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

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

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

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

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

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

Man Is Foolishly Oblivious To Danger: Goke, Body Snatcher From Hell (1968)

I have seen a lot of Japanese films in my day.  Indeed, before I decided to focus primarily on South Korean cinema I considered throwing my hat into the ring of Japanese film scholarship, which has come quite a long way since the labor intensive work of Donald Richie and the many off shoots that followed.  While I certainly still incorporate Japanese cinema into my research when possible, it has now become more a labor of love to engage with the country's cinema in all its glorious forms whether samurai or kaiju related, even stepping into the lush and evocative world of Kurosawa on occasion.  I say all this with reference to one of my particularly adored genres within Japanese cinema, the shoe string budget horror films that were released throughout the sixties and well into the late seventies, including the wonderfully wacky House and the schlock heavy, but well-regarded Matango.  Indeed, I am, as such, always on the look out for a new film in this bizarre cannon to consume, realizing that in the space of these non-traditional, low-budget films exist some of the most pointed and scathing critiques of the many facets of Japanese society and the manner with which it relates to a larger global context.  The delightfully eerie Goke, Body Snatcher from Hell is certainly a case of this, right down to its use of a white European (perhaps American?) character and her lost Vietnam soldier as an extension of larger post-colonial woes in a country that was then still finding its footing on a global scale.  At times some of the special effects in the film could give the worst of the b-movie nonsense a run for its money, but given the clear admiration and care for the filmic out come of his product, director Hajime Sato manages to make a shoe-string budget into something spectacular, through heavy use of red tones, a healthy does of fake blood and enough hand drawn animation to make even the most stern of film viewers smile in disbelief.  Goke, Body Snatcher from Hell will never exist in a world of perfect cinematic output, but it is also far from being incurably bad, in fact, it is precisely in its willingness to not take itself seriously that the very critiques and condemnations it spouts become almost prophetic, even if only in a satirical sense.

Goke, Body Snatcher from Hell begins with a group of individuals flying on an airplane from Tokyo to  Osaka, wherein the flight stewardess Kuzumi Asakura (Tomomi Sato) attempts to layout a general flight plan only to be repeatedly interrupted by birds killing themselves by flying directly into the plane. Paired with a disturbingly red sky the other members of the crew and the passengers begin to grow anxious of their safety on the plane.  When information suggests that their might be a man on board with a bomb, the captains order an immediate search of all the persons present, including the somewhat befuddled Neal (Kathy Horan) an American widow, as well as a prestigious senator named Mano (Eizo Kitamura).  When a sudden light floats above the ship, the captains lose control of the plane's computers and the aircraft spirals downward, landing damaged on a desert like area, assumedly between the two cities.  It is at this point that the crew becomes suspicious of a particular man on the ship known only as The Hijacker (Hideo Ko), whose possession of a rifle makes him a prime suspect for a political assassination that happened prior to the flight.  Noting the inherent survival nature of the situation, a psychiatrist in the group named Momotake (Kazuo Kato) suggests that the group be incredibly aware of each action they commit as the wrong phrase or move could send the entire group into a frenzy, a warning that proves futile when it is revealed that not only is The Hijacker dangerous on purely an assassin level, but that he is indeed a creature that consists entirely in blob form, using the human body as a vessel to transport itself and destroy the other members on the plane in a manner quite similar to a vampire.  Nonetheless, figures like Mano in a foolish quest to quench their thirst drink large amounts of whisky, only worsening his suffering, while Neal, already reeling from the trauma of her loss, begins to act in bouts of hysteria bemoaning the war in Vietnam and the general downfall of humanity.  Matters come to their worst point when it is revealed that the aliens, who refer to themselves as Gokemidoro, show that they are capable of transferring between bodies at a quick rate, consuming the life force of all those they encounter.  The closing shots depict two remaining survivors traveling about the streets of Japan in a quest for survivors, only to be told by the spectral voice of a Gokemidoro that no human will be spared, as the camera then pans out to show the true destruction wrought not only on Japan, but the entire world.

While a well-argued case for this not really being a horror movie, but more so a science fiction thriller could be made, I would like to instead say that the survival aspects of the work are precisely what make it fall within the framework of a horror movie, as deemed so by Criterion who released it as part of their stellar and repeatedly rewarding Eclipse box set When Horror Came to Shochiku.  In fact, the psychiatrists speech during the film notes that in times of survival one can see humanity turn to its most inhumane, tapping into base animal instincts and maliciously seeking their own survival over that of others.  The narrative in Goke certainly evokes this sort of sensibility, but manages to take it even a step further, using this moment of survival to allow characters to challenge deeply entrenched notions of oppression, privilege and accessibility.  This is absolutely the case when Tokiyasue (Nobuo Koneko) exploits the well-being of Mano by offering him the initial drink of whisky, thus affording his increasing suffering and drunkenness as a point to show the horrors and injustices he has condoned while in office.  Similarly, there are multiple through lines between the figure of Neal's dead husband and his oppressive behavior both in regards to how he navigates as a continued colonial identity in Japan, while also proving quite hazardous to Neal who appears to be at a complete lack without the privilege attached to a white male in society.  Of course, the horror does not extend at these oppression, one can certainly look closer and note the manners with which Japanese women become a doubly othered figure in the narrative, neither possessing the whiteness or the maleness to be taken completely seriously, despite, at times being the most rational in a situation.  As such, Goke, in its low-budget ways becomes a wonderful look at the spectrum of intersectionality and the ways this oppression occurs even in the face of a near fatal accident, suggesting that as long as oppressors exist in the framework of a society, hegemony will exist and perhaps that is where a real horror lies, if not in this realization the purposeful juxtaposition of the Gokemidoro with the violence occurring in reality (Vietnam, political assassinations and riots) certainly drives the point deeply in a viewers psyche.

