Thursday, October 15, 2009

Cronenberg in Context: Videodrome (1983)

The following post contains spoilers, but probably won't make any damn sense if you haven't seen the movie anyway.

This may come as a shock to you, but I loves me some Videodrome. It is probably my all time favorite movie, and it certainly had a massive influence on the disheveled 16 year old version of me who picked up its sun bleached plastic case at a rapidly decaying Mr. Movies. Despite the existence of a most excellent Criterion Collection release, this is arguably the best way to experience Videodrome for the first time. The film practically craves the blurry texture and fuzzy tracking problems of a long neglected analog video tape. It certainly goes out of its way to work the medium's technical, physical, and cultural artifacts into the mise en scène.As a bona fide high school AV nerd spending as much time as possible with the half broken, second hand video production equipment, I was also essentially Videodrome's ideal viewer. The great rack-mount towers of oscilloscopes, VTRs, and broadcasting equipment fascinated me with its clunky DIY aesthetics and odd juxtaposition (sometimes simultaneously) of the advanced and the antiquated. I was completely taken by the film's zeitgeist, so the occasional nudity and infamous bizarro-gore were merely the icing on the cake.This analog-philia, combined with the weirdly artificial grime of the Toronto back alleys in which much of the film takes place (it's like no one has cleaned in decades, but no one has been littering either) gives the film a subtle vibe of alternate reality. I like to call it "tubepunk" or "analog-punk," because while it is obsessed with the ramifications of advancing technology, the real world has long ago surpassed it in ways it only dimly perceived. One character gives a fairly accurate prediction of 'user names' and the Internet's egocentric pseudo-anonymity, while another decries the socially destructive effects of media over-stimulation, a laughably quaint idea coming out of 1983. On the other hand, it is too obsessed with looking forward and too subtly different from the '80s as we knew them to ever truly feel like the past. The result is a fascinating world that is sadly unique to the film that spawned it. (Hence my clamoring for a video game sequel, and decrying of a "modern" remake.)For Cronenberg's career, Videodrome marks a clear turning point in his slow evolution from high concept horror auteur to a more mature director of cerebral thrillers. It's also arguably his first truly good film, unmarred by the weak performances that periodically raise their heads in his earlier work (I'm looking at you, dude from Scanners), and completely saturated with dark subtext. Films like Scanners and The Brood obviously had a lot of ideas and certainly revolve around his favored themes, (the power of the mind over the physical world, gooey abjections of the human form) but Videodrome takes these ideas and runs with them.One theme, further explored in the film eXistenZ, is the traumatic effect of exposure to alternate layers of reality. When protagonist Max Renn (James Woods) is exposed to the Videodrome signal, he begins having hallucinations so vivid that they cannot be distinguished from reality. Another character, Professor Brian O'Blivion, suffers from a Videodrome induced brain tumor (similar to the emotion fueled cellular carnosity in The Brood) that he postulates is actually a new organ with the ability (purpose?) to create an even closer relationship between the mind and the cathode ray tube. "Television is the retina of the mind's eye," he frequently proclaims, possibly meaning that Renn's hallucinatory experiences with the Videodrome show and signal are the result of his consciousness being extended into the television program. Once the boundaries between meatspace and the 'video' world are totally blurred, it becomes impossible for Renn and, by extension, the audience to tell exactly how real the events on screen are, and how characters untainted by the signal are perceiving the events.
For instance, Max gets a crazy mutant gun hand, but when he is brainwashed into murdering his unaffected business associates he merely shoots them with a totally normal weapon. This gives the impression that his fleshy new powers only exist within his Videodrome fugue state. (Perhaps other victims of the signal could also see them.) However this is later contradicted by an unaffected character getting his hand mutated into a flesh grenade, which background extras react in horror to, after sticking it into Renn's stomach vagina along with a mind controlling video tape. What exactly were these unaffected characters witnessing and what are the ramifications for the seperation between the real hallucinatory worlds.

The film gives no easy answer to the above question, which merely scratching the surface of possible textual analysis. There are many more interesting questions about perception, censorship, the motif of harmful sensation, the social effects of violent and pornographic media, and our relationship with media in general. Max has a career as a small time cable pornography provider eager to break the next taboo. There are repercussions of the Videodrome signal's increased effectiveness under sexually violent imagery, as well as the hints of vast, moralistic, right wing conspiracies. There's enough to chew on in this 89 minute film to write a whole book. In fact someone did! (Which I confess I have yet to read.)Videodrome: way more than "that movie where James Woods has a stomach vagina," (though it certainly is that too) or a Family Guy joke about nudity. Buy it, steal it, Netflix it. If you are in Minnesota, the Trylon Microcinema just had a showing and will be doing more Cronenberg movies through the end of October. I'll be attempting to catch all of them, so drop me a comment if you're going as well.

