ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': The Big Lebowski (1998)

Directed by the Coen Brothers

It’s the Coen brothers that get the last laugh at the end of The Big Lebowski – quite an accomplishment, because chances are the viewer has had quite a ball with the movie. About two hours later, after all of those antics, the relentless running around, the wacky characters, the White Russians, after all of Sam Elliott’s wonderfully dramatic narration, the Dude’s coveted rug (which prompts the entire film, remind you) is never compensated. In other words, there is zero resolution. In fact, has anything of merit or value really happened at the film’s end? If I’m questioning the movie this much, is there any point in even watching it? It’s only that last question that I’m comfortable and confident in answering: absolutely.

Endlessly quotable with a wonderful cast of outrageous and memorable characters, complimented by pitch-perfect performances, there is no doubt in my mind that The Big Lebowski stands (and will continue to stand) as one of the greatest comedies in recent memory. Twenty years later, with its massive cult following (one of my close friends is an ordained minister in the Church of Dudeism) and frequent intrusions in pop culture, at this point it is fair to say that The Big Lebowski is not just great, but it is iconic to the point of essentiality, almost a rite of passage for cinephiles worldwide.  

I want to say that a plot synopsis isn’t even needed at this point (who doesn’t know the story of this movie?), but I think the reality is that a synopsis cannot do The Big Lebowski justice of any sort. After all, we’ve already established that there’s not much resolution, but we’ve also established that there is at least a start to everything – case in point: the rug.

Jeff Lebowski (Jeff Bridges) is a man who walks a line of a lifestyle that borders between Zen and slacker. He comes home one night to two men who have broken in. They’re looking for Jeff Lebowski…but perhaps they’re looking for a different Jeff Lebowski; something about some money (which this Lebowski doesn’t appear to have much of), something about some chick named Bunny, Jackie Treehorn – all the while this Lebowski’s head is being shoved down the toilet. It doesn’t take much for this Lebowski to know they’re looking for the wrong guy – after all, he’s more affectionately known as ‘The Dude’. The two goons realize this, depart, but not without soiling the Dude’s rug by way of urination.

He doesn’t appear to be significantly distressed, but there is no doubt that the Dude is still annoyed by the incident (that rug really tied the room together, after all). Some encouragement from his bowling buddy Walter (John Goodman), an unhinged Vietnam vet, prompts the Dude to pay the millionaire ‘Big Lebowski’ a visit, to which the Dude is scolded for being an underachiever. Though the Dude manages to score a rug, it is taken away from him by the Big Lebowski’s feminist artist daughter Maude (Julianne Moore). Not long after, the Dude gets contacted by the Big Lebowski in an effort to rescue his young trophy wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), but Maude thinks the alleged kidnapping is a complete lie.

Confused? Yeah, well so is the Dude. Speaking of His Dudeness, let’s talk about him first. He’s essentially the lifeline of The Big Lebowski. Without him, the film could be unbearable. The film grabs the viewer by the wrist and aggressively drags them through a confounding plot that begs for cohesion, packed with characters that don’t belong in a mystery/kidnapping plot whatsoever, topped off with random interactions with inexplicable characters like the Stranger and the Jesus. But then there’s the Dude, a man who’s such a slacker that his own being won’t allow him to get totally involved in what’s going on. As the film proceeds, one gets the impression that he realizes it’s more worth it just to go along with the very insanity he’s thrown into – who knows what would happen if he were to get too invested.

I think what makes the Dude work so well (other than a wonderful performance from Jeff Bridges) is, ultimately, his relatability. I think we not only relate to the Dude in countless ways, but I think we all want to be him in some way or another. Deep down, we all want our lives to be simple and without too much hassle. While we have those that we’re happy to interact with, in spite of whatever quirks or downright craziness they may inhabit, we otherwise want our solitude, to be left alone with whatever passion ties our lives together. With that in mind, look at the Dude: he’s happy to befriend Walter and the eternally clueless Donny (Steve Buscemi), but as long as he’s got bowling, White Russians, and his rug, he’s got it all, no matter how little it may be to others. Like the rest of us, though, life and it’s love for throwing curveballs and monkey wrenches reaches the Dude, and here is where the hilarity kicks in. Watching the Dude passively accepting all of this insanity is funny enough as it is, especially considering this is all because of a rug.

