Blogorium Review: Under the Skin

 At the outset, I'm going to warn you that the best way to watch Under the Skin is to know as little about the film as possible. The film's trailers are deliberately vague precisely because Under the Skin is meant to be experienced rather than explained. By necessity, in order to review it at all, I'm going to have to be more specific about the narrative (such as it is) than you might want to know about going in. From here on out, consider everything covered to fall under MILD SPOILERS.

 I've waited a long time for a new Jonathan Glazer movie: after Sexy Beast in 2000, he took four years to follow-up with Birth, and ten years later, we have his third film. I hope this is not indicative of a Donna Tartt-esque pattern of project gestation time, but if Under the Skin is any indication, the wait may be worth it. Not too long ago, I mentioned that Spider Baby might be the strangest film I've seen in a long time, precisely because of how matter-of-factly it treats the bizarre Merrye family. Under the Skin is not necessarily "strange," but it has its share of haunting, surreal imagery that still floats in and out of my head. The trailer has been described as "Lynch-ian," and the movie lives up to that promise (it reminded me of parts of Eraserhead more than once), but I want to clear up a certain misconception about what the term "Lynch-ian" means before we go any further. It's relevant to Under the Skin, which is why I'm including it in this review.

 There is an assumption, mostly by people who know David Lynch third hand or by a dissociative reputation, that "Lynch-ian" just means "weird." They believe that his films are weird for weird's sake, that his editing techniques and use of juxtaposition serve no real purpose, and that Lynch is just interested in being as strange as possible for no other reason than he can be. If that seems far fetched a claim, watch something like "David Lynch's Return of the Jedi" and tell me that's not exactly how the creator of that video presents the film as "re-envisioned" by the director. In truth, David Lynch's Return of the Jedi would probably be more like David Lynch's Dune, which may or may not be a good thing.

 Are Lynch's films abstract at times? Oh yes. Do they rely on seemingly random imagery presented without context? I wouldn't argue that's the case at times. Is it, at times, difficult to suss out what the intent of this imagery is? Of course. Lynch doesn't help by dodging questions about meaning, or by attributing it to a byproduct of Transcendental Meditation, but the amount of time and effort he puts into seemingly "random" and "weird" imagery points to means to an end, even if we aren't sure what the ends are. Maybe he isn't either. Maybe he is, and he's just playing coy. At any rate, weird for weird's sake is either a total misunderstanding or a cynical dismissal of what makes something "Lynch-ian."

 This brings me back to Under the Skin, which is filled with visual tics and images that suggest, but often never explain. Glazer seems content to introduce a concept in the film and explore it in its bare minimum, instead leaving much of the heavy lifting to the audience. If you like films that are puzzles, ones that present the pieces but don't tell you how they fit together, Under the Skin excels at that. Perhaps reading the book by Michael Faber would help with interpreting Glazer and Walter Campbell's adaptation. Perhaps not. I haven't read the book, although I'm certainly more interested in doing so now. At the moment, I'm still digesting what I have seen, what tantalizing clues I'm not putting in the right places. Here is, from a first go, my "reading" of Under the Skin, such as it is.

 At bare minimum, we know this from the beginning of the film: aliens are on Earth, and they're using our skin to infiltrate and conduct experiments. Well, maybe the second part. They're definitely using Scarlett Johansson's character (unlisted in the credits - most of the characters say their names, but I'll go with Glazer's preference) as a decoy to draw in men, take them "home," and sink them into a black oil-like substance. We get one glimpse of what happens after that, and given the reveal at the end, I have a pretty good idea what we're seeing. She has a mission to collect men who are single, who have no families or close friends, and who won't be missed. When she's found the perfect specimen and lured him into her "trap," a motorcycle riding "clean up man" takes care of the loose ends.

 Glazer does an interesting about face, particularly considering the amount of nudity from Johansson in the film I wasn't expecting. The"male gaze" is on display near the very beginning - when Johansson either takes over for the last "agent" or simply removes the clothes of a dead woman - slowly gives way to another sort of gaze. I hesitate to call it "feminine" because she's clearly not playing a human, and it implies that the male objectification operates in the exact same way that the "male gaze" does. It's more of an "alien gaze," although her entire purpose is to draw men in using their "male gaze" - critical in drawing them to follow her into the Black Room and by extension, their doom.

 As the film goes on, it becomes clearer that the aliens, or at least Johansson, don't really understand humanity past a utilitarian purpose. Beyond the parameters of her mission, she has no idea how to react to people, and becomes visibly uncomfortable when included in a group of women heading to a club. Unable to leave the building, she becomes frantic, and only settles down when she accidentally meets her "target." At other points, she seems confused about tripping on a sidewalk, attempting to eat food, and the sight of blood. The meaning of that scene, in particular, isn't clear until the very end of the film, when the title finally makes sense.

 Under the Skin has a few genuinely disturbing moments resulting from the alien "disconnect" from emotions. One in particular is still unnerving: while chatting up a potential victim, the vacationing swimmer notices a family being pulled into the rough tidal waters. He tries to save them, and, failing that, at least bring the husband back to shore. He brings him back, but is too winded to stop the man from swimming back out to his doom. Johansson stands there, dispassionately observing the tragedy, and while the tourist is struggling to stand, she knocks him out with a rock. As she drags him back to her van, mixed in with the roar of the ocean are the screams of the family's toddler, sitting by himself a few yards away. Johansson never acknowledges the child - he's not essential to the mission, and when the cyclist turns up later to remove the evidence, he also leaves the crying child. The last time we see the toddler is as the light is fading and the tide advances. It's a rather bleak view of humanity's worth from the eyes of outsiders.

 Her first moment of what could be called "pity" involves a man with severe facial deformities, although I'm still not exactly sure what the aftermath of that sequence suggests. Johansson lures him in, as she has with every other man in the coastal region of Scotland they've set up shop, but there's a hiccup. I think. I'm not sure, but it's the first and only time we see one of the aliens until the end of the film, and the cross-fading (reminiscent of the beginning of Eraserhead) suggests its communicating with Johansson. She leaves and is startled by the mirror at the bottom of the stairs, presumably noticing "herself" for the first time. When she goes outside, he's no longer ensnared, but is standing outside of her flat, naked. As he walks through the brush to get home, the motorcycle alien is dispatched and they meet, to an unhappy end. Was her selection rejected by the higher-ups because of his face? Did she have a moment of doubt and free him? It's up to interpretation, but clearly the situation required a hasty clean-up.

 That scene is the catalyst for the last section of Under the Skin, which anybody who has seen a movie about aliens pretending to be human will have some idea what follows. It's the only point where I began to question exactly where Glazer was going with the film (mostly when she's in the woods), although the role reversal between Johansson and the logger quickly became apparent. The use of a specific music cue makes it clear, but that, in and of itself, is a setup for a bigger misdirect. In the final moments of the film, at least one mystery makes much more sense (hint: it involves what the title specifically means) and explains the sudden ending to her fascination with actual sexuality - rather than the temptation of it as a means to their ends. Despite slight misgivings, I think the final moments make Under the Skin more potent and illuminate some mysteries and deepen others.

 If you take to Under the Skin - and some may not - it's almost certain it won't be a "one time" movie. I'm already looking forward to watching it again, to pick up on additional clues that point towards the end of the film, as well as to pick apart the symbolic images that make up the pre-title sequence. After more people have seen it (and I hope, if you read this far, you at least saw it beforehand), this review might merit revisiting and a more openly SPOILER-friendly discussion. But, for now, I'm going to avoid getting to specific, and allow audiences to discover Under the Skin for themselves. It's a striking film, visually, and one open to interpretation. "Lynch-ian" in the best sense, or is it "Glazer-ian"?

Blogorium Review: Jodorowsky's Dune

 If you haven't heard of Alejandro Jodorowsky, it's not going to surprise me one bit, and that's okay. Jodorowsky is best known for making El Topo and The Holy Mountain, two exercises in cinematic surrealism that aren't necessarily known for their accessibility. El Topo is considered by many to be the original "Midnight Movie," and includes extreme violence, bizarre imagery, Jodorowsky's son, Bristol, naked for much of the movie, and sporadic cruelty toward animals. It's a western. The Holy Mountain is... stranger than that, but arguably easier to stomach. I'm not saying that they aren't worth seeing, but it takes a particular type of adventurousness to want to watch them. If I had my druthers, I'd give The Holy Mountain the edge, but you might want to read a little bit about Jodorowsky before you dive in blindly.

