6/8/15 (Part Two): Boy Meets Demon

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Akom Tidwell, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore, Bovine Fantasy Invasion, cinema, creature feature, dead parents, demonic possession, demons, DIY filmmaking, Dustin Dorough, Emmett Eckert, Equinox, fantasy, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Goat Witch, gory films, Hex of the Vulture, horror, horror films, husband-wife team, indie horror film, James Sizemore, John Chatham, Josh Adam Gould, low-budget films, Lucio Fulci, made-up language, Melanie Richardson, Movies, multiple writers, Nightbreed, occult, possession, practical effects, Sade Smith, Sam Raimi, special-effects extravaganza, summoning demons, supernatural, the Dark Womb, The Demon's Rook, The Evil Dead, Tim Reis, underground colonies, writer-director-producer-actor

Stuffed to bursting with more genuine imagination, passion, invention and pure love for the genre than most films with a hundred times the budget and resources, burgeoning indie auteur James Sizemore’s The Demon’s Rook (2013) is that rarest of films: it’s a modern throwback to the glories of ’80s direct-to-VHS spectacles that manages to not only nail the look but also replicate the wide-eyed, anything-goes feel of the era. To boil it down to its purest essence, The Demon’s Rook is the real, no bullshit deal and Sizemore may just prove to be this generation’s Sam Raimi.

In certain ways, The Demon’s Rook plays like an ultra low-budget version of Clive Barker’s Nightbreed (1990), as filtered through an ’80s-era Raimi sensibility. Young Roscoe (Emmett Eckert) seems to be fairly chummy with a demon named Dimwos (John Chatham): the two hang out in Roscoe’s room, at night, and the boy is constantly drawing pictures of his demonic buddy. This fact doesn’t really seem to bother Roscoe’s parents, who are either the world’s most understanding mom and dad or pretty confident that their kid has an overactive imagination.

Turns out, they should have paid better attention. One night, something emerges from the mysterious opening in the woods and reduces Roscoe’s parents to a couple of scorch marks on their bedspread. Dimwos leads the boy to the woods, straight to the mysterious opening. Flash forward “years later” and we see the now-adult Roscoe (writer-director Sizemore) emerge from the opening. He’s got a bit of the ol’ “wild man of the woods” look to him, along with some newly honed psychic powers (fuck the Clapper: Roscoe can turn off lights by just pointing at them!).

Roscoe reconnects with his childhood love, Eva (Sizemore’s real-life wife, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore), in time to warn her of a pending demon invasion. Sure enough, three very bad demons (helpfully color-coded as white, black and red) emerge from the fog-shrouded forest cavern and proceed to wreck unholy hell on the hapless denizens of the area. The demons’ preferred method of destruction is to possess their victims, thereby causing them to either rip into those around them or rip into themselves, depending on the needs of the particular scene. One of the “possessed” even turns into a sort of man/monster hybrid (the transformation scene is just about as good as this sort of thing gets) and runs around attacking everything around him like a super-pissed off Toxic Avenger. Needless to say: good stuff.

As Roscoe and Eva try to quell the unholy onslaught, things get even hairier after the white demon reveals itself to be a bit of a necromancer and raises the inhabitants of a nearby cemetery as a gut-munching, zombie army. Zombies, demons, a wild concert in a barn that’s one part hillbilly-rave-orgy and two-parts Grand Guignol slaughterhouse…it’s enough to make anyone throw in the towel! Good thing for the locals (and the world) that Roscoe and Eva are made of much stronger stuff: when it comes to bloodthirsty demons, these are definitely the people you want on your side. So, blast your Bovine Fantasy Invasion tape, keep an eye out for the Manbeast and hold on to your guts: The Demon’s Rook is one helluva rollercoaster ride right to the wild side!

First and foremost, it’s obvious that The Demon’s Rook is a real labor of love: not only do the majority of the crew, including Sizemore, wear more hats than a haberdasher (this is, after all, the very definition of “indie filmmaking”), but the attention to detail and infectious good humor seem to indicate that no one was just punching the clock. The cinematography looks great (Tim Reis, who also edited, is an easy nominee for MVP, although he’s got a lot of competition) and the score, attributed to a variety of performers, is absolutely phenomenal: the running joke about Bovine Fantasy Invasion is pretty great, culminating in the aforementioned wildly awesome barn blowout. While the score is fun and interesting, on its own, it also perfectly fits the film’s ’80s-video vibe: as someone who grew up on these films, this gave me a pretty warm sense of nostalgia, let me tell ya.

One of the most obvious (and impressive) things about The Demon’s Rook is its outstanding production design and practical effects. The film has an amazing atmosphere: with its thick, rolling fog and hard red, green and blue lighting, there are times when Sizemore’s micro-epic recalls nothing so much as the glory days of Dario Argento’s eye-popping oeuvre: the cave, in particular, is a really great, simple setpiece and a perfect example of how “less” can always be “more,” in the right hands.

Like the direct-to-video treasures that it so lustily emulates, The Demon’s Rook is a veritable orgy of disembowelments, exploding heads, severed limbs and over-the-top carnage. The kicker here, of course, is that not only are the effects all practical, they’re all absolutely astounding: from the makeup to the costuming to the gore effects, The Demon’s Rook actually looks better than most “professional” films. There’s a sense of physicality, here, that can only be achieved through latex, fake blood and boundless imagination. It says a lot when the worst thing that I can say about the effects is that the Manbeast ends up looking like a super-expensive, high-end Halloween mask: if that’s the biggest effects issue, I’d say they knocked the whole thing out of the park.

The stellar effects go hand-in-hand with the film’s constant sense of invention and imagination: like the best, gonzo ’80s films, there’s very much the sense that just about anything could be lurking around the corner. The film’s mythology is original (I, for one, cannot reiterate how unbelievably refreshing that is in this cookie-cutter era of remakes and re-imaginings) and there’s always the sense of larger-scale world-building going on in the background. While there’s plenty of room for interpretation and further explanation (I won’t pretend that the entire film made complete sense, only that it made “sense enough,” in a Lucio Fulci kind of way), Sizemore never gets so bogged down in the details that it prevents the action from rocketing forward at a nicely frenzied pace. If the “Dark Womb” and its demonic inhabitants are going to be Sizemore’s signature fantasia, I can’t wait to see how the world expands and develops.

As should be fairly obvious from the above, I’m a huge fan of The Demon’s Rook: whether it’s the genuinely terrifying red demon (talk about a perfect synthesis of design, function and performer), the ridiculous “I’m gonna marry Barbara!” jig, the Troma-approved barnstravaganza (complete with bemasked nude dancers, apple-bobbing, moonshine and metal detectors that look like weedwackers) or any of the endlessly inventive gore scenes (talk about lighting up the “Italo-horror” portion of my little, reptilian brain), there’s a whole lot to love here.

This isn’t, of course, to infer that The Demon’s Rook is a perfect film: it falls victim to many of the same issues that plague most micro-budget indies, although none of these prove to be critical injuries. The acting, with the exception of the Sizemores, is universally rough and ranges from non-acting (in every sense of the term) to passable understatement. The pacing can be uneven, especially in the film’s first half, and there’s plenty of “dead air,” so to speak: at nearly two hours, there’s no question that The Demon’s Rook could be tightened up.

The most critical issue ends up being the sound mix, which is so lopsided as to be constantly noticeable. Even with the volume cranked up to the max, I found myself missing dialogue, while the ensuing score/sound effects would end up shaking the walls. This becomes doubly frustrating given that the film isn’t exactly dialogue-lite: I have a feeling that some of my confusion might have been allayed if I were only able to hear what people were saying. To be honest, the sound mix is so bad that, in a lesser film, it would have turned me off almost immediately. It’s to the film and filmmakers’ immense credit that I ended up gritting my teeth and just baring through it: I’m certainly glad that I did but I wonder how many others might not be as willing to meet the film halfway.

Ultimately, despite a few shortcomings and the same growing pains that any like-minded filmmakers might experience (neither Raimi nor Peter Jackson sprung fully formed from the air, like Athena out of Zeus’ cranium), it’s quite obvious that The Demon’s Rook is something special. James Sizemore, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore (like James, she has her hand in everything from creating the demons’ unique language to working with the production design and effects) and the rest of the ultra-talented crew have an unabashed love for not only fantastic-horror but indie films, in general. In many ways, The Demon’s Rook reminds me of Equinox (1970), the ridiculously cool low-budget creature flick that would go on to influence Raimi’s iconic The Evil Dead (1981). If there’s any justice in the world, The Demon’s Rook will go on to inspire a whole new generation of horror filmmakers in the same way that The Evil Dead once did.

If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on Sizemore and his happy crew: in an increasingly homogenized era, this breath of fresh air isn’t only appreciated, it’s damn near necessary. If it’s good enough for Dimwos, you better believe it’s good enough for me.

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6/7/15 (Part Two): The Heart and the Loneliest Hunter

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A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night, addicts, Alex O'Flinn, Amirpour, Ana Lily Amirpour, Arash Marandi, atmospheric films, Bad City, based on a short, black and white film, black-and-white cinematography, cinema, death, Dominic Rains, dramas, drug addiction, drug dealers, evocative, fantasy, father-son relationships, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, French New Wave, ghost town, horror films, Iranian-American, isolated communities, Jim Jarmusch, John Hughes, loneliness, Lyle Vincent, Marshall Manesh, Milad Eghbali, moody films, Movies, Mozhan Marnò, romances, Rome Shadanloo, Sam Kramer, set in Iran, Sheila Vand, skateboarders, spaghetti Westerns, street urchin, stylish films, vampires, writer-director-producer

Billed as “the first Iranian vampire Western,” writer-director-producer Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014) is an endlessly fascinating debut, a thoroughly confident horror-art piece that manages to turn its grab-bag of cinematic influences into something effortlessly cool. More Dead Man (1995) than Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), Amirpour’s film throws gorgeous black and white cinematography, nods to the French New Wave, German Expressionism, the holy trinity of Jarmusch, Bergman and Jeunet and the ’80s youth flicks of John Hughes into a blender and hits “puree.” While the results aren’t perfect, AGWHAAN is still a stunning feature-film debut from an amazingly talented new filmmaker and a necessary addition to the existing bloodsucker canon.

Amirpour’s debut (based on an earlier short) concerns the various residents of the Iranian town of Bad City. A virtual ghost town, Bad City appears to be inhabited solely by drug addicts, prostitutes, pimps/pushers, hustlers and the odd street urchin, here and there. Our humble hero, Arash (Arash Marandi), is a hustler who looks like he stepped straight out of East of Eden (1955): with his white t-shirt, blue jeans, omnipresent sunglasses and vintage muscle car, he’s a classic rebel without a cause. His father, Hossein (Marshall Manesh), is a pathetic junkie who owes a wad of cash to the local pimp/dealer, Saeed (Dominic Rains). For his part, Saeed is a philosophical, if thick-headed, thug who isn’t above taking Arash’s car as partial payment for his dad’s debt, while ruling his “girls” with an iron fist. One such “employee” is Atti (Mozhan Marnò), the sad-eyed, thirty-year-old prostitute who plies her trade on the barren, empty streets of Bad City, overshadowed by the towering oil derricks in the background.

