Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic

Sarah Silverman / Liam Lynch
2005

Why did I have to pay $10 for this? "Jesus is Magic" is simply a filmed stand-up routine with a few skits thrown in. Nothing new. Silverman is a funny comic and all, but there's absolutely no reason this shouldn't have been an HBO special or have gone straight to video. Marshall McLuhan is doing summersaults in his grave right now.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Squid and the Whale

Noah Baumbach
2005

"The Squid and the Whale" is an incredibly touching and sincere film directed with the poise required of such a bald-faced take on a painfully relevant topic. The story centers around the aftermath of a divorce between two upper-middle class intellectuals in mid 80's Park Slope Brooklyn, and the following effect on their sons lives.

The script is strong with well rounded, believable characters brought to the screen by extraordinary performances. Jeff Daniels revels in his role as the ultra-pushy, over-intellectual has-been who's got only a son and a few of his college students for fans. This portrayal is a nice response to the old Woody Allen model of the professor/student affair. Allen's glamorization of this relationship is a far cry from Baumbach's pair of desperate blowhard and self absorbed brat. Personally, I find Baumbach's version to be more honest.

Laura Linney's matriarch adds the hardest hitting (and realistic) element to the film as a generally un-funny woman who's un-repentant about her current divorce and her past infidelities. While humorless, she is never pigeonholed as an individual worthy of either disapproval or pity. This is in contrast to father Bernard's comically aggressive, pompous attitude used to mask his angst and malaise. While we never get a feminist vocalization from Linney her uncompromising attitude and courageous actions make her most worthy of post-film thought.

The biggest letdown of the film is easily Robert Yeoman's lazy cinematography. An accomplished script with accomplished performances deserves much better than a tired, shaky-hand-held motif, no matter how trendy. Yeoman is an accomplished cinematographer and should have the artistic sense to film this un-melodramatic take on a heartrending premise with the same respect and sincerity that he lensed "The Royal Tenenbaums" in.

A lot of ink has been spilled about the large amount of onscreen sexuality in the film. The discovery of sex, emerging from the children and recently rediscovered by the divorcees is generally entertaining but adds little to the heart of the story. I'm sure that memories of this sort were big in Baumbach's noggin while writing this semi-autobiographical picture, but this particular example is a time when art doesn't necessarily need to imitate life. You know you've got something rare when the sexual intrigue of a film is not nearly as exciting as the familial dealings.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Corpse Bride

Tim Burton
2005

While the aesthetics and mood of Tim Burton's latest foray into stop motion animation strongly suggests the classic "Nightmare Before Christmas," it is disappointing to find that "Corpse Bride" is easily forgettable. Not to say that the film isn't entertaining and enjoyable, its just more on the light side of entertainment.

This one's based on a destitute old-money family that arranges a marriage for their daughter with the son of some nouveau riche fish mongers. The would be groom, Victor, is a bit of a putz when it comes to the responsibility of marrying a perfect stranger and fails miserably at the wedding rehearsal. Seeking solitude in the woods Victor manages to accidentally wed the corpse of a young woman who in life was crossed and killed on her wedding day. This misunderstanding leads to a sticky situation for Victor, his would-be above-ground bride Victoria, and both sets of parents (not to mention the unnamed corpse bride herself).

The animations and textures are top notch, but the story seems a little underdeveloped and the film's ending is a genuinely obnoxious head-scratcher. Both sets of parents are brilliantly voice acted and deserve much more screen time than they're given. Its a shame there isn't some kind of coda with Victor, Victoria, and the economically mismatched elders.

Of course another disappointment is the incredibly simple stylistic choice of making the world of the living extremely dreary in contrast to the vibrant "lively" world of the dead. Burton's taste, while often macabre is usually made with a vibrant-fun spirit to begin with, making the garish colors and carnival atmosphere of the underworld seem a bit redundant.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

March of the Penguins.

Luc Jaquet
2005

Harshest shit EVER.

Review by Adam Leier

Last Days

Gus Van Sant
2005

While 'Elephant' was a spectacular triumph I think Gus Van Sant has finally reached the point where he needs someone to keep his extreme overindulgence in check. Van Sant and DP Harris Savides have managed to churn out another visually incredible yet contestable (and even sometimes reprehensible) topical film dealing with iconic pop events and figures.

'Last Days' is a fictional account of Kurt Cobain's final days of seclusion in rural Seattle before suiciding. Cobain, named Blake here, stumbles around a run down mansion, mumbling, eating junk food, tinkering with instruments, and avoiding human contact.

While Van Sant treated the Columbine massacre with an appropriate degree of gravity it seems that the death of Kurt Cobain, an event just as catastrophic to many, is treated with an awkwardly inappropriate amount of humor. Given, elements of 'Last Days' are justifiably humorous and deserve to be funny, but it seems the tragic implications are given a back seat in an effort to make things quirky and entertaining.

Michael Pitt's physical representation of Kurt Cobain is as good as any actor's transformation for a biopic. Will Smith's Mohammed Ali and Charlize Theron's Aileen Wuornos both come to mind. However Pitt imbues the role with a certain quality of embarrassing exaggeration that will spark denouncement from many a die hard Nirvana fan (though its hard to imagine a true Nirvana fan completely enjoying 'Last Days' in any capacity).

Van Sant made 'Elephant' as somber dirge for the pain of teenage tragedy but failed to treat 'Last Days' with the same amount amount of pathos and sincerity. The visual poetry of the Van Sant / Savides team is consequently cheapened a little and becomes a high quality version of David LaChapelle's work. Regardless, 'Last Days' does retain a good degree of raw cinematic beauty. The opening scenes of the film remain as solid and touching as anything Van Sant and Savides have made before.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Flying Leathernecks

John Wayne at his leanest and meanest in this military glorifying, "war is hell" Guadalcanal narrative of marine flyers. Tough talk, cliche lines, and corny jabber all go down like comfort food in a good ole' boy classic like this, which is as good for the old folks as it is for the youngsters. Wayne is really a tough as nails, hell spitting, son of a bitch while giving orders in the air, but down on earth he's kitten sweet to his wife and kid, and sober as a Turk while writing letters to the families of fallen marines.

This picture is good fun all in all with some great aerial photography funded by Mr. Howard Hughes (who gets the conspicuous "Howard Hughes Presents" credit at the film's opening). The only catch is that there's an enormous amount of stock footage spliced into a picture that doesn't seem to need it. The grainy, rough footage doesn't quite gel with the crystal clear antiseptic Hollywood look. Considering Hughes' fat bank wad and a few extravagantly filmed scenes it would appear that the stock footage is an intentional stylistic misstep by director Ray.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Creature Walks Among Us

Arthur A. Ross
1956

This one's a winner purely for the bizarre factor. The third and final installment of the ' Creature of the Black Lagoon' series finds the gill-man land bound and decked out in a suit.

Another fishing party of scientists manages to capture the creature, but only after horribly disfiguring it with a match and gasoline facial. Studying the monster at its sickbed geneticist William Barton and maniacal mad scientist Tom Morgan find out that the beast has developed lungs and can mutate and evolve at an incredibly fast rate.

Of course a whole slew of debates about scientific advancement and human nature are schlepped in the ring to go a few rounds. Glittering eyed, wife beating sociopath Tom Morgan believes the creatures unique makeup could be harnessed to "send man into space." Cheesecake pinup Leigh Snowden can't get a break: when hubby Morgan's not taking swings at her, a barrel chested swabbie from the boat is constantly trying to rape her. With all this going on its no surprise that all the creature really wants is to go back to the briny deep.

