Pineapple Express

David Gordon Green
2008

What happened to David Gordon Green? One minute he's crafting masterpieces like "George Washington" (2000) and to a lesser extent "All The Real Girls" (2003), and now he's stuck making Cheech and Chong rehashes. "Undertow" (2004) may have been far less inspired than his first two pictures, but by general release standards it was in no way a bad picture, but while I was disappointed to miss "Snow Angels" (2007) I heard it was absolutely dreadful. I don't mean to harsh on Green too much. "Pineapple Express" is a pretty decent flick and I love it when gifted directors work in multiple genres (and this one bounces around several at once with shades of the stoner film, buddy movie, and actioner), but ultimately Judd Apatow's involvement goes a long way to damaging a good time. Green's love of 70's film is visually present with clever costumes and gorgeously saturated color photography. The picture's sense of humor is great, less present in the dopey pothead antics, than in it's absurdist tendencies. The drug-lord villain is amusingly banal, and a minor dealer receives massive amounts of punishment throughout, only to bounce back every time. Inevitably though, this lively story gets injected with unctuous doses of Apatovian male bonding. Feelings are hurt and guys blubber like sissies only to "make up" later on. It's fine to do it in one or two movies, but why does every comedy these days have to be filled to the gills with touchey-feeley man-babies?

The Dark Knight

Christopher Nolan
2008

This is a real solid sequel to Nolan's reincarnation of the Batman franchise. As a guy who saw "Batman and Robin" (1997) in the theater I can honestly say that this gravely serious take on the caped crusader is a clever avenue to explore, considering the series had degenerated into A-list actors in Circe Du Soleil costumes making stupid puns on massively tacky sets. From a scripting standpoint it's clever how the Nolan brothers take outlandish and iconically established villains like the Joker and Two-Face and integrate them as realistically as possible into a world that's only marginally fantastic. I'm not saying that this grim and dour, hyper-realist batman is the best of all possible worlds, but this experiment in grounding a character whose always lived in a make-believe world is, at the very least, fascinating. Would Heath Ledger have won the Oscar if he hadn't met an untimely death? Who cares. His performance was solid and the Academy Awards kind of blow anyways. For all the creative touches, and expert filmmaking the picture's overly philosophical ending seems a little like a hollow stunt, or maybe the kind of cliffhanger Joel Schumacher would have used to get us ready for the next installment. I hear Michael Madsen is playing the Croc, and Bob Balaban's going to be the Penguin.

Jason X

James Isaac
2001

I've seen my fair share of stinkers but this one takes the cake. "Jason X" is a sci-fi/horror mash-up that sends a cryogenically frozen Jason Voorhees into an interstellar future to inevitably thaw out and rack up a body count. So poorly executed and realized, it's puzzling as to how director James Isaac was ever an associate of David Cronenberg (the creepy Canuck even makes an onscreen cameo!). Despite the awful script, dopey acting, and near complete lack of graphic violence what really kills the picture is the complete lack of imagination in the penny-thin production values. Flat lighting on shitty sets and the most unremarkably generic "futuristic" costumes do no favors for a slasher flick with a noticeable lack of slash. The scene where the robo-chick blows classic Jason all to hell is a hoot, and the ending is actually pretty decent considering the film's generally crappy caliber, but I think I'm going to be hard pressed to find a worse installment as I navigate my way through the franchise.

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.

Final Destination 3

James Wong
2006

I love the Final Destination franchise in theory, and it's been pretty decent so far in practice, but with the third installment it looks like time might finally be up for this novel series. This time around the marked teens in question avoid grisly death via malfunctioning rollercoaster. The lead kids get wise to "death's plan" and realize that digital photographs taken the night of the accident reveal how each potential victim will/could meet their end. The big gripe here is the completely useless CGI effects used in the kill scenes. The mounting tension of each nail-biting scenario is adequate but the payoff just isn't there in any capacity. This isn't a knee-jerk digital vs. practical effects screed either, the lack of care and money are up there on the screen to prove that these types of effects aren't a legitimate way to cut down on costs. That said lead actress Mary Elizabeth Winstead is plenty easy on the eyes and it's still devilishly satisfying to see the series' trademark mousetraps coalesce. If there were more money, time, and care spent on the violent visuals (it is a horror movie after all) it would be a different story entirely.

The Dead Zone

David Cronenberg
1983

This one's a little anomalous in Cronenberg's 80's output, the era in which he really hits his stride as an auteur. Not nearly as radical in terms of body-horror as either "Videodrome" (1983) or "The Fly" (1986), and not as genre-oriented as "Scanners" (1981), the film is closest to the cold otherworldliness of "Dead Ringers" (1988), but far more commercially viable. Christopher Walkin awakes after years in a coma to find his sweetheart has moved on. He soon realizes that he's able to see the past and future by making direct physical contact with those around him. Seen as both a crank and a local sensation Walkin uses his newfound ability to prevent tragedies and help the police apprehend a serial killer. This generally tight picture loses it's way after the first two acts, becoming mired in an expositional setup that could have been cultivated just as effectively early on - this is most likely the result of slavishly following Stephen King's source novel. For all it's accessibility Cronenberg's stamp shines through in clinical camerawork and distant performances. It may not be as extremely out-there as much of his other work, but it definitely fits snugly within the ouvre.

Troll 2

Claudio Fragasso
1990

I got turned onto this one when my buddy sent me Youtube clips boasting that it was "the worst movie ever made," coupled with it's ironic notoriety as a midnight-movie favorite. Made with Italian money and crew, and an American cast, it would seem that "Troll 2" is a sequel in name only. The word Troll is never used, being replaced with the equally goofy "goblin." The Waits family's getaway vacation to rural "Nilbog" (read that one in the mirror) is continually disrupted when moppet son Joshua insists that the town is inhabited by evil goblins hell-bent on transforming them into half man, half plants, which happens to be the goblins' favorite food. With the help of his ghostly Grandfather Joshua is able to resist the menace, stopping time in order to piss on the family's poison laced dinner, and other such ludicrous lifesaving acts. The film is a hoot at first, perfect for late night brew 'n view with a couple pals, but the appeal doesn't last with the final third of the picture being about as pleasurable as pulling teeth. The feeble makeup effects include immobile rubber halloween masks for the goblins and a liberal use of green frosting applied to victims of the goblins' trickery. Truly awful.