As these various sad-sacks go about their repetitive routines, a new force emerges to shake up the status quo: a mysterious, silent young woman (Sheila Vand) has taken to stalking the streets, doling out death to any who cross her path. When the vampiric girl puts a permanent end to Saeed, Arash seizes the opportunity and attempts to fill the void left by the drug dealer. As Atti and the mysterious girl form a bond, however, Arash finds himself similarly drawn to the enigmatic figure. What does the young woman really want? What does the future hold for Bad City and its shadowy residents? One thing’s for certain: if you have to be out after dark, be sure to stay far, far away from the girl walking home alone…your very life may depend on it!

Lush, hazy, hypnotic and vaguely hallucinatory, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is the kind of film that you wrap around yourself like a cozy blanket, consciously giving yourself up to its warm embrace. While the pacing and visuals often bring to mind a perfect synthesis of Jim Jarmusch and Ingmar Bergman’s respective styles (the scene where the Girl skateboards down the center of the deserted street is framed in a way that turns her into the spitting image of Death from the iconic Seventh Seal (1957), while the film’s numerous long takes and relative lack of forward momentum handily recalls the aforementioned Dead Man), Amirpour’s influences are far more wide-reaching than something as simple as “Indie 101.”

Rather, Amirpour has taken a range of different styles and influences and made them all work towards a common goal: in this case, the goal being the film’s all-encompassing sense of foreboding atmosphere. Along with the more traditional indie influences, there are several strong, direct nods to the ’80s youth films of John Hughes (the lovely scene involving Arash, the Girl, a mirror ball and the White Lies’ song “Death” is one of the best examples but certainly not the only one), as well as a strong Spaghetti Western undercurrent (the wonderfully evocative score, locations and sense of big, empty spaces is pure Leone, through and through). On paper, Amirpour’s debut might sound like a rather head-scratching gumbo but the results speak for themselves: thanks to the Iranian-American filmmaker’s deft touch, everything comes together beautifully, giving the film the sort of unifying style befitting something like Jeunet’s exquisitely-crafted fantasias.

While the evocative score and beautiful cinematography (Lyle Vincent, who also shot the upcoming Cooties (2015), is an absolute wizard with a camera) help to give the film a sense of dreamy unreality, the acting keeps everything from dissolving into just another morass of pretty images. Marandi is a suitably cool, aloof “antihero,” while Manesh brings enough genuine regret to his portrayal of the sad-sack, aging junkie to make his character decidedly more complex than he might have been. Rains brings an interesting, almost empathetic quality to his portrayal of the sleazy pimp/dealer, calling to mind a less outwardly insane version of Gary Oldman’s iconic Drexl.

Most impressive, however, are Mozhan Marnò as the melancholy Atti and Sheila Vand as the titular vampire. In both cases, the actresses do a tremendous amount with as little as possible: Marnò is able to express entire worlds of sadness and sensuality with nothing so much as a half-smile and a look from her piercing eyes, while Vand’s portrayal of the Girl is nothing short of ethereal and completely alien. In many ways, Vand’s Girl is similar to Scarlett Johansson’s Female in the similarly eerie Under the Skin (2013): other-worldly, curious, nearly mute and of constant interest to the males around them, the Girl and the Female could certainly share a common bloodline, even if their ultimate goals differ wildly.

Amirpour’s hazy film is many things (seductive, sad, odd, cool and hypnotic being but a few) but it also manages to nail one of the most important aspects of any horror film: when necessary, the film is also genuinely scary. Although the Girl’s attacks have a tendency to rely on some decidedly stereotypical musical stings and old-as-the-hills “scary voices,” the pacing, framing and sense of impeding dread are all masterfully executed, resulting in some great, unique scares. The scene where the Girl stalks a young street urchin is a virtual master-class in how to build and execute: the fact that Amirpour also manages to throw in a clever reference to Fritz Lang’s child-killer classic M (1931) is only frosting on a very tasty cake.

Despite being thoroughly impressed by A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, there were a few elements that let a bit of air out of the proceedings. The aforementioned vampire stereotypes are problematic only because the rest of the film is so clever: at times, relying on the same stock clichés as other vamp films does more to pull Amirpour’s film down than it does to unite it with a common cinematic sensibility. I was also less than on board with the more verite, handheld-shaky-cam style of certain scenes, usually those involving Hossein’s drug use and withdrawal pains. Not only was the handheld style a distinct step-down from the gorgeous cinematography but the “drug scenes” had a different flow and pace that jarred against the rest of the film’s more dreamy atmosphere. In truth, all of these moments could have been cut without damaging the rest of the meticulously crafted narrative.

All in all, Amirpour’s debut feature is a real showstopper, the kind of film that kicks in the door and practically demands your undivided attention. While her debut was set in Iran (although filmed in California), Amirpour’s next film will, apparently, be a “dystopic love story, set in a cannibal compound, in a Texas wasteland,” featuring the combined talents of Keanu Reeves, Jim Carrey, Giovanni Ribisi, Jason Mamoa and the always amazing Yolonda Ross. In other words, it looks like Amirpour is going to continue her fearless genre-splicing. I’m willing to wager that her next feature will grab the world by the scruff of the neck and shake it silly. If it’s half as impressive as her debut, I’ll be the first person in line.

1/17/15 (Part Two): The Horns Know What the Heart Hides

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Alexandre Aja, based on a book, cinema, Daniel Radcliffe, dark comedies, David Morse, dead girlfriend, demons, fantasy, film reviews, films, flashbacks, Frederick Elmes, friendships, Heather Graham, High Tension, Horns, horror movies, Ig Perrish, James Remar, Joe Anderson, Joe Hill, Juno Temple, Kathleen Quinlan, Keith Bunin, Kelli Garner, literary adaptation, Max Minghella, Michael Adamthwaite, mirrors, Movies, mystery, Piranha 3D, rape, revenge, secrets, small town life, suspicion, telling the truth, The Hills Have Eyes, vengeance, voice-over narration

When French writer-director Alexandre Aja first exploded onto the scene with the feral, jaw-dropping ode to unmitigated carnage that was High Tension (2003), it looked like the horror world had found their next uncompromising dark master. Red-lined, kinetic, non-stop and a veritable workshop in on-screen brutality, High Tension may have made an imperfect kind of sense (think about the central twist too much and the whole thing collapses into dust) but there was no denying the terrible power of the images and ideas contained within. Rather than capitalize on this bit of extreme nastiness, however, Aja appeared to have doubled-down in the opposite direction: his next two projects were both remakes – The Hills Have Eyes (2006) and Mirrors (2008) – while his most recent directorial effort was Piranha 3D (2010), which either counts as another remake or a sequel, depending on how generous you’re feeling.

This, of course, ended up being massively disappointing: here was another seemingly unique voice who appeared to have shackled himself to the remake train, foregoing any notion of “new” or “original” for the much safer territory of “been there, done that.” When Aja was announced as the director for a big-screen adaptation of Joe Hill’s bestselling novel, Horns, this seemed like a step in the right direction: at the very least, this was a literary adaptation, not another re-do of someone else’s earlier work. As it turns out, Aja’s version of Horns (2014) is good: well-made, full of clever moments, good acting and some genuine surprises, there’s a lot to like here. On the other hand, the film feels about 30 minutes too long and much of what’s on display here feels distinctly old-hat. This might not be the Aja who slept-walked through Mirrors or Piranha 3D but it also bears precious little resemblance to the Aja who blasted out frontal lobes with the sheer insanity that was High Tension.

Beginning with some voice-over and a suitably cool scene set to Bowie’s unbeatable “Heroes,” we’re quickly introduced to our hero, Ig Perrish (Daniel Radcliffe), and his current predicament. Seems that Ig’s girlfriend, Merrin (Juno Temple), has turned up dead and everyone in his small town, including Ig’s family, thinks he’s guilty of the crime. Shunned by everyone, publicly accused by Merrin’s father (David Morse) and given the cold-shoulder by all of his childhood friends, save his lawyer buddy, Lee (Max Minghella), Ig has become the town’s pariah, a social leper that everyone wishes would just disappear.

After he drunkenly desecrates the makeshift shrine that the townsfolk have set up for Merrin, Ig ends up with the local barkeep and wakes up in her bed the next morning. In a decidedly alarming development, poor Ig appears to be sprouting rudimentary horns from his head. Even stranger, however, is the way in which the bartender uncharacteristically gorges herself on food, in his presence: she seems to act as if possessed by some powerful force, unable to control herself. After several more awkward/humorous scenes involving overly honest medical personnel, clergy and his own parents, Ig comes to the startling realization that his new horns have the ability to force people to act on their deepest, darkest secrets.

In no time at all, Ig has decided to use his new power to conduct his own investigation into Merrin’s death: wandering the town like a scraggly, sardonic avenging angel, he “interviews” one person after the next, piecing together the details of Merrin’s last days as he goes. While the investigation takes place in the present, we also get copious flashbacks to Ig and Merrin’s youth, where they first fell in love and hung out with their friends Terry, Lee and Eric. These flashbacks hold little clues to the current mystery’s resolution, although Ig won’t know the full story until the final reel (astute viewers will probably figure this out way ahead of our intrepid sleuth). Once the truth is revealed, Ig becomes hell-bent for revenge, as he finds himself transforming into an increasingly powerful, unhinged and demonic force. Will Ig be able to bring his girlfriend’s killer to justice or will the flames of his own burning anger incinerate him long before he can make his final move?

There’s a lot to like about Horns: the cinematography is, in general, quite good and the soundtrack, full of nicely evocative songs like the Pixies’ “Where is My Mind?” and Bowie’s “Heroes,” works spectacularly well: the film actually had one of the best soundtracks I’ve heard in a while, with the score being equally memorable. The acting is also quite good, with Radcliffe being especially impressive: if The Woman in Black (2012) hadn’t marked Radcliffe’s transition from the world of Harry Potter to more “adult” genre roles, his performance as Ig certainly makes this clear. There’s a certain charisma that’s never far below Radcliffe’s performance, informing every snarky comment, confused squint and determined glower that crosses his face. He sells the concept of the horns by virtue of not looking goofy wearing them, which says a tremendous amount about his performance.

Also on the plus side, it’s nice to see David Morse in a rare “good guy” role: all too often, the veteran character actor is the equivalent of a twirling mustache but he gets a chance to stretch out, a little, and play a genuinely conflicted, human being. I’ll be the first to admit that Morse’s very presence seemed to signify the guilty party but I’m giving nothing away by saying that his grieving, angry and rather irrational Dale comes down distinctly on the side of right in this issue. I was also rather impressed by Minghella, who brings a little bit of depth to an odd character. While I thought he could be a bit bland, there was always a great interplay between him and Radcliffe, which helped sell the friendship.