 So this might explain why some of your friends went nuts with excitement when they heard Frank Pavich (N.Y.H.C.) was making a documentary called Jodorowsky's Dune. At least you maybe recognized the second word, even if the significance of the first didn't resonate. For fans of science fiction on the big screen, Alejandro Jodorowsky's adaptation of Dune is the great "what if?" of the genre. It's mentioned in The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made (although it didn't make it into my review of the book, for some reason) and exists in a certain realm of "Hollywood Urban Legend": the great unmade epic that influenced every science fiction film made for the next four decades. And finally, we have it on film. The story is every bit as mad as Jodorowsky himself, and every bit as compelling as it sounded when you first heard about it. I have no idea if his conception of Dune could even be made, but I'd love to see it.

 Jodorowsky states that he wanted his Dune to feel like "being on LSD without actually taking LSD," and thanks to the exhaustive book he and producer Michel Seydoux prepared for every studio in Hollywood, it's clear from the concept art and storyboards that he meant it.  In 1974, after El Topo and The Holy Mountain, Seydoux offered Jodorowsky the opportunity to make "whatever he wanted," and the director decided he wanted to adapt Frank Herbert's Dune. He'd never read Dune, but friends of his had, and the idea excited him. Jodorowsky set about concocting a grand plan for the film, to push the boundaries of what was possible in cinema, and assembled his team of "warriors": artists, actors, and musicians he could find to make his dream a reality.

 Many, including the Cap'n, have wondered why it took so long for someone to make this film, but I suppose it's not worth complaining about too much. Even at 84, Jodorowsky remains energetic and sprightly, but many of the most tantalizing pieces of his puzzle have long since passed. Three major contributors to Jodorowsky's vision died not long before the documentary and the other very recently (thankfully, he's in the film and one of the others is featured in archival audio).  Jodorowsky sought out a team of artists to help him conceptualize the worlds of the book: Dan O'Bannon (Dark Star, Lifeforce), Jean "Moebius" Giraud (Tron, The Fifth Element), and science fiction cover designer Chris Foss traveled to Paris to create Arrakis, Giedi Prime, and the various spacecraft used in the film. Moebius also drew the storyboards that make up much of Jodorowsky's massive concept book in order to give a clear idea of how the director planned to make the impossible imagery a reality.

 With his ideas in place, Jodorowsky excitedly moves on to how he planned fill in the other pieces of the film in order to sell it to studios. For Duke Leto Atreides, he brought on board David Carradine, and for the Duke's son, Paul Atreides, Jodorowsky again turned to his son Bristol. For the corpulent Baron Harkonnen, Jodorowsky tracked down Orson Welles and convinced him to agree to the picture by promising to hire his favorite chef to serve him food (this is not a joke or some crack at Welles' weight - Jodorowsky tells the story himself). For Feyd-Rautha, he sought out and found Mick Jagger (in one of the story's many coincidental meetings, the only parts of the tale I found hard to believe) - in the actual Dune that David Lynch completed (more on that later), Sting plays the role, for those curious.

 Jodorowsky's great coup was convincing Salvador Dali to play the "Emperor of the Galaxy", a feat that required many "tests" by the great artists and a series of demands that seem like they would (and should) have crippled the film. Dali demanded his own helicopter, for a giraffe to appear onscreen with him, an elephant, and most troubling to Seydoux, to be "the greatest paid actor in Hollwood." Dali told Jodorowsky he wanted "$100,000 per minute," which the director assured Seydoux would be feasible if they only paid him for the amount of time on screen - about three minutes. To further assure Dali's cooperation, Jodorowsky cast the artist's muse, Amanda Lear, in the film, despite her warnings that Dali would "destroy the project."

 Whether he would have wrecked Dune or not, Dali did bring one major piece to the design of the film by introducing Jodorowsky to the art of H.R. Giger. Giger joined the film to design the world of the Harkonnens, and some of the concept work might look quite familiar to viewers of the film Prometheus (in particular, the pyramid). Among many of the shifts in adaptation, Jodorowsky mentions his ending for the film departs radically from the ending of the book (to give you some idea, the title of one of Herbert's sequels, Dune Messiah, is treated almost literally).

 With much of his dream cast in place, Jodorowsky and composer Christian Vander set about wooing bands to craft music for each of the planets featured in Dune. The only two mentioned in the documentary are Pink Floyd and Magma, and only the members of Magma appear on camera, but it seems like both were excited to make albums exclusively devoted to Arrakis and Giedi Prime (respectively). With a budget of 15 million and his pieces in place, Jodorowsky and Seydoux set off from Paris to Los Angeles to pitch the film. The end result, as many of you have guessed, is not a happy one for Alejandro Jodorowsky.

 The interesting thing that I found from Jodorowsky's Dune is that the studios were receptive to the books presented to them. They liked the concept, the execution, and found that the seemingly impossible requirements of visual effects had logical workarounds. The only sticking point was that they didn't want the man who put it all together: Alejandro Jodorowsky. There are a number of suggestions bandied about as to why they simply refused to make the picture with him as a director, but the end result is that his vision of Dune was never made because the studio system didn't trust the man who put all of this together to be able to make it a reality. The sense of heartbreak in Jodorowsky's voice, late in the film (he speaks in a combination of broken English and Spanish) is the hardest part. His frustration that they wouldn't even let him try to make Dune, and would instead let the rights lapse is palpable.

 Jodorowsky's Dune does touch on the aftermath, when the De Laurentiis Company bought the rights and David Lynch took over as the vision behind the film. Jodorowsky admits that he had no desire to see the film, and worse still, because he "admired David Lynch," he feared it might be even better than his vision. His sons convinced him to see Dune, ten years after he began work on his aborted project, and to his great relief, "it was awful!" Jodorowsky admits that this is "a human response, one that I am not proud of, but it was my response." He doesn't blame Lynch for the failure of the film, but rather the producers.

 The books remained with the studios, and the influence of his unrealized vision filtered into almost every science fiction film made after 1974. Many of the participants in the film not involved Dune's production - among them Nicolas Winding Refn (Pusher, Drive), Richard Stanley (Hardware), producer Gary Kurtz (Star Wars), and online writers Drew McWeeny and Devin Faraci - point out direct influences on Star Wars, Flash Gordon, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Masters of the Universe, and Contact. These are accompanied by storyboards and art which are hard to argue didn't come directly from the book, particularly Contact, in which Robert Zemeckis executes a reverse of Jodorowsky's planned opening: an unbroken, continuous shot through space which ends on Arrakis.

  More noticeable, particularly if you move past Star Wars, is the indispensable role Jodorowsky played (in absentia) in the creation of Alien. Following the collapse of Dune, O'Bannon returned to Los Angeles, dejected, and eventually wrote the screenplay for what became Alien with Ronald Shusett. When he met with Ridley Scott about the film, who did O'Bannon recommend to design the film? Chris Foss, Jean "Moebius" Giraud, and H.R. Giger, his fellow artists from Dune. It's also interesting, in a roundabout way, that Ridley Scott considered taking over the DeLaurentiis Dune after finishing Alien, but decided instead to adapt Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, leaving David Lynch - who had turned down Return of the Jedi - to step in. Jodorowsky's often unspoken influence on a generation of science fiction films finally gets its due, up on screens and not just in blogs and books.

 While it's clear that he can't bear the thought of trying again, Jodorowsky does express relief that most of the conceptual art found its way into the world through his collaboration with Moebius in graphic novels. Moreover, he hopes that after his death someone will take the book and create an animated film of his Dune. If the semi-animated versions of Foss' paintings (kind of like The Kid Stays in the Picture) are any indication, it would be a welcome substitute to look forward to.

 It is still hard to imagine that Alejandro Jodorowsky's mad plan could have translated to film, although I'd love to have seen his try. He only made three films after Dune's collapse - Tusk, Santa Sangre, and The Rainbow Thief (I've only seen Santa Sangre) - but being involved in Pavich's documentary led Jodorowsky and Seydoux to reconnect, and together they made The Dance of Reality last year. I hadn't heard of it until Jodorowsky's Dune, but it's described as a "metaphorical, poetical" autobiography, so I plan to seek it out in the near future. In the meantime, I highly recommend Jodorowsky's Dune, both to people who have been aware of the story and to people wondering what we were all so excited about. This review only really scratches the surface of what's covered in the film - I left out almost all of Jodorowsky's best stories - so don't worry that you'll already know everything going in. Just sit back and enjoy what might have been.

"F" is for Five Minutes to Live

 In some ways, Five Minutes to Live is a distant cousin of a Samuel Fuller movie, specificallly The Naked Kiss. It has that sleazy underbelly of suburbia that David Lynch (arguably) mastered with Blue Velvet, but with the stark black and white aesthetic of early Fuller. I wish I could say that Five Minutes to Live was as good as either of those films, but it has some tasty morsels for fans of quasi-arcane film trivia.

