Octoberfest of Horror 2013

I initially set out to write an introduction to this year’s horror movie binge showing how cheap horror movies are to make compared to how much money they end up making. I was going to use that to show how people like horror movies regardless of whether or not they’re original, repetitive, or really, any good. I think there’s a pretty cool discussion to be had about what that says about people, and how fear is something we intrinsically respond to even when we know the fear we’re being exposed to isn’t real. But, I’ve written way too fucking much about these fifteen movies already, and that thought ended up being much too long for an introduction. It probably means I’m too longwinded as a writer, but whatever. You’ve already started reading this, so you’re screwed.

What I will say about horror movies is that originality is as important as it is unimportant. The main thing that makes horror movies so interesting is that it takes talent in good, old-fashioned storytelling as well as filmmaking to make a great movie. There are so many recycled plots, settings, and characterizations in horror, that it takes someone with incredible skill to make an effective horror movie. Whether you’re tackling a haunted house story, a slasher film, or the zombie apocalypse, if you’re talented enough, you can make it good. You can probably say something similar about any genre of film, but what makes horror different is how adaptable the genre is. You can make a zombie action film, a zombie comedy, or a zombie documentary, and any of them can be worthy films. You can’t really make a romantic comedy documentary, or a comedic thriller. The possibilities with horror are endless because fear can be in anything, which allows the genre to mesh with everything. So, originality is necessary, even if it’s nearly impossible to make something truly original.

So, horror movies are fantastic, and I love them. You probably do too if you’re reading this. Cool. We have something in common. Now feel free to continue reading what I thought of these movies (all ratings out of four stars):

15. Eraserhead (1977) **

I find the majority of David Lynch’s work stylistically impressive, but thematically lacking. It isn’t that his movies are devoid of any substance – just that they feel like fairly simple, straightforward ideas dressed up to feel more profound than they actually are. I guess that’s pretty much the definition of pretentious, but the term has such a negative connotation that I don’t feel completely comfortable applying it to Lynch. He’s at least saying something.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find Eraserhead any different than the other Lynch films I’ve seen. It’s a surrealist nightmare about a man’s fear of parenting that, at only 89 minutes, still feels extremely padded. I credit the film for trying to tell its story visually with minimal dialogue, but…it’s just kind of boring. Made for $100,000 over the course of five years, it’s a glorified student film. Like most of Lynch’s movies, there’s an idea, an interesting premise, and a strong emphasis on atmosphere over narrative. That’s not necessarily something I’m opposed to, but Eraserhead doesn’t so much tell a story visually as it does use its images to reinforce an idea over and over and over. Once you get what Lynch is trying to say with the piece, the rest of the film feels redundant. Fuck it, he’s pretentious.

14. Maniac Cop (1988) **1/2

Maniac Cop is the kind of movie I love to defend, regardless of whether or not I actually like it. It’s so full of social commentary that it’s impossible not to at least admire the effort. We movie nerds call this a noble failure. At its core, the movie is about how the New York City police department is not just failing to serve and protect the city, but making it more dangerous. The movie examines institutional dysfunction, but disguises itself as a slasher film. That’s an interesting, clever premise. The issue is that the movie itself is just kind of bad. It’s hard to tell whether or not the writing and acting are intentionally campy, which is a pretty terrible sign. Overall, the movie feels like Season One of The Wire meets They Live, minus the insight of the former and the glorious camp of the latter. The movie even commits the cardinal sin of wasting the brilliant Bruce CAMPbell, a man who has a career strictly because he’s impossible to out-camp…camp.

That said, there’s just something enjoyable about watching bad movies with noble intentions (which explains my almost positive rating). The movie was panned by critics and didn’t even make a million at the box office. Yet, somehow it spawned two sequels, so there’s at least some sort of audience out there that feels like I do. Maniac Cop is the exact kind of midnight movie I like to watch – one where I can laugh at how bad it is, while also thinking a little about what it’s trying to say. The end result is something that’s probably impossible to come up with intentionally, as it seems really easy to end up with something incredibly pretentious or just plain God-awful. I probably have too much of a soft spot for these kinds of movies (I flat out LOVE They Live), but I’m totally fine with that.

13. Eight Legged Freaks (2002) ***

Look, I’ll be perfectly honest with you – any movie that’s set in a down-on-its-luck, financially collapsing town called…wait for it…Prosperity, is something I’m bound to like. It’s a kind of ham-fisted irony that can only be pulled off in a self-aware, absurd comedy. It’s a story so rife with clichés that the only way to make it entertaining is to knowingly poke fun of those clichés. Eight Legged Freaks is a kind of pretend horror movie where the main characters aren’t ever in any actual danger, and the supporting characters exist solely to die a gruesome death. A prerequisite for this kind of movie? Bad acting. Enter David Arquette, the heavyweight champion of bad actors (Yes, that joke was made because he was a professional wrestler at one point. And yes, that follow up sentence explaining the joke is there because I wasn’t sure how many people would actually get my clever joke. So much for subtlety!). Arquette is the absolute perfect guy for these kinds of movies. In fact, I’d like to officially petition that he ONLY makes so-bad-they’re-good horror comedies from here on out. Congratulations David, I’ve found your niche. Actually, he’s probably been doing that for quite a while now, but who the hell sees David Arquette movies anyway? This review isn’t really about the movie, is it? Well, fuck it, what else can you say? Ham – good. Comedy-horror – good. David Arquette – good?

12. Them (2006) ***

This French-Romanian home invasion film bookends itself with scenes involving an arguing mother and daughter who end up being the film’s first victims and a “big reveal” that I’m not about to spoil. The two scenes serve as a way to give what easily could have been a simple, albeit well-constructed, genre film a little heft. Without giving too much away, the ending allows the audience to confront the film’s villains, and by extension, the real world fear they represent. It’s a common horror movie tactic – the faceless attacking force you don’t understand serving as a stand-in for some larger, concrete issue. It’s one of the big reasons I’m so drawn to the genre, as it allows for a virtually limitless amount of commentary.

Them also works as a “put yourself in the characters’ shoes” movie. It’s a genuinely suspenseful film with characters who act like I think most people would – they do some very smart things, and they do some very dumb things. The movie also shows some greatly appreciated respect for its audience by not dumbing itself down and ending with the standard bloodbath most home invasion movies spend their entire running time building towards. Instead, it builds towards…nope, not going to tell you.

11. Horror of Dracula (1958) ***

I’m probably too young to fully appreciate Terence Fisher’s take on the Dracula myth (and now that I’m into my 30s, that’s an excuse I’m going to use any chance I get). Everything I’ve read on the film lauds Fisher and Christopher Lee, the man who plays the count, for their updated, modern, or edgy take on the material. Dracula is much more in line with Bram Stoker’s original take on the character here than in previous versions – until 1958 he was typically portrayed as a charmer who was much less violent and menacing. Fisher and Lee created the template for the character that has become the norm in popular culture now. But without the familiarity of those previous versions, this updated, revisionist take on the material was lost on me. This just mirrored how I’ve been exposed to Dracula all my life. All of this certainly spurs a discussion about how the normal and acceptable are flimsy concepts subject to the whims of society (which defeats the purpose of labeling them such in the first place), but that’s neither here nor there.

Despite being out of my element regarding the film’s historical context, it still manages to be an enjoyable experience. If the idea behind the movie was to make a radically different film version of Bram Stoker’s novel, the movie is still very much interested in the myth. The familiarity most people had with Dracula at the time plays a large part in why the movie moves at such a fast pace without feeling underdeveloped. Take how the movie introduces Dracula – it jumps right into Jonathan Harker arriving at Dracula’s castle, and instead of using a handful of scenes to traditionally develop the villain, he’s introduced to Harker (and us) in one long shot as he descends a staircase and walks directly towards the camera ending with a close-up. It’s unnerving because it plays on the Dracula myth since we know it’s him walking directly toward us. It’s an excellent bit of filmmaking.

The movie naturally builds to a faceoff between Peter Cushing’s Dr. Van Helsing, and Lee’s aforementioned Dracula. The whole thing is a bit theatrical, but it feels pleasant and classy as opposed to over-the-top silly. Dracula manages to feel threatening, even if the movie doesn’t seem to really care about the characters that have been killed. It’s a credit to Lee’s performance (he only had 13 lines) and Fisher’s direction that Dracula has some real menace. The film is worth seeing for that alone.

