QUADROPHENIA (1979)
Directed by Franc Rodham
Starring: Phil Daniels, Leslie Ash, Phillip Davis, Mark Wingett, Ray Winstone, Sting
Many times on this blog, I've reviewed film that were adaptations. And, most of those times, I made the statement that I was unfamiliar with the source material and, therefore, couldn't say whether or not the film was a faithful adaptation.
This time, however, I'm extremely familiar with the source material: the classic 1973 rock opera by The Who, Quadrophenia. Depending on who you ask, it's either the seminal portrait of early '60s teenage angst, or an overblown love letter from The Who to themselves. Personally, I'm in the former category. It's one of my all-time favorite albums, painting a picture of a young man trying to find his way in a world he doesn't feel a part of. The album is not without its faults, though. Pete Townshend may be an amazing songwriter, but he's not the best storyteller. The album's story becomes somewhat muddled and confusing if listened to on its own. Thankfully, Townshend was probably aware of this, so the original issue of the album came complete with a short story and a photo book to help keep the listening audience from becoming too confused.
But where the album comes up short on plot, it more than makes up for musically and thematically. The protagonist, Jimmy, is a Mod in the early 60's who wants nothing more than to fit in with his Mod friends and engage in as much pill-fueled mayhem as possible. He also claims to suffer from multiple personality disorder (he calls himself "Quadrophenic," a play on "schizophrenic"), with each of his personalities represented by a musical theme, all of which pop up in different places on the album, and all meld together in the penultimate track, "The Rock."
Naturally, such a heady concept would be difficult to capture on film. So how does this adaptation measure up?
First of all, it should be noted that this film, oddly enough, is not a musical. Unlike the film version of The Who's previous rock opera Tommy, Quadrophenia eschews the "song and dance" style and instead opts for a more gritty, realistic approach. The songs from the album are treated more as mood music than anything else. It works well at some points, but the album is very synth-heavy. And seeing as how there were hardly - if any - synthesizers in early '60s rock n' roll, the effect can be very jarring at times. We go from scenes featuring rock bands in dingy clubs (and an appearance from The Who on Ready, Steady, Go! on the TV) to a much more modern soundtrack. Sometimes it works (such as with the acoustic number "I'm One"), and other times, it sounds much too advanced to fit into the world we're seeing on screen.
The story of Jimmy (Daniels) is much expanded on the screen. However, the focus of the film is less about Jimmy trying to fit in, and more about the rivalry the Mods had with Britain's other music-based movement of the time, the Rockers. Jimmy's old friend and neighbor Kevin (Winstone) is a Rocker, forcing him to choose sides between his old friend or his new friends. The other emphasis is on the drug-fueled mayhem, of which there is much. Amphetamines were the drug of choice for the Mods, so Jimmy spends much of the film running wild during the night and being sick and lethargic during the day. These two parts of Jimmy's life come to a head during a road trip to Brighton, where he and the other Mods start a full-scale riot when trying to accost a couple of Rockers who'd been harassing them. Jimmy and several others are arrested, including the coolest of the Mods, known simply as "Ace Face" (Sting). But Jimmy's parents get word of what happened (and find his stash of pills) and kick him out of the house. Jimmy quits his job, is rejected by his sweetheart and starts to rebel even against his friends. With more pills and a quart of gin, he hops the train back to Brighton, only to find out that the Ace Face he admired so much works as a bell boy at a posh oceanside hotel. Disillusioned with everything he though he believed in, he steals Ace's motor scooter and drives it off a cliff.
Where the album was more of a broad, abstract painting of a disaffected youth, the film gives us a more detailed portrait, not only of the character, but of the time. But unlike some other rock films, such as Pink Floyd: The Wall, this is not a literal interpretation. Liberties are taken with the character and the story, which isn't a bad thing. The original was pretty vague to begin with, so to have some of the gaps filled in help move things along quite well. However, there is one glaring omission: the aspect of Jimmy's split personalities. The idea is suggested by Jimmy's dad, but it's never expanded on. The only illness seems to be Jimmy's drug-induced paranoia, which eventually gets the best of him. The four themes from the album are still there, but in the context of the film, they don't mean anything. Again, they're just mood music. And that, along with the story possibilities lost with the omission of this plot point, seems like a huge waste.
That's not to say this is a bad film. It's actually quite a good one, with a lot to like. But fans of the album may find themselves disappointed in the final product. I would suggest to anyone who's not either heard the album or seen the movie to do both. They compliment each other well, each making up for the weakness of the other.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Day 84: 22 Short Films About Middle Earth
THE HOBBIT: AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY (2012)
Directed by Peter Jackson
Starring: Martin Freeman, Ian McKellen, Richard Armitage, Sylvester McCoy
Featuring appearances by: Christopher Lee, Hugo Weaving, Cate Blanchett, Andy Serkis, Elijah Wood, Ian Holm
Normally, the title of my reviews are taken from a line of dialogue in the film. But as I sat through The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, this joke, dumb though it may be, kept popping into my head. Why? Because the first hour or so of this marathon film is mostly backstory and exposition. One hour into a film called The Hobbit, and Bilbo Baggins (Freeman) has about 10 minutes of screen time. As if he's a bit player in his own movie.
And this brings me to my chief complaint about this film: it's long. Really long. I've sat through three-hour films before, and they're a crap-shoot. Either that three hours flies by because you're so entranced by what you're seeing, or your looking at your watch, wondering when the whole thing is going to be over. I was in the latter camp for this movie, though I didn't think I would be. After all, Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy is probably my favorite movie trilogy ever (yes, I even like it more than the original Star Wars trilogy). But the epic length was necessary for The Lord of the Rings in order to fit in as much from the book as possible. As a book, The Hobbit is a quarter of the length. How, then, will Peter Jackson expand it into three epic films?
By adding as much of Tolkien's Middle Earth mythos as possible.
J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle earth was not just contained in two books. He wrote volumes about the history and mythology of his make-believe world of elves, dwarves, men and hobbits. And Jackson draws from these other works as well, padding out a film that would have been perfectly entertaining at two hours, and instead ballooning it to three. Not all of the padding was done this way, but a majority of it was. As a result, when the film goes off on these tangents, it becomes unfocused, and left me looking at my watch.
But the preceding lengthy rant should not give you the idea that I hated this movie. Quite the opposite, in fact. I liked it quite a bit. When the film focuses on Bilbo and the band of dwarves, going off to reclaim their homeland, it's a funny, action-packed, entertaining piece of work. Almost like the best action films. Martin Freeman is wonderful as the young Bilbo Baggins, claiming the role as his own, and not trying to feed off Ian Holms' previous portrayal. Ian McKellen reprises his role as Gandalf the Grey, and picks up right where he left off from The Lord of the Rings. Richard Armatage plays the dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield, and does a fine job in the role, taking the part of the dwarves from merely comedy relief to actual, respected warriors. Probably for that reason, they decided not to give him the stereotypical bulbous nose and red cheeks some of the other dwarves had.
But the real star here is the country of New Zealand. Once again, Peter Jackson films his native land with a lush vibrancy usually reserved for nature documentaries. In fact, everything in this film looked amazing. Much has been made of the fact that Jackson shot the film at 48 frames per second (twice as fast as the standard 24 fps). The reasoning behind this was that it would reduce motion blur and make for a much crisper image, which is exactly what I saw. I understand, however, that this new technique didn't translate well to 3-D. But I didn't see it in 3-D (which I try to avoid whenever possible). My only concern was that it was going to look like the world's most expensive soap opera. But as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about.
If you are a die-hard Tolkien fan, you are absolutely going to love this movie. In fact, chances are good you've seen it multiple times by now (I love being so current). But the movie's length and tendency to wander may make it harder for casual fans, or those who had never read the book, to get into it. But if you've got the time for it, it's certainly worth a look.
Directed by Peter Jackson
Starring: Martin Freeman, Ian McKellen, Richard Armitage, Sylvester McCoy
Featuring appearances by: Christopher Lee, Hugo Weaving, Cate Blanchett, Andy Serkis, Elijah Wood, Ian Holm
Normally, the title of my reviews are taken from a line of dialogue in the film. But as I sat through The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, this joke, dumb though it may be, kept popping into my head. Why? Because the first hour or so of this marathon film is mostly backstory and exposition. One hour into a film called The Hobbit, and Bilbo Baggins (Freeman) has about 10 minutes of screen time. As if he's a bit player in his own movie.
And this brings me to my chief complaint about this film: it's long. Really long. I've sat through three-hour films before, and they're a crap-shoot. Either that three hours flies by because you're so entranced by what you're seeing, or your looking at your watch, wondering when the whole thing is going to be over. I was in the latter camp for this movie, though I didn't think I would be. After all, Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy is probably my favorite movie trilogy ever (yes, I even like it more than the original Star Wars trilogy). But the epic length was necessary for The Lord of the Rings in order to fit in as much from the book as possible. As a book, The Hobbit is a quarter of the length. How, then, will Peter Jackson expand it into three epic films?
By adding as much of Tolkien's Middle Earth mythos as possible.
J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle earth was not just contained in two books. He wrote volumes about the history and mythology of his make-believe world of elves, dwarves, men and hobbits. And Jackson draws from these other works as well, padding out a film that would have been perfectly entertaining at two hours, and instead ballooning it to three. Not all of the padding was done this way, but a majority of it was. As a result, when the film goes off on these tangents, it becomes unfocused, and left me looking at my watch.
But the preceding lengthy rant should not give you the idea that I hated this movie. Quite the opposite, in fact. I liked it quite a bit. When the film focuses on Bilbo and the band of dwarves, going off to reclaim their homeland, it's a funny, action-packed, entertaining piece of work. Almost like the best action films. Martin Freeman is wonderful as the young Bilbo Baggins, claiming the role as his own, and not trying to feed off Ian Holms' previous portrayal. Ian McKellen reprises his role as Gandalf the Grey, and picks up right where he left off from The Lord of the Rings. Richard Armatage plays the dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield, and does a fine job in the role, taking the part of the dwarves from merely comedy relief to actual, respected warriors. Probably for that reason, they decided not to give him the stereotypical bulbous nose and red cheeks some of the other dwarves had.
But the real star here is the country of New Zealand. Once again, Peter Jackson films his native land with a lush vibrancy usually reserved for nature documentaries. In fact, everything in this film looked amazing. Much has been made of the fact that Jackson shot the film at 48 frames per second (twice as fast as the standard 24 fps). The reasoning behind this was that it would reduce motion blur and make for a much crisper image, which is exactly what I saw. I understand, however, that this new technique didn't translate well to 3-D. But I didn't see it in 3-D (which I try to avoid whenever possible). My only concern was that it was going to look like the world's most expensive soap opera. But as it turns out, I had nothing to worry about.
If you are a die-hard Tolkien fan, you are absolutely going to love this movie. In fact, chances are good you've seen it multiple times by now (I love being so current). But the movie's length and tendency to wander may make it harder for casual fans, or those who had never read the book, to get into it. But if you've got the time for it, it's certainly worth a look.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Day 83: Do You Hear The People Sing?
LES MISÉRABLES (2012)
Directed by Tom Hooper
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Sacha Baron Cohen, Helena Bonham Carter, Aaron Tveit, Samantha Barks, Daniel Huttlestone, Colm Wilkenson
You're probably wondering why I haven't posted here in...*looks at watch*...five months. To be honest, I just lost interest in the project. I just couldn't find any movie that I really wanted to write about. What fun is it to watch the classics - films everyone knows are great - only to watch them and find out, surprise! they're great! Volumes have been written about them, so there's really nothing new I can bring to the discussion.
To be even more honest, there really hasn't been that much going on at the cinemas, either. Nothing that has been coming out for the last year or so has done much to pull me in or part me from my hard-earned cash. That is, until I saw the trailer for what is probably the most anticipated musical film adaptation in years: Les Misérables.
The first trailer I saw featured Anne Hathaway, head shorn and body beaten, playing Fantine and tearfully warbling through I Dreamed a Dream over a montage of images from the film. This did more than just pique my interest. Those images and that sound told me that I absolutely had to see this film. I swore I would see it on Christmas Day, the day it opened. But it turned out I had to work on Christmas, so I had to wait until the day after.
All of this can make it seem like I've seen the stage show hundreds of times and knew every song inside and out. But I haven't and I don't. I own the original Broadway soundtrack and came to love it very much, but I have yet to see the show on stage. And since the stage version was pretty much unknown to me, my knowledge of the story was incomplete. Most soundtrack versions were also incomplete, as the score features a lot of recitative (that is, talk-singing) between numbers. Album producers consider this nothing more than filler, so they don't include it, even though these sequences can contain key plot points. It should also be noted that I have yet to slog my way through all 1,463 pages of Victor Hugo's novel, though I have attempted it numerous times.
The story is, indeed, immense, spanning decades and involving a massive cast of characters. In fact, it's so immense, that I'd need a couple hundred pages to describe it all. If you've never seen the show or read the book, it concerns a man named Jean Valjean (Jackman), a convict turned upright citizen, and a police inspector named Javert (Crowe), who hunts him down to the ends of the earth for breaking his parole. Along the way, we see the plight of the lower rungs of society, from a prostitute (Hathaway) and her estranged daughter (Seyfried) (whom Valjean adopts as his own), to a pair of crooked innkeepers (Baron Cohen, Bonham-Carter), to a group of privileged university students who rebel against the government. All the while, the themes of sin, redemption, right and wrong and mercy versus the rigid arm the law are all explored.
The thing that I remember loving about the original soundtrack was the emotional arc of it. Most of that emotion was retained in this film version, though it was through a method that was very much unheard of in the realm of musical films: live singing. Every note of every song was filmed live on camera. This goes against the usual practice of recording the vocals weeks - even months - ahead of time, then having the actors mime to their own singing. Director Tom Hooper wanted the maximum amount of emotion from all his actors, and this was a downright revolutionary way to go about it. But the problem is, it doesn't always work. Don't get me wrong, there are times when it works wonderfully - especially, in I Dreamed a Dream, which is not only sung live, but done in one, long, heart-wrenching take, in which Anne Hathaway bears her very soul to the camera. But there are many times when it seems that the backing track (which was recorded later) seems to be playing catch-up to the actors' performances. The effect is like that of an orchestra without an conductor. Everyone is just reacting off of everyone else, thus the music can sound sloppy and unpolished at times. Granted, this may be what Hooper was going for, but the end result ends up sounding improvisational at best and unprofessional at worst.
