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Tag Archives: sci-fi

11/27/15: Fists of Funny

17 Wednesday Feb 2016

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'80s homage, absurdist, action-comedies, Andreas Cahling, cinema, computer hacking, crowdfunded films, Danger Force 5, David Hasselhoff, David Sandberg, dinosaurs vs Nazis, directorial debut, Eleni Young, Erik Hörnqvist, film reviews, films, foreign films, Frank Sanderson, Helene Ahlson, Jorma Taccone, Kung Fury, Leopold Nilsson, Lost Years, Mitch Murder, Movies, Patrik Öberg, retro-themed films, sci-fi, shorts, Steven Chew, Swedish films, synth scores, time travel, writer-director-actor

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Is there such a thing as a perfect roller-coaster? While opinions may vary, I think there are a few key aspects that just about anyone can agree on. A perfect roller-coaster should have a balance of climbs and falls, straight shots and zig-zags: a roller-coaster that consists of one long, steady climb and a corresponding fall may be a great endurance test but it makes for a pretty poor roller-coaster. A perfect roller-coaster should feature plenty of surprise twists, turns and sudden swerves to the left and right: when done right, the only thing you should be anticipating is that big, final plunge into the abyss right before the cars stop and your heart thumps back into your chest. Perhaps most importantly, however, a perfect roller-coaster should be short and sweet. There’s a subtle (but definite) line between pummeling your senses and red-lining your adrenaline  and being reduced to a quivering pile of bodily functions on the blessed pavement. The perfect roller-coaster should leave you shaken, giddy, a little unsteady on your feet and eager to jump right back in line and do the whole thing all over again.

In this spirit, writer/director/actor/tour de force David Sandberg’s 30-minute mind-blower, Kung Fury (2015), might just be the perfect cinematic roller-coaster. Over the course of its short and sweet run-time, Kung Fury wastes not one single minute and features not one wasted, repetitive or unnecessary frame. The effect is like mainlining Pixie Stix and Red Bull, a jittery, explosive and relentlessly inventive trawl through the very best of ’80s-era junk culture, all filtered through a brilliantly absurd worldview that allows for Triceratops-headed police officers, machine gun-wielding Valkyries riding giant wolves and massive, sentient, blood-thirsty arcade games. Kung Fury is what might happen if a teenage metalhead’s Trapper Keeper doodles suddenly sprang to life and it is, quite frankly, rather amazing.

Taking place in a 1985 version of Miami that most closely resembles the neon-and-pastel insanity of Grand Theft Auto, Kung Fury details the adventures of the titular hero (ably portrayed by Sandberg in a genuinely funny, flat-as-a-pancake delivery) as he attempts to travel back in time and stop the evil Adolf Hitler (Jorma Taccone), who has dubbed himself the “Kung Fuhrer” and plots to take over the world with his endlessly impressive kung fu skills. Since this is an ’80s parody, we get all of the standard tropes: Kung Fury is a renegade cop who refuses to be teamed with a new partner after the death of his last one (even though Erik Hornqvist’s Triceracops seems like a perfectly nice, polite dude); he’s got a tech-savvy helper (Leopold Nilssen’s outrageously mulleted Hackerman); the picture quality is constantly marred by static and missing footage; the main bad guy has an army of thousands of heavily armed, killers, none of whom could hit the broadside of a barn if their lives depended on it (which they always do); the acting ranges from amateurish to studiously awkward. Basically, if you grew up on ’80s action/kung fu films (or pretty much anything put out by Cannon), this will be the best kind of deja vu.

While Kung Fury is endlessly fun, full of the kind of giddy, stupid thrills and setpieces that pretty much every comic book/superhero/mindless action film aspires to, one of the most impressive aspects of the production is how damn good the whole thing looks on a ridiculously small budget. After crowdfunding failed to produce enough funds for a full-length, Sandberg and company opted to turn their idea into a short. The whole film was essentially shot in the Swedish filmmaker’s office, utilizing green screens for everything, and budgeted on such a shoestring that they only had one, shared uniform for the scene where Kung Fury wades into an ocean of Nazis. It looks cheap, of course, but by design, not accident. When necessary, the film is as fully immersive as any mega-budget Hollywood blockbuster, stock-footage wolf or not.

Since part of the sheer, unmitigated joy of the short is giving yourself over to its particular brand of lunacy, I’ll refrain from spoiling much more, although I could probably list my fifteen favorite moments and still have enough leftover material for at least fifteen more. Suffice to say that if you’re a fan of absurd fare like Danger Force Five, ’80s action films or bone-dry humor, Sandberg’s Kung Fury should steal a pretty massive piece of your heart. With a promised full-length version over the horizon (featuring no recycled footage which, in and of itself, is kinda mind-blowing), I have a feeling that we’re all going to be seeing a lot more of Sandberg and his inspired brand on insanity.

I still think that the perfect roller-coaster is a short, sharp shock to the system. I’m more than willing to let David Sandberg prove me wrong, however: if nothing else, Kung Fury has handily earned him that right. Too much of a good thing? Bring it on.

11/11/15 (Part One): Let the Punishment Fit the Crime

17 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by phillipkaragas in Uncategorized

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Adam Sliwinski, Andy Thompson, Bernadette Saquibal, Canadian films, cinema, Claudia Morris, co-writers, crime and punishment, Cruel & Unusual, David Richmond-Peck, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Groundhog Day, husband-wife relationship, independent films, Kyle Cassie, low-budget films, Mark Korven, Mary Black, Merlin Dervisevic, Michael Eklund, Michael John Bateman, Michelle Harrison, Monsour Cataquiz, Movies, multiple writers, repentance, Richard Harmon, sci-fi, science-fiction, writer-director

Cruel-_-Unusual_poster_small

When it comes to crime, what, exactly, is the most effective form of punishment? Incarceration is obviously a popular option, given the exponential increase of bodies in prisons (at least in the U.S. of A.) but how effective is it really? There’s also execution, of course, with all of the moral quandaries, philosophical issues and inability to correct mistakes that come with that particular path in the woods.

While incarceration and execution can have varying degrees of effectiveness as far as recidivism goes (execution, in particular, makes it difficult for criminals to re-offend unless, of course, they happen to be Horace Pinker), is there actually a form of punishment that could make a criminal truly regret their transgressions? Is there some way to make a murderer feel sorrow for their actions, a way to make a monster realize their own monstrosity?

Writer/director Merlin Dervicevic takes a look at one potential (albeit far-fetched) form of punishment/rehabilitation with the low-budget, Canadian export Cruel & Unusual (2014). In this modest little film (confined to a couple of interior locations and a few exterior locales, with a small cast), Dervicevic and co-writer Claudia Morris posit a scenario that’s part Cube (1997), part Groundhog Day (1993) and never less than engrossing. While Cruel & Unusual is far from a perfect film, it manages to be effortlessly thought-provoking, which is far more important.

When we first meet schlubby, unassuming Edgar (David Richmond-Peck), he seems like the kind of stock, cinematic character who’s only one small step away from a crippling midlife crisis: he frequently argues with his “out-of-his league wife,” Maylon (Bernadette Saquibal), and accuses her of sleeping with his boss; Maylon’s son, Gogan (Monsour Cataquiz), is a holy terror at school and a tremendous discipline problem; and Edgar’s blue-collar brother, Lance (Kyle Cassie), constantly drops by unexpected and seems to show an unhealthy interest in Maylon.

Just when it seems as if we’ve stepped into a particularly depressing domestic drama, however, Cruel & Unusual drops the other shoe: after walking into a room in his house, Edgar emerges in some sort of anonymous-looking facility. He has a strange tattoo on his arm and quickly finds himself in a room full of assorted strangers, sort of like an AA meeting but even grimmer. As Edgar soon discovers, this is some sort of alternate form of punishment: not only has he has been accused of killing Maylon, Edgar is also informed that he, himself, is now dead.

As per the rules of the facility (explicated by literal talking heads on high school AV-type rolling TV carts), Edgar and the other “prisoners” must constantly relive the days of their crimes, bearing witness to their actions over and over until they finally realize the gravity of their sins and are properly repentant. The crimes run the gamut from murder to suicide (those who kill themselves are derogatorily labeled “suies” and looked down upon by everyone else) but the process is the same: face your shame, over and over, until you’re finally “rehabilitated” and allowed to “move on.”

The only problem, of course, is that Edgar didn’t kill Maylon…at least, he doesn’t think he did. As our bespectacled protagonist tries to desperately prove his innocence and escape from the facility, he meets a trio of like-minded fellow prisoners: William (Richard Harmon), who cold-bloodily killed his parents; Julien (Michael Eklund), who drowned his own children during a custody dispute with his ex-wife; and Doris (Michelle Harrison), who hung herself from a tree and let her young children discover her swinging body.

Seeking answers, Edgar repeatedly delves back into that fateful day, replaying the scenario between him and Maylon over and over, trying to get some sense of the truth behind it all. As new layers are unwrapped and new information is learned, however, Edgar will come to understand the terrible truth about the day he and Maylon died, a truth that will either set him free…or damn him forever.

