Since most of the films screened at LERNER
INTERNATIONAL HQ during February were of a political, if not “grown-up” nature
[reviews below break], let’s start with something silly (that’ll also give us
the opportunity to do some serious desk clearing regarding jpegs cluttering our
files)—
Let’s take a brief look at
James Cameron’s Aliens
(1986), specifically the people-to-xenomorph ratio—what was up with that?
It takes one human (or animal, as Alien3 showed us) to create a “xenomorph warrior” (the type of
nasty critter that popped out of the unfortunate Kane’s chest), so with the 158
colonists captured and “infected,” that makes 158 alien warriors.
Okay, let’s say there were some farm animals and pets
along (although we’re never given any indication of that), so we will be
generous: add another 100 living beings to the list (although some of those
will be smaller animals like chickens or cats; maybe a cow or a couple of pigs,
but not many; it’s a “shake & bake” colony, remember?).
Therefore, there should only be about 250 aliens on
the planet.
No, I’m not going through the movie and do a body
count, but in reality, by the end, it really is one-on-one between Ripley and
the Alien Queen.
Not that we’re ever given any indication of that: For
drama and suspense, Cameron makes us believe there are thousands of the nasty critters on that inhospitable ball of rock,
with plenty more creeping about the shadows.
And because Cameron is a master of action and
suspense, it isn’t until seventeen damn
years later that I get around to thinking about. Kudos, sir, well played!
Onto the reviews!
The Cinema of February 2013 (in order screened)
The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938; Michael Curtiz and
William Keighley) An amazing flick, deservedly considered a classic, that
wouldn’t get made today—this flick suggests revolution: Huzzah! Fabulous
old-school Hollywood moviemaking that’s fun for kids of all ages.
 |
| Nothing to do with Alien or these reviews, just a fabulous bathing suit. |
That said,
Wow, Fred C. Dobbs sure is loathsome, isn’t he? He reminds me of plenty of guys I’ve spent
long hours drinking with; lots and lots of “big plans” that are nothing more
than hot air and bravado.
Beware the beautiful loser!
But old Howard? Ahhhh, he is the Zen Wizard we should
all aspire to be. Gandalf is an impossibility, and so it Obi-Wan Kenobi.
But Howard is the path to enlightenment; he knows he’s
addicted to hunting gold, but he’s also experienced more life than you could
imagine—and he’s learned from it. (Lemme tell ya, Walter Huston is perfect,
just perfect—I haven’t ever seen a bad perf by the man.)
Howard’s purity of vision and self-honesty get him the
reward of Valhalla/Nirvana on Earth! You see, the minute he walks away to the help
the Mexican villagers who’ve shown up he
knows he will never see that gold again.
And that’s tough news for any man to bear. But he does
so stoically, bravely. And is rewarded.
It’s how saying “Yes,” to every situation will always
get you wonderful benefits—if you’re honest to yourself.
He’s chewing the scenery like nobody’s business, but
also exploring themes that he’d touch upon with greater depth and seriousness
in Last Tango in Paris (and with even
more lunacy in The Missouri Breaks).
Meanwhile director Winner’s inability to be artful
actually gives the flick a boost: the set-ups are flat, so the characters leap
out more. If Winner was less of a heavy-handed director, this flick could’ve
been really sick. BTW, the way the
creepy children act in this film, it could not be made today.
Snobs will hate The
Nightcomers, but genuine fans of Brando or Winner need to check it out. [Pic of Marlon B. from this film at bottom]
80 Blocks to Tiffany’s (1979; Gary Weis) Documentary
about Bronx gangs when the borough resembled bombed-out Dresden. Great footage
when outside the gangs’ clubhouses, but these dopey kids are boring and repetitious
when sitting around bragging about their crimes. The film is about 90 minutes,
but would be much more powerful if only 60 minutes.
Seen via the awesome Spectacle Theater of Brooklyn.
Praise needs to be given to star Albert Finney, who
delivers a deliberate, thoughtful and measured performance that was very
atypical for him at the time, supported by an all-star cast of top thesps.
This was a “producer’s film,” and Sidney Lumet was a
hired hand, but bringing on this “NYC Grit/Method Acting” director was a genius
move: He would be respectful to the form of Christie’s quaint detective tale
while bringing a new perspective (like how Lumet uses different camera
techniques for various flashbacks), while getting “real acting” out of his
cast: No one is allowed to coast here, no one is just picking up a paycheck.