10. The Uninvited (1944) ***

Lewis Allen’s 1944 haunted house movie is more melodrama with a horror twinge than full blown horror. On the surface, it seems very much like a Rebecca rip-off (Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 Best Picture Winner), but there’s enough working just beneath the surface to make Allen’s film something different entirely. The Uninvited is remembered in Hollywood lore as the first movie (or at least one of the first) to treat ghosts seriously. In the Hitchcock movie, the character of Rebecca functions as a ghost, but it’s never overtly stated that she actually is one (In fact, you never see her at all.). The Uninvited drops the implied haunting of Rebecca and populates its abandoned manor, Windward House, with real world apparitions. The estate, purchased for a suspiciously low price by a brother and sister pair played by Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey, ominously sits atop a rocky English coast line. The siblings purchase the house on a whim while on holiday from one Commander Beech (Donald Crisp). Windward House has been in the Commander’s family for quite some time, and his granddaughter Stella (Gail Russell) is strangely drawn to the house. We soon find out that there’s a devilish past to the house, and the narrative unspools from there.

The Uninvited isn’t going to surprise anyone in where the story goes. What may have been revolutionary in 1944 is pretty standard in 2013. Instead, what we get is a pretty tame, fairly innocent ghost story on the surface. However, lurking just beneath is quite a bit of racy subtext involving lesbianism, and some less-racy-but-still-interesting stuff about belief and denial. The film is often seen as a parable for lesbianism in how there are two ghosts (one good, one evil) fighting for a young, twenty year old girl. There’s also a character in the film, Mrs. Holloway, who’s so fiercely loyal to her dead “friend and confidante” that it’s hard not to see her as a lesbian. The movie doesn’t seem to be interested in condoning or condemning homosexuality, just simply presenting it. Again, in 1944, that was incredibly risqué. Contrasting belief and denial involves the brother and sister characters (as well as a doctor character who enters the picture about halfway through, a classic example of a man of science not believing in the supernatural). The sister is adamant that their newly purchased home is haunted and accepts it much quicker than her brother, who justifies and rationalizes away the ever increasing possibility that their latest acquisition probably requires some help from Peter Venkman and Ray Stantz. All of this makes for some interesting internal dialogue post viewing, even if they’re essentially background noise. Still, it helps make the movie something a little more than just a haunted house genre exercise.

9. Sinister (2012) ***

Sinister is equal parts fantastic and frustrating. On one hand, it’s a rare legitimately good American horror movie that isn’t a remake of an older movie or foreign film. On the other, the inclusion of one painfully blunt scene threatens to derail the whole thing. The film’s plot concerns itself with a true crime writer, played by Ethan Hawke, who moves his family from town to town as he investigates crimes from the past in order to pen his next big hit. This time, he’s moved his family to the actual location of the crime, which happens to (shocker!) be haunted. To make matters worse, he’s hidden this fact from his family.

It’s a pretty standard setup for a haunted house film, but the movie uses it to delve into the idea of parents putting themselves and their careers over their children’s futures. The movie does a really good job of setting this theme up through natural character development and plot progression. It helps that the haunted house portion of the movie is genuinely scary, and not in the “wait for the creepy music to stop and then have something jump out” kind of way. If there’s a slight flaw with the way the haunting is handled, it’s that it begins to feel repetitive after a while. Hawke’s character stays up into the wee hours of the night to write and do research, and that’s inevitably when weird shit goes down. I found that easily overlooked since, again, it was frightening and seamlessly woven into the theme. And then…the scene happens. Just before the film hits its climax (insert orgasm joke here), there’s a scene between Hawke and his wife where they have an argument about their marriage, their kids, and all the other familial problems they're facing. Literally every point or idea the movie has so skillfully addressed  is outlined in explicit detail. It’s a forced, clumsy way to play catch up for any audience members who didn’t follow what the film was trying to say. It reeked of unnecessary insecurity. The filmmakers did their work perfectly up to that point. Have the confidence to let your work speak for itself!

Even after that scene, the movie sees everything to its logical thematic conclusion, which results in a pretty unconventional, ballsy ending. I really loved everything about this movie, aside from that one scene. It’s the only thing stopping Sinister from being at, or very near, the top of this year’s list.

8. Inferno (1980) ***

First things first: Giallo. From Wikipedia, "Giallo films are generally characterized as gruesome murder-mystery thrillers that combine the suspense elements of a Hitchcock film with scenes of shocking horror featuring excessive bloodletting, stylish camerawork, and often jarring musical arrangements." These kinds of movies are often more interested in creating moods and atmosphere than they are in establishing and following a plot line. In case you were still wondering, Inferno falls firmly into the giallo camp – I didn’t just randomly bring that up for absolutely no reason. Designed as the second installment in Dario Argento's Three Mothers trilogy (The first installment, Suspira, is probably the definitive and most highly regarded giallo film.), Inferno jumps right into the story assuming/not caring if you’ve seen part one. 

The interesting thing is that it doesn't really matter if you've seen Suspira because the plot doesn't really matter. Neither do the characters, for that matter. Sure, there are perfunctory attempts at a story, and the movie is technically populated with characters, but not in the traditional sense American audiences are accustomed to seeing. Inferno (and Argento's other movies) is often described as being "an attack on the senses." There's really no better way to describe it, or giallo movies in general. They exist solely to create a feeling of dread. The results aren't profound, but they're interesting because the film emphasizes everything that isn’t standardly focused on or emphasized. It's almost like Argento saw a ton of American films, with their emphasis on story and character, and decided he would do the exact opposite. It makes for challenging filmmaking, and the results are usually operatic and hypnotic. Inferno is probably my least favorite of the giallo movies I've seen, but it still succeeds at what it tries to do. It's a movie you'll remember for scenes, the score, and the violence. It leaves an imprint, which is more than can be said for many, many supposedly better films.

7. The Host (2006) ***

The Host is a 2006 South Korean monster movie (not to be confused with the 2013 American movie written by the Twilight chick, because you can go fuck yourself if you think I'm ever watching that crap) in the vein of the numerous Godzilla movies. Kaiju (strange creature in Japanese) is actually the correct term for these kinds of movies, but I have no idea how that word is pronounced, so I'll keep calling them monster movies. The Host, directed by Bong Joon-ho, is actually the highest grossing South Korean movie of all time. That’s impressive…I guess. The Host is a messy movie about a messy family that gets involved in some messy business. It’s really three movies in one – a Kaiju (I lied, I’m using it) movie about a monstrosity wreaking havoc on a city’s population, a character drama about a broken family coming together, and a political commentary/satire on the American presence in South Korea and South Korea’s own inept government. It’s hugely ambitious, largely unwieldy, and a really good time.

The biggest issue with the movie is that Joon-ho tries to pack so much into this just-a-hair-under-two-hour film that some of the emotional impact is negated. There simply isn’t enough time to fully develop these characters while doing everything else the film is interested in. The family angle isn’t a complete failure, and the ending is genuine and appropriately bittersweet.  But, it’s easily the weak point of the movie. It’s something recommended to anyone looking for a fresh, original take on the monster movie, or for something really weird and different.

6. The Brood (1979) ***

The Brood is a pretty tough movie to evaluate. On one hand, it’s a very low budget, terribly acted, Canadian horror film from the late 70s that got middling reviews when it was released. On the other, it’s an early David Cronenberg movie (renowned maker of some tremendous horror movies like The Fly and Videodrome), has a central idea that’s really smart and well written, and was recommended to me by none other than Edgar Wright. Now, this might be where you point out that I’ve never actually met Edgar Wright. I don’t care what you say. I read an interview with him where he had nothing but glowing things to say about the film. So, in my mind, he recommended this movie to me, specifically. And we’re good pals. We might even go to the pub later for a pint. See? British lingo. I’m clearly legit.