On the negative side, we get some rather dodgy special effects (the CGI snakes are particularly offensive) and the final transformation bears an uncanny resemblance to Tim Curry’s Darkness, which ends up injecting a rather unintentional level of hilarity into what’s supposed to be a very climatic moment. There are also some patently stupid scenes in the back half, such as the ones where Ig induces someone to take “all the drugs” and another where he makes a couple of characters act on their latent homosexual urges. The tone on these is pitched all wrong (the drug scene features a “trip” that would’ve seemed stale in the ’60s) and they come off eye-rolling rather than impactful.

The biggest issue I had with Horns, however, ended up being how damn familiar the whole thing was. While I haven’t read Hill’s novel, I found myself predicting so much of the action that it definitely felt like I had. Chalk it up to screenwriter Keith Bunin or the original source material but there were precious few times that I was caught off guard and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d seen this same story (minus the horns, obviously) many times before. Hell, squint and the whole thing looks a bit like Rian Johnson’s Brick (2005), again, minus the horns.

I didn’t dislike Horns: ultimately, the film is too slick and well-made (minus the damn snakes and poor Heather Graham’s bug-eyed cameo) to invite any kind of easy derision. When it all works, there’s a pleasant sense of del Toro-lite that, coupled with Radcliffe’s natural charisma, makes the film highly watchable.  When it goes off the rails, however, it’s actually pretty silly, which certainly tempers the stormy mood established by the rest of the film. Bar a few tell-tale moments, however (the shotgunned head and the pitchforkin’, for example), the film never approaches the oomph that characterized Aja’s earliest films (remake or not, The Hills Have Eyes was the furthest thing possible from a placid lake). More than anything, this feels like another multiplex horror, something to enjoy with some popcorn and a date. There are a lot worse things in the world but I can’t help but be disappointed, nonetheless.

12/27/14 (Part Three): Stop Dragon My Heart Around

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adventure, archaeologists, Bjørn Sundquist, CGI, children in peril, cinema, Daniel Voldheim, dragons, eggs, family films, fantasy, father-daughter relationships, film reviews, films, flashbacks, foreign films, John Kåre Raake, Julian Podolski, Jurassic Park, Magnus Beite, Maria Annette Tanderø Berglyd, Mikkel Brænne Sandemose, Movies, mythical creatures, Nicolai Cleve Broch, Norwegian films, Oseberg Vikings, Pål Sverre Hagen, Ragnarok, set in Norway, single father, Sofia Helin, Steven Spielberg, Terje Strømdahl, Vikings

For many folks of a particular age, the term “adventure film” will always be synonymous with one thing: Steven Spielberg. Throughout the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, the auteur was directly responsible for some of the biggest, most iconic adventure films of those eras: Jaws (1975), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom (1984), Indiana Jones and Last Crusade (1989), Hook (1991) and Jurassic Park (1993). This, of course, doesn’t include all of the iconic adventure films that he produced but didn’t direct during the same time-period: Poltergeist (1982), Gremlins (1984), The Goonies (1985), Back to the Future (1985), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) and Arachnophobia (1990), among many, many others. Regardless of how you, personally, feel about his films, there’s no denying that Spielberg has practically been a cottage industry for the past forty years…no mean feat, if you think about it.

Despite his massively impressive history with adventure films, however, we haven’t had a whole lot of Spielberg adventure movies since The Lost World (1997): there have been a few, such as Minority Report (2002) and War of the Worlds (2005) but, for the most part, Spielberg has turned his attention to “prestige” films like Amistad (1997), Saving Private Ryan (1998), Munich (2005) and Lincoln (2012) since the Aughts and doesn’t really show signs of stopping anytime soon. For people who miss Spielberg’s brand of high-octane, family friendly, effects-spectacles, there doesn’t really seem to be much that’s filled the void…until now, that is. If you’re looking for big, fantastic adventure, look no further than Norwegian director Mikkel Brænne Sandemose’s Ragnarok (2013), a big, colorful and exuberant adventure yarn that recalls films like André Øvredal’s Trollhunter (2010) in subject matter but more closely resembles Spielberg yarns like Jaws, The Goonies and, especially, Jurassic Park, in tone and execution.

After an extremely effective medieval-set opening that helps establish the film’s mythology, Ragnarok wastes no time in introducing us to our intrepid hero, single-father and Viking history expert Sigurd (Pål Sverre Hagen). Sigurd genuinely his two young kids, Ragnhild (Maria Annette Tanderø Berglyd) and Brage (Julian Podolski) but he’s far from the best father in the world: absent-minded and completely obsessed with finding some connection between the Oseberg Vikings and the mythical Ragnarok, Sigurd is the kind of father who remembers to pick his children up from school after they’ve been waiting for hours and plans family vacations based around archaeological digs.

After Sigurd’s partner, Allan (Nicolai Cleve Broch), shows up with a Viking runestone, Sigurd finally gets the confirmation he needs and the group has a new destination: the mysterious “Eye of Odin,” an island-within a lake-within a volcano that’s got to be one of the coolest locations for an adventure film, ever. Once there, sparks (the good kind) fly between Sigurd and Allan’s comely assistant, Elisabeth (Sofia Helin). There are also sparks flying between Sigurd and Allan’s guide, Leif (Bjørn Sundquist), although these are definitely the “wrong” kind: Leif thinks the whole expedition is beyond ridiculous and treats Sigurd like a dumb kid, which tends to make Sigurd kinda pissy. In other words: the circle of movie antagonism.

Once at the Eye of Odin, Sigurd and the others begin to unearth evidence that Sigurd was absolutely correct in his speculations: not only did the Oseberg Vikings land in Finnmark, as he postulated, but the group is able to find plenty of evidence of their passing, including preserved helmets and weapons…score! The group also finds evidence to support not only the one-time existence of the monstrous Ragnarok but its current well-being, as well. Faster than you can say “Jurassic Park,” Sigurd, his kids, Elisabeth, Allan and Leif are on the run from something that should only exist in fairytales, yet has somehow attained massive, terrifying life. It will take all of Sigurd’s skills, wits and extensive knowledge of Viking lore to survive the day but he’ll be damned if any of his family are going to become dragon snacks. Is the Ragnarok really as terrible as it seems, however, or is there more going on here than meets the eye?

Gorgeously shot, suitably thrilling and filled with lots of well-executed CGI and visual effects, Ragnarok is a decided throwback to Spielberg’s aforementioned adventure film glory days, yet never comes off as slavish imitation. The whole film definitely has the feel of a family film, with the vast majority of the film’s violence occurring off-screen. In fact, there’s nothing here that really pushes the PG-13 rating, save one brief shot of a corpse that directly recalls the similar jump-shock in Jaws (which, as we’ll all recall, was rated PG). In many ways, Ragnarok is sort of an update of Jurassic Park: absent-minded, absentee dad and precocious kids must survive an attack by giant reptiles while bonding and becoming closer to each other. Throw in a romantic angle, some double-crosses and betrayal (always to be expected), truly jaw-dropping locations and the parallels seem pretty obvious.

While Pål Sverre Hagen is dependable as Sigurd, Sofia Helin handily steals the film as the ever-resourceful, ass-kicking Elisabeth. Indeed, Elisabeth is pretty much single-handily responsible for saving the entire group on multiple occasions (including a thoroughly awesome setpiece involving crossing a chasm via rope) and Heflin is a mighty great action star: I can’t wait to see her in other films after this. Berglyd and Podolski are good as the kids, although neither one brings anything unique or revolutionary to the performances.

The real star of the show, however, aside from Heflin, is cinematographer Daniel Voldheim’s stunning camera-work. The various Norwegian locales never look anything less than beautiful and the cave sequences make excellent use of light and shadow to create some spectacularly atmospheric scenes. Also noteworthy is composer Magnus Beite’s highly effective score: it’s no patch on any of John Williams’ iconic scores but it is exciting, moving and just bombastic enough to effortlessly sell the big action beats.

Ultimately, I found myself quite taken with Ragnarok: there’s a genuinely old-fashioned quality to the film that I really enjoyed and I found it to favorably compare to some of my favorite adventure films from the past. Sandemose’s film may not be the most original film of the year but it’s got a helluva lot of heart and a genuine desire to thrill its audience. I’d like to think that ’80s Spielberg would have been a big fan, too.

12/22/14 (Part Two): The Sleep of Reason

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Alex van Warmerdam, alp, Annet Malherbe, auteur theory, Best of 2014, Borgman, Camiel Borgman, children in peril, cinema, Dirkje van der Pijl, Dutch film, dysfunctional family, Elve Lijbaart, Eva van de Wijdeven, fairy tales, fantasy, favorite films, Film auteurs, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, foreign films, forests, Hadewych Minis, husband-wife team, infidelity, isolated estates, Jan Bijvoet, Jeroen Perceval, Lars von Trier, Michael Haneke, Mike Weerts, Movies, nightmares, Pieter-Bas de Waard, Sara Hjort Ditlevsen, The Northerners, Tom Dewispelaere, Tom Erisman, Warmerdam, writer-director

What, exactly, would you get if you crossbred Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Teorema (1968) (or its American remake, Down and Out in Beverly Hills (1986), if you prefer) with Michael Haneke’s nihilistic Funny Games (1997) and then had oddball Greek auteur Yorgos Lanthimos direct the results while the ghost of Luis Bunuel shouted advise from the sidelines while playing sand volleyball with Lars von Trier? You would probably, of course, end up with a big, stinking, pretentious pile of pap: after all, that’s a whole lot of disparate arthouse balls to juggle at one time and we all know what happens to soup when the kitchen is full of cooks. If you’re one-of-a-kind Dutch master Alex van Warmerdam, however, you would take all of these ingredients and turn them into of the single most mind-blowing, difficult and flat-out amazing films to come down the pike since…well, probably since Warmerdam’s outsider classic The Northerners (1992) blew minds over two decades ago. But remember, kids: this guy’s a professional…do not attempt this at home.

Any attempt to give a plot synopsis for Borgman (2013) is pretty much doomed to fail miserably but we’ll give it the ol’ college try, nonetheless. Camiel Borgman (Jan Bijvoet), a mysterious transient of some sort, is roused from his underground forest lair by an armed posse (think pitchfork wielding villagers in Frankenstein films and you’re on the right track): narrowly escaping with his life, Camiel alerts the other forest dwellers and heads for the “safety” of a nearby upper-class suburb. After attempting to gain entry at various houses (he just wants to take a bath but, for some reason, folks seem rather hesitant to allow a mysterious, bearded vagrant into their homes for the express purpose of bathing…what happened to love your fellow-man?), he finally ends up at the Schendel residence. Life, as they say, will never be the same again.

