12/29/14: Love Hurts

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abortion, Antichrist, attempted rape, auteur theory, BDSM, Best of 2014, Breaking the Waves, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Christian Slater, cinema, coming of age, favorite films, female sexuality, feminism, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, foreign films, graphic films, Jamie Bell, Lars von Trier, Manuel Alberto Claro, Melancholia, Mia Goth, Movies, Nymphomaniac, Rammstein, real sex, sexuality, Shia LeBeouf, Stacy Martin, Stellan Skarsgard, stylish films, Udo Kier, Willem Dafoe, writer-director

Love him or hate him, there’s absolutely no denying what a massively talented filmmaker Danish provocateur Lars Von Trier is: the proof, as they say, is in the pudding. Despite his propensity for incendiary soundbites while on press junkets, Von Trier has been an uncompromising force in the world of film since bursting into the public eye with Breaking the Waves (1996): since that time, Von Trier has given us some of the most unforgettable, amazing art films in the history of the medium – Dancer in the Dark (2000), Dogville (2003), Manderlay (2005), Antichrist (2009) and Melancholia (2011) are all deeply individualistic, exquisitely crafted and endlessly inventive works of art that don’t shy away from big or unpleasant questions while never losing sight of the impish, dark sense of humor that’s characterized all of Von Trier’s productions.

Quite simply, people expect Von Trier to be a shit disturber and the description for his latest venture produced the required amount of consternation: in his daffiest pronouncement yet, Von Trier promised to do no less than completely explore female sexuality, from a female perspective, none the less. The very notion of any male proclaiming to “understand” female sexuality is both ridiculous and more than a little offensive: there’s much more than notions of textbook biology that factor into this, since psychological, societal and familial issues all factor into any understanding of what constitutes female sexuality. There’s also the fact that…well…you know…Lars Von Trier is a guy: what, exactly, makes him any kind of an expert on the female body?

Here’s the thing, though: it’s easy to get riled at Von Trier’s hubris, to scoff at the very notion that any man could purport to craft the end-all-be-all of female sexuality. After all, this is the same guy who gave us the unrelentingly misogynistic Dogville and the gynocidal-themed Antichrist: can we really trust someone like Von Trier to give anything approaching a balanced representation of female sexuality? It’s remarkably easy to talk shit about the whole enterprise until you’re actually face-to-face with the finished product. Is Von Trier’s Nymphomaniac (2014) the “ultimate” representation of female sexuality on the big screen? Probably not. Is it one of the most fascinating, inflammatory and must-see films of the year? Absolutely.

Divided across two halves, eight chapters and roughly 5.5 hours (this review refers to the “uncut director’s edition”), Nymphomaniac is the furthest thing from “rainy day” viewing. This is a film that demands (and rewards) close attention: interested parties are advised to just swallow the pill, devote a day to the proceedings and just let Von Trier take the reins. I’ve never been the biggest fan of binge-watching “large” films, in general, but take my advise: you’ll want to absorb Nymphomaniac in one go, similar to ripping a band-aid off in one pull.

We begin with Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard) finding Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg) beaten nearly to death in an alley. He spirits her home, sees to her wounds and asks her about the circumstances that led to her dire condition. This, of course, is all a ploy to get us to the main event: the complete life history of our protagonist, Joe. From this point on, Joe relates her life story to the kindly, doting Seligman, a story which focuses predominantly on her sexual awakening and exploits. Although we’ll view it all in seemingly arbitrary order, we’ll follow Joe from her first orgasm, at age 12, all the way to the events that led to her current state. Along the way, we’ll learn about her life-long love-affair with Jerome (Shia Lebouf), her relationship with her scientist father (Christian Slater),  her introduction to BDSM at the hands of the mysterious K (Jamie Bell), her self-administered abortion and eventual mastery of her own libido, after the failure of the various men in her life.

It’s a painful journey, as we’ll see, a journey that involves the loss of Joe’s son, the loss of her beloved father, the loss of control over her own body, the loss of her “true love” and her eventual loss of self. It’s also an enlightening journey, however, as Joe learns to control her own sexuality and understand her body in ways that she never could before. Joe is anything but a victim: for the majority of the film’s runtime, Joe is in complete control of her sexuality and body: even when she doesn’t fully understand the ramifications, Joe is always the one who calls the shots. At the end of the day, can there really be a more progressive, forward-thinking POV than that?

Here’s the thing: as with anything else by Von Trier, love it or hate it, there’s absolutely no denying how amazing Nymphomaniac is…from a sheer filmmaking perspective, the film is an absolute marvel. Stuffed to bursting with gorgeous cinematography, ingenious editing, and some truly marvelous performances, Nymphomaniac is utterly captivating, from beginning to end. I simply cannot stress enough how impressive this is in a film that stretches nearly to the six-hour mark: this seems to fly by in record time.

I would be remiss if I didn’t spend at least a moment or two discussing the film’s sexual content. Ready? Here it goes: you will see lots and lots of penises, vaginas, graphic penetration, fellatio and cunnilingus…if any of this bothers you, this is, without a doubt, not the film for you. I will make the point, however, that the sexuality in Nymphomaniac always comes across as graphic, rather than gratuitous: there’s an important distinction and I feel that Von Trier manages to keep everything on the “proper” side throughout the film’s runtime.

