2/5/15: Bad and Breakfast

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amateur films, Aya Cash, bed and breakfasts, butterfly collector, Charles Borland, cinema, couples' therapy, cuckoo clocks, Curtis Shumaker, D.W. Young, dark comedies, David Ullmann, eccentric people, escaped mental patient, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Happy House, horror, horror films, Kathleen McNenny, Khan Baykal, Marceline Hugot, Mike Houston, mother-son relationships, Movies, muffins, Oliver Henzler, quirky, silly films, Stivi Paskoski, The Happy House, writer-director-editor

Some bad films make it incredibly easy to dislike them. Perhaps it’s a consciously made bad film masquerading as something “genuine,” always one of my pet peeves: there’s a world of difference between an Ed Wood film, for example, and anything that bears the “Sharknado” moniker. Sometimes a film is just offensive and awful, so tone-deaf and mortally stupid that it manages to miss the area marked “edgy satire” and land square in the one marked “trash dump.” In some cases, a bad film will be so irritating, whether thanks to migraine-inducing filmmaking, ludicrously terrible performances or a truly wretched script, that it becomes a complete chore to sit through: this is the kind of film where you check your watch a dozen times during the opening credits, each time secretly hoping for some respite via space-time anomalies. Even though “bad” films can be lots of fun to watch, there are some bad films that do deserve to be pilloried.

Sometimes, however, there’s just no joy to be found in beating up on a bad film. While some bad films are willfully obnoxious, like out-of-control brats throwing epic temper tantrums in public places, other bad films end up being much more sympathetic. Like the aforementioned films of Ed Wood, some films have the very best intentions but end up falling short on just about every level possible. While I always feel a little bad about saying anything negative about movies like this, I also don’t believe in participation awards: a well-intentioned bad film is still a bad film, at the end of the day. In that spirit, writer-director-editor D.W. Young’s The Happy House (2013) is a very bad film, albeit one with very good intentions, sort of like a sweet, slightly lop-eared puppy that just can’t stop crapping on the floor.

Wendy (Aya Cash) and Joe (Khan Baykal) are a feuding couple who opt for a relaxed weekend at a remote bed and breakfast in order to work on their relationship. The problems with their relationship become quite evident once it’s revealed that Wendy detests b&bs: this was another one of Joe’s ideas that just bulldozes through any and all of her protests, leading us to believe that this weekend might be a little doomed from the get-go. Once the couple get to the titular inn, The Happy House, they quickly settle into a very strange situation. The b&b’s owner, Hildie (Marceline Hugot) seems incredibly nice and bakes a mean muffin but there’s something just a little off about her silent, lurking son, Skip (Mike Houston). There’s also something decidedly odd about her multiple-page list of rules and regulations, the violation of which will result in “three strikes” and consequences that Hildie and Skip laugh away with the rather sinister “you don’t want to know.”

As they settle in to the Happy House, Wendy and Joe meet the inn’s other resident, an eccentric Swedish butterfly collector, Nils Hverven (Oliver Henzler), who’s hunting for an exceptionally rare specimen that’s been sighted in the immediate area. He’s also managed to acquire two strikes, thanks to his apparent disregard for the rules, and he cautions the couple to be careful of the “consequences.” After Nils earns his third violation, the lepidopterist seems to disappear, leading Wendy and Joe to believe that Hildie and her son might be responsible. When the friendly, local deputy (Curtis Shumaker) shows up with news about a dangerous, escaped mental patient, however, a new wrinkle is added to the proceedings. With danger around every turn, Wendy and Joe must figure out who can be trusted and who should be feared unless they want their stay at Hildie’s bed and breakfast to become permanently open-ended.

As I mentioned earlier, The Happy House is not a good film in any way, shape or form. The problems are legion: the acting is uniformly bad, ranging from stagey to under-stated but never once realistic or genuine; none of the performers have any chemistry together, whether playing a couple or a mother and son; the script is tone-deaf and awkward; the “twists” are both obvious and silly; the incredibly odd musical score is jarring and never seems to fit the mood of the film at any given point and the film feels about 20 minutes longer than it needs to be, even though it clocks in around 80 minutes. In fact, one gets the distinct impression that The Happy House might have made a fairly entertaining/amusing short (the film’s “twist” happens at the 30 minute mark and would have formed a fairly decent conclusion to a short) but becomes tedious when unnecessarily stretched to full length.

