FILM REVIEW: Climax (2018)

Directed by Gaspar Noe

* * * *

To be completely objective and unbiased with a film review is innately impossible, being such a subjective experience. That said, let it be known that I sincerely try. Nonetheless, there is undoubtedly some bias going forward with this review for one simple reason: I am a huge fan of Gaspar Noe, cinema’s favorite practitioner of movie extremity. Though his debut I Stand Alone features a protagonist unlikable enough to negatively impact an otherwise solid film, every single film of his has failed to, well, fail me – yes, I am even prepared to defend Love, his erotic epic that seems to be universally dismissed as his worst film. But now it is 2019, and Tucson has at last seen the release of his latest assault on the senses, Climax. Naturally, a new film from Noe will always sign me up, but the premise never really intrigued me, so I walked in to Climax with a hint of skepticism.

Well, my friends, I’m absolutely ecstatic to report that Noe has done it again.

Climax starts out calm enough (for Noe, anyway): it is the winter of 1996. A lengthy introduction of the film’s colorful array of characters is exhibited via chunks of their audition tapes. We learn quickly that they are a dance troupe as they continue on about what dance means to them, while getting an idea on their personalities, quirks, and so on. Cut to an abandoned school, where they have all gathered for an evening party, complete with dancing, the pulsating beats of 90s trance-techno, and a bowl of sangria.

After an absolutely stunning dance number to kick the festivities off, they split off to mingle, where many a talk is had about relationships, sex, and gossip. These talks go on for a long, long time. Long enough to tip us off that something’s not right. The talks become more erratic. The dancing becomes more alien. People aren’t feeling well. They don’t just realize this, but they realize why: the sangria bowl has been spiked with LSD. Not knowing who spiked it and literally out of their heads, things turn very violent, very ugly, and very weird. In spite of this, the party continues on.

From my observation, there are two methods that result in the best of horror: slow-burn tension and sensory overload of some kind, whether it be The Blair Witch Project’s shaky-cam or the ear-splitting chainsaw of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I’m not sure exactly how comfortable I am calling Climax a horror film, but there’s no denying that the film I saw is one of the most terrifying moviegoing experiences in recent memory, and one of the key ingredients in its excellency is its mastery of both methods previously mentioned.

There is no “act structure” found in Climax. Abandoning the traditions of moviemaking is nothing radical in 2019, nor a surprise for Noe, but this is one of the greatest strengths of the film. It is instead a steady descent into a drug-fueled downward spiral that the viewer is horrifically entranced toward, rather than being guided by one plot point to the next. I’ve never tripped once in my life up to this point, but I can imagine the feeling of descent into a really bad trip being something like this.

Even as an avid Noe fan, I will be the first to admit that pacing has never been his strong suit – Irreversible, Enter the Void, and Love are all marred by troubled pacing in their final acts, but Noe has found notable footing with Climax, especially considering how many characters the film has to follow. But, like a casual partygoer, Noe angelically traverses from one party to another, without the viewer even really noticing they’ve transitioned. This is all the more impressive considering the impromptu circumstances the film was made under, with most everything we’re watching improvised on-set (in 15 days, no less).

When Climax isn’t scaring us half to death, it is mesmerizing us with the incredible choreography and blocking from an exceptionally talented cast. Much has been said about the opening dance number, and it’s worth the hype, but many reviews dismiss the fact that these hypnotizing dances continue throughout the entire movie, all bolstered by an expertly curated soundtrack – from 90s rave tunes to disturbing electronic soundscapes, if the visual prowess of Climax is the main course, the sound and music are the side dishes. At one point, the legendary outro to Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker” blasted through the speakers – I had to mentally bolt myself to my chair to keep from breaking into dance in the middle of the theater.