As far as the vocal performances go, live singing doesn't leave any room for studio magic. I've already said that Anne Hathaway was wonderful, but so was Hugh Jackman. I knew he was a wonderful singer, after I saw his performance as Curly in Oklahoma! But I didn't know he had the range he has. His musical acumen really surprised me. The same could be said for Amanda Seyfried as Cosette and Eddie Redmayne as Marius. Both showed an incredible amount of musical talent, while not making the acting seem strained and over-reaching. The same cannot be said about Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham-Carter (Mr and Mrs Thenardier). They look and act as if they'd wandered off the set of Sweeney Todd just to ham it up for their roles in this film. But the most glaring miscast in the entire film was Russell Crowe as Javert. It's not that he lacks the gravitas required for the role - it's just that he lacks the musical chops. Les Miz is, more or less, an opera, but Crowe sings his part with a rock-and-roll baritone that seems extremely out of place. I'm sure there were more qualified actors who might have been considered for the role, and I think some more thought should have been given to them. Crowe seemed out of place the entire time.
But despite its flaws, the most important aspect of the story - the emotional arc - is left comepletely intact. The ending is one of the most bittersweet I have ever seen in any film. And believe me when I tell you that there was not a dry eye in the house, including mine. All the suffering and all of the sorrow finally finds closure, and all of the weary souls who had been trod upon from the beginning of the film find rest. And while the ending scene comes off as a bit overly-theatrical, the message of swords being beaten into plowshares is enough to make even a jaded film-school graduate tear up. And that takes some doing.
Directed by Tom Hooper
Starring: Hugh Jackman, Russell Crowe, Anne Hathaway, Amanda Seyfried, Eddie Redmayne, Sacha Baron Cohen, Helena Bonham Carter, Aaron Tveit, Samantha Barks, Daniel Huttlestone, Colm Wilkenson
You're probably wondering why I haven't posted here in...*looks at watch*...five months. To be honest, I just lost interest in the project. I just couldn't find any movie that I really wanted to write about. What fun is it to watch the classics - films everyone knows are great - only to watch them and find out, surprise! they're great! Volumes have been written about them, so there's really nothing new I can bring to the discussion.
To be even more honest, there really hasn't been that much going on at the cinemas, either. Nothing that has been coming out for the last year or so has done much to pull me in or part me from my hard-earned cash. That is, until I saw the trailer for what is probably the most anticipated musical film adaptation in years: Les Misérables.
The first trailer I saw featured Anne Hathaway, head shorn and body beaten, playing Fantine and tearfully warbling through I Dreamed a Dream over a montage of images from the film. This did more than just pique my interest. Those images and that sound told me that I absolutely had to see this film. I swore I would see it on Christmas Day, the day it opened. But it turned out I had to work on Christmas, so I had to wait until the day after.
All of this can make it seem like I've seen the stage show hundreds of times and knew every song inside and out. But I haven't and I don't. I own the original Broadway soundtrack and came to love it very much, but I have yet to see the show on stage. And since the stage version was pretty much unknown to me, my knowledge of the story was incomplete. Most soundtrack versions were also incomplete, as the score features a lot of recitative (that is, talk-singing) between numbers. Album producers consider this nothing more than filler, so they don't include it, even though these sequences can contain key plot points. It should also be noted that I have yet to slog my way through all 1,463 pages of Victor Hugo's novel, though I have attempted it numerous times.
The story is, indeed, immense, spanning decades and involving a massive cast of characters. In fact, it's so immense, that I'd need a couple hundred pages to describe it all. If you've never seen the show or read the book, it concerns a man named Jean Valjean (Jackman), a convict turned upright citizen, and a police inspector named Javert (Crowe), who hunts him down to the ends of the earth for breaking his parole. Along the way, we see the plight of the lower rungs of society, from a prostitute (Hathaway) and her estranged daughter (Seyfried) (whom Valjean adopts as his own), to a pair of crooked innkeepers (Baron Cohen, Bonham-Carter), to a group of privileged university students who rebel against the government. All the while, the themes of sin, redemption, right and wrong and mercy versus the rigid arm the law are all explored.
The thing that I remember loving about the original soundtrack was the emotional arc of it. Most of that emotion was retained in this film version, though it was through a method that was very much unheard of in the realm of musical films: live singing. Every note of every song was filmed live on camera. This goes against the usual practice of recording the vocals weeks - even months - ahead of time, then having the actors mime to their own singing. Director Tom Hooper wanted the maximum amount of emotion from all his actors, and this was a downright revolutionary way to go about it. But the problem is, it doesn't always work. Don't get me wrong, there are times when it works wonderfully - especially, in I Dreamed a Dream, which is not only sung live, but done in one, long, heart-wrenching take, in which Anne Hathaway bears her very soul to the camera. But there are many times when it seems that the backing track (which was recorded later) seems to be playing catch-up to the actors' performances. The effect is like that of an orchestra without an conductor. Everyone is just reacting off of everyone else, thus the music can sound sloppy and unpolished at times. Granted, this may be what Hooper was going for, but the end result ends up sounding improvisational at best and unprofessional at worst.
As far as the vocal performances go, live singing doesn't leave any room for studio magic. I've already said that Anne Hathaway was wonderful, but so was Hugh Jackman. I knew he was a wonderful singer, after I saw his performance as Curly in Oklahoma! But I didn't know he had the range he has. His musical acumen really surprised me. The same could be said for Amanda Seyfried as Cosette and Eddie Redmayne as Marius. Both showed an incredible amount of musical talent, while not making the acting seem strained and over-reaching. The same cannot be said about Sacha Baron Cohen and Helena Bonham-Carter (Mr and Mrs Thenardier). They look and act as if they'd wandered off the set of Sweeney Todd just to ham it up for their roles in this film. But the most glaring miscast in the entire film was Russell Crowe as Javert. It's not that he lacks the gravitas required for the role - it's just that he lacks the musical chops. Les Miz is, more or less, an opera, but Crowe sings his part with a rock-and-roll baritone that seems extremely out of place. I'm sure there were more qualified actors who might have been considered for the role, and I think some more thought should have been given to them. Crowe seemed out of place the entire time.
But despite its flaws, the most important aspect of the story - the emotional arc - is left comepletely intact. The ending is one of the most bittersweet I have ever seen in any film. And believe me when I tell you that there was not a dry eye in the house, including mine. All the suffering and all of the sorrow finally finds closure, and all of the weary souls who had been trod upon from the beginning of the film find rest. And while the ending scene comes off as a bit overly-theatrical, the message of swords being beaten into plowshares is enough to make even a jaded film-school graduate tear up. And that takes some doing.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Day 82: Are We Not Men?
ISLAND OF LOST SOULS (1932)
Directed by Erle C. Kenton
Starring: Charles Laughton, Bela Lugosi, Richard Arlen, Arthur Hohl, Kathleen Burke (as "The Panther Woman), Tetsu Komai, Leila Hyams
Every once in a while, I'll watch a film for the first time and realize it has influenced pretty much every aspect of my pop-culture world. Then it's as if I've been clued in to about a million in-jokes and references. Island of Lost Souls is one such film. Seriously, everyone from DEVO to Van Halen to Oingo Boingo was influenced by this film. It's been remade at least three times by directors who cite it as being one of the most influential they've ever seen. Every had anyone tell you, "The natives are restless?" This is where that came from.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
When a shipwrecked sailor named Edward Parker (Arlen) is found adrift, he is picked up by a ship transporting animals. He gets along well enough with the crew, particularly the amiable yet coy Montgomery (Hohl). However, when Parker slugs the ship's captain for his cruel treatment of a strange deck hand named M'ling (Komai), the captain vows revenge. He gets it when the ship makes its delivery - to another ship, in the middle of the ocean, no less. While the animals are being unloaded, the Captain conks Parker on the head and unloads him, too. A large man in a goatee (Laughton) protests, but the captain turns a deaf ear and sails on, leaving Parker behind. The large goateed man introduces himself as Dr. Moreau. He also re-introduces Montgomery and M'ling, who seem to work for the mysterious doctor. Moreau promises to return Parker to civilization first thing in the morning. However, being British and impeccably polite, he offers him dinner first. He also introduces him to Lota (Burke), one of the native women. Parker and Lota get on like Tarzan and Jane until they hear screams of agony coming from a nearby building that Lota dubs the "House of Pain." Parker investigates and finds Moreau and Montgomery vivisecting one of the beast-like natives without anesthesia. Parker tries to run, but runs into the native village. Right when they're about to tear him apart, Moreau appears with a gong, a gun and a whip. He screams, "What is the law?" One of the natives (Lugosi, credited as "The Sayer of the Law") repeats. "Not to spill blood. That is the law. Are we not men?" The other beast-men follow suit and Parker is spared, and spooked. He demands to be let off the island, but Moreau has other plans.
That's really all the plot synopsis you need, as a film like this one works best if you know very little going in. I've probably already said too much, but I refuse to spoil the ending.
Instead, I'll just talk about how out-of-the-loop I felt as I watched this film that has apparently been a favorite of film buffs for decades. Sometimes I'll come across such films, and they won't leave any lasting impact on me, or I'll find them overrated or just downright dull. That's not the case with Island of Lost Souls. It's wonderfully made, superbly acted and probably one of the creepiest films I've seen in a while. Charles Laughton was amazing as Doctor Moreau, playing the role more subtly than most actors of his day. On the opposite end of the spectrum was Bela Lugosi as the Sayer of the Law. He's not in the film very much, but toward the end he has a monologue when he and the other natives confront Moreau. And though it is very big and very over-the-top, it's probably one of the finest moments in Lugosi's career.
If you haven't guessed by now, the film was based on the H.G. Wells novel, The Island of Doctor Moreau, which as been made and re-made at least three other times. I've never seen them, but I've read about them. And if the reviews are any indication, this is the superior film version of the story, though Wells was very vocal about his dislike of the film, claiming it was made purely for shock value, rather than touching upon the weightier subjects of eugenics and the role of morality in science.
And of course, he's right - about the shock value, that is. This film is pretty shocking, especially for 1932. It's dark and violent, but then again, so is the story. The characters are all men of action, not the kind who try to out-debate one another (though there is a bit of that, too). As it is, the story isn't weighed down by a ton of dialogue and runs by at a brisk 71 minutes. But the genius of this film is how much they were able to put into that brief running time. The subjects that Wells brings forth are touched upon, but by action rather than by words, and the audience will definitely be thinking about the film, and the questions it brings up, long after it's over. It shocks like a good horror film and it makes you think like a good science fiction film. That's a tough task to pull off, but Island of Lost Souls does it.
Directed by Erle C. Kenton
Starring: Charles Laughton, Bela Lugosi, Richard Arlen, Arthur Hohl, Kathleen Burke (as "The Panther Woman), Tetsu Komai, Leila Hyams
Every once in a while, I'll watch a film for the first time and realize it has influenced pretty much every aspect of my pop-culture world. Then it's as if I've been clued in to about a million in-jokes and references. Island of Lost Souls is one such film. Seriously, everyone from DEVO to Van Halen to Oingo Boingo was influenced by this film. It's been remade at least three times by directors who cite it as being one of the most influential they've ever seen. Every had anyone tell you, "The natives are restless?" This is where that came from.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
When a shipwrecked sailor named Edward Parker (Arlen) is found adrift, he is picked up by a ship transporting animals. He gets along well enough with the crew, particularly the amiable yet coy Montgomery (Hohl). However, when Parker slugs the ship's captain for his cruel treatment of a strange deck hand named M'ling (Komai), the captain vows revenge. He gets it when the ship makes its delivery - to another ship, in the middle of the ocean, no less. While the animals are being unloaded, the Captain conks Parker on the head and unloads him, too. A large man in a goatee (Laughton) protests, but the captain turns a deaf ear and sails on, leaving Parker behind. The large goateed man introduces himself as Dr. Moreau. He also re-introduces Montgomery and M'ling, who seem to work for the mysterious doctor. Moreau promises to return Parker to civilization first thing in the morning. However, being British and impeccably polite, he offers him dinner first. He also introduces him to Lota (Burke), one of the native women. Parker and Lota get on like Tarzan and Jane until they hear screams of agony coming from a nearby building that Lota dubs the "House of Pain." Parker investigates and finds Moreau and Montgomery vivisecting one of the beast-like natives without anesthesia. Parker tries to run, but runs into the native village. Right when they're about to tear him apart, Moreau appears with a gong, a gun and a whip. He screams, "What is the law?" One of the natives (Lugosi, credited as "The Sayer of the Law") repeats. "Not to spill blood. That is the law. Are we not men?" The other beast-men follow suit and Parker is spared, and spooked. He demands to be let off the island, but Moreau has other plans.
That's really all the plot synopsis you need, as a film like this one works best if you know very little going in. I've probably already said too much, but I refuse to spoil the ending.
Instead, I'll just talk about how out-of-the-loop I felt as I watched this film that has apparently been a favorite of film buffs for decades. Sometimes I'll come across such films, and they won't leave any lasting impact on me, or I'll find them overrated or just downright dull. That's not the case with Island of Lost Souls. It's wonderfully made, superbly acted and probably one of the creepiest films I've seen in a while. Charles Laughton was amazing as Doctor Moreau, playing the role more subtly than most actors of his day. On the opposite end of the spectrum was Bela Lugosi as the Sayer of the Law. He's not in the film very much, but toward the end he has a monologue when he and the other natives confront Moreau. And though it is very big and very over-the-top, it's probably one of the finest moments in Lugosi's career.
If you haven't guessed by now, the film was based on the H.G. Wells novel, The Island of Doctor Moreau, which as been made and re-made at least three other times. I've never seen them, but I've read about them. And if the reviews are any indication, this is the superior film version of the story, though Wells was very vocal about his dislike of the film, claiming it was made purely for shock value, rather than touching upon the weightier subjects of eugenics and the role of morality in science.
And of course, he's right - about the shock value, that is. This film is pretty shocking, especially for 1932. It's dark and violent, but then again, so is the story. The characters are all men of action, not the kind who try to out-debate one another (though there is a bit of that, too). As it is, the story isn't weighed down by a ton of dialogue and runs by at a brisk 71 minutes. But the genius of this film is how much they were able to put into that brief running time. The subjects that Wells brings forth are touched upon, but by action rather than by words, and the audience will definitely be thinking about the film, and the questions it brings up, long after it's over. It shocks like a good horror film and it makes you think like a good science fiction film. That's a tough task to pull off, but Island of Lost Souls does it.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Day 81: Pain Don't Hurt
ROAD HOUSE (1989)
Directed by Rowdy Herrington
Starring: Patrick Swayze, Sam Elliot, Ben Gazzara, Kelly Lynch, Jeff Healey (and his band), Terry Funk, Kevin Tighe, "Sunshine" Parker (not making that up), John Doe (that either)
A few months ago, I reviewed a documentary called Best Worst Movie, which posed a question: What is it about bad movie that we love so much? While Best Worst Movie was about Troll 2 and its legion of devoted fans, I have to say that I have just watched a movie that, while reviled by many critics, is loved by millions of movie fans. And that film is Road House.
