2/9/15 (Part One): Stay Frosty, My Friends

Tags

Ane Dahl Torp, Army of Darkness, auteur theory, Ørjan Gamst, Bjørn Sundquist, cabins, Charlotte Frogner, Christian Wibe, co-writers, Colonel Herzog, dark comedies, Dead Alive, Dead Snow, Dod Sno, Einsatz, Evy Kasseth Røsten, favorite films, Film auteurs, foreign films, friends, gore films, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, horror franchises, horror movies, horror-comedies, isolation, Jenny Skavlan, Jeppe Beck Laursen, Lasse Valdal, Matthew Weston, Nazi zombies, Nazis, Nightmare City, Norwegian films, Peter Jackson, ski vacation, Stig Frode Henriksen, stolen gold, Tommy Wirkola, Vegar Hoel, writer-director, zombies

There may not be many guarantees in this world but here’s one that you can take straight to the bank: Nazis will always make great cinematic villains. After all, what other group is so synonymous with complete and total evil, so unburdened with any easy notions of humanity or morality? For filmmakers, Nazis are real-world vampires and boogeymen, historical realities where the “black hats” are so intrinsically part of the package that there’s never a need to sugarcoat or offer any sort of counterpoint: after all, what person, in their right mind, is actually going to stick up for these ghouls? Who’s going to raise their hand and protest the traditionally black-and-white presentation of these blood-thirsty bastards? If you think about it, Nazis are just about the best, purest personification of evil we’ve got: pure, undiluted hatred, with no possibility for empathy or sympathy.

While filmmakers learned long ago that Nazis make sure-fire villains, horror filmmakers have managed to one-up this notion of “ultimate evil” by taking it to its logical conclusion: ravenous Nazi zombies. What’s worse than a Nazi, after all, than a flesh-eating Nazi that can’t be killed? From cult classics like Shock Waves (1977) and Zombie Lake (1980) to more recent films like the Outpost series (2008-2013) and Blood Creek (2009), genre filmmakers have been mining this vein for some time, albeit with decidedly mixed results. For the most part, however, these films all have one thing in common: they portray their undead Nazi menaces as terrifying, dead-serious threats.

This tendency towards a more serious tone is completely obliterated by Norwegian writer-director Tommy Wirkola’s massively entertaining Dead Snow (2009), an honest-to-god horror-comedy that manages to make the threat of undead Nazis both suitably terrifying and impossibly funny. Similar to the early splatter-comedies of Peter Jackson,  Wirkola’s outrageous tale about a ski vacation gone very, very wrong is a high-energy romp filled with gory effects, incredibly rude humor and some of the most kickass action setpieces in the game. When the film falls short, it’s a slightly silly, rather predictable variation on traditional zombie films. When Wirkola and company lock into a groove, however (which is most of the time), Dead Snow is absolutely relentless, ridiculously fun and one of the very best horror films of the ’00s.

Dead Snow kicks off with that hoariest of old tropes, the group of friends heading to the country for some rest and relaxation. In this case, the location is the snow-covered Norwegian countryside and the friends are the usual mixed group of character types: we have couple Martin (Vegar Hoel) and Hanna (Charlotte Frogner); wise-cracking horror movie buff Erlend (Jeppe Beck Laursen); Hanna’s cousin, Chris (Jenny Skavlan); outdoorsy Vegard (Lasse Valdal), who’s dating Sara (Ane Dahl Torp), whose family owns the cabin that they’re headed to; Roy (co-writer Stig Frode Henriksen) and Liv (Evy Kasseth Røsten). For the most part, they’re all likable characters, although most are sketched as lightly as one would expect for this type of genre offering: Martin is a doctor-in-training who faints at the sight of blood, Chris is the “hot girl” who falls for the resident nerd, Erlend always has a relevant bit of horror movie trivia for any particular situation, etc…Again, nothing we haven’t seen before, although it’s a refreshing change of pace to have a horror ensemble that’s this likable: only the hardest of hearts would root against this batch of cheerful goofballs.

