4/24/15: A Boy, A Girl, A Jungle, A Gem

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'80s adventure films, 1980s films, action-adventure, action-comedies, adventures, Alan Silvestri, auteur theory, Back to the Future, blockbusters, cinema, damsel-in-distress, Danny Devito, Dean Cundey, Diane Thomas, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, Forrest Gump, jungles, Kathleen Turner, kidnapping, Manuel Ojeda, Mary Ellen Trainor, Michael Douglas, Movies, odd couple, priceless jewels, Raiders of the Lost Ark, ransom, Robert Zemeckis, romance writer, romances, Romancing the Stone, stolen treasure, The African Queen, The Jewel of the Nile, treasure map, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Zack Norman

What, exactly, would you get if you were able to somehow crossbreed John Huston’s indelible The African Queen (1951) with Spielucas’ (patent pending) Raiders of the Lost Art (1981)? If you performed this bit of alchemy nowadays, I’m guessing that you’d probably end up with something that bore a pretty close resemblance to Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) or its ilk. If you did this back in the ’80s, however, it’s pretty much a given that you’d come up with Robert Zemeckis’ Romancing the Stone (1984). Equal parts odd-couple romance and globetrotting adventure yarn, Romancing the Stone is the box-office blockbuster that, effectively, kicked off Zemeckis’ career, directly leading to some little indie film about race cars called Back to the Future (1985). As they say: a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step…for Zemeckis (Used Cars (1980) notwithstanding), that journey began right here.

Best-selling romance writer, Joan Wilder (Kathleen Turner, in only her third full-length film), may write about passionate, sexy, self-assured and ass-kicking heroines but life definitely doesn’t seem to be imitating art: in reality, Joan is meek, nerdy, awkward and chronically single, spending her days with her cat (Romeo, natch) while she waits for the flesh-and-blood version of her hunky leading man, Jesse, to swirl into her life and spirit her away to fun, adventure and love.

Adventure (albeit of the less than desired kind) makes its way into Joan’s life after she receives word that her sister, Elaine (Mary Ellen Trainor), has been kidnapped by miscreants (Zach Norman and Danny DeVito) in Columbia. The kidnappers demand that Joan head to South America and bring the treasure map that Elaine mailed to her, a map which purports to show the location of a fabled, priceless jewel. When Joan gets to Columbia, she immediately finds herself pursued by the sinister, murderous Zolo (Manuel Ojeda), a corrupt military leader who will stop at nothing to acquire the jewel.

Just as things look grim, Joan is saved by mysterious, handsome and wise-cracking Jack Colton (Michael Douglas), an American ex-pat adventurer who could, quite literally, be the very personification of Joan’s beloved “Jesse.” Jack spirits Joan away and she enlists his aid in rescuing her captive sister. As the kidnappers decide to take matters into their hands and pursue Jack and Joan, our heroes must also out-maneuver Zolo and his men, who are never far behind. Will Joan finally find her knight-in-shining-armor? Will Jack be able to put aside his more avaricious impulses and inherent dislike of Joan’s needy, city-slicker ways long enough to fall in love with her? Will our plucky heroes succeed in finding their massive emerald or will the jungle serve as their final resting place?

In many ways, Romancing the Stone is a prototypical ’80s adventure film: bright, silly, full of decidedly antiquated notions on gender politics (Joan is never much more than a hapless damsel-in-distress and Jack is often so macho as to become completely cartoonish), lots of engaging setpieces (Joan and Jack’s tumble down the river rapids is an easy highlight, as is the evocative bit where they stumble upon the treasure, complete with a skeleton in a crashed plane) and as little common sense as necessary to propel the storyline to its designated conclusion.

What really helps to vault Romancing the Stone above the competition (aside from the involvement of adventure auteur Zemeckis) is the stellar performances and chemistry of the three principals. Romancing the Stone would be Douglas’ first major foray into blockbuster entertainment (although some might argue that The China Syndrome (1979) really got the ball rolling for him after the success of The Streets of San Francisco (1972-1976)) and the role fits him like a glove. By turns smarmy, sly, genuine, put-upon and roguish, Douglas’ Jack Colton is the dictionary definition of a kickass “antihero” and definitely deserves his place in the action flick roll books. For her part, Turner is outstanding: never less than imminently likable and empathetic, Joan Wilder is a real hoot and Turner has a blast bringing her to cinematic life. Douglas and Turner have tremendous chemistry throughout, recalling nothing so less as Bogie and Hepburn’s performances in the aforementioned African Queen: any of their scenes together are smooth sailing but the parts where they lock horns, like stubborn rams, are pretty unforgettable.

On the villain side, DeVito (as usual) is an absolute scene-stealer: the bit where he wrestles with the extremely tall lady is a complete riot and his interactions with the dastardly Zolo hint at the sarcasm-etched wrecking ball that the future Frank Reynolds would become. Here, we get DeVito just as he was transitioning from the small-screen madness of Taxi (1978-1983) into his unforgettable big screen career. While there’s way too little of DeVito in Romancing the Stone, the producers rectified this by bringing DeVito, Douglas and Turner back for a sequel, The Jewel of the Nile (1985), that featured quite a bit more screen-time for good ol’ Ralph. Years later, the principals would once again reunite when DeVito directed Douglas and Turner in the absolutely essential The War of the Roses (1989), a re-teaming which managed to frame the earlier relationships in an entirely different light.

Silly, cute and lots of fun, Romancing the Stone is the kind of breezy entertainment that’s perfect for lazy weekend viewing: while it’s far from amazing (or even particularly original), Zemeckis’ romantic adventure is a perfect example of what made ’80s films so great. For younger generations, the film stands as a perfect example of a simpler, more innocent time, a time when comic book entertainment was still pulpy, goofy fun. In an era where heroes spend an awful lot of time frowning, Romancing the Stone reminds us that this wasn’t always the case: as far as I’m concerned, our modern era could use a little more Jack and Joan. After all: smiling is pretty good exercise, too.

1/31/15: The Galaxy According to Groot

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Academy Award Nominee, action-adventure, aliens, based on a comic book, Ben Davis, Benicio del Toro, blockbusters, box office success, Bradley Cooper, Chris Pratt, cinema, co-writers, comic adaptations, comic book films, Dave Bautista, Djimon Hounsou, Drax, ensemble cast, favorite films, film reviews, films, Gamora, Glenn Close, Groot, Guardians of the Galaxy, James Gunn, John C. Reilly, Josh Brolin, Karen Gillan, Lee Pace, Lloyd Kaufman, Marvel comics, Michael Rooker, Movies, Nicole Perlman, Peter Quill, Rocket Raccoon, Ronan, sci-fi, science-fiction, Slither, special-effects extravaganza, Star Wars, Starlord, Super, superheroes, supervillains, Thanos, The Avengers, Troma films, Tyler Bates, Vin Diesel, writer-director, Zoe Saldana

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, writer-director James Gunn was but a lowly scribe pumping out scripts for bad-taste powerhouse Troma Pictures. Almost twenty years from his debut, the “Shakespeare-by-way-of-the-vomitorium” Tromeo and Juliet (1996), Gunn is responsible for Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), one of the biggest, brightest and most successful blockbusters of 2014 and, perhaps, the most “un-Marvel” of all Marvel comic adaptations. It may seem like an impossibly long and outrageously strange journey from Troma to the top of the charts, as it were, but anyone who’s followed Gunn’s career since his directorial debut, Slither (2006), knows that the signs were there all along: it’s just taken everybody else a little longer to figure it out, that’s all.

