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.