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Tusk (2014)
An Entirely New Style of Horror
This post is mostly for myself as a point of reference for future use. So, just because it's long doesn't mean it's some sort of cry for attention disguised as a self-absorbed fishing expedition for likes, so there.
You don't necessarily need to like Kevin Smith's work to appreciate the fact that (for the most part, anyway) each of his films are almost completely indistinguishable from one another. Unlike Michael Mann or JJ Abrams, whose styles are instantly identifiable (and who probably wouldn't deign to try something like this or "Clerks" anyway), Kevin brings a different look and feel to most everything he does.
Which is probably part of the reason why I found "Tusk" so jarring and unnerving.
Back in 1981, John Landis rightfully enjoyed a crapload of adulation for successfully combining horror and comedy in "An American Werewolf in London," but while it was obviously violent and funny - and had moments of outright terror and shock - the story itself wasn't intended to maintain a constant state of tension, suspense or, more daringly, dread and despair.
"Tusk" tries this, though, and succeeds brilliantly. However, while it may lack as many outright laugh-out-loud moments as "American Werewolf" ("You gonna eat that toast?"). It manages to temper a very disturbing and almost unbearable sense of hopelessness and despair for the lead character with darkly funny moments that brought me a welcome break from what was going on in the antagonist's DIY indoor aquatic exhibit. If you consider yourself a fan of film, you more than likely will be able to suspend your disbelief long enough to allow you to let yourself get taken in by the story. I encourage you to do so, because "Tusk" did for me what every truly great horror movie does: a safe outlet to let myself feel disturbed on a visceral level.
The plot is of course preposterous and absurd, but then so is a great deal of what comes out of Hollywood. Doesn't make it any less entertaining. "Gravity," for instance, which can really only be seen in IMAX 3D to be appreciated, relied so much on technology that the actual storyline of the movie probably wasn't written until the night before principal photography began. That didn't alter the fact that I stood outside the theater for 20 minutes, crying like a baby because what I had just seen was nothing less than an artistic and technical achievement in film. It was something I hadn't seen before, and that's precisely mankind's chief bitch about Hollywood, so forgive the hell out of me for enjoying the moment. :-) There are a couple of plot holes, and while they were noticeable enough to make me think about them for a moment, they're nothing I didn't have a problem letting go of. Besides, the movie moves at a fairly brisk pace so I didn't really have time to bitch, and my own script still contains a couple of similar math problems I may have to just live with, so c'est la vie.
The writing takes the realism that everybody seemed to have loved in "Clerks" and improves upon it exponentially. Personally, I always thought "Clerks" tried a bit too hard in that regard, but I liked what he was trying to do. Here, he's mastered it. Factor in more than a few moments of editing and directing genius in the form of flashbacks and scenes between the supporting actors back in civilization, and you have what I think is an entirely original piece of filmmaking. "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back" was a movie; "Tusk" is a film, and a damn good horror film if you can handle it's disturbing nature.
I went into this not knowing what to expect, other than having heard some of the buzz over how atypical it was for Kevin Smith. I didn't even know a single person in the cast (which tells you how off the radar this was for me), which made the characters and performances I saw on the screen all that more interesting and impressive. If you don't know anything about this film other than the fact that a man is turned into a walrus, do yourself a favor and keep it that way. You'll thank me later.
And one last thing: The Big Reveal. Just...wow. The buildup to it is unsettling and morbidly fascinating enough, but the actual moment is the exact second at which that aching feeling of despair hit me like a shovel to the face, and stayed with me throughout the rest of the story.
This isn't everyone's cup of tea by a long shot, but if you're one of those who've grown weary of torture porn, zombies and remakes of Japanese ghost stories, you could do a lot worse.
Besides, it's free on Amazon Prime. :-)
Gravity (2013)
A stunning, game-changing, cinematic achievement.
OK, so I'm supposed to be working right now, but I'm in one of those funky-ass, quasi-writer's-block ruts where I've written one of my characters into a corner, and now can't decide whether to solve the problem or just scrap 8 minutes of screen time.
Until I do, here's a few quick thoughts about "Gravity," which my girlfriend and I went and saw on a day date yesterday afternoon. I'm not writing this to be read by anybody, mind you. Rather, it's my attempt to distract myself by writing something entirely unrelated to my script, in the hopes a solution to my problem pops up when I'm not thinking about it. Feel free to adopt this perspective in your own situation the next time your boss tells you you're screwing around. You're welcome.