Key Scene:  The airplane crash!

This particular film is part of an Eclipse series that is full of great Japanese horror films, in which this piece of brilliance is not even its best offering.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Tied His Own Tendons!: Riki-Oh: The Story Of Ricky (1991)

Knowing that I would go through the entire month of kung-fu films missing some gems if I did not take suggestions from friends as to what I should watch, I decided to call out for suggestions via Facebook and the results were quite notable, many people offering a list of film while others gave a single affirmation as to what one work should be viewed.  I have a friend, who is very into comic books and all things comic related that also happens to have an excellent taste in film, although we find ourselves disagreeing about a lot of films, he, nonetheless, is a person who I find to be worthy of acknowledging when given a suggestion.  I am glad I adhered to his recommendation of Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky, because it is a wild, wild film that exists in a cinematic world entirely of its own accord.  In fact, I have often wondered what a kung-fu film directed by David Cronenberg might look like and I now have my answer with this film, which takes body gore and horror to a place way beyond even The Fly.  The gore in this movie is excessive to be certain, but in its sort of over-the-top grandeur it becomes a statement on the nature of violence in action cinema, particularly when considering death and physical attacks upon the body.  Whether this is purposeful on the part of director Ngai Choi Lam is up for debate, but the product does exist and it can be dissected as such, indeed a viewer is offered plenty of flesh, intestine and blood with which to do so.  While this is only the second film is a thirty one film marathon I am wondering the the trope of body as vessel with which morality works through will come to be a larger theme within the genre, because it was certainly passively discussed in Enter the Dragon, and is pretty much the main focal point in this film.  Again, like Enter the Dragon, Riki-Oh also considers the various bodies that can occupy a challenging physicality, whether it be physically disabled persons or an individual whose gender is ambiguous.  The crazier thing about Riki-Oh is that this is only one of many social commentaries or narrative through-lines in the film, all of which seem so well-executed and realized as to be separate films working in some wonderful synchronicity.  It is a film to which I was quite surprised and am grateful to have been suggested.

Riki-Oh begins somewhat in media res with the introduction of a prison that has with the turn of the 21st century become privatized, meaning that large capitalist figures can use the institution as they see fit, exploit workers or affording favors to whomever they please.  The prison in this film is one such place and when recent murder convict Ricky (Siu-Wong Fan) enters the world, he is quickly deemed a threat with his ability to destroy the bodies of other with his intense martial arts.  This destruction is so honed in fact that Ricky can punch through bodies, while also using his own physical form as a human shield, literally deflecting the attacks of other whether they be by fist or gun.  Nonetheless, given that Ricky's jailing is a result of having killed a mob boss, he becomes a threat to the various crime lords working within the prison, many of which are martial arts experts in their own rights.  Ricky is a force that is unstoppable however, beginning immediately he becomes a protector to the persons in the prison, treating them as human beings, while looking at the warden and his group of lackeys as terrible entities bent on destruction.  Ricky begins a series of attacks that first deal with the lowest of the wardens bosses Oscar fending of an attempted strangling by the disemboweled mobster.  Yet, while Ricky is nearly invincible the impossibility of fighting three experts in various forms of martial arts leads to his being tied up by the warden and buried alive for a week, the warden promising that should he survive he will be given his freedom without question.  Yet when Ricky does exactly this, despite all expectations, the warden refuses him the right leading to a complete breakdown of the authority system by not only the other prisoners but Ricky who takes it upon himself to destroy all in his path, whether it be the use of cement to beat the aptly named Tarzan or a chop so intense as to sever a man's head in half, leading finally to his battle with the warden, who it is revealed fights with the same technique as Ricky, one that feeds off of strength.  As such, the warden evolves into a monstrous version of himself that initially gives Ricky challenge, but Ricky proves capable of the challenge and ends up shoving the monstrous warden into a meat grinder, thus destroying him completely.  Ricky immediately returns to the prison yard and punches through the concrete wall, exclaiming that everyone is free as he walks off into what one can assume to be the sunset.

The description I just gave probably makes the movie sound crazy, and I fully understand that, because it is indeed an insane film, one full of gore laden fight scenes and a complete rejection of all physical and biological possibilities, but just because Riki-Oh exists in a state of filmic absurdism does not mean it is not still full of critical possibilities.  There is a very well-executed Christ metaphor in this film, although it does get really on the nose in once scene, just as there are issues concerning body politics and morality.  Yet, what has to be the absolute most fascinating element of this film is the way it deals with the notion of a prisoner.  In fact, I earnestly wondered while watching this film if Angela Davis was aware of its existence, because despite its hyper violence and insane gimmick, it does ask viewers to reconsider their thoughts on the average prisoner.  I say average, because it creates a very tangible and stark difference between the career criminals depicted as vicious and lacking in ethical thoughts, whether it be the money hungry warden and his various lackeys who seem to have no qualms murdering and maiming to assure their advancement and those people who have been placed in jail for a minor or misappropriated offense.  The film introduces viewer to a man who was part of a traffic accident, in which he was allegedly not at fault, yet as others note he killed a police officer, therefore, resulting in his heavy sentence.  This jailing leads to him being physically beaten by the higher-ups for no reason than it is part of the world.  Similarly, Ricky is arrested for killing a local pimp, one that allegedly attempted to rape his girlfriend who dives to her death in order to avoid the defiling.  While killing is always a murky ground the narrative does seem to posit that it was a level of criminality that was being completely ignored by the warden and others who were presumably friends with the crime boss.  I give these descriptions, because the film seems to posit the criminality is often associated to people who are far from deserved of such negative monikers.  Angela Davis has written extensively on this topic and is particularly critical of a legal system that over-punishes for minor crimes and looks away at serious offenses with large scale social impacts.  The race and class elements are not necessarily dealt with in this film, but it is certainly a point of reference that could be drawn with the right lens.  Ultimately, Riki-Oh seems keen on noting the grey areas of criminality, while also warning of the serious dangers and human rights infractions that could emerge from privatizing institutions.

