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.

Come On, Leroy, Show Me Something: The Last Dragon (1985)

One of my unofficial life goals is to find the quintessential 80's movie, which does suggest something like The Breakfast Club or Top Gun, wherein it is a cool and well-received film that has managed to attain a timeless appeal.  This is not what I think of when I think of the ideal movie to reflect 80's cinema, I want something, instead, that is so absurdly indicative of the era and all of its will excess as to live in a world entirely all its own.  As it stands two films that reflect this quite well in my mind are Earth Girls Are Easy and Miami Connection, both being completely insane and relatively lesser known for the time.  Nonetheless, between fashions that became dated within the year of the film and soundtracks so influenced by musical shifts from the 80's as to have a place on MTV Classic, more so that their own films.  This quest is completely arbitrary so when I do discover new additions to the choices, I usually just dump them into a Letterboxd list for future reference, making discoveries quite rewarding.  When I began pulling films together for my kung-fu marathon I certainly would never have guessed that any of the films from the marathon would possibly make it into the consideration for quintessential eighties film, but I had also never heard about The Last Dragon prior to it being suggested as an addition to the month of film viewing.  What exists with The Last Dragon is a endearing homage to all things Bruce Lee, that takes a note out of music/dance based films from the time like House Party and Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, while also embracing the post-punk anarchism that has made works like Repo Man and Jubilee possess a long established identity as counter cinema.  Everything about The Last Dragon could have only existed in 1985 and it is a gift of magnificent proportions, proving to be nothing short of a time capsule for what was considered to be cool to urban communities, while creating a surprisingly poignant narrative about race and capitalist privilege.  Furthermore, if one were to consider The Wu-Tang Clan's embracing of kung fu as a pinnacle of its cultural influence, The Last Dragon is certainly one of the more absurd results of its then rising pertinence.

The Last Dragon focuses on the character of Leroy Green (Taimak) whose sole vision in life is to become a martial arts master, under the enigmatic tutelage of an ancient sage.  What makes this quest rather unusual, however, is that Leroy is undertaking his quest, not in an ancient Chinese temple, but in the streets of New York City, where urban gangs run things and all youth seem transfixed on making their presence known on a local music revue show run by the charming Laura Charles (Vanity).  Leroy would seem quite content to continue on his existence detached from these issues, where it not for a sudden concern by local gang leader Sho'nuff The Shogun of Harlem (Julius Carry) finding it necessary to challenge Leroy for kung fu master supremacy.  Furthermore, when a rich video game and television producer named Eddie Arkadian (Christopher Murney) feels it necessary to place his new girlfriend in the music business, he attempts to kidnap Laura and force her into agreeing to have say in the shows music.  Leroy steps in to intervene in the attack, thus gaining the affections of Laura, as well as the ill-will of Eddie.  All the while, Sho'nuff continues to pester Leroy, whose poise frustrates the enraged fighter, so much so that he attacks Leroy's family business as a means to draw him out of his zen detachment.  Meanwhile, Leroy who is still on his quest to find out who the master truly is becomes more involved in the villainy of Eddie who eventually does kidnap Laura, demanding that Leroy should show up to the studio to win her back, although he fails to mention that the entire thing will be taped and serve as a large scale martial arts battle, that Eddie hopes will bring tons of new viewership to  his production.  This battle involves all the most brutish and maniacal of gang lords, who Leroy takes down one by one, yet when the entirety of the gang world attacks, Leroy is aided by his dojo members whose skills make quick work of the untrained fighters of the gangs.  Eddie then lures Leroy underground where he fights Sho'nuff one on one, realizing that Sho'nuff possesses unusual skills and powers.  Yet, thinking back upon the words of his sage, Leroy realizes he too is a master, thus turning into a electrified new fighter that overcomes Sho'nuff and even stops a bullet with his mouth when Eddie attacks, thus saving Laura and certifying his place as the true master of martial arts in urban New York.

