.....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.
Showing posts with label The Horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Horror. Show all posts
Sunday, May 3, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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
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
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Some closure to the Trick 'r Treat saga?
Letting that one great girl slip through my fingertips due to my uncertainty of "Am I ready to invest total energy into a relationship right now?"? Nope. Not bailing out of my workplace early enough to jump on open positions elsewhere, pre-industry-wide-hiring-freeze? Close, but not quite. Each of those personal follies had no definite resolution if I had chosen the other path. Romance could've flourished for months with her, but it could've just as easily faded away without warning. And that industry was/is so fucked that the same outcome from my former spot could've happened anywhere else. Those are mistakes that I can't dwell on much.
My biggest fuck-up of 2008, however, did present itself with a neat, closure-offering endgame, and I blew it. I would've been one of the lucky few to catch an early look at one of the most anticipated and critically-beloved American-made horror films of the last decade. But, no.
Through Fangoria magazine's website, I got myself on a list for a free Trick 'r Treat screening in downtown Manhattan back in October, and I was ecstatic. Impatiently awaited the big day for over a month. Kept re-reading every early review of the Michael Dougherty-written/directed horror anthology, smiling and giddily reacting to every fawning ounce of praise and declaration that Trick 'r Treat is "the best Halloween movie of all time." Better than John Carpenter's Halloween, they say, and a better anthology film than Creepshow. Add on the fact that pussyfooted Warner Bros. has held the film captive for about two years now, unsure how to release and market the thing when they should've just released it in one of the last two Octobers and called it a day, and everything surrounding this film had me mega-amped to see the thing.
Notice the release date on the poster: October 2007.....yeah, not quite.
On the long-awaited day (October 13, 2008), I exited the office early. Hopped on the 1 train. Arrived in the theater's neighborhood with an hour to spare before showtime. Nobody waiting outside the theater in tightly-packed procession yet. Should I be the first, front and center? Snag the best seat in the house? Would've been brilliant. I was starving, though, so the sight of a Subway prompted me to feed the beast. I figured, "There won't be that many people at this screening, so I can get there 20 minutes beforehand, no problem." There was a long line at Subway, of course, so by the time I ordered and consumed my 'grilled chicken breast on whole wheat bread, with chipotle dressing" dinner, it was 25 minutes until the movie started. Fuck, I thought, I better hustle. I turned the corner, and my mouth dropped-----there was a line down the block about 60-people deep to see the shit, and they had already started letting people into the venue. My balls were kicked. Hopes, dashed. There wasn't a chance in Hades that I was getting in ("first come, first seated"). My one chance to see Trick R Treat with a crowded audience, the way it's meant to be experienced, was botched. All because I was hungry and couldn't resist the allure of a $5 footlong. Fuck you, Jared.
At first, I was ready to bring the fury down on the douchebags at Fangoria who confirmed RSVPs for upwards of 100 people when the theater only seated about 60. But then I only blamed myself. I've never looked at a bread guest-starring-meat sandwich" Subway sandwich the same again.
Until now, when I, or any other horror/film fan in the know, would ever get to see Trick 'r Treat was uncertain. Warner Bros. press releases repeatedly flirted with the notion of a straight-to-DVD release, only to then renig and tease with a possible theatrical run. The latest news, though, feels somewhat locked-in, and that's the semi-announcement this week that Warner Bros. will release Trick 'r Treat on DVD/Blu-Ray this October. A theatrical release to coincide with? Doubtful, but you never know.
Here's the new trailer:
October can't come soon enough. And please believe, I'll be checking Fangoria's website on a daily basis to see if another free screening is scheduled. Second time's a charm.
Trailer and news from: Shock Til You Drop
My biggest fuck-up of 2008, however, did present itself with a neat, closure-offering endgame, and I blew it. I would've been one of the lucky few to catch an early look at one of the most anticipated and critically-beloved American-made horror films of the last decade. But, no.
Through Fangoria magazine's website, I got myself on a list for a free Trick 'r Treat screening in downtown Manhattan back in October, and I was ecstatic. Impatiently awaited the big day for over a month. Kept re-reading every early review of the Michael Dougherty-written/directed horror anthology, smiling and giddily reacting to every fawning ounce of praise and declaration that Trick 'r Treat is "the best Halloween movie of all time." Better than John Carpenter's Halloween, they say, and a better anthology film than Creepshow. Add on the fact that pussyfooted Warner Bros. has held the film captive for about two years now, unsure how to release and market the thing when they should've just released it in one of the last two Octobers and called it a day, and everything surrounding this film had me mega-amped to see the thing.
Notice the release date on the poster: October 2007.....yeah, not quite.
On the long-awaited day (October 13, 2008), I exited the office early. Hopped on the 1 train. Arrived in the theater's neighborhood with an hour to spare before showtime. Nobody waiting outside the theater in tightly-packed procession yet. Should I be the first, front and center? Snag the best seat in the house? Would've been brilliant. I was starving, though, so the sight of a Subway prompted me to feed the beast. I figured, "There won't be that many people at this screening, so I can get there 20 minutes beforehand, no problem." There was a long line at Subway, of course, so by the time I ordered and consumed my 'grilled chicken breast on whole wheat bread, with chipotle dressing" dinner, it was 25 minutes until the movie started. Fuck, I thought, I better hustle. I turned the corner, and my mouth dropped-----there was a line down the block about 60-people deep to see the shit, and they had already started letting people into the venue. My balls were kicked. Hopes, dashed. There wasn't a chance in Hades that I was getting in ("first come, first seated"). My one chance to see Trick R Treat with a crowded audience, the way it's meant to be experienced, was botched. All because I was hungry and couldn't resist the allure of a $5 footlong. Fuck you, Jared.
At first, I was ready to bring the fury down on the douchebags at Fangoria who confirmed RSVPs for upwards of 100 people when the theater only seated about 60. But then I only blamed myself. I've never looked at a bread guest-starring-meat sandwich" Subway sandwich the same again.
Until now, when I, or any other horror/film fan in the know, would ever get to see Trick 'r Treat was uncertain. Warner Bros. press releases repeatedly flirted with the notion of a straight-to-DVD release, only to then renig and tease with a possible theatrical run. The latest news, though, feels somewhat locked-in, and that's the semi-announcement this week that Warner Bros. will release Trick 'r Treat on DVD/Blu-Ray this October. A theatrical release to coincide with? Doubtful, but you never know.
Here's the new trailer:
October can't come soon enough. And please believe, I'll be checking Fangoria's website on a daily basis to see if another free screening is scheduled. Second time's a charm.
Trailer and news from: Shock Til You Drop
Sunday, April 19, 2009
The first look at Rob Zombie's H2 is among the Internet community
Rob Zombie's H2: The Devil Walks Among Us (or just H2, not sure which title is the end-all, be-all one as of now) is in the can and ready for an August 28 street date, and Entertainment Tonight *sigh* was the first outlet to show footage from the film's teaser trailer. When the ET-less, high-quality teaser will surface is anybody's guess (I'm guessing sooner than later, though), so this is all we've got for now. And I must say, I'm pleasantly surprised with what I'm seeing:
The horror community has been in a minor frenzy over several non-Halloween-esque changes Zombie has made to the mythology in this sequel, all of which he's voluntarily and enthusiastically announced via Myspace blogs. Two of the most alarming:: the choice to show hallucinations that Michael Myers has of his dead mother, and altering that legendary William-Shatner-inspired white mask into a few new looks, including a ripped-up Terminator/cyborg-looking model, a blood-smeared version, and then removing the mask altogether to show actor Tyler Mane's grizzly, "Rob Zombie himself on steroids" face.
