Mar
8
“Meteor” Review
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With the recent non-news that an asteroid killed the dinosaurs and not HIV-AIDS, I thought I’d watch a forgotten gem of the disaster genre, the 1979 Ronald Neame film, “Meteor.” The film stars Sean Connery, Natalie Wood, Karl Malden, Martin Landau and Henry Fonda. I know, right. What a cast! This being a disaster picture, most of them go to waste. Landau, however, stands out as the pissed-off general who hates everyone’s ideas. He dies.
“Meteor” not only brought an end to the waning popularity of disaster movies in the ’70s, but its box office failure apparently bankrupted American International Pictures, FTW. As far as I’m concerned, any movie in which Sean Connery delivers this line, “Why don’t you stick a broom up my ass? I can sweep the carpet on the way out,” belongs on a goddamn AFI list for the 100 Best Sean Connery Zingers.
“Meteor,” as you may have guessed, is about a piece of space debris — one about the size of Bruce Willis’ ego (i.e. five miles wide) — that’s on a collision course with the planet Earth. Connery plays Dr. Paul Bradley, a former NASA scientist who developed an orbital platform that can launch nukes at any chunk of rock hurtling towards our planet. However, Dr. Bradley left NASA when his project, dubbed Hercules, was redesigned by the U.S. military, and the missiles were trained on the Soviet Union instead. Now an actual meteor is heading for Earth, and the government desperately needs Dr. Bradley to help them reconfigure Hercules to do what it was originally intended to. Oh, and they need to ask the USSR if they’ll be so kind as to use their own version of Hercules for the same purpose. Uncharacteristically, the U.S. doesn’t have enough nuclear firepower to do the job alone. This is what happens under the Henry Fonda Administration. The country goes straight to hell.
One problem I have with disaster films is that they have so many A-listers and so little time. Natalie Wood shows up incredibly late in the film as a Russian translator and Dr. Bradley’s love interest. (Fun fact: Connery hooked up with Wood’s bosomy sister, Lana, in his penultimate turn as James Bond, 1971’s “Diamonds Are Forever.”) “Meteor” runs less than two hours, so most of the stars aren’t given a hell of a lot of do beyond lending their famous names to an Irwin Allen wannabe. Also, by virtue of the fact that the disaster is impending, the movie is kind of one long waiting game. Splinters of the meteor come crashing down late in the second act, including one that takes out the WTC, but the middle section of the film is a slog. We get lots of scenes of people being curt with one another.
The climax involves Dr. Bradley leading a group of people to safety through what appears to be a mudslide in a NYC subway tunnel after a splinter of meteor crashes down on top of their heads. It’s kind of a weird ending for a movie called “Meteor.” I was hoping we’d get to see Connery dressed up like an astronaut at some point during the proceedings. Rather, we get a mud-caked Connery. Bullshit.
How does “Meteor” stack up against that theatrically-released telefilm, “‘Deep Impact,” and Michael Bay’s theatrically-released commercial for massive-scale destruction, “Armageddon?” Well, all three are weak sauce for different reasons. But only “Meteor” has the broom-up-the-ass line. So it edges out the competition by a whisker.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
26
“The Crazies” Review
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I went into this one cold, having not seen any trailers or TV commercials. In high school, my buddies and I made it through about five or 10 minutes of the original, George A. Romero-directed version. I had no idea what to expect from the new film. But the reviews seemed surprisingly positive for a film that’s A) a remake, B) a zombie movie and C) directed by the guy whose only other film credit is “Sahara.” So is “The Crazies” one of those rare horror flicks that delivers?
No, it’s a piece of shit.
The film isn’t horrible, but it isn’t good either. Movies that are so very middle-of-the-road are difficult to review because I have a hard time forming an opinion about them one way or the other. As such, I tend rank average or “meh-worthy” films alongside the crap movies I truly hated. I’d never give a two-star review of anything. It’s either a great movie or the filmmakers shouldn’t have even bothered. Home video and cable TV have created a niche market for mediocre films and filmmakers to limp along rather that fade into obscurity. Movie fans, for esoteric reasons I find baffling, will often subject themselves to ho-hum dung heaps when they become available on Netflix or On Demand? Why? Hell if I know. I’m trying to break the habit of seeing virtually everything in an effort to keep up with the zeitgeist. The fact “Cop Out” exists — and that people went to see it at midnight last night! — proves to me that the zeitgeist needs to have some taste bitch-slapped into it.
