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

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

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

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

Key Scene: Rat humans.

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

I Want To Stay Sane Enough To Recognize The Terror: Marebito (2004)

I have seen many Tartan Asian Extreme releases, in most cases entirely predicated upon their being Korean films, which means that I will give them consideration for this fact alone.  While about a third of the films are generally watchable, most prove a bit reductive, or exploitative in ways that neither push forward genre conventions or prove watchable even in a disconcerting manner.  Even fewer suffer from the problem of wild mislabeling in their advertisement, or at least that was the case with Marebito, a film that sat on my "to view" shelf for ages because from the looks of its vague, torture porn/vampire cover it was something I would immediately hate upon popping it into my DVD player.  Yet, in the case of this film, the DVD cover and vague description on the back do little to truly speak to the excellent work which presents itself on the film.  An entirely digital film, Takashi Shimizu, manages to meld together various types of moving images, whether they be video recordings, television images or even the diegetic space of the film itself to consider what is seen by the human eye and, more interestingly, what presences beyond human perception can emerge when a new form of technology can achieve heightened senses.  Doubling also as a narrative of descent into the labyrinth of madness, Marebito becomes a work so purposefully expressionist that it has a degree of landscape painting, at times indicative of the work of Caspar David Friedrich or the wonderful nightmarish spaces of a F.W. Murnau film, more so considering the twisting of the plot in ways that make Dr. Caligari seem like a straightforward story.  Marebito, much like post-2000 J-horror films, challenges the conventions of horror, but does so while also undermining the entire under process of filmmaking in the process.

Marebito focuses on Masuoka (Shinya Tsukamoto) a freelance cameraman who travels about the city of Tokyo chronicling items of interest, compounding them together, along with hours of surveillance footage to create a bizarre sort of viewing room in his house full of televisions and computer screens constantly streaming various imagery, both of a mundane and tragic nature.  Perhaps one of the more unusual things in Masuoka's viewing is that of a woman staring out a window, of which he constantly talks to about her existence.  However, when Masuoka uncovers footage of a man stabbing himself in the forehead, he becomes obsessed with the nature of his fear and curious as to what the man was starring at so intensely right before committing the act.  When the image breaks free of its conventions and directly acknowledges Masuoka's looking, he becomes even more scared and begins a quest into the underworld of Tokyo to find answers.   With his camera in tow, Masuoka discovers a world of underground dwellers known as Dero, who seem more like bestial vampires than humanoid figures.  When he comes across the deceased form of the body he watched stab itself on screen, Masuoka's descent takes on new levels, particularly when he emerges from his descent into a new world of lush colors and dreary skylines, where he finds one of the presumed Deros, this time a female, chained to the wall naked.  Confused, but curious, Masuoka takes the woman back to his apartment and begins keeping her as a pet, an act that quickly takes a dark turn, not only for its possession elements, but because the girl, who Masuoka names F, can only be nourished by being given blood to consume, finding particular enjoyment in human blood.  This leads to Masuoka's life falling apart and his alienating, in some times very harmful ways, from the rest of the world, while also becoming aware of his own heightened perceptions after his descent into the darkness, leading to a sacrificial act on his part so grand that it causes him to assumedly plunge into the depths of the labyrinth completely and irreversibly.

To call Marebito a bizarre reconsideration of Plato's Allegory of the Cave would be a bit of a misnomer, even if Masuoka does represent a character bringing an understanding of "the light" to a group living in the shadows.  Indeed, it is far more inclined to pull from the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, particularly since the narrative does have a winding maze like quality about it and the descent into the labyrinth is rather obvious.  Masuoka, however, is far from the valiant figure of Theseus who manages to slay a minotaur and win the love of the girl.  Instead, Masuoka is almost a hybrid of the two tales, a man questing a deeper understanding of perception by coming to face that which is truly frightening, hoping to share in the vision of the suicidal man, thus becoming hyper aware of the world that surround him.  Masuoka certainly achieves this quest, but it is also at the cost of much of the world around him, clearly not the most healthy of individuals Masuoka shells himself up in his home, clearly malnourished and decidedly lacking in proper hygiene.  It is not until his ability to sequester himself from the world around him is question, via his wife whose presence inexplicably emerges into the narrative that things truly take a turn.  The Prozac popping Masuoka tosses away his pills, affording him a new awareness of his surroundings, realizing that even the most normal seeming of individuals are existing in a state of fractured self, one that is tied to the digital world in ways that are visible.  The quickly maddening Masuoka also begins to pick up the creatures navigate the liminal space of the world both through the lens of his film camera, as well as in the shadows of the street, his psychosis, or perhaps his "transcendence" into darkness proving the necessary lens to capture the world in a new and decidedly troublesome way.  This is only one element within all the other considerations at work in Marebito, including narratives of voyeurism, depression, the place of technology in modern Japan and relationships in a broad scale.  It works on these levels brilliantly and jarringly.

