Forbidden Zone

Forbidden Zone (1980). Dir. Richard Elfman.

I had no idea. Having never heard of this film before I got the chance to see it was by far the best experience of my entire week. I still am not quite sure how to describe the experience of watching the movie, I mean it’s easy enough to cite some of the influences like Cab Calloway, early Fleischer cartoons, German Expressionism like Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, etc. But, that doesn’t convey the ways that this movie, in all its awkward fucked up splendor, caught ahold of my brain.

It’s like being tuned into a new reality, a totally new way of thinking. It’s the kind of place you’d love to visit, but not live. This is a film OBSESSED with the reality of artifice. From the flat cardboard sets to the semi-clad actresses, to the glaring fakeness of make-up, to the animated sequences that blend non-chalantly with the cartoonish ‘reality’.

This is the film that every ‘cult’ film wants to be, every off-kilter musical, every trashy gender-subversive John Waters wannabe, every syncretic pop-kitschual is just dying to inhabit this film’s vomit-bag.

I suggest if you’ve ever wanted MORE weirdness when watching Little Shop of Horrors, or the Rocky Horror Picture Show, or for the characters of Jodorowsky’s El Topo to break into song instead of into ritual, then this is your final destination.

Rent this film, ignore the detractors, ignore the cover art, ignore the OINGO BOINGO, ignore the Herve Villachez, ignore your taste, ignore that alarm bell ringing *racism*, *racism*, because these are beside the point. This is image, this is childhood shredded on the razors of adolescence, this is the disruption of difference by taking it into extremity. Why do you feel uncomfortable?

Society

Society (1989). Dir. Brian Yuzna.

This film is vastly underrated and should be placed on the ‘to watch’ list of anyone who loves the over the top effects and general atmosphere of Re-Animator (Produced by Yuzna). Society is Yuzna’s directorial debut and apart from some pacing issues and an at times incomprehensible plot, this film is by far the best lesser known splattery ’80s horror goodie that you’ve never seen. I would put it above the recently re-released Street Trash as far as watchability goes.

The climax of the film is one of the best body-horror moments since Cronenberg’s Videodrome, and well worth at least a rental. That is if you can find it at your local video store at all.

Yuzna’s predeliction for bodily fluidity is again foregrounded, just check out his earlier work with Stuart Gordon like From Beyond, and in fact delivers more on-screen goo and weirdness than Re-Animator and From Beyond combined! And don’t forget the fracturing of sexuality that must accompany all of this dismemberment/dislocation of body boundaries, this film just leaves no staple of ’80s weird horror on the cutting room floor.

So, if you’ve ever thought that the rich were radically different than us poor media-sotted peons just wait until you see just how different they really are.

Terminal USA, Idi Amin Dada

Terminal USA (1993). Dir. Jon Moritsugu.

Fractured punkrock drug abusing Asian-American sitcom. That’s not actually a complete sentence, but somehow better captures the fragmentary insanity of the film than a well-composed grammatical sentence.

Moritsugu (director of a number of scuzzy, punk, degenerate, not to mention awesome, films like Hippy Porn and Mod Fuck Explosion) creates a world where musical cues are subverted, the tinny sitcom music and laugh track that accompany the familial encounters between drug addict mother, moral burn-out and degenerate younger son, closeted gay older son, all-american dad (complete with John Wayne-ish gunplay!), and slutty social climber sister.

The story (such as it is) takes place over what is most likely one day in the black hole lives of an Asian-American family. Wielding the building blocks of situational comedy like a bat with nails driven through it, dialogue is delivered stilted and unevenly. Devoid of positive emotion the family seethes with the terminal disease of american-ism: insane desire for success/pleasure, the approval of society at the expense of authentic emotion, and the propensity to implosive self-destruction in the guise of individuality.

This film is about flaws, flaws in life, expectations, sex, drugs, and relations between humans. Highly recommended.

General Idi Amin Dada: Autoportrait (1974). Dir. Barbet Schroeder.

