Self-Quarantine Mini Reviews Volley 4

In this ongoing series, we will be sharing brief micro-reviews of all the films i’ve been watching/re-watching since the country went full clusterfuck. Because aside from staving away weight increase, and cabin fever, what else is a die hard film geek to do?

ON WITH THE SHOW!

Adore (dir, Anne Fontaine 2013) Clearly a piece of work that sounded much better on paper, only to endlessly trip over itself upon release to a moviegoing public. Anne Fontaine’s often listless exploration of the complicated lifelong friendship between two women (Naomi Watts & Robin Wright), tries desperately to visualize Doris Lessing’s The Grandmothers, and only ends up muddying waters at every opportunity. The tale of these mothers, now reaching middle age complete with marital blanding, attempt the unthinkable and reach for one another’s attractive sons (played here with occasional skill by Xavier Samuel, and James Frencheville) as the four spend their days near the lakes and oceans of New South Wales. And while the source material apparently goes a long way toward exploring the connections between the two childhood friends, the film never figures its way out of the sheer icky surface of what’s really happening. Fontaine never seems to find the propulsive power necessary for us to better understand, even as the inevitable consequences begin landing like emotional bombs. And as a result, the final product is a pair of truly good performances by Watts & Wright, but no real pull beyond the melodramatic. And we’re talking the kind that borders on turning this meditation into nothing more than a travelogue with a daytime soap hitched onto it. There’s definitely an intent for more to be exposed, but the film only just occasionally rises above its tawdry premise. And no amount of the always fun Ben Mendelsohn can save it.

The Right Stuff (dir, Phil Kaufman 1983) Not sure if one would call this a grief watch, or perhaps a simple need to be reminded of a time when our differences were a strength. And with this Reagan-era piece of heartfelt nostalgia for the early days of the U.S.’s space program and the subsequent Mercury missions, we not only get that reminder, we are also presented with a level of romance and lack of flattery we often forget was possible in cinema circa the early 1980s. Written and directed by the often overlooked Philip Kaufman after hiring William Goldman, and deciding he had to go it alone. It remains something of a jaw dropping epic that spans the late 1940s through the early 1960s, the men who flew those world shifting missions, and the people on the ground, often unsure how far was ever too far. The sheer murderer’s row of talent to come out of this (Sam Shepard, Ed Harris, Fred Ward, Dennis Quaid, Scott Glenn, Barbara Hershey, Veronica Cartwright, Pamela Reed, Lance Henriksen, Jeff Goldblum, Harry Shearer) alone speaks to the magnitude of ambition that continues to radiate.  Fantastic performances complimented by all the still awe inspiring miniature and special effects work culminating in what great cinema does best; transports us. 

Sing Street (dir, John Carney 2016) A musical coming of age story set in mid-1980s Dublin doesn’t seem to be at the offset to be the kind of energizing charmer it ends up becoming. When Conor’s pop decides to move him to a cheaper Catholic school, his troubles seem to only be growing as his family’s stresses have begun to mount. But upon arriving, it isn’t long before Conor finds himself ready to take his passions to another level, by starting a band in hopes of impressing the girl of his dreams. In less skilled hands, such a premise might have made for something a bit more sleight, but what Carney does here with his cast, is create a genuine community of outcasts who are ready to represent a new and changing face of not only rock n’ roll, but of their own community. There is a sincerity about breaking beyond your elders, and defining the kind of adult on your own that is super welcome. Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, is an immediately relatable lead, and Lucy Boynton is incredibly charming. Hell, the entire cast is game for what is far more about what fuels art, and what makes it all so important. Oh, and the songs are terrific. What more could one want from the mastermind behind 2007’s Once?

Murder Party (dir, Jeremy Saulnier 2007) There’s something so liberating about making your debut feature on our own terms where you can take such bally potshots at the life you’ve chosen, only to come out the other end..well..moderately successful! Jeremy Saulnier’s 2007 Slamdance winner, is on one hand hopelessly no-budgeted, resembling the shot on video antics of one Red Letter Media. While the other half is pure Saulnier, which means stories that are perpetually concerned about genre mechanisms, only to run them through terribly flawed, hopelessly real creatures. Plans are made, but we cannot help but do ourselves in. Especially when confronted by dumb, seemingly random, silly chance. A lonely regular guy, finds an invitation to what he thinks is a Halloween party taking place in a funky part of town, only to realize that he’s be tricked into his own murder as art project at the hands of a group of desperate students. Self financed at a price tag of a little under 300,000 dollars, this messy comic horror farce, for all its resourcefulness, pretty much tells us everything we need to know about the lifelong team of Saulnier, his wife Skei, and Macon Blair, who have gained traction and acclaim for exploring the universe’s complete disinterest in human pose. And here, it’s equal parts horrifying and hysterical.

Portrait Of A Lady On Fire (dir, Celine Sciamma 2019) There are moments when watching something for the first time, and it hits you on a molecular level. To the point that like a live dance performance, there are moments that a part of your mind anticipates, only to witness the filmmaker/storyteller hit those same beats straight from your thoughts. Fused with your DNA. That’s the rare feeling I get when cinema truly connects on an almost heart to heart level. Celine Sciamma’s latest is that very rare moment for me. Set in late 18th century France, Portrait tells the tale of painter Marianne, who was once tasked with capturing the image of a woman who is soon to be married to a nobleman from Milan. Working near an isolated beach where only nature’s light, coupled by the sounds of wind and waves, creates a wholly immersive landscape where Marianne, over the course of her time working with subject, Heliose, begins to realize a great deal more about herself than she perhaps thought possible. In fact, both do as they bond over Orpheus, and push back and forth regarding the reality of the way we perceive ourselves and each other - best illustrated by the moment that inspires the final painting. The entire film is a sensuous, sensitive, and almost overwhelmingly powerful experience that succeeds in letting nature be that force. Sciamma’s faith in the very real circumstances of the time, along with some of the most painfully beautiful cinematography imaginable courtesy of Claire Mathon, spins a story that both could only have been fashioned in its time, and yet told right this very moment. Stars, Merlant and Haenel help create something here that again makes me forget that there’s a camera, a director, or a crew. You aren’t simply watching a film, you’re bearing witness. 