Outwardly, the Schendels are the picture of modern success: husband/father Richard (Jeroen Perceval) brings home the bacon quite ably, even if he spends long hours at the office to do so; mother/wife Marina (Hadewych Minis) spends her time painting and working on her art and their three, young children, Isolde (Elve Lijbaart), Leo (Pieter-Bas de Waard) and Rebecca (Dirkje van der Pijl) are tended to by their au pair, Stine (Sara Hjort Ditlevsen). The Schendels live in a luxurious home, including a nearby “summer-house” that’s probably as nice as some folks’ “real” houses and seem to be the very picture of detached affluence.

This nice little facade of normalcy comes crashing to the ground, however, when Camiel ends up pushing himself into their lives. After provoking Richard to kick the ever-loving shit out of him, Camiel then appeals to Marina’s sympathy and she ends up hiding him in the summer-house, unbeknownst to her overly irritable husband. Despite her request that he stay put, Camiel freely wanders about the estate, slinking around the margins as Richard goes about his business, blissfully unaware. At first, Camiel’s motives seem inscrutable but largely harmless: he enjoys hanging out with the children and telling them stories and seems largely content to simply observe the family’s day-to-day activities from the shadows.

In short order, however, Camiel’s actions begin to seem decidedly stranger and more nefarious, not least of which when he cleans up his appearance and applies to be the Schendel’s new gardener after he bumps off the old one. Once he’s “officially” insinuated within the household, Camiel calls up the other “forest dwellers,” namely Pascal (Tom Dewispelaere), Ludwig (director Warmerdam, in a fantastic performance), Brenda (Annet Malherbe) and Ilonka (Eva van de Wijdeven), and seems to put some sort of grand plan into action.

With Pascal and Ludwig now working with Camiel as gardeners and Brenda and Ilonka functioning as a tandem hit-squad/cleaning crew, Camiel begins to insinuate himself more and more into the family. As he seduces the (very) unhappily married Marina, the others seem to be working their own games on the children and nanny, although the ultimate goal remains unclear. As Camiel and his crew finish up their grand, mysterious re-design of the Schendel’s garden and Richard grows more and more irrational and violent, Marina begins to be plagued by terrible nightmares, visions which seem to be seeping into her waking life. With the line between fantasy and reality growing ever blurrier, Camiel works towards an end-game that will either spell the complete destruction of the Schendels and everything they stand for…or their ultimate salvation.

For the most part, the less said about Borgman’s specifics, the better: part of the unstoppable joy of watching the film is experiencing the numerous ways in which writer-director Warmerdam constantly fucks with audience expectations. Suffice to say that the film does appear to follow some form of logic, albeit one that seems particularly alien to poor fools like us. There’s certainly a strong element of fantasy here, what with that exceptionally odd opening, the appearance of the dogs and the undeniably strange resolution, but the entire film is grounded in a kind of muddy realism that makes the more surreal elements stand out in even greater relief. In particular, I’m reminded of the way in which Haneke blended fantasy and realism in Funny Games: while the majority of the film can be read as a simple home-invasion scenario, the moment where one of the tormentors “rewinds” the action in order to get a different outcome is a distinctly fantasy element. Borgman is full of little moments like this, small details that cue us in to the notion that more is going on under the surface then we might at first notice.

Warmerdam has a particular way of staging certain events (such as the various scenes where the naked Borgman sits atop Richard and Marina while they sleep) that makes us question what we’re seeing: once Camiel is officially living with the Schendels, it’s almost impossible to fully separate fantasy from reality, especially since what occurs in the more overtly fantasy moments seems to directly affect things during the “realistic” portions. Lots of films are described as “dizzying” and “head-swirling” but Borgman is one of the very few films that earns those descriptors part-and-parcel.

One of the most intriguing aspects of Borgman is the film’s coal-black, dry-as-bone sense of humor. While very little in the film could actually be considered “funny,” per se, there’s still an undeniably comic thread that runs underneath everything. In particular, the ways in which Camiel and his gang react, largely unemotionally, to the increasingly passionate activities of Richard, Marina and Stine leads to some truly choice moments (the scene where Pascal blows off Stine’s advances and then goes to sleep while she’s standing there is a minor classic).

While some audience members may find themselves scratching their heads over Borgman’s denser, more outre elements, I’m sure that everyone can agree that the film looks absolutely stunning: from beginning to end, cinematographer Tom Erisman gives the film a rich, darkly fairy-tale-like sheen that compliments the strange doings to a tee. Similar to Lars von Trier’s exceptional Melancholia (2011), Borgman features some simply stunning visuals: one of my very favorite shots in decades has to be the gorgeous underwater ones that detail the outcome of the gang’s various “victims.” Borgman is the kind of film where you could turn the sound off and just admire the visuals: it’s easily as beautiful as one of Peter Greenaway’s epics or my personal go-to for this sort of thing, Gyorgy Palfi’s stunning Taxidermia (2006).

Whenever you’re dealing with hard-core surrealism, the acting can become a make or break element: as with everything else, Borgman has this locked down solid. Simply put, the cast is perfect, each actor bringing something unique and individual to the table. It’s tempting to single out Bijvoet here, since his performance as the titular Borgman is one of the most accomplished, impressive performances I saw all year. The truth is, however, he’s surrounded by great performances: Minis is stunning as the open-wound that is Marina, Perceval turns Richard from one-dimensional ape into something approaching a tragic figure, van de Wijdeven and Malherbe are superb as the most philosophical hitmen since Vincent and Jules and Ditlevsen is so bizarre as the au pair that she comes across as truly alien…there isn’t a single boring, “run of the mill” character to be found here, not one moment of lazy acting, nothing that takes us out of any of the characters. Surrealism like this is no mean feat to pull off but Warmerdam and his cast make it look elementary.

I’ve already established that Borgman looks amazing, is endlessly fascinating, brilliantly written and genuinely creepy…but what is it actually about? To be honest, that’s a pretty great question. I’m not too proud to admit that I was often completely lost during the film’s relatively short run-time (it’s under two hours but feels closer to 90 minutes), although that fact never bothered or frustrated me. In fact, this was one of the very few films I’ve seen recently that actually made me research it after it was over. Although I’m still not quite sure that I understand what Warmerdam is getting at, I’m pretty sure I’m in the right general area. The film can be read in at least a dozen different ways (I absolutely wasn’t joking about the parallels to Down and Out in Beverly Hills) but I think that Warmerdam feeds us clues throughout that helps point to a distinctly fantasy-oriented explanation: note the similarities between Camiel’s night-time visits to the Schendel bedroom and Johann Heinrich Fussli’s iconic painting “Nachtmahr” to see where I eventually ended up.

Ultimately, however, I really don’t care what Warmerdam’s end-game was: the resulting film is so damn cool that I’m perfectly happy to continue to imperfectly understand it until…well, until I finally figure it out, I suppose. As far as I’m concerned, a good film is like a puzzle but a great film is like one of those mammoth 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzles that seem to be mostly generic blue sky pieces. I’m not saying that you should work up a cranial sweat every time you sit down to watch a flick…there’s nothing wrong with flipping your internal switch to “idle” every once in a while. A truly great film, however, requires complete investment on behalf of the audience: if the filmmaker is trying to tackle something important, the least you can do is keep up. As far as I’m concerned, Borgman is one of the most undeniably great films of the year, a complex, confusing masterpiece that demands your complete attention, makes no concessions and has an absolute blast doing it. I may not have completely understood it but I absolutely loved it and can’t recommend it highly enough.

 

6/19/14: Uncle Walt Wouldn’t Care

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Allison Lees-Taylor, amusement parks, Annet Mahendru, bad fathers, black-and-white cinematography, cat flu, cinema, Danielle Safady, directorial debut, Disney, Disney World, Disneyland, Elena Schuber, Epcot Center, Escape From Tomorrow, fantasy, fantasy vs reality, father-son relationships, feature-film debut, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, guerrilla filmmaking, independent film, independent films, indie dramas, infidelity, Jack Dalton, Katelynn Rodriguez, Lee Armstrong, lost at Disney World, low-budget films, missed opportunities, Movies, pop culture, princesses, Randy Moore, Roy Abramsohn, sci-fi, science-fiction, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, subversive films, surreal, surrealism, the Happiest Place on Earth, the Wicked Witch, unauthorized film, underbelly of America, Walt Disney

There’s certain things that you’ll only ever get one chance to do. You only get one chance to make a first impression, after all, and you only get one chance to see your first sunrise. You only get one chance to sneak up on someone (unless they’re critically careless, of course) and you only have one chance to perform certain orbital procedures, if you’re an astronaut. You only get one shot at a once-in-a-lifetime moment (if there’s truth in advertising) and certain celestial events will only come by once in any given person’s lifetime: be there or be square, as it were. To this list of one-time events, you could certainly add “covertly shoot a subversive sci-fi/surrealist film at Disney World,” since, for all intents and purposes, filmmakers will only ever get one chance at this particular feat. The filmmaker who beat everyone else to the punch? First-time writer-director Randy Moore, whose guerrilla film, Escape From Tomorrow (2013), will probably stand the test of time as the first and last film to be shot in the Magic Kingdom without the express permission of the Disney Corporation. Does Escape From Tomorrow have any real value, aside from the curiosity factor of its genesis, or did Moore’s shot across the bow spoil the party for other, more subversive filmmakers who might want to take a shot at the house that Mouse built? Tack on your wings, grab some fairy dust and let’s take a closer look, shall we?

Jim (Roy Abramsohn) has just taken his family, including wife, Emily (Elena Schuber), daughter, Sara (Katelynn Rodriguez) and son, Elliot (Jack Dalton) to Disney World for a much-needed vacation when he gets a call from his work: due to some sort of vague restructuring, Jim has just been laid-off. Fantastic. Rather than spill the beans to his loving family, Jim decides to keep the bad news to himself and give everyone the chance to enjoy one last family vacation before things, presumably, go to complete shit. The problem is that Jim seems to be going a little cuckoo: for one thing, he’s become obsessed with a pair of underage French teens (Danielle Safady and Annet Mahendru) and has taken to stalking them throughout the amusement park, his young son in tow. Jim has also begun to see very strange things, including some clichéd “scary faces” on the It’s a Small World ride and assorted “odd” images elsewhere. Is the stress making Jim crack or is he, somehow, seeing through the smooth, happy, plastic veneer of the “Disney dream” and into the cold, dead eyes  that lurk beneath it? Why does he keep running into the same strange people, including an obnoxiously leering man in a motorized scooter (Lee Armstrong) and a strangely beguiling, if rather witch-like woman (Allison Lees-Taylor)? And what, exactly, lies below Spaceship Earth at Epcot Center? Before it’s over, Jim will find himself in a waking nightmare of malevolent fairies, demonic little children, strange scientific procedures, absurd medical maladies and enough surrealism to choke Dali. Welcome to the happiest place on Earth: stay as long as you like, just don’t go poking around in the darkness too much…you might not like what you dredge up.