As far as the acting goes, I assumed that the cast consisted of new and amateur performers but was surprised to find that this wasn’t really anyone’s first rodeo: in particular, I was surprised to find how many films Hugot had under her belt since her performance here was so literal and blunt…there were few scenes that didn’t feel as if she were delivering precisely memorized lines rather than actually inhabiting the character. I have to assume that much of the blame for this lies with Young, especially looking at some of these actors’ past performances.

Despite how bad Young’s feature debut ends up being, however, there’s something that’s so earnest and oddly likable about the film that I feel kind of bad for not liking it. While the film’s script is a complete mess (by the time I realized the film was supposed to be a dark comedy, it was already half-way over), the core idea isn’t bad and there seems like some genuine potential here. Even though none of the actors have any chemistry together, there are individual moments that hint at what might have been possible, under different circumstances. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t point out that the film’s poster is pretty damn fantastic: I wish that level of production design and attention to detail had been present in the actual film but it at least indicates that there’s a vein of real potential running below the mess, even it rarely springs to the surface.

Ultimately, The Happy House was not offensively terrible nor was it the equivalent of fingernails on chalkboard. You could tell that lots of love went into the production, even if the overall results were decidedly south of successful: these appear to be folks who are genuinely interested in making movies and there’s nothing wrong with that whatsoever. On the other hand, The Happy House was, easily, one of the worst films I’ve seen in several months and there’s just no way to sugarcoat that. While I’ll never tire of coming up with new ways to slam something like, say, The Comedy (2012), I definitely don’t get that same enjoyment from this. As long as Young and company keep trying, I’ll keep giving them a shot: I’m not sure if this will ever be “diamond in the rough” territory but, sometimes, you just gotta give the nice guys another chance.

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4/29/14: Dance Like You Mean It

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A Mighty Wind, Australia, Australian films, auteur theory, ballroom dancing, Barry Fife, Barry Otto, based on a play, Baz Luhrmann, Bill Hunter, Christopher Guest, cinema, Clerks, comedies, dancing competitions, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, Fran, Gia Carides, Golden Globe nominee, independent films, John Hannan, magical-realism, mismatched couples, Moulin Rouge, Movies, multiple award nominee, outsiders, Pan Pacific, Pat Thomson, Paul Mercurio, Peter Whitford, quirky, romances, romantic films, Romeo + Juliet, Scott Hastings, silly films, Sonia Kruger, Strictly Ballroom, Tara Morice, The Great Gatsby, ugly ducklings, upbeat films, writer-director

Everyone’s gotta start somewhere and, for writer-director Baz Luhrmann, that somewhere was Strictly Ballroom (1992), the quirky, film festival darling that launched his career. From there, of course, Luhrmann would go on to make ridiculously extravagant, lavish films like Romeo + Juliet (1996), Moulin Rouge (2001), Australia (2008) and The Great Gatsby (2013), films which seemed to be defined as much by their excesses and eye-popping production values as for their characterizations and storylines. Strictly Ballroom, however, still stands as Luhrmann’s most human picture: despite it’s silly, slapsticky energy, this is a modest little film about small-town people trying to realize their dreams, a relatable nugget that’s low on flash but high on energy and fun. Although Luhrmann would go on to “bigger and better things,” his follow-up films, to this point, have managed to be neither as human nor as charming as his debut. Sometimes, the simplest things really are the best.

As the title insinuates, Strictly Ballroom is about the world of competitive ballroom dancing or, at the very least, the Australian equivalent of said sport. Our dashing hero, Scott Hastings (Paul Mercurio), seems to have it all: ample talent; beautiful partner, Liz (Gia Carides); loving, supportive mother and father (Pat Thomson and Barry Otto) who run a dance studio; and the admiration of people like Barry Fife (Bill Hunter), the President of the Australian Ballroom Confederation. Scott is a champion and seems a lock to win the Pan Pacific Championship, the dance title that he’s had his eyes on for pretty much his entire life. Everything, it would seem, is coming up Milhouse for Scott…until, of course, it doesn’t.

