Thoughts on Cinema

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I mailed in yet another performance for a buck.

The son of an Undertaker tried to scam the clergy for free education but ended up getting more than he bargained for when he interned with an exorcist. The Rite was the perfect cinematic instrument of faith that served as an entertaining commercial for joining the ministry of faith. While it was based off a true story, battling demons had little to do with one’s relationship with God but it most certainly sold an entertaining lifestyle of traveling to Rome, taking classes in the apple store looking Vatican classrooms, and fighting demons under the Tuscan sun.

As the reluctant protagonist, Actor Colin O’Donoghue was more form than function. Taking the cloth to the GQ extreme, his pretty boy cynicism was an easy sell but he undersold the transition to a reluctant believer. Hiring established thespians, Anthony Hopkins, Rutger Hauer, and Toby Jones to serve, as lynchpins didn’t hurt either in trying to make the film more appealable. However, their roles are foreplay to the center of the story, which has to little do with faith and has more in common with the prequel to the Exorcist.

Converting the cynic is nothing new but the story telling and acting was fresher in 1408.

Jan Mikael Håfström, director of 1408, tried to tell a tale about the trouble in men’s souls but there’s just too much eye candy between O’Donoghue and Alica Braga. Like any story based off truth, too many distractions from Michael Kovak’s relationship with his father ended up making the story cliché on top of being formulaic. The camerawork repetitive and effects nothing of the extraordinary. In essence, there’s just not enough material in the Rite to substantiate it as a movie. Hence, there’s not enough to write about the Rite.

The Rite rates as a beer with no defining characteristics that would make you want to order another any time soon.

Cheers,

Where's my straw goddam it?

Ron

Back in the 80s Wes Craven invented a new horror franchise with an iconic monster who attacked teenagers in their dreams. In yet another prime example of horror retreads gone horribly wrong, the modern re-telling of A Nightmare on Elm Street delivered none of the pop-corny, sugar rush fun. Instead Director Samuel Bayer delivered the theatrical release of Dateline’s To Catch a Predator.

Jackie Earl Haley played a very straight edged, no nonsense Freddy. He didn’t waste any time getting down to business. Every brooding teenage victim had their appointment with the sommelier of nightmares. Most teenagers party, drink, and have sex without parental supervision but these teenage victims brood. The decision to strip the sex appeal out of A Nightmare on Elm Street was a bold move because the detached sleep deprived teens definitely fit the profile of disturbed children. However fleshing out the truth behind their behavior made Freddy Krueger secondary to such a transparent story.

The critical flaw in the modern version of A Nightmare on Elm Street was the omission of Nancy’s father who was the town sheriff. In Craven’s version, the relationship between Nancy and her father was an important dynamic in a role reversal of authority. Nancy’s dad, the most powerful authority figure in the town, was powerless to protect his only girl from a man he killed. Hence his ignorance forced a desperate Nancy, the main protagonist to take matters into her own hands. Thus, what began as a whiny screaming teenager developed into a strong willed survivor. In this film, the Sheriff role was reduced and demoted to the father of Nancy’s potential boyfriend. He became a character that went nowhere. Hence, multi-talented Clancy Brown had very little to work with. Without the father-daughter dynamic, this modern take on the development of the Nancy character just didn’t feel quite so complete without a better designed transition scene. The elements were there but the director didn’t make better use of the parental roles. In fact, they were so non-existent that it might have been a better departure from the original if the kids were orphans unaware of their past.

Bayer, renown for the music videos of Metallica and Garbage, didn’t favor the build up of suspense. He substituted Craven’s “the thrill of the hunt” approach with creative camera effects and disturbing visuals. However such stationary targets undermined the entertaining savagery of Krueger’s kills.

Alas, the film took itself too seriously. A Nightmare on Elm Street led you to believe Freddy was a pedophile who raped these teens when they were too little to remember. One wonders who made the executive decision that it wasn’t enough to kill a child to be a heinous monster but now, the monster had to molest them before killing them? Maybe if the teens had molested Fred Krueger but blocked it out of their minds, Bayer might have had something. It’s just un-necessary to make something that was inherent to be explicit if there was nothing to add.

In my three liquor rating scale of one bourbon, one scotch, and one beer The Nightmare on Elm Street remake rated a very dissatisfied flat beer with two flies.

Cheers,
Ron

Perhaps nothing satisfies your craving for top shelf, lowbrow humor quite like a John Landis film. From the Kentucky Fried Movie, Animal House, and the Blues Brothers, one should be prepared for sleazy, raunchy satirical fun. Yet Landis’ crude but effective tactics never failed to pay tribute to the works that inspired him. If imitation is the best form of flattery, An American Werewolf in London was a fitting 80s tribute to the 1941 classic, the Wolf man starring Lon Chaney Jr. In this re-telling of a grim tale, two NYU college kids were backpacking across the English countryside on a damp cool night until a vicious man-beast would forever change their fortunes.

Unless you’ve been living on the moon, one would find it extremely difficult not to have some preconceived knowledge of the werewolf curse. Werewolves continue to be one of the oldest folklore legends, so Landis made the executive decision not to waste any time with the origin of the curse. In the London hospital, the bitten survivor played by David Naughton literally referenced Lon Chaney Jr in the Wolf Man in order to blatantly spell out a familiar fate for our sympathetic character that conveniently shared the bed of his Florence Nightingale.

