FILM REVIEW: Halloween (1978)

Directed by John Carpenter

* * * ½

I recently watched RedLetterMedia’s re:View of horror master John Carpenter’s The Thing. While talking about the powerfully simple music throughout, one of the talking heads remarks of “Carpenter always refers to his scores as wallpaper. He never wants it to inform the scene or manipulate the scene like some filmmakers do where the score is what really drives the feeling or the emotion of the scene.” I’m unable to track down a source for this paraphrase, but if this is true of Carpenter, this is something any aspiring filmmaker should live by when it comes to the subject of background music. Whether it be those two ominous yet simple notes in The Thing, or the bluesy bassline from They Live, Carpenter’s work has some of the most iconic and haunting music in the horror genre, but perhaps he never had a more iconic and terrifying score than from his 1978 landmark of a horror movie, Halloween.

Haddonfield, Illinois – a humble suburb, with school just getting out for the evening. Not just any evening, though, for it is Halloween. The children scatter the streets and rush home, eager to put on their costumes and go out for Trick-Or-Treating. Teenagers discuss the latest in gossip, as well as carefully planning their sexual escapades for the evening. Among the teenagers, contrary to her mischievous friends, is Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), who will be spending the evening babysitting. But if only they were aware of the grave danger they are in this night. Stalking the town is one Michael Myers, an escaped mental patient who inexplicably and cold-bloody murdered his sister 15 years ago, when he was 6 years old. Hot on Michael’s trail, though, is Dr. Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasence), who has been Michael’s doctor his entire life. With Michael escaped, there is great danger afoot, and Dr. Loomis is hell-bent on averting the approaching terror.

Halloween kickstarted one of the most successful and iconic, if done to death, trend in the history of horror: the slasher film, where a cold-blooded murder with sharp weaponry stalking teenagers. Yeah, reading my plot synopsis, you might be thinking to yourself “Geez, this sounds familiar.” Well, trends have to start somewhere, of course. Here we are now, 40 years later, and Halloween has seen a beautiful transition from humble cult hit, to genuine horror classic, and now sitting on a pedestal as one of the greatest and most important films in the genre. In honor of 40 years of terror, a new 4K restoration has been making its way across the country. Unfortunately, I have not been able to partake in the opportunity of this re-release, but I can always stay in with the comfort of home video.

So, 40 years later, how does it hold up? Well, it’s pretty much how I remember it, but that’s not a bad thing, especially in the case of Halloween: in the sea of shlock that became of the slasher genre, Carpenter’s film still stands out. A premise like that of Halloween rests upon the vulnerability of the scenario. Let’s start with the slasher himself, Michael Myers. What he embodies is pure evil, something I don’t think any of us can comprehend. To be unable to understand this behavior is terrifying, and this is only further perpetuated by his dress code: dark boiler suit and white, expressionless mask. That’s it. We can’t understand his psyche, nor can we get any kind of further inkling by his appearance. It’s terrifying and it’s brilliant.

Of course, another tradition of the slasher villain is the unstoppable power – knock them down, they get back up. Once again, done to death. And, once again, it works in Halloween. Though set in a realistic and familiar setting, Michael traverses in a way that can only be described as otherworldly, and this anomalous presence allows for his apparent immortality to seem plausible, once again, adding to the terror. This all culminates in the film’s climactic final impact, and let me assure you that I didn’t realize just how terrifying this is until recently.

But it’s time to give credit where other credit is due, and next is Curtis, who gives her teenage babysitter a perfect blend of vulnerability and bravery. The other key player is Pleasence: sometimes he can be a bit hammy for my taste, but other times it works, especially in his famous monologue about the evil of Michael Myers. The two young children are also quite good here, though the teenagers are about what you’d expect.

Then there’s the music. There is perhaps no subject I’m more indifferent in film than that of the background score. Too many times have I sat through moments in movies that could have been incredibly powerful had the filmmakers let the scenes speak purely for themselves, but then came the music that aggressively grabbed my hand and patronizingly dragged me around the mental and emotional foliage of said scene. As for Halloween, on top of being memorable to the point of legend, Carpenter knows exactly when the music needs to be ominous, when it needs to be urgent, and when it needs to take a back seat. The music works perfectly here.

It had been over 10 years since I had previously watched Halloween until very recently. While I still enjoy the film, and I certainly have mad respect for its place in the genre I just can’t quite work up a 4-star review. The very trends Halloween started became so annoyingly overdone that the original itself got caught up in the oversaturation. That said, the clichés are not overly glaring – when the film works, it works wonders (especially in the climax). The result is terrifying, and it still earns its reputation four decades later.

EDITORIAL: De-Virginization, or: Red Eye's Very First 'Rocky Horror Picture Show'

On the way back from the movie theater, my friend and I made jokes about the perplexing existence of The Rocky Horror Picture Show – how the hell did it get made, what production company thought this was a good idea, etc. Of course, we live in the age of the Internet, where the very questions raised by my friend and I could be answered with a simple visit to Google or Wikipedia. During the conversation, I chimed in further – what would be the fun in actually looking this up? With a movie as outrageous, confounding, and inexplicable as this, to actually do the research on the reasons behind its inception would spoil one of the most glaring of anomalies in cinema. Besides, whatever the original intentions were, I highly doubt those involved were aiming for Rocky Horror to become the cult ritual it is today.

It took 25 years of existence, but it has finally happened: last night, I went to my very first screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show – actually, scratch that; last night, I was at last de-virginized. Here I am the next morning, and I’m still kind of taking it all in. Was it what I expected? Yeah, pretty much – it has become such an essential part of moviegoing for over 40 years that to not know what to expect would mean living under some kind of rock for my life. That said, it doesn’t exactly mean I was lukewarm in my reception to it. Oh, I want to emphasize something: the “it” I just referred to isn’t so much referring to The Rocky Horror Picture Show itself as much as it is referring to the experience of partaking in the very ritual of seeing the landmark cult classic. After all, how could I possibly be unconditionally invested in the movie with all of the singing, dancing, and shouting (which I partook in, of course) going on around me?