Key Scene:  The walking through the streets of Tokyo when Masuoka's perceptions begin to falter is haunting, in a way only digital filmmaking could invoke.

This DVD is pretty cheap on Amazon, but it might still be worth renting first, particularly since I am still uncertain as to whether or not this is actually a brilliant film.

Think Of 'Em Like Moving Two By Fours: Tucker and Dale Vs Evil (2010)

The revisionist horror film is almost a thing that is ad nauseam in post-digital filmmaking.  Indeed, it would appears as though every hip post-film school punk thinks themselves capable of creating a masterwork in horror that is in comparison to Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist.  This is not to say that decent digital horror films do not exist, there are quite a few examples of next level horror films that have emerged in the past decade, but for the most part they are indicative of sloppy filmmaking that masks itself under excessive gore and formulaic plot.  Tucker and Dale vs Evil in all its absurdity does manage to reconsider some of the elements necessary to horror films and even cleverly engages with some of the classic horror cinema texts from which it pulls.  Of course, given that the entirety of the film is predicated upon one misunderstanding based on social stereotypes the jokes surrounding this run thin by the end and seem less than stellar.  That is not to say that Tucker and Dale vs Evil is not an enjoyable viewing experience, but purely to note that it loses its flare by the closing moments.  The highlight here, however, is Alan Tudyk, who as I noted along side Trey on my appearance on the podcast Drive By Nerding, when Tudyk shows up in anything I will seek it out and consume it, because even with his decidedly comedic choices, he turns in some of the best acting available.  Where Tucker and Dale vs Evil works as a film is in the moments that it clearly makes sure it is not taken seriously, layering on blood and nudity as though it is almost an afterthought, noting that as a genre film it is somehow only taken seriously when such extremes are depicted, by not taking these "necessary" moments as anything but fabrication viewers are allowed to dig a bit deeper and consider the implications of villains and heroes in the horror film canon proper, and like any good revisionist work of genre filmmaking, Tucker and Dale vs Evil leaves those who encounter it considering the very nature of the presumably entrenched tropes of hillbilly slasher movies.

Tucker and Dale vs Evil focuses on two coinciding stories, one focusing on a group of college kids taking a weekend trip to the woods, ranging from the likable and well-meaning Allison (Katrina Bowden) to the seemingly devious and decidedly maniacal Chad (Jesse Moss).  Along with a few other friends they are hoping to get drunk in the woods and engage in all the wild behaviors possible.  Meanwhile Dale (Tyler Labine) and Tucker (Alan Tudyk) also have high hopes of their own, as two self-associating rednecks they take pride in their acquisition of a vacation home, planning on spending the weekend engaging in renovations of the space.  At a local gas station the two groups cross paths, Dale taking a liking to Allison, but when approaching the group, Dale in his stalky demeanor and carrying of a scythe like pole only manages to scare the group, however, their paths reconvene when later that night while fishing, Tucker and Dale spot the group going skinny dipping, even catching Allison as she begins to undress on a high rock.  Scared, Dale shouts causing Allison to fall in panic and become knocked unconscious.  In guilt, Dale takes Allison back to their cabin and begins bringing her back to health, much to the frustrations of Tucker, but more so to the panic of Allison's friends, particularly Chad who mounts a wild plan to get his girlfriend back.  This plan falls completely to the wayside, however, when each attack leads to Dale or Tucker accidentally killing one of the member from Chad's group, either by dodging their attack and leading to their being impaled or by accidentally allowing them to fall into a wood chipper.  Ultimately, Chad becomes wildly vindictive in his attempts to seek revenge upon Tucker and Dale, at one point capturing Tucker and chopping off one of his fingers.  As a past story of murders in the area unfolds, it becomes clear that Chad is perhaps not as well-meaning as he appears, just as Tucker and Dale are not quite as brutal, and in the end Chad is destroyed and Dale is able to win over Allison.  Tucker who now possesses a new finger, seems quite content to be able to enjoy a fresh PBR from his hospital bed.