Key Scene:  With many wildly gory scenes to choose from, I guess I will have to go with the jaw-busting upper cut.  I think I actually let out a gasp paired with the screaming of WHAT when it happened.

The DVD for this is not super expensive and while I really really enjoyed this movie, I would suggest a streaming option first, unless you love either kung-fu films or David Cronenberg, in which case buy this immediately.

My Father Taught Me To Kill The Sunflower: The American Astronaut (2001)

I am always surprised what I am able to dig up on Netflix in regards to independently produced cinema, it often ranges from the decidedly unwatchable The Pleasure of Being Robbed to the excellent and extremely low-budget Lo.  Of course, indie films are a hit or miss by their very existence alone and it is more so the case when the indie film attempts to exist within the space of a genre. The American Astronaut, a heavily experimental and noticeably independent film manages to move freely between the genres of the western (thus explaining its inclusion this month), the space travel film and even a bit of a musical as well, without ever seeming awkward or ill-advised.  Indeed, if I were to be shown this film without any explanation or context, I would be willing to posit that it was a newly discovered early work by either David Lynch or Guy Maddin, or, at the very least, somebody who is heavily and properly influenced by the aforementioned filmmakers.  What viewers are provided with The American Astronaut is nothing short of exceptional, between a maddening vision of a desolate and decidedly masculine future and the dreary black and white cinematography that allows for the darkness that clearly seems to be consuming the characters to stretch out and, at the very least, graze the eyes of those viewing this film.  It sticks to a vision and while it travels between locales at no point does the intensely dark, and at times comedic nature of the narrative world crack even in its most absurd and unusual moments.  What writer/director/actor Cory McAbee offers in his film is a prophetic, chiaroscuro vision of all that could go wrong with the future, should individuals not be willing to accept their absurd reservations in regards to socially liberal frameworks or prudish assumptions about the nature of sexuality and expressions of the self which are non-normative.  Each character exists in the space of The American Astronaut to be deconstructed, dismissed and ultimately reconsidered within a context of some "future" world which has institutionalized them to be disconnected, but as the film manages to cleverly suggest, perhaps this future is far less a distant even than a viewer might like to assume.

The American Astronaut centers on the travels of one Samuel Curtis (Cory McAbee) a sort of space bounty shipper, willing to move about the various planets transferring goods, both living and non, as a means to keep himself financially secure.  Viewers are introduced to Curtis as he is delivering a cat to a seedy space bar, where he meets up with his former dance partner The Blueberry Pirate (Joshua Taylor) who is purportedly in possession of a "real life girl" one that he hopes to trade a duplicitous overseer of a factory planet for a young man whose claim to intergalactic fame is that he had the great fortune of seeing a woman's breast.  It is explained that this young man will be then traded to the women of the planet venus to be used as their veritable sexual toy to procreate on the planet in return for their former single male figure who has died and needs to be returned to his family.  Given this seemingly absurd set of requests, Curtis is completely willing to engage with the actions, even seeming to embrace the task at hand, if only to get away from a planet that seems to take joy in capturing pictures of the traveller using the restroom.  Along the way Curtis continually runs into his nemesis the maniacal and death obsessed Professor Hess (Rocco Sisto) who appears quite focused on eventually killing Curtis because it is his "birthday."  Nonetheless, Curtis undertakes his missions with relative success, even helping to teach The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast (Greg Russell Cook) about living outside of his worker colony, engaging with him as though he is to be a son that will take on his job after his inevitable passing.  Along the way, the two person crew stops off in a floating barn and find themselves in contact with 1800's Nevada silver miners who have inexplicably existed in a floating space void and have given birth to a child known only as Body Suit (James Ransome) who they hope will be allowed to venture along the way with Curtis.  Curtis agrees in exchange for Body Suit's supply of cigarettes and chocolate.  Upon their arrival to Venus, Hess awaits Curtis now hoping instead to kill The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast, but realizing his tricks and having created a son out of him, Curtis tricks the women into believing that Body Suit is indeed their new male, abandoning him on the planet and fleeing from an infuriated Hess.

Sure that description makes it seem as though The American Astronaut is the farthest thing possible from a western, but this is simply not the case, especially considering that the travel takes on a sort of frontier element about it, not to mention many of the locations hearken back to the names and imagery of the old west, the only difference being that they exist in the floating world of outer space, and the clothing on the characters, while almost steampunk in its composition certainly embraces the genre as well.  I do not want to spend the whole time defending its westernness, but instead want to mention how insanely masculine this film is, not in a misogynist sense, but in a clearly deconstructionist one, McAbee is clearly playing with the nature of male interactions in a world that is assumedly void of female figures.  While it may play far too heavily into heteronormativity, The American Astronaut does want viewers to consider how stupid it is to believe that a idealized frontier that is entirely composed of patriarchal figures really proves to be on paper.  While Curtis is a decidedly rational individual, he also seems highly preoccupied with consummating a relationship with a woman, much as his pal The Blueberry Pirate and certainly the owner of the factory planet prove to be as well.  Hell, even a rejection of masculine desire in the context of The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast is entrenched within his own embodiment of a masculine classical Greek figure, not a movement towards any embracing of the femininity.  Body Suit, of course, represents the most heightened of this lack of a female presence, indeed becoming frail and hermit like as a result, as opposed to be hyper-masculine as those who embrace maleness seem to assume would be the case with an all male commune or environment.  Of course, the all female colony on Venus is no better, in its misguided composition, being shown as feverish and foolish, again rejecting any notions of segregation or separation within a new space.  Sure The American Astronaut is a space western, but this filmic choice, helps viewers transcend a restrictive notion of gender politics, only to realizes that a separation is as foolish as an assumption that all is inherently equal all the time.

