I Do Not Do Animal Acts: Body Double (1984)

I really do not have the time in my day to throw out to blogging, because I keep squandering any free time available watching movies, but it is also spring break around these parts so I am mastering the art of unproductively quite expertly, paired ever so dangerously with the recent change in time via daylight savings.  I really wanted to talk about The Lego Movie when I saw it two weeks ago but kept putting it off, so you are now forced to read as I wax poetic about what might be my new favorite Brian De Palma film in Body Double.  While I know that I have promoted my adoration for Blow Out in the past and, indeed, have been known to even outwardly defend that film, it cowers in comparison to this meta, post-modern film about making films.  I often find myself deeply frustrated when cinephiles or fans of De Palma point to works like Scarface as his crowning acheivement, because to me those are rather cursory works that are accessible, but do not truly possess the seedy, grotesque absurdity that makes something like Blow Out, or Body Double work.  What pushes Body Double to the next level is more than it simply being the better of the two film, indeed, it also involves what I see as an outright homage to the work of Alfred Hitchcock to a point of knowing satire.  There are sequences that are ripped wholly out of Rear Window, while others are expertly inserted from Vertigo and even lesser works by the master of suspense.  However, what should be cinematic remains disconcerting, because De Palma works in a medium that no longer holds the unknown attachment of viewer to subject that was classic cinema.  Between the humorous homage to the now long forgotten video rental store and enough point of view cinematography to make a found footage film seem derivative, Body Double taps into a moment of change in the genre film and absolutely revels in the ensuing nonsense.

Body Double focuses on Jake Scully (Craig Wasson) a struggling actor whose claustrophobic tendencies lead him to fail miserably when cast in a part as a vampire.  To make matters worse for Jake, he returns home to find his girlfriend in bed with another man.  Distraught and desperate, Jake begins drinking and perusing ads for a new job opportunity.  During a tryout for a part in a Shakespeare adaptation Jake meets Sam (Gregg Henry) another actor who is on a string of success.  After befriending Jake, Sam invites him to stay at a friends house while they are out of town.  While Jake is already grateful for the offer, since he has moved out of his apartment, the added benefit of having a neighbor, one Gloria Revelle (Deborah Shelton) who performs stripteases in the house across the street is purely added benefit.  While Jake's voyeurism is unchecked at first, when he is enjoying the spectacle one evening he notices that an electrician has also taken a liking to the show and the two are witness to a moment when Gloria's boyfriend beats her.  Attempting to help Gloria, Jake begins stalking her, only to have the electrician from earlier do the same, even going so far as to steal her bag on the beach.  Jake attempts to stop him, but is slowed down by his claustrophobia.  It is after this that the electrician breaks into Gloria's home and manages to kill her, leading to Jake becoming a suspect with the police, although he is able to evade guilt as he was clearly out of the space of the murder.  Suffering from insomnia, Jake takes to viewing pornography, wherein he notices a girl named Holly Body who looks and dances quite similarly to the now dead Gloria, leading to the curious and still infatuated Jake entering the world of pornography.  When it is revealed that Holly's similarities were not accidental the narrative takes a turn regarding deception and identity all the way till the closing shots of the film, which are followed by an equally mocking final sequence that suggests all cinematic endeavors are predicated on duplication and deception.

I mention that De Palma's film is an exstension of the work of Hitchcock, precisely because it is so heavily and blatantly invested in voyeurism.  In a previous post I discussed the manner with which a film like Friday the 13th, if wholly accidentally, reimagined the understanding of voyeurism and the viewers involvement in violence on screen.  If it was purely a sign of a changing relationship of gore cinema to the viewer, then one could certainly argue that De Palma is acknowledging such a binary and knowingly mocking it.  Indeed, the opening panning shot of the film undermines the viewer complacency tradition by going for a jump scare immediately.  Yet, in a doubling down of subversion, the scene quickly becomes less scary when it is revealed that the scary figure is Jake in makeup and that Jake is failing at his job.  This is repeatedly drawn attention to throughout, whether by the narrative jumping spatial and temporal bindings to show the fragile mental state of Jake, or by never clearly distinguishing a diegetic divide between the voyeuristic acts of Jake and those of the viewer.  Indeed, this comes to nearly perfect fruition during Gloria's murder where the camera shows the murder happening in a more traditional sense, while Jake's point of view is invaded by an attacking dog, as if to imply that the viewer is invested in seeing gore so much so that they are willing to negate the viewer/subject construct when it no longer fits this mold.  One might recall the work of Linda Williams in Film Bodies: Gender, Genre and Excess wherein she suggest that voyeurism and masochism occur in three genres of film, the slasher, the melodrama and hardcore pornography.  The former and latter being rather distinct within the film and openly mocked for their fabrication.  However, the use of melodrama is also knowningly incorporated to subvert viewer ideologies, when Jake and Gloria kiss, almost wholly borrowing from the famous Stewart/Novak kiss in Vertigo, here with the same disjointed paranoia, one whose doubled body implications layer on as the narrative moves forward.  If anything, Body Double is the concerns of Williams at their most realized.

Key Scene: While there is so much to choose from, the sequence leading up to Gloria's murder is perhaps the most realized, particularly in terms of editing and its affects on narrative constructs.

This is a must see film and a gem from De Palma's ouevre.  While I would say get the bluray, it appears to have gone OOP immediately after release.  As such, the DVD will suffice accordingly.

All These Moments Will Be Lost In Time, Like Tears In Rain: Blade Runner (1982)

I am walking down a very dangerous slope right now by reviewing Blade Runner.  Well, not really, it is just the first time I have decided to over space here on the blog to a film that I have a deep admiration for, so much so that it is my third favorite film of all time.  I have reviewed films since the blog started that have since made it into my favorites list, but nothing quite like this, where my attachment to the film emerged well before I ever thought of devoting time to writing about movies on the expansive web.  As such, I am wholly aware that my opinion of this film might be clouded by some bizarre mixture of over-zealous adoration, flakes of nostalgia and genuine belief that everyone should see this film.  Frankly, I am quite fine with that because Blade Runner is a masterpiece, even if half of the people I recommend the film to come back to me frustrated at being forced to sit through a two hour film that drones along.  Indeed, I am often mounted with attacks on the film being "boring." While I can understand such critiques, I would context that the very ambient nature of the film is what makes Blade Runner work twofold as a deep reflection on the existential questions of human life in a world where it can be easily and near perfectly replicated.  Furthermore, because it makes careful strides to exist as a neo-noir thriller, the malaise and sense of dread that comes purely with being alive and on-the-run comes second only to the absolutely dreary world of Le Samouraï.  One might assume a sort of cult attachment to a work like Blade Runner, something that is afforded a less realized, but certainly enjoyable sci-fi work like Soylent Green or Logan's Run, however, Blade Runner also happens to be a work of cinematic genius, one whose composition, editing and execution are all signifiers of how to compose a film and use the language of movies to their greatest advantage (although this did take upwards of five cuts and re-cuts to achieve, my personal preference going to the 1992 Director's Cut).  Indeed, if one of the great achievements of a film is to leave viewers not with a variety of answers, but a series of questions and inquiries, then Blade Runner achieves this to the highest degree, as it ends in perhaps the most perplexing of manners, asking the identity of its main character and causing as much of a contentious debate as the closing section of 2001: A Space Odyssey still demands.

Blade Runner focuses its neo-noir narrative on the future world of Los Angeles, at the time 2019, wherein humans living on Earth have begun to colonize the spaces of the farthest reaches of the galaxy, relying not only on the advances of weaponry and technology, but on the creation of living and synthetic being known as Replicants, whose sole purpose is to be a being that is "more human than humans," while also still existing as a form of slave labor.  A particular group of Replicants defined as the Nexus 6 models have come to realize that their own lives are of more value than mere labor for humans and seek not only to free themselves from this hinderance, but also to negate another issue with being a Replicant, which is the factor of only having a four year life span.  As such a group of these Nexus 6 models have returned to Earth and are attempting to reach the leader of Tyrell Corporation, Dr. Eldon Tyrell (Joe Turkell) to bargain for their models begin upgraded for a further lifespan.  This navigation of neo-Los Angeles is not that simple though, proving difficult and bloody as the Replicant's leader Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer) kills viciously in the name of achieving what he desires, life at a greater length.  To prevent such occurrence, individuals known as Blade Runners are introduced into the society to hunt down and stifle--often violently--any rouge Replicants.  In this case Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) is the Blade Runner tasked with preventing the Nexus 6 models from reaching their goal.  Working against the clock, Deckard goes to the top and illicits the help of Tyrell directly, who places his own hyper-real Replicant Rachael (Sean Young) in charge of guiding Deckard.  However, when it becomes rather clear that Batty and his partner Nexus models, specifically sex model Pris (Daryl Hannah) are quite ahead of the game, Deckard moves into a state of paranoia and worry that is doubled by his own identity crisis as he begins to navigate his own memories in relation to the larger issue of Replicants.  Eventually, Batty is able to track down and kill the various engineers of his body, each failing to over him the one thing he so greatly desires, a chance to live longer.  This rage culminates in a confrontation between he and Deckard on the rooftop of a decrepit Los Angeles apartment, where Batty delivers a monologue on what memory means when it is lost forever.  Deckard confused leaves the scene and rescues Rachael, but not before one sequence suggests his own future to be tenuously short and dire.

