sober_gaijin Reviews

Franklin: A Symphony of Pain (2015)

Sonata of the Damned

[8/10 · 17 February 2015]

A good friend of mine, when faced with his own mortality, once said, "To face the infinite requires profound sobriety, endless patience, and guts of steel." The same conditions must be met when facing FRANKLIN: A SYMPHONY OF PAIN, an unsettling cinematic masterpiece that one does not so much watch as endure. Directed by Jeremy Westrate, who also co- wrote the script with Richard R. Anasky and Sean Donohue, FRANKLIN takes the audience past the Ninth Circle of the Abyss, bludgeoning the consciousness until one is forced to read cinema as if learning a new language. High praise but also solemn caveat--FRANKLIN is not for the silly and the ignorant. You will need a robust digestion and an even more robust spirit.

FRANKLIN follows the nightmare of its titular character (Nikolas Franklin), who in the film's opening reel is accosted in a public restroom by a pair of masked thugs. After being rendered unconscious, Franklin awakens bound and bleeding as a trio of "handlers"--two men and one women--torment and torture him, culminating in Franklin being sodomized with a jagged wooden implement. After a failed escape attempt Franklin awakens in a dumpster, seemingly free from his captors … but the nightmare has only just begun. What ensues is Franklin's own series of unfortunate events as he wanders through a concatenation of fresh hells with seemingly no end in sight. Interspersed throughout this journey is a meta-narrative in which Franklin recounts his nightmare to the bullish Father Hyde Pearcy (Greg G. Freeman), who may have ulterior motives for walking Franklin through this "therapy."

FRANKLIN is not an easy experience. The barrage of tortures is as horrifying as anything you'll see in Japan's infamous GUINEA PIG series. The disjointed narrative and relentless shift in style are difficult to follow (I was reminded of Stone's NATURAL BORN KILLERS). The crazed retro cinematography, incessantly textured with psychedelic overlays reminiscent of Bran Ferren's paint splatter light show in ALTERED STATES, is distracting and almost seizure- inducing. Yet despite being difficult to watch, the film is nevertheless quite watchable. Its nonlinearity, while frustrating, is perhaps its saving grace: by never allowing us to fully sympathize with Franklin we never get too close to the nightmare and are instead forced to decode the troublesome narrative.

Deep into this landscape, it becomes apparent what we are witnessing is Franklin's torture-induced dream. Layer by layer, Franklin's identity is flayed before the viewer's eyes. Sodomy is an affront to his masculinity (a theme explored in Boorman's DELIVERANCE). After his alleged "escape," thugs destroy his driver's license (his identity) and a photo of his wife (the feminine energy, which "civilizes" man according to John Ford's westerns). Franklin's face, man's discernibly "human" feature, is disfigured with acid. He loses one of his eyes, the "window to the soul." He projects cultural influences onto his memories, establishing one particularly traumatic experience as a 1960s black-and-white sitcom (another NBK homage). He revises episodes in his head so that we, the audience, witness them multiple times with different outcomes. Just when we think we have a handle on his story, our perspective shifts, following the misadventures of the bizarre masked "handlers" who plague him.

There are hints of a method to this madness, and we begin to suspect that Father Hyde Pearcy is the architect of Franklin's suffering, a point further clarified by the film's "Prologue," which occurs at the end of the film. A post-credit quote makes vague reference to the CIA's Project MKUltra in which test subjects were subjected to psychedelics and torture to "promote illogical thinking and impulsiveness" (a droning computerized voice of the film's many hallucinogenic sequences further alludes to this). Even if you're unfamiliar with MKUltra (as I was), the film can still be appreciated on its own terms (much the same way one can appreciate PINK FLOYD THE WALL without knowing anything about Roger Waters or Syd Barrett). I was reminded of the internet urban myth that suggests victims of torture often recreate a seemingly "normal" alternate reality to escape their anguish … suggesting that the reality you currently experience could be a torture-induced dream (creepy stuff).

