Okay, so this film has a few flaws. The lack of Casey Kasem voicing Shaggy is the biggest of these, although Billy West (aka Phillip J. Fry from Futurama) does a passable imitation. Also gone is the late great Don Messick, long-time voice of Scooby. Sadly, Messick died of a stroke the year before the release of Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island (1998), leaving the sorely underpar previous three Scooby-Doo movies as his latest legacy. Luckily, Scooby is a voice that's hard to get wrong, and Scott Innes fills in seamlessly.
Normally, the replacement of the two main voice actors for a cartoon would be devestating, but the previous three Scooby-Doo movies give Zombie Island nowhere to go but up. And up it goes, setting a tremendous new bar for SD movies to follow. And guess who we owe this renewed quality to? Who but the Japanese. For Zombie Island, Hannah-Barbera pass the reins over to a Japanese production company, and not a moment too soon. The previous three films' attempt at a slapstick humor format had nearly driven a once great franchise into the ground. The humor was abysmal, the lame puns were interminable, and the animation was downright deplorable. Zombie Island turns it all around.
For starters, no Scrappy. Let me repeat that. No stupid Scrappy-Doo. Thank fucking god. And better yet, the gang's all back! That's right, we get the original crew back: Fred, Daphne, Velma, and even the Mystery Machine. Hell, Zombie Island's clunky "getting the gang back together and filling in the gaps on where everybody's been" intro didn't even faze me, I was so overjoyed to have the original characters back.
Turns out, Daphne and Fred have been producing a television show, traveling around the country doing ghost hunter stuff. Unfortunately, all the "ghosts" have proven to be fake, in the tradition of the original "Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?" series. Feeling disaffected and looking for a change, Daphne and Fred enlist the help of their old partners in crime, and the gang head down to New Orleans to see if they can rustle up some real ghosts. After a few misadventures in the Big Easy, exposing convoluted plots involving fake ghosts, the gang head deep into the bayou on a tip about a real haunting.
Shortly after arriving on Moonscar Island, home of the hottest peppers in Louisianna, the gang encounter supernatural goings-on. The clues seem to point to the ghost of Moonscar the Pirate as the culprit, but is something more sinister going on here? As Daphne and Fred wrestle back and forth over a supernatural vs. earthly explanation, Scooby and Shaggy run afoul of the house's mistress and her numerous cats. What exactly is going on in the bayou? Why does the gardener act so suspicious? And are those real zombies rising from the swamp in the moonlight?
Zombie Island has thankfully abandoned the comedy format, although there are some good laughs in the film, derived mainly from a wry self-parodying humor. No stupid puns, no silly slapstick, no schtick. Instead, we see a return to the mystery roots of the show, and even a re-imagining of the traditional earthly explanation to supernatural events.
The animation here is superb, crisp and modern, yet retaining the high contrast and deep shadows prevalent in the original series. The cinematography is fun and inventive, utilizing flashbacks, fades, focus techniques, and unique camera angles that put the previous American-produced movies to shame. The score by Steven Bramson, while at times over-the-top, is exactly what this film needs. It's good enough, and professional enough, to denote this film as a serious effort in the Scooby-Doo catalog, and not just some piece of cinema trash or fluff. Even the incredibly cheesy montage/interlude songs and the Scooby Doo theme performed by Third Eye Blind (!?!!?) aren't enough to significantly detract.
Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island marks a triumphant return to really good Scooby-Doo. God love the Japanese.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 8/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Monday, August 31, 2009
Pieces
I'll say this for Pieces (1982): it makes a really great MST3K-style group laugh riot movie. As a serious piece of cinema, it is fairly atrocious. We open on a home scene circa 1942. Little [insert generic little boy's name here.... I'll go with Timmy] is playing in his room. But what is Little Timmy playing with? Oh, it appears to be a puzzle featuring a nude woman.... who most definitely has an '80s hairdo despite this supposedly being 1942. Incidentally, this magical time-travelling room also has a pennant for the New England Patriots (joined the NFL in 1960) and a push-button phone (invented in 1941 but not publically available until 1963). Also, Timmy can't be older than 9; what the hell is he doing looking at nudie material? Anyway, Mommy comes in and sees Little Timmy looking at no-no naughty stuff, and goes freaking ballistic on him. Jeez, he's 9 years old, he probably doesn't even know what he's looking at, maybe a little patience, compassion, and discretion might work in dealing with him. As it is, she comes just short of smacking the shit out of him. Timmy does not appreciate this at all, and to show his disapproval, retreives an axe (from where, who knows?) and chops her to.... wait for it..... pieces. Except the obviously rubber axe bounces off Mommy's skull instead of sinking into it. Hilarious!
Fast forward 40 years (!) and a string of grisly murders has gripped a Boston area college. The murderer's weapon of choice? No axe this time; he's graduated up to a chainsaw! With occasional and random knife usage. Interestingly enough, the killer's chainsaw starts up every time on the first try with no problem. He must have the greatest chainsaw ever in the history of the universe, because I've NEVER seen a chainsaw start up on the first pull of the cord. The killer stalks the campus, preferring young nubile females, particularly if they are or have recently been topless or nude. He's also partial to dressing up like The Shadow, complete with huge black hat and cape. You'd think a guy walking around in a black hat and cape might be easy to remember, but apparently not.
So, it's pretty obvious to the audience at this point that we're looking for Little Timmy all grown up. What's not quite so obvious is where Timmy's been all these years and why he's just now getting back on murderous track. He hasn't been in jail or a hospital or insane asylum because we see him play innocent about his mother's death; the authorities never connect the murder to him. We are given no obvious trigger for renewed homicidal tendencies: no sexual spurning, no mother look-alike, no connection to the original crime or feelings of sexual frustration. Other than the connection of nubile young women, there's no reason why Little Timmy should suddenly start killing again. Are we to assume Timmy has not encountered a single attractive female in 40 years? The filmmakers are just being plain lazy here. If you're making a slasher movie, you need to have a consistent motive and M.O. If you're going to go through the trouble of setting up the backstory, why let it fall to pieces (hehe) later on?
As for the big "mystery" of who the grown up Timmy is, well, it's pretty obvious to anyone with a brain. Factoring in Timmy's age, we only have 3 possible suspects. One of those is a red herring you could smell from a mile away. Toss that one out. Now you're down to a 50/50 shot, and considering the lack of development of one of those suspects, the choice is clear. Apparently, the cops don't have much of a brain, because they initially fall for the red herring and then enlist some stupid doucheface college kid as an unofficial deputy to help solve the crime. This isn't some podunk law enforcement outfit here. It's the Boston police! They seriously don't have the resources for this case???
As I said, though, there are some really great WTF hilarious moments. When the red herring is approached by police about the murders, inexplicably, he goes crazy and starts throwing cops around like he's freaking Lou Ferrigno or something. It was awesome. And Pieces definitely has the greatest kung-fu cameo of all time. Just for shits and giggles, director Juan Piquer Simon throws in a Kung Fu instructor (what college has a Kung Fu instructor??? Bruce Lee University?) who randomly attacks our heroine, and then stumbles off and blames the incident on.... get this... bad chop suey! What. The. Fuck. And lets not forget the incredibly WTF ending shot, which makes no sense, but merely tries to capitalize on "the killer's not really dead yet" plot twist. Except it's not even the killer who pops up for one last jump scare. Huh? Yeah, this movie's just that.... awesome.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 3/10
Music & mood: 4/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 3/10
Fast forward 40 years (!) and a string of grisly murders has gripped a Boston area college. The murderer's weapon of choice? No axe this time; he's graduated up to a chainsaw! With occasional and random knife usage. Interestingly enough, the killer's chainsaw starts up every time on the first try with no problem. He must have the greatest chainsaw ever in the history of the universe, because I've NEVER seen a chainsaw start up on the first pull of the cord. The killer stalks the campus, preferring young nubile females, particularly if they are or have recently been topless or nude. He's also partial to dressing up like The Shadow, complete with huge black hat and cape. You'd think a guy walking around in a black hat and cape might be easy to remember, but apparently not.
So, it's pretty obvious to the audience at this point that we're looking for Little Timmy all grown up. What's not quite so obvious is where Timmy's been all these years and why he's just now getting back on murderous track. He hasn't been in jail or a hospital or insane asylum because we see him play innocent about his mother's death; the authorities never connect the murder to him. We are given no obvious trigger for renewed homicidal tendencies: no sexual spurning, no mother look-alike, no connection to the original crime or feelings of sexual frustration. Other than the connection of nubile young women, there's no reason why Little Timmy should suddenly start killing again. Are we to assume Timmy has not encountered a single attractive female in 40 years? The filmmakers are just being plain lazy here. If you're making a slasher movie, you need to have a consistent motive and M.O. If you're going to go through the trouble of setting up the backstory, why let it fall to pieces (hehe) later on?
As for the big "mystery" of who the grown up Timmy is, well, it's pretty obvious to anyone with a brain. Factoring in Timmy's age, we only have 3 possible suspects. One of those is a red herring you could smell from a mile away. Toss that one out. Now you're down to a 50/50 shot, and considering the lack of development of one of those suspects, the choice is clear. Apparently, the cops don't have much of a brain, because they initially fall for the red herring and then enlist some stupid doucheface college kid as an unofficial deputy to help solve the crime. This isn't some podunk law enforcement outfit here. It's the Boston police! They seriously don't have the resources for this case???
As I said, though, there are some really great WTF hilarious moments. When the red herring is approached by police about the murders, inexplicably, he goes crazy and starts throwing cops around like he's freaking Lou Ferrigno or something. It was awesome. And Pieces definitely has the greatest kung-fu cameo of all time. Just for shits and giggles, director Juan Piquer Simon throws in a Kung Fu instructor (what college has a Kung Fu instructor??? Bruce Lee University?) who randomly attacks our heroine, and then stumbles off and blames the incident on.... get this... bad chop suey! What. The. Fuck. And lets not forget the incredibly WTF ending shot, which makes no sense, but merely tries to capitalize on "the killer's not really dead yet" plot twist. Except it's not even the killer who pops up for one last jump scare. Huh? Yeah, this movie's just that.... awesome.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 3/10
Music & mood: 4/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 3/10
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Le Samourai
Jean-Pierre Melville's masterpiece Le Samourai (1967) represents a bit of a moral conundrum for me: Melville borrows the samurai, or rather, his superficial qualities and iconic image, from Japanese culture, leaving behind much of the history and cultural mythos. Yet far from a superficial usage, Melville appropriates the image of the samurai for his own deeply psychological and fatalistic ends. While I personally feel uncomfortable with this kind of cultural theft in the name of film, I also admire the spartan scripting and meticulous execution of Le Samourai, which in itself is analogous to the life of a samurai.
Jef Costello (Alain Delon) is our titular samurai: in this case, a gun for hire rather than a sword. He's steely-eyed, laconic, and cool. And he has no qualms about a little crime if the price is right. He'd just as soon kill a man as steal a car, as long as there was some money in it. And he manages to get the drop on just about everyone; his draw is preternaturally quick. In short, Jef Costello is a career criminal. He's in it for the long haul; he gets the job done and he doesn't stop until he's finished. In fact, a viewer might draw eerie similarities between our samurai and the T-800 and T-1000 model terminators from The Terminator films. While Costello accepts money for hits, his motivation to kill is neither financial nor personal. He does not enjoy killing; rather, much like Martin Blank from Grosse Pointe Blank (1997), he doesn't know what else to do. Killing is simply what he does, no more, no less.
Much like actual samurai, Costello's trajectory is wholly driven by and towards death. After a botched hit and a close call with the law, Costello is a marked man. His employers want him dead, and the Parisian police want to pin the murder of a high-profile nightclub owner on him. If he can silence the leading witness to the murder, he'll walk free and clear. But tracking her down will prove difficult, as Jef weaves his way through Paris's streets and underground, staying barely one step ahead of the ever-tightening police net.