The performances are also solid, not just in the actors’ dance moves, but also in their acting capabilities. Following one of these characters into a lone room without knowing what they’re cable of was already terrifying, and the acting made everything all the more believable. Notable is a moment when one girl has a convulsive fit that dual-functions as a nod to Isabelle Adjani’s notorious subway miscarriage in Possession. Granted, what Adjani accomplished in ’81 can never be recaptured, but Climax’s homage gets a nod for effort.

There’s a number of loss-of-innocence allegories I sensed throughout the film, but I will not get into these. My Noe fanaticism may be propelling me to find themes that aren’t really there, but the quality of the movie is more important than whatever existential themes may or may not be present, and I assure you that Climax is top-notch, becoming one of the most uniquely terrifying moviegoing experiences of recent memory. I went to a night club immediately after seeing the movie. Bad idea: the overwhelming sensory assault carried over long into the night, and the club I usually have so much fun at immediately became quite uncomfortable. Climax came and to this very minute absolutely refuses to leave.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Shame (2011)

Directed by Steve McQueen

For me, the most powerful moment in Shame comes in about halfway through. Brandon is in a moment of beautiful intimacy with a coworker, a woman who has taken a liking to him. The sex they are sharing is not the depressingly cold and mechanical sex that Brandon is used to indulging in. For what seems like the first time in his life (and it may very well be, for all we know), he is mutually sharing genuinely warm, personal, and passionate intercourse. It is because of this that he ceases going any further with the encounter. She leaves, confining Brandon in his shame before abruptly cutting to aggressive, meaningless sex with a total stranger only moments later. It is at this point when we truly realize the tragedy Brandon is trapped in. He is incapable of emotionally connecting with a fellow human being.

Shame, the sophomore effort from Steve McQueen, is one of the finest dramas of the 21^st Century, earning a spot in my top 10 films of the decade. Though light as far as plot is concerned, it makes up for this in its mastery of observance of the emotions and psychology that underline certain human behaviors. Like the greatest of dramatic films, we are only permitted to bear witness to a certain chapter of its subjects’ lives – context, as far as what happened to them prior and where they’re going after it’s over, is completely irrelevant here.

From an outsider’s perspective, Brandon (Michael Fassebender) is perhaps the ultimate Lady’s Man. He’s a hunk of a man, complete with handsome face, great hair, and a tightly fit body, both of which he maintains and grooms meticulously. Additionally, he’s got a nice condo to himself, funded by a good job. To top it all off, he’s a man of few words, which gives off a vibe of alluring enigma. In turn, he has little to no issue picking up women: it can take this man literally no words to get a woman to join him in between the bedsheets.  To that outsider, he hasn’t mastered the art of picking up women; it’s simply second nature. That outsider might be envious beyond belief and ask Brandon for all of his tips and tactics. What they cannot possibly understand is that Brandon’s effortless sexual escapades are not a quality or an advantage. They are his greatest burden. 

Whether at work, at home, or on the street, Brandon must achieve orgasm of some kind, preferably with another person. At work, where his computer is getting a virus removed as a result of internet pornography, he must resort to masturbating in the bathroom stall if he can’t take the time off for a prostitute. And then there’s his off-time, where he’s free to scour the clubs and bars for his next orgasmic encounter, or he can just stay home and indulge all of the porn in his possession. Is he content living this way? Well, he doesn’t much talk to anybody alone, let alone about his sex life, but his face during the act doesn’t exhibit much pleasure. But, hey, at least he’s free to indulge all he wants. 

I have no desire or intention of judging Brandon's sexual pursuits exclusively. Yes, sex is a pleasurable and lovely experience to share with another person, so much so that we are always on the prowl for the next encounter, to the point of being a borderline necessity. Is this our own instincts driving this seemingly insatiable hunger for coitus, or some sort of societal pressure? I'm not sure, and the movie is not terribly concerned with this. Regardless, though, Brandon still becomes a brilliant obliteration of the so-called "ideal" of being an unstoppable sex machine.

