There have been precious few true innovators of Gay Cinema (if you can really call it that). Sure, great directors such as Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Pedro Almodovar were/are openly gay and can boast an impressive back catalogue of films, but few have tackled the portrayal and attitudes towards homosexuality with such an eagerness than Britain's own Derek Jarman. Derek is a loving recollection of Jarman's life and work, spoken by Jarman himself, intertwined with visuals and poetry by Jarman's muse, Tilda Swinton.
I have only seen one of his films - his most popular, 1986's excellent Caravaggio - which puts me in a slightly awkward position in reviewing this documentary, having relatively little experience of his art. But after viewing it, although it runs at a slight 75 minutes, I feel prepared to tackle his films with more insight into his thinking. He discusses his childhood growing up with a military father and a free-spirited mother in Middlesex, and then his artistic awakening at the Slade School of Art, where he fell in with many radical artists that help mould his own output. His first film, Sebastiane (1976) caused a massive stir in its open depiction of homosexual desire, featuring highly erotic, slow-motion of scenes of love-making (and an erection!).
Jarman would fall in love with the punk movement, and directed many 8mm shorts and low-budget, sometimes avant-garde features, as well as music videos for the likes of The Smiths and Pet Shop Boys. But it would be his activity in Gay Rights activism that many of his friends and colleagues appreciate and love him for, which is clear from the words of Swinton. She remembers him in melancholy voice-over tinged with sadness and longing, as Jarman died of AIDS-related illness in 1994. During his final years, he was losing his sight and health, which led to him making Blue (1993), a film consisting solely of blue imagery as Jarman narrates. Derek is an insightful and constantly informative documentary, which can be enjoyed by Jarman fans and newcomers alike, showing Jarman as an extremely likeable yet truly under-appreciated film-maker.
In the height of the run-in for the Democratic Presidential candidate, young campaign manager Stephen Meyers (Ryan Gosling), who is working for Governer of Pennsylvania Mike Morris (George Clooney), is called for a meeting by rival campaigner Tom Duffy (Paul Giamatti) who attempts to convince him to jump ship. Meyers refuses, but fails to tell his boss Paul Zara (Philip Seymour Hoffman), only to admit it to him later. Furious at the lack of trust now between the two, Zara fires Meyers, who furiously tries to join the rival team. During this time, Meyers has been romancing intern Molly Stearns (Evan Rachel Wood), who may just harbour a secret of his own. Over the course of the film, Meyers learns the true nature of politics, and just what it takes to survive in the business.
There are three things that cannot be faulted with this film - that is the stellar acting by a multi-talented cast, the sharp script, and Clooney's direction. Gosling is quickly becoming Hollywood's favourite A-lister (even though I've been championing him for years!), combining good looks, charm, and a huge acting talent. 2011 was good to him, with this film, and the year's sleeper hit, Drive, catapulting him to stardom. The reliable supporting cast - Giamatti, Hoffman, Clooney, Wood, Jeffrey Wright and Marisa Tomei - all prove effective in their roles. The script, by Grant Heslov, Beau Willimon, and Clooney himself, packs a lot into its feature running time, but it keeps things rather tense and suitably fierce. And Clooney, who is quickly becoming a hugely confident director, keeps the style of the film very much that of the political thrillers of the 1970's. Not to say he is a homage director, but he clearly takes his styles from his peers. Given that America's finest cinematic era was the 70's, there's certainly nothing wrong with taking its influences from it.
Yet, given all the style and fine acting on display, The Ides of March seems rather pointless. It is clearly depicting the corruption of the self through politics as Gosling evolves from naive and passionate wunderkid, to morally dubious game-player, though it's nothing that has been seen before. So politics corrupts? No shit. A shame then, as I wanted to really like this film, and I suppose I did, but ultimately it left me yearning for more, and I felt the film would have been more effective as a mini-series, giving time to breathe life into its characters between the moments of back-stabbing and shady meetings. It's undoubtedly extremely well made and well-intentioned, but rather hollow. Clooney, however, still remains a director of promise, and I will still be eager to watch whatever he directs next.
After the massive success of the hugely over-rated debut feature, The Sixth Sense (1999), M. Night Shyamalan could only really go one way. The series of films that he produced over the years have always been absolutely reliant on a twist, or put simply, one single idea, that the film's entire narrative is hinged upon. In his first the lead character was dead, in Unbreakable (2000), the lead was an unwitting superhero, in The Village (2004), it was the media signifiers of the war on terror. In essence the films were quite interesting. However, as films they were largely dull, pretentious drivel. I never actually saw Lady in the Water (2006), so I am unable to comment on the film he directed before this atrociously titled, The Happening.
