I was kinda lukewarm on Beginners. Mills’ quirky style felt somewhat artificial and twee but I think 20th Century Women has made me reconsider him. It’s that moment in a director’s career where you stop comparing them to other directors and start realising “oh no, this is genuinely the way they see the world”. This film feels like it belongs to him, like something only he could make. There’s a specificity here that belongs to a very special kind of filmmaker. I dig it.
Honestly this is a pretty great film with a phenomenal ensemble all given roles worthy of their talent. There’s also a record shop’s worth of killer, period-specific soundtrack cuts with special emphasis on Talking Heads aka the band that changed my life. Probably the best looking 70s-set movie since Inherent Vice too. It feels heartfelt, genuine and true. Already looking forward to seeing it again. I will also self-identify as an Art-Fag from here on out.
I was seven years old when Titanic dominated pop culture in 1997 and 1998 and it became one of the most important and formative movies of my life. And not just because of Kate Winslet’s breasts. There’s nothing wrong with making movies designed to appeal to the largest possible audience when you’re as gifted at designing mammoth spectacle that has both physicality and an emotional core as James Cameron. The dude basically built the Titanic and sunk it again then sent Fox the bill.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen Titanic but it always sucks me in. After years of experiencing it on VHS, TV and DVD, I finally saw it for the first time on the big screen in 2012 and it kicked the shit out of me. When that ship starts going down…man, you bet your ass we all go down with it. The CGI still holds up but its Winslet’s expressive eyes that prove to be the film’s most eternal special effect. That moment when she’s stood in the corridor, water rising and the electricity is failing around her is one of my favourite images from anything ever. Yeah, this film was a big deal for me.
Also I’m pretty sure more people talk about that CGI dude who boings off the propeller and goes spinning into the atlantic than they do like 90% of the actual cast. GODSPEED CGI DUDE.
Man this was boring. William Katt returns as his character from the first House in a glorified cameo for no reason whatsover. It’s such a dead and stagnant movie that never really gets going. It feels more like a showreel of early 90s, low budget practical effects than an actual movie with like, characters, atmosphere and a story. There are dream sequences in here that are as lazily imagined as they are executed. There’s some weird shit though that earns it an extra star. Like a dwarf who has a machine which removes phlegm blockages from his throat, a scene with a singing pizza and a dog with a lampshade on its head. As daft and silly as those scenes are in isolation, they make the movie feel like a collection of strange episodes which feel like orphans from other films and genres. Just not a very engaging watch. I’m not surprised this was the final nail in the pretty lackluster House franchise. I struggled to get through it.
Fun fact though: this was directed by Lewis Abernathy who plays Bill Paxton’s overweight, bearded and wisecracking sidekick in Titanic. I love that guy! It was also apparently shot in the same house where Wes Craven shot The People Under the Stairs. It just goes to show: a good house doesn’t make a good movie.
Apparently a House movie in name only, at least over here in Europe. In the US this is merely The Horror Show, a film completely unrelated to both House and House II: The Second Story aside from the fact that it features a house and human beings are in it. Oh and Sean S. Cunningham produced it.
Released the same year as Wes Craven’s similarly electro-themed Shocker, The Horror Show is enjoyable enough. Any movie starring Lance Henrickson in a lead role is worth a watch (even The Visitor) especially when he plays an obsessive cop chasing a serial killer called Meat Cleaver Max played by Blade Runner and Crimewave‘s Brion James. James scenery chews his way through the movie as the psychotic Max who is ultimately zapped on the electric chair only to return from the dead as a now-electricity charged madman hellbent on murdering everyone Henrickson cares about. The execution scene where Max rides the lightning is very well done and stands up there with The Green Mile in the extremely cluttered sub-genre of movies that feature death by electric chair. The scene’s cherry on top ocurs when Max, barbecued within an inch of his life, rises from the electric chair to assure Henrickson: “I’m coming back to tear your world apart… I’m going to fuck you up!” Nice.
As with a lot of horror films in the 80s, the decade where Cronenberg ruled the climate, The Horror Show tries its hand at some weird body horror stuff. At one point Henrickson’s daughter has a mutant baby bump and he himself develops a bleeding, pulsating orifice in his chest that could have been lifted directly from Videodrome‘s special effects department.
