12/9/14: Truth in Advertising

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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.”

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10/18/14 (Part Two): From Hell They Came

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31 Days of Halloween, Bill Moseley, Bonnie and Clyde, Brian Posehn, cinema, Dallas Page, Danny Trejo, Dave Sheridan, dysfunctional family, Elizabeth Daily, film reviews, films, Free Bird, Geoffrey Lewis, gritty, horror films, horror movies, House of 1000 Corpses, Kate Norby, Ken Foree, Leslie Easterbrook, Lew Temple, Mary Woronov, Matthew McGrory, Michael Berryman, Movies, Natural Born Killers, P.J. Soles, Priscilla Barnes, rape, road movie, Rob Zombie, Robert Trebor, sequel, set in the 1970s, sexual violence, Sheri Moon Zombie, Sid Haig, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, The Devil's Rejects, the Firefly family, the Unholy Two, Tom Towles, torture, William Forsythe, writer-director

What does it actually mean to “like” a film? On the basest level, of course, it’s a pretty self-explanatory sentiment: if you “like” something, that means you derived some measure of pleasure from it, either on an aesthetic level (“My, what a pretty film!”) or a more primal one (“What a badass movie!”). Maybe it got to you on an intellectual level (“Now THAT was a smart film!”) or because it was completely successful at its goal (“That was the funniest comedy I’ve seen in years!”). For most of us, liking a film comes with the implicit notion that we’d be more than happy to revisit the film at a moment’s notice: maybe we don’t want to see it four times in the same day (or even the same month) but we certainly shouldn’t balk at wanting to rewatch it at some point in time.

There’s a parallel to “liking” a film, however, sort of a shadowy doppelgänger that stands just outside our field of vision, creeping into our comfort zone inch by relentless inch until it’s managed to assume the pole position: “respecting” a film. From my perspective, “liking” and “respecting” films are two very different things: I might “respect” what Pier Palo Pasolini was trying to do with Salo (1975) but saying that I “like” the film would certainly put me in the same great company as Ted Bundy and Ed Gein. Ditto Deodato’s unforgettable Cannibal Holocaust (1980): I “respect” the ever-loving shit out of what Deodato accomplished but “like” it? Not on your life, buddy.

This notion of “respecting” versus “liking” a film brings us round to our current subject, The Devil’s Rejects (2005), Rob Zombie’s sequel to his feature debut, House of 1000 Corpses (2003). When House of 1000 Corpses first came out, I was a huge fan, a sentiment which only recently waned once I’d had a chance to critically examine the film after not seeing it for several years: this time around, I found the movie to be visually interesting, if a little trite and too-indebted to Hooper’s original pair of Chainsaw Massacres. The Devil’s Rejects, however, was always a different story: more realistic, visceral and, ultimately, disturbing than Zombie’s cotton-candy-colored original, The Devil’s Rejects never really sat right with me after my first theatrical viewing. I found myself reacting to it in some pretty definitive ways, don’t get me wrong, but it was always a little hard to figure out whether I actually, you know…”liked” the film. After re-screening the film recently, it’s become a lot easier to categorize my feelings: I still don’t “like” Zombie’s sophomore film but I’ve gotta respect it, nonetheless, as being a pretty streamlined statement of purpose, an adrenalized, if ultimately unpleasant, examination of how the love of one’s family can produce some pretty terrible outcomes.

Beginning several months after the events of the first film, The Devil’s Rejects kicks off with a massive police assault on the Firefly’s homestead that makes the Waco raid look like duck-duck-goose. Sheriff John Wydell (William Forsythe), brother of the first film’s slain George Wydell (Tom Towles), has come down on the Fireflys with as much righteous fury as an army of angels with flaming swords: in the ensuing chaos, Otis (Bill Moseley) and Baby (Sheri Moon Zombie) manage to shot their way out, while Mama Firefly (Leslie Easterbrook, taking over for the first film’s Karen Black) is captured by Wydell and his lawmen. Meeting up with Captain Spaulding (Sid Haig), who’s revealed to be Baby’s biological father, the trio decide to hit the open road and head for the (supposed) safety of the Old West-themed whorehouse/town run by Spaulding’s larcenous brother, Charlie Altamont (Ken Foree).

Sheriff Wydell, however, isn’t quite your average lawman. Rather, he’s a bloodthirsty sociopath who resembles the Fireflys in deeds, if not necessarily philosophy. He’s determined to capture the Fireflys, not because he wants to bring them to justice for all of their crimes but because he wants to personally torture them to death for killing his brother. As Wydell gets closer to Otis, Baby and the others, whatever humanity he once had continues to slip away like water through a sieve. In time, it will be all but impossible to tell the two sides apart and woe to any poor, unsuspecting “civilian” who happens to come between them.