I realize even as I attempt to hit the highlights of this film in a plot description that it is barely even skimming the surface of the layers of narrative and theoretical implications in the film.  The Los Angeles on display in this film is a space that is completely modernized, one that has built upon itself a new layer, wherein, like in the classic Fritz Lang film Metropolis, privilege is reflected in being above ground, here in a very literal sense.  Allowing for the navigation of the noir elements of the film to take place on the saturated seedy streets of Los Angeles that are so densely populated that to navigate them is an existential maze in themselves.  Here Ridley Scott reverts the expressionist streets of loneliness and anguish noted in classic noir films into something completely claustrophobic.  The existential threat here is not the individual in relation to an expanse of nothingness, but in relation to an inescapable sense of everything compounding upon a singular individual.  Indeed, it is this identity in relation to a larger, all-consuming pressure that makes the Replicant versus human debate all the more fascinating.  The question in Blade Runner is about the point in which emotion outweighs the physical advantages of being human.  Indeed, what individuals like Tyrell and Deckard seem to think advances them is the ability to think not about the logic of a situation, but how that situation might make them feel.  Their ability to look at a Replicant as an 'other,' is predicated not on any physical signifiers, but one's that are wholly of a theoretical space.  Yet, in a panoptic kind of way, eyes still factor in heavily to how this is judged as if perceptions of emotions and feelings are a thing that is tangible.  Scott, borrowing from the Phillip K. Dick novella seems to say that to have one physical way of testing an emotional "awakeness" of an individual is futile, because it is still predicated upon looking, which is a physical act itself.  The physical body as superior is indeed dealt with quite intensely, as Batty represents not only an insurmountable force of power that can navigate any space regardless of its physical barriers, but also as a replication of the Aryan ideal of perfect human.  The privilege in this film is predicated upon a belief that somehow the human can feel human, but can only know such a feeling if they are human.  The Nexus 6 Replicants spit in the face of this presumptive issue and very little is done to negate their actions as noting the illogical structure of humanity as a felt thing.  Embodiment and humanity within Blade Runner move full-on into the space of post-humanism by contesting that one must always and at once consider how it will be effected and and affected.

Key Scene:  The "tears in rain" monologue, obviously.

The recently released 30th anniversary bluray is stunning.  It has every conceivable cut of the film and enough special features to make any fan happy.  Obtaining it is of necessity.

Fortune Is Allied To The Brave: Clash Of The Titans (1981)

I am riding the wave of repetitive blog posts in the New Year!  While it was not a goal of mine to compose a single blog for every day of the year,  as conferences and school will, undoubtedly, get in the way, I am currently afforded plenty of free time and know that there is little excuse as to not make an earnest endeavor to tackle this possibility.  I am also plowing through movies at a fast rate and figured that reflecting on at least one a day would be beneficial.  As such, viewing Clash of the Titans yesterday proved to be the most promising blog post, not because it was in any way the best viewing experience of the day, but more so because it offered me the best chance to navigate a theoretical framework, this one inspired by existentialism, a near and dear philosophical framework of mine that I have become far too detached from in recent years.  Clash of the Titans is a film that has become adored some three decades later not for it being a particularly key narrative offering in the fantasy genre--the middle portion actually drags quite a bit--but has been noted for its interesting use of claymation in a moment when special effects were still moving into the world of CGI, but not completely feasible.  Works like this and Repo Man attempted audacious things with lesser special effects forms and in both cases excel at this incredibly.  What manages to make Clash of the Titans that much more enjoyable is the variety of noted performers who offer their services to the narrative, whether they be the likes of Maggie Smith who would have still been establishing herself as an actress, or the more prolific performances by the great Laurence Olivier and star of the most adored of Twilight Zone episodes Burgess Meredith.  Hell, this film even includes Ursula Andress in a non-Dr. No role which is also a nice thing to see, as she has become unfairly attached to that film.  Clash of the Titans, at first glance, would appear to be a very childish narrative with the special effects magic to reinforce such notions, yet as the narrative unfolds and ethical boundaries become crossed, it becomes rather evident that not only is this a tale with enough tragedy and happenstance to prove quite adult in its scope, it is also a film that considers whether or not the presence of a divine force is truly a blessing, or if the bizarre workings of the natural world are simply out to get even the most well-intentioned of persons.

The Clash of the Titans focus on the deliberations and defiances between the gods of antiquity as the plan to move for power with their respective mortal beings, some of which are through divine ordination their offsprings.  Zeus (Laurence Olivier) in particular is concerned with the well being of his own child Perseus (Harry Hamlin) who is but a small child who has been banished alongside his mother to a remote island to live out his days, an act undertaken by Thetis (Maggie Smith) who has allowed for her own earthy child Calibos (Neil McCarthy) to run wild and act in the most vile of manners.  As such, Zeus with his infinite power has turned the evil Calibos into a figure that properly reflects his own terrible actions.  In a vengeful act, Thetis relocates the young Perseus to a remote island where he is to fend for himself, while attempting to reclaim the kingdom an act which is predicated upon him achieving the affections of a young princess, as well as returning the head of Medusa to a city.  If Perseus fails to achieve this task, Zeus and Thetis come to an agreement that he will release the monstrous Kraken upon the land, much to the concern and confusion of Poseiden (Jack Gwillim).  While Thetis does her best to put up obstacles for Perseus, Zeus is able to recruit the help of the other goddesses in the temple, specifically, Athena (Susan Fleetwood), Aphrodite (Ursula Andress) and Hera (Claire Bloom).  In doing so, Perseus is provided with a set of weapons and devices that makes his navigation of the new lands slightly less challenging, although he still is forced to face off against a variety of mythological beasts, including giant scorpions and Cerebus, al leading to his eventual confrontations with both Calibos and Medusa.  Fortunately, Perseus is also afforded an earthly guide through the figure of Ammon (Burgess Meredith) a poet and oracle of sorts that helps Perseus to translate the messages from the gods and make the best use of the gifts he is given.  While it would appear as though Perseus simply lacks the necessary strength to overcome the powerful Kraken, a last minute boost from his animal companion Pegasus proves enough to succeed, thus making his status as a king amongst men certain, even pushing to a reality where he might achieve the status of a Titan himself.

I think the last time I discussed the notion of game theory here on the blog was in regards to the surprisingly enjoyable and decently executed The Cooler, wherein William H. Macy's character represents a figure who is some how divinely unlucky, predisposed to have the world against him, although it is later evidenced that his playing in a larger game of performances and backstabbing had something to do with this.   Nonetheless, game theory denotes a reality where contingency and chance play as much a role in the occurrences of a character as do their skill and prowess, often times luck, or the lack thereof making for the ultimate deciding factor.  Indeed, I would most comfortably apply the ideas of game theory to the likes of film noir where they are most fitting.  With this in mind I still think a case could be made for Clash of the Titans working within this framework in a notable and interesting way, if not outwardly evidenced in the way that Perseus and other figures within the narrative are literally the pawns of the gods rivalry, ones that can be molded, moved and revived merely by a waving of their respective hands.  This realization takes the paranoia latent in the game theory as it relates to something like a crime thriller and puts it into its most realized form as it is a game, and regardless of what Perseus, Calibos or any other earthly figures might attempt, it is still contingent upon the gods playing a larger game with their bodies.  Of course, that is not to say that the skill and precision of the earthy manifestations do not still play a factor.  While both Zeus and Thetis could do their best to give various advantages to their pawns a randomness is still at play.  Suffice it to say, the battle between Medusa and Perseus could have gone a variety of ways and from a statistical standpoint (something key to game theory) Perseus should have lost out, but his low victory percentage is raised ever so slightly by possessing a shield and sword as to make victory feasible.  This paired with his own self-growth made for a push to Titan like statistical probability, all overseen by the hands of Zeus, that allow for him to easily destroy the Kraken.  Game theory, by pure narrative necessity, might be at its most realized in Clash of the Titans.