Despite an incredibly familiar set-up and execution, Cruel & Unusual still managed to pull the rug out from underneath me in the final third, making this one of the better, more capable sleepers I’ve seen in some time. Similar to Circle (2015) in that it takes a very basic sci-fi concept and then proceeds to fill in the outlines with some exceptionally thoughtful examinations on morality and humanity, Dervicevic’s film is never particularly flashy, yet still manages to pack a hefty punch.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the film’s final reel is not only “quite good” but “damn good,” sending the movie out in the best possible way, with a genuinely emotional, gut-punch of a final revelation/conclusion. Prior to the finale, Cruel & Unusual is undoubtedly well-made, if familiar: the acting is solid, the score is nicely evocative and the cinematography helps to establish the mood quickly and economically. Had the film maintained this level of quality throughout, I’d still have no problem recommending it, albeit more as a pleasant time-waster than anything else. The finale is so smart and impactful, however, that it manages to cast everything that came before it in a different, better light: Cruel & Unusual is proof positive that it (almost) always pays to see a movie through to the bitter end.

With its themes of self-sacrifice, acceptance, repentance and letting go, Dervicevic’s Cruel & Unusual ends up being my favorite kind of modern sci-fi film: smart, subtle, low-key, full of piss and vinegar and ready to take on our preconceived notions of how a polite society really acts. This doesn’t belong in the storied company of recent mindblowers like Automata (2015), Ex Machina (2015) or Circle (2015) but there’s nothing wrong with that, either: they can’t all be headliners, after all, and Cruel & Unusual proves that the openers can be just as interesting and revelatory, in their own ways.

8/13/15: More Human Than the Humans

24 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by phillipkaragas in Uncategorized

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Alejandro Martínez, Antonio Banderas, Arthur C. Clarke, Automata, Birgitte Hjort Sørensen, Blade Runner, clocksmith, co-writers, David Ryall, Dylan McDermott, dystopia, dystopian future, end of humanity, future of mankind, Gabe Ibáñez, gorgeous cinematography, grim future, husband-wife relationship, Igor Legarreta, insurance investigator, Jacq Vaucan, Javier Bardem, Javier Sánchez Donate, Kes Bonnet, man vs machine, Melanie Griffith, multiple writers, near future, nuclear batteries, Patrick Salvador, Philip K. Dick, radiation, Robert Forster, robots, sci-fi, science-fiction, self-aware robots, solar storms, thought-provoking, Tim McInnerny, wasteland, writer-director, Zacarías M. de la Riva

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At what point, exactly, does a robot cease to exist as merely a “machine” and become something more? It’s a question that’s been an integral part of science fiction practically from the genre’s creation, a question that’s been examined by literary luminaries like Isaac Asimov, Philip K. Dick and Arthur C. Clarke, across works as unforgettable as “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”, “I, Robot” and “2001.” The questions are always the same fundamental ones: What is the primary difference between intelligent machines and humans? Can a machine ever “become” human or, at the least, human-like? Do robots possess the capacity for emotions? Can you program “sadness,” “anger,” “hatred” or “love”? If robots were capable of self-awareness, would this be the tipping point?

Cinema, for its part, has been asking the same questions for almost as long as we’ve had movies: Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) is probably the first example of a cinematic tradition that’s been going on for almost a century, a tradition that includes such diverse films as Forbidden Planet (1956), 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Westworld (1972), The Black Hole (1979), Alien (1979), Blade Runner (1982), The Terminator (1984), Short Circuit (1986), RoboCop (1987), Cherry 2000 (1987), A.I. (2001), I, Robot (2004), WALL-E (2008), Moon (2009) and Chappie (2015). One of the newest inclusions into this amazingly eclectic group, Spanish writer-director Gabe Ibáñez’s Automata (2014), also ends up being one of the better ones: barring a few missteps and unnecessary clutter, Automata is a gorgeously filmed, thought-provoking look at what separates us from the machines…and why they just might be better at “living” than we’ll ever be.

The year is 2044 and the Earth has been decimated by solar storms that have, in effect, turned the whole planet into a radioactive wasteland. 99% of the population has died, leaving the survivors to take shelter in the few remaining cities, the equivalent of ants scurrying to get away from the magnifying glass. Since atmospheric disturbances have wrecked holy hell with radio transmissions, electrical grids and the like, technology has regressed to your typical dystopic state of being: in other words, humanity is completely and irreversibly fucked, our future sizzling away like so much fat in the fire.

Into this rather terrible situation comes the ubiquitous ROC Corporation (think RoboCop’s Omni Corp and you’re in the right neighborhood), creator of the “primitive” Automata Pilgrim 7000s, a type of robot which does everything from building the walls and coverings which protect the last cities to helping take care of kids, cooking meals and fighting wars (despite our truncated timeline, humans still need to kill each other, apparently, which always seems to be our one constant). By the time the film opens, there are millions of Automatas running around, each one governed by two very fundamental protocols: robots may not harm any form of life (including themselves) and they are forbidden from altering themselves or other robots. Like the Prime Directives in RoboCop, these are unbreakable, unalterable and, obviously, in place to help preserve humanity’s increasingly precarious place in the pecking order.

Our “Deckard” in this particular instance is Jacq Vaucan (Antonio Banderas), one of ROC Corp’s ubiquitous insurance investigators. Jacq’s job is to run around and look into any and all insurance claims levied against his employers: when we first meet him, he’s looking into the case of an Automata that’s been accused of brushing a family dog to death. Jacq is completely burnt-out (no pun intended) at his job and dreams only of moving his pregnant wife, Rachel (Birgitte Hjort Sørensen), to the seashore, if such a thing still exists in this brave new world.

As befits the “one last case” trope, Jacq is called on to investigate one of ROC Corp’s Automata that has been unceremoniously shot in the face by wastoid police officer Sean Wallance (Dylan McDermott). It seems that the “dead” robot had been modified in some pretty significant ways: not only was it capable of “self-repair” (a big no-no) but it also seemed to be smuggling illegal parts (an even bigger no-no). Jacq’s boss, Mr. Bold (Robert Forster), gives him the news that he’s been impatiently waiting for: find someone, anyone, to blame for the modified robot and Jacq will earn a one-way ticket to his dream destination (provided, of course, that it’s real and not an actual dream destination).

From here, Jacq dives into the deep end of the case, tracking the robot’s “clocksmith” all the way from the city’s stereotypically dystopic slums to a creepy android sex parlor and, finally, into the radioactive wastelands colloquially dubbed “The Sandbox.” As Jacq learns more and more about the modified Automata and its ultimate purpose, he also uncovers hints of a wide-ranging conspiracy, a conspiracy that could affect the very future of mankind. With no one but a group of Automata to guide him, Jacq must confront the truth behind the robots, a truth that will eventually lead him to a godlike being and, just perhaps, the long-rumored ocean that he’s always yearned to see. What separates us from the machines? As Vaucan will find out, quite a bit less than we might think.

Right off the bat, Ibáñez’s Automata is an absolutely stunning piece of film-craft: to not put too fine a point on it, the production design (courtesy of Patrick Salvador), cinematography (beautifully handled by Alejandro Martínez) and general mise en scene (Kes Bonnet handled the art design) are nearly flawless. For a film with an estimated budget of $7 million, Automata looks like it cost roughly fives times that. Using a mix of CGI backgrounds and actual animatronics for the Automata, the film is completely immersive and, to be honest, looks just as good as any of the accepted modern sci-fi prestige pictures: again, it’s hard to not belabor the point but Automata blew me away early and managed to keep impressing me for the entirety of its nearly two-hour run-time. If the film has any issues (and it has a couple), they have nothing whatsoever to do with the look, ambiance or general production.

Performance-wise, Automata’s cast is exceptionally solid: Banderas is fantastic as the world-weary investigator, McDermott turns in one of his patented “loose cannon” performances, Forster is suitably paternal as Jacq’s kind-hearted boss and Tim McInnerny makes a great villain as ultra-slimy “company man,” Vernon Conway. Sørensen does a fine job with what she’s given, although her character doesn’t really come into her own until the film’s final third. There’s also a really nice, subtle vocal performance by Javier Bardem as the godlike Automata: he brings a perfect combination of intelligence, gravitas and parental concern to the performance and is definitely one of the film’s highlights, even if he doesn’t get much screen-time.

In fact, the only performance that doesn’t quite connect is Melanie Griffith’s take on Dr. Dupre: even though the actress gives it her all, her performance is never quite as realistic as the others’. Too often, it feels like she’s attempting to make sense of nonsensical dialogue and she never really sells the character: the scenes between her and Banderas have an awkward quality that’s rather off-putting. Ironically, Griffith is much more convincing in her dual-performance as the voice of Cleo, the sexbot: her vocal performance is much more subtle and nuanced than her “full” performance.

One of the most impressive aspects of Automata is how it references and takes elements from other classic sci-fi films, yet manages to make them seem wholly organic. In many ways, the film throws Blade Runner and Westworld into a blender and seasons the concoction with various elements from films like Alien and RoboCop: the Automata “weep” white tears, ala Alien…the godlike robot has a weary intelligence and understanding of humanity’s place in the universe, ala Blade Runner’s Roy Batty…there are sex-bots, like in Cherry 2000 (Griffith’s vocal performance as Cleo is also a great reference to her role in the ’80s film)…the giant hologram ads that “roam” the city are reminiscent of Blade Runner’s chaotic culture-shock…they all add up to make Automata seem like a part of a much bigger universe, a much further-reaching combined aesthetic.