The story is pretty darned simple. Dalton (Swayze) is a bouncer who goes from town to town taking work in various dive bars around the country. One night, Frank Tilghman (Tighe) approaches Dalton and asks for his help in cleaning up his bar, the Double Deuce. Dalton asks for, what I'm guessing, is an astronomical fee for a bouncer, but Tilghman pays it anyway, and Dalton makes good on his word, picking up and moving to a small town just outsideLos Angeles Kansas City. And all the famous Kansas City sites are there: the rugged mountains, the palm trees, the 101 freeway. Too bad they couldn't work in Kansas City's legendary Santa Monica Pier. I guess it just wasn't in the budget.
Anyway, Dalton immediately begins cleaning up the Double Deuce, starting with the corrupt bouncer (played expertly by pro wrestler Terry Funk) and a bartender who's been skimming out of the cash register. This causes them to join forces with Brad Wesley (Gazzara), who practically owns the entire town. And he's also a completely corrupt monster, as individuals who own entire towns tend to be. Wesley sends his goons to rough Dalton up, and he ends up needing stitches. At the hospital, he meets his officially designated love interest in Dr. Elizabeth Clay (Lynch), who offers Dalton medical assistance, dry humor and gratuitous nudity.
Wesley calls Dalton in an attempt to make peace by buying him out, which is how Wesley solves all his problems. But Dalton knows Wesley just wants to use him as one of his thugs, so he turns him down. Wesley then turns his attention to Dalton's friends, prompting Dalton to bring in some backup, in the form of old buddy and fellow cooler Wade Garrett (Elliot). And then the movie really begins.
I don't think I'm overstating it when I say that this movie is ludicrous in every way possible. The story is completely unbelievable, the characters - while attempting to be deep - are just one-dimensional cliches, and they don't even bother to try to make Southern California look like Kansas City. However, this mess, with all it's bar fights, rock music, gratuitous nudity and multiple explosions is a very entertaining mess. It plays almost like a parody of action films, with every element and action trope turned up to eleven.
However, when we see Sam Elliot ride up on his Harley, look up at the sign and call that place "The Double Douche," he gives the movie something it didn't have before: credibility. Simply put, he makes this movie. Not only that, but he makes me wish this movie was about Wade instead of Dalton, as his character, and Sam Elliot's portrayal of that character - are superior is just about every way to Patrick Swayze's. Not to take anything away from the late Mr. Swayze, but I have a hard time believing this guy had been in that many fights, let alone won most of them (yeah, yeah, "Nobody ever wins in a fight."). I don't have any trouble believing Sam Elliot is a bouncer, because he looks and acts like one.
His presence in the film is a bit like imagining if John Wayne had been in Blazing Saddles. The difference is Blazing Saddles was meant to be funny. I don't think that's what Road House was going for, so I can't exactly called it a success. Well, that's not entirely true. It sought to be entertaining, and it certainly pulled that off. It's just it took a very roundabout way to be entertaining.
Directed by Rowdy Herrington
Starring: Patrick Swayze, Sam Elliot, Ben Gazzara, Kelly Lynch, Jeff Healey (and his band), Terry Funk, Kevin Tighe, "Sunshine" Parker (not making that up), John Doe (that either)
A few months ago, I reviewed a documentary called Best Worst Movie, which posed a question: What is it about bad movie that we love so much? While Best Worst Movie was about Troll 2 and its legion of devoted fans, I have to say that I have just watched a movie that, while reviled by many critics, is loved by millions of movie fans. And that film is Road House.
The story is pretty darned simple. Dalton (Swayze) is a bouncer who goes from town to town taking work in various dive bars around the country. One night, Frank Tilghman (Tighe) approaches Dalton and asks for his help in cleaning up his bar, the Double Deuce. Dalton asks for, what I'm guessing, is an astronomical fee for a bouncer, but Tilghman pays it anyway, and Dalton makes good on his word, picking up and moving to a small town just outside
Anyway, Dalton immediately begins cleaning up the Double Deuce, starting with the corrupt bouncer (played expertly by pro wrestler Terry Funk) and a bartender who's been skimming out of the cash register. This causes them to join forces with Brad Wesley (Gazzara), who practically owns the entire town. And he's also a completely corrupt monster, as individuals who own entire towns tend to be. Wesley sends his goons to rough Dalton up, and he ends up needing stitches. At the hospital, he meets his officially designated love interest in Dr. Elizabeth Clay (Lynch), who offers Dalton medical assistance, dry humor and gratuitous nudity.
Wesley calls Dalton in an attempt to make peace by buying him out, which is how Wesley solves all his problems. But Dalton knows Wesley just wants to use him as one of his thugs, so he turns him down. Wesley then turns his attention to Dalton's friends, prompting Dalton to bring in some backup, in the form of old buddy and fellow cooler Wade Garrett (Elliot). And then the movie really begins.
I don't think I'm overstating it when I say that this movie is ludicrous in every way possible. The story is completely unbelievable, the characters - while attempting to be deep - are just one-dimensional cliches, and they don't even bother to try to make Southern California look like Kansas City. However, this mess, with all it's bar fights, rock music, gratuitous nudity and multiple explosions is a very entertaining mess. It plays almost like a parody of action films, with every element and action trope turned up to eleven.
However, when we see Sam Elliot ride up on his Harley, look up at the sign and call that place "The Double Douche," he gives the movie something it didn't have before: credibility. Simply put, he makes this movie. Not only that, but he makes me wish this movie was about Wade instead of Dalton, as his character, and Sam Elliot's portrayal of that character - are superior is just about every way to Patrick Swayze's. Not to take anything away from the late Mr. Swayze, but I have a hard time believing this guy had been in that many fights, let alone won most of them (yeah, yeah, "Nobody ever wins in a fight."). I don't have any trouble believing Sam Elliot is a bouncer, because he looks and acts like one.
His presence in the film is a bit like imagining if John Wayne had been in Blazing Saddles. The difference is Blazing Saddles was meant to be funny. I don't think that's what Road House was going for, so I can't exactly called it a success. Well, that's not entirely true. It sought to be entertaining, and it certainly pulled that off. It's just it took a very roundabout way to be entertaining.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
We've hit a snag...
Basically, it's a financial snag. The remainder of the films I have to watch for my Oscar Challenge are still in theaters. And at a minimum of $8 per ticket multiplied by 4 films, comes out to $32. And times are so tight right now, that I simply can't afford to go to the movies four times this week. So it's looking like another challenge has beaten me.
Story of my life...
Story of my life...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Day 80: If Only He Would Speak!
THE ARTIST (2011)
Directed by Michel Hazanavicius
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller, Joel Murray, Malcolm McDowell, Bill Fagerbakke
It would be easy to write off a (mostly) silent film made in 2011 as being nothing but a novelty, as if it were akin to Mel Brooks' 1976 silent movie called...well, Silent Movie. But The Artist is no spoof. This film is nothing less than a tribute to Hollywood's Golden Age.
George Valentin (Dujardin) is the biggest thing in Hollywoodland in 1927. One day, at the premiere of his latest swashbuckling adventure, he bumps into a young lady (and wannabe actress) named Peppy Miller (Bejo). George hams it up for the camera, giving Peppy an innocent peck on the cheek. Of course, this makes all the gossip rags, and everyone thinks something fishy's going on - especially his wife, Doris (Miller). George uses his winning personality and big toothy grin to smooth things over. But as George hits the set first thing Monday morning, he discovers that the extra he dances with in the film is none other than Peppy. George, obviously smitten, but still married, gives Peppy a few pointers and sends her on her way. Around that same time, his bosses introduce him to what they believe is the Next Big Thing: talking pictures. George thinks it's a novelty, but the studio brass think otherwise, and stop production on all silent films (including George's current production) and work only in sound. George is outraged and vows to complete the film himself as star, director, producer and writer. Unfortunately, the film tanks. George is broke, his wife divorces him and he moves into a tiny apartment with his faithful chauffeur Clifton (Cromwell). Meanwhile, Peppy Miller is almost as big as talking pictures themselves. As George's star fades, Peppy's does nothing but rise.
The advent of talking pictures - and the struggle of stars and studios alike to adapt to this new technology - is not a new subject. One of the most successful, of course, was Singin' in the Rain. But unlike that film, this one comes out at a time when the film industry is adjusting to the supposed death of physical film and the advent of digital film-making. There are several big-name holdouts who still cling to film (Spielberg, Scorsese, Tarantino), but the world is changing around them. Just recently, we may have experienced the final nail in the celluloid coffin with the bankruptcy of Kodak. Pretty soon, it's all going to be digital.
Was this film a sort of response to that? It sure seems like it, especially considering the manner in which the film was not only shot, but presented. First of all, it was shot on film, in the traditional 1.33:1 "Academy" aspect ratio - in other words, no widescreen. No zooms were used, as the technology didn't exist in 1927. The film was shot at 22 frames per second, so it would achieve that "sped up" look of a hand-cranked camera when sped up to the normal 24 frames per second. The film's soundtrack was played in mono (not stereo) from one speaker in the middle of the theater. All of this is may seem like boring technical babble, but it's not. The final result is the feel of watching an old silent movie in the 1920's. The only thing missing was the orchestra. And the hundreds upon hundreds of smokers. Maybe it's good that some things have changed.
All of this adds up to a great experience, to be sure. But as we learned from Avatar, that's only part of the equation. Without great performances and an endearing story, none of that technical stuff really matters. Thankfully, the story is very well told and the performances are amazing. It's certainly entertaining to see modern film actors - who have all be taught how to underplay their roles - suddenly gesticulating wildly and playing everything as big as possible, so as to be understood within the limitations of silent cinema.
And, to be honest, the film isn't entirely silent. There are a couple of key scenes in which sound plays a key role, but for the most part, you will be expected to pay attention to what's going on in front of you and - *gasp* - read a few inter-titles from time to time. That's a big thing to ask of the ADD generation. When I went to the cinema to watch the film, I was one of four people in a theater that sat 250. My spirits, which were lifted by an amazingly entertaining film with one of the best "Hollywood Endings" ever, suddenly fell when I noticed the 246 empty seats; and they sank even more when I realized that those other 246 people were probably having their senses assaulted a couple rooms over at The Phantom Menace: 3D, a movie that sucked the first time it came out in 2D. Now, I'm not trying to sound like a snob here, but I constantly hear people complain that movies these days are terrible. Really? Maybe we're just not looking in the right places. Maybe it's time for us to notice film-makers who are going off the beaten path and trying something new. And The Artist is a wonderful place to start.
Directed by Michel Hazanavicius
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell, Penelope Ann Miller, Joel Murray, Malcolm McDowell, Bill Fagerbakke
It would be easy to write off a (mostly) silent film made in 2011 as being nothing but a novelty, as if it were akin to Mel Brooks' 1976 silent movie called...well, Silent Movie. But The Artist is no spoof. This film is nothing less than a tribute to Hollywood's Golden Age.
George Valentin (Dujardin) is the biggest thing in Hollywoodland in 1927. One day, at the premiere of his latest swashbuckling adventure, he bumps into a young lady (and wannabe actress) named Peppy Miller (Bejo). George hams it up for the camera, giving Peppy an innocent peck on the cheek. Of course, this makes all the gossip rags, and everyone thinks something fishy's going on - especially his wife, Doris (Miller). George uses his winning personality and big toothy grin to smooth things over. But as George hits the set first thing Monday morning, he discovers that the extra he dances with in the film is none other than Peppy. George, obviously smitten, but still married, gives Peppy a few pointers and sends her on her way. Around that same time, his bosses introduce him to what they believe is the Next Big Thing: talking pictures. George thinks it's a novelty, but the studio brass think otherwise, and stop production on all silent films (including George's current production) and work only in sound. George is outraged and vows to complete the film himself as star, director, producer and writer. Unfortunately, the film tanks. George is broke, his wife divorces him and he moves into a tiny apartment with his faithful chauffeur Clifton (Cromwell). Meanwhile, Peppy Miller is almost as big as talking pictures themselves. As George's star fades, Peppy's does nothing but rise.
The advent of talking pictures - and the struggle of stars and studios alike to adapt to this new technology - is not a new subject. One of the most successful, of course, was Singin' in the Rain. But unlike that film, this one comes out at a time when the film industry is adjusting to the supposed death of physical film and the advent of digital film-making. There are several big-name holdouts who still cling to film (Spielberg, Scorsese, Tarantino), but the world is changing around them. Just recently, we may have experienced the final nail in the celluloid coffin with the bankruptcy of Kodak. Pretty soon, it's all going to be digital.
Was this film a sort of response to that? It sure seems like it, especially considering the manner in which the film was not only shot, but presented. First of all, it was shot on film, in the traditional 1.33:1 "Academy" aspect ratio - in other words, no widescreen. No zooms were used, as the technology didn't exist in 1927. The film was shot at 22 frames per second, so it would achieve that "sped up" look of a hand-cranked camera when sped up to the normal 24 frames per second. The film's soundtrack was played in mono (not stereo) from one speaker in the middle of the theater. All of this is may seem like boring technical babble, but it's not. The final result is the feel of watching an old silent movie in the 1920's. The only thing missing was the orchestra. And the hundreds upon hundreds of smokers. Maybe it's good that some things have changed.
All of this adds up to a great experience, to be sure. But as we learned from Avatar, that's only part of the equation. Without great performances and an endearing story, none of that technical stuff really matters. Thankfully, the story is very well told and the performances are amazing. It's certainly entertaining to see modern film actors - who have all be taught how to underplay their roles - suddenly gesticulating wildly and playing everything as big as possible, so as to be understood within the limitations of silent cinema.
And, to be honest, the film isn't entirely silent. There are a couple of key scenes in which sound plays a key role, but for the most part, you will be expected to pay attention to what's going on in front of you and - *gasp* - read a few inter-titles from time to time. That's a big thing to ask of the ADD generation. When I went to the cinema to watch the film, I was one of four people in a theater that sat 250. My spirits, which were lifted by an amazingly entertaining film with one of the best "Hollywood Endings" ever, suddenly fell when I noticed the 246 empty seats; and they sank even more when I realized that those other 246 people were probably having their senses assaulted a couple rooms over at The Phantom Menace: 3D, a movie that sucked the first time it came out in 2D. Now, I'm not trying to sound like a snob here, but I constantly hear people complain that movies these days are terrible. Really? Maybe we're just not looking in the right places. Maybe it's time for us to notice film-makers who are going off the beaten path and trying something new. And The Artist is a wonderful place to start.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Day 79: No One Ever Asked Me What It Felt Like To Be Me
THE HELP (2011)
Directed by Tate Taylor
Starring: Viola Davis, Emma Stone, Bryce Dallas Howard, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Ahna O'Rilley, Allison Janey, Cicely Tyson, Sissy Spacek, Mary Steenburgen, Chris Lowell
A lot has already been said - and will continue to be said - about The Help. Of all the Oscar nominees for Best Picture (that I've yet seen), this one has garnered some of the most divisive reviews. Some say it's a wonderful drama about the plight of black housemaids in the South against the backdrop of the Civil Rights movement. Others say it's a slick, Hollywood treatment that glosses over the big issues while perpetuating negative racial stereotypes. So who's right? Let's find out.