One aspect of the film that adds, immeasurably, to the overall feel is the underlying sense of humor. While very little about Nymphomaniac is explicitly funny, per se, the film is chock-a-block with Von Trier’s patented sense of dark, ironic humor. While much of the humor comes from Seligman’s often inappropriate digressions and asides, one of the film’s purely “funniest” scenes has to be the setpiece where Joe attempts to instigate a threesome with two African men, without speaking their language. The scene acts as a microcosm of the entire film, in a way, expertly blending the slapstick and the obscene, the erotic and the ridiculous, to dizzying effect.

The core of the film, performance-wise, is definitely the combined tour-de-force of Gainsbourg and Skarsgard. While Skarsgard is reliably solid as the inquisitive, kindly scientist, Gainsbourg absolutely owns the film as Joe. There’s a nuance and sense of unpredictability to her performance that is an absolute joy to watch and I’ll be honest: the fact that Gainsbourg wasn’t nominated for any acting awards has more to do with the fact that Von Trier is too much of a hot potato than with real issues…her performance is magnificent and certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Most importantly, Nymphomaniac is an incredibly complex film: from the constant digressions (ala House of Leaves) to the time-line jumping to the theoretical discussions and the ever-prevalent symbolism, there’s an awful lot going on here at any given time. Von Trier manages to imbue everything with its own distinct feel, as befits the various themes: the hospice section has a stark, black-and-white feel that recalls Von Trier’s earliest, most experimental works, while various other portions recall the stunning visuals that characterize latter-day works like Antichrist and Melancholia.

My main issue going into this, to be honest, was the underlying notion that Von Trier really has no business telling this particular story: a film like this needs to come from a female perspective, no two ways about it. Ultimately, however, I find myself torn: Von Trier tells this tale with so much nuance and subtlety that it seems completely reductive to cut him out of the discussion. Von Trier, the man, might not have anything inherent to add to this particular gender discussion but Von Trier, the filmmaker, has plenty to say and it would seem a little remiss not to at least listen.

Ultimately, there’s a lot going on here, more than can, reasonably, be discussed in this kind of a format. While there will always be the question of whether Von Trier has any dog in this race, so to speak, the end-results speak for themselves. At the end of the day, all that we can do is look at the finished product and examine the facts, such as they are. Here are the facts: an uncompromising filmmaker has crafted an uncompromising film and the results demand to be seen and discussed. Is this the final word on gender discussions? Absolutely not…but I don’t think it pretends to be, either. Rather, I think that Von Trier has created a film which frames the discussion of female sexuality in a way that explicitly references not only modern notions of “entertainment” but classical “acceptance” of gender roles and norms.

More than anything, Nymphomaniac asks us to take all of the proffered information and frame it in a distinctly genderless manner: if we wouldn’t bat an eye at a guy doing any of this, why would we look so askance at a woman doing the same thing? In the end, this is Nymphomaniac (and Von Trier’s) greatest victory: we know that it’s “accepted,” but is it right? Nymphomaniac doesn’t think it is and, to be honest, neither should you.

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11/16/14 (Part One): Let Your Voice Be Heard

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Alexandra Holden, bad fathers, celebrity cameos, comedy, Demetri Martin, directorial debut, Don Lafontaine, ensemble cast, Eva Longoria, father-daughter relationships, feminism, Fred Melamed, Geena Davis, In a World..., independent films, indie comedies, infidelity, Jason O'Mara, Ken Marino, Lake Bell, Michaela Watkins, Nick Offerman, Rob Corddry, sexism, Stephanie Allynne, Talulah Riley, Tig Notaro, voice actors, voice coach, voice-over artists, writer-director-actor

Despite this being the tail-end of 2014, there are a lot of things that our species has yet to accomplish: we can send a message from one end of the world to the other in seconds, yet we still have masses of people who starve to death every day…we can send a probe into deep space, yet can’t figure out the basic need for racial equality…anyone, anywhere, now has the opportunity to have their personal thoughts, artwork, opinions and beliefs be seen by a world-wide audience, yet we manage to marginalize women nearly to the point of invisibility. Never before have we been so attuned to the small details, yet so completely ignorant of the big picture…so close to the finish line and yet so very, very far away.

In a World…(2013), the extraordinary feature-length directorial debut of indie writer/actor extraordinaire Lake Bell, probably won’t create any massive kind of sea-change in “the battle of the sexes,” which probably says more about our inherent resistance to common sense than anything else. It’s too bad, really, because In a World…is just the kind of film that could start a bigger dialogue, if given a wide enough audience. A hilarious, sharply written, character-driven comedy that makes its points in the most reasonable way possible and comes to the same conclusion that all of us should have long ago, In a World… politely explains just how fundamentally stupid sexism is and the unfortunate ways in which both men and women keep falling into the same old traps. The solution, as simple as it is, might just shock the world: why not try treating everyone like equals and see what happens?

Carol (Lake Bell) is a voice coach whose main job seems to be helping celebrities like Eva Longoria “not sound like a retarded pirate” for various projects. Voice-work comes naturally to Carol: her father, Sam (Fred Melamed), an impossibly egotistical, massively obnoxious voice-over “superstar,” is about to receive a lifetime achievement award after long being regarded as one of the luminaries in this particular entertainment niche, second only to the legendary Don Lafontaine. The spectre of Lafontaine, who made famous the titular “In a world…” film trailer line so famous, hangs over the cast of characters like a lead weight: he’s the pinnacle that they all aspire to, the ultimate source of envy for jerks like Sam and his protegé, the equally obnoxious Gustav (Ken Merino).

