It's Showtime!: Bob Fosse's All That Jazz

Due to the fact it's become an overcrowded genre in the past three or four years, I am no longer a fan of biopics. I understand wanting to have a great actor portray a brilliant and tortured soul; the problem is that, even though they were all brilliant, they were all fucked up in the same way (troubled childhood, drugs, alcohol, infidelity). This leaves little room for surprises then, making the whole experience boring and stale. In the end, all you're able to pinpoint is which actor does the best impersonation of a whacked out entertainer.

While Bob Fosse's All That Jazz does fall into some of the familiar biopic traps, it is a different beast than the others altogether. Aside from being a nakedly revealing peek into Fosse's exhausting life, we also are treated to a performance by Roy Scheider that is a piece of history. Forget how realistically Jamie Foxx played Ray Charles or Joaquin Phoenix played Johnny Cash; Scheider's work is more than just smoke and mirrors. Unlike other biopics where we feel like we're simply living in the moment, All That Jazz gives us the impression we could have always been there, witnessing the steady decline of an obsessed genius step by painstaking step.

Even if there is some heavy handed back patting here, there's no question that it takes a lot of guts to put yourself on the chopping block as openly as Fosse does. All That Jazz received comparisons when it came out to Fellini's 8 1/2, and why shouldn't it? Both pictures are about the artist, made by the artist, with the artist wearing effortless determination on their sleeves. Like Fellini, Fosse brings a hypnotic quality to the piece, staging many of his inner struggles set to nightmarish musical numbers. These moments, which are obviously the most personal to Fosse, are also where the movie falters. Each one pertains in some way to how he needs to improve his lifestyle, but instead of dragging this out into three complete songs, why not condense them into one? By the time the last one is through, the idea has reached overkill.

If overkill is a bad thing in that respect, it lends itself well in other ways. On numerous occasions throughout, Fosse shows us his morning ritual, which includes taking a shower, downing some pills, and filling his eyes with drops. The first few times, it's shown at rapid pace but as we reach the picture's center, he begins to slow it down a bit. And notice how as the speed of the routine slows, Fosse shoots his main character at low angles, subtly letting us know how far he's beginning to sink. It's fantastic technical filmmaking, with most of the credit belonging to editor Alan Heim, who won an Oscar for his work here. Equally as impressive is the movie's opening, a tryout session, which manages to be dialogue free for close to five minutes (!). It's a gusty sequence to have at the beginning of the picture, and yet it's cut in hopes the audience will become quickly acquainted with Fosse's world.

In the movie, Fosse changes his name to Joe Gideon, brought to life by Scheider as a man driven by his work and an unapologetic taste for woman. It's loosely based on the early stages of bringing "Chicago" to Broadway, from the casting to the rehearsals. Some of the liveliest moments involve the pressure Gideon puts on the dancers to turn his vision into a reality, especially when pertaining to Victoria (Deborah Geffner), a lousy dancer he was convinced could be shaped into something special for no other reason than the fact she had great legs (and was great in bed). Less interesting are the scenes of Gideon attempting to edit a stand up comedy movie he's directed.

The other women in his life watched this dedication with jealousy and remorse. Gideon's ex-wife (Leland Parker) and current girlfriend (Kate Jagger) seem to have a hard time dealing with his unfaithful behavior, and yet, due to his sheer willingness to throw himself into his work, they are unable to simply write him off. The picture's first hour is the most effective, since it shows Gideon at the top of his game, taking heavy risks by having the cast perform a routine sans clothes and a dose of sexuality that will quickly turn family audiences away from the show.

The second hour focuses on Gideon's failing health, beginning with an excellent scene where he has the cast read through the script even though he can't hear a word anyone is saying. The rest of the time he's in the hospital, undergoing surgery and then not recovering because he'd rather by partying. (SPOILER WARNING!) Fosse didn't pass away until eight years after All That Jazz was released, but that didn't stop him from having Gideon's post operation ignorance lead to his death. I think Fosse wanted the world to know this where he was headed, that his sheer willingness to continue filling his body with sources to help him function would catch up sooner or later. Aside from Scheider, I can't say I'm a huge fan of the closing scene, a musical number Gideon performs for every person who's had an impact on his life. It became the moment for me where boldness turned into smugness.

There's a lot of memorable stuff in All That Jazz, the most autobiographical being Gideon's conversations with an angel (Jessica Lange, in her second movie role) who critiques every flawed aspect of his existence. These scenes are haunting, since it sets up Gideon's death from the very beginning. It's as if he already knows the outcome of his actions, and sees it as inevitable. The driving force behind it all is Scheider, who gives one of the best screen performances of all time. Watching him is to understand the meaning of the word sacrifice, as he puts every ounce his being into making Gideon as convincing as possible. There are no tricks or gimmicks to be found, just an actor who was able to make us believe, with every role, that he was someone else. Is there any doubt that Fosse didn't see his reflection every time he yelled "action"? Had he continued to direct movies, Scheider would have been the perfect muse.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Have a Nice Apocalypse: Richard Kelly's Southland Tales

When a writer/director's debut movie is met with a shower of critical acclaim, I would imagine it puts a lot of pressure on them when it comes time to make their sophomore effort. The expectations are immensely high, but despite this, the filmmaker does have a valuable tool in their favor. Since their first feature was met with positive feedback, they will most likely be guaranteed the freedom to do whatever they want. That being the case, why not go for broke and make the movie you always dreamed of making? It'd be an even bigger risk to pass it up and take on another project, for this could be the one and only shot to create a particular vision.

Craig Brewer did it with the follow up to his conventional debut, Hustle and Flow, with Black Snake Moan. The chances he took were enormous and in my book, they paid off. The movie was not a commercial success and Brewer's deal with Paramount fell through, so I hope he's at least satisfied the picture exists. Black Snake Moan is one of those movies, I think, that will gain momentum as the years progress. Sophomore projects, unfortunately, often follow this pattern, and while it may not seem ideal, there's always anticipation the filmmaker will still get to see their movie properly recognized in their lifetime.