So, Gravity. Yeah. WOW. I suppose the simplest way to sum up this film is to say it is indeed, a truly new experience. In his autobiography, Charlie Chaplin recalled when he first saw Lumière's "Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat" (1895), which simply showed a steam engine approaching a station. To him, and millions, it was magic. Such is the case here with what I refer to as director Alfonso Cuaron's cinematic "Thriller," a singular evolution of storytelling that he (or anyone else, for that matter) is exceedingly unlikely to repeat in my lifetime.
Story-wise, though, "Gravity" is just your typical survival film which has been made aplenty, though, the elements are different in this setting with only a few broken spacecrafts and endless deep space. Survival films like "Gravity" are almost like one-off events, something that everyone should see at least once, but don't often stand the test of time. The allure of a movie like "127 Hours" was to see how James Franco would cut off his arm, but can anyone remember the rest of the movie? And does anyone care to? Fortunately, "Gravity" does have more going for it than most survival films, which primarily, is the various layers of fear: the fear of the unfamiliarity of space, the obvious fear of time, and finally the fear of not just dying but the question of how will your end come? A question I'm dealing with now in this unconscionable bitch of a script I'm trying to finish, I should add.
But more importantly, if you're anything like the film homer I am, "Gravity" is much more than a formulaic story of survival; it is an exquisite work of visual art. Unlike the 3-D technology so overly-hyped in "Avatar," the fact that the screen is so lacking in clutter and action only serves to immerse you in the film. Such was the promise of 3-D IMAX years ago, finally fulfilled here. The 3-D is so seamless and natural, there were moments when I had to remove my glasses for a moment, if for nothing else than to confirm that yes, a 3-D camera angle of a girl in a lake, shot from water level, is frighteningly realistic.
"Frighteningly realistic." That would also sum up this film, were it not for the fact that a mere moment after walking out of the theater, I was overcome with such emotion, I cried. As of this minute, I still have no concrete explanation for my reaction, except to speculate that while "Gravity" is by no means as great a film as "Citizen Kane," "Casablanca" or "To Kill A Mockingbird" (my favorite movie of all time), it is arguably the most beautiful cinematic experience I've ever been fortunate enough to have.
One last thing, I promise. Perhaps the most ironic (and tragic?) aspect of Cuaron's game-changing achievement is that part of what makes "Gravity" so singularly wonderful is precisely why it isn't likely to find much success once the IMAX well has run dry: I, for one, will never deign to see this film in any venue smaller than six stories. That'd be akin to going to the stadium to see your team play Game 7 of the World Series, only to sit in your car and listen to it on the radio.
See this, but only as it was meant to be seen.
OK, now back to work before the Hammer comes out here and tears me a new one.
Womack (2012)
One of the best shorts I've ever seen.
I ran across this just now on a premium channel while waiting for the following feature, and what seemed like only moments later, was blown away.
The story is simple enough, but the execution was masterful. Shorts are typically created with minimal budgets, at best, but this film had such a high level of production quality, it looked as polished as anything coming from the majors.
I don't want to say anything particular about this, because it really must be seen to be appreciated. Bonus stars for the dialogue, which was as brilliant as it's delivery by equally brilliant actors.
Bravo!
Kingdom Come (2011)
Welcome to the Motion Picture Business, Kid.
This film is a near-perfect illustration of the delusion so many people (especially actors) have about how movies get made.
To begin with, please allow me to dispel the notion that the people in Hollywood who ACTUALLY MAKE THE MOVIES, the oft-maligned producers, are interested in "creating art." We are, as any knowledgeable producer will tell you, most definitely NOT interested in your "vision," your "passion," or your "need to make great films." We are in the business of selling two things: seats and sugar, and I hate to be the thousandth person to say this, but if your script sucks, the only money you're going to be able to raise to shoot it is going to come from people who either feel sorry for you, don't care about making it back (let alone at a profit), or both, as was the case here with David Gillies.
Gillies admits his pet project, "Broken Kingdom," is "not commercially viable," yet proceeds to gripe and moan about how hard financing is for him and his hapless co-producer, John Lyons Murphy (who clearly hasn't a clue about how to even market the crap sandwich he's helped create). It is a level of arrogance and faux martyrdom one can only find in actors - the constant need for validation and approval, even when what they're giving you is appallingly bad and self-serving.
