Word: camerawork
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...vocal and physical ballet: dodging and twisting around outstretched crucifixes, rasping out curses in defiance of his mortal captors, raging and hissing as he buckles into his cape and subsequently dissolves into a puff of smoke. How can he transfix us so in the face of Badham's busy camerawork and sudden flashes of gratuitous violence...
DIED. Philippe Cousteau, 39, younger son and chief collaborator of Jacques-Yves Cousteau in oceanographic studies and films; after the seaplane he was piloting sank upon landing near Alverca, Portugal. The M.I.T.-educated Cousteau, who donned his first wet suit as a toddler, directed the camerawork for his father's Emmy Award-winning TV series...
DEWITT: Get Out Your Handkerchiefs. About on-par with Cousin. Cousine: real lightweight. Maybe I could pick the ten best movies of 1978...I don't think I've seen ten movies in 1978. Terry Malick's Days of Heaven was wonderful. There's Dolby for you. And camerawork--Zsigmond again in places, and Haskell Wexler. Believe it or not, that movie taught me a lot about cinema...about compositions, how to use a moving camera, color...That's the best movie of the year, better than Malick's Badlands, too. His best. I loved Brooke Adams. Real odd, distinctive...
...least not in the fractured, badly edited take-offs, where the colors stink of chemicals and you can tell that any life has been squeezed out in special effects laboratories. Director Richard Donner and the late cameraman Geoffrey Unswerth provide some striking compositions (although the camerawork is far too heavy on rising and dipping crane shots), but Donner puts them together ineptly--whole sequences seem chopped up and hurried, and the images don't flow into each other. Superman is 100% studio hype; is the public so gullible that it can flock to a film because the studio says...
...recommended only for people, with Roman Polanski-esque leanings. As you probably read in People or the National Enquirer or something, Pretty Baby features the astonishingly ripe 12-year-old starlet, Brooke Shields, as a child growing up in a New Orleans whorehouse around 1917. Director Louis Malle's camerawork is beautiful, as it has been in many of his earlier films, but the story and acting in this fiasco are purely insipid. Particularly bad is Keith Carradine as the voyeur-dissipant who takes little Brooke away from all the evil and loses her later. Carradine's particular brand...