6/27/15 (Part Two): Two is the Loneliest Number

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Adam Cronheim, Alana O'Brien, baseball players, buddy films, Christian Stella, cinema, directorial debut, dramas, end of the world, film reviews, films, friendship, horror films, independent films, Jamie Pantanella, Jeremy Gardner, Larry Fessenden, low-budget films, low-key, Movies, Niels Bolle, post-Apocalyptic, road movie, Ryan Winford, slow-moving films, stranded, The Battery, undead, Walkman, writer-director-producer-actor, zombie apocalypse, zombie movies, zombies

How rad would it be to run wild in a post-apocalyptic world with your best friend? Hunting, fishing, killing zombies, taking whatever you need, never answering to “The Man,” never working another day in your life, just kicking back and taking it all in…if you squint just right, it looks like a damn good life, doesn’t it? Now…imagine the exact same scenario but substitute “a co-worker you don’t know very well” for “your best friend” in the above equation. Not quite as fun, eh?

First-time director Jeremy Gardner (working from his own script) takes a close look at the second scenario, the one that sees you getting stuck with a relative stranger during the fallout from an unnamed zombie epidemic, in the low-key, immensely effective horror-drama The Battery (2012). Utilizing a slow, measured pace and a startling degree of real-world verisimilitude, Gardner has created the equivalent of a mumblecore zombie film, a movie not so much about the ravenous hordes of undead that stagger and groan across empty swatches of abandoned humanity but about the few remaining humans who’ve been left holding the bag. When the end-times come, Gardner seems to say, we’ll all find ourselves doing the exact same things we did during “better times”: arguing, swearing, fighting, listening to music on our headphones, masturbating, hoping, goofing around, wondering and wishing for a better tomorrow.

In as economical a way as possible, we meet our two leads and get the lay of the land right off the bat: Ben (writer-director Gardner) and Mickey (Adam Cronheim) are a couple of baseball players who find their lot tied together once the U.S. (and, presumably, the rest of the world) becomes overrun by zombies. We don’t get big explanations, no sense of a larger scheme at play here, just the facts, ma’am. Although the two were never great friends when things were “normal,” they now find themselves needing to rely on each other for their very survival: you might think that making a new friend is difficult…try doing it when mobs of zombies are trying to eat your face!

Personality-wise, the two former teammates couldn’t be more different. Ben is the brash, act-first member of the team, a guy who sees killing zombies as his duty and relishes the opportunity to live “off the grid” and make his own way through life. Mickey, on the other hand, is much more reserved, quiet and withdrawn. With his ever-present headphones and lingering memories of his lost life with his pre-apocalypse girlfriend, Mickey is like an open, throbbing wound, slinking from one place to the next without ever really living. Hell, he even resists Ben’s constant attempts to teach him how to fish: he’s got plenty of canned goods, after all, so why bother with the “real stuff” until he has to? Grizzly Adams, he ain’t.

Change comes to the guys’ daily fight for survival when they happen to pick up a mundane conversation on their walkie talkies. The discussion might not be earth-shattering (picking out the movie choice for that night) but Ben and Mickey are rocked to their very cores: here, at long last, is proof that they’re not alone. For Ben, it means more potential problems but for Mickey, the existence of others allows him the faintest glimmer of hope: for the first time, he can begin to see the path that leads out of their personal wilderness and back into regimented society.

The problem, of course, is that folks in post-apocalyptic societies don’t tend to be the friendliest, most trusting, sorts. One of the voices, Frank (Larry Fessenden), pointedly tells our heroes that there’s no more room at this particular inn, while the other voice, Annie (Alana O’Brien) does much the same thing, albeit in a nicer way. Too late, however: poor Mickey has already locked on to the newly discovered survivors as his own source of salvation and he won’t take no for an answer. Despite Ben’s constant protests, Mickey wants to track down Frank, Annie and the others at all costs: not only does he get a whiff of the civilization he so desperately misses but, with Annie, he gets a hint of that other thing he desperately misses…female contact.

As Ben and Mickey continue to move through the destroyed landscape of what used to be a familiar country, constantly on the watch for ambushing zombies, they find their own burgeoning friendship tested and strained at every twist and turn in the path. Will the two ever be able to set aside their differences and become united in their goals? Will Mickey be able to rejoin the civilized society that he always carries so close to his heart, via his ever-present Discman, or will he spend the rest of his days in the wild, gradually giving his own humanity over to survival instincts? And what, exactly, are Frank and Annie trying to hide from them? What is the truth behind “The Orchard” and will it spell salvation or doom for our hardy protagonists?