The Woman in the Window

Fritz Lang
1944

Edward G. Robinson stars in Fritz Lang's celebrated noir as a mild-mannered professor, a performance which may be the most tame I've seen the old bulldog play to date (the witness boss in "Double Indemnity" ( 1944) comes to mind, but even that has an air of unemotional toughness to it). With the wife and kid out of town Professor Wanley finds himself in Joan Bennett's apartment. She's the subject of a painting Robinson and his pals at the gentlemen's club have been fawning over, and he makes her acquaintance against his better judgement, partly for bragging rights, and partly from enchantment. The party's crashed by a jealous lover which the team kills in self defense. Robinson goes from upstanding citizen to murder accomplice in a few brief moments. The film's strong suite is the tense Hitchcockian suspense (peppered with irony), that comes from an average man thrust into a dreadful and macabre situation. Not only is the body's disposal a harrowing experience, but through happenstance, the nerve-wracked professor is forced to return to the remote crime scene with a police detective friend who is completely unaware of his companion's guilt. The gleefully sinister noose-tightening on the lead is excellent, but unfortunately Bennett's performance is a bit wooden, and the terrible ending smacks of studio intervention. Clearly this film could have been cleverly ended without requiring Robinson's suicide, or the ever-cliched "it was all a dream" gag. I'm disappointed with this one considering it's reputation.

Gutterballs

Ryan Nicholson
2008

Established effects/makeup artist Ryan Nicholson's latest directing experiment is an unapologetic throwback to 80's trash horror with it's direct-to-video feel, obsession with gore, and expectedly atrocious acting. Resplendent in it's repugnance and loose DIY sensibility "Gutterballs" co-opts the standard slasher premise merely as a vehicle for wanton sex and splatter. Vapid potty-mouthed teens (who look well into their 30's) face off in a tournament bowling match which deteriorates into a scuffle and eventually a brutal gang rape. When the game reconvenes the next day the athletes find themselves stalked and offed, in ways both gruesome and hilarious, by a bogeyman sporting a bowling-ball bag on top of his/her melon. Hack 'n slash is the picture's reason for being and Nicholson mixes up his kills with a good blend of the ghastly and amusing. The two most memorable setpieces involve murder by sixty-nine sex position (suffocated by genitals!), and an amazing decapitation by shotgun. Also notable is the amount of penis on display - lowbrow as it may be, Nicholson exhibits a surprising equal-opportunity approach in displaying nudity, something extremely rare for a genre that usually has at least one requisite topless scene. It should go without saying that the thrills here are cheap and tasteless, and it's only likely to please connoisseurs of garbage cinema. Connoisseurs of garbage cinema like me.

Monkey Shines

George A. Romero
1988

This is sadly one of the great George Romero's lesser works, which shouldn't be surprising considering the film features a diminutive homicidal monkey at it's center. It's easy to see what Romero's going for, and the themes work on a cerebral level - there's some nice body horror with the vital leading male reduced to quadriplegia in his prime, and there's some interesting questions raised about humanity's relationship with animals in the expressive performance of Capuchin costar Boo. Unfortunately the budget's too low and the monkey is too cute to make the scares successful on any sort of visceral level. The film is most effective when displaying a crippled Jason Beghe losing himself in mounting rage and displaying his descent into a state of resolute and irreconcilable bitterness. A nice highlight is an extra-greasy Stanley Tucci as a hotshot lethario surgeon.

The Miracle of Morgan's Creek

Preston Sturges
1944

It seems that no matter how hard I try I still have a difficult time appreciating Preston Sturges movies. Yeah "Sullivan's Travels" (1941) is great, and I know he's sort of considered one of early Hollywood's only true auteurs, but taking that into account maybe there's something to be said for studio oversight. It's not that his films are particularly bad, in fact the ones I've seen have all been passable or above average, but none so far have had that certain level of endlessly rewatchable brilliance. In other words, I'll take a "Bringing up Baby" (1938) over "The Lady Eve" (1941) any day, or any Marx Brothers movie over "Unfaithfully Yours" (1948). This one's got a pretty scandalous premise for post-code Hollywood as an overripe Betty Hutton wakes up after a night of entertaining departing servicemen to find out that she's been knocked up with no memory of who the father could be. Her pining admirer, the town weenie, takes up the mantle of baby-daddy to clear his love's name in the short term, and goes to ludicrous extremes in an attempt to permanently keep the scandal from seeing light. Hutton and her scheming Sis provide a fun anchor to the more clueless and blustery male characters, their father, town constable Kockenlocker (amazing screwball name) is a perfectly gruff shotgun-toting father and his back in forth with the grating and annoying Norval (Eddie Bracken) is the film at it's finest. Some of the slapstick sequences seem to drag on - particularly the ones involving Bracken. While the film's story is quite good, particularly the deus ex machina ending, it seems to suffer from poor casting (with the notable exception of Hutton and William Demearest), with supporting characters either over or underplaying their roles.

