The Film Buff Blog

The Film Buff Blog Is Dead. Long Live The Film Buff Blog.

2010-12-29T17:09:00.001-05:00

As of now, all posts/reviews/commentary will take place over at the mother site, where the blog has been integrated for a cleaner look and a better user interface. So, while a stray post may rarely pop up here, you should consider this blog effectively dead, and head to thefilmbuff.com for all future musings. Please adjust your bookmarks accordingly.

Windy City Heat (2003)

2010-12-29T16:34:00.000-05:00

Having taken some time to re-watch and ruminate over Windy City Heat (I’ve seen it four times and counting), explaining the enduring appeal of it is still tricky. First of all, it’s funny. It’s blindingly funny. It’s tip a cow then kick a duck up the arse funny. It’s also fantastically original in it’s conception and treads heavily where few might dare to tread at all.
The mark in this; possibly the most elaborate prank ever, is the fabulous Perry Caravello. Arrogant, sexist, homophobic and gullible. He is hilariously short tempered yet naive and lovable. Our catalysts and instigators are Don and Mole who according to the film have been messing with Perry for over a decade now.
The setup is to have Perry, an aspiring actor and comedian in Hollywood, audition for a part in a film and win it. They go on to shoot the actual film over the course of a week, only it’s all part of the setup and every scene is just another opportunity to provoke Perry’s wrath while the cameras are rolling. There is physical comedy, humiliation, and provocation. It’s great.
When watching the film you will recognise names and faces. The in-jokes are endless. Perry gets none of the references. I do get twinges of pity for Perry as he falls for joke upon joke. Half the jokes are just to sell or justify a previous joke or fabrication. Some of the setups seem so contrived that it’s hard to believe anyone would fall for it, but Perry sees no problems.
It’s humour is maybe a little cruel and sadistic in spirit, which in turn provokes thought on edgy comedy as an elaborate web of ethical dilemmas. Fortunately, any uncomfortable doubts about what you’re watching are put to bed when you understand the relationship of Perry with Don and Mole. Perry is working, making some money and gaining the fame his so craves. Though it’s clear someone like Perry can be (and has been!) taken advantage of in a town like Hollywood, I’d go as far to say Perry is protected by Don and Mole and there’s obviously some affection there.
The underlying fascination of WCH has percolated to the depths of my subconscious and left me quite frankly, obsessed. If there were ever a film cult I was part of than this is it. It is continued now with the excellent ongoing podcast (The Big Three podcast) and the unfolding drama and windups over facebook and other online forums.
WCH triumphs where a film like I’m still here totally failed. There is no holier than thou Hollywood smugness. It is well planned and improvised and thick with gags from the most base to the marvellously subtle. It runs hand in hand with An idiot abroad as the most hilarious and startlingly real tragi-comedy out there. Comedy on film is often about levity and escapism but on the other end of that spectrum lies WCH, something that’s real and engaging, provocative and most importantly, deeply and lastingly funny.

A year in Jules.

2010-12-26T17:35:00.006-05:00

Working with Jules this year at The Film Buff East has been an experience and a privilege. At some point i decided that the things he said could not be kept a secret and I started writing it all down. Here is a quick recap of some of my favourite moments from this year for those of you less fortunate than myself. - Tom

"Dude, if you were as intense as me when you worked you'd make a mess too...
in fact, that would be a cool thing to say at a job interview. What do I do? Me? I'm intense" - Jules

Jules - "Dude, will you bring me an allen key in to work tomorrow for my bike?"
Me - "Don't you own an allen key?"
Jules - "Yeah okay, I'll bring mine in"

Jules - "I saw that midget actor the other day in a bar on Danforth"
Me - "Oh yeah? Which one?"
Jules - "He was in The Station Agent"
Me - "Oh, and Living in Oblivion too right?"
Jules - "Yeah, and In Bruges"
...Me - "Yeah? I don't remember him in In Bruges"
Jules - "He played the midget guy"

"Oh yeah, they're like shits on flies" - Jules

‎"I'm not from England so I have no idea what 'Midsomer night's murders' is." - Jules

‎"The thing about the Iron Man movies is that guy was so well cast, yeah, Cuban Downing Jr or whatever, he was perfect" - Jules

"That movie Red Riding:1974, yeah, they shot that on sixteen millilitre" - Jules

Joe - "Ya know, Tom might be getting deported in a few weeks"
Jules - "Dude, I get all his shifts okay?"

Saw Jules tonight looking up "Specific Kites" on the computer at the video store, turns out there was a customer looking for "Pacific Heights", Jules was "helping" her find it.

"Dude you've got to watch this video all about Halloween costumes for infeminated children" - Jules

Jules: "I HATE Portland. I'm never going there."
Me: "Have you ever been?"
Jules: "No."

"Actually, my Auntie and Uncle live in the coastal mountains in Oregon, yeah, they keep a cows, sheep and a whole bunch of pork" - Jules

"When I was 8 or 9 I had this wart problem.... dude you better not be writing this down" - Jules

Jules - "Ah, rocket candies for Halloween? I suggested that last year and everyone laughed. Dude, all my life I've had people ridicule my ideas only to rip them off later"
Me - "Like what?"
Jules - "Those bonus keys higher up the neck in guitar hero........and now giving out those rocket candies at Halloween"

"...just because she had a slightly darker complexity and slanty eyes" - Jules

"Yesterday... no....tomorrowday" - Jules

"Dude, let's head out stairs" - Jules

"Can you say 'lipsticked, double dipped dick' 5 times quickly?" - Jules

"Chicks man seriously, you don't know how many times they've said to me 'I wish I had those lips', seriously you don't even know" - Jules

Jules - (excited) "I'm going to Montreal tomorrow!!!)
Me - "Hang on, yesterday you said 'Shit I've got to go to Montreal'"
Jules - "Well, I've started to feel differently about it"

‎"Don't you just wanna watch this movie? It says 'five women, one weekend, too many lies' ooh sizzling. Five hours of women being passive aggressive to each other" - Jules

"Guess what I just bought the lactose intolerant guy for secret Santa...... Cheese" - Jules

Jules - *pointing at the computer* "Check out these before and after photos of Corey Haim"
Me - "Oh yeah, I worked with him a couple of years ago"
Jules - "Before or after he died? No wait"

Customer - "Do you have the series Sherlock on dvd?"
Jules - "Sherlocks?"
Customer - "Errrr... yeah"
Jules - "It's actually just called Sherlock"

Revanche.

2010-12-16T18:58:00.048-05:00

I've often wondered what it was about Austrian thriller Revanche that made it stay with me over the last few months. I have these images always haunting me. The colour of the woods and the reflections on the water. The eerie atmosphere as he stalks his target on an early morning jog. The long scenes of wood-chopping where we can nearly hear the pop and sizzle of emotional overload.
Was it the overwhelming sense of hope amongst desperation that hooked me? Or that this feeling was so quickly whipped away and in it's place we find a deep pit of remorse.
The key to these shuddering recollections lies in the nature of the revenge that is taken and in the nature of our main character Alex. The horror's all lie in the potentials, the "What if" scenarios and in the lingering sense of being on the brink of something much, much worse. Was it an exercise in power and control that I couldn't quite understand or the taboo of viewing pregnancy as a burden, a punishment? We're left to speculate about the plan and the revenge without clues.
Revanche is a film of contradiction, in one sense the most pure of romances. The idea that a man would go to any lengths, do anything, in order to rescue his lover and himself from their desperate circumstances. When the rug is pulled from under his feet he loses everything, he is reminded of what he left behind. His surviving family, his father and a whole world of time in which to take revenge and readdress the balance. However, from the very start we are unsure as to what is right. It ends with a compulsion, an uncontrollable urge to just ruin the romance of another person's life, even without them having knowledge of it. The smug assurance that he has ruined, has one-upped and has taken something away from his enemy, as low and sneaky as it is, must be some sort of satisfaction for him. And off he walks into the sunset, embittered, venomous yet contented by the seemingly aimless destruction.
In the wake of the film remain so many questions and ambiguities aswell as a penetrating sense of loneliness coming from a film deliberately and completely stripped of glamour. It is this, when characters in film directly reflect the way life really works, that really demonstrates the power of the screen. To feel like you've lived it, and to take something away to ponder for so long. The overall effect is the most provocative of any film I've seen this year.

Repo Men!

2010-12-13T23:42:00.002-05:00

There are so many ideas coursing through this sci-fi/action/black comedy/thriller it's hard to know when it succeeds and when it stumbles. The story follows two dystopian repo men, who collect artificial body parts from people who aren't up to date on their payments. That is to say, they track down the carrier and surgically remove the mechanical organ (anything from proshetic limbs to imitation hearts), leaving the poor sucker bleeding on the ground. And all with a grin on their faces. There is good chemistry between the two leads, Jude Law and Forest Whitaker, and together they bring a crunchy dark humour to a very grisly profession. The comedic slant is mostly present during the first half of the film, and it saves the picture from being to staunch and depressing out of the gates. The inspiration for its Fahrenheit 451-esque twist on the repo man profession, is clearly the current state of American health care and pharmaceuticals. In the beginning of the film, the repossessed body parts seem to be necessary synthetic replacements – the victims are simply too afford poor them. They require the artificial aids to live or at least live comfortably. As the story goes on, it becomes apparent that 'The Union' (the creepy corporation which has a monopoly on the mechanical organ business), pushes and sells its products similar to the way pharmaceutical companies push drugs today. Due to a leap in technology, The Union can easily create an improved, no, a perfect version of every body part except the brain. As a result, people are spiralling into debt to become bigger (well, probably smaller), faster and stronger than they would naturally. What is a very simple idea becomes a sweeping indictment on not just health care, but many scary modern trends including reckless spending, aesthetic-obsessed celebrity culture, corporate monopolies, the empowerment of advertisers and general apathy. Whew. And how does the film mine all these ideas? With a minority-report riffing extended chase sequence, where Jude Law becomes hunted by his former employer for an artificial heart he can't afford. In other words, it does very little with a very fascinating dystopian world. At the same time, I'm only disappointed in retrospect. The action-oriented second half is polished, thrilling and engaging in it's own way. Even the ending, which despite employing a cheap narrative trick for a 'it was all a dream' style conclusion, actually works.

Repo Men is similar to sci-fi actioners like Robocop or Starship Troopers, films that have political motivations but would rather blow stuff up than pontificate on social ills. It probably has the most in common with District 9 which is similarly afflicted with bi-polar disorder, beginning with soaring rhetoric and ending like a transformers film. It's surprising then that while Disctrict 9 received across-the board beaming reviews (a 91% on Rotten Tomatoes), Repo Men is universally scorned (21%!). Based on those figures I feel like this will sound like heresy, but I think Repo Men is the marginally better film. The ideas it unpacks are conveyed with more brutality and precision than in District 9 (which is, contrary to popular belief, not about Apartheid but on modern South Africa (re: Sporgey's review)) and it has more fun doing so. There are no fuzzy pixar moments between CGI creatures either. But I digress. Both are great examples of a sci-fi renaissance of the last few years (others being Moon, 2012, Star Trek and Cloverfield) and would make a terrific double bill.

For a film that has more swagger and points of interest in it's soon-to-be repossessed pinky finger than say Avatar, yet the critics have relegated Repo Men to the bargain bin - which is a shame. Even if you hate it, it can fill a conversation or two. My vote for Hollywood underdog film of the year.

Michael Caine is on the war path...

2010-12-13T20:44:00.007-05:00

So, Mike Chung is currently helping me locate display cases around the store as we are currently in the process of pulling some less popular titles from the shelves and archiving them.
I was after a 2000 Michael Caine film called Shiner and was having a bit of difficulty trying to locate this particular case.

Mike had a go with it as he was shelving the returns. He asked me what the display box looks like and i looked it up online.
I try to describe the image i've pulled up over IMDB when i notice Mike is holding a copy of Harry Brown in his hands.

"It looks... exactly like the case you're holding."

It's like a god damn Twilight Zone episode up in here...

Jesus Christ!

2010-12-13T00:02:00.002-05:00

First the new blog picture... moments later, my eyes scan down to a box with Facebook links.

"...jesuschrist".... was my reaction to both.

On a Sunday no less.

I'm going to bed.

S

So where are my reviews people?

2010-12-12T01:17:00.002-05:00

No reviews... no party. Nothing yet... nada... claims that I've been forwarded a few but an empty email tray.

Remember when Graham sent his list last year, just after we published?

Wonder what he's doing now?

S

Maybe not entirely relevant to film...

2010-12-11T15:22:00.003-05:00

... but I love these posters.

The Town (2010) and The American (2010)

2010-12-11T02:55:00.010-05:00

There are typically two kinds of films that fall into the category of “crime drama”. The first, the action-oriented thriller relies on momentum. The lead character is thrust into action, normally the result of some threat leveled against him or his loved ones by circumstances or forces beyond his control. The second kind is a rarer bird, the psychological crime drama, where plot and character are the focus rather than action, automatic weapons and car chases. Action-thrillers are more common these days because they adhere to certain formulaic consistencies that appeal to the typical contemporary film audience. Plot-and-character driven psychological crime dramas are not currently in vogue because they tend to be more complex and cerebral than mainstream here-we-are-now-entertain-us film audiences are willing to consider. Most critics prefer the first kind too - they're easier to write about.

Two excellent examples, one from each camp find coincidental release in December – Ben Affleck's Boston-set heist film The Town and Anton Corbijn's The American starring George Clooney. If you'll bear with me a few moments here, I'd like to break down some statistics for each film. Both were released theatrically in September 2010, The Town on 2861 screens and The American on 2823 screens. Affleck's film went on to gross $91M, received a 94% fresh rating on Rottentomatoes and a 7.9/10 rating on IMDb. The American grossed only $35M, despite starring the biggest actor on the planet, got tagged with a mediocre 65% RT score and scored a numbingly-average 6.7/10 on IMDb. By all empirical measures, one would assume The Town to be the better picture..... and they'd be wrong... sort of.

The American is an existential work of art. The Town is an well-crafted thriller. They may share the same “crime drama” label, but you'd be hard-pressed to find two more radically different treatments of the crime genre than these two.

The Town is Ben Affleck's second film as a director, his first being the excellent Gone Baby Gone from a couple of years ago. The Town is a nicely done film. Possibly because both started as actors, Affleck reigns from the Clint Eastwood school of directing. Like Eastwood, Affleck has a natural, craftsman-like feel for movie-making. His action scenes are well-staged, easy to follow and tight. The editing is clean and efficient, the camera focused and steady, long shots are there when called for and closeups only when necessary. Affleck's style is the polar-opposite of some like Paul Greengrass, of the epileptic-seizure school of filmmaking. For lack of a better term, Affleck is director in the classic style of Hollywood movie makers, and I mean that in a completely positive way.

As for the plot of The Town, it too is well-crafted. What it perhaps lacks in depth is more-than-made-up-for by some nicely drawn performances from a posse of A-list name-actors, among them.. Jeremy Renner, Jon Hamm, Pete Postlethwaite, a cameo by Chris Cooper, Affleck himself in the lead and Rebecca Hall. Ben Affleck actually wore three hats in this production, sharing a screenwriting credit as well. I've got nothing but good things to say about The Town because it is a very good example of an old-school Hollywood crime thriller. People will like it because it adheres to the formula. It's the kind of film that presses the right audience buttons at the right times.

The American is an entirely different story... and in more ways than one. It's Jean-Pierre Melville to The Town's John Frankenheimer, Le Carre in place of Fleming, existential instead of visceral, Euro-flavoured as opposed to Affleck's Mom and Applematic-weapons Americana. It occupies headspace and not just the eyes and ears. It will bore 90% of the audience to sleep and enthrall the remaining 10%, who won't want it to end. It is a near-masterpiece of precise, controlled pacing and astute direction. Clooney has rarely been better and this might be the first role where his character isn't all that easy to like. He seems to enjoy these kinds of roles and has played variations on them in Syriana, Michael Clayton and to a lesser degree, again... in more ways than one, last year's shite-flight, Up in the Air.

This is also Anton Corbijn's second feature, his excellent debut being the 2007 film Control, about the lead singer of Joy Division. He's even better this time out. Corbijn imbues The American with a moody emptiness reminiscent of films like Antonioni's The Passenger. The score is sparse and haunting, the cinematography austere, crisp and minimalist. The film starts in Sweden and ends up in Castel del Monte in Italy, where most of the story is set. The setting is part of the film, almost a character in Corbijn's hands. It's as mysterious and dangerous as Clooney's impenetrable Mr. Butterfly, or Jack, or Edward or whatever the hell his name is.

What people won't like about this film is it doesn't follow the formula. Much remains unresolved and unexplained. Motivations, histories and reasons aren't spelled out in minute detail. In this way, it shares territory with last year's The Limits of Control, but without the frustration and slightness of story that marred Jarmusch's effort. Most will find the pacing of The American glacial. It's the kind of film that doesn't press any buttons, at least not in any obvious way. It's a movie that lingers in your mind, the way a Melville film might.

We received The Town today and The American releases on December 28th, so we'll hopefully have it by next week. When the inevitable recommendation question is asked over the holidays, push The Town and save The American for those few people who might appreciate it. Clooney's presence will move it out the door anyways ...and I'll bet you dollars to donuts that 90% of those that rent The American won't like it. I fell asleep... is what you'll likely hear.

...and if you're wondering Joe, Uptown did indeed take the Rita Collection tonight, after I took the sticker off her face and repositioned a new one. Asshole.

S

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (2009)

2010-12-10T00:53:00.002-05:00

Werner Herzog’s best feature films have a tradition of lunatic heroes being driven to self-destruction by their obsessions and The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call – New Orleans, is his lunatic-masterpiece. It is far and away my favourite film of the year (perhaps the decade), despite the fact that I understand why most people won’t like it. To me, it is a film that represents just everything that cinema can be: thrilling, funny, clever, surprising, innovative and engaging. It’s also a film that requires a nearly-unhealthy knowledge about the genre it’s riffing on …and therein lays its greatest strength (and weakness). It simply doesn’t play to an audience reared on post-1990 mainstream film. It won’t mean anything to the the Dark Knight crowd. It’s a murderous, metaphysical farce that would have Heath Ledger’s creepy Joker as the protagonist and the Batman as the bad guy. People’s 2010 moral compasses just won’t know what to make of a film where a low-life scumbag, drifting towards an implosion entirely of his own making, is saved (and to a lesser extent, perhaps even redeemed), by a mixture of cunning and blind luck.

As a life-long fan of film noir, Herzog’s Bad Lieutenant is perhaps the ultimate comic deconstruction of a normally deadly-serious genre. It’s a stoner noir, but not in the Big Lebowski mold. Instead of playing with noir tropes and characters like the Coens did, Herzog finds his lunatic-muse in Nicholas Cage’s mercurial performance and then drops him into a relatively-straightforward thriller. There is little in the way of suspense and no mystery as to who killed the Senegalese family at the centre of the plot. Furthermore, the plot doesn’t even contain any specific or ironic twists. The key to enjoying this film resides in understanding that Herzog had no intention of shooting a conventional, naturalistic thriller, even though it may look like one on the surface. This is a bizarre conceptual reworking of the standard neo-noir thriller as seen through the eyes of a madman. It is neither a remake of, nor a sequel to, Abel Ferrara’s Bad Lieutenant (1992), which starred Harvey Keitel as a psychopathic cop. The linkage between the films ends at sharing a leading character who is a corrupt, drug-addicted police lieutenant and a title. The two projects go off in totally different directions after that.

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is a film that belongs to Nicholas Cage. In spite of the fact that Cage’s career has been marred by some pretty sketchy performances, he’s absolutely in the zone here. In the immediate aftermath of watching the film, I wasn’t sure whether I’d just been witness to the worst or the best performance of the year. I settled on the later after several days of trying to get Cage out of my head. I couldn’t. I still can't. I also couldn’t think of another contemporary actor who might have located a core of likability within so despicable a character. Cage does. He somehow makes you cheer for his loathsome Terence McDonagh, even while he’s stealing heroin, crack and whatever else he can get his hands on, ripping off clients of his prostitute girlfriend or pointing a loaded gun at some poor old granny in a wheelchair. He spends 80% of the movie in various states of drug-addled paranoia, hallucinates a pair of iguanas that only he (and the audience) can see, and shoots baleful glances at them throughout a scene when they start singing Engelbert Humperdinck’s Please Release Me. And as the noose tightens and all the preceding egregious acts of utterly-vile behavior start to collapse in upon him, the story takes a left turn and delivers as wonderfully bizarre a finale that ever graced a final reel.

Over the last 35-odd years, I’ve watched somewhere around 600 proto, classic, neo, quasi and pretend film noirs and I’ve never seen one that ended like The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. I suppose every now and then we all come across a movie (or a book) that feels like it was specifically written for us ...and this one felt like that for me. Having tracked down and watched nearly every surviving existential crime drama since D.W. Griffith’s 1912 Musketeers of Pig Alley, The Bad Lieutenant seems like the period at the end of the sentence, bringing closure to a long personal journey vicariously taken through film into the black soul of the human condition.

Maybe it’s time to move on.

Sporgey

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 (2010)

2010-12-08T12:56:00.011-05:00

For me, family films are relegated to a completely different form of entertainment. When someone tells me that the latest Pixar offering is the best film of the year it's hard to hold back my laughter. Not to say Pixar films are subpar, I loved the hell out of Toy Story 3, it's just nowhere in the same universe as say Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans.

The Harry Potter films are a strange breed because i for one can not relegate them to a different form of entertainment. I take them as full on adventure films that I compare toe to toe with any non-family feature. I didn't always feel this way, in fact I once looked down upon the franchise as an overloved fantasy drivel fest that turned witches and wizards into children who say silly words like "Hogwarts" and have stupid names like "Dumbledore". It was Lord of the Rings for a select sect of our East end costumers if anything.

It wasn't until years later that I came across (shit... i'm doing it again aren't I? I don't have an obsession with him... really) Roger Ebert's review of the first Potter film where he went on to say that the film joined the pantheon of classic adventure films such as Indiana Jones, Star Wars, and Wizard of Oz that i reconsidered my initial thoughts on Harry Potter.

Earlier this year I sat down to the first film with a complete open mind and just like that i was lost in a different world. I hadn't felt something remotely similar to it since when I first watched Star Wars at 4 years old. I quickly ate up the six films we have in stock but my hunger for boy wizard flesh did not subside, then Kendall handed me off the books. Reading a series of 7 books, the majority of which hit closely or over the 700 page mark, seemed daunting. I started in March and was finished all of them by June.

What separates these films from other kid's fantasy films is the immense and fantastic adult cast made up of some of the finest British actors ever. They take to their roles with such dedication and seriousness. The caliber of perfomance from the likes of Alan Rickman, Ralph Fiennes, Kenneth Brannagh, Gary Oldman, Robbie Coltrane, Michael Gambon, and Brendan Gleeson (just to name a small few) is one not usually seen in the realm of family entertainment. This grounds the films with merit and stops them from ever becoming completely exclusive to children.

I'm not trying to say a Harry Potter film deserves to clean up at the Academy Awards or anything, just that being dismissive of these films and books should not be ones gut reaction as it was once mine. There's actual substance here waiting for those willing to let their imaginations run away with them.

The franchise is finally reaching its eventual conclusion and of course, Warner Bros. panicking over losing its biggest franchise has decided to split the last story into two parts. The first of which was recently released into cinemas and that i finally found the time to check out.

This is the Harry Potter film i want to show to non-believers. It's dark (figuratively and literally), sad, long, complex, and has no ending whatsoever. It completely embraces the mature tone of the book it was based on and delivers a surprisingly accurate retelling of the story.
In what makes up the first half of the book and this film, we follow Harry, Ron, and Hermonie, on the run from the dark lord Voldemort who has taken over the wizarding world. With a very vague idea of what they can do to stop the villain the trio travels the vast British landscape, moving from camp to camp while trying to figure out what to do. The psychological weight of their dilemma takes its toll on the trio and it isn't long before they start to break down. Their strife is painted as one similar to those surviving an end of the world type of scenario and it's only going to be so long until the hordes catch up with them.

Trading in the usual location of a wizarding school is instead beautiful photography of various locales around Britian, at times making things feel more Middle-Earth than boy wizard.
The film is relentless and you'll find yourself wondering when the heroes are going to catch a break and thankfully they never do. This is mean stuff. This is the Empire Strikes Back of the franchise and I couldn't be happier with it.

While i doubt highly I'll convince those who could care less for Harry Potter to actually see this film (or read this review for that matter) I will still contest that it's one hell of a ride that's definitely worth getting to if you have yet to see the other films... although those are great too.

Reviews Needed

2010-12-07T15:08:00.003-05:00

Need brief reviews for the following films by the end of this week. Anyone care to assist?

* Antichrist

* Art & Copy

* Art of the Steal

* Baseball: The Tenth Inning

* A Christmas Carol!

* Cold Souls

* Fubar 2

* House of the Devil

* How to Train Your Dragon

* Mother

* Repo Men

* Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage

* September Issue

* White Ribbon

* Wild Hunt

S

Exit Through The Gift Shop (2010)

2010-12-04T01:45:00.014-05:00

SPOILER ALERT! Don't Read This If You Haven't Seen The Film Yet!

About 15 minutes after watching (and thoroughly enjoying) Exit Through The Gift Shop, it dawned on me that I needed to check out what, if anything, about this film was factual. Not surprisingly, I wasn't the first to wonder if the entire story was a hoax, an intricate fabrication designed to extend the static political and social underpinnings of street art and project it up on a different kind of screen/backdrop.

For any number of reasons, I'm inclined to think that we've all been magnificently played. The story of Exit Through The Gift Shop is just too perfectly ironic to be solely grounded in fact. A couple of weeks ago, I was heading down to the FBW on a Friday night and heard the tail end of a CBC Radio interview with Canadian author Farley Mowat, now 87. In the final few minutes, Farley was asked to speak to an oft-quoted charge that some of what he wrote over the years wasn't indeed “factual”. His response was fascinating. I'm paraphrasing here, but he said something along the lines of, “What I'm after is truth, not facts. Facts can change. Facts often get in the way of telling a truthful story.”

And I think that might be the most interesting way to look at ETTGS. While it certainly appears to be, at least partly (likely mostly), a scripted fabrication (anyone who doesn't take the painted elephant together with the film's title as a quasi-admission of this needs to rethink the underlying intent of subversive art), the deeper truth might be better served by this brilliant exercise in F For Fakery than any straight-up chronological documentary about the street art movement might have advanced.

The wonderful part about Exit Through the Gift Shop is the meandering mystery at its core. Is it fake or is it real? Is Thierry Guetta real or a fabrication? The pledge is made in the opening scenes... this is a film about street artists. The turn is the creation of Mister Brainwash (Banksy & crew again tipping their hand with an almost too-obvious name) and turning him into LA's street-art darling and the prestige... well, that's the best part. There isn't one....at least not yet. It's a fascinating mind-fuck to consider the possibility that Exit Through the Gift Shop is simply a elaborate prank executed on a larger scale to reach a wider audience than any building wall could ever facilitate.

The entire saga of Mister Brainwash is quirky and questionable, to say the least, but just as difficult to disprove. ETTGS culminates with a massive L.A. exhibit of Mister Brainwash’s work entitled “Life is Beautiful,” which elevates the supposed-artist’s profile overnight. Just to confirm... the exhibit did indeed take place and even though listening to Guetta talk about his art and bizarre film making ambitions seems intentionally designed as a caricature aimed at satirizing the art world, the film also seems almost too meticulously-constructed to be entirely a work of fiction. So here's another bit of mystery to ponder. Can a ruse be so perfect that it can transform into fact? Where's the line? Is this a taco inside a taco territory?

