kindertrauma

Category: Trauma Au Courant

Black Swan

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I found DARREN ARONOFSKY's latest looking for self-love in all the wrong places opus BLACK SWAN nearly overwhelming and a great deal to take in. It's a cinematic turducken stuffed with wild visuals, grandiose music, winking paintings and elaborate dance; just about every known tool of expression is represented in one form or another. If they distributed POLYESTER-inspired scratch-and-sniff cards to accompany the movie, the sensory overload would have been complete and my head would have exploded.

As I watched I didn't quite know what to think. My eyes and ears were far too busy running around like mad squirrels snatching every bit of information they could retrieve. The film's final articulation though is powerful enough to dance backwards furiously sewing it all together into one substantial whole. Oh, it's pretentious all right, but considering the brittle, caustic environment it's representing, it's required to be. Artistry itself is unmasked as a cold snarling bouncer who's happy to cruelly scan its would be suitors and capriciously refuse admittance. BACK SWAN is so open veined, needy and obvious in places that I couldn't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment, a feeling I use as a dowsing stick to identify greatness. Seriously, if you create things impervious to the ravens of ridicule do the world a favor and don't bother.

Holly Go-stiffly NATALIE PORTMAN is perfectly cast as an exquisite glass doll with a splintery recognition of not living up to her full potential. She blooms in this and synchronizes with the role in an exceptional way. As dancing as fast as she can't ballerina Nina Sayers gradually merges together discarded and neglected aspects of herself, PORTMAN as an actress appears to do the same. The role requires her to swing from frustrating vulnerability to the depths of dark narcissism, she's a Pinocchio replicant too paranoid and frenzied to understand she alone clutches the strings. Truly, she's sick in the head, gnawing on her own tail and accusing shadows for the scars. BLACK SWAN may be sold to audiences as a psychosexual usurper thriller but that aspect of the film is patently delusional. Nina is her own monster mapping out her own tragedy. She's paid for self-acceptance by slaving as a show pony and the check is doomed to bounce.

Let's blame Mom! BARBARA HERSHEY with soldering iron stares portrays Nina's cuticle critiquing smother mother and she's one broom shy of a complete wardrobe. The character can be accused of being wildly unsympathetic and one-note but don't forget she sprouted from Nina's arrested fairy tale pop-up book view of the world. It's not a literal depiction but a presentation of Nina's perception. If you ask me, I think the world in this movie is intentionally exaggerated to illustrate Nina's limited understanding of grey hues.

We also get WINONA RYDER slyly cast as a bitter once-was. Uncharacteristically, she doesn't tear the whole playhouse down which makes me want to forgive her for her work in either BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA or ALIEN 4, but not both. Rounding out the cast, VINCENT CASSEL plays a douche charismatic enough to make you not care that he's a douche and MILA KUNIS portrays Nina's real fascination, a wily free spirit who she is both threatened and intrigued by. I have a lot of sympathy for PORTMAN's character, if I had to hang out on a day-to-day basis with the eye-lasagna likes of CASSEL and KUNIS, I'd buckle under Bambi legs too. Meow. Anyway, even if you don't fall under this film's kinetic spell ARONOFSKY has to be acknowledged as an actor's director, someone with the patience to harvest the best from his players.

As you probably already know BLACK SWAN is one of those kooky reality smudging mind-fuck movies like THE TENANT or JACOB'S LADDER. I admit to meeting few in this mini sub genre that I didn't like. Seems to me "reality" really could use a bit of a boost in the being interesting department and movies are a great place to explore psychology on a visual level without being boxed in by the reigns of likelihood or the collective fantasy that we all experience life the same way.

It's interesting to note that in mind-fuck films involving female characters (REPULSION, MULHOLLAND DRIVE, CARNIVAL OF SOULS) the protagonists tend to circle a different drain. Demonic insecurity is omnipresent and there's an added accusatory vibe that the female characters are not "enough" or don't feel "enough" that's absent from the male anchored mind-fuck equivalent. It's rather strange and I'm not sure which gender should be more insulted but I've decided that since the ladies sometimes get to have exploratory sexual experiences without the sky falling down that they ultimately get the better deal. (The exception to this double standard would be NAKED LUNCH where of course "everything is permissible".)

In conclusion, did I mention I really fucking loved BLACK SWAN? I guess there's no way around that simple truth. It's a fascinating character study and although it might pluck feathers here and there from other works, the entire cast excels and I am confident that future viewings will only gift me more to chew. Although it guilds the lily up the wazoo there is something very human bleeding here too. I mentioned fairy tales before and it really works as an adult fable about the folly of obsessively trying to filter out anything that doesn't fit into an idealized false concept of what is worthy or good. I personally cannot identify with the cursed search for "perfection" on account of I laughed that goblin away decades ago but Nina's self debasement, body dysmorphia and coveting of the lives and identities of others I did sadly relate to. (If you didn't, then why can't I be you?). I can imagine some horror fans feeling that the gloves never fully come off in BLACK SWAN but if you ask me, the worst, most terrifying place to catch an image of the beast who is trying to demolish you is in your own reflection.

