Takashi Miike
2004
It's only natural that somewhere in crazy old Takashi Miike's bajillion picture filmography that there would be a superhero yarn somewhere in the mix. "Zebraman" centers on a mediocre school teacher who avoids the disappointment of humdrum family life through crafting an elaborate facsimile costume of his favorite superhero (from a long forgotten canceled television show), but soon he finds that fantasy becomes reality as monstrous villains and gelatinous green aliens siege Japan. He all too gladly takes up the mantle of national protector: Zebraman. This is another example of a phenomenon I've only seen in Japanese movies, where cheap and crappy computer effects are used for good instead of evil. Whereas lousy CG is usually employed sheepishly in most films to cost-effectively enhance some version of reality (snow, a giant rampaging alligator), Miike embraces the inherent cartoonyness of bad animation to the benefit of his silly madcap stories. Another example of Miike's effective use of low budget CG can be seen in the excellent "The Great Yokai War" (2005). "Zebraman" also exhibits an interesting interplay between ironic schmaltz and genuinely clever touches. On one hand you have the doe-eyed moppet in a wheelchair giving a thumbs up to the hero, yet the logic and rationale for the hero's existence is a brilliantly postmodern and self-reflexive piece of scripting.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Fido
Andrew Currie
2006
Andrew Currie's "Fido" is set in what is presumably an alternative American history in which an unanticipated zombie war, where people are forced to kill the reanimated bodies of friends and family members, gives way to hermetically sealed communities, boasting that easily recognizable tow-the-line conformity of the 1950's. The citizens are kept safe from the flesh eating hordes scratching at the town's gates by a mega-corporation that has managed to pacify the walking dead and put them to work through electronic collars. Enter the Robinson family: frustrated housewife acquires zombie servant to keep up with the neighbors, meek husband fears/loathes zombie servant, loner son (aptly named Timmy) befriends zombie servant. Unfortunately this interesting and outlandish premise is all the film has to offer. The facsimile Norman Rockwell America presented is too obtusely plastic and ironic, and the zombie makeups are woefully weak, comprising of little more than a thick layer of gray greasepaint. There's an almost complete absence of gore, which is a shame seeing as how comedic horror flicks can get away with tons of hilariously exaggerated nastiness. This one probably looked great on paper, but didn't have the proper budget or art direction to be fully realized.
2006
Andrew Currie's "Fido" is set in what is presumably an alternative American history in which an unanticipated zombie war, where people are forced to kill the reanimated bodies of friends and family members, gives way to hermetically sealed communities, boasting that easily recognizable tow-the-line conformity of the 1950's. The citizens are kept safe from the flesh eating hordes scratching at the town's gates by a mega-corporation that has managed to pacify the walking dead and put them to work through electronic collars. Enter the Robinson family: frustrated housewife acquires zombie servant to keep up with the neighbors, meek husband fears/loathes zombie servant, loner son (aptly named Timmy) befriends zombie servant. Unfortunately this interesting and outlandish premise is all the film has to offer. The facsimile Norman Rockwell America presented is too obtusely plastic and ironic, and the zombie makeups are woefully weak, comprising of little more than a thick layer of gray greasepaint. There's an almost complete absence of gore, which is a shame seeing as how comedic horror flicks can get away with tons of hilariously exaggerated nastiness. This one probably looked great on paper, but didn't have the proper budget or art direction to be fully realized.
Day Night Day Night
Julia Loktev
2006
Julia Loktev's impressive debut feature is a homegrown premonition of terror returning to U.S. soil. Luisa Williams stars as a lone woman arriving in New York intending to enact a suicide bombing in Times Square with the help of a faceless, nameless cell. It's ballsy material that could easily have gone disastrously wrong were it not for Loktev's decision to scale down the grand sociopolitical implications in order to focus intently on the play-by-play action of the lead's experiences, and by extension her murky intentions. The adherence to ambiguity is a bit rich at times with the terrorist organization presented as decidedly unaffiliated even though the clothing, methods, and rhetoric all scream Islamic Fundamentalism. The director's decision not to label the cell is understandable, but in certain scenes this adamant coyness is stretched so thin as to be disingenuous (the almost comic backdrops used in the remarkable videotaping scene comes strongest to mind). Alongside that there's some corny pop psychology thrown in as well with the girl's obsessive impulse to bathe and groom herself before the big act. That said, there's plenty to like here with intimate camera work and the sense that Loktev can convey a tremendous amount with minimal exposition and a tiny budget.
