8/31/14 (Part One): Ubu Don’t Sit

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'80s films, Alligator, bad dogs, based on a book, bats, Billy Jacoby, Cat's Eye, Christopher Stone, cinema, Cujo, Daniel Hugh-Kelly, Danny Pintauro, Dee Wallace, domestic vs feral, Ed Lauter, film reviews, films, horror films, infidelity, Jan de Bont, Jewel of the Nile, Kaiulani Lee, killer pets, Lewis Teague, Mills Watson, Movies, Rabies, St. Bernard, Stephen King, Who's the Boss?

For many of us (I hesitate to say “most of us,” since I would hate to put words in your mouth), our pets aren’t just animals that get to hang around in the house, eat food and act like idiots when the vacuum is on: they’re part of our families, to a greater or lesser extent, and many of us become quite attached to them. As with anything that we hold dear to our hearts (love, freedom, alien invasions and super heroes), pets make great fodder for popular entertainment. In most cases, this is a case of tugging at the heart-strings: after all, what childhood could possibly be complete without at least one tearful viewing of Old Yeller (1957), The Incredible Journey (1968) or The Neverending Story (1984)?

If we hate to see our beloved pets die, however, we’re also not particularly fond of seeing them turn into merciless killers. While there are plenty of “killer animal” movies out there (the list is way too long to bother with here but suffice to say that I can guarantee that at least 90% of the film-watching public have seen at least one killer animal flick, even if it was only Jaws (1975) or Anaconda (1997)), the number of “killer pet” films is decidedly smaller, possibly in the single digits. To be honest, only two of them come readily to mind: George Romero’s Monkey Shines (1988) and Lewis Teague’s Cujo (1983). While Romero’s film has its charms, Teague’s adaptation of the Stephen King bestseller is the Citizen Kane (1941) of wacko pet flicks, if you will, and still manages to hold up fairly well some 30 years after its initial theatrical release.

There are two questions one must ask regarding any movie adaptation of a Stephen King story: how closely does the film follow the book and is it actually any good? Since King adaptations are notoriously hit-or-miss, almost to the point of urban legend, the second question ends up being particularly valid. In both regards, Teague’s adaptation scores fairly high marks: Cujo is a pretty close translation of the book and is, for at least half its running time, a tense, genuinely frightening film. In a decade exemplified by its excesses, Teague’s “less is more” approach ends up suiting the story remarkably well.

Plot-wise, Cujo is a marvel of simplicity. Our protagonist is Donna Trenton (Dee Wallace), married to ad exec Vic (Daniel Hugh Kelly) and raising a precocious son, Tad (Danny Pintauro, better known as Tony Danza’s young charge on Who’s the Boss?). Donna is also having an affair with Steve (Christopher Stone), a local carpenter who makes stuff for the family and plays tennis with Vic, in between schtupping his missus. Donna ends up breaking off the affair at roughly the same time that Vic realizes something is going on, making her revelation a bit of a wash. Vic needs to take a business trip to shore up a failing account, leaving Donna and Tad back at home with their increasingly broken-down car.

When the car seems ready to give up the ghost, Donna and Tad take it to local hardass/amateur mechanic Joe Camber (Ed Lauter, playing one of his patented shithead characters). Joe’s a real jerk who recreational past times appear to be berating his wife, Charity (Kaiulani Lee) and son, Brett (Billy Jacoby), getting soused with his equally sleazy buddy, Gary (Mills Watson) and bullying his customers. He’s also got an isolated farmhouse, which makes the perfect locale for a horror film. And, of course, his son’s got a big, friendly St. Bernard named Cujo.

As we see from the opening moments of the film, Cujo is the typical happy-go-lucky pooch, chasing rabbits through sun-dappled fields of flowers and living the life o’ Reilly. Dark skies appear, as it were, when Cujo chases the rabbit into a hole in the ground, which is revealed to be the opening to a pretty creepy, bat-filled cave. One of the bats chomps down on poor Cujo’s nose, leaving a nasty bite mark. The bat, of course, has rabies: our lovably gentle giant is now a ticking time-bomb.