There are some who place Le Samourai in the French New Wave movement of cinema, but frankly, this seems a bit of a stretch. While it's true that Melville follows the New Wave conventions of on-location shooting, the use of natural lighting, and a bare minimum of editing, he completely eschews the New Wave extemporaneous aesthetic. While the dialogue and sets are sparse and minimalistic, the film is tightly controlled by Melville. There are no wasted words, no wasted cuts, no wasted film. Everything down to the color of Jef's apartment walls is laboriously crafted by Melville's hand. In this way, in this deliberateness, in this micromanagement of the film, Melville flies in the face of the major tenet of New Wave, which is a rejection of rigid narrative storylines as despotic art. If I were to settle upon a label for Le Samourai, it would have to be hard-boiled, that close cousin to noir: gritty, realistic, fatalistic, centered around themes and stories from both sides of the law.
In Le Samourai, the set and sound design serve to contrast Jef's apartment with the Paris streets and the police headquarters. The film opens on a lingering static shot of the interior of Jef's apartment. While the opening credits unfold, the audience's eyes wander over the interior, searching for the focus. It is a very long time before it's even apparent that there is someone in the room, on the bed. We register Jef's presence only by the languorous wafting of his cigarette smoke. He does not move. He is completely still. The peeling and ancient grey walls give the apartment a surreal quality. The decor is spartan: a bed, two wooden chairs, a birdcage dead center. The bird, Jef's only companion. In a strange twist of fate, the bird, Jean-Pierre Melville's pet, was the lone casualty of a fire that destroyed Melville's studio the same year in which Le Samourai was released.
Jef's silent and empty apartment is immediately contrasted to Paris: loud, bustling, busy, hectic. Later, the apartment is again contrasted with police headquarters: angular, antiseptic, technologically-advanced. It is these subtle touches that make the film come alive. Jef himself is held in comparison to the police Inspector (Francois Perier). While Jef is taciturn, the Inspector is gregarious, grand, emotive. But both are supernaturally determined men. Jef will stop at nothing to finish a job once it is started, and the Inspector will not rest until he's tracked Jef down. It's a little bit of a classic cat-and-mouse game.
Check this one out if you like a classic hard-boiled crime thriller, or just a great French film.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 8/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
Jef Costello (Alain Delon) is our titular samurai: in this case, a gun for hire rather than a sword. He's steely-eyed, laconic, and cool. And he has no qualms about a little crime if the price is right. He'd just as soon kill a man as steal a car, as long as there was some money in it. And he manages to get the drop on just about everyone; his draw is preternaturally quick. In short, Jef Costello is a career criminal. He's in it for the long haul; he gets the job done and he doesn't stop until he's finished. In fact, a viewer might draw eerie similarities between our samurai and the T-800 and T-1000 model terminators from The Terminator films. While Costello accepts money for hits, his motivation to kill is neither financial nor personal. He does not enjoy killing; rather, much like Martin Blank from Grosse Pointe Blank (1997), he doesn't know what else to do. Killing is simply what he does, no more, no less.
Much like actual samurai, Costello's trajectory is wholly driven by and towards death. After a botched hit and a close call with the law, Costello is a marked man. His employers want him dead, and the Parisian police want to pin the murder of a high-profile nightclub owner on him. If he can silence the leading witness to the murder, he'll walk free and clear. But tracking her down will prove difficult, as Jef weaves his way through Paris's streets and underground, staying barely one step ahead of the ever-tightening police net.
There are some who place Le Samourai in the French New Wave movement of cinema, but frankly, this seems a bit of a stretch. While it's true that Melville follows the New Wave conventions of on-location shooting, the use of natural lighting, and a bare minimum of editing, he completely eschews the New Wave extemporaneous aesthetic. While the dialogue and sets are sparse and minimalistic, the film is tightly controlled by Melville. There are no wasted words, no wasted cuts, no wasted film. Everything down to the color of Jef's apartment walls is laboriously crafted by Melville's hand. In this way, in this deliberateness, in this micromanagement of the film, Melville flies in the face of the major tenet of New Wave, which is a rejection of rigid narrative storylines as despotic art. If I were to settle upon a label for Le Samourai, it would have to be hard-boiled, that close cousin to noir: gritty, realistic, fatalistic, centered around themes and stories from both sides of the law.
In Le Samourai, the set and sound design serve to contrast Jef's apartment with the Paris streets and the police headquarters. The film opens on a lingering static shot of the interior of Jef's apartment. While the opening credits unfold, the audience's eyes wander over the interior, searching for the focus. It is a very long time before it's even apparent that there is someone in the room, on the bed. We register Jef's presence only by the languorous wafting of his cigarette smoke. He does not move. He is completely still. The peeling and ancient grey walls give the apartment a surreal quality. The decor is spartan: a bed, two wooden chairs, a birdcage dead center. The bird, Jef's only companion. In a strange twist of fate, the bird, Jean-Pierre Melville's pet, was the lone casualty of a fire that destroyed Melville's studio the same year in which Le Samourai was released.
Jef's silent and empty apartment is immediately contrasted to Paris: loud, bustling, busy, hectic. Later, the apartment is again contrasted with police headquarters: angular, antiseptic, technologically-advanced. It is these subtle touches that make the film come alive. Jef himself is held in comparison to the police Inspector (Francois Perier). While Jef is taciturn, the Inspector is gregarious, grand, emotive. But both are supernaturally determined men. Jef will stop at nothing to finish a job once it is started, and the Inspector will not rest until he's tracked Jef down. It's a little bit of a classic cat-and-mouse game.
Check this one out if you like a classic hard-boiled crime thriller, or just a great French film.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 8/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
The Red Shoes
This K-horror sophomore effort from Yong-gyun Kim was just so-so for me. The Red Shoes (2005) comes a little late to the Asian horror party and brings nothing particularly unique to the table. Aside from some interesting cinematography, particularly in the use of focus, this film is extremely forgettable. The A-horror tropes are paraded out: the vengeful ghosts, the cursed object, the creepy child (but in this case not so much creepy as just angry and annoying), the pale people with long bedraggled hair that represent restless spirits. Yada yada yada we get it. The Red Shoes isn't even particularly frightening, at least on a deeper emotional or psychological level. We never really get to know any of the characters that well. They are skin deep, facades, superficial. There's really no one to root for or even care about in this film. Without this connection, we must go without deep terror. The best the audience gets are some jump-scares, and honestly, after a few of those, you begin to resent the filmmaker for being so lazy and manipulating your unconscious surprise reflex to mine some cheap psuedo-terror.
Sun-jae, a single mother recently divorced from a cheating husband, spies a pair of red women's shoes on the subway one night. Being somewhat shoe-crazy (she maintains a veritable shoe museum at home, with soft lighting and special display cases) and seeing no obvious owner, she picks the red shoes up and brings them home. Pardon me while I digress for one moment here. I don't know if there was a problem with translating the film's title, or the director was color-blind, or some catastrophic coloring fuck-up in post-production, but the titular shoes ARE NOT RED. They're pink. Possibly, and this a stretch, you might say they were cranberry, but they are most definitely NOT RED. It sorta bugged me through the whole movie.
Anyway, back to the story. The moment Sun-jae picks up the shoes, her life begins to change. Events start to spiral out of control, friends begin to die mysteriously, and Sun-jae is haunted both by spirits and by visions of the past, of a bloody wedding and a mysterious ballet dancer. Perhaps most disconcerting are the changes in her daughter, Tae-su. Tae-su is immediately captivated by her mommy's new shoes, and although they are clearly much too large for her, she covets them and wears them at any opportunity. Which only serves to make Sun-jae suddenly and uncharacteristically furious and violent. Sun-jae must unravel the mystery of the shoes and reverse the curse before it's too late.
So, here's the thing: cursed footwear is just not frightening. Perhaps the premise could be tapped for a surreal dark comedy, but horror, not so much. Maybe if this film didn't take itself so seriously, maybe if it had a little self-awareness, a little snide self-mocking, something, anything to let the audience know that the filmmakers weren't deadly frickin serious about a pair of cursed pink pumps.
The acting here is okay, I guess. But Hye-su Kim's portrayal of Jun-sae is a tad over-the-top, like she went to the Nic Cage school of acting, perhaps. And really, the only thing Yeon-ah Park (Tae-su) does is either stare blankly or be really childish and annoying. I would figure that wouldn't be much of a stretch for any 6-year-old.
I also have to deduct a few points from the music, because my ears felt violated after watching The Red Shoes. In theory, composer Byung-woo Lee's mix of high-pitched strings, digital sound bites, and various other odds and ends could have worked. If done right. This was all wrong. My ears felt like they were being raped on a number of occasions, as the strings would screech into some previously undiscovered octave and the digital white noise would overwhelm the entire film until I literally had to put my hands over my ears and scrinch my eyes in pain. Not really what you want your audience to be doing when they're supposed to be watching your film.
In my continuing search for good A-horror, I will inevitably run into tepid efforts like The Red Shoes. But for any of you out there looking for good Asian horror, I suggest you skip this one. Instead, watch some Takashi Miike, or check out something good like A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), Infection (2004), or Sick Nurses (2007).
Storyline & plot: 2/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 3/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 4/10
Sun-jae, a single mother recently divorced from a cheating husband, spies a pair of red women's shoes on the subway one night. Being somewhat shoe-crazy (she maintains a veritable shoe museum at home, with soft lighting and special display cases) and seeing no obvious owner, she picks the red shoes up and brings them home. Pardon me while I digress for one moment here. I don't know if there was a problem with translating the film's title, or the director was color-blind, or some catastrophic coloring fuck-up in post-production, but the titular shoes ARE NOT RED. They're pink. Possibly, and this a stretch, you might say they were cranberry, but they are most definitely NOT RED. It sorta bugged me through the whole movie.
Anyway, back to the story. The moment Sun-jae picks up the shoes, her life begins to change. Events start to spiral out of control, friends begin to die mysteriously, and Sun-jae is haunted both by spirits and by visions of the past, of a bloody wedding and a mysterious ballet dancer. Perhaps most disconcerting are the changes in her daughter, Tae-su. Tae-su is immediately captivated by her mommy's new shoes, and although they are clearly much too large for her, she covets them and wears them at any opportunity. Which only serves to make Sun-jae suddenly and uncharacteristically furious and violent. Sun-jae must unravel the mystery of the shoes and reverse the curse before it's too late.
So, here's the thing: cursed footwear is just not frightening. Perhaps the premise could be tapped for a surreal dark comedy, but horror, not so much. Maybe if this film didn't take itself so seriously, maybe if it had a little self-awareness, a little snide self-mocking, something, anything to let the audience know that the filmmakers weren't deadly frickin serious about a pair of cursed pink pumps.
The acting here is okay, I guess. But Hye-su Kim's portrayal of Jun-sae is a tad over-the-top, like she went to the Nic Cage school of acting, perhaps. And really, the only thing Yeon-ah Park (Tae-su) does is either stare blankly or be really childish and annoying. I would figure that wouldn't be much of a stretch for any 6-year-old.
I also have to deduct a few points from the music, because my ears felt violated after watching The Red Shoes. In theory, composer Byung-woo Lee's mix of high-pitched strings, digital sound bites, and various other odds and ends could have worked. If done right. This was all wrong. My ears felt like they were being raped on a number of occasions, as the strings would screech into some previously undiscovered octave and the digital white noise would overwhelm the entire film until I literally had to put my hands over my ears and scrinch my eyes in pain. Not really what you want your audience to be doing when they're supposed to be watching your film.
In my continuing search for good A-horror, I will inevitably run into tepid efforts like The Red Shoes. But for any of you out there looking for good Asian horror, I suggest you skip this one. Instead, watch some Takashi Miike, or check out something good like A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), Infection (2004), or Sick Nurses (2007).
Storyline & plot: 2/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 3/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 4/10
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Court Jester
Although she would probably contest my interpretation of the facts, my wife despaired of this movie when it arrived from Netflix. "So, it's like a kids movie from the '50s?" she asked with an incredulous tone and mockingly raised eyebrow. I proceeded to tell her that it wasn't really a "kids movie," just kid-friendly, in that it's from the '50s and they hadn't yet gotten around to putting gratuitous gore, violence, sex, and foul language into movies yet. Well, most movies, anyway. Of course, even after explaining it thusly, my wife still inquired the next day, "So, how did you find this kids movie from the '50s?" Sometimes it's hard to tell if she truly forgets or she's just fucking with my patience. Keeps me on my toes, at any rate.