Self-Quarantine Mini Reviews Volley 3

n this ongoing series, we will be sharing brief micro-reviews of all the films i’ve been watching/re-watching since the country went full clusterfuck. Because aside from staving away weight increase, and cabin fever, what else is a die hard film geek to do?

ON WITH THE SHOW!

Embrace of The Serpent (dir, Ciro Guerra 2015) Every once in a while, a work grabs you the second it begins to unspool. This international co-production by Colombian director, Guerra explores the endless tension between ancient tradition, and inevitable progress based upon the very real travel diaries of Richard Evans Schultes and Theodor Koch-Grunberg. Seen through the eyes of a man who would grow to become a shaman, his encounters with a European ethnographer and a botanist within a span of three decades etch deep what it means to see your world grow smaller as colonization begins to make its mark down the Colombian Amazon. Stark in its intense black and white cinematography courtesy of David Gallego. Plays almost like a more melancholy and humane inversion of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, we are given ample evidence of the effects encroaching civilization leaves upon the land, the river, the people. We are made privy to the mystical and psychological challenges brought upon by white men, and their preconceptions of an ordered universe upon the indigenous peoples of early America. It is also a brilliantly weaved hybrid of old and new school filmmaking that takes hold deep, refusing to let go long after the credits end.

Crawl (dir, Alexandre Aja 2019) Sometimes, you just know. Having been out of the Aja loop for some time, imagine my inner surprise upon catching the trailer for this in theaters, and being genuinely excited. Another creature feature by possibly the best post French Horror Wave to have crossed over into the H-wood ballgame? Having just recently traveled to Miami last year, I now deeply regret having seen this during its initial release. Definitely a thinly veiled analogy for the self destructive rot of the American South by way of killer gators invading your home during a Category 5 hurricane, we get a super simple premise where a would-be swim champion(Kaya Scodelario), heads straight for her estranged dad (Barry Pepper), as his home is on a lake in direct path of the storm. And while flooding is definitely a major concern, that’s only the first of their concerns; not only do they wind up trapped in the old house’s crawlspace, they do so SURROUNDED by hungry gators. And since this is an Aja joint, you’d better believe you’re getting some prime gore with your tension. And what remains is a pretty solid, well- executed little monster/disaster pic with some really effective physical effects work. This must’ve been rough to make even with all the necessary CG for the storm and the gators, because seriously, those things do whatever the hell they want. 

Cold War (2018) Brilliantly composed and acted tribute to the director’s parents, this quietly intense and lean tale of embattled love set amidst the backdrop of post-WWII Poland achieves in ample doses what cinema so often forgets to do; move with imagery. The duo of Tomasz Kot and Joanna Kulig, shake the soul with merely their body language and sheer expressiveness as two hearts caught in a seemingly endless emotional and political storm. Not every path is a straight line, and yet both know within their deepest marrow, something is indeed there. Perhaps the kind of existential romantic epic that might have gone headlong into more than three hour territory in the past, goes for a shorter run time and an emphasis on maximum iconographic impact. Director Pawel Pawilkowski and cinematographer, Lukasz Zal aim for highs that are unmistakably personal and complex, and land a majority of their most potent punches by way of their incredible stars, particularly Kulig, who’s a genuine force of nature. 

Blue Thunder (dir, John Badham 1983) Well enough with the heavy duty stuff, how about some retro popcorn chompin’ with Roy Scheider? That’s right, I hadn’t seen John Badham’s ultra busy police chopper saga since cable around 1985, and let’s be real here; I miss a cinema landscape where such concepts were the fodder for potential blockbusters. Especially with such a perfectly tuned everyman in Scheider leading a fun cast. So when the LAPD’s veteran helicopter team is introduced to the possible future of airborne law enforcement, all while politicians are murdered under mysterious circumstances, it’s a race against time before clandestine forces unleash a dark era of high tech survei- (looks around in 2020) Oh boy..We are in trouble, aren’t we? Malcolm Macdowell, Warren Oates, Candy Clark, and Daniel Stern turn this cool little “dad thriller” into something that continues to charm despite its very dated concerns. Oh, and about that bit where they “silently” (in a helicopter) oggle a naked woman through her window? 1983, WTF.

Elysium (2013) It seems that every decade presents to me the occasionally ambitious yet flawed piece of filmed science fiction that hits me in all the sweet spots despite their large problems. Blomkamp's major studio lunge and miss from 2013 remains the kind of blunt force effort that speaks to my personal dreams and nightmares of daily living, and carries with it the kind of roaring fire in the belly that speaks directly to my lizard brain in ways years of literacy and education cannot shake.I see the problems, and yet they connect. ELYSIUM, remains a bit of an imbalanced mess. But it serves as a cold, righteously enraged warning of where we are headed should we fail our collective test come the end of this year. I love a great deal of ELYSIUM, simply because I do not want to live in a world where there is a fucking ELYSIUM.

Self-Quarantine Mini Reviews Volley 2

In this ongoing series, we will be sharing brief micro-reviews of all the films i’ve been watching/re-watching since the country went full clusterfuck. Because aside from staving away weight increase, and cabin fever, what else is a die hard film geek to do?

ON WITH THE SHOW!

