This is just a quick and simple notice that I have decided to move the site to my very own domain. I’ve been updating over there for a few weeks now as I work out the kinks of using my own server. So if you have stopped by here and wish to read new content, feel free to stop on over.
Allow me for a moment, if you will, to wax rhapsodic about one of my favorite literary organizations, that being McSweeney’s. Every quarter McSweeney’s publishes their Quarterly Concerns, which is not only one of the coolest literary magazines imaginable, and the design of the magazine is often as amazing and fascinating as the works contained within it. McSweeney’s also publishes books from obscure and long forgotten authors, as well as works from widely read and respected modern authors, often times selling these works for ridiculously cheap prices (it is not uncommon that once a month a book be reduced to $.01) and often times donating much or all of the proceeds to various charities. McSweeney’s is an organization devoted to the advancement of art and literature and I am proud to give my money to such an esteemed organization.
Several years ago Nick Hornby (of High Fidelity fame) teamed up with several other writers to produce a new semi-monthly magazine from McSweeney’s entitled The Believer. It was filled with reviews and stories and original works and Amy Sedaris giving sex advice by proxy, everything one would want from a literary magazine. The Believer also accomplished two very important things, at least in my little corner of the world. The April ‘06 issue contained an interview with Paul Giamatti that was so fascinating and enjoyable I can safely call it the best interview I have ever had the pleasure of reading. The Etgar Keret interview in the same issue isn’t half bad either. But that was just the beginning, as later I would read their September ‘06 issue, simply referred to as the games issue. The issue was so captivating I have no qualms in naming it the best issue of any magazine I have ever read. Thus knocking off the July of ‘84 issue of Ranger Rick, a feat I previously deemed impossible.
But for all these meritorious honors, it was the video magazine included with my Believer subscription that has any relevance to this column. This quarterly magazine, entitled Wholphin, was comprised entirely of short films. While many were from relative unknown filmmakers, several were not, and the film that immediately caught my eye was The Passion of Martin, Alexander Payne’s student film while attending UCLA Film School. I was impressed with not only the story and the acting, but how well the film was directed. Payne’s laid back sardonic style was already clearly evident and it was a real joy to witness the first steps of a director I would later come to enjoy a great deal.
So you might imagine my excitement as I sat down to watch Dark Star, John Carpenter’s (Halloween) and Dan O’Bannon’s (Alien) first feature film. Originally made as a 45 minute student film while both attended USC, after its surprising success they shot an additional 38 minutes of footage, bringing the film up to feature length. Now finally having the chance to watch these two men work their magic, with almost zero interference, had me damn near giddy with anticipation.
The story of Dark Star is simple enough, 5 crew members left Earth 20 years earlier on a mission to ready other solar systems for colonization. They do this by destroying any planets that threaten to slam into their adjacent stars, which would cause the stars to go nova. But a tragic accident costs the ship’s commander his life and the monotony of their tasks threatens what remaining grip the crew have on their sanity. And that bomb that keeps threatening to detonate inside the ship’s bay really isn’t helping matters.
It only takes a matter of minutes for Dark Star to convey that it is obviously a John Carpenter film. With the distinctive synthesizer heavy soundtrack that would populate nearly every one of his future works, the soundtrack initially has such a moody feel you might get the impression the film is a thriller or possibly even a horror film. Dark Star even tries to keep this facade up for several more scenes, showing the monotony of the crew’s tasks and hinting at possible friction between the crew. Then the country western styled theme song “Benson, Arizona” starts in as the credits roll and suddenly you realize this melancholy song is clearly foreshadowing that Dark Star will follow a path quite different then what you were originally led to believe.
What might concern some of you is how painfully dated the film feels at times. The ridiculous hairstyles, facial hair, and clothes clearly stand out as beacons to the 70’s. But while the costumes might look a bit ridiculous at times, they fit in quite well with the satirical nature of the film. And since the film is meant to be at times patently ridiculous, the dated feel plays extremely well with this and has resulted in the film aging surprisingly well.
The same applies to the special effects in the film, which for the most part are atrocious. The intelligent alien that serves as the ships mascot is clearly a beach ball, yet every moment in the film is nothing short of delightfully hilarious. That Carpenter and puppeteer Nick Castle (Halloween) are able to elicit such a memorable and endearing character from a beach ball with rubber feat is a testament to the skills of the cast and crew involved with this film. And while the majority of the special effects for the film are sub-par at best, there are several sequences that are nothing short of outstanding. That these were students operating on a shoestring budget makes the accomplishment even more impressive.
Dark Star was an immensely enjoyable film, offering up unique and interesting characters, and some incredibly biting satire about the monotony of life. Dark Star effectively builds off the bizarre nature of its crew and the situations they are put in, constructing a a fascinating web of interactions for everyone involved. But even as the film nears its inevitable conclusion, Dark Star continues to both surprise you with its philosophical and humorous depth. Dark Star may not be John Carpenter’s best film, but it just might be my new favorite.