Low-key, understated and pitched at a glacial pace, Gardner’s film isn’t what one might call a “thrill-a-minute” ride. What it lacks in visceral action, however, it more than makes up for with intelligent, character-driven drama. The focus here is squarely on the humans, not the monsters: for almost the entirety of the film, give or take a few choice setpieces, the zombies remain in the background of the action, serving as omnipresent threat but allowing Ben and Mickey to take the reins. In some ways, it’s a similar tactic to Gareth Edwards’ Monsters (2010), in which the massive beasts became secondary to the human drama at the film’s core. The Battery is, first and foremost, about the ways in which Ben and Mickey navigate around their world. which is an important distinction from most low-budget zombie films.

Despite this focus on the dramatic aspect, however, Gardner and crew don’t shortchange the horrific aspect. The zombies are all well-realized, with effective makeup, and the violence, although infrequent, is always gritty and physical. When the film wants to pull out the stops, it has no problem doing so: the setpiece involving Ben and Mickey trapped in a car by a veritable army of the undead is as tense as they come, culminating in a truly brave six-minute shot that handily recalls the tent scene in Bobcat Goldtwait’s recent Willow Creek (2013). By not making the zombie action the center of the film’s universe, it makes the scattered horror moments that much more effective: I can’t stress enough how radically different this is from most low-budget zombie fare.

In many ways, The Battery is a two-man show: although we meet a couple other characters, including the aforementioned Annie and a carjacker (played by Niels Bolle), the vast majority of our screentime is devoted to either Ben or Mickey. As with many low-budget films (particularly horror films), this could have been the kiss of death: as a lifelong horror fan, “outstanding acting” isn’t usually something I usually associate with these types of movies, at least not at this level.

Rather than being a deficit, however, the performances in The Battery end up being one of the film’s greatest benefits. Quite simply, Gardner and Cronheim have fantastic chemistry: not only do we buy these guys as real people but we also buy into their developing friendship, warts and all. There are certain moments, such as the minutes-long scene consisting of nothing more than Ben and Mickey brushing their teeth, that feel like nothing less than getting a front-row seat to real-life, albeit one where the occasional zombie pops into view. Both actors give unique life and characterization to their respective roles (Ben is the “asshole,” Mickey is the “nice guy”) that extends beyond easy stereotyping and feels a whole lot more like real acting. In this aspect, The Battery reminded me of another exemplary indie horror film about a friendship, Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead’s extraordinary Resolution (2012). Like Resolution, the characters in The Battery feel 100% authentic, which works wonders on selling the inherent “unreality” of the zombie apocalypse.

While the cinematography in the film is never much more than decent (aside from a few scattered standouts), the sound design is actually pretty brilliant and flawlessly integrated into the fabric of the film. The big conceit here, that Mickey’s Discman provides the score in “real-time,” is pretty damn awesome: that the musical selections are so varied and exceptional (incorporating everything from traditional blues to Neutral Milk Hotel-ish sonic collages) really kicks the whole film up a notch, resulting in scenes and moments that could best be described as “thoroughly kickass.” The montage of Ben and Mickey bumming around the countryside, set to an old blues stomper, is beautifully evocative, as is the wild, chaotic abandon that fuels the scene where Ben gets wasted and dances in front of a mural. Gardner and crew understand that sound design is as integral a part of a film as the visuals and The Battery provides a great crash course in just how to accomplish that.

All in all, I was massively impressed by The Battery: for a low-budget, independent zombie flick, this is just about as artistic and exceptional as it gets. While the film doesn’t always break new ground (Mickey’s obsession with Annie is particularly tiresome and “old hat”), it strikes out on its own path often enough to prove how much Gardner has to say. For some viewers, the slow pace and relative lack of action might be slightly off-putting but more patient audiences will realize one important fact: you have to learn to crawl before you walk. By taking its time and easing into the horror, Gardner’s film demonstrates that it has the stamina to go the distance. Here’s to hoping that Jeremy Gardner and his team continue to pump out effective, well-made little films like this: for a genre that can often be more smoke than fire, there will always be a need for movies that are actually about something.

The Battery may a road movie set during a zombie plague but, in the bigger scheme of things, it’s really about human interaction and the ways in which we’re all intertwined, whether we like it or not. I’ll take that over another bloody disembowelment any ol’ day of the week.