Hatchet 2

Posted on By unkle lancifer

As someone who requires a heavy body count in my entertainment diet, I appreciated ADAM GREEN's first HATCHET movie for its direct approach. It didn't have an original bone in it's corpse but at least it was committed to reveling in gore and rejected the sport of leading the viewer on. A cinematic slasher booty-call, the bloody goods were available for the taking if you were willing to forgo anything deep. The objective may have been to provide a loving throwback to classic eighties slasher films, but the end result was more of an echoing of the fun but diluted sequels that followed them. That's not a jab really, I think I'd take a low budget salute to FRIDAY THE 13th PART WHATEVER over the big budget remake any day of the week. If you want to take me on a walk down VHS memory lane you better be willing to get gritty, get bloody and most importantly drop the gloss. HATCHET II is no improvement over GREEN's first trip to the swamp but it may be slightly more worthwhile. Don't thank GREEN for that though, thank DANIELLE HARRIS.

HATCHET II, like any considerate sequel, begins at the exact point the first movie ended but miraculously, through the art of behind the scenes severed relationships, DANIELLE HARRIS replaces TAMARA FELDMAN as the surviving lead. What that means is that if you're looking for an objective review of HATCHET II, you have to go elsewhere on account of I might dig it somewhat on the HARRIS factor alone. Say what you will about GREEN (and I will shortly), but he knows how to throw horror fans a bone or two. There's plenty of pander casting in the film already (TONY TODD, KANE HODDER, TODD HOLLAND et al.) but HARRIS (who was replaced once herself in HALLOWEEN 6: THE CURSE OF YOU KNOW WHO) carts around enough heavy duty meta-baggage to keep this sometimes annoying excursion afloat. Besides the fact that I just respect HARRIS for being a non-bimbo scream queen who embraces her horror heritage fully, she's pretty good in this. She's got a more determined aura than usual and even though it's a humorless role once you get a load of what passes for humor in this movie, you'll be thankful. The catharsis she brings to the film's conclusion is a long time coming and is grander than the film itself.

Remember a while back when I was singing the praises of the writing in GREEN's other effort FROZEN? Well, you needn't worry about a repeat of that. I didn't get the humor in this movie at all. It's alienating and crude and I suppose it could be considered another throwback to bygone days, but it's not really broad or winking enough to work as such. I'm thinking a sick goofy tone similar to the SLEEPAWAY CAMP films would have been perfect but there's nothing in HATCHET II nearly as clever. I don't have a particularly sophisticated joke palette, so believe me when I say in that area the film is a lead balloon factory employed by crickets. In other wonky writing news, there's a painfully long and boring assembling the troops scene and frankly, I expect my killer to not be dead a couple more times rather than an 86 minute runtime. I know that's a cliché but I was of the understanding that that was the point of all this. Maniac Crowley's final stomping out works as wish fulfillment if you ever wanted to see Annie topple Michael in ROB ZOMBIE's HALLOWEEN movies, but this venture is already hanging on too many coattails.

I may be asking too little of movies that sometimes my only requirement is to not feel like I've been mugged in an alley when the credits roll but that's where I'm at with HATCHET II. For me, there's a permeating odious glibness that insures I'll never be passionate about it but it earns a certain space of interest just by throwing every possible horror fan hand job against the wall and watching the Pavlovian puppies roll. Some of this stinks to high heaven, but GREEN is clearly making the film that he as a fan would like to see and I commend that; thankfully some of the stuff he wants to see I want to see too; that would be imaginative no holds barred gore and DANIELLE HARRIS. I'd give him a MERCEDES MCNAB star too but the hermaphrodite joke she's required to utter kind of cancels that out. I guess ultimately this sequel is serviceable filler if you're in need of the red stuff. GREEN's FROZEN makes me know better than to write him off completely but you might be better off not thinking of this as a real movie but more as a complacent, shrug-off goof with the bonus of an upgrade in the final girl department.