With a new epic film series on the horizon (The Amazon Games, obviously modeled after The Hunger Games), the series’ producers decide that they want an equally epic teaser trailer: for the first time in ages, they decide to use the iconic “In a world…” line and they’re going to need the perfect person to pull it off. Turns out that Carol thinks she’s that person but there’s a hitch: women are completely marginalized as far as cinematic voice-over work goes. Not only don’t any of Carol’s peers, such as Gustav, take her seriously but her own father even disparages her attempts to break into the industry, telling her to stick to her “lowly” voice coaching work. Frustrated, Carol decides to flip off the naysayers and auditions for the trailer…and handily scores the gig! Gustav is furious, unable to handle the news that he lost a plum gig to a woman (even though he doesn’t know it was Carol who “scooped” him) but Sam takes it one step further: he demands to be considered for the gig, even though his daughter has been all-but handed the job already. Since he still pulls weight in the industry, Sam forces the producers to audition the applicants, including Carol and Gustav.

The drama involving the voice-over work is contrasted with a subplot involving Carol’s sister, Dani (Michaela Watkins), her neebishy husband, Moe (Rob Corddry) and the hunky director of The Amazon Games, Terry (Jason O’Mara): they all get thrown into the soup after Carol enlists Dani’s help with some voice-over research (Terry has the dreamiest Irish brogue, dontcha know?) and Dani and Terry end up spending an undue amount of time together. Throw in a romantic triangle involving Carol, Gustav and Carol’s endlessly faithful agent, Louis (Demitri Martin), and you have a recipe for some practically Shakespearian machinations involving love, betrayal, acceptance and the importance of standing up for yourself, regardless of what others think.

As an actor, Lake Bell is known for quirky character performances in indie films like A Good Old Fashioned Orgy (2011) and Black Rock (2012), as well as roles in bigger-budget, mainstream fare like What Happens in Vegas (2008), It’s Complicated (2009) and No Strings Attached (2011). There’s an odd quality to Bell’s performances that marks her as a singularly unique performer: there always seems to be something slightly off about her, something distinctly “out of synch” with whatever she’s appearing in, similar to any of Andy Kaufmann’s various “legit” acting performances. Bell was also part of Rob Corddry’s exceptional Children’s Hospital series, which saw her sharing the small screen with In a World…co-stars Corddry, Ken Marino and Nick Offerman, making her directorial debut a bit of a Children’s Hospital reunion, in a way.

In a World…works on a number of levels: it’s an above-average comedy, thanks to a pretty unbeatable ensemble cast composed almost entirely of comedians (the cast-list reads like a virtual “who’s who” of modern comics); it’s a nicely realized examination of a particularly difficult father-daughter relationship, complete with the requisite “young stepmother” to provide equal comedy grist; it’s a fascinating look into the world of voice-over acting, a subset of the film industry that many casual audiences probably have as little experience with as possible; and last, but certainly not least, it’s a subtle and cutting look at the modern face of sexism and the glass ceilings that still manage to keep women down, despite any number of advances made since the “bad old days.” In a World…manages to be all these things at once, maintaining a delicate balancing act that marks Bell as a formidable talent: much more experienced filmmakers would have dropped at least half of these balls…Bell juggles them with an ease that’s almost supernatural.

One of the most impressive aspects of Lake’s debut is how it’s able to engage on so many levels without ever losing sight of the inherent absurdity of these situations. Carol is exasperated and frustrated by the sexism of her chosen profession but she never gives up or gives in to anger: she plows through, resolutely, determined to prove her worth in the most old-fashioned way possible…by kicking complete ass at the job. For a modern society that prizes innovators and “boot-strap-warriors,” Carol is a bit of a patron saint: she sees something that she wants, ignores the naysayers, busts her ass and goes for it. The whole sexist system is still in place, mind you: the film doesn’t engage in needless feel-good aphorisms any more than it traffics in “revenge fantasies,” ala Horrible Bosses (2011) and its ilk. Rather, Carol’s stubborn refusal to give in and her steadfast desire to be heard makes her something of an Arctic icebreaker, charges ahead despite the endless resistance and pushback she experiences.

Most impressively, In a World…marks Bell’s full-length writing debut: the script is so tight, full of such great dialogue and scenarios that it’s hard to believe she doesn’t have more full-lengths under her belt. I previously called In a World…”Shakespearian” and it’s a comparison I’ll stand by: there’s something about the intricate, brilliant interactions between the various characters that instantly reminiscent of the Bard. By the end, Bell has managed to tie the various threads together in some truly satisfying ways, right up to the fist-raising conclusion that shows how Carol keeps kicking in the door to the boys’ club, finding ways to help women fight the system and find their own voices.

In a World…is that most amazing of constructions, in the end, a “message” film that succeeds as pure entertainment without ever losing sight of the big picture. Bell has lots of things to say here and never hedges her bets but it’s also plainly clear that she wants us to have a good time: there’s no reason that we can’t dance at the revolution, as long as we remember why we’re there. When a film makes you laugh out loud and think, at the same time, well…that’s something pretty special, no two ways about it. Here’s to hoping that In a World…marks the beginning of a brilliant, long directorial career for Bell: the world still has a helluva long way to go but the darkness looks like it’s getting brighter all the time.

