Pedro Almodovar, Spain's reigning king of cinema, has made a very long and fruitful career out of subverting and subtly lampooning traditional morals, religion, sexuality, and family values. It seems implausible in today's more open political climate, but Almodovar was once an underground revolutionary when Spain still toiled under the thumb of the despotic rule of Francisco Franco. The director was a wanted man, as much for his subversive films as his open homosexuality. He has long been the champion of Spanish women, frankly portraying their secret pleasures, misdeeds, and heartbreaks. While the subject matter of his films has been considered worthy, his methods often are not. Displaying a joyous fondness for campy delivery, Almodovar has at times come under fire for his hyperbolic style, derided as amateur. I dunno, maybe his critics have a point. As for myself, I have been a fan of Almodovar's films, amateur delivery and all, for some time. Say what you will, critics, but no director aside from Krzysztof Kieslowski has ever wielded a camera with such complexity and raw devastation as Almodovar.
Volver (2006), like all Almodovar films, is principally concerned with sex and death, and the far-reaching effects those two can have. And like all his films, events are set in motion by sudden and violent tragedy. Like the trigger of a gun, 14-year-old Paula's accidental killing of the man she believes to be her father sets in motion an explosive chain of events that just might rip her mother Raimunda's (Penelope Cruz) family apart. Right on cue, Raimunda's mother Irene (beloved Spanish screen legend Carmen Maura) appears to Raimunda's sister Sole (Lola Duenas) to dispense some wisdom and clear up a few facts about the family's past. Problem is, Irene's been dead for four years, immolated in the same housefire that also took her husband's life. Is she a ghost? A hallucination? Or something else entirely?
While Raimunda revives the business for a struggling restaurant, and keeps everyone away from the nasty secret hiding in the freezer, Irene's spirit takes up residence in Sole's apartment. When Augustina, an old family friend, faces a diagnosis of terminal cancer, her own search for answers disturbs the skeletons in Irene's family closet. Faced with an agonizing decision, Irene's spirit is forced to divulge a devastation secret. Like any good secret, its revelation sheds more light than intended, and Raimunda's own sad story is finally revealed as well.
I know, I know. That's all very vague. But the film's power lies in its slow unraveling, until no stone is left unturned. Every frame of the film is packed with meaning, and Almodovar's skill is drawing it out one bit at a time. The ghost of Irene is really just the personification of the director's literary motif: misdeeds thought buried will eventually resurface, like a ghost returning to its old haunts. The title itself is a subtle double entendre: "volver" means "to return," much like Irene's spirit and the troubles of the past. But "volver" can also be the verb in "volver loco," meaning "to go crazy," which is of course the final result of a past never laid to rest.
While not as emotionally powerful as his All About My Mother (1999) nor as visually creative as Talk to Her (2002), I would argue that Volver is Almodovar's best film. Abandoning the campy aesthetic of his previous films, Almodovar goes right for the gut with his most gritty and realistic effort to date. He gets some help from a terrific ensemble cast, including an Oscar-nominated Penelope Cruz doing the greatest work of her career. As good as Cruz is, she's upstaged by Carmen Maura's portrayal of the multi-faceted Irene.
While Almodovar fans may be wondering where his trademark fantastic visuals and subtle surrealism have gone, I urge them to let Volver grow on them. Believe me, it is no less complex for being realistic and linear. In fact, I believe this allows Almodovar's story, his exploration of themes very close to his heart, to shine through in a way it never quite has before.
Storyline & plot: 10/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 10/10
The Reverend says: 9/10
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Pandorum
Other reviewers have disparaged Pandorum (2009) for being too derivative of a plethora of other genre staples, and having little room to be unique. You know what I say to that? They're absolutely correct. Any viewer well-versed in space scifi or action thrillers will certainly get more than one feeling of deja vu. A bunch of comparisons leaped to my mind during the course of the film. The most obvious of these is Alien (1979), but this comparison only holds up as far as the fact that Alien remains the template for all horror and thriller films set in space. Other more apt comparisons are The Descent (2005) and the LotR trilogy in terms of creature design, and The Road Warrior (1981), Resident Evil (2002), and The Wizard of Oz (1939) for plot elements. These analogies are all valid. The thing is, despite being a little muddled with cliches and pulled in too many directions, the film eventually delivers on its slow build with a white-knuckle final 20 minutes and a couple of twists, one only so-so, but one that I definitely did not see coming.
Corporal Bower (Ben Foster) awakes suddenly from suspended animation somewhere in the bowels of a dying spaceship. Suffering from memory loss as a side effect of hypersleep, Bower and his commanding officer, Payton (Dennis Quaid), attempt to piece together who and where they are, as well as their larger purpose out in space. It soon becomes clear that something disastrous has happened: the ship's main power is down, there's no communication from the flight crew, and Payton and Bower are unable to reach the bridge.
While Payton stays behind to serve as the navigation and communication link, Bower sets out for the ship's reactor, hoping to reboot the power systems and gain access to the bridge. It's here that the film gives way from subtle psychological horror to action thriller. At first Bower finds the ship a ghost town: a labyrinth of empty dark corridors. But he'll soon be running for his life from a band of hideous orc-like creatures, sticking to the shadows and racing against time to reboot the reactor before it cycles down for good. He gets a little help along the way from a rag-tag group of survivors: Manh, a member of the mission's agricultural department (portrayed by world champion kickboxer and mixed martial artist Cung Le), botanist, self-appointed keeper of the ship's biological specimens, and all-around hottie Nadia (Antje Traue), and the loathsome and mentally-unbalanced Leland, one-time cook.
