Bad Biology

Frank Henenlotter
2008

It's a sad truth that a film with a massive killer penis at it's center isn't likely to be anything more than a novelty, and while underground-vet Frank Henenlotter takes his bad taste very seriously "Bad Biology" tends to feel like a self fulfilling prophecy. Fate brings together a sex addict with seven clitorises (clitori?), and a man who has conquered his childhood ED through some serious steroids, resulting in a monstrous member with a life of it's own. The film's lack of money is clearly apparent onscreen, but so is the love of B-filmmaking, and the DIY sensibility shines through with pitch-perfect campy acting, boatloads of nudity, and absurd dialogue. Being partially produced and financed by a rapper whom Henenlotter had made music videos for, "Bad Biology" also has an amusing streak of hip-hop flavor running through it. While it might not be worth much more than a chuckle or two when thrown on at a party, I'm definitely looking forward to catching some of Henenlotter's earlier efforts like "Basket Case" (1982), and "Frankenhooker" (1990).

Strange Hostel of Naked Pleasures

George Michel Serkeis / Jose Mojica Marins
1975

This is the latest of the Coffin Joe films I've seen and definitely the weakest despite it's amazing title. Lacking nearly all the oomph, vision, and execution of earlier pictures like "At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul" (1964), and "This Night I'll Possess Your Corpse" (1967), and not going far-out enough with it's psychedelic freakout a la "Awakening of the Beast" (1970). The ghost story told is one of the oldest and most transparent premises around with it's disparate group of folks "checking in" to the eponymous strange hotel managed by Coffin Joe on a dark and stormy night. This obvious one-note plot gets dressed up with plenty of Joe's abstract philosophizing and stock footage (a beating heart, forces of nature) edited around, and laid over the drama. The picture does deliver on it's "naked pleasures" with tons of grainy toplessness, and a soft-core biker orgy lending the picture some solid exploitation cred. The only really interesting part of the picture is it's experimental use of sound - heavy on hiss, fuzz, and overlaid tracks to create an expressionistic and otherworldly horrorscape.

Richard III

Laurence Olivier
1955

This is probably my favorite of the three Shakespeare adaptations directed by Sir Laurence Olivier, with "Hamlet" (1948) coming in at a close second and "Henry V" (1944), which I remember as barely watchable, remaining firmly in third place. Olivier delights in playing the villainous King with shades ranging from wicked and mischievous to charismatic and downright heroic. The most interesting/loathseome quality of Richard's ascension to power is not the desire to lead, but the game of it all, as if achieving the throne were a mere exercise of his cunning and his wit. The costumes are a bit rich, and the sets have something of a papier-mache high-school-play quality to them, but sumptuous visuals aren't exactly a staple of Shakespeare adaptations (Ok, I'll give you Kurosawa). The repeated visual motif of figures and objects projected as shadows isn't exactly subtle, but it does provide for an easily readable metaphor and works as a director's artistic choice beyond the source material. The final transformation of Richard from smarmy weasel to berserk war machine is a treat to behold as Olivier bellows threats and challenges foes while being stuck by arrows and overwhelmed in a mass of his would-be subjects.

Z

Costa-Gavras
1969

I had the good fortune of seeing this unique agitprop flick during it's 40th anniversary celebration at Film Forum with a Q & A by director Gavras and editor Francoise Bonnot. A more or less direct repudiation of the military rule of Gavras's home country Greece, the film covers the murder of an opposition party speaker and the ensuing investigation by a regime official. While "Z" possesses a linear and cohesive narrative it's interesting to note that there are no main characters to rely on, but instead an amalgam of people (generally only named by their titles) traversing a climate of political turmoil. Most surprisingly is the picture's use of humor which is subtle but frequent, and almost completely changes the tone of an experience that could be overly grave or pretentious. This is also one of the best examples of mob direction I've ever seen. Gavras shoots the confusion of shouting and sloganeering masses as they seethe and roil with the accuracy of documentary footage. Powerful and often ironic the film concludes with an abbreviated list of the intellectual achievements outlawed by Greece's military dictatorship including homegrown thinkers Plato and Aristophanes.

Gomorra

Matteo Garrone
2008

I'm a little sick and tired of reading reviews for this film claiming that it's "not your average gangster film" with headlines that say things like "Even Tony Soprano Would Be Afraid of These Guys." It's obvious on the surface that Matteo Garrone's adaptation of Roberto Saviano's incendiary book is a completely different animal than the romanticized visions of tommy-gun wielding bootleggers and wiseacre track-suited greaseballs that usually appear in gangster films. Amusingly enough this self-reflexive cinematic worship manifests itself in the picture in the form of two rash punks looking to make it in the Camorra empire, as they wax poetic about "Scarface" (1983) while flying ever closer to the syndicate's flame. Stripped of the usual overly styled Mafia flick trappings "Gamorra" makes for a very engaging, very adult, and very tense viewing experience as a handful of youngsters and average Joes become grist for the all encompassing monolithic crime machine. It's the pervasiveness of the Camorra that impresses most - far from a conspiratorial round table of villains, this is a veritable army of plainclothes men enacting business openly in the streets by day. I'm amazed the film hasn't won more cinematography awards than it has as the photography combines both the documentary realist approach with a heightened artistic aesthetic to remarkable visual ends. "Gomorra" is well worth the photography alone.

