No Mothafucka Tells Me When I Can Split: Super Fly (1972)

Well it has officially been the longest amount of time I have spent away from the blog since its inception.  Usually, I have some reason for a two to three day split that is tied to being out of town or simply not having a film with which I feel passionate enough to devote a few paragraph to at any great length.  This most recent stepping away though is wholly due to the notable shift in my life priorities, ones that have led to me spending a very very large amount of time at school (four graduate school courses proving time consuming).  I am also working on a few film related conference presentations as yet another work for publication!  As such, this blog which has always served as a sort of space of reflection will serve, at least for the next few months, as a space where I might occasionally reflect on a film or two, as I will be dumping almost all of my time into research (whispers that it might involve Godzilla are abound).  Furthermore, while it is still in the early, early planning stages there is also a plan for me to become involved with a podcast, one that will invariably help me to gain exposure to the world of film review and criticism that will be a welcome alternative to my enjoyable, but, nonetheless, taxing work in academic film writing.  With that in mind, I am still catching up with as many films as possible, quite a few I had hoped to share on the blog, but am only now coming back to review Super Fly a film that I had been quite hoping to watch some time ago.  Stuck inside because Columbia, SC has managed to actually receive snow, it is the only thing I am aware of that is cooler than the temperatures outside and is quite indicative of everything that has made the blaxploitation sub-genre, not a thing to mock and dismiss, but something that is wholly embrace by cinephiles.  Taking on filmmaking in a way that is both noticeably amateur, but also quite in tune with neo-realist filmmaking practices, Super Fly is nothing, if not a fantastic character study and time capsule of a moment in black urban thought.  Edited frenetically and pushed forward with a poised pace, the film would be quite respectable on its own.  Adding the superb soundtrack of Curtis Mayfield only makes it something extraordinary.

Super Fly focuses on the struggles of characters in black urban New York City as they exist involved to varying degrees in the trafficking, selling and using of cocaine.  At the center of this entire trade is Priest (Ron O'Neal) a cocaine dealer himself, who occasionally takes a sample from his own stash.  Yet, tired of being nothing more than a pusher man for the higher ups in distribution, Priest gets a wild idea and believes that with the help of his partner and fellow cocaine distributor Eddie (Carl Lee) that they can make one swoop of success over cocaine sales that will help the two remain rich for years to come.  After pushing and prodding their former drug source Scatter (Julius Harris) the two are able to get in contact with the biggest cocaine distributor in the city of New York, one who no surprise has ties to the mob.  When Priest puts his foot down as to both his own legitimacy as a dealer, as well as his own assertion that he will take no degradation on the part of a white man, he is provided with a large amount of drugs and sets about dealing them to the community.  Showing no shame in his actions, he eventually has a run in with the police, who instead of arresting him decide that they want to be in on the profits, allowing them to continue in their distribution as long as they pay a hefty fine to the boys in blue.  Scatter who finally sees this shift in the selling dynamics as his means to escape the city, borrows money from Priest and hopes to flee.  In his exit, however, he is stopped by the police and is forced into a heroin overdose in the back of his own Rolls Royce.  Providing a moment of clarity for Priest, he decides to take his half of the profits and split, using his guile to extract his money from Eddie's home without even the slightest of suspicious on the part of the police.  However, when the chief of police attempts to use firepower as a means to suppress Priest, the empowered ex-drug dealer blackmails him and escapes from the situation unscathed, looking with much hope into his future with money, love and perhaps a lot less cocaine use.

Super Fly might well be the most wholly realized of all the works the complete the blaxploitation cannon, excluding post-genre items that are often looking back on the era with love and admiration, but more importantly a far bigger budget.  As such, gleaning any singular theoretical idea from the films of this era are somewhat of a challenge, because frankly they were engaged in as many social messages as possible in condensed narrative spaces.  Super Fly while it may be about a drug dealer, is certainly also a prophetic warning against the dangers that drugs present not only to the African-American community as a whole, but to all individuals, regardless of race, creed or religion.  Indeed, Priest and those who surround his drug trafficking are aware of the terrible world within which they exist, but their respective decisions are predicated on addiction, survival and feelings of entrapment.  Painting the narrative as something that manifests itself out of white, hegemonic power structures, the presence of the corrupt members of the New York Police Department, take Super Fly from simply being a hip crime thriller, to something with the most profound of Foucaldian implications.  Whether it be the bizarre layers of self-regulation at work when the tenants of the dilapidated slums simply cower in the corner as opposed to mounting a revolution, or Scatter flees from the game only to be killed via forced overdose, the narrative shows the way in which law and its assumed protective status cause people to self-regulate in wild and oppressive ways.  Priest, whose name thus takes on more layers, serves as a counter to this authority and finds means to look back at the authoritative gaze, questioning the grounding of their power and whether or not the figures in charge need to undertake their own self-reguation.  Of course, Super Fly is not a film entirely void of its own problems, most pertaining to its complete lack of positive female characters throughout, aside from those who have direct ties to Priest's worldview.  It is in this narrative structuring that Super Fly becomes a hyper-masculine text, one that is afforded a bit of balance when juxtaposed with pretty much any film involving the headstrong Pam Grier.

