1/29/15: The Lunatic is Us

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'80s comedies, 1980s films, adult friendships, Brother Theodore, Bruce Dern, Carrie Fisher, cinema, comedies, Corey Feldman, Courtney Gains, Dana Olsen, dark comedies, Dick MIller, eccentric people, film reviews, films, Gale Gordon, Gremlins, Henry Gibson, Jerry Goldsmith, Joe Dante, Movies, mysteries, neighbors, Rick Ducommun, Robert M. Stevens, strange families, suburban homes, suburban life, suburbia, The 'Burbs, Tom Hanks, Wendy Schaal

Ah, suburbia: to some, the identical, immaculately maintained homes, on perfectly manicured lawns, at the ends of respectably located cul de sacs, are the ultimate light at the end of the tunnel, the happy reward for a life properly lived. Two-car garages, Scrabble with the Wilsons on Tuesday, beers and polite small-talk with the guys on Thursdays, regular garbage pick-up plus recycling (separate the glass) and close proximity to a dog park. Neighborhood watch keeps them safe, every kid gets invited to the birthday parties and there’s always someone around to lend them a wrench, ride or shoulder. Do you smell that? Fresh-cut grass and fresh-baked cookies, I do believe. Yes, indeed, neighborino…for some folks, suburbia is one sweet dream.

To others, however, it might be a little closer to hell on earth. All of those rows of tightly packed, anonymous houses, yards so close you can sneeze and hit your neighbor, tight streets choked with cars and children. The Wilsons are always complaining about the branches on your scrawny tree, there’s always dog shit on your lawn and some jerk keeps throwing fast food trash into your recycle bin. Every identical window contains an identical pair of staring eyes and they always seem to be interested in every single thing you do. Do you smell that? If so, call the HOA: there’s probably a regulation against it. And what, exactly, is your neighbor doing in his garage at 3 in the morning?

Joe Dante’s The ‘Burbs (1989) deals with the head-on collision between the dream and the nightmare of suburbia, territory that’s been fertile ground for cinema for some time. Think back to films like Neighbors (1981), with Jim Belushi and Dan Ackroyd or Neighbors (2014), with Seth Rogen and Zac Efron, if you prefer. Don’t forget about Parents (1989), Serial Mom (1994) or Blue Velvet (1986), either. Since this is Dante we’re dealing with, the mischievous imp behind The Howling (1981), Gremlins (1984) and Matinee (1993), we know that The ‘Burbs will examine suburbia through a darkly comic lens: since it stars Tom Hanks, one of the biggest, most likable actors of the ’80s and ’90s, we know that the ride won’t be too dark…ol’ Tom wouldn’t do us like that. In the process, we get a film that aspires to some of the same dark power as films like Neighbors (1981) and Parents, yet, ultimately, tempers everything with the kind of “feel-goodism” that was par for the course in many ’80s films. It’s no Gremlins but, if you think about it…what is?

In many ways, Ray Peterson (Tom Hanks) is the prototypical ’80s every-man: wife, son, house in the suburbs, makes decent money, lots of kooky neighbors, cheerful outlook on life, if slightly hassled, over-worked and a little too high-strung. He doesn’t take enough time off, knows everyone on the block by name and is a little too susceptible to peer pressure. His best buddy and next-door-neighbor, Art (Rick Ducommun), is high maintenance, the kind of guy who barges into your kitchen and starts eating your breakfast. Ray’s neighborhood also includes retired (and slightly wackadoodle) Lt. Mark Rumsfield (Bruce Dern) and his much younger wife, Bonnie (Wendy Schaal); old Walter (Gale Gordon) and his yappy little dog; and Ricky (Corey Feldman), the teenager who uses the neighborhood as his own, personal TV show. At Hinkley Hills, life is good.

Trouble comes in the form of Ray’s secretive new next-door-neighbors, the Klopeks. Rarely seen and never spoken with, the Klopeks violate the established order of the neighborhood by standing outside of the accepted social order. They don’t lend sugar, they don’t share a beer…they don’t seem to do much of anything, although strange sounds and smells seem to come from the decidedly sinister-looking house at odd hours of the night. Egged on by Art and Mark, Ray begins to view the neighbors with a suspicious eye, especially when efforts to meet them are continually (and comically) rebuffed.

When Walter seems to disappear, however, Art and Mark are convinced that the Klopeks are to blame. Despite the level-headed sanity of Ray’s wife, Carol (Carrie Fisher), Ray finds himself going down the rabbit-hole of paranoia and fear: are the Klopeks Satanists? Murderers? Aliens? Robots? There’s only one way to find out: breach the unknown and actually enter the Klopeks home. What they find there, however, will both answer and raise a multitude of questions. Just who are the Klopeks and what are they doing at Hinkley Hills? Good thing Ray and the Subarbanites are on the case!

For the most part, The ‘Burbs is a fun, if rather typical, ’80s comedy: vibrant, fast-paced, often silly and/or slapsticky, with just enough of a dark edge to distinguish it from the pack. The edge, of course, comes from director Joe Dante, the genre auteur who gifted us with such unforgettable films as the original Piranha (1978), Gremlins and its sequel, The Howling, Explorers (1985) and The Hole (2009). Dante is an absolute wizard at combining humor and horror, although he dabbles in plenty of non-horror-related fare, as well (see Explorers, among others). There are plenty of horror elements in The ‘Burbs, not least of which are the spook-show organs that signal the Klopeks and their home, although the film is not actually a horror movie.

