10/13/14 (Part One): Going to the Dogs

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31 Days of Halloween, action films, aliens, auteur theory, British films, Centurion, Chris Robson, cinema, cult classic, Darren Morfitt, Dog Soldiers, dogs, Doomsday, Emma Cleasby, extreme violence, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, horror films, horror movies, isolation, James Cameron, Kevin McKidd, Leslie Simpson, Liam Cunningham, Movies, Neil Marshall, Sam McCurdy, Sean Pertwee, soldiers, The Descent, Thomas Lockyer, war games, werewolves, writer-director-editor

Like horror-comedies, action and horror hybrids walk a pretty fine line: too much of the action side of things and you get, well, an action film. A film which features endless scenes of zombies engaged in bone-crunching MMA action might be thrilling but it probably won’t be very blood-chilling. Likewise, traditional zombies that pop out of the background, stumble around and bite people might be horrifying and blood-chilling but probably won’t elicit the kinds of fist-pumping responses we might get from our mixed-martial artist gut-munchers. It’s a real formula, in a way, a formula which very few films really get right. The gold standard for these types of horror-action hybrids, as far as I’m concerned, is James Cameron’s classic Aliens (1986), the direct sequel to Ridley Scott’s horrifying sci-fi classic. Coming in at a close second, however, would have to be writer-director Neil Marshall’s extraordinary feature-film debut, Dog Soldiers (2002). Soldiers fighting werewolves? It doesn’t get much more thrilling than that, friends and neighbors.

As befits its no-nonsense style, Dog Soldiers jumps us into the action fairly quickly and keeps the accelerator floored for the majority of its running time. A small squadron of British soldiers, led by Sgt. Harry Wells (Sean Pertwee) and including Pvt. Cooper (Kevin McKidd) among their ranks, are in the Scottish Highlands for a run-of-the-mill training exercise. They seem to be a good bunch of guys, close-knit and good at what they do: we’ve already spent a little time with Cooper as he tries out for a Special Forces position and know that he’s a helluva fighter with a strong moral center and a particular respect for dogs, which seems to befit the protagonist of a werewolf film.

In short order, our intrepid group of soldiers begins to get the idea that things might not be as copacetic as they originally thought: they constantly hear odd noises in the surrounding forest and someone/thing tosses a slaughtered cow in their general direction, which would be enough to unnerve just about anyone. The situation gets even more extreme once they stumble onto the destroyed campsite of Capt. Ryan (Liam Cunningham) and his Special Forces unit. Ryan was the son of a bitch from the intro to shot the innocent dog but he appears to have seen much better days: he’s cut up pretty bad and looks as white as a ghost. He’s also babbling that “They tore them apart!” and the even more sinister, “There was only supposed to be one!”

Faster than you can say “Full moon,” the squadron are under siege and end up taking refuge with a passing Good Samaritan (Emma Cleasby) at a nearby abandoned farmhouse. As the enraged werewolves try to storm their meager safe house, the soldiers must band together against a foe that seems to be not supernaturally strong but also unbelievably cunning and vicious. There’s more than meets the eye here, however, and the odious Capt. Ryan appears to be right at the very heart of the mystery. What is the secret behind their hirsute attackers and will any of them survive to greet the new day?

Horror films have incorporated action elements for generations but this really became explicit with the rise of horror franchises, such as Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street, in the ’80s. One of the conventions of these type of films, perhaps best exemplified in something like A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: The Dream Warriors (1987), are the scenes where the protagonists engage in heated battle with the main villain. These “action” moments are almost always qualified, however, with the knowledge that the “normal” people are never a match for foes like Jason or Freddy: they might temporarily get the upper hand (at least until the finale) but they’re way to “wimpy” to ever pose any real threat to these super-strong monsters. This is one reason why Scott’s Alien (1979) can be considered a horror film, whereas Cameron’s follow-up is distinctly horror-action: in Alien, the human characters (with the exception of Ripley) are all too weak to even finish off one Xenomorph, let alone a handful of them. The hat-trick that Aliens pulls, then, is to give us a group of protagonists who are utterly and completely badass: Space marines, as it turns out, and set them loose against the alien menace.  This way, we don’t question when the marines are kicking alien ass up one side and down the other (although this doesn’t happen quite as easily as I’ve, obviously, made it sound) because that’s what rough-and-tumble space marines are supposed to do: kick ass.