"It has a philosophy. And that is what makes it dangerous."

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Soundtrack to an Imaginary Women in Prison Film

Deep in the coal black heart of a festering 20th century American city, a pair of mid-level mob enforcers unwind with the company of a semi-cooperative prostitute. After the back-alley lovemaking takes a violent turn, she hastily exits the vehicle with one of the thugs' wallets in tow. Headlights appear in the asphalt's black, rain fed mirrors and the woman is struck down by two tons of smoke belching Oldsmobile.

A week later, one of the perps discovers a surly, bandaged prostitute brandishing a kitchen knife in his apartment. One slit throat later, she is dragged, kicking and screaming into a maximum security women's prison where she must contend with lusty lesbian guards, authoritarian nuns, and those in the employ of the mafia family she unwittingly declared war on.

When the escalating spiral of violence ensnares the daughter she abandoned long ago, she organizes a prison break and, with the help of a faux-naive CIA spook (the dog that walks you), begins systematically burning the city's rotten underbelly to the ground. That is if a certain one-eyed sister of the cloth, determined to save her soul or else, doesn't find her first.

God Help the Girl - God Help the Girl
Blondie - X Offender
PJ Harvey 7 John Parish - Black Hearted Love
The Raveonettes - Here Comes Mary
Loretta Lynn - Rated X*
Blondie - The Hardest Part
Ladytron - Last One Standing
Dirty Elegance - Engloutir
Magneta Lane - Kissing is Easy

*Preferably the Neko Case Cover

It's more of a hybrid rape-revenge/prison story than a true "women in prison" film, but there is only so much plot to be wrung out of such a specific premise. Despite that limitation, I'm shocked that Tarantino or his ilk have yet to give it the post-modern deconstruction treatment. I would also be interested in seeing a feminist upending of the normally exploitative genre. It may not be very relevant in the 21st century, but I still believe there is a rich thematic vein to be mined. (Prison-A-Go-Go! is, sadly, the best we've got at the moment.)

Along the same lines, we need more female anti-heroes. Not just "badasses" or generic video game heroines, but flawed, three dimensional characters. Women in genre films almost always fall into archetypes that either fit neatly within the binary virgin/whore system or are so broadly written that they might as well just be Snake Plissken with tits. (I'm looking at you, Doomsday.)

The hypothetical lead of the above snippet would hopefully fit the bill: a vicious sociopath victimized by current circumstances, but with no one but herself to blame for the lows to which she has already sunk. A doomed noir hero with only a shred of maternal instinct to rally her otherwise selfish quest for revenge around. Otherwise her only redeeming quality being the emotional distance to recognize both the grim inevitabilities of her plight and her personal culpability in its creation. Also she commits many acts of totally awesome violence. In fact, someone should make this the setup for a Grand Theft Auto game; they're about due for a female protagonist. The women in prison section could be the tutorial/character generation bit. Someone please make that.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Mini Review: Suspect Zero (2004)

Suspect Zero is the most disappointingly adequate movie I've ever seen. Its miserable scores on Metacritic and RottenTomatoes create no illusions that it's an overlooked gem, but I was sorely mistaken in assuming that the hostility and vicious snark was indicative of the epic failure requiring the full Video Updates treatment. It even has a place in infamy next to Larry the Cable Guy and Uwe Boll films in the Onion AV Club's Commentary Tracks of the Damned column.

The level of review bile contrasts sharply to the extraordinary promise once shown by the career of director E. Elias Merhige. Originally a pretentious art filmmaker, Merhige first emerged with his 1991 experimental feature, Begotten. Shot with the distinct texture of hyper-grainy, ultra high contrast reversal film, it tells a metaphysical horror tale of violence, resurrection, and suicidal gods. It's sadly difficult to get a hold of in a proper viewing format, (I'm stuck with a nigh-unwatchable bootleg, myself) but the striking imagery eventually landed its creator a shot at 'real' feature film making. The result was 2000's sublime Shadow of the Vampire, a dark comedy starring John Malkovich and Willem Dafoe as the director and 'real life' vampire behind the original Nosferatu.Suspect Zero would be Merhige's second and (so far) final studio film. In spite (or because) of a formidable ad campaign, the film hit theaters with an awkward clanking noise; like a broken alarm clock casually tossed into an empty meatlocker. It certainly didn't help that the film reeks powerfully of Se7en copycat syndrome, or that its 'twist' was given away on nearly every marketing material in a desperate attempt to cover the odor.

