Dirty, Stinkin, Slimy Gators!: The Alligator People (1959)

It is quite the challenge to make an engaging film without throwing away any concern whatsoever for giving the narrative any semblance of moral seriousness or weight.  Indeed, this has always proved particularly problematic when considering genre films who in their traditional sense negate any possibility of high brow criticism.  This is not to say that on various occasions the narrative elements of a genre film cannot transcend their low-culture status and become profound considerations of societal issues.  It is merely a matter of understanding that there is a very delicate line between being subtly condemning and belligerently on the nose.  For example, much of George A. Romero's early output focuses on these issues by merely making them a fact from the opening of the film, casting black men and women in lead roles, thus subverting the tradition and making a classic work in zombie horror in the process. However, most of the output is not this masterful, instead the attempts at commentaries on racial issues or class access become lost in a hopes that a crazy looking creature or beast will lull viewers into the nature of the spectacle.  Tragically this is very much the case for The Alligator People, a work whose special affects, albeit glaringly low-budget still manage to create a sense of dread and creepy ambience, aided almost entirely by its bayou setting, one whose shadows and general mugginess do extend beyond the screen.  Yet, given the storied and very troubled history of slavery and racism in these spaces the film finds no shame in exploiting these narratives to their fullest, without ever suggesting a means to undermine oppression or challenge the very issue with which it metaphorically situates its film.  Lon Chaney Jr., the other man of many faces, does his best to add a new layer to the film, occupying his bizarre mutant creature in a way to bring humanity to an otherwise monstrous figure, yet by the end of the film his association with the animalistic is so ingrained in viewers frame of reference that attempts to humanize him, or relate to the "hysterical" woman's narrative that situate the film become almost impossible.

Joyce Webster, and or Jane Marvin (Beverly Garland) is a woman who manages to hold down a rather respectable job as a nurse for her boss and doctor Erik Lorimer (Bruce Bennett), but as he shows another colleague, when given a particular sleep including drug, Joyce/Jane recalls events she experienced while traveling with her fiance Paul (Richard Crane).  During their travels Paul leaves their cart to answer a telegram, at which point Joyce/Jane loses track of him, only to discover that he has inexplicably gone missing.  Stepping of the train to iscover a crate of radioactive cobalt, Joyce/Jane meets Mannon (Lon Chaney Jr.) a servant for the Cypress family and seemingly likable individual.  At this point, given her confusion, Joyce/Jane tags along with Mannon to the nearest house in hopes of finding her fiance, only to discover that the maniacal Mannon enjoys trying to kill alligators, attempting to run one over on the way home and later drunkenly tries to shoot a handful.  During the night, Joyce/Jane hears the rings of a piano, only to discover a misshapen Paul playing the piano, his skin reflective of that of an alligators, scaly and dry.  As things unfold, Joyce/Jane learns of Paul's troubles with radioactive chemicals and the manner in which they have caused him to become a hybrid of a alligator and a human, constantly shifting between both, but never finding a point of complete stasis.  Through the help of his family and a set of local doctors, Paul hopes to reverse the process of his mutation in one last blast of cobalt radiation.  However, it is during the final test that the mutation takes its most drastic turn, causing the already disfigured Paul to become almost entirely alligator, taking on the entire head and tail of the reptile, while still possessing the limbs of a human.  In his fit of rage and confusion, Paul wanders into a lake and begins wrestling with an alligator, losing out and sinking with the creature to the bottom of the thick bayou.  At this point, the narrative returns to Joyce/Jane's contemporary state, wherein awake she has completely forgotten about her dire experiences, only now curious as to why the doctors have begun treating her slightly different.  The two, hoping to allow her some semblance of normalcy, simply chose not to acknowledge her story again and move on with their drug testing accordingly.

The trick of making a social critique within a genre film is the awareness that there is a very thin line between subtly and overdoing it, which is not necessarily as restrictive within the more traditional film genres, particularly something like the social drama or the melodrama.  Given the context of absurdity and impossibility that exists within the genre of horror specifically, things are in a constant state of juxtaposition between self and other that makes all other dichotomies become extremely apparent.  Take for example the traditional teen slasher film, wherein it is a group of teenagers taking on some weapon wielding psychopath, in these scenarios it is a group versus a singular figure mentality that affords a considerable continuation of the traditional heteronormative divide between male/female and any attempts at blurring this prove damn near impossible.  Of course, there are exceptions to this notion, when the thing of horror is contagious or decidedly insurmountable, either zombies, swarms of say, shark wielding tornadoes, or even the mega monsters of kaiju films.  The Alligator People is deceptive in its name, one that suggests a large group of mutated humanoids, wherein the narrative is more so concerned with one man and his navigation between the space of human and alligator.  As such, the back drop of racial dichotomies within the film become glaringly and troublingly apparent wherein the oppression of the servants goes unchecked and unchallenged, more so serving as figures of cautionary speech to Joyce/Jane than an actual group moving towards some degree of transcendence.  Indeed, where the film to be about the raiding of the Cypress estate by a large scape Alligator People attack then maybe these racial divides would be undermined or altogether destroyed in the realization that genetically speaking there is a distinct divide between man and not man, one which is not at all predicated upon the color of one's skin.  Of course, the film was made in 1959 so progressive racial commentary is far from the expected norm, but one often wonders why, in a genre expressly influenced by the ability to bend the rules, such an egregiously offensive use of race was allowed.  Metaphor be damned, The Alligator People simply fails to engage with social critiques in any transgressive or revolutionary manner.