By the time Donna and Tad’s junker gives up the ghost in Joe Camber’s dusty front yard, Cujo’s reign of terror has already been in full-swing, as we witness him (literally) tear Joe and Gary to shreds. When Cujo jumps at Tad’s car-door, in a heart-stopping scene that must stand as one of the greatest “monster” reveals in cinematic history, Donna quickly locks them in the vehicle. At this point, the film, essentially, becomes “Jaws with paws,” as the terrifying Cujo traps Donna and Tad in the car, cut-off from friends, Vic and the outside world. As Donna must desperately try to keep the car from falling apart against the increasingly violent attacks by the rabid dog, Vic tries to call his family but gets no answer and decides to hurry home. As time ticks down, Donna is locked in a desperate life-or-death struggle against a ferocious beast that used to be a dewy-eyed, beloved family pet. Will she succeed in keeping her family together or will she end up graphically proving Jack Handey’s old adage: nothing tears apart a family like wild dogs.

As director of the classic “killer animal” flick, Alligator (1980), Lewis Teague certainly knows a thing or two about this type of film and Cujo’s second-half is absolutely thrilling: claustrophobic, vicious, bloody and merciless, the film’s final 45 minutes are solid-gold horror and just about as good as it gets. There’s a heartbreaking dichotomy between Cujo’s initially gentle demeanor and his increasingly erratic, violent actions. Once the fluffy dog’s face is smeared in blood from his kills, this schism becomes even more extreme: it’s no hyperbole to say that Teague’s version of Cujo’s titular “monster” is every bit as scary as a handful of Jasons, Freddys or Predators. There’s nothing goofy about Donna’s mano-a-mano combat with Cujo: the film constantly feels high-stakes and we never get the impression that she’s swatting a fly with a Buick, as it were.

The biggest problem with the film ends up being the largely uninvolving first half, in particular the tedious infidelity angle. Unlike the similar storyline in the novel, this particular story arc is never fully developed and feels like something tacked on to pad the running time. I wholeheartedly appreciate and endorse the character building moments, especially with Cujo and the Cambers and have no problem with the film taking its time to stretch into the horror elements. As previously mentioned, the affair subplot makes more sense and bears more emotional fruit on the page than on the screen: perhaps it was one more bit of “real” emotion that Teague couldn’t be bothered with but I found myself checking my watch more than once during this time. Once we get to Donna and Tad in that broken-down car, however, the film really comes to life and becomes a pretty much non-stop thrill ride all the way up to the closing credits.

Dee Wallace gives an assured, emotional performance as Donna and acquits herself quite handily as a badass, when need-be. One of my favorite beats here involves the bit where Donna snaps back at Tad after he repeatedly whines about his father coming back: it’s an intensely real moment that feels both painful and completely honest. For his part, Pintauro walks a good balance with Tad: the character could have come across as obnoxious, especially in such a confined space but is rarely eye-rolling. The rest of the cast is decent, with Lauter and Watson having a blast as the loutish friends but Daniel Hugh Kelly is largely a non-entity in the role of Donna’s largely absentee husband. The character ends up being a bit thin, on paper, and Kelly does nothing whatsoever to add substance to the role.

For the most part, Cujo works quite well, especially for a King adaptation. The editing in the dog attack scenes is pitch-perfect (modern action films could learn a thing or two from this film’s sense of space and blocking) and the cinematography, in general, is quite nice. Astute viewers might recognize DP Jan de Bont as the camera-man behind such iconic films as The Jewel of the Nile (1985), Die Hard (1988) and The Hunt For Red October (1990), although he might be better known as the director of such box-office grand-slams as Speed (1994) and Twister (1996).

Despite a few handicaps (the aforementioned first half and a little too much reliance on slo-mo and overly sentimental schmaltz), Cujo ends up being a pretty ferocious, mean little film. Dog lovers may find this to be rather tough going, although certainly no more so than anyone who harbors an innate fear of dogs. As someone who’s always loved cats and been a little apprehensive about “man’s best friend,” there was plenty about Cujo that made my blood run cold. If you’re keeping score at home, put a checkmark in the “Successful King Adaptation” column and wait for the inevitable remake.