By making our protagonists tough-guy soldiers, Dog Soldiers levels the playing field quite a bit and allows us to suspend disbelief for the resulting action sequences. We don’t question that these guys have sharp reflexes and are able survivalists because, well, that’s kind of what we expect of soldiers. Since the opponents are more evenly matched (at least slightly more, as the werewolves are still towering, mountainous and furry buzzsaws), this allows for a more even balance between the action and horror elements. There are genuine horror elements in the film, not least of which is the ultimate “reveal” about the werewolves identities, which are allowed to play out at a more leisurely pace. For the most part, however, Dog Soldiers definitely plays like one all-out action sequence after another, similar to the way that Dario Argento liberally sprinkled murder set-pieces throughout his early classics.

For a debut film, Dog Soldiers is a remarkably assured and nearly flawless construction. Marshall also handled the editing of the film and displays a deft talent for putting action scenes together in fast-paced and evocative yet clear ways: this isn’t the chaotic chop-chop editing of Greengrass’ The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) but something that’s altogether more fluid, with characters being much more delineated on the screen. The cinematography, by extension, is also crystal clear and sharp: Sam McCurdy, the director of photography on all of Marshall’s films, thus far, has a real eye for color and detail that gives the proceedings a rich look.

Effects-wise, Dog Soldiers is a complete marvel: the violence is sudden, harsh and well-done, while the creature effects are simply stunning, recalling nothing so much as Rick Baker’s groundbreaking work on The Howling (1981). Unlike films that hide their monsters behind shadows and off the edge of the frame, Dog Soldiers is (rightfully) proud of its lycanthropes and takes every opportunity possible to trot them before the camera. Thanks to the stellar effects work, the creatures look equally imposing whether shot in a long shot or in close up: you won’t see any zippers on these costumes.

One of the most important aspects of any “squadron-based film,” of course, is the effectiveness of the ensemble cast: as with everything else, Dog Soldiers knocks this out of the park. Sean Pertwee does a great job as the Sarge who just wants to get his guys out of the shit and Kevin McKidd (from TV’s Rome) injects enough grit into his performance of Pvt. Cooper to prevent the character from seeming like too much of a “goody-goody” cliché. Cunningham is a rather teeth-gnashing, over-the-top villain, but the performance ends up working, perhaps because it gives the group someone entirely more “manageable” to fight against.

One aspect of Dog Soldiers that sets it a bit apart from similar films (and parallels it with Cameron’s Aliens) is the film’s overall serious tone and intent: while there are the occasional clever one-liners and cheeky moments, the emphasis is definitely on adrenaline over the easy release that comic relief affords. Truth be told, the film’s funniest moment is also one of its most badass: as Spoon (Darren Morfitt) is about to be devoured by a werewolf, he tosses out the immortal retort, “I hope I give you the shits, you fucking wimp!” Epic, indeed.

For my money, Neil Marshall is, hands-down, one of the single most impressive genre directors in the business. While I’ve enjoyed some of his films more than others (Dog Soldiers and The Descent (2005) occupy a pretty lofty perch, whereas Doomsday (2008) and Centurion (2010) reside a bit closer to solid ground), I’ve never been anything less than completely entertained with any of his work: he’s the kind of director that can get me excited for any project, sight unseen, and is a filmmaker that I expect to follow for several good decades to come. It’s always handy, however, to go back to the beginning and see how it all started. For Marshall, it started with this thrilling, edge-of-the-seat classic about werewolves and the soldiers who fight them and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon. Utterly essential for genre fans and anyone who relishes a ripping good, military-themed action film.