Anyway, The Brood is about a group of dwarf-like children terrorizing and murdering various people. You eventually find out that this group of children is literally being manifested by one woman’s rage, fear, and duress. This woman is going through a divorce with her husband and has deep seated issues with her parents. She’s secluded herself in what is essentially a cult, with a quack doctor whose only interest in his patients is exploiting them for personal gain. The majority of the movie consists of these “children” wreaking havoc on the people she has anger towards. Cronenberg’s idea here is to show the effects this kind of suppressed rage has on your own children. As this blind rage continues to manifest itself in the form of the titular brood, the daughter caught in the middle of the couple’s divorce is increasingly drawn into the story, until the end where…well, I won’t ruin that for anyone interested. It’s worth noting that Cronenberg was going through his own divorce when the movie was written, and he’s even acknowledged that it’s probably his most autobiographical picture.

It really is a fantastic idea for a movie. The only thing stopping it from being among the best I saw this year is, again, the laughably bad acting. That’s likely because of the low budget, but it doesn’t change how truly terrible it is. That said, if I wasn’t already seeking out David Cronenberg movies in my life (you should be too – He’s. Fucking. Awesome.), I’d make note of who made the movie and be sure to seek out his work.

5. Strange Circus (2005) ***1/2

I’m hesitant to even begin to describe what happens in Strange Circus for a couple of reasons: 1. It’s so fucking weird that it’s really, really hard to do so, and 2. Most of the fun is seeing where all this weirdness will go next. Fun might be a stretch because it’s a pretty difficult, dark movie, but it’s literally impossible to predict where this movie will go at virtually any given moment. And the places it goes, to quote one Cosmo Kramer, are “out there.”

The story is structured in three basic parts. The first part concerns a young girl who witnesses her parents having sex (gross), and is then brought into their sex life by her father (grosser). He takes turns having his way with her and her mother, until the mother begins resenting the child for attracting her husband’s affections (grossest). The second part reveals that the entire first part was the plot of the newest novel by one of Japan’s most well-respected authors. The film begins exploring the author’s life through her new, mysterious assistant. Just when you get a handle on where you think this section is going, the film transitions into its third section, where the worlds of the first two parts start blending together until the film’s big reveal. Oh yeah, and the entire movie is bookended with two scenes that take place at an off-kilter circus, from which I can only assume the film takes its name. The only term I can think of to describe the entirety of it all is bat-shit crazy.

That said, this is firmly an art film, albeit an extremely graphic, sexual, fucked up one. It deals with the links between repression and guilt, and how far people will go to keep repressing guilt, including intentionally confusing reality and perception. This approach is two-fold. Firstly, the viewer is subjected to a movie that twists, turns, and changes what it’s about every 20-30 minutes. Secondly, the characters within the film are never what they seem; the “truth” lies beneath the surface. It’s an intelligent way for director Sion Sono to mount the movie, and gives thematic heft to something that, in the wrong hands, could very easily be a simple exploitation film. If (really) weird, graphic foreign movies are your thing, I highly recommend this one.

4. Threads (1985) ***1/2

This movie made me want to hug my girlfriend forever and not let go. Luckily for her, she wasn’t around when I watched it. I imagine it would get pretty tiresome hauling a 210 pound man around with you wherever you go (ba-dum-ching!). Seriously though, Threads is a tough movie to watch. Originally aired in 1985 as a BBC TV movie, the film depicts the lead up to, and aftermath of, full stage nuclear war. Designed as a piece of documentary fiction, the realistic portrayal of this scenario is the exact reason the movie is so affecting. A lot of that realism has to do with the matter-of-fact manner in which the material is presented. The creators of the film used mostly unknown (and in many cases, non-professional) actors in order to make the characters more relatable. A very serious, subdued British narrator periodically gives the audience facts about what has been taking place in the society at large, which serves to reinforce the realism. Initially, the film starts off as a slice-of-life drama akin to something from Mike Leigh, as the nuclear war information is communicated to the audience via radio and television announcements in the background. We get the impression we’re watching real people’s lives unfold. Once the nukes are dropped, it gets rough. Really fucking rough. As I alluded to, it made me thankful I have someone to experience life with, because at some point one of us will inevitably be forced to helplessly watch the other go. If we’re talking about real horror and real fear, isn’t death and everything that comes with it all the way at the top of the list?

The movie is an exceptional piece of realism. In fact, some will undoubtedly find it “too real” and be turned off to the whole production. I can understand that, but that’s not a line of thinking I subscribe to. I can’t say I enjoy movies like Threads, but I will always make myself watch them for the emotions they make you feel. The ultimate goal of any piece of art (I hate using that word, it makes me feel pompous…fuck, shit, balls…there, I feel better) is to make the people consuming it feel something. Threads is successful at doing that, so I appreciate it for what it is – even if it is making me feel something difficult and unpleasant.

3. Deliverance (1972) ***1/2

Going into Deliverance, I had obviously heard jokes about rapist backwoods hillbillies, pig squealing, puuurty mouths, and banjo playing. But, I didn’t realize how little any of that actually had to do with the movie. John Boorman’s film is much more a study of men and nature than it is a horror movie about country bumpkins terrorizing city boys. Sure, that stuff is part of the plot, and used to great effect, but what’s really scary about the movie is how it unflinchingly presents the flaws of the macho mentality.

The film turns the romanticized ideal of man at peace in nature into something disgusting and horrifying. In the world of Deliverance, if man can be his true self in nature, it certainly isn’t somewhere he can go for relaxation. It’s a dangerous, violent, repulsive part of the world. Burt Reynolds’ Lewis, the leader and man’s man of the group of four Atlanta businessmen (and a perfect casting choice, as Reynolds just oozes manliness), is constantly lecturing his friends about the purity of nature and corruption of society. What the film does is turn Lewis’ point of view on its head, both in what literally happens to the character and in showing the failings of his mentality. Examining his character is where the film begins, but he’s ultimately discarded by the film;  he’s purely a stand-in for the mentality the movie wants to discuss. The more nuanced Ed (Jon Voight) is much more suited to the comments the movie wants to make; he’s more of a real, relatable person than the exaggerated archetype of Lewis.

The real strength of the movie, and what allows it to make such sweeping comments on masculinity, is the ambiguity involved with various plot points. Lewis is able to convince his companions that the hillbilly he kills was going to murder Jon Voight’s Ed and Ned Beatty’s Bobby, but there’s no way he, or anyone, could KNOW that. The group convinces itself that Drew’s death is from a gunshot despite not hearing one and not being able to confirm it on his body. Ed killing what may or may not be the man they were looking for forces him to confront what he may have done. That confrontation is exactly what the movie is after – it makes its characters hold themselves accountable for what they’ve done and asks them to search for the meaning. The last shot of the film, as Ed wakes up from a nightmare, serves as a condemnation of everything we’ve seen. It’s a complex turn in a complex film with complex insight into the complexities of nature, society, and masculinity – all this on top of being genuinely horrifying.

2. The Innocents (1961) ***1/2

Based on the Henry James novella The Turn of the Screw, Jack Clayton’s excellent 1961 adaptation delivers everything you’d want in a horror film. There’s psychological complexity, a genuinely eerie mood, legitimate scares, and a ton of thematic depth. The setup is right out of the Haunted House 101 handbook – a rich uncle with no time to take care of his adopted niece and nephew hires a governess (a fancy British term for nanny). At first, the kids and the lavish home seem like a dream come true, but everything isn’t quite what is seems. The kids may or may not be evil or possessed by ghosts, and there are secrets within the house walls.

The most compelling thing about the movie is the ambiguity of the plot. The deeper the film delves into its central mystery, the more questions it asks instead of answers. The ending of film is completely open-ended. However you read it is perfectly fine, as the intention of the movie is to beg you to interpret, regardless of your conclusion. I always find it interesting to think about ambiguous movies like this in a broader context, and approach it from the angle of “why make it ambiguous in the first place?” What did, or didn’t, happen oftentimes isn’t the important part if you’re analyzing what a movie, book, song, etc. is trying to say. With The Innocents, I took the ambiguity combined with the “more you know, the more questions you have” angle to be an allegory for faith. Faith exists because there’s no way to truly know your beliefs are accurate, and certain situations can just as easily be read as confirming faith as condemning it.