If Guetta is Bruce Wayne to Banksy's Batman, his creation of a public-fool/alter-ego if you will, just consider how elaborate the con actually is. Guetta is obviously a real person, but what if his massive art show was simply the work of several legitimate street artists (Banksy and Shepard Fairey, among others) and intended to expose the hypocrisy of the art collecting world? What if works on display at Mr Brainwash's show are intentionally diminutive? I couldn't tell whether the works were good or bad. What if Guetta was a front man, a person for the masses to focus upon while the real tricksters sat back and worked the levers from behind the scenes like some modern Wizards of Oz.

And wouldn't the ultimate prestige be if Banksy/Guetta were in fact the same person? Banksy's mysterious identity revealed at the Oscars when Exit Through the Gift Shop wins for best documentary next year and Guetta gets up to receive the award? How fucking cool would that be? And what if that was a further illusion - a taco in a taco in a taco. The whole construct just grows with every subsequent reveal, be it factual or not, like a sort of media virus. At some point the real and the made-up merge into a single entity.

Or maybe Exit Through the Gift Shop is all real... either way, and this is the strangest part, it doesn't matter. Not knowing actually serves the story ever better. Just like Farley said, facts often get in the way of telling a truthful story.

Brilliant.

Sporgey.

Centurion (2010)

2010-12-03T17:00:00.003-05:00

Centruwian...Why do they.... titter so?

Neil Marshall is one of those directors who, at least in my book, ratchets down a notch with each new film he releases. The more money he has at his disposal it seems, the less satisfying the final result. His first feature, Dog Soldiers (2002) ranks amongst my favourite B's of the last ten years. The Descent (2005) was an unbearably-claustrophobic horror that I quite enjoyed, in spite of my skittishness about the genre. I didn't like Doomsday (2008) as much as Joe did, but admired it for its innovative reworking of a tired genre, the apocalypse-actioner.

Centurian (2010) is a much bigger movie in every sense. It has real stars, a middling-budget (used here to good effect), a decent script (also penned by Marshall) with a good hook (Behind Enemy Lines meets The Warriors meets Gladiator) and some stunning cinematography. Centurion’s most notable feature however, strangely isn't any of these things. It is unbelievably violent.

The film is set in 117 in northern Britannia, at the furthest reaches of the Roman Empire. The local Picts (who look disturbingly similar to Klingons, by the way), utilizing a successful combination of ancient guerrilla warfare and shear viciousness, have held out against the advancing Romans for the better part of 20 years. One might say that the Romans are having trouble depicting England. Centurion centers on a group of seven Romans (led by Michael Fassbender), who are stranded behind enemy lines after their invading legion is slaughtered by the Picts. Their goal is to escape the marauding Rochesters who are hunting them all the while, and get back to Roman-held territory and safety in the south.

I'm going to give Marshall the benefit of the doubt here and suggest that Centurion is his attempt to deromanticize the violence associated with war - to expose the valorous and bloodless sword fights from films like Gladiator for what they really are: brutal acts of horrifying murder, moral or not. I've never counted the number of beheadings in a film before, but I lost track during Centurion. 30?... that might be low. The violence is so relentless, blood-soaked and grotesque that the film almost collapses in on itself. I think it was meant to be anti-war and anti-authority, but there's possibly a little too much curious fanboy/blood-lust delight laying just under the surface of Centurion to make it convincing. Perhaps a better read on the underlying point of the film is the concept that the West (proto-Westerner Romans in this case) can’t defeat the local populations of lands they invade without emerging as villains themselves. There are no “good” sides in Centurion. Both the Picts and Romans are savages bent on each other's destruction. The few decent and honourable people depicted in Centurion are themselves victims of the larger forces at play... politics and warfare have always gone hand in hand . So....some things never change?

Centurion is 10 times more violent than it had to be to make its point and even though it's only 97 minutes long, still drags in the final act. On a possible upside, it's got shitloads of nasty, crunchy, slicey battle scenes, if that happens to turn your crank. It's Rambo violent. You've been warned.

Sporgey.

Wait for the Dark Knight ending....

2010-12-01T10:01:00.001-05:00

Scott may not get it, but at least South Park does

2010-12-01T05:41:00.000-05:00

Great movies....

2010-12-01T01:42:00.004-05:00

For the last few years I keep finding myself on the other side of the “great” movie debate. It started with Scorsese's Gangs of New York, and has since included Chicago, Lost in Translation, Big Fish, Passion of the Christ, The 40 Year Old Virgin, The Dark Knight, Inglourious Basterds, Avatar, and more than a few others. The list now includes Christopher Nolan's Inception.

Let me start out by saying that Inception is an exceptionally well-crafted work. It's certainly the most polished film I've seen this year. I'm hardly surprised that the typical audience response was one of quasi-bewilderment, but that's more a function of the brain-dead modern movie audience than anything Nolan can be called out on the carpet for. In fact, the structure and intricacy on the plot is a marvel of storytelling. It isn't confusing, but rather complex ....a distinction people seem incapable of making these days.

There's been endless and overwhelmingly positive commentary, analysis, critical deconstructions and reviews about Inception. It's a film that will clean up at Academy Awards next year (early prediction... 7 Oscars, including Best Picture and Director). I understand and quite agree that Inception is worthy of all this positive press and critical acclaim.

But its greatness is limited. In a master-technician's hands, even the most mundane yarn can be spun into a grand adventure. There have always been great technical directors, (and Nolan certainly ranks among the cream of the crop), but very few who could also deliver powerful, challenging and emotionally-compelling narratives at the same time. Spielberg belongs to the first group while Kubrick resides in the second, to cite but two well-known directors. I suppose it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that the modern-day film audience can seemingly no longer differentiate between the two categories. Event movies (the Avatars, Batmans and Inceptions) are so prevalent and all-consuming (at least from the media's, and by extension the audience's, perspective), that “big” and “great” have melded into meaning the same thing in most people's minds.

It's been said that Inception is just a heist movie... and no one expects a heist movie to be anything but entertaining. While that might be true to a certain extent, I'm tempted to draw attention to the 1955 film Rififi, a heist film that the final 15 minutes of is both more compelling and emotionally powerful than anything in Inception AND takes place in a near-dream state that actually feels like one, unlike say...Inception. To suggest that a genre film can't be expected to rise to the challenge of also being emotionally-profound and moving is simply to understate the power and possibilities of cinema. In the right hands it can (and should be) both.

My problem with Inception is fairly straightforward. Buried beneath the incredible visuals, endless action scenes, labyrinth plotting and familiar Hollywood faces is a mediocre story that doesn't resonate at any fundamental human level. Even fans of the film seem to agree with that. I'd like to posit that that's also the reason no one takes anything away from Inception. I'd forgotten everything that happened 10 minutes after it was over. That isn't to say that I wasn't engaged while it was on, because I was thoroughly engrossed. What it didn't do was leave anything with me, which I must admit was disappointing. I return to my earlier contention that Shutter Island, with the same thematic underpinnings and even the same lead actor, delivered on an emotional level where Inception did not.

A final point. With the ability to create, populate and consciously interact in any dream world you can conjure up, who wouldn't be neck-deep in thousands of magic tits? Is it just me? Only Americans would populate such a blank dream-slate with modern weaponry and giant snow forts to attack with teams of gun-blazing synchronized-skiers. I hate to admit it, but my dream world would likely make Caligula blush and wouldn't include any fucking snowmobiles either.... well, a naked, oiled-Christina-battle (Ricci vs. Aguilera, to the death) on a pink ski-doo perhaps, but that's the subject of an entirely different post ...and ongoing discussions with my therapist.

Sporgey.

The 90-Minute Brit TV Experiment.

2010-12-01T00:31:00.002-05:00

Three separate British TV productions made their way to DVD this year, all sporting 90+ minute episode running times. There may be others, but the Red Riding Trilogy, Wallander, and Sherlock have seemingly set the table for a very intriguing and rewarding programming format, one that I hope catches on this side of the Atlantic.

As has been posted about before, the Red Riding series, made by Screen Yorkshire and Channel Four Film, is a collection of three stellar tele-films that stand amongst the best movies released this year, theatrical or otherwise. That they were made for TV is incidental. If you haven't seen them, do so at your earliest convenience. Wallander is a BBC-Scotland/Yellow Bird series with 3 episode seasons and run times of about 90 minutes as well. They suffer from a little overt miserablism, but Kenneth Branagh is excellent (and wonderfully dour) in the lead. They're based on the novels by Swedish author Henning Mankel (Bergman's son-in-law out of interest) and Season 1 is uniformly terrific. Season 2 is less so, but is still worth watching. Easy recommends to the Brit TV crowd at the very least.

The most recent example of the 90 minute TV-series I seen is an outstanding update of the Sherlock Holmes story, simply entitled Sherlock. Made by BBC Whales (didn't know such a beast existed, but the Internet does not lie), the first three episodes are riveting, most particularly the first and third. The casting is superb, the update to the modern world seamless (and wildly entertaining) and the pacing spot on. This is a home-run series and it's made a whole lot better by the extended running times. They are a perfect for for DVD as well, although I wish they had have done one episode per disk. As it is, they are difficult to split up for rental, but whatever.

I think this hour-and-a-half series idea has some real legs. It's a neat marriage of the perfect feature-length running time (+/- 90 minutes), but with the familiarity and audience comfort zone of the TV series format. In hindsight, six 90-minute Sopranos or Wire episodes per season might have really changed the dynamic of those shows (and perhaps even given them a shot at theatrical runs, they were certainly good enough). I gotta think that some cable/network gurus are working up something along those lines as we speak (and who knows...perhaps they've gone as far as getting their own whales alreadyt). If they can pull off something half as good as the Brit whales are doing these days, we may have something of a new format on our hands in due course.

Fingers crossed.

Sporgey.

Take a look over under the "Archive" at Tom's Fishing with John post

2010-11-27T21:45:00.002-05:00

Accidentally even more disturbing than the complete post title....

Until the light takes us (2008)

2010-11-27T17:26:00.004-05:00

Until The Light Takes Us recollects the Norwegian Black Metal scene of the early 1990s. Made notorious by a series of church burnings and homicides the subculture was subsequently tarred as satanism by the media. The film revisits that time, interviewing many key people and readdressing some claims about their motivations and beliefs.
Our two key interviewees are Varg Vikernes aka Count Grishnakh of Burzum seen here as he was until 2009, in Trondheim maximum security prison. Also Gylve of Darkthrone, a more passive character very involved in the scene but whom never crossed the line into criminal or violent activity. The interviews are totally engaging, especially that of Vikernes who is eloquent and compelling in his beliefs against the christian church and in a music which is surprisingly provocative when explained from it's conception. The film paces well by constantly turning our head between our two main subjects Varg & Gylve, representing the past and the present, the origins and a critique of the commercialization of Black metal culture in Norway, you could even say two perspectives from either side of the law.
It might be a stretch but I couldn't help noticing many parallels between black metal and the Rap scene of the early nineties. So many artists wanting to be the baddest, no-one backing down, everyone wanting to be the most extreme and both scenes crescendo with a series of deaths before being exploited commercially. Obviously the modern rap/R'n'B business is turning round much more cash these days, but the parallels were there at the start.
The production here is decent but what makes the film is really the subject and the clever way in which things are brought together to avoid a one note movie. Instead of just being about the music and excluding most of it's potential audience, Until the light takes us is instead about the people behind the music and the environments and circumstances that made them who they are. It takes an anthropologists perspective on Black Metal as a subculture rather than simply a musical genre. The soundtrack to the film is mercifully not Black Metal, instead the filmmakers opted for some electronic music which is moodier, cinematic and just works better.
It left me feeling enlightened and more appreciative in general of a scene I never understood and had had little exposure to. I was shocked at times and in awe that all this had happened and I knew nothing about it, swept under the carpet mostly. Now the right people have a chance to talk about it to a quite objective, some might even say sympathetic filmmaker. Provocative and controversial, just the way art should be.

Best of the Year Tally

2010-11-27T11:30:00.004-05:00

Kids,

The following is a tally of the average votes garnered for each title we kicked around as candidates for the best of the year. In an effort to rank these choices in a semi-apples-to-apples way, I've divided the list into 3 sections i) Art House Fare, ii) Documentaries and iii) Entertainment. I recognize that some films straddle the Art/Entertainment divide but wanted to somehow deliniate the Scott Pilgrims from the Revanches. Some titles skew up or down with only 1 or 2 ratings, but generally the ranking seems modestly valid in my view.

We have reviews on some, but not others. Does anyone care to pick a couple to do?

Thoughts on the above in the comments section if you'd be so kind.

Sporgey

Art House Fare

Prophet, A 5
Mid-August Lunch 5
Red Riding Trilogy 4.88
Winters Bone 4.88
Bad Lieutenant Port of Call: New Orleans 4.75
Revanche 4.6
Mother 4.5
Valhalla Rising 4.5
White Ribbon 4.5
The Square 4.5
Antichrist 4.33
Mesrine Parts 1 & 2 4.25
Wild Hunt 4.25
Bronson 4.1
$9.99 4
Eclipse 4
Escapist 4
Ip Man 4
Secret in Their Eyes 4
Terribly Happy 3.88
Bright Star 3.75
Lorna's Silence 3.75
The Killer Inside Me 2.83

Documentaries

Exit Through the Gift Shop 4.5
Art of the Steal 4
Baseball: The Tenth Inning 4
Until the Light Takes Us 4
Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage 3.88
Art & Copy 3.75
September Issue 3.67

Entertainment

Fubar 2 4.25
Inception 4.07
American, The 4
Losers 4
Scott Pilgrim vs. the World 4
Shutter Island 4
North Face 3.83
House of the Devil 3.75
Repo Men 3.75
Informant 3.58
A Christmas Carol! 3.5
Cold Souls 3.5
KickAss 3.5
How to Train Your Dragon 3.5
2012 2.75
Sherlock Holmes 2.69
Greenburg 2.33

Unception.

2010-11-27T02:44:00.001-05:00

In all sincerity, can anyone tell me what Inception was about? ...and didn't I just watch this movie back when it was a much better film called Shutter Island? Can a movie be both flawless and utterly vapid? I need some varied interpretations of what Nolan was trying to do/say here....because mine are sorely lacking.

You were right Kris.

Sporgey.

Valhalla Rising (2010)

2010-11-26T17:47:00.001-05:00

Valhalla Rising is Danish director Nicolas Winding Refn's near-about-face from last year's equally delicious, yet utterly different Bronson, perhaps the best one-two film-punch from any director in recent memory. Where Bronson drifted into near-avant-garde territory, Valhalla Rising is a Joseph Conrad-worthy existential journey into the depths of hell. The magnificent Mads Mikkelsen plays a one-eyed Scandinavian gladiator who, after beheading his owner (a Nordic clan chieftain who kept him in a cage like a Jabberwocky between medieval fight-club bouts), joins up with a bunch of equally-looney Christian Viking/zealots on their way to take over Jerusalem. A wrong turn at Albuquerque, leads the navigationally-challenged Crusaders to what looks suspiciously similar to the north shore of the St. Lawrence around Baie-Comeau, QC and into the invisible-clutches of some nasty orange-tinged North American primitives. Much slow-burn carnage ensues.

Valhalla Rising is absolutely magnificent, but it will have a hard time finding an audience. It's at once a gorgeous head-trip/art picture along the lines of Terrence Malick's The New World and a variation on Stallone's final Rambo entry. It's Kubrick by way of Tarantino, with some acid-laced Aguirre-era Herzog thrown in for good measure. In a strange way, it reminded me of Kick-Ass, perhaps because neither film seems to have an definable audience demographic, other than a few hardcore DVD industry participants, most of whom I know personally.

It's probably a stretch, but you get the feeling that Refn is working his way through Stanley Kubrick's catalogue, re-imagining various elements through contemporary Danish eyes. I first noted this with Bronson and the thematic territory it shared with A Clockwork Orange. This time out, Valhalla Rising's haunting soundscape reminded me of The Shining, the eerie buzzed-out atmosphere evokes 2001: A Space Odyssey and the violence, jarring and visceral like that of Full Metal Jacket. Malick is the other obvious influence here, but there are scenes in Valhalla Rising that wouldn't be out of place in an Aleksandr Sokurov flick either. The heavily-atmospheric screen compositions are constructed with varying degrees of saturation, emphasizing deep primary tones that feel almost primal in their rendering. While the combat scenes are bone-crunchingly graphic, Mads Mikkelsen brings a sublime and simple purity to the role, a combination of rugged charisma and inner stillness that makes him impossible to tear your eye/eyes off. He doesn't utter a single word in the film and yet owns every frame of it. Now that's acting.

This is one of those films that remains difficult, if not impossible, to recommend. I have no doubt that it will displace some high-ranking films on a few of your best-of-the-year lists, but I can't think of a single customer I would/could recommend it to. I've stumbled upon a few of these this year and this might be the best example.... a near-great film that simply won't find an audience, because outside a bunch of our fellow coworkers, one may not exist.

Sporgey

There is nothing like fresh air, with a rod in your hand.

2010-11-26T15:52:00.016-05:00

Shot in '91/'92 Fishing with John is a fishing program not at all about fishing. Resembling any cheap 90's cable TV fishing program it mostly consists of horrible looking video, music that ranges from dodgy Casio beats to some lo-fi jazz noodlings and a Hollywood style voice-over dramatic enough to make fishing exciting. All these elements together are totally disarming at a passing glance, but give yourself 5 minutes and you begin to feel a surrealistic undercurrent. This is John and his friends getting stoned, talking a bit and failing to catch fish.
It's hard to imagine under what circumstances this show came to be. Was it produced in the spirit of a parody from the start and if so who was in on the joke? Were they really all high? What was the audience and where was this to be shown? I get the sense that without this Criterion release of Fishing with John we'd be very lucky to maybe catch the show at an obscure cult video festival or tucked away in a very late night cable TV slot.
I listened to the full commentary with director and host John Lurie to try get a handle on it all. Apparently, in the early nineties John had developed a habit of shooting his fishing trips with his film industry friends on hi8. He'd been threatening to do a show for a while, his take on what he saw as the bizarrely relaxing cable TV fishing show. Somehow he came to meet a Japanese investor eager to invest in almost anything and thus came forward the money for Fishing with John. I can only imagine the face of the producers upon receiving the show they had paid for. It's a surreal stoner's odyssey. We travel around the world with John and his guests Jim Jarmusch, Tom Waits, Matt Dillon, Willem Dafoe and Dennis Hopper. The commentary reveals an episode that never got made with Flea of The Red Hot Chili Peppers. That would have been golden. But the thing is Fishing with John is golden. It's so unusual, in some ways very arty and sometimes utterly dumb. One minute it's philosophical musings, the next it's staged scenes of drama. It has that elusive x factor, the allure of the too bizarre to be true found only in rare one off gems like King of Kong or I like killing flies.
According to John, Tom Waits got so seasick and irate that they didn't talk for two years after the making of the show, Matt Dillon clammed up every time the camera rolled, Willem Dafoe was hilarious, Jim Jarmusch was easy going and Dennis Hopper was high on sugar and couldn't fish at all. I could watch this show all day if there were only more episodes that existed. Never mind Speed Racer, Fishing with John is the real ultimate stoner DVD.

Best of the Year Start List (Updated #3)

2010-11-20T21:25:00.011-05:00

I'm working on a web-only version of the Year End Review and have been slowly shortlisting films I've heard bounced around as contenders for this year's best releases. I've added a few of my own favourites and have arrived at this....updated, again, again.

$9.99

2012

A Christmas Carol!

American, The

Antichrist

Art & Copy

Art of the Steal

Bad Lieutenant Port of Call: New Orleans

Baseball: The Tenth Inning

Best Worst Movie

Bright Star

Bronson

Cold Souls

Eclipse

Escapist

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Fantastic Mr. Fox

Fubar 2

Greenburg

House of the Devil

How to Train Your Dragon

Inception

Informant

Ip Man

Kick-Ass

Lorna's Silence

Losers

Mesrine Parts 1 & 2

Mid-August Lunch

Mother

My Son My Son What Have Ye Done?

North Face

Prophet, A

Red Riding Trilogy

Repo Men

Revanche

Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World

Secret in Their Eyes

September Issue

Sherlock Holmes

Shutter Island

Terribly Happy

The Killer Inside Me

The Square

Until the Light Takes Us

Valhalla Rising

White Ribbon

Wild Hunt

Winters Bone

That's a wrap.

Sporgey

Skynet has become self aware.

2010-11-19T18:01:00.011-05:00

Dear Elders,
I feel a contagious ripple of shrugs spreading through my generation. You've got us nailed, you're right. We are all dreamers with art degrees and iPods, Facebook and text messaging. Overgrown teenagers. We consider neuroses a positive character trait, we are douche bags. The funniest thing I've seen this month is a video of an angry Korean man careening down a lift shaft to his death. We call each other hipsters without ever confronting the irony in the fact that the key characteristic of being a hipster is to constantly label others as hipsters in a desperate attempt to set yourself apart. Right now, I'm listening to music that juxtaposes an angular post-rock jazz sensibility with twee and whimsical female vocals... in Japanese. I am by all categorical definitions and imaginable criteria, a dickhead.
However, It's time to embrace the dickhead and let our differences lie. We can't deny that the chasm between us is claiming victims all the time, as 25 year-olds take up knitting and your friends Mum hunts down student boys online we just need to look after each other. There is no real difference between us, the only thing that really changed is our environment, our climate. We construct all these ideas to help make sense of what has happened but in terms of actual, quantifiable change in personality, I don't believe it's so much. And this brings us to what we have to offer and what new things we can bring to film.
Watching Scott Pilgrim Vs The World a couple of weeks ago, I almost felt proud of my generation. We are annoying, but we're not living in a complete cultural void. Things are just happening too fast for us to straddle. We're really not all bad and as things have unfolded we're in a unique position with a whole bunch of phenomena to draw upon creatively. Cue this slew of internet related films and I feel like we're getting in a groove.
When this clip of a Winnebago salesman stressing out gets two million hits on you tube, eventually someone is going to pick up on it. When a bad movie reaches cult status 20 years after it's release and draws its star out from his everyday job as a dentist into an arena where again, he is the star. We need to capture that, I want to see that. And likewise with The Social Network. It's a story of our time, it's a story worth telling. These subjects that some would see as fleeting, are now starting to feel to me as what this era will be remembered for.
“Remember all those movies about McCarthyism/Vietnam/The Internet?”
Who knows, all this attempted wisdom should have probably just stayed in my head, but there I go again. Dickhead.

The Expendables (2010)

2010-11-19T17:40:00.005-05:00

Existing on the dark side of the moon, at least when compared to the endless barrage of estrogen bombs going off at the cinema week in and week out for the last few years, Sylvester Stallone's Expendables certainly makes for an unusual viewing experience. As you might expect, it's an inverted, gender-mirror image of Sex and the City, the Twilight franchise and everything Nora Ephron ever directed. This is man movie territory, part homage to '80 action flicks, part sentimental longing for the good old days when men had testicles. Nearly everyone from the era is in it (except Seagal and Van Damme) and it reminded me that these guys have no modern day equivalents. Weird, isn't it? They just don't make movies like this anymore, which is, I suppose, both the point and the movie Stallone was making.

So, is The Expendables any good? Well, it ain't art to be sure, but fuck yeah, it's awesome! Sure, it might lack a little of the magic from the old days, but it works well enough on its own level. It's overly violent, gratuitous to a fault, ridiculous and improbable... and I didn't give a shit. Stallone is charming, funny and looks like he's nearly paralyzed on horse tranquilizers throughout. When he and Mickey Rourke hook up, you have to wonder who has more steroids coursing through their ever-prominent veins. The scene is 2 parts amazing and 3 parts jaw-droppingly creepy. It's like watching the results of a CIA super-soldier-science-experiment gone terribly right. The other ex-stars all hit their marks (and the bad guys) on cue and shit blows up over and over again.

And over again.

Gotta say....I really liked The Expendables. Sure, it was a silly throwbac......whoops, Donna's calling. All the girls have big boobs. Watch it.
Sporgey

My shoulder feels a little...strange

2010-11-16T15:31:00.000-05:00

http://news.nationalpost.com/2010/11/16/scooping-ice-cream-can-constitute-workplace-hazard-alberta-tribunal/

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

2010-11-13T13:02:00.004-05:00

It's easy to see why The Night of the Hunter bombed on it's original release: It was fundamentally at odds with the mom-and-apple-pie Eisenhower years in which it was released. It's a surreal and decadent film about a psychopath/serial-killer of his newlywed wives who, between working out schemes to dispatch the latest missus, has intimate talks with God. It wasn't exactly a Norman Rockwellesque vision of America, that's for sure. Part bogey-man, part bogus pastor, Harry Powell (played with complete zeal by an unusually over-the-top and creepy Robert Mitchum), shivers in disgust about the carnality of women ….and then he kills them. A vulnerable young widow Willa (Shelley Winters) with two kids and some hidden money, marries Powell and ends up at the bottom of a river. Ophelia, what have you done?

The Night of the Hunter would be the only film that actor Charles Laughton would direct... and that's a crying shame. Laughton, who was 56 when he directed the film, after pouring so much effort into the project, was reportedly disheartened by the film's poor box office performance. He would subsequently choose not to return to the director's chair and died a scant 7 years later in 1962.

While The Night of the Hunter has come to be acknowledged as a cinematic masterwork, it can at times seem to border on camp. This was entirely intentional, part of the eclectic vision Laughton had for the film. The script is credited to novelist-critic James Agee, although, according to Agee's biography, Laughton almost completely rewrote it, after becoming impatient with Agee's unshaped adaptation of the Davis Grubb novel. Laughton collaborated on Night of the Hunter with one the period's finest cinematographers: Stanley Cortez, celebrated for his deep-focus photography in The Magnificent Ambersons, among others. There is poetic sequence in The Night of the Hunter shot in deep focus with cobwebs, frogs and rabbits dominating the front of the frame, while far off in the background two diminutive, recently-orphaned children, also in sharp focus, sail down the river to escape the demented preacher Powell. The visual effect is one of an adult fairy-tale, which is key to understanding what Laughton was aiming for in The Night of the Hunter.

This is must-see material for cinephiles for any number of reasons, not least of which is the overriding influence of Laughton's vision. Auteur theorists found significant traction here and for good reason. Mitchum's double-barreled acting, the noirish, showy cinematography of Cortez, the surreal set design and the film's exaggerated, expressionist style all coalesce into an entirely adult version of a Disney animated feature.

The Night of the Hunter is a deeply-spiritual contemplation/expose on the eternal battle between good and evil, between religiosity perverted and the purity of human charity (as represented by the orphan's ultimate protector, Miss Cooper, played by an enchanting Lillian Gish). The exaggerated, eccentric expression of this battle is both timeless and poignant, even 50 years on, a lasting testament to Laughton's unique talents as a film maker and storyteller.

A quick note on the box art picture (which is not, unfortunately, the one Criterion ultimately went with). It comes from this site, Eric Skillman's blog and it includes a fascinating piece on the process of producing box art for Criterion's releases. Definitely worth a read.

10/10. Recently restored and just released on Criterion DVD and Blu-Ray (spine #541)

Sporgey

A complete failure.