10/3/14: Facehugging For Fun and Profit

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'70s films, 31 Days of Halloween, Alien, auteur theory, chest-bursters, cinema, classic films, cult classic, Dan O'Bannon, facehuggers, favorite films, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, Harry Dean Stanton, horror, horror films, horror franchises, Ian Holm, iconic film scores, isolation, James Cameron, Jerry Goldsmith, John Hurt, Movies, Nostromo, outer space, Ridley Scott, sci-fi-horror, Sigourney Weaver, Tom Skerritt, Veronica Cartwright, Xenomorphs, Yaphet Kotto

There are certain films that have been burned into my brain from the very first time that I saw them: Ridley Scott’s incomparable Alien (1979) is one of those movies. I don’t remember how old I was at the time but I do remember that Alien scared the ever-loving shit out of me. This wasn’t one of those “keep the lights on for the night”-frights…this was fundamental, soul-shattering terror precipitated by the idea that Star Trek had lied right to my face: the far-reaches of space weren’t filled with colorful, planet-hopping, humanoid aliens that were more than willing to exchange the cure for cancer for a few Clark bars…deep space was actually filled with terrifying, insectile, organ-devouring monstrosities that owed more to Lovecraft’s Old Gods than the golden age of Hollywood makeup. Like I said: I don’t remember how old I was the first time I saw Alien but I do remember that it fundamentally changed me, modified my DNA just a tad, as it were. Suffice to say, I’ve been hooked on the movie (and auteur Ridley Scott) ever since.

Over the years since that first screening, I’ve become a bit of an Alien fanatic: I’ve seen edited versions, the “classic” version, the more recent “director’s version” and every sequel currently on the market. I’ve studied production notes, drooled over set pictures and H.R. Giger’s amazing creature design and made up my own mythos for the “space jockey.” In other words, I felt like I knew Alien inside and out: when you can not only quote a film’s most memorable dialogue but also random shots, you might be a little obsessed.

When it came time to put together this year’s October screenings, however, I was left with a similar situation as with my screenings of Halloween (1978) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974): how does one go about discussing a film that’s not only vitally important to them, but also so familiar? By this point in time, I’ve been talking about Scott’s sci-fi/horror game-changer for a few decades: what more could I possibly have to say about it? In that spirit, I decided to take several steps back (or try to, at least) and see if I could figure out why, exactly, Alien is such an amazing, terrifying film. Why is Alien so powerful when similar films either come off as cheesy, old-fashioned or ineffective nowadays? What is it about this film that not only struck a chord with me but managed to have enough cultural resonance to implant itself with the collective unconsciousness? In a nutshell: what makes Alien…well…Alien?

Right off the bat, I think that one thing that really sets Alien aside is its inherent simplicity: despite its setting and some pretty cutting-edge visuals, there’s nothing particularly flashy about the film. Throughout, Scott’s emphasis remains pretty singular: he wants to establish and maintain an atmosphere of sustained doom and every aspect of the film, essentially, exists to drive this emphasis home. Hell, the proof is right there in the title: Alien. Nothing flashy, evocative, leading, intriguing…just Alien. It’s as if Scott makes his mission statement clear before the first reel even begins: nothing in this film will come between you and your deep, unshakable feeling of dread, including the title of the film. There is no escape or hiding for the audience, just as there’s no escape for the characters.

The story, as with everything else in the film, is pure simplicity, more a modernization of a timeless fairy tale than any kind of futuristic thought piece. In the future, a commercial towing ship named Nostromo receives a mysterious distress call from a largely unexplored section of the galaxy. The ship’s computer mainframe, Mother (sort of a kinder, gentler HAL), reroutes the ship, which was returning to earth after a seven-year mission and sends the crew to check out the signal. None of the seven member crew are especially happy about this, particularly the spaceship’s two engineers, Brett (Harry Dean Stanton) and Parker (Yaphet Kotto), but failure to participate will lead to them forfeiting their salaries for the trip, resulting in seven years of free labor.

