I'm slowly but surely starting up a new blog address, so head on over there from here on out (the Barone's World tag started feeling a bit tired, and not specific enough considering this entire blog has morphed into a film-related thing, which was the intention all along). First it'll be another three-part, long address, but soon enough it'll be it's own surname-less addy:
TheaterofMine.wordpress.com
[There is a link back to Barone's World in Theater of Mine's blogroll, or "The Essentials," so you can always head back here to check out the archives, catch up, or whatever.]
THEATER OF MINE
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Coming down from the nice high of Star Trek
Time to take a break from Relapse, which I'm seriously on the verge of playing out a mere five hours after it leaked----I'm loving the record that much.
One of the latest television commercials for J.J. Abrams' Star Trek featured a critic's quote to the effect of "This year's Iron Man!," a claim that actually underplays how great of a time Trek is, how well it welcomes newcomers while giving longtime Trekkers plenty to love. Iron Man, basking in the undeniable-cool of Robert Downey, Jr., had all the potential in the world to not alienate those who didn't grow up with the superhero's comic books; Star Trek, on the other hand, with its mostly B-list cast and polarizing source material, could've left crossover audiences in a solar dustball. Totally not the case. Not being a Trek head myself, how would I know that the film so successfully pledges allegiance to the franchise's loyal minion? By the enthusiastic applause and feminine squeals elicited from the souls of the middle-aged fanguys crowding the AMC this afternoon. The truly impressive part: I was right there with them joy-wise, wrapped up in every Enterprise missile battle, James Tiberius Kirk one-liner, and inexpressive emotion delivered so effectively by Zachary Quinto (Heroes) as half-Vulcan/half-human Spock.
Star Trek is, bottom line, a fast, loose, smart two-hour spectactle that washes over your senses while you're in its presence, and then, unless you're an uber-fan wearing a "Live Long and Prosper" t-shirt, leaves your memory bank without damaging anything. Breakneck fun, popcorn goodness. The plot involves an evil Romulan named Nero (played by an unrecognizable Eric Bana) who is out for revenge against Spock, who, decades later in the future, will inadvertently cause the destruction of the Romulan's homeland. Nero and his space-thugs are sent time-traveling through a black hole, first to do battle against the Starfleet's (Star Trek's version of the military) ships under the brief command of Captain George Kirk and then again 20-some-odd years later as Kirk's son, Jim (given tons of charming snark by Smokin' Aces co-star Chris Pine, surely bound to explode thanks to his work here), is a Starfleet cadet alongside a same-aged Spock and several other hotshot students on the U.S.S. Enterprise vessel.
If that's all a bit cloudy, it's most likely because you're entering this film's lexicon with little or no Star Trek mythology knowledge (or, I just explained the film terribly, either or). Which is fine, because Abrams and screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (also the scribes behind Transformers) keep the franchise's narrative complexities at bay here, sprinkling the movie with tons of Easter eggs references and homages while ultimately reeling in Trek virgins with sheer visual pleasantry. The pace is snappy, the dialogue witty and lighthearted. The performances click on all cylinders from a cast of quite-likeable familiar faces (Harold & Kumar's John Cho, Shaun of the Dead's Simon Pegg, Alpha Dog's Anton Yelchin, Tyler Perry randomly). Even the potentially-confusing time travel plot device is far more tangible than expected.
And then there's the special effects, where Abrams and his behind-the-camera team excel. Each exterior spaceship shot looks unlike a video game, a stroke of CGI wizardry that thankfully comes only a week after the sketchy effects seen in the even-sketchier X-Men Origins: Wolverine. One minor moment, in particular, feels bone-crunchingly real----in an effort to save his family back on Vulcan as Nero is sending the land into a black hole of evaporation, Spock "beams" (Trek's means of body transportation from one location to another, the original Jumper trick decades before that shitty movie) back to Vulcan and corrals his parents, but as they're fleeing from a cave, we see a large pillar-statue falls to the floor on top of a running Vulcan man, and the impact is brutal. Blink and you'll miss it, but, if you catch it, the impact pummels.
Star Trek isn't without it's flaws, though. Pegg is totally underused as "Scotty," unfortunately stricken with marginally-humorous comic relief lines for the few scenes he does have, and the Nero character doesn't register enough on the "intimidating nemesis" scale. Nero isn't given much to do other than look aggravated and snarl fiery commands to his generic Romulan henchmen. He's a serviceable foe that operates more as a plot-mover than an actual living, breathing opposition that the audience fears. Orci and Kurtzman's script handles the U.S.S. Enterprise's crew so well, though, that the ho-hum nature of their enemies isn't a lasting party foul.
With Star Trek, the summer movie season has officially kicked into motion. That Wolverine flick made bagloads of money last weekend, sure, but the film itself isn't one that'll be praised for months, if not years, to come; Abrams' Star Trek most certainly is. It's made a believer out of yours truly....hell, I'm intrigued enough now to toss the entire Trek filmography into the Netflix and play catch-up. Millions of so-called "nerds" should now feel vindicated, the bullies and cool kids who once slapped them around both apologizing and requesting to borrow their former punching-bags' DVDs and VHS dubs.
Thanks to Abrams and company, we're all nerds this summer. And that's just wonderful.
One of the latest television commercials for J.J. Abrams' Star Trek featured a critic's quote to the effect of "This year's Iron Man!," a claim that actually underplays how great of a time Trek is, how well it welcomes newcomers while giving longtime Trekkers plenty to love. Iron Man, basking in the undeniable-cool of Robert Downey, Jr., had all the potential in the world to not alienate those who didn't grow up with the superhero's comic books; Star Trek, on the other hand, with its mostly B-list cast and polarizing source material, could've left crossover audiences in a solar dustball. Totally not the case. Not being a Trek head myself, how would I know that the film so successfully pledges allegiance to the franchise's loyal minion? By the enthusiastic applause and feminine squeals elicited from the souls of the middle-aged fanguys crowding the AMC this afternoon. The truly impressive part: I was right there with them joy-wise, wrapped up in every Enterprise missile battle, James Tiberius Kirk one-liner, and inexpressive emotion delivered so effectively by Zachary Quinto (Heroes) as half-Vulcan/half-human Spock.
Star Trek is, bottom line, a fast, loose, smart two-hour spectactle that washes over your senses while you're in its presence, and then, unless you're an uber-fan wearing a "Live Long and Prosper" t-shirt, leaves your memory bank without damaging anything. Breakneck fun, popcorn goodness. The plot involves an evil Romulan named Nero (played by an unrecognizable Eric Bana) who is out for revenge against Spock, who, decades later in the future, will inadvertently cause the destruction of the Romulan's homeland. Nero and his space-thugs are sent time-traveling through a black hole, first to do battle against the Starfleet's (Star Trek's version of the military) ships under the brief command of Captain George Kirk and then again 20-some-odd years later as Kirk's son, Jim (given tons of charming snark by Smokin' Aces co-star Chris Pine, surely bound to explode thanks to his work here), is a Starfleet cadet alongside a same-aged Spock and several other hotshot students on the U.S.S. Enterprise vessel.
If that's all a bit cloudy, it's most likely because you're entering this film's lexicon with little or no Star Trek mythology knowledge (or, I just explained the film terribly, either or). Which is fine, because Abrams and screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (also the scribes behind Transformers) keep the franchise's narrative complexities at bay here, sprinkling the movie with tons of Easter eggs references and homages while ultimately reeling in Trek virgins with sheer visual pleasantry. The pace is snappy, the dialogue witty and lighthearted. The performances click on all cylinders from a cast of quite-likeable familiar faces (Harold & Kumar's John Cho, Shaun of the Dead's Simon Pegg, Alpha Dog's Anton Yelchin, Tyler Perry randomly). Even the potentially-confusing time travel plot device is far more tangible than expected.
And then there's the special effects, where Abrams and his behind-the-camera team excel. Each exterior spaceship shot looks unlike a video game, a stroke of CGI wizardry that thankfully comes only a week after the sketchy effects seen in the even-sketchier X-Men Origins: Wolverine. One minor moment, in particular, feels bone-crunchingly real----in an effort to save his family back on Vulcan as Nero is sending the land into a black hole of evaporation, Spock "beams" (Trek's means of body transportation from one location to another, the original Jumper trick decades before that shitty movie) back to Vulcan and corrals his parents, but as they're fleeing from a cave, we see a large pillar-statue falls to the floor on top of a running Vulcan man, and the impact is brutal. Blink and you'll miss it, but, if you catch it, the impact pummels.
Star Trek isn't without it's flaws, though. Pegg is totally underused as "Scotty," unfortunately stricken with marginally-humorous comic relief lines for the few scenes he does have, and the Nero character doesn't register enough on the "intimidating nemesis" scale. Nero isn't given much to do other than look aggravated and snarl fiery commands to his generic Romulan henchmen. He's a serviceable foe that operates more as a plot-mover than an actual living, breathing opposition that the audience fears. Orci and Kurtzman's script handles the U.S.S. Enterprise's crew so well, though, that the ho-hum nature of their enemies isn't a lasting party foul.
With Star Trek, the summer movie season has officially kicked into motion. That Wolverine flick made bagloads of money last weekend, sure, but the film itself isn't one that'll be praised for months, if not years, to come; Abrams' Star Trek most certainly is. It's made a believer out of yours truly....hell, I'm intrigued enough now to toss the entire Trek filmography into the Netflix and play catch-up. Millions of so-called "nerds" should now feel vindicated, the bullies and cool kids who once slapped them around both apologizing and requesting to borrow their former punching-bags' DVDs and VHS dubs.
Thanks to Abrams and company, we're all nerds this summer. And that's just wonderful.
Rejoice: I'm absolutely loving this.....
Run-on sentence alert!!! It's like an audio case study profile of an unhinged man gone totally off the deep end courtesy of too many pills.
"Bagpipes from Baghdad"
Hell yeah. Just the level of random, tongue-twisting, pounding dementia that I've been banking on with Relapse. Bonus points for "going in" on Nick Cannon (pause or no pause) and the Children of the Corn reference. And that entire third verse is off the charts.
Then there's this one....."Medicine Ball"
Hits harder than Chris Brown watching Rihanna flirt with Shia Labeouf after CB was struck by gamma rays.
Here's one for the laughs: Keanu Reeves as "Dr. Jekyll"
When I was a wee lad, picking out my choice costume for Halloween was more important than holding onto my entire-elementary-school-career-long Spelling Bee Champion title (and that was a belt I wore with pride and vigor). Even if the final decision was far from innovative (yes, I was Jason Voorhees one year, shamefully), I made sure that my incarnation stood out from the others. For Sir Voorhees, I dabbled on tons of fake-blood smears across the hockey mask and dipped my plastic machete in the same store-bought life liquid. Not exactly a visionary tweaking, but it was something, at least.
The proudest costume in my personal history, though, was the homemade Mr. Hyde get-up I whipped together during my eleventh year. You see, Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story was, and still is for that matter, a tale that I cherished, picking up copies in hardcover, pocket-size, kiddie versions, and whatever other versions Barnes and Noble concealed. My only gripe with the Jekyll and Hyde text, however: there has never been a good film adaptation in my lifeitme. Both Fredric March's iconic performance in the 1931 black-and-white version and Spencer Tracy's a decade later (each titled Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, naturally) are quality, but those was many moons before my conception; I'm talking a modern-day take on the tale that doesn't suck. To date, the top interpretation (and that word is used loosely in this case) is Abbott & Costello meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and that's only because my pops conditioned me to love the comedy of Bud and Lou. I want an actually-chilling 21st century Mr. Hyde on screen, though.