During their mad dash to the reactor chamber, the survivors try to sort out the glaring questions. What are the creatures and where did they come from? What happened to the flight crew? What happened to the ship? And beyond those, what was their mission, where were they headed and where are they now?
I think this film's main problem is that director Christian Alvart is never quite sure what kind of film he's trying to make. He vacillates between psychological horror, creature scifi, and fast-paced action thriller. Any of these angles, properly developed, would have worked great, but Alvart's genre mash-up leaves something to be desired.
What Pandorum lacks in genre cohesion, though, it more than makes up for in some phenomenal sets and effects, and some very solid performances, led by the always powerful Ben Foster. The set design from Richard Bridgland and Bernhard Henrich is nothing short of amazing, intricate, and highly layered. Borrowing once again from Ridley Scott's Alien as well as The Matrix (1999), Bridgland and Henrich succeed in bringing the massive spaceship to life using an organic style, highlighting the ship's role as a living ecosystem. This set design echoes a style used to great effect in 1997's Event Horizon, another space horror directed by Pandorum's producer, Paul W.S. Anderson.
Speaking of The Matrix, another minor sin committed here is a dependence on cliched martial arts type fighting sequences, complete with jarring and confusing rapid-fire editing. I mean, come on, there's only so many times Bower can be thrown around like a ragdoll or fall off of a platform before he breaks something. Most likely his back. But, like a video game, our hero takes a licking (or several) and keeps right on ticking. It's not a huge thing, but it is a little distracting.
Pandorum definitely could benefit from more solid direction, but it's still very good, very enjoyable, and it'll make you ponder a few anthropological, ethical, and cosmological questions.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 8/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Corporal Bower (Ben Foster) awakes suddenly from suspended animation somewhere in the bowels of a dying spaceship. Suffering from memory loss as a side effect of hypersleep, Bower and his commanding officer, Payton (Dennis Quaid), attempt to piece together who and where they are, as well as their larger purpose out in space. It soon becomes clear that something disastrous has happened: the ship's main power is down, there's no communication from the flight crew, and Payton and Bower are unable to reach the bridge.
While Payton stays behind to serve as the navigation and communication link, Bower sets out for the ship's reactor, hoping to reboot the power systems and gain access to the bridge. It's here that the film gives way from subtle psychological horror to action thriller. At first Bower finds the ship a ghost town: a labyrinth of empty dark corridors. But he'll soon be running for his life from a band of hideous orc-like creatures, sticking to the shadows and racing against time to reboot the reactor before it cycles down for good. He gets a little help along the way from a rag-tag group of survivors: Manh, a member of the mission's agricultural department (portrayed by world champion kickboxer and mixed martial artist Cung Le), botanist, self-appointed keeper of the ship's biological specimens, and all-around hottie Nadia (Antje Traue), and the loathsome and mentally-unbalanced Leland, one-time cook.
During their mad dash to the reactor chamber, the survivors try to sort out the glaring questions. What are the creatures and where did they come from? What happened to the flight crew? What happened to the ship? And beyond those, what was their mission, where were they headed and where are they now?
I think this film's main problem is that director Christian Alvart is never quite sure what kind of film he's trying to make. He vacillates between psychological horror, creature scifi, and fast-paced action thriller. Any of these angles, properly developed, would have worked great, but Alvart's genre mash-up leaves something to be desired.
What Pandorum lacks in genre cohesion, though, it more than makes up for in some phenomenal sets and effects, and some very solid performances, led by the always powerful Ben Foster. The set design from Richard Bridgland and Bernhard Henrich is nothing short of amazing, intricate, and highly layered. Borrowing once again from Ridley Scott's Alien as well as The Matrix (1999), Bridgland and Henrich succeed in bringing the massive spaceship to life using an organic style, highlighting the ship's role as a living ecosystem. This set design echoes a style used to great effect in 1997's Event Horizon, another space horror directed by Pandorum's producer, Paul W.S. Anderson.
Speaking of The Matrix, another minor sin committed here is a dependence on cliched martial arts type fighting sequences, complete with jarring and confusing rapid-fire editing. I mean, come on, there's only so many times Bower can be thrown around like a ragdoll or fall off of a platform before he breaks something. Most likely his back. But, like a video game, our hero takes a licking (or several) and keeps right on ticking. It's not a huge thing, but it is a little distracting.
Pandorum definitely could benefit from more solid direction, but it's still very good, very enjoyable, and it'll make you ponder a few anthropological, ethical, and cosmological questions.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 8/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Wild at Heart
So, yeah, it's true that the much-maligned Nic Cage has never been a good actor. Ever. He has come very close to being able to act on a few occasions, notably in Leaving Las Vegas (1995), Bringing Out the Dead (1999), and Adaptation (2002). But 3 out of, let's see, according to IMDB, 62 film performances is not a very good success ratio. Nonetheless, I don't hate him as much as many others. To his credit, he's starred in a number of films that, while not necessarily Oscar-caliber, are fun and quite enjoyable. To wit: Face/Off (1997), The Rock (1996), Con Air (1997). I must confess my great sin of never having seen the Coen Brothers' Raising Arizona (1988), so I can't speak to that one. But here's the undeniable truth: Cage's performance as an Elvis-esque manslaughtering parole-violator in David Lynch's Wild at Heart (1990) is one of the most atrocious things ever committed to film.