I, like most others, was feeling iffy about these tweaks, but what I'm seeing in this footage looks pretty solid. That ripped-face mask seems to work (as seen in that mirror shot), and I'm liking the homage to 1981's Halloween 2 with Myers hacking through hospital employees while Laurie Strode is recovering from her hellish night. Falls into line with Zombie's original Halloween remake, condensing the its entire predecessor into one act and then running creatively wild with the rest. In on-set interviews, Zombie has openly acknowledged how uneven his Halloween was and taken full responsibility. He says that H2 has been a relief because he's been able to do whatever the hell he wants, free from the shadow of John Carpenter to fully capture a 100% Rob Zombie vision.
We'll see if that's a good thing or not. I've grown to like his Halloween more and more since its 2007 release; it's still flawed beyond measure and the stuff in Haddonfield with Laurie Strode is only saved by Danielle Harris' brave but too brief performance, but there's so much goodness found in the "Michael Myers' origin story" section that I can't help but dig the film as a whole. It remains, if nothing more, a rather intriguing experiment in remaking horror.
There is one thing about this footage that I'm not feeling, however, and that's what appears to be end of Danielle Harris' "Annie" character. It's not looking good for my girl. Not that I'm expecting her to survive this sequel or anything. A guy can hope, though, right? The odds of seeing Harris back on the big screen any time soon after H2 is slim to none, sadly, so the more would be the better here. My guess, she's buys it within the first 30 minutes. Womp to the womp.
To paraphrase my favorite song of the moment: "She's the best I never had, the best I never had, the best I never had."
The horror community has been in a minor frenzy over several non-Halloween-esque changes Zombie has made to the mythology in this sequel, all of which he's voluntarily and enthusiastically announced via Myspace blogs. Two of the most alarming:: the choice to show hallucinations that Michael Myers has of his dead mother, and altering that legendary William-Shatner-inspired white mask into a few new looks, including a ripped-up Terminator/cyborg-looking model, a blood-smeared version, and then removing the mask altogether to show actor Tyler Mane's grizzly, "Rob Zombie himself on steroids" face.
I, like most others, was feeling iffy about these tweaks, but what I'm seeing in this footage looks pretty solid. That ripped-face mask seems to work (as seen in that mirror shot), and I'm liking the homage to 1981's Halloween 2 with Myers hacking through hospital employees while Laurie Strode is recovering from her hellish night. Falls into line with Zombie's original Halloween remake, condensing the its entire predecessor into one act and then running creatively wild with the rest. In on-set interviews, Zombie has openly acknowledged how uneven his Halloween was and taken full responsibility. He says that H2 has been a relief because he's been able to do whatever the hell he wants, free from the shadow of John Carpenter to fully capture a 100% Rob Zombie vision.
We'll see if that's a good thing or not. I've grown to like his Halloween more and more since its 2007 release; it's still flawed beyond measure and the stuff in Haddonfield with Laurie Strode is only saved by Danielle Harris' brave but too brief performance, but there's so much goodness found in the "Michael Myers' origin story" section that I can't help but dig the film as a whole. It remains, if nothing more, a rather intriguing experiment in remaking horror.
There is one thing about this footage that I'm not feeling, however, and that's what appears to be end of Danielle Harris' "Annie" character. It's not looking good for my girl. Not that I'm expecting her to survive this sequel or anything. A guy can hope, though, right? The odds of seeing Harris back on the big screen any time soon after H2 is slim to none, sadly, so the more would be the better here. My guess, she's buys it within the first 30 minutes. Womp to the womp.
To paraphrase my favorite song of the moment: "She's the best I never had, the best I never had, the best I never had."
Friday, April 17, 2009
In appreciation of Lucky McKee's May.....
It's not often that a horror film made within the last ten years blows me away solely with its originality, but that's exactly what Lucky McKee's May (2002) has done. May is a wolf in sheep's clothing, a film unfairly hurt by the prejudice-ready trappings of its central plot. Awkward outcast female yearns for social acceptance, falls for a guy, gets rejected, flies off the deep end, and breaks loose some gruesome hell. At first, the film feels like "The Post-College Adventures of Stephen King's Carrie." But McKee has several tricks up his sleeve here, the most important of which being the patience to develop his May character to the hilt before unleashing her psychotic side. By the time her inner darkness is exposed, the character totally charmed my socks off with her goth-chick cuteness and compelling weirdness. Even as she sliced and diced, I was right there with her, cheering her on and hoping she'd emerge alive and happy.
This being an independent horror film devoid of big studio involvement and a need to please the masses, that of course doesn't happen. May works so well because nothing that happens from the 45-minute mark forward is expected. McKee consistently surprised me with May's plot turns and sadistic derailment, made all the more enjoyable thanks to a stellar lead performance from otherwise-unknown actress Angela Bettis, who owns this film from Fade In to Fade Out. Bettis handles a rollercoaster of a role with constant command, making May's pleasant moments seem believably sweet and her darkest actions feel completely warranted.
The way McKee develops the character, May comes from a friendless childhood that resulted from a terribly-lazy eye. Her sluggish eyeball gave her douchebag kiddie peers ample fodder to ridicule May, and she ran the course of life with no friends or companions other than a creepy white-faced doll that her mom handmade for her, which she calls "Suzy." Only, Suzy talks to May (the chick is crazy, you dig?) and tells her what to do in certain situations, most consequential being the intimate moments May shares with her crush and first-ever suitor, Adam (played by Jeremy Sisto, who you'd know from Clueless and Wrong Turn).
I don't want to spoil the surprises that May's story has in store, so seek this one out to see where tragic outcast May's tale goes. Trust me---it's not where you'd suspect, and it'll make you squirm and sympathize in equal measure. For the first hour, May is in no way a horror film; it's a dark, dramatic character study of a girl lacking in any social skills whatsoever. So much so that every encounter she has, whether it be with Adam or a group of blind children she volunteers to look after, left me feeling uneasy, unsure of what she'd do at any given second. I couldn't trust the character, but that doesn't mean that I didn't like her.
May is Snicker-thick with moments that payoff beautifully by story's end. As the resolution was unfolding, I found myself clicking back to small details packed within past scenes, thinking "Oh shit!" as loose ends tied themselves. Earlier moments that felt random all began to make crystal-clear sense. McKee's script turns out to be one that required much fine-tuning. Like a giant puzzle that's constantly falling into place without the viewer ever realizing it until the final frames.
Bonus points go to McKee and May for utilizing a young Anna Faris tons of scenery to chew on. Playing a promiscuous lesbian co-worker of May's who has a big thing for our heroine, Faris is a spark plug here, off-setting the film's thick grimness with her slutty flirtations and naive airhead ways. Oh, and Faris is hotter than ever here. Case in point:
If you've ever felt closed off from the cool kids, or simply unable to establish quality friendships, May will definitely strike a chord. You'll have to clutch your stomach and endure the endgame carnage, all played with a nice touch of realism rather than any Grand Guignol, but it's well worth the gag reflex. Going into the film, I wasn't expecting to love May as much as I now do. A slew of positive horror-writer reviews and McKee's commendable adaptation of Jack Ketchum's novel The Lost were all I had as reasons to watch on a quiet Friday evening. In the end, though, May and her poetic descent into the macabre left me feeling a mess of emotions. The most prominent being "empathy."