Unlike many multiplex sci-fi thrillers, Automata is an endlessly intelligent film, one that’s not afraid to offer its complex science and mythology with a minimum of hand-holding. The film might open with the equivalent of an info dump but, in a way, that’s also to be expected: when you have a lot of details to impart and a limited time to impart them, sometimes the best way is also the bluntest way. At times, Automata threatens to become too complex and confusing, especially once we get into the robots’ “mind kernals” and their attempts at “self-improvement” and evolution. This, of course, is always the danger one assumes when dealing with a genuinely smart film: it makes demands of the audience and, if you aren’t willing to stay engaged, you’ll most likely be left behind.

In fact, if I had any real issues with Ibáñez’s film (he co-wrote the script with Igor Legarreta and Javier Sánchez Donate), they all lie with the unfortunately hackneyed, old-as-the-hills “corporate conspiracy” that lurks at the heart of the film. Without that silly, action-oriented facet, Automata would be a much slower, more thought-provoking film, much closer to the grandiose vision of Blade Runner than it ultimately is. We’ve already been shown such wonders by the time that an anonymous group of authority figures determine that Jacq “knows too much” that it feels like a serious cop-out: for all of the film’s grand vision and intelligence, the climax still devolves into one of those de rigueur “final shootouts,” as Jacq battles Vernon for ultimate supremacy. The conspiracy angle also introduces at least two subplots too many, subplots which help to drag the film down rather than propel it forward.

Ultimately, however, my quibbles with Automata are minor: this is first-class, grade-A filmmaking all the way, the kind of intelligent sci-fi film that should make any fan of the genre sit up and take notice. While Ibáñez and his extraordinarily talented cast and crew don’t blaze the kind of bold, new trails that pioneers like 2001 and Blade Runner did, they still turn in a film that stands, head and shoulders, above similar pretenders. There is genuine beauty here, along with a tremendously powerful emotional core and some truly unforgettable images: the scene where the Automatas create life is one of the single, greatest nods to Frankenstein that I’ve ever seen and would be a crowning showpiece in any film. As only his second full-length directorial effort, Automata showcases Gabe Ibáñez as a truly formidable new talent, a visionary who will practically demand my attention, from this point on.

If you’re a fan of good filmmaking, I heartily suggest that you follow along, too. I’m not sure if Ibáñez is the next Ridley Scott or merely the next Alex Proyas: either way, I have a feeling that he’s got plenty of amazing things to show us.

6/1/15 (Part One): Invasion of the Vicious Kind

04 Thursday Jun 2015

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Alien Abduction, alien abductions, alien experiments, alien invaders, alien invasion, Anja Savcic, Blitz//Berlin, Brittany Allen, cabins, cabins in the woods, cinema, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, co-directors, co-writers, Colin Minihan, Emily Perkins, Extraterrestrial, film reviews, filmmaking duo, films, Freddie Stroma, Gil Bellows, Grave Encounters, Grave Encounters 2, horror films, isolated estates, isolation, Jesse Moss, Melanie Papalia, Michael Ironside, military coverup, Movies, Samy Inayeh, sci-fi, sci-fi-horror, science-fiction, Sean Rogerson, special-effects extravaganza, Stuart Ortiz, the Vicious Brothers, UFOs, Vicious Brothers, writer-director-editor

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If you’re the kind of horror fanatic who prefers the road less traveled to the well-worn thoroughfare, you’ve probably also spent your fair share of time backtracking from dead-ends. With the almost mind-boggling array of horror films being released these days, be it studio-supported tent-poles or direct-to-streaming vanity projects, separating the wheat from the chaff has never been a more daunting prospect. While the number of horror films actually released to theaters still seems as small as it’s ever been, direct-to-video/streaming releases are healthier than ever: with companies like Netflix and Amazon looking to scoop up as much content as possible, potential audiences have more choice than we have in some time.

To compound this issue, horror filmmakers have beaten some sub-genres such as found-footage and zombie films into the ground, releasing so much unmitigated crap that it becomes almost impossible to shift out the diamonds. To these over-mined fields that include the possession film, the haunted asylum and the post-apocalyptic wanderer, feel free to add the alien film, whether in its “abduction” or “invasion” variety. As of late, it seems that indie filmmakers are pumping out one alien-themed horror flick after another. Just recently, we’ve had Dark Skies (2013), the “Slumber Party Alien Abduction” segment of V/H/S 2 (2013), Skinwalker Ranch (2013), Alien Abduction (2014), Honeymoon (2014), The Signal (2014), and Oren Peli’s long-delayed Area 51 (2015), along with a host of others that have managed to slither under the radar. As mentioned, sifting out the diamonds in all of the mud is quite the task.

All this, of course, is by way of saying that the Vicious Brothers’ (aka writers/directors Colin Minihan and Stuart Ortiz) Extraterrestrial (2014) is not only a diamond, it’s easily one of the brightest diamonds that I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing in some time. I’ll actually go one step further and, with no hyperbole, state that Extraterrestrial (warts and all) is easily the apex of the modern alien abduction film: the filmmaking duo, along with wunderkind cinematographer Samy Inayeh, have managed to craft a film that is, by turns, gorgeous, terrifying, mind-blowing and endlessly thrilling. Thanks to its impeccable visual effects, amazing costumes and ability to cherry-pick the very best of sci-fi horror gone by, the Vicious Brothers’ ode to little green men looks like it cost roughly 500 times what it probably did. It’s not a perfect film, mind you, but it’s very nearly the perfect alien movie.

Plot-wise, the Brothers’ film stuffs an alien abduction filling into a cabin-in-the-woods casing. Overly serious April (Brittany Allen) and her clingy boyfriend, Kyle (Freddie Stroma), are headed to her family’s backwoods cabin so that she can take pictures in order to facilitate its sale. Without her knowing, Kyle has decided to turn this into the weekend that he proposes and has invited along their friends, Melanie (Melanie Papalia), Lex (Anja Savcic) and uber-asshole Seth (Jesse Moss), to join in the joyous occasion.

The problem, of course, is that no one bothered to ask April what she wanted: turns out, she doesn’t want to marry her high school sweetheart and settle down. She has a job offer in New York and wants to get out there and experience life, neither of which plan really involves Kyle. As expected, this little revelation throws a monkey-wrench into the weekend, causing Kyle to become withdrawn and moody, whereas asshole Seth just gets one more excuse to get blitzed and act like a jerk, in order to “protect his boy.”

Our little close-quarters domestic drama plays out with a larger, more sinister drama unfolding in the background: local sheriff Alan Murphy (Gil Bellows) is investigating a mysterious disappearance that seems to be tied in to a string of local livestock mutilations. He doesn’t necessarily suspect the city slicker kids but he also doesn’t want them stirring up the locals or interfering with his investigation: toss a personal angle into the missing person phenomena (Sheriff Murphy’s wife vanished without a trace) and you have a lawman with an agenda and no time for tomfoolery.

Just when our group of young people seem to have comfortably settled into the kind of restful vacation that might befit Virginia Woolf, however, a fiery meteor explodes out of the sky, screaming right into the nearby woods, where it explodes in an appropriately impressive little display. Upon closer inspection, the group discovers that the object wasn’t a meteor but an honest to gosh flying saucer. To amp the “uh oh” factor to 11, they also notice a set of humanoidish footprints leading away from the crash site…back in the direction of their cabin.

From this point on, the film becomes an unrelenting triumph in building and relieving tension as April and her friends, along with the able assistance of her surrogate uncle/old family friend/pot farmer, Travis (Michael Ironside), attempt to fight back against their other-worldly visitors. From the claustrophobic confines of their cabin “sanctuary” to the surrounding woods and, ultimately, to places that no human has ever gone, the survivors will learn one very important lesson: not only is humanity not alone, we’re not even at the top of the heap.

First off, let’s get the negatives out of the way. As far as the “human” relationships go, Extraterrestrial doesn’t show us anything we haven’t seen a million times in the past, nor does it present us with a group of unique, sympathetic characters: while the young group in the Vicious Brothers’ film doesn’t necessarily fall into the most generic “stoner,” “final girl,” “jock,” et al stereotypes, no one really stands out with the exception of Allen’s April and Moss’ odious Seth. This isn’t the kind of film where one gets wrapped up in the intense interpersonal drama of the characters, let’s put it that way.

The acting is fine, if a little unmemorable, although Ironside and Sean Rogerson both manage to chew a fair amount of scenery: Ironside’s Travis is a great character, however, brought to vivid life by an iconic character actor, whereas Rogerson’s Deputy Mitchell is a blustery, loud-mouthed and very silly caricature. Allen and familiar-face Bellows are constantly sturdy, although I’ll admit that Papalia and Savcic sort of blurred together, in my mind: they just didn’t get much to do, aside from the stock “run and react” options.

There are also a few moments where the editing and/or cinematography gets a little too flashy for its own good: one particular shot featured so much focus-shifting that I would have assumed the operator was having problems if the rest of the film hadn’t been so impressive (more on that later). I’ll also freely admit that the hand-held camera stuff doesn’t work at all, especially when held side-by-side with the actual cinematography: it’s like touching up a Picasso with ketchup rather than paint. The film also has a tendency to over-rely on the soft/loud dynamic of the modern jump scare, leading to numerous moments that are telegraphed by audio stings or ridiculous increases in volume.

And that, folks, is pretty much the downside to Extraterrestrial. The upside? Everything else. The film looks absolutely astounding: from gorgeous, evocative establishing shots to cleverly revealed shocks to immaculately composed frames, cinematographer Samy Inayeh goes way above and beyond the call of duty. It helps, of course, that the film’s visual effects (both CGI and makeup/costuming) are jaw-dropping: when combined when the absolutely state-of-the-art camera-work, Extraterrestrial is as immersive as any mega-budget Hollywood sci-fi film.

