Diablo: (dir: Lawrence Roeck) Diablo is an interesting idea for a Western which has gone badly awry. At first, it looks like the Outlaw Josey Wales: an ex-Union soldier is burned out of his farm by bandits who steal away his wife, and he buckles up and goes after them. It's Scott Eastwood, too, looking just like his dad when he smiles except handsome, and in the first scenes he's doing almost an impression, with the flat, well-enunciated readings and the white-toothed grimaces. As the story evolves into a strange Night Sea-Journey about a soldier irreparably wounded by War, it is fatally hampered by an unforgivable score of lush pomposity set against far too much gorgeous scenery. In other words, if it's reaching for "epic", its grasp is nowhere near the mark, and it loses the punch it might have had (and it certainly might) in the miscalculation.
Ultimately, we get two successfully gripping scenes: in the first, our hero seeks out a fellow ex-soldier, well-played by Danny Glover, and we discover his true nature. The other is the stalking scene toward the end, when our hero finally fully embodies his true self and we watch him at his work. Crucially, in this scene, the music at last lets loose its fascist grip on the piece, and that's partly why it works so well. Also, Eastwood is not to be discounted as an actor. The early "imitation" doesn't stretch past the first quarter hour, and by the half-point of the film he's already emoted more fully and convincingly than his dad did in the first half of his career.
And the ending? The ending is just awful, a bad cheat.
IN SUMMARY: It could have been a good movie, should have been, in fact. It has the actors and the story. Alas, it also has a director who ruins the whole thing.
Fifty Shades of Grey: (dir: Sam Taylor-Johnson) Equal parts completely incredible fantasy (chiselled, gorgeous zillionaire, accomplished at both dour, classical piano and the piloting of helicopters, who has never slept in the same bed with a woman, whose own family has never seen him in company with a woman, loses his cool over a girl who, despite having sensuous and loving parents and despite heavy partying with her libidinous roommate and friends, is not only still a virgin mere days prior to college graduation, but has never even "done other things"), hysterical Harlequin romance ("Why won't you let me touch you? I love you!" "You can't love me!" "Why are you trying to change me?" "It's you who's changing me!" ad nauseam) and naughty S&M primer (although the Spader/Gyllenhall Secretary carries a truer feel), it's saved from its own shallow absurdity by perfect casting and a director's loving care.
Dakota Johnson (as the porn-star-named Anastasia Steele) is pretty like a normal girl is pretty and projects sufficient cute, dorky intelligence to justify catching the attention of the man who could be spending his time in the hot-tub with the super-models if he so desired. Jamie Dornan, our mysterious Mr. Grey, carries the cool distance and the charisma with just enough reluctant warmth showing through to convince us he's truly the Dom Who Longs to Please. The two share a super chemistry, and therein lies half the battle.
Then, just when the ups and downs of the silly non-relationship are making you roll your eyes and slump down in your seat, it's got this killer end-image, just a perfect ending.
IN SUMMARY: Just as Diablo's director took potential gold and crappified it, Taylor-Johnson has taken a piece of pretty mucky dross, shined it up, polished it with some self-knowing quirks, glittering visuals, sexy music and super editing, giving us a thing much better than we, its audience, deserved to expect.
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