The Big Heat (1953)

Posted on July 4, 2017 by Ross Birks

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Fritz Lang’s seminal American noir The Big Heat begins with a man blowing his brains out and only descends further into the black from there. Anchored by a pin-sharp screenplay full of sassy dames, thugs and augmented by Lang’s roaming camera that covers floor space with an invisible efficiency, this is the real deal.

Its effect is similar to that of a blunt instrument. The movie indulges in no filler and the story is pulped to the bone. It’s tough as nails and, like the coffee Lee Marvin tosses into poor Gloria Grahame’s face, hot as hell. Glenn Ford’s vengeful Detective plows through the bad guys like a force of nature, to the point where he too becomes something of a villain. He’s a classic anti-hero, morally questionable and dark with little consideration for the lives he ruins throughout his bloody quest.

Interestingly, Grahame takes over the film during the last act to instil justice among the men (and women) who have wronged her. With her face burned and bandaged, she is the perfect embodiment for The Big Heat‘s melding of the beautiful with the ugly, the corrupt and the innocent. One of my favourite moments features her and another gangster’s moll, the two of them dressed identical in fur coats, as they ruminate on their position in this man’s world as “the mink coated girls”. You don’t get dialogue like that in this day and age.

You’ve also gotta applaud Lang’s audacity with the final line. Following a movie where the most dangerous weapon has been boiling caffeine, Ford calls over to a colleague as he leaves the police station, “keep the coffee hot, Hugo”. That’s what I call a stinger. Ouch.

Watched on Indicator blu-ray.

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Alfred Hitchcock’s Frenzy (1972)

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Ross Birks

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Early on in Frenzy, two pub patrons nonchalantly discuss a recent string of murders in the area and upon discovering the victims were raped first, one of the men utters “Well I suppose it’s nice to know that every cloud has a silver lining.” Yep, that’s the territory we’re dabbling in. The bleakness permeates every scene. Hitchcock really thrived off of returning to his home country with a thriller that showcases a perverted, warts and all vision of 70s Britain. Toughened audiences and a more lenient ratings system also allowed him to further indulge in ugliness and extremities not to mention a heavier leaning on his penchant for pitch-black gallows humour.

Of-course, this is no A Clockwork Orange but it is Hitch’s toughest thriller by a considerable margin. By this time he was an undisputed master of cinematic craft, especially in thrillers, so the explicit edge does freshen things up somewhat. A central rape/murder is particularly ugly and just when you think you’re going to go through it again later in the picture, Hitchcock instead abandons the murderer and the victim with an extended tracking shot that backs out of the building into the street outside. Having seen the previous attack, somehow this abandonment into normality makes the unseen one even more disturbing. Yikes.

Hitchcock’s penchant for black humour is also at its darkest. In an especially memorable set-piece, the killer must go to farce-like extremes in order to retrieve an incriminating bit of evidence from a corpse stuffed into a sack of potatoes in the back of a moving truck. It keeps escalating and escalating to the point where the killer must resort to snapping the poor dead woman’s fingers in order to get what he wants. There’s also an excellent handling of boring exposition with the investigating police officer returning home to his wife and laying out the entire plot to her while he dissects her unappealing fish-head broth. How to make exposition entertaining? Watch Frenzy.

I really liked this. It’s one of the last major late-period Hitchcock films I needed to tick off and it totally delivered. With his young imitators on the rise, you can feel that he had something to prove and his effortless craft is quite extraordinary. It is an ugly, bleak little picture and, like 10 Rilington Place, made me want to take a long hot shower to wash off the squalor. I didn’t, ofcourse. Hitchcock fans should know better than anyone what happens to people in showers.

Watched on blu-ray.

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Forbidden Zone (1980)

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Ross Birks

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Imagine Crumb’s artwork brought to life by John Waters and that’s the realm that Richard Elfman’s gleefully, irritatingly grotesque Forbidden Zone occupies. Shot in black and white among painted cardboard backdrops for sets and featuring a merry band of misfits for a cast, this midnight-movie musical certainly tries real hard to infiltrate your subconscious but never really gets beneath the surface. Though it might leave you with a bit of a headache.

Boasting original music and songs by Danny Elfman (he is writer/director Richard’s younger brother) and loopy performances from cult favourite Hervé Villechaize and Oscar nominated Fat City actress Susan Tyrell, at times the film resembles a shrieking tour of the “freak show” section in a second-rate carnival, at others it’s like being sat in a loony bin watching a smiley-face made of shit slowly drying on the wall . Of-course this sort of uninhibited dose of leftfield, gonzo filmmaking has its charms but mostly in small doses. Even the film’s mercifully brief running time of 75 minutes felt overlong and punishing. Luckily, Danny Elfman shows up as Satan to sing a Cab Calloway number near the end to reward your patience, so stick with it.

