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.

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.

It Depends On Whose Ox Gets Gored: River Of No Return (1954)

I knew at the inception of this month of women in film, I would have to include Otto Preminger's River of No Return, not entirely because it possesses a heavy female narrative, but because it is ostensibly point zero for feminist theory, as some readers may know, this is the film Laura Mulvey used when initially arguing for the existence of "the male gaze" in cinema, wherein the viewers, assumed to be males are privileged with physically gratifying images of women being objectified on screen, in the case of this film, Mulvey believed that Marilyn Monroe, particularly in her parlor scenes, served as a point of objectification not only for men in the cinema, but for the males in the film as well, a sort of reaffirmation of misogyny and patriarchal power.  As a self-proclaimed feminist film theorist I am all on board with Mulvey reading this possibility in a lot of film, yet it is a theory based almost entirely on the visual elements of cinema, which while important do not reflect the entirety of any piece of film, which also considers narrative and performance.  River of No Return, in itself contests the possibility of Monroe being objectified by her performance alone and while I am not attempting to discredit Mulvey's interpretation I think that River of No Return is more empowering than once assumed and certainly stands as its own bit of cinematic brilliance.  One would be hard-pressed to sit down and watch this film without becoming completely infatuated with all its magic and excitement.  Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe play off of one another beautifully, not to mention both lend some incredible musical performances to a film that is considerably defiant of genre.  I am constantly finding myself deeply challenged by claiming with any certainty a best bluray film, yet the Marilyn Monroe box set I obtained awhile back might well be the best decision, the raging river and spectacular sets, shot in Technicolor are beautiful to look at, only made all the more spectacular by costuming and Robert Mitchum's booming authoritativeness.  River of No Return is a spectacular piece of cinema, which has a problematic place in the feminist film theory canon, but still manages to hold sway over viewers nearly sixty years later.

River of No Return focuses primarily on the experiences of Matt Calder (Robert Mitchum) who is attempting to set up a farm in the middle of a gold rush, an effort made worse by his doing so after recently being released from prison.  He has made it to a particular encampment with the hopes of finding his son Mark (Tommy Rettig) whose survival seems to have been assured only due to serving as a beer runner.  Once the two are reunited, Matt and his son run into Kay (Marilyn Monroe) who Mark has already met, but makes an instant impression on Matt, with her level-headedness and sense of good ethics.  Yet, Kay is hopelessly infatuated with Harry Weston (Rory Calhoun) a big time gambler whose hopes of landing a huge gold claim result in his convincing Kay to join him on a raft trip to beat out everyone else to the gold.  It is during this trip that they meet heavy waters, fortunately, their crash happens right next to Matt's farm, where he rescues them without even thinking twice.  Kay is grateful, whereas Harry uses a moment of advantage to steal Matt's horses and continue in pursuit of his gold.  Kay realizing the terrible act Harry has committed, decides to stay with Matt and Mark and await Harry's return.  Staying at Matt's farm becomes impossible when Native American's attack the house, leading to Matt, Mark and Kay taking their own trip down the river on the raft, one filled with peril, more encounters with hostile natives and bounty hunters, not to mention the clear burgeoning affections between Matt and Kay, as well as Mark who deems them paternal figures.  Eventually they make it to where Harry is staying and after a failed attempt to get Harry to make amends with Matt, he is shot in the street by Mark, who does so to protect his after.  While the romance between Matt and Kay seems hopeless, a final moment of Matt returning to literally sweep Kay off her feet closes out the film.

So is the film problematic in its portrayal of gender, sure, but it is important to consider that the film was released in 1954 and exists, rather tenuously, within the Western genre, which rarely favors women.  I would also dismiss this being a film entirely predicated upon the visual objectification of Marilyn Monroe's body.  While this occurs, it is followed by verbal and performative rejections of such occurrences on the part of Monroe, who in recent years has become a surprising figure of empowerment in feminist and, more recently, queer theory.  They suggest that, as a performer, Monroe actively sought to do more with the roles than she was given, either over performing them, as is the case with The Seven Year Itch as a sort of ironic dissonance, or navigating the space to assure her empowerment of the scene, as occurs within Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  I would argue that this absolutely occurs within River of No Return, viewers are shown a Monroe who can stand her own against the towering Mitchum, as well as a woman capable of guiding with authority a very large raft, while simultaneously executing maternal roles without question.  Even her desires to do right and detach herself from an exploitative relationship with Harry seem to suggest a direct contradiction to the objectification that Mulvey seems so intent on attaching to this film specifically.  In a close reading of the bar scenes Monroe is a victim, yet in the context of a larger narrative she becomes empowered, especially once she rejects her own very real narrative exploitation.  All this considered, I will say that the closing scenes between her an Mitchum certainly threaten to undermine this entire argument, but her  blatant request that she obtain a loving relationship with Matt, seem to demand him picking her up and taking her to another place, as opposed to denying it outright.

Key Scene:  The gaze portion is discussed for a reason, it is an absolutely powerful moment in cinema, even with the theory detached, one will get caught up in how mesmerizing it proves to be from beginning to end.