A nice highlight is the creature manhandling a ferocious mountain lion Andre the Giant style. The makeup they use on the creature and the suit the put him in really have to be seen to be believed.

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

Angels With Dirty Faces

Michael Curtiz
1938

A lot of great elements are at play in this early Warner's gangster pic. Cagney plays a real hero gangster: a character who you can comfortably root for through the film's entirety, which seems pretty unlikely during a time when there was immense pressure on Hollywood by watchdog groups to make the talkies socially responsible.

Cagney's fresh out of jail and moves back to the old neighborhood where he meets his childhood friend, and now priest Jerry Connelly (Pat O' Brien). Throw in a dame and a pack of gangster-worshipping hoodlum children, then mix it with Father Connelly's mission to end the city's rampant corruption and you've got a great picture focusing on the depth of friendship and human nobility.

Its a little difficult to buy that Cagney never once raises his fist in anger towards the preacher man, a guy who constantly asks favors and ultimately takes part in the gangster's death (not to mention his subsequent stripped manhood). The film ends with a beautiful sacrifice by the rough and tumble gangster. While Father Jerry's initials may be J.C so are James Cagney's, and ultimately its him who dies for the hope and salvation of humanity. The kid actors are a great touch and there's a lot of great performances there. I'm also always amazed with the youths they get to play the young Cagney in these gangster pictures. Finally, there's a good amount of gunplay in this film which is often surprisingly absent from these old Warner Bros films.

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

Team America: World Police

Trey Parker
2004

Trey Parker and Matt Stone are hands down the most frustrating team in Hollywood today. While half of their output is genius the other half is of an immature sixth grade jackass caliber, and unfortunately the sixth grader seems to win out. 'Team America's' puppets and setpieces are so visually creative, quirky, and technically brilliant that they are nothing short of jaw dropping. The action film parody is very clever and thoughtfully done at parts, but is cheapened significantly by focusing too closely on the war on terror. It comes off as overly topical, and therefore easily forgettable a few years down the road.

Once the great puppets and solid parody are comfortably in place Parker/Stone then do their very best to fuck it up royally by making it an immature farce of any quality the picture had. Take for example the obligatory puppet sex scene, a stupid attempt at cheap laughs that ruins the achievement and illusion created by the marionettes. "Ha ha, when your actors are genitalia-less puppets you can get away with ludicrous sex positions and practices that you would not work with live actors, that's rich." The same applies to the drunk vomiting scene...

Let's also keep in mind Parker/Stone's rampant right wing leanings. To say that "Team America" is a highly ironic denouncement of post 9/11 policies is a lame duck of a crutch. Parker/Stone have been hiding under these mamma's skirts for too long to be credible anymore. It is also glaringly apparent that while Parker/Stone take great relish in slamming real life liberal actors and public figures, there is a complete absence of lampooned conservatives of any kind.

Politics aside, the real failure of 'Team America' is its relentlessly base sense of humor. I'm all for crudity and lowbrow, but this is really more like the may an elementary school kid would joke, repeatedly saying "poop" or Andy Milonakis' rendition of 'The Superbowl is Gay.' The introduction of the musical "lease" is genuinely hilarious until the relentless repetition of the word AIDS, becomes boring and tiresome.

Matt Stone himself played a prominent role in Michael Moore's "Bowling For Columbine" with his feeble 'cooler than thou' pose and shitty animated sequence. Why then would he go out of his way to trash Moore in the most preposterous manner possible? From what I've been told Hollywood protects its own. I really wish there was a schoolyard bully who could step up and thrash the living bejesus out of that snot-nosed little sixth grader so that Parker/Stone's better qualities could flourish in a more fruitful and fully realized manner.

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

Zardoz

John Boorman
1974

This sci-fi hunka hunka is a little too out there and heady to be all that good. While the vast amounts of gratuitous topless scenes help a bit, no amount of mammaries will save this navel contemplator from being utterly gimmicky and solipsistic.

Sean Connery plays a kill crazy futuristic barbarian thrown into a seemingly idyllic world where folks never die. Uptight Charlotte Rampling wants him killed while everyone else takes interest in the new guy. Relations get strained, and nutty revelations rock paradise to its roots.

There's a lot of great visuals throughout, but unfortunately one of the strongest futuristic visual motifs, the plastic bag aesthetic, is terribly tacky looking. The highly cerebral concepts presented are also easily trivialized when one spends time contemplating Sean Connery's red diaper and thigh high boots.

I was hoping Zardoz to be more light hearted due to Connery's uniform, maybe a male version of "Barbarella," instead it opted to take itself very very seriously. Don't get me wrong, its definitely a unique picture worth watching, but make sure you know what you're getting into.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Boxer From Shantung

Cheh Cheng / Hsueh Li Pao
1972

Probably the best and most fully realized Shaw Brothers Picture I've seen to date. TBFS is a bizarre combination of kung fu, gangsters without guns, and an ambitious rise to power narrative. Kuan Tai Chen is a wonderfully skilled and charismatic Kung Fu actor, and infuses his character with enough ruthless drive to make 50 Cent blush.

The most interesting element of TBFS is the uncontested moral relativism. Ma Yung Chen is a bumpkin turned gangster with simple gaudy tastes. This translates to him desiring the most expensive prostitutes, and drinking to excess. While the director doesn't necessarily glamorize this mentality, there are never any repercussions presented.

Despite the loose morals, Ma generally tends to play the invincible good guy who refuses to shake down poor shopkeepers for protection money. He also makes sure not to forget his down and out friends from the lean days. In fights Ma is immaculate, and is only struck at the film's climax when a hatchet is buried in his side.

In the end TBFS is a rise and fall with a somewhat unsatisfying resolution. While Ma dies heroically in a spectacularly grandiose Shaw Bros. Battle, it never seems like he faces much adversity. The will to power comes easy due to Ma's insane fisticuffs and thus his resulting death and loss seems irrelevant and boring. Its a good thing that the picture makes up for it with spectacular kung fu scenes and fights (most notably with a giant Russian wrestler). The Tan-Si character adds a nice touch of dandy-ism and fancy-pants flair.

Let's not forget that John Woo worked as assistant director. He would later say that TBFS was an incredibly inspiring work experience for him. It definitely shows in his later work.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Postman Always Rings Twice

Tay Garnett
1946

This sprawling pseudo film noir classic suffers strongly from "novel adapted to movie" syndrome and thus seems too ambitious, with a story covering too great a time period for a non epic.

Drifter John Garfield comes across a burger stand and decides to say when he sees that ice-cream-blonde Lana Turner comes with the place. The only things standing in the way of their love are Garfield's poverty and Turner's clueless alcoholic oaf of a husband. Of course, murder becomes the only option to justify the illicit affair in pre-divorce times, and after a couple botched attempts on hubby's life the couple finally gets it right. But if there's anything you can count on the studio system to promote it's that crime may be glamorous but it certainly doesn't pay.

Its almost worth it to see Lana Turner as the femme fatale, and John Garfield is definitely a personal favorite noir actor of mine. The first two thirds of the picture are a little too flat and predictable, and for my money "The Postman Always Rings Twice" is a poor combination of noirs "Gun Crazy" and "Double Indemnity." The picture's only real treats are Hume Cronyn's clever and benevolent lawyer, the electrocution of a cat, and the awkward and merciless procession of plot twists in the last 20 minutes. Its as if Garnett wanted to make up for the lumbering, sprawling set up by plugging doozy after doozy in an effort to blow the audience's mind. The effort is mighty entertaining, but fails to make the film any better.