If this is indeed the case, then FRANKLIN takes us on a journey through those realities, and it does so with great aplomb. The script is a messy mosaic of horrors that manages to create a unified whole like Seurat's pixilated dots. Westrate's direction of this material is assured, and actor Nikolas Franklin, taking on a role usually relegated to women in torture porn, delivers one of the most fearless performances I have seen in a while (think Helen Buday in ALEXANDRIA'S PROJECT or Monica Bellucci in IRREVERSIBLE).

If it seems I am referencing too many other well-known films, it's because thematically FRANKLIN is something of a pastiche. As a work of art, it has an odd self-awareness, personified in the character of Fernando (Angel Martin), a grinning hippie who often appears with camera in hand, videotaping the torture. It is during these scenes that the point of view will often shift the most, at times putting us inside Fernando's camera, making us complicit with Franklin's tormentors (okay, okay, I'll eschew the reference to the opera glasses in SALÓ). This allows the film's reality to constantly be destroyed and reborn, to write its own rules. Late in the film, when Father Hyde bellows "I'm the one who controls what goes on in your reality!" the film shifts to a series of surrealistic moving snapshots (Franklin's fading memories?), each separate from the other by the scratchy static of a TV changing channels. Could television, what Harlan Ellison calls the "glass teat," be our own "handler" controlling our minds?

Knicker Knockers (2009 Video)

Atmosphere carries the day

[8/10 · 1 June 2010]

A young girl named Megan discovers she is pregnant and desires an abortion. The doctor asks her to take the weekend to think it over, and Megan finds herself alone in a large and isolated house with her own demons ... and perhaps something else.

Like most of Rob Kreh's short horror films, "Knicker Knockers" starts with an idea or theme but then chooses to turn its attention to traditional horror movie scares. This is not necessarily a bad thing. In Megan's terrifying ordeal as the shadowing "knicker knockers" tap at her door and ask to be let in (speaking in reverberating, monstrous voices), there are some genuine chills to be had by all. If I have a complaint, it's that not enough is known about Megan for us to really care about her (we learn next to nothing about the father of her child), and her ultimate fate, which comes about as a result of her final choices (key word), seems to contradict Kreh's actual message.

Still, these are issues that came to mind after the fact. In the moment of watching this 15-minute short I was compelled by the premise and duly impressed by Kreh's use of shadow and sound. Creepy, creepy stuff.

Hero at Large (1980)

"I'm going in!"

[10/10 · 7 April 2006]

Those three words alone summarize the heroic spirit in all of us, and that is what this movie is really about. Those of you who have seen the film know what I am talking about. Those of you who have not, for God's sake, go buy it and see if the moment when Gerry Black speaks those three words don't move you to tears. In so many ways, those words are a precursor to the words of real life heroes when on the darkest of days the bravest among us demonstrated their American spirit with the words, "Let's roll!"

Yes, this is a great John Ritter movie, but as the other famous line in the movie declares, "It does not matter who it is." Watch it! And believe!

We Don't Live Here Anymore (2004)

Give me a break!

[1/10 · 30 January 2005]

What crack-addicted movie god convinced today's pretentious crowd of indie directors that the rest of the world give's a tinker's cuspidus about the sexual problems of four unlikeable people. This is essentially "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice" for the 21st Century angst-ridden indie generation. Gone are the days of sexually experimental couples wallowing in the zeitgeist of 60s counterculture. Today's philandering couples are so racked with guilt that it takes them about five minutes to deliver a four-word line. At least one person in the bunch has to be an unpublished writer who stares at his screen unable to breathe life onto the blank page. The other three sort of tap-dance around the issues ... well, it's not really a tap-dance, more like a slow, foot-dragging funeral dirge as performed by intoxicated box turtles.

Two of the unwritten rules of screen writing ought to become WRITTEN rules in the WGA laws, punishable by dismemberment. Said two rules are: (1) The audience needs to LIKE one of the characters, and (2) NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE WRITER'S DYSFUNCTIONAL SEX LIFE! Beyond that, it is all fair game.

The Reflecting Skin (1990)

Hard to respond ...