1/30/15: Toecutter’s Last Jam

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'70s action films, '70s films, A Clockwork Orange, action films, Australia, Australian films, auteur theory, Brian May, children in peril, cinema, co-writers, cops, cult classic, David Bracks, David Cameron, David Eggby, Death Wish, dramas, dystopian future, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film franchise, film reviews, films, gang rape, gangs of punks, Geoff Parry, George Miller, highway patrol, Hugh Keays-Byrne, iconic villains, James McCausland, Joanne Samuel, law and order, Mad Max, Max Fairchild, Max Rockatansky, Mel Gibson, motorcycle gangs, Movies, Paul Johnstone, post-Apocalyptic, revenge, road movie, Roger Ward, set in Australia, Sheila Florence, Steve Bisley, The Warriors, thrillers, Tim Burns, Toecutter, vendetta, vengeance, vigilante, Vince Gil, writer-director

When George Miller first introduced the world to Max Rockatansky in 1979, I wonder if he could have predicted that the character would be popular enough to warrant reexamination almost 40 years later. With three films in the Mad Max canon and a fourth coming this year, however, it’s pretty clear that Miller’s Australian “Road Angel of Death” has had some serious staying power. While the upcoming Fury Road (2015) appears to follow the template set by latter-day high velocity outings like Road Warrior (1981) and Beyond Thunderdome (1985), the original film, Mad Max (1979), was a much leaner and meaner affair, albeit no less over-the-top and prone to some particular comic-book affectations. Drawing inspiration from sources as diverse as Death Wish (1974) and A Clockwork Orange (1971) while bearing more than a passing resemblance to The Warriors (1979), Miller’s initial outing is a real doozy and one that would go on to influence generations of action and post-apocalyptic films to come.

Kicking off with an epic, 10-minute smash-and-bash car chase between the howling mad Nightrider (Vince Gil) and a group of unfortunate highway patrol officers, we’re thrust into the middle of the action with no info-dump or warning. As things gradually settle down, a bit, we come to discover that this appears to be a rather lawless, possibly post-apocalyptic, society, where cops and criminals duke it out on the dusty highways that stretch across Australia. At first, Nightrider seems unstoppable, a Tazmanian Devil behind the wheel who handily out-runs, out-drives and out-bravados every cop he comes across. Cue our hero, Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson), the coolest, toughest and most badass patrol officer of the bunch. Max shows up, mirrored shades reflecting back the blistering sun, and proceeds to drive Nightrider straight into an early grave. This, ladies and gentlemen, is his business…and business is very, very good.

Max’s partner, Jim Goose (Steve Bisley), is a good egg and loyal as the day is long, while his superior officer, Fifi (Roger Ward), treats Max like royalty and holds him up as shining example for the rest of the officers. At home, we get to see the softer side of Max: his loving wife, Jessie (Joanne Samuel) blows a mean sax and he’s got a cute baby named Sprog. Life seems pretty darn groovy for this Down Under Dirty Harry but there’s big trouble brewin.’

This big trouble arrives in the form of the dastardly Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne) and his marauding biker gang. Seems that the gang has a bone to pick with Max for snuffing out their beloved Nightrider and Toecutter has sworn vengeance, the bloodier the better. When the gang blows into town to retrieve Nightrider’s coffin, they end up trashing the place, ala an old-fashioned Western, and chase a couple out onto the open road where they destroy their car, chase the guy away and gang-rape the young woman. Max and Goose arrive in time to pick up the pieces, finding the chained, traumatized woman and one of the gang members, Johnny (Tim Burns), so drugged-out that he forgot to run away when the others did.

Faster than you can say Dirty Harry (1971), however, the case gets tossed out and Johnny is released because none of the victims, including the young woman, will come forward to testify. Johnny walks, after taunting the cops, and Goose is furious. When the gang ambushes and attacks Goose in a particularly terrible way, however, Max will have to decide which path to follow, the one that leads to his family or the one that leads to revenge. As Toecutter, his cold-blooded lieutenant, Bubba (Geoff Parry), and the rest of the gang get closer and closer to Max, they will learn one very important lesson: you can do a lot of things to Max Rockatansky but the last thing you wanna do is get the guy mad.

Despite the often grim subject matter (children in peril, rape, collapsing society) and the often intense violence (immolations, dismemberments, semi driving over people), there’s a sense of buoyancy and energy to Mad Max that makes the whole thing a lot closer to a comic-book movie like RoboCop (1987) than to something more serious like, say, The Road (2009) or The Rover (2014). In addition, Miller uses several techniques, such as the wipe transitions between scenes and the jaunty score (courtesy of Australian composer Brian May) that help to elevate this sense of action-adventureism. To be honest, Mad Max often feels like a synthesis of Lethal Weapon (1987) (not specifically because of Gibson’s involvement but more for the depictions of Max’s home-life and the way in which the film’s action constantly toes the “silly/awesome” dividing line) and A Clockwork Orange (the gang’s affectations, slang and Toecutter’s casual brutality all reminded me explicitly of Kubrick’s adaptation), as odd as that may sound.