Richard Kelly had a stunning debut with Donnie Darko, a multi layered science fiction picture that also closely observed the hardships of adolescence. When it premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, nobody cared and it looked as if it might never see the light of day. But then a funny thing happened. The picture got a small release, the critics responded positively, and the video release almost immediately attracted a horde of obsessed fans. Theater screenings began to emerge, a director's cut was released, and the world finally knew who Richard Kelly was and eagerly waited to see how he planned to blow their minds next.

Southland Tales is obviously a very important and personal work for Kelly. Keeping in mind that he may only get one shot at bringing it from page to screen, he pounced on it and never looked back. While the politics in Donnie Darko were subtle but certainly present, Southland Tales is out for blood. It was first unveiled at the 2006 Cannes Film Festival in a two hour and forty minute cut that left a good portion of the audience booing or heading for the door. How could something that felt so right to Kelly feel so wrong to the masses? In response, Kelly chopped seventeen minutes away, added a voice over narration, and was able to secure a release of less than one hundred screens. The question that remained was whether or not an audience would ever discover the movie as they had his debut.

Before finally seeing Southland Tales on DVD, I had read a swarm of negative reviews and a handful of praise, and while I'm not one to normally take in other opinions until after I've seen the picture myself, for some reason I could not help it. It had been a long time since I had grown so intrigued to see a movie, no matter how disastrous it was supposed to be. Lucky for me, the reviews really didn't give away anything that might ruin the experience, if there was going to be one. It was as if both sides of the fence were struggling to determine how they should describe the picture.

I've watched Southland Tales twice now, and I'm not sure how to quite convey it myself. The first time was a bit overwhelming more than anything; Kelly stuffs the picture with so much that it's often difficult to keep up with what is going on. The casting only adds to the confusion. Kelly has assembled a group of faces you never thought you'd see in the same movie, let alone one about the apocalypse (although many of them have been in movies you felt might lead to the apocalypse). And yet, even after the bewilderment of my initial run through, the movie continued to hold my brain hostage with scattered images and biblical quotes.

To put it simply, Southland Tales is about the United States of America in 2008. There's been another nuclear attack, this time in Texas, and the event has led to paranoia and widespread panic. The government has complete control over what people do, even spying on them while they take shits in an airport restroom. It's a presidential election year, and the hope is that the Republicans will win in order to put someone in office not afraid to "take charge." All the while, scandals are heating up that could affect the election and throw the country into even greater chaos.

Yeah, I'd have to say that's the super abridged version. To go into great detail about what happens in Southland Tales would take many, many pages. The more important question, of course, is does the movie accomplish what it sets out to do? When I was through, did I feel like it enhanced my life as a moviegoer in some way or another? After the first viewing, I was certain of three things: either, it was a masterpiece I had yet to grasp; it was a complete and dismal disaster; or it was settled somewhere in between greatness and pretentiousness. Seeing the movie a second time was beneficial not just because I understood it more on a plotting level, but also because I found more reasoning behind the odd slapstick and the occasionally vulgar dialogue. Plus, I found myself further sucked into the collage of fever dreams Kelly has so vividly cooked up, many of them complimented by Moby's transfixing score.

I have a hard time going along with the conclusion that the movie has nothing to say. If there's a problem with the picture, it's that it has too much to say. I am anxious to see the longer version, if nothing else just to know what had to go and if it would have plugged some more of the movie's themes together. This is Kelly's response to everything he finds wrong with America, and he's thrown it all into a big pot and stirred it up. It's disorienting, but then again, so are the realities of the issues being addressed. Too much coherency would be missing the point; I truly believe Kelly meant for us to be genuinely flustered with the movie's events.

Now back to the casting. Many reviews have ripped into Kelly, saying his choices were clever for clever's sake, but I don't buy it. Sure, seeing The Rock, Jon Lovitz , and Seann William Scott onscreen together was surreal and a bit distracting at first, as was adjusting to the fact that, yes, that's Christopher Lambert (!) standing next to Cheri Oteri. But once again, I think this was yet another way to let the viewer know that this is an America where nothing is what it seems, a place where rules are no longer going to apply. The world is about to end, so all bets are off.

I've been amazed at how much pure hatred has been slung at Southland Tales. It's not that I don't sympathize with the negative points of view; I guess I just tend to have a contrary response when a movie wears its aspirations on its sleeve as nakedly as this one does. I wonder if a lot of the movie's detractors are pissed off because they get the sense that Kelly doesn't give a fuck if we connect with the movie or not. This is a bleak outlook, although it's not one that would shock me. I, for one, have thrashed movies that felt like they were intentionally shutting me out. I'm forgiving with Southland Tales due to Kelly's gift of making me an active observer. It's established from the start that he doesn't want me to be a part of the action; he wants me to be an outsider capturing each moment as if it's a breaking news story. Whether or not this theory will bring others to appreciate the picture down the road is near impossible to predict. Let's have faith that the outcome of Kelly's movie doesn't come true before we can find out.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Childhood Memories Revisited: Steve Miner's House

It's easy to see why I enjoyed House so much during my adolescent years. The movie is almost indescribably goofy, with a plot that barely registers and gags that disappear right after they're presented. I remember thinking it was funny and clever as a 15 year-old, albeit never scary in the least. And yet, I always filed House under the horror section of my VHS collection, since it contained so many traditional horror elements, like ugly beasties and creaky noises. Stand back and take a firm look at the picture and what you'll find is a straight up comedy, as even the monsters seem to be played for cheap laughs.

Revisiting House for the first time in at least ten years, I was struck by the "R" rating. Aside from a couple of f-bombs, there's really no reason why the picture shouldn't have been "PG-13." The only actual human death in the movie happens offscreen, and the one monster death is nothing worse than what was shown in pictures like The Monster Squad. This movie has teen fan base written all over it. In fact, I'd be hard pressed to find someone over the age of seventeen who would really defend it wholeheartedly.

The fact the movie was so tame comes as a surprise given it was directed by Steve Miner and produced by Sean S. Cunningham, both of whom at that point were involved with the Friday the 13th franchise. Maybe they saw it is an opportunity to turn down the volume, which isn't a bad idea, mind you, but instead of finding a story with some real inspiration, they settled on a haunted house movie that is as bare bones as they come. I sensed Miner's lack of substance following the sixth near identical nighttime shot of the house. If continuing to show the exterior at a low angle was supposed to establish an eerie mood, I'd have to say it failed.

