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The Deer Hunter (1978)
Crushing with Subtlety
A visceral and soul-crushing film that gets there through balancing intensity with subtlety, rapidity with a drawn-out patience.
The scenes that stick with you may make it hard to remember how much restraint and subtlety is present here. The scenes of Russian Roulette are impossible to forget: the frantic screaming, the silent buildup, the absolute unknown with each pull of the trigger. It is helpless and simple and disturbingly random. The pains and screams of De Niro for his friend are nothing short of pure anguish, pure love, pure fear and frustration. And the unfeeling, excited audience makes it all the more unsettling.
But with a three hour run time, most of the scenes are not life or death. They are the quiet life, love that can't be, getting drunk and goofing around with your friends.
It made me aware of the kind of dully obvious expectations my current diet of movies/television have given me. I kept expecting the bold and extreme dramatic twist: the passionate confession of love to your friend's girlfriend, the accidental killing of a friend during the deer hunting trip, even the combat death of a character during the Vietnam war. Instead, the twist is in the subtlety, the underhanded but ultimately far more compelling (and closer to real life) dramatic event.
De Niro doesn't confess his love to Meryl Streep at their friend's wedding. He watches her dance; he smiles at her in passing; he lights up when she dances in his arms--temporarily taking Walken's place on the dancefloor; they wait for beer together and stare into each other's eyes and lean in a little for just a second, but they don't kiss, and there is no awkwardness, they simply go back to the way things were.
The deer hunting trips don't leave anyone killed or injured; they play out subtle moments of characterization, rising tension, and the deep contrast to De Niro's desire to kill a deer prior to the war and inability to do so afterwards.
The war is horrific, but no character dies in conflict. One is left permanently maimed; one is left entirely mentally and emotionally detached, blindly marching down a suicidal path; one is left to pick up the peaces and try his best to return to an old way of life.
Consistently it is the subtler route in events that becomes the most moving and ultimately the most heartbreaking. The result is something that feels almost documentary: the real life of its soldiers, the real events abroad and at home, and the real wounds of war.
House of 1000 Corpses (2003)
Atmospheric circus horror
Rob Zombie's background in musical performance shows.
The core pieces of the film work okay. The simple story and characters are there: four teens with a morbid curiosity wind up falling into a nightmare beyond anything they bargained for. Influence is drawn from the classics, most notably Texas Chainsaw Massacre. There is the rising suspense and shock value of any classic slasher horror flick.
But what shines to the forefront is the atmosphere of the thing: the music, the rhythm of the editing, the moody reds and blues, elaborate costumes, carnivalesque set pieces, the flashes of grainy hand-held sprinkled throughout the brighter cinematography.
Its refreshing to see style for style's sake. Like any lingering nightmare, its not about an elaborate structure, but vague imagery that burns into the back of your eyelids.
Blade Runner (1982)
Aesthetic perfection, and a thorough reflection on life, mortality, authenticity.
After some replicants get violent off-world, they seek to get in touch with their inventor, in hopes of disabling the 4 year limit to their lives. It is forced upon one man, our hero, to track them down, and kill them.
It would perhaps have been a simple enough task if not for the fact that they look, sound, and act just like humans. The lines between human and robot are blurred for our hero as well, despite his expertise at administering the test to uncover a "replicant."
Our hero gets the shakes after he kills each replicant. Early on, he is asked if he's ever killed a human by accident. He says no, but clearly the answer for him is not so simple. His response to killing a replicant sure seems to be the response of someone killing a human. He has sex with a replicant, falls in love with a replicant, a replicant that he personally identified as such in his test (which was news to her as well). "Have you ever killed a human by accident?" becomes the psychological struggle he must face in his Herculean trial.
There are no clear heroes and villains in this story, just as there is not a clear distinction between replicant and human. Replicants, who seem to feel just as deeply as any human, simply want to survive, and extend their 4 year lifespan. They kill, and fight, because they have to, much like our hero in his pursuit of them. In the moments when they can kill our hero, the replicants even seem to seek a level of understanding: "Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it." It's as if to say, "don't you see, we're not so different, you and I."
