Friday, August 23, 2024

Every Frog Has His Day

 


I can never resist a Lou Reed reference in my titles (if you haven't heard his 2003 release The Raven, stop reading this and give it a listen now). After you do, definitely seek out the 2023 found footage cryptid horror film Frogman, which I found refreshing, quirky, and oddly fascinating. 

Based on the legend of the Loveland Frogman, Frogman emphasizes quality acting and character development, which makes for an engrossing watch. Yes, there is a very real history to supposed sightings of this rural Ohio cryptid that date back to the mid '50s. And to add to this wonderful weirdness that took me down way too many fascinating cryptid rabbit holes, the city of Loveland recently made the frogman the official town mascot. When a filmmaker like Anthony Cousins (Scare Package) eschews the more standard Bigfoot/Slender Man/Sea Monster horror approach and chooses a Midwestern legend about a humanoid frog with purported telepathic powers and a penchant for theatricality (some say it carries a magic wand), I take notice.


And notice I did, with great approval. While using the standard "failing filmmaker sets off to document a cryptid" trope, this film has a deeper level: the question of how the online community treats people who claim to have seen something inexplicable and uncanny. The impact of viral bashing comes through quite strongly here, something that lends an ethical dimension not often seen in found footage films. For having captured footage of the legendary frogman as a child and posting it on the net, Dallas (Nathan Tymoshuk) lives the rest of his life the butt of jokes from countless vloggers who heap vicious accusations of fakery on him. Eventually he sets out, cheap Hi8 camera in hand, on a quest of redemption with two friends Amy and Scott as they head out on the road to Loveland to prove the creature's existence.

What endeared this film to me was the overall vibe of good-natured weirdness in the three main characters as they reveal their oddball personalities in genuine ways. I'm deliberately using the word weird a lot, and I mean it in the best possible sense. This is the kind of weird that covers everything off-beat, eclectic, alternative, and appealing. Something to celebrate when served up appropriately.  The trio's documenting of the cottage industry that has sprung up in Loveland surrounding the legend is one of the fascinating and often hilarious parts of this film (including a visit to The Sticky Tongue, a store that sells more Frogman-related memorabilia than one thought possible). There's a compelling authenticity here not often found in this sub-genre. 

As the trio wander the streets of Loveland, interviewing citizens and tourists, Cousins' pacing slowly transitions from amusingly goofy to a bit odd to deeply paranoid as some residents seem a bit too obsessed with the frogman. Rumors of a cult and a vast network of caves connected to the river surface. Investing time in allowing the character's personalities to become fully fleshed-out pays off when the horror arrives (and there's some fairly gruesome body horror by the end). Without spoiling anything, I'll just say that the finale goes full-on Lovecraftian (hinted at quite well early in the film) in very welcome ways. 


Is this a perfect film: well, no. There's a particularly awkward moment when Dallas finally declares his love for Amy at the least likely time. But if that's my only quibble in a micro-budget film, it says a lot about the quality of effort here. Frogman is one of the most wonderfully weird film experiences I've had in a while. This is why I love digging around in the found footage genre bin. If you dig found footage, DIY filmmaking, and cryptids you'll have a ball with this one. Give it a watch!

Saturday, August 17, 2024

Five More Tunnel Horror Films to Dig Into

 As an extension of my previous post on the tunnel horror classic Deathline, here are five more films that take the horror underground. I’ve overlooked the bigger films (The Descent, Mimic, As Above So Below, Midnight Meat Train) to highlight some that aren’t as well-known. So grab a flashlight as we head down into the subterranean darkness for some claustrophobic horror.

 

Dwellers (2021)


I’d heard a bit of buzz about this film and upon finally giving it a watch, I found an unexpected found footage tunnel horror gem. Finding films like this, films that are so micro-budgeted that they appear to have been made on the barter system, are a large part of why I love indie horror. Produced by Megadeth’s David Ellefson (who appears as himself in the film) and directed by star Drew Fortier, Dwellers is a refreshing ride through the underground tunnels of Cleveland as an unlikely trio of documentary filmmakers investigate the disappearance of the local homeless community. 



 

Fortier said that he was influenced by both The Blair Witch Project and cult classic C.H.U.D.,  but rather than going the cheap rip-off route, he  spends his time developing characters that are quirky, a bit shady, and always compelling. In addition to the well-done cinema verité approach, the creature effects are sparsely used but very effective, and the acting is far, far better than found in most found footage films. One of the things I enjoyed most was the seemingly genuine relationship between the three friends, a refreshing respite from the usual “group of annoying assholes with a camera” that plagues much found footage. If you haven’t caught this one yet, I give it a very high recommendation.

 

 

Absentia (2011)




Mike Flanagan is one of the best-known horror directors working today, but not enough people have seen his first film, the wonderfully creepy Abesentia. A bottle-picture that takes a short tunnel beneath a street overpass in Glendale, California as the locus of some truly disturbing interdimensional horror. Fans of Flanagan’s better-known films will find much to love here, as his signature deep emotional investment and flawed but extremely compelling characters ground the otherworldly aspects of this horror film in a compelling context. The film has an effective sense of slowly creeping dread that builds to full paranoia over its run time. As the title suggests, a woman is faced with having her husband declared dead in absentia after he disappeared seven years ago, part of a series of disappearances surrounding the bridge tunnel. As the mystery unfolds, the horror deepens as Flanagan constructs a unique type of urban folk horror. To say more would spoil too much, and the less you know about this film, the more you’ll enjoy it.