You Were Never Really Here (dir, Lynne Ramsay 2017) Ramsay adapts a short story by Jonathan Ames about a troubled ex-soldier (Joaquin Phoenix) who’s life as a hitman and retriever of trafficked children goes up against a terrifying network after a job that goes off a little too easily. A case of a brilliant director working in material that on the surface seems to be on a separate planet from their usual work. And yet somehow, there is a grizzled poetry to the way the film portrays manmade monsters as possibly the only ones capable of confronting true monstrosity. In a way, the film hews a little too close to our political reality right now, which is perhaps why I had a harder time sitting through it. Phoenix, is desolate and at times deeply frightening as a man hollowed out and haunted by what he has seen and done, yet may see new life on the other end - fraught with terrible visions as he may still be. Ramsay seems ready to confront the evils that persist long after corporeal evils have long been vanquished from the Earth.

Opera (dir, Dario Argento 1988) A legendary diva loses her ability to perform a wildly avant garde production of Verdi’s Macbeth, which allows young up and comer, Betty (Cristina Marsillach) to take her place. And what follows is gialli and horror legend, Dario Argento’s last truly effective fever nightmare as murder begin taking place around Betty’s world. With a twist; she is often tied up and forced to watch as each murder takes place. Daria Nicolodi’s final film for Argento, makes for some inventive images, and genuine shocks. It’s an Argento piece, which means strange tangents, and the occasional plot mechanism that doesn’t really connect in any functional way. But to hell with sense, this is the stuff of bad dreams. Wait until the killer decides to amp up the kills, making for a final third among the best of his varied, yet indelible career.

Delirium (dir, Lamberto Bava 1987) Why, Lamberto Bava, why? Not quite a horror film. Not quite softcore porn. By this point, it is so clear that Bava isn’t interested at all in giallo films, and is just going through the motions as long as some skin could liven up the shoot. He wants out, and it’s obvious. And it’s only made worse by way of some seriously dated sexual politics. Sure, it’s 1987. But give us something that feels like an inevitable conclusion. As it is, it simply reinforces the worst of the era’s impulses, and does little to recover the sheer invention Bava displayed when he directed DEMONS (1985) just two years before. And no, no amount of Serena Grandi can save this catastrophe from the pile as it never lands on what kind of film it really wants to be. It’s almost unwatchable despite some truly striking creature hallucination effects.

Blood And Black Lace (dir, Mario Bava 1964) Sometimes you have to go back to your roots to understand what made a particular movement so powerful to so many. Based on the classic run of yellow jacketed mystery novels, the gialli pretty much movement found its footing in Italian cinema with this gorgeously filmed descent into murder, mayhem, and bizarre twists galore as murders surround a fashion studio and its many statuesque models continues to mount. Well established story backbones, and bare minimum characterization do wonders for a genre that later descended into bizarre mechanisms, and often superfluous experimental camerawork. Here, it all feels like a hellbent three strip technicolor nightmare that is surprisingly brutal for its time. Worth digging up the most recent restoration to watch on the biggest screen possible should such subject matter not bother anyone. I don’t remember Cameron Mitchell ever looking this cool. 

Love Letters (dir, Amy Holden Jones 1984) Holden Jones’ personal request from Roger Corman after the mild success of her Slumber Party Massacre (1982) is a dramatic hard left centering on a young college radio DJ (Jamie Lee Curtis, in a career changing role) about to repeat history by having an affair with a married man (James Keach) It’s a Roger Corman production boldly breaking away from the usual genre fare he usually bankrolls for this small, challenging drama that seeks to more than reinforce arguments for traditional morality, it also highlights how hard emotions are to keep out of even the simplest excursions away from it. There is a murkiness here that turns this into a fascinating little character study. Curtis does a great job as a person unable to back away from a flame she herself imagined couldn’t spread. Matt Clark, is also great as her long suffering father. Perhaps the only real pained element here is the stipulation that the film required nudity. It’s pretty clear Jamie Lee, isn’t terribly comfortable. Thanks, Corman.

More to come soon!

Self-Quarantine Mini Reviews Volley 1

In this ongoing series, we will be sharing brief micro-reviews of all the films i’ve been watching/re-watching since the country went full clusterfuck. Because aside from staving away weight increase, and cabin fever, what else is a die hard film geek to do?

ON WITH THE SHOW!

The Nightingale (Dir, Jennifer Kent 2018) Squirm-inducing honesty is the order of the day with Kent’s bold follow-up to her post-horror classic, The Babadook where a young wife and mother(Aisling Fanciosi), indebted to a monstrous British lieutenant in 1825 , loses everything, only to embark on a voyage of revenge and soul discovery when she enlists the help of an aboriginal man( Baykali Gamanbarr) with his own scars to tend to. Set in the early days of Australia’s colonization by England, Kent’s story makes zero bones about the misplaced cultural invective history has often laid out for nations overtaken by the white man. Pitting a young Irish woman alongside one of the many indigenous lives impacted by the encroachment of entitled patriarchy, we are given an unforgiving portrait of the cost history tends to accrue. Definitely not the easiest film to sit through, which seems par for Kent’s personal filmic course. And yet, there is a feral beauty to it all as both leads come to realize their place in this larger story, even if it means neither of them may live to see the climax. Unsparing beauty that is not for the faint of heart.

Macabre (Dir, Lamberto Bava 1980) About as goofy as a half lucid italian retelling of a true american story about a woman who kept her lover’s head in a refrigerator could hope to be. Worth it if only for the utterly bugnuts opening “origin” sequence, as well as the final stinger scare. Bernice Stegers of XTRO fame gives another performance from outer space, and does so knowing that the entire film is about pushing shock to absurd places everywhere possible. Recommended only to those interested in the younger Bava (Demons)’s other work, as well as people who get a kick out of straight up, “did that just happen?” cinema. Bring a six pack and some friends, and you may get a twisted kick out of this one.