The film begins with a series of vignettes showing various New Yorker's stopping their movements, and randomly committing suicide. One scene has workmen jumping from the room of a tall building - the director sorely missing out on the opportunity to have The Weather Girls' It's Raining Men playing on a radio, or even with non-diegesis. So, what about that old Shyamalan twist that has become so ubiquitous to 21st cinema thus far? The plants did it! The plants are attacking the entire eastern seaboard of North America, and a struggling couple, Elliot (Mark Wahlberg) and Alma (Zooey Deschanel) have been given a friends child Jess (Ashlyn Sanchez) to take to safety after her father, John Leguizamo, - who willingly manages to slit his wrists, successfully ejecting himself from this awful film - goes off in search of the mother.
Shyamanlan proudly highlights his involvement in his films, with his credits for writing, producing and directing, and his career path would seem to indicate that he combats outside forces in their making. If this is the case, I would state that for his careers sake, he should absolutely make other peoples scripts. For me, I don't really care, having never really liked any of his films. It would appear that the gravitas of the attention he received after The Sixth Sense, (being hailed as the new Spielberg; the wunderkind status in the media) clearly have hindered his films. And as I watched Wahlberg and Deschanel, zombie-like in their delivery of some very poor "relationship" dialogue, and the pathetic narrative of plant spores evolving to drive humans to suicide as a defence, I wondered to myself: Why on earth is this man still making movies? We should relegate him to television reality shows: When Botany Goes Mad!
The Doll Squad pre-dates the hugely successful television series Charlie's Angels (1976 - 1981), and it's intentions are similar. After a catastrophic space shuttle launch, the clandestine group of government agents, must form to conquer this criminal conspiracy. Sabrina Kincaid (Francine York) is called to gather the scattered doll squad, a group of female agents. Practically all American films and television in the 1970's that involved crime were embroiled in conspiracy, from Starsky and Hutch (1975 - 1979), Police Woman (1974 - 1978) to The Amazing Spider-Man (1977 - 1979), and this film seems to have paved the way. It's certainly true that the producer of Charlie's Angels (Aaron Spelling) did go to the premier of The Doll Squad.
The films production is obviously incredibly low budget. Ted V. Mikels was previously known for the grindhouse cheapie's The Corpse Grinders (1971) and Blood Orgy of the She-Devils (1972), but this film's production values certainly rise above the limitations, and also look a lot better than the horror films. Where the film really fails is in the pace. It struggles through several clunky dialogue scenes, and often uses a piece of funky, disco-esque soundtrack (which is used far too much throughout the film) seemingly to attempt to give a dull scene a bit of pep - such as what appears to be either a fast walk down a long corridor, or a slow walk in a short one.
However, when the action does heighten, and that same piece of music is used appropriately, the film does have its moments of fun. It's always good to see the heavily made-up, statuesque '70's women beating up the weak men, from the women in prison movies, to proto-punk Switchblade Sisters (1975) - and of course their raison-d'etre, seduction. The film also boasts an appearance by Tura Satana, who was electric in Russ Meyer's Faster Pussycat. Kill! Kill! (1965). Whilst the film has it's lagging moments, and tedious dialogue, it doesn't ever really become boring. All the limitations actually function well within the context of the ludicrous scenes, and gives the film humour. A lasting example would be, of course, the technical effects for explosions. Mikels's solution? Superimpose a flare of red over the exploded object, then cutting object out: ridiculous, cheap-as-chips, fucking hilarious!
From 1903's Passion play, to Mel Gibson's anti-Semitic gore festival, The Passion of the Christ (2004), the story of Jesus as written in the new testament has been a cinematic staple since the start, and whilst there are many variations and interpretations, they have largely been produced by absolute believers. However, after a visit to Pope John XXII, who in the early 1960's was reaching out to non-Catholic artists, and a reading of the gospels, the Italian film maker, Pier Paolo Pasolini - vocal atheist, homosexual, and Marxist, - undertook a quite direct, and literal interpretation of the story of Christ. But unlike the usual productions of this narrative, Pasolini's film has none of the dramatic inventions of a more "mystical" interpretation such as The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), which was produced a year after this with a huge budget, starring Charlton Heston, and made under the machinations of the Hollywood system.
At this stage in Pasolini's career, he was still working within the neo-realist trend that had perpetuated in Italy in the post-war years. He brings this more loose style of film making to this "great" story. What he also brings is another trend of this movement, which was the use of non-actors. But fundamental to the directors work, and particularly this film, is his political views. His depiction of Jesus is that of a political thinker, and an advocate of social justice. The choice to watch this film at this time was purely coincidental, but it dawned upon me the significance of the message. In a week in politics in the United Kingdom where our current government's budget revealed heavy cuts to the taxes of the very rich, whilst the poor of the country are told to live in austerity, there is a very simple line spoken by Jesus (Enrique Irazoqui) - which should have been utilised by the occupy camp that was moved away from St Paul's Cathedral in central London, he states: "It would be easier for a camel to get in the kingdom of heaven, than it would be for a rich man."