10/14/15 (Part One): The Sisterhood of the Flying Broom

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31 Days of Halloween, 800 Bullets, Accion Mutante, Alex de la Iglesia, alternate title, armed robbery, auteur theory, battle of the sexes, Carmen Maura, Carolina Bang, El dia de la bestia, favorite films, feminism, Film auteurs, foreign films, Gabriel Delgado, Guillermo del Toro, horror movies, horror-comedies, Hugo Silva, Jaime Ordonez, Kiko de la Rica, Las Brujas de Zugarramurdi, love story, Macarena Gomez, Mario Casas, men vs women, misogyny, paganism, Peter Jackson, romance, Santiago Segura, Secun de la Rosa, small town life, Spanish film, special-effects extravaganza, Terele Pavez, The Day of the Beast, The Last Circus, witches, Witching and Bitching, writer-director, Zugarramurdi

Occupying a common ground somewhere between cinema-fantastique auteur Guillermo del Toro and legendary surrealist Alejandro Jodorowsky, the films of Spanish writer-director Alex de la Iglesia are, without a doubt, one-of-a-kind treasures, little islands of individuality adrift in a cinematic sea of homogeneity. Since the early ’90s, de la Iglesia has used genre films like feature-length debut Accion mutante (1993) and El dia de la bestia (1995) to address everything from organized religion to societal responsibility, from the vagaries of the child adoption system to the horrors of the Spanish Civil War.

Beginning with 2002’s 800 Bullets, de la Iglesia began to move further afield from the scrappy supernatural-themed films that began his career to focus on more “mature” films, albeit ones which still bore very little resemblance to anyone else’s. El crimen perfecto (2004), The Last Circus (2010) and As Luck Would Have It (2011) might have been more grounded in reality than de la Iglesia’s previous films (although The Last Circus is a pretty surreal cake, no matter how you slice it) but were no less quirky and ground-breaking. Since As Luck Would Have It was his most linear, “normal” film yet, I found myself wondering if the wild man of Spanish cinema had decided to walk the straight and narrow, so to speak.

For his most recent film, however, de la Iglesia opted to go a little further back in his career: all the way back to the outrageous El dia de la bestia, as it turns out. Witching and Bitching (or the Witches of Eastwick-referencing original title, Las brujas de Zugarramurdi) (2013) combines action, slapstick, sly black humor and the supernatural in truly invigorating ways, offering up a treatise on the eternal battle of the sexes that manages to lob grenades at both sides while still finding plenty of room for romance, some sneaky asides about Spanish pop culture and some pretty awesome SFX setpieces, including a climatic battle with a massive, ancient goddess that would make Peter Jackson smile. In other words: that magnificent bastard de la Iglesia has done it again.

De la Iglesia has always been masterful with his opening segments and Witching and Bitching continues this trend. After a nicely atmospheric intro featuring some good, old-fashioned witch action (think “bubble bubble toil and trouble/big black cauldron type stuff), we get jumped into a thoroughly dynamic credit sequence that manages to juxtapose images of famous female actors, politicians, historical figures and celebrities with those of witches, pagan symbols, fertility statues, arcane images and serial killers, as if to make the claim that pigeonholing women is just about as stupid and pointless an exercise as possible. De la Iglesia seems to be making the statement that women, like men, are a little bit of every archetype: that old cliché of “the Madonna or the whore” is just as worthless today as it was a hundred years ago.

The film, proper, begins with Jose (Hugo Silva), his young son, Sergio (Gabriel Delgado) and accomplice, Antonio (Mario Casas), fleeing a badly botched jewelry store heist. They make off with a dufflebag filled with gold wedding rings but Tony’s girlfriend has taken off with their getaway car (in her defense, Antonio never bothered to let her know that he would be using her car for an armed robbery, so her reaction is kind of understandable), leaving them stranded as the cops begin to bear down. Springing into action, Jose carjacks a taxi, taking the driver, Manuel (Jaime Ordonez), and his passenger hostage. All that Jose wants to do is get to the French border and he sees Manuel’s taxi as his golden parachute.

Meanwhile, Jose’s highly irate ex-wife, Silvia (Macarena Gomez), has heard about the botched robbery on the news and is rushing over to rescue her poor son and slap Jose upside the head so hard that it jogs his common-sense loose. Along for the ride are bickering cops Calvo (Pepon Nieto) and Pacheco (Secun de la Rosa), who are both convinced that Silvia somehow abetted her low-life ex-husband with the robbery. As luck would have it, all of these disparate characters converge on the titular town of Zugarramurdi, where they will find themselves in the midst of an ancient coven of witches, led by Graciana (Carmen Maura), her elderly mother, Maritxu (Terele Pavez), and daughter, Eva (Carolina Bang). The witches are seeking to resurrect a pagan goddess, in order to replace the reigning patriarchy with a matriarchy and right the countless wrongs that have been inflicted on women since the dawn of time. As love affairs pop up left and right, however, loyalties will be tested: when Eva experiences the first pangs of true love, she must make the impossible decision to either betray her family and her gender or her own heart.

As with all of de la Iglesia’s films, there’s a lot going on in Witching and Bitching: at times, the film seems to move from one complex setpiece to another, with very little room in-between to catch one’s breath. This only ends up being an issue if the film’s setpieces are lacking which, fortunately, is not a problem that de la Iglesia ever seems to be saddled with. From the dynamic, thrilling and hilarious opening robbery (seeing SpongeBob Squarepants get all murdery with a shotgun is, to be frank, a sublime joy that my mind never knew it was missing) to the jaw-dropping special effects showcase that ends the film (I wasn’t lying about Peter Jackson approving: it’s one hell of an awesome sequence), there’s very little about the movie that isn’t captivating, visually stunning or flat-out hilarious.

