You Know It On Touch, Not On Sight: The Eye (2002)

I had originally slated another Pang Brothers film in the slot for this day in the marathon, but when doing some last minute perusing on my "to be watched" shelf which is in a constant state of caving in upon itself, I realized I already had one of their films waiting, one that was far more inclined to be read as a horror film than the one I had planned on viewing.  The film, The Eye, is perhaps most associated with its Jessica Alba remake some six years later, for which I have not seen, nor do I really care to.  However, my deep adoration for the last decade and some change of Asian horror films drew me to this without a moments hesitation, more so considering that this one navigates between a few different spaces of Asia, never making a clear distinction between the changes aside from dialects that most Western audiences, myself included, would be hard pressed to distinguish.  As such, there is a certain degree of privilege to the national viewer in a film like The Eye, which is not to say that it is distancing or alienating in its output.  The Eye is about as well made a thriller as one can ask for without completely detaching itself from the horror elements with which it borrows from liberally.  The Pang Brothers understand that what they have created is first and foremost a focus on one woman and her struggle to find meaning and purpose when her worldview is literally expanded in previously inconceivable ways, however, that does mean that there are not some genuinely creepy moments sprinkled throughout the film.  In fact, I would posit that this, a rather overlooked Chinese/Singapore horror thriller contains what may well be the scariest ghost appearance in any film I have ever encountered.  It is not a particularly ghoulish apparition, nor is it grotesque in any sort of body horror way.  It is unsettling because the directors make it non-apparent, indeed existing in the corner of the screen, as though it is almost scary to discover it than to not be aware at all.  In a world of post-modern horror genre films embracing the excess, The Eye in all its cinematic intensity and moments of truly spine chilling horror, manages to remind viewers that the scariest things are those only a few are privilege, nay, cursed to encounter.

The Eye focuses on Wong Kar Mun (Angelica Lee) a woman who has spent nearly all of her life blind after an accident in her youth left her so.  Yet, upon the information that a donor matching her type has recently been made available, her family, particularly her grandmother, rushes to get her an operation.  Although the other people in the space of her hospital room seem to fair far less in their sickness or troubles, Mun's operation is successful and with some basic rehabilitation and a pair of sunglasses she is capable of moving into the world with newly rediscovered sight.  However, her new vision-abled site is not quite as welcoming as she suspected, because where people were previously willing to help her navigate the spaces of her town, she now finds that people assume her completely capable of perfect vision, despite still struggling to completely see objects at time.  More so, her one passion as a violinist is trampled when she is kicked out of her former all blind orchestra, precisely because she is no longer blind.  If these issues were not enough, Mun begins to pick up floating entities and bodies emerging in her peripheral vision that simply should not exist, whether it be a man standing stoically in the middle of free way or a ghoulish mother and child floating into the space of a restaurant.  When her physical therapist and new found romantic interest becomes aware that perhaps her claims to be seeing entities beyond the dimensional space of normal perception, might be valid, he helps her to undertake a quest to find the donor.  This task of course proves quite troublesome since donor information is made decidedly confidential, however, the drive of both Mun and her doctor, lead them to Bangkok where it is discovered that the woman who previously held Mun's eyes was a social pariah because of her fatally accurate visions of death.  These uncontrollable visions led to the woman's suicide, thus affording Mun the eyes.  Helping to end the cycle of the unfortunate loss through a near perfect recreation of the suicide, Mun helps to put the woman's soul at ease.  Unfortunately, this does not necessarily end the visions for Mun who is confronted with one last series of death encounters, before she comes to lose the second sight, in a return to her original state of vision and, subsequently, her happiness.