But what would the Dude, or the entirety of The Big Lebowski for that matter, be without its wonderful script? If the Dude is the primary lifeline of this film, the Coens’ screenplay is like the surgeon’s tool-handing assistant. With the wacky plot and colorful characters, each scenario that follows keeps the viewer wondering what’s going to go wrong this time, no matter how lost they are in the plot – I’ve seen The Big Lebowski countless times in the past decade or so, and I always get lost somewhere, and I still love the hell out of it. And the cherry atop this allegorical sundae is the dialogue, packed with lines that beg to be immortalized, best of all being the Dude’s always passive smart-assery, as well as Walter’s compulsion obsession to tie everything back to ‘Nam.

Propelling the comedy further is the collage of characters – a grumpy aristocrat, a trio of German nihilists, a cowboy, a clueless nitwit, a among many. For me, Goodman’s loose-screwed Walter is perhaps the funniest aspect of the movie, brought into full array when he completely screws up a plan to hand off ransom money. What does Walter say when he and the Dude realize they may have just been responsible for a woman’s death due to his convoluted incompetence? “Ah, fuck it, Dude. Let’s go bowling.”  

The key word in that previous paragraph is “collage”. It’s a comedy with a kidnap-mystery plot, in Los Angeles with characters who not only don’t belong in this movie on any level (as previously established), but also don’t belong with each other. My most recent viewing of The Big Lebowski brought to light a lot of stark contrasts. First, I took a lot of notice to the color scheme. This is a very colorful movie – not uncommon for a comedy, but what makes the scheme here so unusual is the always-present backdrop of early ‘90s Los Angeles and all of its urban grit. Nothing fits in the best and funniest possible way in this movie.

The Big Lebowski closes with Elliott’s Stranger giving a coda, with the line “It was a pretty good story, don’t you think?” Of course, it’s hilarious considering nothing of value has happened, but as I thought more about this line, deep down, it all ties back to the essentiality of the Dude’s relatability: life throws all sorts of craziness at us that we hate going through, but end up becoming some of the best stories to tell. I can picture it now, being at a party chatting with the Dude and hearing him say “Oh, man, let me tell you about this time these two guys broke in and peed on my rug.”

UPDATE: 8 November 2018

Greetings, readers. I hope you are all well. Been a while since I've made an update, but current circumstances demand one. 

As many of you know, Red Eye is not what I do for a living, and there are a lot of changes going on with my current job (which is to remain anonymous here). Firstly, I am currently going through a five-week academic/training course after recently receiving a promotion, and it is imperative that this course takes priority over anything else. Furthermore, I have discovered that I will be moving away from Tucson at the beginning of 2019, so I will have a short window of time to get moving preparations done before I hit the road, and then there's going to be a period of time settling into my new place.

So, what does this mean for Red Eye? As you could imagine, there will be significant impact on the site. Most notably, I'm ceasing Weekly Recaps until further notice. While I'll be watching a movie every once in a while, I won't have as much time to watch nearly as many as I usually do, and with that said, I just won't have the time to do the Weekly Recaps. Granted, I will still publish a little bit of content here and there, but the key words there are a little bit. 

Rest assured, though, this is not the end of Red Eye. If anything, I would like to give you a couple of things to look forward to for the New Year:

1) I am looking at getting a legitimate website built rather than using Blogger. If anybody knows any good web designers, or if anybody knows any good designers, don't hesitate to get in touch with me.

2) I want to try to get back to doing regular reviews of current releases. For my Facebook friends; the idea is still in the works but here's my idea: at the beginning of every week, I will be putting a prompt up with the releases for the upcoming weekend. It will be up to you guys to take a vote on which releases you want to hear me review, and I will see the releases that got the most votes.

So, until next time, I appreciate you taking the time to read this, and I hope you all understand.