Key Scene:  Alligator man versus alligator is kind of cool I guess.

There are other movies worth bothering with and this one can easily be passed over at no cost to your cinematic evolution.

We're Going To Wake This Town Up Ourselves: The Blob (1958)

Before getting into the amazing cinematic gem that is 1958's The Blob, I want to thank Michael and Jill at Sittin' On A Backyard Fence for giving me the opportunity to be involved in the TCM Summer Under the Stars blogathon, because it is allowing me to both revisit some of my favorite pieces of cinema, while also catching up with at least one film I have never seen, in hopes of capturing a new gem.  As such, my first entry focuses on The Blob, a work I have often described as a "fine wine" of the b-movie genre, because unlike many of its counterparts it is a film that seriously does seem to become more rewarding with age.  Everything from the earnest attempts of the amateur church actors to the stunning performance by Steve McQueen make up for a highly watchable film, one that carries an considerable amount of believability despite being about a large mass of goo attacking a small town.  Of course, much of this has to do with the aforementioned acting that contains balance of professionalism and amateurishness, thus reflecting what a small town in the grips of a natural disaster might look like, however, that is only one part of the equation.  For being a film that barely clocks in at eighty minutes, The Blob is a wonderfully cinematic experience, using surprisingly thrilling special effects that seem just as real fifty years from its release, as I am sure they did when initially shocking moviegoers way back when.  I would be entirely ready to call The Blob a piece of cinematic perfection purely from a structuralist standpoint, considering that a scene like The Blob invading the movie theater stand as one of the great moments in metacinema, however, this film, much like many b-movies, affords  itself a high degree of social commentary under its guise of simply being a schlocky horror film.  Considering its release date in 1958, it is a film decidedly coming to terms with an imminent Cold War, a ideology that literally influences the film, however, when one considers some of the other classics of Cold War horror, it becomes clear that The Blob is far from paranoid propaganda and, indeed, is something more indicative of considering lingering trauma, the fears of unquestioned authority and a general study of the pains of moving away from youthful innocence.

The Blob begins, as you may know with one of the iconic opening songs, written by a then relatively unknown musician by the name of Burt Bacharach.  The upbeat and swinging song manages to become a point of irony when the film immediately shifts to an image of a young couple making out quietly in the woods.  The couple Steve (Steve McQueen) and Jane (Aneta Coursat) are young and foolish, especially Steve who gets caught in his own web of faux seduction, when Jane calls him out for using the same rehashed pick-up lines to woe her into laying in his arms.  Yet, their moment of bickering and subsequent fondness are undermined when an unusually large shooting star fills the sky, one that catches the attention of not only Steve and Jane but a group of young men from town, who pass the couple, demanding that they race them backwards through the streets of town.  When caught by a local deputy known by his first name Dave (Earl Rowe) Steve and Jane agree to settle down and not get into more trouble through the night, a promise that is immediately broken when they discover a man on the side of the road flailing and screaming with an arm that appears to be covered in a large mucous-like blister.  Confused the two rush the man to Dr. Hallen (Stephen Chase), their local physician, who is equally baffled by the mass that appears to be expanding.  Assuming that the doctor has things under control, Steve and Jane leave, but when Steve witnesses Dr. Hallen being attacked in his office, the two head to the police station to warn of an attack by some sort of monster.  Given that the two have already been caught speeding, Dave and the rest of the police force are skeptical, particularly when an investigation seems to suggest vandalism and not a monster attack.  Frustrated the police return the couple to their parents and plan to investigate further the next day.  Steve is certain that he saw a monster and with the help of Jane, leaves his house to investigate, discover that there is indeed a large blob attacking the city.  Throwing all understanding of authority to the wind, Steve wakes the town up in time to avoid a huge attack at the local theater, thus leading to the police acknowledging the problem.  After a fearfully being trapped in a dining car, Steve, Jane and a handful of other people discover that the blob is fearful of cold things and using CO2 fire extinguishers, manage to keep the monster at bay long enough to have the government transport it to the frozen tundra of the arctic, with the suggestion that such a method of suppression is only temporary.

