Out of the Past: The Week in Cinema

Cinema Cess Pool Selection:

N/A

The Banal, The Blah, The Banausic:

1. A Chorus Line (1985) Dir. Richard Attenborough – US

2. The Immaculate Conception of Little Dizzle (2009) Dir. David Russo – US

3. Macao (1952) Dir. Josef Von Sternberg - US

Rewatched Goodies:

1. Heartbreakers (2001) Dir. David Mirkin - US

Astounding Cinema, Cup-Runneth-Over Awards:

4. Witchfinder General (1968) Dir. Michael Reeves – UK

3. Cthulu (2007) Dir. Dan Gildark - US (Please click here for my column at MNDialog)

2. Dracula’s Daughter (1936) Dir. Lambert Hillyer – US

1. Splinter (2008) Dir. Toby Wilkins – US

Theatrical Releases:

5. Imagine That (2009) Dir. Karey Kirkpatrick – US 6/10

4. Every Little Step (2008) Dir. Adam Del Deo & James Stern – US 8/10

3. Outrage (2009) Dir. Kirby Dick – US 10/10

2. Whatever Works (2009) Dir. Woody Allen – US 10/10

1. Away We Go (2009) Dir. Sam Mendes – US 10/10

Well, I suppose it’s good news that I didn’t happen to watch anything in the past week that was deserving of the Cinema Cess Pool. However, all three selections in the banal grouping each had deserving aspects that could have placed them in my top tier, but sadly, they didn’t make the cut. I’ve already written about what I roughly felt watching A Chorus Line, please see the Every Little Step post.

The Immaculate Conception of Little Dizzle is one of those extremely disappointing films, for there are one or two moments that bring it close to greatness. However, in the end it sort of fizzles into forgettable territory. The film centers around Dory (Marshall Allman) a sort of dull, loser character who freaks out in his office cubicle and quits his job. In search of a job, he takes a job as an overnight janitor as part of a janitorial team working inside a market research film that has been developing cookies that heat themselves (quite an ingenious novelty, and strangely, I had just finished baking my own cookies when I sat down to watch this). There, Dory befriends O.C. (Vince Vieluf in full over-the-top dude mode) who has the hots for the woman at the head of the heated cookies experiment, played by a surprisingly plump Natasha Lyonne—I’m assuming she took care of that pesky warrant for her arrest. The cookies contain an enzyme (or something similar, whatever) that makes men that consume them develop small, blue fish in their intestines. Pooping out these small fish is much akin to giving birth, however, the small creatures die soon after birth. All around, an interesting concept that starts out entertaining, but quickly sours, playing like a cool concept that had nowhere to go but in an asinine nose dive. A friend of mine compared it Southland Tales (2006), and while he hated both Tales and this film, I loved Tales and grew exasperated with Little Dizzle. A film that tries on too many genres with out quite doing any one of them justice, it plays like someone trying to have several relationships at once---it just doesn’t work.

A great example of faults in the auteur theory is the 1952 "film-noir light" film Macao starring Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell. Josef Von Sternberg directed most of the film before Howard Hughes fired him, and replaced him with Nicholas Ray, who is not credited on the film. (Sternberg is best known for bringing us Marlene Dietrich, directing her in her first string of American films--six of them--my favorite being Blonde Venus 1932). Sternberg had quite an interest in the Orient, with other examples like Shanghai Express (1932) and The Shanghai Gesture (1941). However, Macao tries desperately to return to intrigue by way of exotic location ala Casablanca (1942), or perhaps even Sternberg's own Morocco (1930). Further complicating the film's tone was Gloria Grahame (see her in delicious roles Sudden Fear 1952 or The Big Heat 1953). In the middle of divorcing Nicholas Ray at the time he was assigned to take over the film, Grahame vehemently did not want to be in Macao and was bitter that Hughes refused to loan her out for A Place in the Sun (1951) -- a part that went to Shelley Winters--and reportedly Grahame claimed to have overacted to get back at Hughes. The problem is Grahame doesn't have a whole lot of screen time and she seems barely noticeable, her presence eclipsed by a beautiful toughie Jane Russell. Poor Jane's character doesn't really get a chance to shine, her role washed over by the film's contrived adventure plot, and her song numbers as a chanteuse in a night club in Macao run by a creepy Brad Dexter are flimsy and dull---except for when you realize she's getting up close and personal with the crowd sitting up front, a slew of toothless, leering Chinese men. The brave actress will always be best known for her role opposite Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), but I always thought she looked a little drag-queeny in technicolor. As for Robert Mitchum, well, his usual presence as a bored and sweaty petty criminal either benefits the films he is placed in or not. In Macao Mitchum seems sleepy and unengaged. His romance with Russell is completely unfounded and unbelievable. As beautiful as the film is, it just doesn't stand up as anything worth remembering, which is a pity concerning all the talent involved. Unfortunately, it had a lot riding against it.

Vincent Price has countless numbers of old goodies on his resume, and usually he's quite comically villainous---so I was a bit surprised at the slimy, evil tone of Witchfinder General (1968), a British production about an unfounded witch hunter, travelling from village to village to burn or hang supposed witches. The film is at times difficult to watch, but has a satisfactory conclusion, strangely violent for a late 60's production.

On a lesbian vampire streak, I finally got around to watching the portrayal that started it all, Gloria Holden in Dracula's Daughter (1936). The film parallels lesbianism and vampirism as something that should be cured, but Holden's several "seduce and feed" scenes are quite unnervingly compelling and stand as gloriously gutsy lesbian cinematic iconography. The plot is a bit weak, and Countess Zaleska foolhardily brings about her own demise, something that could have been avoided completely if she hadn't been so angsty, but it's worth a look and includes some gorgeous cinematography.When asked if she'd like a sherry, the Countess replies, "Thank you, I never drink....wine." Love it. "She gives you that weird feeling" indeed!

And rounding out my top of the best list for last week was the overlooked 2008 creature feature, Splinter. A couple on a camping trip are taken hostage by an escaped convict and his girlfriend, only to all get trapped at an isolated gas station by a parasite that quickly infects and turns its hosts into grotesque killing creatures. Excellent special effects and intriguing dynamics make this film more compelling than anything scary Hollywood's put out in years. Though it is from the director of The Grudge 3 (2009) -- hey, everyone needs a paycheck-- director Toby Wilkins proves to be a force to look for in the horror genre. Let's just hope he doesn't make like Alexandre Aja and concentrate on remakes. If you liked John Carpenter's The Thing (1982), you'll lap up Splinter.

Every Little Step: The Gay Marriage Ordeal

The musical happens to be a genre with which I have a conflicted relationship. A usual champion of camp films or campy genres, the musical has always felt like camp disguised as haute couture to me. Not surprisingly, my preferred musicals happen to be in the strange/demented vein of The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Hedwig & the Angry Inch (2001), or 8 Women (2002). Sometimes I will be surprised and fall in love with something a little less campy and more art-house, such as Les Chansons D’Amour (2007). And I love French musicals like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), and I can stomach fare like A Star Is Born (1954) – the Judy Garland version—because I can patiently wait for any number of song sequences to be over before we can sanely resume the plot. As for Broadway musicals, I tend to avoid them, relating them in my mind to the monstrous, exaggerated pretension of the Hollywood studio system---a lot of repetitive themes with often not a lot of bang for your buck. Plus, I sometimes find musicals making me feel anxious or embarrassed for the performers due to the extreme melodrama of the exaggerated necessity in which the musical was created. Sadly, my boyfriend’s favorite musical happens to be A Chorus Line, and we happened to sit down and watch Richard Attenborough’s 1985 film version, starring Michael Douglas. The ‘sadly’ adverb refers to the fact that I didn’t end up being a fan, though there were several aspects of the film I could enjoy and appreciate. My main problem with the film (and I have never seen this live, on stage---though I could tell that I may have enjoyed it more in this format) was Michael Douglas, seemingly plopped into the mix as the theater director for box office value, and also the character of Cassie, the Douglas character’s love interest. Cassie, the seemingly intelligent woman with extreme dancing talent who unwisely flies into NYC to be late for a chorus line audition for a show her ex-boyfriend is directing because she is so desperate for work and has no place to stay---yeah, I had a problem with her.
Anyhow, we caught the documentary, now playing in select cities, Every Little Step (2008), which is basically about how A Chorus Line originally came to fruition, and it also documents a recent Broadway revival that charts the complete auditioning process, itself a mirror of the show’s content, creating some delicious ironies and dynamics (such as one of the original cast members heading choreography for the new cast) that most fictional films would love to have. Strangely, I walked away feeling much more touched by this little documentary than the 1985 film version. Except for one moment where the old queens running the show go ga-ga over the young man auditioning for Paul (the troubled gay youth), whose audition is a little over the top (and also one of the most touching and realistic moments in the 1985 film with Cameron English as Paul). There seems to be a lot of heart and soul that went into the creation of A Chorus Line and I probably would like it better if it weren’t a musical (yes, I’m being an old curmudgeon). I choose to blame Attenborough as director of the film version, a man perfectly capable at excellent horror (Magic – 1978) or famous war films (A Bridge Too Far – 1977) and Best Picture winning monstrosities (Gandhi – 1982) may have not been the best choice to helm A Chorus Line. Maybe if Hollywood hadn’t been so ant-fag at the time (not that they’re so much better now) we could have gotten someone a little light in the loafers to direct a film with such overt queer sensibilities.

