12/27/14 (Part Three): Stop Dragon My Heart Around

Tags

adventure, archaeologists, Bjørn Sundquist, CGI, children in peril, cinema, Daniel Voldheim, dragons, eggs, family films, fantasy, father-daughter relationships, film reviews, films, flashbacks, foreign films, John Kåre Raake, Julian Podolski, Jurassic Park, Magnus Beite, Maria Annette Tanderø Berglyd, Mikkel Brænne Sandemose, Movies, mythical creatures, Nicolai Cleve Broch, Norwegian films, Oseberg Vikings, Pål Sverre Hagen, Ragnarok, set in Norway, single father, Sofia Helin, Steven Spielberg, Terje Strømdahl, Vikings

For many folks of a particular age, the term “adventure film” will always be synonymous with one thing: Steven Spielberg. Throughout the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, the auteur was directly responsible for some of the biggest, most iconic adventure films of those eras: Jaws (1975), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom (1984), Indiana Jones and Last Crusade (1989), Hook (1991) and Jurassic Park (1993). This, of course, doesn’t include all of the iconic adventure films that he produced but didn’t direct during the same time-period: Poltergeist (1982), Gremlins (1984), The Goonies (1985), Back to the Future (1985), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988) and Arachnophobia (1990), among many, many others. Regardless of how you, personally, feel about his films, there’s no denying that Spielberg has practically been a cottage industry for the past forty years…no mean feat, if you think about it.

Despite his massively impressive history with adventure films, however, we haven’t had a whole lot of Spielberg adventure movies since The Lost World (1997): there have been a few, such as Minority Report (2002) and War of the Worlds (2005) but, for the most part, Spielberg has turned his attention to “prestige” films like Amistad (1997), Saving Private Ryan (1998), Munich (2005) and Lincoln (2012) since the Aughts and doesn’t really show signs of stopping anytime soon. For people who miss Spielberg’s brand of high-octane, family friendly, effects-spectacles, there doesn’t really seem to be much that’s filled the void…until now, that is. If you’re looking for big, fantastic adventure, look no further than Norwegian director Mikkel Brænne Sandemose’s Ragnarok (2013), a big, colorful and exuberant adventure yarn that recalls films like André Øvredal’s Trollhunter (2010) in subject matter but more closely resembles Spielberg yarns like Jaws, The Goonies and, especially, Jurassic Park, in tone and execution.

After an extremely effective medieval-set opening that helps establish the film’s mythology, Ragnarok wastes no time in introducing us to our intrepid hero, single-father and Viking history expert Sigurd (Pål Sverre Hagen). Sigurd genuinely his two young kids, Ragnhild (Maria Annette Tanderø Berglyd) and Brage (Julian Podolski) but he’s far from the best father in the world: absent-minded and completely obsessed with finding some connection between the Oseberg Vikings and the mythical Ragnarok, Sigurd is the kind of father who remembers to pick his children up from school after they’ve been waiting for hours and plans family vacations based around archaeological digs.

After Sigurd’s partner, Allan (Nicolai Cleve Broch), shows up with a Viking runestone, Sigurd finally gets the confirmation he needs and the group has a new destination: the mysterious “Eye of Odin,” an island-within a lake-within a volcano that’s got to be one of the coolest locations for an adventure film, ever. Once there, sparks (the good kind) fly between Sigurd and Allan’s comely assistant, Elisabeth (Sofia Helin). There are also sparks flying between Sigurd and Allan’s guide, Leif (Bjørn Sundquist), although these are definitely the “wrong” kind: Leif thinks the whole expedition is beyond ridiculous and treats Sigurd like a dumb kid, which tends to make Sigurd kinda pissy. In other words: the circle of movie antagonism.