Key Scene:  The Medusa battle, despite using a now well-dated special effects method is still incredibly cinematic and highly engaging.

This film is well worth your time, but probably is of keen interest to me from a theoretical standpoint, as such I strongly urge a rental first.

Could You Turn That Racket Down? I Am Trying To Iron Here: Hairspray (1988)

It was fun, fun, fun until daddy took the Tbird away, or daddy dressed as your mother, while Jerry Stiller plays your loony father figure.  This is the type of world that is set up in John Waters' vibrant and satirical dance musical that has since been remade, though with far less a sense of the scope and scale of the material in regards to social commentary.  As much as the film could be seen as a parody of a time gone by, played up to the most campy of proportions, I would contest that Hairspray is as much a love letter to an era as can possibly exist, incorporating sock hops and sixties era Motown B-sides in a way that is both earnest and forward looking.  It is no surprise that Jon Waters as a filmmaker is often lumped in with David Lynch as both seem highly concerned with looking at the space of America that is neither completely abject, or wholly advanced in their privilege.  Indeed, Hairspray while far from a 'normal' film does manage to inquire as to what happens when the intersection between a cinematic identity and the viewers of the film is far less distant and perhaps more similar than initially acknowledged.  John Waters is a rare breed of filmmaker, a provocateur of sorts, who also seems to want not to condemn those around him, but to make them reflect--often through humor--the absurd barriers they have put up around themselves and their families, showing through bodily performance that issues such as weight, gender, race and even class can become traversable when a dialogue is ignited, one that calls attention to the absurdity of such restrictions and dismissals in favor of inclusion.  Dancing to John Waters is one of a variety of expressive means to challenge a status quo, one that is dealt with in focused and layered ways, unlike more contemporary youth musicals, most notably the remake of this film, but more incoherently and problematically in works like High School Musical.  While it is quite possible that John Waters will find this work to be swept under the rug in relationship to some of his more divisive and cringe inducing films, one cannot help but find the love and passion put into this work outright endearing and more than engaging.

Hairspray focuses on the daily life of teenage girl Tracy Turnblad (Ricki Lake) a girl who aspires to dance with Corny Collins (Shawn Thompson) on his self-titled show.  While Tracy is considered larger than the average performer on the show, her noted skills on the dance floor and unbridled sense of passion lead her to attempt to break onto the show by attending various dance hall competitions and tryouts.  While Tracy's parents are supportive of her decisions, particularly her mother Edna (Divine) they have trouble supporting her endeavors as she is constantly tied to domestic labor, while her father Wilbur (Jerry Stiller) puts in long hours at the joke shop they run from the first floor of their two story house.  Needless to say, Tracy must rely on her own drive and the help of her friend Penny Pingleton (Leslie Ann Powers) to make her name known, a task that proves successful when her dance skills are finally noticed.  Were it not enough for Tracy to break the mold of the traditional dancing teenage girl on The Corny Collins Show by her body image alone, her own outspoken opinions in regards to desegregation come to a point of conflict with one of the shows most popular dancers Amber von Tussle (Colleen Fitzpatrick) and her equally stubborn parents Franklin (Sonny Bono) and Velma (Deborah Harry).  When Tracy's large hair becomes a distraction in school, a vindictive teacher places her into the special education class at the school, where she meets up with the son of the local African-American DJ Motormouth Maybelle (Ruth Brown) thus setting into motion a plan to undermine the entire act of segregation on The Corny Collins Show while also seeking out a method to show Amber as the fraud she truly proves to be.  This involves a series of protests and even the temporary jailing of Tracy, but with the help of the entire community and the cheering on of her friends, Tracy is able to not only win the local competition for best female dancer on the show, but she too proves to help the onset of desegregation on the show, even finding herself a boyfriend in the process, her original desire for joining the show in the first place.

 Many films that center around desegregation become incredibly problematic in their desire to assert the presence and aid of white people in the move towards desegregation.  While there were certainly a considerable amount of people who were not of color, helping to push forward the Civil Rights movement, films like The Long Walk Home, Mississippi Burning and more recently the wildly offensive The Help all seem comfortable suggesting that such endeavors were solely the result of white help.  Hairspray almost mockingly tackles such a narrative, by purposefully making the while characters irrelevant to the shifting social change around them, merely figures in a larger narrative, even when they claim to be in favor of such engagements.  The language used by the characters in these respective and idyllic films is often lifted from a  contemporary rhetoric, one that rarely reflects the era, even for a person well intended at the time.  Waters makes such that his film, without being terribly insensitive still manages to locate the dialogue of the sixties as it would have reflected a town traversing the large barrier of emerging desegregation.  I would argue that much of this is afforded by the choice of a somewhat seemingly simple space like a dance show to consider issues of racism.  Since it was a medium of popular culture, one that was also already heavily influenced by the music of the African-American culture it resulted in a rather intriguing cultural milieu that was open to the removal of racial boundaries, because it already existed musically.  The film does allow the white characters who are in favor of desegregation a few moments of confusion, as is evidenced when Tracy and Penny contest a police officer who is refusing to allow an African-American into the The Corny Collins recording, however, where another film would have followed this with an absurd bit of grandstanding on the part of the white character, it moves onto the next sequence while the African-American characters engage in their own initial protest.  Waters film makes sure that viewers know that even if white individuals helped end desegregation, it is purely a relational endeavor and no sense of them as the savior or individual who should be solely praised emerges.

Key Scene:  The line dancing number is some rather minimalist choreography that is executed to great zeal.

This is a delightful little film that is well worth renting.

I Must Remember This Feeling And Use It In My Acting: Fame (1980)

Grandstanding and bombastic line delivery seem almost too inextricably tied to the musical to be a thing that I find issue with.  However, this is an attachment that almost exclusively works in the context of Classical Hollywood musicals and becomes less necessary the farther into contemporary film one gets.  More so, when a film clearly makes it a point to embrace a low-budget, intimate look at a inner-city life one ravished with poverty and immobility the grandstanding can become somewhat more troublesome.  Fame, the cult musical from Alan Parker does suffer considerably from this very over-the-top nature, but in some ways it is rather acceptable considering that it intends to look at a space where people are constantly performing for the sake of self-identity as well as for their future livelihood.  Fame works in some was primarily because it takes no shame in going big with its ideas, while juxtaposing them against the stripped away veneer of a rundown, but, undoubtedly, prestigious fine arts school. Indeed, while it does possess enough musical numbers to warrant it being placed within the genre, it far more something in line with the coming of age tale, wherein, a group of awkward kids come to learn about sex, lies and the trouble of access in a harsh world.  This sort of scathing look at growing up would appear ill-conceived and somewhat troublesome, but it manages to approach the issues with some degree of earnestness, only going too far on a few occasions, allowing for characters to exist in nearly possible moments only to allow their character to take on narrative layering.  Indeed, while the film does clock in at over two hours, it still feels as though it is missing some elements, almost as though characters backstories were cut out in favor of focusing on two singular experiences making certain portions come off as slightly exploitative.  While not completely unwatchable and certainly better than some of the musicals I have encountered this month, Fame, nonetheless, does become underwhelming during its closing sequence one that is assumed to carry a heavy emotional investment, but like its cutting to credits merely stops not attaining anything deserved of next level film admiration.

Fame focuses rather sporadically, albeit in a linear fashion, on the experiences of a group of students attending the New York High School for the Performing Arts, first beginning with auditions, where the various instructors of dance, theater and music are subjected to both profoundly moving and outright awful performances, while also establishing the importance of various characters, whether it be the accidental dancer Leroy (Gene Anthony Ray) or synth rock prodigy Bruno (Lee Curreri) and his expansive keyboard set up.  The students all begin by claiming their desires to be in the unique setting, many noting their particular financial limitations.  As the narrative moves into Freshman year the narrative focuses in on the experiences of two students in particular, the wide-eyed and constantly evolving Doris (Maureen Teefy) and South Bronx native turned aspiring stand-up comedian Ralph (Barry Miller).  While they do possess a mutual friend in Montgomery (Paul McCrane) his own struggles with embracing his homosexual identity lead to him stepping away from the narrative.  As the students move through Sophomore and Junior years, Leroy is confronted with a classroom setting where his lower class, black identity becomes a thing of confusion and fear for his English teacher, who finds it necessary to constantly bemoan his indifference in class, even calling him out for his inability to read at one point in time.  Bruno comes under fire by his orchestra teacher Mr. Shorofsky (Albert Hague) for a disagreement on the nature of Mozart in a contemporary setting and Doris and Ralph, after an initial romantic fling, have a falling out when Ralph's drinking and unhealthy bar life become a thing of trouble.  Other members of the school both current and former come to discover the ways in which the industry, particularly, acting on screen proves limiting and threatening, particularly for one young girl named Coco (Irene Cara) whose foolish belief that she could star in European art house films is quickly shattered when she attends a screen test.  However, upon graduation it appears as though all has come to fruition even in insane contexts, allowing the entirety of the class to somberly and sentimentally reflect on their past and look forward into the future.