Key Scene:  The talk with the man in the barn is creepy and certainly one of the more hauntingly oeneiric portions of the film.

Netflix Watch Instantly...do it now, there is a high chance that it will not stay there forever.

I Have No Funk. I Am Totally Funkless: Safety Not Guaranteed (2012)

When I make note of famous indie time travel movies, minds will undoubtedly jump first to Primer a stellar low-budget deeply perplexing film from the genre that made huge waves upon its release in 2004.  However, I would never have imagined that an indie film would navigate again into such waters, let alone find itself financed by the Duplass Brothers, the certifiable power houses of the indie scene who appear to have their hands within anything and everything released in the world of independent cinema in the past year or so.  Yet, in Safety Not Guaranteed one is provided with a very much indie film, including one of the Duplass' in a leading role, not to mention a narrative that finds itself heavily invested in the idea of time travel, although, to be fair, very little of it actually has to do with actual time travel, instead, focusing on events leading up to a planned tripped by one individual.  Colin Trevorrow's fictional feature debut is a film that is ostensibly about time travel and at times this seems to be everything but the case for the film, yet as the narrative manages to show the idea of time travel is something shared by quite a few people and only actually attempted by a handful.  A narratively mature film, aside from a handful of unfortunate uses of the word friggin, Safety Not Guaranteed is exactly what should be expected out of an indie film, a standard very much set by the Duplass Brothers and a lesson that could still use of teaching to some indie filmmakers who find themselves embracing sloppy and misguided filmmaking and cool or indie, when in fact it is just bad and ill conceived.   Nothing about Safety Not Gauranteed reflects such misdirection and, in fact, beautifully stands its own compared to some heftier films claiming to be indie films, specifically, Silver Linings Playbook, which while good, certainly had a larger budget allowing for an all out marketing campaign and a means to accrue Oscar buzz.  I am more than willing to say that Aubrey Plaza puts on a better performance in this film than Jennifer Lawrence does in Silver Linings Playbook, but the way the  dice land results in one being relegated to her identity on Parks and Recreation, while the other is receiving far too much credit for what was essentially a run of the mill role.

Safety Not Guaranteed focuses on the somewhat disillusioned Darius (Aubrey Plaza) who is attempting to find income while dealing with her dead end internship at a magazine in Seattle.  She seems destined for monotony until she is afforded an opportunity to engage in a piece with head writer Kenneth (Jake Johnson) and fellow intern Arnau (Karen Soni).  The piece they plan to pursue focuses on a classified ad placed in a local newspaper requesting a partner for a time travel trip which threatens to be quite dangerous and the individual will receive compensation upon return.  The crew of course assumes that they will invariably meet an insane individual and have a piece solely in that right.  Darius seems to take a keen interest in it and her vested interest is likely a result of still reeling from the loss of her mother, for which she takes ungrounded fault.  When Darius meets Jeff (Mark Duplass) the man responsible for the ad she instantly realizes that there is much more to him than an insane individual, and becomes intrigued by the passion for which he pursues his desire to travel back in time, even finding herself opening up to him about her own loss.  Meanwhile Kenneth deals with his own past ties to the area, attempting to rekindle a high school romance with former girlfriend Bridget (Mary Lynn Rajskub) who brushes him of when he suggests that she come back to Seattle with him to take up within his life.  Enraged by his disappointment, Kenneth then goes on an drunken quest to assure that Arnau gets laid, something he believes Arnau should be doing at his young age.  Meanwhile, as the intensity of Jeff's plans grow, Darius becomes more emotionally invested in the outcome, only to realize that his past is far more complex and not quite as true as he may have claimed.  The confrontations of all the characters come to the forefront moments before the time travel is to take place and Darius decides to commit to Jeff and the two seem to successfully travel into the past, although on a metaphorical level they are far from the only characters to do so.

Many philosophical treatises, particularly those with a bit of Eastern Asian influence seem to adhere to the idea that living in the present is truly the only way to make it through life with any degree of success, and Safety Not Guaranteed is very much a film that considers such notions.  No character in the film, for the majority of the film manages to exist in the present, both Darius, Kenneth and Jeff live in their respective pasts, hoping to return to a time in which they could obtain lost loved ones, whether it be parental figures or hopeless crushes.  Even Arnau whose careful logic and hesitance is criticized not because it makes him uncool, but because it is a sign of him living in the future and completely missing out on enjoying his present.  In fact, it is not until any of these characters manage to absolutely free themselves from their concerns of any other moment but the now that they are able to embrace life, this occurs when Jeff and Darius spend an evening together before the morning of the planned travel, or when Arnau and Kenneth take to a fair in a wild and carefree manner, ultimately, the film makes sure to remind viewers that not all moments can exist in such transcendence, and that often times the pressures of future realities will rear their ugly head as in the case of Kenneth's incessant boss.  At other times unfortunate facts about the past will damage the opinions one may formulate about an individual, as occurs when Belinda (Kristen Bell) paints a picture for Darius about the psychologically troubled Jeff for whom she has grown to care for deeply, and if one is honest about it, is this not the basic premise for most time travel films.  The closing moments, like some of the classics in time travel, reminds viewers that at moments a perfect unity of occurrences can allow for a truly transcendent and shared experience to occur, even if said experience is something as physically impossible as traveling through time on a decked out hoover craft.

Key Scene:  There is a scene in which Darius explains her past to Jeff, in which Aubrey Plaza delivers a performance I saw coming out of nowhere that absolutely makes the movie much more than a sentimental comedy revolving around time travel.