In many ways, Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy is the perfect antidote to the self-important, uber-serious comic book adaptations that have begun to clog the multiplexes. As comic film storylines continue to get darker, more cynical and more “mature,” ala the Dark Knight series, Avengers, et al, it’s refreshing to watch a big budget, tent-pole action-adventure film that’s indebted to the old days of Star Wars (1977) and Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and that largely eschews the self-flagellation, dreary visuals and po-faced acting of modern comic franchises. While GOTG is far from a perfect film, it’s never anything less than a complete blast to watch and handily establishes a new superhero team that promises some really awesome things for the future. Gunn has returned the “fun” to comic movies and, for me, it’s about damn time.

We begin on Earth, in 1988, with young Peter Quill (Wyat Oleff) at the bedside of his dying, cancer-stricken mother. Too upset to take her hand as she fades into nothingness, Peter runs outside and is promptly beamed up into a massive spaceship. 26 years later, Peter (Chris Pratt) is grown up and going by the name “Starlord.” He’s been working with the aliens that “captured” him ever since the incident, a group of scurrilous interstellar scavengers led by the blue-skinned Yondu Udonta (Michael Rooker).

When we first meet the adult Peter, he’s in the middle of recovering some sort of orb artifact for Yondu. After acquiring the artifact, Peter runs afoul of a group of heavily armed thugs, narrowly making his escape: he ends up on the shit-lists of both his former “employer” and the evil Ronan the Accuser (Lee Pace), your basic, everyday super-villain who wants to use the orb to destroy the planet that he so abjectly hates, Xandar. Ronan is an underling of Thanos (Josh Brolin), a massively powerful, godlike Titan who seeks to rule every galaxy he comes in contact with. Thanos’ “daughters,” Nebula (Karen Gillan) and Gamora (Zoe Saldana) work with Ronan and Gamora is dispatched to retrieve the orb from Peter.

Meanwhile, Peter has ended up in the sights of Rocket Raccoon (Bradley Cooper) and Groot (Vin Diesel), a pair of intergalactic bounty hunters and one of the funnest “odd couple” teams in some time. Rocket, a motor-mouthed, anthropomorphic and heavily-armed raccoon is the “brains” of the operation, while Groot is some sort of incredibly strong tree-creature who communicates with the sole phrase “I am Groot.” After engaging in a heated battle with Peter and Gamora, all four adventurers end up in the high-tech Xandarian prison known as the Kyln. Once there, the group meets up with Drax (Dave Bautista), a burly, impossibly literal warrior with a burning hatred for both Ronan and Gamora. Forming an uneasy alliance, the group work together to escape the prison. After learning the truth behind the orb and the limitless power it contains, Peter decides that he must keep it from Ronan at all costs. As Ronan’s forces mass against our intrepid heroes, however, and utter devastation gets closer and closer to the defenseless people of Xandar, the Guardians of the Galaxy will find themselves in the fight of their lives. At stake? Nothing less than the fate of all humanity. Are they up for the challenge? Well, they don’t call ’em the Guardians of the Galaxy for nothing, right?

From the early scene where Chris Pratt pops his headphones on and shimmies and bops across the alien temple, all the way to the epic final fight with Ronan, Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy is one ludicrously fun setpiece after another. For two hours, Gunn manages to keep the tone light and sprightly, despite such heavy subjects as massive destruction, individual death and the end of humanity as we know it. Anytime things threaten to get too weighty, Gunn throws in another nifty effects sequence, some funny jibber-jabber with Rocket or another breath-taking fight scene: there might be the occasional furrowed brow, here, but it’s always followed by some sort of fist-raising bit that keeps the dial firmly on the “fun” side.

As mentioned earlier, GOTG is actually more beholden to something like the original Star Wars than it is to any of the modern-day Marvel comic adaptations that it follows. There are certain moments in GOTG that fall within established comic film clichés (the obligatory “hero sacrificing” moment, the rather contrived “moments of doubt” that help bring the group closer together, the decidedly moldy scenes involving the Xandarian government wringing their hands) but the thing is much more a “space opera” than a straight-forward superhero film. If anything, GOTG is much closer in spirit and tone to del Toro’s Hellboy adaptations than The Avengers, etc.

Special-effects-wise, GOTG ranges from the absolutely stunning (some of the backgrounds are so beautiful that they should be framed) to the strangely obvious and slightly awkward (some of the compositing during the space-ship dog-fight scenes is oddly clunky and there are several instances of the CGI looking obviously fake and sterile). Many of the creature effects are achieved with makeup (hence the film’s Oscar nomination for Best Makeup), which is always a nice surprise, and there is certainly a massive amount of variety to the various creatures, aliens, locations and ships. Particularly noteworthy is the awesome Knowhere location, which channels the futuristic slums of Blade Runner (1982), as well as the Kyln, which reminds of things like the space cantina in Star Wars. While the film usually looks amazing, I found myself pulled out of the movie just often enough to wish that the effects-work was more consistent.

The film’s score, by composer Tyler Bates, is your standard-issue heroic space fare but special mention must be made of the oldies-oriented soundtrack, centered around Peter’s “Awesome Mixtape Vol. 1.” There are several scenes where the soundtrack really adds to the film, such as Peter’s opening exploration and the awesome slo-mo bit involving the Runaway’s “Cherry Bomb.” The songs help provide a nice juxtaposition between the film’s high-tech polish and its old-fashioned vibe and shows that Gunn’s attention to detail doesn’t just extend to the film’s visual aspects.

As with any comic film, casting becomes crucially important: as with most other aspects, GOTG is appropriately solid with its casting. While I’m not (quite) ready to crown Pratt as the next matinee hero, I’ll admit to finding him effortlessly likable, sweet and fairly kickass here. I wish that he was able to jettison a bit more of his “Andy-ness” (from Parks and Rec), though: at times, the character of Peter vacillates between seeming like a sweet doofus and a sarcastic, square-jawed hero, ala Han Solo. For my money, the square-jawed hero aspect works much better but this is also Pratt’s first real time in the “hero” seat, so there’s room for growth. Saldana is decent-enough as Gamora, although she doesn’t seem to get a whole lot to do. Ditto Bautista, as Drax, who gets some nice scenes but all too often seems to exist as a lot of background noise. I’ll admit to being less than thrilled with his ultra-literal method of thought/speech, which often feels like it reduces the character so something like an extraterrestrial Tarzan.