As a comedy, Witching and Bitching works on a variety of levels, from the silly and slapsticky (Eva serves “finger food” that consists of actual fingers; the various chase scenes remind of Scooby Doo cartoons, at times) to the more subtle and cutting (Eva’s family frequently reminds her that she should be out engaging in “fist-fucking, golden showers and zoophilia,” not falling in love with a wimpy man…they didn’t send her to “the worst schools” just to suffer this indignity!). In addition, there’s plenty of commentary on the “battle of the sexes” from both sides: neither men nor women escape the film’s withering glare unscathed.

As a horror film, de la Iglesia’s movie is, likewise, a home-run – despite the near-constant comedy, he manages to sneak plenty of pure horror beats into the mix, as well. The town of Zugarramurdi is ridiculously atmospheric, coming across as nothing so much as the return of the fog-shrouded hamlets of Hammer Studios’ glory days. There’s a nicely tense bit involving a mysterious person reaching up through a toilet-bowl that’s nearly Hitchcockian in its sustained sense of suspense and the previously mentioned climax, featuring the massive, ancient and blind goddess (brilliantly depicted as a towering combination of the Venus of Willendorf and one of Jackson’s trolls from LOTR) is a real showstopper: they even manage to throw in a nifty mid-air “witches’ battle” to keep things lively.

Despite the nearly constant spectacle, the cast of Witching and Bitching manages to hold their own against the onslaught. Hugo Silva is a charismatic hero and he’s ably paired up with Mario Casas to give the film a pair of sympathetic (to a point) protagonists. Jaime Ordonez is, likewise, pretty great as the kidnapped taxi driver: the scene where he decides to “join” the gang, only to be met with mass confusion by Jose and Antonio (“Does this mean you want a cut or something? How do we know we can trust you?”) is an easy highlight and Ordonez’s nervous, fidgety energy contrasts nicely with Silva’s more traditional heroism and Casas’ kind-of/sort-of nice-guy dumbass.

On the female side of things, Carmen Maura, Carolina Bang and Terele Pavez pretty much steal the film from the rest of the cast: the bit where Pavez puts in razor-sharp steel teeth and Maura scuttles across the ceiling, like a fly, are undeniably badass, as is Bang’s ridiculously hot-headed Eva whenever she’s on-screen. More importantly, none of the witches ever come across as overly shrill or needlessly bumbling: unlike many genre films that purport to detail a (literal) battle of the sexes (Jake West’s Doghouse (2009) comes immediately to mind), there’s never the notion that de la Iglesia has unfairly stacked the deck against his female antagonists.

In fact, one of the most interesting aspects of the film is the way in which the notion of feminism is handled. Early on, we get a pretty much never-ending stream of misogyny from the likes of Jose and Manuel: even nice-guy Tony joins in after he realizes that his girlfriend actually “holds the reins” in their relationship. This is qualified, of course, once we get to Zugarramurdi and get the other half of argument from the female participants. As Graciana makes plainly clear, men are really afraid of women because they realize that God is actually female and are too terrified to admit the truth: by bringing about the return of their goddess, the women hope to usher in a new, enlightened era, one where women are not subjugated, abused and ridiculed. In a way, neither gender makes it out of Witching and Bitching completely intact, although most of de la Iglesia’s sharpest rocks are reserved for the lunk-headed men in the film.

Ultimately, de la Iglesia’s latest film is proof-positive of why I absolutely adore his movies: they’re big, brash, colorful, lively, funny and intelligent…pretty much any and everything that I possibly hope to find at the theater. While del Toro and Jackson might be better known, I’d argue that de la Iglesia is, without a doubt, the more accomplished, interesting filmmaker: he has a way of blending the fantastic and the mundane in some truly invigorating ways. While The Last Circus will probably always be my favorite de la Iglesia film (if there are flaws in that film, I haven’t found them), Witching and Bitching is an instant classic and should be required viewing for genre fans. Start with this one, start with The Last Circus or pick a random title out of a hat: whatever you do, make yourself familiar with the films of Alex de la Iglesia. If you love films as much as I do, I’m willing to guarantee that you might just find yourself with a new favorite director.

10/13/14 (Part Two): The Way Out Is Through

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31 Days of Halloween, Alex Reid, all-female cast, auteur theory, cave system, Centurion, cinema, cult classic, cult films, Dog Soldiers, Doomsday, favorite films, female friendships, feminism, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, friends, horror films, horror-adventure, isolation, Molly Kayll, Movies, MyAnna Buring, mysterious cave, Natalie Mendoza, Neil Marshall, Nora-Jane Noone, Oliver Milburn, Saskia Mulder, Shauna Macdonald, spelunking, subterranean monsters, The Descent, underground exploration, unexplored cave system

One of the biggest problems with the horror film genre, practically from its inception, has been the way it tends to marginalization women. In many cases, female characters exist solely as either cannon fodder or eye candy: the concept of the “male gaze” is so intertwined with the slasher film, for example, that it’s nearly impossible to separate that particular sub-genre from its inherent misogyny. One of the laziest defenses of these decidedly old-fashioned ideals, of course, is that the genre has “always been this way”: Dracula chased virgins, masked maniacs hunted nubile co-eds and T & A was just something to hold interest in-between creative kill scenes. This is, quite obviously, a pretty huge load of horse-shit: these things “have always been like this” because they benefit the status quo, pure and simple. Audience enjoyment of a horror film shouldn’t be precipitated on the need to constantly see bare breasts any more than it should be precipitated on the need to constantly see gore: the horror genre is so much more than the sum of (some of) its small, mechanical parts.