Nighthawks (1981) Hadn't really seen this Stallone, William's, and Hauer action favorite since it was released, meaning I was way too young to fully digest it. And catching it with older eyes certainly makes me wonder how this ballsy piece of R-rated action succeeded despite going through several directors before reaching final cut. In the days before the easily corruptible Department of Homeland Security, international counterterrorism units were harvesting local police to help in what was rapidly becoming a new battlefield. Now hot on the path of a globetrotting mass killer for hire in Wulfgar, played deliciously by a pre-Roy Batty Rutger Hauer, "decoy" detective DeSilva and pals are tasked with cornering and stopping his reign of terror on his local NYC turf. Billy Dee Williams also dishes out some memorable work as a fellow cop who's the voice of reason as matters begin heating up. What makes Nighthawks so effective in its pre-911 bombast, is its willingness to expand 1970s grit into the more nasty, borderline slasher 1980s. In fact, the final product does feel very much like a French Connection sequel, which the project did begin life as. It's a good reminder of when Stallone's career was defined by more grounded characters, even as the world was on the verge of spinning out of control. And Hauer makes for a hard to forget monster.

Starstruck (Dir, Gillian Armstrong 1982) Armstrong’s second narrative film (Her debut is the classic, My Brilliant Career) remains a criminally underseen early 1980s wish fulfillment musical. Packed with memorably quirky moments and characters, the story centers on an aspiring singer on the way to the top with the help of her bright, scheming cousin. The roles played with effortless charm by both Jo Armstrong and Ross O’Donovan. A colorful relic of the early “new wave” era, and an infectious time capsule of Sydney in the very early 1980s. A true discovery.

The Parallax View (dir, Alan J. Pakula 1974) It's shocking how much life and experience can alter one's views on art. Once upon a time, I remember being wildly enamored with this made during the Watergate hearings tale of sheer paranoia as suspicion of the U.S. government was at an all time high. And now, a part of me wonders what it was back then that permitted such feelings. Helmed by the legendary Alan J. Pakula, the tale of one reporter's stumbling upon a deadly conspiracy after several witnesses of a politician's assassination begin turning up dead, feels like half of a great film and a great finale, without that pesky careful laying out of story beats before setting off the fireworks. As it is, the film feels as if it's missing some crucial information in order to better earn what is a deeply distressing finale. Warren Beatty, seems more than game. But the film seems unwilling to go the lengths Pakula would later delve with William Goldman's words a few years later. That said, Gordon Willis' cinematography for that finale is unforgettable. 

Destroyer (Dir, Karyn Kusama 2018) I am a total sucker for propulsive, existential neo noir and Karyn Kusama’s turn face first into an industry legend aching for a disheveled makeover, does it with signature grit and at times even grace. Exploring the physical and emotional nuclear aftermath that is the film’s central detective character, Kusama and Kidman explore what it is to redeem oneself in a world that seems completely rudderless and without accountability. Her voyage to at last righting a wrong that took place fifteen years prior when she was a young, idealistic undercover cop, takes her back into hell in hopes of some light toward the end. But what a pitch black place to begin from, as time shifts back and forth where her present self resembles that of a seething, undeterred ghoul eager to retain some semblance of humanity, law be damned. The script by Hay and Manfredi, while feeling underdone in some respects, is enhanced by Kusama’s tense, thoughtful direction. And true to intent, Kidman’s performance is equal parts frightening and heartcrushing as a woman determined to leave this world having done one good thing for those she loves.

Starfish (2018) Film Thoughts

There have been many times in recent years where a friend sees a piece of work, only to point it in my direction because of their impressions of my personal tastes. It’s one of those occasionally bumpy phenomenons where your expressions of interest engrave themselves upon others. It’s a fascinating opportunity for us to better understand the ways we perceive one another. So when an old pal recommended rookie filmmaker, A.T. White’s wildly original STARFISH, I went in with a combination of warmth, and trepidation. And now that I’ve come to the other side of the piece, it can readily be said that I’m happily still processing White’s singular accomplishment here. STARFISH, is a stirringly gorgeous and often confounding voyage through some truly personal wreckage. Like the terrific indie music that wallpapers the film, it is a colorful and strange analog exploration through some clearly difficult human vulnerability.

In the wake of the loss of her closest friend, Aubrey(Virginia Gardner of The Runaways) walks away from a post-funeral gathering, only to walk across her small Colorado-esque community where she breaks into said friend’s apartment where she decides to stay. That is until come morning, she awakens to see her entire mountain town covered in snow, bereft of humans, surrounded by deadly creatures all while seeking ways to stay alive on her own. As for what happened since she slept, the best clues she gets comes in the form of a radio transmission where a male voice informs her of a signal that caused the planet to snow over, ushering in these vicious looking beasts stalking the streets. Following enough clues seemingly left behind by her deceased friend, Grace who seemingly left personal messages for Aubrey via a cassette tape labeled, “THIS MIXTAPE WILL SAVE THE WORLD”, comes to the realization that by seeking out seven separate recordings, a completed signal could be amplified, thereby hopefully reversing this apocalypse. That is, if her feelings are correct.

And the further we explore Aubrey’s endlessly isolated journey, we are granted clues that this film is in no real way any science fiction horror film, but rather a hallucinatory vision of disassociation. Everything we are witnessing from the film’s fetishistic love for analog and pre-digital tech to the IT FOLLOWS-esque erasing of particular time period, helps paint White’s vision as purely internal space. Aubrey’s story seems to have stemmed from the kind of very real place that most films tend to merely simulate, which is what makes STARFISH such an unusual clear translation from script to screen. The indie cinema of today, is often the mid-tier programming of the large studio past. And yet this never feels less than millimeters from someone’s truth. Which is further punctuated by the use of numerous experimental effects, editing, music tinkering, and even animation (by Tezuka Pro no less!)

And even as Aubrey’s truth that she vehemently attempts to avoid on her adventure, it is via the handful of short exchanges she has with either herself, the voice on the other end of the radio, or her friend’s pet turtle, this is where her fight to continue avoiding the world or rejoin unfolds in ways unexpected, and refuses to hand over revelations in easy to grasp bites. As personal as the film is set up, it is equally so come the striking denouement where her mission may or may not have doomed everyone. It’s a pretty bold way to climax such an effects heavy piece that impresses me the longer I think about it.