6/23/14: Ol’ Hitch Would Be Proud

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Alex Winter, Alfred Hitchcock, Allen Leech, Best of 2013, cinema, classical music, Damien Chazelle, Dee Wallace, Don McManus, Elijah Wood, Eugenio Mira, favorite films, Film, film festival favorite, film reviews, Grand Piano, Hitchcock films, John Cusack, Kerry Bishe, Movies, mystery, pianist, piano, sniper, split-screen, suspense, Tamsin Egerton, thriller, Timecrimes, Tom Selznick

Whenever I think about suspense films, there’s always one name that’s on the tip of my brain: Alfred Hitchcock. It should go without saying that Hitchcock was one of the greatest directors to ever walk this planet, a master craftsman who was probably only equalled by fellow artisans like Stanley Kubrick, Akira Kurosawa and Ingmar Bergman. For my money, however, ol’ Hitch is also the greatest director of suspense films, hands down. Hitchcock films are perfectly wound, intricate clockwork puzzles, designed for maximum audience reaction and as close to perfect examples of sustained/released tension as I think it’s possible to create. His method of operation is best described by his famous example of the difference between “surprise” and suspense.” To paraphrase: if two people are sitting at a cafe table and suddenly blow up, that’s surprise…if the audience sees that there’s a bomb underneath the table but the characters don’t, however, that’s suspense. In one instance, you get the momentary shock of surprise, which is a fleeting rush. On the other hand, however, you can continue to build tension, dragging out the scene until the audience is practically screaming at the screen: this is a longer process and requires more patience but the payoff, ultimately, is that much greater. Hitchcock was practically peerless in letting audiences stew in their own juices.

Hitchcock, obviously, was a pretty one-of-a-kind filmmaker, a true auteur. Despite this indisputable fact, however, why would I begin a review of Eugenio Mira’s extraordinary new film, Grand Piano (2013), with a bunch of praise for an unrelated filmmaker who died when Mira was all of three years old? Regardless of how extraordinary I find Hitchcock to be, how much could he actually have to do with Mira’s film? Let’s put it this way: Hitchcock may not have had anything to do with Grand Piano but his fingerprints, style and sense of humor are all over the film. In many ways, Grand Piano is one of the very best films that ol’ Hitch never made, a meticulously crafted, unbelievably tense and remarkably plotted work of art that showcases a pair of actors at the top of their craft and gives audiences one completely unforgettable thrill ride. I’d heard good things about the film before going in but this was one situation where the hype should have been a whole lot louder.

Master pianist Tom Selznick (Elijah Wood) has come out of a five-year retirement in order to perform for a packed audience that includes his adoring, extremely famous actress spouse, Emma (Kerry Bishe). Tom quit the business after screwing up a complicated piece, humiliated by his public miscue. He’s here tonight, however, and playing his dead mentor’s priceless grand piano: the smell of redemption is in the air and Tom is feeling pretty great. As he turns the page on his sheet music, however, he comes across an ominous declaration, written in red across the page: “Play one wrong note and you die.” Subsequent notes lead him to understand that a mysterious sniper has both Tom and his wife in his sights and won’t hesitate to shoot them if Tom makes any mistakes. After being directed to grab an earpiece from his dressing room, Tom is finally in vocal contact with the mysterious man (John Cusack). The rules are simple: make one mistake, say one thing, try to attract attention in any way at all or disobey a single order…and Tom’s a dead man. But the show must go on: Tom’s audience may be captivated but he’s a captive and will do whatever it takes to get out.