For the time being, the film world (particularly the horror genre) is predominantly a “boy’s club”: male directors still overwhelmingly outnumber female directors, although there are certain small in-roads being made. The Soska sisters, to name but one example, seem poised on the cusp of a massive filmmaking revolution…if ever there were folks duly suited to picking up the torch and burning down the institution, the fearless creators of Dead Hooker in a Trunk (2009) and American Mary (2012) seem like them. We’re a far cry from anything actually approaching equality, of course, but the same could be said for the subject, in general. The most important thing to keep in mind, I think, is the notion of the doctor “doing no harm.” If filmmakers are not willing (or able) to completely right the imbalance, then they should, at the very least, not be contributing to it. It may be a small gesture, in the end, but it’s often the smallest gestures which can lead to the biggest breakthroughs.

British auteur Neil Marshall’s sophomore feature, The Descent (2005), is one film that I honestly feel “does no wrong” as far as the subject of gender politics goes. For one thing, Marshall’s film features an almost exclusively female cast, a complete rarity in the horror genre: the only male in the film is featured in the intro and he’s out of the film within the first five minutes. For another thing, Marshall’s neo-classic is informed by feminism to the degree that patriarchal notions and power dynamics are largely left by the wayside: the focus here is firmly on the various interpersonal relationships between the women, rather than having the female characters serve as plot devices to complete a male character’s arc. The Descent is that most impressive of “message” films because it’s message is so basic, yet important: women are capable of kicking as much ass, sowing as much chaos, getting in as much trouble and being just as strong as their male counterparts.

Like Tarantino’s From Dusk Till Dawn (1996), The Descent is, basically, a two-fer-one: a bracing, thrilling caving adventure and a claustrophobic, terrifying monster flick. For the first half of the film’s running time, there’s no notion whatsoever that this will develop into anything more than a thrilling drama about the ways in which best friends can drift apart. Via a gripping white-water-rafting intro, we’re introduced to our protagonist, Sarah (Shauna Macdonald). Sarah’s happy, now, but sudden tragedy will strike, stripping her of her family and her old life all in one fell swoop. In order to help their friend recover from her devastating loss, Sarah’s friends, led by alpha female Juno (Natalie Mendoza), decide to “get the band back together” for one more spelunking trip, just like the good old days. The friends haven’t seen each other since Sarah’s family was killed, so this is an excellent time to re-ignite old friendships…and reopen old wounds.

Seeking a suitable “adventure” for her decidedly less-experienced friends, Juno ends up taking the group to an unexplored caving system rather than the “beginner” cave that she promised she’d take them to. Once the truth is out, Juno’s thrill-seeking new friend, Holly (Nora-Jane Noone) is stoked but everyone else is decidedly less enthused: what was supposed to be a nice get-away among former friends has now turned into something decidedly more intensive and, potentially, life-threatening. As they continue to explore the cave, a roof collapse cuts off their way back, forcing them to push forward into the unknown. There’s a great sense of thrill and adventure here: as the friends press on, they fear the unknown but there’s a visceral punch to the notion that they’re all boldly going where no one has ever gone before.

No more is this sense of hesitant excitement more pronounced than the white-knuckle scene where they must make their away across a seemingly bottomless chasm: as Rebecca (Saskia Mulder) makes her away across the cave ceiling, one agonizing inch at a time, there’s a genuine sense of the pioneer spirit. And then, of course, Marshall drops the other shoe: as Rebecca traverses the ceiling, she comes across something not only unexpected but existentially terrifying – an aged, rusted climbing spike driven into the otherwise untouched cave ceiling. The realization hits the friends hard: they’re obviously not the first cavers to explore the system, yet it doesn’t exist on any maps. This, of course, means that the previously explorers never actually made it out alive.

With this new knowledge firmly in mind, the group begin to notice odd things here and there: an abandoned mining lamp, strange cave drawings, mysterious shadows that seem vaguely humanoid but melt into the background whenever examined…it all culminates in the jaw-dropping reveal where they find themselves in a huge antechamber filled with all manner of skeletal remains…including, of course, human bones. From this point forward, The Descent becomes a no-holds-barred battle for survival as Sarah, Juno and the others engage in bloody, life-or-death combat with a group of subterranean creatures that appear to be an awful combination of human and bat. As the friends are hunted through the darkness by creatures that thrive on the inky emptiness, they must pull reserves of strength from deep within themselves, reserves that many of them never knew they possessed. Old rivalries and betrayals will surface, pitting friend against friend, even as the ravenous monsters press in from all sides. Far under the ground, hidden from the “normal” world above and completely off the grid, they most wage the most desperate fight of their lives or snuggle into their cavernous new tomb and accept that there are just some places that humans do not belong.

The first half of Marshall’s film is so gripping and enthralling, similar to the nature-based adventure setpieces from Deliverance (1972), that the appearance of the monsters seems destined to tip the film’s serious edge into total pulp territory. Instead, the horror-based second half actually dovetails perfectly with the more adventure-oriented first part, creating a beast similar to Master Blaster from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985). It’s a nifty hat-trick but one that Marshall pulled off with similar aplomb in his feature-length debut, Dog Soldiers (2002), which grafted an action-packed military film onto a werewolf movie. As an interesting parallel, Marshall’s first film featured only one female role (albeit a prominent one), whereas the follow-up featured only one (brief) male role in an otherwise all female cast.