The emotional relationships and the haunting sense of loss and grief that drive the narrative ground the horror of what lurks in the tunnel in an uncomfortable landscape. Like most Flanagan films, there are almost no jump scares, just a growing sense of dread that lingers for a long time after the film ends. Absentia scared me mostly because it made me think and feel. I think it was novelist Charles L Grant who coined the term “sunlit horror,” something that applies so well to this film. I’m truly impressed by filmmakers who can devise scenes of uncanny horror in stark daylight. The only other thing I’ll say about this gem is that it’s what may have happened if H.P. Lovecraft had written The Three Billy Goats Gruff. And if that’s not enough to entice you, I give up. When it comes down to it, this is my absolute favorite of these five films.

 

Marebito (2005)




 Perhaps the oddest film in my list, Marebito was directed by Takashi Shimizu (who gave us the Ju-On series) and stars director Shinya Tsukamoto (Tetsuo: The Iron Man). A team-up like that was bound to result in a seriously disquieting film, and Marebito is just that. Tsukamoto plays a psychologically unstable camera man who films a graphic suicide in the Tokyo subway tunnels and descends both deeper into the tunnel system and his own madness. He encounters ghosts, odd interdimensional beings, and a vampiric woman known only as F. When he brings F home, the already unstable film goes fully off the rails.



This is J Horror at its quirkiest and most Lovecraftian. Shimizu’s pseudo-documentary approach adds a level of coldness that seeped under my skin in the most deliciously uncomfortable ways. When I first saw this film, I was more confused at the end than I was going in, so I immediately rewatched. For me, that’s a high compliment to any filmmaker.  If you’re a fan of Koji Shiraishi’s Noroi: The Curse and Occult, you’ll love this one.

 

The Strangeness (1985)


 

What to say about The Strangeness, other than it has one of the worst titles in movie history? An even better question is why am I writing about it?  In fact, if it weren’t available on Amazon Prime right now, I wouldn’t be certain if I hadn’t just imagined seeing this back in the late ‘80s, a product of my  teenage experimentation with booze and psychedelics. I guess what Poe called the “imp of the perverse” nudged me to include this bad, bad slice of aged cheese here. 




If you’re a stickler for tight plots, excellent cinematography, well-done special effect, and actors who actually make their living acting in real movies… run. Run as far and as fast as you can. If, on the other hand, you appreciate cheesy, shlocky, zero-budget ‘80s horror, you may find something to revel in here. I just finished rewatching less than an hour ago, and I’m not even sure what the hell’s going on in this movie other than it involves a cave system with a dark history, several random explorers, and a surprisingly interesting, tentacled Lovecraftian horror lurking in the darkness. The experience of watching is much like drinking an entire bottle of dirt-cheap tequila: disorienting, hallucinogenic, a lot of fun at times, but with one hell of a cognitive hangover by the end. An excellent choice for a bad horror movie night with friends.

 

 

The Tunnel (2011)




 

I’ve saved a personal favorite for the last.  Like DwellersThe Tunnel combines two of my favorite sub-genres: found footage and tunnel horror.  A somewhat desperate journalist who is willing to do whatever unethical things it takes to get a “gotcha” story leads a team into the vast underground tunnels beneath Sydney. Since the city had proudly trumpeted tapping into an abandoned reservoir to address the growing water crisis but abruptly canceled the project without comment, the news team smells government cover-up. What the city government is really trying to cover up is something decidedly nasty and downright horrifying.



What really sells me on this film is how seriously it takes the mockumentary approach. The performances are wonderfully realistic, the interpersonal drama believable, and the hints of government conspiracy are handled with restraint rather than paranoia. There’s actual pathos in this film, and that serves to highlight the creeping horror of what lives in the underground darkness. This is one of my top five found footage/mockumentary films for a reason. It’s what happens when someone takes the genre seriously and uses the conventions to explore issues much more deeply than most found footage creature features.


Saturday, August 10, 2024

Going Underground: Why Deathline (aka Raw Meat) is my Jam

 


Movies that I call “tunnel horror” are solidly in my wheelhouse.  You set a horror film in an abandoned subterranean train station, a metropolitan subway line, underground city, or even a short traffic tunnel, and odds are I’ll enjoy it. There’s something about the claustrophobia, the perpetual darkness, the horror of buried secrets and things that cannot dwell in the sunlight that gets under my skin. And if you take such a film and add iconic horror stars Donald Pleasance and Christopher Lee into the mix, you have the makings of a classic.

 Released in the U.S. as Raw Meat with some of the gore excised to avoid an X rating, Deathline is a cult classic that touches heavily on history and class in London in the early 70s. The four minute opening title sequence featuring a bizarre Will Malone electronic jazz/blues score emphasizes the sleaze from the get-go.  It’s music that announces that the glamourous swinging 60s have come to a crashing end and all we’re left with is cheap porn where the actors have b/o, bad teeth, and leave their socks on. I mean that as a compliment by the way, as the soundtrack couldn’t be better for this film.

 

The drawn-out opening follows a bowler-hatted man-about-town as he struts arrogantly from peep-show to peep-show on a personal tour of the London sexual underbelly only to find a gruesome end in the Underground. As it turns out, this particular sex-craved gentleman was an OBE (Order of the British Empire) which pits MI5 against the local police as his disappearance becomes a most inconvenient state secret thanks to the intervention of two university students who stumble across the body. Donald Pleasance gives one of his great oddball performances as the harried, bitchy police inspector who cares little for the ministrations of Christopher Lee’s ominous, arrogant MI5 chief. 