For a horror flick, that's a job well done.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Antichrist trailer, using Willem Dafoe's natural creepiness to its advantage
Every now and then, courtesy of some cosmic alignment that pushes forth creativity and artistic focus, a trailer comes along for a new, under-the-zeitgeist genre film that backhands my senses and leaves me standing at attention. This here is one of those.
Lars Von Trier's Antichrist, a film that I've heard rumblings about for months now but haven't been able to land on any exact plot or concept. Which is pretty much still the case after watching this first trailer, though the overall grim and hallucinogenic atmosphere cancels out any frustration or shoulder-shrugging. I've read that the story plays on a "What If" scenario of Satan creating our world, not God. So then, something to do with forces of Mother Nature wreaking supernatural havoc, possibly. Or a "crazy lady violently spiraling down her own wormhole" procedural, flipped on its head, even. Whatever the case is ultimately, you'll still have Willem Dafoe being Willem Dafoe, and that's never a disadvantage.
Check it:
Lars von Trier's Antichrist - Official Trailer from Zentropa on Vimeo.
As IMDB puts it: A grieving couple retreats to their cabin 'Eden' in the woods, hoping to repair their broken hearts and troubled marriage. But nature takes its course and things go from bad to worse.
Well, that clears things up. Slightly.
This Lars Von Trier fella has earned heaps of goodwill with his past films, including Dogville and Dancer in the Dark, but unfortunately I've yet to see any of the Copenhagen, Denmark native's past works. Netflix will soon remedy that. Even though I can't personally attest to the man's skills, I can still conjur up massive excitement over a respected, visually-strong, critically-saluted filmmaker tackling the horror stuff, which doesn't happen very often. And when it does, you get films such as Frank Darabont's The Mist, or Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Point made, and then some.
Antichrist will be making its way around the international film festival circuit throughout the year. Meaning, I won't get to see it until early 2010. Fucker.
Lars Von Trier's Antichrist, a film that I've heard rumblings about for months now but haven't been able to land on any exact plot or concept. Which is pretty much still the case after watching this first trailer, though the overall grim and hallucinogenic atmosphere cancels out any frustration or shoulder-shrugging. I've read that the story plays on a "What If" scenario of Satan creating our world, not God. So then, something to do with forces of Mother Nature wreaking supernatural havoc, possibly. Or a "crazy lady violently spiraling down her own wormhole" procedural, flipped on its head, even. Whatever the case is ultimately, you'll still have Willem Dafoe being Willem Dafoe, and that's never a disadvantage.
Check it:
Lars von Trier's Antichrist - Official Trailer from Zentropa on Vimeo.
As IMDB puts it: A grieving couple retreats to their cabin 'Eden' in the woods, hoping to repair their broken hearts and troubled marriage. But nature takes its course and things go from bad to worse.
Well, that clears things up. Slightly.
This Lars Von Trier fella has earned heaps of goodwill with his past films, including Dogville and Dancer in the Dark, but unfortunately I've yet to see any of the Copenhagen, Denmark native's past works. Netflix will soon remedy that. Even though I can't personally attest to the man's skills, I can still conjur up massive excitement over a respected, visually-strong, critically-saluted filmmaker tackling the horror stuff, which doesn't happen very often. And when it does, you get films such as Frank Darabont's The Mist, or Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Point made, and then some.
Antichrist will be making its way around the international film festival circuit throughout the year. Meaning, I won't get to see it until early 2010. Fucker.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Blame It (On the Undead)
I try to avoid TMZ at all costs. Simply typing the website address into my Explorer's toolbar and then clicking "Go" leaves me feeling dirty, cheap, voyeuristic. I'd rather get my celebrity gossip necessities from second or third parties, like this story.
Woody Harrelson seems to have attacked a paparazzi douchebag recently and smashed the photo-stalker's camera. Harrelson was with his daughter, so you could chalk this up to the man protecting the privacy of his kid, but then you'd be innocently wrong. Turns out, Harrelson thought he was in his very own George Romero flick:
The Actor's Defense: "I wrapped a movie called 'Zombieland,' in which I was constantly under assault by zombies, then flew to New York, still very much in character... With my daughter at the airport I was startled by a paparazzo, who I quite understandably mistook for a zombie."
Whether he was high or not when this quote was said, it's still pretty awesome. Clearly the lamest excuse ever, but great. I too live in a dreamworld where a zombie invasion could break out at any minute; because, if so, I'd be the world's biggest hero. I've seen all the films, read some of the Max Brooks books. Used to sleep with a tire-iron under my bed as a kid so that if any flesh-eaters came into my room at night I'd be able to split their melons open, like Night of the Living Dead's "Ben" on that farmhouse's front lawn. I even wrote two 75-page zombie horror novels before I entered high school.
I mean, come on? Obviously I'm well equipped. Even Woody Harrelson would have to salute the kid.
Quote and story first learned over at: JoBlo
Woody Harrelson seems to have attacked a paparazzi douchebag recently and smashed the photo-stalker's camera. Harrelson was with his daughter, so you could chalk this up to the man protecting the privacy of his kid, but then you'd be innocently wrong. Turns out, Harrelson thought he was in his very own George Romero flick:
The Actor's Defense: "I wrapped a movie called 'Zombieland,' in which I was constantly under assault by zombies, then flew to New York, still very much in character... With my daughter at the airport I was startled by a paparazzo, who I quite understandably mistook for a zombie."
Whether he was high or not when this quote was said, it's still pretty awesome. Clearly the lamest excuse ever, but great. I too live in a dreamworld where a zombie invasion could break out at any minute; because, if so, I'd be the world's biggest hero. I've seen all the films, read some of the Max Brooks books. Used to sleep with a tire-iron under my bed as a kid so that if any flesh-eaters came into my room at night I'd be able to split their melons open, like Night of the Living Dead's "Ben" on that farmhouse's front lawn. I even wrote two 75-page zombie horror novels before I entered high school.
I mean, come on? Obviously I'm well equipped. Even Woody Harrelson would have to salute the kid.
Quote and story first learned over at: JoBlo
Saturday, April 11, 2009
So far, so good.....
A head sliced off by a boat's engine propellers. The body of the show's biggest-named star (albeit a has-been C-lister) cut in half, guts left to dangle in mid-air. And that was just the first episode.
Count me in through July 2nd.
Count me in through July 2nd.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
A Night with Vinyan; A Buck-Shot to the Senses
I wouldn't call it a beautiful mind exactly. More like a grotesquely-attractive one. A thoughtbox that has twice now managed to leave me in a slightly comatose state after being subjected to its creative, visual, and narrative sides, all at once, twice now. The guy has only made two films, but both shatter all conventional genre tricks, taking their time to stack up the dread and astonished confusion to Jenga Champion heights.
The fella's name is Fabrice Du Welz, a Belgian filmmaker, and I've finally seen his sophomore head-raper Vinyan, after nearly a year's worth of anticipation.