Considering that I am currently working on a paper (which appears to be close to publication!) on the nature of disability in a certain big-budget super hero franchise, I am particularly keen as to when films productively deal with, or more so fail to deal with issues of confronting disability.  In a rare moment, The Eye manages to do the former and show a rather earnest look into what it means to be blind and, more importantly, how even when altered or corrected that previous blindness can still prove detrimental to one's world view, almost as if it were a very personalized consideration of the affect theory.  Mun finds considerable challenge in the act of expressing herself because how she sees the world is so distinctly different from the vision abled people she interacts with, whether it be her frustrated grandmother who no longer wants her child to be a burden, or her doctor who seems so attached to the medical elements of her blindness as to assume her every feeling and frustration without asking her opinion or interpersonal struggles.  Similarly, the film also considers what happens to a disabled person should they find themselves fortunate enough to become able bodied.  Indeed, Mun is removed from her friendship with blind persons through her new found privilege, but it is a reminder that even when she is afforded sight she still has the memory of a time when darkness was all she could sense.  Indeed, the film takes on yet another layer of disability narrative in how "one sees the world," particularly once Mun can see and even when she is capable of seeing, it is through her other senses as the doctor notes.  Finally, what makes the film an absolutely intriguing study of disability is in how the work navigates the post-operation sight of Mun, who invariably pulls from her former blind self in her description of the world and even her instantly matured sight is seen as something that is still burgeoning.  As such, her extrasensory vision, is deemed the exact opposite at first, precisely because she is still othered as a result of a now extinct disability.  The cinematic conventions of this film provide the final element of pro-disability narrative by reaffirming the possible visions a person learning to see might encounter, whether it be flickering lights, or blurry background imagery.

Key Scene:  Subway train ride.  If you watch this keep your eyes peeled (I realize the brilliance in this moment of the film now as I write this).  If you do, prepared to be scared beyond belief.

This DVD is super cheap on Amazon.  Buy a copy, it is well worth the cost.

What I Miscarried There Was Sister Faith: Possession (1981)

I remember going into my horror movie marathon last year assuming that I would come across nothing that existed in a state of unrelenting profound film making, indeed suspecting nothing but genre films ranging from terrible to run-of-the-mill, excluding, of course, the films I chose to revisit for the marathon.  Yet, when I encountered An American Werewolf in London, I quickly change my tune and embraced it as one of my top ten cinematic experiences of the year.  While that film was certainly in the vein of comedy that just happened to move into a deeply introspective film, Possession, the 1981 horror psychological thriller is anything but hilarious.  Beginning in a heightened state of suspense, this film only pushes the intensity to further levels, incorporating an intense, but never evasive soundtrack, experimental cinematography, a semi-linear, but certainly interwoven narrative and phenomenal acting to result in something that defies simple explanation.  Aside from affording it my rare moniker of "the perfect film" I can only speak to Possession as something that must be viewed.  I know, however, that simply saying "watch this movie" is not enough, because I say that a lot about works, but I also do not find myself captivated and troubled by works as much as I did with Possession.  I felt my jaw continually dropping during the movie and even became aware of the frozen nature of my demeanor as it either leaned intensively into the action on screen, or folded backwards in shock at the depictions occurring.  Somewhere between the maddening body horror of a David Cronenberg film and the general eeriness that invades the work of Roman Polanski exists Possession, a work that takes the idea of what a horror film can be and subverts it and newly appropriates it, ultimately, resulting in a film that is both cinematically beautiful and narratively grotesque.  My gut reaction is to compare it to the dreary look of Army of Shadows, but what unfolds in this failed marriage narrative gone awry is entirely of its own fruition.  Suffice it to say, Possession is a vision of genre film, one that does not desire to be accessible, but certainly wants to be acknowledged in both a tangible conscious manner, as well as a subconscious and surreal way.