Once at the source of the signal, a small crew is dispatched to check out the strange planet: Captain Dallas (Tom Skerritt), chief navigator Lambert (Veronica Cartwright) and officer Kane (John Hurt) scour the surface of the planet, while Brett, Parker, security chief Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) and science officer Ash (Ian Holm) hold down the fort back on the Nostromo. The exploration team tracks the signal to a wholly impressive derelict space craft, an intensely alien creation that appears to have crashed head-on into the planet’s surface. Upon entering the ship, the team finds evidence of some sort of intelligent but unknown alien life, including what appears to be some sort of alien remains. As they continue to explore, Kane discovers a room full of leathery “eggs,” the contents of which will kickstart the film’s transition from sci-fi spectacle to full-bore horror film. Despite the fact that I find it impossible to believe that anyone is unfamiliar with the specifics of Alien, in this day and age, I’ll refrain from spoiling any of the film’s surprises. Suffice to say that the crew ends up bringing something back with them to the Nostromo, something which appears to have the capability to not only destroy the whole crew but the entirety of humanity, as well. As the body count rises, Lt. Ripley must face her own fears and go head-to-head against a monster that appears to rival the shark for sheer purity of purpose: eat, breed, repeat.

As I said, I firmly believe that one of Alien’s greatest assets is the streamlined simplicity of its storyline and action: the film is just under two hours in length yet moves so quickly that it feels, in reality, like a much shorter film than that. The film is also deadly serious throughout, which aids immeasurably with the suffocating atmosphere: once the film kicks into high gear, there are precious few respites or “down-time.” Despite this sense of continuous action, the film is not frantically paced: Scott is just as liable to allow a scare to gradually unfold, such as the numerous appearances of the Xenomorph, which always seems to be unfolding and uncoiling itself from some confined space, as he is to rush through something. The editing is never overly frantic, either, allowing the film’s truly astounding visuals plenty of opportunity to breathe and resonate.

The “simplicity” I note also extends to the “info dumps” that are usually symptomatic of sci-fi films: the backstory behind the Xenomorphs is kept purposefully vague, with only hints, assumptions and suppositions that are more common to horror films than “hard science” films. We’re shown the amazing sight of the gargantuan, dead “space jockey” but given no details past that. The exploration team passes through what appear to be massive skeletons as they explore the planet but we’re told nothing about them. The Nostromo’s crew can’t tell us anything about the Xenomorphs because they don’t know anything: this isn’t like Van Helsing telling us the best way to stake a vampire…this is like a bunch of kids flipping over a rock and staring in open-mouthed amazement at the squishy, black, scorpion-spider-centipede thingy that slithers out. Thinking back on it, I’m sure that this sense of the unknown is what fueled not only my fear over the film but also my obsession with it: the very notion that there might be something like this, on some distant planet, just waiting for idiotic humans to stumble on, is pretty terrifying, especially in an age when we’ve begun to discuss making longer interstellar voyages. We haven’t found anything like this yet…but we might, if we look hard enough.

When I watched Alien this time around, I also focused on the craft behind the film, trying to put myself into the mind of someone seeing the film for the first time. In the past, I’ve taken much of the film for granted since I’ve been so familiar with it. This time around, I forced myself to pay attention to every shot, every musical cue, every cut: I know how much I love the film but does that really make it a great film? In this case, it absolutely does. From the iconic opening credits that gradually reveals the film’s title, a piece at a time, to the amazing final shot that transitions from Ripley’s peacefully sleeping face to the vast emptiness of space, the film is an absolute marvel. Not only does it consistently look great (take a good look at the visuals and tell me that Scott’s film doesn’t stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a little movie called 2001 (1968), especially concerning the Nostromo’s interior) but Jerry Goldsmith’s score is a real thing of beauty, too.

Reading like a veritable who’s-who of exceptional character actors (Yaphet Kotto and Harry Dean Stanton as best buddies? John Hurt, Ian Holm, Veronica Cartwright and Tom Skerritt as crew mates? Sigourney Weaver kicking ass and taking names? All of the above, please!), every member of the cast pulls his/her own weight, making this easily one of the best-performed sci-fi films ever: ribcages may explode but the actors never chew the scenery, which gives everything a much more realistic quality, a realism which, ironically, helps to play up the film’s more nightmarish qualities.