Even so, I still catch the occasional misfire like “The Crazies” and wonder just what the stink everyone else found to like about it.
In the film, Timothy Olyphant plays Sheriff David, whose last name I don’t think is spoken once in the film. I don’t care enough to look it up on IMDb, so I’m going to call him Sheriff David. At any rate, Sheriff David is a folksy, small-town lawman in Ogden Marsh, IA. He’s married to the local doctor, Mrs. Sheriff David (Radha Mitchell), and manages to find the the time to attend high school baseball games while on duty. Odgen Marsh is one of those sleepy, one stoplight towns that’s so boring, even the town drunk’s been on the wagon for two years now. But when the town drunk stumbles onto the baseball diamond while toting a shotgun, Sheriff David smokes that fool, and the quiet little community slowly becomes unhinged due to some virus that’s gotten into the town’s water supply.
The military — the sort of go-to villain in disaster/horror pictures like these — comes rolling in, and faceless troops in haz-mat suits become the stuff of every Libertarian’s worst nightmares, herding the sick into quarantine zones at the point of a gun. Sheriff David, Mrs. Sheriff David and Sheriff David’s Deputy manage to escape and try to make it to the next town undetected. Mrs. Sheriff David is pregnant, which gives the film a tension-building device called a “ticking clock;” unfortunately, it appears to be a nine-month ticking clock because Radha Mitchell has the body of a yoga instructor in this film. The visual shorthand for establishing a super-skinny woman in a movie is pregnant but doesn’t look it is to have her significant other lovingly place his hand on her stomach during a tender moment.
The zombified “crazies” in the movie pop up every now and then, but it’s never established what they’re deal is. They’re slower and less vicious than the infected in “28 Days Later” and far fewer in number than the ghouls in the “Night of the Living Dead” pictures. That makes them not terribly scary.
There’s exactly one clever kill in the whole movie. It involves a guy with a knife stabbed through his hand grabbing someone by the throat. But for the most part, the crazies die like any normal human by taking a bullet to the torso. Part of the fun of movies like this should be the spectacular levels of carnage. “The Crazies,” though, is fairly unremarkable when it comes to splatter. What a gyp.
Director Breck Eisner, son of former Disney CEO Michael, doesn’t seem like a good fit for the material. The movie is fairly interchangeable with any other recent horror pic with elements borrowed from Zack Snyder’s vastly overrated remake of “Dawn of the Dead” as well as Alexandre Aja’s moderately overrated remake of “Hills Have Eyes.” When you’re aping bits from crummy remakes, you’ve really got to reevaluate your directorial vision. Steal big, is what I’m saying.
I wasn’t crazy about “The Crazies.” Oh, it could’ve been way worse, but it also could’ve been a hell of a lot better. I simply don’t get what other people liked so much about the film. Don’t believe that crazy-talk.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
25
The first question Marvel Studios should be asking themselves in casting “Captain America” isn’t, “Does this guy look the part?” but “Can he hold the screen with Robert Downey Jr.?” Judging from the list of interchangeable pretty boys who are up for the role, Marvel’s clearly looking to put a relative unknown into the costume with the acting chops of your average CW thesp. Yawn. I was hoping they’d nab Jeremy Renner for Cap. The guy’s got to be stoic, flinty, and a little out of touch with the world around him. He’s also got to believably lead the Avengers into battle and not have a more charismatic actor eat his lunch in every scene.
Now granted, Johnny Depp was on “21 Jump Street” early in his career, so leaping the chasm from syndicated teen soap to mega-stardom isn’t completely out of the question. But it is rare. And Marvel Studios can ill afford a movie that flops because its universe is so intertwined. Casting a dumb bohunk as Cap will not only preclude further installments of their “Captain America” film franchise, but it’ll also put the “Avengers” crossover film in jeopardy. Blank slate Brandon Routh was one of the many problems with “Superman Returns.” As such, the movie failed to ignite a new franchise.
I’ve had my doubts about “First Avenger: Captain America” from the start. I mean, it’s called “First Avenger: Captain America.” What a shit title. Is there something wrong with just calling it “Captain America?” What’s more, Joe Johnston’s directing. Johnston’s not much of a director, all things considered. Fanboys hail “The Rocketeer” as a pulpy good time. It’s enjoyable, I guess. It also bombed during its brief theatrical run nearly two decades ago. Johnston’s latest film, however, is the sucktacular “Wolfman,” which spent ages in post-production because it was a dog.