As it turns out, the killer knows nothing of politics or anything else relevant to the times, as he is a surviving descendent of a 19th century tunneling group who died (or so people assumed) in a tunnel collapse while building the London Underground. In true capitalist spirit, the construction company decided it was more cost effective to simply leave the bodies buried in the rubble than excavate them and cause an even bigger scandal.  An unwise choice indeed, as it seems this chap has been knocking off those subway passengers unlucky enough to take the subway late at night and devouring them with his wife or sister/wife or whatever unseemly relation she may be. The long, deeply unnerving tracking shot of their underground lair/crypt/abattoir is as lurid and grimy as anything in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which was released two years later. Hugh Armstrong’s portrayal of the gangly, disease-ridden killer is both thoroughly revolting and oddly emotional. It’s one of the film’s strongest elements.




Despite the killer’s total lack of political motivation, the tensions between the working class, the petite bourgeoise, and the London upper-crust provide the driving force of the narrative. Cannibalism and capitalism make for strange bedfellows indeed. Deathline is what I imagine would have happened if early-70s Wes Craven had read E.P. Thompson’s The Making of The English Working Class and decided to make a horror film. And it’s fitting that this was in fact directed by an American living in London (Gary Sherman, who would go on in the next decade to direct the classic Dead and Buried). Sherman saturates the film with corruption, apathy, and a sleazy grime that is hard to wash off once the film is over. Yet the witty screenplay and political deep structure turn this film into something special. It’s sleaze, but “cultured sleaze” (a phrase I’ve never used before and am not fully sure what it means, but when you watch the film, you’ll get it).

 

Saturday, August 3, 2024

Dinner and a Movie: Argentine Horror and Cuisine (or, Nihilistic Noshing as the World Ends)

 A double-dose of Argentine horror and cuisine was on the menu tonight. Pairing two of Demian Rugna’s spectacular horror films with some Argentine food made for a winning, shuddery night that I heartily recommend. 

 

Rugna quickly became a filmmaker I put on my must-see list a few years ago. I’m resisting the temptation to liken him to better-known directors (Ok, I lied… If you like Ari Aster and early del Toro, you’ll dig him) because he has a style that infuses gorgeous cinematography and meticulous mise en scene with a philosophically nihilistic overview that is mesmerizing.




 

First course: Provoleta and Terrified (2018). When Rugna released Terrified six years ago, it quickly became a favorite smart, slow-burn cosmic horror film of mine. And believe me, it more than holds up on repeated viewings.  A suburban neighborhood in Buenos Aires is beset by a series of horrifying events that seem isolated at first, but eventually coalesce as a trio of paranormal investigators begin to piece things together. They soon discover, as one investigator suggests, that it’s best not to meddle in things not of this world.

 

Voices emanating from a kitchen sink, inexplicable pounding on the walls, and the proverbial thing under the bed very quickly escalate to a shocking scene of horrific violence in a shower as Rugna deftly balances the slow-burn approach with scenes of startling violence. And that’s just the first fifteen minutes. But beyond the stunning set-pieces, Rugna excels at conjuring a smothering sense of dread that pervades the film and lingers long after. 

 

I’m a sucker for paranormal investigation films, and the oddball trio of investigators here really sells this film. Rugna does little to explain the paranormal/scientific approach the investigators bring with them, and that’s one of the highlights of this film. In this universe, ghosts, interdimensional beings, and the reality that the dead don’t always die are treated with an incredible realism. For here, it seems that this particular suburb lies at a point where the dividing line between different dimensions is particularly thin. And what lies in wait in that other dimension is restless, hungry, and particularly nasty.

 

In one scene in particular (that I won’t spoil), nothing happens. But it’s the anticipation that something might happen at any moment had me so on edge that I said that if that thing even flinches, I’m diving out the window. Yes, it’s that good. You’ll know it when you see it.




 

I’m solidly impressed by directors who can evoke an unbearable tension and aura of dread and sustain it for the entire course of the film. Terrified is a film that will leave a stone in your shoe for a while, nagging at you in those quiet moments when you’re alone at night and everything is silent… or mostly silent, for what was that rustling in the walls and why is that faucet dripping? And did that shadow just move, or am I imagining things?

 

Provoleta (stunningly easy to make a absolutely yummy) added a comfort food element to ease the creeping horror of the movie.




 

Second Course: Sopa de mariscos and When Evil Lurks (2023). Rugna claimed that this film operates in the same world of Terrified, but it’s not a true sequel. It does certainly feel like a kind of spiritual continuation of the uncanny goings-on in Terrified, though.  Much more of a folk horror film involving a case of a “rotten” (a person who has become possessed by an evil spirit) releasing a cascade of horror on the local rural community as well as the neighboring city. The film opens in darkness as two brothers on a farm hear gunshots in the night and, unwisely, set off down a path in the woods to investigate. What they find is a heady mix of paranormal evil and personal/governmental corruption that spirals out of control at a terrifying rate. And, as with Terrified, this film is as smart as it is bone-chilling.

 

 What knocked me out with this film was how fully-realized the mythos surrounding possession and the protocols to avoid a full-on infestation are. I’m impressed by any horror film that doesn’t waste time with characters debating the obvious for most of the film. Here, it turns out there’s even an official government protocol to be followed in case a “rotten” should appear. And in Rugna’s hands it’s all so damned believable.

 

And again, Rugna pulls no punches in this film. Every time a scene appears where you think, “no, he wouldn’t do that… he couldn’t possibly go there,” he does, and he does in glorious excess. If you feel a sense of safety from established horror conventions (including things that are taboo for filmmakers), then you really need to watch this one. In Rugna's hands, nothing is off the table, no one is safe, and emotional gut-punches will leave you reeling. 