And nightmarish qualities it has, in abundance. The chestburster…the facehugger…the attempted asphyxiation by rolled-up porno mag…the dripping, hissing monstrosity that is the Xenomorph, years before it would become a theme-park attraction…unlike James Cameron’s exceptional, if vastly different, sequel, Aliens (1986), Scott’s film is a horror movie through and through: transpose the action to earth and you would still have a story about a bunch of people getting chased by a hungry monster. In other words, the perfect horror film.

Is Alien a perfect film? Not at all. In fact, this most recent viewing of the film brought up the same issue I have every time I watch it, namely that there’s absolutely no reason for Ripley to strip down to her underwear at the end of the film. Scott resists the urge to sexualize Weaver throughout the rest of the film so it’s always disappointed me that she begins her final fight wearing only a skimpy pair of panties (all the better for some buttcrack shots) and a tiny, see-thru undershirt. I also found Cartwright’s depiction of Lambert to be rather annoying by the later half of the film, since she seems to exist solely to complain, scream, whine and race about like an idiot: basically, all of the things that much dumber films than Alien traffic in.

Despite these minor quibbles, however, Alien is an absolute masterpiece, a towering achievement that still stands as my all-time favorite sci-fi flick (I might lose my cinephile card over this but Alien has always hit me harder than 2001…sorry, folks). Even though I assumed there was nothing else I could learn from re-watching one of my favorite films, I actually found myself with a new revelation by the conclusion: there was absolutely no need for any of the other films in the series, including Aliens, which has always been another of my favorite films. As good a film as Aliens is, it only serves to water down the original film’s mythology and attempt to give answers where non are required. The less we know about the incidents from Alien, the scarier they are. By the time we know everything about the Xenomorphs, they’ve become just another predator (or Predator, really), which significantly reduces the fear factor. By the time the Xenomorphs are facing off against the Predators, in Alien vs Predator (2004), any and all mystery is officially gone.

Regardless of anything that followed, however, Alien is without peer. There may be films that make better use of modern CGI and effects, have bigger stars or larger budgets but there will never be anything that has the raw, feral power that this film possesses. While I’ve gone on to enjoy many of Scott’s films, I’ve never held any of them in the esteem that I’ve reserved for Alien. The film has given me an untold amount of joy over the years but it’s also provided me something much more fundamental: I may always be fascinated by the immensity of space but I’ll also always view it with no small amount of inherent fear. After all: the galaxy may very well be filled with all manner of polite, helpful ETs but I’ll always be convinced that, somewhere out there, something very mean and hungry is also biding its time, waiting for that day when humans throw off their earthly bonds and take our place in the galactic food chain.

6/27/14: Looks Great, Less Filling

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Alice Parkinson, Alister Grierson, Allsion Cratchley, Australian films, cave diving, Cave of the Swallows, cave system, cinema, Dan Wyllie, drama, father-son relationships, film reviews, films, Ioan Gruffudd, James Cameron, Movies, Rhys Wakefield, Richard Roxburgh, Sanctum, thriller, underwater caves, unexplored cave system

As of late, James Cameron is more known for his mega-budget event pictures, like Titanic (1997) and Avatar (2009), than he was for the more intimate sci-fi that originally put him on the map: The Terminator (1984), Aliens (1986) and The Abyss (1988). By this point, especially with three more Avatar sequels in the works, we pretty much know what to expect from Cameron: cutting-edge technology, huge budgets and stereotypical characters lurching through melodramatic storylines. In many ways, Cameron is one of the best examples of “style over substance”: while Avatar signaled a bold, new era in Hollywood special effects, the film, itself, was as middle-of-the-road as possible. Cameron’s films have a tendency to look like a million bucks but are usually plotted like something from the $0.99 bin at the video store (when they still had video stores, of course).