The sort of brevity and briefness of most encounters in the film is decidedly frustrating.  I respect the film for attempting to navigate a rater wide scope of identities within the space of the performing arts, but it also does so with such faint brush strokes as to give off an heir of essentialism, wherein Leroy and his own struggles to move out of severe poverty speak to all identities within the urban African-American community, just as Montgomery comes to reflect the entirety of gay culture in what is essentially a monologue about said identity.  Fame seeks in what appears to be earnestness to tackle these issues, without realizing that a mere mention is often far more fatal than an actual singular focus.  Sure it is great that the film wants to paint such a complete picture, but it also means a complete loss in depth to the film, which helps to explain my earlier complaint that by the closing of the film the resolution carries little to no emotional investment because there is nothing within which for the viewer to ground their experience.  Sure Montgomery is relatable, but his portion of the film accounts for maybe two percent of the narrative and aside from the overplayed moment of Leroy struggling to read next to a fire barrel under a bridge nothing affords the viewer a reason to relate to him, instead only being able to pull from his confrontational attitude in other moments throughout the film.  Interstingly, the film almost seems to lean on the power of the teachers in the film, whether it be Leeroy's stern English teacher, who appears to receive more narrative leeway than the homeless Leroy, or the manner with which the stuffy Mr. Shorofsky still proves to be "correct" about the nature of classical music, despite completely rejecting the possibility that Bruno's music could attain any success, an assumption that is negated by the success of Coco and Bruno when performing.  If any figure actually achieves respect that is not a student it comes in the way of Bruno's father Angelo (Eddie Barth) who is wholly supportive of his son's musical aspirations both emotionally and financially, although this is even tenuous as he constantly calls attention to his sacrifice.  It is a film that wants so desperately to show the layers and varieties of struggling that it is at once spread too far and too thin to prove evocative.

Key Scene:  The construction of the scene when Ralph reflects on his violent father in the neon-light lit apartment is poetic and while the acting and narrative might be a bit lacking, it is washed over with the soft red in such a way to allow it to be decidedly moving.

This is easily a rental option, although it might be more worth your time to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show which is actually shown at considerable length during one sequence.

You Can't Fuck The Future, The Future Fucks You: Saturday Night Fever (1977)

The danger of planning a blog marathon is getting behind on posts because you realize that you have all kinds of other life events getting in the way, which means doubling down on viewings and blog posts some days in order to maintain any consistency.  Today is once such day as I earlier scrambled to piece together something on Yankee Doodle Dandy and am now writing about yet another musical, in a far different sense with Saturday Night Fever.  Aside from not being the show tune heavy films of decades earlier, Saturday Night Fever also manages to navigate a space that is distinctly different narratively than most films, far more in line with the films of a year earlier than the escapist cinema of its genre.  Indeed, where it not for the reality that the film does involve a heavy amount of disco dancing, I would be convinced that it was a direct shot-for-shot homage to Rocky, although the movie poster to the film in the main character's room does suggest a knowing borrowing.  I will admit that I was myself a bit presumptive as to what I would be given by way of Saturday Night Fever as it is most certainly attained a reputation for being that one film that heavily uses that one song by The BeeGees, unfortunately, this claim is often intended to be a degrading thing, both dismissing the genius of the Gibbs brothers and their musical while also cornering Saturday Night Fever into a genre box that is illogical and inconvenient.  The acting of John Travolta is one of many things to be fascinated with in this rather overlooked film, even if it does have a noted classic status, not to mention that it does pull from some great music of the time, The BeeGees included.  However, it has some elements about it that at their core may have been purely choices of budget and necessity, but, nonetheless, become indicative of deep considerations on viewership relations within cinema and further inquire as to what it means to be a body on display that is also in the process of objectifying while bizarrely respecting the bodies around themselves.  Saturday Night Fever works because it unconventionally deals with notedly conventional subject.

Saturday Night Fever focuses on the experiences of Tony Manero a man who by the very way he walks can suggest to people that he is a ladies man.  At least, that seems to be what he strives for in his young life, only shooting for the money to buy the latest and greatest in polyester fashions in the hopes that it will afford him the desires of the women and the animosity of the men he encounters at his favorite disco club 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Alongside his motley crew of friends Tony manages to exists as a point of deep female desire, handfuls of women throwing themselves at him in the guise that they enjoy his dancing.  Tony while incredibly flattered by the advances seems rather clear that he is not interested in them, although deceives their hopes by agreeing to serve as their dance partners nonetheless, especially being kind to a young woman whose clearly suffering from some minor mental issues.  Yet, life is also troubling for Tony as he must navigate a home space where his family denigrates him for not being more like his brother, an established priest who the family lovingly refers to as Father Frank Jr. (Martin Shakar).  Tony hoping that by throwing all of his drive and passion into dancing he can somehow come to understand the complexities of the world around him, but when he Stephanie (Karen Lynn Gorney) he manages to find a reason to pursue dancing even more as he immediately becomes infatuated by her ethereal charm and decidedly hard-to-get attitude. Mounting various approaches, he is finally able to convince her to get coffee a task that is juxtaposed with the falling apart of his own family life, particularly when Frank Jr. returns home and finds out that his brother has left the priesthood.  Paired with a variety of other forms of unfortunate news, Tony comes to reconsider his relationship with dancing, only to pour every last bit into a final act with Stephanie, one where they are clearly bested by a competing couple.  When it becomes clear, however, that their winning was predicated upon racial issues and not actual skill, the overly idyllic Tony awakes to the nonsense of his life and moves out of the negative world of his life in the process.

The social realist drama is quite hard to execute without becoming grandstanding or overtly detailed in a way that can be off putting to filmgoers.  I would further argue that this becomes doubly problematic when you make the realist picture within the constraints of a genre picture.  Finally, I would make an argument that it is damn near impossible to keep this a reality when you are creating a diegesis that involves music in a way indicative of a musical wherein the music, at times, manifests itself from beyond the narrative.  This would be a rare occurrence, but much to my amazement it is something that is pulled off brilliant.  More so, aside from the odd continuity error, Saturday Night Lever is a perfectly shot and edited film, one that tells a story in an intimate way without being predictable.  I say all of these things in unison, because somehow it manages to do the same things that made works like Taxi Driver and Nashville work a few years earlier, but few have sung the praises of Saturday Night Fever in the same rhetoric they afford it to the previously mentioned films.  I would argue then that the reason I for the longest held off to see the movie is that it was either implied that Saturday Night Live was nothing more than a disco film, or the alternative that the people who cling on to specific genres or constant themes invariably find the musical dismiss of any social legitimacy.  Indeed, as I work through more musicals this month I will undoubtedly watch this happen on different, but perhaps not so fatally as is the case with Saturday Night Fever.  Masked behind the assumption that it is a dance movie are some serious considerations about the role of body in looking and cinematic gaze, as well as a repetitive, but quite necessary barging against gender performance and including its more problematic final scenes, it does provide a visual into a life that is often swallowed up by other more powerful figures or entities.  If not for this one can still justify its status by the use of The BeeGees alone.  I know this is a ton of rambling, but I did only finish the film about an hour ago so my reactions are fresh and haphazard, mostly in relation to my own surprise by the film I saw as opposed to what I expected.

Key Scene: There is a scene where Tony makes a discovery about a hidden secret of another character, during which Travolta delivers a death stare for the ages.

Rental, this is that in a very real sense, but it is not terrible so purchasing it is not absurd.