Regardless of the thematic, existential implications of Clayton’s movie, there’s no denying it’s a first-class haunted house movie full of dark interiors, brightly designed outdoor set pieces, and plenty of bumps in the night. There’s a genuine sense of dread as the governess uncovers more and more about the house and children, and there’s even some creepy Freudian undertones in her relationship with the nephew. This is the quintessential old-school horror film that still holds up today.

1. The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) ****

Before a few days ago, I had always thought of The Rocky Horror Picture Show as “that weird transvestite musical.” That’s 100% true, of course, but I knew very little beyond that. I knew it was THE cult movie, and that people like to dress up as characters from the film and attend midnight showings solely to treat the whole thing as a live version of Mystery Science Theater. So, for my initial viewing of the film did I ignore all this so I could separate the experience from the movie? So I could try to judge the movie as just a movie? Of course not! My girlfriend and I attended one of those midnight showings (the weekend before Halloween no less), and ended up having to embarrass ourselves in front of an entire theater full of strangers (Everyone who hadn’t seen the movie before in theaters had to do the same, so at least we weren’t alone.). The entire experience was straight out of The Perks of Being a Wallflower – an amateur theater group acted the movie out in front of the screen as it happened, people ran around half naked, props were thrown into and around the audience, and one-liners were thrown out by anyone who felt the urge. It was an interesting one-time experience, but it wasn’t really my thing. I like to actually watch movies I pay to, you know, watch. If you haven’t seen the movie it becomes impossible to follow what’s actually going on. It’s weird. That’s all I really got out of the viewing because someone was yelling something any time there was a one or two second pause between lines. The worst, and most annoying, were the handful of people who had done this so many times that they obviously knew the exact moment to throw out canned jokes. It was like the movie had a subtitle that read, “insert joke here,” and four or five audience members would yell out the same joke. They might has well have been yelling, “I’ve seen this movie many times!” It bordered on pathetic.

So, in order to give the movie the fair shake my girlfriend (as a lover of the film) urged me to give it, we rented it a few nights ago and I gave it another watch. It’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. At its core, it’s a film about people, identity, meaning, and how we almost arbitrarily identify ourselves with someone, something, or some group in order to have a sense of purpose. The movie starts off as a kind of 70s counter-culture satire of the square community. “Normal” is presented exactly like I just wrote it. Marriage, church, jobs, politics – all these standard hallmarks of normalcy – are mocked and parodied. The weirdoes are presented as cool and sexy. The movie then transitions into an evisceration of the “weird” hedonistic way of life. We’re shown how that is just as much a façade as the square way. Whether we’re trying to assimilate into society or rage against it, it doesn’t matter. Underneath these false identities people create, these shows we put on, are the things that make us human, the things we hide from everyone. The film is everything art was designed to be – it gives some kind of truth and understanding to what we experience.

It also doesn’t hurt that the movie is wildly entertaining. I mean, it’s a musical comedy sci-fi horror movie that features a transvestite named Dr. Frank N. Furter and references numerous other classic sci-fi and horror films throughout. It’s an inherently silly movie, which makes its profoundness that much more impressive. The movie reminds me of another cult hit, The Big Lebowski, in how it’s become such a touchstone in popular culture that it’s nearly impossible to separate the cult from the film. Also like The Big Lebowski, there’s an amazing work of art lurking behind the hilarious exterior. The things we hide…

Don't Look Now (1973)

Laura: One of your children has posed a curious question: if the world is round, why is a frozen lake flat?
John: That's a good question.
Laura: Ah, here it says that Lake Ontario curves more than 3 degrees from its Eastern end to its Western end. So frozen water really isn't flat.
John: Nothing is what it seems.

This brief exchange in the opening minutes of Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now comes about as close as is possible to understanding one of cinema’s most difficult films. The movie, equally an existential search for understanding, an examination of grief and coping with loss, and a study of faith and doubt, is one that constantly keeps a definitive explanation at arm’s length. With its myriad of visual motifs, fluid concept of time, and fragmented style of editing, it’s a movie that encourages audiences to interpret, while at the same time resists interpretation. The movie’s ending doesn’t make any grand proclamations of intent, instead providing the audience with more confusion. Roeg has gone on record as stating, “For me, the basic premise is that in life, nothing is what it seems.” Not to get too philosophical, but at its core, it’s a movie that reflects man’s internal struggle with his world – that constant need to understand or believe, despite not being able to fully do either. It’s about trusting what you know, not necessarily what is known. The fact that all of this is infused into a tragic ghost story makes it all the more wonderful.

The film, adapted from Daphne du Maurier’s short story of the same name, ends up being one of the most literate examples of moviemaking in film history. Everything about the film – the narrative, editing, setting, imagery, score, acting, etc. – is a means to an end. The story isn’t going to provide many answers on its own, but, combined with all the other elements involved in crafting a film, it is able to create meaning. Oddly, despite being a Hollywood favorite (she had many short stories and novels adapted into movies, among them Hitchcock’s 1940 Best Picture winner, Rebecca, and his 1963 film, The Birds), du Maurier wasn’t considered an exceptionally literary author. It speaks quite a bit to Roeg’s directorial talent that he was able to mount such hefty ambitions onto what is a rather straightforward horror tale.

This is a movie that uses so much more than just a narrative to get its message across; focusing on the plot to analyze this film would leave you puzzled at best. The story concerns a couple, John and Laura Baxter (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie), who have to deal with the death of their daughter, Christine Baxter (Sharon Williams). They temporarily relocate to Venice because John has been hired to restore a dilapidated church. In Venice, weird shit starts happening. What do all of these weird things mean? Do they mean anything at all? What the film does impeccably is marry its story with film technique. The editing intentionally meshes and confuses time. We often see things from the past or future in shots of the present. For instance, take the sex scene between John and Laura. We have a passionate sex scene between two grief stricken parents intercut with the mundaneness of them getting dressed to go out afterwards. It blends time and two seemingly unrelated acts (intercourse and getting dressed) to show the drastic difference between each partner’s method of coping. This is a couple that’s coping with the loss of a child, yet they still have the desire to express their love for one another. However, afterwards Laura is seemingly on the path to recovery while John turns to alcohol. The meshing of time makes the point that time itself isn’t going to heal the couple’s wounds – only directly dealing with them will. There are a number of examples where the film is edited for a similar effect, all to make the point that time is illusory. Our behavior and feelings are influenced by past, present, and future, and the film attempts to condense that all into one.

The way Roeg uses symbolic imagery and motifs throughout the film is another way he adds to the narrative. Water, glass, and pictures all recur to create meaning. The film frequently shows glass breaking before something terrible happens (Christine’s death, John falling in the church, Laura fainting at dinner), which serves as a reminder of how tragedy and coping with grief can shatter even the most healthy family. The film closely associates water with death. Christine drowns at the beginning of the film, bodies are dragged from canals in Venice, even Venice itself, a city where waterways are common modes of transportation, is being ravaged by a serial killer. With water being the most essential component to sustain life, Roeg is able to turn the idea on its head in an effort to comment on the precarious link between life and death. The recurring pictures are part of a larger doubles motif throughout the film. John, an architect, looks at pictures of the church he is restoring and the real thing. He also takes tiles from a mosaic in need of repair and attempts to differentiate between the manufactured and the authentic tiles. Part of this “doubling” involves people as well, as a handful of times throughout the film people are mistaken for someone else. In fact, the ending of the film is an example of this idea. Roeg’s point is made clearest with this motif – in a world where “nothing is what is seems” how can one tell the difference between a fake and the real thing?

Don’t Look Now is a movie that uses everything a movie possibly can to create meaning. It’s a movie I wish happened more often, but I’ll take it when I can get it. Roeg creates an atmosphere, mood, and uses specific film techniques throughout his story to compliment it. Everything about the movie is done to convey its theme to the audience. It’s a film that demands multiple viewings, but will also likely reward them. In short, it’s a very different kind of film than audiences are used to. Still, it’s a wonderful one and is instantly among my favorite horror movies.

The Loved Ones (2009)

Adolescence, that romanticized period of great suffering, seems like the most natural point of entry for the torture porn film. Having seen 2009’s Australian import, The Loved Ones, I’m left wondering what took so long. Teenagers make for great fictional fodder, and there’s no kind of film that can depict suffering of any sort better than torture porn. The result is a wholly original take on a typical, standard horror story.