The Match Factory Girl

Aki Kaurismaki
1990

The final installment of Kaurismaki's "Proletarian Trilogy," is the most taut and stylistically tight installment in the series, but is also the least appealing, with it's lifeless nihilism left mostly unpunctuated by the humor critics have been so quick to over-praise. Kaurismaki standy Kati Outinen stars as Iris, the titular factory worker living an utterly joyless existence cooking for, and cleaning up after, her mother and stepfather. After being jilted in love and then kicked out by her parents Iris finally becomes proactive in exacting a deliciously macabre revenge. Upon reflection it's easy to remember what makes "The Match Factory Girl" special. Outinen puts in a brilliantly reserved performance - a stoic poker-face almost completely unreadable makes those rare moments when we're let in all the more rewarding. While Iris's inner life is mostly off limits one still feels a tremendous amount of intimacy in the time spent with her. The few pleasures she experiences, a beer in a cafe, and the dubious excitement of a one night stand, seem all the sweeter. Kaurismaki is best at tapping into the absurdity of "being cool," and his pessimistic sense of humor is usually masterful. The problem with "The Match Factory Girl" is that these sensibilities are pushed over the edge into Todd Solondz-misanthropy territory. It's obvious from the get-go that there's no hope for Iris, and if the game is rigged than why bother playing?

Suspiria

Dario Argento
1977
Second Viewing

I was surprised to find after re-viewing the best known of Dario Argento's nightmare fairy tales, that I much prefer both "Phenomena" (1985) and the more traditional slasher "Opera" (1987), to the first installment of his "Three Mothers" trilogy. Strange things begin happening the moment Suzy Bannion (Jessica Harper) arrives at a prestigious dance academy, as she's initially turned away in the middle of a downpour, and a fellow student is murdered in classic Argento fashion (thrown through multiple panes of glass, stabbed, and hung dramatically). Sinister events continue as Suzy falls ill due to a mysteriously enforced diet, and a plague of plump maggots rain from the ceiling - it becomes apparent that a malefic heart is at work deep within the school's walls. The film's stylistic hallmark is it's nauseating phantasmagoria of bright colors, which go a long way toward creating the fantastical and otherworldly feel of the dance academy. I'm particularly fond of the film's title card, a pulsating and glistening line of what appear to be prosthetic rubber letters against a black backdrop - a three dimensional title is definitely something you don't see too often anymore. While the aforementioned maggots, and final confrontation are pretty excellent, there's not quite enough scares here to make it really stand out. Most disappointingly, the famous scene in which Suzy's buddy Sara falls into a pit of razor wire doesn't come off as grisly as it should be due to murky cinematography and the visual distortion of color gels. Also, it seems that Argento shoots his wad too early with the film's opening murder scene, as no scene after really measures up.

The Wrestler

Darren Aronofsky
2008

Indie geek Darren Aronofsky's latest picture may be his least sensational and most grounded to date, which is a hoot considering it takes place in the spectacle-driven world of "pro" wrestling. It's been hailed as Mickey Rourke's big comeback picture even though he did a spectacular job in 2005's "Sin City." When all's said and done "The Wrestler's" a tough one to take seriously as it suffers from not one, but three painfully cliched conceits/tropes. The first and most ham-fisted of these cardinal sins is Marisa Tomei's stripper love interest Cassidy. No knock on Tomei, who does a great job with what she's given, but a stripper love interest? Seriously? The number two fumble comes from the completely expected, completely rote inclusion of Rourke's long suffering abandoned daughter and his pathetic attempts at reconciliation. Again, the acting from both Rourke and Evan Rachel Wood is fine work, but the scripting of this relationship is utter hacksville. Finally, Randy "The Ram" Robinson is saddled with a bum-ticker to put a little fire under the drama. Admittedly this isn't as cheesy a notion as the previous two, but there's something a little too expected about it. Any two of these cinematic stumbles would be cause for disapproval, but having all three in tandem goes a long way to ruining what pleasures "The Wrestler" does have to offer. Sure, Mickey Rourke is great. Sure, the milieu of the low-rent wrestling circuits provides some evocative atmospherics. But the almost never-ending deluge of stale plotting ruins the fine performances, clever touches of humor, and the sadness of faded glory.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Mike Leigh
2008

Regardless of whether you like the movie or not, you've got to be something of a gargoyle if you don't derive at least a little pleasure from Mike Leigh's latest and most cheerful film. This low-conflict character study should be required viewing for all film school students just itching to shoot shorts about hitmen, drug dealers, drug addicts, girls with anorexia, girls who commit suicide, and gangsters (all from the unlikely location of a dorm room). "Happy-Go-Lucky" examines elementary school teacher Poppy (effortlessly and effervescently played by Sally Hawkins) as she navigates relationships with her roommate, sisters, co-workers, and Scott, an emotionally damaged driving instructor. Poppy's perpetually sunny attitude is no escapist impulse, but is instead a brave strategy for dealing with life's many burdens. After all, she confronts the world's ugliness head on when dealing with a violent student, approaching a mentally disturbed vagrant, and in managing Scott's enraged meltdown. It's easy for a character this extreme to become a parody of herself, but Leigh maintains a firm hand in keeping things firmly rooted in reality. I was also pleased to find that the picture is more of a comedy than anything else, with it's fair share of outright gags, and by saturating Poppy's cheeky banter with plenty of sexual innuendo. One of 2008's best.

The Terror of Tiny Town

Sam Newfield
1938

A western with an all "little people" cast! Despite the diminutive players this clunker has very little to offer with a tired Yojimbo meets Romeo and Juliet plot, grating musical numbers, and the occasional taste of dopey comedy. If anything this picture will remind you of how funny ponies are - whether galloping across ranchland or just tied up outside, ponies are silly looking animals. I spent half the film trying to figure out if the intense prune wrinkles on the rival ranch owner were real or makeup, and was disturbed by the conclusion that they were in fact real. It's also a little surprising that given the decidedly light nature of picture, some characters are brutally gunned down and killed. This one's got novelty going for it, but little else.

Conquest of the Planet of the Apes

J. Lee Thompson
1972

Man, each successive installment in the Planet of the Apes franchise just seems to get better and better, and while this enthusiasm may be slightly exaggerated, there's no doubt that each of the first four films are solid worthwhile achievements. Cornelius and Zirra's kid Caesar grows up in a world where apes are pressed into servitude by a mostly unfeeling human race. Caesar is incensed at the injustice and uses his mega-smarts to start an ape revolution! The caveat responsible for the apes slavery, an interstellar plague that wiped out domesticated dogs and cats leaving a void soon filled by ape companionship (and then perverted into forced service), is a pleasantly weird stretch of the imagination, and the film gains much of it's appeal from the inherently inspiring quality underground freedom-fighters possess. Fur and feces fly as liberated apes take up arms and take over the concrete cities of men. A particularly excellent scene involves the apes distributing weapons secretly in a cellar, plotting their overthrow by night.