Key Scene:  The drug trafficking montage is cinematic in surprising ways.

The DVD for this is quite cheap and well worth grabbing.  Hell the soundtrack is also worth your time.

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.

Lawyers Don't Surf!: Point Break (1991)

The bad movie is a beloved area of movie going and cinephilia all its own.  Between movies with cheesy special effects and some of the worst acting conceivable, one has a wide array of options to view, if they are prepared to completely disavow any respect for cinematic tradition.  Now, these films are treated for their absurd nature with love, many receive far more care and distribution than monumental art house films whose demand simply does not match that of The Toxic Avenger or the bizarre film that is The Room.  These works usually traipse the line of new director establishing themselves and being created on a shoestring budget as passion projects by a group of friends.  Bad movies are bad, but notably they are not cinematic masterpieces.  I would have adhered to this ideology with such a strong voice only yesterday at this time, but then I watched Kathryn Bigelow's 1991 action/surf/buddycop/romatic drama that is Point Break and was required to completely reorganize my understanding of bad movies.  Point Break is everything that should not exist is a respectable piece of cinema blown about over a two hour window, emphasized by hokey camera shots and enough overly forced dialogue to make even these least sensible person to the art of acting cringe.  Pair this with what has to be one of the more curious studies of masculinity and male desire committed to film and I would argue that Bigelow is knowingly creating a terrible film as a means with which to call attention to the medium and the genre itself, appropriating a variety of different genres that deal with masculine identity as a means to critique the genre and show the latent homoeroticism at play in movie going.  Since this film, it would be hard to establish the identity of Kathryn Bigelow as a decidedly feminist filmmaker, one working within the space of masculine war areas to look at issues of identity.  While Zero Dark Thirty is quite a promising departure from her earlier fare, Point Break may well be her masterpiece, if only for its unapologetic attachment to all things bad in cinema as a means to crack into a larger commentary on what is truly terrible about the relationships of viewers and film.  It might have been purely accidental, but Point Break is a post-modern stroke of cinematic negation and deconstruction in the most veiled and backdoor means imaginable.

Point Break focuses on the relocation of burgeoning FBI agent and former football star Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves) a poised, but notably green behind the years guy, who wants to quickly make a big name in the department to move into higher positions.  While Utah is far from pleased with his location matters are made slightly worse when he is assigned with the veteran cop and general wise ass Pappas (Gary Busey) who seems more concerned with playing into conspiracy theories within the department, particularly with their to the books boss Ben Harp (John C. McGinley).  Nonetheless, Utah and Pappas are assigned to work on a case of bank robberies, undertaken by the group known as The Ex-Presidents, a moniker attached for their wearing of presidents masks while enacting the robberies.  While the department has very little to go on regarding the identities of the members of the group, there is a strong indication that their whereabouts are somehow tied to a beach outside of Los Angeles.  As such, both Utah and Pappas are designated to go undercover and discover exactly who is involved in the ordeal, or at the very least to find information regarding the whereabouts of The Ex-Presidents.  Under the guise of being a lawyer interested in surf lessons, Utah finds an in through a local surfer girl named Tyler (Lori Petty) to whom he takes to desiring almost instantly.  It is by Tyler's extension that Utah meets Bodhi (Patrick Swayze) discovering in him a source to all the going-ons in the beach, as well as a friend.  Indeed, Utah seems almost as enamored with Bodhi as he is Tyler, finding his own drive to catch the perfect ride almost saintly.  While Utah continues to chase down leads on the possible members of The Ex-Presidents when a chase and gunning down of a series of neo-Nazi's proves a bust, a minor incident leads Utah to become certain that it is indeed Bodhi and his friends who have been undertaking the crimes all along, putting the still learning cop in a compromising position between friendship and the law.  One that goes sky high in its ambitions and crashes hard in its final outcome.  All with the variants of bro being thrown out along the way.

Sure it would be delightful to just go into the almost impossible incessant variations on the possible spellings of Reeves' and Swayze's respective pronunciations of "bruh," and I am sure this has become a drinking game by this point, but I do have an earnest curiosity directed towards the way in which language, look and performance all sort of coalesce within the space of Point Break to become a dynamic and deconstructed understanding of the male body on display in film and by extension how that male body shares in looking at other bodies both dietetically and non-diegetically.  If one were to read the synopsis for Point Break or to look at the poster, it seems like rather straightforwardly a buddy cop and/or law/justice type narrative, but the reason this film works on a distinctly different level is that it spends so much time--perhaps unnecessarily so--on considering the relationship between Utah and Bodhi, one that often goes unspoken and still possesses a high degree of sexual longing.  The initial encounter between Utah and Bodhi comes at Bodhi's confusion as to why Tyler is now clinging onto the newly present surfer, seeming as though he is jealous of her affections being relocated.  However, this sequence is immediately followed by a game of football where Utah is able to show off his skills athletically, all which culminates in his tackling of Bodhi into the shore of the beach.  While Bodhi's friends call foul, this aggressive touch by Utah seems to awaken a mutual desire between the two, as though the sport allowed them a figurative sexual encounter that goes unspoken throughout rest of the film, emphatically shared when Utah allows the fleeing Bodhi to continue climbing a fence and never stopping him with gunfire.  His hesitation occurs only after the two share an impossible locking of eyes from a great distance.  Other focusing on the male body in curious ways takes precedence over the accidental looking at women that comes after the encounter on the beach, particularly in the scene of the Nazi house bust, where women in the shower are only caught through passing glimpses or mirrored surveillance.  It would suggest that Utah now only cares about looking and watching Bodhi and by extension so should the viewers.  The closing moments of Bodhi's limp body falling into the ocean, juxtapose Utah's own birth-like sequence earlier in the film, one awakening and the other violently repressing.  It is a Freudian "wet" dream if you will, all played out under the guise of simple, bad movie mockery.  Brilliance here comes through a back avenue for those willing to play along with the joke.