Best Worst Movie

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I'm so not shocked that I enjoyed the heck out of BEST WORST MOVIE, the documentary about the fantastic fandom that grows like thick green moss around the movie TROLL 2. I mean really, the trailer alone left me ferklempt. I'm just a sucker for stories about trashed underdogs rising from the ashes plus, BEST WORST celebrates the type of enthusiasm for cinema that gets me all a giddy by proxy. TROLL 2 is certainly not the worst movie ever made but it could be the most lovably bizarre and it's comforting to know that such an awkward runt found a home with such a warm, blanketing crowd. Even if you're not a fan of the film you no doubt have your own facsimile, a movie that no matter how many people disparage you‘d still take a bullet for; some dumb dopey movie with big brown puppy dog eyes a' sparkling. (Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about CATHY'S CURSE)

Critics, naysayers, uptight haters and pretentious snobs are politely invited to bite it and bite it hard. The people have spoken and nobody wants to hear your bummer twaddle anymore. What is inspiring about BEST WORST MOVIE isn't the film TROLL 2 but what that film represents, the simple idea that love is in the eye of the beholder. I expected this movie to dish out the fuzzy feelings and it did, but it accomplishes that in the first half hour and then quite admirably it pushes further, it does a little more. Go, BEST WORST MOVIE, go!

Director (and star of the original train wreck) MICHAEL STEPHENSON has made a legitimate documentary here and not a vanity piece. He's smart enough to know to step aside and allow a bigger picture to unfold. TROLL 2 is a weirdo magnet and I mean that in the best possible way. There are so many satellite stories and interesting characters jumping about that I pity the fool who had to select scenes to drop on the cutting room floor.

DR. GEORGE HARDY who played the father in the original has got to be the most affable guy on Earth, a dream(?) hybrid of JIM J. BULLOCK and FLASH GORDON's SAM JONES. He's impossible not to like, even as he bristles at horror fans at a convention and admits that they make him want to repeatedly wash his hands. On the opposite side of the fence from HARDY's wild gregariousness is MARGO (who are the Goblins?) PREY who played the mother in T2. MARGO has gone all SHIRLEY JACKSON and crashed down somewhere between GREY GARDENS and yours truly. Yes, she's a shut-in with cat posters hanging on the wall and she's eleven hundred types of awesome.

What makes BWM really special and more than worthy of an Oscar nom for best doc is the fact that it catches a spectrum of different interpretations of its subject matter. It would have been easy to just focus on the fluffy fandom but beyond its RASHOMON recognitions of the actual creation of the film, BWM tells us something true about art in general as its meaning, worth and identity fluctuates depending on who you ask. The director believes he has captured Americana, the writer is convinced that she has created an indictment against vegetarians, HARDY gets that it's funny but doesn't seem to understand to whom it may be funny to and PREY, glorious PREY, with the delusional certainty of a TENNESSEE WILLIAMS heroine, likens TROLL 2 to CASABLANCA. Like any great documentarian STEPHENSON gives all of these visions unbiased attention and the final result ends up telling us more about how we all live in our own conjured realities than it does about the fictional town of NILBOG.

In other words don't be fooled by how fun this movie is it to watch, not only does it reveal something reaffirming about film fandom in general but it also ends up suggesting something astute about the human experience. We all live in universes of our own creation when it comes right down to it and in my universe TROLL 2 resembles CASABLANCA more and more with each passing year.

NOTE: Visit BEST WORST MOVIE at its official home right over HERE!

The Walking Dead

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I've been burned too many times to be picking out china patterns just yet, but I feel like me and THE WALKING DEAD have the goods to go the distance. The new AMC zombie series (literally) starts with a bang demolishing any worries that television restrictions would render its undead denizens dry and bloodless. As much as I appreciate the gory generosity on display, I stand more impressed by the introduction of a genre lead that exudes depth in the face of death. ANDREW LINCOLN, as sheriff deputy Rick Grimes, got me wrapped around his finger early on stumbling out of a hospital and responding to the mass destruction in front of him as an actual human being might.

Not to get all BONNIE TYLER on your ass, but I feel like I've been kind of starving for a male hero in a horror piece who's deeper than a tuna can. Excluding psychopaths (cross-dressing or otherwise), it's slim pickings from where I'm sitting (on my couch.) I feel like guys are not allowed to emit anything emotional for fear that it will be read as some kind of deficiency and it makes for me being sort of bored out of my skull a bunch. I guess there is some cultural imperative to keep dudes' yaps shut (you'll have to work all that out for yourselves, world) but in the meantime, the trickle down effect results in me yawning. I like this Rick Grimes protagonist, he makes mistakes, he's fallible and egad, there seems to be something going on both in his head and in his heart. He may have jumped out of a comic book but he's the antithesis of a cartoon. There's a scene in WALKING DEAD that gallantly balances absolute horror with equisite mercy and it has left me thinking that I will always remember where I was the first time I saw it.