Rather, the film is a clever dissection of suburban life, albeit one that gets tempered a bit by the twist resolution that spins the narrative in a decidedly “safer” direction. Dante’s intent can best be summed up in the penultimate scene where Ray publicly denounces all of the terrible things that he and his friends have done to the Klopeks, all in the pursuit of uncovering their “otherness.” The mysterious, secretive Klopeks aren’t the lunatics, he shouts: their supposedly “normal” neighbors are. We have seen the enemy and it is us, if you will.  It’s a bracing notion, certainly one of the high points of writer Dana Olsen’s script, and one that Dante wrings every last ounce of irony from. Too bad, then, that things get unraveled so soon after, although I can chalk that up to the Hollywood propensity for a happy ending more than anything else.

Hanks, of course, is Hanks. Let’s be frank…love him or hate him, Tom Hanks is the epitome of a box office star for one simple reason: he’s impossibly likable on-screen. Despite playing some of the most high-strung, needy, nerdy, goofy and nebbishy characters this side of Woody Allen, Hanks always manages to be the center of attention. He has genuine “it” factor, that ill-defined star quality that separates the good from the great and it’s an effortless quality: we always pull for Ray because he’s Tom Hanks…you really want to let that guy down?

It’s not a solo show, of course (that would come a bit later): there’s plenty of support in this particular back-field. Rick Ducommun is an able foil as the oafish, if empathetic, Art: we buy the relationship between him and Hanks even if we often want to slap the smirk off his face. Ducommun gets several funny scenes including a great bit with a great dane, a good ol’ “Satanic chant” and a nice closing monologue about the power of suburbanites. Dern brings a reasonable amount of unreason to the nutty Lt. Rumsfield but we expect nothing less from our favorite nutjob. While it’s not much different from his other roles, it’s always nice to see him in something light and there’s a rare and sublime joy to the scene where he (repeatedly) puts his feet through the Klopek porch.

It’s always good to see Carrie Fisher in something light and she brings some nice nuance to a character that could have been too hectoring or, alternately, just wallpaper. I liked Ray and Carol’s relationship and thought that her casual acceptance of the situation, at the end, was a really nice, subtle comment on the myriad Ditto Feldman, who takes the stereotypical snarky teen next-door and makes him a lot more fun, cool and likable than he could’ve been. His enthusiasm over the neighborhood is the furthest thing from modern-day ennui and it’s kinda awesome to see someone so genuinely interested in something so square as his neighborhood. On the Klopek side, we have the always dependable Henry Gibson as the patriarch, Brother Theodore (a frequent voice actor who finished his 40+year career in film with The ‘Burbs) as salty Uncle Reuben and Courtney Gains as the buck-toothed Hans.

While there’s a lot working in The ‘Burbs favor, this has always been a film that I like more than love. For one thing, I find the heavy-handed elements, such as the musical cues and slapstick, to be a little tedious and the film is at least 20 minutes longer than it needs to be. Some of the setpieces, like the bee attack, are great, while others, like Art’s shock, fall a little flat. There’s an awful lot of mugging going on (Hanks is especially guilt of this) and, with the exception of Gibson’s Dr. Klopek, the other Klopeks are rather under-utilized. There are also a few details, like the mysterious wind, that are never explained. By and large, however, my biggest issue comes with the ending, which reverses the deliciously ironic note that the film promises to end on before going in a much more conventional direction. To be honest, it’s kind of a bummer, even though the final chase/fight is lots of fun.

All in all, The ‘Burbs is fun but it’s certainly no Gremlins. While there are plenty of genuinely funny moments here, the sharp edges are sanded down just enough to make the whole thing seem just a little too safe. If you’re looking to stroll the darker streets of suburbia, I’d have to recommend Parents over this one. If you just want to spend a little time with some eccentric neighbors and have the luxury of leaving them behind after 100 minutes, however, there’s certainly nothing wrong with checking into The ‘Burbs. It’s no American dream but it ain’t a nightmare, either.

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5/4/14: Let Crispin Sing You to Slumber

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Au Revoir Les Enfants, awkward slap fight, based on a book, Charlaine Woodard, Cherry 2000, cinema, Cleveland family, Crispin Glover, Dylan McDermott, estranged family, farmhouse, Faulkner, film reviews, films, Flannery O'Connor, Hans ZImmer, Harry Dean Stanton, Howdy, isolated communities, Jenny Wright, Kansas, Lindsay Christman, Lois Chiles, Mary Robison, Michael Almereyda, Movies, Renato Berta, Southern Gothic, strange families, Suzy Amis, Tim Robbins, tornadoes, Twister, Until the End of the World, William S. Burroughs, Wim Wenders, writer-director

Sometimes, a film isn’t about quite what it appears to be about. Jarmusch’s Dead Man (1995), for instance, is not about a guy trying to get a job. Solaris (1972) isn’t about a bunch of cosmonauts and Over the Top (1989) isn’t about arm-wrestling. Well, actually, Over the Top is about arm-wrestling but I’m sure there’s much more to the complex narrative than that. Part of the joy of watching a really good, complex film (such as Over the Top) is in peeling away the many layers of meaning, cutting through the symbolism and subtext to get at what the filmmakers are really talking about. In many cases, taking an “art” film at face value is a particularly useless exercise: these are meanings that need to be discovered, not tripped over.