The Devil and Daniel Webster

William Dieterle
1941

This moral fairy-tale dressed up in Americana has a very unusual look and feel for a Hollywood picture of the time with expressionistic high contrast lighting, lack of big name actors (save Walter Huston of course), and frank sexual suggestion. Farmer Jabez Stone's got it pretty rough with a hard workaday life and meager returns to show for it, until a 7 year pact with Mr. Scratch (character actor par excellence Walter Huston as great Satan himself) lands the poor schlub in riches up to his armpits. The pot of Hessian gold inevitably leads to Jabez's moral decline as he begins to heartlessly enslave his neighbors through difficult loans, and neglects his simple wife for the carnal raptures of Hell's angel Simone Simon. When Mr. Scratch comes to collect his due, eminent politician of the people Daniel Webster steps up in defense of the wayward farmer to take on the Devil and his jury of the damned in a trial for Jabez's soul. There's a marked contrast between the fanciful and alluring depiction of evil as expressed through Scratch and Simon, and the ugly real-life cruelty and selfishness of Jabez. Scratch makes ironic jokes with a cheshire grin, plays frenzied music, and scarfs stolen pies with abandon, while Simon's Belle lustily competes for the affections of her man - theirs is the world of the naughty child, in which it's more fun to be bad than good. Jabez, on the other hand expresses the cold reality of selfish indulgence through the woes of his neighbors and the mounting emotional abuse directed towards his wife. Daniel Webster provides an interesting character as a drink-loving orator, equally at home with Washington fatcats, rural sharecroppers, and the Devil himself. Indeed, one of the most interesting scenes happens early on as a harried Daniel fights off the advances of Scratch deep into the night. It's an excellent picture, and a great example of how aesthetically and thematically unique RKO films could be in the 40's.

Cimarron

Anthony Mann
1960

I did myself the disservice of watching this sweeping Technicolor 'n Cinemascope epic on a pan and scan VHS tape that I bought unopened on the street for $3. I'm usually a sucker for Glenn Ford and Anthony Mann is my second all time favorite director of Westerns so I was a bit disappointed to find that this Edna Ferber adaptation is certainly the weakest of all the Mann westerns I've seen to date. The picture takes on the settling of Oklahoma from the initial mad dash for farmland to the discovery of oil riches as seen through the eyes of one dysfunctional family. Mann's sticky moral conundrums and unromantic take on the West are mostly muted here, though some complexity comes through in the overt racism towards the Indian and Jewish settlers (some of which is perpetrated by Ford's wife Maria Schell), and the decision of the film's couple to stay together for the sake of their child despite their obvious incompatibility. At it's most irritating the film is a fist in the face of feminism with it's understandable, but perennially unlikable matriarch. Her obsession with material comfort and financial stability for her son is always presented in thorny opposition to the altruisitc flights of fancy and romantic goose chases of her charismatic husband. If this is one of Mann's weaker efforts it's only because his hallmark style doesn't come through as strongly. Overall the picture is a solid, if unspectacular, western imbued with Ferber's predilection for long-winded storytelling.

Inferno

Dario Argento
1980

With Mother Susperiorum having been previously dispatched in Germany, the next episode of Dario Argento's "3 Mothers" trilogy sets it's sights on the Mother of Darkness in the Big Apple. Much like "Suspiria" (1977) Argento goes for the throat early with a horrifying setpiece that is unfortunately unmatched for the rest of the film. In this case it's a curious Rose Elliot swimming amongst submerged corpses in the mysteriously waterlogged lower levels of her apartment building. The flamboyant colored-lighting schemes of "Suspiria" also return for another go, though are not as liberally employed, making for a subtler and more sophisticated visual experience. The filmmaking is expectedly stylish with a sensibility more Grimm brothers than Gothic, but there's nothing overly remarkable going on either. The confrontation with the wheelchair-bound architect before the showdown with Mother Tenebrarum is a nice touch, unfortunately the costume and makeup of the Mother's second incarnation (as death) just look silly. After having finally seen all films in the 3 Mothers trilogy, I'm going to have to say "Mother of Tears" is the best.