So, how did I come to put The Court Jester (1955) on my Netflix queue, even though I knew relatively little about it myself, other than that it was NOT just a kids movie? Well, it started with a roommate from college. He was a very cool dude and I generally had no complaints with his recommendations vis a vis the consumption of popular culture. And he swore by this movie. Up and down. Said it was one of the best movies ever. Later in our college careers, after we had both moved to different residences, he even hosted a party where the central attraction was a viewing of The Court Jester. Sadly, I could not attend at the time. College ended and the film faded from my memory.
It was by chance, nay, perhaps by fate then, that some years later, Netflix's recommendation engine would place The Court Jester in my purview yet again. I instantly recognized it as the film my friend had glowingly praised, and added it to my queue.
Ironically, being the great fan and student of film that I am, I am very hesitant to research movies too heavily before I see them. Call me old-fashioned, but I enjoy novel experiences. I don't want every last detail of the film and its production before going in. That's for later, after viewing. Beforehand, I want only the bare minimum of information to make a reasonable inference as to whether I should watch a film. And so it was that I knew almost nothing of The Court Jester other than my friend's long-ago regard.
I can tell you, I was not disappointed, and my wife was pleasantly surprised. Within the first 10 minutes, we were hooked.
We open on medieval England. A pretender to the crown, Roderick, has just slain the entire royal family and usurped the throne. A band of loyalists simmers in the forest, planning to wrest the throne back from Roderick. Their secret weapon: an infant, the true heir to the English monarchy, spirited away from the royal slaughter by the notorious loyalist, the Black Fox, deadliest man in all of England. But to place the infant back on the throne, the Black Fox will need to infiltrate the castle with his men. The only way is a secret underground passage, and the only key lies with the new king Roderick. A man is needed on the inside, and the bumbling coward Hubert Hawkins (Danny Kaye) is just the man for the job. Impersonating Roderick's new court jester Giacomo, Hubert gains entry to the court. But getting in is only the beginning. Hubert will have to navigate many perils, including a witch, an iron-willed princess, a case of mistaken identity, and a jousting tourney to the death, in order to make it out alive.
This film is an exemplary model of a lovingly crafted spoof. Writer/directors Melvin Frank and Norman Panama lampoon the high adventure Robin Hood genre made famous by Errol Flynn. But far from a heartless and biting parody, The Court Jester never forgets its source material. It is as much a part of high adventure film as it is a spoof of it. There is plenty of swordplay, intrigue, romance, and murder to get you in the spirit. And then when you're into the swing of things, Danny Kaye comes along and throws you a slapstick curveball that has you laughing your ass off.
Kaye, a master of song and lyrical tongue-twisters, serves up a heaping portion here, including the hypnotically catchy "Maladjusted Jester" and the famous Pellet with the Poison bit. Kaye is sensational as Hubert/Giacomo, a kind of bumbling, funnier, livelier precursor to Kramer from "Seinfeld". Very solid performances from Cecil Parker (King Roderick), Basil Rathbone (the odious and unctuous Ravenhurst, King's councillor), and Angela Lansbury (the steely-eyed and disturbingly attractive Princess Gwendolyn) round out the film.
Seriously, what's not to love about a movie featuring an army of little people, for gods sakes? Interestingly, one can see some very suspicious similarities between The Court Jester and Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975). These similarities are a little too suspicious to be coincidental, I think. Messieurs Chapman, Cleese, Idle, Jones, and Palin must have been fans of this film growing up.
So is The Court Jester a kids flick? I would say emphatically no, but at the same time, I think many children would enjoy it, so by all means, make a family night out of it. You won't be disappointed. High energy, great music, slapstick routines, and more subtle comedy; this is a really fun watch.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 9/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
So, how did I come to put The Court Jester (1955) on my Netflix queue, even though I knew relatively little about it myself, other than that it was NOT just a kids movie? Well, it started with a roommate from college. He was a very cool dude and I generally had no complaints with his recommendations vis a vis the consumption of popular culture. And he swore by this movie. Up and down. Said it was one of the best movies ever. Later in our college careers, after we had both moved to different residences, he even hosted a party where the central attraction was a viewing of The Court Jester. Sadly, I could not attend at the time. College ended and the film faded from my memory.
It was by chance, nay, perhaps by fate then, that some years later, Netflix's recommendation engine would place The Court Jester in my purview yet again. I instantly recognized it as the film my friend had glowingly praised, and added it to my queue.
Ironically, being the great fan and student of film that I am, I am very hesitant to research movies too heavily before I see them. Call me old-fashioned, but I enjoy novel experiences. I don't want every last detail of the film and its production before going in. That's for later, after viewing. Beforehand, I want only the bare minimum of information to make a reasonable inference as to whether I should watch a film. And so it was that I knew almost nothing of The Court Jester other than my friend's long-ago regard.
I can tell you, I was not disappointed, and my wife was pleasantly surprised. Within the first 10 minutes, we were hooked.
We open on medieval England. A pretender to the crown, Roderick, has just slain the entire royal family and usurped the throne. A band of loyalists simmers in the forest, planning to wrest the throne back from Roderick. Their secret weapon: an infant, the true heir to the English monarchy, spirited away from the royal slaughter by the notorious loyalist, the Black Fox, deadliest man in all of England. But to place the infant back on the throne, the Black Fox will need to infiltrate the castle with his men. The only way is a secret underground passage, and the only key lies with the new king Roderick. A man is needed on the inside, and the bumbling coward Hubert Hawkins (Danny Kaye) is just the man for the job. Impersonating Roderick's new court jester Giacomo, Hubert gains entry to the court. But getting in is only the beginning. Hubert will have to navigate many perils, including a witch, an iron-willed princess, a case of mistaken identity, and a jousting tourney to the death, in order to make it out alive.
This film is an exemplary model of a lovingly crafted spoof. Writer/directors Melvin Frank and Norman Panama lampoon the high adventure Robin Hood genre made famous by Errol Flynn. But far from a heartless and biting parody, The Court Jester never forgets its source material. It is as much a part of high adventure film as it is a spoof of it. There is plenty of swordplay, intrigue, romance, and murder to get you in the spirit. And then when you're into the swing of things, Danny Kaye comes along and throws you a slapstick curveball that has you laughing your ass off.
Kaye, a master of song and lyrical tongue-twisters, serves up a heaping portion here, including the hypnotically catchy "Maladjusted Jester" and the famous Pellet with the Poison bit. Kaye is sensational as Hubert/Giacomo, a kind of bumbling, funnier, livelier precursor to Kramer from "Seinfeld". Very solid performances from Cecil Parker (King Roderick), Basil Rathbone (the odious and unctuous Ravenhurst, King's councillor), and Angela Lansbury (the steely-eyed and disturbingly attractive Princess Gwendolyn) round out the film.
Seriously, what's not to love about a movie featuring an army of little people, for gods sakes? Interestingly, one can see some very suspicious similarities between The Court Jester and Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975). These similarities are a little too suspicious to be coincidental, I think. Messieurs Chapman, Cleese, Idle, Jones, and Palin must have been fans of this film growing up.
So is The Court Jester a kids flick? I would say emphatically no, but at the same time, I think many children would enjoy it, so by all means, make a family night out of it. You won't be disappointed. High energy, great music, slapstick routines, and more subtle comedy; this is a really fun watch.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 9/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
One Crazy Summer
Let me say, as far as summers go, I've seen crazier. In fact, I think I've lived crazier. I guess crazy is relative. I'd say the hijinks of Hoops McCann (John Cusack), Cassandra (Demi Moore), and the Stork twins (Bobcat Goldthwait & Tom Villard) in One Crazy Summer (1986) are more silly, goofy, wacky, or zany. Yeah, I like zany. You don't see zany used enough in movie titles. One Zany Summer. Yeah, I guess it's a little clunky. Beats It's a Zany Zany Zany Zany World, though. Anyway, I don't think I'd go as far as crazy. But, you know, it's not a bad film, it's got a few laughs, and it's always good to see John Cusack in something that doesn't suck. Because damn if his track record hasn't been spotty of late.
Hoops (ironically named, since he can't play basketball worth a shit) has just graduated high school in, wait for it.... Generic, NY. Yep, instead of make up some town, director Savage Steve Holland goes straight for the ironic sucker punch with Generic, NY. Clever. I like it. Anyway, back to Hoops. He's trying to get into art school, and his entrance exam requires he write and illustrate a love story. Hoops has got til the end of the summer to draw his masterpiece, starring a frumpy rhinoceros looking for love, but continually foiled by evil little bunnies. The animations (by Holland himself) serve as interludes along our journey with Hoops, who decides to relax on Nantucket at the bidding of his friend George (Joel Murray). But it seems like relaxation is the last thing he'll get. On the way to Nantucket, George and Hoops pick up Cassandra, on the run from a gang of bikers, and headed to her grandfather's funeral on the island. Now Hoops has got to help Cassandra raise enough money to pay the mortgage on her grandfather's land, or the greedy Beckerstead clan will snatch it up to make way for a condo development.
The plight of the little guys fighting to keep their land against corporate development is as old as film itself and quite a bit older. Holland makes no attempt to say something deep on the subject, but rather uses it as a plot device to ultimately pit Hoops and his friends against the devious Beckersteads in the annual Nantucket regatta. And what's a regatta without an '80s music montage about friends fixing up an old boat? That's classy. And then there's Bobcat Goldthwait. Man, that guy must be really hard to work with. Also really hard not to punch in the face. He's about 80% annoyingly growling psycho in this film. The other 20% of the time he's actually funny, you know, in an Ace Ventura physical comedy sort of way. The highlight is an over-the-top extended Godzilla parody, as Goldthwait stumbles around, trapped in a lizard monster costume. Hey, it's not highbrow comedy or anything, but it's not bad.
Unfortunately, there is absolutely zero chemistry between Moore and Cusack, so the romance (the central theme of the movie, remember?) kinda fizzles. Also, Moore's character is some kind of pseudo-hippie and she goes the entire movie with these horribly unattractive, greasy looking braids all in her hair. It's really quite repulsive. Oh yeah, so's her voice, which is featured in a couple of terrible bar songs (Cassandra is some sort of singer, apparently, though you wouldn't know it from her screeching voice).
Basically, this is a fun summer movie, something you could make fun of in a group setting. It's movie fluff, but it never pretends to be anything else.
Storyline & plot: 4/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 5/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Hoops (ironically named, since he can't play basketball worth a shit) has just graduated high school in, wait for it.... Generic, NY. Yep, instead of make up some town, director Savage Steve Holland goes straight for the ironic sucker punch with Generic, NY. Clever. I like it. Anyway, back to Hoops. He's trying to get into art school, and his entrance exam requires he write and illustrate a love story. Hoops has got til the end of the summer to draw his masterpiece, starring a frumpy rhinoceros looking for love, but continually foiled by evil little bunnies. The animations (by Holland himself) serve as interludes along our journey with Hoops, who decides to relax on Nantucket at the bidding of his friend George (Joel Murray). But it seems like relaxation is the last thing he'll get. On the way to Nantucket, George and Hoops pick up Cassandra, on the run from a gang of bikers, and headed to her grandfather's funeral on the island. Now Hoops has got to help Cassandra raise enough money to pay the mortgage on her grandfather's land, or the greedy Beckerstead clan will snatch it up to make way for a condo development.
The plight of the little guys fighting to keep their land against corporate development is as old as film itself and quite a bit older. Holland makes no attempt to say something deep on the subject, but rather uses it as a plot device to ultimately pit Hoops and his friends against the devious Beckersteads in the annual Nantucket regatta. And what's a regatta without an '80s music montage about friends fixing up an old boat? That's classy. And then there's Bobcat Goldthwait. Man, that guy must be really hard to work with. Also really hard not to punch in the face. He's about 80% annoyingly growling psycho in this film. The other 20% of the time he's actually funny, you know, in an Ace Ventura physical comedy sort of way. The highlight is an over-the-top extended Godzilla parody, as Goldthwait stumbles around, trapped in a lizard monster costume. Hey, it's not highbrow comedy or anything, but it's not bad.