You Are Doing Good Just Bring It Down A Bit: A Chorus Line (1985)

I was made to believe that A Chorus Line was some modern classic in the way of the musical, navigating a space that had at the time yet to truly be uncovered.  Sure, it is quite intriguing for the ways in which it meshes together the traditional aspects of the musical film with a social realist drama that pinpoints all the intersections of difficulty at play in the world of professional dancers and their aspirations.  I could expand rather instinctively on how this is a great thing to consider in film, but becomes rather disconcerting when done in the exploitative way shown in A Chorus Line.  I could do a ton of these things and be completely warranted in my opinions.  However, on the other end I could defend it for its audacious and at times incredibly ambitious cinematography that manes to make the cramped stage of a chorus line audition seem to fill the world, or discuss how absolutely stellar Michael Douglas proves to be in a film where he rarely leaves the space of a casting chair.  I could go one of two ways with this film and certainly find a following and opposition in either camp.  While i am inclined to lean slightly towards it being a decent film, I know in my heart that A Chorus Line is about as middle of the road as a musical can come, particularly when it has a tendency to fall under its own datedness.  As a musical it hits all the necessary points, even digging a bit deeper than normal when the endeavor proves advantageous, unfortunately, the sort of fabrication at play makes it a matter of accepting that everyone will be afforded a chance to tell their unique perspectives is about as overly idealistic a thing that will ever happen in this particularly traditionalist genre.  A Chorus Line asks for moments of truth from its characters and since it exists in a layered space of the performance, there seems to be a knowing relationship between the dancers and the person shooting the film as to how created the entire process is, but also how important it can be to pushing their own careers forwards, as this proved to be either a definitive breaking point for cinematic success.

A Chorus Line begins about as in media res as a musical could, in so much as it looks at a group of initially nondescript dancers pouring their hearts into a dance number that is been over seen by the choreographer Larry (Terrance Mann).  The group consisting of several dozen performs fill up the space of the stage, hoping to do precisely what is necessary to catch a glimpse of interest from premier choreographer Zach (Michael Douglas).  Indeed, Zach is almost indifferent to the initial tryouts standing like a ghost in the background as lines upon lines of performers dance for his amusement, eventually using the help of his assistant and head choreographer Larry (Terrence Mann) to break down the group to roughly ten applicants including a variety of men and women all competing for, in the end eight parts.  The group is possessive of a variety of different faces, whether it be aging dancer Val Clarke (Audrey Landers) who seems a bit jaded about her hopes and dreams, or the brash Gregory Gardner (Justin Ross) who makes his gay identity known in a very empowering, albeit confrontational, way.  Together they represent a group hoping to attain the one job that will afford them a big break, all the while Zach judging their every move, this becomes more so the case when Zach's former lover and noted dancer Cassie (Alyson Reed) attends the tryouts.  She, along with the remainder of the group, expound upon why they decided to become dancers, whether it be one girl's desire to replicate the success of a small town Rockette, or another who always felt himself to be a bit more in line with his sister, literally wearing her shoes to attend a dance class on the fly.  Zach still secretive about exactly what his show will entail, pries and pulls for these various stories, even coming to relate closely to one young man named Paul (Cameron English) taking special consideration for him when his knee gives out during the beleaguering tryouts.  In the end, Zach does narrow it down to a select group in a manner that reconsiders how one assumes their ability and the receiving of accolades, although the closing number suggests that with the right amount of willpower every person can achieve the singular goal of their lives.

A Chorus Line is rather obvious in its premise that the musical is something that is enjoyed for its spectacle and very little, if anything, is made to consider how involved the personal lives of those on the stage become, indeed, each member of the line possessing their own unique, and often complex, life.  Instead, accolades and admiration is often mounted towards individuals like the producer or director who are seen as visionaries and geniuses, in its own way taking on an issue of gendering in all varieties of the performing arts.  A Chorus Line exists to show these stories within the context of the musical, moving away from the spectacle to the reality of those involved and in some ways it really works filmically, providing genius use of the inner monologue through song as a way of working within the genre, but also keeping it decidedly personal, however, it is also embracing of the spectacle in ways that make a lot of the scenarios become wrought with over performance and sensationalism that simply pad the encounters from any sense of earnestness, particularly when intended to be jarring and unsettling.  There are some rather serious considerations of racial identity that are swept under the table as passing jokes, ones that Zach seems considerably flippant towards, indeed, ignoring his own space of privilege, both as a white male, but also a person who has managed to make it big in the industry.  Sitting, almost as if his own personal panoptician, Zach is capable of judging those below him on a variety of issues, only feigning interest in their personal lives as it affords him personal advancement to his artistic vision.  He seems dismissive of othering, while also fascinated by the curiosity that comes with such identities, although in the end he seems quite content to fall back on his relationship with Cassie, her traditional beauty and normalcy becoming a thing of admiration, even affording her the ability to skip the more arduous elements of a tryout and eventually find her place within a chorus line.  The film wants to consider the ways in which intersections of identity play into the world of dance and theatre, but it also does not seem intent on being the least bit edgy in the process.

Key Scene:  Let Me Dance for You is good, but a bit too over the top at times.

A Chorus Line is a decent film, but, honestly, there are quite a few more musicals that are well worth your time.

Life Is NOT A Malfunction: Short Circuit (1986)

I am wholly aware that there are some incredibly absurd movies that made their self aware during the 1980's, indeed, I have even gone so far as to review many of them, almost always with loving admiration or an unhealthy attachment, especially if said films involve things like cocaine smuggling ninjas or satellite based aliens consuming orgy minded suburban parents.  These movies were weird and did not necessarily acquire anything beyond the obvious cult status associated, however, Short Circuit is a film that has managed to retains most of its respect and was decidedly successful upon its initial release could out do every other film in its notes of the absurd.  Indeed, Short Circuit is perhaps the most bizarre film to come from the 80's not in that it exists alone, but that it was so successful.  Between some wonderful smirking by eternal heartthrob The Gutt, one of the more curious performances of Ally Sheedy's career one can pick apart its obvious attractions.  Everything else is completely an enigma though, notably the bizarrely Orientalist spin on the major foreign character within the film, not to mention a decidedly confusing and ethically problematic take on robotics, sentience and human bonding.  I assume this film is intended to be comedic, however, I could not begin to unpack the ramifications and implications of approaching such movie with an awareness that it is chuckling at such deeply social woes.  In contrast to Ally Sheedy's involvement in say WarGames, one almost thinks that Short Circuit is in bad taste, and I would certainly make this claim were it made in any other year than 1986.  It is in this unabashed push towards complete absurdity that one is able to truly appreciate Short Circuit, because what one paper should come off as complete and irreverent politically incorrect satire manages to take on a knowing level of self-awareness, wherein each glance of humor on the part of Steve Guttenberg and moment pun-infested dialogue manages to say everything about an era where excess and decadence were simply a fact and any point of lack or oppression was ignored or made to be a point of frustration.  In the very choice to ignore any palpable reality Short Circuit reconsiders the ability and execution of satire.  It is bad, it is wildly problematic, but it is also delightful.

Short Circuit focuses on the American governments most recent attempts at launching a series of former Cold War robots, known collectively as the S.A.I.N.T. program, as service industry robots.  This appears to be an ideal situation as the precision and focus affords the robots to do both very general tasks as well as specific, detailed endeavors.  Yet, when an intense lighting storm hits the factories, one robot is electrocuted a la Frankenstein and breaks free from the space.  In doing so, the war division of the government goes wild fearing that the number five division of the robot will destroy everything in its path, as the lightning resulted in an overriding of its circuits and reverting to its former Cold War programing.  To make matters worse the robot is equipped with a laser capable of destroying any item nearly instantaneously.  The robot becomes a point of fascination for its creator Dr. Newton Crosby (Steve Guttenberg) who sees this "glitch" as a movement towards a higher degree of sentience, particularly with Number 5 rewires his own switchboard to assure his livelihood.  Eventually, Number 5 travels far enough to meet with food truck entrepreneur and lively twenty something Stephanie Speck (Ally Sheedy) who immediately assumes the robot to be a form of extraterrestrial life, becoming visibly upset when it proves to be the far less exciting government weapon of mass destruction.  Yet, realizing that Number 5 truly desires to become "alive" Stephanie takes it upon herself to teach and train Number 5 while also helping to avoid his own disassembly, or, in human terms, death.  All the while, Dr. Crosby and his wise-cracking Indian assistant Ben (Fisher Stevens) attempt to track down Number 5 with the most advance positioning technology possible.  Eventually, they are able to track down the robot and discover him deep in training with Stephanie, as well as attached in a manner that is noticeably more than platonic.  However, Crosby and Ben realize that Number 5 is indeed advanced and capable of self-control, so much so that when the government eventually attacks Number 5 it proves to be a decoy created by the very robot who has become hyper-sentient.  The film closes with Number 5 assigning itself with the name Johnny 5 and becoming the pal of Crosby, Ben and Stephanie, assumedly planning on undertaking a series of new journeys, a fact shown in the multiple sequels that followed.