 

The best things I can say about When Evil Lurks are that it works solidly as a terrifying film with excellent performances, some truly stunning set-pieces of horror, and a fascinating folk history.  It also works very deeply on the level of subtext, and the nihilistic tone that the film embraces is what lingers long after the final credits. It’s ironic that the possessed are called “rottens” here, as everything in this film is in a rotting state of decay: love, family relationships, the economy, any possibility for hope. Frankly, it’s the most emotionally and spiritually horrifying film I’ve seen yet this year, and that’s saying a lot.

 

Sopa de mariscos is a favorite of mine, and this paired nicely with a juicy Malbec, although you may not want to eat for a while after viewing this one. You may just want to crawl under the bed and not come out until the sun comes up. If it ever does…heh heh heh.

 

 

Sunday, July 21, 2024

Dinner and a Horror Movie: Happy Birthday to Me (1981) and Some Decidedly Uncreepy Pasta

 Tonight I took a plunge into a film that's been on my watch list for decades now and paired it with some delicious blood-red and hearty penne puttanesca for a very satisfying combination. Dinner and a horror movie nights are one of my favorites, and pasta puttanesca (which crudely translates as "whore's pasta") seems appropriate for a film dripping with sexual secrets and violence.


In the rush of slashers to come out in '81, the downright oddball Happy Birthday to Me stands out as one of the weirdest. And weird can be a very, very good thing. The film had a lot going in its favor out of the gate: directed by the legendary J. Lee Thompson (Guns of Navarone, Cape Fear, and a host of other classics), starring Melissa Sue Anderson of Little House on the Prairie fame in her first leading film role and acclaimed actor Glenn Ford, bloodied up by award-winning special effects/makeup artist Tom Burman. What could go wrong?

Well... nothing really goes wrong, but completely rewriting the ending in mid-production didn't do the movie any favors, either. More on that later.

What could have been another by-the-numbers slasher becomes something downright gonzo (in the best of ways) in Thompson's hands. The bare-bones of the story involve a group of ultra-rich kids at  exclusive prep school Crawford Academy who begin disappearing one by one while Virginia (Anderson) tries to reinsert herself in the social milieu after recovering from a mysterious accident on her birthday years before that left her with no memory of what happened. Without spoiling anything, the details of the accident slowly come to light as Virginia's memory slowly returns in fragmented pieces as the film progresses and the clock ticks towards her upcoming eighteenth birthday.  Giving the central character a decidedly unreliable memory and an inability to separate trauma reactions from reality keeps the narrative off-kilter, bringing a surreal tone to a film that's absolutely swimming with red herrings, grotesque practical jokes... and blood.

Thompson goes whole-hog into the gore and creative deaths here. In fact, the deaths by shish kabob, weight bench, and the famous scarf-in-a-spinning-dirtbike wheel were used prominently in the trailer and tv spot back in '81. I clearly remember the tv spots when I was in 8th grade and the movie lived in a kind of limbo for movie commercials that scared the crap out of me as a kid that I'd never gotten around to seeing. But besides painting the walls red (literally in one scene involving a fireplace poker), Thompson takes the time to develop the characters in more detail that the average slasher and creates some truly disturbing scenes of surgical and psychological trauma. 

And like several other slashers of the time, the tensions between the haves and have-nots make up the political economy of the film. As off-the-wall as the film can be at times, it's ultimately the class distinctions that underpin both the backstory to Virginia's accident and the motive for the murders. The Top Ten (the elites at the school who make up the victim pool) seem to be majoring in macabre practical jokes and setting themselves violently apart from the working class members of the community. Their rabid obsession with class boundary-maintenance points to the vast emptiness of their lives and speaks to a generational class divide that haunts the town. The fact that the one place where the wealthy and working class rub elbows with each other is a pub at an inn called The Silent Woman speaks volumes about the gothic secrets of sex and violence in this town. But Thompson spends considerable time developing these characters rather than just serving up the usual annoying rich jerks lined up for the slaughter. 

I'm keeping this as spoiler-free as possible because this is a terrific example of a movie to go into as coldly as possible, but a word about the ending. The original screenplay delved wildly into the supernatural for its conclusion (something that is hinted at throughout the film). But mid-filming, the paranormal was scrapped in favor of a "realistic" killer which is still no less bonkers as the film goes cheerfully off the rails during the wild, grand guignol conclusion. It's a bit of a stretch in credulity (well, more than a bit), but it works in its own gleefully illogical way. Let's just call it a birthday party to remember.

Overshadowed by the bigger slashers of the 80s, Happy Birthday to Me holds up far, far, better than most and is deserving of a watch. So get the water on for the pasta, pour yourself a nice Chianti or Barbera, and settle in for a wonderfully weird, smart, and downright nasty horror movie.

Monday, July 12, 2021

5 Lesser-Known Neo-Noir Films of the 1970s

 Neo-noir films became extraordinarily popular in the 1970s, as the elements of alienation, moral ambiguity, corruption, and extreme pessimism in the classic noir films found new traction in the post-Vietnam/Watergate era. New elements of conspiracy theories, nihilism, and more explicit violence and perversity moved to the forefront. 

 

Most of the best films of the era are widely-known: The Friends of Eddie Coyle, The Long Goodbye, The Conversation, Chinatown, Klute, The Taking of Pelham 123, and more. Here, I’ve chosen five much lesser-known films that may be of interest to genre fans. So if you’re a die-hard fan looking for something you may have missed, or if you’re new to the genre and want to find a jumping-in point, let’s take a spoiler-free deep dive into crime and existential suffering, neo-noir style.