Indeed, it is the very notion of having to freeze this beast that carries the most anachronistic reference to the Cold War, wherein a decidedly scientific form of attack destroys a monster that expands inexplicably consuming humans in its path.  The idea of an entity growing and consuming those around it was one of the major fears of the Cold War, especially in regards to communist rhetoric and ideology.  I would posit, however, that the narrative of The Blob, is not one of a cautionary tale against the assumed threats of communism, although, a case could be made for it being a drawn out fire safety PSA!  I would be more inclined to suggest that much of The Blob is concerned with dealing with lingering traumas and the affect they have on youthful bliss.  Many references are made to characters having experienced loss in their past, particularly the police chief whose wife, it is suggested, died in an unfortunate traffic accident.  His particularly vindictive attitude towards the teens in his town, exists because the other person in the accident happened to be young.  Yet his angry disillusionment is not the only one that exists, indeed another man makes considerable note of his own angst as a World War II veteran who finds the decided decadence and indifference of late 50's America baffling and disconcerting.  As such, a particular malaise seems to cloud over the town, affecting Steve, Jane and the other teenagers, not physically but emotionally, making it as though they are criminals and trouble even when at their most innocent, or in the case of Steve most inclined to help.  The presence of The Blob, then comes to represent a physical manifestation of this malaise and trauma, one that the the adults and authorities in the community want to ignore, because doing so allows them to attain a degree of power and complacency through ignorance, yet when the monsters reality becomes far too large to ignore, Steve and the other young people's wild delusions of grandeur become a reality.  The adults must face their literal monster(s), one that continues to grow until they learn to freeze and suppress it, although it does always carry the possibility of reemerging.  Also, it is worth noting that the movie theater scene, could almost exist now as a metaphor about the way Cold War propaganda seeped into American culture, here in a very literal sense.

Key Scene:  While the movie theater moment is the obvious answer here, I want to make note of a monologue Steve McQueen gives earlier in the film after the realization of the blob coming from space. He speaks about things becoming not about him and Jane, but about the universe as a whole, thus changing the meaning of every action.  For a film of such a low budget and action oriented plot, this has to be one of the great existential moments of pondering ever filmed.

I had a chance to catch up with the Criterion bluray.  It is spectacular and a crisp transfer.  One that is almost worth nabbing for the menu screen alone and to check out more excellent posts from The Summer Under the Stars blogathon, head on over to Sittin' on a Backyard Fence and ScribeHard on Film for blogs about Steve McQueen movies, as well as a ton of other great stars from the classic years of Hollywood.

She Finally Got Harry All To Herself: Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman (1958)

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman is one of those movies that everyone is quite culturally aware of even if they have never seen the film, which was certainly the case for me up until last night, yet I could have identified a shot of a towering woman next to power lines with very little difficulty.  As a B-movie, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman suffers from some absolutely awful special effects, while also possessing some moments of incredibly captivating cinematography and experimentation, a moment involving a crystal ball immediately comes to mind.  Given the title of the film alone, it is really obvious as to why it would be included in this month of women in film blog posts, yet clocking in at barely over an hour, I was taken back by how little of the narrative is focused on the iconic image that every seems to glean from the film.  In fact, for being a film with such a straightforward title, it is ostensibly about a couple of guys dealing with the wrath of a woman, whose vengeance is more than justified.  It is of course a movie from the fifties, and a B-movie at that, it is always a dangerous risk to assume that any film from that era and style is anything but highly misogynistic.  Of course, that is not to entirely dismiss the film, considering that its metaphor on woman uprising against the wrongdoings of her husband, when it does occur, is with such intensity and commitment that its almost as large as the woman to which the title refers.  I would never place this film on the same very high pedestal as that of Carnival of Souls, but I do think that its much better than simply a cult classic and exists as a very key text when considering the depiction of women, particularly within American cinema.  It also manages to keep within the framework of the fear of the unknown, in this case, giant martian aliens, as a metaphor for concerns of nuclear fallout and the Cold War.  Sure a thousand arguments could be made for how Attack of the 50 Foot Woman could have been so much more than what is offered, but to be fair, it also could have been so much less, what is given is considerably revolutionary, if not quite hilarious at times.

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman focuses primarily on a town whose recent visitation by aliens, in the desert at the outskirts of their town, seems to affect little in relation to their daily lives.  In fact, the opening sequence of a newscaster explaining what exactly is occurring in regards to the giant orbs and martians occupying space outside the town, yet, aside from a few passive mentions of it, the townsfolk seem quite indifferent to its existence, instead, spending much more time focusing on the issues and arguments of a popular couple in town.  The two people in question, Nancy (Allison Hayes) and Harry Archer (William Hudson) are constantly at odds with one another, particularly Nancy towards Harry, who is seemingly always attempting to win over the affections of a much younger woman named Honey Parker (Yvette Vickers).  In an attempt to ignore the face of reality, Nancy continually consumes alcohol and bemoans Harry for his actions, yet in his slick ways, Harry always flashes his charm to get Nancy to forgive him in the end.  However, when she returns from a drive out to the desert spouting about seeing a giant green man, Harry believes her to have completely insane and, as a result, drugs her into submissive indifference.  Problems grow, literally, when the drugs Harry has given Nancy begin to react to something in her body, which it is later revealed changed upon her encounter with the martian in the desert.  A series of doctors and nurses come in with the intent of fixing the problem, however, as she continues to grow the efforts fail and a giant version of Nancy breaks from the confines of her chains and begins a quest to find Harry.  The enlarged version of Nancy is so focused in her goal that she begins, unintentionally trampling everything in her path, much to the distress of two hapless cops, until she makes it to the bar where Harry is hanging out with Honey.    Harry attempts to shoot at Nancy to no avail, and grabs him from the bar and raises him above her head.  It is not until a cop uses a riot gun to blow up electrical wires onto Nancy that she is subdued and returned to regular size, killing both herself and Harry in the process, but as an onlooker notes, she has finally obtained the one the she desired, the sole possession of her husband.