As a film set in the mid 1980's urban landscape, a commentary is of little to no surprise.  Yet, The Last Dragon does not seem entirely dismissive of the possibilities of integration, wherein, other films of the era would have made the white character forever a thing to mock, especially in works like House Party where whiteness is purposefully made a point of otherness as a revolt against narrative tradition.  Indeed, excluding the hyper-absurd characters of Eddie and his girlfriend everyone else seems quite at ease with a racially unified territory.  As such, it then becomes a film that is expressly concerned with what this landscape can do to provide itself with an ideal landscape void of violence.  The obvious answer arises through the figure of Leroy whose passivity through most of the film is not an act of weakness or fear, but one that understands that violence in a society such as mid-80's urban New York is counterproductive and only feeds into existing states of oppression and damage.  He is also not a sexually aggressive figure and is arguably asexual throughout most of the film, despite being clearly admired by Laura.  The film decidedly sets up Leroy in a narrative that also depicts absurd versions of black masculinity, as well as other forms of masculinity in order to suggest that it is not the racial part of the performance that should be criticized, but instead the aggressive nature of masculinity that is problematic.  If one considers Leroy then to be a new version of the masculine, it makes his bout between the ring of male gang bosses take on a new layer, especially since he seems to do so with an ease and passivity that is neither violent or an assertion of male aggression, a notion furthered by the presence of his dojo students, who have also learned their own new non-opressive masculinity.  Of course, Leroy must still over come Eddie and his white male privilege, evidenced through his quick use of a gun, but as the narrative suggests, it is often not the violent act that ends another, but a literal use of the mouth (i.e. words) to change a situation.  Given the chance to destroy Eddie, Leroy instead restrains him until authorities arrive, placing hope in an evolving system, as opposed to self-imposed justice and the rule of the streets.  Indeed, it is no small accident that the film ends with the characters dancing while wearing all-white, shedding the punk and thug clothes of earlier scenes in favor of a societal change and metaphorical birth of unity.

Key Scene:  While out of principle I want to choose the moment when a young (still old looking) William H. Macy shows up, but it is definitely the scene at the television studio when Leroy fights the ring of gang bosses while Eddie's face is projected on large screens.  It is a metaphor on power and influence delivered brilliantly.

This is available on Hulu and well worth engaging with for its humor and absurdity.

Time Heals Everything -- Except Wounds: Sans Soleil (1983)

There are only a handful of films that one could argue certifiably changed the language, idea or very nature of film both in its cultural and theoretical context.  The obvious examples rarely receive anything but glowing praise and are, as I have noted on many occasions, works like Breathless, Citizen Kane and 2001: A Space Odyssey.  In other instances, it is far more likely to be works that are so very deconstructionist or philosophical as to be more artistic manifesto than necessarily a piece of film, some would indeed label these entirely as works of art, often removing their filmic element in some bizarre act of shaming, think of the discussions that center around works like Un Chien Andalou or Dog Star Man...the canine connection being something I only now noticed.  What is even less prevalent is the work that manages to navigate between these two stratospheres, as though to be perfectly pulled by both sides in a gravitational free floating  space, where everything is predicated on the understanding that the perfect serenity evoked by its presence, could just as easily shatter into the chaotic with the faintest of alterations.  I can only think of three works to which this applies, the first being Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon, and the other two being by jack-of-all artistic trades Chris Marker.  La Jetee is a film I have frequently viewed and could catch myself waxing poetic about at a moments notice, whereas the other is his lesser known, but profoundly more prolific Sans Soleil.  From the onset of this visionary movie, viewers are informed about it being a quest for the idea of memory in every sensorial possibility, but Marker does not simply allow words to speak to his curiosity, but, necessarily, demands that the work have a visual element as well, one that always relates to the subject matter being discussed, even if the images are purposefully a point of juxtaposition, or exact simulacra of the memory being recollected.  Marker is, of course, no fool and realizes that even a filmic notion of memory has a fleeting temporality and extends his film into the otherworldly, often blowing the images into contrast or freezing the frame to suggest that like personal reflection all is up for fabrication, or mechanical failure, yet, as the opening shot of the film suggest, perhaps there is something as real, or dare I say reel, as the perfect moment of beauty.