Imagine That: Choose Your Adventure

The biggest problem with Eddie Murphy’s latest offering, Imagine That, is that it’s neither terrible enough to ruthlessly tear apart nor good enough to remember or praise. Concerning a financial executive father virtually unable to pay any attention to his daughter until miraculously, he discovers that his daughter’s comfort toy, a blanket named Googie (or something similarly named) could benefit his job. Murphy’s daughter uses her blanket to correspond with magical princesses and a queen that happen to give lucrative, expert advice on finance, creating a convenient catalyst for Murphy to finally bond with his daughter. What ensues is a by-the-books family film about distant parents overcoming their selfish needs in order to properly love and care for the children they’ve carelessly spawned. However, if you take a step back and realize that it took a magical blanket with promotion potential power to hook Murphy’s character, what do the thousands of other little girls in the world have to woo their busy daddies into noticing them? Murphy is his standard, comical self, and Imagine That has some amusing and touching moments interspersed throughout its blandness, not to mention a very endearing little girl (Yara Shahidi) that adds more depth to the film than Murphy. Additionally, Thomas Hayden Church provides the most brilliantly uncomfortable moments in the film as Johnny Whitefeather, Murphy’s competition for a groovy promotion. Church is sleazy and awful as a faux Native American using a pretend heritage as a convenient schtick, and he had me squirming around anxiously whenever he was on screen. And it’s a treat to see Nicole Ari Parker, perhaps forever to be associated with her debut in the mid 90’s with The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls In Love (1995), which was cutting edge queer cinema at the time, and still a higher quality than much of the queer specific indie output of recent years---and she’ll always be a darling in my book due to her appearance in A Map of the World (1999). Martin Sheen also shows up for an entertaining cameo appearance. Sadly, all of these aspects considered, Imagine That is a convenient, but wholly unbelievable vehicle for Murphy---let’s hope he’s a good dad to the seed he spawned with the Spice girl (among various others). Dreamgirls aside, Murphy’s latest may be forgettable, but it’s the best picture he’s been a part of in the 2000’s. That’s a damn shame.

Out of the Past: The Week in Film

The week’s highly anticipated list of cinema selections appears below:


Cinema Cess Pool Selection:
1. Nick and Norah’s Infinite Play List (2008) Dir. Peter Sollett – US
2. Blood and Roses (1960) Dir. Roger Vadim – France
3. The Velvet Vampire (1971) Dir. Stephanie Rothman – US

The Banal, The Blah, The Banausic:
1. Shadows (1922) Dir. Tom Forman – US
2. Outside the Law (1920) Dir. Todd Browning – US
3. Fig Trees (2009) Dir. John Greyson – Canada
4. Chef’s Special (2008) Dir. Nacho Velilla – Spain
5. The Fiend (1972) Dir. Robert Hartford-Davis – UK
6. Football Under Cover (2008) Dir. David Assmann & Ayat Najafi – Germany/Iran


Astounding Cinema, Cup-Runneth-Over Awards:
4. La Belle Captive (1983) Dir. Alain Robb Grillet – France
3. Training Rules (2009) Dir. Dee Mosbacher & Fawn Yacker – US
2. Daughters of Darkness (1971) Dir. Harry Kumel – Belgium/France
1. The Children (2008) Dir. Tom Shankland – UK

Theatrical Releases:
3. Departures (2008) Dir. Yojiro Takita – Japan 5/10
2. Easy Virtue (2008) Dir. Stephan Elliott – UK 8/10
1. Don McKay (2009) Dir. Jake Goldberger – US 9/10

Please visit mnfilmtv.org for a review of Training Rules, Football Under Cover, Chef’s Special and Fig Trees.

Please click here to read my column “Past Cinema Regression: Lesbian Reappropriation and Yonic Symbolism in Daughters of Darkness (1971)”

In the cess pool this week, I happened to catch Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, a film that I first saw advertised at last year’s Toronto Film Festival. The ads for the film made me cringe at the time, and after listening to the vapid Kat Dennings promote the film, spouting something about how “there isn’t a more truthful film out there” racket, I was almost sure I would never see it. You might say I was predisposed or biased against this film before I politely pressed play (and not fast forward) upon inserting the film in my DVD player. I was all set to give it half a chance, as the comments of Shawn Edwards from FOX-TV published on the back cover states the film is “An all out fun experience that will make you fall in love with the magic of movies.” The above comment, turns out, would have been better placed on the cover of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Not only does the film focus on three incredibly stupid females, plus Michael Cera treading the only territory he knows, it just oozes the pretension of the indie music scene, except without the smelly body odor and dandruff from unwashed hair. And then we’re supposed to sympathize with Dennings, daughter of a music producer, whose character is nothing more than an idiot female seemingly unable to see that all the boys in bands only want to know her to get to her father. Now, gay people that watch this film will see that it is an extremely gay positive film, with Cera being the only hetero member of a queer band called The Jerkoffs---unfortunately, the characterizations of the gay band mates aren’t enough for this homo to champion it. The most enjoyable part of the film, for me, was realizing that Kat Dennings was eating a meal at Veselka, a lovely Russian/Polish restaurant that I’ve had the fortune to gorge myself at. My reminiscing of the restaurant was the only enjoyable moment of witnessing this train wreck of indie music pretension, forcing us to follow a loosely related band of people try to discover the secret 4am performance of a made up indie band called “Where’s Fluffy,” that we never get to hear or see. If I had directed the film, Where’s Fluffy would have turned out to be George Michaels, but hey, that’s just me trying to make something of nothing.

I watched a few lesbian vampire movies over the week, and two old VHS copies of Blood and Roses and The Velvet Vampire finally got a screening. Needless to say, neither was campy or entertaining enough to merit even a bitchy rundown. I must say, Roger Vadim has to be one of the most overrated directors ever. True, I’ve only ever seen the extremely dull yet infamous Barbarella (1968), but how this man ever romanced Bardot, Deneuve and Jane Fonda, I will never know. And with Blood and Roses, he gets then-wife Annette Vadim to play the dull lead in his faux art-house film, who is obviously copying Bardot’s look. Before the film was even premiered, the couple had split and all I can say is besides an interesting looking dream sequence, the extremely disturbing look of Mel Ferrer in the film was supremely distracting. Strong in the face. As for The Velvet Vampire, a sort of feminist lesbian vampire film, poor director Stephanie Rothman---she just wanted to make movies and got stuck making exploitation. Velvet is simply dull dull dull, with awful lead performances from “actors” Michael Blodgett and Sherry Miles. Celeste Yarnall, as the decidedly unvelvety vampire doesn’t fare much better, with a truly craptastic demise sequence.