 For example, Five Minutes to Live (also known as The Door to Door Maniac, which makes a lot less sense given the plot) stars Johnny Cash, who also wrote the title song for the movie. It would surprise me to hear that anybody but the most die hard of Johnny Cash fans had ever heard of the movie, let alone the song.:



 To be fair, it's not the most memorable Johnny Cash song you're ever going to hear, but then again his performance isn't that swell, either. Don't get me wrong; Cash shows a lot of enthusiasm as Johnny Cabot, a big city criminal cooling his heels in Camellia Gardens, New Jersey, but his line delivery is a little stilted. He looks more comfortable when he's sitting in his hotel room plucking away at a guitar while his girl (Midge Ware) complains about being stuck in the suburbs.

 Then again, when he finds out that she isn't who she says she is, Cabot (SPOILER) guns her down in cold blood. While his delivery isn't great, Cash does sell the career professional who knows when to be careful and when to be ruthless. It's just when he needs to vocally express it that we run into trouble, but the Man in Black's charisma sneaks out when he's being stoic or casing out a joint.

 Cabot ended up at the wrong job at the wrong time and shot his way out of a police ambush, which is what got him dumped off in Camellia Gardens, a seemingly idyllic small town where the Vice President of the Bank is married to the "Homemaker of the Year." That's where crook Fred Dorella (Vic Tayback) gets the idea to rob an otherwise impregnable bank: he'll handle the husband while Cabot threatens the wife. To ensure everything goes smoothly, they'll call every five minutes or she gets it - hence the title.

 The catch, it turns out, is that it's anything but paradise inside the home of Ken and Nancy Wilson (Donald Woods and Cay Forester) - he's browbeaten about the added stresses being put on him by her job (and the meddlesome town council that put them both where they are) and it frequently boils over behind closed doors. Neither of them have time for their son Bobby (Little Ronnie Howard - oh, did I forget to mention that Ron Howard is in this movie?).

 Here's another point where Five Minutes to Live was a little tricky to get a handle on: while Fred and Johnny are casing the Wilson house, the movie frequently cuts in to their domestic life / morning routine, and it's hard to tell if director Bill Karn (Guns Don't Argue) is going for darkly melodramatic or wryly cynical. It seems like Bobby's observations about his parents and much of their banter is meant to be funny, but the delivery is so earnest that it's more uncomfortable than amusing. Meanwhile, the crooks are sitting outside, trying to comprehend a world where people live by schedules and routines.

 But it gets better - Ken is cheating on his wife  with Ellen Harcourt (Pamela Mason) - unbeknownst to anyone, he thinks. so things get... complicated. Well, not at first: Cabot pretends to be a door-to-door guitar salesman (hence the alternate title to the film) in order to get into the Wilson home. Before long, the killer is flummoxed by her social schedule impeding on their plan and Ken discovers that his dalliance with Ms. Harcourt may not be "their little secret," even as he plans to run away with her later that day. Fred's more than a little surprised that Mr. Wilson says "Suppose you'd be doing me a favor by killing my wife?"

 With a little more finesse, Five Minutes to Live could be another The Naked Kiss, but it hits just shy of the target, a sleazy exploitation film that isn't quite sure what direction it wants to go in. It doesn't surprise me that elements of Five Minutes to Live pop up in movies like The Ref and Bandits, which play to the comedy more and the domestic sleaze less. There are times that, despite its muddled execution, Five Minutes to Live is a bitterly funny movie. At the same time, the more we get to know Cabot around Mrs. Wilson, the more disturbing he becomes.

 There are shades of Frank Booth in the way he handles her and terrorizes her - first singing "Five Minutes to Live" and then grazing her face with a bullet. He harasses her for not "looking right," not because she cares but because he does.  If you ever thought, "you know what would be a good vibe for Johnny Cash? Rape-y!" then you're in luck. It gets even darker than that towards the end, when Bobby shows up - Cabot doesn't like to involve children and a shootout with the police has tragic consequences for the normally cautious "maniac."

 Five Minutes to Live is just shy of being the movie it could be, and even though there's a good reason the film isn't very well known, I'd say more often than not it's worth the watch. The rough spots hold it back, but just because it doesn't find the artful balance between sleaze and cinema, Five Minutes to Live still has a trick or two up its sleeve if you're patient. Check it out, if you're in the mood for something mean spirited and rough around the edges.

One More 2011 Post for Kicks: My Favorite Fancy Schmancy Discs of Last Year

 When I started the Blogorium over on another social media site several years ago, I eventually became an early adopter of Blu-Ray. At the time, I worked at a used book store that sold video games and systems and I was able to purchase an 80gb PS3, partially for the games but mostly for the shiny new discs that beat HD-DVD in the "successor to DVD" format war. I wanted to upgrade TVs from the old standby 17" (?) set I had (and its twin, a loaner from a friend who moved) and eventually did pick up that HDTV monstrosity (it's in storage now for various reasons).

 At the time, I was gently mocked by friends for taking such an interest in a "niche" market for home entertainment, to the point that I jokingly referred to all Blu-Ray and HDTV posts as being "fancy schmancy." Now that most of the world seems to be catching up (because Blu-Ray discs are often cheaper than their DVD counterparts and you don't have to get rid of your DVDs with a BD player), I haven't used the term in a while.

 People seem to be moving more and more into the "all digital" direction, to the point that a younger co-worker derisively said to me "Blu-Ray is for noobs!" I laughed out loud, because that doesn't make any sense, especially coming from someone who never knew an analog world. I'm not articulating this well, but I think anybody who has been following the development of home media for the last... let's just say thirty years is far from being a "noob" on the subject. Maybe I'm the opposite - the fuddy duddy who still likes to have a tangible copy of something, an actual library of film, music, and books. I have plenty of digital copies and songs on iTunes (no e-reader to speak of), but there's something to be said for having friends over and giving them time to look through your shelves in the down time.

 We've also established that I'm a "supplement junkie," and you don't get those kinds of extras with a digital copy. I get most people could care less about commentary tracks or making of documentaries or retrospectives, but it's not a coincidence that I buy Criterion discs that have lots of contextualizing extras about the films. To me, that's as interesting as the film itself - watch the second disc of The Battle of Algiers (if it's the DVD, the second and third discs) and then watch the film again. The all digital, just the movie world of cloud technology isn't totally for me just yet. It has its purpose, but it doesn't replace a shelf full of quality releases.

 Speaking of quality releases, I think that was the point of this whole post... I must have gotten lost back there somewhere. Oh well, let's skip to the chase. The following are some of the most interesting discs I picked up in 2011. Not all of them were released in 2011 (I'm guessing with the imports anyway) but it's my list so you'll live. When possible, I'm going to put up links where you can buy them, because several are titles you probably didn't know you could buy and are already available.

 For starters, let's look at this:

 A Nightmare on Elm Street Collection - In the US, we got the first Nightmare on Elm Street on Blu-Ray released in time for the shitty remake in 2010. Last October, we got a double feature of 2 and 3 on one disc... and that's it. Not the worst deal, necessarily - two of the best entries in the series and... well, Freddy's Revenge. Still, it's not like we can replace our boxed set yet, right?

 Not true, gang - Amazon.co.uk had an October 2011 release of the entire series on Blu-Ray. The five disc set replicates the individual release of the first film and then doubles up 2/3, 4/5, and 6/7, with a bonus disc of new extras, including episodes of Freddy's Nightmares, the anthology-ish series that you can only see if you're patient enough to watch Chiller for a week.

 (Oh, Freddy vs. Jason fanatics are admittedly SOL, but that's not really a Nightmare film anyway. Wait... are there Freddy vs. Jason fanatics?)

 Additionally, each of the BD discs has all of the interview clips from the seventh disc of the Nightmare on Elm Street DVD set, but without having to navigate the "labyrinth" to find them. Even though we're dealing with two films per disc, I have to say that all of the sequels look very good in high definition. This set will probably come out in the US (let's hope by next October) but if you've got a Freddy fix, the whole thing is available now. Most importantly, it's REGION FREE, meaning that all of the movies are going to play on any BD player you have here in the states.

  Payback - also region free and available on Amazon's UK site, the release of Payback overseas improves the existing BD release here by including both versions of the film (the US release only has the director's cut) plus all of the extras from both original discs. Whether you like one version or the other, it's got something for all Payback fans, so you can watch it whenever you like, however you like. Let's hope Point Blank makes the leap to high definition in 2012...

 Taxi Driver - Everything included from all the various versions of the DVD, plus the Criterion laserdisc commentary with Scorsese, at a very reasonable price. What's not to like?

 Citizen Kane (Ultimate SomethingorOther Edition) - Best Buy has a two-disc version with Kane and The Battle for Citizen Kane, which is nice, but the super fancy schmancy edition (for a few dollars more) also includes RKO 281 and The Magnificent Ambersons. If you want to quibble, only Citizen Kane is a BD disc, but it's a nice set that encompasses all things Kane with the added bonus of the only version of The Magnificent Ambersons we're ever going to get included as a bonus. The film looks fantastic, by the way.