Sans Soleil could be called a documentary of sorts, in that it is very much in the vein of a travelogue focusing on the writings of a man named Sandor Krasna about his travels between Japan and Africa.  The letters are then read by a female narrator, voiced by Alexandra Stewart in the English version, as they are overlaid upon this experiences between the two spaces specifically, whether it be the recollection of talking with an elderly Japanese couple as they say a prayer for their lost cat at a local shrine, or with a group of rebels in Africa as they reflect upon a past ousted rebel fighter turned leader.  Yet, even as the film clearly sets up the space of the narrative between the experiences in both rural and urban Japan, as well as multiple locations within Africa, it is not the only point of reference heavily considered.  In fact, images are shown from multiple Scandinavian countries, as well as an extended scene in San Francisco as Krasna speaks of his fondness for Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo, which he argues shares similarities with what he hopes these images will express as well as a fourth wall tip-of-the-hat to this previous work in La Jetee, where he denotes the similarities to it and Vertigo involving a sequoia tree and location in space and time.  These images all intersect together, rarely taking anything remotely close to a cohesive linear narrative, but even with that considered, Krasna's letters begin to focus on found images he has encountered during his travels, making for particularly interesting moments when the screen is filled with meta-cinematic images, including slides from Japanese horror films, as well as colonial era newsreel footage.  Yet even this is extended to its most logical plausibilities when Krasna makes deep considerations about the nature of video game imagery and video alteration, or the creation of what he refers to, in an open homage to Tarkovsky as "the zone."  In a quest that takes the disembodied narrator through multiple spaces it is, ultimately, suggested that he/she cannot say for certain the tangibility of all memories shown, but seems to suggest that when all collide together in perfect harmony a person can capture a moment of perfected transcendence in 1/24th of a frame, and to do so is to possess all understanding of past, present and future.

Tangibility and ephemerality are central to the idea of Sans Soleil, much as they are to all discussions of the metaphysical and in many senses Marker seems to argue that at once both are achievable, while it is also quite possible that neither can ever coexist.  Nonetheless, he endeavors to find out the answer, by employing a reconsideration of montage, taking the rapid juxtaposition of the Soviet style and playing into the serenity and paced American style, the resulting often breaking into, as noted earlier, moments of cinematic distress, whether it be contrasting or freeze frames.  To the untrained eye, and even to many season cinephiles, this might seem like bad filmmaking, but Marker, who proved with La Jetee that an image need not necessarily move to prove poignant, nor must it exist within the positive to prove captivating or within the same cinematic space, other examples of this occurring in film, include Godard's use of the negative image in Alphaville, or the freeze frame that iconically closes Truffaut's The 400 Blows.  These moments, like all of Sans Soleil consider temporality as something that only cinema could hope to discuss, but not entirely make certain.  The other element to Marker's vision involves the elements of imagery that require completely emotional responses, indeed as Krasna argues in one narration movie images have power to make visceral responses, just as Japanese horror films, to Krasna, evoke the sense of seeing a "corpse."  The images can be serene as is the case with Icelandic children walking in a field, or absolutely sickening as when the camera rests unapologetically an the gunning down of a giraffe by a hunter, which is immediately followed by its being taken out of its misery by a shot to the head.  Even in this quest for emotive highs, Marker seems to suggest that these feelings can switch instantly, the absolute point of joy can only be followed by an immediate moment that leads back to despair, but it is worth considering that the opposite remains true.  Yet, the question still remains as to whether or not an absolute memory of despair or joy can, ultimately, exist beyond its initial encounter.  Marker seems to say yes in the closing moments of the film, but to encounter it necessarily requires the viewer to step outside of not only their understanding of experience, but a reconsideration of how one is physically affected, or to borrow a term from the film "wounded" by memory.

Key Scene:  Um....it is one sweeping scene, every bit of it is perfect.

Criterion has a bluray, I am upgrading within the next few weeks.  You are more than welcome to buy my DVD copy when I post it on Amazon.