input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: A good film with--for its time--an intense, sprawling, rather dark story somewhat reminiscent of John Ford's "The Searchers" though not so brutal. The story starts fast and doesn't let up, with several scenes of really good dialog between (Stewart's) Jeff Webster, Ronda Castle and Sheriff Gannon. This film is in some ways reminiscent of "Bend of the River" (1952), also a Mann-Stewart work, but I found it far less sentimental and more interesting. There are a few caveats: a too-quickly wrapped up (and rather sentimental) ending; 24-year-old Corrine Calvert is not very convincing as a naive French teenager, and of course the film takes place in the Mythic West, a land of fable where the real laws of nations and physics don't apply. But these are trivial concerns. James Stewart is surprisingly good as a dark, disengaged man who thinks he cares for no one but himself, and the mountain scenery can't be beat. A fine Western costume drama.
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output answer: positive


input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: Viewers gushing over everything including the title sequence (now THAT is funny) would have us believe this is some sort of cinematic miracle, but, trust me folks, this is one of the most embarrassingly bad films you could ever see, and if you're not laughing at it five minutes in, I'd say you've lost your sense of humor.

David Niven plays a doomed and bravado-besotted RAF pilot who somehow thinks it appropriate to engage an impressionable (female) air traffic controller in an emotional conversation about love, just as he's plunging to his certain and fiery death. (Isn't it romantic...) Of course, he's spared by a quirk of metaphysical chance, and washes up on the beach, just as this same air traffic controller is riding by on her bicycle. (They immediately clinch).

Looking past the bizarre homo-erotic subtexts, (so over the top you really need to refer to them as supertexts, from a naked boy sitting bare-butted in the sand playing the movie's twilight-zone-esquire theme on his little flute, to a celestial courier so campy/queen-y his makeup is caked on more thoroughly than the ladies'), the most bizarre aspects of the movie are how it weaves such bad caricatures of national and racial stereotypes into a convoluted attempt to argue some kind of point about the universal nature and power of love. We get it--fly boys like girls in skirts and heels, and girls like 'em back, and, apparently, all you have to do is cry a little to make it noble enough for your movie to get 10 stars on IMDb...

As for the quality of the production, the continuity/editing is poor enough to induce cringing, and the lighting is, perhaps, even worse than that, but you hardly have time to notice because the script is so bad. There are games played with Technicolor, (whatever passes for heaven is in black and white if you can figure out the sense in that), and foreshadowing, (so funny my fellow audience member who usually like movies like this actually cheered and laughed when then the doc's motorcycle finally ended up in a fiery wreck), and freeze-motion, (which is funniest of all because the female lead is so poor at standing still you know the stage hands were guffawing off camera).

The best shots are the early ones on the beach, but, after that, it's all downhill. The (moving like an escalator is moving) staircase is hardly the Odessa Steps, to say the least, and I'd really caution anyone from feeling like they'd have to see this lame attempt at movie-making on their account. The movie overall is bad enough to be funny, and that's about the best thing I can say for it.
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output answer: negative


input question: Select the correct sentiment of the following review: New York, 1953. One hot night, four famous iconic figures will come together. The professor (Albert Einstein) has come to NY to give a speech, which he has, the senator (Joesph MacCarthy) on his back. Later that night his gets a surprise visitor; a famous actress (Marilyn Monroe). Who actually wants to discuss the theories of Relativity. Soon her ball-playing husband (Joe DiMaggio) turns up at the hotel room, begging to work things out for their crumbling relationship. Flashbacks of childhood, important events, perceived consequences of their actions creep in to show how these individuals cope with despair and a hidden fear waiting to break out.

Now that's one-of-a-kind! Adapted off a stage-play by Terry Johnson (who would also script the screenplay for the film), "Insignificance" is an odd, quirky, seductive and downright curious fictional pop-culture gimmick in the hands of director Nicolas Roeg. This inspired and cerebral experimental effort might be rooted in its stage-play origins, because it does feel theatrical and most of the action occurs in a hotel backdrop and one main suite. The cramp look only enhanced the moody and smoky atmosphere of New York to great effect. However these limitations can't contain the fruitful and daring ideas that Roeg manages to randomly storm up visually and through the meaningful material. The way he reflects on the characters' (who are suggestively famous figures, without the need of naming of them) philosophical journeys and interpretations of their notions is stimulating in a spiritual sense, with the memories gelling into the present and visions showing their fears of realisations, which depending on what you're seeing is either beautiful, or hauntingly implemented. There's plenty of food for thought and hints within the verbosely innovative (if sometimes awkward) script, with the main focus concerning the present situation, but the flashbacks gives us the personal make-up (sex, power, enlightenment and glory) of what makes them who they are and how much of a burden it can be in there already demanding lives. Sure the story might not lead to anything by the end, and it can feel disjointed, but the dreamy vibe and intelligent arrangement irons out those folds and makes sure it never turns giddy. Peter Hannan's sensually fluid photography and Stanley Myers' titillatingly oozing blues soundtrack fit in snugly with Roeg's stylistically subdue and established style of directing. He makes it look like he's working with something big and large-scale, but otherwise that's not the case and a small little universe is created. The vintage costumes and locations of the period all come off fittingly enough. What made the film for me had to be the impressive acting it boasted from the main four. Theresa Russell's perky, drop dead gorgeous appeal of the sexy pin-up actress is a growing portrayal that definitely held the film together along with an genuinely excellent and endearing performance by Michael Emil as the professor. Tony Curtis marvellously plays it up as witch-hunting senator and Gary Busey is suitably good in the stoically gravel manner as the ballplayer. Showing up in minor, but amusing support roles happen to be Will Sampson and Patrick Kilpatrick.

A memorably striking, fresh and tour de force meditation piece of metaphysics linked together by four different extremes. Some might find it pretentiously estrange and too talky, but this one had me wrapped up in its own little unique world to worry too much about its shortcomings.
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output answer:
positive