Also, rather than approach this movie as “just a job,”
Lumet digs into and recreates the long-gone world of 1920s train travel: the
preparations for the journey, the operations of the train, and even how
Finney’s character prepares for bed (his moustache and pomaded hair need
special treatments).
A fascinating film, and quite enthralling—with a
“revenge” sequence that is actually very moving.
Outlaw Killers: Three Mad Dog Brothers (1972; Kinji
Fukasaku) Insane—and beautifully photographed—Yakuza flick about a stupid and
loathsome psycho.
A perfect example of Isaiah Berlin’s “Two Concepts of Liberty” in action. Honestly.
Twitchy, discomforting Southern fried gothic. Yes, see
it.
(And when you watch the flick, remember that Gina
Gershon is rumored to be Bill Clinton’s mistress).
2012 (2009; Roland Emmerich) Much in the same way all David
Fincher’s work post-Fight Club is
only a shadow of that magnum opus; Emmerich can never surpass this, the ne plus ultra of disaster movies.
The world is clobbered, and massively changed; but not
necessarily destroyed as magic pixie dust—excuse me, neutrinos from solar flares (as if there’s a difference)
cause the Earth’s core to overheat and melt its mantle and crust.
The flick takes its time, creating a, um, slow burn
until the cork is popped with a mindblowing and exciting sequence were Los
Angeles is destroyed, and then SoCal slides
into the ocean.
Based on vile strategist Karl Rove, Oliver Platt’s
ostensible bad guy is actually the only character to make sense, and who
maintains total honesty about the situation: if you want civilization to
survive, no, you cannot tell everyone that the world will end.
The flicks is has a stealth message hidden amongst the
mega-cheese, however, in 2012, only
the ultra-mega-super-rich (the 1% of the 1% of the 1%) and their slaves and
lackeys (and a couple of stowaways) will survive. As the president’s sexy
daughter points out, “If you’re a nobody, you don’t stand a chance.”
More to the point, the Russian oligarch’s brats shriek
at audience/nerd-fanboy stand-in John Cusack: “We will live and you will die!”
A perfect metaphor for life today.
Another discovery via Brooklyn’s fabulous Spectacle
Theater—
This is a fun montage/mash-up of NYC-centric
mega-mayhem from mostly recent disaster films, like The Day After Tomorrow, Deep
Impact, Godzilla 1998 and others.
An almost Lynchian (Ballardian? Somebodyian?) monograph in its exploration of
Target City NYC, there are wonderful juxtapositions, creating ecstatic visions and
nightmares of total destruction.
Really, that too much interpretation would ruin this for
new viewers.
Available at Vimeo, check it out. NOW (because there
isn’t much time…).
Personally, while I enjoyed the handful of clips
“sampled” from older H’wood disaster flicks like When Worlds Collide or The
Beast From 20,000 Fathoms, there’s still too much Roland Emmerich, and not
enough Toho or other B-movie footage:
For instance, what about Irwin Allen’s Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1965),
which had some enthralling optical effects work with cosmic flames over the
skies of Manhattan, which much of that footage centering around the UN—which then
gets destroyed in Destroy All Monsters
(1968) by Godzilla’s blast (with Big G. rising from the East River); and later,
vaporized via ray-gun by the villainous Dreyfus in The Pink Panther Strikes Again (1976)?
So much cinematic destruction, so little time…
The United States of Hoodoo (2012; Oliver Hardt;
written by Darius James and Oliver Hardt)
Very personal docu-memoir that really should’ve been
titled “Darius James’ United States of Hoodoo.” The film’s actual title made me
think that it would be a scholarly, quasi-academic look at voodoo’s influence
on American culture—instead the film is how voodoo has impacted James’ own
life, sometimes in very mysterious ways. That said, once I got over that disconnect,
I grooved on the flick: James is a thoughtful and intelligent host, with many,
many captivating friends and connections. Hopefully, The United States of Hoodoo will get a wider release.
Performance (1970; Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg)
Genuine oddity—and like The Holy Mountain
or Eraserhead, almost beyond
criticism. Absorb the movie, and then ponder it. Or hate it.
Gabriel Over the White House (1933; Gregory La Cava)
What an oddity! A political fantasy that seems to say that only divine
intervention would save the United States from the calamities brought on by the
Depression and Prohibition.
Grounded by another great performance by Walter
Huston, the flick takes political and ethical themes that no contemporary
American (and usually toothless) “political” film would dream of going near.
Crazily, the film is quite lefty, but supports gnarly
fascism: the film is idealistic in that when these men are given these supreme
powers, it says they will act honestly and for the betterment of all. (Hahahahaha!)