In fact, the first full reveal of the massive space craft reminded me of nothing less than Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977): there’s a genuine sense of awe, grandeur and spectacle to Extraterrestrial that is almost completely missing from other indie sci-fi/alien films. Say what you will about the Vicious Brothers’ grasp on the human dynamics of the story: the technical aspect is so astounding that it should, automatically, vault them into the upper echelons of the “event picture” biz.

This sense of perfect visualization continues with the actual aliens, which are pretty much the apex of the traditional “gray-headed, almond-eyed” alien in pop culture. The aliens, here, aren’t so different from other depictions of said types but they inhabit the film in a purely physical way that feels real, refreshing and, ultimately, rather terrifying. I was immediately reminded of the ways in which Spielberg’s original Jurassic Park (1993) felt so organic and “physical”: Extraterrestrial feels the same way, which is pretty much the antithesis of the current “green-screened-to-death” trend.

While the Vicious Brothers’ and their excellent crew absolutely ace the technical aspects of the film, there’s another, even more important aspect that they also nail: the claustrophobic atmosphere. Unlike most alien abduction films that aren’t called Fire in the Sky (1993), Extraterrestrial is genuinely, absolutely frightening. It’s actually frightening on several levels: it perfectly hits the “something in the background” vibe of modern horror films but it also digs in on a deeper, more existential level. There are moments in the film, particularly in its final 20 minutes, where it honestly feels as if the Vicious Brothers are letting us peer into the howling maw of madness: I don’t have to tell you how exhilarating that is, I’m sure.

As I’ve mentioned several times, Extraterrestrial isn’t an especially ground-breaking film, plot-wise: it’s not difficult to see the Alien (1979), Fire in the Sky and Night of the Living Dead (1968) references. The most important thing to remember, however, is that all artistry is theft: it’s what you do with the ill-gotten gains that makes the difference between trash and treasure. In this case, the Vicious Brothers have taken a laundry list of their influences and spun them into something that feels complete and whole on its own, regardless of the foundation its built on.

Lest I seem like an overly supportive stalker, let me conclude by stating that I had seen the Vicious Brothers’ debut, Grave Encounters (2011), some time before I saw Extraterrestrial and wasn’t overly impressed. While the film had its moments, it also didn’t really strike me as anything more than another “found-footage in a creepy place” film, which we already have plenty of. Based on that experience (I’ve yet to see the sequel), there is absolutely no way I could have predicted Extraterrestrial: suffice to say, the level of growth, here, is roughly the same distance between adolescence and adulthood.

Is Extraterrestrial one of the best films of the year? Not at all, although it at least has the finish line in sight (unlike a basketful of films that I won’t mention). Is Extraterrestrial the film to beat for modern, indie alien films, however? I’ll stake my damn reputation on it. There a level of craft and imagination that’s impossible to ignore: if filmmakers can get “discovered” and jumped into the big time based on Youtube videos, here’s to hoping that they can still do it the old-fashioned way…you know, by creating a great, memorable film. If we don’t see the Vicious Brothers directing a tent-pole picture within the next few years, I’ll buy and eat an entire haberdashery.

Catch Minihan and Ortiz on the small stages while you can, gentle readers: something tells me the Vicious Brothers are going to be doing a helluva lot of headlining in the near future.

 

3/19/15 (Part Two) Love, Pink Bees and Inverse Matter

02 Thursday Apr 2015

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amnesia, Benoît Charest, Blu Mankuma, Brazil, cinema, class systems, dystopian future, evil corporations, film reviews, films, fish-out-of-water, foreign films, French-Canadian films, Gravity, haves vs have-nots, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Jim Sturgess, Juan Solanas, Kate Trotter, Kirsten Dunst, matter and inverse matter, Movies, Nicholas Rose, parallel worlds, Pierre Gill, romances, Romeo and Juliet, sci-fi, star-crossed lovers, stylish films, Terry Gilliam, Timothy Spall, upper vs lower class, Upside Down, voice-over narration, writer-director

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Blame it on the Bard: ever since Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” first inflamed the sensibilities and emotions of its frilled sleeve and pantaloons-sporting audiences, it’s been pretty much the gold-standard of ill-fated pop culture romances. The tale of star-crossed lovers, doomed to be in thrall to each other, yet forbidden to be together thanks to a bitter cross-family feud, has formed the basis for an almost uncountable number of films, books, plays, TV shows, comic books, cartoons and stick-figure flip books. Every writer, filmmaker, content producer and artist brings their own spin to the story: the tale has transcended eras, notions of class, gender, race, sexuality, nationality and religious upbringing. Each and every generation finds something new with the story because, let’s face it: there have been star-crossed lovers since humanity emerged from the primordial ooze and there’ll be star-crossed lovers until our sun finally blinks out of existence.

Argentinian writer-director Juan Solanas’ Upside Down (2012), despite its fanciful sci-fi trappings, is yet another in a long line of films that look to Shakespeare’s iconic play for inspiration. In this case, the intent appears to be to dress up the age-old story of ill-fated lovers with the giddy fantasy elements of Jean-Pierre Jeunet and the grimy, dystopic worldview of Terry Gilliam. Rather than coming up with a fresh, new spin on the old chestnut, however, Solanas’ film ends up being trite, unapologetically dewy-eyed and overly sentimental: it’s basically a happy, multiplex take on Gilliam’s far superior Brazil (1985). As the old saying goes, if that’s what you’re looking for, look no further.

A star-struck, expository voice-over fills us in on the basics of the world from the jump. Essentially, Upside Down is focused on two planets, each with their own individual gravities, societies, social systems and matter (both “regular” and “inverse”). The planets are so close to each other that the metropolitan lights of the “top” world serve as the “stars” of the bottom world: a stark, industrial tower connects both worlds, allowing the privileged “top worlders” to co-exist (in a manner of speaking) with the lowly “bottom worlders.” That’s right, folks: the people in the gleaming, modern “top world” are the haves and the folks dwelling in the run-down, dystopic “bottom world” are the have-nots, condemned to suck up all the waste, pollution and detritus of their well-to-do “Northern” neighbors.

Our surrogate Romeo and Juliet, in this case, are Adam (Jim Sturgess) and Eden (Kirsten Dunst). She’s a privileged “up worlder,” he’s a lowly “down worlder” and they first meet as children, at a point where the two worlds almost touch. This begins a decades-long romance that is harshly curtailed when an “up world” hunting party takes a shot at Adam (“up worlders” and “down worlders” are forbidden to have social contact, you see) and ends up causing Eden to fall and lose her memory. He thinks she’s dead, she can’t remember anything before the accident and they each go about their separate lives.

An inventor, by trade, Adam comes up with a miraculous face-lifting cream that gains him access to the vaunted Trans World tower and the much-envied lives of the “up worlders.” While there, he makes a friend and ally in “up worlder” Bob (Timothy Spall), along with the more shocking discovery that Eden is still alive and well. Fighting against the restrictions and conventions of their individual societies, as well as their individual bodies (“up worlders” and “down worlders” are bound by the conventions of their respective gravities, even when “visiting” the opposing world…this, of course, makes the title a physical reality, while making personal interaction more than a little difficult), Adam struggles to make Eden remember the love they once shared, all while trying to carve out his own slice of the “up world” pie. As Trans World executives pursue the pair, however, they’ll come to realize that every great love involves sacrifice: sometimes, you have to lose everything you have in order to gain the things you really want.

From the get-go, Upside Down makes its intentions quite clear: this is a sappy, traditional, “boy meets/loses/gets back girl” story and any focus on other aspects of the narrative are, for lack of a better term, simply smoke and mirrors. Unlike Gilliam’s films, which take sharp, cynical jabs at the futility of modern life, or Jeunet’s films, which often point out the inherent absurdity of human interactions, Solanas’ Upside Down is really all about the trials and travails of this particular couple. Sure, there are pretensions to more, especially once we get to the giddy finale that seems to indicate that Adam and Eden’s love will, miraculously, transform their uncaring world(s) (as the ridiculously serious voice over tells us, “that’s a story for another time”…oy…).

As a traditional romance, Upside Down hits all of the required beats but never really catches fire: Sturgess and Dunst have decent enough chemistry, for the most part, but there’s never anything especially passionate about them. They seem like the kind of couple that have a good time in high school and then break up the summer before moving away to college: pretty far afield from lovers who would “die” without their partner. There are some clever attempts to make the notion of risking yourself for the one you love a more physical reality (Adam’s special rig, which is the only way he’s able to move around in “up world,” has a tendency to burst into flame when he overstays his welcome, meaning that he really is “burning” for Eden) but, for the most part, this is another example of “tell, don’t show.” The one good counter-example to this is also one of the film’s silliest scenes, as the two lovers hold each other and kiss as they gently spin in mid-air, caught between both of their opposing gravities. It’s the kind of silly, swooning moment that makes Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet (1996) seem like Bergman’s Cries and Whispers (1972).

Many of the film’s critical issues can actually be linked back to its frequently silly, nonsensical plot developments. The central idea concerning the opposing worlds is actually pretty great and would have made a really interesting, serious sci-fi film, ala Gattaca (1997), or even something inherently “artier” like von Trier’s Melancholia (2011). Here, though, the notion is squandered and given short shrift in favor of the much more mundane romantic angle: we’ve seen hundreds (thousands?) of takes on Romeo and Juliet over the years…how many films about parallel worlds with opposing gravities do you remember seeing? If you answered “more than one,” you’re doing a lot better than me, let me tell ya.