Key Scene:  Any time Reeves gets to throw out some surfer talk is glorious, but the real performance of note comes from Swayze whose accent is so realized that he should have done a cameo on the now gone The Californians from SNL.

Buy this on bluray, it is a mess of a movie with a far deeper message.  Indeed, the only initial comparison I can even think to make is my current favorite film of 2013 Springbreakers.

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.

In Heaven, Everything Is Fine: Eraserhead (1977)

What can one possibly hope to understand when writing about a film as complex and openly enigmatic as David Lynch's art house masterpiece Eraserhead.  Admittedly, the first time I viewed this film it was on quite a small screen one that did not aid to the possibility of understanding the layered symbolism at play nor was I able to truly appreciate the ways in which Lynch creates a mise-en-scene so incredibly evocative and absolutely surreals as to serve as a standard for many a filmmaker to follow.  Surely he is borrowing from the likes of Carnival of Souls and other B-movies of years gone by, but Eraserhead is also a precursor to so much of what would occur within body horror and phenomenological horror for decades to follow.  I would never have considered a film like Eraserhead to be an "ideal" big screen viewing, however, I had the great fortune of encountering it is such a way and came to immediately realize that it is precisely what one could hope to gain from seeing something in such a setting.  It is a moving and stirring picture that while far more unsettling than what Tom Gunning probably has in mind, still proves to be a work that exists within the notion of "cinema of attractions," here almost becoming knowingly aware of the ways in which viewers engage with cinema, using jump scares and non-linear narrative in a way that would not come into its most fruitful for at least five more years and in most of those instances by pure accident.  Usually, when I encounter or more recently reencounter early works I am able to pick up on some of their flaws, although always finding myself erring on the side of forgiveness, a fact attributed to my love for Jarmusch's sloppy but endearing Permanent Vacation or Kubick's sporadic yet scathingly focused indictment of war that is Fear and Desire.  It is a rare feat however for a filmmaker to approach their initial works with such fervor and focus, an attribute I would be more apt to direct towards the New Wave Directors, or someone like Wes Anderson whose Bottle Rocket is still the highest achievement of his critically and popularly well-received career.  Eraserhead is cinematic expression at its most intimate, proving that such a focused and personal narrative can translate beautifully (if abjectly so) without really meaning anything of certainty to those not personally attached to the director.  Eraserhead is a glimpse into the mind's eye of one of cinema's most evocative and provocative directors and those who have the chance to see it in a large scale setting should do so without hesitation.

Eraserhead focuses rather specifically on the experiences of Henry (Jack Nance) a wandering young man whose life appears to lead him around what is simultaneously a warehouse and his place of residence.   Henry who is apparently a graphic designer, is subject to bouts of paranoid encounters and visions of haunting surreal formats, whether it be an unusual longing and fear for the neighbor across the hall from his apartment, one whose stares and constant providing of information cause Henry to feel incredibly unsafe.  When Henry is informed that his girlfriend Mary (Charlotte Stewart) wants him to come to her family's house for dinner, the degrees of paranoia grow in Henry's mind, leading to the bizarre encounter at the household when Henry meets Mary's parents Mrs. X (Jeanne Bates) and the smiling, oaf of a man Mr. X (Allen Joseph).  The enraged Mrs. X pulls Henry into a side room and demands that Henry admit to engaging in intercourse with Mary, because she has recently given birth to a child and believes him to be the father.  Henry suddenly transports himself to a world where he is living with Mary and their "infant child" the disturbingly deformed bodiless being the whines incessantly, leading to the already mentally unstable Mary to leave Henry to take care of the child all on his own.  This immediately spirals out of control as the infant becomes sick the moment Mary leaves, possessing rashes all over his face and spewing out various fluids uncontrollably. All the while, Henry's connection with reality breaks as he begins to see visions of The Lady in the Radiator (Laurel Near) singing to him and as well as watching her trample what appear to be less developed versions of his and Mary's already deformed child.  In the wildest section of Henry's visions he imagines his head exploding off and falling into the street only to have a child grab his head and take it to a factory where the cerebral cortex of his brain serves as a stem of eraser for men.  Awaking from all of this the maddened Henry takes a blade to the child in frustration assumedly destroying it for good, although it is uncertain as his reality is far too convoluted at this point to be certain of anything, instead, we only know that the disturbed Henry continues to seek solace in the presence of The Lady in the Radiator.