I held out hope that the casting might convince me this film isn’t going to be a total fiasco. Now I’m pretty certain I’ll find something wrong with about everything related to the movie. Thing is, I like Captain America as a character and would love to see a fun, jingoistic comic book war picture with the Star-Spangled Avenger kicking all manner of Nazi ass. But I’m concerned that Marvel’s going to drop the ball on this and that the success of “Iron Man” was just a happy accident.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
24
Superman Lives?
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The last time an excellent Superman film was made I hadn’t been born yet. I think the second film, released shortly after I came into the world, is good but not great and I still maintain that the third is not irredeemably bad. No, movie four holds the honor of being atrocious. “Superman Returns” ultimately fails as a sequel and a reboot. In splitting the difference between embracing the established mythology and laying groundwork for a new film series, it alternates between being straight up fan service and a crushing bore.
Warner Bros. isn’t about to give up on creating a viable film franchise out of Superman, though. I think much of that has to do with the fact they’re in danger of the rights to the character reverting to Jerry Siegel’s estate if they don’t get something off the ground by 2012. And so, the studio’s taking another stab at Supes by hiring David S. Goyer, co-writer of “Batman Begins” and “The Dark Knight,” to script “The Man of Steel.”
From what I’m reading, this will not be a reboot, thank Krypton. The film will begin in medias res. My most despised of narrative crutches — the origin film — is going to be skipped entirely in favor of, hey, telling an actual story that isn’t two hours of exposition. Frankly, if you can’t set up a story world in your first act, you shouldn’t be making movies.
I’m curious to see how this shakes out. Warner Bros. doesn’t really seem to get Superman, and as such, has hired scads of filmmakers with the wrong sensibilities to develop projects that don’t go anywhere. David Goyer’s a geek but might be a little dark for Supes. One tired meme I often read about Superman is that he’s a boy scout. I don’t think this is entirely accurate. Superman has a lot of interesting potential for a character. Where people lament that he can pretty much do anything and is virtually invulnerable, they seem to neglect the things Superman can’t do, like solve real-world problems (war, famine, disease, poverty, the Tea Party movement) or feel completely at home in his adopted world, being an alien from outer space. A villain who personifies some issue Superman can’t simply defeat with brute strength and a love interest who swoons over only one of his dual identities creates plenty of narrative potential for a character. I just hope they don’t make him brooding and emo and pour him into a black costume. At the end of the day, Superman should embody the sense of idealism we seem to have become too cynical to embrace.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
23
A few weeks ago, I had to convince my girlfriend that Tim Burton’s latest living nightmare, “Alice in Wonderland,” is a sequel to and not a remake of the animated film. I can understand her confusion, since there’s no numerical designation in the title. In fact, the name of the sequel is identical to the original, forever cementing its place in history as unnecessarily confusing. Now, further clarification will be needed when people try to determine what the hell movie they’re talking about in casual conversation.
I think I’m going to skip the new “Alice in Wonderland” movie entirely, so when people ask me if I’ve seen “Alice in Wonderland,” my response will be, “Yes and no.”
When I was a young ‘un, “Alice in Wonderland,” the original 1951 version, was one of those movies that I watched approximately a billion times. As an undergrad in film school, I dreamed of someday remaking the movie because I was heavily medicated at the time and prone to delusions; I also wanted to try my hand at adapting “Watchmen” as a 12-part HBO series, FTW.
The unwritten law in Hollywood is that whatever idea I have, regardless of how crappy, will ultimately be realized by someone else in a way that I find wholly inadequate. I submit to you Tim Burton’s take on “Alice in Wonderland” as an example of this strange phenomenon. Is there really anything about this movie that demands I see it? The answer is no. It’s a movie that exists solely as a marketing gimmick, from Tim Burton’s brand equity to Johnny Depp’s star power to its being in 3D. “Alice in Wonderland” in and of itself is apparently not a strong enough selling point from Disney’s perspective, so they’ve repackaged it with a director who hasn’t made a good movie in over a decade, an actor whose schtick is becoming tiresome and an added dimension that’s already begun to wear itself thin.