The story centers around a black housemaid named Aibileen (Davis), who has dedicated her life to raising the babies of privileged white women. Every well-to-do family in the South in the had "colored help" to do all the domestic work. The only difference between this and slavery was that the workers were paid (though as little as possible). Aibileen is kind, courteous and does her job well. The story also centers on Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan (Stone), a forward-thinking writer who notices the plight of the women who basically raised her and her upper-middle-class white bridge club friends. Skeeter originally plans to seek Aibileen's advice while she writes her domestic advice column, but the more she learns about Aibileen - and remembers about her own housemaid Constantine (Tyson) - she decides to write a book about them, and tell their story to the world. Rounding out the cast, we have Hilly Holbrook (Howard) and her housemaid Minny Jackson (Spencer). Hilly is just about the most racist person you've ever met, and she frames more than one housekeeper for theft, just so she could get rid of them. She even drafted a proposal that would require homes with "colored help" to have separate bathroom installed, bringing the Jim Crow laws into the home. Minny, who used to work for Hilly until she was fired (and takes some disgusting revenge), is loud, brash and takes no guff from anyone. And that's trouble for a black housemaid in Mississippi in the '60s. But a young outcast girl named Cecilia (Chastain) - who married into money - hires Minny, and is completely naive as to how proper white Southern girls are supposed to treat "the help."
There's a lot going on in this movie, but to make a long story short: Aibileen and Minny are mad as hell and they're not going to take it anymore. They (reluctantly) agree to help Skeeter write her book, knowing that it could cost them their jobs, and even their lives, if they were found out.
This film touches on a lot of important issues about how whites treated blacks in the post-Civil War South. The status quo of "seperate but equal" was maintained through fear. Those who tried to change it were dealt with violently (such as the Freedom Riders in Montgomery, Alabama). But The Help merely touches on the broader issue of the Civil Rights movement - it's simply a backdrop behind which the main story takes place. The closest any of the character come to getting involved is agreeing to participate in Skeeter's tell-all book (which is published anonymously). There is a mention made of the Medgar Evers assassination, but that's about as far as it goes. This film is character-driven, and so that's where the focus remains, which is, in this case at least, the right thing to do. We've invested so much time and attention to the characters that to shift focus would be confusing.
So now let's focus on what divided the audience. To those in the "wonderful drama" camp, I would have to say I agree. I was reminded of the works of Douglas Sirk - particularly Imitation of Life. It is a film that takes us on an emotional roller coaster; it's dark, funny, serious, and light all at different times. But it never makes fun of its subject. That is treated with the utmost respect.
To those in the "negative stereotype" camp: I think you're overreacting. Yes, Aibileen has times when she speaks like Mammy from Gone With the Wind, but she is an uneducated black housemaid living in Mississippi in the 1960's. How would you expect her to talk? Actually, how she speaks is far less important than what she says. While it may bring to mind some painful memories, Aibileen's affirmation to the toddler she watches over - "You is kind. You is smart. You is important" - is so much more touching the way Viola Davis delivers the line than if it were "cleaned up" by the P.C. police. And if you're concentrating this much on how the characters speak, I think you've missed the point of this movie entirely.
Needless to say, this film is one that people are going to talk about for years to come. But those who demonize it as if it were Birth of a Nation should take a closer look at it. It is the story of a group of women who finally get a voice, and who finally get to tell their story at a time when it most needed to be told.
Directed by Tate Taylor
Starring: Viola Davis, Emma Stone, Bryce Dallas Howard, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Ahna O'Rilley, Allison Janey, Cicely Tyson, Sissy Spacek, Mary Steenburgen, Chris Lowell
A lot has already been said - and will continue to be said - about The Help. Of all the Oscar nominees for Best Picture (that I've yet seen), this one has garnered some of the most divisive reviews. Some say it's a wonderful drama about the plight of black housemaids in the South against the backdrop of the Civil Rights movement. Others say it's a slick, Hollywood treatment that glosses over the big issues while perpetuating negative racial stereotypes. So who's right? Let's find out.
The story centers around a black housemaid named Aibileen (Davis), who has dedicated her life to raising the babies of privileged white women. Every well-to-do family in the South in the had "colored help" to do all the domestic work. The only difference between this and slavery was that the workers were paid (though as little as possible). Aibileen is kind, courteous and does her job well. The story also centers on Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan (Stone), a forward-thinking writer who notices the plight of the women who basically raised her and her upper-middle-class white bridge club friends. Skeeter originally plans to seek Aibileen's advice while she writes her domestic advice column, but the more she learns about Aibileen - and remembers about her own housemaid Constantine (Tyson) - she decides to write a book about them, and tell their story to the world. Rounding out the cast, we have Hilly Holbrook (Howard) and her housemaid Minny Jackson (Spencer). Hilly is just about the most racist person you've ever met, and she frames more than one housekeeper for theft, just so she could get rid of them. She even drafted a proposal that would require homes with "colored help" to have separate bathroom installed, bringing the Jim Crow laws into the home. Minny, who used to work for Hilly until she was fired (and takes some disgusting revenge), is loud, brash and takes no guff from anyone. And that's trouble for a black housemaid in Mississippi in the '60s. But a young outcast girl named Cecilia (Chastain) - who married into money - hires Minny, and is completely naive as to how proper white Southern girls are supposed to treat "the help."
There's a lot going on in this movie, but to make a long story short: Aibileen and Minny are mad as hell and they're not going to take it anymore. They (reluctantly) agree to help Skeeter write her book, knowing that it could cost them their jobs, and even their lives, if they were found out.
This film touches on a lot of important issues about how whites treated blacks in the post-Civil War South. The status quo of "seperate but equal" was maintained through fear. Those who tried to change it were dealt with violently (such as the Freedom Riders in Montgomery, Alabama). But The Help merely touches on the broader issue of the Civil Rights movement - it's simply a backdrop behind which the main story takes place. The closest any of the character come to getting involved is agreeing to participate in Skeeter's tell-all book (which is published anonymously). There is a mention made of the Medgar Evers assassination, but that's about as far as it goes. This film is character-driven, and so that's where the focus remains, which is, in this case at least, the right thing to do. We've invested so much time and attention to the characters that to shift focus would be confusing.
So now let's focus on what divided the audience. To those in the "wonderful drama" camp, I would have to say I agree. I was reminded of the works of Douglas Sirk - particularly Imitation of Life. It is a film that takes us on an emotional roller coaster; it's dark, funny, serious, and light all at different times. But it never makes fun of its subject. That is treated with the utmost respect.
To those in the "negative stereotype" camp: I think you're overreacting. Yes, Aibileen has times when she speaks like Mammy from Gone With the Wind, but she is an uneducated black housemaid living in Mississippi in the 1960's. How would you expect her to talk? Actually, how she speaks is far less important than what she says. While it may bring to mind some painful memories, Aibileen's affirmation to the toddler she watches over - "You is kind. You is smart. You is important" - is so much more touching the way Viola Davis delivers the line than if it were "cleaned up" by the P.C. police. And if you're concentrating this much on how the characters speak, I think you've missed the point of this movie entirely.
Needless to say, this film is one that people are going to talk about for years to come. But those who demonize it as if it were Birth of a Nation should take a closer look at it. It is the story of a group of women who finally get a voice, and who finally get to tell their story at a time when it most needed to be told.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Day 78: Tell Us A Story From Before We Can Remember
THE TREE OF LIFE (2011)
Directed by Terrence Malick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain, Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler, Tye Sheridan
Film criticism is usually based on snap judgments, as most critics are writing on a deadline. They can really only give first impressions. I, however, am only doing this because I feel like it. Therefore, I have a bit more time to think about the film before I write about it. And I needed that time.
Giving a synopsis of the plot may or may not help people to understand the film, but for the sake of completeness, here it goes:
Jack O'Brien (Penn) flashes back over his life growing up in Texas in the 1950's. He recalls the gentle treatment of his doting mother (Chastain) and his harsh, domineering father (Pitt). He remembers the rivalry between him and his younger brothers. He remembers his struggle with faith. He remembers openly rebelling against his parents, which disappointed his mother and angered his father. He remembers his father's disappointment with his own life choices, opting to work as an engineer, rather than pursue music for a living. As Jack remembers all of this, he eventually makes peace with his past.
That's the story. But that's not what the film is about.
Drawing inspiration from Koyaanisqatsi and 2001: A Space Odyssey, Terrence Malick offers an impressionistic portrait of a man (based on himself? Probably) struggling to come to terms with the questions that everyone asks themselves about life, death, the existence of God, faith, hatred, forgiveness, conflict and peace. And he does so not with a straightforward narrative, but with a view from the outside looking in. He backs up to look at the Big Picture, even opening with a verse straight out of the Book of Job. As if answering the question before we even ask, we see "Where were you when I laid the Earth's foundation?...while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" From there, we are taken to the deepest reaches of outer space. We go to the time of dinosaurs. We see all of history in a matter of minutes, but from there, we focus on this small town family, and on the trials and tribulations we all think are so important. Does God know or care about them? Does God even exist? These and other questions are touched upon.
However, unlike many films that ask the same questions, The Tree of Life doesn't attempt to answer them. In fact, Malick doesn't seem as interested in telling a story as he is in eliciting an emotional response. It plays like a symphony, with different movements, all as a part of something bigger. And just like classical music, your enjoyment of it is completely dependent upon the emotions you experience while watching.
This is not a traditional film, and therefore, it is not easy to say whether or not it was a good film in the traditional sense. Whether or not you enjoy it will depend entirely upon what kind of mood you're in when you watch it. However, there are some concrete things that can be said about it. For one thing, the cinematography is amazing. In fact, it's some of the best I've ever seen. Every single frame of this film was a work of art. The visual effects during the "Space Opera" sequences are absolutely breathtaking. They were done by Douglas Trumbull, who did the effects for 2001 and Blade Runner using all practical effects and zero CGI. However, those who go into this movie looking for a knock-out performance from either Brad Pitt or Sean Penn might be disappointed. Why they were cast is anyone's guess. Really, any actor could have played these parts. I particularly wondered why Sean Penn was cast, as he's hardly in the film at all. And when he's on screen, he speaks so softly, I could hardly hear him. It's kind of a waste of talent, if you ask me.
A movie like this is bound to polarize people; and it has, receiving both boos and cheers (and ultimately, the Palm D'or) at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival. Having watched it, I can see both sides of the argument, and I agree with both of them. Yes, this film is a brilliant work of art. Yes, this film is strange and almost inaccessible. But the best thing is to watch this film with absolutely zero expectations, either good or bad. It's hard to do, but it's the best way to go about it. Whatever your preconceived notions are, they will change by the time the end credits roll.
Directed by Terrence Malick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain, Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler, Tye Sheridan
Film criticism is usually based on snap judgments, as most critics are writing on a deadline. They can really only give first impressions. I, however, am only doing this because I feel like it. Therefore, I have a bit more time to think about the film before I write about it. And I needed that time.
Giving a synopsis of the plot may or may not help people to understand the film, but for the sake of completeness, here it goes:
Jack O'Brien (Penn) flashes back over his life growing up in Texas in the 1950's. He recalls the gentle treatment of his doting mother (Chastain) and his harsh, domineering father (Pitt). He remembers the rivalry between him and his younger brothers. He remembers his struggle with faith. He remembers openly rebelling against his parents, which disappointed his mother and angered his father. He remembers his father's disappointment with his own life choices, opting to work as an engineer, rather than pursue music for a living. As Jack remembers all of this, he eventually makes peace with his past.
That's the story. But that's not what the film is about.
Drawing inspiration from Koyaanisqatsi and 2001: A Space Odyssey, Terrence Malick offers an impressionistic portrait of a man (based on himself? Probably) struggling to come to terms with the questions that everyone asks themselves about life, death, the existence of God, faith, hatred, forgiveness, conflict and peace. And he does so not with a straightforward narrative, but with a view from the outside looking in. He backs up to look at the Big Picture, even opening with a verse straight out of the Book of Job. As if answering the question before we even ask, we see "Where were you when I laid the Earth's foundation?...while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" From there, we are taken to the deepest reaches of outer space. We go to the time of dinosaurs. We see all of history in a matter of minutes, but from there, we focus on this small town family, and on the trials and tribulations we all think are so important. Does God know or care about them? Does God even exist? These and other questions are touched upon.
However, unlike many films that ask the same questions, The Tree of Life doesn't attempt to answer them. In fact, Malick doesn't seem as interested in telling a story as he is in eliciting an emotional response. It plays like a symphony, with different movements, all as a part of something bigger. And just like classical music, your enjoyment of it is completely dependent upon the emotions you experience while watching.
This is not a traditional film, and therefore, it is not easy to say whether or not it was a good film in the traditional sense. Whether or not you enjoy it will depend entirely upon what kind of mood you're in when you watch it. However, there are some concrete things that can be said about it. For one thing, the cinematography is amazing. In fact, it's some of the best I've ever seen. Every single frame of this film was a work of art. The visual effects during the "Space Opera" sequences are absolutely breathtaking. They were done by Douglas Trumbull, who did the effects for 2001 and Blade Runner using all practical effects and zero CGI. However, those who go into this movie looking for a knock-out performance from either Brad Pitt or Sean Penn might be disappointed. Why they were cast is anyone's guess. Really, any actor could have played these parts. I particularly wondered why Sean Penn was cast, as he's hardly in the film at all. And when he's on screen, he speaks so softly, I could hardly hear him. It's kind of a waste of talent, if you ask me.
A movie like this is bound to polarize people; and it has, receiving both boos and cheers (and ultimately, the Palm D'or) at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival. Having watched it, I can see both sides of the argument, and I agree with both of them. Yes, this film is a brilliant work of art. Yes, this film is strange and almost inaccessible. But the best thing is to watch this film with absolutely zero expectations, either good or bad. It's hard to do, but it's the best way to go about it. Whatever your preconceived notions are, they will change by the time the end credits roll.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Day 77: Nostalgia Is Denial
MIDNIGHT IN PARIS (2011)
Directed by Woody Allen
Starring: Owen Wilson, Marion Cotillard, Rachel McAdams, Corey Stoll, Alison Pill, Tom Hiddleston, Kathy Bates, Kurt Fuller, Mimi Kennedy
Have you ever been stuck at a party, politely sipping a cocktail, while all around you, people you didn't know go on and on about subjects of little to no interest to you? You want to get away and ditch your cranberry apple-tini for a cold beer and find somebody to talk with about football, but you can't because, for some reason or another, you're stuck there, listening to a bunch of pretentious windbags go on and on about things you barely remember studying in college. That's what it was like sitting through this movie.