By and large, however, Cooper and Diesel handily steal much of the film as the unbeatable team of Rocket and Groot. In particular, Cooper is a revelation as Rocket: I’ll admit to taking almost everything Cooper does with a grain of salt (I am absolutely not ready to crown him one of the greatest actors of our generation, despite what the Academy seems to think) but I was over the moon with his take on the character. Despite being a mo-cap creation, Rocket ends up being (almost) the most realistic, “human” character in the film: I love his quips and snarkiness but the scene where he breaks down and bemoans his unnatural “creation” is a real powerhouse. While given decidedly less to do, at least vocally, Diesel ends up being the real heart of the film as Groot: using his physicality and some choice, if subtle, facial expressions, Diesel manages to make Groot unbelievably sweet, cool and relatable. Even better, Cooper and Diesel work fantastically well as a team: we absolutely buy their friendship and relationship, which adds tremendous emotional resonance to several latter-half plot developments.

On the acting down-side, we get a completely negligible performance from the normally reliable Gillan as Nebula (she’s ridiculously shouty, way too intense and never believable), a bit of a non-starter from Pace as Ronan (the character is interesting but Pace never does much with it and comes across as thoroughly anonymous) and less Rooker than he (and we) probably deserve. I’ll also toss a little shade at Glenn Close, who turns in one of those cookie-cutter performances that seems to come straight from the factory conveyor belt, as well as poor Benicio del Toro, who gets virtually nothing to do as The Collector.

As someone who grew up on Troma films, I’ve followed Gunn’s career from the get-go. While his debut, the gory, goofy, horror-comedy Slither felt like the natural post-Troma move for one of Lloyd Kaufman’s proteges, Gunn really came into his own with the followup, Super (2010). Using Rainn Wilson as an appropriately blank canvas, Gunn came up with a truly ingenious commentary on the superhero genre, one that managed to bleed all of the fantasy and mystique from caped crusaders and reveal the sad, damaged heart at the core of costumed vigilantism. For my money, GOTG absolutely feels like the next logical progression for Gunn: he’s increasingly finding ways to subvert the mainstream, sprinkling that trademark “Troma humor” atop some notably “un-Troma” types of film. There are plenty of examples to be found here but two of my favorites would have to the scene where Peter challenges Ronan to a dance-off (absolutely classic) and the laugh-out-loud bit where John C. Reilly’s Corpsman Dey makes the brilliant comment that he “doesn’t believe that anyone is 100% a dick.” Far from feeling like a neutered version of his earlier films, GOTG feels like Gunn just has a much bigger, more vibrant canvas to work with.

As someone who’s the furthest thing from a comic film fan, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Guardians of the Galaxy before I actually sat down to watch it. While I’m a huge fan of Gunn’s work, I had the feeling that this might amount to “gun for hire” work, coming across as nothing more or less than a glossy waste of time. I’m familiar with the Guardians from my comic-reading youth but I haven’t actually cared about comic books since I was a kid: I’ve always viewed comic films as mindless entertainment, no more or less. I did enjoy The Avengers (2012) for what it was but I certainly don’t attach any measure of importance to it (or other Marvel projects, for that matter). In other words, I’m probably the absolute last person that this film was “made” for.

But you know what? I ended up kind of loving the film, anyway. While it’s not always smooth-sailing, GOTG has a tremendous amount of heart and is never anything less than full-bore entertaining. The cast and storyline are fun, the film is fast-paced and nothing gets bogged-down in undue sentimentality (or, at least, not for very long). Most importantly, nothing wears out its welcome: unlike the jaded, burned-out opinion I have of films like the Avengers series, I was ready for more GOTG as soon as the film ended. Rather than viewing the obligatory sequel with dread (already scheduled for 2017, apparently), I’m actually looking forward to the continued adventures of Starlord and friends. This could all change should the franchise get beaten into the dust, of course, but it all seems fresh and new at this stage: the far reaches of space, as they say, are the limit.

As a longtime fan of Gunn’s, I expected to enjoy aspects of Guardians of the Galaxy but I certainly wasn’t expecting to like the film as much as I did. For my money, GOTG was (probably) the best “spectacle” film of last year (aside from Edge of Tomorrow, perhaps) and yet another movie that made me regret my theatrical embargo: there were scenes and visuals, here, that I bet would have been absolutely mind-blowing on the big screen. Lesson learned, however: when Gunn is ready to get his next installment of Guardians of the Galaxy off the ground, I’ll be waiting at the box office, money in hand. I might not care for superhero films, for the most part, but I’m always ready and willing to watch a great director bring his A-game to an interesting project.

6/6/14 (Part Two): Alpha Males

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action-adventure, adventures, Alaska, Alaskan wilderness, alpha males, based on a short story, Bronson, cinema, Dallas Roberts, Dermot Mulroney, faith, fighting animals, film reviews, films, flashbacks, Frank Grillo, Greg Nicotero, guy movies, isolation, Jack London, Joe Anderson, Joe Carnahan, killer wolves, Lee Marvin, Liam Neeson, man vs. nature, Movies, Narc, Nonso Anozie, oil riggers, Ottway, plane crash, Smokin' Aces, snow, stranded, survival, survival-horror, The A-Team, The Descent, The Grey, voice-over narration, wolves, writer-director

Mankind likes to think that it’s the master of any domain it comes across but the reality isn’t quite as optimistic. Sure, we can go into frigid Arctic areas, travel deep below the sea and even walk on the Moon: if we put our minds to it, nothing seems impossible. Throw humans into any of these situations wearing just the frail skins we were born with, however, and see how far we get. We may be able to use technology and innovation to take us further than anyone has gone before but, at our core, we are shockingly fragile, insignificant little things. Without the various safety nets we establish for ourselves, like clothing, shelter and weaponry, humanity is very much at the mercy of the natural world. Hunters are all-powerful when they’re armed but look an awful lot like food when they aren’t. A shady banker with a computer can bring down the world: a shady banker, in the forest, with no protection, will get eaten by a bear…that’s just the way the world works.

Writer-director Joe Carnahan’s The Grey (2011) (an adaptation of Ian Mackenzie Jeffer’s short story, “Ghost Walker”), is yet another examination of “man vs. nature,” one of those time-honored tales where disparate and diverse personalities must come together in order to survive a greater threat. In the process, the characters will do lots of surviving, lots of dying and lots of personal discovery. While this type of story is certainly nothing new (hell, Jack London may have invented this subgenre all the way back in the 1900s), The Grey ends up being an extraordinarily powerful film, anchored by a quietly explosive performance from Liam Neeson and a strong, viscerally violent atmosphere. While popular jokes at the time may have cast The Grey as nothing more than “Liam Neeson punching wolves,” the film is a helluva lot more than that. In fact, it may just be the best survival-horror film since Marshall’s classic The Descent (2006).