Zebraman

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Getaway

Sam Peckinpah
1972

Probably the most straightforward and easily digestible Peckinpah film I've seen to date. The boozy director takes a pretty basic story and spins it into cinematic gold through raw emotion and snarling animalistic perseverance. Bank robber Steve McQueen is released from jail when his main squeeze Ali McGraw sleeps with parole board bigwig Ben Johnson (an act that'll come to bite her in the ass). Johnson hires McQueen to pull a heist that goes sour, leaving Doc and his gal no choice but to stash the loot and evade a posse of gun-toting cronies, as well as a psychotic thug responsible for botching the robbery. This film may as well be an ode to the shotgun - with our hero defending himself and Ms. McGraw from harm by popping-off shell after shell from a 12-gauge pump. Car windshields, headlights, dry wall, and wood burst or splinter in slow-mo to a dizzying tune of destruction. The rocky relationship between Doc and Carol is understandably tense and with every harsh word, slap, and near death experience it's painfully believable that the couple could unravel at any moment. For all the macho male fun there's a real sensitivity to the way Peckinpah treats Doc's first day out of jail, with a joyous dive into a nearby river, and the awkward anxiety of the couple's first night together. There's some comic relief provided by wounded gunman Rudy as he accosts a rural veterinarian and his overripe wife (Sally Struthers!). The hapless husband soon becomes chauffeur and sad witness to his wife's all too willing seduction. It's may not be the most socially acceptable take on women psychology, but it's definitely good for a few yuks.

Phantom

F.W. Murnau
1922

This silent rarity from the famed director of "Nosferatu" (1922), F.W. Murnau, is of little interest, being mostly a cut -and-dried morality tale. City clerk Lorenz begins to spend above his means and covet fancy dames when a local bookstore owner claims his poems are genius and that his writing will surely bring him celebrity. The old man's judgement is flawed however as the poems are of little interest to the publisher, and thus Lorenz's debts escalate into a financial quagmire. With the help of his fallen sister and her petty-crook husband, Lorenz first borrows and then attempts to steal money from a beloved and wealthy aunt. Inevitably, things come to a predictably dreary conclusion that gives way to the naive hero's eventual redemption. The film's title refers to the fantastic vision Lorenz sees of a beautiful women driving a coach lead by snow-white horses. It's a metaphor for desire which is both fascinating and evocative, but is unfortunately buried in the morally black-and-white melodrama of long-suffering mothers on deathbeds, disgraced children, slippery hucksters, and busybody widows. For my money, "Sunrise" (1927) is a far more complex, satisfying, and enjoyable picture.

Ariel

Aki Kaurismaki
1988

"Ariel," the second installment in Kaurismaki's proletarian trilogy, continues in the same quirky stylistic vein as the previous "Shadows in Paradise," but also stretches the thematic content a bit by being something of a caper film as well. The local mine's just closed forcing Nordic bumpkin Taisto to empty his bank account and head to Helsinki in a permanently borrowed Cadaillac land-barge. He's divested of his money through naivety, and winds up living in a flophouse doing shitty jobs when work is available. An unfortunate revenge assault lands Taisto in prison, where he plots escape from the clink and Finland altogether with his newfound widow love interest. Matti Pellonpaa returns to the trilogy as Taisto's awkward and thuggish cellmate who's nearly catatonic exterior belies a psychotic rage beneath. The humor is as tight as ever, though the romantic angle comes off forced. The switch from down-and-out loser slice o' life to comedy crime film is a completely unexpected treat that manages to remain firmly affixed to Kaurismaki's trademark tone. Like "Shadows in Paradise" this one ends with an escape as well, albeit more desperate, and one is left to wonder if Finland can possibly be as soul-crushingly banal and depressing as the director's take on it.

The Wild Bunch

Sam Peckinpah
1969
Second Viewing

It may not be apparent on the surface, but I see Sam Peckinpah as the natural heir to John Ford in terms of Westerns. Each exemplified their respective cinematic zeitgeist - Ford, a holdover from the silent era with his static frames, macho humor, and earnest morality couldn't have been anymore "classic Hollywood." Meanwhile, Peckinpah with his gonzo violence, maniac anti-heroes, and roving-camera extremes would make a fine bratty poster child for the so called New Hollywood of the late 60's and 70's. "The Wild Bunch" put Peckinpah back on the map after a blackball period when he was shut out of films due to the debacle surrounding "Major Dundee" (1965), and from having been kicked off another picture. This neo Western is all blunt-force trauma with it's brick subtle metaphors and appalling humanity. The famous opening shot, children feeding giant scorpions to a swarm of fire-ants (and then setting the whole thing on fire) pretty much sums it up as the eponymous gang of crooks decide on a whim to turn a Mexican general's camp into a bloodbath of epic proportions. No matter how ghastly their sins, a charming, surprisingly vulnerable performance by William Holden, and a charismatic turn by Ernest Borgnine make these bloodthirsty rogues undeniably appealing. Forget the romantic notion of a quickly disappearing "old West," with it's freedom and lawlessness now anachronism - it's the cult of personality, the hero worship and star appeal that becomes most satisfyingly disturbing.