When one searches for theoretical scholarship on Eraserhead, it is most commonly tied to phenomenology in that it is suggested to be a film influenced by personal politics and individualistic endeavors.  As such, Eraserhead can be read as a variety of things, but considering the amount of information provided by Lynch on the film it is worth wholly considering the metaphors within his own admittance of it resulting from his fears of fatherhood.  Indeed while the film does consider Mary's own issues with the child, it is a responsibility thrust upon Henry who is clearly not only inept at dealing with the newly brought about child, but also manages to accidentally make it sick and eventually kill it in a decidedly more active manner.  Henry is assumedly a manifestation of Lynch's own fears ones that are both a suggestion of his own fears of ineptitude with a child, as well as a clear commentary on his burgeoning loss of freedom that invariably emerges when one is faced with adding a life into the world that is purely dependent on another for help.  Of course much more of this exists in a surreal space for Lynch and all is not to be taken literally for to do so would be to stifle things like The Lady in the Radiator as extending to multiple forms of meaning and theoretical possibilities.  I mean thinking about the fact that she is assumedly a small figure living in the radiator of Henry's (and possibly Mary's) apartment that is a projection and point of looking for Henry is incredibly complex and fascinating, although she extends well beyond this issue.  Indeed, her stylized look and Cold War dress sharply contrast her swollen face in an incredibly stirring and decidedly perplexing way.  Furthermore, as phenomenological as the film may be it is easy to see other narratives emerging within the film, indeed my post screening discussion with a few friends resulted in readings ranging from a positing that the film is a Catholic slanted understanding of pro-life issues (I would say a larger statement on abortion anxiety, although problematic in its masculine issues) while others found it to be a burgeoning post-modern text on shifting notions of masculine identity.  All this is plausible and no less possible, even in the phenomenology ideal placed upon this film, because when considering fatherhood and identity these other issues and a lot more come to the forefront, Lynch just proves with Eraserhead to be a pioneer.

Key Scene: In Heaven, everything is fine...

I am waiting with baited breath for the alleged Criterion release of this film, it has HD prints available, but only in the non-region one context. As such patience is of the essence with this viewing, unless, of course, you are afforded a chance to see it on the big screen.

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.

They're Eating The Guests, Sir: Piranha (1978)

Liminality is a word that gets thrown around in a lot of theory circles to discuss that space in between one thing and another, some sort of impossible space that can only be occupied in a transitory phase.  Think of a doorway as an appropriate metaphor to this idea.  I bring up this idea because I can only describe Piranha as a film that exists in the liminal stage between good and bad, in so much that it cannot be quantifiably described as either.  In some cases this sort of enigmatic existence can prove to make the film absolutely captivating, demanding a constant reconsideration of how and why one categorizes a film, whether it be for performances, cinematic value or narrative considerations, even moving on to look at how less quantifiable elements might affect ones relationship with the film.  Indeed, the opening scenes of this film were actually ones that, upon viewing, took me back to childhood having seen the film on some late night screening, much to my surprise considering the use of nudity and violence.  Yet, even in this flittering moment of curiosity I could not get over how middle-of-the-road this film ended up being, at times excelling at its execution, particularly in the use of stop motion early in the story and at other times completely lacking any sense of continuity and structure, jumping from one point of action to another with a less than appropriate edit.  I want so desperately to pick up on the elements that make it a cult classic, but despite a great soundtrack and an overabundance of mocking directed specifically towards Jaws, for which it is clearly ripping off, there is none of the earnestness or absurdity warranting it such a status.  Sure the alcoholic lone man character coming in contact with the doe eyed young investigator has shades of implausibility and humor, but these are not backed up by any sense of creating a narrative arc that plays upon this, even in an uncomfortable and ill-conceived manner.  Piranha is some sort of either/or film in that it is either atrocious or brilliant, but does not carry itself in a way to suggest that it wants to be investigated as such, instead being a work that unfolds in an underwhelming tale of river travel, summer camp coming-of-age discomfort and what might have been a backstory involving corrupt politics.

Piranha begins with a young couple sneaking behind the barriers of a restricted area in order to go skinny dipping in a lake, while their initial endeavor seems harmless if not gross for the area appearing to be a sanitation, when the young man is dragged under the water by an unseen creature, the girl panics swimming away, only to also be captured by the creature, thus beginning the film proper, as a young woman named Maggie McKeown (Heather Menzies-Hurich) enters the area of Lost River Lake, hoping to uncover exactly what happened to the teens from the opening portion of the film.  Knowing that she is unfamiliar with the space she attempts to recruit the help of Paul Grogan (Bradford Dillman) a river guide whose recent divorce has resulted in him forming an absurd degree of alcoholism, one that includes drinking liquor directly from a canteen.  Despite his problems, he agrees to help Maggie and the two immediately investigate the blocked off area, planning on draining the water to see what has happened.  In the process of doing so they are momentarily stopped by Dr. Hoak (Kevin McCarthy) a man who explains himself as an employee of the military that had been working to create a particular breed of flesh eating fish for warfare purposes in the Vietnam, the hatchery just happening to be in Lost River Lake and Maggie and Paul's meddling has unleashed the population into the space of the river, threatening to attack campers and the community alike, all who use the lake as a point of enjoyment.  Indeed, the damage these creatures can cause becomes apparent when one of Paul's friends is attacked while fishing on the dockside resulting in the man's grandson joining in the group as they attempt to evacuate the lake and stifle the infestation of the deadly piranhas.  Paul is also doubly concerned about rescuing his daughter Suzie (Shannon Collins) whose own past fears of the water become manifested when the attacks occur at her camp, proving her somewhat of an asshole camp counselor Mr. Dumont (Paul Bartel) wrong in his criticism.  Simultaneous to all this is the attempts by individuals like Dr. Mengers (Barbara Steele) and Colonel Waxman (Bruce Gordon) to poison the river, hoping that it will kill the fish, although past attempts at such methods have proved equally futile.  Attempts to flood the water prove futile and although the spreading of the fish into the ocean occurs, Mengers goes on the radio to claim that the problems are over, a statement that is countered by the shrill sound of piranhas in the closing shots of the film.