The story involves Roger Cobb (a clueless William Katt), a popular novelist who moves to his aunt's ominous house after she commits suicide. According to her, the house is haunted, and was even responsible for making Roger's young son disappear years earlier. Once back, strange things begin to happen to Roger as he attempts to write his new book. The scenes of him brainstorming are set to flashbacks of his experiences in Vietnam, and given how cheesy and phony they look, I couldn't fathom how Miner expected us to take them at face value.

Yep, that's pretty much all there is to it. The movie also provides flashbacks to his son's disappearance, but aside from that, the pattern goes as follows: Roger hears a noise, Roger follows the noise, Roger opens the closet door and finds nothing, Roger tries again and is attacked by something slimy and nasty. You know, it's your classic Man Vs. House story, in which the only way to come out on top is to stare your fears right in the face and tell them off. This would be all well and good had the movie done something creative; alas, it settles for generic looking creatures and a conclusion that rips off A Nightmare on Elm Street.

In a way, it's hard to believe the movie even exists given its flimsy premise and execution. The biggest problem I had with it is that there are no rules. Monsters are allowed to exist without reason, objects come to life for no reason, and other worlds are inhabited within the house for no reason. Yes, there is a small explanation as to what happened to Roger's son, but that hardly provides any rationality for everything I just mentioned. I'm not asking for plausibility; I am just a believer that if a movie is going to live in its own universe, it needs to make it a place the audience can understand.

I did still find some simple pleasures in the movie that I remembered from my many childhood viewings. George Wendt offers some nice laughs early in the movie as Roger's lonely neighbor. And I love the way Roger is randomly ambushed from time to time by his (floating) garden tools. But for every small moment that provokes a smile, there's always another that constitutes a groan. The movie tries to cover up its lack of material by throwing in random supporting characters. The worst of the lot is Tanya (Mary Stavin), a sexy neighbor who tricks Roger into babysitting her annoying moppet.

House was successful enough (it grossed $19 million on a $3 million budget) to spawn three (!) sequels, one of which was unofficial. I have a difficult time grasping that anyone liked this movie enough to ask for that many follow ups, especially two that were unrelated. Despite my childhood admiration for the picture, I'd be more than a bit skeptical recommending it to today's teenagers. Due to CGI and hardcore horror movies like Saw, they'd take one look at House and toss it in the fire. In other words, it's the kind of movie that will only live in the nostalgic hearts of those who grew up with it. I am always a skeptic when I revisit favorites from my early years, but end up doing it anyway because hey, memories can only take you so far. The flipside, of course, is that going back is a good way to help you realize it's time to put those fond memories to rest.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

John Carpenter and George Miller Should Revolt: Neil Marshall's Doomsday

Seeing a bad movie is one thing; seeing a bad movie by a talented filmmaker is another thing altogether. Usually the first thought I have after witnessing a disappointment from someone I've had faith in is: why? Why did you feel like you had to make this movie? What was so important about it to you? Please tell me this is not your life's work, that one project you've been building up to, the one you hope will "define" who you are as a filmmaker and an artist. I tend to have a great deal of tolerance for movies made by someone I like, even if it is so bad I want to cover my eyes. I'll always give them the benefit of the doubt until the screen fades to black.

I was intrigued from the beginning with Doomsday, only because it was coming from Neil Marshall, who helmed the splendid genre picture Dog Soldiers and the creepy and sometimes downright terrifying The Descent. He's one of the more promising writer/directors around, having with just two pictures established himself as a vivid eye when it comes to crafting genre pieces. It can be the hardest type of movie to get right since the filmmaker always runs the risk of their work coming off as too cheesy, too absurd, or just plain dumb. I understand that in a genre movie, dumb is often the point, but there does need to be a limit. Once the audience begins to feel as scatterbrained as the movie they're watching, problems arise.

So, Marshall was two for two, and I was anticipating the streak to continue. I wasn't crazy about the marketing, but I let my weariness pass. Then came the decision not to screen the movie for critics, which brought my worries back, but again, I pushed them away in hopes that maybe the studio was being a little too cautious. Trying to keep a positive mindset is often a good way to set yourself up for disappointment, as more often then not when you fear a movie is going to be bad, most of the time it is.

My false hopes certainly did not help Doomsday in the long run, but I'll be damned if it didn't have me fooled for about forty-five minutes. The movie opens with a deadly virus wiping out the population of modern day England. There are, without question, numerous shots of people being gunned down by the military while trying to escape, only to be followed up by voice overs showing maps of the damage and the wall that was built in order to separate the infected from the healthy. These early scenes, which are set to a synthesizer score, reminded me of a darker, modern day Escape From New York. The intention that Marshall was obviously aiming to make his own version of John Carpenter's classic is confirmed when the hero is introduced. Her name, Eden Sinclair (Rhona Mitra), may not sound quite as cool as Snake Plissken, but she does sport the signature eye patch and consistently asks for a smoke. Oh yeah, and it takes place in the future.

Instead of rescuing the president, Eden's mission is to lead a team over the wall in hopes they can find a cure for the virus. Simple enough, so it seems, the main issue being that the survivors who dodged the virus live as savages. At this point, Doomsday slowly starts to shift gears, moving out of Carpenter territory and into Mad Max (particularly The Road Warrior) territory. Even then, I was still with the picture, for combining elements from different genre movies isn't a sin. I must confess I enjoyed the first ridiculous attack sequence set in a hospital, and even got a kick out of the bizarre rally where the tribe of survivors prepare to feast on one of Eden's soldiers (I could have done without the cornball addition of a Fine Young Cannibals tune. Oh, the irony!).

Marshall and his Descent cinematographer, Sam McCurdy, stage some winning compositions during the first section, my favorite being when a flare is fired so Eden and the team can see their surroundings. McCurdy also makes nice use of lighting during a train escape. What's strange about the picture is how everything changes gears at the same time. Once Eden and her crew exit the train and wander through the woods, it's like we've entered a completely different movie, and not for the better. The retro score becomes overblown and bombastic, the action, while already frenetic, becomes even more confusing, and the welcome campy nature of the movie disappears.