An excellent little film that has been made recently available on Netflix Watch Instantly and is well worth investing a few moments towards.

For Your Awareness: Fear and Desire (1953)

I was always hesitant to undertake Kubrick's first feature film, partially because the director himself was so critical of the work and completely dismissed its value during his lifetime, perhaps helping to explain why it went unseen for so long.  I was also rather hesitant to view the film, because as it stood prior to this Kubrick was one of the few directors I was a aware of who had a flawless oeuvre, in so much as he had not made a single bad film.  I was quite concerned the Fear and Desire, released in 1953, some four  years before he would start to get attention with his equally prescient war film Paths of Glory.  Popping the bluray from Kino, based on a Library of Congress print was instantly gratifying and I am not sure why I even had a notion that anything with Kubrick's hands upon it could be terrible.  Fear and Desire was good, in fact, it was really really good.  The black and white chiaroscuro really pops of the screen and makes for a cinematic feast of contrast and shadow play that would go on to signify the film noir movies the director would make in the following years.  Between the intense close-ups of the characters faces and the over all existential themes of the brief first feature, one can easily identify this as a film by the late director, although it is also quite obvious that he has drawn some heavy influences from the neo-realist directors, as well as some tricks for psychological intensity from the surrealist movement.  I realize that it has some dubbing issues, the acting can be a bit iffy and it is rather clear that the film was shot on a low-budget in and around Hollywood.  With that being said, this film is still heads above most other war films and proves that Kubrick is undeniably one of the great masters and perhaps one of the few great directors to make it through his career without a notable failure, critically speaking, most audiences were not ready to engage with such deeply profound material, nor were its more unconventional methods ideal for a non-European audiences.  However, I can only imagine what it must have been like to be an earnest cinephile that just happened to pop into one of the rare screenings of this film, it must have been a revelation.

The film in classic Kubrick fashion is heavily existential, as well as critical of masculine confrontations. With a cast of only five actors, some of which play multiple roles, Kubrick manages to really delve into some psychological issues and focus on power plays and sexual awakenings.  The plot is deceptively simple, a group of stranded pilots must make their way across a river to safety, but become aware of the presence of an enemy general close-by changing their plans to jump on a once in a lifetime opportunity to gain military praise and recognition.  Of course the task of getting to this general is easier said than done as building a raft proves tedious, not to mention the capturing of a curious village girl, as well as the killing of a handful of guards in a house, almost motivated entirely by their desire to take their food. Kubrick paints a picture of a bestial world when it comes to war, something that he would echo time and again, both in Full Metal Jacket and Paths of Glory, as well as suggest its possibility in other non-war settings.  Extreme close-ups of characters eye lines would become a trademark of the director, whether it be Private Pile having a mental breakdown or Alex DeLarge's introduction in A Clockwork Orange, suffice to say this method is used heavily within Fear and Desire and combined with natural lighting and the shading of trees, these intense close-ups take on a whole new level of eeriness.  I want to reemphasize the ways in which this is truly an introduction to Stanley Kubrick, it has all his classic traits jammed into a far too short film, which just explodes off the screen via its 35 mm transfer.  Furthermore, it is a welcome reminder to those who may be interested in independent work that just because an individual does not possess a large amount of production money does not necessarily mean that they cannot make a masterpiece.  Fear and Desire is on a low-fi masterpiece level with Carnival of Souls and that is saying a lot coming from somebody who absolutely adores that film.

Buy a copy of the bluray from Kino, sure it is only sixty minutes long and relatively pricy at the moment, but in doing so you are invariably opening yourself up to a fresh cinematic experience, as well as supporting film restoration and archiving, something I am passionate about and has proven to save quite a few significant films over the past years.

Maybe If You Stopped Getting Drunk And Buying Stuff Off Craigslist: Entrance (2012)

I will openly admit that the first half an hour or so of this film had me really confused as to why the guys over at Battleship Pretension would even have the nerve to suggest this film, let alone fall out of their seats demanding that people go out of their way to watch it, of course I came around to their statement, especially for the back half of this movie which proves to satirically slap everything viewers have come to signify as low budget indie filmmaking.  Of course, Dallas Richard Hallam and Patrick Horvath's purposefully slow-paced horror film is by no means perfect and fails to properly deliver its premise in a timely manner, making a considerable amount of the film seems like superfluous, begging the question as to whether or not the last thirty minutes would not serve themselves better as a short film.  I am quite baffled by the clear disdain that has arisen towards this film, primarily from two parties, the indie film elites who find the horrific closing portions of the film unnecessarily gory, while on the other end horror fanatics who are incredibly dismissive of the lack of plot and terrible acting.  I wish to criticize both parties in their indictment, in so much as those who think the film is a travesty to indie film need to remember that most major success in the style often rely on a major absurdist event to bind the plot, where as horror films (at least the die hard ones) should never complain about inadequate acting and misguided plots, because they are a staple of the genre.  I will admit that the twist becomes rather predictable early on into viewing, yet no amount of assumption could prepare me for the very real intensity which happens when the film's bottom falls out and all hope of normalcy and reason disappear.  While Entrance has nothing on the absolute brilliance of Cabin in the Woods as a satire, it certainly manages to offer a new way to consider a filmmaking style as well as a genre, ultimately, making for a welcome and brief viewing experience far from the terrible film so many people seem insistent on reviewing.