The source material is so ripe----a brilliant lab-man sips on a potion that unleashes his dark side, an inner madman that proceeds to murder. When word was announced a while back that Guillermo del Toro was developing a fantastical spin on the story, I felt content. del Toro can do no wrong in my eyes. But now, a second in-development Jekyll and Hyde has hit the news circuit, and this latest one is going to star Keanu Reeves......Keanu fucking Reeves?!?! Sigh squared. Yes, I love Bill & Ted as much as the next twenty-something, as well as Speed, but don't let anybody fool you into thinking that Reeves has the necessary acting chops to pull off the double-sided emotions of Jekyll and Hyde. There's a reason why I consider his emotionless alien role in that mediocre The Day the Earth Stood Still remake to be typecasting.
Reeves' film will be titled Jekyll, simply, and is said to be a "modern-day" update, meaning the original story's Victorian setting will be ditched for today's landscape. Sigh, again.
Let's see.....actors more suited to play this two-for-one character: Clive Owen, Sam Rockwell, and Michael Shannon, for starters. Keanu Reeves would place about 87th on my wish list. Sigh fucking sigh.
****In a lighter, much cooler change-of-topic, here's the first official poster for Neill Blomkamp's District 9, a film I've been writing about a bit here lately. It's a great, nice and subtle eye-opener for the flick, clearly delivering the film's "aliens are social outcasts" theme. And it makes me smile amidst that awful Keanu Reeves item.
Both bits courtesy of: Empire Online
The proudest costume in my personal history, though, was the homemade Mr. Hyde get-up I whipped together during my eleventh year. You see, Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story was, and still is for that matter, a tale that I cherished, picking up copies in hardcover, pocket-size, kiddie versions, and whatever other versions Barnes and Noble concealed. My only gripe with the Jekyll and Hyde text, however: there has never been a good film adaptation in my lifeitme. Both Fredric March's iconic performance in the 1931 black-and-white version and Spencer Tracy's a decade later (each titled Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, naturally) are quality, but those was many moons before my conception; I'm talking a modern-day take on the tale that doesn't suck. To date, the top interpretation (and that word is used loosely in this case) is Abbott & Costello meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and that's only because my pops conditioned me to love the comedy of Bud and Lou. I want an actually-chilling 21st century Mr. Hyde on screen, though.
The source material is so ripe----a brilliant lab-man sips on a potion that unleashes his dark side, an inner madman that proceeds to murder. When word was announced a while back that Guillermo del Toro was developing a fantastical spin on the story, I felt content. del Toro can do no wrong in my eyes. But now, a second in-development Jekyll and Hyde has hit the news circuit, and this latest one is going to star Keanu Reeves......Keanu fucking Reeves?!?! Sigh squared. Yes, I love Bill & Ted as much as the next twenty-something, as well as Speed, but don't let anybody fool you into thinking that Reeves has the necessary acting chops to pull off the double-sided emotions of Jekyll and Hyde. There's a reason why I consider his emotionless alien role in that mediocre The Day the Earth Stood Still remake to be typecasting.
Reeves' film will be titled Jekyll, simply, and is said to be a "modern-day" update, meaning the original story's Victorian setting will be ditched for today's landscape. Sigh, again.
Let's see.....actors more suited to play this two-for-one character: Clive Owen, Sam Rockwell, and Michael Shannon, for starters. Keanu Reeves would place about 87th on my wish list. Sigh fucking sigh.
****In a lighter, much cooler change-of-topic, here's the first official poster for Neill Blomkamp's District 9, a film I've been writing about a bit here lately. It's a great, nice and subtle eye-opener for the flick, clearly delivering the film's "aliens are social outcasts" theme. And it makes me smile amidst that awful Keanu Reeves item.
Both bits courtesy of: Empire Online
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Celebrity Crush of the Moment is.....
Not much to say here, other than to announce to whoever cares that I'm quite smitten by this gal, one Aubrey Plaza. Currently looking cute as hell and coming across awkwardly amusing on NBC's good-but-not-yet-anywhere-near-its-potential Parks and Recreation. Maybe the problem is that there's not enough Aubrey Plaza on the show yet. Or maybe I'm just biased. I'm guessing her role as Seth Rogen's girlfriend (the character she's reportedly playing) in this summer's Funny People won't be any more prominent, but at least it's something. From New York City's lo-fi stand-up comedy circuit (where she was a member of the Upright Citizens Brigade) to the aforementioned projects....nicely done, Ms. P.
Just something about this girl, can't exactly put my finger on "it." We just need more of her, though. Simple as that, Jack.
Just something about this girl, can't exactly put my finger on "it." We just need more of her, though. Simple as that, Jack.
Second cool short film for 5/6/09: Mama
Let's just call today Short Films Becoming Features Day, shall we?
Not only is true "visionary" Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, the Hellboy movies) currently developing The Hobbit film for directorial purposes, but the guy is also attached to about 500 other projects as a producer. Okay, maybe slightly less than that number, but Mexico's pride and joy won't have a free day to spare any time soon. The latest project that he's aligning himself with is, under the Universal Pictures umbrella, a feature length extension of a buzz-building Spanish-language short film called Mama, written and directed by Andy Muschietti and produced by his sister, Barbara. The Muschietti's will be writing, with a director to be determined.
Despite only being three minutes long, Mama is a creepy, unsettling little treat. One that even made me jump in a particular moment, I'm sure you'll be able to guess which after checking it out below. Basically, Mama a scene in which two little girls flee from their mother, who just happens to be some sort of ghostly ghoul. The ghoul effects are rather effective, especially for a self-financed short film. I'm curious to see how Muschietti and del Toro expand this into a fleshed-out ride----definitely tons of backstory available (Who are these girls? Is that really their mother? If so, is she dead or what?), and more money involved means even freakier visuals. The atmosphere of the short feels very much like another del Toro-produced winner, Juan Antonio Bayona's The Orphanage (2007), only the Mama short is less "touching" and much meaner.
Here it goes:
Mama
Not only is true "visionary" Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, the Hellboy movies) currently developing The Hobbit film for directorial purposes, but the guy is also attached to about 500 other projects as a producer. Okay, maybe slightly less than that number, but Mexico's pride and joy won't have a free day to spare any time soon. The latest project that he's aligning himself with is, under the Universal Pictures umbrella, a feature length extension of a buzz-building Spanish-language short film called Mama, written and directed by Andy Muschietti and produced by his sister, Barbara. The Muschietti's will be writing, with a director to be determined.
Despite only being three minutes long, Mama is a creepy, unsettling little treat. One that even made me jump in a particular moment, I'm sure you'll be able to guess which after checking it out below. Basically, Mama a scene in which two little girls flee from their mother, who just happens to be some sort of ghostly ghoul. The ghoul effects are rather effective, especially for a self-financed short film. I'm curious to see how Muschietti and del Toro expand this into a fleshed-out ride----definitely tons of backstory available (Who are these girls? Is that really their mother? If so, is she dead or what?), and more money involved means even freakier visuals. The atmosphere of the short feels very much like another del Toro-produced winner, Juan Antonio Bayona's The Orphanage (2007), only the Mama short is less "touching" and much meaner.
Here it goes:
Mama
The short film that spawned the great-looking District 9
Last week, I posted a new trailer for Neill Blomkamp's pseudo-documentary-style science fiction flick District 9, which anyone who has seen X-Men Origins: Wolverine in theaters has already caught on the big screen. District 9 has been high on my intrigue scale for months now, and is even more so atop now that the teaser trailer is out and about. And looking awesome, a profound, thoughtful, patient take on the same handheld camera conceit that Cloverfield kicked into overdrive so well.
After researching District 9 over the past week, to obtain as much info as possible, I've uncovered that the film, executive produced by Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings mastermind), is actually an expanded, bigger-budgeted spin on Blomkamp's 2005 short film Alive in Joburg, a commentary on the Apartheid in South Africa set against the aftermath of an alien invasion. The government has forced the now-residential extraterrestrials into servitude, not exactly what the aliens came to Earth in hopes of. The ETs are looked down upon as smelly, unwelcome, and inferior. That opinion serving as a newfound line of commonality between once-bickering races and social classes, all at the expense of the unassuming aliens.
Blomkamp's short film is available on Youtube, thankfully, and it's quite good. Give it a look, it's hardly seven minutes long:
Now, for comparison's sake, here's the new District 9 teaser:
District 9 hits screens on August 14. I'll be there, possibly at a midnight showing if any are scheduled.
After researching District 9 over the past week, to obtain as much info as possible, I've uncovered that the film, executive produced by Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings mastermind), is actually an expanded, bigger-budgeted spin on Blomkamp's 2005 short film Alive in Joburg, a commentary on the Apartheid in South Africa set against the aftermath of an alien invasion. The government has forced the now-residential extraterrestrials into servitude, not exactly what the aliens came to Earth in hopes of. The ETs are looked down upon as smelly, unwelcome, and inferior. That opinion serving as a newfound line of commonality between once-bickering races and social classes, all at the expense of the unassuming aliens.
Blomkamp's short film is available on Youtube, thankfully, and it's quite good. Give it a look, it's hardly seven minutes long:
Now, for comparison's sake, here's the new District 9 teaser:
District 9 hits screens on August 14. I'll be there, possibly at a midnight showing if any are scheduled.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Me Against Me: Slap-Boxing With The Toughest Of All Enemies
It must be akin to losing your virginity. Popping that cherry, breaking the underpants seal. Getting that first one out of the way, freeing your once-blocked spout to unleash the overflowing beast. The nerves and anxiety that preface the first time are heavy enough to turn you into Quasimoto. Weights on your shoulders that feel like anvils yet have no physical appearance. Leave you shooting blanks, time after time. The hardest obstacles to conquer are those which we can't see, of course, so this Claude Rains-like invisible villain is quite the formidable foe. Defeating the "I can't do it," or "I don't know how, I'm going to be terrible" enemy isn't impossible, however; it just takes dedication and a fearlessness that can come at any time.
I'm not talking about sex here, though. Smacking that first back can be anything to anybody. In my world, the immovable-for-the-time-being elephant in my head's room is that initial vision. One of the two dozen I have jotted down in my notepad of imagination, the lucky story that I'll cock back my shotty for and bust through my laptop's keyboard. An explosion of narrative, dialogue, and conflict. Mushroom clouds of fantasy, leaving a trail of made-up corpses as if Napalm had sprayed through the Land of Make Believe. "It smells like victory."
I often wonder how masters such as Richard Matheson, Rod Serling, and Stephen King were ever able to churn out so much fictional product with the ridiculous quickness. Natural born tale-tellers, they are/were. I truly think I have that same mental-assembly-line quality within me, I just need that premiere to take place, that proverbial red carpet to unravel.
