Problem: negative
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Answer: I must admit that I have been a sucker for Samurai flicks since I can remember. I used to watch rather indiscriminate, be it "elitist" works like The Seven Samurai or the bloody comic-book variation like Lone Wolf and Cub. I also liked US-/Japanese "Crossovers" like The Bushido Blade. And of course everything containing Sonny Chiba and Hiroyuki Sanada. And I've virtually watched every Samurai at least twice. But not Kabuto.

In 1993 I first watched Kabuto on video, that even Samurai films can be boring. In the beginning I was looking forward to Mayeda reaching Europe and the confrontations that would come from that but by the time he actually reached Spain, I really didn't care so much for the movie anymore.

It wouldn't do the film justice to call it "bad". Technically it's a clean entry into the genre. But there is simply never quiet enough. Sho Kosugi has limited skills as both director and actor and has only a fraction of above mentioned Japanese actors charisma. And speaking of Sho Kosugis son Kane, who appears in almost all Sho Kosugi films as Shos son: he has inherited little-to-none of his fathers limited acting skills. Adding to the minus-points is the absence of the blood and gore that until then was a trademark of all Samurai film. This was obviously intended for a younger US- / European audience.

Lets just say that it's a so-so film for the average historic-action-adventure fan but a bore for hardened fans of Samurai cinema. Fans who are into the "Samurai meets "-genre, should rather go and watch Red Sun (1971), featuring Charles Bronson as cowboy who has to team up with Samurai Toshiro Mifume to retrieve a samurai sword from bad-guy Alan Delon. It pretty much how to do it right and where Kabuto went wrong.

So, even though the film is a mere 100 minutes, it seems like a much longer film.

The reason I gave this a honourable 4/10 points instead of 3/10: First time I saw this film, I saw it in the German synchronized version. In this version, Kosugi can actually be understood. I must admit that his 'Engrish' is at times funny but gets tiresome after about 30 minutes.

Problem: negative
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Answer: The first 30 minutes of Tinseltown had my finger teetering on the remote, poised to flick around to watch something else. The premise of two writers, down on their luck, living in a self-storage-space "bin" was mildly amusing, but, painfully bland.

The introduction of the character, played by Joe Pantoliano - the big deal movie guy, that lives in the park and sleeps in a lavatory, offered hope and I decided to give it a few more minutes. And then a few more until Kristy Swansons introduction as a budding film director & borderline nymphomaniac, added a bit of spice. Her solid acting performance raised her presence above and beyond just a very welcome eye-candy inclusion.

Ultimately, the obvious low-budget impacts on the film with poorly shot scenes, stuttured pace and slapstick handling of certain moments. Some of my favourite movies of all time have been low budget, Whithnail & I being one that also deals with 2 guys with a dream, but down on their luck.

However, for my money, the actors save Tinseltown from the "Terrible movie" archives and just about nudges it into the "could have been a cult movie" archives. I laughed out loud at some of the scenes involving Joe Pantoliano's character. In particular, the penultimate scenes in the terribly cliched, but still funny, rich-but-screwed-up characters house, where the story unravels towards it's final moments.

I can see how Tinseltown was a great stage play and while the film-makers did their best to translate this to celluloid, it simply didn't work and while I laughed out loud at some of scenes and one liners, I think the first 30 minutes dulled my senses and expectations to such a degree I would have laughed at anything.

Unless you're stuck for a novelty coffee coaster, don't pick this up if you see it in a bargain bucket.

Problem: positive
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Answer:
L'Hypothese du tableau vole/The Hypothesis of the Stolen Painting (1979) begins in the courtyard of an old, three-story Parisian apartment building. Inside, we meet The Collector, an elderly man who has apparently devoted his life to the study of the six known existing paints of an obscure Impressionist-era painter, Tonnerre. A narrator recites various epigrams about art and painting, and then engages in a dialogue with The Collector, who describes the paintings to us, shows them to us, tells us a little bit about the painter and the scandal that brought him down, and then tells us he's going to show us something....

As he walks through a doorway, we enter another world, or worlds, or perhaps to stretch to the limits, other possible worlds. The Collector shows us through his apparently limitless house, including a large yard full of trees with a hill; within these confines are the 6 paintings come to life, or half-way to life as he walks us through various tableaux and describes to us the possible meanings of each painting, of the work as a whole, of a whole secret history behind the paintings, the scandal, the people in the paintings, the novel that may have inspired the paintings. And so on, and so on. Every room, every description, leads us deeper into a labyrinth, and all the while The Collector and The Narrator engage in their separate monologues, very occasionally verging into dialogue, but mostly staying separate and different.

I watched this a second time, so bizarre and powerful and indescribable it was, and so challenging to think or write about. If I have a guess as to what it all adds up to, it would be a sly satire of the whole nature of artistic interpretation. An indicator might be found in two of the most amusing and inexplicable scenes are those in which The Collector poses some sexless plastic figurines -- in the second of them, he also looks at photos taken of the figurines that mirror the poses in the paintings -- then he strides through his collection, which is now partially composed of life-size versions of the figures. If we think too much about it and don't just enjoy it, it all becomes just faceless plastic....

Whether I've come to any definite conclusions about "L'Hypothese du tableau vole", or not, I can say definitely that outside of the early (and contemporaneous) works of Peter Greenaway like "A Walk Through H", I've rarely been so enthralled by something so deep, so serious, so dense....and at heart, so mischievous and fun.