It has been a frustrating week with the girlfriend, not because of any relationship strife, but because she was going out of town for the weekend. Now when this happens she typically likes to spend as much of her free time with me as she can, following me around, attempting to nestle into any open crevice on my body when I sit down, and unquestionably attempting to sabotage any of my efforts to sit down and write this column.
At this point I should also note that I have a cat named Kali. Kali and I are fast approaching our 11 year anniversary. In the past few weeks I have also worked an unusual amount of hours beyond my normal standard, resulting in my temporary absence from Kali’s daily routine. Those of you cat owners out there will know what I mean when I say she makes it perfectly clear that my recent behavior is totally unacceptable.
It really isn’t much of a fair fight, as the two of them know perfectly well how to manipulate me. Anna is typically the first wave, coming over to my computer to ask me questions or to feign interest in whatever review I am currently writing. She’ll hang on me or attempt to sit on my lap, or if she is really feeling blatant, lightly touching me on my arms or neck knowing full well I will lash out at her. Only to then feign contempt for my jerkish behavior. She will then proceed to the next room and attempt to hold a conversation with me through our wall, knowing full well I have my headphones on and scarcely comprehend a word she is saying. And when she finally grows tired of this game she will finally settle in to play Super Mario Galaxy, content that she has received enough attention and weakened my defenses for the next wave attacks.
But this was not a typical day, as the seeds had been sown hours earlier, by my conniving cat. That morning was like most any other moving. I woke to my cat Parker firmly nestled between my legs, quite determined to immobilize me for all eternity if necessary. But it was not to be, and as I gently wrestled myself out of bed, I once again began my day with an audibly haughty rebuke from him. Soon after I headed down to the basement bathroom to partake of my morning regiment. But on this day, the females in my life are annoying the crap out of me so I can’t write day, Kali decided to follow me on my bitter journey of awakening.
Her behavior started of innocently enough. Kali followed me down the stairs, cooing the whole way. Her excitement initially was endearing, chattering away at me as she excitedly attempted to tell me of her escapades the previous evening. Chasing her felt mouse, her delicious new food, and her successful attempts at bullying poor Parker out of her favorite chair were just a smattering of what she wanted to tell me as I prepared to enter the shower.
Kali picked up the rather disturbing habit of watching me shower when she was just a wee kitten; this would be years before I realized she was a would-be world conqueror. The behavior started out harmless enough, she would cry so much when I locked her out that I eventually came to the conclusion that if she wanted in the bathroom that badly what harm could it possibly cause. Then she started peaking through the curtain to, what I innocently assume, innocently ascertain what I was doing. Sure, if I was a cat who hated water I might wonder what would posses someone to choose to stand under a stream of water. But I like to think I’d get over the curiosity of the act at some point within the next 11 years, yet that either never occurred to Kali, or she simply enjoyed creeping the hell out of me. But on this day, the day the cats taunted me and the women annoyed me, Kali revealed a new game she had added to her arsenal.
The hairs were standing up on my neck, which considering I was currently standing underneath an onrush of water was quite a feat. As I peeled back the curtain and peered into the room everything appeared normal. Kali was sitting in the center of the room, innocently questioning my watery decision. Ignoring her silent rebuke I went back about my business, but a few moments later I knew something strange was going on. So once again I peeled back the curtain and peered into the room, and once again Kali was innocently sitting in the room watching the shower. Only this time she had moved a few feet closer. Unsure if I was really witnessing this odd sight I shut the curtain and waited another minute and once again surveyed the room, and sure enough, Kali was now only a foot or two away from the shower. Wondering just how this game would play out I once again shut the curtain and waited a few moments before opening it again for the final time. But this time, she was gone. My curiosity piqued I began to scan the room to see where she might have run off too. But just moments later I finally saw her … peering just around the corner of the shower … watching me in that aggressively condescending way that means I’m harboring an alien parasite that wants to kill you and steal your car. I knew this to be true because on this day, the day the cats and girlfriend turned into alien drug mules day, I watched The Hidden.
For those of you that do not know, The Hidden was a relatively low budget independent si-fi film made in 1987 starring Michael Nouri (Flashdance) and Kyle MacLachlan (Blue Velvet) as detectives trying to track down a vicious serial killer, who unbeknownst to Det. Tom Beck (Nouri) is a body hopping alien parasite who has acquired a taste for Ferrari’s and jarringly loud music. FBI investigator Lloyd Gallagher (MacLachlan) doesn’t helps matters, as he is holding back information from Beck that would prove vital to the case.