It should be noted that “Alice in Wonderland” was not shot in 3D. Rather, the film was 3D’d up in post-production, which in my opinion is an inferior way of making a 3D movie. “Avatar” and “Friday the 13th: Part 3D” are films that were shot in 3D, and they’re immersive as hell. “A Nightmare Before Christmas” was shot in 2D, but now a 3D version makes the rounds every Halloween in limited release. I find the 3D presentation fairly mediocre in “Nightmare” because it simply wasn’t designed to be that kind of a picture. The forthcoming “Clash of the Titans” is also being 3D’d up in post. Hollywood’s doing their damndest to exhaust people’s interest in 3D as quickly as possible, aren’t they? Studios says its to combat piracy, but I think a better way to do that is by making films people want to see in the theater.
I’ve been at odds with myself over Tim Burton as a filmmaker for the better part of the last decade. He hasn’t really done anything challenging or remarkable in what seems like forever. It’s been one damn remake after another: “Planet of the Apes,” “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and now “Alice in Wonderland.” Oh, wait, I forgot. “Alice in Wonderland” is a sequel, not a remake. Burton’s clearly stretching himself for the first time in years. Yes, he has a singular vision, but seeing him apply it to existing properties and not something of his own creation seems lazy and uninspired. There’s nothing personal about his movies anymore. He’s not passionate about this material. He’s simply spinning his wheels.
Also, can I point how how ugly the characters in “Alice in Wonderland” are? Depp’s Mad Hatter in particular looks like he’d be right at home on the PeopleOfWalMart.com. Helena Bonham Carter’s Red Queen resembles those caricatures that self-loathing tourists have done of themselves at Disneyland. On the other hand, Anne Hathaway’s easy on the eyes, but apart from her, I don’t want to see the rest of this freak show in three dimensions.
And so, I’m going to avoid “Alice in Wonderland” entirely. I’m not going to see it in theaters, nor will I bother with it on video. It’s Disney at their most shamefully cash-grabbing. What’s next for them, dusting off “Captain EO” in the wake of Michael Jackson’s death? Oh, wait. Well, at least that was shot for 3D.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
22
“Human Centipede: First Sequence” Review
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How do you review a film like Tom Six’s “Human Centipede: First Sequence?” The premise alone is enough to make the average movie-goer dry heave. But those are the kinds of films I actively seek out. Horror fans like me are never content with whatever level of desensitization they’ve reached. Instead we have to keep challenging ourselves with films that redefine the “WTF movie” genre. Last year, Lars von Trier’s “Anti-Christ” fit that bill. 2010 brings us the first flick about three young people grafted together, head-to-tuchus, by a mad scientist in “Human Centipede: First Sequence.”
I somehow bullshitted my girlfriend into seeing “Human Centipede,” and I’m more than a little surprised she’s still talking to me. I’ve stomached some pretty staggering examples of the “body horror” subgenre. Even so, I was grossed out by this pic. None of the “Hostel” or “Saw” films really hold a candle to this. Those are straightforward gorefests. “Human Centipede” doesn’t wade around in graphic violence and rather spends more time on the psychological horror of waking up and finding your face stapled to someone else’s butt. I think it’s a stronger film because of it.
Dieter Laser, an actor with probably the best name ever bestowed upon a human being, plays Dr. Heiter, a crazed German surgeon who once specialized in separating Siamese twins. Now he’s obsessed with sticking people together. Although his initial experiments with his Rottweiler “three-dog” end in failure, he kidnaps three tourists — BFFs Lindsay (Ashley C. Williams) and Jenny (Ashlyn Yennie) and a young Japanese man named Katsuro (Akihiro Kitamura) — and tries again. The end result is the human centipede of the title, Siamese triplets linked by their digestive and excretory systems.
You know how they say there’s no such thing as an original idea? They have clearly never seen “Human Centipede.”
This is an audience movie. I attended a sold-out show hosted by Cinefamily, and the communal experience was part of the fun. This is a blackly comic movie. The level of absurdity here is so staggering, you’ve got to laugh at times. Laser’s performance as Dr. Heiter is on the level of Peter Cushing’s manic brilliance in the Hammer “Frankenstein” pictures, and Kitamura’s turn as Katsuro is a study in why I love subtitles.
I can see a strong cult building around this movie. I hope so, anyway. It succeeds at what it sets out to do. From what I’ve been reading, a sequel’s in the works, “Human Centipede: Full Sequence.” The next one apparently will have twelve people linked together. The mind reels.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
19
“Shutter Island” Review
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In every book about screenwriting I’ve ever read, and probably in every one I haven’t, it says you should avoid flashbacks and dream sequences at all costs. And so, it came as a surprise to me that “Shutter Island” is teeming with flashbacks and dream sequences. I’m almost surprised the damn thing didn’t have tons of voiceover or a lengthy text crawl in its opening moments. At any rate, a film professor of mine told me way back in the day that you can never make a good movie out of a bad script. Regardless of how artistically brilliant Martin Scorsese is as a director, he can’t make “Shutter Island” work because the script is full of fail.