2006
Julia Loktev's impressive debut feature is a homegrown premonition of terror returning to U.S. soil. Luisa Williams stars as a lone woman arriving in New York intending to enact a suicide bombing in Times Square with the help of a faceless, nameless cell. It's ballsy material that could easily have gone disastrously wrong were it not for Loktev's decision to scale down the grand sociopolitical implications in order to focus intently on the play-by-play action of the lead's experiences, and by extension her murky intentions. The adherence to ambiguity is a bit rich at times with the terrorist organization presented as decidedly unaffiliated even though the clothing, methods, and rhetoric all scream Islamic Fundamentalism. The director's decision not to label the cell is understandable, but in certain scenes this adamant coyness is stretched so thin as to be disingenuous (the almost comic backdrops used in the remarkable videotaping scene comes strongest to mind). Alongside that there's some corny pop psychology thrown in as well with the girl's obsessive impulse to bathe and groom herself before the big act. That said, there's plenty to like here with intimate camera work and the sense that Loktev can convey a tremendous amount with minimal exposition and a tiny budget.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Longest Day
Multiple Directors
1962
This would make nice (albeit tedious) companion viewing to "Saving Private Ryan" (1998), to show that despite the stark realism of Spielberg's gore-soaked Omaha Beach, the former movie proves itself more complete and immersive a portrait of the war's most important day, while the latter, in contrast, comes off as just another hunk of Hollywood fluff. Shot in B & W when color was beginning to become standard, producer Zanuck wanted to emulate the newsreel footage people saw during the war in order to make it more "real" to 1960's eyes. The ambitious epic boasts an enormous cast with several plot threads on both sides of the conflict. It's remarkable that while the film contains so many stars (Henry Fonda, Robert Mitchum), they generally blend seamlessly into the film's tension and chaos. The great exception to this of course is John Wayne, and while I'll be a Wayne fan to the bitter end I was a little disappointed that his characteristic hamminess was allowed to run rampant while others toned it down for the team. There's plenty of memorable "war is hell" moments on hand and one gets the impression that the film is vehemently historically accurate.
1962
This would make nice (albeit tedious) companion viewing to "Saving Private Ryan" (1998), to show that despite the stark realism of Spielberg's gore-soaked Omaha Beach, the former movie proves itself more complete and immersive a portrait of the war's most important day, while the latter, in contrast, comes off as just another hunk of Hollywood fluff. Shot in B & W when color was beginning to become standard, producer Zanuck wanted to emulate the newsreel footage people saw during the war in order to make it more "real" to 1960's eyes. The ambitious epic boasts an enormous cast with several plot threads on both sides of the conflict. It's remarkable that while the film contains so many stars (Henry Fonda, Robert Mitchum), they generally blend seamlessly into the film's tension and chaos. The great exception to this of course is John Wayne, and while I'll be a Wayne fan to the bitter end I was a little disappointed that his characteristic hamminess was allowed to run rampant while others toned it down for the team. There's plenty of memorable "war is hell" moments on hand and one gets the impression that the film is vehemently historically accurate.
The Food of the Gods
Bert I. Gordon
1976
Something tells me the original HG Wells story about the eponymous goop that causes animals to grow to alarming proportions didn't include shaggy blonde football players with sideburns in the lead, but honestly additional 70's affects could only better a fun-times B picture like this. Directed by special effects vet Bert I. Gordon, the film's pleasures come squarely from the copious use of matte shots, puppets, and some solid animal wranglin.' A couple of pro ballers get more than they bargained when they head out to blow off some steam on a rural island. One is stung and killed by a gigantic wasp, and our hero runs afoul a monstrous rooster. The source of the mondo critters comes from a thick, white, battery substance (ewww!) oozing forth from a spring in Ida Lupino's (!) backyard. When the maggots and rats get ahold of God's food things take a turn for the worse with Ida, the jocks, the standard love interest, a pregnant couple, and the stock asshole all thrust into a Romero-esque "survival horror" scenario. The matte shots are inconsistent with a sometimes lamely obvious and sometimes ingeniously skillful frame break between humans/scenery and marauding rats/miniatures. In general the puppets are pleasantly ludicrous (particularly the giant chicken), with a big model being pushed violently from offscreen into the poor actor in front of the camera. Also, the conceit that while rats are excellent swimmers, maybe the giant ones won't be, is more than a little eyebrow raising. All around schlocky fun that should be required viewing for pre-computer effects junkies.