As for the mediocre selections from this week, my biggest disappointment was Tod Browning’s film Outside the Law, starring Lon Chaney in a dual role, one of them as an extremely creepy Chinese man named Ah Wing. More of a star vehicle for Priscilla Dean, the film doesn’t have any sign of the macabre that generally accompanies a Browning flick, like his classics including Freaks (1932), Dracula (1931), The Devil Doll (1936) and The Unknown (1927). I watched this film with another silent Lon Chaney film, Shadows, directed by Tom Forman. Though considered ahead of its time, Chaney is again playing a Chinese man, his face and body contorted as if he was handicapped rather than Chinese. Slightly offensive and altogether not memorable, both films are sadly mediocre. Robert Hartford-Davis’ British exploitation flick, The Fiend, was also a bit mediocre and almost crosses over into so bad it’s good cinema with a few scenes involving a black church lady consistently belting out rocking hymnals at strange religious cult meetings. The cult is trying to kill Ann Todd by denying her insulin, and overall, sounding suspiciously like Christian Scientologists. Truth be told, it is her psychotic son the film’s title refers to, sexually conflicted and marginally affiliated with the cult.

After watching La Belle Captive, the 1983 French fever dream from auteur Alain Robb-Grillet, I’m hot to trot on acquiring his other works, specifically Last Year at Marienbad (1961), written by Robb-Grillet, directed by Alain Resnais and starring Delphine Seyrig. La Belle Captive stands as the only film directed by Robb-Grillet available in the US, who went from a novelist-turned-screenwriter and finally a director, whose work is often criticized for being pornographic while being recognized for his bizarre narrative structures. I found his 1983 film to be hardly pornographic, but it plays like a hallucinogenic mind-fuck, and its effect is rather like having a rambunctious feverish dream, except the naked woman wouldn’t be quite so prominent in my own nighttime psychological psyche forways. Anyhow, the film is supposed to be crafted around paintings by Magritte, and the extremely loose plot centers around Walter (Daniel Mesguich) and a woman that steps into his life one drunken night as if directly from his fantasies. The film skirts the edge of tediousness, but manages to reel one back in with its unique style.

And then, rounding us out at number one for the week, the British horror film The Children stands as one of the best horror films I’ve seen from recent memory. This film is a good reason to go buy a multi-region DVD player and buy the Region 2 DVD. And watch it with a group of people that dislike children and love horror movies. I made fallopian tube noodles to accompany the movie screening, which were basically Spinach ricotta egg noodles. Get it? Egg noodles. I thought they were good. But then, I love ricotta and could eat it plain. Anyhow, I would love to see a sequel to The Children, which, as mentioned in a previous post, concerns two families, an isolated wintry cabin, and a bunch of children going murderously berserk. Some intense sequences and grotesque but curiously entertaining violence against children (a rarity in films) positions this film as a must see for fans of compelling and intense filmmaking.

Don McKay: A Solstice Experience

What do I neglect to remember every June? It’s the time for the Solstice Film Festival! I had the serious misfortune to attend the opening film of Solstice fest a couple years ago (when I believe it was in its second year) with the premiere of Believers (2007), from one of the directors of The Blair Witch Project (1999). Words cannot describe the awful travesty of that film, exacerbated by the extremely annoying presence of lead actor Johnny Messner at the premiere, (and it was not a remake of the boring hoodoo horror The Believers, that 1987 film starring Martin Sheen) so, needless to say, I’ve avoided the Solstice. Until now.

Solstice seems infatuated with making the notion of a film festival young, hip, cutting edge and inebriated in order, it seems, to appeal to drawing in the dude/prep/sports jockey community. Though I’d prefer to assume they’re all perfectly nice, non threatening dudes, inside this year’s Solstice Venue the air was pregnant with heterosexual agendas, as Solstice Dude-Founder, Devin Halden introduced several members of the Board of Directors, including Peter Duggan, who does something or other for the Minnesota Vikings. I don’t quite recall what exactly he does, as my hackles were up at the word “Vikings,” and like a Pavlovian dog, I growled under my breath at audience cheers. Anyhow, football dude was charged with introducing the film and I sure hope he misquoted the director, describing the film in the director’s words as a “darkly comedy thriller.” Really. Never seen one of those before. The opening film that intrigued me enough to venture out to the Suburban World Theater in Uptown, Minneapolis was the debut feature from director Jake Goldberger, a sort of neo-noir (and the term, my darlings, is “black” comedy) titled, Don McKay. Director Goldberg wisely did not attend the screening, citing his promotional duties in another city (yes, New York City) as the reason. Don’t worry folks. We were informed that if the Solstice festival were ever to play another movie he was ever to make, he would love, just love to be here. Finally, before the film began, we were forced to witness (errr, enjoy) two jugglers as they juggled flaming orbs, because nothing gets me more in the mood for a film than flaming orbs, especially ones that might sneakily fly into an eager audience member (or personnel’s) face. I’m not sure if we were to connect the flaming orbs with the sun and the solstice, or if it was the usual thrill for humans to watch uneducated people skilled in freakshow antics on the off chance that something might somehow end badly.

Regardless, the film began and I quite enjoyed the darkly comic debut feature from Goldberger, even if what it needs most is a title change, for as it stands, it could very well be mistaken for an old Joan Crawford melodrama (Sadie McKee; Harriet Craig; Mildred Pierce; Daisy Kenyon; Letty Lynton---bitch was always the titular heroine). Though the film often looks like it was filmed for a television series (“American Gothic” came to mind several times) the expert script, and supremely excellent acting from the femme fatales Elisabeth Shue and Melissa Leo make this a must see for lovers of neo-noir and sociopathic women. Thomas Hayden Church (“Wings”; Sideways - 2004) stars as Don McKay, a high school janitor who receives an urgent letter from his hometown sweetheart, whom he had last seen 25 years prior. Returning to his hometown, he finds Sonny (Elisabeth Shue) is dying and being looked after by a severe, no-nonsense nurse Marie (Melissa Leo). But all is not right, and come to find, Sonny’s physician, (character actor James Rebhorn) is in love with Sonny and extremely jealous, resulting in a fatal altercation that sets the plot into spirals. With a film sporting more than it’s fair share of twists and pathological liars, Don McKay is an excellent example of why we need more Elisabeth Shue and Melissa Leo, both looking as radiant as ever. Thomas Hayden Church (who also produced the film) ends up being a likeable character, though I was unsure of him at first, while he seemingly wandered through some of his early dialogue and looking like Debra Winger playing that handicapped character in A Dangerous Woman (1993). Some excellent supporting presence also to Keith David, Pruitt Taylor Vince, and M. Emmet Walsh.

The Solstice peeps should indeed feel lucky to have acquired this as their opening film, as looking ahead at their schedule, besides a handful of interesting short films, there’s not a lot to get excited about. But hell, if there’s a full bar at each screening, down the hatch, then.

Departures: Apertures In Credibility

Perhaps I have a heart of stone, or less melodramatically, maybe I was gassy at the time, but I simply did not care for Departures, this year’s Best Foreign Language Film winner. There is the possibility that I was biased from the opening shot, believing that a film as excellent as the Austrian film, Revanche, couldn’t possibly deserve to have lost to a Japanese ode to death. And half way through, I was really into Departures. I even got a misty one or twice. We are, after all, dealing with people saying goodbye to their loved ones, and I truly don’t believe I have a heart of stone. I think it’s just the same old horseshit relationship dynamics tinged with a bitter rage that a bunch of old fartfucks belonging to the prestigious Academy gave this film the top foreign honor (I could have fathomed Waltz With Bashir, and I was completely prepared for the overrated The Class to win) that made me dislike it.

Departures centers around Daigo Kobayashi (Masahiro Motoki), an insecure young cellist having the bad luck to finally makes his way into an orchestra which ultimately goes broke and dissolves. Unable to pay for his brand new cello, and admitting to himself that he doesn’t have the kind of talent or skills to make it into another orchestra, Daigo moves himself and his wife to his deceased mother’s house in his old hometown. His wife Mika, (played by a cutesy Ryoko Hirosue) agrees to come along, claiming she would be happy with this decision. Come to find, Mika’s a little irritated about the move and shit hits the fan when she discovers Daigo’s new position is helping prepare the dead for funerals, which he had been keeping secret. Much ado is made about what a shameful profession this is (even though we all die, and for a country big on traditions, I find the attitude toward Daigo’s character almost ludicrous) and Mika leaves Daigo, going back to the city, we assume. As Daigo seems to flourish and finds his “true” calling to the position that had been originally been advertised mistakenly (Departures should have read Departed—you can predict that we’re also dealing with various other themes concerning human relationships other than dying), he grows close to the older gentleman that hired him, Ikuei (Tsutomu Yamakazi) and his wife returns, pregnant and using this as a ploy to make Daigo quit his job.

