11/27/15: Fists of Funny

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4/2/14: The Past Always Chokes Me Up

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1970's cinema, alternate title, based on a book, Burnt Offerings, cinema, Don't Look Now, film reviews, films, Full Circle, gauzy camerawork, ghost stories, Ghost Story, horror films, Jill Bennett, Julia, Julia Lofting, Keir Dullea, killer children, medium, Mia Farrow, Movies, Peter Straub, revenge, Richard Loncraine, synth scores, The Haunting of Julia, The Sentinel, Tom Conti

We’re all haunted, to some degree or another, by the past. For some, this haunting is a prison, forcing them to constantly relive past traumas, heartbreaks, defeats and lost loves. For others, the past is something more sentimental, a fond memory to be returned to in the same way that one remembers the smell of freshly baked bread or the unmitigated joy of a snow-day. Each of us must deal with the past in our own ways but few of us, thankfully, are actively hunted by our pasts, forced to look over our shoulders for that feared reminder of what’s coming for us. Sometimes, the past can come back not to haunt us but to tear us limb from limb. In the Haunting of Julia, based on horror icon Peter Straub’s novel Julia, the past is not only a terrible reminder of our own failings but a reminder that we know so little of the mysterious world around us as to know nothing about it at all.

Few popular authors, if any, have made as much of a cottage industry of the inherently sad, frightening nature of the past as Peter Straub has. Beginning with Julia (1975), many of Straub’s best novels have dealt extensively with the ramifications of the past: If You Could See Me Now (1977), Ghost Story (1979), Floating Dragon (1983), The Talisman (1984) and the Blue Rose trilogy of Koko (1988), Mystery (1990) and The Throat (1993). Most of these novels deal with a protagonist who must confront some long-buried past trauma in order to deal with a current threat, usually some sort of vengeance-seeking specter. In this respect, Julia is a pretty typical Straub novel, although The Haunting of Julia ends up being a pretty mixed-bag, as far as films go.

The film begins in happier times, with Julia Lofting (Mia Farrow), her husband Magnus (Keir Dullea) and daughter Kate (Sophie Ward) sitting down for a cozy breakfast. In short order, however, Kate is choking and, in a split second, Julia makes one whopper of a bad decision, leading her beloved daughter to bleed to death in her arms. Needless to say, this puts the final nail in the unhappy coffin that is Julia and Magnus’ marriage, leading her to flee to her own apartment, while Magnus’ sister Lily (Jill Bennett) attempts to maintain some sort of presence in Julia’s life. Julia, still shell-shocked from the traumatic death of her only child, only wants to glide through the rest of her life like a ghost

After Julia begins to experience odd things, including some stereotypically haunted incidents at home and increasing visions of her dead daughter, Lily decides to help by organizing a séance. This goes about as well as can be expected, especially if you’ve seen any other films that feature a séance, and leads the medium, Mrs. Fludd (Anna Wing), to issue one of those classic haunted house warnings: leave this place immediately. Julia doesn’t, of course, and begins to investigate the history of her new abode, with the assistance of her good friend Mark (Tom Conti) and a helpful next-door-neighbor (Pauline Jameson). The more she learns about the mother and daughter who formerly lived there, however, the more that Julia becomes convinced that something very sinister is going on, possibly involving the decades-old murder of a young boy. She’s right, of course, but the truth is a lot more terrible than she figures…and a whole lot more deadly, to boot.

The biggest problem with The Haunting of Julia (alt title: Full Circle), a problem that prevents the film from being completely satisfying, is how similar in tone, plot and look the film is to a grip of existing film. The film has a look (ultra-gauzy camerawork, sepia-tones) that immediately recalls the similarly paced Burnt Offerings (1976), while Julia’s first meeting with Mrs. Braden looks strikingly similar to one of the attic scenes in The Sentinel (1977). Most tellingly, however, is the fact that The Haunting of Julia bears more than a passing resemblance to Nicholas Roeg’s classic Don’t Look Now (1973). In certain ways, The Haunting of Julia is almost a companion piece to Don’t Look Now: both films have similar looks and color palettes, camera movement, pacing and settings, as well as the obvious connection that both films deal with parents coping with the death of a child. I’ve never been the biggest fan of Don’t Look Now, to be honest, mostly due to the ridiculous “twist”ending that still makes me smack my forehead after all these years. The ending to The Haunting of Julia is much more poetic and “serious,” although it’s just as non-sensical.