His lines are delivered either hurriedly, with absolutely no feeling, like he's reading it off a cue card. Or he swings the other the way and goes so over the top that you'd think he was gunning for a spot on "All My Children". And yeah, I realize that sort of soap-opera pastiche is part of Lynch's style, but come on, Nic, at least be consistently over-the-top. In fact, one of the film's major weaknesses is that its two leads often get overwhelmed (and out-acted) by the supporting ensemble cast, which includes a number of Lynch favorites: Isabella Rossellini, Grace Zabriski, Sherilyn Fenn, and Harry Dean Stanton, among others. The centerpiece of the supporting cast is Willem Dafoe as the nauseatingly skeazy John Waters lookalike Bobby Peru. Dafoe, as always, does not disappoint, and completely steals the entire movie even though he has only a few minutes of screentime.
Wild at Heart follows Lula (Laura Dern) and Sailor (Cage), a pair of star-crossed lovers on the run from Lula's momma (Diane Ladd, Laura Dern's actual mother). Lula's momma, owner of the interesting name of Marietta Fortune, is one well-connected woman. In her fury at Sailor over taking her little girl away (and once upon a time rebuffing her own sexual advances in a public toilet), she sends a veritable army on the lovers' trail towards the Big Easy. First up is private investigator and Marietta's sometime boyfriend Johnnie Farragut (Stanton). Poor schlepy Farragut has no idea what kind of monster Marietta is, or that he's not the only chip she's called in on her hunt for Sailor and Lula. Also on the case is mobster Marcelles Santos, who enlists a whole slew of crazy characters: a cajun voodoo priestess (Zabriski), the proprietor of an S&M bordello, and the snake-in-the-grass ex-marine Bobby Peru. Lula and Sailor's mad sex-and-thrash-metal-fueled dash out to California is cut short when a serious lack of funds strands them in Big Tuna, a god-forsaken West Texas shithole of a town. And in Big Tuna, Bobby Peru makes Sailor an offer he can't refuse. Although he'll wish he had.
In Wild at Heart, David Lynch makes several amateur filmmaking mistakes. First off, he lets his desire for certain oddball acting pairs get in the way of making truly informed casting decisions. Cage and Dern are repeatedly upstaged by minor players. Cage's atrocious southern accent and hokey Elvis impersonations get real old real fast, and as far as I can tell, Dern's only qualification for this film is a willingness to get naked a lot. Nice body, but I could do without the face. And don't even get me started on the numerous and frankly nauseating sex scenes.
Secondly, Lynch is just throwing way too many characters out there. A few of them are completely superfluous. Johnnie Farragut is a complete waste of Harry Dean Stanton's considerable talents. Other throw-away characters include Zabriski's voodoo lady, Sherilyn Fenn's doomed car-crash victim, and the dog-obsessed OO Spool (the late great Jack Nance).
Lastly, and this is the biggest transgression, Lynch wields his Wizard of Oz symbolism like a sledgehammer, repeatedly smashing the audience in the face with similarities that are tenuous, contrived, or both. See, Marietta is supposed to be the Wicked Witch of the West, and Lula is Dorothy, and Sailor is.... um.... the Scarecrow, maybe? The point is, the only way the audience recognizes these "similarities" is because Lynch literally verbalizes the comparison through dialogue. Which is more believable, a connection that I recognize on my own or one that is literally thrown in my face with a hand-wrapped explanation? Sorry Lynch, I'm just not buying it. Go peddle your phony symbolism somewhere else.
The bottom line is, Wild at Heart is the most tepid Lynch movie I've seen. Mullholland Drive was confusing as shit, but at least it had decent acting.
Storyline & plot: 4/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
His lines are delivered either hurriedly, with absolutely no feeling, like he's reading it off a cue card. Or he swings the other the way and goes so over the top that you'd think he was gunning for a spot on "All My Children". And yeah, I realize that sort of soap-opera pastiche is part of Lynch's style, but come on, Nic, at least be consistently over-the-top. In fact, one of the film's major weaknesses is that its two leads often get overwhelmed (and out-acted) by the supporting ensemble cast, which includes a number of Lynch favorites: Isabella Rossellini, Grace Zabriski, Sherilyn Fenn, and Harry Dean Stanton, among others. The centerpiece of the supporting cast is Willem Dafoe as the nauseatingly skeazy John Waters lookalike Bobby Peru. Dafoe, as always, does not disappoint, and completely steals the entire movie even though he has only a few minutes of screentime.
Wild at Heart follows Lula (Laura Dern) and Sailor (Cage), a pair of star-crossed lovers on the run from Lula's momma (Diane Ladd, Laura Dern's actual mother). Lula's momma, owner of the interesting name of Marietta Fortune, is one well-connected woman. In her fury at Sailor over taking her little girl away (and once upon a time rebuffing her own sexual advances in a public toilet), she sends a veritable army on the lovers' trail towards the Big Easy. First up is private investigator and Marietta's sometime boyfriend Johnnie Farragut (Stanton). Poor schlepy Farragut has no idea what kind of monster Marietta is, or that he's not the only chip she's called in on her hunt for Sailor and Lula. Also on the case is mobster Marcelles Santos, who enlists a whole slew of crazy characters: a cajun voodoo priestess (Zabriski), the proprietor of an S&M bordello, and the snake-in-the-grass ex-marine Bobby Peru. Lula and Sailor's mad sex-and-thrash-metal-fueled dash out to California is cut short when a serious lack of funds strands them in Big Tuna, a god-forsaken West Texas shithole of a town. And in Big Tuna, Bobby Peru makes Sailor an offer he can't refuse. Although he'll wish he had.