In traditional indie film fashion Entrance begins by incessantly focusing on the most monotonous and irrelevant actions of a woman named Suziey (Suziey Block), a name I will admit is a bit excessive.  She seems content to drink heavily and work a few hours at her barista job, barely making enough to afford rent.  Her only point of happiness seems to exist with her close connection to her dog named Daryll, yet again not the greatest name choice ever.  Yet during a shower one night and overarching feeling of dread seems to consume Suziey and she hobs out of the shower to search her house, a quest that yields no results, but does little to avert her paranoia.  Seeking some sort of explanation for her disdain she resorts to a variety of actions, but when her dog goes missing she loses all sense of rationality and engages in some rather destructive behavior, some of which involves drunkenly sleeping with a man who attempts to leave unnoticed the next morning.  During one night of sleeping in a bed with her friend a light comes upon them off camera suggesting somebody is watching her, an act immediately followed by a photograph being taken.  While she cannot verify that any of these paranoid feelings are valid, Suziey, nonetheless, knows that she cannot stay in Los Angeles and plans to leave, but not without having one last party of drunken decadence.  During this party the lights go out and assuming it to be a circuit break, Suziey heads down to fix it, only to be attacked by a masked man upon successfully turning them back on.  After the unknown individual confesses his love for her he proceeds to kill the attendees of the party one by one, leaving only Suziey to share in his vision of unity.  In a disturbingly poetic last scene, the killer forces Suziey to look upon the L.A. nightscape with his arms around her, suggesting that her future, despite her misgivings, will invariably involve staying put.

The metaphor in this film is a beautiful thing, often in the works of indie filmmakers it is blatantly obvious and obnoxious, at least I felt this to be the case with something like The Pleasure of Being Robbed wherein the metaphor of robbing people was to reflect the main characters own inability to engage with society in a productive manner, yet her well-to-do appearance and unusual means to escape the malaise of her life just did not equate to a decent film.  Entrance instead uses the idea of being "killed" by your surroundings in a very literal manner to undermine the half-inspired diatribes of indie kids living in cites and situations which they think themselves always above.  The film completely displays that the monotony and "tragedy" of these hipster kids lives are actually not worth of being dead over, especially when they indeed die and plead for their well-being to magically return.  Of course, the film could have established this notion much earlier instead of making the paranoia be the main narrative focus for nearly an hour of the film, yet I cannot help but enjoy the means by which an intensity is built from the moment the shower scene occurs up until the final moments on the balcony.  If I were to produce any single critique about the metaphor it would easily be directed at the somewhat passive means by which the film deals with Suziey's apparent alcoholism, especially since in the death metaphor her own addiction proves the sole factor, aside, of course, from mass murder in keeping her stationary.  She could stop her path of destruction and move away when she pleases, but she is far to indifferent and attached to monotony to do so and a very real act of destruction forces her to accept that disconcerting fact.  Hell, Entrance really does some clever things with its cinematic output and it should really be reconsidered by the many parties who seem intent on dismissing if for single factors.

Key Scene:  The killer reveal is obvious in its timing, yet it is so intense that it still manages to be the best portion of the film, not to mention that it involves some rather impressive single shot takes.

This is a quick watch on Netflix and well worth spending an afternoon with, I am still somewhat on the fence about completely liking the film and would love to hear some more thoughts on its nature and execution.

It's A Headless Blunder Operating Under The Illusion Of A Master Plan: Cube (1997)

I am really starting to like this blind buying of DVD lots from websites, partially because I can almost always be assured that at least on film in the set of random DVD's will prove to be out of print or obscure enough to mean I can sell it back and break even or in many cases gain a profit.  However, I am also beginning to find that it is allowing me to obtain copies of films that I would under no other circumstance even consider watching, let alone purchasing, only to discover that they are quite enjoyable and hidden gems of sorts.  This has certainly proven to be the case with the semi-obscure Canadian science fiction thriller made on a shoestring budget, which is filled the brim with philosophical musings and mathematical conundrums.  The film is narratively dense and while the acting certainly lacks, it is a nice reminder of how a great vision can translate into a deeply complex film with a bit of creativity and a minimal amount of support.  I am hoping that with the emergence of online crowd funding sites like Kickstarter that we will see a ressurgance of such films, but time will tell, until then we can embrace works like this and Primer as reminders of cinemas power even when detached from grandiosity.  Cube certainly receives a lot of flack for its open-endedness and lack of explanation, but I personally resent such attacks, because an in medias res approach is quite popular and is rarely ever contested when used by somebody like Tarantino or Fincher.  I think a majority of the greatest films ever offered do similar things, hell I took an entire course on Stanley Kubrick and probably no with less certainty as to what the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey represents.  What makes a film like Cube good, and I am not suggesting it is anywhere close to Kubrick's masterpiece, is that it allows for such an open-ended viewing experience and multiplicity of interpretations that it begs to be watched repeatedly and with others, if only to find oneself continually perplexed.  Apparently there is a sequel and prequel, neither of which I have seen, nor really plan to since they explain the existence of the cube and "justify" its existence.  Although I did watch the short film "Elevated" which was director Vinenzo Natali's example of what Cube could be, and while it is certainly completely different in, nonetheless, is quite excellent.

Cube begins with a man moving through various cube shaped rooms of different colors.  We known little information about this man, aside from the clear fact that he is confused and cautious as he navigates through the rooms, yet his paranoia is confronted when a huge wired wall slices through him, instantly turning him into some sort of cubed meat pile.  We are then given a title and introduced to a new set of characters, the overly aggressive Quentin (Maurice Dean Wint) who seems content on use brute force to traverse the cubes, the conspiracy oriented psychiatrist Holloway (Nicky Gaudagni), a sheepish math whiz named Leaven (Nicole de Boer) whose brains eventually prove necessary for breaking the codes of each room and the lackadaisical and dismissive Worth (David Hewlett) who it is eventually revealed helped to design the outer layer of the cube.  Another individual named Rennes (Wayne Robson) is with the group, a profession escape artist, he is the first to die as his zealousness to escape and the groups desire to follow him lead to his incineration via an unexpected trap.  The group then begins to consider various methods to navigate the rooms, eventually discovering the mentally handicapped Kazan (Andrew Miller) who Holloway immediately begins protecting, despite the contesting of Quentin who sees his childlike mentality as threatening, particularly when they encounter a trapped room that is sound activated.  Eventually the puzzle becomes more intricate and it is only through collective shared knowledge that the group is able to find a point of exit, this, of course, is not without the loss of a few individuals and even once they have figured out the puzzle, something quite similar to a rubick's cube, they are fully aware that much of their escape is predicated on contingency and chance, a fact that leads to violent frustrations and explosive paranoia.  Only one of the group eventually survives and what happens to them after this escape is left unknown, which is decidedly for the best.