The story is simple enough. A writer named Gil (Wilson) and his girlfriend Inez (McAdams) are about to be married. They are on vacation with Inez' parents (Fuller and Kennedy) in Paris, a city Gil had visited many years earlier and is still enamored with. But Inez's friends rub Gil the wrong way, so he goes for a walk through Paris at night. When he gets lost, the clock strikes midnight, and a car pulls up, offering to give him a ride. Reluctantly Gil gets in, and they arrive a party. The strange thing is, everyone is dressed like it's 1927. What's more, a woman approaches him and introduces herself as Zelda Fitzgerald (Pill). He is then introduced to her husband, Scott (Hiddleston). Later on, he goes on to meet all his literary and artistic heroes, including Ernest Hemingway (Stoll) who agrees to show Gil's novel-in-progress to Gertrude Stein (Bates). While Stein and Picasso argue over the merit of the artists latest painting, Gil meets Adriana (Cotillard) and is immediately taken with her. Gil loves this idealized world so much, that he goes back every single night, leading his fiancee to believe that he's fooling around.
All of this sounds pleasant enough, but the story is brought to a screeching halt, as Allen feels the need to pepper his script with arguments and discussions about the merits of certain artists and writers. Maybe I'm just one of the ignorant, unwashed masses, but all of this art-speak and psychobabble went right over my head. In fact, it went so far over my head, that I got bored. The film is only 94 minutes long, but it felt like an eternity. Woody Allen seems to be only capable of writing one type of protagonist, which is always a caricature of himself. This time, Allen stays behind the camera, but Owen Wilson takes up the mantle of the neurotic writer wanting to see his art make a difference. And Wilson is actually rather convincing at playing a Woody Allen type - maybe even more so than Woody Allen.
In fact, I was so bored that, at one point, I was tempted to turn off the sound and just bask in the wonderful images of Paris that this film offers. The cinematography is absolutely amazing and the production and set designs are wonderful to behold. Also, it was a treat to see all of the famous writers and artists from the 1920's come to life. Of particular note were Corey Stoll as Hemingway, Kathy Bates as Gertrude Stein and a very vivacious Adrian Brody as Salvador Dali. We in the 21st Century will never know what these people were really like, but these interpretations were pretty close to the ones I had in my head.
This film basically boils down to being a self-insertion fantasy with some really great movie making skill behind it. But it gets bogged down in it's own self-importance. Allen seems to be more concerned with impressing the audience with his encyclopedic knowledge of Paris in the 1920s than with his skill as a film-maker. And that's sad, because Woody Allen has been making movies for over 40 years. We know how smart he is and how creative he can be. But we rarely see any real cinematic accomplishments from him. And here, he finally excels at being cinematic. But unfortunately, those accomplishments are overshadowed by his own ego.
So while this was a fine film to look at, it wasn't all that pleasant to sit through. I felt like it was made for a very select audience, and I wasn't part of it. But if lengthy discussions on early 20th Century art and literature are your thing, then this is the film for you.
Directed by Woody Allen
Starring: Owen Wilson, Marion Cotillard, Rachel McAdams, Corey Stoll, Alison Pill, Tom Hiddleston, Kathy Bates, Kurt Fuller, Mimi Kennedy
Have you ever been stuck at a party, politely sipping a cocktail, while all around you, people you didn't know go on and on about subjects of little to no interest to you? You want to get away and ditch your cranberry apple-tini for a cold beer and find somebody to talk with about football, but you can't because, for some reason or another, you're stuck there, listening to a bunch of pretentious windbags go on and on about things you barely remember studying in college. That's what it was like sitting through this movie.
The story is simple enough. A writer named Gil (Wilson) and his girlfriend Inez (McAdams) are about to be married. They are on vacation with Inez' parents (Fuller and Kennedy) in Paris, a city Gil had visited many years earlier and is still enamored with. But Inez's friends rub Gil the wrong way, so he goes for a walk through Paris at night. When he gets lost, the clock strikes midnight, and a car pulls up, offering to give him a ride. Reluctantly Gil gets in, and they arrive a party. The strange thing is, everyone is dressed like it's 1927. What's more, a woman approaches him and introduces herself as Zelda Fitzgerald (Pill). He is then introduced to her husband, Scott (Hiddleston). Later on, he goes on to meet all his literary and artistic heroes, including Ernest Hemingway (Stoll) who agrees to show Gil's novel-in-progress to Gertrude Stein (Bates). While Stein and Picasso argue over the merit of the artists latest painting, Gil meets Adriana (Cotillard) and is immediately taken with her. Gil loves this idealized world so much, that he goes back every single night, leading his fiancee to believe that he's fooling around.
All of this sounds pleasant enough, but the story is brought to a screeching halt, as Allen feels the need to pepper his script with arguments and discussions about the merits of certain artists and writers. Maybe I'm just one of the ignorant, unwashed masses, but all of this art-speak and psychobabble went right over my head. In fact, it went so far over my head, that I got bored. The film is only 94 minutes long, but it felt like an eternity. Woody Allen seems to be only capable of writing one type of protagonist, which is always a caricature of himself. This time, Allen stays behind the camera, but Owen Wilson takes up the mantle of the neurotic writer wanting to see his art make a difference. And Wilson is actually rather convincing at playing a Woody Allen type - maybe even more so than Woody Allen.
In fact, I was so bored that, at one point, I was tempted to turn off the sound and just bask in the wonderful images of Paris that this film offers. The cinematography is absolutely amazing and the production and set designs are wonderful to behold. Also, it was a treat to see all of the famous writers and artists from the 1920's come to life. Of particular note were Corey Stoll as Hemingway, Kathy Bates as Gertrude Stein and a very vivacious Adrian Brody as Salvador Dali. We in the 21st Century will never know what these people were really like, but these interpretations were pretty close to the ones I had in my head.
This film basically boils down to being a self-insertion fantasy with some really great movie making skill behind it. But it gets bogged down in it's own self-importance. Allen seems to be more concerned with impressing the audience with his encyclopedic knowledge of Paris in the 1920s than with his skill as a film-maker. And that's sad, because Woody Allen has been making movies for over 40 years. We know how smart he is and how creative he can be. But we rarely see any real cinematic accomplishments from him. And here, he finally excels at being cinematic. But unfortunately, those accomplishments are overshadowed by his own ego.
So while this was a fine film to look at, it wasn't all that pleasant to sit through. I felt like it was made for a very select audience, and I wasn't part of it. But if lengthy discussions on early 20th Century art and literature are your thing, then this is the film for you.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Day 76: How Can You Not Get Romantic About Baseball?
MONEYBALL (2011)
Directed by Bennett Miller
Starring: Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Wright, Kerris Dorsey, Chris Pratt, Stephen Bishop, Brent Jennings, Nick Porrazzo
I'll be honest, folks. I was going to start this review with a lengthy and detailed history of the Oakland Athletics, complete with footnotes, annotations and a video clip or two. Problem is, I'm not much of a baseball historian (not for the A's, anyway). Besides, this isn't a baseball blog. If it were, it would be full of lamentations and very harsh language, as I am a Cubs fan.
But on to the movie...
Moneyball differs from most baseball movies in that it doesn't necessarily focus on the players. Instead, our main man is Oakland A's General Manager Billy Beane (Pitt), a former hot-prospect-turned-Major-League-bust-turned-scout-turned-executive. He's coming off an impressive year that ended when the A's dropped American League Divisional Series to the Yankees, three games to two. On top of that, he's losing Johnny Damon, Jason Giambi and Jason Isringhausen. He and the brass try to figure out a way to rebuild and move on, but Billy insists they can't build a winning team on Oakland's meager budget. While on a trip to Cleveland to try to strike a deal for some unwanted players and extra cash, he meets a young man named Peter Brand (Hill), who the Indians brass always consult before saying yes or no to a trade. None of Beane's deals go through, so he approaches Brand and asks what he know that nobody else seems to know. Bean's philosophy is not one of on-field fundamentals, but of numbers. He places a high stake on a player's On-Base Percentage, saying that that the players who get on base the most (by hit, walk, or even hit by pitch - doesn't matter) are the key to winning games. Billy sees this as an opportunity to get some players on the cheap while bucking the system that baseball is built on. Needless to say, this doesn't sit well with his scouts or the team's manager, Art Howe (Hoffman). According to them, baseball is all about the fundamentals and intangibles. Billy insists it's all a numbers game. The two sides butt heads, and the A's fall to a losing record. But things start to turn around once the the two warring factions realize that both aspects of the game can be melded together.
It's risky to take something as beloved the Baseball Movie, and turn the attention from the players to the management. In other films, they're portrayed as uncaring monsters at worst and exposition-spouting caricatures at best. Here, we get a more realistic look inside the offices of Major League Baseball, and at a time when we see the game changing. It would be easy for the film to get bogged down in the "sabermetrics" (the statistical analysis of baseball that was pioneered with this team), but instead, we are shown what really goes into making a winning team. It's not all numbers, but then again, it's not all about the gameplay. Baseball is a game where even the best team can hit a slump and go from the top to the bottom of the standings in a month. But even the most unlikely team can build a streak that propels them to the top, as the Athletics did in 2002. This film shows us that the game is best played when these two schools of thought meet in the middle, one adjusting for the other as the situation warrants.
But again, this isn't a baseball blog, it's a movie blog. And this is one very well put-together movie. Director Bennett Miller mixes a cinema verite style with actual game footage for a very authentic feel, but he also moves more into the cinematic realm with several stylized slow-motion sequences during a key game against the Kansas City Royals. In one film, Miller shows us that he's capable of varying styles - a smart move when it's only your third feature.
Brad Pitt is pretty engrossing as Billy Beane. Earlier in the film, he reminded me very much of Jesse Eisenberg's portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network. The major difference between the two is that Beane ends up being a rather likable character, with a charming daughter (Dorsey) who he tries to see as often as he can. While these scenes aren't entirely necessary, they do give Billy a bit more of an emotional depth I suspect he wouldn't have had without them. Jonah Hill, usually content to play for laughs in gross-out comedies like Superbad, plays Brand as a low-key number cruncher with a passionate love for baseball. Philip Seymour Hoffman is equally good as A's manager Art Howe, who just wants to manage the team he's given without asking too many questions. Many of the film's scenes were shot in a very Robert Altman-esque style, with theatrical staging and overlapping dialogue, and it is an environment where an actor can get lost in a character. And in this case, I'm glad that happened. I'm glad that I saw Billy Beane and not Brad Pitt.
As I read back over this before hitting the "Publish" button, I realize that I, too, kind of dote about our National Pastime. It's good to know that in this age of statistical number crunching and figuring out a player's worth based on Slugging Percentage, WHIPs, ERAs and other various acronyms, we can still get excited about simply going to the ballpark to watch a game.
Directed by Bennett Miller
Starring: Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Wright, Kerris Dorsey, Chris Pratt, Stephen Bishop, Brent Jennings, Nick Porrazzo
I'll be honest, folks. I was going to start this review with a lengthy and detailed history of the Oakland Athletics, complete with footnotes, annotations and a video clip or two. Problem is, I'm not much of a baseball historian (not for the A's, anyway). Besides, this isn't a baseball blog. If it were, it would be full of lamentations and very harsh language, as I am a Cubs fan.
But on to the movie...
Moneyball differs from most baseball movies in that it doesn't necessarily focus on the players. Instead, our main man is Oakland A's General Manager Billy Beane (Pitt), a former hot-prospect-turned-Major-League-bust-turned-scout-turned-executive. He's coming off an impressive year that ended when the A's dropped American League Divisional Series to the Yankees, three games to two. On top of that, he's losing Johnny Damon, Jason Giambi and Jason Isringhausen. He and the brass try to figure out a way to rebuild and move on, but Billy insists they can't build a winning team on Oakland's meager budget. While on a trip to Cleveland to try to strike a deal for some unwanted players and extra cash, he meets a young man named Peter Brand (Hill), who the Indians brass always consult before saying yes or no to a trade. None of Beane's deals go through, so he approaches Brand and asks what he know that nobody else seems to know. Bean's philosophy is not one of on-field fundamentals, but of numbers. He places a high stake on a player's On-Base Percentage, saying that that the players who get on base the most (by hit, walk, or even hit by pitch - doesn't matter) are the key to winning games. Billy sees this as an opportunity to get some players on the cheap while bucking the system that baseball is built on. Needless to say, this doesn't sit well with his scouts or the team's manager, Art Howe (Hoffman). According to them, baseball is all about the fundamentals and intangibles. Billy insists it's all a numbers game. The two sides butt heads, and the A's fall to a losing record. But things start to turn around once the the two warring factions realize that both aspects of the game can be melded together.
It's risky to take something as beloved the Baseball Movie, and turn the attention from the players to the management. In other films, they're portrayed as uncaring monsters at worst and exposition-spouting caricatures at best. Here, we get a more realistic look inside the offices of Major League Baseball, and at a time when we see the game changing. It would be easy for the film to get bogged down in the "sabermetrics" (the statistical analysis of baseball that was pioneered with this team), but instead, we are shown what really goes into making a winning team. It's not all numbers, but then again, it's not all about the gameplay. Baseball is a game where even the best team can hit a slump and go from the top to the bottom of the standings in a month. But even the most unlikely team can build a streak that propels them to the top, as the Athletics did in 2002. This film shows us that the game is best played when these two schools of thought meet in the middle, one adjusting for the other as the situation warrants.
But again, this isn't a baseball blog, it's a movie blog. And this is one very well put-together movie. Director Bennett Miller mixes a cinema verite style with actual game footage for a very authentic feel, but he also moves more into the cinematic realm with several stylized slow-motion sequences during a key game against the Kansas City Royals. In one film, Miller shows us that he's capable of varying styles - a smart move when it's only your third feature.
Brad Pitt is pretty engrossing as Billy Beane. Earlier in the film, he reminded me very much of Jesse Eisenberg's portrayal of Mark Zuckerberg in The Social Network. The major difference between the two is that Beane ends up being a rather likable character, with a charming daughter (Dorsey) who he tries to see as often as he can. While these scenes aren't entirely necessary, they do give Billy a bit more of an emotional depth I suspect he wouldn't have had without them. Jonah Hill, usually content to play for laughs in gross-out comedies like Superbad, plays Brand as a low-key number cruncher with a passionate love for baseball. Philip Seymour Hoffman is equally good as A's manager Art Howe, who just wants to manage the team he's given without asking too many questions. Many of the film's scenes were shot in a very Robert Altman-esque style, with theatrical staging and overlapping dialogue, and it is an environment where an actor can get lost in a character. And in this case, I'm glad that happened. I'm glad that I saw Billy Beane and not Brad Pitt.