1976
Something tells me the original HG Wells story about the eponymous goop that causes animals to grow to alarming proportions didn't include shaggy blonde football players with sideburns in the lead, but honestly additional 70's affects could only better a fun-times B picture like this. Directed by special effects vet Bert I. Gordon, the film's pleasures come squarely from the copious use of matte shots, puppets, and some solid animal wranglin.' A couple of pro ballers get more than they bargained when they head out to blow off some steam on a rural island. One is stung and killed by a gigantic wasp, and our hero runs afoul a monstrous rooster. The source of the mondo critters comes from a thick, white, battery substance (ewww!) oozing forth from a spring in Ida Lupino's (!) backyard. When the maggots and rats get ahold of God's food things take a turn for the worse with Ida, the jocks, the standard love interest, a pregnant couple, and the stock asshole all thrust into a Romero-esque "survival horror" scenario. The matte shots are inconsistent with a sometimes lamely obvious and sometimes ingeniously skillful frame break between humans/scenery and marauding rats/miniatures. In general the puppets are pleasantly ludicrous (particularly the giant chicken), with a big model being pushed violently from offscreen into the poor actor in front of the camera. Also, the conceit that while rats are excellent swimmers, maybe the giant ones won't be, is more than a little eyebrow raising. All around schlocky fun that should be required viewing for pre-computer effects junkies.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Waltz With Bashir
Ari Folman
2008
I can't say I've ever been too fond of Israel as a political entity, and what with the recent invasion of Gaza my feelings towards the nation haven't gotten any warmer, so I find it a little timely that this animated documentary demon-exorcism deals with aging bourgeoisie Israelis coping with their participation in an abhorrent war crime. Shrill politics aside the picture is a triumph of form - a documentary with the ability to record intangible dreams. These hazy visions of naked boys rising from the sea with assault rifles, hauntings exacted by snarling slain dogs, and the comfort of being enveloped by a giant nude beauty are as real as the bombed out buildings of Beirut, as real as ammunition shell casings. The animation itself is breathtaking, and while the argument over the digitization of cinema is pretty much a moot point by now, this film and a handful of others show just how undeniably beneficial technological advances have been for artistic animation. Folman's spiritual search is honest and unpretentious, lending credence and tragedy to a certifiable war crime. The scene in which Folman returns to Israel on leave only to find a partying population, oblivious to the war waged by their country, is frighteningly familiar to the home front anesthetization of many U.S. citizens regarding the current war in Iraq/Afghanistan.
2008
I can't say I've ever been too fond of Israel as a political entity, and what with the recent invasion of Gaza my feelings towards the nation haven't gotten any warmer, so I find it a little timely that this animated documentary demon-exorcism deals with aging bourgeoisie Israelis coping with their participation in an abhorrent war crime. Shrill politics aside the picture is a triumph of form - a documentary with the ability to record intangible dreams. These hazy visions of naked boys rising from the sea with assault rifles, hauntings exacted by snarling slain dogs, and the comfort of being enveloped by a giant nude beauty are as real as the bombed out buildings of Beirut, as real as ammunition shell casings. The animation itself is breathtaking, and while the argument over the digitization of cinema is pretty much a moot point by now, this film and a handful of others show just how undeniably beneficial technological advances have been for artistic animation. Folman's spiritual search is honest and unpretentious, lending credence and tragedy to a certifiable war crime. The scene in which Folman returns to Israel on leave only to find a partying population, oblivious to the war waged by their country, is frighteningly familiar to the home front anesthetization of many U.S. citizens regarding the current war in Iraq/Afghanistan.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia
Sam Peckinpah
1974
Not to say that Warren Oates is an unappealing leading man, but the nappy-curls, massive teeth, and ratty moustache make him the kind of guy Hollywood pretty boys (unsuccessfully) attempt to transform themselves into for prestige anti-hero roles. The massive sunglasses he wears dwarf his head, disturbingly suggesting a chain-smoking child with facial scruff - as if Peckinpah was hell-bent on stripping any element of aesthetic beauty from his film. The picture's titular two-bit Romeo makes the mistake of knocking up El Jefe's daughter, and nothing short of Freddie's melon will satisfy the insulted Grandfather-to-be. Bennie (Oates) catches wind of the hefty bounty on Garcia while tickling ivories in a dilapidated border-town cantina, and sets off with his hooker girlfriend on a boozy greed-fueled nightmare. There's plenty of Peckinpah staples on hand here: excessive drink, fast women, and a passel of fat, sweaty, gun-toting drunks on the hunt. Unfortunately the premise is more interesting than the delivered product. The fetishized violence, and existential savagery doesn't have the same spark of "The Wild Bunch" (1969), or "Straw Dogs" (1971). The most rewarding sequences involve a broken Bennie traveling across Mexico with the fly-covered head riding shotgun. As he slips further and further into a depressive bender Oates begins to confide with and philosophise to the severed head of Alfredo Garcia. This extremely appealing premise could have been great as an extended sequence of episodes in road movie format, but sadly this accounts for only a small portion of the film. The requisite apocalyptic ending doesn't come off so hot with a violent escalation that's far too clinical, and a hero with unsatisfyingly opaque motives. It's worth watching for it's unapologetically black heart if nothing else, but it's not one of Peckinpah's best efforts.
