You Are Now Leaving Salò

I've always called myself a glutton for punishment and I really lived up to it this past semester. I signed up for the Italian Cinema class because the professor is one of my favorites. The one big project of the class was with pick a film, not viewed for class, and put together an annotated bibliography on it. As a Grad student, I had to go further and write the first draft of a paper based on said bibliography. My main intersection with Italian cinema is their horror scene but it was only covered very briefly (though I had the opportunity to give an impromptu mini-lecture on Dario Argento), I decided to pick a film that would present a real challenge for me. I've always like a good challenge which is where my procrastination comes from. I tend to wonder, "how long can I wait to do this before it becomes humanly impossible?" Well, I obviously waited too long on the bibliography since it wound up being crazy late. On the upside I learned a word in Italian, "eccolo." It means, "here it is."

Obviously, the film I chose was Pier Paolo Pasolini's final effort before his murder, Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975). When I first saw the film back in February it was to check off and mark the 666th film I'd seen from the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die book with which I am obsessed. Seven months had passed and I had to see the movie again before I could really proceed with any work. I wrote an entry here about it and I think my disturbed state comes through so the prospect of a second viewing was daunting at best.

Since misery loves company, I decided to sit my good friend Tyler down and make him watch it as well. As I see it, Salò is a very important film regardless of its reputation and content. Luckily, the Criterion Collection had re-released the film in a two-disc special edition so the quality was outstanding. I think it's a tribute in part to how good of friends Tyler and I are that he'd sit down to this movie that I talked about only with a shudder and watch it without knowing a single thing about it. I offered him a shot before we watched the film. All I told him was to remember the word "manga."

Tyler and I have been friends since early high school and have spent hours upon hours watching the most extreme horror films we could get our hands on. He's a man with a strong constitution, I mean he's married for god's sake (actually, his wife is wonderfully sweet and I adore her). In all the years we've been watching and talking about horror films, I've never seen him that bothered by a movie. I kept hearing him shift in his seat and mutter "oh, god" or "what the fuck?" throughout the film, especially when the title card reading Girone della Merda came up with the "Circle of Shit" subtitle. That issued an "oh, shit" from him. I'll admit I got a kind of sick glee from subjecting Tyler to Salò but I had to sit through it as well.

After the film, he was visible shaken and still can’t stand hearing anything in reference to it. The worst was yet to come for me. I knew that I wanted to write something regarding the politics of the film. The Criterion re-release included a nice booklet with half a dozen new articles about the film and a reprinted on set article by Pasolini's friend Giedon Bachmann. These and a handful of other articles were my sources of information for writing my paper.

What I didn't expect was to become so wrapped up in the research process. The more I read, the deeper my interest in the film became to the point where most of my conversations somehow got back around tothe work I was doing on Salò. I had appreciated the film's artistry after my first viewing but following all the researching and note taking I couldn't get the images out of my head.

I had to take at least a week off from research and from Salò in general to clear my mind. After this sort of cinematic detox period, I was ready to come back to my percolating paper, this time with the feeling that Pasolini's very conscious and literary use of structure was, for me, the key to understand the political allegory. Writing the paper was thankfully smooth and uneventful, my little TV next to me jumping between this scene and that shot. As I said in my blog entry for Salò, the visceral effect of the film is achieved from the overall culmination of the images as they pile up on each other. Viewing the film again in the fragmented form I require to write a paper proved that the "punch" of the film was taken out because a given scene or shot had no context.

So, what's the point of this quasi-editorial? I felt the need to purge Salò from my system, if only for the time being. It has become one of my favorite movies in the past month but one that I could only watch maybe once or twice per year. It is truly haunting but I think that's really a mark of its power and greatness. I see Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom as sort of the black sheep of the international film canon but its place there is firm.

Horror of Dracula (1958)

Director: Terence Fisher
Writer: Jimmy Sangster (screenplay), Bram Stoker (novel)

A damned nobleman and vampire, Dracula, travels from his home in Klausenberg to London to wreak havoc and satisfy his bloodlust.

The first largely successful film from the great English film studio Hammer, Horror of Dracula established a new level and style for the horror film. Gone are the deep shadows and awkwardly long takes of Tod Browning's 1931 classic, replaced by lush, if not lurid, colors and a gothic atmosphere. While the story remains only slightly changed, the approach of director Fisher is what sets Horror of Dracula apart from its predecessors. By the time this film was released, the Golden Age of American Horror had long since come to a close. The Universal monsters (Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, the Mummy, the Wolfman, etc.) had denigrated into slapped-together, camp-filled shells of their former selves. Honestly, when a monster meets Abbot and Costello, it's about time to hang up the fangs. The Hammer cycle of classic monsters, however, proved to be enormously successful and lucrative, eventually making Hammer the most financially successful studio in British cinema history.

One of the many fascinating elements of Horror of Dracula is the approach to the supernatural material in the plot. Several times, Dr. Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) will either refute or debunk the tried-and-true vampire myths with which we're all so familiar. He's a hardened scientist who only believes what he can see and test. There are a few moments of levity, like the good doctor's scenes with Arthur Holmwood (Michael Gough) and their homoerotic undertones, stemming from the sexual repression that seems so prevalent in Victorian-era British works. Like the werewolf, the idea of vampirism in this context is really more of a metaphor, best portrayed by Mina Holmwood (Melissa Stribling). At the beginning of the film, she acts like the standard, straight-backed Victorian English wife. One can imagine that what little intimacy between the two is most likely performed fully clothed in one of their separate rooms. After her encounter with Dracula (Christopher Lee), she acts more sensual and seductive around her husband. As such, the status quo must repress these unnatural sexual urges in their women. Pity, Mina becomes more attractive when she's lustful.

After Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee is possibly the most recognizable Dracula in cinema history. While Lugosi has that Hugarian accent and mysterious air, Lee elevates Dracula's aristocratic aura to its true and deserved elegance. He comes across not as frightening but approachable, refined without being elitist and quite intimidating with the right lighting. Peter Cushing, in my mind, is the ultimate Van Helsing. His cold, English rationalism makes him more believable foe for the Count's equally cold sense of impending doom.

The narrative of Horror of Dracula is a little different from Browning's film or most other incarnations and is a welcomed change. Instead of Helsing having to convince Harker of vampirism, he's already a protégé of Helsing's and in Klusenburg, under the auspice of a private librarian, to kill the Count at the start of the film. In this film, Helsing has to convince Holmwood that Harker's death (nope, not the hero here) is the result of the Count's vampirism. But iconic story elements are still intact like Lucy demanding the garlic flowers be removed from the room and her coming back from the dead.

But it's not all doom and English gloom, there are humorous moments like the aforementioned homoerotic relationship between Holmwood and Helsing and their scenes with the Customs Official and the Undertaker (my favorite character in the whole film). A fun and interesting take on the Dracula legacy and one of the greatest vampire films ever made. Though my knowledge and experience in Hammer films is significantly lacking, this film alone makes me want to plumb the depths of their catalogue of films.

Recent books of note:

The Hammer Story by Marcus Hearn and Alan Barnes
Hammer Films – A Life in Pictures by Wayne Kinsey
A Thing of Unspeakable Horror by Sinclair McKay

M (1931)

Director: Fritz Lang
Writer: Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang

A child murderer is on the loose and terrorizing a small German town. The police are out in force and the criminals band together to bring the maniac to justice.

One of the greatest German films ever made, by one of Germany's finest directors: Fritz Lang. M tells the story of a man, Hans Beckert (Peter Lorre), who has the uncontrollable urge to kill children. The film, however, is not a whodunit. We know from the start that Beckert is the murderer. The premise alone is chilling and Lang's crafting of the film only adds to the terror. The first death is the most upsetting and sets the tone for the rest of the tragedy to come. As Elsie Beckmann (Inge Langut) is walking home from school a police officer first helps her cross the street when a car nearly hits her. As she walks she's bouncing a ball but stops to throw it in the air and catch it. Lang's camera holds on her for a moment then moves past her to focus on a large pillar with a poster advertising a 10,000 Marks reward and explanation of the murderer's reign of terror. The poster engulfs the frame but Elsie bounces her ball off the poster, that is until a man's shadow comes into frame and hovers over the word "Mörder." His shadow bends over and he talks to Elsie. After cutting to Elise's mother who is waiting on Elsie, growing worried, Lang cuts to the man (whose face we cannot see) whistling and buying Elsie a balloon.

At the end of the scene with Elsie, her mother is leaning through a window calling her name. Lang then cuts to the empty stairwell, the empty attic, Elsie's unused place at the table, all the while we hear Frau Beckmann's voice calling. Then Lang cuts to a little field where Elsie's ball rolls into frame then to a shot of power lines with Elsie's balloon caught in them. We don't have to see her, but we know Elsie is dead. It's all the more upsetting that we just see her ball and balloon, both strong images of childhood and innocence, without Elsie.