Beneath the Planet of the Apes

Ted Post
1970

It's sad to see how far production values dropped in the first sequel to this legendary franchise. The ape makeups come off even more rubbery, with awkward mouth movements and a plastic hardness less apparent in the original. Chuck Heston appears briefly in the beginning (as this one starts exactly where the last left off), and hands the reigns over to shameless Heston lookalike James Franciscus, who's crashed on the planet in nearly identical circumstances to Taylor. The satire of conflict between religion, politics, and militarism in ape society is painfully trite, but things get cooking once Brent stumbles onto a cave-dwelling race of bomb-mutated humans worshiping a golden doomsday nuke. In contrast to the lousy monkey masks the mutant makeups come off excellently, strongly suggestive of man-sized talking penises. Besides the makeup effects there are some baffling inconsistencies in the rest of the visual effects. Most strikingly is the quality difference between a shot in which a rift tears through the ground (a gorgeous matte and miniature shot), vs. one in which ridiculously animated lightning crackles over the barren landscape. While this sequel is definitely less monumental than it's forebear it does offer some solid sci-fi scripting and an adequate execution

House

Nobuhiko Obayashi
1977

Quite possibly the single weirdest picture I've seen to date. Ostensibly a play on the horror film, Nobuhiko Obayashi seems far more interested in creating a lysergic phantasmagoria of kitschy sets and liberally employing goofy pre-MTV music video effects. A gang of schoolgirls named for their singular personality traits (Melody plays instruments, Kung Fu knows Kung Fu), escape Tokyo for the countryside to an Aunt's mansion. Unfortunately for the gals, the Auntie is a sort of cosmic vampire/witch with her pulsating green-eyed fluffy white cat acting as hatchet man. The girls are picked off one by one in some of the strangest kill scenes imaginable: one girl is literally mauled to death by attacking mattresses, another is eaten alive by a hungry piano, and another is electrocuted by a rampaging light fixture. There's a little early Sam Raimi sensibility going on ("Evil Dead 2" (1987) in particular), but it's pushed way beyond the limits of reason and coherence. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to watch this movie high. Definitely worth a viewing if you ever get the opportunity.

Demons

Lamberto Bava
1985

For all intents and purposes Lamberto Bava's 80's fright flick is your standard (above average) zombie film. Most of the regular rules apply: bitten or scratched and you become one, they're only killed through serious physical trauma, and due to the last two reasons they proliferate like rats. A solid fun-times gore-fest, Bava's picture doesn't bother with needless and extraneous plotting or labored characterizations, but instead gets to the good stuff quick when a sneak-preview audience is forced to fight for their lives when folks start growing fangs, talons, and exploding face pustules. Lamberto is of course the son of Italian horror great Mario Bava, and this particular film boasts a "presented by Dario Argento" credit, but while some of the stylistic choices of these heavyweights are present in "Demons" none of the pretensions are (for better or for worse). Highlights include a hilariously stereotypical black brother, his two ladies, a katana-swinging motorcycle massacre, and a hapless gang of punk rock cokeheads. The shocks and kill scenes are fun and plentiful, and while the green slime spewing from the demons' mouths is a touch over the top, the practical makeup effects are a treat. Due to the film's slow start I was going to make some quip about how the slasher movie-within-the-movie would have been better viewing, but now I've got to eat those words.

Shadows in Paradise

Aki Kaurismaki
1986

Kaurismaki kicks off the first part of his proletarian trilogy with a socialist-grey Finland made of expansive landfills, alienating supermarkets, and existential confinement. It's also a romantic comedy. Laconic garbageman Nikander realizes he's no spring chicken when his longtime partner croaks in front of him on their trash route. In loneliness he reaches out to grocery-store cashier Ilona, who proves to be something of an expert at playing "hard to get." Theirs is a rocky romance beset by false starts and complicated by their respectively fierce individualism. It's no surprise that contemporary director Jim Jarmusch and Kaurismaki are buds as their stylistic sensibilities are nearly identical. Nikander's slicked-back chain-smoking cool and violent machismo are saved from cliche and made endearing by his diminutive size and pathetic situation. Ilona's about as warm as a glacier and friendly as a hornet's nest, but her unique looks (think heroin-chic with a boatload of freckles), difficult personality, and perennial hard luck make her an alluring male fantasy. The couple makes their grand getaway on a Soviet cruise-liner(?), but garbage water still smells once it's dried and rent is always due on the first. This is an ephemeral escape that raises more doubts and uncertainties than happily-ever-afters.

Dr. Akagi

Shohei Imamura
1998
Multiple Viewings

One of my favorite Japanese films by one of my favorite Japanese directors. Shohei Imamura's "Dr. Akagi" has it's titular crazy-legged physician running all over a rural war-weary Japan. In doc's neck of the woods every diagnosis is hepatitis, and this nasty ailment doesn't limit itself to the liver but is instead a monstrous metaphor for a society wracked by it's terminally ill military campaign. Akagi's surgeon pal has hepatitis in the form of morphine addiction, the military police have hepatitis in their bullying and abuse of prisoners, and even Akagi himself comes down with a slight case when his obsession to eradicate the root of the disease causes him to neglect his patients. This picture has one of the better jazz scores I've heard with an unforgettably wobbly theme that kicks in every time the good doctor scrambles from one house call to the next. Imamura sneaks in his recurring preoccupation with sex in the form of semi-reformed prostitute. Sonoko, who begins working as the doc's assistant, puts a human face on the film - outspoken in love and free in expressing emotion, she lights a small fire under Akagi's clinical humanism.

Showgirls

Paul Verhoeven
1995

My camp/kitsch obsessed sister made the whole family sit down and watch this notorious albatross together over the Thanksgiving holiday, and after viewing I can definitely say that it stands up to it's reputation as one of the worst movies ever made (in the best way possible). Respectable actors (mainly Gina Gershon and Kyle MacLachlan) come off as "in on the joke" hamming it up and reveling in all the sleaze, but the rest of the cast, Elizabeth Berkley included, play it painfully serious, providing some unintended(?) schadenfreude-tinged laughs. Say what you want about the cheese factor, but Verhoeven doesn't skimp on the flesh and shamelessness. Berkley's sex scenes and dances invariably involve a high and somewhat disturbing degree of thrashing, and when she's actually wearing clothes the wardrobe is jaw-droppingly tacky. Verhoeven's European status makes this gaudy take on the "American Dream" all the more rewarding. I couldn't see a U.S. director tackling the heights of bad taste with such a quixotic earnestness. In an age where Ashley Dupre, the hooker NY gov Spitzer was caught diddling, is now achieving minor celebrity, I find Berkley's steadfast determination to "keep her soul" by avoiding prostitution plain preposterous. The film makes the boundaries so hazy, and the lines so shaky, as to make any sort of moral question a flat tire.