We’re immediately dropped into the desolate, snow and wind-blasted wilderness of Alaska, where we meet Ottway (Liam Neeson), our guide through this particular wasteland. Ottway is a master outdoors-man and responsible for protecting the rugged members of an oil-rigging crew from the hungry wolves that endlessly patrol the icy wastes. Ottway is also a hopelessly damaged individual, suffering from some sort of unnamed loss (we get lots and lots of flashbacks) that drives him perilously close to eating a bullet. He doesn’t, however, and boards a plane with the rest of the crew, including Diaz (Frank Grillo), Flannery (Joe Anderson), Talget (Dermot Mulroney), Henrick (Dallas Roberts) and Burke (Nonso Anozie). When the weather gets worse, the plane freezes over and ends up crashing in a spectacular, absolutely thrilling sequence (talk about edge of your seat…literally): the lucky ones are killed in the crash. The unlucky ones, led by Ottway, must now survive in the harsh elements with only the clothes on their backs and a few canisters of pilfered airplane fuel to start fires. They need to get back to civilization but there are plenty of eyes watching from the woods…hungry eyes.

As Ottway does his damnedest to keep the survivors alive, he finds himself butting heads with the worst aspects of humanity, including greed, fear and the selfish desire to survive at the cost of everyone else. In particular, Ottway finds himself at odds with Diaz: while the vicious wolves circle in the darkness, Diaz and Ottway circle each other in the light, sniffing for weakness and constantly struggling for domination. Even as Ottway discusses the need to find and slay the alpha male wolf, the struggle for alpha dominance within the survivors threatens to tear them all asunder. Will Ottway be able to overcome his own emotional issues in order to fulfill his duties as group protector? Will the men learn to work together, against all odds, or will they continue to be picked off, one by one, until only their bones remain to remind of their existence? In order to survive, the men will not only need to overcome the wolves: they will need to become the wolves.

The Grey is, first and foremost, a glorious return to the kind of big-screen adventure-survival epics that used to be de rigueur at the box office back in the ’70s. In many ways, the film isn’t such a huge departure from films like Deliverance (1972), Jaws (1975) or Sorcerer (1977) but a much closer parallel would be the aforementioned one with The Descent. In many ways, The Grey is definitely a survival-horror film: the wolves are introduced in a way that establishes them as monsters (the glowing eyes and frightening baying) and the alpha male wolf is established in a way that sets him up as the “chief bad guy” (the scene where Diaz tosses the decapitated wolves’ head into the darkness, only to be met by the angry response call from the alpha male, isn’t much different from any scene where an evil leader reacts in anger to the death of a subordinate at the hands of the heroes). In this way, the wolves are very similar to something like Peter Jackson’s orcs or Marshall’s cave dwellers and serve a similar function in the film.

An action-adventure film lives or dies by its action sequences and, in this regard, The Grey is a complete stunner. From the initial plane crash to the heart-in-mouth scene where the survivors rappel down a craggy mountain-side to the final confrontation with the alpha wolf, The Grey is one incredibly intense scene after another. Carnahan masterfully coils and uncoils the tension, building up quiet, personal dialogue scenes into explosive action beats, prompting me to (literally) jump out of my seat on at least a half-dozen occasions. One of the scenes, which begins as a confrontation between Diaz and Ottway but ends as a confrontation between Diaz and a wolf, is so perfectly executed that it’s almost a textbook example of how to set-up and execute such a moment. I’ve never been a huge fan of Carnahan’s other films (I positively abhor the empty-headed Smokin’ Aces (2006)) but he displays an absolutely deft touch on The Grey that has me eagerly anticipating his next project.

The film almost always looks and sounds great (the sound design is particularly strong) but I wasn’t fond of cinematographer Masanobu Takayanagi’s (who also shot the Oscar-winning Silver Linings Playbook (2012)) frequent over-reliance on blown-out visuals. His landscape cinematography was so beautiful that it was frustrating to have such an obvious visual aesthetic for the more intimate scenes: I get that it’s a cold, white, desolate place…no need to rub my nose in it. Additionally, in the minor quibble department, I felt that Ottway’s frequent flashbacks/dream sequences wore out their welcome pretty early into the film and frequently killed the forward momentum. The sequences did a little to help establish Ottway’s character, although this type of character development seems particularly heavy-handed and unnecessary.

Ultimately, however, no discussion of The Grey can be complete without singling out Liam Neeson for some special recognition. Although the rest of the cast is solid (Dermot Mulroney is particularly good as Talget), this is definitely Neeson’s film. Over the last few years, Neeson has been gradually morphing into an action star, not too far removed from what Bronson and Eastwood were doing in the ’80s and ’90s. In fact, it’s pretty easy to imagine someone like Bronson, Eastwood or Lee Marvin playing the part of Ottway: it’s a quiet, brooding role that requires not only plenty of ass-kicking but also some degree of wounded vulnerability. Ottway may be a man of action but he’s still just a man: Neeson shows us the confusion, fear and conflict beneath his stoic visage, without doing anything to denigrate his inherent heroism. Ottway is not some unrealistically pure “white knight”: he’s just as fucked up as everyone else, yet manages to work through his issues to do what needs to be done. It’s a truly multi-faceted performance made all the more impressive by how little (relatively speaking) Neeson says. Those flinty eyes tell a helluva story, however, and Carnahan/Takayanagi take full advantage of this with plenty of intense closeups, ala Eastwood and his similarly flinty orbs.

While The Grey could, perhaps, be considered the ultimate “guy movie,” (the only women in the film appear in flashback/dream sequences, which is probably rather telling) I think that there’s a lot more bubbling beneath the surface than mindless chest-beating and machismo. This is definitely an action film, through and through, and packed with enough hardcore, visceral violence to please even the most discerning gorehound (the film doesn’t skimp on the “wolves eating people” visuals and there’s one bit involving half of a guy that’s pretty difficult to watch). Along with action and violence, however, there are some surprisingly deep conversations about the nature of faith and there’s one particularly moving scene where Ottway helps a dying man pass on peacefully. They’re rare moments of beauty and serenity in an otherwise unforgiving, harsh landscape but they make the film an overall richer experience.

Ultimately, I found myself quite taken with The Grey: perhaps future viewings will help push it into the neo-classic status of films like The Descent but, for the time being, it simply stands as an extraordinary, ridiculously exciting adventure film. That being said, the film also features one of the most perfect final scenes I’ve ever seen (ruined only so slightly by an unnecessary post-credits tag), a scene that manages to be simultaneously regal, sad and ruthlessly badass. It’s a scene that stops right before it begins, leaving the viewer’s brain to fill in the gap. It’s a wonderful, powerful, amazingly cinematic moment: it’s what movies are all about (in my non-humble opinion) and any modern film should be proud to feature anything close to it. If the finale doesn’t find you on your feet, fist thrust heroically into the air…well, let’s just say that there may not be any hope for you, after all. The Grey is vicious, vital, bloody filmmaking at its very best: you’d be wise to give it a look sometime.