In fact, one of the single biggest issues with The Haunting of Julia is how little sense it ultimately makes. Many of the revelations seem to be rather arbitrary and I’m still not sure what the overall point was: I’m inclined to think that the film was a thinly veiled treatise on the inherent issues associated with divorce in the mid-’70s but what do I know? Once the film settles down into its “vengeful ghost” scenario, it barrels ahead boldly, rarely looking back but never bothers to do anything about the rapidly growing plot holes. By the end, the film has, essentially, collapsed into a soggy mess that’s one part Final Destination, one part Don’t Look Now and a little bit Repulsion. While the ending is quite beautiful, visually, and leads to a tremendously effective final image, it makes absolutely no sense. After it was over, I found myself thinking back to see if I might have missed something that would clear things up: although I’m pretty sure I didn’t, it’s also possible that the film’s structure was a bit thornier than I gave it credit for. Regardless, the finale is certainly a textbook example of “style over substance.”

On the plus side, the atmosphere in The Haunting of Julia is genuinely effective and frequently quite chilling. The synth score, which frequently reminded me of Goblin’s work for Argento, was pretty fantastic and the acting is pretty even, although Farrow has a tendency to be a bit hysterical at times (which often suits the character…until it doesn’t). Perhaps I would have enjoyed the film more if it had managed to stake out a little more original territory. As it stands, however, The Haunting of Julia spent so much time reminding me of other, better films that I had a difficult time really appreciating it on its own merits. If you’re a fan of glacially-paced, slow-burning ghost stories, The Haunting of Julia should have enough genuine chills to entertain on a sleepy weekend. Otherwise, you’d probably be better served checking out one of its undeniable influences.

2/17/14: These are Mean Times

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action films, Assault on Precinct 13, Austin Stoker, auteur theory, B-movies, child killing, cinema, classic movies, claustrophic, Darwin Joston, Douglas Knapp, favorite films, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, gang members, Halloween, iconic film scores, John Carpenter, Lalo Schifrin, low-budget films, Movies, Napoleon Wilson, police station, score, siege, synth scores, working together

Anyone who knows me well knows that pinning me down on my favorite anything can be an exercise in frustration: my specific lists of favorite films, music, TV shows, food, etc…tend to change not so much on a regular basis but on a moment-to-moment basis. Stick around long enough and, chances are, you’ll hear me call at least two separate things “the greatest ______ ever,” if not five separate things. This isn’t to say that I’m necessarily fickle with my entertainment loves: rather, I try to constantly expose myself to new films, music, etc, which often has the effect of displacing some of my previous loves.

That being said, however, there are still a few films that never quite leave the “Best of…” list, even if their ultimate position in said list tends to be constantly changing. The Good, The Bad and the Ugly is one of those films, as is The Godfather and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Goodfellas and Taxi Driver are both on there, of course, because I can’t have a  favorites list without some Scorcese. It goes without saying that John Carpenter’s seminal Halloween is on the list but there’s another Carpenter film that, for me, is even more of a no-brainer for inclusion. This is a film so perfect that I ceased looking for flaws at least a decade ago and have simply accepted its place in the ultimate list of my life: somewhere right around the top, maybe bumping shoulders with Faith No More, Travis Bickle and Leatherface. It’s a movie that, if I’m being honest with myself, I actually like more than Halloween. The film? Assault on Precinct 13. Why do I love it so much? Let me count the ways.

Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13 is one of those cases where the individual parts of a movie, while mighty on their own, come together to form something akin to the Voltron of exploitation cinema. We start with Carpenter’s iconic synth score, including that mammoth theme song. For me, this provokes a near Pavlovian response, similar to the one I get from Morricone’s essential score for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly: every time I hear that series of terse, clipped notes, followed by that simmering synth stab, I get a little adrenaline rush, a little tickle in the back of my reptile brain. This is the “ass-kicking” cortex getting stimulated and the Assault on Precinct 13 theme is its cellphone ringer. Pair this theme with the stark red letters on black screen opening credits and the film seems classic before it even properly begins.

Carpenter’s score is a whole lot more than just that jagged, robotic call-to-arms, however. There’s a moody piece in the score that plays during Bishop’s arrival at Precinct 13 (as well as the aftermath of the “shoot-in”) that ranks as one of my favorite pieces of film music ever, including such luminous peers as the sweeping Godfather score and Morricone’s aforementioned Good, Bad, Ugly score. It’s a melancholy, nearly bluesy bit that reminds me of Lalo Schifrin’s score for Dirty Harry (another of my all-time favorite film/score combos) and is so perfectly evocative that it almost tells a story on its own. It’s a pensive piece that neatly serves as a theme for Bishop’s thoughtful, quiet leadership style.