M was Lang's first sound feature and his use of sound is what gives the film its potency. Lang uses the killer's whistling the tune "Hall of the Mountain King" to signal his desire to kill. The consistent use of this tune creates an association in the viewers mind such that whenever the tune is heard, anxiety fills the viewer who wonders, "is he going to do it again?" The most troubling result of the aural connection is Lorre's performance. He taps into the psychology of the serial killer but in such a manner that evokes sympathy in the viewer. We see him struggling to suppress his desire. But that tune, a manifestation of his Id, is too great for him to control and thus he kills. However, he gains no satisfying pleasure from his deeds, as he writes to the press demanding that the police capture him. This act is a haunting precursor to real criminals such as the Zodiac Killer of the late 1960s who wrote to San Francisco newspapers, taunting the police.

Apart from a study of psychopathology, M is also a cutting satire of justice. Because Beckert is on the loose, the police are combing the city and the criminals (that is, the nonviolent criminals like con artists, pickpockets, safe crackers, etc.) can't work. The criminal underground assembles to try to track down Beckert as well. Lang is not saying that the police are incompetent, on the contrary they nearly catch Beckert before the criminals. His point is that while these people may be "criminals," they still have a sense of morality against which Beckert has transgressed. Their form of justice is absolute as demonstrated in the kangaroo court. The band of criminals are more than willing to kill Beckert. However, just before the mob descends on Beckert, the authorities intervene and he is found guilty in proper court.

The final shot of the film, the mothers in mourning, is the most heart-breaking because of Frau Beckmann's feeling that it's her fault, and the fault of the other parents, for not having kept a closer eye on their children. Their complacency in society is to blame for the loss of their children just as much as Beckert.

Juno (2007)

Director: Jason Reitman
Writer: Diablo Cody

Sassy teenager Juno MacGuff finds herself unexpectedly pregnant and searches to find a loving couple for her unborn baby while dealing with the fact she has to face adulthood sooner than she expected.

The movie just about everyone loves except me. I nearly turned the damned thing off twice the first time I saw it and it took everything in me to suffer through it again. Overly harsh already? "But it's just a fun, up-beat, quirky, indie-flick. What's wrong with that?" That's exactly the problem with Juno and every other copy-cat, off beat "indie" movie that's churned out onto cinema screens today. But let me back this hate-bus up to the 1950s, France. The Second Great War is over, the Germans are out of Paris, and Europe is finally getting the backlog of American films in one great deluge. This is when the critics of Cahiers du Cinéma (François Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard, Eric Rohmer, etc.) under the guidance of André Bazin develop what’s now called the auteur theory. Bazin, however, writes several articles on a tendency he's noticed in Italian cinema that's dubbed Italian Neorealism. In one particular article, Bazin makes the argument that realism is an aesthetic choice made by the director. In the case of Juno and the other likeminded features coming out recently, "indie" has become less an industry label and more an aesthetic choice. As far as I can tell, the indie flick look derives from Wes Anderson's work, specifically from Rushmore (1998) onward. But he's able to keep the importance of character and narrative in balance with visual pizzazz and sharp writing. Juno lets the plot be a slave to the dialogue.

I don't deny the fact that there are kids out there as smart and clever as Juno (Ellen Page). But not every waking second of the day. The dialogue is what irritates me the most about this film. I have nothing against odd turns of phrase, colloquialisms, or invented banter between characters, but when you get an hour and half of nothing but… I'm ready to start clubbing baby seals. While the story is solid, Diablo Cody's dialogue is trying so hard to be unique that it draws too much attention to itself and detracts from the narrative. I'm too busy deciphering what the hell Juno & co. are saying and missing important story points.

I honestly feel bad for Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera). He gets shoved in the background by Juno and her self-obsessed prenatal idiocy. He vanishes for overly long periods only to reappear to remind the viewer, "hey, Juno's boredom love-child came from somewhere."

While Reitman's direction is well controlled, many scenes are either overwrought or telegraph the next big moment of the film. Example: Juno goes to Women Now to "procure a hasty abortion" but is stopped outside by schoolmate/picketer Su-Chin (Valerie Tian). Su-Chin tells Juno that her baby has fingernails. While in the waiting room, Reitman cuts to close-ups of fingers tapping and scratching. You know what Juno's not going to do.

The bright spot of this movie, oddly enough for me to say, is Jennifer Garner. No one ever accused me of being her fan but I thought she pulled off Vanessa in spades. She kept me guessing and I was invested in her cause. I spent most of the movie thinking she was going to have a come-apart but she's just dealing with a dead-beat husband (Jason Bateman). The dead-beat by the way, I seriously thought he was going to put some moves on Juno…that would've made it interesting.

Here's where I get all nit-picky and snobby. I almost turned the movie off twice while watching. For the record, I've never walked out of a movie at the theatre (even 13 Ghosts [2001]; before the opening credits ended I knew I wasted my money) and I've only turned off maybe three or four one video (Resident Evil [2002] definitely). The first moment came 45 minutes in when Juno drops in on Mark the dead-beat at home. They chit-chat about music (the reference to Sonic Youth's cover of "Superstar" was great; love that song) but then Juno notices a VHS box for The Wizard of Gore (1970). Mark claims that Herschell Gordon Lewis is "the ultimate master of horror." Juno rebuts saying Dario Argento is the ultimate master of horror. They watch the movie and Juno (I cringe ever time I hear her say it) says, "This is even better than Suspiria." My finger was hovering over the power button and it was all I could do to keep from pressing it. Anyone who has ever experienced a classic Argento film (everything up to Opera [1987] pretty much) knows that the man is not just a horror guru but is a visual genius. Lewis on the other hand is not arty. After producing nudie-cuties, he started making gore epics (he is the Grandfather of Gore, I grant him that) just for the money. They're exploitation movies and The Wizard of Gore is far from his best feature. It's over-long, the pacing is slow, and the acting is as good as any of his other movies which is pretty bad. The gore is all that it has going for it. If they were watching Blood Feast (1963) or Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964), then maybe I could maybe understand a "this is just as good as Suspiria” but not better. The comparison between the two masters is unjustified because they work in such divergent styles. I could go on for pages, so on to my next gripe.

Moment number two: the other big pop culture reference. When the baby decides to greet the world, Juno says "Thundercats are go!" That’s not the phrase. It's "Thunder. Thunder. Thundercats, ho!" It happened in EVERY EPISODE, without fail. If you're going to make references to popular culture, at least get your facts straight.

Okay, wrap-up time. A complete waste of time? No. Napoleon Dynamite (2004) was a complete waste of time. Juno is at least amusing in places. Reitman's camera is well handled and though he telegraphs a few moments, he's a solid director. I can see why Cody won the Best Original Screenplay Oscar because it's a script the likes of which we haven't heard since Valley Girl (1983). Here's hoping we never have to hear anything like it again.

27 Dresses (2008)

Director: Anne Fletcher
Writer: Aline Brosh McKenna

Perpetual bridesmaid Jane is forced to deal with her own insecurities as she plans the wedding of her younger sister and the man Jane secretly loves.

First, a little backstory on my connection with this film. I dig romantic comedies. I really do. Despite my love of schlocky horror and foreign art films, I'm a big softy at heart. My good friend Terri suggested that she pick a movie for me to write a blog entry on and I'd choose one for her. She chose 27 Dresses; in retaliation, I chose High Tension (2004). So this entry is going out in tribute to Terri and my own sister Kristy, who's getting married in two weeks. Okay, here goes.

Because my sister and I are very close, we grew up watching movies together. Mostly the classic 80s comedies like Ghostbusters (1984), Clue (1985), The Great Outdoors (1988), and "chick flicks" like When Harry Met Sally… (1989), Sleepless in Seattle (1993), Serendipity (2001) and Love, Actually (2003). I've always had a slight problem with the term "chick flick" because it seems that because they're geared toward women I shouldn't like them, but I do despite their adherence to certain genre expectations which I'll get into later. I got so many odd looks in school when that topic would come up.

The modern chick flick developed out of the older film de femmes, woman's weepers, or woman's film that were wildly popular through the 30s and into the 50s. These were largely maternal melodramas like Mildred Pierce (1945) and Stella Dallas (1937) with narratives centering on a strong female lead who sacrifices everything for her family or films of self-discovery like Now, Voyager (1942). At the same time, now classic romantic/screwball comedies were growing in popularity like It Happened One Night (1934), The Philadelphia Story (1940), Bringing Up Baby (1938), and Adam's Rib (1949). These and countless others mixed wonderful writing with accessible characters and stories. The films were largely marketed toward woman, the idea being women would go to the movies in the afternoons while shopping (as dramatized in David Lean's Brief Encounter [1945]). 27 Dresses takes the conventions developed by these earlier films and blends an awareness of itself as a genre picture, which many films began to do in the 1980s and 90s.

The greatest credit in 27 Dresses’ favor is its writing. While the story is very predictable, almost to a fault, the characterization of the leads is refreshing for what easily could have been a run-of-the-mill film. McKenna's story takes the genre expectations inherent in this kind of film (e.g. the cute meet, romantic obstacles, high jinks, etc.) and presents them in a new, reflexive way. The film opens with Jane's (Katherine Heigl) voiceover about finding her vocation at the age of eight helping to save her Cousin Lisa's wedding. Cut to twenty years later and Jane is a bridesmaid in two weddings on the same night, both of which she has coordinated. She shuttles between the two throughout the night, changing dresses in the back of a cab (a fun scene between her and driver Ziggy [Michael Ziegfeld]). All the while, she's caught the eye of Kevin "Malcolm" Doyle (James Marsden), a writer for the Commitments section of the New York Journal.