Plenty of options are within my fingers' grasp, just need to pick the characters and set-up that most intrigue me and then run with them, like Emmitt in his prime. Just that, that damn insecurity/self-intimidation always comes into foul play. The unavoidable foe, the dastardly cockblock. Not that I doubt myself in the extreme sense that I don't think I'm able to be a great fiction mind; the dilemma is that I dream up this crazy, wild, inspired-by-Serling's-Twilight-Zone-and/or-EC-Comics'-old-Tales-from-the-Crypt ideas that I want to make sure are airtight. Filled with as much with and intelligence as scares and surprises. If I were just fiddling with romance or "coming of age" bullshit, I'd have written volumes of drafts by now. But I'm the kind of guy who habitually watches David Lynch films and that awesome T-Zone episode "Five Characters in Search of an Exit." That's the kind of storytelling that I want to execute. Not the norm. Nothing cute, pleasant, heartwarming. Punishing and cold rather than pretty and comfy.
I can feel that first attempt on the horizon, and it feels good. The necessary educational steps are being set in motion, to take me to that informed state of consciousness, where the creativity pours and the mind soars. Hand-to-keyboard exercises like all I've just written are therapeutic at best, productivity-delaying at worst. But, ultimately, steps in the right direction.
We all have our own demons. The dreams and goals that we aspire to yet constantly hold ourselves back from. Unfortunately, there is no exact science as to how we can emerge victorious, champions in our own soul-searching tournaments. I know that I'm ready to try on the belt. It's been way too long coming.
The fight will undoubtedly last all 12 rounds, but I'm confident that I have both the stamina and the strength to not pull a Ricky Hatton. It's time to Pacquiao.
I'm not talking about sex here, though. Smacking that first back can be anything to anybody. In my world, the immovable-for-the-time-being elephant in my head's room is that initial vision. One of the two dozen I have jotted down in my notepad of imagination, the lucky story that I'll cock back my shotty for and bust through my laptop's keyboard. An explosion of narrative, dialogue, and conflict. Mushroom clouds of fantasy, leaving a trail of made-up corpses as if Napalm had sprayed through the Land of Make Believe. "It smells like victory."
I often wonder how masters such as Richard Matheson, Rod Serling, and Stephen King were ever able to churn out so much fictional product with the ridiculous quickness. Natural born tale-tellers, they are/were. I truly think I have that same mental-assembly-line quality within me, I just need that premiere to take place, that proverbial red carpet to unravel.
Plenty of options are within my fingers' grasp, just need to pick the characters and set-up that most intrigue me and then run with them, like Emmitt in his prime. Just that, that damn insecurity/self-intimidation always comes into foul play. The unavoidable foe, the dastardly cockblock. Not that I doubt myself in the extreme sense that I don't think I'm able to be a great fiction mind; the dilemma is that I dream up this crazy, wild, inspired-by-Serling's-Twilight-Zone-and/or-EC-Comics'-old-Tales-from-the-Crypt ideas that I want to make sure are airtight. Filled with as much with and intelligence as scares and surprises. If I were just fiddling with romance or "coming of age" bullshit, I'd have written volumes of drafts by now. But I'm the kind of guy who habitually watches David Lynch films and that awesome T-Zone episode "Five Characters in Search of an Exit." That's the kind of storytelling that I want to execute. Not the norm. Nothing cute, pleasant, heartwarming. Punishing and cold rather than pretty and comfy.
I can feel that first attempt on the horizon, and it feels good. The necessary educational steps are being set in motion, to take me to that informed state of consciousness, where the creativity pours and the mind soars. Hand-to-keyboard exercises like all I've just written are therapeutic at best, productivity-delaying at worst. But, ultimately, steps in the right direction.
We all have our own demons. The dreams and goals that we aspire to yet constantly hold ourselves back from. Unfortunately, there is no exact science as to how we can emerge victorious, champions in our own soul-searching tournaments. I know that I'm ready to try on the belt. It's been way too long coming.
The fight will undoubtedly last all 12 rounds, but I'm confident that I have both the stamina and the strength to not pull a Ricky Hatton. It's time to Pacquiao.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Character posters for my two favorite Basterds show their Nazi-killing faces
Per the script, these are my two favorite Inglourious Basterds. Quentin Tarantino's sure-to-be-insane flick comes out on August 21 (which can't get here quick enough), but screens first at the Cannes Film Festival in less than a month. Meaning, some reviews and feedback will hit the Internet, all of which I'll read, consume, get angry at for seeing this before yours truly.
X-Man Matt would have the power to invisibly transport into prolific directors' editing rooms to watch their latest films before anybody else. My name would be The Watcher.
Meet the Basterds: Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) and Sgt. Donnie Donowitz (Eli Roth, the fella responsible for Cabin Fever and the Hostel films)
Spotted over at: /Film
X-Man Matt would have the power to invisibly transport into prolific directors' editing rooms to watch their latest films before anybody else. My name would be The Watcher.
Meet the Basterds: Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) and Sgt. Donnie Donowitz (Eli Roth, the fella responsible for Cabin Fever and the Hostel films)
Spotted over at: /Film
Netflix Fix -- Metropolis (1927)
How this film was made in 1927 is something that I'm truly confused by (in a less-than-literal sense), because Metropolis (1927) has such a behemoth scope and is full of so many forward-thinking themes that it'd be impossible for today's filmmakers to ever up its ante with any remake or revision. Considered one of the, if not the, most influential of all silent films, Metropolis is a film that any person in love with science fiction, or just fantasy storytelling in general, must see at least once in his/her lifetime. Which is exactly why I recently bumped it to the top of the Netflix Queue, a necessary action to rectify the sad issue of having slept on it for so damn long.
German director Fritz Lang's "masterpiece" (as its hailed by film scholars and writers alike, rightfully so) is such an artifact that its original print is long gone, but thankfully a close representation of that print has been pieced together for DVD through negatives and other crafty means. For instance, scenes lost from the original print are explained in on-screen text, often times four individual paragraphs in a row for extended chunks of missing reel. This doesn't hurt the experience, fortunately. What Lang captured was so massive that, no matter what year or under what context the film is seen, Metropolis feels like a big budget spectacle. Realize that this was conceived in 1927, though, and it's downright mindblowing. The explosions are all convincing, the finale's huge flash flood that engulfs hundreds of acting extras is flawless, and the pre-Frankenstein laboratory lightshow scenes are visually extraordinary.
Even the plot is ahead of it's then-time. Set in the year 2026, the film takes places in Metropolis, a progressive fictional city run by Joh Frederson, a wealthy leader who operates with subdued coldness rather than any unhinged tyranny. Frederson has divided the city into two factions: the slave-like workers who are forced to live underground and the upper class that gets to enjoy the fruits of Metropolis' utopian-like landscape. His son, Freder, wants to unite the two groups, though, and decides to live amongst the lowly workers. But when a revolt begins brewing within the workers' society, Frederson and a mad scientist named Rotwang intervene in pretty wild sci-fi ways. Metropolis: Rise Against the Machines would've been a fitting longer title.
Metropolis is also a haunting beast to sit with, due in no small part to its black-and-white, silent film aesthetic. Call me a bit soft, but silent films tend to creep me out more so than loud fare. No film has given me more nightmares than the FW Murnau/Max Schrek paralyzer Nosferatu (1922), and not many horror flicks can rip into the depths of my skin like Carl Dreyer's expressionist creepshow Vampyr (1932). Metropolis isn't scary in the same sense of those silent films, but Lang's movie features several images that are tough to forget. There's a Grim Reaper figure that stands alongside a lineup of minions that came out of nowhere and took Metropolis into an unexpected, momentary supernatural zone. The vacant black eyes of the cast, paired with the exaggerated acting needed to convey emotions in silent films, give the film an otherworldly quality inherent to unease, a trait used to perfection in a shot that fills the entire screen with floating, peeled-open-in-amazement eyeballs.
The lab scene (though with different music; this isn't the score heard in Lang's film):
Metropolis is two hours long (including an "Intermezzo," or intermission), but it doesn't feel that long. I'll admit, the two-hour-length was intitially intimidating. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it through a silent film of such length, only because it's been a long-ass time since I've watched a silent. In no way was I expecting the film to be as convincingly brolic in scope as it is, though, so its runtime became frivolous once the show got on the road.
It may have taken me much longer than it should have to sit down with Metropolis, free of distraction, but since when is lateness irreconcilable? Besides, I'll have plenty of time to catch up now that I'm unable to shake the film out of my brain.
German director Fritz Lang's "masterpiece" (as its hailed by film scholars and writers alike, rightfully so) is such an artifact that its original print is long gone, but thankfully a close representation of that print has been pieced together for DVD through negatives and other crafty means. For instance, scenes lost from the original print are explained in on-screen text, often times four individual paragraphs in a row for extended chunks of missing reel. This doesn't hurt the experience, fortunately. What Lang captured was so massive that, no matter what year or under what context the film is seen, Metropolis feels like a big budget spectacle. Realize that this was conceived in 1927, though, and it's downright mindblowing. The explosions are all convincing, the finale's huge flash flood that engulfs hundreds of acting extras is flawless, and the pre-Frankenstein laboratory lightshow scenes are visually extraordinary.
Even the plot is ahead of it's then-time. Set in the year 2026, the film takes places in Metropolis, a progressive fictional city run by Joh Frederson, a wealthy leader who operates with subdued coldness rather than any unhinged tyranny. Frederson has divided the city into two factions: the slave-like workers who are forced to live underground and the upper class that gets to enjoy the fruits of Metropolis' utopian-like landscape. His son, Freder, wants to unite the two groups, though, and decides to live amongst the lowly workers. But when a revolt begins brewing within the workers' society, Frederson and a mad scientist named Rotwang intervene in pretty wild sci-fi ways. Metropolis: Rise Against the Machines would've been a fitting longer title.
Metropolis is also a haunting beast to sit with, due in no small part to its black-and-white, silent film aesthetic. Call me a bit soft, but silent films tend to creep me out more so than loud fare. No film has given me more nightmares than the FW Murnau/Max Schrek paralyzer Nosferatu (1922), and not many horror flicks can rip into the depths of my skin like Carl Dreyer's expressionist creepshow Vampyr (1932). Metropolis isn't scary in the same sense of those silent films, but Lang's movie features several images that are tough to forget. There's a Grim Reaper figure that stands alongside a lineup of minions that came out of nowhere and took Metropolis into an unexpected, momentary supernatural zone. The vacant black eyes of the cast, paired with the exaggerated acting needed to convey emotions in silent films, give the film an otherworldly quality inherent to unease, a trait used to perfection in a shot that fills the entire screen with floating, peeled-open-in-amazement eyeballs.
The lab scene (though with different music; this isn't the score heard in Lang's film):
Metropolis is two hours long (including an "Intermezzo," or intermission), but it doesn't feel that long. I'll admit, the two-hour-length was intitially intimidating. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it through a silent film of such length, only because it's been a long-ass time since I've watched a silent. In no way was I expecting the film to be as convincingly brolic in scope as it is, though, so its runtime became frivolous once the show got on the road.
It may have taken me much longer than it should have to sit down with Metropolis, free of distraction, but since when is lateness irreconcilable? Besides, I'll have plenty of time to catch up now that I'm unable to shake the film out of my brain.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Eminem's "3 A.M." video.....