Unfortunately, there is absolutely zero chemistry between Moore and Cusack, so the romance (the central theme of the movie, remember?) kinda fizzles. Also, Moore's character is some kind of pseudo-hippie and she goes the entire movie with these horribly unattractive, greasy looking braids all in her hair. It's really quite repulsive. Oh yeah, so's her voice, which is featured in a couple of terrible bar songs (Cassandra is some sort of singer, apparently, though you wouldn't know it from her screeching voice).
Basically, this is a fun summer movie, something you could make fun of in a group setting. It's movie fluff, but it never pretends to be anything else.
Storyline & plot: 4/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 5/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Death of a Ghost Hunter
I was very pleasantly surprised with the quality of Sean Tretta's Death of a Ghost Hunter (2007). From what I'd heard, it was a standard b-grade horror. Well, the b-horror nametag is true as far as it goes, but the production values were imaginative and polished, hinting at a higher quality film. In fact, the only things that really ground this film in the b-grade are the sub-par acting and poorly written dialogue. Our heroine is the only one who doesn't appear to be reading off of cue cards, and even she gets tripped up trying to pull off the awkward lines the writers are feeding her. But the story is otherwise solid, and actually scary at times.
The film opens with some backstory, grainily filmed and "aged" to give it the appearance of "file footage." We learn of the brutal murder of the Masterson family in Queen Creek, AZ (a suburb of Phoenix) in 1982. I initially thought this to be a real-life case, half remembered from my childhood in Phoenix. Turns out, the Masterson family of DoaGH is loosely based on a real life and much more recognizable family, the DeFeos of Amityville, NY. Fast forward 25 years. The nephew of the murdered Masterson patriarch has recently inherited the estate, including the ill-fated house in Queen Creek. With rumors of a haunting surrounding the property, the nephew contracts a crew to investigate, including paranormal investigator Carter Simms, local reporter Yvette Sandoval, videographer Colin Green, and a "spiritual advisor", the volatile Mary Young. Far from being a ghost chaser, Carter has spent her life debunking purported hauntings, but she's about to encounter something she was not completely prepared for: an actual paranormal experience. As the days and terrifying nights tick by in the Masterson house, the crew will have to try and figure out what exactly is going on in the house, what really happened to the Mastersons 25 years before, and what terrible secret their colleague Mary Young is harboring. It's a safe bet they won't all make it out alive, and the Masterson house will claim more victims.
DoaGH takes a cue from The Blair Witch Project (1999), employing a somewhat mockumentary style. It's also set up like an extended version of any of a myriad of ghost hunting shows on cable television, complete with voice-over narration and title screens indicating the day and time at key intervals. For the first ten minutes or so, the style and tempo of the film is incredibly annoying and I feared it would be much more like ghost hunter shows, which I personally think are extremely boring for the most part. But once the action of the film heats up, and the audience is immersed in the unfolding history of the Masterson house, the film settles into a comfortable and entertaining groove. The bulk of the movie reminds me more than anything of Brad Anderson's monumentally creepy and underappreciated Session 9 (2001), in its quietly lingering establishing shots, in its subtle hints into the history of place, in its accelerating episodic tempo, and in its chilling score and periodic explosions of sound. Considering I hold Session 9 in very high regard as one of the greatest horror movies of all time, this speaks well for DoaGH.
If you enjoyed Blair Witch (or even if you just liked the premise), or are awesome enough to have seen and enjoyed Session 9, and you don't mind a little sub-par acting, I think you could really get into this film. I sure did.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
The film opens with some backstory, grainily filmed and "aged" to give it the appearance of "file footage." We learn of the brutal murder of the Masterson family in Queen Creek, AZ (a suburb of Phoenix) in 1982. I initially thought this to be a real-life case, half remembered from my childhood in Phoenix. Turns out, the Masterson family of DoaGH is loosely based on a real life and much more recognizable family, the DeFeos of Amityville, NY. Fast forward 25 years. The nephew of the murdered Masterson patriarch has recently inherited the estate, including the ill-fated house in Queen Creek. With rumors of a haunting surrounding the property, the nephew contracts a crew to investigate, including paranormal investigator Carter Simms, local reporter Yvette Sandoval, videographer Colin Green, and a "spiritual advisor", the volatile Mary Young. Far from being a ghost chaser, Carter has spent her life debunking purported hauntings, but she's about to encounter something she was not completely prepared for: an actual paranormal experience. As the days and terrifying nights tick by in the Masterson house, the crew will have to try and figure out what exactly is going on in the house, what really happened to the Mastersons 25 years before, and what terrible secret their colleague Mary Young is harboring. It's a safe bet they won't all make it out alive, and the Masterson house will claim more victims.
DoaGH takes a cue from The Blair Witch Project (1999), employing a somewhat mockumentary style. It's also set up like an extended version of any of a myriad of ghost hunting shows on cable television, complete with voice-over narration and title screens indicating the day and time at key intervals. For the first ten minutes or so, the style and tempo of the film is incredibly annoying and I feared it would be much more like ghost hunter shows, which I personally think are extremely boring for the most part. But once the action of the film heats up, and the audience is immersed in the unfolding history of the Masterson house, the film settles into a comfortable and entertaining groove. The bulk of the movie reminds me more than anything of Brad Anderson's monumentally creepy and underappreciated Session 9 (2001), in its quietly lingering establishing shots, in its subtle hints into the history of place, in its accelerating episodic tempo, and in its chilling score and periodic explosions of sound. Considering I hold Session 9 in very high regard as one of the greatest horror movies of all time, this speaks well for DoaGH.
If you enjoyed Blair Witch (or even if you just liked the premise), or are awesome enough to have seen and enjoyed Session 9, and you don't mind a little sub-par acting, I think you could really get into this film. I sure did.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 4/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Monday, August 17, 2009
City of God
I know, I know. I'm like the last person on earth to see this movie. I've meant to, for a long time. Ever since it was first released to US theaters in 2002, as a matter of fact. I was in college at Arizona State, and thanks to an abundance of time and theaters, I saw an enormous amount of movies during my undergrad career. My friends and I had every intention of going to see City of God (2002). But something would come up. Change of plans at the last minute. The showing is sold out. We had even intended to see it several months after its initial release, when it was playing at a local second-run theater. Once again, something came up. I suppose we all have those films from time to time in our lives. The ones we've been meaning to see, but just hadn't gotten around to it. City of God had followed me for 7 years, always lurking. I'd see it in the video store (ha! back when I went to video stores. ah, the memories), think, "Hey, I should pick that one up," but always move on and find something else that commanded my viewing attention for that night. After a while, it became psychological: I feared that to see this film after so long and so many failed attempts would work some kind of evil mojo on me. Or maybe I was just worried that I'd hyped it up too much in my mind. Or maybe it was just too depressing to ever want to actually watch. But eventually, it made its way to the top of my queue (I had to fight the urge to bury it back to #50 or so, even until the final hour).
So, let me tell you: I was not wrong, it is depressing. But it's also good, and epic, with brilliant cinematography and excellent music. But let's not ever forget that it's depressing as hell, and a whole shit ton of people die, and I'm reconsidering ever stepping foot in Brazil.
The story centers around Rocket, a boy growing up in the Rio de Janeiro slum known as the City of God. We first meet Rocket on the streets of a newly founded City of God in the 1960s. The slum starts as a government refugee camp for those escaping floods elsewhere in Brazil. The poor and disaffected youth of the ghetto begin to form small gangs aimed at petty crime: gas truck holdups, hotel robberies, and the like. While Rocket steers clear of the gangs, he is nonetheless caught up in the burgeoning violence through his older brother and other friends who have chosen the path of crime. Meanwhile, Li'l Dice, a small-time hood, dreams of one day ruling City of God with an iron fist. He begins very young, assimilating those thugs that he can and eliminating those that he cannot. As the '60s turn into the '70s, Li'l Dice, transformed now into the drug boss Li'l Ze, continues to use brutality and murder to secure more territory in the City of God, cementing his place as Rio's drug kingpin. The small voice of reason in Li'l Ze's operation is Benny, who keeps Ze's bubbling insanity from overflowing, and keeps the peace with the remaining drug lords in the city. Our narrator Rocket works menial jobs, dreaming of being a photographer, trying to steer clear of Ze and the drug underworld. But Rocket always seems to be caught in the middle of things, toeing a very dangerous line between rival gangs. As the '70s give way to the '80s, the City of God turns into a bloodbath, as Ze goes up against his remaining rival gang, led by Carrot and Rio's underground hero Knockout Ned.
This is a very solid movie all around, with a script that manages to be complex but never tangential. Braulio Mantovani's writing is very tight, with sparse dialogue, backstories, and a non-linear progression. In the hands of director Fernando Meirelles and cinematographer Cesar Charlone (who would later team up for the grimly beautiful The Constant Gardener), Mantovani's script crackles with life. The film is overmodulated, gritty, yet vibrant, with a moderate reliance on blue filters to give a somber pall to the City of God that underscores the deep tragedy of Rio's drug world. The score and music for City of God are a crazy conglomeration of traditional Brazilian bossa nova and jazz with American standards from the period, such as James Brown's "Sex Machine" and Carl Douglas's "Kung Fu Fighting".
I'm glad I saw City of God, finally, after years of it haunting my viewing habits. It was a good film, very well executed, with some really brilliant camera work. That said, I don't think I'd ever watch it a second time. It's extremely violent and incredibly depressing. And while it's by no means a short movie, it feels even longer than it is because of the complexity of the non-linear plot, and the unraveling of the various storylines.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 7/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
So, let me tell you: I was not wrong, it is depressing. But it's also good, and epic, with brilliant cinematography and excellent music. But let's not ever forget that it's depressing as hell, and a whole shit ton of people die, and I'm reconsidering ever stepping foot in Brazil.
The story centers around Rocket, a boy growing up in the Rio de Janeiro slum known as the City of God. We first meet Rocket on the streets of a newly founded City of God in the 1960s. The slum starts as a government refugee camp for those escaping floods elsewhere in Brazil. The poor and disaffected youth of the ghetto begin to form small gangs aimed at petty crime: gas truck holdups, hotel robberies, and the like. While Rocket steers clear of the gangs, he is nonetheless caught up in the burgeoning violence through his older brother and other friends who have chosen the path of crime. Meanwhile, Li'l Dice, a small-time hood, dreams of one day ruling City of God with an iron fist. He begins very young, assimilating those thugs that he can and eliminating those that he cannot. As the '60s turn into the '70s, Li'l Dice, transformed now into the drug boss Li'l Ze, continues to use brutality and murder to secure more territory in the City of God, cementing his place as Rio's drug kingpin. The small voice of reason in Li'l Ze's operation is Benny, who keeps Ze's bubbling insanity from overflowing, and keeps the peace with the remaining drug lords in the city. Our narrator Rocket works menial jobs, dreaming of being a photographer, trying to steer clear of Ze and the drug underworld. But Rocket always seems to be caught in the middle of things, toeing a very dangerous line between rival gangs. As the '70s give way to the '80s, the City of God turns into a bloodbath, as Ze goes up against his remaining rival gang, led by Carrot and Rio's underground hero Knockout Ned.
This is a very solid movie all around, with a script that manages to be complex but never tangential. Braulio Mantovani's writing is very tight, with sparse dialogue, backstories, and a non-linear progression. In the hands of director Fernando Meirelles and cinematographer Cesar Charlone (who would later team up for the grimly beautiful The Constant Gardener), Mantovani's script crackles with life. The film is overmodulated, gritty, yet vibrant, with a moderate reliance on blue filters to give a somber pall to the City of God that underscores the deep tragedy of Rio's drug world. The score and music for City of God are a crazy conglomeration of traditional Brazilian bossa nova and jazz with American standards from the period, such as James Brown's "Sex Machine" and Carl Douglas's "Kung Fu Fighting".