“Shutter Island” was originally slated to open last October, but Paramount bumped it back to February for whatever reason. Studios have a tendency to prolong the inevitable when it comes to bombs. Look at how Universal kicked “The Wolfman” down the road for years before dumping it last weekend. My prediction is that “Shutter Island” will have a respectable opening and then tumble in its second weekend as word-of-mouth gets out that it’s an incomprehensible bore. It takes over two hours to reach a conclusion that’s telegraphed by the trailer, a trailer that’s seemingly been omnipresent in theaters for months and months now.
If I never hear the line, “We are duly appointed federal marshals,” in a shitty Boston accent again, it will be too soon.
Leonardo DiCaprio, who’s still desperately trying to make it through puberty, plays Teddy Daniels — a duly appointed federal marshal! He’s been dispatched to investigate the disappearance of a lunatic who escaped from the booby hatch on the titular island. During his investigation, he meets creepy headshrinkers and barrel chested guards, has flashbacks, follows up leads that don’t really amount to a hell of a lot, has dreams, grapples with bald and battered inmates, dreams about flashbacks and flashes back to dreams he had. It’s endless.
I almost never get up to go to the bathroom during a movie, but I’d had two Newcastles and I was completely lost watching this film. So I ducked out of the auditorium for a couple minutes to shake hands with the unemployed. Along the way, I had a WWII flashback, dreamed of my wife who’d died in a fire, and had visions of my daughter. I splashed water in my face and told myself to get it together. Then I returned to the auditorium, where Leo was still climbing rocks and making scrunched up faces during lengthy scenes of info-dump. I began doubting my own sanity. Was I really watching a bad Scorsese movie?
Again, the script is what ruins it. Screenwriter Laeta Kalogridis (whose name I spelled correctly on the first try, FTW) obviously tried to remain faithful to Dennis Lehane’s novel when she adapted it for the screen. As such, the pacing is uneven, there are too many characters/flashbacks/subplots that go nowhere, and the ending doesn’t really work. I’m currently taking an adaptation class. In fact, I’d just gotten out of said class when I went to see the film last night. A solid psychological thriller could’ve been gleaned from the source material by simply trimming away all the fat from the book, especially the second act twist that sinks the final third of the film.
It drives me crazy, wondering what “Shutter Island” could’ve been.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
18
Hollywood Is Officially Out of Ideas, or an “American Pie” Reboot Is in Development
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Shortly after I’d moved to Los Angeles, my girlfriend at the time cheated on me with Jason Biggs, the guy in the first three “American Pie” films. Not Chris Klein, not Stifler, but the guy who raped a pie. But I did her one better. I had group sex with a dozen donuts. It was a dysfunctional relationship to say the least.
It should probably come as no surprise that Universal is rebooting the “American Pie” theatrical franchise. The studio has been knocking out DTV sequels at a geometric rate for the past few years now. Considering that “Miss March” and “College” and “Fired Up” were all theatrically-released films, you’ve got to really wonder how truly goddamn bad a teen sex comedy has to be to go straight-to-video.
Now, don’t think I’m a stick in the mud when it comes to teen sex comedies. I love the criminally unappreciated “Sex Drive” and have encouraged a number of friends to seek out that little gem of a film. But does the world need another “American Pie” in theaters or on video? Hasn’t Judd Apatow’s explosion of coming-of-age movies for man-children (“40-Year-Old Virgin,” “Knocked Up,” etc.) forced sex comedies to grow up a bit? These days, the gags are less about embarrassing sexual or scatological predicaments and now are more character-driven. The fact that “Sex Drive” couldn’t find an audience outside of yours truly and those three crappy movies I mentioned in the previous paragraph bombed resoundingly is evidence that the Wayans Brothers have sated movie-goers’ appetites for semen and shit for the time being. We’re good. Let’s move on to something else.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
16
I waited two years for Universal’s remake of “The Wolfman.” A troubled production from the start — director Mark Romanek left the project two weeks before shooting began — the film would go on to miss one release date after another, as it spent many moons in post-production. Endless reshoots tried to beef up the film’s action quotient. A new composer was brought in before the studio decided to use Danny Elfman’s completely forgettable score after all. Two top-flight editors came on board to save the film. This is Hollywood filmmaking at its most incompetent, burning through millions of dollars to bring audiences a “Wolfman” picture that’s boring and toothless.