While not a “proper” House movie, a definition that the first two movies established as being pretty loose anyway, it does work as an entry in that franchise. From what I gather, its a series of films best viewed as an anthology rather than a continuing saga and in that context The Horror Show certainly qualifies. It has the extended dream sequences of the first film and an actual house at the centre of its chaos. There are a lot of BIG nutball performances, namely from James, that are entertaining and enough splat and carnage to please the hardcore genre hounds. I suspect its forced inclusion into the House series has given it a shelf-life longer than it may have originally earned – it would have likely been forgotten as a lesser Shocker, itself a lesser Craven flick – but I’m definitely glad to have got to it in one way or another. Plus, given that House is pretty crap, The Horror Show is that rare horror threequel that is actually better than the original.
Aesthetically, Man on Fire is one of the most important things to happen to action movies in the 21st century. Hell, Tony Scott in general is one of the most important things to happen to action movies period. But still this film warrants repeat viewings and analysis because it combines proper pulpy, lurid subject matter (a guy gets a bomb shoved up his ass) and A-List execution (a guy gets a bomb shoved up his ass…by Denzel Washington!) with a fiercely original stylistic approach.
It’s 146 minutes long, a running time I would usually bemoan for this kind of thing but is totally earned here by using the length wisely. Scott spends the better part of the first hour solely on building up the relationship between Creasy and Pita so when she is ultimately abducted and becomes absent from the film until its final minutes, the threat on her life is genuine. It’s a storytelling decision I adore because it removes the standard ticking clock subplot that fill a lot of these movies with hope and a predictability. Because we don’t have shots of Pita crying in captivity, Man on Fire feels rightfully fatalistic. For all we know, Pita is dead and Creasy’s vendetta is merely an act of bloodthirsty vengeance that will likely leave him dead. As a haunted, demon-ridden alcoholic, he embraces this relapse as his ultimate destiny. With this in mind, the reveal that Pita is alive at the end doesn’t feel like a cop-out but a welcome beacon of triumph in an otherwise doomy, furious viewing experience.
Naturally, because of its genre, the performances in Man on Fire didn’t get the attention they deserved. This is easily one of Denzel Washington’s best performances. So full of self-hatred and burning purpose, this is his Unforgiven and with Scott keeping a gauge on his soul-bearing and pulsating fury the results are especially visceral and moving. Fanning too, only 9 years old at the time of filming, is the perfect youthful foil for Washington’s damaged maturity. The scenes of them together – again, basically the crux of the first hour – are always engaging. The arc of their relationship is nothing we haven’t seen before but embodied by these two actors, in this milieu, transforms it into something fresh. Their infectious chemistry also means that, for a time, you’re watching an action movie and silently willing the action never to come because you know it means tearing these two apart. When does that ever happen?
The extra level of thrills comes, of-course, from Tony Scott burning the rulebook of visual language in mainstream cinema. The double exposures, hot flares, layers upon layers of imagery and industrial soundtrack – basically everything that amounts to that now-signature Tony Scott style – is all here and accounted for. By this point Scott had already established himself as premiere Hollywood stylist but he had the foresight to raise the bar. Action movies needed a jolt in 2004 and Scott delivered it with a vengeance. They didn’t need to be mere showcases of explosions and muzzle flashes, they could represent psyche and hellfire as much as a Ken Russell movie. This is essentially an avant-garde action movie with a 70 million dollar budget.
I’m glad this thing still holds up. It’s tough as hell (to quote Quentin Tarantino) and works both as an extremely satisfying studio product and a punishing, fiery meditation on vengeance as a way of life. Probably the most important non-sci-fi action movie to the development of cinematic form in action since Peckinpah.
I really didn’t like the first House so went into this sequel with a lot of trepidation. Imagine my surprise then to find that this is a far superior movie in almost every way. It really has nothing to do with the previous film – a new house, a new cast – other than the central idea of a house being more than meets the eye. The blend of comedy and horror is better handled and the effects take centre stage with a level of care in the execution the original film sorely lacked. It boasts a nutty mythology involving Mayan temples and crystal skulls and one of the supporting characters is an undead treasure hunter called Gramps. The set pieces are crazier with one extended sequence resulting in an oddball trip to the Jurassic age where a caterpillar dog is recruited permanently into the ensemble. Clearly Second Story does itself a lot of favours by indulging in weird tangents whenever the opportunity arises, something the first House suffered without.