Possession focuses on Mark (Sam Neil) a former spy who has returned from a series of intense missions only to discover that his wife Anna (Isabelle Adjani) is quite distanced moving about the space of their disheveled house indifferent to his presence, as well as the well being of their son Bob (Michael Hogben).  This distrust between Mark and Anna moves from purely spoken threats to bizarre acts of self-violence, when one another attempt to hurt themselves with various weapons, most graphically occurring with a meat slicer.  Believing that much of the infidelity is a result of Anna's relationship with the enigmatic sensualist Heinrich (Heinz Bennett), Mark approaches him, only to discover that he too is oblivious to how truly wild Anna's life has become in Marks absence.  Attempting to discover what has occurred during his absence, Mark hires a private investigator to study Anna's whereabouts.  When this investigator tricks Anna into letting him into her apartment, the man discovers a bizarre creature growing in her room, one that attacks the investigator.  Still unsure about Anna's repeated absences, at this point stretching weeks at a time, Mark begins a relationship with Bob's teacher Helen (Isabelle Adjani) whose similarity to Anna is uncanny, indeed, identical.  When the investigators partner, in a romantic sense, attempts to find his deceased lover he too becomes victim to Anna's creature, although the death is shown to be distinctly at the hands of Anna in this situation.  Heinrich is the next person to invade the space of Anna's apartment, this time seeing the corpses for himself, all of which are stuffed in Anna's refrigerator.  Surviving a stabbing at the hands of Anna, Heinrich attempts to warn Mark, who still suspicious attacks Heinrich in a bath room, drowning him in a toilet in the process.  Inexplicably, Heinrich's mother begins contacting Mark about the whereabouts of her son, but Mark simply ignores these inquiries and finally enters Anna's apartment where he discovers her engaged in intercourse with the evolving creature, while continually uttering the word "almost."  After a run-in with his former associates, Mark finds Anna in a building standing next to his own doppelganger, assumedly the final form of the creature from earlier scenes, resulting in an intense shootout, that leads to the death of Anna and the doppelganger.  The final moments of the film, without reason, depict Bob and Anna in their home, Bob running upstairs to apparently drown himself in the bathtub, while Anna stares directly into camera.  The sound of sirens and bombs and the flickering of the lights end the film with no context as to their result on the people in the film.

I am fully aware that the description I just provided seems really all over the place and impossibly puzzling.  I am also aware that it only covers about half of what is going on in the larger narrative of the film.  Much like the works of Polanski and Cronenberg one can certainly pull themes from the film, particularly since there is a degree of repetition within the film even if not blatantly shown in the ways it might in other films.  Firstly, the film carries a clear element of panopticism about its narrative, wherein, the characters in the narrative, are clearly aware of a unseen presence (at a few moments clearly seen) watching over their actions.  Whether it be Anna's breaking down in the subway tunnel or Mark's hectic movements through the bar in search of Heinrich, there is a clear acknowledgement of a presence that is beyond the space of the film, one that is decidedly invasive and always at odds with the characters.  Cinematographer Bruno Nuytten reinforces this feeling with a considerable combination of impossible close-ups, handheld pans and generally innovative camera tricks to make this broken space that much more challenging to viewers.  Indeed, one could suggest that the extended presence of the film, the voyeuristic threat is none other than the individual viewing the film, making the distrust depicted by Anna and Mark that much more jarring, as well as helping to explain the break that happens about midway through when the film goes meta and the fourth wall is theoretically broken.  Moreover, the film also takes liberties with how the body horror narrative can emerge, particularly when it is shared by characters, and doubled with an element of the doppelganger narrative here.  In a more traditional film, say a German silent expressionist film, the doppelganger serves as a confrontation to the unideal self, wherein it is not what the character wants to become, something that happens to certain degree in other body horror films.  However, this is where the film seems to share nicely with Cronenbergs work, in so much as the altered body is suggested to be the ideal, whether reinforced in Existenz or The Fly, it is an achievement of mutated madness.  Indeed, this also ties itself to issues of the maternal as surrogate for the ideal form, one that requires the womb as a sacrificial space, but that is a theoretical endeavor that I am far from equipped to tackle, however, it is yet another level in which Possession appears to be working.

Key Scene:  Anna's breakdown/possession in the subway is intense and drags on indefinitely.  It makes for some of the most disconcerting film viewing imaginable, but in a highly profound manner.

This film is out of print, I had to get "creative" with how I obtained a copy.  With that being said, I have my eye on the region 2 bluray, hopefully it will drop in price at some point.  If you can track this film down, it is well worth your time to view.

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.