Whilst I consider myself an Atheist, the message of these gospels are very clear, and yet we still live in a world where the rich get richer, and the catholic church gets sickeningly richer. To use a very tired, and over used statement in popular culture: What would Jesus do? If there were to be a second coming, surely he would not be pleased. Anyway, I digress. I believe that some of this may be Pasolini's point. If the story of Jesus were true, then his message was clear, and even if he never even lived, the fact of the matter is that his message is clear, and yet the people who follow his teachings largely simply ignore this and interpret to whatever means they feel is right.
As previously stated the film is shot in the cinema verite style and this helps give the story not only realism, but a gravitas that is lost in the more lavish productions. The film looks absolutely beautiful, and this is helped by the incredible southern Italian setting, which adds a seeming reality. Without question, this is the greatest film of the story of Christ, and clearly influenced the later Martin Scorsese film The Last Temptation of Christ (1988). Even if you (as I am) are not a believer, this film is more about the crimes of social injustice, and the division caused by wealth. Essential film making.
Every now and then in cinema, a performance comes along that seems so right and so fitting, that it is almost as if the actor was born to play the role. Robert DeNiro as Travis Bickle in Taxi Driver (1976), Max Schreck in Nosferatu (1922) or Ray Milland in The Lost Weekend (1945) are examples of career-defining performances, where you couldn't imagine any other actor filling the role. Okay, so Stephen Fry's performance here as the tragic poet, author and social rebel Oscar Wilde is hardly the greatest performance ever, but it seems that no other actor could capture the authenticity of his performance. Fry is a well-known author, intellectual and mostly comedic actor, with a deep-rooted love for literature and history. He is also homosexual with a history of depression and feelings of social misplacement, much like Wilde himself.
Brian Gilbert's film follows Wilde from his early marriage to Constance Wilde (Jennifer Ehle), which produced two children, until his sexual awakening with lifelong friend Robbie Ross (Michael Sheen). He describes his awakening as "being like a city under siege for years, and then the floodgates are opened". He has massive success with his only novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, and his social comedy The Importance of Being Earnest, when he meets his true love Lord Alfred 'Bosie' Douglas (Jude Law), a spoiled youth living under the tyrannical reign of his father, the Marquess of Queensbury (Tom Wilkinson). The Marquess' disapproval of the 'friendship' between his son and the well-known provocateur leads to a libel court case, which sees Wilde imprisoned for social indecency.
Unlike many biopics, Gilbert wisely chooses to stay away from detailing his work, and instead keeps the focus on the man himself. This allows the film to explore the mind of the subject, and a complex and vastly intelligent mind it is. The main focus though is of the social attitudes towards homosexuality (especially the relationship between an older and a younger man) and the prudishness towards the idea of following pleasure rather than duty. Wilde states in the court case that he is championing the ancients, the Greeks, and this now-taboo relationship was the focus of many a celebrated academic, namely Plato, who used it as a focal point of one of his key philosophy works. Society, it would seem, had gone back in time.
There are many great performances here from a hugely talented British cast (which also includes Vanessa Redgrave, Ioan Gruffudd and Zoe Wanamaker), namely from the always-excellent Sheen. He is now established as a great impressionist (his performances as Kenneth Williams and David Frost are near-perfection), but here he is stripped-down and gives his best performance as the dedicated Robbie Ross, a man who is in love with Wilde but remains loyal despite the love not being returned. But ultimately, this is Fry's film. Years of seeing him as quizmaster in panel show QI has made me forget what a talented performer he is. If ever there was an argument made of re-incarnation, then there is no finer example than here. Apart from an uncanny resemblance, he seems to embody the very soul of Wilde.
The Lotus Cat Food company are facing financial ruin, until they discover that by incorporating human flesh into their product, cats go wild and sales go up. But soon, cats go a bit too wild and start murdering and drinking the blood of their owners. When Dr. Howard Glass (Sean Kenney) is attacked, and performs an autopsy on another victim, he starts an investigation into the strange goings-on. Landau (Sanford Mitchell), the big boss at the company, seems to start enjoying the butchery, and employs various heavies to do the dirty deeds. But he finds himself at odds with his co-workers, who disapprove of the murders, and local gravedigger Caleb (Warren Ball), who has yet to be paid for his exploits.