 Battle Royale - I know Anchor Bay is releasing BR next week on Blu-Ray, but Arrow Films beat them to the punch in the UK with a region free set of the theatrical cut, the director's cut, and an additional disc of extras for what amounted to $35 at the end of 2010. As I didn't get it until 2011, I'm counting it - it also doesn't include Battle Royale II, which is a very nice thing for Arrow to do. That would only sully the experience. I opted for the super fancy, now out-of-print Limited Edition, which came with some other fun stuff, but you can still get the three disc version for a reasonable price.

 The Lord of the Rings Extended Editions  - Is it maybe a pain to switch out the discs? I guess. Are the "appendices" just DVDs? Well, yes. Will I take this over the "theatrical" Blu-Ray set? Any day. The movies look better, all of the extras are intact, and the extra documentaries from the "Limited Editions" are included for good measure. It's an impressive package, all things considered.

 The Twilight Zone - I finally have all five seasons on Blu-Ray, and it's more than worth your while to pick the sets up. Yes, you can watch the episodes on Netflix, and they look pretty spiffy. The sets are packed to the gills with everything a TZ fanatic like the Cap'n could possibly want to see, hear, or know. I didn't think a series would catapult past Battlestar Galactica's complete set, but The Twilight Zone on Blu-Ray did it in spades.

 Blue Velvet - on Blu-Ray, with an hour of long thought lost footage, restored and fancy schmancy-ed by David Lynch.

 I couldn't narrow down the Criterion selections, so here's just a sampling of what they kicked our collective asses with this year: Kiss Me Deadly, Three Colors, The Great Dictator, The Killing / Killer's Kiss, Island of Lost Souls, The Music Room, 12 Angry Men, Cul-De-Sac, Blow Out, Carlos, The Phantom Carriage, and Sweet Smell of Success. That's not counting the HD upgrades to Beauty and the Beast, Orpheus, The Naked Kiss, Shock Corridor, Rushmore, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Dazed and Confused, The Double Life of Veronique, Army of Shadows, Le Cercle Rouge, The Battle of Algiers, Robinson Crusoe on Mars, Solaris, Diabolique, Smiles of a Summer Night, or Fanny and Alexander. To name a few.

 Special kudos also go to Lionsgate for slowly but surely releasing Miramax films in a way that doesn't suck (*coughEchoBridgecough*), including Pulp Fiction, Jackie Brown, Cop Land, Trainspotting, The Others, Mimic (in a Director's Cut!), Heavenly Creatures, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, and Amelie. It's too bad Echo Bridge got From Dusk Till Dawn with all the Children of the Corn and Hellraiser sequels, because unless you want to see what happens when FDtD looks like when crammed onto a disc with both of its sequels and the documentary Full Tilt Boogie, you won't be seeing it on Blu-Ray (unless Criterion gets it... knocks on wood*). Oh sure, it's ten bucks, and that's three dollars more than just From Dusk Till Dawn on Blu-Ray (no, seriously), but it looks like crap. Trust me; someone bought it for me and I looked at all four movies on the disc. From Dusk Till Dawn 3: The Hangman's Daughter probably looks the best of the three of them. Technically they're all watchable quality, but it's a missed opportunity to be damned sure when you see that Lionsgate is releasing HD versions with all of the extras from the DVD versions. Echo Bridge? Not so much.


Finally, I must admit that while nobody else seems to care for them, I was quite impressed in having everything together in the Stanley Kubrick Limited Edition Collection and I also bought the nine disc Star Wars Saga. I watched most of the extras and some of the movies. Guess which ones (okay, one) I haven't put in... Hint: It's EPISODE ONE THE PHANTOM MENACE. I won't be buying the 3D Blu-Ray Set, even if I have a 3D TV at that point. I'm also not going to see The Phantom Menace in 3D. You don't need to believe me because I know that's true.

 And I'm out of steam... there were more, but I'll get to them another time.

* This is not as crazy as it sounds - I still have the Miramax DVD set of the Three Colors Trilogy, and Criterion picked up the rights to that...

A Funny Meme Happened on the Way to the Blogorium...

 Okay, so when I mentioned a handful of directors that didn't make the cut in Thursday's post about the director meme? Where I also mentioned that someone would be providing me with more directors? Yeah, funny how that worked out...

 I believe that I mentioned Jean-Luc Godard and Ingmar Bergman didn't make the initial run, along with a host of others I gave to other people. For reasons known only to me, I decided to pass on John Huston, David Lynch, Ridley Scott, and Terrence Malick. Silly Cap'n... The results came in for my next challenge, and here's the text verbatim:

Alright here we go. Ingmar Bergman, Terrence Malick, Ridley Scott, John Huston, Jean-Luc Godard, David Lynch, Charlie Kaufman, Bernardo Bertolucci, Roman Polanski, Jacques Tati. Some are personal favorites, some...not so much. All pique my interest, however.

Well, looks like I'm doing them anyway, so here comes the part where I admit that some of them I left out because there aren't really any movies I "hate" by several of these directors, which makes this tricky. But oh well, let's give it a shot anyway...

 Ingmar Bergman
 A Movie I Like: Hour of the Wolf.
 A Movie I Love: The Virgin Spring.
 A Movie I Hate: I guess The Magic Flute? I don't really love or like it... The Serpent's Egg isn't one of my favorites, either.

 Terrence Malick
 A Movie I Like: The New World.
 A Movie I Love: Days of Heaven.
 A Movie I Hate: See, here's the problem. I guess maybe it was assumed I'd put The Thin Red Line or The New World here, but I don't hate either of them. In fact, I really like both of them. And I love Badlands almost as much as Days of Heaven. I haven't seen The Tree of Life yet so I can't really say anything in that regard, and that's it. That's all there is.


  Ridley Scott
 I'm giving myself the caveat that I'm not allowed to use Alien, Blade Runner, or Thelma & Louise.
 A Movie I Like: The Duellists, or Matchstick Men.
 A Movie I Love: Believe it or not, I love the director's cut of Kingdom of Heaven.
 A Movie I Hate: Hannibal. Yeah, Legend would be an easy choice, but it's at least an interesting failure. Hannibal is just terrible, and I didn't see Robin Hood or A Good Year.

  John Huston
 A Movie I Like: The African Queen, or Wise Blood. You know what? Wise Blood.
 A Movie I Love: The Man Who Would Be King.
 A Movie I Hate: This is a cop out, especially since I don't really love The Asphalt Jungle, but since Huston directed parts of Casino Royale, and since I HATE Casino Royale, there's your winner.

 Jean-Luc Godard
 A Movie I Like: Pierrot le Fou.
 A Movie I Love: Vivre Sa Vie.
 A Movie I Hate: I don't really enjoy Made in U.S.A., if only because I am a fan of the Richard Stark "Parker" novels and their adaptations (Point Blank, The Outfit, Payback), and since this one is kinda based on The Jugger but is also making fun of it, I'm not such a huge fan.

 David Lynch
 A Movie I Like: The Elephant Man. Or Lost Highway.
 A Movie I Love: Wild at Heart.
 A Movie I Hate: The easy answer would be Dune, I guess, which is kind of a mess, but in all honesty I have a hard time sitting through all of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me when I put it on. It's not a bad movie, but thoroughly unpleasant, unseemly in a way that makes Blue Velvet seem family friendly.


 Charlie Kaufman
 He only directed one movie, so this is kinda tricky. If we're expanding it to films he wrote, then that's a different story, but not by much.
 A Movie I Like: Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.
 A Movie I Love: Synechdoce, New York.
 A Movie I Hate: I don't hate any of them, by either measure (writer or director). If we're just going "weakest link," then it's Human Nature by process of elimination. Nothing personal, Human Nature; I like you all right.


 Bernardo Bertolucci
 A Movie I Like: 1900. Or The Dreamers.
 A Movie I Love: The Last Emperor.
 A Movie I Hate: Is Little Buddha too obvious? Because if it is, I'm not really a Last Tango in Paris fan either.

 Roman Polanski 
 Like Ridley Scott, I am purposefully removing the best known, i.e. Rosemary's Baby, Chinatown, Repulsion, and The Tenant.
 A Movie I Like: I am alone on this island, but The Fearless Vampire Killers.
 A Movie I Love: Knife in the Water, since I left out all of my other favorites.
 A Movie I Hate: I have more "meh's" than "hate's" here - I'm not a huge fan of Frantic, Pirates, or Bitter Moon. I have a love / hate relationship with The Ninth Gate, because it's such a great movie as it builds and builds and then just kind of peters out. There's not so much an ending as an "okay, we're done here; movie's over," which ruins the film every time I watch it.