In Wild at Heart, David Lynch makes several amateur filmmaking mistakes. First off, he lets his desire for certain oddball acting pairs get in the way of making truly informed casting decisions. Cage and Dern are repeatedly upstaged by minor players. Cage's atrocious southern accent and hokey Elvis impersonations get real old real fast, and as far as I can tell, Dern's only qualification for this film is a willingness to get naked a lot. Nice body, but I could do without the face. And don't even get me started on the numerous and frankly nauseating sex scenes.
Secondly, Lynch is just throwing way too many characters out there. A few of them are completely superfluous. Johnnie Farragut is a complete waste of Harry Dean Stanton's considerable talents. Other throw-away characters include Zabriski's voodoo lady, Sherilyn Fenn's doomed car-crash victim, and the dog-obsessed OO Spool (the late great Jack Nance).
Lastly, and this is the biggest transgression, Lynch wields his Wizard of Oz symbolism like a sledgehammer, repeatedly smashing the audience in the face with similarities that are tenuous, contrived, or both. See, Marietta is supposed to be the Wicked Witch of the West, and Lula is Dorothy, and Sailor is.... um.... the Scarecrow, maybe? The point is, the only way the audience recognizes these "similarities" is because Lynch literally verbalizes the comparison through dialogue. Which is more believable, a connection that I recognize on my own or one that is literally thrown in my face with a hand-wrapped explanation? Sorry Lynch, I'm just not buying it. Go peddle your phony symbolism somewhere else.
The bottom line is, Wild at Heart is the most tepid Lynch movie I've seen. Mullholland Drive was confusing as shit, but at least it had decent acting.
Storyline & plot: 4/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Friday, September 25, 2009
Spaced
"Spaced", a British television series that ran for two seasons from 1999-2000, is the brain child of then burgeoning comic mind Simon Pegg and stage actress turned writer Jessica Stevenson. Throw in a young director with a fair amount of television experience (Edgar Wright), add a trio of well-heeled and beloved TV character actors (Julia Deakin, Mark Heap, and Katy Carmichael), and top it off with Pegg's completely inexperienced childhood friend Nick Frost, and you have the recipe for a comedic gem heavily influenced by Stevenson's penchant for sci-fi themes.
Tim (Pegg) is a lazy knockabout comic artist working in a comic-book store and looking for his big break. Daisy (Stevenson) is an even lazier freelance journalist who struggles mightily to churn out any meaningful work. On the hunt for a London flat cheap enough to fit into her minimal-work lifestyle, Daisy meets Tim, fresh from being dumped by his long-time girlfriend. Being that Tim is also on the lookout for a cheap flat, the two decide to be flatmates. Turns out, there's a perfect apartment out there for everyone, and Daisy and Tim soon find one. Problem is, the landlady (Deakin) only wants "professional couples." In a plot device as old as television (see "Ned & Stacy", "Bosom Buddies", and "Three's Company", among many others), Tim and Daisy undertake an elaborate charade in order to secure the flat. Problem is, they're both too lazy to properly keep up appearances, and in the blink of an eye, their secret is out.
Joining Tim and Daisy in their deception is Tim's childhood friend Mike (Frost), an idiot savant whose main occupation is private first class in the Terrestrial Army (the British equivalent of the National Guard, if the National Guard were filled with the developmentally and socially disabled). There's also Twist (Carmichael), Daisy's cute yet empty-headed and shallow best friend, who soon develops an interest in co-conspirator Brian (Heap), a creepy tormented artist that lives below Tim and Daisy. The show unfolds around the group of friends and their struggles to find steady work and steady play while keeping the landlady Marsha in the dark as to the true nature of Tim and Daisy's relationship.
"Spaced" marks the beginning of what would be a very funny and very fruitful collaboration between Pegg and Wright. The duo would go on to write and produce the instant classic zomcom Shaun of the Dead (2004) and 2007's underrated follow-up Hot Fuzz, a send-up of '70s buddy-cop shows and Agatha Christie-style murder mysteries. It's with "Spaced" that we first see the Wright/Pegg cinematic style, prefiguring America's "Scrubs" with a penchant for extended flashbacks, flashforwards, and fantasy cut scenes. Influenced by Jessica Stevenson's love of science fiction, the show abounds with sci-fi parodies, send-ups, and references. From Romero's Living Dead movies to Lara Croft to "The X-Files" to The Matrix, everything's up for grabs. Hell, let's throw in a little Stephen King, Stanley Kubrick, and JRR Tolkien for good measure.
And don't even think about trying to casually watch this series. From trying to decipher the sometimes thick London accents and British slang, to following the fast-paced jumpcuts and timeshifts, to being on the lookout for the next sci-fi pop culture reference, "Spaced" will definitely keep you on your toes. Aside from simply referencing science-fiction, the series has a decidedly sci-fi style and ambiance. Guy Pratt's original music is great, taking inspiration from a wide spectrum of genre staples and fusing them. Pratt is partial to the heavy and high strings of such classics as Psycho (1960), Halloween (1978), and Friday the 13th (1980), and he uses them to great effect. Wright makes great use of lighting and filters to impart an appropriately spooky vibe to the scenes. And with a wide array of genre props and set-pieces, the style is perfected.
The bottom line is, it's a really funny show, particularly to those who can catch and appreciate most of the pop culture and scifi references. And at a whopping 14 episodes, it's not going to require a huge commitment on your part. The series can be viewed over a weekend.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 10/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 9/10
Tim (Pegg) is a lazy knockabout comic artist working in a comic-book store and looking for his big break. Daisy (Stevenson) is an even lazier freelance journalist who struggles mightily to churn out any meaningful work. On the hunt for a London flat cheap enough to fit into her minimal-work lifestyle, Daisy meets Tim, fresh from being dumped by his long-time girlfriend. Being that Tim is also on the lookout for a cheap flat, the two decide to be flatmates. Turns out, there's a perfect apartment out there for everyone, and Daisy and Tim soon find one. Problem is, the landlady (Deakin) only wants "professional couples." In a plot device as old as television (see "Ned & Stacy", "Bosom Buddies", and "Three's Company", among many others), Tim and Daisy undertake an elaborate charade in order to secure the flat. Problem is, they're both too lazy to properly keep up appearances, and in the blink of an eye, their secret is out.