Writer/director Sean Byrne’s debut film follows main character Brent Mitchell (Xavier Samuel) as he attempts to deal with the guilt of killing his father in a car accident. Brent’s ways of dealing with that guilt are as misguided as you would expect from an adolescent. He smokes weed, cuts himself with a razor, and ponders suicide. His lone source of hope is his girlfriend Holly (Victoria Thane). One day at school, fellow classmate Lola Stone (Robin McLeavy) asks Brent to prom, and he politely refuses because he’s already planning on going with his girlfriend. It’s quite a nice rejection, and there’s no reason to think Lola would take offense. However, what Brent, and the entire town, doesn’t know, is that Lola and her father, Daddy Stone (John Brumpton), are about as sane as Leatherface’s parents. Brent goes for a walk on the day of the dance, is attacked as he listens to music, and finds himself being held captive in the home of the Stones. From that point on, the film decidedly earns its torture porn label.

Instead of simply showing the audience Brent’s ordeal with Lola and her father, which ends up being about as standard a torture porn trope as you could find, Byrne juxtaposes the happenings with some good, old-fashioned, grounded in reality, teenage angst. Brent’s best pal Jamie (Richard Wilson) ends up going to the dance with his dream girl, the goth Mia (Jessica McNamee). It’s this plot line, which in a lesser filmmaker’s hands would feel superfluous and unrelated, that manages to give the film a little more substance than one would initially expect. I’ll spare the details since the movie reveals them slowly, but it’s fair to call Mia one psychologically fucked up chick. Like Brent, she’s incapable of healthily dealing with her problems, and resorts to drinking, drugs, and fucking to release her pain. Some might fault the film for how open ended it leaves this plot line, but any sort of resolution would be forced and condescending. Mia’s predicament isn’t something that just gets better. We end up getting a full picture of who Mia is, and that’s all that’s necessary for the film since her character exists as a point of contrast. If anything, the film ties itself together a little too neatly. Everything and everyone is connected. The point, I guess, is to show the impact Lola and her father’s serial killings have had on everyone in the town, but it doesn’t really feel important. We’re drawn to the film because of the teenagers, and anything else just feels unnecessary.

The real strength of the movie is the aforementioned teenage characters. Byrne manages to create a handful of characters that are fairly representative of the teenage experience in a running time of less than 90 minutes. They may be broadly drawn, but I’d argue that most teenagers are anyway. The people they are aren’t exactly people everyone knew as a teenager, but they’re close enough. The film creates a hyper stylized, incredibly violent version of teenage life. Brent’s the loner who does what he wants; Lola’s the spoiled rotten brat whose parents cow-towed to her every wish; Holly’s the popular, pretty girl; Mia’s the goth chick with issues; and Jamie is the typical male friend who’s only looking to get laid. The only difference is in this world, the princess gets to lobotomize her crushes so she can keep them forever and torture them the way she feels tortured.

The film’s concerns with the uniqueness of being a teen isn’t quite The Breakfast Club (it’s about a step or two down in terms of insight), but it counteracts that with gory, grisly violence and a very dark sense of humor. Unlike most torture porn movies, The Loved Ones doesn’t bog itself down with simply trying to gross its audience out. The requisite gore and violence is certainly present, but it strives for a bit more, and that’s always a worthy aim. Those looking for a straight torture porn movie in the vein of the Saw films might not be happy with Byrne’s film, and art-house audiences might find its bluntness off-putting. It’s destined to be a cult film once it finds itself an audience.

The Wicker Man (1973)

Most movie watchers are accustomed to horror films where the horror arises strictly from situations the characters encounter through plot development. In that regard, 1973’s The Wicker Man is a different breed of horror film entirely. The story unfolds more like a slow burn thriller (with the occasional odd musical interlude) than it does anything resembling your typical scary movie. In fact, until The Big Reveal of the last 10-15 minutes, it’s tough to even consider it a horror film. The movie is much more concerned with the ideas and causes behind what is taking place than it is with strictly what is taking place. It ends up being a picture that’s less visceral and more intellectual – one that’s scarier when you sit down and think about it.

The film’s plot is rather simple: Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) comes to the island of Summerisle to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Howie is met with indifference and resistance when he starts his investigation. As the investigation moves along, Howie soon realizes he’s being told lies and suspects a town-wide cover up of the girl’s death. While the story deals solely with Howie’s investigation, that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what the movie is really about.

The key to the movie is the contrast between Howie’s devout Christianity and the inhabitants of Summerisle’s devout Paganism. It’s all tied into the narrative about the missing girl, but there’s no mistaking by the end of the film that the religious aspect is what’s been more important throughout. Howie sees the islanders as heathens, and they see him as a fool. Neither accepts the other as anything more than a weirdo or outsider, and that’s where the film’s main source of conflict arises. Both Howie and the people of Summerisle see the world through their separate religious perspectives. There’s no way they’re ever going to understand one another or learn to coexist because they’re unable to comprehend why someone would be different in the first place. These people are all living as if their one way is the only possible way.

There’s a sequence in the middle of the film where our “hero” visits the island’s local schoolhouse that goes a long way to explaining exactly what this film is about. After chastising the teacher’s methods as “corrupting the young” (because, you know, since he’s a Christian police officer, he’s an authority on these things), Howie shows the students (all girls) a picture of the missing girl, and asks if they know who she is. They claim they don’t, but Howie notices an empty desk and asks whose it is. When he takes a look at the desk, he opens it up and sees a beetle walking around a nail that it’s tied to with a piece of string. The creepy young girl looks at him and says, “The little old beetle goes 'round and 'round. Always the same way, y'see, until it ends up right up tight to the nail. Poor old thing!” It’s a wonderful visualization of the movie’s theme – that people who blindly follow anything (in this case religion) are ultimately controlled by that thing, and end up “right up tight to the nail”. In addition to showing how the theme applies to Howie, just before the schoolhouse scene begins, the sergeant is watching the school’s male students parade around a wooden pole while holding long streamers attached to the pole. It’s a visual parallel to the beetle going around the nail used to condemn the townspeople’s way of life just as much as Howie’s. These sorts of subtle visual metaphors are all over the film (the ending visually echoes Christ’s walk to the cross), and I imagine rewatching the movie would be rewarding.

It should be noted that The Wicker Man has a number of flaws. For all the inspired moments of visual metaphor, there are far too many moments of dullness. At times, the way certain information is relayed to the viewer is uninvolving. For instance, Lord Summerisle (Christopher Lee) and Howie have a long talk about Paganism that ends up being a clumsy way to communicate his back-story and his religion to the audience. There’s another instance where Howie is reading a book on Paganism in the library where, via voiceover, the contents of the book are relayed to the audience. Again, that’s a sloppy and uninteresting way of giving the audience information.

There’s also the problem with the way the main character is presented. Howie functions as something of a surrogate for the audience. We’re invited to see things the way he does since he’s the typical “hero” of these kinds of movies. I imagine this was a more successful tactic in 1973 than in 2012, as being open minded about religion has become a bit more typical. Plus, the fact that Howie is an uptight jerk makes him a difficult character to relate to unless you’re also an uptight jerk. This misstep ends up being the film’s most significant fault. The ending, where it’s revealed that the townspeople have orchestrated the entire missing girl case as a test of Howie’s faith (they need his pure faith to make a successful sacrifice to their Pagan gods), would have been incredibly affecting if the movie had spent time making us root for Howie. Instead, we get a really smart, clever condemnation of everyone, but one that is emotionally hollow. You get the sense that Howie gets what he deserves rather than the complete shock that would result from identifying with him. I’m not necessarily against an unlikable protagonist, but the lack of identification with literally everyone in the film, made this a hard one for me to care about. As stated earlier, it’s more of an intellectual exercise than anything else. However, the movie successfully makes its point, which is something that’s always appreciated.