[30 May 2004]

This film is certainly unique. It creates a dark and haunting atmosphere against a rural town in the 1950s. It keeps sneaking so many weird and unsettling images into its narrative that by the time the really weird stuff starts you're totally accepting of it. The film opens with a group of cruel boys inflating a hapless frog and then exploding it in the face of a woman, spattering her with blood and frog entrails. That sets the tone.

I was not in the right frame of mind for this. But I cannot utterly dismiss it either. I was taken by the filmmaker's vision, and I had to appreciate his imaginative approach to narrative. But I was expecting the violence to be a little more stylized--actually, it's quite bleak and nihilistic. This film belongs in a pantheon of indigestible films like SALO, brilliant movies to be sure, but hardly the kind of stories to tuck you in at night. This is a compliment, by the way, as SALO is one of my favorite films.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

Amazing ...

[10/10 · 26 February 2004]

I put a single adjective to describe my reaction to the film, but looking at the word in print it does not do the film justice. In short, this was one of the most emotional experiences I have ever had in the theater. Christ's Passion is intense, gut-wrenching, angst-ridden and agonizing, yet throughout the narrative the immeasurable Love of God is ever so apparent.

But divorce ourselves from the spiritual message a moment. Is it a good film? It is certainly well-made. Yes, Gibson did his homework regarding the Gospels, but there are numerous elements from the Elizabethan Passion Plays that are not explicitly described in the Bible (for instance, the Roman guard dislocating Christ's shoulder so His palm would align with a peg-hole on the crossbeam). There are also numerous images taken from the great Renaissance paintings and sculptures of Christ, many of them universally recognizable, some requiring a little homework. As far as films go, this one is powerful and visually stunning. As far as films about Christ go, it's much more.

I realized during certain scenes that had I been ignorant of the Gospels and of Christ's Love, I might have found some of the violence bordering on exploitation. But as a Believer, I was more moved than offended by the brutality. For those who think this movie is too much--that the violence is too graphic--perhaps your heart is not in the right place. This much brutality is only exploitative when taken out of context. If the acts of violence in this film were going on in one of the countless Nazi Love Camp movies from the 70s, then you'd have a beef.

But in the context of Christ's Passion, can it ever be too much?

When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth (1970)

Nostalgic tool for prepuebescent development

[19 February 2004]

"When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth," like its predecessor "One Million Years B.C." was one of those great movies when I was a kid that helped ease my transition from comic-book-reading, baseball-card-collecting dinosaur geek to comic-book-reading, baseball-card-collecting chick freak. I was seven when it was released, and I still remember the TV airwaves saturated with advertising. I whined and screamed and begged my brother to take me, and he did. Great part was, we caught this flick as part of a double-feature with Harryhausen's "Valley of Gwangi." Eat your heart out, stop-motion animation fans!

Perhaps because of the great childhood experiences surrounding this movie, there's a kid-voice in my head that still sees it as near-flawless cinema. But in all honesty, it's just G-rated exploitation in the purest sense of the word. The dinosaurs in the movie promos draw the young boys in, and once their behinds are in the seats they slowly become less cognizant of the prehistoric beasts and more cognizant of the way Victoria Vetri's cave tunic gives her breasts that extra lift or the way her legs seem to be constantly shimmering with sweat. Even at seven I noticed this, which is why "Dinosaurs" provided a great transition into puberty for me half a decade before it actually hit. A lot of fun, this, but don't mistake it for art. Watch it for the beasts and the (scantily clad but not naked) boobs, toss in a bag of microwave popcorn and a few beers. It may be G-rated but it's still kind'a fun.

The Valley of Gwangi (1969)

Still amazing to me

[19 February 2004]

What saddens me about contemporary cinema is the way it has become so high tech that appreciation for the craft of Ray Harryhausen is all but lost on today's generation. Many young people watch this today and say the effects look flat or cheap. I dunno. I guess because I wasn't weaned on the 20-cuts-a-second editing style of MTV, I can still look at Harryhausen's effects and stand in awe. Rent the DVD for "Gwangi," watch the short documentary about how Harryhausen put the Tyrannosaurus roping sequence, and maybe you'll be in awe too. The thing I like about stop-motion animation is the surreal quality of its motion and the amount of work required to bring it to life. As fans, we know that these are models, manipulated painstakingly by hand, and when I was a kid the idea of some guy doing this for a living was amazing. It was like playing with toys, right?

