Horrible, fascist and poorly acted

Dreadfully Boring

A Disappointing Continuation

Although it has its amusing moments, in eneral the plot does not convince.

After this, Antonioni's third English language film, he would make several more including Identification of a Woman (1982) and Beyond the Clouds (1995) but this was probably his last really great film. It is not as startlingly stunning throughout as some certainly are but the ending is so fantastic that it changes ones perception of the whole film. Jack Nicholson is on peak form and allows himself to be coaxed into a very laid back and effective performance which is vital in view of the crucial and central role he plays (or is that roles!?). It is a pity that Schneider came off Last Tango with such a chip on her shoulder but she does enough here to ensure that the improbable relationship is plausible enough even if we have some doubt as to who she might be. Intelligent and inspirational film making that encourages multiple viewings and although it is some time since I saw it previously I am already tempted to watch it again.

Lately I just haven't been able to hit it right with my film rentals. This is yet another example.Lest all of you find me an idiot, I'll say up front that I really love Blow-Up, also from this team, along with dozens of other films. This just wasn't one of them.The story is that David Locke (Jack Nicholson), a reporter, is sent to Africa to write about activities there. While in a cheap hotel, he finds the dead body of someone he knows slightly, a man named Robertson. Locke is obviously miserable with his life because he takes this man's identity, puts the dead body in his room, and everyone thinks he's the one who died.This man, Robertson, had an airport locker number written down -- obviously this is before 9/11, when they got rid of the lockers. Inside Robertson finds a bunch of papers with gun drawings, and later he is approached by two men who ask them for the papers. Turns out Robertson was running guns and being paid a large amount of money.Robertson/Locke picks up with a young woman (Maria Schneider) who tags along with him. When he finds out that a reporter friend of Locke's is looking for him, Robertson, he gets the girl to help him escape. They take off together.However, Locke's wife has discovered the switch and everyone is after him -- the terrorists want Robertson, Locke's wife wants to know what's going on, and she has the police with her.This had the makings of an exciting story but instead it was long, boring, without much dialogue, but with beautifully framed shots and interesting locations, plus a good performance by Nicholson.I freely admit I don't understand the appeal of a film like this. It had no energy, no pulse, and I didn't feel anything for the characters. It's always films like this that get huge scores on IMDb and are hailed as masterpieces. To me, No Country for Old Men was a masterpiece, A Man Escaped is a masterpiece, Autumn Sonata, Ace in the Hole, The Dead, Fargo, so many others, but alas, not this one. I guess I'm not deep enough.

Journalist David Locke (Jack Nicholson) travels the Sahara Desert and meets gunrunner David Robertson. He finds the lookalike gunrunner dead and switches identities. He tries to fly away but others believing he's the real Robertson want him to deliver. In Barcelona, he meets a girl (Maria Schneider). Meanwhile his old colleagues are looking for Robertson to do a story on Locke's last days.It's very naturalistic, slow, long scenes, lots of nothingness and rather ponderous. The first half is a real drag. Maria Schneider comes in after an hour. She's able to inject a little bit of energy, a very little. At least, Jack Nicholson has somebody to truly interact with. That's my main objection to the first half. It's all about trying to figure out what the heck he's doing. There is the fascinating single shot scene near the end. It's interesting to see the only true saving grace. At least, this is director Michelangelo Antonioni's style. It just isn't mine.

Which you might call a better film, since it was more natural, less self-admiring and self-conscious, as well as three years earlier. There was a Girl-with-no-Name. She was a sort of a pick-up, in a way. Nicholson, like Oates, was someone who seemed to have lost his target in life, as well as the plot of his existence, and didn't know who he really was. We were told a little more about where Nicholson was coming from, though, which we never learned about Oates. Also, this was a kind of a road-movie, although the road criss-crossed the Mediterranean, not what I assume was the Bible belt, and the white convertible was more of a clipper than the 55 Chevy.The other characters in their bit-parts didn't seem to have much existence, either, and were just hanging around, waiting for something. Some reviewers complain about Schneider's performance. I thought she was just fine and dandy. Pity about that stupid Tango film. Couldn't see that she was high or doped in any way. Hendry, on the other hand, seemed to me genuinely and permanently sozzled every scene he was in. After it was all over, I spent time racking my brains to discover who someone called Stephen actually was, as I couldn't recall anyone with that name, or anyone playing a part which would fit someone of that name. I think I finally managed to place him. I have this funny feeling that if my name was Berkoff, I'd change it.Strange things happen in this movie. An African man, looking like a guerrilla leader, whose identity was obscure, was shot before our eyes, in real time, and in obvious reality. I never discovered why. Another man was suddenly kicked in the guts. I never worked that out either.I enjoyed this film. Can't really say why. I liked the photography, and the pace. It was slow, but it didn't seem slow. I kept expecting for things to happen, just like Blacktop. Another similarity was in the long-shots, where actions were happening in both foreground and background --- as well as middle-ground. I'm sure I will watch this again, and you can't ask for more when it comes to cinema. If you haven't seen Two-Lane Blacktop, try it. Another thought, as film-makers advance in years, they seem to abandon the idea of telling coherent stories, and, like I think Hitchcock once said, they just make pictures. Doesn't matter if these pictures don't join up, just because they move. Like walking through an exhibition in a picture gallery. It's happened to Tarantino as well.I was truly and exceptionally interested to see that Peter Wollen, an Oggsford man, had part-written the script.