Called “totalitarian propaganda” by some, here’s how The Library of Congress
describes the film:
“The good news: [Walter Huston] reduces unemployment, lifts the country
out of the Depression, battles gangsters and Congress, and brings about world
peace. The bad news: he's Mussolini.”
However, Gabriel
Over the White House ends quite abruptly, leaving quite a mess—but
supplying plenty to chew on. Shot in a somewhat generic fashion, this film does
show off a very innovative use of sound. Weirdness that needs to be seen to be
believed.
The first few episodes, directed by David Fincher, are
great, but by the time you get to episodes directed by Joel Schumacher
(WTF?!?), the series has flat-lined. I won’t bother with Season Two.
Futurama: Volume Seven (2012-2013; 26 episodes;
created by Matt Groening & David X. Cohen) A long-time fave and friend; and
thus beyond criticism.
Soldier in the Rain (1963; Ralph Nelson) Very uneven
flick, that is nonetheless beautiful (aided by lovely, wide-screen B&W
photography), sad and so goddamn cool.
The Great One, Jackie Gleason, is fascinating as a fat
and fussy master-supply sergeant on a peacetime Army base: “Being a fat
narcissist isn’t easy,” he says at one point.
Gleason’s sidekick is dopey yokel Steve McQueen
(devouring the scenery until we’re sick of him), with Tuesday Weld showing up
as, well, Tuesday Weld (a kooky, dangerous temperamental sex kitten), deciding
that she’s going to make “jellybelly” (that’s what she calls Gleason) her
boyfriend.
Film’s high point is a wordless, uncompromisingly
brutal bar fight where all the participants get the shit kicked out of them. It’s
equal to the incredible bar fight in Treasure
of Sierra Madre, where you feel everybody getting hurt.
Weird, quasi-existential picture that suffers because
it abandons the ending of William Goldman’s novel, where McQueen’s character
looks up to the heavens, and says, “Fuck you” to God (really!), replacing it
with pure sap and a sickly treacle ending.
To put it bluntly, I think the flick’s subtext is that
Gleason is queer, but because of the time it was made (and the ham-handedness
of producer/co-screenwriter Blake Edwards; a dullard for the most part, in my
opinion), nothing much can be made of it.
But if you watch the flick imaging that Gleason’s in
the closet—and scared to admit it—and that Tuesday’s character is a cute and
spunky much-younger drag queen trying to pull him out? Then it all makes
sense—especially why the obvious smart Gleason allows McQueen, a dummy but
certainly sexy, to hang around him.
Far from perfect, Soldier
in the Rain is still worth a look.
(BTW, Soldier in
the Rain starts the trilogy of “Tuesday Weld High School Psycho-Kitty”
flicks that continues with the equally weird—and also queer-themed—Lord Love a Duck (still working on my
review for that one), and concludes with the more coherent and less weird, but
much, much meaner Pretty Poison—another
subtly queer-themed flicks, due to the participation of Antony Perkins.)
BEASTS: “Special Offer” (1976; Richard Bramall;
written by Nigel Kneale) In my quest to seek out as much of writer Kneale’s work as possible, it was inevitable that I’d find
something that wasn’t up to snuff. Too much of this telefilm feels like a
rip-off of Stephen King’s Carrie, set
in a supermarket. (No, this couldn’t have ripped off Brian De Palma’s film
though; “Special Offer” aired before the movie Carrie was released.)
55 Days at Peking (1963; Nicholas Ray, with Guy Green
(uncredited) and second unit by Andrew Marton) Odd epic action flick—with
incredible sets and explosions—where the Colonial Powers carve up China.
Surprising film in that it doesn’t cover up why the
Yanks and Euros are there: profits! While saddled with the usual “epic movie”
bullshit (romance, intrigue, family drama, snooze…), 55 Days at Peking is refreshing in that it doesn’t say Whitey is in
China for anything except subjugation.
Chuck Heston is awesome as a hard-bitten USMC captain,
supported by the usual mega-cast in this sort of thing. Of course, there are
only about two genuine Asians in the movie, the rest being whites in bad makeup
talking the racist “ching-chang-chong” talk.
No (2012; Pablo Larrain) Larrain’s conclusion to his
unofficial “Chile Post-Allende” trilogy (begun with Tony Manero (2008) and continued with Post Mortem (2010)) is thankfully the most upbeat of
the three.