The Wicker Man was a movie that initially left me feeling a bit indifferent, but the more I contemplated the ideas of the film, the more I appreciated what it is trying to do and how smart it really is. I can’t give it an unconditional recommendation, but it’s definitely a movie I can see getting better with repeated viewings. It’s much more invested in its visuals than its story (especially at the end; I can’t stress enough how smart it is), which is something to be appreciated for a horror film. There just isn’t enough feeling in it for me to agree with the film’s exquisite reputation.

Night of the Comet (1984)

Disclaimer: I'm switching the format for this month in order to write about horror films. There won't be a money shot, just a review/analysis of 15 different horror movies this month. Since I haven't posted in a while, 15 in one month might seem like a daunting task to some. Not me.

The definitive moment in 1984’s horror/sci-fi comedy Night of the Comet takes place about halfway through the film as humanity’s last hope, teenage sisters Reggie and Sam Belmont (Catherine Mary Stewart and Kelli Maroney, respectively), parade around a seemingly vacant shopping mall trying on the latest trends in 80s teen fashion while Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” blares from the speakers. No one’s going to accuse the moment of being subtle, but it does manage to get the movie’s point across. It doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or a guy – teenagers just want to have fun.

That message, trite and unsophisticated as it may be, fits the B-movie vibe of the film like a glove. The film’s effects were probably dated a week after production wrapped, and the highest praise I can give the acting is passable at best. The rough plot – Earth passes through the tail of a comet that ends up killing most of the planet’s population and morphing the rest into zombie-like fiends, save for a select few who accidentally or knowingly barricade themselves under steel enforced structures – is nothing more than an amalgam of just about every late night cable horror/sci-fi movie you’ve ever seen. If you’re reminded of The Omega Man (made 12 years prior and itself a remake of 1964’s The Last Man on Earth and also remade in 2007 as I Am Legend), or the original Dawn of the Dead, you’re on the right track. Countless (bad) movies that no one remembers have been made using a similar premise as well. Night of the Comet has little in common with those films (the good ones or the bad ones) in the details or spirit, and that ultimately makes it a much different film than its predecessors.

In addition to the horror/sci-fi combo, the film mixes in another genre that was wildly popular at the time: the teen comedy. It ends up being the movie’s most interesting aspect and the main reason it rises above the cheese-fests it initially appears to hold as brethren. You can’t really talk about the 80s in film without mentioning the titanic wave of teen comedies. Whether you’re talking about Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Porky’s, the Revenge of the Nerds series, Teen Wolf, Back to the Future, Say Anything, Heathers, or the vast majority of John Hughes’ filmography, you just can’t ignore the sheer number of successful teen films made during the decade. In 1984, Night of the Comet fell firmly within a Hollywood culture that was very interested in making money off of teenagers and their plight. So, what we end up with is a mesh of horror/sci-fi and 80s teen comedy. It’s a unique sort of genre blending, and probably something only possible in the 80s.

The movie is worth seeing and praising because of how it manages to convey a tone that’s completely at odds with the world it creates. Someone searching for some deeper meaning might say that the conflict between the film’s background influences (horror/sci-fi films) and it’s more upfront influences (teen comedies) reflects the mindset of your typical teenager at odds with the teenage and adult worlds. The movies referenced by the plot give the viewer an automatic expectation of a movie that’s about survival and the loneliness of being the last few people on Earth. However, the film only generically touches on any of that. As the referenced scene at the beginning of this write-up alludes to, survival comes second to being fashionable. Hell, one might even make the case that in a teenager’s world, being fashionable is essential to survival.

There’s a clever one-liner towards the end where Sam “surprisingly” shows up in the nick of time to rescue Reggie that illustrates just how concerned the movie is with celebrating teenage life. Instead of Reggie giving Sam a hug or thanking her for saving her life, she utters the line, “cute outfit.” It’s certainly a girly, cheesy moment, but it’s played for laughs and works well within the context of the film.

Let’s also take a look at how the girls are able to survive the comet in the first place. It’s mentioned that being within a steel structure is the probable reason the comet doesn’t turn the girls into burnt orange dust. However, the reasons they’re in those steel structures in the first place are more important to the movie than them simply being underneath steel beams. Reggie is holing up in the projection room of the movie theater where she works to have sex with her boyfriend. It’s also worth mentioning that she lied to her step mother about where she would be for the night. Sam gets into an actual fight with her nasty, bitch of a stepmother, and runs away from home and sleeps in a yard shed. It’s also later revealed that Hector (the last man on Earth, and the man the girls bicker about) spent the night in the bed of his steel truck with a woman he recently picked up. The point is all three are behaving like normal teenagers by lying to their parents, fighting with their parents, having sex, and running away from home. Since we’ve all seen Scream and know the “rules of horror movies”, these actions would normally land them all as the first victims of the film. Instead, these kids aren’t killed for acting irresponsibly, but are rewarded for their actions and become the heroes of our movie.

The film’s final act introduces us to a group of scientists who prepared for the comet’s arrival by creating an underground bunker. They’re working on a serum that they hope will cure those who survived but are being turned into zombies. The idea behind this plot thread is to serve as a point of contrast to the teenagers. The scientists represent the adult world’s conservativeness and selfishness. The group eventually becomes exposed to the virus because of a silly little detail they overlooked. They begin coaxing younger people (teenagers and children) into their underground bunker, in order to use them as guinea pigs to find a cure. They are quite literally sucking the life out of these kids. The point is that by not trying to safeguard against every possible negative outcomes, and instead having some fun, you’ll live a better life. It’s an interesting way to state your point, but this plot development bogs the film down and takes away from the unadulterated fun vibe the first two-thirds of the film has.

Given the odd combination of movie genres that make up Night of the Comet, it’s easy to see why this is more of a cult film than a classic from the 80s. To me, a movie described as a teenage zombie comedy is something I’m going to make a point of seeing. That’s because I’m awesome. Not everyone is, and that’s something we all have to come to terms with. Night of the Comet isn’t a great, or scary, movie, but it’s a fun one because of its attention to detail, clever writing, and energy. There’s more brains put into this than you would expect, and more than in virtually any blockbuster made today. I appreciated the effort and the result.

The Avengers - Avenged

Disclaimer: This is not a Money Shot. Since the movie is still new and in theaters, it isn't possible to legally get any clips of the film. However, since I wrote almost 2000 words on the movie and have nowhere else to put it, it's going on this blog. That is all.

One would think a movie with numerous speeches about freedom, explicit reference to Weapons of Mass Destruction, manipulative government organizations withholding information, and a climactic battle that destroys a huge chunk of New York City (in Manhattan no less!) would border on heavy handed. Instead, if you read the reviews or listen to moviegoer reactions to Joss Whedon’s newest blockbuster to top all blockbusters, The Avengers, you’d find the masses calling it “exciting”, “action packed”, “fun”, “a thrill ride”, and, my personal favorite, “mindless entertainment”. It boggles my mind that a film that so proudly wears its intentions on its sleeve, that’s so obviously about the War on Terror, is being seen as nothing more than the latest easily digested, quickly forgotten, summer popcorn action flick. To quote Marge Gunderson, “Well…I just don’t understand it.”

So, in an effort to spark some discussion, open some eyes, and get a movie I can’t stop thinking about out of my head, I’m here to give an analysis of the film that hopefully shows just how unmindless (totally a made up word) the movie is. Even if no one agrees with the thoughts I put forth, I’ll feel better getting them out of my brain. I feel like I have to avenge The Avengers. I’ll take solace in knowing that the movie with the largest box office take for an opening weekend IN THE HISTORY OF MOVIES(!!!) isn’t some insipid piece of action porn from the Michael Bay school of filmmaking, but a real movie that puts forth a legitimate worldview, and has a real, worthy agenda. And with that, I promise no more flabbergasted exasperation or whining – just film analysis.

Ok, I lied. We aren’t going to analyze the film just yet, but at least I won’t be whining. Before we get into any analysis of the movie, we should briefly talk about Joss Whedon. He wrote and directed the film, and anyone who’s familiar with his previous work will tell you he’s a writer’s writer. His biggest strength is his ability to create characters you truly care about and mesh those characters with whatever ideas and statements he’s trying to get through to the audience. His work is always about something. He doesn’t just take characters through a plot and tell a story. Why anyone thought The Avengers would be any different because it had a big budget, I don’t know (shit…that probably counts as whining). Whedon’s stuck mostly to TV (the only other movie he’s directed was Serenity (2005), which was based on his cancelled TV show Firefly and mostly made to wrap that series up), which employs a much longer format that naturally allows for more character development than a 2-3 hour film. He also typically works with ensemble casts and has experience writing comic books. So, to recap, he’s an idea guy who is good with working with lots of characters and has experience in comics. I mean, could you ask for a better fit to helm The Avengers?

