Another night in the doghouse.

A sparse crowd congregated at my apartment this time for another of our east-end film nights, actually it was just Jules and I, but that's okay. Tiff's impending midnight madness screenings and a slew of colds and fevers has thinned the potential guest list but to make up for it Jules has supplied another amazing bounty from his last beer run to Buffalo. The highlight of which was the Sierra Nevada southern hemisphere harvest ale.
Last time out we watched the semi-atrocious Solarbabies, a kind of low budget Mad Max/Lacrosse/Rollerball mashup which supplied laughs and cries in equal measure, all unintentional. Finally though, back to the classics. The quality of the film this week is way up with a long overdue revisiting of Mad Max 2 aka The Road Warrior, on blu-ray of course.
Now, the guys give me a hard time over my hi-def advocacy ever since I spoiled our screening of Hard Boiled by whingeing all the way through the film about the fact it was only on DVD. Can I just say though, it would certainly have been better on blu-ray and Mad Max 2 is a case in point.
This new print looks so fresh and sharp that it feels like it was shot this year. What struck me most about this film is really how well it has stood the test of time. It was in fact even better than I ever remember it being. It is better than I had any right to expect. Somehow, I think they managed to get every element just right.
The cinematography is epic with huge panaromas of the outback "wastelands" of Oz. Some of the shots are so wide you can actually see the curvature of the earth.
The characters and costumes are timeless, gritty and disturbing and though it's pretty over the top it manages to avoid feeling camp and stays menacing. I think the gay biker vigilantes in bondage gear have only become more terrifying as I've gotten older and will continue to do so.
The road chase action sequences are just the best. All done for real and it pays off, you really appreciate the speed and danger of it all. The orchestral score is also a triumph. There's not much dialogue to worry about and what there is doesn't detract. Some of it is even really funny. And the cars, oh the cars are glorious.
The root of this films success though is Max, the quintessential nihilist wandering the wastelands and the fact that Max is so long gone he wants nothing from anyone, he won't let anyone near him. Atleast Travis Bickle had a plan, an aim. There's a beautiful girl, Max ignores her until she is pierced with a crossbow and lies bleeding on some barbed wire. Max doesn't flinch. The "Paradise" that they are heading for, Max knows it doesn't exist. He meets people who try and befriend him, he deletes them from his facebook. Max has really had enough. The only flicker of humanity shows in Max's relationship with the so credited "feral kid", whom is revealed as narrator right at the last moment. The credits rolled and I had to sit and take a moment. I had to watch it again the next day and enjoyed it even more without the distraction of Jules systematically spilling beer on each item of furniture in my apartment. I just love everything about Mad Max 2.
This film is more than just a kitsch cult item, it's a bonafide classic of the genre.

Triangle (2009)

As part of our fledgling film nights in the east end, last week was my pick and we had a look at Christopher Smith's Triangle starring Melissa George. I thought Smith's Severance was something special, and having heard excellent things about his earlier subway-terror, Creep, I've been wanting to see Triangle since it came out on DVD a few months ago.  However, between the two shops we have one Blu-Ray copy, and I figured this was my chance to see it.  Plus, it kinda fit in with the loose theme of the movie nights (which is to say, robberies/robots/explosions/killers/spaceships=good, foreign shit=bad).

This time, Jules and I brought growlers from a couple local brewers, Duggan's and Mill Street.  It seems a fair way to repay Tom's hospitality and the assault on his olfactory senses.  Anyway, we were each handed a chilled glass (snob faux-pas, but given the weather, it was perfect), and proceed to open the growler of Duggan's brand new Canadian Wheat Ale.  It goes down nice as we begin to get into Triangle...

You know it's a bad sign when Jules is already monologuing and the movie isn't even 10 minutes old.  There's something about an autistic son, who one of the characters in the film calls "retarded", offending both Tom's PC leanings and Jules' very existence.  The film is set up with a few friends going out sailing for the day, but from the get go, we see something is wrong with Jess (Melissa George).  Does she miss her son?  Is she haunted by some unexplained memory?  Do we care?  I think we've (rather rapidly) polished off the first growler and have cracked the second, the delightful, but strong, Mill St. Helles Bock.  Little did I know, 'twas the beginning of my downfall.  We all agree it a fantastic beer.  Hudson begins licking my leg.  I start to sweat, then try to stop, fearing for the dog's sobriety.

Jess and the crew set out into perfect sailing weather, but before long, a storm is brewing, both onscreen and in Jules' small intestine.  Acid reflux or a physical reaction to the inanity onscreen?  I think it was about this point that we all agree something really NEEDS to happen in the film, or it won't be on for much longer.  After 20-odd minutes of brooding stares and portentous phrases, it's all really going nowhere.  So, good thing about the storm.  The protagonists' small craft is battered by waves, but remains afloat.  The storm eventually passes and out of nowhere(?) a massive ocean liner drifts into view.  Our beleaguered heroes think they are saved, but they don't know how wrong they are.  Upon boarding the new vessel, they find it deserted....but not for long.  And it is at this point, 2 growlers deep and nearly 40 minutes into the film, that shit starts getting interesting.  So how do we celebrate?  Let's open another growler!