.....has actually made me like the song much more than before. Not sure why I was so resistant to the track since I'm usually all about conceptual lyricism. The visuals brought this one home, no question.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Let's take a stab at discussing Martyrs, shall we?
There's a very thin line between being pretentious or intelligent. Beat your ideas over my head long enough and I'll slot you into the former adjective's lane and tune off. Try to pass off something that's really little more than sadistic manslaughter on screen as some form of high-art and I'll promptly laugh before shaking my head in disgust.
Which is why Pascal Laugier's Martyrs (2008, from France, but just released on unrated DVD here in America this week) is such a fascinating film, still bouncing around in my head a mere 16 hours since watching it for the second time last night, this time amongst daring friends. The film's second half is a true sucker punch, a midway tonal shift similar in the thinnest sense to that of Eli Roth's Hostel, when Roth's sick mind turned a funnier, raunchier Euro Trip clone into dare-to-watch torture. The switch-up in Martyrs is much beefier, and, frankly, vastly superior. A detour from a breakneck hybrid of elements of both supercharged Japanese-cinema horror elements and blood-drenched home invasion flicks into a somewhat-existential, slower-paced experiment in transfiguration.
Many who have seen Martyrs hate the latter section, feeling that the film jumps the shark once the tempo hits the brakes for more-patient anarchy. That opinion is horseshit to me, but understandable horseshit. Polarizing films aren't meant to please the world. Laugier, as proven in his pre-movie DVD introduction, never intended to make a crowdpleaser; the man had some truly compelling ideas about life, death, and humanity and went for broke with them. Does it all gel? Not exactly, but the overall product is so daring and unlike anything you've ever seen before that I can't see anybody declaring Martyrs anything less than a success. Even if you can't endure and shut it off before its devastating coda.
"Plot" is pretty meaningless in Martyrs, but for those wondering what the hell this film that I'm mentally invested in is about, here goes: 15 years ago, a little girl named Lucie escaped from a seedy, nightmarish building in which she was being held prisoner and tortured. Once she was discovered afte the escape, Lucie was placed in a home for troubled children, where she made only one friend, Anna. Flash-forward to the present, Lucie (played as an adult by the stunning and intense Mylene Jampanoi) bumrushes the family she believes to be responsible for what happened in her childhood and dispatches of them. Anna comes to help her cover up the scene, and from this point on the two girls unexpectedly ride a downward spiral into Hell.
Again, though, the plot here is merely a driving force for Laugier to tackle some deeper ideas, brutally cyncial thoughts that I won't delve into too deeply here (Martyrs is a film I want that I really want people to watch so we can discuss). The theme is right there in the film's title, however---martyrdom. Not the type of martyr you read about in books of religion, the people who killed themselves or were voluntarily murdered for a greater good. Laugier is concerned with a martyr as a "witness," as believed in Greek history. A person who, after enduring unfathomable degrees of pain and suffering, sees something that nobody else can.///// That's as far as I want to go, for now. I've got the feeling that after I watch this flick for a third time I'll want to write down my post-game thoughts here, spoilers and all. A sort of mental exercise, a one-man debate.
Where myself and some others who've seen Martyrs differ is that I never felt that Laugier's script was talking down to me, slapping my better judgment with pretentious bullshit. The IMDB.com message boards are loaded with commenters violently angry at this film, either labeling it "pure garbage" or that p-word again. Opinions are like the assholes who sign online just to comment negatively on something to start a message board pissing contest, of course, so I can't totally knock those folks. Completely disagree with them, though, is something I can do at will. Martyrs deserves respect and admiration off of sheer ballsiness alone, not to mention topical originality and visual panache.
Pascal Laugier
Some have argued that the characters in Martyrs are quite underdeveloped. Facet-less pawns in Laugier's game of sick chess. If any scene in the film counters this point with conviction it's Anna's attack on the unsuspecting family's quiet house. The insanely-massive shotgun blasts aren't shown in slow-motion; they're presented in real time, dropping the audience right headsmack into the scene with little set-up. That's exactly the degree of immediacy that Laugier, in my opinion, is trying to convey with the film as a whole. Putting us uncomfortably in the moment, so that we're susceptible to whatever he throws our way. A few flashbacks into Lucie's pre-teen captivity stint are intertwined, but even those are quick and unflinching. Also important, since these flashbacks explain everything about Lucie's present-day state that we need to know. And isn't that what character development is supposed to do?
The first time I watched it, Martyrs fucked with my head something proper. When I thought the story was heading in one direction, Laugier's script gave me the head-fake and headed for an uncontested touchdown. Confidently zigged when I expected it to conventionally zag. There's a plot turn signaled by Anna (played by exceptional actress Morjana Alaoui), who, by the way, is gorgeous in a total Dania-Ramirez-lookalike way) and a bathroom mirror that a million guesses never would've predicted. Later, as one character is repeatedly beaten down to a bruised, catatonic pulp, a line of any-other-filmmaker-would-stop-this-brutality-right-now is crossed and left in mushroom clouds of dust. By the time we're presented with a lightshow no doubt inspired by Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, Martyrs pushes itself beyond simple "horror." I won't say that it becomes an example of brilliant art, but the film does qualify for deserved post-viewing intellectual deliberation. The final scene is one of the more awesomely inconclusive things I've seen in I-don't-know-how-long.
Whether anybody pulls their trigger and seeks Martyrs out or not, I really can't concern myself with, or stress. It just pains me when people's only exposure to what horror films can truly accomplish is limited to that holding-your-hand-in-anxiety reaction their significant other emits while seated in a dark theater watching The Haunting in Connecticut. Give foreign genre films the likes of Martyrs a fair shot and you'll see just how thought-provoking and fearless this type of filmmaking can get, if created with no corporate interference and by skilled hands.
Which is why Pascal Laugier's Martyrs (2008, from France, but just released on unrated DVD here in America this week) is such a fascinating film, still bouncing around in my head a mere 16 hours since watching it for the second time last night, this time amongst daring friends. The film's second half is a true sucker punch, a midway tonal shift similar in the thinnest sense to that of Eli Roth's Hostel, when Roth's sick mind turned a funnier, raunchier Euro Trip clone into dare-to-watch torture. The switch-up in Martyrs is much beefier, and, frankly, vastly superior. A detour from a breakneck hybrid of elements of both supercharged Japanese-cinema horror elements and blood-drenched home invasion flicks into a somewhat-existential, slower-paced experiment in transfiguration.
Many who have seen Martyrs hate the latter section, feeling that the film jumps the shark once the tempo hits the brakes for more-patient anarchy. That opinion is horseshit to me, but understandable horseshit. Polarizing films aren't meant to please the world. Laugier, as proven in his pre-movie DVD introduction, never intended to make a crowdpleaser; the man had some truly compelling ideas about life, death, and humanity and went for broke with them. Does it all gel? Not exactly, but the overall product is so daring and unlike anything you've ever seen before that I can't see anybody declaring Martyrs anything less than a success. Even if you can't endure and shut it off before its devastating coda.
"Plot" is pretty meaningless in Martyrs, but for those wondering what the hell this film that I'm mentally invested in is about, here goes: 15 years ago, a little girl named Lucie escaped from a seedy, nightmarish building in which she was being held prisoner and tortured. Once she was discovered afte the escape, Lucie was placed in a home for troubled children, where she made only one friend, Anna. Flash-forward to the present, Lucie (played as an adult by the stunning and intense Mylene Jampanoi) bumrushes the family she believes to be responsible for what happened in her childhood and dispatches of them. Anna comes to help her cover up the scene, and from this point on the two girls unexpectedly ride a downward spiral into Hell.
Again, though, the plot here is merely a driving force for Laugier to tackle some deeper ideas, brutally cyncial thoughts that I won't delve into too deeply here (Martyrs is a film I want that I really want people to watch so we can discuss). The theme is right there in the film's title, however---martyrdom. Not the type of martyr you read about in books of religion, the people who killed themselves or were voluntarily murdered for a greater good. Laugier is concerned with a martyr as a "witness," as believed in Greek history. A person who, after enduring unfathomable degrees of pain and suffering, sees something that nobody else can.///// That's as far as I want to go, for now. I've got the feeling that after I watch this flick for a third time I'll want to write down my post-game thoughts here, spoilers and all. A sort of mental exercise, a one-man debate.
Where myself and some others who've seen Martyrs differ is that I never felt that Laugier's script was talking down to me, slapping my better judgment with pretentious bullshit. The IMDB.com message boards are loaded with commenters violently angry at this film, either labeling it "pure garbage" or that p-word again. Opinions are like the assholes who sign online just to comment negatively on something to start a message board pissing contest, of course, so I can't totally knock those folks. Completely disagree with them, though, is something I can do at will. Martyrs deserves respect and admiration off of sheer ballsiness alone, not to mention topical originality and visual panache.
Pascal Laugier
Some have argued that the characters in Martyrs are quite underdeveloped. Facet-less pawns in Laugier's game of sick chess. If any scene in the film counters this point with conviction it's Anna's attack on the unsuspecting family's quiet house. The insanely-massive shotgun blasts aren't shown in slow-motion; they're presented in real time, dropping the audience right headsmack into the scene with little set-up. That's exactly the degree of immediacy that Laugier, in my opinion, is trying to convey with the film as a whole. Putting us uncomfortably in the moment, so that we're susceptible to whatever he throws our way. A few flashbacks into Lucie's pre-teen captivity stint are intertwined, but even those are quick and unflinching. Also important, since these flashbacks explain everything about Lucie's present-day state that we need to know. And isn't that what character development is supposed to do?
The first time I watched it, Martyrs fucked with my head something proper. When I thought the story was heading in one direction, Laugier's script gave me the head-fake and headed for an uncontested touchdown. Confidently zigged when I expected it to conventionally zag. There's a plot turn signaled by Anna (played by exceptional actress Morjana Alaoui), who, by the way, is gorgeous in a total Dania-Ramirez-lookalike way) and a bathroom mirror that a million guesses never would've predicted. Later, as one character is repeatedly beaten down to a bruised, catatonic pulp, a line of any-other-filmmaker-would-stop-this-brutality-right-now is crossed and left in mushroom clouds of dust. By the time we're presented with a lightshow no doubt inspired by Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, Martyrs pushes itself beyond simple "horror." I won't say that it becomes an example of brilliant art, but the film does qualify for deserved post-viewing intellectual deliberation. The final scene is one of the more awesomely inconclusive things I've seen in I-don't-know-how-long.
Whether anybody pulls their trigger and seeks Martyrs out or not, I really can't concern myself with, or stress. It just pains me when people's only exposure to what horror films can truly accomplish is limited to that holding-your-hand-in-anxiety reaction their significant other emits while seated in a dark theater watching The Haunting in Connecticut. Give foreign genre films the likes of Martyrs a fair shot and you'll see just how thought-provoking and fearless this type of filmmaking can get, if created with no corporate interference and by skilled hands.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Still no signs of Cobra Commander in this new G.I. Joe trailer.
And from what I've read and seen in forthcoming toy designs, Cobra Commander may very well look rather shitty. At least there'll be a great actor, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, underneath the mask.
Today's trifecta of new trailers concludes with this healthy serving of G.I. Joe footage, neatly packaged for your pre-Wolverine viewing pleasure. I'm really expecting G.I. Joe to be a massive fecal pile, but a totally entertaining one. Which, essentially, will disprove that old adage, "You can't polish a turd."