When the film actually takes the time to focus on world-building and puts the romance on the back-burner, there’s plenty of interesting, eye-catching stuff going on. Our first sight of the massive office room, with the upside-down matching floor right above, is pretty amazing and there’s a really cool sequence involving an extendable chair that managed to trigger my vertigo like gangbusters. A ballroom scene involving a mass of dancing couples, both upside-down and right-side-up, is instantly memorable, as is the Trans World tower, itself, that looks like it was pulled, wholesale, from one of King’s Dark Tower books. Visually, Upside Down has a lot to offer, even if the images are often murky and kind of ugly, alternately under-lit and over-blown.

At the end of the day, however, the film is really too obvious and ham-fisted to make much of an impact. There’s a strong central story, here, and plenty of good acting (Spall is typically excellent as Adam’s friendly “desk mate” and partner-in-crime) but it’s all in service of so much “more of the same” that the film ends up feeling rather generic, despite its wholly original central concept. I really wanted to be all-in here, but the film is just too dewy-eyed to ever take seriously. While I’ll admit that traditional romances aren’t necessarily my cup of tea, I’m more than willing to give a shout-out to any film that knocks it out of the park, regardless of style, content or genre: after all, films don’t get much better than True Romance (1993) and what’s that but a traditional “boy meets girl” story dragged through the gutter? Upside Down, unfortunately, never rises above the level of well-made, pedestrian entertainment: it’s a pleasant enough film, no doubt, but never more than that, despite how high it aims.

 

3/18/15: The Heart, Wrung Dry, Is a Stone

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

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Aimee Mullins, alcohol abuse, alcoholism, Alex McGregor, black market, Christy Pankhurst, cinema, David Butler, David Clatworthy, drama, drought, dysfunctional family, dystopian future, Elle Fanning, Ernest Holm, family in crisis, farmers, father-daughter relationships, father-son relationships, film reviews, films, Flem Lever, Giles Nuttgens, Jake Paltrow, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Liah O'Prey, Michael Shannon, Movies, neo-Westerns, Nicholas Hoult, Robert Hobbs, robots, sci-fi, single father, The Grapes of Wrath, There Will Be Blood, tragedy, voice-over narration, water rights, water wars, Westerns, writer-director, Young Ones

young-ones-(2014)-large-picture

Pitched somewhere in the middle of the triangle formed by Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, Anderson’s There Will Be Blood (2007) and Stanley’s Hardware (1990), writer-director Jake Paltrow’s Young Ones (2014) is a powerfully acted neo-Western that blends intense character drama with dystopic sci-fi. If the whole thing is somewhat deflated by a rather meandering ending, it does nothing to take away from the journey, which is packed with memorable characters, some rather ingenious plot developments and genuine emotional power.

We’re dumped into a world of the future, although of 20 years or 100, we’re never really told. Stylistically, it’s pure Western, as the land has been in the grip of a devastating drought for long enough to turn everything into parched desert…everything, that is, except for the lush, green areas that are served by the “state” waterworks: the “wet areas,” as they’re called. In these areas, things function much as we might expect, albeit with the extra oomph provided by futuristic robotics and technology. In the “dry” areas, however, it’s a hard-scrabble existence, punctuated by harsh living conditions, sudden death and constant water wars: the untamed West, if you will.

Our lowly protagonist, Ernest Holm (Michael Shannon) is one of the farmers who’s stuck it out, along with his son, Jerome (Kodi Smit-McPhee) and daughter, Mary (Elle Fanning). Mother Katherine (Aimee Mullins) is living in a care facility after suffering a crippling injury of some sort, rendering Ernest a single father, of sorts. He’s a former alcoholic who makes ends meet by delivering supplies to the very same corrupt waterworks employees who continually resist running much-needed waterlines through Ernest’s sun-baked land: talk about your nasty Catch-22s! After his only well goes dry, poor Ernest is reduced to buying his water from gas station-style pumps and praying for much-needed, long-absent rain.

It wouldn’t be a Shakespearian tale without some Shakespearian intrigue, however, and we get that in bulk with Mary’s boyfriend, the elegantly sleazy Flem Lever (Nicholas Hoult). Flem is a smooth talker with a new con for every day of the week and a bone to pick with Ernest, thanks to a perceived slight involving the land that Flem’s father used to own.  As Flem exerts more influence over the increasingly rebellious Mary, he butts heads with Ernest in a million different ways. Through it all, Jerome, our constant narrator, observes it all with his slightly detached gaze: ever faithful to his father, yet caught in Flem’s thrall, nonetheless.

Trouble strikes when the Holm family mule heads to mule heaven and Ernest is forced to buy a robotic replacement (the robot auction is a real thing of beauty). This kicks off a series of unfortunate events that culminates with Flem stealing the “mule,” Ernest tracking him down and…well…”something” happening in the desolate wasteland, far away from prying eyes. What it is, exactly, we won’t know for some time but the tragedy results in Flem becoming the de facto head of the family, much to Jerome’s consternation. When the suspicious son gets the full details on what happened in the desert, however, thanks to the robot’s previously undisclosed video recording function…well, let’s just say that there’ll be hell to pay and leave it at that, eh?

Despite some occasional familiarities with other films (There Will Be Blood was never far from my mind, at any time), Young Ones is a strikingly fresh, thoroughly intriguing film. The script is quite clever and unfolds is a completely organic manner, with some surprising (yet always logical) twists. The blending of dystopic sci-fi and Westerns is seamless and quite magical, if I do say so, creating a believably immersive world, one that’s built up by a million little details and subtle touches. It’s the best kind of world-building, one that’s accomplished by layers rather than a sledge-hammer.

Young Ones is a very dialogue-heavy film, without a doubt, but Paltrow’s script and cast are more than up for the challenge. In most cases, anything this “talky” might become tedious but some of the film’s greatest pleasures come from the frank, in-depth conversations that the characters, particularly Ernest and Flem, have with other. There’s a wry lyricism to Paltrow’s lines that makes everything simultaneously grim, yet rich: it’s a quality that I associate with Cormac McCarthy and, while Paltrow isn’t quite there yet, I can easily see him getting there in the future.

Without a doubt, one of the shining stars in Young One’s crown is its phenomenal cast. Most of the time, it’s an easy best that Michael Shannon will be the best thing in whatever he’s in: there’s an honesty to him that makes it all but impossible to tear your eyes from the screen whenever he’s there and Ernest is one of his best, most complex roles in some time. In this case, however, Shannon gets a run for his money from Smit-McPhee, Hoult and the rest of the superb cast: everyone brings their A-game, making this one of the most exquisitely acted films I’ve seen in some time. To be honest, Hoult and Smit-McPhee give two of the best performances of the year, playing two of the most radically different characters possible. Only Fanning, normally great, falls short of the mark: chalk it up to the character or the performance, but Mary is a constantly petulant, unpleasant and hysterical character, never sympathetic, even during the moment’s where the film practically demands it.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention the ending, which sputters into the station after the film runs out of steam some 20 minutes before the finish line. It’s the odd deflating moment in a script that normally runs like a Swiss clock, feeling like nothing less than Paltrow ran out of things to say before he ran out of film: again, only notable due to the fact that the rest of the film moved so effortlessly.

That being said, Young Ones is still a mighty impressive film and bodes quite well for Paltrow’s future. When the film really works, there’s a sad sense of poetry that says more about the death of the idealized West than a million cowboy hats ever could. Giles Nuttgens’ cinematography is often quite beautiful (the mournful shots of the robotic mule pacing across the mesa are, quite simply, stunning) and there’s a sense of austere seriousness to the proceedings that fits it all like a glove. While there’s something inherently tragic about the Holm family and their blood-spattered legacy, the only tragic thing about Jake Paltrow (and yes, in case you’re wondering, he’s Gwyneth’s brother) is that we’ll need to wait for his next film. When you’ve got something like Young Ones on your calling card, the sky, quite frankly, is the limit.

2/28/15 (Part One): The Tin Man Rides Into the Sunset

10 Tuesday Mar 2015

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'90s films, 1990s films, action films, Bradley Whitford, Bruce Locke, CCH Pounder, cinema, cyborgs, Daniel von Bargen, Delta City, Detroit, dystopian future, evil corporations, Felton Perry, film reviews, films, franchises, Fred Dekker, Jill Hennessy, John Castle, Judson Vaughn, Mad Max, Mako, man vs machine, mercenaries, Movies, Nancy Allen, near future, Night of the Creeps, OCP, Officer Lewis, Officer Murphy, Peter Weller, rebels, Remy Ryan, Rip Torn, Robert Burke, Robert DoQui, RoboCop, RoboCop 3, sci-fi, sequels, set in Detroit, Shane Black, Stephen Root, street gangs, The Monster Squad, writer-director

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Sometimes, a film can hit just about all its marks and still be disappointing: take Fred Dekker’s RoboCop 3 (1993), for example. Here’s a movie where expectations are already set fairly low (this is the third one, after all, and the first without Peter Weller behind the helmet), yet there’s every possibility to be not only pleasantly surprised but genuinely blown away…after all, Dekker is the unmitigated genius behind two of the greatest genre films of all time, Night of the Creeps (1986) and The Monster Squad (1987). In his more than capable hands, RoboCop 3 could have been the caustically funny, surprising joy that RoboCop 2 (1990) should have been. Instead, the film ends up being a thoroughly competent, middle-of-the-road sci-fi action film with only hints of Dekker’s demented genius. An auteur like Dekker reduced to the role of hired gun? Say it ain’t so, Joe!