2010-11-13T00:06:00.001-05:00

OK.... so it turns out I'm not an oracle after all. I mistook two separate entries for Kadas and missed both times. (Jaded, closet bi-sexual..... & Closet fascist.... ). He didn't post his picks at all. I thought the Iron Giant list was Nick's and have no idea who it really was. A good one though. I thought Amanda was the Felicity pick.... turns out that was Niki... I've no idea who the There Will be Blood pick is, but their taste in movies is excellent. House?.... wow, brilliant pick. I got Tom and Joe right out of about 10 entries, a batting average of .200, just above accidental/random in terms of accuracy. Hopeless.

All in all ….an unmitigated disaster..... that proves little other than a swami I am not. Thanks to all those who added a list and sorry to the people who I thought might have been Kris and slagged accordingly. My apologies to Nothing-But-Net Reed who was, according to him at least, a stellar athlete back in public school.

I am humbled.

La Spordinary.

Like a Vulcan Mind-Meld....

2010-11-09T14:40:00.003-05:00

As yet another condition of employment, I require some information from each you to complete an experiment I'm working on. To complete this astonishing act of cosmic insight, I need a number of people to anonymously post their 5 favourite films. From this snippet of personal introspection, I'm suggesting that it's possible to produce an astonishingly detailed portrait of the person associated with that list. Once I've had an opportunity to analyze the choices, I will post the results to your collective amazement. I guarantee the results to be uncanny, possibly even unsettling.

You may choose whatever films you want, the only condition being that they sit (or did at some point reside) up high on your list of personal cinematic favourites. They may also be secret, guilty-pleasures, films you are too embarrassed to admit loving, like The Fountain. With my unnatural ability to tease out deeply-guarded information based solely on simple film preferences, rest assured that I will spot and discount any red herrings you intentionally throw my way.

So, bring me your deepest secrets so that I may expose them to the world. 5 films..... 5 favourite films.... it's so simple.... so telling.... so personal. No attempt will be made to identify the person with their list. You will know who you are once I've stared deep into your soul.

WaaaaaHaHAHAha..... if you dare.

Sporgsterion

The Money Trap (1966)

2010-11-07T01:38:00.002-04:00

The Money Trap is a film stuck between two periods, coming right at the end of the big studio era and just before the Hollywood New Wave struck and changed all the rules. Despite the fact that it was completed just a year or two before Bonnie and Clyde, The Money Pits looks like a relic in comparison. There are a number of late studio-era crime films that fall into this same category, movies like Frank Sinatra's The Detective and Tony Rome, David Janssen's Warning Shot, Madigan with Richard Widmark, Kaleidoscope with Warren Beatty, and Paul Newman's Harper. Most of these movies get fairly tepid reviews from critics who see them as examples of the studio's collective decline through the changing '60s. Strangely, this period ranks up amongst my favourites. There's something about them that strikes a chord.

The Money Trap stars Glenn Ford, Rita Hayworth and Joseph Cotten, all actors whose stars shone brighter in an earlier era. Relative newcomers Elke Somer and Ricardo Montalban round out the cast. The comfort of the leads after years in front of the camera, together with more accurately representing the age of the characters they're playing, lends credibility to the roles. Their world-weariness seems more palpable and real, quite likely because it is. The story is a standard one of greed, temptation and, as they so often are, a big pile of money. It's well directed by Burt Kennedy, who is mostly known for his work on TV and a number of '60s Westerns.

I've always liked this film. It's the flip side of Gilda (which starred Ford and Hayworth 20 years earlier), the '40s glamour replaced with grit, greed and the changing world of the '60s. Perhaps it's this “out of time” quality that appeals to me. We too, are living through a period of immense societal change and perhaps there's comfort to be found watching it play out in another era. The Money Trap is than a curiosity piece however, it's a solid film as well. In a strange turn, thespians Montalban and Elke Somer would go on to greater success than their much-more-famous (at least at the time) Money Trap co-stars. Rita Hayworth would only make a handful more films and Glen Ford and Joseph Cotten were mostly relegated to made-for-TV movies and mini-series for the balance of their careers.

The Money Trap and Nora Prentiss just arrived at the FBW (well, not quite...they're still at my place, but I'll get them to the store next week) on the stupidly-overpriced Warner Brothers Archive Collection.

....and is it just me or does Ford look like he's taking a crap in the middle of a gun battle on the poster?

Sporgey

Nora Prentiss (1947)

2010-11-07T01:15:00.004-04:00

I'm almost afraid to call Nora Prentiss a film noir. I know I can be a bit one-note on the merits of the noir canon and pretty much deserve the eye-rolls and polite Ya, I'll give that one a watch, Scott niceties tossed my way when I recommend these old crime melodramas. Nora Prentiss is a bit of a different bird though. It's a top-notch B, well-written, well-cast, fantastically lensed by cinematographer James Wong Howe and directed with precision by Vincent Sherman. In short, it's a winner on almost every front.

It's also a film that's hard to describe without giving away too much of the plot. In a nutshell, a doctor, bored with his pedestrian existence, invents an elaborate plan to escape it with a night club singer he's fallen for. Wanker. Not surprisingly... it all goes very badly, but just how it goes badly is marvel of 40's potboiler scriptwriting. It simply boggles the mind that this film hasn't been remade. The story is adult, modern and has a wicked twist that arrives in the final 10 minutes that seems ripe for an update.

Kent Smith plays Doctor Richard Talbot and he nearly tops his performance in the noir/horror classic The Cat People, made 5 years earlier. Ann Sheridan plays Nora and despite being top-billed in a role that has been described as the ultimate “woman's noir”, Smith nearly steals the show. Nora Prentiss is the product of the studio system at its peak, with excellent performances from Smith, Sheridan, and a bunch of Warner Brothers regulars including Bruce Bennett (from Dark Passage and Mystery Street), Robert Alda (The Man I Love), John Ridgely (The Big Sleep) and a young Wanda Hendrix (from another great and nearly forgotten noir, Ride the Pink Horse – great title huh?).

The expressionistic look of the Nora Prentiss is a testament to the always excellent work by Howe and this film ranks amongst his best. The picture literally drips with a paranoid, claustrophobic atmosphere that's hard to shake. Vincent Sherman directed a number of noirs for Warner Brothers including Backfire, The Unfaithful (also with Sheridan), The Affair in Trinidad and The Garment Jungle, but I think Nora Prentiss is my favourite. The score by Franz Waxman is also stellar.

All that said, Nora Prentiss, like a lot of films from the era, requires a modern audience willing to grant the story a little leeway and suspend some disbelief ...particularly for the conclusion, an ending that's at once the film's best attribute, but also a little hard to swallow. It may not stand up to extensive scrutiny, but it makes for a excellent downbeat finale.

Sporgey

Scott Pilgrim Rocks.

2010-11-04T17:59:00.003-04:00

I don't have much to add to Kris's comprehensive post about Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World from a few months ago, but with its Tuesday release on DVD/Blu-Ray, I wanted to drag it back up to the top of the blog. SPVTW is a blast. It's the most fun I've had watching a movie all year. The effects are nicely handled, the music and score excellent and the actors well cast, particularly Michael Cera in the lead. The PG rating is a huge bonus for us and in spite of the fact that this one tanked at the box office, I expect it'll find some life on our shelves (actually preferably off). Totally enjoyable and an easy recommendation, even for tweenies. And speaking of tweenies.....

It's somebody's 12th 12th birthday! …..Happy Birthday to you know who, who turns +/-12 again in the next couple of days. She and her BFF's are all going to Medieval Times to celebrate tonight! Imagine, this after just returning from 5 full days of rides at Universal Theme Park in Florida. You go girl.

Sporgey

War Films, Part 3

2010-11-04T00:23:00.001-04:00

I never saw Apocalypse Now in the theatres and I don't remember why. It was later, on home video, where I first encountered Capt. Willard journeying up the Nung River into the deepest recesses of the jungle and toward an awaiting Col. Kurtz. About 10 years ago I watched the plus 40 minute Redux version of the film and truth-be-told, found the original preferable. It was tighter. The extra footage didn't seem to add anything to the story or our understanding of the characters. I'm pretty sure I watched Redux on VHS as well.

Two scenes always bugged me about Apocalypse Now; The night scene at the besieged, psychedelically-lit, American-held Do Lung bridge and the ending, which I never thought provided any closure to the story. The Do Lung bridge scene comes well into the film, at the height of Willard's personal conflict about the journey. Tellingly, the scene is dark, claustrophobic, unsettling and confusing - mirroring Willard's own thoughts about his mission to kill Kurtz. I've changed my mind about this scene after finally seeing it properly framed and reasonably close to its original theatrical presentation. On VHS, the scene is frustrating and nearly impossible to see. The Blu-Ray print is nothing short of a revelation, particularly for the final third of the film, which quite purposefully plays out in darkness with slashes of light illuminating the screen like lightning bolts. The Do Lung Bridge scene is improved immensely by the simple act of seeing it as Coppola had intended.

The ending..... some say it's brilliant and maybe it is. I've read that Coppola fiddled over what would be the 'final cut' version of the 35mm film, so various editing and differing release versions were screened at showings in 1978 and 1979 - many with alternative endings. The ending he went with wasn't modified in Redux, so it must have provided the effect he wanted. Even though Apocalypse Now is well past the point where critical analysis is either needed or of much value (and it's almost sacrilegious to question anything about the film among cinephiles anyways), I still think the ending is missing something. Neither of the two possible eventualities foreshadowed early on in the final act come to pass, the first being the bombing of the compound and the second being Willard taking over from Kurtz as the compound's leader. It briefly appears that Willard might consider the later, but as he wanders through Kurtz's followers, collects Lance and heads back to the boat, it becomes clear that Kurtz will not have a successor. Apparently, several of the earlier alternate endings included the destruction of the compound in the background as Lance and Willard start their journey back. To me, it's the ending the film should have – the period at the end of the sentence that I think is missing from what is otherwise an acknowledged masterpiece of film making.

The Blu-Ray boxset includes both cuts, the original and Redux and the brilliant documentary about making the film: Hearts of Darkness, A Filmmaker's Apocalypse.

Sporgey.

One of the oldest professions in the world... in 3d! Jackass 3d (2010)

2010-11-02T14:28:00.003-04:00

Did i actually go see this film? Yes.
Should i actually write a review for this film? Depends.
If i do write a review for this would i have anything interesting to say? Actually...

Jackass 3D brings back the original Jackass crew to do more of what they do best; disgusting, painful, and hilarious stunts.

Growing up i was a fan of Canada's own Tom Green, this being back when he used to be on public access. In the late 90's MTV caught wind of the hit and run comedian and signed him to their network. Soon after Jackass started up, a new MTV show featuring a group of young 20 somethings doing awful things to their bodies for laughs.
It may be debatable to say but one has to wonder if Jackass would exist without Tom Green.

Jackass went on to became a world wide hit, spawning countless seasons and not one, but two films. The phenomenon was a troubling one, what about this show had so many eating it up? Humour at this low a level certainly lacks any shred of intelligence or shame. How base had the mainstream consumers become? The comedy in watching people hurting themselves is for cave men, certainly we have come up a few notches on the evolutionary ladder to enjoy comedy that features a wealthy use of language and complex situations involving human relationships.

But some nights... when the mood is just right and the sun is setting blood red, you can't help it. You wanna see someone get hit in the nuts... AND IN 3D!
What's intriguing about this picture (besides the how and why) is that it's been four years since we have heard anything from the guys in the Jackass camp. This foray back onto the big screen demands to be bigger and better than their last effort. Unfortunately, they definitely accomplish that.

The stunts... are too many and too painful to include here, but they don't disappoint. The ridiculous novelty of 3D only makes the experience all the more bizarre and unwarranted.
This time around, however, i was laughing for a different reason. Self inflicted injury can only tickle my funny bone for so long, instead i found my laughs coming off the faces from the performers themselves.
Wherein past incarnations of the Jackass franchise it seemed that the performers took some sick satisfaction in what they were doing, yet here the rules of the game have apparently changed.
Before every stunt their once smug faces are now replaced with the looks of total fear and finally some shame. You can read in their faces that they really don't want to be there.

If you gaze into the abyss of their faces long enough you can watch their internal struggle playing out in their eyes:
"I can't do this... I'm being paid a lot of money to do this... I don't want to do this... but the money... fuck it just do it."

This internal struggle that all the players share is the most interesting thing about this particular Jackass installment. We are now watching 30 somethings doing disgusting things to their body that they really don't wanna do. For the first time, Jackass has depth (albeit, an unintentional depth... yet depth still the same).
What we are basically watching is non-sexual prostitution. These people are selling their bodies and for the price of a movie ticket you get to watch all the gory glory.

A thought more terrifying than a 3D Hostel film.

War Films, Part 2

2010-11-01T23:53:00.001-04:00

I don't particularly like Paul Haggis. I didn't love Million Dollar Baby and I despised the moral knee-capping that was Crash, The Movie! I mean I really hated Crash. As a result, I had little optimism going into his followup film, In the Valley of Elah when I first watched it a couple of years back. I fully expected another sloppily written, heavy-handed commentary with a self-important story, an all-star cast and entirely too much.... well, Haggis.

It turns out that I was wrong, dead wrong in fact because In the Valley of Elah, while certainly flawed, is a truly gripping drama about a man’s search for answers. Tommy Lee Jones deserved a Best Actor Oscar for his subtle-yet-passionate performance as Hank Deerfield, a retired soldier whose son, an Iraq war soldier himself, suddenly goes AWOL and turns up murdered. The subsequent journey of discovery is devastating for Deerfield, exposing a son whom he hardly knew, a military that doesn't want the truth to get out and driving a stake through the very core of his entire ideology.

Haggis maintains a gradual and deliberate pacing throughout, building tension using the slow-boil mystery on the surface of the film while probing the much-deeper issues of modern-day patriotism, warfare and the fabric of American society. It is a vastly misunderstood and consistantly misread film, judging from the reviews and comments I've read about it. It received modest reviews on it's theatrical release and then sank quickly from sight. Jones' performance elevates the picture. His personal transformation over the course of his investigation is heartbreaking and involves mourning both his son's death and the loss of his own identity. The film's central metaphor, the epic battle between David and Goliath (they fought in the Valley of Elah, hence the title) has been mostly misinterpreted to mean Deerfield's fight against the tyranny and malignant military apparatus, whereas the actual metaphor is entirely more complicated, a point I'll come to below.

Charlize Theron provides an understated and low-key supporting performance as a detective hoping to prove herself with the case of Hank’s murdered son, which inadvertently falls on her desk. She is a single mother raising a young 8-year-old son herself, David, who isn't particularly inclined or pushed to engage in traditionally-aggressive masculine pastimes (sports, violent games, etc.). The story of David & Goliath is told to him twice during the film, the first time by Tommy Lee as one of bravery and manliness and a second time by Theron, during which David interrupts his mother to ask “Why would they let him fight a giant?”.

This seemingly-innocent question is the key to understanding the film. Young David is David and Goliath is a society that would shape his existence in such a way to facilitate him fighting in terrible wars. Tommy Lee Jones' Hank Deerfield comes to understand that he is part of the problem, not part of the solution and in a final abandonment of his ideological worldview, raises an inverted American flag (foreshadowed in an earlier scene) to indicate that he believes his home, country and society are in a state of extreme distress.

In the first part of this post, I made the suggestion that war films, particularly those that focus primarily on the “war is hell” in-the-trenches-with-soldiers view of military battle and warfare are apt to miss the larger sociopolitical issues that surround a nation's overt acts of aggression and, more importantly, often fail to address the fundamental issues of culpability and causality. The reasons why war is considered an acceptable extension of policy can't be effectively presented or explored by filmmakers in these stories, to put it another way. It allows those same filmmakers the luxury of avoiding the issue entirely, which I'm not sure isn't partly by design. In the Valley of Elah is an exception to this trend. It is a film that not only looks at the dehumanizing effects of warfare on the modern soldier, but also the expanded role society plays in that transformation. Instead of looking outward to explain and justify the extreme human cost associated with conflict, it suggests that we look inward at the structure of our own society to find the answers. It falls short of assigning blame directly on the perverted-capitalism that plagues our time, but it's a start. One can only hope that In the Valley of Elah will be appreciated years from now when the Iraq war is looked upon as the event that revealed to its citizens what America has truly become. With terrific performances and a gripping, insightful story, this vastly under-appreciated film is one of the best war-time tragedies of the decade.

Sporgey

Best Foreign Film of 2010: Winter's Bone

2010-10-31T19:22:00.002-04:00

Based solely on the act of watching Debra Granik's excellent Winter's Bone I've decided to add Missouri to the list of places I will never ever go, not even on a bet. That makes two this year, the Ozarks and the area between Scotland and France where the Red Riding trilogy is set... I think it's called “England”, but have to check with Tom to confirm that.

Winter's Bone is a stellar film, an intensely bleak mystery set amongst toothless Missourian meth-heads and abandoned trailer homes. The story is based on Daniel Woodrell's novel of the same name and stars Jennifer Lawrence in what must rank as the performance of the year. She is never short of brilliant throughout. The story follows dirt-poor 17-year-old Ree Dolly (played with quiet desperation and defiant pride by the aforementioned Lawrence) and her search for her meth-cooking daddy Jessup. Seems old Jessup missed a court date and has left his family in a bind. He used the family homestead to cover his bail and it's about to be turned over to the friendly neighbourhood bail-bonding folks. Left in charge of her two young siblings and nearly-catatonic, batshit-kooky mother, Ree has no choice but track down dear old dad to keep a roof over their heads. The search for Jessup leads Ree from one bad-ass Ozark outlaw to another, each a little bit creepier than the last.

The subculture of this region is simply unimaginable and to catch a glimpse inside it is a real eye-opener. It makes the east end look like Paris (the nice part of Paris, that is). Donna had no idea what to make of any of it. It was simply too foreign a world for her to get her head around. I had rather the opposite reaction to Winter's Bone. I kinda dug the anarchy and weird social order that sprang from this godforsaken place. I mean I'm not going to fry up squirrel for dinner anytime soon (depending, that is, on how fucking long this Roncesvalles construction lasts), but I must admit that the Lord of the Flies pecking order in Winter's Bone seemed about right. The film itself is just about perfect.

A top-5 ranked movie for me this year.

Sporgey

War Films, Part 1

2010-10-31T12:19:00.003-04:00

Executive producers Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks' 10 hour miniseries The Pacific (HBO, 2010) is primarily based on the books Helmet for My Pillow by Robert Leckie and With the Old Breed by Eugene Sledge. Together with Guadalcanal Medal of Honour recipient John Basilone, Leckie and Sledge are the focus of the series. Unlike the Spielberg/Hanks 2001 miniseries Band of Brothers, which concentrated on the members of a single platoon, The Pacific traces men whose paths cross only sporadically during the war, spinning several story threads that weave in and out of the 10 episodes. It's a departure from the formula of the original series, but serves this story well.

Like Band of Brothers, The Pacific is spectacularly-polished and full of moments of great technical prowess. The battle scenes are brutal, exhausting, realistic and graphic, the casting superb, and the direction mostly impeccable. The series strikes a slightly different tone than Band of Brothers, one that both separates and defines The Pacific as a stand-alone piece. The brutality and racially-charged nastiness of the Pacific campaign is particularly jarring, as is the vulnerability of the Marines we follow through the series. The Japanese soldiers are portrayed as almost alien, relentless warriors who reside in the shadows and whose ferocity and willingness to sacrifice their lives for the empire unquestioned.

There are a couple of episodes devoted to the life away from the battlefield and while they might slow the series down a little, the relentless savagery of the Guadalcanal, Cape Gloucester, Peleliu, Okinawa and Iwo Jima battles are so grueling, that these interludes come as a bit of a relief if you're watch multiple episodes in one sitting. The Pacific remains focused on chronicling the lives of Marine Privates and NCO's with apparent realism and accuracy. The terrifying and horrible Pacific theatre in World War 2 and the extraordinary courage and bravery of the men who fought in it gives one pause to reflect on how incredibly fortunate we are to live in the time we do.

But that's all it does and I'm not sure that's enough, particularly given the latitude a 10-hour, $250M should have provided the filmmakers. The Pacific fails to offer much beyond the oft-repeated “war is hell” mantra at the heart of most contemporary films about war, a charge that might be inappropriate given the quite-likely-intentional decision to limit the scope of the series. Much like the other major war-themed films released to DVD this year, including the Oscar-winning Hurt Locker, The Pacific displays the same underlying structural flaws that undermine most films in the genre. We already know that war is hell. The problem with this mantra is that it is statement on which everyone already agrees despite what side of the political divide - dove or hawk – you sit on. By concentrating on the personal experiences of the hapless soldier protagonist while avoiding the broader context of war's sociopolitical causes, these works end up becoming something less meaningful, more action flick than war film. The genre has become increasingly depoliticized as filmmakers attempt to achieve some sort of false-impartiality. Quite frankly, neutrality is just about the last thing we need in films about war.

I'd like to suggest like that as films in this genre have become progressively more adept at accurately portraying the utter brutality of war from the soldier's perspective, that there's been a trade off in terms of sociopolitical, introspective and and insights into causality and culpability. The micro-analysis of the soldier's existence that is the focus of most modern war films has come at the expense of addressing macro issues surrounding conflict and the decision to wage war in the first place. Films about the “justness” of military action are few and far between. It should be said that The Pacific never promises anything beyond documenting the experiences of the individual marine, but to avoid even mentioning the questionable strategic value and incredible cost in terms of human life associated with engagements like the Battle of Peleliu (the 1st Marines lost 1749 of approximately 3000 men, for example) taking an island whose airstrip and geographic location was of little value for future operations, seems to smack of perpetuating the myths surrounding war, valour and heroism.

War films are typically organized thematically into one of three modalities – the pro-military film, the anti-war film and the home front film. Movies in first category tend to glorify military actions without questioning their motivations, while anti-war films typically focus on the immorality and cruelty of warfare. Home front movies typically concentrate on domestic events as dutiful wives and families await the return of the husband, or news of his death. Movies about soldiers struggling to reintegrate into society also fall into this category. At first glance, most of the recent examples in the genre would seem to fit into the anti-war modality, however, on closer scrutiny it becomes difficult to separate them from the first category. Deliberate or not, in the absence of any larger sociopolitical context, these films can serve to depoliticize the genre and let causality off the hook. War is invariably waged as an extension of a nation's international policy. The structural causes of the U.S. decision to invade Vietnam (capitalist imperialism) for example, is given little thought in films about the war, even the great ones (films like Apocalypse Now '78 and The Deer Hunter '79). The recent wave of “War on Terror” films (The Hurt Locker '09, Brothers '09, Lions for Lambs '07 & Stop-Loss '08) also focus predominantly on the “war is hell” mantra and offer little more than representing warfare as a personal nightmare to be survived. Once again, the structural causality of the decision to wage war in the first place (oil) is avoided and the systemic flaws that gives rise to a foreign policy that deems preemptive military intervention to be acceptable extension of this policy are freed from charges of culpability.

The Pacific is decidedly not about the “War on Terror”, but its production during the ongoing U.S. engagements in Iraq and Afghanistan complicates matters. Neither the filmmakers nor the audience can avoid drawing parallels to their contemporary equivalents. Whether we care to admit it or not, the influence of present-day events bleeds into both the creation and consumption of cinematic representations of the past. The Pacific succeeds in representing the wide-eyed innocence of mid-century America and how soldiers were motivated to acts of extreme brutality and horrific cruelty to simply survive to live another day. Six decades later, one could argue that demonizing other cultures in support of military motivation to wage war at ground level hasn't changed substantially. Our collective awareness of the “war is hell” mantra, reinforced by dozens of films and series produced about different wars and military engagements over the last 30 years, hasn't seemingly translated into a desire to avoid waging it, and that begs the question: Why are we still doing them the same way each time?

As you can see, what started as a quick review of The Pacific quickly morphed into a larger piece, one that I intend to return to with a followup post on a recent film that was universally dismissed on its initial release, but one that I think speaks far more effectively to the larger sociopolitical issues that films in this genre tend to avoid.

...to be continued

Sporgey

Larry Sanders The Complete Series (HBO 1992 to 1998)

2010-10-31T12:13:00.002-04:00

Gary Shandling's surreal mock-talk show, The Larry Sanders Show, was one of the pivotal television programs in history. Without it, subsequent shows as diverse as The Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Arrested Development, Six Feet Under, 30 Rock, and The Office might never have been made. Larry Sanders was instrumental in ushering in a new era and style of TV show. It also put HBO on the programming map and proved that the cable networks could go toe-to-toe with the big boys. For reasons that completely evade me, The Larry Sanders Show was only released in bits and pieces to video (Season 1, followed by a “best of” compilation a few years ago), an oversight that has been finally rectified with the arrival in the FBW of the complete series on DVD this week. The FBE couldn't afford a copy because Joe blew $13,000 on euro-horror films in the 3rd quarter.

Larry Sanders basically invented the ironic, self-referential sitcom. While it has it's roots in programs such as Martin Mull's Fernwood Tonight and took it's cues from the real world of late night talk shows, Shandling built the show around a completely original idea. The show's guests were real, playing themselves on the show, while the off-stage elements were fictional. Larry (played by Shandling) was a composite of, among others, Carson, Letterman and Leno and the late night talk show he hosted ran up against real program of the day like Arsenio Hall. Jeffrey Tambour plays Hank, Larry's Ed McMahon-like sidekick. Rip Torn plays the show's producer Arty and a host of actors who would go on to bigger things played various staff. It was one of the first programs that featured rather-unlikeable people in all the major roles. Larry was neurotic and shallow and only found his comfort zone while the show was on. When the lights went up and the audience and guests went home, he was lost. Hank was a giant self-serving asshole who envied Larry's success, but would always play second fiddle. Arty was the closest thing Larry had to a friend and played nursemaid to Larry's endless whining. He also had a ruthless shive-you-while-he's-smiling quality.

Larry Sanders never found much in the way of mainstream success. It remains a cult phenom that came and went with few realizing just how influential it was. It blazed the trail for much of what followed and remains extremely watchable, in spite of being nearly 20 years old. Winner.

Sporgey

Four great haunted house movies

2010-10-24T17:11:00.002-04:00

The "haunted house" is one of my favourite subjects in the realm of horror. Ghosts, madmen, torture, dark secrets; all are contained within the dank stone walls of these particularly troubled mansions. What follows is (quite obviously) not a complete list, but a small sampling of some of the best the subgenre has to offer.

The Haunting (1963)

Robert Wise's interpretation of Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House is considered by many to be the granddaddy of all haunted house films. And with good reason, I now see, after first viewing it just last night. I'm not sure that this film can be topped for its class and restraint, its lack of reliance on visual cues, and its study not of supernatural phenomena and ectoplasmic occurrences, but rather of the ghosts of the mind and the soul.

While featuring all the usual trappings of the haunted house picture (dark corridors, forbidden rooms, cobwebs, and things that go bump in the night), The Haunting is a study of psychological and emotional frailty, where one's greatest fear isn't some wispy apparition, but the very real fear of being forgotten, unloved, of dying alone. That I found Julie Harris' Nell to be both annoyingly martyrish and shrewy as well as heartbreakingly lost and desperate for something to cling onto is a testament to the actress' craft. Russ Tamblyn's unbelieving frat boy, Richard Johnson's tea and tweed paranormal researcher, and Claire Bloom's Sapphic-leaning clairvoyant all round out the solid cast.

What gets me about The Haunting is that there is actually very little in the way of your typical "haunting". And you have to think that Wise was a fan of Hitchcock's Psycho, released three years earlier; if Harris' "stolen car" sequence near the beginning of the film, replete with scared, uncertain voice-over, is anything but a tribute to the master, it is nothing at all. While I wasn't as taken with The Haunting as I thought I might be (unrealistically high expectations have a habit of doing that), it is a very, very good film, and one any horror/haunted house fan should see if they haven't already.