You can attach any meaning to zombies that you wish. Their usual anonymity can represent the brain dead masses or the casualties of war. No matter how you approach them though (be they fast or slow), they will always have something to say about how we feel about our dead. Disgust, horror, fear, if you look hard enough you might just find guilt and sympathy too. We have been told a zillion times before that they are "us," yet the fact remains that we as viewers continue to line up to see "them." Thanks to this Rick Grimes person, THE WALKING DEAD might just change that. I may have to start routing for the living again.

Are Hallelujahs in order? Being between television shows to live vicariously through can be a painful experience for me. As much as I enjoyed the first two seasons of TRUE BLOOD, the last season turned on me and left me on the roadside. What was once a show about an outsider discovering an ostracized counter culture where her gifts were valuable became a show about choosing which out of four impossibly hot monsters to hump. (I can't relate to that because I've never had more than three impossibly hot monsters to select from.) I don't mean to call out TRUE BLOOD it's just that I found WALKING DEAD's glamor free tone ginger ale refreshing. There does seem to be a love triangle looming over the horizon but as long as they keep one dangling eye focused on entrails, decomposition and the tragedy and agony of death, I'll survive.

I can't compare THE WALKING DEAD in its new form to the comic book because I have, out of sheer laziness, never read the series but I can say that if the premiere episode is any indication that we may be about to experience something amazing. There is the potential here to breathe new horrific life into the leaning toward parody living dead genre but my attention may be less due to the gruesome element and more due to the human one. Slow or fast, zombies are a dime a dozen, THE WALKING DEAD's more significant offering may end up being a character who you honestly dread to see joining their ranks.

My Soul To Take (2010)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

 

 

Hmmm. While watching MY SOUL TO TAKE all I kept thinking was that the direction was serviceable and that the acting was passable but whoever wrote the script needs to be diagnosed and medicated appropriately as soon as possible. Now as I look on the IMDb I see that the writer of SOUL is none other than my darling, my hamburger, WES CRAVEN himself. MR. CRAVEN, if you should be reading this, I'd like you to stop right now and go HERE until I am done.

Is he gone? Are you sure? Oh, my God you guys I am SO GLAD to be home and far away from that movie. It was driving me bonkers. It's just non-stop jabbering from beginning to end, exposition on top of exposition over and over and over again. Rules and numbers and ifs and maybes and blah blah blah. One guy actually falls out of a closet gutted and then is forced to explain how he ended up there for twenty minutes as he dies. "I was coming to see you and then this happened and then that happened and I thought maybe this but then it turned out to be that and then I went over there and you made a sound over there and then…" Holy shit, I get that you are NOT the killer just die already and peace out.

From the very get go we're thrown detail upon detail and are delivered nonsensical procedures that if not done properly will result in this or maybe that and are you familiar with the California Condor? Allow me to read you the Wikepidia page on The California Condor. When the actors aren't squawking then the radio or television is on doing the same thing in the background. It never ends. Now some of this may have been intentional as a way for WES to show what it might be like to have voices in your head all the time but still, I've seriously just taken an Excedrin anyway. Please don't ask me to tell you the plot of this movie because I just can't bear to go over the convolutions again.

It's not scary at all. Well, that's not entirely true, there was a period where I was scared that I myself may be going crazy or perhaps that somebody had put some drugs in my DR. Pepper. Maybe I'm just getting too old. Am I really old now? Everybody in this movie looked like a troll doll and spoke like a gnome. I guess I can accept that somebody might call somebody on their cell phone while running in the woods from a killer after seeing their friend dead but would they call the person who they think is chasing them? I just think that I would concentrate on running. Am I crazy, maybe I'm going crazy?

You know what? I liked the woods. There are a lot of woods in this movie and I liked going there. The look of the movie was kind of nice and autumn-y and the main guy in it was pretty good too. He's supposed to be an innocent "angel" that looses his wings and WES put these two gashes on his back so that was a nice touch. He may have had some gay thing going on with his friend but I always think that when two guys hug in a movie while one is stabbing the other that they really should just get a room already. His sister was pretty.

Oh, well c'mon it's not that serious. We all know WES right? He's the guy who followed up NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET with THE HILLS HAVE EYES 2 and DEADLY FRIEND! Ha-ha! He's probably just joking around with this movie. He loves doing movies like this every once in a while. It's kind of like when my little brother and I would put every disgusting thing we could find in a blender and see how gross it would come out. You're not really supposed to like it right? I don't know, maybe it's me. Maybe the whole thing just flew over my head like a California Condor.

No, no, no, no, it's NOT me. It's not me at all. It's YOU WES and you're just going to have to man up and take responsibility for your actions. Since we've got history and I still do LOVE you even with all your faults, I'm going to give you a blurb for your DVD cover: "It's a movie going experience that you won't soon forget…..(cough) try as you might." Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to sleep now and dream of a wonderful place called "shut your pie hole town".