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

The Thing From Another World

Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks
1951

While Christian Nyby is credited for directing this lil' paranoid slice of cold war era science fiction many believe that it was producer Howard Hawks who was responsible for the lion's share of the film's creation. For the purposes of this review (based on my own personal opinions) I am treating Hawks as the film's director.

Set entirely in military outposts in the frosty north a group of well meaning air force boys thaw out a malevolent extra terrestrial while attempting to recover its frozen craft (which they oafishly blow up). Once the blood drinking beastie is unleashed the research scientists and military personnel are thrown into a fight for their lives in inhospitable circumstances.

"The Thing From Another World" has all the trappings of a Hawks picture: a perfect male protagonist who is only ever outdone by a perfect (albeit masculine) female protagonist, and quick paced, highly pervasive, and often suggestive humor. Hawks' funnybone works to negative effect however in a film that by all accounts should rely on horror, claustrophobic suspense, and character tension. The biggest disappointment the picture has to offer comes in the form of "the Thing" itself. Being made entirely of vegetable matter, and comically referred to as an "intelligent carrot," the monster's design should have encapsulated the brilliant and wildly imaginative script elements. The idea of a stalking vampiric vegetable deserves much better treatment than just a tall dude with a neanderthal brow and clawed mitts.

One of the film's most interesting elements is its flat-out unsubtle denouncement of scientific progress and process. In cold war era sci-fi films science usually acts as a double edged sword: it is cause and the solution of all man's problems. "The Thing From Another World" offers us a scenario where the solipsistic and quixotic scientist Dr. Carrington will happily let everyone die in the name of scientific breakthrough. Carrington is a maniacal crackpot mad-scientist that needs to be put in line by the good old boys working for Uncle Sam before the monster can be subdued. In this Hawks makes a radically conservative, anti-progressive, anti-intellectual (not to mention anti-pacifist) pose that feels like a scared, defensive position based on the paranoid climate of the times.

Review By Brett Scieszka

Land of the Dead

George Romero
2005

Seeing George Romero's "Land of the Dead" on opening night was the most important cinematic event of my life, and it did not disappoint. The only thing that comes close was seeing "Jurassic Park" in the theater with my old man (it was the first PG-13 movie I was allowed to see in theaters believe it or not). It is a spectacular treat to see a modern zombie film by such an unparalleled genius in the field. "Land of the Dead" is chock full of bizarre nightmare fantasy coupled with a realistic portrayal of human pathos in crisis situations.

LOTD finds the world largely overrun by the undead menace with small communities of humans living in isolated fortresses. The film's action centers on Romero's own beloved Pittsburgh, a city that's geographic triangle acts as a gated border against harm. Post apocalyptic Pittsburgh has been developed by wicked business magnate Kaufman (memorably played by Dennis Hopper), who creates Fiddler's Green, a luxurious complex for the city's elite. While the wealthy live it up in their exclusive paradise the working class booze, gamble, and ingest drugs in the grim reality of the times. Kaufman's idyl finally begins to unravel when he screws over members of his personal army (Simon Baker, John Leguizamo)...and when a horde of zombies storm the city.

A tremendously entertaining aspect of the picture is its none-too-veiled political jabs and taunts towards our current administration. Let's face it, a post apocalyptic society provides a fertile gold-mine for political satire what with the global climate and all. Hopper's megalomaniacal, disaster-profiteering, upper crust business tyrant wears the same red tie Bush wears, and when everything starts to go fubar he still makes it perfectly clear that his policy is to not negotiate with terrorists.

As far as the progression of the series is concerned, die hard fans may have a few questions reconciling LOTD with the earlier "Day of the Dead," which seems far more apocalyptic in contrast. In light of LOTD's great achievement however, all criticisms in this vein are reduced to tired quibbling. When one considers the fact that there are no mainstream american directors working in the horror films genre with the same amount of thoughtful intelligence, high production quality, and brilliant creativity, Romero's accomplishment seems more of a golden ringed benchmark that all horror director's should strive to achieve. The success of moody atmospheric Japanese imports and knockoffs like "The Ring," "The Grudge," and the forthcoming "Dark Water" are all already tepid bores angled to spook teens on dates and sell popcorn. When George Romero loosed "Night of the Living Dead" on the world he opened the door for a new era of visceral, tangible horror that is as important to cinema now as it was in the late 60's. Let us never forget the gift George Romero has given us.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

TV Carnage Volume 4: Casual Fridays

(I don't know the guy's name and I'm not positive when this was released, but methinks 2004)

If you've never seen this before you probably should. Its this guy in Toronto (I'm picturing an OBESE dude with short shorts and a pony tail) who records all these amazing old and new television clips and edits them together in a comic fashion. From what I hear you're supposed to watch this stoned but its hilarious sober too (no joke). Highlights of Casual Fridays include a news piece on an old woman who eats dirt, a soap star getting tackled by a drunk dude, and a monkey rodeo riding a dog. You're in for a treat, especially if you're instant messenger name is some clever riff on "Bong Tokes."

Check it out:
http://tvcarnage.com/

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Miranda July
2005

Unlike the obnoxiously forced quirkiness that's supposed to pass as charming in Zach Braff's "Garden State," Miranda July's offbeat-yet-sincere world comes from an honest and uncorrupt place. This first feature is incredibly strong and adept, which is not surprising considering July's generally high caliber video and performance art. Her direction of children is as good as anything since David Gordon Green's "George Washington," but unlike Green July entrusts her young actors enough to project her own personal and comic sensibilities on them to create a more cohesive and stylistic story. John Hawkes does an incredible job of being a credibly wounded person who is able to bring touching and humane comedy to his role. July is a great actor simply by being herself in her representation of ultra-lonely-wannabe-artis- with-day-job Christine Jesperson. This portrayal is particularly amusing because her art, while endearingly sincere, can easily be construed as a parody of much of July's video work. As the title suggests "Me and You and Everyone We Know" is one of those multiple character pictures with interweaving stories, but be assured this is the first of those people-interlocking pictures I've seen in a long time that doesn't make me balk disgustedly (at the cheese factor of course). On a final note, pretty much everything I read about this film pre-viewing made a huge deal the teenage/adolescent sexual content. Its quite possible that I'm too young or too liberal to understand this, but I will say that July's treatment of teenage sexuality does not come of as risque or scandalous or anything more noteworthy than the fact that July is willing to treat youthful hanky-panky in the same manner she treats emotional content: with utter heart on sleeve frankness. In my opinion this is truthful than any of that extreme shock bullshit Larry Clark is trying to sell you.

Review By Brett A. Scieszka

The Holy Girl

Lucrecia Martel
2004

Martel's sophmore effort proves her to be as exciting a visualist as the Dardenne brothers and Almodovar (who snags an executive producer credit on the pic). 'The Holy Girl' is technically brilliant in almost every respect, the film is generally comprised of static, densely layered, close ups that provide an engaging intimacy with the actors. The use of purely diagetic music is blatantly self conscious, yet it works wonders for the picture.