The House on Haunted Hill (1959)

What we have here is almost the exact opposite of The Haunting, filled with deliciously exaggerated acting and cheap frights. Where The Haunting might be likened to being lost in a slowly darkening forest, The House on Haunted Hill is akin to a carnival spook-house. But that's not to say it is any way the inferior film, and in many ways I preferred the William Castle gimmickry and the hammy acting of my lord and saviour, Vincent Price as Frederick Loren. And there are a few genuinely dark moments, and at least one sequence where I actually jumped, even though I knew exactly what was coming. Effective stuff, indeed. The best of the cast here (other than VP, natch) are Spider Baby's Carol Ohmart as Price's conniving, cold-hearted bitch of a wife Annabelle. So, so great. Elisha Cook's scared souse Watson Pritchard bookends the rest of the group, all hoping to collect the $10,000 promised them for simply spending the night (and surviving) in Loren's home. Great, light fun.

The Changeling (1980)

"How did you die Joseph? Did you die in this house? Why do you remain?"

This Canadian classic is not only one of my favourite haunted house films, but one of my favourite horror films period. George C. Scott is terrifically cast as a pianist mourning the recent freakishly accidental death of his wife and daughter, and has holed up in a chilly, isolated mansion in order to lose himself in his work. He soon realizes that there is something else in the house with him. What follows certainly ranks among the most spine-tingling ghost stories ever to be filmed. Haunting, elegiac, moving, and at times, blood-curdling, The Changeling is a bona fide classic. Melvyn Douglas provides great support as a senator with a dark past. If there is one film on this list that I must insist you watch if you haven't, it is this one.

The Legend of Hell House (1973)

I've said it before and I'll say it again, The Legend of Hell House is a true treat. Do yourself a favour and check it out. A giant of the genre.

So, what are your favourite haunted house flicks?

I'm Uncertain....

2010-10-23T21:43:00.009-04:00

Uncertainty (2009)

Well this was certainly a strange one - part thriller, part drama and split into two separate story lines that, for most of the film's running time, don't seem to have anything to do with each other. Uncertainty is exactly what I felt when I finished it last night. I've always liked Joseph Gorden-Levitt and he's good here as well, but performance alone does not necessarily make for a worthy film experience. I popped online today to troll for reviews, wondering if I'd missed something. I read exactly two, which follow and match pretty well the theme and gimmick of Uncertainty.

From DVD Verdict, Daryl Loomis wrote a fairly positive review about the film. Chris Long from DVD Town took a dimmer view of the proceedings. As I read through both reviews, the fact that each critic took an entirely different view of the exact same film started to mimic the split story of the film itself. I thought it'd be interesting to post a few excerpts from both reviews and compare them paragraph by paragraph.

The review lead-ins are simply descriptive...

DVD Verdict
Heads or tails? Simple choices like this have complicated consequences in Undecided. McGehee and Siegel use a strange gimmick to spin an entertaining cross-up of a thriller with a family drama. The world diverges considerably based on the simple decision of where to go on a bright and sunny Independence Day morning. The director team intelligently weaves their two worlds together to get deep into the hearts of the two lead characters. Each story begins with the lovers finding something, a cell phone in one story and a dog in the second. These discoveries represent very different things, but they are instrumental in the plots that follow.
DVD Town
A coin flip sends a couple running in opposite directions on a bridge. Bobby (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and Kate (Lynn Collins) race away to meet… each other. From this point their stories, color coded as Yellow and Green to help the viewer keep track, diverge into completely different genres.

Loomis and Long diverge pretty quickly afterward though...

DVD Verdict
In the Manhattan story, the phone serves as the MacGuffin for the thriller, but it also gives us a window into the characters.
DVD Town
Yellow wastes no time plunging the couple knee deep into an utterly absurd thriller involving a found cell phone with secret information, murder and lots of chases through Manhattan´s Chinatown.
DVD Verdict
The writing and the editing play a part in the success of Uncertainty, but it is largely thanks to the performances from Gordon-Levitt and Collins. They exhibit a great chemistry together, playing off of each other and working together to make both stories happen. McGehee and Siegel employed an odd scripting tactic here. They wrote great detail into the action for each scenario, but left the dialog virtually blank. They put it on the leads to feel the scene and speak the dialog that comes naturally to them, and they are excellent from start to finish.
DVD Town
McGehee and Siegel only outlined each scene and let their actors improvise the dialogue with decidedly mixed results. Collins in particular isn´t up to the challenge and as a result the couple´s relationship, intended as the uniting force between the two intercut storylines, isn´t very convincing. She and Gordon-Levitt stumble awkwardly through several scenes that fail to create any sense of emotional depth.

Their conclusions...

DVD Verdict
Uncertainty may feel gimmicky at times, but it is nonetheless is a well made and ultimately satisfying film. The dual stories offset each other nicely and serve to give us a clear picture of this relationship while staying interesting and entertaining throughout.
DVD Town
It´s difficult to fathom the purpose of the experiment. Perhaps the stray dog they find with its half-torn collar is part of a spy plot. When that cell phone rings, maybe it´s that Dmitri jerk from Yellow accidentally calling Green Bobby. But this possibility of osmosis between the parallel narratives soon dissipates as both stories limp to a tedious finish. Yellow is so absurd, and Bobby and Kate become so increasingly stupid throughout it, that I´m inclined to think McGehee and Siegel made it this ridiculous on purpose. But if they´re trying to highlight the silliness of a Hollywood high-concept thriller, they don´t provide a more convincing alternative with the subdued but still inert Green storyline.

...and there you go, two looks, two entirely unique takes on the same film.

Niki + Kendall = PURE FAME

2010-10-22T12:13:00.001-04:00

Fantasia - Night On Bald Mountain sequence

2010-10-21T23:21:00.000-04:00

Still absolutely stunning, 70 years later.

EOne to the Rescue!

2010-10-20T23:52:00.006-04:00

Caution: Film Avalanche on this Tuesday October 26th!

The Tattooed Girl Whom Played with the Fire Dragon, Part Deux – I prefer the original Swedish title Flickan som lekte med elden, but as you can see, Bablefish's Swedish to English translation works pretty well too. Hottie hacker Lisbeth and journalist Mikael investigate a sex-trafficking ring. Lisbeth is accused of three murders necessitating the dawning of tight fetish clothes to excape and torch some Bimmers in. Mikael works to clear her name because he verkligen vill knulla henne, and really, who wouldn't? BTW If you're wondering, Pigen der Legede med Iilden is Norwegian for Flickan som lekte med elden.

Winter's Bone - "An unflinching Ozark Mountain girl hacks through dangerous social terrain as she hunts down her drug-dealing father while trying to keep her family intact." (IMDb.com). Hmmmm.... Sounds like Virginia.... West Virginia that is, not our own Virginia.... although she has a missing drug-dealing Dad too. Weird eh? It's actually set in Missouri(able).

Wow! Watched this tonight - Review will follow. What a stunner.

I Am Love – Tilda Swinton stars in this Italian festival darling from director Luca Guadagnino, whoever that is. Egbert Rogers had this to say about it.... "I Am Love is an amazing film. It is deep, rich, human. It is not about rich and poor, but about old and new. It is about the ancient war between tradition and feeling" ...Sounds like something Spock would say.

Top marks from all the arthouse critics here. Tilda learned Italian to play the role, but with a Russian accent. Now that's committment. Looking forward to this one.

You Don't Know Jack. Hoo—ahhhh! Al Pacino brings "Dr. Death" to life in this HBO Films presentation directed by Barry Levinson, whoever that is. It got decent reviews. Apparently, people's opinions split across the film based on their position on euthanasia. Really? Ya think?

As Kendall once said of Michael Moore's films - "The people that watch his films don't need to and the people that should, won't."

I'm guessing the same applies here.

Please Give - Kate (Catherine Keener) and Alex (Oliver Platt) are a couple living in New York City who specialize in vintage furniture - which they buy on the cheap at blah blah blah up at their trendy Manhattan blah blah blah. Kate and Alex have a teenage daughter, Abby (Sarah Steele) who has image problems and their apartment is starting to feel a bit small for the three of blah blah blah ...and Alex own the unit next door to them, and once the flat becomes vacant, they plan to knock out a wall and blah blah blah, Andra (Ann Morgan Guilbert), their tenant, is an elderly blah blah blah doesn't seem eager to go anywhere blah blah blah, and it's occurred to Kate ….oh, fuck it. I've forgotten the name of this title three times since it arrived at 2pm this afternoon. Girls will love it.

Sex and the City, Squared - Really? Was this necessary? Come on.... Surely we've been down this vapid, slack-jawed, chick-porn road enough times already? I Photoshopped Tom's face onto Kim Cattrall's, but she/he looks exactly the same. How strange is that?

Still, a pretty decent week all in all.

Sporgey

Greenberg

2010-10-20T12:00:00.003-04:00

Every year around this time, I start getting nervous that a best-of-the-year list isn't coalescing in my wee brain. 8 weeks from now, the year-end Review needs to hit the counters and I've got no idea what's going to be in it yet. I've got no top movies list for this year ….a few likely candidates, but certainly nothing that could be called a semi-comprehensive summary of 2010's best offerings. So, like clockwork, in mid-October I start playing the catchup game, visiting and revisiting the candidates released to DVD over the past ten or eleven months.

I went into Greenberg with this in mind. Here was a film that split audiences, but received generally solid reviews. I was hoping writer/director Noah Baumbach's third film might pick up where the excellent Squid and the Whale left off. It didn't. It's not that Greenberg didn't have moments, just that it didn't have enough of them. In spite of the fact that I never once forgot it was Ben Stiller up on the screen, he plays the part of Roger Greenberg in a relaxed, direct and confident way. Ditto for Greta Gerwig, an actress I'm not sure I've seen before but liked immensely. Gerwig does her best in what is clearly an underwritten role. To be fair, Baumbach tends to make movies about unsympathetic characters (and Roger Greenberg definitely qualifies as one of those) so expecting much in the way of the standard indie feel-good fare was unrealistic. I think this is a movie that requires a certain forgiveness from the audience... because it becomes obvious fairly early on that Greenberg isn't going to go where anyone wants it to.

I can't put my finger on what's exactly wrong with Greenberg, but something didn't ring true. The script suffered from a little ….droopiness? Sorry, but a better word doesn't come to mind. Perhaps it was entirely intentional, but the characters are mostly assholes and airheads and they kinda got what they deserved... which for all I know may have been Baumbach's point. The whole preening bourgeoisie/lost generation thing just didn't work for me though.

Which brings me to the interesting divide critics and viewers seem to have about Greenberg. The film seems to split about 50/50 with about half suggesting it's a brilliant, state-of-the-moment zeitgeist character study and the balance feeling like they've sat through a horrible narcissist's convention. I desperately wanted to belong to the first group but found myself frustrated by the film – it took a very promising concept and then didn't seem to know what to do with it.

It seems entirely reasonable that sooner or later the central social issue of our time - that our society is simply overflowing with self-absorbed buffoons would be the subject of a truly great modern film. The topic seems, however, something of an elephant in the room with this generation of filmmakers. Greenberg has a few moments where it elevates to social commentary (the adult party overrun with children, for one), but it retreats to the safety of odd-ball-outsider territory almost every time. Baumbach has Dumbo in his sights time and time again but can't quite bring himself to pull the trigger.

What Roger Greenberg reminded me of was Larry David's Curb character, but without the gloriously-sunny disposition that makes that character bearable. There's a fine line in cringe-comedy writing between whingeing humour and the simply painful ..... and there's entirely too much of the latter in this film. It’s all very well giving us insights into a troubled soul, but Greenberg gets lost in the stifling unpleasantness of the lead. As it is, it's too uncomfortable to be a comedy, not meaty enough to be a drama and not brave enough to be a satire.

Strike one from the candidate list.

Sporgey

Bela Lugosi is dead

2010-10-20T01:24:00.000-04:00

Born in Hungary on October 20, 1882:

Terminal City Ricochet on DVD

2010-10-17T09:40:00.002-04:00

I would have completely missed this DVD release were it not for a recent post on Borderline. Terminal City Ricochet is a cult film I'd heard about years ago, but had long since forgotten. It was made for Canadian TV (!) in the early '90s and then promptly disappeared after a few late night broadcasts. This is the film's first video release.

From what I can gather, TCR is a dystopian comedy/satire about government, television and rampant consumerism. It stars Peter Breck (best known from the '60s TV show The Big Valley with Babs Stanwyck) and Jello Biafra (the former lead singer from The Dead Kennedys), not a pair you'd expect to see in the same film. TCR was directed by Filipino-Canadian Zane Dalen, whose credits include episodes of The Beachcombers, 21 Jump Street and the wildly underrated Expect No Mercy (1995) starring Billy Blanks. Not convinced yet? Well, TCR also stars DOA, the famed Vancouver Punk band and several other BC Punk luminaries from the era. Sold!

Joe – this is listed on KRK and I ordered one for the FBW. You may want to do the same. I gotta say, I'm really looking forward to it. I'm hoping it's worthy of the cult status bestowed on it. Sure sounds like it.

Nice find Stoney.

Sporgey

A Deal with the Devil

2010-10-17T01:40:00.003-04:00

There is an sad irony to Richard Linklater's film Me and Orson Welles. It's a film set in 1937 when Welles' newly-minted Mercury Theatre mounted their first production, a modern adaptation of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Welles is played with uncanny realism by Christian McKay, who roars around the theatre oscillating equal parts berating bully and charming genius. McKay is a joy to watch. He captures so much of Welles – his mannerisms, voice and gestures, that it often felt as though I was watching the great man himself. It doesn't hurt that he's the spitting image of him either. Me and Orson Welles simply soars when Linklater concentrates his considerable directing talent on the man at the centre of the stage.

But unfortunately, the first word in the film's title also happens to be the focus of picture. “Me” is played the super-bland, dull-as-dishwater-pretty-boy and High School Musical star Zac Efron. Efron is a dead weight around the neck of what is otherwise a brilliant little picture. He has about as much depth as a puddle of piss, although it's not entirely his fault because the role is both badly conceived and woefully underwritten. The problem is, without Efron's star power, this picture likely wouldn't have got made, a testament to how utterly fucked Hollywood is these days.

Still, if you pick your smoke, pee and snack breaks carefully, this is a terrific film. My advice is every time Efron looks like he's about to say something.... leave the room. Most of his scenes, while plentiful, are mercifully short so you've got about 5 minutes to wander the house looking for something to do until McKay/Welles grace the screen again. If every the DVD chapter points needed to be synchronized on a performance, it's for Me and Orson Welles. I would have preferred a Zac-less 19 minute cut of the film as a menu choice, but they didn't offer one. It would have been called “...and Orson Welles” in my fantasy De-Me'd DVD version.

Given the choice between living at a time when Orson was celebrated as a hugely-talented star, but 5 years of hellish World War 2 lay just off the horizon -versus- living at a time when Zac Efron is considered to be his modern day equivalent.... sign me up to fight the godless Hun.

Sporgey

At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul (1964)

2010-10-15T17:29:00.000-04:00

Where to even begin with this one? Written, directed by and starring the inimitable Jose Mojica Marins, At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul is the film that kickstarted the Coffin Joe franchise. And what a franchise it is: roughly 15 films featuring Coffin Joe, with the majority of them played by Marins. Earlier in the year I ordered the handsome PAL box set which contains eight Joe films plus a documentary entitled The Strange World of Jose Mojica Marins (the NTSC set, which contained three films, is long OOP, but we have them at the FBW). How can you not love it? Along with that, I picked up the most recent Joe film, Embodiment of Evil, sadly as-yet-unreleased in NA. But enough about my acquisition fever, let's get on to the film itself.

AMITYS is such a strange trip. The plot concerns a small town's sadistic gravedigger who is obsessed with finding a woman to bear his seed and continue his bloodline. But the plot is neither here nor there - we get an evil witch, the walking dead, and a truly trippy vision of vengeful ghosts mixed with all kinds of supernatural strangeness. Coffin Joe is the highlight, of course, and anyone who defies him is dealt with brutal, graphic violence. There are a few scenes sprinkled throughout the film where Joe truly gets to lay bare his bleak world view - there is no life after death, there is no God, there is no Satan, there is only LIFE. And in this one life, Joe has chosen to live it exactly as he desires, indulging in all earthly pleasures. Wine, sex, violence, power; Joe swims in it all, fears no one or no thing, and laughs in the face of religious cowards. Joe is a non-believer, or rather, a believer in the here and now, whatever he can experience through sensual means. Quite simply, Joe is a hero for our times.

The sound mix on the film is incredibly muddy, although there are some near supernatural moments that sound like the actors are delivering their lines inside an echo chamber. Spooky stuff. The cinematography is lurid, but the black and white tones are starkly stunning. This is crude filmmaking, in the very best sense of the word - raw, unrefined, pure. Not much actually happens in the film - between the taverna, Joe's house, the graveyard, and the windswept woods that connects them all, locations and scenarios are limited, and we find ourselves watching a fairly repetitive film. None of it matters though, because Joe is so deliriously over the top and fun to watch that you forget the film's shortcomings.

Marins conveys a singular vision that is in no way diluted as the series rolls along - something that can be said of very, very few horror franchises. Coffin Joe may not be as recognizable a name in the horror canon as Jason or Freddy, but he has every right to be. You'll have a hard time finding a more consistently sadistic, evil character in horror cinema. I'd recommend any of the Coffin Joe films, but AMITYS holds a special place in my heart as it was introduction to the Coffin Joe and has left an indelible imprint on my mind. All hail Jose Mojica Marins!

Sole Survivor (1983)

2010-10-15T14:42:00.003-04:00

Not to be confused with the made for TV William Shatner vehicle, or some Kensington cobbler, this Sole Survivor is a subtle, eerie portrayal of guilt, depression and confusion, and the very real "horror" that those emotions suggest.

In keeping with the quiet, creeping dread of earlier films like Herk Harvey's Carnival of Souls or Willard Huyck and Gloria Katz' Messiah of Evil, Sole Survivor tells the story of Denise (Anita Skinner), the - wait for it - sole survivor of a horrible plane crash, of which we are shown the grisly aftermath during the film's opening scene. The rest of the film plays out very much in Final Destination mode (albeit with much less gratuitousness and spectacle), with death sending his minions to collect what should have been rightfully his.

Helmed in a workmanlike fashion (but with a strange, austere artistry) by Thom Eberhardt (Night of the Comet), Sole Survivor is one of those forgotten jewels of the VHS era, only recently exhumed by Code Red. And for that, we can all be grateful, as what we have here is a compelling film that is better off in your DVD player than in a Blockbuster delete bin.

As Denise, Skinner is an incredibly sympathetic character, tough and fragile at the same time, trying so very hard to keep a smile on her face and her head held high, but we get the sense that somewhere just beneath the surface, cracks have formed and are beginning to take hold. What makes the outcome of the film all the more shocking and brilliant is that following her crash, she has found love, and things are beginning to look up. Oh dear, she couldn't be more wrong.

Skinner authors a very complex character in what could have been a much less touching role. Her nuanced performance makes the film and elevates it from a forgotten also-ran to a rediscovered gem. Making this all the more remarkable (and - if you'll play along with me - a touch creepy) is the fact that this is one of only two of Skinner's film credits. She had a role in the 1978 film Girlfriends, then poof, right off the map. A cursory internet search turned up nothing else as to what she did next, or her current whereabouts.

Sole Survivor offers up an icy, crawling horror that comes from the slow realization that the impossibly terrifying is not only possible, but probable, and that more often than not, there are no happy endings. I watched the film three days ago and it's stuck with me in the way the best horror does - it doesn't seek to shock, but to disturb, to burrow its way into your unconscious and lie there for a spell, reminding you every once in awhile that everything is not as peachy as it seems. Highly recommended.

Dagon (2001)

2010-10-15T11:50:00.000-04:00

One of the few good things about being suddenly, unexpectedly (temporarily, I hope) crippled is that I've had a chance to catch up on my film viewing. I've had Stuart Gordon's Dagon more or less near the top of my "to watch" pile for over a year now, and with yesterday's torrential rain and general gloominess, I figured it was time.

Gordon again turns to Lovecraft as his inspiration for this tale (actually a conflation of two Lovecraft stories, "Dagon" and "The Shadow Over Innsmouth"), in which a young couple is stranded in a small Spanish fishing village after a boating accident, though it soon becomes very apparent that all is not bueno in this seemingly sleepy town. When Barbara (the fetching Raquel Merono) goes missing soon after their arrival, Paul (Ezra Godden) tries to track her down only to be overcome by a horde of garish fishmen. Or rather men who are slowly transforming into piscine form, including all that transformation might entail (hobbled walking, garbled speech, and grotesque physical mutation). After a chance run in with Ezequiel (Francisco Rabal), Paul learns the terrible secret of the town, one in which the denizens relinquished their faith in God when fish stocks ran low and turned to an older, more powerful deity, Dagon, who blessed the town with untold oceanic bounty and gold and treasure, but left them cursed with their current plight, the offspring of all his untold trysts with human women being the current crop of fishmen.

First, the good: Gordon succeeds in creating a oppressive and chilly atmosphere where rain and darkness are the norm, and twisty, cobbled streets mirror Paul's own confusion. The makeup effects are stellar, and the briny disciples of Dagon look as alien as they do human, and embody both of these aspects in their speech and actions as well. The largely Spanish cast do excellent work as the lurching, slimy humanoids from the deep, minds filled with a singular, murderous intent. And the small Spanish village of Combarro that was the location of the shoot provides a delightfully damp and depressive tone. Looks like a nice place to visit, though you'd probably want to stay away during the rainy season.

There are some terrific practical effects, the most notable the scene in which Ezequiel is strung up and has his facial skin stripped from his body. Again, Gordon looked to the locals for makeup duties, and they come through in spades. Tentacular appendages and probing probosci simultaneously repulse and delight.

And now, the bad: I know I must sound like a broken record by this point, but the CGI employed in the film is worse than awful. Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus provided a better sense of reality than some of the VFX in Dagon. I think this is an unfortunate side-effect of the year in which the film was made. 2001 had filmmakers excited about the possibility of CGI, even though the technology wasn't quite there to back up the boundless visions of some of the brighter directors. The technology was in a dangerous nascent phase that allowed directors to employ it without it being fully developed, to the overall detriment of their final vision. Granted, it would probably have been prohibitively pricey for Gordon and crew to build a massive model of the enormous mer-god Dagon, but he could very easily have taken the route John Carpenter did in In the Mouth of Madness, his Lovecraftian puppet-beasties sprang from the screen and seemed much more menacing than some green-screened squid. Or even do what he had done earlier in the film and suggest (a la Val Lewton) the kraken-king through creative camera angle and actor responses. The poorly done CGI is all the more glaring when juxtaposed with the expertly done practical effects, and the whole thing becomes jarring and takes you out of the film. Regardless, barring the visual let down of the climax and a couple other ill-advised effects throughout, Gordon does a credible job overall capturing the mood of the Lovecraft original.

The casting of Godden as Paul also strikes me as a strange choice - I mean his type is right, but the actor himself can't seem to decide whether to play the role as camp or straight-up, and his wavering between the two leaves the performance wooden. There isn't a great chemistry (read: none at all) between he and Merono's Barbara, either. Really the only good thing about his wholly unlikeable persona was his Miskatonic sweatshirt, a sly wink by Gordon at observant Lovecraft fans.

Overall, Dagon is worth a look, for sure, but falls somewhat shy of the best cinematic Lovecraft adaptations. If you're looking for a Lovecraft-on-film primer, seek out the superior gallows humour of Re-Animator and the ultra-weird, candy-coloured From Beyond (both by Gordon as well), or even older fare such as The Shuttered Room. I'm not generally an advocate of remakes, but I'd love to see someone (even Gordon himself) take another stab at the Dagon story, either with the complete use of practical effects or prudent use of updated CGI technology. Let's hope Guillermo del Toro heeds these guidelines when bringing the epic At The Mountains of Madness to the screen in 2013. Huge fingers crossed on that one, though del Toro has yet to disappoint.

Asylum (1972)

2010-10-12T19:17:00.002-04:00

Another day, another anthology. This time it's the intriguing Amicus joint Asylum starring basically every British actor ever. No? Okay, how 'bout this: Peter Cushing, Barry Morse, Herbert Lom, Britt Ekland (oh man), Patrick Magee, Charlotte Rampling (oh MAN!), and a bunch of other people you've probably never heard of but would recognize if you've watched anything from Amicus/Hammer from the '60s/'70s or essentially anything on the BBC from that time.

The setup for this one is a doozy - Dr. Martin (Robert Powell) sets off from London to take a new job at an asylum for the incurably insane, although the doctor who greets him (Magee) is not the doctor who summoned him there in the first place. No, Magee's Dr. Rutherford informs Martin that Dr. Byron has himself gone mad and is now confined upstairs with the other patients. And if Martin can figure out which of the patients is Dr. Byron, Rutherford will consider him fit for the position. And off we go...

Rutherford is greeted by the orderly, from whom he tries to extract clues as to the personage of Byron, but the orderly knows better - the game is afoot! From there, we are taken into each of the four patients' rooms, each with a different story of how they came to be there in the first place. And for once, the framing narrative is actually just as, if not more, compelling than the individual stories themselves. Not to say that they are inferior to other Amicus anthologies, but they do at times seem to drag.

The first story (Frozen Fear) concerns Bonnie (Barbara Perkins), who was conspiring with adulterer Walter (Richard Todd) to bump off his voodoo-obsessed wife Ruth (Sylvia Syms) so they could go on the make together. Well, as one would expect from this EC-styled segment, Ruth bites it, and is hacked to pieces by Walter. However, the body parts (presumably aided by some sort of voodoo powers) arise and destroy not only the unfaithful husband, but also gets to Bonnie, who, in an attempt to save herself, hatchets away at her face to remove the disembodied hand clinging to it. And we're brought back to the asylum, where Bonnie shows off her scars, rather delightedly, to Martin. Is this Byron? Martin is unsure, which takes us to the next patient...

Behind door number two, we find Bruno (Morse), who at first gaze appears to be fashioning the emperor's new clothes, complete with invisible needle and thread. What has caused this madness? We find out, in The Weird Tailor. Bruno is an old-school tailor who is behind on the rent, and his displeased landlord gives him until the end of the week to come up with the cash or find new digs. Bruno is at a loss: how to get the money? Ah, but lo and behold a very distinguished and somewhat mysterious gentleman enters the shop as if to answer Bruno's prayers. Mr. Smith (Cushing) commissions a suit made of a strange glowing fabric (Hypercolour FTW!), with very strict specifications that the suit only be worked on between the hours of midnight and 5 am. And the handsome sum of 200 pounds is promised to Bruno upon the suit's completion, more than the tailor needs to settle his rent. All week Bruno toils in the dead hours of the night and finally completes the suit. Upon delivery to Smith, he discovers that dark purpose for the suit that involves raising the dead. He also discovers that Smith has no money to pay him. Anyway, things turn out real crazy and a mannequin in the tailor's shop on which the suit is placed ends up coming to life and nearly destroys Bruno. At least it destroys his mind. Martin is still unconvinced that he has met Byron, and asks to see the next patient, the ravishing...

Barbara (Rampling). Barbara is the first to seem sane, at first. Then comes her story (Lucy Comes To Stay), which is weakest of the bunch, but makes up for it by featuring both her loveliness and the swingin' sexpot styles of Britt Ekland (naked Wicker Man wall-hump, anyone? Start at 1:15). This one isn't really worth recounting, but it involves a scheming older brother trying to get his hands on Barbara's inheritance by proving she's either insane, addicted to pills, or both. At the end of the segment, I didn't really care, I just wanted more Rampling/Ekland action. I think the producers knew that this story was the weakest of the four, and compensated by upping the pulchritude power. Martin is getting antsy at this point, thinking he's being strung along by Rutherford, and asks to see the final patient, in what is the shortest and most gonzo of the tales...