The cast is strong too. Genre fans will get a buzz from spotting Lar Park Lincoln (Friday the 13th: Part VII‘s telekentic heroine) and Amy Yasbeck (that stunning red head from The Mask) among the faces on screen, not to mention an appearance from a pre-fame Bill Maher as well as John Ratzenburger stealing the show about haflway through as Bill, electrician and “part time adventurer”. He shows up for about ten minutes and delivers all the film’s best lines in machine gun succession. He is one of those characters which totally validates the film’s very existence. If Second Story completely sucked, at least we got Bill the electrician.
But it doesn’t completely suck! I had a real good time with this dumb, goofy flick. It’s a funhouse of undead giggles and mid-tier 80s genre filmmaking. There’s a bunch of puppet creatures, make-up effects and all that other good stuff. If House made me wonder why the hell this franchise went four films deep, The Second Story made me wonder why it didn’t run longer. Good shit.
Much like producer Sean S. Cunningham’s own Friday the 13th, this is a pretty average movie that has somehow gained a place in horror fandom, albeit a few tiers lower. It’s not an especially effective movie, nor a very memorable one. Playing out more like an extended episode of Tales From the Crypt, the film is an easy, breezy watch with a light, ghoulish tone that occasionally conjures up some laughs. And by “laughs” I mean scenes that make you think “that’s funny” in your head but never once make you actually crack a smile.
In a nice bit of casting Carrie‘s Tommy Ross, William Katt, plays a Stephen King-esque horror author who holds up in his dead aunt’s house (of the title) to write his latest novel but finds that the house (still of the title) is also a gateway to other dimensions and a portal for his own nightmares to manifest themselves. I kept thinking about The ‘Burbs during this movie. Maybe because of the the presence of a brash, ball-busting neighbour who initially suspects Katt of being a paranoid loony but ultimately becomes Katt’s hesitant sidekick. That’s like something that happens in The ‘Burbs right? If not, then at the very least House is definitely trying to capture that sweet Joe Dante tone but comes up short. The film isn’t shot very well either, it’s way too bright especially in its set pieces making all the special effects look like guys in rubber suits or things hanging off fishing lines. It’s surprising given that director Steve Miner previously directed both Friday the 13th‘s Part 2 and 3, two movies that, at the very least, knew how to light their money shots.
There’s also a bunch of Vietnam flashbacks – oh yeah, Katt’s character was in ‘nam, and also lost his son – which offsets the primarily suburban setting quite well but, again, their execution is not very inspired. It feels like Miner and co set up a jungle diorama in the corner of a studio, threw some coloured gels on the lights and used that as a location. Low budgets can be a bitch but guys, come on, give me something. Still, it leads to creation of the film’s big bad, a skeletor looking ‘nam veteran called Big Ben who looks more like a rejected Buffy the Vampire Slayer villain than a proper 80s horror threat. Pretty dumb. Though I should stress that the film’s tone makes clear the filmmaker’s weren’t aiming to deliver something hardcore and genuinely unsettling. But as filmmakers like Joe Dante and Sam Raimi know, any good comedy horror is only as good as its flair for imaginative ghoulies, a flair that House sorely lacks.
Think about what a filmmaker like Stuart Gordon would have done with this potentially Lovecraftian concept and you’ll immediately wish you were watching that movie instead. I can’t believe this film had the staying power to spawn three sequels. It’s so middle of the road. It has a certain charm, I guess but I suspect the producers and audiences saw more potential in the concept itself rather than this initial offering.