As I read back over this before hitting the "Publish" button, I realize that I, too, kind of dote about our National Pastime. It's good to know that in this age of statistical number crunching and figuring out a player's worth based on Slugging Percentage, WHIPs, ERAs and other various acronyms, we can still get excited about simply going to the ballpark to watch a game.
It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year...
So another long, self-inflicted hiatus comes to an end. And just in time for Oscar season! Last year, prior to the awards ceremony, I had seen only a handful of the ten Best Picture nominees, so I wasn't really in any position to offer my opinion on which one I thought should have won.
This year, I aim to change that.
This year, due to some strange, nebulous rule changes at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the number of Best Picture nominees has been determined to be at least five, but no more than ten films. Because of that, our final tally is nine (which they probably did just to make sure one of those animated films didn't get a nod. But that's a rant for another time). They are:
Moneyball
The Help
The Tree of Life
War Horse
Hugo
Midnight in Paris
The Artist
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
The Descendants
My goal is to watch them all before the ceremony on February 26th. Can I do it? Well...my original goal here was to watch 100 movie in 100 days. Then it became 100 films in a year. Due to Real Life happening (as Real Life tends to do), I didn't meet either of these goals. My track record isn't very good when it comes to meeting deadlines. But let's just take it one day at a time and see what happens.
This year, I aim to change that.
This year, due to some strange, nebulous rule changes at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the number of Best Picture nominees has been determined to be at least five, but no more than ten films. Because of that, our final tally is nine (which they probably did just to make sure one of those animated films didn't get a nod. But that's a rant for another time). They are:
War Horse
Hugo
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
The Descendants
My goal is to watch them all before the ceremony on February 26th. Can I do it? Well...my original goal here was to watch 100 movie in 100 days. Then it became 100 films in a year. Due to Real Life happening (as Real Life tends to do), I didn't meet either of these goals. My track record isn't very good when it comes to meeting deadlines. But let's just take it one day at a time and see what happens.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Day 75: I Don't Get That Feeling Filling A Cavity!
BEST WORST MOVIE (2010)
Directed by Michael Stephenson
What would you say is the worst movie ever made? Last week, I discovered my contender for that spot. But is there any movie you've ever seen that, despite its myriad flaws, you can't help but love it? For some, it's The Rocky Horror Picture Show, for others, Ed Wood Jr.'s Plan 9 From Outer Space (though I personally prefer Bride of the Monster. I'm a sucker for Bela Lugosi). For a good many people, that honor goes to Troll 2.
Made in 1989 by Italian director Claudio Fragasso and starring a group of Utah locals, Troll 2 has garnered the reputation of the "Worst Movie Ever Made," earning the "top" spot on IMDb's "Bottom 100" list at one point (as of today, it's still on the list at #76). It was never released in theaters, but instead went straight to video and HBO. Though the actors were all amateurs, there were a couple who entertained dreams of Hollywood super-stardom. When they saw the finished film, however, their hopes were dashed. Everyone agreed: this movie stinks.
However, the film was not a total loss. Years later, fans of the film held midnight screenings and even full-blown parties built around it. It's cult of fans are just as dedicated as any the Rocky Horror crowd could boast. So when word of this reached Michael Stephenson - who played the young Joshua Waits in Troll 2 - he decided to make a documentary about the fans.
Along for the ride, he brought George Hardy, who played his father in the film. George, an affable dentist now living in Alabama, is more than happy to join him. They round up the rest of the cast and even the director, and tour the United States and Canada, making appearances at screenings. And when word gets out that the cast and director will be there, the screenings sell out quickly.
This film touches on a lot of subjects, not the least of which is the effect that this new-found celebrity has on these yokels who appeared in a bad movie nearly 20 years earlier. George seems to embrace it at first, but after a disastrous trip to England (apparently, it's not as big a hit over there), he is brought back down to earth, realizing his place is in the dentist's chair, not on the big screen (though he wouldn't rule out doing another film). But George isn't the only eccentric in the cast. Don Packard, who played the store owner in the film, was on leave from a mental institution when he auditioned. Margo Prey, who played Diana Waits, has been caring for her ailing mother and hasn't acted in years (that whole scene looked like something out of a suburban Grey Gardens). But all of them (save Margo) got together for the screenings, and everyone had a great time.
But the question that they really only touch on is this: what is it about these movies that make us love them so much? On the surface, they're terrible, and yet they endear themselves to us. Well, I can't speak for Troll 2, as I've never seen it. But there are some turkeys that I love (including, but not limited to: Bride of the Monster, The Room, Hook, etc.). I can really only say that the reason I love them is either because 1) I loved them as a child and never really let go of that love or 2) There is a kind of naive enthusiasm behind them, where the film-makers may not have been talented, but they were sincere and were having fun. And if that fun and/or sincerity makes it to the screen, then they must have done something right. Even if they did end up making what amounts to an unintentional comedy.
You would think that everyone involved would be glad that their crappy little film has garnered such a cult following, but director Claudio Fragasso comes across as more than a little bitter when he finds out about his movie's status "Worst Ever." He argues that he made a good film, but the actors screwed it up. Or he blamed the language barrier. Or the crew. Or pretty much everyone but himself. Instead of saying, "I learned from my mistakes, and I can now watch Troll 2 and chuckle a little bit," he insists that his movie was a good one and all the critics are wrong. It's a surprisingly bitter note in an otherwise upbeat and strangely heartwarming movie.
But as good as this doc was, it doesn't make me want to watch Troll 2. Sorry.
Directed by Michael Stephenson
What would you say is the worst movie ever made? Last week, I discovered my contender for that spot. But is there any movie you've ever seen that, despite its myriad flaws, you can't help but love it? For some, it's The Rocky Horror Picture Show, for others, Ed Wood Jr.'s Plan 9 From Outer Space (though I personally prefer Bride of the Monster. I'm a sucker for Bela Lugosi). For a good many people, that honor goes to Troll 2.
Made in 1989 by Italian director Claudio Fragasso and starring a group of Utah locals, Troll 2 has garnered the reputation of the "Worst Movie Ever Made," earning the "top" spot on IMDb's "Bottom 100" list at one point (as of today, it's still on the list at #76). It was never released in theaters, but instead went straight to video and HBO. Though the actors were all amateurs, there were a couple who entertained dreams of Hollywood super-stardom. When they saw the finished film, however, their hopes were dashed. Everyone agreed: this movie stinks.
However, the film was not a total loss. Years later, fans of the film held midnight screenings and even full-blown parties built around it. It's cult of fans are just as dedicated as any the Rocky Horror crowd could boast. So when word of this reached Michael Stephenson - who played the young Joshua Waits in Troll 2 - he decided to make a documentary about the fans.
Along for the ride, he brought George Hardy, who played his father in the film. George, an affable dentist now living in Alabama, is more than happy to join him. They round up the rest of the cast and even the director, and tour the United States and Canada, making appearances at screenings. And when word gets out that the cast and director will be there, the screenings sell out quickly.
This film touches on a lot of subjects, not the least of which is the effect that this new-found celebrity has on these yokels who appeared in a bad movie nearly 20 years earlier. George seems to embrace it at first, but after a disastrous trip to England (apparently, it's not as big a hit over there), he is brought back down to earth, realizing his place is in the dentist's chair, not on the big screen (though he wouldn't rule out doing another film). But George isn't the only eccentric in the cast. Don Packard, who played the store owner in the film, was on leave from a mental institution when he auditioned. Margo Prey, who played Diana Waits, has been caring for her ailing mother and hasn't acted in years (that whole scene looked like something out of a suburban Grey Gardens). But all of them (save Margo) got together for the screenings, and everyone had a great time.
But the question that they really only touch on is this: what is it about these movies that make us love them so much? On the surface, they're terrible, and yet they endear themselves to us. Well, I can't speak for Troll 2, as I've never seen it. But there are some turkeys that I love (including, but not limited to: Bride of the Monster, The Room, Hook, etc.). I can really only say that the reason I love them is either because 1) I loved them as a child and never really let go of that love or 2) There is a kind of naive enthusiasm behind them, where the film-makers may not have been talented, but they were sincere and were having fun. And if that fun and/or sincerity makes it to the screen, then they must have done something right. Even if they did end up making what amounts to an unintentional comedy.
You would think that everyone involved would be glad that their crappy little film has garnered such a cult following, but director Claudio Fragasso comes across as more than a little bitter when he finds out about his movie's status "Worst Ever." He argues that he made a good film, but the actors screwed it up. Or he blamed the language barrier. Or the crew. Or pretty much everyone but himself. Instead of saying, "I learned from my mistakes, and I can now watch Troll 2 and chuckle a little bit," he insists that his movie was a good one and all the critics are wrong. It's a surprisingly bitter note in an otherwise upbeat and strangely heartwarming movie.
But as good as this doc was, it doesn't make me want to watch Troll 2. Sorry.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Day 74: Let Them Hate Me, So Long As They Fear Me
CALIGULA (1979)
Directed by Tinto Brass (credited for "Principal Photography") and Bob Guccione ("Additional Scenes")
Starring: Malcolm McDowell, Helen Mirren, Peter O'Toole, John Gielgud, Teresa Ann Savoy
I hate the way my mind works sometimes. I haven't made a post here in almost two whole months, as I've been moving cross-country and getting myself situated. When I remembered this little project of mine, I felt I couldn't just come back with any old film. No, I needed to make a splash. I needed to come back with something big.
And now, I'm wishing I hadn't.
I knew going in that this movie was going to bet a tough one. What else should I have expected from a film that Roger Ebert called "utterly worthless, shameful trash."? Just how tough it was going to be came as a surprise.
To truly understand this disaster, we have to go back to its very inception. See, back in the day, author and screenwriter Gore Vidal was working on a script for a film on the life of Caligula Caesar, based on an unmade TV mini-series by Roberto Rossellini. Of course, you can't make a movie without money, so Vidal went to Penthouse magazine founder and publisher Bob Guccione. And this was the film's most costly mistake. Guccione, naturally, wanted to sex up the script a bit, but he also wanted to make it more like the sword-and-sandal epics of the 50's and 60's. It was to be a spectacle of lavish proportions that would be a bit sexier than audiences of the time were used to. Guccione hired Tinto Brass to direct and the production would be designed by Fellini's art director Danilo Donati. Acting heavyweights Malcolm McDowell, Peter O'Toole and John Gielgud were hired. The production was to be begin in 1976 and was slated for a 1977 release. Sounds like any other production so far, right? Just go and make the movie.
Not so fast. Vidal rewrote the script five times, which delayed production; he was banned from the set for arguing with Brass. Maria Schneider, who had been cast as Drusilla, balked at the amount of nudity and sex in the film and was replaced by Teresa Ann Savoy. Brass' rough-and-tumble shooting style didn't allow Donati to finish his sets in time, which resulted in more script changes. Brass and Guccione would argue over the sexual content of the film so, of course, more changes and more delays. After principal photography was completed, Guccione took over post-production. He went back and shot several minutes of hardcore orgy footage (something he had not discussed with Brass), and basically took over the editing process himself. Vidal and Brass both disowned the film. And it didn't debut until 1979.
But I'm willing to bet that the process of making this film, as unpleasant as it was, was nothing compared to actually sitting through it. For the moment, I'm going to put the porno stuff aside and just focus on what a terribly sloppy movie this is. A lot of the blame for that has to go to Guccione himself, who was inexperienced at film-making of any kind. He chose shots that were out of focus. He chose takes of the actors giving extremely over-the-top performances. There is zero continuity. Nothing makes any sense whatsoever. The actors, for their part, give it their all, except for John Gielgud, who played Nerva. It is painfully obvious that he was just there for the paycheck. Though his death scene, where he had slashed his wrists in a bath, was very well-done. Maybe that's because I envied him at that point. Malcolm McDowell is simply recreating the role of Alex, from A Clockwork Orange, only in a toga instead of a codpiece. Peter O'Toole, who played Caligula's syphilis-ridden uncle Tiberias, gives one of the strangest performance I think I've ever seen. Rumors of him being drunk on the set are rampant, and I believe it. If I had to work on this movie, I'd be drunk on set, too.
Now this movie would have been bad enough as it is, but then there's the orgy scenes. There is nothing tasteful about them. It's just straight-up porn. And it's not even simulated, as more mainstream films usually do. It's all there and it's all real. And there's really no point to it. It doesn't move the story along (assuming this movie has a story) and it's not even very well made. It's...well, it's porn. The only difference is that the pizza guy and the pool cleaner are wearing sandals.
This is the first movie I've done for this project that has absolutely no redeeming qualities. And the thing is, it's not just bad - it's insulting. There is no excuse for this movie; it's not a "historical drama," or a "classical epic." It's not even a good porno! And yet it was made and marketed in such a way as to make the audience think it was all these things and more. "It wasn't just a movie, it was a cultural event! It broke down barriers! It was an act against censorship!" No. No, it wasn't. It wasn't any of those things. If anything, it was the single biggest case for censorship ever made. And it's not a terrible movie because it's a porno. It's a terrible movie for trying to tell the audience it was more than that; and for thinking that hiding behind respected actors and millions of dollars could make it anything more than it is.
But in the interest of saying something nice......the sets were good.
Directed by Tinto Brass (credited for "Principal Photography") and Bob Guccione ("Additional Scenes")
Starring: Malcolm McDowell, Helen Mirren, Peter O'Toole, John Gielgud, Teresa Ann Savoy
I hate the way my mind works sometimes. I haven't made a post here in almost two whole months, as I've been moving cross-country and getting myself situated. When I remembered this little project of mine, I felt I couldn't just come back with any old film. No, I needed to make a splash. I needed to come back with something big.
And now, I'm wishing I hadn't.
I knew going in that this movie was going to bet a tough one. What else should I have expected from a film that Roger Ebert called "utterly worthless, shameful trash."? Just how tough it was going to be came as a surprise.
To truly understand this disaster, we have to go back to its very inception. See, back in the day, author and screenwriter Gore Vidal was working on a script for a film on the life of Caligula Caesar, based on an unmade TV mini-series by Roberto Rossellini. Of course, you can't make a movie without money, so Vidal went to Penthouse magazine founder and publisher Bob Guccione. And this was the film's most costly mistake. Guccione, naturally, wanted to sex up the script a bit, but he also wanted to make it more like the sword-and-sandal epics of the 50's and 60's. It was to be a spectacle of lavish proportions that would be a bit sexier than audiences of the time were used to. Guccione hired Tinto Brass to direct and the production would be designed by Fellini's art director Danilo Donati. Acting heavyweights Malcolm McDowell, Peter O'Toole and John Gielgud were hired. The production was to be begin in 1976 and was slated for a 1977 release. Sounds like any other production so far, right? Just go and make the movie.