And despite all the incredible audio visual on display here, the real special effect here is in the performance of Gardner, who gives Aubrey a quiet richness that delivers what it is to never properly say goodbye, or to right past wrongs. And since the film is largely dialogue free, it all has to be done with her eyes which must have been a welcome challenge. Even as she opts to finally leave the confines of the apartment and into the dangerous, snowy streets, her mission to recollect herself by way of shared memories is conveyed with significant weight. The movie lives or dies with a role like this, and she comes out the other end leaving a startling impression.

And cheers to White and his crew for giving us a film that successfully gives us a sense of place with every stop Aubrey makes. There is a dedication to the tactile that is consistently potent throughout that supports the larger concepts of memory, guilt, and grief. Everything on screen feels like we’ve touched these places and objects before. As psychological as this space is, these are real feelings, and we’re being invited to share in them. If anything, we are made witness to cinematic voices we are guaranteed to see again. And I for one am thrilled at the prospect.

The Lingering Promise Of Carole & Tuesday

At last, completed Motonobu Hori & Shinichiro Watanabe's musical anime series, Carole & Tuesday, and truly enjoyed most of it. Particularly its world, characters, and overall lighthearted tone regarding the role of the artist, even in the colonized space of Cowboy Bebop. The show's greatest strengths being its appealing leads, and the often incredible soundtrack spinning a tale of a pair of starcrossed musicians who create a unique analog musical bond in a world where pop music tends to be enhanced via technological means. It isn’t hard to see where this affection for popular music through the ages sits within the heart of Watanabe, who’s classic 1998 series was nothing if not in itself a gargantuan solar system spanning poem regarding art’s influence upon our often ephemeral relationships with one another.

Where the show does stumble, is of course toward the final stretch with too many overbearing plot threads introduced far too late, and a finale that feels far too pat for the show's length. In truncating the end, the show never figures out how to properly address some awkwardly inserted timely elements, taking the teeth out of what could have been an emotionally powerful closing. Come episode 21, it had become alarmingly clear that every subplot that had been introduced in the wake of C & T’s overnight success, was about to get the compression treatment, and it wasn’t more evident than in the pacing of their musical rival, the talented and feisty Angela. A choice that only further hurts the more political themes the show was bravely hewing close to as the story pits artists versus the changing, and often manipulated sentiment of a public on the brink of an anti-immigrant platform on the coming election. An election that features a candidate closely related to a member of our duo.

Another reminder of the importance of knowing that your producers have your back to make good on these themes before, and during production. Because from the looks of how the show plays out, it seems like something happened resulting in a season shortened from the classic 26 episode order to 24. What we get, is a sorely missed opportunity for anime to spin a potent allegory for the current moment, and more a sweet-intentioned , and occasionally rousing ode to music set amidst a compelling sci-fi backdrop.

Still, I would have loved to have followed these characters through more adventures, making new friends and allies between planets alike. They are a charming, cheerworthy pair that the show almost forgets to explore further. In a way, C & T, for all their charms fall into the background as the meaty complications around them begin to pile up. Their spirit and music shine for sure, but we really deserved that beautiful seven minute miracle, and everything it purportedly changed.

But in order for that to happen, we probably needed those last two episodes.

The Long & Short of It

New Graftedpunch Playlist: 攻殻機動隊 - Legacy

Just this morning, I stumbled upon Spotify doing something unexpected.

In celebration of the release of Ghost In The Shell: SAC_2045, they have added most of Yoko Kanno’s absolutely classic soundtracks for the original Stand Alone Complex TV series and feature. So I went ahead and compiled a number of favorites from over the years, as well as the two themes from the new series that is now playing on Netflix!

Enjoy!

Flattening The Curve PRESENTS: Ghost In The Shell SAC_2045

Now, as some friends have known that after completing the impressively mounted-if overlong fantasy prequel, The Dark Crystal: Age Of Resistance, the goal for me was to cut off the Netflix behemonth completely, as the service had become less and less a home for interesting cinema, and more a receptacle for mid-level long form stories with an often samey visual sheen. And despite my best efforts to cut that cord for myself, since friends and loved ones continue to subscribe, the months long announcement that my personal favorite anime and manga franchise would indeed be returning in a twelve episode event, well the current Stay At Home situation, felt like a stage was set for a brief return. Original Ghost In The Shell Stand Alone Complex television series director and his team collaborating with mecha design legend, and prolific mocap CG fest director, Shinji Aramaki stoked me with both curiosity and nervousness. It’s a high wire risk that could surely sink a series beloved for its unusual levels of visual grit. So my coming back to the streaming service could be seen as a morbid move, especially sporting more youthful designs via longtime Behance and DeviantArt icon-turned character designer, Ilya Kuvshinov. This unique combination of elements reeked of risk for a multimedia franchise that has seen a number of them over the last decade.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Ghost In The Shell SAC_2045 is at best an interesting experiment featuring the further adventures of the Japan’s once legendary/notorious anti-cybercrime unit, Public Security Section 9; a team of heavily augmented and skilled agents tasked with the detective and military prowess to save the nation numerous times over, led by the fully prosthetic, Motoko Kusanagi, whom the team has long dubbed, The Major. Where the risks emerge on the story front, is in the opening crawl which describes the world falling into chaos mere years after the events of the 2006 SAC film, Solid State Society. Everything from governments collapsing, creating what is known as Sustainable War, or rather a global scavenger campaign for whatever remains as economies have all but completely dissolved. Our once very busy heroes, now unmoored by government oversight, is working overseas as a group of mercenaries, taking on patches of raiders throughout the Americas. Currently, their trip to my childhood background of PALM SPRINGS (jarring) pits them against teams of amateurs claiming to be fighting malevolent one-percenters. It is in these first five minutes that despite the sunny, clear skied backdrop reminiscent of Aramaki’s APPLESEED films, that my worry collided with a genuine curiosity at the series’ dramatic break from SAC’s twilight landscape often complimented by hard greys, and intense LEDs. It’d almost seem like a poor fit if this scenario didn’t feel like an inevitable consequence of the previous installments’ overload of unmanaged interconnectedness. It’s all been blown to hell, and Section 9 is still out there torn between attempting to pick up the pieces, and simple nostalgia for the wartime life.

