Honestly, I'm hugely ashamed of myself. A couple weeks back, I compiled a few of my all-time favorite film scenes involving automobiles in light of that week's Fast & Furious opening. The problem I've been having with these lists I've been putting together is that my head works so quickly, so many streams of thought flowing side by side, that I tend to overlook films and scenes that wholly deserve inclusion.
And just now, while watching some late night cable, I came across one of my favorite films of the last decade, Children of Men. So brilliant, so sadly passed over by the Academy that awards season. Amongst several others, one aspect of the film that I continue to find so astonishing is Alfonso Cuaron's hyper-realistic direction. Don't even get me started on that seemingly-single-take climax, because I'll just ramble on and on about its unparalleled excellence. In the same vein of love, though, is my fondness for this scene, which (SPOILER ALERT) kicks the film's plot into overdrive. Its another one of Cuaron's masterful "single shot takes" earlier in the film, an unexpected siege on the main characters' car that escalates into a crescendo of horror and tragedy. Cuaron took an approach that had been used before and perfected it----sewing together a bunch of separate shots and making them seem as if its one continuous take.
**I remember when I interviewed Chiwetel Ejiofor (the driver of the car in the scene) for a KING story, I snuck in a question asking how exactly Cuaron pulled this scene off, to which he laughed and gave me one of those "I can't spoil the secret, now" responses that I simultaneously understand, respect, and selfishly loathe. Landing the man Chiwetel Ejiofor for a six-page feature story/shoot in KING will forever go down as my proudest accomplishment while working for the mag. Took months to secure, defied perceptions of the mag, and realized my hopes of giving the mag some Hollywood credibility. They can't take that one away from me. Ever.**
If you've yet to see Children of Men, please do so with the quickness. And think twice about watching this scene, 1) because the picture quality isn't the best, and 2) the film deserves to be seen in its entirety and total context. But for the short-of-will-power and fans of the film, here's the "car attack" scene that should've been at least second-slotted on my previous BW List: Favorite Car Scenes. It's something else:
Showing posts with label The BW List. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The BW List. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The BW List: When Lame Movies Happen to Good Talent
Considering my current state of being, I'm the last person who should criticize somebody for "taking a paycheck." Accepting a gig that does little for his/her artistic sensibilities but goes a long way financially. We all need to pay the bills, keep the lights on, pad the bank accounts, rob our country blind. I get it. But for the objective onlooker, seeing people you respect do this never fails to sting. Disappointment is inevitable, not always branded with the unfair "sell-out" tag yet still looked down upon as a lapdog of sorts.
In the film world, this happens on a weekly basis. Actors and actresses you love pop up in shitty films, or obvious money-makers that you'd rather be subjected to a Lucio Fulci/Zombi drawn-out eye-gauging than ever voluntarily watch. Case in point: Leslie Mann co-starring in this weekend's 17 Again.
I haven't seen the film, nor do I ever plan on doing so. Yes, I'm aware that it currently stands at an unexpectedly respectable 65% on Rotten Tomatoes, but whatever. And I'm not blatantly hating on your boy Zac Efron here, either. Do I like the guy as a talent? Nope, but my total indifference to this pretty-boy-with-good-dance-moves-who-I-can't-sign-on-to-a-pop-culture-blog-and-not-see isn't the focal point of my 17 Again negativity. Rather, it's the tired, contrived Big/Vice Versa "age reversal" plotline. It's cheap, unoriginal, and, really, never that funny.
I'm sure that Leslie Mann will have some funny, or at least charming, moments in 17 Again, though. How can she not? The woman is naturally hilarious, one of Hollywood's funniest and most overlooked ladies. The rare case of nepotism that doesn't feel worthy of his/her success (she's married to comedy giant Judd Apatow). Just go watch Knocked Up again for proof, or even rewind back to Adam Sandler's Big Daddy, where her few scenes as the former Hooters girl all scored. She's someone who deserves a few leading roles in well-made films; granted, she seems to have one coming this summer with Apatow's Funny People, but that's simply another one with her husband. It's time that she stretches herself successfully into non-Apatow territory. 17 Again is a terrible place to start, despite the film's surefire prognosis. People will see her, laugh with her, root for her. But she deserves better.
Of course, I could be left with a pie in the face if 17 Again turns out to be universally loved. This is a kneejerk reaction, though, so if that does happen I'll totally admit defeat.