That twist is the use of 'remote viewing,' but it only counts as a twist if you haven't seen the trailer, official website, majority of reviews, Wikipedia page, or beginning of this sentence. Also you have to be too stupid to figure out the reason for all the sudden, artsy camera angles that Ben Kingsley keeps sketching in his seedy motel hideout.The main subject of this psychokinetic spying is disgraced FBI agent, Aaron Eckhart. With a small sampling of the Matrix films' supporting cast at his side, the future Harvey Dent slowly unravels a string of murders committed with the intent to get his specific attention. (I guess it takes more than creepy faxes to get an FBI agent's attention these days.) The clues eventually lead to Kingsley, who turns out to be a borderline psychotic veteran of the government's defunct psychic detectives program. He was trained to tune into the mental frequencies of killers, but snapped under the pressure and began hunting the perps down on his own.

None of this sounds particularly new or interesting, and it isn't. The cast is serviceable, the script is a bit of a mess, but the cinematography and direction keep the affair floating an inch or two above absolute mediocrity. It certainly doesn't deserve the heaping piles of scorn provided by mainstream film critics. (Personally, I believe their perspective is warped by this bizarre focus on "good" movies.)The main problem I have with Suspect Zero is in its treatment of the eponymous character. I understand that the spoiler free audience members are supposed to spend portions of the film wondering if Kingsley is the titular suspect, a theoretical serial killer that can never be caught because no pattern connects his murders, but the film never sets that particular red herring in stone. His slaughters have a clear pattern (killing killers) and he is never connected to the sinister black 16-wheeler menacing the film's scene transitions. To everyone outside the film itself Ben is clearly not SZ, so when Kingsley and Eckhart join forces to take him down at the end of the film, I had every reason to believe that he would be a total scary badass, possibly played by an A-list actor, with a cool monologue and a cooler death.It turns out he's just some guy with a trucking job and a bunch of obvious corpse mounds at his desert ranch. He gets neither lines nor a close-up, and does absolutely nothing except run away and get his head smashed in. I know the drama is supposed to be between the two tortured leads, but since no one actually gives a flying fuck at this point, the lack of a sweet villain basically cuts the film's heart out; a far more brutal and tragic death than any portrayed within the narrative.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Freaking Finally: A Horror Remake I Can Stand Behind

Check out the brand new trailer for the upcoming remake of George Romero's The Crazies:

Ever since the Asian Horror remake bubble, genre bloggers complaining about the unnecessary remakes has become a virulent epidemic. In a word where audiences are so subtitle shy, US studios are so creatively bankrupt, and and so much money has to be wasted redoing already brilliant films like Let the Right One In, who can blame us. Fortunately, with so many genre films being mined, the studios were bound to get one right eventually.

The original Crazies is an interesting concept from an influential (if very hit or miss) director. It covered a lot of the same ground as his zombie films, but in a different way. The problem is that it's really quite awful in execution. The story is muddled, the acting is terrible, and the direction is indifferent at best. A bigger budget and some slick modern filmmaking is just what the doctor ordered.

Now if only they can resist the urge to pile on the 'shaky cam' and dig up some less overcooked trailer music. (The Donnie Darko song? Seriously? Didn't Gears of War kill that one already?)

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Class of 1999 (1990)