While the team finds itself stalled in a barricaded part of the city, former member and still the mostly human detective, Togusa in Japan receives a call from the still kicking and now working for the Minister of the Interior, Daisuke Aramaki, who’s work with a new and very caucasian prime minister, seeks to locate and get the old band back together in the name of a new potential alliance with the American Empire. Togusa, since last we saw him is now divorced, the casualty of his workaholic ways as he attempts to find out what has happened to his former colleagues. All of this while The Major, Batou, Saito, and newly joined member, the appropriately named, Standard find themselves tumbling into a plot involving PMCs, fabled “good one percenters”, and a suited man in dark shades that feels like a far too late nod to Aramaki’s past. I say Aramaki’s past, and not the Wachowskis since this shady man-in-black character is much closer to the shadowy B.D. of Megazone 23 than to a certain Agent Smith., so it’s more of a cycle back..to the beginni- YEAH YOU GET IT.

And this is pretty much the deal throughout this initial season. I say initial since the ink has dried on a planned two-parter, with Aramaki taking over fully next time. Which still leaves me mildly nervous. Saying this as a longtime fan who is more than happy with the material that has come before. Particularly prior to Kazuchika Kise’s ARISE, which felt like a muddled overture to a mainstream viewership. SAC_2045, feels more authentic to the classic Stand Alone Complex experience, while wearing this occasionally awkward outfit that makes every character not a think tank doll-like and lifeless. Oh, and did we mention the return of the irrepressible, and hopelessly cool tachikomas? The cute cadre of badass tanks make a splash here as the medium change suits them perfectly, which was probably one of the biggest reasons for the transition. It’s just too bad they don’t really find much to do here except provide backup and comic relief from time to time.

A lot of SAC_2045, finds itself so mired in plot mechanics that it often neglects the more personal sides to our heroes, making this a more detached affair than is usual for the franchise. And even as the GiTS world is suddenly paying off almost two decades of story implying that human evolution has taken a dramatic turn, which is causing the strife at the center of things, the new series has a hard time pausing long enough to let us take it in. Perhaps where the Aramaki stuff hinders matters. His action is fantastic, but a huge part of what made the original Stand Alone Complex and 2nd Gig so powerful to me, was its ability to humanize the stakes of such technological advancement. Where upon the original manga by the one and only Masamune Shirow, presented a world that was at once overwhelming to the point of humorous, the Oshii helmed feature films rendered the world haunted and contemplative, while SAC television series fashioned the mythological landscape into one that is at once enthralling, thought-provoking, and ultimately wholly relatable.

With SAC_2045, the best we get is an action gamer’s playground version, which might work better as a one-off feature. But like most Netflix projects, continuously threatens to wear itself thin. so while it isn’t ARISE levels of flat, there is a lack of humanity on display that renders this incarnation a little lacking. And as giddy as I am to hear the old voice cast from the best incarnations back in fighting shape, the mask only leaves me longing for something more literate and thoughtful.

And as a finale note, while I still lament the loss of one Yoko Kanno as music composer powerhouse, the current Soundtrack via Nobuko Toda, is pretty engaging and is as musically diverse. Again, the problem being that the direction here despite the return of master scribes like Kamiyama and Dai Sato, there is a decided lack of depth to the proceedings, which is ironic considering the whole affair is attempting a three-dimensional approach. Again, as an experiment it’s an occasionally fun diversion, albeit a wildly unnecessary one.

It really is summer isn’t it?

Blockbuster it up, I guess.

And yes, despite all this I prefer it to the 2017 Hollywood film.

Lastly; If Purin Ezaki is what the future of Koukaku Kidotai holds, check please. .

Flattening The Curve PRESENTS: Starstruck (1982)

Yes, you know why we are all here. And why I’m doing this. Turns out we require a functioning government in order to keep the public safe from potential disaster. And since we currently don’t have one of those, the days ahead will be rife with long-neglected viewings covering a broad spectrum of backed up material.

Some great, others bizarre beyond belief.

Welcome to the Quarantine..

Speaking of hard lefts, let’s get into something incredibly long in the putting off. A film that has been so neglected, that a part of me wonders if it was just me assuming that this was some kind of well-earned austrailan musical detritus—A thought that should send me bolting toward the corner of shame because if I had seen Gillian Armstrong’s unexpected follow-up to My Brilliant Career, i’d have long known this to be a painfully underseen and under appreciated time capsule. Looking into the US release history, and all I can see here is injustice as STARSTRUCK, ranks among the more charming post-Rocky Horror musicals wrapped in quirk ever made.

Now, the story shape is a familiar one to those who grew up on sitcoms; a working class kid with a unique voice and big dreams makes it to the big time only to realize what made their work so special was their low-rent, no frills nature. The film features Jo Kennedy who’s local appearances in local rock clubs have gathered some momentum despite her pub-running family’s antipathy toward her art. With the backing of her sweet-natured, and energetic teen cousin, Angus (Ross O’ Donovan) who happens to write her songs, they scheme to gain the attention of a beloved Sydney pop music show host in hopes of making it into the big time. Armstrong, again not the kind of filmmaker one imagines working well with such a particular format, gives it an earnest shot that in its own way, feels so much like the cultural record scratch Kennedy’s Jackie Mullen exudes.

And what we get, is a colorful, and delightfully odd snippet of Sydney life in the early 1980s.