The film kicks off with a pretty familiar scenario: the loathsome OCP is still trying to build their dream project, Delta City, over the charred bones and lower-class citizens of near-future Detroit. As in the previous RoboCop films, Detroit is still a war-zone: this time around, the prime offenders are a mob of stereotypical “punk” marauders dubbed The Splatterpunks, who seem to delight in setting any and everything ablaze with Molotov cocktails. In a telling development, OCP is taken over by the Japanese mega-conglomerate, Kanemitsu Corporation, making Detroit the first U.S. city to come under foreign rule. The new president, the titular Kanemitsu (Mako), is a no-nonsense businessman who’s tired of OCP continually missing its deadlines for breaking ground on Delta City.

In order to help along the process of claiming property that the residents don’t want to part with, OCP employs a collection of mercenaries known as Urban Rehabilitation Officers (Rehabs, for short). The Rehabs are, ostensibly, being used to fight the rising crime wave: in reality, they’re being used to forcibly remove the residents of the various slums that OCP wants to demolish. The residents are moved to “refugee camps” where they promptly seem to drop off the grid: the ultimate case of the “haves” doing away with the “have-nots.”

Our intrepid heroes, Officer Murphy (now played by Robert Burke, who looks a little like Weller, if you squint) and Officer Lewis (Nancy Allen) get caught up in the struggle when a group of homeless revolutionaries, led by scrappy Bertha (CCH Pounder) and Nikko (Remy Ryan), a pint-sized hacker who’s ably to handily turn lethal ED-209s into loyal “puppies” with the push of a button, butt heads with the Rehab officers, led by the odious Commander McDaggett (John Castle). In the ensuing chaos, Officer Lewis is killed (RoboCop’s sad “Officer down” line is just as ludicrous on paper as it is in the film) and Murphy is branded a murderous renegade. As OCP and the Kanemitsu Corporation fill the airwaves with bogus stories about RoboCop’s villainy, OCP’s CEO (Rip Torn) and Kanemitsu work behind the scenes to eliminate the cyborg avenger and clear the last roadblock to the long-delayed Delta City. To this end, Kanemitsu unleashes his own cyborg, a lethal-killing machine known as Otomo (Bruce Locke). Will RoboCop and the revolutionaries be able to stop OCP and the Rehabs once and for all or does the dawn of Delta City begin now?

While the first film was a fairly streamlined, subtly ironic sci-fi action film, ala Mad Max (1979), the sequel employed the “bigger is better” aesthetic, pumping up the action scenes while letting some air out of the more subversive ideas. In the process, RoboCop 2 became a much sillier, louder and goofier film, albeit one with enough inherent parallels to the original to serve as a more than suitable follow-up. RoboCop 3, by contrast, is the most cartoonish of the three films, as well as the first of them to earn a PG13 rating: as expected, this means that the film is exponentially less gritty and gorier, although the body count is still exceptionally high…in this case, it just means that hordes of baddies “fall down,” ala old Westerns, rather than explode in red sprays of arterial fluid.

By itself, this isn’t really a problem: the second film was, in reality, only a few small steps removed from a complete cartoon and (brain surgery scene notwithstanding) had about as much impact. The bigger issue comes from the fact that the whole film is obviously pitched at much younger audiences: all of the issues are very black-and-white and the very character of Nikko feels like nothing more than an attempt to insert a pre-teen hero into the mix. Compared to the foul-mouthed urchins in RoboCop 2, Nikko is Little Orphan Annie and the whole thing has a trite feel that definitely feels aimed at the lowest common denominator.

Acting-wise, RoboCop 3 is extremely broad, although the style does tend to work, since the film is inherently broad and silly. Burke does a suitable job as Weller’s replacement, although he doesn’t sound anything like our original Officer Murphy. We get a few “regulars” here, such as Nancy Allen, Felton Perry and Robert DoQui, although they’re pretty much relegated to the background for the majority of the film, allowing newcomers like Ryan, Pounder and Stephen Root (always a joy to see) to step up to the plate. For his part, Rip Torn turns in the kind of performance that he’s been autopiloting for way too long, although his smug bureaucrat fits the film’s heart-on-sleeve politics like a glove.

More than anything, I’m disappointed that so little of Dekker actually shows through in the final product. Short of a few scattered scenes and details (the OCP exec jumping out of a window while his wife harangues him on the phone, RoboCop driving the blazing, Pepto-pink pimp-mobile around like it was a tank) that are explicitly reminiscent of Dekker’s tongue-in-cheek approach, the film is depressingly generic and middle-of-the-road. It’s always bummed me out that Dekker only directed three films in his entire career and this was one of them: it’s equivalent to Francis Ford Coppola’s entire filmography consisting of The Godfather (1972), Apocalypse Now (1979) and Jack (1996). At the very least, Dekker has recently been rumored to be involved in Shane Black’s new Predator reboot: fingers crossed that this translates into him directing the film, although a Dekker script is (usually) a thing of beauty, so that’d be fine, too.

Ultimately, RoboCop 3 is not a terrible film: in many ways, it’s no worse (or better) than a hundred other direct-to-video, ’90s era “gems.” While the film is competently done, however, it also possesses no real sense of identity or even much in the way of distinguishing features: it just “is,” for better or worse. Since the third entry seemed to effectively nail the coffin lid shut (at least until the recent reboot), it’s fair to say that our heroic man of steel had already passed his expiration date by this point, a mere six years after he debuted. Quite the pity, really: with Fred Dekker writing and directing, RoboCop 3 should have been one of the most unforgettable franchise entries ever. Instead, the film is so generic as to be completely forgettable: now that’s irony that’s right up Fred Dekker’s twisted little alley.

 

2/25/15 (Part Two): The Tin Man Rides Again

10 Tuesday Mar 2015

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'90s films, 1990s films, action films, action-comedies, Belinda Bauer, cinema, cyborgs, Dan O'Herlihy, Delta City, Detroit, drug epidemic, dystopian future, evil corporations, fake commericals, Felton Perry, film franchise, film reviews, films, Frank Miller, Gabriel Damon, Irvin Kershner, man vs machine, Movies, Nancy Allen, near future, Never Say Never Again, OCP, Officer Murphy, Paul Verhoeven, Peter Weller, Robert DoQui, RoboCop, RoboCop 2, sci-fi, sequels, set in Detroit, street drugs, street gangs, The Empire Strikes Back, Tom Noonan, Willard Pugh

robocop2

After RoboCop (1987) became a box office hit and a bit of a pop culture phenomenon, it was only inevitable that we’d be graced with a sequel, sooner or later. Enter Irvin Kershner’s RoboCop 2 (1990), a movie that manages to up the ante in every way possible, as befits pretty much any action/sci-fi sequel you might care to name. As the director behind such blockbusters as The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Never Say Never Again (1983), Kershner was a much different filmmaker than the scrappy, sardonic Paul Verhoeven and it shows: RoboCop 2 is a much goofier, sillier and more over-the-top film than its predecessor…not surprisingly, it’s also a whole lot of fun.

We’re now a few years past the original film and nothing seems to have really changed: OCP is still in charge of Detroit’s police department, who are still threatening to strike; Delta City is still on the horizon as the ultimate “beautification” project; the streets are still over-run with crime and marauding gangs; and Officer Murphy (Peter Weller), aka RoboCop, is still partnered up with Officer Lewis (Nancy Allen). The big issue this time around is the emergence of a lethal, ultra-addictive new street drug called Nuke: the drug is being pushed onto the streets in mass quantities by Cain (Tom Noonan), a religious fanatic/drug dealer/wannabe-messiah who holds the city in the grip of fear thanks to his numerous bombings and terrorist activities…think of Jim Jones and The Joker mashed into one roiling ball of lunacy and you’re in the right neighborhood.

Turns out that OCP engineered the Nuke epidemic and resulting crime wave as a way to stretch Detroit’s resources and force them to default on a huge loan: if the city misses a single payment, OCP gets to swoop in and take it all, free of charge. Bastards! They’re also developing a new type of cyborg, an “improved” version that OCP’s scientists have cleverly dubbed “RoboCop 2.” The only problem with the new cyborgs are that they’re a little…well, a little…glitchy: in a bravura moment, one prototype blithely guns down an entire room of onlookers while another one rips its one face off, screaming in (literal) blood terror. The problem, as any good Frankenstein could tell you, is the brain: the project’s head researcher, the sinister Dr. Faxx (Belinda Bauer), has yet to find a brain that can survive the automation process…but you better believe it’s not for lack of looking.

After RoboCop disobeys a direct order (thanks to more of those pesky residual memories of his), OCP decides to make him more “obedient”: Dr. Faxx inputs several dozen new directives into his hard-drive, changes which, effectively, turn RoboCop into a big weenie. Once the stoic face of criminal ass-kicking, RoboCop is now a grinning, puppy-hugging, rule-following, bureaucratic wuss: as can be expected, he’s also a much less effective police officer now that he’s pathologically “nice.” As Cain and his crazy gang ramp up their assault on the city, Officer Lewis and the rest of the force must, somehow, snap RoboCop back to his old self. At the same time, Dr. Faxx approaches Cain with a once-in-a-lifetime offer: the genuine chance to become a god…or at least as close to it as he’ll ever get. Will RoboCop be able to get his mojo back in time to duke it out with the new-and-improved Cain or does OCP finally hold the fate of Detroit in its greedy, little hands?