Friday the 13th Part III

Steve Miner
1982

In my haphazard reviewings of Friday the 13th flicks, I've discovered that I've never seen this one before either. Besides the gimmick of being shot in 3-D and the one in which Jason dons his iconic hockey mask, part three has little to offer. The effects and scares are weaker than part four, and while the kids/victims are decently fleshed out, no character development or plot point rises above adequate. While I didn't get to see the picture in 3-D it's pretty clear that the effect is used in the corniest way possible with a handful of inconsequential shots unrelated to the story thrown in, and Jason frequently pointing weapons at the screen. The gas-station biker punks are worth a larf or two, and the setpiece in which Jason is hung from the loft of a barn is a highlight, but overall there's just not that much here to sink your teeth into.

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter

Joseph Zito
1984

Seeing the remake rekindled my interest in the Friday the 13th franchise and I decided to haphazardly scope out old installments to try and figure out which ones I’ve seen and which ones I haven’t. A viewing of the amusingly titled “Final Chapter” (actually part 4 of a film series that’s now in double digits) proves it to be the best of the FT13 pictures I’ve seen (or remember seeing) so far. It’s a little astonishing how shamelessly the first few minutes of this one rip off “Halloween II” (1981) with the presumably dead slasher brought to a hospital where he promptly revives to wreak havoc. There’s also shades of the Halloween series in the ending, which suggests that another individual unhinged by the terrifying experience will adopt the mutilator’s mantle. What sets this sequel apart from other efforts is a few recognizable faces in the cast, and letting Tom Savini work his magic on a slightly broader, bloodier scale. Crispin Glover is amongst the soon-to-be-sliced teens, and his nervous insecure nerd performance is a hoot. Corey Feldman also stars as a youngster with a penchant for monster masks and special-effects movie makeup, a chuckle-worthy bit of self reflexivity that gives the sprat a leg up in dealing with the real bogeyman. Comparing this with the remake I was amazed how well Savini’s effects stand up today. Slicing through a foam latex appliance with squirting blood is still horrifically convincing, and I’m surprised that modern filmmakers are so staunch in the belief that quick cutting, low lighting, and suggestion (with an inevitably boring shot of the freshly deceased victim) is the end all be all of providing thrills.

Tunes of Glory

Ronald Neame
1960

This excellent British drama is a far cry from ktichen-sink-realism, yet it's no less truthful for it's mannered performances and technicolor photography. With WWII finally over blustery hard drinking Lt. Jock Sinclair (Alec Guinness in a definitive role) is replaced by prim military-academy wiz Basil Barrow (a delightfully puckered John Mills). Soon a psychological battle is waged between the two officers for the hearts and minds of the troops - good old boy camaraderie and indulgence vs. strict traditional propriety. Neame makes no bones about who he prefers. Even at his lowest Jock seems the forgivable fool, a man of passion who acts then regrets, a working class blood and guts soldier. Barrow may be a "wee little" snob, and his notions of regimental decorum are a world away from the boisterous tendencies the regiment's grown accustomed to, but Neame avoids making him a one dimensional villain by illuminating his personal doubt and inner struggle as the man who stands alone. Unfortunately the film suffers from some heavy-handed melodrama in the epilogue. It would have been far more tragic and effective to have Jock carry on business as usual as opposed to the sobbing breakdown we're given.

Goya In Bordeaux

Carlos Saura
1999

Carlos Saura sketches the waning days of artistic heavyweight Francisco Goya in an overly theatrical and florid effort that seems more suited to the stage than screen. Hoary old film veteran Francisco Rabal plays the aging artist, and while he adequately conveys all the orneriness of old age and the melancholy longing of exile, his passion and vitality eclipse any sense of ill health or physical degradation. Vittorio Storaro's photography is rich with wide swathes of artificial color and many scenes takes on the quality of stage lighting, which certainly suits the stage-like sets, and high volume of performative elements. This begs the question as to why film was the chosen medium for this project to begin with. Saura's impulse is more theatric than cinematic and even his large scale tableaux vivants of Goya's works (of which there are surprisingly few) maintain the the artist's stylistic broad strokes - the grand gestures required of the stage as opposed to the subtlety picked up by a camera's lens. The film is an aesthetically puzzling, and emotionally middling experience - a poor tribute to the intensity of Goya's art.

Boyz n the Hood

John Singleton
1991

John Singleton's breakout debut feature (which has birthed a seriously inconsistent career) is one of those iconic zeitgeisty chunks of drama destined for awards and acclaim. By examining the black community of South Central Los Angeles, particularly it's youth, Singleton combines local color with a dose of classic tragedy. What I wasn't expecting (especially considering the dreadfully corny fashions) is how good everyone looks. With the exception of Cuba Godding Jr., who looks just as dopey as his performance is naive, pretty much all the ladies are looking great, Ice Cube's got the rad Raiders cap gangsta look nailed, and Larry Fishburn 's paragon of parental excellence is the supreme highlight with his masculine intelligence framed behind glasses and suspenders. There's a lot of goofy cinematic touches here like football star Ricky scarfing down various snackfoods in every scene, Ice Cube's permanent forty, and the dubbed use of overvoice narration when Tre tells a tall tale of sexual conquest. Singleton gets dangerously close to making the picture overly precious, but his personal honesty, and dedication towards raising awareness and creating social change is too competently handled and powerful to rag on. Also Furious Styles is one of the coolest movie names ever.