Fabrice Du Welz
After I watched his debut, Calvaire (The Ordeal), early on in my Netflix lifespan, I couldn't shake the cold, distant-from-reality feeling the film left me with. Some idiot writers have dubbed Calvaire the "Gay Chainsaw Massacre," due to its sporadic homo-psychotic scenes and the plot's skeletal cloning of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. While those jackasses trivialized it into a heap of puns, I fell right in Calvaire's existential malarchy trap, knees deep and loving every fucked-up second. At not one point did Du Welz take an expected plot turn, stage a seen-that-before scene. Even when the images made no sense and felt bizarre simply for bizarre's cheap sake, I couldn't help but love the shit. Like this random folk dance sequence, which I'm sure is meant to show the audience that the townsfolk in Calvaire aren't the most trustworthy, but really just comes off as some inexplicable hypnosis. You'll either laugh at the absurdity or be left in unease. Myself, a fascinating mixture of both:
Du Welz won me over with Calvaire, no doubt, so once word spread that the writer-director's next one, Vinyan, is a stylistic leap forward, I instantly become enthralled with the chance of some day soon seeing it. Of course, the film played well at the film festival circuit last year and had heads talking due to its eccentricity and holy-shit final act, which naturally meant it would linger in release purgatory before hitting DVD shelves with zero fanfare. Other than to those such as myself who put ourselves in "the know." All I had to work with was this mesmerizing underwater opening credit sequence, a "Huh" slice of coolness that leaves me with the same bewilderment that the opening credits of Gaspar Noe's Irreversible does:
So what did I get out of Vinyan? A viewing experience that made that of Calvaire seem only satisfactory. Where to begin? With the film's plot, perhaps: Paul and Jeanne (actors Rufus Sewell and Emmanuelle Beart, both quietly dynamic here) are on a vacation near Burma when they come across a tourist video that features a little jungle-living kid that Jeanne swears is their son Joshua, who was lost at sea during the 2004 tsunami and presumed dead. After some debate, Jeanne wins, and the couple doles out their entire life savings to hop on a sketchy boat to the Thai-Burmese border, where the video was shot. As the trip continues into a downward spiral of dead-ends and growing bleakness, the boat's guide gets lost and docks on a nondescript, dark, creepy isle full of silent little naked kids covered in hardened mud and preying around the jungle in stalker-mode.
The little bastards look like children straight out of a National Geographic issue guest-edited by the team from Fangoria. And once the couple's boat becomes off-course and stranded, Vinyan turns into Apocalypse Now crossbred with Who Can Kill A Child? scripted and directed while on an acid trip. That's a seriously twisted and potent elixir, and I'm not fibbing when I say that the final 15 minutes of Vinyan had me paralyzed to my couch. The paralysis first kicked in during this dream sequence that Jeanne has; she's been mentally deteriorating throughout the film, and by the time they're stuck on the tribal island, aka the Fifth Circle of Earthbound Hell, she's totally gone. A walking slab of jelly, only motivated by the sad, tragic hope of finding her obviously-dead son. In this dream, she's surrounded by a group of kids wearing the same red shirt her son wore on the day he was taken by the tsunami wave. Only, the kids' faces are all stretched-out and mask-like, and the camera zooms sideways and in-and-out rapidly as faint screaming sounds (the same ones heard at the tail-end of that above Vinyan opening credits). It's unsettling along the lines of that nightmarish Aphex Twin video for "Come to Daddy." Heebie jeebie central.
Vinyan isn't a film I'd honestly recommend to too many people. I'll be delicately picking and choosing who gets the "You should really watch this" heads-up. If your attention span is that of a pencil and a simple growling stomach makes you stand up and leave the room while a DVD is playing, do yourself a favor and stay the fuck away from this one. It's not meant for you; go watch The Love Guru or something. Du Welz moves this thing along at a snail's pace, but in a good way. I never lost interest, and was rewarded by Vinyan's haunting final act, but the only-marginally-patient watcher will most likely tune out or get bored by the 20-minute mark. If so, I'm sorry. You can't win them all. Only people like me who love this kind of bizarre shit. And also, lovers of intense, stark, gorgeous cinematography and some of the best jungle scenery presentation since Francis Ford Coppola and the already-referenced Apocalypse Now.
It takes some balls and some truly disturbed sensibilities to dream up and then so strongly execute Vinyan's final 15 minutes. But this dude Du Welz has done it rather convincingly. I'd really love to see him get the green-light for an American studio film, just to witness either his un-compromise or disappointing descent into studio politic bend-over bulldonkey. Because there's no way in Hell that he'd get away with making a film such as Vinyan on an American studio's watch.
Unfiltered DVD releases of international cinema, bless y'all.
Vinyan trailer (that actually makes the film seem much more accessible than it is, believe me. Don't be fooled, this is only to give a sharper feel for the film):
The fella's name is Fabrice Du Welz, a Belgian filmmaker, and I've finally seen his sophomore head-raper Vinyan, after nearly a year's worth of anticipation.
Fabrice Du Welz
After I watched his debut, Calvaire (The Ordeal), early on in my Netflix lifespan, I couldn't shake the cold, distant-from-reality feeling the film left me with. Some idiot writers have dubbed Calvaire the "Gay Chainsaw Massacre," due to its sporadic homo-psychotic scenes and the plot's skeletal cloning of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. While those jackasses trivialized it into a heap of puns, I fell right in Calvaire's existential malarchy trap, knees deep and loving every fucked-up second. At not one point did Du Welz take an expected plot turn, stage a seen-that-before scene. Even when the images made no sense and felt bizarre simply for bizarre's cheap sake, I couldn't help but love the shit. Like this random folk dance sequence, which I'm sure is meant to show the audience that the townsfolk in Calvaire aren't the most trustworthy, but really just comes off as some inexplicable hypnosis. You'll either laugh at the absurdity or be left in unease. Myself, a fascinating mixture of both:
Du Welz won me over with Calvaire, no doubt, so once word spread that the writer-director's next one, Vinyan, is a stylistic leap forward, I instantly become enthralled with the chance of some day soon seeing it. Of course, the film played well at the film festival circuit last year and had heads talking due to its eccentricity and holy-shit final act, which naturally meant it would linger in release purgatory before hitting DVD shelves with zero fanfare. Other than to those such as myself who put ourselves in "the know." All I had to work with was this mesmerizing underwater opening credit sequence, a "Huh" slice of coolness that leaves me with the same bewilderment that the opening credits of Gaspar Noe's Irreversible does:
So what did I get out of Vinyan? A viewing experience that made that of Calvaire seem only satisfactory. Where to begin? With the film's plot, perhaps: Paul and Jeanne (actors Rufus Sewell and Emmanuelle Beart, both quietly dynamic here) are on a vacation near Burma when they come across a tourist video that features a little jungle-living kid that Jeanne swears is their son Joshua, who was lost at sea during the 2004 tsunami and presumed dead. After some debate, Jeanne wins, and the couple doles out their entire life savings to hop on a sketchy boat to the Thai-Burmese border, where the video was shot. As the trip continues into a downward spiral of dead-ends and growing bleakness, the boat's guide gets lost and docks on a nondescript, dark, creepy isle full of silent little naked kids covered in hardened mud and preying around the jungle in stalker-mode.