Never mind that the very same studio cranked out a terrific “Wolfman” picture almost 70 years ago.
I revisited the original 1941 version of “The Wolfman” — itself a quasi-remake of 1935’s “Werewolf of London” — to see how it stacks up against its big-budget follow-up. In the film, Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney, Jr.) returns to London after spending the past 18 years in the States and reconnects with his father (Claude Rains) in the wake of his brother’s death. Larry quickly falls in love with the otherwise engaged daughter of a local shopkeeper, learns a shitload about werewolves from all the resident experts on the subject (the townspeople are like walking Wikipedia entries when it comes to the topic of lycanthropy) and is bitten by a werewolf while visiting a local gypsy camp to have his fortune read. At 70 minutes, the movie wastes no time.
Larry recovers from the werewolf bite in no time but finds himself a person of interest in the murder of a gypsy named Bela (played by Bela Lugosi). Though he’s convinced he bludgeoned a wolf to death with his silver-topped cane, the authorities find a shoeless Bela lying dead in the woods with a crushed skull. However, Larry’s father is loaded, so Larry manages to stay out of jail for the time being. Then night falls, and Larry undergoes a lap-dissolve transformation into the buttoned-down Wolfman. Oddly, the Wolfman changes clothes before going on the prowl. A grave-digger is killed, Larry begins to think he’s a werewolf, the authorities close in, and it all races toward an extremely brief third act. Universal monster movies of the period all seem to end very abruptly. The monster’s killed…THE END.
Of all the A-list Universal monsters that burst onto the scene in the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s, the Wolfman is the only one whose film didn’t have a direct sequel. Rather, Larry Talbot returned from the grave in a couple of Frankenstein follow-ups, “Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman” and “House of Frankenstein,” as well as a Dracula sequel, “House of Dracula.” The Larry Talbot/Wolfman character is also unique in that Lon Chaney Jr. is the only actor to play him in each monster mash-up. The roles of Count Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, the Mummy and the others were often recast with different actors in many of the subsequent entries.
For the 2010 version of “The Wolfman,” Benicio Del Toro plays Lawrence Talbot. Del Toro seems to be on some sort of horse tranquilizers throughout the film. It’s a stunningly awful performance for the actor, whose work I’m usually very impressed with. The remake is set in Victorian England, where the original takes place in the least blitzkrieged quadrant of WWII-era London. The remake seems to want to evoke the style of the Hammer horror films of the ’50s and ’60s. Del Toro even vaguely resembles Oliver Reed in Hammer’s “Curse of the Werewolf.”
But it’s just so damn boring, this movie. I looked over at my girlfriend about a third of the way in, and she was fast asleep. It takes forever for Talbot to transform into a werewolf the first time. Once he does, the limb-splitting mayhem is so choppy and blink-and-you’ll miss it, you’re left confused as to what’s going on exactly. There’s no dread, no suspense. It’s a series of cheap scares and flashes of violence. You expect that from crappy B-horror movies. Here, I was hoping for a fuzzier take on “Jaws.”
Director Joe Johnston, who can always be counted on for a middling picture, seemed like an odd choice after Romanek walked. He’s out of his element when it comes to Gothic horror. Ten years ago, Tim Burton made his last great film, “Sleepy Hollow,” within similar genre trappings and nailed it. Johnston’s completely at a loss, uneasy with the setting and tone. This is such a bland and humorless film. Anthony Hopkins has one good line, but even he appears to be as bored as the audience with the proceedings.
I can’t wait to see Johnston’s mediocre take on “Captain America!”
“The Wolfman” (2010) was hardly worth the two-year wait. After all the farting around that went on behind-the-scenes during its lengthy post-production process, Universal ultimately delivered a film that fails to live up to the original. They should’ve let sleeping dogs lie.