I'm glad I saw City of God, finally, after years of it haunting my viewing habits. It was a good film, very well executed, with some really brilliant camera work. That said, I don't think I'd ever watch it a second time. It's extremely violent and incredibly depressing. And while it's by no means a short movie, it feels even longer than it is because of the complexity of the non-linear plot, and the unraveling of the various storylines.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 7/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Friday, August 14, 2009
Night of the Demons
This film from schlockmeister Kevin Tenney is a poster child for MST3K. The intentional humor in Night of the Demons (1988) consists of utterly unfunny and atrocious puns, lame sex jokes and innuendos, and bad accents. But it's a great example of unintentionally hilarious B-horror. And I mean seriously B. There is very little to recommend this film from a critical standpoint. The few standouts (the original songs, the make-up effects) don't even come close to carrying a film otherwise littered with horrible acting, a bad script, and laughable effects. All the '80s horror tropes are upheld, with one surprising and notable exception (hint: it has to do with the chances of survival for an ethnic minority).
It's Halloween night, and ten high school friends decide to go all out for their party. They come up with the brilliant idea of holding their bash in Hull House, a local eyesore and creepy haunted house. We get all the backstory for Hull House (and I mean all of it) unceremoniously dumped on us all at once by one of the gang, who apparently has read every single thing on the subject and hangs out with vaguely mentioned 'Indians' all the time. Most recently, Hull House served as a funeral home before being abandoned. The story is a little muddled: it could be the Indian spirits that haunt Hull House, or it could be the spirits of the dead who passed through the funeral home, or it could be the funeral director himself, rumored to practice necrophilia and other arcane things. Whatever the story, the high schoolers seem unperturbed, except for Rodger, who childishly proclaims that he's the son of a preacher man and his daddy taught him not to mess with the spirits. Regardless, Rodger continues on into the house.
The party starts innocently enough, with some dancing and tunes blasting from a boombox. When the boombox mysteriously cuts out, the gang get down to more serious pursuits. Angela, the obligatory goth girl, leads them in some sort of seance, which apparently consists of nothing more than sitting in front of a mirror and holding hands. Nonetheless, something has apparently been summoned, as the mirror goes dark and a hideous demon face appears. And by demon face, I mean a bad puppetry rendition of what appears to be a cross between a dragon's head and a praying mantis's. The appearance of dragonface ushers in a world of hurt, as the demon spirits begin systematically hunting down and possessing the kids. Along the way, we are treated to a heaping helping of gore, demon make-up effects, gratuitous nudity, and of course, stupid teenagers having sex. Oh yeah, and the demons seem to have some sort of need to do erotic interpretative dance before they kill people. I dunno; who am I to question demonic motivation? Anyway, the rest of the film plays out like a slasher flick, as the demons slowly hunt down the survivors, who find themselves trapped in the house, the gated entrance sealed by demon magic or somesuch.
Basically, what we have with Night of the Demons is a cheap Evil Dead (1981) knockoff. I don't even know how that's physically possible, seeing as how the $1M budget for Night of the Demons is 3 times Evil Dead's modest budget, but nevertheless, Kevin Tenney's work seems much cheaper than Sam Raimi's. Of course, Raimi is a legendary cutting-edge cinematographer, and despite his legacy as a B-movie mogul, Bruce Campbell does have some acting chops. Which gives him a leg up on everyone in this film. The acting is clearly the weakest link. Even for schlock, this is bad. The actors deliver their lines with all the subtlety and nuance of a slab of granite, appearing to have just learned them 15 minutes before the take.
Of note among the actors is Linnea Quigley as the slut-turned-demon Suzanne. If Campbell is the king of the B's, then Quigley is the undisputed queen. With roles is such cult classics as Silent Night Deadly Night (1984), The Return of the Living Dead (1985), Creepozoids (1987), and Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (1988), Quigley had already made a name for herself in horror circles. Unfortunately, her inclusion in Night of the Demons means that she is a quite obvious 30-year-old trying to play a high schooler among a bunch of much younger actors. She sticks out like a sore thumb, and the good looks that made her a fan favorite with a nude romp through a graveyard in Return of the Living Dead are gone, ravaged by what appears to be a dependency on coke, meth, or both.
While the make-up effects by Steve Johnson (future husband of Linnea Quigley) are pretty good, other effects are atrocious, including the aforementioned dragonface demon, the obvious matte painting long shot of Hull House, and the opening credits, which drag out for like 7 minutes and look as if a 6-year-old animated them. The score sounds like it was composed on a Casio keyboard, but I give it points for being unique. The original songs, written and performed for the film by Dennis Tenney, are actually pretty cool, except for the unfortunate power ballad over the end credits. Man, was an end credits power ballad fucking obligatory in the late '80s??
I wanted to check this film out because a remake is being released later this year featuring Shannon Elizabeth and Eddie "John Connor" Furlong, as well as a cameo by Quigley. I normally don't condone remakes, but I'm looking forward to this one. Even if it's bad, it can't possibly be worse than the original. Here's to hoping they class up the production without losing the camp.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 1/10
The Reverend says: 4/10
It's Halloween night, and ten high school friends decide to go all out for their party. They come up with the brilliant idea of holding their bash in Hull House, a local eyesore and creepy haunted house. We get all the backstory for Hull House (and I mean all of it) unceremoniously dumped on us all at once by one of the gang, who apparently has read every single thing on the subject and hangs out with vaguely mentioned 'Indians' all the time. Most recently, Hull House served as a funeral home before being abandoned. The story is a little muddled: it could be the Indian spirits that haunt Hull House, or it could be the spirits of the dead who passed through the funeral home, or it could be the funeral director himself, rumored to practice necrophilia and other arcane things. Whatever the story, the high schoolers seem unperturbed, except for Rodger, who childishly proclaims that he's the son of a preacher man and his daddy taught him not to mess with the spirits. Regardless, Rodger continues on into the house.
The party starts innocently enough, with some dancing and tunes blasting from a boombox. When the boombox mysteriously cuts out, the gang get down to more serious pursuits. Angela, the obligatory goth girl, leads them in some sort of seance, which apparently consists of nothing more than sitting in front of a mirror and holding hands. Nonetheless, something has apparently been summoned, as the mirror goes dark and a hideous demon face appears. And by demon face, I mean a bad puppetry rendition of what appears to be a cross between a dragon's head and a praying mantis's. The appearance of dragonface ushers in a world of hurt, as the demon spirits begin systematically hunting down and possessing the kids. Along the way, we are treated to a heaping helping of gore, demon make-up effects, gratuitous nudity, and of course, stupid teenagers having sex. Oh yeah, and the demons seem to have some sort of need to do erotic interpretative dance before they kill people. I dunno; who am I to question demonic motivation? Anyway, the rest of the film plays out like a slasher flick, as the demons slowly hunt down the survivors, who find themselves trapped in the house, the gated entrance sealed by demon magic or somesuch.
Basically, what we have with Night of the Demons is a cheap Evil Dead (1981) knockoff. I don't even know how that's physically possible, seeing as how the $1M budget for Night of the Demons is 3 times Evil Dead's modest budget, but nevertheless, Kevin Tenney's work seems much cheaper than Sam Raimi's. Of course, Raimi is a legendary cutting-edge cinematographer, and despite his legacy as a B-movie mogul, Bruce Campbell does have some acting chops. Which gives him a leg up on everyone in this film. The acting is clearly the weakest link. Even for schlock, this is bad. The actors deliver their lines with all the subtlety and nuance of a slab of granite, appearing to have just learned them 15 minutes before the take.
Of note among the actors is Linnea Quigley as the slut-turned-demon Suzanne. If Campbell is the king of the B's, then Quigley is the undisputed queen. With roles is such cult classics as Silent Night Deadly Night (1984), The Return of the Living Dead (1985), Creepozoids (1987), and Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (1988), Quigley had already made a name for herself in horror circles. Unfortunately, her inclusion in Night of the Demons means that she is a quite obvious 30-year-old trying to play a high schooler among a bunch of much younger actors. She sticks out like a sore thumb, and the good looks that made her a fan favorite with a nude romp through a graveyard in Return of the Living Dead are gone, ravaged by what appears to be a dependency on coke, meth, or both.
While the make-up effects by Steve Johnson (future husband of Linnea Quigley) are pretty good, other effects are atrocious, including the aforementioned dragonface demon, the obvious matte painting long shot of Hull House, and the opening credits, which drag out for like 7 minutes and look as if a 6-year-old animated them. The score sounds like it was composed on a Casio keyboard, but I give it points for being unique. The original songs, written and performed for the film by Dennis Tenney, are actually pretty cool, except for the unfortunate power ballad over the end credits. Man, was an end credits power ballad fucking obligatory in the late '80s??
I wanted to check this film out because a remake is being released later this year featuring Shannon Elizabeth and Eddie "John Connor" Furlong, as well as a cameo by Quigley. I normally don't condone remakes, but I'm looking forward to this one. Even if it's bad, it can't possibly be worse than the original. Here's to hoping they class up the production without losing the camp.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 1/10
The Reverend says: 4/10
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Season 3
If you're already watching "IASiP", then congratulations, you are supremely cool. If you have not yet experienced what is probably the funniest show currently on television, then you need to stop what you're doing right now. Seriously, just stop. And since you're probably reading this review right now, I give you full permission to stop right now and go rent/buy/steal/exchange sexual favors for the first two seasons of "IASiP". Got 'em? Good. Now watch them. You may need to take frequent breaks as the awesomeness may overwhelm your mind. It's okay, I'll wait. Well, okay, I'm very impatient so I'll continue, but this review of season 3 will be here when you get back.
I love "Seinfeld" and I still hold it as a monumental fulcrum in television history as well as a great and funny show. And so I end up holding "Seinfeld" as comparison to all sorts of other shows. Sometimes these comparisons are tenuous at best. In the case of "IASiP", I think the comparison is actually quite apt. "IASiP" is the logical evolution of the "Seinfeld" paradigm. A show about nothing more than the hilarious misadventures of a group of young misanthropes. "IASiP" is less Jewish humor and more urban white trash. It's also more violent, outrageous, and filthy, owing to steps forward in allowable television.
The show airs in a strange television limbo land: it's not a major network show, but it's also not part of the wildly successful canon of premium shows from the likes of HBO and Showtime. "IASiP" makes its home on FX, part of the still nascent realm of original non-premium cable offerings. Even as late as ten years ago, these cable giants such as TBS, TNT, FX (how old is FX, anyway?), and USA made their living peddling re-runs of the network shows and crappy movies from the '80s and '90s, usually amusingly edited for TV. "IASiP" airs late night on FX, and so is afforded a little extra breathing room. So far as I can tell, the only thing they can't say on the show is "fuck" and more complex filthiness such as "cocksucker". Other than that, it's all good.
The show centers around fraternal twins Dee and Dennis Reynolds (Kaitlin Olson & Glenn Howerton), their friends Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Charlie (Charlie Day), and the twins' father Frank (Danny DeVito), who may or may not actually be their father and it turns out may or may not actually be Charlie's father as well. Together, the fivesome own and operate Paddy's Irish Pub, a rundown beerjoint that caters to the dregs of south Philly, the perpetual drunkards, and Frank's shady friends, including Korean gamblers and a doo-wop singing motorcycle gang. The bar barely breaks even, so the group usually end up concocting crazy schemes to get rich quick, or just crazy schemes for crazy scheming's sake.
Frank is the money man. He actually has an undisclosed fortune which he is loathe to spend but will dole out to the other four if the crazy schemes seem worthy. Dennis, maniacally egotistical and shallow, assumes the part of ringleader, keeping his emotionally fragile sister Dee and the batshit insane, socially retarded, and functionally illiterate Charlie under his thumb through verbal and emotional abuse and menial tasks. Meanwhile, Mac is the brilliant idea man, playing it tough, but doomed to humiliating failure. They are all bound by mutual hatred, of each other, and of pretty much everyone else. Number one all their lists are the McPoyles, a sort of Philadelphia hillbilly clan, incestuous, creepy, and volatile.
There's really no way to describe the show, other than a joyfully and hilariously profane and debauched brand of dysfunctional misanthropy. If that sounds like your bag, then check it out.
Storyline & plot: 9/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 10/10
The Reverend says: 9/10
I love "Seinfeld" and I still hold it as a monumental fulcrum in television history as well as a great and funny show. And so I end up holding "Seinfeld" as comparison to all sorts of other shows. Sometimes these comparisons are tenuous at best. In the case of "IASiP", I think the comparison is actually quite apt. "IASiP" is the logical evolution of the "Seinfeld" paradigm. A show about nothing more than the hilarious misadventures of a group of young misanthropes. "IASiP" is less Jewish humor and more urban white trash. It's also more violent, outrageous, and filthy, owing to steps forward in allowable television.
