The plot of Nancy Drew (2007), which involves a dead movie star’s illegitimate daughter, is not really proper for the demographic for which the movie is intended.  Worse, the plot becomes just this side of stupid.  How, then, does Andrew Fleming’s commercial pic manage to be so entertaining?

To begin with, the Nancy Who Doesn’t Fit In is on center stage (hooray!):  At Hollywood High she’s the new girl with her retro ways and her unusual sleuthing in a world of potential kid killers.  She wears penny loafers, keeps her hair straight, and is a big believer in courtesy.  Laura Elena Harring exits from Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, only to get murdered in Nancy Drew.  She enacts a beloved film star whose mysterious death in the 1970s Nancy investigates.

Curious stuff—sufficiently curious to be rather engaging—but that’s not all:  When the movie tries for humor, it’s witty.  Daniella Monet, as snooty teen Inga, gets some of the top lines, e.g. the one about Nancy’s “podiatrist.”  The cast is fun.  What kind of range she has, or will have later, I don’t know, but toothy Emma Roberts is irresistible as Sleuth Drew.  Monet, Josh Flitter and Barry Bostwick are comically strong as well.  Alexander Gruszynski’s cinematography impresses with its now playful, now sinister color and light.  One could do worse than a non-parodic Emma-as-Nancy franchise.  (This was written in 2007.  No such franchise came about.)

Nancy Drew (2007 film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Once again I have not read the source material for a particular film—the 1972 Fat City—taken from a novel by Leonard Gardner. Charles Thomas Samuels did not find the film to be the success that the novel is, and, sure enough, although Gardner wrote the script, the John Huston-directed movie does seem slight and vague and even inartistic.

With force and imagination Stacy Keach plays a damaged ex-boxer, now a boozer, who finally tries to go back to the ring. The inability of a vocation (e.g. professional boxer) to sustain a person psychologically and spiritually is a theme here, but Fat City is a frail deliverer of it. This is despite the headway Keach makes, which headway he shares with actors Nicholas Colasanto, Jeff Bridges and Candy Clark. No “fat city,” meaning “out of condition” (Samuels), from them.

Like the first Atlas Shrugged film, Atlas Shrugged, Part 2 (2013) is flawed but beguiling. I called it terrific in my review, but, no, that’s too strong. It’s good.

Question: Aren’t the politicians in the picture afraid of being voted out of office? They’re REALLY throwing their weight around, and being foolish and deceitful about the public good. Socialistic thinkers are going to extremes that almost all ordinary Americans would refuse to condone, and it’s behavior related to the big-government endeavors of officeholders today.

Trump aims to use a tariff to try to keep business owners from buying Canadian aluminum. Biden hopes to force religious organizations to partly pay for any contraceptive or abortifacient an employee might wish to possess. Probably, also, he would like to increase taxes for corporations. Nancy Pelosi seizes taxpayers’ money in our Medicare coffers and uses it to shore up Obamacare. Granted, these are not extremes, but it doesn’t matter. They issue from those who exercise power in inappropriate ways—putatively for . . . the public good. It makes sense to see them as close cousins of the socialistic thinkers in AS, Part 2.

I refuse to read the atheistic Ayn Rand. Whether Paul Johansson‘s film, Atlas Shrugged, Part 1 (2011), is faithful to Rand’s novel I don’t know, but in fact the movie more or less stands on its own. I reviewed it on this site years ago and I find it faulty but worthwhile.

Now what engages my mind is how relevant AS is to America in 2020. That a railroad company makes copious money because trains are the only affordable means of transportation in a blighted U.S. economy is an odd conceit, but not odd at all is the tendency of government to throw its weight around. In the face of a blighted economy it does this (of course), as it does today in America. But it is not done only through legislation. The decision of the movie’s State Science Institute to declare Hank Reardon’s metal unsafe may be the equivalent of the Veterans Health Administration concluding that hydroxychloroquine is a worthless drug against COVID-19. This, I believe, is a lie with respect to people who show COVID-19 symptoms for the first seven days, but the VA fecklessly wants to discredit Donald Trump for promoting hydroxychloroquine (plus azithromycin). The dystopia we have in today’s U.S. is, lamentably, not much different from that which exists in Atlas Shrugged, Part 1.

I watched an hour and 20 minutes of the Sam Peckinpah film, The Killer Elite (1975), until, weary of how stupid it was, I stopped. James Caan and Robert Duvall enact two employees of a violence-using private company affiliated with the CIA. Expecting more money from another source, Duvall commits murder and betrays Caan by shooting him in the kneecap. I knew I was in trouble with the film when, a relatively short time later, Caan, sporting a cane, starts taking judo or karate lessons (whichever they are).

An hour into the movie, Caan and a team of his confront the guns of Duvall and his crew of scumbags. Waiting to fire on Caan’s team, one of the scumbags sits not in a simple car but in a stolen or borrowed garbage truck! (He’s trying to be sneaky, you see.) Let me comment also that this sequence did not exactly inspire memorable dialogue.

Peckinpah was a talented director who worked with some knowing film editors, but he was mostly inept at writing and judging writing. The men behind the script here tut-tut the CIA because of its . . . contracting, but as the late John Simon explained, if these gents had known unpleasant truths about the CIA, they would not have been allowed to impart them. I don’t know what The Killer Elite is imparting.