This documentary feels like 2/3 of a complete doc, but nonetheless incredibly artful and chillingly allows the General to make much of the case against himself. What is missing is a complete and contexted picture of Uganda, the critical voice of the filmmaker feels tacked on; incomplete and incapable of competing with the interview footage.

The music, performed at least partly by the General himself, is a standout aspect of the film.

This film would be a monolithic success at 50 minutes, or paired with another more traditional doc on Idi Amin.

All in all a crushingly emotive trip, even when the filmmakers cannot restrain themselves and let certain sequences play for far too long (see the scene of General Amin describing the wildlife on the river-boat). What I would have liked is a more complete critical and incisive eye towards the overall shape of the documentary on the part of the filmmakers. It would have made all the difference, along with creating a greater presence in their own subject… I felt like I could always see the shadow of the filmmakers themselves, but their voice is only present in the negative space; when truly their placement needed to be far more foregrounded. The voices that sometimes pass from beyond the edges of the frame deserves to be contextualized in just the same manner as the ostensible subject of the documentary itself.

Bullet Ballet

Bullet Ballet (2008). Dir. Shinya Tsukamoto.

Bullet Ballet begins with a death with after-effects that reverberate throughout the rest of the film. Tsukamoto, who wrote, directed, and played the lead, has created a film about splits, breaks, and the hidden areas of personality. Goda’s (Tsukamoto) fiance commits suicide with a Chief’s Special revolver, the possession of which is a feat that Goda spends much of the middle act trying to recreate.

The film is filled with hollow spaces. Narratively speaking much of the backstory is omitted, glossed over, or unexplained. It is obvious that much has gone on between the punks, masochistic Chisato, and Goda, such that narrative emptiness is braced by thematic emptiness. There is also the space left by the bullet in the bathroom window, echoing void left by Goda’s fiance, and most of all the vacant imperatives by which the characters live their lives.

Beautifully shot and sonically well-developed, most especially in the first 30 minutes, I would highly recommend that this film make it onto a ‘to see’ list. Just don’t expect a Miike-style bloodbath. The film is not devoid of violence, but it just isn’t the focus. As the film implies there is a dance, an old kind of dance between a man who wants to die and the bullet that he imagines will grant him succor.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army

Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008). Dir. Guillermo Del Toro.

So, for anyone with a super short attention span here’s the short version: I enjoyed the film enough to recommend it to everyone who likes any one of these things: Clockwork robots, fighting/fussin’/feudin’, Mignola (and a boat-load of other amazing designers) Monsters, well-choreographed fight scenes, Hellboy (the first movie), needlessly complex mechanical devices. It’s a great ride, with a extremely visual flare for design. Most, according to Guillermo Del Toro (who was in attendance at the opening here in Austin last night), of the effects were achieved with puppets/robots/physical effects. Only 10% digital? Fuck yeah.

I got the chance to go to the opening held in Austin’s own Alamo Drafthouse, Del Toro was there along with Mike Mignola and the affable physical actor Doug Jones. It was a stellar time, the movie was worth the wait (mainly sitting down while the guests volunteered to sign things for the audience), Universal did pay for all of the food for everyone in attendance (!?!) which was weird, but not unwelcome.

In any case, the film itself has all of the aspects which made me a fan of the original film, with the added benefit of being more naturally paced. There were some plot turns that were… not as interesting as they could have been, or a tad contrived, but on the whole the strong set-pieces and action scenes far out-weighed the clunkier sections.

It’s no art film, but it’s not intended to be, and so I suggest that everyone check it out this weekend when the crowds’ will make the experience all the better for laughing and ooh-ing and aah-ing at the right times. (all movies are better in a good crowd, obviously).

Indiana Jones and the something about a Crystal Skull

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008). Dir. Steven Spielberg.

So, this is going to be a critical discussion of the film. You might want to interpret that as an indicator that I didn’t like the film very much. And in that, you would be correct. However, before I start enumerating all of the aspects of the film that I didn’t like, I might as well mention that the film succeeds in its major purpose, i.e. keeping you in a seat until the end of the film, and taking your money.