Not so fast. Vidal rewrote the script five times, which delayed production; he was banned from the set for arguing with Brass. Maria Schneider, who had been cast as Drusilla, balked at the amount of nudity and sex in the film and was replaced by Teresa Ann Savoy. Brass' rough-and-tumble shooting style didn't allow Donati to finish his sets in time, which resulted in more script changes. Brass and Guccione would argue over the sexual content of the film so, of course, more changes and more delays. After principal photography was completed, Guccione took over post-production. He went back and shot several minutes of hardcore orgy footage (something he had not discussed with Brass), and basically took over the editing process himself. Vidal and Brass both disowned the film. And it didn't debut until 1979.
But I'm willing to bet that the process of making this film, as unpleasant as it was, was nothing compared to actually sitting through it. For the moment, I'm going to put the porno stuff aside and just focus on what a terribly sloppy movie this is. A lot of the blame for that has to go to Guccione himself, who was inexperienced at film-making of any kind. He chose shots that were out of focus. He chose takes of the actors giving extremely over-the-top performances. There is zero continuity. Nothing makes any sense whatsoever. The actors, for their part, give it their all, except for John Gielgud, who played Nerva. It is painfully obvious that he was just there for the paycheck. Though his death scene, where he had slashed his wrists in a bath, was very well-done. Maybe that's because I envied him at that point. Malcolm McDowell is simply recreating the role of Alex, from A Clockwork Orange, only in a toga instead of a codpiece. Peter O'Toole, who played Caligula's syphilis-ridden uncle Tiberias, gives one of the strangest performance I think I've ever seen. Rumors of him being drunk on the set are rampant, and I believe it. If I had to work on this movie, I'd be drunk on set, too.
Now this movie would have been bad enough as it is, but then there's the orgy scenes. There is nothing tasteful about them. It's just straight-up porn. And it's not even simulated, as more mainstream films usually do. It's all there and it's all real. And there's really no point to it. It doesn't move the story along (assuming this movie has a story) and it's not even very well made. It's...well, it's porn. The only difference is that the pizza guy and the pool cleaner are wearing sandals.
This is the first movie I've done for this project that has absolutely no redeeming qualities. And the thing is, it's not just bad - it's insulting. There is no excuse for this movie; it's not a "historical drama," or a "classical epic." It's not even a good porno! And yet it was made and marketed in such a way as to make the audience think it was all these things and more. "It wasn't just a movie, it was a cultural event! It broke down barriers! It was an act against censorship!" No. No, it wasn't. It wasn't any of those things. If anything, it was the single biggest case for censorship ever made. And it's not a terrible movie because it's a porno. It's a terrible movie for trying to tell the audience it was more than that; and for thinking that hiding behind respected actors and millions of dollars could make it anything more than it is.
But in the interest of saying something nice......the sets were good.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Day 73: It's Only A Movie, Only A Movie, Only A Movie....
THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (1972)
Directed by Wes Craven
Starring: Sandra Cassell, Lucy Grantham, David Hess, Fred J. Lincoln, Marc Sheffler, Jeramie Rain, Gaylord St. James, Cynthia Carr, Marshall Anker, Martin Cove
By now, all of my readers (and I love all three of you) know how I feel about films that are hyped up beyond what they can possibly deliver. And this is one of those cases. Up until now, the only thing I knew about this film was the classic poster that claimed that this was no less than the most harrowing film you will ever sit through. And it really isn't. It is and exercise in extremely poor taste - and an effective one, at that - but as far as being scary? Not so much.
The story centers around two high school girls; Mari (Cassell) and Phyllis (Grantham) who go into the city to see a rock concert. While trying to score some grass, the come acrossBob Dylan Junior (Sheffler), a junkie who just busted out of prison with his brother Krug (Hess), child molester and all-around sex fiend Weasel (Lincoln) and slutty gun moll Sadie (Rain). The group drives the two girls out to the woods where they beat, rape and eventually kill them. In the ultimate ironic twist, the group find shelter for the night in the house where one of the girls lived. And once her parents find out what happened, they quickly and effectively plot revenge.
Now all of this sounds like typical horror/slasher/exploitation movie stuff, and it is. And, handled the right way, it can be plenty scary. But the way Craven directs this picture, you'd think it was a comedy. The soundtrack is upbeat, there are a couple of bumbling cops (Kove, Edwards) who provide comic relief, and the banter between Mari and her parents is like something out of a sitcom. About the only thing that's handled seriously are the most brutal scenes in the film. And even in those scenes, the actors playing the baddies act like they're in a comedy. And the effect is not so much scary as much as it is disturbing.
And this may have been what Wes Craven was going for, but there's not a lot of balance. We switch from one scene in which the girls are put through some of the most humiliating scenarios imaginable to another scene with the two Keystone Cops who get clue after clue after clue about the whereabouts of the girls, but can't put two and two together. We go from tragedy to comedy in a matter of seconds. And I don't know about you, but when I see a girl brutalized on screen, the last thing I want you to cut to is a scene where two cops try to hitch a ride on the roof of a chicken truck. Sorry, but I don't feel much like laughing after that.
About the only real tension we get in the movie is in the third act, when Mari's parents discover what happened to her. They quickly devise a plot almost as elaborate as Macauly Culkin's burglar traps in Home Alone. And they do it rather quickly, not taking any time to mourn their loss. Of course, where Home Alone was cartoony in it's violence, here we have the exact opposite. In this house, revenge is a dish best served with a chainsaw.
The Last House on the Left is an effective screamer, to be sure, but it is almost laughably uneven. There's no emotional arc. I guess that's hardly surprising for a film that was originally conceived as a hardcore porno version of Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring (!?). And it did make enough of an impact to get Wes Craven noticed. And as far as debut films go, I've seen worse. But it's not the harrowing experience the poster told me it would be. It was right about one thing, though: "It's only a movie." No more, no less.
Directed by Wes Craven
Starring: Sandra Cassell, Lucy Grantham, David Hess, Fred J. Lincoln, Marc Sheffler, Jeramie Rain, Gaylord St. James, Cynthia Carr, Marshall Anker, Martin Cove
By now, all of my readers (and I love all three of you) know how I feel about films that are hyped up beyond what they can possibly deliver. And this is one of those cases. Up until now, the only thing I knew about this film was the classic poster that claimed that this was no less than the most harrowing film you will ever sit through. And it really isn't. It is and exercise in extremely poor taste - and an effective one, at that - but as far as being scary? Not so much.
The story centers around two high school girls; Mari (Cassell) and Phyllis (Grantham) who go into the city to see a rock concert. While trying to score some grass, the come across
Now all of this sounds like typical horror/slasher/exploitation movie stuff, and it is. And, handled the right way, it can be plenty scary. But the way Craven directs this picture, you'd think it was a comedy. The soundtrack is upbeat, there are a couple of bumbling cops (Kove, Edwards) who provide comic relief, and the banter between Mari and her parents is like something out of a sitcom. About the only thing that's handled seriously are the most brutal scenes in the film. And even in those scenes, the actors playing the baddies act like they're in a comedy. And the effect is not so much scary as much as it is disturbing.
And this may have been what Wes Craven was going for, but there's not a lot of balance. We switch from one scene in which the girls are put through some of the most humiliating scenarios imaginable to another scene with the two Keystone Cops who get clue after clue after clue about the whereabouts of the girls, but can't put two and two together. We go from tragedy to comedy in a matter of seconds. And I don't know about you, but when I see a girl brutalized on screen, the last thing I want you to cut to is a scene where two cops try to hitch a ride on the roof of a chicken truck. Sorry, but I don't feel much like laughing after that.
About the only real tension we get in the movie is in the third act, when Mari's parents discover what happened to her. They quickly devise a plot almost as elaborate as Macauly Culkin's burglar traps in Home Alone. And they do it rather quickly, not taking any time to mourn their loss. Of course, where Home Alone was cartoony in it's violence, here we have the exact opposite. In this house, revenge is a dish best served with a chainsaw.
The Last House on the Left is an effective screamer, to be sure, but it is almost laughably uneven. There's no emotional arc. I guess that's hardly surprising for a film that was originally conceived as a hardcore porno version of Ingmar Bergman's The Virgin Spring (!?). And it did make enough of an impact to get Wes Craven noticed. And as far as debut films go, I've seen worse. But it's not the harrowing experience the poster told me it would be. It was right about one thing, though: "It's only a movie." No more, no less.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Day 72: It's Always the Same and It's Always Different
HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER (1986)
Directed by John McNaughton
Starring: Michael Rooker, Tom Towles, Tracy Arnold
Shot in less than a month in and around Chicago on grainy 16mm film on a budget of just over $100,000, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer follows the exploits of two friends - Henry (Rooker) and Otis (Towles) - who go on a killing spree around the Chicagoland area. There really is no rhyme or reason to their crimes. They kill a guy selling black-market TVs. They massacre an entire family. They'll shoot a guy on the side of they freeway just for kicks. Henry has been at the senseless murder game for quite a while, but Otis is new to it, and the thrill begins to go to his head. Blissfully unaware of all this is Otis' sister Becky (Arnold), who came to town to get away from her abusive husband. This unlikely trio is happy enough at first, but things get out of control very quickly.
This is an independent horror film that reminded me, in many ways, of Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Both were micro-budgeted films that focused on a group of isolated loners who love to kill people. Both proved that you don't need a gigantic budget to scare the crap out of an audience. And, probably most important, both are based on the exploits of real-life serials killers. Chain Saw was inspired by Ed Gein. Henry was inspired by Henry Lee Lucas, a killer from Texas who was convicted of eleven murders and suspected of dozens (maybe even hundreds) more.
One of the things I'm discovering is that horror films can be broken down into to two categories: the ones that are scary and the ones that are disturbing. Henry certainly falls into the latter category. No one ever jumps out at the camera or waits behind the corner in this film. What we get is a series of scenarios in which Henry takes Otis under his demented wing. We watch a monster create a monster, and the depths to which Otis sinks disgust even Henry. But Henry is no prize himself. He, too, is capable of the most depraved acts. He's just not as brazen about it. Most of what is disturbing about Henry goes on inside his own head. In what is probably the most brilliant directorial decision in the film, we occasionally hear the screams of Henry's victims, usually when he's getting ready to do hi thing. We don't flashback and actually see it, but there's really no need. And this way, we get a glimpse of his past in much more unique fashion. But despite what the title would have you believe, the film is not so much about Henry, nor is it truly a portrait of one man. It really is an ensemble piece. It doesn't even focus on Henry exclusively until the last few minutes of the film, and even then, it doesn't necessarily provide us with a "portrait." It's really more of a "snapshot."
As influential as this film is, it almost never saw the light of day. Director John McNaughton turned into his producers a two-and-a-half hour VHS copy of the film that had to be watched on a tiny monitor with barely audible sound. This was because he couldn't, for whatever reason, bring in the negatives to be processed. Needless to say, his producers were unimpressed, and the film was shelved for many years. When it was finally brought to light, the MPAA (remember them?) gave the film an X-rating. In fact, it was because of this film (and a few others) that the MPAA finally created the NC-17 rating for adults only films that were not of a pornographic nature.
And that last little bit of information should be enough to tell you whether or not this movie is for you. Personally, I found it more disturbing than outright scary, but that's actually the kind of horror I like. Anybody can make you scream, but it takes a certain kind of twisted mind to get under your skin. And Henry does just that.
Directed by John McNaughton
Starring: Michael Rooker, Tom Towles, Tracy Arnold
Shot in less than a month in and around Chicago on grainy 16mm film on a budget of just over $100,000, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer follows the exploits of two friends - Henry (Rooker) and Otis (Towles) - who go on a killing spree around the Chicagoland area. There really is no rhyme or reason to their crimes. They kill a guy selling black-market TVs. They massacre an entire family. They'll shoot a guy on the side of they freeway just for kicks. Henry has been at the senseless murder game for quite a while, but Otis is new to it, and the thrill begins to go to his head. Blissfully unaware of all this is Otis' sister Becky (Arnold), who came to town to get away from her abusive husband. This unlikely trio is happy enough at first, but things get out of control very quickly.
This is an independent horror film that reminded me, in many ways, of Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Both were micro-budgeted films that focused on a group of isolated loners who love to kill people. Both proved that you don't need a gigantic budget to scare the crap out of an audience. And, probably most important, both are based on the exploits of real-life serials killers. Chain Saw was inspired by Ed Gein. Henry was inspired by Henry Lee Lucas, a killer from Texas who was convicted of eleven murders and suspected of dozens (maybe even hundreds) more.
One of the things I'm discovering is that horror films can be broken down into to two categories: the ones that are scary and the ones that are disturbing. Henry certainly falls into the latter category. No one ever jumps out at the camera or waits behind the corner in this film. What we get is a series of scenarios in which Henry takes Otis under his demented wing. We watch a monster create a monster, and the depths to which Otis sinks disgust even Henry. But Henry is no prize himself. He, too, is capable of the most depraved acts. He's just not as brazen about it. Most of what is disturbing about Henry goes on inside his own head. In what is probably the most brilliant directorial decision in the film, we occasionally hear the screams of Henry's victims, usually when he's getting ready to do hi thing. We don't flashback and actually see it, but there's really no need. And this way, we get a glimpse of his past in much more unique fashion. But despite what the title would have you believe, the film is not so much about Henry, nor is it truly a portrait of one man. It really is an ensemble piece. It doesn't even focus on Henry exclusively until the last few minutes of the film, and even then, it doesn't necessarily provide us with a "portrait." It's really more of a "snapshot."
As influential as this film is, it almost never saw the light of day. Director John McNaughton turned into his producers a two-and-a-half hour VHS copy of the film that had to be watched on a tiny monitor with barely audible sound. This was because he couldn't, for whatever reason, bring in the negatives to be processed. Needless to say, his producers were unimpressed, and the film was shelved for many years. When it was finally brought to light, the MPAA (remember them?) gave the film an X-rating. In fact, it was because of this film (and a few others) that the MPAA finally created the NC-17 rating for adults only films that were not of a pornographic nature.
And that last little bit of information should be enough to tell you whether or not this movie is for you. Personally, I found it more disturbing than outright scary, but that's actually the kind of horror I like. Anybody can make you scream, but it takes a certain kind of twisted mind to get under your skin. And Henry does just that.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Day 71: Long Live The New Flesh
VIDEODROME (1983)
Directed by David Cronenberg
Starring: James Woods, Deborah Harry, Sonja Smits, Peter Dvorsky, Leslie Carlson, Jack Creley
Max Renn (Woods) owns and operates a seedy UHF station in Toronto called CIVIC-TV. With a name like that, you'd expect it to be a sort of public television affiliate, but instead, Max fills the Canadian airwaves with softcore porn and graphic violence. One fine day, his assistant Harlan (Dvorsky), by way of a pirate satellite dish, comes across an odd show called "Videodrome," in which a woman is beaten and tortured on a plain set - no plot, no context, no explanation. Of course, Max is thrilled by this concept, believing it to be the next big thing, because Max is a scumbag and is okay with that fact.