Since the film’s very first scene depicts Sara fleeing through the woods, pursued by shadowy, malevolent figures in vintage Nazi regalia (to the tune of “Hall of the Mountain King,” which is just about as epic as it sounds), we’re already hip to some strange happenings in these here parts, but we get our official confirmation when a mysterious stranger (Bjørn Sundquist) shows up at the cabin to pour Pernod all of the partying youths’ ice cream. Turns out that the area they’re in has a bit of a bad history: a particularly ruthless Nazi battalion, led by the stone-cold Colonel Herzog (Ørjan Gamst), terrorized the locals there during the waning days of World War II. After the locals turned the tables and massacred the Nazis, Herzog and a group of his men escaped into the snowy mountains, never to be seen again. According to the stranger, the group, known as the Einsatz, still lurks up there, somewhere, waiting for unwitting victims to wreck their ageless vengeance on.

We wouldn’t have a movie if our plucky heroes took good advise, however, so they kick the stranger out and keep partying. When Vegard takes off to look for his tardy girlfriend, however, we get that other reliable horror convention: the splitting of the group. As the various friends go about their business, monstrous figures lurk in the shadows until everything comes to an explosive head (literally) and the group finds themselves under frenzied assault from a mob of zombified Nazis, led by the rotted but impossibly serene undead commandant. When the zombie mayhem kicks in, it never quits, rocketing our group (and us) full-throttle towards their inevitable rendezvous with ultimate evil. Our plucky heroes will need to fight back with everything they have, however: Herzog and his minions are on a mission straight from Hell and woe to anyone who gets in their way.

From beginning to end, Wirkola’s Dead Snow is an absolute blast of pure, undiluted fun. I’ve already mentioned the resemblance to Jackson’s early films, although Dead Snow is anything but a Dead Alive (1992) rip-off, even though both films share similar DNA. If anything, the film often plays like a far more splattery version of Raimi’s goofy Army of Darkness (1992): Army of Darkness even features a Deadite general who bears more than a passing resemblance to Dead Snow’s Herzog. There’s a good-natured tone to the carnage and chaos that completely belies the often show-stopping violence: you wouldn’t think that a scene involving a character rappelling down a mountain-side, using intestines for rope, would be silly and giddy but, in Wirkola’s hands, it most certainly is. Nothing in the film is watered down and no one is safe, lending a bracing sense of unpredictability to the proceedings: any character has the potential to be eviscerated at any moment and the film has a blast playing with these expectations.

Similar to Lenzi’s zombies in Nightmare City (1980), Wirkola’s zombies are fast, ferocious and more prone to stabbing you to death than trying to take a chomp out of your ankle. While I’ve never been the biggest fan of “fast zombies” (or smart zombies, for that matter), the ones in Dead Snow work brilliantly. In many ways, the film is extremely action-oriented, even for a zombie siege film: similar to how Dario Argento filled his films with “murder setpieces,” Wirkola’s is filled with white-knuckle fights against the resurrected Nazis. While there are a few instances of more measured, atmospheric horror (such as the excellent scene where Chris is stalked in the outhouse), most of the film involves the zombies chasing down and butchering their prey right out in the open, as the poor humans put up whatever resistance they can muster.

And muster resistance, they do: if you don’t find yourself jumping from your seat on a regular basis, fist raised to the sky, as Martin and the others kick zombie ass…well, I feel kinda sorry for you. Whether it’s the awesome bit where Vegard attaches a machine gun to his snow-mobile or the truly epic battle between Martin, Roy and about a million dead Nazis, Dead Snow is one great set-piece after another. When the film really gets going, it rarely stops, inching on the brakes only to highlight some of the film’s more overtly humorous aspects.

The humor, of course, is the other thing: while many horror-comedies completely botch the chills-to-giggles ratio, Wirkola and co-writer Henriksen prove as apt with the funny stuff as the runny stuff. While much of the humor revolves around gross-out gags and decidedly immature, politically incorrect observations about the world at large, there’s an underlying element of razor-sharp, insightful, pitch-black satire that serves as a sturdy foundation. One of my favorite scenes here (or in any movie, to be honest), involves the classic bit where Martin must deal with getting bit: after successfully going through all the usual motions, via a quick-cut montage, he stands victorious, only to immediately get bit by another zombie. It’s a brilliant gag that works on many levels (Dead Snow has lots of fun playing with standard zombie flick clichés) but is completely sold by Hoel’s all-in performance as Martin: his frustrated howl makes me spit-take every time I watch the film.