It’s hard for me to choose a starting point, a point of purchase amongst the talus slope of the movie’s failings compared to what I expect from an adventure film. There’s a lot of lack here. The major problem that I have might be properly laid at the feet of the script, an utterly soulless piece of fluff if there ever was one. Although, knowing that awful scripts have been made into amazing films (or even just amazingly entertaining films) leads me to the conclusion that there were a number of factors contributing to the feeling that nagged me during most of the film’s runtime. That is, that every obvious part of the original series returns, but in trappings only. Whatever concatenation of pulp action-adventure, swashbuckling serial, and historical blender that made the earlier films so appealing (and unabashedly fun) to audiences is missing in Crystal Skull. In aping the earlier films this one has managed to lose the heart of the film, the humanly appealing aspects have been eclipsed by mediocre CG effects, ridiculous casting choices, and stupid plot-twists.

I am most offended, amongst these, with the casting. From Shia LeBouef, whose smug face and smarmy uninflected acting are a blight on good taste, to Cate Blanchett, accomplished but wrong for the part, at least half of the cast seems aggressively cast for their name. It’s always been sad that names and gimmicks have eclipsed good filmmaking, at this point it’s almost not worth mentioning, so common has it become.

Just briefly, I’d like to also point out how rushed the last part of the movie feels. The choice made to fill the first act with an extended contexting of the late 50s and the Cold War just feels tedious. And, the unintended consequence is that none of the rest of the film seems earned, just cribbed from the earlier movies without any regard as to why the ‘formula’ worked so well the first few times.

All this from someone who idolizes the insanity of Italian genre filmmakers, Hollywood you’re going to have to start trying harder. And not trying harder to get my money, but just make a good film and I’ll see it as many times as I can afford to, and then I’ll buy the DVD, and the 10th anniversary DVD, etc. I’m an easy mark, I just happen to have taste. Maybe some industry head will get bored and read this. Here’s to hoping.

Bird with the Crystal Plumage

The Bird With the Crystal Plumage aka L’Uccello Dalle Piume De Cristallo (1970). Dir. Dario Argento. While certainly not the first Giallo picture, Argento’s Bird With the Crystal Plumage is one of the most famous entries into the genre. By the by Mario Bava’s La Regazza Che Sapeva Troppo aka The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963) is generally considered to be the first Giallo film, if you’re interested in checking out the genre’s origins.

This film serves as a brilliant introduction to anyone who is interested in Italian genre filmmaking, or more specifically in Italian crime/mystery films. To give a quick run-down of the origin of the term Giallo, originally referring to the yellow covers of cheap mystery and detective fiction in Italy (Agatha Christie’s novels are almost always mentioned as some of the most popular Giallo titles). During the ’60s Italian filmmakers were looking for ways to mimic and recreate the tension felt in films like Hitchcock’s acclaimed thrillers with, at times, baroque violence and set design.

Bird was Argento’s first film and is considered one of the best examples of Giallo filmmaking, although fans of the genre sometimes note that it is not nearly as violent or gory as later Gialli. The film is beautifully shot and includes one of the best set-piece scenes ever filmed.

The film follows hapless American writer Sam Dalmas (played by Tony Musante) as he is drawn deeply into the circumstances surrounding a series of murders in Rome. The film begins with the aforementioned set-piece, in which Dalmas sees a woman struggling with a man in dark clothes on the balcony of an art gallery. As he is entering the building the woman is stabbed and Dalmas becomes trapped between two walls of glass as he watches the woman crawl towards him asking for help. She survives the attack, but due to his status as a witness to the crime the police inspector (the oddly laconic Enrico Salerno) in charge of the case confiscates Dalmas’ Passport and requires him to stay in Rome.

I won’t go any further with the synopsis, I’d hate to ruin the twist ending (although it’s not all THAT shocking once one has seen a few Gialli, but for newcomers it might still be a little bit of a shock).