Set at the beginning of the end of Pinochet’s
dictatorship, the film covers the campaign to establish Chile’s first open
elections since the coup d’état, and because the director is making a picture
about “real” events, he does not play with structure or character motivation
like he did before. Here, he plays with technique, shooting everything on
crappy 1980s video camera so contemporary footage matches seamlessly with stock
footage and video from the period.
This creates a delirious disconnect as we see
politicians (playing themselves) in both the Now, and the Then. We are
watching citizens recreating their own political freedom, like a shamanistic
cargo cult, and it is just as magical (without being syrupy or overly
sanctimonious or smug).
Highly recommended.
House of Cards: To Play the King (1993)
House of Cards: The Final Cut (1996)
After watching the tepid US remake, I thought I’d go
to the source—and oh what a difference!
These three miniseries tally a total of 12 episodes,
covering its antihero’s rise and fall; the US series meanwhile needed 13
episodes to get to where the BBC got in three!
Fantastically cynical and nasty political satire that
moves, moves, moves, grounded by a superb performance by Ian Richardson.
Propaganda (2012?; no credits) Supposedly a North
Korean anti-Western propaganda film, this feels more like Adam Curtis and
Craig Baldwin telling us what they really
think, using the angriest screeds from Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn as
research.
Extremely cynical—but it should be—and packed with imagery, this is a unique
and vocal criticism of “The Western Cult of Death” and the “consumer zombies”
which support it: a system that commodifies everything, reducing all human
interaction into transactions for money, status or power: An abusive, violence-obsessed,
lowest-common-denominator system that can only have been established by
sociopaths for whom money is the Alpha and Omega.
(Controversial, too, because only by claiming to be
made by North Korea can this film criticize Israel and its policies.)
Now, is this really a North Korean film? I doubt it.
If it is, it is only for the elite of the elite, those who are somewhat aware
of what exists outside their communist “paradise.” Because life in NK is so
miserable that even if they are presented as sources of evil, the Western
opulence on display here would drive your average (starving,
worked-to-exhaustion, poverty-stricken) North Korean to defect immediately.
That said, I think the film is the work of a group
similar to Adbusters, but it’s the best kind of “joke,” never winking, never
tipping its hand or trying to be funny or “clever.”
Propaganda is the stand-out MUST SEE out of this
month’s films. Catch it HERE.
Police Mortality (2013; Anti-Banality League) The
Brooklyn-based loonies behind Unclear
Holocaust (see above) are back, this time tearing up the pigs.
By using an incredibly well-researched database of
film clips, the Anti-Banality League shows us that John McClane is Robocop
leading a police strike against the Bad Police.
Meanwhile, the self-pitying cowardly bully that all
cops try to hide inside themselves busts out. Too bad more of them aren’t shown
eating the gun.
Can’t wait for the next opus from the mad
Situationalists of the Anti-Banality League.
Noonan’s learned from all the movie sets he’s been on,
and really knows how to make an audience squirm, getting actors equal to his
talents to contribute to the torture. His films work because they are so true
and honest, essentially brutal.
BOOKS READ IN February
Smoke by Donald E. Westlake (a “for fun” book; an
interesting twist on the invisible man story; like a nice B-movie. Always
writing for a semi-cosmopolitan audience, Westlake is one of my favorite writers, and one reason is that his lead characters have exceptional
learning curves—maybe because criminals are not allowed the “societal safety
nets” promoted by bourgeois living that slow down thinking: In other words,
thieves always have to pay attention to their surrounds because not only are
the cops out to get you, but so are other criminals, and even worse, goody-goody
square-john citizens who like to interfere with a good crime.)
Miracles of Life: Shanghai to Shepperton, an Autobiography by J.G. Ballard (been a fan of JGB since I was a teen; I had to read
this—and was not disappointed)
Little Brother by Cory Doctorow (great
stuff about the reduction of freedom and the increase of the neocon
surveillance state—where the public is the enemy The Man needs to crush)
The Color of Water: A Black Man’s Tribute to His White Mother by James McBride (very moving memoir about a black man who discovers
his mom is a white Jew—and I thought my family was mixed up…)
That’s it for the movies and books I consumed in
February—
Still hunting for a job; fighting depression; trying
to control infantile behavior; and worrying—sorry I haven’t been posting like I
need to…
Meanwhile, our “friends” at Bloooger have chained
their programming/posting features again, thus sending ripples of confusion and
anger through the blogosphere. No wonder so many of my pals have abandoned
their blogs and sites…
Wish me luck!
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