Perhaps it’s our current economical situation on this side of the hemisphere, but the man has an extremely well paying job, due to the fact that it’s considered so shameful---one must have an attitude of hubristic magnitude to turn their nose up at an opportunity such as this. He deals with less bodily fluids than a physician. Christ.

Top this with a wife that claims to love him, yet requires that he abandon their means of support with a baby on the way because her pride is hurt. Maybe this is just my own identity as a gay man taking charge, but since gay people don’t procreate (so easily) and as most of the US is still in the grip of a childish ignorance supporting the fact that gay people can’t be legally bound to one another, well, it makes it so much more difficult depicting gay relationships in movies---you can’t slap convenient plot fallacies on representations of us. So Mika comes running back because she’s pregnant, not out of love. Much of Daigo’s character make-up (i.e., his insecurities) stems from when he was abandoned by his father at the age of six. Well, guess what happens? Daigo gets to prepare his father’s body for funeral. A whole theater full of little old ladies got out their hankies while I squirmed in revulsion. Daigo’s co-worker, Yuriko, has abandoned a son herself, and when Daigo at first decides to neglect taking care of his father’s corpse, Yuriko tearfully steps in and urges him to see his father one last time. She herself still refuses to go see her son. What results is a scene that is meant to be cathartic, but for bitter Betty’s like myself, I couldn’t swallow it. There’s no reason Daigo’s father couldn’t have contacted him before he died---why are children supposed to accept their parents’ irreproachable behavior? I for one, do not. Daigo’s father deserved to die how he lived – alone. And what I fail to consistently see in films depicting some of these relationships is a genuine change of heart —what really changes Daigo’s mind when for the past two hours it’s painstakingly reinforced that he has daddy hatred? What’s really holding Daigo and Mika together? A fetus, it seems. If you ask me, which you aren’t but I’ll tell you anyway, that not only tenuous, but ludicrous. What’s meant to be a schmaltzy story about letting go of loved ones doesn’t quite make it into Capraland to be enjoyable for the jaded likes of me. And yes, I dislike it even more for winning its naked little man statue---the darker side of human nature, unfortunately, tends to be more believable. And does he play the cello in the grassy fields, the wind grazing over the landscape and tussled hair underneath the bright, blue, omniscient sky, the snow-peaked mountains looming in the distance? Oh, you better believe he does.

Easy Virtue: A Heterosexual Dramedy of Wildean Proportion

Interestingly, one of the best aspects of new British comedy, Easy Virtue, is the fact that it's director, Stephan Elliott was able to direct it. In 2004, Elliott nearly died in a tragic ski accident, but after nearly three years in physical therapy, he's back in action. However, Elliott, best known for that gay operatic feature that titanically looms as a great in any conversation concerning queer cinema, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994), had already sworn off the film industry after the tragically received Aussie comedy, Welcome to Woop Woop (1997) and the universally panned Ashley Judd espionage thriller, Eye of the Beholder (1999). I'm not sure that I remember the plot of Eye, but I do remember thinking it was a hell of a lot better than her typical suspense/thrill fare that was populating the cineplex's in the last 90's, early 00's -- like those awful pictures known as Double Jeopardy (1999), High Crimes (2002), and Twisted (2004). Needless to say, Elliott's newest picture is receiving the most positive reviews since his 1994 landmark film. Easy Virtue is based on the magnificent Noel Coward's play (which had never been a success for him) and is a remake of the 1928 silent Alfred Hitchcock film (which is also considered a flop for him). That in mind, it's no surprise that Easy Virtue has also been receiving some flack, but it's mostly hypercriticism of it's lead, Jessica Biel, starring as Larita Whittaker, an American race-car driver in 1920's Monaco who falls in love with and marries a younger Brit, only to be viciously (in a proper British sense) maligned by his hypercivilized family, including his lap-dog like sisters and his viperous mother, played by the wonderful Kristin Scott-Thomas. What results is a motion picture that plays like an intelligent dramedy that a heterosexual Oscar Wilde could have penned---however, the film falls more into the drama category as the tension thickens and Biel's husband (the bird-like Ben Barnes) sides with his family, while his father (British romantic staple, Colin Firth) starts to side with the bride (though the film points to this from the get go, as Firth's character is so dismally depressed you just know his character was written to do something more integral than mope around). The criticism Biel seems to be receiving is about as logical, in my opinion, as the vicious, bitchy, British women's treatment of her character in the film. Biel does an excellent job portraying an outsider in circumstances where she is clearly not wanted. One of the more beautiful of Hollywood's young starlets (she reminds me of an elongated Scarlett Johansson) Biel sports some surprising depth and charm to support her beauty, and never for a moment is she not believable. Certain critics have commented on Biel's body, stating it would have been "scary" to see a woman with such a toned body in the 1920's. Well, I'm almost certain that there were muscly, beautiful, big-breasted blondes somewhere in the Western hemisphere in the 1920's--and as men are men, and will always be predictable, I'm sure the only people toned women scared were homely housewives. Biel is supposed to look, speak and act differently, while also being glamorous---thankfully they picked a younger actress that could at least achieve the latter. Scott-Thomas adds depth to her role as a bitchy matriarch, but it's really nothing new for her. If she receives awards attention for this role, it would indeed be due to her shut out at the Oscars for her brilliant turn in last year's I've Loved You So Long. The most irritating aspect of Easy Virtue may also be it's most realistic--the siding of one's family over one's partner. To me, anyone that would make a loved spouse/partner suffer through the barbed wire of bitter in-laws needs to have their head examined---and Biel's last monologue concerning what it means to love hits the nail on the head. As to Mr. Elliott, it's good to have you back.

Out of the Past: The Week in Film

"I am no sex Goddess, but I haven't spent my life up on a tree." - Ingrid Bergman, Cactus Flower

Before mulling through my rundown of this week's scintillating cinematical salutations, let me make this announcement: I have been invited to write a column for The Minnesota Film and TV Board (mnfilmtv.org), which I have titled "Past Cinema Regression," (a play on Past Life Regression) which will consist of a weekly post dedicated to a particular film of my choosing with the purpose of resurrecting or simply entertaining an audience with highlighting delicious aspects of films that deserve (or maybe don't deserve) to have their dust brushed off. Please check out my first posting on the 1961 thriller, Scream of Fear, which you will see is listed below as one of my top DVD picks for the week.

The week in film:

Cinema Cess Pool Selection:
1. Bloody Mallory (2002) Dir. Julien Magnat - France

The Banal, The Blah, the Banausic:
1. The Gorgon (1964) Dir. Terence Fisher - UK
2. Dirty Love (2005) Dir. John Asher - US
3. Summer Palace (2006) Dir. Lou Ye - China

Re-Watched Goodies:
1. The Killing (1956) Dir. Stanley Kubrick - US
2. MST3K 3000: The Leech Woman (1960) Dir. Ed Dein - US
3. Imaginary Heroes (2004) Dir. Dan Harris - US
4. Prayers For Bobby (2009) Dir. Russell Mulcahy - US

Astounding DVD Selections (In descending order):
3. The Asphalt Jungle (1950) Dir. John Huston - US
2. Scream of Fear (1961) Dir. Seth Holt - UK (Please read my review on MnDialog!!)
1. Cactus Flower (1969) Dir. Gene Saks - US

And, in case you haven't been following, this week's theatrical surprises:
3. The Hangover (2009) Dir. Todd Phillips - US 8/10
2. Rudo Y Cursi (2008) Dir. Carlos Cuaron - Mexico 8/10
1. Revanche (2008) Dir. Gotz Spielmann - Austria 9/10