In any case, Argento also set the stage for his Animal Trilogy (Cat O’ Nine Tails (1971) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972) are the second and third movies respectively). The naming conventions of Gialli is worth a whole article in and of itself, maybe I’ll sit down and do that someday.

While there are a number of flaws with the film like its slightly off pacing and the wooden performances of some of the main characters, and its telegraphed twists, it still stands out as a highly engaging and well-constructed thriller. Highly suggested as a starting point for a prospective Gialli enthusiast, and if you’ve already seen a few Gialli and haven’t seen Bird yet then you’re missing out

Jodorowsky’s Holy Mountain

The Holy Mountain (1973). Dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky.

I will make no attempt to dissemble, I absolutely love this film.

“Every stone has a soul…”

There is something about The Holy Mountain that is instantly engaging. No matter to whom I show this film, there is always a reaction akin to fascination. Even when at the climax there is laughter, or where the ridiculous peeks from under the skirts of the beautiful photography there is never any sense that anything was left to chance. There is something very reassuring about seeing such a distinct alchemical vision, such as Jodorowsky’s.

The film itself concerns mystic transmutation, not merely of matter, but of soul, heart, mind. As with any ritual the film opens with a purification ritual led by the Alchemist (Jodorowsky himself). And already the strongest aspects of the film are obvious: Visually beguiling, and aurally disintegrating we, with various levels of mystification, are party to the ritual in a way that doesn’t speak down to the viewer. In fact, I would argue that Jodorowsky is explicitly inviting the viewer to enter into the dialogue of enlightenment with the film. As the Alchemist later explains, “there are many roads to enlightenment.” And just as the intense colors and symbolic juxtapositions force the eye to follow complex patterns, so too does this invitation scoff at the usual conceit of a passive audience.

The film portrays crypto-personae that represent aspects of human experience in a modern age. Jodorowsky seems to be making the claim that much of modern life, eschewing open pursuit of enlightenment, is obfuscating at least one of the true aims of life, the pursuit of spiritual growth and change. Unlike El Topo, The Holy Mountain, actively engages with conceptions of mass-life and alienation from the spirit that are ubiquitous themes in modernist works. I would make the further claim that the film should not be taken as a ‘return’ to anything, there is no attempt at fundamentalist/primordialist spirituality. Jodorowsky is attempting to iterate brand new syncretism of body and spirit.

However, and I know that the film will not resonate for all in the ways that it does for me, I know that even if the film is to be taken purely on visual merits then there is a great film here. Sometimes, particularly in works that have such intense ideological messages, it is better to ignore the message to enjoy the art.

For your viewing pleasure a clip from the film, be warned this is probably NSFW and thereby not appropriate for children, either:

La Dolce Vita

La Dolce Vita (1960). Dir. Federico Fellini.

Brace yourselves, I am about to write a review that I’m sure will put me in a minority position with regards to one of Fellini’s most highly regarded films.

I will admit, I didn’t enjoy this film the first time that I watched it, I am not what one could call a fan of other of Fellini’s films that I’ve seen, either. However, to give myself a chance to review my earlier assumptions and conclusions regarding his work I have tried in recent months to revisit his work in order to achieve some kind of balance. It’s not that I had trouble disliking something that is highly regarded, it’s that I wanted to have a well-reasoned position regarding the film. In lieu of some kind of viewing manifesto, I do attempt to justify my position regarding any film I see, whether positive or negative. And, I hope that that is apparent from the other reviews that I have written.

I want to be both a fan and a critic. I want to sit down to a film and enjoy the experience, as well as come out on the other side with some articulate reasons for my feelings regarding the film. Even films that I haven’t enjoyed for the experience of watching deserve to be given credit for what was done well, just as much as any faults deserve to be delineated.

Well, after that long-winded introduction, my thoughts on <i>La Dolce Vita</i>.