This all got me wondering, "What other talents that I love have appeared in films I had zero interest in ever seeing?" And from that inner thought comes this list of the examples that stand out most in my head. Worth noting: I've seen all of these films, which makes the bitterness all the more potent.
Chiwetel Ejiofor in Slow Burn (2005): Back in '05, the London-bred Ejiofor was on a nice track to stateside notoriety. His turns in the critically-hailed English films Dirty Pretty Things (2002) and Love Actually (2003) put him on the radar, leading to his hardly-recognizable villain work in John Singleton's well-received Four Brothers. But then came Slow Burn, a poorly-executed attempt to modernize the old "sleazy, sexy crime thriller" genre with a slumming-it Ray Liotta and LL Cool J trying out In Too Deep material again. Nothing in the film worked, and Ejiofor's "Ty Trippin" character suffered from more than just a terribly stereotypical name. As evidenced by his great work in 2006's Children of Men and 2007's American Gangster (not to mention his strong lead work in last year's slept-on Redbelt), Ejiofor has bounced back nicely. But his one major fuck-up still burns slowly in my brain.
Paul Rudd in Over Her Dead Body (2008): This one has tons in common with Leslie Mann's 17 Again. Rudd, like Mann, is an Apatow regular who always brings the goods, clocking in scene-stealers in everything from Anchorman to The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Even going back to the guy's rookie days with Clueless, Rudd has always been that co-star you can't get enough of and hope can one day become the leading man. Unfortunately, his agent agreed at the wrong time and sent him the script for Over Her Dead Body, an abysmal high-concept romantic comedy that actually co-stars American Pie's Jason Biggs, who has become a skidmark for every bad rom-com he's starred in over the last decade. In an effort to make Eva Longoria a movie-star, this piece-of-dung existed, and Rudd was its most painful-to-watch casualty. Like Ejiofor, thankfully, the man has recovered, proving he is in fact capable of picking strong lead role material with Role Models and I Love You, Man. If I were him, though, I'd find every existing print of Over Her Dead Body and stage a bonfire. Some things are best left forgotten.
Elisabeth Banks in Meet Dave (2008)/ Rosario Dawson in The Adventures of Pluto Nash (2002): Signing on to a modern-day Eddie Murphy comedy has become the ultimate "taking a paycheck" job for some of Hollywood's most gifted comedic actresses. Later this year, the divine Kerry Washington will be the guy's latest victim, thanks to his next Brian Robbins-directed turd A Thousand Words. Until then, the worst example of Murphy's magnetic suck is a tie between Elisabeth Banks and Rosario Dawson, two ladies of equal awesomeness who couldn't avoid the pull. Dawson has the misfortune of being associated with Murphy's first genuine shitshow Pluto Nash, a science fiction debacle so atrocious that the mere mention of it inspires both guffaws and gagging. Six years later, Banks' Meet Dave bombed at the box office, a sacrificial lamb meant to remind us just how far Murphy's comedy has fallen. The sad part was that Meet Dave came at a high point in Banks' career, the same year as two of his biggest roles to date (Laura Bush in W. and the second title name of Zack and Miri Make a Porno). One can only hope that Murphy seeks out Katherine Heigl for his next project and leaves the likeable women alone.
In the film world, this happens on a weekly basis. Actors and actresses you love pop up in shitty films, or obvious money-makers that you'd rather be subjected to a Lucio Fulci/Zombi drawn-out eye-gauging than ever voluntarily watch. Case in point: Leslie Mann co-starring in this weekend's 17 Again.
I haven't seen the film, nor do I ever plan on doing so. Yes, I'm aware that it currently stands at an unexpectedly respectable 65% on Rotten Tomatoes, but whatever. And I'm not blatantly hating on your boy Zac Efron here, either. Do I like the guy as a talent? Nope, but my total indifference to this pretty-boy-with-good-dance-moves-who-I-can't-sign-on-to-a-pop-culture-blog-and-not-see isn't the focal point of my 17 Again negativity. Rather, it's the tired, contrived Big/Vice Versa "age reversal" plotline. It's cheap, unoriginal, and, really, never that funny.