From the jump, The Devil’s Rejects is a noticeably grittier, grimmier affair, both in look and content. Whereas House of 1000 Corpses operated along the lines of a particularly demented fever dream (or, quite possibly, a feature-length metal video), The Devil’s Rejects is much more reality-based: there’s nary a Dr. Satan, zombie or fish-boy to be found in the entire film. The more supernatural-based horror of the first film has been entirely replaced by physical assaults which tend to emphasis sexual violence and rape, elements which were certainly hinted at in the first film but rarely executed with as much zeal as found here. In particular, the scene where Otis and Baby torment the family of traveling musicians at an isolated motel is just about as unpleasant and revolting as similar scenes found in films like Death Wish (1974) or I Spit On Your Grave (1978), albeit markedly less explicit (visually, at least).

For the most part, Zombie’s modus operandi here seems to be fashioning his own version of Oliver Stone’s polarizing Natural Born Killers (1994), the ’90s-era phenomena that sought to make serial killers sexy, fashionable and chic. To that end, we get lots (and lots and lots) of scenes and shots that seek to mythologize the Fireflys to nearly ridiculous proportions, not the least of which is the entire opening sequence. After fashioning makeshift armor, Otis and Baby emerge from their home, guns blazing, to the tune of the Allman Brothers’ classic outside anthem “Midnight Rider.” Via a series of shuddering freeze frames, the Fireflys make quite the dramatic escape, hitting the road like a brother/sister version of Bonnie and Clyde. The problem, of course, only comes in once you really think about the difference between the Fireflys (and Micky and Mallory, for that matter) and Bonnie and Clyde. Bonnie and Clyde were a pair of folk-hero bank robbers who captured the imagination of the era thanks to their propensity for telling the “man” to shove it up his backdoor. The Fireflys, by contrast, are nearly subhuman monsters who kidnap, torture, mutilate and murder scads of innocent victims. While it’s certainly possible to associate oneself with the meaning behind Bonnie and Clyde’s actions, if not necessarily the actions, themselves, how, then, does one go about associating with the Fireflys? Is the family supposed to appeal to the (hopefully) minuscule audience of spree killers in the world who fancy carving things into cheerleaders? People who enjoy wearing others’ faces like masks?

To stack the deck even further, Zombie turns the character of Sheriff Wydell into such a rampaging sociopath that it becomes even murkier as to who we’re supposed to throw our support behind. Sure, the Fireflys like to rape and murder but they’re the bad guys: when Wydell gets down with a little good, ol’ fashioned nail-gun torture, he’s supposed to be wearing the white hat. A case can, of course, be made that Wydell’s retribution is only fitting, considering how horrible the Fireflys are: how, then, are we to react when Zombie takes every opportunity to frame the Fireflys as romantic heroes? I mean, fer Pete’s sake, they get riddled full of more holes than Sonny Corleone at the film’s climax, in slo-mo, to the tune of Skynyrd’s “Freebird”…if that doesn’t say “romantic hero,” I don’t know what does.

And here, of course, is where the other shoe thuds to the floor: despite my intense misgivings over the actual content/message of The Devil’s Rejects, the film is head and shoulders over Zombie’s debut in almost every way. For one thing, it looks great: grainy, gritty and sun-bleached like an old grindhouse curio. The cast is impeccable, although Forsythe consumes so much scenery that he becomes a veritable black hole by the conclusion: along with the ever-reliable Moseley and Haig (the best we can say about Sheri Zombie is that she’s much less shrill here than in House of 1000 Corpses), we also get great performances from genre vets like Ken Foree (Romero’s Dawn of the Dead), Geoffrey Lewis, Michael Berryman (The Hills Have Eyes 1 and 2), P.J. Soles (Carpenter’s Halloween)  and Mary Woronov.

The late-’70s period-setting of The Devil’s Rejects is actually much stronger than in the original film: this looks like the ’70s, through and through. The soundtrack is also much more effective, consisting exclusively of ’70s-era soft-rock classic, unlike the metal tunes which cropped up in House of 1000 Corpses. At times, the film has a brittle, desolate feel that manages to seem completely authentic, unlike the everything-and-the-kitchen-sink approach of the debut. Oftentimes, the film feels more akin to a particularly mean-spirited spaghetti Western than to a horror film, although there’s always another graphic murder waiting just around the corner.

Ultimately, all of this adds up to a film that I end up “respecting” more than actually “liking.” Truth be told, there’s not much about The Devil’s Rejects that actually gives me pleasure, although I will admit some sick kicks every time Brian Posehn’s Jimmy gets his head shot off (nothing against Posehn, mind you, but it’s a pretty bravura moment, nonetheless). That being said, I’d be completely remiss if I didn’t point how well-made the film is: despite its unpleasant subject matter, this is absolutely one lean, mean, sonofabitch. As a fan of film craft, I can’t deny the power of Zombie’s images or the measurable improvement from his first to second film. That being said, I also can’t get behind the wholesale mythologizing of a pretty reprehensible group of people, which also ended up being my big complaint about Stone’s film. In the end, The Devil’s Rejects is proof of the old adage that “here’s something you’re really gonna love, if this is the kind of thing you like.” I didn’t like it but I respected it and that’s gotta count for something.