I don't object to CGI today, but I must admit that because of the advances in the watching habits of young people, I find the multiple-cut editing style a bit obnoxious. With CGI, you over-edit because you can, because linear computer editing systems like Avid and Final Cut afford you that luxury (I'm still lost during sequences of EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN because my eye can't follow fast enough). I prefer the slightly more static but nevertheless watchable action sequences of "Gwangi," which I can view again and again with awe.

I'll grant you, as a whole "Gwangi" has flaws. The overdubbing of Gila Golan is annoying. The direction of the actors and the camera is melodramatic. We have to wait 45 minutes into the film before we get any quality dinosaur action (but to the film's credit, the last 50 minutes are a rollercoaster ride). The problem with the script is that someone felt they had to actually write one, someone unfamiliar with the conventions of the genre, someone who didn't realize that less dialogue, characterization and plot development (all shoddy, by the way) and more dinosaur action was what was demanded by the target audience. The nice thing about the DVD, however, is you can skip all that stuff. Go on, be a kid, and fast-forward to the Forbidden Valley scenes. If you have any appreciation for the pre-CGI pioneers of special effects (without Harryhausen, there could be no Phil Tippett on THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK), you will love this.

***** out of 5 for the dinosaurs; ** out of 5 for the rest of the movie

The Butterfly Effect (2004)

Intense ... intensely stupid!

[2 February 2004]

First, let's get the whole "intense" argument out of the way. Yes, this movie was intense but not because of any miracle of storytelling. Basically, it seemed as if the writers opened up their Fodor's Guide To Disturbing Plot Elements and ran down the checklist. Child molestation ... check! Cruelty to animals ... check! Baby-killing ... check! Prison rape... check! Living life as an amputee ... check! Having a psycho take an aluminum bat and go yard with your skull ... check!

Intense subject matter does not a great story make. The basic premise of this film is that Evan (Ashton Kutcher) thinks he can go back in time and make the lives of those he loves better by eliminating one or more of the aforementioned miserable life experiences. Of course, every time he goes back, he throws the space-time continuum out of flux, thereby creating a ripple effect of alternate miserable life experiences and making things worse for himself. Not a bad premise--who among us has not wished for this power?--but the story exposes itself as a sham by the second act.

Case in point. Evan goes back to being seven years old, and averts a lifetime of child molestation for his friend Kayleigh (Amy Smart) just by getting in her abusive father's face. Do these writers know anything about abusers? Do they really think an alcoholic abuser would back down from a mouthy child, do a 180 and transform from a pedophilic creep to a loving father? But no, this one act is the difference between Kayleigh become a suicidal basket case and her evolving into a lovely, balanced college girl. Thank God one child was tough enough to say, "Leave us alone," and one pedophile was rational enough to stop. It don't happen that way, folks, and anyone who's been molested will say as much.

Trouble is, this one act may alter Evan's adult reality, but it still leaves a lot of other events in his history (events that by virtue of the butterfly effect should have been changed) unchanged. If his one act stops the child molestation, would the other events in his life--the murder of his dog and the death of the baby--also be different?

The biggest problem with the movie, though, is the utter irresponsibility of it all. During the first act, when we get to see all of the horrors of Evan's existence, the film works itself out like a piece of shock exploitation. You can almost see the writers yucking it up over scotch and soda by their word processor saying, "And then let's have Tommy put a dog in a sack and set it on fire! Boy, that'll freak people out!"

Okay, if this had been exploitation along the lines of "Ilsa" or "Salo," maybe this crap is appropriate. But this is a mainstream Hollywood movie, starring Kelso from "That's 70s Show," being touted by the blurbs on the TV ads as a "rollicking, high-speed, suspenseful rollercoaster ride"! This movie pushes the envelope, brings up some disturbing images that will traumatize those who have, unlike the writers, really experienced such horrors ... then it tries to wrap it all up with neat little answers.

Rated PG for Pure Garbage.