Joining Tim and Daisy in their deception is Tim's childhood friend Mike (Frost), an idiot savant whose main occupation is private first class in the Terrestrial Army (the British equivalent of the National Guard, if the National Guard were filled with the developmentally and socially disabled). There's also Twist (Carmichael), Daisy's cute yet empty-headed and shallow best friend, who soon develops an interest in co-conspirator Brian (Heap), a creepy tormented artist that lives below Tim and Daisy. The show unfolds around the group of friends and their struggles to find steady work and steady play while keeping the landlady Marsha in the dark as to the true nature of Tim and Daisy's relationship.
"Spaced" marks the beginning of what would be a very funny and very fruitful collaboration between Pegg and Wright. The duo would go on to write and produce the instant classic zomcom Shaun of the Dead (2004) and 2007's underrated follow-up Hot Fuzz, a send-up of '70s buddy-cop shows and Agatha Christie-style murder mysteries. It's with "Spaced" that we first see the Wright/Pegg cinematic style, prefiguring America's "Scrubs" with a penchant for extended flashbacks, flashforwards, and fantasy cut scenes. Influenced by Jessica Stevenson's love of science fiction, the show abounds with sci-fi parodies, send-ups, and references. From Romero's Living Dead movies to Lara Croft to "The X-Files" to The Matrix, everything's up for grabs. Hell, let's throw in a little Stephen King, Stanley Kubrick, and JRR Tolkien for good measure.
And don't even think about trying to casually watch this series. From trying to decipher the sometimes thick London accents and British slang, to following the fast-paced jumpcuts and timeshifts, to being on the lookout for the next sci-fi pop culture reference, "Spaced" will definitely keep you on your toes. Aside from simply referencing science-fiction, the series has a decidedly sci-fi style and ambiance. Guy Pratt's original music is great, taking inspiration from a wide spectrum of genre staples and fusing them. Pratt is partial to the heavy and high strings of such classics as Psycho (1960), Halloween (1978), and Friday the 13th (1980), and he uses them to great effect. Wright makes great use of lighting and filters to impart an appropriately spooky vibe to the scenes. And with a wide array of genre props and set-pieces, the style is perfected.
The bottom line is, it's a really funny show, particularly to those who can catch and appreciate most of the pop culture and scifi references. And at a whopping 14 episodes, it's not going to require a huge commitment on your part. The series can be viewed over a weekend.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 10/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 9/10
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Gozu
I gotta tell you, Takashi Miike is the only director who routinely makes David Lynch look like Walt Disney. If Lynch and David Cronenburg had a monstrous love child, it would be Miike. His films are utterly horrifying. His cringe factor is through the roof. After watching a Miike film, this is what I want to do: vomit copiously, take a steaming hot shower and scrub myself with lye, and then curl up into the fetal position and silently weep. So, yeah, his films aren't for everyone. In fact, I don't even know if they're for anyone, but I find myself watching just the same. Gozu (2003) is no exception. In fact, it may just be the gold standard Miike film. With Gozu, we find all the recurring Miike themes thrown together. We have the gangsters and extreme violence of Ichi the Killer (2001), the bizarre sexuality of Visitor Q (2001), the surrealism of "MPD Psycho" (2000), and the visceral visuals and story elements of Audition (1999).
Minami, a novice Yakuza gets his first real assignment: eliminate Ozaki, a fellow Yakuza who's come unhinged and represents a liability to the crew. Travelling west to a Yakuza "dumping" facility in Nagoya, Minami wrestles with his task. Ozaki is clearly spiralling out of control, but he once saved Minami's life, and the young man has great respect for him. But if he returns to Tokyo with the job unfinished, his life will be forfeit. But before Minami can decide, the decision is made for him: Ozaki is killed in a car accident on the way to Nagoya. But when Ozaki's corpse mysteriously disappears, Minami frantically searches for the evidence that will keep his name off the Boss's hit list. In Nagoya, Minami enters into a world of violence, sex, and bizarre events he cannot begin to fathom. On the trail of an apparently not dead Ozaki, the novice runs afoul of a host of strange locals, including a lactating hotel manager and her child-like brother, a malicious cross-dressing restaraunteur, and a member of the Nagoya Yakuza, a man who believes (falsely) that he has a skin pigmentation disease. But it's when Minami runs across Gozu, a mythical cow-headed demon, that things get really weird. Minami eventually finds Ozaki, although in several forms he would never have expected, and the two head back to Tokyo with a plan to take down the Yakuza Boss.
So, yes, I was horrified through most of the movie, particularly the unforgettable final 5 minutes. But Gozu is less disturbing than Visitor Q and has the periodic comedic interludes that Audition lacks. And when you get down to it, when you strip away all of the absurdities and surrealism, the core story is very relatable. The conflict of professional duty versus personal affections is as old as time, and the heartwrenching decision to murder one's own brother feels very Greek mythology to me. Not to mention Judeo-Christian mythology. Against my better judgment, I found Gozu to be entertaining. You just have to have a strong stomach.