Very little of what's seen reminds me of my old G.I. Joe action figures or the cartoon, except for Snake Eyes, who looks pretty wicked here. But the effects and setpieces are winning me over, and I'd never realized how fine Sienna Miller is until she appeared with that black hair. Come August 7, this'll make for a great option for some quick Friday night escapism before the booze starts a-flowing.
Today's trifecta of new trailers concludes with this healthy serving of G.I. Joe footage, neatly packaged for your pre-Wolverine viewing pleasure. I'm really expecting G.I. Joe to be a massive fecal pile, but a totally entertaining one. Which, essentially, will disprove that old adage, "You can't polish a turd."
Very little of what's seen reminds me of my old G.I. Joe action figures or the cartoon, except for Snake Eyes, who looks pretty wicked here. But the effects and setpieces are winning me over, and I'd never realized how fine Sienna Miller is until she appeared with that black hair. Come August 7, this'll make for a great option for some quick Friday night escapism before the booze starts a-flowing.
The latest Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen trailer....
.....is here, since I've posted every other video related to this flick to date. Might as well stay on track.
And, yes, this one looks just as awesome as the previous vids. A midnight screening will be attended.
Am I the only one who thinks John Turturro's character is annoying as all hell? The guy is clearly having a good time playing a role he realizes is disposable in a film about giant robots, but I'm still hoping that The Fallen snaps him in half before the Hour One mark.
And, yes, this one looks just as awesome as the previous vids. A midnight screening will be attended.
Am I the only one who thinks John Turturro's character is annoying as all hell? The guy is clearly having a good time playing a role he realizes is disposable in a film about giant robots, but I'm still hoping that The Fallen snaps him in half before the Hour One mark.
District 9's trailer promises to prove that ETs are terrible at obediency
A couple of years back, Peter Jackson, filmmaker extraordinaire responsible for the Lord of the Rings franchise, came oh-so-close to cranking out a movie based on the Halo video games that have shattered relationships and turned men of all ages into social-life-deficient hermits. His plan was to produce the film and hire Johannesburg, South Africa, native/visual effects veteran Neill Blomkamp to direct, and I'd imagine it would've been a visual spectacle like none other. An inflated budget and other setbacks came into play, however, and the project was put on hold longer than me when trying to call Cablevision.
As a sort of consolation prize, Jackson stayed true to word of wanting to work with Blomkamp, and the producer/director pair is ready to unleash District 9 this summer, the first trailer materializing today just in time for X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Since it'll be playing before Wolvie, expect this trailer to kickstart a whole mess of speculation and feverish buzz all over the Internet. One place, of course, being this here blog. Little is known about District 9, but here's what is available: there's this race of aliens held on Earth under human control and forced to live in "slum-like conditions" while "being exploited as a workforce." Naturally, when you try to keep a bad alien down for too long, the proverbial shit shall hit the fan. All of this is shot in what appears to be a spin on cinema verite (think Cloverfield but less shitty-camcorder quality).
Check it out. No stars, very little set-up until now. Lo-fi, but not really. If you're like me, District 9 is now generating tons of excitement:
As a sort of consolation prize, Jackson stayed true to word of wanting to work with Blomkamp, and the producer/director pair is ready to unleash District 9 this summer, the first trailer materializing today just in time for X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Since it'll be playing before Wolvie, expect this trailer to kickstart a whole mess of speculation and feverish buzz all over the Internet. One place, of course, being this here blog. Little is known about District 9, but here's what is available: there's this race of aliens held on Earth under human control and forced to live in "slum-like conditions" while "being exploited as a workforce." Naturally, when you try to keep a bad alien down for too long, the proverbial shit shall hit the fan. All of this is shot in what appears to be a spin on cinema verite (think Cloverfield but less shitty-camcorder quality).
Check it out. No stars, very little set-up until now. Lo-fi, but not really. If you're like me, District 9 is now generating tons of excitement:
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Eminem's "3 A.M." video trailer falls into the "horror" category, I guess?
Typically, I try to leave my music/hip-hop POVS off this site, mainly because I spent nearly four years of my post-college-life covering those and I'm trying to open a brand new bag. But every now and then, a project or a song comes along that demands notice, such as this new upcoming Eminem album, Relapse. Mainly because Em has always been the most intriguing, repeat-listenable, and (obviously)greatest rapper of my growig-up-around generation, and his last album sucked so hardcore that I've been waiting five years for the guy to come back and exonerate.
As far as the songs heard from Relapse so far go, unfortunately, the guy is 0-2. His next video/sort-of-single, "3 A.M," has me a bit excited, though, mostly because the snippet I heard, while short and a bit incoherent, sounded much darker and anarchic than those two other records. Now comes news that its uncensored video will make its worldwide debut on Cinemax (a first for the cable channel) this Saturday at 10pm, right before the network premiere of last year's great little horror flick The Strangers. Making me believe that the video's tone is somewhat in line with Bryan Bertino's The Strangers, which in turn makes me happy. There's also this brief trailer that proves my suspicions in ways:
I'll be tuning in, no question. The full version of "3 A.M.", which I've just discovered on good ol' Youtube, is something of a bloody mess, but at least we'll get a video with some WTFness that'll be miles away from the sheer laziness of "We Made You." Part of me thinks I should like this "3 A.M." more than I do, but it's not clicking. We're given a couple more unnecessary, tired celeb namedrops (Hannah Montana and, for the second time now, Kim Kardashian), and what once would've felt creative and striking (Em playing the role of unaware serial killer) here seems like a stretch. The beat, presumably Dr. Dre, actually works, though. Sounds like a comfortably macabre "Eminem Album: Track #2."
The full song:
I'll be posting the full video once its available online, to bring this post home.
As far as the songs heard from Relapse so far go, unfortunately, the guy is 0-2. His next video/sort-of-single, "3 A.M," has me a bit excited, though, mostly because the snippet I heard, while short and a bit incoherent, sounded much darker and anarchic than those two other records. Now comes news that its uncensored video will make its worldwide debut on Cinemax (a first for the cable channel) this Saturday at 10pm, right before the network premiere of last year's great little horror flick The Strangers. Making me believe that the video's tone is somewhat in line with Bryan Bertino's The Strangers, which in turn makes me happy. There's also this brief trailer that proves my suspicions in ways:
I'll be tuning in, no question. The full version of "3 A.M.", which I've just discovered on good ol' Youtube, is something of a bloody mess, but at least we'll get a video with some WTFness that'll be miles away from the sheer laziness of "We Made You." Part of me thinks I should like this "3 A.M." more than I do, but it's not clicking. We're given a couple more unnecessary, tired celeb namedrops (Hannah Montana and, for the second time now, Kim Kardashian), and what once would've felt creative and striking (Em playing the role of unaware serial killer) here seems like a stretch. The beat, presumably Dr. Dre, actually works, though. Sounds like a comfortably macabre "Eminem Album: Track #2."
The full song:
I'll be posting the full video once its available online, to bring this post home.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Remember The Goonies? Of course you do. Get a load of this.....
London's Empire Magazine, aka my favorite magazine out there that rapes my wallet with that damn $10 import price, has given those in my generation a reason to transport back to more innocent, and frankly better, days in their current 20th Anniversary issue, guest edited by none other than Steven Spielberg. Since Spielberg was one of the film's executive producers (as well as the guy who came up with the film's original story), 1985's kids classic The Goonies seemed like prime reunion material for the folks at Empire to attempt to pull off, and holy shit did they do it: Corey "Mouth" Feldman, Sean "Mikey" Astin, Josh "Brand" Brolin, Jeff "Chunk" Cohen, Kerri "Andy" Green, Martha "Stef" Plimpton, Jonathan "Data" Ke Quan, and the film's director, Richard Donner. All in one room, reminiscing and genuinely have a great time.
I dare any of you to watch this video, courtesy of Empire (yet again....damn those guys are good), and not wish you were a young'n again and that you could see The Goonies for the first time. One-Eyed Willie, Sloth, and all. [By the way, if you've never seen The Goonies, I don't think I want to know you. That's just sad]
Worth noting: Did Sean Astin and Jeff Cohen trade bodies or something? Chunk is no longer chunky, and Mikey looks like he ate too much Life cereal with 2% milk.
Also Worth Noting: Kerri Green is still sexy as hell.
Much respect goes to (for executing this wonderful reunion): Empire
I dare any of you to watch this video, courtesy of Empire (yet again....damn those guys are good), and not wish you were a young'n again and that you could see The Goonies for the first time. One-Eyed Willie, Sloth, and all. [By the way, if you've never seen The Goonies, I don't think I want to know you. That's just sad]
Worth noting: Did Sean Astin and Jeff Cohen trade bodies or something? Chunk is no longer chunky, and Mikey looks like he ate too much Life cereal with 2% milk.
Also Worth Noting: Kerri Green is still sexy as hell.
Much respect goes to (for executing this wonderful reunion): Empire
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Having finally seen Martyrs, I'm feeling like a deer in headlights.
My own personal cinematic Holy Grail has been seized, experienced, endured. No more obsessive anticipation, no more worries that my expectations would go unmet. A mere three hours after purchasing this bad-boy, I've just watched Martyrs, and, I must say for the record, I don't know what to write. An instant kneejerk reaction seems ludicrous for a film this unrelenting and sense-cutting. I'm sure that I'm now an honest fan of Martyrs, but do I genuinely "like" it? I'm quite eager to show it to friends to get their responses, but do I really want to make my pals see me in some sadistic light?
Too much to mull over, sleep on. Honestly, I'm not going to delve into Pascal Laugier's film until after a second viewing. Hell, maybe not even until post-third time. I can confidently say, though, that no film had me questioning my own keen desire to watch it all the way through quite like Martyrs, wondering if there's something truthfully disturbed about me. That feeling crept up after first seeing Inside, but Inside (also a hardcore product of France's new wave of horror madness) is a film that I knew from jumpstreet that I really do love, a flick that I'll defend forever and lavish with critically-celebratory praise. Martyrs is so beyond the good-taste barrier that I don't feel right saying the same for it. At least not after having only seen the film once.
In continuation of that point, I can say that, for disclosure's sake, I like Inside much more than Martyrs, but that's not a slight against Martyrs at all. Martyrs isn't a film that you "like"; it's one that you experience, ponder, and then subsequently lose hope iin humanity over. And that, my friends, is what a balls-to-the-wall horror film is supposed to do.
But, man, that scene with the nailed-in helmet being ripped off the sacrificial, sliced-and-diced corpse-lady's head is absolutely rough stuff. And the post-title-card home invasion sequence is a sucker-punch of immense power. As for that third, and final, act.....did I really just watch that? Some dude actually came up with such insanity, and somebody let him film it? I'm impressed. Startled, and a little sickened, but really impressed.
Something tells me that I'll be rewatching this one before week's end, and then I'll have a long-winded, overly-wordy brainstorm session right here, for anybody's reading pleasure. Stay tuned.