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension (1984)

Get over it, junior Eberts!

[28 January 2004]

I've read several comments by people under the age of 30 who trash on this film, call it crap, and characterize us fans as vapid, thorazine-addled retards. Whatever makes you happy, folks! If trashing on a film that was seminal in the annals of low-budget cinematic resourcefulness makes you feel special then I'm happy for you.

There is a reason we love this film. The script is clever, a veritable mosaic of silly twists and throwaway jokes so layered that it takes multiple viewings to keep up with it all (favorite line: "It's not my ******* planet, Monkey Boy!"). And the direction and approach is equally exciting: rather than annoy us with underfinanced special effects that pretend to be Lucasfilm quality, the director revels in his low budget, using conk shells as models for space ships and populating alien ship interiors with tubes, pipes, rods and duct tape. The aliens come off as resourceful-albeit-goofy packrats, bumbling about and managing to stay just a few steps ahead of Buckaroo until the very end.

For many of us over 30, this film was something special. We caught it at midnight movie houses and relished in the warm presence of a movie made by people who shared our dark, twisted senses of humor. In college, it was a regular rental; we held Bonzai parties, dressed as characters, turned it into our private video Rocky Horror. No, it's not Citizen Kane ... but what do you want from a movie called Buckaroo Bonzai?

Cabin Fever (2002)

Uhh ... okay ...

[16 January 2004]

I respect any indie filmmaker who gets the job done. I even respect those on this site who appreciate Roth's efforts to return us to the golden era of gore horror flicks (reminiscent of that wonderful period from 1978 to 1986). But come on ...

First of all, there's no real horror. Nothing is in the woods trying to get these kids. They're just melting slowly from a flesh-eating disease, and even though they do a few amusing things you never really feel that "what's in the shadows" unease that makes flicks like this so great. These kids are just waiting to get sick, then waiting to die. Sure, a few rednecks come hunting them, but there's nothing else to really chase them. And horror movies need things coming after the victims. If they plan to be amusing horror films like this, that is, not serious treatments of serious issues like that Dustin Hoffman killer virus flick.

Second of all, there are two many scenes set up to be funny that bog the narrative down: a running motif with a horny deputy who looks like Brandon Cruz on "The Courtship of Eddie's Father"; Eli Roth's cameo as a pot-smoking hiker; the ridiculous joke about the old guy at the shop who may or may not be a racist ... whatever.

Finally, the film telegraphs its best moments too much. For instance, at one point, a character realizes he has survived, and walks through the cabin pumping his fists and shouting, "I made it! I made it!" Now, we all know these rednecks are in the woods with guns, so if you've seen "Night of the Living Dead" you know what's going to happen here. It just annoys you because you're waiting for it, but Roth treats us to about half and hour of this kid shouting, "I made it! I made it!" Long set-up for the punchline, pal.

And I'll tell you another thing ... ZZZZZZZZZ

[This comment has been discontinued because the author has fallen asleep while watching "Cabin Fever"]

28 Days Later (2002)

Freaky ... until you rent the DVD.

[16 January 2004]

This movie made me jump and scream and hide my eyes. It freaked me out. It gave me nightmares. One of the scariest films I have seen.

Then I rented it on DVD because I wanted to see it again.

Not so freaky on a TV screen. In fact, the people I've met who don't like this one are those who have only seen it on the glass teat, so they are missing the full effect.

Do yourself a favor. Watch on a big screen with the lights down and a killer sound system, and crank it! The premise is freaky enough, but the soundtrack utilizes a lot of crashes, shrieks and thumps that make you jump in the night. The tunnel sequence is particularly effective.

Pep Squad (1998)

Maybe I liked this movie ...

[16 January 2004]

I say maybe. Maybe is the joining of two words: "may" which means "to allow"; and "be" which means "to exist." So when you say "maybe," you are saying you are allowing something to exist.

So I am allowing an enjoyment of this film to exist. Maybe I liked it. I would entertain the possibility that I ...

I can't do this! I can't! This movie is ... is ... is...

It's the "Citizen Kane" of low-budget teen comedies that try to sound like Quentin Tarantino movies.