The subversion beings with the bouquet toss. As the bundle of flowers sails toward Jane, in slow motion of course, another guest comes out of nowhere to bodycheck her out of the way, knocking her unconscious. When she comes to, James Marsden is kneeling over her. Cute meet, check. During the cab ride to her apartment, their banter reveals Kevin's cynical attitude toward marriage which unnerves Jane to no end. He finds her bulky Filofax planner and discovers her almost unhealthy obsession with weddings. Using this, he hopes to move "out of the taffeta ghetto" and into legitimate writing. He pitches the idea to his editor Maureen (Melora Hardin, channeling her character of Jan from The Office to an extent) who eventually bites and he's on his way.

Jane, meanwhile, is the assistant to the founder of an eco-friendly clothing outfitter, George (Edward Burns, an underrated actor and talented director in my book) with whom she is in love. Her coworker/best friend Casey (Judy Greer) attempts to be Jane's voice of reason, consistently reminding Jane that her love for George is absurd. Enter the conflict: Jane's baby sister Tess (Malin Akerman). While at yet another engagement party, Tess meets George, and a relationship soon follows based on Tess' lies about her personality, told to suit George. At the same party, Kevin tracks down Jane to return her planner and plant the seed of writing his story. George asks Tess to marry him and Jane, after finding out what Kevin really does (unbeknownst to her, she is a big fan of his writing), becomes closer to the "angry marriage-hater." Kevin's exposé on Jane is printed thus ruining their blossoming relationship, she sabotages Tess' engagement only to realize she didn't really love George, and it's all happily wrapped up in the end.

As I said, 27 Dresses is very predicable in places but still a fun viewing. It takes the romantic comedy and grounds it with very real characters and a believable story. Marsden is surprisingly well cast as Kevin and brings a charm to the otherwise unsympathetic character while Akerman pulls off the egocentric ditz in spades. That is, except her confrontation scene with Jane towards the end. Throughout the film, Tess has been a manipulative, self-serving airhead, yet in this scene, she is able to succinctly articulate all of the internal conflict that has been brewing within Jane for the past two decades. Hokey but effective. Greer plays Casey with the right amount of exasperated wit and candor, speaking for the modern woman who doesn't live in a little girl's fantasy world. Most of the potentially sappy moments are undercut with McKenna's sharp writing and attention to expectation. While it won't go down as one of the greatest romantic comedies ever made, it certainly is one of the better entries the genre has seen in a very long time.

Sponsored by: She's Just a Fan!

Mother of Tears (2007)

Director: Dario Argento
Writer: Dario Argento with Jace Anderson and Adam Gierasch

When an ancient urn covered in cryptic symbols is opened, a once powerful witch regains her strength. A skeptical art restorer must destroy the witch before she brings about the second fall of Rome.

Dario Argento is once of my all-time favorite directors. Like many of his fans, after I first saw Suspiria (1977) I was hooked on his elegant and bizarre style. I tend to miss seeing movies in theaters but I made sure that I was there for this one. Mother of Tears is the final installment in Argento's "Three Mothers Trilogy," which began with Suspiria then continued with Inferno (1980). The titular character is one of three sisters or "Mothers" who created witchcraft in the 11th century. Each of the three films includes one of the Mothers as its antagonist; Mater Suspiriorum (Mother of Sighs) in Suspiria; Mater Tenebrarum (Mother of Darkness) in Inferno (not to be confused with Argento's 1982 film Tenebrae); and finally Mater Lachrymarum (Mother of Tears) in this film.

Horror fans regard Argento as one of the greats of the genre. He has a very interesting style that permeates all of his films. A former film critic and screenwriter for several Spaghetti Westerns (including co-writing the screenplay for Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West [1968]), Argento's directorial debut was 1970's The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, the first in his "Animals Trilogy" (followed by Cat o' Nine Tails and Four Flies on Grey Velvet [both 1971]). Their exciting camera work, excessive violence, and usually nonsensical narratives characterize the three gialli (the Italian plural for "yellow" which refers to the yellow covers of Italian pulp novels, usually crime or mystery thrillers). Fans of Argento, or most Italian horror films, will tell you not to bother trying to figure out one of his films because all the holes, gaps, and inconsistencies make the effort futile, but strangely fun.

With Suspiria, considered by many to be his single greatest film, Argento employed highly theatrical/surreal lighting throughout the film. Both interiors and exteriors are awash in bright red, green, blue, and white light to contrast the dark tone and imagery. The music, just as iconic as the images, was preformed by avant-grade rock band Goblin. This mixture of over-the-top image and sound created the perfect atmosphere for the otherworldly story. Continuing with Inferno, Argento again implemented the theatrical lighting and strange sound design to accent the narrative, which introduces the idea of the Three Mothers and retroactively make Suspiria the first installment (originally meant as a stand-alone film). With Mater Suspiriorum and Mater Tenebrarum destroyed, only Mater Lachrymarum remains. Though cited as "music student with cat" in Inferno's credits, she appears in brief scene staring at and hypnotizing the film's hero. This tease would last for nearly two decades.

So, why all this explanation? It seems to me that despite his place in the horror pantheon and fame (he's a national treasure in Italy), Argento is still not well known outside the genre. As a fan, I tried to put my biases aside in order to consider the film objectively. The story is true to Argento's style, creating a mystery then revealing one horrific twist after another. The acting is also on par with most of Argento's film, which is to say that it's not great and laughable at times. I cringe every time Sarah Mandy [Asia Argento] cries out "mommy" but I'll get into my opinion of Dario and Asia's work together later. I want to go ahead and say that I did enjoy the film, it was another great Argento experience (my first seeing it on the big screen) and a satisfying conclusion, I feel, to the Three Mothers Trilogy. However, I did have some issues with the film.

I mention the visual and aural elements of the previous films because they such vital ingredients to the their’ power. Mother of Tears significantly lacks these pieces. In the past decade or so, Argento has been moving more toward using natural lighting and away from expressionism. It's beautifully used in both Sleepless (2001) and The Card Player (2004) because they're giallo films and rooted in reality. With the exception of a couple scenes in Mater Lachrymarum's lair, Mother of Tears is shot with natural lighting, which serves to emphasize the ridiculousness of the story. The film's music, by ex-Goblin member and long-time Argento collaborator Claudio Simonetti, has elements of Suspiria's sound design (e.g. the whispering of key words, unusual instrument sounds) but is primarily a standard orchestral score with odd elements thrown in. In Suspiria and Inferno, the world of the films is a magical and frightening place where inexplicable things happen and we, the audience, can accept the events because the film does not visually or aurally resemble reality. The setting of Mother of Tears, however, resembles modern day Rome and when the seemingly random acts of violence happen, we can't accept them as easily. Had Argento utilized the style of the previous films, then Mother of Tears might not seem so out of place.

I'm not suggesting that Argento needs to revert to his old ways; I like the direction his career has taken. I think he's allowed himself to develop naturally as an artist and because of that, I can appreciate each of his films (except The Phantom of the Opera [1998], I can't hardly look at the thing it's so bad). What I am trying to get at is that I think there should be a kind of aesthetic unity among these three films, as there was in the Animals Trilogy, so that they can play off each other without one appearing inconsistent. I think the long passage of time between Inferno and Mother of Tears (17 years) had a great deal to do with that disconnection.

Another problem I had was the explanation of the Three Mothers. Many of the characters that Sarah encounters recount a different fragment of the Three Mothers legend and in effect the plots of the previous films. From a narrative standpoint, what makes Suspiria and Inferno so interesting is while they are tenuously connected, they can still stand alone as individual films. Mother of Tears attempts to tie up the loose ends of the trilogy by name-dropping past characters and events thus becoming dependant upon the other films and cannot stand on its own.

As promised, my thoughts on Asia's work in the film: Let's be honest, no one ever accused Asia Argento of being the greatest actress in the world. She's appeared in three of her father's films, the back-to-back Trauma (1993), The Stendhal Syndrome (1996), and The Phantom of the Opera. In each, she develops as an actress and has since forged her own career as an actress and director (her film Scarlet Diva [2000] is very interesting to look at). It's not so much her acting in Mother of Tears but her delivery that's troublesome. I think this may have more to do with the script, which feels either rushed or poorly translated, but her delivery of the overly generic dialogue comes across as either flat or too much. As I said, when she cries out "mommy" (Sarah's mother [played by Asia's real mother Daria Nicolodi] guides her as a ghost), I physically cringe because it's so ludicrous, to me, to hear a 33 year-old-woman call her mother "mommy." I know I'm nit picking at this point but it just irritates me to no end.