Which brings us to Dr. Byron's (Lom) room, for the segment Mannikins of Horror. Byron seems sane enough, but soon reveals he's out of his gourd by showing off his collection of miniature robots with very lifelike human faces. Each of these, he informs Martin, represents a different real life person, and is exact inside down to the very last detail. His latest creation is a tiny robot in his own likeness, which will soon be given life through "the power of concentration"(?). Thank you, says Martin, I've seen enough. He and the orderly make their way out of the ward, and Martin returns to Rutherford. Martin exclaims that he will not choose and does not appreciate being subjected to the whimsical games of the doctor. While they argue, we see cuts to Byron's room, where he lies in darkness, eyes focused on his little doppelganger, concentrating life into the little guy. Well, goddamn, it works! Through a series of improbable (given the robot's lack of great mobility) events, the robot enters Rutherford's office and stabs the doc in the back of the neck with a scalpel! This segment is just so bizarre it needs to be seen.

Directed by the venerable Roy Ward Baker (who helmed countless Hammer and Amicus films, and who sadly passed away just a week ago, aged 93), and written by Robert Bloch (Psycho), Asylum is a fun little romp. The actors all pull off their roles with great aplomb, and while some of the stories are weaker than others, the whole thing is kept interesting by the overarching narrative. Which, it must be said, is fairly easy to figure out (I guessed correctly at the conclusion five minutes into the film). If you're a fan of anthology horror, mysteries, Charlotte Rampling and/or Britt Ekland, check it out. I'm not going to say it's a "must see" because, frankly it's not; however, you won't feel like you've wasted your time when it's all said and done. Don't rabidly track it down, but if you see a lonely copy gathering dust at your local independent video store, give it a whirl. You won't be disappointed.

I'm Beginning to Look a Lot Like Halloween

2010-10-12T10:41:00.000-04:00

You opened it. We came.

Adribyn!....Adribyn!

2010-10-11T23:42:00.002-04:00

So it seems the General of our Eastern Army decided to do a little face-skiing during maneuvers on the weekend, but is OK and recovering. His tongue apparently slips out of his mouth because there are no teeth to keep it in place and he whistles when he talks now, but otherwise he looks pretty much like he did last Halloween.... which isn't great.

We all hope you're feeling better soon.

Sporgey.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World (2010)

2010-10-09T13:44:00.011-04:00

Let me be frank, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World is one of my favourite films of the year.

Directed by Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead/Hot Fuzz/Spaced) and based on comic books by Toronto local artist/writer Bryan Lee O'malley, SPVTW is a dizzying adventure that's visually stunning, gut-busting funny, and full of heart. It's a Hollywood caliber film shot entirely in Toronto where for once, Toronto is actually suppose to be Toronto. The film opens to a narrator saying "Not so long ago, in a faraway land called Toronto, Ontario, Canada." Funny enough I find this to be the most Torontonian film I've ever seen even though it's not made by a Canadian.

The Scott Pilgrim story is generally a simple one. An early twenty something Toronto slacker falls in love with a super cool New York girl. There's only one thing standing between him and his sweetheart; a league of 7 evil exes. In order to claim the love of his young life he must defeat these 7 evil exes in battle. See? Simple.

The Scott Pilgrim books are riddled with video game references (mostly from 80's Nintendo era) which explains the formulaic plot. However, the books are also heavily rooted in the Toronto independent music scene as Scott himself plays bass in a local rock band called Sex Bob-omb (see! A Super Mario reference).

Luckily for fans of the books and the uninitiated alike, Edgar Wright took immense care with the original stories infusing the best parts of the comics with his penchant for over the top genre nodding film-making.
An average evil ex battle in the film will play out like watching two skilled players play Street Fighter 2 at a place like A&C Games, yet at the same time no two evil ex battles are alike which only adds to the ingenuity of the film.
As for the music, lovers of the comic book can rejoice. Although hilarious lyrics were written out on the page one always had to imagine a tune, but not anymore. Wright commissioned no one other than Beck to write the tunes for the fictional band. I feared the music could really hurt the film if it wasn't up to par, however Beck has written some of the most bad ass garage rock tunes heard for sometime on this side of Lake Eerie.
So, the original comic is great and the director of the adaptation is more than competent enough, now how does the film stand up on its own?

Well, for one it's one of the sweetest films I've seen in years. Between salivating for the next jaw dropping battle, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World features a surprisingly emotional story on youthful love. Obviously the metaphor of a league of evil exes is for how one's past can make you feel inadequate in a relationship and what you must do to overcome those doubts. Scott's journey isn't one for his love, Ramona Flowers, but instead for Scott. He has to realize he isn't fighting these evil exes for her but rather for himself. It's not a fight for love at all actually, it's a fight for self respect.
Within that story is sprinkled all those dramatic relationship scenarios that plagued many of us throughout high school and beyond. Scott starts dating Ramona without first breaking up with his current girlfriend (a sin I'm ashamed to say I've committed once or twice). Scott's friend starts dating his ex which leads to some awkward moments. One of Scott's best friends is a girl he dated in high school that holds a grudge against him for past transgressions. etc, etc, etc.
Basically it plays like my high school relationship resume, complete with immaturity and lack of self respect. The sweeter moments like Scott and Ramona walking in the snow and sitting on swings in what looks like a high park area playground are immensely dreamy and nostalgic. Not to mention they feel like they were ripped directly from my life.

The pacing of the film is fast and furious, always having another battle to look forward to keeps the film moving briskly. Although truth be told as the fights started to dwindle I found myself saying "please don't end."

The cast is just marvelous. An absolute gem of an ensemble with Michael Cera really shinning as Scott Pilgrim. Alison Pill (Milk) as disgruntled drummer Kim Pine of Sex Bob-omb is a highlight as well as Kieran Culkin doing a fabulous turn as Scott's gay roommate Wallace Wells delivering some of the films best laughs.
As for the evil exes every performance is a real treat. My personal favourite being Chris Evans' Lucas Lee. An ex pro skater turned action movie star extraordinaire who lets his stunt doubles do the fighting for him (the character is loosely based on Jason Lee). A close second would be the head of the league Gideon Graves who is played to slimy perfection by Jason Schwartzman. Another ex worth mentioning is Roxy Richter played by Mae Whitman who also played Michael Cera's girlfriend Ann in Arrested Development. Obviously, this connection is intentional and for fans of AD you'll get a hoot out of watching George Michael and Ann battle it out.

The soundtrack, mostly written by Beck, is the first movie soundtrack I've purchased in years. It plays like a terrific rock record with tunes from Canadian and international talents. It perfectly depicts the atmosphere of the film, especially during the more dramatic scenes. However, every rock performance by Sex Bob-omb is also fantastic.

Sorry to bring Roger Ebert into this again, but I watched a shitload of At The Movies growing up. I recall his review for 2001's Ghost World, (which was also based on an independent comic book) where he gave the film full marks starting off by saying "some times you watch a film and feel like it was intentionally made for you. That's how I feel with Zwigoff's Ghost World...". I enjoyed Ghost World but in no means did i find it stellar and I think that's the deal with Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World.
I personally feel the film was made for me. Not only scenes and scenarios ripped right from my life but every reference to video games, tv, film, music etc. were nods to things I love. While the locations the characters frequent around the city are places I at one time or another hung around a lot, say like Lee's Palace or the Pizza Pizza located at Bathurst and Bloor. A surprise cameo by my favourite male actor of all time, Tom Jane, only proved the point further.

"I Just want my kids back"

While certainly not a film for everyone; the "hip" kids will scoff at this one for getting the Toronto art scene completely wrong and over exposing Toronto to the International stage. Others will find the film alienating, either because the references will go over their heads or the the film over exposes Toronto's "hipster" scene which they find despicable.

Granted, I went into the film expecting to grind my teeth at the portrayal of all these cool pretty young Toronto musicians and artists but instead I felt welcomed like a friend.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World didn't do so well in theaters in North America. It did however do well here and is still playing in first run cinemas, a rare thing these days after two months of release.
Universal Studios didn't sweat what many people wanted to call a box office bomb, you know why?

Japan.

That's right, Universal made their money back in the Japanese market where it's a rousing success.

The DVD and Blu-Ray hits our shelves November 9th. I highly recommend picking up a copy and getting lost in this most "epic of epicness".

Run Away!

2010-10-09T02:02:00.001-04:00

I know I'll be exposing myself to endless ridicule here but District 13: Ultimatum is the best action film I've seen this year. Period.

Yes, it's corny. Yes, it's silly. Yes, it's outlandish and goofy. No, it's not a great piece of art..... I'll grant you all those things right up front, but what I will say is this; D13U is a nearly perfect antidote to the things Hollywood action filmmakers have been getting wrong for the past decade. It has a decidedly French flavour and even sports a little politics on its sleeve... when the action slows down enough to care. The bad corporation at the heart of movie is named Harriburton...so, as you can see, subtlety isn't a strong suit here. There's a Le Pen bad guy that runs a shadow government agency named DISS with aims to clear some D13 territory for new development. There's a decent man in the President's chair, but he's surrounded by a nest of vipers. The good guys are blanc and the bad guys are noir and ….none of that really matters.

As most will know, D13U is the sequel to District 13, the 2004 Luc Besson written-and-produced French film that introduced parkour to international audiences. Parkour, the free-running “art of flight” technique that has people leaping through the air from rooftop to rooftop and rolling out to minimize broken ankles and crushed vertebrae, made an unmistakable mark on films like Casino Royale and The Bourne Ultimatum, qualifying it as one of the decade's most influential action movies. I also love the fact that it's basically the martial art of running away. Now that's my kind of fighting style....

I'll skip trying to make any sense of the sequel's plot because it mostly doesn't. Bad guys want to nuke a walled ghetto on the outskirts of Paris. Good guys align to stop them. That's really all you need to know going in... or coming out for that matter. What is fascinating, however, is just bloody cool the overall vibe of the movie is. The score is a terrific collision of French, Arab and African hip hop that dovetails nicely with the immigrant gangs ...Gypsy, Asian, Arab, Skinhead and African...that run things in District 13. French Supercop Damian Tomaso (Cyril Raffaelli) teams up again with buddy and D13 denizen Leïto (parkour progenitor David Belle) to convince the gang leaders to join forces to stop the capitalist pigs.... and nothing gets the old Gaelic blood flowing quite like an old-fashioned neo-con cookup.

D13U is two parts Escape from New York, one part Ong Bak, ten parts D13 (after all, it is a sequel) with a sprinkle of Le Haine for political good measure.. When it's firing on all cylinders, it's a bad-ass action film that doesn't take itself too seriously. The camera work and editing is that annoying sped-up/slowed-down style from the action-films-for-dummies school of cinematography, but it somehow works here. It helps that the film runs at just over 100 minutes... although truth be told, it could easily have been cut to 90 minutes (or 30 minutes for that matter). There are enough cliches floating around to make a dozen movies and it's a bit of a shame that Besson and director Patrick Allessandrin couldn't find more important roles for the excellent non-Caucasian actors that pepper this movie. Any number of these supporting players could have been written bigger parts and the fact that they're relegated to margins, blunts the film's aspirations to inclusiveness. Minor quibbles though, because I thoroughly enjoyed it.

On a final note, D13U's R-rating seems a little inappropriate given the fact that it's essentially an anti-gun movie. Leïto and Tomaso glide, jump and bounce around the ghetto mostly relying on their wits and sheer physical prowess to move around freely in the lock-down police state of D13. Notwithstanding the many ass-kickings on display here, the use of a gun represents distinctly unsportsmanlike conduct and signals weakness or evil intentions, a welcome respite from the dreary and endless gun battles at the centre of most PG-rated Hollywood action flicks these days.

Winner.... and I now love French hip hop, especially Alonzo. He can really bust a groove.

Sparkourgy.

Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981)

2010-10-08T22:41:00.001-04:00

As made for TV movies go, 1981s Dark Night of the Scarecrow is as good as it gets. Previously available only on a long OOP VHS, VCI recently released a stunning looking DVD of this horror/revenge minor classic.

Starring the venerable Charles Durning and Larry Drake (Darkman, L.A. Law, Dr. Giggles), Dark Night of the Scarecrow is a slowburn, quiet creeper, less gratuitousness and more skin-crawling tingles.

Bubba (Drake) is the village idiot, and after a girl is attacked, postmaster Otis (Durning) and his cronies make a rash decision to take vigilante justice on the presumed guilty Bubba, and after a tense hunt, they find Bubba hiding in the fields as a scarecrow. Helpless on the cross, Bubba is gunned down in cold blood by the rage-blinded men. Soon after, they discover that Bubba had actually saved the girl's life, and their decision to take a man's life was in vain. However, because of a grudge held toward Bubba, this action doesn't seem to weigh too heavily on any of the men's souls...until they start getting picked off by an unseen force, one by one.

The cast is better than it has any right to be, but Durning is especially sterling as his usual mealy-mouthed, greasy, conniving self. Drake is wonderfully sympathetic in a sort of Frankenstein's monster role.

The pacing of the film is terrific, and the sense of vindication in the viewer grows alongside the fear felt by the perpetrators of the heinous crime. There aren't any "cheap scares", and every fear that the antagonists hold is played out in agonizingly long detail. The last five minutes are truly something to behold, filled with a creeping dread that is so regrettably absent from most modern "horror". With thumbs up from Vincent Price, Ray Bradbury, Stuart Gordon, and me, Dark Night of the Scarecrow is a much appreciated resurrected gem that can be appreciated by the dyed-in-the-wool genre fan as well as Scott. Watch it. I'm gonna wear my Fright Rags DNOTS t-shirt (funnily enough, now itself OOP) tomorrow.

Let Sleeping Corpses Lie (1974)

2010-10-08T22:08:00.001-04:00

"You're all the same, the lot of you, with your long hair and faggot clothes. Drugs, sex, every sort of filth. And you hate the police, don't ya?"
"You make it easy."

Aka The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue, aka Breakfast at the Manchester Morgue, aka Don't Open the Window, Do Not Speak Ill of the Dead, aka Zombi 3, aka at least half a dozen other titles depending on the country in which it was released, Jorge Grau's zombie opus Let Sleeping Corpses Lie (the title on my Blue Underground DVD) has an international pedigree worthy of its plethora of monikers.

Directed by a Spaniard, starring a half Brit-half Italian (Ray Lovelock), a Spaniard (Cristina Galbo), an American (Arthur Kennedy), and a host of Spanish and Italian character actors in minor roles, and shot mainly in the English countryside around Manchester and Yorkshire, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie is a strange and wonderful horror film. Taking cues from Night of the Living Dead, the Manson murders, environmental fears and generational unrest, it is shocking to realize Grau's film presaged Romero's Dawn of the Dead by four years.

We begin with George (Lovelock) locking up his London curio shop and goin' up the country for a weekend of R&R. An ill-fated gas station encounter with spacey Edna (Galbo) leaves the two of them traveling together, not by choice, to Edna's sister's house. A couple wrong turns and an unfamiliar landscape soon see the pair among markers such as rolling hills, oaks and streams instead of signs for Leicester Square.

As they stop to ask for directions, Edna is attacked by a man with blood red eyes (this is, coincidentally enough, 28 years before the rage virus induced similarly scarlet orbs in 28 Days Later...) and a like thirst for the crimson stuff. George, who was over the hill asking a farmer for directions, shrugs off Edna's hysteria as a mixture of fatigue and the possibility of her exaggerating an encounter with a tramp. Later that night, Edna's sister's husband is killed by the same man who attacked Edna, and as the police get involved, there is an immediate friction between the inspector (Kennedy) and George.

The anti-authoritarian, long-haired, bearded and hiply-garbed George doesn't go over well in small town England a mere five years after the Tate-LaBianca murders, and nor does the inspector's hard-headedness and bigotry sit well with George. As bodies begin to pile up and the dead begin to rise (highlighted in one chilling scene at the...uh, the Manchester Morgue), the two poles of George and the inspector pull further apart and we see the clash between rational thought and blind belief taken to the extreme.

Having more in common with Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man than, say, Lucio Fulci's Zombie (though there's enough graphic grue on display to please the gorehounds), Let Sleeping Corpses Lie is a smart, well-acted, moody (owing largely to the chilly, grey, misty English countryside) horror film in which the director's reach does not exceed his grasp. There is a terrific one-two punch of an ending, but be warned - Blue Underground released two versions of this within a year of each other, the regular titled Let Sleeping Corpses Lie, and the special edition titled The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue. If you pick up the latter (which we have in stock at the FBE), please ask a staff member to help you find it and be sure not to look at the DVD cover, as it contains a MAJOR spoiler. I guess BU assumed everyone buying/renting this had already seen it, but still...that's weak.

Anyway, if you count yourself among the zombie faithful and have yet to see this one, move it to the to the top of your pile. Highly recommended.

I stand corrected.....

2010-10-06T20:21:00.001-04:00

lotsa girls here...

You go girl.....Caprika!

2010-10-06T09:57:00.006-04:00

Caprica, Ronald D. Moore and David Eick's followup to their wildly successful Battlestar Galactica series is a tough nut to crack. The story is set a generation earlier, around the time the first Cylon prototypes were being created, and revolves around two families tied together by a shared tragedy. A deadly terrorist attack on a commuter train launches the interconnected stories, told from the viewpoints of two families: the Adamas and the Graystones. The Adamas are first generation immigrants using an adopted name (Adams) to fit in, but they remain connected to their ethnic community. The Graystones are a wealthy Caprican family, the father an entrepreneur billionaire running a robotics/computer firm, the mom a doctor and their daughter a 15-year-old prep-school student. The act of terrorism instantly rips the characters from their worlds and Caprica quickly morphs into a story about virtual reality, artificial intelligence research, religion, racism and raising the dead.

The science fiction elements of Caprica are pushed well into the background, revealed in scenes of virtual reality and robotics rather than spaceships and spooled-up FTL drives. It introduces a society of the near-future that is mostly compatible with our own. The writers do a good job maintaining dramatic tension by parceling out information to the viewer as the characters themselves learn it. The overall plot is fairly straightforward (although and, truth be told, a little predictable at times), but it also asks deeper questions of character, ethics and motivations, something that doesn't happen all that often in television. At its core, Caprica is an variation on Mary Shelley's Frankenstein with a little Issac Asimov I, Robot thrown in for good measure.

What Moore and Eick have produced here is an extraordinary piece of science fiction, different in almost every way from BSG, but still striking the central points of good science fiction writing. Its role is to create metaphors for us to view as mirrors to our own world. Concepts that are invisible to us within our own society are stark and obvious when seen in an alien context. The creators of Caprica were obviously going for something quite different than they did in Battlestar. Opposites play out consistently on screen – Caprica is a world at its peak, its people intoxicated by success and oblivious to what lay ahead (Good Morning America!). BSG on the other hand, took place in a dark, often-hopeless world, populated by broken people, loss and the struggle to survive (Good Night Detroit!).

something's wrong here.....

But the biggest problem with a series like Caprica is its limited marketability. Moore and Eick have created a highly-intelligent series that relies on ideas and dialogue, but its science fiction pedigree will likely starve it of the audience they seem to be after.... Girls! The problem with aiming the series at chicks is twofold – first, they don't watch science fiction and second, they don't watch science fiction. It simply doesn't matter that the story can be watched without any prior BSG knowledge. Geek television is meant to be watched by boys and Caprica, even with its fine writing and excellent acting, has just too many... well...., “girly” moments. Everybody knows that girls don't show up at Star Trek conventions dressed as their favourite character... Kadas and Jules do. If Caprica was about sexy teenaged-vampires - well maybe, but it's not, it's about robots.... bad robots, and that's definitely guy territory.

It almost seems too late to retool the show at this point so I'm guessing Season 2 might be the last we'll see of Caprica and that's a damn shame. I hope I'm wrong because there's a nut at the centre of Caprica that's really interesting, but then again this comes from a network who thought changing their name from “SciFi” to “SyFy” was a cracking-good idea, so I doubt it.

With apologies to Kendall, one of the biggest BSG fans out there...... and a yucky girl to boot.

Sporgey out.

The Tomb of Ligeia (1964)

2010-10-05T19:37:00.001-04:00

The very last of Roger Corman's uncannily successful Edgar Allan Poe adaptations, The Tomb of Ligeia is yet another winner. Starring Vincent Price (I'd seriously watch the man read the phone book) as Verdon Fell and treasured Film Buff East customer Elizabeth Shepherd as The Lady Rowena Trevanion, Ligeia breaks somewhat with Corman/Poe tradition as there are many outdoor settings and many scenes shot in daylight. Still, Corman's trademark gothic chill pervades the film, and several of the more unsettling scenes are clothed not in satin drapery but bright sunshine.

The story begins with Fell burying his newlydead wife, the Ligeia of the title, although there is some doubt as to whether or not she is actually dead. A priest implores Fell that he cannot bury his wife in consecrated ground as she died unnaturally. Price chews up this scene, spewing forth dark prophecies about his wife's will being too strong for her to die, and comes across somewhat like the devil himself. A black cat jumps on the coffin and Ligeia's eyes flutter open! Fell informs the priest and the pallbearers that it is simply an effect of rigor mortis.

Later, on a fox hunt, Rowena stumbles across the crumbling abbey where Ligeia is interred, but is thrown from her mount when the black cat returns and spooks the horse. Fell appears from behind a wall and startles Rowena to fainting. From this point on, Rowena is transfixed by Fell's wounded widower, and becomes intent on marrying him. However, that seemingly vengeful cat just won't go away, and interrupts any attempt at intimacy between Fell and Rowena. Is the cat actually the reincarnated soul of Ligeia, who will not rest while any potential suitors for her husband live? Or is the answer more grounded in a shadowy reality, where everything is not as it seems, and those who project a noble countenance actually carry a dark purpose? Such is the beauty of these Corman/Poe adaptations: likely owing to the original literary source, things are rarely as simple as they seem, and there almost always (as there are here) undercurrents of madness, obsession and brooding, buried sexuality.

As always, Price looks likes he's having an absolute blast with the character of Verdon Fell, and when the truth of his wife's "death" comes out at the end, the mixed sympathies we feel for him throughout the film come crashing down like the mossy stones of the the abbey. While I would have a hard time picking a Price/Poe favourite, this one stands up with the best of them. I still have a couple to watch - and I don't think anything will top Witchfinder General or The Masque of the Red Death - but Ligeia is a fun, occasionally spooky descent into necrophiliac lust and the supernatural. Worth it.

And I can't wait for Ms. Shepherd to brighten our humble shop's door again; I've got many questions (and a few compliments) for her.

The Legend of Hell House (1973)

2010-10-04T16:39:00.002-04:00

Richard Matheson's countless film and TV writing credits are often overshadowed by his most famous work, I Am Legend, from which three (to date) official adaptations have been made, with many other "last man on earth" films drawing direct inspiration from his original novel. But attention must be paid to the fantastic work he has contributed elsewhere in the cinematic realm, the absolute peak of which, for me, is 1973's The Legend of Hell House.

Directed by John Hough (who would later go on to direct Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, the "Witch Mountain" films, and the supremely creepy "children's" movie, The Watcher in the Woods), The Legend of Hell House begins with a group of four characters - mental medium Florence Tanner (Pamela Franklin), physicist Lionel Barrett (Clive Revill), his wife Ann (Gayle Hunnicutt), and physical medium Benjamin Fischer (Roddy McDowall) - converging on The Belasco House, aka Hell House, the "Mount Everest of haunted houses" we are informed by Lionel. They have been charged by the wealthy Mr. Deutsch with shutting the door once and for all on the haunting. Trouble is, this very same thing had been attempted before, 20 years earlier, and all involved were either killed or crippled and made insane. All but one, that is, McDowall's Benjamin Fischer, returning to the home not for any sense of closure, but simply to shut himself off from any psychic phenomena to which he may be susceptible, wait out the week, collect a paycheck, and bid goodbye to the house forever. The young Miss Tanner and Dr. Barrett have other plans though - Tanner wishes to commune with the spirits in the home through her psychic powers, and Barrett wishes to zap the home of its energies with his newfangled technology. Neither of them see their goals through to the end.

The film plays out in a tastefully restrained fashion a la The Haunting, and some opulent, creaky, cobwebby sets inside the home (as well as the home itself) provide much appreciated eye candy. Director Hough conjures a slow burn build to a simultaneously preposterous and chilling finale. Along the way there are ghostly whispered threats and pleas, a possessed cat, a ghost-rape/possession, an eerie seance, overtones of sexual repression/buried desire, and an uncovered rotting corpse. As the days go by, the screws are tightened, and minds begin to break. Bizarre and often grotesque camera work from Alan Hume (who lensed From Beyond the Grave, among many others) is filled with exaggerated angles, jarring depths of field, and tight compositions, and augments the claustrophobic, disorienting atmosphere of uncertainty and dread.

Executive produced by James H. Nicholson (of American International), The Legend of Hell House has a similar feeling to the films that came out of AIP's stable; brooding, gothic, ghostly, horrific more in their implication than what they actually showed, and with a wonderfully downbeat ending. You could do far worse than to pop in this classic ghost house thriller on a rainy day like this.

Scream of Fear (1961)

2010-10-04T01:55:00.006-04:00

I've been enjoying the hell out of revisiting some old Halloween chillers this last week. Much as I'm not that keen on most modern horror, the earlier ones are proving to be a real treat. The latest is the 1961 Hammer Studios film, Scream of Fear (also known as Taste of Fear), more thriller than horror to be sure, but a terrific film on all accounts. I read somewhere that reviewers tend to call Scream of Fear a mini-Hitchcock but producer/screenwriter Jimmy Sangster always identified his model as Henri-Georges Clouzot's Les Diaboliques. It's a better fit quite frankly. The story is deceptively simple - Penny, a wheelchair-bound young woman (played by Susan Strasberg, the daughter of famed acting guru, Lee), returns to her family home and begins to suspect her father's temporary absence maybe isn't so temporary after all. It doesn't help when she begins to see his dead body popping up and then disappearing in all sorts of unusual places around the estate.

The film was directed with immense polish and skill by Seth Holt, a former editor for Ealing Studios who moved to directing with the seldom-seen, but superb, Nowhere To Go (1959), a film we have in the FBW Black Vault. Scream of Fear was his second feature and it already seems like you're watching the work of a seasoned pro. The film also marked a slight departure for Hammer away from the Gothic horrors they were famous for and toward the modern thriller. The ensemble cast is excellent with great turns by Strasberg in a difficult role as Penny Lame (just made that up... the Lame part), Ann Todd (from Hitch's Paradine Case) playing her concerned, but possibly evil-bitch stepmother, Ronald Lewis as the friendly family chauffeur, and Hammer go-to actor Christopher Lee as the doctor who may or may not know more than he is telling.

Daddy?... Is that you?

Scream of Fear was photographed in deep contrast B&W by the Douglas Slocombe (of The Fearless Vampire Killers fame) and the movie drips with mood and atmosphere. Several spooky scenes are played for all they're worth, but Holt never pushes them over the top and into campy overstatement territory. The film succeeds where other thrillers sometimes fall flat due in part to the reserved and deft direction Holt manages to hang onto throughout. Hammer's subsequent black and white thrillers never quite recaptured the adroit refinement of this outstanding debut. Holt died in the early '70s, but not before he directed Bette Davis in another stellar and deeply creepy Hammer film, The Nanny (1965), a film we don't have on DVD, but should get. Christopher Lee called Scream of Fear the best Hammer ever made.... and he should know – he was in most of them.