Right off the bat, let me get the kudos out of the way: against absolutely all odds, Randy Moore was able to covertly shoot a film at one of the most “shenanigan unfriendly” places on Earth, get it edited in secrecy (supposedly in South Korea) and get it released into theaters, all without bringing Disney’s eternally sharp ax down upon his noggin. For these facts alone, I can only say: Bravo to you, good sir, bravo. Escape From Tomorrow is a film that should not exist, by any stretch of the imagination, yet it does: this, in itself, is more accomplishment than many films ever see. Moore and his cast and crew were able to shoot the film on the run (certain shots were planned out months in advance and actors rode the rides over and over in order to perfect the takes) and the finished product doesn’t necessarily feel like an ultra-low digital video feature (not all the time, at least). The black and white cinematography looks quite good, most of the time, and Moore is able to use some surprisingly evocative lighting, which must have been no mean feat under the shooting conditions. This is a film that could easily have ended up looking like someone’s covert concert footage (“Quick, security’s coming: stuff the camera under your coat!”) but it rarely, if ever, does: that’s a pretty big achievement all by itself. If Escape From Tomorrow were a children’s’ book, it might be “The Little Engine That Could.”

On the other hand, despite its back-story, genesis and intent, Escape From Tomorrow just isn’t a particularly good film. Moore had a great idea (shoot a film at Disney World, guerrilla-style, that exposes the seamy underbelly of the American dream) but his execution ends up being muddled, clichéd and, worst of all, decidedly uninteresting. For one thing, the film isn’t nearly as surreal and odd as it thinks it is: much of the “creepy” imagery takes the place of decidedly old-hat things like “scary faces” on animatronic dolls (yawn), suddenly jet-black eyes on people (double-yawn) and surprise “demonic faces,” ala the Paranormal Activity films (again?!). There are a few genuinely surreal moments/images once Jim descends below Epcot Center but these end up being a bit “too little, too late,” by that point. Some of the Disney imagery is used to good, surreal effect (the witch is a nice touch, as are the hazy, druggy scenes that surround her) but a lot of it is pretty trite and wasted: the whole “cat flu” angle is aggressively stupid and seems tacked on, to boot, while the closing fairy image has surprisingly little impact.

By its very definition, Escape From Tomorrow was always going to have some inherent filmmaking issues: if there’s one thing that guerrilla filmmaking doesn’t really lend itself to, it would definitely be polish and fine-tuning. To that end, the acting in the film is pretty awful, across the board, with Jim and his family being some of the worst offenders. Roy Abramsohn is a thoroughly unlikable presence as Jim, which has equal parts to do with his off-putting acting style (“big and dumb” come to mind) and the rather icky character, itself. There’s no point in the film where Jim following the teenage French girls ever comes across as anything more than creepy and pervy: if there was some kind of deeper meaning Moore was going for, it was completely lost on me. For the most part, Jim just seems like a scuzzy jerk and his various fantasies involving the young girls are both pathetic and severely creepy: if I was his wife, my first call would be to the police and my second one would be to a good lawyer. Moral questions aside, however, is the basic notion that Jim is a truly odious character: whiny, self-absorbed, neglectful of his wife and kids, prone to extramarital affairs at the drop of a hat, callous…none of these qualities seem designed to endear him to the audience, which seems to be the point…but to what end? Like everything else in the film, Jim’s constant assholery seems to exist “just because.”

Despite the film’s voluminous shortcomings (it’s basically just a great concept and a few nicely atmospheric shots, the very definition of “style over substance”), there are inklings of the film this could have been. For one thing, nothing at all is made about the inherent link between crushing consumerism and the “Disney dream,” nor is there any insightful commentary regarding the homogenized “Disnified” vision of the world that the amusement park conglomerate foists upon the globe. If Moore avoids any “big” issues, he also manages to completely miss the small ones, as well: there would have been a truly interesting, nightmarish story here if we could only have focused on Jim’s mental breakdown, exploring his fractured psyche as he begins to fall to pieces midst the hustle, bustle and happy families of the Magic Kingdom. There are some genuinely disturbing avenues to explore with Jim and the French teens, as well, but Moore is all too content to just give us some surface ookiness before retreating to the “safer” ground of stereotypical “demonic” activity. The part where Jim and his young son exchange a lascivious leer while ogling the young girls is at least 1000 times more disturbing than the one where the girls get “creepy faces”: any examination of this angle, however, runs the risk of becoming truly subversive and Moore never gets anywhere close to that particular demarcation.

Ultimately, Escape From Tomorrow will stand as a curiosity and missed opportunity, more than anything else. Owing to its truly unique genesis, Moore’s film stood a very good chance of becoming one of those pop culture milestones, like Jodorowky’s Holy Mountain (1973) or Banker’s Toad Road (2012). Instead, the film ended up being fitfully engaging, occasionally interesting and fairly atmospheric, none of which are praise enough to keep it in the cultural zeitgeist for very long. To be honest, I’m not surprised that the Disney corporation chose to respond to Moore’s film by summarily ignoring it, rather than attempting to suppress it through legal avenues. With the proper focus and a truly subversive goal, Moore’s film could have been the kind of thing that would give Disney executives nightmares for a lifetime, let alone the residual effect on a generation of filmmakers raised on the notion that “Walt Disney” is synonymous with “purity.” What Moore actually turned in, however, was a rather tired sci-fi/fantasy that happened to utilize Disney as a location but failed to dig any deeper into the actual mythology.

There’s a truly terrifying, subversive and harrowing film that could have been shot at Disney World, a film that would be impossible to forget or deny, something that would play on the public’s positive association with Disney while reminding them that large corporations tend to grind up humanity for fuel. Escape From Tomorrow isn’t that film, however, which is a pity: thanks to Moore’s film, we’ve probably lost any chance to really peel back the skin and see what makes the mouse tick.

6/10/14 (Part Two): Sherlock Holmes, Mandarin-Style

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action films, ancient China, Andy Lau, Angela Yeung Wing, Angelababy, Bum Kim, Carina Lau, CGI, Chinese films, cinema, court intrigue, Detective Dee, Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame, dragons, Empress Wu, fantasy, Film, film reviews, flashbacks, foreign films, Gengxin Lin, Imperial China, Indiana Jones, James Bond, Mark Chao, Movies, naval battles, period-piece, prequel, romances, sea monster, Shaofeng Feng, Sherlock Holmes, Tang Dynasty, tea, Tsui Hark, voice-over narration, Young Detective Dee: Rise of the Sea Dragon, younger version of main character

Even though I knew nothing about it going in, I really ended up enjoying Tsui Hark’s big-budget mystery/fantasy Detective Dee and the Mystery of the Phantom Flame (2010). The film was a gorgeous bit of eye-candy that managed to throw Sherlock Holmes-style crime analysis, wire-fu martial arts acrobatics and pure adventure-fantasy, ala Indiana Jones, into a blender. Anchored by a genuinely cool hero in the form of Andy Lau’s Detective Dee and some righteously astounding stunt work, the movie felt like a throwback to the ’80s fantasy epics that I grew up, although with some decidedly modern flourishes (Tsui Hark tends to be a “kitchen-sink” kind of filmmaker, which suits this kind of story to a t). When Tsui Hark released the prequel, Young Detective Dee: Rise of the Sea Dragon (2013), I relished the opportunity to return to his particular vision of ancient China. How would this stack up with the first film? With a new lead replacing Andy Lau (this is, after all, “young” Detective Dee), would the film still find its human center or would everything get swallowed up in the visuals? As a prequel, would this tell me anything new about Dee? Would the new film have any setpieces to rival the giant Buddah statue scene from the first film? And, most importantly: was there actually going to be a dragon?

We begin back in Imperial China, during the Tang Dynasty, in 665 AD. Dee (Mark Chau) isn’t even a detective yet but he is determined to make his mark in the city of Woyang. Some massive sea monster has completely destroyed the imperial fleet and scared the crap out of the superstitious populace, leading the all-powerful Empress Wu (Carina Lau, reprising her role from the first film) to take some decisive action. To that end, she gives Yuchi (Shaofeng Feng), the head of the Justice Department, a pretty simple order: get to the bottom of the Sea Dragon “nonsense” or die trying. While in the city, Dee happens to overhear a group of shady individuals planning to kidnap Yin Ruiji (Angelababy), the courtesan who is the planned sacrifice for the feisty sea monster. Dee rushes to the nearby temple to intervene, leading to his first confrontation with Yuchi and his Da Lisi security force. This also leads to our first introduction to another kind of monster: some sort of “Creature From the Black Lagoon”-type fishman appears and starts to wreck holy hell on the wannabe kidnappers. Yin Ruiji is saved, the kidnappers are vanquished and the fishman escapes. Slightly peeved at the outsider’s interference, Yuchi rewards Dee’s assistance by tossing him in lockup.

Once in jail, Dee ends up escaping with the able help of young doctor’s assistant Shatuo (Gengxin Lin), who Dee sways to his side via some rather ingenious Sherlock Holmes-style deduction. When Dee ends up foiling yet another kidnapping attempt on Ruiji, he’s promptly promoted up into the Da Lisi and given control of the Sea Dragon case. This, of course, doesn’t make Yuchi particularly happy but it sure as hell beats getting his head cut off. As Dee, Shatuo and Yuchi continue to investigate the case, other elements begin to come into play, including a potential spy within the Da Lisi, themselves. They also come to the realization that the Creature From the Woyang Lagoon is actually Yuan Zhen (Bum Kim), the formerly hunky owner of the Tranquility Teahouse and Yu Ruiji’s vanished boyfriend. Yuan has been turned into a monster thanks to some nasty parasites and it all appears to have something to do with his teahouse’s connection to the royal family: the entire royal court drink Tranquility Teahouse’s special “Bird’s Tongue Tea” by the bucketful and Dee deduces that the royals might be the actual targets here. Suffice to say that the actual conspiracy is a pretty baroque one, certainly befitting of a James Bond film and involves an assassination attempt, transformation, a misguided attempt to foster peace that’s actually an attempt to take over the world (in disguise), an honest-to-god sea monster, the healing power of eunuch urine, true love and the beginning of a legend.

Despite some truly silly, over-the-top moments, Rise of the Sea Dragon is a more than worthy successor to The Mystery of the Phantom Flame. While Andy Lau’s older Detective Dee is the calm, clear-headed master crime-solver, Mark Chao’s younger Dee is a more brash, reactive presence and the contrast works spectacularly well. There’s an actual progression that happens throughout the film, a character arc for Dee that finds him becoming someone much closer to the Dee we came to know in the first film. This allows Chao to play Dee in his own fashion, which ends up being just as rock-solid reliable as Lau’s version. This isn’t necessarily even a case of Sean Connery vs Roger Moore: Chao doesn’t play Dee like a different person, just a younger person..it’s a subtle but important difference. As with any large-scale film of this nature, such as the aforementioned Indiana Jones films, it’s vitally important to have a strong, memorable central character and Rise of the Sea Dragon delivers just as capably as Phantom Flame did.