Parochial student Amalia lives in a family owned hotel with divorcee mother Helena. A medical conference fills the hotel up with doctors, including the bizarrely enigmatic Dr. Jano. Both Amalia and Helena wind up inappropriately vying for the married man's affections for very different reasons.

The film's beginning is cold and confusing, and the characters aren't really accessible until about a half our in. The film's mysterious and difficult elements are consistent and become a nice asset later on. Is. Jano's indiscretion with Amalia limited to the crotch-push at the Theremin performance or was there something more?

While 'The Holy Girl' has semi-interesting characters, and a semi-interesting story, it could certainly have been more so. The superb cinematography can only carry the film so far. At some points the film is simply boring. Martel certainly has the vision and talent to be on par Lynne Ramsay, but she's not quite there yet.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Cocksucker Blues

Robert Frank
1972

I used to think that 'Gimme Shelter' was the end all, be all of Rolling Stones documentaries. The Maysles' film is undeniably heroic, but its shine and polish, its squeaky clean view of the Stones as consummate professionals utterly belies the fact that road life with the skinny brits did involve a good deal of sex, drugs, and a bit of rock and roll too. Filmed during a tour to promote my personal favorite Stones record, 'Exile on Main St,' 'Cocksucker Blues' is a grimy, sordid foray in the behind the scenes workings of the Rolling Stones machine.

Gloriously filmed in both color and black and white super 8, and artfully presented with a strong focus on non-diagetic audio tracks, 'Cocksucker Blues' is no simple document of events, but a solid work of art in its own right. The haphazard filming style during performances is more kinetic and subjective than the Maysles' lens and suits the jarring, hell-bent nature of the music.

The craziness of tour life is captured in some particularly amazing and unforgettable scenes. The kook, nearly suicidal fan, whose baby's been taken away due to mom's acid habit, the primitive and forceful disrobing of women on the plane while the band cooks up a beat to go with it, and the junky sound man all create a subterrainian truthful texture to the Stones experience that was most likely not available to the Maysles brothers.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Them!

Gordon Douglas
1954

Man may mastered the atom but can he handle the consequences? This momentous and irrevocable change in world history can only lead to one thing: giant carnivorous ants! This freak of the nuclear age becomes a worldwide crises that can only be overcome by the cooperation of the scientific community and the army....maybe.

'Them!' is one of those great cold war anxiety sci-fi films of the fifties that goes to great lengths to glorify the military while not so subtly denouncing the A-bomb. Talk about your noble white guys! The studios put their hunkiest actors in uniform and create a blonde, gleaming grinned G. I. joe archetype. Almost everything about this picture seems like it was made specifically for adolescent boys. The fetishistic use of flamethrowers and bazookas is so awesome that it makes you want to go into the backyard and torch your toys with a can of hairspray and a bic like you used to.

The giant ants themselves get a good amount of screentime after an appropriate build-up and work pretty spectacularly as visuals. The ultra-apocalyptic fuddy duddy scientist cryptically references the Bible constantly, and there's a great scene where the nation's top brass are assembled to sit in for a lecture on ant behavior.

This is a great picture and any classic science-fiction fan should definitely check it out.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Save the Green Planet

Jeong Jun-Hwan
2003

While 'Save the Green Planet' does a nice job of combining humor, horror and science fiction elements it is, in its heart, a frustrated lashing out against society and extreme revenge fantasy against every shitty boss you've ever had.

Is Lee Byeong-Goo a homicidal maniac who's kidnapped chemical magnate Chairman Kang due to meth fueled psychosis, or is Kang actually an extraterrestrial with designs to end earthlife as we know it? Lee and his homely tight rope walking girlfriend, Sooni, seem to think so. Lee's meticulous "research" scribbled in notebooks is Henry Darger enough to be convincing, yet his love of UFO films seems to undermine his sincere ambitions. Lee's actual plan to save Earth seems to involve little more than brutally torturing the hapless Kang in a series of grossly sadistic sessions. Meanwhile a college boy rookie detective and a grizzled ex cop butt heads in an attempt to rescue Kang.

The twist-turney ending and perpetual question of whether Kang is actually a malign alien or not is enjoyable but somewhat predictable. The systematic torture of Kang takes center stage and is the most meaningful part of the film. This is Jeong's pop-punk MTV inspired "screw you" to the establishment. As Kang's trials become progressively more brutal it does not matter if he actually is an alien; there is nothing alien about his pain. And just as MTV, pop-punk, and alterna-Hot Topic culture are run by Kang-centric business outfits, Lee Byeong-Goo's unhinged fury is driven by a counter culture that ultimately let him down. His efforts are not an altruistic attempt to save the earth, but a misguided jaunt in bully comeuppance.

'Save the Green Planet' is a film where genres cross but never successfully mix. The detective angle, science fiction intrigue, comic falderal, and gory horror are all handled excellently, yet are isolated in specific microcosms within the film. The film is certainly satisfying when broken down to its individual elements and influences but fails to coalesce into the brilliant genre crossing stew it could have been.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Major Dundee

Sam Peckinpah
1965 (2005 Extended Version: 12 Extra Minutes + New Score)

Sam Peckinpah's 'Major Dundee' is an interesting example of an emerging auteur working within a studio system striving to reinvent itself. Thanks to television, movie ticket sales had dropped drastically in the 60's, but due to a lessening in censorship policies, Hollywood was able to make its product appealing by upping the sex and violence factor. Enter Sam Peckinpah at a time before the loose, freewheeling lensing style of the late 60's and 70's would strike his fancy.

'Dundee' is definitely one of Peckinpah's 'greener' works, less realized and stylized than his later pictures, but still retaining his core Western interests, namely an unromantic view of the American West full of booze, tired cowboys, extreme violence, and loose, accommodating senioritas.

Major Amos Dundee (Chuck Heston), a disgraced Union officer is sent out West on a fool's errand to kill savage indian war chief, Sierra Charriba. The post war garrison is meagre at best so Dundee employs brigands, drunks, and Confederate prisoners to chase down the murderous Apache. The vast majority of the film concerns itself with the unorthodox assemblage of Dundee's ragtag band and the long search for Charriba. This gives Peckinpah the freedom to focus on the tensions among the disparate hunting party.

Heston's performance is difficult if not admirable, stripping away the grandiose swagger of Moses in favor of a beaten down hopelessness, punctuated with belligerent defiance. Whether this was intentional, or the product of miscommunication between actor and director is up in the air. That said, Heston's 'Dundee' is extremely difficult to identify with, this unhinged door of a washed up bully is shown to be neither human nor stoic as he cruelly executes a deserter one minute, and is then blubbering in the arms of a woman the next.

It is the supporting players that give real life to Major Dundee. Brit accented southern gent, Capt. Ben Tyreen (Richard Harris), provides a suave foil to Heston's rough edged drunk, and the racial aggression between the confederate prisoners and buffalo soldiers is depicted with that stomach churning Peckinpah touch. Let's not forget one-armed injun-loving tracker Samuel Potts played subtly but memorably by the great James Coburn.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Kung Fu Hustle

Stephen Chow
2004

Leaving the theater, I took secret pleasure in hearing my friends talk about how great 'Ong Bak' was. Given, we'd not gone to see 'Ong Bak' but instead took in Stephen Chow's unfocused foray in live-action cartooning, 'Kung Fu Hustle,' in which all the glory and reverence for the martial arts film is sucked out by an over reliance on callow CGI.