Tucker and Dale vs Evil works in a lot of regards.  The gore is so synthetic and absurd as to be nearly endearing in its absurdity and much of the dialogue is so heavy handed that one might think writer/director Eli Craig lifted every bit of it from eighties horror films.  These things are great and some of the highlights of the film, but what makes this film clever and a decidedly post-genre comedy, is the way in which it deals with the homoeroticism latent to the psychotic hillbilly horror film, particularly the classic in this regards Deliverance.  Wherein violently sexual encounters are used in a very demeaning and metaphorically visceral way in the cult classic starring Burt Reynolds, the homoeroticism of Tucker and Dale vs Evil becomes humorous in how much Craig makes the viewers acknowledge its potential, made all the more intriguing by the sort of connections made to rural folk life in hilly southern country that is entirely predicated upon Deliverance and the infamous "squeal like a piggy" scene.  Tucker and Dale obviously share a longing with one another, a desire to be together that is not necessarily sexual, but still borders on being wildly homoerotic.  Whether it be their initial encounter with the ill-fated police chief wherein Dale finds himself in a compromising position with Tucker, or their countless mishaps that land one on top of the other, it is clear that their embraces linger on far longer than one would expect for purportedly heterosexual men.  Craig's equally lengthy shots of the scenes ask viewers to first laugh at the absurdity, but then consider why exactly it is funny, when the situational bit wears thing.  In a society that is far more open to diverse sexual identities this is executed beautifully and becomes a great study on individuals burgeoning into their comfort sexually.  For Dale it is a movement towards heterosexuality, but it is rather clear that in the relationship between himself and Tucker that it is Tucker who truly possesses the homoerotic desire, almost affirmed by his acquiring a woman's finger in his hand transplant, one that Dale says fits, a clear suggest that his desire for men is fine, although not best directed at Dale.  This is all minimally discussed in the film, but, nonetheless, exists and makes for a wonderfully subversive film, masquerading as an absurdist horror comedy.

Key Scene:  Any of the moments involving Tudyk waxing poetic about beer are quite wonderful.

Neflix. Watch. Instantly.  In contrast to most of the garbage available, this is well worth your consideration.

There Was A Man Down There!: Zombie (1979)

Certain blog posts about films beg questions as to the larger meaning of life, or the nature of good versus evil as shown in societies most basic engagements.  At times films flail to answer these questions and in other situations they deliver such an assertive voice on an issue as to become a significant moment in cinema, as well as a work of art that proves important well beyond its inception, as is the case with something like 2001: A Space Odyssey.  Zombie, the gore-fest horror film by Italian director Lucio Fulci, ask questions as well, or more appropriately causes those who view it in all its shlock-filled glory to inquire about the various oddities and curiosities which unfold throughout the film.  For example, who in their right mind only goes swimming in a thong, but feels it absolutely necessary to wear a gaudy swim cap in the process.  Or, how one could find themselves in such a situation as to allow a slow zombie the chance to catch up with them, push only their hand through the room and then drag their eye into an exposed piece of wood.  Hell, it even posits a possible world where people feel so incapable of stifling their sexual desires that they consider having sex in the middle of a zombie infested forest, only to be genuinely surprised by their being attacked.  In all these ways, perhaps Zombie really does transcend its restraints of traditional gore cinema and become a focused look at human nature on par with the great works of the auteurs, who knows, because between the terrible, and I have seen enough to know this is particularly bad, voice dubbing and video transferred blurriness. Yet, Zombie, as a work that does, for all intents and purposes, exist in its own cinematic space manages to move through cult cinema circuits, word-of-mouth and devoted cinephiles with the same adoration given to the works of Kubrick or Welles.