There. I said it. Not so bad, right? Right?

Midnight Cowboy (1969)

One of the more poignant films I've seen

[16 January 2004]

Schlesinger toys with reality in "Midnight Cowboy," overlaying dream and memory imagery intermingled to the point that no one can rely on the conscious direction of Joe Buck, the film's central character. When the film opens, Joe is leaving his small town in Texas for the big city, harboring dreams of making it rich as a high-priced gigolo. Even within the first few minutes, Joe is looking into the window of an empty beauty parlor, reflecting on his childhood with his grandmother. And from that moment, one questions just what Grandma's relationship with Joe is--she has him massage her neck while calling him loverboy.

Later, more images in Joe's memory are juxtaposed to reinforce our fears: we see Joe in bed with Grandma and one of her old cowboy lovers (obviously where he got the misconception that a cowboy hat makes a man "one hell of a stud"); we also see her giving him an enema, juxtaposed with Joe as a young man getting sodomized by a gang of boys who resent that he is exclusively sleeping with the town pump, thereby denying her services to anyone else. Clearly, a lot of violation goes on in this flick.

But this serves as backstory only, for the real heart of the drama is Joe's relationship with the scroungy Ratso Rizzo, a knowing New York native who takes Joe in and shows him the ropes. The frustrating thing about the film is the inability of these characters to get a life--it takes Joe until the end of the film to realize he's neither a great cowboy nor a great lover--and go get a decent job. They live in an abandoned building, steal and cheat people, and struggle through a hard New York winter. Ratso's tubercular cough gets suspiciously worse, and all of this leads to a moment of truth, when Joe Buck must make sacrifice and change for the love of his friend.

Some suggest that these two are gay lovers--if so, it is never specifically stated in the film. While they do set up a household of sorts, with Ratso assuming the domestic wife's role, both seem to be an almost asexual cypers.

The film is not easy to get through in places, but not so offensive and disturbing that one can't. Rather, its plumbing of our emotional depths is what leaves us feeling empty and grateful at the same time.

Baby's Breath (2003)

On the whole, I was impressed!

[10/10 · 29 August 2003]

I drove up to Wichita to check out a special private screening of "Baby's Breath" 'cause I read about it on the website. The story involves the ghost of a little girl and a brutal killer and the ghost's inability to ID said killer because she can only communicate in baby talk. I can't say too much more because it would give away a couple of the movie's surprises, one in particular that caught me completely off-guard! What I will say is that despite the story's obvious horror elements, the narrative seems driven by a series of conflicts between people with real motivations and what Harlan Ellison calls "tell-tale tics and tremors." For instance, Dr. Jake, the hero, is a hardened cynic stricken by grief, and Garon Pierce, the principal antagonist, is both creepy and aggravating, yet his actions seem totally understandable.

The good news for all the fans I've chatted with on the web is, this film really creeped me out; the script is strong, full of nice twists and turns, and the production's low budget feel that gave the story a kind of haunting immediacy. I liked the way the image desaturated and turned cold whenever the child's ghost appeared, and her visitations were always announced by eerie whispers that seemed to surround the audience. The film did have a few minor technical issues, but I was caught up in the story and was able to move forward without dwelling on those issues. There was also a scene near the end that could have been written out but it's not too distracting.

all in all, a good movie and I'm looking forward to watching this again ... *** out of 4.

Cabin Fever (2002)

Okay and ... well, okay

[29 August 2003]

Caught this film at the IFP/LA.

Eli Roth has a real sense of the genre, I'll give him that. His story of five college kids on a spring break getaway who contract a deadly flesh-eating virus has plenty of gore and lost of good "gotchas" that make the flesh, well, crawl.

My problem with the film is that it hangs a little too much on the conventions and cliches without breaking any new ground. Also, it tends to telegraph its surprises a little too much--when one of these kids walks through the house pumping his fist in celebration and announcing over and over, "I survived! I f***ing survived!" you just know that he's going to walk into a demise similar to the end of "Night of the Living Dead" (the original, not the remake). Other things bothered me, like the inclusion of a young deputy with a peach fuzz mustache who's obsessed with partying; his scenes seem like they were plugged in as an afterthought.