Too much to mull over, sleep on. Honestly, I'm not going to delve into Pascal Laugier's film until after a second viewing. Hell, maybe not even until post-third time. I can confidently say, though, that no film had me questioning my own keen desire to watch it all the way through quite like Martyrs, wondering if there's something truthfully disturbed about me. That feeling crept up after first seeing Inside, but Inside (also a hardcore product of France's new wave of horror madness) is a film that I knew from jumpstreet that I really do love, a flick that I'll defend forever and lavish with critically-celebratory praise. Martyrs is so beyond the good-taste barrier that I don't feel right saying the same for it. At least not after having only seen the film once.
In continuation of that point, I can say that, for disclosure's sake, I like Inside much more than Martyrs, but that's not a slight against Martyrs at all. Martyrs isn't a film that you "like"; it's one that you experience, ponder, and then subsequently lose hope iin humanity over. And that, my friends, is what a balls-to-the-wall horror film is supposed to do.
But, man, that scene with the nailed-in helmet being ripped off the sacrificial, sliced-and-diced corpse-lady's head is absolutely rough stuff. And the post-title-card home invasion sequence is a sucker-punch of immense power. As for that third, and final, act.....did I really just watch that? Some dude actually came up with such insanity, and somebody let him film it? I'm impressed. Startled, and a little sickened, but really impressed.
Something tells me that I'll be rewatching this one before week's end, and then I'll have a long-winded, overly-wordy brainstorm session right here, for anybody's reading pleasure. Stay tuned.
The Guilt of an Incomplete Nerd
I'm getting more and more excited to see both X-Men Origins: Wolverine and Star Trek by the day, but I'm also feeling a bit bandwagon-rider-ish as a result. Thinking way too much about this, obviously. Just go watch the movies and be entertained. Spend your time and mental energy on more substantial matters, like becoming a millionaire.
Sorry....this is the questionable path that I've chosen.
This must be how all of my friends felt back when Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake came out in March of 2004, a time when you'd have regularly heard me preaching the lessons and facts surrounding George A. Romero's original film and its other installments. I was speaking on either deaf or disinterested ears, yet I still rambled endlessly. And those around me went to see the film, loved it, but came back to me with a "I felt like I wasn't fully enjoying it, though, since I'm not as schooled on the backstory as somebody like you is." The same can be said of my overdone obsession with Grindhouse during its unfortunate theatrical run. I was informing everybody with arm's reach on what "grindhouse" means exactly, and why the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino passion project was full of grainy shots, choppy editing, and wall-to-wall camp. Most could care less, while my main concern was to give heads the complete picture so that the Grindhouse experience could be appreciated to full capacity, rather than merely in-the-moment.
It's a bit like walking into a final exam with little-to-no knowledge on the content, only to find out that the test is open-book and a brainless chimp could ace that shit.
A great film is simply that: a great film. A piece of cinema that can be appreciated on a pure surface level. Deeper affinity is inevitable if you're an expert on the film's background or respective mythology, but such know-what isn't necessary. Dawn of the Dead was a live-wire thrill coaster in its own right, but I hold it closer to my heart than others because it pulled off the difficult task of paying reverential homage to Romero's work while creating its own believable world. I caught the "Gaylen Ross" store name reference while others may not have, and the quick cameos from Tom Savini, Ken Foree, and Scott Reiniger made me smile even though others didn't react.
I know the nuts-and-bolts of the X-Men/Wolverine history, but I'm nowhere close to being a "fanboy." So, before seeing the new Hugh Jackman-starring film this weekend, shouldn't I go on a reading binge at my local comic book store and become a true know-it-all? I feel like that'd make the viewing experience all the more fulfilling, and less of a pedestrian enterprise. And speaking of enterprises, I know infinitely less about the Star Trek legacy, yet I'll be first in line to see J.J. Abrams' franchise relaunch next Friday. Sure, I'm the exact type of person that the filmmakers' are hoping to attract----a non-fan who is attracted to popcorn excitement and badass special effects, as well as Abrams' good name. Guys like me are the ones who'll turn Star Trek into the money-making behemoth Paramount Pictures is hoping for.
Still, though, I can't shake this "impostor" feeling. A guilty sensation that will hit its fever pitch if I see even one audience member wearing a Captain Kirk t-shirt, or fake Spock ears. Worst case, I'll contort my fingers into the "Live Long and Prosper" hand-sign, since any dumbass can do that with ease. But I'll feel totally uninitiated. The way I'm feeling about the film right now, I wouldn't be surprised if I give my spot up on the ticket line to somebody who is clearly more of a Trekkie than I, which I'll discover thanks to incognito eavesdropping. "I can't wait to see if they truly capture the essence of the Klingons" would be one surefire giveaway. "Something tells me that this Anton Yelchin fella won't hold a candle to Walter Koenig" an even bigger clue.
What will somebody more like myself say? "I hope Zoe Saldana shows some skin!"
Odds are, I'm in the miniscule minority with this train of thought surrounding Hollywood's franchise reboots and remakes of genre classics. I'm perfectly fine with that. The most this reasoning will ever get me is a nod of respect from the geek community anyway. Such respect and $12 could buy me a Star Trek movie ticket, so who cares? Now, if I were currently dating a fangirl I'd really have a problem on my hands.
Sorry....this is the questionable path that I've chosen.
This must be how all of my friends felt back when Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake came out in March of 2004, a time when you'd have regularly heard me preaching the lessons and facts surrounding George A. Romero's original film and its other installments. I was speaking on either deaf or disinterested ears, yet I still rambled endlessly. And those around me went to see the film, loved it, but came back to me with a "I felt like I wasn't fully enjoying it, though, since I'm not as schooled on the backstory as somebody like you is." The same can be said of my overdone obsession with Grindhouse during its unfortunate theatrical run. I was informing everybody with arm's reach on what "grindhouse" means exactly, and why the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino passion project was full of grainy shots, choppy editing, and wall-to-wall camp. Most could care less, while my main concern was to give heads the complete picture so that the Grindhouse experience could be appreciated to full capacity, rather than merely in-the-moment.
It's a bit like walking into a final exam with little-to-no knowledge on the content, only to find out that the test is open-book and a brainless chimp could ace that shit.
A great film is simply that: a great film. A piece of cinema that can be appreciated on a pure surface level. Deeper affinity is inevitable if you're an expert on the film's background or respective mythology, but such know-what isn't necessary. Dawn of the Dead was a live-wire thrill coaster in its own right, but I hold it closer to my heart than others because it pulled off the difficult task of paying reverential homage to Romero's work while creating its own believable world. I caught the "Gaylen Ross" store name reference while others may not have, and the quick cameos from Tom Savini, Ken Foree, and Scott Reiniger made me smile even though others didn't react.
I know the nuts-and-bolts of the X-Men/Wolverine history, but I'm nowhere close to being a "fanboy." So, before seeing the new Hugh Jackman-starring film this weekend, shouldn't I go on a reading binge at my local comic book store and become a true know-it-all? I feel like that'd make the viewing experience all the more fulfilling, and less of a pedestrian enterprise. And speaking of enterprises, I know infinitely less about the Star Trek legacy, yet I'll be first in line to see J.J. Abrams' franchise relaunch next Friday. Sure, I'm the exact type of person that the filmmakers' are hoping to attract----a non-fan who is attracted to popcorn excitement and badass special effects, as well as Abrams' good name. Guys like me are the ones who'll turn Star Trek into the money-making behemoth Paramount Pictures is hoping for.
Still, though, I can't shake this "impostor" feeling. A guilty sensation that will hit its fever pitch if I see even one audience member wearing a Captain Kirk t-shirt, or fake Spock ears. Worst case, I'll contort my fingers into the "Live Long and Prosper" hand-sign, since any dumbass can do that with ease. But I'll feel totally uninitiated. The way I'm feeling about the film right now, I wouldn't be surprised if I give my spot up on the ticket line to somebody who is clearly more of a Trekkie than I, which I'll discover thanks to incognito eavesdropping. "I can't wait to see if they truly capture the essence of the Klingons" would be one surefire giveaway. "Something tells me that this Anton Yelchin fella won't hold a candle to Walter Koenig" an even bigger clue.
What will somebody more like myself say? "I hope Zoe Saldana shows some skin!"
Odds are, I'm in the miniscule minority with this train of thought surrounding Hollywood's franchise reboots and remakes of genre classics. I'm perfectly fine with that. The most this reasoning will ever get me is a nod of respect from the geek community anyway. Such respect and $12 could buy me a Star Trek movie ticket, so who cares? Now, if I were currently dating a fangirl I'd really have a problem on my hands.
The latest remake is.......Drop Dead Fred. Somebody pass the booze.
You could've asked me, "Guess what forgotten kids' comedy from the '90s is being remade?" and then given me 100 guesses to come up with the right answer, and I still would've never hit you with this correct response. Especially since it's a film that was both a box office abortion and a critical punching bag. Ain't It Cool News is reporting, via The Hollywood Reporter, that 1991's Drop Dead Fred, the heartwarming tale of a little girl's booger-picking, farting, recklessly wild imaginary friend who stays with her through adulthood, is next on the redo block in Universal Pictures' system. What the fuck?!
Perhaps the original's reviled nature is what makes Drop Dead Fred so surprisingly acceptable as a remake. Unexpected, but partially sensical. It's far from a sacred property, and there's really nowhere to go but up in quality. Drop Dead Fred holds a dear place in the hearts of many, though, including yours truly. Why else would I even be commenting on it here? My first experience with the film was back in my pre-teen years, when my mother rented it for me at the local Dollar Video (a competitor of Blockbuster Video that didn't last very long, yet was always my preferred rental destination). I was home sick from school and needed some lowbrow entertainment. Mom nailed her selection, and I found myself loving Drop Dead Fred. The film had everything my 12-year-old brain could ever ask for: an imaginary friend to prove that I wasn't crazy for having my own (what's good, Joe?), cutie deluxe Phoebe Cates, and immature jokes and crude sight gags. Slam dunk.
A few years back, Drop Dead Fred randomly played on a cable movie channel. I watched, hoping for an enjoyable trip down Nostalgia Lane. Only, I was met with a detour down Wow, How Could I Have Liked This Drive. Right up there with Transylvania 6-5000 in the pantheon of films I once loved but now can't sit through without wincing. Some charms remain, but overall it's a poor film that ultimately makes sense as a remake. The central plot (imaginary friend sticks around even when the kid is an adult) is clever, and the reported casting of Russell Brand (Forgetting Sarah Marshall) in the title role, originally played a fella named Rik Mayall, seems spot-on. A role that Brand was born to play.
Fred himself....As a kid, I thought this character was hilarious. Now, though, he could be the most annoying, unbearable, somebody-off-him-immediately creation ever.///Russell Brand, your new "Drop Dead Fred"
Phoebe Cates' shoes are tougher to fill, though. If I were able to toss my five cents in, the nominee would be Diora Baird. Why such an unestablished actress, you ask? It's simple, really: I'm all for fresh faces getting big breaks. Not convincing enough? Just look at her, then.....
Okay, okay. My real nominee is Mila Kunis. I just came across that new Diora Baird pic yesterday and couldn't let it pass me by.