I mentioned that interpretations run wild when considering what this film truly represents.  There is the lazy argument that it is simply an box of death with no justification, however, that reading is terrible considering the clear and open desire Natali possessed in creating this film, such a passion does not equate to a simple cool film, but something far grander.  Another far more valid interpretation is that the cube represents purgatory and a set of lost souls attempt to navigate this space in order to obtain salvation, and while a white light ending and varied levels of sin emerge within the film, many characters are punished for what appears to be nothing, dismissing such a reading as perfect, because forgiveness and salvation hardly factor into the end result.  I would contest, instead, that Cube represents a metaphor for considering the explanation of human existence.  We have varied philosophical outlooks occupying the space of the cube, whether it be Quentin's Randian objectivism or Worth's near Sartrean existentialism, all made the worse when he admits that his small cog cannot allow for enough information to understand the larger mechanics of the cube, or in this case human existence. Even Leaven manages to fail in her trial and error methods, ones clearly influence by Descartes, whom is directly referenced in his Cartesian plain theory.  In this reading then, Holloway represents an activist oriented social justice advocate, yet her overt concern with being right about justice, manages to cause her to be pretentious and demeaning even when she assumes that her powers of making good are always right.  This makes Kazan interesting in that his childlike state and detachment from paranoia and confusion are almost Buddhist in their execution, he is scared by physical harm as it assures his death, yet he has no concern for planning to avoid it and simply wanders the rooms as he sees fit, it is no surprise that he has survived up until being discovered, because he finds safety in simplicity and does not lose his mind, because it simply does not operate on a hyperrational level.  It is interesting then to consider the order with which the group dies, as well as who ultimately survives, as it may or may not provide answer to how we, as viewers, should engage with the world.

Key Scene:  The opening sequence to Cube is so jarring that I found myself initially distracted by Facebook only to immediately shut my computer and zone into this film, it sets the pace for an unusual and unique sci-fi offering that has been tragically overlooked.

This movie is a low-budget masterpiece and subpar acting moments aside, it is well worth owning, although you may have to hope on finding it in the wild, because it is not the cheapest DVD available on Amazon.

Hit, Kick, Claw, Unconscious, Sound, Skin, Burn, Worm, Guts, Needle: The Devil's Experiment (1985)

WARNING:  This blog post may contain images and descriptions that some individuals may find offensive or disturbing.  I went with the least gruesome pictures I could find, but even then...

I knew going into my study of horror cinema for this month that some of the films chosen would take me into some dark and less than appealing areas of horror genre films, particularly that of gore cinema.  While I only bought a copy of The Devil's Experiment with the express intention of reselling it, however, since it was in my possession I decided to make it a selection for this month of films.  Also known as Guinea Pig 1, The Devil's Experiment exists as part of a larger series of gore films created in Japan during the mid 80's to the early 90's up until a pre-Tiger Blood Charlie Sheen discovered a copy of one of the films and made it a crusade of his to find the creators and arrest them for what he believed to be real footage.  To describe The Devil's Experiment as grotesquely unwatchable is to undermine the extremely clear lack of reality that extends through the forty minute film.  At no point did I pick up a moment where I felt something was actually occurring, more so no snuff film, not that I have seen one, has that nice of cinematography.  The Devil's Experiment is a film of artistic expression, all be it, one very dark, twisted and disturbed vision.   Given its unavailability for quite some time, the film now exists more as a legend that is to be discovered hiding away on the back shelf of a movie or rental store, one that in my opinion is certifiably underwhelming.  Sure the film is a bit sickening and damn near unwatchable, but it has not managed to keep the factor of the sheer grotesque as a film like Cannibal Holocaust has, nor does it have the implicit and keen political commentary of Pasolini's disturbing, yet magnificent work Salo.  In essence, The Devil's Experiment exists for a certain kind of film viewer, one who wants their palette saturated with confrontational, grating images of gore and could care very little for plot or social approval, yet one might be able to glean some sort of social criticism out of this gore classic.

The Devil's Experiment is one of the rare films whose narrative truly extends beyond the filmic narrative, which is good because there is not really a plot and at only forty minutes it makes describing it in a paragraph a bit difficult.  Suffice to say the film, like many a found footage works, suggests that the material was mailed to an unwilling recipient who watched the work only to immediately call the police in total shock and disgust.  The film provides no names, dates or production info suggesting it to be some sort of home video filled with sadomasochistic acts.  These acts include everything from striking a young woman with hands and legs to the boiling of hot oil on her skin.  The acts do not always include torture of the physical or external sense as some scenes involve spinning the woman around and pouring whiskey down her throat until she is sick, or playing screeching noises in her ears until her sanity breaks.  Between scenes the woman is shown dangling from a net, suggesting a nearly inhuman quality about her, helping, but not justifying, to explain the men's ability to degrader her.  The film closes with a gruesome needle through the eye moment, reminiscent, but not nearly as cinematic as the infamous scene from Un Chien Andalou.  The aftermath of this film was intense, while it was allegedly a "found footage" piece the filmmaker and actors were forced onto a tribunal in which they were to prove that each scene was indeed created with cinematic illusion and that nobody was harmed. Furthermore, the Guinea Pig series received its ultimate condemnation in Japan when it was discovered that a prolific serial killer kept the movies in a personal collection, even going so far as to display one of the series in front of the rest of his disturbing collection.  Again, The Devil's Experiment exits more as a myth to be seen, as opposed to a classic to be enjoyed.

