WHAT THE FUCK...
How many moviegoers remember when Paramount took out nation-wide full-page ads containing a ton of quotes from the critics for Black Sunday, a “prestige” disaster flick made by John Frankenheimer? More than a few claimed it was as thrilling and terrifying as Jaws. If we can sue for false advertising, can we sue for false blurbism? Walking out of the theatre afterwards, I heard a woman gripe, “What’s the point? Wasn’t that fucking blimp suppose to blow up on em in the stadium?” She wasn’t being entirely cold-blooded, and it didn’t seem she was drooling for splattered innards and torrents of blood—well, she might have, and they would have helped—she was looking for a reason for the movie. (It had already been made as Two Minute Warning.) Black Sunday, like War Games the same year, is a cautionary tale done with too much taste—i.e., everything that happens shouldn’t and everything that should doesn’t. With Robert Shaw, Marthe Keller and, reliably bonkers as ever, Bruce Dern.
Text COPYRIGHT © 2007 RALPH BENNER All Rights Reserved.