1974
Not to say that Warren Oates is an unappealing leading man, but the nappy-curls, massive teeth, and ratty moustache make him the kind of guy Hollywood pretty boys (unsuccessfully) attempt to transform themselves into for prestige anti-hero roles. The massive sunglasses he wears dwarf his head, disturbingly suggesting a chain-smoking child with facial scruff - as if Peckinpah was hell-bent on stripping any element of aesthetic beauty from his film. The picture's titular two-bit Romeo makes the mistake of knocking up El Jefe's daughter, and nothing short of Freddie's melon will satisfy the insulted Grandfather-to-be. Bennie (Oates) catches wind of the hefty bounty on Garcia while tickling ivories in a dilapidated border-town cantina, and sets off with his hooker girlfriend on a boozy greed-fueled nightmare. There's plenty of Peckinpah staples on hand here: excessive drink, fast women, and a passel of fat, sweaty, gun-toting drunks on the hunt. Unfortunately the premise is more interesting than the delivered product. The fetishized violence, and existential savagery doesn't have the same spark of "The Wild Bunch" (1969), or "Straw Dogs" (1971). The most rewarding sequences involve a broken Bennie traveling across Mexico with the fly-covered head riding shotgun. As he slips further and further into a depressive bender Oates begins to confide with and philosophise to the severed head of Alfredo Garcia. This extremely appealing premise could have been great as an extended sequence of episodes in road movie format, but sadly this accounts for only a small portion of the film. The requisite apocalyptic ending doesn't come off so hot with a violent escalation that's far too clinical, and a hero with unsatisfyingly opaque motives. It's worth watching for it's unapologetically black heart if nothing else, but it's not one of Peckinpah's best efforts.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Wicker Man
Robin Hardy
1973
This is an excellent example of how flexible the horror genre can be. Instead of relying on loud-noise shock scares, rubber monsters, or teens sliced to ribbons this one plays with atmospherics in a way that hack J-horror directors could only dream of. Working on a tip, a puritanical bobby investigates the disappearance of a teenager on an isolated Scottish isle. The peculiar locals claim to have no knowledge of the girl even in the face of mounting evidence (her empty school desk, a photograph in the pub), which only strengthens the do-gooding cop's resolve to get to the bottom of things. Considering that the gist of the picture is the enduring ability of old and pagan religions to overthrow enforced Christianity I'm a little biased in my appreciation of this one (Scandinavian Black Metal anyone?). The balance between overt petulance towards the flabbergasted officer, as in the school room where a foxy teacher instructs her female students on the phallic importance of the maypole celebration, and the subtler "playing-it-dumb" disobedience of the townsfolk strikes a perfectly malevolent tone: the surface is placid, but the secrets below are best left well enough alone. Seeing as how American productions have all but completely exhausted the appeal of murderous backwoods hillbillies it's a welcome novelty to see the British version (which is also brilliantly brought to the screen in Sam Peckinpah's "Straw Dogs" (1971)). Finally it's worth noting that this is the only film to my knowledge in which Christopher Lee wears a dress.
1973
This is an excellent example of how flexible the horror genre can be. Instead of relying on loud-noise shock scares, rubber monsters, or teens sliced to ribbons this one plays with atmospherics in a way that hack J-horror directors could only dream of. Working on a tip, a puritanical bobby investigates the disappearance of a teenager on an isolated Scottish isle. The peculiar locals claim to have no knowledge of the girl even in the face of mounting evidence (her empty school desk, a photograph in the pub), which only strengthens the do-gooding cop's resolve to get to the bottom of things. Considering that the gist of the picture is the enduring ability of old and pagan religions to overthrow enforced Christianity I'm a little biased in my appreciation of this one (Scandinavian Black Metal anyone?). The balance between overt petulance towards the flabbergasted officer, as in the school room where a foxy teacher instructs her female students on the phallic importance of the maypole celebration, and the subtler "playing-it-dumb" disobedience of the townsfolk strikes a perfectly malevolent tone: the surface is placid, but the secrets below are best left well enough alone. Seeing as how American productions have all but completely exhausted the appeal of murderous backwoods hillbillies it's a welcome novelty to see the British version (which is also brilliantly brought to the screen in Sam Peckinpah's "Straw Dogs" (1971)). Finally it's worth noting that this is the only film to my knowledge in which Christopher Lee wears a dress.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Shock Corridor
Sam Fuller
1963
Multiple Viewings
While not a detective/crime story in the strictest sense, this is a must see for any fan of pulp/noir cinema. With it's cornerstones firmly laid in dimestore-novel dialogue and shallow pop psychology "Shock Corridor" is a permanent trip to the looney bin. A Pulitzer-crazy journalist fakes madness to check into the funny farm in order to solve the murder of an orderly witnessed by three patients. On the inside he struggles to keep his sanity while getting closer to the truth. The depictions of mental illness are one dimensional at best, but in the best way possible: a black man believes he's a Klansman, a communist defector fancies himself a civil war general, and one of the A-bomb's premier developers has regressed to a childlike state of innocence and naivety. Thrown in for more color is the obese opera singing Pagliacci (played by one of my all-time favorite character actors Larry Tucker), a room full of lusty nymphomaniacs, and a stripper girlfriend trying to save her fella from himself. The no frills black and white photography gets supplemented with bursts of colorful stock footage during the height of patients' mad rants - a nice gimmick for sure. Sam Fuller's certainly done a lot of great films, but this one is nearly perfect.
