Then to return to crime stories with a frequency he’d never find for another genre. But his next move was to make a crime movie.
Soderbergh immediately followed it with the low-budget experimental comedy Schizopolis, a send-up of human existence itself starring Soderbergh and his ex-wife, Betsy Brantley. Some of Soderbergh’s directorial signatures run through each (even The Good German, in spite of his attempt to disappear into another style) but it’s hard to find other sorts of connections beyond a restless desire to experiment.īut The Underneath is key to understanding the Soderbergh crime films that followed, which often play like attempts to correct its mistakes. Between the years 20 alone, the director bounced from the slick, star-packed Ocean’s 12 to the heavily improvised, star-free digital experiment Bubble to The Good German, a pastiche of ’40s studio filmmaking. Soderbergh’s is a daunting filmography, the sort whose sheer volume makes it hard to put your arms around.
#No sudden move dvd cover series
(He’ll likely have released his 34th, at least, before the year ends.) That’s not counting the two seasons Soderbergh spent directing every episode of the Cinemax series The Knick, various other TV series, or projects like Magic Mike XXL for which he served as editor and director of photography (as he has for almost every project he’s directed this century). No Sudden Move is Soderbergh’s 33rd feature as a director. It’s familiar territory for the director, but one he’s never arrived at by the same route twice. Even the font used in the titles recalls yellowing paperbacks and film noir posters.
Though photo flashes of the neighborhood in more thriving times hint at themes the film will tease out later, it’s clear that the latest from Steven Soderbergh will return him to the world of crime movies. Cheadle looks like a man determined to take care of business, even if that business is bound to take him to some pretty shady places. In the opening moments of No Sudden Move a steely-eyed, fedora-clad Don Cheadle strides through a declining corner of 1950s Detroit to the accompaniment of a David Holmes score dominated by congas and an ominous guitar line.
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