While never completely serious, aside from the film’s handful of heartstring-pullers, Mad Max never tips all the way over into campy or silly. This isn’t quite the novelty of The Warriors: Toecutter’s gang has an actual air of menace to them, an air that’s not helped by their propensity for rape and assault on innocent civilians. Keays-Byrne is marvelous as the insane gang leader, easily going down as one of the most memorable villains in these type of films: his polite, slightly foppish mannerisms are completely off-set by his hair-trigger barbarity, making for a bracing combination. Nearly as memorable is Geoff Parry’s turn as Bubba Zanetti: his laconic delivery perfectly contrasts with his hot-headed personality making for a character who would’ve been perfect going up against Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti Western.

In fact, more than anything, Mad Max is like a spaghetti Western, albeit one filtered through all of the influences listed above. The interplay between the gang members, between Max and his superiors, between the law and the lawless…the setpieces that could have easily been chases on horseback or wagon…the lonesome, wide-open devastation of the Australian landscape…Sergio Leone might have been proud to call any of them his own.

As one of his first roles, Mad Max set a course for Mel Gibson’s career that would serve him quite well, right up to the point in time where he self-detonated it. Here, however, we get Mel before the headlines, stupidity and career suicide: he’s rock-solid as Rockatansky, bringing just enough vulnerability and indecision to the role to prevent him from ever seeming as completely callous as someone like Eastwood’s Harry Callahan. He also brings a physicality to the role that helps make the whole enterprise seem that much more authentic: Gibson’s performance is so “all-in” that the scene where he limps and drags himself down the pavement genuinely looks like it hurts like hell. It would be the easiest thing in the world to play Max like a video game character but it’s to Gibson’s immense credit that he makes him both so human and so completely badass: it’s easy to see why this became a franchise so quickly, as the magnetism is undeniable.

In some ways, the differences between Mad Max and its predecessors is the same as the difference between the first two Alien or Terminator films: Mad Max is more of a small-scale revenge drama (very similar to Death Wish, particularly in the final reel) whereas the films that followed it are more wide-screen, adventure epics. Despite this, however, I was genuinely surprised to note how honestly cartoonish the film is. Perhaps I picked up on this when I watched the film in the past but it was more apparent now than ever before that the first film fits in perfectly well with the more OTT vibe of the other films. While it may be smaller scale, it’s definitely of a piece with The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome: Toecutter would have fit in nicely in either of those.

With Fury Road on the horizon, I thought it might be useful to go back and revisit the film that started it all. As always, Mad Max doesn’t disappoint: from the rousing action setpieces, astounding car chases, cool-as-a-cucumber lead character, colorful villains and genuine sense of danger and tension, Mad Max is an absolute blast from start to finish. Here’s to hoping that Miller manages to maintain this classic feel with his newest: the world has been without a Rockatansky for way too long now…we need our Mad Max now more than ever.

1/25/15: The Man With Nothing Has Nothing to Lose

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Animal Kingdom, anti-hero, Antony Partos, Australia, Australian films, brothers, car chases, cat-and-mouse chase, cinema, David Field, David Michôd, dramas, dysfunctional family, film reviews, films, foreign films, Gillian Jones, Guy Pearce, Jamie Fallon, Joel Edgerton, Keri Hilson, Mad Max, Movies, Natasha Braier, post-Apocalyptic, road trip, Robert Pattinson, Scoot McNairy, set in Australia, stolen car, Tawanda Manyimo, The Rover, The Way of the Gun, writer-director-producer

Midway through David Michôd’s post-apocalyptic The Rover (2014), Rey (Robert Pattinson), a possibly mentally disabled young man, relates a rambling, seemingly pointless story to Eric (Guy Pearce), his captor: as Rey yammers on and on, we watch as frustration and boredom wage war across Eric’s sun-bleached, weathered face, his quick-set lips constantly suppressing some sort of cranky comeback. After Rey finishes his story, Eric regards him with something approaching contempt and snaps, “Why’d you tell me that?” The young man shrugs and nonchalantly states: “It was interesting and I remembered it…not everything has to be about something.”

In a way, that’s as good a micro-philosophy for Michôd’s film as any: indeed, if one boiled The Rover down to its essential parts, one would get a narrative that consists entirely of a man pursuing another group of men in order to retrieve his stolen car. This is overly reductive, of course, since there’s a bit more going on here than that (The Rover is definitely about “something”) but Australian writer-director Michôd, who first hit the public eye with his brutal Animal Kingdom (2010), is a master of economy and the whole thing buzzes along with the extreme focus of the best single-minded revenge flicks. Think of this as a moodier Mad Max (1979) minus the tricked-out cars, intense action setpieces and over-the-top characters and you’re definitely in the right vicinity.

We begin in Australia, ten years after some sort of ill-defined “collapse” has led to some pretty miserable conditions: everything seems sun-baked and cracked, food and water are now luxury items and every single person packs as much heat as they can possibly carry. Into this heat-mirage of failure steps Eric, as beaten-down and weathered as the landscape around him. While stopping at what appears to be a nearly empty “water saloon,” Eric kicks back for a moment of peace and quiet, during which absolute disaster strikes: his one and only possession, his beat-up car, is stolen by a trio of thieves on the lam, Caleb (Tawanda Manyimo), Archie (David Field) and Henry (Scoot McNairy). The trio have just crashed their truck and jack Eric’s before he can stop them.