The main embrace of this movie is rather obvious in its clearly stated metaphor.  A woman grows to incomprehensible proportions and exacts her wishes and desires upon a man who has to a great degree done her wrong, particularly in his willful infidelity and indifference to destroying her body in the name of comfort, but considering that this portion of the narrative is so very brief, it is important to consider the larger commentaries of the film.  Firstly, it does ask questions about what role a woman has in deterring her husband from doing wrong by her, when she has little power within a societal or legal context.  Essentially, Nancy is able to bemoan the actions of her husband but cannot forbid him from doing so, similarly, the town seems to look down on Harry's relationship with Honey, yet they also know that it is out of their jurisdiction to correct his behavior and, purposefully, play ignorant to Nancy inquiries.  While the out-lash is blown to giant proportions, again, very literally, it is quite possible that the film connects a link between violent and single-minded outbursts, in this case the trampling of cars, power lines and buildings, to being tantamount to a fit of alcohol induced rage on the part of Nancy.  Nancy is indeed a lush, the film makes that quite clear, and, in fact, serves as the major factor into peoples refusal to believe her initial claims about seeing giants.   The problems faced by Nancy and Harry also find themselves comfortably entrenched within class privilege, their house is extravagant and Nancy possesses both fine jewelry and enough money to be a functioning alcoholic, therefore, they can also comfortably blow their issues out of the water, where as, others would be forced to internalize such issues, particularly women, whose reliance on men would require them to cower in fear and dependency, as opposed to blow up in revolution and independence.  Nancy is not the ideal figure for woman's radical stand against the patriarchy, yet considering the time period and her well-to-do status she is the realistic figure.  If it were not for the rather defeatist, and clear homage to King Kong, ending,  its frank consideration of privilege and societal navigation, and, ultimately, reconsideration of gender power dynamics would be damn near perfect.

Key Scene:  When Nancy finally breaks out of the house, her destruction of the domestic is so well realized and visually driven that it is hard not to revel in its occurrence.

This is an awesome b-movie that stands in considerable opposition to the male-oriented works of the same time, if only for the last ten minutes.  What makes it greater is that it has some moments of visual magic that are quite fresh to even by expanded cinematic palette.  I highly recommend grabbing a copy for your collection.

It Won't Stop Bleeding!: I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

Considering that it is Women's History month here in the beloved United States I have taken it upon myself to dedicate the blogposts this month to all things related to women in film.  I, of course, realize that this task will shape up much differently than the manner in which my horror film fest did, since the topic is far more obtuse and certainly more problematic.  I will use this time to explain what I mean by women in film, in the cases of some of the films I plan to view, they will be considered for their place in cinema history as "women's films," while others will specifically focus on films directed by women or involving pivotal moments in the history of women in films.  In many other instances I will look at a film for its positive portrayal of women as cinematic subject, and as will be the case with the first film I review, I Spit On Your Grave, I will also consider the problematic moments in the realm of women in film, specifically the rape-revenge film, a genre that lasted far too long in the late seventies and all too unfortunately appears to be making a come back in the past few years.  This is not to say that rape is always problematic in film, considering that it is often used as a political statement, or as a reflection of historical realities, so much so that it is necessary for viewers to be made viscerally aware of its existence.  I picked out I Spit On Your Grave specifically, because it has proven to be a decidedly divisive film within film theory circles, some stating that it is an absolute story of radical feminism destroying the patriarchy, while others are certain that it only exploits female sexuality at the expense of real rape victims, in so much so that the main character is naked for most of the film and seems driven by sexual desire to engage in the violent acts.  I would argue that, while the film is certainly not void of problems, it also manages to tap into a few moments of truly revolutionary cinema intended to vilify, and deservedly so, the act of rape and make clear its context as a means of power politics and not sex.  The X rating slapped on this film is both unfortunate and understandable considering that its graphic nature is absolutely necessary for the subject matter and were it not for the existence of Cannibal Holocaust I would say this is one of the most captivatingly grotesque films ever realized.

I Spit On Your Grave centers on Jennifer Hills (Camille Keaton) an aspiring writer from New York who finds herself a cottage in a reclusive small town with the hopes of churning out her first novel.  However, her arrival as a single and considerably attractive young female sparks the interest of a handful of young men, particularly the mentally troubled, Matthew (Richard Pace) who becomes obsessed with the sexual openness of Jennifer.  Matthews three friends begin to mock him for his clear infatuation with the girl from New York insinuating that he only likes her because she flashed her breasts at him.  Regardless, the group sees this as an opportunity to help the troubled young man get laid and use their motorboat to trap Jennifer while she is canoeing.  What follows is a series of degrading rapes in which the individuals take their turns with Jennifer, allowing her moments to escape only to trap her again and have their way with her, even Matthew partakes in the activities, although he becomes embarrassed by the presence of his friends and becomes impotent in the process.  After the guys lose interest they send Matthew to attempt to kill Jennifer, but, yet again, he fails to do so leaving Jennifer to survive.  At first it appears as though Jennifer will just deal with her drama by internalizing it and putting it into her writing, yet something changes when she discovers a gun, leading her to exact her revenge out upon the various men, beginning with the hanging of Matthew, followed by an intense castration of another in the group and eventually ending by running one of the men over with the motor of the boat.  Jennifer is then shown using the motorboat to ride away from the entire event, likely as a means to escape, but also a means to move beyond and transcend her terrible past.