Speaking of delivery, the witches in the film drove me mad. As Mater Lachrymarum (Moran Atias) grows stronger, witches from all over the world arrive in Rome for the revelry and impending doom. The makeup department really failed here because the whacked-out hair and makeup they applied to these women turns them from potentially sinister to rejects from a Cyndi Lauper video. That coupled with their goofy screaming and laughing makes them unbearable. The same makeup and hair techniques when applied to Atias, a stunning Israeli model, made her unattractive. I remember thinking in the theater when she finally appeared on screen, "I thought Mater Lachrymarum was supposed to be 'the most beautiful of the three.'" It's sad really.

Okay, time to put this one to bed. I know I've had mostly negative criticism for Mother of Tears and yet maintain that I find it a good film. The reason is that one must look at Mother of Tears in context, not just with the other two films in the trilogy, but also with Argento's work as a whole. He has such a distinctive vision that comes across in each of his films, no matter how many faults they may have. After the lights came up in the theater where I saw the film, the woman in front of me (who had been laughing and talking the whole time) apologized if she was too loud but the movie was so silly. I told her, "that's just Dario's style; you really can't take it too seriously.” Hence, the reason I'm so excited to see his next film Giallo, currently in post-production.

Rocky IV (1985)

Director: Sylvester Stallone
Writer: Sylvester Stallone

Fresh from reclaiming the championship title and dealing with the death of mentor Mickey, beloved underdog boxer Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone) has new obstacles to overcome in this third sequel.

From my childhood, there are few movies that stick out as clearly as Rocky IV. It would be really easy to rip into this movie and pick it to pieces, but that would really do it a terrible injustice. I'll go out on a limb here: Rocky IV, for all its camp, may very well be the greatest Cold War film ever made. Picking up where Rocky III (1982) leaves off, Rocky taking back the title from Clubber Lang (Mr. T), former opponent and now best friend Apollo Creed (Carl Weaters) insists on fighting the Soviet Union's greatest amateur fighter Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren). The ensuing exhibition bout ends in Apollo's death. Rocky, distraught and feeling guilty over the loss of his best friend, flies to Russia to face Drago regardless of the American Boxing Commission's refusal to sanction the bout. The men train, they fight, it looks like Rocky's going to lose, then he comes back to win it. We all know how these movies turn out. But that's part of the fun. A Rocky film is not unlike an entry in any long-running slasher franchise. We'll use Friday the 13th as an example. You have your (anti)hero: Rocky/Jason. The obstacle: Drago/immoral teenagers. The inevitable outcome: Rocky wins/kids get killed. The death scenes of a Friday the 13th movie are akin to the boxing bouts in a Rocky movie. The slow-motion explosions of sweat and blood are the equivalent to the death scenes of a Friday the 13th entry. The voyeuristic desire to revel in violence is fulfilled by these scenes.

For what little story time there is - the film clocks in at just over 91 minutes with about one third of that dedicated to music montages - Stallone packs in a generous amount of topical political text. From the opening shot, two metallic boxing gloves with American and Soviet flags flying at each other and exploding, the audience understands that this sequel is tackling some larger socio-political issues. Rocky is one of the more recent incarnations of the Horatio Alger hero, an everyman who pulls himself up by his bootstraps to achieve greatness. In this installment, Rocky, who has come to represent our ideals about America, becomes the symbol of Western/Capitalist culture. As a Cold War film, the symbol of Eastern/Communist culture is Drago, the 6'5" blond monolith.

If the on-the-nose dialogue and simple narrative arc weren't enough to drive the East vs. West theme, then the many pop songs certainly bring the point home. The pop music in the movie is fantastic. Beginning with the "No Easy Way Out" sequence (featuring the song in full) followed by the "Burning Heart" and "Hearts on Fire" sequences. The lyrics to Survivor's "Burning Heart," literally, say it all:

Two worlds collide, rival nations

It's a primitive clash, venting years of frustrations

Bravely we hope against all hope, there is so much at stake
Seems our freedom's up against the ropes

Does the crowd understand?

Is it East vs. West, or man against man

Can any nation stand alone?

Of course we can't over look the "Hearts on Fire" training montage (wonderfully parodied by Family Guy). Rocky trains in the snow and in a barn with giant rocks while Drago trains with the latest technology. Of course, in the end, Rocky/nature/warrior spirit wins out over Drago/technology/brute strength. This is yet another touchy element of the film: its blunt handling of the larger themes and glancing over of small details.

What I think the film lacks, apart from some finesse in the script department, is a few extra scenes to round out Rocky's determination to fight Drago. The boxing commission's refusal to sanction the bout is only mentioned in newspaper clippings and news reports. The film's theatrical trailer has a few seconds of the commission deliberating. With that, we know the scenes were shot but excised from the film for whatever reason, probably that nebulous term "pacing." The inclusion of these scenes would, I think, make Rocky's decision all the more personal. Perhaps I'm expecting too much from the film. Maybe I've been watching too many art films to overlook its shortcomings. I mean, it is the fourth in its series; written and directed by its star; and only about an hour long without the music montages. Honestly though, I adore this movie for all the things that a technically wrong with it. All those faults, especially when Apollo's gloves suddenly disappear and reappear before his fight with Drago, are what make the film so memorable.

Apart from the original film in 1976, this entry, I believe, has had the biggest impact on popular culture. For example, this past April in UFC 83, after the Nate Quarry/Kalib Starnes bout, American Quarry ironically quoted Rocky's final "we all can change" speech to the booing Canadian crowd after humiliating his Canadian opponent. He entered the Octagon to jeers but once Starnes began running away from Quarry, the UFC crowd, like in this film, turned their favor to the better fighter. Given this and allusions in other texts, I think the film deserves its own special edition DVD, or even Blu-ray Disc. I mean, MGM could have a lot of fun with this title. I'm thinking commentaries (one with just Lundgren and Stallone), a nice long documentary on the film's making and cultural impact, maybe a trivia track, jump to a music montage option, retrospective interviews. But here's the icing on the cake: you call it "Rocky IV: No Easy Way Out Edition."

Unlikely, yes. But a man can dream.

For further reading, check out Hard Bodies by Susan Jeffords.

There Will Be Blood (2007)

Director: Paul Thomas Anderson

Writer: Upton Sinclair (novel), Paul Thomas Anderson (screenplay)

Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a successful oilman at the turn of the twentieth century. A young man's tip leads Plainview to California where a local preacher and the hazards of free enterprise are but a few of the obstacles between Plainview and incredible wealth.

Yet another film I wish I'd seen in theatres. Even once the DVD came out it took me a long time to get around to watching it because I had the feeling it required one sitting to really appreciate the film. Apart from his short films and Sydney (a.k.a. Hard Eight) (1996), I've seen his other three features: Boogie Nights (1997), Magnolia (1999), and Punch-Drunk Love (2002). There Will Be Blood is quite like these films and is at the same time quite different. There Will Be Blood is not as much an ensemble piece as his other films, much like how Punch-Drunk Love focuses on Adam Sandler and Emily Watson's characters though they're surrounded by over-the-top human foils and accents. Like Boogie Nights, this is a historical drama though far less tongue-in-cheek. This is also an adapted work, from the novel Oil! by Upton Sinclair, whereas his previous films are original screenplays.

Anderson's film is a tough one to get through at times. The two and a half hour running time is daunting, especially when coupled with the methodical pacing and specific visual style he implements. Several times during There Will Be Blood, I got the sense that the Anderson was channeling as much David Lean as John Cassavetes. The location and landscape is just as important a visual feature as any of the characters or the narrative. He uses the widescreen to his advantage to show the vastness of the location (e.g. the vanishing point railroad, Daniel and adopted son HW [Dillon Freasier] hunting) but also to show the intimacy and opposition of his characters in closer framings (Daniel and HW after the accident, Daniel and William Bandy before the baptism). Other times, such as when HW returns from boarding school, Anderson's camera is positioned very far away from the two but their voices are aurally "close" to the spectator. This gives an uncomfortable, voyeuristic quality to the scene, which is one of the film's narrative strengths. Anderson's film allows the audience to tag along with Daniel Plainview at specific points in his oil-oriented life. From his solitary prospecting in 1898, to a small oil drilling team in 1902, to our main chunk of story in Little Boston in 1911, and finally jumping ahead to 1927. The elliptical storytelling requires some dedication on the behalf of the viewer but is ultimately a rewarding experience.

The reward comes in the form of the central, personal conflict of the film. At the forefront of the narrative is the clash between oilman Daniel Plainview and preacher Eli Sunday (Paul Dano). The two actors play off each other wonderfully, presenting opposing side of ambition. Plainview is interesting in one thing: oil. Where he can find it, how he can get to it, and how he can profit from it. Eli, however, is driven by his faith and the development of his church, The Church of the Third Revelation. However, by the end of the film Eli is the fallen man, driven more by his own greed than his supposed faith.