Getting the first putrid piece of photoplay out of the way, let's discuss the travesty that is titled Bloody Mallory (2002), which, title-wise, I'm guessing is a riff on Bloody Mary. Not surprisingly, director Julien Magnat hasn't directed a feature film since this venture, which plays like a bloated "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" episode that was mistakenly directed as slapstick. The special effects are tediously fevered, much like a low-brow television series, while the acting, plot, and dialogue are on par with a straight to DVD Steven Seagall flick. What drew me to the flick was the synopsis, which sounds good on paper (and perhaps could be executed correctly by a more talented director? Maybe this should have been pitched to Guillermo Del Toro), concerning a group of paranormal commandoes (think mentally handicapped Ghostbusters) that includes Vena Cava, a blue haired French-African-American drag queen, Talking Tina, a mute, blue haired little girl with telepathic abilties, and the fearless leader, Mallory, a red-haired Olivia Bonamy (star of the excellent French horror film, Them - 2006, and wife of French superstar Romain Duris), who looks like Rumer Willis, post-chin installation and with a Leeloo (The 5th Element) weave smeared with crusty Queen Anne cherries. Mallory has decided to fight evil, because, on her wedding night, she discovers her groom is a demon, and she kills him (even though he contaminates her arm with some of his blood?), which I didn't quite follow. The film goes nose-dive down hill from there as we cut to Mallory and her band of evil fighting miscreants, who, besides the telepathic child, don't really have special powers, unless you count having "Fuck Evil" tattooed on your knuckles as special---which, for some reason is tattooed in English. The Pope gets kidnapped by demons and Mallory and crew decide to rescue him, while some dull and pointless plot twists ensue. One could only hope that someone would dispose of at least one of the hapless demon hunters, however, they all unfortunately live. I had high hopes for the blue haired drag queen with the awesome name (Vena Cava would also have been a much better film title, especially since there's nothing overtly Bloody concerning Mallory, at least that we can see), however, her character only manages to be a catalyst for my biggest irritation with the film---a gay person helping to save the Pope, a man that has no problems voicing his disdain for the "transsexual creature." I know, they're fighting evil demons, but why save the Pope? He's a homophobic bigot. They're fighting the lesser of two evils. All in all, an utter waste of time, and much worse than a Troma film, which I see this has been compared to.

Ahh, The Gorgon (1964), an interesting concept for a horror film. Medusa gets all the attention, it seems, in popular culture these days, why not give her sister the stage? However, the film references the Gorgon Megaera which was actually the name of one of the Fates. Medusa's sisters were named Stheno and Euryale and I suppose their names don't sound chilling enough as I'd imagine they are pronounced "Thee no!" or "Your Ale!" But humbug to persnickety details or facts, that's the point of poetic license. What's worse is that the film is tedious, dull and nonsensical. It's the early twentieth century Europe (umm, err, Britain?) and for the past five years, a murderer has been on the loose, turning victims into stone! The film opens with a young, pregnant woman being turned to stone whilst her fiance takes the blame---though it's not really questioned how exactly he had the ability to do so...Hmmmm...Anyhow, fiance hangs himself, his dad comes to town, sees the Gorgon, turns to stone and finally we get to the movie's meat, the uptight conflict of wills between horror greats Peter Cushing, the village physician, and Christopher Lee, a big city professor. Throw into the bag Brit Scream Queen Barbara Shelley, a nurse torn between a demented romance with Cushing and the fiance's brother who is snooping around, played by Richard Pasco, an interesting looking fellow that looks like a cross between a Carradine and a seal (the mammal, not the artist). And in the end, we have some piss poor creature effects (I almost prefer the Gorgon effects used in Clash of the Titans - 1981, as here the gorgon just looks like Joan Collins woke up without curlers), a poorly thought of concept and a mediocre, forgettable film. Funny moments include the searching of a victim's casket---I don't understand why someone turned to stone would need one. And besides ELO's song, "Turn to Stone" running through my head, Barbara Shelley gets the best passage of the film when she coins the term "Gorgonized." Considered a notable Hammer film due to it's depiction of a female monster (how divine) the film never quite gets off the ground, even though it's directed by Hammer Hall of Fame helmsman, Terence Fisher, the man who directed the, ummm, first original remake of Dracula (1958) with Christopher Lee.

Now, Jennifer McCarthy's 2005 film, Dirty Love seems to be considered one of the worst films ever made. It's by no means a good film, but neither is it the worst I have ever seen, by far. Sure, some of it is a little cheesy, and maybe McCarthy's director/ex husband should be to blame, but McCarthy, as fake as she looks, is a fun screen presence. I found it to be on the same level as most Will Ferrell vehicles, neither worthy of high praise or serious denigration. The supporting cast is a bit dull, though Carmen Electra somehow manages to squeeze out a few laughs as an extremely ghetto and orange masseuse. Definitely not the biggest comedic mishap I've ever seen.

As I briefly mentioned in my review of Revanche (2008), I would write about Summer Palace (2006), the notorious film screened at 2006 Cannes that angered the Chinese government to such an extent that they put a five year filming ban on director Lou Ye (which he violated by secretly filming Spring Fever - 2009, which just won Best Screenplay at this year's Cannes Film Festival). So a big screw you to authority. Anyhow, the Chinese government was so pissed because Ye used footage from Tienanmen Square in his film concerning a violatile relationship between two heterosexual college students from Beijing University, who are eventually separated by the political climate and the Tienanmen Square demonstrations. Ye's film makes my mediocre list by a slight margin---it's really a good film, and has the potential to be engaging, both as a character study of it's female protagonist Yu Hong, and as it charts a passionate and ill fated relationship during an intriguing and pained moment in a country's history. However, there are way too many sex scenes, at least thirteen or so, that needed to be removed from the film. Not that I'm against sex scenes, but they don't all help the story, as they're not explicit (it's like watching two people dry hump) and in scenes that last three to five minutes, we're talking about nearly an hour of footage devoted to sex in a film that's 140 minutes. Not that I need sex scenes to be explicit, either, but after a while, it's purely time consuming and it detracts from the overall narrative.

I won't spend time harping about my re-watched goodies, but I managed to make the boyfriend sit down for two excellent Sigourney Weaver performances (in films that her abilities obviously transcend) the overall quite good Imaginary Heroes (2004) and her Lifetime movie recently aired, (I found a copy!!) the important message film, Prayers For Bobby (2009). I hope she gets an Emmy. Meanwhile, she has seven new films in the next two years, purportedly, so I can't wait. And of course, The Leech Woman (1960) and The Killing (1956) were last movie night's screenings in the Coleen Gray double feature. And yes, The Leech Woman would probably be a bit painful to sit through without the MST3K treatment.

John Huston's The Asphalt Jungle (1950) makes this films list of top picks, though it is by no means the best film noir out there. The aforementioned The Killing (1956) is an excellent film partially because it makes Sterling Hayden an intriguing screen presence. Not so with The Asphalt Jungle--the man is as flat as penny on the railroad tracks, his usual mode. I love how, in retrospect, the film poster and the DVD release make significant use of Marilyn Monroe's presence in the film, though she's only in two scenes. Her presence is electrifying, because we know she's Monroe. Otherwise, she's just another dame in a noir. I was most intrigued by the presence of a young James Whitmore (he looked old then) and Jean Hagen, pre Singin' In the Rain (1952)---and who I also recently caught in her last screen role in Dead Ringer (1964). Hagen was always beautiful, but she's given the awful task of having to be infatuated with Sterling Hayden (which is about as believable as Gene Tierney loving the loser Richard Widmark in Night and the City - 1950). Anyhow, a heist goes all wrong when the despicable Louis Calhern decides to sabotage Sam Jaffe's plan. In accordance with Hollywood's film code, the bad guys get what's coming to 'em, but it's still a fabulous little noir from a first rate director.

And rounding out the list this week is Gene Sak's (The Odd Couple-1968; Barefoot in the Park-1967) excellent adaptation of Cactus Flower (1969), starring Ingrid Bergman, Walter Matthau and Goldie Hawn in her first major role that also landed her an Oscar. Featuring excellent, hilarious performances from the great Ingrid Bergman and Goldie Hawn as a sweet, doe-eyed ingénue, Cactus Flower is an excellent witty comedy, whose only downfall is Walter Matthau. Yeah, Walter’s a funny guy, but his character is a playboy and Matthau was already too jowly and oily for the role by 1969. The plot revolves around a 5th Avenue dentist (Matthau) who has been lying to his young girlfriend (Hawn), claiming he was married in order to avoid a true commitment with her. But when Hawn makes a lukewarm suicide attempt, Matthau attempts to cover up his lie by claiming he will get a divorce from his wife, additionally leaving behind three imaginary children. Hawn becomes so distraught at the thought of hurting Matthau’s wife, she insists on meeting her, creating the film’s comedy of errors. Enter Bergman, playing Matthau’s crusty, by-the-books and droll nurse/receptionist. Unbeknownst to Matthau, Bergman is in love with him and faithfully (though reservedly) poses as his soon to be ex-wife, resulting in a variety of awkward and hilarious situations. One extremely strange dance sequence with Bergman and Hawn at a nightclub has Bergman inventing a bizarre, goofy dance move called “the dentist.”