 Jacques Tati
 A Movie I Like: Trafic.
 A Movie I Love: Play Time.
 A Movie I Hate: Again, I don't really hate any of the Monsieur Hulot films, which is the bulk of Tati's filmography. I guess of them, Mon Oncle is my least favorite, but that shouldn't reflect poorly on the film. It's like asking me which Buster Keaton film I like the least.

 Okay, so Monday we'll get back to reviews. I did see a movie about some super powered kids that wasn't "second class," per se, but could have been better than everybody seems to think it is. Not that I didn't like it, but I mean it wasn't all that, even with a cameo from the star of Baz Luhrmann's Australia (aw, who am I kidding, nobody saw that movie. I mean Australian Broadway's Oklahoma!). But I don't know if I'm going to review that yet. Nah, I don't feel like piling on the "January Jones is a terrible actress" critiques just yet. That can wait for some other time. Hrm... that means I have to find something else to review.... damn.

Let the Blogorium Speak for Itself...?

 Hrm. The Cap'n doesn't really have a review today. I thought I might, but over the last two days I watched Halloween II with Rob Zombie's commentary track and the group commentary for Trick 'R Treat. I've toyed with the idea of doing write-ups of commentary tracks, as they seem to be the least accessed feature on nearly every DVD and Blu-Ray release. For some reason, it never seems as interesting to write about them as it does to listen to them. Appropriately, many directors, writers, producers, and actors feel like it's not as interesting to listen to them talk about a film when you can let the film speak for itself. Steven Spielberg doesn't record commentary tracks for just that reason, along with David Lynch and the Coen brothers*.

  Part of the appeal of a "Rogue Commentary Track" is that it would allow people who have a marginal history with the film, but who appreciate something about the film, to speak at length about what they take away from it without forcing people to pay anything. If it ever happens, that is. I certainly don't have the equipment to make that happen, but I do know a number of well versed cinephiles who could sit down and provide insightful and entertaining tracks for films that go underrepresented. It's the technical end that's hanging that idea up, and the scheduling; there's rarely time that everyone could get together.

 Well, let's try to make something out of this commentary-centric Saturday. Trick 'R Treat was fun to watch (virtually) with the director, editor, composer, producer, and storyboard artist, and I picked up a few more connective tidbits that I hadn't caught yet. The film really does reward multiple viewings, because it is packed with overlapping character moments. I honestly had no idea that Brian Cox wanted Mr. Kreeg to look like John Carpenter, but it's actually a clever nod that I can see during his segment.

 After listening to the Halloween II "Unrated Director's Cut" commentary, it's clear that two things dominated the making of the film: the decreasing budget / schedule and the editing. Zombie is clearly frustrated that a number of sequences were hampered by schedule cuts, including the Phantom Jam (which was supposed to take four days to shoot but was shortened to one night), and while he feels the film suffers from the shortcuts they had to take, he's reasonably satisfied with the director's cut.

 I'm happy that I found a copy of the Theatrical Cut (available in Canada, but I'm not sure if it is here in the US), because based on Zombie's description of what was cut, alterations made to existing footage, and his feelings about the changes, that unlike many "director's cuts," this is a radically different version of the film. Tonally the films sound quite different: the relationship between Laurie and Annie is less antagonistic, Michael's visions are more ambiguous, and the ending heads in a different direction. Zombie is happier with his cut of the film (available on Blu-Ray), but I think being able to watch both will be a valuable point of comparison. There's also a commentary on that DVD, and I wonder if it's also distinct from the director's cut, as it would be difficult to simply cut out many of the descriptions of what differs.

 All of this may seem irrelevant to many of you, as I understand that people really seem to hate Halloween II. As someone who really hated Halloween, I find it odd that people were less interested in seeing Zombie go off in his own direction with the sequel, and it makes me wonder what exactly it was that you all liked about the 2007 remake. Aside from the hospital dream sequence, Zombie makes no effort to stick to remake "rules," and while it may have problems, I think that Halloween II works as a sequel, and considering that the original Halloween II is a mess of sloppy plot points, needless coincidences, and stupid characters, I'm going to give the edge to Rob.

 Oh well. That seemed more interesting to write than it probably was to read for you. I'll see what I can do to rectify that in the coming days. I have found more than a dozen horror films from the 1980s that I've never heard of before that seem like they'll be fun to review. Until then...



* With the notable exception of The Man Who Wasn't There, which is a low-key affair featuring Joel, Ethan, and Billy Bob Thornton, where they impart a number of interesting details along with what may or may not be a whole bunch of trickery about the film. It depends on whether you trust the mercurial Coens or academics, who claim to have "figured them out" without actually knowing them.

Blogorium ( re-)Review: Midnight Movies

I'm opting to call this a re-review in that the Cap'n "sort of" reviewed Midnight Movies: From the Margin to the Mainstream almost two years ago. At the time I wrote the following blurb:

I've also been watching Midnight Movies, which is so far a fun documentary about the birth of the "midnight" cult film phenomenon. It begins with Jodorowsky's El Topo (the first "midnight movie"), and also covers Night of the Living Dead, Pink Flamingos, The Harder They Come, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Eraserhead, with shout outs to Reefer Madness and Bambi Meets Godzilla, among other movies that played at the Elgin in New York and the Orson Welles theatre in L.A*.

The directors are all involved and it's half about how the films came to be and half interviews with theatre owners, distributors, critics, and fans. Interesting tidbit: Roger Ebert gave Night of the Living Dead a harsh review because he watched it with parents who brought their children to the show. Just let that simmer a little bit, and imagine the review you might write after seeing the reactions he did.

I'm not done yet but they've just transitioned from Rocky Horror to Eraserhead, and it's particularly interesting to hear the overlap with people involved. Richard O'Brien talking about watching Eraserhead is almost as interesting as John Waters talking about seeing NotLD first run at a drive-in in Baltimore. For that, this is a definite "must see".

For the most part, this covers my impressions of watching the doc again - as I did last night - but as my motto is increasingly becoming "do your homework before you write a review," it seemed apropos to fill in the considerable gaps in that initial write-up.

The documentary is a condensation of J. Hoberman and Johnathan Rosenbaum's book Midnight Movies, which understandably has more room to work with in order to properly cultivate the inception, release, and second life as a late night attraction (Rosenbaum and Hoberman appear in interviews). While the film adaptation attempts to distill the book, sacrifices are made in order to make the transition: much of the opening history of cult and exploitation films are dropped in order to focus specifically on the period between El Topo (1970) and Eraserhead (1976), centering around Ben Barenholtz's Elgin and Larry Jackson's programming at the Orson Welles Cinema. The depth of coverage for the films vary, but the six central "midnight movies" are El Topo, Night of the Living Dead, Pink Flamingos, The Harder They Come, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Eraserhead.

Midnight Movies is a Starz production, which is not to disparage the work of writer / director Stuart Samuel or co-writer Victor Kushmaniuk, but I've noticed a trend with Starz related documentaries: they attempt to cover a considerable amount of information in a minute amount of time (Midnight Movies is 88 minutes long). In this instance, the film covers six films, plus an intro and outro in less than 90 minutes, leaving roughly 15 minutes per film, which needs to cover the making of the film, its entrance into the "midnight movie" circuit, and its lasting cultural impact.

Not all of the films get that, either; Night of the Living Dead's "making of" portion is considerably less in-depth compared to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and is more focused on the social forces at work surrounding Romero's seminal "zombie" picture than the film itself. Romero's segment is topped off by a cynical comment that the film had no copyright and could therefore make money for any distributor who had a print (with text overlays of grosses for Night of the Living Dead in various territories), while the fact that Night's creators saw none of the revenue is left out.

Larry Jackson (who programmed the Orson Welles Cinema) suggests that his choices in "midnight movies" were based on "ironic" movie going casts a dubious shadow over Reefer Madness, Bambi Meets Godzilla, and makes his advocating of The Harder They Come slightly confounding. Jackson appears to be a genuine fan of the film, but the rationale behind midnight programming at the Welles seems counter-intuitive to the Jamaican made, reggae infused crime drama. The Harder They Come actually feels the least explored of the six subjects, with more time devoted to its distribution than the film itself.

Because I had not finished the film when writing about it, I also neglected to mention the more interesting connection between Eraserhead and John Waters: while promoting Desperate Living, Waters was so enthusiastic about Lynch's debut that he devoted most of the interviews to talking up Eraserhead rather than his third feature. The fact that many of these directors intersected thanks to the "midnight movie" phenomenon is in and of itself a component of the documentary worth watching.

While I understand the point that Midnight Movies: from the Margin to the Mainstream makes, the title can be taken two ways, neither of which I completely agree with: the documentary asserts that the subversive elements of "midnight movies" has become the mainstream, and accordingly their impact is dulled by a tendency towards hyper-irony in modern cinema (this is the central reason Roger Ebert appears in the film, albeit in an extremely limited capacity). The other argument one could make is that the "midnight movies" covered in the film have become mainstream in their own way, particularly as their respective directors elevated in stature.