The statement of this film is considerably hard to navigate, because it is very much about destroying the act of rape by making the individuals engaging in such acts disappear, but as any humanist would argue the answer to acts of violence is not another act of violence, which clearly seems to be the suggestion within I Spit On Your Grave, hell, a solid hour of the film is committed to these violent moments.  Yet, the film also draws attention to the lack of fulfillment Jennifer receives from simply pouring her pain into writing, especially when she is aware that the men, for all intents and purposes, are walking the streets capable of doing the same acts.  It is at this point that one must carefully make a statement about what the metaphor of the film evokes, it is possible that the murders are to reflect a activist stance, in that action is always more viable than words, however, the larger reaching effects of Jennifer's actions are called into question, when one man's wife and children dismiss him, completely unaware of his being castrated only scenes earlier, perhaps it would have been better for Jennifer to simply make his wife aware of his terrible behavior, at the very least, the film offers that venue as a viable alternative.  I am not completely prepared to give this film a pass, because it does have a heavy degree of exploitation within its narrative, the amount of time Jennifer is naked is somewhat unnecessary and aside from a few moments of brilliant cinematography it is uncomfortable, the film fails to provide an equal amount of male nudity as a means to disavow the exploitative element.  Where I do want to focus praise is in the films very real acknowledgement that rape is classless, in so much, that Jennifer is a considerably well-to-do individual and even her class safety does not afford her sexual protection and the domineering, working class men, will use their masculine, phallic privilege as a means to contest her empowerment.  It is one of the few blatantly well-done moments in the film and at the very least deserves mentioning.

Key Scene:  The cleansing scene about midway through the film is both disturbing and masterfully shot and causes a dismissive viewer to pause in their refusal to embrace the controversial narrative.

I Spit On Your Grave is a Netflix watch instantly film and is probably the best means with which to view this film, although be warned, the volume is awful.  Also, I promise some of the future installments for the month will be more in the positive.

They Came In Here And Played God Damn Songs For Kids: Miami Connection (1987)

Stupid Cocaine!, was only one of the many phrases uttered in what may well be one of the greatest rediscoveries in the history of film.  Sure Miami Connection, is not on the level of somebody unearthing a great haul of Japanese Silent Films, nor is it really even something of great social relevance, however, what Miami Connection is indeed, is a reminder that sometimes a really awful movie can have enough heart, earnest misdirection and absurdity to emerge like a phoenix into the loving arms of cinephiles with even the most refined of tastes.  I often wax poetic on this blog about films reminding me that there are some serious issues occurring in our society as they relate to oppression, inequality and ignorance and while this is certainly not any less true on the blog today than it was before viewing this b-movie magic, I can say with a heavy degree of certainty that Miami Connection provided me with a welcomed escape from concern into a world of b-movie bliss.  One review of this rediscovered, now cult-classic suggested that it stands alone as a singular proof of the existence of God, and while I am certainly still an atheist at heart, I kind of got where the reviewer was going, because the perfect combination of absurdity and earnestness appears otherworldly almost transcendent of explanation.  A uneven stew of jump cuts, accidental breaking of basic filmmaking rules, the most incomprehensible storyline ever produced, and some of the most insanely misguided acting ever provides viewers with a spectacle for the ages.  Often when I am engaged with a film and can sense my own being pulled towards the screen it is for a deeply perplexing or philosophically engaging film, when it comes to Miami Connection it is due entirely to my own inability to comprehend the madness unfolding before my eyes.  Often with classic of a cult status they begin decent and split at the seams within moments, however, Miami Connection never has itself together, yet the film has so much heart and passion poured into it by the director, actors and all others involved that it almost formulates a perfect film in effort alone.  In all its synth rock and tae-kwon-do gloriousness, Miami Connection is a film for the ages and begs to be brought back to live and viewed by anyone willing to reconsider their understanding of cinema, a veritable gift from the movie gods if you will.