The production design in this thing is so goddamn vicious. Also Coppola’s use of old-school opticals and silent-movie techniques pleases me to no end. It’s an aesthetic extravaganza and one of those movies you put on just to exist inside of for two or so hours. It’s pretty charged throughout and Coppola boldly tries to separate his adaptation from the countless others that came before with crazy design choices. The surface is delicious. Everything beneath is rather undercooked. Oldman makes a meal of his lead role and Winona Ryder is pleasing if stilted. Reeves is bad (still love you Keanu). Hopkins goes to town on Van Helsing though leading to the best sight gag in any Coppola’s career (“Yeah, she was in great pain! Then we cut off her head, and drove a stake through her heart, and burned it, and then she found peace”). A pretty startling movie to watch in 2017. I can’t remember that last time I saw a contemporary horror movie look so physically phantasmagoric.
Definitely lacks John Hughes’ visual dexterity by not having him behind the camera but his voice in the characters has ensured Pretty in Pink is regularly discussed as a key part of his canon. After rewatching it between a bunch of his directed movies, it definitely doesn’t hold its own against something like The Breakfast Club but as a vehicle for Molly Ringwald and a showcase for some stellar 80s new-wave tracks, it is a lovely little bottle of a fragrance so specifically dated to 1986.
The Duckie/Blane controversy feels minor now. Watching it in my mid-twenties, its clear Duckie is pretty insufferable and while Andrew McCarthy is mostly forgettable, Andie’s attraction to him makes sense. It’s not like Hughes thinks they’re going to get married and start a family but like Jake and Samantha in Sixteen Candles, it’s a believable high-school romance exactly how it should be. I also enjoyed James Spader’s typically sleazy turn (did he walk in out of a Bret Easton Ellis novel?) and especially the scenes between Ringwald and Harry Dean Stanton playing her father. What a lovely dynamic they share and what a fresh depiction of a father/daughter relationship. As with most of Hughes’s finest dramatic creations, it is both brutally honest and sickly sentimental. Annie Potts’ costume changes also rock as hard as the soundtrack.
A dated movie but one I feel overall positive about. Though this rewatch feels somewhat definite. I can’t ever see myself revisiting Pretty in Pink again. R.I.P. (Rest in Pink)
Joe Swanberg’s second film is far more enticing than his first, Kissing on the Mouth, mainly because it has a bit more of something to say. LOL sees Swanberg looking around and assessing the state of things in 2006, notably our increasing reliance on technology; mobile phones and laptop screens dominate the images, characters have jobs which rely on digital interfaces, relationships blossom and break because of all the hardware. Needless to say Swanberg’s concerns are pretty clear and the fact he shot this on consumer quality DV (as he did most of his early films) feels apt. It’s a film both about and a result of the booming digital age.
Eleven years have passed since LOL and the presence of laptops, mobiles and countless other digital devices has become all-encompassing in our every day life so the film is somewhat charming in how seemingly worried Swanberg was about their unthreatening-compared-to-today dominance. A version of LOL set in 2017 would surely send these characters into existential apocalypse*. Though interestingly this theme does occaisonally rear its head again and again in many of Swanberg’s subsequent films.
Swanberg’s playfulness goes a long way to soften the film’s rougher edges and minimal content too. The narrative occasionally breathes out in a number of fun musical interludes reminiscent of the early days of YouTube. You know those acapella videos where a bunch of people make weird noises then someone edits them together to form a musical beat? Swanberg creates a series of those and uses them to break up the endless scenes of twenty-somethings mumbling in bland rooms. It also makes the movie more worthwhile formally and while it would be easy to interpret Swanberg’s movie as a damnation of all that ominous tech, those moments emphasise the creative possibilities of the technology and balances the message out in a nice way.
Anyone averse to films branded with the “mumblecore” label would probably rather bang their head against a laptop than sit through this but as a Swanberg fan slowly making my way through his extensive back catalogue I found it to be quite a pleasing and creative little collection of pixels. Swanberg’s drive to just make films however he can about whatever is on his mind might lead to many impulsive, meandering and slight works but as a collective they all say something worthwhile about their author during the time they were made. It’d be easy to look at these films and be inspired to make your own movies; not just because they look like something you could achieve aesthetically, but mainly because they reinforce the idea that creative expression, in whatever form it takes, is a good thing.
*Let’s not forget Jason Reitman tried and failed to do something of a modern retelling of this movie with the drastically misjudged Men, Women & Children. It definitely feels like the time to have characters worry about the presence of black mirrors in their life has long passed.
"This Film Should Be Played Loud" 