The arguments bleed together in some ways: I strongly suspect that mainstream audiences have never seen The Harder They Come, Eraserhead, Pink Flamingos, or El Topo. They may have some inkling that Eraserhead and Pink Flamingos exist, but it is incredibly unlikely that simply because David Lynch moved on to make The Elephant Man - the film's primary evidence of the "mainstreaming" of the margin - that the cult films have extended as far as Samuel would like us to believe. Waters makes the point that the subject matter of his films hasn't changed, but culture changed to accept the "freaks" he showcases. This is fair, but the argument is not universal across the doc's subjects: Jodorowsky, Henzell, and Romero (to a degree) are still relatively outside of the "mainstream," and while Lynch occasionally taps into the cultural zeitgeist (Twin Peaks), his idiosyncratic filmmaking often scares off the audiences Samuel assumes have come to accept "midnight" culture. I also find the argument that Jaws and Star Wars are "midnight movies" that went mainstream a bit specious - it suggests that there was no precedent for these kinds of film before the "midnight movie" era.

Waters also makes a salient point about the death of "midnight movies": the advent of VHS functionally rendered the midnight experience moot by giving audiences greater access to "cult" films, coupled with the ability to do everything they would do at a late-night theatre in the comfort (and safety) of their own home. In a sense laziness, rather than a shift of values, killed the "midnight movie" (as well as the Drive-In, although that's something I prefer to save for another time).

Accordingly, Midnight Movies: From the Margin to the Mainstream is a cinematic Hors d'oeuvre, a taste of "cult" cinema that covers six major films in the history of the midnight movement to a relatively satisfying degree. It functions as a primer, designed to interest you in the individual histories of the films covered, and while I may not concur with the assertion it reaches, with the limited running time, it packs in enough valuable morsels of trivia** that film fans will leave the film hungry for more information.



* The Orson Welles Cinema is not in Los Angeles, but Cambridge, Massachusetts.
** George Romero openly refutes a misleading rumor featured in Nightmares in Red, White, and Blue, which is also suggested in Midnight Movies before he corrects it: that Duane Jones was a deliberate casting choice to comment on race relations in the 1960s. Nightmares edits Romero interview footage to suggest that WAS the case, where he directly corrects the misconception in Midnight Movies.

Not Hamlet (yet)

Just as a quick followup to the News and Notes (part two), I was over at Ye Olde Amazon dot com this morning and noticed that they put photos up for the Videodrome and Seven Samurai Blu-Ray discs (but still no release dates).

Not to be a jerk about this, but this is not indicative of the "realness" of their claim when Criterion's discussion forums has a page for "Fake Covers" that have some pretty good ones, including the infamous Troll 2 fake that scares so many of you. But, in the interest of making my point a little clearer, moving the "info" bar on Videodrome and slapping the "Blu-Ray" sticker is apparently something many of these folks are capable of doing.

Check out this page on the thread for The Conformist, Shivers, The Pervert's Guide to Cinema, Paths of Glory, Shivers, The King and the Mockingbird, and Manos, the Hands of Fate. Elsewhere you can find Mysterious Skin, Let the Right One In, Eraserhead, The Killing, Stalker, and La Petit Soldat.

I guess I'm in this one for the long haul until they're officially released, but it's not like I don't want to see Amazon's listings come true. I just don't know that they need to be up there if Criterion hasn't made it official yet.

Reflections on Hopperthon

Sorry to take so long catching up with you folks; the Cap'n has been busy elsewhere and decided to put a hold on the Video Daily Double until I could ask you folks something.

On my monitor (which is of the old school, non-widescreen varieties), the videos I post are awkwardly cropped so that you're missing half of the picture. This is a bit of a shift, as they used to spill over onto the "About" and "Links" part of the right hand of the frame. I was okay with that, but there's no sense in trying to show you a video if you can't see half of it. If this isn't a problem on wider screens, then I'm less worried, but for my part I can't watch them and I wonder if this is a similar issue for you, the visitors.

Is this a shift on Blogger's part, or is it just the way that new YouTube videos embed? Any answers would be much appreciated. On to our main event:

Hopperthon

Monday night's tribute to the late Dennis Hopper went... well, it went. We watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2, Blue Velvet, and a healthy dose of commercials, trailers, and scenes of Hopper being Hopper (including the "Devolution gun" from Super Mario Brothers and the "Sicilian" scene from True Romance). I also finally tracked down a trailer for Neil Young's Human Highway (as seen this past Sunday, I hope), which remains a favorite of several regular readers of the Blogorium.

That being said, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 didn't go over as well as I'd hoped it would have, which is a damn shame. I hate it when I really like a movie and have seen it several times, only to show it to a group of people that hate it almost immediately and never come back from the abyss of boredom and "this is a bad movie."

Yes, I understand that TCM2 is a very different movie than The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, mostly because I feel that Tobe Hooper had in the ensuing years felt a bit tied to the first film, and the sequel is a parody of both the original and the 80s consumer culture that merited a Part 2 in the first place. I mean, really, how seriously can you take a movie where the cannibal family from the middle of nowhere hit the road and make a small fortune off of their human meat barbeque? Even in Texas, which is repeatedly the butt of jokes about culture and its own history (including the Battle theme park, which seems to include walls made of skeletons for no apparent reason). This film is not meant to be taken with the same suspension of disbelief that the first film was.

That being said, sitting in stunned silence with four other people (and only the occasional pot shot taken at the more egregious lapses in logic), I was forced to see the movie the way they did, and maybe the scene with Stretch and Chop Top in the radio station does go on too long before Leatherface comes in. I always bought into the human oddity that was Bill Moseley's Chop Top, so for me the sequence always ratcheted up the suspense as Stretch realizes she can't just get rid of this guy. This time, however, I was informed that Moseley was a "horrible actor" and that "he wasn't holding the hanger under the lighter long enough," so there you have it.

Dennis Hopper's sporadic presence in the film was much lamented, but I hope that the "buying chainsaws" scene and the chainsaw duel at the end somehow compensated for it. I still like the movie, flaws and all.

Blue Velvet went over much better, but then again everybody in the room (save one) had seen the film multiple times. I think the sleep monster was creeping in, as we lost 3/5ths of the group just past the "joyride" scene, and I was a bit bummed that my joke failed miserably.

The Cap'n had considered buying some Pabst Blue Ribbon in honor of Frank Booth, but I then thought the better of it, assuming that at least one of the Velvet fanatics would bring some, so instead I decided to set up their drinking experience with a joke. I bought a "tall boy" bottle of Heineken for the express purpose of offering it to someone. They, in turn could say "Heineken? Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon!"

But nobody brought Pabst Blue Ribbon. They all thought someone else would, and so there's a lonely bottle of Heineken in my fridge that nobody is going to drink. Yee-ha! Here's to your fuck, Heineken.

The other memorable side effect of the night was introducing folks to the effects of Up-Conversion on DVDs, which they had not experience with a really good print. Unfortunately, it has the effect of making the image a little too crisp, as though it were shot on camcorder and transferred directly - especially if the camera is moving. They noticed it in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2, but it was apparently quite distracting during Blue Velvet. I'm kind of used to it by now, but this concern has been pointed out to me before, and shy of turning the Up-Conversion off - which would make things seriously fuzzy - I'm not sure how to help you folks. Ideas?

Join the Cap'n tomorrow for my take on this "How Many Movies Have You Seen" meme that has people tagging me up and down Facebook.

TTFN!

Blogorium Book Review: The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made

The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies NEVER Made

by David Hughes

2001, A Capella Books

Reviewed by the Cap'n

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David Hughes chronicles a number of high profile Science Fiction (and to be honest, Comic Book and television) properties that failed to materialize despite considerable efforts on the part of artists, writers, designers, directors, and producers. Oh, and H.R. Giger, who appears in almost every chapter as a key figure in pre-production for The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies NEVER Made. What works is that Hughes does a very good job of putting together the stories from as many sources as possible, but the book suffers from a handful of problems, the largest of which is that the bold claim in the title is frequently undermined by the reality that many of these films WERE made.

I'm going to try very hard not to beat up on straw men here, because it's really not fair to hold a book from 2001 accountable for suggesting a number of movies would not be made that were subsequently produced and released. And believe me, I'm really having a hard time not calling out Ain't It Zoul's Harry Knowles for saying "It's a melancholy examination of that which will never come to pass..." (242) in the Afterword, because he of all people should know that in Hollywood all films are in a constant state of flux until the last penny is squeezed out of "Unrated Director's Cut" DVDs and Blu-Rays. But instead of criticizing the book for periodically unfortunate timing, I'll stick with some amusing ironies:

Had Hughes waited, let's say four years, several of the films listed under a "NEVER" moniker would at least be in active production, and quite a few of them would be already be out. For example, there are breakdowns of Spider-Man, Terminator 3, Aliens vs Predator, Superman Returns (nee Lives), I Am Legend, Watchmen, The Fantastic Four, The Silver Surfer, The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Thunderbirds, and the unlikelihood that James Cameron would ever make Avatar.