 

4/14/14: When Charlies Attack

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action-adventure, apocalyptic, auteur theory, Charlie Day, Charlie Hunam, Chuck Hansen, cinema, Cronos, drifting, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, giant monsters, giant robots, giant robots fighting giant monsters, Godzilla, Guillermo del Toro, Hannibal Chau, Hellboy, Idris Elba, Jaeger, Kaiju, King Kong, Max Martini, Movies, Newton Geiszler, ocean combat, Pacific Rim, Ray Harryhausen, Rinko Kikuchi, Rob Kazinsky, Ron Perlman, sci-fi, special-effects extravaganza, Stacker Pentecost

If one wants spectacle in their films, can there be any greater way to achieve it than by having giant things duke it out while the terrified masses of humanity watch helplessly? Since the golden age of cinema, audiences have thrilled to gargantuas like King Kong, Godzilla or any number of Ray Harryhausen’s iconic stop-motion creations. There’s something about watching a gorilla the size of a skyscraper throw elbows at a toothy dinosaur, something that seems to cut beyond notions of story and right into the primal: this is storytelling stripped back to its childhood, sandbox essence. While technology (and patience levels) may have changed since those glory days of guys in suits stomping about miniature cities, the public’s thirst for spectacle seems just as strong as ever. And if there’s one modern director who knows a thing or two about spectacle, it would definitely have to be Guillermo del Toro.

Although he began his career with his most subdued film (1993’s Cronos, which still stands as my favorite del Toro film), del Toro quickly moved into the realm of big-budget spectacle films with Blade II (2002), before clinching his spot in fan-boy history with his all-in adaptation of Mike Mignola’s Hellboy (2004). Hellboy, while filled with endlessly inventive, frequently stunning imagery, was also stuffed to bursting with some of the most interesting characters in parade through a film since the glory days of Star Wars, not least of which was Ron Perlman’s epic performance as the big red guy. Although his next film, Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), would split the difference between the more subtle emotional beats of Cronos and The Devil’s Backbone (2001) with the eye-popping imagery of Hellboy, it was a character-heavy piece that showed del Toro hadn’t lost sight of the human actors on his phantasmagorical stages. A return to Hellboy, in 2008, would yield an even bigger, more epic version of the original film, although there seemed to be slightly more focus on the effects and imagery than on the characterizations.

When I heard that del Toro’s follow-up to Hellboy 2 was going to be an original film about giant robots fighting giant monsters, I’ll admit that I was conflicted. On the one hand, my primal self wants nothing more than to see giants things kick the ever-loving crap out of each other…that’s just a given. On the other hand, I don’t really find myself particularly drawn to mega-budget spectacle films anymore: even something like Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings adaptation grew tiring, for me at least, and I’ve studiously avoided the various tent-pole pics like Battle: L.A, Battleship and Ender’s Game that have cropped up lately. Since del Toro seemed to be moving further from his characters and more into the spectacle of it all, would Pacific Rim end up being a delicious but empty fistful of cotton-candy? As it turned out, the answer was “yes”…but man…that cotton candy…

Pacific Rim jumps right into the thick of things by bringing us up to speed on the state of this particular version of reality: gigantic, Chthonic monsters called Kaiju have been popping out of the office, bent on destroying mankind. As defense, humans create Jaegers, which are basically giant robots that require two pilots, both of whom are psychically linked to each other and their custom-made Voltrons. These lead to giant melees where giant, tentacled monstrosities get pounded into submission by a multinational coalition of Jaegers, including Russian, Australian and American versions. Raleigh (Charlie Hunam) and Yancy Becket (Diego Klattenhoff) are brothers who also happen to be super-close and the best in the Jaeger biz: if you don’t suspect a looming tragedy, you’re probably in the wrong multiplex room. Yancy dies, Raleigh vows never to fight again and the world keeps on spinning.

As usually happens in these situations, however, Raleigh ain’t gonna stay retired for long. He gets called back to the majors by his old commander Stacker Pentecost (Idris Elba, with the best character name in the movie) and ends up partnered with a complete newbie: Mako (Rinko Kikuchi). Mako is untested but you just know that kid’s got potential. Something’s brewing, however, and the Kaiju seem to be up to something. The old methods might not be good enough now, but never fear: it’s always sunny at the Pac Rim, it turns out, because we have Dr. Newton Geiszler (Charlie Day) to help. That’s right: good ol’ batshit Charlie shows up as…well, a pretty batshit scientist, to be honest. He ends up “drifting” with a Kaiju brain and gets the inside scoop on their plan: this is wholesale apocalypse, baby! Time to get some advice from Hannibal Chau (Ron Perlman), suit-up, shit talk the Aussies, admire the Russians’ fashion sense and open a super-sized can of whoop-ass on these bio-luminescent goons. Stacker says it best: “Today, we’re cancelling the apocalypse.”

There’s obviously something inherently silly about any film that features giant monsters and giant robots wrestling: unless the proceedings are being filmed like a dour mumblecore snooze (which would be kinda awesome), you’re still dealing with giant monsters and giant robots wrestling. In and of itself, this isn’t really an issue: as previously mentioned, cinematic history is jam-packed with similar films. The big challenge, then, is to do something inherently different with the subject matter, something to make it stand out from the field of similar fare. On one hand, Pacific Rim was always going to have a leg up on the competition since the film is completely state-of-the art, featuring the finest effects work that money can buy. In that aspect, no prior film of this ilk can even stand next to Pac Rim: the 1954 version of Godzilla may as well have been from 1854. Del Toro has proven, time and again, that he’s particularly adept at shooting this kind of spectacle. He’s always seemed like a fan, first and foremost, and he shoots what similar fans want to see.

On the technical side, Pacific Rim is never short of marvels. The Kaiju are paragons of creature design, nightmarish, bio-luminescent beasts that seem to have been poured straight from H.P. Lovecraft’s fevered skull into our terrified world. They look truly unique, no mean feat in a jaded era where we’ve everything at least twice. As a lifelong horror/sci-fi, I couldn’t get enough of them and was already ready for the next appearance. In particular, a scene where a newborn monster chases Newton is so thrilling, so perfectly staged and executed that it could have been its own self-contained short. The Jaegers are no slouches, either, with the individual machines tailored to the various nations and their designs providing a real sense of heft and reality. Make no mistake about it, however: the entire film belongs to the Kaiju. If all elements of Pacific Rim could be considered del Toro’s children, each one unique and worthy of its own admiration, than the Kaiju are the obvious, over-achieving, doted on favorites…no one else even comes close in Papa’s heart.

