Bruno Morphet

Reviled by the original Beats, most notably Allen Ginsberg, and now virtually unobtainable in video form (let alone DVD) from any source, The Subterraneans has been derided as a Hollywood hatchet job bearing very little resemblance to the Kerouac book on which its based. The plot is simple, disillusioned writer, George Peppard, explores the 'subterranean' depths of San Francisco's North Beach district circa 1959 looking for anybody who will share his jaded perspective on life and finds romance amongst the Beatniks in the form of slightly touched Leslie Caron (original book's black female love interest is replaced by a French girl for Hollywood palates). Script is similarly lightweight, with intermittent nods to the language of the Beats and a clumsy attempt to re-create the famous Ginsberg "Howl" reading, but nevertheless the movie as a whole is stangely compelling in a historical sense, not as a faithful representation of Beat culture, but rather as a view on how the Beats were commoditized and became 'Beatniks'. If you have an interest in the popular culture of the time, daddio, then like, seek this flick out, if you're a serious Beat scholar, stay away.

The Red House is unique not just for the incredible versatility

displayed by Edward G Robinson, but also the dark subject matter

that is dealt with here. A lot of the true meanings are hidden in

subtext, but after a while, the viewer begins to grasp the potential

horror of the situation as the true psychology of Ed G's character is

slowly revealed. Like the previous reviewer stated, the film

precedes Lynch in introducing us to the picture perfect exterior of

the little farming town and its inhabitants as they go about their

business before we are introduced to the darker secrets hidden in

their pasts and the lengths they go to to cover them up. One of the finer films of the period.

I lasted about 50 minutes in this movie until Jim Broadbent's leering ginger mug repulsed me so much I had to leave. There is no denying the beauty of the art direction here, but it really is the proverbial purse made from a sow's ear. The script is appalling, the plot paper thin. In the grand tradition of all those terrible puppet shows your parents made you sit through when you were a child, there are characters who exist for no reason other than to add a sort of aural punctuation to the main characters songs and sentences. John Leguizamo's entire dialogue seems to consist of beeps and squeaks at appropriate moments. Then there are the songs...ah yes...the songs. If you want to shake things up a bit and "re-invent" genres, which Luhrman is no doubt trying to do, is dull radio fodder like Elton John really the way to go? The choice of such songs smacked of product placement. Beyond this, add the fact that Ewan Mcgregor cannot sing, Kidman's voice was flat, and both of them gave up trying to act before the movie had even begun, and you have an undeniably excruciating experience.