At this point you might be asking, “What idea is this guy working with this time? Good guys stop bad guy from taking over the world?” Well…yeah. That’s exactly the idea he’s working with. Only it isn’t the idea that a supervillain from another universe is going to take over the world by using his super powers. Ok, well, it is, but there’s this tricky little thing in works of fiction called allegory that allows what’s literally taking place throughout the entire story to stand for something else altogether. In this sense, Loki = terrorist (more specifically, power hungry terrorist meets Shakespearean Iago). In this same vein, The Avengers represent society as a whole. The movie contrasts these two concepts through the characters in the film to arrive at a very specific point – that the people within a society, through their beliefs and actions, ultimately decide what that society stands for. Those who fight for a cause bigger than themselves will always prevail over those fighting for purely selfish interests. In order for that to happen, however, the individuals that comprise said society must make it happen. As a society, we can’t be more than the sum total of all the individuals within. We make what happens happen (of course, it helps if you have an Iron Man suit to help you make things happen). How does the movie say all this? Well, now it’s time for some good old-fashioned film analysis:

Whedon is a better writer than director (which is why he’s so good on TV), so it makes sense for a lot of the film’s ideas to be told through dialogue and character interactions. However, that doesn’t mean the movie isn't without its moments of visual prowess. There are, at least, a handful of individual shots and scenes that convey the movie’s concepts visually. To start, let’s take a look at the relationship between Loki and The Avengers, since their dueling ideologies are the film’s main source of conflict.

As already mentioned, the movie contrasts these characters (and what they stand for) to make its main point. First, there’s Loki. He brings war to Earth for purely selfish reasons. He wants to get back at Thor and the rest of Asgard and wants to accumulate power while doing so. He wants to rule the world with fear, enslave the human race, and will kill whoever is in his path. It isn’t the biggest leap of faith to see him as a terrorist. He even tries to infect the minds of the people he meets to show them the advantages to his way of thinking (and quite literally does so to the minds and hearts of Hawkeye and others with his scepter). Loki’s biggest problem is someone like him can never “win” because one of two things will always happen: 1. He'll run into someone/some group fighting for the same reasons, and he’ll lose. This is pointed out to him by the old man who refuses to kneel before him in Germany: “There will always be men like you.” Captain America even references Hitler immediately afterwards when he saves the old man’s life. 2. He'll run into someone/some group fighting for a real, selfless purpose that are capable of sacrificing themselves for a higher cause, and he'll lose. The film uses the concept of conviction to make this point. A dying Agent Coulson tells Loki he’s going to lose because it’s in his nature. He lacks conviction. In Loki’s first scene, he says that he’s “burdened with glorious purpose,” but Coulson sees through it. He has no real purpose. He’s not fighting for anything that truly matters. He is a child throwing a temper tantrum because he didn’t get his way. He just wants. And what he wants is to show big brother that anything you can do, I can do better. He’s a wimp playing a wolf. No conviction, indeed. To bring the allegory full circle, what are terrorists after? Power through fear. Is that a real purpose? Does that have conviction? Coulson certainly doesn’t think so.

The Avengers, after many squabbles, become that group fighting for a tangible, selfless purpose through the very act of fighting. Obviously, they’re also the ones that defeat Loki and his army. However, more important than the group besting Loki is how they’re able to defeat him. The fights amongst the group when they first come together are hugely important. In a brilliant, excellently constructed scene, where the mind-controlled Hawkeye attacks the Helicarrier, Whedon begins making his case that attacks arise when a society is divided and individuals bicker over their own self-interest. They become blind to the world around them. As the quarrel within the Helicarrier is taking place, the movie cuts back and forth between the fighting on ship and Hawkeye setting up and launching the attack. Cutting between the Avengers arguing and Hawkeye attacking isn't exactly formally inventive, but it is effective. It's simply the correct directorial choice for what the scene is trying to accomplish. It makes the film's point by showing us, again and again, that the "bad guy" is coming as they bicker. It's a visual accentuation of the point.

Eventually, The Avengers are able to set aside their differences and work together as a team to fight Loki. Again, it isn’t just that this happens, but how. Each member of the team, as previously mentioned, has to make those choices to put the good of the cause over their own self-interest, and even safety. Captain America has to decide to go for the red lever to help out Iron Man even though he’s under fire. Thor has to decide to put his issues with Loki aside for the time being to help the team fight off Loki’s army. The Hulk has to decide to embrace "the other guy" and try to tame/control him. Iron Man has to decide he's willing to sacrifice himself and take the nuke into the portal. The movie shows this idea visually with a single, long take during the climactic battle that shows each member of the team working together and helping one another out while fighting the army. Sure, it's really cool moment, but it's more than just showy. It's the movie using it's visuals to show the team coming together, to tell the story. The pairs helping each other in the scene are even the exact pairs that are physically fighting in the Helicarrier earlier. All the pettiness has vanished, and a team has been born. In another symbolic gesture after the final battle, the film shows the “A” in Stark on the massive Stark Tower becoming The Avengers' A. Since Stark makes the biggest change from selfish to selfless in the film (and is ultimately willing to sacrifice his own life for the cause), it's fitting that the movie uses the former symbol of his massive ego to make an emphatic statement that this isn't just a group of individuals anymore.

All of this is right in line with Whedon's worldview as a self-described humanist. If The Avengers stand for society as a whole, we'll be what the individuals within it want it to be. Real power isn't making people fear you and kneel in your honor – it's a group of selfless individuals choosing to fight for a cause. The film uses the concept of sentiment to make this point. Loki sees it as humanity’s weakness, when the reality is it’s our greatest power. Having a reason, a purpose, leads to conviction.

I'm not saying this is the most profound thing in the world, or that the dichotomy between the opposing sides is that complex. Essentially, it’s a standard comic book story about a group of superheroes fighting off the latest evil threat. However, it isn't mindless. Given Whedon’s own track record and the manner in which the film presents itself, both through the writing and the filmmaking, it attempts to tackle a pretty significant subject. Whedon obviously knows the idea of fighting for the “greater good” is old-fashioned, and maybe even a little corny. The film is all the better for being self-aware enough to point this out and poke fun at itself. Again, that’s right in line with Whedon’s typical style, and it’s why his work never feels preachy or pretentious. He can humor an audience and give them characters to care about. His ideas just wash over you, and that’s something only the best writers are able to accomplish.

So, there you have it. That’s my case for The Avengers as a substantial film. Feel free to dispute every point I’ve made or tell me I’m fantastic for making them. The latter option is much preferred, but I’ll take whatever I can get.

Requiem for a Dream's Money Shot

Sometimes movies are about their plot, and sometimes they aren’t. That seems simple enough, right? Often, movies are about how they’re about what they’re about (Roger Ebert coined this phrase, not me). That’s just a fancy, concise way of saying that things like camera movements and placements, editing, and story structure are more important than just what happens. There are also things common to the art of writing like allegory and metaphor that allow for more interpretation than just what happens. What’s happening on-screen constitutes the plot, but that plot can stand for something else altogether. A recent example is Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008). The plot concerns Batman and The Joker battling for Gotham City, but, allegorically, the film is about the U.S. involvement in the War on Terror. The best films (and books) are able to marry plot, idea, and technique seamlessly. Ideally, the viewer will be able to appreciate a work of art on the surface level as pure entertainment, but also be able to get something of value out of it with a deeper analysis of both larger significance and technique. I’m not sure Darren Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream (2000) can be enjoyed purely as entertainment (unless you’re a masochist), but it’s worth taking a look at to see how to combine film technique and allegory effectively. And no, I won’t be talking about the infamous ass-to-ass scene.