Sometimes, however, a film can just stand as a complete mystery, a towering monument to a singular point-of-view that anyone who isn’t the filmmaker would be hard-pressed to decipher. In and of itself, this isn’t always a bad thing: I absolutely adore the films of Jean-Pierre Jeunet but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I completely understand them. I love experiencing them, however, which can often make all the difference. In the case of director Michael Almereyda’s head-scratcher Twister (the furthest thing from the ’90s-era Bill Paxton epic, mind you), however, I’ll have to be honest: not only did I leave the film without really understanding it, I also left the film without really enjoying it. I don’t mind needing to watch something a few times to pick up the full meaning: all of my viewings of Taxidermia (2006) have got me closer to understanding but I’m definitely not there yet. When a film is confusing, open-ended and dull, however, repeated viewings become analogous to torture and I’m just not willing to suffer for the meaning. Not even for Crispin Glover in an absolutely amazing red smoking jacket.

It may help to think of Twister as a sort of “Southern Gothic,” a kind of cock-eyed take on Faulkner or a bloodless Flannery O’Connor. The film, based on Mary Robison’s novel Oh!, concerns itself with the Cleveland family, a not-so-merry clan of Midwestern weirdos who live life on their own, strange terms. Father Cleveland (Harry Dean Stanton) is a soda-pop and roller-coaster baron who has just brought his fiancée, Virginia (Lois Chiles) home to meet the family. The family consists of daughter Maureen (Suzy Amis), son Howdy (Crispin Glover) and Maureen’s daughter, Violet (Lindsay Christman). Maureen’s estranged boyfriend (and Violet’s father), Chris (Dylan McDermott) is also lurking in the shadows, as is Howdy’s girlfriend, Stephanie (Jenny Wright) and her boyfriend, Jeff (Tim Robbins). Toss their opinionated maid, Lola (Charlaine Woodard), into the mix and you have quite the cast of irregulars.

In and of themselves, the characters in Twister sound pretty intriguing on paper. Howdy, by himself, is such a bundle of neuroses that they could’ve based an entire five-picture series on him. After all, this is a guy who serenades his girlfriend with the creepiest sub-Velvet Underground dirge in the history of recorded music and makes it seem as natural as belting out O Sole Mio. He’s Crispin fuckin’ Glover and this is just what he does, man. McDermott rages around, doing his usual “tempest in a teacup” thing but that’s what McDermott does, too. Hell, Tim Robbins even gets in an awkward slap fight with Glover: how could that not be fascinating?

But it’s not fascinating. Unfortunately, it’s anything but. In fits and starts, Twister works just fine but the film never develops any sense of forward momentum or narrative cohesion: it just lurches from one strange situation to another. Chris keeps sneaking into the house, getting caught and thrown out but no one really seems to mind. Stephanie is dating Howdy but also seems to be Jeff’s girlfriend…or maybe she isn’t. Maureen and Howdy go on a hunt for their missing mother and track her to a farmhouse where William S. Burroughs is target shooting. Burroughs has never been mentioned or introduced in the film and is only credited as Man in the Barn: when he explains to the “kids” that their mother is now in Ireland, it carries no weight whatsoever: Who the hell is he? How does he know their mom? Is he actually real or a figment of their imaginations? Is Burroughs just playing himself or is he actually a character? It’s a frustrating bit of inanity that handily removed any joy I briefly felt over seeing Burroughs: what the fuck was he doing here?

This confusion even manages to extend to the title, Twister. Spoiler alert: if you’re looking for a tornado, it occupies all of two minutes within the context of the film. Fair enough: I came to see Stanton and Glover as odd family members, not a disaster porn film about high winds. That being said, I simply can’t, for the life of me, figure out what relevance the tornado has. Cutting out any mention or activity around the twister wouldn’t change the film in any discernible way, so what’s the point? I have no problem with symbolism or subtext whatsoever but this just seemed like such an esoteric choice, as random as pulling a name out of a hat. I will admit to not being familiar with the source material, so perhaps the impact of the tornado was just reduced in the film. Nonetheless, this just becomes one more symbol of my issues with the film: its seeming randomness.

Craftwise, the film tends to have a rather muddy, indistinct look that could either be chalked up to a bad transfer or just a crappy production, in general. Writer-director Almereyda got his start as screenwriter on the Melanie Griffith-as-sexbot howler Cherry 2000 (1987), so there’s probably not much reason to assume this would look great but the dull look doesn’t make sticking with the film any easier. This is even harder to understand given that the cinematographer, Renato Berta, was a well-respected craftsman who shot Louis Malle’s Au Revoir Les Enfants (1987) just two years before: what gives? In a further disappointment, veteran composer/soundtrack pro Hans Zimmer turns in a chaotic mess of a score, a mishmash of tones and movements that seem cobbled together from other pieces. It’s never cohesive which, ironically, may make it the perfect soundtrack for the film. A prime example is the scene where Chris and Maureen drive through the town after the twister has passed through: the soundtrack plays the scene like a slasher film, all staccato jabs and nervous energy: it makes no sense within the context of the scene and doesn’t even seem to work as counter-intuitive: it just seems like a stylistic choice that didn’t work out.

So, is there anything worthwhile here? Sadly, there’s actually quite a bit to like in Twister, even if the parts are much greater than their sum. Glover, as always, is genuinely weird and seems to possess as much gravity as a black hole: it’s virtually impossible for any other actor to share screen time with him and not be completely forgotten. Stanton, old pro that he is, tries to compete with Glover but he’s just not given enough to do. That’s a real shame, since Stanton has been one of my favorite actors since the first time I ever laid eyes on Repo Man (1984). He’s definitely not bad here but he’s not awesome, either, which kinda sucks.