By the way...a note to so-called producer, Mr. Murphy: There is no, never has been, nor will there EVER be a film "festival circuit," and to propagate that ridiculously false idea is not only irresponsible, but has been one of the biggest reasons why so many great low-, ultra-low- and micro-budget films are never seen. But more on that in a moment.
As a producer, I've grown accustomed to the obtuseness of actors, who, despite the fact that it is we who find them, pay them and sustain their careers (provided they continue to prove bankable), completely miss the irony of their derisiveness toward us on a Saturday night, yet show up on set on Monday morning, begging us for more work and bigger paychecks. We don't call them "movable props" for nothing.
The same can be said of directors, who all-too-often forget that they are our employees, and that it is we who own "their films," not them. Don't believe me? Think I'm being hyperbolic? Well then, just who is it that steps on stage at the Academy Awards every year and accepts the Oscar for Best Picture?
Go ahead. I'll wait.
As for "Broken Kingdom's" awards at the prestigious (::gulp::) Rhode Island Film Festival, perhaps some context is in order.
Film festivals are for one thing, and one thing only: to sell a finished movie to distributors across the spectrum of revenue streams (theatrical, foreign, cable, etc). In between the red carpets and jewelry heists, producers vie for the attention of development and acquisition executives (DE's and AE's, respectively) who attend festivals in order to buy product to put up on the screen. If you've discovered a great script, turned it into a great movie, the festival screening is sold out, and people are on their feet cheering as the end credits roll, the successful producer (which Gillies and Murphy were clearly NOT in this instance) will find himself fielding deal offers as soon as he steps out of the theater and into the lobby. You don't have to have a multi-million dollar top sheet and a couple of A-list actors to make this happen, but you most definitely better make sure you have a terrific script before you go jetting off to Cannes.
Which is precisely why the dangerously popular notion of a "festival circuit" is so destructive to indie and guerilla producers (I say producer, because to the people who are seriously looking to invest in a great project, calling yourself a "filmmaker"is code for "broke and desperate."). Festivals are not only expensive to participate in, but entering your great film in every festival you can afford to enter will instantly kill whatever chance you may have had of being accepted by the Sundance-caliber festivals. After all, you will have given away your world premiere. Just how valuable do you think your work will be once you've screened it for Dubuque, Tampa and Rhode Island? Think, I beg of you.
It ain't romantic, but that is the real Hollywood. The collection of self-involved actors, writers and directors who spend much of this documentary kvetching about how evil are those of us who pay them aside, that is how movies get made.
In the final analysis, "Kingdom Come" is wonderful schadenfreude for those of us who read literally hundreds of scripts a year. Each and every script we read is accompanied by the writer's belief that his or hers is "The Greatest Script Ever." Unfortunately, the reality is that not everyone is a Charlie Kaufman or Bill Goldman, and no amount of passion, vision or drive to succeed can make up for a discernible lack of talent.
Therefore, watching the participants here try (and largely fail) to come to terms with that most daunting and galling fact is on the one hand tragic, yet on the other wonderfully satisfying, provided you're a vindictive S.O.B. (like yours truly) who oftentimes grows damn tired of having to deal with infantile egomaniacal actors in order to produce a feature on time and on budget.
Don't get me wrong. We LOVE movies as much, if not more so, than most. Why else would we put up with this nonsense? It's just that the successful producer has demonstrated the ability to find the Great Script, as well as the money to turn that Great Script into the Great Movie, without having to make a documentary about how much trouble we're having selling a crap sandwich.
That's the screen trade. Brutal, but truthful.
Last Days Here (2011)
Quite possibly the best rock documentary I've ever seen
I'm hesitant to actually discuss this incredible film because of the many parallels to my own life. However, the music Bobby Liebling has created, and the relief to know that he's been so prolific, coupled with the incredible ending, absolutely compelled me to at least put these few thoughts down, so as to contribute my voice to the thousands of fans who are so grateful not only for this film, but for Pentagram.
Another amazing aspect of this story is the feeling one gets that this band can very rightly claim that they were, are, and ever shall be the Greatest Rock Band Never To Have made It, and as such, will be almost sorry if they ever do, for fear that that magic, that music made on the very edge of desperation, may be lost once Fame steps in and drops a giant deuce all over everything.