Sincerely, 

Jakob

THE WEEKLY RECAP: October 29 - November 4

Beetlejuice (1988)

Directed by Tim Burton

* * *

Barbara and Adam (Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin, respectively) are a modest, mild-mannered, and seemingly normal couple living in a lovely countryside house…except for one little detail: they are ghosts, having died in a car accident, and are now spiritually confined in the walls of the house. Even though they are assigned a guidebook entitled “The Handbook for the Recently Deceased”, the transition to spiritdom is seemingly impossible. It gets worse for them, as the house has just been occupied by the Deetz family. Though they are initially intent on getting the family out of the house (even resorting to spooky bedsheets with eyeholes), everything changes when they form a bond with the teenage goth Lydia (Winona Ryder), which leads to Barbara and Adam being more welcoming. But a con artist posing as a bio-exorcist named Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) might ruin it for everybody.

How funny that for the longest time I remembered the Beetlejuice cartoon show (albeit, very vaguely), but never knew that it was based off of a live action film. Well, having been in the mood for something a bit more fun and synonymous with Halloween season, I finally got around to Tim Burton’s cult classic. I had a ball with this movie. The characters were all lovable with wonderful performances to compliment those great characters (Ryder is exceptionally adorable, and that’s an understatement). The whole premise in general is also great fun in its originality – I especially loved the idea of Barbara and Adam being assigned a caseworker.

While a good movie, I couldn’t exactly call Beetlejuice a great movie, interestingly enough not for the reasons I expected – Tim Burton is usually overbearing in his style for my taste, but not the case here. My biggest criticism is the somewhat lack of depth in the characters – they have enough personality that we enjoy their company a lot, but we never get to know them, especially Keaton’s titular Betelgeuse. Speaking of him, the tone of the movie shifts Betelgeuse from villain to potential hero in the rather convoluted climax, then back to villain at the last minute. It may not be perfect, but Beetlejuice was still a clever take on the ghost story and, more importantly, great fun.

The Black Stallion (1979)

Directed by Carroll Ballard

* * * *

After a horrifying shipwreck, young Alec (Kelly Reno) groggily awakens on the beach of a desolate landscape. He wanders about, in search of whatever hospitality he can come across, but instead he only treads nearer to death’s door. In the nick of time, when death was literally inches from his face, Alec’s life is miraculously saved by a beautiful black stallion. With nobody else around, the two share a bond – they are mutually hesitant at first, but grow closer and closer. Alec is eventually rescued from the island, but not without his trusty and noble steed. With the proper training, he just might have the potential to master turn this horse into a racehorse the likes of which nobody has ever seen.

Like Alec’s trial through the sinking liner he was once aboard, we are sometimes thrown into life itself via horrifying means. If we triumph through our trials, who knows what glory awaits us in the next step in life. I think this is what The Black Stallion is getting at, and these are the kind of open-allegorical experiences that I insatiably crave in cinema, especially in the first half. With little dialogue, a very unique and original score that gives the film a silent movie vibe, it is purely experience, and what bliss I experienced watching the film. Let me put it this way: certain circumstances left me slightly distracted from the movie, and I was still struck by it regardless.

As for the second half...I’ve read some criticism stating that The Black Stallion becomes “routine” after that first half. There is indeed a difference in feeling from the first and second chapters of the movie, considering there’s more plot going on in the latter, but it doesn’t feel like an abrupt tonal shift. It never gets locked in the narrative, and still maintains a level of elusiveness that allows for allegorical meditation – honestly, give me a few more watches, and I could probably do an “Under the Microscope” entry on this film. Regardless, though, this beloved film is one I will cherish for quite some time.

The Color of Pomegranates (1969)

Directed by Sergei Parajanov

* * *

Though technically about Armenian musician Sayat-Nova, this is not a biopic. In the opening titles, the following is stated: “This film does not attempt to tell the life story of a poet. Rather, the filmmaker has tried to recreate the poet’s inner world through the trepidations of his soul, his passion and torments, widely utilizing the symbolism and allegories.” And the result? Well, as a work of art, it is literally spectacular. Parajanov adopts a somewhat meditative style with a colorful and whimsical visual palette, almost as if Tarkovsky is channeling his inner Fellini. Speaking of Tarkovsky, I was reminded of The Mirror in the way the film is less a narrative than a collection of artful moments. There are some terrific images here, too. Many a time I felt like I was gazing at paintings from the Middle Ages (and I mean this as a compliment). As artsy as this film may be, and it’s certainly not for everybody, it’s never arrogant or pretentious. In fact, it is very humble, and I really liked this quality about it.