So, without further ado, let’s do the time-warp back to the evening of October 27^th, 2018. We, being my two good friends and I, pull up to the Tempe Alamo Drafthouse. It’s around 7:45 or so, and the show doesn’t start until 9, so we decide to hit up the bar and get a few drinks in us – well, except for me, as I wasn’t much in the mood for a drink, but oh, boy, do I wish I would have gotten a gin and tonic in me before the festivities. We link up with a couple of more friends and swap stories for an hour or so. But, the inevitable quickly approached us, and it was soon time for the show to begin.

Ushered into the theater by the director of the event (dressed as Magenta), we took our seats, ordered up some more beverages, and immediately sorted through the contents of the brown paper bags in front of us:

- Cone-shaped party hat

- Water pistol (which we had to fill ourselves)

- Sheet of newspaper

- Noise-maker

- Confetti popper

- Playing card

- Slice of stale, day old sourdough toast (I was crestfallen to discover we weren’t allowed to eat it)

The clock strikes 9, the theater darkens, but the front of the house is illuminated by spotlights. Enter the program director, who made her little introduction to the event, her experiences with it, and, most importantly, going over the house rules. Though her emphasis on said rules made me really worried of completely screwing up, her sparky energy was contagious beyond belief, and I was really excited for the festivities to start.

Then it’s time for the initiation: everybody is asked to stand up. If they have been to Rocky Horror XXX amount of times, please be seated. If they have been XX amount of times, please be seated. If they have been X amount of times, please be seated. If they have been even only a measly once, please be seated. So, there I am, still standing among my fellow virgins, 20 of which are summoned to the front of the house. My shyness prevented me from making my way initially, but I eventually got the courage to get my ass up there. It’s just too bad that I was one too many, and I trotted back to my seat. To any Rocky Horror virgins: never, ever pass up virgin initiation. It may be a little nerve-wracking, but remember that it’s all in good fun.

So, as for the 20 that stood before us; every other virgin is ordered to get down on their knees. Those still standing are handed a Twinkie, which they are to hold in the crotch region. Here is the virgin challenge that lies before us: those on their knees are to suck out the cream filling without destroying the Twinkies. Unfortunately, I was unable to see much from where I sat, but many a fellatio joke were made by everybody, along with plenty of cheering. Well, the challenge ended, and the winner was awarded some free Drafthouse passes.

And now it’s time for the main event. The lips on screen that beg for a Cease & Desist from the Rolling Stones descant about a science fiction double feature. Cut to a wedding, where Brad (asshooole) just loves Janet (sluuut), dammit! They get engaged, drive about in the rain, have a blow-out, and stumble upon a mysterious house. From there, it’s a rockin’ musical misadventure involving a couple that just want to use the phone, a shredded as hell man in golden undies (who could be a dead ringer for Rugter Hauer), men that turn out to be women, women that turn out to be men, all spearheaded, of course, by a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania, played by godlike cult icon Tim Curry, whose presence can make anything worth watching. On top of it all, this is all narrated by a British gentleman with no neck.

Watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show in the theater was like being part of an X-rated edition of Mystery Science Theater 3000, as the audience shouted out hilariously lewd riffs to the screen, a gentleman in the front and the program director being the absolute funniest out of all of us (her asshole/slut windshield wiper gesture during the rainstorm drive had me practically in tears). Of course, I’m sitting (or standing) there like a fish out of water, even with a set of instructions in hand. My personal favorite part of the whole experience was watching the shadow cast in the front, miming and acting out the movie to a T – their interpretation of the bed/silhouette scene was incredible.

But, all good things must come to an end. The movie finishes, the applause is overwhelming, we tip our waitress, and we all make our way out of the theater. We give our regards to the wonderful shadow cast, and drive back home. I listen to my friends as they talk about their experiences with Rocky Horror, how this one compared to their past viewings, stuff like that, all the while I’m standing here in a sort of catatonic state. Finally, my friend directs his attention to me and asks what I thought of it all. Skip a beat, and I was only able to utter the following:

“What the hell just happened?”

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Night of the Living Dead (1968)

Directed by George A. Romero

She is safe for now, having taken shelter inside a remote countryside house, sitting on the couch in the living room. In spite of the room’s charming Americana set-up, she is terrified, catatonic, helpless, unable to shake off the horrors she just saw with her own two eyes – her brother has been devoured by monsters, presumably the living dead. Her only company in this moment is a Zenith radio, which perpetuates the terror only further: the dead, are in fact, coming back to life to feed upon the living. This horrifying scenario is absolutely absurd, but not even the cozy American dream of the living room can bring comfort. It is a reality, and it is right here, right now.

This, to me, is one of the most powerful scenes in Night of the Living Dead, George A. Romero’s landmark no-budget horror film. Upon release, it became an instant cult classic. As time unfolded, it gracefully transitioned from cult hit, to genuine classic, to one of the greatest horror films ever made. Here we are, 50 years later, and it has not lost a single ounce of its punching power. As a matter of fact, as much as I hate to use this cliché, I think this film has become more relevant now than ever before. Best of all, a 4K restoration from Janus Films, which has been playing across the country over the last several months, only bolsters the film’s strength.

Like many stories of invasion, it opens up just like any other day. Johnny (Russell Streiner) and Barbara (Judith O’Dea), his sister, are wandering about a cemetery when it happens: slowly but surely, the living dead slowly and mindlessly stumble toward them. They are hungry. Only humankind can sustain them, and how unfortunate that Johnny and Barbara are in their sights. Johnny isn’t so lucky, but Barbara manages to escape to a house not too far away. She finds solace here, having hooked up with a few others who have taken shelter in the same house.

One of the survivors is Ben (Duane Jones), who takes it upon himself to spearhead the fight for their lives. He wastes no time preparing for the worst, spending every waking minute boarding up windows and doors, always quick and efficient in his instructors for his fellow compatriots. Unfortunately, instead of confronting the ever-growing army of the undead, the proper course of action becomes a source of constant debate. In traditional B-grade plot synopsis; will they fall victim to the teeth of the living dead? Or will they band together and come out victorious?