The show airs in a strange television limbo land: it's not a major network show, but it's also not part of the wildly successful canon of premium shows from the likes of HBO and Showtime. "IASiP" makes its home on FX, part of the still nascent realm of original non-premium cable offerings. Even as late as ten years ago, these cable giants such as TBS, TNT, FX (how old is FX, anyway?), and USA made their living peddling re-runs of the network shows and crappy movies from the '80s and '90s, usually amusingly edited for TV. "IASiP" airs late night on FX, and so is afforded a little extra breathing room. So far as I can tell, the only thing they can't say on the show is "fuck" and more complex filthiness such as "cocksucker". Other than that, it's all good.
The show centers around fraternal twins Dee and Dennis Reynolds (Kaitlin Olson & Glenn Howerton), their friends Mac (Rob McElhenney) and Charlie (Charlie Day), and the twins' father Frank (Danny DeVito), who may or may not actually be their father and it turns out may or may not actually be Charlie's father as well. Together, the fivesome own and operate Paddy's Irish Pub, a rundown beerjoint that caters to the dregs of south Philly, the perpetual drunkards, and Frank's shady friends, including Korean gamblers and a doo-wop singing motorcycle gang. The bar barely breaks even, so the group usually end up concocting crazy schemes to get rich quick, or just crazy schemes for crazy scheming's sake.
Frank is the money man. He actually has an undisclosed fortune which he is loathe to spend but will dole out to the other four if the crazy schemes seem worthy. Dennis, maniacally egotistical and shallow, assumes the part of ringleader, keeping his emotionally fragile sister Dee and the batshit insane, socially retarded, and functionally illiterate Charlie under his thumb through verbal and emotional abuse and menial tasks. Meanwhile, Mac is the brilliant idea man, playing it tough, but doomed to humiliating failure. They are all bound by mutual hatred, of each other, and of pretty much everyone else. Number one all their lists are the McPoyles, a sort of Philadelphia hillbilly clan, incestuous, creepy, and volatile.
There's really no way to describe the show, other than a joyfully and hilariously profane and debauched brand of dysfunctional misanthropy. If that sounds like your bag, then check it out.
Storyline & plot: 9/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 10/10
The Reverend says: 9/10
Sunday, August 9, 2009
The Broken
Gina McVey (Lena Headey) is a hospital radiologist living in London. One fateful day after work, Gina thinks she sees a woman who looks exactly like her drive by in a Jeep identical to her own. This seemingly chance meeting with her doppleganger sends Gina on a hunt to track down her mysterious twin. When her search is interrupted by a horrific car crash, Gina must grapple with her hazy memory to arrive at the truth of the matter. Gina soon suspects that those closest to her are not entirely what they seem. At the center of this speculation is her fiancée Stefan, whose personality has completely changed overnight. What is that strange leak in the bathroom ceiling? And why is Stefan so secretive about what's in the attic of his apartment?
I'm really torn about The Broken (2008). On the one hand, it's really well executed, technically speaking. Aside from a few minor lapses into terrible CGI, the film looks and sounds pretty good. While Guy Farley's score is adequate yet unoriginal, the overall sound design by Nigel Mills is quite well done. Most of the middle of the film is presented without music, and the importance of foley editing comes to the forefront. The enhanced sounds associated with mundane tasks become our lifeline, pulling us through the film and alongside Gina as she struggles to understand the events leading up to the crash. This is the kind of film that I admire for its ability to make every little thing significant. The camera pans at an angle to our framed character, slowly revealing more of the background behind them. Is that significant? We strain our eyes to the background, searching for the reason. Is someone sneaking up behind our heroine? No, not this time. But what about the next time? This sense of potential meaning extends to the brilliant use of sound. Why has the music been scaled back? Are the filmmakers cluing us in to pay attention to ambient sounds? What was that noise?? By infusing everything with potential meaning, every object with potential action, and every encounter with potential violence, the audience is kept on their toes for the entirety of the film. And that's a pretty big selling point for a thriller, I would think.
But putting aside its technical positives, this film is completely derivative. The concept of evil dopplegangers, the disorientation of questioning one's own identity, the prevalence of scenes set in the bathroom, the importance of mirrors, the underlying existential connotations of our reflections and our perception of ourselves, and slightly out of place, the resemblance of dopplegangers to Asian-style vengeful ghosts. The compilation of horror/thriller cliches becomes boring, and the central 'twist' of the film should be glaringly obvious in the first 20 minutes to anyone who's ever seen a thriller, particularly if you've ever seen or even heard about any films by M. Night Shyamalan, the one-time king of the twist. By the middle of the film, situations, sets, and shots are being recycled as the director runs out of room to run with his concept. Entire scenes are constructed around the ubiquitous mirrors, and it just seems that there are way too many mirrors; more mirrors than any human would realistically come in contact with in a given day. Why not just set the ending in a damn carnival funhouse?
Next time put this sound and editing crew together with a screenwriter and director with a few original ideas, and maybe we'll see something really good.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
I'm really torn about The Broken (2008). On the one hand, it's really well executed, technically speaking. Aside from a few minor lapses into terrible CGI, the film looks and sounds pretty good. While Guy Farley's score is adequate yet unoriginal, the overall sound design by Nigel Mills is quite well done. Most of the middle of the film is presented without music, and the importance of foley editing comes to the forefront. The enhanced sounds associated with mundane tasks become our lifeline, pulling us through the film and alongside Gina as she struggles to understand the events leading up to the crash. This is the kind of film that I admire for its ability to make every little thing significant. The camera pans at an angle to our framed character, slowly revealing more of the background behind them. Is that significant? We strain our eyes to the background, searching for the reason. Is someone sneaking up behind our heroine? No, not this time. But what about the next time? This sense of potential meaning extends to the brilliant use of sound. Why has the music been scaled back? Are the filmmakers cluing us in to pay attention to ambient sounds? What was that noise?? By infusing everything with potential meaning, every object with potential action, and every encounter with potential violence, the audience is kept on their toes for the entirety of the film. And that's a pretty big selling point for a thriller, I would think.
But putting aside its technical positives, this film is completely derivative. The concept of evil dopplegangers, the disorientation of questioning one's own identity, the prevalence of scenes set in the bathroom, the importance of mirrors, the underlying existential connotations of our reflections and our perception of ourselves, and slightly out of place, the resemblance of dopplegangers to Asian-style vengeful ghosts. The compilation of horror/thriller cliches becomes boring, and the central 'twist' of the film should be glaringly obvious in the first 20 minutes to anyone who's ever seen a thriller, particularly if you've ever seen or even heard about any films by M. Night Shyamalan, the one-time king of the twist. By the middle of the film, situations, sets, and shots are being recycled as the director runs out of room to run with his concept. Entire scenes are constructed around the ubiquitous mirrors, and it just seems that there are way too many mirrors; more mirrors than any human would realistically come in contact with in a given day. Why not just set the ending in a damn carnival funhouse?
Next time put this sound and editing crew together with a screenwriter and director with a few original ideas, and maybe we'll see something really good.
Storyline & plot: 3/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 8/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Curb Your Enthusiasm, Season 5
For season 5 of "Curb Your Enthusiasm", Larry David and directors Larry Charles and Robert Weide just couldn't keep the magic going from the hilarious season 4. The fifth season's main story arcs involve Larry's spiritual transformation. After nearly drowning, Larry seeks to understand why his life was spared. In a post-stroke delirium, Larry's father insinuates that Larry may have been adopted. Larry jumps full force into the mystery, contracting a private investigator (Mekhi Phifer) to search for his real parents. Meanwhile, the years of drink and drugs have taken their toll on Richard Lewis, who desperately needs a kidney transplant to save his life. His one family match, cousin Lewis Lewis, languishes in a coma. When Larry finds out he's a match, he's thrown into an ethical tailspin, trying anything to avoid losing one of his own precious kidneys, including contemplating pulling the plug on Lewis Lewis and attempting to schmooze the head of the Kidney Consortium.
The storylines just don't work as well as the previous season. Season 4 saw Larry at his most outrageous, balls-to-the-wall funny. Season 5 is much more subdued, constraining Larry too much to stricter story arcs. There are definitely some highlights, including a visit to the Playboy Mansion, with a terminally ill 12-year-old boy in tow, to compare smoking jackets with Hef. Also of note is Larry's investigation into the shady world of nursing home bingo, an episode featuring the considerable comedic talents of Kevin Nealon.
Once again, Larry's near-constant companion and partner in crime is his agent Jeff Greene (Jeff Garlin), who has evolved to become considerably less skeazy and more like Larry's jolly fat-man counterpart. Which is okay; Jeff Garlin is freaking funny no matter how you shake it. Larry's wife Cheryl (Cheryl Hines) is considerably less annoying than in all other seasons, which is also a blessing. But yet, with Larry himself so keyed-down (relatively speaking), season 5 never really cashes in on the promise of season 4. This is most evident in the season finale, which is just a scattered mess of storylines that draw the show out to a downright ludicrous conclusion. Ugh. It was probably the worst single episode yet. I look forward to a rebound in season 6.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
The storylines just don't work as well as the previous season. Season 4 saw Larry at his most outrageous, balls-to-the-wall funny. Season 5 is much more subdued, constraining Larry too much to stricter story arcs. There are definitely some highlights, including a visit to the Playboy Mansion, with a terminally ill 12-year-old boy in tow, to compare smoking jackets with Hef. Also of note is Larry's investigation into the shady world of nursing home bingo, an episode featuring the considerable comedic talents of Kevin Nealon.
Once again, Larry's near-constant companion and partner in crime is his agent Jeff Greene (Jeff Garlin), who has evolved to become considerably less skeazy and more like Larry's jolly fat-man counterpart. Which is okay; Jeff Garlin is freaking funny no matter how you shake it. Larry's wife Cheryl (Cheryl Hines) is considerably less annoying than in all other seasons, which is also a blessing. But yet, with Larry himself so keyed-down (relatively speaking), season 5 never really cashes in on the promise of season 4. This is most evident in the season finale, which is just a scattered mess of storylines that draw the show out to a downright ludicrous conclusion. Ugh. It was probably the worst single episode yet. I look forward to a rebound in season 6.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 5/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
Sex Drive
I admit it, I'm somewhat of a film snob. I'm leery of most of what Hollywood has to offer. I prefer cult, art-house, independent more often than not. But I have my guilty pleasures, if you will. I have a weakness for teen/college comedies, usually the raunchier the better. The early Ryan Reynolds/Kal Penn vehicle Van Wilder (2002)? Loved it. Road Trip (2000), that introduced us all to the goofy, skinny Tennesseean DJ Qualls? Seen it about 10 times. Greg Mottola's 2007 effort Superbad? Laughed so hard I almost pissed. You get the idea? I blame John Hughes (rest in peace, buddy), who cleverly manipulated my formative years with his particular brand of '80s teen dramedy. The movies changed, became less drama, more screwball, but the groundwork had already been laid. And so it is that I find myself renting all these teen comedies with even a glimmer of potential. It's in my blood or something.
As these films go, Sex Drive (2008) falls toward the lower end of the spectrum. There's not an ounce of original material. There's the boy-and-girl-best-friends-but-there's-sexual-tension-so-maybe-they-should-be-more-but-they-don't-want-to-ruin-it main characters Ian and Felicia (Josh Zuckerman and Amanda Crew). There's the by-all-appearances-total-nerd-but-something-of-a-womanizing-ladies-man-who-gives-sage-advice-but-then-falls-in-love-with-someone-totally-unlikely character Lance (Clark Duke). Seth Green graces the film with his presence, which in a way is good, but yet he's just playing every other Seth Green character ever, except he's Amish. Ooooh, how gloriously ironic! Oh yeah, I almost forgot, there's the obviously-secretly-gay-older-brother-but-he-overcompensates-with-militant-heterosexuality-and-misplaced-rage guy, admittedly portrayed well and hilariously by James Marsden. And of course, there's the so-tired-it's-dead central plot, which revolves around Ian trying desperately to lose his virginity (seriously, is this still a problem? is it so incredibly difficult to lose one's virginity? I kinda figured it's about as easy as losing change out of your pocket). He's so desperate, he lets his doucheface friend Lance talk him into driving 8 hours to have sex with some bimbo he met online. So, yeah, it's also got the road trip theme thrown in for good measure.
