7/29/15 (Part Three): Uncle Herschell’s Dirty Movies

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1960's films, adults only, auteur theory, bachelor party, bad films, Blood Feast, Bonnie Clark, casual sex, cheating fiances, cinema, Dee Howard, Ed Wood, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, flashback narrative, flashbacks, Forman Shane, go-go dancers, Godfather of Gore, grindhouse, Herschell Gordon Lewis, houseboat, infidelity, James Brand, Jeanette Mills, lingerie salesman, lost films, Mark Hansen, Movies, non-professional actors, pseudonyms, set in 1960s, sexploitation films, Sharon Matt, soft-core, strippers, Suede Barstow, Swingers, terrible films, the 1960s, The Ecstacies of Women, The Wizard of Gore, Two Thousand Maniacs!, Victoria Bond, Vincene Wallace, Walter Camp, William Allen Castleman, William Vickers, writer-director-cinematographer, X-rated films

With some directors, you never know what you’re going to get from one production to the next: they might try out a few new techniques, opt to shoot in a completely different format, attempt a genre they’ve never tried before, move on from “popcorn movies” to “prestige films”…with some filmmakers, it’s all about shaking it up, constantly moving and evolving in order to prevent falling into a rut. The progression from the first film to the thirteenth? The difference between fish with legs and early Homo Sapiens. And then, of course, there’s Herschell Gordon Lewis.

Across a career that’s spanned over five decades, Lewis (the original “Godfather of Gore”) has been responsible for some of the most amateurish, inept and flat-out mind-boggling films to ever screen in actual theaters (grindhouses count, folks). Touching on everything from “nudie-cutie” movies and soft-core sexploitation flicks to outrageously splatterific horror films and impossibly wrong-headed treatises on social mores, Lewis has jumped genres with reckless abandon, even if he’s still most famous for his gore epics like Blood Feast (1963), Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964) and The Wizard of Gore (1970). Indeed, the only constant in his impressively broad career has been the excruciatingly bad quality of his films.

You see, for all of his passion, drive, inherent chutzpah and genuine innovations (in almost every way, shape and form, the world had never seen anything like Blood Feast, especially in the dawning of the ’60s), ol’ Herschell is a truly terrible filmmaker. To a one, his films are characterized by non-professional actors doing their best to maintain character, poverty-row sets, an inability to do anything with the camera but set it in one place and hit “record,” some of the worst sound recording in cinematic history, the appearance of lights and equipment in every other shot…you name it, Lewis has done it. As writer, director and cinematographer of his films, Lewis is a true auteur, albeit one more closely aligned with Ed Wood than, say, Orson Welles.

For all of this, however, one fact remains plainly evident: despite their endless shortcomings, Lewis’ films have another common denominator…they’re (usually) a tremendous amount of fun. As someone who grew up on his gore films (I’m not ashamed to admit that Two Thousand Maniacs! is one of the greatest horror films of all time, regardless of the quality), Lewis has been a go-to of mine for some years now. Despite this, however, I was woefully ignorant about his other films, particularly the soft-core adult films that were liberally sprinkled throughout his career. Of these films, a couple were considered “lost” to the world at large until they popped-up several years back. The Ecstacies of Women (1969) is one of those films. It is, of course, absolutely terrible.

In a nutshell, The Ecstacies of Women concerns Harry (Walter Camp) and the bachelor party thrown by his friends, Gene (William Vickers), Fred (James Brand) and Ted (Forman Shane). As the guys hang out at a strip-club and ogle the awkward dancers (there really is no other word to describe them), Harry entertains the others with “wild” stories about his numerous sexual conquests, all by way of “purging his system” for his upcoming nuptials.

The pattern is so simple that it’s basically a loop: the guys sit around, conversing in ways that could never be considered natural (everyone seems genuinely drunk, for one thing, which might explain a lot) before Harry puts his head back and seems to go into a coma. This, of course, is our cue that we’re about to move into the “adults only” portion of the program. If anyone out there thinks things get better from there, let me remove all doubt: they get much, much worse.

All-in-all, we get several different vignettes involving Harry and his random conquests. Harry picks up a woman (Jeanette Mills) in a bar, takes her back to his houseboat to “model lingerie” (he’s a traveling lingerie salesman, dontcha know) and proceeds to grope her into orgasm. Harry gets picked up by an aggressive health-freak on the beach (Vincene Wallace), takes her back to his houseboat and proceeds to grope her into orgasm. Harry gets picked up by an aggressive teenager (Sharon Matt) while parked at a stoplight, takes her back to his houseboat and proceeds to grope her to orgasm. Finally, we get the piece de resistance as Harry, Gene, Fred and Ted take a bunch of strippers back to the houseboat and proceed to grope them into orgasm. Harry decides to run away with Summer Frenzy (Bonnie Clark, who seems to be on heroin for the entirety of her performance, at least judging by her slurred speech, unfocused eyes and baffling “performance”), leaving his unlucky (very, very lucky?) future spouse in the lurch. The End.