Even their struggle against their 4 year lifespan is not so different from any human struggle against mortality, a sentiment echoed in Gaff's words, the last lines of the movie as our hero runs away with his replicant love: "It's too bad she won't live! But then again, who does?"
A unicorn origami on the floor, mirroring our protagonist's own vague memory, even implies that he too may be a replicant. Earlier in the movie he is asked if he's ever taken the test; he doesn't answer. Maybe he knows he's a replicant; maybe he knows he's a human; or maybe he knows that the answer doesn't mean a thing.
It's perhaps a line of thought that he meant to avoid at all costs. It certainly makes it harder to systematically "retire" replicants if you believe them to be, for all intents and purposes, sentient and alive as any human. When Rachel follows him home to his apartment, he tries to push her away. To let her in is to have to admit to her that she's a replicant; and to admit that (knowing his feelings toward her) would be to admit that replicants are not exactly different from humans; and to admit that would be to admit the deeper admission that he could be a replicant. They are all interwoven conclusions.
A strange aspect to the story is also the fact that his mission is a foregone conclusion. His whole task of hunting down and killing four replicants, is just speeding up the inevitable (their death after 4 years). He's tasked to do a thing that would've happened anyway. Along the way, his real journey is in coming to terms with his actions, his love, and his sense of self. To retire is to kill, to have a memory is perhaps no different than to have lived it, to love is to love, to live in fear is no way for anyone to live, and we all must come to terms with our inevitable demise (no matter how much we can rage against our creator).
In it's weaving of these questions, the movie has some of the most beautiful visuals of any film I've ever seen, incorporating famous LA architecture, futuristic streetscapes, all amid haunting lighting and costumes. The overall tone is almost dreamlike, dialogue being slow, drawn out, giving you time to consider the words carefully and drink in the painterly images.
What you're left with is a deep appreciation for love and life, and more than enough lingering questions,
Hostel (2005)
The horror of exploitation
This movie is heavy-handed in ways that will be immediately off-putting to some.
The main characters are young men almost entirely motivated by sex. In this pursuit, they objectify every women in their path, seeking out the most vulnerable, using them for their own needs (e.g. Getting over an ex, providing pleasure/entertainment for a night, etc.). In this pursuit (whether intentional from Roth or not) the first half of the film frequently objectifies the women on screen.
This motivation is then mirrored in the horrors of the dark Slavic town they've wandered into. The women (and staff) of the hostel sell tourists to be carved up by those willing to pay the price. These torturers have a range of motivations (a man who couldn't be a surgeon on account of his shaky hands, a man who no longer gets thrill out of sex, etc.) It's methods are even more disturbing than those of our sex-crazed protagonists, but the concept is the same: use people for your own needs.
Along the way is an exciting adventure. It conveys the fear of the unknown: a strange town with strange customs, people plotting in a language you can't understand, helplessness in the face of forces unseen. And as with many good horror films, the horror is retribution. It is payback for the naïveté of three young men, traveling to a foreign country just to get laid.
The nudity is as over the top as the gore. It exploits fear and lust the way its characters exploit themselves.
28 Days Later... (2002)
28 Days Later is the perfect horror movie, combining the rough, the beautiful, and the purely cinematic.
What stands out first is the unique quality of the footage, shot on foggy digital cameras, lending an almost dreamlike quality to the post-apocalyptic landscape. Such footage also lends itself to tight, intimate shots; strange angles, often reminiscent of security camera footage; and dynamic editing furthering a realism with almost the impression of a documentary or twisted home video.
This sense of realism is further pushed by the acting and dialogue. The sense of humanity is constant. It exposes the shortcomings of so many other horror films in which characters can only scream in terror or grow serious in their struggle against it. Instead, in this film, there are times to scream but also times to laugh; times to brood but also times to smile with a renewed optimism; times to be left alone but also times to let yourself love. In many ways this is a central theme of the film: holding onto those human moments, the dumb joke, the chocolate from the super market, hope in the future. The struggle against zombies parallels a struggle against nihilism.
There's a lot to take away from this film, but somehow what I'm mostly left with is the impressions of its haunting imagery: a church full of dead bodies, memories of the past portrayed as film projections on the wall, the emptiness of the London landscape. The horrifying ambiance of liminal space, empty, quiet, followed by the buildup of visceral and brutal music.