It's as if Marshall had too much he wanted to accomplish and wasn't really sure how to construct his material into something sturdy. Or maybe he got carried away when it came to writing the movie's outrageous action sequences and forgot that he needed to include at least one solid plot development to hang them on. Eventually, it gets to the point where all the speeches intended on pushing the story forward are screeching the movie to a painful halt, mainly because the fear starts to arise that Doomsday might be taking itself seriously. I don't think it is; at least, that's the way I felt once the movie's climatic chase scene began. The whole sequence, which involves the heroes being pursued on a highway by the nutty survivors in their homemade vehicles, is edited at such a rapid speed there isn't a single moment the viewer can tell what the bloody hell is happening.

When the director and the studio execs screen the final version of their movie, how could either side see the benefit to having so many cuts during an action scene? Do they honestly believe it's exciting for an audience to get a headache from the angle changing every five seconds? And what's up with so many filmmakers now feeling like they have to shoot action close up? I can't answer for them, but I'm of the mentality that I like to actually see what's going on. It's not too encouraging when you can't tell who's hitting who, and it's even worse when you can't tell who won until the camera finally stops moving.

It seems like the bigger budget was too much for Marshall to handle. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he was given the deal before he started writing the script, giving him an opportunity to go for broke and not waste a penny of the proposed budget. He started out small scale, but as he kept reminding himself how much money he was going to have, his ambitions got bigger and bigger until it became about how much spectacle was going to be onscreen. I'd like to think that's what happened. It's true that every good filmmaker makes a bad movie; it's just always a tragedy to see a movie start with so much potential and go down the tube with the snap of the fingers.

I don't imagine John Carpenter or George Miller (Mad Max) would enjoy Doomsday very much. Carpenter's picture was about subtlety, after all, and his hero had a lot more appeal. Not to say that Rhona Mitra isn't a pleasure to look at, but as a character, there's nothing very entertaining about the way she's drawn. As for the subtlety part...let's just say that's a word this movie could never comprehend. All three of the Mad Max pictures were as insane and occasionally as violent as this one. Instead of pushing the violence too far, Miller focused on inventing an original world out of a setting consisting of nothing but dirt. Plus, his action, while kinetic, was filmed with a trained eye; he wanted us to get a rush out of what we were seeing. All of Marshall's action is overkill, and worse, he feels like every gory detail must be shown. For instance, when a tank runs over a cow, there must be a shot displaying the smooshed carcass. Necessary? Not in the least.

I often find gore to be effective or even fun in the right context, meaning I'm not generally one to complain about it. There's comes a point, though, when its excessiveness is no longer a worthy exposition, and Doomsday reaches that point early on. Marshall feels the need to show every single blood spurting shot he can, and it comes off as a joke at first. But once you've seen it fifteen times, it goes from amusing to childish. How could Marshall be so careless? Did he forget what made Dog Soldiers and The Descent work in the first place? Doomsday represents the first disappointment of 2008. What should have been a building block on a newly enthusiastic career instead stands as not just a step down, but a step back towards the beginning.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Aiming for Mediocrity: Xavier Gens's Hitman

I don't have a problem with video game movies, so long as I can understand them. There's nothing worse than trying to watch a movie based on a game that caters only to the people who have actually played it. I get the fact that the filmmakers want them to enjoy it and that's fine; but the rest of us deserve to have a good time, too. There are a great deal of cool looking games out there, meaning there are lots of opportunities to make entertaining movies out of them. In most cases, sadly, video game movies have been all about visuals and nothing about story, with the end result being dull or just plain dumb.

I've gone to see my fair share of game movies because, hey, I like some good eye candy. In order to work, though, the eye candy needs to serve some kind of artistic purpose and not just sit there on the screen. I'm not saying it has to voice something profound about the world; I just want the visual style to speak to me as a moviegoer. I don't expect a mind blowing story either; as long as it's sturdy enough to support the rest of the movie, I can forgive the lack of complexity. The best video game movie to do this so far has been Silent Hill, due to some of the most original and frightening images I've seen in a long time. I was also quite surprised by how cynical the story turns out to be once the movie reaches the conclusion.

French director Christophe Gans obviously had a clear vision when it came to bringing Silent Hill to the screen; if only the same could be said for his countryman Xavier Gens, who was given the task of adapting Hitman. I have not played "Hitman," but know that it has developed into a series of games. With this in mind, I was certain writer Skip Woods (Swordfish) could muster up at least a decent framework for the movie's action to hang on to. Instead, there's barely anything here resembling a screenplay. What we're left with is a potentially interesting character stuck in a movie that's as lifeless as he is.

What a missed opportunity Hitman turns out to be! Even though the idea behind the movie is nothing new, I was open to it, mainly due to the casting of Timothy Olyphant. Unfortunately, he's not given much of interest to do in between the action sequences aside from walk like The Terminator and give off an emotionless stare. As a viewer, I find it hard to want to follow the adventures of a character who has absolutely no big screen appeal. I guess all the filmmakers cared about was how Olyphant would look holding a gun.

Poor Olyphant has a bad habit of picking lousy scripts. He won me over with his hilarious and downright creepy porn producer Kelly in The Girl Next Door. Aside from that and his solid work on HBO's deceased "Deadwood," Olyphant hasn't really gotten a chance to show off his chops as a straight man or a villain, as he was wasted twice last year, once as a romantic lead (Catch and Release) and as a global domination hungry baddie (Live Free or Die Hard). Most of his roles have been underwritten, a disadvantage that leaves Olyphant struggling to bring his characters to life.

In Hitman, he plays 47, a contract killer who was trained in multiple forms of combat as a child and then branded with a tattoo of a UPC code. Early in the movie, he's in Russia and has just been assigned to kill the president. To his confusion, things do not go as planned and before he knows it, his own people are trying to take him out. Oh yeah, and Interpol is after him, too. Along the way, he picks up a supposed witness to his latest job, a prostitute named Nika (Olga Kurylenko). The movie then unfolds like a low rent version of The Transporter (which was already low rent, but in a good way) as 47 does his damnedest to keep the other agents in his field from offing Nika.