I'm sure that Leslie Mann will have some funny, or at least charming, moments in 17 Again, though. How can she not? The woman is naturally hilarious, one of Hollywood's funniest and most overlooked ladies. The rare case of nepotism that doesn't feel worthy of his/her success (she's married to comedy giant Judd Apatow). Just go watch Knocked Up again for proof, or even rewind back to Adam Sandler's Big Daddy, where her few scenes as the former Hooters girl all scored. She's someone who deserves a few leading roles in well-made films; granted, she seems to have one coming this summer with Apatow's Funny People, but that's simply another one with her husband. It's time that she stretches herself successfully into non-Apatow territory. 17 Again is a terrible place to start, despite the film's surefire prognosis. People will see her, laugh with her, root for her. But she deserves better.
Of course, I could be left with a pie in the face if 17 Again turns out to be universally loved. This is a kneejerk reaction, though, so if that does happen I'll totally admit defeat.
This all got me wondering, "What other talents that I love have appeared in films I had zero interest in ever seeing?" And from that inner thought comes this list of the examples that stand out most in my head. Worth noting: I've seen all of these films, which makes the bitterness all the more potent.
Chiwetel Ejiofor in Slow Burn (2005): Back in '05, the London-bred Ejiofor was on a nice track to stateside notoriety. His turns in the critically-hailed English films Dirty Pretty Things (2002) and Love Actually (2003) put him on the radar, leading to his hardly-recognizable villain work in John Singleton's well-received Four Brothers. But then came Slow Burn, a poorly-executed attempt to modernize the old "sleazy, sexy crime thriller" genre with a slumming-it Ray Liotta and LL Cool J trying out In Too Deep material again. Nothing in the film worked, and Ejiofor's "Ty Trippin" character suffered from more than just a terribly stereotypical name. As evidenced by his great work in 2006's Children of Men and 2007's American Gangster (not to mention his strong lead work in last year's slept-on Redbelt), Ejiofor has bounced back nicely. But his one major fuck-up still burns slowly in my brain.
Paul Rudd in Over Her Dead Body (2008): This one has tons in common with Leslie Mann's 17 Again. Rudd, like Mann, is an Apatow regular who always brings the goods, clocking in scene-stealers in everything from Anchorman to The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Even going back to the guy's rookie days with Clueless, Rudd has always been that co-star you can't get enough of and hope can one day become the leading man. Unfortunately, his agent agreed at the wrong time and sent him the script for Over Her Dead Body, an abysmal high-concept romantic comedy that actually co-stars American Pie's Jason Biggs, who has become a skidmark for every bad rom-com he's starred in over the last decade. In an effort to make Eva Longoria a movie-star, this piece-of-dung existed, and Rudd was its most painful-to-watch casualty. Like Ejiofor, thankfully, the man has recovered, proving he is in fact capable of picking strong lead role material with Role Models and I Love You, Man. If I were him, though, I'd find every existing print of Over Her Dead Body and stage a bonfire. Some things are best left forgotten.
Elisabeth Banks in Meet Dave (2008)/ Rosario Dawson in The Adventures of Pluto Nash (2002): Signing on to a modern-day Eddie Murphy comedy has become the ultimate "taking a paycheck" job for some of Hollywood's most gifted comedic actresses. Later this year, the divine Kerry Washington will be the guy's latest victim, thanks to his next Brian Robbins-directed turd A Thousand Words. Until then, the worst example of Murphy's magnetic suck is a tie between Elisabeth Banks and Rosario Dawson, two ladies of equal awesomeness who couldn't avoid the pull. Dawson has the misfortune of being associated with Murphy's first genuine shitshow Pluto Nash, a science fiction debacle so atrocious that the mere mention of it inspires both guffaws and gagging. Six years later, Banks' Meet Dave bombed at the box office, a sacrificial lamb meant to remind us just how far Murphy's comedy has fallen. The sad part was that Meet Dave came at a high point in Banks' career, the same year as two of his biggest roles to date (Laura Bush in W. and the second title name of Zack and Miri Make a Porno). One can only hope that Murphy seeks out Katherine Heigl for his next project and leaves the likeable women alone.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The BW List: My Four Favorite Car-Starring Movie Scenes
For a moment there, I was actually considering the task of writing a “review” of sorts on Fast & Furious, which I was able to check out a couple of weeks back. My outline was in place, positive and negative points spread out over the course of what would’ve been an inevitably overlong six paragraphs. Some puns and one-liners were waiting in the vocabulary wings. But as I started writing the outline into a fleshed out piece, a brutally-honest fact dawned—there is absolutely no point in putting together a critical analysis of Fast & Furious. It’d be a waste of time. Words hanging in thin air, unable to influence or deter. Purely futile.