There are a few scenes (the aforementioned scene where Howdy sings, a hilarious bit involving Chris and a flaming shot that gets out of control) that are as good as anything in these types of films but they’re too few and far between. The shot scene, is particular, is a real gem: McDermott brings an almost Chaplin-esque quality to the bit, as he tries to blow out the fire but only succeeds in spreading the flames. In a film filled with quizzical moments and scenes that seem designed to make one say “Hmm…,” it’s a genuinely laugh-out-loud moment and I definitely wish there were a few more like that. It also manages to feel out of place but it still works better than much of what came before and after.

At the end of the day, Twister is one of those films that could easily fit my mother’s oft-repeated phrase: “Neither fish, nor foal, nor good red herring.” I’m not really sure what Twister is, truth be told, and I’m not ever sure that I will. I can only sit and ponder what a Southern Gothic film featuring Harry Dean Stanton, Crispin Glover and Dylan McDermott riding out a tornado in a cramped farmhouse might have been like. When I close my eyes, I can almost see the film and it’s a pretty good one: it’s quirky, it has interesting characters and something to say about how disasters can bring all of us, including the truly strange, together. It’s even got a little something to say about family and how you’re stuck with ’em, for better or worse. That’s not this movie, however, and that’s a shame.

2/1/14: Your Mind Will Betray You

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'Nam, 1970's cinema, absurdist, Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, Adrian Lyne, Alexandra Stewart, Alice in Wonderland, Alois Nebel, animated films, Au revoir, auteur theory, avant-garde, battle of the sexes, black market, Black Moon, bureaucracy, Cathryn Harrison, cinema, Cold War, Czech-Polish border, Czechoslovakian films, Danny Aiello, dark films, drama, Elizabeth Pena, experimental film, fall of Communism, Fatal Attraction, Film auteurs, films, foreign films, French cinema, French films, French New Wave, homeless shelter, horror films, hospitals, Indecent Proposal, insanity, isolated estates, Jacob Singer, Jacob's Ladder, Jan Svankmajer, Jason Alexander, Joe Dallesandro, les enfants, Louis Malle, Movies, post-office, psychological horror, Rotoscoping, scary faces, Silent Hill, strange families, talking animals, Therese Giehse, Tim Robbins, Tomas Lunak, train conductor, unicorns, veterans, Vietnam vet, Vietnam War

Although I didn’t really plan it that way, last Saturday’s screenings definitely had a theme: the unreality of reality. These were films that may (or may not) have been about insanity or they may (or may not) have about something more tangible and bizarre. All three of the films challenge audience perceptions of what is real and imaginary, proving that we really don’t know as much about our world as we like to pretend we do.

My immersion into dark animated fare continues with Alois Nebel, an Oscar nominated Czech film from 2011. As I’ve mentioned before, animation style can, often, be the biggest impediment to my initial enjoyment of animated films. In the case of Alois Nebel, however, this issue was pretty much thrown out the window early on with the film’s gorgeous black-and-white imagery. At first, the animation style reminded me of a more severe, serious version of Archer. Upon closer examination, however, I realized that the animated images were actually Rotoscoped. Now, in general, I’m not the world’s biggest Rotoscoping fan: up to this point, my go-tos for that style would have been either A Scanner Darkly or Waking Life, neither of which really blew me away. The images and animation in Alois Nebel, however, are certainly the best Rotoscoping I’ve yet seen and have given me a new benchmark for stuff like this in the future. As always, I heartily approve of anything that expands my horizons.

Tomas Lunak’s film begins in a small town on the Czech-Polish border in 1989, at the tail end of the Cold War. The titular character is a quiet, reserved train conductor who first comes to us via voice-over as he unemotionally recites the train schedule, his droning voice taking on the feel of a litany or a mantra. He lives in a town that seems to exist outside of the current world, a town where the black market is in full swing, thanks to the local military and one of Alois’ “friends”, a fellow switchman. Alois has been having dreams of his childhood, specifically about events that happened in 1945, when German citizens were expelled from Czechoslovakia. His caretaker was one of these people and Alois never ceases wondering what became of her. His dreams become interpreted by those around him as a mental breakdown, however, and he is committed to a pretty wretched insane asylum (electro-shock therapy and Rohypnol appear to be the standard treatment choices). When he is released, Alois ends up homeless and falls in with a former train conductor who now resides at the local homeless shelter. He begins a tentative romance with the woman who runs the shelter before events around him conspire to throw him back into the mystery of his missing caretaker, Dorothe, and her fate. Into this mix we pour a mysterious mute man with an ax and a grudge, the collapse of Communism and a harrowing finale involving betrayal, a torrential downpour and washed-out roads.

There’s an awful lot to take in with Alois Nebel and I’ll be honest: even with an extremely close reading of the film and copious notes, I’m still not sure that I understand everything. In particular, I found many of the relationships to be a bit confounding, especially when dealing with older/younger versions of the characters. There are times when I was positive that I was following one character, only to find out that it was someone else, entirely. The stuff about the mute man is especially confusing, which can be a bit of a critical wound when one realizes how intrinsically he’s tied into everything.

There also seemed to be a lot of very casual betrayal going on, so casual, in fact, that I keep wondering whether I missed something: surely these people couldn’t so actively fuck each other over without incurring any sort of ill-will from those around them, could they? Again, I’m not sure if the intent was to highlight institutionalized duplicity, point out how naive Alois was or if I just managed to misread it but there seemed to be quite a few examples of characters doing everything in their power to step on someone else.

For as confounding as Alois Nebel can be, however, the film is also powerfully hypnotic and flows with a beautifully lethargic sense of dream-like wonder. The sound design is exquisite and, when paired with the stunning imagery, combines to create a truly immerse experience. At times, the film almost seems like a partial horror film (there is a particularly nasty ax murder that occurs) or nod to German expressionism (the combination of Rotoscoping and black-and-white imagery makes for some truly sinister shadows), although the slow pace and dour attitude definitely place this squarely in the “serious art film” category.