Any serious scholar of bad cinema or 1st year creative writing student can tell you that the technique known as 'naked exposition' is at best a cop-out, and at worst is a giant buzzing neon sign that spells out "bad writing" in cheerful, easily readable block letters. If you are not familiar with the term, dramatic 'exposition' is dialog that literally explains the story. It's a basic and essential tool for writing fiction, but quickly becomes a crutch when used clumsily or in excess. The 'naked' description refers to when it's deployed in a painfully obvious manner; the classic example being James Bond villains explaining their sinister schemes in great detail.Naked exposition doesn't get any naked-er than when it takes the form of voice over narration, and when accompanied by helpful diagrams and graphics, it might as well be showing of its bones and muscles. Hell, it might as well be reading you the synopsis from the back of the box. Low budget science fiction cinema is rife with this hackneyed approach, but ever since John Carpenter and his Escape from ____ films perfected it as a high art of trash, it's hard not to get a childish, low-fi thrill from the endless technobabble and cheesy world-building. Class of 1999, a spiritual sequel to the classic "teacher pushed too far" flick, Class of 1984, gets an automatic pass for its introductory plot dump power-point and epic flood of expository speechifying (complete with an "as you are well aware" line) over the opening credits. This is for two reasons: it is incredibly reminiscent of Escape from New York and the exposition is being delivered by the AAA voice talent tag team of Malcolm McDowell and Stacy Keach. While McDowell needs no introduction, Keach is a relatively obscure figure in spite of his vocal and dramatic ubiquity. He's the owner of the Duff Brewery and Springfield Isotopes on 'The Simpsons,' can often be found propping up entire B-movies Atlas style with his mere presence, and is a documentary and commercial narrator of Keith David/Morgan Freeman caliber. (Freeman even credits Keach as his #1 acting influence.) As demonstrated by his roles in 1999 and Escape from LA, Stacy Keach is the undisputed king of laying down the no-nonsense sci-fi ground rules of the high octane ultra-violence about to be inflicted on the audience.Mr. Keach could be explaining in great detail how he sneaks into your bedroom at night to drill holes in your pancreas while making love to your comely daughters and you would find it entertaining, but in Class of 1999, with the help of some milky lenses and a futuristic white rat-tail, he has something far more important to discuss. It seems that by the far off year of 1999, violent youth gangs have pushed law and order completely out of the areas surrounding their high schools. The Educational Defense Department has recently been formed to take back their domains and foist some learning onto the various '90s day-glo punks running amok. McDowell is the principle of Kennedy High, which is stuck in a particularly rough patch of Seattle, which looks disturbingly like an X-ray of a knee.
While an uneasy order has been established through the judicious use of barbed wire, metal detectors, and cyber-fascist storm troopers, having the Helghast on board does not guarantee the children will learn anything. Enter the Stacy Keach run Megatech, which makes some nifty RC vehicles when not moonlighting as an evil sci-fi defense contractor. Their incredibly well thought out solution to the epic discipline problem is to reprogram a trio of high-end battledroids for educational purposes. The robots are super strong, come pre-loaded with "1 Million Megabytes" of educational software, have the ability to learn and make their own decisions, and when worse comes to worse, can rip off their own hands to reveal exotic weaponry. Plus one of them is Pam Grier!(Note: If Pam Grier was my chemistry teacher, she would not need a flamethrower arm to get me to shut up. One hard look would cease all spit wad and paper airplane construction for the remainder of the semester.)If that doesn't sound like the most backfiring prone plan in moviedom, the masterminds have decided to simultaneously release a batch of extra violent youth criminals back into the student population to test the educational killbots' flesh covered mettle. Apparently they've never heard the axiom "You have to learn to crawl before you can walk." One of these super thugs is Cody Culp (Bradley Gregg from Nightmare on Elmstreet 3), a high ranking member of the Blackhearts gang (color: Magenta) who only wants to keep his head down, his nose clean, and his arse out of the clink. This doesn't sit well with his fellow gangbanger brothers, nor does it make a difference to the adversarial Razorheadz (color: Saffron), who promptly join the reunited siblings in a Road Warrior style car chase.When they finally get to school in their ultra futuristic Oldsmobile with plastic crap hanging off of it, Cody discovers both Kennedy High's totalitarian makeover and his gang's seething resentment at his newfound affinity for the straight life. Despite making fast friends with the principal's hot daughter, things quickly deteriorate in his first period class with cyber-Pam Grier. The leader of the Razorheadz, having recovered quickly from the morning's gun battle and car crash is caught being insolent. Grierbot uses her vast computational decision making powers to select from two 'choose your own adventure' options in her visual readout: educate and discipline. After 'educate' fails a couple times, she switches modes, bringing up a couple of sub menus before reaching this screen:History class fairs just as poorly. The elderly looking killbot with his scholarly pipe is every bit as vicious as badass Foxy Brown. After a slightly unhinged speech about discipline and homework, he is interrupted by a pair of fighting students. Unfazed, he hoists them up by their pants, drags them to the front of the room, and selects 'corporal punishment' from his Terminator-vision menu.
Keach goes nanners.
How come killer robots always have options written in English and plastered over their heads-up-displays? Why do they even have HUDs to begin with? They're robots; they can process that sort of information internally in a microsecond. It's not like Stacy Keach ever sees or displays any awareness of the information in these screens. He just keeps tabs on their body temperatures and looks at what they're doing over the security monitors in his robo-science command center.Hey, it turns out 'corporal punishment' means spanking, (I always thought it was a military themed professional wrestler) which just happens to be the perfect mix of pain and embarrassment to put the students in line when administered by a harmless looking history teacher.