Grand Piano takes an extremely simple, if ludicrous, premise (concert pianist held captive by sniper during live performance) and manages to turn it into one of the thorniest, wildest, most wonderful and flat-out impressive films I’ve ever seen. No joke: the film is an instant classic and, were it not for the prevalence and necessity of modern technology like cell phones, would seem almost timeless. Chalk that up to a few different things. On one hand, you have an outstanding lead duo with Elijah Wood and John Cusack: the two have more chemistry as adversaries than most romantic pairings I’ve seen lately. Wood has been on a bit of a career renaissance of late, with his performance in Franck Khalfoun’s outstanding Maniac (2012) being a particular highlight. His performance as Tom is just as good, although much more restrained (obviously). If anything, he definitely brought to mind the hassled heroism of someone like James Stewart, driving home that whole Hitchcock connection. Cusack has also been shying away from the roles that made him a mega-star in the ’80s and ’90s, becoming a bit of a brooding hero/anti-hero in film’s as diverse as Lee Daniels The Paperboy (2012), The Factory (2012), The Numbers Station (2013), Adult World (2013), The Frozen Ground (2013) and The Bag Man (2014). His performance as Clem is one of his very best “bad guy” roles, easily the equal of his work as the villainous Robert Hansen in The Frozen Ground. Cusack has the doubly-difficult task of being able to use only his voice for the vast majority of the film: it’s to his great credit that every slimy aspect of Clem comes through the earpiece loud and clear, without the benefits of body language or facial expression. Quite simply, Wood and Cusack are extraordinary in the film, each one so perfectly cast that it, again, reminds one of Hitchcock’s meticulous way with his actors.

Despite the film’s remarkably small, intimate set-up, it’s far from a two-man show. More than able support comes in the form of Kerry Bishe, whose Emma manages to seem fully actualized with a rather minimal amount of screentime. Also impressive are Tamsin Egerton, as Emma’s brash sister Ashley, and Alan Leech, as Ashley’s boyfriend Wayne. The duo add quite a bit of genuine humor to the film, as well as some surprising pathos, later on. They aren’t big roles, by any stretch of the term, but they are exceptionally important roles: there are no throwaway pieces in Mira’s intricate jigsaw puzzle of a film. Every actor, just like every camera angle and line of dialogue, is perfectly calibrated to offer maximum impact. One of the neatest touches? Bill and Ted’s Alex Winters as the assistant. As always, it makes me wish he acted more often, since it’s a perfectly nuanced performance. Even a seemingly disposable role like the janitor who shakes his head disapprovingly at Tom is given considerable class when played by a veteran character actor like Jim Arnold: it’s a great touch that really speaks to a rock-solid cast.

Not only is Grand Piano exquisitely cast, however, but it’s immaculately crafted, possessing some truly gorgeous cinematography and an excellent sound design that seems tailor-made for amps that go to 11. I’ve driven home the Hitchcock references time and time again but I’ll hammer it one more time: quite simply, Grand Piano looks like one of Hitchcock’s classic films. There’s a richness of image and color, a vibrancy and life that instantly recalls the Golden Age of Hollywood. As enamored as I was with the story, it would have been impossible to tear my eyes from the screen, regardless, thanks to how great everything looked. There’s one moment in the film where a shot organically becomes a split screen: I’m not quite sure how it’s done but I do know that it’s audacious, eye-catching and completely badass. It’s the kind of moment that makes films so much fun and Grand Piano is full of them.

Truth be told, Grand Piano really knocked my socks off. By the time the film revs up to full speed, it’s absolutely unstoppable, one fist-raising moment after another. It’s no hyperbole to say that I was on the edge of my seat the whole time because I literally was: it would have been impossible for me to sit back if I tried. Like the best of Hitchcock’s films, Grand Piano is imminently watchable, a 90 minute thrill-ride that feels like 45. Not only is Grand Piano tense and thrilling, however, but it’s also whip-smart: this is not the typical “dumb people do dumb things to advance the plot” film. This is much closer to an intricately plotted heist film, where every little detail and tidbit is part of the scheme, every throw-away factoid is actually a clue to the bigger picture. Regardless of how initially ridiculous any one set-piece in Grand Piano is (and there are some real corkers, let me tell ya), the movie handles everything with such a consistent sense of intelligence and rationality that I was inclined to believe all of it: why not?

I’ve tried to be as purposefully vague with plot details as possible so as to preserve as many of the film’s genuine surprises as I can: this is a film that will surprise you, time and again, so the less known, the better. The only things that you really need to know are that Grand Piano is an astounding film, Eugenio Mira is absolutely a director to keep an eye on and that you’re pretty much guaranteed to have a blast while watching. I don’t pretend to speak for Alfred Hitchcock in any way, shape or form but I’m pretty sure that Hitch would give this his seal of approval. At the very least, he’d take one look at Eugenio Mira and say, “Now there’s a man who understands the difference between surprise and suspense.”