It’s a simple setup that has been utilized time and time again, and it so beautifully and humbly starts with Night of the Living Dead. It’s such a familiar formula that I’m not sure if it still feels fresh like it did in 1968, but it still works extraordinarily well here. This film is completely dependent on its small-scale setting, which is portrayed so familiarly. We’ve been to this house before. We’ve wandered these countryside vistas before. It is an America that we may not have grown up with, that we may not love, but it is an America that we’ve been to before. The terror literally hits home.

Upon revisiting Night of the Living Dead, this was the first time I’ve watched the film in the span of around 10 years. With most of the details faded from memory, I was surprised to see just how tame it is, as far as zombie attacks and such are concerned. There’s the initial encounter in the beginning, and save for a few window-sill skirmishes, very rarely are our heroes doing battle against the undead, yet it is still a tense movie. Of course, the claustrophobic setting always helps, but what keeps the tension going is the heroes arguing rationally. Let me explain: when they argue what the best course of action is (i.e., to hide in the basement vs. stay upstairs), while the proper course of action is always known to the viewer, it never boils down to the smart one vs. the idiot. One can understand where both sides are coming from.

But there are also many scenes that don’t involve battle or arguing, but rather sitting around the radio or television set, trying to get answers as to what the hell is going on and what to do. These are the tensest moments for me. There is no musical accompaniment. No overblown or melodramatic gestures. Just monotone (albeit, with a sense of urgency) exposition of the issue at hand. When the news anchors admit their disbelief in current events in that same tone, that’s what’s really scary. But all of that sitting around pays off when it boils over into the chaotic final act, as the literal hordes of undead close in on the house, and then it becomes all-out war.

Technical style plays a big part in Night of the Living Dead, many times going up-close and personal on the action with handheld. Not only does it add to the urgency, especially in the final act (I truly don’t remember it feeling that intense), but also to the believability – obviously, the subject of zombies is naturally farfetched, and Romero makes you totally buy it from start to finish (further assisted by the presence of TV and radio).

The social commentary present in Night of the Living Dead is pretty clear, that being the necessity to band together in a world that is slowly shambling toward mutilating and devouring itself. Themes like this can always give a film a bit of extra credit, especially in horror, but sometimes a film can rely too much on its message that the strength of the film is secondary to consideration (this is why I wasn’t keen on the 2017 hit Get Out). As you could probably imagine, this is not the case with the masterful Night of the Living Dead, but the film wisely avoids alluding to any particular issue to its time. Like I said earlier; the film feels incredibly relevant today, making it all the more bone-chilling. I was not expecting this upon revisiting.

Night of the Living Dead has turned 50 this year, and I highly encourage you to celebrate this milestone anniversary of this landmark film. Granted, I hope to one day see its message become dated and irrelevant. If that day comes, not to worry: this film will still be great entertainment, even in those idealistic days. As for today; does it inspire the occasional unintended laugh? Absolutely; the way some fights against zombies are filmed are kind of awkward. Yeah, some of the acting is a bit hammy. Incredibly, though, none of this once detracts from the greatness of the film. That feat alone is something remarkable, but with everything else in mind, this is undoubtedly one of the greatest horror films ever made.

FILM REVIEW: Distant Voices, Still Lives (1988)

Directed by Terence Davies

* * *

With precise recollection, I can remember being at a small club in Phoenix. It is dark, lit only by the darkened purple of black-lights. I’m swiftly getting up off of a stool to rush to the dance floor upon hearing a particularly compelling series of rapid-fire synthesized bass lines, accompanied by the razor-sharp vocals of one Douglas J. McCarthy. How vividly do I recall dancing my ass off like nobody’s watching as the vicious beats pulsated the night away. I am forced to recall this particular moment every single time I hear “Murderous”, a song by British EBM band Nitzer Ebb. The overwhelming power of music’s ability to “take you back” has always been one of my favorite experiences throughout life.

Music and nostalgia are at the core of Distant Voices, Still Lives by Terence Davies, often regarded as one of the very greatest of British cinema. In spite of the renowned reputation of Davies’ humble 1988 classic, it has been virtually unavailable in the United States for home viewing. Very recently, however, a joint venture Arrow Academy and the BFI have brought us a brand new 4K restoration in commemoration for its 30^th anniversary. Though I was unable to enjoy the theatrical experience, the joint venture has subsequently released a terrific Blu-Ray.

Told in two separate chapters (dubbed “Distant Voices” and “Still Lives”), it chronicles the dreariness of England during and after World War 2 from the struggles of a working-class family in Liverpool. The first chapter recounts their tumultuous relationship with the family patriarch (Pete Postlethwaite), a man who rules the family with an iron fist and will have it no other way. Spliced in between memories of his tyranny are his final moments, where he lays dying, surrounded by the same family he showed no mercy.

The second chapter follows the three children of this family – Eileen (Angela Walsh), Maisie (Lorraine Ashbourne), and Tony (Dean Williams). As adults, they are all approaching the realm of marriage. As their relationships unravel, they don’t seem to bring the joy so mercilessly promised. Their only means of solace, and what ties the fragmented narrative together, is music. Whether it be the radio, the church organ, or singing together over a pint at the local pub, their spirits are always lifted to the heavens when their ears are graced with the miracle of music.

Earlier this year, I had my first Davies experience with his ’92 film The Long Day Closes. The techniques and aesthetics applied throughout the film, through use of dream-like tracking shots, soft focus, and bright lighting on key figures, bring feelings of nostalgia and memory – not only that, but manages to bring about the warm feeling associated with recollection of days of youth. Most impressively, these feelings are brought about even before we the viewers know anything about the stories or characters that radiate upon the screen before us. It is very fragmented in its story-telling, but any chronological confusion never becomes frustrating to the viewer, as it is evident that it is more concerned with capturing a feeling rather than telling a story. That said, as much as I appreciated The Long Day Closes, I ultimately felt very underwhelmed after it was over. It’s only been a few months since I previously watched that film, and I’ve already forgotten the vast majority of it.