Jumping into their abandoned vehicle, Eric gives chase, on the thieves’ tail like flies on cow-shit. After a suitably thrilling cat-and-mouse chase, Eric gets out to confront them, at which point he’s cold-cocked and left to wake up in the dirt. As he continues his pursuit, Eric runs into Rey, Henry’s gut-shot brother. Seems that Rey was injured in whatever heist the group was involved in and the others just left him there, rather than dragging his soon-to-be carcass around. Since Rey claims to know where the group is headed, Eric takes him along, with the stipulation that he’ll slit his throat if Henry and the others aren’t where Rey says they’ll be. From that point on, Eric and Rey travel in uneasy companionship, their relationship never as simple as “captor and captive” or “traveling companions,” but never quite as cold-blooded as Eric’s relentless pursuit of his car. As the duo get closer and closer to their destination, Rey will have to make some awfully difficult decisions about family, loyalty and doing the right thing, even as Eric continues to shave his own humanity down to the bone, turning himself into a killer as remorseless and barren as the landscape around him.

For the most part, The Rover is well-made, heartfelt and consistently interesting, albeit  a tad confusing, from time to time. The script, based on an idea that Michôd developed with actor Joel Edgerton, is lean and mean, wasting as little time as possible on anything that doesn’t propel the story (and the characters) forward. Due to this economy, we don’t get much in the way of character development whatsoever (the only backstory we receive regarding the protagonist is one extremely confusing tidbit related after he’s been captured by the military and the film’s twist ending), which tends to give the various people we meet a rather “half-formed” nature.

In particular, the scenes involving Grandma (Gillian Jones) and the strange, old man at the film’s conclusion are enigmatic precisely because they’re sort of dumped on us with no explanation as to their significance. The bit involving the old man is particularly frustrating, since it seems to involve a fundamental emotional beat with Eric that never makes much sense: he seems to have an emotional reaction to someone he’s never met, for no perceptible reason, when he’s been largely emotionless before that. There’s also zero development with the trio of thieves, although McNairy and Pattinson do get a nicely emotional bit during the climax: Caleb and Archie are never anything more than generic types, however, giving their ultimate fates next to no real importance. While many films are filled with faceless villains, this seems an odd tact to take for a film that only features a small handful of actors: a little more depth would have opened up the film immensely.

From a production-standpoint, The Rover looks and sounds great: Natasha Braier’s cinematography perfectly captures the sun-bleached desolation of the uncompromising landscape and the occasional nods to an “artier” style (the slo-mo car flying by the window as Eric sits at the bar, drinking water and listening to an Asian pop song on the radio, for example) prevent the film from ever looking too “utilitarian.” The moody score, by Antony Partos, is particularly good: there’s one supremely cool driving sequence where the score approximates the sparse keyboard squelches of No-Wave legends Suicide and I, for one, could not stop grinning. I also got a kick out of the way Keri Hilson’s “Pretty Girl Rock” (you know, the “Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful,” song) scores a key setpiece: while the film is never less than dour, it’s pretty obvious that a subtle (very, very subtle) stream of dark humor runs through everything.

Performance-wise, I was quite taken by both Pearce and Pattinson: Pattinson, in particular, turns Rey into the kind of twitchy, fidgety weirdo that seems a million miles from his usual roles and I agreed with almost all of his acting choices, although his odd, slightly slurred accent is often more than a little hard to parse. Pearce, for his part, can pretty much do these kinds of roles in his sleep and his world-weary, defeated but determined take on Eric is sturdy and feels authentic. One of the most interesting aspects regarding the character of Eric is just how poorly he fits the role of “hero”: hell, even “anti-hero” seems a bit of a stretch, at times. For much of the film, Eric is violent, uncompromising and kills at the drop of a hat, often with as little provocation as possible. The final twist makes his character more sympathetic (barely) but the road leading there is paved with plenty of “questionable” activities, as it were. It’s to Pearce’s great credit that we’re always on Eric’s side, even if it’s not always easy (or possible) to agree with his actions.

Ultimately, I enjoyed, but didn’t love, The Rover. On the plus side, the film stakes out a claim as a reasonable neo-Western, ala The Way of the Gun (2000) and that will always receive my stamp of approval. Michôd’s film looks and sounds great, slotting in nicely with similar Australian fare, such as the aforementioned Mad Max, as well as “arty” post-apocalyptic films like Bellflower (2011). There are also plenty of good performances here, including an above-average turn by Robert Pattinson in a rather non-typical role. On the downside, the film feels a little long, especially for such a streamlined narrative, and I never felt emotionally engaged with it until the final revelation, which does end up packing a bit of a punch. That being said, fans of low-key post-apocalyptic tales should find plenty to approve of, even if the final result is decidedly less than a game-changer.