If there's a crucial difference between Jason Statham's Frank Martin and 47, it's that the latter has no romantic interest in the woman he's protecting. Nika makes quite a few advances, despite the fact 47 barely pays attention to her. Worse, it seems nuts she would want to get close to him considering he makes her spend her first car ride in the trunk on top of a corpse! As a character she's completely useless, since her only real purpose in the movie is to take her clothes off as much as possible. I'm not complaining about that, mind you, but it'd be nice if she were a challenge to 47 in some way. Instead, she simply exists as a nuisance.

The picture's other key character is Mike Whittier (Dougray Scott, awful as expected), an Interpol agent who's been after 47 for three years. His role in the movie is to rave about the "ghost" he's chasing, and of course no one except his partner believes him. A good chunk of Whittier's screentime consists of arguments with the Russian police, which goes nowhere since the banter feels like nothing but a time filling plot device. I've always found Scott to be a dreadful actor, mostly because he's never been able to find the middle ground between underacting and overacting.

If anything in the movie kept me from falling asleep, it was the action scenes. The shoot outs are not particularly exciting and yet, I found myself enjoying the hand-to-hand combat scenes (47's fight in a train station is a standout). All the action is shot in an annoying kinetic style that often makes it difficult to decipher who's firing and who's been hit. I don't where the rumor started that it's fun to watch quick cuts and sped up movements during an action sequence. Even though I could rarely tell what was going on, the cinematography and production design were appealing.

Even at a brisk 94 minutes, Hitman never feels like it goes anywhere worthwhile. We've seen all this done before (and better), which wouldn't bother me if the movie had something to hold attention. The whole affair ends up coming off in some ways like a video game, since the run time is spent going from one location to the next (much like changing levels). But unlike playing a game, an activity that can be stimulating and challenging, watching Hitman does not tap into any of our senses. Ultimately, the only part of me it tapped into was the memory, urgently preparing itself to erase the movie's existence upon completion.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Trash to Treasure: Drake Floyd's Troll 2

If cinema is an art form, then it only seems fair to embrace the bad as much as the good. I've always been a firm believer that to love movies, you have to be able to recognize that B-movies, no matter awful they are, do have some worth. Many may not agree with that idea; why waste your time watching a picture that is obviously going to be an utter disaster? It's not altogether a useless argument; there are lots of movies out there that are bad to the point we want to claw our eyeballs out. But what about the other ones? What about the movies that are so bad they're good? Can't we find the joy in sitting through something the average Joe would never pick up and see the beauty in it?

At first glance, it might be a stretch to call bad movies art. But isn't art supposed to be perceived through the eye of the beholder? I'm sure there are plenty of folks out there that think Picasso's paintings are shit. As far as cinema goes, I've met a number of people who think Citizen Kane is overpraised garbage. When so many movies try way too hard to say something important or profound, it's refreshing to see one that is what it is and does not aspire to be the best movie ever made. It just asks us to accept it on its own terms. True, the filmmaker may have been aiming for a completely different response, but it all leads back to the viewer's response to it.

I believe awesomely bad movies are, without question, a form of art. I often read reviews where the critic talks about the unintentional hilarity of the picture and still give it an ultra low rating. That's where the conundrum comes in for me. If I thoroughly enjoy a bad movie to the point I'm exhilarated, should I rip it to shreds for its sheer awfulness, or do I praise it for what it has achieved? I guess there's a certain level of embarrassment in awarding a bad movie for accidental accomplishments, but in my eyes, they're accomplishments all the same. It's no different to me than when a critic praises a movie for the same reasons I loathed it.

This may feel like a lot of explanation when preparing to talk about Troll 2, of all movies, but I feel it is necessary since I'm about to defend it. There's no doubt it is a complete catastrophe in every department: the writing, directing, acting, editing, special effects, music (the uproarious opening theme song sounds like it belongs on an '80s action television show). But these are precisely the reasons why I love it. In a movie this bad, the fact every element comes off as sloppy and amateurish is what gives the experience its charm. Had Troll 2 been a well made movie, it would be distracting and I probably wouldn't enjoy it all. If I'm going to appreciate bad art, I don't want it to look good.

The fact the movie's production was so bonkers only makes my affection for it bigger. The picture, for some odd reason, has no relation to the original Troll at all. In fact, there aren't even any trolls in it! The title was added after shooting was completed, maybe in hopes it would improve video sales. The writer/director, Claudio Fragasso, is Italian and inexplicably credits himself under the pseudonym Drake Floyd. He decided to shoot the picture in Utah and hired locals to play the roles, which threw extra pressure on them since none of the crew spoke English(!). Due to the communication barrier, the script was shot verbatim and the performances were never given clear direction.

Troll 2 was obviously made for no money. There are maybe four or five locations in the whole movie (not counting the woods), and the creatures, which are goblins, were played by midgets wearing potato sacks stuffed with pillows. There's nothing frightening about them in the least; even their masks look cheaply painted. To describe the movie's mind boggling story would ruin the surprises; not in the traditional sense, of course, but in the sense that the movie's biggest laughs would be ruined. The bottom line is that Troll 2 is funnier than most comedies I have seen in the past five years. The sheer absurdity of it, combined with how deathly serious it is played, is what works mostly in its favor.

You can feel every bit of confusion the actors had trying to play their roles. One wonders if they were all hired from the local playhouse since their performances (especially in the case of the adults) are so theatrical. Everyone delivers their lines at a high volume, and their facial expressions are always nervous or borderline hysterical. It's as if Fragasso, unable to tell them what he wanted from them, had to instead act it out himself and hope they'd follow suit. The fact that everyone seems to be trying to out act each other makes it damn near impossible to pick a favorite character. It kind of feels like it'd be unfair.

Lousy writing can often make us groan and cringe with disbelief. The same would normally be applied to Troll 2 if it weren't so random. The various pieces of the story shouldn't work well together, but everyone on board is so enthusiastic about making it believable there's little reason to poke at how preposterous it is. There isn't a single moment that isn't lovingly crafted. Despite how poorly made the whole movie is, I get the feeling that the people who brought it to life felt they were part of a worthwhile project.

That last point puts Troll 2 on the same level with Ed Wood's memorable movies. He wasn't a stickler for tiny details and felt the first take was always the best, and yet he was always passionate about every movie that carried his name. It's infeasible for me to believe that Claudio Fragasso wasn't the same way, even though I haven't seen any of his other movies. Watch Troll 2 for five minutes and you'd wonder how anyone could make it and not feel 100% connected to it.