While the film is extremely well-made (the cinematography is quite attractive and the excellent score, courtesy of Christian Wibe, really heightens the action), it’s the incredibly game, likable cast that really puts this over the top. To a tee, none of the characters are unduly obnoxious (although Martin has a few quirks, like almost suffocating his girlfriend while messing around, that are admittedly worrisome) and we come to genuinely care for all of them. We spend the most time with Martin, our defacto protagonist, but they’re all a hoot, really. I’m particularly fond of Valdal’s “Spicoli by way of the great outdoors” take on Vegard: he cuts a helluva heroic swath through the evil Einsatz and never even looks like he breaks a sweat, which is a pretty sweet trick.

Ultimately, Dead Snow is just about as good as it gets for this kind of film. Genuinely funny, gory enough to impressive the hounds, full of likable, memorable characters and possessed of some seriously badass villains, everything about Wirkola’s sophomore film (his debut was a Norwegian “re-imagining” of Kill Bill (2003), believe it or not) is top-notch entertainment. While some critics bemoaned Wirkola’s followup, the tongue-in-cheek Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013), I found that film to be equally delightful, establishing the writer-director as a budding auteur along the lines of Peter Jackson or Frank Hennenlotter. Wirkola would go on to turn Dead Snow into a franchise with the equally excellent, English-language Dead Snow 2: Red vs Dead (2014), proving that he’s no flash-in-the-pan. Suffice to say, no one rides the solid line between horror and comedy quite like Wirkola does: as long as he’s driving, I’ll be more than happy to ride shotgun.

12/9/14: Truth in Advertising

Tags

Army of Darkness, Brett Gipson, Brian Posehn, Chillerama, cinema, co-writers, Danny Pudi, demons, Dungeons & Dragons, evil books, fantasy vs reality, film reviews, films, horror-comedies, horror-fantasy, Jimmi Simpson, Joe Lynch, Kevin Dreyfuss, Knights of Badassdom, LARPers, live-action role playing, long-delayed films, male friendships, Margarita Levieva, Matt Wall, Movies, Peter Dinklage, practical effects, role-playing games, Ryan Kwanten, Sam Raimi, special-effects extravaganza, Steve Zahn, succubus, Summer Glau, summoning demons

Ever since audiences were greeted with the blatant lies that were Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984) and Leonard Part 6 (1987), we can all be forgiven if we take movie titles with a grain of salt. After all, filmmakers will try literally anything to get butts into seats: hell, Chariots of Fire (1981) didn’t feature one flaming horse-drawn vehicle, let alone multiple ones! The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965)? Sound like a lot of bragging to me. Troll 2 (1990)? Trust me: the connection to the original extravaganza is, shall we say, tenuous at best. By this point, our eyes should be much more open: fool me twice and all that jazz.

For this very reason, Joe Lynch’s Knights of Badassdom (2013) should send up immediate signal flares: after all, the guy’s got the temerity to call his OWN characters “badass”…shouldn’t that be our job? I don’t know about you but I rather resent being force-fed someone else’s definition of “badass.” You see, I have pretty damn high standards as far as “badassdom” goes, standards which poor Joe can’t possibly hope to match. Should I be required to lower my own standards of what does and does not constitute “badassness” simply to satisfy his own misguided vision of his own creations?

Have no fear, fellow travelers: I’m here to tell you that, for once, there’s quite a bit of truth in this here advertising. While we may quibble over the degree, it’s more than fair to say that Lynch’s Knights of Badassdom is, indeed, quite badass. In some ways, he’s turned in the Army of Darkness (1992) sequel that folks have been clamoring about for the past couple decades: merging ridiculously over-the-top fantasy elements, deliciously snarky dialogue and some genuinely surprising gore effects, Knights of Badassdom is a real treat for those genre fans who like their fare loud, goofy and…well…badass.