The little bastards look like children straight out of a National Geographic issue guest-edited by the team from Fangoria. And once the couple's boat becomes off-course and stranded, Vinyan turns into Apocalypse Now crossbred with Who Can Kill A Child? scripted and directed while on an acid trip. That's a seriously twisted and potent elixir, and I'm not fibbing when I say that the final 15 minutes of Vinyan had me paralyzed to my couch. The paralysis first kicked in during this dream sequence that Jeanne has; she's been mentally deteriorating throughout the film, and by the time they're stuck on the tribal island, aka the Fifth Circle of Earthbound Hell, she's totally gone. A walking slab of jelly, only motivated by the sad, tragic hope of finding her obviously-dead son. In this dream, she's surrounded by a group of kids wearing the same red shirt her son wore on the day he was taken by the tsunami wave. Only, the kids' faces are all stretched-out and mask-like, and the camera zooms sideways and in-and-out rapidly as faint screaming sounds (the same ones heard at the tail-end of that above Vinyan opening credits). It's unsettling along the lines of that nightmarish Aphex Twin video for "Come to Daddy." Heebie jeebie central.
Vinyan isn't a film I'd honestly recommend to too many people. I'll be delicately picking and choosing who gets the "You should really watch this" heads-up. If your attention span is that of a pencil and a simple growling stomach makes you stand up and leave the room while a DVD is playing, do yourself a favor and stay the fuck away from this one. It's not meant for you; go watch The Love Guru or something. Du Welz moves this thing along at a snail's pace, but in a good way. I never lost interest, and was rewarded by Vinyan's haunting final act, but the only-marginally-patient watcher will most likely tune out or get bored by the 20-minute mark. If so, I'm sorry. You can't win them all. Only people like me who love this kind of bizarre shit. And also, lovers of intense, stark, gorgeous cinematography and some of the best jungle scenery presentation since Francis Ford Coppola and the already-referenced Apocalypse Now.
It takes some balls and some truly disturbed sensibilities to dream up and then so strongly execute Vinyan's final 15 minutes. But this dude Du Welz has done it rather convincingly. I'd really love to see him get the green-light for an American studio film, just to witness either his un-compromise or disappointing descent into studio politic bend-over bulldonkey. Because there's no way in Hell that he'd get away with making a film such as Vinyan on an American studio's watch.
Unfiltered DVD releases of international cinema, bless y'all.
Vinyan trailer (that actually makes the film seem much more accessible than it is, believe me. Don't be fooled, this is only to give a sharper feel for the film):
Monday, April 6, 2009
Netflix Fix -- And Soon The Darkness (1970)
Just the other day, a friend and I were talking about the possibility of ever taking some kind of solo European vacation. One of those trips where its person, alone, exploring a far-off country. Full of self-discovery, adventure, intrigue. But then also a true test of one's survival skills, and street smarts. Personally, the idea of a one-man vacay overseas is rather compelling, though I'm not entirely sure that I'll ever pull the trigger and actually take one. Besides, I've seen enough movies to know how susceptible an American tourist in unfamiliar terrain. The old "fish out of water" plot device is one of the most abused and overused tricks in the thriller genre, with "good" flicks such as Hostel far outweighing the forgettable misfires, like, say, Turistas (anybody?).
And those are just a couple of the recent examples. Tomorrow, in fact, I'll finally get to watch Fabrice Du Welz' Vinyan on trusty DVD, and that's yet another entry into this subgenre. And Soon The Darkness, a largely looked-over British potboiler made back in 1970 by director Robert Fuest, has set the bar for Vinyan Mary-Jane-high.
Loving this poster. Looks a lot like that old Last House on the Left one I've always thought was/is top quality.
A few weeks back, news surfaced of an in-development remake of And Soon The Darkness, starring two starlet-apples in my eye, Amber Heard (Pineapple Express) and Odette Yustman (Cloverfield, The Unborn). The notion of remaking an obscure British film with a pair of America's hottest young actresses immediately got me going; I'd much rather see a little-known foreign throwback get the recognition over yet another iconic slasher series from here in the states.
Prior to the news of an Amber Heard/Odette Yustman sexy sandwich, I'd never heard of the original And Soon The Darkness, so the film instantly hopped into my Netflix. Finally came around to watching it late last night, and I'm glad to opine that its one hell of smart, suspenseful little number. Plays up all of the necessary "fish out of water" puzzle pieces to effective levels of unease.
Cathy (actress Michele Dotrice) and Jane (Pamela Franklin)
....and now, Amber Heard and Odette Yustman. Quite a difference, eh?
The story centers around Jane, a cute, short-haired, innocent-minded college-age tourist from London who has just seen her bicycling trip across France take a mischievous turn. After a verbal scuffle with her wilder, blonde bombshell of a best friend, and travel partner, Cathy, Jane rode off in protest, leaving Cathy alone near woods on the side of a road. But when Jane goes back to check on her friend, Cathy is gone. This leads to an investigation complete with shady strangers giving Jane prolonged stares and speaking in foreign languages that she frustratingly can't understand, and an unearthed murder mystery that brings with it eerie similarities with Cathy.
Now that's how you cut together a trailer.
The film's script (written by fellas named Brian Clemens and Terry Nation) is the real MVP here, a tightly-structured pressure cooker that loves fucking with the audience. His strongest constant-okie-doke is a character named Paul, a suave Frenchman that catches Cathy's eye intitially but then begins to look more sinister by the second. His motives remain unclear, difficult to pin down. It doesn't help the viewer's private-eye side that Fuest consistently flips our perceptions of Paul. We're made to believe that he's taken to Jane out of sympathy, but when he drives near the spot where Cathy disappeared on his motorbike, we see tire tracks next a pair of Cathy's missing panties. Instant connection made. And then later Paul reveals himself to be a detective, yet the head of the local police department claims to have no idea who Paul is moments later.
If And Soon The Darkness was simply a clever whodunit mystery, I would've been happy enough. But Fuest shows flashes of Alfred Hitchcock here that give the film a nice slice of nail-chomping atmosphere, amplifying the isolation of a scared, confused non-local impressively. The subtle creeps, all around. Two scenes in particular achieve a pretty strong anxiety: First, the last time we see Cathy before Jane's investigation begins; as she wakes up alongside the road from leaves rustling, Cathy cautiously begins to pack her belongings and get ready to ride and find her friend, but Fuest uses nifty sight tricks (a pair of panties there one second and gone the next; the sound of spinning bike-tire wheels; switching the camera's point-of-view to inside the bushes peering out at Cathy) to his advantage, and the end product is a damn tense sequence with little sound. Secondly, a scene near the film's end that finds Jane hiding in the closet of a trailer truck as the suspected villain snoops around; its a standard cat-and-mouse setup, but then we're hit with a total "Oh shit!" jump scare that is both revelatory and shock city.
File And Soon The Darkness under "Awesomely Pleasant Surprises." I went into this Netflix Fix hoping to merely meet a personal quota, seeing a film that the remake of which has become an anticipation-item of mine. I wasn't expecting to love this humble British flick as much as I now do. Looks like Amber Heard, Odette Yustman, and who-the-fuck-is-he director Marcos Efron have their work cut out for them. The Heard/Yustman And Soon The Darkness was honestly little more than a hormone-driven must-see, but now I'll be watching with a heavy "They better not fuck this up" microscope.
It's already been said that the remake will relocate the setting from France to Argentina, for whatever that's worth. Now, how about explaining what the hell the title And Soon The Darkness means exactly? The original takes place entirely during the daytime, and the impending nightfall is never referenced in any sort of menacing way, so what gives? It's an awesome title for a film, though. Just wondering, "Why?"
And those are just a couple of the recent examples. Tomorrow, in fact, I'll finally get to watch Fabrice Du Welz' Vinyan on trusty DVD, and that's yet another entry into this subgenre. And Soon The Darkness, a largely looked-over British potboiler made back in 1970 by director Robert Fuest, has set the bar for Vinyan Mary-Jane-high.