This film is annoyingly hit-and-miss. There are some really funny bits, notably a pair of losers, a sort of Bill & Ted/Night at the Roxbury mash-up, inseparable and unendingly hitting on the ladies in vain. But the laughs are few and far between, while the filmmakers take all the hopelessly unfunny bits and draw them out. And you know, it's no wonder our friend Ian isn't getting laid, because his voice hasn't even changed yet. It's squeaky and piercing and annoying, and most of the movie, I just wished he would shut up. Except for when he was ensconced in his Mexican donut mascot costume, in which case the voice seemed to fit and he magically became 10 times funnier.
The bottom line here is if you're in to this genre of film, you could do much better than Sex Drive. It was vaguely worth a viewing, but I wouldn't watch it again.
Storyline & plot: 2/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 5/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
As these films go, Sex Drive (2008) falls toward the lower end of the spectrum. There's not an ounce of original material. There's the boy-and-girl-best-friends-but-there's-sexual-tension-so-maybe-they-should-be-more-but-they-don't-want-to-ruin-it main characters Ian and Felicia (Josh Zuckerman and Amanda Crew). There's the by-all-appearances-total-nerd-but-something-of-a-womanizing-ladies-man-who-gives-sage-advice-but-then-falls-in-love-with-someone-totally-unlikely character Lance (Clark Duke). Seth Green graces the film with his presence, which in a way is good, but yet he's just playing every other Seth Green character ever, except he's Amish. Ooooh, how gloriously ironic! Oh yeah, I almost forgot, there's the obviously-secretly-gay-older-brother-but-he-overcompensates-with-militant-heterosexuality-and-misplaced-rage guy, admittedly portrayed well and hilariously by James Marsden. And of course, there's the so-tired-it's-dead central plot, which revolves around Ian trying desperately to lose his virginity (seriously, is this still a problem? is it so incredibly difficult to lose one's virginity? I kinda figured it's about as easy as losing change out of your pocket). He's so desperate, he lets his doucheface friend Lance talk him into driving 8 hours to have sex with some bimbo he met online. So, yeah, it's also got the road trip theme thrown in for good measure.
This film is annoyingly hit-and-miss. There are some really funny bits, notably a pair of losers, a sort of Bill & Ted/Night at the Roxbury mash-up, inseparable and unendingly hitting on the ladies in vain. But the laughs are few and far between, while the filmmakers take all the hopelessly unfunny bits and draw them out. And you know, it's no wonder our friend Ian isn't getting laid, because his voice hasn't even changed yet. It's squeaky and piercing and annoying, and most of the movie, I just wished he would shut up. Except for when he was ensconced in his Mexican donut mascot costume, in which case the voice seemed to fit and he magically became 10 times funnier.
The bottom line here is if you're in to this genre of film, you could do much better than Sex Drive. It was vaguely worth a viewing, but I wouldn't watch it again.
Storyline & plot: 2/10
Cinematography & effects: 6/10
Music & mood: 5/10
Performances: 5/10
The Reverend says: 5/10
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me
Although it has since garnered a strong following, particularly in light of an oft-rumored director's cut, David Lynch's feature film prequel to his woefully short-lived smash hit TV series "Twin Peaks" was initially a critical and commercial failure. Due to the length restrictions of a feature film, Fire Walk with Me (1992) could not follow the serial ensemble format allowed by 30 installments of a one-hour show. In the show, Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) and the search for her killer were simply Lynch's sleight of hand that allowed the real meat of the show to flourish: the complex underbelly and hidden interconnections of the Washington small town. "Twin Peaks" amounted to a highly developed, multi-faceted character study. For its part, FWwM is also a character-study at its core, but the subject list has been narrowed down to one: Laura Palmer, the un-character, the proverbial silent partner.
Other problems beset the production: some actors declined to reprise their roles, most problematically Lara Flynn Boyle as Laura's best friend Donna. Admittedly, Moira Kelly fills Boyle's shoes admirably, but the shock of a 'new' Donna persists throughout the film. Others missing in action: the brilliant Richard Beymer as developer Ben Horne and Sherilyn Fenn as his daughter Audrey, as well as Piper Laurie as the devious Catherine Martell. Far more common, though, were those actors conscripted to reprise their roles, but whose scenes were ultimately left on the cutting room floor: the entire Twin Peaks Sheriffs Department, Josie Packard, Pete Martell, Big Ed and the one-eyed Nadine, and Major Garland Briggs. It was only after some cajoling that Lynch managed to convince Kyle MacLachlan, the iconic Agent Dale Cooper, to return, albeit in a limited role.
The film opens in Oregon, a year prior to the murder of Laura Palmer. FBI Agents Desmond (Chris Isaak) and Stanley (Kiefer Sutherland) are investigating the brutal murder of young drifter Theresa Banks. Hot on the trail of the killer, one night Agent Desmond simply vanishes without a trace. Well, thank god, because I thought we might be subjected to an entire movie's worth of Chris Isaak's wooden acting and stilted dialogue. Stick to singing, buddy. Please. Fast forward a year, and we are transported to Twin Peaks in the weeks leading up to Laura Palmer's death. Much of the film is an episodic look at those final days, filling fans in on many details that were hinted at during the course of the show. What was Laura really like? What secrets did she take to her grave? It most reminded me of JFK, where the core audience already knows the ending (JFK assassinated, Laura Palmer murdered), but the film fills us in on those little details of how everything came about.
While the TV series certainly had its jarring, disturbing, and dark moments, the show was largely flushed out by the quirky, the strange, the romantic, and the funny. There's not much to laugh at in FWwM. The tone is unrelentingly dark, the visuals largely based on terror and revulsion, as we follow Laura's drug-and-sex-addled descent into a hell partly of her own making, populated by demons both of this world (the gross and lecherous Jacques Renault, the brutal Leo Johnson), and of another world (the soul-collecting beings known as Bob and Mike). I think this lack of a light-hearted diversion, of a Cooper-style protagonist, hurt this film's initial reception. While it is by no means a bad film, it was not the type of film that "Twin Peaks" fans were looking for.
For those fans who are willing to take a chance on something a little different, there are certainly plenty of familiar faces to ease the transition. We of course get to see more of the strangely attractive and quite talented Sheryl Lee as Laura. Fans will rejoice in larger roles for both Frank Silva as Bob, and Michael J. Anderson as the backwards-talking, dancing, diminutive Man from Another Place. And Angelo Badalamenti again creates a masterful score, taking his cue from the altered tone of the film, making his music darker, much more ominous.
As I said, it's not a bad film, but it's not a great film either. The unrelenting bleakness makes for difficult watching. And there are a few dead-end storylines that enter onto the scene inexplicably and just as mysteriously fade away, leaving the audience uncomfortably dangling. Lynch and screenwriter Robert Engels had initially envisioned a series of films centering around the mythology of the Black Lodge, each with a different protagonist. Two of the protagonists were Agent Desmond and Agent Jeffries (David Bowie) who makes a brief and baffling appearance in this film. When FWwM tanked, the rest of the planned series went with it, and Agents Desmond and Jeffries remained as dangling references never fulfilled.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
Other problems beset the production: some actors declined to reprise their roles, most problematically Lara Flynn Boyle as Laura's best friend Donna. Admittedly, Moira Kelly fills Boyle's shoes admirably, but the shock of a 'new' Donna persists throughout the film. Others missing in action: the brilliant Richard Beymer as developer Ben Horne and Sherilyn Fenn as his daughter Audrey, as well as Piper Laurie as the devious Catherine Martell. Far more common, though, were those actors conscripted to reprise their roles, but whose scenes were ultimately left on the cutting room floor: the entire Twin Peaks Sheriffs Department, Josie Packard, Pete Martell, Big Ed and the one-eyed Nadine, and Major Garland Briggs. It was only after some cajoling that Lynch managed to convince Kyle MacLachlan, the iconic Agent Dale Cooper, to return, albeit in a limited role.
The film opens in Oregon, a year prior to the murder of Laura Palmer. FBI Agents Desmond (Chris Isaak) and Stanley (Kiefer Sutherland) are investigating the brutal murder of young drifter Theresa Banks. Hot on the trail of the killer, one night Agent Desmond simply vanishes without a trace. Well, thank god, because I thought we might be subjected to an entire movie's worth of Chris Isaak's wooden acting and stilted dialogue. Stick to singing, buddy. Please. Fast forward a year, and we are transported to Twin Peaks in the weeks leading up to Laura Palmer's death. Much of the film is an episodic look at those final days, filling fans in on many details that were hinted at during the course of the show. What was Laura really like? What secrets did she take to her grave? It most reminded me of JFK, where the core audience already knows the ending (JFK assassinated, Laura Palmer murdered), but the film fills us in on those little details of how everything came about.
While the TV series certainly had its jarring, disturbing, and dark moments, the show was largely flushed out by the quirky, the strange, the romantic, and the funny. There's not much to laugh at in FWwM. The tone is unrelentingly dark, the visuals largely based on terror and revulsion, as we follow Laura's drug-and-sex-addled descent into a hell partly of her own making, populated by demons both of this world (the gross and lecherous Jacques Renault, the brutal Leo Johnson), and of another world (the soul-collecting beings known as Bob and Mike). I think this lack of a light-hearted diversion, of a Cooper-style protagonist, hurt this film's initial reception. While it is by no means a bad film, it was not the type of film that "Twin Peaks" fans were looking for.
For those fans who are willing to take a chance on something a little different, there are certainly plenty of familiar faces to ease the transition. We of course get to see more of the strangely attractive and quite talented Sheryl Lee as Laura. Fans will rejoice in larger roles for both Frank Silva as Bob, and Michael J. Anderson as the backwards-talking, dancing, diminutive Man from Another Place. And Angelo Badalamenti again creates a masterful score, taking his cue from the altered tone of the film, making his music darker, much more ominous.
As I said, it's not a bad film, but it's not a great film either. The unrelenting bleakness makes for difficult watching. And there are a few dead-end storylines that enter onto the scene inexplicably and just as mysteriously fade away, leaving the audience uncomfortably dangling. Lynch and screenwriter Robert Engels had initially envisioned a series of films centering around the mythology of the Black Lodge, each with a different protagonist. Two of the protagonists were Agent Desmond and Agent Jeffries (David Bowie) who makes a brief and baffling appearance in this film. When FWwM tanked, the rest of the planned series went with it, and Agents Desmond and Jeffries remained as dangling references never fulfilled.
Storyline & plot: 6/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 7/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 6/10
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Moon
For a film shot during a writers strike in a mere 33 days, Duncan Jones' Moon (2009) is a pretty awesome piece of work. Part space sci-fi, part subtly haunting horror, but mostly a detailed character study, Moon follows space miner Sam Bell (Sam Rockwell) nearing the end of a three year tour of duty mining helium 3 (H3) on the dark side of the moon. In a world plagued by energy shortages and the side effects of fossil fuel consumption, Lunar Industires offers a solution: the clean power of the sun stored in the rocks and soil of the moon as H3. Sam spends his days monitoring the sprawling moon base and the four mining probes, performing maintenance and ensuring the day's H3 haul is jettisoned back to earth. Sam's assistant and constant companion is the station's robot, Gerty (voiced by Kevin Spacey), whose bulky user interface module traverses the station via hydraulic tracks set in the base's ceiling.
After three years in isolation, Sam is understandably starting to come apart at the seams. Damage to the communication link from solar flares heightens Sam's already deep isolation. Subsisting on classic TV shows and prerecorded communiques from Lunar Industries executives, Sam keeps insanity at bay with the hope of seeing his wife and little daughter again soon. Still, Sam soon begins to crack, and is beset by phantasms and hallucinations. After surviving a horrific crash in a lunar rover on the moon's surface, Sam begins to suspect that there is something not right at the lunar base. Is there someone else at the station with him? Why is one of the mining probes suddenly down? And who is Gerty talking to on the com screen in the middle of the night?