1963
Multiple Viewings
While not a detective/crime story in the strictest sense, this is a must see for any fan of pulp/noir cinema. With it's cornerstones firmly laid in dimestore-novel dialogue and shallow pop psychology "Shock Corridor" is a permanent trip to the looney bin. A Pulitzer-crazy journalist fakes madness to check into the funny farm in order to solve the murder of an orderly witnessed by three patients. On the inside he struggles to keep his sanity while getting closer to the truth. The depictions of mental illness are one dimensional at best, but in the best way possible: a black man believes he's a Klansman, a communist defector fancies himself a civil war general, and one of the A-bomb's premier developers has regressed to a childlike state of innocence and naivety. Thrown in for more color is the obese opera singing Pagliacci (played by one of my all-time favorite character actors Larry Tucker), a room full of lusty nymphomaniacs, and a stripper girlfriend trying to save her fella from himself. The no frills black and white photography gets supplemented with bursts of colorful stock footage during the height of patients' mad rants - a nice gimmick for sure. Sam Fuller's certainly done a lot of great films, but this one is nearly perfect.
Cat Dancers
Harris Fishman
2008
There's no reason this beautifully made and gloriously bizarre HBO documentary doesn't deserve a theatrical release, but considering I can watch it over and over again Ondemand (it warrants rewatching), I'm not complaining too much. The film tells the story of an early Siegfried and Roy style act comprised of flamboyant costumes (Freddie Mercury, Liberace, and the Rockettes in a blender), and giant felines with names like Diva, Jupiter, and Midnight. Co-founder Ron Holiday recounts how he and wife Joy created the act, bought a ranch for their increasing stable of big cats, and how things eventually went horribly wrong. Along the way fresh-faced newcomer Chuck Lizza is inducted into the fold resulting in a harmonious sexual, domestic, and professional manage a trois. Holiday's wistful overvoice stretches the seams with a melancholy nostalgia of both fond and painful memories. The history of Cat Dancers is punctuated with it's narrator's current life. Opening with the remarkably fit septuagenarian applying and teasing his toupee, then going on to show him teaching ballet to adolescent Floridians, and hosting a class at the Amazing Exotics animal sanctuary which houses his remaining kitties. Stylistically the film owes a lot ot Errol Morris with it's slow-motion archival footage, overly poignant audio bites, and no-nonsense interview settings. I usually have no qualms about giving away "spoilers," but I think this one deserves as fresh and uninformed viewing as possible. Definitely worth a look.
2008
There's no reason this beautifully made and gloriously bizarre HBO documentary doesn't deserve a theatrical release, but considering I can watch it over and over again Ondemand (it warrants rewatching), I'm not complaining too much. The film tells the story of an early Siegfried and Roy style act comprised of flamboyant costumes (Freddie Mercury, Liberace, and the Rockettes in a blender), and giant felines with names like Diva, Jupiter, and Midnight. Co-founder Ron Holiday recounts how he and wife Joy created the act, bought a ranch for their increasing stable of big cats, and how things eventually went horribly wrong. Along the way fresh-faced newcomer Chuck Lizza is inducted into the fold resulting in a harmonious sexual, domestic, and professional manage a trois. Holiday's wistful overvoice stretches the seams with a melancholy nostalgia of both fond and painful memories. The history of Cat Dancers is punctuated with it's narrator's current life. Opening with the remarkably fit septuagenarian applying and teasing his toupee, then going on to show him teaching ballet to adolescent Floridians, and hosting a class at the Amazing Exotics animal sanctuary which houses his remaining kitties. Stylistically the film owes a lot ot Errol Morris with it's slow-motion archival footage, overly poignant audio bites, and no-nonsense interview settings. I usually have no qualms about giving away "spoilers," but I think this one deserves as fresh and uninformed viewing as possible. Definitely worth a look.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Branded to Kill
Seijun Suzuki
1967
Second Viewing
I'm pretty sure this was the first Seijun Suzuki picture I ever saw, and while it's by no means my favorite (I think "Gate of Flesh" (1964) would take that prize), It does provide an almost perfect introduction to Suzuki's work. Chipmunk-cheeked action star Jo Shishido is the Yakuza's No. 3 hitman until a botched job turns him into the target. This being a Suzuki film, the hackneyed gangster story is metastasized beyond recognition with deliriously surreal imagery and envelope-pushing camera work. Despite the film's psychological factors, the pulp element remains, with high contrast cinematography, plenty of gunplay and female nudity, and the No. 3 killer's rice-sniffing kink. One of the film's highlights is an extended stalemate between killers 3 and 1, where their mutual skill and mistrust requires them to sleep together handcuffed, and accompany each other to the toilet. The movie nerds out there will notice that Jim Jarmusch referenced the butterfly landing on gun barrel from this one in "Ghost Dog" (1999).