One may be puzzled as to why I dedicate an entire paragraph to a different movie. Well, on top of being a sequel of sorts, The Long Day Closes is stylistically identical to Distant Voices, Still Lives. Because of this, I must admit that as world-renowned as this film is, I still feel somewhat underwhelmed upon first impressions. Because of its emphasis on memory over story and characters, I feel like I can’t get fully invested in the lives of those who inhabit the film. Granted, there are plenty of films that favor style over substance that wind up being remarkable and some of the greatest achievements in cinema – Distant Voices, Still Lives just doesn’t do it for me at this moment.

However, I emphasize “at this moment”. It’s been about a day since I finished watching Distant Voices, Still Lives, and I have not been able to completely shake what I’ve seen. Watching these characters amidst a backdrop of the faded bricks that fill the alleys and rain-soaked roads, seeing the struggles they trudge through and then to see them burst into song as if they’re ascending into heaven is truly a joy to behold – yes, a cliché phrase, but it’s more than appropriate here.

And there are truly some emotionally striking moments, one in particular will haunt me for the rest of my life: one of the young daughters reunites with her father in an air raid shelter as their city is under attack. After striking her for her truancy, he grips her by the shoulders rather violently. As the bombs drop, he demands – nay, he begs – her to sing, to which she obliges, as if it’s their only hope.

Though this is the one moment that sticks out the most to me, the film is filled with moments like these. The key word here is “moment”, and here is where I reserve my complete judgment of the film – moments are what this film is all about, and for that I don’t fault it at all. In fact, I commend it. But does it make for a great film in the long-run? Well, I’ve only just seen the film for the first time ever, in spite of its 30-year life-span, and I’m going off of first impressions. Take this with a grain of salt, because the more I stew on this film, the more I’m convinced there is a marvel here that I’m just not awarding credit. For now, it is superlative in technique and mood, but underwhelming in substance. 

But then again, that's the point, is it not?

THE WEEKLY RECAP: October 15 - 21

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

Directed by William Wyler

* * * ½

The horrors of World War 2 are finally over, and among the many men returning to America are three in particular – Captain Fred Derry (Dana Andrews), Sergeant Al Stephenson (Fredric March), and Sailor Homer Parrish (Harold Russell), all three returning to the same small Midwest town they call home. As excited as they are, coming back becomes an arduous transition, as the charm of Americana isn’t quite what it used to be: finding work is a borderline impossibility; children are becoming adults; partners leave. On top of that, their experiences from war haunt them, whether mentally (Derry awakens from nightmares), emotionally (Stephenson takes to drinking), or physically (Parrish lost both of his hands). 

Perhaps I’m just not looking hard enough, but films about returning vets are an uncommon breed. When they do come across, even if they’re excellent films, they tend to overflow with boisterous melodrama and more flag-waving than I’m comfortable with. None of this is present in The Best Years of Our Lives, an epic that has transcended it’s time and region as an exceptionally timeless and universal work of cinema. Stylistically, yes, this is definitely classic Hollywood, but the drama still speaks for itself, rarely begging for sympathy from the viewer if at all. And the drama is riveting for its near-3 hour length, but let me assure you that not once does it feel like it.

I do have one criticism of this seminal classic: the entire movie feels like a series of rising actions that never culminate into a climax (with the exception of a few scenes), and I couldn’t help but feel left hanging throughout. That said, the film does have an intentional feeling of aimless wandering like our protagonists seem to be going through, so closer attention to a subsequent viewing may alleviate this. Otherwise, this is a solid movie and one of the finest examples of Classic Hollywood.

Hereditary (2018)

Directed by Ari Aster

* * *

[Possible Spoilers Ahead]

It is a time of tragedy for the Graham family – Annie’s (Toni Collette) mother has passed, but after years of a broken relationship, her eulogy is less than sympathetic. The emotional damage done has passed on to Annie’s family, as everybody is disconnected – the Grahams are a ticking time bomb, essentially. The tragedy worsens after Charlie (Milly Shapiro), Annie’s daughter, dies in a freak accident. Grief stricken, unattached to her family, Annie attempts to find emotional support, eventually crossing paths with Joan (Ann Dowd), who turns Annie toward the direction of supernatural contact. Simultaneously, however, Annie seems to be on the verge of completely losing her mind.

I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll say it many times again: while there are exceptions (namely Carpenter’s The Thing), the best horror films I’ve seen are set upon a foundation of some sort of human drama. Hereditary not only wisely follows through with this, but truly stands out amongst modern horror, as it is an exceptionally restrained and patient film – not once does it rush from highlight to highlight, not once does it result to jump-scares or migraine-inducing quick cuts for effect. Further making Hereditary worthwhile are not only the amazing shot compositions, but the performances. Oh, the performances! Toni Collette, especially. I hate to sound hyperbolic, but I really hope to see an Oscar nomination for her. On a side note; one of my favorite hobbies is assembling/painting miniatures, and Hereditary tickled that a little bit, as Annie builds elaborate dioramas. Not essential, but I couldn’t resist mentioning that.

As you can probably tell, Hereditary is slow-burn horror. Nothing wrong with that (The Shining is my favorite horror film, after all), but this is perhaps a bit too slow-burn. It was compelling enough that I wanted to see how this movie would unravel, but it moved slow enough that I found myself frequently checking the timecode (though not so slow that I was prepared to walk out). The whole supernatural/Satanic angle I found to be borderline insultingly hackneyed. Take all of this with a grain of salt, as I’m still kind of taking it in. In the meantime, here’s how I’ll put it: it was worthwhile within the runtime, but it didn’t last much after that.

The Hero (1966)

Directed by Satyajit Ray

* * * ½

For anybody aboard the train bound for Dehli, they are in for a treat of a trip. One of their fellow passengers is Arindam Mukherjee (Uttam Kumar), an actor who walks the world with a godlike status, bound for Dehli to receive an award. Though he seems polite and cordial, behind his sunglasses is a weary and cynical man, having grown disillusioned of the world around him from his experiences in the film industry. From his interactions with his fellow passengers, particularly his conversation with a female journalist (Sharmila Tagore) interested in his experiences, this train ride will prove to be a pivotal and profound moment in his life.