The rest of the cast is strong, with Shaofeng Feng being particularly good as Dee’s rival, Yuchi. Yuchi could have come across as a stereotypical antagonist but Feng gives him enough personality and humility to make him stand out. While you occasionally get the impression that he’s giving Dee the business “just because,” Yuchi almost always seems to operate from a slightly higher moral field: the bit where he finally breaks down and gives Dee the horse is a nice touch because it doesn’t symbolize the clichéd “Let’s be buddies” aspect of films so much as it does a tacit acceptance of Dee’s place in the system. By the time that Yuchi and Dee are fighting side by side, their camaraderie actually feels justified rather than situational.

From a spectacle standpoint, Rise of the Sea Dragon delivers the goods time and time again. Even though the film appears to have been originally intended as a 3D presentation (I lost count of the number of things that jabbed towards the screen at any given time), the cinematography is absolutely gorgeous and crystal clear, revealing ever bit of action is Hark’s stuffed-to-bursting frames. The underwater scenes, in particular, are some of the clearest and most well-defined I’ve ever seen. There are just as many breathless setpieces as in the first film, including some suitably thrilling maritime fight sequences, and the design on the Sea Dragon is excellent and fairly unique. All of the (numerous) fight sequences have a nice sense of staging and blocking to them that makes the complicated acrobatics easy to follow and keeps everything grounded (in a figurative rather than literal sense) with an overall sense of real physical action. One of my favorite scenes in some time has to be the one where Dee and Yuchi fight the villainous Huo Yi while suspended over a bottomless chasm: it’s not only great to look at but so ingeniously staged that the fight becomes something akin to a ballet. Despite the occasionally overly glossy visuals (think next-generation videogame cut-scenes), most of the film takes place in a space that feels at least as real as Peter Jackson’s Middle Earth.

The film also utilizes a style similar to the “information overload” aspect of Guy Ritchie’s recent Sherlock Holmes films: we gently plenty of sidebars, charts, graphs, text-on-screen, etc. At one point, Dee hits someone and we zoom into their body for an up-close and personal look at how the bone is going to break. As a rule, I tend to find stuff like this rather distracting in a film, especially when utilized in the manner that Ritchie did for Sherlock Holmes (2009): truth be told, I really can’t stand that film, mostly for this selfsame reason. While I found the technique to be little distracting in The Mystery of the Phantom Flame, Hark seems to have integrated it better within the follow-up. Although it’s still an overly flashy stylistic trick, I was willing to cut it a little more slack this time around. Whether that says more about me mellowing or the film itself remains to be seen but perhaps it’s time to give ol’ Sherlock another try.

While the unnecessary voice-over narration and occasionally silly aspects scuff the polish on Rise of the Sea Dragon just a tad, it was never enough to affect my overall enjoyment of the film. Whereas I went into the first film completely unprepared, I came to Rise of the Sea Dragon with a particular set of expectations, expectations which the film resoundingly met. I’ve always been a sucker for huge, epic fantasy adventures and Young Detective Dee: Rise of the Sea Dragon fits the bill in almost every way. At this point, I hope Hark continues his Detective Dee films into the distant future, turning this character into a Chinese form of James Bond. Hell, in many ways, the films are almost there: Cool, charismatic hero who’s great under pressure? Check. Lots of conspiracy and spy intrigue? Check. Memorable villains with secret island fortresses and plots to rule the world? Check. Plenty of thrilling action sequences? Check. A steel-toothed thug named Jaws? Not yet but give ’em time: this is only the second film, after all. I have a feeling that Tsui Hark still has a few more tricks up his sleeve…I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Detective Dee in these here parts.

6/9/14 (Part One): Young’uns and Dragons

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'80s fantasy films, 1980's, baby dragons, Caitlin Clarke, cinema, Conan the Barbarian, debut acting role, Disney films, dragons, Dragonslayer, fantasy, film reviews, films, Galen, Industrial Light and Magic, John Hallam, John Milius, King Casiodorus, Matthew Robbins, Movies, Oscar nominee, Peter MacNicol, Ralph Richardson, romance, special-effects extravaganza, sword and sorcery, the Dark Ages, the Middle Ages, Touchstone Pictures, Tyrian, unlikely hero, Valerian, virgin sacrifice, wizard's apprentice, wizards, writer-director

When I was a wee young’un, I was a bit of a fantasy/sword and sorcery buff. Okay: I was actually more of a fanatic but let’s not split hairs. During those all important formative years, I watched (and re-watched) dozens of knight/wizard/dragon/mysterious land epics, although there were two that I found myself returning to more often than the others: Conan the Barbarian (1982) and Dragonslayer (1981). To this day, Conan the Barbarian still stands as one of my favorite films: I re-watch it on a regular basis and will defend its merits to my dying day. In fact, if you haven’t seen John Milius’ awe-inspiring classic, drop what you’re doing and fix that error, post haste…you’ll thank me later.

Although my lifelong love of Conan the Barbarian has never waned, I must admit that I haven’t actually sat down to watch Dragonslayer in at least a decade, although it may be closer to 15 years. When I was putting together my recent viewings, I had the bright idea to revisit the film and see how it holds up today. Despite my former obsession with the film, I honestly couldn’t recall much more than the hero’s frizzy hair and a scene involving baby dragons. Would this be a case like Clerks (1994), where a formerly beloved movie has turned into vinegar, or had Dragonslayer become a “fine wine” over the years?

It would appear that the people of Urland have a bit of a problem: an ancient, spiteful, fire-breathing dragon has been terrorizing the kingdom for years and the people are held in the icy grip of fear. In order to convince the dragon to quit setting everything on fire, King Casiodorus (Peter Eyre) has been holding a lottery twice a year, a lottery which all female virgins in the kingdom are required to participate in (with the exception of his own daughter, Princess Elspeth (Chloe Salaman), of course). The “winners” of the lottery get to become dragon snacks, while the “losers” get to look forward to the next lottery. As is noted later, the rich denizens of Urland tend to buy their way out of the lottery, so it’s only ever the poor daughters who get sacrificed to the giant lizard.

Seeking some way out of their present situation, a small group of Urlanders, led by the scrappy Valerian (Caitlin Clarke), go to see the all-powerful wizard Ulrich (Ralph Richardson), paying a visit to his creepy, isolated castle. Ulrich may be cantankerous, forgetful and given to rather vague proclamations but he’s also the only wizard left in the land and someone has to be able to take on the dragon. Upon examining one of the dragon’s recovered scales, Ulrich notes that the beast is ancient: it must be decrepit, miserable, in constant pain and spiteful. In other words, Ulrich recognizes a kindred spirit and offers his services, along with those of his loyal apprentice, Galen (Peter MacNicol, of Ally McBeal fame): he’ll take out the dragon, as requested, although his reasons seem to involve ending its pain as much as saving Urland.

As the group is about to set out for Urland, disaster strikes in the form of Tyrian (John Hallam), King Casiodorus’ blood-thirsty man-at-arms. Tyrian and his men have been sent by the King to prevent the citizens from “stirring the pot,” as it were: the King quite likes the delicate balance in the kingdom, particularly since it doesn’t really impact his family and is worried that a pissed-off dragon might mistake unacceptable rich folks as snacks versus the court-approved poor slobs. In the guise of testing Ulrich’s powers, Tyrian ends up killing him, seeming to put an end to the quest before it even leaves the castle’s front yard. Luckily for the Urlanders, Galen is a plucky young lad and, with the assistance of Ulrich’s faithful manservant, Hodge (Sydney Bromley), he eagerly offers to take up the quest himself. He might not be an all-powerful wizard, like Ulrich, or a steel-nerved swordsman like Tyrian but he has something that neither of them had: really frizzy hair. He also has a magic amulet, which will probably prove useful, and a sack full of Ulrich’s ashes but the hair, presumably, is what makes the difference.

Along the way, Galen comes to the shocking realization that Valerian is actually a young lady, after a skinny-dipping incident in which he notices that her hidden parts look different from his. In a rather awesome parallel, this actually seems to tie Dragonslayer in with Just One of the Guys (1985), a stereotypical ’80s comedy in which a young lady impersonates a young man in order to get the scoop on a high school football team: how’s that for synergy? Galen and Valerian banter back and forth and, despite an ever so brief moment where it appears that Elspeth and Galen might hook up, it should be pretty clear that this couple is “meant to be.”

Back at Urland, Galen comes across as a bit of a jackass: in a bid to impress everyone and bring a hasty conclusion to the nasty business, he causes a landslide to bury the dragon’s cave opening. After the dust clears, Galen wipes off his hands, beams and waits for the applause to roll in. The King isn’t quite as overjoyed with this development, however, for reasons already mentioned, and has Galen thrown right into the dungeon. If the young whelp is right and the dragon is dead, the King will release him and throw him a party. If, however, Galen just ended up pissing off the dragon, as the King suspected, Galen will be choosing the prize behind Door Number 2: a swift execution. When the dragon makes an appearance, opting for a real scorched-earth policy, all signs point to Galen being kinda screwed. Fear not, faithful readers: this is a Disney movie, after all, and good must eventually succeed over evil. Freed from his prison, Galen must use all of his training and courage, along with some able support from Valerian and his magic amulet, to finally destroy the dragon and free the kingdom. Sometimes, however, young pluck is not enough to overcome ancient evil. Sometimes, you really do need a hero…or a wizard.

For a time, in the early-mid ’80s, Disney seemed to be trying to break from their squeaky-clean image with a group of films that were decidedly darker, more “mature” and violent than previous films. This trend seemed to begin with the ultra-dark, sci-fi epic The Black Hole (1979) and would continue with The Watcher in the Woods (1980), Dragonslayer, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), The Journey of Natty Gann (1985), The Black Cauldron (1985) and Return to Oz (1985). Eventually, Disney would create Touchstone Pictures to handle these “more adult” films, scrubbing a bit of the mire off Disney’s tarnished “innocence.” In certain ways, then, Dragonslayer is a bit of a watershed moment in that it reflected a fundamental change in the Disney ideal, during the early ’80s. It’s also notable for its consistently impressive special effects, effects which earned it an Oscar nomination for Visual Effects, which it lost to some forgotten film named Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981).

Without a doubt, the effects in Dragonslayer are pretty amazing, especially for the time, even if they might seem a bit dated by modern standard. In at least one instance, however, the effects in Dragonslayer seem to be at least the equal of modern films: as the dragon rears up and blasts Galen with a huge stream of fire, we get a truly awe-inspiring wide shot of the action. With the dragon occupying one side of the frame and Galen and his enormous shield occupying the other side, the shot looks just as beautiful and immaculately composed as any illustration or painting, with the added benefit of the cinematic sense of motion and space. Tt’s a heady moment that absolutely thrilled me and was, I’m pretty sure, at least 70% responsible for my previous love of the film. Bottom line: it’s a fantastic shot that could easily compete with the best of Jackson, Cameron, et al.