News learned over at: Ain't It Cool News
Perhaps the original's reviled nature is what makes Drop Dead Fred so surprisingly acceptable as a remake. Unexpected, but partially sensical. It's far from a sacred property, and there's really nowhere to go but up in quality. Drop Dead Fred holds a dear place in the hearts of many, though, including yours truly. Why else would I even be commenting on it here? My first experience with the film was back in my pre-teen years, when my mother rented it for me at the local Dollar Video (a competitor of Blockbuster Video that didn't last very long, yet was always my preferred rental destination). I was home sick from school and needed some lowbrow entertainment. Mom nailed her selection, and I found myself loving Drop Dead Fred. The film had everything my 12-year-old brain could ever ask for: an imaginary friend to prove that I wasn't crazy for having my own (what's good, Joe?), cutie deluxe Phoebe Cates, and immature jokes and crude sight gags. Slam dunk.
A few years back, Drop Dead Fred randomly played on a cable movie channel. I watched, hoping for an enjoyable trip down Nostalgia Lane. Only, I was met with a detour down Wow, How Could I Have Liked This Drive. Right up there with Transylvania 6-5000 in the pantheon of films I once loved but now can't sit through without wincing. Some charms remain, but overall it's a poor film that ultimately makes sense as a remake. The central plot (imaginary friend sticks around even when the kid is an adult) is clever, and the reported casting of Russell Brand (Forgetting Sarah Marshall) in the title role, originally played a fella named Rik Mayall, seems spot-on. A role that Brand was born to play.
Fred himself....As a kid, I thought this character was hilarious. Now, though, he could be the most annoying, unbearable, somebody-off-him-immediately creation ever.///Russell Brand, your new "Drop Dead Fred"
Phoebe Cates' shoes are tougher to fill, though. If I were able to toss my five cents in, the nominee would be Diora Baird. Why such an unestablished actress, you ask? It's simple, really: I'm all for fresh faces getting big breaks. Not convincing enough? Just look at her, then.....
Okay, okay. My real nominee is Mila Kunis. I just came across that new Diora Baird pic yesterday and couldn't let it pass me by.
News learned over at: Ain't It Cool News
Monday, April 27, 2009
Netflix Fix -- Laid to Rest (2009)
As much as I consider myself to be a real "horror movie head," I also pride myself on the fact that I'm a realist. Not jaded by the trappings of the industry, and able to separate the good from the good-because-others-say-so-and-it-was-made-by-friends-or-colleagues. I get it, though. Working at a major lifestyle magazine for five years gives you a pretty clear perspective on politics and the influence of opinion. Doesn't make it right, but it's a reality that won't adjust itself any time soon.
For months now, I've read a slew of positive pre-release-buzz about a new slasher flick called Laid to Rest, written and directed by makeup effects veteran Robert Hall. The early word waa that the film was the next great slasher flick, one that'll reinvent the wheel and breathe new life into the stagnant horror subgenre. Similar to Adam Green's Hatchet back in 2007e major difference being that Laid to Rest is a straight-to-DVD release that's devoid of rampant tongue-in-cheek humor. Hatchet, on the flipside, was given a crickets-and-tumbleweeds limited theatrical run that only keen horror heads knew about. My biggest problem with Hatchet is that the tone of the film is way too hokey. Green worried so much about keeping the self-referential/'throwback-to-sleazy-'80s-slashers vibe intact that the film becomes more comedy than horror, and sadly the jokes are rarely very funny.
Hall's effort thankfully keeps the humor to a minimum. If I want to laugh, I'll watch a damn comedy; besides, not many can execute what Edgar Wright and company pulled off so perfectly with the horror/laugher hybrid Shaun of the Dead. Laid to Rest does have another big thing in common with Hatchet, unfortunately, and that's the feeling of "totally overhyped" it left me with as the final credits rolled. Which pains me, because Laid to Rest's trailer was an ass-kicker, a hopes-elevator that "promised" some serious carnage and style to spare. Expectations were higher than Cheech & Chong, but sadly the film let me down quicker than a concluding flight simulator. All gore, no point. Weakly drawn characters, and very little scares. A scorching-hot main girl (Bobbi Sue Luther) and a cool-looking, intimidating masked killer (called Chromeskull, a slightly-goofy yet memorable tag). Random characters wander in only to be killed off within minutes, which is fine for a slasher film but only when the entire proceedings are handled well. On the whole, Laid to Rest is not.
Chromeskull
Laid to Rest, while loaded with hardcore bloodshed and dismemberment, drops the ball more times than it scores. A few sudden murders did catch me off-guard, particuarly the death of actor Jonathan Schaech thanks to a thrown jagged-knife that splits his skull open from mouth to forehead. But nailing a few stomach-churning scenes isn't all that Hall was trying to accomplish; as heard on the DVD's "Laid to Rest: Postmortem" making-of special feature, he was looking to create a nostalgic '80s-slasher-revisited film full of intriguing characters and a strong mystery (Who is this girl who woke up in a coffin? What's her big secret, and why is Chromeskull so focused on killing her?). Could've fooled me. Laid to Rest feels more like a Saw entry than anything made two decades ago. And there wasn't one point where I genuinely cared enough about Luther's character to ponder her true identity. I'm glad I didn't, too, because the "reveal" that Hall's script cooked up is the lamest. "That's it?!" material. A tepid, forgettable ending.
It's a shame, because the moments that work in Laid to Rest show that Hall is more than capable with raw horror. Hopefully, he'll give the genre another try sooner than later and capitalize on the potential seen here.
As for this flick sparking the resurgence of the slasher genre.....mission failed. Isn't it sad that the best example of that subgenre in recent memory is Eli Roth's fake Thanksgiving trailer seen in Grindhouse? Barely two minutes long, yet Roth encapsulated all of the '80s-mood that these other full-lengths features can't completely manage. If Roth actually does make a feature-length Thanksgiving, that could be the great modern-day slasher movie that we've all been waiting for. Well, at least that I've been awaiting.
Bonus Thought: How about today's filmmakers concentrate on simply making a good slasher flick, rather than obsessing over this unnecessary need to reinstate the '80s? It's becoming such a crutch for otherwise-marginal films. Something's got to give.
For months now, I've read a slew of positive pre-release-buzz about a new slasher flick called Laid to Rest, written and directed by makeup effects veteran Robert Hall. The early word waa that the film was the next great slasher flick, one that'll reinvent the wheel and breathe new life into the stagnant horror subgenre. Similar to Adam Green's Hatchet back in 2007e major difference being that Laid to Rest is a straight-to-DVD release that's devoid of rampant tongue-in-cheek humor. Hatchet, on the flipside, was given a crickets-and-tumbleweeds limited theatrical run that only keen horror heads knew about. My biggest problem with Hatchet is that the tone of the film is way too hokey. Green worried so much about keeping the self-referential/'throwback-to-sleazy-'80s-slashers vibe intact that the film becomes more comedy than horror, and sadly the jokes are rarely very funny.
Hall's effort thankfully keeps the humor to a minimum. If I want to laugh, I'll watch a damn comedy; besides, not many can execute what Edgar Wright and company pulled off so perfectly with the horror/laugher hybrid Shaun of the Dead. Laid to Rest does have another big thing in common with Hatchet, unfortunately, and that's the feeling of "totally overhyped" it left me with as the final credits rolled. Which pains me, because Laid to Rest's trailer was an ass-kicker, a hopes-elevator that "promised" some serious carnage and style to spare. Expectations were higher than Cheech & Chong, but sadly the film let me down quicker than a concluding flight simulator. All gore, no point. Weakly drawn characters, and very little scares. A scorching-hot main girl (Bobbi Sue Luther) and a cool-looking, intimidating masked killer (called Chromeskull, a slightly-goofy yet memorable tag). Random characters wander in only to be killed off within minutes, which is fine for a slasher film but only when the entire proceedings are handled well. On the whole, Laid to Rest is not.
Chromeskull
Laid to Rest, while loaded with hardcore bloodshed and dismemberment, drops the ball more times than it scores. A few sudden murders did catch me off-guard, particuarly the death of actor Jonathan Schaech thanks to a thrown jagged-knife that splits his skull open from mouth to forehead. But nailing a few stomach-churning scenes isn't all that Hall was trying to accomplish; as heard on the DVD's "Laid to Rest: Postmortem" making-of special feature, he was looking to create a nostalgic '80s-slasher-revisited film full of intriguing characters and a strong mystery (Who is this girl who woke up in a coffin? What's her big secret, and why is Chromeskull so focused on killing her?). Could've fooled me. Laid to Rest feels more like a Saw entry than anything made two decades ago. And there wasn't one point where I genuinely cared enough about Luther's character to ponder her true identity. I'm glad I didn't, too, because the "reveal" that Hall's script cooked up is the lamest. "That's it?!" material. A tepid, forgettable ending.
It's a shame, because the moments that work in Laid to Rest show that Hall is more than capable with raw horror. Hopefully, he'll give the genre another try sooner than later and capitalize on the potential seen here.
As for this flick sparking the resurgence of the slasher genre.....mission failed. Isn't it sad that the best example of that subgenre in recent memory is Eli Roth's fake Thanksgiving trailer seen in Grindhouse? Barely two minutes long, yet Roth encapsulated all of the '80s-mood that these other full-lengths features can't completely manage. If Roth actually does make a feature-length Thanksgiving, that could be the great modern-day slasher movie that we've all been waiting for. Well, at least that I've been awaiting.
Bonus Thought: How about today's filmmakers concentrate on simply making a good slasher flick, rather than obsessing over this unnecessary need to reinstate the '80s? It's becoming such a crutch for otherwise-marginal films. Something's got to give.
Jennifer Lynch's Hisss trailer debut
I'm growing to become quite the fan of Jennifer Lynch, daughter of the always-provocative and fascinating David Lynch. Any seed of Sir David is at least worth some consideration here, since I love all of the guy's films, even the ones that frustrate me with their intricacies and goodbye-to-making-sense abandon. Jennifer Lynch proved herself a week ago, though, when I popped in a screener copy of her upcoming, limited-June-release Surveillance, a table-turning serial killer mystery. Surveillance, despite having a few notable flaws, is thoroughly entertaining and quite sick in spots, a potboiler that I plan on rewatching with rapidness. I'm going to discuss the film here closer to its June release.
The trailer for Jennifer Lynch's Surveillance follow-up, Hisss, has just debuted over at Twitch Film, and man is it striking. Features some rather wild special effects work from Precinct 13's Robert Kurtzman, and enough tense, sinister atmosphere to bottle up, pour over the grave of Alfred Hitchcock and stage a resurrection.
Hisss is a fictionalization of an "the ancient Eastern myth of the snake woman who can take on various forms." [Bloody Disgusting]. Give this badboy a look, it's something else (pay particular attention to the amazing snake woman effects):
Trailer premiered at: Twitch Film
Spotted over at (where a more in-depth synopsis of the film also appears): Bloody Disgusting
The trailer for Jennifer Lynch's Surveillance follow-up, Hisss, has just debuted over at Twitch Film, and man is it striking. Features some rather wild special effects work from Precinct 13's Robert Kurtzman, and enough tense, sinister atmosphere to bottle up, pour over the grave of Alfred Hitchcock and stage a resurrection.
Hisss is a fictionalization of an "the ancient Eastern myth of the snake woman who can take on various forms." [Bloody Disgusting]. Give this badboy a look, it's something else (pay particular attention to the amazing snake woman effects):
Trailer premiered at: Twitch Film
Spotted over at (where a more in-depth synopsis of the film also appears): Bloody Disgusting
The Lovely Bones really is coming out....it's about time.