Chow's Sing is a would be hood with a corny backstory and a tubby pal, trying to earn his bad deeds merit badge so he can join local baddies "The Axe Gang." His blundering attempts lead to all out war between the gang and a local ghetto owned by a comic slumlord couple. The concept of tenement dwellers being kung fu experts and defending their meagre homes against a flashy crime syndicate is by far the film's most winning asset, unfortunately Chow abandons it in an effort to further flesh out his own character. In an unsurprising series of events Sing learns that the slumlords are kung fu masters, becomes a kung fu master himself, and has a showdown with the best martial artist in the world.

'Hustle' disappoints frequently but it is primarily because the film could have been better if more care had been lavished on the fight sequences. Its a shame to see Yuen Wo -Ping's choreography slide into computer generated laziness after the triumphant fight sequences of 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." This said, the film's comedic touches are wonderfully charming. Chow's sense of slapstick and ability to create synthetic worlds are not to be sneezed at, his talents are more 'Amelie' than Bruce Lee, and he's a dead ringer to be a favorite of the video-gaming set.

Chow isn't off the hook however in his clumsy neglect of character and plot. Sing's transformation into super good guy (as well as the slumlords') seems to happen for no convincing reason. The film's ending is perhaps the most ridiculously cheesy sequence possible (though that's probably a good thing), where nice guy Sing gets the girl from his past whom he'd recently robbed.

There's certainly nothing wrong with combining comedy and martial arts, but a healthy respect for the discipline is required. I question Stephen Chow's principles and treatment of kung fu, and hope 'Kung Fu Hustle' is not a sign of worse things to come.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Tales From the Hood

Rusty Cundieff
1995

Its amazing that Spike Lee attached his company and name to this slice of mid-nineties pop consciousness. This isn't a judgment call by any means, it just seems like the poster child for intelligent, black independent cinema who made "Do the Right Thing" (and the unemployable hack responsible for "She Hate Me") would involve himself with such lowbrow fare.

"Tales From the Hood" is firmly rooted in the tradition of "Tales From the Crypt" in terms of story tone, and comedic horror aesthetics, however Cundieff seems more interested in making pat social commentary than actually scaring the audience.

The structure centers around an appropriately kooky funeral director leading around three ridiculous gangbangers who are trying to snatch a drug stash from a fallen homie. As the mortician leads the kids deeper into his home the picture is punctuated by his tales.....from the hood. The first involves police brutality and the unlawful killing of a community leader who gets revenge as a an invincible zombie. The second takes on domestic violence through the classic "monster under the bed metaphor." This particular episode stars David Allen Greer in a role that's arguably the most interesting of his career. The third centers around an ex-klansman turned anti-affirmative action politician, named Duke (the reference is absurd) who gets his comeuppance at the hands of some ghost slaves. Finally, the last (and best) tale centers around a violent gangsta who undergoes a voluntary behavior alteration program (a la "Clockwork Orange") in the hopes of freeing himself from a life sentence.

The first three stories are far from satisfying. While the monster story is probably the most successful, it suffers from being completely out of step with the rest of the movie's urban, african-american theme. Call me crazy, but I think its a bit ignorant to claim that domestic violence is intrinsically a "hood phenomenon." The klansman/politician story falls completely flat in that big Duke is such a despicable character that there's no tension or interest in his demise.

The last tale, and ensuing, finale (complete with an amazing CG Satan and hell) does a good job of making up for the film's prior mistakes, and make this one worth your time. It'd be great to screen this next to "Clockers," and "Malcolm X."

Review By Brett Scieszka

Revenge of the Creature

Jack Arnold
1955

Familiar tug boat captain, Lucas, takes another expedition to the black lagoon with a group intent on bringing the ancient gill-man back to civilization. More specifically a marine theme park, where hotdog munching brats and their parents can poke on the glass of the relic's aquarium. Needless to say, a pissed of Creature ends up springing his confines and has a ball tearing up the Florida coastline.

"Revenge of the Creature" is a mediocre sequel at best. Everything great about the original "Creature From the Black Lagoon" seems either weak, watered-down, or tackily overdone. The physical changes made to the creature's makeup design go a long way to make him less frightening and more cartoonish. The underwater photography, a triumph in the original, is boring and uninspired. Most annoying perhaps is the resurrection of the Creature's theme music, a blaring three notes that becomes more grating and comical with each repetition.

This is perhaps one of few Universal horrors where the human interest is more exciting than the monster. Dashing Prof Ferguson (John Agar), blonde-babe student ichthyologist Helen Dobson (Lori Nelson), and intrepid meathead, Joe Hayes (John Bromfield) provide a love triangle cheesy and engaging enough for an Elvis movie.

Let's not forget a young Clint Eastwood's amazingly surreal bit part involving a rat in a labcoat pocket, and three more rodents interned with a docile feline.

Review by Brett Scieszka

Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man

Roy William Neill
1943

I'm a bit biased in writing this because I've always seen the Wolf Man as the weakest of all Universal monsters. While Lon Chaney Jr. plays a spectacular mummy, as well as an adequate Frankenstein, his signature beast never seemed to have a good enough makeup or an interesting enough story to keep me in it. Despite a few notable elements, "Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man" fails to live up to the high quality of its predecessors.

The undying Larry Talbot is resurrected by a pair of hapless graverobbers only to cut a bloody swathe through England. Talbot seeks out the journals of the deceased doctor Frankenstein, who has the power of 'life over death' and vice versa, in an effort to cure the world of his curse. In his exploration of castle Frankenstein Larry manages to thaw out the infamous monster and stir up trouble with the natives.

This particular Frankenstein portrayal is perhaps the weakest of all the monster's incarnations. Bela Lugosi dons the flat head and prominent brow, a role he once mocked but was forced to take up, due to a drug habit and career trouble. The baroness Elsa Frankenstein (Ilona Massey) lends the picture a nice dose of sex appeal, a factor frequently lacking in the Universal horror dept. The climactic fight between the monster and the wolf man is woefully weak. This bummer of a scuffle is clumsy and passionless, perhaps the greatest disappointment the film has to offer. However, "Frankenstein meets the Wolf Man" does have some excellent mob scenes. When the salt-of-the-earth townsfolk have had enough supernatural falderal they light some torches and get to some good old fashioned monster killing. Too bad the monsters they're chasing aren't really worth the effort.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Man Who Laughs

Paul Leni
1928

Conrad Veidt plays the ultimate sad clown in this spectacular silent. Paul Leni's masterpiece (an adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel) is primarily considered an example of early Universal horror, which is a shame seeing as how the film has so much to offer in its design, pathos, and comedic elements. This also happens to be one of the most risque pre-code pictures around, including a titillating array of hanky-panky from bare-bottomed pool scenes to drunken bouts of lecherous groping at the carnival (it'll take you back to middle school).

Veidt plays Gwynplaine, the exiled child of a murdered noble, whose face has been disfigured into an extreme rictus grin thanks to a gang of gypsies. Left to die by the pirate-like sheisters he wanders through a frozen landscape. Lil' Gwynplaine's journey is possibly the film's most memorable and horrific, including gallows in the background complete with rotting corpses, and a scene where the youth touches the lips of a recently frozen woman. He is saved after pulling a live baby from the dead woman's arms by a kindly man who raises the children and turns them into a band of traveling performers. While Gwynplaine's clownish act and grotesque smile bring joy to nearly everyone around him he's as bummed as can be. Thankfully his beloved co-star is blind and sees past his deformity.