Oddly enough, Bergman’s infamous fall from grace in the early 50’s as a result of torrid affair with Roberto Rossellini (which resulted in the birth of twins, one of whom was Isabella Rossellini) was due to the fact that she was married. To a doctor. The film made me realize how much I need to see some of Bergman’s later work, and she steals the show here. Hawn is quite good as the nubile young woman, though she resembles Twiggy in that she looks in need of immediate sustenance. Working in a record store, the film shows her several times in a bright yellow outfit that make Goldie look like a canary or a character from “The Simpsons.” And with all her lip quivering she often looks a bit special---though thankfully she eventually grew into her face and her expressions in later 70’s and 80’s films and didn’t look so impaired. Did Hawn deserve the Oscar? I think so, as she was up against Sylvia Miles (Midnight Cowboy), Dyan Cannon (Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice), Catherine Burns (Last Summer), and Susannah York (They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?), though I might rethink that on a re-watch of York’s performance.

The Hangover: Like Masturbating In An Airplane

Taking the country by storm is the new non-Apatow comedy, The Hangover, from director Todd Phillips, the man behind dude comedies Road Trip (2000), Old School (2003), the Starsky & Hutch revamp (2004) and the School For Scoundrels (2006) remake. I’m just laying out our parameters, here. There’s nothing essentially wrong with The Hangover, and in fact, it’s quite funny and has several hilarious sequences that one could very well term as priceless. My biggest bone to pick with the film would be the stereotypical use of gay jokes that always spark my ire in the dude comedy. I look forward to a day when writers/directors/producers creating films aimed at the audience known as the heterosexual male will completely eradicate offensive humor towards the GLBT (or LGBT, whatever works) community. Within the first ten minutes we hear “don’t text me, text messages are gay,” and then we have Bradley Cooper screaming “Dr. Faggot” outside of Ed Helm’s house. I find this to be extremely inappropriate. Would there be any laughter at the use of the N word? I’m just itching for the day when faggot is elevated to similar status and people realize it’s just not okay to use. Now, gay people calling other gay people a faggot, well, honey, we deserve the right to do that. It’s just like when white people bitch about black people calling each other the N word.

Anyhow, let me get down from my soapbox. The three leads of the film, Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, and Zach Galifianakis are quite entertaining in their various misadventures as they try to piece together what exactly happened the night before during their friend’s Vegas Bachelor Party. The problem is, they’re so entertaining, we forget and don’t really care if they do find their extremely dull friend Doug, a character the writers forgot to write---ditto for his fiancée and her parents (Jeffrey Tambor and Sondra Currie). And also entertaining is Heather Graham, who plays the same character she always plays, a nympho sex kitten with a bubbly personality and a heart of gold--like she is in Boogie Nights (1997), Bowfinger (1999), Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1997), The Oh in Ohio (2006), and then the depressing prostitute nympho in From Hell (2001). Yes, it’s vulgar, obscene, and offensive---it’s an adult comedy for dudes. At least there’s no Ferrell or Apatow stamp. What annoys me most of all is the fact that production went forward on the sequel even before the release of this film due to this film’s excellent reception with previews screenings for test audiences. So now we usher in a new comedic force in mainstream American cinema. And I don’t dislike Bradley Cooper (but what the hell was The Midnight Meat Train- 2008, and yes, I would ask Brooke Shields the same question with the same disparaging tone), but it must have been his long locks in The Hangover that made me think he looks like Chanelle, the drag queen from Vegas that recently competed in “Ru Paul’s Drag Race.” I’m not trying to be mean---they do look alike. As for Galifianakis’ character, there are way too many contemporary pop culture references, which will date the film, and to me, aren’t all that funny. Why is he going to the Jonas Bros. concert? Call me a cynic, but is that what we have to look forward to in this country? The everlasting staying power of the Jonas Bros.? The use of hot, new (or kind of new) pop songs blindly dropped into mainstream Cineplex films also irritates me--do we NEED a Rihanna song as they check into the Vegas hotel? I shouldn’t be too harsh—it’s really summer fluff---but that’s what Apatow started out as---and look at all the influence/power he has now. Friends and loved ones are always telling me, you can’t examine some films to such a close degree. You can’t ask those questions or have those expectations from things like teen comedies, Hollywood horror, or porn. Fuck that. Nothing is really only about consumption. What happens to things you consume? They get digested or vomited up. In the end, I’ll say this: The Hangover is definitely worth a matinee price.

Revanche: Ein Gericht Am Besten Kalt Serviert

The opening scene of Gotz Spielmann’s latest effort metaphorically sums up the narrative path of the film: a pristine lake, the skyline and treetops reflected on its flawless surface, is suddenly shattered by a large object, the ripples slowly fanning out from the point of impact, hypnotically casting its picturesque existence into waves of turmoil. Such is the chain reaction narrative of Revanche (2008). The first part of the film centers around Tamara (Irina Potapenko), a gorgeous young prostitute from the Ukraine, working in a Vienna brothel, and her ex-con boyfriend, Alex (Johannes Krisch), a security grunt, also working for the brothel. Keeping their relationship secret, tensions rise when the brothel owner decides to have Tamara broken in when she refuses a lucrative promotional status offer. Attempting to rescue Tamara from her tenuous position and also an incredible amount of debt threatening both of them, Alex moves forward with his plans to rob a bank and high tail it to Spain. However, as fate would have it, Tamara insists on accompanying Alex to the robbery and while in the parked car is hampered by Robert, a local police officer. Aiming for the tires, Robert accidentally shoots and kills Tamara. Here, the film changes in tone entirely, from a bank heist, dirty urban (sluts and mutts) on-the-run thriller, to a contemplative, tension building, country-side neo-noir. Alex’s hideout is the farm of his estranged, decrepit, and most importantly, loner, grandfather. And it just so happens that Robert the cop and his wife are grandpa’s neighbors. Revanche, if you couldn’t piece together, is about notions of revenge, but not the usual sort. Robert’s wife, Susanne (Ursula Strauss) has her own prerogative complicating the mix, a plot line that reminds me immediately of Steinbeck’s novel “Burning Bright.” As the film broods itself into a climax that seems ready to burst like a pustule on a sweaty day, the intense sexual tension between Susanna and Alex creates some of the most realistic sexual encounters that I’ve seen on film; their copulations are perverse, fevered, and strangely titillating. As well as completely believable. Interestingly, we don’t really even see them with their clothes off. Less is more, generally, when dealing with sexuality on the screen. I recently discussed this with my boyfriend during a viewing of Summer Palace (2006), which I will discuss later on---sex scenes are like salting your food, too much can ruin it—they need to be integral to what’s going on. Humans basically eat, shit, sleep and have sex. While we see scenes in movies of people doing each of these basic human actions, we rarely have multiple sleeping, shitting, or eating scenes (and I mean eating where the characters are simply eating to eat, not to convey conflict around the dinner table or depict eating disorders) that are given as much screen time or frequency of sex scenes. In the end, I have a feeling that once I see Departures (2008), this year’s Oscar winner for Best Foreign Language film, I’m going to be a little irked at the Academy for passing over this beautiful, brooding film from Austria. At the very least, maybe we can have access to director Gotz Spielmann’s previous work, as he’s been directing films since 1984. The only distracting aspect of Revanche, for me at least, was Johannes Krisch’s look---I kept thinking he looked like some dirty, white-trash caricature played by Scott Thompson on “Kids in the Hall.”

Adoration: An Atom Homage

I’ve just discovered how little I know about Canada’s most academically celebrated filmmaker Atom Egoyan, (since Cronenberg has seemed to have gone main stream and Guy Maddin’s more a cult icon), as I recently watched his latest effort, Adoration (2008). This is the first Egoyan film I’ve seen since The Sweet Hereafter (1996), which I was probably too young to appreciate at the time. Egoyan’s new film does seem to have his trademark non-linear narrative going for it, and I can see how in a film festival setting Adoration could possibly try one’s patience as it sets itself up and then retreads over its own narrative half way through.