Once at the Eye of Odin, Sigurd and the others begin to unearth evidence that Sigurd was absolutely correct in his speculations: not only did the Oseberg Vikings land in Finnmark, as he postulated, but the group is able to find plenty of evidence of their passing, including preserved helmets and weapons…score! The group also finds evidence to support not only the one-time existence of the monstrous Ragnarok but its current well-being, as well. Faster than you can say “Jurassic Park,” Sigurd, his kids, Elisabeth, Allan and Leif are on the run from something that should only exist in fairytales, yet has somehow attained massive, terrifying life. It will take all of Sigurd’s skills, wits and extensive knowledge of Viking lore to survive the day but he’ll be damned if any of his family are going to become dragon snacks. Is the Ragnarok really as terrible as it seems, however, or is there more going on here than meets the eye?

Gorgeously shot, suitably thrilling and filled with lots of well-executed CGI and visual effects, Ragnarok is a decided throwback to Spielberg’s aforementioned adventure film glory days, yet never comes off as slavish imitation. The whole film definitely has the feel of a family film, with the vast majority of the film’s violence occurring off-screen. In fact, there’s nothing here that really pushes the PG-13 rating, save one brief shot of a corpse that directly recalls the similar jump-shock in Jaws (which, as we’ll all recall, was rated PG). In many ways, Ragnarok is sort of an update of Jurassic Park: absent-minded, absentee dad and precocious kids must survive an attack by giant reptiles while bonding and becoming closer to each other. Throw in a romantic angle, some double-crosses and betrayal (always to be expected), truly jaw-dropping locations and the parallels seem pretty obvious.

While Pål Sverre Hagen is dependable as Sigurd, Sofia Helin handily steals the film as the ever-resourceful, ass-kicking Elisabeth. Indeed, Elisabeth is pretty much single-handily responsible for saving the entire group on multiple occasions (including a thoroughly awesome setpiece involving crossing a chasm via rope) and Heflin is a mighty great action star: I can’t wait to see her in other films after this. Berglyd and Podolski are good as the kids, although neither one brings anything unique or revolutionary to the performances.

The real star of the show, however, aside from Heflin, is cinematographer Daniel Voldheim’s stunning camera-work. The various Norwegian locales never look anything less than beautiful and the cave sequences make excellent use of light and shadow to create some spectacularly atmospheric scenes. Also noteworthy is composer Magnus Beite’s highly effective score: it’s no patch on any of John Williams’ iconic scores but it is exciting, moving and just bombastic enough to effortlessly sell the big action beats.

Ultimately, I found myself quite taken with Ragnarok: there’s a genuinely old-fashioned quality to the film that I really enjoyed and I found it to favorably compare to some of my favorite adventure films from the past. Sandemose’s film may not be the most original film of the year but it’s got a helluva lot of heart and a genuine desire to thrill its audience. I’d like to think that ’80s Spielberg would have been a big fan, too.

12/6/14 (Part Two): A Healthy Fear of Spiders

Tags

'90s films, Alive, Arachnophobia, Brian McNamara, cinema, co-writers, Congo, cult classic, Don Jakoby, Eight Below, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Frances Bay, Frank Marshall, Harley Jane Kozik, Henry Jones, horror, horror movies, horror-comedies, James Handy, Jeff Daniels, John Goodman, Julian Sands, Mary Carver, Mikael Salomon, Movies, Peter Jason, poisonous spiders, small town life, spider bites, spiders, Steven Spielberg, Stuart Pankin, Wesley Strick

Many, many years ago, when I was still in the formative stage of my youth, I had one of those experiences that tends to stick with you: in this case, it’s stuck with me for roughly 30-odd years. After waking up sometime in the middle of the night, I made my way to the bathroom in order to answer nature’s call. Still being a little more than half-asleep, I stepped into the small, dark room before flicking the light switch on. As I entered the bathroom, I felt something brush my cheek and there was a maddening tickle on my nose. When I turned on the light, I discovered that an industrious spider had spun an enormous web from the ceiling to the floor: that “tickling” I felt was me stepping straight into the tangled mess, the “engineer” hanging in mid-air merely an inch from my eyes. I can’t quite recall if I was abjectly terrified of spiders before that incident but, suffice to say, I certainly was afterwards. To this day, all these decades later, the very thought of the eight-legged monsters makes me break out in a cold sweat: I would rather be stuck with a hungry bear than have to deal with one pin-prick-sized arachnid, thank you very much. If the fate of our world ever hinges on me versus the spiders…well…let’s just say you might want to start practicing your farewell speech now.