Zombie, is of course about zombies, but that does not mean that Fulci does not approach the narrative without earnestness.  Indeed, the film begins pseudo-in media res, with a beginning shot of a shadowy figure shooting a body moving about that is bound and blanketed in a white sheet, before nothing it is now feasible to leave the island.  The film then opens with an abandoned yacht floating into the harbor of New York, wherein two unsuspecting cops are attacked by a zombie creature, only to shoot it into the depths of the city's harbor.  The cops confused by the events question Anna Bowles (Tisa Farrow) who is the owner of the yacht, only to discover that she was engaged in an elicit affair, leading to the secrecy behind the yacht's appearance.  Anna explains that the attacks are likely attached to the work her father does on a tropical island, leading to her and reporter Peter West (Ian McCulloch) being sent to ascertain exactly what is occurring and what exactly is happening to the diseased attacking bodies.  Given their trouble traveling the duo gain the help of boating experts and semi-professional nudists Bryan Curt (Al Cliver) and Susan Barrett (Aurretta Gay).  Upon arrival at an uncharted island known as Matool, the group meets up with Dr. David Menard (Richard Johnson) who explains that the island is particularly subject to a disease that causes all those who die in its spaces to rise from the dead with an uncontrollable desire for human flesh and despite the dangers clear with such a disease, he insists on staying to continue research.  This continual occupation in the space of the island leads to the various members of the group being attacked, whether it be Dr. Menard's wife being attacked post-shower by a decidedly voyeuristic zombie, or the previously mentioned attacks on the couple having sex.  Eventually, the only survivors of the vicious onslaught are Peter and Anne, who bring along the zombie corpse of Bryan as evidence, yet when they get close to New York they discover via radio transmission that the city, and presumably much of The United States is under the spell of the disease.

Zombie is not made to be taken too seriously, although it is clear that Fulci has some semblance of a social critique at play, one no less on the nose than any other zombie film of the time, particularly the work of George A. Romero, from which, this film heavily and unapologetically borrows.  Indeed, its proper Italian title is Zombi 2, as Zombi represents the Italian name for Romero's wildly successful Dawn of the Dead, a personal favorite of mine in the genre.   I say all this to suggest that the metaphors in this film, much like their predecessor are intended to be on the nose, precisely because a zombie film affords an othering, wherein all characters are aware of the evilness they are versing, thus making any sense of previous social divide moot.  Take for example the race and gender elements of Romero's original film Night of the Living Dead and how they are briefly acknowledged and immediately transcended in favor of focusing on the push for survival and the irrelevance of all previously constructed notions of society.  Indeed, Fulci is aware of this commentary and by setting his film on a remote island only furthers the detachment of the film's narrative from such institutionalized structures, therefore affording a degree of subversion to bodily depictions in the film.  However, Fulci also seems to be bending the genre, albeit, unintentionally by heavily relying on elements of the exploitative for his film, the wild use of gore, at time really jarring and at other moments so artificial as to be humorous manages to work on an almost, dare I say, Brechtian level, both drawing the viewers into the films intensity while also chastising and alienating them for taking any joy, even if purely visceral, in such excess and faux social critique.  Zombie wants its viewers to be unsettled by not only the infestations and body horror of the film, but by the fact that it is indeed being paralleled to a society that is equally disconcerting when placed under a microscope, showing that the same worms that spills out of the eyes of the various zombies, manifest themselves metaphorically through capitalist and scientific endeavors in the Western world.  Furthermore, should you think this all implausible, Fulci's closing scenes drive this home with great zeal.

Key Scene:  Shark versus Zombe.

This DVD is surprisingly cheap for its cult like status, but I am aware it might not work for everyone, therefore, renting might be an ideal course of action.

Your Will Is Strong Van Helsing: Dracula (1931)

I am returning from what may well be my longest hiatus away from posting a blog since its inception and I feel as though a bit of explanation is necessary.  First, I am getting further into the beast that is legitimate academic scholarship on film.  Not that I do not love writing blog posts, but these are a labor of love that serve more as a space for me to toss around ideas about films I view for later reference, the fact that anybody reads the posts is added benefit, particularly when they leave wonderful and insightful commentary after doing so.  Second, I have spent almost the entirety of last week at Orphans Midwest, an amazing conference of discussions on non-commerical films and their place in social and academic discourse.  The entire event filled with prolific discussions by scholars, as well as an insane amount of rarefied screenings from Hollis Frampton outtakes to 40's era Studebaker was everything I could possibly want to spend time doing, but it was certainly daunting and very time consuming.  As such, I have decided to return this month with a similar marathon as I had last October, one focusing entirely on the genre of horror films, both in their most obvious incarnations, as well as some of their more unusual executions.  I really enjoyed this endeavor last year and managed to knock a ton of previously unseen films off of my list, as well as found myself being afforded with an opportunity to revisit some of my favorite works.  This year it will be more heavy on things that I have never seen, especially some of the real classics, but I have made room for one film that I have been meaning to revisit since it was the subject of an "informative" documentary, both on the nature of film studies and individuals' relationships with art in general.  Beginning with one of my rather large shame spots, I have decided to undertake Tod Browning's 1931 adaptation of Dracula, one of the major works in Universal Studios' long run of monster movies from the thirties, a work whose expressionist charm and chiaroscuro haunting imagery meld into a work that seems as scary, and, more importantly, timeless as its introduction over eighty years ago.