What you're noticing (and what struck me) is that all of these came out not long after the book was published. While not Science Fiction, it's entirely possible that had Freddy vs. Jason found its way into the book, that also would have been a "never" going to happen movie, and yet it sits on many a shelf. But getting back to the proximity of release, I was continually reminded in the middle chapters of just how close Hughes coverage of the films was from the final version; usually no more than a script draft or directorial swap. The suggestion that a Will Smith version of I Am Legend is brought up in its chapter, although the focus is on the Ridley Scott take that didn't come to pass.

To be fair, Hughes has updated the book for a 2008 version, which I have not seen, but the point remains that "Never" unfortunately became "yeah, I saw that" for a lot of you.

What I will grant you is that none of the films were made as described in Hughes book; The I Am Legend film with Ridley Scott and Arnold Schwarzenegger did never did materialize, and probably won't since the Will Smith one did. Whether that's good or bad is a matter of debate. Like Science Fiction in general, what's outdated about the book becomes a game of speculative "what if"s.

However, not all of the book covers films that did eventually happen. The early chapters, devoted to Alfred Bester's The Stars My Destination, Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End, The Tourist, and two stillborn David Lynch projects (Ronnie Rocket and One Saliva Bubble) do thoroughly cover films that have not and may not ever appear. Other chapters deal with unrealized visions of Star Trek and Alien sequels, plus various takes on Dune.

I was also quite fond of the chapter on how Steven Spielberg's Night Skies idea split off and became E.T. and Poltergeist, or the strange saga of how Supernova came to be, but was the most interested in a blow-by-blow account of how The Island of Dr. Moreau became the disaster it is*. For that, I certainly felt like the book was worth reading. (I had no idea that Richard Stanley, director of Hardware and Dust Devil, was initially directing the film and subsequently fired and replaced by John Frankenheimer)

Not all of the stories are new to the book; in fact, I'd venture to guess that since Hughes lifts most of the quotes from other magazines, books, or newspapers that there's only a bit of original research, but his ability to collect it all in one volume is quite valuable. I was troubled by minor but consistent typos throughout the text, particularly when it's a case of misspelling someone's name when the correct spelling is less than half the page up.

My only other quibble was that the chapter on The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy tries very hard to replicate Douglas Adams' style, and it doesn't really work. I had hoped it would only last a paragraph of two, but it appears sporadically throughout the chapter and is more annoying than clever. I get why Hughes tried to do it (I myself have attempted to co-opt Adams' style once or twice), but even in 2001 it had been done to death.

Overall, I'd have to say I give The Greatest Sci-Fi Films NEVER Made a "check it out" recommendation. If you happen to find it used somewhere (or the 2008 edition, which no doubt addresses many of the drawbacks), I will admit that at no point was I particularly bored. The caveat is that I spread out reading the chapters over visits to the bathroom, and I find it works quite well broken up into smaller portions. I'm not sure that sitting down and reading the book beginning to end would be the same experience.

"Never" might have been too strong of a word, but as a collection of collapsed productions and good ideas that never took off, it's definitely worth looking into.



* The film is famous for being one of the few movies a regular Blogorium reader ever walked out of.

A Few Scattered Thoughts

The Cap'n has a pretty good "Video Daily Double" for you tomorrow, but until then here are some odds and sods.
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Two things I forgot to mention about Black Dynamite:

- I didn't bring up the music at all (which is fantastic), in part because almost every review has a section devoted to it. To be fair, the soundtrack - which is a combination of catalog music from the era and newly recorded songs / score which blend in so well that I daresay it's difficult to choose what's what - is at the heart of keeping Black Dynamite so entertaining. The songs in particular really sell some of the ridiculous plot developments, including the description of Black Dynamite finding Jimmy's apartment broken into as he's walking in. It's reminiscent of the Hard 'N Phirm songs from The Haunted World of El Superbeasto, but more appropriate to the plot and in a much better movie.

Also, you're going to have the "Dy-No-Mite!" refrain stuck in your head for days after you watch Black Dynamite. You've been warned.

- The more I think about it, the best comparison to the kind of parody/satire in Black Dynamite may be Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox story. Black Dynamite really does for Blaxploitation films what Walk Hard does for Music Biopics, which is cleverly spoof the cliches and over-exaggerate the overused tropes to the point that it's clear no one should take them seriously any more. The fact the both movies use the "I'm going to have a great life" speech right before a character dies horribly should give you some idea of what I'm saying.


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"The Big Lebowski is one of those rare movies that rewards repeat viewings. Every time you come back to the film it's possible to notice something that you didn't before." - Herr Doktor

What did I notice this time that I hadn't caught in the many, MANY times I've seen The Big Lebowski since 1998?

Mark Pellegrino, of Dexter and - more recently - of Lost fame (he's Jacob), is the thug Jackie Treehorn sends to The Dude's apartment that doesn't pee on the rug. He's the one dunking the Dude's head into the toilet and saying "where's the money, Lebowski? Bunny says you're good for it!"

Despite the fact that I've clearly seen him in Mullholland Dr, The X-Files, Ellie Parker, Lethal Weapon 3, Twisted, Capote, and National Treasure, for some reason Pellegrino never registered on my radar until last year, and accordingly, I never noticed that he was also in The Big Lebowski. Weird.

Oh, and David Thewlis, which I swear that I had to have known, but also keep forgetting. He's Knox Harrington, the giggly guy in Maude Lebowski's apartment with the shaved head and John Waters moustache.

But I did know that Aimee Mann was the nihilist that lost her toe for the kidnapping scheme.

One of these days I'm going to write up a proper piece on The Big Lebowski that collects all of the reviews from 1998, well before it was the cultural touchstone it is now. Once upon a time the consensus was that The Big Lebowski was "okay, but it's no Fargo..." I swear it.

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Some things I neglected to mention about Mystery Science Theater 3000: Volume XVII last week:

- The Crawling Eye is episode 101, which means it was the first episode to air outside of KTMA, on what I'm guessing was (at the time) The Comedy Channel, later to become Comedy Central. I have it on a tape somewhere, and while primitive, it is a worthy addition for series fanatics like myself.

- The Final Sacrifice is apparently for Sci-Fi Channel / Mike era Mistie fans what Mitchell is to Comedy Central / Joel era fans. I confess that after a while, I simply lost track of MST3k on the Sci-Fi Channel, and as a result never really "got" the whole Rowsdower phenomenon. I missed most of the 9th and 10th seasons, and while I'm familiar with the shirt, volume XVII will be my first encounter with The Final Sacrifice and Zap Rowsdower. While I consider myself a "Joel" kinda guy, I'm welcome to see what it is the younger generation of fans are so buzzed about.

- One of the extras for this set is a panel discussion with "The Two Crows", Trace Beaulieu and Bill Corbett, which to my knowledge is a first on-camera (unless I'm forgetting some interaction from the 20th anniversary panel). I'm quite looking forward to that, as it marks for me one of the only divides in eras of the show that remains untapped.

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And so we end another day. Back tomorrow with two cracking good videos and some more nonsense.

Critical Synopsis: Barton Fink

(editor's note: as promised - just before I have to turn it in...)


After exploring variations on neo-noir, cartoonishly violent screwball comedy, and the “gangster” film, Joel and Ethan Coen set their sights on Hollywood for their fourth film, Barton Fink. While the story – about a socially conscious playwright chewed up by the Hollywood studio system – is not unique in cinematic lore, the Coen Brothers bring a unique spin to this cautionary tale.

Barton Fink (John Turturro) is a “serious” playwright in the Clifford Odets / proto-Arthur Miller vein living in New York City. A “man of the people,” Fink’s subject matter is the exclusive domain of dock workers and fishmongers, and his latest play makes Barton a cause-celeb in Hollywood. Against his better judgments, Fink arrives in Hollywood on the payroll of Capital Pictures, run by “the smartest kike in town,” Jack Lipnick (Michael Lerner).

Assigned to write a “Wallace Beery wrestling picture”, Fink comes down with a serious case of writers block. His troubles are compounded by choosing to live with the common people of The Hotel Earle, a seemingly deserted building populated only by Fink, his neighbor Charlie Meadows (John Goodman), and Chet (Steve Buscemi), the shoe shining desk clerk.