Loving this poster. Looks a lot like that old Last House on the Left one I've always thought was/is top quality.
A few weeks back, news surfaced of an in-development remake of And Soon The Darkness, starring two starlet-apples in my eye, Amber Heard (Pineapple Express) and Odette Yustman (Cloverfield, The Unborn). The notion of remaking an obscure British film with a pair of America's hottest young actresses immediately got me going; I'd much rather see a little-known foreign throwback get the recognition over yet another iconic slasher series from here in the states.
Prior to the news of an Amber Heard/Odette Yustman sexy sandwich, I'd never heard of the original And Soon The Darkness, so the film instantly hopped into my Netflix. Finally came around to watching it late last night, and I'm glad to opine that its one hell of smart, suspenseful little number. Plays up all of the necessary "fish out of water" puzzle pieces to effective levels of unease.
Cathy (actress Michele Dotrice) and Jane (Pamela Franklin)
....and now, Amber Heard and Odette Yustman. Quite a difference, eh?
The story centers around Jane, a cute, short-haired, innocent-minded college-age tourist from London who has just seen her bicycling trip across France take a mischievous turn. After a verbal scuffle with her wilder, blonde bombshell of a best friend, and travel partner, Cathy, Jane rode off in protest, leaving Cathy alone near woods on the side of a road. But when Jane goes back to check on her friend, Cathy is gone. This leads to an investigation complete with shady strangers giving Jane prolonged stares and speaking in foreign languages that she frustratingly can't understand, and an unearthed murder mystery that brings with it eerie similarities with Cathy.
Now that's how you cut together a trailer.
The film's script (written by fellas named Brian Clemens and Terry Nation) is the real MVP here, a tightly-structured pressure cooker that loves fucking with the audience. His strongest constant-okie-doke is a character named Paul, a suave Frenchman that catches Cathy's eye intitially but then begins to look more sinister by the second. His motives remain unclear, difficult to pin down. It doesn't help the viewer's private-eye side that Fuest consistently flips our perceptions of Paul. We're made to believe that he's taken to Jane out of sympathy, but when he drives near the spot where Cathy disappeared on his motorbike, we see tire tracks next a pair of Cathy's missing panties. Instant connection made. And then later Paul reveals himself to be a detective, yet the head of the local police department claims to have no idea who Paul is moments later.
If And Soon The Darkness was simply a clever whodunit mystery, I would've been happy enough. But Fuest shows flashes of Alfred Hitchcock here that give the film a nice slice of nail-chomping atmosphere, amplifying the isolation of a scared, confused non-local impressively. The subtle creeps, all around. Two scenes in particular achieve a pretty strong anxiety: First, the last time we see Cathy before Jane's investigation begins; as she wakes up alongside the road from leaves rustling, Cathy cautiously begins to pack her belongings and get ready to ride and find her friend, but Fuest uses nifty sight tricks (a pair of panties there one second and gone the next; the sound of spinning bike-tire wheels; switching the camera's point-of-view to inside the bushes peering out at Cathy) to his advantage, and the end product is a damn tense sequence with little sound. Secondly, a scene near the film's end that finds Jane hiding in the closet of a trailer truck as the suspected villain snoops around; its a standard cat-and-mouse setup, but then we're hit with a total "Oh shit!" jump scare that is both revelatory and shock city.
File And Soon The Darkness under "Awesomely Pleasant Surprises." I went into this Netflix Fix hoping to merely meet a personal quota, seeing a film that the remake of which has become an anticipation-item of mine. I wasn't expecting to love this humble British flick as much as I now do. Looks like Amber Heard, Odette Yustman, and who-the-fuck-is-he director Marcos Efron have their work cut out for them. The Heard/Yustman And Soon The Darkness was honestly little more than a hormone-driven must-see, but now I'll be watching with a heavy "They better not fuck this up" microscope.
It's already been said that the remake will relocate the setting from France to Argentina, for whatever that's worth. Now, how about explaining what the hell the title And Soon The Darkness means exactly? The original takes place entirely during the daytime, and the impending nightfall is never referenced in any sort of menacing way, so what gives? It's an awesome title for a film, though. Just wondering, "Why?"
Your new Freddy Krueger is.....a great, Oscar-nominated actor? How about that?
Due to my good-times weekend out in Boston (Quincy Market's food court is a place of edible wonders, and the house tequila at The Purple Shamrock tastes like Petron left uncapped for a year past its expiration date), I missed the boat on this one by a couple of days. But it's a bit of horror casting news that is nothing short of spot-on, so I'd be sloppy to let it slip by. After months of hopeful rumors and roundabout confirmations and denials by all involved, those remake-ruiners at Platinum Dunes have absolutely nailed the casting of Freddy Krueger for next April's A Nightmare on Elm Street redo:
Jackie Earle Haley
From the moment that the first word hit online about Haley's possible involvement, this has seemed like such pitch-perfect casting, and now that it's official, I'm actually gaining some excitement for this project. Initially, the thought of Platinum Dunes fucking up yet another great horror film sent douche-chills down my spine. Put it this way: those guys managed to turn a remake of an already-subpar film (the original Friday the 13th) into an inferior, frustratingly inept cash-guzzler, so just imagine how badly they could butcher an actually-strong flick like the original Nightmare? And let's not even get into that Platinum Dunes raping of The Hitcher, or this past January's laughably moronic The Unborn.
With Jackie Earle Haley signing on, however, the stakes are much more promising. The man is an Academy Award nominee (for Little Children), and he's coming off his universally-loved Rorschach turn in Watchmen. Plus, his next film is Martin Scorcese's Shutter Island. He has the luxury to pick and choose his next starring vehicle with care, and he's chosen a Nightmare on Elm Street remake? The script for this flick must be something special, at least one would think/hope. Haley must be genuinely excited to fill Robert Englund's Shaq-sized shoes and reinvent Freddy Krueger, and that's the coolest. I'm totally a Haley fanboy (if you haven't seen his work in Little Children, make that happen....and he was the only good thing about Will Ferrell's unfunny, derivative Semi-Pro)
Bonus Jackie Earle Haley pic....remember him here?
Yup......Kelly Leak.
I for one can't wait to see what he does. This remake has gone from "meh" to "must" overnight, now. Of course, the Platinum Dunes team could very well fuck this up, but the fact that its a first-time director, music video vet Samuel Bayer (Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit"), behind the lens opens up the stylistic possibilities immensely. And assuming that the script is up to snuff, the cast of young faces isn't as bland as the recent Friday the 13th's, and Haley's body isn't inhabited by Nicolas Cage during filming, this one is looking mighty healthy. For now.
Speaking of the young cast, the only head signed on so far is Kyle Gallner (the main kid in The Haunting in Connecticut, previously known for Veronica Mars)---he was surprisingly good in Haunting in CT, so he's a good start here. My nomination for the lead role of "Nancy"? Here goes:
Yes, my girl Olivia Thirlby. Simply out of my yearning for her to blow up commercially some day, just so I could see more and more of her. "That's the world I want to live in."