Dracula, this version at least, begins with Renfield (Dwight Frye) a solicitor organizing a visitation to through the townsfolk of Transylvania with the hopes of meeting Count Dracula (Bela Lugosi) on an urgent business manner.  Confused as to why the townsfolk are hesitant to help him in his endeavor, Renfield, nonetheless, accrues a driver to take him to Borgo Pass where he is to meet Dracula at midnight.  A series of events, including a bat-led carriage lead Renfield into a state of paranoia, one fully affirmed when he finally meets Dracula in his castle, realizing that the count is very much a vampire, using his ability of fascination to drive the unsuspecting Renfield into madness and using him as a means to transport himself to England.  Upon arrival in England, Dracula immediately takes it upon himself to find bodies with which to feed upon, including the young Mina (Helen Chandler) whom Dracula fascinates and then preys upon in her sleep, resulting in her death the following day, despite a series of unsuccessful blood transfusions.  Renfield, now housed in an insane asylum, becomes the obsession of Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) who realizes taht after his talk of spiders and vampires, that he is clearly a victim of Count Dracula, thus leading to Van Helsing seeking out the vampire and ridding London of his violent endeavors.  Van Helsing and Dracula eventually encounter one another, wherein Dracula explains that Mina is invariably attached to his influence, suggesting that she belongs to him now through a blood bond, one affirmed by her zombie like attachment to the count.  Van Helsing, an expert in the folklore of vampires, manages to equip himself with the various paraphernalia necessary to counter Dracula's tricks and fascinations, particularly a crucifix which drives the vampire away instantaneously.  After a run-in with the still maniacal Renfield, Van Helsing is able to trap Dracula inside his coffin during the daylight, affording him an opportunity to drive a stake through the vampires body, thus freeing Mina from her possession.

Dracula is a classic work in expressionist horror, working right on the cusp of the silent era German Expressionist work, wherein the lines between darkness/light, good/evil and sanity/insanity are thinly veiled, if not entirely non-existant.  Think about basically the entirety of Dr. Caligari, wherein the narrative takes a turn, then another turn, only to be followed by another turn, just to have that all be a turn within in a turn.  Suffice it to say, it makes Inception look like child's play.  Dracula is not a convoluted plot in even the loosest of terms, indeed, it is about as straight forward as a film can be, indicative of Classic Hollywood filmmaking and much of the horror output dumped on viewers by Universal, the exception to this being any narratives involving the more complex character of Frankenstein, whose Universal film might receive in-depth focus later this month.  The choice ot make the divides rather blatant in this film, afford it a degree of study on the nature of insanity, one that suggest that much of madness might well be rooted in a reality, even if it is the result o fa truly demonic/evil presence inducing such mania.  Renfield, is certainly crazy for his preoccupation with spiders and vampires, but it is something that came after a traumatic event, not something that necessarily reflects a person being induced by inexplicable mental breakdown.  Similarly, there are clear lines drawn between good and evil that are tied to more traditional norms, which seem almost seem absurd by contemporary standards.  Take for example the rural townsfolk whose purity is tied to their proletariat nature, one that is in direct contrast to the bourgeois excess and evil of Count Dracula whose consumption of things around him, literally in the sense of bodies, make him both evil in a demonic sense, as well as in a non-capitalist context.  Indeed, the only person of wealth who is deemed morally forthright is the doctor Van Helsing, but his goodness is tied to his profession one that affords him likability and lightness, in contrast to the darkness of Dracula, making the matted style of this film with its expressionist backdrops that much more clear in its divisions.  Formulaic as they may seem by contemporary eyes, these are tropes that were then still establishing themselves, and Browning serves them up at their most pictorial.