A great deal of STARSTRUCK’s juice ultimately comes from the super easy chemistry between Kennedy and O’Donovan, who ricochet off each other like comedy naturals. Couple this with a spirited go at making a musical at the dawn of MTV, with several genuinely fun songs, one of which made the Top Five in Australia upon release (Written by Split Enz’s Tim Flynn, no less!) And even when it is occasionally clear Armstrong, isn’t as adept at composing a more cinematic musical experience, she more than makes up for it by way of sheer chutzpah.

Oh, and there’s a tightrope walking scene here that must be seen to be believed.

It’s not out to reinvent the combustion engine, let alone the superball, but it certainly chugs and bounces where it should making STARSTRUCK something of a buried treasure for those eager to see more from the dawn of the early 80s aussie film boom.

Yeah. I put this off waaaaay too long.

Just Because We Are Indoors..

Is no reason not to express body movement, freedom or emotion!

A first wandercreature dance mix made especially for you all.

Self-Quaratining Shaun

Shaun, knows far better than to bolt for Liz’s place.

Or The Winchester..

PERFECT.

INCEPTION: Ten Years Later

It’s so incredibly hard to grasp just how rapidly time blows by.

For me, it feels like less than five when Christopher Nolan, took the financial and critical success from his second Batman feature to ostensibly concoct his own megabudget Fellini film. I vividly remember the overcast July morning when my roomie and I ventured out to the Edwards Long Beach for our first viewing. More than merely a fun new take on the heist picture, INCEPTiON is very much Nolan’s love letter to both his wife (Producer, Emma Thomas), and cinema itself. It’s pretty much as personal as his films are capable of being,

(And still, that incredible Zimmer score. Among my personal favorites)

Even more astonishing, is just how well executed and emotionally effective it remains.

Master editor, Steven Thomas shares my enthusiasm with this lovely tribute.

Flattening The Curve PRESENTS: MACABRE (1980)

Yes, you know why we are all here. And why I’m doing this. Turns out we require a functioning government in order to keep the public safe from potential disaster. And since we currently don’t have one of those, the days ahead will be rife with long-neglected viewings covering a broad spectrum of backed up material.

Some great, others bizarre beyond belief.

Welcome to the Quarantine..

And so we make our second entry by further delving into the deepest, darkest recesses of the fabled Amazon Prime library, with the debut feature by Lamberto Bava. Son of legendary italian filmmaker, Mario Bava, his name had particular presence to younger me by way of his associations with Dario Argento. 1985’s Demons, being a particularly strong personal influence upon my interest in foreign horror. Looking back, his credits go further back toward his work with fellow helmer, Ruggero Deodato and others. But his real hat toss was his strange southern fried nightmare machine, MACABRE which had long eluded me despite having a reputation as “the head in the refrigerator” movie.

Wait, what?

Yes, set in New Orleans MACABRE tells the tale of a well-to-do wife and mother of two, after experiencing what could possibly be the most horrific day of one’s life, (Seriously, if there was ever an argument against spousal infidelity, this is it) is forced to rebuild what remains of it by moving into her once lovenest, only to exhibit increasingly unsettling behavior one year after double tragedy. Most notably the nightly moaning heard by the blind son of her building’s recently deceased landlady. Is our central character sneaking in a new lover every night? Or is something far more sinister at play? And what of her estranged daughter, and husband who wants nothing to do with her? Considering the film’s reputation, a lot of gas is leaked out once you know the secret. But it is a hoot to see just how far Bava and cast go to take this scenario to its absolute worst case scenario.

Now, please pardon the secrecy as so much of this film requires a cold viewing to fully digest its often sluggish 90 minutes. But what I can add here is that the film as a whole seems to imply that a certain apple doesn’t fall terribly far from the tree, and that the story as a whole is played like a ticking timebomb to a nasty reveal complete with one of the more outrageous punchline scares ever attempted. It is sincerely daffy on every front, the finale to this one.

Better still? The role of Jane Baker, is played by THE MOM FROM XTRO, Bernice Stegers! (No, seriously. I had no idea this was the case upon starting it.) Making her the early 1980s queen of crazy horror. I’d definitely suggest a Bernice Stegers double feature for the truly daring. And while MACABRE, isn’t half the committed mad that is XTRO, i’d still consider it for a group screening if only for the chuckles and conversations that would follow.

Still can’t get that final gag out of my head.

it’s like my child self came up with it, and somehow noone on set stopped me.

Flattening The Curve PRESENTS: XTRO (1982)

Yes, you know why we are all here. And why I’m doing this. Turns out we require a functioning government in order to keep the public safe from potential disaster. And since we currently don’t have one of those, the days ahead will be rife with long-neglected viewings covering a broad spectrum of backed up material.

Some great, others bizarre beyond belief.

Welcome to the Quarantine..

After DECADES of obscurity, and a childhood actively frightened by and yet strangely intrigued by the poster, what this week’s beginning of a curve flattening self-quarantine has at last unleashed upon my eyes cannot be overstated. Harry Bromley Davenport’s nihilistic anti-E.T., truly does live up to its infamous reputation as not merely a nasty subversion, but a genuinely broken-minded vision of a fractured family.

Bernice Stegers, plays a single mom three years after the sudden disappearance of her husband who’s life has since begun to mend with the presence of a photographer boyfriend. A scenario that soon finds itself hemorrhaging after the sudden reappearance of the husband, who seemingly was abducted by aliens, and is now not even half the human he once was. After cleaning himself off, and headed back into the city, his core objective is to return home, possibly rekindle his relationship with his family, most particularly with his son, Tony(Simon Nash) who now seemingly shares something of a psychic bond.

With the estranged father angle well in place, one might assume XTRO would be something of a pulpier take on the early eighties’ divorce drama ala Kramer Vs. Kramer. But what it really is, not only offers some of the most underappreciated horror images of the decade, but some of the more gut wrenchingly insane takes on familial reconciliation ever put to film.