The Fly

David Cronenberg
1986
Second Viewing

Arguably the film Cronenberg is best known for. Leave it to the creepy Canadian to take a campy Vincent Price vehicle and rework it into a genuinely skin-crawling experience. I'm a little biased in favor of this one to begin with seeing as how the great Jeff Goldblum plays the lead scientist role. And who better to play against one of the greatest actors of the 80's and 90's than Geena Davis? Shit, if Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis were cast in the lead roles for "Nights in Rodanthe" I'd have been first in line. There's an element of "The Fly" that I think is truly representative of Cronenberg's cinema in which JG leads GD to his typically unremarkable loft space after a disappointing party in order to show her the elaborately designed teleportation pods he's been working on. The incongruousness of these sci-fi aesthetics plopped square in the middle of what is presumably 1980's Toronto makes for a subtly bold move, a little absurd, but poker-faced in it's matter-of-factness. The slow transformation from man to insect is played brilliantly by Goldblum, and things just get better with the addition of prosthetics and puppetry. The acidic vomit shots are expectedly amazing, but most important is the heartstring tugging effect of a mangled Brundlefly holding a shotgun to his head with a shaky claw, as obsessive insanity and a half reptilian brain finally give way to repentant humanity.

Friday the 13th (Remake)

Marcus Nispel
2009

I'm not sure why I expected the "Friday The 13th" remake (really more of a re-imagining) to be any different from the awful spate of mediocre rehashes going 'round these days. Primarily I think it's because Jason Voorhees should be so easy. This archetypical slasher has a free pass to wallow in the "rules" of the genre, and then set itself apart through the industry's more permissive stance on graphic violence, allowing for some thrilling and creative kills. Director Nispel makes a decent popcorn-muncher for sure, but the picture's lack of chutzpa is by no means an inspiring rebirth. The decision to eschew highschool camp counselors in favor of college-age kids is a strange choice, and the cynical view would be that while violence may now be more permissive, the filmmakers wanted to avoid any backlash that might be associated with younger teens smoking drugs and diddling like rabbits. The depiction of these collegiate coeds however, is the film's crowning achievement. If only all the sacrificial lambs of slaughter cinema were as believably conveyed with their obnoxious vernacular, and social affectations. It's hard to describe just how well the kids are scripted considering that dumb youths getting offed is at the heart of the genre - and since the accepted gauge of success has become how "three dimensional" or "likable" they are, it's nice to see this one prove that you can still be successful with stock characters, as long as it's done right. Also of interest, is how the picture skirts the supernatural issue, choosing a route strongly suggesting that Jason is a living, breathing, (albeit monstrous) human being, while not closing the books on the possibility that he's an undead force of evil. The bloody setpieces range from acceptable to above average with only a few "oh shit" worthy moments. Notable scenes include Jason getting his machete caught in Willa Ford's skull, and a showdown involving a woodchipper. Of course the picture's highlight is the amazing inclusion of topless wakeboarding.

The Model Couple

William Klein
1977

It doesn't have the biting insider sense of satire that "Who Are You Polly, Magoo?" (1966) does, or the balls-out over-the-top insanity of "Mr. Freedom" (1969) but William Klein's last non-documentary feature feels like the picture he'd been working towards all along. After skewering fashion and nationalistic patriotism (without offering any viable alternatives) it seems only natural that the next target would be the humdrum complacency of modern life. Typical upper/middle class couple Jean-Michel and Claudine have been selected by a state sponsored program that will provide them with a fully furnished home and plenty of brand-name products in exchange for sharing their lives on the boob-tube with the entire nation. Obviously today's plague of reality shows come to mind when viewing this, but because Klein is far more interested in his artificial flights of fancy, the commentary is more amusing than aggressive or angry. As with his previous pictures almost every inch of the screen is aesthetically considered whether that be an austere clinical barrenness (particularly prevalent this time around) or cluttered with litter to be gobbled up by the mobile camera. The increasingly antagonistic relationship between scientist and subject is rewarding, and the inevitable intrusion of privacy in all matters (grocery shopping, quantitative assessment of orgasms) is what the film is all about, yet Klein loses focus quickly with the introduction of some pre-teen terrorists who add little besides puffery and fresh visuals to the mix. To be honest I can't be certain what Klein means to convey through these angels-with-dirty-faces, though I prefer a reading that suggests that the younger generation is just as bankrupt as their elders - more idealistic perhaps, but completely irresponsible.