential transcendence, but it’s reactionary rather than hopeful--the threat has been contained--and it seems ridiculously pretentious. The film clearly follows 2001’s lead with other elements, and at times it’s blatantly derivative. One example is the leisurely, symphonic-music scored piece of sightseeing around an immense spacecraft; another is a prolonged effects-laden “Stargate” sequence. The film also mimics 2001’s slow, deliberate rhythms. However, the effect here is tedium; there’s none of the grandeur that 2001’s director, Stanley Kubrick, was able to evoke. The picture was poorly received, and it proved a false start for the movie franchise. The series wouldn’t begin in earnest until the second installment, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. The only thing introduced that proved worth keeping was Jerry Goldsmith’s majestic score. The cast also includes Stephen Collins and Persis Khambatta. The cinematography is by Richard H. Kline. Douglas Trumbull oversaw the special effects.