Which isn’t to say the film is “good” in any pleasant way. In fact, a good deal of XTRO’s running time often feels like a window into a psyche one might stay far away from in public, let alone a darkened alley. This film is what some horror fans have over the years remarked about regarding our relationship to filmmakers. That the purveyor of the tale being spun, may indeed be dangerous, and probably shouldn’t be trusted by anyone.

Yes. I know there are sequels. But where the hell does one go after this?

XTRO, is an act of genre malice with intent to scar.

XTRO, is not a film you enjoy with friends.

XTRO, is a film you INFLICT upon friends.

Dude, kid me knew. Just by the poster. BEWARE.

Seriously. It’s good I waited. This would have wrecked 7 year old me.

CineBasement February POLL! "It's Capitalism.."

With everything that 2020 is already throwing at us, there’s still assurance in the current cultural climate that so much of what stands between people and their ability to improve quality of life boils down to one persnickety problem..

And here are our nominees for February’s CB event!

#1: It’s High Noon in OUTER SPACE. The one and only Sean Connery, is a new sheriff in a bent mining town in a remote Jupiter outpost in Peter Hyams’ OUTLAND.

#2: I’ll just let the trailer do all the talking. So proud of Director Bong, and company.

#3: Akira Kurosawa’s suspenseful, unforgettable examination of what constitutes a criminal, and how it’s often hard to tell when the chances for a stable life find themselves against a stacked deck.

Life Post Netflix

It’s almost like a long delayed breakup..

And yet, this was a choice that has probably been on the block since 2017. My only excuses being the piling on of originally produced content ( that reached almost crushing pressures come 2018 ), the will to cut the red cord has been a dear friend for some time. So when I was finally out from beneath the thumb of not only the streaming debut of Neon Genesis Evangelion, as well as The Irishman, and yes, even The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, coupled with the reality that with such a ubiquitous service in the hands of loved ones, there was a diminished passion on my part to continue. Especially in a Disney +, Amazon, Hulu, etc. landscape. (As for my latest leap back into the D pool, we can discuss soon, promise.)

To be completely honest, this feels right. Feels a solid ten pounds lighter. Especially true when my weekly Netflix diet largely consisted in background noise choices rather than actual sit down and watches. I’ve since joked that a large portion of the service’s content now sports a specific aesthetic, and almost lackadaisical attitude for works initially meant to function like your classic serialized material. It’s to the point that the riches often undercut a certain dramatic effectiveness. Much like the Marvel model, “just good enough” is baseline, rendering much of it disposable. It feels like qualitative purgatory.

And yet, Louis Leterrier’s long-awaited collaboration with the Hensons could not be a better sendoff.

Worth the wait in every respect, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, is the streaming service’s equivalent to legacy sequels/prequels that stand alone as shining examples of merging the familiar with the urgent. And grandeur to boot. Throughout, I have been repeatedly kicking myself for putting it off for so long. It’s also that rare prequel where despite what we know is to become of these characters, it remains impossible to wander away from. Nothing short of a visual and thematic feast that loses none of the strange charm of Jim Henson’s hopelessly radical 1982 piece. (My memories of seeing for the first time that opening weekend remain vital ones to this day.)

So sure, there’s a part of me that will miss being able to finish Carole & Tuesday’s second half at home. But the possibilities that have opened up in its stead remain hopeful. There’s still a ton of material to explore with my remaining options, including oodles in my years-old queue. There’s just something liberating about knowing what lies ahead, without the additional baggage of what remains online, and what could just as easily be removed tomorrow.

And then there’s my ever lingering physical media watch list that never seems to end.

See? We should be fine.

That said, oh my goddess this rules.

CineBasement 01.2020! Blurred Grooves - WINNER

You asked for it, you’ve got it.

2020;

Both barrels. I get it.

And I’ll be honest in saying that I’m actually wildly surprised at it being unanimous!

On the evening of Saturday, January 25th, CB presents Penelope Spheeris’s unforgettable,

THE DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILIZATION (1981)

Memory: My first viewing of this was around 1988-1989, and I remember being pretty taken aback by it. There’s just something we have completely neglected in regards to the gulf in spirit that was left in the wake of the 1970s that had to give somewhere. Turns out a good amount of it took place here in L.A. From early Rollins to the harrowing garbage fire that was Darby Crash..

Decline, is one hell of a visceral snapshot.

Convene, and munch begins at 6pm.

Film begins at 7ish!

CineBasement 2020 Begins!!

Welcome, everyone.

Hope winter break was one to remember, because CB is back and with a vengeance.

2020, compelled me to ask aloud, just what kind of films leave the most indelible marks? And as it turns out, the marriage between sight and sound is burned hard into my personal DNA. Which is why it felt right to celebrate pieces that helped redefine what could be done with the medium. This is especially resonant when thinking of the rock documentary, and asking one’s self what makes for a truly unique experience that transcends merely attending a show. This month’s trio of pics remain powerful arguments for the subgenre as each breaks the barriers between musician and spectator, and offers an experience a mere ticket cannot provide. Prepare to be inspired. Prepare to move. Prepare for the unexpected.

Candidate 1!

Candidate #2!

Candidate #3!

The poll will stay up and will close on Monday, January 13th.

Screening, Saturday January 24th!

Happy Voting, everyone!

Tales from the CineBasement! Podcast: Prototype Episode- The Host (2006)

We’ve gone audio at last!

Join Ev and I as we rap happily over Bong Joon-ho’s monster classic from 2006, from the superhero team origin story, to the director’s often breakneck satire regarding South Korea and its potential break from historic slumber.

We have a pre-film discussion with a break for viewings, followed by a spoiler-specific post-screening chat.

#SEEPARASITE

Tales from the CineBasement! Podcast: Prototype Episode- The Host (2006)

Wandercreature