Oh, Satyajit Ray, the great Bengali auteur behind the Apu Trilogy, my favorite film of all time (yes, I’m counting the entire trilogy as one film). After decades of borderline obscurity, it always brings me great joy to see his work resurface, and The Hero is one I’ve been particularly interested in. As usual, Mr. Ray doesn’t disappoint. This is a fascinating character study under the circumstances of one of the loneliest states of being a man can stand in – fame. Films with lead characters like this are always at great risk of losing sympathy from the viewer. Thanks to a compelling lead performance from Kumar, the character never becomes completely unlikable and is always easy to sympathize with.

I don’t have too much to criticize here. The only thing that really stands out in my mind is a side-story involving an advertising specialist who doesn’t really have anything to do with the story on a surface level. Granted, he’s probably there for thematic/symbolic reasons, but his arc is so forgettable that the film could have done just fine without him. Overall, while The Hero didn’t have the lasting impact I hoped it to have, it was still an excellent addition in Ray’s remarkable filmography.

Memories of Underdevelopment (1968)

Directed by Tomas Gutierrez Alea

* * * *

In the wake of the Bay of Pigs incident, airports are crammed with people eager to get out of Cuba. Staying behind, though, is Sergio (Sergio Corrieri), a bachelor who fancies himself an intellectual. As his girlfriend, family, and friends have fled, Sergio wanders the seemingly barren streets and city blocks of Cuba, his mind always on the many changes that Cuba has gone through over the years. Though he mingles with people here and there, Sergio only grows more and more detached from his surroundings, to the point where his own country becomes something of an alien landscape.

I wrote lists for Taste of Cinema for a period of time, and my first piece for them was “10 Great Films That Are Beyond Description”. Of course, as time goes on, the more I wish I could go back and add/alter the list with more titles. If I could, I would undoubtedly add Memories of Underdevelopment. It’s difficult to really pin down exactly what this movie is about or trying to say. Then again, as much as that may or may not be the point, what this is equally (or more) about is capturing a specific kind of ennui, one of alienation, and the film absolutely nails capturing this feeling.

Stylistically, Memories of Underdevelopment was radically ahead of its time, using a collage of different techniques. Interestingly enough (and admirably), the movie is always grounded in itself, so to speak. To clarify; it never overindulges in any kind of technique, and always keeps its cool. The result is something that was not only ahead of its time, but still holds up today without feeling dated in the slightest. I wish I had more to say, but it’s difficult for me to go into detail, as I’m not only still processing the movie (a rather difficult one), but it also was not at all what I was expecting. Perhaps there’ll be a Greatest Favorites entry someday. In the meantime, I can assure you that this is an enigma of a movie worth your time.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: October 8 - 14

Barton Fink (1991)

Directed by Joel Coen

* * * *

Hot off the critical and commercial success of his Broadway play, the awkward and often-silent Barton Fink (John Turturro) receives word that Hollywood-based Capitol Pictures wants Fink to write for the movies – specifically, for a B-grade wrestling picture. So, he heads to Los Angeles, checks into his shabby hotel, unpacks his typewriter, and begins writing. Unfortunately, that last part becomes complicated: writer’s block, and the script is due in one week. Further adding to the issue at hand is his friendship with Charlie Meadows (John Goodman), Fink’s noisy yet friendly neighbor who pops in uninvited to Fink’s room, becoming a great irony: Fink’s seemingly only solace in this predicament is also his primary distraction.

The Coen Brothers are very hit-or-miss for me. Sometimes their style irritates me to no end, and sometimes they’re capable of making some of the greatest work in movies (No Country for Old Men remains one of the best movies I’ve seen in the past 18 years). I don’t usually go too out of my way for their work, but films about the writing process have always intrigued me. As you could imagine, it was only a matter of time before I got around to the Palme d’Or-winning Barton Fink, and I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am that I went out of my way for this. As not only an examination and poetic portrayal of the writing process, it is also an excellent satire on the film industry – this would make an excellent double-feature with Robert Altman’s The Player.

Barton Fink made me really appreciate John Turturro’s skills as an actor; looking at his performance in Do the Right Thing, which was release 2 years prior to this, then watching Barton Fink…wow, what a transformation. Naturally, he absolutely nails the title character. Of course, John Goodman is always wonderful. The other-worldly atmosphere that the film creates (sometimes teetering into Lynchian territory) is incredible, and really works to the advantage of the Coen’s style. I honestly don’t think there’s really a bad thing I could say about this film. It’s remarkable.

Heaven Can Wait (1943)

Directed by Ernst Lubitsch

* * * *

Following his death, Henry Van Cleve (Don Ameche) descends down the stairs into the reception center of Hell, greeted by His Excellency (Laird Cregar). After the life that Henry has led, there is no possible way Henry would be allowed upstairs. Therefore, he is sure to be granted entry into Hell without hesitation…except His Excellency seems uncertain regarding Henry’s eligibility. Thus, His Excellency asks Henry to recall his entire life. The son of an aristocratic family, Henry is always getting himself into trouble, particularly with women: first, there was Mademoiselle (Signe Hasso), a French maid who shared…certain experiences with a young Henry. Later, there was Martha (Gene Tierney), once the fiancée of Henry’s cousin, but soon whisked away by Henry’s mischievous charm.

Ernst Lubitsch is about to become my next cinematic obsession. Earlier this year, I watched Trouble in Paradise (my first Lubitsch experience) – with its simultaneously hilarious, witty, and touching interpretation of romance along with subtle and subversive social commentary, I fell in love. These trends continue with Heaven Can Wait. While I’m not sure if I prefer this over Trouble in Paradise, all of Lubitsch’s touches are much more refined here. I’m usually not a fan of films that use the “let me tell you my entire life’s story” technique, but it works really in Heaven Can Wait, thanks to an amusing interpretation of the Underworld, along with a terrific performance by Cregar as His Excellency.

While Heaven Can Wait hit all the right notes, I wish it would have sustained a few notes a bit more, so to speak – I would have loved to have seen more interactions between Henry and His Excellency in between the chapters of Henry’s life. This is also a very talkative kind of movie, the type that is more about dialogue than visual storytelling, so keeping up could be a little difficult, but the sharp and hilarious dialogue never made this a problem. Yes, I have some criticisms, but none of this was enough to derail Heaven Can Wait in the slightest. Capped with a touching and uplifting ending, this movie is pure gold.