Shame was rated NC-17, primarily for its blunt portrayal of physical sex, yet there is only one scene that I would say is erotic. This is the scene I talked about to open this piece, and how interesting that the encounter doesn't culminate. From this point, the sex scenes go from a sterile and mechanical tone to more and more tragic. In a climactic scene (now, now), Brandon is engaged in three-way sex. Enticing, yes, but the focus is always on Brandon. The closer he reaches orgasm, the more pain we see in his face. Once again, obliteration of the perceived ideal: in the most enticing sex in the movie is where we see Brandon in his deepest and most agonizing shame.

Something like a plot develops with the introduction of Sissy (Carey Mulligan), Brandon's sister. She unexpectedly barges into Brandon's apartment, as well as his life. She needs a place to stay, which seems to be indefinite for now. Brandon makes it perfectly clear to both the audience as well as Sissy that he doesn’t want her there, placing the secrets Brandon has tucked away out there in the open. In spite of his contempt, there’s a mutual level of comfort that very few relationships share, let alone with siblings. Both characters are confronted by the other naked, in close quarters. In these moments, though, they don’t seem to be repulsed by their nude sibling. A phone message from Sissy at the film’s final act suggests a traumatic upbringing – perhaps even sexual abuse. Shame wisely avoids any backstory. After all, the past is the past – what matters here is the present.

I saw Shame in theaters in January of 2012. I had seen Michael Fassbender in the movies from time to time, but it was with Shame that I really took notice. Brandon is a very quiet and self-conscious man, no doubt to keep his lifestyle away from public view. Fassbender may not have much to vocally say, but what he lacks in voice he makes up for ten-fold in insinuation. We can read every thought just from the subtlety in his eyes and facial expressions. Take, for instance, an early scene when he is flirting with a fellow subway passenger. These two don't say a single word to each other, and we barely know anything about Brandon's person. He's extremely minimal and subtle in his expressions, but we know very well what he's after. If only the Oscars were more welcoming of NC-17 films.

Shame walks a number of tight and narrow lines that are easy to fall from. The subject matter alone may be greeted with juvenile snickering, if they haven’t been repulsed at the idea of Brandon already. But then there’s Brandon himself, man whose coldness makes him difficult to like. Writer-director McQueen knows exactly how to portray this character, avoiding making him a predator or serial rapist, or any other such melodrama and clichés. It’s difficult to imagine such a person exists, let alone to believe that such a lifestyle be unpleasurable to the one living it, and Shame makes the subject very real (contrary to, say, von Trier’s Nymphomaniac). As cold a character McQueen as written in Brandon, he does not look on with judgment or condemnation; he is very sympathetic with his subjects.

The city that the characters of Shame inhabit is unwelcoming in one of the most unusual ways I’ve seen yet in a film. It is not gritty with urban decay, but rather it is strangely sterile. Yes, everything is very orderly and well-lit, but there’s a complete lack of any kind of life. The streets are noticeably empty. There’s no flair to the walls and décor, as if the city has as big a secret to hide as Brandon does.

In almost every synopsis and review I’ve come across for Shame, my peers are quick to call Brandon a sex addict without batting an eye. And then there’s me. Though I use the term for the sake of argument, I must admit that I’m not comfortable with it. Aside from believing the label is a means of stigmatizing what the powers that be deem “immoral”, I think it is more appropriate to view Brandon’s insatiable need for orgasm as a symptom.

When I came across a post from Psych Central entitled Compulsive Masturbation: The Secret Sexual Disorder, the puzzle of Brandon’s psyche begins to make a bit more sense: “Because many individuals view sexual self-stimulation as shameful, dirty, or sinful, those who engage in the practice compulsively are unlikely to discuss it with others, even a therapist. If and when a compulsive masturbator does seek help, he or she is unlikely to do so for his/her sexual acting out. Instead, that individual is far more likely to report anxiety, depression, feelings of loneliness and isolation, and the inability (or lack of desire) to form intimate relationships with other people.” Brandon rarely masturbates in the film, yes, but when he does engage in sex with a fellow person, does that person really exist as a human being in Brandon’s experience?