This, of course, ends up being a massive problem in the grand scheme of things: Pacific Rim, while being one of the most gorgeous, thrilling action films I’ve seen in some time, also ends up being one of the emptiest. Character development is pretty much non-existent from the get-go. We get so little time with the brothers Becket at the beginning of the film that we just have to take it for granted that they were close, mostly because Raleigh says they were. Nearly everyone else in the film exist as generic types, with particular derision going to the ridiculous father-son Australian Jaeger pilots, Herc (Max Martini) and Chuck Hansen (Rob Kazinsky). Chuck is a ridiculously unlikable character, a sort of spiritual brother to the awful Johnny from Karate Kid: he’s all bluster, bullying, sneering and bad attitude. This really comes to a head in the scene where Herc and Chuck are supposed to share a tender moment: the tone is all over the place and it just comes across as parody. The poor Russians don’t get off much better, mostly reduced to thick “Da”s and outfits that look like they came out of Eddie Izzard’s Mystery Men wardrobe closet. Hunam isn’t terrible as Raleigh but he doesn’t seem to have much personality, which seems strange coming from an actor like Hunam: I don’t think he’s Brando, by any stretch, but the guy definitely seems to have a pulse on Sons of Anarchy…a little more of that fire would have been welcome here.

As can be expected, however, two actors take the football and run it to the next county: Charlie Day and Ron Perlman. I’m an avowed Perlman fanboy who thinks he can’t do anything wrong, is always perfect, yadda yadda yadda but even I have to admit that his performance as Hannibal Chau is something special. Chau is such a complete and total badass, such a funny, vibrant character that I really wish the film was about him fighting Kaiju singlehandedly. Not only does he get the best scenes in the film, he also gets a postscript that manages to one-up the films actual ending. Whether its due to their close working relationship or Perlman’s inherent awesomeness, del Toro always manages to wring great performances from him and Pacific Rim is no different.

Much more surprising, however, was Charlie Day’s turn as Dr. Geiszler. Even though you can see lots of It’s Always Sunny Charlie in the character, Day still manages to make the character his own. At first, I wasn’t ready to buy Day as a scientist any more than I would be to accept Johnny Knoxville as a certified public accountant. He really jumps in fearlessly, however, and makes every single acting choice seem as natural as breathing. Whether he’s doing one of those patented “Charlie freakouts” or bringing some of the quiet storm, Day is always a joy to watch in the film and always seems like he’s having the best day of his life ever. Good for him.

At the end of the day, however, I find myself needing to remind myself of something very important: this is still a film about giant monsters wrestling giant robots. For all of the movie’s subtext about immigration issues (they’re building a wall to keep out the Kaiju, you see, because they’re undesirables), the destructive nature of mankind (Mako’s flashback to the Kaiju attack she survived recalls images of the Hiroshima bombing) and the notion that newer isn’t always better (Raleigh’s Jaeger is analog, making him the perfect hero when a rampaging Kaiju knocks out the electrical grid, disabling the fancier, newer-model Jaegers), the film still comes down to one important element: robots fighting monsters. When the film is amazing, it’s unforgettable (a brief glimpse into the Kaiju’s apocalyptic world is so eye-popping that I hope to hell del Toro gets his At the Mountains of Madness production off the ground) and the whole thing is never less than entertaining. Too often, however, everything gets bogged down in banal dialogue (by the end, I was finishing nearly every line of dialogue, no mean feat on my first viewing of the film) and place-holder dramatics that seem designed merely to get us to the next Kaiju/Jaeger dust-up.

If, however, you are so inclined to watch a mega-budget spectacle about giant robots and giant monsters wrestling, than your first stop needs to be Pacific Rim. This may not be the best action/adventure film ever and certainly is nowhere near del Toro’s best (Hellboy still takes it out with one punch) but I can honestly say that it’s the absolute best film ever made about this particular subject. That is, of course, until del Toro decides to unleash Pacific Rim 2 on the world. As long as there’s plenty of Hannibal and Newton, they’ve already pre-sold at least one ticket.

1/17/14: Big Trouble with Taboo Cheerleaders

Tags

'80s action films, action-adventure, action-comedies, Africa, art films, arthouse film, B-movies, Big Trouble in Little China, But I'm a Cheerleader, cheerleaders, Chinatown, cinema, comedies, conversion therapy, drama, Escape From New York, F.W. Murnau, fantasy, Film auteurs, films, flashbacks, foreign films, gay and lesbian films, high school angst, Jamie Babbit, John Carpenter, John Waters, Kim Cattrall, Kurt Russell, Miguel Gomes, Mink Stole, Movies, Natasha Lyonne, Richard Moll, romance, Rupaul, social commentary, sorcerers, Tabu, They Live

My (seemingly) never-ending quest to catch my blog up with my viewing habits continue. We’re still in the past (last Friday, to be specific) but we’re getting closer all the time. Journey with me now as we get a little goofy, a little arty and a little funny.

Pound for pound, I don’t think that there’s been a more successful writer/director from the glory days of ’70s horror than John Carpenter. He’ll always exist in the minds of horror fans for his iconic Halloween (still one of the best films ever, in my little opinion, horror or not) but the rest of his filmography ain’t too shabby, either: The Thing, Assault on Precinct 13th, Escape From New York, They Live, The Fog and the horribly under-rated In the Mouth of Madness are all classics, any one of which a lesser filmmaker would be proud to stake their careers on. There have also, of course, been a few missteps along the way (Ghosts of Mars is a fascinating failure, a movie so tone-deaf that it almost achieves a kind of transcendence and Vampires and his remake of Village of the Damned are mostly gloss and no filler. Compare this ratio to someone like Tobe Hooper, Wes Craven or Sean Cunningham, however, and it’s pretty clear that Carpenter had the more consistent career.

While Carpenter’s name is synonymous with horror, thanks to the invincible Halloween, his films actually tend more towards pulpy, B-actioners, the kinds of films that feature sarcastic anti-heroes chewing gum and kicking ass. In fact, Assault on Precinct 13, Escape From New York, They Live, Escape From L.A., Vampires and Ghosts of Mars could almost be seen to take place in the same universe, relatively speaking, along with another Carpenter film: Big Trouble in Little China.

Like many people (I’m assuming), I was first drawn to BTILC thanks to the colorful box art. Just take a gander at that smiling, machine-pistol-bedecked Kurt Russell, looming over Chinatown like some kind of jolly ass-kicking giant, all manner of crazy shit going down in the background. That, ladies and gentlemen, was entertainment in the VHS age: hook us with some amazing artwork and see if the movie could keep up. They rarely could but BTILC almost does.

Russell plays a wisecracking (could there be any other kind?) truck-driver who must help his friend rescue his fiancée from the clutches of a wicked Chinatown sorcerer (the always esteemable James Hong). In the process, he’ll fight monsters, gangsters and lightning-wielding sorcerers. He might even get his truck back.

As a film, BTILC doesn’t always work and rarely makes much sense. Exposition (what little there is) is usually delivered in large data dumps that go something like: “Lo Pan? Let me tell you all about who he is, where he comes from and what he wants, in great detail.” The dialogue can be exceedingly clunky, even from Russell, which is kind of surprising. The numerous fight sequences have a tendency to keep piling on silly elements (in one over-the-top scene, a gunfight turns into a karate battle which turns into a fight with lightning-wielding warrior sorcerers that fly through the air like human dragonflies) and sometimes come across as no more than martial arts showcases: please stand there patiently while I demonstrate some moves in close proximity to your face, after which you may feel free to shoot me. Thank you.