The movie has developed a huge cult following over the years, which the star, Michael Stephenson (who just turned 30), recently discovered. He was ashamed of his involvement for a long time, was amazed how many people love the movie, and decided to jump on board with them and celebrate the fact that it has such a large audience. In addition to traveling around with some of the other cast members to screen the movie and meet the fans, Stephenson has also directed and produced a documentary called Best Worst Movie, which is about Troll 2's overwhelming popularity (it's slated for release this year).

The movie is a classic trash into treasure story. No one said art had to pretty, and Troll 2 defines that phrase like no other. It's hard to give a rating to a movie like this, since it exists in a world of its own. Not a movie I could visit on a regular basis, Troll 2 is one of those rarities you have a blast watching, hold on to the fond memories of, and then go back to every couple of years or so. It's strangely liberating to sit through, because it's proof that a movie with (on the surface) no redeemable qualities whatsoever could turn out to be a masterpiece of sheer insanity. It is indeed, the Best Worst Movie I have ever seen.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

The Lost King of Comedy: Eddie Murphy in Coming to America

John Landis's Coming to America was released in 1988 at the height of Eddie Murphy's career. It found itself sandwiched in between the inevitable success of Beverly Hills Cop II and the disaster of Eddie's directorial debut, Harlem Nights (this was his first and last trip behind the camera). Up until Coming to America, Eddie had played foul mouthed and aggressive characters, men who got what they wanted by being an incredible asshole. I'm certainly not knocking those early performances; at the time, they were what defined Eddie Murphy, and I'll be damned if he wasn't great at it.

While his movies were pretty well received in the beginning, by the time he hit The Golden Child (a picture I loved as a kid, but would be frightened to revisit now) and Cop II, his act was wearing thin with critics. So, it almost seems like Coming to America emerged out of nowhere; here was Eddie Murphy as a sweet and innocent character, a man who just wanted to find true love and did so without trying to intimidate anyone with his behavior. He does use some bad words in the picture, but the character he plays, Prince Akeem, repeats vulgarities that he hears and does not understand. It was a surprising change of pace, if anything because it showed that aside from being a talented comedian, he's a good actor too.

Eddie came up with the idea for Coming to America, and let's face it, there's nothing particularly great about it on paper. An African prince who does not want to be forced into an arranged marriage travels to America to choose his own bride. The hook, of course, is that he pretends to be common so she will fall in love with who he is, not what he is. This could have easily been a recipe for failure, but Eddie brought it to life by playing four (!) different roles and was able to surround himself with a terrific supporting cast. It's safe to say that ensemble comedies like this are hard to find these days.

To ensure the material would not be run-of-the-mill, Eddie brought in David Sheffield and Barry W. Blaustein, both of whom were writers during his days on "Saturday Night Live." And he was able to rope in John Landis, who had seen success with National Lampoon's Animal House (1978), The Blues Brothers (1980), and had directed Eddie in Trading Places (1983). I'll agree that the screenplay is good and so is the acting, but I do have an issue with giving too much credit to Landis. I've always had a strong feeling that he must be a really good people person; look at any one of his memorable comedies and you'll see that he has very little to do with why they work so well. As I watched Coming to America again, I noticed how simple his direction is. Landis has a knack for getting the right people, framing them competently, and then letting them do what they do best. All he really has to do is sit back and laugh when the joke is over.

As perfectly suited as the cast is, Eddie is the glue that holds it all together. There was a time when he had a clear focus and was able to get everyone else in on it. Watch what he does now and you'll find a man who's desperately trying to hold on to who he once was. I can't think of a single moment in Coming to America where he's not at the top of his game: confident, appealing, happy. Maybe that's what's missing most from his performances now; he's lost those three feelings and has replaced them with constant pressure to somehow stay in the limelight. There's no doubt in my mind that continuing to make family oriented movies is the simplest way for audiences to remember who he is.

The movie is interestingly a fair tale in reverse for the hero; he has to go from riches to rags to find his true love. The movie opens as if we've just gazed upon the first page of a storybook, with a sweeping shot over the mountains of the fictional African city of Zamunda. It ends on the castle of King Jaffe Joffer (a no nonsense James Earl Jones), whose son, Prince Akeem, is celebrating his 21st birthday. The tone is set right from the start as the picture pokes glorious fun at the ridiculousness of royalty. Akeem has servants to brush his teeth, wipe his backside, and even wash his "royal penis." And since he is royalty, there are rose bearers on hand to sprinkle petals in front of him as he walks.

Akeem does not like the tradition of having a spouse chosen for him. Why would he want to marry someone he does not know and more so, someone who will do nothing more than obey his every command? He sets up a forty day trip to America, believing that the best place to find his real bride will be in Queens, New York. Once he arrives, the movie turns into the classic fish-out-of-water story, as the sheltered Akeem is exposed for the first time to big city life. Wisely, Coming to America does not spend a lot of time showing Akeem struggling to adapt to a world he does not understand. He is soft natured and naive enough that he excepts everything on its own terms. There's hardly a moment when he's not smiling with wonderment.

The picture's weakest sequence is the obligatory auditioning sessions Akeem holds with the women he meets. I know we're supposed to throw caution to the wind here, but it gets a bit tedious when each candidate is more of a crackpot than the last (one claims to have been Joan of Arc in a former life). Of course, he does eventually find his prize in Lisa (the tremendous Shari Headley), and lucky for him, she is not attracted to riches, since Akeem's goal is to come off as lower class. Naturally, her boyfriend, Darryl (Eric La Salle) is a jerk. Like I mentioned earlier, we've seen it all more times than needed. The difference is that this time, the performances are on target and each scene is filled with one-of-a-kind supporting characters.

Easily the juiciest comic creations are the ones conjured up by Murphy and his co-star, Arsenio Hall, whose main role is as Akeem's servant, Semmi. The two have a blast in the now famous barber shop scenes, disguised by pounds of makeup as grouchy old men who fight all day about who's the best boxer. Every scene involving these guys is a riot, the best being when they attend a Black Awareness Week rally (one of them accidentally puts a chicken bone in the collection plate). Yes, these supporting characters remind a lot of the roles Murphy had played before; this time, however, it comes off as completely new since it is being played out of its usual context.