Does Roth have talent? As a director, yes. He paces his film and frames his images quite well. But the script could use a lot of work, some punching up and a little originality injected into the narrative.

Kafka (1991)

Takes some thought

[21 February 2003]

There's no question that Soderbergh wanted to make a film noir and found in Lem Dobbs' script the ideal vehicle (when I first saw it, someone in line claimed that Soderbergh hailed Dobb's screenplay as the best he had ever read). The struggle many have with the script is that it requires a degree of understanding about Kafka, his life, his work, as well as elements of world history from 1919 (the film's time period) to 1991 (the years of the film's release, shortly--ironically--after the Velvet Revolution).

In 1991, I was at a loss, yet so in awe of the film's daring visual style that I wanted to know more. I read the works of Kafka, studied his biography, even visited Prague. Today I feel I have a better understanding of the film ... and yet I am no better off for it. It seems unfair that a film requires such additional research for one to enjoy it (like the bibliography at the beginning of Pasolini's SALO). The only function movies like this serve is to enable dreary intellectuals to peer down their noses at movie fans and chastise of for "not getting it."

That said, KAFKA is a riveting piece of filmmaking. Don't try to understand it or even think you have to. Just take in the rich cinematography, the powerfully understated acting and some of the quirky dialogue. It's one of those films that you find yourself enjoying without really understanding why.

Cutter's Way (1981)

Misleading homage to noir

[21 February 2003]

Here is a film that sneaks up on you. It starts out by introducing you two three off-kilter characters--Jeff Bridges as the drifting playboy Bone; John Heard as the crippled Cutter, a man of uncompromising rage and a razor-sharp tongue; and Lisa Eichorn as the Cutter's terminally depressed wife Mo. Within the first half-hour of meeting these pathetic folk, the narrative drops in a murder mystery: a girl's body is found in a garbage can and Bone is the chief suspect. When Bone has a momentary revelation and thinks that he saw local millionaire JJ Cord disposing of the body, Cutter becomes obsessed with proving Cord's guilt. They have no evidence, you see, but as Cutter is a Vietnam vet scarred from the war and Cord represents all the "fat cats" that sent young men to 'Nam to die, Cutter thinks a little payback is in order ("He's not just anybody," Cutter growls. "He's responsible!").

After this bizarre set-up, the film takes an unusual turn. It stops being about the mystery and more about Cutter's efforts to push Bone into taking some kind of action--any action--to give his life value. In fact, the question of Cord's guilt is left hanging, and we are treated instead to a powerful climax that leaves us breathless as the screen goes black.

Clearly one of my favorite films, the performance of John Heard alone is worth the price of admission. The mutilated Cutter is missing a leg, an arm and an eye, and he hobbles about swearing and growling like a drunken pirate. Some critics find Cutter offensive; I totally identified with his anger, although I felt that he took it too far at times. Nevertheless, Heard has given us one of the screen's truly memorable characters. You won't forget this film soon.

Dawn of the Dead (1978)

Who are the real monsters?

[21 February 2003]

Following up his indie hit NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD some 12 years later, George Romero picks up where the previous flick left off--with the improbable premise that there is no more room in Hell so the dead are now walking the earth. The dead are a nasty bunch too. They meander about with bluish skin, some of them yellow and decayed in places, munching on the flesh of the living and causing a bit of a ruckus. The only way to kill them it seems, is to shoot them in the head--as you can guess, this film is the perfect vehicle for afficienados of blood squibs and gory prosthetics.

But then Romero does something powerful: he lets us see just how primitive the humans become when faced with the crisis. The story follows four of the survivors fleeing the international catastrophe, willingly abandoning their fellows, it seems, as long as they are safe. Along the way in the early going, we get to witness just how depraved mankind has become: members of a SWAT team have amped up their brutality a notch while a band of rednecks take advantage of the crisis by organizing living dead hunting parties (a true laugh-out-loud sequence).