 

 

Night Moves (1975)



 

Arthur Penn’s somber, cynical, strongly emotional film isn’t nearly as well-known as it deserves to be today, and that’s a crime. Gene Hackman plays Harry Moseby, an ex-football player turned reluctant private investigator in Los Angeles. Moseby suffers from the kind of existential angst that Viktor Frankl wrote of, a man who finds that the ultimate horror of life in an existential vacuum isn’t violent crisis or hysterical breakdown, but eternal boredom… a boredom that can seem worse than death. At the start of the film, he jokes self-consciously about his past as a pro ball player, declines joining a P.I. firm because he refuses to be part of an “information collection machine,” and finds his taken-for-granted marriage unravelling. 

 

The mystery Harry stumbles into involves a missing person’s case: the sixteen year-old daughter, Delly (a young Melanie Griffith), of an aging small-time movie star. After tracking down leads in and around film sets, he follows a thread to the Florida Keys and Penn shifts the tone from Hollywood Boulevard to Key Largo. He finds her hunkered down with her biological father and a mysterious dolphin-feeding woman named Paula (Jennifer Warren).  In locating Delly and returning her to her mother, Harry uncovers family dynamics as perverse as anything you’ll find in a Faulkner novel: sex, incest, drug abuse, neglect, apathy, and a sociopathic absence of empathy. Penn nods to noir’s history of linking Hollywood and social power to corruption and moral degradation, but pushes things to near Manson-family extremes that only get worse as the film continues. 

 

The MacGuffin-like crime at the heart of the film is stunningly simple and suggested in an early scene involving the lucrative business of selling indigenous artifacts, but Penn obfuscates much of it by providing few answers as to motivation and delving into the perversity of a group of characters who care nothing for each other except what they can get out of them. This is perhaps the most transactional movie of the era regarding human relationships, which is a devastating indictment of mid-‘70s America.

 

Penn riffs off several noir classics. Harry Moseby’s name eerily echoes Harry Morgan, the cynical boatman/smuggler who finally takes a stand in To Have and Have Not. The film’s conclusion plays off both the cornfield scene in North by Northwest and the maritime conclusion of Key Largo. While each of those films provided a moment of life-changing catharsis for the hero, Penn allows for no such romanticism here. Even the deadpan attempts at hard-boiled flirting between Hackman and Warren fall flat, leaving the characters without a language outside of surface-level back-and-forth dialogue. Harry tries to find an antidote to his fundamental lack of meaning by acting out the role of a noir private eye only to find a killing superficiality that has run its course.

 

The fundamental scene that gets to the core of Harry’s fractured sense of identity centers around a portable chess board he carries with him. Harry, ever alienated, never plays chess against another person, but endlessly replays famous matches from the past. When Warren asks him about it he responds that he’s replaying a 1922 match where Black had an easy mate that he completely missed:


"Black had a mate, but he didn't see it. Three little night moves, but he didn't see it. He played something else, and he lost. He must have regretted it every day of his life. As a matter of fact I do regret it, and I wasn't even born yet.

 

Warren’s response, “Well, that’s no excuse,” is one of the many lines in the film that seem like a banter throwaway but carries a much deeper meaning unknown to the characters. Harry is out of excuses, out of answers, and even out of the right questions to ask. At the film’s conclusion, he’s literally going in circles on an open sea completely indifferent to his fate. Night Moves, for me, is the best neo-noir film of the era to combine a merciless cynicism with a profoundly emotional sense of loss. There’s really no other movie I can compare it to.

 

 

 

 Mikey and Nicky (1976)




 

Writer/director Elaine May’s stripped-down noir character study had a disastrous production history (more on that later), but stands as a remarkable Philly neo-noir. May boils the elements of a street-level crime thriller down to what would normally be the final 20 minutes of a more conventional film, leaving us with the final, desperate run of a pair of bottom-of-the-barrel crooks. 

 

John Cassavetes play Nicky, a small-time hood who stole from the mob and is convinced there’s a hit out on him. Peter Falk plays Mikey, his kinda/sorta friend, whom he calls in desperation for help. Nicky opens the film in a full-blown paranoia, holed up in a seedy hotel drinking himself into a perforated ulcer. When Nicky shows up, the film simply follows them for a few hours in and out of dive bars, all-night diners, and seedy apartments as they stumble blindly through a back-alley Philadelphia gorgeously shot in contrasts of light and shadow, trying to stay one step ahead of the contract killer (Ned Beatty) always lurking a few steps behind. 

 

And speaking of Beatty, this is one of the ‘70s films that showcase how much he could get out of a small supporting performance. He plays the hit man as an inept, harried businessman desperately in need of making a “sale.” His frustration is deepened by a plot twist that I won’t reveal here, but adds so much to the nihilistic outlook of the film.

 

And when I say plot twist I’m not quite accurate, as the film has no real plot to speak of, which is the point. Mikey and Nicky isn’t so much a genre deconstruction as it is a full dismissal of the centrality of the mystery to crime films. It’s the Waiting for Godot of noir. Mikey and Nicky are thorough shits as characters: crass, narcissistic, abusive, and bigoted. Yet Falk and Cassavetes inhabit them so fully as characters that you can’t help being sucked into their stories and the verbal and body language they use to tell them.  This is method acting on steroids, and the result is mesmerizing. Much of the dialogue was improvised, yet strikes as painfully, unflatteringly honest. May shot almost a million and a half feet of film, allowing the actors to experiment for hours at a time on a single scene.