But do all of these things make BTILC a bad film? Not in the slightest. This is certainly not a GOOD film, mind you, but it shares a pretty similar aesthetic to They Live, which is a good film. It’s always a pleasure watching Russell ham it up, especially during his golden age in the ’80s. Kim “Sex in the City” Cattrall is absolutely awful but this somehow works to her favor. Hong makes a great villain, even if he does get stuck behind a pound of eye-liner and foot-long fingernails: he even gets a pretty cool transformation scene where his skull glows from the inside-out. There’s a pretty decent shaggy monster-thing that Russell battles and an even decenter floating-eyeball-thingy that reminded me of something from my Dungeons & Dragons days. There’s also lots and lots (and lots) of ’80s lightning effects, which get old pretty quickly but are (briefly) rather charming.

In short, if you’re a fan of the more action-oriented side of Carpenter, Big Trouble in Little China should scratch that itch. It’s no Assault on Precinct 13 but it’s a helluva lot better than Vampire in Brooklyn.

I had originally intended to give Tabu its own separate post, since there’s a whole lot going on in this film. Due to my desire to keep us moving forward, however, I decided to see if we could fit this into the rest of that Friday’s viewings. Would it be possible to get any of this across in a shorter format? Let’s see if I’m up for the challenge.

First off, let’s address the elephant in the room: the title. Yes, that is a reference to F.W. Murnau’s final film, the Pacific-Island adventure Tabu. And yes, there’s actually more of a spiritual connection than just the obvious stylistic/plot connections would suggest. In the most obvious example, Murnau’s Tabu is separated into two chapters: Paradise and Paradise Lost. Miguel Gomes’ Tabu is also separated into two chapters: A Lost Paradise and Paradise. There are other, specific, similarities but I would daresay that the biggest connectors are more spiritual and thematic than anything. Suffice to say that you need not be familiar with the original Tabu, or even F.W. Murnau, for that matter, to enjoy this film.

In a nutshell, Tabu is about several acquaintances/friends and their interactions with each other. Pilar (ostensibly the film’s protagonist and moral center) lives next door to Aurora and her maid/assistant Santa in an apartment complex in Portugal. Aurora is just on the good side of senility, when the film starts, and is a bit of a handful: she routinely accuses poor Santa of witchcraft and sees conspiracies around every corner. She also gambles her money away one night after having a dream about a fortune-telling slot machine: she wakes up from the dream and just has to find out if its real. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

As Aurora’s health begins to decline, she asks Pilar to locate someone for her, a Mr. Ventura. This leads Pilar on a minorly epic journey about the city, as she finally tracks the elusive Mr. Ventura to a nursing home. His appearance in the film prompts a flashback to the past, explaining the lovely but tragic relationship that he shared with a young Aurora while they both lived in Africa. This leads to some of the film’s best moments, as the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography really comes alive on the African plains.

In certain ways, Tabu is the epitome and (perhaps) stereotype of independent art-house cinema. The film is shot in black-and-white, in a style that instantly calls to mind Italian neo-realism or Guy Maddin films. It’s slow and elegiac, although prone to bursts of strange whimsy, similar to a Jeunet film (one nonsensical subplot about a house-guest of Pilar’s that never shows up is a particular head-scratcher). Even the music reminded me of various foreign art films that I watched in college. That being said, there’s a lot of beauty in Tabu (especially in the wonderful, heartbreaking opening, which is almost a micro-short by itself) and I found myself genuinely caring about the characters. I won’t pretend that I understood everything (what the hell was the deal with the absent Polish house-guest?) but I was frequently fascinated and always ready for what might come around the corner.

Besides, how can you not like a black-and-white art film that features a garden-party scene where a rich, crazy old man fires a gun into the air, prompting his normal-looking but batshit crazy son to begin kick-boxing and punching invisible enemies? In any other film, that would be a centerpiece. In Tabu, it’s just another day at the office.

Sometimes, you don’t really appreciate a film when you first see it. This was certainly the case when I first saw But I’m a Cheerleader in the theater. I was (and am) a big Natasha Lyonne fan and was really excited to see what she would do after the previous year’s Slums of Beverly Hills. I remember enjoying But I’m a Cheerleader and laughing quite a bit but, ultimately, I never gave the movie much thought after that point.

Nastasha Lyonne plays Megan, a perfectly normal high school cheerleader who just might be, you know…gay. At least her parents, peers and teachers seem to think so, although poor Megan isn’t quite so sure. In order to “fix her,” Megan is shipped away to a conversion therapy program where she learns that sometimes, you’re just fine the way you are and the rest of the world just needs to learn to deal with it.

After re-watching the film, I find that my original impression still holds: I still enjoyed it and laughed quite a bit. This time around, however, I think I noticed a little more, particularly how sharp and cutting some of the dialogue and ideas are. I also noticed Rupaul, who I absolutely do not remember the first time around. Perhaps it’s because I’ve seen so many episodes of Drag Race but I found myself inordinately excited when he appeared, looking as masculine as possible, as a “pray the gay away” type camp counselor.

Stylistically (and thematically), But I’m a Cheerleader is like a less scuzzy, friendlier version of a John Waters film (or a slightly dirtier version of Pretty Baby, depending on your perspective) and even features Waters’ mainstays Bud Cort and Mink Stole in small roles. The production design is extremely bright and vibrant, tending towards lots of pinks, pastels and primary colors. There might be some notion that this is lazy symbolism but writer/director Jamie Babbit has a little more up her sleeve than that.

Looking at Babbit’s filmography, it becomes pretty apparent that she tends to focus on women, whether it be in her films (But I’m a Cheerleader, The Quiet, Itty Bitty Titty Committee, Breaking the Girls) or her TV work (Alias, Ugly Betty, Gilmour Girls, Gossip Girl, The L Word, United States of Tara, Girls), although it seems that her resume definitely leans more towards the small screen than the big one. Although there are some stereotypes floating around the film (especially once we get to the conversion therapy camp), there’s also a lot of genuine emotion and some nicely made points. By the time we get to the film’s point, that opening up your mind and accepting/loving everyone is the best way to live, it’s pretty hard to argue with it.  Here’s hoping that Babbit finds the time and/or support to bring something else to a theater near you sometime in the near future.

1/8/14: From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

Tags

action-adventure, B-movies, Bounty Killer, dark comedies, De Noorderlingen, Dick Maas, Drifter, evil corporations, foreign films, forests, isolated communities, Mad Max, Mary Death, Netherlands, post-Apocalyptic, Road Warrier, sainthood, saints, Stagecoach, The Northerners, Westerns, white collar criminals

Hello, fellow cinematic wanderers! This installment will cover the films that were watched this Wednesday, including a confounding bit of strangeness from the Netherlands and another fun/dumb action/adventure. Saddle up and let’s ride out.