Four films into the franchise now, the Fast & Furious series is well established. You’ve either been waiting impatiently for this new entry, or you could give to shits less. The gear-heads and adrenaline junkies can’t get enough of the terrible dialogue, subpar acting, over-the-top CGI car chases, and gorgeous Latin women wearing miniskirts and midriff-bearing tank tops. I’m partial to that last aspect (and, trust me, the female sexiness is amplified in this new flick), but otherwise these films don’t do much for me. Was I quite entertained by Fast & Furious? Yes, but that’s only because I’d made a mental decision prior to the ludicrous opening setpiece that I’d go shamelessly along for the goofy, glitzy ride. As Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, and random newcomer Tego Calderon attempt a three-car takedown on an oil truck in the Dominican Republic, the ridiculousness is set in motion before the film’s title even appears.
If that opening sequence, complete with enough computer graphics to have Michael Bay cheering, doesn’t make you laugh, then the rest of Fast & Furious should please. Besides, you’ll have plenty more chances to giggle at the film’s stupidity. My favorite moment of idiocy? There’s a part where Vin Diesel’s character literally beats Paul Walker’s face in for a good two minutes, but once Diesel stops his pulverizing, all Walker has to show for it is a drop of blood under his nose, which he quickly wipes off. Just Incredible. And asinine. Or, just ass.
Enough of about Fast & Furious itself, though. Like I said earlier, I really don’t see any purpose in a critique. This is one of those films that caters specifically to its demographic and cares about nobody else. And I’m all for movies that know their roles. Just as I know my role—I’m the furthest thing from a car lover, or a grease monkey. Admiring Michelle Rodriguez’ chiseled hotness far outweighs whatever model of automobile she’s driving. I couldn’t even name one car type featured in the film.
While watching, however, I couldn’t but think of some random car-starring scenes from much better movies that I love. Which brings me to this list—--my four favorite film scenes prominently featuring cars. Some are from legitimate auto-centric films, and others merely use the wheels as window dressing. Last week’s “Based on a true story” list was my first-ever of its kind, so I admit that I overlooked a couple films (David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers and Greg McLean’s Wolf Creek) and suffered a few other kinks. I’m working on that. Hopefully this list is a step in the right direction.
[In no particular order]
Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry’s Open Road Race Against the Police Chopper (1974): Admittedly, I had never even heard of Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry before seeing Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof. Ever the cinephile, Tarantino gave his nearly all-female cast a vast knowledge of cinema, specifically of the “car chase films” 19702 subgenre. Days after seeing Grindhouse, I purchased both Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry and Vanishing Point (1971) just off the strength. This one is mostly a forgettable bore, unfortunately, wasting a super-cool leading man (Peter Fonda) in a stew of sluggish exchanges and too few actual car chases. Two huge redeeming moments in the film’s concluding act manage to salvage some of the wreckage, at least. There’s the abrupt, tragic “shock” ending (which I do love), and then there’s an all-real-machines pursuit that’s pretty awesome. Our three criminal protagonists continue to flee from the law in their lime-green whip, even as the coppers amplify the pressure with a chopper that hovers mere feet above. The sheer ballsiness of the scene alone makes it worth a peek.
Christine, the entire movie (1983): If you’ve never seen a 1980s-made John Carpenter film before, remedy that with the quickness. The Fog, Escape from New York, The Thing, and even the fun-yet-hokey They Live—--they’re all great. The one that is nearest to my heart, though, is the Stephen King adaptation Christine, mainly because it’s one of the few movies my older brother (an avid car appreciator) and I watched together as wee lads. I still see tons of my younger self in Arnie, the nerdy, socially awkward teenager who becomes tragically infatuated with “Christine,” a demonically-possessed red 1958 Plymouth Fury he buys for dirt cheap. Of course, once Christine starts killing Arnie’s bullies with extreme force the comparisons between us cease. But that’s when the film kicks into overdrive, becoming a slasher flick where four wheels replace a machete. You get an annoying fat guy crushed into a wall, and a John Travolta-wannabe chased down a dark, empty highway by an enflamed Christine (a visually-grand sequence). The best scene, though, is much more subtle—Arnie’s best friend tries to break into Christine, when suddenly Little Richard’s “Keep A-Knockin’” starts playing on the radio. Pretty damn clever.