Beyond the strong central story, Gozu is also a well-made film. Miike makes great use of uncut long shots to establish an atmosphere of intimate confrontation between Ozaki and Minami. Kazunari Tanaka's props and effects are all superb, except for one electrocution scene that bordered on cartoonish. The music by Koji Endo and the sound effects from Hitoshi Tsurumaki complement each other seamlessly, blending to make a subtly unnerving backdrop which serves to heighten Minami's disorientation. Miike and screenwriter Sakichi Sato put together only the main elements of the narrative and did not write any dialogue. Actors received only their character's name and occupation prior to filming to keep the improv factor in play. Unlike many other loosely scripted ventures, Gozu shines. The story is almost completely dependent on Yuta Sone as Minami, and his genuine reactions to the oddities of Nagoya are key. The improv style captures Sone's genuine horror and befuddlement at just what the fucking fuck is going on in Nagoya. Without that strong lead, Gozu falls apart.
If you've never experienced a Miike film before, and you still want to after reading this, I suggest you try Ichi the Killer first, to ease you into Miike's style, then move onto Audition. Skip Visitor Q if you like; it's a little too gross. Then move on to Gozu to see the various threads of Miike's mythology come together. Just be prepared. Especially for those last 5 minutes or so. They're a doozy.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 7/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Minami, a novice Yakuza gets his first real assignment: eliminate Ozaki, a fellow Yakuza who's come unhinged and represents a liability to the crew. Travelling west to a Yakuza "dumping" facility in Nagoya, Minami wrestles with his task. Ozaki is clearly spiralling out of control, but he once saved Minami's life, and the young man has great respect for him. But if he returns to Tokyo with the job unfinished, his life will be forfeit. But before Minami can decide, the decision is made for him: Ozaki is killed in a car accident on the way to Nagoya. But when Ozaki's corpse mysteriously disappears, Minami frantically searches for the evidence that will keep his name off the Boss's hit list. In Nagoya, Minami enters into a world of violence, sex, and bizarre events he cannot begin to fathom. On the trail of an apparently not dead Ozaki, the novice runs afoul of a host of strange locals, including a lactating hotel manager and her child-like brother, a malicious cross-dressing restaraunteur, and a member of the Nagoya Yakuza, a man who believes (falsely) that he has a skin pigmentation disease. But it's when Minami runs across Gozu, a mythical cow-headed demon, that things get really weird. Minami eventually finds Ozaki, although in several forms he would never have expected, and the two head back to Tokyo with a plan to take down the Yakuza Boss.
So, yes, I was horrified through most of the movie, particularly the unforgettable final 5 minutes. But Gozu is less disturbing than Visitor Q and has the periodic comedic interludes that Audition lacks. And when you get down to it, when you strip away all of the absurdities and surrealism, the core story is very relatable. The conflict of professional duty versus personal affections is as old as time, and the heartwrenching decision to murder one's own brother feels very Greek mythology to me. Not to mention Judeo-Christian mythology. Against my better judgment, I found Gozu to be entertaining. You just have to have a strong stomach.
Beyond the strong central story, Gozu is also a well-made film. Miike makes great use of uncut long shots to establish an atmosphere of intimate confrontation between Ozaki and Minami. Kazunari Tanaka's props and effects are all superb, except for one electrocution scene that bordered on cartoonish. The music by Koji Endo and the sound effects from Hitoshi Tsurumaki complement each other seamlessly, blending to make a subtly unnerving backdrop which serves to heighten Minami's disorientation. Miike and screenwriter Sakichi Sato put together only the main elements of the narrative and did not write any dialogue. Actors received only their character's name and occupation prior to filming to keep the improv factor in play. Unlike many other loosely scripted ventures, Gozu shines. The story is almost completely dependent on Yuta Sone as Minami, and his genuine reactions to the oddities of Nagoya are key. The improv style captures Sone's genuine horror and befuddlement at just what the fucking fuck is going on in Nagoya. Without that strong lead, Gozu falls apart.
If you've never experienced a Miike film before, and you still want to after reading this, I suggest you try Ichi the Killer first, to ease you into Miike's style, then move onto Audition. Skip Visitor Q if you like; it's a little too gross. Then move on to Gozu to see the various threads of Miike's mythology come together. Just be prepared. Especially for those last 5 minutes or so. They're a doozy.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 7/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Onibaba
Japanese auteur Kaneto Shindo's tenth directorial effort, Onibaba (1964) is a high-concept art film fused with historical fiction and peppered with tense horror imagery. The film delivers on many aspects, including some beautiful cinematography, stunning visuals, costumes, set-pieces, and a terrific score from Hikaru Hayashi, who, amazingly, has scored all of Shindo's 44 films. The repetitive script and glacial pace, however, leave something to be desired, and the execution of Shindo's unique morality is quite heavy-handed for my taste.
Onibaba is set in 14th century rural Japan, in the midst of the Nanboku-cho period, where two imperial courts made seemingly endless upon each other. Large scale warfare meant many of Japan's young men joined an army in search wages, plunder, and fame. The fields and crops were left untended, or ravaged by hungry troops or fearsome battles. Those left behind, the infirm, the elderly, women and children, faced a meager existence, scraping out a living in any way they could. Our nameless protagonists, a middle-aged woman and her daughter-in-law, are two such individuals. Living in a small reed hut in a vast field of towering susuki grass by the banks of a small river, the two women eke out a living killing any soldiers unlucky enough to wander into their field. The soldiers' armor, clothes, and weapons are used as barter to purchase millet and other food stuffs.