When I was a wee lad, one of my greatest thrills was going to our local video and browsing the stacks for new material. I usually went by the covers (the more gory and outrageous, the better), the stars (anything with Eastwood, Bronson, etc…) and, occasionally, the title itself. I’ve made some wonderful discoveries this way, films that have become like friends to me over the years.

One of the films that I selected based solely on its title was Amsterdamned. C’mon, now: look at the title…Amsterdamned. How could I pass it up? The film was about a wet-suit bedecked serial killer hiding in the canals of Amsterdam, popping out periodically to slay unknowing tourists and quickly became one of my favorite cop/killer stories. Amsterdamned was directed by the wonderfully named Dick Maas, a director/producer that I’ve been following since I first picked up that video tape in the late ’80s. Maas is something of a Netherlands institution, directing twenty-four films and producing another twenty-six since the mid ’70s. As of late, Maas made a pretty good splash with 2010’s Saint (Sint), probably the best evil Santa Claus ever made (sorry, Rare Exports…).

All of this is a long-winded way of getting us to The Northerners (De Noorderlingen). I’ve had my eye on this little curiosity for a while, so imagine my complete surprise and delight when my old buddy Dick Maas’ name turned up as producer in the opening credits. As soon as I saw that, I knew I was in for one helluva ride.

It’s no hyperbole to say that this was, easily, one of the strangest films I’ve ever seen, much closer to a Guy Maddin flick than anything else. The premise is simple, yet almost nightmarish: in the ‘late ’50s, a fancy new housing development is touted as the wave of the future in Holland. One street in the development is built and filled with houses and businesses, while the rest is touted to be coming in 1960. Two years later, the development has been abandoned, leaving only one populated street midst a desolate wasteland. The residents have, likewise, been abandoned to their own devices and lives…extremely strange lives, as it were.

We’re introduced to each of the various families in turn. The film mostly centers around young Thomas and his parents. His father is the perpetually horny “town” butcher: his only hobby appears to be trying unsuccessfully to have sex with his thoroughly turned-off wife. When the butcher persists, nearly to the point of rape, his wife retreats completely into her worship of St. Francis (complete with living St. Francis statue and bird). She begins to starve herself, inching ever closer to sainthood as the town gathers outside their house to worship at her bedside. Poor Thomas retreats into the safety of national news events, dressing up like Lumumba, the Congolese prime minister he sees every night on TV.

We have the local bully, Fat Willie, who lives with his mother and menaces Thomas from atop a ridiculously small bike. Plagge, the town postman, makes a daily habit of retreating to the tiny forest situated near the town, where he reads and burns most of the mail he’s supposed to deliver. Plagge is best friends with Thomas: he assists him in dressing up like Lumumba by playing the legs, as Thomas sits on his shoulders draped in a huge coat. The postman’s arch-enemy is Anton, the town’s authority figure. Anton serves as the local police/fire department/busybody (and, possibly, mayor), which essentially means that he sticks his nose into everyone’s business constantly, despite being unable to make love to his voracious wife.

Into this hearty stew of neuroses is dropped a pair of travelling missionaries and the African native they’ve brought back as a souvenir of sorts. Feeling a primal connection to Lumumba, Thomas frees the native, setting off a chain of events that will lead to murder, sainthood and several different shades of come-uppance. The film manages to tie all of these loose ends into a perfect bow by the end, no mean feat when faced with so much disparate insanity.

The Notherners is one of those films that you’ll either love or hate. Personally, I loved the hushed, almost funereal atmosphere, which bumped up nicely against some almost Jodorowsky-ian touches (the statue of St. Francis coming to life; a strange forest nymph that may or may not be the previously unseen female nose monkey; the increasingly strange behavior of Anton; Martha’s self-saintification). The film is also full of gorgeous static shots and long takes, making it a true pleasure to look at. There’s some truly funny material here, too, although the humor is decidedly pitch black. The film was written and directed by Alex van Warmerdam, who also played the part of the puckish Plagge.

This is a strange film but one that I found myself thinking about more and more after it was over. In the best possible way, Dick Maas has struck again.

As of late, I appear to be in a bit of a B-movie frenzy. We had Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters the other day and now I bring you Bounty Killer. I’ll admit that what originally drew me to this film was the promised storyline of hunting white-collar criminals in a post-apocalyptic landscape. I like nothing more than seeing corporate America get its just desserts, even if only in a movie, so this became a must-see. Luckily, there’s more than concept holding this one together.

Right off the bat, it should be noted that Bounty Killer is a very, very self-aware film. Very. This can become a problem when trying to craft a quality B-picture, since the best Bs weren’t trying to be cult films: they were just born that way. This self-aware tactic, however, worked wonders for Hobo with a Shotgun and the Grindhouse double-bill and, for the most part, works well here. If anything, the best parts of Bounty Killer (and there are many) remind me of Joss Wheadon’s Firefly: just the right balance of modern sass, sarcasm, old West and Mad Max.

The film is pretty simple: in the future, rich corporations have royally fucked over the U.S., left it to burn in the midst of armed “brand wars” and absconded with all of the money. To combat this, a council of nine arises and charges a group of highly trained killers with the task of finding and bringing these miscreants to justice. These Bounty Killers track down the suit-and-tie misanthropes, delete them from the earth in various blood-drenched ways and receive fat paychecks from the council. They are also the only thing to pass for celebrities or heroes in the burned out world they exist in.

Enter Drifter and Mary Death, two of the best BKs. They end up going on a mission to bring down the Yellow Ties, the leading white collar gang. As can be expected, much blood is spilled, many pithy quips are quipped, loyalties are tested, betrayals are had and the hope of our future rests on their mighty shoulders.

Despite going into this expecting to turn my brain completely off, I found that I only had to cut it to 50% power. Bounty Killer, despite all appearances, is actually a pretty savvy, clever film. In fact, certain sequences like the “stagecoach” composed of a VW bus pulled by a team of motorcycles and the inspired title sequence are absolutely genius, possessing a truly bezerk sense of energy. Other sequences (the obligatory training sequence, almost any scene that Mary Death has to carry by herself) have the unfortunate feel of filler, spinning their wheels until the next big action sequence.

And what sequences they are! Splitting the difference between spaghetti western and post-apocalyptic survival tale (the box art calls this “The Road Warrior meets Kill Bill” and that’s pretty accurate), the fights are truly something to behold, especially the aforementioned stagecoach bit and the absolutely thrilling final battle. The film generally looks pretty good, too, with only a few moments falling prey to overly glossy CG effects.

All in all, this was a really fun film. The acting was suitable, the action was outstanding, the gore was surprising (there were at least three points where I found myself saying “Wow” under my breath) and the sense of humor was strong. Plus, you get a surprise appearance from one of the most genuinely insane actors in Hollywood. I won’t tell you who it is but you might just make lemonade in your pants when you find out.