In true 20's fashion this picture aims to entertain all audiences on all levels, and makes good on its promise. The romance between Gwynplaine and Dea (Mary Philpin) is both heart warming and maddening, and there's an equally intense action sequence during the climax. The comic depiction of the royal court is rife with bizarre characters. Lord Dirry-Moire is a near retarded oaf, and his betrothed is an ultra-skanky vixen (Olga Baclanova) who is just as equally at home toying with Gwynplaine's heart as she is carousing about with the common rabble. The real star of the show however is wonder-pooch Homo, (played expertly by Zimbo the dog). This hound blows Air Bud out of the water in every respect. Not only does he lead blind Dea to find Gwynplaine, but he also shows his chops as an attack dog by tearin' out some throats.

Unfortunately, Paul Leni died prematurely of blood poisoning before the advent of sound. It would have been interesting to see if Universal put him on the horror roster once the genre really got going with "Dracula" and "Frankenstein." However its important to keep in mind that this wonderfully versatile director need not be pigeonholed.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Creature From the Black Lagoon

Jack Arnold
1954

Not since Frankenstein has a Universal monster been so misunderstood. The excellent "big bang" sequence that opens the picture explains it all before the story even gets rolling: we're dealing with a creature unknown to man. Unlike the Frankenstein monster however, this beast came from nature, undetected in its Black Lagoon since the birth of man.

In the spirit of discovery a team of ichthyologists plans to investigate the remains of a bizarro humanoid fossil found in the inhospitable jungles of South America. Their desire to advance science and strike it rich with a new discovery leads them straight into the stinking guts of the Amazon. Inevitably the impetuous, pipe-smoking interlopers get more than they bargain when they disrupt the ancient fishman's tropical idyll.

Purely based on its underwater photography this film is worth its weight in gold. The dopey line delivery and hackneyed themes are silenced below the surface, leaving only graceful motion, beautiful environments, elevated drama, and woman/fishman romance. The sharky blonde businessman's utter greed makes him a great asshole in contrast to the noble scientists. This speargun-toting trainwreck is so devoid of common sense and humanity that he makes the creature look like a prince. As for the creature, like Derek Zoolander he's only got "one look," but seeing as how he can get pig-stuck with several spears and still raise hell his inexpressiveness is forgiven.

By this point the gothic horror cycle had ended and science fiction was all the rage. Universal made good with this classic by taking its tried and true monster ethic and applying it to the genre zeitgeist. The result is a film that feels like a Universal horror film but with a vibrant, intriguing monster that runs circles around a musty, castle-bound Dracula.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Young Frankenstein

Mel Brooks
1974

There are few actors to have graced the screen with the particular quality of line delivery possessed by Gene Wilder. These talents are showcased to their peak sublimity in "Young Frankenstein." This is a comedy of such subtle nature that I'm quite surprised it has become the hit it is today; it seems ill suited for the general public and more crafted to a specific set.

This is a picture with excellent performances, indeed it is difficult to forget the contribution of any major character. Wilder's cadence is perfect for the neurotically plagued grandson of Frankenstein while Marty Feldman's skull defying pop-eyes, hooked nose, and wry smile make him a perfect Igor. The three female roles are memorable in their distinct characterizations. Teri Garr is the perfect embodiment of the Brooksian sex object, ridiculous accent and all, while Madeline Kahn's Elizabeth is at once tantalizing, yet prudishly infuriating. Cloris Leachman's old bat of a castle-caretaker is played so straight and serious that it becomes one of the film's funniest performances. Of course there's Peter Boyle's depiction of Frankenstein that, in its own comic way, is as engaging and titillating as Karloff's.

In the age of the "Scary Movie" franchise, a series that originated as a parody of a parody, the use of references in "Young Frankenstein" is utterly inaccessable limiting itself to the first three installments of the "Frankenstein" series: "Frankenstein," "Bride of Frankenstein," and "Son of Frankenstein."

Frankenstein is a cultural icon, created by, but in many ways divorced from the original Karloff picture. While many viewers from 1974 would still remember Frankenstein from television viewings as youths, few people of my generation have ever actually seen the original. Part of the success of "Young Frankenstein" is that it is not simply a series of jokes based on a few original pictures, but is instead a successful stand-alone film in its own right.

Wilder's cinephilic screenplay is bolstered with gags by Mel Brooks, who was brought on more as a script editor than writer. The sheer nuance and sophistication of much of "Young Frankenstein's" humor is perfectly complemented by a range of "silly" jokes and sketches excellently acted out by the players.

Review by Brett Scieszka

Mystery of the Wax Museum / House of Wax

Michael Curtiz / Andre De Toth / Vincent Price
1933 / 1953

A great example of early non-Universal horror and depression era cinema, The Mystery of the Wax Museum is a two strip technicolor gem that satisfies on multiple levels. An obsessive wax sculptor, played expertly by Lionel Atwill and less so later by Vincent Price, begins to acquire human corpses by theft and murder to recreate a collection of figures that were lost in an insurance fraud fire. Hotheaded newshound Glenda Farrell needs a scoop for her unsatisfiable boss and begins to get wise to Atwill's little game.

The earlier version is far superior to the latter in terms of charm and entertainment value. Taking an "everything but the kitchen sink" approach Curtiz throws in various disparate elements to great effect. The comic quick-talk of Miss Farrell is worthy of His Girl Friday, the gruesome makeup worn by Atwill as well as the tawdry gothic plot set this film squarely in the horror section of the video store, throw in some signature Warner Bros fistfights and you've got an entertaining picture.

It seems kind of a shame that Fay Wray (RIP) got top female billing simply based on her dough-like vulnerability, ladylike scream and name, when Glenda Farrell definitely steals this show. Despite a head-scratcher of an ending where she forgoes the affections of a boozy yet handsome playboy for her dick boss, Farrell portrays a wonderful female role model in 1930's film.

The remake is disappointing in contrast to the original but not without some merit of its own. Vincent Price is a charismatic actor regarding of the role, and the lavish production design is excellent. However, the conservative treatment of plot and character can't compare to the risky qualities of the pre-code original.

Review by Brett Scieszka

The Lady From Shanghai

Orson Welles
1947

Irish rogue Michael O'Hara gets more than he bargained for when he rescues a beautifully elegant Rita Hayworth in a Central Park mugging: he becomes an employee of her reptilian husband. The love triangle that ensues between the dame, the lawyer, and the blue collar brute is rarely about true emotions, and often about ulterior motives. The despicable power plays and schemes that follow are film noir hallmarks that trap every character in the film.


In Orson Welles' post-war, post Kane, pulp jaunt there are no more great adventures, no more maidens-fair, and the charming idle class has disappeared. Instead, these romantic notions have been replaced by high priced pleasure(less) cruises, trophy wives, and wealthy-come-bitter lawyers. The physical frailty, and profuse sweating of the jaded rich, contrast sharply with Welles' "Black Irish" Michael O'Hara. It seems semi ironic though seeing as how this hard drinking, hard living, salt of the earth type couldn't be farther from Welles' actual aristocratic upbringing if he was carrying a hobo bundle.