It's been a crazy week or so, figuring personal things out, getting stuff situated. But I'm back and ready. And, hopefully, with less horror-related posts than in recent weeks, just for diversity's sake. There's more to my viewing habits than just the scariness. Though, I'll be buying Martyrs tomorrow (finally!!!), and a long-winded post about that long-awaited flick is inevitable, and rather soon-coming.
The news that has brought me back to this blog full force is that the awesome Empire Magazine's new "20th anniversary" issue has in it, amongst tons of other goodies, a few new stills from Peter Jackson's forthcoming adaptation of Alice Sebold's popular novel The Lovely Bones. Jackson (of Lord of the Rings fame, of course) has gone back to his Heavenly Creatures days with this film, and that's much more exciting to me than the guy doing another huge spectacle, a la Lord of the Rings (call me crazy for that). I'm under the opinion that Heavenly Creatures is the man's best work, but naturally I'm more prone to love dark, intimate fare than the blockbusters.
As for The Lovely Bones the novel, I really liked it, but didn't love it. The story captivated my attention more so than the actual writing, which is impressive but loses some steam a few chapters in. The first 20-or-so pages of the thing fly by, introducing one hell of a depraved tragedy and setting up the main character's, 14-year-old "Susie Salmon," plight: after being raped, murdered, and dismembered by a neighborhood pedophile, Susie can only look down from heaven as her grieving family and friends try to move on with their lives, unsuccessfully, while she also watches her killer's world carry on under growing public suspicion. Partially taking place from her point-of-view in heaven, partially within the moving-forward real world that her death has left behind. A few sections of Sebold's novel drag, unfortunately, but the story is established with such initial force that it's damn hard to give up on the book as things plod along. The payoff is a bit too cutesy for my liking, but still satisfactory enough.
Originally, Jackson cast Ryan Gosling as Susie's father, a central character here and a role that requires massive dramatic chops. Gosling dropped out early on, though, and Mark Wahlberg came on his replacement. At the time of the news, I was all for this; I've long thought that Wahlberg is a better actor than he's given credit for, and The Lovely Bones is the perfect vehicle for the guy to reclaim some respect. Of course, this was before I saw that steaming pile The Happening, and the less-steaming but still a pile Max Payne. Now, who the hell knows what Marky Mark is going to bring to Jackson's table.
Check out his sweet '70s hairdo:
The rest of Jackson's cast is eclectic but all skilled: Saoirse Ronan (Oscar-nominated newbie, from Atonement) as "Susie," Susan Sarandon as her high-maintenance grandmother, Rachel Weisz as her adulterous mother, Michael Imperioli (The Sopranos' "Christopher Multisanti) as the detective on the case, and Stanley Tucci as her pedopiliac killer, "George Harvey."
Saoirse Ronan, as "Susie Salmon"
Stanley Tucci, as "George Harvey"
The Lovely Bones hits theaters on December 11 (after several release date pushbacks), just in time for awards season.
Stills from: Empire
The news that has brought me back to this blog full force is that the awesome Empire Magazine's new "20th anniversary" issue has in it, amongst tons of other goodies, a few new stills from Peter Jackson's forthcoming adaptation of Alice Sebold's popular novel The Lovely Bones. Jackson (of Lord of the Rings fame, of course) has gone back to his Heavenly Creatures days with this film, and that's much more exciting to me than the guy doing another huge spectacle, a la Lord of the Rings (call me crazy for that). I'm under the opinion that Heavenly Creatures is the man's best work, but naturally I'm more prone to love dark, intimate fare than the blockbusters.
As for The Lovely Bones the novel, I really liked it, but didn't love it. The story captivated my attention more so than the actual writing, which is impressive but loses some steam a few chapters in. The first 20-or-so pages of the thing fly by, introducing one hell of a depraved tragedy and setting up the main character's, 14-year-old "Susie Salmon," plight: after being raped, murdered, and dismembered by a neighborhood pedophile, Susie can only look down from heaven as her grieving family and friends try to move on with their lives, unsuccessfully, while she also watches her killer's world carry on under growing public suspicion. Partially taking place from her point-of-view in heaven, partially within the moving-forward real world that her death has left behind. A few sections of Sebold's novel drag, unfortunately, but the story is established with such initial force that it's damn hard to give up on the book as things plod along. The payoff is a bit too cutesy for my liking, but still satisfactory enough.
Originally, Jackson cast Ryan Gosling as Susie's father, a central character here and a role that requires massive dramatic chops. Gosling dropped out early on, though, and Mark Wahlberg came on his replacement. At the time of the news, I was all for this; I've long thought that Wahlberg is a better actor than he's given credit for, and The Lovely Bones is the perfect vehicle for the guy to reclaim some respect. Of course, this was before I saw that steaming pile The Happening, and the less-steaming but still a pile Max Payne. Now, who the hell knows what Marky Mark is going to bring to Jackson's table.
Check out his sweet '70s hairdo:
The rest of Jackson's cast is eclectic but all skilled: Saoirse Ronan (Oscar-nominated newbie, from Atonement) as "Susie," Susan Sarandon as her high-maintenance grandmother, Rachel Weisz as her adulterous mother, Michael Imperioli (The Sopranos' "Christopher Multisanti) as the detective on the case, and Stanley Tucci as her pedopiliac killer, "George Harvey."
Saoirse Ronan, as "Susie Salmon"
Stanley Tucci, as "George Harvey"
The Lovely Bones hits theaters on December 11 (after several release date pushbacks), just in time for awards season.
Stills from: Empire
Friday, April 24, 2009
Official H2 trailer is upon us.....
The last few posts in a row have been horror-related, I just noticed. I'll be mixing it up a bit more next week, though.
Just the other day, I whipped up a post commenting on the shitty-quality teaser trailer for Rob Zombie's H2 that premiered on Entertainment Tonight, so, rather than offer reptitive thoughts here, I'm going to simply let this new, full trailer for the film show and prove on its own merit.
Enjoy (I'm not in love with this, but I don't hate it, either. Tons of twisted, hellbent atmosphere to be had, and this definitely proves that Zombie is taking Michael Myers into all-new, slightly supernatural territories, as seen by Mrs. Myers' presence. But Dr. Loomis? Must be flashbacks, because he clearly died a nasty death at the end of the last film. But anyway.....):
Just the other day, I whipped up a post commenting on the shitty-quality teaser trailer for Rob Zombie's H2 that premiered on Entertainment Tonight, so, rather than offer reptitive thoughts here, I'm going to simply let this new, full trailer for the film show and prove on its own merit.
Enjoy (I'm not in love with this, but I don't hate it, either. Tons of twisted, hellbent atmosphere to be had, and this definitely proves that Zombie is taking Michael Myers into all-new, slightly supernatural territories, as seen by Mrs. Myers' presence. But Dr. Loomis? Must be flashbacks, because he clearly died a nasty death at the end of the last film. But anyway.....):
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Piranha 3D cast begins rising to the surface
Even though I hated French-bred writer/director Alexandre Aja's last film, the catastrophically-flawed Mirrors, I'm not counting the guy out just yet. How could I? When you're first two films are 2003's brutal Haute Tension (or, High Tension) and 2006's superior The Hills Have Eyes remake, you've earned a degree of carte blanche in my book. I'll continue to ignore the fact that Aja produced that absymal "nail in the coffin housing Wes Bentley's career" P2 and focus on Aja's directorial catalog, by the way.
Alex Aja
The biggest truth that Mirrors proved was that Aja is much better when dealing with visceral gore and exploitation revisions; Mirrors had some of that gore (which was foolishly spoiled on every poster and in every commercial), but showed how sloppily Aja handles the supernatural. He tried going a more accessible route, and you can't knock the guy for that, but let's hope he leaves that in the past. At least for the time being.
His next project, however, is one that I'm psyched for.....Piranha 3D, a remake of Joe Dante's 1978 sleazefest that offered little more than killer piranhas gnawing on nubile young flesh. Exactly what a film called Piranha should be. This feels like exactly the right kind of film for Aja to redeem himself with----amp up the bloodshed and underwater dismemberment and blast the limbs in our faces thanks to this new 3D technology, and deliver a Jaws-on-acid for a whole new generation. May 2010 can't come soon enough.
Over the last week or so, casting for Piranha 3D has begun, and so far the lineup is completely random, and quite awesome. First, '80s goddess Elisabeth Shue (The Karate Kid, Adventures in Babysitting) signed on to play "the role of Sherrif Julie Forester, a take-charge authority figure in the community of Lake Victoria - where the action/ankle-biting takes place." Then, days later, Adam Scott, who was so great in Step Brothers and is currently anchoring the wonderful comedy series Party Down, joined the project as its male lead "Novak, a diver for the US Geological Service who helps discover the piranha outbreak." And earlier today, Ving Rhames was confirmed as the third lead, and a rumored Richard Dreyfuss "Jaws-referencing" cameo was also proven to be legit fact.
Elisabeth Shue
Adam Scott
An immensely cool, likeable cast. Alexandre Aja back in gore-heavy form. Killer piranhas nibbling at hot chicks in bikinis. Yeah, Piranha 3D is going to be total Summertime escapist glee.
Trailer for the 1978 original:
News learned over at: Shock Til You Drop and Bloody Disgusting
Alex Aja
The biggest truth that Mirrors proved was that Aja is much better when dealing with visceral gore and exploitation revisions; Mirrors had some of that gore (which was foolishly spoiled on every poster and in every commercial), but showed how sloppily Aja handles the supernatural. He tried going a more accessible route, and you can't knock the guy for that, but let's hope he leaves that in the past. At least for the time being.
His next project, however, is one that I'm psyched for.....Piranha 3D, a remake of Joe Dante's 1978 sleazefest that offered little more than killer piranhas gnawing on nubile young flesh. Exactly what a film called Piranha should be. This feels like exactly the right kind of film for Aja to redeem himself with----amp up the bloodshed and underwater dismemberment and blast the limbs in our faces thanks to this new 3D technology, and deliver a Jaws-on-acid for a whole new generation. May 2010 can't come soon enough.
Over the last week or so, casting for Piranha 3D has begun, and so far the lineup is completely random, and quite awesome. First, '80s goddess Elisabeth Shue (The Karate Kid, Adventures in Babysitting) signed on to play "the role of Sherrif Julie Forester, a take-charge authority figure in the community of Lake Victoria - where the action/ankle-biting takes place." Then, days later, Adam Scott, who was so great in Step Brothers and is currently anchoring the wonderful comedy series Party Down, joined the project as its male lead "Novak, a diver for the US Geological Service who helps discover the piranha outbreak." And earlier today, Ving Rhames was confirmed as the third lead, and a rumored Richard Dreyfuss "Jaws-referencing" cameo was also proven to be legit fact.
Elisabeth Shue
Adam Scott
An immensely cool, likeable cast. Alexandre Aja back in gore-heavy form. Killer piranhas nibbling at hot chicks in bikinis. Yeah, Piranha 3D is going to be total Summertime escapist glee.
Trailer for the 1978 original:
News learned over at: Shock Til You Drop and Bloody Disgusting
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