With this in mind, I went into Sanctum (2011), which Cameron executive produced, with no small amount of trepidation. Truth be told, I haven’t actually enjoyed one of Cameron’s films since Terminator 2, all the way back in 1991. Despite this hesitation, a few things compelled me to press forward. First of all, Cameron was only the executive producer, not the writer or director, which meant that his creative input might be minimal. Second, Sanctum is about underwater cave exploration, which has been a particular interest of mine (and Cameron’s, apparently) since I was a kid: I very rarely miss an opportunity to watch any underwater thrillers, regardless of who’s involved. Thirdly, with Cameron executive producing, I expected the film to be technically impressive, which would certainly satisfy the fan-boy in me. What I ended up with, ultimately, was a film that managed to meet all of my expectations, for better or worse: the film looks gorgeous, featuring truly stunning underwater cinematography and great locations, but is also melodramatic, with workmanlike acting and trite characterizations. In other words: Sanctum is a real triumph of style over substance…how positively Cameronian!

Josh McGuire (Rhys Wakefield), son of world-famous underwater cave explorer, Frank McGuire (Richard Roxburgh), is late in meeting his father for a dive into the largely unexplored Esa-ala cave system, in the South Pacific. Since father and son already have an extremely contentious relationship, this is just one more issue to add to their already full-plate: the biggest issue, however, appears to be that young Josh just doesn’t care for underwater exploration. Once he gets to the site, we meet the other main players: Carl (Ioan Gruffudd) and his girlfriend, Victoria (Alice Parkinson) and Frank’s team: George (Dan Wyllie), Judes (Allison Cratchley) and Luko (Cramer Cain). Carl is the money-man who’s funding Frank’s expedition, which puts him in constant conflict with the gruff caver. The stage is set for confrontations, conflicts and lots of familial drama…plus some pretty spectacular sight-seeing, of course.

Frank and his crew have a particular goal: they want to traverse the unexplored cave system and find the outlet to the ocean that Frank knows must exist. During the dive, however, disaster strikes and Judes ends up drowning, a tragedy that Josh blames his father for since Frank was the one who had her dive for so long. To add more drama, a killer storm is blowing in and the crew needs to get out of the area before they’re trapped there. Frank is stubborn, however, and the storm rolls in, pinning them down in the cave system. At this point, the path is clear: the only way out is through. With time running out and additional conflicts popping up left and right, Josh and Frank must find their way out of the cave system or die trying. For the first time in a long time, father and son must overcome this issues and work together or the Esa-ala will become their watery tomb.

As mentioned above, Sanctum looks absolutely gorgeous: the film was originally released to theatres in “Real 3D” and I’m sure the experience was suitably eye-popping. The Esa-ala cave system is truly amazing (much of the movie was filmed at the iconic Cave of Swallows) and the underwater cinematography is always crystal-clear. There are also plenty of well-staged action set-pieces, including a genuinely thrilling bit where the crew rappels down a hazardous drop-off. While the film is not always a non-stop rollercoaster, there’s plenty of decent action here. The main problem, as also stated above, is that everything else about the film is strictly bargain-basement. In many ways, the film resembles a really expensive TV movie, full of melodrama, iffy acting and irrational character motivations. Rhys Wakefield is particularly bad, as Frank’s standoffish son: the character vacillates between sounding like an obnoxious, whiny teenager and trying to fill action hero boots that are way too big for him. While Richard Roxburgh is decent, as Frank, Ioan Gruffudd is completely over the top, as the thrill-seeking Carl. Sanctum is full of “low moments” but many of the worst belong to Gruffudd: the moment where he melodramatically leaps into the water is such an eye-roller that I could see the bottom of my brain and his devolution into “stock bad guy” is handled with as much grace and subtlety as a sledgehammer smacking a house fly.

Ultimately, Sanctum is about one-third of a good film and two-thirds of purely middle-of-the-road dreck. For anyone who’s interested in cave or underwater exploration, Sanctum features plenty of great locations and some really exceptional photography. For anyone who’s interested in all of the other things that make a film watchable, however – things like storyline and acting – Sanctum comes up severely deficient. Seems like my original impression was dead on the money: Sanctum looks great but has as much substance as a Twinkie. In other words, classic modern-day Cameron.