One can only go into a film called The Corpse Grinders with a certain level of expectation, that being extremely low. Yet although the film is almost profoundly terrible, it's really not as bad as I expected. Helmed by exploitation hack Ted V. Mikels (director of the also wonderfully titled and fellow Grindhouse Project members Blood Orgy of the She-Devils (1972) and The Doll Squad (1973)), he at least attempts to put some directorial skill into the film, leaving out usual Grindhouse traits such as long, static, and uneventful shots, and scenes of women dancing to repetitive music. The film is pretty well paced, shifting from Glass' investigations to Landau's increasingly murderous schemes to keep things moderately interesting.
However, I'm saying this is half-decent for a Grindhouse film. As an actual film, it is admittedly bad. The few scenes depicting the cat attacks are laughable (I mean, how can a cat overpower a human being? Just throw the fucker against a wall!), and the gore predictably ropey. The actual 'corpse grinder' machine looks made of cardboard, and poses so many questions about functionality that I'm not going to get into it. I did laugh out loud at the ridiculous made-up sign language that Landau uses (he just seems to shake his hand a lot), so at least there's some fun to be had. As hard as it is to say it, I'm actually looking forward to seeing more of Mikels' films, as he seems to be in the same vein as one of my guilty pleasures, Herschell Gordon Lewis.
In the build up to the world famous mardi gras held in New Orleans, several prostitutes are disappearing and turning up dead and mutilated. They have been sacrificed for an archaic Aztec ceremony. With the festival approaching it is left to Sgt. Frank Herbert (Curt Dawson) to uncover the beast before the street party. The film leaves no illusion to the audience who is committing these murders, as the first scene involves John (William Metzo) entering a bar with the intention of procuring a prostitute for "something special". In fact whenever John is on the prowl, he always speaks to someone asking who the most evil woman in the bar is. The fact that he requests someone evil never actually gets mentioned to the cops by anyone interviewed. Bizarrely, the first woman Herbert speaks to, Shirley (Laura Misch Owens), simply tells him that he worn a distinctive ring on his finger, leaving vital details alone. What transpires after this is even more baffling. After asking rudimentary questions about the suspected killer, Herbert asks Shirley out to dinner and they begin a short relationship. Unbelievable.
There are in fact so many issues with this film that it would be tedious to even mention them all. The majority of the "action" in the film - including the rather repetitive, and dull sacrifices - is shot in frustratingly bleak long shot. Each sacrifice is practically identical to the last; well I guess this could be justified slightly by suggesting that it is a ritual sacrifice and therefore would be similar. However, the director could at least use some different camera angles, or even perhaps use a moving camera instead of the constant static shots. As for the sequences shot during the mardi gras, it seems they must have filmed a street that forgot to have a full display, as it looks about as fun as a hernia.
Well, I'm guessing that this film is fundamentally influenced by the wonderfully crass cinema of Herschell Gordon Lewis, so you could argue that it is intentionally crap. Well, if that were the case then we would need to re-evaluate the cinema of HGL. For if it was simply about the ludicrous dismemberment of girls with all the illusion of a badly painted butchers shop, then the world would probably be less aware of the Lewis effect. Yes, the likes of Blood Feast (1963), 2000 Maniacs (1964) et al, are awful examples of cinema, but the audience knows very well that his tongue is placed firmly within the cheek. Mardi Gras Massacre fails to even be humorous, and does not have the intentionally hyperbolic, histrionic acting. Simply put, this film was a waste of my time, it wasted the time of the actors, but luckily director, Jack Weis, never directed a film again. Hurray!!
Known for his own brand of body horror, usually involving forms of parasite and their symbiotic relationship with mostly male protagonists, Frank Henenlotter has not directed a feature film since 1992's Basket Case 3, a sequel to his excellent debut feature Basket Case (1982). Whilst his previous work focused on male stories of addictions and afflictions largely involving strange parasites, detached, mutated brothers, and one creating and manipulating using substance addiction, Bad Biology's focus is on a young woman, Jennifer (Charlee Danielson), who has a very unique affliction that she has learnt to control.
Jennifer has an incredible amount of clitoris's, and is overly sexual. Her biology is also accelerated which leads to her giving birth to malformed premature babies two hours after having sex. Her main goal in life is to feed this high sexuality, but psychologically she really wants love, but her deformities hold this back. This is until, of course, she stumbles on a reclusive man who suffers from an equally weird affliction, and a penis that has it's own consciousness.