More than anything, I found myself wondering just what, exactly, this film would look like as a strictly live-action affair. From what I can imagine, it would still look pretty darn interesting. The shot composition and framing is nothing if not reminiscent of live-action films and the frequent silent scenes, showcasing only subtle facial expressions or, in some cases, no expressions at all, would certainly play well with “real” actors. Ultimately, however, the Rotoscoping helps to add an unearthly edge to the film which is perfectly in tune with its themes: Alois Nebel is about a man who doesn’t quite fit in anywhere and the film, itself, really doesn’t, either. Patient viewers (or anyone with a sense of Cold War Czech politics) will find much to like and appreciate here but those expecting more action may find this to be a bit inert. Odd, unsettling and slightly too confusing to be a complete success (for me, at least), Alois Nebel is still a fascinating film.

I’ve always had kind of a love/hate relationship with Adrian Lyne’s Jacob’s Ladder. As a rule, I’m not really a fan of Lyne’s oeuvre: his career has tended towards Hollywood potboilers like Fatal Attraction, Nine 1/2 Weeks and Indecent Proposal, none of which I’m a big fan of (I do tend to have a soft-spot in my heart for Flashdance, however: that film is just so stupid that it’s kind of brilliant). Jacob’s Ladder always stuck out like a sore thumb, at least to me: the closest any other Lyne film got to that little psychological shocker was Fatal Attraction, which wasn’t particularly close.

Jacob’s Ladder deals with the struggles of Jacob Singer (Tim Robbins), a Vietnam war vet who currently works at the post-office, romances his co-worker (Elizabeth Pena) and has extremely unsettling flashbacks to his war-time experiences. You see, Jacob was part of an army platoon that experienced…something…during the war and he’s never been quite right ever since. He goes to see his friend and chiropractor Louis (Danny Aiello, in a truly great supporting role) whenever he needs an adjustment but there’s no adjustment that will fix his bizarre dreams or the creepy imagery that has begun to seep into his waking like, including strange creatures with no faces and demonic lizard-men.  Jezzie, his girlfriend, is starting to get fed up with his problems, especially once he has a complete freakout at a nightclub and begins screaming about monsters and demons. He might just be ready to confine himself to the loony bin until he happens to reconnect with one of his old army buddies and realizes that he’s not alone: everyone in his former platoon is experiencing the same issues. Jacob tries to take action, even going so far as to initiate a class-action lawsuit with lawyer Jason Alexander (a mere one year into his tenure on Seinfeld), but is stymied at every turn by his own comrades, shadowy mob figures and those damned creepy faceless critters. Will Jacob finally get to the bottom of his problems or is this all one big exercise in futility?

For most of its run-time, Jacob’s Ladder is a pretty effective, nifty little chiller. The visuals may seem commonplace nowadays but it’s interesting to note that the “scary-quick-changing-face” effect that’s become all too ubiquitous in modern horror films actually got its start here. In context, it works well but I can’t help but hate its genesis on principle, alone: if Jacob’s Ladder could only see what it wrought with Paranormal Activity…

The acting is, generally, pretty good, with Robbins giving a nicely nuanced performance as Jacob and Aiello providing just the right amount of mystery as his “is he/isn’t he?” friend. Pena wears out her welcome fairly quickly, unfortunately, playing her character with so much anger and aggression that she seems sorely out-of-place in the film: she even seems pissed off when she’s making love. Her attitude works in the scenes where it’s necessary (blowing up after the dance-floor fiasco, for instance) but fails completely in those scenes where she’s actually supposed to act loving. I never bought Robbins and Pena as a couple, ever, which seems like a real lost opportunity.

The film has an interesting, atmospheric quality to it, although the horror elements are really only paid off in a few scenes. One scene, in particular, is a real corker and the true horror centerpiece for the film: after escaping from abductors, conking his head on the pavement and getting his wallet stolen by a Salvation Army Santa, Jacob is taken to a hospital and sent for X-rays. As he’s being wheeled down the hallway, going down first one corridor, then the next, Jacob’s surroundings gradually change, going from normal hospital sterility to the kind of gore-drenched, body-part littered hellscapes that one would normally find in Silent Hill. The truth? The hospital scene in Jacob’s Ladder was actually a big influence on the seminal horror video game. At any rate, it’s an amazing scene and goes a long way towards cementing the film’s horror cachet.

So, with all this to recommend it, why do I have a love/hate relationship with the movie? Well, you see, it happens to have one of those twist endings and this particular one manages to undo the entire film as surely as if it pulled on a loose shoelace. This isn’t the kind of ending where you say, “Eh, it was alright.” It’s the kind of ending that makes you say, “Hey, wait a minute! How is that possible if this and this and this actually happened?” It’s the kind of ending that seems powerful and emotional, for about 30 seconds, before you start to really think about it. Once you let it bounce around in your noggin, however, you realize that the ending is pretty much impossible: if you accept it, you basically end up discounting the entire film. If you choose to toss the ending out the window, however, then you’re provided with absolutely no sense of closure or resolution. In other words, a lose/lose situation. Ultimately, this will always make Jacob’s Ladder a good, rather than great, film as far as I’m concerned.

There are times when you can be completely unprepared for a film, even if you’ve been anticipating it for some time. Case in point: French auteur Louis Malle’s 1975 surreal oddity, Black Moon. I’d read about the film for some time and had become quite curious to actually see it. After finally viewing it, however, I find myself nearly as perplexed as I was before I saw it. Sometimes, seeing does not bring clarity.