                                        I don't think I'll be going on Scott's boat anytime soon.

Mill St. IPA is next up, and its malty, hoppy balance goes down very nicely.  Too nicely.  Jules continues rolling the joint he started 20 minutes ago, and Hudson has finally stopped searching for the imaginary bag of Zesty Cheese Doritos and accepted the fact that Jules' feet are here to stay.  I wisely opt to keep my shoes on, as after a summer of no socks, the smell of my feet can kill canaries.

                                      Asleep or passed out?  Dangerously close to the "black death".

Triangle combines elements (and not always the best ones) of Time Crimes, Primer and any number of stalk 'n' slash films, and while it is certainly flawed [not the least by bad CGI and a script on par with Oh (it is love)], at its heart lies an intriguing, somewhat mind-bending, concept.  I'm not sure if I'd recommend it, but personally, I'm glad I saw it.  There are some tense moments, and a couple of good scares (one which caused J-Dawg to literally jump and cry out "AAAAHHH"!), and the confines of the ship provide a good sense of claustrophobia and deja vu, not unlike the Overlook Hotel.  The payoff in the film is a good one.

We all discuss the film's merits and shortcomings, and agree that it was, in general, a worthy watch.  We decide to crack more beers and start watching Robocop.  I opt for a Mill St. Lemon Tea Beer, while Jules and Tom share Amsterdam's Boneshaker IPA.  It's getting quite late, things are getting hazy, and I still have to bike across town to get home, so I quickly quaff my brew and graciously stumble out the door, leaving my two compatriots in the capable hands of Paul Verhoeven.  The next morning (my day off, mercifully), I awake to one of the more injurious hangovers I have experienced, and when I finally start resembling a human once again near dusk, I ask Tom online if he was in as bad shape as I had been.  No, he informs me, he had a morning frolic on the beach with his new best friend, although Jules had been so bombed he couldn't even speak when he eventually left.  Glad I took my leave when I did...things could have been worse.

Really looking forward to Smith's newest film Black Death (incidentally, premiering at this year's Toronto After Dark Film Festival in a few weeks); less so to Jules' pick next week.  I don't want to imagine what he's going to make us sit through - though he did hint at Night Train to Munich, so it's not all bad.  Also hoping Kris shows up one of these times, that'd be fun.  These are good nights, and they will be continued...

Eastside story.

One unbearably humid midsummer evening we foolishly decided to get together at my small un-air conditioned abode and take in some films broken up by our other hobby, drinking beer. Of course we don't simply quaff pints and watch movies, we've simply far too many opinions for that. We taste and critique, watch and analyse, like good snobs should.
Upon arrival Jules immediately de-shoes which after a 5-hour shift at Film Buff East smells somewhere between a ripe Stilton and hot garbage. The good news is he has a heavy looking bag and this week the beers are courtesy of him and his last trip over the border to Buffalo.
It’s my movie pick this week and I’ve gone for To live and die in L.A., a William Friedkin flick starring Willem Defoe as a counterfeiter. What can go wrong? Jules cracks the Unibroue ‘Quelque Chose’ dark/brown ale with cherries and we drink it over ice. It is sour, fruity, cold and cancels out Jules' feet immediately.
The movie starts really well. Great cinematography and music and there are a few killer montages of Willem Defoe screen printing cash in a warehouse. Counterfeiting is such a fascinating subject and showcasing some insider techniques is always gonna win the audience over. He ages the bills he makes by putting them in a laundry dryer with poker chips, dope!
We’re all enjoying it. I’m secretly thinking “This is going straight into my top 10 movies” and Joe reckons the woman on screen is one of the most beautiful he's ever seen, we discuss.

Next up is a sour cherry lambic from Brouwerij Drie Fonteinen in Belgium. It’s oak aged but Jules ensures us it’s “ache oajed”. The film is widening it’s net of intrigue as we’re introduced to the police tracking the counterfeiting ring. They are always one step behind. And sometimes they get shot, not good.
Just as we are dipping our eager proboscises into a super weird "Red & White" malt beverage from Dogfish head brewery I notice this man:

Apparently, you may recognize him from current CSI but I've been fortunate enough to never see him before. His name is William Petersen, he plays one of the main cops hunting down the counterfeiters and he is about to drop nuggets all over this film. He hails from the school of daytime TV soap actors and has all the on screen charisma of a genital wart. His presence is bothering me, must keep drinking. Our final beer is a Yeti Imperial stout from great divide brewery. It tastes like gravy filtered through the charred remains of a narcoleptic arsonist.
I can only think that Friedkin had only pitched the first half hour of the film and thought he would blag the rest. We’ve all lost interest. What am I doing here? By now Jules is drunkenly yabbering between extended stints of choking or coughing. I’m already home so I can’t leave. I wonder what Kris is doing tonight. I fall back on my old faithful, Cameron’s auburn ale and drink into oblivion, it was a beautiful evening, in a way. To be continued...