Key Scene:  The classic scene of the line of light on Dracula's eyes when he is in the act of fascinating Mina is a point of perfection in Gothic horror.

This film gets a bit long in its last act, stopping it from being a flawless film, but it is still an exceptional work, whose classic status is without question.  Furthermore, it is available on Netflix so watching it is easy and worthwhile given its short runtime.

It Was A Dream, But Not A Dream: My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

This is yet another example of where pulling a quote into the title of my blog post also happens to reflect my feelings for the film on the whole.  My Neighbor Totoro, was perhaps the biggest blip on my "never seen" shame list, because having already encountered countless other Miyazaki films and being made constantly aware of this as a masterpiece, I was constantly putting it on the back burner, figuring that I would eventually get around to its viewing.  When it spent a year or so in a bizarre bluray upgrade limbo (at the time region free was not a viable option), I just sat hoping that it would magically appear in my lap at some point.  When the powerful of arm of Disney used its extension of Studio Ghibli to release this on bluray earlier this year, I knew that it had to be obtained, because much like all the decent stuff Disney releases, it is usually lacking in a wider audience, therefore resulting in it falling into limited print obscurity, a few copies being secretly passed amongst friends, or one would assume this to be the case with something like David Lynch's The Straight Story.  All of this is an aside of sorts to say that I finally caught up with My Neighbor Totoro, a work so heavily hyped and made to be something otherworldly that my expectations were nearly impossible, which I feared would result in a general hesitation to embrace the film.  Yet, when the film began to unfold in front of me I realized that the wonder that made Miyazaki's career was as present as ever, almost in a wildly subtle way, wherein, the magical realist elements that have become signifiers of his oeuvre creep into the narrative, as opposed to exploding into action as occurs in something like Spirited Away or Howl's Moving Castle.  Furthermore, never one to shy away from the tragedies in life, the threat of loss and the forced moments of youth being confronted with adulthood are at their most entrenched within this film, and for a filmmaker whose entire career has become predicated on breaking from realism, excluding his writing of the most recent From Up on Poppy Hill, My Neighbor Totoro, might well have one of the most hauntingly real of moments, so poetically executed, as to take on a surreal quality indicative of the hyper-tragic Grave of Fireflies.

My Neighbor Totoro, focuses on the experiences of two girls, the strong-willed, yet wide-eyed Satsuki and her younger sister the loud-mouthed but earnestly curious Mei.  The two girls are currently residing with their grandmother in the countryside, while their father moves too and from Tokyo for work, the reason for their needing to stay away is predicated upon their mother being hospitalized for an unnamed illness.  As such, the two spend many of their weekends traveling to visit her and awaiting the return of their father from work each day.  Of course, given that they moments, as well as attending school, only consume so much of their day-to-day activities, Satsuki and Mei spend their time traveling through the woods and meadows of the rural town.  It is during one of these trips that Satsuki and Mei meet a giant cat-like creature that Mei refers to as a mispronunciation of troll, therefore becoming known as Totoro.  This creature begins to appear intermittently during Satsuki and Mei's endeavors, often showing up in moments of trouble or fear as a means to put them at ease, for example, a large Totoro spends time awaiting the arrival of their father who is late from work, even providing them with a small gift of acorns and nuts which they plant in their yard.  These acorns lead to a gigantic tree growing in their yard, wherein Totoro and his various smaller forms take Satsuki and Mei on a wild flight through rural Japan.  When the girls awake the next day they realize it has been a dream, but also notice that the seeds have still sprouted, leading them to believe that the magic of Totoro might actually exist.  When Satsuki receives news that their mother has fallen ill, yet again, with a cold her and Mei panic, attempting to contact their father, who tells them to be patient until he can obtain more information.  Mei, unfortunatley, is incapable of grasping the necessity of patience and takes it upon herself to travel to the hospital, getting lost and become a cause for concern in the entire village.  Satsuki in a moment of desperation tracks down Totoro and uses his magical cat bus to find Mei and then visit their mother, although they do so from outside the window, leaving her a gift in the hopes of it leading to her quick recovery.  This act, assumedly works, or at least the closing credits animations would suggest as much.

