The Dead Zone (1983)

David Cronenberg's adaptation of a Stephen King novel is a lean, effective account of a man whose special power allows him to see into the past and future. There are some striking visual touches, although nothing as shocking as in, say, Scanners. The film is its own self-contained world where everything makes sense inside and there is no need for external interference. The highlight is the winning performance by Christopher Walken, who does as much here with an expression as other actors do with whole pages of dialogue. Martin Sheen's power-mad politician adds some hambone appeal.

Klara and the Sun

One question that occurred to me while reading this novel by Kazuo Ishiguro is whether or not it would have been published had it been submitted by an unknown author. I think it's a close call. There is certainly a lot to chew over in this tale told by an Artificial Friend that is full not of sound and fury signifying nothing but of gentleness and care signifying ... something. At a minimum it offers a homily on the value of close observation as a form of caring. Klara, the robot – although that word appears only twice in 300 pages – has been programmed to be a good companion by noticing the traits and needs of her human owners. We see the world through Klara's eyes, and maybe get a fresh lesson in how to be more genuine. 

Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972)

Raindrops on the camera lens, fake blood that's too bright, looped dialogue that doesn't always sync – none of this matters compared to the success of this Werner Herzog film in depicting colonialism and the madness it produces. Klaus Kinski is mesmerizing as Aguirre, the ambitious and ruthless Spaniard whose lust for conquest never abates. As he says, if his team turns back, others will follow and gain all the glory (and gold). Herzog builds tension during the Europeans' rafting journey by showing only glimpses of the lurking Indians whose arrows pick off one explorer after another. The coda has to be seen to be believed, a glimpse into the utter darkness of the human soul.

The Silver Swan

This is the second installment in the Quirke mystery series by Benjamin Black, pen name of the Irish writer John Banville. Unfortunately, Quirke is becoming more melancholic, reticent, and frankly clueless. But fortunately, the pathologist takes a back seat in this book to some of the other players in the drama, who get whole chapters dedicated to their backgrounds and behaviors. Banville relentlessly pads the narrative with descriptions and similes, but for all the detail I still couldn't pick out any of these people from a lineup. Some authors are able to paint a vivid picture with just a few deft brushstrokes; Banville isn't one of them.

Straight Time (1978)

It's hard to imagine a film like Straight Time being made today. For one thing, the narrative is allowed to develop and breathe. In a backyard scene, for example, with Dustin Hoffman, Harry Dean Stanton and Rita Taggart, the camera is still and quiet as the actors do their naturalistic best in a long unbroken take. Hoffman has rarely been better, to my mind, than here playing a career criminal with a mean streak. It is a controlled, modulated and utterly convincing performance. There isn't a clunker in the cast, from Stanton and Taggart to a sinister M. Emmet Walsh, Gary Busey, and then-newcomer Theresa Russell. What also makes the film work is the lack of exposition and motivation: two elements that are among the most tiresome aspects of much current cinema.

Death in Venice (1971)

I watched Luchino Visconti's Death in Venice again recently, maybe for the fourth or fifth time, and was amazed anew at the visual language. When Aschenbach (Dirk Bogarde) enters the hotel's lounge on his first night in Venice, the camera picks him up almost accidentally, then follows him through the press of people until he finds a seat. The camera roams slowly, languidly, one might say luxuriantly, over the scene, until the boy Tadzio is revealed like a thunderbolt. This wandering eye is used throughout the film, making the viewer a kind of voyeur. It is also worth noting Visconti's effective use of a slow zoom, common in the 1970s but unaccountably gone today. The story itself, based on the Thomas Mann novella, seems to take a higher road than the source material, which I've read twice and in which I can find little more than an old man's lust for a young boy. Here, Tadzio resembles the photo of Aschenbach's young daughter that the composer kisses at the beginning of the film. We later learn she has died. The scenes with Alfred (an overheated Mark Burns) and Aschenbach are perhaps the film's weakest points, although they add some intellectual gloss. The music of Mahler and the photography make this a stunning film.

Eyes Wide Open

Screenwriter and novelist Frederic Raphael's book, subtitled "A Memoir of Stanley Kubrick," is a useful portrait of the collaborative process that led to Eyes Wide Shut. It is respectful to the director without being worshipful and seasoned with some fun stories from old Hollywood. 

One or Another

I was lured to this novel after seeing the painter, playwright and novelist Rosalyn Drexler on a 1970 episode of The Dick Cavett Show. One or Another is stylistically engaging, written in bursts of vignettes that more often than not go off on flights of fancy. The story is simple enough, about a 39-year-old New York woman married to a gym teacher who has an affair with one of his students. But this is a high-concept effort, much more than a simple plot summary would suggest. It is also appealingly frank. The imaginative mind here is impressive, but this novel is more self-expression than communication: a true painter's book.

The Shadow Over Innsmouth

Perhaps strange to be approaching 60 without ever having read any H.P. Lovecraft, but at least I can thank Michel Houellebecq's interest in the writer for directing me to this volume of short stories. There is a stylistic uniqueness to Lovecraft that is appealing: His sentences are chunky and sometimes clunky, but they match his subject matter to a tee in their weirdness. His only pure science fiction story, The Walls of Eryx, is effective in conveying a creeping sense of doom, and the title story concludes with a truly horrifying twist. All in all, this is a collection that will likely prod a new reader to seek out more from this strange writer.