 


NOTE: By the way, about half of the stuff you see in this trailer does not occur in the actual film. Do not be sad about that, the movie is long enough as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

Frozen (2010)

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I know I may judge things too quickly but trust me; I'm always so excited to be wrong. In fact, I wish I could be wrong more often. Wrongness makes me super happy. Late last night I thought I'd catch ADAM GREEN's FROZEN on the pay-per-view. As it started, I thought, "Oh crap, this is a ‘dude' movie, I just paid five bucks for a ‘dude' movie and I'm not in the mood." I like dude movies for sure but sometimes I need a little more than wheelie popping and hackie sack playing from my movie characters. Chances are, no matter who you are, I don't care about your car. Well, I couldn't have been more wrong about the trio of characters that were introduced at the beginning of FROZEN, I thought I was going to hate them and now I can't stop thinking about them.

FROZEN is an arduous experience with an emphasis on experience. As the credits rolled at the end I realized that I was exiting a very different door than the one that I came in through. In a way it kind of brought back memories of the OPEN WATER films (Yes, I even dug the second one) but it really kicks the dilemma and the human element up a few hundred notches (not to mention feet.)

The premise involves two guys, a girl and a soon to be unanimous desperate longing for a pizza place, getting trapped on a ski lift half way up the mountain. With its stagnant setting and limited cast, FROZEN could not have been an easy film to pull off but GREEN certainly does so in spades. There is real suspense here and moments that had me wincing and holding my head in horror. As far as delivering the thrills go, I doubt the screws could have been tightened with better expertise but ultimately we get much more than an endurance test.

I don't want to ruin much here but GREEN, who also wrote the screenplay, does an incredible job with the human element of this film. Imagine THE BREAKFAST CLUB facing death. The nightmare scenario drifts down in such a way that I think anyone could relate. It brings forth moments in life when we realize we really may be up shit's creek and that things may not just magically turn around for the better. We watch and feel the characters come to this horrid epiphany and it's nearly impossible not to put yourself into their ski shoes.

Both KEVIN ZEGERS and SHAWN ASHMORE deliver strong, believable performances as two long time friends facing the end but who the heck is this EMMA BELL? EMMA BELL is frickin' above and beyond amazing in this! She was killing me! I actually wanted to tell her, "Stop!" at one point because I was about to (sniff) lose it! In fact I don't even want to think about it right now, it's a nice day. I'm almost mad about being manipulated in such a way but I think there is so much truth in the dialogue and I know that my mind would be going to the same places that these characters' minds go to in this situation. Really, the direction impresses a lot but the writing even more so.

So, short review because the less you know the better but an overall tip of the wool cap to all involved for making me squirm like a worm and actually making me feel something for some folks I initially wanted to shrug off. Check this one out whenever and however you get the chance. If you think you know the direction that the cold wind is going to blow in FROZEN, let me assure you that you're probably just as wrong as I was.

Let Me In

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I, for one, did not need another film version of JOHN AJVIDE LINDQVIST's novel LET THE RIGHT ONE IN. The 2008 Swedish film of the same title directed by TOMAS ALFREDSON is, in my opinion, as good as it gets. Still, I couldn't help but be curious. Plus, how in the name of hell was I NOT going to support the first HAMMER production in nearly thirty-five years? Seriously, I felt like I got my moolah's worth as soon as I saw that legendary name projected upon the theater screen…

The good news is that LET ME IN, directed by CLOVERFIELD's MATT REEVES, is NOT a steaming pile of useless garbage. Maybe it's my vivid imagination but I detected an earnest affection for the material. I can't say it casts the same lyrical spell that the earlier interpretation did but it does score gold stars for the respect it pays the core relationship within the story. I have no idea why it chooses to indulge in subpar CGI when it is clearly unnecessary but overall LET ME IN is nothing if not dignified. Most miraculously, it has a purposeful patience and a rare kind of faith that its audience doesn't require non-stop jump jolts and bombastic musical cues masquerading as scares to remain attentive.

(Some might argue that its poor box office showing proves that faith was squandered but c'mon, why would anyone think remaking a two-year-old film, vampiric or otherwise, would be a sure thing?)

Chances are you are already familiar with LET ME IN's plot. A lonely bullied boy (this time named Owen rather than Oskar) befriends a vampire (this time named Abby instead of Eli) and both parties gain comfort from their quixotic bond. The boy learns to defend himself, the vampire learns to trust and every one rejoices when a douchbag's decapitated head sinks to the bottom of a swimming pool.