1967
Second Viewing
I'm pretty sure this was the first Seijun Suzuki picture I ever saw, and while it's by no means my favorite (I think "Gate of Flesh" (1964) would take that prize), It does provide an almost perfect introduction to Suzuki's work. Chipmunk-cheeked action star Jo Shishido is the Yakuza's No. 3 hitman until a botched job turns him into the target. This being a Suzuki film, the hackneyed gangster story is metastasized beyond recognition with deliriously surreal imagery and envelope-pushing camera work. Despite the film's psychological factors, the pulp element remains, with high contrast cinematography, plenty of gunplay and female nudity, and the No. 3 killer's rice-sniffing kink. One of the film's highlights is an extended stalemate between killers 3 and 1, where their mutual skill and mistrust requires them to sleep together handcuffed, and accompany each other to the toilet. The movie nerds out there will notice that Jim Jarmusch referenced the butterfly landing on gun barrel from this one in "Ghost Dog" (1999).
Monday, January 12, 2009
Boogie Nights
P.T. Anderson
1997
Multiple Viewings
It's been close to ten years since I last saw this one. I used to claim that it was the only good P.T. Anderson picture out there (this was before the excellent "There Will Be Blood" (2007)), but a reviewing proves that it's just as overwrought and puffed-up as all his other efforts. This tribute to the glory days of 70's pornography, saturated with period clothing and slang, fails through it's sheer dishonesty. Anderson's account is not the story as it happened, but a manufactured milieu that a Scorcese-obsessed young director would want it to be. Without the crocodile platforms and massive lapels the broadly painted characters are soulless as a Barbie, as inanimate and lifeless as a sex doll's plastic asshole. That said, the casting and performances are remarkable, and lend some weight to the film. Anderson has always been able to get a lot from his performers, and the numerous supporting characters (Don Cheadle, Philip Seymour Hoffman, William H. Macy, the list goes on...) are allowed to run wild with their tics to amusing, ironic, and occasionally witty ends. The film is seductively enjoyable, and pretty much blew my mind when I saw it in high school, but the corny nostalgia and squeaky-clean take on the skinflick industry comes off as junk-food cinema nowadays.
1997
Multiple Viewings
It's been close to ten years since I last saw this one. I used to claim that it was the only good P.T. Anderson picture out there (this was before the excellent "There Will Be Blood" (2007)), but a reviewing proves that it's just as overwrought and puffed-up as all his other efforts. This tribute to the glory days of 70's pornography, saturated with period clothing and slang, fails through it's sheer dishonesty. Anderson's account is not the story as it happened, but a manufactured milieu that a Scorcese-obsessed young director would want it to be. Without the crocodile platforms and massive lapels the broadly painted characters are soulless as a Barbie, as inanimate and lifeless as a sex doll's plastic asshole. That said, the casting and performances are remarkable, and lend some weight to the film. Anderson has always been able to get a lot from his performers, and the numerous supporting characters (Don Cheadle, Philip Seymour Hoffman, William H. Macy, the list goes on...) are allowed to run wild with their tics to amusing, ironic, and occasionally witty ends. The film is seductively enjoyable, and pretty much blew my mind when I saw it in high school, but the corny nostalgia and squeaky-clean take on the skinflick industry comes off as junk-food cinema nowadays.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Escape From the Planet of the Apes
Don Taylor
1971
The third installment in the Planet of the Apes franchise goes straight for the throat of camp with brainy chimp couple Cornelius and Zira traveling back in time to the present day where they are studied, celebrated, and eventually reviled by humanity. While the outlandish premise is not entirely hilarious in and of itself, director Don Taylor injects the first two acts with some undeniably tongue-in-cheek moments, which transforms the heavier third act into a supremely strange viewing experience. And this is all without mentioning the Terminator-esque self-fulfilling time travel paradox element. Nearly every line in the picture is a complete hoot (either intentionally or not), but the pleasure isn't so much derived from watching a movie "so bad it's good," because It's obvious that Taylor is in on the joke. Some awesome moments of the film include: the unfortunate third wheel ape being killed by a gorilla (man in a gorilla suit), Zira discovering a taste for wine, The apes being treated to wild Beverly Hills parties and designer couture (Cornelius in a limo!), and Ricardo Montalban as a lunatic circus ringleader. It doesn't really matter if you've seen the first two features or not, you should see this as soon as possible.