Lest it seem from the above description that there’s an overwhelming sense of repetition to what we see, let me clarify it: the whole film is, essentially, the very same scene played out, multiple times, with slightly different people. Each of the “dream sequences” lasts for about 20 minutes (most of which are awkward dialogue scenes that don’t seem improvised so much as dropped from the sky, like bird shit) and features Harry dry-humping and pawing his nude conquests. For variety, Harry sometimes wears his tighty-whities during the “action,” while other scenes give us glorious shots of his pale, pimply ass. There’s never any sense of “realism” to the scenes, which mostly involve Harry fondling bare breasts until over-dubbed heavy breathing indicates a sprint to the finish-line.

There’s absolutely nothing sexy, titillating or, to be honest, particularly interesting about anything that happens. In fact, The Ecstacies of Women might be the single dullest film that I’ve ever had the misfortune to sit through, regardless of the “adults only” designation. As with all of Lewis’ films, the camera-work is as basic as it comes, the non-professional actors constantly flub their lines and talk over each other (one amazing scene features the guys trying their damnedest not to crack up as one “actor” manages to call everyone by the wrong name, several times) and the whole thing looks about as ugly as could be expected.

We could talk about the film’s representations of women, the sex-positive natures of the encounters (at the very least, everyone seems to be having fun, although I’m not quite sure how) or the ridiculously “groovy” catchphrases that must have made this hopelessly dated the week after it came out. We could put a little thought into it but, really: who the hell would we be kidding? The Ecstacies of Women is pure crap, through and through, the kind of oddity that no one could possibly take seriously. In certain ways, the film is absolutely critic-proof: who goes into a Herschell Gordon Lewis film (especially one of his skin flicks) expecting anything more than what’s been presented here?

While I can usually find at least something to recommend in a film (satisfying curiosity, if nothing else), I find myself at a complete loss here: unless you’re a Herschell Gordon Lewis completist (or Mark Hansen, as his pseudonym reads here) or the kind of person who prizes non-acting, tone-deaf dialogue and unattractive people pretending to have sex…well, friend…there’s just not much for ya here.

To quote Harry’s immortal final words: “Gang, goodbye. Goodbye, gang.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

 

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1/3/15 (Part Five): Reset Your Life

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action films, alien invasion, alternate title, based on a graphic novel, Best of 2014, Bill Paxton, Brendan Gleeson, Christopher McQuarrie, cinema, covert military action, Dion Beebe, Doug Liman, Edge of Tomorrow, Emily Blunt, favorite films, film reviews, films, Go, Groundhog Day, Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth, Jonas Armstrong, Kick Gurry, Live Die Repeat, Mimics, Movies, multiple writers, Omega Mimic, regeneration, sci-fi, science-fiction, special-effects extravaganza, super soldiers, Swingers, The Bourne Identity, Tom Cruise, Tony Way, unable to die, video game, video games

When I call Doug Liman’s Edge of Tomorrow (2014) the best video game movie I’ve ever seen, understand that’s neither sarcasm nor a pejorative: it really is the one film that perfectly encapsulates everything that’s great about video games and successfully translates it to the big screen. Like the best video games, it’s got a gripping storyline to lead from one action setpiece to the next, a wannabe hero who becomes our avatar into the action and a precise understanding of the importance of multiple lives and the need to reset the whole game from time to time. The fact that Edge of Tomorrow can function as the equivalent of a life-action video game and still maintain enough genuine emotional heft and three-dimensional characters to seem like the furthest thing from a video game is one of the reasons why the film was one of the best of 2014.

Functioning as sort of a first-person-shooter take on Groundhog Day (1993), we get dropped into a reality where the Earth is under attack from an alien menace dubbed the Mimics. The Mimics are horrendously lethal, tentacled monstrosities that prove especially efficient at destroying soft-skinned humans and have proceeded to put the entire species into a serious headlock. After we develop exo-suit technology and creat “super soldiers,” however, we begin to fight back against the extraterrestrial menace and slowly make headway. The forces of humanity are now gathering for a last, desperate push against the Mimic threat on the European front (ala World War 2), a campaign that is being called “Operation Downfall.”

Into this set-up, we get the snide, arrogant, paper-pushing personality of Major William Cage (Tom Cruise). A proud desk jockey and bureaucrat, Cage is the furthest thing from a soldier, despite his rank. He gets the nasty shock of a lifetime, therefore, when he’s called before the imposing person of General Brigham (Brendan Gleeson) and ordered to the frontline. Stripped of his rank, labeled a coward and handed over to the tender mercies of Master Sargeant Farell (Bill Paxton) and the rowdy grunts of J Squad, Cage is pretty much a sitting duck. Once he actually gets to the battlefield, however, he quickly becomes a cooked duck. Game over.