I know I demand a lot of films be purchased, but this time I strongly urge you to pick up the Monroe bluray box set with all of her key films, it is easily one of the best bluray upgrades I have made to date, if not for this cinematically sound and theoretically controversial film, then for every other great work in the set.

I Can't Go Home Without My Dog Tags: R-Point (2004)

It should be no surprise that I decided to include at least one horror movie in my month of scary movies that was from South Korea.  As some of my readers may know I have been focusing many a blog post on South Korean cinema, particularly New Korean Cinema as it has become a research interest of mine now that I am in grad school.  While I could have went with just about any contemporary South Korean film as they all have certain elements of horror and certainly always seem to have at least one gory scene, I decided upon South Korea's highest grossing film of 2004, Su-Chang Kong's R-Point.  While I expected a bloody, somewhat non-linear film full of suspense from a South Korean horror film, I did not also expect to engage with such an excellent war movie, particularly one about the Vietnam War.  A near-perfect genre hybrid R-Point is precisely what I have come to love over the past year and a half regarding South Korean cinema: realized plots, unapologetic moments of humor in serious situations and deeply ponderous reflections on the state of society in a modernized South Korea.  Despite being set in 1972, R-Point goes to great lengths to comment on notions of masculinity in South Korean culture, as well as reflect on their troublesome, and historically overlooked, involvement in Vietnam.  R-Point even goes so far as to do some very clever things with "the gaze" in cinema something that I cannot wait to bring up in future academic presentations.

R-Point begins with an eerie radio signal being dispatched over a communication line, in which it is realized that the people calling have been reported missing for at least six months.  After the credits roll we are introduced to the films main protagonist Lieutenant Choi (Woo-seong Kam) a rebellious, yet decorated veteran who is fresh the controversial murdering of a Vietcong woman, who he kills in cold blood without giving her a fighting chance at survival, even though it is realized that the woman was indeed armed.  Rather unwillingly he is assigned, along with the direction of Sergeant Jin (Byung-ho Sun) to lead an ever rag-tag group of soldiers to rescue the lost men from a location known as R-Point.  After a few tests, one of which requires checking for STD's, the men are sent on their mission and a quick photograph is snapped before engaging in their mission.  It is only a matter of moments before they engage in a firefight with some remaining Vietcong fighters, one of which is a woman, who a younger member of the squadron is too afraid to kill, a fear that Choi recognizes, agreeing to spare the woman's life.  The soldiers then enter R-Point only to discover that is has served as a burial ground for a large amount of Chinese soldiers, ones that many of the group fear still haunt the fields.  Upon discovering an abandoned temple the group sets up post and this is when things truly become bizarre, between dark apparitions and inexplicable radio signals from French soldiers things begin to fracture amongst the group, leading to suicides of members that may or may not have been in the group from the onset.  As sanity slips it is realized that each interaction and conversation may have been an illusion and distrust arises, particularly once Choi realizes that the Chinese soldiers were not the only ones to die  at R-Point.  In a climactic shootout amongst the group one soldier is left as survivor and as the narrative suggests it is due entirely to being morally redeemable and void of any blood on his hands.

R-Point does a number on the buddy film made famous during World War II, while it certainly begins as such, minus the initial horror element, this comfort soon falters upon realizing that their threats come not from the traditional aspects of war, but from something otherworldly.  In this case they cannot bond over masculine success in killing or being an expert marksman, as might have been the case in something like Platoon.  As such they resort to acts of excrement or sexual prowess to justify their power, as occurs when one soldier pees on the Chinese engravings as a claim of power, or when the group is tested for STD's and one man is mocked for testing clean.  Futhermore, as was relevant in the previous blog about House on Haunted Hill, questions of rationality and emotive responses to what is seen become a point of masculine power or lack there of, ultimately, contradicted in the films closing sequence in which every character is forced, simultaneously, to challenge their notions of the rational, which has very dire consequences.  Even their acts of excrement as domination are undermined in a scene in which a character is showered in blood, perhaps reflecting the past scene of pissing on grave stones, in which the soldier reacts in disgust because he is now being degraded in a way that one of the soldiers had previously degraded a sacred place.  Finally, the notion of the gaze is incorporate throughout the film, quite similarly to the way in which it occurs within Fallen, yet in this case it focuses solely on the male group and becomes, like Mulvey suggested a destructive force of sorts, yet in this case it is destroying masculine bonding and power, a rather interesting occurrence within a film that involves a very small, all be it influential, group of women.  However, and perhaps most important, is the clear commentary on how war negatively effects a persons psyche, particularly when they are a casualty and lose a serious portion of their self-identity.

Key Scene:  The initial encounter with the ghosts of the lost squadron is beautifully oneiric.

This is a great horror film and arguably an even greater war film, while I am not sure it would make the cut for my favorite war movies of all time, I could see it placing high on my favorite Vietnam films.  This is a must own for anyone who fancies Korean, horror or war films and a holy grail for somebody, like myself, who enjoys all three.