Max goes on television to defend his sleazeball antics, but is upstaged by the eccentric Professor Brian O'Blivion (Jack Creley), who appears via television...on television. He does this to prove his point that, someday, television will replace life as we know it. But Max couldn't care less, as he proceeds to bed the other panelist, pop-psychologist Nicki Brand (Harry). At his apartment, Nicki pops in a tape of "Videodrome" and is mesmerized by what she sees. Taking this as a sign, Max tries to find out as much about "Videodrome" as he can in a effort to make a deal with the producer. But the more he finds out about "Videodrome,"the more his world begins to collapse. He begins having wild hallucinations, not the least of which is a ten-inch vertical gash in his abdomen. His focus now switches to finding out what's causing the hallucinations, but he finds that the secret behind "Videodrome" isn't too far behind, either.
There's more - a lot more - about a government plot to purge North America of the freaks and perverts who feed on sex and violence, and a video librarian who reprograms Max to "accept his new flesh," but to go into more detail would take all night. It's an amazingly complex story that's been woven into 87 short minutes.
The whole concept centers around television and its control over us. Even in the early 1980's, this wasn't too far-fetched. But David Cronenberg takes things a step further: "Videodrome" is almost like a virus that invades the body of whoever watches it. The sickness becomes literal, and, in true Cronenberg fashion, it wreaks some rather gruesome havoc. The special effects, done by Oscar winner Rick Baker, are pretty impressive and stomach turning at the same time. They seem sort of dated by today's standards, but the practical effects also give off a sense of realism in a pretty unbelievable story.
Now, of course, there comes the debate as to whether or not this is a true "horror film." Personally, I would categorize it under "Science Fiction," but there are certainly many horror elements in the film, not the least of which are the various mutations Max goes through. Many have called David Cronenberg the master of "body horror," a sort of sub-genre that deals with disease and death. If horror preys on our fears of what we can't control, then the concept of our bodies turning against us is about as scary as anything. We may not be afraid of slashers, creepers or mythical monsters, but the minute our own bodies start acting funny, our fear of death surfaces. Besides, who says sci-fi can't also have a bit of horror mixed in (Alien, anyone)?
Videodrome was way ahead of its time, both in terms of vision and scope. It may not go for outright scares and screams, but it works on your mind rather than your nerves, which I've always found scarier.
Directed by David Cronenberg
Starring: James Woods, Deborah Harry, Sonja Smits, Peter Dvorsky, Leslie Carlson, Jack Creley
Max Renn (Woods) owns and operates a seedy UHF station in Toronto called CIVIC-TV. With a name like that, you'd expect it to be a sort of public television affiliate, but instead, Max fills the Canadian airwaves with softcore porn and graphic violence. One fine day, his assistant Harlan (Dvorsky), by way of a pirate satellite dish, comes across an odd show called "Videodrome," in which a woman is beaten and tortured on a plain set - no plot, no context, no explanation. Of course, Max is thrilled by this concept, believing it to be the next big thing, because Max is a scumbag and is okay with that fact.
Max goes on television to defend his sleazeball antics, but is upstaged by the eccentric Professor Brian O'Blivion (Jack Creley), who appears via television...on television. He does this to prove his point that, someday, television will replace life as we know it. But Max couldn't care less, as he proceeds to bed the other panelist, pop-psychologist Nicki Brand (Harry). At his apartment, Nicki pops in a tape of "Videodrome" and is mesmerized by what she sees. Taking this as a sign, Max tries to find out as much about "Videodrome" as he can in a effort to make a deal with the producer. But the more he finds out about "Videodrome,"the more his world begins to collapse. He begins having wild hallucinations, not the least of which is a ten-inch vertical gash in his abdomen. His focus now switches to finding out what's causing the hallucinations, but he finds that the secret behind "Videodrome" isn't too far behind, either.
There's more - a lot more - about a government plot to purge North America of the freaks and perverts who feed on sex and violence, and a video librarian who reprograms Max to "accept his new flesh," but to go into more detail would take all night. It's an amazingly complex story that's been woven into 87 short minutes.
The whole concept centers around television and its control over us. Even in the early 1980's, this wasn't too far-fetched. But David Cronenberg takes things a step further: "Videodrome" is almost like a virus that invades the body of whoever watches it. The sickness becomes literal, and, in true Cronenberg fashion, it wreaks some rather gruesome havoc. The special effects, done by Oscar winner Rick Baker, are pretty impressive and stomach turning at the same time. They seem sort of dated by today's standards, but the practical effects also give off a sense of realism in a pretty unbelievable story.
Now, of course, there comes the debate as to whether or not this is a true "horror film." Personally, I would categorize it under "Science Fiction," but there are certainly many horror elements in the film, not the least of which are the various mutations Max goes through. Many have called David Cronenberg the master of "body horror," a sort of sub-genre that deals with disease and death. If horror preys on our fears of what we can't control, then the concept of our bodies turning against us is about as scary as anything. We may not be afraid of slashers, creepers or mythical monsters, but the minute our own bodies start acting funny, our fear of death surfaces. Besides, who says sci-fi can't also have a bit of horror mixed in (Alien, anyone)?
Videodrome was way ahead of its time, both in terms of vision and scope. It may not go for outright scares and screams, but it works on your mind rather than your nerves, which I've always found scarier.
Down to the Wire...
Okay.
I've got just under three months to watch 30 films. Right now, I'm working full-time (or very nearly). I'm also planning a cross-country move. I probably won't have access to a computer for a while, once I get where I'm going. So my goal to watch 100 films in a year is in danger of not being reached. But dangit, I'm gonna try.
And so we plunge ahead into October, which, as we all know, ends with Halloween. That being the case, I'm going to watch nothing but horror films this month! I'm not worried about being scarred for life, since I'm already pretty scarred as it is.
I've got just under three months to watch 30 films. Right now, I'm working full-time (or very nearly). I'm also planning a cross-country move. I probably won't have access to a computer for a while, once I get where I'm going. So my goal to watch 100 films in a year is in danger of not being reached. But dangit, I'm gonna try.
And so we plunge ahead into October, which, as we all know, ends with Halloween. That being the case, I'm going to watch nothing but horror films this month! I'm not worried about being scarred for life, since I'm already pretty scarred as it is.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Day 70: For The Greater Good...
HOT FUZZ (2007)
Directed by Edgar Wright
Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Timothy Dalton, Jim Broadbent, Olivia Coleman, Paddy Considine, Rafe Spall, Martin Freeman, Bill Nighy, Cate Blanchett (uncredited), Peter Jackson (ditto)
Police Constable Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is the bright shining star of the London Police Department. In fact, he's so good, he's making the rest of the Metropolitan Police look bad. So while he's promoted to Sergeant, he is also transferred to the sleepy little village of Sandford, where there hasn't been a recorded violent crime for decades. The big-city cop has a hard time fitting in with the small-town force and it's laid back Chief Butterman (Broadbent) and action film loving son Danny (Frost). But when several citizen meet a string of spectacularly violent ends, Sergeant Angel suspects murder. However, the rest of force - as well as the rest of the town - just think it's a string of freak accidents. Sergeant Angel's number one suspect is the sleazy supermarket owner (Dalton), but knowing it and proving it are two different things.
The same team that brought us Shaun of the Dead now tries their hand at the action-buddy-cop-film. As with Shaun, it doesn't seek to make fun of the conventions of the genre, but rather plays them up for laughs in the way of a good-natured homage. The filmmakers are obviously fans, and it shows. There are references to nearly every cop movie out there, from the overt rip-offs of Point Break and Bad Boys II to more subtle references to Chinatown. But the film is more than just a string of pop culture references. It stands on its own two feet and puts its own spin on things. It even has a third-act shootout that rivals anything Michael Bay has put out.
Pegg plays Sergeant Angel as a sort of British equivalent to Joe Friday - a no-nonsense cop who just wants to get to the bottom of things. He plays everything by the book (literally - he carries it around in his patrol car with him) and has a hell of a time doing so with the lackadaisical force he's been partnered with. Nick Frost plays Constable Butterman with the same lazy joie-de-vivre as his character "Ed" in Shaun. However, in this film, PC Butterman looks up to Sergeant Angel as a mentor, who can teach him the finer things about police work, like how to jump through the air firing two guns at once. But the standout performance is Timothy Dalton's turn as the sleazy Simon Skinner, who runs the local supermarket. As soon as you see him, you know he's up to no good. There's not a lot in the way of mystery about him. But as I said before, part of the fun is trying to figure out how he's responsible.
And I'm going to leave it at that, as the end of this film has a pretty interesting twist that I don't want to give away. Let's just say that Skinner wasn't acting alone. At first, this big "twist" was a bit disappointing and more than a bit confusing, but what they do afterward makes up for it. It's certainly an ending you won't forget. But that's all I'm saying. Watch it for yourself!
Directed by Edgar Wright
Starring: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Timothy Dalton, Jim Broadbent, Olivia Coleman, Paddy Considine, Rafe Spall, Martin Freeman, Bill Nighy, Cate Blanchett (uncredited), Peter Jackson (ditto)
Police Constable Nicholas Angel (Pegg) is the bright shining star of the London Police Department. In fact, he's so good, he's making the rest of the Metropolitan Police look bad. So while he's promoted to Sergeant, he is also transferred to the sleepy little village of Sandford, where there hasn't been a recorded violent crime for decades. The big-city cop has a hard time fitting in with the small-town force and it's laid back Chief Butterman (Broadbent) and action film loving son Danny (Frost). But when several citizen meet a string of spectacularly violent ends, Sergeant Angel suspects murder. However, the rest of force - as well as the rest of the town - just think it's a string of freak accidents. Sergeant Angel's number one suspect is the sleazy supermarket owner (Dalton), but knowing it and proving it are two different things.
The same team that brought us Shaun of the Dead now tries their hand at the action-buddy-cop-film. As with Shaun, it doesn't seek to make fun of the conventions of the genre, but rather plays them up for laughs in the way of a good-natured homage. The filmmakers are obviously fans, and it shows. There are references to nearly every cop movie out there, from the overt rip-offs of Point Break and Bad Boys II to more subtle references to Chinatown. But the film is more than just a string of pop culture references. It stands on its own two feet and puts its own spin on things. It even has a third-act shootout that rivals anything Michael Bay has put out.
Pegg plays Sergeant Angel as a sort of British equivalent to Joe Friday - a no-nonsense cop who just wants to get to the bottom of things. He plays everything by the book (literally - he carries it around in his patrol car with him) and has a hell of a time doing so with the lackadaisical force he's been partnered with. Nick Frost plays Constable Butterman with the same lazy joie-de-vivre as his character "Ed" in Shaun. However, in this film, PC Butterman looks up to Sergeant Angel as a mentor, who can teach him the finer things about police work, like how to jump through the air firing two guns at once. But the standout performance is Timothy Dalton's turn as the sleazy Simon Skinner, who runs the local supermarket. As soon as you see him, you know he's up to no good. There's not a lot in the way of mystery about him. But as I said before, part of the fun is trying to figure out how he's responsible.
And I'm going to leave it at that, as the end of this film has a pretty interesting twist that I don't want to give away. Let's just say that Skinner wasn't acting alone. At first, this big "twist" was a bit disappointing and more than a bit confusing, but what they do afterward makes up for it. It's certainly an ending you won't forget. But that's all I'm saying. Watch it for yourself!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Day 69: Decadent, Immoral Western Filth!
THE ONION MOVIE (2008)
Directed by Tom Kuntz and Mike Maguire
Starring: Len Cariou; with Steven Segal, Gedde Watanabe, Michael Bolton, Ken Takamoto, Kate Fuglei, Ahmed Ahmed, others
If you own a computer that has access to the Internet, you know about The Onion. What started as a satirical newspaper publication on the University of Wisconsin campus has grown into “America’s Most Trusted News Source.” Strange, considering their banner headlines, regarding:
World Events: “German Jews Concerned About Hitler’s ‘Kill All Jews’ Proposal”
Politics: “New Medical Procedure Allows Dick Cheney to Feel Love”
Sports: “Soccer Officially Comes Out as Gay”
Religion: “Pope Condemns Three More Glands”
Local News: “Reganomics Finally Trickles Down to Area Man”
Sure, news parody has been done many times with Comedy Central’s The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and before that, HBO’s Not Necessarily the News (remember that one? No?) But all of them owe a big debt of gratitude to The Onion (who also owes a huge debt to Mad and National Lampoon and Saturday Night Live, but that’s an argument for another time).
It was only a matter of time before this last bastion of print media finally made its way to the Big Screen. Except, that time hasn’t come yet, since The Onion Movie was released direct-to-video.
Don’t expect much in the way of plot here. Where The Oinion’s web site focuses on spoofing not only the day’s events, but also the media that report them, The Onion Movie uses the news parody format as a springboard for sketch comedy, in the vein of Kentucky Fried Movie or The Boob Tube. What little plot there is centers on newscaster Norm Archer (Cariou) as he tries to deal with the corporate takeover of his newscast by Global Tetrahedron, who insists he shill for their new Steven Segal vehicle Cock Puncher. And to answer your first two questions: Yes, that really is Steven Segal, and no, he doesn’t fight roosters.
The sketches are pretty hit or miss. Among the highlights – an Armed Gunman who breaks into a bank and demands a job; A Goofus and Gallant-style training video for suicide bombers; The Bud Schwartz Celebrity Roast, where the roasters lack any kind of tact or subtlety; and, of course, the Cock Puncher trailer. Menachem Golan would be proud of that one.
The lowlights – A “whodunit” party kit that features a rape instead of a murder; a basketball player who blames Jesus for a lousy game; a man who buys a computer that becomes obsolete before he even gets it home (computer jokes never get old, do they?); and the “outtake reel” that features stuff “too extreme” to be included in the movie. So they wait till the very end to show a TV chef deep fry a kitten and a nun drinking…well, just think of the most disgusting thing you could ever imagine anyone drinking, and then multiply that by 100. It’s worse than that.
George Carlin said, “It is the job of every comedian to find out where the line is drawn and deliberately cross it.” The Onion, whether on the web or on film, certainly subscribes to that rule. Call me a prude if you want, but I actually think they’re funnier when they exercise a bit of discretion. If you’re genuinely good a being funny, then you don’t need to sink to the bottom of the barrel for laughs. Too many comedians do that already, and just because one is better at being disgusting than someone else doesn’t make them any less disgusting.
But this still doesn’t keep me from checking their website every day; first, for the news parodies, and second, to find out when Cock Puncher is coming out. That movie’s gonna rule!
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