One day, the pair's tenuous existence is disturbed by the return of their neighbor, Hachi. The young man returns from battle with sad news of the death of Kichi, the old woman's son and the young woman's husband. While the women deal with their grief, Hachi has his eye on his late friend's wife and on the women's business arrangement. The sexually-charged atmosphere only gets more complicated with the arrival of a mysterious samurai disguised behind a hideous demon mask.
Kiyomi Kuroda's camerawork is outstanding, if somewhat repetitive. Utilizing a deeply contrasted black and white palette, Kuroda is at his best in the shadows, while stark and harsh lighting make the scenes crackle with intensity. Yet Kuroda is equally at ease with the sweeping panoramic views, showcasing the susuki grass, giving it an epic and majestic life of its own. The rhythm of the swaying grasses carefully coincides with the intensity of the film's action, and particularly of the sexual tension between Hachi and the young woman.
The period costumes are meticulously rendered, and the costume centerpiece, the demon mask, is one of the most visually stunning pieces in the history of film. My skin crawled with revulsion every time I caught a glance of it. The mask is so memorable, in fact, that William Friedkin borrowed its design for subliminally inserted frames in The Exorcist (1973).
Composer Hikaru Hayashi's score is pure balls-to-the-wall adrenaline. It is an insane tour-de-force of furious percussion, highlighted here and there by primal screams, giving the susuki field the aspect of a haunted carnival. Or a demonic circle of hell.
Onibaba's downfall is the weak writing. To flesh out the story, Shindo resorts to repetition, recycling the same basic dialogue for several scenes. The repetition goes beyond dialogue: a scene involving the young woman running through the grass to Hachi's hut is used over and over again with only slight variation. For someone whose film is otherwise meticulously crafted, you have to wonder at such lazy filmmaking. Of course, in the light of Shindo's moral vision, this can be seen as reinforcement rather than corner-cutting. Even if this is true, it means Shindo is trying to get his point across with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. I, for one, am a little insulted by his tactics. They bring down an otherwise technically brilliant film.
Storyline & plot: 5/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 10/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
Onibaba is set in 14th century rural Japan, in the midst of the Nanboku-cho period, where two imperial courts made seemingly endless upon each other. Large scale warfare meant many of Japan's young men joined an army in search wages, plunder, and fame. The fields and crops were left untended, or ravaged by hungry troops or fearsome battles. Those left behind, the infirm, the elderly, women and children, faced a meager existence, scraping out a living in any way they could. Our nameless protagonists, a middle-aged woman and her daughter-in-law, are two such individuals. Living in a small reed hut in a vast field of towering susuki grass by the banks of a small river, the two women eke out a living killing any soldiers unlucky enough to wander into their field. The soldiers' armor, clothes, and weapons are used as barter to purchase millet and other food stuffs.
One day, the pair's tenuous existence is disturbed by the return of their neighbor, Hachi. The young man returns from battle with sad news of the death of Kichi, the old woman's son and the young woman's husband. While the women deal with their grief, Hachi has his eye on his late friend's wife and on the women's business arrangement. The sexually-charged atmosphere only gets more complicated with the arrival of a mysterious samurai disguised behind a hideous demon mask.
Kiyomi Kuroda's camerawork is outstanding, if somewhat repetitive. Utilizing a deeply contrasted black and white palette, Kuroda is at his best in the shadows, while stark and harsh lighting make the scenes crackle with intensity. Yet Kuroda is equally at ease with the sweeping panoramic views, showcasing the susuki grass, giving it an epic and majestic life of its own. The rhythm of the swaying grasses carefully coincides with the intensity of the film's action, and particularly of the sexual tension between Hachi and the young woman.
The period costumes are meticulously rendered, and the costume centerpiece, the demon mask, is one of the most visually stunning pieces in the history of film. My skin crawled with revulsion every time I caught a glance of it. The mask is so memorable, in fact, that William Friedkin borrowed its design for subliminally inserted frames in The Exorcist (1973).
Composer Hikaru Hayashi's score is pure balls-to-the-wall adrenaline. It is an insane tour-de-force of furious percussion, highlighted here and there by primal screams, giving the susuki field the aspect of a haunted carnival. Or a demonic circle of hell.
Onibaba's downfall is the weak writing. To flesh out the story, Shindo resorts to repetition, recycling the same basic dialogue for several scenes. The repetition goes beyond dialogue: a scene involving the young woman running through the grass to Hachi's hut is used over and over again with only slight variation. For someone whose film is otherwise meticulously crafted, you have to wonder at such lazy filmmaking. Of course, in the light of Shindo's moral vision, this can be seen as reinforcement rather than corner-cutting. Even if this is true, it means Shindo is trying to get his point across with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. I, for one, am a little insulted by his tactics. They bring down an otherwise technically brilliant film.
Storyline & plot: 5/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 10/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
The Midnight Meat Train
Based on a short story by Clive Barker, The Midnight Meat Train (2008) tells the story of Mahogany (Vinnie Jones) an NYC serial killer whose preferred hunting ground is late night subway trains. But that's just the beginning. It gets a good deal more complex than that, but unfortunately that's not always a good thing. The highly stylized potential this film shows at the start slowly spirals out of control, derailing into a half-hearted Lovecraftian mess.
Leon (Bradley Cooper) is a struggling freelance photographer, trying to make it big in NYC's indie art scene controlled by the brutally critical Susan Hoff, portrayed solidly here by Brooke Shields. To meet with Hoff's approval, he'll need to score some stunning photos of what he dubs "the real New York," the strange and corrupt underbelly of the city at night. Much to the chagrin of his girlfriend Maya (Leslie Bibb), Leon embarks on a series of night shoots, carefully tracking down his moments. But when he becomes obsessed with the disappearance of a model whose picture he snapped, his sanity begins to unravel. Stalking the man he believes responsible, the subway butcher, Leon enters into a world of death and ancient evil that he can barely comprehend.