I guess if anything the film was attempting to be a take on the, then, still burgeoning environmental horror film.  Of course, as noted earlier it is blatantly an attempt to counter the status and power of Jaws, often blatantly mocking the film either in subtle ways through soundtrack cues, or more obvious moments as is the case with the Jaws arcade game being shown early on, a notion of child's play being attached to the former, albeit far superior film.  Nonetheless, Piranha flails to make connections between the way in which nature has rebelled against the pollution and degradation enacted by humanity, whether it be political or military oriented, in the clear and blatant ways.  Yet, filmmaker Joe Dante also draws attention to how these groups are far from the only ones engaging in destructive actions, considering how something assumedly beneficial like a summer camp might also double as a look at capitalist desires and overpowering the space of the natural only to be replaced by docks, cabins and other manmade places intended to, ironically, get closer to nature.  This pollution or environment degrade also takes on metaphorical elements within the film, as the individuals who desire to find purity through water (the opening scene skinny dippers) are not only made to be foolish, but also destroyed in their actions.  The act of attempting to harness the environmental to be used in a destructive manner against others, here in the militaristic sense, is also critiqued, shown to be so dangerous that even the concern for justice by one group could result in the annihilation of a river or in a worse case the entirety of humanity.  It takes on a decidedly more poignant, but probably accidental, narrative when it is suggested that these ferocious piranhas were to specifically used in Vietnam, a space of warfare that was particularly troublesome for American troops who found the natural world impossible to navigate, often dying as a result of the fungi, diseases and general lack of basic necessities in the space as opposed to actual violence.  Finally, pollution takes on an interpersonal level with an individual like Paul who seems to want to pursue a Thoreau like return to the natural, but cannot get over his own frustrations and find a space of natural enlightenment, thus becoming a point of personal pollution through his alcoholism.

Key Scene:  The stop motion elements which become arbitrary in the convoluted plot are really quite amazing and lovingly hearken back to films like the low-budget wonder that is Equinox.

This is on Netflix Watch Instantly, it is more a curiosity than a necessary viewing, but to be fair it is also a major work in the narrative of genre film, so watching it for a sense of completist viewing is not illogical.

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.

It Was A Gold Doubloon, Minted In Spain: The Fog (1980)

I know in the years that I have been writing this blog, I have endlessly bemoaned the notion of the "seminal classic" one that has gained a unquestioned reputation and has become hailed as the be all and end all of a certain type of film, this often holds most true in the realm of the horror film, wherein works like The Exorcist and Psycho remain standards, the veritable Beatles or Rolling Stones of the genre.  Indeed, these works deserve such praise for their continual ability to captivate and challenge cinema goes despite being decades old.  Indeed, I would even argue that these works, much like King Kong or Singin' in the Rain suffer from over-hyping to the point where people thing they have already seen a film through some cultural referencing.  However, for todays film I am not particularly interested in these films, but instead ones that were quite evocative for their time, either for reconstituting the genre or for adding a fresh perspective to its possibilities.  Indeed, John Carpenter did just this when he released Halloween in two years prior to The Fog.  Halloween, a film I reviewed last year during this same marathon, stands up and indeed offers itself as a textbook on how to make a proper thriller heavy slasher film.  So when two years later the now well-regarded director offered The Fog it seems as though people consumed it gladly almost as though it were inseparable from its predecessor.  This is all not to say that The Fog is a terrible movie, indeed, it has some quite moody moments and the special effects are beyond stellar.   However, the film is undeniably dated, particularly in its dry sense of comedy a thing still attempting to navigate itself from the seventies minimalism to the overly done style of the eighties.  The tragedy of this film is that it seems to play it same on certain themes or stylistic choices, perhaps signs of budgeting choices, or s simple fact that producers, and probably Carpenter felt more safe going with methodologies that already proved successful.  There is a trajectory about Carpenter's films, at least this is clearly the case in Halloween and The Thing, wherein things start a bit weird and end up in a state of absolute insanity, this same methodology is at work in The Fog, but the attempt and resolution and, subsequent, undermining of this sense of safety is so wrought with heavy-handed nonsensical elements as to make the movie fall short of its assumed cult status.