Knowing the above, it should probably go without saying that I’ve always found Frank Marshall’s Arachnophobia (1990) to be one of the single most terrifying films ever made. As a lifelong horror fan, I’m always looking for the next genuinely scary film, the kind of thing that makes me want to sleep with the lights on and check under the bed every few seconds. Ever since seeing Arachnophobia (in a theater, if memory serves), it’s been one of the few films that’s guaranteed to get under my skin: despite the film’s overwhelmingly fun, boisterous atmosphere, there’s just no way that the sight of hundreds (or millions) of creepy-crawlies invading a small town and feasting on the residents is going to allow me to sleep well at night. Since the film creeps me out so much, however, why in the Sam Hell would I insist on re-watching it every few years? Quite simply, despite its squirm-inducing content, Arachnophobia is one of the very best horror-comedies out there, a lightning-paced joy-ride that keeps the tension on a constant simmer while dishing out one memorable setpiece after another. The film also features John Goodman as a gung-ho, nutso exterminator which, as you should well know, definitely vaults this into must-see territory. Lifelong phobia or not, Arachnophobia always gives me the creeps…in the best way possible.

We begin in the Amazonian rain forest as Dr. James Atherton (Julian Sands), a world-renowned expert on insects and spiders, leads a scientific expedition deep into the jungle. The mission ends up being a bit too successful, as Atherton and crew shake some seriously scary spiders loose from the treetops: one of the eight-legged fiends ends up biting the expedition’s photographer, resulting in instant, agonizing death. Hitching a ride back to America in the dead guy’s coffin, the killer Amazonian spider ends up in small-town U.S.A., specifically the bucolic little town of Canaima, California. Once on American soil, the South American “super spider” wastes no time in looking for a little romance: it hooks up with a garden-variety barn spider and their mating ends up producing a seemingly never-ending army of small, vicious, arachnids whose bites are fatal within moments.

Who better to come to the rescue than Canaima’s new doctor, Ross Jennings (Jeff Daniels)? Ross has just moved to the small town from the bustling metropolis of San Francisco and, with his wife, Molly (Harley Jane Kozik), and young kids Tommy (Garette Patrick Ratliff) and Shelly (Marlene Katz), looks to start a new life in the country. Ross was supposed to take over for the town’s retiring doctor, Sam Metcalf (Henry Jones), who’s since decided to stay on, leaving Ross up shit creek with nary a paddle in sight. Ross is also, along with his son, a card-carrying arachnophobe, all thanks to a childhood incident involving a spider creeping into his crib. In a nice little subversion of expected clichés, Ross’ wife and daughter both love bugs and constantly tease the guys about their “childish” fears. Childish, nothing: turns out father and son have ample reason to be afraid!

Before long, folks around the small town are dropping dead from mysterious ailments. After Ross identifies spider bites on the victims, he begins to put two and two together and realizes that a dangerous new breed of spider is stalking the quiet streets of his new home. Ross calls up Atherton and, with the assistance of the scientist, his assistant, Chris (Brian McNamara) and local extreminator/oddball Delbert McClintock (John Goodman), Ross must wage war on the monstrous, miniature killers. Time is not on their side, however: if they can’t find and destroy the spiders’ enormous egg sac before it hatches, not only will Canaima be wiped off the map but we might just be looking at humanity’s descent into that long, good night. It’s going to take all of Ross’ willpower to make a stand, however, as a lifetime of nightmares all come home to roost and he must make the ultimate sacrifice to save his family, his town…and the very world as we know it.