The plot revolves around Sami, who takes an assignment in French class a bit overboard (and at the provocation of his teacher, Sabine), which basically has him inventing a story about his deceased parents being involved in a potential act of terrorism. The story spreads and needless to say, affects Sabine, Sami, and Sami’s guardian, his mother’s brother, Tom (played by the laudable Scott Speedman). Adoration seems to have taken criticism for it’s elliptical narrative (but if you know anything about Egoyan, you’ll know to expect this) and in particular, for it’s first half, which is basically a long buildup that leads to quite an engaging second half. What the film seems to be mainly about, however, is the crafting of identity, the construction of blame and grief, father hatred, and bigotry. Most of all, the film is about adoration, the act of paying honor, an homage. An aptly titled film that leaves one sifting through the layers of implied meaning, while watching Adoration, I was quite intrigued by Arsinee Khanjian, an actress who is both talented and striking. As my boyfriend would say, she’s a little strong in the face and evidence of an uni-brow is distracting in some close-ups. Nevertheless, she is a formidable screen presence that demands attention. This relates to how I’ve been rather ignorant of Egoyan’s work as Khanjian happens to be his spouse and they’ve worked on several films together. The weaker points of the film were some of the supporting characters, especially Rachel Blanchard as Sami's flashback mama. As the pieces of Adoration come together, the outcome is as fractured as the journey---except for the fact that we learn everyone always has their own motives, and we all create different versions for ourselves of our reality and existence. It’s interesting--the whole basis of fiction can be applied to what we generally consider to be the truth. All in all, quite an intellectual film without being pretentious, but also, one worth seeing multiple times and definitely worthy of discussion.

Sunday, June 14, 2009 -- Tom Shankland's "The Children" (2008)

G’day mates---you are cordially invited to a screening of the latest cinematic addition to the ever fruitful horror subgenre, the creepy child movie, and thus aptly named, The Children (2008). Chances are, you’ve already seen a creepy child movie. From The Bad Seed (1956), Village of the Damned (1960)--and its enjoyable John Carpenter remake from 1995, The Shining (1980), Who Could Kill A Child? (1976), The Omen (1976), The Good Son (1993) , Stir of Echoes (1999), The Ring (2002), Joshua (2007), Vinyan (2008), and Orphan (2009), there’s a plethora of themes to mine the depths of. (And with the exception of the unreleased Orphan, I love each of the above films as if they were my own darling children). This recent British addition, from director Tom Shankland (whose previous horror feature W Delta Z was released on DVD in this country as The Killing Gene, 2007), was not granted distribution on this side of the globe, but, his native country has already released it on DVD, and thankfully, voracious followers of film, like myself and my buddy Erik, have made it possible for a few of us in the Americas to experience the joy of creepy children.

The Children concerns a group of heternormative familial units, and, set during a Christmas holiday retreat, the children suddenly turn on their parents. Sounds like oogy fun, right? I’m sure I will make a fun snack to accompany our guilty pleasure (fallopian tube noodles sounds apropos). Showtime is 8:00 PM Sunday. Venue is at Erik’s, contact me for details. Running time is 81 minutes.

Out of the Past: The Week in Film

"If I'm a bitch, your momma's a bitch, BITCH!" - Janet Jackson, Poetic Justice

The week in movies:

Cinema Cess Pool Selection:
1. Prom Night (1980) Dir. Paul Lynch - US
2. MPD - Psycho (2000) Dir. Takashi Miike - Japan

Middle-of-the-Road Mediocre:
1. Passengers (2008) Dir. Rodrigo Garcia - US
2. Another Time, Another Place (1958) Dir. Lewis Allen - US

Re-watched Goodies:
1. Jenifer (2005) Dir. Dario Argento - US

Top DVD picks:
3. 13 Tzameti (2005) Dir. Gela Babluani - France/Georgia
2. Poetic Justice (1992) Dir. John Singelton - US
1. Yella (2007) Dir. Christian Petzold - Germany

A quick run down of why I put what where at any given time (so that I can avoid throwing lists everywhere without explanation), let's start with my Cinema Cess Pool category, which is how I will refer to the awful cinema I subject myself to on a weekly basis.

Now, I obviously I knew that the original Prom Night wasn't going to be a slick little gem, but I suppose I also wasn't surprised at how schlocky it was. I find it quite amusing to see Leslie Nielsen in early 80's horror (I love Creepshow - 1982), but here he is simply a non-sequitor. And darling Jamie Lee Curtis, I'm sure she looks back on this little turkey with a smile. I am a fan of so-bad-it's-good cinema, but this one is just so bad that it's boring and unforgivably silly. A standout sequence is the, ummm, dance-off disco, where Jamie Lee drags her muppet haired prom king on the dance floor to show her nemesis just how this shit gets done. What's worse is the dress she actually wears to prom. It looks like Ukranian bag-lady's potato sack. Early 80's fashion aside, the plot revolves around the "accidental" death of a young girl (accidental would be three noisy children shouting the word Kill! repeatedly as they menacingly back a young girl up against a window she stumbles out of). The dead girl's older sister happened to be Jamie Lee, and an additional younger brother apparently witnessed the event, only to take revenge on Jamie's senior year Prom Night. It all makes perfect sense, you see.

The other putrid piece of cinema I watched was the first portion of a television miniseries by Takashi Miike called MPD-Psycho (2000). Miike is generally hit or miss for me. His Masters of Horror episode, Imprint (2005), made my best of list last week. However, some of his more unrestrained work (Ichi the Killer-2001) causes me to go into abuse victim mode, and the senseless violence seems to wash over me and, unintentionally, makes me bored. I suppose I am more of a fan of short, unforeseen, unpredicted bursts of extreme violence (Cache - 2005 is a good example) rather than such excessive violence that I go somewhere else in my head. Needless to say, this TV treatment about a police detective with multiple personalities who also happens to be an excellent profiler of serial killers is bit tamed down---and tamed down meaning all the sequences considered gory have been covered by a static sheen, the only print now available. The serial killer at first targets young women, cuts off the tops of their skulls and places a flower in their exposed brains. The second part of this miniseries focuses on another serial killer who targets pregnant women, cuts out their fetuses and places a phone where the fetus used to reside. It sounds intriguing. But it wasn't.

As for my mediocre viewings, Another Time, Another Place (1958) intrigued me due to the presence of Glynis Johns (you know, that cute old sassy grandma from Superstar! -1999 and While You Were Sleeping -1995). Lana Turner headlines and the film, which is most notable for introducing us to Sean Connery, whose eyebrows look like giant caterpillars (please note pic above). Anyhow, Lana and Sean are stuck in London, 1945. She's an American journalist and he's a war correspondent for the BBC and hails from a small, Cornish village. They are madly in love, but little does Lana know, he's a married man. That smug asshole. Anyhow, he breaks the truth to her moments before she is to break her own engagement (a robotic Barry Sullivan, who is also her boss). That night, the war also ends, and the couple decides they should keep going with the affair regardless, however, Connery dies in plane crash as he flies to another location to report some coverage or other. Turner has a breakdown, and some time later, on her way back to New York, she makes a trip to Connery's village and ends up staying at his home with his wife, played by Glynis Johns. She doesn't just stay the night, but weeks, eventually helping Johns put together Connery's documents to make a book. Sullivan crashes the party and upon his arrival it suddenly dawns on Johns that Connery was in love with another woman. Another time, another place, indeed. The most interesting aspect of the film is how Lana Turner's poorly conceived character is really only pulling a quick succession of bitch moves---I mean, how awful to sully some poor woman's image of her faithful husband. Plus, at the point where Connery reveals he's married, she should have realized that maybe she didn't know him so well and her love for him could very well be, ummm, unfounded. But we don't go there with the film, oh no. This is 50's high melodrama.