Death Proof’s Fatal Four-Way Crash (2007): Or, as I like to call it, “the best car crash scene ever.” Considering all of the unique touches of creative genius found within Quentin Tarantino’s portfolio, it’s a bit odd that this scene from his half of the criminally-underappreciated Grindhouse has become my all-time top QT moment. “To each his own,” they’ll say. From the moment that Jungle Julia’s requested jam “Hold Tight” (by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich) kicks in and the girls rock out, everything about it gleams like the sinister duck on the hood of Stuntman Mike’s fatality-proof ride. I’ve spent many nights rewatching this scene, taking such a guilty pleasure out of Tarantino’s morbidly-brilliant decision to go for broke and show the deaths of all four women. I swear, there should’ve been a camera on my face as I sat in the theater and basked in this for the first time; the open-mouthed amazement must’ve been
priceless (I’m sick like that). The special effects-free car chase that closes Death Proof is also a stunner, but my money rests on the vehicular homicide extravaganza.
High Tension’s Chainsaw-Through-Windshield Massacre (2003): This one requires a stretching of “car scene” preconceptions, since there isn’t any actual moving automobile to be seen. Rather, you get a stalled vehicle that’s excessively sprayed with blood in one of the grisliest kills of recent years. Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension (known as High Tension here in America) pulled in strong business out in France, so Lionsgate Films awarded the damn-good horror flick a miniscule stateside release. Besides myself and about ten other people, though, nobody had a clue, and it suffered an early box office demise. At least they didn’t just remake it. It’s a shame, really, because High Tension is infinitely better and more ghastly than any American-made horror film of the last five years. A lazy, ill-conceived plot twist almost spoils the film, but that’s all forgiven once the final, show-stopping spot of gore kicks in—our killer jumping on the hood of a poor stranger’s shitty car, cutting through the windshield, and slicing the guy’s chest open. Red stuff rains over our heroine, frozen with fear in the backseat. As if only showing her blood-splattered face wasn’t enough to drive the 50-second-long carnage home, Aja then provides a close-up of the blades ripping through flesh. It’s the small details that mean the most.
To see that High Tension, click here
Four films into the franchise now, the Fast & Furious series is well established. You’ve either been waiting impatiently for this new entry, or you could give to shits less. The gear-heads and adrenaline junkies can’t get enough of the terrible dialogue, subpar acting, over-the-top CGI car chases, and gorgeous Latin women wearing miniskirts and midriff-bearing tank tops. I’m partial to that last aspect (and, trust me, the female sexiness is amplified in this new flick), but otherwise these films don’t do much for me. Was I quite entertained by Fast & Furious? Yes, but that’s only because I’d made a mental decision prior to the ludicrous opening setpiece that I’d go shamelessly along for the goofy, glitzy ride. As Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, and random newcomer Tego Calderon attempt a three-car takedown on an oil truck in the Dominican Republic, the ridiculousness is set in motion before the film’s title even appears.
If that opening sequence, complete with enough computer graphics to have Michael Bay cheering, doesn’t make you laugh, then the rest of Fast & Furious should please. Besides, you’ll have plenty more chances to giggle at the film’s stupidity. My favorite moment of idiocy? There’s a part where Vin Diesel’s character literally beats Paul Walker’s face in for a good two minutes, but once Diesel stops his pulverizing, all Walker has to show for it is a drop of blood under his nose, which he quickly wipes off. Just Incredible. And asinine. Or, just ass.
Enough of about Fast & Furious itself, though. Like I said earlier, I really don’t see any purpose in a critique. This is one of those films that caters specifically to its demographic and cares about nobody else. And I’m all for movies that know their roles. Just as I know my role—I’m the furthest thing from a car lover, or a grease monkey. Admiring Michelle Rodriguez’ chiseled hotness far outweighs whatever model of automobile she’s driving. I couldn’t even name one car type featured in the film.
While watching, however, I couldn’t but think of some random car-starring scenes from much better movies that I love. Which brings me to this list—--my four favorite film scenes prominently featuring cars. Some are from legitimate auto-centric films, and others merely use the wheels as window dressing. Last week’s “Based on a true story” list was my first-ever of its kind, so I admit that I overlooked a couple films (David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers and Greg McLean’s Wolf Creek) and suffered a few other kinks. I’m working on that. Hopefully this list is a step in the right direction.