As you might have guessed I LOVE this story! Both cinematic adaptations shy away from the gender smudging found in the book but slyly slide the same gist forward anyway. Spiritual connection is the point here and whatever junk one may be packing is incidental. It's the type of symbiotic platonic relationship that is rarely acknowledged or celebrated in our culture. (Possibly because Madison Avenue has yet to discover anything as potent as gender inadequacy fears to sell antiperspirant.) Well, the world may not have much use for bonds like Owen's and Abby's but they themselves sure do. Is it romantic? Yes, anytime someone gifts you a Rubik's cube it's fucking romantic.

NOTE: Strangely enough the other night I was watching 1995's LEAVING LAS VEGAS and was struck by how much it resembled LET THE RIGHT ONE IN. Just switch out the blood for booze and you have a sister tale of lost souls building their own hideaway from the world and creating a relationship based on their own and not traditional terms.

As much as LET ME IN doesn't suck, there's not much that the 2008 version doesn't do better than the 2010 one. Some shoes require more than noble intentions to fill them. That said, I did find enjoyment in some of the newer version's riffs and alterations. REEVES' choice to amp up Owen's latch key solitude by CHARLES SHULTZ-ing his parents into non-entities is cynical, savvy and spot on. He also ends up giving vampire Abby's caretaker/father (the always marvy RICHARD JENKINS) a much more robust and ultimately more frightening spin. There's a car crash scene he's involved in that will undoubtedly have many folks double checking their seatbelts far into the future.

Being permanently trapped in the eighties my rad self (by choice mind you!) I also slobbered at the welcome edition of poppy new wave hits by gender blenders BOWIE and BOY GEORGE. The piece de resistance for me though occurs when Abby pushes the play button on a tape player in a makeshift clubhouse and none other than my juju jam FRUER's DOOT DOOT begins its cricket chirping intro. I know I've mentioned it once before but that song gives my goosebumps goosebumps and it's a perfect choice here for another blast of menthol.

Hate to say it but the biggest problem for me lies in this film's two leads. Both CHLOE MORTEZ as Abby and KODI-SMIT MCHEE as Owen do incredible, outstanding jobs with their parts but I found it near impossible to let go of LINA LEANDERSON and KARE HEDEBRANT's interpretations. (Obviously that's a bias that will not hit you if you are seeing this version first.) Both kids had my support and sympathy but a neon sign in my noggin kept flashing "Imposter!" Like cloned sheep, BLADE RUNNER replicants and that dang robot kid from A.I., I wished them the best but couldn't quit shake the feeling of some kind of glossy innate falsity. Maybe that's just my hang-up; MORTEZ can act up a storm all she wants but at the end of the day I'll always prefer my vampire critters looking more like ALICE COOPER than SCARLETT JOHANSSON. In a similar way the whole of the newer version is just a tad bit too pristine and lacks the natural more earthy rawness of the previous film.

Alright, I admit it, I miss the killer kitties, is that so wrong?

Separating legitimate criticism from knee jerk loyalty gets a bit like untangling Christmas lights here. I guess the important thing is that LET ME IN does a better job than one could reasonably expect, all things considered. Arriving unfashionably late and offering not much more than another excuse not to read something, its fate as an also-ran is pretty much sealed. On the other hand, I think the material deserves to be discovered in any way it can be; if this version is able to reach somebody that the first film or the novel failed to then more power to it. I say experience LET THE RIGHT ONE IN in any way, shape, format or under any title you can. It not only avoids the superficial mire most vampire tales get stuck in but it stands as a gleaming example of the vast depths that the horror genre, in general, is capable of and is rarely given credit for. If you've seen the first film, there's a "been there done that" quality to LET ME IN for sure, but personally I'd much rather retrace these worthwhile footsteps in the snow than follow another newer path that leads absolutely nowhere.

The Last Exorcism

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to see THE LAST EXORCISM. In fact, the promotional trailers and print ads had me saying, "I liked this better when it was called every other possession movie since 1973." Early word turned out to be virtually vitriol free and eventually I softened. What better way to spend a late August afternoon than in a movie theater? Most of my trepidations were doused in holy water about three minutes into the film thanks to the introduction of the film's central character, evangelical minister and part time exorcist Cotton Marcus (PATRICK FABIAN).

Syrupy Cotton is instantly convincing as the type to instill dedication and his conspiratorial wink toward the audience allows a type of intoxicating inclusion that's hard to resist. FABIAN works the viewer the same way Cotton greases his flock. This is how the best cons operate by giving you the false sense that you alone are special enough for fraternization. Thankfully EXORCISM avoids the pitfalls of being one sided. Just as we are privy to Cotton's smirky chicanery, we are additionally made well aware of his affirmative good-natured intentions. He may not believe in the snake oil he's peddling but as long as his customers reap the placebo benefits, what's the harm?