In general, the effects work (by Industrial Light and Magic) is strictly top-notch, featuring a great use of puppetry (the aforementioned dragon pups), a really neat flaming lake location and the dragon, itself, which ends up looking just as realistic, in close-up, as many of the dinosaurs in Spielberg’s groundbreaking Jurassic Park (1993). While the effects are never less than stupendous, the image, itself, can be a little dark, at times, or given to a “bleary-smeary” filter effect that makes it seem as if the viewer is mildly intoxicated. I didn’t mind the occasionally too dark image, since it really complimented the film’s atmosphere, but the bleary lens got a little tiresome: at times, this felt like one of those old Liz Taylor perfume ads with a Vaseline-smeared camera lens.

As with other films in Disney’s “dark era,” Dragonslayer doesn’t shy away from more graphic material. The bit where Ulrich is killed is a little disturbing, as is the scene where Tyrian murders Hodge, but neither of them really compare to the later scene where the baby dragons end up eating one of the main characters alive. As this was one of the very few aspects of the film that I could (kinda/sorta) recall from my childhood, I’m pretty sure that it made a big impression on me. Whether it’s responsible for any of my current morbidity is an issue up for debate, of course, but I’m sure it at least contributed. The film also features some brief, full nudity, thanks to Valerian’s skinny-dipping scene, which was probably a bit of a concern for parents who took their children to, presumably, the newest Disney family film. By comparison, try to remember the last time you saw full female nudity in a Disney film: I’m betting you can’t come up with anything. While this element adds nothing whatsoever to the story (although it does provide for a nifty visual reveal of Valerian’s true identity), it certainly gives the proceedings a more “mature” quality.

The acting in Dragonslayer is decent, if more than a little hammy, at times (which is perfectly in line with almost every sword and sorcery film of the ’80s, to be honest). Peter Eyre is kind of a fidgety mess as the king (he is one severely weird lookin’ dude, let me tell ya) but John Hallam is pretty great as Tyrian, playing his character as such an unrepentant son of a bitch that his final battle with Galen has some real emotional potency to it: we really, really want to see Galen kick his ass in a most righteous manner. Ralph Richardson is a more than suitable Ulrich and there may even be hints of the Ian McKellen version of Gandalf in his quirky idiosyncrasies. Finally, Peter MacNicol and Caitlin Clarke make a pretty cute couple as Galen and Valerian but I never quite bought MacNicol as a hero: he was always too goofy and self-deprecating, less like someone thrust into a dangerous situation and more like someone goofing around to kill time. Clarke, for her part, makes a suitably spunky heroine but her mid-film transformation into an “actual” young woman is one of those eye-rolling “Ugly Duckling” moments where removing someone’s glasses and letting her hair down transforms said person into Helen of Troy. It’s silly and clichéd but, at the very least, the filmmakers skewer the convention a little by having Galen pull her onto the “dance-floor” as a medieval band strikes up a “tune.” While Valerian’s “transformation” is old hat, this parallel with more conventional teenage romances seemed to be rather subversively clever. At the very least, I got a good chuckle out of it.

While the action occasionally gets a bit silly, writer-director Matthew Robbins tends to keep things fairly straight-faced and a little less bombastic than the competition. Robbins would go on to direct The Legend of Billie Jean (1985) and *batteries not included (1987), although he’ll probably be best known as a writer: he had a hand in the scripts for The Sugarland Express (1974), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), MacArthur (1977) and Mimic (1997) and is currently attached to Guillermo del Toro’s upcoming Crimson Peak horror project. Robbins’ script for Dragonslayer isn’t amazing but it is rather tightly plotted and features several genuinely thrilling beats, moments which are replicated pretty exceptionally in the film, itself. Again, while nothing exceptional, Robbins brings a sure and steady hands to the proceedings which certainly gives the film a little added weight.

To return to my original question, however: did the film hold up for me after all these years? Absolutely. While it wasn’t amazing (with the exception of that wonderful dragon/Galen shot and the mean scene where the dragon pups chow down), Dragonslayer is consistently good, easily the better of other films in that particular subgenre like The Sword and the Sorcerer (1982), The Beastmaster (1982), Krull (1983) and Deathstalker (1983). I was particularly taken by the film’s dark, mysterious look (those damned Vasoline shots notwithstanding) and must admit that the superb final fight did make me feel like a kid again: it’s the best kind of ass-kicking, fantasy-badassery and ends the film on an enthusiastically high note. Throw in some last-minute, but no less timely, observations about the ways in which both religions and governments tend to take credit for the work of others and you have a film that sets a pretty high bar and manages, for the most part, to hit its marks.

Dragonslayer isn’t the best ’80s sword and sorcery film by a long-shot (that is, was and always will be Conan the Barbarian, with honorable mention going to John Boorman’s batshit-nuts Excalibur (1981), a film so insane that it belongs in its own category altogether) but that doesn’t prevent it from being superbly entertaining in its own right. Matthew Robbin’s film is a reminder of the days when fantastical worlds weren’t necessarily a given in the world of film and viewers had to work a little harder to get that suspension of disbelief. It’s a little more work, to be sure, but I think the rewards are a little bigger, too.

 

5/2/14: You Horny Little Devil, You

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Ana Gasteyer, Anna Kendrick, Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, Bjorn Yearwood, black comedies, Calum Worthy, Chris Matheson, cinema, comedies, Craig Robinson, Earl Gundy, end of the world, fantasy, film reviews, films, giant lasers, God vs the Devil, Jesse Camacho, John Francis Daley, Ken Jeong, Lil' Beast, Movies, Paul Middleditch, Paul Scheer, plague of locusts, Rapture-Palooza, Rob Corddry, Robert C. New, the Antichrist, the Beast, The Greatest American Hero, the Rapture, Thomas Lennon, Tyler Labine, voice-over narration, wraiths

If you think about it, nothing happens without some kind of bureaucracy. What to change your name? Fill out a form in triplicate. Shoot an armed robber during a bank heist? Make sure your commander gets the paperwork by the end of the day. Need a loan? Sign here, here and initial here. Hell, even selling your soul requires a contract: you can be damn sure the Devil had his lawyers look at it, so you probably should, too. After all, who could possibly be more well-qualified to be the “patron saint” of paperwork and bureaucracy than ol’ Scratch, himself? Paul Middleditch’s newest film, Rapture-Palooza (2013), takes this idea one step further, positing a post-Rapture world where the plague of locusts may be a bummer but it’s the middle managers that really get ya down.

Lindsey (Anna Kendrick) and Ben (John Francis Daley) are a couple of kids who happen to be in love. They also happen to have been left behind by the Rapture, an event which we first see during an intense bowling game (natch). Lindsey and Ben may have been damned to spend the remainder of their lives in a fiery wasteland populated by dope-smoking wraith security guards (Tyler Labine and Paul Scheer), haranguing human-faced locusts (Suffer! Suffer!) and raining blood (more of an irritation than a horror, since the damn blood gets everywhere and windshield wipers just smear that shit around) but they’ve got each other and that’s good enough for them. Complications arise, however when the Antichrist, one Earl Gundy (Craig Robinson) takes a lascivious interest in the virginal Lindsey. Since this is, after all, his world now, Gundy swipes Lindsey, determined to break through her demure protests and make her his infernal queen. Ben, for his part, just wishes his Gundy-employed dad, Mr. House (Rob Corddry), would quit trying to set up Lindsey with the Devil, in order to curry favor.

Eventually, all hell breaks loose (even more than usual, let’s say) and Ben takes on the Antichrist’s minions, with the help of Lindsey’s drug-dealing brother, Clark Lewis (yes, his name really is Clark Lewis) and his best buddy, Fry (Jesse Camacho). The Devil won’t go down without a fight and a quip (or three), however, and things get even messier when Jesus (Mark Wynn) and God (Ken Jeong) show up. Spoiler alert: God’s just as big a dick as the Devil, at least when you’re one of the “little” people. Through it all, however, Lindsey and Ben never lose sight of one thing: if you’ve got true love, you don’t need eternal salvation…just a little sandwich cart and a piece of Apocalypse to call your own.

Similar to the way in which 1997 featured the dueling volcano films Volcano and Dante’s Peak (which, I think, were basically the same film), 2013 featured dueling post-Rapture films: James Franco’s in-joke This is the End and Rapture-Palooza. While I genuinely enjoyed This is the End (which, ironically, also featured Robinson), there was a lot of the film that was too meta and self-concerned to be much use for the average viewer (read: anyone who wasn’t actually in the movie). I found myself smiling quite a bit and appreciated how smart the whole thing was (and it really was a smart film, despite my natural desire to slam Franco for simply existing) but I didn’t find it uproariously funny, bar a few moments (Michael Cera, for the win). Rapture-Palooza, on the other hand, is extremely funny, packed with so many righteously hilarious bits that picking favorites was a little hard.

I absolutely adored the locusts and wraiths (I’ll watch Tyler Labine do anything, including reading a grocery list) but there were dozens of other bits that caught my eye/tickled my funny-bone: Gundy’s son, Lil’ Beast; the surface-to-air anti-Jesus laser; Jeong’s wonderful slant on God as an irritable jerk; that damn sandwich cart; Ana Gasteyer getting sent back to Earth, post-Rapture, for being “too annoying”…these and many more provided a near constant source of amusement throughout the film. My rules for comedy are generally pretty open: just make me laugh and I’m a happy guy. Rapture-Palooza made me laugh more often than not, so that’s a big check mark in the “Positive” category.

The biggest check mark in the “Negative” category? That would have to be Robinson’s endless and increasingly obnoxious sexual innuendos and come-ons. The whole plot of the film is precipitated on the Antichrist desiring Lindsey: we get that. When every third thing out of Robinson’s mouth is another tired variation on “hide the salami,” however, things get old awfully quick. Even more iffy is the notion that 99% of his “jokes” and innuendo involve raping Lindsey, something which never makes for good humor. Since Lindsey has made her feelings plainly clear and repeatedly (and clearly) said “no” in any given situation, it’s hard not to see the Devil’s continued attempts as anything short of an attempt to take her by force. At one point, the Antichrist even makes it plainly clear, telling Lindsey that she’s going to “get it,” whether she wants it or not. While I get what the filmmakers were going for and fully acknowledge that Robinson is known for a bit o’ the dirty talk, I always found this aspect of the film to be in bad taste. Truthfully, without the excessively “rapey” jokes, I would have found Rapture-Palooza to be a nearly perfect film, at least for my sensibilities.