8/16/14: …And Good Riddance

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Adrian Grenier, bad films, bad soldiers, Ben McKenzie, Caroline Dhavernas, co-writers, college friends, cyber-terrorism, Denis Hennelly, end of the world, Gaby Hoffmann, Goodbye World, Kerry Bishe, Laura Kachergus, Linc Hand, Mark Webber, McKenna Grace, nostalgia, post-Apocalyptic, power grid, Remy Nozik, Scott Mescudi, terrible films, The Big Chill, The Walking Dead, writer-director

If you think about it, small-scale, low-budget post-apocalyptic films should be one of the easiest types of movies to pull off. After all, the various elements are practically codified, at this point: get a small batch of varied survivors together, preferably in a small, claustrophobic space and give them something to worry about outside the “safety” of their enclosure (nuclear fallout, zombies, biological terrorism, other humans, mutant animals, yadda yadda). Let the various survivors form groups and factions, then have them fight with each other for survival and/or supremacy. Throw in a few “surprise” romances, some “shocking” betrayals and a few morsels about how humanity tends to devolve into animalistic chaos at the first sign of societal upheaval et voila: you have yourself a decent little post-apocalyptic thriller/chiller/downer.

When done competently, these type of films can be dependable, if unspectacular, exercises, similar to competently made found-footage films: nothing amazing but decent enough to watch and, at the very least, marginally entertaining. When done exceptionally well, however, post-apocalyptic “survival” films can be quite special little affairs: recent efforts like It’s a Disaster (2012), This is the End (2013) and Rapture-Palooza (2013) have tackled the apocalypse from a humorous angle, while dead-serious efforts like Time of the Wolf (2003), The Road (2009), The Divide (2012) and The Colony (2013) tend to dwell on the more miserable side of surviving the end times. Let’s not forget zombies (Dawn of the Dead (1978), Night of the Comet (1984)), environmental issues (12 Monkeys (1995), Take Shelter (2011), Hell (2011)) and relationship travails (Melancholia (2011), Seeking a Friend For the End of the World (2012)), all of which make for great apocalyptic fodder. As I’ve pointed out, you can make a good (or great) post-apocalyptic survival flick out of just about anything: the sky, literally, is the limit.

With all of that being said, however, writer-director Denis Hennelly’s Goodbye World (2013) is that other kind of post-apocalyptic survival film: the shitty kind. Without putting too fine a point on it, Hennelly’s film is almost complete and total garbage, a perfect trifecta of bad acting, obnoxious characters, a terrible script, tonal inconsistencies out the wazoo and a laughable resolution that’s so trite that it’s actually kind of insulting. If anything, Goodbye World comes across as a brain-dead, post-apocalyptic The Big Chill (1983), a bizarro-world version of The Walking Dead that replaces the zombies with annoying former college roommates and power-tripping wannabe-military tough guys. This, friends and neighbors, is the living definition of a film that I saw so that you don’t have to…you can thank me later.

In short order, we’re introduced to our rather large and unwieldy cast of clichés: James (Adrian Grenier), Lily (Kerry Bishe) and daughter, Hannah (McKenna Grace) are the “eco-friendly” family that lives off the grid; Benji (Mark Webber) and girlfriend, Ariel (Remy Nozik) are the “revolutionaries” who want to bring down the system; Lev (Scott Mescudi) is the (apparently) mildly autistic computer genius whose botched suicide attempt kicks off the destruction of the world’s power grid; Nick (Ben McKenzie) is James and Lily’s former business partner (and Lily’s former lover) who’s brought his new girlfriend, Becky (Caroline Dhavernas) and Laura (Gabby Hoffmann) is the form college friend who hates Becky with a passion.

These idiots all descend on James and Lily’s farm after an apparent cyber-attack has destroyed the world’s power grid: lights, phones, gas pumps and ATMs no longer work, which would be bad enough, but the loss of modern accouterments has an even more dire effect: it forces these ninnies to reexamine their old relationships, friendships and arguments, all while trapped together on an out-of-the-way farm. Since this is a modern post-apocalyptic survival film, we know that we can’t trust any kind of authority, especially from the armed forces. When a couple of sinister supposed National Guardsmen show up and want to bunker down at the group’s homestead, James and his gang show them the door, post-haste. If you can guess that we haven’t seen the last of the military guys…well, maybe you should have written the script, then, smarty-pants.