The pacing is painfully erratic, slicing the film into segments that don't fit together so nicely. However, there are a few key scenes in "The Lady From Shanghai" that are worth their weight in cinematic gold. Welles' shark speech for example, wonderfully conveys the lost state of the rich, and the double printing in the aquarium scene is beautiful in a ridiculous kind of way. Finally, the funhouse mirror showdown not only predicts the climax of "Enter the Dragon," but does it better and to greater effect. If there was ever a showdown, this is it.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Wild At Heart

David Lynch
1990

Its not exactly like I've ever seen a bad David Lynch film, but I do think "Wild At Heart" may be his weakest. Lynch excels at displaying the seedy underbelly of a supposedly civilized society, and the subsequent consequences that come with unmasking . Each time the rock is turned over we are witness to the hidden vagaries of human nature. "Twin Peaks" and "Blue Velvet" showed a Pandora's box of depraved activity hidden just beneath the surface of suburban middle America, while "Mulholland Drive" illuminated the rotten-core nightmare of Hollywood's elite. Perhaps the biggest failure of 1990's Palme d'Or winner is that Lynch presents us a world where the characters are no good from the get go.

The story seems simple enough, Lula and Sailor are in love, but the little lady's mother does not approve the rough-edged beau. Of course Mom can't exactly control the whims of her daughter's heart so she puts a contract on Sailor's head. Meanwhile, Sailor breaks his parole by crossing state lines with Lula in tow. Thus Lynch gives us two young lovers, wild by nature, let loose in a dangerous and often senselessly violent world.

This freakshow of white-trash rape victims, snake skin bedecked Elivs impersonators, (literally) filthy mouthed ex-marines, and serial killers is pure pulp fantasy, low on subtlety and high on madness. Lynch's signature directorial style is at work, albeit more exaggerated, lending the film an air of high melodrama and kitsch. Its still a good picture, but the classic Lynchian moral contrast is painfully apparent.

One thing's for sure though: Nicolas Cage can dance like a madman.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Song of the South

Harve Foster / Wilfred Jackson (Walt Disney)
1946

Its a shame that the only way to get your hands on a copy of this movie is to buy a Japanese laserdisc version on Ebay. Its an even bigger shame that this movie will probably never be re-released.

Despite a more positive depiction of African Americans than any film to appear pre-1960 the implicit fact that the black characters are slaves makes it as untouchable as a snake covered in thorns that spits out scorpions that spit out plague carrying fleas.

Little Bobby Driscoll is taken away from the city to live with his mother on Grandma's plantation. Daddy takes off, in an effort to support his family, leaving Bobby D fatherless. This is a kid at a tender age who is left with no playmates, save for a couple slack-jawed hick children who are more concerned with tearing his fancy-boy collar than to make nice. Things start looking up however when he meets elderly Uncle Remus, possibly Disney's most lovable character ever. Fuck Samuel L. Jackson in the "Shaft" remake, I want a black role model who reminds me of Santa Clause and uses his superior intellect to teach me life lessons. I dare Denzel Washington try a role where he has to be half as charismatic as Remus. Mom provides a great G-rated villain in her cluelessness at what is best for an 8 year old boy, favoring the Southern Belle school of mothering which is more concerned with dressing children in red velvet sailor suits than concerning themselves with emotional well being. Its not that she's a bad guy by any means, but WIll Smith put it best when he said "parents just don't understand."

The animated sequences are a bit weak. The aesthetic seems way more Warner Bros than Disney, and watching a wholesome Brer Rabbit use his wits to evade various predicaments instead of Bugs Bunny's madcap lunacy doesn't seem to gel. The film's real triumph is its live action performances. Driscoll and Ginny (Luana Patten) are possibly the most adorable kids to grace the screen, and James Baskett's Uncle Remus is one for the ages. First black Oscar winner Hattie McDaniel also appears in a memorable role.

I'm as liberal as the next guy, but when political correctness prevents people from looking at questionable material with an open mind, knee-jerk politics have gone too far.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Shaolin Master Killer

Chia-Liang Liu (Shaw Bros Studios)
1978

Solid Kung-Fu flick. Lots of sweet fight scenes and some especially sweet training scenes. Without the Shaw Bros the RZA, GZA, Ghostface Killah and the rest of the Wu-Tang clan would still be selling drugs in the rugged lands of Shaolin, er, Staten Island.

There's a particularly sweet monk who fights with butterfly swords and the triple stick chain weapon that the master killer makes is equally sweet.

Sweet.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Secret Honor

Robert Altman
1984

"Secret Honor", made during a lull in Altman's career in which he was at outs with much of the film community, is an account of a drunken and disgraced Lear-like Richard Nixon relating his defense into a tape recorder while waving a pistol. It would seem that absolutely nothing is gained from committing the stage play of the same name to film as the picture appears in almost every respect to be a simple filmed play.

Despite exquisite production design by Altman's son the overwhelming absence of an outside world stifles any kind of verism, and those four familiar walls never manage to become anything more than a set. Phillip Baker Hill's depiction of tricky Dick is overly theatrical, and the exaggeration in his characterization, while sympathetic, seems to undermine the fact that old RMN left us a very dark, very serious legacy.

The cartoon-characterization of the president is ham-fisted and the humor is far from subtle. I picture people who are still clinging to their Kerry-Edwards bumper stickers and wish they had the balls to smoke their kids' pot would find this film wildly entertaining.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

The Unknown

Tod Browning
1927

Tod Browning's "Freaks" is the most popular example of the drunkard/director's fascination with the American sideshow and its grotesquerie, yet half a decade earlier (before the advent of talkies) Browning put pen to paper and film to camera to create gothic circus picture worthy of his bizarre tastes.

Lon Chaney plays "Alonzo the Armless," a man who earns his bread by chucking knives with his toes at rotating targets. Strapped around these bullseyes is slinky-slender Nanon (Joan Crawford), a seemingly perfect mol for Alonzo due to her bizarre fear of men's hands. Of course, Alonzo has two arms, two hands, and an extra third thumb to top it off. His charade, made possible by the aid of a wicked leather girdle, is one of necessity due to Alonzo's habit of murdering people (indeed, Nanon's oafish father becomes a victim). Because of his cursed arms, Alonzo is unable to wed Nanon so he finds a way to remove them surgically. While in recuperation his ladylove, with the aid of beefcake Malabar the Mighty, manages to overcome her handphobia, and thus leave old Alonzo totally fucked.

The gothic air and low-class life of the circus folk give the picture a leg up in the pulp dept. Plus the conscious choice of centering on a murderous anti-hero as protagonist makes the picture outwardly lurid. While Alonzo gets his deserved comeuppance, he is by far more sympathetic than Malabar, a doofus just asking to be a hate-magnet. If you were a lame-o in highschool who never got the girl and got beat up by alpha males then you probably shouldn't watch this movie, it'll piss you off.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Kandahar

Viewed: 9/14/04
Written: 9/14/04


Mohsen Makhmalbaf continues to uphold the cutting edge of the new Iranian cinema with his latest work Kandahar. Like many other Iranian movies Kandahar strongly features a loose plot structure, episodic documentary-like vignettes, and gorgeous landscape photography.

Iranian film snobs may not be as thrilled with Makhmalbaf’s latest effort as they would with something a little edgier or more poetic, but Kandahar’s great strength lies in the true-to-life struggles and battles of the people who live in and around Afghanistan’s borders. The plot is simple and engaging: Nafas, a Canadian citizen returns to her homeland to prevent her little sister from committing suicide after the last eclipse of the century. This loose, beat-the-clock structure provides a travel filled with several different encounters, all rooted in fact.