While The Descent’s casting is certainly noteworthy, there’s absolutely nothing gimmicky about the concept: the film never feels like a jaded attempt to shoehorn diversity into a largely male-oriented genre but, rather, an honest, genuine attempt to tell a horror story from a feminine perspective. Most impressively, the cast never feel like female actors subbed in for their male counterparts: the themes and ideas explored here – friendship, betrayal, the importance of the family unit, the need for emotional honesty – all feel organic to the characters and there’s appears to be a genuine focus on the female characters. Despite a plot point that involves infidelity, there is a refreshing lack of male needs guiding the overall story: these are women who are perfectly capable and happy on their own, without the need to be intrinsically connected to male counterparts. In the truest notion of equality, the characters in The Descent are just allowed to be their own characters, for better or worse, and there’s no notion, at any point, that they’re merely marionettes being forced to dance for the male gaze. In a genre that seems to thrive on finding inventive ways to showcase distressed young women wearing as little clothing as possible, Marshall’s extraordinary film does the zaniest thing possible: it opts to just treat them like human beings and let the drama arise organically from the characters and situations. Fancy that!

As with Marshall’s debut, The Descent is an absolutely stunning bit of craftwork, featuring some truly gorgeous cinematography (the scenes lit solely by red flares are genuinely beautiful, conjuring up a haunted atmosphere that’s equal parts dreamy and Stygian) and some of the most impressive locations ever committed to celluloid. Truly, The Descent stands as one of the crowning achievements of the cinematic caving subgenre (narrow as that might be) and is practically the first and last word on caving-based horror films: there have been a handful of others but they all look pretty impoverished compared to Marshall’s flick.

The acting, as befits all of Marshall’s films, is note-perfect. Shauna Macdonald, in particular, is an absolutely riveting hero: while she doesn’t possess the steely reserve of someone like Lt. Ripley, there’s an honesty to her character’s actions that feels both suitably dramatic and grounded in reality. Sarah is not a fearless character strutting through an apocalyptic wasteland with gum in one cheek and her boot up someone’s ass: she’s a regular person whose preservation instincts propel her forward, even as her options seem to be running out right and left. Similarly, Natalie Mendoza could have played Juno as a shrill, one-note antagonist, someone whose sole function was to awaken a change in the main character. Instead, Mendoza infuses Juno with enough nuance to allow audiences to empathize, at least to some extent, with her actions. One of the most powerful moments in the entire film comes from the scene where Juno accidentally kills one of the party: her character has been cocky and obnoxious, up to that point, but the fear, pain and horror in her eyes are new emotions and Mendoza is a capable enough performer to allow each to bubble to the surface, in time, even if only briefly.

I fell in complete love with The Descent after my very first screening of the film (which happened to be in a theater, thankfully) and my opinion hasn’t wavered one iota in the decade since. The film is easily one of my favorite horror movies, of any era, and is one of the modern horror films that I feel completely comfortable with canonizing: I think that The Descent is a film that audiences and critics will be returning to for many decades, similar to any of the greats in the genre. Even viewed as critically as possible, I can find very few real faults with the film and the high points soar handily above the high points of many, many other films. The fight sequences are visceral assaults to the senses, the feeling of claustrophobia is so complete as to be almost suffocating and the film has one of the single greatest, most perfect endings in the history of cinema. No lie: if I were Marshall, I’d get a bumper sticker that says “My film kicked your honor student’s ass.”

 

9/1/14 (Part Two): Sisters From Another Mother

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action, Amigo, auteur theory, Best of 2013, cinema, crime thriller, Don Harvey, drama, Edward James Olmos, Elizabeth Sung, female friendships, feminism, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, friends, friendship, Go For Sisters, Hilary Barraford, independent films, indie dramas, Jesse Borrego, John Sayles, Kathryn Westergaard, LisaGay Hamilton, Mahershala Ali, McKinley Belcher III, Mexico, missing son, Movies, parole officer, Vanessa Martinez, writer-director, Yolonda Ross

True friendship is a rare beast, indeed. Not the friendships of convenience that the modern age makes so necessary, mind you, but the honest to god, flesh and blood, right in front of your face kind of friendships that last for lifetimes. These are the kinds of friendships for which the cliché “take a bullet” is actually a truth…the kind that blur the line between kin and acquaintance. If we’re lucky, we’ll all have one of those friendships at some point in our lives, although it’s not a given: friendships like this need to be worked at, maintained and that kind of dedication just isn’t for everyone. It’s easy to say that you’ll always be there for someone but much harder to actually deliver on said promise.

In many ways, legendary writer/director John Sayles’ most recent film, Go For Sisters (2013), is a tribute to true friendships of the type described above. It’s also a whip-smart, fast-paced, lean and mean crime thriller but that’s just how Sayles has always done things: from as far back as The Brother From Another Planet (1984), Sayles has mixed social critique and genre conventions to dizzying effect, resulting in some truly unforgettable films. Under the guise of historical dramas, thrillers, police procedurals and sci-fi films, Sayles has managed to comment on everything from race relations and immigration to U.S. colonialism, the sins of the father, corruption and greed. While his body of a work as a writer/director is impressive enough on its own, Sayles has also been something of a writing “gun for hire” in Hollywood, as it were, churning out the scripts for everything from Roger Corman’s original Piranha (1978) to Alligator (1980) and Clan of the Cave Bear (1986). In every sense of the term, John Sayles is a living legend and any new Sayles film is an event worth celebrating: Go For Sisters reminds us that the filmmaker is as relevant today as he was way back in 1979.