The score, by turns ominous and melancholy, perfectly underscores the film’s themes and walks hand-in-hand with the stark, gritty visuals. Shot by Carpenter’s Dark Star cinematographer Douglas Knapp (on what would end up being his last feature film work, to date), Assault on Precinct 13 has a washed-out, sun-bleached look that recalls Dirty Harry, yet manages to incorporate the deep-focus elements that would become so familiar when Halloween rampaged across movie screens two years later. As in Halloween, there’s a lot in Assault on Precinct 13 that occurs on the edges of the frame: figures skulking about, the sudden appearance (or disappearance) of a character. The tight framing handily evokes a constant, sustained feeling of claustrophobia throughout the film, while the washed-out color palette gives everything a subtly doomed feel.

As with everything else in the film, Assault on Precinct 13th’s plot is lean, mean and fat-free: on the eve that a small, isolated police station in one of the worst parts of the city is about to be shuttered, a tiny skeleton crew of officers and prisoners must make a desperate stand against a seemingly endless army of blood-thirsty, armed-to-the-teeth gang members. With no hope of rescue or reinforcements until the wee hours of the morning, Lt. Bishop (Austin Stoker), Leigh (Laurie Zimmer) and notorious convict Napoleon Wilson (Darwin Joston) must use their wits, resolve and whatever weapons they can scrounge together to keep from becoming more casualties of the mean streets.

And that’s it, folks: no meandering B and C stories…no unnecessary romantic subplots…no drifting off into tangents that dilute the overall impact…just 90 minutes of pure survival. This isn’t to say that there isn’t any character development or that everyone is flat: far from it. Rather, Carpenter has written an excellent, tight script that allows characters to develop organically, rather than exist merely as convenient genre stereotypes. Bishop and Wilson, on their own, are two of the most fascinating genre creations to ever grace the silver screen: neither one comes across as clichéd and I’ve always found myself wondering what happened to the characters after the film ended. Hell, I often find myself wondering what happened to the characters before the movie started and I’m a guy that pretty much abhors prequels. In this case, however, I’ve always been dying to know what Napoleon did that was so terrible and what happened to Lt. Bishop as a young man. It’s a testament to Carpenter’s writing that he’s left me wanting more, just like a good book.

All of these elements add up to a lot but they wouldn’t add up to a righteously kick-ass action film without some righteously kick-ass action sequences, now would they? Fear not, friends and neighbors: Assault on Precinct 13th has this covered. From the Western-esque scene where about one million gang members shoot approximately 4 billion bullets into the station house to the edge-of-the-seat finale where Bishop and Wilson hold off a snarling, feral mob in a narrow corridor from behind the world’s tiniest barricade, Assault on Precinct 13 very rarely comes up for air. In fact, the film is so tense that the pressure kicks on in the first frames (thanks to that epic theme) and is ratcheted up before we even get to the police station: by that point, the film is ready to explode…and does.

The acting, like everything else in Assault on Precinct 13, is impeccable. Although the cast is filled with unfamiliar faces and lacks the recognizable appeal of a Donald Pleasence, they work together quite beautifully. In particular, special recognition must be given to the two leads: Austin Stoker and Darwin Joston.

Stoker brings a real sense of quiet dignity and resolve to Lt. Bishop, qualities that almost bring him more in line with traditional Western heroes than with law enforcement ones. Joston, on the other hand, plays Napoleon Wilson with just the right amount of Southern charm, self-deprecation and quiet menace. Stoker and Joston have real chemistry together and I’ve always wished that the two could have gone on to do other “buddy”-type films. Missed opportunities notwithstanding, the friendship between the black police officer and the white, Southern convict brings some emotional heft to the story and makes the ending genuinely powerful: as Bishop and Wilson stand in the debris, a “rescuing” officer attempts to grab the prisoner, only to be violently shoved away by Lt. Bishop. After staring down the over-eager officer, Bishop walks Wilson out with the dignity and respect that he’s earned over the course of the siege. It’s a big, powerful moment and it never fails to get me in the gut every time: follow that with a quick cut back to the red text/black background with the theme playing and I stand and salute every single damn time.

At the end of the day, I have a lot of concrete reasons for loving Assault on Precinct 13: the acting is fantastic, the cinematography is moody and claustrophobic, the script is smart, the dialogue cracks, the relationship between Bishop and Wilson feels completely genuine and the score is absolutely superb. For me, these all seem like ingredients in a sure-fire formula for a perfect film. More than anything, however, there’s a feeling I get from watching this film that’s hard to quite explain. I’ll never stop watching Halloween or The Thing but there’s just something about Assault on Precinct 13 that really gets to me on a primal level. Perhaps it’s because we live in such a hard world and it seems like the streets of the Anderson Precinct could become a reality at any time. Perhaps it’s because the film so gloriously upholds that most human and beautiful of beliefs: as long as you can breathe, you can keep fighting.