The Fog focuses on the town of Antonio Bay in California, who are on the precipice of celebrating their towns centennial, despite a night of bizarre events in the town including objects moving about inexplicably and glass shattering.  The towns folk react in various manners, whether it be Stevie Wayne (Adrienne Barbeau) a late night radio disc jockey whose only concern is the safety of her son, or hitchhiker Elizabeth (Jamie Lee Curtis) whose happenstance wandering into Antonio Bay seems to be far from lucky.  It is not, however, until a local clipper ship goes off the radar for an entire night and is rediscovered in a state that would suggest it had been underwater for months that people begin to get truly suspicious, particularly local politician Kathy Williams (Janet Leigh) and her assistant Sandy (Nancy Kyes) who take it upon themselves to track down the local priest Father Malone (Hal Holbrook) whose has gone into hiding upon a discovery of a journal from a century ago that explains the manner with which the early settlers of Antonio Bay purposefully banished a group of lepers from their community for their disease, completely ignoring the willingness of the lepers to live on the outskirts of the town in the first place.  Paired with this history of oppression and a constantly moving fog through the town, it is revealed that this glowing spectral fog entity carries with it a group of undead killers, who strike during the witching hour.  The town afforded this information, or a degree of it at least, manages to spend a day undertaking preventative measures to deny a larger attack, whether it be Stevie moving her son away from a piece of possessed wood he found while walking about the shore, or for Father Malone to attempt and quell the understandably disgruntled spirits of years gone by.  Needless to say, the preparation, while beneficial still does not stifle an attack completely and the various skeptics remaining in the town fall victim to the ghost attacks, most notably Stevie's romantic love interest a local meteorologist, thus leading to a near fulfillment of the late leper's prophecy that six individuals must die to make the initial loss complete.  However, those with a passion for living and a purpose manage to survive accordingly, although in the closing moments of the film it is made rather clear that not all who thought themselves save actually find this to be true.

As I write the somewhat vague synopsis, I am realizing one of the other elements of this particular Carpenter film that made it one of my less exciting viewing experiences.  Having seen Halloween, Dark Star and The Thing, I recall them all centering their narratives either in specifically personal or decidedly confined spaces.  For example, what makes Halloween work so well is that it is almost entirely a confrontation between Michael Myers and Laurie, who is the primary focus of the film.  Sure this film does branch out and show other characters meeting their demise and includes shots of what viewers presume to be Myers following her, but the narrative always returns to her experiences.  In a slightly similar sense, the narratives of Dark Star and The Thing work because they happen in a very small, almost claustrophobic space.  The former, existing in a state of paranoia predicated upon a spaceship that is both a source of constant protection, while also threatening to fall part (indeed as it does) at any moment.  The Thing is scary, precisely because it takes place in the confines of the Arctic, proving, yet again confining, and the horror of every person involved becoming a point of paranoia due to a quickly spreading only adds to this inescapability.  Sure, The Fog is situated within a singular community, but the manner with which Carpenter brings outsiders into this space, or branches out to the very limits of this space become somewhat frustrating to a film that possesses a feeling of frustrating disjointed narratives.  I would posit that to a considerable degree The Fog is at least three different films that were forced together around the premise of one idea of horror, making the impending fog mean different things for the persons involved, none of which carry enough weigh to make the larger film work.  If I did, however, have to chose one for which I wished Carpenter had solely pursued, it would, undoubtedly, be that of Stevie and her son, particularly the sort of anxiety surrounding the discovery of the plank of wood.  Without the excessive narratives of the clipper ship and Father Malone, the impending fog as being solely attached to this wood and thus extending as a metaphor to Stevie's anxiety as a single mother would become brilliant.  Indeed, it would even help to explain some of her dialogue throughout the film.  Unfortunately, this is not the film made available and as such it lacks a high degree of cohesion.

Key Scene:  There are some shots of the fog approaching that work on a great special effects level visually, even for the outdated technology at play.  The soundtrack is also quite nice.

I would watch this purely in terms of becoming a horror classics completist, hopefully, it will prove a far less disappointing experience than I had.

Jason Was My Son, And Today Is His Birthday: Friday The 13th (1980)

If through this marathon I still chose Possession as the best viewing experience, it will be solely because the film proved a far more jarring and cinematically challenging work, one that caused me to reconsider the very nature of the genre and larger confines of cinema as a whole.  If it ends up getting relegated to second place it will be, almost certainly, in relation to Friday the 13th, which may well be one of the most fully realized works in the storied history of horror cinema, both in terms of how it choses to execute its scare tactics, as well as the ways in which it becomes very funny when considered in a post-modern context.  Knocking this off of my shame viewing list has proved quite rewarding and burst onto my screen, much like its title card with such force as to provide me an entirely new film with which to consider how I approach cinematic language both when needing to provide examples as well as in how I understand my own descriptions of cinematic tropes and tricks.  Indeed, the very nature of the camera within this film, much like Possession, proves not only integral to the feel and dread evident in the film, but very much exists as a second character within the plot, one that invades the narrative and changes the mood of scenes, indeed in a very physical manner in this film.  While the point of view shot in Halloween predates Friday the 13th by roughly two years, the use in this teen slasher pic, is so focused and deliberately disconcerting as to almost prove the sole influence on the found footage genre that did, and to a degree still is, sweep American genre film over the past five years.  I know much of the genuinely positive reaction to this film comes from the wonderful bluray upgrade the film has received, almost becoming an absurd simulacra of life in its glossy feel and dreary ethereal quality, yet the other factor that makes this movie work so wonderfully is quite certainly the ways in which it has seeped into the popular culture collective, whether it be through its now iconic soundtrack or for its understanding of the role sex and violence plays into a good slasher film, if not for this its final act, layered with various levels of scares, manages to provide for one of the most tense closing shots, despite choosing one of the most serene images imaginable.