Jackie Earle Haley
From the moment that the first word hit online about Haley's possible involvement, this has seemed like such pitch-perfect casting, and now that it's official, I'm actually gaining some excitement for this project. Initially, the thought of Platinum Dunes fucking up yet another great horror film sent douche-chills down my spine. Put it this way: those guys managed to turn a remake of an already-subpar film (the original Friday the 13th) into an inferior, frustratingly inept cash-guzzler, so just imagine how badly they could butcher an actually-strong flick like the original Nightmare? And let's not even get into that Platinum Dunes raping of The Hitcher, or this past January's laughably moronic The Unborn.
With Jackie Earle Haley signing on, however, the stakes are much more promising. The man is an Academy Award nominee (for Little Children), and he's coming off his universally-loved Rorschach turn in Watchmen. Plus, his next film is Martin Scorcese's Shutter Island. He has the luxury to pick and choose his next starring vehicle with care, and he's chosen a Nightmare on Elm Street remake? The script for this flick must be something special, at least one would think/hope. Haley must be genuinely excited to fill Robert Englund's Shaq-sized shoes and reinvent Freddy Krueger, and that's the coolest. I'm totally a Haley fanboy (if you haven't seen his work in Little Children, make that happen....and he was the only good thing about Will Ferrell's unfunny, derivative Semi-Pro)
Bonus Jackie Earle Haley pic....remember him here?
Yup......Kelly Leak.
I for one can't wait to see what he does. This remake has gone from "meh" to "must" overnight, now. Of course, the Platinum Dunes team could very well fuck this up, but the fact that its a first-time director, music video vet Samuel Bayer (Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit"), behind the lens opens up the stylistic possibilities immensely. And assuming that the script is up to snuff, the cast of young faces isn't as bland as the recent Friday the 13th's, and Haley's body isn't inhabited by Nicolas Cage during filming, this one is looking mighty healthy. For now.
Speaking of the young cast, the only head signed on so far is Kyle Gallner (the main kid in The Haunting in Connecticut, previously known for Veronica Mars)---he was surprisingly good in Haunting in CT, so he's a good start here. My nomination for the lead role of "Nancy"? Here goes:
Yes, my girl Olivia Thirlby. Simply out of my yearning for her to blow up commercially some day, just so I could see more and more of her. "That's the world I want to live in."
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Drag Me To Hell's slightly pornographic/orgasmic poster
Just look at Alison Lohman's face. It's like those demons are getting a little naughty below the poster's spacial restriction. I'm just saying....
The first poster for Sam Raimi's return to horror, Drag Me to Hell
Poster first surfaced at (where the pic is bigger, too): Shock Till You Drop
Condensed, double-sided pic that I've posted first seen at: /Film
Drag Me To Hell is said to be PG-13, sure, but even a PG-13 spin on shit like this is welcome with open arms. Bring it, Sam Raimi. Ready over here:
Evil Dead 2
The first poster for Sam Raimi's return to horror, Drag Me to Hell
Poster first surfaced at (where the pic is bigger, too): Shock Till You Drop
Condensed, double-sided pic that I've posted first seen at: /Film
Drag Me To Hell is said to be PG-13, sure, but even a PG-13 spin on shit like this is welcome with open arms. Bring it, Sam Raimi. Ready over here:
Evil Dead 2
Friday, March 27, 2009
Nacho Supreme
Keeping this one short and tart. It's late, I'm zonked. Mentally tapped. Had a night of debauchery planned, but all went South (no) thanks to some tardy, unfocused friends. No sweat, though. It was all for the better, since I got to watch the great little Timecrimes (2007; put in minimal theaters in America late last year briefly), a Spanish "time travel" thriller that's smarter than a female MENSA member giving a male road scholar some brains. It's more responsible for my current cranial fatigue than a week's worth of job-doing, no question. Written and directed by a fella named Nacho Vigilondo, Timecrimes is one of those films that vastly impresses from opening frame to closing reel, full of head-spinners, mind-blowers, and tightly-constructed narrative zigs and zags.
It's serious like that.
You basically have this schlubby, everyday-joe middle-aged guy named Hector who sneaks some peeks, using binoculars, at a sexy naked chick in the woods behind his house as his wife is going out to run some errands. The birthday-suit-wearing lady disappears, so, being the voyeuristic perv that he is, Hector heads in the woods to find her, and from here sets off a chain of events that fondles the chronology of time in so many wicked ways that you'd think Vigalondo gets off to calendars that don't have swimsuit-clad chicks splattered throughout. Hector reluctantly enters some sort of time machine being worked on by a random scientist operating within the woods (scientist played by Vigalondo himself), and by doing so Hector embarks on a fucked-up journey where there's three Hectors all trying to not screw up the natural chain of events. It's like Groundhog Day on mean-spirited acid, but instead of the same day being started over and over again, Hector's day never ends, yet still restarts. Heady for days and nights.
Vigalondo must've fine-tuned this script for a good year or two un-distracted, because it's so neatly crafted and hole-less that I have no choice but to hail Sir Vigalondo as "that new Spanish filmmaking dude." Timecrimes is exciting, creepy, surreal, violent, confusing, streamlined, clever, and enigmatic, all at once, never seeming contrived.
Of course, since American film studios suck scrote, a Timecrimes remake is already being developed. I think by David Cronenberg, actually, which is rather promising, in ways. But I can't but wish that Timecrimes was given a bigger stateside theatrical release, for droves of audiences to bask in its dopeness. Filmgoers around these parts would've largely ignored it, naturally, but it deserved a big shot. Bigger than it got.
You should've rented it yesterday. Catch up with yourself, now.
It's serious like that.
You basically have this schlubby, everyday-joe middle-aged guy named Hector who sneaks some peeks, using binoculars, at a sexy naked chick in the woods behind his house as his wife is going out to run some errands. The birthday-suit-wearing lady disappears, so, being the voyeuristic perv that he is, Hector heads in the woods to find her, and from here sets off a chain of events that fondles the chronology of time in so many wicked ways that you'd think Vigalondo gets off to calendars that don't have swimsuit-clad chicks splattered throughout. Hector reluctantly enters some sort of time machine being worked on by a random scientist operating within the woods (scientist played by Vigalondo himself), and by doing so Hector embarks on a fucked-up journey where there's three Hectors all trying to not screw up the natural chain of events. It's like Groundhog Day on mean-spirited acid, but instead of the same day being started over and over again, Hector's day never ends, yet still restarts. Heady for days and nights.
Vigalondo must've fine-tuned this script for a good year or two un-distracted, because it's so neatly crafted and hole-less that I have no choice but to hail Sir Vigalondo as "that new Spanish filmmaking dude." Timecrimes is exciting, creepy, surreal, violent, confusing, streamlined, clever, and enigmatic, all at once, never seeming contrived.
Of course, since American film studios suck scrote, a Timecrimes remake is already being developed. I think by David Cronenberg, actually, which is rather promising, in ways. But I can't but wish that Timecrimes was given a bigger stateside theatrical release, for droves of audiences to bask in its dopeness. Filmgoers around these parts would've largely ignored it, naturally, but it deserved a big shot. Bigger than it got.
You should've rented it yesterday. Catch up with yourself, now.
Dan Akroyd: "Hey, do you wanna see something really scary?" Me: Yes, dammit!