Torn Curtain

Alfred Hitchcock
1966

This late Hitchcock picture dealing with Cold War espionage is practically handed it's element of suspense as Julie Andrews and Paul Newman are outed as spies in totalitarian East Germany. Despite the difference in time, no other Hitch film comes to mind that so starkly references the paranoia and persecution of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union under Stalin. Paul Newman proves a decent hero, but Julie Andrews comes up short as the ideal Hitchcock heroine - too plain-Jane in an underwritten role suited for a shallow blonde beauty. The singular highlight is the drawn-out murder of motorcycle thug Gromek who has the misfortune of meddling too closely in the couple's affairs. With the help of a stern underground house-frau the blue-eyed King of salad-dressing bludgeons, stabs, and eventually smothers this villain in a delightfully macabre and hackle-rasing battle of wills. After that, escape becomes the name of the game as the body is found and the dragnet tightens. "Torn Curtain" proves more spiritually and politically uplifting than most of Hitchcock's somewhat misanthropic ouvre as the resistance network of spies/citizens has the noble and hell-bent streak of undermining the government's iron fist at any cost.

Three Times

Hou Hsiao-Hsien
2005

A couple years ago I saw a rental copy of this film sitting ontop of my Grandpa's television. I had read about it and asked him what he thought. He furrowed his brow and like a good sport hesitantly told me that it was "interesting." The only Hou picture I've seen prior to this is "Millenium Mambo" (2001), a solid if slightly dull foray into disaffectedly "cool" Taiwanese 20-somethings solipsistically navigating newfound adulthood. This time around Hou takes on three different relationships in three different eras (hence the title). The first, a tale of longing set in the 60's, comes off as wannabe Wong Kar-Wai with long slow takes and fetishistic languor. The second segment, set in a turn of the century brothel, suffers grossly from the unnecessary pretension of replacing all dialogue with title cards a la silent cinema. The final section takes place in the present, and is similar in tone and content to "Millenium Mambo." A young photographer vacillates between two women, one of which is a seductive rock singer. This last portion is a little cringe-inducing with Hou's painfully tacky ideas of what's hip with the kids. There's a solid stylistic thread unifying the three parts but the film comes off as leaden and overwrought, neither beautiful, poignant, or poetic despite it's best efforts. A clunker indeed.

The Tomb of Ligeia

Roger Corman
1964

This is the second of Roger Corman's Poe films I've gotten the chance to see, and it holds up much better than "The House of Usher" (1960). Vincent Price reappears in the leading role, this time sensitive only to light as opposed to all stimuli, but also hopelessly enslaved to the memory of his deceased wive. A fateful encounter leads to a romance with wifey number 2, the Lady Rowina being eerily similar to dead Ligeia since both women are played by Elizabeth Shepherd. Despite his penny-pinching tendencies Corman manages to achieve a deliriously romantic sense of creepiness through atmosphere rather than flashy effects or snappy setpieces. Ligeia's blasphemous will to live is nicely complemented by references to Egyptian art - bringing some welcome notions of pagan immortality to the table. Hypnotism, slashed wrists, and a secret chamber (complete with sacrificial pyre!) spice up a pretty satisfying outing. It's worth noting that while Corman's "House of Usher" feels like little more than an exploitation quickie, this one feels genuinely closer to the tone of Poe's work.

Black Moon

Louis Malle
1975

Up until now every Louis Malle picture I've seen has been gangbusters, but this ludicrously indulgent Alice In Wonderland rehash is mostly tedious and uninteresting. The majority of the action revolves around a prim golden-haired lass navigating the absurd and surrealist mysteries of a provincial mansion with the encroaching specter of large-scale armed conflict uncomfortably seething in the background. An overweight and inelegant Unicorn, gangs of naked children tending hogs, and breast-fed old women are thrown in for color, but it all sounds better in print than in it's onscreen execution. Warhol film vet Joe Dallesandro is underused and leaves the screen with a whimper instead of the bang he deserves. Cathryn Harrison does her best as the Alice stand-in, with a mutable temperament, switching from innocent victim, to indignant snob, to motherly provider on a per-scene basis, yet no amount of lead actress bravado could get this lame duck off the ground. Based on all the great Malle films I've seen prior to this stinker I'm willing to give him a "get-out-of-jail free card" just this once.

Le the Right One In

Tomas Alfredson
2008

Not that it ever went out of style, but it appears the vampire film is on an upswing with HBO's decent series "True Blood," the upcoming "Twilight" adaptation (sure to be a hit with nerdy teenage girls) and this dandy of an import from Sweden. This one goes the arthouse route being shot mainly in excellent shallow-focus closeups and distant longshots, with a muted/measured color scheme. Bullied blonde moppet Oskar gains a much needed friend in the form of Eli (sounds like Elly not E-lie), who's just moved into his apartment building. Eli may be a vampire, but that doesn't stop them from "going steady." Scenes of violence and supernatural happenings are handled exceptionally well with the preteen vampire scuttling up walls, a woman massively combusting in a hospital bed, and an acid-burn suicide attempt. Even at it's most grandiose, gory, and wicked Alfredson plays his big setpieces with an amusing deadpan frankness. The film benefits from ambiguity with an easily interpretable, yet not overtly stated epilogue. This knife cuts both ways however, as the more in-your-face elements like a pride of crappy CGI housecats on the attack, and Eli lifting her dress to reveal a disturbing lack of genitalia, end up doing more harm than good to a generally excellent effort.