It is typical Henenlotter, with the right amount of gross-out horror involving mutant cocks and gruesome, deaths. His brand of body horror (unlike David Cronenberg's style) has an abundance of spot on humour. Bad Biology is not his greatest film by a long shot, but it does pass by quickly, and is often very fun. OK, so the special effects are completely silly, and seems not to have progressed since his original Basket Case, but the stop-motion, detached phallus, eating though walls, is still repulsively amusing.
"Dolemite's the name, and fucking motherfuckers is my game." This line is symptomatic of the dialogue in most of the many blaxploitation films of the 1970's, a brand of exploitation cinema that revels in the violence and fashion of the black ghettos: It is in fact the first instance in cinema history that black actors were able to be the star. Dolemite (played by blaxploitation king/"godfather of rap"/disco godfather, Rudy Ray Moore) has been set up by corrupt cops, city mayor and the local king-pin, Willie Green (D'Urville Martin - also director), and sent to prison for 20 years. However, Queen Bee (Lady Reed) and a prison officer set him free so that he may get revenge on those who cheated him of his freedom, and clean the streets of these corrupt figures in society.
It is a pretty standard blaxploitation flick, with the requisite iconography: the ultimate '70's pimp look; a hareem of sexy girls (credited here as simply Dolemite girls); the obvious influence of Bruce Lee with a healthy dose of kung-fu; and, of course an almost perpetual presence of the boom-mic in-shot. It's unfortunate that through the majority of the list on our Grindhouse Project, we are offered pretty dull movies, which look incredibly action-packed and fun in a 2 minute trailer, but fails to be either when expanded to it's full 90 minutes.
This sub-genre was incredibly short-lived, and became pretty generic, and the acting throughout is appalling. However, despite the disappointment of the pace compared to the trailer, and the obvious stereo types, the film still has elements of fun, and a preacher who hoards a massive cache of weapons in his church. So I'm guessing that I should at some point watch the sequel, The Human Tornado (1976).
So, OK; It's another Messiah story! These films are so overly present in the history of science-fiction/fantasy films. Even in the last decade or so we have seen these films being constantly produced (see The Matrix (1999) or Avatar (2009) as just two recent examples). It's the narrative of a young man, who progresses through a story to become the legendary myth of a person embodied as the saviour for an entire race, universe, galaxy... However, if we move back to 1984, the Hollywood film industry was still trying to capture that cash-cow essence of Star Wars (1977) and it's celebrated special effects, and it's fantasy setting. Therefore, any project that had space-ships, monsters etc were being made regardless of their relationship to the "kids" film. Dune, based on the epic and elaborate novel by Frank Herbert, is a very complex piece of cinema, that baffled many audience's and critics alike (I personally can't see that it is confusing at all). But then, if we look at the majority of the genre films made at the time, we can see how it could be see as perplexing next to the generic, simplistic stories being told. Inevitably, the film was a major flop, and with the $40 million budget, practically bankrupted 20th Century Fox, and also (thankfully) convinced director David Lynch to never work on a big budget, Hollywood-funded film again, and due to his contract with Dino De Laurentis, he was able to make his masterpiece, Blue Velvet (1986).
Dune is a narrative of warring planets, and the machinations of the politics that rule the galaxy. Dune is a desert planet that has never seen water, and on this planet is a substance called spice melange, that is the most important essence in this world. Whoever controls the spice controls the universe. The spice enables a means of travel without moving; it has the ability to fold space, and also expands consciousness. The main warring "houses" are of the Atriedes and the evil Harkonnens. Paul Atriedes (Kyle MacLachlan) is the son of Duke Leto (Jurgen Prochnow), and his mother Lady Jessica (Francesca Annis) who is a member of the Bene Gesserit, a race of women who are able to read minds and control the minds of others. With his royal connections, Paul is held in high regard. But as the story progresses it is clear that there is more to this boy that was first expected. After a conspiracy to create a war between the Atriedes and Harkonnens, Paul and his mother are left stranded on the planet Arrakis (also known as Dune), where the prophecy of the saviour and the dreams that Paul had been haunted by, comes to pass.
Whilst the films narrative complexities are difficult to concisely lay down the full story, the essence is very simple. It is incredible that Lynch's screenplay managed to deal with Herbert's book, which is incredibly sprawling, but he managed admirably. The sets and costumes for the film are incredible, and even today (and after seeing the films several times) I am amazed at the look of the film. The costumes and props are incredibly eclectic - we have iconography from all over the place: Victorian austerity, 1930's telecommunications items, Nazi-style uniforms, and elaborate baroque back-drops. OK, so many of the special effects are incredibly dated, and others seem to have been cobbled together at the last moments on a shoe-string budget, but this does not hinder the experience of the film. Produced at a time when complex genre films were simply not being made, it is a film to watch several times, which reveals more each time. It was a project that was always going to be difficult to produce, with two other notable directors being previously attached to the film (Ridley Scott and Alejandro Jodorowsky - wish the latter happened with the proposed cast of Salvador Dali and Orson Welles, and music by Pink Floyd), it's amazing the film was made at all, and I salute Lynch for an admirable, often visually beautiful, and delightfully complex film, that I love more each time I see it.