While Arachnophobia may have been Frank Marshall’s debut as a director, his career in movies actually started long before that: as a producer, Marshall has been involved with some of the most famous, iconic films of all time, including Paper Moon (1973), The Warriors (1979), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Poltergeist (1982), Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983), Gremlins (1984), Back to the Future (1985), The Color Purple (1985) and Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988). Working closely with auteur Steven Spielberg, Marshall is no stranger to crowd-pleasing, multiplex popcorn films and his debut resembles nothing so much as a long-lost Spielberg flick. All of the hallmarks are there: fun, quirky characters; a perfect balance between family-friendly scares and jolts that toe the line of something a bit more extreme; a fast pace; small town setting and excellent effects-work. In many ways, Arachnophobia is a companion-piece to Joe Dante’s Gremlins: both films are, at their hearts, horror movies, yet manage to temper the shocks with rousing adventure and comedic beats, coming up with films that can be enjoyed by both adults and their kids.

One of the keys to Arachnophobia’s success is the masterful way that Marshall manages to keep the spiders front-and-center in our minds. Once the little bastards are on the move, there are very few frames of the film that DON’T feature a spider hanging out, in some way or another: so much of the film’s truly creepy moments happen in the margins (a barely glimpsed hint of movement as something scurries away…a spider that drops, unseen, into the background behind someone…the nagging assurance that someone is about to poke their hand into an “occupied” hiding-spot), that we’re constantly on edge. Unlike other films that feature giant spiders, the critters in Arachnophobia are, for the most part, “normal-sized,” which means that they can hide in just about any nook, crevasse or cranny they can find. This also means that they’re about a billion times more terrifying than the Volkswagon-sized spiders from The Giant Spider Invasion (1975). For my money, there is no scene in films more horrifying, more soul-shatteringly terrible, than the one where armies of spiders begin to pour out of the walls in the Jennings’ farmhouse, leading poor Ross to make a panicked escape into the basement: for a guy suffering from crippling arachnophobia, he ends up doing pretty good. Me? I probably would have just gone ahead and had the heart attack right then and there, saving everybody a lot of time.

Like the best Spielberg films, Marshall’s debut benefits from a truly great ensemble cast. Jeff Daniels is always a blast, as is John Goodman and the persnickety Henry Jones. Personally, I’ve always got a kick out of Julian Sands performance, since it’s one of the rare times where the character actor gets to portray a good guy: as a rule, Sands is the one you call when you need a memorable villain for something like The Doctor and the Devils (1985) or Warlock (1989). Here, he ably switches gears and gives us one of those well-meaning but woefully misguided scientists who will, according to films, eventually be the death of us all.

Marshall would go on to direct a handful of films after Arachnophobia, including the award-winning Alive (1993) and his adaptation of Michael Crichton’s Congo (1995), one of my picks for “Worst Film of All Time.” As far as I’m concerned, however, Marshall was never as good as he was with Arachnophobia. Just like Spielberg’s classic Jaws (1975), Arachnophobia is a prime example of a film firing on all cylinders, a modern-day monster movie where the emphasis is on fun, frights and adventure. Come for the awesome cast, great action scenes, genuine scares, and roller-coaster final 30 minutes: stay through the credits and rejoice as eternal beach-bum Jimmy Buffet serenades us all with the single best spider-themed credit song ever, “Don’t Bug Me.” Whether you’re one of those freaks who thinks spiders are “cute” or would rather see them squashed on a shoe, Arachnophobia has a little bit of something for everyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stock up on rolled-up magazines and Raid.

1/11/14: Chills, Thrills and Groans

Tags

adventures, animated films, B-movies, bad movies, computer-animated, Daniel Craig, dark comedies, Edgar Wright, experimental film, Film, Film auteurs, Funny Games, German cinema, home invasion, hullaballoo, Indiana Jones, Michael Haneke, misanthropic, Nick Frost, Party of Five, SImon Pegg, Steven Spielberg, strange families, suspense, The Adventures of TinTin, The Butcher Brothers, The Hamiltons

Our quest to catch up now takes us to this past Saturday for another triple header. On this particular day, my viewing selections were tempered by the fact that I needed something to wash the taste of Funny Games out of my mouth: hence, the segue from that to Spielberg’s Adventures of TinTin. Now THAT’s the kind of counter-programming more festivals need to do!

Oy vey…talk about suffering for art…We’re all familiar with feel-good cinema: those gauzy, sweet, brightly colored bits of film fluff that usually posit nothing more challenging than a stubbed toe or a willfully spunky ingenue to shake things up. In a world that’s become increasingly cold and hostile, feel-good cinema can be the equivalent of a warm fire on a cold day, returning the essential humanity to an inhumane species.