 

And that directorial extravagance is what led Paramount to pull final cut from May and edit a disastrous version that they dumped in a few theaters and left to die. Critics and audiences loathed the film until over a decade later when May was able to assemble a director’s cut that played to acclaim on the festival circuit. Much later, Criterion released a new director’s cut on dvd that gives an idea of what ‘70s audiences missed out on. Be wary if streaming to find the May cut and not the incomprehensible theatrical version. 

 

 

The Late Show (1977)




 

Robert Benton’s The Late Show is hardly a lost film, but has certainly been overshadowed by other neo-noir films of the ‘70s. Both love letter to the classic noir thrillers and a meditation on aging generational values as well as aging people, the film finds humor in quirkiness and a playful confrontation of Eisenhower-era masculinity and 1970’s encounter-movement sensibilities and crass hipster commercialism. It also has the honor of being the only noir film to begin with a case of a kidnapped cat.

 

Opening with a lingering shot of an Underwood typewriter while a muted trumpet plays a slow jazz riff, the film adheres to a loving reproduction of noir aesthetics while playing out as a funeral dirge to the destructive heart of hard-boiled ethos. 

 

Art Carney plays Ira Wells, an elderly private eye with a lame leg, a hearing aid, and a severe ulcer who rents a room in a shabby LA home, eking out a living handling small cases with the same tough-talking attitude of decades past. He meets Margo (Lily Tomlin), an eccentric young free-spirit whose hobbies include being a talent agent, aspiring dressmaker, pot dealer, yoga-practitioner, and cat-lover. When she approaches Ira to get him to take the case of her stolen cat at the funeral of his recently murdered friend, Ira rudely rebuffs her. Eventually Ira realizes that the catnapping and his friend’s murder are linked, and the film heads down a clash-of-generations rabbit hole worthy of a Chandler plot.

 

The pure joy of this film comes from watching Carney and Tomlin give incredible performances, riffing off each other like improv jazz musicians. While the character-out-of time trope provides wonderful laughs, it’s the way Carney and Tomlin grow in their mutual understanding of each other and the vulnerability they show that gives the film a real heart. Carney’s Ira is never simply played for laughs and Tomlin’s Margo is no stereotypical oddball. Benton has the courage to allow the performers to bring depth and respect to their roles, which makes the sentimental core of the film come across as authentic rather than schmaltzy. 

 

Even the hilarity of a high-speed chase involving Margo's VW microbus, the hapless commodity-worshipping crooks (one of whom refuses to jump in a pool when prodded at gunpoint because it will ruin his cashmere jacket), and the whacky missing cat plotline give way to the relationship between Ira and Margo as it evolves from mutual disregard to grudging respect to something far deeper.

 

Without spoiling anything, at the conclusion Margo tells Ira she plans to get a P.I. license and team up with him. He responds:

 

“That’s just what this town’s been waiting for. A broken down old private eye with a bum leg and a hearing aid, and a fruitcake like you.”

 

Speaking for myself, yeah… that’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

 

 

The Grissom Gang (1971)




 

Robert Aldrich had already directed the film noir classic Kiss Me Deadly and Gothic favorites Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte before The Grissom Gang, a strangely fascinating blend of neo-noir period crime and twisted Southern Gothic sensibilities. Critics vomited a deluge of bile on the film during its initial release for its over-the-top, sweaty sexuality, graphic violence, and layers of depravity… the very things that later critics and audiences would praise it for.

 

Aldrich takes no prisoners in this depression-era tale of a Missouri heiress (Kim Darby) who is kidnapped by her boyfriend and his cohorts, only to be doubly kidnapped by the infamous Grissom Gang, who kill her initial captors and keep her as an object of ransom. The Grissom Gang are repugnant, animalistic, and amoral. Darby’s Barbara Blandish (note the symbolism in the surname) is cold, calculating, and ruthless. What would have been a simple gangster shoot ‘em up in other hands becomes a deeply psychosexual power play between the haves and the have-nots in Aldrich’s hands. 

 

Much of the film takes places in confined spaces: filthy barns, rooms with walled-up windows, a literal cage. The camera angles and lighting are mildly disorienting, and the atmosphere so thick you can almost smell the sweat, grime, and desperation from the characters. Tommy gun bullets fly, dynamite explodes, people are tortured, hacked, and slashed. This is neo-noir meets Grand Guignol.  In a hallmark of ‘70s neo-noir cynicism, everyone in this film is morally bankrupt. No heroes, no victims, only people trying to use each other for their own purposes. To call it dark is a serious understatement. This one’s hard to find, but definitely worth the effort in tracking it down.

 

 

 

 

The Domino Principle (1977)




 

Hollywood jumped on the conspiracy thriller bandwagon before the ink was dry on Woodward and Bernstein’s Watergate articles. Most of these paranoid thrillers are well-known: The Conversation, Three Days of the Condor, The Parallax View, Marathon Man, All the Presidents Men. So why draw attention to Stanley Kramer’s much-maligned political neo-noir The Domino Principle? To be honest, there’s a powerful, personal nostalgic draw for me. 

 

I read the novel in high school and tracked down a vhs copy at a time when I was obsessed with Gene Hackman’s ‘70s crime film performances. But beyond that, the film has an incredible cast including Hackman, Mickey Rooney, Eli Wallach, Candace Bergen, and Richard Widmark. It is also so decidedly bizarre in its delving into a conspiracy so convoluted that even the characters don’t seem to know what’s really at stake. In a way, it’s the ultimate conspiracy film as it attempts to push the already crowded subgenre to its logical conclusion: conspiracy theories thrive on producing more questions than can be possibly be answered, and every unanswerable question further drives the conspiracy.