[In no particular order]
Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry’s Open Road Race Against the Police Chopper (1974): Admittedly, I had never even heard of Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry before seeing Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof. Ever the cinephile, Tarantino gave his nearly all-female cast a vast knowledge of cinema, specifically of the “car chase films” 19702 subgenre. Days after seeing Grindhouse, I purchased both Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry and Vanishing Point (1971) just off the strength. This one is mostly a forgettable bore, unfortunately, wasting a super-cool leading man (Peter Fonda) in a stew of sluggish exchanges and too few actual car chases. Two huge redeeming moments in the film’s concluding act manage to salvage some of the wreckage, at least. There’s the abrupt, tragic “shock” ending (which I do love), and then there’s an all-real-machines pursuit that’s pretty awesome. Our three criminal protagonists continue to flee from the law in their lime-green whip, even as the coppers amplify the pressure with a chopper that hovers mere feet above. The sheer ballsiness of the scene alone makes it worth a peek.
Christine, the entire movie (1983): If you’ve never seen a 1980s-made John Carpenter film before, remedy that with the quickness. The Fog, Escape from New York, The Thing, and even the fun-yet-hokey They Live—--they’re all great. The one that is nearest to my heart, though, is the Stephen King adaptation Christine, mainly because it’s one of the few movies my older brother (an avid car appreciator) and I watched together as wee lads. I still see tons of my younger self in Arnie, the nerdy, socially awkward teenager who becomes tragically infatuated with “Christine,” a demonically-possessed red 1958 Plymouth Fury he buys for dirt cheap. Of course, once Christine starts killing Arnie’s bullies with extreme force the comparisons between us cease. But that’s when the film kicks into overdrive, becoming a slasher flick where four wheels replace a machete. You get an annoying fat guy crushed into a wall, and a John Travolta-wannabe chased down a dark, empty highway by an enflamed Christine (a visually-grand sequence). The best scene, though, is much more subtle—Arnie’s best friend tries to break into Christine, when suddenly Little Richard’s “Keep A-Knockin’” starts playing on the radio. Pretty damn clever.
Death Proof’s Fatal Four-Way Crash (2007): Or, as I like to call it, “the best car crash scene ever.” Considering all of the unique touches of creative genius found within Quentin Tarantino’s portfolio, it’s a bit odd that this scene from his half of the criminally-underappreciated Grindhouse has become my all-time top QT moment. “To each his own,” they’ll say. From the moment that Jungle Julia’s requested jam “Hold Tight” (by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich) kicks in and the girls rock out, everything about it gleams like the sinister duck on the hood of Stuntman Mike’s fatality-proof ride. I’ve spent many nights rewatching this scene, taking such a guilty pleasure out of Tarantino’s morbidly-brilliant decision to go for broke and show the deaths of all four women. I swear, there should’ve been a camera on my face as I sat in the theater and basked in this for the first time; the open-mouthed amazement must’ve been
priceless (I’m sick like that). The special effects-free car chase that closes Death Proof is also a stunner, but my money rests on the vehicular homicide extravaganza.
High Tension’s Chainsaw-Through-Windshield Massacre (2003): This one requires a stretching of “car scene” preconceptions, since there isn’t any actual moving automobile to be seen. Rather, you get a stalled vehicle that’s excessively sprayed with blood in one of the grisliest kills of recent years. Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension (known as High Tension here in America) pulled in strong business out in France, so Lionsgate Films awarded the damn-good horror flick a miniscule stateside release. Besides myself and about ten other people, though, nobody had a clue, and it suffered an early box office demise. At least they didn’t just remake it. It’s a shame, really, because High Tension is infinitely better and more ghastly than any American-made horror film of the last five years. A lazy, ill-conceived plot twist almost spoils the film, but that’s all forgiven once the final, show-stopping spot of gore kicks in—our killer jumping on the hood of a poor stranger’s shitty car, cutting through the windshield, and slicing the guy’s chest open. Red stuff rains over our heroine, frozen with fear in the backseat. As if only showing her blood-splattered face wasn’t enough to drive the 50-second-long carnage home, Aja then provides a close-up of the blades ripping through flesh. It’s the small details that mean the most.
To see that High Tension, click here
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