The third killer cyborg, who is stuck teaching physical education, has fewer difficulties keeping the kids in line, possibly due to the frequent demonstrations of his robotic kung fu grip during wrestling practice, which the class immediately dives into. Robo-teachers are obviously too efficient to bother wasting the first day (or week) of class on niceties such as syllabi or playing "the name game." (I imagine a killbot instructor's idea of "movie day" would be watching three different movies at the same time; all played at quadruple speed.)
Future Bus!

The first fatality occurs before the kids have a chance to finish a single assignment, and as the teachers become more obsessed with their greatest enemy/most promising student, Cody (who looks like he might break into a rendition of "The Bartman" at any moment), he becomes suspicious of their odd behavior and decides to investigate. After discovering the ultra-violent trio live in the same townhouse, Cody and the principal's daughter sneak inside to find zero furniture, minimal wardrobes, and a kitchen fully stocked with WD-40 and other maintenance supplies. They're interrupted by the untimely arrival of the unit's mechanized tenants, who arrive in their ultra-futuristic 1990 Ford Taurus for yet another riveting chase scene, this time in one of the non-gang ridden, non-futuristic sections of Seattle. (Cheap Sci-Fi tip: Make sure you don't set the story too far into the future. That way you can still shoot chase scenes in one of the thousands of contemporary warehouse districts available to you. Of course that creates the risk of your DVD release occurring a full decade after the 'future' you depict.)
Cody and his straight laced gal-pal manage to escape, but besting the authoritarian automatons only pushes their unhinged CPUs further into HAL 9000 territory. Their conveniently color coded visual readouts permanently switch from the already violent 'education' mode to their default state: war.The 'enemy' is Cody Culp and his fellow Blackhearts, but the machines are too clever for a frontal assault. They begin systematically murdering key members of the Blackhearts and Razorheadz, including Cody's bug-eyed little brother, in order to instigate a full scale gang war. After hostilities break out, the teachers sneak onto the battlefield to pick off distracted thugs.

Cody ultimately escapes with enough members of both gangs for the requisite "lets team up against our real enemy" moment, and the film can finally get down to its true purposes: ripping off Terminator as shamelessly as possible and having teens ride dirt bikes through a high school. They also find a moment for the greatest line of dialog to ever grace the silver screen:

One of the key elements of Cyborgsploitation cinema is the surreptitious use of copious gore. Ever since cyber-Arnold cut out his own damaged eyeball with an x-acto knife, b-moviemakers have been wrapping their fictional killer robots in a thin layer of people skin with the intent of ripping said skin off in the most violent ways imaginable. It saves money and reduces audience snickering versus more traditional killbots, (Chopping Mall, anyone?) and it nets you some wiggle room with the censors as well. At the climax of Class of 1999, the mechanical educators messily rip off their own forearms (and boobs in the case of Ms. Grier) to reveal specialized anti-personnel weaponry. In a technical sense, the makeup effects are quite similar to a limb ripping zombie kill, but the green blood (hydraulic fluid?), occasional sparking, and surrounding context prevents the gore from pushing the film into the realm of horror. It could almost by considered a sub-genre of gore.The cast is eventually boiled down to the main characters and a single, ragged battledroid. (The Arnie-esque gym teacher played by Patrick Kilpatrick.) Right about here the film ceases being "inspired" by Terminator and resigns itself to be Terminator. After hitting him with an armored future-bus, the wounded survivors must scramble away from his mostly fleshless endoskeleton.The ping-pong ball eyes make it look a little goofy, but the imagery is still strong. There is a reason that partially revealed robotic endoskeletons pop up in science fiction with such frequency. (Surrogates is an excellent contemporary example) Turning a universal symbol of mortality into a shiny, metal killing machine, then surrounding it with a fake meat disguise which is inevitably ripped away is nothing if not a powerful abjection of the human form. The result is universally disturbing to the primitive lizard parts of the brain.The most shocking development in Class of 1999 is how damned likable it is. From the silly premise, to the mountains of exposition, to the dated special effects, nothing in the film should work on any practical level. Thanks to talented cast of scenery chewing genre staples, and a utilitarian screenplay that mostly avoids the second act lull so common in "bad" movies, it is irresistibly watchable and consistently amusing.. Obviously it will never be mistaken for quality cinema, but for anyone who likes to alternate between laughing with and laughing at the cheesy celluloid, it is a real crime that it has languished on VHS for so long.

Special mention must also be made to the second most uncalled for turban in cinematic history (the first is from the original Omen):

The Turban...
...how the turban makes me feel