The film also has an incredible supporting cast (Brad Douriff, Jose Ferrer, Patrick Stewert, Max Von Sydow, Dean Stockwell, to name a few), and there are very Lynchian elements that delight me every time. I mean, where else in Hollywood genre cinema would you see the main villain of the piece, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Kenneth McMillen) having his face injected with diseases by his personal doctor?
In the late 1990's there was a small resurgence in interest in the work of Stephen King, who had been popularised in the 1970's and '80's as the prime horror author. What was slightly more interesting about this late reprisal, was that the stories were not directly linked to the horror genre, and led to one of the most loved films of the 1990's, The Shawshank Redemption (1994). Whilst this film did not do well in the cinemas, it made it's impact on video, and therefore the more dramatic, cerebral and often realistic King adaptation's were given the green light. Hot off the success of 1995's The Usual Suspects, Bryan Singer was brought in to direct this story of power over other humans, and the devastation this can cause.
Todd Bowden (Brad Renfro) is a top student in his high-school, and the film opens on a closing class focusing on the holocaust. The subject has clearly opened up something in the young man. Being convinced that there is an ex-Nazi officer living secretly in his neighbourhood, he decides to pay the man, Kurt Dussander (Ian McKellen), a visit. What transpires is that Todd had collected research on the subject, and uses this to blackmail Kurt into revisiting and verbalising his war stories, with particularly macabre focus on the killing of Jews. As the relationship between the two progresses it becomes clear that what fascinates Todd the most, is the power that was exerted over a people, and he has a hunger to know what this power is like. This begins with his power over Kurt; he revels in a display of power after he purchases a Nazi uniform for Kurt and makes him march on the spot. However the power that Todd exposes, is also resurfaced in the very isolated old man.
Well, as this is a Stephen King adaptation, the film obviously leads to murder. But the main theme of the film is the abuses of power, and the corrupting nature of power over others. It's a very interesting film, and Singer's direction is spot on. Seeing this now also highlights the loss of a very promising actor, Brad Renfro, who unfortunately died of a drug overdose in 2008. However, without any doubt this is McKellen's film. He is note perfect for this ageing, lonely man, who has had to live with his knowledge of the concentration camps for many years. The film does tend to lose it's effect at times, and falls into a cliched trap; for example, after Kurt has attempted to kill a homeless guy, but has to get the young Todd to finish the job after suffering a heart attack, Todd repeatedly hits the tramp with a shovel - a jump moment proceeds as the tramp gets back up after 'being killed' - yawn. However, this seems mainly to be the fault of the narrative, and is easy to overcome, particularly with the two fine central performances.
Two American students, David (David Naughton) and Jack (Griffin Dunne), are on a backpacking trip in Northern England. Following an awkward experience in the local pub, The Slaughtered Lamb, the two set out again and stray from the road, going against the locals warnings. They are attacked by a vicious monster that kills Jack and wounds David, who wakes up days later in a London hospital. After being discharged, he moves in with nurse Alex (Jenny Agutter) but is plagued by nightmares and visits from his slowly rotting friend Jack, who claims he is stuck on Earth as an undead. He also warns David that the beast that attacked him was a werewolf, and come the next full moon, David will transform and kill.
This film had somehow evaded me for too long, so I decided to finally sit down to see what all the fuss was about. I hadn't heard much about it apart from the fact that it included a legendary transformation sequence that changed the face of horror effects forever. After viewing the film, and that sequence, I can safely say that the hype is completely justified. David's transformation, which depicts his limbs elongating, his nails sharpening, and his face becoming that of a giant wolf, is truly exceptional, even by today's standards. In a world full of lazy CGI substituting for arguably more realistic prosthetics and make-up, it was delightful witnessing a work of true genius by the Oscar-winning Rick Baker. The make-up used on Jack on his frequent visits are also truly exceptional, as he turns from torn and bloody, to grey and rotting, and finally to nothing more than a moving skull with eyeballs.
Director John Landis had made plenty of money with his comedies The Kentucky Fried Movie (1977), Animal House (1978) and The Blues Brothers (1980) before making a foray into horror, and it feels like a natural move, as the film works just as well as a horror film as it does a comedy. At time it feels like a heartfelt homage to the old Universal horrors of the 30's and 40's (the likes of The Wolf Man (1941) being an obvious inspiration) and the Hammer horrors of the 60's (the rural setting), but it rises above being a mere love-letter and is a great film in its own right. I'm aware of the sequel, An American Werewolf in Paris (1997), but the absence of Landis and the cast suggests its a mere cash-in that relies on the original's reputation, so I'll probably give that one a miss.