After a nifty opening sequence that establishes a pretty cool mythos for a cursed medieval hymnal, we’re jumped into what appears to be a Satanic ceremony before finding out the fell truth: these folks be not of the olden times but, rather, are slightly more modern creations: LARPers. For those not in the know, LARPers (Live-action Role Players) are folks who take a look at tabletop gaming like Dungeons & Dragons and think, “This would be so much cooler if it were real.” To that end, LARPers dress in costume and assume the role of various characters (similar to role-playing games) in order to conduct large-scale “battles” and campaigns during the weekend: think of it as Lord of the Rings fans conducting Civil War reenactments and you’re in the right ballpark. While I’ve never actually LARPed, I’ve known a fair amount of folks who have and I can steadfastly vouch for the fact that the pastime is more than ripe for a little gentle satirization. Displaying not only a deft touch with skewering fantasy and LARP clichés but also a genuine fondness for his characters, Lynch turns what could have been a case of “Look at those dumb nerds” into something more traditionally heroic.

In short order, we’re introduced to our three main characters. The defacto protagonist, Joe (Ryan Kwanten), works in a garage, fronts a doom-metal band and has just written a rather intense “love song” for his girlfriend, Beth (Margarita Levieva), who promptly dumps him for being too “aimless.” Joe best friend, Eric (Steve Zahn), is a LARP obsessed millionaire who lives in a fake castle with the third member of their group, Hung (Peter Dinklage), another philosophy-spouting, perma-stoned LARPer.

Under the guise of helping Joe get over his fresh breakup, Eric and Hung get the poor fellow so drunk and high that he passes out, only to wake up somewhere in the woods, in full battle regalia: that’s right, in the spirit of best friends everywhere, Eric and Hung just shanghaied their friend and intend to force him to participate in their hobby as a way of taking his mind off his problems. Never mind the fact that Joe not only doesn’t participate in LARPing but actively mocks it and you have a sure-fire recipe for success, right?

Once there, we meet more of the rogues’ gallery including Ronnie (Jimmie Simpson), the batshit game master; Gwen (Summer Glau), the gorgeous warrior who kicks ass and takes names, her borderline autistic cousin Gunther (Brett Gipson), who’s so far into the game that he doesn’t seem to realize they’re actually playing a game and Lando (Community’s Danny Pudi, in a great role). If you guessed that Joe would end up falling for Gwen, you’ve either seen your fair share of these kinds of films or are mildly psychic. If you further guessed that Ronnie would be holding a grudge against Joe for some long-past slight (in this, giving his character “magic syphilis” during a heated Dungeons & Dragons session) and plans to get his revenge during the game, you’re really starting to scare me, man!

In order to appease the tyrannical Ronnie, Eric, Joe and Hung must perform a “resurrection” ceremony for Joe’s character, a ceremony which Eric opts to undertake using a non-regulation spellbook that he managed to get his hands on. As luck would have it, the spellbook is actually the very same cursed text from the opening (fancy that!) and Eric’s innocent “mumbo-jumbo” actually has a pretty dire outcome: he inadvertently calls forth a demonic succubus, a creature which assumes the face of Joe’s ex- as some sort of cruel cosmic joke. At first, no one is the wiser, as the succubus quickly and quietly works her way through the LARPers, ripping off a jaw here, yanking out a heart there. When tragedy strikes close to home and the truth of the situation is revealed, however, our intrepid crew have no choice but to spring into action and save their fellow role-players (and the world, presumably). As they’ll all come to find out, however, it’s one thing to wear armor and swing a plastic sword on the weekends but a whole other ball of wax to actually square off against ancient, all-powerful evil. Lucky for them, Eric always has a few real swords hanging around and it looks like it’s finally time for him to get…medieval.