Although he had a distinguished career (including a 1956 Academy Award for Best Documentary and several nominations after) in France before he made his first English-language films, it will probably be a trio of these American films that he’s best remembered for: Pretty Baby (1978), Atlantic City (1981) and My Dinner with Andre (1981). These films, along with Au revoir, les enfants (1987), showcase Malle as a filmmaker as comfortable with testing film’s technical constraints as he is with pushing the emotional limits. Although Malle was a constant presence during the French New Wave of cinema, his work never really fit explicitly into that movement. At least, it didn’t really fit into that movement until he released Black Moon in 1975, however, only a decade or two since the movement ran its course.

Black Moon is many things but plot-driven is not one of them. Nonetheless, there is a plot (of sorts) and it will sound imminently familiar to anyone who’s read Alice in Wonderland: a young, inquisitive blonde girl wanders about a strange house, meets bizarre individuals, talking animals and, gradually, comes to learn something about herself. The young girl, in this case, is named Lily (Cathryn Harrison, a mere 16-years-old at the time of shooting) and she’s on the run from some kind of lethal gender war: men and women have taken up arms and proceeding to blast each other to kingdom come. Lily takes refuge in a mysterious estate and meets the eccentric family who lives there: Brother Lily (Warhol regular Joe Dallesandro, who gets by his acting inadequacies by way of remaining mute for the entire film), Sister Lily (Alexandra Stewart, as mute as Joe) and the Old Lady (Therese Giehse, who died shortly before the film was released and to whom it’s dedicated) and her husband, Humphrey the rat (yes, he really is a rat).

After introducing these decidedly odd elements, Black Moon does what any good absurdist film would do: piles one absurd event on top of the other. Lily discovers the family’s pet unicorn (a creepy-looking pony-thing that looked, to my disturbed eyes at least, as if it had a skull for a face: I don’t think it does but I could probably be forgiven for thinking that); drinks milk out of an absurdly large glass, while a pig looks on from a high-chair (hello, Alice, my old friend…); has to constantly pull up her constantly falling-down knickers; runs over a badger and suckles the old woman. We see naked children leading around a giant pig (shades of Jodorowsky); crying flowers (don’t ask) and creepy people in gas masks.

In many ways, Black Moon does come across as a kinder, friendlier version of a Jodorowsky film or, possibly, a version of Waiting for Godot enhanced by three sheets of acid. As with any absurdist/avant-garde film, the visuals are at least as (make that: much more) important than the actual story, although I think that the description of this as a “post-Apocalyptic Alice in Wonderland” is as good as anything I could come up with.

This is a defiantly weird film (Brother Lily can communicate via thought but only while touching someone; the Old Woman appears to die in one scene only to be fine in the next) but it’s also a pretty interesting one, anchored by the wide-eyed performance of Harrison as the surrogate Alice. She sees a lot of weird stuff, no doubt about it, but she always seems to be ready for more, which, consequently, makes us pretty game for more, too. When faced with the bizarre, Lily grits her teeth, puts her head down and says, “Just a minute, please,” whether dealing with hawk-slaying siblings, talking unicorns or hungry old women.

Whatever Black Moon actually ends up being about (Is it a strange Alice in Wonderland adaptation? A dialogue about the battle of the sexes? A story of a girl becoming a young woman?), the film is quite lovely to look at and filled with just enough absurdity to make one wonder what could possibly be around the corner. At times, it reminded me of the unholy offspring of Jan Svankmajer’s Alice and Hardy’s original The Wicker Man, a gauzy, odd landscape with any number of potential horrors just over the horizon. At other times, my wife and I turned to each other and shrugged in complete bafflement. Without a doubt, this is a strange one.

1/31/14: Home is Where the Hearts Are (Oscar Bait, Part 3)

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Academy Award Nominee, Academy Awards, adventures, animated films, auteur theory, bad movies, Blackenstein, Blacula, blaxploitation films, box-office flops, Catherine Keener, cavemen, Chris Sanders, cinema, Cloris Leachman, couples, cute sloths, Dr. Stein, Dreamworks Animation, Emma Stone, fear of the unknown, Film auteurs, films, Francis Ford Coppola, Frederic Forrest, Harry Dean Stanton, Kirk Demicco, Lainie Kazan, Las Vegas, Movies, musical, Nastassja Kinski, Nicholas Cage, One From the Heart, pets, Raul Julia, relationships on the rocks, romance, Ryan Reynolds, searching for a new home, strange families, tar pits, Teri Garr, terrible films, The Croods, Tom Waits, William A. Levey

Our cinematic journey continues with last Friday’s viewings: we screened an abysmal Z-grade horror flick, an odd musical and another of this year’s contenders for Oscar gold.

Ugh…Blackenstein is proof positive that not all blaxploitation films were equally worthy of consideration. My original intention was to watch this as a double-feature with Blacula but that didn’t quite work as planned. As such, it ended up on a crammed Friday-bill where it really didn’t stand a chance. To be honest, this film wouldn’t have stood a chance no matter where I programmed it: Blackenstein is one colossal flop from the first frame to the last.