I find it significant that neither man looks any older in final 1927 scenes as when they first meet in 1911. The men come to represent the frailties of human endeavor and how those frailties never age. Daniel Plainview is a bad man, you know, I know, Anderson knows it, and Daniel Plainview most of all knows it. This is what sets him apart from Eli Sunday. Sunday has allowed his self-delusion to overtake his being. From the beginning of the film, he sees himself - as I imagine most cult leaders do - as the guiding light for all those who dare follow him. He persists in this fantasy as he tries to build his church and his followers, always keeping himself on a pedestal. Daniel sees through Eli and at every turn knocks him down a peg and often does it literally. This self-delusion has landed Eli in the early grips of the Great Depression and Daniel in a more cushioned environment. Their final confrontation in Daniel's in-home bowling alley (a hokey set piece but effective nonetheless), is dramatic sum of the past two-plus hours. It is here that many of the images and narrative themes of the film repeat and come to full maturity. The revelation that Eli's twin brother Paul was the true prophet (bringing Daniel to Little Boston) and Eli's subsequent forced admission of such (like Daniel's beleaguered baptism) is Daniel's final emotional, spiritual, and physical assault on Eli. It is in this scene, despite Day-Lewis' excessive performance, where I am most reminded of the work of John Cassavetes and Robert Bresson. In many of Cassavetes' films (specifically Shadows [1959], Faces [1968], and A Woman Under the Influence [1974]) and Bresson's Diary of a Country Priest (1951) and Pickpocket (1959), the viewer spends nearly the whole length of the film absorbing these vignettes in characters' lives then. It's in the last few scenes and moments that the sum total of the previous images rushes back, swells up, and locks into place. You have to watch from start to finish in one go or the whole effect is significantly diminished. There Will Be Blood is not a film designed to make the viewer feel good. There is no one to root for (as a friend pointed out), it's a wholly pessimistic about industry, and our sympathies are consistently subverted by characters' actions. Even when we are manipulated to feel sorry for HW's lost hearing, he is sent away to school only to return as yet another reminder of what a terrible person Plainview is. However, I find these ostensibly negative qualities to be the real source of the film's strength. There Will Be Blood stands in opposition to generic Hollywood product and I hope more filmmakers will be bold enough, as Anderson has, to work in such dark cinematic terrain.

Lost and Found

This news is about a week old but I really wanted to let it soak in properly. They found the rest of Fritz Lang's Metropolis. Put into simplistic terms like that, it sounds sort of silly but it really is a big deal. Metropolis is not just one of the undisputed masterpieces of silent cinema, it's also an integral part of our film history. Considering it took Lang two years to film, finally released in 1927, it's absolutely astounding to watch. Kino International's 124 minute version is the one with which I am most familiar. It includes a sort of disclaimer at the beginning stating that the missing scenes are considered lost and text, drawings, and production stills will attempt to fill in the gaps. Well, it's funny how things work out and how we've come to relocate the missing footage. I first heard the news from TheDigitalBits, which linked to the German periodical Zeit Online for the full write up. It's a short but very interesting piece. Here's the breakdown: in 1928, Lang sent a print of the film to Adolfo Z. Wilson, an Argentinean film distributor. The film is shown in cinemas then passes into the hands of critic Manuel Peña Rodríguez for his personal collection. Forty-odd years later, Peña Rodríguez sells the reels to Argentina's National Art Fund and then, in 1992, the film winds up at Museo del Cine in Buenos Aires. The new curator, Paula Félix-Didier, heard the rumor about how the museum's copy of Metropolis ran a little longer than everyone else's. Sure enough, with the help of three film experts, Fritz Lang's complete vision of Metropolis was "rediscovered" in Argentina. Kino, who has the rights to the film, has since confirmed that they will include the missing scenes in their DVD and Blu-ray Disc releases of the film next year.

This is, of course, not the first time someone has stumbled across a "lost" film. Take the case of John Ford's My Darling Clementine (1946). Ford's film was released to the public with a running time of about 97 minutes. In the mid-1990s, UCLA film students noticed that the print of the film donated to the school by Fox ran about ten minutes longer. Lo and behold, Fox had sent the school Ford's earlier cut, which was previewed, re-edited, and then released as the 97-minute theatrical version. Both versions are available on the most recent DVD, which makes for an interesting comparison study. A similar comparison is the theatrical version versus the restored version of Baby Face (1933). With public interest group breathing down Hollywood's neck, the Production Code (a.k.a. the Hays Code; the Code; the Breen Office) was put into place to regulate (read "censor") the content of American films. The restored version of Baby Face is a much darker, seedier vision of ambition and exploitation. The theatrical version softens the material and, in my opinion, dulls the overall impact. One of the more famous film restorations was that of Orson Welles' triumphant Touch of Evil (1958). Welles, a brilliant filmmaker to a fault, wrote a now legendary 58-page memo to RKO after viewing the studio's re-edited version of the film. The film remained as the studio cut it until Universal found an early post-memo, pre-release version of the film in 1976 used with test audiences. Finally, a faithful restoration was mounted in 1998, attempting to achieve Welles' original vision. On a personal note, Touch of Evil (like Chinatown [1974], Halloween [1978], and The Red Shoes [1948]) is one of those movies that remind me why I love film so much. It's such a textually dense work that I get sort of intoxicated by it. With that said, I know I'll be first in line to get the new 50th Anniversary Edition in October; it'll include all three versions of the film (!).

I suppose I'm like many fans of silent film and general film history because there are several films I'd love to see in their original versions. Erich von Stroheim's original 9-hour version of Greed would be amazing (the 4-hour version is pretty spectacular by itself). I really wonder what Orson Welles' first cut of The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) looked like. That is to say, before RKO re-cut and destroying any remaining footage. Legend has it a rough print is hiding somewhere in Brazil where Welles went to decompress after shooting.

You know, two of my favorite directors are Dario Argento and John Waters. I've seen just about every movie they've ever made with the exception of a few. Argento finished his "animal trilogy" (beginning with The Bird with the Crystal Plumage [1970] followed by Cat ‘O Nine Tails [1971]) with Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971). After three back-to-back giallos, Argento made The Five Days of Milan (1973), a historical drama about the Italian revolution. Neither film is available in the States. I understand that Paramount owns the video rights to Four Flies. I have my doubts that they'll release it in any acceptable form considering the hack jobs they do on most of the genre DVDs like Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and that sad excuse of a Friday the 13th boxed set. As for Waters, I'd love to see Hag in a Black Leather Jacket (1964), Roman Candles (1966), and Eat Your Makeup (1968) available to the public. Waters, love him or hate him, hasn't lost his satirical edge. I'm looking forward to his holiday children's movie Fruitcake. Think I’m kidding? Go here.

I've gotten terribly off track but I think my point is there. Metropolis as Lang intended it was considered "lost forever" for eight decades until it was happened across, more or less, by accident. What really saddens me is the utter disregard for history and preservation the general public has for their film heritage. Just because it's in black-and-white or silent doesn't make it boring or a bad movie. Odds are it's better than 90% of the drivel that the studios dump on us today. I know it would be an expensive endeavor but I'd love for someone to start digging through the vaults and archives to see what other treasures are hiding. Maybe that print of The Magnificent Ambersons is just chilling in Brazil, waiting for someone to trip over it. Until then, I'll (im)patiently wait for the fully restored version of Metropolis to street. I'm sure that after watching it my head will explode into candy.

Caché (2006)

Director: Michael Haneke
Writer: Michael Haneke

Strange surveillance-type videos and post cards begin showing up at the home of a talk-show host and his wife. While trying to uncover who is sending the disturbing materials, the already strained relationship between husband and wife is punt under even more pressure.

Haneke has quickly become one of my new favorite filmmakers. My first brush with his work was when a close friend of mine told me I had to see this messed up movie called The Piano Teacher (2001). It was a truly upsetting film. My next experience with Haneke was Funny Games (1997), which is, hands down, one of the most emotionally brutal films I've ever seen. Caché is no exception. Haneke implements his long take style quite effectively in this film. The opening static shot, running a solid three minutes, in a way prepares the viewer for the rest of the film. The scene is an exterior shot of an upscale town home-like façade. Cars, pedestrians, and cyclists pass with synchronous audio. Then come the nonsynchronous voices of the married couple, Georges and Anne Laurent (Daniel Auteuil and Juliette Binoche), but at first we have no context for these voices. Haneke cuts to a different angle of the street as Georges walks out with Anne to inspect an alley and then back to the original static shot as the couples' voices reverberate in what sounds like an open room. Just then, the screen freezes and fast-forwards, a throw back to a pivotal moment in Funny Games. The spectator has just been duped by this technique, which Haneke will reuse throughout the film.

A regular obsession of Haneke's is central to the narrative of this film: the effect of new media, especially video, on reality. This is a topic Haneke has tackled before, most notably in Benny's Video (1992). But what does all that have to do with the opening shot? Like much of his work, Caché is a highly reflexive film. With that first sequence, Haneke is making his audience aware of not just their position as spectator but also the film's position as a piece of art. Because of our past consumption of films and engrained understanding of standardized visual and aural codes, we automatically assume that the exterior establishing shot is just that: an establishing shot. We take for granted that the filmmaker could be lying to us, manipulating our trust, and using our preconceptions against us. While film is not exactly a new medium (with over a century of practice under its belt), artists like Haneke find new ways to use and interpret the filmic image. In this case, working out how video can be use antagonistically.