The film begins in 1958 where two camp counselors of the presumably wholesome Camp Crystal Lake sneak away to engage in young teen sex, much as seems to be the case for all camp counseling scenarios.  However, before they can even engage in the act, an of screen presence attacks the man and depicts the screaming visage of the woman, before jumping to a present day depiction of Annie (Robbi Morgan) a young woman who has been hired to to cook at the newly reopened Camp Crystal Lake.  Lost and a bit confused as to why she is being warned about the camp, Annie, nonetheless, obtains a ride to about half way to the camp from a local, despite the warnings of doom that will befall her from the town crazy Ralph (Walt Groney).  The film then cuts to the counselors already present at the camp, including the semi-authoritative, but, ultimately, spineless Steve (Peter Brouwer), as well as the sex-crazed Jack Burrell (Kevin Bacon) and the wise-cracking and somewhat mean Ned (Mark Nelson).  The camp also includes a set of girl counselors, most notably Alice (Adrienne King).  While the camp preparations appear to be going off without a hitch, the failure of Annie to arrive at camp, a result of her being murdered as viewers are shown, doubled with a warning by a local police officer, make for a tense situation at the camp.  When various members of the group start disappearing things become more troublesome, despite varying degrees of ignorance by the other counselors who are either too engaged in games of strip Monopoly or drug induced sex to notice any thing going afoul.  This, however, excludes Alice who immediately becomes aware of the unusual situation and makes certain of her safety as she navigates about the now hyper-threatening space of Camp Crystal Lake, discovering the dead bodies of her friends along the way.  At this point she meets the seemingly innocuous Mrs. Vorhees (Betsy Palmer) only to discover that the elderly woman is indeed the one responsible for the murders, as it was her son Jason who was a victim of neglect in 1958 when the two camp counselors distracted by their own sexual desires, resulted in his drowning.  Mrs. Vorhees has thus taken upon revenge on the space of Camp Crystal Lake and attempts to kill Alice, who eventually evades her and incapacitates her with a frying pan, fleeing to the center of the lake to await the arrival of officers.  However, this sense of safety is quickly undermined as the closing moments suggest more than the vengeful Mrs. Vorhees preside over the space of the camp.

While I have already been made quite aware of the power of gaze and "to-be-looked-at-ness" in cinema through personal research and undergraduate courses in film studies, it has not been until this semester in a Feminism, Media and the Arts course that I have become somewhat hyperaware of how deeply this act goes in film, no more clearly than in this horror film from 1980.  In fact, I would even argue that director Sean S. Cunningham and cinematographer Barry Abrams are having a field day with the notion of the voyeur or looker in the space of genre film.  On more than one occasion in Friday the 13th the viewer is meant to be synonymous with the then unseen attacker, as though to suggest that it is their presence looking onward into the space of the film that is causing the destruction, perhaps were one to never view the film the murders would thus never occur.  I know it is a weird thing to say, considering it sounds as though one should not watch the movie, but it is indeed quite the opposite, it merely suggests on a very psychological and visceral level the ways in which a moviegoer is looking at a moving image with the hopes of consumption, even if such consumption has a high degree of violent destruction.  The thrill of cinema exists in its very fabrication, while also proving wildly realistic thus becoming a sort of reality detached from reality where desires and hopes can be projected on and upon the space of the cinema.  This is precisely what makes Friday the 13th such a post-modern work of cinema, because it is precisely in this projection that the film calls attention to itself, both in terms of the narrative it creates for viewers, as well as noting the ways in which viewers will project their notions onto the space of the film, even if on a cerebral or unconscious level.  We watch the young women run from the camera collectively and while most would agree that murder is wrong, given an awareness of its projected nature we, nonetheless, engage in the act by a complicit involvement in the cinematic experience.  The reversion of the traditional slasher identity adds a gendered component to the look as one assumes the violence to be enacted by a male, through traditional gaze theory, thus adding another layer of post-modern play.  Yet the most clever challenge to the act of looking at the film comes in the closing shot of a serene lake, wherein given previous reveals in the film manages to be so tense and disconcerting as to cause one to look away from the film, the reflective quality of the lake at play, is no less a point of coincidence in the larger consideration of the violent look.

Key Scene:  One of the best opening shots to title card in the history of cinema, without question.

Get this bluray, I accidentally ended up with two copies, so when I post mine to Amazon feel free t buy it and enjoy it in all its genius.