Adapted from Hubert Selby Jr.’s novel of the same name, Requiem for a Dream’s plot deals with the horrors of hardcore drug abuse. It’s a difficult film to watch at times, but that’s by design. Aronofsky’s decision to not shy away from just how far into despair these characters fall is why the film is effective as an anti-drug piece. However, a well done anti-drug movie isn’t exactly the most insightful or ambitious idea ever put on celluloid. Selby is after more than just showing that doing drugs isn’t the most intelligent life choice. His goal is to show the death of the American Dream. The American Dream, as defined in American culture, is the idea that through hard work, prosperity and success in life is attainable, regardless of things such as social class. After all, if “all men are created equal,” logic dictates that actions alone will determine who is successful and who isn’t, right? Selby (along with many, many other authors and artists) calls bullshit on this ideal. The novel (and film), published in 1978, posits that these characters fall into utter desolation and hopelessness from a life spent chasing this unattainable Dream. Lives are spent attempting to achieve an ideal and find happiness that might not ever come. The harder people chase and hold on to that false sense of purpose, the worse off they become. They turn to things like drugs as an escape from reality to cope with being unable to achieve what was promised to them. This allegory gives the title of the work added significance. On a story level, the requiem, which is a mass for the dead, is being played for these characters’ individual dreams, which have been crushed by their choices to live life in a drug addled state. On a broader societal level, the requiem is being played for those who have spent their lives chasing this unattainable ideal.

Now that we’re clear on the allegorical significance of the piece, we can finally get to watching the Money Shot from the film. The four minutes and five seconds you’re about to watch is the ending montage of the film. As we break it down, you’ll see how Aronofsky is able to wrap up the movie’s plot while also visually showing the death of the Dream.

Unfortunately, YouTube seems to have disallowed embedding of any and all videos of this particular film, so I can only provide the following link to the clip. It sucks, I know. Trust me, I wouldn't even post the link if I hadn't spent an entire day writing 2000 words on the clip. For future reference, I'll make sure the clips are embeddable before I begin:

http://youtu.be/uuzNohk5cYw

Beginning of clip – 0:30: This first thirty second sequence is taking place inside of Harry Goldfarb’s (Jared Leto) head. It’s a dream and purely metaphorical. The first shot is of Marion Silver (Jennifer Connelly) standing at the end of a pier in a red dress with her back to Harry (the shot is actually an homage to Alex Proyas’ 1998 sci-fi noir, Dark City, which also stars Connelly). It’s an idyllic shot, full of warmth and color. We alternate between shots of Harry running to the end of the pier and of Marion with her back to him. When he finally gets there, she’s gone. Symbolically, Harry’s been chasing an illusion. As Harry realizes this, we see a look of confusion and fear on his face as he begins to retreat. We see a shot of his shoes walking backwards until he’s hanging on the edge of the pier. He falls into what looks like a back alley as he calls for Marion. Again, this symbolizes Harry’s life. The pier might not be a cliff, but it might as well be. Once Harry realized he was chasing an illusion, he falls into the darkness of fear and confusion. It’s poignant that as he’s falling, he calls out for the same ideal, despite his revelation.

0:30 – 1:10: Now that we’re back to reality, it’s important to acknowledge the significance of the juxtaposition of reality and the last moment of Harry’s dream. Harry’s dream ends with him falling into darkness, and then reality has come crashing into Harry’s dream. This sequence is the visualization of reality setting in. The scene consists of a simple shot/reverse shot pattern. A nurse is telling Harry that everything is ok and that Marion will come for him, but Harry realizes that isn’t going to happen. In the dream Harry is chasing Marion in a warm, beautiful place. In reality, he’s lying in a hospital bed with no chance of her coming.

At the 56 second mark, two of the clip’s three main stylistic calling cards kick in. First, Clint Mansell’s brilliantly haunting score, titled Lux Aeterna (which has been used in many other movies, but was written for this one), begins. Second, the camera begins to pull away from Harry in an effort to distance the viewer from the character. This distance is essential, as it’s how the film is able to condemn its characters. Both of these devices will be used over the next few minutes as the montage checks in with each of the film’s four main characters. The devices link the characters together to show the audience that, while these people are in different places and have had different experiences, their plight is the same. As the camera pulls away from Harry, we see his amputated arm as he breaks down and curls into the fetal position (the third stylistic calling card).

1:10 – 2:12: With Harry’s story told, the film shows us brief snippets of each of the other three main characters. We see Marion entering her apartment in a stunningly symbolic shot that begins with her illuminated in the doorway of her completely dark abode. As the door shuts and she turns the light on, we see paper, which will later be revealed as Marion’s fashion sketches, strewn all over the floor and table. She’s gone from the light to the dark, and her dreams, in the form of those sketches, have been trashed. Next, we’re shown Tyrone as just another one of the drug addicted masses in prison. The shot of the inmates walking in a line to their beds makes us feel that there are a lot of Tyrones in the same predicament. Finally, the film gets around to showing us Sara Goldfarb (Ellen Burstyn), but not before we see the shocked and appalled reactions of her friends. To end this sequence, the camera again begins to pull away from the characters in the film, but from Sara’s two friends that visited her in the hospital instead of from Sara herself. In a pretty bold statement, the shot places the friends alongside Sara and the other drug-addicted characters, complicit and equally as foolish in their pursuits. It isn’t just the druggies who are at fault and misguided here - it’s a larger issue.

2:12 – 3:20: The film, again, recycles through Marion, Tyrone, and Sara. This time, as the music swells, each character is framed in the same way and curls into the fetal position as the camera pulls away. Marion is looking at a wad of cash, her ruined sketches still all over her apartment floor. Tyrone is on his prison bed, and we see him thinking about his mother. Sara is in a psych ward and dreams of the game show she hoped to appear on. Along with how the film left Harry in reality, each character’s reality is shown in ruin, the direct result of clinging to the dreams they have been chasing throughout the entire movie (Harry to Marion, Marion to money, Tyrone to his mother’s acceptance and love, and Sara to getting on that game show). The fact that these people are still clinging to those dreams, despite the current state of their lives, is the ultimate condemnation of them and their actions. They’ve so desperately wanted to escape and find happiness that they’ve reduced themselves to…this. All the while, they still cling to those dreams. They haven’t really learned anything at all. They’re just fucked up.

3:20 – end of clip: The clip ends with another dream sequence, this time Sara’s. She looks great – healthy and happy. Amidst the glowing stage lights and cheering audience, we’re told that Sarah has won the grand prize. Her prize? To quote Tappy Tibbons (Christopher McDonald): “Your prize has a sweet smile and his own private business. He just got engaged, and he's planning to get married this summer. Will you please give a juicy welcome to Mrs. Sara Goldfarb's one and only son -- Harry Goldfarb!” Her son as a success. The ideal. Harry comes on stage, and as the two embrace, they tell each other that they love one another. It’s a wonderful moment. It’s a great, loving embrace. However, as Sara’s final look of the film shows, it’s also bitterly sarcastic. In a great bit of facial acting, Burstyn conveys to the viewer that Sara realizes this isn’t reality. At the 3:50 mark she has a look of sheer panic on her face before she suppresses it and goes back to smiling. The audience cheers, and the film fades to black – how Aronofsky ends most of his movies (he’s very invested in how what takes place affects those watching, but that’s another idea for another essay).

The ending of the film is bleak, hopeless, and ultimately punishes the viewer. It says that these people know exactly what they’re doing to themselves; on some level, it’s a conscious choice. They’d rather live in a dream world than in reality. In a larger sense, it’s saying that this is what the American Dream does to people. There’s no sympathy for these people, just a cautionary tale that practically screams at the audience to not be like these people. We see the last act of what are mostly decent people doing unspeakable things in an effort to escape and find happiness. The finality of it all is soul crushing. The film also takes the comment one step further by condemning the “innocent” onlookers. Not only do they stand by and let it happen, but sometimes they’ll even cheer it on. Aronofsky uses his camera to place the same judgments Selby used his pen to place, and that’s why the film adaptation succeeds in keeping the spirit of the book.

As you can see, this isn’t a movie made for entertainment. This isn’t a film I love, but rather respect a great deal. I’m not sure I agree with everything it puts forth, but I can’t really argue that it isn’t incredibly well crafted. Hopefully I’ve done a good job of showing you how.