The movie's most horrifying moment for me comes when a survivor tells the story of his father and sister getting trampled at a train station, seeking to flee the city at the start of the infection. The story is recounted stoically in a quiet corner store. The survivor describes the look in their eyes, the fear in himself, the terrifying moment of deciding to leave them and climb to survival over the rest of the crowd.
A lesser director would be tempted to depict this scene, to make it real: show you the horrified faces, show you the crowd of trampled people, show you their dramatic struggle to survive. Certainly this could have been achieved to dramatic effect. Yet, somehow, it's so much more off-putting when the film doesn't give you the relief of seeing it. Doesn't give you the screams, the emotion, the visuals of this nightmare scene. You don't get the catharsis. You get a broken man describing it in a dark corner store.
The grainy quality of the footage perhaps mirrors a deeper understanding of what detail to show, and what details to leave to your imagination. It pulls at our deepest fears and leaves a sensation of just how special a movie can be.
To Have and Have Not (1944)
The Ageless Sensation of Falling in Love
It's immediately tempting to compare "To Have and Have Not" to "Casablanca." Both 1940s films follow a broody Humphrey Bogart, in a foreign land during World War II, who initially looks out for his own self-interests, until, moved by love and a sense of self-responsibility, he takes on risks to fight for something bigger than himself.
To some extent this similarity may have been unavoidable. Producers demanded many changes from Hemingway's novel. Purporting a level of patriotism may have been necessary not only culturally, but financially for a movie's success during war-time, and this story format probably seemed like an effective way to display American exceptionalism on the world stage.
So how does it compare to Casablanca?
It's at least as quotable, with some of the suavest dialogue you're likely to ever hear on a film.
For better or worse, it's less melodramatic. It feels more grounded and real, but also can't quite hit the seductive emotional highs and lows of Casablanca (not to mention the complexities of intertwined love, responsibility, and sympathy, often pitted against each other.)
Still what it might lack in emotive story, it makes up for in the the most electric on-screen chemistry I've ever seen on film. Unlike Bergman in Casablanca, Bacall matches Bogart's charisma and emotional depth every step of the way, even surpassing him at times with her incredible screen-presence.
For those who are not aware, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall began dating during the filming of this movie. After the film they even got married, and stayed married until Humphrey Bogart's death in 1957.
In other words, when we see their juicy flirtation--their clever back-and-forth, the inside jokes, the push and pull of rebukes and compliments--we are witnessing not only two characters, but also two actors, falling in love.
This is compounded by the fact that so much of the dialogue was of their own making--Bogart, Bacall, and Hawks apparently adapting the scripts from Faulkner each morning to better fit their ideas of the two characters.
The end result is genuine love that couldn't be faked if you tried. When Bacall leaves the room after her famous line--"You know you don't have to act with me, Steve. You don't have to say anything, and you don't have to do anything. Not a thing. Oh, maybe just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow"--we see a shot of Bogart watching her go, completely enraptured, a smile of pure glee on his face and the slightest shake of his head in absolute bafflement. In short, we see him fall in love.
So is it as good as Casablanca? Maybe not. But Casablanca couldn't do that.
Desperado (1995)
The Action Movie Distilled to Pure Style and Grit
This is not a balanced movie. Think a shot of mescal, not a mixed drink; a greasy burger, not a well-rounded meal. The boldness to say maybe we haven't learned anything since 1967, or at least that much of what we've learned is worth forgetting.
There is little plot to hold onto here, and almost no form of character development. As Roger Ebert complains, the story seems mainly to be a setup for the gorgeous action sequences.
Still, when the stars align on those set pieces, it would be greedy to ask for more. To do so seems almost to miss the point entirely.
Antonio Banderas, injured, walks along a derelict plaster wall, leaving bright streaks of blood across it like a sudsy paintbrush. Salma Hayek sings softly in a quiet bedroom, as our hero keeps both pistols aimed at the silhouettes of gunmen behind the curtains. A story told by Steve Buscemi in a bar (the incredible intro scene of the film) lining up with the visuals of its ballet-esque shootout, ambiguous as to how much is exaggeration and how much is fact--and like any good story, it doesn't really matter.