 

The film starts with a bizarre pre-title montage of newsreel footage of social chaos as a Kafkaesque voice-over tells the audience that they have been manipulated into coming to the theater to see the movie, that free-will is a fiction propagated by a nebulous power structure that stands above governments. It’s meta as hell at a time before meta became fashionable.

 

The plot, so to speak, is only there to drive confusion: Hackman plays a Vietnam veteran imprisoned for murder who is offered a chance out of the slammer if he takes part in a mysterious assassination. A seriously convoluted subplot to smuggle him and his cell mate (Rooney) out of prison leads to a series of clandestine meetings with mysterious establishment men (WIdmark, Wallach, And Edward Albert) that also involve his wife (Bergen). 

 

The performances are excellent as the conspiracy becomes more unfathomable and the disparate plans to carry it out ever more byzantine. In a way, it's the ultimate conspiracy movie because the conspiracy has taken on a life of its own and is self-replicating like a virus (sound familiar these days, anyone?).

 

Audiences and critics at the time had no idea what to make of The Domino Principle other than to dismiss it as a mess. Today’s viewers may find more of interest in our conspiracy-driven time. Even though I won’t give Kramer credit for deliberately being ahead of his time, I will say that sometimes by nothing more than coincidence, a film can seem more fascinating and relevant  when the current social context fits an older film rather than vice versa. 

Monday, July 20, 2020

Horror Films for the Exhausted




I’m tired. All of my friends are tired, too. Not just the kind of tired brought on by sleepless nights or working too much or chasing one thing or another too far and too fast. This is the New Tired. The Covid Tired. We’ve become accustomed to so many “News” this year: the New Normal, New Social Interactions, New Dining, New Schooling . . . New Realities, so to speak. This is the New Tired.

 

Upheaval of what collectively many of us have internalized, for better and worse, as “normal” has not so much been upended as set afire. So much of this has been, as Sam Cooke sang, a long time coming. The secondary effects of the coronavirus pandemic have brought to the surface so many social inequities and just damned plain structures of oppression and degradation at a critical intensity not seen in my lifetime . . . and I ain’t exactly a youngster. 

 

That’s the good, and it’s damned important to recognize and seize the good amidst the social and cultural chaos, because all of this tinder was set ablaze by a viral pandemic that forced all of us out of our own comfort/noncomfort zones. Ignoring, turning a blind eye, and minimizing/rationalizing are no longer convenient defense mechanisms for anyone with even a modicum of conscience.

 

Here’s where horror comes in.  To paraphrase Jack Halberstam, horror draws power from the tension between fear and desire, and the resulting vertiginous excess of meaning creates a screen upon which viewers can project their own anxieties in a meaningful way. With that in mind, here are some films I’ve revisited recently because they provide an antidote, of sorts, to the kind of existential exhaustion of which I’ve been speaking. Think of them as Rejuvenation Horror:



A DARK SONG: 



Anger is an acid that can do more to harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything upon which it is poured—Mark Twain

Liam Gavin’s A Dark Song is ultimately a film about resentment and how the all-consuming desire for revenge completely blocks the passage through grief to acceptance, threatening to consume the resenter in the process. Catherine Walker plays Sophia, a woman consumed by grief for her son, who has been murdered by supposed satanic cult members. She enlists an occultist, Joseph,  to lead her through an arcane ritual supposedly to allow her to speak one final time to her dead son, but despite the occultist’s warnings, she hides a deeper motive.

 

Harboring an obsession for revenge, she really desires the eternal damnation and punishment of her son’s killers. This all-consuming thirst for revenge perverts the ritual as her own demands for vengeance push her grief and memories of her son to the background. The tortures she suffers in her quest, ranging from extreme physical and psychological suffering to sexual exploitation at the hands of Joseph, can best be summed up in the old saying that resentment is like one person taking poison and expecting the other to die.

 

But Gavin’s film ends with a transcendent move towards redemption, when she ultimately chooses the sufferings of forgiveness over the selfish desires of revenge. A Dark Song is a visually arresting, philosophical, and highly moral film with an ending that rings like a single, sonorant note from a brass bell.



SEA FEVER:



There is only one thing I dread: not to be worthy of my sufferings.
            -Viktor Frankl


Nesasa Hardimn’s first feature film benefitted from the pure serendipity of delving into themes that hit our collective unconscious in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic. Filmed long before the phrase Covid-19 became common parlance, Sea Fever tells the story of an introverted marine scientist who finds herself at the center of a very local controversy over infection control and the need for self-sacrifice for the good of others.

 

Connie Nielsen’s Siobhan is the most reluctant of heroes, and for that, she is all the more stellar. Withdrawn and socially-awkward, Siobhan secures a research position on an Irish fishing vessel, the symbolically-named Nianh Cinn Oir, to do field research. When the boat dredges up something Lovecraftian, things turn rapidly towards infection horror and the Lovecraftian fear of encountering unknown entities. 

 

As the fear of contagion butts up against the economic realities of struggling to survive in a brutal economy, Siobhan becomes the lone voice of science and reason in a very real debate over the rights of the individual and the greater rights of humanity. Perhaps most impressive is that her rational, science-based arguments are framed within a larger framework of Kantian ethics as the film follows her trajectory from an alienated and socially distant woman to someone forced by a cosmic contagion to embrace humanity in a sacrificial moment of unity.

 

What is perhaps most striking about this film is the absence of stereotypes. The fishing crew have genuine concerns about their survival in an economic system rigged against them, while Siobhan represents the person with the thankless task of reminding them of what true sacrifice for the greater good means. Visually stunning and steeped in Irish folk mythology, Sea Fever is ultimately uplifting in that it celebrates someone who makes the hardest of choices for the better of all.