What amazes most about the picture is how well the supporting characters are drawn. Instead of being portrayed as one dimensional, they're each recognizably human. For instance, Cleo McDowell (John Amos), Lisa's father, owns a McDonald's knock off restaurant and is only concerned with his own success (observe how callously he treats his employees). Darryl is a model for Soul Glo, a horrifying product that gives curly hair some extra shine (he is a good counterpart for Cleo in that he thinks everyone else is beneath him). The best performance besides Murphy's is Arsenio Hall's. Semmi could easily be read as the thankless tag-a-long, but Hall crafts him into someone relentlessly stubborn (I love how he responds to Akeem's request to clean up their dumpy apartment). His crowing work, however, is in the form of a minister who never stops preaching. This alone makes me wonder how Hall did not have a substantial movie career.

None of it should work at all, and yet the effortless cast makes it happen. Holding it together, though, is Eddie Murphy; every time I looked at his eyes throughout the picture, I could tell he believed in what he was doing and because of that, everyone else had faith in the material, too. He was the real deal, and Coming to America is almost depressing, really, because it presented a hope that Eddie was going to steer his career in a new direction. Not to say he hasn't had a few excellent performances since then (The Nutty Professor, Bowfinger). Sadly, his work here was one of the last glimpses we'd get of a truly talented comedian and actor reminding us why we loved him in the first place. I sure miss that guy.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Scorsese Does Hitchcock

What a rare and beautiful thing this is for fans of both of these master filmmakers!


http://www.scorsesefilmfreixenet.com/video_eng.htm


What's frustrating about it is what a small glimpse we get of what could have been another Hitchcock masterpiece.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!

Keep Your Mid-Life Crisis to Yourself: Amy Heckerling's I Could Never Be Your Woman

I have fond memories of Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982) and Clueless (1995), as both pictures proved Amy Heckerling could craft smart movies about annoying teenagers. It's kind of sad that her last directorial effort, Loser (2000), lived up to its title in more ways than one. The attempts at humor were creepy to say the least, and in the end, it felt like Heckerling was really struggling to still have something worthwhile to say. I must admit that I was still looking forward to her newest picture, I Could Never Be Your Woman, because despite the awful title, it stars two very appealing actors.

I wish I could say that casting alone could save this thing, but that would be wishful thinking. The movie is bad, probably worse than Loser, more than anything due to Heckerling's lame pursuit to let the audience know she doesn't want to get old. Well, I'm here to tell her none of us do, and while I certainly think a funny movie is capable of being made about hanging onto your youth, this is not it. Every scene feels like it exists completely on its own, mainly since I continued to forget what was happening from one moment to the next. There's nothing to hold the movie together; the screenplay hardly even reads like a rough draft.

It's troubling when you have to bash a movie that features so much talent. The biggest question is why they all agreed to take part in the first place. For the middle aged actors, maybe they felt Heckerling's pain, so the whole project turned into a group therapy session. The thing to be most thankful for is that the picture missed its trip to the big screen and will end up in the $4.99 bin at Wal-Mart rather quickly. I have no doubts there are people out there who will enjoy it (Richard Roeper already gave it his endorsement if that tells you anything), but I'll bet very few of them will be able to give a concrete reason why.

The story revolves around Rosie (Michelle Pfeiffer), a sitcom screenwriter. She also happens to be a hip, single mom who still plays Barbie with her daughter, Izzie (Atonement's Saoirse Ronan). The only amusement to get out of the set up is that we're supposed to believe Michelle Pfeiffer was married to Jon Lovitz. He pops up throughout the picture, but instead of adding anything to the progression of the story (?), he spends his scenes trying to steal flower pots from Rosie's house. Oh, those kooky exes!

Rosie's show, from what we see of it, is almost a carbon copy of "A Different World." Not surprisingly, the ratings are sinking so the network head (a typical Fred Willard) wants something fresh for the show. Enter Adam (the invaluable Paul Rudd), an actor who's such a goofball his audition for a new character wins Rosie over immediately. He's a free spirit, which is exactly what she needs to recapture her lost youth. At first, she thinks he's too young to date (in the world of this movie, he's twenty-nine and she's forty), but before long it's no matter. Adam makes Rosie feel alive again.

The characters lack anything resembling real wit. Pfeiffer depends on her facial expressions to play the role, resulting in a collage of shocked looks and over dramatic outbursts. The key relationship in the movie is supposed to be between Rosie and Izzie, but all the insight given from mother to daughter could have come from a flower designed Hallmark card. Not to mention the movie has an entire subplot about Izzie's conquest to win the boy of her dreams. We knows mom's advice will be beneficial, and while the payoff could have been cute, it goes for rewards it has not earned.

It would be too easy just to let Rosie and Adam fall happily in love, for then there would be no movie. The first conflict that comes into play is their age difference, which Rosie soon gets over since Adam is the cool younger guy who will jump on the bed with her and dump a bowl of popcorn in her face (how liberating!). This stuff is a blessing in comparison with the main conflict, which involves continued sabotage attempts on Rosie and Adam's romance by her secretary, Jeannie (Sarah Alexander).

I first saw Paul Rudd in Heckerling's Clueless, but I didn't get the full scale of his talent until Wet Hot American Summer (2001). Rudd is a terrific comic actor thanks to his undeniable knack for physical comedy. Despite his dud of a character in I Could Never Be Your Woman, Rudd has a handful of memorable moments, most of which (if not all) were probably improved. If not for his presence, the movie would be a complete snoozer.

While Rudd gets to shine every so often, the same cannot be said for generally funny Tracy Ullman, who is stuck playing Mother Nature. The character has no worthwhile purpose to the movie except to yell at Rosie for wanting to be in love and to use lots of profanity. Narrators like this can often be as worthless as a voiceover and unfortunately, Ullman is not able to salvage what she was given to work with. Her insight on baby boomers during the picture's opening is the only helpful scene she's in, as it let me know I was about to watch a depressingly lousy movie.