After all is said and done, though, is Brandon a bad person? Some will certainly say yes. On the surface, maybe, but overall, I don’t think so. He’s simply a man who has been confined in his own world for far too long, to the point that his abilities to interact with people and the outside world have been warped. The climactic third act exhibits that he is able to care for a fellow person, but the film ends just around that point. Will Brandon come out a better person? Will he be redeemed? We’ll never know, but to borrow a clichéd phrase, it is always darkest before dawn.

EDITORIAL: Red Eye Into 2019

Greetings, readers! I hope the holidays have treated you well, and Happy New Year! I hope you are all starting 2019 off on the right foot. Yes, I'm still here, and yes, I still intend on regular output.

The unwritten rule of film criticism is to publish some sort of 'Best of the Year' list. I will not be doing this, purely because I didn't see the majority of movies that were released over the course of 2018. That said, if I had to pick a #1 favorite out of what I did see, I highly doubt there's any topping Alfonso Cuaron's masterpiece Roma. That movie was truly something special. On a side note, the charming Isle of Dogs is a solid close second, something I never thought I'd say about a Wes Anderson movie. 

But my favorites of 2018 aren't the purpose of this post.

It's been just shy of a year since I started Red Eye. Though there's only a small number of you reading, I want to thank anybody and everybody that has stopped by and continues to stop by. The reception I've gotten has truly been amazing and inspiring to continue with this blog, which I hope will transition to a legitimate website at some point in 2019. This brings me to my next topic; what to expect in 2019. Well, still more or less the same as what you've been seeing. I've already went over some of this in my Update from 8 November, but here we go again:

First things first, Weekly Recaps will now be Monthly Recaps. I have two reasons for this: 1) because most of my readers are acquaintances on Facebook, I'm not too fond of spamming you guys with mini-reviews of old movies that you probably aren't as eager to hear my thoughts on as, say, something newer. 2) As most, if not all, of you know, Red Eye is purely on my own time, and sometimes real life has to take priority. I'd like to think you all respect this, but it's still kind of embarrassing for me to have to admit that there will be no Weekly Recap due to X. 

On a side note regarding the Monthly Recaps; you will be seeing mostly releases throughout the current decade. Of course there will be old titles from time to time, but 2020, the end of the decade is a year away, and I would like to do a big "Best Films of the Decade" piece, so it is my full intention on catching up on as much as I can throughout 2019.

Next off, and I can't make too many promises on this, but I am aiming to have a legitimate Red Eye website up, along with a dedicated Facebook page - I'm considering a Twitter page as well, but I've never once used Twitter in my life. While I have zero expectations to make a living as a film critic, it is still my desire to make a name for myself outside of my immediate social circles. 

And, finally, we saved the most exciting for last: starting with the first weekend in February, I want to try and get back into regular reviews of new releases again. Once again, I emphasize "No Promises" because of real life, and trips to the theater are very busy and very expensive - I don't mind one or the other, but I can't do both, as I've discussed before. Since I'm still relevant to only a small circle of folks, here is how I'm going to do things: firstly, I will be seeing no more than three movies a weekend (with possibly one indie release throughout the week). Obviously, there are going to be weekends where there will be more than three releases, so how will I decide what to see? Well, I'm here for the people, and I'm here to see what the people want to hear my opinion on. 

Every Monday, I will post a Facebook poll with the weekend's upcoming releases, asking which movies do the readers want to hear my thoughts on the most. Whichever gets the highest amount of votes will be the first movie seen/reviewed that weekend, then the second and third place movies will follow suit. So, for those that are friends with me on Facebook, make sure you're looking out for those polls!

Well, that's all I've got for you. Here's to 2019! Let's hope we get some great cinema this year!

Best regards, 

Jakob.

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.