While the majority of the humor in the first film was more subtle and blackly comic (aside from the glorious scene where RoboCop drags Leon out of the “punk” club by his hair, of course), all of the humor in the sequel is much more overt and front-and-center. This extends to the numerous fake commercials which break up the action, much as they did in the original film: this time around, the commercials are much more over-the-top and function less as cutting satire than as broader buffoonery. In some ways, the tone of the film is much closer to the sequels to Lloyd Kaufman’s Toxic Avenger (1984) in their depiction of a dystopic world gone wildly, giddily off the tracks. Like the first film, the world-building in the sequel is strong, forging a good bond between the two films. At one point, a commercial for “Sunblock 5000” casually mentions that the ozone layer is gone, while a throwaway news bit discusses a rogue satellite frying Santa Barbara in the same way that one might ask someone to pick up their dry cleaning. The details are all quite fun (if more than a little silly) and help to make the film that much more immersive.

If I really have a complaint with the film (other than the fact that it’s a solid half-step down from the original), it has to be with the main villain: while Tom Noonan really sinks his teeth into the role of Cain and runs with it, he’s absolutely no match for the inspired insanity of Kurtwood Smith’s iconic Clarence Boddicker. In many ways, Noonan is constantly upstaged by Gabriel Damon’s Hob, the ridiculously foul-mouthed kid who slings Nuke for Cain’s gang: by the latter half of the film, Hob has become the defacto leader (albeit briefly) and that’s when the villains really seem to take off. In an action film like this, you really need unforgettable, hateful villains and RoboCop 2’s just pale to the originals, unfortunately.

Cast-wise, the film brings back many of the original actors, including Weller, Allen, Dan O’Herlihy, Felton Perry and Robert DoQui (as the ever-suffering Sgt. Reed). This, of course, has the effect of creating an even stronger connection with the first film, a connection that’s reinforced by the production design: while many sequels have a “more of the same” feel, RoboCop 2 definitely feels like a continuation of a longer narrative, even if that narrative feels a bit unnecessary, by the end. In fact, it’s easy to see this sense of “continuation” as intentional, since the film has a completely open ending that not only doesn’t fully resolve the action but also directly sets up another film (a set-up which the third film, unfortunately, doesn’t make good on).

Even though RoboCop 2 is a much sillier, more weightless film than the first, there’s still a lot to like here: the more overt comedy leads to some great scenes like the ridiculous telethon where Mayor Kuzak (Willard Pugh) desperately tries to raise the funds to save Detroit (with the help of a fiddle-playing contortionist, no less!) or the giddy setpiece where a gang of Little League players commit a violent robbery and are let loose by the newly “nice” RoboCop, since they’re just kids. One interesting aspect of the film is how often we get treated to some rather eyebrow-raising moments involving the numerous child actors: they’re all saltier than a pack of sailors, with a particular favorite line being “Go fuck a refrigerator, pecker-neck!” To be honest, I don’t think I can recall a film where kids swore this much (there are plenty of films where kids engage in violent behavior, so that was considerably less surprising) and it made me bust out laughing more often than not.

Weller handles the new comedy angle with aplomb (his “nice” scenes are genuinely funny), which has the effect of humanizing Murphy to a much greater extent than the first film ever did. It’s great to have Allen back, as well, although it doesn’t feel as if she gets as much to do as she did the first time around. And, above complaint notwithstanding, Noonan is always a reliably unhinged performer: if he didn’t have such big shoes to fill, I doubt if I would have anything bad to say about his performance, to be honest.

While the sequel is a great deal goofier than the original, it’s not necessarily any less gratuitous: this time around, we get treated to an incredibly graphic brain transplant scene, along with the goofy “brain stem with googly eyes” bit that triumphantly ends the final battle. Since the film is pitched at such a comic-book level, however, the whole thing actually feels less violent than the original, which managed to ground everything in a more realistic, if still fantastic, milieu.

For the most part, I thoroughly enjoyed RoboCop 2, even if it was distinctly inferior to the original. There’s plenty of great action sequences, some genuinely funny comedic bits and a strong connection to the first film, making it pretty much essential viewing for anyone who enjoyed Verhoeven’s original. While this is nowhere hear the follow-up that either Terminator 2 (1991) or Aliens (1986) was, RoboCop 2 is a perfectly decent continuation of the franchise and a good way for fans to another dose of some good old-fashioned, cyborg law and order.

2/25/15 (Part One): The Tin Man With the Big Ol’ Heart

09 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by phillipkaragas in Uncategorized

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'80s action films, '80s films, 1980s films, 4th Directive, action films, blockbusters, cinema, Clarence Boddicker, co-writers, cops, cybernetics, cyborgs, Dan O'Herlihy, dark humor, Delta City, Detroit, Dick Jones, dystopian future, ED-209, Edward Neumeier, evil corporations, fake commericals, film franchise, film reviews, films, Jesse Goins, Kurtwood Smith, Leeza Gibbons, man vs machine, Michael Miner, Miguel Ferrer, Movies, multiple writers, Nancy Allen, near future, OCP, past memories, Paul McCrane, Paul Verhoeven, Peter Weller, police, Ray Wise, Robert DoQui, RoboCop, Ronny Cox, sci-fi, science-fiction, set in Detroit, street gangs

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It’s always a hoot to look back on bygone visions for “the future,” now that we’re firmly ensconced in it. The Jetsons promised us flying cars, Silent Running (1972) posited orbiting outer space greenhouses and 1984…well, we all know how rosy that was supposed to be, don’t we? While most notions of the future do a fair amount of credibility stretching (where are all those instant food machines and self-dressing booths that were supposed to make life so easy?), few have managed to be quite as fanciful as Paul Verhoeven’s RoboCop (1987): after all, this is a film that envisions Detroit as a bankrupt, crime-ridden wasteland, foresees mega-corporations taking over law enforcement (to the mass detriment of the lower classes) and theorizes that cybernetic implants will one day be advanced enough to allow the severely disabled and/or injured to resume some semblance of autonomous movement…in other words, what a bunch of malarkey, eh?

In all seriousness, despite its often campy tone, the original RoboCop is actually a pretty lean, mean, relentless little bruiser, similar in tone to Cameron’s original Terminator (1984) or Miller’s inaugural Mad Max (1979). Like these franchises (or pretty much any action franchises, to be honest), the original film is a much more modest, grounded affair than any of the resulting sequels. Thanks to an ever-prevalent streak of pitch-black humor and some great performances from the likes of Peter Weller, Kurtwood Smith (That ’70s Show’s Red Forman), Nancy Allen, Ray Wise and Ronny Cox, RoboCop is a fun, exhilarating and clever peek into a future where business and bureaucracy are king and humanity’s future rests on a pair of very sturdy steel shoulders.

It’s the mean streets of Detroit, in the near future, and the city’s police department is run by the omnipresent OmniCorp (OCP, to the punters), the kind of all-reaching octopus conglomerate that has its tentacles in everything from gene research to government insurrection to military weaponry. OCP CEO Dick Jones (Ronny Cox) has a pet project that threatens to revolutionize law enforcement and allow for the clean-up of the city’s crime problem ahead of a sparkly new development deal dubbed Delta City: the all-robotic, crime-fighting ED-209. Only problem is, the thing doesn’t work, as we see when it blasts a hapless volunteer to kingdom come during a test run in the board room.

Enter Bob Morton (Miguel Ferrer), a pretender to the throne with his own plan: the RoboCop project, wherein real police officers are infused with state-of-the-art cybernetics in order to create superior “cyborg” cops. They need a subject, of course, which comes around in the form of Murphy (Peter Weller), an eager-beaver, rising star who gets transferred into hell on earth and is promptly shot to shit by the villainous Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith, chewing delicious scenery by the mile) and his murderous street gang. Legally “dead,” Murphy is turned into the titular hero, a galvanized steel “peace officer” whose just as likely to leave the suspects in pieces.

As RoboCop cuts a swath through Detroit’s criminal population, he begins to regain some of his basic humanity, thanks to the attention of his former partner, Officer Lewis (Nancy Allen), and some recurring memory snippets that give tantalizing hints of his former life and family. Torn between being a soulless machine and a living, breathing human being, RoboCop fights with retaining the essential humanity that made him “Murphy.” As he gets closer to the criminal mastermind who originally ended his life, however, Murphy will learn that the web of corruption spins all the way to the hallowed halls of OCP’s upper echelon. Will RoboCop have what it takes to put an end to the evil or will the very nature of his existence prevent him from dispensing the justice that Detroit so desperately needs?

One of the biggest pleasures of Verhoeven’s RoboCop is the assured way in which the Dutch director builds his dystopic world, using a combination of pitch black humor, pulse-pounding action setpieces and some truly cool special effects, including some nicely realized stop-motion animation. The satiric commercials that break up the action are frequently funny (the one for the Nukem board game is simply sublime) but they also help to give peeks into the larger world, the skewed, slightly scary one that exists outside the framework of the film, proper. The series actually develops this further in the second installment but it’s a great aspect and really adds to the overall feel.