The film attempted no plot twists but Landis upgraded the main character’s guilt with visceral visuals of David’s nightmares and hallucinations generated by his subconscious. It’s a crude but inventive way to externalize, internalized thoughts. It’s also a vehicle to utilize some of the greatest special effects artists in the history of cinema that continue to be spoken about today. In the third act when David sat in the XXX movie theatre and spoke to his deceased best friend, one wondered if this later inspired a similar scene in Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko. Horrific imagery might have undermined the actor’s ability to project a tortured soul but it fit Landis’ personality to perfection.

If you’ve seen this film before, try substituting the werewolf curse for socialized medicine and one might have some refreshing fun in a second take. An American college kid backpacked across England, jumped by hooligans, and taken to a London hospital. Now reconstitute this film with every public servant having dismissed a crazy American believing in the infectious idea of affordable healthcare but never doubting its existence before having to put him down for good.

In my trois liquor rating scale of one bourbon one Scotch and one beer, An American Werewolf in London rated a relaxing fall beer as a guilty pleasure to share with old friends during this Halloween.

Cheers,
Ron

Cronos, Mimic, Blade II, Hellboy, and Hellboy II: The Golden Army highlights a healthy body of work by Mexican filmmaker Guillermo del Toro. A master storyteller who mixes bizarre visual language with desperate characters caught in a maelstrom of danger. It’s this fragile emotional sense of loss conveyed by these isolated characters at their most vulnerable moments that gives Del Toro’s films meaning and transcends all language barriers.

Much like its successor Pan’s Labyrinth, the characters were swept up in the middle of the Spanish Civil War in The Devil’s Backbone. A naïve boy named Carlos was given sanctuary in an orphanage haunted by a dark secret. Like Carlos, the audience was isolated from what was going on in the orphanage. What appeared to be an institution with good intentions harbored something evil. A giant defused bomb served as an ominous metaphor that was symbolic of the infidelity, murder, and hidden treasure subplots. More than just a poltergeist, this Spanish film had a lot of rich subtext to its story. It was as much a coming of age story as it was a horror film.

As a brilliant storyteller, Del Toro slowly but surely mixed all the ingredients to a steady boil. At a very young age, Carlos was left in the care of strangers. He was forced to adjust to his new existence. As the new kid on the block, he had to earn his place amongst the other orphans. His interactions with the other characters revealed pieces to the puzzle. What happened to the previous occupant of bed #12? As Carlos delved deeper into the mystery of Santi, it became clear the threat within the Orphanage exceeded the dangers that it was supposed to shelter him from.

The Devil’s Backbone didn’t rely on jump scares but the uncomfortable feeling of being alone and vulnerable. The film was a play on what we don’t understand and what we would rather believe. It didn’t have to rely on the look of the apparition itself because the suspense was generated with care. The horror was in knowing something awful was going to happen but not knowing exactly when. It’s this off balance feeling of terror where the film’s effectiveness was instrumental.

When the story concluded, every character paid the consequences for their involvement as the overlapping storylines drew to a close. No evil was left unpunished and some things cannot be left behind.

In my three liquor grading scale of One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer, the Devil’s Backbone rated as a very rich dark beer during the fall as the October nights grow closer towards Halloween.

Cheers,
Ron

Duane Jones played the last man with a brain, literally.

After more than 40 years and thousands of movie reviews later, Night of the Living Dead continues to inspire and recycle horror fans from one generation to the next. So much has been written about this 1968 classic, any movie critic would be severely challenged to say anything that hasn’t been said before. However, this isn’t a review to challenge movie critics but rather to compliment its enjoyment for fans and critics alike. 

With the brand of visceral cruelty that modern horror films seem to favor, it’s hard to believe that in 1968 teenagers were disturbed by the violence in Night of the Living Dead. Even by today’s standards of a PG-13 rating, the method by which the violence in this film was shot seemed amateurish except for the fact that any female character slapped by a man would eventually have papers served by the end credits. Yet, this film still has some revolutionary elements today. 

Some 40+ years later horror films still haven’t really warmed up to an African American lead or minority protagonists in general. Duane Jones played such a straight arrow that any man could relate to him. As Ben he finds himself in a situation that he doesn’t understand. Ben knew he had to keep his wits about him in order to survive. Audiences who rooted for him against the overwhelming odds, felt the ending was an agitating cruel twist of fate. Jones commanded the big screen when he described the gruesome sight of body parts torn apart as he drove a truck through a crowd of zombies. At that point, the film transcended racial differences because any audience can relate to the physical and psychological struggle. Never mind Jack Johnson’s coined phrase, “the great white hope.” Ben was the America’s last hope for sanity in an insane world plagued by zombies.

Night of the Living Dead never relied solely on jump scares. The slow drawn out build of suspense was its bread and butter. Any audience was aware of what was coming because a majority of the shots placed the unaware victim in the foreground with the infectious zombie horde slowly advancing into overwhelming numbers. The pacing was so drawn out that today it might require some patience and restraint not to scream out “run goddam it”. Still the film had a design where every encounter with the undead had a subtle, calculated build up that almost caught one slightly off guard. A few zombies might not seem formidable but a claustrophobic climax with a relentless horde presented a different effect. 

Romero’s ground breaking film might never have the same theatre value with ticket prices far from the 1968 prices. However, the orchestra soundtrack will always continue to delight anyone hosting friends in their home with entertainment centres and cozy couches. Night of the Living Dead will always be the perfect conversation starter for all ages of horror fans alike because its the beginning of many good things to come.

In my homage to George Thorogood’s one bourbon, one Scotch, and one beer I rate Night of the Living Dead as a cozy bourbon on a cool autumn October evening with friends. 

Cheers,
Ron