During a dance competition, Scott and Liza get boxed in by Scott’s smarmy dance nemesis, Ken Railings (John Hannan) and his partner. Feeling trapped and in a panic, Scott loses his head and, instinctively, busts out some decidedly non-regulation, “modern dance”-type moves. His parents are stunned, the Ballroom Confederation is disgusted and his partner is in tears: how could Scott possibly do this to all of them? Feeling suddenly free for the first time, however, Scott refuses to back down, determined to win the Pan Pacific competition with his new-found moves, whether or not the judges, his family or his partner think it’s kosher. Scott finds a kindred spirit in Fran (Tara Morice), a beginning dance student who shares Scott’s disdain for the rules and seems more than a little sweet on him. At first, of course, Scott treats her like the vain, egotistical jerk he is: he blows off her initial request to dance with him with the haughty exclamation, “A beginner has no right approaching an open amateur.” Luckily for all involved, Scott eventually gets over himself and begins dancing with Fran, first in secret and then in public, to the massive consternation of his micro-managing mother.

Everything comes to a head at the Pan-Pacific Grand Prix (where else?), as the various dancers splinter and regroup in various iterations. Skullduggery abounds: Fife and Scott’s mom scheme to get him hooked up with Tina Sparkle (Sonia Kruger); Scott’s father and his friend, Wayne (Pip Mushin) scheme to thwart Fife’s plan to kick out Scott; Scott tries to win back Fran, after realizing his colossal idiocy and former partner Liz schemes to get away from Railings, who’s revealed himself to be an obnoxious drunk. As the madcap carnival swirls to a conclusion, all involved will learn the most important of life-lessons: it’s not whether you win or lose that matters but whether you had fun doing it.

As one of the films that helped kick off the independent movie surge in the early ’90s, Strictly Ballroom will always have a little spot carved out in the hearts of film fans. Unlike many films of that era (fuck you very much, Clerks), the film actually holds up fairly well today, coming across as a spiritual predecessor to Christopher Guest films like Waiting for Guffman (1996), Best in Show (2000) and A Mighty Wind (2003). Like Guest’s movies, Strictly Ballroom isn’t a particularly sharp or mean film: for one thing, the sweet romance between Scott and Fran is too front and center, while the dastardly machinations by the villainous Fife are too broad and silly to have much menace. It’s also clear that Luhrmann, for whatever reason, feels some genuine affection for his characters and doesn’t want to poke too many holes in them: even Scott’s mom, who can sometimes seem like a bush-league, dance studio Cruella De Vil, is given enough backstory justification to explain many of her more questionable actions.

I’ve never really warmed to any of Luhrmann’s post-Strictly Ballroom films (I haven’t even bothered to see The Great Gatsby, although I’ll get around to it some day), although I distinctly recall seeing Romeo + Juliet in the theater and thinking it was a good, but not great, retelling of the old chestnut. For the most part, I find Luhrmann’s films to be the very definition of “style over substance,” particularly the ridiculous excesses of Moulin Rouge!, although Australia is just as over-stuffed and silly, in its own way. Strictly Ballroom is a much more down-to-earth, character-based effort, however, possibly because it was an adaptation of one of Luhrmann’s stage plays. Whatever the reason, this is one of the few Luhrmann films where the actors don’t feel like set dressing, living props only around to show off the consistently impressive production design.

Strictly Ballroom is not, of course, a particularly original or unique film: it manages to hit pretty much every single beat that you would expect from this kind of light, romantic comedy, right down to the marginalized parent who swoops in at the eleventh hour to save the day. That being said, the film is still full of lots of fun, energetic moments: one of my favorite bits was the ridiculous smooth-jazz, instrumental version of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time that scores the montage scene where Scott (unsuccessfully) auditions a small army of replacement partners. The film is full of nifty little touches like this, perhaps hinting at the overly busy, baroque productions that Luhrmann would later make his calling card. At the beginning, however, he was a quirky, slightly off-center indie filmmaker with a keen interest in exploring some of the odder inhabitants of his native Australia. He may have become a household name with films like Moulin Rouge but I can’t help wishing he’d give us another one like Strictly Ballroom, instead. There are already plenty of big, gaudy, loud films in the world: a few more with a little heart couldn’t hurt.

1/7/14: Feuding Families, Freaky Economics and Say Ahh!

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'80s action films, Canon, Charles Bronson, dark comedies, documentaries, films, Freakonomics, Helena Bonham Carter, Laura Dern, Messenger of Death, nostalgia, Novocaine, quirky, Scott Caan, Steve Martin

Our campaign of catching up continues as we take a look at Tuesday’s viewings. There were a few old ones in there (albeit one that I couldn’t really recall) as well as a documentary that I’ve been meaning to watch for some time. Now, on to the show!