Comedy often works best based on the characters' abilities to surprise each other, which is something Heckerling forgot this time out. There's no real focus to the picture; it basically takes one simple idea and tries to run with it. Heckerling is a good writer and will hopefully make a good movie again. Now that she's made it through her mid-life crisis project (the Rosie character could easily be autobiographical), it's time to put her attention on something worthy of her talent. Heckerling may be getting older, but that doesn't mean she's not capable of still making an audience laugh.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008

Manifest Insanity: Alex Cox's Walker

It was during my senior year of high school that I first laid eyes on Alex Cox's Repo Man, and God knows I've never been the same. After my first viewing I wasn't really sure what to make of the picture. It was either one of weirdest masterpieces I had yet to see, or it was complete and utter bullshit. I watched it three more times and decided on the former. The movie, as strange as it is, has more thematic texture than most, and it announced Alex Cox as a new visionary, a filmmaker with a punk rock attitude that wasn't all for show. You could tell it was in his bones.

His movies aren't always easy to like. I think I was a fan of Sid and Nancy immediately after seeing it, but the same cannot be said for Straight to Hell and Revenger's Tragedy. Having a rebellious streak can be quite dangerous for a filmmaker, because you often worry that they might eventually run out of steam. I have not seen all of Cox's pictures, so I can't rightfully say if that has happened to him. However, I can say that there are few filmmakers in the last twenty plus years who have shown bigger balls. Cox's 1987 movie Walker is a case and point.

Cox teamed up with screenwriter Rudy Wurlitzer (Two-Lane Blacktop) to make a picture that blasted President Reagan's attack on Nicaragua, and it seemed like the idea was to do it in the least conventional way. They found the bizarre true account of William Walker, who led a group of mercenaries into Nicaragua in the mid 1800's and took control. Walker believed that Manifest Destiny gave him the right to do so, even if it meant not honoring his word and stepping on the toes of every person who had helped him rise to the top.

Cox and Wurlitzer both had made movies at Universal Pictures, although their relationships with the studio had been less than memorable. Imagine their surprise when they were able to shoot the picture for $5.6 million, and actually film in Nicaragua during the middle of a war. The end result was not what Universal had signed up for, leading to the movie being buried and the critics burning the movie at the journalistic stake. On the Criterion DVD, you can sense that Cox was upset that the movie was rejected by the press, but he hasn't let it get him down. Walker has gained a substantial following since then, mostly due to how it revels in breaking the rules. The movie turned out to be a big "fuck you" to the studio that released it.

As someone who lost faith in biopics a long time ago, Walker is a breath of fresh air. The movie could have been played very run-of-the-mill, but Cox felt it was best to let his rebellious spirit shine through. This is one of the most merciless satires I have ever seen, as it attempts to make its anti-hero into just the opposite by giving him unrelenting determination. His actions, and the actions of his men, are beyond absurd, which makes the whole affair unpredictably hilarious when it should be downright disturbing. Not to say what Walker did wasn't upsetting, but it's presented as if the movie is one step away from making fun of itself.

Walker is portrayed by Ed Harris, an intense actor who gets to turn the volume up to eleven. It's a performance for the ages, highlighted by Harris's wide eyed stare and a vein in his forehead that is constantly preparing to burst. As the picture opens, Walker and his men are tearing up a Mexican town. Cox shoots the action for maximum effect, complete with spraying blood and slow motion deaths. An "act of God" gets them through the whole thing, since Walker feels it is his God given right to be there. Back at home and on trial, he convinces a jury there was a rational reason for all the people he killed. Cornelious Vanderbilt (an ultra nutty Peter Boyle), arguably the wealthiest man in the world at the time, propositions Walker to go into Nicaragua and claim it for the United States.

Walker is chosen not necessarily because he is the best man for the job, but more so for his raw determination. We see this once he and his team enter the country and are met with gunfire. While the mercenaries try to defend themselves, Walker walks straight on through as if his reason for being there makes him incapable of being hit by a bullet. As his men fall, they are confused by his lack of support. In Walker's eyes, human casualties play a part in making his dream come true.

It's little details like the one just mentioned that make Walker effective and one-of-a-kind. Cox fills most every frame with insane imagery, particularly once Walker gains the success his so desperately hungers. The movie is like a confusing dream in which we wake up and wonder what just happened. Much of the picture is shot that way. Primary cinematographer (many others are credited) David Bridges turns the Nicaraguan landscape into a Hell on Earth, and his most effective lighting is used on the closeups of Harris's face. By incorporating a deep red, Walker, even with his sharp blue eyes, looks like an incarnation of the devil.

Because Cox is trying to make a statement about what was going on in Nicaragua at the time, he throws in a lot of modern elements. The dialogue is something you might hear if you were to stop reading right now and walk onto the street, especially when it comes to the vulgar names the characters spew at each other. Also thrown into the mix are magazines (Time and Newsweek), brand name cigarettes, and a car (!). The movie has a blast toying with its audience, moving at such a quick pace we cannot fathom what will pop up on screen next. It's exhausting really, but Cox never loses control and it never loses sight of its message. Just because you come from the most powerful nation in the world does not give you the right to take what's not yours and think you can make it better.

It would be criminal for me to not mention the brilliant score by The Clash's Joe Strummer. Every scene sounds like something out of a demented spaghetti western, which Walker's visual look definitely mirrors. The music is used to best effect during the movie's (many) violent scenes, as it is much more cheerful than you would ever anticipate. And yet it's perfect. Walker is so far removed from anything resembling reality that it feels right at home. It often functions like theme music.

Walker is a work of manic genius. Cox has made a spectacularly angry movie, one that is sometimes hard to swallow but equally impossible to forget. It's easy to see why so many resisted it (many were turned off by the bloody violence and the unlikable characters). Part of its appeal lies on just how topical it still is. A scene that wasn't in the original script involving a dying Guatemalan citizen thanking America for coming in and saving his people sums it all up. It's rare to see a movie that is able to throw politics at you while at the same time presenting it in a way you've never seen or thought you were going to see. Cox knew he was crafting something (in essence) unpleasant, so the real victory is the fact he was able to pull it off the way he wanted to.


Thank you for visiting Hell and Beyond!


Copyright, Hell and Beyond, 2008