Michael Haneke pisses all over feel-good cinema before burying it out in the desert. If the word “misanthropy” is defined as meaning, “the general hatred, distrust or disdain of the human species or human nature,” then Mr. Haneke may be one of the premiere misanthropes working in film today. Whether dealing with severely damaged, violent individuals (Benny’s Video, The Seventh Continent, The White Ribbon), the horrors of a violent society invading the sanctity of the home (Funny Games, The Time of the Wolf) or the erosion of life and love (The Piano Teacher, Amour), Haneke has never met a subject to dark or depressing to tear into. Despite his seeming disdain for people, Haneke has had a surprisingly successful career, achieving enough acclaim with his original 1997 version of Funny Games to warrant his American remake ten years later and culminating in Best Foreign Film and Best Actress nods for his most recent film, Amour.

I admit that I got to the Haneke party a little late, not jumping in until the remake of Funny Games. As a big Tim Roth fan, I took a chance, based on his presence, and was rewarded with something rather nasty and unpleasant. Nonetheless, I was intrigued and spent some time touring his back catalog, eventually arriving at his original version of Funny Games. Needless to say, I remember being thoroughly disturbed by the film and promptly sought to put it behind me. Flash forward many years and a lazy Saturday morning seemed like a perfect time to revisit the film and see if it still held any power. Short answer? Yes.

For those not familiar with the story, Funny Games is, ostensibly, a home invasion film. Three members of a family (parents and young son) are vacationing at their lakeside cottage, next to several other cabins and friends. The family is well-to-do, educated (while driving, they play a game of “Name that classical music concerto” and seem like nice enough people. Upon arriving at their cottage, they notice that their next-door-neighbors appear to be entertaining guests, a pair of young men dressed in tennis outfits. When one of the men appears at their doorstep to borrow some eggs, the family become trapped in a seemingly never-ending nightmare of violence, humiliation, torture and…well…funny games.

Part of the terrible, feral power of the film comes from how well-made it is. Rather than feeling (or looking) like a quickly dashed together bit of exploitation nastiness, Funny Games is an art film through and through. The opening, featuring an aerial view of their car driving through winding mountain roads, instantly reminds of Kubrick’s similar opening to The Shining. The film has a cold, clinical look that recalls Cronenberg’s early bio-medical chillers. The acting, particularly from the evil young men is impeccable and, at times, downright heartbreaking. The film has a terrific grasp of tension, feeding out just enough line to keep you hooked, then snapping it back ferociously when needed. Scenes play out for much longer than seem necessary, the camera rarely cutting once things start to get crazy. Unfortunately, watching the film is still about as much fun as getting buried alive.

If its possible for a film to be considered “mental torture porn,” than Funny Games would be the undisputed king of that ring. Although there is violence in the film, most of it occurs off-camera, leaving us to merely view the results. The horrible humiliation and psychological torture that the pair put the family through, however, is almost impossible to watch. During an excruciatingly long scene where the pair force the mother to strip down to her underwear in front of her family, I found myself asking the all-important question, “Why?” Not “Why are the bad guys doing that,” since the world is full of truly sick individuals but “Why are we being forced to watch this in such detail?” Like Pasolini’s Salo, Funny Games is a film that not only shows you the shit on the floor but proceeds to rub your face into it. Haneke doesn’t just want to make you aware of the evil in the world: he wants to make you suffer it, too.

Were Funny Games just a streamlined, brutal, unflinching home-invasion thriller, it would be a memorable film. Haneke, however, has something else up his sleeve. At one point, the lead psycho, Paul, is standing in front of his partner, Peter. He turns and winks directly at the camera, although our understanding is that Peter is there, off-camera. This makes sense, of course, all the way up to the point where Paul turns and directly addresses the audience, asking us if we think the family has been through enough. At once, we’re not just spectators but accomplices: if we didn’t want to see the family suffer so much, we’d quit watching and let them off the hook. No film, especially fringe and extreme films, can exist without an audience. In one fell swoop, Haneke indicts horror and exploitation fans, asking the all-important question: how normal is it to want to witness suffering? As a lifelong horror fan, I didn’t much care to answer it. Thanks, Michael: see you again when I’m feeling slightly too upbeat.