Scream of Fear is on DVD in Hammer's Icons of Horror Collection with 3 other films. It is the definite standout in the set, but The Gorgon (1964) is probably also worth a look. I didn't love The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb (1964) and haven't seen The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll (1960).

La Spookenza.

Carnival of Souls (1962)

2010-10-03T10:42:00.003-04:00

One of the strangest and most effective mood pieces I've seen, director Herk Harvey and screenwriter John Clifford created this no-budget macabre masterpiece seemingly out of thin air. Carnival of Souls starts with a car accident and ends with the dead dancing at an abandoned amusement park. The sounds of a church organ haunt nearly every scene and the heroine, trapped in a purgatory neither entirely real nor completely disconnected, fades in and out of the physical world.... kinda like Joey.

Something about this cult film resonates with everyone who sees it. In spite of the fact that it sometimes feels like a dated, beatnik throwaway, Carnival of Souls has another, entirely more complex and haunting quality that remains difficult to describe. If David Lynch captured the essence of a filmed nightmare with Eraserhead, Harvey's film is the cinematic equivalent of an hallucination. Carnival of Souls influenced any number of films that followed, including Romero's early films and Kubrick's The Shining. It's stunningly original and even though you might be inclined to write it off as hokey the first time through, it's a film that you will not soon forget. Its imagery will rattle around in the back of your mind for a long time.

Proof-positive that you don't need buckets of blood (or money) to make an effective horror film, just a great imagination, one trained actress and somebody to play the organ.

Sporgey.

Dead of Night (1945)

2010-10-02T22:20:00.003-04:00

Inspired by Joe's kick-off Halloween flick, From Beyond the Grave (1973), I thought I'd go back to one of the early horror anthologies, Dead of Night, a 1945 British film from Ealing Studios. Collections of short stories had been around since the earliest films (Waxworks from 1924 for example, was composed of 3 short horror stories), but the structure and content of Dead of Night would come to influence many subsequent films and TV series (the Twilight Zone, for one) and some consider it one of the great horror films.

The plot involves an architect arriving at a country estate, only to discover that the place, and each of its inhabitants have haunted him in recurring nightmares. As he slowly recalls premonitions from he dreams, the group begins recounting their own previous brushes with the supernatural, each of which is detailed within an episodic flashback. Dead of Night isn't particularly scary, although the famous ventriloquist dummy segment with Michael Redgrave is creepy enough. The genre changed so dramatically in subsequent decades that much of the wit and charm of the dialogue seems almost out of place in a horror film. Still, it's an interesting film from an historical perspective.

One of the problems with Dead of Night is its narrative structure. Each of the characters tells their own tale and the viewer is therefore aware that they must have survived the horrors they faced. It zaps the individual segments of some potential tension, but it must be remembered that this was 55 years ago so you need to cut the film some slack. The surreal, avant-garde ending is terrific and plays well all these years later, even if some of the individual tales come off a bit flat. That dummy still gets under my skin.

Unfortunately, the DVD release of this film is long out of print (and once again, the title trades online for stupid prices), so I yanked it off the FBW shelves last year. If you're in the mood for a little horror nostalgia however, I'll bring it in. It's an interesting and important early film in the genre.

Sporgey

The Stone Tape (1972)

2010-10-02T14:41:00.003-04:00

Originally broadcast on the BBC as a Christmas ghost story in 1972, The Stone Tape has gained a significant cult following that belies its humble beginnings. It's greatest pedigree is screenwriter Nigel Kneale, best known for his creation of Bernard Quatermass, the character around whom the Quatermass series and the resulting films are based. The Stone Tape treads in a similar track as the more renowned Quatermass, but while the latter deals mainly with science (and science fiction), the former, and the subject of today's review, delves into superstition and the supernatural, and delivers a nice ghostly chill that the earlier series lacks.

We begin The Stone Tape outside a secluded mansion which has been purchased as a research facility by Ryan Industries. The purpose of the research is for the team to come up with a new recording medium, something beyond tape. As research team leader Peter Brock (Michael Bryant - no, not that one...) says, "Give me Wagner's Ring Cycle on the head of a ball bearing with instant playback". Somewhat quaint, by today's standards; or perhaps prescient? As the team begins setting up equipment in one particularly cavernous room, Jill (Jane Asher, ex-Ms. Paul McCartney) hears echoing footfalls and then a woman scream. As others hear the woman at varying intervals, it is determined that the room is haunted. After attempts are made to expunge the ghost, Brock, with some insistent urging from Jill, realizes that there is not a physical roaming spectre per se, but that the spirit in the room is recorded in the very walls themselves, a "stone tape". What at first seems like a major breakthrough in the team's research (i.e. this is the recording medium that has eluded them thus far), soon becomes something far more sinister as Jill becomes obsessed with and haunted by the spirit and her history, and makes a chilling discovery that the ghost to which they have been witness is simply on the surface, or the first layer of the "tape", and that there are far older things recorded or contained on sub-layers of the stone, back, back in history, back perhaps to when the stone itself was formed. Old, dark, unspeakably malevolent things.

The whole cast here is wonderful, with especially exceptional turns by Asher, Bryant, and Iain Cuthbertson (see also the similarly spooky Children of the Stones). Bryant's team leader is headstrong and vain, and is nearly seized by madness while trying to remove the ghost from the room (in a terrifically psychedelic and possibly seizure-inducing scene) before refusing to acknowledge that what he had clung to so tightly was even a possibility after the experiment has failed. Asher is the typical gothic heroine, fragile and tough in the same package, and one whose pleas and warnings are mostly ignored by the rest of the team, save Cuthbertson's Roy Collins.

The sound and visual effects are dated but work well in reinforcing the theme. Analogue sound and video effects are nowhere near as precise as modern CGI, but the amorphous green shapes and eerie glowing lights the VFX crew conjures up are a perfect match for old, weird things that cannot be described, let alone shown visually. The effects have almost add to the creepiness, because instead of striving for realism and falling hard, they simply embrace the sort of abstract concepts in the play and work marvelously to that end. Some might see the effects as cheesy or dated, but they worked well given the concepts and subject matter of the play.

The final 5 minutes of The Stone Tape are truly chilling and a semi-ambiguous ending leaves the viewer contemplating the terrible consequences and possible outcomes of Jill and Peter's actions for days.

Not available on R1 DVD, there does exist a BFI PAL release, both on tape (how appropriate) and DVD. But since that's probably not going to materialize in either shop soon, here, for your viewing pleasure, is The Stone Tape (part 1 - the rest of the parts are on the Youtube sidebar):

Oh ya.... that guy.

2010-10-02T01:05:00.004-04:00

I read yesterday that director Arthur Penn died on September 28th, the day after his 88th birthday. In spite of the fact that I know he directed a bunch of stellar films, Bonnie and Clyde is the only one I can ever remember off the top of my head. Arthur Penn is a little like Tony Blair for me. When I think of Blair, I picture Michael Sheen as David Frost coaching a Derby football team instead of Britain's Ex-P.M. Same goes for Penn. I'm forever mixing up his ouput with a crop of other Hollywood New Wave directors that arose in the early '60s - guys like John Schlesinger, Sidney Lumet, Robert Altman, Peter Bogdanovich, Sydney Pollack, Irvin Kershner, George Roy Hill, William Friedkin and John Frankenheimer. I just can't remember who did what.

A minute and a half on IMDb.com and the full weight of Penn's loss hit me. Here was a director that had produced some of the seminal movies of my lifetime, a number of which perpetually reside on my ever-changing top 25 list and I had no idea they were all directed by Penn. In a number of the obits I read him described as “the most underrated American director of the '60s” and must admit to being guilty of the same oversight. In an effort to rectify that lapse of acknowledgment, I thought I'd try to summarize a number of his more-interesting films, starting with his most famous;

Bonnie and Clyde (1967) – It was probably 10 years after Bonnie and Clyde was initially released that I first saw it. It was already a famous movie, one that had changed cinema and rewrote the rules, but I was too young to realize it. Unfortunately, a different wave was rolling over Hollywood at the time – it was the start of the spectacle film (which incidentally rages to this day) and it spelled the end of the the brief Easy Riders & Raging Bulls period, the last golden era of American film making, of which Penn was a founding member. I suppose it stands to reason that Arthur Penn didn't end up on my radar given the fact the Lucas and Spielberg ruled the day by the time I was able to go to an R-Rated movie. I discovered the Hollywood New Wave during my 20's because of the home video revolution and all these years later, I'm still finding treasures from that period. It would be years before I returned to Bonnie and Clyde and was able to recognize it for the innovative and ground-breaking work that it was.

Little Big Man (1970) - Little Big Man is an epic tall tale and adventure-comedy from a great screenplay by Calder Willingham. Every bit as good as Bonnie and Clyde, in part because of a standout performance by Dustin Hoffman, Little Big Man is amongst the best of the Revisionist Westerns. It's hilarious too.

Night Moves (1975) - Penn's challenging neo-noir Night Moves stars Gene Hackman at his absolute peak. It's a film that sits nearly hidden amongst a series of much-better-known movies that explored the noir motif around the same time - Chinatown, The Conversation, The Long Goodbye, The Stone Killer, Klute, and Dirty Harry to name a few. Night Moves is every bit as good and yet, like much of Penn's work, remains nearly forgotten. This is a gem.

The Left Handed Gun (1958) – Penn's feature film directorial debut and an influential one, in spite of the fact that it was a box-office disappointment in its initial release. It was the film that some consider the unofficial kickoff of the '60s-style Revisionist Westerns of Sam Peckinpah and others. Paul Newman plays Billy the Kid. Worth a look.

The Missouri Breaks (1976) – The 2nd strangest of Penn's films, by turns weirdly humourous and light- hearted and then dark and cynical. The pacing is wacky, time is oddly stretched, then contracted and Brando is completely unhinged throughout. One of my favourite films of the '70s, but for reasons I can't explain. If you want to see a barking mad Marlon Brando, silhouetted against a moonlight sky, dressed as Little Bo-Peep (bonnet and all, I shit you not) hurling firebombs into the darkness and cackling like a lunatic, this is your movie. Jack Nicholson plays the straight man.

The Train (1964) – Penn oversaw the development of the film and directed the first day of shooting, but Burt Lancaster (a notorious prick), apparently dissatisfied with Penn's concept of the picture, had him fired and replaced by John Frankenheimer (Penn got Frankenheimered, as one Hollywood reporter wrote). Penn's original script envisioned a more intimate film that would muse on the role art played in the French character, and why they would risk their lives to save the country's great art from the Nazis. It ended up an pure-action film, but Penn's presence remains at the periphery. It's reported the Lancaster said of Frankenheimer... "He's a bit of a whore, but he'll do what he's told". Coincidentally, I read somewhere that almost no one from Hollywood attended Lancaster's funeral years later.

Mickey One (1965) – A highly-obscure film directed by Penn that everyone seems to hate....except me, that is, because I loved it. When I say everyone, I mean the 25 people that know it exists and/or saw it at some late-night MoMA screening in the '90s. This was Penn's attempt at making a French New Wave film and the results are ...mixed, to say the least. Warren Beatty plays a stand-up comic who finds himself the target of Detroit mobsters, heads for Chicago to hide out and changes his name to Mickey One. He attempts to start again, but can't shake the feeling that he is still being followed - a hunch confirmed by a subsequent ass-kicking he gets walking home from work one night. Mickey One probably plays better now than it did back then and has a great Stan Getz's cool jazzy score. Penn's weirdest work, but intriguing and innovative. Not surprisingly I suppose, our Black Vault DVD copy has never left the store, which is a crying shame.

btw - Tony Curtis cacked the same day. R.I.P.

Sporgey

From Beyond the Grave (1973)

2010-10-01T13:49:00.008-04:00

Perhaps best known for the excellent anthologies Tales From the Crypt (1972) and The Vault of Horror (1973), Milt Subotsky and Max Rosenberg's Amicus Productions was most often compared to the more prestigious Hammer Films. But while Hammer is best known for their gothic-drenched retellings of Universal's classic monster films, Amicus specialized in "modern day" (read: lower budget) anthology tales. The aforementioned two are probably the best of the bunch (the former of which inspired the '90s television show of the same name), but a very interesting curio that was released the same year as The Vault of Horror is definitely worth a watch to get things started in this season of the witch.

From Beyond the Grave centres around the mysterious and slightly malevolent back-alley antique and oddments shop ~~Post and Beam~~ Temptations Ltd (Offers You Cannot Resist) and its vaguely sinister proprietor (played with a wonderful mix of affected ignorance and wily menace by the superb Peter Cushing). Each of the four tales in the film are kickstarted by that story's main character entering the shop and, by some less-than-honest means, acquiring an obscure object of desire. From there, each of the four tales follows roughly the same story arc - the dishonest antique hunter slowly begins to notice that something is amiss and after a series of increasingly traumatic events, they all get their grisly comeuppance (save for the couple in "The Door" - though they do go through their fair share of horror - for reasons that are explained at the end of the story).

As with most anthology films, not all the stories in From Beyond the Grave are created equal; in fact, the two bookending chapters, "The Gatecrasher" and "The Door", are essentially the same story of a centuries old spirit trying to break on through from the other side, just wrapped up in different details. The most touching yarn (as well as the most chilling) is "An Act of Kindness" in which a frustrated man (Ian Bannen) trapped in an unfulfilling marriage happens upon a street vendor (Donald Pleasance) and the two strike up a friendship based on their military history (though Bannen is lying about his). After increased meetings at Pleasance's home and a growing familiarity with his creepy semi-lobotomized daughter (an effectively eerie turn by Donald's real-life daughter, Angela), things take a dark turn and, needless to say, it doesn't end well for ol' Bannen (or his wife).

The other three tales are wonderfully frightful, and a special mention must go to Margaret Leighton's grandiose medium Madame Orloff in "The Elemental". The best performance - and one of the main reasons for watching - belongs to Cushing, whose sly, knowing proprietor is at once bumbling and malefic.

Low production values are well-hidden, and like I mentioned, staging the tales in the present day allows for much budget-shortfall overcoming. Overall, a worthy anthology, and if you are a fan of the format, you'll certainly find lots to tempt you in here. Come in, come in...

Oh yeah, we don't have this at either store, so if you want to see it, you'll have to ask me. Or buy it on AMAZON.CA!

A Killer Best Left Inside?

2010-09-29T15:39:00.007-04:00

After two days of reflection, a few hours spent on research and about 20 rewrites of this entry, I'm finally posting about a recent viewing of director Michael Winterbottom's controversial adaptation of author Jim Thompson's 1952 novel, The Killer Inside Me. I had a hard time deciding how to write about it. It's a very difficult work to get your head around, which led me down all sorts of sometimes-conflicting interpretations and possible misreadings of the film, a recurring point I'll come back to. For a number of reasons, but mostly one big one, The Killer Inside Me polarized audiences when it ran on the festival circuit last spring. Many were repelled by sequences in which the film’s small-town antihero graphically beats two women to death. At Q&A sessions after the screenings, the director was assailed by angry audience members who berated and lambasted him on grounds of feminism, humanism, violence in the pop marketplace, and taste - all completely understandable complaints, but just as possibly focused on all the wrong issues.

I think the key to understanding this film boils down to how much credit you're willing to give Winterbottom (and co-scriptwriter John Curran) in their interpretation of the novel.

Possibility #1. They got it.

Jim Thompson's original novel is an exceedingly dark expose on the deepest recesses of the human mind and the film’s unrepentant nastiness was right there in the book all along. Winterbottom simply put a famous pulp novel, complete with all the lurid sin and the ugliness of mid-20th century mainstream repression, up on the screen. Thompson envisioned a nice, young Texas deputy sheriff, Lou Ford, who behind his shades and yes-ma’am exterior is a seething caldron of psychosis. This is a monster story that you’re either on-board with or you’re not. The violence is brutal as it should be, considering the dark themes and twisted protagonist at the centre of the story. If anything, Winterbottom's version is less overtly explicit than the book, but, and this is a big but, there’s a difference between prose, where the reader can indulge their imagination as much or as little as they feel comfortable with, and film, where someone else has interpreted the events and the only option is to look away.

One way to approach Winterbottom's film is to see it as an attempt to expose the hypocrisy of the modern movie audience's increasing taste for whitewashed screen-violence. As controversial as the choice to film certain scenes with such horrific clarity was, I think the reason they resonate and disturb so deeply is they're accomplished without a hint of irony. On this level, Winterbottom achieves a sort of honest realism, successfully repositioning the violence well away from the fanboy-fare mayhem of movies in the Tarantino-vein (with their baseball bat beatings, accidental beheadings and roasted Nazis funhouse-veneer), and places it instead, right in front of you. It's completely uncompromising and a long-overdue cinematic corrective from the near monopoly tongue-in-cheek cartoon-violence has had on film of late.

Possibility #2. They didn't get it.

The novel that The Killer Inside Me is adapted from is a first-person account of a murderer's own inner dialogue. This is fairly evident early on (and for anyone who has read the book) and knowing it isn't any kind of spoiler. It could be argued that this adaptation crucially fails to convey this important fact with any coherence. They seem to have excluded the possibility that the narrative stems from a wholly unreliable source and that what he tells us might not be true. Winterbottom and co-scriptwriter John Curran's version seems entirely too literal an interpretation of a novel layered with such ambiguity and uncertainty. In Thompson's book, for example, the main character's ongoing relationship with the town sweetheart is ultimately revealed to be an entirely fictional construct. This knowledge would have helped to put the violence in some context, had it been translated onto the screen somehow. As it is, some of the flashbacks don't make a lot of sense because the narration is presented as accurate, when in fact, it might not be. The tension created in the book stems from the play between Ford's narrative accounts and what really happened, something that isn't well-handled in the film.

The Killer Inside Me is a film that suffers from an entirely unsophisticated misreading of the source material. There is little room left for the important and necessary reading-between-the-lines of Thompson's original story. Even though much of the spoken dialogue is lifted directly from the novel (perhaps too much, in fact), it doesn't compensate for an oversimplified rendering of such a complex and constantly-shifting narrative. As it is, the film seems a little like a photocopy of a masterwork. It looks the part, but is missing the subtlety, nuance and mystery of the original.

Possibility #3. They shouldn't have tried.

The trouble with this film is either of the above-noted possibilities are entirely plausible, defensible and reasonable... even though I'm personally leaning to the second and wrote them both. Winterbottom's decision to treat the violence so bluntly is both a blessing and a curse on the film. While it may have served to effectively communicate the sadism and misogynistic-horror of Thompson's Lou Ford, it also serves to deaden the underlying ambiguity of the novel's dark, nightmarish plot and lend credence to claims that the film is nothing but sexist and exploitative. The question that I'm tempted to ask is how would you write a first-person narrative about a misogynist sociopath that doesn't come off as misogynist itself? Not once does Winterbottom try to show Lou Ford in a sympathetic light. He's presented as a cold, calculating monster who destroys nearly everything and everyone around him – most notably, the ones who actually care for him.

I'm tempted to call this film a failure, in spite of the fact that they got so much right. The most specific problem I can point to has little to do with the script itself. Despite the fact that Thompson's novels have been adapted to film numerous times (The Getaway, The Grifters, Hit Me, Pop. 1280, etc.), I'm not sure that this particular story lends itself to the constraints inherent to cinematic story telling. Inner dialogue rarely works on screen (just ask David Lynch or Terry Gilliam) because in literary fiction, so much relies on the reader's imagination and interpretation. The biggest problem with The Killer Inside Me might be that there isn't a mystery at its core. The murderer is revealed in the opening act and the balance of the story is spent waiting for him to get caught. It inverts and shuffles the typical pledge, turn, prestige order most crime film plots rely on.

Conclusion

In the end, this film is possibly best-described as a series of concentric circles of misunderstanding. The script is a possible misreading of the original text and the audience's negative reaction, a likely misreading of the director's intent. As a result, The Killer Inside Me comes off as one of the most interesting and experimental films of the year, partly because of what it is, partly because of what it isn't, but mostly because it probably shouldn't have been made in the first place.

I'm placing it exactly half way between a must-see and a must-avoid.

Sporgey

God Spede ye Plough, and send us Korn enow.

2010-09-27T01:29:00.002-04:00

Making every effort to avoid going on another rant here, I watched two documentaries this weekend, one on Tom's recommendation called Collapse and Videocracy, a new doc about Italian pop culture and its connection to Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's media empire. In order to stay positive and not succumb to my natural negative vibe (you know, the “we're fucked” one), I'm going to reverse the order in which I watched these and tackle Videocracy first.

Videocracy is an intriguing and disturbing film from director Erik Gandini that paints a nightmarish vision of contemporary Italy. For a country that produced so much beauty during its long history, it may come as a bit of a shock just how garish, crass and horrible a huge swath of modern Italian culture has been reduced to. Gandini makes a strong case that under media tycoon/prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, Italy's ancient cultures and customs have been supplanted by a stunning circus of cheesey celebutainment that makes the worst of U.S reality TV programming look like a Bergman film. If you ever wondered how mainstream American TV could get any worse, look no further than the Italian television landscape where Mr Berlusconi's company, Mediaset, owns three TV stations and indirectly controls two of the three publicly-run stations.

A quick glance at the trailer of Videocracy gives a taste for the traffic-accident-horror that awaits the viewer. It's mind-boggling just how low the bar gets set in this cultural limbo dance to the death.

But I said I was going to remain positive and that's where the second film comes in. Collapse is a talking head documentary with a single talking head, Mike Ruppert. Ruppert is a possibly-insane, chain-smoking retired L.A. cop who takes the viewer on a end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it odyssey that connects declining oil reserves with the collapse of everything we know. According to Crazy-Mike, nothing will be spared – food production, transportation, energy, politics, housing, jobs, populations, economies and society are all on the brink of catastrophic implosion because we're on the back-slope of easy oil recovery. The low hanging fruit has been picked and it's about to get a whole lot tougher to do anything and everything. Ruppert is a completely fascinating character, part modern-Nostradamus and part immensely-articulate madman, I'm just not sure how much of each.

If he's right and we're all heading into a prolonged head-first, free-fall into the shitter, one of the important upsides is Italian schlock-TV will cease to broadcast and the scumbag Robini Hood from the above trailer will be broke, making the world (and particularly Italy) a much better place to live. We'll all be so busy trying to figure out how to yoke the oxen that nobody will have time to watch 6' blonde Italian chicks with big boobs prance around a glittering stage for 8 hours every day.

How's that for looking at the bright side? There's always a silver lining, even in the end of mankind as we know it.

Does anyone know any Mennonites?

Sporgey

Show me the money.....

2010-09-25T15:13:00.003-04:00

Alex Gibney is an American documentary film director best know for a couple of films; Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (nominated in '05 for the Best Documentary Feature at the Academy Awards) and Taxi to the Dark Side (and winner of the '07 Oscar for Best Doc). His latest work, Casino Jack and the United States of Money, chronicles the rise and fall of disgraced Washington lobbyist Jack Abramoff.

Gibney is an interesting and talented director/producer, quite different from the likes of say, Michael Moore. The material he assembles for his films is generally presented in straightforward, chronological order, making certain that the audience is clear on how and where all the puzzle pieces fit together. As a result there tend to be fewer “aha!” moments in a typical Gibney documentary, but also a lessor inclination toward debatable assumptions and dubious juxtapositions which can sometime undermine the work of directors like Moore. The downside of this template is Gibney's tendency to sometimes drift into info-barrage territory. Too many news reports, talking-head opinions and anecdotes, archival audio and video footage, and dramatic recreations can seem a little overwhelming at times. More factoids that basically say the same thing don't necessarily serve to advance the central theme.

Casino Jack is about the vast gray area where U.S. political lobbying and big money intersect. It's about an inherently flawed political funding system that funnels cash from various interest groups into the pockets of politico's who make and break government policy. It's about systemic bribery and how the lucrative business of K-Street lobbying has fundamentally undermined the nation's democratic process. It's about what happens when you introduce unfettered and uncontrolled free market principles into the political realm. It documents unconditionally how these forces have created the conditions whereby immoral and unethical practices are seen as natural and positive influences by the practitioners. It's enough to make you sick.

One of the architects and greatest proponents of the practice of political/financial lubrication was a man named Jack Abramoff. The first third of the film is devoted to contextualizing Abramoff's near-fanatical idealism by connecting his early-'80s rise to the leadership of the College Republican movement (alongside other conservative ideologue-nutjobs Ralph Reed and Grover Norquist), his fondness for action movies, and his orthodox Jewish faith and conservative values with the man who would ultimately sit at the centre of a network of questionably-legal, but unequivocally-unethical bribery schemes that extended to the very heart of the Republican Party, Congress and the Bush Whore House. The middle third of Casino Jack is devoted to detailing Abramoff's upstart years, his growing network of associates, his formidable work on Capitol Hill stealing money from and/or funneling money through offshore sweatshops, Indian casinos, gambling cruise ships, shady Russian conglomerates, and other assorted dubious ventures. The final third documents how the whole sordid affair came undone.

To say Abramoff was the ringleader of some shadowy star chamber of graft would be incorrect because all of this took place in the light of day.....actually it's pronounced “DeLay” for Tom DeLay, a former member of the U.S. House of Representatives who represented Texas's 22nd congressional district from 1984 until 2006. As the GOP House Majority Leader from 2003 to 2005, Delay was the king of reckless deregulation, influence peddling and money laundering in Washington during Jack's tenure as the cash-king of the lobbying circuit, the man where the buck temporarily stopped before being allocated to the politicians who played ball and towed the line-item-vetos. Between them they were the J.J. Hunsecker and Sydney Falco of campaign finance sleaze. If there's a big fish that needed to get fried in this fiasco, DeLay was it, but the investigation that led to Abramoff's arrest and conviction on three criminal felony counts of defrauding several American Indian tribes and the corruption of public officials, never included the Delay... just about everyone around him, but not Tommy himself. Delay was indicted in 2005 however, on unrelated criminal charges of conspiracy to violate election laws in Texas in 2002.

By the end of Casino Jack and the United States of Money, after 122 minutes of absorbing meticulously-researched detail and irrefutable evidence on the nature and scope of this immense conspiracy, it's difficult not to be left with an acute sense of disillusionment and despair. A few of the most egregious perpetrators ended up in jail to be sure, but mostly because they self-documented their crimes almost daily in endless emails to one another. Let the record show that these bozo's wrote the text that ended up proving they were waste-deep in a criminal conspiracy. Truth is often stranger than fiction. Guilty as charged.

I went into some detail about the film here because I doubt many of you will watch it. In the cynical time that is our own, Gibney's film might suffer a little from stating the obvious. We've become so jaded and insular in recent years that most will just shrug at the egregious crimes exposed in Casino Jack and who can blame them? With corruption, sleaze and a lack of empathy pervading nearly every level of society and its institutions, what's yet another story about political rot gonna change? At pretty much any other time in recorded history, these clowns would have all been sent to the gallows and publicly executed, but these days....?

Tom Delay's retired and ended up on Dancing with the Stars last year. The charges against him in Texas were dropped in August 2010. Jack's in a halfway house, having served half of the 6 years he was sentenced to. He's a free man come December. Grover Norquist is president of the taxpayer advocacy group Americans for Tax Reform and a member of the board of directors of the National Rifle Association. Ralph Reed lost his bid for lieutenant governor of Georgia. Some said he wanted to use this office as a stepping stone to the U.S. Senate or even the White House. He continues to plot ways to return to the halls of power.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Sporgey.