Coming of age tales are often dealt with in a hyper-sentimental manner, leaning heavily on everything being perfect and avoiding the very real fact that for most people, growing up is tied to a point of fear or moment of tragedy.  Perhaps the best example of this working, while also being highly sentimental would be the lost love sequence of Summer of '42.  I would posit that Miyazaki also does this as a filmmaker, using the magical realist elements of his film to ease the heavy blow of tragedy, while also showing that necessitates growing older.  Totoro and the escapism it provides to the girls is also paired with Satsuki coming to realize that his escapist qualities do not factor into her mother suddenly becoming healthy.  Indeed, if anything Totoro is more a projection on the part of Satsuki to help maintain Mei's sense of wonder with the world, because Satsuki has her own moment of tragic awakening, when she realizes that her mother "having colds" indicates a white lie being propagated by adults to tell the two girls that their mother is sick, but not entirely playing into how truly troublesome her health might well be.  When Satsuki confronts an adult about his lie, they can offer nothing more than a defeated sigh, for they acknowledge the loss of innocence occurring, something that will never fully be the same.  Of course, Miyazaki realizes that the truly happy individual can still retain moments of innocence late into their life, pulling from it at moments of happiness, or as is the case with Mei and Satsuki's father, to help young persons understand the curiosities of the world, as is clear in the dust bunny discussion early in the film.  It is in moments like this were white lies are more fun stories in replacement of detailed scientific explanations which would be of little interest to a young person.  Yet, the most wonderful moment of magical realist escapism emerges when Satsuki and Mei's mother swears she sees her two daughters laughing outside her window, a moment that the viewers assume to be real, however, as their father suggests is only possible through the magical gift of the corn.  In this stroke of genius and subversive non-linear narrative, one can read the message as the father playing into the same "wonder in the world" rhetoric he uses when talking with his daughter as a means to ease the suffering of an ailing spouse.  To Miyazaki, tragedy is a reality, but it is also something that can be softened by a light-hearted and curious view of the world, because no all has to be heartbreaking, particularly when giant fluffy trolls can serve as emotional companions.

Key Scene:  The sandal floating in the water is stark, jarring and surreal and perhaps one of the single darkest frames in all of Miyazaki's oeuvre.

Buy this bluray.  Buy your friends this bluray.  Buy everyone this bluray.

I'm Good, We Gonna Be Good: Fruitvale Station (2013)

It is no small task to release a film about a controversial shooting against the backdrop of a heated debate of racial attacks in America, particularly one where justice became murky quite quickly and an sour taste was left in the mouth of those both directly and indirectly involved in the incidents.  It is even more challenging to release a film against the existence of very real footage surrounding an event, one whose violence is factually chronicled, yet still wildly inexplicable.  That is precisely what occurs within the context of Ryan Coogler's cinematic and poignant directorial debut Fruitvale Station.  A film that possessed such an evocative theme and decided force from its very inception, Fruitvale Station was already on my radar well before its release and the closer to its release date it came, the more it seemed as though it was on the tails of the Trayvon Martin case, whose presence invariably exists all over this film.  Fortunately, the film does manage to navigate the tenuous and troubling issues with a degree of awareness about the layers of representation, suggesting that even the most seemingly understood of individuals can prove to have a set of motives and challenges that invariably come to challenge any notion of changing or starting over.  There have been many films like Fruitvale Station prior and there will, undoubtedly, be many films like it to follow, what they all lack is an understanding that they invariably exist outside the frame of the reality, attempting to posit a layer of credibility to a set of events that can only be certain in the previously reality, thus making the film a statement about what can and should occur in the aftermath of a tragedy.  Whereas, Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing, from which Fruitvale Station inevitably pulls, is afforded a pre-9/11 space to create a narrative against an assumed outcome, Fruitvale Station cannot create quite the same sense of a simulacra of events.  Coogler understanding that his work is occurring after the events of Rodney King, as well as in a post-9/11 framework chooses to audaciously bookend his film with images of the real, making each fabrication and directorial choice that much more purposefully and precisely heavy-handed.  It is a profusely audacious decision, but one that pays off in incalculable ways.