As the story unfolds, we find out that what we saw on screen is a tape that mysteriously appeared on the Laurents' doorstep. As the film progresses, more tapes appear along with post cards and papers with the same crude drawing of a person bleeding from the mouth. The already strained relationship between Georges and Anne slowly fractures as they try to figure out who is stalking them. Using the images on the tapes as clues, Georges confronts a man from his past, which leads to tragedy. Haneke repeatedly emphasizes and reminds the audience of the voyeuristic nature of watching a film. The spectator identifies with the couple - Georges and Anne are also manipulated by the images on the screen - but is also implicated with the stalker by watching the couple's relationship crumble. Once the film ends, the spectator is forced to deal with Haneke's manipulations.

As impressive as Caché is, I do have one gripe. With the introduction of the drawings, there seems to be a subplot, made of visual clues, that pops up briefly. These clips are living versions of the stalker's drawings. As Georges explains an event from his childhood involving another boy (who he later confronts as an adult), we are led to believe these brief clues are Georges' memories. If so, then it seems like an unnecessary bout of subjectivity in the middle of an exercise in objectivity. Perhaps Haneke wants to interrupt our innate desire to identify with the story in some way by inserting this contradictory subplot. A few more viewings may bear out the rationale but for now, this seems like a superfluous narrative tangent. The only thing I can think of is that it may be acting as a parallel to the later confrontation, a mental association Georges makes, but again, the sudden introduction into Georges' mind is troubling from a narrative standpoint. Then again, what about Haneke's work isn't troubling on one level or another?

Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)

Director: Steve Box and Nick Park
Writer: Nick Park (characters), Steve Box & Nick Park, Mark Burton, and Bob Baker (screenplay)

In this adventure, Wallace & Gromit are Anti-Pesto, a humane pest control service. With their village's annual giant vegetable contest only days away, a fearsome, veg-ravaging were-rabbit is on the loose and it's up to the stop-motion animated duo to save the day and the veggies.

As much as I love highbrow art films, gory slasher flicks, and most things in between, I seldom find myself wholly charmed by movies anymore. There are the classic films that remind how much I love watching and studying film, like Chinatown and Halloween. I remember the "Creature Comforts" shorts on Nickelodeon from my youth and knew of Wallace & Gromit's international fame, but Curse of the Were-Rabbit was my first real experience with the characters. My inner child was delighted by the silly humor while the film snob reveled in the meticulous mise-en-scène. As a film, not just one for kids, Curse of the Were-Rabbit is very well made. The story unfolds without any superfluous material; the jokes are clever but do not relying on strings of double entendres; each viewing reveals some new detail once previously overlooked. Naturally, not all of the jokes carry over across the pond but the film does have a universal appeal.

The story is a clever take on the old gothic mad-scientist-creates-and-must-destroy-a-monster narrative. As creator Nick Park

commented, Curse of the Were-Rabbit is "[a] vegetarian horror movie." As such, many visual codes associated with the genre are implemented then manipulated (e.g. graveyard fog, extreme high- and low-angle shots, chiaroscuro lighting, the Jaws scene, etc.). One fun example involves Gromit in the kitchen, a close-up of his finger running around a selection of knives. He then selects a chef's knife, sharpens it, and raises it over his head in a chopping motion while the orchestral string crescendo. Because we are familiar with that series of shots, we expect something gruesome but instead of dismemberment, Gromit cuts up a carrot for the captured rabbits.

When watching, you can't help but think about and marvel at the amount of time and dedication it took the filmmakers to create the film one frame at a time. It's that kind of devotion to one's art that I truly admire. CGI-dependant films are fun when executed well, but they have an artificiality that I feel keeps the viewer at arm's length. To that end, Gollum will never move me. The use of Plasticine characters however lends a more personal quality to the finished product. Gromit's facial expressions, through manipulation of his brow, provide a vast array of pathos and comments to the scenes. What computer effects are use, and there are many, only serve to compliment and enhance the film's overall visual experience. The bunnies are delightfully quirky, waving to each other manically like caffeinated children. Lady Tottington has that wonderfully batty English charm associated with the upper class. Wallace and Victor Quatermaine are the archtypical hero and villain, squared off against each other not only to save the town but also to win the heart of Lady Tottington. We know how it will play out but seeing what twists Park and Box employ is where the film pays off. Not a perfect film, like any horror-oriented piece there are holes and inconsistancies, but an enjoyable experience just the same.

Körkarlen Update

I was wandering around The Digital Bits, a great online source for information on "Film in the Digital Age." At any rate, one of their contributors mentioned something about a release of Körkarlen coming to DVD. A little digging later and sure enough, GrapeVine Video has restored both the Swedish and English language versions into one collection. I like little companies like this. Instead of putting their efforts toward pleasing a large demographic, they aim at a smaller niche audience. It looks like they've assembled a nice library of silent and early-sound films. While the discs are DVD-R, it's still nice to know there is a group interested in preserving cinema history.
On the note of not-100%-legit-but-still-commendable companies. Lost Silver and Video Search of Miami provide a similar service. They specialize in cult and the really "out there" films. The catalogues of these sites are a hodgepodge of titles. Here's to sticking it to the man.

Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)

Director: Charles E. Sellier, Jr.
Writer: Paul Caimi (story), Michael Hickey (screenplay)

Thirteen years ago, Billy witnessed his parents' brutal murdered at the hands madman dressed as Santa Claus. Now it's Christmas at the toy store where he works and they need someone to dress as the jolliest man in the world. Santa has more than lumps of coal in mind for anyone on his naughty list.

Unlike my sisters, Christmas is not my favorite holiday. I only look forward to it as a means to spend time with my family, but other than that, I could care less. Silent Night, Dead Night is my kind of slasher movie because it upends all that we hold dear about that holiday. It comes as no great surprise that the film met with outrage when it was first released. This is a seriously disturbed flick, but it also works on a kind of bent logic.

When he's eight, Billy’s parents take him and his baby brother to visit their supposedly comatose grandfather in a nursing home. Once Billy's parents leave him along with grandpa, gramps has some twisted news for Billy about Santa Claus. Grandpa warns Billy that Santa only brings presents to children who haven't done anything bad ALL year and punishes naughty children. One little slip-up and you're toast. Across town, a man dressed as Santa robs a convenience store and kills the clerk. He then feigns a breakdown to hold up Billy's folks. When they try to escape, Santa shoots at the car, killing the father. Billy jumps out of the car to hide in a ditch as Santa pulls mom out of the car, presumably to rape her. When she fights back, Billy witnesses Santa slash his mother's throat.

Billy and his baby brother Ricky are sent to an orphanage run by nuns. Every Christmas the boy falls into a funk that produces morbid drawings and anxiety around Christmas images, especially Santa Claus. When he accidentally sees a teenage couple having sex and Mother Superior's punishment, he is scarred further. Sister Margaret (Gilmer McCormick) is the only person who understands the trauma he has endured.

When he's 18 and obviously been pumping iron in the nun's gym, Billy (Robert Brian Wilson) takes a job as a stock clerk at Ira's Toys. There he meets the attractive Pamela (Toni Nero) and the wiseass Andy (Randy Strumpf). When Christmas rolls around, the man hired by the store to play Santa suffers a broken ankle and a replacement is needed. Of course it's Billy.

At the Chrsitmas party Billy, still in the Santa costume, sees Pamela go off the stockroom with Andy and follows. When he sees Andy attempt to rape Pamela, Billy flashes back to his mother's murder and that when the killing starts. First Andy with a string of lights, then anyone unlucky enough to get in Santa's way. Axes, bow and arrow, a mounted deer's head, anything he can use.
Like any great 80s slasher flick, the kills are the main draw. "How are the kids going to get it this time?" is what I wondered every time I saw another installment of Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, or Halloween. And the body count is impressive here; inventive deaths and a few fun twists. I wasn't surprised about the movie's backlash. I mean, it's a guy dressed as Santa, an icon of peace and generosity, destroying just about everyone in his path. But you can't take it too seriously. It's a movie after all; it's fiction. The DVD release features comments from angry parents and critics, and they're great to read. Even during the slasher boom of the 80s, I assume Slight Night, Deadly Night (a.k.a. Slayride) got an "R"-rating. As strong as my feelings about the MPAA and rating system are, I wonder what kind of irresponsible parent would let their child watch this kind of movie sight unseen. But that's a whole other soapbox.

In closing, Silent Night, Deadly Night is a fun holiday romp for those who have the right sense of humor about it. Its ridiculousness (e.g. the deer antler death) trumps any serious damage it might inflict. It's slasher camp of the highest degree and worth checking out.

Romper Stomper (1992)

Director: Geoffrey Wright
Writer: Geoffrey Wright

I've always been touch-and-go with Russell Crowe. He was great in L.A. Confidential (1997) but I think we could have all done without A Beautiful Mind (2001). Then there's an early film he made while still in his native Australia: Romper Stomper. The film centers around Neo-Nazi white-supremicists in early 1990s Australia led by the brutal Hando (Russell Crowe). When his right-hand man Davey (Daniel Pollack) starts to question his role in the group, falls for Hando's girl Gabe (Jacquline McKenzie), and local Vietnamese youths launch a retaliation, the group's fragile existence is ruptured.