Duncan Jones has obviously been doing his cinema homework. Moon combines the haunted house in space theme of Alien (1979) with the epic isolation of Kubrick's 2001 (1968) while paying homage to Philip K. Dick and Ridley Scott (again) by exploring the scifi ethos of Blade Runner (1982). This film's achievement is particularly surprising considering the experience level of Jones and the screenplay writer, Nathan Parker. Jones has only a well-received scifi short to his credit, and Parker seems to have come out of nowhere at all.
Due to the aforementioned writers strike, Jones and Parker were able to obtain the idle services of some top notch effects people, including Kevin Campbell and Simon Stanley-Clamp of Cinesite, responsible for visual effects in the first four Harry Potter movies, Gladiator (2000), and V for Vendetta (2005), among others. The result is a lunar surface painstakingly crafted from models and miniatures with details filled in with some impressive CG effects.
But the visual effects are used only as establishing shots to get a feel of the desolate lunar surface. These shots are thankfully not overused and are employed rather as support for the film's true star: Sam Rockwell as the frenetic, mercurial, and hilarious Sam Bell. Oscar buzz already surrounds Rockwell's virtuoso performance, and while I hesitate to jump on board with that kind of pointless prognostication, I will say that Rockwell would be more than deserving of a statuette. He has long flourished as a bit part and specialty role actor, including memorable turns in Galaxy Quest (1999) and The Green Mile (1999), and a truly inspired performance as a Dubya-esque Zaphod Beeblebrox in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005). His performance in Moon is only his second starring role, behind the paranoid gameshow host by day, spy by night Chuck Barris in Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002).
The second best thing about this movie, behind Sam Rockwell, is Clint Mansell's simple, elegant, and haunting score. Mansell has long been the go-to composer for Darren Aronofsky's films, including their mutual debut Pi (1998), Requiem for a Dream (2000), The Fountain (2006), and recent hit The Wrestler (2008). Mansell's heady mix of classical and electronic has fit well with the highs and lows of Aronofsky's style of visceral beauty. For Moon, Mansell leads with echoey piano that builds episodically to a thunderous cacophony of strings and various electronic percussion that slowly ebbs out to be repeated in cyclical waves of sound. This cyclical nature underscores the film's themes and holds its sometimes epic visuals together with the quieter moments of Sam's existential reflection.
All in all, Moon is a solid debut for Jones, and the critical buzz surrounding Rockwell's performance is sure to bring attention to future endeavors of both.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 8/10
Music & mood: 9/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
After three years in isolation, Sam is understandably starting to come apart at the seams. Damage to the communication link from solar flares heightens Sam's already deep isolation. Subsisting on classic TV shows and prerecorded communiques from Lunar Industries executives, Sam keeps insanity at bay with the hope of seeing his wife and little daughter again soon. Still, Sam soon begins to crack, and is beset by phantasms and hallucinations. After surviving a horrific crash in a lunar rover on the moon's surface, Sam begins to suspect that there is something not right at the lunar base. Is there someone else at the station with him? Why is one of the mining probes suddenly down? And who is Gerty talking to on the com screen in the middle of the night?
Duncan Jones has obviously been doing his cinema homework. Moon combines the haunted house in space theme of Alien (1979) with the epic isolation of Kubrick's 2001 (1968) while paying homage to Philip K. Dick and Ridley Scott (again) by exploring the scifi ethos of Blade Runner (1982). This film's achievement is particularly surprising considering the experience level of Jones and the screenplay writer, Nathan Parker. Jones has only a well-received scifi short to his credit, and Parker seems to have come out of nowhere at all.
Due to the aforementioned writers strike, Jones and Parker were able to obtain the idle services of some top notch effects people, including Kevin Campbell and Simon Stanley-Clamp of Cinesite, responsible for visual effects in the first four Harry Potter movies, Gladiator (2000), and V for Vendetta (2005), among others. The result is a lunar surface painstakingly crafted from models and miniatures with details filled in with some impressive CG effects.
But the visual effects are used only as establishing shots to get a feel of the desolate lunar surface. These shots are thankfully not overused and are employed rather as support for the film's true star: Sam Rockwell as the frenetic, mercurial, and hilarious Sam Bell. Oscar buzz already surrounds Rockwell's virtuoso performance, and while I hesitate to jump on board with that kind of pointless prognostication, I will say that Rockwell would be more than deserving of a statuette. He has long flourished as a bit part and specialty role actor, including memorable turns in Galaxy Quest (1999) and The Green Mile (1999), and a truly inspired performance as a Dubya-esque Zaphod Beeblebrox in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005). His performance in Moon is only his second starring role, behind the paranoid gameshow host by day, spy by night Chuck Barris in Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002).
The second best thing about this movie, behind Sam Rockwell, is Clint Mansell's simple, elegant, and haunting score. Mansell has long been the go-to composer for Darren Aronofsky's films, including their mutual debut Pi (1998), Requiem for a Dream (2000), The Fountain (2006), and recent hit The Wrestler (2008). Mansell's heady mix of classical and electronic has fit well with the highs and lows of Aronofsky's style of visceral beauty. For Moon, Mansell leads with echoey piano that builds episodically to a thunderous cacophony of strings and various electronic percussion that slowly ebbs out to be repeated in cyclical waves of sound. This cyclical nature underscores the film's themes and holds its sometimes epic visuals together with the quieter moments of Sam's existential reflection.
All in all, Moon is a solid debut for Jones, and the critical buzz surrounding Rockwell's performance is sure to bring attention to future endeavors of both.
Storyline & plot: 7/10
Cinematography & effects: 8/10
Music & mood: 9/10
Performances: 9/10
The Reverend says: 8/10
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Three O'clock High
Sometimes, I just don't understand the vagaries of what survives to become a classic and what gets largely (and unfairly) forgotten. I guess it's a lesson in name recognition. Under ideal circumstances, Phil Joanou's Three O'clock High (1987) should be mentioned in the same breath with other '80s coming-of-age classics like The Breakfast Club (1985), Pretty in Pink (1986), and Say Anything (1989). It might be that TOcH is relegated to third tier '80s teen comedy because it wasn't directed by John Hughes. Or Cameron Crowe. Because, truthfully, who the hell is Phil Joanou, anyway? And it might be this film has been overlooked because it contains not one single member of the infamous Brat Pack, not even the quasi-members like Charlie Sheen, Mary Stuart Masterson, or Kiefer Sutherland. The best TOcH has to offer along those lines is Casey Siemaszko, the sort of 'friend of a friend' of the Brat Pack. With bit roles in the first two Back to the Future movies, Stand by Me (1986), and TV's "St. Elsewhere" (1984), and a co-starring turn with Brat Packers Emilio Estevez, Charlie Sheen, and Kiefer Sutherland in 1988's Young Guns, Siemaszko was always playing second fiddle. Lastly, and most probable, TOcH's disappointing staying power may just be Steven Spielberg's fault. That's right, Spielberg, the reigning king of film in the 1980s, produced this film. Kinda makes you scratch your head and wonder what happened. I submit for your perusal a short list of '80s films either produced or directed by the illustrious Mr. Spielberg: E.T., Poltergeist, Gremlins, Back to the Future I and II, The Goonies, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, and the first three Indiana Jones movies. So, here's the rub: for undisclosed reasons, prior to the film's release, Spielberg removed his name from TOcH. I think this implicit snub did this deserving film in before it ever got the chance to shine.
The movie follows our protagonist, Jerry Mitchell (Siemaszko), highschooler, good student, responsible and burgeoning businessman, school reporter, and all around good guy. The problem is, Jerry's not too fond of confrontation, and he's especially not that fond of excessive pain. But that's just what awaits him at the end of the school day, 3 o'clock, in the school parking lot. Jerry falls afoul of his newest school newspaper assignment: transfer student, hulking monster, and all around badass Buddy Revell (Richard Tyson). You see, Buddy doesn't like to be touched. Or talked to. Or bothered. Or for people to know about him. And he's about to turn Jerry into an object lesson by mashing him into the pavement. The film unfolds over a single schoolday, as we follow Jerry's slow and inexorable transformation from model student into an unhinged, desperate detention case. Along the way, Jerry manages to destroy school property, rob the school supplies store, lose the trust of his mentor (an understated and awesomely mustachioed Jeffrey Tambor), come under the scrutiny of the scarily Nazi-esque principal, an become entangled in a love rectangle involving his crazy New Age girlfriend, the school 'hot girl', and his cougar-licious English teacher.
The thing I really love about this movie is it manages to avoid the trap of overdramatic angst that John Hughes always fell into with his films. Hughes never seemed to realize that the complexities of life as a disaffected high schooler could be conveyed with a little more cinematic flair and a little less scripted exposition. Joanou successfully deconstructs Jerry over the course of 7 hours, without the need for angst-riddled soliloquies, parents, group hugs, or spontaneous dance montages. The fabric of Jerry's existence becomes a function of his single-minded dread, and all his neuroses, his complexities, his worries about past, present, and future are expressed subtly, under a different name.
And speaking of subtlety, the film's antagonist is also a study in subtle complexity. Is he really as hardassed as everyone thinks? Or is his present situation an accidental response to and result of a past that may or may not actually exist? A make-believe attitude compensating for a fabricated life story? Facing a notoriety he only partially deserves and doesn't want, Buddy lashes out in the only way he believes is available to him: inexorable violence. Buddy is in fact living a vicious cycle of violence and infamy, doing what everyone expects him to do while vainly hoping that everyone else will not react to him the way he expects them to. It's a complicated analysis for something that's rendered innocuously simple under Joanou's direction.
Supported by a solid if not super talented cast and some inventive camera work and imaginative sets, Three O'clock High is well worth a watch.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
The movie follows our protagonist, Jerry Mitchell (Siemaszko), highschooler, good student, responsible and burgeoning businessman, school reporter, and all around good guy. The problem is, Jerry's not too fond of confrontation, and he's especially not that fond of excessive pain. But that's just what awaits him at the end of the school day, 3 o'clock, in the school parking lot. Jerry falls afoul of his newest school newspaper assignment: transfer student, hulking monster, and all around badass Buddy Revell (Richard Tyson). You see, Buddy doesn't like to be touched. Or talked to. Or bothered. Or for people to know about him. And he's about to turn Jerry into an object lesson by mashing him into the pavement. The film unfolds over a single schoolday, as we follow Jerry's slow and inexorable transformation from model student into an unhinged, desperate detention case. Along the way, Jerry manages to destroy school property, rob the school supplies store, lose the trust of his mentor (an understated and awesomely mustachioed Jeffrey Tambor), come under the scrutiny of the scarily Nazi-esque principal, an become entangled in a love rectangle involving his crazy New Age girlfriend, the school 'hot girl', and his cougar-licious English teacher.
The thing I really love about this movie is it manages to avoid the trap of overdramatic angst that John Hughes always fell into with his films. Hughes never seemed to realize that the complexities of life as a disaffected high schooler could be conveyed with a little more cinematic flair and a little less scripted exposition. Joanou successfully deconstructs Jerry over the course of 7 hours, without the need for angst-riddled soliloquies, parents, group hugs, or spontaneous dance montages. The fabric of Jerry's existence becomes a function of his single-minded dread, and all his neuroses, his complexities, his worries about past, present, and future are expressed subtly, under a different name.
And speaking of subtlety, the film's antagonist is also a study in subtle complexity. Is he really as hardassed as everyone thinks? Or is his present situation an accidental response to and result of a past that may or may not actually exist? A make-believe attitude compensating for a fabricated life story? Facing a notoriety he only partially deserves and doesn't want, Buddy lashes out in the only way he believes is available to him: inexorable violence. Buddy is in fact living a vicious cycle of violence and infamy, doing what everyone expects him to do while vainly hoping that everyone else will not react to him the way he expects them to. It's a complicated analysis for something that's rendered innocuously simple under Joanou's direction.
Supported by a solid if not super talented cast and some inventive camera work and imaginative sets, Three O'clock High is well worth a watch.
Storyline & plot: 8/10
Cinematography & effects: 7/10
Music & mood: 6/10
Performances: 6/10
The Reverend says: 7/10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