Pride cometh before the fall and surprise, surprise, Cotton must come to terms with the idea that unlike himself, his latest possessed patient Nell (marble-eyed tulip pedal ASHLEY BELL) may be on the up and up. If there's a tug of war going on here between science and religion, I'll take a pass at taking sides. My little pea brain only cares whether the supernatural is allowed room in our world any more.

When I wake up in the middle of the night the coat rack in my room frequently decides to transform itself into a monster. Eventually it turns back into a coat rack but I know for at least a moment it was planning on eating me. Don't look for gore or elaborate special effects (or even the levitation shown in one of the misleading ads) in THE LAST EXORCISM, it's modestly content turning coat racks into monsters and then back into coat racks over and over again. It plays on your anxiety that at some point the coat rack will become a monster and remain a monster, never to be a coat rack again.

One thing I didn't worry my pretty little head about was the movie's faux documentary approach. Gratefully it does not open with a title card proclaiming it was discovered under a rock, so I just accepted it as a fiction that utilizes reality elements to give you a front row seat feel. It's kind of a waste of time to point out incongruities that prove it's not real, of course it's not real. If you for any reason, even remotely suspect that this movie is "real" than your proper response should be to leave the theater and go directly to a police station and report that you have just paid money to watch a cat being bludgeoned to death and that oh, by the way some people were murdered on camera too.

While we're on the subject of the whole faux-reality thing I should add that I really appreciated this film's use of its Louisiana backdrop and its overall look. It's nice to know that someone understands that a pseudo-doc approach doesn't have to mean a completely artless production that looks like it was directed by a chimp. Can I also say that I must be getting old because it didn't occur to me ‘till much later that T.L.E. was PG-13? I guess there comes a time when you stop wishing for each movie to out do the last in the blood and spectacle department and just start hoping for a story and characters that don't bore you to death. Please don't ever remind me that I said that.

The film's finale has as many adversaries as advocates. Because I have a well-documented contempt for all audience members who aren't me, I of course loved it. I kind of respect a film that just says, "You know what? Now THIS is happening, deal with it," and isn't afraid to stomp on toes. Sure it's cartoon magpie crazy and throws a slushie in the face of the film's hard-earned ambiguous tight rope act but it's giddily mischievous too. The last image of reverend Cotton we are left with (foreshadowed in a nifty drawing of Nell's) is a strong one. It's a sharp reminder that the film took the time to present us with multilayered characters with inner lives rather than one-toned playing pieces on a snakes and ladders board.

I'm all for supporting every horror movie that comes down the pike and especially ones as thoughtful as this one, but I can't honestly urge you to rush right out and throw your money down. I know it's very bad of me but I can't help thinking I would have enjoyed THE LAST EXORCISM even more if I watched it late at night at home by myself in the shadow of my coat rack.

Nightmares in Red, White and Blue

Posted on By unkle lancifer

I have to give you horror fans out there a heads up about a new documentary called NIGHTMARES IN RED WHITE AND BLUE. It covers the entire history of American horror while keeping a sharp eye on the social changes that influenced them. Don't think you've seen this all before because this one bounds past the usual tunnel vision horror fan approach. Not only does it have an awareness of the cultural temperature outside of the air-conditioned theater but it also pays respect to fringe films usually neglected. By damn, they even put Jiminy Cricket and WALT DISNEY in the hot seat for a spell and you know I'm all in support of that.

Seriously kids, after the recent and excellent NEVER SLEEP AGAIN, I figured I'd have to wait a couple years at least for another outstanding documentary on horror and yet here is NIGHTMARES IN RED WHITE AND BLUE. You may be thinking, "How the hell are they gonna cram the whole history of American horror into one film?" and the answer is…editing, like, really good editing. As I check out the IMDb I see that the film was edited by ANDREW MONUMENT the same guy who directed it, two gold stars for you ANDREW. It's based on a book that has somehow escaped my grasp (and not for long) by author JOSEPH MADREY. You want talking heads? How ‘bout these noggins? JOHN CARPENTER, JOE DANTE , ROGER CORMAN, LARRY COHEN and GEORGE ROMERO, to name just a few. Lordy, my unofficial godfather LANCE HENRIKSEN even narrates! The only thing missing is JAMIE LEE CURTIS spoon-feeding you Activia while you watch it.

Did I mention bloggin' buddy JOHN KENNETH MUIR is in it yet? If you've stopped by REFLECTIONS ON FILM AND TELEVISION or read any of his books then you already know that he is whip smart and knows of what he speaks. In this doc he fires a starting pistol that initiates the best FRIDAY THE 13th kill montage that has ever existed outside of my head. Besides that, he's a guy who is committed to reading between the lines and digging up cinematic revelations that, if they were snakes, would have bitten your entire face off years ago. He even sings NIGHTMARE IN RED, WHITE AND BLUE's touching closing theme song…O.K., I made that last part up.