Look, here’s the thing: I can couch this in as many (or as few) niceties as possible but the bottom-line is pretty black-and-white: Goodbye World is an awful film. If one could somehow look past the thoroughly unlikable characters (in particular, Lily is one of the shittiest, most obnoxious, horrible characters I’ve managed to get stuck with in some 30 years of watching movies…and she only gets WORSE when combined with her old flame, Nick) and more miss-than-hit acting, you’re still stuck with a real donkey of a script. This is the kind of film that pulls one of those hoary old “talent show” scenes out of a moldy top hat and pretends that it’s some kind of narrative revelation: rarely have I wanted to claw my eyes out more than when Gabby Hoffmann waxes philosophic about playing George Washington in historical re-enactments.

Not only is there nothing original to be found here but the filmmakers manage to mess up even the most basic post-apocalyptic survival film beats: it’s like trying to make an omelet with Cheese Whiz, straw and roofing shingles. It’s pretty much a given that the film displays a distressingly low-level of tension (think a slightly “edgier” Afterschool Special) but it also manages to do away with anything that might offer the slightest bit of pleasure or entertainment factor for the audience. I’ve watched plenty of films where I thought, “Hmm…this is pretty awful, except for ________.” Goodbye World is the rare film where I was at a complete loss to fill in the blank: what actually worked here? As a point of comparison, Kevin Costner’s The Postman (1997) has seemed to occupy the pole position as far as universally derided post-apocalyptic movies go for almost two decades now: in this instance, The Postman comes off like The Godfather (1972) compared to Hennelly’s “opus.”

By the time the film works its way to a “resolution” that manages to not only pair up most of the characters but give them weepy “emotional” scenes to boot, I was way beyond through with this bit of foolishness. My favorite low point? The ridiculously hokey “Daily Bubble” routine between James, Lily and Hannah that’s somehow inflated to become a societal metaphor by the film’s final scene. Here’s the thing, though: if we get to the end of the world and we need to rely on this cast of characters for salvation…well…just take my word for it and stick a fork in the Earth. When given the choice between perishing or starting a new world with these idiots, I’ll take the dirt-nap any day of the week.

1/8/14: From the Sublime to the Ridiculous

Tags

action-adventure, B-movies, Bounty Killer, dark comedies, De Noorderlingen, Dick Maas, Drifter, evil corporations, foreign films, forests, isolated communities, Mad Max, Mary Death, Netherlands, post-Apocalyptic, Road Warrier, sainthood, saints, Stagecoach, The Northerners, Westerns, white collar criminals

Hello, fellow cinematic wanderers! This installment will cover the films that were watched this Wednesday, including a confounding bit of strangeness from the Netherlands and another fun/dumb action/adventure. Saddle up and let’s ride out.

When I was a wee lad, one of my greatest thrills was going to our local video and browsing the stacks for new material. I usually went by the covers (the more gory and outrageous, the better), the stars (anything with Eastwood, Bronson, etc…) and, occasionally, the title itself. I’ve made some wonderful discoveries this way, films that have become like friends to me over the years.

One of the films that I selected based solely on its title was Amsterdamned. C’mon, now: look at the title…Amsterdamned. How could I pass it up? The film was about a wet-suit bedecked serial killer hiding in the canals of Amsterdam, popping out periodically to slay unknowing tourists and quickly became one of my favorite cop/killer stories. Amsterdamned was directed by the wonderfully named Dick Maas, a director/producer that I’ve been following since I first picked up that video tape in the late ’80s. Maas is something of a Netherlands institution, directing twenty-four films and producing another twenty-six since the mid ’70s. As of late, Maas made a pretty good splash with 2010’s Saint (Sint), probably the best evil Santa Claus ever made (sorry, Rare Exports…).

All of this is a long-winded way of getting us to The Northerners (De Noorderlingen). I’ve had my eye on this little curiosity for a while, so imagine my complete surprise and delight when my old buddy Dick Maas’ name turned up as producer in the opening credits. As soon as I saw that, I knew I was in for one helluva ride.

It’s no hyperbole to say that this was, easily, one of the strangest films I’ve ever seen, much closer to a Guy Maddin flick than anything else. The premise is simple, yet almost nightmarish: in the ‘late ’50s, a fancy new housing development is touted as the wave of the future in Holland. One street in the development is built and filled with houses and businesses, while the rest is touted to be coming in 1960. Two years later, the development has been abandoned, leaving only one populated street midst a desolate wasteland. The residents have, likewise, been abandoned to their own devices and lives…extremely strange lives, as it were.

We’re introduced to each of the various families in turn. The film mostly centers around young Thomas and his parents. His father is the perpetually horny “town” butcher: his only hobby appears to be trying unsuccessfully to have sex with his thoroughly turned-off wife. When the butcher persists, nearly to the point of rape, his wife retreats completely into her worship of St. Francis (complete with living St. Francis statue and bird). She begins to starve herself, inching ever closer to sainthood as the town gathers outside their house to worship at her bedside. Poor Thomas retreats into the safety of national news events, dressing up like Lumumba, the Congolese prime minister he sees every night on TV.