For me The Hidden has always been one of those movies that beckoned me to rent it. Alien parasites and Kyle MacLachlan are a pretty potent one-two punch, yet for whatever reason (Too quirky, too 80’s, too much Michael Nouri etc.) I never got around to renting it. As the years passed by The Hidden slowly drifted apart from my memory, never to be viewed, until now. While The Hidden was a moderately successful B-movie, with a noticeable quirky sense of humor, and a great performance by up and comer MacLachlan, it developed enough of a cult following that it even spawned a sequel. But I still couldn’t shake the notion, as I popped the movie in to my DVD player, that this could be an absolute train wreck of a movie as time rarely is kind to sci-fi films.
Lucky for me The Hidden sprints out of the starting gate with a great opening scene involving the killer (Chris Mulkey) robbing a bank and indiscriminately shooting everyone in sight, as the killing spree is captured on a security camera. Upon completion of his carnage, Jack DeVries (Mulkey) casually walks towards the camera, grins a devilish smile, and destroys it all while the opening credits roll. It’s a great opening sequence, and the film doesn’t wait a moment longer to up the thrills even more.
Following the robbery The Hidden immediately segues into a chase sequence through the city streets. While the case includes plenty of typical conventions (plate of glass being carried across the street only to be inexplicably smashed by the oncoming cars) it includes plenty of other typically unseen bits of horror, including wheelchair bound man being run over by DeVries as he attempts to evade the police. And even when the chase is concluded, the fun doesn’t stop, as DeVries attempts to flee on foot the police offer up a glorious bullet sprayed blood splattering finality to the sequence. In less then 10 minutes The Hidden had made it clear that it was not only aiming for something different then your typical sci-fi action film, but that it was squarely hitting its mark.
But the true reason to watch The Hidden is for Kyle MacLachlan’s performance. Playing an FBI agent who clearly is uncomfortable in his own skin, MacLachlan absolutely carries the film with the subtle humor his characters inevitably conveys. When you later learn that he is also hunting this killer because it killed his family and his former partner, MacLachan deftly shifts to a surreal bent of someone dealing with emotions that they have never experienced or possibly understand. Agent Lloyd Gallagher is an unlikely meaty role in what would typically be rather blasé fair, and it is a testament to MacLachlan’s performance and Jack Sholder’s (A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge) direction that they so capably render it on screen.
The Hidden is a tough movie to describe, as it is neither a horror film, a sci-fi film, nor a comedy, yet if deftly applies all three labels when they are required to further the story. And where many films can fall on their face attempting to incorporate so many differently elements into their story The Hidden is one of those rare films that becomes a better experience because it is so much more then it would initially appear to be. And while time can often ruin an effects laden film, The Hidden concentrates on a less is more approach. Using special effects as a highlight rather then as the substance, creating effects that are highly effective when finally used but by no means distracting to the film itself, and thereby lessening the chance that the film will appear dated or cheesy because of the special effects. But since the film also blatantly attempts to at times appear cheesy, the film surprisingly holds up incredibly well even 20 years later.
Certain films excel as midnight movies. 80’s comedies are typical staples, as is anything filmed in 3-D. I myself tend to lean towards cheesy action and kung fu movies, as well as the occasional splatter film. But recently more and more studios are taking an interesting approach to midnight films, as they are now releasing smaller “cult” films or productions they would have otherwise shelved in some warehouse, allowing them at least one moment of opening night glory in the belief that a limited release in multiple markets might create enough buzz to drive DVD sales of what otherwise would have been a direct to video product.
In the past two years Firecracker, Feast, Evil Aliens, and Dynamite Warrior all were theatrically released as midnight movies. Even the much maligned Fox film Idiocracy, which was quickly pulled after a dubious limited release, was touring the midnight circuit a mere month later. All this made me quite excited when I heard about Daft Punk’s Electroma. A film festival favorite for the past year, it is receiving a limited distribution as a midnight movie before getting a wide DVD release later this year.
Daft Punk’s Electroma is the story of two robots (the band members, played by Peter Hurteau and Michael Reich) on a quest to become human. But when their initial attempt backfires they set off on a journey to discover humanity, wherever it may be.
Before we begin I should set a few things straight lest you turn on the film and this reviewer for lack of disclosure. If you go to this movie hoping to listen to a host of ear catching, toe tapping Daft Punk songs you will be sorely disappointed. Rather than include their own music Daft Punk has chosen instead to use the works of artists who influenced them such as Todd Rundgren, Brian Eno, and Jackson C Frank. Oh yeah, the film is very slow … and silent.
Oh come on. At least read the whole review before you surf to something more likely to hold your interest, like the latest Rotten Tomatoes rating of Sydney White. Oh, did I offend your delicate sensibilities? You know, that is what is wrong with young people today, just because a film has no dialogue and the occasional ten minute tracking shot of a car driving through the desert you assume it must be boring so you go check out some crap remake of an overrated Disney flick. And I swear to God if you dare to even think about looking up the show times to Dane Cook’s latest release it is over between us. Now I will admit that such esoteric fair as Electroma is probably better suited for an afternoon viewing rather then at midnight in front of hundreds of drunken idiots, but if you can stay awake and sober you are in for a real cinematic treat.