This Stupid Machine Needs A Kick In The Balls: Rats (1984)

Some viewing experiences are made quite better by the inclusion of other people sharing in the insanity or intensity of the cinematic moment.  Other moviegoing is made better by an alteration of perception induced by a few drinks, or for the particularly dangerous mind altering drugs. Then there are some experiences that are made better by both of these elements inclusion, but still manage to exist in a world entirely detached from all logical reason.  Rats, subtitled Night of Terror, is one such bit of madness that was viewed for this marathon at a retro screening taking place at my local indie theater.  Part of the glorious, and seemingly never ending sequence of Italian knock off films from the eighties, Rats is less clear than say, Starcrash, in what it is ripping off, in that it is one part zombie film, one part Mad Max parody and an even more wicked dose of nonsensical exploitation flick that seems almost inconceivable when layered with the classic Italian method of dubbing films, wherein synchronicity is deemed useless.  Even going into this film quite aware of how terrible the product would be, in wildly endearing ways, I was taken aback by how much I found myself consuming its implausibility, both in terms of how indifferent the filmmaker, the infamous Bruno Mattei, seemed in concerns of creating a remotely feasible plot, in so much as it begins with a narration about nuclear fallout that factors so very minimally into most of the film that it almost seems like the intro was an afterthought.  Yet, underneath all the insanity that is Rats lies a film with some moments of genuine excitement, surprisingly not all of which are undercut by some sweet Italian synth music, making for a movie with an incredible amount of laughs, but also a noted last sequence that I cannot shake out of my brain, one that is haunting and absurd simultaneously, as well yet another inspiration for a possible future costume.  Also, a lot of people scream for lengthy amounts of time in this film.

Rats, as noted, exists in a post-apocalyptic landscape, that is allegedly supposed to be Manhattan, where only two things still roam the earth, rats and biker gangs.  One such biker gang, consisting of absurdly named individuals such as Video (Gianno Franco) and black woman Chocolate (Geretta Geretta) find themselves stopping off in the ruins of Manhattan, in an apparent search for food.  Their decision to stop proves quite fruitful when a bar they enter is stockpiled with food, including the highly nutritious items of sugar and flour. Realizing that there was a previous group of people inhabiting the space, the biker gang thinks little of occupying the space for their own, enjoying the provisions made freely theirs, both in terms of sleeping quarters and a botanical garden full of fascinating, but assumedly useless plants.  Indeed, two members of the biker gang feel so very much at home that they begin having sex in a sleeping bag, in the line of sight of the entirety of the rest of their gang.  Yet, despite all their decadent delight, it becomes clear that they are not at all alone, but indeed sharing this space with an inordinate amount of rats, ones that happen to have a penchant for consuming human flesh, or, at the very least, flinging themselves in large droves at human bodies, until the individuals they attack become so scratched and disgusted as to be driven to madness.  Needless to say, the group takes it upon themselves to exact revenge upon the rodents, using everything from antiquated maces to malfunctioning flamethrowers to lay waste to both the rats and all the members of their group suffering from the scratches of the vile creatures.  Yet the rats in their incessant attacks and quickly mounting numbers, begin knocking off members of the biker gang, until only a few of the members remain.  In a narrative jump, a group of hazmat suit wearing humans begin spraying gas into the town, assumedly trying to kill the rats, but when the remaining members of the gang emerge from buildings to confront these exterminators, it becomes clear in a rather intense reveal that perhaps they were also on the docket to be suffocated like rodents.

There are a lot of simplistic film titles in the world, ones that only speak to a layer of the film and in other times there are film titles like Sharknado that give viewers everything they could possibly need to know about the film.  Somehow, completely unbeknownst to me, the title of Rats seems to masterfully cover the film I viewed last night, while also being a terribly misguided suggestion about what the film manages to undertake.  I do not mean to suggest that Rats is a good movie, for it is not, nothing about the film works from a structuralist standpoint, whether it be a complete lack of regard for continuity or a concern for explaining how and where the rats, of their multiple varieties, emerge.  Instead it is simply a post-apocalyptic tale concerning a group of travelers who are quite terrible at understanding, or perhaps accepting, that certain spaces are inhospitable.  Not to lean to heavily on the classic horror film critique of "they should have just left" as it defeats the nature of horror films and their fantastical elements, however, I feel it quite worth noting in the context of this film, because honestly there is no real context as to why the bikers stop, or as to why there was a bunker filled with weird video games, as one member suggests.  Rats almost manages to be a set of film ideas cut together, never really managing to be a single solid work, but again, not to detract from my earnest joy while watching this film, because damn if it was not enjoyable in its lack of continuity.  Even as I sit here and critique these elements of the film, I am also aware of some of its truly captivating moments, whether it is those which occur when a mise-en-scene is formed that manages to incorporate rats into the windows of the background, or the synth actually hits its cue in a great way.  Rats, I guess, is an enigma more than anything else, which has helped it to gain its notoriety, particularly since its begin is in such stark contrast to its captivating ending.  Of course, there is also a real possibility that it is just a bad movie that should only be loved as such, Rats is yet another work from the golden age of Italian blockbuster knock-offs that proves to be a bit more than its intention and for that it should continually be sought out and viewed.

Key Scene: Rat humans.

There are murmurings of a Bluray release emerging soon.  I cannot suggest this release enough, in which case waiting to view it is permissible.