Plot (not that it matters) is fairly minimal: Dr. Winifred Walker (Ivory Stone) has come to see Dr. Stein (John Hart, in a friendly, jovial turn that is completely out of place in the story) in order to have him help her fiancee, Eddie (Joe de Sue, who has obviously never acted). You see, Eddie lost both arms and legs in Vietnam and Dr. Stein has been “working in the field of replacing limbs.” Sounds like a match made in heaven! Until, of course, Dr. Stein’s creepy assistant Malcomb (Roosevelt Jackson, who’s actually not bad) takes a shine to Winifred and sabotages Eddie’s treatments in order to get him out of the picture. Eddie head swells up, he gets angry and proceeds to rampage about the city, pulling the guts out of various women along the way. Winifred finally figures out what’s going on and Eddie saves her from Malcomb’s slimy clutches before getting devoured by police dogs.

There’s an awful lot wrong with Blackenstein, issues that pretty much cripple the film and prevent it from even rising to “so-bad-it’s-good-levels.” On a purely technical level, the transfer is absolutely awful: it looks like it was dubbed from TV to VHS. The sound keeps cutting out which, to be honest, isn’t a huge issue since the dialogue is so bad. Filmmaking basics are pretty non-existent: the cinematography is ugly, cuts are jarring, coverage is weird (lots of odd zooms on legs, feet, sidewalks, empty spaces and car doors), the music never fits with any given scene (chief offender being the scene where Winifred waits calmly for Dr. Stein as the soundtrack proceeds to out-Psycho Herrmann’s famous score) and the camera angles are often off-putting. Most of the sets appear to be made of cardboard, although that’s probably being generous, and the gore is about five solid steps back from Herschell Gordon Lewis’ heyday, featuring some of the most ludicrous gut-tossin’ you’ll (probably) ever see.

It goes without saying that the acting is completely wooden and terrible, as if everyone were trying to remember their lines. At one point during the middle of a big “speech,” Winifred proceeds to look down, off-camera: it’s pretty damn obvious that she reads the rest off a hidden script. Eddie is so unemotional that he delivers every last line with a sort of “Eh…what’re you gonna do?” shrug that drove me crazy after a few minutes. The piece de resistance, however, definitely comes from the hospital attendant (John Dennis). He begins by bullying the bed-ridden Eddie before launching into a jaw-droppingly over-the-top “monologue” about how he was kept from serving in Vietnam due to his physical condition. I’m not sure what we’re supposed to garner from this scene but it keeps going and going and going, an Energizer Bunny on crack.

Compared to Blacula, Blackenstein’s faults become even more glaring. Whereas Blacula featured an almost entirely black cast and possessed quite a bit of dignity, Blackenstein only features a couple of black actors and puts them in some pretty humiliating situations. We don’t even get the awesome funky music that powered Blacula: instead, we get two tepid soul songs sprinkled throughout the film, while the rest of the soundtrack consists of weak “Hammer-lite” instrumentals. There’s a niteclub scene, as in Blacula, but it mostly features a comedian telling jokes and lasts for way too long. It’s obvious that the filmmakers envisioned this as more of a Hammer/Euro-trash film than a blaxploitation film but the whole thing has such a confused sense of identity that none of it works.

Like any film made to jump on a hot trend, Blackenstein is pretty bankrupt of anything resembling imagination, innovation or intelligence. Avoid this like the plague.

If you think about it, anticipation for One From the Heart must’ve been through the roof when it first came out in 1982. For one thing, it was Francis Ford Coppola’s first film since his iconic Apocalypse Now (1979) and the latest in an unbeatable string that included The Godfather (1972), The Conversation (1974) and The Godfather Two (1974). Audiences had no reason to expect anything less sensational than his previous four films, after all, particularly with that lethal Godfather Two/Apocalypse Now combo. For another thing, musicals were extremely popular box office fare at that time. After all, Annie had come out a scant three months before and would become the 10th highest grossest film of 1982. This was the era of The Blues Brothers (1980), The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1982), Victor/Victoria (1982, nominated for seven Oscars) and Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life (1983): a big-screen musical from Francis Ford Coppola must have seemed like a surefire hit.

What actually happened, unfortunately, was a bit more akin to the sinking of the Titanic (the actual event, not the James Cameron money-maker): One From the Heart tanked at the box office, taking in just over a half-million in profits, although the film cost upwards of $20 million to make. Coppola declared bankruptcy and would (according to his own accounts) spend the next two decades making films in order to pay back the loss. Although this would result in The Outsiders and Rumblefish (both 1983), Peggy Sue Got Married (1986) and Dracula (1992), it would also result in Gardens of Stone (1987), The Godfather Part III (1990), Jack (1996) and The Rainmaker (1997). So, technically, a complete wash.

So, after all the dust has cleared, how does One From the Heart hold up thirty years later? While nowhere near a classic and a decidedly odd follow-up to Apocalypse Now, One From the Heart certainly has its merits. The film involves the adventures of Hank (Frederic Forrest) and Frannie (Teri Garr), a couple living in Las Vegas and about to celebrate their fifth year together. As will often happen, things are less than ideal: Frannie wants excitement, Hank just wants to chill and Sin City is calling them both to its neon embrace. Before long, Frannie has left and found excitement with a singing waiter (Raul Julia), Hank is tripping the light fantastic with a comely young dancer (Nastassja Kinski) and their poor, put-upon best friends (Harry Dean Stanton and Lainie Kazan, in supporting roles that easily steal the film from every other actor) are trying to help pick up the pieces. Before long, Frannie and Hank will come to realize one important thing: being in love may not be easy but it sure as hell beats the alternative.

First of all, One From the Heart has a pretty unbeatable soundtrack, courtesy of the inimitable Tom Waits. This marked the tail-end of Waits’ drunken troubadour phase, as 1983’s Swordfishtrombones would mark his first full foray into the experimental blues stomps that would characterize the rest of his career. Here, Waits and duet-partner Crystal Gayle are at their loveliest, wrapping the action in the kid of melancholy drinkers’ ballads that could be found on classics like Blue Valentine and Small Change. The score is a perfect accompaniment to the bruised-heart story and is responsible for quite a bit of my goodwill towards the film.