We have the local bully, Fat Willie, who lives with his mother and menaces Thomas from atop a ridiculously small bike. Plagge, the town postman, makes a daily habit of retreating to the tiny forest situated near the town, where he reads and burns most of the mail he’s supposed to deliver. Plagge is best friends with Thomas: he assists him in dressing up like Lumumba by playing the legs, as Thomas sits on his shoulders draped in a huge coat. The postman’s arch-enemy is Anton, the town’s authority figure. Anton serves as the local police/fire department/busybody (and, possibly, mayor), which essentially means that he sticks his nose into everyone’s business constantly, despite being unable to make love to his voracious wife.

Into this hearty stew of neuroses is dropped a pair of travelling missionaries and the African native they’ve brought back as a souvenir of sorts. Feeling a primal connection to Lumumba, Thomas frees the native, setting off a chain of events that will lead to murder, sainthood and several different shades of come-uppance. The film manages to tie all of these loose ends into a perfect bow by the end, no mean feat when faced with so much disparate insanity.

The Notherners is one of those films that you’ll either love or hate. Personally, I loved the hushed, almost funereal atmosphere, which bumped up nicely against some almost Jodorowsky-ian touches (the statue of St. Francis coming to life; a strange forest nymph that may or may not be the previously unseen female nose monkey; the increasingly strange behavior of Anton; Martha’s self-saintification). The film is also full of gorgeous static shots and long takes, making it a true pleasure to look at. There’s some truly funny material here, too, although the humor is decidedly pitch black. The film was written and directed by Alex van Warmerdam, who also played the part of the puckish Plagge.

This is a strange film but one that I found myself thinking about more and more after it was over. In the best possible way, Dick Maas has struck again.

As of late, I appear to be in a bit of a B-movie frenzy. We had Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters the other day and now I bring you Bounty Killer. I’ll admit that what originally drew me to this film was the promised storyline of hunting white-collar criminals in a post-apocalyptic landscape. I like nothing more than seeing corporate America get its just desserts, even if only in a movie, so this became a must-see. Luckily, there’s more than concept holding this one together.

Right off the bat, it should be noted that Bounty Killer is a very, very self-aware film. Very. This can become a problem when trying to craft a quality B-picture, since the best Bs weren’t trying to be cult films: they were just born that way. This self-aware tactic, however, worked wonders for Hobo with a Shotgun and the Grindhouse double-bill and, for the most part, works well here. If anything, the best parts of Bounty Killer (and there are many) remind me of Joss Wheadon’s Firefly: just the right balance of modern sass, sarcasm, old West and Mad Max.

The film is pretty simple: in the future, rich corporations have royally fucked over the U.S., left it to burn in the midst of armed “brand wars” and absconded with all of the money. To combat this, a council of nine arises and charges a group of highly trained killers with the task of finding and bringing these miscreants to justice. These Bounty Killers track down the suit-and-tie misanthropes, delete them from the earth in various blood-drenched ways and receive fat paychecks from the council. They are also the only thing to pass for celebrities or heroes in the burned out world they exist in.

Enter Drifter and Mary Death, two of the best BKs. They end up going on a mission to bring down the Yellow Ties, the leading white collar gang. As can be expected, much blood is spilled, many pithy quips are quipped, loyalties are tested, betrayals are had and the hope of our future rests on their mighty shoulders.

Despite going into this expecting to turn my brain completely off, I found that I only had to cut it to 50% power. Bounty Killer, despite all appearances, is actually a pretty savvy, clever film. In fact, certain sequences like the “stagecoach” composed of a VW bus pulled by a team of motorcycles and the inspired title sequence are absolutely genius, possessing a truly bezerk sense of energy. Other sequences (the obligatory training sequence, almost any scene that Mary Death has to carry by herself) have the unfortunate feel of filler, spinning their wheels until the next big action sequence.

And what sequences they are! Splitting the difference between spaghetti western and post-apocalyptic survival tale (the box art calls this “The Road Warrior meets Kill Bill” and that’s pretty accurate), the fights are truly something to behold, especially the aforementioned stagecoach bit and the absolutely thrilling final battle. The film generally looks pretty good, too, with only a few moments falling prey to overly glossy CG effects.

All in all, this was a really fun film. The acting was suitable, the action was outstanding, the gore was surprising (there were at least three points where I found myself saying “Wow” under my breath) and the sense of humor was strong. Plus, you get a surprise appearance from one of the most genuinely insane actors in Hollywood. I won’t tell you who it is but you might just make lemonade in your pants when you find out.