The cinematography in Electroma is astoundingly beautiful. Using stark scenery as a foreshadowing backdrop, Electroma is able to tell its rather simple story with surprising depth, warmth, and affability. And while the film resorts to blatant and literal black and white imagery the themes portrayed on screen are not so simple to identify and resolve.
Though what I found most enjoyable were the moments of honest humor sprinkled throughout the film. In spite of the style used to tell the narrative, filmmakers Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel De Homem-Christo were kind enough to add much needed levity so viewers would not be buried under an avalanche of ethos. These welcome oasis of mirth were a welcome respite for what is otherwise a bleak and somber piece. But they are used so deftly that they don’t disrupt or distract from the natural flow of the film, but rather add graceful warm touches that act as outlines of the version of humanity the heroes are so desperately searching for.
This is a film whose heroes know they are not human, yet yearn for that imperfection. They know they will not be complete unless they become what they could never be. Even so they set out on a journey that will inevitably result in failure. In a jaw droopingly stunning final shot their self-discovery is ultimately realized, yet it remains completely oblivious to those who so desperately craved it. But is the tragedy the ultimate fate of their bodies, or their souls?
What, that still isn’t good enough reason for you to watch this film? Fine, I’ll do it your way then. There is a giant vagina, so big it would give Johnny Wadd an inferiority complex, in this movie. There, are you happy now? Now if you will excuse me I need to go take a shower. This review has just left me feeling dirty all over.
Now while I am a stubborn man I can accept a lot of things when it comes to environmental recreation. I can accept Al Gore as a competent and sometimes dynamic authority on Global Warming. I can accept Penn and Teller as amusing and informed dissenting opinions on recycling. I can even grudgingly accept a telepathic gorilla who anonymously posts tiny classified ads for people to follow his teachings on how to fix the world. What I cannot accept is solar wind powered killer caribou.
At the top of the world an oil company’s advance exploration team is trying to finalize plans to begin drilling for oil in one of the last pristine wilderness left. As the crew creeps ever closer to finalizing their mission, they slowly begin to realize that the environment is acting in ways never seen before, leading to speculation that this might be The Last Winter ever.
Director Larry Fessenden (Wendigo) is a bit of a cult favorite for “intelligent” horror fans. What this really means is Fessenden’s fans think they are smarter then everyone else but let me take the remainder of this sentence to assure you they are not . Fessenden’s film are notorious for being light on gore, scares, and entertainment and The Last Winter keeps this rich tradition alive. The film is heavy in its doomsday message but relys far too much on gusts of wind to convey a sense of ominous ethereal doom. So when Maxwell “House” McKinder (Zach Gilford) approaches a box covering a former test drilling site the wind rushes up fully convincing him something horrible must be living in the ground. When super Environmentalist James Hoffman (James LeGros) hears wind outside his makeshift tent he realizes that the ground must have turned sour. That is science speak for the oil is tainted and evil, so don’t even think about burying your cat Church anywhere near the drilling site.
While the direction and script are outright awful, the acting is passable at best. Ron Perlman (Hellboy 2: The Golden Army) is the eternally angry Ed Pollack, and while Perlman is perfectly capable of playing an irascible cur to great effect, that he is continually asked to play a forlorned lover forces him in a position of acting in ways he is simply not capable of. Fessenden has essentially set Perlman up to fail, which is a poor trait in a director. The rest of the cast doesn’t do much with the little they have, typically acting as caricatures of the archetypes found in other, better horror films.
But what truly gets my goat, trust me that pun will be funnier the further along you read this review, is the insultingly bad final reel. While Fessenden has setup the rest of the film as an attempted eerie atmospheric horror film, the film loses all credibility when he gives Mother Nature’s perceived hostility a physical form. You can cry and moan about spoilers till you are blue in the face but this is something you need to know. This vengeful monster is a herd of caribou created from the Aurora Borealis. That’s right, and I can not emphasize this point enough, according to The Last Winter atmospheric fluorescent plasma hates your freaking guts and wants you to die.
With such a stupid contrivance shoved in my face the film inevitably lost all plausibility. Thus the environmental message Fessenden was repeatedly trying to jam down our throats instantly became the rantings of a shallow and egotistical director who seemingly thought that he was in a position to cast stones in a glass house. Hey Larry, that film stock you shot on and is being used to make the prints circling around the globe? It’s made with gelatin, primarily from horses that have been euthanized. So when the self-aware sociopathic Mother Nature you have envisioned sends her herd of cloven hooved vigilantes you are just as screwed as the rest of us.