The film also a pretty cool artificial look to it, which makes sense considering Coppola built his version of Las Vegas entirely on soundstages at his new American Zoetrope Studios. While other might disagree (and the extensive sets were certainly one of the reasons why the film went so far over budget), I really liked the look, especially in any of the scenes involving the sign/mascot “graveyard.” As mentioned earlier, Stanton (two years before Repo Man) and Kazan (a few years away from Lust in the Dust) are pretty great in the film: I wish they had at least twice the screen-time, if not more.

What didn’t work for me? Lots of the acting, to be honest, especially from Forrest, Garr, Julia and Kinski. Julia isn’t bad but Kinski is super-obnoxious, reminding me of nothing so much as the “manic-pixie-girls” that currently glut indie-romantic cinema. Forrest and Garr are fairly generic: we don’t necessarily buy them as being in  love, which makes everything else in the film seem sort of silly. As befits the style, much of the film tends to be very theatrical and at least one of the big song-and-dance sequences (a routine that manages to mix Saturday Night Fever with the Vegas Strip) is head-smackingly dumb.

For all of these faults, however, One From the Heart is still a pretty amiable film. At times (although not often), the film is even quite beautiful, reminding me of some of Jeunet’s early work. As mentioned earlier, the music is pretty magical and it’s always great to see Harry Dean Stanton and Lainie Kazan in anything. Did this deserve to tank Coppola’s career and introduce the world to Jack? Absolutely not. Was this a worthy follow-up to Apocalypse Now? Magic 8-Ball says “Very doubtful.”

And then, of course, it was time for me to be really surprised. While I’m a huge animation fan, I must admit that modern big-budget animated features do very little for me. As a rule, I find them to be too crude, self-referential and filled with disposable pop culture minutiae, the cartoon equivalent of those loathsome “Scary/Disaster/Whatever” film “parodies” that continue to crop up like weeds. Nevertheless, it is Oscar season and I’m committed to seeing as many of the nominees as humanly possible. Since Dreamworks’ The Croods was nominated for Best Animated Feature, I figured I might as well sit through it. After all, it had to be more entertaining than Dirty Wars or American Hustle, right?

And how! Without hyperbole, I can honestly say that I fell in love with this pretty quickly and stayed in love for the entire running time. Similar to The Castle, this is a film about family, first and foremost, and their take on this is decidedly less snarky and screeching than most. With Nicholas “The Fury” Cage playing patriarch Grug, I was worried that this would end up being an over-the-top affair like Shrek. As luck would have it, however, this was Cage with a modicum of restraint and a maximum of charm: not only is his character perfectly lovable, he’s also perfectly realized as the overly protective father/husband/cave-man. The rest of the voice talent is equally great: Emma Stone projects the right blend of defiance and naiety as Eep; Catherine Keener is always great and she’s no less so as mother Ugga; Ryan Reynolds is actually very likeable as Guy; and Cloris Leachman, essentially, reprises her role from Raising Grace, to great effect.

There are plenty of good life lessons to be found here, none of which are delivered with a particularly heavy hand. At heart, The Croods is about the importance of family and the need to face your fears rather than giving in to them. When their cave is destroyed by an earthquake, The Croods must travel across uncharted territory in order to find a new place to live. Along the way, they meet Guy and his delightful sloth friend Belt (quite possibly one of the cutest critters in a long line of animated sidekicks), a ravenous sabre-toothed tiger (which becomes Grug’s pet in one of the sweetest, heartwarming scenes in the whole film) and discover lots of new creatures.

Their discovery of the new creatures is, in my opinion, one of the best aspects of The Croods. There were two ways that the filmmakers could have gone about the Croods discovering their new world. On the one hand, we could be shown creatures that are old to us (dinosaurs, big mammals, etc…) but new to the Croods. There’s nothing wrong with this tact, although it certainly makes it a little more difficult for an audience to feel the same sense of wonder. On the other hand, the filmmakers could attempt to find a way to make the discoveries new to us, as well, so that we can experience the Croods new world with the same sense of wonder and excitement that they do. To my great delight, they chose option number 2.

To this end, the filmmakers unleash their imaginations and go hog-wild with some incredibly clever animal-hybrids: we get flying turtle-parrots, land-walking whale-elephants, ferocious owl-cats and multi-colored bird-tigers. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be a “regular” animal anywhere in the film, unless one counts the versatile Belt. There’s so much stuff happening in the margins of the screen that I’m assuming multiple views are necessary to really see everything. Couple this with some truly gorgeous animation (the first time they see the night sky is nothing short of magical), some really suspenseful action scenes (the bit where Guy and Grug are trapped in tar is pretty great) and some truly funny dialogue (“He’s riding the sun!…But not very well.”), and the replay factor for The Croods is pretty high.

Ultimately, The Croods was a film that surprised me early and often. I went into it expecting to see some slick, well-produced but ultimately soulless piece of Hollywood animation. What I got, however, was a gorgeous film with tons of imagination, heart and spirit, a movie that hearkened back to the glory days of animation with none of the needless self-reference of today (if there were any allusions or nods to current pop culture trends/issues in the film, they must have gone largely over my head).

As I’ve done with every Oscar-nominated film, thus far, I’ve asked myself the same question: did this film deserve to get nominated and can it actually win the prize? In this instance? Yes and yes.

1/11/14: Chills, Thrills and Groans

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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.