What then can be said about something like The Devil's Experiment.  In my opinion when one approaches a film of such a graphic nature and of political problematics, it is necessary to ask a simple question:  Does this film do anything to help advance or rethink cinema?  I am hesitant to say yes, but upon reflection I think an argument could certainly be made in its favor.  I think The Devil's Experiment to at least a minimal degree asks its viewers to consider their role in film viewing and to what degree violence should be condoned.  In the guise of scientific experimentation one can distance themselves from the acts performed and make an argument that it is purely a psychological reflection.  This is not true, because it is indeed the destruction of a human body, which is never acceptable, even in the name of science.  If this were indeed occurring to an individual we as a society would be up in arms and demanding the death penalty to all those involved.  If it is a reflection on psychology it is clearly on human's desire to see the taboo and grotesque, which can be tied to the death drive and some other Freudian rhetoric in which I am not well versed.  Of course the film too plays with notions of the gaze in cinema, something I am realizing is quite prominent in the horror genre, particularly since the film closes with the gouging of an eye, suggesting that the viewer should be threatened by a loss of vision and whatever form of unconscious pleasure they may have derived from the film.  Of course as a feminist I can only condemn this film because it is under no means acceptable on any level.

Key Scene:  Ummm....the end I guess if I absolutely had to pick a part, although if it is based solely on most disturbing scene I would say the Worm sequence.

So buying this film is not necessary, however, should you see a super cheap copy somewhere like I did, I would suggest purchasing it because it is worth a bit as it is and will likely only increase in price as the years pass, because from what I understand this film is doomed to never be released on any format again.

It's About Time You Start Telling The Truth: Bubble (2005)

I am sure my love for the experimental in filmmaking has come through on more than one occasion here on the blog, just as my adoration for Steven Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience, however, I for some reason had managed to completely overlook his earlier work Bubble for quite some time, which is a minor tragedy because the film is incredibly profound and quite intense.  As Soderbergh often does, Bubble dances very eerily between the world of documentary non-fiction and cinematic fiction, considering that it is an artistic film that happens to incorporate everything one demarcates as being cinematically sound.  The film is at once both absurdist theatre and tragic reality, but exists in such a vacuum of immediacy that one finds the ending emerging while still trying to comprehend the films opening scenes.  It is hard not to quickly place a film like Bubble in with the works of Dogme 95, however, where this movement pushes towards conceptualizations of filmmaking over what is being said, Soderbergh simply enjoys making experiential pieces, in which what is being said, as well as how it is being said play equal parts in the manifestation of his often eccentric and dark social commentaries. Bubble is beautiful in its starkness and watchable in the far off possibility that something this bizarre could indeed occur.

Bubble centers on life in an unspecified American factory town, in which everyone is working class.  The narrative focuses specifically on Martha (Debbie Doebereiner) an overweight woman, who occasionally offers unwanted opinions to those around her between spraying eyes and lips onto dolls.  She serves as a chaffier and voluntary maternal figure to Kyle (Dustin James Ashley) a overworked young man who takes on the burden of a sick mother and the bills in what appears to be a single parent household.  Thingis in Martha and Kyle's world are not inspiring by any means and are, in fact, rather dull until the factory hires a new girl named Rose (Misty Wilkins) who instantly becomes the point of affection for Kyle, desite Martha's rather blatant misgivings.  Despite her concerns, Rose and Kyle go out on a date to a local bar, only for the two to return Kyle's place for a bit of chit-chat, all the while Martha has been stuck wathing Martha's kid from another relationship.  While returning it becomes clear that Rose is being followed by an ex-boyfriend who confronts he after Kyle's departure an act that occurs in front of Martha, who tries to put in her two cents before going home for the night.  The next day brings shock as it is discovered that Rose is dead.  All roads appear to lead to either Kyle, or Rose's pothead ex-boyfriend, however, as the filmmaker would have it, another character emerges in the last moments that completely undermine the entire set of assumptions

The honesty in Bubble is almost impossible to watch, whether it be the stagnant camera or the monotonous tones of the actors, everything in the film adds to the droning nature of the narrative.  Furthermore, a film that outright claims to be a crime story, spends a considerable amount of time focusing on the introduction and going-ons of the characters, particularly the inner-turmoil of Martha who is shown in church as well as engaged in longing gazes directed towards Kyle and his new female friend.  Soderbergh, in a moment of either accident or brilliance, incorporates images of working class identity has the characters continually drinking and eating from fast food chains, implying a general lack of physical health, which will in turn drastically affect mental health within the film's world.  Furthermore, the lines delivered clearly have a forcedness to them, but not in an obnoxious way, but in a manner to add validity to what is being said, considering that in the narratives of reality one is constantly at a loss for words.  This loss of voice is quite important to a film like Bubble in that so much of it is awkward pauses between characters, are real occurrence yet it rarely happens in a cinematic piece, even one with a decidedly indie or cinema veritae feel.  Not to mention this film does a lot with gender, religion and escapism as they relate to working class America.

Key Scene:  The moment with Martha in church is human tragedy on a poetic level.

Bubble, like many of the director's films, is currently on Netflix Watch Instantly and is well worth one's time to check out.  It is a complete reconceptualizing of crime thrillers and a success in "big-budget" experimental film.