GIRL ON THE THIRD FLOOR:


“If we want masculinity to be different, we must
confront and tackle the baseline instead of longing for exceptions.”
                                                                    ― Vivek Shraya

I have to admit, I was so pleasantly surprised by Travis Stevens’ Girl on the Third Floor. The initial promotion and fan hype surrounding the film made it seem like a Bruce Campbell/Evil Dead type horror film (which I also love), but I was stunningly impressed by how deeply the film delved into a devasting exposure of toxic masculinity and cyclical patterns of abuse. 

 

CM Punk plays an alcoholic husband and expectant father who has taken on the task of renovating a house with a sordid local history as the new home for himself and his expectant wife. Punk plays “King Don” Koch, a man trying desperately to reconstruct his life after being targeted by the government for defrauding his clients out of their savings. 

 

Don throws everything he has into building a new home for his sham of a family, but the house resists him at every turn. The house, a rambling Victorian home, was the former site of a notorious brothel with a Gothic history of sexual violence and exploitation.  As Don tries to “remake” the home, every violent hammer thrust and act of demolition opens traumatic wounds that expose the culture of sexual violence long hidden by the town.

 

Stevens loads his film with allegorical meaning from the outset. “King Don” is the quintessential His Majesty the Baby of Freud’s essay on narcissism. As the ultimate “King Baby,” Don is locked into an infantile masculine narcissism that keeps him dependent on the service of others to meet his perceived needs. 

 

And narcissism has its price to pay. Don literally hammers away at his new home while facetiming his wife Liz (Trieste Kelly Dunn) during the preparation stage . . . in between watching porn on his phone. He violates the house in the most graphic of manners, often thrusting his fingers into holes he has violently opened. A mysterious woman appears and seems to seduce Don. And the house fights back.

 

 Other reviews of the film have already noted the repeated amounts of semen-like fluid leaking from the orifices of the house, and they are spot-on. This house represents the whole of a hypermasculine repository of semen and violence in the most visceral way. As one character in the town reflects, the house seems to draw upon the character of the people who live in it.

 

When Liz arrives at the house, the real horror of toxic masculinity hits its climax as the gender politics of the film reverse trajectory from negative critique to positive reclamation. Dunn represents a very different type of Final Girl, one we could use more of these days. This is a film to dissect in its minutia, as there is so much here to look at, but to go further would be to spoil it. Suffice it to say that the more of the surface you peel away, the deeper the critique will follow.



AFTER MIDNIGHT:


The existential vacuum manifest itself mainly in a state of boredom.

            -Victor Frankl

 

Jeremy Gardner and Christian Stella’s After Midnight is a solid example of what highly-talented people can do with a tiny budget. This film is honest, heartfelt, and probing in its depiction of Hank (Gardner) and Amy (Brea Grant), a couple trapped in the restricting ideology of idealized love. Amy mysteriously leaves town without notice, leaving Hank with nothing but questions, recriminations, a lot of alcohol . . . and an unseen monster intent on breaking into his home each night.

 

More on the monster later, because this film is really about a couple negotiating a serious relational crisis amidst the relative anonymity of small-town life. Hank owns a bar, likes to hunt, and does little else. His quotidian life is as predictable and repetitive as can be. Hank has become comfortably uncomfortable in his life in the existential vacuum.

 

Amy, however, yearns to break out of the vacuum, no longer able to tolerate a life filled with regrets, unfulfilled hopes, and meaninglessness. Unlike Hank, she rebels against the repetitive emptiness of existence and tries to carve her own meaning as an antidote to the suffocating dread of life in the existential vacuum.

 

As you have probably picked up by now, Victor Frankl’s form of existential psychology is hugely influential on my approach to film criticism.  Frankl introduced the concept of the existential vacuum in his 1946 book Man’s Search for Meaning. This vacuum represents a dilemma brought about by the crumbling of traditions that once promised meaning in life in the fading wake of animal instincts. As Frankl wrote: “No instinct tells him what he has to do, and no tradition tells him what he ought to do; sometimes he does not even know what he wishes to do. Instead he either wishes to do what other people do (conformism) or he does what other people tell him what to do (totalitarianism).”

 

The film stays largely with Hank as he spends his days running his bar and barricading his home against the nightly attacks of the monster. With a sole exception, his friends- who are more acquaintances than true friends- don’t believe in the monster and try to rationalize what they interpret as his breakdown following Amy’s exit from his life.  Gardener is brilliant in his restrained performance as a man grappling with what seems to be an absurd situation while also subtly conveying the true trauma of the seeming end of his relationship with Amy.

 

When Amy suddenly reappears, the film presents one of the most emotionally honest scenes between a couple in recent memory. In a remarkable one-shot scene, Amy and Hank sit in chairs at the front door of their house, awaiting the monster’s arrival. Rather than a cheap payoff where the monster appears as they sit vigil, Amy and Hank have a real conversation about their relationship, about desires and insecurities and fears. It’s the most brutally real conversation about what it means to be ina relationship, not just individuals trying to havea relationship, I’ve ever seen in a horror film. 

 

As for the monster, I don’t want to spoil things, so let me just say that I believe it represents the elephant in the room of their relationship, the representation of the monstrosity of an idealized representation of true love- a love abstracted from the realities of human needs, conflict, desires, compromise, and the general messiness of real relationships. 

 

When the monster does shockingly appear . . . well, all I’ll say is that Hank makes the right choice and kills the part of him that kept him from accessing his full humanity.

 

After Midnight is the best, most honest love story I’ve ever seen in a horror film. Watch it, if for no other reason, than to say yes to life despite all the negativity that commands you to say no.