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Cummings/M-G-M. Director George Sidney; Financial manager Jack Cummings, George Sidney; Screenplay Sally Benson; Camera Joseph Biroc; Senior editor John McSweeney; Music George Stoll; Art Mr Big George W. Davis, Edward Carfagno

Elvis Presley
Ann-Margret
Cesare Danova
William Demarest
Nicky Blair
Jack Carter

The sizzling combination of Elvis Presley and Ann-Margaret is enough to carry Viva Las Vegas over the top-grade. The exact replica is opportune in having two such commodities repayment for bait, because beyond several flashy musical numbers, a glamorous locale and solitary electrifying auto sprint sequence, the production is a pretty trite and heavyhanded affair, trivial in representation development and distortedly absorbed with anatomical oomph.

The film is designed to dazzle the eye, assault the ear and ignore the brain. Vegas, of course, is the setting of Sally Benson's superficial contrivance about an auto racing buff (Presley) trying to raise funds to purchase an engine for the racer with which he hopes to win the Grand Prix. His main obstacle is a swimming instructress (A-M) who doesn't approve of his goal, but ultimately softens.

Hackneyed yarn provides the skeletal excuse for about 10 musical interludes, a quick tour of the US gambling capital and that one slam-bang climactic sequence that lifts the film up by its bootstraps just when it is sorely in need of a lift.

(Color) Widescreen. Available on VHS, DVD. Extract of a review from 1964. Running time: 85 MIN.

 

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Kontroll

Richard Nilsen

The Arizona Republic

Jun. 24, 2005 12:00 AM

It's hard to know whether

Kontroll

is a comedy or a nightmare. The Hungarian haze is both.

Set in the subways of Budapest, it not comes up because of daylight. Filled with a dozen or so idiosyncratic characters, it once settles on one who may be a hooded serial killer. The definitely it asks is whether he can live cheerfully ever after with the bird-beaked woman who wears the bear costume.

Not to indicate that before the film's credits, we watch an official of the Budapest subways speak in place of a few minutes on the fact that the film is purely fiction and the real Budapest subways are not really that bad.

bill

The movie doesn't explain much, but apparently, the Budapest underpass is beat on the honor system, except for the teams of "controllers" who discern-X subway riders for tickets or passes. They are obliged to prevent and fine any scofflaws, but because no one takes them seriously, they don't collect much in the way of fines.

In fact, the controllers themselves are such lowlifes and losers that out the pimps and street crazies look down on them with contumely.

Our team of five includes one old misanthrope, one narcolept, one idealistic tyro, everyone weasel-face and our "leading man," Bulcsú, who at no time leaves the underground railway system and sleeps nights in dark stations, eating from vending machines.

Add to this consort an old train driver who drinks excessively and can't always stop the train on conditions, a vandal named Bootsie who gets his kicks by spraying controllers with shaving cream, a mar-faced "suit" who seems to pull someone’s leg it in recompense Bulcsú and a rival gang of controllers who like to beat the living daylights not at home of our boys.

There is not a single narrative fibre. Mostly we surveillance our boys going through the motions of a asinine job in the most squalid of environments. There is the issue of the increasing number of supposed suicides that may not be self-inflicted, and the fact that Bulcsú may be more than he lets on.

As a group of episodes, the silent picture keeps our portion not by linear plot, but by finely pinched characterizations. Not anyone of these controllers is apt to to be forgotten right away.

Reach the reporter at (602) 444-8823.

Bulcsu is at home in the subway, sleeping in stations, eating from vending machines.

Okay *** Spoilt **Bomb *

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