I am currently pinpointing my research interests within the field of film studies and, as I have noted earlier, this includes South Korean cinema.  However, realizing that just having a regional focus does not entirely suffice for the deeper I delve into school, I have decided to also focus on the ways in which gendering and body politics emerge within films about beings that are non theoretically human, including things like cyborgs, robots and dolls which become sentient.  As such, much to my surprise and elation, Short Circuit very much fits within this new vein of research, especially in regards to the gendering of Johnny 5, who moves from being a purely servile non-human other to that of a war based threat to eventually being a thing of fraternal and pseudo-sexual interest to at least two characters in the film.  In theory, Johnny 5 should not be a figure with a specific gender, but it is rather clear from the onset that viewers are supposed to define him as masculine, whether it be a result of his phallic like laser or his male-inclined vocal pattern, his gender is fixated within the masculine, making its creation by Dr. Crosby and the American government all the more ethically curious.  Indeed, his very war like identity suggests an entrenched notion of war as sexual aggression wherein each element of warfare finds its ties to the male phallic privilege, perhaps most famously explored in Kubrick's uproariously funny Dr. Strangelove.  Here it is becomes more heady intellectually, because if Johnny 5 is indeed a phallic extension of the government, he too is one that is anthropomorphized, suggesting a desire that war not only be a sexual act, but one that in the process "gives birth" to new entities that are vaguely human but still less than in the important factors.  The levels of control and privilege that emerge in such a scenario are complex and fascinating and could certainly extend on to consider other films within this genre.  The fact that Stephanie has a pseudo-romantic encounter with Johnny 5 takes on a reverse-Pygmallion element, although she is not the creator so again it is a bit more confusing.  There are also a ton of ways in which to consider how gender is performed and how a viewer is to understand that Johnny is supposed to be masculine, all tying to an assumption that a non-human body could still exist within a gendered dichotomy.  It is also no small coincidence that Wall-E is clearly based on Johnny 5.

Key Scene:  Johnny 5's quest for knowledge through reading the encyclopedia from front to end is both hilarious and deeply curious from an ethical standpoint and is dealt with in a near perfect way.

This is a solid rental through and through, although it is cheap enough on DVD that buying it might prove equally inexpensive.

You've Read Too Much Trash. You're A Dreamer: Vagabond (1985)

If the old biblical adage holds any truth, the meek shall indeed inherit the earth.  However, what happens when the earth has nothing left on it within which to give those without?  In the stunning, moving and, ultimately, disconcerting Agnes Varda film Vagabond it would seem that she is suggesting that the meek in such a setup can only become that which refuels the earth.  As such, it is not the meek that inherit the earth, but the exact opposite.  This surprisingly religious reading on my part is not completely ungrounded, because as a filmmaker Varda constantly reminds me that not only is she worth taking seriously on every account, but that she is also worth considering alongside, if not above, the likes of her New Wave compatriots, often making similar films with a far greater success.  Vagabond, while not her masterpiece, I reserve that appropriation for the stirring and visually evocative Cleo from 5 to 7, nonetheless, reflects what can be possible within the language of filmmaking while also constantly reconsidering how to use said language to constantly revive a lulling medium.  The narrative of the film is not wholly non-linear, however, it is also not nauseatingly straightforward.  One can read into the variety of factors affecting how a person deals with making a film and what personal experiences one pulls from and incorporates into their films, but I know I have said this previously when I discussed another moving film by Varda, One Sings The Other Doesn't, there is a lot to be said about how beneficial Varda's obvious and open feminist politics come into how she composes her film, whether it be the obvious elements of using a female in the protagonist role, or focusing the narrative on divergent voices, a few that are usually mocked or made to be silenced, even working on these very acknowledgements within the process.  The diagetic merges with the non, the other merges with the self, in fact, Varda is obsessed with confronting dichotomies and it is perhaps most blatant here in Vagabond a work that considers the most most problematic of all divides, at least philosophically speaking, humanity versus the natural world.

Vagabond begins where it ends depicting a woman laying dead in a ditch, at this point unnamed, although she is later revealed to be known simply as Mona (Sandrine Bonnaire).  Considering her clear, as the title suggest, vagabond status, an unseen narrator explains that it is her desire to recreate the moments that led up to Mona's death which begins the narratives winding recreation of Mona's experiences both through the documentary style narration of those Mona encountered, as well as the presumedly real experiences of Mona.  Along the way Mona meets a variety of people, whether they be brief, chain necklace wearing lovers, or well-meaning prostitutes, always seeming sure of her constant movement whilst avoiding settling down, particularly for engagements  that involve a romantic element.  Occasionally individuals, such as a goat herding family attempt to over exert their assumptions about her place in the world by forcing a home and job upon Mona, only to have the rebellious young woman reject the labels in favor of a pursuit, to use her words, of "music and grass."  Yet, Mona is not incapable of finding friendship, this occurs most clearly in two occasions, the first with Madame Lanier (Macha Méril) whose academic pursuits and desire to save trees somehow intersect into a bizarre attempt to shelter Mona, who takes up her lengthy car ride as a pseudo-bonding experience that also affords her the luxuries of high end food associated with the various conferences and events academic affords Lanier, however, the reality of Lanier's world cannot intersect with Mona's carefree style and the two must part ways.  Other instances wherein Mona meets people, as is the case with Tunisian migrant work Assoun (Yahiou Assouna) the customs of culture cause a divide, wherein Mona does want to stay but prescribed gender assumptions make it impossible.  Perhaps the most fascinating of engagements in the film come in the way of Mona's point of admiration through the eyes of Yolande (Yolande Moreau) who sees Mona's vagabond life as a form of romanticism and unbridled freedom.  Yet even this is destroyed when Mona's carefree attitude directly conflicts Yolande's financial safety.  In the end, Mona is left to fend for herself and in a moment when all things are against her, even in a disturbingly bizarre sense, and it is in this ultimate form of lack that her body can no longer survive.

I began this review with a biblical reference which was more of a passing thought in its initial inception, however, as I begin to consider the ways in which the film works it reminds me of two more travelogue  films with far more religious implications.  The first is Robert Bresson's heart wrenching Au Hasard Balthazar, wherein a donkey comes to represent what is easily the greatest Christ reference in the history of cinema.  The second is the hyper-provacative and wildly irreverent reconsideration of Catholic dogma that is Luis Buñuel's The Milky Way.  The latter existing in a state of complete temporal and spatial non-linear composition, while the former is about as linear a film as one could ever encounter.  In between these two is Varda's Vagabond and deservedly so because it is about where it could stand in terms of its spiritual considerations.  Far more philosophical in its endeavors, Vagabond asks very earnest questions about what role freedom and groundedness play in a persons mobility.  I have a tough time thinking of a more morally free character in the history of cinema than Mona, excluding the anti-rule abiding individuals of existential film noir films, however, these are always in opposition to a corrupt world of crime.  Here, the corruption of the world comes through their attempts to enforce societal understanding upon Mona, often at the expense of gendering her and her presumed domesticity, so much so that Mona herself longs to work in a space as a caretaker, even excelling beautifully when given the opportunity.  The act of care, however, is contingent upon social assumptions that to do so means to follow very strict rules.  Indeed when she gets an aging aunt drunk on brandy, it is deemed morally corruptible, despite it being clear that the Aunt is the happiest she has been in ages.  To be free is to have no burden, but it is also a point wherein a person can offer anything because in doing so they have nothing to lose.  Indeed, this takes on a degree of spiritual consideration as one looks at notions of homelessness, charity and expectations.  There are individuals throughout the film who attempt to help Mona, but often their actions are contingent on their own expected reward.  It is no accident that one of Mona's most earnest encounters comes through a passing engagement with a prostitute, making her far more a Christ figure than anybody might want to openly admit.

Key Scene:  The scene in which Mona drinks brandy with the aging aunt is sweet and pure cinema in its most realized sense.

Criterion box set.  Buy this, it is one of their best offering, despite not having the adoration some of the other collections seem to possess.

Next To Food And Music, This Is Mankind's Greatest Invention: TerrorVision (1986)

I have become rather enthralled with discovering some of the real classics of 80's genre film, encountering the very obvious classics and affirming their place in my own adoring film cannon, making specific space for things like The Fly and An American Werewolf in London.  In other situations I have come to discover a film out of sheer curiosity and he result is nothing short of a revelation, the most notable example of this was the wonderfully zany Earth Girls Are Easy, and were it not for my viewing of TerrorVision last night I would have labeled it the most underrated film of the decade.  TerrorVision, made aware to me by a fellow cinephile with excellent tastes, is everything somebody could hope for in the genre comedy, although this one in particular takes the act of satire to an inconceivable level, committing to making everything a scathing critique of that specific moment in American culture.  Full of zealous acting, one of the most ambitious set designs ever conceived and enough goo and gore to make its rating understandable, despite shying away from any consistent use of profanity.  One cannot deny the film having a dated look, but where this is usually the death of a genre picture, TerrorVision becomes a wonderful time capsule of a singular moment in society, where everything could be this wildly absurd without in turn becoming an indictment of the blind depression existing within the dysfunctional suburban family.  Indeed, more contemporary works, including American Beauty which grows more underwhelming with each year detached from its release, pale in comparison to something like TerrorVision, despite having a higher budget and a more purposeful critique.  TerrorVision goes big and does so with a degree of earnestness and surprising finesse as to suggest the work of a seasoned filmmaker, yet it was released by little known filmmaker Ted Nicolaou who would go on to have a rather underwhelming career, seemingly predicated upon the critical and box office failure of this film.  I am hoping that I can help with my limited breadth of readers to revitalize this lost classic, if not for the genuine genius at play in the film itself, then for the the theme song which is a god damn revelation.