All that being said, there’s certainly a vision at work here. The monochrome photography works well with the rest of the film which is mostly held together by spit, sweat and tape (a good thing) and the Gilliam-esque animated interludes are charming. There’s an overall sense of mania that feels grating but is no doubt intentional on Elfman’s part. It’s the kind of movie that looks like it was designed to be a cult film and given that it does have its own loyal band of followers, it certainly had the desired effect. The whole movie is a vaudeville of drag queens, scantily clad beauties, camp humour, grotesqueries and gutterball weirdos so I’m not surprised that it was embraced in some form. It exists within its own plane of existence and for that it deserves mild celebration. I also skim-tested Elfman’s preferred colorised version which was completed years later, and while the aesthetic works well, I still prefer this silly nightmare in B&W.

Watched on Arrow blu-ray.

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Seeding of a Ghost (1983)

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Ross Birks

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“Your wife’s spirit will now have sex with him. Let’s stay away.”

Another batshit Shaw Bros experience. Where to start? Well, for the first hour or so this is pretty much business as usual; ghosts, curses, adultery, colourfully back-lit mist and outbursts of sex, violence and sexual violence. There’s also repeated use of a cue from Bernard Herrmann’s Taxi Driverscore which totally baffled me the first few times I heard it then I finally remembered that the main character of Seeding of a Ghost is also a taxi driver and I laughed, seeing the incredibly obvious logic behind the filmmaker’s thought process.

The film freely blurs the line between the real and the imaginary too making the plot (as with most of this type) tricky to get a hold of but the nutball atmosphere guides you through. Gloriously, this is the kind of inclusive genre movie that allows a slimy rotting rubber corpse to practically be a co-star (fans of Nekromantik will enjoy this) and the ever-increasing excess and silliness is exactly what you sign up for with this type of flick. A dude gets a big plastic match rammed up his ass at one point too.

Now all that sounds well and good right? But to quote Michael Keaton’s Batman, when Seeding of a Ghost gets nuts, it gets nuts. The final act becomes an all-out blood bath merging Cronenberg, Carpenter’s The Thing, Frank Henenlotter-grade effects and Evil Dead-esque gunplay as a tentacled monster bursts out of a woman’s stomach, burns off a doctor’s face (who survives to the very end might I add) and transforms a mellow evening party into a balls-to-the-wall freak-out. It. Is. Awesome. Worth the price of admission alone. A terrific final shot too. Let me tell you, this is gona get some serious replay value.

Watched on 88 films blu-ray.

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Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972)

Posted on July 1, 2017 by Ross Birks

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Nowhere near as satisfying as the first Dr. Phibes. It basically suffers from the frequent sequel problem of “same formula, same ingredients, minimal variation”. Still, I appreciate the continuity in cast and director and the production design is even bigger and better than that of the first. Fuest really knew how to squeeze every penny out of the screen and you’d never expect a film as moderately budgeted as this to feature huge Egyptian sets of pyramids and gigantic pharaoh feet but there they are. The kill sequences are fun too but without the “plague” gimmick that tied the first film’s carnage together beautifully, it all feels a bit more random and slapdash. An enjoyable second spin of the Phibes merry go round but just lacks the spark that made the first one such a lark. Nevertheless, I’m still sad we never got Phibes Resurrectus. With a title that good who cares how the actual film would’ve turned out.

Watched on Arrow Video blu-ray.

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The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

Posted on July 1, 2017 by Ross Birks

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Vincent Price plays an organ-playing surgeon hell-bent on avenging his wife’s death and his own disfigurement by inventively murdering the doctors responsible. Equipped with the ten plagues of Egypt for inspiration, a band of robots (literally, as in instrument-playing robots) and a sultry assistant, Price’s Phibes makes up for his lack of dialogue – he has no lines until about halfway through – with a thrilling cocktail of mischief and menace.

Much like the later Theatre of Blood, the film impressively balances horror and comedy with some crackerjack practical effects. Phibes also feels like a forebear of Saw‘s Jigsaw with his penchant for inventive contraption-based murders and games. Directed by ex-art director Robert Fuest, this thing is a feast for the eyeballs too with some exceptionally lush production design that actually disguises its 1920’s setting by being so glitzy and glam. When the period was explicitly stated it took me by surprise. Maybe I just think England looked the same in the 70s as it did in the 20s. Not far off.

I also can’t stress how purely entertaining this thing is. Not only is the central mystery and story a gas but all of the film’s unusual asides and oddities just enrich it even further. The film will occasionally pause for Phibes’ organ-playing interludes that gleefully dip a toe into glam-rock territory, beating De Palma’s Phantom of the Paradise to the punch by a good three years. The series of nasty deaths deliver wholeheartedly as well with an entire gamut of methods being utilised. Bodies are drained of blood, frozen, attacked by rats, bats and locusts making this one of the most inventive horror films I’ve seen. You’ve got shades of gothic horror, slasher, monster movie, dark romance, tragedy; practically all bases are covered. And to top it off: the film is funny in that very British way. Abominable Dr. Phibes has it all. It is a proper ghoulish delight.

Watched on Arrow Video blu-ray.