Fruitvale station, begins with actual cell phone footage that depicts the arresting of Oscar Grant III, which leads to an assumedly accidental shooting, before cutting to the fictionalized version of the events leading up to the real incident.  Oscar (Michael B. Jordan) is shown talking with his girlfriend Sophina (Melanie Diaz) about their respective New Year's Resolutions, while also caring for the couple's daughter Tatiana (Ariana Neal).  Hoping to get his feet back on the ground after a stint in jail, Oscar returns to his old job begging to be forgiven for his continual tardiness, which has direct ties to his selling of drugs, an endeavor that assumedly caused his jailing, which is also dealt within in the narrative.  Despite his inability to attain a legal job, Oscar vows to end a life in the world of selling drugs both for his daughter and girlfriend, as well as for his mother Wanda (Octavia Spencer) who seems to serve as the only guiding presence in Oscar's desultory life, especially considering his notable devotion to assuring that she has an enjoyable birthday.  After attending his mothers birthday party, Oscar and Sophina plan to meet up with various friends and attend New Year's fireworks in San Francisco.  The group meets up and despite the general drunkenness of those on the subway train they are traveling, nonetheless, seem to get along with little or no trouble, the general glee of New Year's celebrations momentarily transcending race, class and gender divides.  At one point, Oscar even appears to meet up with a man whose work in web design could prove a ticket to a respectable job and step in the right direction.  Tired from the events the group returns home  on an even more crowded train, at which point Oscar by a wicked twist of fate runs into an enemy he made while in prison leading to a minor incident on the train.  Nonetheless, the scuffle results in subway authorities entering the train and forcefully removing Oscar and his friends.  The two leading officers become incredibly aggressive in their methods, pushing Oscar's face into the ground and eventually shooting him through the back.  Realizing their mistake the officers quickly rush Oscar to the hospital, but it proves too fatal a wound to save and he is left on life support until it proves futile to keep him alive, the film closing with Sophina showering a confused Tatiana who simply asks where her father has gone, and in an even more sobering closing moment, the film cuts to a 2013 vigil for Oscar and a match cut of the real Tatiana crying closes the film, reminding viewers of the reality of the event and the contemporary presence of such inexplicable loss through acts of violence.

I know when I have reviewed a film like Red Eye, I praised its for its self-aware existence in a post-9/11 framework, where they understand that the ebb and flow of their narrative is entirely contingent upon an understanding that the majority if not the entirety of the audience is aware of the tragic inexplicable act of violence that occurred at the World Trade Center.  Red Eye kowtows into the absurd as a clear juxtaposition to the real violence, but also accepts that its tension is derived from that acknowledgement, particularly given its plane-in-flight setting.  Of course, the major example of post-9/11 cinema will always be United 93 poignantly directed by Paul Greengrass, but Fruitvale Station may well exist as the clear second in line to this work, in that, like United 93 it accepts that it is a fictional consideration of a very devastating and very real occurrence, one whose images are easily accessible and for many viscerally and permanently burned into their memory.  The moment of the planes hitting in United 93 is not recreated, because to do so would be to compete with a collective memory of the reality, a fabrication would seem ill-conceived and to many offensive.  With this in mind, reading Fruitvale Station as a film working within the space of the post-9/11 filmmaking framework is particularly fascinating, because like Greengrass does in United 93, Coogler accepts that his narrative is existing within the space of real images, ones available and catalogued heavily on the internet, an example of viral video becoming a powerful tool for justice and political action.  As such, Fruitvale Station is a poetic realist fabrication of the events leading up to the shooting, beginning the film with the real events as a means to assure that at no point will this film attempt to extend or challenge the reality, because it has been captured and to contest it, or undermine it would be to nobody's credit, particularly not that of Oscar who was very much a victim, as the cell phone footage affirms.  In so much, as it instead becomes a tribute to the ethereal memory of the lost Oscar, the film is post-9/11 instead celebrating moments of a remembered character, both in their ups and downs, hoping to show a scale of humanity that is discussed in the aftermath of such tragedy, while never suggesting itself as anything more than a film.  Indeed, as the closing shot of Fruitvale Station attests, no amount of glorified cinematic composition can help to deal with the tragic loss that affects those in the reality, but in an ideal world something like Fruitvale Station can at the very least afford people a space to consider their emotions and frustrations of such events, without hostility and violence becoming the immediate answer.

Key Scene:  Tatiana chasing Oscar after he picks her up from day care will break your heart, and again, this is because the film sets up from the beginning the certainty of his death and Coogler manages to make the fictionalized version of Oscar stand in for an emotive replacement nearly immediately, a challenging task made much easier by the stellar, Oscar-worthy, performance by Michael B. Jordan.

Go to a theater and see this, it is what should ideally be shown for 10+ screenings a day, as opposed to The Man of Steel.