The narrative of TerrorVision centers on the "normal" American family of the Putterman's who are lead by their pseudo-tech savvy and hyper-expressive father Stanley (Garrit Graham), as well as the surprisingly authoritative health fanatic mother Raquel (Mary Woronov).  Their children the post-punk valley girl Suzy (Diane Franklin) and the militaristically inclined Sherman (Chad Allen) are headaches in their own right, apparently existing only to interfere with their parents desire to be swingers, hoping to bring people back to engage in various forms of debauchery in their aptly named Pleasuredome/house/room, complete with a jacuzzi and satellite television.  Alongside this is Grampa (Burt Remsen) a conspiracy theorist who sees the world coming to an end rather soon, blaming much of this on the attachment to television on the part of the youth.  The entire family, however, is decidedly engaged with what comes out of their satellite, a Do-It-Yourself 100 model, which after a few technical flaws proves quite a nice piece of machinery, even picking up a midnight horror show with the comically busty Medusa (Jennifer Richards). Yet when Stanley and Raquel leave to find some swingers things take a weird turn, as the satellite begins picking up an unusual feed of a tentacled monster that simply stares at the screen, as well as another feed of an alien warning about the dangers of satellites and creatures attacking.  Confused as to the "boring" nature of the film, the family members ignore its existence, only to have the monster move out of the screen and into the Putterman's home/pleasure palace, attacking Grampa first and then consuming the other members of the family.  It would appear for a considerable amount of time that Sherman, Suzy and Suzy's boyfriend O.D. (Jon Gries) might be capable of overtaking the creature, tricking it into believing it is a pet and not a hungry space monster.  However, when they accidentally startle it back into anger via a cop arriving to chastise Sherman, the creature goes into full consume mode.  The alien sending the warning arrives via the television, providing a last hope at saving the day, yet when Medusa arrives in hopes of partying at the Putterman house, her instant reaction to the martian results in his death and a certain failure to slay the Hungry Monster, suggesting in the closing moments that his consumption will expand well beyond the space of the Putterman house.

In the equally delightful making of documentary that comes along with TerrorVision, one gets the sense that Nicolaou had the desire to make a film that was wholly in the vein of absurdism.  To a degree this is exactly the product that viewers receive, however, I would posit that under the pretense of complete absurdity lies a rather well-executed and pointed critique of mass media culture that, at times, becomes rather prescient, if not outwardly prophetic.  The film seems to revel in the possibilities of television to serve as a form of mass communication that extends well beyond the space of a home, city or even global space tapping into the farthest depths of the universe.  Whereas, the gore cinema revelation that is Videodrome revels in the possibilities of pirate television, TerrorVision suggests a reality of intergalactic discovery through the same technology.  Considering recent advances in technology and a reality where a robot can navigate Mars while sending back footage with relative quickness, the science fiction idealism of this film become a truth.  This is not where it becomes interesting to look at TerrorVision, however, because Nicolaou does not stop there.  He suggests that the very way in which capitalism and individualism have infested the American psyche results in such high degrees of self-involvement that any hope of appreciation for the scope of communication available is ignored in favor of tunnel vision for personal interests.  Indeed, this is where I find TerrorVision to be tapping into something brilliant, perhaps by accident.  In a more contemporary setting communication has become a tool used with a degree of instantaneous fervor, helping to spark revolutions, or instantly identify terrorist attacks, it is a inconceivably profound tool that when used properly can make for exceptional communication and information dispersement.  Small bits of dialogue within TerrorVision, however, remind viewers that these extensions in communication are merely used to further close off one's idea of the world, whether it be Suzy's love of MTV or Raquel's desire to only watch fitness videos, the collective issue of a destructive alien invasion is overlooked in favor of individualized personal desires. Nobody wants to watch the same thing, but they collectively want to ignore what is important.  While TerrorVision is, undoubtedly, about television and its affects of the familial structure, it manages to remain as pertinent as ever in considering how a society uses technology in a consuming manner, rarely considering how the world outside of the visual space can and is affected by what is portrayed. TerrorVision is definitely meta in its composition, it is a matter of how many layers it goes that proves worthy of consideration.

Key Scene:  There are so many.  The jacuzzi attack sequence and the feeding of The Hungry Monster are two highlights, also it is worth reminding readers about the theme song.

Scream! Factory a subsidiary of Shout! Factory has managed to save this film from literal obscurity, meaning that for thirteen years it went without a formatted release, and their bluray makes the stylized and intricate details of this film pop in new ways, most noticeably in the bizarre art adorning the walls of the "pleasure dome."  Also if you missed it this film features a young Uncle Rico of Napoleon Dynamite fame.

Your Guy's Got A Camera. Mine's Got A Flamethrower: C.H.U.D. (1984)

A lot of the cinema I encounter defies any sense of my logic as to how it exists in a final form, one that suggest that it was actively pursued and produced with the intent of expecting great success.  For example, while I was washing clothing at the laundromat this morning I noticed that the Hallmark Channel (one of the television staples of this particular establishment) was playing The First Daughter, a particularly underwhelming and indeed quite terrible piece of cinema whose release should never have seen the light of day.  Glancing at the film while far more intrigued by my book on the history of Technicolor, I noticed that everything about the film was half-assed and clearly rushed, exploiting outdated racial stereotypes and the most derivative of romance genre tropes.  The First Daughter should not cinematically exist, but the reality is that it does.  In another world completely is a film like C.H.U.D. whose cult status is undenied and certainly grows over the years, even being the subject of a delightfully irreverent Criterion April Fool's Joke, complete with an "analysis" of the film's many meanings that puts some of my overanalyzing of films to shame.  Watching C.H.U.D., one becomes aware almost instantly that the film is completely and undeniably bad, both in the ways evident of most 80's genre films, but also in terms of very basic filmmaking skills and visual narrative cohesion.  When watching C.H.U.D. I felt very much aware of this factor and kept wanting to dismiss it as one of the failures in regards to the varied viewings I have encountered so far during this, my second, horror film marathon.  Looking for a way to write the film off, I realized that as the creatures began to emerge and as Daniel Stern's acting slowly became more fractured and what could only be described as clear inspiration for Matthew Lillard that I was enjoying the very implausibility of C.H.U.D.  Indeed, even if I were at the point of writing the film off, the emergence of a young John Goodman into one scene pretty much assured its lasting viewing power.  While I gave C.H.U.D. a rather unimpressive three stars on Letterboxd, I still adore its endearing crappy qualities.  It is not a "so bad its good" type of film, but one so terrible in its execution as to allow a degree of schadenfreude to occur in watching it unravel completely.

The film begins with a woman walking her dog down an alley, only to be grabbed and drug into the sewers by the hand of some green creature, thus setting up a film about a monster attack by creatures known as Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, or C.H.U.D. The creatures, however, are not the main focus of the film, but instead looks at a group directly affected by the emergence of these green fleshy humanoids.  Firstly there is the tense relationship between photographer George Cooper (John Heard) and his model girlfriend Lauren (Kim Geist) one that seems to be a challenge of creative establishment and sexual authority.  Occurring in line with this narrative are the experiences of a police captain named Bosch (Christopher Curry) who is attempting to uncover a string of murders where the bodies of the victims are appearing in the sewers of the town.  Knowing that his best source of information comes from A.J. Sheperd (Daniel Stern) whose work providing food and shelter for the homeless has resulted in his being labeled as The Reverend.  When Bosch explains the situation he is adamant that it is not the homeless population engaging in the attacks, but instead; a group of deformed humanoids who are the result of chemical dumping by the NRC, a group whose work directly ties to nuclear engineering.  The evidence emerges at it is clear that the creatures are indeed former humans whose exposure to toxic waste has led to them becoming neon-eyed monsters bent on violent revenge.  Despite apparent restrictions, the NRC continued to dump the waste, although the leaders continue to deny it as a fact, even when footage and eye witness accounts blatantly suggest otherwise.  Bosch, whose wife died at the hands of the toxic creatures, seeks to bring justice to the NRC, as well as his late wife, whose body is discovered in the mix of the corpses underground.  A.J. begins confronting members of his homeless community who have come into contact with the C.H.U.D.'s while Lauren has her own above ground contact with one of the fiendish creatures, all leading up to Bosch finally confronting the owner of the NRC, in a battle to expose the truth whose results, with the aid of A.J. and George have some rather fiery results.