Crowe is a force to be reckoned with in Romper Stomper. The same ferocity that teems below the surface many of Crowe's performances is at full tilt here. He seethes with menace not just from the violence he's capable of, displayed in the opening scene, but also the charm he exudes when around his group. He's in total control of all those who associate with him and doles out paternalist punishment accordingly. What makes Hando such a terrifying character is his utter devotion to his ideology. His entire existence is connected to promoting his hate-filled agenda.

The film has connections to other white supremacist-themed films like American History X (1998) and My Beautiful Laundrette (1985) to lesser extent. My Beautiful Laundrette is as much a love story between Omar and Johnny as it is about the cultural rift between the immigrant Pakistani population and extreme right-wing Britons. In American History X, Derek changes his ways while in prison and wants to save his younger brother from a similar fate. Where Romper Stomper departs is the hopelessness of Hando. He cannot change nor will he.
The only hope for change is Davey. Pollack brings a brooding sensitivity to the otherwise bleak scenario. During the interracial fight set piece, the Vietnamese youths outnumbering the skinheads who retreat to their warehouse lair. It's there that Davey sees Hando for the jingoist psychopath he is, willing to take on all other Vietnamese kids by himself. What few skinheads remains of the group abandon the warehouse and hole up in another. Gabe and Davey leave the new hideout as the group begins to unravel. Once the police arrive, tipped off by Gabe, Hando retreats, leaving his follows to either arrest or death. He enlists Davey and Gabe’s help to escape, killing a gas station attendant in the process.

The film's conclusion is Hando's last shot at solidarity with Davey, demanding that they ditch Gabe. She in turns sets their stolen car on fire and admits to calling the police on Hando's group, prompting his full-blown wrath. Davey is forced to choose between his ideals (Hando) and a way out of that lifestyle (Gabe).

While it is obvious that the politics professed by Hando do not work, the film offers no viable solution to the cultural rift. That is where the strength and power of the film comes from, the desperation of the situation. While American History X has a tragic but hopeful ending, Romper Stomper is as nihilistic at the end as it was at the beginning.

No Country For Old Men (2007)

Director: Ethan Coen and Joel Coen
Writer: Cormac McCarthy (novel), Joel Coen and Ethan Coen (screenplay)

Set in 1980, a West Texas hunter stumbles upon the aftermath of a botched heroin deal. He attempts to run off with a satchel containing two million dollars while pursued by a homicidal murderer and local sheriff.

I've been a fan of the Coen Brothers' work for a long time. The first film class I took as an undergrad was all about the Coens and their style. Though I've purposely missed their last three pictures, The Man Who Wasn't There (2001), Intolerable Cruelty (2003), and 2004's The Ladykillers (nothing can top the original Ealing Studios film with Alec Guinness), I was excited to hear about their most recent project: No Country For Old Men. I missed it in theaters and I'm really sad I did but seeing it at home was just as wonderful. No Country has the most fully realized feel of a film the Coen Brothers have made since Blood Simple (1984) or Raising Arizona (1987). It's an especially dark, existential, and nihilistic experience deriving from its lighting, tone, and desert locations. The three male leads, Llewelyn Moss (Josh Bolin), Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), and Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), are all magnificent pursuing each other. Scottish actress Kelly Macdonald (who I adored in Robert Altman's Gosford Park [2001]), Woody Harrelson, and Stephen Root are perfect in their supporting roles.

The film has come up twice in my film theory class due in part to its sheer lack of music (there's something like 15 minutes of music in the whole film including the five minutes of end credits) and specific narrative techniques the Coen Brothers implement.

The film opens with Sheriff Bell's voiceover about how his father and grandfather were also Texas sheriffs and how the "old-timers" never used or even carried guns. At first, the speech seems incongruous but it really informs the viewer about one of the film's overarching themes. As prominent as the chase between Moss and Chigurh is, this is Sheriff Bell's story. An older man right at the edge of retirement, he consistently notes how much his county has changed since was first a lawman. The failed drug deal, Chigurh's brand of emotionless violence, and Moss' take-the-money-and-run idea are all symptomatic of the social change the country in general and this county in particular have undergone. As the title suggests Bell is out of place in the Texas of 1980, he is nearly obsolete and always two steps behind Chigurh and Moss.

I said earlier that No Country For Old Men is a fully realized feeling film and by that I mean it has the tone of a Coen Brothers movie without the emptiness that hangs over most of their work. The Coen Brothers truly know their craft but from a postmodern, film-buff standpoint. Many of their films are set in very specific genres with an eye on references and parallels. No Country pulls from a variety of genres but is not overtly self-conscious of its filmness. I've read and agree that the Coen Brothers’ movies often lack the heart and soul of most films. Their attention to narrative and extra-narrative details sucks the life out of their movies, making them seem artificial. This is a fantastic exception. The references, though present, are heavily muted. One example is the setting: the American/Mexican border town recalls the setting of Touch of Evil (1958). As another example, Llewlyn Moss, a Vietnam veteran, is introduced hunting with a high-powered rifle. There is a close-up of him picking up a discharged shell and putting it in his shirt's breast pocket. This references an early scene in The Deer Hunter (1978) in which Robert De Niro's character Michael holds up a similar bullet and proclaims to his hunting friends, before they ship off to Vietnam, "This is this. It ain’t something else. This is this." Like the characters in No Country, Michael is an existentialist, believing that he wields no control over the course of his life. While Moss might think he can change his and his wife's lives by running off with the drug money, he cannot. Moss even knows that his attempt at changing his life's path is an error when, in the middle of the night as he prepares to revisit the crime scene, his wife Carla Jean asks, "And what’re you gonna do?" he replies, "I'm fixing to do something dumber than hell, but I'm going anyways." Like Michael of The Dear Hunter, it's not in Moss to half-ass anything.

For all its emphasis on the meaninglessness of men's journey through life and the overall dark tone, No Country For Old Men is a spectacular cinematic experience. As sparse as the film is, it's full of thought-provoking ideas and powerful images. I think the Coen Brothers have matured as filmmakers and I hope this is a sign of things to come.

Mr. Brooks (2007)

Director: Bruce A. Evans
Writer: Bruce A. Evans & Raynold Gideon

Earl Brooks (Kevin Costner) is a successful businessman, loving husbands and father, Man of the Year, and recovering serial killer. On the wagon for two years, Mr. Brooks gives in to the personified "little voice" in his head Marshall (William Hurt). After killing a couple one night, a man calling himself Mr. Smith (Dane Cook) approaches Mr. Brooks with pictures of the crime and strikes a deal to join Mr. Brooks on his next jaunt.

I heard about Mr. Brooks from two different friends, both raved about Dane Cook's role in the film. I kept hearing, "Yeah! Dane Cook in a serious role!" I'll touch more on Cook's performance later but first I want to think about Kevin Costner. I haven't liked everything I've seen him in mostly because I haven't seen the majority of his work. While I find JFK (1991) a flawed film, Costner is great in the Jim Garrison role but then Tin Cup (1996) is a little too off beat even for me; I felt numb after Dances with Wolves (1990) and Dragonfly (2002) was just...interesting. Mr. Brooks however is a role that I can't imagine anyone else playing due in large part to Costner's star persona. Costner is an all-American good guy; he is Eliot Ness and Robin Hood in my book. That being said, I love it when beloved actors play against type. That's exactly what gives Mr. Brooks most of its edge: Costner's creepiness. He's a disturbingly cool killer but a warm and troubled everyman. Costner brings so much conflict to the character that be becomes a wonderful antihero.

Mr. Brooks' foil is that of his inner demon Marshall. Their scenes together, once you get used to the film's approach to the character, are some of the best in the film. Marshall always pops up to remind Mr. Brooks that he is, in fact, addicted to killing. Apart from representing Mr. Brooks' id, Marshall represents the analytical, detail-oriented side of Mr. Brooks' psyche. Unlike many of his other, more restrained performances (I'm thinking Body Heat (1981), Kiss of the Spider Woman [1985], and A History of Violence [2005]), Hurt is allowed to not only open up but have fun with Marshall. That enjoyment comes through in Marshall's teasing moments with Mr. Brooks, egging him on to kill again and again.

Now we come to Dane Cook. When in the right mood, I really enjoy his stand up but I think it's going to be a long time before he's able or even willing to effectively slough off that side of himself. Mr. Smith is as serious of a role as I've ever seen Cook in and I hope he continues to pursue more roles like this one. I've always wanted to see him play something close to Mr. Smith (I even wrote a role specifically for Cook in a screenplay). While his performance is strong and fairly out of character from the comedian I'm used to, too much of the manic, nervous energy he brings to his stand up is in Mr. Smith. He has several moments when is fully in the role but for most of the film he is Dane Cook playing Mr. Smith who is a character in a serious movie. That being said, he makes an interesting counter-point to the Mr. Brooks/Marshall dynamic. While Mr. Brooks is a well-oiled machine Mr. Smith is a careless, opportunistic, and impetuous thrill-seeker. Cook pulls off that side in spades. It's the moments when he has to pose a real threat to Mr. Brooks that Cook doesn't fully deliver. I won't write him off as an actor of serious roles just yet. I think that with time and the right roles, Cook will make the same transition Steve Martin, Eddie Izzard, Robin Williams (One Hour Photo (2002) was some creepy business), and especially Jim Carry have made.