Until, that is, Cage wakes up back at the army base, on the morning of his previous death. Through some sort of exposure to the Mimic’s blood, Cage has now acquired their ability to “reset the day,” as it were: every time he dies, he’s just brought right back to the base, in the morning. As he works through this horrendous case of deja vu, Cage comes into contact with a highly skilled “super-soldier,” Sgt. Rita Pitaki (Emily Blunt), who knows exactly what he’s going through: after all, she used to have the same “condition” until recently. Rita wants to use Cage’s ability to put an end to the Mimic menace once and for all: if he can lead them to the Omega Mimic (and keep dying/resetting in the process), the human forces will be able to strike a decisive victory against the enemy, ending the nightmare.

Cage, however, is such a wimp that he can’t survive in the fury of battle for five minutes, let alone the length of time it will take to lead them to the Omega Mimic. Cue a rigorous training regime that will see poor Cage “die” more times than…well, than your usual video game character, shall we say. Over time, however, Rita is able to bludgeon Cage into the kind of soldier who just might have a chance out there. The odds are never less than dicey, however, and treacherous revelations lie around every corner. Will Cage be able to play this game through to the end or will he lose his last life trying?

First off, Edge of Tomorrow is an absolute blast, a non-stop thrill ride that leaves you breathless from the jump and never flags in energy, invention or wit for the entirety of its runtime time. Director Liman, working with a screenplay from genre virtuoso Christopher McQuarrie and Jez and John-Henry Butterworth, is an absolute wizard at crafting show-stopping action sequences and the entire film is a ridiculous amount of fun to watch. One of my big complaints with modern action films is that the action sequences are always staged in ways that are too needlessly kinetic, robbing the scenes of any sense of fluidity or space. This is definitely not the problem with Edge of Tomorrow, which manages to be non-stop, yet orderly enough to allow for the action sequences to have their own individual quirks and not devolve into blurs of motion.

The film also looks great, with a fully established world that feels lived in and authentic, while maintaining a kind of hyper-reality: again, very reminiscent of modern video games. Cinematographer Dion Beebe, whose resume includes things like Holy Smoke (1999), Chicago (2002) and the recent adaptation of Into the Woods (2014), turns in some suitably stunning images and the effects work is all top-notch.

While Cruise would probably be a huge draw for many viewers, I’ve never been an automatic fan of his: it really depends on the film, as far as I’m concerned. In this case, Cruise is a natural fit for the role of Major Cage and he turns in one of my favorite performances of his in years. Smug, self-serving and vaguely slimy, Cage is positioned as the least likable character you can imagine, yet Cruise is able to develop that into someone who’s a charismatic hero, by the film’s final reel. It’s a really neat hat trick and Cruise is incredibly likable here: I can see why he’s still regarded as a matinée idol. There’s a nuance and sense of irony to his performance that’s quite nice and he manages to pull some genuinely funny moments out of the film, as well (the bit where he bites it rolling under a car is absolutely hilarious, as is the bit where he gets “reset” after breaking his back).

Cruise receives excellent support from Emily Blunt, who turns in a nicely asskicking turn as Rita. She’s always believable as the cold-blooded soldier, yet her subtle emotional turns help posit her as a more three-dimensional character. Blunt and Cruise make a great team, to boot, and the two have genuine chemistry: the scenes where they slowly slog through the battle, inch by inch, are masterpieces of action yet still retain a surprising amount of intimacy.

The supporting cast is equally great, with veterans like Brendan Gleeson and Bill Paxton turning in some fantastic work, along with folks like Jonas Armstrong, Tony Way and Kick Gurry, who bring vivid life to the soldiers of J Squad. In fact, there’s no one performance that comes across as awkward, off or just flat-out awful: everyone in the cast gives consistently strong, believable performances, from the principals to the walk-ons. The film is pulpy, to be sure, but the acting still manages to be broad without sliding over into self-parody or stupidity.

I honestly wasn’t expecting Edge of Tomorrow to be anything special: if anything, I expected it would be nothing more than a glossy, well-made, big-budget studio film that was loud, frenetic and utterly devoid of meaning. Instead, the film ends up being a whip-smart, funny, thrilling and endlessly fun spectacle that slows down just enough for some character development but never enough to let up on the adrenaline. It also looked so good that I instantly regretted not seeing it in a legitimate theater: cest la vie, I suppose. While I enjoyed Liman’s Swingers (1996) back in the day and thought Go (1999) was alright, I never liked his Bourne Identity (2002), mostly because I didn’t care for the staging of the action sequences. Imagine my surprise, then, when the same director manages to helm one of my favorite action films in years. The world really is a funny place, isn’t it?