1971
The third installment in the Planet of the Apes franchise goes straight for the throat of camp with brainy chimp couple Cornelius and Zira traveling back in time to the present day where they are studied, celebrated, and eventually reviled by humanity. While the outlandish premise is not entirely hilarious in and of itself, director Don Taylor injects the first two acts with some undeniably tongue-in-cheek moments, which transforms the heavier third act into a supremely strange viewing experience. And this is all without mentioning the Terminator-esque self-fulfilling time travel paradox element. Nearly every line in the picture is a complete hoot (either intentionally or not), but the pleasure isn't so much derived from watching a movie "so bad it's good," because It's obvious that Taylor is in on the joke. Some awesome moments of the film include: the unfortunate third wheel ape being killed by a gorilla (man in a gorilla suit), Zira discovering a taste for wine, The apes being treated to wild Beverly Hills parties and designer couture (Cornelius in a limo!), and Ricardo Montalban as a lunatic circus ringleader. It doesn't really matter if you've seen the first two features or not, you should see this as soon as possible.
Splinter
Toby Wilkins
2008
Another solid direct-to-Ondemand horror flick that boasts a pleasantly creepy premise, above average character development, and superb creature effects. What begins as a hostage story, in which a young couple is accosted by a wanted criminal and his junkie girlfriend, turns to Bedlam when a parasitic organism begins assimilating it's hosts to grisly ends. To the film's benefit, no effort is taken to explain the origin of the malevolent beastie, instead focusing on the dire life-or-death situation the two couples are thrust into. The parasite propagates itself through spines (or splinters) that protrude from the host's skin in search of fresh live meat. It's no surprise then that the obvious precedent for this film is John Carpenter's masterpiece "The Thing" (1982), and the real highlight here comes from the monster, essentially an amalgamated flesh beast, making a mockery of skin and bone in it's gruesome makeshift vehicle. The survival horror chops aren't quite cliche, but they're not exactly fresh either, same goes for the character development, but then again, that's not necessarily the point of this kind of picture. The practical effects are above reproach with some sickening bone snapping, blood spray, and macabre assimilation of meat. Because these effects are handled so well it's a shame that the director chose to mask them with obnoxiously quick cutting and an even more distasteful shaky-camera. It's clear that "Splinter's" monster could stand up on it's own before the cameras without resorting to such an unconfident approach.
2008
Another solid direct-to-Ondemand horror flick that boasts a pleasantly creepy premise, above average character development, and superb creature effects. What begins as a hostage story, in which a young couple is accosted by a wanted criminal and his junkie girlfriend, turns to Bedlam when a parasitic organism begins assimilating it's hosts to grisly ends. To the film's benefit, no effort is taken to explain the origin of the malevolent beastie, instead focusing on the dire life-or-death situation the two couples are thrust into. The parasite propagates itself through spines (or splinters) that protrude from the host's skin in search of fresh live meat. It's no surprise then that the obvious precedent for this film is John Carpenter's masterpiece "The Thing" (1982), and the real highlight here comes from the monster, essentially an amalgamated flesh beast, making a mockery of skin and bone in it's gruesome makeshift vehicle. The survival horror chops aren't quite cliche, but they're not exactly fresh either, same goes for the character development, but then again, that's not necessarily the point of this kind of picture. The practical effects are above reproach with some sickening bone snapping, blood spray, and macabre assimilation of meat. Because these effects are handled so well it's a shame that the director chose to mask them with obnoxiously quick cutting and an even more distasteful shaky-camera. It's clear that "Splinter's" monster could stand up on it's own before the cameras without resorting to such an unconfident approach.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Wendy and Lucy
Kelly Reichardt
2008
After her revelatory breakout feature "Old Joy" (2006) Kelly Reichardt offers up another brilliant and enigmatic picture with "Wendy and Lucy." These two films, particularly the latter, are blazing a the trail along with Lance Hammer's "Ballast" (2008), towards a new American realist cinema. Michelle Williams brings her big Hollywood name to this little film in the titular lead along with her canine costar Lucy (playing herself). Roustabout Wendy's journey to seek employment in Alaska leads to an unforeseen pit-stop in the Pacific Northwest thanks to some untimely auto failure. Once Lucy goes missing Wendy's already fragile plan begins to crumble as money runs low and help is hard to come by. In Reichardt's expansive landscape new characters and locales generally take on an episodic feel. An early encounter with a group of anarcho-punk hobos, face tattoos and all, seems a portent of things to come, while the unsympathetic teenage grocery store clerk is a sour portrait of ugly America. A slowly tracking camera takes in each dog at the pound, deliberately and objectively. These are people and places suffering from a subtle, quiet decline. The kindly parking lot security guard who aids Wendy on multiple occasions bemoans the lack of jobs in town. Indeed, the film's modest homes, cracked asphalt, and encroaching vegetation are more suggestive of devolution than glossy modernity. Sam Levy's cinematography is hit or miss with a combination of lovely camera moves and natural lighting muddied by a handful of needlessly pretentious angles. Wendy's fierce, if naive, independence, honesty, and unselfconscious sense of cool make her the kind of heroine that the hacks directing Michael Cerra movies would kill for. At this point it's kind of a "no doi" to say that Reichardt is one of the most interesting and important directors working in the U.S. today.