Really, across the board I was impressed by the insights delivered by all involved. (As far as I'm concerned everything that comes out of JOHN CARPENTER's mouth should be carved in stone.) It may sound silly but the type of discussion within the film makes me proud to be a horror fan. This is a documentary that understands the power of the genre to speak of anxieties we've yet to fully confront yet. It looks beyond the violence at the fears and regrets that they represent. Perhaps even more importantly, it points out that many of the issues that are addressed in horror simply aren't addressed anywhere else and that horror records a secret history all its own. It reminds you that horror is grander than the sum of its parts (even if those parts include the lovely CURTIS and Jason Voorhees's still riveting upside down handstand hack from PART 3.) Plus is there anything more stimulating than a well-executed montage? Well-executed montages curl my toes.

NIGHTMARES IN RED WHITE AND BLUE is available for preorder HERE but I myself caught it "On Demand" thanks to my local cable provider who I used to hate but now realize I love (is that Stockholm Syndrome?) Now don't be all cynical thinking I'm raving about this thing just because our buddy MUIR is in it. I honestly think that it would be impossible for any horror fan not to enjoy this informative yet still jocular (there's a riff on door slamming in THE THING FROM AN OTHER WORLD which is inspired) examination of the history of horror film in America. Miss this one at your own peril.

Splice

Posted on By unkle lancifer

Full disclosure: I adore SARAH POLLEY. If you read this here blog you're probably well aware of all my isms, schemas and bugaboos about modern cinema; my hatred of gaudy bombastic formulae and my passionate, quiet love for the idiosyncratic. It's easy to damn the movie gods and shake your fist at the sky without a solution or example of a preferred route but I happen to have an example of the preferred route and her name is SARAH POLLEY. Here is a successful, intelligent and proficient artist who takes risks and explores the fringe without catering to spectacle or vanity. She's so damn dignified, in tune and self possessed, that I just want to buy her an ice cream cone; I almost feel that she'd let me. That's a real human face you're seeing on screen, those are real human teeth, real person eyes and real human emotions. Something about SARAH POLLEY makes every other film star look like a garish vaudeville cartoon. POLLEY is the last human on Earth in a world of vampires. I AM LEGEND is based on her life. Did I mention that I LOVE SARAH POLLEY with all that is left of my charcoal heart?

SPLICE is a great fit for POLLEY, its shell might distract you into thinking it's another sexy alien rampage dud like SPECIES but beneath the CGI shenanigans, primal, monumental emotions are stirred. This movie hit me on a level that I really wasn't prepared for. I'm going to try to explain how it made me feel and in the process I may also reveal that I have severe mental problems. Please do not call the guys with the nets to come and get me. This is between just you and I…

I have near constant nightmares that my cat is in danger and needs help and I can't help him. This has been going on forever.

(Also: Have you seen the footage of the pelican covered in oil? It means we're all going to burn in hell.)

Here's the thing people, and they won't teach you this in school, the bravest thing you can ever do in life is take on the responsibility of caring about some other creature's well being. I don't care if it's your dumb baby, your smooch partner or a goldfish, you're putting yourself in the position of being hurt and torn apart. SPLICE may pretend it's all about creating FRANKENSTEIN monsters that cannot be controlled but its real power comes from the HORROR of caring. As soon as POLLEY starts to care about the being she has created, she is screwed. There is no way things are going to work out well, she has very unscientifically opened her heart and her heart is doomed. The universe sees her heart as a dartboard.

There's a bunch of stuff in this movie about playing God (somebody's got to), gender identity and hipster apartment hunting but I really don't care about that stuff. I really loved how SPLICE makes you care and then makes you pay for it. I'm not sure if that was its intention or if I just need a vacation but I was really impressed by how it rakes maternal/paternal feelings and then just shoots them down without ever being too obvious about it. (There's also something here about POLLEY's character trying to correct her own upbringing and finding what a dead end that is that I found interesting as well.) Oh yeah, and I almost forgot, this is a horror movie and the ending really does deliver some tense scares. As you can tell this isn't so much a review as some random associations, if it was a review I'd give it a seriously high rating. On the surface it may seem like the standard mish-mash but there's something very special and different here kicking and screeching and determined to break through. In other words if you're like me and have spent the last year bitching about the government cheese that masquerades as cinema, go see SPLICE, it may cure your ills. As for me, I'm going to take a nap and inevitably dream of my poor cat covered in oil.

P.S. I think ADRIAN BRODY is in this movie too.