As a remedy for the massive feel-bad vibes presented by Funny Games, I turned to an old master of the feel-good film: the inimitable Steven Spielberg and his recent computer-animated feature, The Adventures of Tintin. I originally avoided the film due to the computer animation (I’m much more of an old-school animation fan) but I figured that only Spielberg could give me the 10ccs of food-times needed to wash away Haneke. Turns out, I was right.

Right off the bat, imagine my immense excitement when, during the fabulous credit sequence, I notice that Peter Jackson is producing the film. Alright…that’s interesting. Not half as interesting, however, as the fact that Joe “Attack the Block” Cornish and Edgar “Cornetto Trilogy” Wright wrote the film. That’s right, boys and girls: two of the best comedic horror/sci-fi writers in the biz collaborated on the script for a Spielberg film produced by Peter Jackson. Essentially, there was no way this would be anything but one big love letter to classical film and it did not disappoint.

Once I actually got into the film, any concerns about the animation style melted away: the animation was actually so realistic that it was easy to imagine this as a life-action film, versus a cartoon. In fact, there are so many visual and narrative nods to the Indiana Jones films that this almost felt like it inhabited the same world. The scene where Snowy pursues TinTin’s kidnappers through a busy street reminds me immediately of the Cairo chase in the first Indiana Jones film, right down to the way in which the pursued item is constantly kept in the same frame as the pursuer, despite their distance from each other: simply genius.

In all honesty, there were too many highlights in the film to count. The battle between Haddock’s ship and the pirate ship is absolutely stunning, perhaps one of the coolest nautical battles I’ve seen. The final duel with construction cranes is amazing and made me wonder why no one ever tried that in the past (hint: probably because it’s impossible). The voice acting, whether from Daniel Craig as the bad guy or Simon Pegg and Nick Frost as the bumbling Scotland Yard duo of Thomson and Thompson, is top-notch and TinTin, Captain Haddock and Snowy make one hell of a team. Massively fun and technologically impressive, I can easily compare The Adventures of TinTin to Wes Anderson’s animated The Fantastic Mr. Fox. Both films showcase outstanding filmmakers boldly going where they (technically) haven’t gone before.

I’m not sure that mere words can do justice to the sheer awfulness that is The Hamiltons but I’ll try. Imagine, if you will, a torture porn version of Party of Five featuring hammier actors than Troll 2 and The Room combined. Intrigued? Let me finish. The family that we’re stuck with for almost 90 minutes features a stereotypical moody, whiny teen boy, complete with always-filming video camera; a straight-laced older brother that holds down a job, is polite, smart and kind, so is obviously a closeted homosexual; a twin brother and sister that chew through scenery like ravenous warthogs when they’re not busy sucking face and disgusting the audience with the most assinine, ridiculous display of incestuous union since whatever Troma film took on the subject; and a supernaturally strong, feral, beast of a kid brother that looks like…a normal kid.

On top of these obnoxious characters we get a story that blatantly rips off We Are What We Are before becoming something else (read: equally shitty) entirely, a primal-scream breakdown that must be seen to be believed and the actual line “I’m getting awful tired of your hullaballoo,” delivered with as much earnestness and integrity as the actor could manage when being asked to deliver something so obviously Shakespearian in origin.

But am I being a little too mean? Isn’t all of this a bit harsh for a film that probably just wants to be considered a decent little horror film? Absolutely not. The pair of idiot filmmakers behind this call themselves The Butcher Brothers and have already created a sequel. They must be stopped by any and all means necessary, before The Hamiltons becomes the truly shitty franchise that it threatens to become. If we do nothing, we may soon wake up in a world where the Butcher Brothers may continue to create unchecked, turning the world into the goofy nightmare land of Branded.

In short: I’m getting awful tired of their hullaballoo.