C.H.U.D. is a film that clearly caves a bit under its own metaphor, hoping that by going for an idea in a big way that the important elements will exist underneath with little or no need for detailed elaboration. This, unfortunately, is not entirely the case and the film becomes almost about a lot of things and never fully about anything, and I certainly do not mean that in the way it has been endearingly appropriated to talk about Seinfeld.  Furthermore, in a perfect world I could write about this film with the same detached absurdity that Criterion did with their faux-release of this film, but they delivered it with such an earnestness that I would be foolish to step on its perfection.  So what could one make of the various almost realized social narratives.  Well there is a rather clear, albeit on-the-nose, connection made between the spaces that become victim to nuclear dumping, usually associated with impoverished spaces that are dangerously close to urban dwellings.  In C.H.U.D. dangerously close means underground, suggesting that cities exist on the exploitation of those below, or those with the least amount of class mobility, even becoming monsters in the eyes of the exceptionally wealthy and association that is, in turn, internalized by those without.  The creatures who occupy the space of monster in the film are clearly a creature within the filmic narrative, but they also carry along with them a metaphorical representation of the desire to attack the oppressive hegemonic structure, as well as the hegemony's own assumption that the lower class is so barbaric and uncivilized as to literally be a bug-eyed monster whose only desire is to blindly destroy the structures and well-established ways of society, never mind that these structures are based solely on economic privilege and social standing.  It is no less noticeable that the figures in the film who most sympathize with the figures of the C.H.U.D. are contingent on their relational attachment to privilege, whether it be Bosch and his particular frustration creatures primarily as a result of his wife's death, but also indicative of his relation to enforcing authority for the hegemony.  In contrast is A.J. whose empathy for the creatures is considerably higher, even when faced with a threat on his life, because he seems to accept and understand that their grotesque nature is very much the result of ill-willed politicians and corporate leaders who have knowingly destroyed the bodies of humans in the name of their own capitalist endeavors and their assured success.

Key Scene:  The what would now be called a cameo on the part of John Goodman.

This is and has been on Netflx for awhile, should you be looking for a late night future, this is certainly a worthy consideration.

Don't Do That Otis, She's Your Sister: Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer (1986)

I am constantly in search of a film whose opening shot thoroughly and evocatively establishes itself as something to be taken seriously, and am usually willing to extend this concession to an opening sequence.  Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is one such film that uses an open shot that pans out disturbingly slowly affording viewers a realization of exactly what they are getting themselves into, followed by a series of back and forth scenes establishing the serial killer narrative which will unfold throughout the film.  In many instances this type of sequence would emerge somewhere in the middle of the front half of the movie to set the stakes for the remainder of the film, but that is not the case here, the stakes are known by the title and the viewer enters into the experience out of a sense of perverse curiosity.  Director John McNaughton's work in Henry is both clearly influenced by similarly abrasive auteurs like David Lynch, Michael Mann and David Cronenberg, while also creating examples of how to make aesthetically pleasing films about the most deranged and debasing of subjects and individuals.  The score for this film which could be easily lost in the violent milieu of on screen body horror and a non-linear, but, nonetheless, temporal diagetic track of the various murders, make for moments that should receive nothing more than abject disgust take on a level of serenity that challenges the viewer to first not find comfort in some sense of beauty, only to critically reprimand any sense of safety that might emerge by jumping back to the violence on screen.  I often find myself having to step back from critically engaging with a genre film, wondering if I am indeed reading too much into the narrative and am in some ways expecting more out of a director in the way of filmic theory.  With a work like Henry, however, I am certain that McNaughton is playing with cinematic conventions both in terms of the meta and the traditional genre as a means to push towards a new understanding on not only how a person reacts to cinematic violence, but, more importantly, how such preoccupations with simulated violence can allow for real societal degradation in the way of murder and rape to become ignored to the point of a troubling collective ignorance.

Henry begins with a series of shots of women, who have been brutally murdered while cutting back to images of the title character Henry (Michael Rooker) going about his rather monotonous daily routine, a clear suggestion arising that he is the one responsible for these murders, eventually verified when a woman he picks up hitchhiking is shown murdered in a living room.  Meanwhile the narrative introduces viewers to Otis (Tom Towles) a ex-convict whose work at a gas station serves as cover for his work dealing marijuana.  Otis' sister Becky (Tracy Arnold) arrives at Otis' house in need of a place to stay after the final falling out with her ex-boyfriend, an occurrence that is of little surprise to Otis,who knows of Becky's troubled past involving erotic dancing and bad relationships.  It is then revealed that Henry is Otis' roommate and the two are close drinking buddies.  Becky, intrigued by Herny's silent demeanor and overt sense of good manners, becomes instantaneously enamored with Henry, despite the frustrations and misgivings of Otis who has a rather unhealthy attachment to his sister.  After an intense altercation relating to this realization, Otis and Henry attempt to rekindle their friendship by a night out for some beers.  This night out quickly turns into buying prostitutes, which then involves Henry killing not only his prostitute, but Otis' as well when she begins to panic.  Initially hesitant to let Henry's act go unreported, Otis has a change of heart, realizing first that he would probably be arrested as well, but also because he seems to take a perverse pleasure in the act himself.  This leads to the two going on joint killing sprees, which are eventually recorded on a video camera they bum off of one of their victims.  All the while, Becky continually makes advances towards the apparently asexual Henry, leading to considerable jealousy on the part of Otis, who is suggested to be bisexual, if not outright gay, during a drug selling sequence.  As such, when he awakes at home to find Becky attempting to seduce Henry, he goes into a rage, eventually being shot by Henry, who then suggest that he and Becky leave to start a new life.  During their first night in a motel, Henry does not attempt to sleep with Becky, but merely suggests they go to sleep.  However, the film concludes with Henry driving a car down the road alone before stopping on the side of the road to unload a heavy blue folding suitcase, its contents become somewhat obvious given Henry's violent nature and his penchant for destroying women who are open in their sexual behavior.

Looking, as I have already established in quite a few films here on the blog and even at least twice this month concerning horror films, is something that is assumed to be male and carries with it a degree of objectification.  Other elements such as castration, death drives and fetishism fall into this looking and too become issues within Henry considering that the opening scene is an eye at the center of a screen looking at/confronting viewers, the deceased nature of the body responsible for this stare adds on a layer of death to the entire act.  In fact, every moment of this film possesses a considerable feel for voyeurism, as the cinematic world of Henry suggests one fully involved in the notion of cinema verite, despite being a fictionalized version of real events.  I would argue that through this low-key, realistic depiction of the life in a lower class space, McNaughton establishes a difference between the priviliged viewer (this would certainly have been the case for moviegoers at Indie cinema scapes in 1986) and the othered lower class person.  While Henry and Otis' behavior is clearly to be chastised the way the narrative flows and how the two are established as working class, affords those looking at the film to detach themselves from the still present violence by asserting that it is not something that would occur within their more well-to-do spaces.  It is a vicarious look of sorts, but in the sense that the one looking is hyper-privileged as opposed to longingly desiring an item.  Here, murder and the look upon its occurring is all associated with the primal, wherein, some portion of the psyche of Henry, and later Otis are open to being barbaric and ruthless, because they have not learned the counter to this behavior due to educational lack.  Indeed, one could even consider the gaze to be one of a death drive on the part of a privileged individual who has achieved a higher level on the hierarchy of needs, thus privileging them to look for experiences in the violent for purely philosophical or ethnographic curiosity.  Indeed, as I write this down I realize how similar this film and Steven Soderbergh's stunning Bubble become.  Both look with disconcerting pity on troubled lower class spaces, but where Soderbergh finds attempts at protection and belief in a higher calling, McNaughton discovers a sense of morally degradation.  The larger question, however, is not the ethical problems of the individuals in the respective films, but instead; how one who is given the ability to watch condemns or empathizes with the acts of those on display.

Key Scene:  The metacinematic moment involving Beck and Henry kissing, wherein Henry continually wipes his mouth, is a perfect syncopation of direction, writing and acting and is one of many great payoffs in a disturbing, yet incredibly engaging film.

Netflix Watch Instantly is a great venue to look into this film, although I intend on filling my shelf with a bluray copy in the near future.