Johnny Got His Gun (1971)

Directed by Dalton Trumbo

* * ½

Though groggy and disoriented, Joe Bonham (Timothy Bottoms), a young American soldier in World War 1, wakes up in a hospital room. As his consciousness slowly begins making its way back, Joe is confronted with the horrifying discovery that he is now a prisoner in his own body: he is now a quadruple amputee, the result of an artillery shell strike. Unable to move, unable to speak, he is confined to the recesses of his own thoughts and memories – was it his own fault for volunteering? Is this just a dream? Where does reality end and delusion begin? It’s a line that blurs only more and more.

Based on the famous anti-war novel, author Dalton Trumbo decides to tackle the film adaptation himself in his only directorial effort. Though a bold move and overall admirable effort, I’m not sure Trumbo should have taken the helm here. Trumbo does show a lot of potential, but for a first work, he should have left the directing to somebody else. While not a bad film, there’s a lot of surrealism throughout, and the result feels kind of awkward throughout. In the hands of a better director, this could have been a great film – hell, I read somewhere that Luis Bunuel was originally desired to direct. Granted, I’m not a fan of Bunuel, but I feel his skills were much better suited for Johnny Got His Gun.

This film does have its moments, though. Listening to Joe’s narration and the slow realization of what his life has become is bone-chilling (and the somewhat monotone delivery amplifies the chill-factor). At one point, Joe forms a unique bond with one of his nurses, who communicates with Joe by running her finger along his chest as if writing. Not only was this very touching, but I’ve never seen anything like it. Everything else around the film is okay – while the performances and technicality are nothing spectacular, they get the job done.  An alright film, but I’ll move on from it pretty quickly.

L’Atalante (1934)

Directed by Jean Vigo

* * * *

After living in a small village for her entire life, Juliette (Dita Parlo) gets to broaden her horizons after marrying Jean (Jean Daste), the captain of L’Atalante, a small river barge which also serves as their home. Accompanied by rowdy first mate Pere Jules (Michel Simon), they set sail for Paris for a cargo delivery. Though it is a small voyage, it becomes a trial for everybody involved, with the crew not used to an outsider (let alone a woman) accompanying them, as well as the greater world is perhaps a bit too new for Juliette. This doesn’t make the voyage a bad one, necessarily; after all, what is the loveliness of life without some trials here and there?

A film like L’Atalante is one that cannot be watched casually; from the time it comes from, as well as the influence and impact it has had on the art form, it must be regarded as a piece of history over anything else, and what an accomplishment not only for 1934, but as well as a feature-length debut by a man dying of tuberculosis (Jean Vigo would pass just months after L’Atalante’s premiere). Sure, it has many of the quirks of films from this time during the transition to talkies, but otherwise this is an assured and confident film; not once do you get the sense that Vigo feels out of his element. On a visual level, it is absolutely spectacular, but on a more intimate level – the tracking shot of a bridal-gown-donned Juliette walking atop the ship was absolutely gorgeous.

As much as I emphasize this film on a historical level, can it still be enjoyed? Absolutely, as this is a very lovely movie. Though much of it takes place in the confines of the ship, which may feel claustrophobic, it adds to the intimacy rather than add any kind of tension (granted, strife becomes a theme in the film). The characters, though not the deepest or most fascinating, are still wonderful people to spend time with – Pere Jules, especially. I think what I love most is Vigo’s love for moments – rather than going from one chapter to the next, Vigo spends his time reveling in the spontaneity of the events. L’Atalante is essential viewing for every cinephile out there, whether they want to see it or not. You have my word you won’t regret watching it.

Silence (2016)

Directed by Martin Scorsese

* * * ½

It is the 17^th Century. Two Jesuit priests – Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Garupe (Adam Driver) – have received news that their fellow Jesuit and mentor Ferreira (Liam Neeson) has renounced his faith after enduring the harsh and torturous trials of Tokugawa-era Japan, where Christianity is strictly outlawed. In disbelief of the news, the two pupils set out for Japan in search of Ferreira, despite the life-threating risks they face. Albeit with great uncertainty, they turn to the alcoholic Kichijiro (Yosuke Kubozuka) for guidance into Japan. From that point forward, it becomes the ultimate trial of their devotion to Christ, putting to the test just how much pain and suffering they are willing to accept in His name.

Silence is appropriately titled. Contrary to the kinetic quality of the vast majority of his filmography, Martin Scorsese tackles this long-time passion project of his (which start development in 1990) with a very reserved style, reminiscent of ‘50s Japanese cinema. This is not a relaxingly reserved film, though; the proverbial silence is more a result akin to holding one’s breath. This is an incredibly tense film, the threats of a persecuting valley always stalking the world around our protagonists. In turn, Silence becomes one hell (pun more or less intended) of a journey – due to the film’s scale and arduous odyssey (both external and internal), I’m tempted to call this Martin Scorsese’s Apocalypse Now, a comparison I’m surprised nobody’s brought up yet.

Also surprising is just how little discussed Silence is. Granted, some of the dialogue is lackluster and perhaps runs 20-some minutes longer than it needs to, but otherwise this is still a solid addition to Scorsese’s remarkable catalog. At least it earned an Oscar nomination for Best Cinematography, which is fully deserved. Also noteworthy is Andrew Garfield’s performance as the struggling Jesuit. Though not one of Scorsese’s absolute best movies, it’s an overlooked gem worth looking into – besides, you can never go wrong with Marty.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: October 1 - 7

Far From Heaven (2002)

Directed by Todd Haynes

* * * ½

The Whitakers embody the very image and spirit of the 1950s family – working husband, housewife, a little girl and boy, a nice suburban home, the works. Everything seems to be in order for them…seems to be. Cathy (Julianne Moore) one night discovers her husband Frank (Dennis Quaid) in an intimate moment with another man. Simultaneously, she is alarmed at the sight of a black stranger in her front yard, only to find out that he is their new gardener – Raymond (Dennis Haysbert) is his name. With her perception of her cozy life steadily altering and her marriage beginning to crumble, Cathy begins to find solace in her blossoming friendship with Raymond, in spite of the racially-fueled chagrin of friends and colleagues.