In addition, while I harp on the three male leads, I can't ignore the great supporting cast led by Demi Moore. Her portrayal of the troubled police detective hunting Mr. Brooks gives a real sense of urgency to the story. While some of the police scenes are a little stock, she brings a real vitality to those moments. And I'm going to go head and make a call about Reiko Aylesworth (she plays the divorce lawyer Shelia). I first saw Aylesworth on the only episode of The Dead Zone I've ever seen (and I saw it by accident/chance/nothing else on) and she really struck me. While her part in Mr. Brooks is very small, I think she'll be going places and soon. I had the same feeling about Charlize Theron when I saw her in The Devil's Advocate (1997). Within three years, I think/hope we'll be seeing more of her apart from 24.

In closing, Mr. Brooks is, on the surface, an interesting study of the inner pathology of a serial killer. Coupled with his other life as a “normal” person, Mr. Brooks is a pleasant blend of twisted and touching.

Street Trash (1987)

Director: J. Michael Muro
Writer: Roy Frumkes

Manhattan bums are dying off, melting from the inside out after drinking a mysterious liquor called Tenafly Viper. Seriously, that's it.

I'm not taking this very seriously because the movie is not at all serious. It was recommended to me by a long-trusted horror comrade and sitting down to watch it, I wasn't sure what to expect. The premise is a little hard to swallow until the main bum, Fred (Mike Lackey), bursts in on a couple having sex, tells them the apartment building is on fire, slaps the naked chick on the ass, and runs out that one really understands the tone and intention of the film. Street Trash is not meant to be taken seriously. It's what I call a "12-pack flick." By that I mean it's the kind of movie where you get a group of your buddies together, crack open a case of cold ones, and have a good ole time watching/heckling a ridiculous movie in the wee hours. The writer, Roy Frumkes (horror buffs know Frumkes from his Document of the Dead documentary on the making of George A. Romero's 1978 classic Dawn of the Dead) had loftier goals for the story but budgetary constraints squelched many of those aspirations. His documentary The Meltdown Memories makes a fantastic companion piece to the original film.

The story is strong if a little loony at times, but that's really part of its charm. While suspending one's disbelief at the prospect of hobos as main characters is a little difficult at first, you grow to care about these "less fortunate" people. When Fred nearly drinks from the Viper bottle towards the end of the film, I was concerned for him. The gore effects are really something I miss as a horror fan. The over-the-top, in-camera special effects are welcomed in all their neon glory. This is where the "torture chic" movies miss the boat in my book. Their seriousness, especially the first Hostel movie (I’m one of the twelve people who loved Cabin Fever, by the way), propel the gore into the camp territory dominated by latter slasher sequels. As I see it, there is a fine line between uncomfortable gore and silly gore. Street Trash treats its gore with the utmost irreverence. At the same time, it's not making any serious statement about the status quo in late 1980s New York, though one could draw Marxist conclusion about Nick Durran's (Tony Darrow) presence in the film.

While the whole film is a joy to watch, James Lorinz as Doorman steals the show. The film is infused with a kind of dark humor but Lorinz's deadpan delivery of his few lines standouts above even the wonderfully low-budget effects. When he pops up again at the end of the film I was really pleased. In closing, Street Trash is not for everyone, but for those who can appreciate it for what it is will reap the benefits in repeated viewings.

The moral of the story is this: if you have the opportunity to buy a pint of booze for a DOLLAR, just walk away. It's not worth it. But if you just can't pass up the deal, give the bottle to someone else and break out an umbrella.

Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom (1975)

Director: Pier Paolo Pasolini
Writer: Pier Paolo Pasolini and Sergio Citti (screenplay), Marquis de Sade (novel)

Loosely based the Marquis de Sade's novel and infused with elements from Dante's Inferno, Salò is set in an Italian province of the same name towards the end of World War II. A cabal of Nazi and Fascist libertines assembles eighteen young men and women (nine of each), with whom the libertines will have their way. The debaucheries are as brutal, humiliating, and vile as the war that continues on outside.

A moment-to-moment synopsis can't accurately describe what happens in this film. Salò, to me, is one of those legendary movies you hear about in hushed tones. As a DVD collector I knew of the film because the Criterion Collection's first printing of it goes for several hundred dollars on eBay. Well, I finally broke down a spent ten dollars on a copy from South Korea. I've heard and read mixed reviews about how it's not as bad as the hype or that the film should not have been made, etc. As I see it, Salò is a strongly anti-war, anti-fascist statement. The graphic excess of violence and sexuality is heightened by the sounds of war outside. During the more insidious acts, the sound of airplanes (presumably bombers) rumble outside, a constant reminder that while the libertines might think of themselves as free, they are not. The anti-war sentiment of the film is handled different from films like All Quiet on the Western Front (1930), Paths of Glory (1957), The Red and the White (1967), or even M*A*S*H (1970). Those films show the absurdity of war by displaying the human cost through military personnel. Salò deals more with the politics of war through the libertines. It is as if Pasolini is saying, "this is what could happen if truly mad men were in control." When left to their own devices, these men and women become monstrous much in the same way as 1971 Stanford Prison Experiment.

For all the disturbing and stomach-turning content, Pasolini's direction is deft. While the DVD I have is not of the best quality, the images remain strong. The use of natural lighting and locations, along with the use of long takes adds to the film's realism. And the realism is where the film finds its effectiveness. At the beginning of the film, one of the four "masters" comments, "all things are good when taken to excess." One of the points made in Salò is that the opposite is true: excess leads to destruction. The repeated graphic content serves to remove any eroticism from the film. As a long time hardcore horror buff, I've seen a lot of repellant images. I even sat unblinking through a certain internet video whose "reaction videos" are more popular than the original itself. With that said, Salò disturbed and sickened me. The reason being the overall, cumulative context in which the scenes are presented. A viewer can become desensitized to a barrage of meaningless, abhorrent images very easily. If those same images are given a context, such as the insular microcosm of Salò, then the images are given weight and their impact strengthened.

Chungking Express (1994)

Director: Wong Kar-Wai
Writer: Wong Kar-Wai

Set in Hong Kong, Chungking Express comprises two tales tenuously tied together via the Midnight Express lunch counter. The first segment centers on He Qiwu, Cop No. 223 (Takeshi Kaneshiro), a heartbroken policeman. His girlfriend, May, broke up with him on April Fool's Day and he's giving her one month to let the joke play out. In the mean time, he buys a can of pineapples – her favorite fruit – everyday with the expiration date of May 1; his birthday and the one month cut-off point. This story is intercut with the story line of the woman with whom Qiwu will fall in love, a blond wig-wearing drug runner (Brigitte Lin). The story then shifts to Cop No. 663 (Tony Leung Chiu Wai), whose flight attendant girlfriend leaves him. The new Midnight Express counter girl Faye (Faye Wong) intercepts a "Dear John" letter for No. 663 (including an apartment key) and proceeds to rearrange his apartment while he's on duty.

I've only recently gotten into Asian cinema and I am not very well versed in their major filmmakers or even an essential canon of films. I've seen a couple Akira Kurosawa films, some J-horror, and a couple films by Ang Lee, but other than that, I'm pretty new to this game. However, Chungking Express is one of the single-most enjoyable movies I've seen in a long time. Period. There is a feeling of frenetic energy in the film, from the handheld camera to the use of natural light – which tends to be from the neon signs. The stories are compelling in their quirky honesty. Qiwu's musings on canned pineapples, love, and expiration dates is incredibly bittersweet. The way No. 663 talks to his household objects (e.g. a bar of soap, a dish rag, a giant stuffed bear, etc.) softens his otherwise stiff persona. However, the real show stealer here is Hong Kong pop star Faye Wong. She has a bubbly Audrey-Hepburn-meets-Amélie quality about her that makes her almost painfully endearing. Her adventures in No. 663's apartment and his inability to notice the changes she makes add to the film's offbeat charm. The fragmented narrative is the only unsettling element of the film but this speaks to the relationships people have in a large city. This metaphor is represented in a line repeated in two voice-overs, "That was the closest we ever got: just 0.01 of a centimeter between us." Herein lies one of the few moments of cynicism of the film: the characters get close physically but ever close enough emotionally to make a connection.

Overall, I identified most with the two cops in the film. From a gender studies point of view, Kar-Wai uses them to show the vulnerability men feel in a severed relationship. Generally, in romantic comedies, women are shown as hurting and holding on, however irrationally, to the hope that that lost lover might just come back. Here, the men are the ones feeling loss, what Charlie Brown once summed up as, "Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."

On a related side note, Wong Kar-Wai originally intended Chungking Express to have three stories. The third, deleted story became a separate companion film: Fallen Angels. Most of the film concerns a hitman and the woman who sets up his assignments, but is softened by the secondary story of young mute man and the manic, heartbroken girl he tries to help. Fallen Angels is a darker, more pessimistic look at love and metropolitan relationships. The films work well independently but add depth to each other when viewed as two thoughts on the same subject.