The “true friends” in Go For Sisters take the form of Bernice (LisaGay Hamilton) and Fontayne (Yolonda Ross), life-long friends who’ve become separated by the inexorable march of time and change. While they used to be quite the wild pair, Bernice’s current job as a parole officer bespeaks of a rather significant life change. The two reconnect when Bernice ends up being Fontayne’s parole officer: Bernice may have gone the straight and narrow but Fontayne still struggles to escape the cycle of crime and drugs that’s held her down for so many years. At first glance, it seems like these former friends won’t have a lot of common ground to stand on but life, as always, is never that simple.

It turns out that Bernice is having her own problems, namely the disappearance of her wayward military vet son, Rodney (McKinley Belcher III). Since Rodney is a bit of a wild child, himself, Bernice isn’t sure whether her inability to contact him is due to his lifestyle or a genuine problem. When she sees Fontayne again, however, Bernice sees her ticket into the “underworld” via her wayward friend’s illicit connections. While Fontayne is less than thrilled with the prospect of violating her parole nine ways to Sunday, Bernice assures her that it can’t be a violation if her parole officer is sanctioning it. Before long, the pair get a lead and head for Mexico, putting Fontayne into a potentially boiling pot of scalding trouble: if hanging out with known felons is a parole no-no, skipping the country must rank as some sort of hell-no.

Once in Mexico, Bernice and Fontayne team-up with disgraced former police officer-turned bounty hunter Freddy Suarez (Edward James Olmos) and continue their hunt for Rodney, coming ever closer to the truth behind his disappearance. The truth, of course, ends up being even crazier than they imagined and involves illegal Chinese immigrants, a vicious Mexican drug lord and the mysterious, sinister Mother Han (Elizabeth Sung), who just may be pulling the strings behind it all. As Bernice and Fontayne get deeper and deeper into the muck, they rekindle their formerly extinguished friendship and find out the clearest, most important truth of all: when you have real friends, you can overcome any obstacle, fight any foe and win any battle. Bernice and Fontayne may be outgunned, outmanned and out-maneuvered but as long as they have each other, the bad guys just don’t stand a chance.

In an era when women seem to increasingly get the shit end of the stick in both the “real world” and pop culture, it’s not only refreshing but downright necessary to have films like Go For Sisters. Not only are Bernice and Fontayne the central figures of Sayles’ film but they’re stronger than any male character in the film. Even the heroic, steadfast Freddy Suarez is nothing compared to the rock-solid female leads: if anything, Go For Sisters reminds of a less flamboyant, cliche-ridden version of one of Pam Grier’s classic blaxploitation roles. There’s no point in the film where either woman feels like a victim, someone in need of male protection or male guidance: one of the most telling points in the film is the one where Fontayne explains her homosexuality with the dismissive, “boys turn into men…you know how that goes.” If we don’t already, we get a pretty good example via the pairs various interactions throughout the film, with the exception of Edward James Olmos’ pseudo-white knight Suarez.

Far from being a clinical, cold treatise on racial and gender politics, however, Go For Sisters wraps everything in the guise of a cracking-good crime/mystery/thriller. Like his similar Lone Star (1996), Sayles wraps everything around a pretty good mystery: it’s no Chinatown (1974) but there are plenty of satisfying twists and turns, along with some truly kickass action scenes. The bit where Fontayne turns an empty liquor bottle into a “gun” is a classic (“I always carry a Colt .45 with me”) and Bernice projects nothing but fire and grit.

While the filmmaking is typically great (in particular, cinematographer Kathryn Westergaard puts some truly stunning visuals up on the screen, particularly once the action moves south of the border), the acting is a true thing of beauty. LisaGay Hamilton and Yolonda Ross are absolutely perfect as the former/current best-friends: their relationship never feels anything less than completely genuine, including their halting “getting to know you again” time. Anyone who’s ever fallen out with and then reconnected with a dear friend should certainly recognize more than a few beats here. As previously mentioned, Bernice and Fontayne are completely awesome, ass-kicking protagonists, the kind that any film would be proud to host and much credit must be due the flawless performance.

Just as good, for different reasons, is Edward James Olmos’ portrayal of the kindly bounty hunter: Olmos is, without a doubt, one of our most storied actors and there’s something truly cool about seeing him play such an unflappable, badass individual. Like something out of an old spaghetti Western, Olmo’s Freddy Suarez is a polite, well-spoken, barely contained tornado: “You musta been some hot shit behind that badge, Freddy,” Fontayne praises him, at one point. Freddy smiles and replies, “They called me The Terminator” and there’s absolutely no way we don’t believe him.

Ultimately, Go For Sisters is the kind of unflashy, old-fashioned, character-driven film that will probably seem like a museum fossil in this day and age. Tightly written, expertly crafted, beautifully shot, wildly entertaining…pretty much just what you should expect from a John Sayles film. If you’ve always been a fan, Go For Sisters is going to be another jewel in a long, illustrious career. If you’re new to the simple majesty of this master storyteller, strap yourself in and prepare yourself for one hell of an experience. It’s tempting to say that the master’s back but here’s the thing: he never went anywhere in the first place.