Marcello Mastroianni (playing Marcello Rubini, a dissolute writer for paparrazi tabloids) is an excellent actor, whose distinctive face and mannerisms have rightly earned him a place in a pantheon of iconic actors. In fact, each member of the cast could be singled out for their nuanced performances both as ensemble members as well as on their own singular merits. Of special note, I think, is the performance of Alain Cuny as the mentor/father figure Steiner. His melancholic intensity lends a certain credence and believability to the almost melodramatic turning point in Rubini’s life.

Of note is also the sum total of the cinematography and photography, Fellini’s films always have a visual intensity, stark with a trembling life-like vibrancy. It is this visual intensity that, in part, lends gravity to scenes of emotional intensity (as in the final party scene), as well as a confused levity to scenes such as the one where Anita Ekberg’s Sylvia dances shoe-less to the combined dismay, desire, and disdain of the various observers.

Now, here’s the part that could conceivably ruffle someone’s proverbial feathers (or whatnot).

In spite of recognizing the beauty of the photography I have two major problems with the film. First, pacing. I think that the film would have benefited immensely from some judicious cuts in the middle and on into the final third of the film. And I don’t think that these cuts would have detracted from any of the sub-text or from the thematic power of the narrative as a whole. It’s not that these scenes do not provide a further of certain ideological goals and artistic statements by Fellini; however, I think that the same effects could be had by a much tighter juxtaposition of key/pivotal scenes.

Secondly, for all of the art in this film, it feels a tad soulless and tightly wound. I kept trying to find some sympathy in the portrayal of Rubini, his dilettante friends, or with any of the major characters. But, apart from the brief time that Steiner is on screen, I was viscerally disgusted with the portrayal of every major character. Even in exploitation films, horror films, and slashers, there is generally some sense (at least in the successful exemplars of genre) that someone on-screen is worth rooting for. And even if these sympathetic presences are eliminated, as is often the case, at least for a brief moment you are rooting for someone. Even if it has to be the bad-guy/monster/etc., as is the case in the latter films in noted horror franchises. But, I found myself globally repulsed by the characters, I wanted to take Steiner’s way out, just about the time that off-screen he was committing his final passage from the clutches of Fellini’s ideology. I too wanted that same escape. After roughly the first third of the film I kept hoping for it to end, I knew that Rubini couldn’t choose the stable futures that Fellini dangles in front of his hapless ‘protagonist’. There was never any question in my mind that this was a tragedy. And what’s worse? I didn’t care. If Fellini had structured his narrative around someone worth caring about, then it might be different. And I disagree with the proposition that it is his neorealism that necessitates putting all the flaws on screen to see. These characters do not ring true enough, their is still the weight of symbolism that blots out any ability to bring hints of positive characteristics to the screen.

The unrelenting negativity, I never found there to be much else even in the face of the supposedly unrestrained youthful vigor, is enough cause for me to suggest this film only as an exercise in art without joy.

Worth watching, as is the case with any well-made film, but not worth enjoying.

Planet of the Vampires

Terrore Nello Spazio aka Planet of the Vampires aka Terror in Space, et al. (1965) Dir. Mario Bava.

Planet is a great example of the ways that genreic conventions can be used to create a memorable and ultimately engaging film. Centering on two space crews who end up stranded on a strange planet, the film plays like a gushing fan letter to science fiction’s silver age. And yet, compared to much of the similar fare that was being peddled from Hollywood, Bava’s amazingly beautiful cinematography, memorable set designs, and masterful use of slow motion and color, place this film head and shoulders above a number of its contemporaries.

Basically, I have always held this film’s sets and costumes up as the reason why the real ‘future’ can never be as beautiful as the future that the ’60s imagined for us. Black leather jump suits with high standing collars, black leather skull caps. Banks of lights under hemispherical view screens.

The film is very distinct in its melding of atmospheric fright effects, fog and slow-motion footage of the dead spacemen rising from hastily dug graves, along with a derivative, but well conceived science fiction text.

Bava is a master, no doubt about it. No matter what the subject matter and no matter how low the budget he always finds a way to be innovative and entertaining.