Miami Connection centers on the challenges faced by a Orlando based synth-rock band named Dragon Sound, who also happen to engage in tae-kwon-do during their free time.  The group consists of an ethnically varied group of men, including their leader and tae-kwon-do grandmaster Mark (Y.K. Kim), the bass-slapping lanky new wave kid John (Vincent Hirsch), the jerry curled Jim (Maurice Smith) whose quest to reconnect with his father proves a major plot point, as well as the unusually hairy John Oatesesque Tom (Angelo Janotti), as well as the soft-spoken, yet anti-drug use spouting Jack (Joseph Diamand).  The group struggles to be taken seriously as a musical act, considering that club promoters and musicians assume them to be a child's act with their kung-fu heavy performances.  Yet, while they do indeed get into a series of street fights over this issue of what could be described as band territory, it is, ultimately, a run in with a set of cocaine dealing ninjas that seems to push the narrative along, and yes you read that absolutely correct, the eventual villain within Miami Connection proves to be a ninja who deals in drugs in Florida, although that may not be as absurd as it sounds, after all it is Florida.  John, in all his Michael Phelps look-alike glory is also forced to contend with one of the ninja cohorts, who has not taken the dating of of his sister by John lightly leading to yet another set of fights, one in which the bearded brother is killed, although Jim reminds his girlfriend that it had to be done, and she certainly seems quite indifferent to it all happening.  Although the fights are important and the band's success is key to the plot...in theory, it all boils down to Jim finding his father and the last act of the movie certainly causes one to consider its possibility of occurring, ultimately, ending with a message of world piece and unity through nothing other than the martial art of tae-kwon-do, and of course, by ridding the streets of that "stupid cocaine."

I almost laugh at myself for trying to consider the critical theory as it relates to such an absurd piece of cinema, that is essentially about using the tenants of a martial art to create unity, however, there is seriously something to be said about how homoerotic the film Miami Connection proves to be, in fact, if it were not for the presence of John's girlfriend it would be really easy to describe the members of Dragon Sound as a group of gay orphans living in Orlando while practicing tae-kwon-do and music.  I mean nobody ever appears to wear a shirt and when they do it is lacking as much material as humanly possible, take for example their band shirts, which I would go out of my way to own, were it not for a considerable lack of sleeves.  While it may seem in jest to consider the homoerotic tendencies in this film, one must remember that it is assumed to be a group of young male orphans under the tutelage of an older sagely tae-kwon-do master, even if it is completely paternal, one cannot help but to consider the latent sexuality present in such a relationship, even if purely unconscious.  Again, I cannot ignore the severe lack of shirts being worn within this film, by both the members of Dragon Sound, as well as the villains they face who are disgusting and evidence of everything gross I experienced a few years back in Daytona Beach, and what my friend describes as equally disgusting in Panama City.  It is a particular strain of hypermasculinity in which the half-naked violent body seems to be praised, again tying to some obviously latent homoerotic desires, especially considering that the bad guys seem intent on using passive homophobic slurs as a means to criticize Dragon Sound.  Hell there is also something to be said about an Asian-American ninja dressed in white and his lackeys all dressed in black riding around on motorcycles, although it is much easier just to use the 80's as an excuse for that.  Ultimately though, Dragon Sound does some rather nice things in terms of promoting racial unity in America, and it is solely the result of group tae-kwon-do.

Key Scene:  The scene in which Jim professes his desire to take a shower before everyone else evolves into some god damn poetic realist art in a matter of minutes.

Buy this movie and buy extra copies to send to your friends with no explanation whatsoever.  It needs to be as much a force cult classic as it is an accidental discovery.  Trust me, there is a time in your film viewing life before Miami Connection and one after, the latter being much more enriched.  The folks at Drafthouse Films saved this work from obscurity so buy a copy from them or Amazon immediately as a  much deserved thanks.

My Dear, You Cannot Live In Isolation: Carnival Of Souls (1962)

For the final film of my Halloween oriented cinema spook-fest, I decided to go with the indelible cult classic, Carnival of Souls, which has become one of the premier scare movies that is....well, criminally under-appreciated.  For some time Carnival of Souls fell the way of dubbed copies and public domain twenty set movie releases, only to get somewhat of a resurgence after being shown at various independent theaters, as well as making constant appearances as a midnight movie.  In a matter of no time, Carnival of Souls became the movie to watch if you thought you were cool and knew the classics of horror, and deservedly so, Herk Harvey's only feature length work is something to be witnessed.  As is the case with many a b-movie, it starts off quite bland with some lees than stellar action shots and some of the worst dubbing imagined in a movie where the actors are speaking the same language.  However, less than ten minutes into this cinematic wonderscape, it becomes very apparent that Carnival of Souls will not be your run of the mill work and exists as something far creepier and thoroughly inexplicable.  It is hard not to see the clear influence this film has on directors like David Lynch and Steven Sodergbergh who love taking a completely normal scenario and inserting incredible amounts of absurdity into them without the characters seeming to completely fall apart in the wake of said deconstruction of the natural.  It could be argued that Carnival of Souls has very few scary moments within its entire seventy or so minute narrative, but I would contest that it is a far greater thing than simple scares when it comes to Carnival of Souls, for the entire diagetic world created within this film is scary, the landscapes defy logic, the characters interact in a vapid and disconnected manner, often engaging one another with such levels of paranoia that it is hard to feel comfortable.  Not to mention we are watching a woman slowly fall into such a existential mentality that her sanity begins to blatantly betray her, it is scary in a way many films are not, it does not provide you with explanations as to why ghost A is showing up or why ghost B is so damn mean, it simply places you in media res to a horror story directly consuming on persons life, and in this case Carnival of Souls may have been the first to commit such an approach, and is certainly yet to be challenged.