Growing up, there were few things in my life as absolute as my father’s complete and total respect for rugged individuals who did their own thing. Dad didn’t respect authority figures, politicians, cops, etc but he swore by a few people: Steve McQueen, Clint Eastwood and Charles Bronson. I can’t recall how many times the two of us would sit down to re-watch the same Eastwood western again or catch the umpteenth viewing of Bullitt. I don’t think that mom was always happy about that (for some reason, my father never viewed gun violence in films as anything to worry about. He resolutely hated horror films, however.) but these are definitely some of the defining moments in who I currently am.

Back in the day, I’m pretty sure that I saw every film by all of these men at least twice, if not a hundred times. Some films (The Good, The Bad and The Ugly; Bullitt; Breakheart Pass) are such a part of my DNA that I could probably recite all of the dialogue. Other films, however, have sort of slipped into that foggy no-man’s-land of misremembered memories. After all, just these three actors, alone, made a lot of films, not even counting others like Lee van Cleef and John Wayne that were always in the mix. Whenever I encounter any of these older films that I can’t quite recall, I like to give them a spin and reacquaint myself with my youth. The most recent one? Bronson’s Messenger of Death.

For my money, Bronson was always at his best when he played the world-weary cop, out to do the dirty work that no one else wanted to muddy their hands on. He played a pretty wide variety of parts (at least for someone who was, primarily, an action star), however, stepping into the shoes of everyone from journalists to government agents and photographers (his ’50s TV show Man with a Camera is well worth hunting down). I would never call Bronson the most versatile actor out there (from the right angle, he’s more granite than Mount Rushmore) but he always brought a particular brand of toughness and vulnerability to his roles that was pretty much unmatched.

As Bronson flicks go, Messenger of Death is good, but not great. Part of his late ’80s work with Canon, the film is distinguished not so much by its story (which manages to combine armed, feuding Mormon fundamentalist families with Chinatown) but more for its relative restraint. Messenger of Death came just five years after what many consider to be Bronson’s most violent era (Death Wish 2, The Evil That Men Do, 10 to Midnight), yet this is (perhaps) one of his least violent films. For much of the movie, Bronson plays the role of investigator, spending more time looking for clues than shooting or fighting. Since Bronson would retire from films a scant six years after this film was released, I think a good case can be made that this was right about the time when he decided to wind things down.

When compared to the rest of Bronson’s work, this is definitely middle of the road stuff. The actual reveal of the villain has a bit of a Scooby Doo feel to it and the film’s depiction of Mormon fundamentalists is…well, let’s say it’s very 1980’s and leave it at that. For my money, however, any Bronson flick is better than a lot of other film combined, so this was sill a pleasant diversion. I have a feeling, however, that this will be one of those films I revisit in a few years because I can’t recall if I’ve actually seen it or not.

I remember when the actual Freakonomics book came out and became a huge phenomena. I was working in a bookstore at the time (may it rest in hell forever) and I figured this was just another fad-thing like Rich Dad, Poor Dad. As such, I didn’t give it a second thought and went about the rest of my life.

Fast forward almost a decade and I found myself curious anew after the film based on the book became available on Netflix. A film based on an economics book? Surely this would be the sleeping aid I’ve been seeking! As it turns out, I found myself enthralled from the first scene to the last.

The easiest way to describe the film version of Freakonomics is to say that it’s like a really fascinating series of TEDTalks. Not the boring ones that folks actually pretend to be interested in, mind you, but the actual interesting stuff like the correct way to tie your shoes. Several different documentary directors (including Super Size Me’s Morgan Spurlock) each take a shot at one chapter from the book, recreating them in everything from live action to animation. While the results aren’t always even, there’s more than enough interesting material to go around.

Ostensibly, the film (and book, I’m assuming) deal with the hidden side of economics: all of the little things that come together to actually form our entire financial system. The film tackles these things on small, personal level, however, so this isn’t the Intro to Econ class that everyone skipped in college. Exploring everything from the economics of choosing a baby name to the best time to sell your house, Freakonomics makes these issues not only interesting but rather fun. The book’s authors, Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt, serve as moderators/hosts and the two have an easy-going, fun rapport that makes it much easier to pay attention. If you’re in the mood for a little learning along with your entertainment, give this a shot. I ended up being so interested that I might finally read that book: I like to be fashionably late.