Street of Shame

Kenji Mizoguchi
1948

The final installment in the "Kenji Mizoguchi's Fallen Women" box is an accessible portrait of a gaggle of prostitutes living under the same brothel roof. This examination of the circumstances that have forced the hapless gals into hooking, and the psychological quirks developed as a result is framed with a political debate as to whether or not to outlaw the oldest profession in Japan. The sob stories on hand are effective but one dimensional - a prostitute works to support her sickly husband and child, another possesses a single minded drive to earn money as her current predicament is the result of family poverty, and the westernized brat refuses an invitation home when she realizes it's based less on familial love than on her father's desire to keep up appearances. The Mom and Pop proprietors of the best little whorehouse in Tokyo are pragmatic businessfolk, interested in the well-being of their charges as long as it contributes to the bottom line. They're an untrustworthy lot with their fuddy-duddie warmth belying a complete disinterest in the emotional life of the girls, and a careful eye on the iron-clad debt that keeps many of the girls in indentured servitude. Mizoguchi capably handles his favorite subject matter in this broad tragedy, but it lacks the righteous rage of the box's other entries.

A Face in the Crowd

Elia Kazan
1957

It's hard for me to dig on Elia Kazan what with his cowardly betrayal during the blacklist hearings, but historically he remains an undeniable cinematic heavyweight. "On the Waterfront" (1954) is an uncontested masterpiece, and "East of Eden" (1955) is nothing to sneeze at either, but this time around I found the heavy satire cloying, and the rise-and-fall narrative generally unsympathetic. Andy Griffith's braying media sensation 'Lonesome' Rhodes has the throaty roar of a busted engine, and his perpetual crowing quickly becomes fingernails-on-chalkboard shrill. This hard-drinking loose hipped country boy is more of a con-man than a folk-hero to begin with, just asking for his inevitable "Citizen Kletus" downfall. Patricia Neal provides the most interest with her square-jawed Southern sensibility at odds with her irrational (and self-desturctive) devotion to the Frankenstein's monster she's created. A pre-jowles Walter Matthau makes for the most interesting supporting character with his jaded television writer hopelessly pining after Neal. I've got to admit some surprise at not recognizing the majority of the supporting actors in this picture. Despite my ingrained distaste for Kazan on principle I've always been impressed by his treatment of character actors in smaller roles.

The Last Wave

Peter Weir
1977

Much like he would in 1985's Harrison Ford vehicle "Witness" (1985), Peter Weir employs an exotic and offbeat culture to color his drama. Whereas Ford lams it in Pennsylvania's Amish community, the lawyer at the center of "The Last Wave" deals with a group closer to Weir's own experience - urban Australian aboriginals. The picture maintains a degree of mystery and danger from the get-go, but the steadily spiraling cosmic freakout that ensues is enough to make Haruki Murakami smile. The use of water as apocalyptic agent is excellently conveyed in it's drearily constant menace. In the first few shots the dusty outback gets deluged before being pounded by fist-sized hail stones. Soon the downpour drifts to the city where it batters the windshields and roofs of Sydney's residents - and even more violently within the mind of hero Richard Chamberlain. Aboriginal lore gives the film a nice hook, but it's the visual treatment of the sullen tight-lipped natives that really ups the intrigue. It's a nicely offbeat film, but as far as Weir is concerned I still prefer "Picnic at Hanging Rock" (1975).

House of Usher

Roger Corman
1960

For cheapie studio American International Pictures, Roger Corman's take on the writing of Edgar Allan Poe (which would birth a cycle), is huge in budget with it's semi-lavish sets and real name actor in the form of Vincent Price. The great Richard Matheson pens an adequate feature-length screenplay from the short story, successfully incorporating new elements and ideas that gel with the original's spirit. Yet it remains fundamentally flawed with it's lack of action and proper atmosphere. Price has an undeniable screen presence, but his intendedly villainous Roderick Usher comes off as little more than a invalid sissy, and brylcreemed alpha male Mark Damon shows the charisma and acting chops of a lawn jockey. This leaves Myrna Fahey to put in the best turn with her wide-eyed bloody-clawed madness. Finally, the physicality of the slowly crumbling foundation is a powerful visual tool, but the lion's share of the effects budget clearly went into photographing the Usher mansion consumed in flames. It's an impressive ending to a mostly mediocre picture.

Women of the Night

Kenji Mizoguchi
1948

In a struggling and shamed postwar Japan, Kenji Mizoguchi illuminates the hardships that drive his nation's women onto nighttime streets, and the dangers of this desperate life. Unlike the culturally-loaded world of "Sisters of the Gion" (1936), the genteel traditions, costumes, and courtesies are replaced with the hardscrabble realities of syphilis, defilement, and unwanted pregnancies. Sisters Fusako and Natsuko are reunited after suffering their fare share of wartime heartbreak in the form of dead parents, dead offspring, and forced rape at the hands of soldiers. The girls try and stick to the straight and narrow despite these scars, but are pushed over the edge after one-too-many emotional disappointments. While not a true noir, the picture borrows some of the genre's touches with a nifty jailbreak from lady prison, angry hooker street beatdowns, and the downfall of a seedy drug-dealing businessman. Mizoguchi gets a lot of mileage out of the skin trade, but the sisters are left with short shrift in character development - Fusako's transformation from innocent to bad girl is too quick, and the seemingly steely Natsuko devolves into victimhood at the drop of a hat. I couldn't help but feel this picture predicted or inspired some of Seijun Suzuki's output, particularly in the angry unrepentant whores ("Gate of Flesh" 1964) and the squalid semi-surrealistic finale complete with a hefty dose of Christian imagery.