Don't get me wrong. I love the premise. I really was hooked through the first 25 minutes or so of the film, and intermittently after that. But the script is so disappointingly uneven. The film would gain so much momentum, have me on the edge of my seat, only to bring me crashing down when the tension is utterly deflated by some drawn out, melodramatic relationship-establishing scene. Yawn. And the mythos behind our killer, Mahogany? It's such a scattered and ill-conceived mess. Poorly written and poorly executed. Why couldn't they have tried for a backstory that was a little more manageable? They tried to shoot the moon and they missed by a mile.
And speaking of poor writing, Clive Barker continues his decades-long trend of having no idea how to write convincing women characters. His critics have long denounced him as a misogynist for his literary treatment of women. I don't think I'd go that far, but he certainly has little understanding of the female psyche. He got it right once, with Candyman's (1992) protagonist Helen Lyle, but that may have been more to do with Virginia Madsen's excellent performance than anything else. At best, Barker's portrayal of women is illogical, at worst it is incredibly annoying. MMT's Maya is no exception to either of those extremes.
Oh yeah, and Bradley Cooper has been woefully miscast here. He just doesn't have what it takes to portray a complexly developing character like Leon. His transformation from a meek little photographer into a freelance criminal investigator and beyond is just not believable. In fact, it's actually kinda laughable.
As for the effects.... I can't be the only one who finds these over-the-top CGI graphics incredibly tacky and dumb. I just can't. Do the directors actually view these scenes and say, "Yeah, that looks not only realistic, but really great."? Because both those statements are patently untrue. I'm sorry, but the effects for this film (the computer effects, anyway) were just fucking silly. Ugh. On the positive side, the cinematography is outstanding. Great use of color. The subway is immediately represented as a dangerous place by a sickly gray-green-blue hue. In fact, the subway sequences are all great. Great set design, incredible tracking shots and long shots, and a richly rendered atmosphere of dread and claustrophobia.
The best aspect of the movie really is the character of Mahogany, and Vinnie Jones's great performance. The kills are inventive, the main weapon is unique among all the slasher films I've ever seen, and Jones is perfect for the role. Monstrous, menacing, yet virtually silent. The guy says literally three words the entire film, but his presence is enormous. Bravo, Vinnie. One of the best villains in recent memory. Unfortunately, it just wasn't enough to make this film anything more than mediocre.
Storyline & plot: 5/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Leon (Bradley Cooper) is a struggling freelance photographer, trying to make it big in NYC's indie art scene controlled by the brutally critical Susan Hoff, portrayed solidly here by Brooke Shields. To meet with Hoff's approval, he'll need to score some stunning photos of what he dubs "the real New York," the strange and corrupt underbelly of the city at night. Much to the chagrin of his girlfriend Maya (Leslie Bibb), Leon embarks on a series of night shoots, carefully tracking down his moments. But when he becomes obsessed with the disappearance of a model whose picture he snapped, his sanity begins to unravel. Stalking the man he believes responsible, the subway butcher, Leon enters into a world of death and ancient evil that he can barely comprehend.
Don't get me wrong. I love the premise. I really was hooked through the first 25 minutes or so of the film, and intermittently after that. But the script is so disappointingly uneven. The film would gain so much momentum, have me on the edge of my seat, only to bring me crashing down when the tension is utterly deflated by some drawn out, melodramatic relationship-establishing scene. Yawn. And the mythos behind our killer, Mahogany? It's such a scattered and ill-conceived mess. Poorly written and poorly executed. Why couldn't they have tried for a backstory that was a little more manageable? They tried to shoot the moon and they missed by a mile.
And speaking of poor writing, Clive Barker continues his decades-long trend of having no idea how to write convincing women characters. His critics have long denounced him as a misogynist for his literary treatment of women. I don't think I'd go that far, but he certainly has little understanding of the female psyche. He got it right once, with Candyman's (1992) protagonist Helen Lyle, but that may have been more to do with Virginia Madsen's excellent performance than anything else. At best, Barker's portrayal of women is illogical, at worst it is incredibly annoying. MMT's Maya is no exception to either of those extremes.
Oh yeah, and Bradley Cooper has been woefully miscast here. He just doesn't have what it takes to portray a complexly developing character like Leon. His transformation from a meek little photographer into a freelance criminal investigator and beyond is just not believable. In fact, it's actually kinda laughable.
As for the effects.... I can't be the only one who finds these over-the-top CGI graphics incredibly tacky and dumb. I just can't. Do the directors actually view these scenes and say, "Yeah, that looks not only realistic, but really great."? Because both those statements are patently untrue. I'm sorry, but the effects for this film (the computer effects, anyway) were just fucking silly. Ugh. On the positive side, the cinematography is outstanding. Great use of color. The subway is immediately represented as a dangerous place by a sickly gray-green-blue hue. In fact, the subway sequences are all great. Great set design, incredible tracking shots and long shots, and a richly rendered atmosphere of dread and claustrophobia.
The best aspect of the movie really is the character of Mahogany, and Vinnie Jones's great performance. The kills are inventive, the main weapon is unique among all the slasher films I've ever seen, and Jones is perfect for the role. Monstrous, menacing, yet virtually silent. The guy says literally three words the entire film, but his presence is enormous. Bravo, Vinnie. One of the best villains in recent memory. Unfortunately, it just wasn't enough to make this film anything more than mediocre.
Storyline & plot: 5/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
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