Unlike many films with a social conscience, Makhmalbaf does not throw misery and hardship in our face. Instead of being forced to look at what the camera shows us we are instead made curious and want to look along with it. Makhmalbaf’s tone, while compassionate, is never angry, and therefore pleasantly objective. Indeed, nearly half the characters Nafas meets on her way to Kandahar are bandits, hucksters, religious zealots, and dishonest thieves. One scene shows us the inside of a religious school that could be easily construed as an Al-Qaida training camp. As a young boy brandishes his Kalishikov AK-47 and recites a prayer we do not see him as evil, nor is he romantically portrayed religious warrior, we just see him as a hungry kid.

The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Iranian film is a strong visual sense: poetic and heartbreakingly beautiful images that build toward the story’s tone. While I was not blown away by Kandahar’s visuals there were several instances where Mokhmalbaf’s eye amazed me. Tow instances in particular: a group of amputees hobbling towards prostheses parachuted down by Red Cross planes, and a small army of fully burqa’d women traversing an empty landscape on their way to a wedding impressed me particularly. While the former image had an acheingly realistic feel, the latter seemed completely surreal as if the singing blankets would be just as reasonable on the moon or at the bottom of the ocean.

As far as timeliness is concerned, you can’t do much better than Makhmalbaf did with Kandahar. Filmed before 9-11 and then released at a time when most of America was trying to figure out what the hell Afghanistan was it gave us a first-hand account of what that part of the world is like. I kind of feel like Kandahar would be a good movie to rent when your feeling really “tuned in” on a lazy Sunday afternoon. You can pretend you’re doing something really intellectual and productive, but you’re really just enjoying the honest human moments of the film (which is what all good movies are anyway).

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Resident Evil: Apocalypse

Viewed: 9/12/04
Written: 9/12/04


I had pretty high expectations going into Resident Evil Apocalypse. Its predecessor was a solid zombie flick based on the wonderfully modern and groundbreaking storyline from the videogame. Thanks to the 80’s, George Romero’s nightmare attack of the living dead has turned into more of a goofball laugh along. Don’t get me wrong, I think Dead Alive and the Evil Dead series are masterpieces, but lately I’ve been praying for a serious zombie picture to devour the light hearted fare of Return of the Living Dead (no relation to Romero), and Re-Animator. Unfortunately for me, Apocalypse is by no means a solid film, not even living up to Resident Evil’s pleasant mediocrity.

The tragedy of the film lies in the fact that the Resident Evil premise (videogame, not movie) is so strong. The high profile and extremely powerful Umbrella Corporation, in its development of chemical weapons, has created a virus that reanimates dead cells. Of course all hell breaks loose as the best laid plans of mice and men are murdered and then risen from the grave when the T-Virus is accidentally let loose. Raccoon City, a brilliant portrayal of sleepy, small-town America ultimately pays the price for Umbrella’s tinkering in the form of a zombie holocaust.

Why the writer’s of the Resident Evil films decided to complicate the plotline is beyond me. If they had any sense at all they would stick to a plotline closer to the videogame, perhaps centered around S.T.A.R.S taskforce members, or around a plucky, determined heroine trying to find her brother amongst the carnage of Raccoon City.

Stylistically, Apocalypse is a disaster. Every MTV-era bell and whistle is put to use here. Remember that thing in Chungking Express that almost (almost) worked, where they slowed down the frame rate and everything became all choppy? Well its put to use here to mortifying effect, (I suppose) to illustrate the shambling, unnatural movement of zombies. The editing is also terrible, fluctuating between times and setpieces nonsensically. The quasi-futuristic industrial design of the Umbrella facilities, not to mention the foreign accents and attitudes of its management and employees are equally ridiculous, making the propaganda of corporate evil cartoonish and facile. The computer animated “lickers” are a joke as well. They just plain suck. A big problem with Apocalypse also is the trade in of decent exposition and story for quick, barely explained references to the videogame.

And I haven’t even mentioned Nemesis yet. A giant mutated moppet who was once Jovovich’s bud, gets fitted with a gatling gun and a rocket launcher and is tested on Raccoon City as Umbrella’s ultimate weapon. Think Andre the Giant in a Cenobite Halloween mask. I accept the whole mutated super-monster spiel as part and parcel of the Resident Evil storyline, but this is by no means a way to portray it.

I think Resident Evil: Apocalypse will be the end of this franchise. I can’t imagine a film this awful being profitable. However, I can’t help feeling a little sad about this. Resident Evil is a concept that has enormous potential to it, both as a story in its own right and as a symbol of hope for the serious zombie movie. Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later was a gesture of hope for the genre, but not really anything to write home about either. For now I’ll bide my time and endure the agony of waiting for a more adult zombie film. I’ll Enjoy Shaun of the Dead and tell you how good it is while secretly hoping that the producers of Resident Evil will offer me a shot at writing the third installment.

Until then…remember to aim for the head.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka

Napoleon Dynamite

Viewed 7/3/4
Written 7/12/4


Jared Hess’ overly comical look at high school loserdom and exaggerated vision of lower class middle America, suggests two things: A.) While Hess may have been an angsty, alienated student he still operated and interacted with a depth far superior to that of the nearly-retarded Napoleon and B.) Hess did not live in an underprivileged home. This creates a bit of a conundrum for the film seeing as Napoleon and his miscreant friends are meant to be a downtrodden-yet-noble, identifiable-yet-laughable group of rejects. In writing this I can already name (I won’t) several students from my own pre-college academic life that spring to mind while watching Pedro, Napoleon, and Deb. These are people that at the same time I felt sorry for, liked, and picked on (One of which was said to have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich stuck to the wall of his squalid living room). The end result is a juvenile and simplistic look at young-adulthood, an adult director working through the locus of his middle school self.

In fact, only thing Hess and Napoleon Dynamite have in common is the desire to be liked and accepted. Napoleon would love to be liked and popular or get chicks (with his “skills”) and Hess wants desperately to be ranked among the likes of Wes Anderson, Harmony Korine, and Todd Solondz. I think it’ll be more likely to see Napoleon Dynamite on a midnight movie bill alongside Supertroopers and Wet Hot American Summer than on critics’ lists with Rushmore and Welcome to the Dollhouse.

But let’s get real here: Napoleon Dynamite has very little, if anything, to do with plot, character, or human emotions. It is a film about things and quirks. Jared Hess clearly puts his all into the production design of the film. His effort to re-create a fantasy version of the late 80s to mid 90s creates a far more appealing brass ring than say, interesting or realistic challenges or problems. From the opening credits, presented in a sequence of a series of unappetizing and low-class food items, to the small mid-west affectations that many people of my generation have grown up with, to the pat nerd-dances-cool-and-earns-approval ending we are proven that if a Meade Trapper-Keeper could be a lead than Hess would have it made.

Despite the fact that Napoleon Dynamite misses the mark a bit in terms of sincerity, identity, and let’s face it, humanity, it is hilarious nevertheless. Basically every time Napoleon (Jon Heder) delivered a line I laughed more heartily and honestly than I do for most of my favorite comedies. While unsubtle acting magnifies the shallow nature of the film the dialogue and delivery redeem it. Think of it in terms of your funniest friend doing the funniest imitation in the funniest voice ever

After all, its not important that Napoleon’s date Trisha callously ditches him at the dance: instead it is important that Napoleon stuffs a mouthful of Big League Chew (blast from the past!) and later swallows it while wearing his awkward, yet pseudo-vintage-chic formal wear.

Review by Brett A. Scieszka