Together

Lukas Moodysson
2000

Before he made bleak films about preteen Russian prostitutes and desperate amateur pornographers, Lukas Moodysson made this much warmer, much fuzzier picture about a battered mother and her two children taking shelter in a hippy commune run by her brother. The colorful cast of social misfits and radicals include a self-proclaimed lesbian, her bitter ex-husband, their amusingly named child (Tet), a homosexual with a Prince Valiant 'do, an overly serious Marxist, a couple of die-hard crunchies, and gentle leader Goran, who provides a perpetual doormat for his sexually adventurous girlfriend. Visually, Moodysson employs a curious device where nearly every shot of the quasi-documentary camerawork involves a zoom. This aesthetic choice isn't nearly as dreadful as it sounds, lending additional quirk to an already uncommon picture. The abusive husband is given a fair shake, and despite his alcohol fueled fuck-ups, is presented as a three dimensional individual worthy of sympathy. While the mother begins to seriously enjoy her consciousness-expanding time at the commune, cozying up with her new lesbian pal, the children miss eating meat and loathe being driven to school in the stereotypically painted VW bus. There's a lot of great situational humor in the character interactions, starting with a bang when the camera reveals that one of the women is naked from the waist down during a house discussion about dishwashing (fungal infections are a bitch). The film's conflicts tend to wrap up a little too easily, but this remains an extremely pleasant and satisfying picture.

Family Plot

Alfred Hitchcock
1976

The last realized project by the Master of Suspense may not be considered among his finest, but it does have the same devilish sense of danger and black humor that many of his best films do. Fraud psychic Blanche (an easy on the eyes Barbara Harris) and her low-rent cabbie boyfriend (unlikely leading man George Lumely) do all they can to hoodwink little old ladies for extra loot when a whopper lands in their boat. All they need to do is track down jeweler/kidnapper Arthur Anderson (an exceptionally slippery William Devane) and his main squeeze (a two-Vicodin-too-many Karen Black). The film is part caper flick with high stakes ransoms, and part detective story with a mysteriously falsified grave marker. I remember reading (probably in Truffaut's famous interview book) that Hitchcock lamented the increasingly graphic depictions of sex and violence, as well as the use of courser language, in 70's cinema. However, Hitch seems to embrace these more risque elements with an unsubtly horny Babs Harris and some well placed cuss-words. The couples' parallel transgressions - petty scams vs. big time scores - pleasantly predicts Woody Allen's "Crimes and Misdemeanors" (1989), and despite it's generally lighter tone, it's one of the better of Hitchcock's minor works. It's nice to see that the old bulldog never lost his touch, even after a handful of late career disappointments.

Eaten Alive

Tobe Hooper
1977

Hooper's first directorial effort after his horror masterpiece "The Texas Chansaw Massacre" sees him returning to the fertile fields of rural psychos. Neville Brand runs a shabby motel deep in swamp country. When he's not mumbling to himself and scratching figures in a notepad, the wooden-legged nut feeds folks to the massive pet croc (from Africa!) on his property. This one gets off to a slow start with a by-the-books murder of a failed hooker, the evidence being promptly erased by Brand's reptilian garbage disposal. Luckily the picture picks up when a seemingly normal family is forced to bunk down in the menacing motel - the family dog has become crocodile chow, leaving their little girl traumatized. In private, the father proves to be a bonafide wackjob, and the mother a pill-popper. When the family's situation goes South, the daughter winds up beneath the motel porch hiding from a scythe wielding Brand. The sets are a touch wooden and the heavily colored lighting is tacky, but Hooper excels in instilling terror not from sudden scares, but in morbidly lingering on the horror of an unsound mind - the alien otherness of psychosis. The presumably animatronic crocodile prop works with varying success. At times it's terrifyingly large but appears comically small when the pooch gets mowed down. Top it off with Robert Englund (Freddy Kruger!) as the town stud and lots of lady toplessness and you've got a winning chiller.

Saw III

Darren Lynn Bousman
2006

After viewing the first three Saw installments I've come to the conclusion that while these films aren't particularly good, they are definitely addictive. So far number three has proved best in the franchise, being on par or better than the first, and far superior to part two. The hokey cops are finally done away with for the most part, as they're either violently dispatched or shoved deep in the background. Crazy grandpa Jigsaw is still kicking around with his ex-junkie sidekick, and cooks up another overly elaborate plan involving a dedicated doctor and a revenge obsessed father. This being a Saw film there's a surefire twist ending (a little more far-fetched than usual) and a handful of nutty traps. Thankfully Tobin Bell gets to chew up the screen a little more, and is more involved in the action, receiving some frontier medicine in the form of a power-drill trephined skull. Gore aside, the most rewarding element here is the rocky sensei/pupil relationship between Amanda and Jigsaw, one in which the learning curve is severely hampered by an inoperable brain tumor. The ice-locker trap is a complete throwaway, but the pig-slop one - in which a man risks drowning beneath frapped pork bits - sufficiently makes up for it. Unlike the first two efforts this one seems far less sequel friendly, which is definitely making me interested in "SAW IV." I'm ready for another dose of cheap cinema crack.

Sisters of the Gion

Kenji Mizoguchi
1936

The second film in the Criterion Eclipse "Kenji Mizoguchi's Fallen Women" box is the most well known, with it's debate on the Geisha profession in a rapidly modernizing and militarizing Japan. The titular sisters are day-and-night opposites with older sis Umekichi willing to forfeit financial gain in the name of personal satisfaction in a job well done. The younger Omocha, embittered by a profession she finds degrading (her name literally translates to "plaything"), opts to con her clients and fleece them for all she can. Like the character motivations in the prior "Osaka Elegy" (1936), Mizoguchi imbues a rare quality of complexity in the depiction of his Geishas' philosophies. While Umekichi's humanity and sympathy for her downtrodden patron makes her the more appealing of the two, her unthinking servile self-sacrifice ultimately paints her as a bovine rube. Omocha's conniving verges on villainous - plying men with drinks and meddling in Umekichi's affairs behind her back - but her final sickbed howl evokes a genuine agony leveled against her forced servitude. "Sisters of the Gion" is not a subtle picture in terms of structure and drama, but is a powerful provocation for a strongly traditional society in transition. With this film, Mizoguchi poses a question he does not intend to answer.