This reliance on aggressively bad taste is a shame, really, because the 1% of Robinson’s dialogue that isn’t given over to imaginative euphemisms for intercourse is pretty spectacular. Robinson is an incredibly gifted comedian, a performer who has a way with a withering line (and glance) that’s almost peerless: his work on The Office is a master-class in the “friendly asshole.” When Gundy isn’t obsessed with Lindsey’s lady parts, he’s spot-on fantastic, no more so than his interactions with his son, Lil’ Beast (Bjorn Yearwood). The Antichrist shows such disdain for his son that it becomes a running joke and a marvelously cruel one, at that. Perhaps it speaks more to my sense of humor but Robinson’s delivery of the line, “Don’t be a dud, little fucker,” made me laugh so hard that I cried. Really. I just wish there were more moments like that in  Robinson’s performance and fewer bits that made me cringe.

The rest of the cast ranges from good to pretty great, with only Gasteyer’s shrill, over-the-top performance as being a bit of a wet blanket. Corddry is fantastic as Ben’s practical, if spectacularly untrustworthy father and Calum Worthy brings just the right touch of “douchbaggery” to his portrayal of Lindsey’s brother. I wish Labine and Scheer (so wonderful as the idiotic Andre on The League) had bigger roles, since either one of them could have carried a lead or supporting performance on their own. What’s here is excellent, however, and I’ll never get tired of Scheer’s pot-smoking wraith, especially when he’s berating Corddry: the whole ensemble has great chemistry together.

While there are plenty of big names/faces in front of the camera, two of the behind-the-scenes folk are just as interesting. The sharp, witty screenplay was written by Chris Matheson, better known as the scribe behind Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989). Matheson’s script is full of great lines and scenes…when it isn’t overly focused on Robinson’s potty-mouth, that is. Nonetheless, there were enough genuinely great moments to make me wish Matheson would write more. He appears to be working on an adaptation of The Greatest American Hero which could be pretty great (remake notwithstanding) if he brought a tenth of the energy and nerve from this script. Cinematography duties on Rapture-Palooza, meanwhile, were handled by another ’80s-’90s-era vet, Robert C. New. While he might not be a household name, genre fans should be more than familiar with his work, since he served as director of photography on films like Prom Night (1980), Night of the Creeps (1986), Big Bad Mama II (1987) and John McNaughton’s classic, The Borrower (1991). Thanks to New, Rapture-Palooza always looks great, with vibrant colors and plenty of nicely composed shots: it looks like the furthest thing from a cheaply made, direct-to-video offering possible, even if it never received much (if any) theatrical love.

Ultimately, Rapture-Palooza, like Kevin Smith’s Dogma (1999) is one of those films that’s designed to split an audience in half. If you have any reverence for religion, particularly Christianity, this might not be the film for you. While the movie frequently takes easy potshots at its targets (to be honest, the last secular film that dealt with the Rapture in any way other than humorously was the odd Mini Driver-starrer The Rapture (1991) ), its final revelation may be a bit much for some people: to find true peace, humans need to give up their reliance on religion. While it’s not a surprising revelation (I would have been more surprised had this ended with a truly religious message, to be honest), it’s definitely something that might tune a few people out. If you have an open-mind, however, and are in the mood for some rude laughs, Rapture-Palooza could just be a little slice of Heaven on Earth. It’s the end of the world, as we know it…and it feels good.

2/23/14: The Long, Long, Long and Winding Road

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Andy Serkis, based on a book, Bilbo Baggins, CGI, Christopher Lee, cinema, dragons, dwarves, elves, epic, fantasy, Film, film reviews, Gandalf the Grey, giant spiders, Ian McKellen, J.R.R. Tolkien, long films, Lord of the Rings, Martin Freeman, Middle Earth, Movies, orcs, Peter Jackson, Richard Armitage, Saruman, Smaug, The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, Thorin, trilogies, wizards

As a child, one of my favorite, most beloved films was the Rankin/Bass animated version of The Hobbit. If I watched that damn thing a thousand times, I must have watched it at least ten thousand times. I loved absolutely everything about it: the animation style, the awesome action scenes, the great soundtrack. To this day, I can’t help but smile every time I think of the film and will frequently find myself humming Glenn Yarbrough excellent theme song, “The Greatest Adventure” out of nowhere. The 1977 version of Tolkien’s classic story may not be perfect but it was perfect enough to be the only version I needed while growing up (aside from the original book, of course).

Since I have such an emotional, nostalgic connection to the original cartoon, I was actually anything but eager to sample Peter Jackson’s newest adaptation. The reasons for this end up having a little to do with wanting to preserve my cherished memories but more to do with my own preconceived notions as to what Jackson would actually do with the rather modest source material. Although I enjoyed Jackson’s panoramic, exhaustive treatment of The Lord of the Rings series, I was more than a little afraid that he would attempt to inflate The Hobbit to the same extremes. Whereas Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings practically screams for a huge, larger-than-life adaptation, The Hobbit is a much smaller affair. Perfect for a single session, I was worried that Jackson would drown his adaptation in minutiae, turning in the equivalent of a super-sized bit of fan service. After all: when the story can be told effectively in one sitting, what could be the possible benefit of expanding and separating it out into three separate pieces (aside from the inherent financial benefit of selling three separate films)? Unfortunately, after finishing the first installment of Jackson’s new trilogy, I find that my previous fears were all well-founded: while An Unexpected Journey has moments of brilliance, it’s also bloated, leaden and more overly-reliant on CGI than any of Jackson’s previous films. After finishing the film (or the first third, as it were), I was left with one over-riding impression: sometimes, less can be much, much more. And much better.

By this point in the history of the world, we should all be (more or less) familiar with the basic story of The Hobbit. Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman), a comfortably mundane hobbit with a modest home, is recruited by Gandalf the Grey (Ian McKellen) to assist a group of dwarves in reclaiming their ancestral home from the massive dragon that drove them from it in the first place. Bilbo, being a hobbit, is less than happy with the idea of anything resembling danger or adventure. As time (and the journey) go on, however, Bilbo will learn the true meaning of courage and will eventually grow into the hero, albeit modest, that Gandalf always knew him to be. Along the way, he’ll meet elves, trolls, a particularly nasty spider named Shelob and, eventually, the dragon named Smaug.

Tolkien’s The Hobbit may be many things but it is, primarily, the story of Bilbo learning to be courageous and self-sufficient. Perhaps the biggest sin of Jackson’s version of The Hobbit is how little it actually seems to be about its titular character. Truth be told, An Unexpected Journey seems to be the story of Gandalf and the dwarves, with some small support from Bilbo, as needed. This could, of course, be due to the inherent curse of the three-film structure: Part One has to set everything up, Part Two has to bridge and Part Three lets us paint the town red. For my money, the three-part structure was also an issue for the Lord of the Rings trilogy, if a much more necessary one than in The Hobbit.

In essence, An Unexpected Journey ends up being one of the longest prologues in cinema history. Jackson spends so much time on each page of Tolkien’s text (along with various supplemental material) that the film seems to move in real-time, which would seem to be particularly thrilling during the fight sequences but proves to be almost coma-inducing during the extended scene at the beginning where the dwarves gather in Bilbo’s house. At over thirty minutes long, the scene is a seemingly never-ending stream of dwarves eating, drinking, singing and talking while Bilbo bustles around worried and Gandalf smokes sagely. They do manage to throw in the great ditty about washing Bilbo’s dishes but that’s hardly surprising since everything else gets added, as well.

The film manages to hit all of the important moments and beats from Tolkien’s book (if greatly expanded), yet also opts to throw in tons of material that either add a “Hollywood” aspect to the film (the introduction of Azoth as some sort of Bond-esque villain, complete with mechanical arm, is total horseshit) or needlessly tie The Hobbit in to the Lord of the Rings trilogy (Christopher Lee returns as the villainous Saruman, although anyone who’s seen Jackson’s LOTR already knows what he has up his sleeve, which seems to dilute the intended impact). At times, there are so many references to LOTR and cameos from previous actors/characters that it smacks alarmingly of fan version. One could argue that both series exist in the same world and overlap key characters: one could also argue, however, that The Hobbit always existed as its own entity and was not dependent on LOTR but enhanced and informed by it. Rather than functioning as its own, stand-alone narrative (as it rightly should), An Unexpected Journey often feels like additional player content for an already purchased video game. For an additional $12 (times three, technically), Jackson’s given us the chance to spend a little more time with beloved characters, even if they’re mostly cameos.

Adding to the video game parallel, in my opinion, are the CGI-heavy visuals. Too often, I found the backgrounds to resemble video game cut scenes (think Final Fantasy 35) and I never found myself fully immersed in Middle Earth. While the Lord of the Rings trilogy utilized CGI (particularly the final film), there was still heavy use of practical effects and makeup. Here, the orcs all have a smooth, shiny, generic appearance that reminds me of what a PS3 adaptation of The Descent might look like. In fact, I’m hard-pressed to remember any of the baddies in this one, although I’m assuming that Shelob’s appearance in the second film will be pretty awesome (what can I say: I’m a sucker for giant spiders). The fight between the giant CGI eagles and the CGI wargs is pretty cool but most of the other battles devolve into a kind of frenzied, generic CGI smash-em-up with little individual definition and lots of repetitious action. It gets old fast and is definitely a let-down: I wasn’t enamored of the film, in general, but the battle scenes were my least favorite parts, oddly enough.

Lest it seem like I’m unnecessarily slamming the film, let me be clear: despite my hesitance to see this particular film (due to the reasons stated above), I’ve always been a huge Peter Jackson fan. In fact, up to and including The Fellowship of the Rings, Jackson was one of my favorite directors, ranked in my head in a similar position to Ben Wheatley nowadays. I absolutely love Dead Alive, Meet the Feebles and Heavenly Creatures: each one is as perfect a film, in their own ways, as was ever made. I haven’t really cared for much past LOTR, however, and I grew weary with that series by the end of the second film. In a way, I equate Jackson’s later day career to Tim Burton’s later day career: I’ll always love their early films but I have a real hard time fully appreciating their more recent offerings.

Despite my various and sundry complaints about An Unexpected Journey, however, there is still plenty to laud about the film. The acting is uniformly solid, with Martin Freeman particularly excellent as Bilbo. Andy Sirkis returns as Gollum and, as expected, his scene with Bilbo is a real highlight. The dwarves, although rather interchangeable, are a likable enough bunch, although Thorin (Richard Armitage) is such an obvious stand-in for Aragorn from LOTR that it comes across as a bit silly. The haunting, mournful song that they sing towards the end of the epic first night at Bilbo’s is chill-inducing. There’s also some genuine inventive nuttiness to be found in Greenwood, especially once Radagast the Brown (Sylvester McCoy) is being pulled around on a sled by a team of rabbits. If anything, I wish that more of the film had been this inventive and…well…fun.

Ultimately, An Unexpected Journey is what it is: the first of three films in a very large expansion of a very modest story. Perhaps it’s unfair (and unwise) to judge the whole thing by the first entry. At the same point, however, I can’t help but feel that the original Hobbit would have had us all safe and warm back in our shires, by this point, while Jackson’s adaptation still has us trudging through the cold, desolate wilderness, many, many miles away from our eventual destination.