Todd Hanyes models Far From Heaven in the mold of a ‘50s domestic melodrama – from the photography and lighting to the music, imagine the film in black and white and you’d think you were watching a piece of Golden Era Hollywood (it kind of stuns me that they didn’t go this route). Rather than it being a piece of nostalgic pandering, however, Haynes uses this technique, mirroring the era with its own idealistic image, as a means of truly confronting the domestic truths of the era. It’s a brilliant idea that really pays off, but what really steals the show here are the performances – Maysbert and Moore especially, the latter of which was nominated for an Academy Award.

There are two big issues presented here are domestic turmoil and racism. While they are boldly tackled in Far From Heaven, I can’t help but feel like I was watching two different movies. I don’t know why, it just feels like the two stories seamed together perfectly, and it’s really my biggest problem with the movie. My only other criticism is more of a nitpick, but some of the colors of the lighting is really weird; sometimes the sets bear an out-of-place resemblance to a Joel Schumacher Batman movie (maybe not that overboard, though). I digress, though; Far From Heaven is still an exceptionally solid…not throwback, but retrospect on a bygone era.

Her (2013)

Directed by Spike Jonze

* * * *

Wandering the streets of a near-future Los Angeles, Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) finds himself at a lonely stage in life, going through the finalization of a divorce from his life-long sweetheart. While going about his business, he stumbles upon an advertisement for something called OS1, a computer packaged remarkable A.I. console designed to get to know its user on a human-like personal level (sort of a non-pornographic predecessor to Blade Runner 2049’s Joi). The computer dubs itself Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson), and becomes an outlet for Theodore’s loneliness. Before too long, though, the two form an intense bond that could be considered a legitimate relationship – if only Samantha were a real person.

I love films with a bittersweet tone. Additionally, I’ve always found loneliness to be a fascinating subject in movies. With that in mind, it should be of no surprise that I enjoyed Her. Actually, scratch that: I absolutely loved this movie, and I’m a little disappointed in myself that it took me this long to getting around to Her. Though set in the future, it’s a future that not only feels palpable, but seems like it’s already here with technology’s endless strides – this is because it never over-indulges in the whole sci-fi future; it is grounded in the world we live in now. It’s portrayal of loneliness is also very well done – yes, it’s an overall sad state to live in, but Her never wallows in the sadness, knowing when to be funny and when to be touching.

Because my first two experiences with Joaquin Phoenix were Gladiator and Signs, I was never too sure about his acting abilities. Lately, however, he has become an incredibly talented and transformative actor – Her is simply another addition to an impressive and dynamic body of work. Scar-Jo is lovely, as always, even when she’s only acting with her voice – the chemistry between these two is absolutely charming. Though this was directed by Spike Jonze, it is surprisingly reserved in its style, which I really appreciated – more opportunity to soak in the substance. I’m not a huge fan of Arcade Fire, but their score deserves it’s Oscar nomination (if only they’d release the score sometime). Not much else to say, at this point: one of the most memorable films of the decade, and I absolutely loved it.

Revolutionary Road (2008)

Directed by Sam Mendes

* * *

April and Frank (Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, respectively) first met, quite casually, at a party – they know right then and there that they are meant for each other. Fast forward: they are married, but it doesn’t take long for their relationship to take a rather sour turn, worsened by their stale lives – April, once an aspiring actress, is now bound to the confines of the housewife lifestyle; Frank now works for a company he vowed to never work for in his life. They set goals from time to time in an effort to better their marriage (planning a move to Paris, in particular), but nothing seems to mask a bitter fact about their lives: they just might not love each other anymore.

It is natural for man to want more and more out of life. I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing, and a case can be made for the benefits of always wanting – when one has everything they can possibly want, what’s next? Revolutionary Road poses this exact question. It wastes no time showing us a couple in turmoil. They seem to have everything they could possibly want, yet they’re always at each other’s throats – perhaps it is because they technically have everything they need. With this in mind, I found this an interesting movie, driven by two incredible performances from DiCaprio and Winslet. I can’t emphasize how terrific they were.

Though this was a good movie, that’s all I can leave it at. Though the production design was solid, perfectly representing its era without overindulging in sets and costumes, it wasn’t particularly interesting on a visual level. The score is generic at best; at worst, it intrudes on scenes in a manipulative manner a few too many times for my taste. The overall structure of the script is incredibly predictable; argument, temporary resolution, quasi-contentment, boiling tension, rinse and repeat. While the drama never becomes eye-rolling, it never really gets much of anywhere. On a side note, there’s Michael Shannon’s character, an insane man who seems to be the inner voice of Frank and April – this is fascinating, but the character is only in two or three scenes. Overall, a good movie, but a one-and-done for me.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Blade Runner 2049 (2017)

Directed by Denis Villeneuve

To reiterate the purpose of my ‘Greatest Favorites’: this personal catalogue is reserved for films that I not only love, but films that I also believe stand the test of time as genuinely great films. If you’ve seen the list, you’ll see films from the current decade like Boyhood and The Tree of Life on the list. Perhaps it is somewhat irresponsible of me to add such recent releases, but we are approaching the end of the decade in a couple of years, so I can justify those. That said, I feel somewhat silly to add Blade Runner 2049, as it is only a year old at the time I’m writing this – even then, I only waited this long just to let the one-year mark pass by to give myself at least a little bit of credibility, because I’ve been eager to write this all year.

I am about to speak in what may sound like shameless hyperbole to some, which is all-too prevalent throughout Internet criticism, but I hope I can assure you that this is my sincere and honest opinion: I truly believe that Blade Runner 2049 is going to go down in history as not only one of the greatest sequels of all time, but one of the top five science fiction films of the 21^st Century. In traditional elitist-cinephile fashion, I could almost say that its less-than-stellar box office performance alone was an indication of this.