I remember seeing Novocaine in the theaters when it first came out. I’ve always been a big Steve Martin fan, even if he’s had an incredibly uneven, frustrating career as of late. Falling into the “Eddie Murphy trap,” Martin seemed doomed to spin his wheels in family-friendly fare forever, a sad state of affairs for the genius who gave us The Jerk. In 1999, however, Martin bounced back a bit with Bowfinger (ironically, co-starring Eddie Murphy). This was a decidedly darker, more adult film, even if it was still a goofy screwball comedy. Two years later, Martin followed that up with Novocaine, even darker still.

Martin plays nebbishy dentist Frank Sangster. He has a thriving practice, dental hygienist fiancée (Laura Dern, so quirky that she seems nuts) and a strong moral compass. Enter a sultry new patient, played by Helena Bonham Carter, however,  and things go to hell faster than you can say “Ahh.” Throw in her batshit crazy, obnoxious brother (played by Scott Caan, channeling only the most over-the-top beats from his dad’s Sonny Corleone) and the dentist’s equally worthless brother and you’ve got a truly toxic stew. The whole thing leads to sex, drug thefts, multiple murders and a teddy bear with an impressive set of choppers. Will Frank be able to stay one step ahead of trouble? Can he trust anyone, including his brother? Is it true that nice guys always finish last?

All in all, Novocaine is a pretty enjoyable film. The score is great (Oingo Boingo’s Steve Bartek did the score, while Danny Elfman performed the theme. As such, that’s just about as close to an Oingo Boingo reunion as I’ll likely get.), Martin is excellent as the fish-out-of-water and Laura Dern provides some nice moments as his neurotic fiancée. More problematic were Helena Bonham Carter and Scott Caan. The two chewed so much scenery that there was precious little for the rest of the cast to graze on. In particular, Caan’s performance is so vein-poppingly over-the-top that I took an instant dislike to him. Carter doesn’t fare much better but at least she gets to play off of Martin. Poor Scott just gets to shout obscenities and rage like a steroid-pumped bro-dog. I was also less than fond of the frequent X-ray image transitions. A few times, here and there, were fine. After the millionth or so, however, the gimmick had long outworn its welcome. We get it: this is a film about a dentist and dentists use X-rays. Move on.

If you like Steve Martin or are looking for a good, quirky, comedy/crime/romance, you could probably do worse than Novocaine. It’s a decent enough film which builds to a truly gonzo ending before leaving us with the more traditional Hollywood wine and roses. Looking back from the Little Shop of Horrors, I think Martin would approve.

1/5/14: Angst, Ninjas and Nerds

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absurdist, cinema, documentaries, films, foreign films, independent films, Journey to Planet X, L'Age D'or, Lena Dunham, Luis Bunuel, Movies, nerds, Norwegian Ninja, parodies, parody, quirky, sci-fi, silent films, Tiny Furniture, twenty-something angst

Our catching up session continues with the spate of films from this past Sunday. There were a few less films than normal on this day but I think we made up for it with some interesting variety. First up:

I began this particular Sunday the way I usually like to: with an old film. In this case, I picked Luis Bunuel’s follow-up to Un Chien Andalou, L’Age D’or. Despite seeing many of his films (and being a big fan, particularly of The Exterminating Angel), there are still several that I’ve managed to miss over the years: no better time to correct that than the present.

Out of the myriad filmmakers that never made it to the modern age, Bunuel is the one that I often find myself wondering about the most. I wish that he would have had access to modern filmmaking techniques and equipment: I can only imagine that the results would have seemed like some unholy alliance of Jodorowsky and Spike Jonze, pushing film into a realm that we’ve never seen.

As compared to much of Bunuel’s other work, particularly his debut, the absurdist elements in L’Age D’or aren’t quite as pronounced. Don’t get me wrong: this is definitely an absurd film. A woman tries to get a large cow out of her bed; a wagon rides through the middle of a mansion; a giraffe is thrown out of a window. On the whole, however, L’Age D’or is really more about absurd situations than visuals. The plot seems to revolve around a man and woman who only want to make love in public. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you feel about public sex), outside forces constantly strive to keep them separated. The film ends with a surprising left turn, evoking one of the Marquis de Sade’s most famous stories, the basis for Pier Palo Pasolini’s horrifying Salo. It was an odd, downbeat way to end the film but completely unexpected: just what you could always expect from Bunuel.

Back to the land of twenty-something angst. Tiny Furniture is yet another film in a seemingly non-ending stream of films about the terrors of being twenty, out of college and adrift in life. Directed and written by Girls ingenue Lena Dunham, there’s a lot to like in this quirk-athon, particularly the sharp dialogue, but I’m still not sure that I’m its intended audience.