Our four travellers eventually hole themselves up in an abandoned mall and like the ravenous zombies trying to get in, these hungry souls begin consuming everything in sight. After sealing all the mall doors and disposing of those zombies within the buildings confines, our heroes spend a good chunk of the film living an isolated life of luxury, enjoying the once-pricey goods in the now-abandoned stores and eating like kings. It turns into a bizarre metaphor for primitive monarchies where royalty lived high in their palace while the starving masses (represented by the zombies pounding the doors) clamored to be fed.

The film stands on its own as a straight gross-out thriller, of course, but if you like your horror movies with a bit more thematic relevance, I'd suggest you check this one out.

A Clockwork Orange (1971)

Hmmmmm ....

[21 February 2003]

I have always been puzzled by the cultish fan base this film has inspired. Yes, it is one of the truly great films, but you don't see many of the others on the list--CITIZEN KANE or CASABLANCA, for instance--drawing such a passionate crowd.

At this point in the game, it seems a waste of time to discuss the plot, although I will touch on it briefly. The real genius of the film, I think, comes from author Anthony Burgess and his wonderful little allegorical tale about a society so obsessed with order that it will deny its subjects the freedom to make a conscious choice over good and evil. I especially like the complete draft of Burgess's novel, with a final chapter in which the "cured" Alex reaches a point where he realizes it's time to start choosing good. But Kubrick's film--based on a draft of the novel that didn't include this chapter--doesn't go that far.

Why are people amazed by ORANGE? Perhaps it is because it took so many daring chances for 1971, touching on levels of violence that today seem tame. Perhaps it is because Kubrick, originally a photographer, has such an amazing visual style that we're willing to forgive his deficiencies as a storyteller (I've always loved the look of Kubrick films if not the flow; the moment in ORANGE when Alex brutalizes his "droogs" in slo-mo is still haunting and beautiful). Or perhaps, as I have argued many times, it is because of the charming performance by Malcolm McDowell as Alex, a rogue so affable that it is easy for us to forget he is a villain (I first saw this when I was 16 and was shocked years later to see Alex listed in a book of great movie villains).

I do enjoy this film and reccommend it to all film buffs, but I am concerned by its fan base. Those fans I have met seem to be more in tune to its violence--violence made more palatable because the enchanting McDowell commits it--and many of them mistakenly think Kubrick advocates the use of force through this film. Nothing could be further from the truth, but this is the risk one runs when elevating acts of terror to an art form.

This film is like a lush, gorgeous painting of the planes hitting the Towers on 9/11--it has great aesthetic value but unless you understand the context the message may be lost on you.

If.... (1968)

Quietly amazing

[21 February 2003]

The beauty of Lindsay Anderson's IF.... is the director's ability to juxtapose realistic elements with the fantastic so gently that the audience finds itself questioning what it just saw. Set in the oppressive world of an all-boys school in 1960s great Britain, the film's three protagonists--led by mischievous Malcolm McDowell--escape from the fascist techniques of the schools prefects by departing into wild fantasies. The confusing thing is, Anderson gives us no cues as to when reality has ended and fantasy has begun.

It is tempting, on first viewing, to assume that all fantasy sequences are in black-and-white; however, numerous sequences that are clearly grounded in reality often become desaturated as they develop. Likewise, many fantasy sequences will often begin in color, lose all color midway, and regain color before returning to the realistic world of the school. Anderson doesn't want us to see these fantasy sequences as seperate from reality, but rather gives us a window into this world via the imaginations of our three Crusader heroes.

To this day many images stay with me: Mick Travis (McDowell) making violent, animalistic love to his Fantasy Girl (Christine Noonan) on a coffee house floor; Mick later spying The Girl across town via a high-powered telescope and watching as she waves at him; Mick's enranged murder of the school Chaplain and subsequent apology to the Chaplain for his actions (the Chaplain turns out to be very much alive and sleeping in a massive drawer in the headmaster's office); and of course the violent, Columbine-esque conclusion in which Mick and his mates join forces with the Fantasy Girl and attack the school with automatic weapons.

While slow and deliberate, the story never lags for those willing to give it their attention. Good fun for troubled, outcast college students.