Family patriarch Morten (Henrik Malberg) lives in rural Denmark with his three sons - faithless father Mikkel (Emil Hass Christensen), the deranged Johannes (Preben Lerdorff Rye) who after going crazy studying theology, now believes himself to be Jesus Christ, and youngest son Anders (Cay Kristiansen). Anders is in love with the daughter of the leader of a strict religious sect, Anne (Gerda Nielsen), and asks both his own father and the father of his love, Peter (Ejner Federspiel), for her hand in marriage, who both refuse. Morten eventually agrees with the help of Mikken, but comes to loggerheads with Peter over their religious beliefs.
I don't know much about the work of the great Scandinavian director Carl Theodor Dreyer, as the only other film of his I've seen is the fantastic gothic 'horror' Vampyr (1932). I do know that his films are notoriously bleak, and is a favourite amongst Lars von Trier and his Dogme troupe. Ordet is no exception to the rule, as Dreyer films his interior scenes with minimal props, and allows the actors and their voices to fill the screen instead. The result is a beautiful and humanistic study of religion and the miraculous.
The main crux of the film focuses on the two fathers' views on religion, with Morten's beliefs allowing him to embrace life, while Peter lives a stricter, more sacrificial life. All the while Johannes, their apparently demented son, wanders the dunes and condemns the now faithless world they live in and the fact that they are ignorant to the fact that he is indeed Jesus Christ, and all they need is faith. The family's beliefs are tested when Mikkel's pregnant wife Inger (Birgitte Federspiel) goes into premature labour, and the local doctor fights to save both the her and the baby's life. The film builds towards an inevitable climax, but Dreyer's execution is that of elegance and beauty that allows one of the most moving, uplifting, and satisfying final scenes I've seen in cinema.
The film is slow moving, but the subject matter warrants such an attention to detail. There is also an underlying coldness to the film (this is also a Dreyer trait), and all the characters seem emotionally hesitant. Dreyer himself was adopted and experienced a lonely childhood, with his adoptive parents constantly re-enforcing the fact that he was lucky to now have a family and a home. Although these childhood memories clearly influence his work, including Ordet, he also sees hope and promise in humanity, which makes comparisons to the Dogme movement unfair, as there is real human emotion here. A true masterpiece, cementing Dreyer's reputation as one of cinema's most innovative, visionary and intelligent film-makers.
For any budding young film-makers desperately trying to scrape together funding and willing actors to make a low budget horror/sci-fi film, then there is one rule they must follow. The film must contains the three B's - blood, boobs, and a beast. These elements are what audiences think they want, and ultimately go for, especially in the straight-to-video market. It is also what television companies look for when buying late night cheapies to show to the drunken and the stoned. Cult film-maker Don Dohler has followed these rules, and although it hasn't exactly brought him financial success, he has enjoyed a steady output since 1978's The Alien Factor.
Blood, Boobs & Beast is a love-letter to low-budget film-making, and its arguable that as much love and determination goes into these (usually very bad) films as any of the mainstream output. It briefly traces Dohler from his days working on an underground comic called WILD (a sort of MAD homage that had contributors from the likes of Jay Lynch and Art Spiegelman) to his work on the hugely influential Cinemagic Magazine, that gave guidelines on how to make home-made special effects and monster costumes (read by the likes of Tom Savini and J.J. Abrams).
While its a relatively poorly made documentary, it has plenty of heart, much like the work of Dohler. Director John Paul Kinhart clearly has a lot of love for his director, and its hard not to be moved as Dohler describes how the internet made him realise he has a dedicated fan-base. I just wish they hadn't included the two very annoying film geeks who think it's funny to recite lines from The Alien Factor while drinking beer. So, a must-see for B-movie fans, and an eye-opener to just how difficult it is to make a movie (it takes us throughout the development of Dead Hunt (2006)). The ending is extremely moving, as Dohler sadly developed cancer and passed away during the making of the film. I will certainly try and track down some of his films, however bad they look.
If there are two genres that the UK do excessively, and not very well (these days), it is the horror and hit-man/gangster genres. Usually flooding the straight-to-DVD market and being picked up by morons who see a promising film when they see Danny Dyer's name above the title, it would seem the British movie industry is indeed in a dire state (especially with the demise of the UK Film Council at the hands of Nick Clegg and uber-cunt prime minister David Cameron). Yet, seemingly out of nowhere, comes Kill List, director Ben Wheatley's sledgehammer second feature after 2009's Down Terrace (which I will certainly be tracking down).