Midnight Madness 2010: That's a Wrap!

2010-09-25T13:43:00.008-04:00

At the risk of trying your MM bloggage patience, Kris and I have one more post about the fest until next year. Thank you all for reading - the films were almost as much fun to write about as they were to watch. Well, some of them. Anyway, quickly, here's my ranking, from first to worst, of the films we saw:

1: Stake Land
2: Fubar 2
3: Super
3: Red Nights
3: Bunraku
6: The Butcher, The Chef, and the Swordsman
7: The Ward
8: Vanishing on 7th Street
9: Fire of Conscience
10: Insidious

And a special mention must go to The Legend of Beaver Dam, the short which preceded Fubar 2. Tons of fun. And a three way tie for third! I really just couldn't pick which of these three should have been in the three spot, which in the fourth, and which in the fifth, so I did the next best thing: COP-OUT! 1-6 are all certainly worth watching, and films I hope to see again, whether theatrically or on DVD; 7 I'll probably watch again on DVD, maybe, if in the right mood; and 8-10 I hope to never have to soil my eyes with ever again.

Well, we barely survived (again), and I certainly wouldn't have if not for Kris' support and love. And his forcing me to get the Fessenden pic. Until next time, "Filter in, filter in", "EMMA? EMMA?", "Hopping Mad, please". I can't wait until Midnight Madness 2011..

-the coelacanth

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It's been about a week since TIFF and Joe and I's endurance run through Midnight Madness ended and I'm just started to feel sane again.
Doesn't mean it wasn't an absolute blast. This years TIFF was a dizzying journey that I can't wait to repeat next year with my partner in crime.

Personal TIFF 2010 highlights: "It's not warm!", Ron Pearlman, a pile of rocks I almost rode into on Dundas St., Larry Fessenden, Liv Tyler, Sasha Grey DJing at The Drake Hotel, C'est What's Bison Burger, "Filter in! Filter in!", booing at the Cadillac ad before every film and finally, the free black gum we received in line for Super.

Of course, it wouldn't be a film festival without the films! So, here's how I rank 2010's Midnight Madness program.

1: Stake Land - "... I prayed, I prayed to God to save me. When they finally came for my blood, I gave it to them willingly and was rewarded for my sacrifice..."

2: The Legend of Beaver Dam - "Who's afraid of Stumpy Sam, the one-armed ghost of Beaver Dam?"

3: Fubar 2 - "...hump dumpers on lube tube."

4: Super - "Touched by the tip, of the tip, of God's finger."

5: Bunraku - "I'm the product of a fucked up generation"

6: Red Nights - "You really are quite pretty..."

7: The Butcher, The Chef and The Swordsman - "I'm dead!"

8: The Ward - "What happened to Alice?"

9: Fire of Conscience - "I was born in the year of the dragon. Dragons are in luck this year."

10: Vanishing on 7th Street - "The only thing that has kept me alive the past 3 days is my will to exist."

11: Insidious - "Dalton has gone to a place... a place I call... 'the further'."

There you have it. Another year, another midnight madness accomplished.

Thank you to everyone who followed our reviews. To Scott for helping us out with that last review and egging us on through the whole run. To Geddes for selecting some absolute gems this year. To my partner Joe, without you... there would be no way. To Sasha Grey for smiling at me. And finally, thank you secret washrooms at the Ryerson theater... you made my festival.

-dropkick.

Ferrous Bueller's Off Day

2010-09-25T00:09:00.003-04:00

As big-budget superhero movies go, the first Iron Man was a huge financial success and almost more importantly, a modest cinematic one. Robert Downey Jr. was a fine casting choice and beyond some in-your-face American jingoism, the movie was pretty entertaining and not completely stupid. While this may smack of faint praise, that's about as good as it gets from me regarding the overblown superhero genre. It wasn't completely stupid.

Iron Man 2 however, is... completely stupid. Not Spiderman 3 stupid, but close. As a matter of fact, the only thing stupider than Spiderman 3 is me, for taking the time to watch all of Iron Man 2. Robert Downey Jr. has gone from charming and playful to completely obnoxious in the space of one movie, the plot is slight and uninteresting, the heroes and villains too many by half, and the whole affair appears to have been cobbled together from bits and pieces of a longer, smarter movie. In fact, it felt like one long commercial for the next dozen or so Marvel film projects rather than a movie unto itself. From the perspective of this franchise, Iron Man 2 seems chiefly intended as a bookmark for the next few sequels.

I took one interesting thought from the film though. Does anyone better personify the modern devolution of American pop culture better than Mickey Rourke? Here's an actor who, 25 years ago, briefly held the torch for American cinema acting excellence and then dropped it. Two decades later, his return to the spotlight as a chemically-enhanced, artificially-coloured, tattooed freak-show has made him once again, a Hollywood force. Beyond the Wrestler, a fine movie that drew obvious parallels and inspiration from Rourke's own life, the balance of his recent roles have been similar to the villain he plays in Iron Man 2 - a collection of circus geek portrayals that I can't help but view with a certain sadness. Rourke has morphed into a near-perfect manifestation of a bloated, surreal society unconcerned with how the facade is acquired, just that it is. America's outward projection, be it via her entertainment industry, nation politics, Wall Street or WalMart corporate-sameness is a sham... an illusion. Countless Wizards of Oz are furiously pulling levers, adjusting the volume and tweaking the set to convince everyone otherwise, but I think most are beginning to understand that this emperor has no clothes.

If you look at Mickey Rourke long enough, it all starts to become clear.

Sporgey

Herzogian Pretzel-Logic.

2010-09-23T18:01:00.006-04:00

Having recently got underway with the 2010 year-end Review, I was revisiting some best-of-the-year candidates and began reworking a writeup for Werner Herzog's The Bad Lieutenant, Port of Call: New Orleans, a film that will surely rank amongst them, if for no other reason than its 8 word, 3 section title. Coincidentally, Tom's review of Herzog's new TIFF-screened documentary, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, coincided with the arrival on DVD last week of his latest feature film (and some say, sort-of companion-piece to The Bad Lieutenant), My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done?

...what have you done indeed, Werner?

The first clue as to what lay in store for the viewer occurs in the opening frame; “David Lynch presents a film by Werner Herzog”. It's a little like reading “Gary Busey presents Mel Gibson and Andy Dick in Conversation, Music by Brittany Spears” - mad intriguing, but terrifying all the same. A cult producer, a cult director, and a cult cast (Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, Chloe Sevigny, Udo Kier, Grace Zabriskie, Michael Pena (not normally culty, but he is here), Loretta Devine, Irma P Hall, James C. Burns, Candice Coke and Brad Dourif) have, not surprisingly, created a film only cultists and fanboys could love. Fans of mainstream film need not apply.

All said, this is decidedly minor work from Herzog. As he did with the traditional neo-noir themes in The Bad Lieutenant, Herzog feeds the typical police hostage drama into his patented Wernerlator and what came out the other end is a unique, unconventional, thought-provoking and at times overly-bizarre quasi-horror film. Go figure.

I'm not sure if it matters whether it's any good either because My Son, My Son is a different kind of film than the batshit-crazy, but eminently more-watchable Bad Lieutenant. It's more experimental and while, much like The Bad Lieutenant, it remains distinctly absurdist, it's also entirely more difficult to give yourself over to. On the upsides there are terrific turns by Dafoe, Kier and Michael Shannon, an engaging actor I know nothing about, save for the fact that he also appeared briefly in Bad Lieutenant. He might just have the best face in Hollywood right now and looks like a cross between a younger Dafoe and a deranged Marty Feldman. There's also a dwarf in a tux (probably a funding condition from Lynch), pet pink flamingos and Satan runs an ostrich farm. I mean, what's not to like?

Simply impossible to recommend, My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done? is part hostage drama, part decent into madness, part Peruvian-kayaking-adventure-meets-Aguirre filming autobiography and part unhinged, surreal, horror flick. Who else but Lynch would have agreed to fund Herzog's foray into the Peruvian rain forest to film a movie about a hostage negotiation in San Diego?

Perhaps the first film that absolutely requires the running commentary track by the director to even begin to understand what's going on.

Kooky.

...and lastly, is it just me or has William Dafoe not aged at all in the last 30 years? What's that all about?

Sporgey

Twitch, Variety, Ain't It Cool News & Joe

2010-09-21T01:54:00.002-04:00

http://www.glasseyepix.com/html/dates.html

A nod to Joe's stellar Stake Land post from the production company's website.

Nice one, Coleslaw!

Zidane on Blu-ray

2010-09-20T01:59:00.005-04:00

Thanks to the unerring eye of our FBE crew chief Coleslaw, an all-regions Blu-ray copy of the 2006 film Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait arrived in the KRK box last week. I hadn't noticed it was available and as a result, stole it instantly. For whatever reason this French-Icelandic feature-documentary has never received a DVD release in North America... even though it would seem a good fit for the growing legions of football fans on this side of the Atlantic.

Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait has been hailed as “a vital portrait of a modern athlete”, “a celebration of the body in motion” and “skillfully realized” by a number of critics. Shot during the April 23, 2005 match between his Real Madrid team and Villarreal, the film makers utilized 17 cameras trained exclusively on the soccer legend for 92 minutes, roughly the length of the match itself. The audience is witness to Zidane's singular actions throughout rather than the match itself, which makes for an unusual mix of sports movie and art film. Instead of telling a story with an arc of triumph or loss, the film makers seem more intent on capturing the ambience of the experience. The roar of the crowd accompanies the varied high-def visuals, underscored by a minimalist musical soundtrack by the composer Mogwai (?) and a few subtitled quotes from Zidane himself.

Based on what I'd read about this film over the years, I'll admit to having some pretty high expectations of it, but I still wasn't fully prepared for the profound effect Zidane would have on me. It was, without a doubt, the most mind-numbingly dull, consistently annoying and unsatisfying wastes of time I've ever sat through. Watching a single athlete for the duration of a game might have been an interesting concept in theory but in execution, it's fucking excruciating. The opening 5 minutes is a nauseating pixelated visual nightmare that simply won't end. It just wouldn't end.... The music by Mogwai is a new-age aural assault that would likely give Bill Frissell an aneurism. Quite frankly, I'd rather listen to 10 hours of whale-song than hear another Mogwai composition. Zidane himself is nearly expressionless throughout, making the whole concept a giant waste of time. Surely to God somebody noticed this during the year-long editing process. Anyone? No? Is it just me, or is this monumentally boring? That had to have come up.

I should acknowledge here that most art-installation video work (which is probably a better description for Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait than the term “film”is) will find its champions and detractors lining up in opposing camps. With enough weed, I'm sure you could get into the rhythm of the piece, although in hindsight, I'm thinking two to three hits of acid might be a better choice. That said, I could also get into an episode of So You Think You Can Dance provided I was stoned out of my magic gourd, so that's hardly an answer. Zidane was just too pretentious an undertaking for my craw to absorb. I nearly leaped out of my chair the few times that Zidane's face cracked and spent the rest of the time grasping for anything that would quell the never-ending, repetitive tedium of 92 minutes spent staring at another human whose face has the emotional range of an Easter Island statue.

Thanks to Zidane, I have a splitting headache, despise the French, and hate soccer again. It's a stupid sport where fuck-all happens. As you can see, the Blu-ray has “The Greatest Film About Football Ever Made” festooned all over the front cover, which reminded me of a Coleslaw comment about another film from about a year ago.

I'll trade you back for the Graphic Sexual Horror DVD and throw in the Elvis boxset I took in August Joe. Please?

Sporgey.

Midnight Madness 2010 day 10: Fire of Conscience (2010)

2010-09-19T17:46:00.003-04:00

There's really not much to say about Dante Lam's Fire of Conscience, the closing film of Midnight Madness 2010. Which is too bad, It's always better to go out on a bang rather than a whimper.

The film is a Hong-Kong cop drama/thriller that follows a detective who has taken a vigilante-esque stance on crime after his pregnant wife was killed by a purse snatcher. He collaborates with a higher ranking officer on a case to catch a cop killer.
While the first half hour held great promise the plot becomes murkier and murkier as twists come at you in rapid fire. Following the complicated plot wouldn't be such a hassle if you genuinely cared for the characters.
This lack of care results in an anticipation of action sequences to help keep you going, sadly, the ones on display are loud and realistic but are much too short.
The film fails as an action and as a drama. When our hero is delivering a baby in a burning garage by the third act you are laughing at the mundaneness of the whole ordeal and hoping for a quick cut to the end credits.
While there is much promise here coming from director Dante Lam, it's the script that lacks emotionality and cohesiveness. Turning what should be hard hitting into straight to dvd fodder.

Why this was a Midnight Madness pick is beyond me, a film already distributed in North America getting a slot at a world reknown film festival? Was it to help the director get a festival selection credit under his belt? Or maybe it was because the film really did fit with the theme of the festival and was great.... yeah.

If TIFF screens films we already have available for rent, then why not get a print of something real classic? A real crowd pleaser to go out on. That would have been better than this mediocrity.

And with that the festival ends on a low note, but it isn't all bad news. Joe and I caught some really excellent stuff over the past 10 days and now we can finally get some sleep.

-dropkick
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It's a shame that after nine days of some wonderful cinematic delights (and a couple troubled productions), Midnight Madness 2010 had to end on a low note, but that's exactly what happened with last night's screening of Dante Lam's Fire of Conscience. Lam, hailed as the successor to the Jon Woo/Johnnie To throne, has over a dozen films under his belt, and I've not seen any of them save for last night's effort. And if Fire of Conscience is any indication, Lam has a long way to go before he fills his mentors' shoes.

Fire of Conscience has a few different concurrent storylines, but the way they are tied together is too convoluted, and the pacing of the film, while quick, is uneven. There are a couple of decent action setpieces, but they are too few and far between. I don't know if, after nine consecutive nights of staying up until 3:30 AM, my body was finally failing me, or if the film was really that boring, but about 20 minutes in, my eyelids started to droop, snapping open only two or three times in the remainder of the film. If there's one thing a Midnight Madness film should NOT do, it's put you to sleep. I really don't understand why this film was included in the program, as it doesn't benefit from being seen with a crowd, and certainly didn't (for me, at least) fit the description of a "midnight movie".

Not to mention that, with a modicum of effort, you can track this down on DVD in Chinatown (legit, not bootleg, as in, it's already been released), or, even easier, at The Film Buff West on Blu-Ray. Being available in a format other than 35 mm should not necessarily preclude a film from being shown at MM, but if the film is to be shown, it must be a film that is tremendously enhanced by viewing with a rowdy crowd, which Fire of Conscience certainly was not.

Lam certainly has chops, but he needs to tighten everything up and lose a lot of unnecessary dialogue. The best part of the film were the opening 5 minutes, shot in frozen black-and-white, that show us a tableau of a crime in progress, which then bleeds into colour as the action comes alive. Thrilling, impressive stuff. The characters may have been written strongly, but it seemed like the actors who played them didn't really buy it, and thus, we as viewers don't either. The characters' motivations seemed weak. Not a complete dud, but because of its inability to engage, and it's meandering script, Fire of Conscience will likely land near, if not at, the bottom of my list.

-the coelacanth

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AND.....for those of you who've stuck around, you get a SUPER-BONUS, UBER-INCISIVE, APRES-CREDITS third review, courtesy of our very own La Sporgenza, who wasn't in attendance at MM, but checked out Fire of Conscience a month ago on the aforementioned DVD. Without further ado, Sporgey:

A trip to Chinatown's only legit DVD shop about a month ago netted a Blu-ray copy of Dante Lam's latest Hong Kong actioner Fire of Conscience (2010), which coincidentally closed the Midnight Madness series Coleslaw and Dropkick have been so faithfully chronicling in recent posts. For perhaps the first time, I've actually seen one of the titles in the MM series before the lads and wondered if the environment the film was seen in might have generated a different response to it.

As a long-time fan of the Hong Kong policier, I think it's probably worthwhile to put Dante Lam's Fire of Conscience in some sort of historical context. The Asian crime genre is about as clear-cut a film category as exists, coming into existence in the mid-'80s and continuing with films like Fire of Conscience today. The cycle was strongest in the earlier days with directors like John Woo, Tsui Hark, Johhny To and others regularly delivering poetically-tinged, action-melodramas that quickly found an international audience. After the Asian financial crisis, which dried up traditional sources of film finance as well as the local audiences' disposable income, the genre fell into period of extended decline. Exceptions existed to be sure, but a combination of factors weighed heavily on the Hong Kong film market throughout most of the 1990's. Overproduction, the exhaustion of overused formulas, and most importantly, the problem of rampant video piracy throughout East Asia, drained the industry of money and talent. From 2000 onwards the HK crime drama might have vanished entirely were it not for the efforts of a trio of directors; Wai-keung Lau, Alan Mak and Johnny To. The Infernal Affairs trilogy from Lau and Mak and To's Election, Election 2, Exiled, Mad Detective and others heralded a return to form for Hong Kong cinema.

Dante Lam is a product of this post-2000 resurgence in the Hong Kong film industry. His breakout film, The Beast Stalker (2008) was a well-received, but tawdry kidnapping/action film currently unreleased to DVD in North America. I've got a Chinatown burn if anyone wants to see it. Fire of Conscience, beyond extending Lam's proclivity for terribly-titled movies, isn't really much of an advancement over his earlier works. While it sports loads of action, some grimly graphic violence and clips along at a furious pace, I found it noisy and unfocused, lacking the gravitas an actor like Simon Yam or Andy Lau might have brought to the picture. The two leads played by Ritchie Ren and Leon Lai just didn't come off as believable. I couldn't tear my eyes off Lai's wispy Inspector-Clouseau beard. It just looked ridiculous. The sole exception to the uninspired acting was Michelle Ye as the female detective, May. Her character in Fire of Conscience is a rarity in HK crime films, a bona fide female character who isn't just window dressing. I'm almost certain that most North Americans will find the goofy baby-delivery in the flame-engulfed garage near the end a tad over-the-top, even though it kind of suits the movie. I've yet to see a film from Hong Kong where something along those lines doesn't happen. It's a staple of the genre that Woo started with all his stupid doves flying around. Birth-Death-Rebirth motifs have always dominated the genre.

Fire of Conscience seems to me a strange pick for the Midnight Madness series, particularly as the program's closing-night flick. It's just too pedestrian compared to the films that preceded it. A much better choice might have been Pou-Soi Cheang's Accident from 2009, a flawed, but very inventive film (and one that, to my knowledge, hasn't received any notices outside Asia). Cheang represents a slightly different kind of upcoming HK filmmaker, one who seems less intent on simply out-To'ing and up-Woo'ing his predecessors and is instead seeking ways to expand the genre. If the Midnight Madness series is intended to be a showcase for films that cut against the grain, Fire of Conscience, like it's silly Babelfish title implies, seems hardly worthy of inclusion.

With apologies for budding into the terrific series of posts you guys have pulled together over the course of the program... I'm kinda glad to be a part of it, if only vicariously.

Sporgey.

Cave of forgotten dreams @ TIFF '10

2010-09-19T15:02:00.002-04:00

I've had really high hopes for 3D since Avatar impressed me last year but have only ever been disappointed since. All this retro fitting, remakes and flickering action sequences has really started to bug me. So, when a few months back I heard Herzog was working on a 3D documentary film, I couldn't help but grin. Finally, I thought, a 3D film that isn't going to be a bloated blockbuster.
This films subject The Chauvet Cave in southern France was only discovered in 1994. It contains the most extraordinary array of cave paintings dated from between 23,000 to 30,000 years ago as well as fantastic calcite formations, stalagmites/stalactites and ancient bones of creatures long migrated from the continent. The cave was apparently sealed by a landslide many millennia ago which has preserved everything perfectly. It's really something special to see and the sense of great privilege is conveyed by Werner early on in his very proud introduction. He is the only filmmaker to ever have been allowed access to the cave and throughout I couldn't help picturing everyone at the BBC and Discovery Channel shrugging jealously.
The picture starts with some really beautiful shots of the French vinyards and mountains near the cave. It's presentation is what we've come to expect and it's instantly engaging. Long roving shots from a remote flying camera, hand-held POV's up mountain paths. The problems only start when we get inside the cave. Werner explains that the equipment that they could take in has to be very limited and they use non-professional camera gear. This isn't necessarily the problem though, we can take it with a pinch of salt. The real problem is in the 3D.
First of all there is little light in the cave and so the gain is pushed into the camera signal and there's a lot of digital noise, especially in the dark areas, of which there are a lot. Now, noise/grain is always forgivable, until it starts dancing around in 3D, then it gives you a terrible headache. A lot of the shots are lit solely by a moving torch light and the constant re-focussing of your eyes only strains them further. However. the cave is quite amazing and we get to see it in detail. Later in the film some much better lit 3d shots are shown that really should have been used throughout. Footage of the cave is interspersed with interviews with various characters. The decision to use a rather generic voice over in place of subtitles for these interviews was certainly a small misstep and dries it up a touch, but the film is not without it's moments. There are a couple of hilarious exchanges where Werner has typically cut someone off too early or left them hanging when they have finished. I do get the sense that he has become self aware and when chuckles are raised as Werner describes a cave painting as “Proto-cinema” I detected at least a hint of self parody, which I don't mind at all.
The film winds up with the most spectacularly detailed shots of all, they do linger on a bit too long and I think the back half of the film would benefit from a cut of about 10 minutes. Having said all this, despite the technical distractions, the film is a semi-triumph in the way Encounters at the end of the world was. Some really great personal touches and a fascinating subject, but for god's sake see it in glorious 2D.

The Secret in Their Eyes (2009)

2010-09-19T01:37:00.002-04:00

Argentine director Juan Jose Campanella’s The Secret in Their Eyes was a bit of a surprise victory at this year's Oscars, bagging Best Foreign Film and beating out co-favourites The White Ribbon and A Prophet. I've yet to get around to watching Hanake's White Ribbon, but found Jacques Audiard's A Prophet riveting. I’m not fully convinced Campanella's victory was justified, but The Secret in Their Eyes is a structurally solid, splendidly acted romantic thriller that achieves what it sets out to.

The story is set in 1999 and opens with a recently-retired District Attorney named Benjamin (Ricardo Darin), trying to write a novel about an unsolved murder case he was involved with 25 years earlier. After struggling to commit his memories to paper, Benjamin visits a former colleague (and past object of desire), played by the stunning Soledad Villamil, to share his frustrations about the writing project. In flashback, we are transported back 25 years, where we see the original crime scene and are introduced to a variety of characters including the victim's grieving husband, Benjamin's alcoholic partner Pablo, and the newly-arrived female D.A. Irene (Villamil), who is his immediate superior. As his head swims with theories and uncertainties, Benjamin opts to pursue the case once again, hoping to find the truth after a quarter-century of nagging doubt.

Well-composed and smoothly paced, The Secret in Their Eyes is a true director's film. Campanella displays auteur-like confidence deploying his characters with great precision on a cinematic chessboard. The story unfolds without the typical histrionics Hollywood would likely have shoveled onto a similar script and as a result, some might find the proceedings a little dry at times. Despite the title, there aren't really any lightning bolts flying around here. For the most part, the film's emotional content is underplayed, sometimes a little frustratingly so, but it remains engaging throughout. This is a reserved mystery with several plausible suspects that focuses more on characterization than the seedier aspects at the heart of the story.

There are some moments of film-geek bravado however, chiefly an unbroken six-minute-long chase sequence where Benjamin and Pablo first encounter and arrest the primary suspect during a boisterous soccer match. It’s a neat puzzler of editorial trickery and CGI that also serves to lift the midsection of the film and give it a little pizzazz. Before I get into spoiler territory here, I should stop. Rest assured that the resolution of the story is completely satisfying, advancing the idea that justice need not be a act of simple vengeance, but can be something entirely more personal. The film closes on a nearly pitch-perfect note of salvation, blended beautifully with a faint shot of hope, an emotion long just-out-of-reach for these characters.

Winner.

Sporgey

Fessenden Q&A

2010-09-18T17:32:00.004-04:00

Coleslaw deity Larry Fessenden on whether Wendigo is a proper horror film or just an art-trash experiment in visual trickery using a bad elk suit.

Midnight Madness 2010 day 9: Stake Land (2010)

2010-09-18T14:22:00.000-04:00

Kris doesn't have access to a computer today, so his review will be delayed a bit, and I will add it here when it comes through. For the time being, here's my take on Jim Mickle's Stake Land.
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So, this year's version of Midnight Madness is winding down, but one of the films that I'd been most looking forward to was screened last night, and lo and behold, did it ever deliver. Jim Mickle's Stake Land shows us an America perhaps in the not-too-distant future wherein vampires have begun to dominate, and society has essentially been splintered into small bands of survivors, with two clear cut camps: religious fundamentalists and the sane. In these days of Tea Party hysteria, this is all too uncomfortably familiar. More a road movie than a vamp flick, Stake Land reveals that, in an age of fanaticism and intolerance, vampires are the least of our worries.

The story has a man ("Mister") and a boy ("Martin")joining forces in order to get to a safe haven in the north known as New Eden. However, it is unclear if this refuge will even provide solace, as the boy is warned by a store clerk that they'll need to watch out for the cannibals one they arrive there. Along the way, Mister and Martin pick up a ragtag band of survivors, whose only link is that they share a respect for human life regardless of race or creed.

All of the actors, to a person, do a fantastic job of creating realistic characterizations out of what could very easily have been caricatures. Kelly McGillis' nun, "Sister", is particularly affecting, for even though she wears the cloth, she is not so lost in fundamentalist beliefs or irrationality to realize survival trumps all when belief and urgent pragmatism clash. Nick Damici, who wrote the script for Stake Land (as well as Mickle's previous film, the wonderfully grimy and similarly humane Mulberry Street), plays Mister, a brooding antihero who softens over the course of the film, and becomes more and more compassionate, learning that looking out for number one may keep you alive, but it will ultimately have the more damaging effect of total alienation. Martin doesn't have much to say, but provides the voice-over narration that nudges the story along at an easy pace. Sean Nelson, Bonnie Dennison, Danielle Harris, and especially Michael Cerveris as Jebedia Loven, the personification of the idea of Christian Fundamentalism taken to a terrifying extreme, all contribute solid work in slightly smaller roles.

The pacing of the film needs mention, as it is neither fast nor slow, but sort of flows like a languid river, free and easy, never slowing or hastening, and always staying the course. The whole thing felt very natural, very real, and even tangents in the plot acted more like swirling eddies rather than highway off-ramps, deviating for a brief moment of pause before once more giving in to the pull of the water. In fact the whole film has a very naturalistic feel. Kris mentioned before the film that he had been speaking with one of the MM programmers and was told that Stake Land was like if Terrence Malick had shot a vampire film. That idea stuck in my mind as I watched the film, and it is not a poor description at all. Shades of Malick, David Gordon Green's earlier work, Lance Hammer's Ballast, and, to come full-circle, fellow Glass Eye Pix alum Kelly Reichardt's disarmingly real films. In particular, I saw similarities between Stake Land's characters and the small, touching and very human interactions in Reichardt's Wendy and Lucy. Pretty deep stuff for just another "vampire" movie.

But that's just the thing - much like Glass Eye Pix founder, Stake Land producer, and renaissance man extraordinaire Larry Fessenden's own Habit, Stake Land is really a vampire film in name only, using the vampires as a vehicle to deliver a more important message, a message that perhaps would be criticized as being ham-fisted if it had been wedged into a traditional drama. However, that is an area where horror excels - because of the suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoying the films, an urgent message can be the driving force of a film and not come across forced.