Any pulpy action flick lives or dies by two elements: its action sequences and its cast. In both of these aspects, RoboCop comes across as a pretty stellar example of the genre. While Weller’s performance here is iconic, it’s just one solid performance among many. Nancy Allen is great as his spunky partner, while Cox and Smith are pitch-perfect as the arch-villain and his sleazy second-in-command. Boddicker’s gang is one of the great groups of cinematic baddies, spotlighted by an incredibly spirited turn by veteran Ray Wise as Leon (the scene set in the “punk” club is absolutely delightful).

While it might be easy to associate Verhoeven with his most outrageous “low” (that would, of course, be Showgirls (1995)), his resume also includes Total Recall (1990) and Starship Troopers (1997): the director clearly knows his way around sci-fi action and the whole shebang kicked off with RoboCop. The film is full of great action moments, shootouts and car chases, reminding of the aforementioned Mad Max and Terminator in the ways in which the setpieces always seem grounded in some kind of physical reality, regardless of how fanciful the action gets. It’s the kind of physicality that gets lost in modern CGI-based action films and gives RoboCop a bruised, scuffed feeling that fits like a well-worn shoe.

Similar to the Mad Max and Terminator franchises, the RoboCop franchise would go on to bigger, louder and more outlandish heights in future installments. While the other films in the series all have their charms (the third one, much less so, admittedly), my heart will always belong with Verhoeven’s brash, snarky and full-blooded original. When the satire, action and political commentary all hit their mark, there are few ’80s blockbusters that are in the same league as RoboCop (no matter how many times I watch the finale, I always stand and cheer at the “You’re fired” line). Jones and Boddicker are classic villains, RoboCop is the quintessential knight in shining armor and Anne Lewis is just the kind of partner that you want watching your back, when the chips are down.

In an era where business and technology continue their vociferous joint march to the sea, it’s kind of nice to see a film where the little guy wins, even if we know that OCP is going to keep trying to get their pound of flesh long after the cameras cut. More importantly, RoboCop still holds up today as a great action film: compared to other ’80s fare, it’s much less dated and more streamlined. While it’s undeniably pulpy, it’s also pretty hard to hard to deny the film’s allure: you might have the right to remain silent but I’m willing to bet you’ll be doing a fair amount of cheering, too.

2/8/15: After the Freeze, the Thaw

11 Wednesday Feb 2015

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action film, aliens, Atticus Mitchell, Bill Paxton, Canadian films, cannibals, CGI, Charlotte Sullivan, cinema, civilized vs savage, climate change, co-writers, Doomsday, Dru Viergever, dystopian future, extreme violence, film reviews, films, foreign films, frozen wasteland, horror, ice age, isolated communities, Jeff Renfroe, John Healy, John Tench, Julian Richings, Kevin Zegers, Laurence Fishburne, Movies, multiple writers, post-apocalyptic wasteland, quarantine, sci-fi, sci-fi-horror, science-fiction, Screamers, self-sacrifice, siege, Snowpiercer, survival of the fittest, survivors, The Colony, underground colonies, violent films, voice-over narration, writer-director

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Sometimes, you don’t expect much more from a film than you can get from a cursory glance at said film’s box art: in this case, I expected Jeff Renfroe’s The Colony (2013) to be a serviceable sci-fi/action flick, set in a frozen, dystopic future, with Laurence Fishburne and Bill Paxton butting heads…nothing more, nothing less. For the most part, this is exactly what I ended up with: while the film throws a few minor twists into the mix, nothing here will be unfamiliar to viewers who’ve seen films like Screamers (1995), Doomsday (2008) or any of a hundred other similar sci-fi/horror/action hybrids. That being said, The Colony is fast-paced, reasonably tense and features a handful of truly impressive fight sequences: if the film ends up being rather silly and over-the-top, in the end, it at least manages to keep the courage of its convictions.

We’re immediately dumped into one of those frozen-over worlds of the near-future that forms such an integral part of recent sci-fi films like Snowpiercer (2014): in this case, we’re not given any real reasons for the catastrophe, although a handy voice-over does let us know that the common cold is now a lethal killer, which positions this somewhere between climate change and bacteriological devastation on the “We’re Fucked” scale. Regardless of the reason, humanity has been split into two separate groups: the ones who made it underground, to protected colonies, and the ones who stayed above-ground. To make it even easier: underground = alive, above-ground = dead. Suffice to say, the future ain’t such a hot place to be, in every sense of the term.

Our entry into the narrative is Colony 7, one of the last, surviving colonies. Run by the even-handed, level-headed Briggs (Laurence Fishburne), the colony is also home to hot-headed, reactionary Mason (Bill Paxton), proving the old film adage that everyone needs an antagonist, especially those who lead post-apocalyptic societies. Our narrator (and defacto hero) is Sam (Kevin Zegers), a nice, upstanding young man who happens to be sweet on Kai (Charlotte Sullivan), the tough-as-nails supply controller who’s more than capable of taking care of herself in an unforgiving world. Life in Colony 7 is harsh and violent death is always around the corner: any residents who develop the sniffles are given one of two options – let Mason put a bullet in their noggins or take a long, cold walk into the oblivion of the snow-blasted wasteland above-ground. It’s not, exactly, how Briggs would prefer to get things done but it’s a balance that works, for the time being.

In a development that vaguely echoes the under-rated sci-fi chiller Screamers, Colony 7 receives a distress signal from the only other known, surviving colony: Colony 5.  In the interest of trying to preserve as many human lives as possible, Briggs, Sam and a young go-getter by the name of Graydon (Atticus Mitchell) set out on a perilous journey to check out the signal. Briggs leaves Kai in charge, which sits about as well with the ludicrously macho Mason as you’d expect. With tension back home at an all-time high, the trio set out for the blinding-white environs top-side, determined to find out what’s going on with their closest “neighbors.”

After a short series of adventures through the CGI-created frozen world that used to be ours, our trio ends up at Colony 5, only to discover what appears to be the remnants of violent conflict. Upon further exploration, the trio finds a single survivor, Leland (Julian Richings), who spins a  tale that begins hopefully, with a potential thawed zone on the surface world, and ends horribly, with news of some kind of attack that wiped everyone out. Since our heroes really can’t leave well enough alone, they continue to explore Colony 5 and run smack-dab into a rampaging horde of bloodthirsty cannibals led by a leader (Dru Viergever) who manages to be a teeth-gnashing, chest-beating amalgam of pretty much every savage/feral/cannibal/evil warlord leader in the history of dystopic cinema. This then begins a protracted chase, as our heroes must return to the safety of their colony while being careful not to lead the cannibal army directly to their next smorgasbord. Who will survive and who will become toothpicks? In this colony, it’s anyone’s guess!

For the most part, The Colony is a pretty run-of-the-mill, bargain-bin type of dystopic action flick. It’s got all of the visual and aural hallmarks of said subgenre (morose score, muted color palette, panoramic wide shots), as well as many of the pitfalls (extremely dodgy CGI, extraneous use of slo-mo and overly flashy editing, over-the-top acting). The cannibal angle isn’t so much a twist as an inevitability and this particular iteration of feral savages is much less interesting and singular than, say, the flesh-eaters of Doomsday, who at least had the foresight to barbecue their victims with an industrial size backyard grill. Here, we just get the typical filthy, snarling, rampaging cannibal Berserkers, albeit with the added lunacy of watching them run around in snow gear. If it sounds silly, it is but no more so than many films of its ilk.

For their part, the non-cannibal actors turn in fairly workmanlike performances, with both Fishburne and Paxton all but fading into the background. Paxton, in particular, seems to be moving on auto-pilot: I expected at least a little gonzo nuttiness but his performance was surprisingly subdued and more than a little grumpy. Zegers and Sullivan make a blandly attractive couple as Sam and Kai but there’s not much spark to their turn, while the rest of the colony passes in a blur of rather similar, generic characterizations.

In truth, there are only two ways that The Colony really distinguishes itself: the computer-designed backgrounds, prior to arriving at Colony 5, are astoundingly fake and the film is surprisingly violent and brutal, even for a post-apocalyptic fable about rampaging cannibals. The violence isn’t really an issue, since I doubt that any shrinking violets in the crowd are going to be drawn to a cannibal film, but it is certainly impressive: there’s one setpiece, involving cutting someone’s head in half, that’s gotta be one of the most bravura effects spectacles I’ve seen in a while. The excellent gore effects are made even more noticeable by contrast to the awful CGI, which seems to exist at a sub-mockbuster level. There’s never a point where the backgrounds look like anything less than a green screen: in one particularly egregious moment, the trio walk into the cheesiest CGI fog that has ever been committed to screen and I’ll go to my grave believing that. I can deal with dodgy SFX: growing up on Corman flicks has a tendency to lower one’s inherent expectations regarding B-movies. The CGI work in The Colony is so rudimentary, however, that it’s all but impossible to suspend disbelief anytime our intrepid group is outside (which is often enough to be a huge problem). Once we get to Colony 5, the film actually doesn’t look bad: close quarters seems to suit the filmmakers better than the wide-open, fake vistas of the surface world. The trip there, however, leaves a bit to be desired.

Ultimately, The Colony isn’t a bad film, although it is a cheesy, largely predictable one. While Fishburne and/or Paxton fans might be a little disappointed at the disposable performances here, fans of dystopic future, cannibal or “frozen world” scenarios might find at least a little something to sink their teeth into. Think of this as a poor man’s version of Snowpiercer (extremely poor, mind you), minus any of that film’s political or sociological significance: if that’s up your alley, pack your long johns and head for The Colony. Otherwise, you’d probably be better off just hibernating until spring.

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