Full disclosure: I really dug this film and, in time, might even come to love it. There’s such a gonzo, hyper sense of energy and fun to the proceedings that it’s impossible not to become sucked up in the silly spectacle of it all. Similar to Sam Raimi’s classic Evil Dead films, Lynch manages to come up with a perfect mixture of fantasy, humor and horror, with no one element really dominating the others, although the overall tone is almost always light and goofy. That being said, there are some genuinely strong horror moments here and some extremely well-done practical effects (the finale involving the monstrous demon and a mechanical dragon is a real showstopper) that definitely reminded me of the aforementioned Army of Darkness, right down to the mysteriously alive, sinister book at the heart of everything.

Perhaps the most critical element in a film like this (aside from a good script) is the cast and Knights of Badassdom manages to knock this one out of the park. While Zahn and Dinklage will probably be the most well-known names here, they’re ably matched by the rest of the cast. Kwanten is a great reluctant hero and his transition into armored asskicker by the film’s final reel is unbelievably satisfying. Glau, perhaps best known as River in Joss Whedon’s cult-classic Firefly series, makes the most out of a role that could’ve been more about the “male gaze” than character development: she never seems overly sexualized, however, and is never presented as a shrinking violet or “damsel in distress,” which is incredibly refreshing. Serving as glowering, silent counterpart to Glau’s sarcastic Gwen, Brett Gipson is pretty great as Gunther, who may or may not actually be a barbarian: he gets so many fist-raising moments in the film’s final 30 minutes that he nearly threatens to steal the show from the main characters.

Without a doubt, however, special recognition must be given to the amazing Jimmi Simpson, who makes Ronnie such a completely unforgettable character. Simpson, a remarkably gifted comic actor, has such a perfect sense of timing and delivery that virtually everything he says managed to provoke a laugh from me. Ronnie is the kind of character who could easily have become insufferable: he’s a complete jackass, an ineffectual moron who’s so myopic as to make Michael Scott seem like a major tactician. Despite this, however, Simpson is just so damn good that I found myself rooting for him despite of his caustic personality. As someone who’s head-over-heels for It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, I’ve always felt that Simpson’s portrayal of the astoundingly weird Liam McPoyle must stand as one of the best comic creations of the past 40 years: his performance as Ronnie isn’t quite as legendary but it’s not bringing up the rear by much, either.

In any other situation, a film like Knights of Badassdom would have me worshipping at the feet of the filmmakers but this is, unfortunately, the one area where I feel a little qualified in my support. While Knights of Badassdom is only Lynch’s second film, it was technically his debut: started in 2010 and only completely wrapped-up last year, KOB would definitely seem to indicate even greater things on the horizon. The immediate follow-up, however, Chillerama (2011), easily stands as one of the single worst films I’ve seen in my entire life, hands down. An anthology film, Chillerama features a collection of worthless shorts by filmmakers that should definitely know better (Adam Green, in particular): Lynch’s short, even when compared to the others, is really awful. Truth be told, if Lynch hadn’t been behind Knights of Badassdom, I would have completely written him off after seeing Chillerama (which I saw before screening Knights). As it stands, I really have no idea where he’s going from here: his next feature could either be an unmitigated classic or the equivalent of cinematic coal in the stocking…only time will tell.

At the end of the day, however, the only thing that really matters is what’s currently in front of us: Knights of Badassdom. On this regard, I was completely blown away. Basically, Lynch’s film is the epitome of crowd-pleasing. This is the kind of movie where the LARPer teams have names like “The Norse Whisperer” and “The Department of Gnomeland Security,” where the final showdown involves fighting a demon with the power of metal (the musical style, not the material) and various locations are named after icons of nerd-culture (my favorite being The Temple of Syrinx, which actually made me do a spit-take). It’s a film that starts out good and becomes gradually better until it’s final 30 minutes are just about as good as it gets, period. It’s the kind of film where characters look into the distance, utter pithy quips and remind us of why we go to the movies in the first place. Knights of Badassdom is the kind of film where you get a line like, “You speak Enochian but can’t drive a truck?!” one minute and “I’m going to stop saving your life if you don’t show me some fucking respect!” the next. It’s a complete blast and, quite possibly, some of the most fun I’ve had watching a film in ages. Joe Lynch’s Knights of Badassdom is, for lack of a better word, thoroughly “badass.” In the immortal words of that other wise-crackin’ badass: “Come get some.”