2008
After her revelatory breakout feature "Old Joy" (2006) Kelly Reichardt offers up another brilliant and enigmatic picture with "Wendy and Lucy." These two films, particularly the latter, are blazing a the trail along with Lance Hammer's "Ballast" (2008), towards a new American realist cinema. Michelle Williams brings her big Hollywood name to this little film in the titular lead along with her canine costar Lucy (playing herself). Roustabout Wendy's journey to seek employment in Alaska leads to an unforeseen pit-stop in the Pacific Northwest thanks to some untimely auto failure. Once Lucy goes missing Wendy's already fragile plan begins to crumble as money runs low and help is hard to come by. In Reichardt's expansive landscape new characters and locales generally take on an episodic feel. An early encounter with a group of anarcho-punk hobos, face tattoos and all, seems a portent of things to come, while the unsympathetic teenage grocery store clerk is a sour portrait of ugly America. A slowly tracking camera takes in each dog at the pound, deliberately and objectively. These are people and places suffering from a subtle, quiet decline. The kindly parking lot security guard who aids Wendy on multiple occasions bemoans the lack of jobs in town. Indeed, the film's modest homes, cracked asphalt, and encroaching vegetation are more suggestive of devolution than glossy modernity. Sam Levy's cinematography is hit or miss with a combination of lovely camera moves and natural lighting muddied by a handful of needlessly pretentious angles. Wendy's fierce, if naive, independence, honesty, and unselfconscious sense of cool make her the kind of heroine that the hacks directing Michael Cerra movies would kill for. At this point it's kind of a "no doi" to say that Reichardt is one of the most interesting and important directors working in the U.S. today.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
The Spiral Staircase
Robert Siodmak
1945
Despite being directed by Robert Siodmak, despite featuring a psychotic serial-killer, and despite the rich black and white photography (which far surpasses the usual quality of B horror/thriller fare), I could not get particularly excited about this RKO chiller. Plotting and performances are only above average (Ethel Barrymore's token crazy granny and all), legitimate scares are lacking, and the film's cardinal sin comes from a far too easily guessed "whodunnit." Hired help Helen has been rendered mute by childhood trauma and is holed-up in a baroque mansion on a dark and stormy night. Unfortunately for her she's being stalked by a killer who has a taste for offing women with physical imperfections. The killer's mental tick is marginally interesting, and the set-bound art department does a superb job with the atmospherics, but there's just not enough chutzpah to keep this one going - a well executed and ornate exterior without guts. Not even a seemingly callow playboy, colorful brandy-sneaking servants, or the fiend's lurking POV shots do much to set this one apart. I'll take a picture by RKO contemporary Val Lewton over this any day.
1945
Despite being directed by Robert Siodmak, despite featuring a psychotic serial-killer, and despite the rich black and white photography (which far surpasses the usual quality of B horror/thriller fare), I could not get particularly excited about this RKO chiller. Plotting and performances are only above average (Ethel Barrymore's token crazy granny and all), legitimate scares are lacking, and the film's cardinal sin comes from a far too easily guessed "whodunnit." Hired help Helen has been rendered mute by childhood trauma and is holed-up in a baroque mansion on a dark and stormy night. Unfortunately for her she's being stalked by a killer who has a taste for offing women with physical imperfections. The killer's mental tick is marginally interesting, and the set-bound art department does a superb job with the atmospherics, but there's just not enough chutzpah to keep this one going - a well executed and ornate exterior without guts. Not even a seemingly callow playboy, colorful brandy-sneaking servants, or the fiend's lurking POV shots do much to set this one apart. I'll take a picture by RKO contemporary Val Lewton over this any day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)