Passengers (2008) was, interestingly enough, directed by Rodrigo Garcia, whose previous credits are the highly acclaimed showcases-for-women cinema, Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her (2000), and Nine Lives (2005). Why, oh why, he decided to direct this philosophical concept drama posing as a supernatural thriller is beyond me. Tack on some painfully bad chemistry between Patrick Wilson and Anne Hathaway, as well as awkward supporting bits from Andre Braugher and Dianne Wiest, and yes, we have a mediocre film. The best moments in Passengers come from Hathaway, who several times has out-of-nowhere freak out shriek fests, such as when an eerie newspaper blows kind of towards her from out of nowhere in the middle of the day. Creepy.

Of course, right as I finally sit down to watch 13 Tzameti I learn that it's being remade (and starring 50 Cent, Jason Statham and Mickey Rourke). A creepy film with an intriguing concept, beautiful cinematography doesn't stop it from ending a tad predictably. And yes, there are some very intense scenes revolving around a light bulb in a situation that reminded me, strangely, of They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969).

And yes, Poetic Justice, starring the one and only Janet Jackson, a woman I've come to know quite well over the past several months since my boyfriend loves her like I love Sigourney Weaver, surprised me with it's depth as layered character study. I hadn't exactly avoided her cinematic debut, but I just never got around to watching it (and let's face it, Singleton's recent track record hasn't been the greatest). What I discovered was a touching story about two people coming together in a sometimes rough world. Though I didn't quite want Janet's Justice to end up with Tupac's Lucky (I felt he had some issues to deal with), it was still an entertaining ride, with help from alcoholic Regina King. Watch out for quick snippets from Jenifer Lewis, Cifton Collins, Jr. (who was credited as Clifton Gonzalez Gonzalez back then) and Maya Angelou. It's not explicit, but at least a gay African American character is somewhat present within the film's narrative, which also intrigued me considering this was an early 90's "street romance." Also excellent, the film opens at a campy drive in movie called "Deadly Diva," starring Billy Zane and Lori Petty, a treatment I'd pay to see more of.

And my favorite DVD pick of the week was Christian Petzold's gorgeously shot and extremely compelling, Yella (2007) starring the luminescent Nina Hoss, who always manages to look deeply troubled by the world. Opening with an intense sequence involving her ex-husband, Yella (Hoss) scrambles her way to West Germany to employment as an accountant. However, all is not as it seems. I'll just leave it at that, but if you happen to be a fan of Michael Haneke, you should see Yella. Haneke might not be pleased with a comparison, and no, Yella might not be as thought provoking or culturally philosophical as a Haneke film, but it's damn good cinema, nonetheless.

As for my re-watched selection this week, I must preface it with the fact that I've become quite crestfallen at the oeuvre of Dario Argento. Suspiria (1977) is a fun flick, if watched with the right crowd, but even Argento at his best isn't really very good. I understand the machinations of the Giallo movement (giallo, btw, means yellow in Italian; giallo films are like paperback "pulp" novels with the yellow paper in the drug store) and that all Giallo films and filmmakers should only be watched if you know what you're in for (though I think Mario Bava is quite good---sometimes), but some of Argento's other highly rated films bore me to tears. For instance, his "mothers" trilogy that began with Suspiria was followed up by the BORING Inferno (1980) and finally, the campy The Mother of Tears (2007). And don't even get me going on Deep Red (1975) or Tenebre (1982). And his work gets worse as time goes by (OMG the AWFUL Trauma - 1993). So imagine my surprise at liking his first entry in the Masters of Horror series, Jenifer (2005). Starring the flaccid Steven Weber as a policeman who saves a horrifyingly disfigured animal-like woman (who has the body of a supermodel), Weber takes "Jenifer" home, causing his wife to leave him and his life to fall apart. Jenifer is a very sexual animal and also like to eat cats, little Asian girls, and bums. Jenifer is, by no means, a good film, but it's funny in that WTF, who- thought-this-made-any-sense kind of way. And Jenifer herself is ludicrously grotesque enough to arouse a morbid interest in watching her. Argento's next entry in the series, however, was not quite so entertaining, the extremely asinine Pelts (2006), starring Meatloaf Aday.

Little Accents: An Illterate Kabuki Artist's Guide to Salvador Dali

Let's get this straight--if anyone must make a movie about three of the greatest artists that ever came out of Spain, the filmmaker should probably be, err, Spanish. Or, at least film the narrative in that language. I'm all for independent film, but Jeso Cristo, I get my panties in a bunch when they're as shabbily pasted together as a streetwalker at Moonie revival. Director Paul Morrison (surprisingly this wasn't his first feature film---it sure felt like it was) claims he didn't find anyone in Spain he could cast as Dali. Originally, pinup Pattinson had read for the part of Lorca, but Morrison earnestly claims, "But Rob felt so much more a Dali." Getting ahead of myself, Little Ashes concerns the love story between college friends Salvadaor Dali and the poet, Federico Garcia Lorca. Luis Bunuel, Spain's preeminent filmmaker (to this day, Pedro Almodovar is the only director to come out of Spain that could possibly rival the cinematic legacy of Bunuel) is also thrown into the mix, and, as is made obvious, was not involved in the love triangle. What stands on its own as lucrative material is here botched into a mediocre portrait of spoiled, rich young men using terribly awkward accents. I guess I don't understand---why bother having a Spanish accent? Just speak Spanish. They're in Spain. These pretentious Brits, I tell ya---these ballsy Hollywood highbrow films don't even attempt that (let's just say we believe for a minute that it was realistic to cast Kate Winslet as a German in The Reader 2008--however, I believe director Stephen Daldry is a Brit). What bothers me the most about Morrison's film is its unbelievably asinine attempt at showing us important historical figures without ever really detailing what they really accomplished. Yes, it's fine and dandy to have Javier Beltran (who portrays Lorca) recite several poems in Spanish (and an English translation voice over) but Morrison doesn't bother to explain why he is assassinated. Additionally, we never discover what an awful piece of shit Dali became, sans spurning Lorca. And then what a fuck you from one filmmaker to another---Morrison actually includes the historical and infamous eye cutting scene from the Bunuel/Dali film Un Chien Andalou (1929), but doesn't bother mentioning just how important Bunuel was to cinema beyond the surrealist film movement. Let's honor him here. Matthew McNulty, the British actor portraying Bunuel, stomps around on screen as if in an MAD TV skit. Seriously, Pattinson and McNulty are to be taken about as seriously as if, for some reason, Sean Penn was cast as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Both scenarios incite my wrath and anger. I mean, Bunuel is the man who directed: Belle De Jour (1967), Viridiana (1961), The Phantom of Liberty (1974), The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972), The Exterminating Angel (1962), to name a few. To Mr. McNulty and director Morrison, a big fuck you for being so uniformly awful. Why so much anger on my end? Let's face it, this film is only getting attention for one reason: Robert Pattinson. As this was filmed before Twilight (2008), the filmmakers were unaware of the cache of wealth right under their hairy nostrils. So a whole legion of teens and tweens have lifted this little film into indie heaven, but it's riding not on air but an amalgamation of nasty farts, expelled from the anuses and mouths of the pop culture maw known seductively, coquettishly, as Twilight. So what's a whole generations' first exposure to Bunuel going to be? This little Olestra laced turd. And as for Pattinson? Well, he's absurd and over the top--but manages to at least not leave the worst taste in my mouth. He's a mere caricature of what we'd expect someone playing Dali to be. He's trying. I believe he knows that the movie that's made him famous is a piece of shit and he's too polite to say it. And then there's this gay streak in the film---but it's pretty brief and about as believable as a Lassie horror thriller. The film tries desperately to be artistic, like a painting, of the two lovers kisses, caresses and pinwheeling in the water (a scene where I giggled at the obvious absurdity of it all). In the end, it plays like an after school special dealing with homosexual experimentation. The film doesn't bother to explain that Lorca and Dali fail to actually "get it on" because Dali was scared to death of syphilis. However, the director explains that it's not meant to be a biopic, but that "it just explores one seminal moment." I don't believe a word of it, and you won't either. A film that explores the "seminal" moment of two, and maybe three (the director can't decide) legendary artists does little to prove the extent of the effect they had on each other. Lorca's a weepy bourgeois who gets shot and Dali's a selfish asshole. According to Little Ashes. Sadly, this will be championed by Pattinson fans, be dismissed by critics only to be embraced by pop cult epigones everywhere. Did I say Fuck you Mr. Morrison? Well, third time is the charm, they say.