We are taken to Los Angeles in the titular year of 2049 – 30 years after the events of the first film. The world is more artificial than ever, from vegetation to the people (you’ll wonder who is really human in this film, if at all) all thanks to the Wallace Corporation, the successor of Tyrell. Not only has founder Niander Wallace (Jared Leto) prevented famine with the advent of synthetic farming, but he has also created a new and revolutionary line of replicants.

Then there’s K (Ryan Gosling), LAPD Blade Runner. He is a replicant, and a rather lonely one. He lives in the midst of the oppressive neon of 2049 A.D. Los Angeles, demonized by the public as a ‘Skinjob’ (a derogatory term in this world). His only means of solace is Joi (Ana de Armas), an artificial person designed to be the ultimate sex pot of a girlfriend. K has just retired a replicant hiding out in a distant farm. There, he discovers a buried crate full of replicant female bones. The cause of death: childbirth. Childbirth from not just a replicant, but from Rachael (from the original Blade Runner). Lt. Joshi (Robin Wright), K’s boss, is distraught from the notion that replicants can reproduce. She orders K to destroy all links to this discovery, sending him into one hell of a journey through the decaying corpse of this modern world, in desperate need of some kind of miracle.

Of course, we can’t talk about 2049 without addressing its seminal iconic 1982 predecessor. Interestingly enough, it’s not only been a year since 2049 was released, but this also marks the first time I watched Blade Runner almost exactly 10 years ago…or when I attempted to watched it, more appropriately. When I first watched Blade Runner in 2008, I absolutely loathed it. Nowadays, I have fondly warmed up to it, and I certainly have no idea giving it recognition in the ‘Greatest Favorites’, but it is still somewhat of a flawed masterpiece – it wants to be an artful, existentialist meditation on the whole humanity vs. A.I. theme, but it also wants to be this slick neo-noir detective mystery-thriller, and I’ve always found that it just never quite finds that balance, sort of making the film awkwardly teeter-totter between how it wants to handle the material.

And here comes 2049, which achieves everything the original set out to accomplish. And then some.

From the very first frames of Blade Runner 2049, of that eye opening and the abstract overhead image of the synthetic farm, I was completely entranced, and the movie didn’t lose its grip once. This is a film where the viewer becomes a sponge, absorbing every single bit of atmosphere it has to offer. The production design is one of the primary driving forces of Blade Runner 2049. Every single environment is imagined to the smallest detail, every frame is meticulously and slavishly composed (there’s a very good reason this film won Oscars for Best Cinematography and Visual Effects), every sound is intensely intimate – this atmosphere is all further bolstered by an incredible score by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch, filled with orgasmic waves of synth and threatening rumbles of bass. This movie is worth watching for the very look and sound of it alone – I can’t begin to tell you how much I regret not seeing it more than once in the theaters.

The original Blade Runner has one of my favorite production designs in all of movies. 2049 not only incorporates elements from its predecessor, but wisely expands on the film’s world. The technology in the hands of the characters have greatly improved, mainly the devices used to detect replicants. What once required a giant electronic device (which still looks futuristic) with a lengthy series of questions, all that’s used now is a palm-sized scanner – a simple look at the eye will reveal a serial number. Simple as that.

Blade Runner gave us all we needed in its gritty cyberpunk metropolis. Though 2049 does spend time here (albeit in a maturely refined portrayal), 2049 is much more concerned with what’s going on outside of Los Angeles, from the landfill of a landscape that was once San Diego to the desolate and highly radioactive Las Vegas. Though there are only a handful of locations here, they are all constructed right down to the most insignificant of set pieces, and the labor pays off, as every environment has its own unique look and identity – they are almost characters unto themselves.

But this is all icing on the cake, and it has much more flavor to offer than frosting. Each character cast perfectly – Gosling gives K vulnerability masked by stoicism, voluntarily walled off from those that surround him. Ana de Armas is indeed sexy as Joi, the holographic program designed for prurience, but she also fits K’s needs exceptionally well – the result is a character we forget isn’t real most of the time, not to mention being part of perhaps the most original sex scene in film history. Sylvia Hoeks’s Luv would make a great companion for Anton Chigurh, the terrifying entity of a man from No Country for Old Men. Though I don’t have much to say about Jared Leto, he gets the job done as the intellectually sinister Wallace. Finally, there’s good old Harrison Ford, an actor I’ve never been a fan of. Upon my recent revisit of 2049, though, I found a lot to appreciate in his reprisal of Deckard – keep a close eye on him when he is greeted by the reconstruction of Rachael. His eyes alone do all of the talking.

Equally important in 2049 is its story, which is equally as absorbing as the atmosphere, not to mention surprisingly moving (I dare you to try and not cry at the finale). Granted, it drops the neo-noir thriller vibe from the original Blade Runner, going for more of a standard mystery. Yes, 2049 is a slow film, but it is exceptionally well-paced, always keeping the viewer glued to their seat just to find out how each chapter is going to unravel. It’s like waking up on Christmas morning and unwrapping gifts one by one. There is some debatable fan service here and there, namely when K reviews the original Voight-Kampff test for Rachael, but it never once overtakes the material at hand.

This leads me to another point. As addressed, Blade Runner 2049 is a sequel, and it is my firm belief that a truly great sequel must not require its predecessor to fully function. Does it here? In that regard, I’ve already seen the original, so I can’t really say for sure. I can see how some audiences may be confused of the significance of Rachael and Deckard when they’re discussed, but with protagonist K being from now rather than then, I can see how this might relieve a viewer’s confusion.

Does 2049 top its legendary predecessor, in the grand scheme of things? That really depends on the viewer, and there’s plenty of room for debate, but I can’t deny that this is one of the most incredible, imaginative, and entrancing movies to come out in a while – double impressive that this is from a Hollywood film. For me, it’s a work of art in the truest sense of the term, a bona fide journey, and one hell of a masterpiece that I’ll never forget, and I doubt I’ll see a better sci-fi film for the remainder of the decade (at the very least). I’ve mentioned before that I see a great resurgence in sci-fi cinema. Blade Runner 2049 is the ultimate proof of my point.