After a disastrous but unspecified mission in Kiev, ex-soldier Jay (Neil Maskell) is living a strained relationship with his wife Shel (MyAnna Buring). When his partner and best friend from Kiev, Gal (Michael Smiley), comes to dinner with his new girlfriend Fiona (Emma Fryer), tensions spill over and Jay loses it, while in the bathroom, Fiona carves a strange witchcraft-like symbol on the back of the mirror. Jay and Gal eventually head out on a new mission set by their shadowy client, and are given a list of people that need killing. After the first, a priest, is killed after thanking them, it seems that they have stumbled upon a child pornography ring. The next victim has stashes of it in his locker, and Jay goes sick on him. As Jay starts a spiralling decline of rage, Gal must try and hold them together. But not all is at it seems, as they eventually come across a strange woodland sacrifice.
You may be forgiven from that synopsis in thinking that it sounds like many a British gangster/revenge flick, but it is anything but. The first half an hour focuses on the drunken dinner party, which at first, seems to be Ken Loach-inspired with a bit of Gary Oldman's Nil by Mouth (1997) thrown in, but soon it becomes more Lars von Trier than anything else. There is a growing discomfort in the proceedings, with an underlying menace simmering beneath the surface, and this prevails throughout the film. Yet as the story moves on, the menace starts to bubble over, and the film becomes almost Lynchian. There's no out-and-out weirdness of a Lynch (the film maintains a neo-realist style throughout), but there's a staggering darkness here, and bursts of screeching industrial soundtrack makes the viewing all the more uncomfortable.
You'll also need a strong stomach, as one scene provides the most shocking and sickening burst of violence I have ever seen on screen, beating even the facial disintegration of Irreversible (2001). Jay is a thug, and feels most at home when at work letting his rage spill over. I almost don't want to say any more as I feel it will ruin the experience, as the climax will alienate as many as it will inspire. For me, the juggling of genres tightly contained in one unsettling film is quite brilliant. The lead performances by Maskell and Smiley are outstanding, but the real star here is Wheatley. I can't remember the last time I've been so excited by a director. This is simply a sensational film. There is hope for the British film industry after all.
In the 1960's a new sub-genre of pseudo-documentaries was produced by Italian filmmakers Paolo Cavara, Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi. Their first film, Mondo Cane (1962), was to introduce an alternative kind of ethnographic cinema. With the success of the film, it gave birth to many imitators. These films focused on bizarre, often graphic portrayals of sometimes archaic cultural practises. As this genre progressed through the 1970's and 1980's the main focus was on death, and the representation of it. With a cinema-going public demanding increasingly graphic depictions of death, film makers turned much of their attentions to creating fake images of death. This trend was exacerbated by the enormous success of Faces of Death (1978) and it's sequels and many imitators (such as the Traces of Death series).
By 1982, the trend for death film moved towards saturation, and it seemed that every continents' obscure and often made up practises had been exposed and exploited. The Killing of America, written by Leonard and Chieko Schrader (brother and sister in law to Taxi Driver (1976) writer Paul), is constructed of real footage, and it's thesis is very simple. The film presents America in all of it's violent tendencies, and looks at some very well known cases of murder etc. We are shown the assassination's of John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luthor King Jr. The stories of the all-too well known serial killers such as John Wayne Gacy, Ted Bundy et al. The film shows the devastation caused on the American streets from the civil rights movement, images of suicides, along with some pretty grim murder sights (these are often shown with still images).
The Killing of America seems to pose some pretty stupid questions about American society. The narrator (Chuck Riley) often relates murder numbers, and juxtaposes the rates of murder with "England, Germany and Japan combined." Why are there almost double the amount of murders in the USA when (combined) these aforementioned countries do not. It's a strange question to pose to the viewer. It is incredibly obvious what the answer to that question is: Gun laws. That said, it is a more interesting example of this mondo-style documentary (shockumentary if you like), and some of the imagery is genuinely disconcerting.
I have only seen one of his films - his most popular, 1986's excellent Caravaggio - which puts me in a slightly awkward position in reviewing this documentary, having relatively little experience of his art. But after viewing it, although it runs at a slight 75 minutes, I feel prepared to tackle his films with more insight into his thinking. He discusses his childhood growing up with a military father and a free-spirited mother in Middlesex, and then his artistic awakening at the Slade School of Art, where he fell in with many radical artists that help mould his own output. His first film, Sebastiane (1976) caused a massive stir in its open depiction of homosexual desire, featuring highly erotic, slow-motion of scenes of love-making (and an erection!).