-Brad Lohan
Feb
12
For Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d review my two favorite movies that are set around February 14th, the original “My Bloody Valentine” as well as the 3D remake. How do they stack up against each other? The original is one of countless holiday-themed cheapies that tried to capitalize on the slasher craze of the early-1980s. The remake is one of countless reboots that tried to capitalize on the 3D craze of the aughts. They’re both cynical cash-ins! And those are my preferred dead teenager movies, the ones made be semi-competent directors looking to earn a quick buck. They’re not directed by some music video wunderkind and Michael Bay protege. Heavens, no! A good slasher takes itself super-seriously, stars actors you’ll never seen in another film again and has the production values of a regional car dealership TV spot.
By that criteria alone, “MBV” (1981) is terrific. A Canadian-produced stab at emulating the success of “Halloween” and “Friday the 13th,” the film is about a batch of disposable young people who live in a mining town that’s still reeling from a massacre that took place some 20 years ago on Valentine’s Day night. After the town dance is canceled due to a pair of gruesome murders, the group decides to throw a hush-hush party at the Hanniger mine where they all draw a paycheck. One by one, they’re bumped off by a pickaxe wielding psychopath in a mining outfit. It seems that Harry Warden, the multiple murderer from two decades ago, has returned!
Last night, I watched the unrated director’s cut of the film that restores all the ultra-violent kills that had to be removed to get an R-rating. The MPAA has historically been cruel to the slasher film genre but tends to look the other way when it comes to carnage in mainstream Hollywood films. In other terms, they’re sons of whores. The director’s cut of “MBV” (1981) is spectacularly gory. You can easily spot all the moments that were excised, too, since the quality of the film stock dips considerably, giving viewers the full “grindhouse” experience. The color timing is a little off, there are scratches on the source print. It’s beautiful.
As far as character development goes, “MBV” (1981) has some, believe it or not. There’s a love triangle involving our three vacant heroes, TJ Hanniger, Axel Palmer and Sarah. Sarah used to be with TJ but now she’s with Axel. TJ briefly went to the West Coast, where he admittedly “really fell on [his] ass;” I assume he was chasing his dream of becoming a professional screenwriter. At any rate, he returned home to find his best girl in the arms of his former friend. I don’t see what the big deal is about Sarah. She’s probably the most useless Final Girl in any slasher film I’ve ever seen. During the showdown, one of the male characters fights the killer to a standstill. Weak sauce.
“MBV” (1981) was seen as a box office failure, so the creepy open ending was never paid off in a sequel. I think the eviscerated theatrical cut is part of the reason the film didn’t resonate with audiences. For a movie called, “My Bloody Valentine,” the R-rated version is pretty bloodless. The director’s cut is excellent, however, and rockets “MBV” (1981) to my top five list of stalk-and-slash pictures.
As for last year’s remake, “My Bloody Valentine 3D” (read my mixed-positive review here), I think I’ve warmed to the film since my initial viewing. I’ve seen the film twice more on DVD — regrettably in 2D — and it’s still the strongest reboot of a slasher movie to date; the competition isn’t that fierce, all things considered. Even so, the 3D gimmick really elevates the material. “MBV” (2009) doesn’t have the “immersive” 3D of, say, “Avatar.” No, this film wants to poke you in the eyes at every opportunity with pickaxes, shovels and even boobies. The effect becomes unintentionally hilarious in two dimensions, not unlike the visual feast that is “Friday the 13th: Part 3D.”
The plot of “MBV” (2009) mirrors the original to an extent. The love triangle remains intact, and a Harry Warden copycat is doing the killing. This version front-loads the drunken party bloodbath in its first fifteen minutes. The slow build of old school slasher pics is eschewed in favor of piling on as many CGI-enhanced kills as possible.
What’s also noteworthy is that “MBV” (2009) is that the characters are generally aware of the fact that a psychopathic killer is on the loose in their small community. Slasher movies often confine a diverse group of young people to a remote location and gradually chip away at their numbers in ones and twos. Near the end of the second act, the surviving members — who all think some elaborate and “not very funny” prank is being pulled — are still oblivious to the fact that someone’s butchering their buddies. The success of “Scream” has modified these conventions slightly, but it’s got to be challenging for a masked killer to avoid the police and the angry townsfolk while getting his sweet revenge. But I digress.
So how do the two films compare? They’re both products of their times, that’s for certain. It’s interesting to see how sensibilities have changed over the past 30 years and how they’ve stayed the same. I prefer the original to the remake, but only slightly. I’m just partial to big hair, ringer tees and rank amateurishness on display in front of and behind the camera. Your mileage may vary. At any rate, watching either version of “My Bloody Valentine” is the perfect way to celebrate Single Awareness Day.
-Brad Lohan