The odds of this new The Haunting in Connecticut scaring me in any way, shape, or shriek are slimmer than Nicole Richie's waist, yet I'm still seeing it later tonight. When it comes to horror flicks that my better judgment says will be mediocre at best, I'm a total masochist. Minus the ball strapped into my mouth, or hands tied behind my back. Instead, overpriced fountain soda in hand, significantly leaner wallet in pocket. The main problem I have with modern-day "haunted house films" is that they never, ever steer clear of convention, jacking scenes and set-ups from the infinitely superior classics. It's best to accept that no film of this ilk will ever come within a peachfuzz-hair-strand of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, or 1963's The Haunting---both stellar in all facets. Hell, these new flicks don't even stand a chance of topping the original, not-as-good-as-those-two-greats Amityville Horror, even when they're blatant moving-photocopies (see The Haunting in Connecticut).
Yet, I'll continue to spend hours upon hours in darkly lit theaters watching these latest attempts, because I'm sucker for horror-love. I can't help but feel pounds of inner sadness, though, at the dreadful feeling that it's become nearly impossible for a new ghost story to give me the shivers. Have me frozen in my seat, overpriced fountain soda poking at my bladder in a state of "Let me out, man! This shit is freaking me out, too! And I'm liquid nothingness!" Maybe I'm too seasoned of a viewer. Or perhaps I'm putting too much stake in a film's necessity of at least bringing fond memories of The Shining to mind for all the right, effective, successful reasons. It's not even a matter of a PG-13 rating, either. Initially, I cringe at that teeny-bopper-targeted rating for a horror flick, but when I sit back and think clear of prejudice, I realize that something as wonderful and simple as The Haunting, if released today, would very well earn a mere PG rating, no 13 required. Scares can be scored without gore or wanton violence; it's all about the execution.
Which brings me to a little rarely-seen-by-most United Kingdom TV movie from 1989, The Woman in Black. I forget which cable channel it was that I first saw this film on, back when I was barely out of grammar school. But boy, did it treat my mind like a cow's ass being branded.
A couple years ago, I came across it for cheap on Amazon.com and immediately threw it into my DVD arsenal, and wouldn't you know it.....The Woman in Black still scares the piss out of me. I've long tried putting my finger on exactly why it frightens me on par with The Shining and those classics, maybe even more so in ways. There's no question that the Woman in Black herself carries the lion's share of the blame; speechless, motionless and with those piercingly-dead eyes, she's the epitome of "scary old lady." Pad her presence with the film's overall bleak Gothic tone (courtesy of director Herbert Wise), and you have a recipe for minimalist success that today's filmmakers wish they could pull off.
Two scenes in particular have done wonders for my insomnia over the years. The first is something of an infamous "Oh shit!" moment amongst horror heads in the know, deservedly so----the lawyer is shuffling about restless in bed, standard nocturnal practice. Like most of us do, he concedes defeat and sits up, but unlike all of us, he is met with the Woman in Black hovering over his bed. A shock moment if there ever was one. The second is the film's final moment, a denouement that bleeds with tragic macabre----not to entirely spoil it (though, chances are none of you will have the opportunity to see this flick unless it's on my watch, which is unfortunate), but it's the unhappiest of endings, taking place on a lake after the lawyer thinks he's escaped the Woman in Black's clutches forever. While on a little rowboat with his wife and infant child, he learns that the scary old bitch isn't done with him yet. I remember distinctly just how bruised and gut-punched this final scene left me the first time I watched. Just devastating.
watch the picture behind him at the 1:02 mark
Part of me thinks that I should just go home and re-watch The Woman in Black tonight, rather than drop coin on The Haunting in Connecticut. I'd surely fulfill my want-to-be-scared-this-evening quota. For free, too. That's not going to happen, of course, and I'll soon be exiting the 34th Street AMC theater with equals droplets of annoyance and frustrations.
Despite the fact that I neglected to bring an extra pair of clean underwear with me today, I'd totally pay an extra $10 for the Woman in Black to appear as a theater usher tonight. While the attention-deficit, manufactured-Hollywood-crap-garbling audience around me wouldn't even bat an eyelash, I'd be intensely shook.
Yet, I'll continue to spend hours upon hours in darkly lit theaters watching these latest attempts, because I'm sucker for horror-love. I can't help but feel pounds of inner sadness, though, at the dreadful feeling that it's become nearly impossible for a new ghost story to give me the shivers. Have me frozen in my seat, overpriced fountain soda poking at my bladder in a state of "Let me out, man! This shit is freaking me out, too! And I'm liquid nothingness!" Maybe I'm too seasoned of a viewer. Or perhaps I'm putting too much stake in a film's necessity of at least bringing fond memories of The Shining to mind for all the right, effective, successful reasons. It's not even a matter of a PG-13 rating, either. Initially, I cringe at that teeny-bopper-targeted rating for a horror flick, but when I sit back and think clear of prejudice, I realize that something as wonderful and simple as The Haunting, if released today, would very well earn a mere PG rating, no 13 required. Scares can be scored without gore or wanton violence; it's all about the execution.
Which brings me to a little rarely-seen-by-most United Kingdom TV movie from 1989, The Woman in Black. I forget which cable channel it was that I first saw this film on, back when I was barely out of grammar school. But boy, did it treat my mind like a cow's ass being branded.
IMDB'S plot synopsis: "When a friendless old widow dies in the seaside town of Crythin, a young solicitor is sent by his firm to settle the estate. The lawyer finds the townspeople reluctant to talk about or go near the woman's dreary home and no one will explain or even acknowledge the menacing woman in black he keeps seeing. Ignoring the towns-people's cryptic warnings, he goes to the house where he discovers its horrible history and becomes ensnared in its even more horrible legacy."
A couple years ago, I came across it for cheap on Amazon.com and immediately threw it into my DVD arsenal, and wouldn't you know it.....The Woman in Black still scares the piss out of me. I've long tried putting my finger on exactly why it frightens me on par with The Shining and those classics, maybe even more so in ways. There's no question that the Woman in Black herself carries the lion's share of the blame; speechless, motionless and with those piercingly-dead eyes, she's the epitome of "scary old lady." Pad her presence with the film's overall bleak Gothic tone (courtesy of director Herbert Wise), and you have a recipe for minimalist success that today's filmmakers wish they could pull off.
Two scenes in particular have done wonders for my insomnia over the years. The first is something of an infamous "Oh shit!" moment amongst horror heads in the know, deservedly so----the lawyer is shuffling about restless in bed, standard nocturnal practice. Like most of us do, he concedes defeat and sits up, but unlike all of us, he is met with the Woman in Black hovering over his bed. A shock moment if there ever was one. The second is the film's final moment, a denouement that bleeds with tragic macabre----not to entirely spoil it (though, chances are none of you will have the opportunity to see this flick unless it's on my watch, which is unfortunate), but it's the unhappiest of endings, taking place on a lake after the lawyer thinks he's escaped the Woman in Black's clutches forever. While on a little rowboat with his wife and infant child, he learns that the scary old bitch isn't done with him yet. I remember distinctly just how bruised and gut-punched this final scene left me the first time I watched. Just devastating.
watch the picture behind him at the 1:02 mark
Part of me thinks that I should just go home and re-watch The Woman in Black tonight, rather than drop coin on The Haunting in Connecticut. I'd surely fulfill my want-to-be-scared-this-evening quota. For free, too. That's not going to happen, of course, and I'll soon be exiting the 34th Street AMC theater with equals droplets of annoyance and frustrations.
Despite the fact that I neglected to bring an extra pair of clean underwear with me today, I'd totally pay an extra $10 for the Woman in Black to appear as a theater usher tonight. While the attention-deficit, manufactured-Hollywood-crap-garbling audience around me wouldn't even bat an eyelash, I'd be intensely shook.
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