The camera work is stunning in Stake Land, and for every gory money shot, Ryan Samul's camera lingers over wintry landscapes, reeds, rushes, trees, streams. There is a very familiar sense to these landscapes, the purple and blue hills of the Catskills and beyond, not only because I've traveled through them, but because the frosty woods and icy brooks mirror our very own landscape. This familiarization of the setting helps to drive the message home, but I don't think it would isolate viewers from a different geographical region, though it might make the film a slightly less personal experience.

Jeff Grace contributes a compelling score that draws as much from symphonic work as it does from early Americana and Smithsonian Folkways recordings. Mickle spoke of how the score moved backward in time, almost as if the characters were heading back into pioneer days, evoking old ghosts and decaying dreams. In fact, the film felt very much like we were witnessing a societal de-evolution, a return to primal needs and fears, where survival is not a right, but a privilege, and the score at times reinforces this idea, and at times juxtaposes it, all to great effect. The score acts almost like another narrative device, in the same way that the camera, the narration, and the plot all have us floating down the river at the same pace. The way that all these elements seamlessly mesh and play off each other is nothing short of cinematic excellence, and really showcases the power and importance of the "director".

Back to Malick - Mickle mentioned in the Q&A that he was heavily influenced by Days of Heaven while shooting Stake Land, and it shows. From the child-like voice-over narration, the score and the naturalistic cinematography - even the small group on the run - Days of Heaven is prevalent here. Which, I suppose, is why Stake Land comes off less like its similarly themed but completely different feeling contemporaneous celluloid peers Zombieland and The Road, and more like, well, a good film, a piece of cinema rather than just a movie. Stake Land, while having the potential to be overly sensationalistic, is expertly helmed by Mickle and the fine production touches by the Glass Eye Pix crew bring it all home.

So I must say bravo, to all involved, and to Colin Geddes for getting this film for the Midnight Madness faithful. Stake Land is certainly an 11th hour contender for my MM top spot. Stake Land is one more addition to the super solid Glass Eye Pix/Scareflix stable, and everyone involved has every right to be very, very proud of what we saw last night.

Also, I want to give a big thanks to Larry, ever the gentleman and awesome guy, for posing for a photo with a huge fan. Those of you who are regular readers of this blog know my respect and admiration for the man, and I'm still a bit star-struck for having been in the presence of one of my cinematic heroes and long-time champion of powerful independent film. And, really, that's one of the coolest things about MM - unlike the big galas at TIFF, you might find a director or actor in line next to you, waiting with the same anticipation to see something new and exciting. And often you can simply walk up to a legendary director, put your arm around him and smile like a big, dumb kid.

-the coelacanth

Midnight Madness 2010 day 8: The Butcher, The Chef and The Swordsman (2010)

2010-09-17T13:55:00.000-04:00

The Butcher, The Chef, and The Swordsman is a highly entertaining comedy set in ancient China.
Before the film, director Wuershan humbly told the audience that many jokes may not cross over in translation and he's sorry if we don't enjoy it.
He had nothing to worry about as the whole theater was howling within the first 5 minutes.

The story is a Tarantinoesque romp following different characters and related back stories that all focus on different aspecst of the human psyche. For example, one story opens up with the title card; "greed" and what follows is the story of The Swordsman and his desire to become the greatest swordsman in history. The one thread that keeps the stories tied together is a meat cleaver that was forged from the finest black iron. This cleaver changes hands throughout, the character brandishing it has great power yet unlike Spiderman most forget the great responsibility part.

Visually the film is quite striking; the colour scheme changes with the story and frequent dream sequences are kaleidoscope like visions. There is also a sense of childish imagination implemented to the film, a feeling that anything is in the realm of possibility. For example nearing the conclusion of the story the end titles start to roll, however the butcher is not satisfied and cuts the credits apart demanding a more satisfactory ending for himself. What follows is video game fight taken right out of Mortal Kombat, complete with health bars and special moves. The Midnight Madness crowd screamed their approval.

The Achilles heel of the film is the high number of jump cuts used in the editing, especially during fight sequences. The film has several fights peppered throughout yet none are actually shown. Using a series of quick cuts and splashes of red images we piece together the details of these bouts ourselves which is fine if executed a couple of times in one film but not for every fight sequence. Nearing the end of the film the edits began to feel disorienting.

The Butcher, The Chef, and The Swordsman is an entertaining crack up of a film that doesn't have much substance to it. An endlessly fun and fast paced picture that lacks discipline in some aspects of its storytelling, but then again, this is one of those films that doesn't really care what you think.

-dropkick
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Ah, such tasty delights were offered up last night at the Ryerson. In MM's first mainland China screening, we were treated to song, dance, martial arts madness, top notch physical comedy, and food, glorious food.

Wuershan's The Butcher, the Chef, and the Swordsman was, quite simply, an absolute treat. The narrative follows a powerful meat cleaver made out of the melted down iron of the five most powerful swords that links the three titular characters, but beyond that, TBTCATS kind of defies description. I know, I know, that's a huge cop-out, but at this point, that's all I've really got to say. The one problem I had with the film was some of the editing. I swear the editor must have been on some heavy speed during the first 5 minutes, shit was literally getting cut mid-sentence. I was getting kind of frantic, thinking, "if the whole movie's gonna be like this, I don't know if I can take it..." Thankfully things calmed down a bit after the frenetic intro.

If you liked the zany genre mash that was Happiness of the Katakuris, you'll find something to latch onto in TBTCATS. If this ever makes it to DVD (doubt it will hit theatres, but you never know...), just watch it. Trust me. You'll love it. And then you'll want to head straight to Chinatown to feast. Kris and I hungered for some Chinese delicacies after the film, but eight crazy nights of staying up waaaay past our bedtime were starting to take their toll.

- the coelacanth

Midnight Madness 2010 day 7: Red Nights (Les nuits rouges du bourreau de jade) (2009)

2010-09-16T15:02:00.000-04:00

Julien Carbon and Laurent Courtiaud are two french men who call Hong Kong home. For the past decade they have together been writing scripts for Chinese films. The most notable being Johnnie To's Running Out of TIme.
Now the two have made their first feature Red Nights a French/Chinese thriller with a taste of the erotic.

Being both French and Chinese the film feels distinctly like two films running at the same time and as such I'll review both parts separately:

The French version
The film follows a French woman who is wanted for the murder of her boss/business partner. Trying to make the best out of an unfinished deal her and the late boss were in the middle of finalizing she decides to continue alone. She quickly finds that all previous business partners don't trust her, now on the run from both police and criminals she must prove that she's not to be messed with. Very reminiscent of Le Samurai (for one, she wears the woman's version of Alain Delon's trenchcoat) this portion of the films is all guns, cigarettes, and money.

The Chinese version
The film follows an artistic wealthy Chinese woman who has an extreme fetish for death. When a deal she had made with a previous partner falls through due to his death she decides to steal what she was bargaining for from his assistant. This artifact is actually a poison that she believes belonged to the Jade Emperor's executioner. It's a poison that paralyzes your body while intensifying all your nerve endings, so that pain is beyond extreme and a kiss feels like an orgasm. She intends to use it on her self but not before she uses it on some unfortunate souls she comes across first. Being a ruthless, eccentric criminal has it's price as police and rival thugs start to close in around her.

Together the film is a mix of styles and genres from across Europe and Asia. Thankfully, the conflicting styles work very well together, arriving at something that feels like what Melville would have delivered if he had shot Sex and Zen.

The big issue is that this film is screaming to be longer. The 98 minute run time doesn't do the story or characters any justice and turns a well paced film into one quickly trying to tie up loose ends. If only this was at least two hours long, it may have been the masterpiece it wanted to be.

-dropkick

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Last night, MM gave us the bewitching Red Nights, which, for my money, may wind up being one of the sleepers of the whole programme. Directed by two Frenchmen living in Hong Kong (and go-to screenwriters for masters Johnnie To, Tsui Hark and others), Red Nights is a bold vision which leaves an indelible impression in the darkest furrows of your mind. Vague plotlines aside, the film creates an insular, whispery world of intrigue, kink, and dread.

Unlike day 6's film, Red Nights slyly incorporates its influences into a refreshing, unique whole, and the references come off as nods rather than direct rips. Even the DePalma-stroking split-screen scene plays wonderfully well, and is used to create a palpable tension rather than simply for cheap gimmickry. There are a few scenes that don't "make sense" in the traditional sense of the term, but work because of the visual aesthetic and atmosphere they give the film.

Best viewed as a stylish, sexy, dream logic thriller, something that given different circumstances might have been the product of a collaboration between David Lynch and Dario Argento, Red Nights is a night time run through the streets of Hong Kong, neon everywhere, plastic, sound, colour. Oh, colour! The film really, uh, gets under your skin.

A terrifically menacing ambient score from Seppuku Paradigm ties the package up neatly with a bow. A feast for the eyes and ears, Red Nights is a wonderfully chilling mood piece, and while a credible plot certainly does exist here, I feel it's best to simply let the film wash over you, absorb you, tempt and seduce you into its dark, terrifying world.

- the coelacanth

Midnight Madness 2010 day 6: Insidious (2010)

2010-09-15T16:29:00.002-04:00

James Wan, director of Saw showed off his new film Insidious last night at Midnight Madness. Prior to the screening the director himself claimed the film was a throwback to The Shining and Poltergeist and would deliver "no fake scares" too bad he forgot to mention the film would also be light on delivering real scares.

The film starts off as a haunted house story. We follow a family moving into a big old house and weird things start to happen. As soon as this concept starts to settle in the inevitable stereotypical couple fight about the house begins wherein the wife moans about feeling unsafe and the husband pats her on the head like a dimwit and tells her it's just in her head. However in Insidious the husband instead feels sympathy for his wife and decides to move.... ok.... so maybe this isn't a haunted house film.

When their son slips into some sort of coma that defies medical science they call on some goofy paranormal professionals to figure out what's going on. It's explained that their son has slipped into "the further". Oh god! Not the further, anything but that! What is the further? I don't know and quite frankly, I don't want to know.

When the film first mentions this concept of "the further" - some distant realm you reach by pushing astral projection too far- your imagination makes up what the place might be like. Something horrifying beyond human comprehension was what i was thinking. I was also thinking it was too bad this film didn't have the budget or the chops to show this place off. Well, didn't I eat crow as ten minutes later the husband is floating around "the further" which to my surprise looks the same as everything around you only in blue tint.

The saving graces of the film are the strong performances from the two leads, especially Rose Byrne. The strong soundtrack by Joseph Bishara is a classic example a terrific horror score, too bad it wasn't in a better movie.

Insidious is a film with an identity crisis. It doesn't know what it wants to be and while they are sequences of great promise, the whole ordeal feels uneven. This one's a renter (from us, of course).

-dropkick
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Fear is one funny motherfucker. What scares one person might make another laugh, and for every person up late at night with the lights on, there is another soundly dreaming. If you go by Twitter, last night's screening of James Wan and Leigh Wannell's Insidious was PURE. FEAR. If you go by me, it was anything but.

Wan (director) and Wannell (writer) shot to notoriety with their very decent microbudgeted debut feature Saw, which launched a horrible franchise. Next up for the duo was the troublesome but ultimately underrated Dead Silence, which provided a decent handful of good scares along with a menacing atmosphere. Wan went it alone (well, sort of - he had help from Death Wish author Brian Garfield for the source material) for his next effort, the minor cinematic achievement Death Sentence. While that film lacked the emotional heft of the Bronson original, it was a competent product that deserves to be seen, if only for the masterful nearly two and a half minute single take in the multilevel parking lot and for John Goodman's scene-mastication. Now Wan and Wannell have rejoined forces for haunted house chiller Insidious, which perhaps would have prepared me better had it been titled Insipidness.

Both gents brashly boasted before the screening that it was a real throwback to old school horror (hmmm, I'm starting to see a theme here), and cited works such as Poltergeist, The Exorcist, and The Shining as key touchstones and influences on their new film. Bull. Shit. Bullshit. The main difference between the new film and those now established classics of the genre is that they were SCARY, and this is not. I mean, yes, there were a few SCARES, but the film WASN'T SCARY. Big difference.

The movie starts out promisingly enough, and I was digging the pacing and the slow build, and then, everything gets dumped on its head (and not in a good way), conventions are tossed by the wayside (and not in a good way), and the plot takes two or three completely unseen left turns (AND. NOT. IN. A. GOOD. WAY).

Copping badly from Lucio Fulci's The Beyond and from the aforementioned screamers, and with a Demon that was less frightening that the one in the faux-religious tv adverts in James Gunn's Super, Insipidness is a mess of a film. Quite frustrating, really, given the promise of a haunted house film from two of the genre's bright stars. I so, SO wanted to love this one (the premise and the leaked stills from the flick are right up my alley), but I just couldn't force myself to. I said that there were some scares, and yes, there were, and some genuinely creepy moments, but they were too fleeting, and were all but enveloped by the seething mass of cheese that was the film's second half, in which:

After a boy falls into a coma, some sort of psychic is brought in and informs his parents that their son is some kind of child prodigy and can astral-project. The child's parents (the Yogi Bearers) are in disbelief, but after the psychic conducts a gas mask-clad seance, and some fucked up "otherworldy" events happen, they start to believe. Then the father (Patrick Wilson) learns from his mother that as a boy HE TOO WAS ADEPT AT ASTRAL PROJECTION! GASP! And the only way to get the son back into his corporeal form - and to stop these pesky demons from trying to inhabit his son's otherwise uninhabited husk of a self - the father must astral project once more in order to pull the son out of the shadowy netherworld known as "The Further". But, but...if it's so "further", why does it resemble the house in which they live, and why does the main demon's lair look like it is a set from Pee-Wee's Playhouse decked out in accoutrements from Martha Stewart Living's Halloween Issue?

At this point I had lost all interest in the film, and my mind kept wandering to the impending long bike ride from the Ryerson back to Parkdale, and I simply wished to get home ASAP so I could crawl in bed and go right to sleep. But again, if Twitter's anything to go by, Insipidness kept a lot of people up last night. Like I says, fear's a funny thing. So far, the three "horror" films that have screened have been the weakest of the lot; a bad sign for the future of the genre, or simply programming conflicts? After all, A Horrible Way to Die, Cold Fish, or Miike's new film would have slotted in nicely. But I guess you can't please everybody, all of the time...

-the coelacanth

Midnight Madness 2010 day 5: The Ward (2010)

2010-09-14T17:24:00.003-04:00

John Carpenter returned after a lengthy hiatus last night with The Ward. A genre film that evokes a sense of a simpler time when horror movies relied more on psychological scares rather than CGI ones.

The story opens with a woman (played by the beautiful Amber Heard) setting fire to a house. She is subsequently arrested and put in a psychiatric ward with four other women. Feeling she doesn't belong there she attempts to break out only finding a conspiracy of missing patients that leads her to uncover something much more sinister that is at work in the ward.

While certainly far from being a masterpiece The Ward is a great looking film with a good cast. The music is stellar, rings true with 70's and 80's classic horrors; John Carpenter co-wrote it so you know you're in for some great sounds.

This one falls short of Raimi's return to form with Drag Me to Hell, instead it fells like a completely tolerable early 90's horror... it's just too bad John Carpenter hadn't made this one back then.
I give it a pass but, it'll probably get torn to shit when it hits wide release.

-dropkick

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Last night I was incredibly excited for our MM film, John Carpenter's The Ward. Less so for the film, and more for the opportunity to be in the presence of and hear speak one of the directors I admire most, John Carpenter. The man is a living legend, and his films have helped shape me into the horror-fiend I am today. So you can imagine my dismay when it was announced during Colin Geddes' intro to the film that Carpenter could not be with us because he had been called for jury duty in L.A. God motherfucking damn. The rest of the cast was in attendance, and they all looked lovely in their short skirts with legs that went from the ground to the neck. And Carpenter provided a very funny video intro to the film, but it was all cold comfort for something I had been anticipating for so long. Kris even had on his Fright Rags They Live t-shirt and was in the front row, camera in hand, ready to throw his love at Carp like that overly-amourous prisoner in Silence of the Lambs, but alas...

Anyway, onto the film, which at this point seemed like an afterthought. Funny thing is, it wasn't all that bad. Actually, it was kinda sorta decent. The Ward stars Amber Heard as Kristen, a young girl who we first see running through the woods, then setting fire to a farmhouse. She is promptly arrested and tossed into the titular institution, wherein reside half a dozen similarly pretty young things. We soon learn that all is not right in this ward, and that there may or may not be malevolent forces at work as girls start disappearing. Is it the work of experimental psychiatrist Dr. Stringer (Jared Harris)? Perhaps a vendetta job on the part of surly Nurse Lundt (Susanna Burney, in a role that gives Louise Fletcher's Nurse Ratched a run for her money)? Or is something more sinister, more supernatural, at work?

Carpenter mentioned in his intro that this was "an old school horror film from an old school director". He must have been referring to the '80s as old school, and not the '40s (Geddes mentioned in his Q&A after ther film that it hearkened back to the works of Val Lewton, but I didn't see that at all. At least it didn't remind me of any of the half-dozen Lewton films I've seen). In any case, Carpenter keeps things practical, and the visual effects provided by the team of Greg Nicotero and Howard Berger (genre fans might recognize those names) were super effective and creepy. The story, and the scares, had a very '80s/early '90s feel as well, and what we have here is essentially the same template that Carpenter applied to Halloween, or, as Geddes referred to it, "a reverse The Thing". Regardless, the film wasn't the disaster it could have been.

Carpenter hasn't made a feature film in nine years, and his last works - not counting his two enjoyable TV episodes for the Masters of Horror series - were Ghosts of Mars and Vampire$, not without their charm, mind you, but a far cry from the master's halcyon days. It's reassuring to see a director whose glory days are gone but can still deliver the goods, even as many of his contemporaries fall into laughable self-parody irrelevance (cough, darioargento georgeromero, cough).

The Ward isn't groundbreaking, isn't great, but it is a solid, well-crafted film, nicely shot and with a score that recalls Carpenter's own superlative work. Toss in some fun scares and creepy atmosphere, and you've got a solid little Friday night pizza and beer scarer. I saw parallels to recent films Shutter Island, Drag Me to Hell, and, as Kris mentioned afterward, Identity. I think it will ultimately be remembered as one of Carpenter's minor works, but that fact that it was not a complete failure is a success in and of itself. It may sound like I'm being a Carpenter apologist, but that's not really the case. While it is not yet safe to say that Carpenter is "back", it's reassuring to know that the old boy still has a few tricks up his sleeve. With The Ward, Carpenter cautiously re-enters the cinematic realm and the genre, not with a bang, but with a sly grin to knowing audiences, issuing a concise statement declaring, "I ain't dead yet..."

- the coelacanth

Nice job.

2010-09-14T16:15:00.001-04:00

Kudos to Joe and Kris for their excellent ongoing coverage of the Midnight Madness program at TIFF. The posts come so fast and furious that it's hard to provide the positive comment they warrant. I look forward to them everyday and wanted to pass along how much I was digging them.

On a side note, I was going to suggest fewer photos, or at least doing them as smaller thumbnails so they didn't take up so much blog real estate. Panning down past them all is boring for us “readers”. That said, one of the photos from the Vanishing on 7th Street post probably better captures the sheer, unadulterated banality of TIFF and the cult of celebrity better than any snap I've ever seen.

It's an accidental masterpiece of colossal disinterest. You can almost hear the B-cast's inner dialogue on their faces.... Please God, kill me now.

Hell, even the little kid is bored out of his fucking mind.

A seriously brilliant photo.

..and keep up the fabulous posts boys. They're a treat.

Sporgey.

Robin Hood: Prince of Queens

2010-09-14T01:09:00.004-04:00

In a complete departure from Dropkick and Coleslaw's fascinating Midnight Madness posts, I've been trying to catch a few films that made the “most-watched” list in a blog entry Withnail started a few months back. For whatever reason, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves made the list 3 or 4 times and again for reasons that I can't explain, I never saw this Costner version of the Robin Hood story back when it came out in 1991. A good call as it turns out.

At the risk of wasting time and energy over-analyzing a nearly 20-year-old popcorn epic, this version of Robin Hood is so spectacularly awful as to demand at least some effort to put it in perspective. First things first... in 1991 Kevin Costner was Hollywood's crown prince. He had just won his Oscar for Dances with Wolves and had chalked up a string of All-American doofus roles that had made him a box office darling. Costner used his new-found currency to produce and star in a series of bombs that remain positively stunning in retrospect. In the space of a few years, his fall from the highest echelons of Hollywood royalty would be complete.... and it all started right here... in Sherwood Forest.

The Knights on Broadway

Robin Hood Prince of Thieves struggles in every department and falls apart in most. The script is monumentally hackneyed and banal. The direction is truly uninspired. The bizarre acting so over-the-top as to suggest the entire cast was fucking with us, trying to prove we'd watch anything, no matter how ludicrous the characterizations. Morgan Freeman... Morgan Freeman!... is awful as a sort of spotted Moorish Chewbacca to Costner's Hans Solo-hood. Alan Rickman plays the Sheriff like he's a supervillian from the '60s Batman TV series, made up to look like an evil Barry Gibb. It's like Shakespeare meets the 3 Stooges. Based on his performance here, Christian Slater would have been finished in Hollywood were it not for a return to form a couple of years later in True Romance. His Will Scarlet is a giant whinging cock. And the HAIR.... Jesus Christ... it must have taken 6 hours to blow dry everybody before shooting could commence. It often seemed as though Glass Tiger was fighting Bon Jovi in the woods.

But the biggest problem with Robin Hood, and that's saying something, is Costner himself. He plays Robin Hood as a gooey Californian liberal, a veritable extension of his Dances with Wolves character. What Costner lost track of was what made him a star in the first place....and that was being a big doofus. He was best when he played the slightly-dimwitted, mid-western American slacker with loads of charm and not much going on upstairs. He simply can't pull it off a British aristocrat and forest civilization architect. Mel Brooks would have a field day a few years later dialing up everything that's wrong with this ridiculous movie and calling it Robin Hood: Men in Tights. If ever a pompous, overwrought movie needed a fast Brooksian skewering, this is it. Rickman could have pulled off the identical Snidely Whiplash role in the later satire and nobody would have been the wiser. I miss Mel Brooks and can only imagine what he'd have done with Avatar.

The gay subtext of this Robin Hood seems so obvious that it's hard to imagine it wasn't intentional. There are simply no moral ambiguities here, not even in the post-feminist figure of an armour-claded Maid Marion played by Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. She observes our fairy lad showering under a waterfall and proclaims at regular intervals that the only things she needs to defend herself against the wolves dancing in the woods are her dagger and her uber-butch nanny. It isn't a problem that Marion has a bigger dick than Robin, since howlers like "Save it for the ladies" followed immediately by "Give the man some meat", coupled with some seriously-puzzling editing choices, suggests that Robin has company enough in his all-man, tree-fort forest commune-club.

A truly spectacular film in the so-bad-it's-almost-but-not-quite-worth-watching kind of way. As for the other masterpieces on your lists that I haven't seen yet, I think it'll just have to stay that way.

I don't think I could do another of these anytime soon.

Sporgey

Midnight Madness 2010 day 4: Vanishing on 7th Street (2010)

2010-09-13T17:27:00.003-04:00

Brad Anderson's newest film, Vanishing on 7th Street, is a somewhat post apocalyptic horror. When everyone in the world simply vanishes, leaving behind only their clothes where just a moment before they were existing, four survivors find each other in a dive bar and attempt to justify what is happening around them. It becomes apparent that the only thing keeping them from becoming "vanished" themselves is their proximity to sources of light. Whatever is taking people seems to be in the shadows, or possibly is the shadows themselves.

The film has an extremely eerie atmosphere to it. Anderson uses wide shots exposing the recently vacated landscape and while scanning the background you may see evidence of life that must have been there seconds earlier. Say like a wheelchair gliding into frame and slowly coming to a stop. Almost every shot features shadows and there are two different entities that linger within the unknown. There is the impending shadow that moves like an ink blot on paper trying to smother all light it can grasp and then there are shadows of the people that should be existing but are not. The film's sound design is covered in whispers and calls, putting hope in sound in this situation is a big no no. The shadows call to the survivors, sometimes talking forms of lost loved ones while at other times it seems like the shadows are strangers doing nothing more than observing always echoing whispered sentences that end in "... I exist"

While the film is worth the watch just to immerse yourself in this situation, the character driven story is problematic and feels weak. For the first half of the film the writing is very awkward and stiff yet, by the time the pace quickens the snags seem to work themselves out. This is not due to the performances, everyone here does a great job including Hayden Christensen who I have yet to forgive for Star Wars. There's just no way to say some of these lines and not have it feel awkward.

Also a big wag of the finger to once again having a film where a kid does something frustratingly stupid putting the lives of others in peril. Kids in post apocalyptic scenarios are just bad news. If the world was fucked and you are luckily enough to survive and come across a child, i don't care how long it's been since you've seen another human being, shoot them. They'll only bring you trouble.

Overall, Vanishing has a terrifically terrifying atmosphere and has some great existential ideas. The script could have been smoother, and the children could have been non-existent. A good, not great, film that plays like a better Twilight Zone episode.

-dropkick
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Well, I suppose it had to happen. It was merely a matter of time. Last night was the first film in the Midnight Madness program that didn't leave me completely satisfied. An ok - not great - film from director Brad Anderson. What is perhaps most frustrating is that Anderson's career trajectory has thus far been ascendant. Recall Session 9, in my top 5 (if not 2 or 3) North American horror films of the oughts. Then came The Machinist, a super taut and unsettling work of psychological and physical horror. Transsiberian was next, and while it didn't really break new ground, it was a decent, if unspectacular little thriller in the Hitchcock mould.

His latest film, and the one we saw last night, is Vanishing on 7th Street. It stars Hayden Christensen, John Leguizamo, Thandie Newton, and newcomer Jacob Latimore. There is a power outage early in the film and pretty much everyone goes missing, the only remains are the deflated clothes that people were wearing at the time of their vanishing. Like the characters in the film, we are kept very much in the dark (excuse the pun) as to the wherefore and why of the mysterious and menacing disappearances. What we do know, is that the days are getting drastically shorter, batteries are draining, and if the characters find themselves engulfed by the darkness (which itself seems to always be oozing toward them, grabbing with inky tentacles at them...soul? existence?), they too will vanish, becoming a part of the darkness itself. Creepy. And the film was. Creepy, I mean.

In what is essentially a zombie-less zombie film, the 4 characters remain holed up in a generator-powered bar, the last bastion of light in the darkness. They don't know if day is ever going to come again. With Leguizamo concussed, Christensen hobbled, and the other two characters crippled by youth or religious convictions, the group is going to have a tough time surviving. But the trouble is, not much happens - we get the menacing darkness, and there is much in the way of each character's attempts to rationalize the vanishings to his or herself. However, no one is really compelling, and cryptic references to the Roanoke Colony that are supposed to be forboding instead kind of fall flat. In fact, many of the intended "scares" don't really work (although there are tow quite effective ones, the better one being ripped almost comically directly from Session 9). I think this is less Anderson's fault and more that of scriptwriter Anthony Jaswinski.

There is a good sense of eeriness in the shadows themselves, but overall the film left me wanting. Not a horrible film, but not great either. The open-ended and ambiguous aspects of the film are intended to make the works more mysterious, and we were told afterward by Anderson that you can basically project whatever you want onto the thing. Ok, that works sometimes, but here is just smacked of laziness, or a kind of cop-out. If the director doesn't care about what happens to the characters, why should we? Anyway, hopefully this is a minor blip on Anderson's CV, and he recovers with his next film. John Carpenter tonight!!!!

-the coelacanth

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