Perhaps most impressive is how the shootouts feel different every time, never falling into the repetition that plagues so many of today's action movies. One of the most compelling moments is when our hero and a rival gunmen fire at each other point-blank range, only to find that they are both out of bullets. They then frantically scramble to pick up the guns of fallen gunmen, firing at each other frantically and each time hearing the empty clicks of the chambers. Another sequence finds a knife-throwing Danny Trejo up against a bullet-proof car, with seemingly endless windows to open and close in their bizarre face-off.
And throughout, each scene is carried by slick editing, dynamic camera-work, vibrant sets, incredibly integrated music, and the bold swagger of Antonio Banderas.
Story and characters may be lacking, but it's sure hard to notice.
Unfriended (2014)
An array of horror tropes through a unique lens
Unfriended manages to adhere pretty strictly to the established rules of the horror genre, while adapting these strategies to its unique format: the entire film taking place on a teenage girl's (Blaire's) computer screen.
This format allows for unique methods of storytelling, as the viewer sees the messages Blaire sends versus the messages she types and erases, the words she says to the whole Skype group versus the words she private-messages to her boyfriend, and the rationalizing face she shows to her friends versus the paranoid-fear she experiences while googling the undead.
This duplicity (of internet-self versus real-self) carries through to the core development of the characters, as the "hacker" they face begins to unmask them, revealing secrets and pitting the cast against each other in Saw-esque "games."
As with many classic slasher flicks, the killing is framed as moral retribution. However, instead of simply targeting teenagers for having frivolous sex and reckless alcohol use, this film takes a more modern approach. These characters are targeted for their deception, for their two-faced attitudes, for being fake, for being unfaithful, for bullying, for the kind of behavior that their internet social lives seemed to encourage. In other words, it is not simply conservative social norms these teens are breaking; they are targeted because of the people they've hurt, and the very real damage they've caused.
The desk-top format of the film allows for novel ways to build suspense: the buffering of a video becomes horrifying when you are unsure if your friend is alive or dead, the glitches in the video distort faces and mangle speech, scrolling through message boards and supernatural rabbit-holes feels somehow all the more real than simply digging up an old book in a library or speaking with an exorcist. As I write this in 2021--after spending the year on zoom for work, school, and countless social interactions--the strange dehumanizing nature of the screen feels all the more familiar.
In short, this film burrows a lot from established horror movie formats: the moral retribution of teen slasher flicks, the Saw-esque "games" pitting individuals against each other, the found-footage and largely improvisational nature of films like the Blair Witch Project. However, its unique computer-desktop format, as well as its implications on the morality of digital interactions, were more than enough to make for an intriguing horror movie.
Final Destination (2000)
Only "bad" movies dare to be this bold
It's not surprising that critics bashed this movie. In a movie review, most critics primarily value cohesion, refinement, calculated expertise; clearly that is not Final Destination.
Much of the acting feels reminiscent of day-time TV shows. Lots of the dialogue is awkward, and contrived as ways to clarify plot points and move the story forward. The editing often fails to convey the right mood: seemingly dramatic moments coming off as humorous, humorous moments feeling at odds with the rising tension. In short, as with most teen horror flicks, this is not what most would consider a "good" movie.
But something special can happen when a movie stops taking itself too seriously:
Pure inventiveness.
The idea that the "killer" can be the fabric of life itself, instilled in me a type of fear I'd never expected from a horror film. Everyday objects like kitchen appliances and fishing rods are now something to be feared; it leads to a sense that you can't trust any aspect of the seemingly mundane world around you.
And though many of the deaths feel pretty ridiculous (though in incredibly entertaining ways), in a sense, they are also the most realistic deaths a horror movie could show. Freak accidents happen everyday. Most of us don't know how or when we're going to die; the world around you could be out to get you at any time. The fear comes through in the character's distrust in everyday life, and struggle against the inevitable.
From this paranoia comes a fun and compelling story, one with unexpected turns around every corner as the characters fight against this unique existential threat.
What Final Destination lacks in refinement, it makes up for in creativity and pure entertainment.