So, The Color of Pomegranates is an exceptional artwork, but as a film…I can appreciate it for what it set out to achieve, and it indeed achieves its ultimate goal. However, it won’t have much lasting power for me. I’m all about film as an art form, but this film begins to feel like a series of moving paintings rather than a movie. It’s great to have on in the background, but the film never gives you much room to actually get into it (ironically, I have the same criticisms of The Mirror). Also, as Tarkovskian and Felliniesque this film is, it has trouble balancing these tones – it’s never bombastic enough to be Fellini, but it’s too animated to allow for artful meditation like Tarkovsky. Granted, it’s not trying to be either, but it’s my way of voicing my criticism. Overall, it may not amount to much in the long run, but it’s an ambitious achievement in its humble way. At the very least, at less than 80 minutes, it doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Eternity and a Day (1998)

Directed by Theo Angelopoulos

* * * *

Renowned poet Alexander (Bruno Ganz) is a weary man, from his rugged appearance to his life’s work – regarding the latter, he has slavishly attempted to finish a 19^th century poem started by Dionysios Solomos. Alexander has just discovered he is ailed by a terminal illness, and he is to be checked into the hospital tomorrow. Today, however, he wants to enjoy this day as if it were his last, wandering about and musing on the significance of his work and life up to this point. Along the way, he meets a young boy (Achileas Skevis), a vagrant whom he rescues from the police. Though the child displays a hardened exterior, there is a great fear within his being, a fear of the unknown. In the face of his own mortality, Alexander shares this same fear.

My first experience with Angelopoulos was Landscape in the Mist. Next was the Palme d’Or-winning Eternity and a Day. With these two films under my belt (with more to follow), he has the potential to become one of my very favorite filmmakers. These films are timeless and universal, always leaving you to think about something with beautifully composed and poetic shots (at the very least, his films are amazing to look at). While Eternity wasn’t as striking as Landscape, it was still an exceptional film, tackling the eternal fear of the unknown ahead of us, whether living or dying. Topped by a great score and the lovely presence of Bruno Ganz, I really loved this movie.

I was originally going to give Eternity a 3.5, but this was one of those cases that the more I thought about it, the more fondly I recalled of it. While it did maybe dwell a little bit here-and-there, it didn’t detract from the overall experience in the long-run. I honestly don’t have much to say about this one. It was a great film from a great, if underappreciated and maltreated, filmmaker. Honestly, the only bad thing I have to say is in jest, as the title sounds way too much like the name of a melodramatic metalcore band. Other than that, a beautiful film.

The Piano (1993)

Directed by Jane Campion

* * *  

We hear Ada’s (Holly Hunter) voice only once throughout the movie – Ada is inexplicably mute, and the voice we hear is that of her mind. She has just arrived on the shores of New Zealand, where she is to marry Alisdair (Sam Neill) under the contract of an arranged marriage. Alongside Ada is her beloved daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) and, equally cherished, her piano, which is not only an artistic outlet for her but also a way of communicating to the world around her. As Ada starts her commodity of a marriage with Alisdair, it is, unsurprisingly, cold and arbitrary with a little bit of tension over the piano. It is here that their relationship turns into a slow-burn when Ada begins mingling with Baines (Harvey Keitel), a local who becomes infatuated with her.

Sometimes, the key to getting an incredible performance out of an actor is by finding a dynamic character that is grounded in the actor’s abilities, rather than a character that is completely out of their league. Some of the best examples I can think of are Schwarzenegger in The Terminator, Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and now I can confidently add Holly Hunter in The Piano to this topic. Her trademark feistiness and fire are very present here, but the character’s circumstances paint her abilities in a light very unique to Hunter’s career. Needless to say, she’s incredible here, enough to earn herself an Oscar along with young Paquin, who brings a remarkable performance from a child.

Production design and cinematography are also fantastic, the latter especially. Campion’s approach to the feminist message is very unique without being overbearing. The bond that Hunter and Paquin share is absolutely gorgeous, but I wish I could say the same about everybody else involved. I never felt much for Baines or Alisdair, as they feel kind of “there”, so to speak, and I can’t help but feel they didn’t add all that much. Maybe not a masterpiece (for now, anyway), but still a solid movie.

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?