Aura (Lena Dunham) has just graduated from college, broken up with her boyfriend and moved back home. Her mother is a quirky art photographer (complete with a huge studio taking up the bottom-floor of their home) and her sister is, essentially, an over-achieving, bratty Dawn Weiner-clone (played by Dunham’s real-life sister). Into Aura’s restless existence pours her quirky (read: annoying) friend Charlotte and two possible love interests: a whiny, obnoxious youTube “video-artist” and the surly, pill-popping sou chef at the restaurant where Aura serves as “day hostess.” Antics ensue, lessons are learned (or are they?) and sex is had in a large piece of construction pipe.

My big issue with Tiny Furniture is that I found the characters to be so completely, thoroughly unlikable. Aura is a whiny, self-absorbed, spoiled little shit and I really couldn’t take anything about her journey of self-discovery seriously. At any given opportunity, Aura would do the absolute most selfish thing possible, regardless of anyone else (especially her long-suffering mother). Aura’s friends are, likewise, equally privileged and irritating, meaning that we end up spending almost 90 minutes with the kind of people you would actively kick out of your party.

That being said, the script for Tiny Furniture is really quite good, managing to pull off the kind of quirky dialogue that I always felt Juno struggled so hard to make seem natural (sorry, Diablo Cody:I ain’t buyin’ what yer sellin’…). The relationships do seem like they fit, even if all of the people are obnoxious, and I quite liked the visual look of the piece. Unfortunately, this seems like something that will (and could) only be relevant to those in the same place as Aura: young, adrift and positive that the world owes you something. Once Aura is in her thirties, I wonder how she would look back on her 22-year-old self? I’m guessing she wouldn’t like her, either.

This is a highly respectful documentary about two friends (and sci-fi enthusiasts) who make extremely low budget films in their spare time. Sort of like a hopeful, non-pathetic version of American Movie, it’s pretty impossible not to fall in love with these guys. They’re unrepentant nerds who are not only completely comfortable in their own skins but who possess the drive and passion necessary to make uber-independent films.

I’m not going to lie and say that their films will revolutionize the industry. Rather, I’m impressed by their wide-ranging interests (they attempt everything from sci-fi and fantasy flicks to war and action films, triply impressive considering their budgets must hover around $100 a pop) and ability to get the job done. The pair have a fully functional blue-screen studio (which they later convert to the more standard green-screen and appear to have completed several dozen shorts. They even pay their lead actors (but not much, of course).

It’s always a pleasure to witness nice people having fun and doing their thing. Unlike other docs about outsider artists, I left this feeling strangely optimistic and happy: as long as these two guys are out there making crappy, home-made sci-fi epics, the world can’t possibly be so terrible. Now, I’m going to have to try and get my hands on some of their films.

The true, untold story of the freedom-loving Ninjas that helped to keep the country of Norway safe…or not. Norwegian Ninja is an extremely clever bit of revisionist history, positing the idea that one of Norway’s most notorious spies, Arne Treholt, was actually the leader of a secretive ninja group and was framed in order to remove him from the picture. Whether any of this is actually true or not (I’m leaning towards the “not” part but my heart is secretly hoping this all happened), it makes for one massively entertaining film.

Similar in intent to films like Black Dynamite and Hobo with a Shotgun, Norwegian Ninja consciously sets out to ape the late ’70s-early ’80s video dynamic and actually looks like it could have come straight from the land of VHS. The film has a soft, gauzy look that calls to mind foreign films of the era, particularly Scandinavian ones, and the casting fits this look perfectly. This also reminded me, in certain ways, of Will Farrell’s Casa de mi Padre, since there were frequent bursts of head-scratching strangeness that would pop up from time to time. My favorite extended gag involves the herd of gentle forest animals that follow one of the ninjas where-ever he goes: take that, Snow White!

My take-away from this film may seem a bit snide but I mean it with all sincerity: this is Die Hard genetically crossbred with Ikea. Norwegian stoicism and practicality (even in the face of tremendous odds, these Norwegian ninjas don’t break a sweat…because it would be unseemly) collide with cold-war espionage and James Bond-lite action. If the thought of a group of polite, tow-headed Ninjas strikes your fancy, see this immediately. I’m eagerly looking forward to the filmmakers’ next bit of insanity.