Carnival of Souls follows a young woman named Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss) who is still centering her world after being the sole survivor of a rather unfortunate accident in which a car including her and her friends goes spiraling off the side of a bridge.  Shortly after her lucky survival Mary discovers that she will be taking a job in Utah as a church organist, something for which she somehow managed to get a college degree.  Upon her arrival to the small town things seem underwhelming with the exception of a rather contentious land lady and a incessant neighbor who feels it necessary to hit on her at what appears to be literally every waking moment.  During a trip to work, she notices a carnival in the horizon, which causes her to experience heightened states of paranoia, something that was initially signaled by her seeing a ghostly deep-eyed male apparition.  During a day of shopping, Mary experiences a delirium in which nobody seems to acknowledge her existence, despite her yelling and calling attention to herself.  This inspires her to investigate the carnival she previously saw on the road, an event that takes her through a bizarre house of illusions and on one of the most decrepit boardwalks ever filmed.  All the while she attempts to travel through her daily life, eventually being fired from her organ job after falling into a daze dreaming about the carnival and playing what the priest describes as profane music.  Furthermore, she has a falling out with the neighbor who takes her on a date and complains about her cold demeanor and disconnect, taking particular disdain in her refusal to to drink the beer that he paid out of pocket for her to have.  Eventually after another bizarre vision of being unable to contact the living Mary returns to the carnival only to find herself being chased by ghastly apparitions from the carnival.  After falling into the sand, the scene cuts to detectives as they attempt to track down Mary's body, noting that she seems to have just disappeared into the sand, while we are then shown Mary's corpse being extracted from the river, along with her friends in the car of the original accident.  It may be an overused plot twist at this point in film, but I can imagine it was quite the twist fifty years ago.

Carnival of Soul's in notable in its approach to a uniquely female experience of haunting and paranoia.  While the film does problematically incorporate notions of hysteria a bit more than is justified, it does manage to make it quite distinct that much of the experiences of horror plaguing Mary are a result of her  detachment from society based on gender.  To some degree, one could incorporate Simone de Beauvoir's notions of "the second sex" in order to explain why Mary is so distraught.  Sure she is seeing ghosts, but all of the threatening ghosts are notably male and could represent a means of patriarchal oppression, which relegates her to a position of lesser being and therefore irrelevant to societal discourse.  If we consider Mary as an other in the context of this film, it helps to explain her moments of being ignored by society as not her being a ghost, but rather; a being who realizes that in the context of the early sixties that her body is not only defined as lesser than a male, but also so arbitrary that it is literally overlooked by males who do not want to lose their point of power, as well as by women who have internalized the notion that they are lesser than their penis bearing counterparts.  Even the scenes of Mary's interactions with her neighbor reek of the sexual assumptions of the era, in which a man is able to traipse about sexually preying upon women and chastising them when they do not put out, going so far as to call Mary cold, a clever play on her being deceased, as well as a common term for a woman who even remotely cared about her sexual identity during the time.  Sure the film is absolutely a ghost story and a very good one at that, but it is not impossible to read heavily into the revolutionary questioning of gender constructs and performance within the text, after all it was a B movie that is where one could break free from the mold of normalcy with great success.

Key Scene:  There is a particular scene in the dance hall involving sped up dancing that is, factually, the scariest thing ever put on film.

Buy this movie, I would love to tell you that Criterion is going to re-release the work in high definition, but it tragically does not appear to be the case.  As such the DVD will have to suffice.

For Your Awareness: Starcrash (1978)

In 1977, the world of sci-fi would forever change with the introduction of the masterpiece Star Wars.  It would be a harbinger of great and well-known space exploration movies, such as Alien and Serenity.  These movies in their own right would receive critical acclaim and advance what viewers came to expect from special effects in space movies.  This blog is not in any way about such a film, instead; it is about a little known Star Wars rip-off called Starcrash, a film that was directed and produce by Italians, but involved a slew of American and British actors.  However, to call it a rip-off is a bit problematic, because to be fair, the producers of Starcrash realized the imminent success of the Star Wars franchise and rushed a film into production.  Using a large amount of character arcs and plot twists from the now famous franchise, Starcrash exists as one of those so terrible it is endearing films that makes its rounds at midnight movie showings and on best cult classics lists.  It appears to border between taking itself completely seriously and not trying to push itself beyond its clearly restrained budget.  Furthermore, you can imagine that any movie involving David Hasselhoff, but the best part of this film comes from an inspired performance of recent Academy Award winner Christopher Plummer.  Essentially, Starcrash is glorious in its seemingly unending amount of "what the..." moments.