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Psycho (1960)

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Ross Birks

Despite that clunky exposition dump at the end and lots of driving shots with voice-over (this could easily be hacked down to a lean, mean 90 mins), Psycho is still the grandaddy. It’s all in the little things too, like when the camera looks up at Perkins’ throat as he leans over the register while Arbogast is snooping and the skull over his face at the end. You know some people actually hold the opinion that Hitchcock is overrated? I suppose we all go a little mad sometimes.

Watched on blu-ray

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Room (2015)

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Ross Birks

I’m dumb. In my original review I sort of bemoaned that the entire film didn’t take place solely in the titular room and that everything following their escape was kinda forgettable. On the contrary, whenever I’ve thought of Room in the year or so since that viewing I always return to those later scenes and not, as I suspected, the section with Jack and Joy in captivity. The film’s brilliance, and its resonance, lies in that second half. Without it there really wouldn’t be much to say.

Amidst its Oscar season release, Room‘s uplifting arc couldn’t help but feel a bit saccharine – which probably explains my initial hesitant take, I wanted something a bit harsher amongst all those safe-playing awards movies – but now, free of baggage and judged entirely on its own merits I like the movie just the way it is. Jacob Tremblay’s performance is still adorable/devastating/amazing and Larson totally deserved that golden statue. You really live this with her and feel the weight on her shoulders. That’s acting. Love the production design too and Abrahamson’s deft balancing of childlike wonder and horror with proper tug-at-the-heartstrings melodrama.

One detail I keep coming back to is William H. Macy as the father who can’t deal with the situation and just gives up. He doesn’t look at his grandson. He just leaves. The film never returns to him nor dwells on his choice. He just throws his hands up and the film moves on. It’s such a powerfully blunt moment, but one that feels incredibly real and honest for that very reason. Casting Macy in such a minor role might feel a bit weird at first, but upon consideration, it’s why that beat lands so well. In fact this film’s treatment of modern family dynamics in general is quite extraordinary and gladly lets everyone have flaws and be fucked up without judgement.

When Jonathan Demme died earlier this year, I found myself thinking about Room a lot. He had nothing to do with the production but it feels like something he would have made or, at the very least, the kind of truthful and considerate humanist filmmaking he always stood for. Doesn’t get much better than that. Maybe as time goes on this will inch up to that full five stars.

Watched on blu-ray

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The New York Ripper (1982)

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Ross Birks

An ugly, unpleasant, repugnant film. How much of that is intentional or just down to lazy, misjudged choices on Fulci’s part is hard to say. The New York Ripper certainly has its defenders but I just can’t get into it. Saying that, I’ve now watched it twice and must admit that it is memorable for all the reasons I dislike it. The razor slicing into the girl’s eyeball is classic Fulci. Everything else is…not. I need a shower.

Watched on blu-ray

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The Dirty Dozen (1967)

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Ross Birks

A seminal “Sunday Afternoon Movie”, especially for Dads. First things first: THAT GODDAMN CAST. Lee Marvin, Ernest Borgnine, Charles Bronson, Jim Brown, Robert Ryan, Ralph Meeker, John Cassavetes, good lord. That’s what you call a star-studded ensemble. As great as everyone is, Cassavetes gets MVP for his firey wild-card performance as the unhinged Franko. He even got an Oscar nomination for the role and no doubt a big paycheck to fund his own extraordinary filmmaking endeavours for the next few years.

The Dirty Dozen takes its sweet time to get going and the opening hour or so can be a bit of a slog. I know Suicide Squad is generally regarded as The Dirty Dozen of comic books but it also totally ripped off this film’s structure, as well as its concept, with the plodding introductions to every main character. I get the thought behind it – with such a big cast we need to get to know them – but I can’t help but think there would be a far more elegant and less-repetitive way of getting that information across. It doesn’t work here in 1967 so why the fuck did David Ayer think it would work in 2016? You could easily shave a good 20 minutes off the runtime by making that opening stretch leaner and meaner, just how Lee Marvin would like it. Shame.

That being said, the cast really do carry the whole movie and keep the two and a half hour run time tolerable as they get into various escapades. Aldrich’s muscular, no-fuss direction is solid but I really wish he shot it in anamorphic. It’d be much better for composing his twelve scoundrels in one glorious frame, no? Theres’s a reason Soderbergh shot all his Ocean’s movies wide.

I don’t feel like The Dirty Dozen has aged as well as other movies of this ilk – The Great Escape, The Magnificent Seven – but it does have an undeniable cruel edge that sets it apart from those films. By the end when your (anti) heroes have trapped a bunch of German troops along with women in ball-gowns in a bunker and they gleefully begin pouring gasoline and explosives down on them, there’s definitely a moment of “fuck, this is tough”. I appreciate that kind of ugliness, especially in a tight-fisted war movie. It also ends how any movie like this should: with a big fucking explosion. Definitely solid and should be acknowledged for inspiring a lot of great movies in its wake, just a lot of them did it better.

Watched on blu-ray

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