The Earle itself is a juxtaposition of various cinematic references by the Coen Brothers. The ominous sound design and seemingly endless hallways are reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, and the interminably poorly lit rooms and lobbies resemble nothing so much as the apartment of Henry Spencer in David Lynch’s Eraserhead. Peeling wallpaper in Fink’s room, both comical and disturbingly viscous with glue remind audiences of the gooey and porous film of David Cronenberg.

Fink’s story alternates between The Earle and Hollywood proper, although one is never less surreal than the other. Barton falls under the mentorship of W.P. Mayhew, a Faulkner-ian writer so disgusted with his plight that alcohol is his only refuge. His assistant / lover, Audrey Taylor (Judy Davis) becomes the object of Barton’s obsession, as well as a thwarted muse to the both of them. His inability to produce a simple “wrestling picture” raises the ire of both Lipnick and his producer, Ben Geisler (Tony Shalhoub).

The target for Joel and Ethan Coen is not merely Hollywood. For a “man of the people”, Barton Fink is curiously disinterested in the stories Charlie has to tell. Meadows, a jovial insurance salesman, is also not who he seems. After his sexual liaison with Audrey ends fatally, Fink discovers that Charlie Meadows is actually Karl Mundt, a serial killer with a proclivity for decapitation. As Mundt, Goodman becomes an outlandish caricature of absolute evil the Coens frequently use in their films; at one point, he literally brings hell into the Earle as fire follows Karl down the hallway.

But Mundt will not kill Barton Fink. Fink “doesn’t listen”, and so he is consigned to live next to Karl for eternity. Fittingly, his “wrestling picture”, a rip-off of the play we’re introduced to Fink through, has also enraged Lipnick to the point that Fink is doomed to live out his contract in perpetuity, continually writing scripts that Capital Pictures will never make. Alone with Audrey’s head in a box, Barton Fink is left in the eternal purgatory of Los Angeles.

Like a Fox!

Generally speaking, I like to stick to a plan. The plan was to review The House of the Devil, but I was doing a cursory search of how new readers end up finding the Cap'n, and one of them was so amazingly out of left field that I'm dropping the plan in order to devote an entire entry to it.

You see, somebody found the blogorium by looking for movies where the "character goes insane at the end", and I can't back away from a challenge like that. The kind reader ended up on one of my many Friday the 13th tangents, so in order to give the people what they want, the Cap'n is going to try to name as many movies as I can where the character goes insane at the end.

Because so many of these are going to sound abundantly clear, I'm going to pepper in some movies that are maybe a little less obvious, and make an argument that some may find ridiculous. Would you expect any less from the Cap'n?

For example:

Invasion of the Body Snatchers - I guess it's debatable whether you think Kevin McCarthy goes insane at the end or the world goes insane, but I say it counts.

Citizen Kane - Okay, this is technically a cheat. Charles Foster Kane goes insane near the end, and is clearly insane at the beginning, but if we take the story as a narrative of his descent into madness, then technically speaking I'm correct.

Sunset Boulevard - No doubt here; Norma Desmond is bat-shit crazy at the end of the movie.

In the Mouth of Madness - Not to spoil anything if you haven't seen it, but the title should give that away.

Martyrs - more than one person loses it by the end of this movie.

The Return of the King - It's fair to say that Frodo loses his mind and has to leave because he's never coming back mentally or emotionally.

Taxi Driver - Don't be fooled by the coda. Travis Bickle is still a ticking time bomb of insanity.

The Major Works of David Lynch (excluding, perhaps, The Straight Story, Dune, The Elephant Man, and Wild at Heart. Okay, maybe not Wild at Heart) - I was going to rule out Wild at Heart because Sailor and Lulu get together and seem happy, but then again Sailor does see Glenda the Good Witch float down from the sky first. As for the rest, you tell me which characters in Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, Eraserhead, Lost Highway, Mullholland Dr., and INLAND EMPIRE aren't crazy at the end.

D.O.A. - In addition to dying at the end of the movie, Edmund O'Brien's character is pretty bonkers.

Detour, Night and the City, Out of the Past, The Underneath, Ace in the Hole, Chinatown, oh to hell with it most noir and neo-noir - I could probably do an entire piece on the suicidal psychotic era of Film Noir and its echoes in neo-noir, but almost all of them end with the main character no longer in control of their mental faculties. The exceptions, oddly, are the two best known: Double Indemnity and Touch of Evil.

Soylent Green - you could lump this in with the "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" argument, but Chuck Heston screaming "IT'S PEEEEEEOOOOOPLE!!!!!!" really doesn't do him any favors in the sanity department. Speaking of which:

The Planet of the Apes - I contend that Heston's Taylor never recovers from the Statue of Liberty reveal at the end of the film, and when James Franciscus finds him in Beneath the Planet of the Apes, he's as looney as a Dodo.

Gremlins 2 - I'm just going to go out on a limb and say this: to live through the events of this film, everybody that walked out of that building was crazy at the end.

Casino Royale - Considering that the entirety of The Quantum of Solace involved James Bond trying to regain his sanity, I don't think I have to argue too much that he went crazy when Vesper died. That, or from the rope to the gonads.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari - Again, kind of a cheat, because Francis is already crazy. We just don't know it until the end of the film.

The Wrestler - Well, it's one of two things. Either Randy "The Ram" has a sobering epiphany that he only belongs in the ring, or he goes mad from an crazy combination of 'roid rage and crowd fervor. Take your pick.

There Will Be Blood - I shouldn't even have to argue this. Daniel Plainview goes from sociopath to bonkers by the end of the film.

Rescue Dawn - Technically speaking, Dieter Dengler starts going crazy after Steve Zahn's character dies about 3/4's of the way in, but I'll allow it.

Observe and Report - Seth Rogen's shift from crazy to crazy dangerous is still an issue of going crazy at the end. I mean, he doesn't shoot anyone in a crowded mall until the end.

The Bridge on the River Kwai - Poor Alec Guinness. He put so much effort into building that bridge, only to go nuts and destroy it. Spoiler.

Chasing Amy - To propose what Holden does at the end of Chasing Amy (the threesome), you either have to be an idiot or crazy. I'm leaning crazy.

World's Greatest Dad - If I have to see Robin Williams do a naked diving board jump, then he's crazy. The rest of the movie supports my case. See for yourself.

Oldboy - That twist would drive you crazy too.

Heathers - Forget the whole "shooting J.D." or the "murdering people and trying to blow up the school" arguments. No way a Heather (okay, a Veronica) would hang out with Dumptruck. She must be nuts.

Crank: High Voltage - I include this because when Chev Chelios is on fire, he finally turns his insanity away from the movie and directs it at the audience. Now that's just crazy. We didn't do anything but cheer for him!

81/2 - I'm not sure how else you would characterize the end of this movie without resorting to film school snobbery.

The Mist - Few sane characters are screaming on their knees at the end of a movie because they killed everyone else out of desperation only to discover the military was restoring normalcy. Spoiler.

Drag Me to Hell - According to a reading of the film by Patton Oswalt, this is as logical a conclusion as Alison Lohman actually being dragged to hell. It's actually a rather good reading of the film, which I suggest you seek out.

Mother Night - You go undercover as a Nazi propagandist only to be disavowed by your country and branded an actual Nazi propagandist and try to maintain your faculties. Oh, and you're Nick Nolte. Good luck.

Donnie Darko - Donnie embraces his madness, and an airplane engine.

One Hour Photo - A slow burn still ends with crazy in the end for (shock!) Robin Williams!

Insomnia - For the purposes of this list, I'm dealing specifically with the 1997 Stellan Skarsgard version, where his sanity degrades in a much clearer way than Al Pacino's loose grip on reality as it is.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (parts 1 and 2) - Both final girls lose it, which is the logical reaction to what happens in to them.

The Wicker Man (both, I guess) - I never finished the remake, but Edward Woodward's Sgt. Howie certainly goes crazy. Nicolas Cage is arguably always crazy, but for the sake of argument I'll include the remake.

Videodrome - You call "embracing the New Flesh" clarity. I call it insanity. Different strokes for different folks.

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter and Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers - Corey Feldman and Danielle Harris both go psycho at the end of their respective fourth chapters. Neither series bothered to take this seriously in subsequent films.

Vertigo - Anybody going to argue this? Scotty doesn't go totally nuts? Anyone?

Brazil - Again, I don't think I need to make a case for this. It's pretty straight forward. Big Brother wins; Sam Lowry loses.

Blood Car - It was inevitable, considering what happens in Blood Car.

The Descent - Certainly the UK cut makes no bones about whether Sarah is crazy or not at the end. I do not acknowledge The Descent 2 for the purposes of this argument.

The Hills Have Eyes - Wes Craven's expressed intent for the film was that the "civilized" family would become as crazy as the cannibal family. He succeeded.

The Limits of Control - Oh, wait; I went insane at the end of this movie.


Is there anything I forgot? (hint: yes) Leave a comment or drop the Cap'n a line.