I will not bother with a plot explanation here, because it clearly parallels Star Wars in many ways and part of the enjoyability is making these connections during the viewing experience.  Not to mention it has a John Barry soundtrack that is both zany and grandiose.  I will instead tell you to keep an eye out for a few things throughout viewing Starcrash.  First off, continuity is thrown out the window in the film, something that makes a sci-fi film function.  Pay close attention to the amount of ships mentioned in any fight, this will help prove my point.  Secondly, the character of Elle (L) is magnificent, voiced by British folk musician Hamilton Camp, who dons a terrible American Southern accent, and is undoubtedly one of the funniest and most likeable parts of the film.  Thirdly, the women in the films are all ex-models, including one former Bond girl, Caroline Munro, and boy do they go through wardrobe changes, in many instances for no apparent reason.  However, as I noted before, the best part of this film is without a doubt Christopher Plummer.  He delivers monologues with such gravitas that you wonder whether or not he realized that everyone else round him could not act to save their lives.  From turn of the neck line deliveries to yelling out to "stop the flow of time," Plummer's performance culminates in one of the most ridiculous closing monologues ever put on film.  I hope one day to find it on the internet, because I will probably attach it to everything I post. 

Please do yourself a favor and buy this film on Bluray, it is worth getting and sharing with your friends.  Plummer, painted models, scantily clad women and Hasselhoff all combine for the makings of a filmic drinking game.  Also, I hear the commentary is something of unprecedented nerdom.  Shortly after watching you will become a "Crashhead," I know I am myself.

Everyone Knows Monsters Prefer Blondes: The Toxic Avenger (1984)

There are movies that are ungodly bad, so bad that you shutter at the thought of watching them, yet cannot help but love them.  The Room, Plan Nine From Outerspace, Reefer Madness and even Evil Dead.  In the same vein is the gore-filled, nausea inducing social criticism that is The Toxic Avenger.  I have many bad movies, but to be honest this one lives in its own world.  A cross between a drug PSA and an awkward low budget porn film, The Toxic Avenger starts terrible and only gets exponentially worse.  With that being said I still thought it was an amazing movie...for being self-aware mess.  I laughed at the film out of confusion and befuddlement and was thrown for a few plot loops, which was a surprise given its rather trite narrative.  Ignoring the moment of blackface and perpetual misogyny throughout, The Toxic Avenger is terribly mind numbing.

The plot focuses on a town named Tromaville that is literally decaying in its own filth, whether it is from the ever expanding landfill, beligerent sex-crazed youth, or the corrupt local government.  In fact, the only character with any sense of decency is the local janitor Melvin (Mark Torgl) whose awkward demeanor and unflattering looks make him the butt of everyone's jokes.  One day a group of youth take their mocking a bit too far and chase Melvin around the local gym leading him to jump out a window in a panic, landing in a vat of toxic waste in the process.  Melvin's body sets aflame and begins to boil, yet the kids only laugh at this assuming it to be another level to Melvin's goofy ways.  The film eventually leads to a crime scene in which a group of thugs attempts to berate the one good cop in the entire city, at the point in which it appears that the cop is done for, a large green beast of a person appears to save him.  The thugs assume this entity to be nothing and attempt to fight it, quickly realizing that this creature is immune to all forms of physical attacks.  After defeating this group, leaving only their corpses and mops in the wake, the monster makes papers as the new law enforcement for a town void of justice.  The town even begins wearing shirts that say "I Heart The Monster Hero."  It is not until the monster comes to meet a blind girl named Julie (Cindy Manion) that the creature's identity is revealed.  The monster is none other than the janitor Melvin whose out to with an unquenchable thirst to end bad actions, and to seek revenge to those who mocked him.  The film follows suit in these terms, having The Toxic Avenger face off against the crime-ridden town, eventually coming face to face with The National Guard who decides to spare the monsters life when they realize the monster is in love with a blind girl.  The film ends on a high note positing that The Toxic Avenger will protect the town for years to come, or for at least three more sequels.

I noted the social critique present within The Toxic Avenger as being rather obvious.  While I would be hesitant to applaud such blatant use of imagery to make a social statement, I am making an exception for The Toxic Avenger.  I would instead suggest to others that this film makes a great tool to teach your skeptical friends about film criticism.  In the past few years, I have had many people comment on the implausibility of film as a medium for social critique.  Now do not get me wrong, some films do lack critical value (Think Michael Bay), but are rewarding in artistic elements or pure enjoyment.  The Toxic Avenger certainly doesn't possess the later, but is saturated with the former.  The film was made in the mid-80's a time in which American face increasing urbanization, a growing drug problem and a continuing severance of the nuclear family.  This film is a reflection of that, even if the mirror is a bit grimy and shattered.  It is arguably similar to Spike Lee or Martin Scorsese's films of the era, but without the same budget or maturity.  The idea that the film posits about cleaning up America is obvious and easily accessible, making it a perfect segue film for those burgeoning film critics you may no, and even if they are unable to grasp it after this film, at least you got them to sit through one of the most bizarre movies in existence.  I guess the idea here is to share it for its message, not for its artistic value.

I cannot full out recommend this film to readers, although I plan to get myself a VHS copy as soon as possible.  However, if you like the bizarre, and are a fan of B-movie sloshfests then I would suggest getting a copy of the film in any media form available, it visually will not make a difference, it is a rare gem that is only improved by outdated technology.